Haldane hid underneath a heap of rotten wheat, nearby bodies that have yet to get fed to the pyre, where his former comrades in arms were less likely to look. Knowing Cutter and the treacherous woman Menov, they reckoned that he was mad enough to enter the red forest without a remedy for its nauseating effects. He felt deeply insulted. Entering the red forest in his state, with only a bayonet, missing one hand, would only get him lost and more than probably get struck from head to toes with arrows.

So he waited underneath the rotten wheat, as night cycled to day. Haldane would have slept, however, the pain from his stump was unending, like jaws were gnawing on the nerves of his wrists. Several times he considered allowing the pain to simply sedate him to sleep. It was tempting. At least for a few hours the pain was intangible in the sweet realm of sleep. Yet Haldane would not allow himself to drift away. The hate that dwelled in his heart was strong, at moments enough to numb the torturous agony that crept up his forearm.

I’d rather have some morphine though.

His forehead was becoming scolding hot, and he had sweated through his shirt. A fever was setting, in tandem with a lovely infection on his stump. The cauterization was less than optimal, and rotten wheat could hardly be called antiseptic.

Haldane wiped the sweat from his brow, pushed the rising fever from his mind and stared ahead. A wagon was coming to the pyre. He stiffened every muscle, and steadied his breath as best as he could.

Two Hospitallers pushed the wagon to the pyre and started unloading the bodies. Looking closely, Haldane found that those bodies had arrows embedded in them. They were from the ambush on the forest line.

“Think we’ll get them all burned in time?” One Hospitaller asked.

“Doubt it. Let’s just put ‘em where the ground is charred and let ‘em burn. The raid on the nest will start soon, I reckon,” the other said.

The nest?

They continued talking as they piled on the bodies.

“Do you trust those arachne to have our backs?”

Arachne?

“They’re beasts. What do you think? If it weren’t for our orders, I’d burn ‘em like the wretched bugs they are.”

“Aye. So careful who you say that around. Captain Cutter will have you shot for insubordination, like how he did for Haldane.”

Haldane’s head was spinning, and it was neither from pain nor fever. According to them, Cutter had found the illusory key to the red forest, and now he was more than likely stomping around in there, preparing for some attack that had to be for the insectoids. All that flora, fauna, secrets endemic that forest have yet to get catalogued and examined. Knowing Cutter and his brutish tactics, the ensuing extermination effort could accidentally lead to the extinction of some species. That was something he could abide with.

Haldane blinked, trying to focus, yet the climbing fever was muddling his mind. Everything felt sluggish, his breathing laboured. His head swam, making reason harder to grasp. In his delirium, he crawled out of the heap of rotten wheat.

The two Hospitallers yelped upon his appearance.

“Please. It’s… I…”

One drew a pistol. “It’s that bastard, Haldane.”

“No please… you have to listen…”

“You got quite a few good brothers killed, you dishonourable shat stain.”

The other was drawing his pistol.

Haldane tried to sting along a coherent sentence, yet his tongue was twisted and words were hard to assemble. At this rate he was babbling his way to an early grave on the pyre. So he feigned a stumble, drew their attention to one hand, when it was the other hand they should have worried about. He drew his bayonet and had it flying into the neck of a Hospitaller. However, in his feverish state, only the hilt struck his head with some effect, staggering him long enough for Haldane to rush the other. A shot rang, and he felt the lead ball zip past his head. He tackled the Hospitaller, groped for the bayonet in his sheath, and slit the man’s throat.

“No!”

In his periphery he saw the pistol swinging around. Blindly, Haldane swung the bayonet at the Hospitaller’s general direction and luckily found flesh. He heard a yell, then the pistol erupted next to his ear. It was like a clap of thunder, the noise jostling his already feverish mind. However, it took little coordination to throw himself at the man, taking him to the ground. With the man pinned underneath him, he stabbed. The Hospitaller yelled, though after a few times, he eventually went silent and the bayonet was slick with blood.

Haldane rolled over onto his back, not expecting to have survived, yet there he was, panting.

After collecting his breath, he searched the body next to him and after some digging through pockets, he found that most coveted key—that strange looking berry.

***

“My gun!” Pyrik shouted to Ira.

But Ira was frozen high up in the tree, unblinking, staring into the Maw with wide-eyed horror.

All around them Hospitallers were hectically scrambling to reorganize as Cutter ordered them to form ranks on both sides of the field cannons. Pyrik assumed it might writhe out from the Maw until the earth beneath the killzone swelled up, breaking up the crust like the shell of an egg as a colossal beast sought to break free.

“Please, Ira! My gun!”

That shook Ira from her mesmer and she tossed the blunderbuss back down to Pyrik. In the grand scheme of things a simple gun made no difference compared to ranks of rifles and field cannons. Yet its yew wood grip felt good in her hand. It made her feel powerful, and she had to feel that way or else that voice inside would consume her whole.

Menov nudged Pyrik in the shoulder. “You keep that little beast in you on a leash, all right?” she said in an all too jovial manner, like she was off to fix a leaky roof.

Cutter strode over to Menov. “What in all of creation was that in the tunnels?” he spoke in a low whisper. “What are you?”

Oh. So he didn’t know after all.

“Does it matter?” Menov retorted with a smile. “I can smash things and look marvelous while doing it. Just be grateful that I’m on your side, Cutter.”

Cutter opened his mouth to protest when something colossal ruptured out from the earth. A great shadow was cast over them like a tower was suddenly erected. Pyrik looked up and her limbs locked in fear. She had fought plenty of beasts in various shapes, sizes and quantities. Yet she had never encountered such a beast of this magnitude, this severe. This insectoid was like a centipede, long as a serpent, with long gnarly appendages, its segments like plate armour gleamed like black as night. The only resemblance this one had with its smaller underlings were the mandibles, how they splayed open like pliers designed to easily tear flesh from bone.

This is the mother.

“Fire the cannons!” Cutter ordered.

The field cannons roared, rocking back as cannonballs shot out. The mother insectoid reeled upon impact. The thick carapace at its mid-section cracked like a plate was shattered, yet asides from the surface level damage it appeared to only get anger than anything else. It lurched forward, head bowed low like a snake, then it shot forth and snatched up one of the artillerymen with its jaws.

The ranks opened fire. After one line shot their volley, they knelt down for the line behind them to fire while they reloaded. Arrows flew from the trees. The marksmanship from the arachne was stellar, with each arrow piercing where they aimed for on the head, however, the carapace was far too thick to cause any damage.

As another line prepared to fire, the mother insectoid reared its head, getting ready for a swing. It would have annihilated a whole rank if not for Menov, transformed, holding the beast by its mandibles with one pair of large hands she manifested with her ribbons while the other pair were planted to root her to the ground.

“Retreat! Retreat!” Cutter shouted to his men.

Those on the ground scrambled away from the brawl while arachne abandoned their posts on the trees. Menov smashed a fist into the side of the mother insectoid’s face. Its head snapped to the side, shrieking in pain. Then she rose nearly as high as the beast to meet it on its level. Pyrik swore Menov was laughing like a maniac.

As thrilling as it was to watch Menov battle the colossal beast, something more severe grabbed her attention. Insectoids were pouring out from the Maw.

“Insectoids!” Pyrik called out to Cutter, hoping that he heard.

“Form rank! Form rank!” Cutter issued the command.

Extremely disciplined, the Hospitallers assembled into a long rank of rifles. A similar command was issued amongst the arachne, likely from Ira, and they scuttled up the trees to protect the rank’s flanks. Pyrik considered joining the ranks until she saw Menov thrown through a tree. As much as she preferred the comfort of many bodies on each side, it was clear that Menov was in need of assistance.

But how?

Even Menov in her beastly form could not defeat the colossal beast, how could a girl possibly help? The voice inside reared its ugly side, grinning, and offered her a fantastic solution: give in and it allow to run free. Pyrik licked her lips, terribly tempted to take the offer. That was, until she saw the spider fire pit and was struck with a tremendous idea.