The storm above the Queen's head pulled tighter until the ichor shaped itself into a single spear of gold. It spun slow at first, then faster, until the air shimmered with its heat. Every eye on the battlefield turned toward it. Every claw froze. Every wing stilled.
Buzz felt the weight of it before it fell. His legs shook beneath him, his shell cracked under pressure that hadn't even touched him yet. Zza's silk tightened across his body, her hands trembling as she bound herself to him.
"She's going to end us with that," she whispered.
Buzz stared at the weapon, throat raw, lungs burning. "Then she's afraid we'll live long enough to cut her again."
The Queen raised her claw, guiding the spear down toward them. The glow grew brighter, so bright it painted the dirt in fire and washed every shadow from the clearing. The drones pulled back, as if even they feared being too close when it struck.
