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Chapter Text

The unsettling silence of the Void permeated the seashore, broken only by the eerie sound of waves lapping against the "shoreline." Hornet's hands braced against the icy ground, a wave of dizziness washing over her from the severe overexertion of her silk.

Just then, from the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse—that white figure, who should have been lying weak and fallen, was slowly, unsteadily, pushing itself up from the ground. Then, step by step, with unwavering determination, it began walking toward the all-devouring dark sea.

"What... are you trying to do?" Hornet's voice carried a tremble she herself hadn't noticed, her gaze one of disbelief fixed on that resolute back.

"Isn't it obvious?" Lace did not turn back. Her voice was terrifyingly calm, as if stating a fact that had nothing to do with her, and her steps did not falter.

"Do you think... I would cherish this life you worked so hard to drag back from the abyss?"

Lace stopped at the edge of the Void and finally let out a short, cold, derisive laugh. "I don't care."

As the words fell, she leaped down.

In that instant, Hornet felt her heart being violently yanked into the icy depths along with Lace, its beat ceasing abruptly.

However, the expected scene of being swallowed by darkness did not last.

A moment later, the Shade Lord slowly rose, unceremoniously tossing the struggling Lace back onto the shore as if disposing of troublesome garbage.

The little knight, hands on hips, sent over a wave of disdainful intent:

(Little sister, is this your thing? Keep an eye on her. We Void are quite picky eaters. We don't accept mushroom essences drenched in your silk scent who just clamor to die.)

Lace staggered to her feet, wiping the sticky Void substance from her face with exasperation. She crossed her arms, muttering in unwilling frustration, "Damn it... Why is even the Void on your side..."

At that moment, a shadow fell over her.

Hornet strode forward until she stood before Lace. Without any warning, she drove her fist hard into Lace's abdomen—avoiding any vital spots, but with enough force to convey a shattering agony.

"Cough...!" Lace hacked, dark blood streaking from her mouth. The excruciating pain made her curl in on herself, yet she lifted her head, a distorted, gratified smile blooming on her face. "What's this? Done playing the savior, full of pity and compassion? Finally... finally tearing off the disguise and killing me here? Come on!"

Hornet didn't answer. Instead, she seized Lace by the front of her garment, hauled her upright, and slammed her brutally against the rock wall behind them with a dull, heavy thud.

She leaned in close, her sharp eyes burning with an intensity never seen before, yet her voice was suppressed, like the low pressure before a storm:

"Do you think... your life still belongs only to you now?!"

"Did I exhaust all my strength, dragging you out from that despair that even devours light, just to stand here and watch you leap back in?!"

Lace, enduring the pain in her back and the suffocating pressure, met her gaze and repeated, word by grinding word: "I. Told. You. I. Don't. Care! This life, or this body—do what you want with it! Torture it, destroy it, it's all the same to me!"

Yet, the fire in Hornet's eyes strangely settled, transforming into something deeper, more complex. She looked at Lace as if seeing through all her disguises.

"Child," her voice lowered, carrying a near-cruel insight, "You're just trying to anger me. You're using my rage to mask the hollowness inside you, to find a seemingly heroic excuse for your meaningless self-destruction."

Exposed, her most hidden thoughts laid bare, Lace flinched as if scalded. Her emotions spiraled out of control instantly. "Yes! So what?!" she shrieked. "Don't think every bug will be grateful for your 'blessing'! I never will! I will never grovel at your feet as you wish, never be thankful for it!"

Watching her hysterical state, the last flicker of emotion vanished from Hornet's eyes, leaving only absolute, unquestionable authority.

"Since that's the case," she released her grip, letting Lace slump to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut, her voice as cold as eternal ice, "I will personally teach you... what it means to fear."

Hornet stood over the limp Lace, her shadow completely enveloping her.

Hornet released her hand, allowing Lace to collapse to the ground like a severed puppet. But in the next instant, her shell-covered foot pressed down on Lace's chest, the force controlled perfectly—enough to bring crushing pressure and a groan from her bones, yet not enough to truly shatter her.

"You don't care?" Hornet leaned down, her eyes beneath the mask devoid of any warmth, holding only the cold scrutiny of a predator. "Good. Then I'll use the only language you still understand—pain—to teach you."

The sharp tips of her claws extended from her fingertips, mercilessly piercing the vulnerable joint where Lace's shoulder plate met her arm. It wasn't a fatal wound, but it was where the nerves were most concentrated, the pain most acute.

"Feel it," Hornet's voice was like cold steel, her wrist turning, grinding precisely against the nerve bundle. "This is the feeling of being alive. The Void cannot give you this. Only by living can you experience such... vivid agony."

She wanted Lace to remember: pain is the most fundamental, the most real perception granted by life.

As Lace curled up from the intense pain, Hornet grabbed her hair, dragged her roughly to the edge of the Void sea, and forced her head toward the churning darkness.

"See clearly! This is the end you yearn for!" Just as the darkness was about to touch Lace's face, Hornet yanked her back and pressed her against the cold ground. "Your body is trembling, your silk is taut, your soul is screaming in resistance—no matter what your mouth says about not caring, your body, your instincts, they want to live!"

"Since you have abandoned the right to dispose of it, from now on, it is entirely under my dominion."

Hornet pinned Lace firmly against the icy ground, their shells colliding with a dull thud. All of Lace's struggles seemed futile in the face of such absolute disparity in strength.

Then, Hornet leaned down, parted her jaws, and drove her hunter's sharp fangs precisely into the most vulnerable seam of Lace's neck.

A sharp, piercing pain came first, followed not by pure paralysis, but by the injection of a strange, burning venom. Lace felt all her strength drain away instantly, her limbs turning weak and limp.

But this was only the beginning.

More terrifying than the venom was an ancient, imposing force that flooded in with it. Like molten, incandescent gold, it surged through her veins, and wherever it reached, every cell screamed and trembled.

This force was not content with destruction. It carried an unquestionable will, striking against the core of her soul like an invisible hammer, delivering one single, relentless command—

Submit.

This was the power of the Pale King's lineage, the deep-seated, barely suppressable instinct to dominate rooted deep within Hornet's very soul. Now, under this extreme emotional turmoil, this power was fully unleashed, and it found its outlet—to utterly conquer the soul before her that sought to break all bonds.

Make her compliant.
Make her yield.
Make her remember, from her soul to her very body, exactly who her master was.

When Hornet finally pulled away from Lace, a new mark glowed with a faint, yet undeniable light upon that pale neck.

The mark's pattern was strange and intricate, as if a pale soul and resilient silk had intertwined and fused. It bore both the absolute authority of the Wyrm's bloodline, and contained the unique vitality and binding force of the Weavers.
It was a declaration,a brand, a covenant that from this moment onward, bound their destinies together more profoundly.

"This is my mark." Blood seeped over Lace's shell, accompanied by a burning, searing pain. "From the inside out, from your soul to this very shell, you belong to me. Without my permission, you are not even worthy of feeling pain alone."

Finally, Hornet gripped Lace's jaw, forcing her to look at her. "Listen, child. I will not kill you. That would be too merciful."
"I want you to live. To feel, with utter clarity, the agony each breath brings. To feel the weight borne by every heartbeat. I want you to carry my mark and live until the day you can no longer avoid facing the consequences of all you have abandoned."
"Death is not your release. Living, enduring all of this, is your cruelest, and most just, punishment."

Lace gasped for air, her body weakened by the venom, but the fire of defiance in her eyes had not been extinguished. She stubbornly lifted her head, glaring at Hornet, her voice trembling with weakness yet filled with a desperate, final resolve: "You think... this will make me yield? You can't watch me forever... I will always find a chance... to kill myself!"

Hornet simply stood there, her red cloak motionless in the faint Void breeze. She watched Lace, her gaze chillingly calm, as if examining a misbehaving child.

"Then you can try."

Those lightly spoken words carried more pressure than any threat.

Infuriated by this absolute,nearly indifferent confidence, Lace mustered all her strength, struggling to rise from the ground. Her eyes locked onto her own pin, lying fallen not far away. She stumbled toward it, lunging to grab it—the cold touch spreading from her palm.

End it, she thought. Just one strike, and it will all be over.

She gripped the pin with both hands, aiming its sharp point at the weakest joint in her chest plate. With her last shred of resolve, she drove it down—

But just before the point could touch the shell, a terror beyond death itself, originating from the very depths of her soul, swept over her like the coldest abyssal wave, crashing through every corner of her consciousness!

It was not fear of pain, nor dread of oblivion. It was an absolute, unquestionable, law-level suppression.

Submit.
Serve endlessly.
Offer up your all, your will, your very existence.

These thoughts were not sounds, but absolute commands that burned directly into her soul like brands. They tyrannically crushed her thinking, tearing her "self-termination" notion to shreds. The stronger her will to resist, the more terrible the backlash from this bloodline and soul brand became.

"Gah—!"

Lace let out a pained cry. The pin slipped from her suddenly powerless hands, clattering to the ground. She clutched her head tightly, feeling as if her consciousness was being torn apart by two opposing forces—one being her defiant self, the other being the supreme decree demanding absolute loyalty.

The headache was splitting, as if countless red-hot iron rods were stirring inside her skull.

This agony did not target the flesh; it was directly applied to the very essence of her being. She finally understood clearly: that mark was not just a symbol, but a vicious shackle—it forbade any form of "betrayal," including the destruction of the life that had been "bestowed."

Only when the thought of "suicide" completely vanished from her mind, as if erased by an invisible rule, did the nearly maddening pain and terror slowly recede like the tide.

She collapsed to the ground, soaked in cold sweat, left only with a post-crisis exhaustion and a deeper despair about her future fate. She understood: from now on, even the freedom of "death" no longer belonged to her.

Hornet extended her hand to her, that chitin-covered hand hovering steadily between the lingering motes of Void and the light of reality, without a single tremor. Lace looked down at that hand—the very hand that had dragged her back from the abyss, pinned her to the ground, and carved an eternal brand into her neck. She hesitated for a moment, a complex mix of hatred, humiliation, and an indescribable hint of dependence churning in her chest. In the end, slowly, stiffly, she placed her own icy hand into it.

"Now, it's time to leave this place." Hornet's voice had regained its usual composure, as if the heart-stopping conquest at the edge of the Void had never happened.
She tightened her grip on Lace's hand. The strength was inescapable, yet not brutal, merely an absolute, guiding force pulling her away from the deathly silent shore and onto the path leading back to the world above.

Returning to Bellhart, the warm lantern light and the clamor of voices washed over them, a stark contrast to the silence of the Void.
Pavo hurried forward to greet them,his face beaming with the joy of survival. "Our savior! You've returned! The town is holding a grand celebration feast tonight to thank you for dispelling the shadows. You simply must honor us with your presence..."

Hornet raised a hand slightly, halting his effusive invitation. Her gaze inadvertently flickered toward the silent, gloomy white figure beside her. "Pavo, I appreciate the offer, but there are matters I must attend to." Her tone was even, yet carried an undeniable finality.

Pavo followed her gaze, letting it rest on the white form radiating gloom. He seemed to understand instantly, his enthusiastic expression softening into one of comprehension. He bowed slightly and murmured, "Of course, of course... Well then, I wish you a... pleasant evening."

Without another word, Hornet merely tightened her hold on Lace's hand and led her directly back to her bellhome.
The door closed behind them,shutting out the outside noise completely. Inside, only the two of them remained. The air instantly grew thick and still.

"Take your clothes off." Hornet's voice cut through the quiet of the room, flat and devoid of any discernible emotion.

Lace stiffened for a moment, then a twisted, mocking smile spread across her face. She deliberately adopted an exaggerated tone, "Ha? Couldn't wait to get me home? You're even more... thirsty than I imagined." She tried to use her words as weapons, to pierce the suffocating stillness.

Hornet slowly turned. Her red eyes glowed like embers in the dim light. She didn't raise her voice, merely repeated, the words now carrying immense weight, "Do not make me repeat myself."

The authority in that gaze instantly froze the mockery on Lace's face. She bit her lower lip, but ultimately complied.
The white garment slid away,rustling to the floor, revealing the pure black skin beneath—a stark contrast to the silken shell, a darkness that seemed to concentrate the very essence of the abyss, gleaming with a sombre lustre in the faint room light.

Hornet approached. Her gaze swept over Lace's exposed skin like a precision probe, inspecting for any potential injuries left from their previous conflict.
Her fingertips occasionally passed close to certain shell joints,but never truly made contact. After a moment, she seemed satisfied and took a step back. "Hmm. No other injuries requiring attention."

Lace wrapped her arms around herself, a gesture that felt pointless now. She continued to provoke, trying to reclaim some shred of initiative: "Oh, spare me the noble excuses. You just wanted to admire my exquisite figure, didn't you? Had to invent some flimsy pretext." She even deliberately arched her back slightly, emphasizing her curves.

"I don't deny you have an alluring form," Hornet said, walking to the table, sitting down, and picking up a quill and a scroll. She began writing, not even looking up, her tone as neutral as if discussing the weather. "But I have no interest in you right now." Her attention seemed completely absorbed by the text before her.

Infuriated by this utter dismissal, Lace huffed and flopped onto the bed, her slender legs kicking idly in the air. She persisted, probing with her words, "Oh? And when will you be interested? The next time I find a way to kill myself?" She hoped this topic might sting, might elicit even a flicker of reaction.

Hornet's writing hand didn't falter. The quill scratched softly across the parchment. Her reply was clear and cold, like stating a law of physics: "I will not worry about that. Because now, you are incapable of doing anything."

This statement was like a key, perfectly unlocking the cage named 'despair' within Lace's heart. The deliberately maintained levity on her face collapsed instantly, replaced by a profound sense of powerlessness.
She let out a frustrated,helpless "Tch," and buried her face in the soft bedding.

Hornet was right. That brand wasn't just carved into her neck; it was etched deep into her very soul.
She had been utterly stripped of the freedom to end her own life. Before this grim "master," she was like a puppet with its strings cut, unable even to fall without permission.

What she had lost was something more fundamental than life itself—the right to choose. And within this suffocating confinement, the future seemed to hold nothing but an endless, forced state of "existence."

Inside the dwelling, time seemed to freeze.
Lace lay on her back on the bedding,her gaze hollow, fixed on the wooden grain of the ceiling. Those winding lines resembled the palm prints of fate, and she was trapped within them, unable to move.

It wasn't that thoughts of suicide didn't surface. But each time they began to form, the intangible brand at her soul's core would emit a low hum—not agonizing pain, but a more despairing, law-level prohibition.
Like an insect crashing against an invisible pane of glass,no matter how hard it tried, it could not break through the unseen barrier.

She didn't know what purpose her life served now.
Revenge?She couldn't win.
Suicide?Not allowed.
She couldn't even provoke Hornet anymore,couldn't make her react with anger—that woman now completely ignored all her verbal taunts, as if Lace were merely a piece of breathing furniture.

This was indeed, as Hornet had said, an unmitigated "torment" precisely targeted at her soul.
A feeling of absolute isolation,of being utterly abandoned by the entire world—including death itself—enveloped her.

A few days later, perhaps unable to bear witnessing her completely "decayed" state any longer, Hornet tried a new approach.
She handed a package of supplies to Lace,her tone as calm as ever. "Take these to the temporary shelter in The Marrow."

Lace lifted her eyelids, looked at her, didn't ask why, didn't resist. She simply took the items in silence.
Resistance was meaningless. The action itself was meaningless. So what difference did it make, to do it or not?

She made her way through the paths of Bellhart, slowly regaining their vitality, and descended into the gloomy depths of The Marrow.
The bugs in the shelter huddled in corners,their eyes dull and lifeless.
Flick,a young beetle who seemed somewhat more spirited than the others, accepted the supplies, his face lighting up with genuine, almost radiant gratitude. "This is great! Thank you! This food and medicine will be a huge help. With these supplies, we can last a bit longer."

Lace looked at his hopeful face, but inside, she felt only a frozen, stagnant stillness.
She couldn't even muster the energy to force a fake smile.

Happiness?
What a luxurious and empty word.
So what if they had these supplies?In this world fraught with danger, they could all be dead tomorrow —crushed in a sudden collapse, slain by roaming beasts, or simply taken by a common illness.

These supplies were merely prolonging their inevitably miserable lives, adding a few more meaningless days and nights.
This so-called"charity," in her view, was nothing but hypocritical benevolence that only extended the suffering.

She didn't acknowledge Flick's thanks, turning away indifferently and leaving that corner filled with fleeting hope and inevitable despair.

Back in the bellhome, she didn't need to say a word. The nihilistic aura she exuded was even heavier than before she had left, saying everything.

Hornet glanced up at her, a flicker of something nearly imperceptible in her sharp eyes—disappointment, or something else? Lace couldn't be bothered to decipher it.

She walked straight back to the bed and dropped onto it like a log devoid of all strength, fully transforming into a "dreamless salted fish," utterly lacking even the desire to turn over.

"The task is too simple... so you can't feel a sense of worth?" Hornet pondered to herself.

She recalled her long years of guardianship—precisely those arduous challenges, the things she had to give her all to protect, were what gave weight to her existence.

Perhaps this child needed a similar stimulus.

Thus, she made a decision.

"Tomorrow, you will make a delivery to Fleatopia," Hornet's voice broke the silence. "The road is perilous. I will accompany you."

She expected to hear a sarcastic remark like, "How novel. The great savior of Pharloom is escorting a prisoner like me on a delivery," and had even prepared a retort.

Yet, Lace merely lifted her eyelids slightly and replied in a completely flat tone, "Understood."

There was no questioning, no mockery, not even a hint of reluctance. It was like a stone dropped into a deep pool, yet failing to stir a single ripple.

When they set out on the perilous path to Fleatopia the next day, Lace indeed moved like a puppet following a programmed routine.

She deftly avoided obvious traps—not out of a will to survive, but merely to complete the task—and marched in silence through the muck and ruins. When snarling creatures lunged from the shadows, she would parry and counter with her needle, her movements fluid yet utterly devoid of killing intent. It was as if she were merely brushing aside dust from her path, not fighting for her life.

Her eyes remained hollow throughout, as if her soul had departed, leaving behind only an empty shell carrying out orders.

Upon reaching Bilewater, the air grew thick with the cloying, toxic stench of decay. Underfoot, the viscous mire threatened to swallow their ankles whole.

Hornet frowned slightly; this place was far more treacherous than the Marrow.

"Do you have nothing to say?" Hornet finally spoke up, attempting to pierce the hardened silence. "This environment is dreadful. You must despise it."

As if a playback button had been pressed, Lace halted and turned. She faced Hornet with a flawless yet utterly lifeless expression, reciting word for word: "Oh, this environment is truly dreadful. I despise it." Her tone was as flat as if she were reading a line from an unrelated script.

A sense of futility washed over Hornet, but she did not give up. She pressed further, "Why do you despise it?"
She needed to hear Lace's own voice,her own reasons—even a simple complaint would suffice.

"I despise everything," Lace replied, dousing the faint hope that had just begun to kindle.

"A more detailed reason?" Hornet pushed, unwilling to concede.

Lace blinked blankly, as if searching a database that didn't exist, before finally answering softly, "I don't know. I don't find anything worth liking."

Just then, an accident occurred.

The ground beneath Lace's feet, which had seemed solid, suddenly gave way. A hidden grub-water trap swallowed her instantly. Thick, filthy water teeming with plump, wriggling grubs surged up to her waist.

Hornet's heart lurched, and she immediately moved to assist.

Yet, Lace in the trap did not struggle.
She made no sound of alarm,did not attempt to climb out, nor even furrow her brow.
She simply stood there,tilting her head back slightly to avoid swallowing the foul water, allowing the ravenous grubs to crawl over her carapace and begin gnawing at her body.
Her eyes remained as hollow as ever,as if the body being consumed was not her own.

"Lace!" Hornet barked. Her needle shot out, silk wrapping around Lace's arm, and she yanked her forcefully from the trap.

Lace stumbled upon landing, covered in stinking sludge and still-wriggling grubs. Hornet swiftly moved forward, using her soul silk to burn away and clean off the filth and parasites, inspecting the small wounds left by the gnawing and performing emergency repairs.

Throughout the entire process, Lace was abnormally compliant. She offered no resistance, nor expressed any discomfort.
Only after Hornet had finished did she lift her eyes,look at her empty hands, and speak her first words in her usual, utterly flat tone:

"My apologies. It seems we must go back and retrieve another package."

Boom.

The words struck Hornet's mind like a thunderclap.
She stared at Lace's excessively calm face,a chill spreading from her core. This unsettled her more than facing any powerful foe.

She realized the situation was far worse than she had imagined.

What she had prevented before was Lace's active, conscious self-destruction.
But now,when accident struck, when death was passively within reach, Lace had lost even her instinct to survive. She did not seek death, but she did not resist it either.
She simply...didn't care.

What chilled Hornet even more was the realization that Lace hadn't even registered that the trap could have 'helped' her achieve her long-held 'wish'.
It wasshe, Hornet, who had unnecessarily interrupted a 'natural' process of dissolution.

Or had she even lost that final desire (for death)?

This thought weighed on Hornet with an unprecedented heaviness. If the very urge for self-annihilation was gone, what remained was surely the most complete void... one devoid of even struggle?

She finally understood: the compulsory soul brand had severed Lace's malice, but in doing so, it had also stripped her of all will to live.

Hornet couldn't help but reflect: "Were the brand's restraints... too absolute? Before, she was like a dangerous flame, burning herself out, but at least it was intense and vivid. She would scheme, struggle, exert herself utterly towards the goal of 'ending'—that in itself was a powerful proof of 'life'. But now..."

Now, Lace was like embers from which all fuel had been removed, the last spark utterly extinguished, leaving only cold, gradually dissipating ash.

She had restrained her actions, but she could not stop her soul from falling into the void.

Watching Lace silently adjust her tattered clothing, ready to trek back for the cargo, Hornet understood with stark clarity for the first time: a forcibly imposed 'life', if it finds no internal anchor, is itself a slower, yet more thorough, form of death.

Hornet pondered, "I have taken from her the right to choose death. But how... do I give her a reason to live?"

The answer to this question was far more difficult than conquering a rebellious soul by force.

On the return journey, Hornet noticed the hidden path leading to the Exhaust Organ. It sparked an idea within her, bringing to mind a method that might be worth attempting.

A few days later, as Lace was mechanically carrying out Hornet's orders within the Bellhome, compelled to sort through the pile of miscellaneous items from past adventures tucked away in a corner, her fingers brushed against something cold and familiar.

Her movements froze.

Slowly, she drew it out—it was the mask her sister, Phantom, had once worn.
The spiritual light it once held had completely vanished,leaving only a clean, sharp crack from a needle's strike, like an eternal rest.

Lace's fingers trembled as they traced the crack. The cold touch burned her fingertips like fire.
All the accumulated nihilism,despair, and rage of the past days now found a concrete focus, a target for their outpouring.

When Hornet returned from outside and pushed the door open, Lace shot toward her like a bolt of white lightning, desperately grabbing the front of her garment. Lace's eyes blazed with tormented fire, her voice torn apart by extreme emotion:

"Why did you kill her!" The accusation seemed to drain all the strength from her body.

Hornet's eyes calmly observed the distorted face so close to her own. She didn't break free, answering only in her usual, matter-of-fact tone: "It was the end she deserved."

"The end she deserved?" Lace recoiled as if stung, her voice growing sharper. "Then why didn't you kill me! You had so many chances! At the edge of the Abyss, any time you had me subdued! Why her! Why spare me!"

Confronted with this rapid-fire barrage of questions, laced with pain and confusion, a profoundly complex emotion flashed deep within Hornet's eyes.
She would forge a lie into a poisoned dagger.

"'Why kill her, yet spare me?'" Hornet repeated Lace's question, her eyes suddenly churning with a near-cruel delight that Lace had never seen before. A cold, predatory smile curled at the corner of her lips.

"Because it was amusing," her voice dropped, laced with a reminiscent cruelty. "Your sister, Phantom... her struggle was magnificent. I severed her threads, watched her fall like a moth with its wings torn off; I crushed the filthy soul silk she had stolen, listening to her hopes shatter in her cries..."

She leaned in, closing in on Lace's shock-paled face, her tone soft yet venomous:

"I deliberately drew out the process, savoring her descent from frenzy to despair, until she was finally crawling on the ground like worthless filth, begging for a swift end."

"I granted her wish. Gave her the final blow. But the agony and terror of her dying moments... were so exquisite, I savor them to this day." Her fingertips nearly brushed Lace's cheek, carrying a profane intimacy. "And you? The sight of your futile rage, your utter powerlessness... it equally pleased me. Destroying a whole soul is satisfying, but watching a broken one burn itself out in vain... isn't that a far more interesting diversion?"

Hornet stared intently into Lace's eyes, expecting to see the anticipated blazing fury, the all-consuming flame of vengeance ignited by utter humiliation.

Instead, she found eyes that were unnervingly clear, even tinged with pity and a sorrow that saw through everything.

The grip Lace had on her collar slowly loosened, not from weakness, but from a deeper despair.

"Enough," Lace's voice was soft, yet it pierced Hornet's performance like an icicle. "You're lying."

"..."

"You merely helped my sister fulfill her wish," Lace stated, tears tracing silent paths down her face—not for the "atrocities" Hornet described, but for the harsh truth and her own powerlessness. "I knew how far gone she was... I knew she had become something she herself would despise, just to survive... I knew her life was already beyond saving..."

Her body began to tremble, not from fear, but from a self-loathing that reached into her very bones.

"I don't hate you for giving her release... I hate the myself who watched her suffer, watched her fall, and could do nothing!" Her voice broke with a sob. "I was the one... I was the accomplice who watched her march toward ruin, unable to lift a hand to help!"

She released Hornet completely, as if all strength had drained from her, staggering back a step. A twisted smile, uglier than any cry, contorted her features.

"And you?" she continued, pointing to the spot on her neck where the brand had faded, its influence still lingering. "You fabricated these lies just to provoke my anger, didn't you? So you could righteously reactivate it, using pain and punishment to overwrite my current suffering! You want to twist all my emotions into a simple, personal hatred for you, giving me a clear target to attack, to vent on!"

With that, as if to prove a point or in a final act of self-abandonment, she spun around and snatched the cold pin from the table.

Gripping it tightly, she turned and pressed its sharp point directly against Hornet's chest—right where it could pierce the carapace and threaten her core.

Hornet's body tensed instantly, her instincts snapping into a defensive stance, soul silk swirling silently around her wrists.

Yet...

Nothing happened.

The anticipated punishment—the brand that should have torn through her soul and forbidden any act of rebellion—did not come.

Lace held the pin steady, her arm unwavering, devoid of any tremor that should have come from a rule's retaliation. Her eyes held no killing intent, only a desolate calm and a near-cruel pursuit of verification.

Hornet was stunned. She clearly felt it—the binding force born from their soul contract was now completely silent. It did not judge Lace's action as an "attack" or "betrayal."

A realization, even more chilling, dawned abruptly upon Hornet.

She looked at Lace in disbelief, her voice tinged with a tremor she herself hadn't anticipated. "You... you don't even have the thought of killing me, or attacking me?"

"What would be the point?" Lace's voice was as light as a sigh, carrying a bone-deep emptiness. "Would killing you bring Phantom back?"

Clatter.

The pin slipped from her grasp and hit the ground, its clear, lonely ring echoing in the space.

She no longer looked at Hornet, nor at the mask that represented her powerless past. Instead, slowly, like a sculpture bereft of all its supports, she crumpled to her knees.

Tears streamed down her face silently, no longer a torrent of rage, but an icy tide of despair, completely engulfing her.

She couldn't bring herself to hate Hornet. She couldn't save Phantom. Even the drive to end her own suffering was, in this moment, devoured by an immense sense of void.

Hornet stood rooted, watching Lace kneel on the ground in silent collapse, observing the hollow profile of a face that couldn't even muster "hatred." For the first time, with stark clarity, she understood—she had failed.

She had tried to use "hatred" as a stimulant, injecting it into Lace's dying spirit.

But she discovered that this child's inner world had become so barren that not even the seed of hatred could take root.

What she had left Lace with was not a target for revenge, but a vaster, more suffocating void—one where vengeance felt superfluous, and hatred found no place to land.

That night, not a single sound could be heard within the bellhome, yet the air was heavy with unspoken weight.
Lace did not sleep. She sat at the table like a pale statue, her fingertips tracing the cold crack on Phantom's mask over and over.

And on the other side of the room, Hornet lay in the darkness, her eyes faintly glowing in the shadows.
She,too, remained awake.
The image of Lace's utterly broken form kneeling on the ground was seared into her mind,impossible to shake.

She realized that the cage forged from "restraint" and "truth" might confine Lace's body, but it would only push her soul into a deeper void.

Forcing "life" upon her was an act of arrogance, no different from condoning her "death."

Perhaps I truly have no way to give her a reason to live, Hornet thought, reluctant to admit it, yet forced to concede.
Her current actions were no different from her father,who desired his kingdom's eternity—just wishful thinking, a desperate, final struggle.

If that was the case, then perhaps she had to take a leap of faith.

The next day, before first light, when the morning mist still clung to the air, Hornet was already prepared to depart. She walked up behind Lace, who remained seated at the table, her voice utterly calm:
"I'm leaving."

Lace's shoulders trembled almost imperceptibly. She whipped her head around, her eyes filled with disbelief.

Before she could voice a question, Hornet reached out. Her fingertips glowed with a faint light as she gently touched Lace's neck.

The soul mark, that symbol of absolute bondage and connection, dissipated like dust scattered by the wind, leaving behind only smooth shell.
The invisible shackles that had haunted the depths of Lace's soul vanished along with it.

"From now on, I will not interfere with anything you wish to do." Hornet's tone was detached, as if discussing the weather. "If you wish to end yourself, then go ahead."

Then, she casually tossed a string of cold keys onto the table beside Lace, where they landed with a sharp clatter.
"And...this dwelling is yours."

With that, showing not a trace of sentiment, without even a final glance at Lace, she pushed the door open and walked into the grey, chill mist, disappearing from view.

She had chosen to leave before the world awoke, avoiding any possible farewell, true to her style.

The door closed softly.

Freedom regained.

This was a phrase Lace had once desperately yearned for.

She should have felt elated. She should have immediately rushed to the Void sea, or found some way to celebrate the restoration of her right to end her own life.

Yet, she didn't.

She simply sat quietly on the bed, picked up the keys that still held the residual warmth from Hornet's touch, and stared at them blankly. The expected relief and joy did not arrive; instead, they were replaced by a far greater, more suffocating... emptiness.

Now, when the prohibition on death was lifted, when she was truly free to make her own choice, she instead discovered that the once fiercely burning impulse for self-destruction, the one that had consumed all her reason, had somehow extinguished itself.

Why?

This eerie calm unsettled her more than any frantic thought. To confirm it wasn't an illusion, Lace went to the Deep Dock.

Waves of scorching heat surged from the magma pool, baking her carapace, the familiar scent of destruction washing over her. In the past, merely approaching this place made the boiling magma feel like a call to sink into it, offering eternal peace.

She stood at the edge, gazing down at the golden-red sea of fire that could devour everything.

Jump.

She commanded herself.

Just one step, and all the lingering pain, the void, the self-doubt—it would all end.

Her body leaned forward slightly, the hot wind whipping her white strands.

Yet, her feet remained rooted to the spot, unable to take that final step.

One second, two seconds... Time flowed by in silence, marked only by the dull roar of the churning magma.

She felt like an outsider, calmly observing the unmoving version of herself.

"Why can't I jump?"

She looked around blankly, her gaze sweeping over the rugged rock walls of the Deep Dock, the scorch marks left by past battles... Memories surged uncontrollably.

Right here, she had once clashed fiercely with that crimson figure, their needle and pin shrieking as they met, spraying sharp sparks.

Back then, what she felt with every clash of steel wasn't pure despair, but a near-maddening exhilaration.

She was defeated, subdued, yet deep down, she had been hoping—hoping that Hornet would appear again, that she would scale the Spire, that they would have a second duel.

What she had craved then was to prove her worth in combat, to win her mother's gaze, or... at the very least, to capture the complete, focused attention of that formidable opponent.

But now, her mother was gone.

That red figure, who had barged so violently into her world, branded her, and then personally removed that brand, had also left.

"No one would be watching."

The thought pierced her consciousness like an ice spike, freezing all chaotic thoughts in an instant.

Her death would no longer be a tragic declaration of defiance, a final challenge to her mother's authority, nor would it stir even a ripple in Hornet's eyes—be it anger, disappointment, or the slightest shred of care.

It would simply be the quiet decay of a nameless shell in an unnoticed corner, soundless and unnoticed, leaving not a single echo, as if it had never existed at all.

At that moment, it was as if a bolt of lightning struck Lace, sending tremors through her very soul. She finally, truly understood what she had always yearned for.

It was never death itself.

Death was merely the most extreme and clumsy tool she used to demand attention.
She craved to be seen,to be cared about, to be firmly locked within the gaze of a powerful presence—to prove she wasn't just insignificant dust.

And when Hornet had placed the soul brand upon her—that forceful restraint, those cold commands, the unquestionable control manifested as anger and punishment—at its core, it was precisely a distorted, yet genuine, form of care.

How could she have completely overlooked this throughout their long and painful entanglement!

Why hadn't she seen it?
Was her vision blinded by rage and self-destructive urges?
Or was she so accustomed to defining their relationship through conflict that she interpreted every"restraint" as pure malice?

From beginning to end, Hornet had cared in her own way.
She grew angry at her self-destruction,tried various methods (clumsy and ineffective as they were) to pull her from despair, didn't hesitate to rescue her from the grub-water trap, and even showed near-frustration at her spiritual decay...
Weren't these all proofs of care?

She had simply stubbornly shut her eyes, willing only to see the "punishment" Hornet imposed, while refusing to see the equally stubborn hand behind it, trying to drag her back from the abyss.

She always thought she longed for an end. Only when she truly held the freedom to end it all did she realize, with horrating clarity, that what she truly feared was the boundless, unwitnessed... oblivion that would follow.

She stood by the magma pool, the scorching air brushing her cheeks, but it no longer held any promise of release. Only a vast, suffocating understanding remained.

But... perhaps there was one way to make Hornet remember her forever.

Just as Hornet set foot on the connecting area between Pharloom and the Wastelands, ready to leave this land of Pharloom entirely, a white figure, like a stubborn specter, once again blocked her path.

Lace stood firm, gripping her slender needle tightly. Its tip glinted with an ominous golden sheen under the Wastelands' cold sunlight.

"Child," Hornet stopped, her red cloak hanging motionless in the wind, a trace of barely perceptible weariness in her tone, "what is it now?"

"Since I am free now," a near-manic, eager smile spread across Lace's face, "I naturally have the right to choose my own manner of death."

"You know I will not strike you down," Hornet stated flatly.

"It doesn't matter!" Lace's voice rose sharply, filled with a desperate, final resolve. "Because it won't be you who kills me!"

No sooner had the words left her mouth than she slammed the needle's tip into the vulnerable joint beneath her shoulder plate! The thick, almost living purple liquid within the syringe was forced completely into her body.

"Gah—!"

A sharp pain wrenched a short grunt from her. Then, an eerie purple pattern, like spreading vines, rapidly extended from the injection site. Her body was visibly, gradually being enveloped by an ominous purple hue.

"This is 'Nihilbloom'," Lace panted, yet her face bore a strange flush. "As long as it remains in my body long enough, it will kill me completely. There is no antidote." She lifted her head, her eyes burning with a final, desperate light—the madness born from compressing life to its absolute limit.

"Before I die, I want to fight you one last time! A real, all-out battle!" With that, she gave Hornet no time to respond, charging forward like a bolt of purple lightning, with the ferocity of someone ready to take them both down!

"This is absurd!" Hornet snapped, her own white needle instantly unsheathed to parry the fierce strike.

Their weapons met with a sharp, grating clang.
Yet,upon the first clash, Hornet immediately noticed something was wrong—Lace's strength, speed, and physical resilience had multiplied several times over.
The toxin was slowly consuming her vitality while simultaneously draining her entire life potential, temporarily pushing her to a terrifying peak.

"Hahaha! Come on! Fight me!" Lace laughed wildly, her attacks falling like a storm, her needle tracing lethal arcs through the air.
She abandoned all defense,every move carrying a ruthless willingness to trade injury for injury, as if she were pouring out all the unspoken grievances, rage, dependence, and despair of her life in this single moment.

The battle raged fiercely across the desolate border.
Hornet defended calmly,but her expression grew increasingly grave.
She watched as the purple on Lace's body deepened,almost coalescing into a tangible, mist-like aura—a sign the toxin was steadily eroding her core.

In the end, the overextension of her strength and the fundamental disparity in their power created an opening in her frenzied assault.
Hornet seized the opportunity. With a deft flick of her needle, she deflected Lace's guard, closed the distance in an instant, and slammed her hard onto the cold ground.

Pinned down, Lace didn't struggle. Instead, she burst into even more unrestrained, joyous laughter, the sound echoing starkly across the barren wastes.

"Good! Now, just like you did with my sister Phantom," she looked up at Hornet, her purple eyes filled with a twisted expectation, "make it quick! This is the most perfect ending, isn't it?"

She knew this was an unsolvable dilemma, a cruel finale she had meticulously staged for Hornet.

There was no antidote for Nihilbloom. Its toxin would act like a slowly closing flower, consuming her vitality filament by filament, delivering a pain that was both lucid and lingering. She presented the two outcomes to Hornet with brutal clarity:

Either witness her being eroded by the purple venom, withering in struggle and agony, and endure the torment of utter powerlessness.
Or,personally grant her a "merciful" end—use the very needle they had crossed to pierce her core, fulfilling this final, most dramatic act of defiance.

Whichever path Hornet chose, this moment would be etched into her memory like the most indelible brand.

If she chose to watch, she would forever remember the gaze full of resentment and pain as her life faded—an irredeemable "failure" in her long guardianship.
If she chose to deliver the final blow,her needle would be forever stained with her blood, her hands forever bearing the weight of a life she couldn't save and ultimately ended herself—an ineradicable "stain."

Yes, a stain.

The thought fixated in Lace's mind with near-delusional intensity. She would transform herself into a thorn, a poisoned thorn driven deep into the immaculate portrait of Hornet the savior.
She would force this guardian—always composed,always powerful, always right—to recall in countless nights to come how a white, mad soul had, in such an absolute manner, left an unremovable mark of ruin upon her legacy.

It was despicable, perhaps. Twisted, certainly.

But for a shattered wraith who possessed nothing, not even a life she wished to keep, this was the best, the ultimate method she could devise to make Hornet—the being she had hated, relied upon, and ultimately could not ignore—remember her forever.

She would not decay silently in some forgotten corner. She would stage a spectacular performance with her life as the price, and Hornet would be its sole, yet compelled, audience and participant.

Her existence would thus become an eternal sentence of memory, imposed upon the only spectator she ever cared about.

Yet, Hornet's choice forever defied her expectations.

"Foolish."

The icy critique fell. Hornet's pinning grip didn't lessen, but her other hand shot forward, fingers pressed together like a blade, their sharp tips blazing with pure, vital silk-light.
Without the slightest hesitation,she drove her fingertips directly into the seam of Lace's neck shell—right where the soul mark had once been!

"You... what are you doing?!" Lace stared, wide-eyed with horror.

Her answer was the violent influx of Hornet's own primordial silk.
It wasn't supple and cold like Lace's threads,but carried a scorching,nearly domineering force, brutally flooding Lace's channels. Its purpose wasn't destruction, but... replacement.

Hornet was using her own refined silk as a conduit and an attractant, forcibly sucking the 'Nihilbloom' toxin—now intertwined with Lace's own silk—stripping it away, and guiding it into her own body!

The process was incredibly perilous, requiring microscopic control over one's silk and the endurance of unimaginable agony.
The purple toxin traveled back along the silken bridge like greedy leeches,pouring into Hornet's form.
Her arm began to tremble slightly,faint purple patterns of corruption showing beneath her shell. Yet, she clenched her jaw, her resolute eyes never wavering.

"No... Stop! You'll..." Lace tried to struggle, but was held fast, forced to watch as Hornet took the lethal poison meant for her.

After what felt like an eternity, when the last trace of purple faded from Lace's body, restoring her original appearance, Hornet wrenched her hand back, staggering away a step. One side of her body was now shrouded in a faint purple haze, her breathing becoming labored.
While the toxin wasn't fatal to her,the suffering it brought was enough to break the hardiest warrior.

She looked down at Lace, who lay limp on the ground—spared from death but her face a mask of bewilderment. Hornet's voice was hoarse with pain, yet it carried undeniable force:

"Now... this life of yours... is once again... mine to give."

"Do not... waste it so lightly again."

With that, she ignored any reaction from Lace, turned, and—fighting against the excruciating pain of the toxin—began walking away, step by resolute step, back into the depths of the Wastelands.
Only this time,her retreating figure no longer seemed like a cold departure in Lace's eyes. It had transformed into a silent mountain—one that had borne suffering for her and would now march steadfastly on.

Lace lay on the cold ground, watching that patch of red gradually recede into the distance. For the first time, she was utterly lost for words.

Hornet managed only a few steps before the 'Nihilbloom' toxin, like countless red-hot needles searing through her channels, unleashed such agony that she could no longer maintain her upright posture. She grunted, buckling forward in pain, barely propping herself up with her needle.

Just then, a pair of arms steadied her firmly from the side.
Lace said nothing. She simply, silently, guided Hornet's heavy arm around her own neck, settling it across her somewhat slender shoulders, making her own body a living crutch.

"In your current state, heading into the Wastelands is no different from seeking death," Lace's voice was stiff, carrying a hint of imperceptible awkwardness. "...You should rest at the bellhome for a few days first." She didn't look at Hornet's eyes, as if merely stating an objective fact.

Hornet turned her head, observing Lace's profile so close to hers, and those tightly pressed lips that still seemed to hold a trace of stubborn defiance. In the end, she did not refuse the support.

Upon returning to Bellhart, Pavo was nearly speechless with shock to see the usually imposing and powerful savior, Hornet, being supported by Lace, one side of her body shrouded in an ominous purple aura.

Lace, however, was unusually calm. She directly instructed Pavo, "Stop gawking! Go prepare some high-quality shell powder. Grind it as fine as possible. It can ease her current suffering." Her practiced and assured tone made Pavo instinctively obey and hurry off.

After settling Hornet onto the bed within the dwelling, Lace fetched clean water, wrung out a cloth, and began wiping the cold sweat of pain from Hornet's brow. Her movements weren't gentle, but they were exceptionally meticulous.

"...You," Hornet weakly opened her eyes, looking at the focused "child" who had fought against her for so long. Her voice was fragmented by the toxin. "You're actually... more caring... than you appear... aren't you?"

Lace's wiping hand stilled for a moment. She then turned her face away, her tone turning stiff again. "Save your breath. More energy means a faster recovery." Yet, the faint red tinge on the tips of her ears betrayed her inner turmoil.

For better efficacy, Lace even ventured alone into the Shellwood when the morning dew still clung to it, carefully plucking the freshest petals brimming with vital energy. She returned and brewed them slowly into a clear, fragrant petal tea, known for its remarkable efficacy in purging toxins.

However, when she carried the medicine bowl back to the bedside, she found Hornet had succumbed to unconsciousness again, overwhelmed by the toxin and exhaustion. Her jaw was clenched tight, making it impossible for her to drink on her own.

Lace stood rigidly by the bed for a long moment, a struggle of hesitation and bashfulness flashing across her face.
Finally,as if steeling herself, she muttered under her breath, "...So much trouble."

She took a deep breath, scooped a mouthful of the warm liquid, then leaned down. With extreme gentleness and care, she pried open Hornet's jaw and pressed her own lips against them, using her breath to slowly transfer the medicine into the other's mouth.

Just as she was about to administer the second mouthful, a faint, soft moan escaped the figure beneath her. Those familiar eyes slowly fluttered open, meeting Lace's own, which were wide with panic from close proximity.

Lace jerked back as if scalded, her face instantly flushing a deep red that spread down her neck.
She frantically wiped her mouth with the back of her hand,stammering in explanation, "I-I wasn't trying to take advantage of you! It's... it's your fault for being unconscious! I couldn't get you to drink any other way, s-so I had to... use this method!" Her voice grew smaller with each word, as if she wished the ground would swallow her whole.

Contrary to all expectations, Hornet showed no anger, nor did she demand an explanation.
She simply watched Lace's flustered state quietly,the corners of her mouth lifting slightly to form an extremely weak, yet utterly genuine, faint smile tinged with a hint of tenderness and understanding.

That smile only made Lace feel more mortified.
She practically slammed the medicine bowl and spoon onto the bedside table with a clatter,turning her back, her voice muffled: "Since you're awake, you can manage yourself!"

"How unfortunate," Hornet's voice remained frail, but now carried a barely perceptible thread of teasing. "My arms... don't seem to be working yet."

"Don't give me that!" Lace whirled around, glaring at her. "You sound plenty energetic!"

Hornet acted as if she hadn't heard the retort, continuing on her own, her tone adopting a rare, almost helpless resignation: "If... I hadn't been poisoned, I wouldn't be so... powerless right now."

Those words acted like a fine needle, gently piercing the tough facade Lace had erected.
She looked at the figure on the bed—once so formidable,now struggling to even lift a hand—and wrestled internally for a moment. Finally, with a resigned, thoroughly exasperated expression that screamed 'fine, have it your way,' she picked up the bowl again.

"Just so we're clear!" she grumbled fiercely, as if undertaking a most unpleasant chore, "I'm only doing this once!"

Then she sat down, ladled the medicine, carefully blew on it to cool it, and began feeding it to Hornet, spoonful by spoonful. Her movements were somewhat clumsy, yet utterly focused.

Hornet cooperated, swallowing slowly. The warm liquid, carrying the floral scent of the petals, flowed into her, dispelling the chill left by the toxin.
As the bowl emptied,the color in her face seemed to genuinely improve at a visible rate, and the lingering purple haze around her faded noticeably.

The room grew quiet, save for the occasional soft clink of the spoon against the bowl, and the subtle, no longer adversarial, atmosphere flowing between them.

A few days later, under Lace's care—which couldn't be called meticulous, but was certainly wholehearted and diligent—the toxin was completely purged from Hornet's body, and her strength returned to about seventy or eighty percent.
Morning sunlight streamed through the window lattice. She stood in the center of the room, adjusting her cloak and needle, and announced calmly:

"My body has recovered. I will depart tomorrow at first light."

Silence descended upon the room following her words.
Lace stood behind her,head bowed, her hands clutching tightly at her own clothes, her knuckles turning white from the strain.
Just as Hornet expected her to respond to the parting with her usual silence or sharp words,she felt a slight but firm tug on her cloak.

She turned her head and saw Lace's hand clutching the edge of her cloak, a gesture imbued with a childlike timidity and stubbornness.

"I..." Lace's voice was as faint as a mosquito's hum, yet it echoed clearly in the quiet room. "I want to go with you."

This time, Hornet did not refuse her outright as she had initially, nor did she ask for reasons.
She simply watched Lace quietly,observing her bowed head and slightly trembling shoulders, as if seeing through all her anxiety and struggle.
After all they had been through,this willful child had finally chosen not destruction, nor staying behind, but... to follow.

"Alright." Hornet's reply was simple and affirmative.

However, Lace's next words took her by surprise.

"But... I'm afraid." Lace finally looked up, her eyes no longer holding challenge or nihilism, but something deeper—a fear of her own uncertainty. "I'm afraid that when I'm alone... those... those terrible thoughts will return. I'm afraid I won't be able to control certain impulses, that on the road... I'll do something foolish that disappoints you again."

Her trembling finger pointed to her own pale neck—the place that had once borne the heavy soul brand, and later been granted freedom.

"So..." She took a deep breath, as if mustering all her courage, her voice unusually firm. "...Could you... please... mark me again?"

This request was tantamount to voluntarily surrendering the freedom she had just regained, to asking for shackles to be placed upon herself once more.
But this time,the meaning of those shackles was fundamentally different.
They were no longer a symbol of punishment and conquest,but a plea from Lace to Hornet—a guardrail to prevent her own fall, a steadfast, external protection.

Hornet gazed at her, a flicker of understanding, and an emotion so faint it was almost pity, passing through her eyes.
She understood that for Lace now,this mark was no longer a humiliation, but an anchor of security.

"As you wish."

This time, Hornet did not call upon the power of the soul brand, that force born from the Wyrm's lineage, carrying the absolute imperative to dominate.
That power was too tyrannical, burdened with too much "submission" and "dominion," unsuitable for the heart Lace had proffered, choosing to approach despite her wariness.

She leaned forward, her sharp fangs once again gently piercing the vulnerable seam in Lace's neck shell.
But what she injected was no longer that kingly will,molten like gold. Instead, it was a purer, more intrinsic power belonging to Hornet herself—a hunter's mark.

This mark was gentle yet firm. It did not sink into the bone or etch the soul as the previous one had. It was more like a silent proclamation, winding itself around the threads of Lace's silk.

It no longer transmitted "You must obey," but rather "I am here. You are under my protection."
It carried the meaning of guardianship,like the scent a hunter leaves at the edge of their protected territory—a warning to the outside, and a reassurance to those within.

As Hornet pulled back, Lace instinctively raised her hand, her fingertips lightly touching the new mark on her neck, which radiated a gentle warmth.
There was no searing pain there now,no suffocating force of compulsion. Only a strange, steady warmth slowly seeped into her being.

A long-lost feeling, one she had almost forgotten—security—flowed over her parched heart like warm, gentle water.
She was no longer a drifting,rootless wraith who could casually discard herself. She had a place to belong, had bonds, and had... an attachment.

She looked at Hornet, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and finally said in a low voice:
"Thank you...And, I won't make you need to save me like this again."

With those words, Lace seemed to expend every last ounce of her courage and resolve. She took a step forward, burying her face deeply into that familiar embrace, which carried the scent of battle dust and cold shell.

She wrapped her arms around Hornet's waist, tightly, almost clumsily, leaning her full weight into the other.
The hug was utterly artless,yet it held a desperate, almost painful intensity, like a lost young beast finally finding its den, seeking to merge itself completely within.

Her cheek pressed against Hornet's neck, and she could feel the steady, strong heartbeat beneath the shell.
The rhythm penetrated the carapace,passed through her cool skin, and beat—thump after thump—against the chambers of a heart that had been hollow for far too long, dispelling the last lingering traces of nihility and chill.

She didn't speak again, only tightened her embrace further, her fingertips paling from the force, her body trembling with an uncontrollable slight shiver.
It wasn't sorrow,but the natural reaction to being swept up by a vast, almost overwhelming sense of security.

Hornet stiffened for a moment in initial surprise, her body rigid for an instant.
But quickly,she felt the desperate dependency and the faint tremors of the form in her arms. Her eyes, always sharp as blades, softened imperceptibly.
Wordlessly,she raised a hand, with a trace of hesitation, but ultimately settled it with firm gentleness against Lace's trembling back, returning the embrace.

Chapter Text

虚空那令人不安的寂静在海边弥漫，只余下海浪拍打“岸沿”的诡异声响。
大黄蜂双手撑在冰冷的地面上，灵丝过度消耗后的虚弱感让她感到一阵眩晕。

就在这时，她眼角的余光瞥见——那个本该虚弱躺倒的白色身影，正缓缓地、摇摇晃晃地从地上爬起，然后一步、一步，坚定不移地走向那片吞噬一切的黑暗海域。

“你……想做什么？”大黄蜂的声音带着一丝她自己都未察觉的颤抖，难以置信地看向那个决绝的背影。

“很明显，不是吗？”蕾丝没有回头，她的声音平静得可怕，仿佛在陈述一个与己无关的事实，脚步却未曾停顿。

“你以为......我会珍惜你好不容易才从深渊里捞上来的这条命吗？”

蕾丝在虚空边缘停下，终于发出一声短促而冰冷的嗤笑：“我不在乎。”

话音未落，她纵身跃下。

那一瞬间，大黄蜂感觉自己的心脏仿佛也被一同拽入了冰冷的深渊，骤然停止跳动。

然而，预想中被黑暗吞噬的景象并未持续。

片刻之后，阴影状态小骑士缓缓升起，他像是处理什么麻烦的垃圾一样，试图挣脱的蕾丝随意地丢回岸边。

小骑士双手叉腰，一股带着嫌弃的意念传递过来：

（妹妹，这是你的东西吧？看好她。我们虚空也是很挑食的，这种浑身沾满你灵丝味道还吵着要自杀的蘑菇精，我们不收。）

蕾丝踉跄着爬起，气急败坏地抹去脸上粘稠的虚空物质，双手抱胸，不甘地低声骂道：“可恶......为什么连虚空都站在你那边......”

就在这时，一道阴影笼罩了她。

大黄蜂一步步走到她面前，没有任何预兆，一拳狠狠砸在蕾丝的腹部——避开了要害，却足以让她感受到粉碎性的痛楚。

“咳……！”蕾丝猛地咳出一口深色的血丝，剧痛让她蜷缩，然而她却抬起头，脸上绽放出一个扭曲而快意的笑容，“怎么了？不继续摆出那副救世主般悲天悯人的模样了？终于……终于要撕下伪装，在这里杀了我吗？来吧！”

大黄蜂没有回答，而是直接揪住她的前襟，猛地将她整个人拎起，狠狠撞在后方的岩壁上，发出沉闷的巨响。

她逼近蕾丝的脸，那双锐利的眼眸里燃烧着前所未有的火焰，声音却压抑得像暴风雨前的低压：

“你以为……你的生命，现在还是属于你一个人的吗？！”

“我费尽心力，把你从那片连光都能吞噬的绝望里拖出来，就是为了站在这里，眼睁睁看着你再次跳进去吗？！”

蕾丝忍着背部的疼痛和窒息感，迎着她的目光，一字一顿地重复：“我、说、过、了！我、不、在、乎！这条命，还是这具身体，你想怎么折磨、怎么摧毁，都随你的便！”

然而，大黄蜂眼中的怒火却奇异地沉淀下来，转化为一种更深沉、更复杂的东西，她看着蕾丝，仿佛看穿了她所有的伪装：

“孩子，”她的声音低沉下来，带着一种近乎残酷的洞察力，“你只是想激怒我。你试图用我的愤怒，来掩盖你内心的空洞，为你毫无意义的自毁行为找一个看似壮烈的借口。”

被戳穿心底最隐秘的想法，蕾丝像是被烫到一样，情绪瞬间失控，她尖声喊道：“是！是又怎么样？！你别以为每一个虫子都会对你的‘恩赐’感激涕零！我永远不会！我永远不会如你所愿地摇尾乞怜，对你感恩戴德！”

看着她歇斯底里的样子，大黄蜂眼中最后一丝波动也消失了，只剩下绝对的、不容置疑的威严。

“既然如此，”她松开手，任由蕾丝像断线的木偶般滑落在地，声音冰冷如亘古不化的寒冰，“那我就亲自来教教你，什么叫做……敬畏。”

大黄蜂站在瘫软的蕾丝面前，阴影将她完全笼罩。

大黄蜂松开手，任由蕾丝像断线的木偶般滑落在地。但下一秒，她覆盖着甲壳的脚就踩在了蕾丝的胸口，力道控制得恰到好处，带来沉重的压迫感和骨骼的悲鸣，却又不至于真正踩碎她。

“不在乎？”大黄蜂俯下身，面具下的眼眸里没有任何温度，只有猎食者的冰冷审视，“很好。那我就用你唯一还能理解的方式——痛苦，来教你。”

她的指尖弹出锋利的爪尖，毫不留情地刺入蕾丝肩甲与手臂连接的脆弱关节处。不是致命伤，却是神经最密集、痛感最尖锐的地方。

“感受它。”大黄蜂的声音如同冰冷的钢铁，手腕转动，精准地研磨着神经束，“这就是活着的感觉。虚空给不了你这种感觉，只有活着，才能体验到如此……清晰的痛苦。”

她要让蕾丝记住，疼痛，是生命赋予的最基本、最真实的感知。

在蕾丝因剧痛而蜷缩时，大黄蜂拽着她的头发，粗暴地将她拖到虚空海边，将她的头按向那片翻涌的黑暗。

“看清楚了！这就是你向往的归宿！”当黑暗几乎要触碰到蕾丝的脸时，大黄蜂又猛地将她拽回，按在冰冷的地面上，“你的身体在发抖，你的丝线在紧绷，你的灵魂在尖叫着抗拒——哪怕你的嘴再怎不在乎，你的身体，你的本能，它们想活下去！”

“既然你放弃了处置它的权利，那么从现在起，它由我全权支配。

大黄蜂将蕾丝死死按在冰冷的地面上，两者的甲壳碰撞发出沉闷的响声。蕾丝所有的挣扎在绝对的力量差距面前都显得徒劳。

紧接着，大黄蜂俯下身，张开口，那对属于猎手的尖锐毒牙精准地刺入了蕾丝颈间最脆弱的缝隙。

一阵尖锐的刺痛传来，随之而来的并非纯粹的麻痹，而是一种奇异的、带着灼热感的毒液注入体内。蕾丝只觉得浑身的力量仿佛被瞬间抽空，四肢变得绵软无力。

但这仅仅是开始。

比毒液更可怕的，是一股随之涌入的、古老而威严的力量。它如同炽热的熔金，在她血管里奔涌，所到之处，每一个细胞都在尖叫、战栗。

这股力量并不满足于摧毁，它带着一个不容置疑的意志，如同无形的重锤，一次次地撞击着她的灵魂核心，向她下达着唯一的指令——

臣服。

这是源自苍白之王沃姆的血脉之力，是深植于大黄蜂灵魂深处的、难以抑制的统治本能。此刻，在这极端的情感激荡下，这股力量被彻底激发，并找到了它宣泄的出口——彻底征服眼前这个试图挣脱一切束缚的灵魂。

让她顺从。
让她归附。
让她从灵魂到身体，都彻底铭记——谁才是她的主宰。

当大黄蜂终于从蕾丝身上离开时，在那白皙的颈项上，一个全新的印记正散发着微弱的、不容忽视的光芒。

那印记的纹路奇异而繁复，仿佛是苍白的灵魂与坚韧的灵丝相互缠绕、融合而成，既带着沃姆血脉的绝对威严，又蕴含着编织者独有的生命韧性与束缚之力。
它是一个宣告，一个烙印，一个从此刻起将两人的命运更深刻捆绑在一起的契约。

“这是我的印记。”血丝顺着蕾丝的甲壳流下，伴随着灼烧般的剧痛，“从里到外，从灵魂到这具躯壳，你都属于我没有我的允许，你连疼痛都不配独自感受。”

最后，大黄蜂捏住蕾丝的下颌，强迫她看着自己，“听着，孩子。我不会杀你，那太便宜你了。”
“我要你活着，清清楚楚地感受每一次呼吸带来的痛苦，感受每一次心跳背负的重量。我要你带着我的印记，活到不得不直面你抛弃一切所带来的后果的那一天。”
“死亡不是你的解脱，活着，承受这一切，才是对你最残酷，也最公正的惩罚。”

蕾丝大口地喘着气，身体因毒液而虚弱，但眼中的反抗之火并未熄灭。她倔强地仰起头，瞪着大黄蜂，声音因无力而发颤，却带着孤注一掷的决绝：“你以为……这样就能让我屈服吗？你不可能永远看住我……我总能找到机会……杀死我自己！”

大黄蜂只是静静地站在那里，红色的披风在虚空的微风中纹丝不动。她看着蕾丝，眼神平静得令人心寒，仿佛在审视一个不懂事的孩子。

“那你可以试试。”

这轻描淡写的几个字，比任何威胁都更具压迫感。

蕾丝被她这种绝对的、近乎漠然的自信激怒了。她用尽全身力气，挣扎着从地上爬起，目光锁定在不远处那根掉落在地的、属于她自己的织针。她踉跄着扑过去，一把将它抓起冰冷的触感从掌心传来。

结束吧， 她想，只要一下，就能彻底解脱。

她双手紧握织针，将尖锐的针尖对准自己胸口甲壳最薄弱的连接处，用尽最后的决心，猛地刺下——

然而，就在针尖即将触碰到甲壳的前一刹那，一种超越死亡本身的、源自灵魂最深处的恐怖感，如同最冰冷的深渊巨浪，轰然席卷了她每一个意识角落！

那不是对疼痛的恐惧，也不是对虚无的畏惧。那是一种绝对的、不容置疑的法则级的压制。

臣服。
无尽地侍奉。
献上你的所有，你的意志，你的存在本身。

这些意念并非声音，而是如同烙印般直接在她灵魂中燃烧起来的绝对命令。
它们霸道地碾压着她的思维，将她“自我了断”的念头撕得粉碎。反抗的意志越是强烈，这股源自血脉与灵魂烙印的反噬就越是可怕。

“呃啊——！”

蕾丝发出一声痛苦的哀鸣，织针从骤然无力的手中滑落，发出清脆的声响。
她双手死死抱住自己的头，感觉自己的意识仿佛要被这两股截然相反的力量撕裂——一方是她宁死不屈的自我，另一方是那不容违逆的、要求她绝对忠诚的至高指令。

头疼欲裂，仿佛有无数根烧红的铁钎在颅内搅动。

这痛苦并非作用于肉体，而是直接施加于她的存在本质之上。
她终于清晰地意识到，那个印记不仅仅是标记，更是一个恶毒的枷锁——它不允许她以任何形式“背叛”，包括毁灭被“赐予”的生命。

当“自杀”这个念头彻底从她脑海中消散，如同被无形的规则强行抹除后，那几乎要让她疯癫的剧痛和恐惧感，才如同潮水般缓缓退去。

她瘫软在地，浑身被冷汗浸透，只剩下劫后余生般的虚脱，以及一种更深沉的、关乎未来命运的绝望。
她明白了，从此以后，连“死亡”的自由，都已不再属于她自己。

大黄蜂向她伸出手，那只覆盖着几丁质甲壳的手就那样悬停在虚空残留的微尘与现实的微光之间，稳定得没有一丝颤抖。
蕾丝垂眸看着那只手，就是这只手，将她从深渊拖回，将她按在地上，也在她颈侧刻下了永恒的烙印。
她迟疑了片刻，一种复杂的、混杂着憎恨、屈辱与一丝难以言喻的依赖感的情绪在胸中翻涌，最终，她还是缓慢地、带着些许僵硬地，将自己冰凉的手放了上去。

“现在，该离开这里了。”大黄蜂的声音恢复了往常的冷静，仿佛刚才在虚空边缘那场惊心动魄的征服从未发生。
她握紧蕾丝的手，那力道不容挣脱，却也不显粗暴，只是以一种绝对的引领姿态，将她带离这片弥漫着死寂的海岸，走向通往上方世界的路径。

回到钟心镇，温暖的灯光和喧闹的人声扑面而来，与虚空的寂静形成鲜明对比。
镇长帕沃热情地迎了上来，脸上洋溢着劫后余生的喜悦：“救星小姐！您终于回来了！今晚镇子里要举办一场盛大的庆祝宴会，感谢您驱散了阴影，请您务必赏光……”

大黄蜂微微抬手，止住了他滔滔不绝的邀请，她的目光不经意地瞥向身旁沉默不语的蕾丝。“帕沃，感谢你们的好意，但我有必须处理的事情。”她的语气平和却带着不容置疑的决断。

帕沃顺着她的目光看去，落在那个浑身散发着阴郁气息的白色身影上，他似乎瞬间明白了什么，脸上的热情收敛了些，转化为一种带着理解的表情，他微微躬身，低声道：“当然，当然......那，祝您有一个愉快的夜晚。”

大黄蜂没有再多言，只是紧了紧握着蕾丝的手，径直将她带回自己的临时小屋——钟居。
门在身后合拢，将外界的喧嚣彻底隔绝。室内只剩下她们两人，空气仿佛瞬间变得粘稠而静谧。

“把衣服脱了。”大黄蜂的声音在寂静的房间里响起，平静无波，听不出任何情绪。

蕾丝愣了一下，随即脸上浮现出一种扭曲的、带着讥讽的笑容，她故意用夸张的语调说道：“哈？刚回家就迫不及待了吗？你比我想象的还要……饥渴啊。”她试图用言语作为武器，刺破这令人窒息的平静。

大黄蜂缓缓转过身，红色的眼眸在昏暗的光线下如同燃烧的余烬，她没有提高声调，只是重复道，声音里却带着千钧的重量：“不要让我重复第二遍。”

那目光中的威压让蕾丝脸上的讥讽瞬间冻结，她咬了咬下唇，最终还是老实照做。
白色的外衣被褪下，簌簌落地，露出了其下覆盖着的、与丝质甲壳形成极致反差的纯黑肌肤，那黑色仿佛凝聚了深渊的影子，在室内微弱的光线下泛着幽暗的光泽。

大黄蜂走近，她的目光如同最精准的探针，在蕾丝裸露的肌肤上缓缓扫过，检查着之前战斗可能留下的痕迹。
她的指尖偶尔会隔空拂过某些甲壳连接处，但并未真正触碰。片刻后，她似乎确认完毕，向后退了一步。“嗯，没有其他需要处理的伤势。”

蕾丝环抱住双臂，尽管这动作在此时显得毫无意义，她继续用言语挑衅，试图找回一丝主动权：“得了吧，冠冕堂皇的话就省省了。你只是想欣赏我曼妙的身材，才编了这么一个蹩脚的借口，不是吗？”她甚至刻意挺了挺身子，展现那起伏的曲线。

“我不否认你确实有一副诱人的身材，”大黄蜂走到桌子旁坐下，拿起羽毛笔和一卷纸张，开始书写，头也不抬地回应，语气平淡得像在评论天气，“但我现在对你没有兴趣。”她的注意力似乎完全集中在了笔下的文字上。

蕾丝被她这种彻底的无视激怒了，她有些气闷地趴到床上，纤细的腿在空中无聊地摇晃着，继续用话语试探：“哦？那你什么时候对我有兴趣呢？在我又一次想办法把自己弄死的时候吗？”她试图用这个话题刺痛对方，哪怕能换来一丝情绪的波动也好。

大黄蜂书写的动作没有丝毫停顿，笔尖在纸面上划过，发出沙沙的轻响。她的回答清晰而冰冷，如同陈述一个物理定律：“我不会为此而担忧。因为你现在，什么都做不到。”

这句话像一把钥匙，精准地打开了蕾丝心中那扇名为“绝望”的牢笼。她脸上刻意维持的轻佻表情瞬间垮塌，取而代之的是一种深沉的无力感。
她嫌弃地、却又无可奈何地“啧”了一声，将脸埋进了柔软的被褥中。

大黄蜂说得没错。那个烙印不仅仅刻在脖子上，更深深刻入了她的灵魂。
她连终结自己生命的自由都被彻底剥夺，在这个冷酷的“主宰者”面前，她仿佛一个被剪断了线的木偶，连倒下都需要得到许可。

她失去的，是比生命更根本的东西——选择的权利。而在这令人窒息的禁锢中，未来，似乎只剩下无边无际的、被迫的“活着”。

钟居内，时间仿佛凝固了。
蕾丝仰面躺在床铺上，目光空洞地凝视着天花板的木质纹理，那些蜿蜒的线条像极了命运的掌纹，而她被困在其中，动弹不得。

自杀的念头并非没有浮现，但每次刚冒头，灵魂深处那无形的烙印便会发出一阵低沉嗡鸣，并非剧痛，却是一种更令人绝望的、法则层面的禁止。
就像一只撞上无形玻璃的飞虫，无论多么用力，都无法突破那层看不见的屏障。

她不知道自己现在活着还有什么意思。
复仇？打不过。
寻死？不允许。
甚至连激怒大黄蜂，看她为自己动怒都做不到了——那个女人现在彻底无视了她的所有言语挑衅，仿佛她只是一件会呼吸的家具。

这确实如大黄蜂所言，是一场不折不扣的、精准针对她灵魂的“折磨”。
一种被整个世界，包括死亡本身，彻底遗弃的孤绝感包裹着她。

几天后，或许是看不下去她这副彻底“坏死”的状态，大黄蜂尝试了新的方法。
她将一包物资递给蕾丝，语气平静如常：“把这些送到骸底洞窟的临时避难所去。”

蕾丝抬起眼皮，看了她一眼，没有问为什么，也没有反抗，只是默默地接过东西。
反抗毫无意义，行动本身也毫无意义，那么，做与不做，又有什么区别？

她穿过钟心镇逐渐恢复生机的小径，走向阴冷的骸底洞窟。
避难所里的虫子们蜷缩在角落，眼神麻木。
弗利克，一个看起来还算精神的年轻甲虫，接过物资时，脸上露出了真挚的、几乎是闪耀的感激光芒：“太好了！谢谢您！这些食物和药品真是帮了大忙，有这些物资大家就能多撑一段时间。”

蕾丝看着他那充满希望的脸，内心却是一片冰冷的死水。
她甚至懒得扯出一个虚伪的笑容。

开心？
多么奢侈而虚无的词。
就算有了这些物资又怎么样？在这个危机四伏的世界，他们可能明天就死在一次意外的塌方中，死在游荡的怪物爪下，或者仅仅是死于一场普通的疾病。

这些物资，不过是让这注定悲惨的生命，再多延续几个毫无意义的日夜罢了。
所谓的“助人为乐”，在她看来，不过是延长痛苦的、虚伪的慈善。

她没有回应弗利克的感谢，只是漠然转身，离开了那片充斥着短暂希望和必然绝望的角落。

回到钟居，她甚至不需要说什么，那周身散发出的、比去之前更加沉郁的虚无气息，已经说明了一切。

大黄蜂抬眼看了看她，那双锐利的眼眸中闪过一丝极难察觉的波动——是失望，还是别的什么？蕾丝已经懒得去解读了。

她径直走回床边，像一截失去所有力气的木头，直挺挺地倒了回去，彻底化身为一条“没有梦想的咸鱼”，连翻身的欲望都欠奉。

“任务太简单了......所以感觉不到价值吗？” 大黄蜂在心中思忖。
她回忆起自己在漫长的守护岁月中，正是那些艰巨的挑战、需要全力以赴才能守护的东西，赋予了她存在的重量。
或许，这个孩子也需要类似的刺激。

于是，她做出了决定。

“明日，去蚤托邦送货。” 大黄蜂的声音打破沉寂，“路途险恶，我会与你同行。”

她预想会听到一句带着讥讽的“真稀奇啊，纺络的大救星陪我一个阶下囚送货”，甚至准备好了应对的说辞。
然而，蕾丝只是微微抬了下眼皮，用毫无起伏的声调回应：“好的。”

没有质疑，没有嘲讽，甚至没有一丝不情愿。就像一块石头投入深潭，却惊不起半点水花。

第二天踏上通往蚤托邦的险途，蕾丝果然如同一个被设定好程序的傀儡。
她精准地避开明显的陷阱（并非出于求生欲，而是为了完成任务），沉默地跋涉在泥泞与残垣之间。
当狰狞的生物从阴影中扑出时，她也会挥动织针格挡、反击，动作流畅却毫无杀气，仿佛只是在清扫挡路的尘埃，而非进行生死搏杀。
她的眼神始终空洞，仿佛灵魂已经抽离，只留下一具执行命令的空壳。

行至腐汁泽，空气中弥漫着浓重的腐烂和甜腻的毒性气味，脚下是粘稠得能吞噬脚踝的泥沼。
大黄蜂微微蹙眉，这里的恶劣远超髓骨洞窟。

“你什么也不想说吗？” 大黄蜂终于忍不住开口，试图撬开那层坚硬的沉默，“这里的环境这么糟糕，你应该很讨厌。”

像是被按下了某个播放键，蕾丝停下脚步，转过头，用一张完美无瑕却毫无生气的面孔对着大黄蜂，一字不差地复述：“哦，这里的环境真糟糕啊，我好讨厌。” 语气平直得像在朗读一段与她无关的文字。

大黄蜂感到一阵无力，但她没有放弃，继续引导：“你为什么讨厌这里？”
她需要听到蕾丝自己的声音，自己的理由，哪怕只是抱怨。

“我讨厌一切。” 蕾丝的回答将她刚升起的一点希望彻底浇灭。

“更详细的理由呢？” 大黄蜂追问，不愿放弃。

蕾丝茫然地眨了眨眼，仿佛在检索一个并不存在的数据库，最终轻声回答：“我不知道。我不觉得有什么东西值得喜欢。”

就在这时，意外发生。
蕾丝脚下看似坚实的土地突然塌陷，一个隐蔽的蛆水陷阱瞬间将她吞没。
粘稠、布满蠕动着肥硕蛆虫的污水瞬间淹没了她的腰际。

大黄蜂心头一紧，立刻准备出手。

然而，陷阱中的蕾丝，没有任何挣扎。
她没有惊呼，没有试图攀爬，甚至连眉头都没有皱一下。
她只是静静地站在那里，微微仰着头，避免污水灌入口鼻，任由那些贪婪的蛆虫爬上她的甲壳，开始啃噬她的身体。
她的眼神依旧空洞，仿佛被啃食的不是她自己。

“蕾丝！” 大黄蜂低喝一声，织针瞬间甩出，灵丝缠绕住蕾丝的手臂，猛地将她从陷阱中拽了出来。

蕾丝踉跄着落地，浑身沾满恶臭的粘液和仍在蠕动的蛆虫。大黄蜂迅速上前，用灵丝灼烧、清理掉她身上的污秽和寄生虫，并检查被啃噬出的细小伤口，进行紧急修补。

整个过程，蕾丝异常配合，没有反抗，也没有表示不适。
直到大黄蜂处理完毕，她才抬起眼，看着空荡荡的双手，用那惯常的、毫无波澜的语气说出了第一句话：

“抱歉，看来我们要重新回去拿一份货物了。”

轰隆。

这句话像一道惊雷，在大黄蜂脑海中炸开。
她看着蕾丝那张平静得过分的脸，一股寒意从心底蔓延开来，比面对任何强敌时都要让她感到棘手。

她意识到，情况比她想象的还要糟糕。

她之前阻止的，是蕾丝主动的、有意识的自我毁灭。
然而现在，当意外降临，当死亡以被动的方式触手可及时，蕾丝连求生的本能都丧失了。她不寻求死亡，但也不抗拒死亡。
她只是……不在乎。

更让她心底发凉的是，蕾丝甚至没有意识到，刚才那个陷阱本可以“帮助”她实现长久以来的“愿望”。
是她，大黄蜂，多此一举地打断了一个“顺其自然”的消亡过程。

还是说，她连这份（求死的）愿望也失去了？

这个念头让大黄蜂感到一种前所未有的沉重。如果连毁灭自我的欲望都消失了，那剩下的，岂不是最彻底的、连挣扎都不存在的……虚无？

她终于意识到，强制性的灵魂烙印，似乎确实阻断了蕾丝所有的“恶念”，但也同时抽走了她所有的“生机”。

大黄蜂不禁在心中默想：“印记的束缚……是否太过绝对了？之前的她，像一团危险的、燃烧自我的火焰，至少炽烈而鲜活。她会谋划，会挣扎，会为了‘终结’这个目标而拼尽全力，那本身也是一种强烈的‘生’的证明。可现在……”

现在的蕾丝，像被抽走了所有燃料的余烬，连最后一点火星都彻底熄灭，只剩下冰冷的、逐渐消散的灰。

她禁锢了她的行动，却无法禁锢她的灵魂在虚无中下坠。

她看着默默整理着身上残破衣物、准备原路返回取货的蕾丝，第一次清晰地认识到，强行赋予的“生命”，如果找不到内在的支点，其本身，就是一种更缓慢、也更彻底的死亡形式。

大黄蜂在心中思索:“我剥夺了她选择死亡的权利，但该如何......赋予她‘活着’的理由？”

这个问题的答案，远比用武力征服一个叛逆的灵魂要困难得多。

返程的路上，大黄蜂注意到那条通往废弃管风琴的秘密小道，这启发了她，令她想到了一个或许值得一试的方法。

几天后，当蕾丝在钟居内机械地执行着大黄蜂的命令，被迫整理着房间角落堆积的、属于过往冒险的杂物时，手指触碰到了一个冰冷而熟悉的物件。

她的动作停滞了。

蕾丝缓缓地将它抽出来——那是她姐姐幽影曾经佩戴过的面具。
面具上曾有的灵光已彻底消散，只留下一道干净利落的、由织针造成的裂痕，如同一个永恒的休止符。

蕾丝的手指颤抖着抚过那道裂痕，冰冷的触感却像火焰一样灼烧着她的指尖。
连日来积累的虚无、绝望、愤怒，在这一刻找到了一个具体的、可以倾泻的焦点。

当大黄蜂从外面归来，刚推开门，蕾丝就像一道白色的闪电般冲了过去，死死拽住了她的领口，蕾丝眼中燃烧着痛苦的火焰，声音因极致的情绪而撕裂：

“你为什么要杀了她！” 这声质问仿佛用尽了她全身的力气。

大黄蜂的眼眸平静地注视着近在咫尺的、扭曲的面孔，没有挣脱，只是用那种惯常的、陈述事实般的语调回答：“那是她应得的结局。”

“应得的结局？” 蕾丝像是被这句话刺痛，声音更加尖利，“那你为什么不杀了我！你明明有那么多次机会！在深渊边，在任何一个你制服我的瞬间！为什么偏偏是她！为什么放过我！”

面对这连珠炮似的、混杂着痛苦与不解的质问，大黄蜂的眼神深处掠过一丝极其复杂的情绪。
她要用谎言，铸成一把淬毒的匕首。

“为什么杀了她，却放过你？”大黄蜂重复着蕾丝的问题，眼眸中陡然翻涌起一种蕾丝从未见过的、近乎残忍的愉悦，嘴角勾起一抹冰冷的、属于猎食者的弧度。

“因为那很有趣。”她的声音低沉下来，带着一种回味般的残忍，“你的姐姐，幽影……她挣扎的样子非常精彩。我折断她的丝线，看着她像失去翅膀的飞蛾一样坠落；我碾碎她掠夺来的、那些肮脏的灵丝，听着她希望破灭的哀鸣……”

她俯身，逼近蕾丝因震惊而苍白的脸，语气轻柔却带着剧毒：

“我刻意放缓了过程，欣赏着她从疯狂到绝望，最终像一摊烂泥般匍匐在地，乞求一个痛快的终结。”

“我满足了她的乞求，给了她最后一击。但那份濒死的痛苦与恐惧，美妙得让我回味至今。”她的指尖几乎要触碰到蕾丝的脸颊，带着一种亵渎的意味，“而你呢？你当时那副无能狂怒、却又什么都做不到的样子，同样取悦了我。毁灭一个完整的灵魂固然痛快，但看着一个破碎的灵魂徒劳地燃烧，岂不是……更有趣的消遣？”

大黄蜂紧紧盯着蕾丝的眼睛，期待看到预想中的熊熊怒火，看到被彻底羞辱后燃起的、不顾一切的复仇烈焰。

然而，她看到的，却是一双异常清醒、甚至带着怜悯和看穿一切悲哀的眼睛。

蕾丝拽着她领口的手，力道在缓缓松懈，但并非因为无力，而是因为一种更深沉的绝望。

“够了。”蕾丝的声音很轻，却像冰锥般刺入大黄蜂的表演，“你在撒谎。”

“……”

“你只是帮我姐姐完成了她的愿望而已。”蕾丝陈述着，眼泪无声地滑落，不是因为大黄蜂描述的“暴行”，而是因为残酷的真相与她自己的无能，“我知道她的状态有多糟……我知道她为了活下去，变成了连自己都会憎恶的样子……我知道她的生命早已无法挽回……”

她的身体开始颤抖，不是因为恐惧，而是因为深入骨髓的自我憎恨。

“我恨的不是你给了她解脱……我恨的是那个眼睁睁看着她痛苦、看着她堕落，却什么也做不到的自己！”她的声音带着泣音，“我才是……我才是看着她走向毁灭，却无法伸出援手的帮凶！”

她彻底松开了大黄蜂，像是被抽空了所有力气，踉跄着后退一步，脸上浮现出一个比哭还难看的、扭曲的笑容。

“而你？你现在编造这些谎言，不就是想引起我的愤怒吗？”她指着自己颈侧那已经消散，但余威犹存的印记位置，“然后，你就可以名正言顺地再次激活它，用疼痛和惩罚，来覆盖我现在的痛苦，不是吗？你想把我所有的情绪，都变成对你个人的恨意，好让我有个简单的目标可以去攻击，去发泄！”

说罢，她像是要证明什么，又像是最后的自暴自弃，猛地转身，抓起了桌上那根冰冷的织针。

她紧握着织针，转身，将尖锐的针尖，直直地抵在大黄蜂的胸口——那个足以穿透甲壳、危及核心的位置。

大黄蜂的身体瞬间紧绷，本能地进入防御状态，灵丝在腕间无声流转。

然而……

什么都没有发生。

预想中，那足以撕裂灵魂、禁止一切叛逆行为的烙印惩罚，并没有降临。

蕾丝稳稳地握着织针，手臂没有一丝因规则反噬而产生的颤抖。
她的眼神里没有杀意，只有一片荒芜的平静，和一种近乎残忍的求证。

大黄蜂愣住了，她清晰地感受到，那源于灵魂契约的束缚之力，此刻寂静无声。
它没有将蕾丝的行为判定为“攻击”或“背叛”。

一个让大黄蜂更加心寒的明悟骤然浮现。

她难以置信地看向蕾丝，声音里带上了一丝自己都未察觉的动摇：“你……你甚至连杀死我，或者攻击我的想法……都没有？”

“有什么意义？”蕾丝的声音轻得像一声叹息，带着彻骨的空洞，“杀了你，幽影就会复活吗？”

“哐当。”

织针从她手中滑落，砸在地面上，发出清脆而孤寂的声响。

她不再看大黄蜂，也不再看那代表着她无力过往的面具，只是缓缓地、像一尊失去所有支撑的雕塑，瘫软地跪倒在地。
泪水无声地汹涌而出，不再是愤怒的洪流，而是绝望的寒潮，将她彻底淹没。

她恨不了大黄蜂，也救不了幽影，甚至连终结自己痛苦的动力，都在这一刻被巨大的虚无感吞噬。

大黄蜂站在原地，看着跪倒在地、无声崩溃的蕾丝，看着她连“恨”都无法凝聚的空洞侧脸，第一次清晰地意识到——她失败了。

她试图用“仇恨”作为强心剂，注入蕾丝濒死的精神世界。

但她发现，这个孩子的内心，已经荒芜到连仇恨的种子，都无法生根发芽。

她留给蕾丝的，不是一个可以复仇的目标，而是一个连复仇都显得多余、连恨意都无从着落的、更加庞大而令人窒息的虚无。

那天晚上，钟居里没有一丝声响，却充满了未言明的重量。
蕾丝没有睡觉，她像一尊苍白的雕塑，坐在桌子前，指尖一遍遍描摹着幽影面具上那道冰冷的裂痕。

而在房间的另一侧，大黄蜂躺在黑暗中，眼眸在阴影里微微发亮。
她也未曾入眠。
蕾丝跪倒在地时那彻底崩溃的模样，在她脑海中挥之不去。

她意识到，用“束缚”和“真相”铸成的牢笼，或许能禁锢住蕾丝的躯壳，却只会将她的灵魂推向更深的虚无。
强制给予的“生”，与放任的“死”一样，都是一种傲慢。

或许自己真的没有办法给予她活下去的意义吧，大黄蜂不想承认这件事，但不得不承认。
她现在的所作所为，与她那渴望王国永恒的父亲没有区别，只是一厢情愿地垂死挣扎罢了。

既然如此，或许她应该放手一搏。

第二天，天光未亮，晨雾尚未散去。大黄蜂已经整装完毕，她走到依旧坐在桌边的蕾丝身后，声音平静无波：
“我要走了。”

蕾丝的肩膀几不可察地颤动了一下，她猛地回头，眼中充满了难以置信。

不等她发问，大黄蜂伸出手，指尖泛起微光，轻轻点在她颈侧。

那枚象征着绝对束缚与联结的灵魂印记，如同被风吹散的尘埃，悄然消散，只留下平滑的甲壳。
一直萦绕在蕾丝灵魂深处的无形枷锁，也随之消失无踪。

“从现在起，你想做什么，我都不会管。”大黄蜂的语气淡漠，仿佛在谈论天气，“如果你想自我了断，那就去吧。”

接着，她将一串冰冷的钥匙随手丢在蕾丝身边的桌面上，发出清脆的撞击声。
“还有，这房子送你了。”

说罢，她没有丝毫留恋，甚至没有再看蕾丝一眼，径直推开门，身影融入灰色的、清冷的晨雾中，消失不见。

她选择在万物苏醒前离开，避开所有可能的送别，一如她一贯的风格。

门，轻轻合拢。

重获自由。

这个词曾经是蕾丝梦寐以求的。

她应该感到狂喜，应该立刻冲向虚空海，或者用任何方式庆祝这失而复得的、终结自己生命的权利。

可是，她没有。

她只是静静地坐在床边，拿起那串还带着大黄蜂指尖余温的钥匙，茫然地注视着。预想中的解脱和喜悦并没有降临，取而代之的是一种更加庞大、更加令人窒息的......空虚。

事到如今，当死亡的禁令被解除，当她可以真正自由地做出选择时，她反而发现，那曾经炽烈到燃烧她所有理智的求死冲动，竟然熄灭了。

为什么？

这诡异的平静比任何疯狂的念头都更让她不安。为了验证这并非错觉，蕾丝主动来到了深坞。
灼热的气浪从岩浆池中翻涌而上，炙烤着她的甲壳，熟悉的毁灭气息扑面而来。
在过去，仅仅是靠近这里，那沸腾的岩浆仿佛就在呼唤她投入其中，给予永恒的宁静。

她站在边缘，凝视着下方那片金红色的、能吞噬一切的火海。
跳下去。
她在心里命令自己。
只要一步，所有纠缠不休的痛苦、虚无与自我怀疑，都将终结。
她的身体微微前倾，热风卷起她白色的发丝。

然而，她的脚像被钉在了原地，无法迈出那最后一步。
一秒，两秒……时间在寂静中流逝，只有岩浆翻滚的沉闷声响。
她像一个局外人，冷静地审视着那个停滞不动的自己。

为什么跳不下去？

她茫然地环顾四周，目光掠过深坞崎岖的岩壁、战斗留下的焦痕……记忆不受控制地翻涌而来。
就在这里，她曾与那个红色的身影激烈交锋，织针与刺针碰撞出刺耳的火花。
那时的她，在每一次兵刃相接中感受到的，并非纯粹的绝望，而是一种近乎癫狂的快意。
她被击败，被压制，但心底深处，竟然在期待——期待大黄蜂能再次出现，能攀上圣堡，能与她进行第二场对决。

她那时渴望的，是在战斗中证明自己的价值，赢得母亲的注视，或者......至少能吸引那个强大对手全部的、专注的目光。

而现在，母亲不在了。
那个曾以蛮横的姿态闯入她世界、给她打下烙印又亲手将其解除的红色身影，也离开了。

“没有人会看到了。”

这个念头如同冰锥，猝不及防地刺入她的意识，瞬间冻结了所有的纷杂思绪。

她的死亡，将不再是一场悲壮的反抗宣言，不再是对母亲权威的最终挑衅，也不再能激起大黄蜂眼中丝毫的波澜——无论是愤怒、失望，还是哪怕一丝一毫的在意。
那将只是一具无名躯壳在无人角落的安静腐烂，无声无息，激不起半点回响，如同从未存在过。

直到这一刻，蕾丝才像被一道闪电劈中，灵魂都在为之震颤，真正明白了自己一直以来真正渴望的是什么。

她想要的，从来不是死亡本身。

死亡，只是她用来索取 “注视” 的、最极端也是最笨拙的工具。
她渴望被看见，被在意，被某个强大的存在牢牢地锁定在视野之中，以此证明自己并非虚无的尘埃。

而当大黄蜂在她身上施加灵魂烙印时——那强硬的束缚，那冰冷的命令，那以愤怒和惩罚形式表现出来的、不容置疑的掌控——其内核，恰恰是一种扭曲却真实的在乎。

自己居然在这漫长而痛苦的纠缠中，完全忽视了这件事！

为什么看不到？
是因为被愤怒和自毁的欲望蒙蔽了双眼？
还是因为习惯于用对抗来定义彼此的关系，以至于将所有的“束缚”都解读为纯粹的恶意？

大黄蜂从始至终，都在用她的方式在乎着。
她会因自己的自毁而动怒，会因自己的沉沦而尝试各种方法（哪怕那些方法笨拙而无效），会在自己身陷蛆水陷阱时毫不犹豫地出手，甚至会因为自己精神上的“坏死”而流露出近乎挫败的情绪......
这些，不都是“在乎”的证明吗？

只是自己固执地闭上了眼睛，只愿意看到她想施加给自己的“惩罚”，却拒绝看清惩罚背后，那试图将自己从深渊拖拽出来的、同样固执的手。

她一直以为自己渴望的是终结，直到真正手握终结的自由时，她才骇然发现，她真正恐惧的，是那终结之后，无边无际的、无人注视的……遗忘。

她站在岩浆池边，灼热的气流拂过脸颊，却再也带不来任何解脱的诱惑，只剩下一种巨大的、令人窒息的领悟。

但，或许有一个办法能让大黄蜂永远记住她。

就在大黄蜂踏足蚀阶与荒原的连接处，准备彻底离开纺络这片土地时，一道白色的身影如同执拗的幽魂，再次挡在了她的面前。

蕾丝手中紧握着她那根纤长的织针，针尖在荒原冷冽的阳光下，泛着不祥的金光。

“孩子，”大黄蜂停下脚步，红色的披风在风中纹丝不动，语气里带着一丝不易察觉的疲惫，“你又想做什么？”

“既然我现在是自由的，”蕾丝的脸上扬起一个近乎癫狂的、跃跃欲试的笑容，“那我当然有权选择自己的死法。”

“你知道我不会对你下死手的。”大黄蜂的陈述平静无波。

“没关系！”蕾丝的声音陡然拔高，带着一种破釜沉舟的决绝，“因为杀死我的，不会是你！”

话音未落，她反手将注射器的尖端，猛地刺入自己肩甲下的脆弱连接处！针管内那团浓稠的、仿佛有生命般蠕动着的紫色液体，被尽数推入她的体内。

“呃啊——！”

剧痛让她发出一声短促的闷哼，随即，一种诡异的紫色纹路如同蔓延的藤蔓，迅速从注射点扩散开来，她的身体，正以一种肉眼可见的速度，逐渐被不祥的紫色笼罩。

“这是‘寂灭之蕊’……”蕾丝喘着气，脸上却带着奇异的潮红，“只要它在我体内停留足够久，就能彻底杀死我，无药可解。”她抬起头，眼中燃烧着最后的光芒，那是将生命压缩到极致后迸发出的疯狂。

“在我死之前，我想跟你最后打一场！一场真正的、全力以赴的战斗！”说罢，她不再给对方任何回应的时间，如同一道紫色的闪电，带着同归于尽般的气势，冲向大黄蜂！

“真是胡闹！”大黄蜂厉声喝道，白色的织针瞬间出鞘，格挡住这凌厉的一击。

兵刃相交，发出刺耳的铮鸣。
然而一交手，大黄蜂就察觉到了异常——蕾丝的力量、速度、以及身体的韧性，都提升了数倍不止。
那毒素在缓慢吞噬她生机的同时，也在透支着她全部的生命潜力，将她短暂地推向了一个恐怖的巅峰。

“哈哈哈！来啊！战斗啊！”蕾丝狂笑着，攻击如同暴风骤雨，织针在空中划出致命的轨迹。
她不再防守，每一招都带着以伤换伤的狠厉，仿佛要将生命中所有未被言说的委屈、愤怒、依赖和绝望，都在这一刻彻底倾泻出来。

战斗在荒芜的边界激烈地进行着。
大黄蜂沉着应对，但目光却愈发凝重。
她看到蕾丝身上的紫色越来越深，几乎要化为实质的氤氲紫气，那代表毒素正不断侵蚀她的核心。

最终，力量的透支与本质的差距让疯狂的攻势出现了破绽。
大黄蜂抓住机会，织针巧妙一挑，荡开蕾丝的防御，瞬间近身，将她狠狠地按倒在冰冷的地面上。

被制服的蕾丝非但没有挣扎，反而爆发出更加畅快、更加开心的笑声，那笑声在空旷的荒原上回荡，显得格外刺耳。

“好了！现在就像你对姐姐幽影那样，”她仰望着大黄蜂，紫色的眼眸中充满了某种扭曲的期待，“给我个痛快吧！这才是最完美的结局，不是吗？”

她知道，这是一个无解的选择题，一个她为大黄蜂精心准备的、残忍的谢幕。

“寂灭之蕊”没有解药，其毒性会如同缓慢闭合的花朵，一丝丝吞噬生机，带来清晰而漫长的痛苦。她将两种结局赤裸地摆在大黄蜂面前：

要么，眼睁睁看着她被紫色的毒素侵蚀，在挣扎与痛苦中逐渐凋零，感受那份无能为力的焦灼。
要么，就亲手给予她一个“慈悲”的终结，用那根曾与她交锋的织针，贯穿她的核心，成全她这最后、也是最壮烈的“任性”。

无论大黄蜂选择哪一条路，这一幕都将如同最深刻的烙印，永远铭刻在她的记忆里。

如果选择旁观，那么大黄蜂将永远记住她生命逐渐熄灭时，那充满怨恨与痛苦的眼神，成为她漫长守护生涯中一个无法挽回的“失败”。
如果选择亲手终结，那么她的织针上将永远沾染她的血，她的手中将永远承载一条她无法拯救、最终由自己亲手了结的生命，成为一个无法抹去的“污点”。

是的，污点。

蕾丝的脑海中近乎偏执地想着。她要将自己变成一根刺，一根深深扎进大黄蜂完美无瑕的救世主画像中的毒刺。
让这位总是冷静、总是强大、总是正确的守护者，在未来无数个夜晚，偶尔回想起此刻，回想起有一个白色的、疯狂的灵魂，曾以如此决绝的方式，在她的功绩簿上留下了一抹无法擦除的、属于毁灭的暗色。

这或许卑劣，或许扭曲。

但这已经是她这个一无所有、连生命都打算抛弃的残魂，所能想到的，能让大黄蜂——这个她憎恨过、依赖过、最终却无法忽视的存在——永远记住她的，最好，也是最后的方法了。

她不要无声无息地腐烂在角落，她要一场盛大的、以生命为代价的演出，而大黄蜂，将是这场演出唯一的，也是被迫的观众与参与者。

她的存在，将由此成为一种永恒的记忆刑期，施加于她唯一在乎的观者身上。

然而，大黄蜂的选择，永远超出她的预料。

“愚蠢。”

冰冷的评价落下，大黄蜂按着她的力道未减，另一只手却猛地并指如刀，锋利的指尖闪耀起纯净的、带着生命光泽的灵丝光芒。
她没有丝毫犹豫，直接将指尖刺入蕾丝颈侧甲壳的缝隙——那曾是灵魂印记所在的地方！

“你......你做什么？！”蕾丝惊恐地瞪大眼睛。

回答她的是汹涌而入的、属于大黄蜂的本源灵丝。
它们不像蕾丝的丝线那般柔韧阴冷，而是带着一种灼热的、近乎霸道的力量，强行涌入蕾丝的经络，并非为了破坏，而是为了.......置换。

大黄蜂正在用自己精纯的灵丝，作为载体和吸引，强行将那些已经与蕾丝灵丝纠缠在一起的“寂灭之蕊”毒素，吸附、剥离，然后引导进入她自己的体内！

这是一个极其凶险的过程，需要对灵丝有着入微的掌控，更需要承受难以想象的痛苦。
紫色的毒素顺着灵丝的桥梁，如同贪婪的水蛭，涌入大黄蜂的身体。
她的手臂开始微微颤抖，甲壳下隐约透出被毒素侵蚀的紫色纹路，但她紧咬着牙关，坚定的眼神中没有丝毫动摇。

“不……停下！你会……”蕾丝想要挣扎，却被死死按住，只能眼睁睁看着大黄蜂替她承受那原本致命的毒素。

不知过了多久，当蕾丝体内的最后一丝紫色褪去，恢复成原本模样时，大黄蜂猛地抽回手，踉跄着后退了一步，她的半边身体已经笼罩在一层淡淡的紫气中，呼吸也变得粗重。
这种毒素对她来说虽不致命，但带来的痛苦足以让最坚韧的战士崩溃。

她看着瘫软在地、劫后余生却满脸茫然的蕾丝，声音因痛苦而沙哑，却带着不容置疑的力量:

“现在……你这条命，又一次……是我给你的了。”

“别再……轻易浪费它。”

说完，她不再看蕾丝的反应，强忍着毒素带来的剧痛，转身，一步一步，坚定地再次走向荒原的深处。
只是这一次，她的背影在蕾丝眼中，不再是冷漠的离去，而是化作了一座为她承受了痛苦、并将继续前行的、沉默的山峦。

蕾丝躺在冰冷的地上，望着那片逐渐远去的红色，第一次，失去了所有言语。

大黄蜂强撑着走了几步，那“寂灭之蕊”的毒素如同无数烧红的细针在她经络中窜行，剧烈的痛苦让她终于无法维持挺拔的姿态，闷哼一声，痛苦地弓下了身，织针拄地才勉强支撑。

就在这时，一双手臂从旁稳稳地扶住了她。
蕾丝没有说话，只是沉默地将大黄蜂沉重的手臂绕过自己的脖颈，搭在她略显单薄的肩膀上，用自己的身体作为支撑。

“你现在这副样子去荒原，和送死没什么区别。”蕾丝的声音生硬，带着一丝不易察觉的别扭，“……还是先回去休息几天吧。”她没有看大黄蜂的眼睛，仿佛只是在陈述一个客观事实。

大黄蜂侧过头，看着蕾丝近在咫尺的侧脸，以及那紧抿着的、似乎还在倔强的嘴唇，最终，她没有拒绝这份支撑。

回到钟心镇，当镇长帕沃看到平日里威严强大的救星小姐竟被蕾丝搀扶着回来，半边身体笼罩着不祥的紫气，他惊得几乎说不出话来。

蕾丝却异常冷静，直接对帕沃吩咐道：“别发呆了！去准备些上好的贝壳粉末，研磨得越细越好，能缓解她现在的痛苦。”她那熟练而笃定的语气，让帕沃下意识地应声而去。

将大黄蜂安置在钟居的床铺上，蕾丝打来清水，拧干布巾，动作算不上温柔，却异常仔细地擦拭着大黄蜂额间因痛苦而渗出的冷汗。

“……你，”大黄蜂虚弱地睁开眼，看着眼前这个专注的、与她争斗了许久的“孩子”，声音因毒素而断断续续，“你其实……比看上去……更懂关心人，不、不是吗？”

蕾丝擦拭的动作微微一顿，随即别开脸，语气重新变得生硬：“少说几句废话，多留点体力才能快点恢复。”可她微微泛红的耳尖，却暴露了内心的不平静。

为了更好的疗效，蕾丝甚至独自深入壳木林，在晨露未干时，精心采摘了最新鲜、蕴含生命力量的花瓣，回来细细熬煮成一碗清澈芬芳的花瓣茶。
这茶对于净化毒素有奇效。

然而，当她端着药碗回到床边时，却发现大黄蜂已经因毒素和疲惫再次陷入昏迷，牙关紧咬，根本无法自行服药。

蕾丝端着碗，在床边僵立了片刻，脸上掠过一丝挣扎和羞赧。
最终，她像是下定了某种决心，低声嘟囔了一句：“……真是麻烦。”

她深吸一口气，自己含了一口温热的药汁，然后俯下身，极其轻柔地、小心翼翼地用手捏开大黄蜂的下颌，将自己的唇瓣贴了上去，用气息缓缓将药汁渡入对方口中。

就在她进行到第二次时，身下的人忽然发出一声极轻的嘤咛，那双熟悉的眼眸缓缓睁开，正好对上了蕾丝近在咫尺、写满了惊慌的双眼。

蕾丝像被烫到一样猛地弹开，脸色瞬间涨得通红，连脖颈都染上了一层绯色。
她慌乱地用手背擦着嘴，语无伦次地解释：“我、我可不是故意要占你便宜的！都、都怪你昏迷不醒，我怎么都喂不进去，才、才只能用这种……这种方法！”她越说声音越小，几乎要找个地缝钻进去。

出乎意料的是，大黄蜂并没有动怒，也没有质问。
她只是静静地看着蕾丝手足无措的样子，嘴角微微向上牵起，勾勒出一个极其虚弱，却无比真实的、带着些许温柔和了然的浅浅笑容。

这笑容让蕾丝更加无地自容。
她几乎是赌气般地将药碗和勺子“哐当”一声放在床头柜上，背过身去，声音闷闷的：“既然你醒了，就自己吃！”

“太不巧了，”大黄蜂的声音依旧虚弱，却带上了一丝微不可查的调侃，“我的手……好像还没有办法抬起来。”

“少来！”蕾丝猛地回头，瞪着她，“你的声音明明很有精神！”

大黄蜂像是没听到她的反驳，只是自顾自地继续说着，语气带着一种罕见的、示弱般的无奈：“如果……我没有中毒的话，也不会像现在这样……无能为力了。”

这句话像一根细针，轻轻扎破了蕾丝强装出来的硬壳。
她看着床上那个曾经不可一世、此刻却连抬手都困难的强者，内心挣扎了片刻，最终还是认命般地、带着一脸“真拿你没办法”的烦躁表情，重新端起了碗。

“先说好！”她恶声恶气地强调，仿佛在完成一项极其不情愿的任务，“我只喂这一次！”

然后，她坐下来，用勺子舀起药汁，仔细地吹凉，再一勺一勺地，动作略显笨拙却异常专注地，喂到大黄蜂的唇边。

大黄蜂配合地慢慢吞咽着，温热的药汁带着花瓣的清香流入身体，驱散着毒素带来的寒意。
随着药汁见底，她脸上的气色似乎真的以肉眼可见的速度好转了一些，那抹萦绕不散的紫气也淡去了不少。

房间里安静下来，只剩下勺子偶尔触碰碗壁的轻微声响，以及两人之间那悄然流动的、不再充满对抗的微妙氛围。

几天后，在蕾丝算不上无微不至、却绝对尽心竭力的照料下，大黄蜂体内的毒素被彻底清除，力量也恢复了七八成。
清晨的阳光透过窗棂，她站在房间中央，整理着自己的披风和织针，语气平静地告知:

“我的身体已恢复健康。明天一早，我会出发。”

话音落下，房间里陷入一片寂静。
蕾丝站在她身后，低着头，双手紧紧攥着自己的衣角，指节因用力而泛白。
就在大黄蜂以为她会像往常一样，用沉默或尖刻的话语来应对别离时，却感觉到披风传来一股细微却坚定的拉力。

她回过头，看见蕾丝的手正拽着她的披风一角，那动作带着一种孩子般的怯懦与固执。

“我……”蕾丝的声音细微如蚊蚋，却清晰地回荡在安静的房间里，“我想跟你走。”

这一次，大黄蜂没有像最初那样拒绝，也没有询问理由。
她只是静静地看着蕾丝，看着她低垂的头颅和微微颤抖的肩膀，仿佛看穿了她所有的不安与挣扎。
经历了这么多，这个任性的孩子终于不是选择毁灭，也不是选择留下，而是选择……跟随。

“好。”大黄蜂的回答简单而肯定。

然而，蕾丝接下来的话，却出乎了她的意料。

“可是……我害怕。”蕾丝终于抬起头，眼中不再是挑衅或虚无，而是某种更深沉的、对自身不确定性的恐惧，“我害怕独自一人的时候，那些……那些糟糕的念头会回来。我怕我控制不住某些冲动，在半路上……又会做出让你失望的、愚蠢的事情。”

她的手指，颤抖地指向自己白皙的脖颈——那个曾经承载着沉重灵魂烙印，后又获得自由的地方。

“所以……”她深吸一口气，仿佛用尽了全身的勇气，声音却异常坚定，“……可以请你……再次标记我吗？”

这个请求，无异于主动将刚刚获得的自由双手奉还，主动要求戴上枷锁。
但这一次，枷锁的意义已然不同。
它不再是惩罚与征服的象征，而是她向大黄蜂祈求的、一道防止自我坠落的护栏，一份来自外部的、坚定的守护。

大黄蜂凝视着她，眼中闪过一丝了然，以及一丝极淡的、近乎怜惜的情绪。
她明白了，这个标记对如今的蕾丝而言，不再是屈辱，而是安全感的锚点。

“如你所愿。”

这一次，大黄蜂没有动用那份源自沃姆血脉的、带着绝对统治意味的灵魂烙印之力。
那力量太过霸道，承载着太多的“臣服”与“支配”，不适合此刻蕾丝那颗小心翼翼、主动靠近的心。

她倾身上前，尖锐的毒牙再次轻轻刺入蕾丝颈侧脆弱的甲壳缝隙。
但注入的，不再是那带着熔金般意志的王者之力，而是属于她自身、更为纯粹的本源力量——一种猎手的标记。

这个标记温和而坚定，它不像之前那样深入骨髓、刻印灵魂，而是如同一个无声的宣告，缠绕在蕾丝的灵丝之上。

它传递的不再是“你必须服从”，而是“我在此处，你已在我的庇护之下”。
它带着守护的意味，如同猎手在自己庇护的领地边缘留下的气息，警告外界，也安抚内部。

当大黄蜂退开，蕾丝下意识地抬手，指尖轻轻触摸着颈侧那个新生的、带着温热感的标记。
那里不再有灼烧般的剧痛，也没有了令人窒息的强制力，只有一种奇异的、稳定的暖流，缓缓渗入她的体内。

一种久违的、几乎被她遗忘的感觉——安全感，如同温润的水流，悄然漫过她干涸的心田。
她不再是一个漂泊无依、可以随意抛弃自我的孤魂。她有了归处，有了束缚，也有了……牵绊。

她看着大黄蜂，眼中水光潋滟，最终只是低声说了一句：
“谢谢……还有，我不会再让你需要这样救我了。”

说罢，蕾丝像是用尽了全身的勇气与决心，向前一步，深深地埋首，将自己投入了那片熟悉的、带着战斗尘埃与冰冷甲壳气息的怀抱。

她伸出手臂，紧紧地、几乎是笨拙地环住了大黄蜂的腰身，将全身的重量都依靠了过去。
这个拥抱毫无技巧可言，却带着一种孤注一掷的、近乎疼痛的力量，仿佛迷途的幼兽终于寻回了巢穴，要将自己彻底融入其中。

她的脸颊紧贴着大黄蜂的颈间，同时能感受到甲壳下传来的、沉稳而有力的心跳声。
那节奏穿透甲壳，透过她冰凉的肌肤，一声一声，敲打在她空洞了太久的心房上，驱散了最后徘徊不去的虚无与寒意。

她没有再说话，只是更紧地收拢了手臂，指尖因为用力而微微发白，身体难以自抑地轻轻颤抖。
这不是悲伤，而是一种巨大的、几乎令她无法承受的安定感席卷而来时的自然反应。

大黄蜂先是微微一怔，身体有瞬间的僵硬。
但很快，她感受到怀中躯壳那不顾一切的依赖与轻颤，那双总是锐利如刀锋的眼眸，悄然柔和了下来。
她没有言语，只是抬起手，带着些许迟疑，最终却坚定地、轻轻地回抱住了蕾丝颤抖的脊背。

Chapter Text

The unsettling silence of the Void permeated the seashore, broken only by the eerie sound of waves lapping against the "shoreline." Hornet's hands braced against the icy ground, a wave of dizziness washing over her from the severe overexertion of her silk.

Just then, from the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse—that white figure, who should have been lying weak and fallen, was slowly, unsteadily, pushing itself up from the ground. Then, step by step, with unwavering determination, it began walking toward the all-devouring dark sea.

"What... are you trying to do?" Hornet's voice carried a tremble she herself hadn't noticed, her gaze one of disbelief fixed on that resolute back.

"Isn't it obvious?" Lace did not turn back. Her voice was terrifyingly calm, as if stating a fact that had nothing to do with her, and her steps did not falter.

"Do you think... I would cherish this life you worked so hard to drag back from the abyss?"

Lace stopped at the edge of the Void and finally let out a short, cold, derisive laugh. "I don't care."

As the words fell, she leaped down.

In that instant, Hornet felt her heart being violently yanked into the icy depths along with Lace, its beat ceasing abruptly.

However, the expected scene of being swallowed by darkness did not last.

A moment later, the Shade Lord slowly rose, unceremoniously tossing the struggling Lace back onto the shore as if disposing of troublesome garbage.

The little knight, hands on hips, sent over a wave of disdainful intent:

(Little sister, is this your thing? Keep an eye on her. We Void are quite picky eaters. We don't accept mushroom essences drenched in your silk scent who just clamor to die.)

Lace staggered to her feet, wiping the sticky Void substance from her face with exasperation. She crossed her arms, muttering in unwilling frustration, "Damn it... Why is even the Void on your side..."

At that moment, a shadow fell over her.

Hornet strode forward until she stood before Lace. Without any warning, she drove her fist hard into Lace's abdomen—avoiding any vital spots, but with enough force to convey a shattering agony.

"Cough...!" Lace hacked, dark blood streaking from her mouth. The excruciating pain made her curl in on herself, yet she lifted her head, a distorted, gratified smile blooming on her face. "What's this? Done playing the savior, full of pity and compassion? Finally... finally tearing off the disguise and killing me here? Come on!"

Hornet didn't answer. Instead, she seized Lace by the front of her garment, hauled her upright, and slammed her brutally against the rock wall behind them with a dull, heavy thud.

She leaned in close, her sharp eyes burning with an intensity never seen before, yet her voice was suppressed, like the low pressure before a storm:

"Do you think... your life still belongs only to you now?!"

"Did I exhaust all my strength, dragging you out from that despair that even devours light, just to stand here and watch you leap back in?!"

Lace, enduring the pain in her back and the suffocating pressure, met her gaze and repeated, word by grinding word: "I. Told. You. I. Don't. Care! This life, or this body—do what you want with it! Torture it, destroy it, it's all the same to me!"

Yet, the fire in Hornet's eyes strangely settled, transforming into something deeper, more complex. She looked at Lace as if seeing through all her disguises.

"Child," her voice lowered, carrying a near-cruel insight, "You're just trying to anger me. You're using my rage to mask the hollowness inside you, to find a seemingly heroic excuse for your meaningless self-destruction."

Exposed, her most hidden thoughts laid bare, Lace flinched as if scalded. Her emotions spiraled out of control instantly. "Yes! So what?!" she shrieked. "Don't think every bug will be grateful for your 'blessing'! I never will! I will never grovel at your feet as you wish, never be thankful for it!"

Watching her hysterical state, the last flicker of emotion vanished from Hornet's eyes, leaving only absolute, unquestionable authority.

"Since that's the case," she released her grip, letting Lace slump to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut, her voice as cold as eternal ice, "I will personally teach you... what it means to fear."

Hornet stood over the limp Lace, her shadow completely enveloping her.

Hornet released her hand, allowing Lace to collapse to the ground like a severed puppet. But in the next instant, her shell-covered foot pressed down on Lace's chest, the force controlled perfectly—enough to bring crushing pressure and a groan from her bones, yet not enough to truly shatter her.

"You don't care?" Hornet leaned down, her eyes beneath the mask devoid of any warmth, holding only the cold scrutiny of a predator. "Good. Then I'll use the only language you still understand—pain—to teach you."

The sharp tips of her claws extended from her fingertips, mercilessly piercing the vulnerable joint where Lace's shoulder plate met her arm. It wasn't a fatal wound, but it was where the nerves were most concentrated, the pain most acute.

"Feel it," Hornet's voice was like cold steel, her wrist turning, grinding precisely against the nerve bundle. "This is the feeling of being alive. The Void cannot give you this. Only by living can you experience such... vivid agony."

She wanted Lace to remember: pain is the most fundamental, the most real perception granted by life.

As Lace curled up from the intense pain, Hornet grabbed her hair, dragged her roughly to the edge of the Void sea, and forced her head toward the churning darkness.

"See clearly! This is the end you yearn for!" Just as the darkness was about to touch Lace's face, Hornet yanked her back and pressed her against the cold ground. "Your body is trembling, your silk is taut, your soul is screaming in resistance—no matter what your mouth says about not caring, your body, your instincts, they want to live!"

"Since you have abandoned the right to dispose of it, from now on, it is entirely under my dominion."

Hornet pinned Lace firmly against the icy ground, their shells colliding with a dull thud. All of Lace's struggles seemed futile in the face of such absolute disparity in strength.

Then, Hornet leaned down, parted her jaws, and drove her hunter's sharp fangs precisely into the most vulnerable seam of Lace's neck.

A sharp, piercing pain came first, followed not by pure paralysis, but by the injection of a strange, burning venom. Lace felt all her strength drain away instantly, her limbs turning weak and limp.

But this was only the beginning.

More terrifying than the venom was an ancient, imposing force that flooded in with it. Like molten, incandescent gold, it surged through her veins, and wherever it reached, every cell screamed and trembled.

This force was not content with destruction. It carried an unquestionable will, striking against the core of her soul like an invisible hammer, delivering one single, relentless command—

Submit.

This was the power of the Pale King's lineage, the deep-seated, barely suppressable instinct to dominate rooted deep within Hornet's very soul. Now, under this extreme emotional turmoil, this power was fully unleashed, and it found its outlet—to utterly conquer the soul before her that sought to break all bonds.

Make her compliant.
Make her yield.
Make her remember, from her soul to her very body, exactly who her master was.

When Hornet finally pulled away from Lace, a new mark glowed with a faint, yet undeniable light upon that pale neck.

The mark's pattern was strange and intricate, as if a pale soul and resilient silk had intertwined and fused. It bore both the absolute authority of the Wyrm's bloodline, and contained the unique vitality and binding force of the Weavers.
It was a declaration,a brand, a covenant that from this moment onward, bound their destinies together more profoundly.

"This is my mark." Blood seeped over Lace's shell, accompanied by a burning, searing pain. "From the inside out, from your soul to this very shell, you belong to me. Without my permission, you are not even worthy of feeling pain alone."

Finally, Hornet gripped Lace's jaw, forcing her to look at her. "Listen, child. I will not kill you. That would be too merciful."
"I want you to live.To feel, with utter clarity, the agony each breath brings. To feel the weight borne by every heartbeat. I want you to carry my mark and live until the day you can no longer avoid facing the consequences of all you have abandoned."
"Death is not your release.Living, enduring all of this, is your cruelest, and most just, punishment."

Lace gasped for air, her body weakened by the venom, but the fire of defiance in her eyes had not been extinguished. She stubbornly lifted her head, glaring at Hornet, her voice trembling with weakness yet filled with a desperate, final resolve: "You think... this will make me yield? You can't watch me forever... I will always find a chance... to kill myself!"

Hornet simply stood there, her red cloak motionless in the faint Void breeze. She watched Lace, her gaze chillingly calm, as if examining a misbehaving child.

"Then you can try."

Those lightly spoken words carried more pressure than any threat.

Infuriated by this absolute,nearly indifferent confidence, Lace mustered all her strength, struggling to rise from the ground. Her eyes locked onto her own needle, lying fallen not far away. She stumbled toward it, lunging to grab it—the cold touch spreading from her palm.

End it, she thought. Just one strike, and it will all be over.

She gripped the needle with both hands, aiming its sharp point at the weakest joint in her chest plate. With her last shred of resolve, she drove it down—

But just before the point could touch the shell, a terror beyond death itself, originating from the very depths of her soul, swept over her like the coldest abyssal wave, crashing through every corner of her consciousness!

It was not fear of pain, nor dread of oblivion. It was an absolute, unquestionable, law-level suppression.

Submit.
Serve endlessly.
Offer up your all, your will, your very existence.

These thoughts were not sounds, but absolute commands that burned directly into her soul like brands. They tyrannically crushed her thinking, tearing her "self-termination" notion to shreds. The stronger her will to resist, the more terrible the backlash from this bloodline and soul brand became.

"Gah—!"

Lace let out a pained cry. The needle slipped from her suddenly powerless hands, clattering to the ground. She clutched her head tightly, feeling as if her consciousness was being torn apart by two opposing forces—one being her defiant self, the other being the supreme decree demanding absolute loyalty.

The headache was splitting, as if countless red-hot iron rods were stirring inside her skull.

This agony did not target the flesh; it was directly applied to the very essence of her being. She finally understood clearly: that mark was not just a symbol, but a vicious shackle—it forbade any form of "betrayal," including the destruction of the life that had been "bestowed."

Only when the thought of "suicide" completely vanished from her mind, as if erased by an invisible rule, did the nearly maddening pain and terror slowly recede like the tide.

She collapsed to the ground, soaked in cold sweat, left only with a post-crisis exhaustion and a deeper despair about her future fate. She understood: from now on, even the freedom of "death" no longer belonged to her.

Hornet extended her hand to her, that chitin-covered hand hovering steadily between the lingering motes of Void and the light of reality, without a single tremor. Lace looked down at that hand—the very hand that had dragged her back from the abyss, pinned her to the ground, and carved an eternal brand into her neck. She hesitated for a moment, a complex mix of hatred, humiliation, and an indescribable hint of dependence churning in her chest. In the end, slowly, stiffly, she placed her own icy hand into it.

"Now, it's time to leave this place." Hornet's voice had regained its usual composure, as if the heart-stopping conquest at the edge of the Void had never happened.
She tightened her grip on Lace's hand. The strength was inescapable, yet not brutal, merely an absolute, guiding force pulling her away from the deathly silent shore and onto the path leading back to the world above.

Returning to Bellhart, the warm lantern light and the clamor of voices washed over them, a stark contrast to the silence of the Void.
Pavo hurried forward to greet them,his face beaming with the joy of survival. "Our savior! You've returned! The town is holding a grand celebration feast tonight to thank you for dispelling the shadows. You simply must honor us with your presence..."

Hornet raised a hand slightly, halting his effusive invitation. Her gaze inadvertently flickered toward the silent, gloomy white figure beside her. "Pavo, I appreciate the offer, but there are matters I must attend to." Her tone was even, yet carried an undeniable finality.

Pavo followed her gaze, letting it rest on the white form radiating gloom. He seemed to understand instantly, his enthusiastic expression softening into one of comprehension. He bowed slightly and murmured, "Of course, of course... Well then, I wish you a... pleasant evening."

Without another word, Hornet merely tightened her hold on Lace's hand and led her directly back to her bellhome.
The door closed behind them,shutting out the outside noise completely. Inside, only the two of them remained. The air instantly grew thick and still.

"Take your clothes off." Hornet's voice cut through the quiet of the room, flat and devoid of any discernible emotion.

Lace stiffened for a moment, then a twisted, mocking smile spread across her face. She deliberately adopted an exaggerated tone, "Ha? Couldn't wait to get me home? You're even more... thirsty than I imagined." She tried to use her words as weapons, to pierce the suffocating stillness.

Hornet slowly turned. Her red eyes glowed like embers in the dim light. She didn't raise her voice, merely repeated, the words now carrying immense weight, "Do not make me repeat myself."

The authority in that gaze instantly froze the mockery on Lace's face. She bit her lower lip, but ultimately complied.
The white garment slid away,rustling to the floor, revealing the pure black skin beneath—a stark contrast to the silken shell, a darkness that seemed to concentrate the very essence of the abyss, gleaming with a sombre lustre in the faint room light.

Hornet approached. Her gaze swept over Lace's exposed skin like a precision probe, inspecting for any potential injuries left from their previous conflict.
Her fingertips occasionally passed close to certain shell joints,but never truly made contact. After a moment, she seemed satisfied and took a step back. "Hmm. No other injuries requiring attention."

Lace wrapped her arms around herself, a gesture that felt pointless now. She continued to provoke, trying to reclaim some shred of initiative: "Oh, spare me the noble excuses. You just wanted to admire my exquisite figure, didn't you? Had to invent some flimsy pretext." She even deliberately arched her back slightly, emphasizing her curves.

"I don't deny you have an alluring form," Hornet said, walking to the table, sitting down, and picking up a quill and a scroll. She began writing, not even looking up, her tone as neutral as if discussing the weather. "But I have no interest in you right now." Her attention seemed completely absorbed by the text before her.

Infuriated by this utter dismissal, Lace huffed and flopped onto the bed, her slender legs kicking idly in the air. She persisted, probing with her words, "Oh? And when will you be interested? The next time I find a way to kill myself?" She hoped this topic might sting, might elicit even a flicker of reaction.

Hornet's writing hand didn't falter. The quill scratched softly across the parchment. Her reply was clear and cold, like stating a law of physics: "I will not worry about that. Because now, you are incapable of doing anything."

This statement was like a key, perfectly unlocking the cage named 'despair' within Lace's heart. The deliberately maintained levity on her face collapsed instantly, replaced by a profound sense of powerlessness.
She let out a frustrated,helpless "Tch," and buried her face in the soft bedding.

Hornet was right. That brand wasn't just carved into her neck; it was etched deep into her very soul.
She had been utterly stripped of the freedom to end her own life. Before this grim "master," she was like a puppet with its strings cut, unable even to fall without permission.

What she had lost was something more fundamental than life itself—the right to choose. And within this suffocating confinement, the future seemed to hold nothing but an endless, forced state of "existence."

Inside the dwelling, time seemed to freeze.
Lace lay on her back on the bedding,her gaze hollow, fixed on the wooden grain of the ceiling. Those winding lines resembled the palm prints of fate, and she was trapped within them, unable to move.

It wasn't that thoughts of suicide didn't surface. But each time they began to form, the intangible brand at her soul's core would emit a low hum—not agonizing pain, but a more despairing, law-level prohibition.
Like an insect crashing against an invisible pane of glass,no matter how hard it tried, it could not break through the unseen barrier.

She didn't know what purpose her life served now.
Revenge?She couldn't win.
Suicide?Not allowed.
She couldn't even provoke Hornet anymore,couldn't make her react with anger—that woman now completely ignored all her verbal taunts, as if Lace were merely a piece of breathing furniture.

This was indeed, as Hornet had said, an unmitigated "torment" precisely targeted at her soul.
A feeling of absolute isolation,of being utterly abandoned by the entire world—including death itself—enveloped her.

A few days later, perhaps unable to bear witnessing her completely "decayed" state any longer, Hornet tried a new approach.
She handed a package of supplies to Lace,her tone as calm as ever. "Take these to the temporary shelter in The Marrow."

Lace lifted her eyelids, looked at her, didn't ask why, didn't resist. She simply took the items in silence.
Resistance was meaningless. The action itself was meaningless. So what difference did it make, to do it or not?

She made her way through the paths of Bellhart, slowly regaining their vitality, and descended into the gloomy depths of The Marrow.
The bugs in the shelter huddled in corners,their eyes dull and lifeless.
Flick,a young beetle who seemed somewhat more spirited than the others, accepted the supplies, his face lighting up with genuine, almost radiant gratitude. "This is great! Thank you! This food and medicine will be a huge help. With these supplies, we can last a bit longer."

Lace looked at his hopeful face, but inside, she felt only a frozen, stagnant stillness.
She couldn't even muster the energy to force a fake smile.

Happiness?
What a luxurious and empty word.
So what if they had these supplies?In this world fraught with danger, they could all be dead tomorrow —crushed in a sudden collapse, slain by roaming beasts, or simply taken by a common illness.

These supplies were merely prolonging their inevitably miserable lives, adding a few more meaningless days and nights.
This so-called"charity," in her view, was nothing but hypocritical benevolence that only extended the suffering.

She didn't acknowledge Flick's thanks, turning away indifferently and leaving that corner filled with fleeting hope and inevitable despair.

Back in the dwelling, she didn't need to say a word. The nihilistic aura she exuded was even heavier than before she had left, saying everything.

Hornet glanced up at her, a flicker of something nearly imperceptible in her sharp eyes—disappointment, or something else? Lace couldn't be bothered to decipher it.

She walked straight back to the bed and dropped onto it like a log devoid of all strength, fully transforming into a "dreamless salted fish," utterly lacking even the desire to turn over.

Across the room, Hornet set down the scroll she hadn't written a word on for some time, her gaze resting on Lace's lifeless form.
She realized that the coercive soul brand seemed to have indeed blocked all of Lace's "malicious intent," but it had also drained her of all her "vitality."

Hornet couldn't help but reflect inwardly: Has the brand's restraint... been too absolute? Before, she was like a dangerous flame, burning herself up, but at least she was intense and alive. She would scheme, struggle, and exert herself fully for the goal of 'ending it all'—that in itself was a powerful proof of 'being alive.' But now...

Now, Lace was like embers stripped of all their fuel, the last spark utterly extinguished, leaving only cold, slowly dissipating ash.

She no longer sought to touch the forbidden, but in doing so, she had abandoned everything.
Forcing her to"live" seemed no different from watching her "die slowly."

Hornet's fingers absently tapped the desk as she pondered: I have stripped her of the right to choose death, but how... can I give her a reason to live?

The answer to this question was far more difficult than conquering a rebellious soul with force.

Within the room, only the silence remained, so heavy it could crush the very air between them.
One was sinking into the void,while the other searched for a lifeline to pull her back—a lifeline whose location remained unknown.

Days later, as Lace mechanically followed Hornet's orders, forced to sort through the accumulated debris of past adventures piled in the corner of the dwelling, her fingers brushed against a cold, familiar object.

Her movements froze.

Slowly, she drew it out—it was the mask her sister, Phantom, had once worn.
The spiritual light it once held had completely vanished,leaving only a clean, sharp crack from a needle's strike, like an eternal rest.

Lace's fingers trembled as they traced the crack. The cold touch burned her fingertips like fire.
All the accumulated nihilism,despair, and rage of the past days now found a concrete focus, a target for their outpouring.

When Hornet returned from outside and pushed the door open, Lace shot toward her like a bolt of white lightning, desperately grabbing the front of her garment. Lace's eyes blazed with tormented fire, her voice torn apart by extreme emotion:

"Why did you kill her!" The accusation seemed to drain all the strength from her body.

Hornet's eyes calmly observed the distorted face so close to her own. She didn't break free, answering only in her usual, matter-of-fact tone: "It was the end she deserved."

"The end she deserved?" Lace recoiled as if stung, her voice growing sharper. "Then why didn't you kill me! You had so many chances! At the edge of the Abyss, any time you had me subdued! Why her! Why spare me!"

Facing this rapid-fire barrage of pain and confusion, a flicker of profound complexity passed deep within Hornet's eyes.
She didn't answer directly. Instead, with a near-cruel calmness, she began to outline a truth Lace had never known.

"Child," her voice lowered, "your kin was different from you."
The words struck Lace's burning emotions like a bucket of ice water.

"She wanted to live," Hornet continued, each word clear and heavy. "She exhausted all her own silk, and with a twisted obsession, began forcibly draining it from other, weaker bugs—stealing their essence, all for one more breath, one more second of existence. She was like a drowning creature clutching at any straw, even if that straw was another's life."

Her gaze seemed to pierce through Lace, seeing the soul that had struggled so desperately to survive, only to become utterly warped in the process.

"But her life was already spent. Her soul was thoroughly corroded by this ruthless desire. She was like a patient terminally ill and in agony, for whom living had become endless torture. All I did was fulfill my duty as a protector and grant a warrior the swift, clean end she deserved. It was mercy, not murder."

The truth was unbearably cruel.
Lace had always believed her sister was like her,filled with hatred and alienation for this world.
She never imagined that Phantom had clung to life with such desperate,crazyly craving,while she herself had been so ready to discard her own shell.

"And what about me?" Lace's voice began to tremble, her grip on Hornet's collar loosening unconsciously. "You could have taken my life as easily as you released her... Why didn't you? Why must I be the one left alive to endure all this!"

Hornet gazed at her, and in those calm eyes, a look finally surfaced—one of near pity, yet imbued with absolute authority.

"Because," her voice was resolute, like a final judgment, "destroying a soul like yours, one that consciously, stubbornly chooses ruin, would not be an end. It would be indulging your selfish willfulness. Death is too easy for you. It is the cheapest release you have always sought. I will not grant it to you."

Thud.

Lace's hand, clutching Hornet's collar, slid away, utterly devoid of strength.
As if all the bones had been pulled from her body,her legs gave way, and she knelt straight down before Hornet. The tears were no longer an outpouring of rage, but had become silent, desperate sobs, her shoulders shaking violently.

She had always believed herself to be the tragic protagonist, rebelling against a meaningless world forced upon her.
Only now did she understand that, in the face of a true survivor, her 'noble' desire for death was so childish and... shameful.

Hornet hadn't killed her not out of cherishment, but because her "unworthiness of death" seemed so frivolous, so insignificant compared to her sister's "inability to live."

This realization shattered what little sense of self she had left, more completely than any physical blow ever could.
Kneeling there,she was no longer a rebel, merely a lost child, utterly broken by the truth.

Lace remained kneeling on the floor, her sobs gradually quieting, but the ensuing silence was more unsettling than any cry could have been.

The cold touch of Phantom's mask seemed to linger on her fingertips, echoing in her mind alongside Hornet's words, replaying in an endless loop.

"She wanted to live..."

"It was mercy, not murder."

"Indulging your selfish willfulness."

Each word was like a blunt knife, slowly and precisely cutting apart her understanding of her sister, of herself, of every action she had ever taken.

Hornet watched all of this in silence.
She understood that the"truth bomb" she had dropped was too powerful, almost completely leveling what little remained of Lace's already shattered mental world.

The old balance had been broken, but no new foundation had been laid.
Lace was now in a state of"psychological shock," more dangerous than simple nihilism.

That night, not a single sound could be heard within the dwelling, yet the air was heavy with unspoken weight.
Lace did not sleep.She sat at the table like a pale statue, her fingertips tracing the cold crack on Phantom's mask over and over.
This crack,once the focal point of all her rage and grief, now acted as a mirror, reflecting her own self—a soul whose desire for death seemed frivolous, even willful.

And on the other side of the room, Hornet lay in the darkness, her eyes faintly glowing in the shadows.
She,too, remained awake.
The image of Lace's utterly broken form kneeling on the ground was seared into her mind,impossible to shake.

She realized that the cage forged from "restraint" and "truth" might confine Lace's body, but it would only push her soul into a deeper void.

Forcing "life" upon her was an act of arrogance, no different from condoning her "death."

Perhaps I truly have no way to give her a reason to live, Hornet thought, reluctant to admit it, yet forced to concede.
Her current actions were no different from her father,who desired his kingdom's eternity—just wishful thinking, a desperate, final struggle.

The next day, before first light, when the morning mist still clung to the air, Hornet was already prepared to depart. She walked up behind Lace, who remained seated at the table, her voice utterly calm:
"I'm leaving."

Lace's shoulders trembled almost imperceptibly. She whipped her head around, her eyes filled with disbelief.

Before she could voice a question, Hornet reached out. Her fingertips glowed with a faint light as she gently touched Lace's neck.

The soul mark, that symbol of absolute bondage and connection, dissipated like dust scattered by the wind, leaving behind only smooth shell.
The invisible shackles that had haunted the depths of Lace's soul vanished along with it.

"From now on, I will not interfere with anything you wish to do." Hornet's tone was detached, as if discussing the weather. "If you wish to end yourself, then go ahead."

Then, she casually tossed a string of cold keys onto the table beside Lace, where they landed with a sharp clatter.
"And...this dwelling is yours."

With that, showing not a trace of sentiment, without even a final glance at Lace, she pushed the door open and walked into the grey, chill mist, disappearing from view.

She had chosen to leave before the world awoke, avoiding any possible farewell, true to her style.

The door closed softly.

Freedom regained.

This was a phrase Lace had once desperately yearned for.

She should have felt elated. She should have immediately rushed to the Void sea, or found some way to celebrate the restoration of her right to end her own life.

Yet, she didn't.

She simply sat quietly on the bed, picked up the keys that still held the residual warmth from Hornet's touch, and stared at them blankly. The expected relief and joy did not arrive; instead, they were replaced by a far greater, more suffocating... emptiness.

Now, when the prohibition on death was lifted, when she was truly free to make her own choice, she instead discovered that the once fiercely burning impulse for self-destruction, the one that had consumed all her reason, had somehow extinguished itself.

Why?

The question struck like a key, unexpectedly unlocking the deepest part of her heart, a lock she herself hadn't known existed.

Because... no one would be there to see it.

Her death would no longer be a declaration of defiance, no longer a challenge to Hornet's authority, no longer capable of stirring even a ripple in those eyes.
It would merely be the quiet decay of a nameless shell in some forgotten corner,soundless, stirring not a single echo.

It was in this moment that Lace felt as if struck by lightning, finally understanding what she had truly been craving all along.

What she wanted was never death itself.

What she wanted was Hornet's gaze.
It was her unyielding restraint,her cold commands, the—care—she showed, even in the form of anger and punishment.

Death was merely the most extreme, and clumsiest, tool she used to demand this "care."

With the sole audience gone, the drama staked with her very life lost all its meaning.

She clenched the keys in her hand, the cold metal edges biting into her palm. Outside the window, the sky was growing lighter. Bellhart was waking up, the faint sounds of vibrant life drifting in.

She had lost her shackles, yet felt bound by something even heavier.

She was free, yet had no idea where to go.

What Hornet had left her was more than just a set of keys and an empty dwelling; it was a naked question she now had to face alone:

When "death" could no longer be used to prove anything, when "living" was no longer about defying anyone, then Lace... for what purpose do you truly live?

Just as Hornet set foot on the connecting area between Pharloom and the Wastelands, ready to leave this land of Pharloom entirely, a white figure, like a stubborn specter, once again blocked her path.

Lace stood firm, gripping her slender needle tightly. Its tip glinted with an ominous golden sheen under the Wastelands' cold sunlight.

"Child," Hornet stopped, her red cloak hanging motionless in the wind, a trace of barely perceptible weariness in her tone, "what is it now?"

"Since I am free now," a near-manic, eager smile spread across Lace's face, "I naturally have the right to choose my own manner of death."

"You know I will not strike you down," Hornet stated flatly.

"It doesn't matter!" Lace's voice rose sharply, filled with a desperate, final resolve. "Because it won't be you who kills me!"

Before the words fully faded, she reversed her grip and drove the needle's tip hard into the vulnerable joint beneath her shoulder plate! The thick, almost living purple liquid within the needle's chamber was forced completely into her body.

"Gah—!"

A sharp pain wrenched a short grunt from her. Then, an eerie purple pattern, like spreading vines, rapidly extended from the injection site. Her body was visibly, gradually being enveloped by an ominous purple hue.

"This is 'Nihilbloom'," Lace panted, yet her face bore a strange flush. "As long as it remains in my body long enough, it will kill me completely. There is no antidote." She lifted her head, her eyes burning with a final, desperate light—the madness born from compressing life to its absolute limit.

"Before I die, I want to fight you one last time! A real, all-out battle!" With that, she gave Hornet no time to respond, charging forward like a bolt of purple lightning, with the ferocity of someone ready to take them both down!

"This is absurd!" Hornet snapped, her own white needle instantly unsheathed to parry the fierce strike.

Their weapons met with a sharp, grating clang.
Yet,upon the first clash, Hornet immediately noticed something was wrong—Lace's strength, speed, and physical resilience had multiplied several times over.
The toxin was slowly consuming her vitality while simultaneously draining her entire life potential, temporarily pushing her to a terrifying peak.

"Hahaha! Come on! Fight me!" Lace laughed wildly, her attacks falling like a storm, her needle tracing lethal arcs through the air.
She abandoned all defense,every move carrying a ruthless willingness to trade injury for injury, as if she were pouring out all the unspoken grievances, rage, dependence, and despair of her life in this single moment.

The battle raged fiercely across the desolate border.
Hornet defended calmly,but her expression grew increasingly grave.
She watched as the purple on Lace's body deepened,almost coalescing into a tangible, mist-like aura—a sign the toxin was steadily eroding her core.

In the end, the overextension of her strength and the fundamental disparity in their power created an opening in her frenzied assault.
Hornet seized the opportunity. With a deft flick of her needle, she deflected Lace's guard, closed the distance in an instant, and slammed her hard onto the cold ground.

Pinned down, Lace didn't struggle. Instead, she burst into even more unrestrained, joyous laughter, the sound echoing starkly across the barren wastes.

"Good! Now, just like you did with my sister Phantom," she looked up at Hornet, her purple eyes filled with a twisted expectation, "make it quick! This is the most perfect ending, isn't it?"

She knew this was an unsolvable choice.
There was no antidote for'Nihilbloom'. Hornet could either watch her die in agonizing torment, or personally deliver a "merciful" end, granting her this final, most dramatic act of "willfulness."

Yet, Hornet's choice forever defied her expectations.

"Foolish."

The icy critique fell. Hornet's pinning grip didn't lessen, but her other hand shot forward, fingers pressed together like a blade, their sharp tips blazing with pure, vital silk-light.
Without the slightest hesitation,she drove her fingertips directly into the seam of Lace's neck shell—right where the soul mark had once been!

"You... what are you doing?!" Lace stared, wide-eyed with horror.

Her answer was the violent influx of Hornet's own primordial silk.
It wasn't supple and cold like Lace's threads,but carried a scorching,nearly domineering force, brutally flooding Lace's channels. Its purpose wasn't destruction, but... replacement.

Hornet was using her own refined silk as a conduit and an attractant, forcibly sucking the 'Nihilbloom' toxin—now intertwined with Lace's own silk—stripping it away, and guiding it into her own body!

The process was incredibly perilous, requiring microscopic control over one's silk and the endurance of unimaginable agony.
The purple toxin traveled back along the silken bridge like greedy leeches,pouring into Hornet's form.
Her arm began to tremble slightly,faint purple patterns of corruption showing beneath her shell. Yet, she clenched her jaw, her resolute eyes never wavering.

"No... Stop! You'll..." Lace tried to struggle, but was held fast, forced to watch as Hornet took the lethal poison meant for her.

After what felt like an eternity, when the last trace of purple faded from Lace's body, restoring her original appearance, Hornet wrenched her hand back, staggering away a step. One side of her body was now shrouded in a faint purple haze, her breathing becoming labored.
While the toxin wasn't fatal to her,the suffering it brought was enough to break the hardiest warrior.

She looked down at Lace, who lay limp on the ground—spared from death but her face a mask of bewilderment. Hornet's voice was hoarse with pain, yet it carried undeniable force:

"Now... this life of yours... is once again... mine to give."

"Do not... waste it so lightly again."

With that, she ignored any reaction from Lace, turned, and—fighting against the excruciating pain of the toxin—began walking away, step by resolute step, back into the depths of the Wastelands.
Only this time,her retreating figure no longer seemed like a cold departure in Lace's eyes. It had transformed into a silent mountain—one that had borne suffering for her and would now march steadfastly on.

Lace lay on the cold ground, watching that patch of red gradually recede into the distance. For the first time, she was utterly lost for words.

Hornet managed only a few steps before the 'Nihilbloom' toxin, like countless red-hot needles searing through her channels, unleashed such agony that she could no longer maintain her upright posture. She grunted, buckling forward in pain, barely propping herself up with her needle.

Just then, a pair of arms steadied her firmly from the side.
Lace said nothing.She simply, silently, guided Hornet's heavy arm around her own neck, settling it across her somewhat slender shoulders, making her own body a living crutch.

"In your current state, heading into the Wastelands is no different from seeking death," Lace's voice was stiff, carrying a hint of imperceptible awkwardness. "...You should rest at the dwelling for a few days first." She didn't look at Hornet's eyes, as if merely stating an objective fact.

Hornet turned her head, observing Lace's pale profile so close to hers, and those tightly pressed lips that still seemed to hold a trace of stubborn defiance. In the end, she did not refuse the support.

Upon returning to Bellhart, Pavo was nearly speechless with shock to see the usually imposing and powerful savior, Hornet, being supported by Lace, one side of her body shrouded in an ominous purple aura.

Lace, however, was unusually calm. She directly instructed Pavo, "Stop gawking! Go prepare some high-quality shell powder. Grind it as fine as possible. It can ease her current suffering." Her practiced and assured tone made Pavo instinctively obey and hurry off.

After settling Hornet onto the bed within the dwelling, Lace fetched clean water, wrung out a cloth, and began wiping the cold sweat of pain from Hornet's brow. Her movements weren't gentle, but they were exceptionally meticulous.

"...You," Hornet weakly opened her eyes, looking at the focused "child" who had fought against her for so long. Her voice was fragmented by the toxin. "You're actually... more caring... than you appear... aren't you?"

Lace's wiping hand stilled for a moment. She then turned her face away, her tone turning stiff again. "Save your breath. More energy means a faster recovery." Yet, the faint red tinge on the tips of her ears betrayed her inner turmoil.

For better efficacy, Lace even ventured alone into the Shellwood when the morning dew still clung to it, carefully plucking the freshest petals brimming with vital energy. She returned and brewed them slowly into a clear, fragrant petal tea, known for its remarkable efficacy in purging toxins.

However, when she carried the medicine bowl back to the bedside, she found Hornet had succumbed to unconsciousness again, overwhelmed by the toxin and exhaustion. Her jaw was clenched tight, making it impossible for her to drink on her own.

Lace stood rigidly by the bed for a long moment, a struggle of hesitation and bashfulness flashing across her face.
Finally,as if steeling herself, she muttered under her breath, "...So much trouble."

She took a deep breath, scooped a mouthful of the warm liquid, then leaned down. With extreme gentleness and care, she pried open Hornet's jaw and pressed her own lips against them, using her breath to slowly transfer the medicine into the other's mouth.

Just as she was about to administer the second mouthful, a faint, soft moan escaped the figure beneath her. Those familiar eyes slowly fluttered open, meeting Lace's own, which were wide with panic from close proximity.

Lace jerked back as if scalded, her face instantly flushing a deep red that spread down her neck.
She frantically wiped her mouth with the back of her hand,stammering in explanation, "I-I wasn't trying to take advantage of you! It's... it's your fault for being unconscious! I couldn't get you to drink any other way, s-so I had to... use this method!" Her voice grew smaller with each word, as if she wished the ground would swallow her whole.

Contrary to all expectations, Hornet showed no anger, nor did she demand an explanation.
She simply watched Lace's flustered state quietly,the corners of her mouth lifting slightly to form an extremely weak, yet utterly genuine, faint smile tinged with a hint of tenderness and understanding.

That smile only made Lace feel more mortified.
She practically slammed the medicine bowl and spoon onto the bedside table with a clatter,turning her back, her voice muffled: "Since you're awake, you can manage yourself!"

"How unfortunate," Hornet's voice remained frail, but now carried a barely perceptible thread of teasing. "My arms... don't seem to be working yet."

"Don't give me that!" Lace whirled around, glaring at her. "You sound plenty energetic!"

Hornet acted as if she hadn't heard the retort, continuing on her own, her tone adopting a rare, almost helpless resignation: "If... I hadn't been poisoned, I wouldn't be so... powerless right now."

Those words acted like a fine needle, gently piercing the tough facade Lace had erected.
She looked at the figure on the bed—once so formidable,now struggling to even lift a hand—and wrestled internally for a moment. Finally, with a resigned, thoroughly exasperated expression that screamed 'fine, have it your way,' she picked up the bowl again.

"Just so we're clear!" she grumbled fiercely, as if undertaking a most unpleasant chore, "I'm only doing this once!"

Then she sat down, ladled the medicine, carefully blew on it to cool it, and began feeding it to Hornet, spoonful by spoonful. Her movements were somewhat clumsy, yet utterly focused.

Hornet cooperated, swallowing slowly. The warm liquid, carrying the floral scent of the petals, flowed into her, dispelling the chill left by the toxin.
As the bowl emptied,the color in her face seemed to genuinely improve at a visible rate, and the lingering purple haze around her faded noticeably.

The room grew quiet, save for the occasional soft clink of the spoon against the bowl, and the subtle, no longer adversarial, atmosphere flowing between them.

A few days later, under Lace's care—which couldn't be called meticulous, but was certainly wholehearted and diligent—the toxin was completely purged from Hornet's body, and her strength returned to about seventy or eighty percent.
Morning sunlight streamed through the window lattice. She stood in the center of the room, adjusting her cloak and needle, and announced calmly:

"My body has recovered. I will depart tomorrow at first light."

Silence descended upon the room following her words.
Lace stood behind her,head bowed, her hands clutching tightly at her own clothes, her knuckles turning white from the strain.
Just as Hornet expected her to respond to the parting with her usual silence or sharp words,she felt a slight but firm tug on her cloak.

She turned her head and saw Lace's hand clutching the edge of her cloak, a gesture imbued with a childlike timidity and stubbornness.

"I..." Lace's voice was as faint as a mosquito's hum, yet it echoed clearly in the quiet room. "I want to go with you."

This time, Hornet did not refuse her outright as she had initially, nor did she ask for reasons.
She simply watched Lace quietly,observing her bowed head and slightly trembling shoulders, as if seeing through all her anxiety and struggle.
After all they had been through,this willful child had finally chosen not destruction, nor staying behind, but... to follow.

"Alright." Hornet's reply was simple and affirmative.

However, Lace's next words took her by surprise.

"But... I'm afraid." Lace finally looked up, her eyes no longer holding challenge or nihilism, but something deeper—a fear of her own uncertainty. "I'm afraid that when I'm alone... those... those terrible thoughts will return. I'm afraid I won't be able to control certain impulses, that on the road... I'll do something foolish that disappoints you again."

Her trembling finger pointed to her own pale neck—the place that had once borne the heavy soul brand, and later been granted freedom.

"So..." She took a deep breath, as if mustering all her courage, her voice unusually firm. "...Could you... please... mark me again?"

This request was tantamount to voluntarily surrendering the freedom she had just regained, to asking for shackles to be placed upon herself once more.
But this time,the meaning of those shackles was fundamentally different.
They were no longer a symbol of punishment and conquest,but a plea from Lace to Hornet—a guardrail to prevent her own fall, a steadfast, external protection.

Hornet gazed at her, a flicker of understanding, and an emotion so faint it was almost pity, passing through her eyes.
She understood that for Lace now,this mark was no longer a humiliation, but an anchor of security.

"As you wish."

This time, Hornet did not call upon the power of the soul brand, that force born from the Wyrm's lineage, carrying the absolute imperative to dominate.
That power was too tyrannical, burdened with too much "submission" and "dominion," unsuitable for the heart Lace had proffered, choosing to approach despite her wariness.

She leaned forward, her sharp fangs once again gently piercing the vulnerable seam in Lace's neck shell.
But what she injected was no longer that kingly will,molten like gold. Instead, it was a purer, more intrinsic power belonging to Hornet herself—a hunter's mark.

This mark was gentle yet firm. It did not sink into the bone or etch the soul as the previous one had. It was more like a silent proclamation, winding itself around the threads of Lace's silk.

It no longer transmitted "You must obey," but rather "I am here. You are under my protection."
It carried the meaning of guardianship,like the scent a hunter leaves at the edge of their protected territory—a warning to the outside, and a reassurance to those within.

As Hornet pulled back, Lace instinctively raised her hand, her fingertips lightly touching the new mark on her neck, which radiated a gentle warmth.
There was no searing pain there now,no suffocating force of compulsion. Only a strange, steady warmth slowly seeped into her being.

A long-lost feeling, one she had almost forgotten—security—flowed over her parched heart like warm, gentle water.
She was no longer a drifting,rootless wraith who could casually discard herself. She had a place to belong, had bonds, and had... an attachment.

She looked at Hornet, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and finally said in a low voice:
"Thank you...And, I won't make you need to save me like this again."

With those words, Lace seemed to expend every last ounce of her courage and resolve. She took a step forward, burying her face deeply into that familiar embrace, which carried the scent of battle dust and cold shell.

She wrapped her arms around Hornet's waist, tightly, almost clumsily, leaning her full weight into the other.
The hug was utterly artless,yet it held a desperate, almost painful intensity, like a lost young beast finally finding its den, seeking to merge itself completely within.

Her cheek pressed against Hornet's neck, and she could feel the steady, strong heartbeat beneath the shell.
The rhythm penetrated the carapace,passed through her cool skin, and beat—thump after thump—against the chambers of a heart that had been hollow for far too long, dispelling the last lingering traces of nihility and chill.

She didn't speak again, only tightened her embrace further, her fingertips paling from the force, her body trembling with an uncontrollable slight shiver.
It wasn't sorrow,but the natural reaction to being swept up by a vast, almost overwhelming sense of security.

Hornet stiffened for a moment in initial surprise, her body rigid for an instant.
But quickly,she felt the desperate dependency and the faint tremors of the form in her arms. Her eyes, always sharp as blades, softened imperceptibly.
Wordlessly,she raised a hand, with a trace of hesitation, but ultimately settled it with firm gentleness against Lace's trembling back, returning the embrace.

Chapter Text

虚空那令人不安的寂静在海边弥漫，只余下海浪拍打“岸沿”的诡异声响。大黄蜂双手撑在冰冷的地面上，灵丝过度消耗后的虚弱感让她感到一阵眩晕。

就在这时，她眼角的余光瞥见——那个本该虚弱躺倒的白色身影，正缓缓地、摇摇晃晃地从地上爬起，然后一步、一步，坚定不移地走向那片吞噬一切的黑暗海域。

“你……想做什么？”大黄蜂的声音带着一丝她自己都未察觉的颤抖，难以置信地看向那个决绝的背影。

“很明显，不是吗？”蕾丝没有回头，她的声音平静得可怕，仿佛在陈述一个与己无关的事实，脚步却未曾停顿。

“你以为......我会珍惜你好不容易才从深渊里捞上来的这条命吗？”

蕾丝在虚空边缘停下，终于发出一声短促而冰冷的嗤笑：“我不在乎。”

话音未落，她纵身跃下。

那一瞬间，大黄蜂感觉自己的心脏仿佛也被一同拽入了冰冷的深渊，骤然停止跳动。

然而，预想中被黑暗吞噬的景象并未持续。

片刻之后，阴影状态小骑士缓缓升起，他像是处理什么麻烦的垃圾一样，试图挣脱的蕾丝随意地丢回岸边。

小骑士双手叉腰，一股带着嫌弃的意念传递过来：

（妹妹，这是你的东西吧？看好她。我们虚空也是很挑食的，这种浑身沾满你灵丝味道还吵着要自杀的蘑菇精，我们不收。）

蕾丝踉跄着爬起，气急败坏地抹去脸上粘稠的虚空物质，双手抱胸，不甘地低声骂道：“可恶......为什么连虚空都站在你那边......”

就在这时，一道阴影笼罩了她。

大黄蜂一步步走到她面前，没有任何预兆，一拳狠狠砸在蕾丝的腹部——避开了要害，却足以让她感受到粉碎性的痛楚。

“咳……！”蕾丝猛地咳出一口深色的血丝，剧痛让她蜷缩，然而她却抬起头，脸上绽放出一个扭曲而快意的笑容，“怎么了？不继续摆出那副救世主般悲天悯人的模样了？终于……终于要撕下伪装，在这里杀了我吗？来吧！”

大黄蜂没有回答，而是直接揪住她的前襟，猛地将她整个人拎起，狠狠撞在后方的岩壁上，发出沉闷的巨响。

她逼近蕾丝的脸，那双锐利的眼眸里燃烧着前所未有的火焰，声音却压抑得像暴风雨前的低压：

“你以为……你的生命，现在还是属于你一个人的吗？！”

“我费尽心力，把你从那片连光都能吞噬的绝望里拖出来，就是为了站在这里，眼睁睁看着你再次跳进去吗？！”

蕾丝忍着背部的疼痛和窒息感，迎着她的目光，一字一顿地重复：“我、说、过、了！我、不、在、乎！这条命，还是这具身体，你想怎么折磨、怎么摧毁，都随你的便！”

然而，大黄蜂眼中的怒火却奇异地沉淀下来，转化为一种更深沉、更复杂的东西，她看着蕾丝，仿佛看穿了她所有的伪装：

“孩子，”她的声音低沉下来，带着一种近乎残酷的洞察力，“你只是想激怒我。你试图用我的愤怒，来掩盖你内心的空洞，为你毫无意义的自毁行为找一个看似壮烈的借口。”

被戳穿心底最隐秘的想法，蕾丝像是被烫到一样，情绪瞬间失控，她尖声喊道：“是！是又怎么样？！你别以为每一个虫子都会对你的‘恩赐’感激涕零！我永远不会！我永远不会如你所愿地摇尾乞怜，对你感恩戴德！”

看着她歇斯底里的样子，大黄蜂眼中最后一丝波动也消失了，只剩下绝对的、不容置疑的威严。

“既然如此，”她松开手，任由蕾丝像断线的木偶般滑落在地，声音冰冷如亘古不化的寒冰，“那我就亲自来教教你，什么叫做……敬畏。”

大黄蜂站在瘫软的蕾丝面前，阴影将她完全笼罩。

大黄蜂松开手，任由蕾丝像断线的木偶般滑落在地。但下一秒，她覆盖着甲壳的脚就踩在了蕾丝的胸口，力道控制得恰到好处，带来沉重的压迫感和骨骼的悲鸣，却又不至于真正踩碎她。

“不在乎？”大黄蜂俯下身，面具下的眼眸里没有任何温度，只有猎食者的冰冷审视，“很好。那我就用你唯一还能理解的方式——痛苦，来教你。”

她的指尖弹出锋利的爪尖，毫不留情地刺入蕾丝肩甲与手臂连接的脆弱关节处。不是致命伤，却是神经最密集、痛感最尖锐的地方。

“感受它。”大黄蜂的声音如同冰冷的钢铁，手腕转动，精准地研磨着神经束，“这就是活着的感觉。虚空给不了你这种感觉，只有活着，才能体验到如此……清晰的痛苦。”

她要让蕾丝记住，疼痛，是生命赋予的最基本、最真实的感知。

在蕾丝因剧痛而蜷缩时，大黄蜂拽着她的头发，粗暴地将她拖到虚空海边，将她的头按向那片翻涌的黑暗。

“看清楚了！这就是你向往的归宿！”当黑暗几乎要触碰到蕾丝的脸时，大黄蜂又猛地将她拽回，按在冰冷的地面上，“你的身体在发抖，你的丝线在紧绷，你的灵魂在尖叫着抗拒——哪怕你的嘴再怎不在乎，你的身体，你的本能，它们想活下去！”

“既然你放弃了处置它的权利，那么从现在起，它由我全权支配。

大黄蜂将蕾丝死死按在冰冷的地面上，两者的甲壳碰撞发出沉闷的响声。蕾丝所有的挣扎在绝对的力量差距面前都显得徒劳。

紧接着，大黄蜂俯下身，张开口，那对属于猎手的尖锐毒牙精准地刺入了蕾丝颈间最脆弱的缝隙。

一阵尖锐的刺痛传来，随之而来的并非纯粹的麻痹，而是一种奇异的、带着灼热感的毒液注入体内。蕾丝只觉得浑身的力量仿佛被瞬间抽空，四肢变得绵软无力。

但这仅仅是开始。

比毒液更可怕的，是一股随之涌入的、古老而威严的力量。它如同炽热的熔金，在她血管里奔涌，所到之处，每一个细胞都在尖叫、战栗。

这股力量并不满足于摧毁，它带着一个不容置疑的意志，如同无形的重锤，一次次地撞击着她的灵魂核心，向她下达着唯一的指令——

臣服。

这是源自苍白之王沃姆的血脉之力，是深植于大黄蜂灵魂深处的、难以抑制的统治本能。此刻，在这极端的情感激荡下，这股力量被彻底激发，并找到了它宣泄的出口——彻底征服眼前这个试图挣脱一切束缚的灵魂。

让她顺从。
让她归附。
让她从灵魂到身体，都彻底铭记——谁才是她的主宰。

当大黄蜂终于从蕾丝身上离开时，在那白皙的颈项上，一个全新的印记正散发着微弱的、不容忽视的光芒。

那印记的纹路奇异而繁复，仿佛是苍白的灵魂与坚韧的灵丝相互缠绕、融合而成，既带着沃姆血脉的绝对威严，又蕴含着编织者独有的生命韧性与束缚之力。
它是一个宣告，一个烙印，一个从此刻起将两人的命运更深刻捆绑在一起的契约。

“这是我的印记。”血丝顺着蕾丝的甲壳流下，伴随着灼烧般的剧痛，“从里到外，从灵魂到这具躯壳，你都属于我没有我的允许，你连疼痛都不配独自感受。”

最后，大黄蜂捏住蕾丝的下颌，强迫她看着自己，“听着，孩子。我不会杀你，那太便宜你了。”
“我要你活着，清清楚楚地感受每一次呼吸带来的痛苦，感受每一次心跳背负的重量。我要你带着我的印记，活到不得不直面你抛弃一切所带来的后果的那一天。”
“死亡不是你的解脱，活着，承受这一切，才是对你最残酷，也最公正的惩罚。”

蕾丝大口地喘着气，身体因毒液而虚弱，但眼中的反抗之火并未熄灭。她倔强地仰起头，瞪着大黄蜂，声音因无力而发颤，却带着孤注一掷的决绝：“你以为……这样就能让我屈服吗？你不可能永远看住我……我总能找到机会……杀死我自己！”

大黄蜂只是静静地站在那里，红色的披风在虚空的微风中纹丝不动。她看着蕾丝，眼神平静得令人心寒，仿佛在审视一个不懂事的孩子。

“那你可以试试。”

这轻描淡写的几个字，比任何威胁都更具压迫感。

蕾丝被她这种绝对的、近乎漠然的自信激怒了。她用尽全身力气，挣扎着从地上爬起，目光锁定在不远处那根掉落在地的、属于她自己的织针。她踉跄着扑过去，一把将它抓起冰冷的触感从掌心传来。

结束吧， 她想，只要一下，就能彻底解脱。

她双手紧握织针，将尖锐的针尖对准自己胸口甲壳最薄弱的连接处，用尽最后的决心，猛地刺下——

然而，就在针尖即将触碰到甲壳的前一刹那，一种超越死亡本身的、源自灵魂最深处的恐怖感，如同最冰冷的深渊巨浪，轰然席卷了她每一个意识角落！

那不是对疼痛的恐惧，也不是对虚无的畏惧。那是一种绝对的、不容置疑的法则级的压制。

臣服。
无尽地侍奉。
献上你的所有，你的意志，你的存在本身。

这些意念并非声音，而是如同烙印般直接在她灵魂中燃烧起来的绝对命令。
它们霸道地碾压着她的思维，将她“自我了断”的念头撕得粉碎。反抗的意志越是强烈，这股源自血脉与灵魂烙印的反噬就越是可怕。

“呃啊——！”

蕾丝发出一声痛苦的哀鸣，织针从骤然无力的手中滑落，发出清脆的声响。
她双手死死抱住自己的头，感觉自己的意识仿佛要被这两股截然相反的力量撕裂——一方是她宁死不屈的自我，另一方是那不容违逆的、要求她绝对忠诚的至高指令。

头疼欲裂，仿佛有无数根烧红的铁钎在颅内搅动。

这痛苦并非作用于肉体，而是直接施加于她的存在本质之上。
她终于清晰地意识到，那个印记不仅仅是标记，更是一个恶毒的枷锁——它不允许她以任何形式“背叛”，包括毁灭被“赐予”的生命。

当“自杀”这个念头彻底从她脑海中消散，如同被无形的规则强行抹除后，那几乎要让她疯癫的剧痛和恐惧感，才如同潮水般缓缓退去。

她瘫软在地，浑身被冷汗浸透，只剩下劫后余生般的虚脱，以及一种更深沉的、关乎未来命运的绝望。
她明白了，从此以后，连“死亡”的自由，都已不再属于她自己。

大黄蜂向她伸出手，那只覆盖着几丁质甲壳的手就那样悬停在虚空残留的微尘与现实的微光之间，稳定得没有一丝颤抖。
蕾丝垂眸看着那只手，就是这只手，将她从深渊拖回，将她按在地上，也在她颈侧刻下了永恒的烙印。
她迟疑了片刻，一种复杂的、混杂着憎恨、屈辱与一丝难以言喻的依赖感的情绪在胸中翻涌，最终，她还是缓慢地、带着些许僵硬地，将自己冰凉的手放了上去。

“现在，该离开这里了。”大黄蜂的声音恢复了往常的冷静，仿佛刚才在虚空边缘那场惊心动魄的征服从未发生。
她握紧蕾丝的手，那力道不容挣脱，却也不显粗暴，只是以一种绝对的引领姿态，将她带离这片弥漫着死寂的海岸，走向通往上方世界的路径。

回到钟心镇，温暖的灯光和喧闹的人声扑面而来，与虚空的寂静形成鲜明对比。
镇长帕沃热情地迎了上来，脸上洋溢着劫后余生的喜悦：“救星小姐！您终于回来了！今晚镇子里要举办一场盛大的庆祝宴会，感谢您驱散了阴影，请您务必赏光……”

大黄蜂微微抬手，止住了他滔滔不绝的邀请，她的目光不经意地瞥向身旁沉默不语的蕾丝。“帕沃，感谢你们的好意，但我有必须处理的事情。”她的语气平和却带着不容置疑的决断。

帕沃顺着她的目光看去，落在那个浑身散发着阴郁气息的白色身影上，他似乎瞬间明白了什么，脸上的热情收敛了些，转化为一种带着理解的表情，他微微躬身，低声道：“当然，当然......那，祝您有一个愉快的夜晚。”

大黄蜂没有再多言，只是紧了紧握着蕾丝的手，径直将她带回自己的临时小屋——钟居。
门在身后合拢，将外界的喧嚣彻底隔绝。室内只剩下她们两人，空气仿佛瞬间变得粘稠而静谧。

“把衣服脱了。”大黄蜂的声音在寂静的房间里响起，平静无波，听不出任何情绪。

蕾丝愣了一下，随即脸上浮现出一种扭曲的、带着讥讽的笑容，她故意用夸张的语调说道：“哈？刚回家就迫不及待了吗？你比我想象的还要……饥渴啊。”她试图用言语作为武器，刺破这令人窒息的平静。

大黄蜂缓缓转过身，红色的眼眸在昏暗的光线下如同燃烧的余烬，她没有提高声调，只是重复道，声音里却带着千钧的重量：“不要让我重复第二遍。”

那目光中的威压让蕾丝脸上的讥讽瞬间冻结，她咬了咬下唇，最终还是老实照做。
白色的外衣被褪下，簌簌落地，露出了其下覆盖着的、与丝质甲壳形成极致反差的纯黑肌肤，那黑色仿佛凝聚了深渊的影子，在室内微弱的光线下泛着幽暗的光泽。

大黄蜂走近，她的目光如同最精准的探针，在蕾丝裸露的肌肤上缓缓扫过，检查着之前战斗可能留下的痕迹。
她的指尖偶尔会隔空拂过某些甲壳连接处，但并未真正触碰。片刻后，她似乎确认完毕，向后退了一步。“嗯，没有其他需要处理的伤势。”

蕾丝环抱住双臂，尽管这动作在此时显得毫无意义，她继续用言语挑衅，试图找回一丝主动权：“得了吧，冠冕堂皇的话就省省了。你只是想欣赏我曼妙的身材，才编了这么一个蹩脚的借口，不是吗？”她甚至刻意挺了挺身子，展现那起伏的曲线。

“我不否认你确实有一副诱人的身材，”大黄蜂走到桌子旁坐下，拿起羽毛笔和一卷羊皮纸，开始书写，头也不抬地回应，语气平淡得像在评论天气，“但我现在对你没有兴趣。”她的注意力似乎完全集中在了笔下的文字上。

蕾丝被她这种彻底的无视激怒了，她有些气闷地趴到床上，纤细的腿在空中无聊地摇晃着，继续用话语试探：“哦？那你什么时候对我有兴趣呢？在我又一次想办法把自己弄死的时候吗？”她试图用这个话题刺痛对方，哪怕能换来一丝情绪的波动也好。

大黄蜂书写的动作没有丝毫停顿，笔尖在纸面上划过，发出沙沙的轻响。她的回答清晰而冰冷，如同陈述一个物理定律：“我不会为此而担忧。因为你现在，什么都做不到。”

这句话像一把钥匙，精准地打开了蕾丝心中那扇名为“绝望”的牢笼。她脸上刻意维持的轻佻表情瞬间垮塌，取而代之的是一种深沉的无力感。
她嫌弃地、却又无可奈何地“啧”了一声，将脸埋进了柔软的被褥中。

大黄蜂说得没错。那个烙印不仅仅刻在脖子上，更深深刻入了她的灵魂。
她连终结自己生命的自由都被彻底剥夺，在这个冷酷的“主宰者”面前，她仿佛一个被剪断了线的木偶，连倒下都需要得到许可。

她失去的，是比生命更根本的东西——选择的权利。而在这令人窒息的禁锢中，未来，似乎只剩下无边无际的、被迫的“活着”。

钟居内，时间仿佛凝固了。
蕾丝仰面躺在床铺上，目光空洞地凝视着天花板的木质纹理，那些蜿蜒的线条像极了命运的掌纹，而她被困在其中，动弹不得。

自杀的念头并非没有浮现，但每次刚冒头，灵魂深处那无形的烙印便会发出一阵低沉嗡鸣，并非剧痛，却是一种更令人绝望的、法则层面的禁止。
就像一只撞上无形玻璃的飞虫，无论多么用力，都无法突破那层看不见的屏障。

她不知道自己现在活着还有什么意思。
复仇？打不过。
寻死？不允许。
甚至连激怒大黄蜂，看她为自己动怒都做不到了——那个女人现在彻底无视了她的所有言语挑衅，仿佛她只是一件会呼吸的家具。

这确实如大黄蜂所言，是一场不折不扣的、精准针对她灵魂的“折磨”。
一种被整个世界，包括死亡本身，彻底遗弃的孤绝感包裹着她。

几天后，或许是看不下去她这副彻底“坏死”的状态，大黄蜂尝试了新的方法。
她将一包物资递给蕾丝，语气平静如常：“把这些送到骸底洞窟的临时避难所去。”

蕾丝抬起眼皮，看了她一眼，没有问为什么，也没有反抗，只是默默地接过东西。
反抗毫无意义，行动本身也毫无意义，那么，做与不做，又有什么区别？

她穿过钟心镇逐渐恢复生机的小径，走向阴冷的骸底洞窟。
避难所里的虫子们蜷缩在角落，眼神麻木。
弗利克，一个看起来还算精神的年轻甲虫，接过物资时，脸上露出了真挚的、几乎是闪耀的感激光芒：“太好了！谢谢您！这些食物和药品真是帮了大忙，有这些物资大家就能多撑一段时间。”

蕾丝看着他那充满希望的脸，内心却是一片冰冷的死水。
她甚至懒得扯出一个虚伪的笑容。

开心？
多么奢侈而虚无的词。
就算有了这些物资又怎么样？在这个危机四伏的世界，他们可能明天就死在一次意外的塌方中，死在游荡的怪物爪下，或者仅仅是死于一场普通的疾病。

这些物资，不过是让这注定悲惨的生命，再多延续几个毫无意义的日夜罢了。
所谓的“助人为乐”，在她看来，不过是延长痛苦的、虚伪的慈善。

她没有回应弗利克的感谢，只是漠然转身，离开了那片充斥着短暂希望和必然绝望的角落。

回到钟居，她甚至不需要说什么，那周身散发出的、比去之前更加沉郁的虚无气息，已经说明了一切。

大黄蜂抬眼看了看她，那双锐利的眼眸中闪过一丝极难察觉的波动——是失望，还是别的什么？蕾丝已经懒得去解读了。

她径直走回床边，像一截失去所有力气的木头，直挺挺地倒了回去，彻底化身为一条“没有梦想的咸鱼”，连翻身的欲望都欠奉。

房间的另一端，大黄蜂放下手中许久未动一字的卷轴，目光落在蕾丝那毫无生气的背影上。
她意识到，强制性的灵魂烙印，似乎确实阻断了蕾丝所有的“恶念”，但也同时抽走了她所有的“生机”。

大黄蜂不禁在心中默想：“印记的束缚……是否太过绝对了？之前的她，像一团危险的、燃烧自我的火焰，至少炽烈而鲜活。她会谋划，会挣扎，会为了‘终结’这个目标而拼尽全力，那本身也是一种强烈的‘生’的证明。可现在……”

现在的蕾丝，像被抽走了所有燃料的余烬，连最后一点火星都彻底熄灭，只剩下冰冷的、逐渐消散的灰。

她不再试图触碰禁忌，但也同时放弃了一切。
强制她“活着”，似乎与看着她“缓慢死亡”并无区别。

大黄蜂的指尖无意识地敲击着桌面，在心中思索:“我剥夺了她选择死亡的权利，但该如何......赋予她‘活着’的理由？”

这个问题的答案，远比用武力征服一个叛逆的灵魂要困难得多。

房间内，只剩下两人之间那沉重得几乎能压垮呼吸的寂静。
一个在虚无中下沉，另一个，则在寻找那根能将其拉回，却不知在何处的绳索。

几天后，当蕾丝在钟居内机械地执行着大黄蜂的命令，被迫整理着房间角落堆积的、属于过往冒险的杂物时，手指触碰到了一个冰冷而熟悉的物件。

她的动作停滞了。

蕾丝缓缓地将它抽出来——那是她姐姐幽影曾经佩戴过的面具。
面具上曾有的灵光已彻底消散，只留下一道干净利落的、由织针造成的裂痕，如同一个永恒的休止符。

蕾丝的手指颤抖着抚过那道裂痕，冰冷的触感却像火焰一样灼烧着她的指尖。
连日来积累的虚无、绝望、愤怒，在这一刻找到了一个具体的、可以倾泻的焦点。

当大黄蜂从外面归来，刚推开门，蕾丝就像一道白色的闪电般冲了过去，死死拽住了她的领口，蕾丝眼中燃烧着痛苦的火焰，声音因极致的情绪而撕裂：

“你为什么要杀了她！” 这声质问仿佛用尽了她全身的力气。

大黄蜂的眼眸平静地注视着近在咫尺的、扭曲的面孔，没有挣脱，只是用那种惯常的、陈述事实般的语调回答：“那是她应得的结局。”

“应得的结局？” 蕾丝像是被这句话刺痛，声音更加尖利，“那你为什么不杀了我！你明明有那么多次机会！在深渊边，在任何一个你制服我的瞬间！为什么偏偏是她！为什么放过我！”

面对这连珠炮似的、混杂着痛苦与不解的质问，大黄蜂的眼神深处掠过一丝极其复杂的情绪。
她没有直接回答，而是用一种近乎残忍的冷静，描绘出蕾丝从未知晓的真相。

“孩子，”她的声音低沉下来，“你的同胞，和你不一样。”
这句话像一盆冰水，骤然泼在蕾丝燃烧的情绪上。

“她想活下去。”大黄蜂继续道，每一个字都清晰而沉重，“她耗尽了自身所有的灵丝，甚至不惜以一种扭曲的执念，从其他弱小虫子身上强行抽取、掠夺灵丝，只为了能多呼吸一刻，多存活一秒。她像溺水者抓住最后一根稻草，哪怕那稻草是别人的生命。”

她的目光似乎穿透了蕾丝，看到了那个在生存欲望中挣扎、最终面目全非的灵魂。

“但是，她的生命早已枯竭，灵魂也被这份不择手段的渴望彻底腐蚀。她就像一个病入膏肓、痛苦不堪的患者，活着，对她而言已是无尽的折磨。我所做的，只是履行守护者的职责，给予她一个战士应得的、痛快的终结。那是慈悲，而非谋杀。”

真相是如此残酷。
蕾丝一直以为姐姐和自己一样，对这个世界充满憎恶与疏离。
却没想到，幽影是如此疯狂地渴望活着，而自己，却如此轻易地想要抛弃这具躯壳。

“那我呢？”蕾丝的声音开始发抖，拽着领口的力量不自觉地松懈了，“你明明可以像解脱她一样，轻而易举地夺走我的性命……你为什么不这么做？为什么偏偏要让我活着承受这一切！”

大黄蜂凝视着她，那双平静的眼眸里，终于浮现出一种近乎悲悯，却又带着绝对威严的神色。

“因为，”她的声音斩钉截铁，如同最终审判，“毁灭一个像你这样，清醒地、固执地选择堕落的灵魂，那不是终结，而是成全了你自私的任性。死亡对你而言太轻松了，那是你一直寻求的、最廉价的解脱。我不会给你。”

“砰。”

蕾丝拽着大黄蜂领口的手，彻底失去了所有力量，颓然滑落。
她仿佛被抽走了全身的骨骼，双腿一软，直直地跪倒在大黄蜂的面前。泪水不再是愤怒的喷涌，而是变成了无声的、绝望的啜泣，肩膀剧烈地颤抖着。

她一直以为自己是悲剧的主角，在反抗一个强加于她的、无意义的世界。
直到此刻她才明白，在真正的求生者面前，她那“高贵”的求死欲望，是何等的幼稚和......可耻。

大黄蜂没有杀她，不是因为珍惜，而是因为她的“死不配”与姐姐的“生不得”相比，显得如此轻飘飘，如此不值一提。

这种认知，比任何物理上的打击，都更能摧毁她仅存的那点自我。
她跪在那里，不再是一个反抗者，只是一个被真相彻底击垮的、迷失的孩子。

蕾丝跪在原地，啜泣声渐渐止息，但那种死寂比任何哭声都更令人不安。
幽影面具的冰冷触感仿佛还残留在她的指尖，与大黄蜂的话语一起，在她脑海中反复回响。

“她想活下去……”

“那是慈悲，而非谋杀。”

“成全了你自私的任性。”

每一个字都像一把钝刀，缓慢而精准地切割着她对姐姐、对自己、对过往所有行为的认知。

大黄蜂静静地看着这一切。
她明白，自己投下的“真相炸弹”威力过大，几乎将蕾丝本就残破的精神世界彻底夷为平地。

旧的平衡已被打破，但新的支点并未建立。
蕾丝现在处于一种比单纯虚无更危险的“精神休克”状态。

那天晚上，钟居里没有一丝声响，却充满了未言明的重量。
蕾丝没有睡觉，她像一尊苍白的雕塑，坐在桌子前，指尖一遍遍描摹着幽影面具上那道冰冷的裂痕。
这道裂痕曾是她所有愤怒和悲伤的焦点，此刻却像一面镜子，照见的是她自己——一个连死亡都因“任性”而显得轻浮的灵魂。

而在房间的另一侧，大黄蜂躺在黑暗中，眼眸在阴影里微微发亮。
她也未曾入眠。
蕾丝跪倒在地时那彻底崩溃的模样，在她脑海中挥之不去。

她意识到，用“束缚”和“真相”铸成的牢笼，或许能禁锢住蕾丝的躯壳，却只会将她的灵魂推向更深的虚无。
强制给予的“生”，与放任的“死”一样，都是一种傲慢。

或许自己真的没有办法给予她活下去的意义吧，大黄蜂不想承认这件事，但不得不承认。
她现在的所作所为，与她那渴望王国永恒的父亲没有区别，只是一厢情愿地垂死挣扎罢了。

第二天，天光未亮，晨雾尚未散去。大黄蜂已经整装完毕，她走到依旧坐在桌边的蕾丝身后，声音平静无波：
“我要走了。”

蕾丝的肩膀几不可察地颤动了一下，她猛地回头，眼中充满了难以置信。

不等她发问，大黄蜂伸出手，指尖泛起微光，轻轻点在她颈侧。

那枚象征着绝对束缚与联结的灵魂印记，如同被风吹散的尘埃，悄然消散，只留下平滑的甲壳。
一直萦绕在蕾丝灵魂深处的无形枷锁，也随之消失无踪。

“从现在起，你想做什么，我都不会管。”大黄蜂的语气淡漠，仿佛在谈论天气，“如果你想自我了断，那就去吧。”

接着，她将一串冰冷的钥匙随手丢在蕾丝身边的桌面上，发出清脆的撞击声。
“还有，这房子送你了。”

说罢，她没有丝毫留恋，甚至没有再看蕾丝一眼，径直推开门，身影融入灰色的、清冷的晨雾中，消失不见。

她选择在万物苏醒前离开，避开所有可能的送别，一如她一贯的风格。

门，轻轻合拢。

重获自由。

这个词曾经是蕾丝梦寐以求的。

她应该感到狂喜，应该立刻冲向虚空海，或者用任何方式庆祝这失而复得的、终结自己生命的权利。

可是，她没有。

她只是静静地坐在床边，拿起那串还带着大黄蜂指尖余温的钥匙，茫然地注视着。预想中的解脱和喜悦并没有降临，取而代之的是一种更加庞大、更加令人窒息的......空虚。

事到如今，当死亡的禁令被解除，当她可以真正自由地做出选择时，她反而发现，那曾经炽烈到燃烧她所有理智的求死冲动，竟然熄灭了。

为什么？

这个问题像一把钥匙，猝不及防地打开了她内心最深处、连自己都未曾察觉的锁。

因为，没有人会看到了。

她的死亡，将不再是一场反抗的宣言，不再是对大黄蜂权威的挑衅，不再能激起那双眼眸中任何一丝波澜。
那将只是一具无名躯壳在无人角落的安静地腐烂，无声无息，激不起半点回响。

直到这一刻，蕾丝才像被一道闪电劈中，真正明白了自己一直以来真正渴望的是什么。

她想要的，从来不是死亡本身。

她想要的，是大黄蜂的注视。
是她强硬的束缚，是她冰冷的命令，是她哪怕以愤怒和惩罚的形式所表现出来的——在乎。

死亡，只是她用来索取这种“在乎”的、最极端也是最笨拙的工具。

当唯一的观众离场，这场以生命为赌注的戏剧，也就失去了全部的意义。

她握紧了手中的钥匙，冰冷的金属棱角刺痛了她的掌心。窗外，天色渐亮，钟心镇开始苏醒，传来模糊的生机勃勃的声响。

她失去了束缚，却仿佛被一种更沉重的东西捆绑住了。

她自由了，却不知该去向何方。

大黄蜂留给她的，不仅仅是一串钥匙和一座空房子，更是一个赤裸的、她必须独自面对的问题：

当“死亡”不再能用来证明任何东西，当“活着”不再是为了反抗谁，那么，蕾丝，你......究竟为何而活？

就在大黄蜂踏足蚀阶与荒原的连接处，准备彻底离开纺络这片土地时，一道白色的身影如同执拗的幽魂，再次挡在了她的面前。

蕾丝手中紧握着她那根纤长的织针，针尖在荒原冷冽的阳光下，泛着不祥的金光。

“孩子，”大黄蜂停下脚步，红色的披风在风中纹丝不动，语气里带着一丝不易察觉的疲惫，“你又想做什么？”

“既然我现在是自由的，”蕾丝的脸上扬起一个近乎癫狂的、跃跃欲试的笑容，“那我当然有权选择自己的死法。”

“你知道我不会对你下死手的。”大黄蜂的陈述平静无波。

“没关系！”蕾丝的声音陡然拔高，带着一种破釜沉舟的决绝，“因为杀死我的，不会是你！”

话音未落，她反手将织针的尖端，猛地刺入自己肩甲下的脆弱连接处！针管内那团浓稠的、仿佛有生命般蠕动着的紫色液体，被尽数推入她的体内。

“呃啊——！”

剧痛让她发出一声短促的闷哼，随即，一种诡异的紫色纹路如同蔓延的藤蔓，迅速从注射点扩散开来，她的身体，正以一种肉眼可见的速度，逐渐被不祥的紫色笼罩。

“这是‘寂灭之蕊’……”蕾丝喘着气，脸上却带着奇异的潮红，“只要它在我体内停留足够久，就能彻底杀死我，无药可解。”她抬起头，眼中燃烧着最后的光芒，那是将生命压缩到极致后迸发出的疯狂。

“在我死之前，我想跟你最后打一场！一场真正的、全力以赴的战斗！”说罢，她不再给对方任何回应的时间，如同一道紫色的闪电，带着同归于尽般的气势，冲向大黄蜂！

“真是胡闹！”大黄蜂厉声喝道，白色的织针瞬间出鞘，格挡住这凌厉的一击。

兵刃相交，发出刺耳的铮鸣。
然而一交手，大黄蜂就察觉到了异常——蕾丝的力量、速度、以及身体的韧性，都提升了数倍不止。
那毒素在缓慢吞噬她生机的同时，也在透支着她全部的生命潜力，将她短暂地推向了一个恐怖的巅峰。

“哈哈哈！来啊！战斗啊！”蕾丝狂笑着，攻击如同暴风骤雨，织针在空中划出致命的轨迹。
她不再防守，每一招都带着以伤换伤的狠厉，仿佛要将生命中所有未被言说的委屈、愤怒、依赖和绝望，都在这一刻彻底倾泻出来。

战斗在荒芜的边界激烈地进行着。
大黄蜂沉着应对，但目光却愈发凝重。
她看到蕾丝身上的紫色越来越深，几乎要化为实质的氤氲紫气，那代表毒素正不断侵蚀她的核心。

最终，力量的透支与本质的差距让疯狂的攻势出现了破绽。
大黄蜂抓住机会，织针巧妙一挑，荡开蕾丝的防御，瞬间近身，将她狠狠地按倒在冰冷的地面上。

被制服的蕾丝非但没有挣扎，反而爆发出更加畅快、更加开心的笑声，那笑声在空旷的荒原上回荡，显得格外刺耳。

“好了！现在就像你对姐姐幽影那样，”她仰望着大黄蜂，紫色的眼眸中充满了某种扭曲的期待，“给我个痛快吧！这才是最完美的结局，不是吗？”

她知道，这是一个无解的选择题。
“寂灭之蕊”没有解药，大黄蜂要么眼睁睁看着她痛苦地毒发身亡，要么就亲手给予她“慈悲”的终结，成全她这最后、也是最壮烈的“任性”。

然而，大黄蜂的选择，永远超出她的预料。

“愚蠢。”

冰冷的评价落下，大黄蜂按着她的力道未减，另一只手却猛地并指如刀，锋利的指尖闪耀起纯净的、带着生命光泽的灵丝光芒。
她没有丝毫犹豫，直接将指尖刺入蕾丝颈侧甲壳的缝隙——那曾是灵魂印记所在的地方！

“你......你做什么？！”蕾丝惊恐地瞪大眼睛。

回答她的是汹涌而入的、属于大黄蜂的本源灵丝。
它们不像蕾丝的丝线那般柔韧阴冷，而是带着一种灼热的、近乎霸道的力量，强行涌入蕾丝的经络，并非为了破坏，而是为了.......置换。

大黄蜂正在用自己精纯的灵丝，作为载体和吸引，强行将那些已经与蕾丝灵丝纠缠在一起的“寂灭之蕊”毒素，吸附、剥离，然后引导进入她自己的体内！

这是一个极其凶险的过程，需要对灵丝有着入微的掌控，更需要承受难以想象的痛苦。
紫色的毒素顺着灵丝的桥梁，如同贪婪的水蛭，涌入大黄蜂的身体。
她的手臂开始微微颤抖，甲壳下隐约透出被毒素侵蚀的紫色纹路，但她紧咬着牙关，坚定的眼神中没有丝毫动摇。

“不……停下！你会……”蕾丝想要挣扎，却被死死按住，只能眼睁睁看着大黄蜂替她承受那原本致命的毒素。

不知过了多久，当蕾丝体内的最后一丝紫色褪去，恢复成原本模样时，大黄蜂猛地抽回手，踉跄着后退了一步，她的半边身体已经笼罩在一层淡淡的紫气中，呼吸也变得粗重。
这种毒素对她来说虽不致命，但带来的痛苦足以让最坚韧的战士崩溃。

她看着瘫软在地、劫后余生却满脸茫然的蕾丝，声音因痛苦而沙哑，却带着不容置疑的力量:

“现在……你这条命，又一次……是我给你的了。”

“别再……轻易浪费它。”

说完，她不再看蕾丝的反应，强忍着毒素带来的剧痛，转身，一步一步，坚定地再次走向荒原的深处。
只是这一次，她的背影在蕾丝眼中，不再是冷漠的离去，而是化作了一座为她承受了痛苦、并将继续前行的、沉默的山峦。

蕾丝躺在冰冷的地上，望着那片逐渐远去的红色，第一次，失去了所有言语。

大黄蜂强撑着走了几步，那“寂灭之蕊”的毒素如同无数烧红的细针在她经络中窜行，剧烈的痛苦让她终于无法维持挺拔的姿态，闷哼一声，痛苦地弓下了身，织针拄地才勉强支撑。

就在这时，一双手臂从旁稳稳地扶住了她。
蕾丝没有说话，只是沉默地将大黄蜂沉重的手臂绕过自己的脖颈，搭在她略显单薄的肩膀上，用自己的身体作为支撑。

“你现在这副样子去荒原，和送死没什么区别。”蕾丝的声音生硬，带着一丝不易察觉的别扭，“……还是先回去休息几天吧。”她没有看大黄蜂的眼睛，仿佛只是在陈述一个客观事实。

大黄蜂侧过头，看着蕾丝近在咫尺的、依旧苍白的侧脸，以及那紧抿着的、似乎还在倔强的嘴唇，最终，她没有拒绝这份支撑。

回到钟心镇，当镇长帕沃看到平日里威严强大的救星小姐竟被蕾丝搀扶着回来，半边身体笼罩着不祥的紫气，他惊得几乎说不出话来。

蕾丝却异常冷静，直接对帕沃吩咐道：“别发呆了！去准备些上好的贝壳粉末，研磨得越细越好，能缓解她现在的痛苦。”她那熟练而笃定的语气，让帕沃下意识地应声而去。

将大黄蜂安置在钟居的床铺上，蕾丝打来清水，拧干布巾，动作算不上温柔，却异常仔细地擦拭着大黄蜂额间因痛苦而渗出的冷汗。

“……你，”大黄蜂虚弱地睁开眼，看着眼前这个专注的、与她争斗了许久的“孩子”，声音因毒素而断断续续，“你其实……比看上去……更懂关心人，不、不是吗？”

蕾丝擦拭的动作微微一顿，随即别开脸，语气重新变得生硬：“少说几句废话，多留点体力才能快点恢复。”可她微微泛红的耳尖，却暴露了内心的不平静。

为了更好的疗效，蕾丝甚至独自深入壳木林，在晨露未干时，精心采摘了最新鲜、蕴含生命力量的花瓣，回来细细熬煮成一碗清澈芬芳的花瓣茶。
这茶对于净化毒素有奇效。

然而，当她端着药碗回到床边时，却发现大黄蜂已经因毒素和疲惫再次陷入昏迷，牙关紧咬，根本无法自行服药。

蕾丝端着碗，在床边僵立了片刻，脸上掠过一丝挣扎和羞赧。
最终，她像是下定了某种决心，低声嘟囔了一句：“……真是麻烦。”

她深吸一口气，自己含了一口温热的药汁，然后俯下身，极其轻柔地、小心翼翼地用手捏开大黄蜂的下颌，将自己的唇瓣贴了上去，用气息缓缓将药汁渡入对方口中。

就在她进行到第二次时，身下的人忽然发出一声极轻的嘤咛，那双熟悉的眼眸缓缓睁开，正好对上了蕾丝近在咫尺、写满了惊慌的双眼。

蕾丝像被烫到一样猛地弹开，脸色瞬间涨得通红，连脖颈都染上了一层绯色。
她慌乱地用手背擦着嘴，语无伦次地解释：“我、我可不是故意要占你便宜的！都、都怪你昏迷不醒，我怎么都喂不进去，才、才只能用这种……这种方法！”她越说声音越小，几乎要找个地缝钻进去。

出乎意料的是，大黄蜂并没有动怒，也没有质问。
她只是静静地看着蕾丝手足无措的样子，嘴角微微向上牵起，勾勒出一个极其虚弱，却无比真实的、带着些许温柔和了然的浅浅笑容。

这笑容让蕾丝更加无地自容。
她几乎是赌气般地将药碗和勺子“哐当”一声放在床头柜上，背过身去，声音闷闷的：“既然你醒了，就自己吃！”

“太不巧了，”大黄蜂的声音依旧虚弱，却带上了一丝微不可查的调侃，“我的手……好像还没有办法抬起来。”

“少来！”蕾丝猛地回头，瞪着她，“你的声音明明很有精神！”

大黄蜂像是没听到她的反驳，只是自顾自地继续说着，语气带着一种罕见的、示弱般的无奈：“如果……我没有中毒的话，也不会像现在这样……无能为力了。”

这句话像一根细针，轻轻扎破了蕾丝强装出来的硬壳。
她看着床上那个曾经不可一世、此刻却连抬手都困难的强者，内心挣扎了片刻，最终还是认命般地、带着一脸“真拿你没办法”的烦躁表情，重新端起了碗。

“先说好！”她恶声恶气地强调，仿佛在完成一项极其不情愿的任务，“我只喂这一次！”

然后，她坐下来，用勺子舀起药汁，仔细地吹凉，再一勺一勺地，动作略显笨拙却异常专注地，喂到大黄蜂的唇边。

大黄蜂配合地慢慢吞咽着，温热的药汁带着花瓣的清香流入身体，驱散着毒素带来的寒意。
随着药汁见底，她脸上的气色似乎真的以肉眼可见的速度好转了一些，那抹萦绕不散的紫气也淡去了不少。

房间里安静下来，只剩下勺子偶尔触碰碗壁的轻微声响，以及两人之间那悄然流动的、不再充满对抗的微妙氛围。

几天后，在蕾丝算不上无微不至、却绝对尽心竭力的照料下，大黄蜂体内的毒素被彻底清除，力量也恢复了七八成。
清晨的阳光透过窗棂，她站在房间中央，整理着自己的披风和织针，语气平静地告知:

“我的身体已恢复健康。明天一早，我会出发。”

话音落下，房间里陷入一片寂静。
蕾丝站在她身后，低着头，双手紧紧攥着自己的衣角，指节因用力而泛白。
就在大黄蜂以为她会像往常一样，用沉默或尖刻的话语来应对别离时，却感觉到披风传来一股细微却坚定的拉力。

她回过头，看见蕾丝的手正拽着她的披风一角，那动作带着一种孩子般的怯懦与固执。

“我……”蕾丝的声音细微如蚊蚋，却清晰地回荡在安静的房间里，“我想跟你走。”

这一次，大黄蜂没有像最初那样拒绝，也没有询问理由。
她只是静静地看着蕾丝，看着她低垂的头颅和微微颤抖的肩膀，仿佛看穿了她所有的不安与挣扎。
经历了这么多，这个任性的孩子终于不是选择毁灭，也不是选择留下，而是选择……跟随。

“好。”大黄蜂的回答简单而肯定。

然而，蕾丝接下来的话，却出乎了她的意料。

“可是……我害怕。”蕾丝终于抬起头，眼中不再是挑衅或虚无，而是某种更深沉的、对自身不确定性的恐惧，“我害怕独自一人的时候，那些……那些糟糕的念头会回来。我怕我控制不住某些冲动，在半路上……又会做出让你失望的、愚蠢的事情。”

她的手指，颤抖地指向自己白皙的脖颈——那个曾经承载着沉重灵魂烙印，后又获得自由的地方。

“所以……”她深吸一口气，仿佛用尽了全身的勇气，声音却异常坚定，“……可以请你……再次标记我吗？”

这个请求，无异于主动将刚刚获得的自由双手奉还，主动要求戴上枷锁。
但这一次，枷锁的意义已然不同。
它不再是惩罚与征服的象征，而是她向大黄蜂祈求的、一道防止自我坠落的护栏，一份来自外部的、坚定的守护。

大黄蜂凝视着她，眼中闪过一丝了然，以及一丝极淡的、近乎怜惜的情绪。
她明白了，这个标记对如今的蕾丝而言，不再是屈辱，而是安全感的锚点。

“如你所愿。”

这一次，大黄蜂没有动用那份源自沃姆血脉的、带着绝对统治意味的灵魂烙印之力。
那力量太过霸道，承载着太多的“臣服”与“支配”，不适合此刻蕾丝那颗小心翼翼、主动靠近的心。

她倾身上前，尖锐的毒牙再次轻轻刺入蕾丝颈侧脆弱的甲壳缝隙。
但注入的，不再是那带着熔金般意志的王者之力，而是属于她自身、更为纯粹的本源力量——一种猎手的标记。

这个标记温和而坚定，它不像之前那样深入骨髓、刻印灵魂，而是如同一个无声的宣告，缠绕在蕾丝的灵丝之上。

它传递的不再是“你必须服从”，而是“我在此处，你已在我的庇护之下”。
它带着守护的意味，如同猎手在自己庇护的领地边缘留下的气息，警告外界，也安抚内部。

当大黄蜂退开，蕾丝下意识地抬手，指尖轻轻触摸着颈侧那个新生的、带着温热感的标记。
那里不再有灼烧般的剧痛，也没有了令人窒息的强制力，只有一种奇异的、稳定的暖流，缓缓渗入她的体内。

一种久违的、几乎被她遗忘的感觉——安全感，如同温润的水流，悄然漫过她干涸的心田。
她不再是一个漂泊无依、可以随意抛弃自我的孤魂。她有了归处，有了束缚，也有了……牵绊。

她看着大黄蜂，眼中水光潋滟，最终只是低声说了一句：
“谢谢……还有，我不会再让你需要这样救我了。”

说罢，蕾丝像是用尽了全身的勇气与决心，向前一步，深深地埋首，将自己投入了那片熟悉的、带着战斗尘埃与冰冷甲壳气息的怀抱。

她伸出手臂，紧紧地、几乎是笨拙地环住了大黄蜂的腰身，将全身的重量都依靠了过去。
这个拥抱毫无技巧可言，却带着一种孤注一掷的、近乎疼痛的力量，仿佛迷途的幼兽终于寻回了巢穴，要将自己彻底融入其中。

她的脸颊紧贴着大黄蜂的颈间，同时能感受到甲壳下传来的、沉稳而有力的心跳声。
那节奏穿透甲壳，透过她冰凉的肌肤，一声一声，敲打在她空洞了太久的心房上，驱散了最后徘徊不去的虚无与寒意。

她没有再说话，只是更紧地收拢了手臂，指尖因为用力而微微发白，身体难以自抑地轻轻颤抖。
这不是悲伤，而是一种巨大的、几乎令她无法承受的安定感席卷而来时的自然反应。

大黄蜂先是微微一怔，身体有瞬间的僵硬。
但很快，她感受到怀中躯壳那不顾一切的依赖与轻颤，那双总是锐利如刀锋的眼眸，悄然柔和了下来。
她没有言语，只是抬起手，带着些许迟疑，最终却坚定地、轻轻地回抱住了蕾丝颤抖的脊背。