The nights in the wintry Hagi’Shar were cold beyond belief, but Vice-General Kuraku never needed to dress half as thickly as her fellow soldiers. The mutations of the Exploding Ant Class afforded her a naturally high body temperature that required little to no concentration on her part to maintain, so if she were sharing her current elevated mushroom office with the General, she most certainly wouldn’t be able to keep the windows swung open as they were—he’d bemoan the freezing winds, say they were blowing all his documents off his desk, and then order her to slam the wooden flaps shut.
To that end, she’d never had the opportunity to just stand next to the window at night, staring idly out at the endless, blurry fields of snow.
Metal braziers burned in every corner and road between the barracks, the storage houses, and kept the air within the outpost relatively ‘warm’, but the moonlit hinterlands rolled out smooth and pristinely cold past the giant vine walls. Even though she was tucked deep into the outpost, snow still managed to breeze in through the window and thickened the floor of her office, chilling the cup of hot corn alcohol in her hands. It was only two hours past sundown, but already the sky was raging like a midnight blizzard, reminiscent of the terrible night a third of the Forward Army had been trampled by the Boreus—that was more than half a year ago, now, but she still remembered how violent the snow had been that night.
She was no Silver Ant Scout with hypersensitive antennae, but the sea of clouds two thousand metres overhead like they were about to churn into the exact same blizzard.
There was harsh, and then there was harsh—she only had a hundred and fifty soldiers in the outpost, which meant she couldn’t afford to lose even a single one to the natural elements. She’d like to think her soldiers were tough enough to stand guard through the blizzard, but that was just unreasonable. Even the Boreus wouldn’t choose to attack in this sort of temperature. Chitin joints and rifle bolts would freeze all the same; she mulled on the decision for only a second longer before reaching back into her hair, plucking three small balls of explosive ants and then flinging them out the window.
She watched the small crimson balls soar for a second, and once they were right over the mushroom barracks where the reserve soldiers were resting, she snapped her fingers in a rhythmic beat to make them detonate in sequence. The sounds of the explosions were muffled by the snow, but, faintly, she saw the guards standing on the ramparts in the far distance climbing down the vine walls—they’d received her signal for take shelter the walls instead, where there were still holes between the vines for them to peek out through. Their range of vision and rifle fire would be limited, but considering any Boreus trying to mount an attack on the outpost would be just as disadvantaged in the blizzard, she was fine with the slightly weakened defences.
And the Boreus were the ones who’d even think about mounting an attack in this blizzard.
She waved at the Carpenter Ant Guard standing behind her, setting her cup of alcohol by the windowsill. The guard nodded curtly as he yanked the pale girl’s head out of the bucket of freezing water he’d been holding up for the past two hours, turning to leave the office as quickly as possible.
Gasping for breath, the girl started coughing and hacking behind her hood, water sputtering through the thick wool. Kuraku swivelled around in her chair, pulling the window flaps in just a little so the winds weren’t as loud and distracting, but she’d no intention of letting her prisoner breathe easily. Sealing the girl’s senses with a simple hood wasn’t enough—she’d bound the girl to a metal chair bolted into the ground, arms chained to the armrest, legs twisted behind the rear legs, waist constricted with a saw-edged rope, and then she’d strapped on a dozen more metal restraints to make sure there’d be no chance of her prisoner disappearing into thin air.
She was fairly confident the worm children’s vision was the key to whether or not they could disappear and reappear, but she’d rather not take the chances and just cover up the girl’s entire head instead.
“... I don’t suppose the cold bothers you children at all.”
Scowling, Kuraku reached for the lace and ripped off the girl’s hood. Even though she was choking and giving shaky, trembling breaths, the girl with hair as white as snow was undeniably ‘pretty’ in every conventional sense of the word. Her face was small and cute, not a single angle cut with harsh lines. Glowing, silvery veins ran underneath her pale biometal skin, and her sapphire irises swirled like stars in her eyes. The alabaster-white cloak and diamond flower ornament pinning her hair in a bun practically under moonlight, and, irritated by the blinding gleams, Kuraku reached back to yank the wooden flaps shut once and for all—her office now lit only by the warm orange light of the firefly lantern, dangling from the ceiling.
The lantern swayed, the metal chains creaked, and Kuraku pulled her warm desk chair in front of the pale girl. She sat on it promptly. Pulled out an obsidian-edged knife from her blade holster. There was no hiding the flinch that went through the girl’s face, but unlike the countless other soldiers she’d broken into the children they really were, the girl didn’t attempt to make herself seem tougher than she was; the ‘childishness’ in her expression was everything she was, and it was the only expression she was going to put up.
Kuraku figured she was about thirteen, maybe fourteen. Just a few years younger than herself.
the girl breathed, her lips trembling but not parting. Her voice twisted through the air and arrived at Kuraku’s eardrums directly.
Kuraku leaned forward, raising the girl’s chin with the tip of her knife. It was rude to not look someone in the eye during conversation, so even if they were a little teary around the corners the girl’s starry, swirly eyes were something to look at alright.
“Don’t waste my time and pretend you didn’t hear what I said before I left your children alone,” she said, turning the girl’s head left and right with her knife, checking for any mutations she may have to look out for. “You children have good senses. High attribute levels. I saw the way you dispatched the Boreus on the slope—engaging in melee against the Swarm is an unconventional method for good reason. Unless you know for certain your physicality is higher than that of the giant bug, why would you risk coming in melee range of their talons and mandibles?”
She straightened the girl’s head with the flat edge of her knife, her lips setting into a firm line.
“I want to know what class, magic, and mutations you ‘worm children’ have,” she said, gaze steady. “What are you doing living up in the blackrock mountains? What weapons do you possess? Which faction are you aligned with? Perhaps all of you are spies from another Swarmsteel Front trying to set up an outpost in Hagi’Shar as well?”
The girl answered with a small, uncertain smile.
“No. Answer my questions.”
the girl said, dipping her head slightly.
Kuraku dragged her knife across Ninmah’s cheek, drawing a thin line of silver blood. The village chief didn’t wince, and her wound drained out almost immediately. Kuraku narrowed her eyes at the unusually small amount of blood that’d trickled out from what a deep cut into a normal human face.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
A special mutation, perhaps. One that increased the speed of blood coagulation. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d seen such a mutation, though it wasn’t typically something anyone could unlock in the tier twos and threes.
“... I am the Vice-General of the Hagi’Shar Forward Army, subordinate to the Empress and Her Four Families of the Attini Empire, but ‘Kuraku’ is my designated name,” she said, leaning back into her chair and crossing her legs. “Our objective is simple: exterminate the Boreus brood nest and clear the land for the construction of weapons factories. Currently, the General is drawing the Boreus' attention in the far south so I can establish a base camp below the blackrock mountains, and this camp will serve as a transition camp to march the rest of the Forward Army up the mountains—and we march upwards, because the brood nest lies north of your village.”
Ninmah nodded with a heavy gulp.
“Then you know we cannot replant our mortars and bombard the brood nest from the top of the slope when there is an unknown faction standing in our way,” Kuraku said, pressing her knife against Ninmah's cheek again. “I want to know your people's history. Where you came from, your young and old numbers, your affiliations to the Swarmsteel Fronts, and your unique class—lie to me even once, and I will cut you.”
Ninmah answered immediately, offering her another small smile.
Kuraku tightened her jaw. There was no lie in Ninmah's words—no twist of a brow, no tremble in her lips. Only pure innocence, a hint of curiosity, and… Kuraku could've sworn the village chief sounded a tad bit delighted they were making peaceful conversation. If she held any resentment towards the empire for having spent the better part of the day being suffocated in freezing water, it didn’t show on her face at all.
“... Where are your parents?”
“These magic and mutations of yours. Of what class are they?”
“Worms are not insects.”
“Where are you getting your systems from?”
Hesitation.
Eyes averted.
Ninmah looked away, shaking her head softly.
Kuraku drew her knife in and stabbed the village chief’s right hand, nailing it into the armrest. Ninmah jerked forward and let out a gasp, but just as quickly gritted her teeth and shirked back into her chair as the saw-edged rope cut into her waist; she didn't let a single cry of pain escape henceforth.
Scooting her chair closer, Kuraku tightened her fingers around the knife and wiggled it around, threatening to drag it back.
“What are your goals?” she asked plainly.
Silver tears welled up in Ninmah’s eyes as she frowned, tilting her head.
“What does Immanu have to gain by standing in the empire’s way?”
she replied, taking a deep breath after a moment of thought.
Kuraku blinked, looking dumbfounded for a moment, but then nodded. “You did, indeed. And the General was grateful the three of them managed to make it back to our border outpost alive. That is why, once you tell me everything I want to know about Immanu, we will consider integrating all of you into the Attini Empire’s forces.”
“An unknown class with unknown biomagic and mutations is worth studying, and if proven to be useful in warfare, all of you will become soldiers for the Attini Empire and fight for humanity’s sake,” she explained. “You will become weapons. You will slaughter the Swarm. Instead of hiding away in the middle of nowhere, only claiming you are not standing in the way of the Attini Empire, you will fight in wars where your abilities will truly be put to the test—and, in doing so, you will become heroes of humanity.”
Ninmah whispered, biting her lips hard.
“Because all of you worm children are ,” Kuraku growled, driving her knife deeper into Ninmah’s hand, making the girl squirm and twist in her chair. “All of you are weak. Undisciplined. I saw the way you hunted those Boreus on the slope—so carefree and easygoing. So casual and unhurried. Do any of you even know the types of wars we, humans of the surface world, engage in just to stave off the Swarm day by day? Do you know the faces we carry into battle are like the smiles you wear in the face of the Swarm?”
“It is unfair to the rest of humanity that only the hundred and eleven of you get to lead ‘simple lives’ in the middle of nowhere,” she spat, that burning, ‘hateful’ emotion she’d felt back on the slope stirring up once again; she didn’t try to contain it. “Just one of my soldiers would be more resilient than all of you combined. A knife in their hand would not even make them flinch. You may have led simple and peaceful lives thus far, but now that the Attini Empire knows of your existence, you will be unmade. You will either fight or die as weapons, just like the rest of us, so spare me all your talks about… ‘pretty’ places and ‘normal’ conversations. We are humans like you.”
The crestfallen look returned to haunt Ninmah’s face, and if she could look any paler, Kuraku thought she might just turn into a spirit and be whisked away by the winds—so Kuraku reached behind her chair and tightened the straps, hammered the knife deeper into her hand, and stood up to rewrap the hood around her neck. The laces were pulled even tighter around her windpipe than before, if not only because Kuraku never wanted to see that childish look on her face ever again; it made her sick to the stomach, and why it seemed to please Ninmah, she would never understand.
Humanity was at war.
And had to fight.
“Here is what will happen to Immanu from now on,” she said, biting her teeth as she tightened the laces even further, making sure not even a single speck of light would make it through the wool. “You will tell me everything I want to know about Immanu, and with your information, the Hagi’Shar Forward Army will annex your village into the Attini Empire. You and all of your people will assist the General in exterminating the brood nest, and then you will be sent to the Capital for research and appraisal. We have done this many, many times to many, many villages harbouring unique classes and resources. This is what it means to the Swarm—”
Ninmah wheezed through the hood, struggling to breathe through the wool.
A flash of irritation went through Kuraku’s eyes. “A weapon’s age does not matter. All I must know and all I need to do is fight for the Attini Empire. You worm children can do what I do, too, after you undergo training in the northeastern marshes—”
Ninmah strained against her bindings, limbs trembling, bones creaking and twisting and snapping off their sockets.
“...”
A ‘place’.
‘Sad’.
‘Human’.
Perhaps those were words Kuraku would’ve used once, in conversations with her ‘friends’, but she’d abandoned all of those words the moment the Crawling Seas reached the shoreline of the Asanyon continent.
She was a ‘weapon’ now.
And weapons…
…Her eyes twitched as she stared through the tiny slit between the window flaps.
Nothing looked ‘off’, but her intuition told her otherwise, so she yanked her knife out of Ninmah’s hand—ignoring the girl’s pained groan as she did—and trudged over to throw the window flaps open.
The blizzard was fiercer than ever, blurring the plains of snow beyond the walls of the outpost, and dozens of Carpenter Ant Guards were racing out of their barracks with anti-chitin rifles in hands—all of their tiny, brazier-lit forms running towards the front gate facing the slope to Immanu.
Two guards knocked on the door to her office, and they barged right in without waiting for their permission to enter, shivering and panting for breath.
“... What is it?” she asked, glancing around as she twirled her knife, eyes brimming with cold fury. “I thought I gave the signal for all of you to stay under a roof for the night. What is the meaning of manning the ramparts and sliding into the trenches outside the walls?”
The guard on the left saluted, right arm across his chest.
“Shadows stand two hundred metres up on the slope,” he said, voice tight and urgent. “We believe it may be the worm children.”