They departed soon after, and saw that the battleground around the shack was all the same. Even this far along they still followed the path plotted out by the map, for it once more led them into a tunnel of nigh-impenetrable brambles.

It only took a few dozen meters into the last stretch of their trek for the incessant sounds of locusts to once more overtake all others, skittering and chewing chief among them. The walls of their verdant path shook and shuddered constantly, locusts peering through what few gaps were to be found.

“Isn’t this indirectly feeding them?” Zel wondered.

Strolvath sighed heavily, “Yeah, it is. Just this artificial bramble is enough to replace all the locusts we killed yesterday, but it’s our best shot at reaching the dungeon unscathed.”

“Who even planted all this?” Zef cut in with a question of her own.

“The same madman that nearly snuck into the dungeon just to take pictures,” the singer chuckled. “War journalists are crazy bastards.”

Despite the all-consuming noise, something was off. The usual stench was absent, replaced by one more like that of dead locust. Moreover, the noise surrounded the bramble and only the bramble, as if there were no locusts spread throughout the rest of the forest.

When at last they emerged after a good twenty minutes of crawling through the arboreal tunnel, Zel’s suspicions were answered. It led into another stretch of forest, which according to the map was barely out of sight from the dungeon entrance. Wading through the grass and bushes to the sound of distant locust wings made them feel no less tense, with hands hovering over weapons and eyes picking out possible points of ambush. Even Strolvath broke his in-control facade, holding his boot knife and a bottle of Vitamax at the ready.

It felt as though the forest thinned with each step taken, patches of barren ground and trees stripped of their greenery slowly taking over until the forest was a barren maze of wooden pillars. They could clearly see locust drones surrounding them at a distance, and though at first it felt like they were being followed, it was the opposite - the drones leapt to the opportunity to give them a wide berth when the creatures smelled them coming.

“We still stink of impending death to them,” Strol pointed out. “They’ll avoid us unless directly ordered to do otherwise. Hate this part.”

At last, the desolate landscape she’d seen in the photos unfolded in front of Zelsys. Compared to her memory of the picture, the area of stripped land was nearly twice as large as it had been when the picture was taken. In the absence of any man made detritus, it looked even deader than the battlefield. Just… Bare dirt and pools of mud mixed with the locust’s yellowish waste.

There was no battle-line, no awaiting horde of locusts to stop them from crossing the desolate field. After exchanging looks, they took up a wedge formation with Zelsys in the front, the Inquisitor to the left, Zefaris to the right, and Strolvath himself behind all three.

It was to ready them against an assault they deemed inevitable, to ensure they could cross the field with a little less risk, but… The attack never came. As they made their way towards the cave’s mouth, more drones scuttled towards it, still giving them a wide berth. At one point, the flood of brownish chitin surrounded them utterly, painting out a nearly perfect circle of scent into which the drones would not venture.

The sudden, swarming retreat ended long before they reached the cave, but when it did, there was one figure waiting for them at its mouth. A slender figure, in a red dress. She reached out, beckoning with her mantis-like second forearm.

“If it isn’t the least hideous bug this side of the wall,” Zelsys smugged at the Red Mantis, provoking her from the very outset. “But then, that’s not saying much, is it?”

“That’s rich, coming from a meat golem with a man-jaw sharper than my scythes,” the Mantis spat back, audibly frustrated. “But then, it’s no surprise you’ve no sense for aesthetics. You are nothing more than a stained-glass simulacrum without an ancestry, without a people, without a purpose. Barely more human than some islander primitive!”

“Is that meant to induce an existential crisis?” Zel asked mockingly. “I suppose you would care for ancestry and bloodline, seeing as you lack any legitimate merits of your own.”

One of the many segments of her face twitching, the Mantis swept her gaze across the rest of them.

“Count yourselves lucky that we’ll let the dungeon kill you for us,” she said with murder in her eyes and venom on her tongue. As far as Zel could tell she wasn’t lying, but she wasn’t telling the whole truth either. It felt like she didn’t have a choice, even as she led them into the earth. The interior of the cave was nearly entirely covered in a material resembling the hives of wasps, organic and nearly fleshy in appearance. As the light of day faded from sight, Strolvath reached into one of his pockets and retrieved something, something that lit up milky-white when he flicked it - he’d taken the lightgem from the cabin.

Audibly perplexed Strolvath questioned her, “What made y’think we wouldn’t just kill ya?”

The mantis stopped dead in her tracks and whipped around, spreading her arms to their fullest extent, scythe-like mantis claws glistening in what little light reached this far down. Her face contorted into a predatory grin, and almost pleadingly she offered, “Go on, take your swing. Better make it count. Better kill me in one shot.”

She stared at him, and he stared right back. Her expression and body language alike shifted, and turning around she just said, “That’s what I thought.”

Each step deeper into the cave only made Zel’s suspicion grow deeper, scratching at the back of her mind like a bug in your ear. The Mantis made no qualms about making clear her desire to murder them right then and there, yet she took no actions, as if she were unable. But why?