My Wives Are A Divine Hive Mind

"Let any threat come—Nihil, or any foul calamities. Eryndor will stand!"

The small bastion of Eryndor stood defiant on the edge of Fathomi's shattered plains, its walls of reinforced obsidian gleaming under the fractured light of a crimson sky.

The air was thick with the scent of ash and molten metal, the ground scarred from past skirmishes of an unknown force that appeared to be conjured from an unknown position, bombarding the bastion with relentless pace.

But despite all of the attack, none of the conjured calamities appeared to be truly wanting to destroy or kill any of the inhabitants.

As if they were there to put on mental pressure and fatigue the residents.

Eryndor's inhabitants—hardened warriors, mages, and artificers clad in rune-etched armor—gathered in the central courtyard, their faces grim but resolute.

They were but a young bastion, united under like-minded individuals who wanted nothing but to survive under no one's rules. Hence, they didn't even possess a Void Hunter Chapter nor a dedicated church to facilitate any priest and conduct any kind of healing services.

At the forefront stood their leader, a towering figure draped in a flowing cape of midnight blue, his left arm an amalgam of biomechanical tendrils pulsing with faint violet energy.

He gripped a flagpole, its banner bearing Eryndor's sigil—a coiled serpent aflame—and raised it high, his voice booming over the crowd.

"Eryndor stands unbroken!" he declared, his words carrying the weight of unyielding conviction. "We have been defending our homeland for ten days straight, and we can stand ten more!

"We will hold until our walls crumble, until our blood soaks the earth, until the stars themselves fall! No force in Fathomi will shatter our will!"

The crowd roared in approval, fists raised, weapons clanging against shields and their will to survive, their morale steeled for the war they knew was coming.

But before the echo of his words faded, a sharp whistle pierced the air.

From an impossible distance—far beyond the horizon's curve—a spear hurtled through the sky, its red tip glinting with malicious intent.

It struck with unerring precision, piercing the leader's skull in a spray of blood and bone.

He collapsed, the flag falling limp, and silence gripped the courtyard, broken only by the distant, maddening laughter of an approaching horde.

"We're being attacked!"

But this time, not by any conjuration of calamities.

From the shattered plains emerged a swarm of rabbit-like humanoid silhouettes, their forms eerily uniform. Each stood with a slim, feminine build, their light brown hair cropped short, red eyes glowing with feral glee, and red dotted lines marking their faces like ritual scars.

Their reddish-brown cloaks, tattered yet uniform, billowed as they charged, their vicious claw-like arms gleaming with a metallic sheen.

"Hell yeah! It is harvest time!"

"Ooh, how my mouth is watering with greed!"

"We have seasoned them for days, it is time to feast~!"

Their warcries were a cacophony of shrieks and giggles, a blend of joy and malice that chilled the defenders.

The rabbit folk poured into Eryndor like a flood, their movements swift and relentless, tearing through the gates with unnatural strength.

It was an annihilation.

The rabbit folk fought with a savage versatility, wielding an array of Curio Items—blades that burned with voidfire, orbs that unleashed torrents of corrosive mist, and single-use talismans that erupted in waves of entropic force.

One rabbit woman, her cloak splattered with blood, cast a healing skill mid-leap—her severed arm regrowing in a burst of crimson light before she plunged her claws into a warrior's chest.

Another of the rabbit figures conjured a fireball that melted a mage's shield, only to laugh as a defender's counterattack—a blazing projectile—tore half her body apart.

Within a second, her flesh knitted back together, bones snapping into place, her grin unwavering as she lunged forward, claws rending the mage's throat.

Just by witnessing how relentless, cruel, and maddening they were, it was enough to put any inhabitants of Eryndor in utter despair.

Regardless, Eryndor's defenders fought valiantly, their mages weaving barriers of light, warriors swinging blades and hammers, and artificers deploying traps that spewed molten shrapnel.

But the rabbit folk's regeneration was relentless, their bodies reconstructing from even the most devastating blows.

A fireball that incinerated one's torso left her laughing as her form rebuilt itself, her red eyes gleaming with delight.

Another, struck by a lance of pure mana, staggered only momentarily before her wounds closed, her claws slashing through the attacker's armor.

The bastion's forces dwindled, their screams drowned by the horde's manic warcries, until the walls ran red and the courtyard was a graveyard of broken bodies.

The sky was careening red for those who saw upon their eyes, the hope that was left when not a single muscle could be mustered in this cruel massacre.

And evem then, the survivors were shown no mercy.

The rabbit folk strung them up on makeshift gallows, ropes biting into flesh, while others were staked through the chest, their blood pooling beneath.

Some were feasted upon, the rabbit folk tearing into still-living flesh with gleeful savagery, their teeth stained crimson as they laughed.

Others endured torture, their screams mingling with the horde's cackling as claws carved intricate patterns into skin, only for the wounds to be healed by the rabbit folk's magic, prolonging the agony.

One defender, pinned to the ground, had his limbs methodically broken, each snap met with a chorus of giggles from his tormentors, who danced around him, their cloaks swirling like bloodied banners, acting as if everything was just a mere entertainment to them.

And it didn't stop.

They played with their victims' bodies, stringing organs into garlands, using bones as makeshift instruments, echoing their laughter with cursed music that originated from their enemies.

The air grew heavy with the stench of blood and smoke, the ground littered with shattered Curio Items and discarded weapons.

In the midst of this depravity, a new presence rumbled into the bastion—a massive caravan fortress, its spiked exterior bristling with jagged red blades and pulsating with dark energy.

Its wheels crushed the debris beneath, and its walls bore trophies of past conquests: skulls, armor fragments, and tattered banners from fallen domains.

A rabbit woman amongst those who charged into the bastion, her cloak more ornate with silver embroidery and spiked pauldrons, strode toward the moving fortress, her red eyes gleaming with sadistic pride.

She was clearly the leader, her movements exuding authority as she navigated the chaos.

Inside the fortress, the scene was a twisted hive of activity.

Rabbit folk scurried through corridors, hauling looted Curio Items—glowing orbs, rune-etched blades, and pulsating talismans—to storage vaults.

Blacksmiths hammered at forges, crafting weapons with unnatural alloys, their sparks illuminating the grim interior.

Seamstresses worked at looms, knitting and repairing the reddish-brown cloaks, their needles flashing with eerie precision.

And in a darkened chamber, butchers carved up the remains of humanoid entities, their knives slicing through flesh with practiced ease, preparing grotesque rations for the horde.

The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood all the time.

The leader pushed deeper into the fortress, passing a heavily guarded door where two rabbit folk stood watch, their claws twitching.

They nodded, stepping aside, and she entered a protected chamber.

Its walls lined with pulsating runes that suppressed all magic.

At the center, chained to the wall, was another rabbit woman—identical in form with hundreds of others who savaged through Eryndor, with light brown hair, red eyes, and red dotted lines beneath them, but bound, gagged, and blindfolded.

Her cloak was tattered, a sign that it had not been changed or maintained for a good amount of time.

The rabbit-eared leader smirked, her claws clicking as she approached, and with a playful flourish, she removed the blindfold and gag.

"Another bastion falls, Naryashui," the leader purred, her voice dripping with malice. "Eryndor's warriors screamed so beautifully. We strung them up, staked them, feasted on their flesh while they still breathed.

"Some we carved, healed, then carved again—just to hear them beg!" She leaned closer, her red eyes glinting. "Their pain was exquisite, their despair a symphony. You should've seen it~!"

Naryashui, the bound rabbit woman, spat in her captor's face, her voice hoarse but defiant.

"You're a monster… You'll burn in whatever hell Fathomi has for abominations like you!"

The leader laughed, wiping the spit from her cheek and licking it with deliberate slowness, her tongue tracing the bloodied edge of her claw.

"Hell? Oh, sweet Original, we 'are' the hell!" She drew a curved knife, its blade pulsing with void essence, and plunged it into Naryashui's abdomen, twisting until an organ tore free.

She tossed it to the reddened floor, licking the blood from the blade as Naryashui grunted, her wound already regenerating, flesh knitting twice as fast as the leader's own.

"In case that you lost some of your memories after the torture session we did yesterday… You lost your reins a month ago," the leader sneered. "That relic you found—the one that birthed us, perfect duplicates of you—has been nothing but a blessing to birth this entire army of your depraved selves!

"In a way, too. We're your better selves, unbound by your pathetic morals~!" The leader chuckled before thrusting her knife forward, trying to intimidate Naryashui with numerous air stabs before finally landing on her right eye, drawing a pained scream. "But we still represent you. Isn't that beautiful~? Everything we did, all of it is also what you did. You're our original after all~"

The knife was plucked in a sharp curve, as Naryashui grunted until her wound was healed from her innate regeneration.

Naryashui's eyes blazed, her voice steady despite the pain. "You're not me. You're cruel, twisted—failures. Anomalies that shouldn't exist in this world! She bared her fangs. "That relic birthed nothing but corrupted copies, and all of you are nothing but an imperfect existence!"

The leader's grin widened, and she surged forward, pressing her lips against Naryashui's in a deep, forceful kiss, as if imprinting her existence onto the original.

"Hmmmph!"

The duplicates' leader then pulled back, her smile triumphant. "In the end, there's nothing you can do, Naryashui. Just like how you can do nothing but to feel my bloodied tongue defiling your mouth~

"We are a legion of elevated essence, and you're just a relic's shadow."

The hinges of the chamber's door creaked as it was opened from outside.

Another rabbit woman entered, her cloak less ornate but equally bloodstained. "Leader, we've scouted another bastion," she said, her voice casual but eager. "It's advanced—rich in tech, Curio Items, maybe even divine artifacts!"

The leader's claws twitched, her grin spreading. "Then we march. Let's carve another symphony of screams."

Their next destination had been charted.

"Kivas," Samael urged her lovely fateling wife, who had been enjoying watching Oizys trying to sell the privilege of buying a service to build a Renenutet's Judgment on any buyer's land. "If you're so fascinated by your fancy giant turret, we might be able to use them in a real defensive scenario a couple of hours later."