Jackob began studying Kolgar's routines with obsessive precision. The boss never traveled with guards - whether from pride or paranoia, no one knew. Once a month, he'd vanish and return with supplies... and fresh blood on his carapace.
"The Yellow Bug system is under siege," workers whispered. "The Reds are searching... closer every day."
But the mine was buried deep - a thousand meters below a dead moon's surface. "We're not digging for profit," one bug told Jackob. "We're feeding the war. Keeping the flame alive."
Armed with stolen weapons, Jackob approached the Chamber of Fire - Kolgar's domain. The massive room pulsed with glowing resin veins, its throne carved from ancient bones.
Kolgar looked every bit the bloated, lazy tyrant - until Jackob attacked. The boss moved with terrifying speed, his armored carapace deflecting laser fire. When Jackob's knife found a joint, Kolgar screamed - then conjured fire in his palm.
"FIRE?! Seriously?!" Jackob barely dodged the searing projectile.
"You'll never understand!" Kolgar spat. "I'm of noble blood!"
"Noble my ass," Jackob growled, then revealed his true form in a flash of purple light.
Kolgar froze at the sight of the human slave. Before he could strike, the chamber door exploded inward. Red Bugs stormed in - Jackob's salvation and new problem all at once.
Chaos erupted. Kolgar melted one Red Bug's head with fire, only for the second to drive a greatsword through his ribs. Jackob seized the moment - one clean slice severed the attacker's head.
SOUL OBTAINED: RED BUG (CLASS 2)
Kolgar staggered, bleeding. Jackob placed a hand on the dying boss's chest.
SOUL UPGRADE: YELLOW BUG (CLASS 2) → CLASS 3
Power surged through him as Kolgar gasped final words: "They'll come for you..."
"Let them." Jackob ended him.
In the smoldering ruins, Jackob made his choice. He dragged the Red Bug's corpse away and absorbed its identity. The greatsword felt natural across his back as he straightened his new form.
"Let the galaxy think of me too, someday," he whispered. "Not as a slave. But as the one who crawled out of hell - and burned it down."
Jackob returned to the workers' sector. The tunnel reeked of piss, mold, and rot… but this time, it was mixed with something far worse.
Blood.
His steps slowed.
He heard screams before he saw them — short, sharp, raw screams that ended in meat sounds.
Then he turned the corner.
And froze.
Humans were dying.
Torn apart like rag dolls, their limbs flung like trash, their skulls crushed underfoot. The scene before him wasn't war — it was slaughter.
A red bug grabbed a worker — a young girl barely sixteen — and hurled her with such strength that she hit a group of bound humans like a cannonball. What was left of them rained down in bones and pulp.
Another red bug used a grown man like a club, smashing heads as if playing a sport.
"Twenty-seven!" it howled gleefully, blood coating its mandibles.
Then it turned and smashed again. "Twenty-eight!"
Jackob's stomach twisted, but not from pity. From clarity.
He had heard rumors about red bugs. That they were savages. That they worshiped no gods, served no masters but war. But no rumor could have prepared him for this.
It was pure chaos. No mercy. No hesitation.
No honor.
The thought of helping — of doing something — flashed through his mind.
He could shapeshift into Kolgar, into the yellow overseer he'd consumed. He had the fire now. He could try to burn them.
But the thought vanished just as fast.
Jackob wasn't a hero.
He wouldn't die for a hundred of his kind. Not even a thousand.
You could call him selfish. Cold.
But he barely survived this long. He wasn't giving it up now.
He had killed before. For food. For revenge. Sometimes for no reason but the moment.
That's how life worked here. You lived only if you were the one willing to crawl through filth and keep your fists clenched.
In this hellhole, mercy was suicide.
And Jackob wanted to live.
He approached one of the red bugs who stood taller than the rest. Its frame was thicker, its eyes colder, and a great sword hung across its back like a slab of iron.
Jackob dropped his head slightly and muttered, "The yellow boss is dead. So is his axe-bearing friend."
The red bug didn't flinch. It looked at him with thin, insectile eyes — calculating, predatory.
Then it hissed in a voice that sounded like sand on steel.
"You did good, soldier. You'll be rewarded… handsomely."
The praise was empty. But it meant one thing: trust. Or something close to it.
Jackob nodded and turned away.
He wasn't done yet.
He moved with purpose now — toward the Overseers' Hall. The one place he could settle another score.
He needed more souls. More strength.
And maybe… to feel that rush again.
Fifteen minutes passed before he found one. Hiding in a rusted metal cabinet, pissing himself, shivering like a worm. The smell was unbearable.
Jackob didn't hesitate.
His sword plunged deep into the bug's belly — a wet, sharp sound — and a voice echoed in his mind:
> "Soul Obtained: Yellow Bug – Class 2."
"Would you like to replace your current soul?"
[YES] [NO]
"Like hell I'm giving up my fiery tank," Jackob muttered.
He chose NO.
And yet… something strange happened.
A cold sensation swept through him — fresh, clear, almost pleasant. Like ice water down his spine.
Then it was gone.
He blinked. "What the hell was that…?"
Was it a reward? A side effect? A blessing?
He didn't know.
But he wanted to feel it again.
He searched the hall for more overseers. But none remained.
By the time he stepped back into the main corridors, the killing had stopped. The walls were quiet. The screams had faded to echoes.
The red bugs didn't take prisoners.
They didn't "liberate" mines.
They wiped them clean.
Every human was gone — torn apart, devoured, discarded.
Twenty of the red bugs stood at the exit, their claws bloodied, their faces calm. The captain stood among them, unmoved.
Together, they walked back to the ship.
For the first time in his life, Jackob saw the stars.
The mine's exit opened like a wound into the black.
He stepped out slowly.
A sea of darkness surrounded him… and above, like a god's eye watching from the void, floated a ship.
No — a behemoth.
Three kilometers long, plated in bone and black metal, lined with burning thrusters that bled red heat.
He had no words.
His brain, forged in dirt and stone and pain, could not understand it.
This was not just a vessel.
It was a world.
> "One of three," he heard a red bug whisper proudly.
> "Main combatant-class. Flagships of the Red Swarm."
Jackob looked up in silence, his mouth dry.
He had spent 17 years underground — a child born of dirt and blood.
Here, girls were tossed into the mines once they turned sixteen, their purpose to breed more workers. If they gave birth to girls, those were taken away — to another, darker section of the tunnels. Raised again. Broken again. A cycle of agony that never ended.
And now, standing beneath a titan of war, bathed in starlight and blood...
He finally realized:
He was no longer in a mine.
He was in the galaxy now.
And the galaxy… was watching.