SiriusB reposted
SiriusB
@SiriusBShaman

Do you have any idea how the world works?

Do you?

Not your world, not the blinking screens or soft pavements or the synthetic comforts you mistake for reality. I mean the real world; the crawling, breathing, blood-warmed lattice beneath your cities and skin. The old world. The one that still runs on treaties older than iron, spoken in the clicking legs of insects and the silent songs of bacteria.

Let me begin where it matters. The ants.

They are not pests. They are not simple. They are the oldest army on Earth, and they do not forget. Beneath your floors, behind your garden bricks, inside your walls; they move in silence, under one mind. You call it a colony. In truth, it is a will. A singular intelligence distributed across millions of limbs, acting with precision, never questioning, never hesitating. And in the astral plane, where shape follows essence, they appear massive. Towering. Logical. Ancient.

They carry messages between worlds. They maintain balance in the dirt, in the roots, in the economy of decay and regrowth. They are the muscle of micro-agriculture. The enforcers of the old soil laws. They do not take more than needed, but they will remember every crumb, every poison, every breach.

You dump detergent. You poison a trail. You declare war without knowing it.

And then it begins.

But they do not act alone. The ants are aligned with the bees.

Together, they form an old compact. The bees build and bless, the ants defend and remember. Together, they can turn off your harvest. They see into your cupboards. They measure your bread, your sugar, your waste. You eat too much wheat, they notice. The bees pull back. The fields flower, but no pollinators arrive. The crops stall. No buzz. No blessing. Nothing personal. Only consequence.

This is not vindictive. It is mechanical. It is sacred.

Their intelligence is not your intelligence. They will not invent a satellite. They will not quote a philosopher. But they can negotiate with fungi, with worms, with viruses. They are an intermediary caste, a biological council, a court of unspoken judgments. Their power is not invention, but cohesion. Not thought, but action.

And they do not speak to just anyone.

To commune with an ant emissary, you must earn the dirt. You must crawl into the dust, unmoving, unafraid. Let them touch your mouth, your eyes, your soul. They will test your stillness. They will weigh your blood. They will read your pulse and judge your hunger. If they accept you, the visions come; fractals of command, memories etched in pattern, maps older than language.

Few make it that far.

Those who do become something else. Something forgotten. Rasputin was one. A creature of fire and frost. Poisoned, shot, drowned in the Neva. But he would not die. Because no man could kill him. His time had not yet collapsed. His contract had not ended.

When his time came, he vanished. That is how it works.

Now look smaller.

In modern labs, the real chemists work like shamans. They wear VR headsets wired to microscopes the size of coffins. They stare down viruses, magnified and alive, moving like machines. Because that is what they are.

Nanotechnological organisms. Some are mindless, others not. Some act as messengers, others as invaders. Most are NPCs in a larger code. But some are cunning. Some remember their own makers.

And now, we program viruses to kill other viruses. We train nanobeasts to hunt through blood. We send microscopic assassins after rogue bacteria and intelligent worms. Warfare scaled down to the molecular. Skirmishes in your cells. Battles in the spit and sweat of your species.

And larger still - there is the Leviathan.

Twenty kilometers in length. Three hundred meters wide. Long, segmented, armored like an ancient centipede with drilling arms and spiraled tendrils. It does not breathe air. It moves beneath tectonic plates. It feeds on vibration. Confirmed sightings in the Congo Basin, the Amazon Fold, the Javan Deep. These are not myths. These are suppressed geological anomalies, entire cities shaken from below, buried in an hour.

Its kind exists in every old myth because it is real. Different cultures saw the same creature. A dragon beneath the Earth. A serpent of cities. It obeys no ruler. It answers only to seismic treaties, the kind signed with ritual and flame.

Your civilization is not the top. Your laws are not the first. You live atop an engine of teeth and roots and laws more ancient than language. And every breach, every chemical spill, every arrogant motion - you think it goes unseen.

But it does not.

The ants remember. The bees decide. The fungi whisper. The viruses move. And somewhere in the deep, something waits.

So again, I ask.

Do you have any idea how the world works?

Do you?