Chapter 62: The Pyrography of Possession — A Lover's Seal in Flesh and Flame
The warrior stood before me—upright, expectant, innocent in that grotesquely adorable way only Hive bio-forms could manage. Gleaming chitin, folded scythes, and those wide, glassy black eyes like ink-soaked marbles waiting to be judged.
I stepped closer and smiled.
"Cutie," I said, my voice low with mischief, "I want to give you a gift. Something... permanent. That way, if I ever see you again, I'll know it's you. You good with that?"
The warrior's front legs tapped out an anxious staccato—her version of hell yes.
"Alright, sweet thing. Just screech if it hurts too bad. Otherwise, try not to flinch. Wouldn't want the art to smudge."
Now, in most civilized societies, branding someone like livestock would be considered a war crime—or at least an aggressively intimate boundary violation. But within the Hive?
This was sacred.
