Hanging upside down for two days should have been pure hell. The blood pooling in his head, the aching of his body, the humiliation of being force-fed disgusting insects—any normal person would have lost their mind. Yet, somehow, Shwet didn't. Maybe because, despite everything, his mind was too busy to break.
Instead, he observed.
At first, it was just survival instinct. He had to understand his enemies if he wanted even the slimmest chance of escaping. But the more he watched, the more he realized—these creatures were not mindless beasts.
They had structure, discipline, purpose.
He had thought the serpent colony was terrifying, but it was chaotic, ruled by brute force and primal instinct. Here? Here was something greater. A true civilization, functioning in absolute harmony, where every individual had a role, and every role was executed with precision.
And, strangely… it fascinated him.
Shwet had spent hours analyzing their roles.
At the bottom were the base taratects, palm-sized spiders that scurried around endlessly, either delivering silk, helping with egg care, or simply being a nuisance. They reminded him of mindless drones, moving without questioning orders.
Above them were the lesser taratects—a bit larger,a bit smarter, and a little stronger. These ones actively participated in defending the colony and working on infrastructure. Unlike the base taratects, they had a sense of initiative; he had seen them making independent decisions, redirecting work, or managing the smaller ones.
Then came the great taratects, hulking creatures about the size of a car. These were the real enforcers of the colony. If a lesser taratect ever got out of line, the great ones were quick to correct them, sometimes with violence. They seemed to be in charge of transportation and nest construction, frequently moving large objects or reinforcing silk walls.
And then there were the black assassin taratects, the ones who had captured him. They were fast, deadly, and clearly highly ranked. They led the hunting parties, executed swift and coordinated attacks, and even exerted dominance over the great taratects. Their intelligence was frightening—one of them, his personal tormentor, had even developed the habit of mocking him while force-feeding him.
Above them were the white taratects, slightly larger than the assassins, responsible for strategy and logistics. They were the ones that wrapped him up, the ones who organized the hunts, the ones who monitored the eggs. If the black assassins were warriors, the whites were tacticians.
And finally… the Titans.
The four rulers of the colony.
They did not move. They did not need to.
Each of them was a living fortress, their massive, hulking bodies sitting motionless on the highest points of the nest. Their mere presence was enough to enforce order. No one dared disobey them. Even the black assassins acted like obedient pets in their presence.
Shwet had only seen them move once.
One of the lesser taratects had made a mistake while carrying an egg. Maybe it had dropped it, maybe it had handled it too roughly—whatever it had done, it was enough to be noticed.
One of the Titans, without warning, moved its leg.
A single, casual movement.
And the lesser taratect was instantly crushed—flattened like an insect.
The rest of the colony did not react. There was no hesitation, no outcry, no delay. Another taratect simply took the dead one's place and continued working. As if nothing had happened.
That was true power.
"They Are Better Than Humans."
Shwet had started talking to himself just to stay sane. His words echoed in the nest, but the taratects never reacted.
"I take back what I said before," he muttered, staring at the vast, structured chaos of the colony. "You guys aren't just monsters."
His voice was hoarse from lack of water. His stomach churned from the disgusting meals he had been forced to swallow. His body ached from hanging upside down for so long.
But his mind?
His mind was awake.
"I used to think monsters were just… mindless beasts. Running on instinct. Killing for no reason."
His eyes traced the movements of the hunting parties as they returned, dragging their spoils back to the colony. A portion of the food was wrapped in silk and stored. The rest was distributed based on rank. Even the smallest, most insignificant taratects got their fair share.
"They take care of each other. They work together. They have discipline. Even in the human world, that's rare."
He watched as the egg care team moved, carefully rotating the eggs, ensuring the temperature and humidity were perfect.
"They protect their young."
His mind flashed back to his own world. The endless greed. The corruption. The way people would betray each other over the smallest things.
He thought about his past life.
How many times had he seen people throw each other under the bus? How many times had he seen people abandon their families, betray their friends, hurt those closest to them—all for money, power, or selfish desires?
He let out a hollow laugh.
"Monsters, huh?"
His voice dripped with irony.
"They're better than us."
The thought disturbed him.
Because it wasn't just an observation—it was acceptance.
A loud chitter echoed through the nest. A strange vibration hummed through the webbing, a subtle shift in the air.
The white taratects paused.
The black assassins turned their heads in unison.
Even the great taratects stiffened, their heavy bodies no longer in motion.
Something had changed.
Something had warned them.
Shwet swallowed. This was the first time he had seen them react to something unseen.
For two days, their movements had been predictable, orderly. Now? Something was coming.
And yet… he did not feel fear.
Not anymore.
Despite his new perspective, his own suffering didn't stop.
Every day, the black assassin taratect continued its cruel games.
Every day, it came to him, smugly dangling a piece of food in front of him before force-feeding it down his throat.
The first time, he had resisted—and got beaten half to death.
The second time, he had vomited—and was thrashed even harder.
By the third time, he had stopped fighting.
Now? Now he simply endured it.
But that wasn't the worst part.
The worst part was the feeling of acceptance creeping into his mind.
He was getting used to it.
The routine. The feeding. The way the taratects moved, the way the hierarchy worked, the way the colony functioned perfectly.
And the worst part?
A part of him… admired it.
Hanging there, watching, waiting, he couldn't shake the one question that haunted him.
A simple question.
A dangerous question.
Was escaping… even the right move?
These creatures had a society more structured than humanity's.
They were ruthless, but fair.
They were terrifying, but efficient.
They had captured him, humiliated him, force-fed him.
He knew he was just a source of nutrition for the ones that would hatch out the eggs. But he still couldn't help but be impressed by those spiders.
And with the nest humming in warning—something coming—he found himself thinking:
"Maybe it's not wrong to stay. Not yet."