A small puddle of off-yellow excretions was already forming beneath him as long strings of caustic spit poured forth from his perpetually slavering, chittering maw; lamprey-like teeth filled the gaping hole that had once been a mouth. His head was covered in spiky hairs, a pair of truly insectoid eyes bulging out of visibly human eye-sockets. 

The forearms were unnaturally bulky, bearing great plates of solid chitin in the shape of small heater shields on the outside, whilst the undersides bulged with pulsating, softer tissue, the sacs possessing a set of leg-like appendages that protectively wrapped around them as they expanded and contracted. 

Just as the Black Swordsman, this one had two pairs of extra arms sprouting from his back, long and stick-like, the upper two grasping small knives. It was no surprise that he would need them, for his actual arms were of no use for grasping things. 

His hands were, well… Not there. He only had gaping holes where the wrist would be. 

The way he held himself brought to mind a name no more flattering than Twitcher. 

To their surprise, it was one of the locusts who spoke first.The Red Mantis spoke in perfect Ikesian, only the barest hint of an accent audible in her singsong pronunciation of the hard, practical language that Ikesian was. 

“I must admit, this little hovel was rather well hidden,” she said, her face somehow twisted into an insufferably smug grin that only grew smugger with each word. “First I get drones mysteriously unable to pass a random part of the forest, and when I finally deign to investigate, it’s virtually invisible until I smash face-first into this…”

She stepped back a bit, and reached out for the barrier with the mantis claw of her left arm, knocking on it as she finished, “Barbaric barrier.”

“What did you plan to use this place for, huh?” continued the Red Mantis, taking on a mocking tone. As she spoke, she didn’t even bother to directly look at them, instead using her brilliant gaze as a tool of gesture, producing exaggerated expressions and even more exaggerated intonation as if she were in a play. “A widdle west befowe youw big expwedition into the scawwy dungeon? Didn’t get a good night’s sleep at the last cabin? Was there a gap in the barrier just big enough for the living storm to reach through? Aww, you poor things…”

All along, the four prepared for the carnage that they knew would soon unfold. Hands drifted towards weapons, breaths were taken, the Inquisitor’s eyes vanished from sight as her mask filled with Fog, yet not a wisp of it escaped the mask. A callous, razor-toothed laugh rang out from the Red Mantis with an equal measure of sheer seething malice and melodious beauty as her baleful gaze shifted from the group as a whole to individuals. From the Inquisitor, to Strolvath, to Zef and Zel… 

Her grin grew wider yet, ecstatic yet unsurprised, like seeing a long-expected guest in the flesh. No… There was more behind those eyes. Even with her skin turned to chitin and unable to blush, Zelsys could instinctively sense the manic obsession behind the mutant woman’s leering gaze, the murderous intent. The Mantis was obviously already aware of Zel’s presence, yet chose to hold back this deranged expression until this very moment. This moment, when the Red Mantis dedicated her full, undivided attention to Zelsys alone, even approaching a couple steps before she caught herself and stopped on… A bare, albeit chitin-armored heel. To Zel’s surprise, she wore no shoes.

“And you, oh how wondrously you stink of that accursed pretender’s handiwork,” she bubbled with laughter, drawing in a breath. She swept her gaze across the four of them again, remarking that, “You all stink of Fog, but there’s no mistaking it.” before her gaze once more snapped to meet Zel’s own. 

“I can almost see the cogs turning in your head. Go on homunculus, speak. Do your best impression of a person,” once more the Mantis broke into baby-talk, seeming to genuinely believe that she was speaking to a barely-sapient meat automaton, no more than a regular homunculus made capable of function outside the jar. “What is it that you intend to do here? Shoot that big gun of yours, hmm? Exterminate, maybe?”

The Mantis’s gaze shifted, any semblance of refinement of sanity momentarily fading from her visage as he broke out into full-on hysterics, like an interrogator trying to get an answer out of a mentally-damaged prisoner, “How many stolen pieces did it take the blasted fool to build something approaching a soul? Which stolen technique made you think the four of you could do anything to our hive, you tragic, cursed thing?!”

Zel took a breath and made the assumption that the barrier at the cabin had been sabotaged, answering with a smile, “I’ve never stolen a technique, though I must thank you for the opportunity to butcher a lightning bolt so easily.”  

Pulling her cleaver free of its holster and raising it to point at the Mantis, she continued with her own pair of questions, making yet wilder assumptions in an attempt to strike at possible insecurities, “Can you say the same, oh blessed one? Do those mantis mutations mean anything of your worth, or are you just one of the Emperor’s favored playthings?”

With each word Zelsys spoke, some of the expression faded from the Red one’s chitin-encrusted face. By the time she was done, the Mantis stared back with a flat, empty expression. 

At this reaction, Zel exaggerated her own mannerisms, putting forth a truly disrespectful chuckle as her smile turned to a grin and her insults grew yet more derogatory. 

“Not the Emperor, huh?” she asked, gesturing with her cleaver like it was a stick as a show of strength. It took a great deal of effort to actually do, but the only thing that mattered was that it looked effortless. “One of his favorite nobles, maybe? A minor but favored duke? Wait, no, I’ve got it. Let me guess, you put out for some fuck-ugly merchant that bought his way into the big guy’s good graces.”