The caliginous and clammy ether cloaked the jungles of Kuhur.
A planet with no axial tilt and a perfectly circular orbit, Kuhur is a planet of endless rainforests and moisture. But beneath the leafy canopy, the jungle teemed of giant ravenous insects thanks to a highly oxygenated atmosphere. Centipedes were long as snakes; spiders and mantises as large as wolves; and dragonflies the size of eagles.
The clicking crickets, croaking frogs, buzzing gnats, and splashing water dominated the ambiance. Pitch black darkness hid everything in its wake, but the horrifying presence of predators lingered. If one listened closely, one could also hear the faint sloshing of the water, belonging to shark-sized crocodiles, and salmon-sized piranhas.
By the time the red sun began to rise, however, the sticky humid fog lifted, and the heavens opened at last. But once it did, there was an unusual sight at the top of a nearby coastal mountain. Standing at ten stories tall is a neoclassical structure better known as The Gate.
The Saderan Republican Army had already came through in the middle of the night. But when morning arrived, the putrid stench of rotting flesh hung heavily in the air, originating from a pile of partially burred corpses. Those that weren't dead were coughing and breathing shallowly, with their eyes bloodshot or bloated due to hyperoxia.
Only because The Gate appeared on a plateau at 15,000ft, however, that the Saderans were able to survive. The mountain was more than 25,190ft above sea level at its peak, where the high oxygen levels were greatly reduced. Unfortunately, the bitter morning cold and dim red lighting provided no assurance to the disheartened Saderans.
General Typhus looked upon his men with a doleful scowl. The expedition had barely begun and the illustrious Saderan Army was immediately forced to seek refuge at the top of a mountain. Surely, the high ground was their immediate advantage, but nobody was going anywhere, especially not in the poisonous Garden of Eden below.
Most of the army's scouts were either bed-stricken, dead, or worst, missing. Currently, the last centurion approached him with his report, culminating the speculatores casualties of 59 dead, 15 deemed mortally ill, and 30 deemed missing. This left the entire legion with only 16 speculatores.
"Dismissed." Typhus somberly commanded the centurion, whom replied back with a curt nod and left the command tent.
"It's not your fault, Typhus." General Hepatitis attempted to assure, sitting adjacent to his fellow comrade, "Neither of us knew the dangers of this Garden of Eden."
"Yet, I deployed our speculatores prematurely." The bearded Saderan general, Typhus, grumbled wearily.
"But they died for the greater good of the Empire. With their deaths, we know that the air is poisonous down below."
"Only a chauvinist would see it that way. That doesn't change the fact that I have more than 99 letters to write, and potentially 15 more if things turn for the worst."
A moment of silence barely settled between the two men before Hepatitis took a sip of his wine glass and asked, "What would you have me do then?"
Looking at the bald-headed commander, Typhus sternly snarled, "If it was up to me, I demand you to get out of my sight. But because you're a good man, I want you to make a trip to the capital. Tell the senate that we need more speculatores. The only thing we encountered here was nothing but disease and fauna."
"Hmm, ave." Hepatitis nodded subtly, although there was still a slight contortion in his lips, "Though they will need see our scouts' full reports ... if they're well enough to tell their tales."
"Don't worry. You have all the information provided at your disposal. All you have to do is talk to the speculatores. Speaking of which, make it clear to the senate that we don't want just any scouts. We need the best that the Republic offers, and, quite frankly, only a demi-human can go where no man can go."
"General...? Y-You don't ... say?"
The bearded general only nodded up and down a few times, silently cementing his resolve.
"I don't doubt you, sir. I doubt everyone else, whom would hardly believe your last statement."
"Damn the doubters, Hepatitis. Goddamn'em all. I trust you enough to know that you'll come up with something. If we're going to bring prosperity and glory to the Republic, we need the right equipment and manpower to make it happen. If this is truly the Garden of Eden, the one and only cultivated by the gods, then we'll be going home. It is our duty to serve and protect the Republic, but it is not our right to tread on hallow grounds, and if we find proof of that, we made history."
"Oh, I love to see that." The bald general chuckled back, "I can see us in the history books as the first holy men to discover the Garden. As a matter of fact, I'll see what I can do to get human-only speculatores. That way we can legitimately prove that humans were always destined for greatness."
"Only if pride was in charge, that would happen. But as for the future of the Republic, I'm afraid we'll be sending somebody else into the unknown."
"Very well then. I suppose we shall reap what we sow?" Hepatitis agreed humbly, although he raised his wine glass as a proposal for a toast.
Companionably, Typhus raised his wine glass, quietly accepting the proposed gesture; however, he had one more thing to say before he could proceed, "Viva Republica."
"Viva Republica."
The two then toasted to each other, where they drank their wine, and the two went their separate ways.
Little did they know, however, that a lingering red menace lurked within the rainforests down below.
This is the beginning of the rocky, ravenous, and ruthless Rufscent Road...