Vergil remained silent before the sleeping colossus.
The creature's head—if it could be called a "head"—emerged partially from the sea of eggs, its eyes closed in multiple layers, forming overlapping arches of translucent chitin. Silk threads pulsed from the base of the skull to the living ceiling of the chamber, like umbilical cords connected to a divine and monstrous placenta. The Queen's skin was the color of night under an eclipse—black, shiny, with metallic tones that sparkled in the light of the fire lance.
Vergil knelt with one knee on the organic bridge, leaning as if observing an ancient sculpture forgotten by gods and men. His pupils were dilated. The energy emanating from the gigantic body was dense as smoke, full of memory and pain.
"She is beautiful..." he murmured, almost like a lament. "So... monumental."
Zuri trembled. "Vergil, this thing is not a being. It is a vestige. A mistake of creation."
