When the black female insect smiled, he appeared young, vigorous, and easygoing. However, the moment that smile vanished, his sharp-angled face betrayed a certain gravity. In his xenomorphic state, he bore no resemblance to anything approachable; he was like a blade unsheathed by blood, every scale tempered with a cold, distant light.
"There is a terror in that face, as if a catastrophe has descended."
Standing to his left was the young Gray-wing who had earlier issued the warning, cautioning all members that the underground structure was shifting.
The lucky fellow had charged toward the nearest aircraft the instant the retreat order was received, soaring into the sky ahead of the others. While circling in a frantic state, he had run headlong into the Sub-King descending for the rescue and had quickly led him to precisely lock onto the area requiring assistance.
His small shuttle had scooped up two comrades struggling in the mire, and then, stumbling and bewildered, he had followed the main force all the way out.
Perhaps a "newbie protection period" truly existed in this world.
At least for this insect, it seemed so.
Unpolluted and unharmed, he had even managed to pull out two battered colleagues during the sortie; in a theater of war, there was no greater fortune.
Upon returning to the fleet, he found himself once again aboard the same warship as the commander. Because the original adjutant had been contaminated, he was temporarily hauled to the commander's side.
They were currently aboard Sakti’s personal vessel. The Sub-King of the Gray-wing swarm had "generously sponsored" this uniquely designed warship as a gift of alliance.
The young insect was actually quite terrified of the pitch-black Core-species before him. Even though the other had only entered adulthood a few days ago, his composure was frightening.
Large-scale battles in space rarely left behind many corpses.
A vast majority of limbs would vaporize along with the high temperatures when a ship exploded. However, the Zerg were slightly more heat-resistant than humans; even when immersed in plasma flames of tens of thousands of degrees, they could still leave behind pitiful remains after a brief incineration. The hardest parts of the Core-species—the bones and carapace—were nearly as difficult to grind down as the outer hull of a starship.
The circular outer armor of all Alpha-class warships deployed fully. The weaponized connective tissues, as viscous as flesh, stood ready. The sight inspired suffocation from its sense of absolute dominance and dread from the majestic momentum of its imminent eruption.
The insect tide acted as a collective unit. A single insect’s offensive power was formidable but manageable; when the species appeared as a colony, they became irresistible.
They were biting.
When the scale of the opposing forces was similar, or when one side held a slight advantage, sophisticated calculations were no longer necessary. The scenario where raw combat power dismantled strategy was not only possible but probable.
The Gray-wings, having received the order to slaughter, were like fish leaping from a parched shore into a sea of stars. Their ships reflected this tribal instinct.
Long-range artillery fire dispersed the Pedipalp fleet. Sakti personally led the strike team to intercept the enemy's main force attempting to fall back, deploying orbital weapons in a synchronized spread. Compared to the lives of the swarm members, the consumption of material resources was negligible—destroy one, and a thousand more remained.
The enemy vessels on both flanks attempted to turn as quickly as possible to slip through the encirclement. Moments ago, the roles of hunter and hunted had completely reversed.
The tearing of hulls at close range brought a sensation of coarse friction.
Sound does not travel in a vacuum, but that did not stop the visual effect from making one's scalp tingle. The outer walls of the ensnared ships seemed to fall into a mouth lined with fine serrated teeth, scraping away a massive layer like flaying flesh, leaving behind exposed steel skeletons and hollow voids.
Much like a young humpback whale having great chunks of flesh torn away by an orca, the unprotected docking bays were like the most delicious liver—a gentle bite could tear away a large portion of rich, sweet fat.
The speed of ship repairs could not keep pace with the rate of destruction. Every Pedipalp warship dragged to a halt was unable to escape the shadow of death.
Sakti himself had already shredded the enemy's entire rear cluster. Under his command, long-range weapons covered every blind spot, refusing to let a single fish slip through the net. Coordinating with high-mobility melee medium-sized ships, he executed a pincer movement.
War created death.
And it was a ceaseless stream of death.
The universe was like a gentle yet cruel hand, wiping away all sharp wails, not even allowing those miserable death rattles to reach the ears of the victors.
The progress of civilization had birthed thermal weapons, making it so that slaughter no longer required personal presence.
All orbital weapons adjusted their firing angles. The power of focused fire on a single point was terrifying; even layers upon layers of defensive walls could not withstand it.
"Melee units, retreat immediately. Circle back and sever the right-wing matrix. Synchronize remote orbital weapons; level the enemy's central control tower."
Order after order was issued. In his xenomorphic state, the Core-species was methodically blocking the enemy's path of retreat.
Wherever the particle flak cannons and plasma bombs fell, the ship hulls turned into the crispest shortbread, expanding easily in an oven.
Those surface armors, resembling ulcerated skin, would pop once stretched to their limit, weeping tears of blood and pus. Warships distorted into bizarre shapes by powerful centripetal suction churned chaotically, dancing a strange, frenzied jig amidst the flames, boiling in temperatures nearing the critical point as the crossfire intensified.
It was a heat that melted metal and devoured mountains.
Sakti personally burned the Pedipalp Sub-King’s fleet into a pot of molten iron, casting a black crown of decapitation for his opponent.
The Pedipalp-species had slaughtered too many males and larvae.
Like carnivorous birds fond of impaling their prey, they had piled the scarred or completely flayed members of the swarm into mountains. In the Old World, the portrait of Tepes still hung in Ambras Castle, and the hoisted corpses of Wallachia never faded; after the fall of the Fatimid Caliphate, the lands of Antioch and Jerusalem were soaked in crimson; the Hargeisa massacre caused over five hundred thousand people to flee their homes—a government-backed systematic genocide against civilians, easily forgotten by people in just a few decades.
The world was like a chaotic furnace, neither lamenting tragedies nor grieving for death. Everything happening within the swarm had happened countless times among humans.
Early humans had endured the turmoil of the Khmer Rouge and the frequent coups in Liberia. The leap of industrial civilization birthed a shortage of labor, and the thirst for wealth accumulation further expanded the demand for massacre and slavery. The most primitive evils were often narrated through the most noble principles, crowned with open, bright, and irreproachable reasons.
The Sati rituals of the old era were once considered pure and selfless sacrifices. Yet, after history turned the page, every line of text that settled into black ink was written with the blood of the sacrificed.
But all who commit evil must be prepared to be treated in kind.
The ones who had severed the Pedipalp hunting nets and torn their encirclement to shreds were the very males these conquerors most despised and had slaughtered with abandon.
The humans leaving the Gray-wing habitat had, in a flash of inspiration while passing the energy planet, established a Small Information Nest as a communication hub. The dark brown short-winged female serving as the temporary manager of the energy planet had diverted a sufficient work crew to support this action with all her might. The white male and his companions, who had never intended to enter the war, had coincidentally pulled an all-nighter of overtime.
It was an almost comical, tightly-knit light comedy, yet it was stained blood-red by its background.
The starting point for every person or insect was not to create some weapon to dominate the universe.
Arthur simply wanted to be closer to his raiser, to cross the distant sea of stars and, in the dead of night, read poems of love to him, whispering the same words into the Sub-King's ear.
Serim’s motivation stemmed largely from his longing to communicate with Xiao; thus, he was exceptionally diligent in mobilizing insects, even completing fortifications in a few small cycles that should have taken half a great cycle.
Similarly, Gela’s initial goal was to confirm the safety of his partner, while Xiao and the other males had rushed there solely to help their friend.
However, fate always favored interlocking dramatic effects. From the moment the humans left the habitat and embarked on their return journey to Camlann, the omens had descended.
This was not the result of a single insect's effort. Even with mental strength as formidable as Gela’s, he could not bear the weight of the Nest alone.
But these swaying, messy individuals, gathered together, had forcibly bitten through the noose set by the Pedipalp-species.
The weak who wished to survive had finally bared their fangs.
"Do not let a single ship escape."
Sakti, driving back the enemy warships that were halfway through their retreat, issued the command: "I want their Sub-King left behind, dead or alive."
Insisting on an intact Sub-King was an unwise choice. They were in space; this was not a surface operation where one pulled rabbits out of a hole. A commander’s whimsical decision would only lead to the blood of the subordinates.
It didn't matter how the enemy Sub-King died; as long as he was thoroughly dead, it was a good thing. Being able to snap the head off personally was joyful, but if he couldn't, grinding the opponent into dust was no different.
Two matrix units of warships were slowly separated into small pieces and annihilated one by one.
The core planet beneath them was losing its color bit by bit—a sign that Akasha was about to enter a total collapse. All vivid colors visible to the naked eye were gradually decomposing; tangible objects began to melt into incomprehensible forms.
It was not like a target struck by a star-swallowing weapon, scorched by high heat and cracking inch by inch; nor did it cause terrifying suction or impact.
They were simply dissipating in silence.
The tide is the most affectionate and most heartless thing; it silently washes over the banks of life, causing everything to shatter and disintegrate.
That was a dying star.
Just as countless planets might be destroyed every moment in this vast, boundless universe, the Angon established by the Pedipalp-species had already fallen apart, and the habitat they once relied on for survival had begun to cave in soundlessly.
The flanks of the Alpha warships that had broken through the enemy encirclement closed in, forcing the opponent to continuously shrink their defensive formation from a position of absolute dominance.
The overwhelming focused fire and dispersed orbital weapons were in place. It was the Gray-wings' turn to tighten the noose.
The largest explosion originated from the enemy's central command tower.
The setup that had been distributed and packed at all costs moments ago was activated. Orbital weapons burning at maximum power directly sniped the annoying protective shield. When all the inconspicuous components gathered, the unimaginable high heat forced even starships to shy away.
Such unreserved utilization also meant that almost all orbital weapons were scrapped after use.
But it was enough.
Sakti’s positioning of consumables was very clear: as long as the intended goal was achieved, all sacrifices could be counted as the cost of war.
But fate always shows favoritism in special places; this explosion directly exposed the Pedipalp flagship.
The collapsing hull was tilting.
The escort matrix of the Gray-wing camp slowly drew together toward the sides. The warship that emerged in the center had an outer hull color identical to that of the Core-species.
The Sub-King had brought this weapon, sharper in design than other ships, to his ally. Its unusual shape stood out prominently among the ring-shaped, old-style Alpha-class command ships.
"Time for the grand finale. It’s my turn to go snap some heads."
The black female insect let out a laugh, gazing at the bridge before him, which was lined with matrix data and holographic projections.
"Let’s start with some fireworks."
In the next second, the central command tower exploded again. The swarming fleet pounced on the enemy ships huddled in a circle, forcing the clumped opponents to scatter in flight.
The path ahead was completely cleared. The swarm members, leaving room for the death match, yielded the final stage.
Sakti’s vessel locked onto the Pedipalp command ship of equal magnitude. The propulsion, fueled by stellar core energy, was instantly pushed to the maximum.
The fangs of the pitch-black beast closed. Walking through the valley of the shadow of death, it drank the blood of the enemy as if drinking power itself.
Clad in azure flames, it leapt down from the heavens.
***
