“Do humans believe suffering has meaning?”
Gela realized he was dreaming, or rather, he was in a state where his mind was active but his body remained beyond his control.
The scenery before him was surreal and fragmented. In the distance, finely weathered ruins and bleached skulls were tinged with vivid colors, yet when he looked closer, everything shifted into a safe, warm interior.
It was their nest on Energy Star.
It was also the first small home the male had ever owned since his birth.
He realized this was a scene from the past, occurring on a night from a long, long time ago.
The white insect curled up beside his partner. The other’s hand stroked him gently, brushing over his drooping wings and his strengthless scaled tail.
When they spoke, Sakti would always listen intently to his various questions, giving thoughtful answers no matter how bizarre or whimsical the male’s train of thought was.
“I would like to say it is meaningless, because in my view, most of the time suffering serves no purpose other than bringing hardship and tribulation to those involved.”
His golden-brown eyes downcast, the Core Species—his fierce aura retracted—combed through the other’s white hair with his fingers. “It has no added value, nor does it bring positive energy in any universal sense.”
“So, for a long time, I believed it was worthless. Suffering is just suffering; it does not deserve to be glorified or praised. Only court poets with too much time on their hands would use beautiful imagery to loudly extol war, famine, and death.”
“But you don’t think so anymore?”
Gela heard his past self ask in a small voice, repeating the doubt he had once voiced. He could feel the touch within the dream; Sakti’s fingers were powerful and calloused, their slight friction making even the base of his tail quiver.
“No one can ensure they are moving in the right direction at every moment—past, present, or future. As I grow older, I gradually overturn my own perceptions. New reflections are sparked because I come into contact with more of this world, just as the meaning of life is entirely different to me now than it was when I was young.”
Smiling, he pinched the male’s cheek. The Core Species’ voice was gentle, his long black tail coiled around his partner’s waist to pull him close.
“As I slowly learned to stop, to no longer chase after war at a dead run, I began to realize that in many instances, suffering ‘must’ take on a corresponding meaning.”
The male trembled under the slight weight of his partner leaning over him.
He clung tightly to the other’s shoulders, feeling Sakti’s body temperature, which was slightly higher than usual. The pheromones of a female often carried the scent of rust and flint, striking fear into those who did not understand. But Gela loved the other’s scent; he no longer associated it with the battlefield, but instead imagined it as burning oak.
It was like a warm, heavy fireplace with a metal grate, smelling faintly of smoke and charcoal, giving him a sense of safety and happiness.
“So, what is the meaning?”
The male, who had begun to think deeply long ago, was anxious for a clear answer. He had tried many times to seek a rational explanation for everything he and other males had suffered, but it was always difficult to find a logically consistent solution.
“Everything I have experienced can only give suffering a unique meaning for me personally.”
The Core Species gave the little twitching tail-hook a squeeze, trying to speak with his partner in a gentle, easily understood manner.
“I once thought that all the frustration and hardship I felt stemmed from a mismatch between reality and desire. Therefore, as long as I yielded to the craving for strength and power, I could easily resolve the parts that made me unhappy.”
“But later, I understood that frustration also comes from restraint, from the surrender of power to rights, and from giving up a portion of freedom as defined by egoism for the sake of another individual’s freedom.”
“Everyone must actively take on negative emotions that displease them for the sake of things beyond self-interest.”
As if anticipating the question the male had yet to ask, the black female held Gela—whose height now reached just past his chin—and slowly stroked that nuzzling head.
When they had first met, the Core Species would often absentmindedly ruffle the other like a kitten; now, the same movement had become tender and patient.
“Freedom is a difficult and long road. Every step taken by every life that walks this path will cost a price heavier than imagined.”
“And meaning is the epitaph that future generations bestow upon those pioneers; it is the monument dedicated to all the victims.”
“We need it to be remembered. We need every successor to understand this weight and hardship, and we need humanity to never step into the same river twice.”
“Therefore, suffering must bear its corresponding weight. Beyond the misery itself, it must become a beacon—passed from the hand of a writer murdered for arguing against injustice, from the hand of a child trying to protect their family and siblings, from the hand of every father and mother who has lost a child—and then handed down to those who continue to walk on.”
“It warns a world that might easily compromise: there is value in moving through the thorns, there is value in speaking for the wronged and the weak, and there is value in refusing to submit to the shackles of class and the status quo.”
“It is the resistance of every victim against their victimizer. And that is where the meaning lies when we look back and discuss past suffering.”
The black Core Species gently scratched his partner’s small wings, causing the smooth surfaces—which rarely shed scales—to shiver and flap a few times at the touch.
He spoke of this topic in a light, smiling tone, tinged with a bit of self-deprecation so that Gela would not experience sadness or suffocation.
“Of course, I am a very, very bad person. Not only was I unable to completely give up power in the end, but because I understood this clearly enough, I am no longer easily swayed by external things.”
“I cannot become a completely good person or a saint.”
Those golden-brown eyes looked over.
“But I try my best to be a slightly better ruler, a slightly better... human than I once was.”
The Gela of the past could not understand the complex emotions within those words, but at this moment, he understood his partner.
The gentle, peaceful nest dissipated like a bubble; the dream drifted toward its end.
In the rapidly fleeting images, the male “saw” his partner across a vast and blurred distance, just as he had once felt the intense emotions triggered by the other’s encounter with the Red Taisui across the stars.
It was a wondrous, fated feeling, as if he had naturally come to perch beside his beloved half, taking the other into his arms.
He could finally understand why the Sub-King of the past could call out to his kin across the sea of stars.
The black warship spewed bright blue flames, which transformed into a long golden trail as they burned.
Like a pair of molten golden wings.
***
*Humans should avoid cannibalism*—this conclusion was like a chain descended from nature, restraining excessively deviant behavior.
Many mammals exhibited this trait as well; their genes carried the potential for abnormal protein folding to occur.
As if by a deliberate coincidence, most religions of different sects also bestowed unique meaning upon such acts.
Countless painters of the Old World had smeared the concrete scene of Saturn devouring his son across domes or canvases. Cronus, having become the King of Gods, chose to swallow all his newborn children out of fear that the prophecy would come true and his rule would be overthrown by his own offspring.
While most illustrators used the image of an infant to depict the devoured, a few did the opposite, laying out the mangled limbs of adult men and blurred blood upon the walls.
The Zerg, to a large extent, interpreted this behavior through more literal actions.
They did not fear divine punishment from nature, nor did they fear the prions that mammals viewed as a scourge; the habit of cannibalism seemed to be an innate talent.
A female lacking food would feast upon her own larvae, and a Sub-King entering senescence would similarly fear the younger generation rising to take their place. Conversely, the offspring generation, with identical fervor, was always prepared to overthrow a weak and powerless superior. To them, the remains of a Broodmother were more enticing than any other fresh meat.
The dogma of conspecific consumption was engraved deep within the genes of this species.
Rebels like Kleiman not only negated their direct kin but also negated the Sub-Kings at the apex of the swarm. If he could win the fight, the young Armed Species leader would have directly cleaved the skull of Krisha, his kin in both an ethical and biological sense.
Thus, before Sakti was tightly bound to the same ship as the Gray Wing tribe, no insect had ever felt there was anything wrong with this.
The heterodox current Sub-King had once lamented that because he met Arthur, he had not joined the struggle for the remains of the previous King.
Killing one’s own kin, larvae, or siblings held different levels of acceptability for different insects.
Clark, Kata, and the Short-Wing tribe held softer emotions toward their partners and larvae, but they did not fundamentally negate the act of cannibalism; they merely slightly altered the list of who was considered food.
This was where the Swarm differed diametrically from humanity.
The twisted relationship of the scion replacing the sire, as seen in King Oedipus, did not need to be conveyed subtly through tragic works. The insects would directly tear away the disguise and smear blood on every wall, articulating the fact that the old king was dead through practical action.
For instance, at this moment, the Gray Wing fleet was gnawing the Pedipalp species into dregs, surrounding the half-burned enemy command ship like predators waiting for the final blow.
Sakti personally tore away a large section of the enemy’s outer armor.
The pitch-black warship retracted its defensive walls on both sides, revealing a sharp ramming prow. This design confirmed its superior close-quarters and impact-resistance capabilities, allowing it to slice through hulls of equal magnitude as if cutting through foam.
The enemy command ship, with half its plating sparking, continued to plummet, forced down to a dangerous altitude.
Before it could find the strength to flee, a second wave of bombardment poured down, drowning all possibilities in a hopeless chain of explosions.
The Sub-King of the Pedipalp species likely wanted to escape.
But the mangled, deformed hull had long since lost its ability to eject. All processors had stalled and gone on strike, no longer supporting the launching of escape pods or any other components.
A strange point was that when the Pedipalp species stripped the skin from males in large quantities and broke their bones, piling the screaming victims into a mountain, they seemed unable to realize that death and injury brought pain.
To adapt to the needs of combat, the females’ perception of pain was indeed far lower than that of the males; the hormones and excitement of slaughter could greatly dilute all negative effects.
However, when imprisoned within a falling iron coffin burning red-hot, with massive amounts of molten plexiglass dripping and casting over their bodies, their Sub-King would similarly let out shrill screams.
That sharp, hair-raising, frenzied wail filled the communication channels, grinding out intermittent electronic noise that gave the howling itself an inhuman, terrifying atmosphere.
All living beings feel pain.
This was not an experience exclusive to the weak. When those in high positions were pressed down onto the guillotine, they would similarly shake like a sieve and lose their composure.
The Alpha warship no longer approached the wreckage, which was rapidly entering its final countdown to disintegration.
To get too close to something of such high temperature would be to burn oneself; even feathers and wax would melt because of it.
The fully charged main cannon, without a moment’s hesitation, pierced through the enemy’s entire hull.
A blinding beam of light from above instantaneously dissolved all metal outer plating, causing the massive ship to expand like a red giant reaching the end of its life.
The helium cores that supported an entire planet would fuse violently and then explode into brilliant, extreme colors.
The White Emperor had once crawled out of the Akashic Rift, and Sakti himself had struggled free from a half-collapsed rift; he would never leave the same opportunity for the Pedipalp Sub-King.
A pragmatist never pursues form. Melting every inch of the enemy’s bones into ash was far more cost-effective than any other option.
The all-consuming laser thoroughly eradicated any possibility of the other’s survival, kicking up a flurry of scalding embers.
The terminal death-rattle that had made the ear-bones of every insect ache stopped abruptly.
The endless fragments all disintegrated as they fell into the planet’s atmosphere.
They formed glittering powder, refracting the colors of the sunset, hovering above the clouds like a flock of carefree birds.
The glow of the setting sun flowed along the earth, weaving a river like blood.
When that star finally sank below the horizon, the birds’ wings no longer reflected light. The deep-buried magma no longer continued to rush from the inside out, and the Akashic Rift that had swept across half the planet began to quietly enter its next period of stability.
It had swallowed enough of the surface; every inch of soaked land lost its color.
“Clear the battlefield,” Sakti said.
He withdrew from the emotions of combat very quickly, unlike the young Gray Wings beside him who were flushed with excitement and joy. He had already moved rapidly into the next phase. “The Pedipalp species still has two core planets. I need an immediate sweep and search to determine if there are any surviving males or larvae.”
Theoretically, it was difficult for the enemy to slaughter all males at once; there was a high probability that some hidden insects were still alive.
Provided their takeover was fast enough.
“I will detach one-third of the Gray Wings to follow me to the next jump point,” the Core Species gave clear instructions. “The remaining members will reorganize on-site and guard your Sub-King.”
The sun had completely fallen below the horizon, and the half-remaining habitat planet no longer showed any change.
It was a color of void upon which no light could act, gently wrapped by the tides.
Humans had no suitable language to describe this anomalous sight that defied common sense, as if all time had frozen at this moment. No matter how the next morning’s sun rose, it would never again penetrate the depths of the rift.
After a long sunset, this planet quietly stepped into a death of primordial darkness.
It had burned away all its colors in the twilight.
***
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Sacre-D: Reborn as the Swarm's Apex | Chapter 133 | The Weight of Suffering | Novela.app | Novela.app
