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They would never bow to another enemy. Never plead. Never yield. They would rebuild their shattered hive, even if it took a thousand years. Even if they died unnamed, unsung.
And now once again death had come for them.
Forty-five lay fallen, carved open or crushed by the foul monstrosities of the swamp. Blood soaked the tunnel floors. Acid ate through the walls where comrades once stood. The stench of death was thick, heavy enough to choke.
But the five who remained standing… did not kneel.
Not yet.
Their blades were cracked. Their pheromones were fading. But their backs were straight. Their antennae lifted in defiance. They would fight until their last limbs gave out. Until their leader fell. Until every breath was spent.
Their hearts still whispered: Never again. They charge to free their queen. But the results were…
