Thon'il the Hundred Legged crawled up the side of a particularly thick flower stem. Despite its girth, it still bent slightly at the weight of the massive insectoid. “Blasted plantses, not strong enough for Thon'il,” he hissed out under his breath. The spines of his many legs gripped the stem enough to create slight punctures. Falling was something Thon'il was not particularly fond of. He made a point to avoid it.
Upon cresting the flower, Thon'il was met with a blast of sunlight. He clicked his mandibles, annoyed at the assault to his numerous eyes. “Must finish mission, so Thon'il can return to darknesses. Blasted light.”
The mission was one of grave importance. Carapacia, the capital of the insectoid world, was in danger. Man once again sought the destruction of the beings they dubbed “bugs” – a term that was akin to a slur among Thon'il’s people. The pale skinned horrors marched toward Carapacia at this very moment, armed with acid dousing sticks and poisonous rations. Their tactics were cruel, yet undeniably effective.
High Queen Thoraxia had hand-picked Thon'il to find a solution to the “man” problem. He was, after all, their most renowned warrior. Or rather, he had been. Truth be told, there hadn’t been an insectoid war in a great many clicks. The treaty of Carapacia had put an end to that. Everyone more or less lived in harmony now.
Atop the flower, Carapacia’s hope took a moment to orient himself. This would be his last good vantage point for quite a while. After this, the pleasant soft grass of his homeland turned into the dense, unkempt foliage of the beyond. A land few ventured into. A land he himself hadn’t set foot in since his name still rang true. His legs only numbered 94 now. That mattered not. He had earned his title, no one would strip it from him now.
Thick weeds crossed paths with dangerous briar batches. The beyond was not a land to be trifled with. Thon'il himself had gone from 96 to 95 legs in these very patches of overgrowth. There was no other choice, though. No other path could lead him to the Oraculus.
Queen Thoraxia’s words echoed in his mind.
“Thon'il the Hundred Legged, bravest of Carapacia’s warriors. You have served me your entire life. I had hoped to let you live the rest of your days in a pleasant state of rest. Alas, I must call on your aid once more. The men approach, their vile weapons spewing death and destruction in their wake. We have tried peace. It is no longer an option. You must go, Thon'il, to the den of the Oraculus. Only they can offer you a solution to the hatred of man.”
The Oraculus. Despite all of Thon'il’s many treks into the beyond, he'd never actually met them. Sure, he'd heard the rumors. Legends, really. A being that was not one, but many. A conglomeration of sages, all specie fused as one. Sharing one form, melding their thoughts, yet each still individual in their own right.
Mandibles munched away thick weeds as Thon'il pushed forward. There was no map or list of directions to the Oraculus. One did not simply stumble upon them. They were much too smart to be discovered by accident. No, to meet the Oraculus, the Oraculus must choose to meet you.
That simply meant that all Thon'il could do was make his presence known. For three days he wandered through the foliage. On the third day, one of his hind legs became entrapped in a patch of briars. Try as he might, he could not free it. From that day onward, he would be Thon'il the 93 Legged.
On the fifth day, desperation began to set in. The men traveled quickly. It actually astonished the insectoids how fast they could move, what with their only possessing two legs compared to the many their people often had. Size was truly one of their greatest strengths. The other being their willingness to resort to what could only be described as war crimes.
Legs growing tired, mind racing with thoughts of his people being drowned in an acidic rain, Thon'il cried out. “Oraculus, please, we needses your wisdoms!”
No reply came.
Still, the determined warrior pressed on. Yet another day passed. Thon'il now found himself running on autopilot. His legs seemed to move of their own accord. It was in this fashion that he found himself trapped.
Deep in the beyond, the foliage became so dense it was often compared to the webs of the mightiest weavers. Most insectoids were smart enough to never venture into these lands. Normally, Thon'il would have avoided them too. With his mind completely distracted and his legs operating themselves, he wandered into the nature’s trap.
All at once, he realized his mistake. Unfortunately for him, it was too late. He tugged and tugged, but the plants would not give way. Mandibles clicked in desperation, but they had been too worn down by time. The foliage was too dense to be eaten through.
“Thon'il not stop, musts press on, musts save people!”
The warrior pulled against the foliage with all his might. A sickening rip resounded throughout the otherwise quiet area as eight of his legs separated from his thorax. It wasn’t enough. He was still trapped.
Tired, weak from the blood dripping down his thorax, and feeling utterly defeated, Thon'il closed his eyes. Every single one shut, leaving him in darkness. If he were to die, he wanted to die in the dark. Just how he preferred it.
His thoughts drifted toward home. He had failed. Carapacia would be doomed without the wisdom of the Oraculus. His people were doomed. It was all his fault. If only he'd paid more attention, not let himself get overwhelmed with weariness. If only he'd…
Thon'il’s thoughts were interrupted by a sudden sensation. He couldn’t place it at first. Slowly, one eye at a time, he took in his surroundings. The foliage was gone! In its place, there was… nothing? No, not nothing! Air. He was in the sky.
Glancing around him, the insectoid saw he was being carried by a host of other bugs. Bees, butterflies, moths, wasps. All working together to carry him aloft.
A butterfly near the front of the pack spoke to him, “Rest now, traveler. Fret not, the Oraculus have heard your cries. You will be delivered to them soon. Rest, and prepare to speak to the combined wisdom of our peoples.”
Elation filled Thon'il. He had done it after all! His eyes scanned the wings of the butterfly that had spoken to him. They were beautiful. Rich purples, reds, and blues swirled about in patterns that seemed to repeat into themselves. At their center rested an hourglass shape, with rich green sand pouring down its middle. As Thon'il’s eyes began to shut once more, he could swear he saw the sands shifting with each flap of the butterfly’s wings.
He had no way of knowing how long he'd slept, but when Thon'il finally awoke, he felt renewed. As he stretched his remaining legs, he took stock of his surroundings.
He was in a glade. Beams of light seeped in through a tall canopy overhead, casting the area in a faint glow. A pool of crystal clear water stood before him. At its rear rose a massive tree, its trunk climbing as far as the eye could see. Branches dispersed from the tree in all directions, seemingly stretching on forever.
The pool itself was surrounded by insectoids of all kinds. Among them were the host that had carried Thon'il to this place. Everyone seemed to have a task of some sort. They were studying, sparring, crafting; all manner of activities abounded.
All at once, they dropped to the ground.
In the middle of the massive tree was a large, dark opening in its bark. From out of the blackness, small lights began to glow. No, not lights. Eyes.
One by one they flitted open. Hundreds upon hundreds of eyes. Peering out of the darkness. All in one, singular direction. Right into the heart of Thon'il.
The wood of the tree groaned as a hulking mass pulled itself through the opening. The stories had about the Oraculus had sounded beautiful and romantic. They told of a being that was a combination of all insectoids as we could be; as we should be. Those stories were wrong.
The Oraculus emerged from its den and revealed a grotesque, writing body. This was not a being that symbolized all that insectoids should be. It was… something they should hope to never become.
Thon'il began to think he'd made a mistake. He wanted to run. To return to Carapacia with news that the Oraculus was not as they seemed. But, much to his horror, he could not. The only way in and out of the glade was by flight. And Thon'il had no wings.
A sound like the grinding of stone upon stone began to emanate from the Oraculus. Numerous mandibles began to shift and click. Voices spoke in unison, a horrifying combination of tones that far from overlapped.
“Thon'il the Hundred Legged. You have sought us, and we have granted you audience. Speak freely, tell us why it is you have come here.”
This was it. It was too late to turn back, so Carapacia’s warrior decided to do what he’s set out to do. At the very least, it was worth a shot. After all, it was the only shot he had left.
“Oraculus, grant me your smartses,” he said with a bow of his many legs, “Menses come for my home, for Carapacia! They bring weaponses of acid and foodses that do not fill, but kill! We will be no mores. Oraculus, great one, we needs help.”
For a long moment, the glade stood silent. Not a soul moved. Even the wind seemed to stop pushing the leaves of the trees.
Finally, the Oraculus spoke. Its many voices boomed out all at once, “Carapacia is a beacon of light. Our people have fought against each other for clicks upon clicks, but somehow, your city has become a place of peace. It would be a shame to see it fall. I shall offer you my aid.”
One of the Oraculus’s larger heads looked up toward the sky. Its massive mandibles spread out wide. The length of its combine body began to writhe and pulse. A disgusting retching sound bellowed up from its innards. Something began to slowly emerge from the agape maw. It rose up disturbingly slow, spittle running down the Oraculus’s body as it regurgitated this… whatever it was.
It took an uncomfortably long time, but eventually, the head let out a final cough, and with a sickening pop launched something onto the ground below.
Thon'il couldn’t believe his eyes. Before him, a sword had embedded itself into the dirt. Some of the insectoids around the pool rushed over to clean the weapon.
As the gunk was wiped away, a horrendous sight was unveiled.
“What… what haves you given me?” Thon'il croaked out.
The Oraculus’s many voices chimed in, “To defeat the men who march upon Carapacia, you'll need the combined strength of all of our peoples. I had only one way to grant you such strength. Behold! The Hive-Ripper! This is no mere weapon, Thon'il. This blade holds the lives of many who have fallen before you. Brave insectoids that gave themselves up to become something more than the individual. To become part of the whole. Part of us! When you carry this weapon into battle against the men, know this: you bring the full wrath of the Oraculus with you!”
The Hive-Ripper. Thon'il looked at it in disgust. This weapon, this… thing, somehow had the trapped souls of his fallen brothers and sisters. He now understood its appalling form.
The blade itself seemed to be made of exoskeletons and carapaces that had been cobbled together in such a way as to create a serrated, double edged blade. The tip did not come to a point, but was instead squared off with two sharp points on either end. There was no guard, instead the handle was twice the normal length. It seemed designed to be held with multiple claws at once. Sets of mandibles hung off the bottom of the handle, as if intended to be a backhanded piercing weapon of some kind. Where a guard should have been was instead a macabrely beautiful layer of wings, each sheer enough to show some of the pattern of the ones beneath it. Altogether, it created a thin yet oddly secure area of dazzling colors and patterns, adding some life to an otherwise dreary weapon.
The Oraculus spoke once more, “Take this, Thon'il, and your people will never come under threat again. Now go, my people will bear you home.”
Before the warrior could utter another word, he found himself being lifted. One of the Oraculus’s hosts carried the sword alongside them. This was it. He'd acquired a weapon that could save his people. He'd succeeded, right? Queen Thoraxia would be pleased with him, surely? But, as he flew along, staring at that accursed blade, he couldn’t help but wonder to himself: at what cost had he set his people free?..