Hive Strike

One bee. Sixteen worlds. Forty-eight insects that would rather you left. "This meadow is MINE, little bee," says the Hornet Queen. Fifteen more bosses say the same about their own ground: a praying mantis, an orb weaver, a dragonfly ace, a centipede mother, an atlas moth, a scorpion king. Sixteen worlds stand between you and the last of them. A sunlit meadow, a moonlit pine wood, the inside of the comb itself, a volcano floor, a rooftop after dusk, a crystal cavern lit only by its own stones. Every enemy is a real species, rendered close enough that an entomologist would name it. Fly with one finger. The bee follows your thumb, so your hand stays out of the way of the screen. The bosses change their job halfway through the fight rather than just getting angrier: the centipede mother splits in two and pinches, the scorpion plants its tail as a turret and flanks you with its body, the…