By Walter M. Smith
A curse resonates through the forest, sending a small band of nightfangs scrambling away through the dark. Standing over a camp fire is a musclebound man vigorously shaking a strange apparatus—a collapsible rod with some sort of censer or other spherical thing at the end. The man has no clothes on, save for a simple lower undergarment. His body is wracked with boils and pox marks, with portions of his muscular physique entirely bound by bandages—some of them in need of changing.
“Blasted hunk of junk,” he curses again, sitting down on a log with a defeated sigh. “I should have just dropped all my marks on a biomancer.”
“I bet you feel silly now,” a second voice speaks. Another man, sitting on the other side of the fire and whittling away on a stick, looks up for just a moment. His eyes peer at his companion from under his matted hair, which hang down to the bottom of his eyes. “To place your trust in the machines of Destral rather than the eternal, flowing power of The Creator.”
“I wouldn’t put it that way, Rohert,” the larger man grunts. His finger spins the rod-like device before he tosses it onto the ground behind him. “There is no divine punishment for not using the magical skillset of a healing mage.”
“So the source of your tribulation is…?”
“I got scammed, Rohert. It’s not that complicated. Those damn Destrians sold me a hunk of metal with an exorbitant price tag attached to it.”
Rohert scoffs. “You’re right that it is not complicated, Petor. But this ‘scam’ you fell for is still a result of your misplaced faith. The Creator gifted His power to the people of Legere in order for them to bless others—”
“I’m not in the mood for your preaching, Rohert. Save it for another day—or for someone who will actually eat it up.” Petor sits down on the log, wincing as his body bends and his sores press against each other.
Rohert is silent for a moment, watching Rohert wallow in his pain before pulling a map out of his sack.
“Well, Petor, look like we’ll reach Laisen tomorrow morning, assuming we start moving again at first light.”
Petor gingerly wraps his exposed sores in fresh bandages. “Right. Are we in the territory of the maduka yet?”
“Technically? No. Not according the Union’s tracking record. But the reports coming in from the has told me that their activity is spreading downwards from the northern reaches of the valley. Let us pray that The Creator will safeguard us as we sleep.”
“I’d rather The Creator safeguard us if we get into a fight. We’ll sleep in shifts. I’ll take first watch and your religious arse can sleep first.”
Rohert clicks his tongue, but stands up and readies his bedroll.
“You jest, Petor. But something tells me you will recognize The Creator’s power by the end of the week.”
The town of Laisen was beautiful and scenic—unlike any the two men had seen before. The landscape and architecture alike were not like the ones found in their homeland of Phovezila. The men stopped to admire the view before entering through Laisen’s gates.
Up close, the town was different. Although from a distance it appeared to be colourful, tranquil, and peaceful, the town was inhabited by rag-adorned, tired-faced people who groaned in pain. The marks of a town ravaged by the maduka.
Rohert and Petor’s armour, which they had donned in the small hours of morning, gleamed in the street as it caught the Eastern sunlight. The residents of Laisen turned towards them as if they were angels who had come to deliver them from some unfathomable, cruel evil.
“Excuse me, good sir,” Rohert speaks as he reaches out and stops a passing merchant, “we’re Hivebreakers. From Phovezila.” He holds up a pendant—an iron oval embossed with four swords, a rose, and a bee. The sigil of the Union.
“Oh!” the merchant exclaims, his face turning from sorrowful to hopeful as he hears Rohert’s words. He drops the handles of his wheelbarrow of straw and clasps his hands together. “Thank the Klo Ming! You have come to slay the hivemen?”
“Well, not exactly,” Petor says with measured weight. “Eventually, yes. But the Union has sent us to scout out the area and get information on what exactly you’re dealing with here. In order for the appropriate requisition of materials and resources to counteract the madukan colony that’s the source of your woes.”
“What? Just… scouts?” The merchant’s face turns from hopeful back to downcast. “We—we—we already had messengers sent to Phovezila to report the infestation! We gave you the information you needed!”
“I apologize, my good man,” Rohert cuts in. “It’s all part of the rules. The Union cannot respond to reports of a madukan infestation without the firsthand report from a Hivebreaker Knight.”
“Shal vaast! Worthless Phovezilan tourists!” The merchant picks up his wheelbarrow once more with a huff and begins to march back down the street.
“Do not fear, honourable labourer! For the Union will come…” Rohert’s voice trails off as the merchant moves out of earshot, flipping the knights an obscene gesture as he rounds a corner.
“Hmm.” Petor says while scratching his nose. “Didn’t respond too well to our honesty. You sure you want to keep telling people the truth about how long it will take for us to deal with the maduka?”
Rohert crosses his arms and looks at his comrade with a look of disapproval.
“Honesty and truth are virtues of The Creator,” he replies. “There shall be reward indeed for those who wield them even in times inconvenient.”
“Hmm. Not seeing much reward here. That merchant didn’t seem like a fan of The Creator either. He thanked the Klo Ming for his ‘fortune’.”
The two knights started down the street towards the northern side of Laisen.
“Should I pray to the Klo Ming? Perhaps now that we’re out of Phovezila, we’re no longer in the domain of The Creator and His army of Angels.”
“Are you teasing or posing an actual question?” Rohert looks scornfully at Petor. “The Klo Ming is a mighty beast, but it is no god. It has flesh and blood and it can be killed.”
“Well. At least it’s real.”
“Enough of this. We have to find the Ganpoumi Fi contact.”
Eventually, the two men make it to the northern border of the town, which has been heavily fortified with walls and massive ballistas. A militia of peasants mingles with nakai—professional Isutan warriors sent from the province’s capital city of Ailang. The faces of the fighters here are grim, emotionless, and cold.
Rohert could tell that many of them had been defeated in their hearts already.
“Things here are worse than I expected,” Petor mumbles to Rohert. “The reports from the Councilor of Ailang said that the maduka were skirmishing with the farmslands to the north of the town. But this kind of response from the Isutan military suggests something far worse.”
“Indeed. The maduka’s attacks must have escalated dramatically within the last week. Let’s find Master Gyun-Cho and get the rundown.”
The two knights move quickly to pinpoint their person of interest. After diligently questioning the militia, they find themselves atop the recently-erected wall, standing before a man clad in shiny, non-lacquered starsteel armour. Over the armour draped the colourful amber-and-black skin of some reptile. His helmet bore the antlers of some massive creature, lending a particularly impressive, intimidating silhouette to the man.
Petor found himself wondering if Master Gyun-Cho was a hunter, or simply a wealthy man who had spent a fortune to adorn his armour in trophies from far-off lands.
“Salutations, wise Master of the Eastern Provinces!” Rohert announces with a bow. “I am Sir Lee, and this is my partner Sir Whittlefarm. We’ve come from the Hivebreaker Union.”
“Ho,” Gyun-Cho says, unimpressed. “Took you long enough. This town is on the verge of collapse.”
“Seems like it,” Petor says. “Respectfully, Master Gyun-Cho, the information we received does not align with what we see here today.”
“Gah,” the Master says, turning to face the exterior of the wall. The landscape shows clear signs of battle—blood stains the dry and trampled grass, and pock marks of scorched ground spot the land. Broken shafts of arrows litter the slumbering battlefield. The corpses of the slain were piled high and set aflame. “Well, things are going pretty poorly. This town’s suffered heavy losses… the hivemen are attacking about every other day. We’re reaching the point where it’s probably going to be better to abandon the town rather than keep trying to defend it. There is no tactical importance to this location. Just the home of several farming families.”
“But you can’t do that,” Rohert says, firm but gently. “If you surrender this land the maduka, they’ll strengthen their forces and push deeper into your territory. Soon you’ll have them attacking the gates of Ailang.”
“Then I suppose you and Sir Whittlefarm are here to put an end to the threat?”
There’s a pause. Rohert looks at Petor. Petor gives Rohert a quick, sly grin and a wink.
“We… n-… well, yes,” Rohert continues. “The Union is here to help deal with the maduka. We will move quickly to gather necessary intel and launch a counterattack against the colony, which will hopefully be enough to push them out of the area. Perhaps we can find their fortress and eliminate their presence from Laisen’s countryside entirely.”
“I don’t care what the gaak you do as long as you do it quickly. You have full authority to do as you please until we deal with the hivemen. Now go—stop wasting my time and go find you ‘intel’ or whatever the hell else you need.”
Rohert and Petor bow—awkwardly—before making their way off the wall.
“Well, he seemed pleasant,” Rohert mutters.
“He’s under a lot of stress,” Petor replies. “He’s probably watched soldiers he’s fought alongside for several years get killed by hivemen. He wants vengeance and he’s scared.”
“Rightfully so. Let’s not keep him waiting and get out there.”
Rohert and Petor pass into the northern forests of Laisen’s countryside, past the battlefields and burned farmsteads that marked the victories of the maduka. The forests were dense with tambaboo stalks and other mighty trees that might’ve grown there since the Demon Wars.
“Do you think the maduka are evil, Rohert?”
Rohert looks up in surprise at Petor as they walk.
“Evil? Like… profane evil?”
“No, obviously not to that extent. But evil as in antithetical to the will of your… The Creator.”
Rohert drums his fingers on the hilt of his sword.
“No, they’re not evil. They’re creatures made by Him. They’re not any more evil than a frog devouring a fly.”
“In that case, wouldn’t you call them servants of The Creator? Entities enacting His divine will? And if so, why fight them?”
“Is this a genuine question, Petor? Or just another bout of you poking fun at my faith?”
“Genuine this time. Curious to know your rationale and where you draw the line.”
Rohert is silent as he clambers over a log. He extends a hand to help Petor over it.
“Everything in Legere was created with a purpose by The Creator,” Rohert finally says as Petor grabs his hand. “But not everything exists to directly be good. Many things are here only to provide opportunities for people to be good. Yes, He created maduka. But He also created us and inspired our founders to forge the Union to grant us the opportunity to display heroism and protect the innocent. Does that make sense?”
“Only partially,” Petor grunts as he lands on the ground. He dusts the moss from his tabard and readjusts the straps on his pack. “You’re suggesting that The Creator… this infallible avatar of goodness… created evil creatures.”
“By Sadoln’s staff, you’re thick-headed! I just said maduka weren’t evil!”
“But you say the maduka enable people to be good by fighting them. Doesn’t that imply they are evil?”
“Shush!”
“Don’t shush me just because I’ve backed you into a moral cor-”
“No!” Rohert hisses, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Shut it! Get down.”
Petor and Rohert crouch down. Their breaths becomes slow and measured as they begin listening to the sounds of the forest around them.
Silence has fallen. Not just the normal emptiness of a forest filled with all manner of unseen animals. A deathly silence, devoid of birdsong and the chirping of insects.
The silence is broken as Rohert and Petor slowly draw their rapiers. The hexagonal pattern acid-etched into the surface of the blades glimmers reassuringly to their wielders.
“They’re nearby,” Rohert whispers.
Petor feels the rush of wind. There’s something above them.
Petor launches himself backwards as he kicks his fellow knight in the chest. The two land in piles of leaf litter as a hail of wax daggers implant themselves in the ground where they just stood.
Thump!
A massive creature lands on the ground before the two knights. It’s insect-like, with a thick, ridged carapace adorned with black and red stripes. Partially hardened wax drips from cavities on its torso. The mandibles on its bulbous, bug-like head click as it stares at the knights through its soulless compound eyes. A maduka.
“That’s a bard. Cotton in!” Petor and Rohert quickly reach into their pouches, producing small balls of cotton and stuffing them into their ears. It’s just in time too—the maduka flexes its elytra and begins to vibrate it. The ear-splitting drone that follows would drop any normal person to the ground, clutching their ears in pain. But the cotton guarding the knights’ eardrums allows them to stand defiantly against the insectoid attacker.
Petor flashes Rohert a sign with his hands. Rohert nods, having interpreted the message correctly: IT IS CALLING FOR REINFORCEMENTS.
Their hands would be full in a moment. Rohert rushes across the forest floor towards the bard. The bard stretches its long legs and begins to bound away to maintain its distance. But Petor circles behind the creature, holding his sword forward in a pose of lethal relaxation. Previously unseen markings on the sword glow amber as it makes contact with the monster’s exoskeleton, enhancing its piercing capabilities. The blade sinks through the body of the maduka as if its shell were made of jelly.
In a swift leap, Rohert leaps over the maduka’s head with a flourish of his own sword. There’s a flash as his rapier catches the afternoon light. The top of the creature’s head slides off and the monster collapses in a heap. The buzzing ends. Petor pulls his sword from the toppling maduka and twirls the blade in an elegant display of martial finesse.
But the knights don’t drop their guard. Scuttling fills the air as eight short, smaller versions of the creature the Hivebreakers just felled surround them.
LUCKY US, Petor signs to Rohert. ONLY SQUIRES.
The two move like dancers rehearsing a well-choreographed dance. Their steps are not unlike those taken by ballerinas, and their swinging, stabbing blades reveal the several years of experience in fighting the aggressive insectoid creatures circling them.
Before long, Rohert and Petor find themselves surrounded by the lifeless husks of the maduka. They hold their blades up in the air, almost as if in salute to each other. Rohert’s eyes focus on the rapier’s blade, which is deathly still. No vibration; no maduka bard.
The Hivebreakers pluck the cotton from their ears and sheath their swords.
“Only a small contingent of maduka,” Rohert says, kneeling down to observe the dead monsters. “We must still be relatively far from the local madukan fortress.”
Rohert picks up a severed arm from one of the maduka and observes the crimson stripe running along the carapace. “These are from Hive Rouge. They’re further east than what we’ve seen in past migrations. I was expecting maduka from Hive Jaune.”
“This is enough to report back to the Union, surely?” Petor asks while peering through the surrounding woods. “I’d rather us be able to go home and submit an engagement confirmation report before we run into a patrol of madukan knights.”
“Normally I’d agree, Petor. But did you see the people in Laisen? The look in the nakai’s eyes and in Master Gyun-Cho’s face? These are battle-hardened men shaken by unrelenting assault. If what the Ganpoumi Fi Master said about near-daily attacks is true, then there’s the possibility that there’s not just a madukan fortress here. This level of incursion would have to be fueled by close proximity to a palace.”
“But… that wouldn’t make any sense, would it? There’s been no documented sieges against a madukan palace by any Hohmite kingdom in the last decade.”
“There is always the chance this was caused by inter-colony conflict.” Rohert tosses the severed limb aside and adjusts his belt. “Let’s venture just a little further to try and confirm. If my hunch is true, the Union will be glad to know, and our fellow knights won’t find themselves woefully underprepared.”
Days pass. Rohert and Petor tiredly continue through the Isutan forest, finally collapsing near a waterfall-fed pool. Rohert stumbles to the water’s edge, splashing his face and wiping the dirt away from his eyes.
Nothing. No sign of any madukan construction at all. And no sign of a madukan invasion force either—no marching tracks, no sounds, nothing. To say that the Hivebreakers were perplexed would be an understatement.
“Rohert, I want to go back,” Petor sighs while lying on the ground. A leaf dances down from a tree and lands playfully on his face. Annoyed, he blows it off and stares into the canopy above. “I don’t get what’s going on here. We ran into a single tiny squad of maduka, haven’t seen anything at all, and yet… supposedly Laisen is getting hammered by maduka like no one’s business.”
Rohert wipes his face and stands up. It was just as well. They had not prepared for an excursion into the wilds for this long. Their supplies were low, and they still needed to make the tip back to Phovezila.
“How is the pain?” Rohert asks Petor.
“Bearable. Well, maybe. My sores are weeping and frankly I have run out of bandages. It is… unpleasant.”
“Let’s return to Laisen then. We’ll restock what we can for our trip back home and share what we know. We’ve done our due diligence.”
Petor winces as Rohert helps him to his feet. Rohert feels a stab of guilt in his chest. To think that Petor was in this sort of pain because of his insistence to stay and investigate…
They begin their journey back. The decision to return to Laisen was made early enough in the day that returning to the walls of the village by dusk was not out of the realm of possibility.
As the sun hangs low in the sky, the Hivebreakers emerge from the forest and find themselves on the grasslands between the trees and Laisen. But something is wrong. As the knights approach Laisen, their eyes drink in a sight that caused their stomachs to drop.
The wooden wall erected by the nakai to repel the attacks is in shambles. Splintered wood is scattered across the ground. Dead nakai hang from the top of what remained of the wall. Several buildings that were in fine condition when they left are now smouldering.
Without exchanging words, the Hivebreakers draw their swords. Swiftly and silently they enter Laisen through the breach, gingerly stepping over the corpses of an entire platoon of nakai.
There isn’t a single madukan corpse in sight.
WHAT HAPPENED HERE? Petor signs to Rohert.
MADUKA ATTACK. 100 PERCENT. LOOK AT WAX. Rohert points to a nearby nakai impaled into the side of a building. Around the roughly-hewn shaft of the spear, Petor can see the dribbling remnants of madukan wax. The weapon used to kill this man was fashioned by a madukan knight.
VILLAGE DANGEROUS. LEAVE NOW. The Hivebreakers nod to each other and retrace the steps that they took when they first found themselves in Laisen. Deftly they make their way through the streets and past the village square.
Petor pauses for a moment as something at the center of the road catches his eye. A slain nakai in gleaming armour and tattered reptile skin. Next to the corpse, an Isutan helmet with shattered antlers.
Master Gyn-Cho, cut down in the very streets he was sent to defend.
Petor and Rohert take no moment to mourn the master’s passing. They gather their purpose and continue. But as Petor continues to ruminate on what has happened to Laisen, panic begins to boil in his belly.
Years of training with the Union begin to corrode, fear taking place. Petor imagines swarms of maduka in every alley they pass, peering at them from every window. They are surrounded.
Petor begins to run faster. His body screams in pain as his boils and sores experience the pressure that comes with him pushing himself.
NOT SO FAST! Rohert tries to sign to Petor, but his comrade is in front of him and not looking back.
Petor steps on a wooden handle as he runs, crashing onto the ground. The air is filled with noise as his armour meets the earth. A flock of birds flee the scene.
Rohert comes to Petor’s side and begins to help him up. As Petor places one hand on the ground beneath him to help himself to his feet, he feels a tremour.
Thoom. Thoom. Thoom.
Footsteps.
“By Yobediah’s blade,” Rohert curses as he stares down the street.
Marching into view of the two knights was a single maduka. The Hivebreakers recognized this one as a member of the “knight” caste—the dedicated warriors of a madukan colony. Like the ones they had faced in the forest, this one was plastered in red and black chitin, denoting its membership to the very same Hive Rouge.
But this knight is huge. Larger than any the two had seen before. Nearly two feet above the tallest knight they had faced in their careers. Its compound eyes glare soullessly at the Hivebreakers. A mane of pink hair flows from its neck, blowing in the smoky, ash-laden air. Its head, which should be symmetrical, is warped and lopsided. Lines through its revolting face reveal the reason why: it had survived hundreds of blades slashed across itself.
As the knight lumbered toward them, the Hivebreakers’ eyes catch a horrid sight. Hundreds of shattered spears, bent swords, broken arrows, and other weapons emerged from the back of the maduka. Many had clearly tried to kill this thing, and all had failed.
Rohert was not known to fear maduka, for his entire life was dedicated to killing them. But at that moment, Rohert gripped Petor with white knuckles and whispered one word.
“Run.”
The Rohert and Petor scramble to the side, barging into the shattered front of what was once a grocer. They push through crates of rotten vegetables and emerge on the street behind the store.
CRASH!
The titanic maduka bursts through the building as if it were a patch of thick weeds it was stepping through.
“Cut through another building!” Rohert screams back to Petor. “But this time let’s try to make a hard turn to throw it off!”
Ahead, another building. The broken sign next to its door identifies it as a noodle bar. The identification prepares the pair as they clamber over the counter inside, knocking over piles of stacked bowls and chopsticks. Petor barges into the back of the noodle shop.
The kitchen. This room would normally be filled with the steam rising from boiling broth and fresh-made noodles. Instead, Petor finds himself face to face with a trio of maduka drones. The creatures are only a few feet tall, and they sit in a line on a countertop, legs swinging as they munch on blobs of cold rice dough.
A moment passes as Petor stares into their unblinking compound eyes.
“Shhh!” Petor shushes the drones. They cock their heads, as if confused by the sudden appearance of the man.
“Oof!” Petor stumbles forward as Rohert bumps into him from behind. The abrupt appearance of a second human startles the drones, and one of them opens its mandibles and gives a warbling cry.
The response to the call is swift and merciless. The giant madukan knight’s claws crash through the side of the building and wrap around Rohert’s waist. Before Petor can draw his sword to sever the claw or at least try to free his comrade, the other Hivebreaker is torn from the building and flung across the ground. There’s a thud as Rohert’s body stops at the foundation of the next closest building.
He doesn’t move or cry out.
The drones in the kitchen hop down from the counter and scatter in different directions, doing their best to hang onto their precious dough. Petor holds the tip of his sword towards the maduka. Normally his blade would reassure him with its presence. But against the outrageous size of this madukan knight, the weapon only felt pathetic.
His eyes flicker towards the body of Rohert. It remains still. Sweat dribbles down the side of Petor’s face.
The madukan knight’s jaws extend, and it gives a spine-chilling roar unlike that of any other monster on Legere. It raises one of its arms, which is now coated in a layer of hardened madukan wax. The edges of it had been scraped away, forming the wax into a massive dagger-like shape. Petor knew the strength of madukan wax—without fire or heat to melt it, it might as well have been steel.
The first blow against Petor would have killed him. But Petor manages to muster up what finesse and focus he has left. He deflects the blow and steps to the side. But the maduka is unrelenting and ferocious. It doesn’t fight like a savage beast. The terror of a madukan knight was their uncannily expertise in close-quarters combat. This knight in particular was especially vicious.
Petor could feel his strength waning with every deflected strike. Not only is the beast powerful, but it is agile. There was no opening to strike at. His mind races, and with every strike he hopes that Rohert surprise attacks the knight from behind, sinking his rapier into the knight’s head to save him. But Rohert’s help never comes. Petor’s doom is ushered ever closer.
As Petor feels his exhausted, travel-weary, plague-ridden body give up, he closes his eyes. He is ready to accept his death.
What did he expect? If the Creator was real, would he be ushered into an afterlife in His kingdom? Was Rohert waiting for him at the gate, cheekily grinning and ready to deliver a jovial “I-told-you-so”?
Death never came to Petor in that moment. Something urged Petor to open his eyes. His face was pointed upwards at the sky, and as he looked into the sunset sky, a flash of silver flickered from above.
Petor leaps back. The sliver of metal grows larger as it approaches, and unceremoniously embeds itself in the madukan knight’s skull. It’s a sword… Rohert’s sword! Petor recognizes the subtlety in the handle’s wrapping. He glances at Rohert, expecting to see him standing—bleeding, but standing. But Rohert is still flat on the ground, unmoving and without breath.
The madukan knight gurgles and howls, wailing as it tries to dislodge the weapon from its face. Petor takes one final glance at Rohert and signs: FAREWELL.
The hivebreaker dashes away from Rohert’s corpse and the titanic maduka, its monstrous screams echoing into the night.