Cris woke up feeling like someone had dropped a truck on his body. Every muscle screamed as he rolled off the bed, landing face-first on the floor.
"Ow… great start to the day," he muttered into the carpet.
His room was still a mess from the fight days ago. The cracked plaster on the wall, the claw marks across the wooden floorboards, the faint acidic smell that clung to everything—souvenirs of the giant bug that had decided to make his apartment its personal wrestling ring.
Cris shuffled into the kitchen, dragging his feet like a condemned man. He brewed the cheapest instant coffee known to mankind and collapsed at his table. Steam fogged up his glasses as he stared into the cup.
"You," he whispered to the coffee. "You are my only ally."
"Incorrect. We keep you alive."
The ants' chorus erupted in his head.
Cris slammed his palm against the table, nearly spilling his drink. "Do you mind? I just woke up! Can I have five minutes of peace before you start your bug-choir routine?"
"Five minutes… sufficient time for enemy to breach."
He groaned. "You guys are the worst alarm clock ever."
He took a sip—too hot, burned his tongue, didn't care. Anything to ground himself in something normal. But normal was gone, wasn't it? His eyes flicked to the cracked wall again. The memory of that first battle clawed back, the sound of skittering legs, the smell of acid, the way his own body had moved without his consent, lashing out with strange power.
"Actually," Cris said slowly, tapping the rim of his mug, "speaking of… what the hell was that thing in my apartment? The one that tried to chew my face off? Because I've seen cockroaches before, but that one was—" He gestured vaguely. "—like, a cockroach if it drank protein shakes and hated rent control."
The ants stirred in his head, their voices layering into one:
"Carapace Fiend. A corrupted breed. Born when relic fragments leak uncontrolled. Not kin. Not Voidsworn. A feral strain."
Cris blinked. "So basically… a mutant bug squatter?"
"Correct. Instinct-driven. Seeks to consume, protect fragments. Dangerous, but mindless."
He groaned, dragging his hands down his face. "Of course. My first encounter with the great mysteries of the universe is… pest control."
One of the ants clicked sharply in his mind.
"Host survived because awakening triggered. Bond stabilized. Otherwise, host would be dissolved inside creature's gut by now."
Cris shuddered. "Thanks for the lovely mental picture. Really adds flavor to my coffee."
There was a pause before another voice, softer, added:
"Still. Host's performance… was not entirely unsatisfactory."
Cris froze mid-sip, squinting at the ceiling. "…Was that a compliment? Did I just get a compliment from you guys?"
Silence.
"Ha! I knew it! Mark the calendar, August 12th: Cris actually impressed a hive of interdimensional ants." He leaned back, smirking. "Guess I'm not such a lost cause after all."
The ants didn't answer, but their silence carried a weight that almost felt like reluctant agreement.
Cris's phone buzzed on the counter, snapping him out of his triumph. He picked it up and groaned when he saw the message.
Boss: Deadline today. 2 PM. Don't be late again.
He buried his face in his hands. "And here I thought the Carapace Fiend was terrifying."
"This… 'boss' is hunter?" the ants asked curiously.
Cris snorted so hard he nearly spilled his drink. "No, worse. Office predator. The kind that hunts your spirit with deadlines and pointless meetings."
"Office predator… unknown species. Dangerous?"
"You have no idea," he muttered, shoving his laptop into his bag.
He trudged to the bathroom, splashing water on his face, then froze at the mirror. For a second, under his skin, he saw faint white veins glowing like cracks of light, pulsing gently in rhythm with his heartbeat. He buttoned his shirt hastily.
"Yeah, that's not suspicious at all," he muttered. "If anyone asks, I'll just say it's a weird rash."
As he left the apartment, bag slung over his shoulder, the ants' voices whispered again:
"Carapace Fiends are only the beginning. The Voidsworn hunt. Balance weakens. Host must prepare."
Cris sighed, locking the door behind him. "Prepare later. Right now, I just have to survive my boss. Between you and me…" He took another sip from his thermos, grimaced at the bitterness, and muttered, "…I think the Carapace Fiend might've been easier."