"A detestable, revolting creature—an affront to Mother Nature herself, driven by an insatiable hunger for chaos and destruction. Being compared to such a thing feels like an insult to my very existence... but I can see why some might think it." Morthak said, his voice low and grim, a shadow darkening his brow.

  "I'm sorry... I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just... the names don’t exactly help, you know?"

  "Yeah, I know." Morthak replied, his tone softening slightly. "For those who refuse to dig deeper, it’s easy to lump everything into the same box. To them, calling the Demon Lord one of us seems logical—just as some might compare a homunculus to a human. But despite the surface resemblance, their essences are worlds apart. The Demon Lord is... an enigma. He didn’t rise from some natural order, nor from the abyss of our kind. He simply appeared—ripping through reality as if it were paper, draining the world of life like a parasite with no end to its hunger. He exists for one reason: to obliterate."

  Morthak's words hung in the air, thick with an unspoken weight, like the lingering scent of decay after a storm.

  "But why... why is he so hard to kill?" I asked. "Is he really that powerful? What about the human heroes?"

  Morthak let out a bitter laugh, sharp as a blade. "Calling him 'hard to kill' is putting it mildly. The Demon Lord is a force of nature, not a creature to be destroyed. His body regenerates faster than the strongest spells can harm him. His destructive power is beyond anything in this world, and his cruelty is... primal. He corrupts everything he touches, spreading death like a disease. The so-called 'heroes' couldn’t even scratch him. Most of them died without ever realizing what they were up against. The only one who survived was Delfer—a man too clever for his own kind."

  My brow furrowed. "But... what even are the heroes? Where do they come from? Why call them heroes if they’re so weak?"

  "The heroes." Morthak said, leaning forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper."Were the Goddess of Morning’s desperate gamble. She thought she could imbue mortals with divine energy—turn them into demi-gods strong enough to challenge the Demon Lord. But there was a catch: she couldn’t risk empowering beings who might defy her. So, she designed them as disposable weapons. Even in death, she hoped their energy would poison the Demon Lord."

  He paused, a sardonic smile twisting his lips. "But reality has a way of humbling gods. The heroes fell like leaves of a tree —useless sacrifices whose only purpose was to fuel the Demon Lord’s strength. The Goddess, of course, couldn’t admit her failure. She spun tales of bravery and triumph, claiming her 'heroes' had died valiantly in a battle that crippled the Demon Lord. And when Cain, the Father of Vampires, fought the Demon Lord and forced his physical form to dissipate, she took credit for that too."

  "But if the Demon Lord’s still alive, doesn’t that make her lie pointless?"

  "Not at all." Morthak said with a grim chuckle. "History is written by those who hold power. The Goddess of Morning may be a liar and a manipulator, but to her followers, she’s the embodiment of truth. To them, she is salvation."

  "I don’t think I like her very much. Every time I hear her name, it’s tied to something horrible."

  Morthak shrugged. "You’re in demon-kind lands, girl. Of course you’ll hear only curses in her name. If you want to hear her praises, go find a human. Though judging by your tone, I doubt you’d enjoy the conversation."

  I shivered, memories of my last encounter with a human flashing through my head. "No thanks." I muttered. "The last time didn’t exactly go well."

  "Enough chatter." Morthak said abruptly, sitting down at the heavy wooden table. His sharp, piercing gaze locked onto hers. "Bring me your work. It’s time for judgment."

  I hesitated, glaring at him. "Just remember, I had to figure this out without someone actually teaching me the proper way."

  He smirked, unbothered by my indignation. "That’s the point. Before I guide you, I need to see what you’re capable of on your own. Trial and error separates the ones with talent from the ones wasting my time." Grinding my teeth, I gestured to the guards. One brought over a leather-bound scroll. I handed it to Morthak, who unrolled it lazily. His sharp eyes scanned the contents.

  "Hmm... unusual." he murmured, stroking his chin. "You’ve created a scroll that channels first-tier magic— impressive for someone at your level. The spell itself seems... stable. A rare choice, favoring precision over raw power. Tell me, what’s its purpose?"

  I hesitated, suddenly self-conscious. "It’s called Crystal Rose. It creates a magical flower—a rose made of energy. It’s stable enough to touch, even hold. Sure, it’s not destructive, but... it’s beautiful."

  Morthak raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Beautiful, yes. Useful? Debatable. But I’ll give you this—it’s unique. Unorthodox thinking like this could serve you well, so long as you don’t let pride get in the way of growth."

  My chest swelled with a mix of pride and defiance. "I worked hard on it! You can’t deny that much."

  Morthak nodded, setting the scroll down. "You’ve proven you’re no ordinary novice. But this is only the beginning. Show me you can turn that creativity into something the world will fears. No wonder, everyone can create magic shows that are beautiful to the eye but useless in battle, but only the most dedicated and professional magicians are capable of creating new destructive spells that will be remembered."

  Morthak’s gaze darkened as he carefully channeled energy into the leather parchment. Tendrils of shimmering light seeped from his fingers, wrapping around the scroll like a living entity. The parchment quivered before disintegrating into glowing motes that coalesced into a ball of soft, ethereal light. Slowly, with delicate precision, the light deformed under Morthak’s touch, twisting and hardening until it crystallized into a flawless rose made entirely of magical energy.

  Morthak studied the creation with open curiosity, running his fingers over its smooth, luminous petals. He gave the rose a gentle squeeze, testing its durability, before setting it reverently on the table.

  "You’ve created... a permanent effect spell? That’s beyond impressive, girl. The energy is crystallized and stabilized so flawlessly that it will remain untouched for centuries if kept in this form." He leaned in closer, his dark eyes glittering. "But the detail... the form itself... How did you manage to craft something so intricate? This level of specificity would take hundreds of hours to perfect."

  I couldn’t stop the smirk from creeping across my face. "Humf! Don’t sound so shocked, old man. When I set my mind to something, no one can stop me." I crossed my arms and lifted my chin proudly. "To be honest, this project taught me a lot. I figured out I can create very specific effects using ring magic—something that’s nearly impossible with expression magic. By grouping the formulas and runes just right, I realized I could create almost anything. The possibilities are endless! Though, if I’m being honest, the sheer number of letters, runes, and combinations nearly drove me insane. Otherwise, I’d experiment more."

  Morthak threw back his head and let out a booming laugh. "HAHA! I’m not even surprised anymore. At this point, I should’ve known you were the real deal. Alright, girl. Let’s move on to the real lessons now."

  My eyes lit up. "Seriously? What are you going to teach me?"

  "A true challenge." Morthak said, rising from his seat and clasping his hands behind his back. His voice took on a grim tone, underscored by a faint, foreboding smile. "I’ll teach you a type of magic that’s both common and feared in these lands: curses and blessings."

  I blinked, caught off guard. "Wait, curses and... blessings? You can cast blessings?"

  "Of course I can! Just because I’m a necromancer doesn’t mean I can’t bestow blessings. Mine are... unconventional, but no less effective." He gave a sly grin. "I only have a few blessings up my sleeve, but curses? Oh, I’ve mastered countless ways to ruin my enemies—quick curses for the heat of battle, generational curses that haunt bloodlines for centuries. I’ll teach you how to craft them all."

  I swallowed hard, his macabre smile sending a chill down my spine. "I-Is this safe?"

  "Safe?" He chuckled, tapping his staff on the stone floor. "Of course! What could possibly go wrong when cursing someone?"

  "That was sarcasm, right? Please tell me that was sarcasm." I muttered, my stomach knotting.

  He shrugged. "Naturally, there are risks. For example, if your target wields a counter-curse artifact or possesses innate resistance, your curse could rebound on you. But such cases are rare. For the most part, the better the caster, the harder it is to undo their work." His voice dropped, tinged with admiration. "Take Magiscula, the Lady of Curses. Her mastery of curse magic was legendary. She could kill with just a drop of her blood or a single strand of hair. Her curses were unbreakable—vicious and utterly merciless."

  I stared at him, wide-eyed. "Are you telling me someone could actually kill with just a drop of blood? That’s insane!"

  Morthak rolled his eyes. "Don’t be ridiculous. Magiscula was... exceptional. A monster in her own right. For the rest of us, curses take preparation—rituals, precision, and power. You won’t be killing anyone with a sneeze."

  Still, the idea sent a shiver down my spine. "It sounds... powerful. But isn’t it... evil? I mean, they’re curses."

  He snorted. "Evil is just a matter of perspective. If the Goddess of Morning curses someone, her followers call it divine punishment. If a witch does the same, it’s labeled as wickedness. The truth? A curse is a tool, just like a knife. It can be used to defend or destroy. The choice is yours."

  I mulled it over, frowning. "I guess that makes sense... but I can’t think of a way to use curses that doesn’t feel... wrong."

  "Then let’s start there." Morthak’s voice turned ominous as he raised his staff. The skull at the top of it began to glow, its hollow eyes blazing with an eerie green light. Wisps of sickly smoke curled from the orb beneath the skull, slithering across the floor like serpents before reaching me.

  I gasped as the smoke coiled around my limbs and seeped into my skin. A cold, unnatural sensation spread through me, sharp as icy needles, yet oddly invigorating. My vision dimmed momentarily, and I felt a strange weight settle in my chest, like a tether binding me to something unseen.

  “You cursed me?!”

  “It’s not a big deal, just a weakened minor curse. Stop being so dramatic.” Morthak dismissed my outrage with a wave of his hand. “This particular curse is called [Curse of Binding]. It simply allows me to know where you are at all times.”

  “That’s… unsettling. But why was I cursed so easily?”

  “It’s about intensity. Small, weak curses like this are simple to attach to someone. I could curse an entire village with it for a short time if I wanted to. But when it comes to larger, more dangerous curses, it’s an entirely different story. Stronger curses require an ‘anchor’—something to bind the curse to the target. They can also be purified if the target’s soul is strong enough or if they carry a blessing from an entity with purification powers.” Morthak’s tone was almost clinical as he explained.

  “Hm. I see.”

  “For more powerful curses, you need fuel. It could be mana, souls, negative emotions, blood, or even sacrifices." Morthak continued. “Each fuel type shapes the curse differently. For instance, blood curses can jump generations without losing potency, though they require large amounts of blood to cast. Curses born of negative feelings deteriorate the victim’s body while eroding the caster’s mental state. And the most dangerous of all—soul curses—are forbidden for good reason. They tear apart souls to fuel their devastating effects, often angering death itself.”

  My eyes widened. “That sounds… horrifying.”

  Morthak smirked. “It is. But remember, curses aren’t inherently evil. Like a knife, their morality depends on how they’re used. A goddess’s curse is seen as righteous punishment, while a witch’s curse is branded wicked. Perspective, girl.”

  I hesitated. “Even so, I can’t imagine a way to use them that doesn’t feel… wrong.”

  “Then let me show you." Morthak said, his voice low and ominous. He tapped his staff against the ground. A green mist unfurled from the orb atop his staff, snaking toward me and slipping into my chest.

  “You cursed me again?!”

  “Relax." he said with a grin. “Pay attention. This will help you understand the true nature of curses. It might scare you, but I won’t harm you.”

  “Wait, what—”

  Before I could finish, the cave around me dissolved into a black void filled with swirling green smoke. Morthak’s glowing yellow eyes floated before me, then vanished.

  “What’s happening?!”

  The ground beneath me trembled violently. Skeletal hands burst through the floor, clawing at the air. I stumbled back, dodging their grasp, only for the ground to erupt again. This time, a massive fissure split open, and a grotesque figure rose from the depths.

  It was a woman, or what was left of one. Her decayed body was draped in a tattered satin gown, blackened with age and filth. Her tangled, raven-black hair swept the ground, and she held a bouquet of dead, rotting roses. Her face was nothing but a skeletal mask, hollow sockets staring directly at me.

  She extended a bony hand toward me, as if to help me up. Against my better judgment, I reached out. Her icy grip tightened around my hand.

  “HAHAHAHA! Forever. Now, it will be forever!!!” She screamed, her voice a rasping mockery of laughter.

  Ribbons of darkness unraveled from her decaying body, wrapping around our hands and binding us together. The skeletal hands clawed more frantically at the ground, and I pulled with all my strength to break free.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  “Damn it! Morthak! What’s happening?!”

  Just as panic consumed me, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I blinked, and the void dissolved. I was back on the cave floor, breathing hard, with Morthak glaring down at me.

  “You’ve got zero survival instincts, don’t you? You’re lucky I knew what I was doing. Otherwise, you’d be cursed for real right now." he said, clicking his tongue.

  “What the hell was that thing?!”

  “A curse." he said casually, settling into his chair.

  “But it was completely different from before!”

  “Of course it was. That was a high-level curse—a combination of magic and specter conjuration." Morthak explained. “What you saw was a [Pale Lady], an undead specter born from the combined hatred of women who died before their wedding day. They’re rare and dangerous, usually hunted down by Thanacaris. This one, however, was so powerful I bound her to me. She’s a weapon now, and I’m her anchor in the physical world.”

  “That’s… horrifying." I muttered.

  Morthak chuckled. “Specters like her are consumed by vengeance. Their existence is short and bitter. Once they fulfill their purpose, they simply fade away. But while they’re here, they’re a force to be reckoned with.”

  “So, why are you keeping a cursed Corpse Bride around?”

  "Because I managed to convince her to come with me. It may not seem like it, but specters have consciousness. Most of them are very... eccentric, but if you remember that the reason for their 'birth' is a strong emotion felt by dozens or hundreds of people, you end up discovering that specters, despite being vengeful and even cruel creatures, are highly emotional. For example, the [Pale Lady] despises any kind of party or celebration. They are also usually very polite, versed in noble etiquette, and absolutely loathe displays of affection in their presence." Morthak said.

  "But why would you take something like that for yourself?"

  "As I said, she’s useful. I offer her a space within my soul so that she doesn’t weaken, and in exchange, I can use her cursed powers. Thanks to her, I can cast spells outside my main branch and invoke high-level curses without resorting to soul-costing methods or blood rituals." Morthak explained.

  "T-That thing you mentioned earlier about specters being able to curse people...?"

  "Yes! Being cursed by a specter is one of the worst curses a person can endure. Specters aren’t just magical constructs designed to harm; they’re sentient entities with a singular purpose: to ruin their victim’s life. Witches often use specters to curse their enemies. In fact, there’s a legend about the Lady of Curses, Magiscula, who was rumored to have created specters as her cursed minions." Morthak said, a gleam of admiration in his eyes.

  "T-That sounds... terrifying."

  "Oh, you can be certain of that. Specters are rare and transient, but when one is born, trouble inevitably follows. Before I found the [Pale Lady], she was on the brink of 'death.' but not before she attacked a castle in the beastman lands. She cursed everyone inside—staff and guests alike. Their hearts were literally split in half inside their bodies by her curse. No one survived."

  I swallowed hard. "That’s horrible."

  "It gets worse. The castle owner’s son... he had a reputation for ‘being seen with company very occasionally,’ if you catch my drift. I found him mutilated and twisted in his chambers, his face scratched beyond recognition by her nails. The walls of his room were covered with the word 'Forever.' scrawled in blood over every surface. And his soul? Consumed by the [Pale Lady], becoming part of her essence."

  "So those hands I saw earlier...?"

  "Her favorites." Morthak said nonchalantly. "That’s why specters can’t remain in the world for long. They drag souls with them, and when they 'die.' the souls they’ve consumed return to the primordial cauldron. While they’re cruel, specters aren’t truly violating the natural order."

  I frowned. "Are you serious?"

  "Ha ha! I know it may sound strange, but consider this: specters are born from the collective agony of many people. Their wrath is rarely undeserved. If someone attracts a specter’s attention enough to become its anchor or target, they’ve undoubtedly done something terrible." Morthak explained. "For example, I’ve never had problems with specters, ghosts, or spirits coming after me for revenge. Even when I take lives, it’s in self-defense or necessity, and I always honor the dead with a prayer."

  "So you're saying I need a specter to cast high-level curses?"

  "Not necessarily. It’s just the easiest way to access that kind of power. But don’t take it lightly—offering a place in your soul to a specter is incredibly dangerous. It’s like giving your enemy a blade and baring your chest."

  I shuddered, recalling the [Pale Lady’s] haunting presence. "Still, it’s... fascinating. It would be amazing to curse people like that, but also terrifying."

  "Good. Fear is healthy. Now let’s move on to your next question."

  "Right. What’s the difference between specters and spirits? Oh, and is the [Pale Lady] the only specter you have up your sleeve? You mentioned summoning others..."

  Morthak laughed. "Good questions. Specters are accumulated emotions given form, while spirits are natural beings—children of the world, so to speak."

  'Children of the world? I thought. That sounds oddly familiar... almost like my title, {World's Child}.'

  "And to answer your second question—no, the [Pale Lady] is not my only specter. I have several, each for a different purpose. For example, the [Keeper of Truths]. I could use it to curse someone, and their bones would break every time they lied. But I prefer to channel its innate powers in a controlled way, using it to detect lies without harming anyone."

  "Jeez... Are you sure you're not 'Morthak, Master of Specters' instead of 'Morthak, Corps Artisan?'"

  Morthak cackled. "Ha! That’s a good one, girl. But specters are just tools to me, nothing more. My true talent lies in crafting minions. Believe me, if you think my collection of specters is unsettling, you don’t want to see what I can do with a horde of [Putrid Abominations]."

  "No thanks." I said hastily.

  "Very well. Now that you know about curses and their dangers, it’s time for some practical learning. I’ll teach you how to create one yourself." Morthak said, rummaging through his bag. He retrieved a handful of bones, a vial of crimson liquid, and straw figurines.

  "What’s all this?" I asked, leaning closer.

  "Curse-crafting for beginners." Morthak replied with a sly grin. "Pay attention. First of all, you need to choose the price you want to pay."

  "I'll use mana, of course…" I said, sitting at the table with Morthak.

  "The safe way. It’s the best option for an amateur like you." Morthak said with a light laugh. "Now, there’s another basic rule in the art of curses that I must tell you. It’s more of a warning than a rule, but basically, you can only curse something that has a soul to be cursed. So curses are useless against golems, undead, puppets, or any similar creatures." Morthak explained.

  “Oh, good to know, I guess. So that means… it’s impossible to curse a place? Everyone said the fallen forest was ‘cursed.’”

  "Oh, good observation. It's not possible to curse the land, but it is possible to cast a plague on it. Plagues are similar but different from curses. To sum it up, plagues are diseases caused by magic." Morthak summarized.

  "So… there’s a plague in the fallen forest?"

  "Yes and no. The place is full of cursed creatures, which caused the land to be contaminated with a powerful plague over time. But, to sum it up… yes, there is a set of plagues in those lands. Not even I was stupid enough to delve too deep into the territories of the forest lords. I only got to meet Bhat-Bhat—the Lord of Midnight, a very interesting creature to tell the truth. He came to ask me if I could kill him." Morthak said with a light laugh.

  "Did I hear that right?"

  "Hehe, yes. Poor cursed creature. The Lord of Midnight was cursed with a [Recurring Nightmare], a powerful entity straight from the realm of endless chaos. It gave Bhat-Bhat the power to cause lucid nightmares to his victims, trapping them eternally in an endless nightmare. But he himself cannot escape these same nightmares. The miserable creature hasn’t slept for centuries in terror of what he may find in his thoughts." Morthak said with a light, macabre laugh.

  "Is that funny to you?" I asked with a little apprehension. Feeling pleasure in the suffering of another is… disturbing.

  "Haha! You can say that. The bastard is one of the ancient kings who defied the heavens. They committed atrocities and broke the worst taboos you can imagine in their eternal search for power. Their thirst was so great that they dared to defy the divine, and for that, they paid the price. In addition to losing their forms—transformed into beasts that reflected their true natures—they were cursed with immortality. Each carried a curse created by the gods specifically to torment them for all eternity." Morthak said with a laugh.

  "How do you know that?"

  "Bhat-Bhat told me. It could be a lie for sure, but he seemed sincere at the time. His eyes carried misery and sadness. His only motivation to continue was to find a way to end his life. He thought I was 'worthy enough.' and I thought: 'Why not try?' But in the end, I only ended up having the worst nightmare of my life. Ugh, my stomach twists just thinking about it." Morthak said.

  "I… When I lived there, I did something with the forest spirits, and I felt something looking right at me from the depths of the forest. Do you think it could have been this Bhat-Bhat guy?" I asked, a little wary.

  "Spirits? So you know how to handle spirits? Well, to answer your question… unlikely. Bhat-Bhat wouldn't bother to 'protect his territory' or much less care about someone messing with the forest spirits. It must be one of the other cursed kings." Morthak shrugged.

  "Which one?"

  "I don't know, girl. I only met Bhat-Bhat. The others aren't… that friendly." Morthak said.

  "Argh… Damn. At least I got out of there before something went terribly wrong."

  "Alright, girl, stop with the intrusive thoughts. Pay attention here." Morthak snapped his fingers, drawing my attention back to the table. "First, we'll need a living creature to serve as your rat lab." Morthak said, rummaging through his bag again. He pulled out a small creature that looked like a jet-black snake with red eyes. The extraordinary thing about the small snake was that it had two heads and scales with metallic textures.

  "This [Iron Viper] will serve very well for this purpose." Morthak said, placing the snake on the table.

  "Poor thing! Why do something like this to it?!" I said, picking up the small cage containing the snake, which was confined uncomfortably.

  "Come on, don't give me all that girly sensitivity. I saw at least a dozen animal skins hanging around the cave when I entered!" Morthak said, pulling the cage back.

  "It's different. They looked for a fight first, and they weren't as cute as this little guy here! Look at his face—theirs? Seriously? How dare you curse a cute little creature like that?!" I said, pulling the cage back to me.

  "Argh… Girls, always the same regardless of species. So what do you suggest? You won’t be able to curse one of my undead. Or maybe you want to use one of your 'Children' as rat labs?" Morthak teased.

  "How dare you! I would never do such a thing to my babies! Hmmph! Do you want to know what we’re going to do? I'll show you what you get after giving birth to over 1,000 children… BOYS!"

  As soon as I screamed, Morthak covered his ears in discomfort. Soon, a loud buzzing sound echoed throughout the cave. In a few seconds, a dense cloud of bees appeared floating in the air.

  "We have answered the Queen Mother's call." the cloud of assorted bees responded in unison.

  "Bring me one of those 'Cockroach Mole Rats' you found a while back. Bring enough to serve as test subjects. And also take this little guy away, give him something to eat and a comfortable place to rest." I told the boys handind the cage with the snake.

  "Right away!" The cloud said, retreating as quickly as it had arrived after getting the cage.

  Morthak just looked at me with a “What the hell?” look before asking."What in the world would a 'Cockroach Mole Rat' be?" Morthak asked with doubt written all over his face.

  "I don't know. It's a weird creature we found a while back. It has a face similar to a mole—with a long nose full of tentacles, small eyes, and ears too. It has the body and legs of a rat—a slender body that ends in a long, segmented tail. It has four limbs, with the front paws having claws and the back ones looking like shovels. And it's also pretty… hard to kill. The thing resists concussion blows, survives high doses of poison, and can survive for hours without its head. Hence the name 'Cockroach Mole Rat.' or Rackromole if you prefer." I said simply.

  "You mean… [Burmmers]? They’re common little creatures in these regions. Pests, really—they eat the roots of plants and reproduce quickly. But where the hell did you get the name… Rackmoles? You sure are creative." Morthak said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

  "Burmmers? That name sounds weird to me. I prefer Rackromole! It makes much more sense." I said simply, folding my arms.

  "But… where did you even get that from? What’s a ‘cockroach’? Damn, I think living isolated from the world did you more harm than I first thought." Morthak’s voice held a hint of amusement mixed with genuine curiosity.

  "Hey!"

  I can understand Morthak. To him, I must seem like I’m just making up meaningless names, but to me, they make perfect sense. The hive sees the similarities I mentioned clearly. But to natives of this world, describing a common cockroach is probably like trying to describe a dragon to someone from my original world.

  Soon, the boys arrived, carrying a very ugly and strange creature—one that was struggling fiercely against the sticky substance binding its limbs. This glue-like substance was created by a unique class of soldiers called Hunters. They can produce a glue that works like the ones made by [Carpenters], but it doesn’t withstand heat and has a short shelf life, making it useful only in situations like this. It’s nothing special—just a tool used by some unusual classes within the hive.

  Most of these 'unusual' classes don’t possess powers that make a grand impact. They do their work, but nothing flashy. Occasionally, a 'special' class emerges, and two things can happen. Either they’re assigned to a group and trained—like Steve, Ken, Hans, and Max—or they become 'attached'to existing groups where their new skills fit perfectly—like Carl, Jon, Aldy, or Keb. I always remember Carl. He was… peculiar. A glutton. He liked to eat, and that caused him trouble. For the hive, eating wasn’t considered work—it was just survival. Yet, Carl found joy in it. He ended up responsible for managing food—evaluating, grading, and improving it. Over time, he became somewhat of a legend within the hive. He had a knack for turning ordinary ingredients into something new. And his powers—turning nutrients into something more potent—were remarkable.

  As soon as the [Burmmer] landed on the table, Morthak studied the creature curiously. The cloud of insects hovering above us bowed slightly before retreating to another part of the cave. "Interesting little creatures, your ‘Children.’ They’re mysterious. They always run from me when I try to talk to them. Remind me of the Faery." Morthak muttered, his eyes never leaving the trapped creature.

  "So using an [Iron Snake] as a test subject is cruel, but using a [Burmmer] isn’t? Because its life is worth less than the snake’s? Is it just for looks?" Morthak’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

  "Ugh, stop with the moralizing, okay? I’ve got enough problems without worrying about this. I’m not against killing or experimenting on living creatures. I’ve used plenty of [Wappos] for experiments—never felt an ounce of remorse. Fed them, took care of them, gave them a safe place to live. But when they multiplied, I used them for everything—from food for livestock to test subjects. They were theoretically walking fungi. I know that doesn’t make it better... But it’s something." I admitted, shrugging.

  "I see. So, suppose..." Morthak gestured at the [Burmmer]. "If someone created an entire city full of humans—one where life is prosperous, where people live without fear, all under the watchful eye of their ‘Guardian’—do you think that Guardian would have the right to take as many humans as they wanted for personal use? As food, for physical relief, or… ‘ingredients’?” Morthak’s voice carried a mocking edge, his crooked smile curling at the corners.

  "What—of course not! Humans are… sentient. They have enough consciousness to understand what’s happening to them. [Wappos] are different. Even if they’re face-to-face with someone about to slice them open, they won’t react because they don’t have the consciousness to grasp concepts like ‘danger’ or ‘death.’” I responded, my voice firm, trying to distinguish between what I could accept and what was entirely wrong.

  "Hmm… So, the problem is consciousness. So if this ‘Guardian’ used magic to make all humans ‘stupid’ like cattle, would that be acceptable?" Morthak chuckled, his voice like gravel scraping against stone.

  "No—no! I… I don’t know, okay?! I just know there are lines that shouldn’t be crossed, decisions you can’t just turn your back on and walk away from." I said, my frustration boiling over.

  "Hmm. Good enough, I guess. You’re a good kid—still a little weird for a kid, but a good kid overall." Morthak said, tapping his finger on the table thoughtfully.

  "I’ve given birth to over a thousand babies, I’m the queen of my people, so don’t call me ‘child,’ please." I said, irritation creeping into my voice. Damn, I know to this world I’m ‘green,’ but mentally, I’m forty years old.

  "That’s what bothers me the most about your species. But it makes sense, given your insect parts. Multiplying must be the ‘main’ trait of your kind. Just be careful with that." Morthak warned.

  "Why?" I asked, wary.

  "If you’re only four years old and already have over a thousand offspring, this could escalate quickly over the next five to ten years. You don’t seem like someone planning something stupid, so I doubt there’ll be any issues as long as you keep a low profile. But… people are afraid of what they don’t understand. Always have been. Always will be. As a necromancer, I know this better than most. If people become afraid of you, three things happen: they either try to destroy you, they capture you and study you like a rat, or you give them a real reason to be afraid." Morthak’s eyes burned into me, his tone heavy.

  "What do you mean?" I asked, shivering under his gaze.

  "You know, people tend to fear me. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Fear ensures that they’ll be respectful, even if it’s for the wrong reasons. If you don’t want to become prey, you need to live as a predator. Remember this, girl—the only truth in this world is that the strong consume the weak, and the weak are left with uncertainty." Morthak told me, his voice unwavering.

  It carries a bitter taste—the knowledge that one day, everything could be ripped away simply because someone didn’t like me. Us. It’s… intimidating. I understand the value in Morthak’s words. I don’t like the idea of playing by the rules of Undertale—“kill or be killed.” But this world? It’s fucked up beyond belief. Even when we lived peacefully in a field of flowers, problems kept creeping up one after the other until we were forced to flee—flee in fear of the uncertain. The question now is… was that the last time we’d run? Or just the first?

  My future and that of the boys is uncertain. We could have died at Morthak’s hands if he wasn’t “a guy cool.” We could have died to that human, or anything else. I hate this. I hate the idea of losing my babies because I didn’t try hard enough. I need more—much more. More knowledge, more weapons, more ideas, more inventions, more people. I need everything—everything.

  "...Thanks for the warning." I muttered, placing my hands on the table. "Now teach me everything you can—everything you’re willing to give me." I said, locking eyes with Morthak, who gave a slight, knowing smile.

  "Hehe, motivated, huh? You’ll need it if you want to get through this. Curses are just the beginning. The next steps will be basic alchemy, protection magic, energy manipulation, blood magic, and soul magic." Morthak said, his grin widening.

  I know you can’t learn anything good from someone like Morthak—someone described as a “vulture.” But all power is power, even if it’s not useful to me. I don’t care. My babies can use anything Morthak’s willing to teach them.

  And I’m willing to learn everything I can get my hands on.

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