Trial By Hive

Damn, I can feel my host's desire to bow his head to this guy. I thought Old Four was big, but my great-granddaddy over here is the size of a rottweiler. That's still quite a bit shorter than the Spawnwright though.

Oh hell, my host's legs have buckled. Fangborn He'nex stomps over to us before casting his gaze over all of his descendants. I can't help but notice the deep scars in his carapace. They cut right through the stunning iridescent patterns running over his body.

His mandibles click sharply as the weight of his attention presses down on me. It's like a natural suppression forcing me to obey. Though, I guess it must only work within a certain range since I didn't pick it up from Klitch.

My host's heart pounds like a drum as He'nex casts his shadow over us. Even I'm picking up second-hand anxiety through our connection, feeling more like a worm than I already am. If I wasn't tied to this beetle, I have no doubt I'd be crawling away right now with a trail of pheromones screaming "hell no" in my wake.

"Hmm, Seventeen," He'nex rumbles with the grace of a rhino. "Still alive? Maybe this clutch isn't a total waste. Hmph."

"I live to serve, Fangborn!" Seventeen's pride oozes from his body.

Bleurgh! Bootlicking is bad enough, but tasting it like a stink bomb? That's much worse.

He'nex's eyes fix on me next. "As for you, Old Four. Stand up."

Crap! This can't be good. 

I push my will into my host and sigh in relief as he straightens his limbs. Even if they are still a bit wobbly.

"Good," He'nex growls. "It seems you have some strength of character. You two have shown much promise since you hatched. Don't disappoint me by wasting it."

Seventeen practically glows as if he's just won Bug Idol or something. Meanwhile, I'm too busy trying to prevent my host's awe from infecting my own thoughts. I seriously hope this is just a bug thing that can be cured with a new host. After all, I don't fancy spending my new life fighting against my host's mentality.

Without even waiting for a reply, He'nex turns away from us. "Follow me."

Damn it! Give me a break. I don't want to be under this guy's scrutiny for too long. With a sigh, I command my host to follow the walking disaster. Seventeen and I follow in the wake of his footsteps as he leads us past the gathered army. 

Everywhere I look are monstrous creatures. Flies with serrated wings that gleam like metal, massive centipedes covered in chitinous armour and spiders with acidic venom to name a few.

It's like walking through a lineup of this world's most terrifying "What if?" scenarios.

"He's leading us to the Spawnwright's Burrow Hall," Little Seventeen whispers as he shivers in excitement. "You know, this is where only the most elite of assignments are given! Our great-grandfather must have a lot of faith in us! If we impress him or one of the other Fangborns, we may be considered for Clawling training!"

Clawling? What the hell is that?

Oh. I can feel my host reacting with excitement. Hmm, let's see. Ah. So a Clawling is like a Knight's squire. It's basically the first step towards nobility as you get groomed to become a Fangborn.

We soon travel back underground and enter a dark chamber made of chitin and roots from the trees above. I don't want to think about this place potentially being a graveyard. How else would they get all that chitin?

Anyway, the walls pulse faintly with a sickly green light, allowing me to get a better look. In the middle of the chamber is something that looks like a twisted altar, and surrounding it is what I assume to be the Spawnwright's court. In other words, a bunch of other Fangborns.

However, there is one that seems to stand out. I can tell from the pheromones in here that it doesn't hold the same rank as the others, but still deserves respect. The bug in question is a massive, bloated thing called a Sporemouth.

Dear God, what even is that thing? Some sort of gas is leaking from its maw. I don't even want to know what that is. In fact, I outright refuse to know. I already lost one meal today. I don't plan on throwing up my brother for a second time. Definitely not. I will not scan my host's mind to find out.

My eyes wander to the smaller bugs spread out around the walls. I soon notice there's two for every Fangborn. Ah, now I understand why He'nex brought Seventeen and I. We're his retinue.

I can't help but stare at one of them whose eyes seem to be glazing over. The spider also happens to be the closest to the Sporemouth. A few moments later, she stumbles towards the big guy.

The spider Fangborn who brought her along clicks sharply. Without any warning, a stream of thread snaps out like a whip and rips off one of the lesser spider's legs! No one even flinches. Not even when the sporemouth swallows her whole, or when her Fangborn chomps down on the leg she snatched for herself!

Hell, I can feel Seventeen nodding in approval right next to me.

Ugh, the stress is making me feel constipated. Suddenly, I feel the spider Fangborn staring at me. 

"Hmph. That one smells… wrong," the Fangborn grimaces. "He'nex, don't tell me you're raising defective stock? You should give that one to me if you're too sentimental to put it down yourself."

"How dare you insult me, Lady Lirtha!" He'nex rumbles as his mandibles glow faintly. "If anyone is raising a defective brood, it's you! Your descendent was so weak they folded to Miasmorr's breath!"

I gulp as a chorus of clicking and other noises ring out. Some of them seem to be laughing at Lirtha, others mock her, but a few stare at me as if pondering her words. Among this group I feel like a rabbit surrounded by hungry foxes.

Damn, Seventeen is staring at me with that suspicion of his again. Goddammit you stupid bug! Stop staring at me before you make the Fangborns think that damned spider is right!

Luckily, the chamber goes silent before the animosity can explode. The reason? Spawnwright Klitch just walked in, and his pheromones tell everyone he's displeased with the racket.

One of the poor attendants is so nervous he literally explodes!

Note to self, never go near that species. I'm not going to be a casualty of friendly-fire.

Meanwhile, every leg in the room freezes. Even the sporemouth, Miasmorr, hiccups in fear. Yet, I wish he didn't. Somehow that just made the stench he gave off even worse. I really hope that crap isn't flammable.

Klitch's massive form simply oozes authority as he strides forward. Every step seems to promise a brutal death as his antennae twitch in annoyance. The gathered Fangborns and attendants lower their heads. Some even flare their carapaces like peacocks, trying to look more impressive. Their pheromones stink up the room. Pride. Terror. Obedience. Yeah, can't say I blame them.

Klitch doesn't hurry to say anything. Instead, he simply stands atop the altar and casts a judging gaze around the chamber.

I try, and I mean really try, to prevent my host's natural awe from infecting me. But damn, it's like trying to stop a sneeze when it's already mid-launch! I can already feel my nose tingling from the thought.

This here is our leader. The greatest individual I've met. Our Apex.

No, shut it! That wasn't my thought! Was it? Damn it, Old Four, keep that stinking worship to yourself! Why couldn't I have gotten a better roommate?

"Too much noise. Too much weakness!" Klitch snarls.

He wasn't even loud, but I could feel the threat shaking my bones. Several of the attendants collapse on the spot. I swear one even literally molts out of panic.

"You've already heard my speech. The humans have invaded. They're no better than a virus. But they're also… valuable."

Wait. Valuable?

A ripple of excitement spreads among the nobles.

"As you know, human corpses make excellent hatching nests. Their flesh and brains help to create a more powerful, and intelligent generation of gnawlings."

Klitch gestures, well, waves his front limbs dramatically like an orchestra conductor.

"To ensure we gain as much as possible in the upcoming battle, this Court will now select potential Clawlings. Those who pass the test will join our noble ranks. Those who fail…" Klitch chuckles. "Will return to the soil."

Ah. There it is. Honestly, what was I expecting with everything I've seen so far? At least dress it up a bit. You know, say something like "Congratulations for receiving this opportunity." Honestly, it'd go down a lot better than "Here, jump in this meat grinder so we can find the best."

Well, maybe not considering the audience.

A chorus of approving clicks and hisses spread through the Fangborns. Even Lirtha's expression seems to twitch with delight. However, most of the attendants don't look so sure of themselves.

Klitch turns in place, pointing at the ground. An earthy, circular wall rises from the muck, creating a makeshift arena.

"You will fight in pairs. Prove to us your instinct, strength, and cunning. Impress us. Or perish."

Oh, how wonderful. Gladiator matches to the death. Because why not?

Of course it is.

Klitch's eyes scan the crowd and settle on me.

Mother of all maggots!

"You," he says, his grating voice laced with disapproval. "Your scent… does not please me."

Beside me, Little Seventeen suddenly stiffens. I swear the pheromones he's giving off are now 30% panic, 20% disappointment, and 50% smugness. As if he figured something out on his own, but everyone else was too dumb to see it.

Lirtha chimes in with the fakest sweetness I've ever heard, "My Lord Spawnwright, if I may say so, I suspected the same. The spawn of He'nex reeks of something foreign. Perhaps… this Gnawling is contaminated in some way."

Ok, wow. That's rude. Totally accurate. But still rude!

He'nex bristles at the accusation. He steps forward snapping his mandibles at Lirtha. "My brood is pure! I vouch for Old Four. He's just… unique."

Why the hell do you have to say it like that, huh? It sounds like you're giving an excuse for that one weird relative who ate bugs when they were young. Oh. Wait. I guess that would be normal in this family. Damn, what even counts as weird for this lot?

Klitch raises a spindly limb and silence reigns in the chamber once more. "Then you won't object to us testing the value of his uniqueness. Will you, He'nex?"

"No, My Lord."

"Very well, Old Four, step forward."

My host tries to march to the beat of Klitch's drum. Meanwhile, I try to make him back away. Unfortunately, the result is him moving forward in jerky half-steps. Great. That'll do wonders for my image.

"You will face one of my personal attendants. She's a descendant that's been bred specifically for war and slaughter. You wouldn't believe the amount of effort it took to make sure she evolved in the right direction."

You're pairing me with a custom-built killing machine? Oh, sting me sideways! Aren't we all on the same team? How about a nice team-building exercise instead?

Klitch points at a wall which peels away to reveal a hidden chamber. An ant much larger than my host, but still smaller than Klitch, steps out of it. Its front legs have a metallic gleam to them and are shaped like scythes. I gulp, cause I'm pretty sure that won't be all she has going for herself.

"Oh, this'll be good."

Shut the hell up! I don't care what Fangborn said that, but don't enjoy this at my expense!

Oh, no. My main body has literally just pooped itself.

Klitch leans in closer to me, his eyes trying to bore a hole in my skull.

"Dance for me, parasite."

Wait. Did he say…

Parasite?

My heart, and my host's, skips a beat.

Oh God. He knows!