Chương 209: 197. The wicked

"So you're friends?"

"Friends?" she asked, as if the word had been spoken in a foreign language.

"No. We are part of one—""Greater whole," I finished, seeing where this was going.

"Yes." She nodded happily.

"So how do I find and hurt—but not kill—that friend-not-so-friend of yours?" Her face relaxed into a slightly unfocused, expressionless mask I learned to associate with the dead mycanoids.

"Mooothma's queen, despite how large her children could grow, was a small, relatively plump arthropod who spent her days laying eggs. The queen lived underground, where she also nested. However, the nest is not easy to enter as a few of her children possessed characteristics wildly different from the rest. The soldiers, massive, long larvae with tough natural armor and extremely sharp jaws, were known for their resistance to death magic and strong mental presence.

The queen herself would live inside a cocoon created by the bodies of said soldiers. The cocoon would hold the queen of the hive as well as all the eggs close to her warmth until the children were ready to be born, at which point the eggs would be moved outside by one of the guards." The mycanoid recited in a matter-of-fact voice. One thing caught my attention, and that was the underground part, but for now, I moved it to the back of my mind and kept listening.

"The Talapir exhibits many similarities to Mothma in that regard. However, it was sighted only once and thought to have been killed. The Talapir also possessed a queen, held in a cocoon made of guards, yet its function differs. The Talapir eggs can only grow under specific conditions. A fluid with strong associations with disease and death is needed for the eggs to reach the hatching phase. Said fluid can't be produced by the queen. Instead, she uses the guards surrounding her.

They, unlike Mothma's, are hurt by the queen. Her mental influence makes them injure one another as they constantly move around her. The cocoon is then filled with their blood, making up rotting fluid used to gestate the eggs." I winced at the description, imagining how irritating it would be to deal with.

"Her guards also have a rather strange relationship with the hive. They are in constant pain, their wounds healing only to be reopened. The only time when they are allowed to escape the cocoon is when there is an enemy to be dispatched. As such, they tend to keep any target alive, slowly killing invaders over hours, if not days, to avoid being returned to the cocoon."

"Great. Sadistic bugs and fluid of disease. Fuck's sake," I grimaced.

"The queen is powerful in mental abilities, especially when it comes to controlling her children and the guards. However, her body itself, much like Mothma's, was reported to be soft and squishy, relatively easy to damage and harmless in and of itself aside from the mental influence." The rest of the mycanoid's speech consisted of purely biological and scientific terms describing the flesh as well as the inner workings of the queen.

Sadly, apparently those details were only available for Mothma, as Talapir was annihilated, or at least assumed to be, during the war, and so no dissection was performed. The only things available were observations by the mages who fought it. Mothma had two antennae on her head, responsible for her mental communication. I was praying that the Talapir queen had something similar, which could be damaged before transport. I sighed, trying to prepare an attack plan, putting aside finding the creature for now.

"Happy?" a livelier voice asked.

"Not much," I replied.

"But I'll see what can be done." The avatar smiled and nodded. Then I felt the ground disappear from beneath my feet and found myself falling. For a brief second, I saw the root. It was massive, unimaginably so, like the tallest of mountains turned upside down, fungal growth spreading under the ground. Its presence was legion. All the thoughts, all the memories and processes represented by countless lights traveling along its vast network.

And then something deeper at its end, something I could not glimpse as it was too far away. Looking up, I noticed the avatar grow. She turned into a teenager, then a mature woman, then her back began to bend and her hair thinned as I finally glimpsed the old form I had known before she collapsed into dust. All in a split second. The return wasn't exactly pleasant as I practically crashed into my own body, falling back as the hand of the dead mycanoid holding up my head collapsed into the ground.

I exhaled heavily before getting up and looking to the side. The two were still in a trance, but judging by the sweat covering their bodies, it wouldn't be long, as they should instinctively feel it was time to turn around. I patted myself down and rechecked all my mental defenses and structures before sitting back down to use the free time to go over all I had learned. The knowledge was both a lot and not much. The mycanoid recited a good part of the book, which I appreciated as I did with any other new knowledge.

But at the same time, it was just a study of the creature, purely scientific, and not from the perspective of a hunter. There wasn't an obvious weakness aside from possible antennae substitutes in the new hive. I would still have to kill the guards and any other creature helping to defend it, and then just carry it out the old way. At least I had confirmation that death magic would be a no-no when fighting it.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. But one piece of knowledge stuck with me. The thing lived underground. From what I understood, it didn't live in caves but actually created nests. And that meant one thing. It burrowed. Back in the factory, I had checked the floor for any trapdoors, sure, but I hadn't checked if the soil was loose or recently moved.

If the creatures burrowed, could they create and then bury a tunnel large enough to carry that table through? And most of all, from where? Was there a tunnel system under the building? If so, how deep? A movement broke me out of my thoughts. I could see both Ophelia and Peter stir awake, both gasping for air. Peter looked around, flailing on the ground as his eyes landed on the face of one of the dead mycanoids.

He jumped into the air, only remembered where he was and why once he was on his feet, ready to make a run for it. Ophelia, on the other hand, gave me a disapproving look and swatted the dead mycanoid hand still supporting her head before getting up.

"Wh-what was that?" Peter asked, looking toward the massive root.

"Congratulations on your first interaction with a hive. Hope you had fun. We have to wash ourselves and go out now," I said, looking toward the mycanoid priests, now gazing at us with increasingly displeased looks. We walked out into the preparatory room and once again washed our bodies with the pond water. We only spoke again once we were back in the house assigned to us.

"So how was it?" I asked, sitting down across from the two of them.

"Strange," Peter answered after a few seconds of thinking.

"Like I was there but not entirely. Different from astral projection. Like… more natural…?" I nodded at his feelings.

"It was a more natural form of trance, not really possible usually. Hives can make being a part of them feel fulfilling in a strange way," I explained before turning to Ophelia.

"And you?"

"Wasn't the worst experience," she commented.

"Been through weirder things."

"So what did you learn?" I asked, ignoring her comment.

"Well, I managed to actually talk with some ghost expert?" Peter said, half asking.

"He recommended a few books about something akin to my condition. Liber Juratus, Liber incantationum exorcismorum et fascinationum variarum." Peter struggled to repeat the rather complicated names. I clicked my tongues at each. Neither was in my possession.

"The Key of Solomon," he continued. This time I rolled my eyes.

"Yeah, sure, just lying around in every library. Please tell me Solomon's other works were also mentioned."

"Umm. No?" he said.

"Well, there was also Heptameron?" That one I didn't even recognize.

"I'll see if I can learn what the other two were about or get to their translations. We might get somewhere with this." Peter nodded, clearly hopeful.

"You?" I asked, turning to Ophelia.

"I got pointers for my sacrifice ritual," she said, and I could see Peter's eyes widen slightly, "and some book recommendations. As for the god… well, some strange child arrived and told me it wasn't all right to ask about that." I was taken aback by that. There was one child in there I could think of.

"Green, pupilless eyes?" I asked to be sure, getting a nod of confirmation in return.

"Strange." Was it to protect her, or was it something else? I shook my head before putting the question to the back of my mind, bringing the coming battle to the front.

"No rest for the wicked," I said, getting up to go to a separate room.

"We have this house until tomorrow. We will be escorted first thing in the morning. Get some rest in the meantime," I said, going to meditate on the battle plan. Ophelia was left in the living room of the mushroom house with Peter, both of them now sitting awkwardly with cups of strange green tea. She fixed her eyes on the cup, trying to ignore the squirming of the younger boy. It felt strange. Had she been that awkward before?

Now, her past life, where her mother's wrath was the biggest issue and being a doctor in a small clinic was the greatest desire, felt so distant, as if it had been lived by someone else.

"Ask," she finally said after sipping the tea. It had a strong herbal and earthy taste, not too bad despite the strange color.

"Sorry?" Peter asked.

"Ask. You clearly have questions on your mind. So ask them," she said, looking up at the boy.

"Right, but what about…" Peter said, letting his eyes drift to the doors behind which Sam had disappeared just a couple of minutes ago.

"He won't hear us," Ophelia said.

"That door didn't look that thick."

"Yeah, but I can guarantee you he doesn't care about our gossip enough to eavesdrop. If he did, he would probably have waltzed in by now, asking whatever it was that interested him."

"Oh." Peter nodded before taking a deep breath.

"So is it always like that?" he finally asked.

"Like what?"

"Like, secret places, monsters, and you know…" he said, nodding toward a window behind which a few mycanoids could be seen wobbling their way through the strange city.

"Well, yes and no. It's the first time I've been to a place like this, but strange creatures and sights… yeah, you'll get used to that."

"I don't think I will," Peter said, looking at the window, his gaze unfocused.

"I thought that too," Ophelia said, letting a delicate smile bloom on her face.

"But it takes time, and it just becomes your new normal. You'll even start to enjoy it. It's satisfying, you know," Ophelia continued, relaxing into her chair.

"Wielding magic, wielding power. It's like you shape the world to your needs."

"Right," Peter answered shortly, still looking around awkwardly.

"This wasn't the question you wanted to ask," Ophelia commented rather than asking, seeing his demeanor.

"No," Peter agreed, then looked back at the door, observing in silence before he turned back to her, his eyes serious.

"I…" he tried to pick his words.

"It weighs on my mind. And it's not like I mind or get a say—I understand. And I don't want to sound…" He paused once again, looking for words.

"Look, I've heard some bad things and rude questions. Trust me, when it comes to offensive language, you're not outdoing Sam. Just say it."

"Okay." Peter took a short breath.

"Sam… Do you think he's… evil?"