The battle between the ants and grasshoppers was devastating ten years ago. I would know—I was there, standing among the shattered corpses and smoldering ruins, a survivor of a nightmare that never truly ended. Though my body bore no crippling wounds, the scars within ran deep. From that day forward, I changed. The fire that once burned in my heart as a soldier turned to ash. Fear took root. I buried my will to fight and instead chose to hide within the safety of the colony, serving as a warden ant far from the front lines, Seth reflected bitterly.
"Commander Seth, we've gathered enough food in the vessel. We're ready to transport it back to the colony," a military ant reported, approaching with a formal salute.
Seth turned, his mandibles dangling loosely at his sides. "That's good news. Make the preparations. And also... outside the colony walls, I'm Lieutenant Seth. You don't have to call me Commander. Not for my sake. I no longer hold that rank."
"Right! Lieutenant Seth."
"Good. Go inform the others it's time to move out," Seth instructed.
As the soldier departed, Seth remained still, his gaze fixed on the barren horizon. Memories clawed their way back—the blood, the screams, the broken bodies. The weight of it all pressed against his chest like a boulder.
He remembered how powerless he'd felt back then. Useless against the overwhelming might of the grasshoppers. He couldn't protect anyone. Not his comrades. Not the colony. Not even himself.
His thoughts drifted to the past, to the days when he'd walked the halls of the central chambers, the air heavy with the scent of dust and old parchment.
"Oh, Lieutenant Seth. How have you been these days?" an ant greeted him warmly.
"Captain Terrence. I've been well. Just taking a break from all the reports I've been filing," Seth answered politely.
"I see. In that case, I won't hold you—"
But their routine shattered as military ants burst through the entrance, panting, wide-eyed, their panic sharp as broken glass.
"Grasshoppers! Grasshoppers are attacking!"
Sirens blared. The ground trembled beneath the colony.
The grasshoppers came like a rolling storm, their thunderous march shaking the earth. Seth's pulse pounded in his ears as the enemy forces flooded the outskirts—overwhelming in number, suffocating in presence.
At the front of the invasion, Hopper's voice boomed across the battlefield. "Surrender to my will, or you all die."
Captain Terrence's resolve didn't waver. "You'll get nothing from us, you tyrant!"
Hopper's face twitched. "Can't say I didn't give you a chance."
The battle erupted.
"Vladimir! Front lines, now! Brooks, Toran—follow me!" Terrence barked, his voice steady despite the chaos.
Vladimir's stinger spear gleamed as he charged into the first wave of grasshoppers like a meteor crashing to earth. His spear spun and pierced, each strike devastating and precise. Carapaces shattered. Limbs flew. Blood painted the battlefield as Vladimir carved a merciless path through the enemy.
But a green blur slammed into him—a figure with wild mandibles and a manic grin.
Sly.
Their weapons clashed in a shower of sparks.
"Looks like I found myself a strong one," Sly sneered, his eyes gleaming with twisted excitement. "Do me a favor and don't die too fast."
His chaotic swings crashed against Vladimir's defenses relentlessly. Vladimir fought back fiercely, but Sly's movements were erratic and unpredictable.
"Yeah! That's it! Fight me like your life depends on it!"
Vladimir's spear slashed Sly's arm, drawing a shallow cut. Blood dripped to the dirt.
"Beautiful! This is what I live for!"
Their duel raged, each shockwave sending nearby ants sprawling. Sly's attacks grew wilder, forcing Vladimir back step by step.
Meanwhile, Brooks and his son Toran fought side by side, cutting down grasshoppers with brutal efficiency. Brooks' strikes were disciplined, heavy, while Toran's were swift and wild—a synchronized rhythm of father and son.
Suddenly, the sky darkened.
Baracko landed with a crushing impact that split the earth beneath him.
Brooks' instincts screamed. "Toran, back—!"
Baracko's fist blurred. Toran barely raised his weapon before Baracko's punch sent him flying.
Brooks lunged, intercepting the next blow with his mandibles. The force rattled his arms, the ground cracking beneath his feet.
"You're strong," Baracko remarked, calm and distant. "So you must understand—I don't wish to take part in this battle. I ask you both to retreat. Spare your lives."
"Spare me your pity," Brooks said calmly, pushing harder. "You came to conquer us. We fight to stop you. This won't end until one of us falls."
Baracko unleashed a blinding barrage—his fists a storm, his speed impossible for his size. Brooks parried desperately, each punch driving him backward, his legs sliding, his core trembling from the impact.
Toran rejoined the fight, striking at Baracko's flank. But Baracko twisted, caught the boy mid-swing, and hurled him like a ragdoll. Toran's body slammed against a boulder, his agonized cry cutting through Brooks' heart like a blade.
Blinded by rage, Brooks charged, his strikes brutal and desperate. But Baracko barely moved. His defense was impenetrable, his counters devastating.
Each punch drove Brooks closer to collapse. Baracko finally seized him by the throat, lifting him off the ground.
"This is pointless. Why throw your life away in a war you can never win? Surrender. Fewer lives will be lost," Baracko urged.
Brooks snarled, slamming his mandibles into Baracko's forearm, forcing him to drop him. For the first time, Baracko's calm cracked—just slightly.
"I'll kill you myself!" Brooks roared, his body battered but his spirit unbroken.
Their clash turned savage—personal, inescapable.
Meanwhile, Captain Terrence became a storm of his own, cleaving through enemy after enemy with relentless force. His soldiers rallied behind him, desperate to hold the line.
Hopper, growing bored, finally stepped into the fray. His steps were measured but radiated suffocating power. His four mandibles gleamed like executioner's blades as he met Captain Terrence head-on.
Their weapons clashed, shockwaves rippling across the field. Sparks flew with every strike. Terrence's blows carried the weight of duty, of his soldiers' hopes.
But Hopper's counters were monstrous. Each parry sent Terrence staggering, his extra arms striking from impossible angles, forcing Terrence to defend desperately.
"So, you're the strongest in this colony," Hopper smirked. "They believe in you. But… are you strong enough to protect them?"
Terrence's growl deepened. "I'll protect them with my life!"
His strikes grew faster, heavier, each step cracking the ground. Hopper's calm faltered as Terrence's furious onslaught battered his defenses.
Then, in a flash, Terrence broke through—his mandibles slashing across Hopper's green carapace, leaving a deep, jagged wound.
For a heartbeat, the battlefield stilled.
"Impressive," Hopper said, his voice steady despite the green ichor dripping from the gash. "But it won't be enough."
And then there was Gianna.
A silent hurricane, gliding through the chaos with terrifying grace. Her blade-like mandibles severed limbs, pierced hearts—a rhythm of death.
No one could touch her. No one could stop her.
A squad of ants swarmed her, but Gianna dashed among them, felling three in the blink of an eye. She spun, slicing through another soldier with chilling precision.
More ants rushed her in desperation. Gianna's movements remained fluid, her mandibles whirling in arcs that severed limbs and split armor. She twirled with her four mandibles in hand as she laughed.
A military ant screamed in pain as his arm was severed.
"Looks like I severed your arm. Here, let me put you out of your misery. And… there goes your head!"
One soldier begged for his life. Gianna beamed at him.
"Oh? Surrendering? How boring."
She sliced him in half without hesitation.
Her laughter was bright, genuine. She loved every moment of this.
"Come on! Someone put up a fight! Otherwise, I might start hunting the runners!"
Her deadly game continued, her laughter lingering long after her blade had fallen silent.
Elsewhere, Seth faced Denzil.
Unlike the others, Denzil didn't rush. His steps were cold, deliberate—like a reaper collecting his due.
Seth raised his weapon, arms trembling.
Denzil's first strike nearly severed his mandibles.
Seth staggered, barely blocking the next onslaught. Denzil's four mandibles struck in rapid arcs—too fast to track. Seth's grip faltered, his heart hammering as Denzil pushed him back step by step.
"You're afraid," Denzil noted blandly.
Seth couldn't deny it. He was terrified.
"Is this all your soldiers can offer?" Denzil pressed, advancing relentlessly.
Seth swung in a wide arc—Denzil sidestepped effortlessly, delivering a sweeping blow that sent Seth sprawling.
Denzil didn't finish him. He simply turned away.
"Not worth the effort."
Captain Terrence faltered. Hopper's four mandibles pierced his armor, tearing him apart.
"Captain Terrence has fallen!" a voice cried. "Surrender! All forces, surrender! It's an order directly from the Queen!"
The battlefield froze.
Weapons dropped. Panic spread.
Denzil, unbothered, turned his back. "Oh, looks like Hopper already got rid of your strongest soldier."
Gianna twirled one last time, flicking blood from her mandibles. "How boring. It's over already."
Seth knelt, bloodied, surrounded by broken comrades. His eyes locked on Terrence's lifeless body.
He saw Brooks cradling his son's corpse, Baracko standing over them, his chest and face streaked with blood.
He saw Lily—her vibrant eyes now wide with trauma, her limbs limp, her expression frozen in shock as a soldier dragged her away. She was just a child at the time, not accustomed to the world outside the colony. What she witnessed scarred her for life.
Seth's teeth clenched. He hadn't died that day—but something inside him had.
The memory faded.
Seth now stood, staring at a group of ants approaching from the horizon. His unit had completed the harvest, standing at the colony's edge. But what he saw stunned him.
"Wait, Ari—isn't that your wheel thingy? What's it doing out here?" Lily asked, her voice strained with disbelief as she and Isla supported him.
Ari looked equally baffled. "I'm just as confused as you are."
Anastasia squinted. "Wait… isn't that Chief Warden Seth? What's he doing out here?"
Beatrice stepped forward. "Looks like he went back out for another harvest. But why…?"
Seth stared, breathless. "No way… they're all here. Did they… did they win against Hopper…?"
"Lieutenant Seth, that's Commander Anastasia, Lieutenant Brooks, Corporal Lily, and Beatrice behind us. Plus the three Lance Corporals and other ants I don't recognize. What are your orders?" a soldier asked.
Seth hesitated. The ones who had gone to challenge Hopper without the Queen's consent had returned—alive. Hardened. Changed.
"Prepare to set up camp for the night. They all look exhausted."
"Right away, sir!"
Seth remained still, eyes locked on the approaching group. The ghosts of the past still haunted him, but something had shifted. The war had taken so much… yet, somehow, those he thought lost to Hopper's might were walking toward him.