“Alright, you can turn around and look at me now.”
“Oh…”
With Yiwen’s permission, Ella finally turned her head away from the wall she had been staring at. Her neck felt a little stiff.
For the past few minutes she had studied every crack and knot in the wood grain until she knew them all by heart.
In the corridor nearby, the Nest Tyrant still stood in place. Its six eyes had gone dark, the sockets now empty black voids.
Having exceeded its operational limit with no energy to replenish, it had become nothing more than a standing mass of organic matter.
Its carapace had lost its luster.
The flesh at its joints had faded from deep red to a dull gray.
Its four arms hung limply at its sides, the tips of its bone blades touching the floor.
It was dead.
Or rather, it had simply stopped. If it could be recharged, it might still be possible to restart it.
Though she really didn’t want to admit it, Ella wasn’t stupid.
She had felt it.
Somewhere out there, something invisible and intangible had been controlling everything above her head.
It wasn’t her. It was something far older, far vaster, without shape or warmth—the true Insect Nest will itself.
And she, Ella, had merely been the first executor chosen by that will.
It made sense now.
Why would she have been given such an insanely powerful class as Insect Mother for free?
From the very beginning, the class had already demanded its price.
She just hadn’t known it.
She had even reveled in it, truly believing herself an unrivaled god.
“This ship has served its purpose with honor.”
Yiwen’s voice pulled her thoughts back.
The red-haired older sister had already straightened her clothes.
Her deep red jacket was buttoned neatly, and the zipper of her long skirt was pulled all the way up. There was no trace of the earlier chaos.
Only a faint blush still lingered on her cheeks, flickering in and out in the firelight.
“Fortunately we still have the lifeboat. Zhuluo already took Dieyi over. We should hurry too. This ship won’t last much longer. You don’t want to end up in the deep-water zone.”
She glanced at the still-smoking cabin with mild regret, but not much. In her eyes the ship had only ever been a tool.
When it broke, you simply replaced it. Nothing worth lingering over.
She took Ella’s hand on her own initiative and headed toward the deck.
The girl being led along suddenly became remarkably obedient—less like she was being dragged and more like she was being gently guided.
“What’s the deep-water zone like?”
Ever since she had gained her own Insect Nest, it had been a very long time since Ella had personally gone underwater.
Back when she was still on the ship, she used to dive down every few days to check the hull for damage and salvage anything useful.
But once the Insect Nest grew large enough, the worker insects handled all underwater tasks.
She hadn’t touched seawater since.
Thinking about it now, she really had been spoiled.
Yiwen used her free hand to sketch an enormous outline, spreading both palms wide from her chest outward to the full stretch of her arms.
“You know about blue whales, right? The largest creature on Earth.”
“I do.”
“In this world’s deep-water zone, even a blue whale is nothing more than a snack.”
Ella pictured the scene: a thirty-meter-long, hundred-ton blue whale swallowed whole by something even larger in that dark abyss, without even time to struggle.
“That’s… pretty terrifying…”
She followed Yiwen through the final stretch of corridor and stepped onto the deck.
The wind on deck was much stronger than inside the cabin, carrying a thick smell of smoke and the salty tang of the sea.
The fire at the stern had already reached the main mast. Orange-red flames danced in the morning light.
As they left, Ella glanced back one last time. Deep in the corridor, the Nest Tyrant still stood there like a statue abandoned amid the ruins.
Its six eyes had gone completely dark, but just before the last light vanished, was it her imagination?
Those six pupils seemed to keep watching in their direction.
She shivered, turned back, and followed Yiwen to the ship’s side.
A lifeboat hung from the davits on the rail. It wasn’t large—its interior space was roughly the size of a bedroom.
“Zhuluo, I brought her back. Let’s get out of here. Who knows if this ship will explode again.”
Yiwen released Ella’s hand, climbed over the railing, and stepped into the lifeboat.
“Understood.”
Zhuluo’s emotionless voice came from inside the boat, as flat as ever.
She sat at the stern.
Her spider legs had already retracted into her body.
The black sailor uniform and pleated skirt looked strangely pristine in the morning light.
Ella followed her into the lifeboat.
As the hatch closed, the space became almost sealed.
She noticed that Dieyi had already woken up and was leaning against the wall, giving her a sideways glare.