I reached out to touch one of them. I could feel the smooth sensation of the Swarm’s body. The sound of their clicking fangs echoed in a way that wouldn’t be possible in a dream. This was real. The Swarm in front of me, this cold cave—it was all real. Things I thought only existed in my favorite game were right before my eyes in striking detail.
“Order us, Your Majesty.”
“We desire a leader. A leader to guide us.”
“A queen to lead us to victory.”
“A queen to serve as our core and order us.”
The Swarm spoke up, ignoring my uncertainty. Then they all raised their hands and bowed their heads—the Arachnea’s gesture of obedience. They assumed this pose when a player produced them and when they won a battle. It was the sole friendly emote the Arachnea’s insects were capable of. They wouldn’t show this gesture to anyone else but the player. All others would be greeted with scythe, fang, and stinger as the Swarm tore their enemies to bits without a hint of mercy, only to devour their bodies afterward.
The problem was that I wasn’t a queen at all. Even if they called me their queen, I couldn’t live up to that role. I steeled myself, speaking to the Swarm that had insisted I was their queen, worshipping me in the process.
“I’m not your queen,” I told the Swarm resolutely.
“No. Your Majesty is the queen.”
“Your Majesty is, without a doubt, our queen.”
“Have you forgotten the countless times you have guided us to victory?”
Countless times? I guided them to victory? Do they mean the online matches? They remember me winning those, yet I can’t even remember how I got here?
“Lead our conquest today as well, Your Majesty.”
“Our goddess of war and undefeated queen. O, glory to the Arachnea.”
“Your Majesty, order us. Guide us to victory.”
Each individual Swarm spoke in the same manner. That was because they were moving as an aggregate consciousness that had the queen as its core. All were one, and one was all. The countless Swarms in this place were all moving under what was essentially a shared will, and they had no individual differences.
Several hundred Swarms truly believed me to be the Arachnea queen. What if I were to continue insisting that I wasn’t their queen? Even now, when my consciousness was already beginning to blend in with theirs?
Yes, I could tell my consciousness was linked to the hivemind. I knew what they were thinking. These Swarms truly saw me as their queen and craved victory, despite having no idea what kind of victory that was. They revered me as queen, but I couldn’t fathom any of it. If I did continue to deny it, what would become of me?
“Ahaha... Ahahahaha!”
I couldn’t do anything but laugh. Just what was I expected to do? My psyche wasn’t brittle enough to snap and go mad from this much, so I gathered up my remaining sanity in an attempt to adapt to the situation at hand. As my mind struggled to come to terms with this unbelievable reality, my voice of reason was screaming for me to flee. However, my scant sense of self-preservation warned me to stay put.
Frankly, going mad would have made this so much easier.
But I hadn’t gone mad, and so I had to make a choice. Were I to continue disavowing my position as queen, the Arachnea—which I was no match against—would give up on me and tear me to pieces. But if I acknowledged that I was their queen, I would have to lead these lovely, precious insects.
I didn’t want to die. I wasn’t farsighted or wise enough to come to terms with my own mortality. Well, some part of me felt the desire to give in and accept death, but its echoes were faint and hollow. A far louder voice desperately urged me to live.
On top of all that, I didn’t want to betray the expectations of the Swarm that had battled on my behalf for so many years, albeit in a fictional world. Even if it all took place in a video game, they had fought for me for so long. They were my friends and my most trusted subordinates.
Once I realized this, there was no further need for deliberation. The answer was obvious. There was no other option, no other road for me to tread.
“Very well.” I rose to my feet. With a flourish of my waist-length black hair, I declared, “I will lead you to triumph as your queen. May we be victorious!”
I spoke as grandly as possible, as if to make the whole world aware that I was queen. With this proclamation, I swore my loyalty to the Swarm and promised them victory.
“May we be victorious. All hail Her Majesty!”
“May we be victorious. All hail Her Majesty!”
The Swarm cheered at my words by clicking their jaws in what probably passed as a sort of applause.
What will become of me now that I’ve sworn myself to these grotesque insects? Was my judgment really rational here, or did the influence of the Swarm’s collective unconscious overrun mine and drive me mad?
Maybe it did. Blindly promising the Swarm the conquest they craved when I had no grasp on the situation was an undoubtedly foolish decision. If I had seen another way, I probably would have taken it. And considering what might come next, perhaps I should have desperately sought an alternative.
Nonetheless, I chose not to abandon my insects and instead began to walk the path of the queen. I had no regrets, but I was not confident that my choice wasn’t made out of lunacy.
I asked again: did I go mad? Some aspects of the scene led me to believe I might very well have. My memory was hazy and my grasp on the situation was shaky at best. Evidence that seemed to prove I’d gone insane was popping up one after another. But the way I was then, with my consciousness on the verge of being washed over by the Swarm’s, I couldn’t discern that at all.
I didn’t know anything. Not what this world was, not how I came here, and not how I became the Arachnea’s queen. Still, I was sane. I wanted to believe that. No... I’d merely convinced myself I was, and perhaps I truly was half-mad already. Had I not been at least somewhat mad, I wouldn’t have made the active, unflinching decision to drive this world into calamity at the hands of the monsters before me.
And so, I became the Queen of the Arachnea—a choice that would transform me into the most abhorrent, terrifying butcher of all.