The fissure had become their world.

  Red growth carpeted the lower walls, thick clusters swelling at every tunnel mouth, and the Nuxali moved among them in a constant, restless cycle of tearing, chewing, swallowing. The air was permanently saturated with the metallic-sweet scent of the mushrooms. It clung to their hides, to their breath, to the mud beneath their claws.

  They were no longer lean.

  Where once there had been taut muscle and coiled precision, there was now mass heavy shoulders, thickened necks, swollen flanks. Their movements had lost their old sharpness, no more silent coordination and no more fluid, predatory grace. They pushed past one another, shoulders collided and jaws snapped impatiently over the same cluster.

  But none of them seemed to notice.

  Or care.

  They ate.

  One would rip a mushroom free, red fibers stretching wetly before snapping apart. Another would shove in from the side, snarling, only to forget the aggression seconds later once its mouth was full. Thick juice ran down chins and onto the stone. Some barely swallowed before reaching for the next.

  Even the Queen no longer moved with measured authority. She fed openly now, frequently, her mental presence pulsing in dull waves of appetite rather than command.

  Above them, the savanna wind moved unseen.

  Below, in the torn earth, the pack consumed and consumed and consumed.

  All day the pack fed.

  They tore, swallowed, shifted a few paces, and fed again. The rhythm had become mechanical. Even the pauses between mouthfuls felt brief and impatient. The fissure echoed with wet tearing sounds and low, satisfied growls.

  By the time the sun began to sink beyond the torn edge of the earth, their bellies were swollen and heavy. Red fibers clung to their jaws and claws. The metallic sweetness in the air had grown so thick it almost felt solid.

  As the light faded, one by one, the Nuxali lowered themselves beside the nearest cluster of mushrooms.

  They did this every night.

  Their night vision was poor; shadows blurred into deeper shadows, and the narrow walls of the fissure swallowed detail. So they kept the food close always within reach, a lazy stretch of the neck, a simple turn of the head: eat, rest, eat again.

  The cycle continued even in darkness.

  Some chewed half-asleep. Others drifted off with pieces still clutched in their claws. Now and then, one would stir, tear another mouthful free, and sink back down into sluggish contentment.

  Above, the sky darkened completely.

  Below, the pack surrendered to the dull rhythm of consumption and sleep.

  But this night was not like the others.

  They did not hear the first movement.

  They did not notice the faint scrape of claw against stone far down one of the narrow bends, nor did they sense the shifting air currents carrying unfamiliar scent.

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  Predators had entered the fissure.

  They moved with patient precision through the twisting corridors, bodies low, breathing controlled. Unlike the Nuxali, they navigated the darkness effortlessly. They did not stumble, did not brush against the walls. Their eyes adjusted. Their steps were measured.

  They advanced through the winding paths in silence, closer and closer still.

  Until the red glow of mushroom clusters began to stain the stone ahead.

  And the feeding grounds lay just beyond the next bend.

  They listened from behind the twisting walls, trying to understand the Nuxali’s movements. They wanted to catch them off guard.

  They had come because of the rich scent that had reached their noses and awakened their hunger but they would not refuse easy prey either.

  After a brief period of observation and careful listening, they realized their targets were almost completely defenseless. Nearly all of them were asleep. The few that remained awake were only half-conscious, lazily feeding on the fragrant mushrooms.

  They did not know the exact number of Nuxali, since most were lying inside the tunnels, but there was no need to wait. A sudden night assault would be enough to slaughter them all.

  They moved as one.

  With small, careful steps, making sure not to make a sound, they slowly approached three Nuxali sleeping at the tunnel entrances. They came so close that they were practically at the edge of their snouts yet the Nuxali still failed to detect their scent.

  Their noses had grown completely accustomed to the overwhelming smell of the mushrooms. It was as if they had become dulled to all other scents.

  Then, in perfect synchronization, the predators lunged and sank their teeth into the necks of all three Nuxali at the same moment.

  A wave of pain surged through the victims.

  They did not even understand what was happening. Their eyes snapped open, and they tried to leap to their feet but failed. The attackers were clearly stronger and already on top of them, pressing their full weight down.

  The Nuxali had gained considerable weight. They had grown sluggish.

  The Queen sensed their pain instantly through the mental link. The invaders had come again for her mushrooms and this time they had reached the very core of the fissure.

  When they had first descended into the chasm, some hunters had regularly kept watch. But that no longer happened. No one wanted to waste time that could be spent feeding.

  The Queen’s mental waves crashed violently through the Drone network, forcing them awake and into combat readiness. At the same time, a few drones still inside the tunnels, busy feeding, tried to ignore the psychic command. They resisted, attempting to continue consuming the mushrooms.

  The Queen showed no mercy. She flooded them with intense mental pain.

  At last, every Nuxali was forced to release the mushrooms and emerge from the tunnels.

  But this time, the Queen joined them herself. She wanted to personally deal with the invaders who had dared to come this close.

  Thirteen Nuxali emerged from the tunnels. Three of them were not yet fully grown but it was clear they would fight as well.

  Alexander burst out of the tunnel, a snarl still vibrating in his throat.

  The pale aurora drifting above the fissure cast a ghostlike glow across the stone walls just enough to make out the silhouettes before them. The distance between the two groups was no more than ten meters.

  He hesitated for half a heartbeat.

  These were not ordinary predators of the savanna.

  His mind, dulled by the constant haze of the mushrooms, struggled to focus. Thoughts moved as if through thick mud slow, resistant. But his eyes adjusted.

  He saw their outlines clearly now.

  Their bodies were covered in overlapping, narrow scales that reflected the dim light in faint silver streaks. Their limbs were longer, leaner less bloated than his own pack, yet heavier with controlled mass. Their skulls were broader.

  Yet beneath those differences, the foundation was unmistakable.

  The jaw structure, the forward-leaning posture, the balance of a hunter.

  His brain processed the details with painful slowness. He blinked, forcing clarity. The world felt slightly delayed, as though reality itself lagged behind.

  And then it settled into place.

  They were Nuxali, not his pack but another pack.

  The truth locked in: a rival swarm that had followed the scent of the mushrooms down into the fissure.

  But before he could measure their numbers, before he could weigh the implications or shape a strategy, the Queen’s will crashed into his mind like a hammer.

  Do not think. Do not hesitate. Attack.

  The mental pressure shattered every forming thought, reducing them to fragments. Instinct replaced analysis. Violence replaced doubt.

  His muscles tightened. His claws dug into stone.

  And Alexander lunged forward, erasing the distance between the two packs in a single explosive motion.

  -----------------------------

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