Across the endless dark, the Hive retreated.
Not out of weakness.
Not out of defeat.
But out of confusion.
The High Queen's mind pulsed with overlapping thoughts, trying to untangle the message Zion had forced into her lattice through a devourer's dying flesh. The data felt… corrupted. Tainted by something foreign. Human.
Her neural cores demanded an answer.
What was fear?
What was this freedom Zion spoke of?
What kind of creature kills without needing to feed—and mocks the one who hungers?
A command was issued:
Retreat. Study. Understand.
Meanwhile, far from the Hive's shifting nests, the gods, demons, and mortals of Bassoon gathered beneath Zion's banner.
In the heart of the warbase, Zion stood at the edge of a vast obsidian table, surrounded by the pantheons of every realm.
Papa Legba leaned against a gate-shaped staff.
Ogou Feray stood behind him, arms folded like a silent storm.
Thalia and Ayola, adorned in war regalia, listened with sharp focus.
Each of Zion's five wives, and seven closest companions, filled the ranks of the High Council.
The room was tense—until Zion spoke.
"We are not here to survive," he said.
"We are here to teach."
Eyes shifted. Whispers silenced.
"The Hive consumes to grow. We will grow by making them fear what they cannot devour."
He paced the room slowly, deliberately.
"I want every god, every demon, and every warrior to become a story. A terror whispered through the Hive's lattice.
I want the queens to think before they send their marshals.
I want them to see a Lord Marshal fall—and hear one thing echo through their hive mind:
'Thank you for the food.'"
There was silence.
Then a rumble—low laughter from the gods of war. Ogou's eyes gleamed. Even the older gods, jaded by eternity, felt the stirrings of something ancient: a war they could believe in.
Zion unfurled the battle map.
"I will remain near the Hive's front. I'll be bait."
"But you… you will be the blade."
"Strike down their Lord Marshals. Strike down their faith.
And when you do… send the heads back. With a smile."
A silence passed. Then nods.
The pantheons dispersed—not with hope, but with intent. Fear would be born in the belly of the devourers.
The game had changed.
Zion didn't just want to win.
He wanted to make the Hive… afraid to eat.