FREE USE in Primitive World

Chapter 243: Chapter 243: Inside The Hellhole

He thought he had been caught. He thought a Layer 2 beast had spotted him leaving the tree.

He slowly, agonizingly turned his head, his eyes wide, his muscles coiled like a steel spring ready to snap.

Lying in the mud, mere inches from his leg, was indeed a Dreadwing.

But it wasn’t attacking. It wasn’t even breathing.

Heck, it wasn’t even complete, It was just the torso. The entire lower half of the massive, stone-armored insect had been sheared cleanly off, likely by the superheated, guillotine-like mandibles of a Layer 2 Commander ant. Its beautiful, translucent crystal wings were shattered into jagged, useless stumps.

The creature’s massive, faceted gem-eyes were still wide open, staring blankly and accusingly up at the overlapping purple canopy. Thick, glowing green blood was rapidly leaking from its ruined, open thorax, actively melting the moss and dirt around Sol’s boot into a bubbling, toxic puddle.

It hadn’t ambushed him. It had simply been violently thrown from the crater during the chaotic melee, a piece of biological shrapnel landing right next to him by pure, horrific chance.

Sol stared at the bisected insect for three long seconds.

Slowly, he let out a long, shaky, entirely silent exhale through his nose. His grip on the Void-Oak spear relaxed just a fraction, the overwhelming tension bleeding out of his shoulders. He closed his eyes, willing his racing heartbeat to slow down from a frantic gallop back to a manageable sprint.

“Gods,” Sol mouthed silently, carefully stepping back to avoid the expanding pool of acid. “I’m going to have a literal heart attack before a beast even manages to touch me. This world is terrible for my blood pressure.”

He took a steadying breath, re-centered his focus, and continued moving.

He navigated the treacherous perimeter of the battlefield, using the colossal root systems and the dense patches of giant ferns as cover. He moved with agonizing slowness, constantly checking the sky for falling debris or stray aerial bombers.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of creeping through the shadows, he reached his destination.

Carved into the side of a massive, sloping embankment just outside the main crater was the entrance to the colony. Because the inhabitants of the Great Orrath were terrifyingly massive, the entrance wasn’t a small, hidden hole in the dirt.

It was a cavernous, gaping maw easily fifteen feet high and twenty feet wide. It looked like the entrance to a subterranean dungeon, reinforced with hardened, regurgitated earth and thick layers of dried, acidic saliva that gave the walls a sickly, glossy sheen in the dim light.

The ants are a subterranean species. Their tunnels must spider-web for miles in every direction, including North, Sol theorized. With the entire colony currently swarming the surface to fight the Badgers and Dreadwings, the tunnels should be relatively empty.

As he looked inside, all he could see was darkness, It was dark. It was incredibly, profoundly scary. The sheer scale of the tunnel was a glaring reminder that he was willingly walking into the literal belly of the beast.

Sol paused at the threshold, taking one last look at the apocalyptic war raging in the crater behind him, ensuring no stragglers were watching him. Then, he turned and stepped into the absolute blackness of the entrance.

The transition was immediate and intensely oppressive.

The moment he stepped out of the twilight of the jungle and into the subterranean tunnel, the deafening noise of the massive war above became muffled, replaced by a heavy, suffocating silence that pressed against his eardrums.

The air here was incredibly humid, clinging to his skin and his clothes like a wet, heavy blanket. The stench of raw formic acid, damp earth, and potent, chemical pheromones was so concentrated it made his eyes water instantly.

But thankfully, since the ants were so astronomically big, the tunnel was more than big enough for him to navigate comfortably. He could easily stand up straight with his spear fully extended and not even brush the ceiling.

The muffled, distant vibrations of the apocalyptic war raging on the surface occasionally shook dust loose from the ceiling, but down here, the silence was thick, heavy, and deeply malignant.

He activated his Crimson-Sight, pushing his visual perception to its absolute limits to pierce the gloom. The world shifted from pitch-black darkness to a stark, thermal landscape of cool blues and ambient greys.

The architecture of the giant ants was alien and terrifyingly efficient. The walls of the tunnels were perfectly smooth, lacking the jagged roughness of a natural cave. They had been meticulously excavated and cemented together by millions of mandibles, coated in a thick, glossy layer of regurgitated earth and dried acidic slime. It looked less like a tunnel and more like the inside of a colossal, petrified esophagus.

Thick, petrified tree roots broke through the ceiling and walls at random intervals, covered in a strange, pale, bioluminescent mold that provided a very faint, sickly yellow glow to the subterranean world.

The stench was nearly unbearable. It wasn’t just the sharp, chemical burn of raw formic acid; it was layered with the cloying, sweet reek of decay, the musty odor of ancient fungus, and a thick, heavy musk of aggressive pheromones that made his eyes water and his throat close up.

“Alright,” Sol breathed, his voice barely a microscopic whisper in the dark. “Let’s see what a multi-generational apex colony keeps in its basement.”

The tunnel before him was a winding, jagged labyrinth of hardened earth. It sloped downward, plunging deep into the planetary crust of the Great Orrath.

He moved forward cautiously, his boots making absolutely no sound on the packed earth. He kept his breathing shallow, actively suppressing the heavy, roaring aura of his Golden Liquid core until it was nothing more than a faint, contained ember in his chest. In this pitch-black labyrinth, stealth was his absolute only armor.

After ten minutes of silent descent, the tunnel began to wind and descend deeper into the earth. It wasn’t a single, straight path. Within a few more minutes, Sol reached a massive junction where the tunnel branched off into dozens, different, equally massive corridors, leading to different sections of the sprawling underground empire.

As he stopped, and looked around, he felt the crushing, claustrophobic weight of the Great Orrath bearing down on his shoulders. Millions of tons of earth and petrified root systems hung directly above his head, held up only by the hardened, regurgitated spit of giant insects.

Left, right, or center? Sol thought, looking at the intersection.

He crouched down, examining the floor. He didn’t possess a tracking skill, but common sense dictated that the most heavily trafficked tunnels would have the most wear and tear. He noticed deep, jagged gouges in the hardened earth of the far-right tunnel… the undeniable marks of massive, serrated legs frantically scrambling upward toward the surface. So, he took a deep breath and chose it.

The descent was agonizingly tense. The deeper he went, the hotter and more stifling the air became. The suffocating stench of concentrated formic acid was joined by a new, profoundly foul odor… the sickly-sweet, coppery reek of rotting meat and stagnant blood.

He hugged the curved wall, placing his boots carefully to avoid the sticky, translucent puddles of acidic saliva that dotted the floor.

After ten minutes of silent, tense creeping, the tunnel opened up into a massive, cavernous chamber.

Sol stepped up to the threshold and peered inside. His stomach performed a violent, involuntary flip. And, he instantly had to clap his hand over his mouth and nose to physically stop himself from gagging.