A-ants! They Have Come!

"A-ants!" the guards shouted, their faces filled with horror, their warnings filled the room.

Robert held his pickaxe, sweat trickling down his forehead, his heart skipped a beat occasionally as his face went slightly pale.

The ant looked at him, its antler twitched and stretched. Its dark eye like an infinite abyss, and its jaws like a sharpened scissor. Its body was as long and as big as the carriage that carried slaves into the parish.

Six guards, armed with sword and spear, a simple plate armor and helmed alike to upside down bowls, were stationed inside the cave. Their eyes once supervised the slaved in their work now turned into widening, horrifying, cautious gaze aimed at the ant in front of them.

"He-hey, call for help, quick!" a guard ordered the other.

"Ye-yes!" another responded, then quickly ran into the passageway leading above.

The guards were quick on their feet. Five of them surrounded the ant that was still focused on Robert, its back to the guard. Like an easy prey, the guard jumped on the inattentive ant, their weapons directed to it.

Slash!

The guard with the sword dropped his shield, holding his supposedly one handed weapon of a basic longsword with both of his hands for more power. His muscles contracted, bringing forth raw power onto the diagonal slash at the ant's waist.

Pierce!

Another guard, with a spear clenched in his hand, charged and pierced the ant at its gaster.

Splurt

On which both attacks let out a spur of green blood from the ant's large yet fragile build.

"Get its legs!"

The other guards didn't let a single moment of respite for the ant. Like a coordinated attack, they each struck at the legs of the ant, instantly cutting it like an axe would chopping a thin wooden stick.

The ant fell to the ground, alike to wriggling in pain, its amputated legs squirmed on the ground. Its jaws clamped and opened, like a scissor repeatedly used.

Robert clenched his grip over his pickaxe, the ant in front of him now powerless, wriggling like a worm, legless. His panicked mind clouded his decision, as others paid attention to the ant and occasionally, him.

Just like that one time. Hubert looked at him, in hope of being saved, yet he abandoned his newly made friend.

"…" his mind remembered.

Robert was a woodcutter, working for a local lumber camp, owned by a merchant that lived far away in his own mansion. Robert's smile was always available for those around him to see, his words became a sanctuary for the tired and exhausted.

But he was framed by the merchant, he remembered his betrayal. As he was captured by the soldiers of the house of Trilly under the charge of tax evasion, his hopeful, teary eyes looked at other woodcutter, a dozen of them at that time.

"Sorry," one muttered, looking away as Robert was captured away, representing all the others.

Then he came to the parish, and depression took hold of him for a few days. Slaves dared not touch him, his grim expression caused slaves to be cautious of his strength. Even Brad, the one who was known as the leader of slaves, gave him a cautious look when he came.

Slowly, he regained his vibrant smile and friendly greetings, the time Hubert and Ron came was the breaking point on which he returned back to his old self. A small part of him felt a sense of duty, to protect Hubert and Ron like a loving father.

But even then, he failed. The night where Hubert was beaten and looked at him, he found himself looking away.

He did what his so-called friends did to him, something he despised them and then, himself. Guilt filled his mind since then on, even Hubert's forgiving sentences only made him feel even worse than before.

Frustration clogged his mind. He hated and detested his incapability as a friend.

The memories, the imagery of the ant, and the atmosphere choked him. His grip over the pickaxe hardened to the point where the wood was dented inward, Robert's hand shape molded onto the wood.

In anger, he raised his pickaxe over his head and inhaled, then dropped it downward. Its dulled edge made contact with the ant, then it pierced the head. The ant's jaw clamping sound died down, leaving its body lifeless.

Robert released his control over the pickaxe. He looked at his red and already callused hand. His eyes full of disbelief, and his worried eyes looked back and forth to the hand and the ant. His breath short.

"I-I did…" he said, gasps of air interrupting his every word.

"I… did… it!" Robert proudly exclaimed, raising his arm open up to the sky for everyone to see.

The room was silenced at first. All, guards and slaves alike, looked at him with widened eyes, watching the spectacle that had just unfolded in front of them.

Then one slave cheered, another slave followed, another yelled and another fired up, raising their fist and tools upward.

The guards looked at each other in disbelief, their lungs inhaling and exhaling slightly faster than normal. They soon joined the fray and raised their weapons and hands to the sky, cheering.

The cave was dimly light by the flickering torches and radiating blue light of the mana stones. But another figure shone like a star in the middle of it, Robert.

Rubmle

A light rumble preyed on the distance, and from the same hole the ant came.

Rumble

Then it got closer, and closer.

Their joy died down, their attention focused on their hearing and the vibrations under their feet. Then their chants of victory replaced by the loudening sound. Where even the ground shook again, and mana stones trembled.

"Attack! Attack!" upground, the guard repeatedly yelled. Sunlight beamed into his eyes as he came out of the cave. His shout alerted the guarding soldiers and working slaves alike.

"What?" a guard captain, his armor slightly better than another, came toward him and asked.

"Ants! They have come!" he confirmed.

The slaves stopped working, the sound of business, scrapping of shovel, rotating wheels and occasional commands disappeared. Replaced by the dreadful silence of stares directed at the guard gasping for air.

Then the ground slightly trembled, not from the usual hefting of shovel or moving carriages. Everybody felt it as sweat trickled down their faces under the scorching day and they gripped their weapons and tools.

Schwing

"Call for reinforcement!" he ordered as he pulled his glinting steel sword from its leather scabbard.

The guard at the watchtower grabbed hold onto the hanging from the bell, then he shook it hard. A messenger, eating his lunch, was alerted in the distance, he undid the knotted lead from a wooden pole, then mounted his horse.

"Hiya!" he spurred his horse forward.

"Guards!" the captain shouted, his authoritative voice blown by the air and reaching every corner of the room.

Schwing.

The guards dropped their whips and unsheathed their swords and prepared their spears in a tidy and quickened motion. Some with their hands shaky and their breath erratic.

"Follow me!" the captain ordered. The guards heeded his command and followed him, their footsteps gathered at the passageway leading underground and its sound slowly delved deeper and deeper like being consumed by the abyss.

The slaves began dropping their tools and fell butt first to the ground. Their trust placed in the guards.

"What are we going to do now?" one questioned.

"Don't know," another replied.

"Let's just enjoy while they are gone," another leisurely sat, his back already touching the floor and his gaze looked at the bright blue sky.

"But what if they came back?" another asked worryingly.

"Then we'll continue working," another slave said calmly.

"Hey, do you want to go visit the others in the lumber camp?" another asked to his friend.

"…" Ron was quiet, the shovel still in his hand. He looked at Hubert with his blank stare.

Meanwhile Hubert gripped his shovel tight.

The relaxed chattering of slaves and rustling of leaves accompanied the breeze of wind that cooled the slaves. It was a respite, a moment of sanctuary for them to rest and pause from their exhausting work.

In that brief moment they rested, the trembling ground gradually weakened, the vibration nowhere to be felt after a while. They looked at each other in confusion.

"Did the guards defeat the ants?" one asked.

"I hope so," another wished.

"What if they didn't?" another questioned.

"Then why would it be quiet?"

"Well, to think about it, I heard some rumors regarding ants plaguing the crypt under the church," another reclaimed.

"Just relax... Nothing would happen, right?"

"Hel… He-help…" a weakened and hoarse voice called from the passageway. The slaves all got up and grabbed their tools, jolted by the abrupt voice.

Their heads all turned toward the entrance of the cave, to which they awaited the party of armed guards to come out.

Instead, a horrifying and gut wrenching sight greeted them.

The guard captain crawled out, his shaky hands clenching the dirt in each crawl he made. Green blood came pouring out from his eyes.

Then two dark ruby-like gems glinted by the sunlight. Its body covered by the darkness of the cave. Its jaws grabbed hold of the captain and pulled it backward.

"N-no!!!" the captain shrieked, his voice dreadful.

His scream gradually diminished.