"So… you refuse to hand over your food supplies?" Zippy's voice slithered through the air, smirk curling his lips.
Around them, soldiers planted their feet firmly, mandible blades held at the ready. Eyes narrowed, muscles coiled beneath their exoskeletons, antennae flicking subtly as they stayed alert, every movement controlled and precise.
Rory's jaw tightened, arms flexing as he braced for the attack, every muscle under his carapace ready to spring.
The workers huddled behind the wheeled containers, faces pale with fear, eyes wide and trembling as they clutched whatever supplies they could.
Evelyn, pressed among them, watched the soldiers, lips parted in worry. Please… be safe, Ari, she thought, heart thudding.
Dust swirled in the tense air, mingling with loose grains and fallen fruit, as the faint hum of countless wings grew louder—a low, vibrating warning that the real threat was only moments away.
Zippy's smirk faltered for a brief moment, then he flared his wings sharply.
"Fine then." He raised one of his four muscular arms.
"Kill them all."
The swarm dove.
The battlefield erupted into noise. Wings beat the air rapidly, creating a strong vibration against the ground. The first flies crashed into the soldiers, who held their mandible blades ready.
One fly lunged at a private. The soldier swung his mandibles, but the fly twisted its body instantly, dodging the strike with lightning-fast reflexes.
Its four muscular arms lashed out without pause. Each blow struck the soldier's torso with bone-jarring force. The soldier's chest heaved violently with each hit, armor rattling under the repeated strikes. He grunted and coughed, blood spattering across his exoskeleton. His knees buckled, eyes widening as color drained from his face. After the final hit, his body went limp, collapsing to the ground with a heavy thud.
The fly laughed, a high, sharp sound threaded with cruelty. "You should've taken Zippy's offer — now you'll all die a slow, painful death!"
Beatrice moved without hesitation. She pushed off the side of a wheeled container and landed on the fly's back. Her hands closed on the hafts of her mandible blades; she drove both blades into the creature's carapace.
The fly thrashed, wings beating hard, jerking upward. Beatrice held on to the lodged hafts, yanking one free and driving it down again and again. The fly spit blood; its limbs lost coordination and its wingbeats slowed. Its body went slack and then dropped, hitting the ground with a heavy, resonant thud.
Beatrice struck the ground hard as well, pain flaring along her side. She groaned, forced herself up, and dragged the injured private behind the formation, pressing him down against the wheeled containers for cover.
"Stand your ground. We cannot allow them to break through!" Beatrice barked, voice cutting across the battlefield.
"Yes, Corporal!" the soldiers answered in unison, grips tight on their mandible blades, bodies coiled and ready.
Commander Ruth advanced into the swarm, her movements precise and controlled. Multiple flies lunged at her at once, fists and limbs striking in rapid succession. She dodged each blow with reflexive shifts of her body, weaving through the attackers without a pause.
Her mandibles flashed. One fly's arm came at her shoulder—she sliced it clean off. Another attempted a high strike; she ducked, spinning, and drove her mandibles through its torso. Limbs and blood sprayed across her exoskeleton, but her face remained unreadable, eyes calm, lips set in a flat line.
Even as a fly's wing smacked against her cheek, leaving a smear of blood, she did not flinch. She pivoted, swinging both mandibles in a controlled arc, cutting down one attacker after another. Each strike was deliberate: arms severed, torsos split, bodies collapsing behind her, forming a path through the swarm.
She continued forward, her posture perfect, movements fluid and lethal. The battlefield vibrated around her, but her face betrayed nothing. Not fear. Not excitement. Just the cold, unyielding efficiency of a soldier at peak capacity.
Ari's eyes widened as he watched her move, adrenaline hammering through his veins. I can't believe how effortlessly she's cutting through them.
So this is what a commander is capable of. The thought pressed against him, a stark reminder of the power a true leader held.
But there was no time to linger on awe. His own mission demanded focus. He steadied his breathing, shoulders squared, fingers tightening on his mandible blades. Eyes scanning the battlefield, he counted potential targets, muscles coiled, ready to strike. Thirty kills. That was the requirement. He wouldn't fall short.
Lieutenant Brooks lunged immediately, his eyes locked on the leader. Zippy hovered above the battlefield, four arms folded, a smug curl on his lips.
As Brooks closed the distance, Zippy reacted with near-instant reflexes, twisting his body to avoid the downward slash. Before Brooks could recover, the fly's arms struck in rapid succession, each blow snapping against his torso with bone-jarring force. Brooks skidded back several paces, armor scraping against the ground.
He coughed, taste of blood sharp on his tongue, but didn't fall. His legs planted firmly, he wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, chest rising and falling steadily. A slow, determined grin spread across his face.
Brooks steadied himself, brushing dust off his exoskeleton. He cracked his neck with a careful twist, shoulders loosening, every movement deliberate. His eyes narrowed slightly, calm and calculating.
"You hit harder than most I've faced," he said, voice steady, almost measured. A faint smile tugged at his lips. "But if you think that's enough to take me down, you've misjudged me."
Zippy chuckled, fingers flexing in anticipation. "I like you, old soldier. You're tough." His smirk widened. "Let's see how long that lasts."
Brooks let a small, knowing smile cross his face, but his eyes gleamed with lethal intent. "Strength and speed alone aren't everything," he murmured, almost to himself, flexing his fingers around the hafts of his mandibles as he shifted into stance. "Timing, patience… experience. Those are what truly win battles."
Nearby, Evelyn pressed herself against the wheeled containers, frozen. Her breath came shallow and quick. Memories of her colony's destruction played relentlessly in her mind, and the menacing smirk of the grasshopper responsible was etched into her thoughts.
I'm scared… I don't know what to do, where to run. I just have to survive… Her antennae drooped, eyes wide with fear.
A fly suddenly broke through the soldiers' formation, pounding a private until he slumped unconscious. Evelyn's breath hitched as it turned toward her, a smug grin spreading across its humanlike face. The insect shot forward at astonishing speed, muscles rippling as it aimed for her.
"Ari, save me!!" she screamed, squeezing her eyes shut and raising her hands in front of her face.
A blur of movement cut in instantly. Ari's mandibles slammed shut on the fly, slicing clean through its body. Blood spattered across Evelyn's face, warm and sticky. She gasped, peeking through her fingers and catching sight of Ari already moving again.
He pivoted, scanning the battlefield with precise focus. Another fly lunged at him, fists swinging, but Ari twisted instinctively, letting the attack glance off his armored exoskeleton. He brought his mandibles down, splitting the fly in half before it could react.
He didn't pause. Another two flies dived from above. Ari jumped, spinning midair, cutting one with a clean arc and slamming his feet into the other, sending it sprawling into the dirt. Blood sprayed and mingled with the churned-up soil.
Evelyn's eyes stayed locked on him, fear and awe warring across her face. How can one ant move like that? He's just a lance corporal… so how is he this strong?
Every movement was precise, measured, and lethal. Ari's breathing stayed steady, shoulders and arms coiled like springs ready to strike. His eyes scanned constantly, tracking the swarm, calculating his next attack with sharp focus.
Even as the swarm closed in, he didn't hesitate. He slashed, struck, and pivoted in a seamless rhythm, taking down fly after fly. Blood splattered across his armor and face, but his expression stayed calm, focused, unshaken. Instinct and training carried him forward, each kill bringing him closer to the thirty the quest demanded.
Evelyn's wide eyes followed Ari, heart pounding, as he struck down another fly. She pressed against the wheeled container, barely daring to breathe, but she knew one thing: survival meant trusting him—and hoping he didn't falter.