144: Chapter 144 The Terrifying Combat Power of the Queen's Guard

But if Olivia were successfully recovered... everything would change.

That newborn little girl, with her unparalleled potential, would leap directly to the very front of the succession sequence.

Anserwe was unwilling to accept this.

But she didn't dare show it.

"Your subordinate... understands." Anserwe's voice was so low it was almost inaudible. "I have no ulterior motives; everything is for the Zerg Swarm."

The Zerg's execution has always been known for being efficient and cold; less than three minutes after the Empress's order was issued, the members of the Queens Guard scattered across various leviathan motherships had completed their assembly.

Each mothership left behind only one Queen who specialized in production scheduling—these Queens usually had their talent points invested in logistics skills like "Heart of the Swarm," "Efficient Reproduction," and "Biomass Reclamation." Although their combat power wasn't as high as Combat-type Queens, they could increase the production efficiency of an entire Leviathan by over 300%.

The remaining Combat-type Queens, totaling over thirty thousand, were all transported via Short-range biological warp to the twelve frontline Leviathans surrounding Planet G-77-3.

This deployment process was a textbook-level military operation—no chaos, no delays, not even a single word of redundant communication.

The Queens walked out of their respective nests, stepped into Biological teleportation chambers, and appeared in the target ship's assembly hall the next second. The entire process was as quiet as a pantomime, with only the faint "rustling" sound of carapaces treading on the creep floor.

In contrast, the Alliance of Ten Thousand Races' deployment was as messy as a paramecium.

"The Empress commands," Anserwe stood on the high platform in the center of the assembly hall, her voice spreading through the Psionic network to every Queen's consciousness, "Clear all enemy high-level units in planetary orbit to clear the way for the orbital drop. Each squad will act according to the original organization, with each Queen leading a hundred-man Tyranid Warrior squad."

She paused, a flash of purple light in her compound eyes: "Remember, the target priorities: First, find and recover Olivia and ensure her safety; second, eliminate the Gene Primordial Bodies; third, protect your own safety; fourth, if you encounter Trialists from the Alliance of Ten Thousand Races... clean them up along the way."

There was no cheering, no oaths, only a unified mental response: [Understood.]

The next second, thirty thousand Queens and their total of three million Tyranid Warriors surged like a black tide toward the launch chambers in the Leviathan's belly.

...

Suborbital, about 1,500 kilometers from the surface.

A Primarch with demonic bat wings growing from its back but a Holy Light crystal embedded in its chest was clearing Mutalisk swarms with Shadow Shock—the scene looked awkward no matter how you viewed it, like seeing a demon performing a striptease in a church, the sense of incongruity was maxed out.

The Progenitor was fighting intently, all eight eyes locked onto the Zerg Swarm, completely failing to notice the sudden ripples in space behind its side.

The moment Anserwe emerged from the warp state, she locked onto this target.

"Heh," she let out a contemptuous laugh, her voice propagating directly through the vacuum in the form of psionic vibrations, "Mindless trash."

That Progenitor finally sensed the threat and spun around, all eyes focusing on Anserwe at once. It opened its tooth-filled mouth and let out a silent roar—sound cannot travel in a vacuum, but the mental shock wrapped in shadow energy still rushed toward her.

The Shadow Shock covered a range of over three hundred kilometers, swallowing even starlight wherever it passed. If it hit, it would be enough to overload the shields of a small frigate and cause the hull structure to collapse.

Anserwe didn't even bother to dodge.

She raised her right hand, palm up. A ball of white-hot plasma fire leaped, condensed, and took shape in her palm, transforming in an instant into a light blade over five meters long. Lava-like patterns flowed along the blade, and the high temperature it emitted caused visual distortion in the surrounding space.

"Sever."

A single, nonchalant word.

The light blade swung down.

There was no world-shaking explosion, no gorgeous or dazzling light effects, only a thread-thin, supernova-bright flash of flame light.

That Shadow Shock melted, evaporated, and dissipated silently, like snow meeting sunlight. The flame light's momentum didn't decrease as it precisely sliced through the Progenitor's midline.

The Progenitor's movements froze.

A second later, a fine crack appeared from the top of its head, extending straight down through the space between its eyes, the bridge of its nose, its chest, its abdomen, and finally emerging from its crotch. On both sides of the crack, body tissues began to disintegrate and gasify, revealing the internal core structure mixed with biomass and energy flows.

A Rank 5 Primarch, heavily wounded in one strike.

But not yet dead.

Life forms that reach Rank 5 all possess extremely strong survival capabilities, especially these Genetic stitch-monsters—their biological structures have been reinforced multiple times, and there is a strong mutual anchoring effect between atoms; even if cut in half, they can attempt to reorganize and regenerate in a short time.

The two halves of the Progenitor's body floated in the vacuum, with countless granulation and energy tentacles stretching from the break, trying to reconnect. Looking at that regeneration speed, it would recover as before in thirty seconds at most.

"Boring tricks." Anserwe didn't even bother to look again, flying straight past the Progenitor.

The Tyranid Warrior squad behind her followed like a shadow.

These Tyranid Warriors were the Zerg's true high-level combat units. Each had a humanoid silhouette but was covered in pitch-black biological armor, with sharp blade-legs extending from the joints and folded membranous wings on their backs. They had no compound eyes, only a single-eye sensor flashing red on their faces, but their combat instincts were terrifyingly strong.

Ten Tyranid Warriors pounced on the Progenitor that was struggling to regenerate.

Blade-legs swung.

It wasn't simple hacking, but a "dissection" as precise as surgery. Ten pitch-black blade-lights wove into a net of death in the air; every swing precisely severed the Progenitor's regenerating tentacles, and every cut precisely separated its energy nodes.

The Progenitor tried to resist, releasing its remaining shadow energy in an attempt to force back these attackers.

It was useless.

A faint Energy deflection field appeared on the surface of the Tyranid Warriors' blade-legs; the Shadow Shock hit it like water hitting a reef, scattering in all directions. Meanwhile, their attacks never stopped, one strike after another, each faster than the last.

Five seconds.

It only took five seconds.

That Rank 5 Primarch was completely "disassembled" into fragments no larger than a fist. Biomass fragments, energy residue, genetic tissue... a mess of things floated in the vacuum like a disgusting cloud of trash.

The Tyranid Warriors sheathed their blades and returned to Anserwe's rear in unison, the entire process as silent as a group of robots.

Anserwe didn't even turn back to confirm the result, simply giving an order through the Psionic network: [Next target.]