“Is this why it hurts so much?”
“W‑What—don’t touch it…!”
Blaine screamed sharply, veins bulging. A finger slipped between his spread legs and lightly tapped the slanted, broken end. The thought that he was exposing something intimate never once crossed his mind. Blaine’s entire consciousness was consumed by the broken stinger. He tried to swat the hand away, but his powerless body was easily overpowered and pinned back down.
“It’s okay. You saved my life, didn’t you, Blaine? This time, I’ll help you.”
“H‑Help… how…?”
“If we pull this out, it won’t hurt as much.”
As those words fell, a thumb and forefinger firmly grasped the very tip of the stinger.
For a blank second, Blaine didn’t understand what he’d just heard. Then his face drained of all color.
What… what did he just say?
“W‑What?! What the hell are you talking about?!”
Did this lunatic think it was a cavity or a thorn stuck in flesh?! Did he seriously not know the most basic fact—that a honeybee dies once its stinger is lost?! Blaine tried to scramble up in blind panic, but a crushing grip forced his shoulder down. It felt like his bones were about to shatter. That overwhelming strength tore a scream from his throat.
“No, no, you crazy bastard—! You can’t pull it out!”
“Shh, it’s fine. I’ll take care of everything. Relax.”
“How can I relax when I’ll d‑die?! Let go! Let GO!”
“It’ll only hurt for a moment.”
A moment, my ass.
If a stinger is pulled out, the empty space causes the internal organs to lose their balance, twist and collapse, and eventually rupture from the shock. And that agony isn’t something endured briefly—it drags on. Every year, countless honeybees died this way, and Blaine knew exactly what kind of suffering awaited them as they slowly perished.
“You—s‑stop—w‑wait—ugh—AAAGH!”
“Hm… it’s harder to pull out than I expected.”
“Stop—stop—please, stop…! Please…!”
Like pulling out a horn, it would hurt less if done cleanly in one go. The spider’s gentle voice buzzed distantly in Blaine’s ears. His vision clouded white. The curses spilling from his lips faded into thin, broken pleas.
“It… hurts… stop… pleeease…! AAH!”
“Try relaxing a bit more.”
“My—my guts are—coming out— I’m—dy—”
“Oh? I see. Then I’ll twist it gently while pulling.”
“P‑Please… save me…”
The spinning in his head and ringing in his ears abruptly ceased.
It felt as if lightning had struck straight through his brain.
An indescribable chill of pain surged through him—something he’d never experienced in his life. Blaine’s mouth fell open as his unfocused eyes rolled uselessly. He couldn’t even understand what had just happened when, helpfully, the spider held something up in front of his face.
“There. It’s out. How is it? Doesn’t hurt anymore, right?”
Against a background that shifted from bright yellow to iridescent hues floated a needle—dark amber, like a thin twig. The end was snapped off grotesquely.
Something that had been inside him.
A part of his body.
Something precious.
“Ah…”
Being born alive—and being born a Worker Bee—meant death was an inevitable conclusion. Blaine had never doubted that. He believed he’d live devotedly, contributing to the Hive, then leave Necta Hive peacefully in old age to meet his end somewhere quiet. He had imagined dying in battle during an unexpected Wasp invasion, or perishing after the hive was swallowed whole by a bear, or freezing to death due to brutal climate shifts. He’d even considered worse possibilities.
But not this.
This was something he’d never imagined—not even in his nightmares.
To be foolishly lured by a spider, nearly eaten, then risk his life to save him only to have his stinger ripped out and die with his belly rupturing on the spider’s bed?
If he’d known this would happen, he wouldn’t have been a faithful member of Necta Hive—he’d have been a goddamn prophet.
…Well. What did it matter how he died, when he was about to die anyway?
And painfully so.
When he closed his eyes, he felt hot liquid stream down his cheeks.
“Did it hurt that badly, Blaine? Still, don’t cry so much. Everything’s okay now.”
What use was that, when he was dying?
Even knowing that, Blaine couldn’t stop the sob rising in his throat. Even if death awaited him, he couldn’t stand listening to this idiot babble as if he’d done him some great favor. Killing someone and looking so pleased about it—wasn’t that insane?! He would’ve felt less wronged if he’d just been eaten back then.
Unable to contain the bitterness surging up inside him, Blaine sobbed, his huge body shaking with small, broken cries.
His words were long, disjointed, and crushed by pain and tears—but somehow, the spider seemed to understand. His expression turned serious for a moment.
“I—I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
Shut up.
“Blaine…”
Warm, gentle hands brushed softly against his tear-soaked cheeks. The touch soothed his racing mind and dulled the pain slightly. Blaine kept his eyes closed, tears still streaming, breathing in ragged gasps.
“There has to be some way… I mean…”
“……”
“If the stinger comes out, your organs rupture and you die, right?”
He didn’t need to remind him.
But when Blaine sluggishly opened his blurred eyes, he saw the spider’s pretty head deep in thought. Being killed as prey would’ve been kinder—unintentional killing was so utterly tragic and pathetic.
“Hm… ah! Right!”
“……”
“What if we just put something else in there instead?”
If that were possible, honeybees wouldn’t have been dying helplessly like this all along. What did this idiot even think honeybees’ intelligence amounted to?
A stinger contains venom, however slight. Once it leaves the body, it can no longer reintegrate with its owner—and the venom within begins affecting the host itself.
So just leave me alone. If I’m going to die anyway, at least let me die peacefully.
But the spider, completely unconcerned with Blaine’s quietly flowing tears, continued chattering away in that infuriatingly pleasant voice.
“Not the stinger—just something similar. We lose nothing by trying, right?”
You’re the one who caused this, you bastard, and you’re talking about “nothing to lose”?
Yet tragically, Blaine was still a living creature. He still possessed the instincts of one. The primal urge to live had taken deep root inside his brain.
And so, with eyes full of tears and faint hope, Blaine watched the spider move back and forth. When the spider’s face turned troubled, Blaine’s collapsed into despair. By the time his vision flickered black and his breathing grew labored, he’d given up completely.
His stomach hurt. Like it was losing its mind.
“Ugh… ngh… haa…”
“Blaine? Are you okay?”
“Aah—ngh—hkk…”
The sensation on his cheek felt nice.
If nothing else, dying beside someone who worried about him instead of alone in old age might count as the tiniest consolation. Not really—but he desperately wanted to believe that. Because otherwise, it was just too miserable.
“Uu… huh—AAAH! AAGH!”
And then…the pitch-black world before his eyes inverted into blinding white.
“…!”
It hurt.
His abdomen—his lower belly—hurt.
He’d been in pain for a while already, but this was different. Something was brutally compressing his insides. Not only his lower abdomen, but everything below it screamed in agony. And where his stinger should have been—it felt like he was being ripped apart.
“AAAAAH!”
Blaine’s eyes flew open. Tears blurred his vision, making it hard to see. Even as he desperately wanted to die and escape the pain, something felt… strange.
It was different.
It didn’t feel like he was about to die.
“Ah—khk?!”
“Whew… I was worried it wouldn’t work, but it seems fine.”
Smiling brightly, the white‑haired beauty leaned close. Work? What worked? What’s fine? His mind wasn’t functioning.
He stared dumbly at the beautiful face hovering before him—then felt soft, pale skin against his legs.
Those slender hands gripped his thick, solid thighs like talons and pulled them wide apart.
Almost simultaneously, he felt a dense, smothering mass push upward from inside his belly.
“H‑HUGH!”
