Deeper and deeper still we travel, along winding paths of intertwining roots that seem an endless maze that plunges into the heart of the world. The sheer size and scale of the Mother Tree is practically endless, and at last we come to something that speaks to me. Dirt. Precious dirt. As the lead ant, I set foot on the precious ground and immediately feel more at home.
[It is near here that they have been incurring against our mother.] The Grove Keeper sounds grim as he points to a nearby tunnel. [The beasts have taken a toll on my people, and now the Mother will not allow us to fight. She takes on the burden herself, and mighty though she is, she is not built to fight against this foe.]
[More like this enemy was specifically designed to fight her,] I point out, [and for some reason, I feel like your mother isn’t as good at fighting as she is at other things.]
The Keeper eyes me askance.
[She is mighty,] he assures me.
[I don’t doubt that, but for whatever tier she is, she should be mightier. Exactly how much evolutionary energy did it take for her to be able to create children from her own soul? I’m guessing, a lot.]
The massive figure of the Grove Keeper does not reply, but I don’t really notice. The termites are close and it is time to hunt.
“Be aware,” I warn my family. “We are close now. When we meet the enemy, it will be a savage brawl like you’ve never seen before. Remember, there are only two things that you need to do: stay alive, and kill termites. In that order. Am I clear?”
They do not reply, though I can feel ten thousand thrums of agreement through the Vestibule. There will be no energy wasted on scent when the enemy is so close at hand.
I move purposefully into the tunnel and note the roots of the tree are still present, breaking through the dirt here and there, splitting and winding into smaller widths the farther we travel. Soon, I begin to notice segments of root that have been chewed on—clear evidence of the termite presence. The tree is regenerating the damage, albeit slowly, judging by the various, visible wounds. It’s possible the termites are using some kind of saliva or mandible mutation to slow her healing process. Just how far did the ka’armodo go to prepare this enemy? Based off the signs, it seems as if they may have spared no effort or expense in their machinations.
Termites don’t have to eat wood, contrary to popular belief. What they want is cellulose, which wood just happens to have. All plants have it, though not to the same degree, and forms the cell wall that gives plants their hardy, non-spongy structures. Humans can’t even digest the stuff, so weak is their tract.
Up ahead, I hear something, so I speed up and soon encounter something that sets my antennae to twitching with disgust and rage. It’s a pheromone trail, but not the familiar, warm message of my siblings, oh no. This one is strange, alien, and utterly foul to me. My legs twitch and jerk as I try to run, battling the instinct to wipe my antennae clean. Just awful! It’s terrible! What sort of evil could possibly produce this stuff?
The reaction of the Colony behind me is just as severe when they come across the termite trail, and the upswell of rage within the Vestibule reaches unseen heights, thrumming within my carapace like a war drum.
Then we burst into a clearing, lush with life. Flowers, luscious leaves, and vines as thick as a human are everywhere, and they writhe in constant motion against a monster we can only glimpse through the clearing. Enormous heads and mandibles supported on spindly legs, snapping and tearing at the plantlife with wild abandon, ripping into the growth and breaking it down and eating it on the spot. There are hundreds of them right here, each one alight with mana indicating at least tier four monsters.
But these are thoughts, and there is no room for thoughts now.
“SUFFER NOT THE TERMITE TO LIVE!” I roar, and my siblings take up my cry as we rush forward in a tidal wave of chitin and rage.
“FOR THE COLONY!”
79. The Most Brutal of All
No quarter. No mercy. No hesitation. No remorse.
There can be only one.
Seized with a primal rage that bubbles from a genetic level, my siblings rush forward, all thought of strategy abandoned as their mandibles gnash eagerly. Even I feel it, the emotions of the Colony flooding through me and adding to the urgent need to destroy the enemy insect. It’s difficult to remain in control of myself in the face of such overwhelming battle hunger, but I manage, barely. The steadying presence of my pets within my mind provides a rock which I can hold onto to avoid slipping into a mindless rage.
[Invidia, make sure you protect and heal the ants,] I force out, [they aren’t going to look after themselves as they should.]
[Yessssss. I sssshall havessss their gratitude!]
[Crinis, you do the same, look after the family. Tiny, just smash everything, we need to end this quickly.]
Ahead of us, the roots and plants continue to thrash against the encroaching termite threat, vines whipping through the air faster than I can see to smack into the insects, or wrapping around them and flexing in an attempt to crush them. However, it just isn’t working as well as it should. The termites are tough, very tough, and it doesn’t seem to matter how much the Mother Tree batters them with her vines, it isn’t enough. If she wants to deal with these critters, then she needs to bring something bigger to the fight.
The termites are quick and clever, I can see it from across the vegetation. They work together, scissoring the vines apart with their monstrous mandibles, protecting and shielding each other from harm as their very presence seems to wither the garden. The other thing I notice is the visceral reaction the termites have to our appearance. The moment they detect us charging, their entire disposition changes and the garden no longer matters. I can practically feel the fury radiating from them as they organise themselves into a loose battle lane and rush to meet us in battle.
My core ignites in rage all over again at the sight, as if the very thought of the termites attempting to stand before me is an insult that cannot be borne.
In the eternal conflict between ant and termite, one thing has always remained true: the termites are builders, but ants, ants are destroyers.
“FOR THE COLONY!” the battle cry rings out once more, and then the two lines smash into each other.
Far stronger than my opponents, I apply no subtlety or strategy, I simply charge into the leading termite like a battering ram. Unable to match my strength or mass, the hapless beetle-descendant is sent rolling end over end, and I rush to exploit the gap in their line, turning to my right to capitalise on the weakness. The termites are large, bigger than all but the soldiers at their equivalent tier, and their mandibles are truly savage; low, wide, and razor-sharp blades seek to latch onto my neck and sever my head from my thorax.
I mean, technically I don’t have a neck, but the joint between the segments of my body is certainly a weak spot.
I won’t have it, though! My mandibles explode with light as I pump raw mana into them and activate my most powerful bite Skilclass="underline" the Doom Chomp!
CRUNCH!
[You have slain Level 34 Edax Aminae Termite (IV).]
[You have gained experience.]
My rage burns anew. I must quench it with termite experience!
But as I turn to look around, it becomes clear the inevitable has happened. A few hundred termites against a berserking force of ten thousand ants was never going to be a close fight. The termites have been literally buried under the weight of the Colony. All I can see are piles of ant bodies that roll and shudder as the hapless insects beneath are torn apart. The smell of formic acid and the enraged speech of my siblings is all I feel against my antennae, the termite pollution having already been expunged.