The scent of the rival colony rolled toward us like a storm — bitter, acrid, threaded with iron. Their patrol was close. My antennae picked up the vibrations first: dozens of legs marching in perfect rhythm just beyond the grass line.
My twenty hardened ants paused their digging. Mandibles clacked nervously. The air above Rock Hollow had gone heavy, charged with tension.
> [Warning: Rival Colony Detected]
[Scouts Report: Patrol size — 12 soldier ants]
I pushed a calm pulse of pheromone through my body. Steady.
Another pulse. Observe.
Three scouts crept up the stalk of a weed and peered down at the path beyond. The rival patrol moved like an armored tide — thick-headed soldier ants with jagged mandibles, flanked by smaller workers carrying pheromone flags to mark territory. They were expanding. We were in their path.
Retreat was an option. The queen would retreat. A worker would retreat. But I was no longer just a worker.
> [Quest Triggered: First Skirmish]
Failure: Outpost destroyed. Followers scattered.
Reward: Combat Tactic Unlock]
I studied the patrol. Twelve of them, stronger and heavier than my own, but slower and less used to fighting as individuals. My twenty were lighter, quicker, trained by spider venom and beetle blood. We couldn't meet them head-on. We could bleed them.
I spread my antennae and pulsed a plan.
"Three dig. Make pitfall. Seven flank. Rest hide under stones."
We moved. The soil here was soft from last night's rain. In minutes, my diggers carved two shallow pits just off the patrol's path, covering them with leaves. My flankers slipped under blades of grass, circling wide. I crouched low with the main force under a rock, pheromones tight and sharp.
The patrol entered the kill zone.
I unleashed Pheromone Surge. My ants burst from hiding as one, darting at legs and antennae, nipping and retreating. The rival soldiers snapped their mandibles, confused by the speed.
Two fell into the first pit, legs flailing. Another tripped and rolled into the second. My flankers came from behind, biting at soft joints. The rival workers panicked and scattered.
The soldiers tried to form a line, but my ants moved like a black stream, hitting and fading. Small wounds built up. Blood scent filled the air.
> [Tactical Command +2]
[100% Drop: Combat Tactic Unlocked — Hit & Fade]
The remaining soldiers broke formation. Two fled back toward their colony. Five lay still. My own losses: three dead, two injured. Seventeen left standing.
A victory. Not total, but real. A message.
We dragged the bodies to Rock Hollow, stripping them for resources. My followers' mandibles clicked a low rhythm — not fear now, but pride. The first skirmish had given us more than meat and armor. It had given us confidence.
> [Faction Morale +5]
[Outpost Reputation: Known. Rival Colony alerted.]
I climbed onto a pebble at the edge of our hollow and looked toward the grass line. Somewhere beyond it lay their main nest — thousands of ants, armored and disciplined. If today was a skirmish, tomorrow would be a war.
But war was what I had been born for.
Even an ant could become a lord.