Felix had never imagined things would come to this.
The Mother Hive spoke, her voice cold and emotionless.
"Shall I exterminate them?"
Felix held absolute authority over all life born of Tyranis spores. The Bugapes before him—kings, warriors, civilizations—were no exception.
He paused.
Then asked quietly, "Gilgamesh has fused with the termite gene, greatly increasing his strength and lifespan. Does this qualify as ascension?"
"No," the Hive Mind replied instantly.
"He has merely unlocked the first stage of his genetic potential."
"True ascension requires complete mastery over one's genetic code—active manipulation, not passive evolution. Gilgamesh cannot yet generate the blank genetic sequences required to assimilate a third gene set."
Felix exhaled.
It really wasn't that simple.
Even when an entire planet was saturated with Tyranis spores, only a handful of beings ever reached ascension. How could three possibly appear here?
These three kings possessed terrifying willpower and talent, enough to assimilate a second gene set. But that was the limit. Without ascension, a third was impossible.
Potential alone was not justification.
Gilgamesh's arrogance, tyranny, and willingness to trample everything beneath him were unacceptable. Felix would not allow him to ravage the sandbox ecosystem—or drag an entire civilization into barbarism.
"Hive Mind," Felix said calmly,
"Hold your fire."
"I want to see how strong he's become… to dare challenge me."
Felix's body had already endured two extinction events. The lingering damage from chemotherapy had long since faded. His physical condition now rivaled that of a healthy adult who exercised regularly.
Gilgamesh's strength, by contrast, was symbolic.
The termite gene granted immense proportional power—the ability to lift many times his own weight—but at the end of the day…
He was still an ant.
Felix was curious.
Just how far could such a creature go?
---
The battlefield shook.
Thousands of archers loosed their arrows in unison.
It was useless.
Before the Great Beast of Wisdom, Sumer's elite soldiers were no different from ants attacking a mountain. Arrows struck Felix's blue jeans and bounced away. Spears and swords stabbed furiously—yet failed to even scratch the fabric.
It was like trying to pierce a forest canopy with toothpicks.
"Even our finest soldiers can't break his clothing?" Gilgamesh muttered, stunned.
Then he straightened.
"As expected," he said grimly.
"Numbers are meaningless before such scale."
"My army cannot touch him."
With a powerful stomp, Gilgamesh leapt skyward, leaving a white shock trail behind him. He landed on Felix's boot and began climbing, sword clenched tightly in both hands.
In the blink of an eye, he reached Felix's knees.
"So fast," Felix remarked, mildly impressed.
"That speed rivals a flea."
An ant with the explosive jumping power of a flea was no joke.
Felix tried to flick him away.
Gilgamesh dodged.
Like a cheetah, he twisted midair, crouched, then launched himself forward again—barely avoiding Felix's fingers.
Felix tried again.
Missed again.
Gilgamesh zigzagged upward along the folds of denim, each leap explosive.
"So this is the Great Beast of Wisdom…" Gilgamesh muttered.
"Even the air pressure from his movements can fling me aside."
To a human, jeans were smooth fabric.
To an ant-sized king, they were mountain cliffs.
"Your Majesty!" a voice shouted below.
"Ishtar has arrived to reinforce you!"
The King of the Steppes entered the battlefield.
Ishtar—tall, powerful, scarred—wielded a massive black warhammer as if it weighed nothing. She leapt upward and landed heavily on Felix's pant leg.
"Another one," Felix muttered.
He swiped.
Ishtar evaded effortlessly, leaping higher with practiced precision. Her movements were sharp, controlled—those of a veteran who had slain countless great beasts.
"She's fast," Felix noted.
"But this test is nearly over."
This time, he didn't hold back.
His hand came down.
BOOM!
Ishtar's pupils shrank.
She failed to react.
Like a mosquito swatted from the air, she was sent flying, blood spraying from her mouth as she crashed into the ruins below.
Felix raised his hand again.
This time, it descended like an immovable mountain—aimed directly at Gilgamesh.
"No—!" Gilgamesh shouted.
"This can't be!"
Panic flashed across his face as he raised his sword to block.
Felix's palm struck the blade.
The impact sent Gilgamesh spinning.
He crashed to the ground with a sickening thud.
They had only climbed a little over a meter.
But to them—
It was like falling from thousands of meters in the sky.
Ants might survive such a fall.
Bugapes could not.
Bones shattered. Blood poured from their mouths. They didn't die instantly—but their bodies were broken, clinging desperately to life.
Felix looked down—
And froze.
There was a cut on his hand.
A thin line of blood seeped from the wound.
"He actually cut me?" Felix said in surprise.
"What incredible swordsmanship… What terrifying proportional strength."
"If they were human-sized," he murmured,
"They'd be superheroes."
Leaping over walls. Dodging bullets. Surviving terminal falls.
Living legends.
They were beginning to acquire power beyond their forms.
Felix pondered quietly.
The smaller the body, the easier it was to accumulate energy—and the greater the potential for evolution.
Even so…
An ant-sized Hulk was still an ant.
"I can't believe I lost in a single exchange…" Gilgamesh muttered hoarsely.
"All I managed… was a scratch."
Blood pooled beneath him as he stared upward.
Above him stood the Great Beast of Wisdom—towering, radiant, a faint halo crowning his brow.
Watching.
Judging.