Waterstrider

Otan, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Fifthmonth, 1634 PTS

Queen Iskrise lounged comfortably in her habitation cavern. She had not left the large breeding chamber in years, and she did not quite understand just why the other races always found the idea so strange. She had everything she needed right here, and could direct her drones to do their work from within. The outside world was far too dangerous to risk herself in, as the hive would die with her. No, the life of an Exid Queen was the pinnacle of existence. She would thrive, safe and secure inside of her hive, and one day, the aliens and other queens would come to know her superiority.

She had been thinking of ways to take over other hives for decades now, but the opportunity had never presented itself. The climate within Otan was too evenly balanced, and it was only with the introduction of an alien force that she realized just how precarious it truly was.

Still, she thought, unable to keep from clicking her mandibles at the idea, Sikreis’ surrender to the Celans was demeaning for the entire race. Aliens should not be able to have power over their natural superiors. The other species were all more comparable to drones than to noble queens, and she knew that one day they would bow to their rightful ruler, one more deserving than those pesky deities. If Iskrise were to collect enough miasmic treasures, she should be able to hold an apotheosis ritual herself, and become the first Exid among the ranks of the ascendants. Then, she would be able to truly accomplish her rightful dominion.

While she daydreamed about the future, Iskrise continued to receive signals from her drones, relayed from across the territory. The signals they could transmit were limited, which was the main restriction on an Exid Queen’s power. To circumvent this, Iskrise had installed large screens in her chamber which allowed her to see around the stacks which comprised her territory, and ensure that both the skirmishing and the production lines were being properly maintained at all times. It took time for her to relay precise orders to the mindless drones, so keeping on track of their status at all times was vital for any self respecting queen. The Iskrise Queendom was filled with cameras, able to reveal the entirety of her domain if she wished. It had been an expensive investment, but had paid dividends by allowing her to far more rapidly address any issues.

This was how Iskrise spent her time: breeding, egg-laying, planning, and managing her subordinates. Inferior races wasted their time with mindless pursuits of vanity and entertainment, but the Exid had no need for such things. Every Exid, even the queens had their purpose. All that made Iskrise herself special, she thought, was her destiny to be the victor, the one who would unify all of the rest.

An alarm pheromone reached Iskrise’s receptors, and she focused her attention to parse the data. Drone 12,877 had reported an issue. Such problems occurred every so often, but Iskrise would not be so lax as to delay her investigation. That drone should be currently stationed two layers of the stack above her. The task it was currently assigned to was to clean the air filters of the headquarters. By habit, she shifted the content of the screen before her using only facial movements, revealing the view from a camera in the affected area.

What she saw enraged her. The drone that had sent the warning was not simply stuck, or had an accident- it was dead. Cleaved in two by some force that could not be seen from this perspective. Iskrise was so angered that she could not help but crush several eggs as she squirmed in outrage. She would find the cause, and she would do so right this instant.

Taking advantage of her immense brainpower and the multitudinous perspectives granted by her compound eyes, Iskrise flipped her way through camera perspectives to figure out the cause of the death- no, the location of the rebel or intruder. Iskrise would not allow them to escape alive- to do so would be to denigrate her very existence.

It took her less than a minute to find them, a small group of humanoid aliens moving rapidly down one of the headquarter’s service tunnels. They had to lean down to pass through, as the tunnel was shaped for the Exid drones which were much lower to the ground. They were making good time, and a pale-robed man holding a sword led the way, slicing apart in one blow each of the workers in their path.

All the humanoid species looked alike to her, but Iskrise could easily guess that this group contained both Seiyal and Celans by simply glancing at what they were holding. Swords and advanced firearms were not a common combination on the station, aside from certain mercenary groups in the second district. It seemed they believed that by working together they would be able to break through her defenses. She would show them the power of the Exid in return.

But Celans in Otan… that could only be the Heirs of Ottrien, those who had subordinated Sikreis. Just the thought made Iskrise even angrier. There was a reason why no other groups had dared attempt to claim territory in Otan, not since the previous underworld war. Back then, Iskrise’s drones had slain hundreds of humanoids. She simply had to throw numbers at them until they died. If she pushed herself, Iskrise knew that she could lay enough eggs to replace it in a matter of days.

She directed all of the drones within the area, thousands of them, to move themselves to the group’s current position. They could handle a few drones, but every force had its limit.

But that limit simply did not seem to arrive. The aliens continued to force their way deeper and deeper into the structure, and there was nothing that Iskrise could do to stop them. Some of them fired projectiles, while others spewed powerful gouts of flame that broiled the drones apart, and the martial artists simply continued to slice her drones into pieces. Deep down, she started to feel the inklings of fear.

“Emotion: Disdain. How bold of you,” she expressed as they entered her chamber, the words of the speaker sounding it out for her in the inferior verbal tongue. She disliked the way that the vibrations felt against her exoskeleton, and rarely met with aliens in person.

“All things are given to those bold enough to take them,” replied one of the aliens, who was the easiest to tell apart from the rest due to the unique blue color of his hair.

“Emotion: Rage. You should not have been so bold in front of me, however. You will die for this insolence.”

“Perhaps.”

The swarms continued to arrive, but were continually drowned in the flames or torn apart by swift blades. This force was powerful, far more powerful than those which she had dealt with in the past. Perhaps, she thought, she had underestimated the potential of the aliens military might. If she had known, her defenses would have been tighter, unassailable even to a force of this type. Her forces continued to arrive, but she realized that they were dying faster than they were entering the room, bogged down by the corpses of the others. There was nothing she could do. Iskrise was smart enough to realize when she had lost. She was under their power, now. Her mandibles clanged together with great force, grinding painfully into her.

A file appeared on the screen before her, sent as if from no particular source. Her body instinctively shook in humiliation, as she accepted her position. She heard a voice from before her. It was the blue-haired man from before, standing in front of her with some odd alien facial expression which she had never bothered learning how to read.

“Read the contract,” he ordered, his tone dark.

Iskrise knew that while he would never dare to kill her, he would not hesitate to injure her if angered. Humanoids were fundamentally sadistic, after all. It came ingrained in their instincts, the hedonistic pleasures that their gods wished to become living representatives of.

Iskrise read the contract. None of its terms surprised her. It was draconian, and would turn her into a subordinate of her own company, at the whims of the shareholders represented by these two alien factions.

She puffed out the pheromones which spoke of her arrogance. Iskrise was not like that weakling Sikreis. She might be willing to submit to another Exid who had proven herself more worthy of hegemony, but she would never enslave herself to the undeserving, and particularly not to a xeno.

She had few options remaining, none of which she particularly liked. There was only one which her self-respect would allow her to take, even if it was the worst of the lot. Still, she was not Sikreis. She would not submit so easily.

“Emotion: Spite. I refuse,” she said. “None can have what is mine.”

She raised one of her long, sharp limbs, and before the Celan could respond, she stretched it up and tore apart her side, spraying viscera across the eggs and the ground.

“What are you doing?!” shouted the small man.

“Emotion: Mockery. I wonder what you will do about this, alien.”

He couldn’t help but laugh nervously in response.

“Bravo to you, I suppose, Queen Iskrise. I did not expect such a result.”

She continued to tear into herself, making certain that she could not be revived. Iskrise did not bother to communicate any more with the aliens. She would simply enjoy the knowledge that their plans had been dashed and a massive liability had been left in their laps. When the corporations she had partnered with came to question, the Justice Office would need to find someone to be liable. If nothing else, it would splinter the relation between the two groups. She hoped they would destroy one another.

All of the drones which had continued to file in from across the queendom slowly stalled, as if some innate function had been removed. They continued to march forwards, as if acting upon pre-existing orders, but not longer moved as a cohesive unit. There was no longer a queen to give them orders, and so they were now but mindless automatons.

The blue-haired man swore to himself.

“The Justice Office won’t be happy about this. Damn it. Fuck.”

“Would we be able to have Sikreis take control of them?” asked one of the Jobu.

Triezal sighed.

“No, the worker Exid are the direct progeny of an individual queen. They will only ever accept orders from her.”

“Does this mean that the mission is a failure?” asked Jihan.

“Yes. We’ll want to remove all traces of ourselves before the Justice Office arrives. Damn it!” he cursed again. “A number of corporations will be losing a lot of money in the next couple of days.”

“I see,” said Jihan.

He glanced around the room, at the still shifting tides of worker drones. They were so vibrant and active, it was difficult to think about how they were all essentially dead. The workers could not even eat without being directed to do so. He turned his attention back to his squad.

“We will quickly search the area for any valuables and then return to the sect.”

Triezal glanced back at him, and sighed.

“I will not enjoy reporting this."

Apotheosis Rituals: [Progression systems do not form naturally, and the earliest ascendants existed long before the first Osine. Extreme infusions of miasma into the body and soul of an individual is capable of progressing one directly to the point of ascension, though the process is so taxing in dangerous that the success rate is far lower than one percent. Still, it provides the possibility of achieving a higher existence to those from races which lack such a system. An apotheosis ritual is an attempt to manufacture such an experience and increase its odds of success. While this can to an extent raise the odds, such a ritual would require hundreds of miasmic treasures, rendering it only an option for only the most rich, desperate and power-hungry of individuals.]