I Am The Swarm

Luo Wen felt he had been too reckless. After realizing there was a storm outside, he should have retreated immediately instead of staying to daydream. Didn’t he know that being a spectator came with risks? Now, not only had he been forced into a front-row seat, but he’d also been dragged into the performance.

If given another chance, he would stay in his burrow no matter what happened outside. He’d stake his pride on not moving a muscle!

The sky was pitch-black, with the ferocious storm howling like a ghost. It whipped up a barrage of sand and stones, which, under the storm’s force, shot forward like bullets.

Unfortunately, Luo Wen was directly in the path of the onslaught.

Though his small body made for a minor target, the density of the sandstorm ensured countless particles still struck him.

Luo Wen curled all his limbs toward his head, shielding his compound eyes with his digging limbs. The rest of his legs surrounded his head as best they could. He twisted his body to present his back to the storm’s direction.

His newly grown shoulder plates and dorsal armor offered considerable protection. Though he felt no pain, the fine hairs on his exoskeleton told him the sand and stones had not yet breached his defenses.

Despite this, the relentless impacts sent his body tumbling through the air, making it nearly impossible to maintain balance.

Amid the disorienting spins, his unprotected abdomen bore the brunt of the damage. The dorsal armor covered much of it, but the sandstorm’s 360-degree assault spared no part of his body. His already shortened abdomen took another round of severe hits.

Luo Wen didn’t have the luxury of addressing his abdominal injuries. Nor did he bother keeping his back to the storm, as constant tumbling and the storm’s unpredictable gusts rendered his efforts futile.

Finally, he resorted to curling his neck, shielding his head with his limbs, and leaving his fate to luck.

He’d survived an abdominal injury before, but a crushed head would mean certain death. He still had so much time to live; he didn’t want his journey to end prematurely.

The world around him was shrouded in darkness. The howling winds and flying debris disoriented him completely. Not that it mattered—he was quickly swept farther away by the storm.

After an indeterminate time, during which even his tough dorsal armor began to sustain damage, Luo Wen noticed the wind’s intensity lessening.

It seemed he had endured the worst. But now, a new problem emerged.

He couldn’t fly. He’d only “hatched” a few days ago and hadn’t had time to develop such capabilities.

Even if he could fly, his tiny body would be powerless against the might of nature.

At this moment, Luo Wen had no idea how high he’d been swept. His poor vision was useless in the dim, low-visibility environment. Even with his former human eyes, he doubted he could have seen much in these conditions.

Eventually, Luo Wen felt himself descending. Thankfully, while the wind had weakened, it still occasionally lifted his lightweight body, cushioning his fall somewhat.

His hollow internal structure made him lighter, and the semicircular shape of his dorsal armor acted like a parachute.

By some miracle, he landed from an unknown height without sustaining significant impact damage.

No wonder he’d never heard of insects dying from falls in his previous life. It turned out that even wingless insects possessed innate adaptations to survive such situations.

After being blown around a couple more times upon landing, Luo Wen finally settled safely on the ground.

Without pausing to assess his injuries, he immediately began digging into the earth.

Thanks to years of watching disaster movies, Luo Wen knew tornadoes had calm “eyes.” But he couldn’t tell if he was in the storm’s eye—or even if this was a tornado at all. Not that he wanted to find out. He was just an insect now, focused solely on survival.

Staying on the surface was a death wish. Only by burrowing deep underground could he find any sense of security.

Luo Wen dug deeper than ever before, descending well past his previous home’s depth. When he hit a layer of soil, he kept going, ensuring he was far below any potential surface threats.

As he worked, he felt an overwhelming sense of frustration. Just when his life had started to stabilize—when he’d barely had time to enjoy his new home and the seemingly endless supply of white grubs—it was all taken away because he couldn’t resist the urge to check out some commotion. Now, all he could do was lament his terrible luck.

His injuries, however, were an even greater source of despair.

One of his digging limbs was broken. Several of his mid and hind legs were either completely snapped or heavily damaged. The few intact ones had suffered varying degrees of wear and tear.

His head and eyes, while protected, hadn’t escaped unscathed. He noticed several black spots in his vision, likely caused by damage to some of his compound eyes’ lenses. He had no idea if they would heal.

His antennae, left unprotected, had also suffered—half of one was missing.

The damage to his shoulder and dorsal plates was severe, with a large chunk of the dorsal armor completely gone.

The worst injury was to his recently healed abdomen. Last time, he’d lost three segments of tissue, shrinking his overall size. While this time he didn’t lose entire segments, many areas were severely damaged, exposing his internal structures.

Yet amidst the despair, Luo Wen noticed something interesting: within the hollow cavities of his abdomen were fibrous tissues that quickly patched the wounds, preventing fluid loss.

It seemed this was a result of his previous evolution. The changes were internal and had gone unnoticed until now.

Still, Luo Wen had no desire to discover these adaptations.

Nevertheless, the fibrous tissues played a crucial role. While his abdominal injuries looked more severe than last time, the self-repair mechanism had stabilized the damage, preventing further deterioration. At least now, he wouldn’t experience the grotesque phenomenon of food leaking out as he ate.

With his remaining antenna and fine hairs raised, Luo Wen detected no unusual scents or vibrations. Sensing safety, he slowly closed his eyes.

He needed rest—a chance to use his stored energy to begin healing.

This time, his injuries were far worse than before. Almost every part of his body was damaged. Even his relatively protected head and eyes bore significant scratches and abrasions.

The environment, too, was far more hostile than before. Last time, he’d had access to nearby food, allowing him to replenish energy during recovery. This time, though he’d recently eaten a white grub, the storm had drained much of his reserves.

Moreover, his abdomen’s ruptures, despite the fibrous patches, had still cost him some stored nutrients.

At best, his current energy reserves were only half of their full capacity.

Faced with these challenges, Luo Wen’s body had no choice but to alter its recovery strategy.

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