CORPUS INSECTUM
/ˈkor.pʊs ɪnˈsɛk.tʊm/
You are not top of the chain. Not down here.
Microscopic but monstrous. Corpus Insectum is a descent into the feral beauty of the miniature world — where instinct rules without mercy and survival is measured in seconds. These are not pretty wings and soft antennae. These are faces built for rupture. Limbs honed to seize, puncture, dissolve.
This is the scale we ignore. This is the kingdom that outnumbers, outlasts, and watches us back.

THREADWATCHER
/θrɛd ˈwɒ.tʃə/
“It watches in stillness. The predator smaller than breath.”

THE EMBRACE
/ði ɛmˈbreɪs/
“Not love. Not mercy. Just instinct holding tight.”

SACRAMENT
/ˈsæk.rə.mənt/
“Silk drawn tight. Not for shelter — for ceremony.”

IRONMARCH
/ˈaɪən.mɑːtʃ/
“Armour caked in earth. Purpose etched in every step.”

THE WATCH
/ðə wɒtʃ/
“Crowned in silence. Limbs splayed like warning. Eyes without end.”

THE RED MIRROR
/ðə rɛd ˈmɪr.ə/
“Thousands of eyes. One thought — survive.”

HANGING HUNGER
/ˈhæŋ.ɪŋ ˈhʌŋ.ɡə/
“Wired in silk. Waiting. Wanting. Wrapped in the ache of instinct.”

THE HERALD
/ðə ˈhɛr.əld/
“Armoured. Ancient. As if sent to warn.”

THREADWIDOW
/θrɛd ˈwɪ.dəʊ/
“Suspended in the hush. She waits. Motionless — merciless.”

OUTLIER
/ˈaʊt.laɪ.ə/
“Born in armour. Alone by design.”

BLACK BASTION
/blæk ˈbæs.ti.ən/
“Armoured in silence. Built for the underworld.”

CHROMEBOUND
/ˈkrəʊm.baʊnd/
“Wings like foil. Intent like a needle in the dark.”

THE CRAWLER
/ðə ˈkrɔː.lə/
“Soft-bodied. Hard-coded. Every limb tuned for touch.”

IRONCHORUS
/ˈaɪən ˈkɔː.rəs/
“Mandibles rise in silence. The ground answers with tremor.”