Chapter 61: Feeling Antsy

Chapter 61: Feeling Antsy

The portal to the Empty City ripples into existence in front of me, and I note with some relief that the ant is, in fact, still there. They seem barely conscious, and with a small bit of alarm I notice that their Firmament is all haywire there are flickers of Void still within them, though those traces are small enough that it doesn't seem to awaken the hunger within me.

I'm not sure what else I expected, I suppose. There isn't much time left before this area becomes dangerous, so I reach in and drag the ant-person out.

I wonder in the back of my mind if I should stop comparing all these species to various Earth animals. Mari and Tarin have been referring to themselves as crows this whole time; it's no doubt some feature of the translation function, but it seems a little demeaning.

Not that any of that is the point.

Rotar watches in a mixture of fascination and fear as I drag my so-called prisoner out and carefully lay them down onto the forest floor. There's a flicker of recognition in his face.

"You know them?" I ask.

"I... no." Rotar hesitates. "Not really. I recognize the species. A lot of them are used as soldiers for some of the factions in the Cities. They're kind of, uh... scary. Big and intimidating."

"What's their species called?" I ask, not commenting on the 'big and intimidating' thing. They're about the same height and size as I am, and Rotar is on the smaller side for a crow.

"They're called morphlings," Rotar says. "They have a few different forms they can change into it's part of what makes them so useful as soldiers. They can serve basically any role."

"Right." I kneel down next to the morphling. We don't have any more Phantom Root on hand, though this time the Firmament ravaging within them isn't the Interface; I assume there won't be any permanent consequences for this...nôvel binz was the first platform to present this chapter.

But I don't see a way to fix this. Not without talking directly to the Void. I've been avoiding it a bit, I realize. For all that I took it because I was sure I could avoid it controlling me, there's been a small amount of worry coiling around inside me.

No more of that. Especially if it's going to pull things like this.

Void.

Intentionally activating the Inspiration feels far different from it activating itself. Instead of being a roaring beast, it's a small presence within me, reaching out with tiny feelers almost as though it's curious. Then it withdraws, as though confused, and I realize I haven't given it a skill to attach to.

Concentrated Power.

Easy enough. I feel Firmament begin to gather in my arms and legs, empowering me slowly. I'd have to hold this skill for hours to make it stronger than my normal Strength skills, though it's a relatively easy skill to hold it doesn't really take any concentration. I imagine I'd be able to keep it on even while asleep.

With the Void, though...

The Inspiration latches almost eagerly on to the skill, threading itself through the pulsing Firmament like it's a lifeline. I feel the impact almost immediately as the Void begins to draw on the Firmament surrounding me. Concentrated Power is growing almost twice as fast, and that's without me intentionally drawing Firmament out of anything.

hungry? the Void says it as though it's a question, although I can feel the hunger from it. tasty.

Glad you're enjoying the meal, I answer from within. Mostly because I think if I said that out loud it would scare Rotar. Want to tell me what you did to this poor morphling?

I get the distinct impression that the Void is... licking its lips. Not that it has any to lick, but it somehow manages to convey that sensation, along with the stretching sensation of a grin. It's unpleasant. tasty, it says again, which is about as far away from a useful response as I can imagine. i eat.

That's... almost a hint. I lean down by the morphling's body, examining their chitin more closely, and then focus exclusively on my Firmament sense.

Everything inside the morphling's body is chaos. It's hard to make out exactly what's happening, but it's similar to what was happening to Tarin so much so that I wonder if the Void learned from it, somehow. There's almost nothing I can make out of what's happening in there.

I let my senses narrow further, focusing on just the Firmament in the morphling's head, then their antennae, and then just a single point on the tip of an antennae. It's only then that I can even catch a glimpse of what's happening.

I don't know what to say to that.

The morphling slowly gets up, pulling themselves to their feet and staring gingerly at their own four hands. They flex them slowly, clenching them into fists and then relaxing them again, as though wondering at having control over their own bodies once more.

"I remember," they say, softly. There's a lot of meaning buried in those two words a lot of anger, though that anger doesn't seem directed at me. "It has been so long. Thank you. I owe you a debt greater than you could ever know."

"I think I also almost killed you, so it sort of evens out," I say dryly, mostly because I don't know what else to say in the face of such genuine gratitude. I mean, what am I supposed to do, say you're welcome? That seems... insufficient, somehow. And 'no problem' is even worse.

"I would have preferred death to an eternity in that cage." The morphling is still barely looking at me, but they finally do, and they seem briefly taken aback. "I do not recognize your species... You are someone new? A Trialgoer?"

"Why does everyone figure it out instantly?" I ask. It's a rhetorical question; evidently, as many species as there are on Hestia, humans are still distinct enough that they're immediately recognized as foreign, and apparently there's only one source of foreign species here.

"You are different," the morphling says simply, confirming my suspicions. "It is enough. And your friend..."

"Rotar," Rotar supplies.

"Ahkelios!" the mantis says, perched atop my head. The morphling blinks slowly this is the first obviously non-ant anatomy I see, with the way their eyelids close horizontally across large compound eyes.

"I am they who are called K'hkeri," the morphling says, sweeping into a slight bow. "You are..."

"Ethan," I say, wondering how I'd ended up being the last one to introduce myself.

"Yes." K'hkeri whose name trips across my tongue when I try to pronounce it, even mentally tilts their head slightly. "Your friend. He is... a crow?"

"Is that actually the species name?" I ask, because I've never asked before. Tarin and Mari have openly referred to themselves as crows, though.

"Interface translations can be inconsistent," Rotar supplies. "I don't know what you're hearing, but we hear the word we use for our species."

Sure, I'll blame the Interface for it. Better than admitting I've been calling them an Earth animal. "Makes sense."

K'hkeri, before I can say anything else, bows a deep bow to Rotar. "I am sorry for what we have done to your people," the morphling says. "I want it to be known that what we did, we did not do by choice."

Rotar looks taken aback. "I... I know that," he says, though he sounds off-balance. I notice now a faint trembling fading out of him, and wonder if he's been afraid but hiding this entire time. "It's the fault of the Cities. Not anything you did."

"And yet, we bear the weight of it," K'hkeri says.

There's evidently a lot of context that I'm missing here. I see the way K'hkeri looks at Rotar, and watch as something invisible passes between them; acknowledgement of past crimes forgotten, perhaps, or something along those lines. I'm curious, but I have more pressing questions.

"Why were you after Rotar?" I ask.

K'hkeri stills. "It was an order," they say, no small amount of disgust suddenly evident in their eyes. "An order from the Serpents. I cannot speak with certainty about their goals, but they wish for the power of the Interface for themselves."

"My research team was heavily involved in Interface research," Rotar says, looking away. It puts into context the way he'd spoken earlier about wishing he'd been chosen for the Trials.

"You used to be one of them," I say, making the connections; I could be wrong, but I see the way Rotar sags, and I know that I'm not.

I'm sympathetic, I think. I'm no stranger to past choices weighing on you, and this one might be worse than most, based on the context.

"Also, I really need someone to explain to me what's going on," I add.