The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

"And the slimes?" he asked casually, though genuine curiosity tinged his voice. He'd always had a soft spot for the peculiar creatures.

Rodion responded promptly, the tone factual yet faintly pleased.

<Nursery has expanded to eight chambers. Current gel output exceeds consumption by 67%. Slimes entering autonomous division phase.>

Mikhailis paused, picturing the slime chambers clearly in his mind. He remembered the very first slime they'd found—a tiny, gelatinous creature barely able to move. Now they had entire chambers filled with vibrant, shimmering masses, splitting and multiplying on their own. It was a humbling thought, considering how small their beginnings had been.

"Autonomous division phase, huh?" He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, imagining the potential. Each slime was essentially a self-sustaining nutrient generator. A self-sufficient nest wasn't just a distant dream anymore—it was close, tangible.

A familiar stirring grew in his chest: the unmistakable feeling of ambition, coupled with an urge for expansion and experimentation. The Queen had felt it too, he knew. Her insatiable drive matched his own, and perhaps even surpassed it. Her mind, driven by instinct, hunger, and the strange bond between them, was pushing the nest to evolve continuously. He could feel her desires echoing faintly through the link they shared.

"Bigger. Stronger," he murmured softly to himself, almost an affirmation of what he already knew she wanted. The room's soft lighting painted a determined glow across his features. He turned fully towards the largest projection, eyes alight with purpose. "Then maybe it's time... we expand our army too."

Rodion dimmed the view of the agricultural sector, smoothly transitioning to another image. A slow pulsing light filled the center of the feed, mesmerizing and unsettling at once. Mikhailis's jaw tightened, the familiar sight instantly drawing all of his attention.

The throne egg.

The clone.

It rested curled at the center, more human-like now than he'd ever seen it before. Yet, beneath the gentle curvature of human features lay something distinctly alien. The faint outline of scales emerged along its arms, shimmering softly in hues of deep emerald and muted bronze beneath translucent skin. Raw, defined muscles twitched occasionally, as though reacting to dreams or visions only it could see.

"It looks more like me every time," he whispered softly, his voice tinged with a complex mixture of awe and unease. His eyes trailed carefully over the image, noting each subtle detail. The way its closed eyelids fluttered slightly, how its chest rose and fell gently in a disturbingly human rhythm—it was both fascinating and deeply unsettling.

Slowly, almost involuntarily, his gaze shifted to his palm. The bond tattoo pulsed softly there, matching the slow rhythm of the clone's heartbeat. He closed his fingers carefully, feeling the steady pulse beneath his skin. Questions, mysteries, fears—they all tangled within him, twisting into a knot he couldn't unravel.

How deep does this connection go? The thought was heavy, filled with uncertainty. The tattoo, the Queen, the egg—each element wove together into something he barely understood. And yet, despite his hesitation, he felt oddly protective of the creature curled inside the egg.

"Is it... becoming something else?" he asked softly, almost hoping Rodion could give him a definitive answer.

Rodion's reply held an unusual note of caution, even for him.

<Unclear. But the throne egg is radiating significant pheromones. Numerous monsters have attempted intrusion.>

A series of logs flashed rapidly before Mikhailis's eyes: Burrowing serpents slithering desperately through tunnels, repelled by Chimera soldiers with fierce efficiency. A basilisk lunging toward the nest's outer defenses, wounded and retreating swiftly. A shadow drake, its dark scales shimmering with menace, barely driven back in a brutal clash that left deep gouges in the nest's perimeter defenses.

Mikhailis stared intently, reading each log entry with growing admiration. "Queen tactics are improving," he murmured thoughtfully, feeling a shiver trace down his spine at the implications. It wasn't simply instinct or reaction now; the Queen was actively adapting her strategy, experimenting and innovating to ensure the safety of their nest.

His heart tightened slightly at the realization. She's learning war...

His lips pressed into a thin line, a quiet resolve forming inside him. This was both exhilarating and daunting. Her growth wasn't merely a reflection of his own ambition—it was a stark reminder of how powerful she was becoming, how quickly she was adapting to this dangerous world.

Mikhailis stepped back slightly, exhaling slowly, eyes still locked on the glowing projection of the throne egg and the clone inside it. His fingers flexed unconsciously, the bond tattoo pulsing warmly against his palm. The implications were massive, potentially world-altering.

He knew the Queen trusted him, felt his intentions clearly. Still, he couldn't entirely silence the quiet whispers of uncertainty at the back of his mind. What exactly was the Queen becoming? What exactly was he becoming?

But then, perhaps uncertainty wasn't a bad thing. It was proof he was still human, still capable of caution and care. He glanced back to the clone again, feeling a strange mixture of protectiveness and wariness.

"We must be careful with this," he murmured aloud, half to Rodion, half to himself. His voice carried gentle but firm authority. "We can't afford to underestimate what it might turn into. But we also can't hold back from what it could offer us."

Rodion's voice held quiet agreement, precise and unemotional as ever.

<Acknowledged. Surveillance and security measures have been enhanced accordingly.>

Mikhailis nodded once, feeling slightly reassured. The path ahead was uncertain, but he was prepared for it. He had Rodion's calculations, the Queen's cunning instincts, and his own wits. It would be enough.

He turned his attention back to the central projection, noting the tiny details once more—the flexing of muscles, the shimmering scales—and took a deep breath, letting the weight of the moment settle around him.

Rodion, without prompting, revealed another feed.

A line of small, crawling bodies filled the projection, moving forward in eerie unison. It took a second for Mikhailis to recognize exactly what he was seeing. Three hundred creatures, each tinged with a faintly ethereal glow, marched slowly but relentlessly across the ground. His breath caught in his throat as he leaned forward, peering closely at the details.

These were not ordinary creatures. Birds with wings bent at unnatural angles, insects with hollowed eyes glowing dimly, rats whose bones were faintly visible through translucent skin—they all shambled onward with quiet, unnatural purpose.

<Undead. Animated via necrotic pheromones and psychic overlay. Insects, birds, rats, small beasts. Controlled remotely by the Queen.>

Rodion's voice carried no inflection, but the information hit Mikhailis like an unexpected wave of cold water. A necromantic army—crafted from death itself, forged by the creature he had bonded with. He felt his heartbeat quicken, his fingers tightening subconsciously against the edge of the console.

"She's becoming a necromancer," he murmured softly, disbelief and astonishment mingling in his voice. His eyes remained fixed on the marching line of undead creatures, noting the precise movements, the cold efficiency. They showed none of the erratic behaviors typical of freshly-raised undead. Instead, they behaved as an organized force, coordinated flawlessly by an invisible conductor.

Mikhailis's mind churned rapidly. He'd seen the Queen adapt and grow quickly before, but this…this was something else entirely. Necromancy was one of the darkest, most complex forms of magic, feared and misunderstood. Yet she had grasped it with a terrifying ease, bending death itself to her will in mere weeks.

He exhaled slowly, forcing calmness into his voice. "She's adapting faster than us."

It wasn't merely admiration; a thread of unease coiled gently around his heart. The Queen was evolving, not just physically, but intellectually—strategically. She was learning to manipulate not only life but death itself. What limits did she have? Did she even have limits anymore?

A brief shiver ran down his spine, and he knew that, despite their deep connection, caution was vital. He had to ensure that this newfound power would remain under control. Still, beneath the concern, there was undeniable awe at her brilliance and ingenuity. The bond between them pulsed gently at the back of his palm, a quiet, reassuring thrum.

Mikhailis shifted slightly, breaking his tense stance, and let a slow, amused smile tug at the corners of his mouth. "Let's make sure she stays on our side," he remarked lightly, trying to ease his own tension. Yet, even he could hear the slight edge of caution in his voice.

<Indeed.>