The night moaned with death.
Arman stood amid the carnage — his armor cracked, flesh pulsating with faint green light beneath the skin. Around him, the corpses of soldiers twitched and shifted, their hollow eyes gleaming faintly like dying embers. The swarm listened. The command echoed through every drop of rot and blood.
"Feed."
The ground erupted in motion. Millions of microscopic wings shimmered like dust in moonlight — crawling over corpses, burrowing into wounds, devouring steel and flesh alike. A metallic scent filled the air, sweet and foul. The swarm hummed in his veins like a living heartbeat. Arman gasped as the world vibrated — he could feel every creature moving, feeding, merging. Every bite sent a jolt through his body, as if his own blood was learning, remembering.
Screams rose. Some of the dead screamed.
Their voices weren't human anymore.
From the shadows of broken walls, wounded soldiers still alive began to crawl away. One looked back at Arman — face pale, eyes wide."You… you're not human."
Arman tilted his head. He could hear the man's heart. Could smell the panic pumping through his veins."No," Arman whispered. "Not anymore."
The swarm surged. Flesh turned to ash.
By dawn, the battlefield was empty — nothing left but blackened armor and hollow helmets. The plague had cleaned everything, leaving behind strange, chitinous residue that pulsed faintly like breathing stone.
Arman staggered through the wasteland, his footsteps soft over the melted soil. His reflection in a broken blade showed something not entirely human — his pupils slit, faint veins of light running across his neck like glowing roots.What am I becoming? he thought.
Then came the whisper.
"You are the seed of ruin… and the root of rebirth."
It was the swarm speaking — thousands of voices woven into one."You feed us, we feed you. Together, we ascend."
Arman fell to his knees, clutching his head. "Get out of my mind!"But the swarm didn't leave — instead, it comforted."No. We are your crown. Your wings. Your kingdom."
And deep within the black of his pupils, for a split second, he saw it — a vision:An endless sky of dark insects forming colossal shapes, a city of living bone, and himself upon a throne that breathed.
He gasped. The vision faded.
A rustle echoed through the silence. From the fog, a hooded figure approached — robes embroidered with golden sigils, the insignia of the Empire of Purity.A Purifier.
"By the decree of the Holy Synod," the figure's voice rang out, "the bearer of plague is condemned to ash."
Arman straightened. His body trembled — not with fear, but rage.
The Purifier raised a staff glowing with white fire. "You are an abomination!"
Arman smiled faintly. "Then let me show you what abominations can do."
The Purifier unleashed holy flame — it washed over him like divine sunlight. For a second, Arman screamed. The light burned, the swarm shrieked — then his flesh moved. Black carapace burst through his skin, forming armor that shimmered with oily reflection.The fire died before it touched him again.
Arman's voice deepened — layered with a thousand whispers."My turn."
The swarm exploded outward like a storm of knives. Thousands of winged insects ripped through the air, shredding robes and flesh. The Purifier fell, his blood sizzling on the soil — then turned to dust. His holy staff melted into nothingness.
The swarm returned, sliding beneath Arman's skin once more.
He looked at the horizon — where the Empire's banners burned against the morning sun."If they call me a plague…" he murmured, "then I'll show them what a kingdom of plague looks like."
Hours later, deep in a ruined temple, Arman discovered something strange — a crystal cocoon, pulsing faintly with life. His swarm circled around it, whispering in unison.
"A relic of the First Hive… where our kind was born."
He reached out, and the cocoon responded — splitting open like petals. Inside lay a creature small as a butterfly, but its wings shimmered with runes older than mankind. It perched on Arman's finger, tilting its head curiously.
Then it spoke — not with sound, but directly in his mind.
"You are late, Monarch."
Arman froze. "You… know me?"
"I know what you'll become. And if you wish to survive what's coming… you must awaken the others."
"The others?"
"The Forgotten Broods," it whispered. "Hidden beneath the world's bones. Waiting for your call."
The butterfly disintegrated into light, merging into his palm. For a moment, everything went silent. Then — a surge of power erupted through him, his eyes blazing green. The swarm screamed, not in pain, but joy.
Far away, in the golden spires of the Empire, a bell tolled. A young oracle collapsed in the cathedral, blood pouring from her nose. Her last words echoed through the hall:
"The Plague Monarch… has risen."
To be continued...