One of the ants was—
Munching on its dead brother.
*Crunch*
*Crunch*
What it once had been was now nothing more than nourishment. The antennae were ground between mandibles, reduced to powder. Little by little, the corpse disappeared.
He felt the urge to retch again.
Burying them? What a joke.
They weren't brought here to be honored. They were brought here to be eaten.
No respect. No gratitude.
They labored for the nest, gave their lives for it, and in return were ground down—devoured.
He couldn't endure the sight any longer.
Moving carefully at first, then faster, he approached. At the last moment, he broke into a run. The ant sensed him, turning in confusion—its antennae twitching—
Then its head fell.
Another life ended by his hand.
This time, he felt no sorrow, no lingering regret like he had for the Tokai Gecko.
Only relief.
Relief that the sight was gone.
Here, killing or being killed was law. A rule no one could escape.
But devouring your own kind? When other prey existed?
That wasn't survival.
That was a choice.
Next, he cut the corpse into smaller pieces, careful to make it resemble the remains of its dead brother. When another ant approached, he hid once more.
The ant paused, antennae twitching as it stared at the cadavers. Then, without hesitation, it hoisted them onto its back and carried them away.
The Hollowkin had no idea where to go, so he followed.
After some distance, the ant stopped. A few seconds passed before it disappeared into an opening in the wall.
What lay beyond was overwhelming.
There was so much to describe that he didn't know where to begin.
The walls and ceiling were smeared with dark stains, layered with mold. The floor was carpeted with debris—everything imaginable. Insect exoskeletons littered the ground: legs, wings, shattered heads. Crushed shells and remnants of prey were scattered everywhere. The white grains he had seen earlier were here as well, but they were deformed, damaged, many of them broken open.
The air was hard to breathe.
The stench of feces mixed with something sharper, something acidic. It made his skin itch, his lungs burn, as if the air itself rejected him.
The cleaner ant wasn't alone.
Others were here too—feeding. Some gnawed on prey remains, others on shells, others still on the remains of their own fallen companions.
Cannibalism again.
"Beasts" he thought.
This time, he didn't play the hero. He turned away, searching for other tunnels. He couldn't linger in this corridor—it was used too frequently. He slipped into subsidiary passages instead, sometimes finding ants eating, sometimes sleeping.
He harvested both.
For now, it was easy. Too easy.
But he knew the second sleep cycle would end soon. When it did, the resistance would harden. Still, whenever the opportunity arose, he struck—right and left—reaping what he could.
He searched for other important chambers. Another place like the waste room would be ideal: narrow entrance, predictable traffic. He would wait there. Ambush them.
He had to risk it.
Time was ticking.
[Time limit ]: 33 hours.
Eventually, he found another chamber.
This one was different. Completely.
Where the last had been rot and decay, this place was in order.
Bundles of white grains were arranged carefully, tended with precision. Ants cleaned them, fed them, occasionally moving them closer to light or warmth. In his eyes, the conditions were already ideal. The chamber was warm—much warmer than the upper cave. The air was breathable, dry, almost fresh.
He believed the grains were larvae.
But looking closer, he saw markings on them.
He watched longer.
Then he understood.
The ants used the tips of their mandibles to nick the pupae—just enough to wound them. Not to kill. Then they drank a little of the fluid that seeped out.
Just enough to not kill them.
Disgust surged through him once more.
This time, he acted.
One ant turned to leave the chamber
*slash*
Its head fell.
Another rushed forward to investigate.
*slash*
A second head hit the ground.
The remaining ants regrouped, moving toward the entrance, but he had the advantage—the element of surprise. He killed them all.
But it cost him.
One of them, thrashing as it died, slammed its body against the stone—sending powerful vibrations rippling through the nest.
A signal. An alarm that echoed through the nest.
"Not again" he muttered.
The Hollowkin understood immediately.
It would only get harder now.
It felt like breaking into a high-security vault—the moment the first alarm triggered, red lights flashing, sirens screaming through every corridor.
Still, he steadied himself.
He was prepared for what was about to come.