This story is so much different than what I started out or even intended to write. All feedback is welcome folks.
Timeline: Early Season 3
Warnings: It's a freaking zombie story. That's all the warning you're gonna get. ;)
Disclaimer: Not mine. Belongs to Henson, yada yada yada.
Clouds hang low in the sky, blacking it out as desert flowers sit neatly in rows where the soil meets artificial constructs. I hunger.
These peoples live in peace - complacent, unknowing of fear for thousands of generations.
The need hunger is almost constant. An ache that once, centuries ago, crept into my bones, thoughts and heart, and remained.
Unguarded against one of my nature, they believe the day will keep them safe.
The first to experience rebirth was, ironically, a child of this species. Once entered, taking less than the blink of an eye, she was mine. On all fours, salivating, moments before consuming the one who had given the body birth. Its siblings fell just as easily after discovering my child, ripping away a tongue from the worthless body at her knees.
They all all of them fall easily.
Now the remaining food knows fear and hides behind crumbling walls. I cannot help but feel amusement at their naïveté, at how so very wrong they are. I can smell them, lying in restless sleep. Their dreams are an open book before me. The call of sweet, uncorrupted flesh is too much to resist, and soon I will track them, one by one, until there is nothing left.
Nothing but bones that decorate my temporary home, there they will remain, part of a timeless memorial to the hunt. To my will.
When I move, seek out substance, I want to feel the subtle movement of flesh beneath my fingers. I don’t injure those that I claim, instead I tempt the flesh - caress. make you one of us. Winding myself around them, under the thin line of clothing they wrap themselves in for protection.
There is no protection. home we are home. No protection. Not from me.
They become my children. Forever chained in the confines of the flesh that feeds them, until the shell rots and crumbles away to ash. I feel them. Billions of them as their souls carry across air that is pure. putrid with bile. so luscious. Nothing is sacred. The crack of bone and sinew, the way their tongues lap up the marrow of the feast.
I feed on their energy as they gather strength and spread from one warm carcass to another. They are called plague and contagion by those that would attempt my destruction.
I feel their deaths – and rebirth – when they return home. To me. For I am their world, their universe.
Saturating everything on this world, I seek out others – stirring their evolution – reveling in their beauty once I seat fully in every cell, every thought they ever had in their once pitiful lives. Taking what is called the soul and making it part of myself, their dreams and hopes, memories of family and love nourish me. If I had a heart, I’d rejoice and it would flutter and dance as my children devour one another.
When I feel the rage inside building, I follow, seek out the source of discontent and find several howling as they corner three new vessels. I reach myself out, taste each in turn. I remember breathing life into Nebari and Baniks in times past, but the third – tastes of Sebacean, but is not. The gray female and the not-Sebacean have known the caress of one such as I.
I cannot enter.
My kin shriek in kind.
The Banik does not fear me, jerking his arm from the not-Sebacean and stepping forward, ignoring their cries.
The beatific gaze in his eye distracts me and he removes his mask. I recognize him for Stykera as he offers up the old words of aid and peace, to attempt crossing my children into the void. If I had a mouth, I would laugh.
My children give me voice, laughing for me, screeching air over decaying we are perfection vocal chords.
The Banik begins to know fear, stepping back within the fold of his companions, mumbling and beseeching. The not-Sebacean so sweet . I want to taste brings his weapon back up; the small gray one follows his example.
I watch with interest, boredom fueling me at the moment, as the two fire upon mine and end the shells’ existences. My young ones return inside, confused as the final tendrils vacate smoldering flesh. Ah, to taste that succulent flesh upon my tongue. It is something I have not done in so long, bringing all of me into one form.
There is no hatred at this. No need for retribution as I know that one of the others will find these bodies wherever they run we know their scent and will feed until there is nothing remaining to show they existed must must have more on this near depleted world.
I follow as they run through empty streets lined with the blood of those who came before. Watching, as they climb aboard their craft. It is not a surprise that they have this for they do not truly belong here. I feel one of my offspring tell of several natives hiding below ground, not knowing that they are already already in in their their grave grave.
I feel pride while I watch them, ripping tendons from arms that will never again hold the physical. I look up when something flies low in the night sky, black and red color of blood, diving out from between the clouds and raining fiery destruction. Buildings, the flesh housing my young ones, all are decimated.
Yet I live on.
Lower forms of life they are not life. we are life will always fear those that are far superior. Try and destroy, but I simply rise with the burning currents of air and peer look at them look at them down at them as they turn this city to cinder.
I allow myself to drift, to see the two ships orbiting this planet. I will remember them - the faces of the gray female and her paler companions - for I am on other worlds and my memory is infinite.