It wasn’t a dream that woke him. It was sound. A high pitched, incessant chittering, layered with a low, pervasive buzzing, like a million unseen wings beating against the air. It was close. Too close.
Panic flared, cold and sharp. He strained his eyes in the dim twilight. The moons had set, leaving the landscape bathed in the weak, grey light that precedes sunrise. He could make out shapes moving near the edge of the boulder cluster, low and fast. Not Borers. Something smaller, quicker, more numerous.
He scrambled deeper into the shadows between the rocks, trying to make himself smaller, invisible. The chittering intensified, punctuated by sharp clicks. He risked a peek around the edge of his boulder.
Ants. Giant ants, the size of large dogs, swarmed the area just yards away. Dark brown chitinous bodies scurried across the ground, mandibles clicking – Formica Soldiers. Above them, others darted through the air on translucent wings, the source of the incessant buzzing . They moved with a disturbing, unified purpose, seemingly scouting or foraging. Why were they here? Had they been drawn by the scent of the Borer battle?
~ Creature Detected: Formica Soldier (Level 7) ~
~ Creature Detected: Flying Formica (Level 6) ~
Luke’s stomach churned. Bugs. He hated bugs. Especially giant, potentially flesh eating ones. He checked his internal status. HP was maybe halfway recovered, perhaps 50/100. Mana was better, around 70%, thanks to the forced rest. Stamina felt low, the deep exhaustion lingering. His side still throbbed painfully.
He couldn’t stay here. They were too close. If they caught his scent or stumbled upon him… He needed to move, slip away before they noticed. He waited, watching their patrol patterns, heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. A gap appeared momentarily between two groups of patrolling Soldiers. He had to risk it.
Now.
He moved, low and fast, mentally tapping into is passive skill Basic Evasion. He darted from the boulders towards another patch of sparse, thorny bushes twenty yards away, praying the low light and his mud caked armor would help conceal him. He made it halfway when a high pitched shriek erupted from above. A Flying Formica, hovering near the top of the largest boulder, had spotted him.
Instantly, the chittering intensified, turning into an aggressive, unified cacophony. Soldiers on the ground changed direction, scuttling towards him with alarming speed. Flyers peeled off from the swarm, diving like malevolent brown hornets.
“Shit!” Luke cursed, abandoning his stealth approach. He sprinted, ignoring the fire in his side, weaving through the thorny bushes. He needed cover, distance. He glanced back. They were gaining.
He focused, mana flaring. Distortion! He targeted the closest group of pursuing Soldiers. The familiar purple pulse shimmered in the dim light. The tug on his mana was immense a pounding forming in his head. How many had he targeted? Blinking furiously he ran the bushes whipping at him, cutting into his exposed flesh. The Soldiers faltered, their movements becoming confused, bumping into each other, momentarily losing track of him.
It bought him precious seconds. He pushed himself harder, legs pumping, lungs burning. He spotted another rocky outcrop ahead, larger than the one he’d left, promising better cover. Almost there.
A sharp pain slammed into his back. He cried out, stumbling, nearly falling. A Flyer had dive bombed him, its stinger or mandibles finding a gap in his cuirass.
~ Damage Taken: 18 ~
~ HP: 32/100 ~
He spun, slashing wildly with his right Anelace. The blade connected, shearing through a wing. He dismissed the following notification without even looking at it. The Flyer spiraled to the ground with an angry buzz, unable to maintain altitude. But more were coming.
He reached the outcrop, scrambling up onto a low ledge, pressing his back against the rough stone. Soldiers were converging below, trying to find a way up. Flyers buzzed overhead, looking for an angle to dive. He was cornered.
Think. Skills. Synaptic? Maybe slow down the climbers? He targeted a Soldier trying to find purchase on the rock face. Purple energy pulsed. The creature’s movements became instantly sluggish, its claws scrabbling uselessly.
~ Target Status: Slowed (Moderate) ~
It worked, but there were too many. As soon as he slowed one, another took its place. His mana was draining fast. He needed to break out, make a run for it.
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He scanned the swarm. A slightly larger Flyer hovered nearby, seemingly directing the others. The leader? A priority target? He risked using Truth Seeker. Another pulse of purple. The feedback was minimal: Exoskeleton slightly thicker… directs soldiers with pheromones… vulnerable under wings.
Under the wings. It was a incredibly difficult target. He watched it hover, waiting for an opening. A Soldier below managed to find a handhold, pulling itself up onto the ledge beside him. Luke reacted instantly, driving his left Anelace into its multifaceted eye.
~ Damage Dealt: 25 ~
~ Critical Hit! ~
~ Target Status: Terminated ~
~ Combat Log: Formica Soldier x1 Defeated ~
~ XP Gained: +1000 ~
The Soldier convulsed and fell back down the rock face. But another was already scrambling up. And the Flyers were starting to dive again. One swooped low, spitting a thick, white, sticky substance. Luke dodged, but the glob splattered against his leg, hardening instantly. Webbing.
~ Status Effect Applied: Snared (Movement Speed Reduced) ~
Panic flared again. He hacked frantically at the webbing with his dagger, managing to cut through some strands, but it was incredibly tough, restricting his movement. Another glob hit his arm, pinning it momentarily to the rock wall. More Soldiers were reaching the ledge. Flyers dive bombed, forcing him to duck and weave, further tangling himself in the sticky strands that now seemed to be coming from multiple directions.
He tried to cast Distortion on a nearby Flyer, but his mana sputtered, depleted.
~ Mana Depleted. Skill Failed. ~
He was trapped, slowed, nearly out of options. A Soldier lunged, mandibles snapping. Luke parried desperately with his right Anelace, but the force of the blow knocked the dagger from his weakened grip. It clattered down the rock face, vanishing into the gloom below.
No! Calista’s blade!
He fought wildly with his remaining dagger, kicking, punching, even biting, trying to break free of the accumulating webbing. But it was hopeless. “I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die!” He shouted. He could feel his heart pounding, the words of the quest coming to mind ~ Permenent Death~ “NO! NO! NO!” it wasn’t supposed to end like this! More webbing rained down. Soldiers swarmed onto the ledge, their combined weight pinning him against the rock. Sharp mandibles bit at his armor, seeking purchase. The sticky strands wrapped around him, tighter and tighter, immobilizing his limbs, covering his mouth, silencing his struggles.
The last thing Luke saw before the webbing covered his eyes was the larger Flyer hovering above, its multifaceted eyes seeming to study him with cold, alien curiosity. Then darkness, thick and suffocating, enveloped him. He felt himself being lifted, dragged, his consciousness fading under the crushing weight and lack of air. Jason… I failed… The thought echoed as oblivion claimed him.
Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the rock formation, warming the dusty ground. Lestor shielded his eyes, scanning the area. “Anything, Mark?”
Mark, the jovial, bearded veteran from the camp, shook his head, lowering his spyglass. “Nothin’ but rocks and those blasted Formica mounds further north. Patrol route’s clear this far, though.”
Lestor sighed. He, Mark, Redwood, and two other Imperium soldiers, Hark and Silva, had been dispatched on a sweep-and-clear mission after scouts reported increased Formica activity unusually close to the base. Standard procedure. Boring procedure. He’d much rather be experimenting with a new fire cantrip he’d been working on.
His thoughts drifted to Luke. The kid had seemed determined, heading off alone towards the Cliffs. Brave, maybe. Foolish, definitely. Lestor hoped he was okay. That Death Merchant Class sounded ominous, and Luke had looked rattled after the Orsul encounter.
“Alright, let’s check these rocks then head back,” Mark ordered. “Standard sweep formation.”
The squad moved efficiently, weapons ready, scanning the cluster of boulders where Luke had fought the Borers hours earlier. Dried bloodstains, dark against the pale earth, marked the site of the battle. Redwood grunted, pointing with his massive axe towards discarded Borer bone fragments. “Looks like someone had some fun here.”
“Or got lucky,” Hark muttered, nervously checking his surroundings.
Lestor wasn’t focused on the old battle signs. His eyes were drawn to something glinting near the base of the largest boulder, partially hidden beneath a thorny bush. He moved closer, curiosity piqued. He knelt, pushing aside the branches.
His breath caught. It was a dagger. Not just any dagger – long, slender, crafted from a dark metal that seemed to absorb the sunlight. Shadowsteel. He recognized Calista’s distinctive style instantly. He’d seen her working on blades like this back at her forge, though he hadn’t seen the finished pair.
“Luke’s,” Lestor whispered, picking it up carefully. The hilt felt cool, the balance perfect. Why was it here? He scanned the ground nearby. Scuff marks. Signs of a struggle. More dried blood, some darker, some fresher, and… strands of thick, white, hardened webbing?
“Mark! Over here!” Lestor called, his voice tight with urgency.
The others gathered around, examining the signs. “Formica,” Redwood rumbled, spitting distastefully. “Nasty buggers. Looks like they tussled with whoever dropped this blade.”
“And lost?” Silva, the quietest of the squad, asked, pointing to the lack of a body.
“Or got carried off,” Mark said grimly, his eyes following faint drag marks leading away from the boulders, north towards the basin Lestor had seen earlier, dotted with Formica mounds. “Webbed up for later. Queen likes her meals fresh.”
Lestor’s stomach clenched. Luke. He looked at the Anelace in his hand, then towards the nest complex. “He went this way. We have to check it out.”
Mark hesitated. “Our orders were a perimeter sweep, Lestor. Heading into a nest…”
“He’s one of ours, Mark,” Lestor insisted, meeting the veteran’s gaze. “Just arrived. Got tangled with Fate itself back at the market. We can’t just leave him.” He didn’t mention Luke’s provisional Class or the permanent death quest; that wasn’t his story to tell. But the urgency, the plea in his voice, was real.
Mark chewed his lip for a moment, glancing at the other soldiers, who looked equally uneasy but resolute. He sighed. “Alright, fine. But we go careful. In quick, find the lad, get out. No heroics, understand? We lose someone in there, it’s on your head, mage.”
Lestor nodded, relief washing over him. “Understood.” He gripped Luke’s recovered Anelace tightly. “Let’s go get him.”
The squad reformed, moving cautiously now, following the faint trail towards the buzzing, chittering basin, towards the heart of the Formica nest.