If Ninmah and the elders had any qualms about all hundred and eleven of them warping out of the village at the same time, they didn’t show it on their faces.
It was an Immanu rule that no child under the age of ten could go or warp anywhere without at least three other children going with them, so if they were all one big blob, they were probably safe. Probably. In truth, Sparrow didn’t think they were in any danger at all warping out of the village and towards the glacier—the children may not be able to fight, but they were damned good at not dying. If anything, he was going to be the only one left behind because of his exhaustible stamina.
His worry, then, mainly stemmed from the fact that the youngest of the young were still looking hesitant about the whole thing; the idea of having to massacre giant insects just to make themselves stronger just couldn’t sit well with them, even if they’d sung a prayer and had their eldest make peace with it.
… At the very least, they must watch and get used to the sight of death.
They cannot only rely on their elders to do all the hard work forever.
Right now, as the eighteen elders were still spread out across the entire length of the path towards the glacier—waving and shouting and counting every head that warped by to make sure nobody got lost along the way—he was lying flat on his stomach in the snow, cupping his hands around his eyes to block out sunlight as he scanned the glacier for any signs of movement. Ninmah and Utu warped next to him, dropping onto their stomachs as well.
They were stealing glances at him weirdly, so he glanced back only to realise they seemed to be perfectly fine staring wide-eyed at the glacier.
The reflected sunlight from all the ice is blinding me, and you guys barely feel a thing, huh?
Maybe it is a branch mutation?
And why are we back here, anyways?
I have already been to this glacier–
“I heard your first encounter with a Darkworm was a total accident,” Ninmah started, whispering as she turned around to wave the rest of the villagers over—all of them dropping to their stomachs and crawling towards the edge of the precipice. “Normally, we can’t just ‘spot’ them lurking around here and there. When they don’t want to be caught, they’ll burrow away faster than you blink and you’ll never see its tail again… so the one you killed must've been really, really curious about you to get close enough that you noticed its presence, and not the norm.”
He didn’t tear his eyes off the glacier. He guessed as much, anyways; Utu had made it sound like a big deal after he caught wind of one, which meant the Darkworms were either not at all common or extremely difficult to track down.
But considering all the Worm Mages, even the youngest of the young, had unconsciously gathered enough points to unlock up to their tier five mutations, they had to have been getting their points from somewhere—and he highly doubted the source was the snack worms Ninmah loved handing out to whoever stepped in her field of vision.
So he made a show of taking off his rifle and stabbing it in the empty air, staring at Ninmah as he did.
“... Only the eighteen of us elders are allowed to go out and hunt Darkworms,” she said, watching his expression for any facial cues. “The others are too young. We can’t risk them getting hurt for something that’s nonessential as part of our diet, and even when the eighteen of us hunt, we always go in groups of four just in case something bad happens. Do you… want to see how we usually do it?”
He nodded firmly.
Ninmah twirled around, making exaggerated motions with her arms as if on stage, and four of the bow-wielding elders volunteered by warping straight down to the glacier.
Ten metres below, the four looked far smaller and far more vulnerable than any soldier he’d seen marching on giant insect territory; they were stalking forward with their backs hunched and their bodies lowered, but not so low to actually avoid detection. They were each holding their bows, but nobody had an arrow nocked. All four of them were looking straight ahead as well, not one of them watching another’s flank, or covering for each other’s weaknesses. Granted, they may have mutations capable of protecting them—or their attribute levels were just so high they could afford to be lax—but Sparrow couldn’t help but feel a twinge of unease in his stomach as he watched them slowly wade out onto the glacier.
He tapped Ninmah’s shoulder as they kept trudging forward, knitting his brows together.
“We can’t see Darkworms if they don’t want to be seen, so whenever we go out on a hunt, we have to lure them to us,” Ninmah whispered back, pointing out at the glacier. “Watch.”
…
So he did.
And the whole time, his fingers were tightly curled around his rifle.
The four walked a dozen or so metres out onto the ice, not bothering with warping, and then all of them stopped. Abruptly. Quietly. Three of them kneeled while the fourth finally nocked an arrow onto their bow, and while she took her sweet time doing so slowly, the others started humming an old tune in their warping voices—a swell of daunting, taunting music, the wordless lyrics moving across the sky like a blustery morning breeze.
For the first time, Sparrow felt he caught the ‘lyrics’.
“Oh̷, ̴bl̵ack w̴or̸m̷, ̷bl̷ack mo̷o̸n,”
̵“S̸he̵d y̶our̷ m̵etal co̶il̶, ̵dous̷e y̸o̴ur w̸oun̵d̴s ̵in salt̴,̵”
̶“The ̷Barrow̴s ̶calls ̵y̵our ̷name, y̷our̵ ̵fami̸l̶y m̸isse̴s yo̷u d̷e̴arly ̶so,̶”̵
̸“O̴h, ̵blac̷k wor̶m,̸ black ̵moon,”
“Come.”
“To.”
“Me.”
A warping force, a forceful command—and in the three hundred metre distance, it arrived. Sparrow saw it first. Ninmah and Utu tightened their lips after. It was a nauseating black splotch surging just beneath the surface of the glacier, like a parasite festering beneath human skin, a stark contrast to the azure blue and white of the ice; he couldn’t help but twitch an eye as the black splotch responded to the song as though under a spell, tearing forward at twenty metres a second and looking mighty unstoppable for how fast it was moving.
“The Darkworms are just Brightworms that have gone feral after their original worm villages—their original Barrows—were destroyed, after all,” Ninmah explained in a hushed, nervous whisper. “If we can communicate with the Brightworms in our tongue, then it stands to reason that the Darkworms, to a certain extent, can understand us as well. They’re drawn to Immanu because they long to be in the Barrows once more, but… we can’t let them in. Our Barrows are for our Brightworms only.”
She said it all so casually, but neither her nor Utu nor any of the children lying around them seemed to understand the weight of their words. For his part, Sparrow was certainly shocked; here he’d been thinking he’d have to spend a month or two learning the usual hunting tactics of the Worm Mages before devising a more efficient strategy, but now she was saying they could just call something that could be a source of attribute points over at will?
Was that really just an inherent trait of the Darkworms, or was that the power of their warping voice?
I understand bits of what they are saying, too.
Since I already remember what their ‘words’ sound like, can I speak in their tongue too?
He still couldn’t speak without cutting his tongue to shreds, but from what he’d noticed the entire past month of listening in silence, the Worm Mages didn’t exactly ‘produce’ their warping voices by undulating their throats. More strictly speaking, the warping voices were observable, almost magical twists in the air that had equally physical effects on the world around them. Ninmah making wormholes in her palm to distort the air and suck things towards her was one thing; the youngest of the young barely needing to pay attention to create a house-shaking voice was a completely different thing.
Stolen novel; please report.
There was a very high chance that the warping voice was the third and final tier one branch mutation, alongside making wormholes and the warping step.
In that case, he should already be capable of using his warping voice, and Ninmah just hadn’t realised it was something she could teach him.
Think.
How does their tongue work?
If I can learn how to do it, then maybe I can… talk…. To…
…
Something caught his eye.
Something was off.
He scowled down at the group of four and realised, with the black splotch about to charge into them, that there was still only one person holding up their bow and arrow.
The rest were just singing.
… What are you guys doing?
As the splotch grew in size, and the ruptures in the glacier became loud enough that he was sure even the youngest of the young at the far back could hear them, he felt he couldn’t wait any longer. He didn’t know what they were waiting for. All four of them needed their bows raised and arrows nocked ten or so seconds ago. He tried to shoot onto his feet, tightening his grip on his bayonet rifle one last time before warping down–
Utu grabbed his ankle and stopped him before he could go, warping backwards at the exact same time as his warping forward to counter his movement.
“No interrupt,” Utu grumbled, and for the first time ever, Sparrow heard the boy’s voice loud and clear—clear was the important word. “Only… uh, only four hunt a Darkworm at the same time, but only one can hold bow and arrow. Only one can kill. If all four have blood on hands, can’t eat. Cursed meat. No good.”
He blinked pointedly back at the boy.
What kind of tradition is that?
Ninmah tugged on his ankle on the other side, trying to get him to lie back down. “Utu said it’s tradition. Before our parents left, they said if we must hunt Darkworms for any special occasions, no more than one of us can cause it pain and suffering. It’s cruel otherwise to pelt it with arrows when only one clean arrow is needed to shatter its core inside its mouth. That’s why–”
He hit her on the head with the stock of his rifle and grunted, making her let go of his ankle with a quiet youch.
Stupid.
That is no Darkworm you are calling over.
He didn’t exactly relish the act, but he kicked snow into Utu’s face to get the boy to let go as well before warping right down, making the four elders whirl in surprise. He hadn’t been quiet nor gentle about his descent, though that was because he couldn’t afford to be—the Worm Mages may have their own methods of hunting Darkworms, but when the Boreus first showed up at the village by climbing over the blackrock mountains, the glacier they’d come in the direction of was already as good as theirs.
As long as the Darkworms were feral beasts, they would be no match against the Boreus.
[Strength: 4 → 6]
[Unallocated Points: 42 → 1]
Dashing into a warp and shoving the child with the bow down, he focused all his strength in his thigh, his waist, his shoulder, his arm, power pushing all the way through as he thrust his bayonet forward.
Right on time.
His bayonet lunged, blade going ground to sky just as the giant Boreus burst out the glacier in front of him. The chitin on its back may be tough, but its underside was fleshy, segmented, full of vulnerabilities and full of internal organs for him to gouge through. As the Boreus slammed thorax-first into his bayonet and he skidded back on the ice, grinding his teeth, he pushed forward again and held his weapon firm—the impact force vibrating through it, his arms, then through his body.
The Boreus screeched in what might’ve been surprise and what might’ve been pain, but not for long. The strength of six men driving a bayonet into the most vulnerable part of its body was nothing to be looked down upon. He skidded only a good ten metres back before its legs went limp, snow and ice washing off its back, and he ripped his bayonet out while warping away to let it fall with a massive thump.
… So six levels in strength is enough to drive a knife deep enough into its vital organs.
Good to know.
As the four children and half a dozen more elders warped down to quickly warp the entire Boreus carcass up the cliff, he turned and narrowed his eyes at the endless glacier behind him; it may be pretty and plain-looking on the surface, but it’d been two weeks since their initial invasion, and there was a very good chance that any Darkworm using the glacier as a nest were already all but eradicated.
That was how the Swarm operated.
With one hand rubbing his strained shoulder, he warped back up the cliff with the rest of the children and immediately stood atop the dead Boreus, looking over the hundred and eleven with his lips thinned into a lip.
Ninmah was right under him, looking ready to translate whatever he might gesture, but frankly he didn’t know what he wanted to say.
They were horrible at hunting, and their traditions would kill them sooner or later if they didn’t get rid of them.
So, sternly, he raised two fingers on one hand and closed his fist with the other, before jabbing at the carcass he was standing on.
“... You want twenty people hunting in the same group?” Ninmah asked, voice unsure, fidgeting with her fingers as she averted his gaze. “That’s… a lot of people, no? I’m not sure we can spare that many not handling chores in the village at a time. Besides, um, we only usually have one designated hunting group per day, so that’s only four people a day–”
He wasn’t done yet. He mimed drawing a bowstring back, putting all his might into the motion, before repeating the ‘twenty’ gesture again—a message that made Ninmah’s face pale even further.
“And… you want us to shoot our prey all at once as well?” she asked, evidently unnerved by his suggestion. “That’s a lot of arrows that’ll hurt it a ton. It’s… going to hurt. It’ll be cruel. At the end of the day, we’re still hunting Darkworms, so… I don’t… is there another–”
He stabbed his bayonet between the eyes of the Boreus beneath him, making everyone jolt in surprise, and then ripped it out to point at the glacier behind him.
Without an ounce of amusement, he swept his bayonet across the whole glacier, from mountain to mountain, from ravine to ravine—and only then did Ninmah and the elders seem to understand what was going on here.
Seeing the Boreus that’d responded to their warping voice wasn’t enough; for people who didn’t know how quickly the Swarm could infest a region, he needed to be firm.
They needed to understand Immanu was no longer theirs and the Darkworms’ alone.
If you do not use everything at your disposal and fight like your livelihoods depend on it, the Swarm will devour you like they have already devoured your glacier.
What will you choose, Worm Mages?
Tradition, or Immanu?
…
It wasn’t like he couldn’t understand why they were hesitant, though. Not only would they have to massacre swathes of giant insects for power, they’d also have to break their own traditions and principles in the process; it couldn’t be easy to swallow all in a single morning.
… But I know already.
You are not that weak.
With your voice that can bend the world to your will, you will pick the ‘in-between’–
“We’ll do it,” Utu said, the air trembling around him as he spoke, and his voice was neither calm nor peaceful in the slightest; his face was twisted into a nasty scowl as he looked out at the glacier. “The Darkworms are ours to hunt, and these bugs think they can come in here and get rid of all of them for us? No. No way. What will mom and dad say once they come back and see they’ve nothing to hunt for special occasions anymore?”
His voice had the other children shifting where they lay. One by one, head by head, the snow and the stones and the mountain beneath them seemed to rumble with the quiet, seething anger of knowing something was being taken from them—and if Sparrow was worried they weren’t going to fully devote themselves to getting stronger, he wasn’t at all now, seeing the fire and the spark of pride in Ninmah’s eyes.
They were eyes that said they didn’t want to give up their village no matter what they had to do.
“… Then, as per the only hunting tradition we’ll still be following,” Ninmah said, cutting out a small chunk of raw flesh from the Boreus’ head with a carving knife and warping up to him as she did, “the child who slays the beast will get the first raw bite.”
She held her carving knife before his mouth as though she were trying to feed him, and, for what it was worth, he appreciated the gesture of goodwill.
But it was a little embarrassing after all.
So he snatched the small chunk of meat off her knife and quickly shoved it into his mouth, turning away.
[Unallocated Points: 1 → 4]
It was a bit of a waste of points eating raw insect flesh, but if it got Ninmah slapping his back with a laugh and the children shooting to their feet, excited to actually follow some of their elders out on hunts for once, then so be it.
… I still want to learn how to speak in that warping voice, though.
While the elders started organising children into groups to rotate daily hunts with, he took a peek at his status screen and figured it was probably about time.
He knew, from one of his many idle and one-sided conversations with her, that Ninmah had a considerable number of books in her house.
Instead of randomly picking which tier mutations he should unlock with his points from now on, he should probably try to learn how to read.