Kalrek had wandered off to take his much‑needed piss, humming to himself as if the forest were an audience. Around him, the landscape stretched in eerie beauty—the roots rose like twisted ribs, moss shimmered faintly in the gloom, and pale fungi pulsed like watchful eyes, giving the whole glade an uncanny, expectant air.

"Finally," he muttered, "a moment of peace for a hero." He stretched his arms like he was limbering up for battle, then gave the nearest tree a mock salute.

As he looked around, his eyes landed on a tiny beetle no bigger than his thumb, perched on a blade of grass that he had chosen.

He crouched slightly, squinting at it, "Well, would you look at that? A baby beetle. Can you believe I'm out here hunting your terrifying uncles and aunts?"

…

…

"Don't take it personally, little guy. It's them, not you."

…

…

He leaned closer, lowering his voice as if confiding a great secret, "Tell you what, if you promise not to call your cousins, I'll make sure your parents get the sharp end first. Deal?"

The beetle twitched its antennae, and Kalrek nodded solemnly, pretending it had agreed.

"Good talk," he said, wagging a finger at it with mock seriousness before laughing to himself. He straightened, puffed his chest, and declared, "Right, time to water the roots of destiny!"

Only then did he unfasten his belt, aiming lazily at the roots, "Bet even the trees will applaud me for watering them."

He leaned back with exaggerated relief, whistling tunelessly, even adding commentary under his breath, "A true warrior's stream—steady as an arrow, proud as a banner."

He puffed out his chest as if performing on stage, then muttered, "They'll probably build statues of this moment."

…

…

He glanced around at the trees and added with mock offense, "Don't all clap at once."

…

…

He giggled at his own joke, then squinted at the baby beetle still perched on the grass nearby, "What do you think, little guy? Majestic, right? Go tell your kin their doom smells like glory."

…

*beetle*

…

He laughed again, shaking his head at his own nonsense, then leaned back down toward the beetle as if expecting a reply, "Oh, don't give me that look. You're judging me, aren't you? Little antenna twitch means 'this guy's an idiot,' doesn't it?"

…

…

*twitch*

He wagged a finger, pretending to scold it, "Don't act so high and mighty just because you've got six legs. Bet you can't even tell a good joke. Here, I'll tell you one: What do you call a beetle who joins a band? A rock beetle!"

He cackled at his own punchline while the beetle merely twitched again.

…

…

A silence followed, stretched and awkward, broken only by Kalrek leaning in and whispering, "Oh, so now you're giving me the silent treatment?"

…

*twitch*

*twitch*

He crossed his arms, pouting at the insect, "Fine. Tough crowd. You win this round, little guy. But when I come back alive, you'd better clap your tiny claws."

The silence stretched, awkward and almost comical in its weight, like even the forest was waiting for a punchline.

Unable to stay quiet, he blurted, "Alright! I got another one! What do you call a beetle who can't find his way home?"

…

*beetle stares intensify*

…

"A lost bugger! HAHAHAHA!"

But in response, the baby beetle twitched its antennae and scuttled off, vanishing into the underbrush.

Kalrek pointed after it, then sighed heavily, clutching his chest as if the tiny beetle's departure had truly broken his heart.

He muttered to himself in consolation, "It's fine Kalrek… You're still the funniest Kin in the Hollow. Heck, even the audience was a whole different species. I'll clap for myself." He gave a few exaggerated consoling taps on his chest, nodding as if reassuring his own pride.

He sighed dramatically, adjusting his stance as if conducting some great ceremony.

A few seconds passed in awkward silence before Kalrek huffed, unable to let the beetle off so easily.

"And another thing! You've got all those legs and still walk like you've never seen a straight line. Pathetic!"

That was when the ground trembled. His stream wavered and sprayed unevenly. He blinked down at it, then around.

"Eh? Was that me, or the forest burping?" he muttered, trying to steady himself.

Then the soil beneath him groaned like a living thing, and he realized the earth itself was splitting.

The soil cracked open with a violent shudder. A glossy black carapace erupted just inches from where his piss splattered. Mandibles clicked furiously, ichor‑stained jaws clattering like bones in a drum.

Kalrek's eyes bulged, "Spirits above, you've got to be kidding me! I'm mid‑stream!"

He yelped, jerking backward, still peeing as he stumbled in a panic.

His hands flailed, trying to fasten himself as he ran, but failing miserably.

"Not like this! Not with piss trailing me!" he wailed, sprinting across the path through a series of side steps, a ridiculous golden arc following beside him.

Before he could catch his breath, one of the beetles charged forward, its mandibles snapping wide as it lunged straight for him.

His boots slipped on wet moss, nearly sending him face-first into a root, and he squealed, leaping sideways like a startled deer. He toppled hard to the side just as the beetle lunged, its mandibles snapping shut on a tree stump with a sickening crunch.

*running water noises*

*silence as Kalrek and the beetle stare at each other*

A splash followed—Kalrek's golden stream arcing right across the beetle's face. The creature hissed, flailing in surprise, while Kalrek gawked and then burst out laughing despite himself.

"Ha! Take that, you overgrown dung-chewer! Bathe in the glory of my wrath!" he jeered, scrambling back up even as his stream sputtered to an undignified end.

Then the ground split wider, and more beetles surged from the soil, antennae whipping and mandibles snapping.

At their head rose a towering specimen, larger than the rest, its carapace ridged like sculpted muscle, its forelimbs thick and jagged as though carved from stone.

The thing radiated raw, masculine fury—every movement broad‑shouldered, every snap of its mandibles like the crack of an axe. Its compound eyes burned with feral rage as it fixed on Kalrek, as if personally insulted by his existence. The swarm followed close behind, chasing the most undignified decoy the Murkfen Kin had ever seen.

Kalrek shrieked with a voice far too high for his size, zigzagging madly between roots, hopping over stones, and nearly tripping as he tried to both flee and cover himself at once.

"Look! I'm sorry I insulted your child!"

*chase intensifies*

"...Okay! Also for pissing on your wife!"

He spun in circles once, screaming, "I can't die like this!" before bolting blindly down the path.

In his mad dash he clipped a branch and yelped, spraying even more wildly, then stumbled through a patch of ferns that stuck to his legs like claws.

"I'm cursed!" he wailed, flapping his limbs in sheer panic.

One of the beetles lunged after Kalrek, mandibles snapping inches from his backside.

Just as he tripped over a root, Veyra's arrow flew past him with a sharp whistle and buried itself straight through the beetle's eye. The creature collapsed in a spray of ichor, narrowly missing Kalrek as he tumbled to the ground.

Kalrek scrambled up, panting, his trousers still half undone.

"Are you trying to kill me, or save me?" he gasped.

Veyra smirked, drawing another arrow, "Both, if you keep running like that."

Then, with a sharp gesture, Yvren barked, "Move! Aid the fool before he waters the entire Hollow!"

Ash darted forward, Tholn just behind him, both closing ranks with Yvren as they met the rush of beetles head‑on.

Claws, blades, and stone crashed against chitin, testing the strength of the creatures' exoskeletons.

Ash's claws scraped sparks as if striking iron, forcing him to shift his strikes to softer seams; Tholn's daggers flashed like quicksilver, cutting shallow grooves before sliding free. Yvren swung his staff in a brutal arc, the impact jolting up his arms and rattling his bones.

"Harder than barkstone," he snarled. "Aim for the gaps!"

The swarm pressed tighter. One beetle lunged at Ash, who grappled with its mandibles, straining as ichor dripped across his arm. Tholn vaulted off a root, plunging both blades into the thinner plates near its neck, bringing it crashing down. Yvren planted his staff like a spear, pinning another against the soil long enough for Veyra's arrow to split its eye.

Kalrek, still fumbling with his belt, staggered back to his feet, wide‑eyed but grinning despite himself. He yanked a regular ward‑carved stone from his pouch and hurled it at a beetle, the one that had been the recipient of his initial number one.

"You're taking the piss!" he shouted with a smile as he watched the stone flying straight to its target,

Instead of an explosion, it clanked loudly off the creature's shell with all the menace of a tossed pebble.

Kalrek winced at the echoing sound, then turned to Veyra with a crooked grin, "By the roots, Veyra! That arrow was cleaner than my best carving stroke—you really did save my hide. Remind me never to doubt your aim, unless it's pointed at me again!"

Veyra smirked without looking at him, loosing another arrow into the eye of a charging beetle, "Stay on your feet next time, Kalrek. I don't intend to babysit while you piss yourself through a battlefield."

Kalrek threw up his hands dramatically, backing away from the clash, "Noted! No more golden trails, only glorious tales!"

Turning his attention back to the battle, he then looked at the beetle and muttered, "I'm gonna need something stronger."

He reached into his pouch and pulled another stone from his pouch and began scratching new lines into it with aether‑coated fingers, the glowing script hissing faintly as he carved. With a flourish, he hurled it at the nearest beetle.

The stone detonated mid-impact, erupting in a concussive burst of light and force that sent dirt and shards of chitin spraying into the air.

"Ha! Did you see that? Saved your skins with style!" he crowed, before immediately backpedaling as another beetle snapped at his boots.

The clash grew louder, chitin grinding like grinding millstones, the air sharp with the scent of ichor and moss torn underfoot. Sparks, arrows, and ward‑flashes lit the gloom as the group fought side by side, slowly carving space from the advancing swarm.

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