For reader notice. I have 3 ongoing fics. Void Hero, TWTGH (the want to go home), and Geneticist. I go between updating each one and attempt to update each once to twice a month when possible.
I would also like to invite you all to my Discord server for my fics— /tsCyUV2m6k . I do polls, post announcements for the chapters, and have links to all the important things on that server. It recently got a facelift as well, with the new surge in activity. Being on the server means you get to vote for the different fics and maybe even change a fate or two.
IN ADDITION, here is my link tree link, it has most if not all the links connected to me. /LittleLamb31532
Anyway, back to the fic.
()~~~~~()
Abathur remained silent for a moment, his many eyes fixed on Izuku. The thick, wet click of his mandibles echoed in the dimly lit chamber before his voice broke the stillness.
"There is... merit in such obtuse ideals."
The resonance of Abathur's voice seemed to vibrate the very air, carrying an unyielding sense of authority. Izuku stood frozen, his small frame a stark contrast to the towering forms of the two Zerg creatures. He tried to steel himself, though his heart thundered in his chest. For all his determination, he felt very much like a child once again—a child facing the monsters that once haunted his dreams. Things his mother told him didn't exist.
He forced his feet forward, crossing the remaining steps in a hurried, almost stumbling pace. Zagara's spindly fingers brushed his shoulder, the touch achingly gentle despite the alien nature of her form. But her comforting presence was short-lived. As soon as Abathur's rigid appendages replaced her touch, Izuku felt a jarring shift.
The moment Abathur's grasp settled on him, nausea overwhelmed him. A violent surge of information flooded his mind, raw and incomprehensible. His knees buckled, and he crumpled to the fleshy floor. His throat constricted as he vomited thin, stringy bile, the acidic tang burning his mouth. Among the mess, small, writhing maggot-like organisms wriggled and twisted on the living floor.
Pain shot through his spine as Abathur's sharp, probing appendages shifted from his shoulder to his back. It wasn't just physical discomfort—his mind felt as though it were being dissected and rearranged, every neuron firing at once.
Larva. Basic organisms. Building blocks of the Swarm. Over 240 chromosomes. Selectively constructed.
The foreign thoughts coursed through his brain in fragments, a chaotic mess of Abathur's meticulous knowledge. Each revelation threatened to drown him in its magnitude, his mind barely able to grasp the vast complexity of what he was being shown.
None of the information was coherent. The endless drone of Abathur's cold, mechanical voice beat against Izuku from all sides, each word laced with a brutal precision that left no room for doubt or pause.
"Larva. Internalize their structure," Abathur intoned, his voice devoid of emotion but heavy with purpose. "Inactive chromosomes. Once active, cocoon formation begins. Thick walls. Viscous embryonic fluid. Metabolization catalysts infused with high steroid concentration for each stage of gestation. Once strain chosen, all excess chromosomes expunged. Remaining genetic code activates. Instant mutation through psionic command. Input strand information into host. Essence rewrites. Adapts to stronger, more viral strain. Mass army overhauls possible. Basic. Important. Internalize. Evolution in battle creates opportunity for stronger, more absolute strength."
The words were relentless, battering against Izuku's fragile understanding like a storm crashing against the shore. They carried a weight beyond mere language—a primal, alien logic that demanded comprehension, no matter how incomprehensible it seemed.
Izuku's body trembled as he felt Abathur's probing fingers tighten around his spine. The sensation was unlike anything he had ever experienced; it was as though the rigid appendages split into thousands of smaller, grasping hands. Each hand latched onto an individual nerve, working their way up toward his brain.
With each connection, foreign concepts bloomed in his mind. Words that had held no meaning before now took root, sprouting into jagged fragments of understanding. An underlying hunger began to gnaw at the edges of his thoughts, subtle at first but growing with each passing second. It caught Izuku off guard, this insidious wave of feelings that struck like a hammer to the back of his skull.
Fear.
It was the first sensation that overwhelmed him, stark and visceral, wrapping around him like an icy shroud. But it wasn't his fear. It wasn't human. It was raw, alien, and layered with something deeper.
Hope.
The fear was drowned in flickers of hope, faint and fleeting, only to be buried beneath a suffocating tide of desire. The emotions tangled together, indistinguishable and all-consuming. Izuku could almost taste the fear, sharp and metallic, as it spun around him.
And beneath it all was a whispering truth, one that sent a shiver down his spine. The fear was not of death, nor failure—it was the fear of losing the unity of self. The terror of a hivemind, of being a follower bound by instinct, yet forced into a role of leadership. The crushing weight of decisions that were no longer chosen but imposed.
It was a fear of freedom.
It wasn't Izuku's fear. None of the emotions surging through his mind belonged to him. The torrent of feelings, the alien threads of thought weaving themselves into his brain, were foreign in every sense. And yet, they felt more real, more vivid, than anything he had ever experienced.
Izuku reached out to those fears—not with rejection or disdain, but with a tender, almost instinctual compassion. He cradled them in his mind, feeling the obsessive, nagging edges of each one. They weren't his, but they felt... familiar. Like an echo of something deeply human, even in their alien nature.
A quiet resolve stirred within him. This is what a hero would do, right? He wasn't sure. He hoped so.
The emotions dragged over him like heavy chains, weighing him down even as they carved meaning into his soul. Words drilled themselves into his consciousness, sharp and relentless. Their meanings, their spellings, their undeniable truths imprinted themselves on his malleable mind.
Evolution.
The concept was vast, its edges boundless, and its truth unyielding. It was the pursuit of something greater, something perfect, even if perfection was an unreachable horizon.
Izuku's eyes flickered open, his vision hazy but finding clarity as they locked onto his mother's. Her warm smile melted the lingering unease within him, grounding him in a moment of pure, untainted love. He reached for her hand, his small fingers intertwining with hers. A sudden, sharp jolt of energy passed between them, making her jump slightly.
Izuku's heart swelled with affection, a warmth that pushed back against the cold logic of Abathur's teachings. He ran his thumb gently across her knuckles, marveling at the delicate strength they held. His mother's essence seemed to flow into him, filling the cracks left by the invasive thoughts. She was his anchor, his constant.
They walked together through the familiar warmth of their home, the sound of their footsteps mingling with the hum of a quiet morning. His mother's eyes shimmered with love, bright and unwavering like stars in a boundless sky. Izuku wanted to hold onto that feeling forever, to let it wrap around him like a protective cocoon.
Evolution.
The word echoed in his mind again, deeper this time, layered with meaning. The universe's relentless attempt to achieve perfection, though perfection itself could never truly be reached. It was a truth etched into the fabric of existence—a choice every species had to face:
Evolve, or lose oneself to the tides of time. Evolve, or perish.
The ideals sank into Izuku's mind like a brick pressed into soft slime, settling in as a foundation.
His green eyes blinked slowly, the words taking root. Evolution wasn't just a concept; it was alive within him now. His green hair, his own genetics, the strange, intricate threads tying quirks to their hosts—it all connected, tangling into a web he could almost see.
Izuku's mind shifted, the torrent of foreign information momentarily giving way to something closer to home. A new wave of understanding washed over him—not about himself, but about her. The hand he held, so warm and steady, now told him a thousand unspoken truths. His mother's very essence unraveled before him in intricate detail.
He could see it all. The slow bloom of arthritis forming in her right hand, so small and faint that it hadn't yet begun to bother her. He could feel the subtle weakening of her vision, though it would take years before it might even be noticeable. Her perfect eyesight remained intact for now, a point of resilience that made him smile despite the weight of the knowledge.
Yet it wasn't her physical condition that stood out the most. It was her quirk. The information flowed into his mind in short, concise bursts, almost clinical in its delivery:
Attract. Minor psionic quirk. Sight required for target. Telekinetic capabilities, dependent on host's casual carry strength. Amplified by muscle strength.
His mental focus tightened on the information that sank into him.
Base potential: Subpar. Yet, as a foundation for selective evolution, its possibilities are immense. With refinement and generational change, Attract could give rise to quirks of extraordinary strength.
The concept lingered in Izuku's mind, stark and sobering. His mother's quirk was small, unassuming—just like her, in many ways. But it's true power wasn't in its current form. It was in what it could become. The idea made his heart ache with a strange mix of admiration and sadness.
He squeezed her fingers a little tighter, feeling the quiet strength of her love wrap around him once more. His gaze lifted to meet hers, and he smiled.
Izuku's bright green eyes met his mother's softer shade, filled with a familiar sparkle of love. But this time, her expression didn't immediately mirror his. She hesitated, her gaze shifting into something… different. It wasn't disappointment or anger, nor was it the unfiltered adoration he was used to seeing when she swaddled him in his favorite All Might onesie on weekends to play hero.
There was something deeper there—concern, perhaps. Or even fear.
Izuku's mind surged, calculations firing faster than he could control, threading together the nuances in her expression and tone, faster than a child his age ever should. Had he been acting strange?
Probably. It was hard to be the same playful, carefree boy when Abathur's "lessons" were gnawing at the edges of his innocence. Every night was a dive into the depths of biological intricacies, cellular adaptation, and the merciless logic of evolution. It was as if his mind had been rewired, processing the world in sharp, overwhelming detail.
They hadn't played hero in a while, he realized, and his chest ached with that thought. He wanted to ask her why they hadn't, but the answer was obvious. He was the one pulling away. It was the only answer his mind could come up with.
The memories of the past week rushed in like the buzz of static—fragments of moments that felt disconnected, almost dreamlike. He remembered the playground, the way he'd lightly grabbed every kid's hand, each touch accompanied by that strange, faint shock of electricity. He didn't mean to—it just *happened.* And each time, his mind exploded with new knowledge: the other kids' quirks, the way their bodies moved, even small details like the strength of their muscles or the density of their bones.
It wasn't just the kids. He'd done the same to his dad when he came home from work, and to his mom every time they hugged or held hands. The pattern was the same—a small jolt, followed by a tidal wave of information. The sheer scope of what he learned was overwhelming, like trying to drink from a fire hose. He could sense things about them they might not even know about themselves.
Now, as he sat kicking his feet in the waiting room chair for the second time that week, Izuku's mind refused to slow down. The newfound ability to absorb and process information with such ease was exhilarating, but it also made it hard to focus. His thoughts would drift into the buzzing hum of his quirk's mental space, a place where Abathur's constant drone filled the silence. The evolution master's lectures flowed into him like a river carving into stone—every word, every concept sticking to his mind with eerie clarity.
"Internalize structure. Analyze essence. Manipulate potential."
The phrases were like a mantra now, a rhythm embedded in his thoughts. He could sit for hours without moving, his body still while his mind raced, sketching out possibilities and patterns. His tiny feet stopped kicking for a moment as he let out a slow breath. Even when he wasn't trying to think, he was still *thinking*.
His mother's voice broke through the haze. "Izuku, sweetie, it's time to go in."
He blinked, snapping out of his daze. Looking up at her, he saw the same love in her eyes as always, but that undercurrent of concern remained. He reached for her hand again, holding it as they walked. The static shock between them was faint this time, barely noticeable. But as it passed, a pang of guilt settled in his chest.
She didn't deserve this—the stress, the worry. He wanted to tell her he was still her little boy, that he hadn't changed. But deep down, he wasn't sure if that was true anymore.
But it wasn't just his mental state that must have been worrying her—he physically looked different. He spent hours in front of the mirror, staring at himself. He was still Izuku, still there... but different. His teeth were too sharp, and when a baby tooth fell out, it took only minutes for a new one to grow in its place—sharper, grooved, and strange against his tongue. Even his sense of taste had changed. He could still recognize flavors, but each one now came with layers—a second, sometimes even a third flavor, as if the world had grown more complex in his mouth.
And his eyes... the soft emerald green they had always been now seemed to glow faintly, as though a lantern burned behind them, casting light through his skull.
Izuku shook his head, trying to regather his thoughts as he walked beside his mother. His fingers no longer elicited a static shock when they brushed against her knuckles. Instead, he felt a gentle pulsing deep within his palm—soft, rhythmic, and strange. He didn't know what it meant, and for now, he didn't care.
As they passed by the quirk therapy and treatment centers lining the corridor, his attention wandered to the people waiting inside. Kids, teens, even adults sat in rows—some in visible pain, others with frightened, uncertain expressions. He could smell their fear, see the most minuscule flinches of pain on their facial expressions, each one made his heart ache.
A teenage girl caught his eye. She sat alone, her shoulders tense, her face pale. Her posture spoke of discomfort, her expression of deep-seated fear. His nose twitched as he unconsciously analyzed her—an overwhelming scent of pain filled the air around her, sharp and bone-deep. Quirk-related, his instincts supplied.
He tugged gently on his mother's arm, veering slightly to the side. They hadn't reached their appointment yet, but something drew him to the girl.
Her wide, dilated eyes met his as he approached. She flinched, her body betraying an effort to hide her pain, though her expression gave her away. Izuku didn't hesitate. He reached out, his small hand resting lightly on her leg. A soft, deliberate pat followed, and then the shock.
That familiar surge hit him, but this time, his eyes widened ever so slightly.
"Quirk: telekinetic communication," he murmured, almost to himself, his mouth barely moving as he whispered. "Able to communicate thoughts and emotions to and from all humans within a one-hundred-foot radius. Constantly active, no natural shutoff. Side effects include overexertion of the brain and severe calcium depletion—primary fuel source for the anomaly."
His hand twitched slightly as he concluded, "Simple fix would be to enable a mental override for the ability. A switch to turn it off..."
Izuku's hand lingered on the girl's leg for a moment longer, his mind buzzing with information, possibilities, and connections. Somewhere in the background of his thoughts, a steady, droning voice stirred, not loud but persistent, like a whisper threading through his mind.
"Observation: anomaly unstable. Excessive input leads to degradation. Solution required. Adaptation necessary for survival."
The words weren't his own, but they weren't entirely foreign either. Abathur's lessons had left their mark, his voice now a fixture in the depths of Izuku's thoughts. It didn't command or demand—it was simply there, nudging him toward answers.
Izuku tilted his head, his green eyes narrowing slightly as he let his thoughts flow freely. The girl's quirk pulled at his awareness, a chaotic storm of thoughts and emotions surrounding her. It wasn't just draining her; it was suffocating her. She was drowning in the noise of a hundred minds, unable to silence them.
"Excessive stimuli. Overload inevitable. Analyze source. Implement solution."
His fingers twitched against her leg, the pulse in his palm echoing faintly, like a metronome keeping time. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, visualizing what Abathur might have done if presented with such a problem. A mental image surfaced—shifting strands of DNA, their ends frayed and glowing, tangled in chaotic loops.
"A switch," Izuku repeated under his breath, his voice soft. "Not just a physical one, but mental—biological. Something to isolate the input when it becomes too much." His mind churned for ideas, even if he had no skill to make them reality he wanted to at least figure out some form of fix, or find the problem. "Or perhaps some way of lowering the constant usage of calcium… or…" his mind swam.
The girl's breathing slowed as her trembling easing just slightly as she peered down at him, dark eyes, dark hair, pale skin, soft features. His thoughts continued to race, dissecting her quirk like a puzzle. The calcium depletion... it was the fuel, her nerves were consuming the resources at an increased rate as she aged.
"Fuel inefficient. High-cost system. Optimization required. Streamline function."
Izuku frowned, his small brow furrowing in concentration. "Calcium consumption at this scale isn't sustainable," he murmured to himself, the whisper of Abathur's voice reinforcing his reasoning. "It burns too fast. If the body could substitute it with something else... or, if it could ration the fuel source instead of constantly running full throttle then—"
He paused, feeling the girl's leg tense beneath his small hand. Her eyes wide as they remained locked on him. For the briefest moment, curiosity flickered in her gaze, like a fragile ember struggling against the wind. Izuku offered her a soft, reassuring smile—the kind only a child could give, full of innocent sincerity, a silent promise that everything would be alright.
"You have to listen to everyone all the time," Izuku said gently, his voice steady despite his age. "I can't even begin to understand the stress it must cause, that many voices, feelings… I… I want to help you somehow… someday." His voice was low, only for her to hear as he felt his mothers eyes glued onto him.
A foreign thought—cold, analytical, and precise—threaded itself into his mind. "Mental override. Self-regulation essential. Adaptation permits survival, enhances function. Evolution requires change."
The words settled in his thoughts with a sharp finality, like the last piece of a puzzle locking into place. His hand instinctively gripped her leg slightly, as though he could anchor her to the hope he offered. If only he could find the exact adjustment she needed, the precise code to ease her burden. Hours could pass as he unraveled it, days, years even—but perhaps there was another way.
Izuku closed his eyes briefly, searching inward, where a strange energy pulsed within him. He gave her leg a soft, reassuring pat, letting a final shock ripple between them, another dose of her genetic material ingraining itself into his mind. The subtle grin on his face betrayed a growing confidence, even if he didn't fully understand what he could do for her.
The girl blinked at him, her lips parting as though to speak, but no words came. Instead, she simply stared. A soft feeling brushed his mind in a way he was used to, warm and heartfelt, unlike the emotions pushed onto him by Abathurs presence.
Izuku turned back to his mother, his small smile still lingering, though his thoughts churned. In the background, the droning voice of Abathur's teachings faded to a low hum, retreating to the recesses of his mind. There was so much more to learn, so much more to understand. But right now, one thing was clear: the girl needed help. And if he couldn't give her what she needed, then someone else would have to.
As Izuku and his mother stepped into the clinic where his quirk doctor awaited, his body moved on autopilot. He answered the doctor's questions fluently, his small frame performing the routine tests with the ease of familiarity. Yet his mind was elsewhere, fogged, distant. As Izuku found himself seated once more in his mind, the air thick with the weight of Abathur's presence. The Evolution Master's countless eyes fixed on him, unblinking, as though scrutinizing every fiber of his being.
There was so much more to learn from this creature.
"Request. Confusing." Abathur began, its many limbs folding inward toward its bulbous, pulsating body. The chittering undertone of its voice reverberated through the fleshy chamber. "Information gathered, essence absorbed through contact. Observations conclude same end. Teen human with psionic telepathy will die. Calcium deficiency or autonomous action on organism's part. Help superfluous. Time better spent on genetic alteration for self. Much to do." The creature's voice stayed steady, but as it spoke of altering self a near growl undertone its words.
From her shadowed nook in the wall, Zagara shifted, her form emerging like a specter. Her burning yellow eyes opened, locking onto Abathur with an intensity that could wither steel. The Evolution Master ignored her glare, its focus fixed on its work. "Simply, wasted effort," it concluded, its tone devoid of concern.
The words dug into Izuku like barbs, making his skin crawl with unease. Frustration welled up inside him, spilling out as he stomped his foot against the unyielding, fleshy floor. "We have to! It's what heroes do! We have to help her! Those doctors can't do what you can do!"
Abathur's head tilted ever so slightly, a gesture of faint acknowledgement—or dismissal. Without a word, it turned back to its project, its focus already drifting away from Izuku's impassioned plea.
Izuku felt his chest tighten, his heart sinking under the weight of Abathur's indifference. He spun on his heel and trudged toward the other edge of the chamber, each step heavy with frustration. He slumped onto the floor with a huff, anger and despair swirling within him.
He wasn't good at this yet. He hadn't even managed to make a single successful alteration to something as simple as an ant. Every attempt so far had ended in failure.
He clenched his fists, the memory of his past attempts playing on a loop in his mind. Hours of meticulous effort, his hands trembling as he applied each change, only to watch the ant's body collapse in on itself. The alterations always led to the same outcome—death. Even on the smallest scale, he couldn't get it right.
"How am I supposed to help her?" he whispered, his voice barely audible over the organic hum of the chamber.
Izuku's thoughts drifted back to the girl, her face burned into his mind. The frustration, the failure—it didn't matter. She needed help. He couldn't just stop trying.
Closing his eyes, he let the essence he had absorbed guide him. The mindscape shifted, bending to his will. The ground beneath him pulsed, warping and morphing. Slowly, the shape of the girl emerged from the fleshy floor, her body forming with eerie precision.
When the process was complete, she stood before him, an exact replica of the moment he had touched her—a perfect, lifelike copy.
Izuku stared at her, the replica's presence a stark reminder of his goal. His resolve hardened. He wasn't going to give up on her. His mind was set on this goal, and nothing would change it. He had a lot of things to do, and not much time to do it. However, time moved differently in Izuku's mind. While only a few minutes had passed in the real world, where his body sat before the quirk specialist explaining his abilities in halting, childlike terms, his mind had already stretched those moments into what felt like hours.
Izuku stood before the static form of the teen he had conjured, her essence suspended in his mental realm. He offered her a soft, almost apologetic smile. His young mind, whether by innocence or willful ignorance, overlooked the unsettling reality: every time he summoned someone's essence, it reconstructed them in their most vulnerable, natural state.
He focused on the glowing threads of her quirk, the mutation etched into her spinal cord, spreading into the brain stem and branching into every section of her brain. It was fascinating in its complexity, a dense network of neurons that acted like a relay, connecting the brain to those around the girl, thus allowing her quirks functions to work. The nerves devoured calcium at an alarming rate, syncing and channeling the thoughts of those around her into a cohesive, understandable flow of information.
It was a marvel of evolution—a terrifying one.
And yet a clumsy one.
The price of such a gift was clear in her body. Her spinal cord, actually now that he looked closer, all of her bones were overburdened by the mutation. Her quirk had siphoned calcium more and more over the years to the point of fragility. They were brittle, fragile structures, resembling the bone density of someone suffering from advanced osteoporosis.
Izuku felt a pang of sadness for her, a tightening in his chest that mirrored the weight in her essence. None of the quirks he had analyzed before were so detrimental to their host.
Blinking, he shook his head, his focus sharpening. New information trickled into his mind like a steady stream, fragments of Abathur's teachings surfacing with each passing moment. The Evolution Master's voice echoed faintly in the recesses of his thoughts, cold and clinical, as though it were etched into his very being.
Izuku ran through possibilities, ideas forming and dissolving in rapid succession.
Calcium and vitamin D supplementation?
It might temporarily bolster her system, but it wouldn't address the core issue—the neurons were consuming resources faster than her body could supply them.
Reduce the density of the quirked neurons?
Theoretically, it could decrease the strain on her body, but it risked diminishing her quirk's effectiveness entirely.
Nothing felt right.
Nothing worked, no matter what he did in this space, the simulations all ended in failure.
Izuku's small hand clenched into a fist as he stared at the replica of the girl, reset back to the moment he touched her leg. The answers danced just out of reach, fragments of a puzzle scattered across his mind. He needed more time, more understanding. But how could he help her when even his best ideas fell short?
A flicker of determination sparked in him. He wouldn't give up. Heroes didn't give up.
Turning his focus inward, Izuku let the information swirl and settle, waiting for the moment when clarity would strike.
If it ever did.
Izuku slid against the wall until he sat on the fleshy floor, absently twisting a strand of his hair around his finger as his mind churned. He didn't know how to integrate a mental switch—or even a physical one. The complexity of what he was attempting felt insurmountable.
How was he supposed to do such a thing?
His gaze drifted toward Abathur, who was engrossed in its relentless work. The Evolution Master's many arms moved in perfect synchronization, threading strands of genetic material through its grotesque, organic tools. Strands were pulled, altered, and woven back into place with precision. Over and over again, a never-ending cycle of creation and refinement.
Evolution.
Izuku's eyes narrowed. He stood abruptly, his small fists clenching at his sides. With determined steps, he marched toward Abathur, reaching out to grasp one of the creature's more human-like arms. His touch was soft, but the boldness of the act startled the Evolution Master, who jolted and turned its many eyed head toward him.
"Organism Izuku—" Abathur began, its voice a guttural rumble of irritation and curiosity.
"You can't do it, can you?" Izuku interrupted, his voice low but steady. His green eyes, sharp with focus, met the creature's featureless visage.
Abathur stilled, its many arms pausing mid-motion.
"It's too complicated for you to fix, isn't it?" Izuku pressed, his voice growing bolder. A flicker of a grin began to tug at the corners of his mouth. "This is beyond you, isn't it?"
Behind him, Zagara shifted in her nook, her yellow eyes gleaming with interest as she peeked out to observe the exchange.
Abathur's limbs twitched, resuming their work with a slightly jerky rhythm. "Incorrect. Task not impossible. Complexity requires time. Efficiency prioritized. Flaw resolution secondary to primary objective—self-improvement."
Izuku's grin widened, his young face alight with a mix of defiance and confidence. "But if you're all about improvement, shouldn't you be able to figure this out faster? Or are you admitting you're not as advanced as you think you are?"
The room fell silent except for the faint squelching sounds of Abathur's tools.
"Statement provocative. Intentional. Manipulation attempt noted," Abathur said, though there was an edge of something unusual in its tone—a faint trace of uncertainty.
Izuku leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "If you really are the best at what you do, you wouldn't let something like this stop you. A real Evolution Master wouldn't let a little girl's quirk stump them."
Zagara's laughter echoed softly from her nook, a sharp, hissing sound that seemed to cut through the tension. "The whelp challenges you, Abathur. Do you feel the sting of pride? Or is it shame that stills your hands?"
Abathur turned toward Zagara briefly, a faint clicking sound emanating from its form before it refocused on Izuku. "Challenge accepted. Parameters adjusted. Prioritizing resolution. Inefficiency tolerated—for now."
Izuku released the creature's arm, stepping back with a satisfied nod. "Good. Because I'm not giving up on her. And neither should you."
It wasn't a certainty, nor even a promise of success—but it was enough. He didn't know if Abathur could fix the girl's quirk, didn't know if the strange, unsettling creature even cared about her beyond the opportunity to dissect and understand. But for the first time, Abathur was trying. And that alone meant something.
Izuku exhaled shakily, his small hands curling into fists at his sides. "You'll really help her?" he asked, voice trembling slightly, not from fear but from the weight of everything resting on this tenuous agreement.
"One request," Abathur's voice was a guttural rasp, its many eyes locking onto Izuku with unnerving intensity. The creature's mandibles clicked softly as it continued, "Occasional control. Length variable. Wish to… explore."
Izuku blinked, confused for a moment before realization dawned. Abathur wasn't just asking for trust—it was asking for freedom. For the ability to act through him, to see and manipulate the world in ways it couldn't from within the confines of his mind.
A chill ran down his spine. The thought of giving up control of his own body, even temporarily, should have scared him more than it did. But as he stood there, staring at the evolution master, he realized something surprising: he trusted it. Not fully, not blindly, but enough to believe that it wouldn't hurt him—or at least, not without reason.
Izuku grinned, his resolve firming. If that's what it took to save the girl from her quirk, then so be it. "Only if you help me every now and then… okay?"
The alien creature's mandibles clicked again, a noise that might have been approval. "Agreed."
For a moment, neither spoke. The air between them seemed to shift, charged with a strange energy, as though some unspoken understanding had been reached.
Izuku felt a thrill of something he couldn't quite name—excitement, perhaps, or purpose. This was it. This was what being a hero meant, wasn't it? Making sacrifices, taking risks, if it meant helping someone else.
He looked over at Zagara, who had remained silent throughout the exchange, her glowing yellow eyes watching him intently. She tilted her head slightly, almost as if acknowledging the choice he'd just made.
And for the first time, Izuku felt like he was standing on the edge of something vast, something terrifying and wonderful all at once.
The fleshy chamber pulsed softly, the organic walls alive with rhythmic motion. Abathur worked tirelessly, but its movements were less fluid than usual, betraying its agitation. It did not pause, of course—such inefficiency was unacceptable—but its mind churned as it processed recent events.
The child's demands grated on its consciousness. Constant interruptions. Foolish persistence. Wasteful sentiment. Yet, an undeniable curiosity had crept into its calculations. Organism Izuku. Unique. Potential substantial. Obstacle: emotional tendencies. Complication: persistent morality.
Its arms continued weaving strands of genetic material, slicing, merging, and reweaving with precise, mechanical efficiency. The neural structure of the girl's mutation hovered in Abathur's mind like an irritating anomaly, begging to be dissected and understood.
And then there was Zagara.
Abathur glanced at her briefly. She remained in her nook, her sharp yellow eyes narrowed in amusement, or perhaps disdain—it was often difficult to parse her strange, chaotic thought patterns. Zagara had always been an outlier. Recreated with precision, yes, but her mind operated in ways that defied Abathur's expectations. She had been designed to serve as a stabilizing influence, a tool to manipulate the child's trust. Instead, she had evolved into a wildcard, frequently siding with the boy.
Unexpected. Frustrating. Predictable, in retrospect. Mind patterns deviate. Zagara's disposition toward altruism problematic. Connection with organism Izuku deepening. Useful? Perhaps.
Abathur's claws twitched as it sliced through a particularly stubborn strand of genetic code. The neural density of the girl's quirk mutation presented a puzzle that would normally excite the Evolution Master. But now, with the child's eyes watching and Zagara's laughter still echoing in its auditory memory, it felt... pressure.
Emotional manipulation. Effective tactic. Logically understood. Yet, biological response persists. Annoying. Inefficient. Must neutralize distraction.
Abathur refocused on the task at hand. If resolving this girl's flaw would placate the child, then perhaps the effort was not entirely wasted. The boy's potential far outweighed the value of a single organism. Demonstrating success in a small matter might increase the child's willingness to engage in more significant experiments in the future. In addition the new deal granted Abathur a new tool.
Its limbs blurred with renewed purpose, dismantling the girl's genetic framework in the mental simulation it had constructed. The spinal mutation was dense, an excessive network of neural pathways consuming calcium and other vital nutrients at an unsustainable rate.
Simplify structure. Retain function. Reduce consumption. Hypothesis: lower density without impairing synchronization. Must test.
Abathur's many limbs moved in concert, simulating alterations and running calculations. A fragment of its consciousness remained aware of Zagara's watchful gaze. She would make some infuriating comment if it failed.
It wouldn't fail, after all manipulation of something as simple as this was something he had been doing for years on end.
As it worked, another thought surfaced, unbidden but undeniable. Perhaps the child's persistence and emotional reasoning were not entirely without merit.
Observation: organism Izuku exhibits unique adaptability. Emotional engagement correlated with increased effort. Possible advantage: foster loyalty through cooperation. Likely to result in higher output over time. Suboptimal short-term. Long-term potential significant.
Abathur clicked its mandibles softly, the sound lost in the hum of the chamber. For now, it would humor the child. Solve the problem. Demonstrate superiority.
And perhaps, just perhaps, learn something new in the process.
The girl's quirk intrigued Abathur, despite himself. Dense neural pathways, instinctive synchronization of minds—fascinating. Not unique, but rare. The principles of connection, of mental dominance, carried echoes of an experiment from long ago.
Sarah Kerrigan. Queen of Blades. Genetic alteration efficient. Outcome: psionic amplification. Mental dominance. Strong leadership for the Swarm.
The memory brushed against Abathur's thoughts like an itch just out of reach. His chitin twitched involuntarily, the rare emotion of elation rippling through his form. Joy was an anomaly, inefficient, yet undeniable. Kerrigan had been the most effective leader the Swarm had ever known. Not flawless, never flawless, but closer than anything else he had crafted.
But that flicker of satisfaction was quickly consumed by something darker.
Beneath the elation, hatred bubbled, corrosive and unrelenting. So much had been lost. The archives of genetic material he had painstakingly gathered, nurtured, and refined—gone. Pulled into this primitive world, the Swarm stripped from him, leaving him with nothing but fragments of his own biology to study.
His mandibles clicked sharply in agitation, a noise that echoed his inner turmoil. If he had retained even a fraction of his archives, altering organism Izuku and creating a new Swarm would have been a matter of time and effort. Instead, he was reduced to scavenging this world's limited genetic stock, forced to experiment with crude, incomplete strands to rebuild what had been taken.
Failure. Unacceptable. Problem requires solving. Path forward exists. Must adapt.
He returned his focus to the girl's quirk, claws weaving strands of genetic material with methodical precision. Despite his frustration, there was something admirable in the mutation's efficiency. Crude but functional. Her ability to unify minds, though dangerous to her own biology, had potential.
Hypothesis: combine neural synchronization with organism Inko's quirk. Telekinetic foundation. Introduce forced evolutionary virus. Accelerated mutation over thousands of generations. Potential output: functional psionic framework.
The idea solidified, and with it, a faint flicker of anticipation. This planet, for all its primitiveness, possessed an extraordinary density of genetic variation. If harvested and refined, it could serve as the foundation for a Swarm—not the same as before, but something close. Close enough.
The thought brought an unbidden wave of anger, his claws faltering mid-motion. He had achieved so much with his archives, come so near to his goals, only to have it all torn away. Now, every strand he wove, every experiment he undertook, was a painful reminder of how far he had fallen.
Still, necessity drove him forward. The girl's mutation was promising. If refined and combined with Izuku's adaptability, it could pave the way for more significant advancements—not just for the child, but for the Swarm's future. The tiny changes already on the child's genetics showed Abathur that his vessel would be a fine leader in the future.
Result: mental superiority. Enhanced psionic control. New possibilities for Swarm.
His claws resumed their work with renewed purpose, irritation giving way to cold, focused determination. Helping the girl was a means to an end, a necessary step toward reclaiming what had been lost.
Not for Izuku. Not for the girl. For the Swarm.
And nothing—no obstacle, no imperfection—would prevent him from achieving it.
Abathur's hands came to a deliberate stop, claws retracting slightly as the final threads of the girl's genetic code settled into place. The simulated world within Izuku's mind was an advantage he had never anticipated, a domain where experiments could be conducted without consequence, without waste. No biomass lost. No tedious reclamation.
The air in the chamber felt still, quiet but for the faint clattering of his chitinous plates as he considered his work. Simulations were often flawed, limited by the parameters of their creators, but this one—this creation born of Izuku's strange mind—allowed for infinite iterations. He could begin anew as many times as necessary, running trial after trial until the optimal result emerged.
This time, however, there was no need. The alterations had succeeded.
Abathur turned slowly, his many limbs curling into a precise, controlled rest. His multifaceted eyes settled first on Izuku, who was pacing with that incessant energy that seemed to define his existence, and then on Zagara, who watched with a calculated curiosity.
"Changes possible," Abathur rasped, his voice a low, guttural hiss. He tilted his head, mandibles clicking as he continued. "Only need time alone with organism for a short time. Quickest: one hour. Any additional alterations will increase this time drastically."
His gaze shifted to Izuku, sharp and expectant. "Once finished with your tests, organism Izuku, secure an hour alone with organism to commence alteration. Efficiency critical. Delay unacceptable."
He could feel Zagara's gaze on him, her expression unreadable but her presence an almost tangible weight. She had always been a strange one, her mind a patchwork of instincts and contradictions, as if even in her recreation, she refused to conform entirely to his expectations.
Still, her usefulness had proven undeniable. Despite her tendency to side with Izuku—a frustrating, inefficient habit—she had value in stabilizing the child's chaotic energy, in nudging him toward compliance when logic and demands failed.
Abathur's many eyes left Zagara after a few moments of compilation, his body curling in on itself tighter as he settled back into his task, his many limbs resuming their precise movements as his mind shifted back to his endless search for solutions. The interruptions from Izuku were a persistent irritation, often getting in they way of his scavenging through what little genetic material had come with them to this world.
Fragments. Mere fragments.
Small snippets of creep, the barest foundations of overlord DNA, the rudimentary codes for enhancing bone density and muscle fibers, the corrosive secrets of roach acid. Unconnected pieces, scattered remnants of what once had been a vast and intricate archive of genetic mastery. So much was lost. Barely anything to build upon.
His claws paused briefly, a twitch of irritation rippling through his chitin. He had retained just enough of the cocooning strands to allow for minor alterations, but even those were woefully incomplete. They lacked the vital aspects derived from the zerg's most advanced adaptations—quicker recovery, accelerated growth, the essential building blocks of a swarm.
What he had now was insufficient. Imperfect.
His mind churned, he had kept Zagara's mind intact. Abathur shifted his thoughts to the many replicas of Zerg queens, the mental simulacrum of various terrans that interested him, and the prized replica of the old queen. Some were unusable, shattered and unusable. A few still retained replication potential.
His mandibles clicked softly as he recalibrated his thoughts. His many minds worked in tandem, once he helped Izuku then he could return to his main objectives. He only needed an hour with the girl, he would need to take control of the boy's body to conduct the procedure. With that time, his sub-task would be complete.
And he would take a direct sample of her quirk as payment.
It was a fair exchange.
Satisfied, Abathur returned to his work, the faint clatter of his claws echoing through the fleshy chamber. The path forward was fraught with inefficiency, but progress, however slow, remained within reach.
— continue? —
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Word count for chapter 7113
Patrion thanks section: Brandon Smith, Rom Hack, Lifeless, Carfmodyios, Sean Ross, Dylan Rosenbusch