Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Taste's breathing gradually grew long and even. After the pain faded away, he slept peacefully—in stark contrast to the bugs around him who thrashed desperately, trying to crack their own skulls open.

"We need to get him out of here," Yor leaned against Dexter, looking a bit worried. Anyone who came in now would spot at a glance that something was wrong with Taste.

Dexter, on the other hand, wasn't all that anxious. Seeing that Taste was out of danger, the whole bug looked a lot more relaxed.

"He was brought in here, and a lot of bugs saw it. There's no hiding that." Dexter lifted Yor up and sat him on his arm, speaking softly, "We just need to cover up any trace of you having been here."

For Dexter, who handled security, the latter was obviously no trouble.

As for Taste—thick-skinned and tough as he was, even if they took him in for research, it wouldn't hurt much. Besides, the War Lord was fiercely protective of his own bugs. His life wouldn't be in danger.

Compared to that, covering up the Little Broodmother's role in this was way more important.

Yor stared in disbelief as Dexter unhesitatingly left Taste behind, then, with Yor in his arms, scrambled up to the ceiling of the compartment, bounded around a few times, and somehow slipped out of the surveillance range. Even carrying a full-grown bug like Yor didn't slow him down one bit.

Even after being carried all the way back to the monitoring cabin, Yor still couldn't quite wrap his head around it.

Dexter, meanwhile, went straight to the cold storage cabinet with practiced ease and made Yor a cup of that special, sickeningly sweet sleep-aid milk—two big scoops of sugar, ice filled to the brim—exactly the same as the one Yor had made for himself last time.

"..."

Yor couldn't help but look up and give Dexter a long, pointed stare.

You're monitoring me, and you still flaunt it right in my face??

Dexter reacted fast. He dropped to his knees with a *thud*—so quick it startled Yor, who nearly threw the cup in his hand.

The high-ranking male bug was quick-eyed and quick-handed, catching the cup in one smooth move. He apologized profusely, sweating on his forehead, saying he shouldn't have startled the Broodmother. Only when Yor waved a hand to show he didn't care did Dexter lower his head and explain: "I wasn't monitoring you. The supply data from the monitoring cabin gets compiled and sent to me. I... the data reflected your preferences."

He didn't look particularly ashamed saying this, but his ears were perked, tracking the Little Broodmother's every move, scared that the Little Broodmother might show even a hint of displeasure.

Yor took the cup and instinctively took a sip. It was cloyingly sweet, enough to make his throat scratch—but it was indeed the kind of taste he liked when he was under stress.

As for this great big pile of bug in front of him...

Yor's mind started to drift—in a corner with no other bugs around, Dexter, in his spare time, pulls up the monitoring cabin's data. Just those few supply usage records, barely even a page. The male bug watches them over and over, runs through them again and again, seriously analyzing the Little Broodmother's meal times, his drink preferences, the thickness of the blanket he sleeps under...

Emm... compared to just watching surveillance footage, it was hard to say which was more messed up.

Yor looked down and took another sip of the sweet milk.

Tsk. These male bugs.

Eh, whatever.

===========

Meanwhile, on the other side, Taste—abandoned without a second thought by his brother—was lost in a beautiful dream.

In the warm monitoring room, he lay in the sleep pod Yor had used, wrapped in Yor's scent from head to toe, his whole body soft and limp, not wanting to lift a single finger.

Across from the sleep pod, the adorable Yor was holding a test strip, saying softly: "Taste, take a bite. Take a bite of my honey, and it won't hurt anymore. It's my first honey, you know."

Taste was full of confusion. First honey? Didn't Dexter already eat the first honey?

But whatever. Yor said he could have his first honey!

He opened his mouth without a second thought!

One bite—delicious. Another bite—even better.

Yep, first honey was the best!

His head didn't hurt anymore. His legs didn't ache. And the jealousy in his heart was gone too.

The more he ate, the stronger he felt, his whole body full of boundless bull-like energy.

Full of strength, Taste snapped his eyes open.

The lights of the holding area made him squint. His limbs were still bound in shackles, but his mental sea felt clean and refreshed, as if something had carefully wiped it clean.

His mouth... why was there really something in his mouth?

Pasted against his lips was half a wet strip of cloth—torn from a nearby war bug's clothing, crumpled, stained with who-knows-what, a real sorry piece of rag.

Taste turned his head, spat out the rag with a *pfft*, lay flat for a moment to think, then seriously concluded—Dexter really was insufferable, even in dreams he was messing with me.

Taste lay among the chaotic mass of bugs, pondering the meaning of bug life for a bit. When he noticed the strange behavior of the bugs around him, it suddenly hit him—his own mental sea had been in just as sorry a state before!

And as for who had repaired his mental sea...

The instinctive joy and dependence of his mental sea told him—it was Yor!

Yor had come!

He'd saved him, but only him!

Taste jolted upright with a start, but the shackles on his limbs sent him crashing back down.

He was, after all, a young warrior who'd survived the battlefield through grit and luck. Taste quickly snapped out of the joy of Yor coming specifically to save him and realized that his current situation could very easily bring trouble down on Yor.

What to do?

Taste thought fast.

The neurotoxin of the Jueyu jellyfish could throw a bug's mental sea into chaos and cause constant convulsions. Just a few grams would be enough to fake the same symptoms as the others. His terminal hadn't been confiscated—he could contact his comrades to deliver the toxin. But the more bugs who knew, the greater the risk of exposing Yor.

Or, simpler and more direct: shift into bug form, break out of the holding area, and stage it as a mental sea eruption scene.

But this was the Lord's starship. If he really ran, he could never return to the War Department, and maybe never see Yor again...

Taste was in the middle of weighing the possibility of escaping with Yor in tow when an emergency mission alert suddenly blared across the entire starship.

Taste quickly looked at his terminal. The notice was from the Lord's personal guard captain: "Level One Directive: The Broodmother will undergo her first oviposition in one hour. All war bugs are to proceed to the upper deck to observe."

Level One directives took priority over almost everything else. War bugs dropped what they were doing at once, and the entire starship sprang into motion.

Footsteps, formation assembly calls, and the clatter of metal echoed from all directions.

The guards at the holding area hastily checked their roster. The one in charge cursed, waved a hand, and barked: "Take them all! The Lord said 'all war bugs'—not a single one missing!"

Taste was hauled up from the ground. The shackles stayed on, but they dragged him along as they moved out.

He kept his eyes shut, feigning a headache, his emotions carefully hidden. No bug noticed anything different about him. Everyone was in chaos, rushing to the assembly point, their minds shaken by the news of the Broodmother's oviposition.

Taste quietly breathed a sigh of relief. Worst case, he could just blame it on the Broodmother.

At the top deck of the starship, Leonius's war command room.

Zane sat in the leather armchair, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest. His expression was grim; clearly, the conversation with Leonius was not going smoothly.

"The losses are too great." Leonius stood by the window, his back to him, his voice betraying no emotion. "A third of the war bugs sent in have permanent damage to their spiritual sea. Your work—this isn't a flaw anymore; it's a failure."

Zane's fingers paused.

"This is a necessary price. This is a Broodmother—a Broodmother capable of bearing high-tier offspring." Zane uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, swallowing his real thoughts. In the old days, the price war bugs paid to sustain a Broodmother was far greater than this.

Leonius turned around and looked at him.

"I'm not negotiating a price with you." Leonius said. "I'm telling you, if keeping a Broodmother costs me my tribe, this deal's off."

Zane's eyes flickered with impatience—a lord, and so short-sighted. Only low-tier war bugs were being consumed. Once the Broodmother was properly fed, she'd produce high-tier war bugs in batches.

"Then let your war bugs see for themselves." He stood up, walked to the window, and stood shoulder to shoulder with Leonius. "Let them see what their sacrifice has bought."

He lifted his chin, gesturing below the starship. "Let them watch the Broodmother lay eggs, see healthy, strong war bug offspring tumble out of her. See the Broodmother, perfected step by step through their offerings."

"They will know it's all worth it."

And you'll know how magnificent my work truly is.

Leonius did not answer immediately.

His gaze fell on the war bugs outside the Broodmother's monitoring chamber—the ones chosen to serve her.

These young ones, silent but loyal, moved like extensions of his will on the battlefield, diligent in the tribe.

Even knowing serving the Broodmother was a one-way trip, they stood in line, heads raised, eyes fixed on the Broodmother's nest, filled with anticipation.

Anticipation for the Broodmother, for offspring, for the War Department's bright future.

"...Fine." Leonius said.

His voice was soft, but the captain of his personal guard moved fast, and the top-priority order was soon broadcast across the whole starship.

In the monitoring chamber, Dexter's terminal flashed the same red alert.

"The lord has ordered everyone to observe the Broodmother's egg-laying." He looked up at Yor. "I have to go."

The words "Broodmother's egg-laying" made Yor's fingers stop.

"The Broodmother." He repeated the title without thinking.

Dexter looked at him. "...Actually, you're required to go as well."

The order applied to all war bugs, and now Yor—as a war bug dependent—was included too.

"Don't worry, there are plenty of dependent bugs there. Not all of them are soldiers." Dexter reached out, trying to ease any tension Yor might feel.

Yor said nothing, just downed the sweet milk in one gulp. "Let's go."

He didn't take Dexter's hand, just followed him out of the monitoring chamber.

The upper deck was crammed with war bugs.

Yor stood at the far edge, hidden behind the tall forms of other dependent bugs.

He stood on his toes, peered through the gaps in the swarm, and saw the massive glass container being hoisted up.

The Broodmother had been moved from the lower nest, still caked in damp soil and moss, the whole container reeking of wet, earthy stench.

But this time, the Broodmother looked completely different from when she first arrived—no mottled patches, no foul smell. The entire creature was renewed.

The spiritual energy and bodily fluids poured into her had left her skin smooth, even shimmering with a faint pearly sheen. Her body had swollen to twice her previous size, like a breathing mountain of flesh.

Her abdomen bulged unnaturally—clearly, she had eggs inside.

The war bugs around him started breathing noticeably faster.

Maybe it was the intensity of the stares, but under the crowd's watch, the slumbering Broodmother suddenly stirred.

Then she raised her head slightly and opened her eyes.

Though it was only a moment, Yor saw it clearly—her gaze, though not fully lucid, seemed... no longer empty.

Yor's mind stirred.

His spiritual energy extended silently, threading through the swarm, through the glass, and into the Broodmother's sea of consciousness.

Where the fragment imprints had been, there was now only a pitch-black void.

But in the sea of consciousness, the pulses had clearly multiplied.

A weak consciousness, clearer than before, was curled up in a corner of the spiritual sea, like a scared young beast.

The time for the scheduled egg-laying observation was drawing near. The two lords would arrive soon. Clutching at a last thread of hope, Yor sent a wisp of spiritual energy and gently touched it.

"You... are you still alive?"

Unlike last time, when there was an immediate subconscious fragment response, this time the other side was silent for a long while, as if trying to gather its thoughts.

Just as Yor was about to lose patience, a dazed, confused voice spoke up.

"Alive... of course I'm alive..."

The voice was slow, but it already had simple comprehension and logic.

"Why would you ask that... I won't die... I love my children..."

Children.

She said, children.

She also said, love.

A chill ran down Yor's spine. No matter how ravaged the body, if there was still a shred of self-awareness, you could at least call it a lingering existence.

But now, the cuckoo had taken over the nest.

This could hardly be called being alive.

Yor withdrew his spiritual energy and opened his eyes.

His terminal vibrated slightly. Knowing Yor cared about the Purification Department's movements, Dexter had sent a message: "Zane proposed this observation. The lord was unhappy with the losses, but Zane convinced him."

Zane had initiated this—whether to keep the War Department feeding the Broodmother for experimental data, or for other reasons, it was a win for the Purification Department either way.

Yor rubbed his fingers together and replied slowly, word by word, "I understand."

He knew what he had to do.

Whatever his enemy was desperate to achieve, he would do his utmost to ruin it.

After all... the true centaur clan experimental subjects had long since dissipated into nothing.

After sending the message, Yor turned his gaze back to the glass container. This time, there was no hesitation in his eyes.

His mental power extended outward once more, condensing into a sharp needle at his command, and struck with precision at the black void at the very depths of the Broodmother's mental sea.

This was where the fragment had once been embedded—the very cornerstone of the entire mental sea.

After the fragment was ripped away, only a thin, fragile membrane remained.

Yor thought he heard a faint "pop."

The needle pierced through the membrane, and the black void collapsed instantly. The surrounding mental energy swirled into the void like a vortex, vanishing in the blink of an eye.

The Broodmother's body convulsed violently.

A low, muffled groan echoed from the glass container. After a brief pause, the Broodmother's massive body began to thrash wildly.

It was plain to see she was in tremendous agony.

Is she... about to lay?

The war bugs glanced at each other uneasily and fell silent.

The news was quickly relayed to the two lords, and Leonius and Zane arrived at the scene quickly.

"Why is she laying early?" Leonius frowned, his confidence in the Broodmother experiment clearly taking another hit.

Zane stood beside Leonius, scanned the container, and his brow furrowed immediately—this wasn't labor—the subject had hit a snag.

The Broodmother's skin began to change color.

From smooth pearl-white, it turned ashen gray, then mottled purple-blue. Like a corpse rotting at breakneck speed, she was inching toward her end.

"What's going on?" A researcher from the Purification Department stepped forward.

No bug answered. Several Purification Department researchers frantically pulled up monitoring data, with no clue about the sudden anomaly.

The Broodmother's body began to spasm violently.

The mental energy infused into her leaked out of every pore like air from a punctured balloon.

Her pheromone scent shifted from sweet to chaotic, then from chaotic to rank and foul.

Now it wasn't just the pure bug researchers—the war bugs were getting restless too.

"Don't panic!" One Purification Department researcher's voice went up a notch. "The pheromone fluctuation is normal—"

Before he could finish, the Broodmother's body arched sharply, then slammed back into the dirt.

Her abdomen began to swell.

"She's about to lay!" Someone shouted.

The war bugs' agitation intensified. Ignoring the lords, they stood on tiptoe and craned their necks, desperate to witness this sacred moment.

Amid the Broodmother's violent thrashing, the first egg slid out of the birth canal.

It was small—only about the size of a football—with a soft, deflated shell, not the plump, healthy sac it should have been. It hit the ground, bounced once, then burst open.

But what came out wasn't a larva.

Instead, black, stinking fluid mixed with unformed tissue gushed from the crack, giving off a stomach-turning stench.

The war bugs' excitement died on the spot.

A second, third, fourth egg... one after another slid out, each with the same result.

Sunken shells, splitting open, black water.

One egg barely kept its shape, holding a translucent, curled-up little thing. It twitched, but within three breaths, it went completely still.

The whole upper deck went dead silent.

So many war bug young had given themselves up to nurture this thing. Leonius's eyes darkened.

Zane, meanwhile, stood there motionless, his face giving away nothing.

But his fingers were clenched around his precious scalpel, knuckles bone-white.

As the Broodmother's condition worsened, a sharp crack rang out—the scalpel snapped clean in two. Zane's palm was cut open in several places, blood pouring down.

The pain jolted him back to his senses.

Zane stepped forward, grabbed the detection terminal from the researcher, and pulled up stream after stream of data. The blue film over his eyes rapidly processed and analyzed the numbers, and the more he saw, the deeper his scowl became.

"Impossible... this doesn't add up..." he muttered to himself.

This centaur clan subject was the descendant of the race closest to the insect race when the last Broodmother's genes faded away.

That distinctive pheromone fluctuation had been detectable earlier. Fed by insect genes, that fluctuation should have grown stronger, eventually maturing into a perfect breeding vessel. How could it just vanish?

Not ready to give up, Zane ran the detection program again. Yet... the detection curve stayed completely flat.

That fluctuation had vanished without a trace.

Just then, the Broodmother's body gave one final shudder.

Her mental sea collapsed completely.

The forcibly implanted genes, the infused mental energy, the artificially induced consciousness—all of it broke free and rampaged through her body.

Then, it detonated.

Not a physical blast—a self-detonation of mental energy.

A massive, chaotic shockwave burst from the Broodmother's body, radiating in all directions.

Low-ranking war bugs were knocked off their feet, and a few passed out on the spot.

Taste was among them. He and the guard beside him were knocked back several steps and slammed into the wall.

Once the massive wave died down, he seized the chance to open his eyes, putting on a dazed look. Struggling over to one of the guards, he wailed, "My head's killing me—what happened? What's going on? Oh, right, the Broodmother... I was serving her... where is she?"

The acting was over-the-top and the logic made no sense, but the guards were completely consumed by the scene of the Broodmother's failed egg-laying and subsequent self-destruction, with zero attention left to spare for Taste.

Taste muttered to himself and kept up the act for a bit longer, then thought inwardly, "Mission accomplished~"

Through the shockwave, Leonius didn't budge an inch.

But when it swept through his mental sea, his pupils snapped tight.

This aura.

This fleeting, faint, sweet Broodmother scent buried in all the chaos.

It was exactly the same as what he'd picked up that afternoon.

Leonius slowly turned his head—this was nothing like the scent from Zane's experimental Broodmother.

Leonius shoved the doubt aside and kept his mouth shut.

The shockwave subsided.

The Broodmother lay sprawled in the dirt, dead still.

Her body was rotting before their eyes—skin wrinkling, bones twisting, her bloated frame sagging like a popped balloon.

In the end, she just melted into a puddle of goo.

Leonius finally broke the silence. "Zane, your Broodmother's dead."

Zane opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

The Broodmother experiment had crashed and burned, the Purification Department's rep was in tatters, and the big show had turned into a joke...

But at the height of his rage, Zane went eerily calm. "Give the war bugs hurt in the field full custom mechanical limbs—at ten times the number we lost."

The dead war bugs couldn't be brought back, and Zane's offer was decent enough. Leonius nodded. "Take your bugs and get out."

Zane wasn't about to stick around either. He turned and walked off, back straight, not missing a single step.

Once the outsiders were gone, the war bugs on site broke into an uproar, huddling in small groups and muttering to each other.

Some crouched by the rotting egg pile, poking at the black gunk with their blade tips, grief written all over their faces. Others rasped, "Ralph's gone—when we hauled him out, his mental sea was already shattered..."

Yor stood in the corner, barely keeping his face in check.

Was it satisfying? Hell yes, it was.

Watching Zane's face go ashen, then blank—he caught every single change.

The experiment treated as "material," the war bugs treated as "expendable"... At least right now, Zane got a taste of losing it all at the last second.

Payback from the experiment he'd looked down on.

Yor's eyes dropped, locking onto the Broodmother's corpse.

Under all that excess flesh, a shape was barely visible.

Four legs. One torso.

The true form of the centaur clan.

With the Broodmother fragment's suppression gone, his original genes were fighting their last fight.

Even if it was a doomed last stand, even if he could only get his real form back for one second.

He wanted to be himself again, just once.

The distant murmurs, curses, and choked sobs washed in like waves, then ebbed away.

Yor stood in the corner, unable to join in, unable to walk away.

He watched in silence, staring at that shape, the corners of his eyes going red.

No matter how hard he tried to hold it back, the emotions were hard to keep down.

He'd wrecked Zane's prized experiment, embarrassed him in front of every war bug, and dragged the Purification Department's name through the mud.

Yor brushed the corner of his eye.

With the rush of emotion, his bug markings flickered to the surface, and the pregnancy sac in his lower belly swelled a little.

Everything reminded him of what he'd been through in that lab.

But so what? His spine hadn't bent. He still had the guts to face the pure bugs.

He was still Ling Yue.

Up on the high platform, Leonius hadn't left.

The scene was total chaos, but his gaze kept drifting to the far corner, where a skinny, unremarkable "family" bug stood.

Every other bug was lost in anger, grief, or confusion—but not that one.

His eyes were a little red, but there wasn't a hint of the expected resentment on his face. In fact, his mouth was curled up just slightly.

Leonius let his gaze linger on him for a few seconds.

While every other bug was caught up in the Broodmother's failed egg-laying, this one was way too calm.

Too calm to be normal. So calm it was like he'd known all of this... was coming.

==========Author's Note:==========

Got too sleepy last night and passed out, so here's two chapters in one go~

Also, per the editor's request, Ling Yue's name has been changed to Yor throughout the story.