Under the ancient tree, the sprawling shadows of branches stretched wide, and the crisp crunch of withered leaves echoed beneath the men's boots. The cool shade of the canopy brushed against the faces of the Awakened-Hunters as they inhaled the fresh, mountain air.
They carried no weapons or metal on their persons; they waited in disciplined silence for the arrival of Prince Cerceux. In the distance, they could see soldiers and officials stationed atop the barricade walls, poised for the first command.
"Draw bows! Target 36 degrees North!" the command leaders bellowed. Archer strings groaned under tension as the arrowheads began to smolder and glow with heat. "Initiate the Orion Strike!" the leaders shouted in unison. A volley tore through the air with a vibration like the hum of a hundred bees. Thwazzz! Thunk!
"CRROWNKS!!!" The shrieks of AS-Myrmex swarming the border rang out. Fires erupted across the ground, and their carapaces popped and crackled like burning bamboo. In the second volley—pure blades coated in sulfur powder—the steel slid softly into the exoskeletons. Suddenly, a rich, savory aroma began to drift through the air—the sweet and briny scent of premium seafood.
After twenty minutes, the creatures lay scattered like crabs turned a deep, vibrant red, their hard exoskeletons polished by rendered oils. Their chitinous legs rattled against the earth like hammers on steel. Their long, anemone-like heads leaked glistening oils, and a boiling green broth hissed from their joints. Their stingers burst open like corn kernels, revealing succulent, prawn-like flesh. They looked like giant roasted lobsters gathered in the wake of the fire, the air heavy with a thick, steamy vapor that smelled irresistibly salty and sweet. Birds from the sky suddenly plummeted toward the field of "cooked" AS-Myrmex, as documented in the recovered files, pecking at the meat like they had found a trove of giant grubs.
Suddenly, a heavy silence fell. The archers collapsed at the base of the walls. Their muscles spasmed; their teeth chattered as saliva began to leak uncontrollably from their mouths. Their heads hung low in the shadows, fingers twitching with a life of their own.
Meanwhile, among the Hunters, a terrifying stillness took hold. The once-disciplined warriors became like famished hounds, nostrils flaring as they took tentative, creeping steps. When Prince Cerceux arrived, he found them all hunched over.
"Prepare yourselves for the assault on the cave laboratory," Alexuther commanded, standing beside the Prince. The Hunters did not turn; they didn't even flinch, as if they had gone deaf and blind. Only the clinking of the metal gear at Alexuther's waist broke the silence. "What is wrong with you? Why won't you answer? Stand at attention!" Alexuther's voice rose in frustration.
"Food... A banquet!!" one hunter shrieked, his mouth frothing. He inhaled the air with eyes rolling back in ecstasy and grinned.
"What!?" Alexuther and Cerceux were stunned by the bizarre behavior. "What are you talking about? We aren't going to a feast!"
The hunters suddenly bolted toward the Thallerion border barricade. Their brains seemed to be operating under a primal command of starvation; their eyes were lost in a shared hallucination. Instead of the grotesque, charred remains of Scorpio-stingers, they saw a grand banquet overflowing with delicacies, shimmering with an impossible brilliance—the feast they had craved their entire lives. "I'm starving!! I have to taste it!!!"
"Hey! Get back here!" Alexuther tried to grab their arms, but they thrashed away with unnatural strength.
"What is happening?" Cerceux's heart hammered. He peered through his telescope and his eyes widened. Even the shooters and high-ranking officials were leaping from the walls into the field, heedless of the danger. "Was the intel from Davina Hebronor wrong? The scent of the scorched flesh... it's a neurotoxin." Cerceux and Alexuther immediately covered their noses. "The reports never mentioned hallucinations."
"What do we do? Our soldiers are going to die!" Alexuther cried.
They ran toward the troops to break the trance, but as they drew near, they witnessed a nightmare: the crunch of chitin, a hysterical laugh, the chewing of bitter green acid leaking from the meat. It was a tearful, manic laughter—the meat tasted like rich, fatty marrow basted in a sweet-savory glaze; the exoskeletons were as crisp and flavorful as roasted pork crackling. Every bite sliced their tongues and mouths, yet every wound only fueled a bottomless, agonizing hunger.
"It's delicious!!!" They hopped from foot to foot with every bite, sucking the juices that dripped onto their chests like a savory consommé. They laughed like they had lost their minds, brawling and snatching scraps from one another.
"This is mine!! All of this is mine!!!"
"No!! That's mine!!! Die!" A soldier was accidentally impaled through the stomach by a stinger held by another, his body convulsing, yet he continued to laugh.
"They can't feel the pain?"
"It's euphoria!!" Prince Cerceux explained. "There is a glee toxin in the AS-Myrmex meat... the more they consume, the tighter the poison grips them. Even pain and death are temporarily masked by the delusion."
Cerceux was cut short as the ground began to vibrate.
A second wave of AS-Myrmex emerged, marching with the precision of a professional army. They ignored the feasting Hunters and shooters, moving with a chilling, systematic pattern. From the dark mouth of the cave, a man emerged. He wore white, but it wasn't fabric—it was the molted skin of an ancient reptile, fashioned into a lab coat stained with hardened splatters of yellow, red, and purple blood.
"Welcome, welcome, my guests... are you enjoying the banquet I prepared for your empty stomachs?" His voice was high-pitched, like striking silver, bubbly as a child with a lollipop. He skipped over the corpses of soldiers as if they were party decorations. "Eat your fill, brothers! Fill your bellies until they 'burst'; savor the nutritious 'acid' of my creations." His cheeks twitched with delight at the sight of the ravenous Awakened-Hunters. He spotted Alexuther and Cerceux. "Greetings, friends... I am Dr. Ophiuchus. Are you pleased with my little spread?" He cackled with mockery. "No one can match my inventions... my creations are the ultimate weapons, not those lifeless trinkets you carry."
"Don't be afraid, friends. I'm not done with my plans yet. This is nothing compared to my vision for this world." He stepped over a soldier who was frantically shoveling meat into his mouth.
"Easy there, glutton... save some for the others... many are still hungry." Dr. Ophiuchus nudged the man's face with a polished shoe encrusted with living barnacles. "But if they don't want it... fine, eat it all. Consume it." He ground the soldier's face into the red carapace while staring at Cerceux.
Dr. Ophiuchus trembled with excitement as he moved among those fighting for meat. "Why fight? Why not just accept the destiny of abundance I have granted you?" He giggled, glancing at the Prince. "Oops, did I bruise the ego of the Prince of Thallerion?"
"Stop this, you madman!" Cerceux's fists clenched, his eyes beginning to glow with a brilliant blue light. "You will pay for this."
"I'm doing nothing... Look closely. They are eating... laughing... sharing a meal. You... yes, you are the one at fault." He let out a taunting laugh. "What a tragedy for these soldiers to have you as their prince."
Dr. Ophiuchus picked up a reddish, chitinous leg. "When my AS-Myrmex are cooked, they release a neurotoxin. A divine aroma!" He inhaled deeply. "Did you know it causes hallucinations?" He snapped the chitin with a crisp crack, revealing the snowy white meat. "I went mad the first time, too... lucky for me, I'm a healer—but the taste is so, so exquisite. It's intoxicating."
He stepped toward Cerceux. His staff featured a living white snake coiled around it, topped with a glowing green crystal. "It's delicious, Cerceux. Have a bite." He offered the leg.
"That's far enough," Alexuther growled. Dr. Ophiuchus froze as massive firearms manifested from Alexuther's hands, his eyes flashing yellow. He aimed the gaping muzzles at the doctor. "You're nothing but a Chef of Death... you deserve to be roasted by explosive rounds and fed to your own pets!" Alexuther's finger tightened on the trigger.
"Whooh... High-Grade gene!" Dr. Ophiuchus's eyelids fluttered at the sight of Alexuther's power. "I do love High-Grade genes... in fact, I collect Celestial Blood. But your guns don't look very scary." He hopped over more corpses in his excitement. "Wait, are they scary? Should I be afraid??"
"Is that all people with Celestial genes are to you? Just subjects for your games??" Cerceux spat. From his right hand, a rectangular Greatsword erupted, lined with jagged black teeth and seeping a viscous, glowing blue lava. "Humans are not animals to be treated like starving curs. I loathe you! I will bury you alive in this very soil!!"
"Oww... wow! Wow!! What a magnificent Celestial gene!! You are the finest sample... that weapon... is it called the Volcanic Blade?" The doctor was shivering with manic glee. "I have been searching for a High-Grade gene of this quality for so long." He took three steps back, slowly raising his staff and clicking a series of buttons. "Let's see if those weapons are as sturdy as they look... or if they're just ornaments."
The AS-Myrmex let out a low rumble, their stingers quivering and their pincers clicking in the air. Dr. Ophiuchus grinned, his eyes fixed on the target his monsters were about to shred.