The last werewolf in the corridor was not yet fully dead.
His lower body lay five meters away, intestines spilling out from his abdomen and trailing across the floor in a dark red, glistening line.
His upper body leaned against the wall, propped up by his remaining arm.
His nails scratched shallow grooves into the wooden planks.
His pupils were dilated and unfocused, and he made wet, wheezing gasps like a broken bellows.
With every breath, bloody foam bubbled from the corners of his mouth.
Yet he still managed to grab Ella’s ankle.
“Monster… die…”
His fingers tightened, nails digging into the skin at Ella’s ankle.
His arm lifted, claws flashing coldly in the firelight. But halfway up, his arm stopped.
He had no strength left. The claws trembled in the air for a moment before dropping limply.
He no longer had the power to strike.
Everything below his waist was gone.
Ella looked down at the bloodstained hand gripping her ankle.
There was no pity in her crimson pupils—only disgust and revulsion.
Boom.
A massive bone blade slammed straight down onto the back of the werewolf’s head.
The edge of the bone blade was no longer as sharp after slicing through multiple werewolves.
Fine cracks and nicks had appeared along the carapace.
Instead of piercing the skull, it simply smashed it.
Like an egg being crushed by a hammer.
The dull, short crunch of bone shattering rang out. Blood and brain matter splattered in all directions, leaving a fan-shaped grayish-white stain on the wall.
The werewolf’s fingers spasmed once around Ella’s ankle before going slack.
The last werewolf finally fell silent.
The corridor grew quiet.
The flames continued to burn and the wooden planks still crackled, but those were sounds without life.
More than a dozen werewolf corpses were piled up in the narrow corridor like a small mountain of flesh and blood.
They all shared one common trait: they had felt fear before dying.
Ella could smell it—the pheromones of fear. These creatures who could still feel terror were simply incapable of defeating her Nest Tyrant.
She lifted her right foot in disgust and shook off the bloodstained hand still clinging to her ankle.
She bent down, patted the fabric around her ankle to loosen the blood-soaked cloth, and carefully checked to make sure nothing unclean had gotten on her before finally stepping back onto the floor.
Then she raised her head and looked at the Nest Tyrant.
It stood in the center of the corpse pile, six crimson pupils glowing in the darkness.
Its entire body was covered in blood—on its carapace, bone blades, bone whip, and even in the gaps between its six eyes.
Dark red liquid continued to drip down.
The blood wasn’t its own. Not a single scratch marked its carapace.
None of its joints were injured.
Its breathing was as steady as a machine that had just finished a light warm-up.
As a weapon, it was nearly perfect.
Ella looked at it, unable to stop the corners of her mouth from curving upward.
The more she looked, the more she felt this creature was flawless.
Its slender limbs, streamlined carapace, razor-sharp bone blades, and combat instincts so precise they were terrifying—it was the result of ten years of careful tuning, now perfectly proven on these inferior beings.
“Your Majesty…”
A voice came from the other end of the corridor, interrupting her thoughts.
Ella turned toward the sound.
Yiwen stood at the corner. Her long red hair gleamed with a dark luster in the firelight.
She was visibly shocked by the scene before her. Her eyes were wide open, red pupils slightly contracted, lips parted as if she wanted to speak but the words were stuck in her throat.
Her hands were raised awkwardly in front of her, fingers slightly spread, palms facing outward.
It was a defensive posture—an instinctive, subconscious act of self-protection when faced with an unexpected threat.
Ella stared at Yiwen for several seconds.
“Failures,”
“If you were smart, you should have escaped while I was busy killing these werewolves.”
She took a step forward, her silver hair swaying in the firelight.
“Since you’re still standing here, I can only say…”
Her smile grew wider.
“You really do live up to your name. A bunch of hopelessly stupid failures.”
Yiwen’s lips moved.
Her pupils trembled slightly as she tried to process the massive gap between the horrific scene and Ella’s words.
“You’re… under the control of the Insect Nest’s will again.”
Ella’s smile remained unchanged, but her eyes grew colder.
“Control?”
She repeated the word as if tasting a bad joke.
“Enough. I won’t believe your nonsense anymore.”
She took another step forward, closing the distance to Yiwen.
“I’m standing here perfectly fine. Everything is within my expectations.”
Her gaze swept across Yiwen’s face, her raised hands, and her slightly trembling fingertips.
“Except for you, perhaps. I really didn’t expect you to be stupid enough to come back looking for me.”
Ella continued walking forward.
She wanted to look Yiwen in the eyes more directly, to look down on this red-haired older sister who was half a head taller than her, to see fear and hesitation on her face—the instinctive reaction when suppressed by a superior being.
But the closer she got, the more she regretted it. She even wanted to turn around immediately.
The nearer she came, the higher she had to tilt her chin, the more she had to stretch her neck.
Her gaze shifted from level to upward.
Standing in front of Yiwen, she had to look up at a face that was a full half-head taller.
This posture greatly displeased her.
Her brows furrowed slightly.
She secretly decided that in the future, none of her insect maidens would be allowed to be taller than her.
“Since you haven’t left,”
Ella shook the messy thoughts from her mind and adjusted her expression.
She raised her chin, narrowed her crimson pupils, and curved her lips into what she believed was an imposing arc.
“I’ll give you a chance to atone, Yiwen.”
Her voice was slow and deliberate, every word sounding like charity.
“Return to me and swear loyalty.”
She extended her right hand, pointing her index finger at Yiwen’s chest.
“If you do, I’ll consider giving you a position in the Insect Nest in the future.”
Her gaze flicked to the side, toward the Nest Tyrant still standing amid the corpses.
Its six crimson pupils were quietly and patiently waiting for the next command.
“The Tyrant still has plenty of operational time left. What is your choice?”
She brought her gaze back to Yiwen’s face.
Those red pupils churned with something complex and difficult to describe—hesitation, perhaps.
Ella couldn’t help but want to laugh.
Tormenting this intellectual-looking red-haired older sister brought her great secret satisfaction.
Yiwen was always so gentle, so composed, always speaking like a patient teacher.
Where was that gentleness now? Where was that composure?
Where was that “I’m doing this for your own good, big sister” attitude?
She really wanted to see Yiwen forced to submit to her for the sake of survival.
Kneel. Beg her. Say “Your Majesty, I am willing to pledge my loyalty to you.”
Then she could look down on her—well, she couldn’t physically look down, but she could do so mentally—watching this red-haired woman prostrate herself at her feet, just as all insects should.
No, she could simply make her kneel. After all, Dieyi had once stepped on her head and pressed it to the ground.
She would return the favor.
“Alright.”
Yiwen said.
Just one word.
Ella’s smile froze for a split second, then exploded.
Hahaha! She agreed! Hahaha! In the end she still gave in! And here I thought you were so stubborn, red-haired big sister~
She extended her right hand and beckoned Yiwen over, like calling an obedient pet that had finally learned to listen.
“Then come here.”
Her voice was filled with unconcealed triumph.
“I’ll mark you with my tentacle. Otherwise, when I’m not paying attention, the Tyrant might treat you as an enemy.”
“Understood.”
Yiwen took a step forward.
She reached up and unbuttoned the first button of her jacket, then the second, then the third.
The deep red uniform coat slipped from her shoulders and fell to the ground with a soft rustle.
Her fingers moved to the zipper of her skirt. The metal zipper sounded unusually loud and clear in the deathly silent corridor as it slid down.
The mature, womanly long skirt slipped from her waist and pooled around her ankles.
An alluring sight appeared before Ella’s eyes.
Her eyes widened.
Her crimson pupils lingered on Yiwen’s chest for at least two full seconds.
Whoa~!
She let out an internal exclamation that even she found embarrassing, sounding like a middle-aged uncle.
Big!
So big!
Not bad at all! Just with breasts this massive, she could no longer be considered a failure!
The corners of her mouth curved into a foolish grin she wasn’t even aware of.
Hehehe~ I’ll keep you in the nest as eye candy~
“Not enough.”
Ella’s voice came out strained, barely hiding her excitement.
“Keep going.”
Yiwen obeyed without hesitation. Her fingers hooked the edge of her last undergarment and slowly, inch by inch, pulled it downward.
Ella’s breath hitched.
Now!
The tentacle behind Ella moved.
It flicked upward toward the ceiling.
At the same moment, her body took half a step back—just enough for Yiwen’s lunging body to brush past her.
Boom.
The Nest Tyrant’s arm came crashing down.
It landed heavily on Yiwen’s shoulder like a mountain falling.
Yiwen’s body was forced downward. Her knees buckled, her face nearly pressed against the floor.
Both hands braced against the ground, fingers digging into the planks.
Just one of the Tyrant’s hands was enough to completely pin her down.
“Fool.”
Ella’s voice drifted down from above Yiwen’s head, filled with unrestrained, overwhelming glee.
“You still tried to ambush me with the Tyrant right beside me?”
She squatted down. Her silver hair fell from both sides of her shoulders, swaying gently in front of Yiwen’s eyes.
“Did you think I was stupid?”
The corners of her mouth curved into an innocent-looking smile.
Yiwen said nothing.
Her face was pressed sideways against the floor, long red hair scattered across the bloodstained planks.
Her body was completely immobilized under the Tyrant’s arm; she could barely even curl her fingers.
Ella looked at Yiwen pinned to the ground—at that usually gentle, composed, scholarly face now pressed against the filthy, blood-soaked floor, at those red pupils reflecting her own triumphant smile.
Her mood was excellent.
She extended her tentacle.
The tip hovered just above the back of Yiwen’s neck.