I suppose that means I’m only going to mutate one brain up to +30, and if that’s the case, then it’s obviously going to be my main one. I’m pretty comfortable mutating along the same lines that I employed the last time. Improve my handling of Gravity Mana, and improve my ability to condense mana. The last Gravity Bomb I threw out is all the evidence I need to show the effectiveness of this strategy. I was able to pump just about all of the mana in my organ into that beast, though part of that was the spell literally pulling the mana out of me outside of my control.
And with that, my main brain goes from the Condensing Gravity Main Brain +15 to Crushing Gravity Well Main Brain +30.
Sounds like a black hole factory to me. I like it!
With that done, and the massive cost involved, I can take two organs from +25 to +30 with what I have remaining. I’m running low on options in this regard, my mutations are looking to be in a good place. The time has come for legs to shine! I used one legs mutation to let me move faster, but I largely focused on absorbing mana through them early on. That’s been less important lately, since my growing mastery of magic means I can draw in ambient mana far more efficiently than before. When I reset them, I’ll definitely need to go a different route. But for the time being, both components of my current trio of legs mutations are dedicated to making them more damage resistant. After all, the weakness of the ant is still the legs. Even now, I can’t afford to let these accursed termites get at my relatively flimsy limbs, so it’s just as well that my only option is to further enhance the toughening mutation.
I’ll pump up my pheromone gland next. I’ve basically made myself as ‘loud’ and convincing as I possibly can when mutating this gland. Actually, when I think about it, the ant equivalent of ‘loud’ is stinky! My scent is potent! When I speak, I drop bombs of pure smell for the ants around me to endure. I hadn’t really considered that before. I’ll consolidate my mutations there. Communicating with as many ants as possible in the chaotic battlefields has been an asset lately, that’s for sure.
As I check my status, I feel a warm sense of pride as I see my progress. The goal of +30 across the entire board is almost within reach, and I look forward to the day when my body is once again pristine and maxed out, securing that sweet, sweet evolution bonus.
All in all, this is going to cost six hundred and twenty-five Biomass, leaving me with very little savings. Ah well, let’s confirm it!
BRAZZINATH!
Dammit! Why!? WHY?!
It takes quite a while for the itch to finally fade. The length of the mutation seems to take longer the higher up the tiers I go. I can only imagine what it must be like to go from +50 to +55 or something. Part of me hopes I’ll never find out.
With that all done, I’m ready to emerge from my little hibernation chamber, and with my friends by my side, I emerge to find ants, so many ants, crawling all over each other as they rush about the place.
What the heck is going on?
103. Wake the Beast
The door was shaking on its hinges.
A piece of Legion history, the door to the Consul Chamber had stood for two thousand years. Abyssal steel, forged during the Rending, formed the core of the massive doors, which rose over ten metres tall, covered in potent enchantments of hardening and regeneration powered by Mythic cores. Atop that unbreakable frame, layer after layer of compressed living stone had been placed, bonded together to create an impenetrable bulwark that defended the highest officer of the Legion.
Intricate and detailed carvings covered the outer face. Legend had it that the hands of the founders themselves had held the chisel. The images were mirrored from one door to the next, the form of the ideal Legionary imprinted in glorious, expressive lines. A body of steel, weapon drawn, perfect form, eyes that blazed with determination and a heart that burned even brighter.
Despite its incredible density and weight, despite being a bulwark that could receive a blow from a battering ram without shifting an inch, it was shaking.
Outside the door, two of the finest soldiers the Abyssal Legion could produce stood to attention. Praetorian Guard, armoured in the rarest of the rare, full Abyssal Steel Praetorian Armour. The two stood an imposing four metres tall, weighted polearms held steady. Two veterans, who’d earned the honour of guarding the Consul Chamber through numerous campaigns in the depths of the Dungeon, fighting the worst enemies the sentient people of Pangera could face.
It could not be seen behind their visors, but sweat beaded both of their brows. The rolling waves of pressure that hammered against the door and bled through beat down on them. Lesser beings would be on their knees, blood pouring from their mouths, but within their coveted armour, they were safe.
Inside the chamber, it was far worse.
Idly, Commander Myriam began to wonder if this was how she would die. Not at the hands of an Ancient or some other terrible monster in the depths, but here in the heart of the Legion’s strength, crushed to death by the rage of her own superior officer.
She felt blood well in her mouth, so she leaned slightly to the side and spat in her helmet, which she held tucked under her arm. It wouldn’t do to stain the floor of the Consul’s office.
It was quite a thing to see, the legendary berserker rage of the Consul. This was the power that had given her the ability to rocket through the ranks, ascending all the way to the highest office atop the bodies of innumerable monsters.
Minerva drew deep steadying breaths as her fists clenched and unclenched. If she’d had her axe in hand, goodness knows what might have happened. Thankfully, it hadn’t come to that.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
The overwhelming pressure that filled the room pulsed with every exhalation of the Consul, causing the reinforced stone that formed the walls to creak and groan.
Blind, overwhelming rage filled her mind, blanketed her vision with red and flooded her body with strength. Containing it was difficult, just standing still was a trial. That power yearned to be used. It thrashed and coiled and whispered in her ear. She could lash out, she could strike, she could kill. Anything to let it out, set it free.
Just breathe.
Head down, eyes closed, the Consul went to war with herself in a way she hadn’t done for decades.
I’m in control, not you.
She gritted her teeth and slowly unwound her fists, allowing the tension to drain from her muscles one by one.
Commander Myriam leaned to the side and spat once more as the pressure began to ease. It looked as if she wouldn’t die today after all. The next time she came to report to the Consul, she was coming in armour, no matter what it looked like.
“I apologise for my lack of control,” Minerva ground out as she finally managed to force down her anger. “Your words took me by surprise.”
“I can’t imagine why,” Myriam replied dryly.
The radiating aura that had been so crushing only moments ago receded to a more tolerable level, though it simmered beneath the surface.
“Those damned lizards. They choose to flout the laws that have stood for thousands of years now? Which idiot thought this could possibly be a good idea? I’ll wring his idiot, scaled neck…”
Minerva stopped pacing back and forth behind her desk, a habit she had unconsciously fallen back into, and breathed again. It wouldn’t do for the rage to emerge again so soon after she had put it away.
“I communicated to the Mahaan that you would be displeased, Consul. I also noted that the gathered clutch were predominantly younger and untested.”