Transcendent Odyssey [Coffeepen]-Chapter 49: (FILLER) THE INSECT COURT

A note from Coffeepen3

This Chapter is a filler. I.E. it has no connection to our main story (for now) but is happening simultaneously

Eldrin Academy. An educational institution that sits at the top of the continent. Its courses cover most professions one could think of and its graduates are the cream of the crop.

The academy was made by the first archmage of the Fafnir Empire- Zadkiel Eldrin- who helped the founding emperor construct the Fafnir Empire alongside the Glory Dragon- Fafnir.

As a reward for his contributions, Zadkiel was given funds, support and territory to bring Eldrin Academy to life and was given total control over it.

The name of the city where Eldrin Academy was built was-Cindralune. The academy was built on the Cindralune Ridge, the mere campus of the academy could be compared to a small village.

The Cindralune City was divided into twelve districts.

And now, a huge change was taking place in one of those districts.

DATE- 13TH , MONTH OF THAWEN, 2021 A.G.

LOCATION-MORVOSS FIELDS, 7TH DISTRICT OF CINDRALUNE

In the centre of the of the bustling city stood a grand architectural wonder.

From the moment one glimpses the Mawgrain Luxury Hotel, it is unmistakably not merely a hotel — it is a statement carved into the skyline. Rising like a jeweled spire above the glimmering city, the building is a harmony of impossible geometry and indulgent excess. The outer shell curves like the sail of an airship caught in divine winds, clad entirely in midnight obsidian glass that mirrors the stars at night and the city's golden pulse by day. At dusk, light dances across its surface in waves — not reflections, but an engineered phenomenon created by micro-filaments woven into the glass itself.

An elevated causeway leads across mirrored waters, where imported swans drift through a heated artificial lagoon. Valets in pearl-white uniforms greet guests at a floating platform paved in opal tiles that shift hue subtly with each step. Above the entrance, a massive chandelier made of suspended crystal orbs floats via magnetic suspension, softly glowing with an ambient breathlight that dims and flares like a living creature.

Upon stepping inside, the air changes — not just in temperature, but in pressure and scent. The grand lobby rises five floors high, a cathedral of luxury. Pillars of translucent sea-quartz stretch upward like glacial trees, veined with gold and soft lavender light. The floor is a single piece of black tourmaline, polished until it appears liquid, disrupted only by inlaid constellations of platinum that trace forgotten star maps beneath guests' feet.

At the center sits a levitating spiral staircase, edge-lit and floating without visible support, its steps carved from moonstone. It rotates slowly, silently, offering passage to the upper lounges and suites. For those disinclined to walk, glass elevators encased in gilded vines whisk guests to their desired floor, the glass smart-frosting to offer privacy when necessary.

Art installations bloom across the lobby like living beings: a flock of mechanical hummingbirds eternally frozen mid-flight, a vertical garden pulsing with bioluminescence, a harp that plays itself using threads of spider-silk tensioned in invisible air.

The main doors parted like theater curtains.

A woman stepped through—slowly, deliberately.

Her gait possessed a subtle liturgical rhythm, not hurried, not leisurely, but ordained. The green and white vestments she wore marked her as a member of some holy order—but the fabric was tailored within an inch of sanctity.

Silk clung like reverence to her hips, and the slits at her sides whispered rebellion beneath piety. A thin veil obscured her features, but not her allure.

Beneath the soft cloth, one could see the gentle suggestion of a smile... or a threat.

Behind her strode another woman—armored in polished steel, with the sharp profile of a blade in mid-draw.

A Swiss saber hung at her side, its scabbard engraved with weathered runes, military—not ceremonial. Her eyes scanned every archway, every column.

Together they passed beneath the floating chandelier of glasslotus and foxfire. The lobby fell momentarily quiet.

At the far end, the bartender bowed before they'd spoken a word.

"Welcome, Lady Gloriana," he murmured, head still bowed. "What wine may I serve?"

The veiled woman brought her hands together, a prayer-gesture that trembled between mockery and devotion.

"Brother... it is a sin for us to touch wine," she said, voice soft as gauze.

Then she turned her head slightly, letting her gaze wander across the bottle rack.

"But... my companion would enjoy an aged Korven Noir, a moon-aged Absinthe, and—ah... the unlabeled amber vial."

A silence passed. Not long. Not hostile.

Just... measured.

The bartender stared, reading her like scripture. Then he slowly peeled off his gloves, one finger at a time.

"This way," he said, motioning toward a curtain of indigo silk hanging like smoke along the east wall.

They followed.

They entered a chamber dressed in red wallpaper and thick perfume. The scent was sweet, but faintly chemical—masking something. The furniture looked modest: a walnut table, velvet chairs, a mirror that didn't reflect the eyes.

It should have felt ordinary.

It wasn't.

The bartender moved to a tall, antique rack stacked with vintage champagne. He reached for a bottle shaped like a cannon shell.

CREAK.

The bottle shifted. The entire rack tilted on an invisible axis and rotated away, revealing a seamless slab of metal—matte black, no handle.

He pressed his palm to a spot just beneath the carved filigree.

PRESS.

RUMBLE.

The door inhaled. Then opened.

The corridor beyond was narrow and unlit, the walls forged from a strange black alloy that seemed to drink all sound. No enchantments flickered here. Even breath felt heavy.

Behind them, the metal door closed like a tombstone.

Gloriana did not hesitate. Neither did her knight.

The tunnel opened into a vaulted room shaped like a crypt for kings. The walls were carved from onyx and interlaced with veins of meteoric steel. Each throbbed with a pulse—dim, slow, faintly biological. No windows. No echoes. Not even diviners could scry here.

At the centre sat a long, obsidian table—narrow, razor-edged, shaped like a ceremonial blade. Twelve seats encircled it. One of them taller than the rest.

Behind each chair glowed a pale digit.

Not names. Numbers.

Above, a single ring of white light illuminated the centre of the room, yet left all faces drowned in silhouette.

From the tallest seat, the one crowned with a faint white 1, a voice stirred like a sword scraping free of its scabbard.

"You are late, Orchid Mantis."

His tone was not accusatory.

Just... absolute.

Another voice, thicker, warm with hunger, rumbled from beneath the glowing 8.

"Did you all eat?"

A dry chuckle followed. Seat 3, legs crossed like a bored noble, snorted with amusement.

"Locust, why are you always talking about food?" he said with theatrical disdain.

"Antlion Larva, shut your mouth," another interjected.

His voice gleamed like his gold-ringed fingers—quiet, cutting.

"QUIET."

That was Seat 1 again. Cold. Ironclad.

But then, from Seat 6, a flirtatious moan.

"Oh my~ Parasitic Wasp, you're so sexy when you're angry..."

She licked her lips with audible satisfaction, tracing a slender finger across the back of her hand—tattooed in roses and runes.

"Firefly."

Seat 11, voice clipped and surgical. "Let the leader speak."

"Thank you, Viceroy Butterfly," Seat 1 replied with a nod of weight. "Today, I have an urgent announcement to make."

He lifted a black notepad bound in dragonhide.

"Attendance first."

His voice turned clerical.

"Orchid Mantis."

A gloved hand rose in a smooth arc.

"I am present, brother," Gloriana intoned. "May the blessing of Arbitraen guide us."

"Dung Beetle."

A slim wrist emerged from a shawl of drab cloth.

"Present," a shy voice murmured.

"Praying Mantis."

Chains rattled as a bruised hand lifted.

"Ah... present... ahh..."

"Photuris Firefly."

A pale arm rose, inked and graceful.

"Present... hottie."

Seat 1 exhaled slowly through his nose. The irritation was palpable.

"Antlion Larva."

"Here," came the voice—tight, too sharp, too clean.

"Locust."

"Yum... prwesent," the bulked-up form of Seat 8 mumbled through a mouthful of meat.

"Bowerbird Beetle."

A quiet clink of rings. A hand lifted.

"Assassin Bug."

"Present," whispered something from within the veil of shadows.

"Viceroy Butterfly."

"Present," came the cool, unbothered reply.

"Bombardier Beetle."

Silence.

"Bombardier Beetle?"

The room held its breath—

FWOOM!

CRACK-THOOM!

Fireworks exploded in midair, conjured from some pocket dimension. Glitter rained down.

"Hahaha! Hehe... Present!" the giggling voice rang out, followed by an exaggerated bow. A plume of colourful smoke erupted behind him.

Groans circled the table like waves.

"Driver Ant."

A calm voice, quiet yet firm: "Present."

"Today," seat 1 spoke,

"I received news about him."

The mood shifted instantly. The members straightened their postures, leaving behind the earlier playfulness.

"Where, where is he!?"

Seat 7 rose up from his chair, fists banging against the table.

"Antlion Larva! SIT."

Seat 1 spoke in a levelled tone.

Reluctantly the silhouette sat back on his chair.

"Where will we find him? I- I am so turned on by just thinking about him!"

Seat 5 spoke, trembling with excitement,

"Oh my, let's first listen to wasp, shall we?"

Seat 2 calmly spoke.

TAP!

SWISH!

Seat 1 glided a photograph towards the centre of the table.

A black umbrella sat on a bench in the photograph.

"It's his! This umbrella, it's unmistakably his!"

Seat 8 shot up from his seat.

"Read the back,"

Seat 4 turned the parchment, hands trembling.

"I know you are at Locust's base. I am waiting for you all at his warehouse."

His lips quivered.

Seat 8 banged his fist on the table,

"He-He is in my turf,"

He turned to a figure beside him,

"Gather our members and head to the warehouse."

The figure replied softly,

"How many?"

The bulky man slapped the figure,

"You bastard! It's him, him! Take all our members, all of them."

The man bowed before leaving.

Seat 8- no, locust, snapped his head to wasp.

"Let's crush him for sure this time."

All the members nodded in unison.

THUD!

Everyone emptied the room in a hurry.

"Madam, who is this person the hive heads are talking about?"

Gloriana stopped, fear and anger could be felt from even behind her veil.

"You are new so you may not know. He is the rumoured man who created the colony by unifying us hive heads."

Gloriana shook his head,

"No, he forced us to unite."

The knight staggered back,

"Were the hives independent before? Why did the heads unite to make colony because of a single man?"

Gloriana bit her lip.

"That man, he forced us to unite because we would have crumbled to his power if we were alone."

The knight stared at Gloriana, both scared and impressed.

"What is his name,"

Gloriana glanced at her palm where a scar ran in the middle.

"Hannibal. Hannibal Lector. That's his name."

"The umbrella in the photo, it's his."

LOCATION- MAWGRAIN WAREHOUSE

A man sat on a heap of grain sacks gazing at the night sky.

He wore a black dress shirt and matching tie under a classic, impeccably tailored black three-piece suit. All black.

His white hair, reaching his shoulder waved with the wind. His purple eyes mirrored the stars behind his black sunglasses.

Beside him lay a black umbrella, elegantly crafted. Its handle was carved from polished ebony, the tip capped with matte black rubber, and a silver clasp cinched its folds with quiet precision.

STEP! STEP!

Men surrounded him. Some holding knifes, some swords, some spears, some wands, some gauntlets and some axes.

Their numbers- not dozens, not hundreds but thousands.

The man craned his neck towards them, looking down at them as if they were sources of amusement.

"Why are there so less of you? Has the colony not arrived yet?"

A man in heavy armour stepped forward,

"Hannibal Lector! Today's the day you die!"

THUMP!

The man landed in front of them graceful. He slung his umbrella on his shoulder, adjusting his shades.

"Is that so?"

"Haa!"

The men lunged at him in unison.

A FEW HOURS LATER-

Hannibal flicked his umbrella, the droplets of blood spilling from it.

Around him lay heaps of bodies as the stone pavement turned into a pool of blood. Blood seeped into the drainage making it a river of crimson.

"Are the hive heads not here?"

Hannibal snickered to himself.

"Hahahahahah!... Hannibal! Hannibal!"

A thin figure lunged at him, jagged daggers in a crescent arc.

Hannibal's body flickered before suddenly materializing before the figure

BOOM!

His fist met the man's solar plexus as the figure shot like a projectile towards a nearby warehouse door.

STEP!

Eleven figures approached Hannibal,

"Dung Beetle. That druggie, have you not told him to stop sniffing like a dog?"

Hannibal sneered, turning to face them.

FEW MOMENTS LATER!

In the dark warehouse the hive heads lay defeated.

"How? Just how do we kill you?"

A figure gasped.

Hannibal mused,

"Get stronger."

STEP! STEP!

Hannibal stepped out of the dark warehouse.

"Aargh!"

He yawned, stretching his body.

"They need to become stronger. So they become a more powerful wall for those kids."

Hannibal opened his umbrella, pulling the shade over him.

" I need to find stronger opponents or make them."