"So what you're saying is that a termite colony was discovered somewhere near one of the training routes?" asked Queen Celeste, shocked.
"Yes, one of our groups of recruits was almost completely wiped out due to an assault made by three termites. Luckily, it just so happened that Ari was there with them. He and another ant recruit managed to each defeat one of the termites and badly injure another, saving their own lives," said Anastasia.
"I see. In any case, we should be grateful that some of them came back alive, and now we know that there is a termite colony hidden somewhere close by. Termites are highly dangerous enemies to almost every insect with their toxic acid substance. If they are left to do as they please, our colony might be in grave danger in the near future," said Queen Celeste.
"My queen, that's preposterous. Termites take months or even years to establish their colony, so there is no way a termite colony could have just appeared out of the blue or even gone unnoticed for so long, not with the scouting team checking the terrains beyond our colony every day," said one of the elder ants.
"Then that must mean that the scouting troops are not doing their jobs properly or effectively. How can something that has the power to annihilate our entire colony be missed?" said one of the elders, enraged.
"That's not the case. I can't deny that prior to when I had the new recruits start their training, the scouts did their checks and confirmed that it was safe. However, they were not at fault. I myself should have made sure all the areas were thoroughly checked. If I had done so, we wouldn't have had so many casualties," said Anastasia.
"There is no use blaming yourself for what happened, Anastasia. Let's direct our focus on handling this issue at hand before they threaten our very existence," said Queen Celeste.
"That's right, which is why I brought Ari with me to break down our strategy for eliminating them."
"That outsider again? Why should we allow him to be the one to take the lead on a matter that doesn't concern him?" asked one of the elders.
"You still think of Ari as just an outsider, after all he's done for this colony? While he created a foolproof strategy against the invasion of Queen Helena's army, he was on the battlefield helping all of us win the war, while all of you just sat here all high and mighty. Show him some respect."
"I made him in charge of this mission. Is that alright, Queen Celeste?" asked Anastasia.
"I don't disagree with you on the matter, Anastasia. Ari has proven himself to be quite useful to the colony, so I'll allow him to command for me on how to deal with this threat," said Queen Celeste.
"I'm glad to hear that. Ari, new recruits, you can come on in," said Anastasia.
"Commander Anastasia is cruel... she didn't even remember my name, that's so unfair" said Isla to herself pouting.
Rory looked around at the chamber in awe.
"So this is the room of the great elders. It's the first time I've ever set foot in here, and it's all thanks to Ari," said Rory to himself, impressed.
"Thanks for sticking up for me," whispered Ari into the commander's ear, which made her flustered.
"Shut up," she said, punching him in the rib.
"Man, she still packs a punch," said Ari, in pain.
"Okay, so here's how we are planning on taking down their colony...
"After planning a strategy to raid the termite colony and with the approval from the elders and Queen Celeste, a dispatch of four hundred ants was led by Ari and Anastasia to purge the termites.
After traveling for over seven days, the soldiers of the ant colony finally reached the far edge of the training route—the place where the ambush had occurred.
The journey had been long and punishing.
They moved through the underbrush like a living current, boots sinking into damp moss and leaf litter with each disciplined step. Towering blades of grass loomed like trees, casting shifting shadows across their path. Thorny vines crisscrossed the terrain, some as thick as their arms, forcing them to slice through or detour around.
"This is where we were attacked by them," said Ari.
The clearing bore the scars of violence. A wide, blackened scorch mark marred the once-green grass, its edges curling inward as if the earth itself had recoiled from the heat. The soil beneath was still cracked and brittle, despite the passing days. Scattered along the perimeter were remnants of the fallen—shattered mandibles glinting faintly in the filtered sunlight, half-buried in dirt or tangled in the roots of nearby weeds.
"There's nothing left of them, just their mandibles, not even bones," said Isla as she averted her eyes.
"Judging by the way it ran… their colony should be that way," he said quietly, rising to his feet.
He moved forward without waiting for confirmation. The soldiers fell in behind him, their armored boots thudding in rhythm over the forest floor. The air grew heavier the farther they marched—thick with the scent of wet bark, decay, and something acrid lingering just beneath it.
Eventually, the forest thinned, and a grim silhouette rose ahead.
At the center of a hollowed glade stood a massive, rotting tree stump, its surface warped and hollowed by generations of termite burrowing. Its sides riddled with tunnels and gnawed-out vents that hissed with faint vapor. Faint lines of moisture traced down its bark like dried veins, and the ground surrounding it was littered with the corpses of dead vegetation—stripped clean and forgotten.
Ari stepped closer and pressed a hand to the damp, brittle bark. It crumbled under his touch—dry, fragile, and layered with resin that caught the light.
"Just as I thought," he muttered. "Their colony is huge… and luckily—it's flammable."
"Yeah, you were right. Attacking them recklessly and head-on would have resulted in our deaths. What do you have in mind, Ari?" asked Anastasia.
"Alright, gather up every stick, branch, and even log that you can find because we will need them."
"Um, Ari, what are we going to do with the wood?" Asked Isla for clarity.
"Well, that's simple. We will be starting a fire."
A shocked expression engulfed the military ants who heard him.
"What do you mean by creating fire? That's not possible; the only ones who are capable of producing fire are the fire ants," said Anastasia.
"It doesn't surprise me that you don't know how to start a fire. Well, let me show you," said Ari as he rubbed two sticks together until it caught fire.
Everyone of the ants was shocked and staggered back at the sight of Ari who had managed to produce fire.
"Who the hell is this ant?" Anastasia asked herself, impressed.
"As I said earlier, we are going to flush them out of their colony, and whoever tries to avoid the flames, we slay," said Ari as he threw the flames on the branches and wood stacked around the colony.
The first scream came muffled—from deep within the tree stump. Then another. Then dozens.
Ari stepped back from the blaze, watching as the smoke thickened and the flames began to crawl up the resin-veined bark. The fire hissed and popped, devouring the dry wood with relentless hunger.
From within the hollow trunk, frantic scratching grew louder. Then the termites burst out.
Dozens at first, pouring from the tunnels in a panicked flood. Their eyes were wild with pain, their chitin scorched and peeling. Some still smoldered as they fell into the open, clawing at the ground in confusion.
"Take them out! Don't let them escape!" Beatrice's voice rang sharp through the smoke.
Lines of fire lit the battlefield, casting flickering shadows across the charging ants and the stumbling termites. Screams tore from the colony's interior as more termites emerged—blackened, disoriented, but still dangerous.
Acid hissed through the air.
Streams of corrosive fluid shot out from termite claws, splashing against the dirt and melting it into bubbling muck. But the ants kept moving—dodging, weaving, diving behind rocks and exposed roots.
"The kid wasn't lying!" barked a soldier. "They can only shoot in straight lines or tight angles—they're wide open if we scatter!"
Anastasia needed no such reminder.
She was already in motion—blurring across the battlefield with lethal purpose.
Gripped in each of her hands were two massive mandibles—curved and serrated. She spun them effortlessly, like extensions of her own limbs, slicing the air as she sprinted straight into the chaos.
The first termite turned too late.
Shunk. The left blade cleaved through its wrist before it could raise its arm. She pivoted on her heel and followed through with the right—an upward arc that cut through thorax and spine. It dropped without a sound.
Another charged her from the flank, hissing acid pooling at the edge of its palm.
She dropped to one knee and slid beneath the attack, the acid sailing overhead—then exploded upward with a crossed slash, both mandibles flashing as they split the termite from hip to shoulder. A spray of ichor painted the ground behind her.
Her footwork was surgical—sidestepping a lunge, leaping over a splash of acid, twisting mid-air to land a clean strike that opened an enemy's abdomen. She didn't waste movement. Every dodge was tight. Every kill, clean.
From the left flank, Rory stumbled into the chaos, his eyes wide with adrenaline. Unlike the veterans, his stance was tense, reactive—but still, he pushed forward with courage that hadn't yet hardened into instinct.
A termite hissed and raised its palm.
Too close.
Rory dove forward on instinct—just as a bolt of acid blasted over his back, sizzling into the bark behind him. The heat scalded the air.
He rolled once, then sprang to his feet and swung his jagged lance upward with a wild cry. He slashed through the termite killing it in the process.
"I… I got one," he breathed, stunned. "I actually got one…"
But just a few steps away, Isla stood frozen.
Her mandibles shook in her hand.
She stared at the battlefield—a burning tree stump surrounded by corpses, acid melting soil, screams of death and the clash of mandibles. It was too much.
The noise. The smell. The heat.
A termite ran past her without noticing—drawn to another target—and she didn't even raise her weapon.
Her knees buckled slightly.
"I… I can't…"
She gritted her teeth, but her limbs wouldn't move.
"Damn it," she whispered. "Why now?"
Smoke curled past her legs. Another scream echoed. And Isla just stood there, trembling, lost in the storm.
Then—a growl.
Her heart plummeted.
Slowly, her head turned toward the sound.
A hulking termite had locked eyes on her. Its arm was raised, acid already gathering in its palm, sizzling and spitting as it prepared to fire.
Her antennae jolted, panic rattling every nerve in her body.
What… What do I do? I've never—I've never fought—
Her mandibles rattled uselessly in her hands. Her heart slammed against her ribs, but her body refused to move.
No—move, damn it! Move!
But her feet wouldn't obey.
Her breathing quickened. Her eyes darted frantically, searching for someone—anyone—to save her.
Please… someone… help me—
The termite aimed its acid-coated hand, its growl deepening as it launched the deadly shot.
A silver blur slashed across Isla's vision.
Beatrice.
With a clean, practiced sweep of her mandibles, she severed the termite's arm and followed through with a brutal finishing strike. The termite crumpled at Isla's feet.
Beatrice's voice rang sharp and firm.
"Look alive, recruit! If you want to survive out here, you have to face your fears or perish."
Isla's chest heaved, wide-eyed, the echo of her heartbeat louder than the battle around her.