After receiving their answers, the Gene Stealers wasted no time in organizing a search for the so-called Iron Man.
"What about the heretics?" Kiya asked, her tone sharp with frustration. "Shouldn't we deal with them first?"
"There's no need," the hybrid responded calmly, his flag-bearing staff swaying slightly as he moved. Attached to the staff was a vial containing the secretions from their patriarch's nerves, producing a faint, crystalline sound with every step. In a low, firm voice, he continued, "Every act of treason will be punished, but not today—not now."
At the moment, they couldn't afford to waste their resources. The loss of their patriarch and angels had left them in a precarious position, and retaliation wasn't a priority.
The hybrid's gaze briefly flickered to Roy, who still held the engraved staff of the Four-Armed Emperor. He didn't question why Roy had possession of it; instead, he turned back to Kiya and asked, "What do you think, Roy?"
"It's true that an immediate purge isn't necessary," Roy replied evenly. "The heretics might appear organized, but the majority of them are just desperate commoners. They likely don't even realize the true nature of the entity they're following. Their assembly is likely driven by the mere hope of breaking into the upper hive to plunder supplies."
"Exactly. A mob of scavengers," the hybrid said, nodding approvingly. Turning to Kiya, he added, "There's no need to be overly concerned about them. The Emperor's glory will eventually bring us victory—it's only a matter of time."
"But…" Kiya hesitated, biting her lip before grudgingly conceding, "Fine. I'll obey."
Satisfied, the hybrid turned back to Roy, his voice soft but firm. "Listen, child. Among all your peers, you've always been the most devout. The patriarch himself once remarked that you were destined to inherit his work."
"I remain as devout as ever," Roy said, his tone tinged with irony. "Nothing has changed."
The hybrid offered no response to Roy's subdued bitterness. As a fourth-generation offspring, Roy bore almost no visible mutations aside from his lack of hair—a key trait for someone destined for leadership. His capabilities were undeniable.
"For now, let's focus on locating the Iron Man the patriarch mentioned," the hybrid said decisively.
As the group journeyed toward their destination, Kiya sidled up to Roy, her voice low and accusatory. "Why are we letting the heretics go unpunished?"
"They're only trying to survive," Roy replied, his tone weary.
"That's no excuse for betrayal!"
"Then why are you so fixated on killing them, Kiya?" Roy asked, his frustration evident.
"Two reasons," Kiya replied coldly, her purple-tinged hand brushing against the hilt of her blade. "First, to thin their numbers. It doesn't matter whose blood spills or whose heads roll—it's all about removing obstacles, and I'm sure you understand what I mean."
Roy sighed. Of course, he understood. It was a power play, a means to eliminate dissent and consolidate control over their fractured clan. Perhaps there was also a deep, instinctual hatred for anything that defied their faith—be it the plague-spreading heretics or even fellow Gene Stealers.
"And the second reason?" Roy asked.
"Fear," Kiya admitted, surprising him. She glanced at her comrades, her eyes darkening. "As mutants hiding in the lower hive, constantly evading the Arbites' purges, faith was the only thing keeping me alive. It told me our suffering was temporary, that one day we'd return to the Emperor's Golden Throne. That belief gave me hope."
Kiya sighed, running a hand through her short purple hair. As a third-generation offspring, her mutations were minimal, leaving her with smooth, lavender skin and a faintly visible bone plate on her forehead. Her appearance was striking, even beautiful by some standards, but the taint of alien blood within her was undeniable.
"But now, that faith feels meaningless," she said bitterly, pointing at her chest. "Do you understand what it's like to feel hollow inside, as if life has lost all purpose? Only blood and death can fill that void."
Roy studied her in silence. He could sense the despair and fury simmering beneath her words—an anger directed at the world, at the heretics, and perhaps even at herself.
"Maybe spilling enough blood will please the Emperor," she added, her voice almost wistful. "It's the only thing I know how to do anymore."
Roy remained silent for a moment before finally replying, "If that's how you feel, I won't stop you. But keep those thoughts to yourself when Doraemon is around."
"Why?" Kiya asked, frowning.
"Because our little friend is… idealistic," Roy said, choosing his words carefully. To him, Doraemon's outlook seemed almost absurdly optimistic—a stark contrast to the harsh, unyielding reality of the hive world.
The group soon reached the alleyway Roy had described. Other Gene Stealers had already gathered there, standing before a peculiar mural. The painting depicted an open door, and yet, the mural itself seemed to lead into a vast, empty space beyond the wall.
The sight unnerved many of them, filling the air with tension.
"Wait here. I'll investigate first," Roy said, stepping forward.
The others watched anxiously as Roy crossed the threshold into the mural's surreal doorway. Inside, the space was eerily silent, its walls shimmering faintly with an unnatural glow. There, he noticed a new door that hadn't been there during his last visit.
Cautiously, Roy turned the handle and opened it.
A massive insect immediately lunged at his face.
"Slap!"
Roy instinctively swatted the creature away, bewildered. "What the hell was that?"
Looking up, he saw Doraemon in the distance, frantically swinging a bug-catching net amidst a swarm of locust-like insects. The sight was as absurd as it was surreal.
"Oh, hey, Roy!" Doraemon called out, barely managing to catch his breath. "Give me a hand, will you? These locusts are everywhere, and I can't keep up!"
"What is going on here?" Roy demanded, grabbing a nearby bug and crushing it in his palm.
"It's like this," Doraemon explained, waving his net around. "I wanted to solve the food shortage here, so I planted some rice in this indoor field. With my Time-Accelerated Rice Field Carpet, it only takes a few hours to grow a full harvest. But then these bugs showed up…"
Roy glanced around, noting the tiny artificial sun hovering above the rice field, its golden rays bathing the crops in light. A faint drizzle from a miniature cloud provided water, creating a surreal but oddly serene agricultural scene.
"You're wasting clean water on this?" Roy muttered, incredulous.
"Of course! How else are we supposed to grow enough food?" Doraemon replied cheerfully.
Roy sighed, shaking his head. Only Doraemon could come up with something so ludicrously efficient—and so ridiculous.