Eater Blade: Grinding in Apocalypse-Chapter 40: INTO THE QUEEN’S NEST PART 2.

The deeper they pushed, the thicker the air got. A humid fog that tasted like rust and spoiled flesh. The fleshy roots thickened into massive cables, merging into a single grotesque mass at the heart of the plaza. Every step closer, the floor pulsed warm under their feet like they were walking across a living thing’s belly.

Johnquis flicked his chain to the side, eyes scanning the twitching sacs overhead. Some of the eggs had already split open, half-formed things squirming out, boneless limbs flailing before they dissolved back into the pulsing floor.

[UNFORMED EATER]

[LEVEL: 0]

[FEED POINTS: 0] freeωebnovēl.c૦m

"Yikes... so this is where Eaters come from. Never really thought about it. First time stepping inside one of their nests and look at those things. Half-cooked freaks. Eeeh."

He nudged one with his boot. It popped like rotten fruit, spraying slime. He wiped his boot on the fleshy floor.

He glanced at Dancer, who was prowling ahead, eyes locked on the mass in the center.

"Hey, Dancer—this your baby crib or something? You pop out of one of these lumps, too?"

She didn’t react, just kept walking, blades glinting.

"Figured. Explains the attitude."

One of the half-formed things flopped too close. He whipped the chain—

CRACK!

Splattering it across the wall.

He grinned at her back. "Don’t worry. I’ll clean up your siblings for you."

At the very center, the web of roots rose up into an almost cathedral-like mound. Threads of slick, veined flesh wove together into a massive column that shivered with each labored heartbeat. Embedded in that glistening trunk, half-formed bones and limbs pressed against the membrane like drowned things begging for air.

And there... in the heart of it, the shape revealed itself. It was almost human in outline, yet nothing human could be this monstrous and still... beautiful, in a sick, uncanny way. A vague feminine form, built from layers of flesh and webbing, swaying as if the roots themselves breathed through her.

Long strands of fibrous hair hung down like tangled seaweed. Where eyes should’ve been were deep pits that glowed faintly, watching them.

[QUEEN EATER]

[TIER: D]

[FEED POINTS: +2000]

Johnquis felt his breath hitch in his throat.

"Holy shit... so that’s a Queen. Look at her...Almost looks human but all that’s left is just a nightmare dressed up like a mother. Feeding her babies, birthing monsters... all while she watches you with no damn eyes."

He glanced at Dancer, trying to swallow the chill creeping down his spine.

"Guess this is it, huh? The big meal at the end of the buffet line..."

He twirled his chain once, the rattle loud in the silence. But the Queen didn’t move. Instead, a voice bloomed out of her, soft at first, then rising like a chorus inside Dancer’s skull.

"Daughter..."

Dancer pulled back a step, claws flexing. The Queen’s hollow face tilted, the sockets dripping strands of translucent mucus that hissed when they touched the floor.

"My sweet little limb. You stand at the side of prey? A tool of the butcher? Have you forgotten your birthing place?"

The words seemed to seep through the fog, vibrating inside Dancer’s bones. She snarled low, foot-blade tapping out a staccato beat on the tile but she didn’t look away. Her pupils flicked wide, then narrow, then wide again, like something inside her was... remembering.

Johnquis’s grin faded, eyes darting between Dancer and the Queen. He opened his mouth to speak but the Queen’s voice cut through him, sickly sweet and sharp as glass.

"What do you hunt for, stray fang? Does he fill your belly? Does he quench your endless hunger? You were born of my marrow, daughter. You drank my humors when you were still unshaped. The hum of my flesh is the only true drumbeat you know."

Dancer flinched, actually flinched. Her claws scraping deep grooves into the fleshy floor. The webbing quivered around her feet as if reaching up, hungry to claim her. She hissed but the sound was choked, raw.

"Does he tell you what you are?"

The Queen’s neck craned forward, threads cracking wetly.

"Does he tell you how you should hunger? To gnaw at scraps from his leash? We are the root, the nest, the eternal wound that births the strong. You stand with prey when you were meant to devour."

Dancer’s breath came fast and rough. Her eyes flicked to Johnquisand then she remembered.

It all slammed back — her skin dark, claws slick, a Level 2 Runner tearing rookies apart in the mist. Screams echoing through the broken walls.

"AHH!! THE NEMESIS — HELP!"

Another voice, cracking with terror —

"STOP! DON’T EAT ME! AHHH!"

Another —

"YOU FUCKING MONSTER — GET AWAY!"

The voices piled up. All of them, one after another, until she had devoured every last one.

"NO, NO, NO — PLEASE! GET IT OFF ME! JOHNQUIS, PLEASE! HELP!"

And him. Johnquis. Standing there, his eyes wide in horror but trying to hold himself steady in front of her. Her, the monster.

"Come on, you Nemesis. Let’s finish this."

The Queen’s hollow sockets widened, dripping more filmy strings that coiled around Dancer’s ankles like ghostly fingers.

"Return to me, my limb. Spill his meat for the garden. Reclaim the hum that made you."

Dancer’s eyes glazed — her foot-blade hung frozen. The webbing kept climbing, tighter and tighter. Wet strands slid up her legs, coiled around her hands and arms, over her chest, and finally pressed against her lips.

"You were never his. You were always mine."

Then a voice cut through, "Hey... get the hell out of her head, you overgrown tapeworm!"

Johnquis.

The sticky strings shivered and then snapped, replaced by chains that wrapped around her like armor. They rattled and hissed like home.

His voice echoed in her head:

"It’s because of you. We worked together."

"I like having you close."

Another memory — "I told you... this Runner is not your enemy."

And more — "You really are my other half now."

The fog melted away and her eyes cleared. She looked at Johnquis, bracing to see the fear, the disgust. But all she saw was him — staring right into her, seeing her. Not a monster. Not the Nemesis.

Just Dancer.

He asked, voice rough, "Are you alright? You were frozen there for a minute. Is she messing with your head?"

Something wet slid down her cheek. She flinched, touching it — trying to understand what she felt.

"Is that a tear? Are you crying, Dancer?" Johnquis asked.

The Queen’s voice cracked through the nest, shrill and furious:

"WHAT ARE YOU?! YOU ARE NOT ONE OF US!"

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