It took another ten minutes searching around with his ink-wolves before Det found something worth investigating. Well, to be more accurate, one of the scouting wolves had found it, coming back to the alpha with a yip to report. Growls of communication seemed to pass the message along, and the big wolf at the front of Det’s honor guard turned back to meet Det’s eyes.

  “Lead the way,” Det said.

  Another yip from the alpha, and the scout sped off the way it’d come, followed by a rumbling growl. This, coming from the alpha’s chest, vibrated straight into the ground, even making Det’s feet tingle at the reverberation before it stopped. Det didn’t have a chance to ask what that had been all about before the alpha started after the scout.

  With the other three wolves beside him looking in his direction, Det followed as well.

  They jogged toward the edge of the town at a right angle—give or take—from where he’d originally entered. The core of the community hadn’t been in any better shape than where he’d started, blood and signs of struggle everywhere. Just no people or their bodies.

  Did they find something outside the town? Maybe in the woods surrounding it?

  Det got the answer to his question a few seconds later, when he rounded a corner to see the scout-wolf standing outside a particular building. From the look of it, Det would guess it to be a tavern or bar of some kind. It just had that feel, with the large windows, the building-wide decks on both the first and second levels, and the welcomingly open doors.

  Looks like an old-west saloon from the movies.

  Then again, the numerous trails of blood on the wooden slats of the deck were somewhat less welcoming.

  That he could even see them from the distance meant they’d been smeared on thick.

  But, with how big the building was, could everybody from the town be in there? Even stacked like firewood, would there be enough space for that many?

  Only one way to find out.

  “Let’s go,” Det told his guards, and the seven of them jogged up to the building, the two who tended to stay distant drawing in closer.

  Grrr, the alpha growled, and that same pair headed into the building first.

  Det’s feet carried him along right behind them, since two, large ink-wolves painted into the air might be a little intimidating to any survivors who could be in the building. Inside, hand on his sword, it took several seconds for his eyes to adjust to the change in light, though the wolves spread out to guard him, growls vibrating from their chests.

  After a few blinks, most of what he expected to see in a tavern lay scattered and broken on the floor, with a bar running along the left side. Not that his eyes gave it more than a glancing look, their full attention dedicated to the defining feature of the room. One which very much did not belong in a standard tavern.

  A huge hole in the floor, with black tendrils and discs stretching from it like some kind of technological virus across the wooden surface. The thing had to be fifteen feet wide, and the rare slanting beam of light through the building’s windows showed the trails of blood leading directly to it.

  Just like what was at the mine. Is this connected to that? It must be. Am I expected to…?

  “… out there?” a weak voice called. From down inside the hole. “Don’t… don’t let them take me.”

  “Hello?” Det called back, like an idiot.

  “No… noooo!” the voice—a woman from the rising pitch of her panicked shout—said. Then there was a kind of shuffling, dragging sound, along with tapping.

  At Det’s sides, the wolves’ growls grew deeper. More threatening.

  The tapping sped up, got closer, until something crawled up and over the lip of the hole.

  “… an ant?” Det couldn’t stop the words from leaving his lips. Except, this wasn’t an ant like Det had ever seen before. The thing had to stand as tall as a housecat did, though it was easily twice as long as the pet would be. Serrated mandibles as long as Det’s hand extended from its face, while a pair of antennae twitched above eyes that seemed to glow red in the limited light.

  For a long few seconds, the ant and Det stood there, sizing each other up. Apparently, the ant didn’t think him much of a threat, because it suddenly zipped forward, six legs moving in rapid succession. Mandibles clacked threateningly as it shot for his legs, ready to…

  Ink-jaws closed around the sides of its head with a sickening crunch. Lifting it in its mouth, the alpha’s teeth punched through the tough exoskeleton, then a vicious shake of his head produced another series of cracks and breaks. One more toss of its head hurled the ant to slam into the wall hard enough to splinter the wood.

  From there, the ant fell awkwardly to the floor, legs still twitching. Two more wolves pounced on it in an instant, literally tearing the thing apart in one coordinated maneuver.

  “Good job,” Det said, genuinely impressed by the wolves. “That wasn’t so bad at all.”

  At which point, idiot that he was, he heard the tapping that’d been obscured by the wolves ripping apart the single ant. Within seconds, more of the ants poured over the lip of the hole, a dozen of them at a time. Mandibles clacked threateningly, promising death and dismemberment, as the swarm rushed Det and his pack.

  “Shouldn’t have said anything,” Det cursed himself—the alpha growling like it damn-well agreed—as he drew the sword from his hip.

  A step forward and a lean down at the same time he unsheathed his sword whipped the blade in a vertical, arcing uppercut as he rose again. Striking the ant perfectly between the wide mandibles, there was a second of resistance before the ant’s face parted at the same time it got lifted and hurled from the force of the blow. With as sharp as he was told the sword would be, the fact the ant’s carapace held out even that long was a little concerning.

  And that was only one ant out of what seemed like a hundred of the creatures.

  At Det’s sides, his ink-pack rushed forward with a series of threatening growls and snapping jaws. From the alpha, a blood-curdling howl shook the room before it too joined the melee. Terrifying teeth punched through carapace, while the knife-like claws tore at the bugs as powerful legs stomped them. Ants soared through the air in every direction—other than Det’s—from the furious wolves tearing into them.

  Not that it slowed the rush. Uncaring for their losses, the ants pressed ahead, they own mandibles stretching for inky limbs at any opportunity. It didn’t matter if it cost them a dozen ants for the opening, there was always at least one ant there, ready to make the most of it. In the first few seconds of the charge, none of those chances led to an injury to Det’s wolves, but it was only a matter of time with how many of the bugs swarmed out of the hole.

  All of this meant Det had a choice. Retreat or try and hold his ground against the horde. Whatever he decided, the wolves would defend him. For his own safety, backing out of the confines of the tavern was definitely in his best interest. If the ants got around behind him and blocked his exit, that would limit his options, to say the least.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  On the other hand, there was the woman who’d cried out to him earlier. Det wasn’t in this world to play hero, but if he knew that was Yumi or Nat down there, and somebody had had a chance to save them…

  “We’re going into that hole,” Det said, cursing himself internally for making the choice. Whatever, if I live through this, it’ll make me stronger.

  Another step forward along with a pair of slashes took out another duo of ants, before Det had to suddenly double-step back. Only one of Det’s targets had been killed by the strike, the other losing a chunk from its side, but still lunging forward for his knee. Beside it, another pair of ants climbed over their fallen ally like it was nothing more than the broken furniture in the room.

  A wolf came from the side to snap its jaws around the already damaged ant, hauling it away before it could reach Det, but that still left the other two rushing him. A panicked step back, along with an embarrassingly wild slash that barely nicked one of the creatures’ eyes, wasn’t enough to make it slow.

  Sword out of position, it was the ant’s turn to attack, and all six legs seemed to flex as it launched forward. Only Det’s ReSouled speed saved his leg as he jerked it back, bending his knee and lifting his foot. The ant’s mandibles snapped shut with the ferocity of a bear-trap right where his shin had been, though it landed on its belly.

  At the opening, Det brought the foot he’d just saved down on the back of the ant’s body, pinning it to the floor, while his sword swept across right to left to bat aside the other ant who’d staggered its attack. This blow caught it square in the side, Det’s blade crunching into the carapace. The strike didn’t split the ant like it should’ve—according to Det’s imagination—though it did hurl it spinning up and over the line of wolves to crash through one of the tavern’s windows.

  Lucky!

  Like the clawed monster he’d fought before, none of his sword training taught him how to fight damn ants the size of house-pets! Especially not in the chaos of his wolves swarming around him. By now, the other scouts had joined the fray as well, pitting all nine members of the ink-pack against the ant swarm. And, despite the assurances he’d gotten from Captain Simmons, the sword alone wasn’t enough to kill the stupid bugs.

  Which, frankly, was exactly why he’d added his own touch to it.

  Pushing magic into the sword, Det ran two fingers along the length of the blade and activated the ink he’d placed there before he’d left. Black, ink-flames burst to life following the motion of his fingers down the sword, and his next sweeping strike caught an ant between its carapaced segments. This time, the ant parted, pieces of it sent skittering along the floor and still burning with inky fire.

  Okay, the flames can spread. Didn’t expect that.

  Not that Det had time to wonder about it, one of the wolves on his left finally moving too slowly, and a pair of ants catching its leg. As soon as its movement was sealed, that was the end of the ink-wolf, with nearly a dozen ants hurling themselves at it. This, of course, left the ants open to the other two nearby wolves, but they alone weren’t enough to save the bugs’ target. It only took seconds for the powerful mandibles to tear apart the summons, and Det’s pack was reduced to eight.

  With that side of the defensive perimeter suddenly having a hole in it, Det charged over, ink-flaming blade sweeping back and forth. None of the sword-forms he’d been taught were applicable in the situation, so he stuck to scythe-like slashes of the blade.

  One, two, three, he cut his way into the ants that’d fallen from the ink-wolf splashing to the floor as it’d dissolved. With the other two wolves there supporting him, the hole was plugged in short order, though it did nothing to address the ants still pouring over the lip of the hole. There would have to be an end to them. Right?

  A yelp from the other side of the room told Det something else was likely going to end first, with a second of the ink-pack falling to a concentrated charge by the ants. Completely ignoring their own losses, the suicide attack crawled over the bodies of their own fallen, then used them as a jumping point to throw themselves at the wolf. It was enough to bring it down, leaving the ants toppling to the ground themselves.

  “Hold the line,” Det called—pointlessly—to his wolves. They would’ve done that anyway, but it made him feel better as he cut down one more ant before stepping back. Into his coat, his free hand snaked to grab one of the four carefully folded pieces of paper there.

  He’d told the general his images were more for scouting, but that was been half true. Two of them could be used for combat, and what he needed right now was one of those.

  Thanks to his magic, he found exactly the piece he was looking for, and began infusing energy into it even as he whipped it out. It wasn’t quite as smooth as popping the seal on the scroll with his thumb, but he did manage to get the folded piece open in the two seconds it took to fully infuse it.

  With the ink glowing like black, liquid light on the paper, he quick-stepped toward the hole in the ground, then threw the paper. The magic giving it a weight no single piece of paper would ever have, the sheet soared perfectly to slap into the ceiling directly above the hole. As soon as it hit the wood, the paper dissolved in a flash of fiery embers that fell toward the hole below.

  Det’s reason for throwing the paper wasn’t the embers falling into the hole, though. No, it was the inky black tentacles now stretching from the roof to snake around the unsuspecting ants. While he’d originally prepared the paper to restrain or tangle an opponent, it should work particularly well against opponents like these.

  Five limbs, bereft of any body—like they came through a portal to the void itself—grabbed ants as they crested the lip of the hole. The first, a tentacle slammed into the ceiling, mandibles first, to basically nail the ant in place. The second used the ant to play whack-a-mole on the heads of the other ants within reach. The third and fourth both grabbed the same target, ripping it in two after a second of effort. The fifth and final tentacle simply hurled the ant back into the pit after a spin and a whipping motion of the limb.

  Fast as they were, and never staying within reach of the snapping mandibles, the tentacles were a menace to the back lines of the ants, freeing up Det and his wolves to push the attack from the front.

  Ink-fiery blade leading the charge, Det and his pack hit the ants hard. Stabs, slashes, and even football-kicks all became a regular part of Det’s arsenal in his war on six-legs. Normally, he’d be all about ‘death to eight-legs’, but this was a special case. Equality and all that.

  After a brutal minute of this, the ants were no longer the aggressors, instead struggling to hold the line before the pit. A line that constantly found members missing, as tentacle-death yoinked them from above to hurl, break, or bash them. For Det, he’d found a rhythm.

  The ants were dangerous, fast, and unlike anything he’d ever fought. On the other hand, once he knew what they were going to do—and it was the same every time—their predictability made them easy targets. Even his sword style—if it could really be called that—sharpened and evolved into techniques that worked against this enemy.

  A pile of fallen ant bodies? At least two other ants were going to come charging up over like loosed arrows. One ink-flaming, horizontal cut would deal with both. Stabbing one on the ground? Ants would sweep around the blade on both sides, one always in the perfect position for a punt, while a wolf would snag the other. Open ground for a charge? They’d all come rushing along the floor, which lined them up perfectly for a wide slash.

  Best of all? For whatever reason, the ink-flames from Det’s sword only seemed to spread to other ants. A well-placed slash-then-kick-combo sent a still-burning ant flying into the back of the line. There, as it bounced and rolled across the tops of its allies, the fire spread. While the inky flames weren’t enough to immediately kill what they burned, they did inflict injuries.

  Carapaces weakened and crumpled, legs snapped, and eyes popped beneath the fire. Some were so damaged, they fell dead at the same time they reached the front line. Those that survived that long were easy pickings for Det or his wolves. The tentacles even went out of their way to grab burning ants, then use those to bash other nearby ants, further spreading the fire.

  The tentacles themselves didn’t seem able to ignite, making the tactic absolutely devastating. Also, frankly, a little scary the tentacles figured that out on their own without Det telling them to do it.

  Another mystery of how my magic actually works I need to figure out while I’m with the Mistgaurd.

  Like that, Det and his ink-allies swept the tavern free of the ant horde, though not without a cost. Two more of his ink-pack fell before he finally drove the blade of his sword straight down through the skull of an ant to nail it to the ground. Around him, there had to be hundreds of ant bodies. Or, maybe it just seemed like that. His surviving wolves—the alpha among them—stalked through the carnage, finishing off anything still twitching, while Det hauled in deep breaths.

  He'd won the fight, with only a cut along his calf where a pair of closing-ant-mandibles had gotten just a touch too close. Pity that couldn’t be the end of things, his eyes going to the darkness of the pit leading into the ground beneath the tavern.

  He still had to go down and find the woman who’d called for his help.

  Before that, though, there had been something about the ants bothering him since the beginning of the fight. He was no expert on insects or anything, but he still expected some kind of bodily fluids when they died. Did ants bleed? No friggin’ clue. Still, for the floor to be dry after the carnage? That practically begged investigation, even if it was a quick one.

  Crouching down to the ant he’d impaled not even a few seconds ago, he looked closely at the over-two-foot-long beastie. The carapace was a matte black, as were the legs and mandibles, while the eyes had lost their glow upon dying. What he’d assumed was a reflection of the light outside had to have been something internal.

  As for why an ant’s eyes would glow, he got his answer as he looked more closely at the torn-up bodies all around him. It also answered his question about why there wasn’t any liquid on the floor.

  The ants—all of them—were mechanical. They were machines.

  “Plot twist…” he muttered.