Astor, the Myconid Combatant, steps forward, a tense air surrounding them as their eyes flick between the remaining Ironbarks. "How should we proceed?"they asks, their voice steady but with a hint of urgency. They then glances at Goldy, their gaze searching for a plan.

  "Can you pull off the same thing you did earlier?" Astor asks, their tone sharp. "That explosive stunt?"

  Goldy lets out a frustrated sigh and shakes her head. "I'm out of mana for that," she says, her voice carrying a bit of defeat. "I can only manage one or two explosive spines at best. It's gonna be tough."

  Astor doesn’t seem deterred. "That should still be enough," they says, the edge in his voice remaining firm. "We need to create an opening, shoot those explosive spines right into the gap in its back. Once you blow it, the plating should loosen. I’ll be able to rip it out. Once exposed, finish them off."

  I scowl, narrowing my eyes at the two looming Ironbarks. "That’s a lot of work to do for a single Myconid Ironbark, Astor," I mutter, eyeing the beasts ahead of us. "Doing all of that while keeping the other one busy… It’s gonna take some coordination."

  Astor’s expression hardens. "We’ll keep them busy."

  A voice from behind us speaks up, and I turn to see Lypor, the Myconid Combatant who had been sent flying earlier, now approaching us. They look battered but no worse for wear, clearly having recovered quickly, their posture still firm. "Gyldis and I will keep one of the Ironbarks occupied," Lypor continues, their eyes never leaving the massive enemies ahead. "You four will focus on the other one. We’ll give you the opening you need."

  I glance at Lypor, then at the Myconid Mender, Gyldis, who is already preparing, their spores swirling around them like a calming mist. Damn. Ypal wasn’t kidding when they said they sent powerhouses with us. Gyldis is clearly a top-tier healer, and Lypor… well, Lypor’s resilience is impressive. They’d be more than enough to distract one of these monsters.

  "We’ve got your backs," Lypor says with a confident nod, and I can’t help but feel a little reassured.

  "Alright, Goldy, you heard them," I say, glancing back at her. "We’re gonna need those explosive spines. Aim for the gaps in its back like we planned. Let’s take these guys down."

  Goldy nods and cracks her neck, focusing on the Ironbark in front of her. "I’m ready," she says, her voice resolute. "Let’s end this."

  With a final glance at Lypor and Gyldis, we split into our respective groups, positioning ourselves carefully to carry out the plan. The tension is thick as we move into place.

  The moment we break formation, the Ironbarks react.

  The one assigned to Lypor and Gyldis stomps forward, bellowing a low, grinding noise like stone dragging across stone. Without hesitation, Lypor charges in, catching its attention with a loud war cry. Their heavy limbs clash against the Ironbark’s bark-like plating with a crack, forcing it to face them. Gyldis is already moving, spores swirling, keeping just enough distance to heal while Lypor draws its wrath.

  Good. One down. One to go.

  The second Ironbark shifts its gaze toward us—me, Goldy, Tessa, and Spiky. Its massive arms flex, and its steps begin to thunder toward us.

  “Alright, Goldy,” I snap, “you’re on demolition duty. Tessa, Spiky, with me—we’re the distraction.”

  “Got it!” Tessa barks, already dashing forward with her signature zigzag motion.

  Spiky lets out a determined click and starts strafing, already firing spines to keep the Ironbark’s attention bouncing around.

  I rush in low, snapping at the Ironbark’s leg joints, trying to provoke a reaction. It swings wide at me, slow but terrifyingly strong. I duck under it, and Tessa jumps onto its back, clawing and biting.

  “Goldy!” I shout. “Find the gap—we’re giving you the shot!”

  “I see it!” she yells, locking in on the small, flexible plating near the creature’s upper back—right between the thick, knotted ridges. Her body tenses as she draws out a single, gleaming red-tipped spine.

  The Ironbark throws its body backward, trying to crush Tessa. She yelps and leaps off just in time, landing beside me with a small grin. “That was too close.”

  Then—

  Thwip!

  BOOM!

  Goldy’s spine hits dead-on. The explosion rocks the Ironbark’s back, blasting off a chunk of its armor. Fungal plating flies in every direction, and now there's a raw patch of exposed, pulsing mycelium.

  Astor doesn’t wait.

  They barrels in, slamming their entire body into the weakened spot. Their limbs extend like battering rams, tearing into the flesh, yanking and ripping until the plating tears loose with a sickening crunch. The Ironbark stumbles forward.

  “NOW!” Astor roars, covered in fungal blood.

  I don’t need to be told twice. I lunge, Tessa follows while Spiky launches another volley of spines.

  The beast won’t last long now.

  Astor quickly moves in front of the stumbling Ironbark, their heavy form sliding into position. With a deep grunt of exertion, Astor extends their limbs—fungal tendrils lashing out, coiling tightly around the Ironbark’s massive legs, rooting it firmly in place.

  “Finish it now!” Astor growls, straining visibly as they hold the thrashing beast still.

  The Ironbark bellows, desperately trying to break free, but Astor’s hold doesn’t waver, giving us the precious seconds we need.

  I dash forward, mandibles clicking fiercely, with Tessa and Spiky right beside me.

  “Time to end this!”

  We waste no time. I plunge my mandibles into the Ironbark’s exposed back, tearing through soft, fungal flesh. Beside me, Tessa sinks her teeth in deep, clawing frantically, while Spiky drives his sharp spines into the opening.

  Green, viscous fluid bursts from the wound, splattering everywhere. It coats my face, mandibles, and spines—sticky and foul-smelling—but I ignore it, tearing deeper and deeper into the Ironbark’s core. The Ironbark lets out a guttural roar, desperately thrashing against Astor’s unyielding grip, but it’s useless.

  With a final savage bite, I rip free a large chunk of its insides. The Ironbark shudders violently, a deep, echoing groan escaping its throat as its strength finally drains away. Its body slumps forward, limbs twitching weakly, before collapsing into a lifeless heap.

  I step back, my breath heavy, green goo dripping from my mandibles.

  “One down,” I mutter darkly, eyeing the last remaining Ironbark. “One to go.”

  As the defeated Ironbark collapses, we quickly turn our attention to the last remaining foe. Lypor is holding their ground impressively, weaving through the Ironbark's heavy strikes, keeping it thoroughly distracted.

  "Damn, Lypor really knows how to stall," I mutter, impressed despite myself.

  "Then let's make it quick!" Goldy shouts, already preparing another explosive spine—probably her last one. Astor shifts beside us, ready for another round, while Tessa and Spiky tense, waiting for the opening.

  Astor glances toward Goldy urgently. "Can you manage one more explosive spine?"

  Goldy nods firmly, though exhaustion flickers in her eyes. "Yeah—but this is the last one I've got left."

  Astor steadies themselves, limbs coiling tightly in readiness. "Then let's make it count. We'll repeat the plan—create an opening, and Goldy, you blast its armor. Everyone, get ready!"

  I narrow my eyes, feeling my pulse quicken again. This fight is almost over—just one more push.

  Astor charges forward without another word, swiftly closing the distance and joining Lypor in battle. Sensing Astor's approach, Lypor pivots smoothly and leaps to the side, causing the Ironbark to follow their movement instinctively—and exposing its vulnerable back directly toward Goldy.

  “NOW!” Astor bellows, extending their tendril-like limbs to entangle the Ironbark’s legs, locking it firmly in place. Lypor mirrors the movement, reinforcing Astor's hold, their combined strength preventing any hope of escape.

  Goldy doesn’t waste the chance. Her last explosive spine glows fiercely as she steadies herself. Eyes narrowed with sharp focus, she launches it forward, straight into the exposed gap in the Ironbark’s back.

  BOOM!

  The spine detonates spectacularly, shattering the Ironbark’s plating and leaving it staggered, vulnerable, and utterly defenseless.

  It doesn't take much for what happens next—the Ironbark is dead as hell.

  With its defenses shattered and body immobilized, Tessa and I leap forward simultaneously, ripping into the exposed wound. Green, viscous fluids spray wildly as the creature struggles desperately, roaring in agony before its cries fade into a guttural silence. Finally, it slumps forward, utterly lifeless, and crashes onto the ground with a heavy, satisfying thud.

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  Goldy exhales sharply, exhausted but triumphant. "That's the last of them," she says, catching her breath.

  Astor and Lypor withdraw their limbs, stepping back as the battlefield grows quiet once more. I glance around at the aftermath, our team battered and splattered with fungal gore, yet unmistakably victorious.

  As the last Ironbark collapses heavily onto the floor, Goldy lets out a deep breath, shaking green goo from her spines.

  "Alright," she says firmly, her voice carrying an edge of urgency, "let's press on. We still need to find those Advanced Myconids."

  We all regroup, wiping off the thick, foul-smelling residue of battle, readying ourselves to move deeper into the prison. The real goal is still ahead—and we don't have much time.

  "Wait," I quickly say, glancing around. "One of the prisoners mentioned that the Advanced Myconids are held deeper in the prison. Something about an 'officer' stationed down there. You know anything about this, Astor?"

  Astor pauses, their glowing eyes dimming slightly. "An Officer is another class of Advanced Myconid—one stronger than these Ironbarks we fought. Ironbarks may be tough, but their actual combat capability is somewhat subpar. Officers are... another story."

  Lypor nods in agreement, stepping up beside Astor. "They're right. Ironbarks aren't evolved specifically for combat in the first place. They’re just big, durable, frontline units."

  Gyldis, still tending to the wounded, chimes in quietly, spores swirling around them. "Officers are specialists. Unlike Ironbarks, they've evolved specifically for warfare, possessing advanced skills and intelligence beyond typical Advanced Myconids. Facing one won't be easy."

  I feel my mandibles click together anxiously. Great—just what we needed: something even stronger waiting ahead.

  Goldy casually chimes in while munching on a chunk of the dead Ironbark’s fungus-covered flesh—yeah, she’s really doing that right now—"You think we could even handle one in our current state?"

  I stare at her, momentarily speechless. Really, Goldy? Right now?

  Astor considers her question seriously, either ignoring or just not caring about Goldy’s questionable snack. "It will be difficult," they finally admit. "We're already tired, and an Officer is a significant threat."

  Lypor gives a small grunt of agreement. "But we've come too far to back out now."

  Goldy swallows loudly, unfazed, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Guess we've gotta find out the hard way, huh?"

  I groan inwardly. Wonderful.

  Gyldis, finishing the last touches of healing spores on Lypor, straightens up and nods solemnly.

  "Either way," Gyldis says calmly, spores gently drifting around them, "we don't have much of a choice here. We need to go."

  I exhale sharply. Of course, they're right. We came here with a mission, and backing out now would just undo everything we’ve fought for.

  "Then let's stop wasting time," I say, stepping forward. "We'll face whatever’s waiting down there head-on."

  With that decided, we move forward, heading deeper into the heart of the prison. Goldy, never one to miss a chance for a snack apparently, rips off another chunk of the dead Ironbark as she passes by. She munches on it loudly, totally unfazed by the disbelieving looks I shoot her way.

  "You really couldn't resist, huh?" I mutter dryly.

  She shrugs, grinning with a mouthful of fungus. "What? Fighting makes me hungry."

  Tessa snorts softly beside me, trying to hide her amusement. Astor and Lypor exchange silent glances, clearly choosing not to comment.

  We push onward, leaving the battleground behind us. Whatever awaits in the depths ahead.

  We push forward, moving deeper into the oppressive gloom of the prison. The narrow passageways twist and curve downward, lit only by patches of dimly glowing fungi scattered along the walls. Occasionally, we encounter stray Myconid Workers or Guards, but none offer any real resistance—they're quickly dealt with or scatter at our approach.

  Goldy leads confidently, still munching on her questionable snack. Tessa walks beside me, alert as ever, ears perked for any hint of danger. Astor, Lypor, and Gyldis form a protective line ahead, the spores drifting from Gyldis ensuring we're all at our best despite the fatigue of earlier battles.

  But then, I sense something off.

  I glance back. "Spiky?"

  Spiky has stopped, his spines flexed anxiously, eyes fixated somewhere behind us in the darkness of the corridor. He doesn't move, his entire body tense.

  "What's wrong?" I call back sharply, my own tension rising.

  "I—I… you guys go first," Spiky says, his voice unusually hesitant. "I sensed something… that way."

  I stop in my tracks and look in the direction he’s staring at, down a shadowed offshoot of the main path. At first, there’s nothing—just dim light and the soft hum of spores in the air.

  Then I feel it.

  A wave. Faint, but unmistakable. A psychic ripple, like something brushing against the edge of my mind, trying to reach through. It’s subtle, but unsettling—like a whisper you can almost hear but not quite understand.

  I glance at Goldy. She’s a Royal, and among us, she’s the one most attuned to psychic energy. If anyone can feel it clearly, it’s her.

  "Goldy," I murmur, "do you feel that too?"

  She pauses, her chewing slowing, her antennae twitching. Her gaze sharpens as she turns toward the dark corridor.

  "Yeah," she says after a beat. "I feel it."

  I wait for her to say more, but she shakes her head. "I’d love to check it out—really—but we’ve got more important things to do. The Advanced Myconids won’t rescue themselves."

  She turns to Spiky, eyes firm but not unkind. "You can check it out if you want, but don’t take too long. We might need you."

  Spiky nods once, still focused on that strange corridor.

  I don’t like splitting up, but something about that pulse… it didn’t feel hostile. Just... calling. Whatever it is, I hope Spiky can handle it.

  And I hope he comes back.

  Spiky lingers for a moment, still staring into the shadows like something is silently pulling at him. Then he gives a small, sharp nod. "I'll be quick," he says, his voice steadier now.

  With that, he turns and scuttles off into the side corridor, his form disappearing into the dim glow. I watch him for a second longer, then turn away. We don’t have the luxury to worry—we have our own path to follow.

  We press on, deeper into the prison’s underbelly. The tunnels grow narrower, darker, the air thicker with spores and the weight of something... wrong. The further we go, the more I feel it—a crawling, menacing energy that seeps into my carapace. Not psychic like before, but oppressive, like walking into the breath of something ancient and angry.

  Tessa’s ears suddenly twitch. She sniffs the air and grimaces. "Something smells... burnt." Her voice drops into a rare, uneasy tone.

  The moment she says it, Gyldis slows. "Damn," they mutter, eyes narrowing as spores flicker around them. "This is not good."

  No one needs to ask why. We can all feel it now—whatever’s ahead isn’t just guarded.

  It’s waiting.

  Then there it is.

  We finally reach it—the chamber where the Advanced Myconids are held. The air is heavy, unnaturally hot, and laced with the acrid scent of burning spores. The moment we step inside, the oppressive heat wraps around us like a choking fog.

  And in the middle of it all, they stands.

  A Myconid unlike any we’ve faced before.

  Their fungal body is darkened with scorch marks, faint pulses of heat rising from deep within their frame. Their cap is jagged and irregular, lined with vents that release steady wisps of smoke with every movement. Their eyes burn—literally—glowing orange with an ember-like intensity that flickers in rhythm with each breath.

  Their very presence makes the room feel like it’s closing in.

  "I knew it," Gyldis mutters, their voice low, almost like they were hoping to be wrong.

  Lypor's eyes narrow, his voice grim. “Yyshad.”

  Astor follows with a weighty tone. “The Pyrocap.”

  Of course. An Officer. One evolved not for brute strength like the Ironbarks—but for devastation.

  And now they're blocking our way.

  The air grows heavier as smouldering spores begin to drift outward from Yyshad’s body, curling through the chamber like smoke given thought. They swirl unnaturally, wrapping around us—not choking, but sinking in.

  Then a voice, not spoken aloud but pressed directly into our minds, rasps through the haze:

  "Look who it is..."

  The tone is sharp, mocking, laced with heat and venom.

  "The traitor’s dogs. Astor. Lypor. Gyldis."

  The temperature rises with every word.

  Yyshad doesn’t move. They doesn’t need to. The spores carry their presence, fury, and disdain. Their orange eyes lock onto the three of them like burning coals, and the chamber suddenly feels much, much smaller.

  Astor steps forward slowly, not flinching under the weight of Yyshad’s stare, though I can see the tension in their posture. Their tendrils twitch, ready to react at a moment’s notice.

  Lypor’s fists clench at their sides. “Yyshad,” they mutters, voice low but cold, “I should’ve known you'd throw your lot in with Orbed.”

  Yyshad’s body flares faintly, heat rippling across their cap as more smouldering spores drift into the air. Their voice returns, oozing contempt.

  "I chose the only path left. While you cling to crumbling ideals, I evolved. I ascended. You think the world will wait for the weak to catch up? Orbed offers us dominance, not decay."

  “You call that ascension?” Gyldis says, stepping beside Astor, their voice sharper than I’ve ever heard it. “You’re just Orbed’s torch. A weapon. They’ll burn through you like everything else.”

  Yyshad chuckles darkly, the vents in their cap pulsing with each breath. Flames flicker in his chest like a furnace stoked with pride.

  "Then come, traitors. Let me show you what fire truly does to rot."

  The spores around them ignite in small bursts, like embers sparking to life in a storm.

  Goldy tightens her stance. Tessa lowers herself, growling. I feel my mandibles click involuntarily.

  This fight won’t be like the others.

  This one’s personal.

  ---

  Meanwhile at the other wing of the myconid prison

  As I scuttle away from the group, the psychic signs pull me deeper into the dim, twisted corridors of the prison. I can't shake off a nagging sense of dread that curls around my thoughts like the shadows curl around the corners of these cold, stone walls. I'm not usually the one to venture out alone, and the further I move away from my comrades, the heavier the weight of isolation presses on me.

  I turn a corner, following the psychic resonance that seems just out of reach, a whisper in the back of my mind that I can't quite understand. My spines are tensed, ready for anything, or so I tell myself. But nothing really could have prepared me for what I find next.

  Cells, row upon row of them, some with bars, some sealed with thick, fungal growths. And inside—creatures. Not just Myconids, but a menagerie of beings: ants with their sharp mandibles and gleaming carapaces, vipers coiled and motionless, striders with their long, spindly legs tangled together, and caterpillars. My kin, but not from my colony. Their psychic resonance is off, alien, belonging to a different colony, a different Queen Moth than my own. Most are barely moving, some clearly dead, their life forces spent.

  The ants are remnants of the wars Mother had not too long ago, a bitter reminder of conflicts past. The vipers and striders, likely captured for some experiment or another, now just more casualties of this brutal place. And the caterpillars, they should be with their own kind, not here, fading away in the dark.

  Anxiety churns inside me as I move cautiously between the cells, my gaze darting from one creature to the next. What happened here?

  I press on, driven by a mix of fear and a need to understand. The psychic pull is stronger now, almost overwhelming, as if whatever is calling out is just ahead. I need to find it, to understand why it reached out to me, why I felt compelled to come here.

  But the sight of these suffering creatures slows my steps, fills me with a terrible hesitation. What if I'm walking into a trap? What if whatever called to me is far worse than the fate of these prisoners?

  I hesitate, my spines quivering slightly. But curiosity—or maybe it's just a desperate need to make sense of this nightmare—pushes me forward. My limbs feel heavy, but I keep moving, toward the source of the psychic resonance, toward answers, or perhaps, toward my own end.

  As I draw nearer to the source of the psychic resonance, the air seems to thicken, tinged with an urgency that pulls me irresistibly forward. Ahead, I spot a cell unlike any other around it—more fortified, its structure reinforced with layers of dense fungal growth that looks almost impenetrable.

  I creep closer and try to peer inside through the small, grimy viewport. Just as my eyes adjust to the dim light within, there's a sudden, violent clang. The figure inside crashes against the cell wall, startling me so badly that I stumble backwards.

  Regaining my footing, I cautiously approach the cell again. This time, I see it clearly: a Spikeward Mothkin. But this one looks nothing like the proud, fierce kin I've heard of. This Mothkin is sluggish, its wings drooping, its body emaciated and sickly. The psychic resonance grows stronger, a desperate, pulling sensation that tugs at the very core of my being.

  As I stand there, frozen, the Mothkin shifts its gaze to mine. There's a flicker of something—a spark of awareness—and suddenly, the psychic energy changes. It's no longer just a dissonant cry; it's aligning, adjusting, trying to resonate with my own psychic signature.

  He's not one of Mother's spawn, not a brother spawned from the same Queen Moth as me. This realization sinks in just as a faint, raspy psychic voice pierces through the fog of my confusion.

  "Help... Me..."

  End Chapter 26