Luke and Angelica reunited with the rest of the group.

"Finally, we found you," Anna said, visibly relieved.

But Bob and the four soldiers beside him barely reacted. Their eyes remained locked on the end of the tunnel. Something was happening ahead—the metallic clash of blades, human screams, monstrous roars... and then a powerful roar echoed through the cavern.

[Ant Queen (General Beast) – Lvl 35]

"Looks like we've reached the heart of the problem," Angelica said, stepping closer to the others. She rolled her shoulder with a grimace. "Hey, Bob. Hurt myself here—mind healing me?"

"Of course," he replied, still staring ahead, unblinking. "Some of our soldiers are up there. Can you help me bring the wounded back here?"

The group nodded without hesitation.

Charlie ran straight to Luke, quickly scanning him for injuries. It had become a habit by now. Luke gave a brief smile. It was good having her nearby.

Allison stepped up.

"Charlie tried to clear the rubble where you two fell, but we warned her it could bring the whole thing down."

A new scream tore through the air:

"AAARGH!"

"Fall back!" a voice shouted.

They ran.

When they reached the end of the tunnel, they were met with a true war zone. A vast underground chamber opened before them—the remains of a mine, with twisted rails and overturned carts scattered among the rubble. Stones, broken pillars, and smoke filled the space. Screams came from every direction.

Bartholomew's soldiers were spread throughout the area—many wounded, others cornered behind debris, desperately trying to hold out.

Ants—dozens of them—swarmed across the underground arena. Among them were captains.

But at the center... she stood.

A towering creature, ant-like in form but with humanoid features. Unlike the others, her body was tinted with a deep red hue. Nearly the size Morvat reached in berserker mode, she loomed above the corpses, vomiting new cocoons with a sickening, wet sound.

Around her, dozens of other cocoons were bursting open. Newly born ants crawled out—smaller, but no less aggressive.

A fireball shot toward the creature—but a Beast Captain threw itself into the flames, shielding the queen with its body. The protective instinct was almost fanatical.

Other ants continued dragging corpses toward her for consumption.

Luke understood.

They were feeding the queen. Guarding her output. Keeping the cycle alive. She was building an army.

"Healer!" Bob shouted, calling out to soldiers up ahead.

"Need healing, over here!" someone answered from behind the rubble.

Bob didn't hesitate. He sprinted toward the wounded, taking cover behind a chunk of stone.

"I'll handle the injured. If you can give me cover... I'd appreciate it," he said, already kneeling beside the first fallen soldier.

Angelica turned to the Haven group, her eyes cold and focused. "Everyone... this is it. You already know what to do. But—please—don't die."

She didn't wait for a reply. Bow in hand, she ran straight into the chaos. The others followed without hesitation. Luke and Allison shared a brief look. There was nothing left to say. They ran together.

"Form up your teams! Spread out and give support!" Jonathan commanded, rallying the archers.

"Focus on the ant soldiers! Protect the wounded!" Bob shouted.

Luke and Charlie moved side by side, cutting through debris, targeting threats. Allison had pushed further ahead—her magic would be the key. If she could stall the queen, they'd open a window for the mages and archers to land their strikes.

As the group entered the cavern, they immediately scattered, diving behind pillars of stone and broken debris. The clash of steel and screeches echoed all around them—Bartholomew's soldiers were already locked in brutal combat with the ants.

But there were too few left standing. Bodies lay strewn across the ground—some unmoving, others twitching in pain. The defenders were exhausted. Wounded. Cornered. The ants, relentless and tireless, pressed forward like a tide of teeth and claws.

Then the Ant Queen turned. Her head rose slowly, inhuman eyes locking onto the newcomers. She raised one grotesque, armored limb and pointed—right at them.

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A chill lanced down Luke's spine.

"Scatter!" Jonathan shouted.

Before anyone could move, her limbs split open. Dozens of spike-like projectiles fired in rapid succession. They weren't just spears. Each one detonated on contact, bursting into clouds of thick, sticky mud.

Explosions tore across the field, hurling debris and dust into the air. Luke dove behind a slab of rock just as a muddy shockwave splattered against his cover. The impact left a ringing in his ears.

"It's a trap!" a soldier yelled. "The mud—if it hits you, you're stuck!"

Luke glanced down. Just a few feet away, a wounded archer clutched his bow, leg drenched in blood. His hands trembled, but his grip was tight. His eyes burned with resolve.

Across the cavern, Bob had taken position behind a fallen column, shouting orders and directing the injured to cover. The remaining soldiers moved fast, dragging bodies out of the line of fire. They knew what mattered: protect the living, hold the line.

That's when Luke noticed the missing pieces. Their long-range mages and archers were still outside, holding the Safe Zone, fighting back the endless swarm pouring from the hive tunnels.

Inside? Only close-combatants. And Bob—the sole healer—was already stretched thin.

"Fire!" Angelica's voice rang out.

Arrows and spells launched across the cavern, streaking toward the Queen in flashes of light and flame. But the Queen didn't flinch. She turned her neck slowly, bones cracking with unnatural precision—like someone limbering up before a slaughter.

She stopped feeding. Stopped producing cocoons. And then she charged. Her massive body dropped to all fours, claws tearing through the ground as she barreled across the cavern like a wild beast. The air warped around her—heavy with intent.

Luke barely had time to react. She moved like instinct incarnate. Like death itself.

Arrows cut through the air, but she moved low, fast, weaving between them. Her muscles flexed under the crimson sheen of her carapace.

Then she leapt.

A monstrous blur of rage and hunger sailed through the air and landed on a boulder, crushing it into powder beneath her claws. Stone shrapnel blasted outward. Her tail snapped into view, slicing a wide arc through the battlefield like a living blade.

Jonathan tried to block, but it hit like a battering ram. He was launched across the field, his body ragdolling through a ruined barricade.

The Queen didn't pause. Bartholomew's men surged forward—battle cries lost beneath her screech—but she vanished into motion, dashing between them like a shadow soaked in blood. Dust spiraled. The ground shook.

Then she reappeared behind a soldier. Her claw punched clean through his chest. His scream echoed across the cavern, but it was cut short. Her other hand grabbed his skull and twisted—pulling it free with a wet, sickening snap. Blood fountained from the torn neck.

And she smiled.

She raised the severed head in her claws and bit into it. Not just killing. She was performing. Showing them what awaited. Dominating the battlefield through terror, not just strength.

Luke watched, frozen. This wasn't just a creature defending its nest. She was executing psychological warfare—turning every kill into a message.

Panic rippled through the ranks. One death became a warning. And now, fear was the real enemy.

The Queen dropped to all fours again, her limbs flexing with terrifying grace. Jonathan, Philip, and several Haven fighters surged forward to intercept. Luke and Charlie joined them, flanking through the chaos. Around them, the cavern was a battlefield of writhing bodies—warriors locked in close combat against swarms of lesser ants, the air thick with grit and blood.

"Support!" Jonathan shouted, voice sharp and controlled. Arrows arced overhead.

The Queen moved through them like a phantom, weaving between shafts with unnatural agility, her charge uninterrupted. Ricardo's spell struck beside her—a surge of light and crackling mana as spectral hands erupted from the stone, clawing upward to hold her still.

For a second, it worked.

Luke darted in from behind, kukris charged with force infusion. He struck at the Queen's plated back, blades screeching across carapace. Charlie struck from the side, her fist crashing into the flank with enough force to stagger the monster.

The Queen paused. Her gaze swept across them, not in fury—but in amusement. There was no rage in her eyes, only cold delight.

She moved.

Her tail lashed, faster than sight. The air seemed to ripple with its path. The fighters were hurled away as if caught in a sudden burst of wind and gravity.

She spread her arms and spun. Blades sliced through the air. Blood painted the stone. A scream was cut short as a body dropped.

Above her, a figure fell—Allison, leaping from a nearby ledge. She twisted midair, blades drawn, and struck with devastating force. Frost bloomed from the gouges she carved—spidery lines of ice stretching across the Queen's carapace. Her movement slowed for the first time.

The Queen turned toward her. Both arms rose. Allison barely stepped back before the stone shattered where she had stood.

Jonathan rushed in, blade raised. The Haven fighters followed, surrounding the Queen, cutting from every angle. But her tail moved with intelligence—coiled, aware, striking with precision. It disrupted their formation, sweeping away their momentum like leaves in a storm.

The Queen's roar echoed through the cavern, a tremor beneath their feet. Her tail plunged into the earth. The ground convulsed. Stone twisted. Dirt lifted like muscle flexing. Dozens lost balance.

And then she charged—a single direction. Straight toward Allison.

Charlie intervened. A shimmer of spectral energy rippled into being—a barrier flaring to life between them.

It held.

But only for a heartbeat.

The shield cracked, then collapsed. The Queen's tail struck, catching Charlie mid-step and dragging her violently across the terrain before releasing her against a stone pillar.

Luke dropped from above, blades poised for a cross-slash. But she was already turning. Her claws intercepted his strike, and with a twist of her torso, she redirected his weight and flung him back into the dust.

"Fall back!" Angelica's voice rang across the chamber. The formation broke.

Arrows rained down again, followed by surging bursts of mana from hidden casters. Light and flame surged across the battlefield. Smoke billowed up, cloaking the Queen from sight.

For a moment, there was nothing but haze.

Then the veil parted—swept aside by a casual flick of her tail.

She still stood. Tall. Untouched.

And then she moved again. All fours. The ground tore beneath her claws. She raced through their ranks, too fast to track, nothing but steel and shadow in motion.

Then she leapt—into the air, fangs bared, eyes locked on her next kill.

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