Disclaimer: So much good stuff to watch, so little time. It's frankly absurd just how much there is. If a person devoted their entire life to watching good shows, series, etc., they couldn't even come close to finishing them. Just ridiculous. You could spend 345 hours on Critical Role alone. Speaking of which, see ya. Also, don't own it.
He was supposed to be watching 七つの大罪, (The Seven Deadly Sins) but I guess he got distracted by Matt Mercer's charismatic visage. I can't blame him, really. Matt Mercer is pretty distracting. ~f
(On a somewhat unrelated note, it has come to my attention that a user by the name of Mystery Man has reuploaded some early chapters of Catalyst to the site royalroads, and has claimed that he is my brother. Let me be absolutely clear that exactly none of that statement is true. The story was reposted without my permission or knowledge, and at the time of writing this, I have submitted a report to the site owners, informing them of the problem. For now, it appears the story has been removed, either by the support team or the poster. But I do want to make it abundantly clear that the only sites I've posted this story to are Ao3 and fanfiction. Anything else is not me.)
Catalyst
Abathur was never meant to be a commander. It wasn't a flaw, it was simply a fact. He had been grown as a researcher, a weaver of essence, a shaper of flesh. He was certainly capable of military command. In fact, he had enough skill to grow the likes of brutalisks and leviathans on the battlefield, in the midst of bloody combat. When growing weapons of war, a basic understanding of tactics was simply necessary. But it was not what he was made for. This conflict with the terrans, the mind games and deception, had sapped his time for evolution.
But Thenabar was handling the humans and working with Umbridge, who was managing the infiltration and the war, while Luna acquired more test subjects. And that left Abathur just where he wanted to be, standing in front of a row of cocoons, shaping and molding the next generation of the Swarm.
The Hive was both the first of his brood and the first place his attention was directed. They were an odd sort. A collection of traits and essences gathered by a primitive intelligence, focused on immediate survival and evolution. Almost like a primitive Swarm in their design, overly diversified with no real sense of cohesion and no specific roles to fill. That was fine. It simply meant they were in need of refinement.
The Hive had shined as spies, assistants, an army of hands and legs extended from a greater mind, such as his own or the weavers'. So that's what they would continue to be for now. Abathur took samples of each of the Hive's strains, mixed them together. The mass of the Hive would have to be simple, flexible. The end result was a small body, sitting on a series of branching limbs, each tipped with a single needle-thin claw. A small orifice surrounded by sensory organs would produce either the essence or silk needed for their controller's work. Simple, efficient. There would likely be need for more specialized strains, but for now, this would suffice. Abathur forced the mutation out from his mind into the flesh of the billions of already living Hive, forcing them into cocoons. Mentally observing the billions of individuals, he found another pleasant surprise: the Hive facilitated the mutation on its own. The newly evolved Hive attached themselves to the immature cocoons, piercing in and accelerating the process. Abathur estimated the Hive decreased their own mutation time by at least a third. A facet worth examining, a concept with massive potential. But later. He had other strains to evolve.
The weavers, eight legged shapers of wards and runes, were the next to gain Abathur's attention. Physically, there was little need for improvement. The acromantula had already been made to weave webs, and he had already set up places for the Hive to nest. Aside from some minor improvements, adjusting the jaw shape, replacing terran processes with Swarm ones, there was no need for him to do anything. The greater problem was with their mind.
When the weavers had been left to their own devices, they had constructed wards. Powerful wards, complex wards, but incredibly inefficient. The weavers had confined them to acting like beast-like behavior, as thought the wards were a crude thing of flesh and blood rather than the phantasmal force they should have been.
Part of that was his own fault. He had thought of runes as the essence of psionics and that thinking had contaminated the weavers. For the same reason, he wouldn't be able to fix it. As much as Abathur loathed to admit it, he was less than capable of filling this role. A disturbing implication. He had been guiding the Swarm's development since his creation. But psionics demanded a fundamental shift of nature. To advance it, he would have to overwrite almost all of his base instincts. Unacceptable. His ability to alter essence would be crippled. The Swarm would stagnate. A biological standstill just for the sake of psionic advancement would leave the zerg no better than humans. The very idea was so foul that he had to flood his brain with memory suppressants just to purge the comparison from his mind.
No, the Swarm needed a new Master, a Master of psionics, a mirror of his own position. It would be tricky. The Overmind had personally created Abathur from the strands of every zerg strain in existence. To do anything less would be a waste. He was sure there were a few methods that could work. Abathur just had to experiment.
He still had a few other strains to work with, aside from that. He set the Hive on the cocooned Death Eaters. He had enough experience to form a template. They could handle it without him. Now, the chizpurfle. Small parasites that metabolized magic. Their essence had all sorts of uses from minimizing waste to speeding up growth, to even potential weaponization against the wizards and protoss. But the reduction of waste was the simplest and most immediately useful implementation. Ignoring the muffled thrashing and screaming behind him, Abathur turned his eyes to the creep tumor covering the room. Should he put the chizpurfle's magic-metabolizing organs in the tumor, or spread them out across the creep? Spreading them out would be more efficient, but could also force the growth to slow down. He would have to test out both. Oh, and he still needed to figure out how to use the basilisk essence, and half a dozen others besides. So much to do, so little time.
(Transition)
"Good evening sir. Would you like to hear about our lord and savior the Overmind?" Luna barely managed to get the words out of her mouth before breaking into giggles. She couldn't help it, the whole concept was just too funny. Luna remembered muggles trying the same line on her when she was still human, and the absurdity of using it now just made her laugh.
The wizard standing across from her didn't seem to be as amused. His eyes seemed to be transfixed on her tentacles, which were shaking mildly behind her and waving around in front of the hydralisk at her side. His hand darted towards his pocket, where Luna could see the outline of a long rod.
"No, don't do that," Luna asked. The hydralisk bristled. His hand froze. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have laughed. This could be the most important decision of your life, I should take it more seriously."
"Honey, what's going on?" A moderately large women, dressed in a floral-patterned robe, stepped out into Luna's view. Before she could pull out her wand, Luna reflexively froze her in place.
Crap. Why did she do that? Now they weren't going to want to join at all, because she had made a poor first impression. Just to make sure, she reached out with her mind, caressing the surface of the two human's thoughts. Terror. Pure terror. Of course. Why would it be anything else? She had come to their house, prevented them from moving, and still hadn't explained what she was doing here. Sighing, Luna ran a hand over the hydralisk's ridge, calming herself by twining her fingers between the barbs, frowning. This was her first time, and it was going absolutely horribly. The hydralisk snorted, lightly pushing its head against her. She giggled, and turned back to the humans. Their eyes seem to have moved from her, practically gluing onto the hydra. They were interested in it? Oh, that was great! Maybe she could salvage this after all.
"Are you interested in it?" she asked, putting a smile on her face. She ordered the hydralisk to lift itself up, revealing the full extent of its form. Now, that was getting a reaction. But why weren't they saying anything? Oh. Right. Oops. She loosened her grip.
"I'm sorry about that. This is my first time doing this, and it's not going at all like it should. Let's start again, okay? I'm Luna, and I want to convince you to join the Swarm." They were silent. She took that as a sign to continue. "Have you ever felt like you didn't fit in? Like you didn't have a purpose?" They still weren't responding. Luna had no idea what to do.
"I mean if you have, that's great. But how would you like to feel like that all the time?"
They were still saying nothing, just standing there shivering from the cold. Luna probably should close the door, but then she would have to step in the house and that seemed rude.
"I know, I'm doing a really bad job at explaining this. It's not the kind of thing that's easy to put into words." They weren't even listening anymore, just keeping their eyes closed and muttering to themselves. Was the wind getting in their eyes?
"Oh, I know!" Luna said, and began to concentrate, drawing the psychic weave of the hive mind around herself, focusing it into two points. With needle thin focus, she guided the threads of the hivemind into their skulls, saw their muscles relax as the overwhelming might of the Swarm swept through them. Already, Luna could see tendrils of thought from the other zerg reaching into their minds, playing around with their potential new family.
"Do you get it now?" Luna released her telekinetic grip, leaving the two psionics free to move. They dropped to the ground, before standing up unsteadily, eyes vaguely glazed over. Luna was surprised at how well they'd taken to the hivemind, and how well the hivemind had taken to them. The weave of thought around their skulls was smooth, simple, almost exactly like the hydralisk still cuddling under her arm. The humans stood up, gazing at Luna with dulled expressions of awe.
"I'm so sorry, my queen. I didn't know, didn't realize what you were trying to give to us," the man said.
"Please, forgive our folly and let us fully join you," the women chimed in, using the same flat reverent tone.
"Of course! I mean, it was my fault too, I didn't do that well," Luna said "But you get it now! You see!"
"But...this isn't permanent, right? We still need to be changed, to be more like you," the man said, a downward tilt on his lips.
"You already know that? You're right, but that won't be a problem! I'll just take you to Abathur, and he can have you infested right away!" Luna said. This was great! Two more people already, and all she had to do was show them, she didn't even have to explain it! If it was all this easy, then Luna would be able to give so many people what Abathur had given her. She felt like she was on top of the world.
Luna skipped around, directing the two new recruits towards You-Know-Who's base, hydralisk coiled by her side. Behind her, the couple walked deliberately, legs moving mechanically one in front of the other, following her to Abathur and his cocoons.
(Transition)
"Do those buggers seem larger to you?" Adeviar asked with a scowl, golden eye trained on the distant creatures floating through the air. Dumbledore squinted, but was unable to make out any details between the distance and cloud cover. The balloon-like beasts had been hovering around the camp for days, placidly floating through the clouds. They had sent brooms up to them, trying to get a closer look, but the living balloons had just hidden themselves in the clouds. They hadn't done anything aggressive, but they were still too close to zerg for comfort. They put everyone, including Dumbledore, on edge.
"I really couldn't say, Adeviar," Dumbledore replied after taking a look.
"Well they're louder. Like a bunch of flying cockroaches. Practically screaming their eyes off." Adeviar levelled a suspicious glare towards the bulbous, presumably zerg creatures. "Do you think fiendfyre would reach high enough?"
"Do you think you could keep control from far enough to prevent it from coming back down and burning us?" Dumbledore inquired. Adeviar grimaced, but stayed silent. He wasn't the only one nervous about the creatures. On his visits from Hogwarts, Dumbledore had caught more than a few of the younger soldiers casting glances into the sky, waiting for the ball to drop. Still, nothing had happened.
"For all we know, these are merely here are observers. Better to save our strength for those foes which we know to be imminently dangerous."
"If you think observers aren't dangerous, then I have a few questions about how you've survived this long," Adeviar said in a brusque manner.
"I intended to say that observers are unlikely to run us down and claw our faces off," Dumbledore elaborated.
"Maybe not directly."
Dumbledore sighed. "My point is, take every moment of relaxation you can get. There is nothing to be gained from imagining threats around every corner, waiting for the ball to drop." Adeviar's head jerked up. "Adeviar?"
"They're laughing. Why are they laughing? Since when can they-" His eyes widened. Dumbledore followed his gaze. He saw the bloated flyers opening their flesh, disgorging a cargo of bulbous green orbs, falling down towards the encampant, more numerous than clouds. A bombing run. They had been bombers, flying unopposed over the camp for days, watching. Merlin.
Adeviar spun into action before he did, shouting out a warning before putting up a shield, covering himself and Dumbledore under a translucent dome. Across the tents, similar domes flashed into existence. Not enough. The bombs landed, bursting into splashes of bright green liquid that ate into the ground. Screams rang through the air. One of the bombs landed directly on top of Dumbledore and Adeviar, glowing liquid splattering over the shield, threatening to blast through it from the sheer force of the impact. Adeviar angled the shield, causing the liquid to slide off and into the ground, carving great scores in the dirt.
Above them, the zerg flyers were leaving, drifting off into the horizon. Beams of red and green were rocketed into the clouds, shooing them out of range of the camp. Good. There were plenty who had survived, plenty fit enough to drive them away. Dumbledore stood, surveying the situation. Tents were half melted, the furnishing inside warped and poking out into the camp like domestic rose bushes. The screams of the injured rang in his ears.
"Spread out, search for survivors," Dumbledore ordered. Stupid. Search for the survivors, never imply that there might not be any. He was out of practice, Dumbledore realized as he walked away. Peacetime had dominated his life for the past decade, and while he wouldn't have traded it for anything, it made him rusty, ill-equipped to handle this.
Dumbledore moved between the half dissolved tents, eyes scanning the ground for anyone. He could hear the occasional sharp crack of apparition, the wizards popping away. Try as he might, Dumbledore couldn't seem to find any injured wizards, those who would be too hurt to apparate but still able to leave. It could be that their more able comrades had pulled them out. He glanced to one of the pools of acid. It had opened a large rift in the ground, nearly as deep as a person was tall. What would that do to a person without the benefit of a shield? Perhaps there was another reason he was finding no wounded.
Dumbledore kept looking for another few minutes, but everyone able seemed to have already evacuated the camp. In all honesty, he should probably be doing the same. This search had so far proved to be fruitless, and every second he stayed did nothing but put him further at risk. He flicked the Elder wand, sending his patronus to Adeviar, sending a message requesting a rendezvous. With a forlorn sigh, he turned towards the center of the ruined dwelling and started walking. This wasn't the end of the conflict by any means. Dumbledore had yet to get a firm idea of the casualties, but in terms of general damage, the only things to be destroyed were the easily replaceable tents. There had been no follow up attack, no attempt to capitalize on the ambush. It made no sense. The camp wasn't very large, and it took only a few minutes for Dumbledore and Adeviar to reach each other. Adeviar was accompanied by a few other wizards, looking wearily across the campground as they stepped over a leaking sink to join Dumbledore.
"Any luck?" Adeviar began.
"Unfortunately not. Have you?"
"Not a bit."
Dumbledore sighed. "It might be worth leaving with the rest then. It seems there's nothing more to-"
Two of the wizards close to the edge of their group erupted in plumes of green liquid, turning them into skeletons in a second. The remainder whirled around in time to spot a set of green orbs emerging from the ground, dirt sliding off their bulbous bodies. Leftover bombs? They turned to face Dumbledore, and the realization hit him like a physical blow. These were living creatures. The zerg had dropped living creatures to die, sacrificed their own just to land a first blow. They valued their lives as much as wizards valued their spells.
What in Merlin's name were they fighting?
The green blobs curled in on themselves, rolling into balls that propelled themselves towards the cluster of wizards. Adeviar let out a wave of fire, detonating most of the creatures, while Dumbledore formed a shield that caught the worst of the blast. Splashes of acid slipped around the arcane barrier, burning holes in his clothing, melting the surface of his skin. Dumbledore grit his teeth and kept up the barrier, allowing the wizard behind him to pick off the remaining orbs before they got too close. When the smoke and acid had cleared, Dumbledore could see the holes the explosive beasts had crawled out from. They had been burrowed underneath the ground, hidden, ready to kill anyone that had walked above them. He had been lucky, incredibly lucky.
"Banelings. Burn-bearers, digesters. Fortification destroyers," Adeviar spat out. "Suicide bombers."
"Spoilsport," a familiar voice rang in their minds.
The wizards, high on adrenaline, spun outwards into a circle, wands pointing outwards, only to find nothing but empty space.
"Cute. If I was actually anywhere near you, I might be mildly concerned," the voice stated mockingly.
"Then where might you be, Thenabar?" Dumbledore asked. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Adeviar's eyes open wide in realization, before his face set itself into a snarl. "Surely you can't expect me to believe that you can send thoughts to us kilometers away."
"Me? Probably not. But what I can apparently expect you to do is have that delightful amalgamation tell you what overlords are."
"Relays, nodes. Communicators, coordinators," Adeviar said, before closing his mouth forcefully.
"Huh. You even got some of Abathur's speech patterns? That's intriguing. I'm sure he'll be quite delighted when we finally get you in our grasp, amalgamate. You've already been so helpful, being so kind as to visit me and let us extract the recipe for overlords from your flesh. We were cut off from the rest of our kind for so long, they really did make all the difference."
"Think you'll thank me when I burn every last trace of you from the planet?"
"Well I didn't think you were suicidal, but by all means. Your attempts to destroy us will make things much easier for us." Ethereal laughter rippled through their minds, the same laughter that must have rang out from the zerg just before the attack.
"Is there a point to this, Thenabar?" Dumbledore interrupted. "Is there a point to this conversation, this attack?"
"The attack, nothing beyond the obvious. We'd been preparing this for some time, and to be honest it wasn't quite ready. But when you gave us that opening, I knew I just had to do it. As for this conversation, well...I just want to stress something I'm sure you've picked up already. This is not a balanced war, Dumbledore. We know all your tricks, and you barely have the slightest inkling of what we have up our metaphorical sleeves. This is asymmetrical warfare in its purest form, and you are most definitely on the losing side. Simply put, every one of you is going to die, and there's not a thing you can do about it."
"Have you any idea how many times I've heard variants of that speech?" Dumbledore asked.
"Fair enough. Psychological warfare is a rather recent addition to our armory, we have much to learn. Besides, if you were this easy to crack, I'd have gotten to you last time. Eh, whatever. Unlike you, I have all the time in the world." With those last words, an inscrutable weight was lifted off of Dumbledore's mind. Thenabar had left, for lack of a better word.
"We should go," Adeviar said. He was gripping his arm tightly, claw tips poking into his skin. "There's nothing left here. Or there won't be for long. The banelings are burrowed everywhere. They won't let us go again."
Dumbledore didn't offer an argument. They needed to regroup. He gave the remaining wizards the order to retreat before turning on his heel and disappearing from the newly christened graveyard.
(Transition)
Sentience: You know you have it if, when asked what you are your only reply is, "...I dunno, but I think I exist or...something. Does that count?"
Sentience: Intelligence, past a certain point, is a trait whose rewards are more than self-evident. Strategy, problem solving, and ingenuity are all traits which are extremely valuable, especially to the Swarm. But in the early forms of intelligence, in the form of sentience found in species that still climb trees and use sticks, intelligence has only a few benefits: the ability to use tools, to recognize other beings as separate, and to utilize crude forms of language. The zerg need no tools, for their flesh adapts itself to whatever they need. The zerg need no language because they can communicate through thoughts alone. And to recognize other beings as separate would not only be unhelpful, but would actually be harmful to the Swarm, all but shattering the hivemind in its entirety. Aside from the Overmind and necessary specialized intelligences, there is no reason for the Swarm to have an excess of fully sentient individuals. So long as the Overmind is alive, there is no need for such things.
And therein lay the problem for the Overmind. His plan necessitated dying to free the Swarm from the grip of Amon and it's eventual demise at the hands of the hybrid. If the Overmind were to die, the Swarm would be a leaderless, feral pack of angry animals doomed to slowly die out. And thus, the Overmind created the Cerebrates, individual intelligences who could function without him. The intelligence also allowed the Swarm to spread even farther, their split attention freeing the the Overmind to fuel rapid expansion and evolution. When the Overmind eventually died, the Cerebrates and the Queen of Blades rapidly reconsolidated the Swarm, thus proving the wisdom of the Overmind's decision. Since that time, each brood has its own sentient commander, ready to take charge and evolve should the worst come to pass. Should the leader of the Swarm be slain, the zerg would fracture, but they would not weaken. There are hundreds of individuals lurking in the shadows preparing for the day when they will lead their broods into the stars seeking new essence, and new worlds.