Chrysalis

Chapter 819: Promise (931)

The pain was beyond bone deep. Inside the communal bond, where once his servant, Issi, had been, was now a wound that tore into his very soul. Rassan’tep clamped his fangs together and forced himself to rise, despite the protests of his body. The air was still filled with dust, visibility was poor, but he began to move toward the echoes that rang through the bond. Powerful legs scratched at the rubble, and soon he began to unearth his attendants. The surviving ones.

What had happened? What was that?

No. He wouldn’t allow himself to become distracted. The setsulah required his aid and the bond demanded that he give it, he could not do less, as their master. The mountain face above them must have collapsed, judging by the rubble, burying them all in tons of stone. He had survived thanks to his own shield, if not for that… it didn’t bear thinking about.

After twenty minutes he had managed to excavate most of them, using only his legs. Even now the mental strain pounded in his brain, every touch of mana like a twinge on an exposed nerve. By the sands, he was tired.

“Mas… ter,” Ammon’sil groaned as he was uncovered.

[Be silent,] the kaarmodo commanded, [you have numerous broken bones and I have not a speck of magic left in me. We will need to carry you inside the mountain.]

The leader of his servants closed his eyes and nodded wearily, his once pristine scales covered in dust, even torn away in places. His wife, Rapsep’sil crooned softly as she knelt by her husband and brushed her hand over his crest. Rassan’tep looked aside, it wasn’t for him to observe such a private moment.

[What a disaster,] a mind touched against his own, filled with disgust and fatigue.

[Irion’tep. You have also survived?] he replied.

[Barely. You will have to answer to the mahaan for this failure, Rassan…]

Politicking already. He calmed his mind and sank his emotions under the dunes.

[In what way have I failed, Irion?] he said calmly.

His ally fell silent for a moment, though his rage practically vibrated over the mental link until he mastered it.

[Does that really need to be said?] Irion finally asked. [The evidence of your failure is all around us. I have lost two of my attendants in this disaster, directly as a result of your plan to lure the ants here with a false trail of pheromones.]

[And my strategy was a success. They were successfully lured, we trapped them and would have fed them to our termites had we not been interrupted. Are you really blaming me for not predicting the existence of a creature capable of such magic? Who could have known such a thing was possible?]

Unable to retort that yes, he should have predicted the existence of a super-ant with command over an unknown mana, Irion’tep could only fall silent as he dealt with the grief that overwhelmed all kaarmodo at the loss of their servants.

[Let us continue to retrieve those that can be saved,] Rassan’tep suggested, [these discussions can wait for later.]

The two fell silent as they continued to push through the rubble, searching for their allies and their servants amidst the rock. As they worked the dust continued to settle and the scale of the devastation gradually became known. It was absurd. In the face of the mountain, an enormous sphere had been carved that encompassed most of what had previously been the main entrance. That spell, whatever it had been, had ripped up the rock as if it were plain soil, tearing it from the mountain with ease. The trees in the distance, which had not long ago been coated in a layer of fungus, were now clear, but had been flattened, many uprooted and dragged across the ground, leaving enormous furrows in their wake.

If it hadn’t been for their shield eating up so much of the spell’s energy, or their efforts to break the spell down, the scale of devastation would have been far greater. How could one creature produce such an effect against the combined efforts of so many minds? The secret had to lie in that strange mana type the ant had used, something that Rassan’tep had never encountered before.

Indeed, a very promising prospect.

The life of a cultist was a difficult one, they endured thousands of failures in their mission to create the final ancient, yet each toiled through the centuries knowing that they only had to succeed once. For the first time in a long while Rassan’tep felt his heart quicken at the prospect of finally finding, the one.

This ant, this Anthony, already more powerful than an ant monster had any right to be, also possessed this strange power. With another evolution, possibly two, they would have a clearer picture, but any monster able to do something like this at tier six was more than a worthy candidate. He would have to report back to the other members of the Red Truth, things had escalated beyond what he was able to manage himself.

As the work continued, they found two of their fellow kaarmodo had succumbed to their wounds beneath the stone before more of their allies emerged from within the mountain to assist and provide healing. Below, the termites boiled out of the deep tunnels, responding to a perceived threat that no longer existed, only to find that their fungus gardens had been destroyed, which drove them further in a fury. It would be a day before they calmed themselves most likely.

As more kaarmodo emerged, discussions continued to evolve, next steps being considered, adjustments to the overall strategy, but Rassan’tep only half listened, he had other concerns to deal with. The largest issue being how to ensure that this promising ant survived the retaliation that may come as a result of this incident. His people did not tolerate the loss of their servants lightly, let alone two of their number. He tapped into the communal mind bridge to find his worst fears confirmed.

A divide had formed between those who wanted to directly intervene alongside the termites, a combined force of kaarmodo, setsulah and their controlled insects with no pretence of neutrality, to annihilate the ant force and take the fight directly to the tree, and those who simply wanted to increase the scale of the termite force.

He had wanted to apply pressure to the ant, but things could rapidly get out of hand.

[Master?] Ammon’sil approached his side and placed a hand against his scales after being healed.

[I am fine.]

He wasn’t. He was tired, in pain and in desperate need of a scrub, the dirt between his scales rubbed fiercely, but he had no time to rest. He gathered himself before he made himself known within the discussion. With a little luck he could salvage this situation and ensure his precious prospect wasn’t burned out before he had a chance to shine..