Feast and Fall

In the heart of the emerald jungle, where sunlight dripped like honey through the thick canopy, a magnificent bird named Kael ruled the skies. His bronze feathers gleamed like armor, and his hooked beak could split bark with a single strike. The creatures below whispered his name in fear, for Kael was merciless in his hunger—especially toward the Black Mound Colony, a thriving empire of ants that scurried beneath the roots of the ancient trees.

Every dawn, Kael would descend upon them like a storm. His shadow would darken their tunnels, and with quick, cruel snaps of his beak, he would feast. The ants scattered, but their numbers were vast, and Kael saw them as nothing more than moving specks—endless, disposable.

"Pathetic things," he would chuckle, shaking ants from his feathers. "You are not even a challenge."

The ants endured, but their queen, an old and cunning leader named Mantra, watched from the depths of their nest. She had seen tyrants before.

The Tyrant’s Arrogance

As seasons passed, Kael grew bolder. He no longer merely ate the ants—he toyed with them. He would crush their tunnels with his talons, laughing as they scrambled to rebuild. He would let a few escape, only to snatch them up at the last moment. His cruelty became legend.

One evening, as the ants worked tirelessly to repair their shattered nest, Mantra called a gathering. The colony seethed with anger, but she silenced them with a raised antenna.

"Kael thinks himself a god," she said, her voice steady. "But even gods can bleed."

The ants listened as she unveiled her plan.

The Trap

The next morning, Kael descended as usual, his wings stirring the leaves into a frenzy. But something was different.

The ants did not run.

Instead, they stood in eerie stillness, their tiny black bodies forming a perfect circle around a patch of damp earth. Kael hesitated, then scoffed. "Have you accepted your fate?" He stepped forward—

And the ground gave way.

The ants had spent the night chewing through roots, weakening the soil beneath a thin layer of leaves. Kael shrieked as he crashed into the pit, his wings flapping uselessly against the walls. Before he could right himself, sticky threads lashed around him—silk from trap-weaver spiders, lured by the ants’ promise of shared prey.

Kael thrashed, his beak snapping at the air. "Release me!" he demanded. "I am Kael! The sky belongs to me!"

But the spiders only tightened their threads.

Then, from the shadows, the ants came.

Not in dozens.

Not in hundreds.

But in thousands.

A living, writhing tide.

The Fall

The first ants reached Kael’s feet. He kicked, crushing scores of them, but they did not stop. They climbed his legs, their tiny mandibles biting into the soft flesh between his scales. He shook violently, but for every ant that fell, three more took its place.

Soon, they were on his wings, their weight dragging him down. They clambered into his ears, his nostrils, his eyes. Their bites were minuscule, but together, they were agony.

Kael screamed.

"Mercy!" he cried. "I am your king!"

Mantra crawled onto his trembling beak, her antennae twitching. "There are no kings here," she said softly. "Only consequences."

And then the swarm swallowed him whole.

The Aftermath

Days later, all that remained of Kael was a skeleton, picked clean and gleaming white in the sun. The jungle creatures passed by in silence, some in awe, others in grim satisfaction.

The Black Mound Colony thrived. They rebuilt their tunnels, stronger than before. But they did not celebrate their victory with cruelty. They simply carried on, as they always had.

Mantra watched the sky, now free of shadows, and spoke to the next generation of workers:

"Power is not in size, nor in strength, but in patience. And no tyranny lasts forever."

Word Count: 800

Moral:

Arrogance invites ruin. Even the smallest, when united, can topple the mighty.