Meanwhile, back in the core part of the next.
The Spider Lord had never felt this powerless.
His detection field—his magic web threads—were fraying in real time. Every strand that had once pulsed gently with information was now shaking, breaking apart as though something inside the nest itself was turning them against him.
He stood alone in the throne chamber.
Tall.
Still.
Watching.
His eight eyes scanned the webbed walls, looking for movement, any twitch, any feedback, any proof that the intruders were still visible through the network.
But there was nothing.
Just static pulses.
Like the network was coughing.
Dying.
He reached out again. This time more forcefully, sending a surge of energy into the strands—trying to light them up like nerves under a current.
One thread flared brightly.
It came from the tunnel that led toward the Alpha team's last position.
Then it vanished.
Gone.
Burned out like a candle in a vacuum.
