It was a night of chaotic upheaval.
The Core-seed did not return to the nest on time—this had become a common occurrence lately. Advancing the war front was never subject to individual will, nor could it follow the regular patterns of a standard workday.
Fortunately, Sakti sent a message to the male insect every time, telling him not to wait up and providing an approximate time of return.
When the message arrived, Gera was at the docking orbit.
The human was still pale, having not yet returned to full health. The male insect volunteered to help him carry his meager suitcase, but Enna, who was following behind them, snatched the luggage up in one go.
Gera: "..."
He had completely forgotten that one of these twin guards was a middle-tier female insect with absurd strength. Not long ago, the creature had been clinging to his chest, chirping and acting spoiled; the sudden transition to this "muscle-bound" persona was truly difficult to get used to.
"We’re departing immediately."
A tall combat-type came over to call the human to board. By coincidence, he was a member of the squad that had followed Sakti to Kamlan—specifically, the unlucky fellow whom the Core-seed had sniped out of the air during the simulation and stuffed a plasma detonator into his mouth.
Toward this human, who possessed neither wings nor a scaled tail, he maintained an attitude of indifferent resignation, mostly turning a blind eye and only asking necessary questions when required.
The Grey-wings heading to the energy planet for shift rotations used the ordinary docking orbits. With the war in full swing, all requirements had to give way to the departing fleets. They were forced to board at a more remote location.
"Coming," the youth responded. He took the suitcase from Enna’s hand and thanked him before turning back to the white insect.
"See you later," the human said with a smile, his blue eyes shimmering with soft emotion. "If Sakti doesn't bring you along to Kamlan next time, I shall argue his ear off on your behalf."
"Gu-ji."
Gera couldn't help himself; he pulled the youth into a hug and let out a soft chirp. He still disliked partings; any form of separation made him sad. Even his tail, usually spirited and wagging, now drooped listlessly.
"I will miss you very, very much."
As he spoke, Gera sniffed his friend, following the instincts of an insect to use his scent glands to carefully memorize the youth's scent.
Unlike humans, who prioritize sight, the Zerg relied more heavily on scent glands to distinguish the auras of their companions. Their sensitivity to temperature, humidity, and pheromones far exceeded that of the human race. Even when praising appearance, insects generally complimented strong wings, lustrous scales, or powerful tail-whips; for a face, the most they could usually squeeze out was "perfect mimicry."
"I have to go."
The youth finally reached out to pat the male insect’s back, giving his friend a proper embrace. "Don't worry. We’re in the same galaxy, after all. Drop by anytime, and keep in touch."
The dry joke finally made Gera laugh.
"Next time we meet, you must be healthy," he said with a serious expression.
In response, the youth nodded.
Gera watched him until he turned and walked toward the transport ship. The human nodded again to the waiting combat-type with a composed expression and whispered something. The deep grey female insect shook his head, then nodded, making a gesture to accompany the movement.
The youth was asking about the flight route, Gera realized—his own psychic tentacles, which tended to wander everywhere, had already instinctively learned to pick up various emotions.
"Arthur Simmons."
Just as the human was about to step into the boarding hatch, a voice came from behind, calling out his full name.
The fleet that had been suppressing the Broad-wings and the Pedipalp-types had landed on the other side of the docking orbit, some distance from the civilian departure point. However, the Grey-wing habitat stars were equipped with "Time-River" ports that could directly link any two locations.
The passage opened for a split second and then closed again.
The silver-grey high-tier insect strode over, his face devoid of expression. In their shared history of over a dozen Great Cycles, such a situation had rarely occurred.
The combat-type, Gera, the twin guards, and the human holding the suitcase all turned back at once.
By human standards, one generally only used a full name instead of a nickname when angry—it usually meant someone was about to get a scolding or worse.
But the youth lacked that common sense. He merely paused, retracted his step, and set his luggage on the ground.
"You're back?" Simmons instinctively looked behind the other. "Is Sakti not with you?"
"Only me."
Clark’s voice betrayed no emotion. His wings and tail-whip were retracted and still. Though he didn't possess the male insect's heaven-defying psychic power, the youth could tell that his fosterer was currently in an abnormal state.
"You’re angry."
The human told the combat-type, "Please wait a moment," then took a few steps toward the high-tier insect, studying him closely. Regardless of the circumstances, he admitted his fault first: "I’m sorry. You’ve been so busy lately that I had to ask Sakti to pass on the message for me."
This was a diplomatic way of putting it. In truth, the Sub-King, suffering from culture shock, had essentially cut off contact and run away, drifting in space for two whole Small Cycles.
The other did not answer. He merely glanced at the combat-type, who stood frozen like a block of wood, and issued a command: "You all leave first. He stays."
However, in the next second, the human grabbed his hand.
"I will leave with them. Please wait."
The first half of the sentence was directed at the silver-grey female insect; the second half was for the combat-type, who looked like he wanted nothing more than to drop dead on the spot.
At this, the Grey-wing Sub-King’s expression truly changed.
Before he could erupt, the human performed a swift and practiced "spell interruption."
"I am planning to return to human space for a period of treatment." The human smiled as he took the other’s arm, using slight physical contact to dampen the female insect’s fury and redirect his attention.
Treatment was one aspect; the other was that he had pushed the other too hard. He needed to leave some space and time for his fosterer to process things. After all, he was the one who had schemed first, and the one schemed against had been hit by a bolt from the blue.
Years of living together had made him well aware of the other's personality; relentless pressure would only cause the elder female insect to retreat into a stubborn corner.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to let you misunderstand."
The high-tier insect’s heart was a mess of complex emotions.
The human was mentally mature and intelligent. Aside from the initial stage when he couldn't speak, he had been exceptionally easy to care for, leading Clark to believe all human young were like this. As it turned out, after eighteen years of smooth sailing, the rebellious phase had arrived late but with a vengeance, starting with a move that had left him reeling.
"Is it because of my attitude lately?" Clark finally spoke again, his usually steady and soft voice carrying a faint trace of exhaustion.
But the youth gave him no chance for self-reflection, cutting off the rest of his words with absolute certainty.
"No."
His lake-blue eyes did not shy away. "You have done well enough, Clark. Better than any other person or any other insect. Please do not blame yourself for reasons that do not belong to you. I have things I need to do myself, such as receiving more comprehensive treatment. I should have gone with the Red Reishi, but I chose a more willful path because I couldn't bear to leave."
Arthur still held onto him, and this time, the high-tier insect did not pull his hand away.
"It wasn't because of your attitude—I came here of my own accord, I wanted to stay by your side longer of my own accord, and now I am choosing to leave temporarily of my own accord. Please forgive my selfishness, but there is one thing: I have never been sad or disappointed because I was near you."
The human pressed his forehead against the back of the other’s hand.
"Every second by your side, I have felt nothing but happiness."
The silver-grey female insect closed his eyes and said nothing more.
He no longer knew how to treat the child he had raised. The other had grown up unnoticed, developing his own thoughts and even embarking on a path Clark found difficult to comprehend. He was no longer the helpless, crying cub of his memories.
And he was at a loss because of it.
When the human was young, Clark had shielded him under his wings, building a warm and safe nest just as one would for an insect cub, isolating all malice from the outside. In a grotesque world filled with blood, a tiny, fresh green seedling had rested in his arms.
After he finished reading that entire book of myths to the child, he began reading more complex things—humans seemed to have a very obscure set of theories regarding the education of children, quite different from the Zerg, who focused more on hunting and practical combat.
The slow-growing child always liked to hug him, tilting his head up to watch him turn the pages without blinking.
At that time, he happened to read a literary work beginning with "Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art." He had hoped his human would be as the book described, "not in lone splendour hung aloft the night... watching, with eternal lids apart."
He wanted him to walk into the world.
The lifespans of Direct-descendants, Sub-Kings, and Kings were very long, reaching nearly a hundred and eighty Great Cycles. Thus, he worried that his beloved child would pass away before him, while simultaneously worrying whether the other could live a life untainted by tears and sorrow.
But the human gradually grew. He grew until he could no longer be easily gathered into his arms, until the youth only had to look up to press his forehead against Clark's.
That frail seedling had, as he hoped, braved the wind and rain, remaining steadfast as it spread its lush green canopy and branches.
Thirteen years had passed like wind and flowing water, leaving no trace, yet they had carried the trajectories of their lives in a completely different direction, making him rejoice in the other's happiness.
"You should know that I love you very much," the silver-grey female insect finally said.
He despised affection, loathed weakness, and held in contempt all concessions expressed in words. Before this, he had avoided all expressions of love, but the human’s arms embraced him, just as they had countless times before, unafraid of the wings and tail-whip that could easily tear an enemy apart.
He lowered his head because of this embrace.
"Not because you are like my cub, nor because I seek some ridiculous comfort in a phantom... I simply love you for being Arthur Simmons, for being my child."
Clark’s voice was deep and gentle. His unfolded insect wings enveloped the youth in his protection, just as in the past. "More than the authority of a King, more than mindless hatred, and more than anything else in this world."
"I know."
The youth responded with a smile. His blue eyes had never been tainted by gloom; joy dampened his lashes. "I know. Me too."
He said, "They constitute every sentence I speak, every minute of my joy. When I look back, every fragment that forms the river of my life says the same thing."
The young human was like a blind man, using his fingers to stroke the other’s cheek and jaw, identifying the shapes he had touched thousands of times, as if trying to remember the other for a long time before their parting.
The movement was very light, light enough that the Sub-King did not push him away.
"I will wait for you on Kamlan."
His lake-like eyes were no different from when they first met thirteen years ago; even when filled with tears, they were pure, clear, and bright. "It’s okay if you don't come. I will come to your side, time and time again."
He embraced the elder female insect one last time, like someone gazing at the only light falling into the darkness, and quietly left an imperceptible kiss.
"Before I understood any words regarding love," the human’s voice was so soft it was barely discernible, but he knew the other had heard him, "I never once stopped loving you."
*******
The black Core-seed straightened his back.
Blood dripped along the edges of his sharp scales, splashing onto the untreated floor and leaving small corrosive marks. Two pairs of golden eyes surveyed the surroundings without emotion; when eye contact was made, even the mutated Direct-descendant Grey-wings averted their gaze.
The space was permeated with a stench thick enough to cause dizziness. A fine mist of blood had almost condensed into a solid form, soaking the scent glands used for perception. Massive clusters of debris blocked the passages, every step eliciting a squelching echo.
Everything in sight was like hell.
The Broad-wings had started a new research project near the Core habitat stars. When the Zerg absorbed the genes of other species, they were never picky, treating reproductive isolation like waste paper; their philosophy was "I’ll take mine, you just lie there and die."
However, the intelligence of the first-generation Beast-hybrid crossbreeds was truly low. They possessed powerful bodies but lacked normal thought processes. Thus, the Direct-descendants controlling the Broad-wing tribe exercised their "spirit of inquiry," making those Beast-hybrids breed extensively with male insects, screening for individuals with stronger rationality and healthy bodies, and repeating the process continuously.
At the cost of a hollowed-out underground incubation chamber, a large number of male insects, and a massive number of dead Beast-hybrids, they had finally obtained a brand-new breed with sufficient rationality and physical attributes superior to the old version of Zerg that had merely absorbed human genes.
Swift, hard, and possessing abundant intelligence.
Unlike ordinary Zerg who only had barbs on their tail-whips, their entire bodies—from the back of the neck and spine down to the tailbone—were covered in sharp, hard spinal thorns. The speed of the juveniles was also too fast to guard against, and their two rows of accessory teeth could tear through any scales.
The perfect template was born here.
The male insects still alive were pinned to the walls, screaming incessantly; eggs, some viable and some shriveled, flowed down their bodies and pooled on the ground. Weird larvae in embryonic states swam within the eggs, twitching occasionally, their sharp thorns nearly piercing the egg membranes. The deformities that had already hatched crawled over every inch of space, including the ceiling, rustling as they gnawed on all the corpses.
After tearing off Katla’s head, the Core-seed was going on a killing spree in his deeply mutated form for the first time.
All high-tier Beast-hybrids had been slaughtered. Crushed hearts and torn-off heads were scattered everywhere like clumps of wet cotton. The black female insect crushed the eggs and embryos alike, plowing through the soft bloody foam once more to completely eradicate any trace of those creatures' survival.
His eyes, elongated into vertical slits, shifted slightly, patrolling the scattered targets on the ground. The Grey-wing Direct-descendants made a retreating motion, bowing their bodies; for a time, no insect dared to make a sound.
For the Zerg, fear was an instinct, as was showing a submissive posture toward the object of that fear.
Until the still-living male insects let out shrill screams.
When some eggs were birthed, the larvae—already in a semi-living state—would heave, their spinal thorns easily tearing through the body of the mother... or rather, the father.
"Send them for treatment."
His mouthparts split into a narrow slit, the fine accessory teeth clearly visible, his long, slender tongue still tasting the air for the scent of high-tier Beast-hybrids. All of this made the black female insect look as though he had no connection to humanity.
But he issued the command clearly.
"But ensure that all eggs are destroyed."
Perhaps some male insects would harbor a sliver of affection for the strange larvae they had gestated, or perhaps the dying male insects felt nothing but hatred for these lives. None of that mattered to Sakti.
His thought process was in a state of cold indifference, devoid of any superfluous emotion, just as he had calculated death tolls as mere numbers when at war with the Federation. Ensuring that not a single mutated larva crawled to the surface was the highest priority at this moment.
In the face of cold reality, morality was the most ineffective thing.
Once the Beast-hybrids grew and formed a scale, they would be enough to trigger a new round of reshuffling among the Zerg powers, or even cause upheaval in human space.
"For the time being, sweep every remaining planet one by one," the golden-eyed monster said.
"I will tear off the heads of their Sub-Kings and let them take these things they’ve created—"
"—and rot in hell."
