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Chapter Text

Lord Malachi cast one final look over the north chasm of the Fungal Wastes before concluding his patrol. His eyes swept over the spongy, moist wildlife coating the twisting grotto, pausing on and darting between anything that moved. Bulbous funglings and fungoons drifted lazily through the air of the humid caverns like leaves on the vapor currents, while amblooms scuttled about the cavern walls and floors, which were infested with spindly sporgs that twitched whenever something else neared them.

The glowing spores spotting the surfaces of the landscape glowed like the eyes of a sinister creature, unblinking and ever watchful, like Malachi himself.

Completing his final scan of the chasm, he turned and trudged over wet, uneven ground. He performed quick, precise hops to cross the creeks and rivers of bubbling acid, taking delicate strides to avoid niches of the cavern inhabited by folk of the mushroom clan. It was an unspoken agreement that the vast clan of the Fungal Wastes and the Mantis tribe stay clear of each other’s business. Even when patrolling the wastes to scout the area for hostility, it was forbidden for a Mantis to lay claws upon the walking mushrooms, and vice versa.

It was a pact as old as time itself- even more ancient than the vigil oath formed between the Mantis tribe and the society of the Pale King. The self-proclaimed Last and Only Civilization, the Eternal Kingdom of Hallownest. Unlike the pact with the Mushroom Clan, which had been written in stone long before his birth, Malachi had been a youth when the vow between the Pale King had been made with the current triumvirate of Mantis Lords. He still remembered the radiant aura that had emitted from the Higher Being when he stalked into the undergrowth to counsel with the tribe.

Keeping diligent as he journeyed home, Malachi soon reached the shaft bearing entrance to the south depths of the Fungal Wastes. Digging his claws into the wildlife-rich wall of the chasm, Malachi leapt from the outcropping he’d stood on and descended at a slow fall. Adjusting his grip, he occasionally pounced off of the wall and onto the one opposite when obstacles barred his path down. Avoiding sporg nests and clusters of buoyant pink mushrooms, he slid down the walls of the shaft until he reached the bottom, where a worn mask on a pike directed him toward home.

A soft jingling accompanied him as he walked, interrupting the otherwise natural ambience of the Fungal Wastes, composed of the croaking of shrumal ogres and the sizzling of acid. Malachi’s cloak bore trophies he’d plundered from the various creatures he had slain, jangling lightly as he walked. Among them were Hallownest crests, pink crystal ornaments, talons and fangs, and anything else he picked up from violent wanderers or rogue beasts. It wasn’t particularly traditional for mantises to collect trinkets from their prey, but Malachi enjoyed the pride it gave him to carry the remnants of his victims.

Besides, as one of the tribe’s four Mantis Lords, he enjoyed mastery of his own lifestyle. The glittering bronze charm clasp on his cloak, the Mark of Pride, came with a great many benefits. Though it came with its fair share of burdens as well.

Malachi ducked under a growth of moss as he passed under the tunnel carved into the chasm. Beyond lay several islands of fungus and rock amidst a lake of acid, on which the entrance to the village was built. Pikes bearing the masks of beasts great and small flanked the path, and no creature of the mushroom clan was found here. Only members of the proud mantis tribes.

The mantises were a more impressive sight than the common bug or beast. Tall and lanky, devoid of unnecessary fat, mantises stood on lean limbs, serrated claws sharpened to sheen points. Their dark blue carapaces gleamed like pale ore, reflecting the eerie light of the bioluminescent fungus coating the caverns. The youth had bony wings folded over their backs, while the adults draped their now flightless wings over their bodies like cloaks.

As Malachi entered the tunnel, the adult mantises flanking the islands and the youth clinging to the ceiling turned their keen black eyes on him. As he approached, the knee of every mantis bent, the adults lowering themselves until their horns nearly touched the ground. In years past, Malachi had grown used to the bows as a form of greeting. The tribe was honor bound to treat their Lords with respect, and Malachi was numbered among them.

“You may rise,” Malachi said as he passed the mantis guards. “One of you, send for the next patrol to take my place. I’ll be retiring for the night.”

The mantises each rose, the nearest of the youth taking flight and zipping down the tunnel. Malachi moved at a slower pace in the same direction, toward where the tunnel skewed downward into a shaft, leading to Mantis Village proper. His body was already aching as it hungered after rest. He’d spent a long time on patrol, monitoring the north chasms of the Fungal Wastes. As a Lord of the tribe, Malachi could’ve staved the duty of scouting the village’s surroundings, but he elected not to. True leaders like he and his sisters earned loyalty through action and example, not delegation.

He was unsure how long he’d spent on patrol. There was no sure way to properly determine the passage of time in this subterranean world. Rumors told that celestial bodies in the sky of the surface allowed those that lived up there to count the hours, but none remained in Malachi’s generation that had ever ventured that high into the world. Instead, the tribe learned their own method of counting time, based on the growth cycles of the mushrooms. The mantises had decided a day began when the fungus waxed, and night fell when it waned.

Given that time, Malachi had been on patrol for a full day, and he was ready for a day of rest. Perhaps he would have time to see his family. His wife, Belona, or his eldest daughter, Demetria.

“My lord! Lord Malachi!”

Malachi halted, glancing sharply over his shoulder. A mantis had stumbled into the tunnel from the same entrance he’d used minutes prior and was now leaping across the islands in the acid lake. The female mantis was shorter than the common adult, and she wobbled as she walked, her flightless wings fluttering despite being flightless. She must’ve been a recently matured mantis, not yet accustomed to her legs and yet to still her wings.

“Be at peace, young one,” Malachi bade, holding up a commanding claw. “What troubles you?”

“My Lord,” The mantis panted, coming to a halt a few paces away and lowering into a bow. “My sincerest apologies for impeding. Your presence has been requested by the scouts of the west chasms.”

Malachi turned, his dark eyes narrowing in deep thought. “This had better not be another petty dispute with the mushroom clan. Any mantis that strays from the pact acts alone. Nothing I can do or say will change that.”

“No, not that, my Lord. The scouts have found something. A body.”

“A corpse? Of one of our own?”

“No, a husk of Hallownest.”

“It is none of our concern, then. Their triumphs and tragedies are their own.”

“Of course, my Lord, however, this corpse . . . is different. I believe you should come see for yourself.”

<><><>

Lord Malachi began to better understand the circumstance when he reached the west chasm. Usually, whenever a mantis scout happened upon and reported something, none of the other creatures inhabiting the Fungal Wastes expressed interest. They turned a blind eye to most everything the mantises did, as was their relationship since the pact was formed. But as the young mantis, who’d introduced herself as Venus, led him toward the discovered body, Malachi noticed the mantises weren’t the only party that seemed alarmed by the turn of events.

Eyes watched from the walls, floors and ceilings of fungal catacombs. Shrumelings peeked from behind clusters of mushrooms, and shrumal warriors and ogres peered at the mantis procession from niches in the wall leading into their nests. Even as Malachi and Venus passed, the other creatures inched out of their holes to watch them go. Some even followed at a distance, cringing whenever Malachi glanced back at them.

Clearly, whatever had happened here was out of the ordinary.

Venus led him through one of the gates the tribe had built at the end of the tunnel. The bars of bone and sinew bound together with rope rose out of the way as Malachi struck the nearby lever, and the two of them ascended into the cavern they sought. A wide river of acid ran through the center of the chasm, and while many shafts twisting into the ceiling, Venus instead directed him to the river.

Malachi’s eyes narrowed. Spanning across the river was a bridge, made of stone and silver, topped with elegant balusters and elaborate lampposts. On either side of the bridge, a pathed road led away into the catacombs, signposts set up on the edges to direct travelers. One path led deep into the Fungal Wastes, no doubt toward the distant entrance of the Hallownest Capitol, guarded by the great statue of one of the kingdom’s Great Knights. And the other path led a shorter way, toward the bustling stag station named after the Queen of Hallownest.

This was one of the few locations of the Fungal Wastes that did not belong to either the mushroom clan or the mantis tribe. This road, and all who walked it, were under the protection and jurisdiction of the Pale King of Hallownest.

Venus led Malachi onto the bridge. Two other adult mantises stood further down the bridge, a pair of youth buzzing overhead. They all turned and bowed as they saw Malachi approach. Sneering, the Lord gestured for them to rise, but was in no mood for pleasantries anymore.

“What madness has possessed you all to set foot on this path?” He demanded, keeping his voice low while speaking sharply. He knew folk of the mushroom clan were undoubtedly watching from the nests littering the cavern, and he did not want to be seen expressing wrath toward his kin. “We do not tread the Pilgrim’s Way. We leave the devouts of Hallownest to their own designs and they return the inaction. Or do you mean to revoke the tribe?”

The mantises started, stricken, and the tallest of the adults spoke quickly in a timid voice. “We beg your forgiveness, Lord Malachi. We shall cleanse ourselves of this sin as soon as we are able. But you see, we discovered a disturbance here and thought it better to examine rather than ignore.”

Malachi cast a cursory glance around the cavern again, noticing how several pairs of eyes ducked away as his gave passed over them. This so-called disturbance must have been something special if the mushroom clan was so interested. He sighed and waved a dismissive claw. “Very well. Your thought process is understandable, and I hold no animosity against it. Show me the body.”

The mantises parted, and Malachi’s eyes fell upon a husk lying on the bridge behind where they’d been standing. Stepping closer, Malachi lowered his tall body to get a closer look, and almost immediately reeled back in disgust. As a warrior and chieftain of the mantis tribe, he’d seen his fair share of cadavers and been responsible for making a multitude of them. He’d grown accustomed to the sight and smell of dead bodies, but he had never happened upon one this repulsive.

The bug was a common husk- the sort of creature that rarely ended up in a real fight. Greater husks enlisted in the Pale King’s militia, of course, but lesser ones like this were mere peons. The husks’s chest was racked with wide, jagged gashes, revealing an uncomfortably clear view of the bones and muscle-tissue within. The slashes were sloppy in comparison to what a blade would accomplish, giving the mantis Lord pause as he looked over the body. Despite the fact that the bug had been brutally torn open, there was no sign of a weapon being used.

The most disturbing part of the scene was the residue. Malachi had expected blood, or if not that, traces of soul, the syrupy white substance contained deep within a bug, only visible when one was severely maimed or killed. But he saw neither. Instead, the wounds were outlined by a sinister orange sludge, which quivered and pulsated like the fungus around the chasm. The liquid seemed to give off a faint glow, and Malachi found it difficult to tear his eyes off of it.

Standing upright, Malachi stood back, looking at his surroundings. Not far from where the corpse lay was a pole with a small cage attached to it. Seeing that made him glance up at the nearest lamppost, which he just now realized was broken. Sparse, shattered fragments of refined crystal sat atop the post, the rest glistening on the bridge like teardrops. The lumaflies that had been inhabiting the lamp were long gone, most likely having taken flight to the upper shafts, where they were probably consumed by sporgs or fungoons.

“This bug was a lamplighter,” Malachi guessed, glancing back at the corpse. “Attacked while releasing lumaflies into this lamp. When did you discover this?”

“Just minutes before we sent Venus for you,” One of the adult mantises said. “A few minutes before the spores waned.”

“We were unsure what to make of it,” Venus chimed in, shaking her head and glancing down at the fallen bug. “Who would attack a lamplighter? And in so messy a manner?”

“You’ve noticed it, then?” Malachi asked, gesturing to the wounds. “The marks are open, jagged and uneven. No blade did this, unless the wielder was quite angry. And I’ve never seen this substance . . . no fungus I know of produces such a ghastly thing.”

None of the mantises spoke for a while, allowing Malachi a moment of silent pondering. The mantises seldom departed the safety of their home, the Fungal Wastes, making their knowledge and understanding of the regions beyond sparse. What little they did know of other regions was granted via purchasing records from travelers or purposely sending scouts out to collect information, and neither event happened often.

Given their limited knowledge of the greater world beyond their home, this mysterious substance upon the corpse was completely alien to them. If its origin was not within the Fungal Wastes, they knew little of it, if anything at all. Malachi knew that Greenpath and the Fog Canyon were home to strange plant life- perhaps this substance came from some foreign wildlife. He also knew that strange creatures dwelt in Deepnest and the Kingdom’s Edge, so maybe the substance was secreted from one of them.

Either way, he was completely unfamiliar with the strange liquid.

“Should we report this to Hallownest?” One of the adult mantises asked. “Perhaps they should know about this.”

“Not yet,” Malachi answered, shaking his head. “Not until we are sure of the importance of this matter. Besides, we’re taking it back home.”

“Back home?” Venus repeated with a start. “Are you certain that is wise?”

“So long as you don’t touch the wound, it shouldn’t harm you,” Malachi reassured her, turning and striding back the way he’d come. “Use one of your cloaks to carry it if you must. We are taking it to the village for further study. My sisters must see this.”

<><><>

The throne room was silent as the four Mantis Lords examined the dead lamplighter. Malachi hung at the edge of the room, leaning against the tall spire upon which his throne sat, watching his sisters. Two of the other Mantis Lords paced over the corpse, while the last remained upon the highest throne, her head resting upon folded claws as she peered down at the proceedings. The stone slabs that acted as doors to the chamber were sealed shut, the other tribesmen and women forbidden from interrupting the conclave.

The counsel had gone on for over an hour, and hardly a world had been said.

Malachi felt a special sense of pride whenever he stood with his sisters in this chamber. He had needed to fight his way onto the council of Mantis lords. Despite the fact that the four current lords of the tribes were siblings, the mantis tribe did not act as a monarchy. The four of them ascended to lordship through innate ability and wisdom. And though Malachi had been the last of them to ascend, after his three sisters, he still felt immense satisfaction whenever he stood among them.

He had proven himself worthy. Like his sisters, he wore a Mark of Pride upon his cloak, symbolizing his leadership over the tribe. He was a Mantis Lord, and nothing would ever change that.

“And no one witnessed the attack?” Questioned Lord Alexandra, the shortest sister. Standing over the lamplighter’s body, she used her nail-lance to prod the orange wound, raising the tip of the weapon to closely examine the strange residue.

“None,” Malachi answered, sharpening one claw on the other. “I cascaded the patrol with questions as we returned. We could ask the mushroom clan if any of their ilk saw it.”

Alexandra sniffed, lowering her nail-lance and wiping the orange liquid off on the lamplighter’s cloak. “The fungus folk make for dreadful conversation. That shared mind they babble on about gives them such irritable egos.”

“On that we agree.”

Lord Minerva, the tallest sister shook her head, spinning her own nail-lance, balancing it on one claw. “I still do not see what this matter has to do with us. What befalls the bugs of Hallownest is their own concern.”

“Is it not a concern that a foreign presence is detected so near our home?” Malachi challenged, pushing off of the spire and sauntering forward. He jabbed his claw down at the corpse, at the orange wound upon its chest. “Is it not a concern that whatever did this may be wandering near our village, and may soon target our people?”

“We are far stronger than the common bug,” Minerva dismissed, not meeting his eye. “Smarter, faster, more durable. You fear for our tribe because one of the Pale King’s soft, meager peasants is discovered dead? A stiff breeze could do them in.”

“But we’ve never seen anything like this. Look at the edges of the injury- no weapon did this. This bug looks as though it was ripped apart by the bare hands of another. And what do you make of this liquid? I’ve seen nothing like it in all my years.”

Alexandra nodded, her dark eyes narrowed on the wound. “Nor I. That much does spawn reason to worry. The introduction of the new does bode unease.”

“But not necessarily ill,” Minerva countered. “I see no reason for us to involve ourselves in this turn of events until it proves a threat.”

“Perhaps. What say you, Regina?”

All eyes turned to the eldest sister, highest of the Four Manis Lords. Lord Regina had not moved from her position, pondering atop her throne. As elegant and fair as a monarch butterfly, Regina was not as fleet as Alexandra, strong as Malachi or ruthless with a blade as Minerva, but she was the most cunning of the Mantis Lords. She did not speak until she had time to think, and when she did speak, her words put a swift end to contention and strife in the tribe. Awaiting her word was anticipating, even for her siblings.

One of Regina’s claws traced the bronze Mark of Pride on her cloak. Malachi immediately knew what she was thinking. Often, whenever he considered the good of the tribe, he too was prompted to touch the charm on his cloak. The Mark of Pride wasn’t just a symbol of power to the mantises, but a symbol of leadership. A true leader didn’t rule with fear and terror, but with respect and loyalty, things that needed to be earned. Though it had never happened in living memory, a Mantis Lord could be displaced and their Mark of Pride revoked if ever they disgraced their role.

It was the solemn duty of a Mantis Lord to act in the best interest of not themselves, but the tribe. It was the weight of wearing the Mark of Pride.

“I trust Malachi’s judgment,” Regina said, her eyes finding the male Mantis Lord. “He brought us this troubling discovery by way of his instincts- a gift that has served him well in the past. Let us put forth further effort into determining what has happened to this bug.”

“To what end?” Minerva argued. “Do we not have the patience to let this mystery unravel itself? Let’s just wait for whatever creature did this to appear again, and we’ll slay it.”

“By which point, it may have extended its carnage,” Regina replied. “I second Malachi’s proposal. For the safety of the tribe, we will study the problem and ensure whether or not we are in danger.”

Minerva sighed, the nail-lance in her claws spinning to a stop. “Alexandra?”

“I see no reason for us not to prepare for a possible threat,” The youngest sister answered. “I second Malachi’s proposal as well.”

Minerva drove her nail-lance into the ground. “Well, then, I have been outvoted. Let us go about this endeavor. How will we accomplish it?”

“First, we’ll search the wastes,” Malachi said, looking between his sisters. “We’ll send scouts to patrol every catacomb and crevice we know of. If we don’t find the creature responsible, we’ll take action outside of the wastes. We’ll scout the conjoining regions, and if we still can’t locate the source of this mystery, we’ll research it. We’ll collect information from travelers if we must. We’ll determine what others know of this creature, and eventually, we will know enough.”

“Enough to what?” Minerva asked, still spinning her nail-lance. “Take action?”

“Perhaps. If we determine the creature is a threat to us, we will ensure its demise. But if we learn that the danger is minimal, we can rest easy knowing we are safe.”

“You would have us interact with outsiders to locate this creature?” Alexandra asked, a slight trace of apprehension in her otherwise prim, hard voice. “We do not meddle in the affairs of those that do not belong to our coalition. Especially the bugs of Hallownest.”

“Agreed. But we must learn what this new danger is, and what we can do to expunge it. I’m sure we can afford to converse with a few foreigners to accomplish this deed. If you do not share my belief, I can carry out the task alone.”

“No. We act as one,” Regina said firmly. “We honor the Mark of Pride upon our cloaks. Such has been the way of the Mantis Tribe, and so it shall continue to be.”

Malachi nodded, his mandibles curling in a satisfied smile. “When shall we begin?”

“When it would be most prudent. Now.”

Chapter Text

Malachi barely twitched as a nail-lance was hurled his way, sailing just over the armrest of his throne and nearly stabbing him in the neck. The nail-lance was caught by the cage surrounding the throne room, clanking against the bars before clattering to the stone ground below. Malachi was quite used to weapons being hurled about without care in the arena before the thrones of the Mantis Lords. Whenever he or his sisters trained, weapons went flying like startled maskflies. They were sophisticated in all practices, including battle, but even for them, it was impossible to keep battle clean and tidy.

In the arena below, Alexandra and Minerva were locked in combat, darting about and clashing claws and nails. Dancing around quick jabs from Alexandra, Minerva leapt to the outskirts of the cage, picking up a fallen nail-lance and whirling around to slash it in an upward arc. Alexandra, who’d been descending from above with her claws aloft like blades, planted her legs down, landing atop Minerva’s nail-lance and bouncing off it like a buoyant mushroom. As Alexandra flipped backward, Minerva hurled her weapon, barely missing her sister and denting the cage with a metallic shriek.

Landing on her back legs, Alexandra leapt upward just as Minerva barreled forward, slashing her claws downward. Alexandra caught her sister’s claws with one of her own, holding them in place as she raised her free claw. Minerva released her hold and darted away to avoid Alexandra’s strike, continuing to dance away as Alexandra gave chase, blade-like arms whirling rapidly like vengefly wings. As the sisters danced, claws and blades striking, the mantis courtiers watching the battle watched in silent awe.

Malachi clicked his tongue. His sisters were expressing greater intensity than usual in this training session. They must’ve had a lot of stress to work out on each other. In any case, it was astonishing that the two of them could fight ravenously like mawleks, and yet neither of them gained so much as a scratch of damage. They were like entities from ancient mythology, like wyrms or blundering oberlisks. They were immune to the laws nature tried to enforce upon its subjects.

It was no secret amongst the tribe why his siblings were known as the Sisters of Battle.

Over half of the village was present to watch the battle. Friendly jousts like this were held on a daily basis within the tribe, but this was the first they’d had in weeks. Because until just last night, the mantises of the tribe had been abroad, searching the Fungal Wastes and the regions beyond. Driven by the recent discovery of the attacked lamplighter, the mantises had scoured long and hard for the source of the mysterious incident. However, none of their searches had yielded results.

The mantis tribe never gave up on anything they endeavored to do, but they were resting for a time now. Given how little success their searches had gained, they were taking time to return to their tribal traditions before beginning their work anew. Malachi didn’t mind all that much. There had been no sign of any unusual death since the first incident, so he was not overly worried that they’d failed to find the culprit. And he was admittedly glad to return to a sense of normalcy, overseeing the traditions of his people.

Movement behind the line of thrones caught Malachi’s attention, and his eyes flickered away from the battle. A young mantis had snuck behind the thrones and was climbing up the pillar on which the tallest throne was situated. When it reached the top, where Lord Regina sat, the mantis spoke in urgent undertones to the eldest Mantis Lord. Malachi couldn’t hear a word of the exchange over the sound of the battle, but whatever was said provoked an immediate reaction from Regina. Her dark eyes widened, then quickly narrowed, and she dismissed the mantis as she got to her feet.

Alexandra and Minerva slowed to a halt as soon as they detected the movement. When a Mantis Lord stood from their throne, everyone went silent and still. Even other Mantis Lords.

“Apologies for interrupting the festivities,” Regina called in her calm, imperious voice to the tribe. “I have just been informed that we have visitors. From Hallownest.”

The words caused a ripple effect on the mantises crowded around the caged arena. Heads turned, antennae and cloaks swaying, and the youth clinging to the walls shook their wings in agitation. Malachi sat upright, the tips of his claws digging into the arms of his throne. A visit from the devouts of Hallownest was never a pleasant event. The last significant visit had been decades ago, when the Pale King had cemented the shaky truce with the tribe they’d upheld ever since.

There had been a few minor interactions since then, but none of them were of much significance. It usually came in the form of traveling merchants or connoisseurs dropping by to offer their wares. Whenever that happened, the mantises defending the edge of the village quickly turned them away, making it clear that they would lay claws upon anyone that crossed them. Was this new visit something more? It must’ve been, otherwise the guards wouldn’t have bothered sending for the Lords.

“Minerva, Alexandra, Malachi, you will accompany me to the outskirts,” Regina went on.

“Is such a show of force required?” Minerva asked, her voice somewhat strained from the intense battle. “What visitor deserves an audience with all four Lords?”

Regina closed her eyes. “The Pale King.”

Malachi shot to his feet. The rest of the chamber erupted as mantises old and young gasped and shouted. He couldn’t make out any exact words, but they all sounded angry. Most of the mantises present were far too young to remember the last visit from the King of Hallownest, but they’d all been taught to loathe the kingdom of the Pale King. Their tribe was above the convoluted system the strange king had conformed most of the world into, and they did not envy the stifling order and oppression it offered. Even those that had never seen the king had grown to hate him.

And those that had met the king hated him more. Malachi remembered when the radiant being had first counseled with the mantises to arrange the ancient covenant between their two societies. Some of the older mantises still with the tribe remembered too. They remembered the Pale King’s arrogance and unflinching pride in himself and his so-called eternal kingdom. The diluted monarch put so much faith in his own power that he’d convinced himself that he alone deserved to command the bugs and beasts of the world. It had taken much time and effort to sway him and settle for a truce instead of submission.

Malachi had hoped and truly believed that he would never see the Pale King again. Now, the fool was on the doorstep of the village yet again. Malachi found himself shaking, his claws curling. The trembling was only half because of anger. Courageous as he was, the Pale King was among the few things he feared.

“All of you, return to your homes and duties,” Regina commanded, leaping down from her throne and landing on the battlefield. Malachi did likewise as Alexandra clapped her claws together, commanding the mantises above to raise the cage. “Calamus, Belona, the two of you are to manage things while we speak with the king. Do nothing out of the ordinary. We’ve done nothing to warrant an attack.”

“Is an attack imminent?” Calamus, one of the eldest mantises warriors asked timidly.

“I do not think so. But we must be prepared for anything.”

With the cage raised, the crowd parted, hundreds of mantises taking to the walls, climbing or flying back to their hammocks in the village above. Calamus and Belona spoke to some of the other mantis warriors, ordering them to take up positions along the outskirts to bolster the border’s strength. Malachi hung back, wanting to speak with Belona, but as he saw his sisters beginning to depart, he slouched after them.

Belona was his wife. The two of them were not particularly close, not like spouses were in civilizations like Hallownest. The mantises believed that the entire tribe was one family, so husbands and wives shared no bond more special than the already existing one. Mating was something done for the perpetuation of the species, nothing else. Mantises had little care to fawn their immediate family, because they believed they were all distantly related anyway. Still, Malachi did harbor a fondness for Belona, as well as the couple dozen offspring the two had spawned.

Especially their eldest daughter, Demetria. She showed promise of becoming a warrior stronger than himself. Unfortunately, he rarely saw her due to her constant duty as a patrol mantis. She tended to the far west borders of the Fungal Wastes, watching the tunnels that burrowed down into Deepnest or up into Greenpath and the Fog Canyon.

Malachi found it odd that he was suddenly desiring the presence of his wife and daughter so strongly. Was it fear of the Pale King that prompted the sudden feeling? Was he afraid he could die today? He felt fear so little that when the emotion did arise, he hardly knew how to identify it.

“Do not dawdle, Malachi,” Minerva called from ahead. Regina and Alexandra were already scaling the wall of the village, digging their claws into the stone and propelling themselves up the cliffside.

Malachi nodded, turning away from where Belona stood and joining his tallest sister. “What could this possibly be about? We’ve done nothing to warrant a visit from him .”

“He is a wyrm,” Minerva answered, beginning to climb. “The workings of his mind are beyond our understanding.”

“He can’t have found out about that lamplighter?” Malachi asked doubtfully, climbing after her. The tribe had disposed of the body in an acid lake once they’d finished examining it, to ensure its strange disease didn’t spread. They’d watched to ensure the acid had broken down the body and scattered its carapace to singed atoms.

“I highly doubt that is the case. Perhaps he learned that we practice the use of lifeblood. The substance was outlawed in his kingdom, afterall.”

Malachi wasn’t so sure. Though the Lords did have a hefty stache of the revitalizing substance hidden in the corner of their throne room, he doubted the Pale King would come all of this way because of that. Banning something to his own subjects was a rather understandable action. Enforcing people beyond his control to conform to his religious beliefs was a matter with no grounds.

Admittedly, the religion of Hallownest was probably the one with consistent merit. Their god was the sole active member of their monarchy. The religions practiced by other bugs and beasts had no shred of evidence to their name. What bug in living memory had ever seen or spoken with Unn? And why was it that the moths claimed to have a god, but could never seem to remember its name?

They soon exited the Mantis village. Stepping out from the cover of their home constructed of bone and sinew, they entered a wide chasm covered so extensively in fungi that no rock or root was visible. The outcropping the village entrance was located on spanned the chasm like a natural bridge, where thirty or so mantis guards were lined up. And on the opposite end of the outcropping was the procession of visitors that had come to counsel with the Mantis Lords.

A dozen or so bugs were lined up, composed mainly of husks wearing sleek blue armor. The sentries bore either nails or spears, and the largest ones, wearing scarlet armor, bore broad shields and thick greatnails that rivaled Malachi’s own height. A few of the guards flew overhead on long, translucent wings, and many of them carried lanterns fashioned out of polished crystal, in which lumaflies drifted lazily, providing pale light to the surrounding caverns. The guards all formed a protective circle around three figures at the center of the procession.

One of the bugs was a hefty beetle with a wide, plump face. He wore expensive clothing and wore glass ornaments on his belt, which contained swirling white smoke. He had a smooth scalp with no trace of horns, and he carried no weapon. One of the bugs was a pristine woman, as tall and thin as a mantis, but bearing three horns on her head instead of two. She wore silver armor that melted into a gilded skirt, and she wore a nail sheathed at her hip.

Malachi noticed that her eyes narrowed when she found him. He realized that she was looking at the various ornaments adorning his robe, among them Hallownest crests. He fought back a smug grin.

And at the very center was the Pale King of Hallownest. Tall and fair, the reborn worm was clad in a flowing robe of silver silk, his many limbs hidden beneath. His face bore elegant, pointed features, and from his head grew a crown of sleek white spikes. The spikes formed the shape of a maw opened skyward, like the fangs of a great wyrm bearing down on its enemies. The king’s wide black eyes glistened with the sort of relaxed calm a monarch spoke and acted with.

Unusually, the king was wearing a mask over his mouth, the same color of his skin, making it appear as though he had no mouth. In fact, the husk guards and the tall white knight all wore masks as well. Only the corpulent, well-dressed beetle bore his mouth to the air.

“Well, you have the audience you so abruptly demanded, Pale King,” Regina called, coming to a halt a few paces away from the party from Hallownest. The other two sisters flanked her, Malachi stepping up beside his youngest and shortest sister, Alexandra. “Speak, so you may depart swiftly.”

The husk guards parted as the Pale King stepped forward, his measured strides hidden beneath his elegant robe. The white knight and the large beetle followed at either side. Malachi turned his attention to them, as he’d never seen either of them before. The knight carried herself with the sort of slow, steady balance that mantis warriors did, and her eyes swept over her surroundings in constant analysis. She had the look of someone who would spring into action at any sudden movement, like the awakening or a sporg or the meager steps of a shrumeling. She was clearly the most dangerous of the bugs present, besides the Pale King himself.

The beetle, on the other hand, looked as far from a warrior as possible. His bulk did not appear to be brought on by muscle, and his choice of regal attire over practical armor made him out to be either untalented in combat, or simply unintelligent. He wore a lazy expression, his eyes heavily lidded as though he couldn’t be bothered to look at anything beyond what was right in front of him. The fat dullard must’ve been a nobleman of the Pale Court, or some paltry politician. Then why had he accompanied the king this far into unfamiliar territory?

“Greetings, Lords of the Mantis Tribe,” The Pale King greeted, his silk robe parting slightly, a thin white claw raising in their direction. “It has been many seasons since last I sojourned your humble dwelling. I pray my visit finds you well, in fair health and prosperity.”

“For the most part, it does.” Regina answered. She spoke calmly, but Malachi knew she was masking weariness. “What brings you to our abode a second time? Forgive my bluntness, but your first appearance before our people had the impression that it would also be your last.”

“That it might have been, had such troublesome times not befallen Hallownest.”

Malachi growled, struggling to veil irritation. He’d rarely spoken to outsiders, and so he had nearly forgotten- members of the Pale King’s kingdom referred to not just their society as Hallownest, but the world itself. They believed that their kingdom and the world it inhabited were one, and the Pale King had created them both. Such vexing, simpleminded creatures they must be to believe a single being could’ve conceived such a vast world, especially when so many like the mantises had clearly been living there long before his arrival.

“You bring unusual guests,” Regina said, her eyes snapping to the beetle and knight respectively. “I do not believe they were present last time you ventured here.”

“Then perhaps it would be courteous to provide introductions,” The king said, turning and gesturing to his escorts in turn. “This is Dryya. She is one the Five Great Knights of Hallownest, my personal bodyguards and military advisors. You’ll find no greater wielder of the nail in all the world.”

Malachi sniffed, barely managing to withhold a retort. Beside him, Alexandra set a comforting claw on his own, warning him not to voice his mind.

“And this is Aldrich, the head scholar of the capital’s Sanctum. Most recently, he has conducted studies regarding the mysteries of soul. You see, the unfortunate news that brings us to your home has some connection to his research.”

“Greetings, Dryya and Aldrich,” Regina replied, nodding to the two in turn. “Welcome to our home.”

Dryya responded with a curt nod of her own. The beetle, Aldrich, murmured in a stiff voice, as though he thought the mantises wouldn’t hear him. “Your tolerance of the miasma and putrid neighbors must be insurmountable for you to call this ghastly place home.”

“Care to speak up, bluggsac?” Minerva snapped.

“Enough,” Regina commanded, rounding on the tallest sister. In silence, the Pale King too reprimanded Aldrich with a harsh glance. “My siblings and I are clearly rattled by your sudden visit, Pale King. Perhaps it would be best for you to make clear the point of your stay, and keep it brief.”

“If that is the desire of the Mantis Lords,” The king answered. “It shall be so. I come bearing dour tidings that your people must be made aware of. A viscous plague has manifested in Hallownest of late. One that leaves its victims ravaged and reduced to feral instinct, and drives them into aggression.”

Malachi resisted a start, and he saw similar subdued reactions flicker across his sisters’ faces. “A plague?” Alexandra repeated. “Of what nature?”

“It manifests as a harsh orange glow in the hearts and minds of those it entangles. And when they mangle others, a physical form of this glow seeps into their bodies.”

“It is almost akin to lifeblood in form,” Aldrich chimed in darkly. “But rather than revitalize and calm, it destroys and maddens. And unlike lifeblood, it does not relinquish its hold over time, and it will not wait for one to willingly partake. It latches onto prey and consumes them from within.”

There was silence, in which Regina glanced back at each of her siblings in turn. Though not a word was spoken between them, it was clear they were all thinking the same thing. The mysterious death of the Hallownest lamplighter, seemingly at the hands of another common bug, the wound coated in a foreign orange sludge. It lined up too well with what the king and his scholar were saying.

Malachi wanted to speak up, but he remained silent, allowing his eldest sister to carry the conversation. Cunning as he, Alexandra and Minerva were, Regina was the high lord for a reason. She would know how best to address the king’s words.

“Could you go into further detail?” Regina prompted. “Your words paint a difficult picture to process.”

“The plague appears as an orange substance that penetrates the body and mind, like a plant or a poison,” Aldrich explained. “It chokes the innards and boils to the surface in the form of bulbous cysts. Once the plague reaches the mind of its victim, the victim loses their free will and ability to think. They’ll continue to function, but like aimless beasts rather than true people.”

“And how did this plague first contact your people?” Minerva questioned.

“We are unsure,” The Pale King answered. “A number of my citizens began displaying unusual symptoms this past season. They became slow, dull, and sluggish, and many reported that their sleep had been adrift with strange dreams. Dreams of a harsh radiance that overpowered their ability to move, speak or think. At first, we thought these symptoms were that of a simple illness. However, over time, those infected lost their minds and grew aggressive, attacking other bugs and infecting them, prompting us to pour research into preventing the spread of this plague.”

“I find that must be difficult, when you don’t know where it sprung from.” Alexandra said. “Surely, you must have some idea of its origin. Did it come by way of some foreign creature, or by a deadly plant? Was it manufactured for the purpose of being weaponized?”

The Pale King didn’t immediately respond. His deep black eyes studied the lords in turn, finding Malachi eventually, and he shook his head. “I do not know.”

Malachi sneered, unable to hold back any longer. “I think you are lying, wyrm.”

“Let’s keep this counsel civil,” Regina said, casting a warning glare at Malachi.

“I’m not finished, sister. Tell me, great king, what do you truly know of this infection? Surely you must’ve seen it coming? Are wyrms not blessed with foresight? How could this travesty have come upon your glorious kingdom so suddenly?”

Malachi knew he’d struck gold with the retort. There was silence on both sides of the chasm, in which many eyes turned expectantly toward the king. Husk guards fidgeted with their weapons and Aldrich glared at the Mantis Lords with deep disgust. Dryya’s eyes moved back and forth between the Pale King and Malachi, perhaps wondering if she needed to step between them.

Oh, how Malachi hoped she did. He could use a combat partner to work out his anger. Though, the aftermath would probably do nothing to ease the tension. He would annihilate her.

“As a matter of fact, I did foresee this calamity.” The Pale King said at last, his tone slow, as though he was ashamed to speak the words. “I took measures in hopes of evading it before it arrived, but they were in vain. The infection is here, and it is not relinquishing its hold on my people without a fight.”

“A fight?” Minerva repeated. “Is that why you’re here? You want us to fight your infection?”

“Of course he doesn’t,” Alexandra scoffed. “The Pale King is smart enough to know that we would not lift claw or lance for his kingdom. Correct?”

“Continue to malign our great king, and die by my nail,” Dryya snapped, speaking for the first time, one of her claws curling around the handle of her blade.

“We’ll speak freely if we choose,” Minerva spat. “You’re intruding upon our home.”

“I told you, your highness, there is no point bargaining with these savages,” Aldrich huffed. “All they know how to do is fight and eat each other.”

“Eat each other?” Alexandra hissed. “That courting ritual is brazenly outdated. I’m shocked you’ve even heard of it.”

“Enough!” Regina shouted, rounding on Malachi and the sisters. At the same time, the Pale King reprimanded his envoy in a different language. “Must I send you back to the village?”

“This is a waste of our time and theirs,” Malachi snapped. “We won’t help them.”

“We don’t even know what they want. Let us hear them out.”

“I can see tensions are not lowering,” The Pale King said after he’d calmed his escorts. “So let me be swift with my explanation. We came here to warn you of the plague, and also to ask for your aid. You would be handsomely compensated for your efforts, of course.”

“We’re uninterested,” Minerva replied flatly. “You have our permission to leave.”

“If you’ll hear him out,” Aldrich said firmly. “We are not asking you to fight anyone or anything. We have enough muscle in the Hallownest militia. Instead, we would like to run some tests to determine whether or not you are vulnerable to the infection.”

There was a pause, in which the Mantis Lords silently looked to one another. It had been discussed multiple times during their search for the mysterious infected creature. Though the dead lamplighter had died from the unknown attacker, that didn’t mean the mantises would. They did, afterall, believe themselves stronger and more durable than the common bug. They had wondered in the past if they were in danger of the creature. Clearly, the Pale King had pondered the question as well.

“Run tests,” Regina repeated. “How?”

Aldrich stood upright. “I would require blood samples from a number of your tribesmen. And if some of them are willing to volunteer, I could determine how they hold against the infection.”

“You want to use us as lab pets?” Malachi verified, withholding a feral growl. “Use us to cure yourselves of a plague that doesn’t affect us? Explain how this is our problem.”

“It may be, soon if not already,” The Pale King said. “If the infection doesn’t have the power to take hold of you now, it will adapt. My foresight has shown me a grave future for Hallownest. Even if your tribe still stands in that future, you will stand alone, and you will buckle under the threat of the rest of the world pressing upon you. Besides, as I stated, we have compensation for your aid.”

The king stepped aside, and a few guards walked forward, carrying between them an ornate, silver chest. They set the coffer down a few paces away from where the Mantis Lords stood and eased open the thick lid. Within glittered mounds of geo. Malachi hardly batted an eye at the impressive cache, and he did not see his sisters react either. They retained sufficient funds for their needs, but to the mantis tribe, money was of little use or concern.

“This chest contains enough alms to buy an entire city district,” Aldrich said reverently, stepping forward and grasping a handful of geo, letting the glistening gems fall through his claws. “It’s worth more than your village. All we ask in exchange-”

“We refuse,” Regina said shortly.

Aldrich stammered into silence, his wide eyes narrowing into a heated glare. “I wish only to determine if you truly have the ability to stave off the infection. If you do, the ability must be spread to the greater population of Hallownest, for the good of all!”

“If we are capable of staving off the infection, it is because of our wills and strong minds. Not our biology. We will not help you, nor could we if we tried. You’re on your own.”

Aldrich’s mouth twitched as though he was going to begin his cursing anew. The king laid a comforting claw on the beetle’s shoulder and turned his own eyes on the lords. “I beg you to reconsider, noble Mantis Lords. This infection may not be your problem now, but it will be eventually. It’s allure may prove too powerful for even you. Let us attempt to forestall and destroy it before that happens.”

“I thank you for the warning, Pale King. But we will not accept your offer. We dare not fan flames by interacting with any society outside our own, regardless of the scenario. We’ve not yet succumbed to your plague yet, nor will we ever.”

The Pale King gave a curt nod. “You don’t know that. But I respect your wishes. You have your own customs to follow, just as we.”

Regina gave a nod of her own. “The Mark of Pride is the creed of the Mantis Tribe. We have no quarrel if yours so long as you do not tarnish ours.”

“I understand. If you ever change your minds and seek to tackle this infection together, you know how to contact us.”

“We do. Now depart.”

Chapter Text

Malachi sprang forward like a moss charger, unsheathing his nail-lance and driving it down upon the earth. The pale, many-legged dirtcarver he was descending on darted away, but it was too late to escape the Mantis Lord. The blade penetrated the glistening white carapace of the large roach, skewering it against the ground. The dirtcarver wailed and hissed, flailing as milky white soul splattered from the edges of its wound. Malachi remained still, keeping the beast trapped with his blade until it curled up and blackened, moving no more. Then, mixing with the blood and soul oozing from its wound, the corpse began to spurt luminous orange fluid.

Malachi gave a snarl, quickly withdrawing his nail-lance. He wiped the blade on the rubbery white cap of a bioluminescent mushroom, then kicked the corpse into the corner. There, it joined the towering mound where were piled the other hundred carcasses the patrol mantises had made. Dirtcarvers, deephunters, corpsecrawlers, and a few weavers and garpedes contributed to a heap of decaying bodies, many of which were dripping with that viscous orange liquid.

The infection truly had reached the furthest depths of Hallownest. Even the denizens of Deepnest, hidden in the ancient bowels of the world, had been overwhelmed by the plague.

Turning away from the bodies, he continued pacing in front of the door. Wedged into the main tunnel conjoining Deepnest and the Fungal Wastes, the door was made of refined stine and laced with metal and bone. It was bound to the pulley system operated by the mantises on the other side, ensuring that when closed, no creature could escape this tunnel. No creature, not even a burrowing goam or garpede could assail the great door.

As part of their lasting alliance with Hallownest, the mantises patrolled the borders of Deepnest to ensure the beasts and weavers scheming within were kept at bay. Sentinels always took watch here, and at the other smaller entrances to Deepnest, but recently, the duty had required even more vigilance than before. It was due to the infection ravaging through the world, just as the Pale King had predicted it would. It had been a season since the king’s envoy had arrived with a message and an offer.

The infection had begun to take its toll on the Fungal Wastes. The mushroom clan, once nothing but compliant in their oath with the Mantis tribe, had begun straying from their caves. Infection seeped from them in the form of liquid or gas, driving the shrumal monsters into aggression unlike anything they’d exhibited before. Even the husks that wandered the wastes were becoming infected. Fungus overcome by infection would entangle the husks and puppeteer them, using them to spread the plague.

The infection once limited to a single dead lamplighter had spread far and wide across the wastes. It was now everywhere in sight, trailing behind shrumal warriors, dripping from the mouths of shrumal ogres, and spurting from anything the mantises laid their claws on, be it plant or creature.

Being one of the Mantis Lords, as well as the stronger member of the tribe, Malachi was a regular volunteer for border patrol, and he preferred to guard this entrance in particular. The wide tunnel was carved of dark rock, stalagmites and fossils scattering the floor, bioluminescent plants weeding through the stony walls. Up ahead, the tunnel split into various paths that weaved down into the darkness, where so many predatory beasts lay in wait that the cavern floor was literally swarming with them.

The mantises ensured that this main exit was always heavily guarded. The corpse pile was burned in the acid lakes at the end of each day, and remade the next. The road was lined with nail-lances stuck into the ground, bearing the masks of Deepnest’s devouts to warn the beasts of the death that lay ahead, should they tussle with the proud tribe guarding the tunnel. Of course, being mindless monsters, the beasts never heeded the warnings and pressed on, allowing Malachi endless hordes of the prey he desired.

Though of course, there were other reasons he volunteered to guard the Deepnest border. The main one being the company it allowed him.

Footsteps and a low grinding echoed down one of the tunnels- the slow, measured steps of a bipedal bug dragging something behind them. Malachi readied his nail-lance, though he was sure the one approaching was not a threat. Sure enough, the figure that appeared from the darkness was a lithe mantis, claws gripping the enormous mandibles of a garpede. Malachi moved forward, grabbing some of the garpede’s limp legs and helping the mantis drag the corpse to the pile. Once they dropped it, Malachi offered the mantis his waterskin, and she wordlessly accepted.

“Another garpede?” Malachi asked approvingly. “Very good. You’ve gotten stronger.”

Demetria lowered the carapace waterskin and shrugged. “I train a lot. That’s one of the only thing the tribe seems to approve of.”

Malachi frowned. His daughter had gotten quieter. Being the eldest of his children, Demetria was usually the one that presented new challenges to his parenthood, allowing him to hone his technique to use on his younger offspring. During the recent pressing matters that had come suddenly upon the tribe, Malachi had been granted even less time than usual to spend with his family. He seldom spoke with Belona, and he saw Demetria even less so. Even now while they were both guarding the border, they were supposed to patrol opposite sides of the cavern, so they only had time to talk while they were switching shifts.

In the last few days, the little time Malachi had to talk with his daughter had taken him by surprise. Demetria had always been his favorite child, and the most promising one. She had the cunning and lethal skill of a primal aspid and the keen mind of a moth. She was a future Mantis Lord in the making in every way. And yet, his recent conversations with her had been rather dull. Most youth became more courageous and outgoing as they matured. It seemed Demetria had become more shy and reserved. The ability to restrain one’s curiosity was a useful one, but he would rather she not exercise such caution and silence when speaking to her own father.

It was the first and only time she’d ever disappointed him. He finally had time to sit and speak with her, and she hardly seemed interested.

Demetria pulled a face after taking another sip from the waterskin. “What’s that strange taste? It’s too sweet.”

Malachi grinned, taking his flask back and indulging in a swig of his own. “It’s not just lifeblood- it’s spiked with hiveblood wine. We purchase it from travelers that visit the Kingdom’s Edge.”

“You guard the border under alcoholic influence?”

“Only a little! Besides, it keeps me awake and alert. Hard to argue with the results, yes?”

He gestured to the pile of corpses for emphasis, but his daughter gave no reply. Sighing, he gestured to the wooden bench beside the tremendous door to the village, taking a seat and waiting for her to join him. Wearing an impenetrable expression, Demetria slowly moved forward and sat beside him. Malachi fought the urge to drape his claw over her shoulders. He wasn’t going to risk scaring her off when she was so clearly trying to remain distant.

“Do not think me inattentive, my little girl. You have been quiet as a whispering root. I’ve not seen you for some time. I was under the impression you would be positively bubbling with conversation.”

Demetria stared ahead, unmoved. “There is little to talk of.”

“Little? I hardly think that. The world is falling apart around us- a deadly infection is laying waste to the caverns of our world. Soon, our tribe may be the only civilization left standing. Surely, you must have had some thoughts on the situation.”

Again, little to no reaction. “I do not believe we alone will survive. The bugs of Hallownest are taking active measures against the plague.”

Malachi stiffened. “What have you heard that would give you that idea?”

“Mother told me of the Pale King’s visit last season. I believe she heard it from you.”

“She did indeed, but . . .”

Malachi trailed off. It was true that the Pale King and his head scholar, that beetle, Aldrich, were seeking a possible cure against the infection. But neither one of them had appeared optimistic at the time. Afterall, if they were approaching the mantises, their allies only by the shakiest of terms, they were clearly running out of options. Malachi had been under the impression that they’d burned every bridge and were about ready to play dead and pray the infection passed them by.

“I believe you greatly overestimate our neighbors in Hallownest,” Malachi said with a slight laugh. “That miserable excuse of a kingdom is suspended in the grasp of frail politicians and delusional dreamers lacking real power. Their king is an idealist hypocrite that has convinced himself that he deserves to rule his fellows. If he does truly care to save his kingdom, it is only to ensure that they continue to drop geo in his fountains to fund his pompous cities.”

“And yet, they are trying,” Demetria pressed. “Is that not admirable?”

“Perhaps it would be if they stood a chance. I’ve seen the one leading their efforts. That beetle could make grubs look intelligent. When we denied his offer, he looked like he might burst with petty rage. He clearly can’t be that bright if he needed us to solve his problems. I even heard from a traveler the other day that the king has lost faith in him. The scholar has turned to the study of soul to try and prevent the plague’s spread, and he’s making even less progress than his last endeavor. Do those fools sound like they’re efforts will yield fruit?”

Demetria sighed. “Perhaps we should have helped them. Maybe we could have prevented this all from happening.”

Malachi scoffed, turning and glaring down at his daughter. “Do not let my sisters hear you utter such words. Minerva would think you border on treachery. The Pale King is not to be trusted, and we have no place in his convoluted kingdom. They seek to disfigure and absolve our ancient traditions and absorb us into the heretic hordes of the husks.”

“Must we not adapt when the situation is too dire?”

“Not to the extent Hallownest wants. The Mark of Pride is our creed, and if defiling it is the price of bargain, we will not suffer it. The Pale King is using this infection to try and displace our priorities. Given his way, only a single religion and culture would exist- one that gives everything to him and leaves the common bug barren and weak. But we needn’t worry about being drafted into his cause against our will. We are not vulnerable to the plague, so how is it our problem?”

He trailed off, still seething, but then something in his mind clicked. “Wait, why do you care about the matters of Hallownest?”

Demetria’s pale face flushed suddenly and she looked away. “I do not. I’ve merely heard stories from travelers and had time to think. I admire the kingdom for trying to put an end to the infection. Even if it does not affect us, it is affecting them, and our world would become a far more dreary place if we’re the only ones left in it.”

Malachi frowned, pondering the words of his daughter. “I suppose there is some merit to your concerns. Still, do not bother trying to understand or sympathize with those fools. They hate us, and they only bother interacting with us at all in hopes that they may one day rule us. All of them are the same.”

Demetria turned back toward him, opening her mouth as if to speak, but she did not. There was an odd expression on her face- a hopeful, almost wistful look, but it vanished quickly. Too quickly, as though she had realized it was there and deliberately hidden it.

“I understand, father.” She said quietly. “I’m just being foolish.”

Malachi grinned, finally letting his claw fall upon his daughter’s shoulders. “We’re all foolish sometimes. Drink?”

He offered his waterskin over again, watching his daughter relax against him. Perhaps she wasn’t distancing herself as much as he’d feared.

The door creaked. Malachi and Demetria leapt to their feet, the latter quickly returning the waterskin. The two separated and faced the door as it unlatched and pulled upward, revealing the entrance tunnel of the Mantis village. After the great stone slab had been lifted high enough, two mantis adults stepped out from the entrance, then lowered into deep bows.

“At ease, warriors,” Malachi said, lifting a claw toward them in turn. “Are you here to relieve us of our duties?”

“Yes, my lord,” One of them answered. Malachi recognized him quickly as Calamus, one of the eldest mantises in the village. “As well as report something the east patrols found. They have sent for you to come inspect the situation.”

Malachi withheld an irritated drawl. This again? “Really? They need me specifically?”

“Regrettably, my lord. Lord Regina is occupied, and Lords Alexandra and Minerva have retired for the night.”

“Very well. What have they found for me this time?”

<><><>

It wasn’t a corpse. However, the bug was old enough that given a few more days, or perhaps just a few more minutes of hobbling dangerously close to the sheer drops around the chasm, he would become one. The short husk wore an orange tunic and a thick belt, from which were affixed journal tablets. He was adorned in bright jewelry, including a necklace of large pearls, thick golden bracelets, and a gem on his forehead. He hobbled along with one claw grasping a crooked staff of bone, and the other holding aloft a lumafly lantern.

Malachi tilted his head, watching the old man move from his outcropping perch. The mantises had directed him to the east chasms of the Fungal Wastes, which bordered the great silver wall. The edge of the Royal Waterways, the silver wall was riddled with pipes and passages coated in grime, transporting fecal manure from the capital of Hallownest, where it was decomposed in the acid lakes. Wastewater poured from a vast array of pipes, making the wall a collection of small waterfalls. The old man was hobbling along a path sidled up against the wall, making his way around puddles formed from the waste.

“How long has he tread this path?” Malachi asked, turning and looking over his shoulder.

With him stood Demetria and one of the mantises that had come to retrieve him from the Deepnest border. The mantis’s name was Silvanus, and he had led them to an outcropping sticking above the canyon. They stood perhaps twenty feet above where the old husk was walking. Close enough that he would definitely see them if he looked their way, but the mantises moved with such silent grace that they’d not gotten his attention.

“He’s wandered along the east chasms for about an hour,” Silvanus answered. “Rambling quietly all the while. He’s occasionally called out.”

“To whom, or what?”

“To us . He’s shouted for members of the Mantis tribe, asking if they are near and can hear him. He appears to be seeking us out, but he must not know exactly where to look, as he has not neared the border of the village.”

Malachi nodded in interest, watching the husk hobble above the acid lake. He waited in silence for a while to see if the wanderer would call out like Silvanus had explained, but he did not. Perhaps his voice was parched by the lack of cool moisture in the air, or perhaps he’d given up and was on his way home. And yet, the old man wasn’t heading in a straight line. As he reached niches in the wall, he peered down them and took his time to examine alternative paths.

It was almost amusing to see the old man quite literally looking under rocks for the Mantis tribe. It did give Malachi pause as he considered how to address the situation. The old man did not appear malign or even prepared for a journey. It truly appeared as though he was a traveler with little idea of what he was looking for. Before the infection’s appearance, travelers like that were rather commonplace in the Fungal Wastes, but nowadays they had become scarce.

“You’ve monitored his movements for about an hour?” Malachi verified. “Does he appear infected?”

“I am unsure, my Lord. He has fought shrumal ogres and successfully slain them to reach this point, but he only attacked in self defense. And he does not appear to have difficulty speaking. No infected bug I have seen has exhibited the power of proper speech.”

Malachi clicked his mandibles. “Very well. Silvanus, stay here and remain on guard. Demetria, with me.”

Without further instruction, he leapt off of the outcropping and down to the fungal grotto below. Air rushed by as he came down to the cavern floor, landing with a soft crunch on the mushroom-coated ground a few yards away from where the old man hobbled. The husk gasped and turned swiftly around, holding aloft his lantern and readying his bone staff like a nail. Malachi rose to his full height, folding his claws in front of his chest. He heard Demetria land on the ground behind him, and the old man took a cautionary step back as she did.

“Did you pass through the cavern adorned with masks of the slain?” Malachi asked coldly. “If so, did you miss the sign, or can you simply not read? Those that intrude upon the dwelling of the Mantis tribe will find only death. Turn around and leave our people be.”

The old husk lowered his lantern, an uneasy smile twitching in his scruffy beard. He took a few slow paces forward, his feet squelching over greasy pink fluke larvae that’d leaked from the sewage. “Lo, blessed be this day! You are from the Mantis village?”

Malachi snarled, just realizing the stench. The Fungal Wastes always had an unpleasant, humid odor, but the chasms neighboring the Royal Waterways especially stank. The smell grew greater as the old man approached, making it clear that he’d wandered amidst the fecal rubble for quite a while. And yet, there was something more to the smell. A heat like the boiling acid lakes, but stronger. He was unfamiliar with the odor, and he did not like it.

“Did you not hear his Lordship, pauper?” Demetria accused from behind him. “Be on your way. And frequent a hot spring- you stink of rancid eggs.”

“Lordship?” The husk repeated eagerly. “Lo, then I have happened upon one of the great Mantis Lords? I am greatly humbled to stand before you, oh Mantis Lord. I have traveled this way to seek parley with your clan. Indeed, I come carrying salvation to the needy in these dire times.”

Malachi paused, reconsidering the old man’s appearance. The tablets affixed to his belt and the exotic, rather inconvenient clothing made the Mantis Lord realize he was speaking to a holy man. He was unsure what to be more offended by- the fact that the wanderer had twice ignored his orders, or the fact that he considered the Mantis tribe needy .

“We have directed you twice now to depart in peace while you can,” Malachi said evenly. “But you seek to scorn my offer. I will listen to what you have to say, but you will not be granted passage into our village. And if you prove to be a danger to my people, the threat of your existence will be quickly extinguished.”

“Nay, I bring no danger, only light and peace,” The man said, lowering in a slight bow. “I am untouched by the affliction gripping the kingdom. Indeed, I endeavor to cure those in danger of its blight. I  am Elder Hu. Might I inquire about your name?”

“You may, but do not expect an answer.” Malachi sniffed. “Speak your piece. You claim to come bearing salvation. From what religion were you sent? The Snail Shamans? The Moth church? The cult of Unn?”

“Nay, fair lord. I hail from no creed by way of groundless faith in the false idols of this land. I am the sole bearer of a true order of religion. I am enlightened by a god not yet represented in this kingdom. You will be among the first converts to see its light.”

“Ah.” Malachi did not bother disguising the disinterest in his voice. The Fungal Wastes, or all the world for that matter, had enough deluded evangelists without this Elder contributing to them. They didn’t need another treacherous Moss prophet or cryptic mushroom herald living so near their village. “What noble intentions. Unfortunately, you are mistaken to seek to begin your conversion here. We have no need for preachers in our clan. We are a creed of warriors, not worshippers.”

“I heard as much,” Elder Hu admitted, lowering his lantern and fixing it to his belt, leaning heavily on his staff. “But I had faith that the rumors were exaggerated. Afterall, you do not strike me as akin to the other rambling barbarians of this kingdom, like those that infest the great colosseum.”

“Of course we are not,” Demetria scoffed. “Do not confuse our proud dynasty for a den of fools. We fight for honor, not glory or avarice.”

Malachi grinned, swelling with pride at the words of his daughter, matching his own thoughts. “You heard her- we have no interest in your religion. Nor will we provide you with shelter or alms, before you ask. No matter how dark the times, we keep to ourselves. Begone.”

“I wouldn’t dare ask such selfish things,” Elder Hu said, though his demeanor had grown less eager. “Lo, I have come to anoint you, not rob you. Like the vengefly that cleans the teeth of the goam, my god seeks a mutual bond with all under its light. You would not be required to change your ways to do her bidding, just accept her light into your lives.”

Malachi rolled his eyes. “And how would we do that?”

Elder Hu held up a claw, the thick bracelets around his bony arms jingling softly. With a low hum, his jewelry vibrated and the Elder’s eyes vibrated in their sockets. A soft, yellow-orange glow began emitting from his eyes and hands, and Malachi instinctively stepped back, throwing a protective claw in front of Demetria. The Elder’s feet left the ground and he floated eerily above, light seeping off of his body and forming images in the air.

Malachi’s eyes widened as the images became clear. Round, mandala patterns of soft yellow light, shimmering brightly enough to be seen. He had rarely seen them in person- only a handful of times when the village was passed by travelers from the moth tribe. These were the symbols of the strange and alien power of dreams.

“I have seen my god in my dreams,” Hu said reverently, closing his eyes, light still pouring through the closed lids. “It bids that I spread its wisdom and peace to all creatures, beginning here. The cure for the plague is the dream of peace. It is through this dream that I am empowered.”

“This is not a cure!” Malachi exclaimed, still backing away. “You are overcome by the infection!”

“I know that to the lesser mind, things are not as they seem. But fear not- I have been garbed in cleansing light that will oppose the ravenous infection, not join it.”

Malachi shook his head, feeling a shred of actual fear. He had known that the infection had varying effects on the bugs of Hallownest. Some were simply killed, while others found themselves puppeteered as if by an invisible force. Some were driven to aggressively strike out, and others seeped the infection into the world around them. But this was something new.

The infection was actually empowering them bugs it ensnared. This Elder was being gifted arcane magic by the infection. Not only that, but the husk retained his mind and ability to speak. It was as though the infection was aware of the mantises avoiding it and was trying to undermine them. The Elder was not only feigning innocence, but actively pretending to be aware of the plaque and attempting to cure it.

What did that mean for the infection itself? Was the plague somehow alive?

“You are clearly being controlled by the infection,” Malachi accused, unsheathing his nail-lance. “Whether you realize it or not. I do not begrudge you for falling victim to it, but I cannot allow you to spread the disease any further. Depart or die upon my blade.”

“You dare deny the fruit of my god’s labors?” Hu shouted, his voice echoing in the wide chamber. “I have been sent to declare salvation to the Mantis tribe, and I cannot allow you to mock the one who brings this gift. If my wisdom falls upon deaf ears, they shall be gouged.”

“You don’t appear to be listening,” Malachi warned. “Leave now!”

“Indeed, you are afflicted and drunken with the lies of the destroying plague! Revoke it at once, lest I drive it from you and slay you for your transgression!”

Malachi waited no longer. He sprang forward and slashed his nail-lance, but the Elder was prepared. He darted away, still hovering in the air, and he bellowed a chant in an unfamiliar langue. Glowing yellow rings like those he wore on his arms appeared in the air, and he brought them down like weapons. Malachi dodged them both, but as they neared his carapace, he felt the intense heat surrounding them.

Hovering higher, the Elder continued chanting and summoning the glowing shapes, Malachi leapt away from one of the rings, but he was too late to dodge the second. It landed on him and dissolved into smoke, its stinging heat pouring over him. Convulsing, Malachi shrieked and fell to the ground, feeling the hot vapor our over him, snaking its way into his eyes and mouth. Blinded briefly, he lunged around for his fallen nail-lance, but he couldn’t find it.

He curled up, bracing for another attack, but none came. The Elder let out a strained howl, and then was silent. Blinking, beginning to regain his sight, Malachi got to his feet and looked around. His nail-lance had fallen into the nearby pool of acid and was sinking out of sight, melting into slag. Elder Hu was sprawled on the ground, all traces of magical light gone, infection leaking from a wound in his back. Above and behind him stood Demetria, her own nail-lance covered in the filth of the wound.

Standing upright, Malachi looked from his daughter to the dead Elder, shaking his head. He’d been caught off guard by the magic-wielding husk, and he’d been laid low in battle. He’d never covered so before an enemy. He had never needed to be saved by another. His claws clenched, and for a fleeting second he felt as though he should tear the Mark of Pride from his cloak and cast it away. But he ignored the feeling and walked forward, finding his daughter’s eyes.

“Are you alright, Demetria?”

She nodded and knelt down, wiping off her nail-lance with her cloak. “I am. You?”

Rattled, Malachi shivered, glaring down at the corpse. “I have never seen a bug so strong with the infection. It attempted to deceive us. And it had been given power. I must speak to my sisters about this.”

“What shall I do with the body?”

Malachi paused, thinking. He shivered again, still feeling as though the hot vapor from the Elder’s magical attacks was working its way through his system. He didn’t know what sort of magic it was, but the attack hadn’t been too painful. It was the feeling of the smoke entering his body that had triggered such a reaction from him. He prayed that whatever the Elder had done to him did not have lasting effects on him. And even if it did, what could he do?

His first thought was to cast Hu’s body into the lake of acid. He wanted to be rid of the infected madman immediately, and get rid of the corpse in the same fashion they did with all bodies. But there was a voice in the back of his mind that warned against the reckless act of swift hatred. The Elder was clearly a special case when it came to infected bugs. Perhaps the body should be preserved, just in case his sisters decided it should be studied. But they couldn’t keep it near the village, lest they risk the infection spreading further and closer to their people.

He also felt some shred of shame. Whoever this Elder Hu had been an uninfected man, he had clearly been a smart and successful bug. It felt wrong to dispose of the body so unceremoniously.

“I want the Elder buried,” Malachi said decisively, turning away from the corpse. He didn’t bother trying to fish his nail-lance from the lake. He’d get a new one. “But do it far away from the village. We may need to study his corpse, but we can’t have it near our people. Fetch as many other mantises as you need to complete this task. Understand?”

“Yes, father,” Demetria said. There was a worried, uncertain tone in her voice. A slight waver that no mantis was proud to speak with. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Malachi wasn’t sure. He was nowhere close to sure. Never before had he been displaced in battle, and never had he seen such a dangerous and unnerving enemy. But the Mark of Pride on his cloak was there for a reason. He was not one to fear or worry. He was a Mantis Lord.

“Yes. I am fine.”

Chapter Text

Malachi was restless. The Mantis Lord had struggled to sleep in the past, but this was something different. As he lay in the hammock in his chambers, staring at the stone ceiling, a constant itch kept him from the allure of sleep. He had attempted reorienting his body in the hammock, laying on different sides, but nothing remained comfortable long enough for him to let go of consciousness. Sometimes, the instinct to remain aware in battle kept him from drifting to sleep. The idea cemented into his mind that he needed to be ever watchful kept him from keeping his eyes close and ignoring his surroundings.

But this was different. He was exhausted from a day of patrolling and sparring with his sisters. He was sore and ready to rest his troubled muscles, and during his years serving as a Mantis Lord, he had trained himself to put aside his battle instincts and allow himself respite. And yet, he found his mind unable to rest and release his troubles.

He was thinking about himself, the tribe, and the infection. And the Elder.

It had been over a week since his run-in with Elder Hu, the infected wanderer. Though things around the village had returned to normal following the unexpected event, Malachi’s mind had lingered on it, almost against his will. He had brought up the details of the Elder to his sisters, explaining how Hu had approached under the guise of an innocent bug, acknowledging the infection and claiming to be working against it. He explained how the Elder had grown increasingly aggressive until finally attacking, and he’d been killed by Demetria upon doing so.

The sisters had been just as disturbed as he to learn of Hu’s behavior. No, perhaps that was inaccurate. They were certainly taking the matter seriously, but they were not as unsettled by it as he was. They had not seen and fought the Elder directly, nor heard the way he’d spoken, how compelling and convincing his act was. They hadn’t been suddenly attacked by the magician and nearly overcome by his power. They hadn’t been humiliated and had their status as a Mantis Lord put into question.

They hadn’t seen their Marks of Pride tarnished. Not like him.

Malachi closed his eyes, thinking. He knew it didn’t do well to dwell on the past, but he was having difficulty ignoring what had happened. The infection was getting stronger. Strong enough that though it hadn’t corrupted him, it could have destroyed him. Without Demetria, he might have been killed by the Elder. That revelation wasn’t something a Mantis Lord could just ignore.

And as if the Elder’s sudden appearance and attack wasn’t disturbing enough, things had only gotten worse as the days went by. After the mantises had buried Hu in the northern chasms of the Fungal Wastes, the mantises had debated on what to do about the infection’s rising power. Would they extend their borders and push harder against the growing tide of infected beasts, or would they shrink back and hide from the plague? Yesterday, the counseling of that very topic had been interrupted by the appearance of a mantis youth, bearing a message from scouts in the eastern chasms.

“It’s happened,” The mantis had said with quiet reverence. “The great gates of Hallownest have been sealed. The stagways have been shut down and the bridges drawn. The trams and lifts have been decommissioned. No one is to enter and no one is to leave.”

For a long time after the news was delivered, none of the Mantis Lords had spoken. Regina, leaning back in her throne and lacing her claws, had eventually broken the silence. “So the Pale King has resorted to his final plan. To burn the bridges he worked so hard to build and protect himself.”

“What did we expect?” Minerva had responded waspishly. “The Pale King may appear a benevolent bug, but above all he desires to be worshiped and praised. If his subjects fall victim to a plague he is powerless to stop, and the worshiping stops, he will reveal his true colors. He will watch the rest of the kingdom burn before the infection reaches his precious capital and the palace below.”

“They say he is still trying to end the infection,” Alexandra had pointed out optimistically. “That scholar of his has made the efforts of his sanctum known. They are experimenting with the soul to neutralize mental afflictions. And I have heard furtive rumors that the king is tinkering with a project of his own in the deep confines of his palace.”

“Regardless of what they’re doing, the Pale King clearly knows he’s being defeated,” Malachi had said, shaking his head, tapping a claw against his horns. “He would never bar access to his glorious kingdom unless it was the only remaining option. He is running out of time and resources with which to muster a counterattack, and he knows it. Hallownest is finished.”

“And we will be too if we continue to mope!” Alexandra had retorted fiercely. “We need to execute a plan of our own. Either we must act against the plague or work harder to defend ourselves from it. After Malachi’s incident with that Elder, it is clear the infection is getting stronger, perhaps even smarter.”

“And what can we do more?” Minerva had demanded. “The Mantis tribe stands alone, as we always have. Everything we have is in our village. Even if we did consider breaking our vows and seeking aid, we have no one to turn to. Everyone around us is rapidly falling under the infection’s control, and even the Pale King himself has locked himself away from the devastation. We can’t do anything more than what we’re doing now.”

Malachi had wanted to interject so badly, and he lay awake at night wishing he had. If only his pride was not so great that he could not admit how afraid he was. He had witnessed firsthand the cunning and power of the infection, and he knew that they had to do something. If they couldn’t overpower the infection, they had to conceal themselves from it, or make it seem as though they were already infected. They couldn’t doddle while a plague designed to ruin the mind and enslave it under the twisted will of some unknown entity was bearing down upon them.

And yet, Malachi didn’t know how they could possibly empower themselves. It was like Minerva had said- they had no allies and no resources beyond those in their immediate vicinity, and even if they dared sever their oaths to try and scrounge more, the rest of the world was already in shambles. They were alone, and they had nothing more to do.

Unless . . . 

Malachi shifted in his hammock, rapping a claw against his chin. He had thought about it over and over again. He did not understand the nature of the infection. There seemed to be ample evidence that the infection was all coming from the same source, as it had similar effects on all it ensnared. Yet, some of the victims, Elder Hu being the relevant example, either retained their sanity, or had it somehow warped. He still walked, talked, and thought like a normal bug. It was just that someone else was choosing what he did and said, rather than Hu himself.

It could be reasoned, then, that the plague had a greater hold over the weak minded. Hu had clearly been an intelligent bug, and an accomplished one as well. Perhaps it was true that prior to being infected, he’d attempted to heal the infection. He had obviously failed, but he retained the guise of a sane, smart man despite being filled with infection. As Malachi had mused, it was possible that Hu didn’t even realize he was infected. The plague’s touch might’ve been so subtle that Hu wasn’t even aware that something else was influencing him.

All of the pondering led Malachi to one conclusion. The infection had different effects over its victims depending on their intelligence and strength of will. The smallest and weakest of beasts like tiktiks or mossflies could hardly put up a fight against the infection, instinctive and meager as they were. Husks were still vulnerable to the affliction, but they retained enough power over their bodies to properly walk and wield weapons, carrying out tasks they might’ve in their everyday lives. And the exceptionally intelligent like Elder Hu were practically still themselves, with the subtle difference of increased strength, and an aggressive entity guiding their actions.

Was it possible, then, for a bug to become infected without being controlled by it? Elder Hu was the closest evidence Malachi had seen thus far. The Elder had been so convinced that the mantises needed saving that he’d been blind to the infection within himself. So if a bug was smart enough, as well as aware of the infection inside, could they overpower the pull toward the entity? Could they wield the power of the affliction without being exposed to its dangers?

I needn’t fear the infection. I am of the superior race. It has no power over me.

Malachi knew pondering the question was foolish, as well as dangerous, but what choice did he have? It would be more dangerous to do nothing, and allow the infected bugs and beasts of Hallownest to gradually overwhelm him and his tribe. The voice in his mind, which had only gotten louder since the encounter with Elder Hu, was determined. There was a clear well of power to draw from. So long as Malachi was aware of its dangers and capable of overcoming them, he could do so safely.

The voice in his head grew louder and stronger. So much so that it almost didn’t sound like his own.

The power cannot control me if I learn to control it.

My tribe will not be forgotten. I will not be defeated. My pride will not be tarnished.

Dawn will break.

Malachi had sat upright and rolled out of his hammock before he even realized he was moving. He took up his new nail-lance resting on the shelf, beside which the claws of his fallen mantis ancestors were proudly displayed on the wall. He ducked out of his chamber alcove, casting a covert glance at the hammocks of his sisters around the edge of the throne room. None of them stirred. He considered rousing them, but the voice in his head made him second guess the idea.

Alexandra would worry and suggest against the action. Minerva would argue that Malachi was simply being stupid and try to sway him. As for Regina . . . Malachi could never be sure what his eldest sister was thinking, and that was what made her the greatest of the siblings. No. He would tell no one.

Digging his claws quietly into the stone wall of the shaft, Malachi eased himself up and out of the lower portion of the village. The few mantis guards who were not asleep saw him and bowed. They had no reason to question what he was doing. The great trapdoor was sealed shut for the night, but there were other, secret passages that led out of the village. Taking one of the routes, ducking through a tight corridor clustered with bulbous fungi and acid puddles, Malachi came out on the other side, in a cavern that twisted upward toward the northern chasms.

Malachi climbed. He knew the layout of the Fungal Wastes like the back of his claw, and though he’d only seen the burial site of Elder Hu once, he recalled exactly how to get there. Manuvering with the speed and grace only a mantis could achieve in the perilous terrain of the wastes, he deftly and leapt between fungal walls, passing over rivers of acid, thickets of plant life and nests of the mushroom clan. As he trekked, a few funglings drifted his way, and some sporgs attempted to knock him from the air with their explosive spores. Malachi made quick work of the pests, nail-lance flashing in and out of his sheath, leaving carcasses cleaved down the middle lying in his wake.

Malachi eventually reached the chasm he sought and bounded upward. The towering shaft curled upward like the knotted stalk of a pale fern, spongy caverns twisting away from the main stem like branches, acid pools forming from a network of waterfalls beginning near the top of the cavern. Minding amblooms scuttling along the ground and fungoons bobbing in the air, Malachi dodged the obstacles festooning the shaft and eventually reached the top. Turning right, he barreled through the bottom of another chasm, and instead of climbing it, he cut straight across to a small cave on the other side.

Slowing to a halt, Malachi came to the back of the cave. A large, rounded crevice with no other exits, the cave floor was swamped at the edges in acid like a moat, an island at the center springing with fungi. And at the center of the island was a triangular, stone gravemarker. A rounded symbol had been carved into it above a short plaque, and the Elder’s beaded necklace and tattered tunic lay atop it. Crouching, Malachi raid the text on the plaque, scribed in the common tongue by a mantis claw. We Remember the Elder.

Malachi nodded to himself, laying a claw over the mound of disturbed dirt and stone, knowing the infected corpse of Elder Hu lay just beneath him. The burial was more than the old fool deserved, but Malachi truly did feel bad for the shaman. The infection had used him as a puppet to try and infiltrate the Mantis village, and now Malachi was descrating his early grave. But Malachi was here to act on the warning the Elder’s arrival had brought. If Hu had known that Malachi would do this, surely he would be grateful to the mantis rather then off put.

Either way, he was here. There was no going back now.

Malachi reeled, prepared to drive his claws into the dirt and begin digging. But before he’d made contact with the soil, an orange glow began to emit it. He halted, his eyes latching onto the lines between the grains of matter, which were alight with the infection’s glow. As he watched, the soil bubbled softly, and orange liquid seeped up from the ground, forming a shallow puddle around the Elder’s grave.

Malachi hissed inward, fighting the urge to dart away from the grave. The infection was departing the carcass of its last host and offering itself up to a new one. It wasn’t trying to attack him, it just lay there in wait. The action was so innocent it frightened Malachi, but he held his ground. He knew that the infection would try to deceive him, as it was doing now, but he was stronger than it. No matter the power and cunning of the plague, he had power and cunning to match, and he would master himself.

Trembling with anticipation, Malachi lowered his claws into the sludge. The orange liquid warmed him to the touch, and in an instant, the warmth became a boiling heat. The infection bubbled and surged forward, tendrils of the goop curling around Malachi, draping him in a coat of slime. The liquid found the fine, miniscule crevices in his carapace and dove into them, working their way into his system. He shuddered and gasped, stumbled away and onto his knees, retching as he felt the liquid worm through him, like every meal he’d ever consumed was working together to try and cut their way from his gullet.

Letting out an agonized, weak roar, Malachi fell to his back, his quivering muscles unable to move. The infection had wrapped around his limbs and the bones within, immobilizing him as it penetrated his every organ. It was not hindered by his spasms or pants, and in a matter of seconds, Malachi felt every crevice in his body being filled, like a fungling swelling with noxious gas. The tightness in his limbs eased, the infection releasing his body, and Malachi curled up on the ground, panting and gasping for air, his eyes squeezed shut.

He lay there. Focussing on breathing and trying to ignore the pain crawling under his carapace, Malachi lay on the cavern floor, wishing he could die. He had no idea how much time was passing. It could’ve been seconds, minutes, or hours. It felt like the pain would not end. Malachi’s eyes fluttered and he cried out

And then he opened them. Orange mist curled upward from his lids, and as he drew in the warm air of the Fungal Wastes, an even stronger heat radiated from his breath. He got to his feet, the shakiness subsiding almost instantly. Any pain or soreness he’d felt moments ago was gone. He felt loose and spry, as though time had reversed and left even younger and stronger than he was now. He flexed his arms, watching in awe as muscles clenched beneath his caparace and his claws grew to twice their original length, the serrations doubling as well, becoming sharper.

When Malachi stood over the grave of Elder Hu, he saw it from a higher vantage than he had seconds ago. He was taller- broader too, and he felt strong enough to tear a mawlek limb from limb.

Turning, Malachi looked to the cave entrance, which was now low enough to the ground that he would need to duck to walk through it. He took tentatively steps forward, moving his new claws around, reveling in the newfound strength but anxiously waiting for the infection to try and overpower him. He waited for the sludge to entrap him and force him to move and speak against his will, to ravage his mind and leave him a soulless, furious corpse. He held still, presenting the infection with a moment of weakness, waiting for it to try and take control of his body.

But it did not.

Mandibles curling in a grin, Malachi walked forward, feeling the infection course through his body and strengthen him, yet fail to overpower his mind. He had come here fearing that his decision would ensure his death, but now he saw that those fears had been unfounded.

He had never felt more alive.

<><><>

For the first time since Malachi had achieved the rank of Mantis Lord, the mantises did not bow to him when he returned to the mantis village. Malachi took his time journeying back to the village from the grave of Elder Hu, descending the shafts and numbering over the acid lakes at a relaxed pace. When he finally did arrive at the entrance of the village, the patrol mantises began to bow, but gave starts and did not finish the motion. Every mantis he passed on the way to the village failed to lower their horns. Instead, they just stared, and some began to whisper as he passed by.

Malachi did not care what they had to say. The novelty of his change would wear off once he had extended his newfound power to the entire tribe.

Reaching the familiar stone walls decorated with weapons, mantis claws and the masks of fallen prey, Malachi walked through the halls of the village, having to stoop at some intervals to avoid beams and hammocks. Like with the guards, hushed whispers and stares followed him, and he spotted a number of mantises sprint or fly off toward the throne room, no doubt to inform his sisters of his return. Malachi hoped he hadn’t troubled them. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been gone, but most of the village had been asleep when he’d left, so if they were all awake now, they’d likely been startled to find him missing.

He reached the shaft and descended the outcroppings of the village walls, still followed by the eyes of every mantis adult and youth he passed. Malachi allowed himself the quickest of gazes in their direction. The unabashed stares were not that of reverence or respect that he was used to. They were shocked and aghast, almost fearful. Normally, it would be in the interest of a Mantis Lord to reprimand the display of weakness, but he would allow it today. The mantises admittedly had much to warrant their unease. He had undergone quite the change, and they had the right to react accordingly.

Reaching the bottom floor of the village, Malachi swaggered into the throne room. A number of the mantises that had rushed away at the sight of him were present, the adults standing along the edges of the room, the youth buzzing in the air or clinging to the walls. Among those standing near the thrones were Belona and Demetria. Malachi’s wife looked mortified, and she kept twitching as though barely capable of watching the proceedings. Demetria’s expression was not so laid bare, but there was an intense frown upon her face. She looked almost disappointed.

His sisters watched him enter the chamber wordlessly, standing upon the steps of their thrones. The three of them betrayed the least amount of fear of the tribesmen, but there was something more to the apprehension glistening in their dark eyes. It wasn’t just fear, but a more personal and intimate form of worry. Horror.

“Malachi . . .” Regina whispered, her voice haunted. “What have you done?”

“I apologize for giving you reason to worry, sisters,” Malachi said, splaying his claws out as if offering an embrace. “How long was I gone?”

“Nearly a day,” Alexandra answered, her voice faint. “Malachi . . .”

A day? Malachi felt a jolt of surprise at the revelation, but it did not disturb him much. The change in him had clearly taken time, but he needn’t worry of what was lost when so much had been gained.

“What did you do?” Minerva demanded, her fierce tone quivering. “What has happened to you?”

Malachi did not answer immediately. He was sure his appearance spoke for itself.

Once, he had been one of the least impressive Mantis Lords to look upon. He was the strongest of the siblings, but nearly the shortest. He lacked the agility and speed of Alexandra and the ruthless endurance of Minerva, and the unrivaled wisdom of Regina. And among the mantis tribe, the female bug was dominant, marking him as the least promising of his siblings since his birth. But the days of him looking up to his sisters and feeling inadequate had now ended.

The infection had made him taller, broader, and even stronger than he already was. Muscles swelled under a carapace now discolored from the bright liquid coursing through his veins. Claws twice as jagged and long as his sisters’ glistened upon his arms, so great they nearly dragged along the floor. His horns had grown too- their weight had increased so much that his head hung at a hunch beneath his shoulders. The feelings that often plagued the mortal body- pain, stiffness and soreness, hunger, thirst and exhaustion . . . they were all but a forgotten memory.

“Is it not obvious?” He said finally when no one had dared break the silence. “I’ve been reborn.”

“By what power?” Regina asked. “Brother, tell me you did not . . . you wouldn’t have . . .”

“Fear not. I was not overpowered by the infection. Indeed, no bug or beast in this great land could lay me low enough to force it upon me. No, sisters. I found the infection, and I overpowered it .”

“You’ve been infected!” Alexandra accused. “Willingly? Are you mad?”

“Far from it! We have known for long enough now that the infection was not strong enough to break our wills. But there was always the threat of the infected bugs overwhelming us with their physical might and numbers. But now we needn’t fear this fate, for I have discovered an escape!”

“Your escape is surrendering!” Minerva snapped. “You’ve joined with the enemy! And you come here to try and beguile us to do the same? How could you do this? To yourself, and to your people?”

“I do this for you,” Malachi corrected. He was not letting their wounded, angry words sway him. They had every right to be cautious. They would see soon enough that his actions were not as mutinous as they thought. “Look upon me and hear my words. I am not under the control of a malevolent, ruinous power. As I have said, the infection cannot reach our minds, and so I touched it knowing it could not conquer me. I have taken its power for myself without allowing it to destroy me.”

There was silence. Malachi looked to and fro, finding the eyes of the gathering crowd of mantises. Some of the initial shock had worn off, though the surprise remained in the gaze of some. A few of the mantises looked on with awe, as though seeing Malachi for the first time in decades. Some seemed to share the fear of the other three Mantis Lords, and some seemed to have calmed. Belona looked just as frightened as she’d been before, and Demetria . . . why did she look so sad?

“I understand that you are all hesitant to trust me,” Malachi said lightly, turning back to his sisters. “But give it time. You will find that the infection does not have power over me. It does not command me, because we are of the superior race. We have the power to command it, and I want to share that power with all of you. We needn’t fear the infection or anything ever again.”

“So speak of blasphemy,” Regina said. “How dare you ally yourself with the enemy of our tribe?”

“I have done no such thing. The infection is simply a source of power. That power is too great for the common bug to control, but we are not of the common bug. Let me show you.”

“The infection wants nothing but to spread upon every bug and beast in Hallownest!” Alexandra cried. “You said it yourself. And yet you have laid yourself bare to it, let it corrupt you. If you are being truthful, and you truly are in control, that does not change the facts. You have taken it upon yourself and betrayed your tribe in the process. And just because it does not command you now does not mean it will continue to give you that leniency.”

“Why have you done this to begin with?” Minerva asked. “Why tarnish yourself with the plague?”

“Because it is our only choice.” Malachi waited for a followup question, and when none came, he went on. “We have counseled on the matter for days, sisters. You know I speak the truth. As the infection puts more under its spell, our enemies grow. Not just neighbors that detest us, but adversaries that actively pursue to destroy us. If we wait for the infection to overcome every bug and beast outside of our home, they would work together to make their dream of desolation come true. We have no allies to turn to, and so we stand alone. But by taking in the infection willingly and mastering its power, we can not only disguise ourselves from it, but fight back against those overwhelmed by it!”

“What evidence have you that such a mad plan could work?” Alexandra asked.

Malachi laughed, splaying out his claws again. “You behold it now.”

“Your appearance proves nothing!” Minerva hissed. “Just because you speak and act as though you are not being controlled does not mean you are being truthful. The infection has twisted your body and turned you into something you were not before. How can you be sure the same has not been done to your mind and heart? How can you be sure this power you claim to have seized is not slowly corrupting you without you realizing it?”

Malachi leveled his gaze at his tallest sister. “I knew you might envy it. I knew that you covertly loved being my superior, and that when I surpassed your power, you would molt with jealousy. But you needn’t feel such things, sister. I offer the power freely unto you all.”

“We are jealous of nothing,” Regina said. “We are angry, and we are afraid. You have not only betrayed your tribe and your family, but you are attempting to force us to do likewise.”

“Your expectations betray you, sisters. You think I am a monster now, because those that the infection puppeteers have become such. But this is not the case. The infection didn’t come to me, I came to it, and I have mastered its power. And I am confident you can do so as well.”

“You sound like the Elder.”

Malachi went rigid and spun, glaring. His daughter, Demetria, had stepped closer into the center of the room, Belona watching fretfully behind her.

“The Elder claimed to be fighting against the infection, but in reality it was controlling him,” Demetria went on. “Now you claim the exact same things. There is no way for us to know whether you are telling the truth, Your word means nothing when you might not be the one in control.”

“Then give it time,” Malachi said again, clenching his claws. “Watch my actions and listen to my words over the course of the next days and weeks. You will see no change in me.”

“Unfortunately, we don’t have time to study your actions,” Regina said from her throne. “Because we will not be seeing enough of each other to do so.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You are no longer welcome in this village, Malachi. Leave.”

Malachi almost laughed. He looked around at his fellow mantises, waiting for one of them to speak up, but no one did. His gaze turned hard, moving from mantis to mantis, eventually finding his daughter and his sisters. Even his own family refused to listen.

“You misunderstand,” Malachi said thinly. “I may appear as though I’ve betrayed you, but I am trying to save us all. I fight for the tribe, for the Mark of Pride.”

“Not anymore, apostate,” Regina said in a cold voice. “You have dishonored your tribe by bonding with our enemy, and allowing them to make an abomination of you. You are no longer a Mantis Lord, and you are unworthy of the Mark of Pride.”

There was silence in the room, but the voice in Malachi’s head was screaming. Again, he looked around for support amongst the other mantises. Some of them did look on with sorrow. Others were disapproving, either of the sisters or of him. Others were still afraid. Malachi looked to his own wife, who refused to meet his eyes, and his daughter who was ashamed of him. He had done this for his people, and this was how they reacted? They wanted him shunned and exiled?

This was wrong. This was unjust! He had risked his own life, offering himself up to the enemy and wrestling it into submission, and his tribe treated his actions as mutiny! He had gone to such great effort for the good of his people, to make them strong, so that they needn’t ever be afraid of again. And instead of being grateful, they took their fear and anger and turned it on him. They had besmirched his title as a Mantis Lord. They had tarnished his Mark of Pride.

Snarling, Malachi reached up, seizing the Mark of Pride on his cloak and tearing it away. He threw it to the side, where it skidded onto the ground amidst the horde of mantis onlookers.

“Unlike you, sisters,” Malachi hissed. “I do not value my title over my oath to my people. If it is truly what you wish, I will leave this place, but not before I have helped you. You will thank me later.”

“We will not,” Regina snapped. “Depart now, Malachi, or we will force you out of our home.”

In spite of his anger, Malachi smiled. “I would like to see you try.”

Chapter Text

The fragile peace persisted only a second longer. Regina pounced from her throne, nail-lance flashing from its sheath as she thrust it down toward her brother. Malachi leapt back, unsheathing his own weapon as Regina hit the ground and sank her nail-lance into the ground. The blade slid out of the rock and slashed horizontally at Malachi, but he ducked beneath the swing and brought his own weapon down at his sister. She dodged deftly back, and when he repeated the motion, she raised her nail-lance to catch the blade, trembling under the weight of Malachi’s enhanced strength.

They wrestled for a moment, blades sliding against each other and vying for dominance, until Regina stepped back and pulled her weapon away, causing Malachi to stumble forward from the moment. Her nail-lance slashed down at him from behind, and he whriled just in time to deflect the blow with his weapon, swinging with such power that he broke her hold on her own weapon. The nail-lance flew backward into the air, but Regina propelled herself into the air after it, catching it before landing on the ground several yards away in a defensive stance.

Growling, Malachi threw a glance backward. Alexandra and Minerva remained standing at the edge of their thrones, tense but not yet hostile. It was disgraceful for a mantis to attack another being from behind, but Malachi wouldn’t put it past his sisters after all they’d said to him today.

He turned back to his opponent just as Regina broke into a sprint, nail-lance twirling overhead. He sidestepped as she thrust her weapon downward, swiping his claw across her face. The blow prompted a startled cry from his sister, blood flicking from her chin as she stumbled back, quickly raising her nail-lance in time to block Malachi’s diagonal slash. He responded with an upward slash, and while she parried the attack with her weapon, he used his free claw to slash his sister’s chest.

Regina shouted out in pain again, the underhanded attack catching her off guard and loosening her hold on her weapon. As the nail-lance sailed upward, she darted back to try and catch it again, but Malachi was faster and unhindered by injury. He pushed off of the ground and bounded over his sister, catching her nail-lance and landing behind her. Regina spun clumsily, blood glistening on her face and chest, stumbling back as Malachi advanced, a nail-lance grasped in either claw.

“I’d rather not have to hurt you, sister,” Malachi hissed, striking the nail-lances against the ground as he prowled forward. “Yield.”

“You have already hurt me,” Regina said, sounding more wounded than she looked. “And you are hurting our people. Please, accept your exile gracefully.”

Malachi clicked his mandibles, nail-lances held over his head. “Make me.”

Regina spun, legs extending and sweeping Malachi off his own. He flailed, dropping the nail-lances to free his claws, bracing his fall with them and stumbling back. Regina rolled to her feet, picking up her fallen weapon and swinging it at Malachi while he was down. He dodged as best he could on the ground, rolling out of the way as Regina struck three more times, finally pushing himself onto his feet. Regina’s nail-lance swung at him from above, and with no weapon to defend himself, he raised his claws upward, catching her blade with the jagged edges of his arms.

Pushing his sister back, Malachi thrust his arms forward, dodging her next swing by leaping sideways, picking up his nail-lance as he passed it, raising it in time to deflect another blow. They traded attacks, Regina just barely quick enough to catch or dodge his blunt attacks. His sister was normally far too fast and strong for him to keep up with her. But with the infection bolstering his strength and speed, combined with the injuries he’d already inflicted on her, she was finally down to his level.

Regina charged forward and slashed upward, Malachi jerked his own weapon down to catch and deflect it. He blocked another attack, catching Regina’s nail-lance just short of her claws gripping it, and he slid the weapon down into her claw. With a short cry, Regina dropped her weapon yet again, darting away from Malachi’s next attacks as blood gushed from the tip of her claw. Seeing his opportunity, Malachi rushed forward and unleashed a volley of thrusts, but Regina ducked smoothly out of the way of them all. She made a run for her weapon, but Malachi kicked it away, then turned and backhanded her with the top of his claw.

The mantises watching silently at the parameter of the room edged away as Regina hit the ground in front of them. Whimpering, the Mantis Lord got to her feet, bleeding from various shallow cuts, gasping for air. Malachi advanced on her, but she raised her claw to stop him, panting.

“I yield,” Regina said breathlessly. “Sisters . . .”

Malachi whirled just in time to see Alexandra and Minerva spring from their seats and land on the arena floor in front of him, nail-lances aloft. They circled him for a moment, giving him time to adjust his grip on his weapon and analyze the battleground. The strength of Minerva and the speed of Alexandra made for formidable opponents alone. Together, they would be a struggle. But he wasn’t backing down.

Malachi leapt forward, unleashing a feverish assault upon Alexandra. She darted back and raised her nail-lance, angling it at a blinding speed to deflect each blow before initiating some of her own. As Malachi went on the defensive, aware that Minerva was advancing to his left. Deflecting Alexandra’s next attack, he leapt back just as Minerva thrust her nail-lance toward him, swiping her weapon upward and responding with a slash to her neck. She dodged out of the way as Alexandra charged forward with an attack of her own.

Losing the upper hand, Malachi backed away as his sisters assaulted him, his attention divided. He avoided blows from Alexandra and parried attacks from Minerva that shook him to his shell, thinking quickly and ensuring he was never holding still. When he made a swipe for Alexandra, she darted to the nearest wall and propelled off of it. At the same time, Minerva swung at Malachi’s chest, and he dodged and looked away just in time to see Alexandra diving at him from the ceiling. He responded with a leap upward, jerking his nail-lance upward with all the strength he had.

His infection-enhanced strength surpassed Alexandra’s. His blow sent her nail-lance flying, and she fell with it, hitting the ground with a muffled cry. Malachi landed a few feet away, darting toward his fallen sister but intercepted by Minerva on the way there. They traded blows while Alexandra got to her feet, and when she did, she darted toward him with a thrust of her nail-lance. Malachi jumped again, leaping over his sister’s head and slashing downward for her head, slashing her horns.

Alexandra fell again, tiny fragments spurting out from the open slash wound in her horns. Malachi landed on the other side of his fallen sister and whirled with his nail-lance aimed for her neck, but Minerva sprang in front of her to deflect the blow. Rearing away, Malachi spun his weapon to defend himself from Minerva while Alexandra got to her feet, before springing toward him faster than a stag. He began to panic as he buckled under the weight of two warriors, unable to direct his attention to one for long enough to do any real damage. He needed to turn the tide in his favor.

Backing away and putting space between himself and his sisters, Malachi inhaled deeply, mentally reaching inward for the heat inside of his body. Pulling at the infection inside him and pulling it through his body, feeling the liquid swell inside his veins. With a strained cry, Malachi lunged forward as infected sludge leaked from his claws like perspiration, and infected gas curled from his eyes and mouth. Minerva and Alexandra started, and using the moment of weakness, Malachi slashed his claw forward.

Using the power of the infection, his claw detached, flinging forward like a weapon. It spun on the air like a dancing glaive, a scythe that whirled forward like a boomerang. The action should’ve hurt him, but he felt no pain. In fact, with a spurt of infection, his claw regrow in seconds, sharper than before. The airborne claw scythe hit Minerva, who wasn’t as fast as Alexandra and failed to dodge it completely. It sliced her across the stomach, earning a furious, pained scream as the sister fell to the ground, her nail-lance clattering to the ground.

Grinning, Malachi spun as Alexandra leapt to the wall and pounced from it toward him. He raised his nail-lance to block her attack, but his grip was weakened by his trembling, newly-formed claw, and the weapon was swept aside. When she struck again, he raised his claw to stop the blade, and with a stroke of genius, he reached up with his other claw on top of her nail-lance and strained. His claws pressed into the weapon from either side, with a screech of metal, the nail-lance snapped in two fragments that spun across the room.

Startled, Alexandra darted away, quickly replacing her broken weapon with Malachi’s fallen nail-lance and turning to make a stab at him, but he was too quick. He charged toward his sister with his head lowered and rammed her with his head of massive horns, sending her flying into the crowd of onlooking mantises. Alexandra hit the wall and crumbled to the ground, panting and bleeding, not far from where Regina limped, watching the fight. Malachi glanced behind him, finding Minerva struggling to get to her feet, hindered by a massive gash on her torso.

A slight tinge of guilt swelled inside Malachi, but he dismissed it and smirked. His sisters had forced his claw, and they would suffer the consequences.

“So, I take it you all yield?” Malachi cried victoriously, pacing around the deserted arena. The stone ground was cracked from nail-lance strikes and peppered with drops of blood.

“Never!” Minerva bellowed, her voice pitching as she keeled over, coughing.

“Yield to him, sisters!” Regina called, sounding resigned. “It is within his right to slay you if you do not.”

“He wouldn’t,” Alexandra argued weakly against the wall. “See reason, Malachi! We do not want to hurt you, and if you truthfully do not want to hurt us, prove it!”

Again, Malachi hesitated. He glanced down at his cloak, which had been cut in various places during the fight. His eyes fell upon the place where the Mark of Pride- the symbol of his leadership, had been minutes before. He growled, banishing any weak sympathy from his mind.

“I’m afraid I’m done listening to you, sisters,” Malachi sighed, picking up Minerva’s abandoned nail-lance and striding toward his sister, still a bleeding mess on the ground. “There is going to be a change of leadership around here.”

He raised the nail-lance over his head. Raising her trembling head, Minerva’s furious eyes met his, and at the last second, they closed and her head fell. Malachi knew not if the motion was her way of surrendering, or simply accepting her fate. Regardless, he would not spare her unless she said the words.

He prepared to strike.

Something sharp scraped across the back of his head. He went rigid, feeling the weapon carve a shallow wound in his enhanced carapace, blood and infection flying from the cut. Muscles clenching, fury building, Malachi whirled, lowering the nail-lance and slashing it at whoever had dared attack him from behind. He released the weapon as it struck true, leaving it stuck in the side of the mantis that had attacked him. He glared down at them, expecting to see Regina or Alexandra, and his heart stopped.

It was Demetria.

Malachi gasped, stumbling back, his eyes finding his daughter’s body. She’d fallen to her feet, Minerva’s nail-lance slashed halfway through her chest, blood cascading down her body. And the dark red substance was mingled with a luminous, white liquid. Her wound was fatal.

“Father,” Demetria whispered, her eyes fluttering shut as her body heaved and crumbled.

“Daughter . . .” Malachi’s voice came out weak and horrified. “No . . .!”

Demetria fell to the ground, blood and soul forming a buddle beneath her body. For a moment, Malachi could only stand there in shock, his heart beating so fast he thought it might kill him. When he snapped out of the mortified trance, he threw himself onto the ground in front of his daughter, plunging his claws under her body and lifting her into his lap. He shook her lightly, looked her up and down from the gaping wound he’d caused to her lifelessly, motionless face.

It was difficult to tell through his own heavy, fast breaths, but the infection bolstering his senses allowed him to listen closely to her body. She wasn’t breathing.

“No! Demetria, please, don’t . . .! I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry, please . . .!”

He jostled his daughter in his arms, his voice lowering to a cracked, desperate whisper. He spoke her name over and over again, his eyes searching her broken body in vain for any sign of life. He closed his eyes, pleading to whatever god was listening, but to no avail. He couldn’t bring himself to accept what had just happened. She hadn’t stepped up behind him. He hadn’t killed her.

Malachi stiffened, his dry cries interrupted as he felt a cold, metal blade lay against his shoulder. He looked up sharply from where he crouched, finding all of his sisters back on their feet, weapons in hand. Regina stood just before him, standing tall despite her injuries, her nail-lance held up against Malachi’s neck, her face as expressionless as a stone. Alexandra limped to her lift, numbly clutching her weapon and favoring her injuries, looking soberly down at Demetria. Minerva hobbled to Regina’s right, leaning heavily against her nail-lance, her eyes narrowed into seething slits.

Malachi looked around at the mantis onlookers. Some had fled from the battle and were only now returning to the chamber. Mournful expressions looked down upon the fallen Demetria from every corner of the room. Other mantises looked on in anger or unease. Others were unreadable. He couldn’t find Belona. Had she seen what had just happened?

“Enough of this madness, Malachi,” Regina said firmly, the earlier wavering in her voice gone. “Accept your exile and depart. Before anyone else must get hurt.

Malachi fought hard not to unleash an anguished, furious scream, his blood-stained claws tightening around his daughter’s body. “You did this! You forced this pointless battle! You-!”

“We are not the ones that dealt the blow that took her,” Regina said. “You did that yourself.”

“Save your breath, sister,” Minerva sneered, glaring at Malachi, as though the dead child in his claws was invisible. “His mind is gone. He is a Mantis Lord no longer.”

“I didn’t want this!” Malachi shrieked, slamming one claw into the ground, the other still curled around his daughter’s lifeless body. “Why couldn’t you just accept my help! Look at what’s happened!”

“What has happened came to pass because of your stubbornness. You have betrayed your tribe, and you were told to depart. Now you have betrayed your family as well, and destroyed one among them. If you retain any respect or love for your people, heed our warning this time. If you do not leave now, we will kill you.”

“Must we go this far?” Alexandra asked feebly from where she limped. “He is our brother.”

“He is a traitor!” Minerva snapped. “He has killed his own, and he was going to kill more!”

“I’m sorry!” Malachi wailed, closing his eyes again. “I never meant for this to happen. Please, let me atone for this. Let me heal you.”

“The healing you offer, we do not want,” Regina said. “The infection has transformed you into an abomination beyond our people. The evidence lies in your arms. You have betrayed everything you once were and have shed blood on Mantis Tribe territory. Depart now, before I elect to eliminate the threat of your existence permanently.”

Malachi snarled, reaching under his daughter and rising to his feet. Regina kept the blade at his neck all the way up. Holding Demetria limply in his claws, he looked from sister to sister, finding little to none of the honor, respect and love he once saw in them. He then turned to the other mantises, the people he had once led.

“Very well. If it is the will of the great Mantis Lords that I be ejected from my home, I shall abide. I will not force my gift upon any of you, but it shall be given freely to any who desire it. I proclaim to the Mantis tribe! Any among you who are weary of the mounting enemy, come to me and be empowered by the infection I have mastered. I will take with me any who are willing.”

“You cannot,” Minerva argued. “You are no longer a Mantis Lord.”

“Any mantis can freely leave the tribe,” Malachi insisted. “Or would you rather tell them they are entirely subservient to your will?”

Minerva hesitated, glancing around at the mantises watching the proceedings. Seeing the mixed responses on their faces, she sighed and shook her head. “Regina?”

“Any who desire to leave have the agency to do so,” Regina said firmly. “Such is our law.”

“Indeed!” Malachi cried, looking across the crowd. “You are free to come unto me, so fear not. Know that the infection I offer will not ravage your mind or body. You shall have mastery over it, and it shall strengthen you. Through the infection, I have gained the power equal to three Mantis Lords! I have spared them only on account of my daughter, who they turned against me. All of you who desire to be strong, and be free from the tyranny of these false lords, come forward!”

At first, there was silence. Then, like a ripple in a lake of acid, the entire mantis tribe shuffled with activity. Mantises young and old came forward, pushing through the crowds or buzzing overhead. The Lords stepped back, a measure of surprise in their eyes as a multitude gathered in front of Malachi. He looked over his growing following, picking out familiar faces among them. Calamus and Silvanus were some who had joined him. His eyes sought out Belona, and eventually he found her, standing as though petrified in a corner of the room, mournful and afraid.

Malachi narrowed his eyes and gave her a stern nod. She seemed to understand the wordless exchange and scuttled forward into the crowd of followers.

“So many would abandon our tribe,” Alexandra whispered faintly from where she limped.

“Such is their right,” Regina said with resigned sadness. “Malachi, take your people and leave our village. Henceforth, you will be known as a Lord only of traitors. Your throne shall be toppled and your Mark of Pride revoked. Perhaps one day, we shall pass it onto another who remains worthy and true to it.”

Malachi’s eyes narrowed, and he swept over the crowd in front of him. There were over a hundred mantises- at least a third of the village’s population. He half considered attacking his sisters and fighting for the village, but he would not lead more of his people to death. His daughter would be the last.

“Do what you will with your pointless titles and trophies, Mantis Lords,” Malachi spat, turning around and leading his people out of the arena. “Farewell.”

<><><>

Several days later, Malachi walked down the pristine halls of a garden gazebo overrun with plantlife. His razor, serrated claws sliced cleanly through the vines and thorn bushes that had grown over the path, barring the road. Virile odors drifted in the air from the massive, colorful flowers blossoming on the leafy walls of the cave the hall was carved through, mixing with the ambience of airbourne mossflies and other critters prowling through the jungle. Calamus walked behind him, doing so quietly as though walking creeping past a brooding mawlek he intended to avoid.

And Malachi did feel like one. Dangerous, wounded, and ready to kill.

He snarled as he cut through the underbrush, carving a path through the gardens. His tribesmen had struck camp in the lower reaches of the leafy chasms, in tunnels that contained a smaller infestation of loodles and fool eaters. This deep stretch of Greenpath had been known as the Queen’s Gardens. The White Lady of Hallownest had usurped the jungle caverns, filling them with her greenhouses, courtyards and chapels. The blood of hundreds of her servants and guards stained his claws, as he’d not fought with a nail-lance since his banishment.

He had chosen this place for his sect of the tribe to reside for a number of reasons. For one, they could not enter the Fungal Wastes without inciting war with the tribe of his treacherous sisters, but he wanted to bear near enough to them that he could ambush them if they ever took up arms against him. He also wanted to be on the doorstep of the Queen of Hallownest, who had hidden herself somewhere in the gardens when the infection had sprung alive. His servants were sweeping the wild terrain, searching hungrilly for the White Lady so that he could finally hit the Pale King where it hurt.

But things were taking time. And the unfamiliar territory was perilous, even for the mantises. Even after Malachi had anointed his followers with the infection, increasing their size and power, the world around them was a natural deathtrap seeking to ensnare them in its leafy jaws. Malachi would rather spend a thousand years in the gardens than walk anywhere near the home of his sisters, but he could not satiate the fury bubbling beneath the surface.

He found that the only reliable way to work out his anger was killing. Though he had mastered the infection and retained his mind, at times, especially when he was fighting, he felt like a feral animal. His rage and pain had twisted him into something no mantis had ever been before. He’d been made an outcast, his life made a constant endeavor to survive and kill. He was an intruder upon wildlands, but he had lost the ability to care for how his actions would affect others. This was his land now, and he would destroy anyone that dared oppose him.

Malachi and Calamus reached a leafy passage lined with thorn bushes on all surfaces. Leaping carefully between the thistles and spikes, Malachi made his way through the cavern, reaching a rounded chamber at the end. Thorns and vines covered almost every surface of the room, hiding any sign of rock or leaf, and there was a wide open clearing on the ground. The cave was just as Silvanus had described it. This would do nicely.

Malachi gestured silently at the ground, in no mood to speak. Calamus came forward and lowered the body of Demetria onto the cavern floor, her body lightly wrapped in spider silk. Malachi then pointed with his claw for the cavern exit, and Calamus obeyed without a sound. The disgraced Mantis Lord waited for his servant to leave him alone in the cave before getting to work.

Lowering himself, he began to dig, keeping his deep orange eyes on the body of his daughter. While he and his followers made camp in the Queen’s Gardens, they’d done some scouting to learn of the situation in Hallownest. They’d apprehended travelers and guards and interrogated them, learning of how the kingdom was faring, or rather, how it was not. In all intents and purposes, Hallownest had collapsed. The King had vanished and the Queen had barred herself at the center of her gardens.

Malachi’s mantises had pinpointed the location the Queen was hidden. A number of guards were posted around the northern chasms, led by one of Hallownest’s five knights, the scrawny, impudent bug Malachi had met not long ago. Dryya proved to be a fierce foe, besting his mantises left and right, but he was positive they could overwhelm her over time. The infection had made them strong, and they would soon overpower and destroy the feeble fools of Hallownest that remained in his new home.

But while his mantises had researched the state of the world, they had learned something truly interesting. One of the other knights of Hallownest, a mysterious, foreign bug called Ze’mer, had been in contact with his daughter. Apparently, during Demetria’s scouting missions, she’d met the knight of Hallownest and formed a connection with her. Some of the mantises said that the two bugs had become friends, and a few suggested that their bond had been something more.

Whatever it was, Malachi refused to entertain the thought. Clearly, his tyrannic sisters had corrupted his daughter even greater than he’d originally suspected. If she was fraternizing with the Hallownest bugs as his followers claimed, she had truly lost her way.

And yet, he could not bring himself to hate her. Demetria had betrayed him, and in more ways than one, she deserved her fate. But she was also his daughter. And regardless of how she worried, wounded or disappointed him, he would forever love her.

And now, he would forever mourn her.

The worst part was, he knew it didn’t have to last forever. He knew the infection had the power to raise the dead and allow them to walk again. But he knew Demetria would not be happy. Though he and his living followers were able to master the infection and retain their minds, there was no telling if a mantis brought back from the dead would be capable of such mastery.

He couldn’t do that to his daughter. He would not revive her and risk reducing her to a lifeless, mindless brute like the husks had become. The whole point of his endeavor to control the infection was to keep him and his people safe from its dangers. But if he brought Demetria back just to force her into a state of living worse than death, he couldn’t live with himself.

He was already having difficulty living with himself. So no matter how much it hurt to be without her, he would not allow the infection to tempt him into bringing her back. She had lived her life, and he would allow her the rest she deserved.

Malachi finished digging. The hole was narrow and small, but it didn’t need to be any larger. Demetria was small in death, and she’d always been a shorter mantis. Malachi gently lowered his daughter into the hole, taking a moment to stare at her pale, lifeless face before beginning to cover her. It didn’t take long, and soon, the gravesite was flat and smooth. He stood upright, deciding firmly that he would need to mark the spot. He would order a stone to be placed thereon, and he would carve out a final message upon it. Demetria would be remembered. At the very least, in his heart.

“Forgive me, daughter,” He whispered in a hollow voice. “I never meant to do you harm. I am sorry.”

Slowly, he turned from the buried Demetria and sauntered out of the cavern. There, he left his greatest wound. Though he would forever hate his sisters for what they’d done to him, their decision to exile him could never hurt more than his own actions did. Though they had tarnished his Mark of Pride, the loss of his title would never outweigh the loss of his daughter.

He would live the rest of his days in constant anger. But that anger would pale in comparison to his shame and sorrow. Though he would never admit it aloud, he knew what he was. The mantis who had betrayed his tribe, and in doing so betrayed his family. His endeavor to master the infection and finally conquer the remnants of Hallownest would continue, but they would not fulfill his aching heart. He would appear a monster to the outside world, unfeeling and unbending, but inside, he would forever feel like a baldur hiding within its own shell.

Casting one last look at the grave, the Traitor Lord whispered his goodbye.