The Second Generation Hive Generals
The sky went still.
The wind vanished.
Even the sound of distant warfare paused, as if the world itself held its breath.
Above the charred battlefield, obelisks of bone and resin pierced the heavens, descending like spears. When they shattered, they did not reveal soldiers…
They revealed calamities.
The Second Generation Hive Generals had arrived—not bred for numbers or shock but for tactical eradication. Each one was crafted to counter a pantheon, trained in mock realms, shaped by devoured myths.
One bore a crown of ruined halos, a silent killer bred from stolen holy texts.
Another carried a staff that bent time, created to unweave spells from before they're cast.
A third floated above the ground, carried by a choir of shrieking, larval prophets.
All of them were aware of the priestesses.
All of them had studied the battlefield.
All of them came to hunt.
Thalia's Betrayal
Thalia, priestess of the Seven-Faced Ogou, stood drenched in blood and fire. She had just disarmed a Hive brute with her bare hands and was mid-spin when she heard the cry:
"Help! Over here!"
It was one of the Egyptian pantheon's chosen—young, armored in gold and shadow, pinned beneath the claws of a Hive beast.
Without hesitation, Thalia broke formation and sprinted.
She saved thousands that day.
But her mercy led her into shadow.
As she reached for the chosen, ready to pull him free, the young man turned… his hand on her shoulder… and shoved her into the Hive's mouth.
"Let the Hive consume the strong," he whispered, eyes glowing faintly.
"So the weak can rise."
He did it because of fear.
His own selfish desire to survive.
He is afraid of dying.
The trap was perfect.
The Hive general waiting for her was a bone-armored tactician—created to feast on those who wield war itself. Blades unfurled from its ribs, and for a moment, the priestess vanished in a cyclone of cutting light.
She fell.
Whether she lived or not… no one knew.
Zion's Rage
The battlefield went quiet.
Then, the air cracked.
Zion did not scream.
He did not speak.
But his body began to shine, not with magic, not with Lwa power—but with raw divine authority passed down from Ginen's oldest hearts. His shadow became a second sun, rippling outward, folding the space around him into a warped crown of light and fire.
The ground shook, all the way to the edge of the Hive wall.
And in that moment…
The gods trembled.
The ancient Hive stopped moving.
Even Maman Ginen paused her stride.
The 99 did not move.
The five priestesses froze.
"No one betrays mine," Zion said finally.
A ring of ash exploded around him.
And every being on the battlefield—god, monster, warrior, spirit—froze in terror, unable to move beneath the crushing pressure of his rage.
Even the Hive Generals, even the traitorous chosen, even the ancient ones…
…feared.