Catalyst

Chapter 27: Elimination

"Entry, bad. Lying, worse. Unacceptable," Abathur said to an increasingly distressed Harry.

"You have to believe me! I didn't enter myself into the tournament," Harry cried. Abathur didn't care to hear Harry's excuses. He didn't care that Harry was in the tournament to begin with, either. He didn't care if it was intentional or a plot. The only reason he cared at all was that it was a convenient excuse to split off from the trio.

"Abathur's right. Harry, if you were going to enter, you could have let us have a chance too. You shouldn't have kept it secret from us," Ron said. An unexpected, but welcome addition. If he wasn't the only one splitting away, that would remove suspicion from him.

"I can't believe you two!" Hermione said. "Do you honestly believe Harry would put his own life at risk?"

"Yes. Has repeatedly. Regular occurrence," Abathur said.

Hermione flushed. "Ok, fair point. But do you really believe he would do it for something like money or glory?"

"Of course! Who wouldn't?" Ron said.

"Ron, I didn't enter myself," Harry protested.

Ron stared at Harry. "I wouldn't have minded if you wanted to enter. But why didn't you tell me about it? Why not let me have a chance?"

"Ron..."

"No, I should have seen this coming. After all, what's a little more glory for the Boy-Who-Lived?" With that, Ron stormed off.

Abathur followed close behind, but took a different path soon after. He made sure to stay far away from Ron. All things considered, that had gone perfectly. With luck, he'd never have to see any of those three again.

(Transition)

Abathur's brood moved through the woods in a nightmarish procession of poisoned fangs and hairy legs. In all shapes and sizes, his soldiers advanced across the creep that marked their domain. Today, he went to war.

The acromantula essence was finally filling the niches demanded in any large-scale conflict. It was about time for their first test, a way to apply stressors. Flaws would be revealed, and with them, potential. At long last, it was time to strike.

His attack force was approaching the centaur colony, passing unseen by the sentries. Abathur made no effort to keep his troops hidden. Why bother when the Hive-made ward took care of it for him? Within a minute, his entire force was settled inside the centaurs' defensive line.

The acromantulas moved unseen among the centaurs. Some of the centaurs walked around the massive spiders without so much as a glance. The notice-me-not ward was still functioning perfectly, preventing the centaurs from perceiving any member of the Swarm. The scene was almost surreal. Abathur could have marched his army straight through their little dwelling without a moment of conflict.

The illusion lasted right until an arachnolisk stabbed its blade through a centaur's chest. It was one of the larger strains, boasting a large set of scimitar-like blades on their front limbs, with a secondary set mounted to their mouth. Frontline brawlers. Effective, if not particularly unique.

The centaurs panicked as the ward failed, and the acromantulas appeared in their midst. Abathur made the most of their confusion, sending forth the teralings. Their streamlined frame and webbed-together limbs made them fast, and gave them the ability to glide through the air, making them ideal pursuers. Individually they were weak, but their numbers made up for that. This combined with their speed allowed them to tear many of the centaurs apart before they even had a chance to react.

The centaurs scattered. Some ducked into huts, only to return wielding bows and spears. The rest fled into the woods. There, they ran into the splicers. Splicers had swollen abdomens leading to a narrow head, all mounted on thick, imapling legs. Abathur had rooted them into the trees and ground surrounding the centaurs clearing. They contracted their abdomens, launching the venom in a powerful stream. The streams rammed straight through the centaurs, killing or poisoning each of their targets.