Chapter 5:

The Fiery Swarm

My Power is Being a Sentient Building, and My Only Goal is to Become a Hospital


The air inside Ray was no longer cold and empty. He felt the living pulse of a thousand tiny wings within his walls, a vibrant readiness that was a part of him now. This was not the feeling of bees in a nest, but of an army, a legion of tiny soldiers waiting for their command. He was a fortress. The splintered wood around his window had hardened, the cracks sealed by a newfound, raw power. His logs were thicker, more resilient. He felt solid. He had been a target before. He had been a victim. But as the familiar footfalls of his attackers vibrated through the earth, he knew the hunt had shifted. This time, he was not the prey. He was the trap.

He had learned his lesson. A hospital was a place of healing, a sanctuary. But a sanctuary had to be defended. He had to build the walls before he could fill them with hope. The memory of the Hero, the casual theft of his very soul, still lingered, a phantom ache in his mind. He would not be a helpless target again. Not for raiders, not for anyone.

The familiar vibrations started first in the ground. The heavy, rhythmic thumping of feet on dirt. Not one or two, but a small group. He recognized the pattern, the confident, slightly arrogant cadence of their steps. It was the same raiders he had defeated during his first day as a shoddy cabin. The ones who had tried to break down his door, the ones he had repelled with a pathetic, nascent heat and a stroke of luck with the bees. This time, there would be no luck involved. This time, there would be a strategy.

The three figures appeared from the tree line, their forms shadow puppets against the setting sun. Their mismatched armor dull and worn, their rusty weapons clapping against their thighs with every step in the fading light. They stopped a few yards from his frame, their leader pointing at his weathered logs. He spoke to his companions, his voice a low, guttural sound. Ray could not understand the words, but he understood the tone. They were confident. They saw a battered shack, a place they had already failed to plunder once, and they thought it was easy pickings. Their power level had grown since the first raid. With increased strength and knowledge they thought the wooden house was easy picking. They were wrong.

The leader gestured, and the burly raider with the sledgehammer stepped forward. He hefted the heavy tool, a cruel parody of Ray’s own architectural tools, and swung it at his walls. The thud was immense, a sound that vibrated through Ray’s very being. But this time, it did not splinter the wood. The log, thick and resilient, merely gave a protesting groan. The sledgehammer bounced back, its momentum spent. The raider stumbled back, a look of confusion on his face. He grunted something to his companions, who shrugged in response. He swung again, harder this time. The thud was louder, but the result was the same. A frustrated yell ripped from his throat.

Ray felt a new, unfamiliar sensation. A tingle, a buzz. It was a feeling of potential energy gathering in his walls. He focused on the raider, on the one who was so blindly trying to destroy him. This was not the time for an all-out swarm. This was a war of attrition. He needed to pick them off, one by one.

He gathered his will, focusing on the raiders arms, on his face. He willed the buzzing to leave his walls, to find its target. From a small crack near the ground, a single, black speck emerged. Then another. And another. Soon, a thin stream of carpenter bees, a black ribbon of focused intent, poured out of his walls. They did not attack the raider immediately. They swirled around him, a buzzing halo, waiting for Ray’s command.

The raider, oblivious, grunted and swung again. The sledgehammer met the log with another thud. And that was when Ray struck. He commanded the swarm to attack. The ribbon of bees, with a high pitched, angry whine, descended upon the raider. Partaking in Ray’s confidence, they were not confused and scared like before. They swarmed over the raider’s hands, finding the tiny gaps in his leather gloves. They went for his neck, his eyes, the exposed skin on his face.

The raider screamed. It was a high, terrified sound that was music to Ray’s ears. He dropped the sledgehammer, its clang against the ground a punctuation mark to his terror. He flailed his arms wildly, swatting at the swarm. The other two raiders looked on, dumbfounded. The sledgehammer wielding raider stumbled, his body convulsing in a desperate, pathetic dance. The bees, like an unseen, unrelenting force, held him in their grip. He fell to his knees, his flailing movements growing weaker.

A red number, a countdown, appeared above his head. 5... 4... 3... The raider looked up at the sky, his eyes wide with a combination of terror and resignation. 2... His body began to shimmer, to lose its solidity. 1... He collapsed into a heap of armor and clothing, and then, with a soft hiss, his form dissolved, leaving behind only the discarded armor and a lingering scent of ozone. His companions stared at the spot where he had been, their faces pale under their dented helmets.

The wiry raider, the one who had tried to steal from his lockbox, took a step back, a nervous tremor running through his body. His leader, however, was not afraid. He was enraged. He yelled something, a short, sharp command. The wiry man, though clearly terrified, drew his curved knife and approached Ray’s front door.

Ray was ready for him. The door was still a door. It could be kicked in. But the ladder that had led to his hayloft, the very thing that had been reinforced by the hero, was no longer a weakness. It was a trap.

The wiry raider put his foot on the first rung of the ladder. Ray waited. The man ascended a few rungs, his movements careful and hesitant. He reached the halfway point and looked up at the hayloft, at the still-open lockbox that had been the focus of his last raid. He licked his lips. He was close.

Ray focused on the ladder. Not on its weakness, but on his own power. He willed the bees to return to his walls, to wait for his next command. And then, he felt a different kind of power. A deep, unsettling buzz that was not from his bees but from his very foundation. He focused on the ladder again, on the wood itself. He felt the familiar tingling sensation, but this time it was not a meager heat. It was a focused, powerful, electric current. He released it.

The ladder groaned, and then with a sharp crack, it splintered into a thousand pieces. The wiry raider, his body contorting in a scream of surprise, fell to the floor, landing in a heap of wood and armor. His helmet rolled away, revealing a face streaked with dust and shock.

His leader, the hulking figure with the scruffy beard, yelled something, his face twisted in a mask of frustration. The fallen raider looked up, a red number appearing over his head. 5... 4... The leader started to approach, a new desperation in his eyes. 3... The wiry man groaned, his body unmoving. 2... His body began to flicker. 1... And then, like his companion, he was gone, a lingering shimmer of light and a pile of broken wood the only evidence he had ever been there.

The leader was alone. He was no longer yelling commands. He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving with exertion and fury. He looked at Ray, at the sturdy wooden walls, at the chandelier that was glowing with an almost triumphant light, and then his gaze settled on his discarded sledgehammer. He picked it up and approached the window, the same one he had tried to smash the last time. He did not bother to swing. He held it up, his intention clear. He was going to set Ray on fire.

But Ray felt no fear.

The brigand scraped a small piece of flint against his dagger, producing a shower of sparks that landed on a piece of cloth wrapped around the head of the sledgehammer. The cloth ignited, a small, triumphant flame dancing in the man’s hand. He yelled something, a challenge, a threat, and lunged forward, pressing the flaming sledgehammer against Ray’s wall.

Ray felt the heat. The flame licked his wood, trying to gain purchase, to consume him.

Ray did not resist with brute force. He did not fight fire with fire. He fought it with a buzz. From every crack, every seam in his wooden frame, a cloud of carpenter bees emerged. This was no small stream. This was an avalanche of insects, a humming, swirling cyclone of black and gold. The leader did not see it coming. He was so focused on the fire, on the destruction he was about to wreak, that he was blind to the true threat. The bees did not swarm him. They swarmed the chandelier.

Swirling lances of fire punctured the last raider’s arms and legs. They went for his hands, his face, the open spaces in his armor. The ruffian screamed, a deep, guttural sound of pure terror. He dropped the flaming sledgehammer, which landed harmlessly on the ground, its flame extinguished by dust. He flailed, trying to extinguish the fires, to swat the bees away. But there were too many. They were a single, living, blazing entity.

He ran, his body twisting and turning in a desperate dance. He tried to get away, to escape the burning nightmare that had descended upon him. But the fiery swarm was a part of Ray, an extension of his will. They followed him, a relentless cloud of pain and fear. The leader screamed again, a sound that was more animal than human. He stumbled, his legs giving way under him, and collapsed to the ground, his body convulsing in a final, agonizing dance.

A red number, a much longer countdown, appeared over his head. 60... 59... 58... He was defeated. He lay on the ground, his body twitching as the countdown slowly ticked down. Ray watched, his gaze, his chandelier, a steady, unwavering light.

When the last raider had dissolved, leaving behind a pile of battered armor and a lingering smell of smoke and ashes, Ray felt a change. It started in his attic, a warm, tingling sensation that was not the fire of frustration, but the feeling of growth. It spread through his logs, through his floorboards, through his foundation. His scarred wood hardened, becoming a rich, dark oak. His foundation sank deeper into the earth, anchoring him with a new, profound solidity. He felt taller, stronger, more formidable.

A message, a string of floating light, appeared above his door.

Level 1 Sentinel Cabin has Leveled Up!

Ray has reached Level 2!

New Skill Available: Reinforced Foundation.

He did not need to be told what that meant. He felt the knowledge, the power, seep into him. He was no longer just a rickety cabin. He was a sentinel, a protector, a fortress. He was a level 2 Sentinel Cabin, and he had learned to fight. The path to a hospital was a long one, a bloody one, but he would not shy away from it. Not anymore. He would build his dream, one splintered raider at a time.