Chapter 164: Arson [III]
It took him an hour or two.
Azel couldn’t tell anymore.
His sense of time had unraveled somewhere in the long climb, burned away by the constant need for silence, balance, and precision.
The only thing he did know was that every second felt stolen, every movement was a gamble.
He had been so focused, so tense, that his heartbeat seemed to echo louder than the buzzing above him.
Now he was here pressed flat against the colossal tree, right beneath the hive itself.
The noise was unbearable.
It wasn’t simply heard; it could be felt.
The vibration of wings hummed in his bones, crawled through his teeth, and bored into his skull until he thought his eardrums would burst.
Standing this close to the Dreadhorn hive, he wondered if his hearing would ever return to normal after this trial.
The hive was monstrous.
Clinging to the ancient trunk like a parasite, The smell was acrid, thick with venom, rot, and some alien musk that made his stomach churn.
Despite its grotesque appearance, there was a disturbing kind of order to it.
One massive entrance dominated the front, while the rest of the hive was sealed with bark, save for tiny gaps.
It wasn’t a random mess of secretion — it was intentional so he guessed that the Queen or King would be a smart creature.
He adjusted the Ghost’s Cloak around his shoulders and crawled closer, hugging the hive’s backside.
The shadows wrapped around him, obscuring him from sight.
Even so, his hands shook faintly as he reached for the bark.
Azel avoided the dripping sludge and crouched low.
Then, with a flex of aura in his legs, he leapt.
His boots hit the wet bark. Aura softened the impact, dispersing the force so perfectly that not even a creak escaped.
He landed noiselessly against the hive’s side.
For the first time in hours, he allowed himself to breathe normally.
"Made it," he whispered, lips barely moving.
He drew a paper bomb from his inventory, pressing it against a small gap in the wood.
The parchment melded into the surface, vanishing from sight.
He repeated the action, each movement smooth and deliberate.
One.
Two.
Three.
He added some resin vials too.
Every bomb placed was another artery ready to burst, another piece of kindling for the inferno he was about to ignite.
When he had scattered enough, he crept upward.
The hive stretched endlessly, and he scaled it branch by branch, sticking to wooden ridges for footing.
And then he saw them.
Above the hive, in open sky, two Dreadhorns fought.
They weren’t the ordinary drones he had fought earlier — these were larger, sharper, their carapaces gleaming with a wet black sheen.
Their compound eyes glimmered faintly as they circled one another.
And then disappeared.
Azel’s eyes widened. They vanished into blurs and reappeared midair, colliding with the force of a battering ram.
Shockwaves rippled outward, shaking the tree beneath his boots.
Venom streamed through the night like arrows, sizzling against branches when they missed.
Dozens of Dreadhorns hovered nearby, drawn to the spectacle.
They didn’t interfere though.
They just watched.
The constant traffic of workers in and out of the hive had ceased — the drones either distracted by the duel or temporarily dispersed.
Azel’s lips curved faintly upward.
Perfect timing.
If they were focused on their own infighting, it gave him all the room he needed.
He crept along the top of the hive, sticking close to the crown.
His cloak veiled him, and he moved like a shadow skimming another shadow.
Soon, he reached the hive’s edge.
Below him, several meters down, yawned the main entrance.
A vast circular hole rimmed with slime, wide enough for a dozen men to march abreast.
That was his way in.
He crouched at the edge, studying it.
Only a handful of Dreadhorns lingered near the opening, buzzing lazily.
The rest had cleared out.
He drew aura into his legs again, breathed deep, and jumped.
Cold wind roared in his ears.
His cloak flapped wildly, but he shaped his descent with aura, so it was silent.
He struck the entrance’s edge and rolled smoothly, letting momentum carry him into the hive.
He landed with a muted thud.
Slime crunched faintly under his boots.
’I made it,’ Azel thought.
Then he looked up.
The inside stole his breath.
He had expected chaos because these were monsters but instead... he got something instead.
The walls were paneled with bark smoothed unnaturally flat, strengthened with hardened fluid.
Protrusions jutted from the walls at odd intervals, like balconies or ledges, each one pulsing faintly.
Slime dripped rhythmically in places, pooling in slick puddles that stank of acid.
The buzzing was louder inside, amplified by the enclosed space until it rattled in his bones.
Shadows moved constantly — workers floating from chamber to chamber, drones drifting past in rhythmic cycles.
Azel crouched in the shadows, heart hammering.
A cluster of worker Dreadhorns passed overhead.
Their compound eyes glimmered faintly, mandibles clicking.
For an instant, one turned its head toward his direction then zipped past, uninterested.
The cloak held.
Only when they were gone did he move.
He crept to the entrance wall and knelt, pressing vials of resin against it, tucking them into natural shadows.
Four vials hidden, two paper bombs placed beside them.
Another artery ready to burst.
He exhaled slowly and pressed onward.
The hive was full of tunnels — some large enough for him to walk upright, others narrow crawlspaces.
He chose one of the larger ones and followed it, silently and carefully.
Soon, he reached a small chamber.
A hole in the wall was sealed with some sort of mesh which was fibrous and sticky.
Azel slipped a hand against it, tugged softly until it tore, strings parting silently.
He leaned in.
And froze.
Inside the chamber lay rows upon rows of eggs.
Spherical, translucent sacs pulsing faintly with inner light.
He could see the vague outlines of developing creatures within — writhing shapes, twitching wings, small mandibles already forming.
Slime dripped steadily between them, coating the floor in a foul sheen.
The sheer number of them made his throat tighten.
Dozens.
Hundreds.
Perhaps thousands.
’So this is where they came from,’ Azel thought, his eyes narrowing, a dark gleam cutting across his gaze.
Yes. They had to go.
Every single one of them.