For a couple of flying rodents, this sapient pair is annoyingly persistent.

I'm now nearing the end of the abandoned region, but regardless of the rocks I weave between, the obscuring broken overhangs I slide beneath, or the speed at which I slip through them all, the fake-winged rats keep on my tail. Soon enough, there will be more of the creatures swarming this place, and I’d rather not have any knowing exactly where I am.

Their observation might not be terrible. As they hold their distance, it is clear they have no intent on attacking like many of the other sapient races. If they want to follow me without getting in my way, then I hold no opposition. But I don’t trust they won’t. I don’t believe they won’t try to attack or ambush me the moment they think they can get away with it, regardless of how obvious it should be that I am too much for them.

Swarms can be like that.

As I slither further from the fissure, the nests grow far more intact. The walls around me are whole, and the places to hide become sparse. I try to use the corners of the nest to have my pursuers lose sight of me, but such attempts never work. They read my mind. Any time there is a section of wall that I can hide behind, one of the two diverts their flight to where they can keep an eye on me at all times. I have to remember that while these sapients don’t have the strength, they are intelligent. Such basic tactics I’ve become accustomed to will not work.

But, despite their intelligence, it's obvious they have no familiarity with spatial distortions.

I form a bend at my current maximum distance — not even as long as my smallest length — but it is enough to connect myself to the interior of the enclosed nest. From the perspective of the sharp, yet lacking eyes above, I have disappeared.

The interior of this abandoned nest is filthy. A thick sheen of dust covers the floor, and kicks up into a plume through the small cavern as I rush to the other side. I don’t have time to waste. The quicker I breach the other side, the better my chances will be to avoid being found again. Hopefully, those two will waste time trying to find where I went.

I could kill those two in an instant. It would be easy. A flick through the air and a snap with my jaw and they’d be gone in moments. But… I now find the very idea of attacking first distasteful. Unless I’m hunting, or have already been struck, I don’t want to subject other creatures to the horror of being so completely overwhelmed and unable to defend themselves.

A bend appears and I slide out the other side of the nest. Not a flying sapient in sight. Wasting no time, I slither forward. The moment I pass another of those permanent communication warnings, signs of life suddenly become regular. Each nest holds the sound of conversation, random clatters, and the thump of footsteps; all muffled by the walls that hold them, but apparent non-the-less.

The gap between rows of nests extends far through the hive; an extensive path of stone arrayed near perfectly flat. In the distance, thousands of sapients congregate in the space between nests, their numbers continuing until the path curves to the side and my sight is blocked.

Before I can consider my options — whether to avoid the creatures completely, or rush through them — a whistle echoes from behind me. The flying rodent has found me. The second turns around the nest, coming from the opposite side of the one who whistled. It’s eyes snap to me instantly upon turning the corner, once again proving the species only good aspects; their eyesight and reaction time.

Wasting no time, I snap along the earth, sliding through bends but mostly keeping low. If they’ve found me this quick, than there will be no point doing making the same attempt again. I need to shake them with another method… and the large crowd provide just that.

My sudden increased pace startles the two, and I hear a few indecipherable squeaks before one glides off to the side, passing through a narrower path linked to this main one. Where is it going? Has it given up the chase? If so, good. It will be much easier to lose only one through the crowd of sapients.

I’m a bit annoyed at myself. Once I’d slithered out from the nest I passed through, I should have gotten out of sight immediately. These are sapients. They have the intelligence to see through the plan that would have worked on any other beast. I’d assumed they would try to find me directly; either breaking through the wall where I entered, or staying near in hopes I would come out. Of course, they would keep an eye on the perimeter of the nest rather than chase me into what could easily be a trap. I see that now.

Many sapients shout in surprise and leap out of the way as I brush past them in my rush down the path. Their reactions are mostly startled. As soon as I’m a couple paces away, they relax, as if I couldn’t close the distance and pierce their necks in an instant.

I do take comfort in the fact that none that notice me attack. They shout to their neighbours, warning them of my approach, but they don’t bring out their fake-claws or pellet-flingers to attack me. Confirmation that it is only their strongest that are inherently aggressive. Does that mean there are dedicated roles amongst them? As with any other species that survives with colonies, there must be castes. I thought that might have been fulfilled by the differing species, but it looks like I was wrong. Any can be warriors. And any can be workers.

This is good; I can slither through the entire crowd without having to slaughter every one that strikes at me.

As I slither through the hive — attracting no small amount of attention — I find that the rock and wood that form each nest are inlaid with patterns that exude energy. It is similar, albeit far inferior, from that which I felt in the pillar of the warped tunnels. This energy holds a slight warmth to it, but the warmth holds none of the nourishment that came with the pillar.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Strange, pleasant, scents reach my nostrils. My tongue darts out. The intense array of new smells quickly makes my mouth water.

All around me, the sapients — those who haven’t leapt away in fright of me — sit in seats similar to those I saw in the train, but thinner. The creatures often sit in circles, with a flat surface held up by four wooden legs between them. These small groups are numerous; taking up the majority of the sapients in this section of the path. The rest walk, often stopping before the open walls of the nests to the sides.

It doesn’t take more than a moment to realise that this must be where they feed. Between the pleasant scent of meat and the sapients’ strange use of smaller fake-claws to carry the foods to their mouths, it is obvious… but I can’t smell blood at all. Somehow these sapients have managed to make things smell amazing without the raw tinge of blood tingling my tongue.

I leap up onto one of those raised surfaces the sapients use to hold their prey. The action startles each of the five out of their seats, but I have eyes only for their meals. I recognise nothing. No animal I know has such a crisp texture to it in death. Maybe some crustaceans come close, but this is obviously not that.

There are the obvious signs of leaves and other small plants besides the pieces of meat, but I ignore them. It’s the one item on the plate that I cannot comprehend at all. Why do these sapients have such an obsession with having things in rectangular shapes.

Curious, I snap up the square stick, still blinded by the intense unfamiliar scents. As soon as the square touches my mouth, I nearly gag. Spitting it out, I turn to the last object on the — stone? crystal? — disk. This must be where the scent of meat is coming from. It smells vaguely avian, but there is so much covering the scent, that I can’t be sure.

The moment it's in my mouth, my saliva flows. It hasn't even been that long since I've feasted, and yet I swallow it without restraint.

The incredible taste touching my stomach isn't nearly as filling as the Ōmukade, but its beauty lies in its taste.

How have they made such wondrous meat?

My guess was right. It is the breast of some sort of fowl, and yet it tastes nothing like any other. I've always thought that meat could never taste good without it being alive, But this… It remains warm even long after death.

If I could learn how they do this, then maybe the unfortunate creatures that become my prey won’t have to suffer being digested alive. Sure, they may have to die regardless — as is the way of nature — but they won’t have to feel the agony and horror of living their last moments knowing they can do nothing in the face of a creature far stronger.

As I relish the warmth of my meal, one of those antlered khirig — the same one who I stole this prey from — swings some sort of satchel at me. It knocks me from the raised surface, but also it sends all the disks holding their food to the ground along with me. The disks shatter, revealing them not to be either stone or crystal at all.

I hiss at the creature, ready to give it all its worth for striking me but I’m stopped when, from the corner of my eye, I catch that flying squirrel again. It peels out from the side gap between nests, moving far faster than before.

That’s strange. I didn’t think they could move that fast without being thrown by one of the other sapient races. As soon as I have the thought, another sapient bounds out from behind the little creature. Like the one who just knocked me from the surface, a khirig.

Considering its pace, and the distance it leaps with each step, this is not one of the common worker caste.

I, unfortunately, have to forgive the one who swung at me the moment the khirig's eyes land on mine. The undeniable scent and taste of the sapients’ feast was too much of a distraction, and I had forgotten my reason for rushing through the crowd in the first place. So, I snap away from the table, once again slithering between the legs and tentacles of any I pass.

Most aren't even quick enough to realise I've been there, and those that are, stumble away long after I've already shot past them.

I’d been complacent. Of course the fake-winged rodent hadn’t given up on the chase. It can communicate after all, it would be simple to collect one of the warrior caste and direct them to my location. Again, I had treated these sapients as I would any other creature. I need to adjust to their methods; they aren’t nearly as simple as any common beast or swarm.

Thankfully, the crowd itself seems incredibly slow to realise that there's danger in their midst. Conversation continue overhead, not even realising that a predator strong enough to eat them all just slithered between them.

A glance through a mirrored bend reveals that the khirig chasing me has trouble spotting me through the dense crowd, but the two flying above have no such problems. Their eyes never leave my form. And whenever the khirig seems to lose me, their presence directly above me reorients it.

It only takes a couple repetitions of this for the focus of the antlered warrior to shift. The moment its eyes shift to the walls of the nests, I know its plan has changed. It steps away. In a moment, its antler slaps against the wall. Not hard, but the action sends energy thrumming through the lines covering each wall. I watch as it spreads along the path faster than I could ever hope to move, and branches through and overhanging arch connecting the nests on both sides of the path. Rapidly, the energy spreads through every nest in sight, and unleashes a high pitched shriek.

The sound is brief, but it is enough for all conversation to stop and every worker caste to halt.

A voice takes the place of the shriek. Loud, and originating from everywhere. “Lockdown is now in effect. Leave the streets and make your way to the nearest building before locking the shutters.”

I realise that despite the words coming from all around me, it is the khirig empowering the wall that moves its mouth. How does it do that? Can it somehow replicate the effect of the warped tunnels without making any distortions?

“The mercenary order will soon arrive to deal with the threat. If you see a snake or any other serpentine creature, please scream.”

The khirig’s voice carries over all, but for a few moments, nobody moves. It’s as if they were struck by the pressure of a presence. The khirig, realising the same, raises its voice, only this time not projecting it through the energy.

“Move. Now.” Its voice carries a slight tinge of presence where before there was none. I find it incredibly odd that these creatures move when feeling that pressure, yet freeze when there is none. Every other time I’ve felt or used it, the effect has been the opposite.

I may have been making the mistake of treating these sapients as any other creatures, but it seems they aren’t immune to doing the same. I take the foolishly given warning, and follow the sapients into their nests — buildings — before blinking through the wall to brush off the fake-winged sapients’ gazes. Hiding amongst the crowd cramped within the next nest is easy.

Good luck if they want to find me now.