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The entirety of insectoid social order was maintained through strict adherence to instinctual law. Simple rules which each insectoid was born intrinsically knowing, blossomed into a complex social structure. Each year, on the shortest day of the year, insectoids were compelled to gather at their colony centers where a gladiator-style battle for rights to procreate took place. Only those who had been victorious in combat were allowed to pass on their genetic legacy in a winner-take-all style tournament. Each victory secured five brood-mothers. One would become the next generation of combatants, the other four would provide the worker-class insectoids.
More seasoned, older and larger insectoids were not allowed to challenging first time combatants. All were required to fight one opponent at a minimum, under penalty of death. Insectoids were violent and aggressive by nature, especially after feeding on eel-fish fed maggots, so a refusal to fight was highly uncommon.
Worker-class insectoids swarmed around the combatants as they approached the central arena, drawn to the enticing pheromones of the more seasoned combatants. Mature brood-mothers, a worker-class insectoid, would enter a receptive state from the powerful cocktail of pungent male pheromones.
Central to each colony was a large arena with ample space for the thousands of worker-class insectoids to view the combat below. Each tournament began with the youngest insectoids. Lining the perimeter of the arena floor, their myriad shapes and colors was a sight to behold. Insectoids in the stands clicked approvingly, their shrill cries setting the combatants blood on fire. As the roar of the spectators began to subside, the first challenger stepped into the arena. Raising his pincers high above his head, he clicked aggressively as he spun around, assessing possible foes.
It was clear from his size that this was a first-hatched basher, and he was from a brood that was intensely green colored. A large red first-hatched crusher answered his challenge, and the spectators grew silent as the foes approached one another.
The green basher charged to the center of the arena and raised his pincers, daring the crusher to advance.
Scuttling side to side, the crusher assessed his foes speed and agility.
With a sudden movement, the basher left his central position and advanced upon the smaller red crusher. As soon as he was close enough to strike, he violently swung his over-sized spiked pincer down towards the crusher. Barely missing his target, he was stalled for a moment as several of the longer spikes had become lodged in the ground.
The crusher took no time to use this to his advantage, and in a deft movement he excised the basher's larger pincer just above it's wrist joint with his powerful claw, sending a stream of hot hemolymph across the sand floor of the arena.
Seriously injured, the large basher let out a high pitched cry as he swung his other pincer at the crusher. The blow caught the crusher squarely, knocking him onto his side. As he fell, he managed to clamp on to the basher's large rear leg. With all his might, he crushed the thick armor plates between his claws, rendering the basher's hind leg unusable.
Now seriously wounded, the basher thrashed wildly, swinging his remaining pincer blindly in an attempt to fight back. All this was in vain though, the crusher locked his larger, more powerful pincer around the basher's head. With an audible popping sound, the basher's brains spilled onto the arena floor, and his body fell to the floor.
The crowd rose on their hind legs, raised their pincers into the air and clicked noisily in approval. Having secured his place, the red crusher left the arena floor to the victor's area.
Nearby, a large group of some three-hundred brood-mothers watched the events in anticipation. Out of nearly sixty combatant broods, only forty-three had made it to the arena. It was not unusual for an entire brood to be lost hunting eel-fish, however this year's turnout was comparably higher to years past.
A large slow-moving slasher entered the arena next, and the runt saw his opportunity. As the slasher raised his pincers in display, the runt entered the arena while the rest of the young insectoids were sizing up this potential opponent.
Clicking derisively, the slasher mocked the diminutive insectoid standing before him. The crowd as well had grown fairly silent, their normal clicking replaced by quiet reflection upon the unusually small and undifferentiated challenger.
The slasher, feeling overconfident by his larger size, took the initiative and made the first attack. As he thrust his smaller pincer-blade, the runt deftly sidestepped the attack and ran his pincer-hook along its length, cutting a deep gash down the slasher's pincer..
Clicking angrily the slasher retreated a few steps and raised it's wounded pincer in a defiant display. No sooner than its pincer was held fully aloft, the runt dashed forward, thrusting his respectively small pincer into the slasher's throat. The runt moved beneath the slasher's frame, still holding him aloft with his pincer embedded in his neck. Lifting his body entirely into the air in a surprising show of strength, he slammed his foe's now limp body onto the arena floor. Wrenching a large chunk of soft meat from the slasher's gaping wound, the runt ate his foe's flesh in an aggressive and unusual display.
His act of violent defiance was met with an uproar of clicking as the spectators showed their approval.
Before long the rest of the first-time combatants had fought, and their numbers had been cut in half. As the older combatants entered the arena, the spectators volume rose to a new deafening height.
Insectoids continued to grow, significantly in fact for the first several years. However, the rate slowed to a near standstill beyond five or six years in most cases. Combatants were the only class that lived more than three years, as they suffered no ill-effects of aging, their lifespan was dictated in the arena. While combatants were potentially immortal, workers often were replaced in as few as two years, and brood-mothers died before making it to three.
Entering the arena together, the remaining combatants were free to challenge whomever they desired. The first to enter the ring was a large crusher, easily three or four years old judging by his size. He approached the center of the arena and held his pincers up, scuttling as he clicked insultingly at the other combatants. As he was easily one of the largest combatants in the arena that day, and had secured multiple sets of brood-mothers in the past, none were quick to answer his challenge.
None except for the runt, that is. Stepping into the arena, in spite of having secured his place already, the crowd fell silent for a moment. Then, nearly in unison, the spectators erupted in a clicking pattern that mocked the runt.
Likewise, the large yellow crusher looked over the much smaller jet-black runt, regarding his challenge as humorous. In a display of his size, the crusher began to spin around with his pincers raised for the spectators. This fatal mistake would not go without consequence, and no sooner than his back was slightly turned the runt dashed forward and launched an assault on the large crusher.
Jabbing his pincer-hook into the armor plate between the crusher's hind legs, the runt felt hot hemolymph flow out and run down his arms as the incision widened. Unfortunately, the armor plate was much thicker than the runt had anticipated, and in spite of his efforts he could not free himself from his foe.
The crusher spun around violently, shrieking out in agony as he flailed his pincers, attempting to reach the runt. Regardless of how hard he fought, the runt would not let go. Spinning around, the runt positioned himself to be able to kick the crusher in the back of his head. Soon, his foe was becoming increasingly disoriented.
With a sharp crack, the armor plate finally broke open freeing the runt's pincer-hook. As the crusher's attempted to put weight through his hind legs, the split in his armor grew wider. Hemolymph flowed out of the widening wound, and he shrieked out in agony.
Now mostly disabled and significantly less mobile, the runt was able to launch attacks more easily on the larger crusher. Each new wound bled off more hemolymph, until the crusher collapsed on the floor.
Rising to their feet, the spectators let out a deafening shriek and clicked wildly. It was unfathomable for a fresh combatant to best such a seasoned adversary, especially a one who was so clearly outmatched in size. The runt returned to the victors area, exhausted from his battle with the giant crusher. His victory had earned him additional brood-mothers, and for one fleeting moment he experienced the thrill of victory.