Hive mind Beyond the veil

The sounds of battle echoed through the command chamber before the V.I. muted them all. The silence that followed was worse.

Dozens of screens surrounded Aegirarch, each one detailing a fresh loss: clone casualties were rising by the hundreds of thousands, drone units were shattered and equipment was reduced to molten wreckage.

He paused on one display, it was grainy and flickered between colours. A lone clone stumbled through a fog of acid. The armour had fused to his fur and skin and partially melted into his body. One of his squad mates without hesitation executed him, with a single shot to the skull. It was becoming a necessity rather than a mercy.

Another screen showed an entire battlefield drowned in plasma. A dome of fire expanded outward, incinerating enemy and ally alike. Even if the Fungus, was consumed, he knew it would begin regrowing within days.

Elsewhere, anti-air batteries screamed under pressure before being engulfed by swarms of insects that detonated. The feed ended as one of the creatures struck the lens, they were hundreds of thousands blotting out the view, hunting the last of the retreating clones.

Another stream showed an APC spearhead in full retreat, the formation melting as acidic fog seeped in. They began to slow, then stop entirely as their tracks fell apart.

The last camera, mounted on a functioning APC, caught towering figures charging through the mists moments before the feed went dead.

Another screen showed a mountain complex. The view zoomed in on transparent figures, they were barely visible and fought clone defenders in the narrow tunnels. The smaller insects breached through side walls, spitting acid and exploding, overwhelming the last defenders. They fought to the last as the entire complex detonated in a nuclear blast.

The silence inside his command centre deepened. Every screen told the same story of collapse and withdrawal that was becoming less organized.

All surviving clone units were retreating. They were falling back to his position. The automated drones remained behind to slow the advance, but he knew it wouldn't last.

He had already deployed 62% of his nuclear reserves, striking every sign of that abomination's emergence, every nest, and every burrow discovered were destroyed. And still, they came. His abominable foe continued to pour down from orbit and rise from the very soil.

Every victory was momentary, with every region cleansed in fire, only to produce three more zones of infestation.

Even the Fungus thrived now. It grew faster than current projections. It clung to metal, clogged engine vents, and corroded sensor ports. With most clone manufacturing hubs destroyed, they had no means left to produce more filters in mass.

It was the perfect weapon, Aegirarch mused. A terraforming weapon that was rewriting the ecosystem for itself.

The V.I. broke the silence with a beep and paused all feeds.

"Current projections indicate that BCU forces will encircle your command centre within one hundred and eighty-four hours. All forces retreating to your position have been harassed by orbital supremacy. Current defences will not hold, Overseer."

Aegirarch was still for several seconds.

"Continue fallback protocols and continue recalculating every hour. I want to know the estimated strength of defensive units with the current stockpiles during the siege."

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"Clarification: With current clone numbers, BCU tactics, and orbital dominance, projected siege duration: thirty-two hours or less."

He stared at the screens, eyes vacant. The fire, the screaming, the acid and plasma attacks. Every inch of ground paid in blood but lost in moments. And now they were collapsing inward.

"Continue with optimal defence procedures," he said finally.

The V.I. confirmed with a soft chime and resumed its tasks—allocating drones, rerouting fallback lanes, and sealing inner barricades.

He continued observing everything.

His exo-suit beeped softly. A fresh dose of emotional suppressors injected into his bloodstream, dulling stray thoughts, and sharpening his mind.

His screens lit up in a flurry of alerts—beeping warnings, cascading data, and tactical overlays flooding with crimson markers. The last regional force had fallen.

The tactical map bled red. One position remained under total clone control—his.

Aegirarch didn't blink.

"Deploy eighteen percent of the remaining nuclear reserves," he said coldly. "I want the board cleared before they encircle my position entirely."

The V.I. responded with a confirmation beep. Moments later, the screens shifted—a formation of shuttles cut through the clouds, descending rapidly toward the heart of the densest combat zones.

———

Smoke clung to the horizon like a wound that refused to close. The charred skeletons of APCs burned in the distance, orange light flickering across the thick, dark clouds of fungal spores that hung low in the valley.

CT-211C knelt in the withered roots of a blasted tree, rail gun held close. Shattered drone husks lay scattered along the dirt road, still leaking coolant and sparking. Convoy's gone, and the message flashed across his HUD.

Beside him, CT-989A crouched low behind a cluster of scorched rock, his armour scarred and damaged from earlier impacts. He nodded once, wordlessly. A flick of two fingers—observe only. They couldn't risk the comms. Not now.

Behind them, CT-987A swept the terrain in silence, checking the fungus-covered slope for movement. Their radios were shut down, and their sensors filtered for passive readings only. They had survived the missile strike by sheer luck and good cover.

Their squad had not.

The BCU air drones were still out there. Each one swept overhead in slow arcs every few seconds. One passed just a few hundred metres away, a grotesque insect shadow skimming through the acid fog.

The trio moved slowly, crouched low through the fungus. The fungal growth clung to everything—stone, corpse, bone. It had the texture of frost but the colour of rot. Beneath their boots, it crunched faintly.

They communicated only with hand signs. Like that, hours passed in aching silence.

They moved across ridges, through broken trenches, and around the remains of their fallen brothers that had long since turned to ash.

By dusk, they reached a ruined Valurian settlement nestled in a blackened gulch.

Buildings shaped like coiled shells and sea-life spirals lay half-collapsed. The streets were overgrown with dead moss and splotches of that fungus in glowing red veins. A twisted market square stood in silence, its food stalls long since vaporized.

Valurian corpses lay among the ruins. Some curled together beneath the rubble. One was against a wall, its jaw frozen mid-scream.

They took refuge in a two-storey home that still had three walls standing and a partial roof. The upper floor offered a view of the perimeter. CT-211C set up with his rifle facing the path they'd entered from.

CT-989A secured the rear windows with scavenged barricades. CT-987 placed sensors around the ruin, creating an activate perimeter.

They took turns on watch.

For a while, they simply sat in silence. No one dared to remove their helmets.

The only sound was the wind whispering through cracked walls and distant, muffled rumblings—the sounds of battle, faint but constant. Flashes lit the far ridgelines, followed by delayed thunder. The war hadn't stopped. It never did.

CT-987A finally broke the silence, voice low.

"Third recon's gone. I saw their transponder trails. Didn't even make it past the forward trenches."

CT-211C didn't look away from the window. "Copy."

CT-989A adjusted the charge on his weapon. "Anyone else talking nearby"

"Negative. Comms went silent hours ago," CT-987A replied. "I think they were the last ones"

They went quiet again.

They rotated shifts. One kept watch, and the other two took turns resting on the cracked floor tiles, weapons closed, helmets never removed. Even in their exhaustion, their breathing stayed slow and disciplined.

Near midnight, CT-989A tensed. He reached out and tapped CT-211C's boot.

There was a new sound. It wasn't the wind nor the distant sound of battle, it was something new, and something new was a problem.

All three were on their feet in seconds. Weapons raised. HUDs flicked to full scan.

The sound grew louder. Closer.

CT-211C peered out the window and spotted movement among the fungus.

Then dozens of heat signatures burst from the treeline.

Swarmers.

Hundreds of them.

The ground beneath the ridge shifted as the mass of insect creatures poured toward the settlement—clicking, crawling, hissing.

"CONTACT!" CT-987A barked.

They opened fire. Rail slugs ripped through the front ranks of the swarm, tearing limbs and rupturing thoraxes. The creatures didn't stop.

CT-989A hurled a fragmentation grenade down the stairs. It detonated in a flash of fire and carapace.

But the swarm kept coming. Crawling through gaps. Scaling the outer walls. Digging under barricades.

"We can't hold this," CT-987A said through clenched teeth. His shoulder had already been breached—acid bubbling through the seal.

His HUD flickered—a new update pulsed across the screen.

He read it in silence. A chill settled in his gut.

They were outside the new line of control.

"We're past the line," CT-987A muttered, gritting his teeth as he adjusted his aim. His shoulder was in pain as he tried to stabilize his rifle.

CT-211C responded, flat and unflinching. "We're in the red zone now."

For a moment, the three locked eyes.

No words. Just understanding.

They kept firing, even as their visors displayed the countdown—impact zones spreading, danger markers flashing across every map overlay. They could feel the distant tremors through the ash-covered ground.

Then, from the horizon, light bled through the darkness.

A bloom of fire.

The distant rumble of detonations echoed across the region.