The Tempest Grove sprawled out before the six trucks like a forgotten monument to chaos, a testament to a world where nature had won the ultimate battle. Giant mushrooms grew in clusters, some glowing with faint bioluminescence, casting eerie pools of green and blue light around the roots of trees that seemed to twitch with each gust of wind.
Vines as thick as a man's arm snaked through the undergrowth, twisting and curling around the trunks of trees that seemed more alive than the ground they grew from. The air was heavy with humidity, damp and oppressive, as if the weight of history hung thick around them.
The scent of rotting leaves filled their lungs with every breath, accompanied by the occasional rancid whiff of something far more sinister—mutated beasts stalking just beyond the tree line, unseen but ever-present.
The trees themselves were colossal, towering hundreds of feet into the air. Their bark was gnarled and dark, crumbling in places as though they had aged centuries overnight, their surfaces slick with moss and lichen. Some had massive, thorn-covered roots that seemed to reach up from the earth like skeletal fingers, clutching at the remnants of old buildings.
Here and there, the remnants of roads—now little more than cracked stones and overgrown paths—spoke of a time when civilization ruled this land. Now, these ruins were just another part of the ecosystem, swallowed by the wilderness.
Occasionally, the eerie silence of the forest was broken by distant roars, deep and unsettling, echoing through the trees and sending unseen flocks of creatures scattering into the sky. Except, they weren't birds—more like winged, scaled things with elongated bodies that moved in jerky, unnatural motions. Every now and then, Rion caught a glimpse of one through the gaps in the trees, flying in erratic patterns before disappearing into the fog that hung low over the forest.
What little light made it through the twisted branches above turned green and sickly, casting long shadows that moved with the wind. Except, he wasn't sure the wind was the only thing moving them.
Rion leaned back in his seat, eyes scanning the dense forest as they bumped along the uneven trail. There was something about the Tempest Grove that got under his skin. The way the trees creaked as though they were whispering—always out of earshot but never quite far enough to ignore.
"So, what do you think?" asked one of the mercenaries beside him, a wiry man named Harker, eyes hidden beneath the brim of a dirty cap. "This place finally beginning to give you the creeps too?"
Rion smirked, glancing at him. "You mean apart from the giant glowing mushrooms, the trees that look like they're about to eat us, and the fact that we're driving through the remnants of a nation devoured by mutated beasts? Yeah, feels like home."
Another mercenary chuckled nervously from the front passenger seat, adjusting his grip on his assault rifle. "I can't believe this place used to be something else, y'know? Before the Uprising. They had cities here. Real cities. Now it's just…" He waved a hand at the surrounding forest, his words trailing off as if he couldn't quite capture the enormity of the transformation.
Rion nodded, recalling the mission briefing they'd been given before setting out four days ago. Before the world descended into chaos, the Tempest Grove had been a thriving nation—home to prosperous city-states that flourished within the once-lush forests. But when the Uprising happened, and the mutated beasts first began to emerge, it had all fallen apart.
The forest had swallowed everything—cities, people, cultures—all reduced to ruins buried under the weight of nature's resurgence. Now, it was a graveyard, though the corpses here weren't content to stay buried. Some had claws and teeth, and an unsettling tendency to bite back.
"Y'know," Harker continued, his voice a little lower now, clearly enjoying the effect the surroundings had on the other mercenary. "I heard some boys down at the bar say the forest is cursed. That it's alive in a way we can't understand."
Rion didn't respond, but he didn't need to. The way the trees creaked and whispered with the wind, the way the shadows shifted just out of view—it was enough to make even the most grounded person second-guess themselves.
The truck rumbled over the uneven ground, every bump jostling them enough to remind Rion how precarious this mission was. They were Team C, Sector Delta-19, responsible for scouring this particular slice of Tempest Grove for ruins—a task much easier said than done, considering they didn't even know what the ruins looked like, just that they existed.
In the past three days since they'd begun sweeping Delta-19, they'd had numerous run-ins with mutated beasts, including two lone Anomaly-class and one Aberration-class mutated beast. The strategy against the Minion-class and Anomaly-class beasts were simple. Those that could be avoided were avoided and those that couldn't were swiftly taken care of. As for the Aberration-class beast, it was pacifist in nature and they passed by it with no issues.
"Keep an eye on the map," one of the archeologists, Greaves, a middle-aged man with glasses too thick for someone who spent so much time in the field, instructed his partner. Farah was younger, quieter, and far more competent in Rion's opinion. She at least didn't look like she was about to have a nervous breakdown every time a the shadow of a mutated beast crossed the treeline.
The both of them studied a tablet with a hieroglyphic script that Rion couldn't even pretend to understand. They murmured back and forth, using the equipment hooked up to their truck's dashboard. Geodetic scanners pinged softly, sending out waves into the earth beneath them, searching for signs of buried structures.
The convoy pushed deeper into their designated sector, the mercenaries on edge, weapons at the ready as they scanned the undergrowth. Over the radio, the other teams were checking in, their voices crackling through the static as they shared updates on their progress.
{Team A, all clear so far. No signs of any major structures yet, but we're picking up some interesting readings. Could be close.}
{Team F here. We've got some old ruins on Beta-24, but nothing definitive. Continuing to sweep the area.}
Rion sighed, settling back in his seat. It had been hours of this—driving through an overgrown forest, scanning for signs of a civilization that had been dead for decades. The archeologists were cross-referencing maps, but the forest itself was like a living labyrinth, constantly shifting and twisting.
For all they knew, the ruins could be buried under several layers of earth, hidden beneath the roots of ancient trees that had grown over what was once a thriving city.
Up ahead, the lead truck slowed slightly, navigating around a particularly large root that had erupted from the forest floor like the spine of some ancient, long-dead creature. Rion's truck followed, bouncing roughly over the uneven terrain. He glanced toward the front, where Stone—their driver and the person he believed was the strongest combatant under the Normos Family's retinue in their team—grunted in annoyance but kept his eyes trained ahead.
Farah and Greaves exchanged more data, their muttered conversations blending with the crackling static from the radio. Every so often, Greaves would make a note or adjust a detail on the map, occasionally shooting a quick message to the archeologists in the other trucks.
Suddenly, the radio crackled to life, the sharp voice of the scout team breaking the relative calm.
{Team C, Sector Delta-19. This is Scout Leader. We've got something up ahead. Proceed with caution. Repeat, proceed with caution. You're going to want to see this.}
Great. Here comes the fun part.
The truck fell into silence, except for the rumbling engine. Rion glanced over at the archeologists. The older man swallowed hard, his knuckles going white around the edge of the map, but the younger woman remained calm, adjusting her glasses as she made a note on her tablet.
The truck's pace slowed as they navigated a particularly narrow path through the trees. About five minutes later, they came to a clearing where the scout team had gathered. The other two trucks were parked in a rough semicircle, the mercenaries standing beside them with their weapons at the ready. There was an air of unease, the kind that only came when something big was about to go down.
Truck Three rolled to a stop, and Rion climbed out, blinking against the sudden flood of sunlight. Or at least, what passed for sunlight in the Grove. The canopy overhead was dense enough that the light seemed sickly and green, casting long shadows that danced on the edges of his vision.
"A desert?" one of the mercenaries muttered in confusion. "In the middle of the forest?"
Rion followed his gaze and froze. Up ahead, the forest ended abruptly, giving way to a massive basin valley below. At first glance, it looked like a desert, the valley floor covered in fine, yellow dust that shimmered in the dim light. The contrast between the dense, shadowed forest and the open, sunlit valley was jarring, as if someone had carved out a piece of the landscape and replaced it with a completely different environment.
But that wasn't what drew Rion's attention. No, what really made his blood run cold was the structure at the center of the basin.
A nest. A massive ant nest.
It towered above the dust-covered ground into the air, a dark, foreboding spire of hardened earth and twisted roots. It was as if the very land had risen up to form this grotesque structure, a monument to some ancient, primal force. Hundreds of entrances dotted the surface of the nest, each one large enough to fit several grown men walking side by side. And from those entrances came them.
Blackblood Army Ants.
Rion watched as the black, armored forms of the ants crawled in and out of the nest. Each one was several meters long, their mandibles clicking as they carried something in and out of the nest. Their segmented bodies gleamed under the dim light that filtered into the basin, their movements eerily synchronized, like a machine built out of flesh and chitin.
"Well, shit," Vance, who had arrived with Truck One whispered. "That doesn't look good."
"No kidding," Rion replied, his stomach tightening. "Fucking Blackblood Army Ants. Fantastic."
The people present looked at him, expecting more.
"Okay, quick lesson," Rion sighed, crossing his arms as he relayed the information he had paid good money for. "These little guys—if you can call several meters long 'little'—are Blackblood Army Ants. They're a species of mutated beasts, and where there's an army of them, there's always an Ant Queen."
"And that's bad because…?" the younger archeologist prompted, clearly following along.
"Because while the normal ants are Minion-Class, the queen has guards—and her guards are Anomaly-Class mutated beasts. That's right, not your regular mutated pests. These guys are highly coordinated, highly aggressive, and they're going to tear us apart if we're not careful."
"What about the queen herself?" Vance asked. "She dangerous?"
"Not in a fight. She's an Abberation Class, sure, but her job's to make more of these guys, not to throw punches. She's the least of our worries."
The valley stretched out before them, a dangerous wasteland of yellow dust and massive gigantic ants. The team's commander, a stern-faced woman named Kellen, stepped out of the lead truck with two comba, surveying the scene with narrowed eyes. "There's no way around it. We either find a way through, or we go back empty-handed."
"Going back sounds like a great plan," Rion muttered, though he knew it wasn't an option. He could practically hear Kellen's thoughts as she weighed their options.
"Prepare for battle, but avoid the Ant Queen if possible. I want minimal casualties. We don't have time for this, but we can't bypass it either."
"Well," Rion said, cracking his knuckles and glancing at Vance. "I guess we're about to see how good we really are."
The mercenaries and retainers of the Normos Family also moved quickly, falling into formation as they prepared for the inevitable clash with the Blackblood Army Ants. Weapons were checked, ammunition distributed, and battle lines drawn. One person even kissed a small teddy bear they hung around their waist for good luck.
Maybe we and the ants should just sit down and have a little tea party instead.....
As they readied themselves for the fight ahead, the wind blew through the basin, kicking up the yellow dust around them. In the distance, the Blackblood Army Ants continued their tireless march, unaware of the intruders preparing to challenge their territory.