Sacre-D: Reborn as the Swarm's Apex | Chapter 7 | Dominance at the Port | Novela.app

From the moment he took his first step off the spacecraft, Gera appeared sickly. He harbored an equal fear of all unfamiliar worker Zerg; his healed wounds were a testament to the unpleasant experiences he had endured. Male Zerg were exceedingly fragile creatures. Like the parasitic males of the deep-sea anglerfish, they were essentially walking, mobile sperm banks. Once removed from their circle of protection, most males did not survive for long. He was similarly afraid of Sarkdi, but several days of high-intensity "tutoring" had already numbed that fear into a form of resignation. Anyone would have agreed that the desensitization therapy had yielded remarkable results. The tall Core Species walking ahead glanced back at him, and Gera immediately scurried to keep pace. A few low-level worker Zerg loitering near the spaceport rustled as they attempted to crowd forward. They came in all shapes and sizes—some looking human, others decidedly not. A high-level male Zerg smelled like a giant, sweet cream cake, even if that male possessed genetic defects. Even Sarkdi himself occasionally felt a pang of hunger when soaked in Gera’s pheromones. Consequently, a few bold, underdeveloped fools showed their predatory nature without the slightest sense of self-preservation as they approached the male. In the next heartbeat, Sarkdi’s scale-wings vibrated with a warning buzz. His hook-tail snapped out, its skeletal structure unfurling like a black serpent with a series of sharp clicks. Pungent pheromones flooded the air, forcing back those who sought to fish in troubled waters. The massive psychological shadow caused Gera’s legs to go weak almost instantly. Like a bent rush, he leaned heavily toward Sarkdi. Worker Zerg only released pheromones in large quantities during combat or mating. The vibration of Sarkdi’s wings kicked up a choking, spicy scent mixed with scale-dust, radiating extreme aggression. If a human were unfortunate enough to inhale these scents, their respiratory tract would be corroded and burned; a sub-adult male Zerg stood no chance against it. Sarkdi hoisted the noodle-limp male and slung him over his shoulder with one hand. He had carried too many corpses—both human and Zerg—and the movement was exceptionally practiced. This time, Gera did not struggle. The moment the other Zerg had crowded in, he had fallen into a state of catatonic shock. The elder high-ranking Core Species’ arm was clamped around his waist. That arm was currently transitioning into a semi-mutated state; fine black scales climbed up the limb. When Gera turned his head, he saw Sarkdi’s golden-brown pupils elongate into predatory vertical slits, locking onto the nearest target with absolute focus. Deterred by such undisguised aggression, some low-level workers chose to retreat, lingering nearby to watch the situation unfold. However, a few death-defying Zerg approached again. One mid-level genetic species stepped directly into Sarkdi’s personal space. A stranger’s sudden approach was a very rude gesture. In return, Sarkdi slammed that restless head deep into the ground. The black Zerg’s strike was too fast to follow, nearly snapping the provocateur’s head clean off its neck. Every Zerg present clearly heard the sickening *crack* of shattering bone. Gera witnessed this scene from point-blank range. The memory of the Core Species wringing heads with blood-stained hands days ago instantly transformed into a waking nightmare—history repeating itself. Like a drop of cold water hitting a vat of boiling oil, Sarkdi’s action caused a brawl to explode. Four or five low-to-mid-level workers joined the fray, swarming the black Core Species at the center. Humans had a reason for enjoying Whac-A-Mole. Sarkdi’s whip-like scale-tail wagged like a happy dog’s, and with two heavy *thumps*, it hammered the two most eager low-level Zerg into the dirt. Sarkdi was holding a third worker by the throat, prepared to give its head a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree rotation, when he heard the white male on his shoulder make a retching sound. In the midst of his busy schedule, he adjusted his posture, letting Gera slide down from his shoulder and tucking the weightless male into the crook of his left arm like one would hold a cat. "Don't vomit on me," he warned. In response, Gera clung to the Core Species’ neck with a half-dead, gasping desperation. The entire male was buried against the tall Zerg’s body, his face pressed against the cool, fine black scales of the other’s neck. The Core Species’ pheromones were like a hallucinogen, viscously winding around his scent glands and flowing down his throat, spicy to the point of pain. He was in a state of simultaneous agitation and nausea, his breathing coming in loud, ragged huffs, the fine scales on half his tail standing on end. The mutated Zerg surrounding them presented forms entirely different from humans. Their outer carapaces shimmered with a metallic luster, tightly shielding all soft, vital areas. Their long, powerful limbs combined with their tail-whips in a grotesque harmony. Within their gaping mouthparts, long, soft tongues and sharp accessory teeth were clearly visible, and the respiratory slits at their waists pulsed with hissing warnings. This visual effect made Sarkdi feel much more comfortable. Gera looked nearly human and was very good at mimicking human micro-expressions—much like how dogs evolved wet eyes and furrowed brows to evoke pity from their masters. Human-like expressions always triggered empathy. At the same time, the male was so frail that he was practically an evolutionary discard among the Zerg, lacking any threat. Early humans had suffered greatly because of this mimetic appearance, approaching things that looked like their own kind without defense, only to be chewed to pieces by a predator lying in wait. This resulted in Sarkdi feeling an irresistible urge to peel off that layer of human skin every time he saw a Zerg’s mimicry. In a sense, it was a severe professional hazard. The white male was still desperately suppressing the urge to regurgitate. He had no idea that his first meeting with the Core Species had only spared his life because he was so weak. The tall Zerg was darting around during the fight, nearly shaking the vomit out of him. If the Zerg digestive system didn't make reflux difficult, he would have been a mess by now. The Core Species’ speed was terrifying. Even though Sarkdi would use his other hand to protect the back of Gera's neck during sudden bursts of acceleration, the bone-jarring vibrations still made the male dizzy. *The male is a hindrance.* Sarkdi reached this clear realization. However, he quickly adjusted his mindset, treating it as part of his weight-bearing training. Human combat skills required practice to improve, and so did a Zerg’s. With every battle, he became slightly more familiar with the Zerg way of movement. His scale-tail had become quite cooperative, turning into a convenient weapon for both offense and defense. It was a detail worthy of being recorded in "The Early Human’s Guide to Taming a Tail." But it was far from enough. He needed more intensive, systematic, and progressively difficult combat. He needed high-level Core Species of equal strength as opponents to excavate the limits of this body as quickly as possible. He needed to get his hands on more suitable weapons and acquire a higher-grade spacecraft, so he would no longer be restricted by poverty to merely snapping heads by hand. Whac-A-Mole did not hone skills; only a life-and-death struggle could. Another low-level worker was pinned down by Sarkdi with one hand. The black Zerg’s body elongated, stretching from back to legs like a lithe feline. The weight of a perfectly developed adult Core Species far exceeded that of his low-to-mid-level kin, welding the opponent to the ground. Sharp accessory teeth easily tore through the defense of the chest carapace, ripping out a string of viscera. The two low-level Zerg who had been hammered like moles flanked him again, forming a defensive formation with the last mid-level species. Sarkdi slid gracefully off his fresh victim and, with a speed that was hard to track, delivered two more *thumps*, cratering their heads into the ground with a fragmented beauty that ensured they couldn't be pried out. The pathetic encirclement was utterly broken. The mid-level species lunged at Sarkdi’s back, having the audacity to grab at that lashing black tail. Sarkdi turned and delivered a punch that sent the opponent reeling. The struck compound eye was hard, but nowhere near as hard as a Core Species’ talons. The whip-like tail looped loosely around the opponent’s throat, its skeletal joints rotating in preparation to exert force. A second before Sarkdi’s tail could snap the head off, the trapped mid-level Zerg suddenly dropped to the ground, curling into a ball on all fours. The black scale-tail was still hooked around its neck, its sharp joints tearing bleeding gashes. A single twist in the opposite direction would have decapitated it. The mid-level Zerg was being strangled to the point of suffocation, yet it seemed unable to feel the pain. All its scales retracted beneath its skin, and even its wings were pressed flat against its back. The speed of the opponent’s surrender made Sarkdi pause, almost thinking it was some new kind of scam. Then he realized: this was a posture of submission. The opponent even suppressed its buzzing, not daring to move a muscle, curling its body into the smallest possible shape. He was one step away from a grand slam, only to have the match terminated early by an opponent who refused to follow the rules of engagement. It was enough to make one's blood boil. Sarkdi’s vertical pupils dilated slightly, and his scale-tail tightened again. The mid-level Zerg let out a pained, wheezing gasp, like a long, rattling groan squeezed from its windpipe. Realizing that the other did not intend to let it go, its appendages began to struggle frantically. At that moment, the sub-adult male finally couldn't hold it in and let out a sob-like buzz. The black tail-whip silently slithered away from the nearly severed neck, retracting behind the Core Species. The mid-level Zerg let out a massive, beast-like breath, its mouthparts and the respiratory slits at its waist heaving violently. Its head remained bowed, not daring to look directly at the black Zerg before it. Any hint of provocation would bring the shadow of death back upon it. Sarkdi stepped two paces to the side and set Gera on the ground. His tail swept the area, specifically choosing the only patch of ground not splattered with blood and brains. However, as the male sat there and looked up, he was met with the pink, blood-smeared face of the kneeling survivor, one of whose compound eyes was swollen and bulging from its socket. Gera immediately made the motion of a cat hacking up a hairball. Sarkdi nearly laughed out of sheer irritation. He gave the submissive mid-level Zerg a light kick and used his tail to hook the creature’s neck, turning it around so its mangled face pointed the other way. The creature didn't dare make a sound, obeying with spineless docility. Gera sobbed while clinging tightly to the Zerg beside him. Sarkdi had to drag him along as if they were competing in a three-legged race. He kicked the surviving worker, who was still avoiding his gaze, signaling it to stand up. "Lead the way," Sarkdi said. Using the justification of "a free laborer falling from the sky," he quickly shifted his mindset. His eyes no longer gathered predatory aggression; his pupils were slowly returning to a rounded shape. After a cycle of grueling self-study, his Zerg Common Tongue sounded perfectly articulated. "I want," he said, "to sell goods." ***