5: Chapter 5: The Queen Insect Makes Her First Move in Front of the Gray Knight

The first level of the catacombs was a slaughterhouse.

The moment the Zerglings rushed into the entrance, they were not greeted by Chaos Hounds, but by a low wall built of flesh and blood. Human limbs were glued together by some viscous secretion, bone shards pointing outward to form a gruesome barricade. Behind the wall, a dozen or so Chaos Cultists knelt on the ground, striking their own skulls with chisels—with every strike, a new crack appeared on their skulls, from which a purple-black light oozed.

It was not a fortification. It was part of a ritual.

The Zerglings' bone blades sliced through the wall of flesh. Corrupted plasma sprayed out, splashing onto the carapace of the new-type Zerglings. The Chaos repulsion factor resonated immediately, deflecting the chaotic energy within the plasma. The plasma slid along the arc of the carapace, leaving no traces of corrosion.

Old-version Zerglings could not do this. In the last battle, the same chaotic plasma could burn through a normal carapace in three seconds.

The Overmind confirmed the efficacy of the new carapace and issued a second command simultaneously. "Hydralisk. Clear the back row."

Two Hydralisks deployed into an attack stance outside the catacomb entrance. Their lower bodies coiled around the rubble, upper bodies upright, and hundreds of bone spines erected simultaneously from the gaps in their carapaces. Internal hydraulic organs compressed, and the bone spines fired at three times the speed of sound—this was The Swarm's long-range firepower: precise, dense, and requiring no aiming.

Every single bone spine was guided directly by the Hive Mind.

The first volley pierced through the self-mutilating Chaos Cultists. The bone spines entered from the back of their necks and exited through their foreheads, bringing out a spray of purple-black cerebral mixture. A dozen or so Chaos Cultists fell simultaneously, and the cracks on their skulls stopped glowing.

But the ritual was not interrupted. A sharper, more piercing chant emanated from deep within the catacombs. The bodies of the fallen Chaos Cultists began to twitch; purple-black light poured from their eye sockets, mouths, noses, and ear canals, merging into an invisible thread of energy in the air, continuing to be transported deep into the catacombs.

"The ritual core is not here. Continue the advance."

The Zerglings crossed the wall of flesh and entered the second level of the catacombs. The space suddenly widened.

This place was originally the underground mausoleum area of the Hive City—the ashes of generations of the dead were sealed in metal niches on the walls, forming walls of ash. But now, all the niches had been pried open, and the ashes were dumped onto the ground, mixed with a viscous, unknown liquid, forming a grayish-white quagmire.

More than thirty Chaos Hounds were crawling up from the quagmire. They had not rushed in from outside. They were born from the quagmire—ashes, slime, and chaotic energy mixed together, directly condensing into the bodies of Chaos Hounds under the catalysis of some ritual. Their scales were still stained with the grayish-white of the ashes, and the flames in their eye sockets had just been ignited, flickering with the instability of the newly born.

These were not summoned creatures. This was on-site manufacturing. The Overmind was seeing Chaos's method of "production" for the first time. No biomass required, no genetic templates required; only a filthy environment and a sufficient concentration of chaotic energy were needed for Chaos to manufacture combat units. The efficiency was astonishing—it took less than five seconds for more than thirty Chaos Hounds to come into existence from nothing. However, the genetic information scan results showed that the genetic structure of these hounds was more unstable than naturally born Chaos Hounds. The average survival time would not exceed one hour.

Consumables. Chaos was not manufacturing an army; it was manufacturing ammunition.

"Break through. Do not engage."

The Zerglings did not waste resources fighting the Chaos Hounds head-on. Twelve Zerglings split into three groups: four to pin them down from the front, four to leap over the debris of the niches on the left, and four to infiltrate through the low passage on the right. The goal was infiltration—to find the ritual core, not to compete with consumables in a war of attrition.

The Hydralisks' second volley of bone spines pierced through the cracks in the ceiling of the catacombs, precisely picking off the Chaos Cultists mixed in among the hounds. Each bone spine eliminated a node performing the ritual, and the rate at which the Chaos Hounds were being born slowed down visibly.

But the number of Chaos Hounds still held an absolute advantage. The two Zerglings responsible for frontal containment were surrounded by six Chaos Hounds, their carapaces shattering under continuous biting. The pain switch was automatically activated the moment the carapace shattered—these two Zerglings did not retreat, but instead, in a frenzied state, thrust their bone blades into the chests of two Chaos Hounds simultaneously. They fell upon the pile of Chaos Hound corpses, their bone blades still maintaining the posture of having been thrust in.

The Overmind received their death signals. There was no emotional fluctuation. The Swarm does not mourn. Their genetic information had already been transmitted back through the mycelial network, and new Zerglings would continue to hatch in the hatchery using their templates. They had not truly died. They had simply changed shells.

The left flanking team was the first to break through the Chaos Hounds' defensive line. Three Zerglings passed through a smashed ventilation duct and landed on the third level of the catacombs.

This was not a mausoleum. It was the ritual core.

The deepest part of the underground catacombs had been transformed into a Chaos temple. The walls were covered in eight-pointed star symbols, and black candle holders were arranged in a hexagonal array. The candlelight burned in an eerie, reverse manner—the flames burned downward, licking the base of the candle holders, while wax tears dripped upward, condensing into suspended black particles in the air.

More than thirty humans were locked in an iron cage in the center of the temple. They were not Chaos Cultists—the genetic information on their bodies was pure, with no traces of chaotic corruption. There were men, women, and children of all ages, most wearing the rough cloth garments of the Hive City's underclass, and a few wearing the tattered uniforms of the Imperial Guard.

In front of the iron cage, a tall Chaos Cultist stood on an altar built from human spines. He had no skin on his face, and the exposed facial muscles twitched constantly under the catalysis of chaotic energy, his mouth corners pulled by some external force into an eternal, never-fading grin. He held a ritual dagger in each hand, with inextinguishable purple flames flowing along the blades.

At least fifty Chaos Cultists knelt below the altar, chanting unspeakable syllables in unison.

The genetic information scan detected a special fluctuation on that tall Chaos Cultist—Psyker energy. This Chaos Cultist possessed psychic talent. Before being corrupted, he was likely a Psyker who had not been discovered by the Imperium of Man, or a psychic prisoner who had escaped from a Black Ship. Now, his psychic power was being used by Chaos as an energy amplifier for the ritual core, using the life force of those thirty pure humans as fuel, tearing open the barrier between the material world and the Warp.

The air above the altar had begun to show visible cracks—not physical cracks, but traces of the structure of reality being torn apart. The other side of the crack revealed colors that did not belong to this universe.

The Chaos Cultists were summoning a daemon.

Not a low-level creature like a Chaos Hound. It was a true Chaos daemon from the Warp, possessing an independent will.

Cannot let it complete.

The Overmind issued a highest-priority command. "All units. Target: The Psyker on the altar. Eliminate him. At any cost."

Three Zerglings lunged toward the altar from three directions simultaneously. The Chaos Cultists screamed and blocked the front of the altar, forming a human wall with their bodies. They held weapons in their hands—no, not weapons, but ritual tools: bone saws, skinning knives, iron hooks. They were not fighting; they were releasing chaotic energy through self-mutilation, attempting to corrupt the Zerglings' carapaces.

The lattice structure of the Chaos repulsion factor vibrated violently under the impact of the chaotic energy. One Zergling's carapace shattered under continuous impact—the repulsion factor overloaded, the lattice structure collapsed, and chaotic energy surged into its body. The Zergling's final action was to throw its bone blade, piercing the throat of a Chaos Cultist, and then its body was burst open from the inside by the chaotic energy.

The other two Zerglings crashed through the human wall. One was dragged down by seven or eight Chaos Cultists, its bone blades hacking frantically among the crowd, each strike taking the life of a Chaos Cultist. But it was dragged down—the Chaos Cultists used their teeth, fingernails, and broken bone shards as weapons, willing to bite the Zergling's carapace even as their throats were being slit.

The last Zergling broke through. It leaped onto the altar, bone blades thrusting directly at the Psyker's heart.

The Psyker did not dodge. He did not even look at the Zergling. He spat out a syllable from his mouth.

The Zergling was frozen in mid-air by an invisible force field—like a fly slapped against glass. The Psyker's hand slowly lifted, five fingers spread wide. The Zergling's carapace began to cave in from the outside in, not from being struck by an external force, but from the psychic power rearranging the chitinous structure at a molecular level.

Within one second, the Zergling's carapace was converted into a layer of brittle crystalline substance. A light touch, and it fell apart. The Zergling struggled within the shattered carapace; the Psyker's hand made a clenching motion, and the Zergling's body was compressed into a meatball the size of a fist.

"Purple insect," the Psyker spoke, his voice overlapping with another deeper echo from the Warp, "My master Slaanesh has seen through you. No individual soul? No matter. No individual fear? It doesn't matter. My master does not need to corrupt you. My master only needs to—eat you."

He turned around, facing the crack in the air. A hand reached out from the crack. It was the hand of a human female, skin fair, nails long, each finger joint bent at an unnatural angle, the nails painted with bright red nail polish made from congealed blood. Behind the hand was an arm, covered in silk-like gauze, and beneath the gauze, scale-like reflections were vaguely visible.

A daemon of Slaanesh. A Keeper of Secrets.

Not a complete manifestation. Just reaching into a fragment between the Warp and the material world. But it was enough for it to use its power in the material world.

The Keeper of Secrets pointed a finger at the iron cage below the altar. A young woman in the cage suddenly began to scream—not in fear, but in orgasmic ecstasy. Her body was lifted by an invisible force, hovering in mid-air. What poured from her eye sockets was not tears, but golden liquid; her mouth corners stretched to her ear roots, revealing a smile that should not belong to a human. Her skin peeled off inch by inch, and beneath every inch of peeling skin, new, non-human body tissues were revealed—scales, tentacles, and slime emitting a strange fragrance.

The Keeper of Secrets was transforming her. Not the slow erosion of chaotic corruption, but an instantaneous, violent, and aesthetically motivated reshaping. She was becoming a vessel for the daemon of Slaanesh in the mortal world—the Psyker's ritual had created a large enough reality rift to allow the Keeper of Secrets to perform the transformation directly in the material world.

The Overmind calculated for 0.3 seconds. Conclusion: Cannot prevent the transformation.

But it could prevent more.

"Hydralisk. Volley. Iron cage."

It was not a rescue. It was a slaughter. The thirty pure humans in the iron cage were the fuel depot for the Keeper of Secrets. With every human converted, the Keeper of Secrets' power in the material realm grew stronger. If all thirty humans were converted, the avatar of the Keeper of Secrets would descend completely. The Swarm, at its current stage, could not contend with a fully descended Keeper of Secrets. The only way to stop the conversion was to destroy the fuel before it could be used.

Two Hydralisks simultaneously adjusted their firing angles. The spines were no longer aimed at the Chaos Cultists, but at the iron cage. The woman suspended in the air, undergoing conversion, was completing her final metamorphosis—her spine erupted from her back, with translucent membranes connecting the vertebrae like butterfly wings. The patterns on the wings were human faces, each one screaming silently.

The spine pierced through the back of her head.

The conversion was interrupted for a moment. The avatar of the Keeper of Secrets let out an irritated hiss—not a sound, but an emotional shock projected directly onto the consciousness level. It was an emotion mixed with anger and pleasure, like being lightly bitten by a lover. But every living creature present—Chaos Cultists, units of The Swarm, and even the prisoners in the iron cage—simultaneously felt a shivering numbness, as if a hundred fingernails were gently scratching at their nerve endings.

The Overmind was unaffected. The Swarm's Hive Mind was completely immune to this emotional projection—without individual emotions to manipulate, there were no individual emotions to be savored.

More spines flew into the iron cage. It was not a massacre, but a culling. With every pure human life taken, the Keeper of Secrets' fuel depot shrank. The prisoners in the iron cage cried out and retreated, unable to understand why those purple insects were killing them. They only saw monsters slaughtering each other, while they were but meat on the chopping block.

The Keeper of Secrets attempted to protect the fuel depot. It used psionic power to deflect the spines aimed at the prisoners in the back row. But the Overmind had calculated this possibility in advance—the Hydralisks' firing rhythm was intentionally spaced out. Each volley fired only a small number of spines, forcing the Keeper of Secrets to expend power to defend, and then used a denser volley to break through the center.

This was not a battle. This was a war of attrition. The Keeper of Secrets' power came from the Chaos energy provided by the ongoing ritual, while The Swarm's ammunition came from the biomass supply of the creep in the rear. Whoever's energy source was cut off first would lose.

The Psyker's body began to wither. Maintaining the ritual while defending against The Swarm's assault was rapidly burning through his life force. His facial muscles were shriveling, and bare bone protruded from beneath the atrophied flesh. Yet, the smile at the corners of his mouth remained—those locked on by Slaanesh would feel a twisted ecstasy until the very last moment before death.

The avatar of the Keeper of Secrets bypassed the Psyker, attempting to personally attack the Zergling outside the iron cage. That hand with blood-colored nails tore a larger rift from the air, its fingers extending into five tentacles, each ending in a miniature mouth. The tentacles wrapped around a Zergling's hind leg, and all five mouths began to gnaw on its carapace simultaneously.

The Zergling did not struggle, but instead used all its muscular strength to perform a backward kick—dragging itself and the Keeper of Secrets' tentacles toward a sharp bone pillar at the edge of the altar. The tentacles were pierced by the bone pillar, and the five mouths let out a simultaneous moan, unsure if it was pain or satisfaction.

The conversion ritual began to fluctuate. The Psyker fell to his knees on the altar; his spine protruded from his back, and his skin was pierced from within by bone spikes—not from Slaanesh's conversion, but a precursor to the backlash of Chaos energy.

The Keeper of Secrets unleashed one final emotional projection. This time, it was not teasing or anger, but a tenderness that made every biological cell tremble. The two prisoners in the iron cage closest to the rift died on the spot from this projection—their brains overwhelmed by extreme sensory stimulation.

Then, the rift began to contract. The Keeper of Secrets' arm slowly retreated into the Warp, and its five tentacled fingers made a light waving motion before withdrawing. At that moment, the Overmind's Hive Mind received a probe that struck deep into its consciousness. It was not an attack, but a prying—the Keeper of Secrets had attempted to scan the consciousness structure of the Overmind before retreating into the Warp.

It scanned for zero microseconds before being repelled. It was not the Overmind actively repelling it—it was the unified will of The Swarm naturally refusing any external consciousness from prying. A cell had no windows to look into. The Keeper of Secrets only scanned a rough outline: vast, unified, cold. Like a fortress with no entrance.

"My Lord... will be interested."

After saying this, the Psyker's body began to disintegrate. It was not death, but a complete material dissolution. Bone, muscle, and skin simultaneously turned into purple-black dust, which condensed in the air into a final eight-pointed star symbol, then scattered on the ground.

The core of the ritual vanished.

The remaining Chaos Cultists fell into madness. Some committed suicide with daggers, some crazily charged at the Zergling's bone blades seeking death, and others knelt blankly in place with hollow eyes—the Chaos energy had departed from them, leaving behind only drained husks.

The Chaos Hounds deep in the crypt lost their energy supply and began to disintegrate one by one.

The battle ended.

There were still twelve survivors in the iron cage. Twelve pure human genetic samples. Among them were two people wearing tattered Imperial Guard uniforms—a man and a woman, both bearing the rank insignia of non-commissioned officers. The woman's left arm was severed and crudely bandaged with cloth; the man's one eye was nothing but a hollow socket, while his other eye stared at the Zergling in terror.

The Zerglings did not approach the iron cage. They dispersed throughout the crypt, beginning to clean up the remaining traces of Chaos corruption. creep spores were sown into the silt of the underground river channels, beginning to grow.

The Overmind's consciousness swept across the battlefield. The corpses of the Chaos Cultists were piled up, and their genetic information was purified, analyzed, and recorded one by one. The energy traces left by the avatar of the Keeper of Secrets remained where the rift had closed—a wave pattern the Overmind had never encountered before. It was not the crude energy projection of a Psyker, but more refined, more focused on the sensory system, like playing a piano on nerve endings.

Slaanesh. One of the Four Chaos Gods, a being pursuing ultimate pleasure.

The Swarm had no pleasure nerves, or more accurately, The Swarm's pleasure was the success of evolution. Incorporating the superior genes of a new species, unlocking a stronger combat form, occupying a new planet. This was The Swarm's pleasure. It was not dopamine-driven, but efficiency-driven. Slaanesh could find no sensory entrance to seduce.

But it still needed to be studied. Slaanesh was only the first Chaos faction to appear. The other three—Khorne, Tzeentch, and Nurgle—had not yet been directly encountered. The next time Chaos was encountered, it might not be a demon using pleasure as a weapon, but one using violence, trickery, or plague.

The Swarm could be immune to pleasure and emotional temptation. But what about plague? What about trickery?

The Overmind incorporated the Keeper of Secrets' energy residue into its genetic analysis sequence, marking it as "Warp Entity Sample-001". At the same time, it picked up a piece of crystallized Psyker remains from the altar ruins—a solid residue formed when psionic talent was converted by Chaos backlash after the host's death. It might contain the core genetic sequence of human psionic talent. This was more precious than the genetic samples of thirty pure humans.

In the hatchery to the rear, new larvae began to transform. The genetic templates of this batch of larvae incorporated the pain-switch system extracted from the Chaos Hounds, as well as the analysis data of the Keeper of Secrets' energy fluctuations transmitted in real-time from this battle. Although it could not yet directly counter Chaos energy, it could at least allow the next batch of Zerglings to adopt more effective evasion strategies when facing psionic attacks.

The Overmind's consciousness turned to the twelve survivors in the iron cage. They huddled together in fear, shielding their eyes from the glint of the Hydralisks' bone spines—not a live-fire threat, but psychological trauma. They had seen those bone spines kill their own kind who had tried to protect them.

Keep them. The human perspective would help The Swarm understand the thought patterns of the Imperium of Man. Especially those two sergeants wearing Imperial Guard uniforms—their military training and experience might provide useful information regarding the Imperium's response mechanisms.

The Overmind issued a new directive: do not kill, do not infect, do not release, maintain observation.

Drones began constructing a new, small hatchery on the third level of the crypt. The geographical location here had strategic value—the depth of the underground crypt was sufficient to avoid orbital scans, the existing traces of Chaos corruption could mask The Swarm's biomass signals, and the thirty human survivors were a stable source for obtaining human genes and information.

The creep spread silently in the darkness, covering the eight-pointed star symbol, covering the Psyker's dust, and covering the residual traces of the Keeper of Secrets' rift.

Above the surface, 120 kilometers away, the main coverage area of the creep had already extended to the entire valley. The hatcheries deep in the crust continued to produce a new batch of Zerglings and Hydralisks. Biomass reserves were slowly recovering from the consumption of the battle.

In the distance, in the outer orbit of that Dead Silence-42 planet, a ship of the Inquisition was sailing toward this location.

The Swarm's second day had ended.

Counting from the moment the first Zergling broke out of its cocoon, The Swarm already possessed over fifty combat units, two hatcheries, and creep covering hundreds of square kilometers. The first contact with Chaos had been completed with a preliminary genetic-level analysis. The Imperium of Man had not yet arrived.

The goal for the next phase was clear: complete the stable integration of the Chaos repulsion factor, accumulate sufficient biomass, hatch the first Brood Queen, scan the movements of the Imperial Fleet, and obtain human intelligence from those two Imperial Guard sergeants.

The Overmind's consciousness was organizing all information within the Hive Mind.

"Evolutionary path: Chaos adaptation branch. Data accumulation: Preliminary."

"Imperium of Man threat level: Pending evaluation."

"Next phase priority target: Brood Queen hatching."

"The Swarm. Expand. Evolve. Survive."

In the distance, the purple creep emitted a faint biological fluorescence in the valley. If this scene were seen by a human poet, they might write a sentence—a purple dawn was spreading across this Dead Silence-42 planet.

But the poet could not see it. The poet would only be crushed by war.