Disclaimer: Chronic exhaustion is a common result of staying up too late for whatever reason. Stories about bug controlling superheroes are largely irresistible, even to the siren call of slumber. I have made poor decisions lately. Science, however, marches forward. A possible method of treating HIV has once again raced into public consciousness with intriguing potential, and I've just completely given up on the pretense that these sections have anything to do with science or the lack thereof in Catalyst. Or my lack of legal ownership. Speaking of which, don't own it.
Catalyst
Nurmengard had been under siege many times. It was designed for them, designed as an impenetrable fortress, an impenetrable tower that the enemies of the greater good would forever be locked within. Although it now only hosted one man, the enchantments and wards which had earned it the envy and ire of Europe remained as strong as ever. No wizard, no matter how strong, could possibly hope to breach its walls.
Looking at the carpet of hard carapace and spiny limbs arrayed before him, Sasha couldn't say he was sure that adage would hold up to the Zerg.
He had heard of these monstrosities, the northern isle's new mess. Last he'd heard, they were isolated in Britain, safely contained by garrisons of witches and wizards. Clearly, the higher-ups hadn't seen the need to keep him in the loop. Sasha couldn't help feeling a tad resentful about that at the moment. He exchanged an anxious glance with the wizards next to him on the fortifications. They looked just as nervous as he felt. They were trained to fight against people, not that. None of them had any idea what to do. But the enemy certainly seemed to.
With a wet squelch some of the more bulbous creatures launched green eggs through the air, and the eggs landed at the edge of Nurmengard's wards. Sasha immediately let a series of explosive spells arc out of his wand, joining the crowd of destructive rays heading towards the sacs. The spells connected in a brilliant explosion of light. By the time it cleared, the eggs were gone, a great deal of them smashed and scattered across the ground. But a set of lumbering monsters were already walking through the blast zone toward the wards. With mangled fists, they repeatedly slammed against the shimmering magical barrier, climbing over each other just to get more space to attack. Sasha sent out more spells. Another wave of destruction slammed into the mass, sending bloody limbs flying through the cold air. Sasha couldn't believe they were still coming, but they were. They just kept hitting and hitting and hitting, acting more like inferi than living creatures. Just then, Sasha caught a glimpse of a face beneath the protruding tentacles.
By Merlin's beard, the zerg had made their own inferi. How many people were done at that ward, how many homes had they broken into, how many people had they done this too? Sasha tried to count as he launched more spells, but after he reached one hundred, he was feeling too sick to try to continue.
Another pers-another inferi, slammed its claw into the barrier to no effect. Sasha managed to snipe it with a well placed reducto before his gaze was caught by movement from farther back. Up until this point, Sasha hadn't seen a single bit of movement from the rest of the zerg forces, who were seemingly content to let their victims do the fighting for them. Now, a group of them with tall rigid bodies, crowned with spikes and a burning pit of liquid, were shifting themselves towards the wards. Sasha had a brief second to wonder what they were doing when arcs of fire shot out of their crowns and arced towards him. He saw the wards flicker into place, anticipating the strikes, before the fire smashed through them in an instant. Sasha was blasted on his rear as the wards collapsed entirely. The bastion had been broken.
In a mad scramble, he lifted himself up and looked out the window. The inferi were leading the charge into the tower gates, triggering every trap. Explosive traps and invisible slashes cut them down en masse, but they just kept walking forward, leaving the traps drained and empty. Sasha's eye was caught by another shift from the zerg forces, lifting themselves up and marching straight forward. Sasha resisted the urge to flee as he saw insectoid legs step uncaringly on the dismembered corpses littering the path. Instead, he ran, falling back to the second position with the rest of the guards. He ran to the cell at the peak of the prison, forming a line with the other guards. Nervously, he stood in front of the barred steel door, holding his wand before him as the echoes of carapace impacting stone raced past his ears.
The first zerg rounded the corner, a squat beetle-like thing with its face pressed into its shell like a turtle. It spat a strong stream of acid at the group, just slowly enough that he managed to put up a shield. The liquid splattered out from it, and Sasha could hear a sizzling noise as the acrid scent of melting rock forced itself into his nostrils. The monster let out another more forceful blast, cracking his shield. The rest of the guards put up their own shields, and the next blast only splattered again, carving small pockets in no man's land. Sasha took the opportunity to launch a blasting curse, and the battle began in earnest. More creatures swarmed in the corridor, again crawling on top of each other in the narrow space. Acid filled the center of the hall, making it all but impossible to move forward, and neither force made any attempt to. What did they hope to accomplish with this? Was it just slaughter for the sake of slaughter, killing for the sake of killing? Sasha couldn't figure it out until the zerg stop firing and burrowed through the floor, vanishing immediately. They could have done that the entire time? Then why hadn't they-
With a rapidly sinking feeling in his stomach, Sasha turned around and opened the cell door, just in time to get a glimpse of the zerg vanishing beneath the earth with the prisoner, and just in time for a bolt of acid to carve a hole through his head.
(Transition)
"Ah, Madame Horlacher. Thank you for coming," the drab Secretary said, looking distinctly uncomfortable.
"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Monsieur Secretary," said Feverème Horlacher, summoning the chair from several feet being her and straightening her formal robes as she sat. She was pleased to note the little gasp the secretary made at the wandless display. A little reminder of her ability was always helpful before things like this. It set the tone quite nicely. "I imagine you know what I've come to discuss."
"The relocation of our aurors away from your community, yes. I understand you had some complaints," the government official said. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"I simply have some concern for the stability of whoever approved that decision. To utterly remove the auror presence of the most veela populated city in France..." she shook her head, looking down and sighing audibly. "You must see, it is nothing less than insanity. You cannot honestly expect us to deal with such a potentially volatile area without assistance."
"Surely a witch of your talents would have no trouble settling any disputes, Madame," the secretary said. That was certainly different, she didn't remember him being this confident or this snippy the last time she had met him. Then again, she didn't bother to remember his name either. His like was replaced so often. They tended to blur together. Madame Horlacher leaned forward.
"Certainly, I can solve any individual dispute, but surely you do not expect me to pick up all of your slack, do you? It is after all your duty to keep the peace," she retorted, leveling her third best glare towards the bureaucrat. "If you find yourself unable to do so, there will almost certainly be problems."
"Madame, I assure you there were good reasons for this transfer."
"Truly? So far, you have failed to provide a single one," Madame Horchaver raised a single imperious brow.
"How much do you know about what's happening in the north?" the secretary asked, leaning forward animatedly.
"Regrettably little. You have not exactly been forthcoming with the details, Monsieur."
"A product of stress as much as necessity, I assure you. To make a very long story far too short, there are beasts on that island. Massive, deadly, and numerous beasts, far beyond anything we've discovered before. Intelligent too, possibly more than the average mage," he leaned forward conspiratorially. "There's even whispers they've infiltrated some of our governments. Needless to say, the ICW is eager to remove them."
"Interesting," Madame Horchaver said blandly, face plainly indicating that she couldn't care less. "I assume these beasts have something to do with this more relevant bout of idiocy?"
"Their movements have influenced our decision, yes. There are four reasons we moved the aurors from your town across the sea," the man said. "First, we are simply in need of more forces, and you had the most convenient contingent available. Second, it gets them out of the hands of potentially compromised members of our own government. Third, it-"
"Sets the stage for calamities within our own borders, causing issues on two fronts. Is that what you were going to say? If not, then you are far more of an idiot than-" Feverème was interrupted when her chair warped beneath her. Tendrils stabbed out, penetrating her hands and legs, binding them to the limbs. Another set wormed their way up her chest and cut through her lips, stitching them together.
The secretary's face smiled, mouth stretching far wider than it had any right to. "Finally, you shut up. Now don't interrupt me again," it said cheerfully. "Now what I was going to say was that the third reason is that it left your quaint little veela flushed town completely vulnerable to my kin's jaws. And their mandibles, acid, claws, glaives and so forth, but who's counting? They're wiping out the last pockets of resistance as we speak." It glanced at her lips. "Well, as I speak. Thank you again for being so polite."
Feverème struggled against her bonds, thrashing wildly back and forth, unheeding of the pain where she was stabbed. In a desperate bid, she bid her magic to hurl every loose object in the room at the creature. In response, it sent tendrils out from its skin, wrapping around the projectiles and holding them there with inhuman strength. Feverème desperately forced her makeshift weapons towards it, trying in vain to force it away from her. She needed to get out, she needed to escape. It just sat there with its far too wide grin
"And the final reason was to lure you here. You're a powerful witch, Feverème. Don't think we don't appreciate that. We have plans for you, and I'm sure you'll enjoy them. After all, don't humans always speak of how rewarding it is to be part of a greater whole? You'll definitely love it." Figures melted out of the walls, more disguised bureaucrats, each spilling out of their heading spots like a thick liquid. Their limbs grew out from underneath, and they began to use them, approaching her methodically. All of their faces wore the same identical grin.
Feverème had had enough. With a rush of power, she pulled the ceiling down onto the monsters, hopefully crushing them. She tried to turn herself to the side and apparate away, taking a stony blow to the shoulder before she could complete the movement.. She popped back into existence back home, leaving bloodstains all over her bedroom. She had left her right arm and leg behind, and the rest of her body was covered in gaping wounds left behind from the tendrils. She didn't care. With a herculean effort, she lifted herself up on two limbs, and began to crawl outside. Her door had been left ajar and a thick purple goo covered her patio.
Feverème managed to limp outside. She was greeted with a portrait of hell. The purple goo covered every inch of ground. On top of it crawled grotesque monstrosities, moving around under the gaze of bloated sacks of flesh hovering above. The only saving grace, the only thing that kept her collapsing her then and there, was the lack of corpses.
That lasted until she saw a line of creatures that looked like odd, giant lobsters carrying pieces of her friends across the street.
Feverème collapsed where she was, letting loose a low keening sound. Everything she had known, everything she had ever fought for, destroyed in a single day. She couldn't even get up the energy to move as she heard a series of pops ring out from above her, when she heard a voice asking her mocking questions that she couldn't even try to figure out the meaning of, or when a set of scaled tendrils lifted her off the ground, carried her a distance, and then shoved her into a wet sack alongside someone else.
(Transition)
"Will this suffice for 'essence'?" Voldemort asked, gesturing dramatically to a row of cages dominating the center of the Malfoy's dining room. They were large and sturdy, enchanted thoroughly enough that even Thenabar could feel the psionic power radiating off of them. But it was the contents that sparked such absolute pleasure in the Evolution Master, or at least the warped version Thenabar felt radiating off him at the moment. An artificial pleasure in a lot of ways, engineered, as basic as the need to feed and respirate. That didn't make it less intense. Thenabar really couldn't blame him for it either.
Even he was salivating, looking at the dementor, locked in place and all ready for him to pluck and devour. It was an emotional maelstrom, a shambling, shredding void that Thenabar couldn't help but lust after. It was like a hole that he had never know he had, and the plug was right in front of him. Surely, Abathur would let him have one or two. There were dozens of the things here, and he understood the urge to evolve as well as anyone. Surely he would be satisfied with that big muzzled disease cat, or that elongated metallic arthropod, or that other feline with the abnormally long abdomen, or the camouflaged prescient ape, or any of the half dozen other creatures besides. This really was a diverse menagerie. If he wasn't pathologically opposed to humans, he would have called Voldemort's efforts impressive.
"Valuable essence. Very useful. Many creations, many possibilities. Must experiment. Much to do," Abathur wandered towards the cages almost in a trance, limbs stretching themselves forward, grasping.
"I'm curious, Abathur," Voldemort interrupted. "You have barely any magic, and yet you make things of such beauty." He gestured towards the zerg soldiers. They were about half of Voldemort's number now, their sleek carapace moving smoothly under black silk. At a thought from him or the Evolution Master, they would tear everything in this room to bloody ribbons. It was all Thenabar could do to keep the smile off his face. "Do indulge my curiosity, won't you?"
Thenabar molded his gaze over Voldemort's face, watching his still open eyes, slightly flared nostrils. He wanted to figure out precisely what they were doing, that much was obvious. Was he irked at the lack of knowledge, eager for a chance to get this power himself? He had refused any modifications on his own body, for all that he had eagerly offered up his underlings. It had gotten to the point where he hadn't even commented on Luna's influx of recruits.
Voldemort didn't trust them at all did he? He wanted to mutate his forces all by himself, remove the middleman. Well he should have thought of that before he provided them with a legion of magical cannon fodder. To be fair, Voldemort had fulfilled his end of the bargain. There was no reason to decline his request. Thenabar was sure Abathur would be absolutely pleased to show Voldemort his work first hand. Abathur combed over Thenabar's mind, picking over his reasoning and conclusion.
Abathur was silent for a moment, then spoke. "Acceptable. Bargain fulfilled. Simple to adjust." With that, he moved past the thugs and thrust his limbs into the giant disease spewing feline, scattering the blood across and offering ample access to its innards, which he began to eagerly devour. The remaining human minions flinched back as the evolution master carved out his bloody niche, spattering the red liquid wide and far, a bit even making its way onto Voldemort's skin. The Dark Lord didn't seem to notice or care. Well, his funeral.
Thenabar on the other hand, released his loose grip on his humanoid form, letting black tendrils lash into the cages of one of the dementor's pulling it's struggling form into his now toothed torso. It was every bit as delectable as he thought it would be.
(Transition)
"Mutant wizard terrorists, entire towns vanishing, super aliens, and giant purple patches of God knows what that are visible from fucking satellites! Clearly this is a problem beyond your capacity to contain. Please, tell me why our governments shouldn't send in our forces right now!" the Prime Minister set down his papers and glared at Shacklebolt. "I would really like to know."
Kingsley Shacklebolt sighed. This was going to be a long conversation.
(Transition)
Hey, he put in his own transition this time. He's learning! ~f
Larval Development: It's no secret that the larva are the way that every single strain starts its life in the Swarm. From the towering brutalisk to the submerged lurker, all zerg start as a single creature of near-infinite variety. The larva's adult form is chosen by a careful combination of chemical and psionic signals, sent through both creep and nearby overlords. The signal from the overlords serves to excite portions of the larva's brain, causing it to form a cocoon and float freely in an enzyme-filled nutrient broth. The enzymes within the broth break down the extremely durable outer shell, dissolving it into raw material for later use. The cocoon is then infused with a chemical cocktail, taken from specialized structures such as evolution chambers, spawning pools, hydralisk dens, or ultralisk caverns. The specific signals produced en masse by these structures trigger specific genes, shaping the development of the larva in much the same way that genes are triggered in more conventional embryonic development. As the larva develops and grows according to the chemical signals, all the code for other strains is purged, in order to increase the speed of cell replication and prevent the harvest of the complete genome of the Swarm from the corpse of combat strains. This deletion of sequences is only suppressed in the drone, which is itself another basis for the Swarm. Some sequences are preserved in the cases of strains which can later metamorphize, such as zerglings or corruptors, but the vast majority are simply annihilated. In a matter of minutes, the larva grows into the desired form, bursting from the cocoon ready to take their place in the greater Swarm.