The strained relationship with his colleagues had persisted for quite some time. The black Zerg continued to eat and sleep as usual, keeping himself busy with a packed, fixed schedule.
Eventually, the Armed-types reached their limit. The more they endured, the angrier they became. Every day, they huddled together in a collective, dark brood, their straightforward minds agonizing over a way to find an opportunity to put him in his place.
That opportunity arrived soon enough.
While Sakdi was in the training hall, tinkering with his newly acquired weapons, the "Wagging Tail Guy" led a large group of Zerg inside, closing the exit behind them with a sharp click.
Before Sakdi could tuck the small plasma device he had just finished assembling back into his pocket, he was surrounded. He had no choice but to hold the pile of high-powered equipment in his hands.
"Care for a spar?"
The Armed-type’s grey-black eyes stared directly at him, his posture making it clear: *If you don't fight, don't think about leaving.*
Several towering Zerg stood at the door, sealing off all exits.
*Do the Zerg really resort to this kind of bullying too?* Sakdi sighed.
The minds of the Zerg across from him were likely very linear; after days of thinking, the only solution they could come up with was cornering him in the training hall for a beating. He suspected that if Clark ever asked, they would simply claim it was "combat training."
However, Sakdi himself used to be quite fond of simulated combat matches—it was a legitimate way to beat the living daylights out of one's superiors. He could understand the sentiment.
What do you do when a roommate is being difficult? A good thrashing usually fixes it.
Since they all wanted to beat the other into submission, there was no point in picking another time; right now seemed perfect.
Behind him was an entire armory. While a physical brawl with a fellow Core-gene Zerg might require a cost-benefit analysis, he couldn't possibly lose once he had thermal weapons in hand.
It was the perfect chance to evaluate how Zerg technology performed in actual combat.
Since arriving on the energy planet, he had mostly been tearing things apart with his bare hands for various reasons. He was itching to handle a gun.
Through the information link, he changed the training field to a jungle terrain. Instantly, branches sprouted and the topography shifted between him and the Armed-types, as thermal interference began to take effect.
The Alpha-class warship was massive, and its built-in training hall was unimaginably large.
Sakdi reached back and grabbed a cluster gun. Facing the Zerg looking for trouble, he flashed a smile that could have easily reduced a hatchling to tears.
"Then I won't hold back," he said insincerely, offering a polite, customary disclaimer: "A friendly spar—let's keep it civil."
Before the Grey-wings could demand to know why he was using weapons in a "friendly spar," they were dragged headfirst into Battle Royale 2.0.
Initially, they maintained the dignity of the Core-gene tribes, preparing for one-on-one duels. However, the bastard across from them wasn't playing around; a volley of particle beams blasted right past their heads.
The five Armed-types scattered instantly, bolting to scavenge for weapons of their own.
Thermal weapons plus a "home-invasion" terrain—this was a home field tailor-made for Sakdi. Back when he was human, he had to worry that his reaction speed and strength might not match the Zerg's prowess. Now, this body had filled in his final weakness. It was pure bliss.
The training hall of a high-grade ship was vast and built to the highest military specifications. As long as he didn't detonate a nuclear warhead inside the vessel, there wouldn't be much of a problem.
Even if some damage occurred, the loser would be the one to fix it. Sakdi never concerned himself with cleaning up the aftermath.
What followed could be described as the darkest day in the lives of these Armed-type Zerg.
The high attack and defense stats of the Zerg made them less reliant on thermal weapons; after all, a Core-gene Zerg could tear through the hull of a human patrol ship with their bare hands.
In war, the Zerg mostly operated large-scale strike weapons for long-range attacks. If combat ever progressed to a ground engagement, many Zerg felt it was beneath them to use extra equipment against "lesser species."
Then, the black-scaled bastard gave them a collective lesson.
Sakdi excelled at breaking apart tightly-knit Zerg groups in complex environments and picking them off one by one. This was a tactic he had perfected after leading his teams to flank Zerg nests countless times.
When Zerg clustered together, their offense and defense were usually well-coordinated, making them difficult to ambush.
Thus, from the very start, he threw whatever had the most explosive power, leaving the opposition soot-faced and reeling.
Regardless, these were Clark’s subordinates, and they had initiated the provocation. As long as a Zerg had a single breath left, they could be tossed into a healing pod for a night and emerge as good as new.
The Core-gene protagonist had no qualms about using the harshest methods to suppress the source of the trouble.
Flashes of light and waves of heat forced the Armed-types to break their formation, scattering the Grey-wing group.
For a moment, the leader wondered if the man intended to kill them outright.
This was clearly an illusion. Sakdi conscientiously followed the principle of a "friendly spar." When one Zerg tried to burst through the smoke and the canopy of the simulated jungle, Sakdi raised his gun and shot him down.
Though he stopped using polluting particle weapons and cluster munitions, switching instead to small armor-piercing rounds, his marksmanship was ruthless and precise. He specifically targeted the weakest points of the Zerg's outer carapace—the gaps behind the joints, the respiratory slits at the junction of the thorax and abdomen, and the pivot points where the wings met the elytra.
The tool in his hand was capable of downing human aircraft.
He changed positions with every shot, leaving the Zerg chasing him unable to find their target.
Acting inhumanly allowed him to reclaim the joy of being human.
It was a ridiculous theory, but it felt right.
He had never seen this specific combat scenario before, but that didn't stop him from mastering the terrain at lightning speed.
His opponents were bombarded before they could even grasp the situation. Once these high-ranking Zerg figured things out and entered a state of deep alienation, they would become much harder to handle.
An Armed-type who had been shot down tried to scramble back up to fight. Just as he was about to transform, a plasma device was shoved into his mouth. The device was jammed in so hard that its casing nearly cracked against his sharp secondary teeth, instantly turning the Zerg into a frozen statue.
"At this distance, even someone from a Core-gene tribe will have their head blown off." A calm, ghostly voice rang out. The black Core-gene Zerg looked at the furious Zerg with an expressionless face. "Friendly spar. You're dead. Will you exit on your own, or should I help you?"
"Right, I understand. You definitely want me to help you."
The plasma device gave a soft *click*. The Grey-wing Zerg let out muffled, struggling cries. A sense of dread, similar to what those who had experienced his "head-pulling service" felt, washed over him.
However, Sakdi ignored him entirely, slapping the Zerg's shoulder and stripping away his outer armor.
"If you move, I'll let this thing burn a hole through your brain. The head is a non-regenerative organ, you know?"
*What a terrifying opponent.* What kind of black-hearted monster had Clark brought back from the energy planet to deliver goods?
Shoved into a small corner, the victim felt his captor reach out and thoughtfully pat his jaw.
"Keep it in your mouth and be a good little corpse. This thing is linked to my terminal. If you move or try to get back up, I'll detonate it instantly."
This was different from the battle on Angon. Whether it was the Sacrifice Match or a deathmatch to overthrow a superior, even Sakdi had to follow certain rules. He had to tear Katra from the throne fairly, without cheating or relying on external aid.
But a simulation was another matter.
When it came to playing dirty, he was arguably the best among humans; even a King Zerg would take a detour to avoid him. Everything he possessed had been won through blood and lead. Beheading the Broodmother five times and forcibly turning the Zerg from a single-core to a multi-core species was no joke.
Three positions, six armor-piercing rounds. The first shot broke the defense, the second took them down. Add in an electric net package, and the Wagging Tail Guy's companions were soon lined up in a row.
He used the plasma devices as bite blocks, stuffing a "fragile bomb" into each of their mouths—a comprehensive "silence and stun" gift set.
This batch of Armed-types had come expecting to watch their leader fight. Instead, they were blasted in the face with thermal weapons and fed explosives. Their mental state was on the verge of collapsing.
The "core" of a plasma device was powered by energy stones. If it actually exploded, it would truly flip a Zerg's head open; no matter how hard the skull or carapace, it couldn't withstand such a thing sparking in the mouth.
Meanwhile, the Wagging Tail Guy was running all over the field. The scattered heat sources and chaotic branches severely interfered with his judgment. The black Core-gene Zerg was like a swamp fish, impossible to pin down. All he could hear were the crashing sounds of explosions—one second the target was on the left, the next he had darted to the right. As the fight went on, he realized his teammates had gone completely silent.
Zerg were extremely sensitive to temperature and sound, yet the opponent had used a combination of explosions and bombardment to completely nullify their innate advantages.
Who would have thought a madman would play with explosives on a spaceship? That initial burst of scattered particle rays had nearly wiped them out.
The self-important Zerg had originally wanted a one-on-one freestyle brawl. It had to be said that many Armed-types had watched the footage of Sakdi toppling Katra from the throne. Within the Grey-wing tribe, they felt both a restless itch and a burning desire to test their mettle against this outsider.
Those who could join the Guard were essentially battle maniacs; they couldn't restrain themselves when they saw someone equally capable.
As a result, the freestyle brawl had inexplicably turned into a military guerrilla training exercise.
This was not the outcome they wanted.
Crouched in a high vantage point, the Core-gene Zerg who had been watching them for a long time didn't care what they wanted.
He lay there as silent as a cat, his muzzle aimed steadily at the Wagging Tail Guy, who was spinning in circles amidst the thickets and smoke. The latter looked angry enough to tear through armor plating with his bare hands.
To prevent actually killing anyone, Sakdi had specifically put away the cluster gun and switched to a shield-breaking weapon with high impact but low lingering destructive power.
Even by the standards of a high-ranking Zerg's outer scales, a hit from this would break their defense.
But Zerg recovered quickly and moved fast. If an ordinary human faced such a creature and failed to kill it in one hit, the tables would be turned instantly.
A natural-born hunter would not give his prey a second chance to provoke him.
Even Sakdi himself wouldn't dare to easily move against a Core-gene Zerg at close range without mecha support.
The good news was, he wasn't human anymore, so he wasn't afraid.
Thus, he watched unmoved as his prey's composure crumbled. His hand was as steady as if he weren't even in a fight. In a single second, he fired four consecutive rounds—a "gift set" to take the opponent from standing to lying down.
The first shot knocked the Wagging Tail Guy over. The second, following immediately after, peeled back the scales where his defense was highest. The third and fourth shots shattered his breastbone and tore his respiratory slits.
Such minor injuries were nothing to a high-level Zerg. They didn't even need to dig out the bullets; their body's rejection response would automatically expel the fragments and accelerate wound healing.
But for Sakdi, who didn't intend to actually kill them, it was more than enough.
He leaped down instantly. Before the opponent could scramble up, he hit the Armed-type with an electric net. A second later, the muzzle of the cluster gun was pressed against the broken scales on the Zerg's chest.
"Move again, and there really will be a hole here."
Pinned into the dust, the Wagging Tail Guy let out a furious hiss. Fine scales spread all the way to his neck, and the thick muscles of his chest were trembling. The Zerg was smoking from the electricity, looking about medium-well.
The "family" of four Armed-types sitting in a row had just gained a new member.
From the results, none of the Zerg had sustained serious injuries; the wounds from the gun were already healing rapidly.
This only made the insult feel much stronger.
The first few unlucky ones to go down were gagged with four flammable and explosive objects, all of them stripped of their armor. A family should always be together, after all.
Like vicious dogs fitted with muzzles, they were both furious and unwilling to admit defeat, their faces blackened by smoke and soot.
In contrast, Sakdi wore a refreshed smile. Playing with guns was truly joyful.
"The first Friendly Games have concluded successfully."
Before the others could process the implication that there might be a *second* round, he reached out and—*shing, shing, shing*—pulled the lethal "bite blocks" out of the mouths of the Zerg who were too afraid to close their jaws or move. The sight nearly made them scream.
The Core-gene Zerg dangled the string of devices, which were covered in sharp teeth marks, and gave a lazy laugh. "Just kidding. I pulled the 'cores' out ages ago. They won't explode."
The Zerg scrambled to their feet, letting out furious, cursing hisses as they immediately surrounded the bastard, ready to strike.
However, the golden-brown eyes merely looked at them with a smile.
"Next time, I might not be kind enough to remove the cores in advance."
Finally, the Wagging Tail Guy reached out and stopped all his enraged subordinates.
"You won, though your methods were foul," he said coldly, looking as if he were owed several shiploads of energy stones. The arrogance of a high-ranking tribe forced him to grit his teeth and accept this failure. "You had weapons. Let's fight again in alienated forms."
They had not only been beaten by a lone Core-gene Zerg but had also been stripped of all their equipment. It was a monumental humiliation.
"Don't make excuses for failure. You still wouldn't win if you tried again."
Sakdi was always in a good mood after a training session, and even his attitude toward provoking others became a bit gentler.
"If you don't believe me, I can set aside some time every day to spar with you."
Both sides had held back in this probe. The opponents had suffered from not entering their alienated states immediately, while he had benefited from his pile of weapons.
Sakdi looked at the Wagging Tail Guy, who was breathing heavily due to his torn respiratory slits. "Coming?"
The other man kept a wooden face, his tail lashing against the ground with a series of sharp cracks.
"I'm coming." He added, "Starting tomorrow."
Thus, at the end of the first small cycle of being traveling companions, Sakdi finally learned the names of all the Armed-types.
The Wagging Tail Guy's name was pronounced similarly to the human word "Kliman," though it was more guttural.
The Grey-wing tribe liked to name their offspring with syllables starting with "K" or "Kr." They didn't have surnames; the more a descendant was groomed for leadership, the closer their name was to their kin. This naming style, which shared the same lineage as Krisha, piqued the Core-gene Zerg's interest.
"Are you related to the Sub-King of the Grey-wings?" he couldn't help but ask.
The Wagging Tail Guy—Kliman—gave him a frigid look. "He is my kin."
As he said this, his expression didn't change at all, as if he were mentioning a completely unrelated Zerg.
He was actually a direct descendant.
A direct descendant of the Sub-King had been tossed to an energy planet's satellite station to be a security captain, and his superior wasn't even Krisha. No matter how you looked at it, there was a story there.
But looking at the man's state, it was no wonder Krisha's throne was unstable; there was a circle of strong, young Zerg below him waiting to topple him. According to the bloody traditions of the Zerg, the birth of a new King meant the death of the old one.
"But you're following Clark?"
This matter was far too interesting, causing Sakdi to feel a rare urge to probe deeper.
"Because Krisha is a failure."
But as for *why* he was a failure, the Wagging Tail Guy shut his mouth again.
What a tight-lipped, cold-blooded Zerg.
Even after returning to his resting nest, Sakdi was still thinking about the internal relationships of the Grey-wing tribe.
Having washed off the grime and soaked in a bath, the Core-gene Zerg felt refreshed. He lay in his nest and initiated a communication link with Gela.
The white male Zerg was eating and scrambled to answer.
Seeing that thin, scaled tail wagging back and forth, frantically fluttering like a small brush, Sakdi let out a laugh.
"How was your day? Something interesting happened on my end. Want to hear about it?"
***
**Glossary**
Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation
:--- | :--- | :---
克里曼 | Kliman | The "Wagging Tail Guy," leader of the Grey-wing guards.
亚王虫 | Sub-King | A high-ranking Zerg just below the King/Queen level.
集束枪 | Cluster gun | A type of Zerg thermal weapon used by Sakdi.
穿甲弹 | Armor-piercing rounds | Ammunition used by Sakdi to target carapace weak points.
电浆器 | Plasma device | A Zerg technological device used as a weapon/explosive.
呼吸缝 | Respiratory slits | Vulnerable openings in a Zerg's carapace for breathing.
翅鞘 | Elytra | The hardened forewings of certain Zerg types.
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