Disclaimer: So I've started watching Jojo recently. I've never seen better evidence for electronically transmitted drugs before, and this is coming from the person who's watched Red vs Blue. The early seasons. With the time travel. And the...other things. Let it never be said that science is not open to new ideas. Also, don't own it.
I'm sure that's what we're supposed to take away from Jojo's Bizarre Adventure… ~f
Catalyst
In a creep covered room, riddled with pustules of green fluid, Abathur slashed open a cocoon. The cocoon was quite tall, set up in front of a now covered painting, the occupant of which had long since run away. A man fell out of it, covered in spines and carapace. He looked disoriented for a second, before his eyes locked upon Luna's.
"I...I never imagined... I am truly sorry my Queen! I shall dedicate my life to your service!" Rodolphus had been released from his cocoon. He was kneeling on the ground, practically overwhelmed by the sheer weight of the hivemind. Luna could understand it. She had felt the same thing when she was first brought in. Still, Luna found it hard to empathize. Another human was in the Swarm. Another human got to share in the glory, the feeling of belonging, of being part of something unimaginably bigger. He got to be part of the greatest thing in the universe, and he seemed to be perfectly happy in it. He was one with the Swarm, as was she.
How many humans weren't?
"A few billion; I can't say we know the exact number." Luna turned her gaze away from Abathur's last minute inspection towards Thenabar. He raised an eyebrow. "What? You asked."
Luna rolled her eyes. "Alright, fine. I just wonder, is there any reason we can't just bring all of them into the Swarm?"
"Inefficient," Abathur growled out. "Only distinguishing characteristics, intelligence, psionics. Psionics rare. Mass infestation not effective. Minor intelligence, not useful to Swarm. Current strains superior."
"That's not all they have," Luna protested."When they're in groups, they're...they're..." She couldn't come up with the words. Instead, she pushed out the feeling, that feeling of belonging and purpose, so potent even without the hivemind. The passion that had led her to the ministry, the rage that caused her to kill Bellatrix Lestrange. She flooded the nearby hivemind to them. Abathur had to get it.
"Emotions, product of social interactions. Would require spreading intelligence. Potential harm to hivemind. Cannot happen," Abathur paused. "Voldemort approaching. Thenabar, escort Rookwood, explain."
"Of course Evolution Master. Up, Rookwood. Time to introduce you to our lord and master,"He grinned. "You should be quite aware of how to play the part. Do put on a good show for him." Thenabar stopped in front of the door, waiting for the creep to recede off of the edges, before opening it and leading Rookwood out the door. It shut behind them.
"How come you're fine with infesting him instead of the rest of the humans?" Luna demanded petulantly.
"Psionics valuable. Compensates for other flaws," Abathur responded dispassionately. An image appeared in Luna's mind, a hulking humanoid covered in pustules and tentacles. It was disgusting, resembling something closer to a half burnt octopus than a human. Its eyes were dead, empty. "Only alternative."
"Abathur...have you experimented on humans?" Luna asked with a sinking feeling. Abathur was old, she suddenly remembered. She didn't know exactly how many years, but he was older than any living human. He'd had time enough to do most anything he wanted to.
"Yes," Luna's heart stopped. "Ordered by Queen of Blades. Not good. Poor essence. Was pleased to stop."
"Oh," Luna said, relieved. She was silent for a moment. Abathur turned his attention to another cocoon. "It's fine if they're magical then?"
"Result superior. Worth effort."
Luna beamed. She could work with that. Sure, it wasn't all of the humans. But she could still share the glory, the unity of purpose and thought, this innate sense of belonging, the things every human searched for their entire lives, and all it would take was an afternoon with Abathur. She could convince people to join with that. Besides, she had always wanted to try being a door to door salesman. How hard could it be to convince someone to get what they already wanted?
(Transition)
Rookwood stood in the center of a pile of downed wizards. Only unconscious of course. Abathur still needed them for later, and while the Evolution Master probably could have resurrected them, Thenabar knew that Voldemort would neither take the revelation of that ability nor the slaughter of his minions without a great deal of unpleasant fuss. For now, the 'man' was radiating giddyness at a rate that made Thenabar nauseous.
"Wandless magic without training, and at such a scale. Your pet demon truly works wonders," Voldemort said, red eyes darting across the masked piles of bodies.
"Actually, I'm pretty sure he just implanted the wand into his spine. It might take a while for his mind to adapt fully, but its much better than having to hold it and swing it around all the time," Thenabar clarified. The news just seemed to make the amateur essence spinner all the happier. No wonder his progenitor had shied away from laughter. Good moods from humans were absolutely disgusting. He really would have to ask the Evolution Master to look into that.
"How long would it take it to modify the rest of my Death Eaters?"
"That depends on how long it will take to acquire more essence, my lord."
"Oh, I'm certain you won't be waiting particularly long. I have just the beasts in mind to sate your demon's appetite," Voldemort replied with a vicious smile, his emotions shifting into a slightly more palatable meal of perverse joy.
(Transition)
"This is most likely your last chance to head back, Adeviar."
"You think I'll pass a chance to attack these bastards?" A clawed hand gripped a well-worn wand, pointing warily between the trees.
"You have not yet encountered the Swarm up close. There may be some rather adverse effects." Dumbledore said ineffectually. His eyes darted along the forest floor, largely shrouded in shadow. He was pleased to note the ICW soldiers doing the same.
"Bit late for 'adverse effects', isn't it?" Adeviar said grinning, showing off sharp, serrated teeth.
"I suppose it is," Dumbledore conceded. "Regardless, you're certain you're able to do this?"
"Just try to fucking stop me." Adeviar snapped. Dumbledore let out a small chuckle in spite of himself.
"Well then, if you're certain, let's begin." Dumbledore raised a hand. The troop he was leading to the zerg's home base stopped, warily looking around. By his own reckoning, they were about a hundred meters away from their territory the last time he had attacked. The decidedly gelatinous feeling under his boots indicated otherwise. They had grown. Dumbledore held up a hand, signaling the collected force of a few dozen trained wizards to stop. Several of the wizards, Adeviar among them, cast spells on their eyes, allowing them to view the wards around the colony. More than likely, they had replaced them after Dumbledore's last incursion. The Curse Breakers glanced around the woods, before their eyes locked almost simultaneously on a single point.
"Dumbledore, what kind of wards did you say they had last time?" Adeviar asked slowly.
"I didn't have time to examine them closely, but they didn't seem to have much more than a concealing ward and extremely basic protection," Dumbledore said hesitantly.
"But they were normal wards?"
"Yes, as far as I could tell. Why do you ask?"
"Well, normally, when you look at normal wards, they aren't looking back."
Dumbledore enhanced his own vision wordlessly. A beast stood before him, composed of glowing blue lines and bright, malevolent eyes. The eyes stretched across a near invisible boundary, lining the edges of the purple gel. Vaguely runic patterns shifted over it like skin over taut muscle. Spirals of mist emerged out from the front reaching towards the ICW battalion. For now, however, it seemed content to simply observe.
"Adeviar, have you ever seen anything like this before?"
"Nope. Guess that means it's time for the first universal backup plan," Adeviar raised his wand. "You might want to look away for this part."
"And why exactly is that?"
"Last I heard, Wizengamot was taking the whole 'Unforgivable' thing pretty seriously."
Before Dumbledore had time to respond, Adeviar shouted the incantation, "AVADA KEDAVRA!", and a sickly green jet of light slammed into the wards, carving a ragged scar across into them. The barrier screamed, a painful thought that echoed painfully throughout Dumbledore's mind. The blue energy tried to push its way into the gap, only to stop at an invisible barrier, unable to close its wound. A spectral talon lashed out from the wall. It launched itself towards the wizards, who barely leaped out of the way. More ghostly limbs forced themselves from the barrier, attacking the battalion.
"Was this really the best course of action?" Dumbledore yelled, dodging away from a grasping tendril.
"Well, it was the quickest one. Other option was to spend weeks studying alien wards. Probably not practical, right?" Adeviar fired a second killing curse, carving another gap. The other wizards followed his lead, a full spectrum of curses flying through the air. Unfortunately none of them managed to scar the wards in the same way as the Unforgivable did and the ward seemed to...regain its composure. Its eyes narrowed.
Suddenly, the curses began rebounding out of the ward back towards the casters. The runic patterns peeled themselves off the wall, forming into new curses, forcing the wizards to block or dodge their own spells. Each new spell, each new attack, only seemed to empower the ward, giving it more weapons to use.
"Just use the killing curse, you daft cunts," Adeviar said, firing more deathly rays of verdant green into the barrier, tearing yet more ghastly holes and eliciting more horrendous shrieks.
Some of the ICW battalion tried just that, aiming with deadly purpose and firing with lethal precision. Holes became increasingly common in the ward and its attacks became more infrequent, more desperate. Those that were incapable of the murderous hatred abandoned their attempts at offense, instead focusing on shielding the capable casters from the magical barrage. The ward became nearly nonexistent, more scars than muscle. With a last incredibly loud cry, the wards collapsed. The younger wizards let out a ragged cheer.
The older wizards managed to shield the battalion from the wave of webs launched from the warped acromantulas standing behind the demolished defense.
"Fine then. Time for universal backup plan number two," Adeviar grimaced. Great flaming beasts ruptured out of Adeviar's wand. They marched through the webbed woods, annihilating plants and zerg alike, incinerating the webs in a relentless burning frenzy. The mutated acromantula scrambled over each other to get away from the fire, but Adeviar's fiendfyre flew right through them, leaving nothing but ashes. In a matter of minutes, all trace of the zerg were gone. Adeviar subdued his flames. Only dead earth remained. The other wizards, Dumbledore included, did nothing but watch.
"Was that truly necessary Adeviar?" Dumbledore asked solemnly.
"Of course it was," Adeviar shot back angrily. "They all need to burn. All of them."
(Transition)
Jean-Paul never thought of himself as a particularly important person. He had a low level job in the ICW as a scheduling clerk, in charge of meetings, conferences, and very little else. To most people he was just another face at a desk, another voice in the office reading out notes to a dicta-quill, another wand twirling through the air in a dull, routine fashion. Each day when his shift was done, he walked towards the Floo terminal, flicking the powder into the fire in a well practiced manner, before walking through and being sent through the dizzying flames to his peach papered apartment, where he lived alone. He prepared a simple meal, read a bit from yesterday's paper, then dropped straight into bed. It was a tedious routine, but a comfortable one. It was far from glamorous, but he had long since accepted that this was his life for the foreseeable future.
After another day at work, another meal, and another day's paper, Jean-Paul pulled himself into bed, resting his head against the pillow and facing the blank ceiling, willing himself to go to sleep. The blanket was comforting, a shield of warmth against the frigid night air. It wasn't until it reached around to stab into the base of his neck that he realized it was the wrong color.
Before he had the chance to react, his entire body below his neck went numb. He struggled, trying in vain to move himself as the blanket reared up and tore itself apart into dozens of cords, topped with rotating teeth while a thick fabric clamped itself over his mouth. Jean-Paul's mind raced back to his foggy memories of Beauxbatons Defense classes, trying desperately to recall anything that would help him. He couldn't. The cords descended. Jean-Paul wasn't sure what was worse, seeing the ravenous tendrils tearing apart his flesh, or the fact that he was unable to stop or even feel it.
Minutes passed. Jean-Paul could do nothing but watch as his body was eaten away. Eventually, he just closed his eyes, hoping that this was nothing but a bad dream. He would wake up. It would all be fine. He could go back to his boring job and his boring life where no demonic lethifolds came in the night to eat him. He felt something brush against his forehead. See, that was probably someone checking in on him. He must have overslept, and someone was waking him up.
Jean-Paul opened his eyes just in time for the flat bladed appendage of the creature to slip under his skull. In desperation, he closed his eyes again, but it was too late. He could feel the monster's limb squirming across his cavities, feeling the rubbery crevices and packed curves lining his skull. Wait, how was he feeling that? With an alarming start, Jean-Paul realized he wasn't feeling the creature digging around. He was feeling what it was feeling. Not only that, he could feel his body below him, but not quite. It had the same shape as far as he could tell, but it was both more fluid and more stiff all at once, and more importantly, he still couldn't lift a finger. Well, he could. But he wouldn't. This was terrifying, an experience ripped straight out of nightmares, but he wouldn't move. This was uncomfortable, but it was necessary. Necessary? Necessary for what? Right, for hiding. Humans could read minds. We need human minds to hide behind.
Overmind, this process was disorienting. He hoped the others were having a better time of it than he was. He felt himself digging around his brain, still dreaded what the monster would do when he had decided he had spent enough time playing with his food. Not to mention he still had to dig through the skull, connect the rest of his nervous systems, all while preventing himself from bleeding out before everything was done. He was planning to eat his own brain, to replace the rest of himself? He would die, he would bleed out. Oh Merlin, he would have to grow a full set of internal organs just to keep his cover alive wouldn't he? That would by hassle. He was willing to bet that Thenabar never had to deal with this crap when he was infiltrating. Whatever. He would just finish the process, merge himself together more fully, finish overwriting those leftover human revulsion, and get back to work tomorrow. He was lucky he didn't have to sleep anymore, otherwise he would have had to go in exhausted and dreary eyed. Once he made a copy of his old body, there shouldn't be too much left to do.
A few hours later, Jean-Paul rose out of bed and picked up his wand, giving it a flick. He was disappointed when only a scant few sparks flew out of the carved wood, but not surprised. Psionics were delicate. The fact that he could use magic at all after that was a testament to both the Evolution Master's skill and his own. Jean-Paul picked it up anyway and walked over to his fireplace, tossing in the floo powder with a practiced gesture. He walked through calmly, enjoying the novel sensation of strengthened lungs which could easily breathe in the smoke. In a novel and yet familiar blur of images, he was transported to the ICW, ready for another day of writing memos and preparing the most delightful schedules that would let Disciple Umbridge know exactly where each of their targets would be.
He exchanged sly grins with a few of the other hybridized morphalisk, admiring the way their skin stretched and flowed so naturally. Was that what he looked like? He had never bought a mirror, but from the equally admiring looks of the others, he must have been. A human mind was a wonderful prop for a disguise.
Together, the morphalisk filed into their desks. The lowest positions, assigned the most tedious tasks. Scheduling meetings, assigning rooms. Really, with his new perspective, Jean-Paul was surprised that this tactic had never been attempted before. He and the other wizards of his ilk had so much influence over the day to day managings of the magical government. If you knew where all the important people were going to be, what was to stop someone from setting up a little surprise for them along the way? Jean-Paul doubted that anyone was going to pay any extra attention to one more quill, and the sheer mass of times and dates that ran through here would make it all but impossible for the wizards to pick up on the pattern.
Another human world infested through overwhelming numbers. How hilarious was that?
(Transition)
(I had to remind him to put that one in, but he did do it on his own. Our author is learning! ~f)
Hivemind: One of the most unique traits of the zerg is their connection to each other, the omnipresent psionic link shared by the entirety of the Swarm. Much like the zerg themselves, the hivemind is not so much a single entity as a massive collection of individual instances, connected into a greater whole. The greater, more intelligent members of the Swarm, such as broodmothers and cerebrates, project their own instance of the hivemind over a certain distance, whether a planet, a continent, or even just a city depending on the strength of the individual. Overlords serve to enhance that range, as well as provide an intermediary between the commanders and the uncountable soldiers underneath them. While overlords have been observed projecting a bubble of control unprompted by a commander, their ability to do so is much less, both in fine control and quantity, then when they serve as a relay. Interestingly, the instanced hiveminds of each commander can often be completely separate from each other, preventing one commander from taking control of another. However, this only happens when the hivemind has been thrown into flux from the death of the primary leader of the Swarm, which causes individual commanders to vie for control over each other. When the Swarm is intact, each commander retains their own individual instance of the hivemind, but remain connected to the greater Swarm under command of the leader, although more often than not, the leader cannot do more than communicate to each commander.
The rank and file of the zerg, the ones sent into direct combat, cannot project a hivemind or psionic connection of any kind. As a result, left to their own devices, they act without any form of intelligence, less than ravenous beasts. Even when controlled by a higher intelligence, a strong enough burst of psionic energy can cause them to break ranks and claw mindlessly towards the source, even crossing the stars to reach it. This has been used with some success to disorganize the zerg, although the psychological effect of seeing swarms literally crawling over each other to reach you somewhat counteracts the logistical benefit.