"Follow me into battle."
Valeria launches herself over the rim. Her armored feet strike the steep, packed-dirt wall of the crater, skidding down the slope with a harsh, grating sound of chitin against earth. She hits the floor of the basin with a heavy thud that vibrates through the soil.
She straightens, her hands moving to brush the fine dust from her shoulder plates.
The Butterfly guardians tilt their wings, catching the air to descend in a smooth, silent glide. Their feet touch the crater floor with a soft rustle of grass and dirt, wings folding back with a rhythmic snap.
Above them, the ant soldiers launch themselves from the rim. Mid-descent, they draw their handheld mandibles, driving the sharpened edges of the blades deep into the packed-dirt walls.
Metal and chitin grate against the soil, carving long furrows that slow their fall. Each soldier maintains a firm grip on the hilts as they slide, their antennae pulled back against their heads to avoid the rising dust. They drop the final few feet, landing in a crouch behind Valeria.
Valeria stares into the depths of the burrow. Beyond the rim, the darkness of the crater is broken by jagged shafts of sunlight that pierce through cracks in the earth, illuminating uneven patches of the wide and many tunnel floors and the vast openings ahead.
She advances, her armored feet pressing into the damp soil. A sharp whistle cuts through the stagnant air as a quill tears out of the shadows. Valeria eyes widen slightly but she reacted, pivoting her torso with a sudden, sharp twist.
The projectile streaks past her neck, the wind of its passage brushing against her antennae and hair. The quill drives into the earth beside her with a dull thud. Its hooked tip of bone and hardened chitin buries deep into the soil.
She remains in her crouch, her eyes fixed on the darkness from which the strike originated.
Above the burrow floor, the shadows shift and fracture as hundreds of Moths descend from the high, irregular ceiling. The air becomes thick and turbulent, driven by the synchronized beat of large, black wings.
The dense membranes snap with each downward stroke, revealing the pronounced veins beneath the matte, oily sheen of their chitin. Light filtering through the earth's cracks catches the rows of rigid quills lining their hind wings.
The bone-hardened structures, varied in length and curve, shift forward in unison. Every hooked tip is angled toward the formation below, held in a state of lethal readiness.
Valeria grips the hilts at her waist and draws her mandibles in a single, fluid arc. The blades glinted in the scattered sunlight, flashing with a cold brilliance as she brings them into a high guard.
"Assume the defensive stagger-wedge formation!"
At the command, the formation fractures with practiced precision. The soldiers flow into staggered wedges, each column narrowing at the front and fanning wider toward the rear, offset just enough that no two points align.
Spacing opens between bodies as they advance, breaking the solid mass into moving angles. The forward ranks lower their centers of gravity, their armored feet digging into the soil while their shoulders turn inward.
They lift their mandibles at sharp diagonals, the weapon's edges catching the light as they prepare to glance the quills aside. The soldiers behind track the rhythm of the advance, stepping into gaps the moment a comrade falters, maintaining the constant flow of motion.
From above, the formation no longer resembles a static army, but a shifting pattern of blades and dark brown chitin.
The Butterfly guardians sweep their wings and take to the air, rising just above the staggered wedge of the ant soldiers. Their vibrant colors provide a stark contrast to the dark tunnel as they hover in a protective canopy.
Luminara remains grounded, positioned securely behind the shifting wall of ants. Her two guardians stand on either side of her, their hands hovering near their weapons. The blonde hair of the blind Butterfly remains still, her antennae twitching rhythmically.
Thousands of quills rain down in a lethal torrent, hissing through the air.
Valeria stands at the point of the wedge, her mandibles becoming a blur of steel. She moves with violent grace—slashing upward, then driving a downward diagonal strike that catches the projectiles mid-air.
The sound of her mandibles clanging against the hardened chitin of the quills sends bright sparks flying into the shadows of the burrow. Behind her, the soldiers follow suit, their blades weaving a frantic rhythm of defense.
Despite their discipline, the sheer volume of the barrage is overwhelming. Dull thuds echo through the tunnel as quills find their marks, impaling stomachs, piercing through shoulder plates, and pinning arms to sides.
Screams erupts from the ranks, but the formation does not break. Even those with quills protruding from their exoskeleton grit their teeth and push through the agony, their armored feet continuing to strike the earth in a relentless forward march.
Ignatia snaps her wings, launching herself into the turbulent air above the crater. The twenty Butterfly guardians follow her lead, their wings creating a vibrant surge.
With a synchronized motion, they unsheath their Barb Whips. The long, flexible coils of hardened chitin unfurl with a sharp, snapping sound, the serrated hooks along their length glinting like shards of glass as they catch the stray sunlight.
Ignatia rushes toward the swarm, her indigo wings a blur of speed. The Moths instantly pivot their focus, unleashing a concentrated barrage of quills in her direction. She maneuvers through the air with fluid, frantic grace—diving, spiraling, and banking sharply to let the bone-tipped projectiles hiss harmlessly past her.
Once she closes the distance, she puts the full weight of her momentum into a savage swing of her whip. The serrated barbs whistle through the stagnant air before biting deep into over a dozen Moths mid-flap.
The hooks shred the black, veined membranes of their wings instantly, while others are caught in the crossfire, losing limbs to the razor-sharp chitin. The mangled Moths lose their loft, their non-reflective eyes staring blankly as they are sent spiraling into the darkness of the crater below.
The command echoes through the cavern, a harsh, screeching voice that cuts through the whistling of quills.
"That's the War Monarch, Ignatia! Kill her now!"
A secondary group of over thirty Moths breaks away from the main swarm. Their hind wings snap forward, and a barrage of quills cuts through the air toward her.
Ignatia's wings beat with a sharp, rhythmic snap as she maneuvers through the barrage. She twists her body in mid-air, the black projectiles whistling past her purple hair. Two quills fly toward her chest; she jerks her torso back, feeling the wind of their passage against her dark purple exoskeleton.
Looks like I've forgotten how annoying their volleys of quills are.
She dives beneath a cluster of projectiles, then rolls to the right. When the quills come too close, she snaps her Barb Whip in a precise circle. The serrated hooks catch the bone-tipped shafts, shattering them into splinters that fall toward the crater floor.
She continues her evasive flight, her red eyes fixed on the Moths as they reload their hind wings for another strike.
A long whip whistles through the air with sudden, lethal speed. It catches four Moths across the neck, decapitating them instantly. Their bodies fall to the ground with a heavy thud.
Huh? Who's that? Ignatia pivots in mid-air, her indigo wings flared. She watches as the impossibly long weapon retracts at high velocity, shrinking back into a compact hilt held by a male Butterfly. He stands on a high, rocky ledge protruding from the tunnel wall.
So Seraphina's guardians showed up. Alastair, the swift whip extender.
Ignatia's crimson eyes fix on him, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. A faint smile touches her lips as she watches him reset his stance on the ledge.
"Apologies for the delay, Monarch Ignatia. My Lady Seraphina insisted that if I were to assist you, I should at least wait until you are a damsel in distress," A smirk plays across Alastair face, his grey exoskeleton catching the dim light as he stands on the ledge as his grey wings flutter behind him.
"You remain unchanged, Alastair. My sister's arrogance continues to dictate your tongue."
A quill whistles past Ignatia's face. She tilts her head, her antennae pressing flat against her chin as she lunges upward. The sudden force of her movement causes her long purple hair to rustle.
She drew in a deep breath. Her crimson eyes ignite, the pupils glowing with a steady, intense light.
"Velvet Rush!"
A brilliant crimson light flares around her silhouette, rippling across the plates of her exoskeleton and the membranes of her wings. The radiance intensifies until she vanishes entirely from the air.
A sequence of sharp, metallic cracks rings through the cavern. Ignatia reappears behind a cluster of over a dozen Moths. The dark creatures stall in mid-air, their black wings and matte chitinous bodies falling apart in jagged, severed sections. The remains plummet into the darkness of the crater.
The Moths flare their large, black wings, the dense membranes vibrating with a heavy, low-frequency hum. A fine black dust shakes loose from their forewings, descending through the air in a thick, rolling mist.
"Refrain from inhaling their dust! It induces hallucinations that causes darkness!"
The soldiers and Butterflies press their palms against their noses and mouths, but the black mist descends with overwhelming density. The particles saturate the air, erasing the light from the crater holes until every warrior is submerged in total darkness.
The silence of the cavern breaks. A barrage of quills whistles through the dark. The sound of sharpened chitin puncturing soft flesh and the heavy crunch of exoskeletons breaking echo from the floor. Screams from the soldier ants rise through the gloom as they are struck by unseen projectiles.
"What is happening?"
The soldier's voice trembled and cracked. He stumbles through the black mist, his two legs scraping unevenly.
This is not good. We were warned about their black mist, yet we lack a countermeasure. At this rate, we will all be slaughtered.
Valeria grits her teeth, her jaw muscles tightening as she clenched her hands tighter around the hilt of her mandibles.
"Can all of you hear me?"
A clear, resonant voice cuts through the darkness. Ignatia's antennae twitch at the familiar frequency.
Is that Luminara?
"I want all of you to cover your eyes. Do not open them. Do it now!"
The soldiers and Butterflies immediately press their hands over their human faces, shielding their eyes from void before them.
"In this sightless void, where the beckon is lost and the end draws near.. I call upon the Sun's wrath... Solar Flare!"
As the words leave her lips, her white wings snap open. The membranes vibrate with intensity, producing a low hum. A searing, celestial light pours through the seams of her exoskeleton.
Her silhouette sharpens against the glow. This illumination radiates outward, filling every corner of the burrow and pressing against the damp walls.
The ant soldiers and butterflies opened their eyes as the black mist dissipated. Moths lay across the crater, limbs thrashing against the soil. Their hands clawed at their dark eyes. Foam gathered at the corners of their lips.
"Charge!"
Valeria's command echoed off the stone. Her soldiers surged forward. Chitinous feet struck the ground in a heavy rhythm. One by one, they reached the fallen moths, their handheld mandibles flashing in the light as they struck.
Mirage hovered unsteadily, his black wings trembling as the membranes struggled to hold his weight. One hand pressed against his face, blood-red fluid leaking between his fingers.
"I thought that the High Monarch Luminara was stripped of her ability when Lord Magnus blinded her...Our assessment was a failure."
His teeth ground together. He forced his remaining eye to focus on the chaos below, his jaw tightening until the muscles in his neck stood out in sharp relief.