Claws within the Black

by WhispersandAshes

Exploration

As eager as I am to scout out into this new world and bring glory to the Hive, the influence of my Queen stops me. A small, yet immensely powerful and demanding voice rings out in my consciousness, by-basing auditory nerves and resonating within my mind with an absolute authority. I cannot, will not leave my Queen in this state. Bringing an egg out into a new environment was never an easy feat, and that was with the escort of a dozen or more of my brothers and sisters and never for more than a short amount of time. They were so delicate, so fragile, the fleshy membrane designed for longevity and a sedimentary existence, not for long treks or potential violence. If my Queen dies I shall lose everything once more, and this world will never know the love of the Queen.

With this thought strengthening my resolve, I once more retreat into the depths of the ship, my precious quarry cradled in my spindly arms. A tool for violence I may be, but gentle touches are a necessary part of the hive. It is with this in mind that I weave a stringy silicon mesh around my future Queen, securing her to the base of the ship, within the deepest part of the charred remains of the hive. From her I string thin lines of stretchy wax out to the surrounding walls and floor of the ship. If anything is to breach this sanctuary, I shall know.

With my Queen protected, I drop to all fours and thrash my tail from side to side as I sprint down corridors and through shattered bulk heads, up silicon covered walls and into bent displaced air ducts, my fingers clasping hatches and sensory tubes on my back reading air currents to direct me towards the surface. I slither from an air duct adjacent to a large rectangular room and rise to my feet.

In the center is the largest of the streamers, the ones I had constructed to help my kind move throughout the ship whilst we hunted the hosts who built this place. At its base is a mound of detritus, toxic dust and sand from ages long past, hurled down into the ship via those blasted atmospheric storms, scrap metal corroded into sharp edges and.....some kind of sticky brown residue. Not blood, far sweeter and with a strong taste of calcium. Perhaps the residue from a storm? If so, what kind of storm would produce sweet smelling brown liquid?

Irrelevant. If it does not concern the safety of my Queen or potential hosts then I am simply not interested. I can smell fresh air, I can taste moisture from up above. Despite how far down I am, I can hear the buzzing of activity from the surface.
It is time for me to leave this infernal place ans journey out into this world.

Punching through the base of the streamer, I claw and spit until in is reduced to its fleshy state. Nothing can be wasted and this streamer shall serve as an entrance into the hive. Storing the black goop along my spines and within myself, I crawl up, through the streamer and out, into the twilight of a vast forest.

This place...such potential! Such an abundance of life! Vast trees covered in lank vines trail down to the ground, the canopy producing a speckled light that dances across my spines and plays across the forest floor. Rotting vegetation, fungi and branches litter the ground, creating a humid haze that dances through my senses. The occasional drip of rain, gathered on spiny leaves falls with a dripping sound, minute yet ever present in the hubbub of life that inhabits this forest. It's glorious.

With a flourish I raise myself to my full height, spines clicking, armor setting into place and bladed tail humming through the air. I tilt my head back and scream, mouth within mouth snapping out, open and hungry. Saliva flies from my maw as I roar my jubilation, my declaration of my loyalty to the Mother and the beginning of a hunt that shall consume this world. The cry resonates throughout the forest, sending rabbits scurrying for burrows, birds dropping in fright from trees. Timbre wolves cower in their dens, whimpering and shying away from the noise. Manticores manes wilt as they quiver in fear, and deep within the forest, a slumbering Ursa Minor is gripped with a feeling it has never known :Fear.

The forest is silent, no creature wanting to break the spell, not wanting to alert whatever made that noise.

I have wasted enough time as it is. I must hunt, retrieve hosts for the formation of the new Hive. Animals will do at first, their organic matter shall be spun, woven into the webbing that coats the nest. New eggs shall be born, and from them the Breeders will crawl forth. These shall be drones, they shall protect the Queen, build the hive and perhaps retrieve more hosts. For warriors and the Queen however the light of sentience is needed. The spark of an aware and inquiring mind. The Mother and her soldiers shall not be born from beasts, it would not be fitting.

Tasting the air, I locate a game trail, the scent of prey. Allot will be needed to produce the eggs and even more to birth the Drones, but I digress. This is the course of action I shall pursue. With a jerk I drop to all fours and tear off into the undergrowth, on the hunt for prey.

And it is so, under the light of Lunas moon that the first blood shed by this hive is spilt. Deer and rabbits tracked, cornered and incapacitated, dragged squealing underground and woven into the mesh of nightmares, the struggling of the victims causing the webs to begin to break them down into organic matter. By dawn, the prey is gone, eggs quivering and pulsing lie in the webbing, the facehuggers within twitching with desire to be born. Fresh hosts are brought in, screaming and flailing, and they are laid down, tethered and bound in front of the eggs. Breeders leap and crawl onto the faces and throats of the animals, coils tightening and ovipositors forcing themselves into the esophagus as they are dragged into unconsciousness.

I look upon my work, and I feel the Queens approval. The hosts writhe and twitch in their bedding, even as the Breeders die and wither off of their faces. The hosts shall nurture and feed the life that grows within them. Until they have ripped forth and born the drones that my Queen so desperately needs, I shall wait here, in the place of suffering and death, life and jubilation. The hosts shall soon be reborn into the glory of the Hive, and know true community.

Life prevails.

Author's Note:

"Not blood, far sweeter and with a strong taste of calcium. Perhaps the residue from a storm? If so, what kind of storm would produce sweet smelling brown liquid?" Answer. The shit storm that's about to hit Equestria.
Fun fact, for those who don't know much about the Alien universe and the capabilities of the Xenomorph, the Workers, Drones and Queen are capable of taking hosts, reducing them to organic matter and creating eggs out of the resulting bio-organic mush. Yeesh, what a way to go. Broken down slowly only to be born into the hive as a facehugger.
As always thanks for reading, leave a comment suggestion and a rating if you wish and I'll see you all later!
Peace.

Comments

[DT42]

Good chapter.

[GNECproductions]

Absolutely hilarious. Suggestion: Make chapters longer instead of two different ones. However keep doing what your doing then as your skill increases. Make them longer with a slight increase in details. Over time it will build up.