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Chapter 56: ScarMandible’s Gambit
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... ot the centipede anymore. It was rhythm. It was formation. It was a heartbeat multiplied by hundreds until the tunnels carried one idea.
March.
Ants poured from the western passages in lanes three wide. They climbed walls. They flowed across the ceiling. Every turn they split and rejoined like water taught to think. Scent signals flickered in the air, bright as flags. The ants moved as if the tunnels had always belonged to them and the rest of us were only borrowing space.
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