The Ant Queen. A being of power. High intelligence. Spear like front 2 legs that pierced the stone with a *ting*ting* sound as she stepped. An army to command. Her head itself larger than my larvae, a small mouth but with multiple mandibles, each indiviually moving as if she was constantly eating something. Thick feelers that thinned from the base, drooping, then bursting into many branches at the tips just like a dandelion. Her thorax hidden by her gargantuan abdomen. Unable to be supported by her two back legs, it was dragged across the floor, making her advance slow, yet making it more onminous.

It was as if this was a ghost story, and the ghost was coming closer and you could not run away. Except this was real. Very real. My monsters were thrown into chaos, my plants trampled. She screeched, and the ants swarmed again with heated fervour. The bloodlust almost visible, it felt... it felt like she was gloating. Gloating over the fact that I was helpless to do anything to help my dear monsters. I cursed ar myself. If not for this infernal crystal I would have long jumped into the battle to help them out. They needed help, they needed me.

-----3rd person POV----

The militarvae were strewn across the floor, their skin flayed and cut in multiple areas, still leaking copper blue lifeblood. They have served their duty to their last breath, 5 of which will never rise to serve again.

The larvacks were running. Ducking into holes and popping out the other, they attempted to slow down the advance. They spewed half-digested stone, gluing many ants to the stone floor. To buy time for their dungeon master, in hopes he could pull through.

The largots somehow managed to latch onto the ceiling, tossing whatever pebbles they had carried. Soon, the seething tides of ants will claim them, yet they did not run. They stood their ground and readied their jaws, ready for whatever was to come.

The parasite stirred mayhem, going in and out of the ant’s congregation. Suddenly flashing white and then back to black, draining whatever he could dry, in hopes of aiding the defence in any way possible. It was then flung far away, out of sight.

------------------

They were getting so close. Too close. The Queen was closing in. Dread ran through my bones. My managots cowered near my core. I do not blame them, they had little to no offensive capability. They did not run, they did not even hide. They planned to stay… and fight?

The enemy queen closed in, her jet black eyes focused onto my core. Raising one of her blade-like legs, she plunged it towards my core. @#&*:^%$ The pain, it was not something that I can describe. It hurts, it rends me apart. I cannot think, I can only try to see. No……. what are you doing?! NO!

The queen’s leg… why is it in my larva? Someone please answer me? Oi! Somebody tell me! WHY! Why is my managot skewered? Is it still breathing? I can save it. I must save it. I have already lost so much. I have to keep what is left. I felt my animus, like water in a basin. I swirled it, and felt the swirl. I tried to understand it, the viscosity, the responsiveness and the behaviour. I tossed away the ladle and poured all my animus onto the managot. All [110 Animus]. In my mind, I had just one wish, “live”. And a strange thing happened.

Animus was originally colourless, only with a shimmering that betrayed its presence. Yet, this animus was green. The colour of nature, of plants and trees, of life. Of the first ever living things to tread foot on land. The beginning. The mother. The one who encompasses us all. My will, my drive, my desire, had completely changed the effect the animus has. It was no longer simply animus, but life animus.

Life, the disruptor, the invader, the one that should not have existed. Yet, by sheer coincidence, life had formed. Life had thrived. Life had survived. The will to live, the desire to survive, the drive to continue and the wish to carry on, my unspoken words of anguish were all acknowledged loud and clear in the animus. I had no voice, yet my intentions were understood. It, no she, looked at me. Or at least in the direction of my core. I could feel her. Her sadness, her helplessness and self-berating that she could not have been of more use to me.

You misunderstand, my child, my creation. I never meant to use you, just like those hornets. I only intended to explore, to understand, to learn. Take my last gift, will you? As a well wish to make sure you can still live one. I am forsaken, I can feel it. The enemy dungeon’s queen is closing. Take the others, you can still run. Live on and be happy, okay? No, what are you doin-

No way. What in the world is this…

----(3rd person pov)----

The managot, saddened by the pain she was causing the dungeon lord, was touched by him. She could not understand his words, she could not understand his commands. But she understood his emotions. He cared for her, every fibre of his being. He had painfully waited for all of them to hatch, watched over them as they grew, and protected them when they were attacked. Now, at his death’s door, he had asked them to leave, to die alone in a desolate place where none of his remains will ever live to tell the tale. He would be gone, wiped from existence, the existence called the dungeon will never be discovered, and never remembered. And. SHE. WILL. NOT. LET. THAT. HAPPEN.

She soaked in the animus, the warmth of her creator pulsated in her bloodstream. It was absorbed, condensed, purified by the same system that did it for mana. She felt it. Fragments of emotions, pieces of knowledge and finally, one word.

Queen.

To fight fire with fire, an eye for an eye, a sin for a sin, a queen for a queen. Her body healed, then morphed and shifted, enlarging to encompass her new-found powers. She would never be able to morph and take to the skies like the rest of her kin, but to her, that was naught to her creator’s joy. With whatever excess energy she had, she filled the eggs in her body with mana and energy. Charged to the brim, the eggs shot out of her body and exploded with a resounding *crack*. The babies were small, weak. Yet they tore apart the strong. The royal ants crumbled under the combined assault of the 25 hatchlings. The queen, sensing danger, immediately moved away for safety.

Screeching, she called for reinforcements. They were even worse, and stronger than the royal ants. Standing grand and tall, with sleek black armour and a fearsome mandible, what was most fearsome about them was not their jaws. It was their acid. The very same that had destroyed the first [falling boulder] trap, they can spit a concentrated acid that can even dissolve stone. The new-born larvae stood no chance.

Yet, they stood strong. For every 2 that fell, one acid spitter would perish along with them, their insides sizzling as the larvae suicide dived into their body chuck full of acid. The mangot queen was heartbroken. Her first 25 children, her first chance to contribute to the dungeon, to aid her master who was always helping her. They were murdered, slaughtered in front of her eyes. She begged, in whichever way she can, for the dungeon to look away. Exhausted from the egg laying and the ordeal of turning into a queen, she slumped flat onto the ground, her consciousness lost.

And the dungeon, the dungeon was LIVID. His precious new queen, a dear existence, was made to watch in every clear detail the melting flesh of her children, the death throes of the larvae still echoing in her ears. He would not have this. He WILL not have this.

The strength of a dungeon’s influence is determined by their strength of will. While the closer it is to the dungeon’s core, the strength of will of the dungeon master is still the determining factor of its influence. And right now, the dungeon master had a lot of will to spare. With very bad intentions.

He forced and pressed and TORE at the mind of the ant queen. The most painful memories, the most excruciating paint. The ant queen screeched, screamed, bellowed as all her neurons fired out simultaneously, the very DNA of her existence was being peeled, layer by layer, one at a time. The dungeon master, he did not laugh, he did not smile. He did not relish as the ant queen thrashed about, flailing all her 6 legs in the most violent of fashions. He will not let her live, he will not let her experience hope. He will not give her a swift death, but a sure death. For that, he whispered:

“Those primitive and inferior creatures you are can only look forward, and wonder what’s lies beneath. For us, we like to look above, and fathom what we can become. Look up, queen, for this is the last chance you have.”

(a parasite fell)