They are fighting again. Shouting and tearing and screaming, all in a cacophony of sound and anger, echoing in the Titanium hollows of the H.I.V.E. five's base. Kyd Wykkyd watches their voices thrown back and forth; Gizmo's high pitched, grating screech, Mammoth's deep, reverberating baritone, Jinx and her harsh, powerful howl. The sound gets louder and louder as Billy Numerous and SeeMore join in making the din, all seeming very determined to make the roof collapse in a sudden avalanche of metal. What they were fighting about, he suspected they couldn't even remember, but were all reluctant to allow each other the pleasure of victory. Kyd Wykkyd watches and listens, standing silently at the far side of the room. To a creature with the gift of speech, the clamour would quickly become annoying and unnecessary, but to Kyd Wykkyd; it was heaven. So quiet he was in his inability to communicate with the creatures of this dimension. He spoke, but no one heard him, so he settled for silence, and speaking through what these humans perceived as body language. Shakes of the head, shrugs of the shoulders, all so unorthodox and trivial in comparison to his land and its culture. But perhaps he was guilty of fascination, of being intrigued by Earth's ways and the human language.
They spoke and communicated through various tones and sound waves, all carefully controlled to make specific sounds, meaning assorted messages and insinuations. These sounds were given a sound - a "name" it was called – words.
The creatures of Kyd Wykkyd's home lacked the ability to speak on the grounds that humans did; they lacked a Larynx – a "voice box" - so what hope did he have of connecting with this worldly-cage? Cast into a lower dimension for crimes untold, Kyd Wykkyd was scared and alone, punished for sins he did not commit. Then, he was approached by Brother Blood, and the kindly creature offered him a light, a flame to cling to, which seemed ironic for a monster of shadows.
And now the H.I.V.E. five were his flame; candles flickering in the dark loneliness, in the quiet. Their loud sparking – their shouting – brought bright sound to his dark, isolated mind. He loved their voices; he loved hearing them scream and yell and call. Their tones, pitches, accents and everything about this incredible, variable, ever-changing sound called language... he loved it. He craved it. He didn't want to live in a world with no noise. In a silent, cold world.
So he stood there, listening, as he watched the little orange flames burn and spark.
Hail to the princess, baby!