//------------------------------// // Part 10 Death // Story: Will To Survive // by Zephyr Spark //------------------------------// Spike raced through the foliage cracking branches and leaves with every step. The sound of thundering feet grew closer. All around him, grasshoppers and crickets bounded away, cicadas, moths, and dragonflies took flight, and every other creature from cockroach to tarantula ran from the approaching army. Many could not keep pace. A slow tarantula was quickly engulfed under vicious mandibles and sliced to pieces. Spike had no intention to fall to the horde so he kept at the front of the fleeing creatures, with no destination in mind just one objective: survive, until Celestia found him. His body was fatigued; already drained from stealing the wasp nest piece, but the tantalizing offer of home beckoned. On his final reserves of energy, he had to push himself like a runner on the final sprint, spurred by the promise of respite. From the corner of his eye, he noticed something light-orange flying at him. Spike stepped away as a thin pincer snapped and a bulbous stinger aimed for the kill shot. A scorpion with a light brown back loomed over him, either ignorant or unconcerned with the trillion ants on their way. “Really?” Spike growled, grabbing his spear, “We’re doing this now?” Mustering his strength, he unleashed flames above the arthropod’s head and jabbed at its body, careful to avoid those claws and tail. The scorpion tried to snatch his spear from mid-air but Spike was too quick. He feinted a deadly charge and the scorpion readied itself only to find the drake had raced away. It gave chase, certain it would catch up to the tiny creature sooner or later, but sadly unaware that the drake wasn’t running from it but from the black, orange, and yellow sea mere feet behind. By the time it felt the first bite on its tail, the scorpion had no more time to run, or to live. Even as it slaughtered an ant with its stinger, fifty more sliced off its legs with razor mandibles and buried it under a flood. Spike dared not look back at the scorpion any longer to witness its sorry fate. The would-be predator nearly killed him and delayed him, but he felt pity at its painful demise. Spear still in hand, Spike didn’t bother wasting time sheathing his weapon even as he noticed another scorpion scurrying away. This one had more common sense than its counterpart. Racing through sprouts, past curled fronds, yellow bioluminescent mushrooms, and across logs and boulders covered in moss, the drake doubled his pace, his shallow breaths growing heavier in his throat. In the distance, a log, outlined in shadows by the plant light, blocked his path several meters. With no time to race around the obstacle, Spike withdrew his spear and unsheathed his daggers. He scaled the mossy bark, even as he heard the ants approaching and the familiar sound of Sickle-heads knocking their heads on the log. Spike ignored them even as they lashed at him and reached the top of the log. The Sickle-heads converging on him were baffled when the intruder slid down the log and ran off, but soon had bigger worries. An alarm was sounded but cut short. One of their comrades struggled in the jaws of an ant, before a single sting silenced it forever. The Sickle-heads were practically defenseless as hundreds of ants poured forth and overwhelmed them. Spike couldn’t breathe; his lungs were no longer up to the task. He would just have to do without air. Limping on, Spike raced to find some place to hide the swarm. A single glance behind him revealed the Sickle-heads’ lost battle. Ants carried their corpses away by the dozen, teaming up against individual Sickle-heads before administering their lethal sting. He did this. He led the ants straight to the Sickle-heads’ home. He killed them. Hadn’t he done the exact same thing to the wasps? He didn’t lead the ants here intentionally. He had no idea they were even in that log. Swallowing his tears, Spike soldiered on through the clovers. It was all a part of nature; they weren’t permanently dead. If he didn’t pick up his pace, he would join them, the scorpion, and the tarantula as dinner. His throat was clogged with mucus and residue. He coughed in grating, gravelly spurts. Bringing a fist up to cover his mouth, he released the throaty cough into his arm, coating it with crimson speckles. After pushing himself beyond his physical limits for the past three days, he must have developed a fever. He couldn’t keep running, hoping to stall the horde until Celestia arrived. Sooner or later, his body would collapse under the strain. His vision flickered and the sounds of thunder grew even closer. His oxygen depleted brain also raced, searching for a solution. The best answer it could give was hiding in a pond or the ocean, but nearest body of water was the pond by Behemoth’s home. He wasn’t leading those ants back to her children, now or ever. Spike had no idea which direction would take him to the ocean. Through his hazy vision, nothing looked familiar. The ground wasn’t supposed to be in the air, the trees should have been brown and green not particles of black, orange, and yellow, and the ants were supposed to be behind him not in front. They must have circled around or … His mind turned to a brown grasshopper standing motionless in the midst of the swarm. It wasn’t dead, but it didn’t move a muscle even as the ants inched by and even touched it. The ants would march on, leaving the grasshopper alone as if he were invisible. Now that the ants grew closer Spike noticed a few other crickets were being spared on the ants’ march and not a single one of them budged. Were those ants blind? It wouldn’t be a far stretch; Cento didn’t hunt by sight and plenty of creatures had no use for vision. Falling to the ground in an exhausted heap, Spike realized he had no other options. His legs couldn’t move a step further and outracing the hoard was impossible. He halted all motions, not moving a single muscle, not even blinking. The sound of thunder intensified, as forerunner ants were now feet from the drake. His world spun but he could discern the approaching orange, yellow, and black shapes with mandibles. They were on top of him. Clawed toes tread past his prone body, marching into the forest. Not one of them bit him. They all walked on past him. A few curious ants strayed to examine him before following the horde. Spike felt excitement; his plan might actually work if he could just stay still. Minutes later, the vast horde began to thin. Before he could relax, Spike’s stomach began aching with a familiar sensation indicating the princess sent him a letter. He clamped his mouth shut. If he made a single movement, the ants would find him. The stomachache intensified with every second. Embers licked the back of his teeth, struggling to escape. Saliva in his mouth sizzled and his eyes watered but he resisted shedding a single tear in fear of triggering an attack. His gut howled with pain as the oblivious ants scurried past and breathing, the possibility of breathing again, became impossible. As the world trembled, his mouth budged a slight fraction. That was all it took for fire to burst from his mouth releasing the scroll. In an instant, two ants clamped down on his legs. His body instinctively reacted, jerking in response. Soon two more mounted his back and bit his shoulders, his body winced in torment as they slashed at the wonder moss armor. Another two ants pulled at his ribs, but the armor held. When another two ants joined the assault, their mandibles stretched the armor. Spike tried to stand, tried to run, but under the weight of the ants, increasing with each second, he fell back to the ground. His body had long been pushed past its limits. Now, he couldn’t even fight back as they tore his armor faster than it could repair itself, as they swarmed over his entire body and smothered him, as his vision blurred with tears and shapes of black, yellow, and orange. He closed his eyes and covered his face, praying Twilight would find him soon. But the ants finally reached his skin and a single stinger pierced his scales into his body. His mind was revitalized by the pain; shocked awake. His mouth opened to scream and green flames flew from into the trees. That was all it took for a forest fire to start. Embers grew into a blazing wildfire, fueled by vegetation. Dimly, Spike felt the ants melting under the flames. His armor burned as well, but his heat-resistant body remained unharmed. The smoke rose creating black death clouds above the trees, suffocating any creature caught in the branches. The inferno consumed everything, but the monster responsible. His consciousness slipped away. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ *** … - Why? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ He opened his eyes to a new world. Darkness covered everything. The glow vines no longer shone from far above, the fluorescent mushrooms had vanished. His eyes began to adjust, revealing his crime. The forest floor was colored gray with the ashes of plants and animals. Feet away, a shriveled, dark ant corpse laid on its back, limbs sprawling in the air. Across the ashes, the corpses of ants, grasshoppers, scorpions, dragonflies, and every creature imaginable sprawled dead on the floor. The once vibrant trees were replaced black, lifeless pillars. It was all gone. Flowers, the mushrooms, the glow vines, the creatures; all vanished in the flames. There wasn’t a single sound left. The forest symphony came to an abrupt, permanent halt. Its heartbeat silently ended as Underworld died. Burning sensations flooded his blood, searing his muscles. His mind grew dim and the ant venom attacked his brain, like a scorching piece of iron pressed against flesh. Spasms of heartburn agonized his body and blurred his dimming vision. He didn’t bother fighting. Death seemed the perfect penalty for his transgression. As Spike welcomed the darkness, a distant, purple glimmer came closer and a familiar voice called his name. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~