I Became an Ant Lord, So I Built a Hive Full of Beauties

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The captain gave him nothing. "Form," he said.

The crescent tightened. Sand squeaked under feet. The line bulged toward him like a belly ready to push.

Kai's eyes went cold. "Very well."

He reached into the part of himself he had learned to open only when it mattered. He pulled the switch. The world leaned.

Chitin whispered across skin. Plates knit. Muscles bunched and found new lines. His height lifted. His weight settled lower. A second set of shadows wrapped him like a cloak. Joints locked and widened as his Apex form came on in a breath. The sharp, clean scent of fresh armor rolled across the saddle.

The nearest rank did not step back. They tightened their grips.

The captain's lips flattened. He had seen beasts warp and men war. He had not seen one do both with this kind of ease.

"Hold," he said. "Prick him. Make him bleed. Then press."

Kai did not wait for them to come to him. He moved first.

Reflex Mode ticked at the edge of his nerves and he let it in just enough to make his hands a fraction ahead of his feet. Ant's Instinct flared and painted the ground in his head, showing him where the sand would take his weight and where it would swallow. Tiny Tank slid across his plates and made them harder without making them slow. Adaptive Armor turned a little to favor the angles of their spears. Predator's Instinct showed him the captain's hip, the weak strap near a shoulder, the man in the third rank with a lazy wrist.

The first spear thrust came straight for his chest. It hit the chitin that had planned for it and skittered to the side. Kai's left forearm snapped down and trapped the haft. His right hand slammed the butt of his own spear into the sand and used it like a pole to lever his body and the trapped spear sideways. The front rank staggered, boots sliding. Kai stepped into the gap he had made and drove his shoulder into a chest plate, not to break it, but to break the line. The man hit the sand with a wheeze.

"Left," the captain said, already moving to compensate.

Kai did not give them rhythm. He gave them chaos. He used short, ugly thrusts when they expected big, clean swings. He used the shaft more than the point, the butt more than the blade. He knocked hands numb. He clipped ankles. He took mouths, not throats. He pressed with his body, not just his arms. When a point came for his ribs, his armor flexed and turned. When one came for his knee, he lifted and let it pass under, then stomped it flat and made the man drop it.

A four-star lunged too far and Kai caught him by the wrist and turned him. The man flipped over Kai's hip and hit the sand so hard the air punched out of him. Kai did not look down. He snapped his spear shaft up and cracked it against another man's helmet, knocking him sideways into his neighbor. Two more stepped in and jabbed. One point scraped the plate and found nothing. The other hit his shoulder and slid when his armor flowed to meet it.

The captain read the pattern and cut across the front like a blade thrown flat. His spear came low and meant for Kai's right ankle. Kai hopped and let it cut wind. The captain brought the butt around in a tight arc for Kai's temple. Kai threw up his forearm and took it on the hard ridge. It rang his skull like a bell but did not put him down. He snarled and drove his forehead into the captain's brow. Helm met the helm with a hard crack. Both men's heads snapped back. The captain smiled with blood in his teeth. Kai did not.

"Press," the captain said through red lips. "He is the only one."

They pressed. They did not break ranks. They tried to swallow him with steps and points.

Azhara watched the line tighten and saw the small tremors in the sand where men tried to sneak up the left flank. She flicked two arrows in a breath, low and flat, and took the ankles of the two who were going to make the grab from below. She did not call out. She flowed left and cut a shape in the dark with her knife that looked like a shadow standing up, then falling down and not getting up again. She moved to a new bit of dune and left the first in peace. She kept to two hundred meters. She did not break the plan.

Silvershadow lay with his cheek on the sand and listened to the fight as if he were listening to rain far away. He did not move his head. He marked the rhythm so he would know when the camp turned to look. He kept a count of steps between the dome and the patrol line. He kept a count of guards near the cage. Four. Still four. No one had left their post to gawp like a fool. Good. He would keep it that way. He had ways.

Alka hung above a strip of cloud so thin it looked like a tear. She did not flap. She slid. She counted cookfires that were waiting for a hand. She counted lines of rope and the way they drew the ground into neat rows. She kept her eyes on the east and her ears on the west. When Kai pulled the cord, she would drop. Until then, she was a star that did not blink.

Back in the saddle, Kai made the next break on the right. He stamped a spear into the sand with his foot and used it as a step to vault over a shield. He landed behind the front rank and shoved the man in front of him forward, making a mess in the line.