Chapter 256: The Galaxy is Flood, Not Food (Warhammer 40k x Halo) (Flood SI) by Jackson Fox
Words: 8k+
Link: -https://forums.sufficientvelocity.com/threads/the-galaxy-is-flood-not-food.123284/
( It is the 42nd Millennium. For more than a hundred centuries the Emperor of Mankind has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Terra. His Imperium spans the galaxy, yet it has been split in two by the Forces of Chaos after the Fall of Cadia and the opening of the Cicatrix Maledictum. Yet, with the tear in reality, opened by the malevolence of the four Dark Gods, something unexpected emerged into this reality. Something not within the plans of any player of the Great Game.
An ordinary man, born in another time and another place, emerges in the depths of a Hive World. Not as himself, but as a single spore of the most horrific of parasites.
The Flood has come to Warhammer 40k. )
Prologue – Awakening
At first, there was nothing. Neither light nor dark, only nonexistence, a deep sleep.
A mote of biological matter, a chitinous cluster of cells, floats aimlessly in the artificial wind of a turbine, unnoticed, indistinguishable from the dust created by the dead skin of countless laborers. One such worker pants with exhaustion, sucking in the air that smells of oil and rust. Each breath is poison, but none more so than this one as the mote latches itself to the worker's throat.
Then, there was process. Not feeling, not truly, not even intent. Action, as mechanical as any other automatic biological process. Something that could not be halted. Could not be altered or slowed.
The cluster spreads, methodically, but swiftly. One becomes two, becomes four, becomes eight, and on, and on. At first, the growth is unguided, the only requirement being expansion, replication in all directions. Its host is aware only of a scratchiness in their throat, a minor malady of little importance in their mind. They do not see the patch of greenish-grey that is slowly growing like mold in their esophagus.
Then, there was desire. An instinct that came from within its own strands of genetic material. No thought, no plans, only a need.
With its foundation established, the cluster arcs out. It burrows into veins and its cells are carried along rivers of blood. Its tendrils snake around the vital organs, hidden and unfelt. As its host eats, it does too, feasting and growing.
Then, there was change. New desires, new instincts, new things that drove it. To grow faster, larger, to become more and to become different. New sources of organic matter would be required.
The first signs of the infection have shown. The host tries to hide the changes, but their work is taxing, filled with heat and sweat. Where others remove layers of cloth, the host puts more and more on, drawing gazes rather than dissuading them. They are discovered and their fellows are not understanding, having been taught to hate that which is different. The host is beaten with tools, but the end of its biological processes only dooms the rest. Countless spores, carried by the shower of blood, in every sweat drop, with every labored breath, latching onto new hosts with even the slightest contact and starting it all over again, only faster.
Then, there was rage. An ancient fury, fundamental to its existence, one that had been instilled within it by a will as alien as it was familiar. Conceptualization was not yet possible, so only that anger drove its expansion.
The new hosts are fearful of the changes they see in themselves and each other. Some flee, others end their own functions in an attempt to stymy the spread or are ended by others. None of it matters, the spread, the growth continues. Each host takes new forms. Some grow new or altered limbs, feelers sprouting from mouths and eyes, new sensors to take the place of old ones. All the while, their minds, their souls are isolated, avenues of control cut off and blocked, memories sifted through.
Jaco, supervisor nine-four-one-six. Jaco, supervisor nine-four-one-six. Jaco, supervisor nine-four-one-six.
Jaco, supervisor nine-four-one-six, could not see anything. He could not taste or smell or feel. He could only hear a low buzzing in the base of his skull, like the vibrations of factory machines or the whir of a servitor's motors. He repeated his name and identification number, though if he was speaking or simply thinking it, he couldn't be sure.
He wasn't sure what had happened. He remembered… He remembered he'd been supervising at the factory. He was always either working, eating, or sleeping it seemed. There wasn't time for anything else.
It had been just another shift, boring and routine as always. His bones had been aching. They weren't anymore. He'd been nearing the end of his fourteen hours when… it had been Crees, he was pretty sure had been the first. It'd started days ago though.
Crees had come in one day, looking sicker than usual. That wasn't strange, but he'd seemed fine. Better than fine. He'd been working faster, harder than normal. But he'd started wearing more clothes, rags really. Wrapping himself up, tighter and tighter. He'd seemed hot, but refused to take off the layers.
Then, some of the rags had gotten caught in a machine and torn off. That was when they'd seen it. His skin had turned a sickly green and small growths were starting to form along his arms.
Jaco had tried to keep the situation contained, tried to contact someone higher up, but his workers had reacted badly to the appearance of a mutant in their midst, even someone who'd they'd worked with all their lives. They'd attacked Crees with pipes and wrenches and any other tools they could get their hands on. He'd screamed and begged them to stop, but a fervor had taken them over.
Jaco remembered he'd joined in at the end, if only to ensure he wasn't the next on the mobs list. He'd taken a rod off the assembly line and bashed in his worker's skull, splattering the crowd with green blood. He'd thought it was blood, anyways.
They'd thought they had done well, that they'd killed a vile mutant in the God-Emperor's name. Jaco felt a shudder of terror as he remembered that, but it was strange. Like it wasn't his own.
His memories passed on without pause to wonder about that. Whatever had come over Crees had taken days, but it was a matter of minutes for the rest of them. They'd fallen to the ground, stricken by pain worse than anything they'd felt before. They'd felt it as their bones had broken themselves and been reshaped, as their flesh stretched and grew, as fingers became tendrils.
He remembered it all. He had tried to stop himself, but his body wouldn't listen to him. He and others had attacked those not affected, ripping them apart. Some of those changed had swelled up like they'd been filled by air, their flesh stretching taut until it burst apart and unleashed tiny monstrosities, tiny things that crawled and leapt at people, burrowing into them until they too rose changed.
He remembered hunting others, a command enforced upon his body by something else's will. He remembered praying, constantly, asking for release from this hell, for the God-Emperor to send His Angels to save him. There was another shudder of terror that was not his own, but his memories moved on without letting him think more on it.
They'd killed many, only for those they killed to soon rise again, just as altered as the rest of them to join in the hunt. Some had tried to escape, but the doors leading out of the factory were locked and only Jaco had the key. They screamed and begged, just like Crees, but just like Crees they received no mercy.
Then… something else had occurred. With no more to infect in their area, they'd regrouped. Many of the mutated neared each other, further changing, almost dissolving in front of him. They merged together and he realized with terror that was very much his own that he was among them, joining together with them to form a larger mass.
He'd felt something snaking into his skull, burrowing through flesh and bone and into his brain. It was at that point that he'd begun to repeat his name and supervisor number as he felt someone else in his mind. The buzzing had started then.
I… see. I'm sorry, but I needed to know what was going on.
The words were thoughts that were not his and he struggled at the intrusion. He opened his eyes, only for sight to make him go still.
He was in the factory, but it was different from how he remembered it. The walls and floor were spattered with blood and viscera that was slowly being collected by the mutated monstrosities that had once been his workers. The small, pod-like creatures scurried about under foot.
That's not necessary. You don't… You don't have to see this.
He tried to turn his neck and found he could not. He could not move and when he tried to speak, to scream, only a choking gurgle emerged.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw he was pressing into something. No, not pressing, merging with something. A green form, far larger than him and he realized it was the thing from his memories.
Let's just… Close your eyes for now.
His eyes shut and he could not open them again. He wanted to cry, but tears would not form.
I'm sorry, I really am! Look, I'll… I'll… Try to make this quick.
Suddenly, memories and sensations flood his mind. The simple pleasure of his time spent with childhood friends, the pain of losing the father that had raised him alone, the awe of the first and only time he'd been to the surface and seen the blackened sky of Monstrum and thought he would fall off the world, the elation of his first kiss, the misery of his life in the factory, the fear of when he'd been threatened by Under-Hivers, the joy of when he'd been promoted to supervisor, the terror when he'd run away from home and nearly gotten killed by mutants. The memories flickered by, almost faster than he could keep up with them, the sensations of each passing by just as quickly. He tried to hold onto them, but it was like trying to hold water in outstretched hands.
Then, it was all gone and he felt only emptiness.
Don't worry, you can rest now. I hope so… I'm sorry… I'm sorry…
Jaco, supervisor nine-four-one-six, felt something press into his skull. Then, there was only oblivion.
Weekly Power Status
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