"Well, I didn't expect the queen to be good in illusions, so no need to blame me," Conner justified himself calmly as he observed his surroundings.
The battlefield had become silent in the worst way possible.
Most of his men were no longer struggling. Thick layers of webbing wrapped around their bodies, binding arms to torsos, legs pressed together, faces covered. They looked like grotesque cocoons hanging between broken pillars and cracked stone. Some still twitched weakly inside, but it was fading.
Reever had yet to be covered completely. The webbing had crawled up to his neck, tightening slowly, inch by inch, like something alive.
From that alone, Conner understood something.
The more powerful a player was, the slower the corruption spread.
No.
That wasn't accurate.
His men had already been under the queen's control before he saved them. Their will had been weakened. That meant something else entirely.
Those with strong will could resist the transformation longer than those without it.
That was the most reasonable explanation. Reever was still fighting it internally. The others had already lost themselves once.
"Bot 067, do you have a way out before we become like those mindless creatures?" Conner asked without turning his head.
"I have one," Reever replied, his voice tight under the pressure of the webbing. "But it's so powerful that you will not survive when I unleash it."
"Flexing, even at this time," Conner muttered. "Fine. Don't use it."
He rolled his eyes slightly, though his mind remained sharp.
Reever was referring to his explosives. He had plenty stored away. Enough to turn this entire place into rubble.
But he valued his life more than pride.
Especially now.
Every death meant losing another life. And once his lives ran out, it would be over. Not just physically.
He wasn't afraid of dying.
He was afraid that when he died completely, when his remaining lives reached zero, the system would seize him fully and erase whatever remained of his will.
That fear was worse than death.
That was why he had to survive. Rank up. Reach master rank. Even the smallest chance of freedom was enough to keep a man fighting.
Or in his case, a man who had already died before.
Conner went silent.
Then he made a decision.
The webbing around him trembled.
A sharp shiver ran through the strands as if they had touched something they shouldn't have. In the next second, the webbing loosened and fell apart in strips.
Conner stepped free.
Reever raised an eyebrow, not surprised.
If Conner couldn't free himself, then the so-called mythic lineage he claimed would be a joke.
"Should I release myself or not…" Reever thought.
He had two options.
Bombs.
Or the weapon he stole from Prespeto.
Even though Prespeto had been an illusion, the weapon was real. The queen had no choice but to make certain elements real. Otherwise, the illusion would collapse under scrutiny.
Reever decided to wait.
Let Conner handle it first.
The queen noticed immediately.
Her prey was loose.
She screeched, the sound sharp enough to vibrate the stone floor. The remaining creatures responded instantly, skittering forward.
Conner pressed a small device at his waist, confirming that the environment wasn't another illusion layered within illusion.
Clear.
Twin silver blades appeared in his hands.
He moved before the army could properly adjust.
In a blink, he vanished from his position and appeared before them.
He sliced the air.
A massive crescent-shaped blade of energy formed, bright and clean, cutting across the battlefield. It tore through the front ranks of spider ants, slicing bodies in half before they could even react. Limbs scattered. Dark blood sprayed.
The queen screeched again.
The surviving elite units — the kings, rooks, and bishops — began to transform. Their bodies expanded, armor thickening, limbs reshaping. The common soldier ants were already in pieces.
Conner didn't give them time.
He activated his skill.
"Limitless Assault."
Blades of condensed force erupted forward, rushing toward the transforming elites.
Ding.
The queen stepped forward and absorbed the attack.
The skill struck her directly. The air exploded outward from the impact. Dust lifted. Stone cracked.
When the tremor faded, she remained standing.
Unmoved.
Unharmed.
Then her body shifted.
Four limbs twisted unnaturally. Joints split apart. Chitin cracked open and reformed. What had once been jointed legs elongated and hardened into massive crescent-shaped scythes, black and gleaming like polished obsidian.
Conner rolled his shoulders once.
He adjusted his grip on his twin blades.
He didn't charge.
He waited.
The queen did not.
She launched forward in a blur, her speed crushing the distance between them in an instant. One scythe came down toward his neck.
Instead of retreating, Conner stepped in.
His right blade rose to meet the strike.
Steel clashed against chitin. Sparks burst from the collision.
At the same time, his left blade cut upward toward her head.
The queen reacted instantly.
Her mandibles snapped shut around the blade.
Metal rang sharply as her jaws locked onto it. For a moment, they were frozen in a violent stalemate, strength pressing against strength.
Then she twisted.
The blade tore from Conner's grip and spun away, skidding across the battlefield before embedding itself into the stone.
The queen's remaining scythes crossed in front of her body.
They formed an X.
The edges vibrated.
Then webbing exploded outward from the crossing point, thick and aggressive, spreading in a wide net designed to trap and suffocate.
Conner pivoted.
A slight lean. A narrow sidestep. A controlled shift of weight.
The webbing snapped against the ground where he had been standing a second earlier.
He surged forward.
With his remaining blade, he slashed across her abdomen.
The steel cut through layered armor just enough.
A thin line opened.
Dark blood seeped out.
The queen recoiled with a sharp hiss, her many eyes locking onto him.
Conner landed lightly, steady.
He examined the blood staining his blade.
Then, without breaking eye contact, he lifted the blade and ran his tongue across the edge.
He tasted it.
A slow smirk curved across his face as he met her many eyes.