CaramelTheMoo
Rat and Cow combined
- Pronouns
- She/Her
The hive mind's gonna have a shitfit when it finds the flood
The Galaxy is Flood, Not Food
- Thread starter Jackson Fox
- Start date
- Crossover Sci-Fi Horror
-
- Tags
- halo (game) warhammer 40k
I would argue yes, but with a few rather significant caveats. The Flood are basically the supreme infection vector. Given enough time and biomass they can even infect space-time itself. The Tyranids would have to eat the Flood in order to get to the genetics, and we've seen how eating Flood cells turns out most of the time. Now, whether you want to argue that Tyranids could survive Flood infections or that their stomach acids would defeat the Flood cells or that their immune system would be good enough to take them out is up for debate. I've got my own beliefs regarding the matter which will influence this story that I'll save for another time.
Now, if the Flood were to allow the Tyranids to eat the Flood cells or something else happened that prevented the spread of the Flood (idk what could do that, but hey, 40k is full of bullshit tech, so who knows) then yes, the Tyranids could get the Flood genetics, though whether it would be valuable to them is debatable. Its possible that by using the Flood's genetics they'd just end up creating Flood forms that couldn't be controlled by the hive mind. Flood-Tyranid Hybrids might be fought over for control by the Flood and the Tyranid intelligences.
Strunkriidiisk
THE LEGEND
- Location
- Canada
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Speaking of Tyranids, I'm interested to see whether the Flood start generating their own version of the Shadow in the Warp - it depends on whether neural physics would count as 'psychic' when interacting with the 40k galaxy.
(personally I lean toward the local version absolutely interfacing with the Immaterium in some form, because the wording around neural physics and the applications and surrounding philosophy absolutely echoes Warp shit)
(personally I lean toward the local version absolutely interfacing with the Immaterium in some form, because the wording around neural physics and the applications and surrounding philosophy absolutely echoes Warp shit)
I'm less interested in if the Tyranids would get access to Flood Genetics and more interested in if eating Flood would provide access to the Flood's Database of consumed genetic material and mutations.
This is from a spacebattles thread called "The emperor and sons watch archeohomina" But it is basically the emperors reaction to the Flood, written by Son_of_DANCAS:
"Horror," there could be no other word for what she felt, as the infection burned through her veins, ate her blood, changed her. It was acting fast, faster than she had ever thought possible before. No slow mutation of her body, while insidious urges slowly degraded ger mind. No, instead thousands of knives were extending from her wound, shredding her flesh and burning, melting it back together. She was being ripped apart and put back together wrong.
It was spreading, it was burning her, it was ripping, it was tearing, it was taking over. Redhot needles were being forced through her veins, from the wound to the very tips of her fingers, by her somehow still beating heart. Her muscles began expanding and contracting, resisting her own efforts to move and fight.
And she was fighting. On three fronts, in three losing battles, she fought with everything that she had. And it wasn't enough. The monster before her had barely even noticed the shots she fired. It just batted her aside and left her to stew in her torture. And she was fighting her own body, her muscles twisting, turning, and cramping, as some other power tried to move her against her will.
And she was warring within her mind. Her will desperately tried to hold on to her sanity, as agony wracked through her, and she felt hunger unlike any she had ever believed possible. And the voice, a whisper at first, yet soon growing so terrible and grand that it alone made her want to surrender. She could hear no words, understand no sounds, yet she knew what it was asking of her. To surrender, to trust it, to tell, no, to let it see all she had seen, let it hear all she had heard. Every sentence was accompanied by a burst of unwilling movement, a painful spasm as she fought back, and twin spikes of solid ice and liquid fire burrowed into her skull.
And just like the pain, the hunger intensified with every second, keeping her awake even as the pain threatened her consciousness. A primal need to devour tried to break her, turning her own survival instincts against her. And soon, she could feel a rampant blood lust creep into her awareness. The hunger and pain combined to trigger a berserker rage, further robbing her of the ability to consciously resist.
She dimly noticed her Servitor's attempts to get her attention, but couldn't find the energy or will to respond. Rather, she somehow found the will to get back on her feet. She still had a target, and she wouldn't give up without having at least achieved that much.
B8 hurled herself back at the abomination, three long bounds putting her into a tackle against it in less than a moment. Barely had they hit the ground before she began pummeling it. The sickly power tried to stop her, cramping the muscles on her arms, limiting the strength she had, yet it could not stop her armour and Servitor from amplifying what little strength she had left.
Blow for blow, she wrestled the abomination on the ground, heedless of the sickness within her ripping apart her very muscles to stop her, and no longer caring about the cruel voice. Rage like what she felt was stronger than pain, and rage was something she could use.
Eventually, the beast batted her away again, but unlike last time, she was on her feet and charging again in an instant. Red blood and yellow-brown ichor seeped from several wounds upon her, her own armour still hiding most of her injuries. Sense also returned to her with the blow, and as she made to tackle the beast again, she remembered to bring her blade to life. This time, she would inflict true damage upon the abomination, carving deep goughs into its sickly flesh.
Yet with sense, the pain and exhaustion returned as well. And the sickness had not been idle within her. Pure agony exploded in in her limbs as her very bones were shattered by the disease. Open fractures pierced her skin in dozens of places, shards of bone straining against her undersuit's insides. And even the slightest pressure felt like a whitehot iron being pushed through her mangled flesh.
She tried to scream, but couldn't. Only a low groan left her mouth, her throat barely able to let any air out. The voice grew louder then, and she felt her memories open up before her. Events long past appeared in her mind, every little detail being examined by the cruel being. And then it became worse. Family, friends, and past lovers all appeared before her inner eyes, before all turning sick and twisted with the Shaping Sickness. Everyone she had ever known, reduced to misshapen beasts. And as she remmbered her comrades, she knew that it was not some empty threat, but a cruel promise.
Fighting through the pain, she fought to raise her arms for one final strike, the agonized determination seeming to give even the voice pause for a moment, before she brought her blade down with all her weight. But even as she struck, another pain struck her as well, this time in her heart. And with that final agony, all her energy left her, and she rolled onto the ground.
Shallow breaths left her, broken ribs stabbing her lungs every time, when she realized that her heart was impossibly still beating. And with that realization, she despaired and broke.
The Sickness now had full run of her, and it showed no mercy. She felt her very being slip away, all that she was disapearing into the gaping maw that was the voice. Her vision and hearing then disappeared too, leaving only a burning in her eyes and an extreme pressure within her skull. What little of her remained was glad that she would no longer see and hear.
In the end, all she wanted to do was raise her blade and end it, but she did not even have the strength left for that. Instead, she felt the abomination pick up her still form and wrench of her armour, before it began tearing off her flesh. She never felt her body being used to heal the very injuries she had created, but that was small mercy.
Emperor Reaction to this:
The Emperor of Mankind took a deep breath, trying to center his thoughts on something else, before finally letting open the floodgates. Every sight that he had so desperately tried not to see, ever since his first glimpse, came rushing into his mind. Trillions of people suffering like she had, dying like she had. Most quicker, some cursed few even slower. Hundreds of billions of parents killing their own children before they succumb to the parasite. Trillions more, with courage he could barely imagine anyone having, turning themselves to weapons and willingly giving themselves, in the vain hope that their own and others' children would be spared the coming Flood.
The Emperor saw it all. And as he did so, the humanity that he had cast away as weakness came roaring back. And he roared to the universe.
Across the ship, into the Warp, and through countless other dimensions he roared and screamed his sorrow and rage and vengeance. And as he did so, another being, awakened from restless slumber, heard his scream. And soon the Emperor felt another voice added to his own. A low mournful sound, like the wail of animals and the growing of trees, singing in grief for children murdered by kin. And together, their wail reached across existence.
In the Warp, Eldar seers heard them and recoiled in horror at the mere glimpses they saw. Human psykers heard them and felt grief and tears overwhelm them, though they knew not why. An old sould heard his judge and began the end of his great journey. Battered survivors heard and knew where they should go.
A mother heard them and cried, though she could not join the song. A jester heard and stopped laughing, recalling wisdom and true gods long gone. A shattered warrior heard and grew anew with rage, swearing that vengeance would be done. And daemons and dark gods heard, and they fell silent. For within the mournful wail was a promise.
"To all who would do so,WE will destroy you."
"Horror," there could be no other word for what she felt, as the infection burned through her veins, ate her blood, changed her. It was acting fast, faster than she had ever thought possible before. No slow mutation of her body, while insidious urges slowly degraded ger mind. No, instead thousands of knives were extending from her wound, shredding her flesh and burning, melting it back together. She was being ripped apart and put back together wrong.
It was spreading, it was burning her, it was ripping, it was tearing, it was taking over. Redhot needles were being forced through her veins, from the wound to the very tips of her fingers, by her somehow still beating heart. Her muscles began expanding and contracting, resisting her own efforts to move and fight.
And she was fighting. On three fronts, in three losing battles, she fought with everything that she had. And it wasn't enough. The monster before her had barely even noticed the shots she fired. It just batted her aside and left her to stew in her torture. And she was fighting her own body, her muscles twisting, turning, and cramping, as some other power tried to move her against her will.
And she was warring within her mind. Her will desperately tried to hold on to her sanity, as agony wracked through her, and she felt hunger unlike any she had ever believed possible. And the voice, a whisper at first, yet soon growing so terrible and grand that it alone made her want to surrender. She could hear no words, understand no sounds, yet she knew what it was asking of her. To surrender, to trust it, to tell, no, to let it see all she had seen, let it hear all she had heard. Every sentence was accompanied by a burst of unwilling movement, a painful spasm as she fought back, and twin spikes of solid ice and liquid fire burrowed into her skull.
And just like the pain, the hunger intensified with every second, keeping her awake even as the pain threatened her consciousness. A primal need to devour tried to break her, turning her own survival instincts against her. And soon, she could feel a rampant blood lust creep into her awareness. The hunger and pain combined to trigger a berserker rage, further robbing her of the ability to consciously resist.
She dimly noticed her Servitor's attempts to get her attention, but couldn't find the energy or will to respond. Rather, she somehow found the will to get back on her feet. She still had a target, and she wouldn't give up without having at least achieved that much.
B8 hurled herself back at the abomination, three long bounds putting her into a tackle against it in less than a moment. Barely had they hit the ground before she began pummeling it. The sickly power tried to stop her, cramping the muscles on her arms, limiting the strength she had, yet it could not stop her armour and Servitor from amplifying what little strength she had left.
Blow for blow, she wrestled the abomination on the ground, heedless of the sickness within her ripping apart her very muscles to stop her, and no longer caring about the cruel voice. Rage like what she felt was stronger than pain, and rage was something she could use.
Eventually, the beast batted her away again, but unlike last time, she was on her feet and charging again in an instant. Red blood and yellow-brown ichor seeped from several wounds upon her, her own armour still hiding most of her injuries. Sense also returned to her with the blow, and as she made to tackle the beast again, she remembered to bring her blade to life. This time, she would inflict true damage upon the abomination, carving deep goughs into its sickly flesh.
Yet with sense, the pain and exhaustion returned as well. And the sickness had not been idle within her. Pure agony exploded in in her limbs as her very bones were shattered by the disease. Open fractures pierced her skin in dozens of places, shards of bone straining against her undersuit's insides. And even the slightest pressure felt like a whitehot iron being pushed through her mangled flesh.
She tried to scream, but couldn't. Only a low groan left her mouth, her throat barely able to let any air out. The voice grew louder then, and she felt her memories open up before her. Events long past appeared in her mind, every little detail being examined by the cruel being. And then it became worse. Family, friends, and past lovers all appeared before her inner eyes, before all turning sick and twisted with the Shaping Sickness. Everyone she had ever known, reduced to misshapen beasts. And as she remmbered her comrades, she knew that it was not some empty threat, but a cruel promise.
Fighting through the pain, she fought to raise her arms for one final strike, the agonized determination seeming to give even the voice pause for a moment, before she brought her blade down with all her weight. But even as she struck, another pain struck her as well, this time in her heart. And with that final agony, all her energy left her, and she rolled onto the ground.
Shallow breaths left her, broken ribs stabbing her lungs every time, when she realized that her heart was impossibly still beating. And with that realization, she despaired and broke.
The Sickness now had full run of her, and it showed no mercy. She felt her very being slip away, all that she was disapearing into the gaping maw that was the voice. Her vision and hearing then disappeared too, leaving only a burning in her eyes and an extreme pressure within her skull. What little of her remained was glad that she would no longer see and hear.
In the end, all she wanted to do was raise her blade and end it, but she did not even have the strength left for that. Instead, she felt the abomination pick up her still form and wrench of her armour, before it began tearing off her flesh. She never felt her body being used to heal the very injuries she had created, but that was small mercy.
Emperor Reaction to this:
The Emperor of Mankind took a deep breath, trying to center his thoughts on something else, before finally letting open the floodgates. Every sight that he had so desperately tried not to see, ever since his first glimpse, came rushing into his mind. Trillions of people suffering like she had, dying like she had. Most quicker, some cursed few even slower. Hundreds of billions of parents killing their own children before they succumb to the parasite. Trillions more, with courage he could barely imagine anyone having, turning themselves to weapons and willingly giving themselves, in the vain hope that their own and others' children would be spared the coming Flood.
The Emperor saw it all. And as he did so, the humanity that he had cast away as weakness came roaring back. And he roared to the universe.
Across the ship, into the Warp, and through countless other dimensions he roared and screamed his sorrow and rage and vengeance. And as he did so, another being, awakened from restless slumber, heard his scream. And soon the Emperor felt another voice added to his own. A low mournful sound, like the wail of animals and the growing of trees, singing in grief for children murdered by kin. And together, their wail reached across existence.
In the Warp, Eldar seers heard them and recoiled in horror at the mere glimpses they saw. Human psykers heard them and felt grief and tears overwhelm them, though they knew not why. An old sould heard his judge and began the end of his great journey. Battered survivors heard and knew where they should go.
A mother heard them and cried, though she could not join the song. A jester heard and stopped laughing, recalling wisdom and true gods long gone. A shattered warrior heard and grew anew with rage, swearing that vengeance would be done. And daemons and dark gods heard, and they fell silent. For within the mournful wail was a promise.
"To all who would do so,
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I view neural physics as being simultaneously separate from Psychic powers and innately connected to the Warp in certain ways. Its not something that requires certain genetics in order to use, just the correct knowledge and mental strength.
Its sort of like a Spirit vs Mind. Psychic powers use the spirit as their raw power source, Neural Physics use the Mind, but there is some overlap between the two.
Idk if any of this makes sense, but I don't really know how to better explain it without spoiling my own story.
I'd imagine it would only give them access to anything the Flood was using for that form at that moment of consumption. The database and mind of the Flood is outside of this dimension, so I doubt the Tyranids would be able to access it.
Interesting! I'll have to look into that one.
Killerflood
Corporal Cannonfodder
- Location
- Saṃsāra
As should be obvious, I will follow this with interest. Good job with what you have already written.
TheAkashicRecord
The Library Of All Knowledge
- Location
- Somewhere~
- Pronouns
- He/Him
can you give a link to the Swarm of war? As im really intrested.
TheAkashicRecord
The Library Of All Knowledge
- Location
- Somewhere~
- Pronouns
- He/Him
thanks
Chapter 3 - The Altered
Day 3
He had acted on a spur of instinct, he recognized. Infecting that arbites had not been his intent all along yet seeing such a perfect opportunity had been too tempting to pass up for him.
It was a little bit messier than with Trellis. This new one, Eddard, had fought harder and nearly shot his infector pod as a result. That could have caused him to be discovered and it was only on reflection that he realized how large a bullet had been dodged, pun not intended.
Eddard was much more useful than Trellis, both in terms of knowledge and access to the hive. An arbites travelled quite a bit and was privy to more of the hive's secrets than common folk.
At first, he'd been forced to take control of the confused and terrified arbites, so as to not alert his compatriots. The pod had needed mere seconds to latch onto the man's face and essentially burrow inside, morphing to replace the neck and jaw as it latched onto the man's nervous system. Fortunate, since the other arbites had reacted far more swiftly than he'd expected they would. Regardless, by the time they'd arrived the infection had more fully taken root within him, Eddard's body no longer his own to control.
He'd essentially sent the man into a temporary coma so he wouldn't need to experience the horror of not being able to control his own body, simultaneously scanning his memories for information on his fellows and how he acted even as he tried to act natural. His puppeteering had been rudimentary and likely would not fool a close friend or someone very perceptive, but it seemed to have worked on the other arbites.
After that, he'd awakened the man and returned control of the body to him, albeit after selective editing of his memories. He now believed the same story he'd given to Corvus and was unaware of the new passenger carried inside of him.
Was he becoming a bit cavalier with the body snatching? Maybe. Was it necessary for his survival? Certainly.
More than that, it wasn't like his presence didn't provide benefits. He'd been experimenting with what exactly he could do in a more… positive manner with those he had dubbed his 'Altered'.
That was certainly kinder than anything the Flood would have ever done.
There were a number of things he could change within those he'd infected but not taken over. Their bodies were essentially clay in his hands and could be molded as he saw fit, though he took care to not cause any observable changes.
Their strength and dexterity were increased, though he purposefully kept these boosts minimal. He wasn't going to make someone suddenly become as superhumanly strong as a combat form after all.
That was only the start, however. Not only could he boost their immune systems, he even found his Flood spores could actively target and destroy viruses, infections, and more. If he wished, he could even increase their lifespans with careful mutations over a long span of time. How long, he had no idea, but it was possible that he could keep those infected alive indefinitely. He doubted he would do that very often, as such things would become easily noticeable with enough time, but if he ever wished to…
He could replace their organs with stronger, healthier versions made of Flood cells. For example, Trellis' lungs were weakened by life in the toxic environment of the hive and Eddard's were nearly as bad. He could have done it all at once, but that would have been too noticeable, so he would instead continuously replace their lungs with slightly stronger versions over the next few months. As a further plus, these lungs began naturally producing Flood spores that would be released unnoticeably with every breath. In less than a day, he already had dozens of newly infected beings, all of which would be undergoing the same changes as Eddard and Trellis, albeit far more slowly. A few spores could not infect a human nearly as quickly as an Infector Pod, after all.
It still was an incredibly effective method of spreading and frighteningly insidious since every newly infected swiftly became a new vector as well. At his current rate of exponential growth, he could very easily infect every person in this hive city within a matter of months or even weeks. That medical practitioners seemed relatively rare and restricted to the Magos Biologis Tech-Priests would only allow him to spread practically unhindered.
It took mere days for a single spore to take root, especially now that it had a central intelligence to guide its development. Within a week, they'd be just as infected as Trellis and Eddard were. Observable only through an intensive medical examination.
And then, if he wished, all at once the entire city would transform into combat forms, unable to do anything as their bodies were twisted into grotesque abominations. How many people could that be? How much growth would his intelligence undergo from this city alone? This planet?
Countless billions of lives, his to take, his to become. Their biomass would accelerate his growth and let him surge across the stars, consuming world after world, only growing ever stronger as enemies fell before him and rose up to turn upon their own allies! His expansion would cause the stars themselves to twist and bend to his-!
Woahwoahwoahwoahwoah. Calm down, god-complex.
He'd noticed it, slowly at first, but it was becoming more obvious with time. The Flood had some inherent instincts that it seemed he was not able to entirely shake with his ascension into a Proto-Gravemind. That demand to grow greater and endlessly expand was always at the edge of his mind and, if he wasn't mistaken, there was a callousness and disdain for any other kind of life other than Flood as well.
It wasn't helping that he was essentially forced to think of himself as the Flood. 'He' wasn't even really the proto-gravemind, that was only a particularly powerful form of his that was required for consciousness and direction. Similar to how a person wasn't just their brain, but also their organs, bones, and flesh. Granted, there were important differences.
Still, the fact was that his mind was starting to automatically tie his identity with this new form of existence. That wasn't acceptable, not with how frankly monstrous the Flood was. He did not want to think about what might happen if he lost what little of 'him' he still had.
That he could not remember his former name was making this difficult, but it also gave him a possible solution: He needed a name.
He was in control of the Flood… Floody? No, that was weird. He didn't want a weird name. Rex? His favorite clone trooper came to mind, but something told him that one wouldn't work out. Name, name, he needed a name…
Maybe he could at least take inspiration from the Flood, since he was now… well, since he was them now, essentially. What was a good quote from the Flood?
This is not your grave… but you are welcome in it.
Grave? No, too edgy. He was already in 40k, he didn't need any more edge in his life than what he already was going to have.
There is much talk, and I have listened, through rock and metal and time. Now, I shall talk, and you shall listen.
Listener? No, that didn't feel quite right either.
Resignation is my virtue; like water I ebb, and flow. Defeat is simply the addition of time… to a sentence I never deserved… but you imposed.
He liked that quote, though he's surprised he remembered it. Flood… Water… Ebb and Flow…
Ah, he had it.
Tide.
In one of the many corridors of what had been dubbed by one entity as Level -1, five wasps surrounded a mound of flesh and oozing sludge. The squadron of wasps buzzed their wings and clacked their mandibles in anger and confusion. The largest of them, the squad leader, poked their latest, and strangest, kill cautiously with one razor-sharp limb.
Though not intelligent enough to form a language or utilize tools, these wasps were capable hunters and knew their territory, and the creatures within it, well. This strange, squishy foul-thing was not something they had encountered before and, unlike their lost kin, these wasps were not so desperately hungry as to simply ignore that.
This foul-thing had crawled on many small legs and had moved in the open, seemingly without fear of being noticed. Occasionally, a piece of it twitched and was swiftly further slashed up by the squad leader.
Exactly what was wrong with the foul-thing wasn't something the wasps could explain, for there were plenty of creatures of strange shape and disgusting appearance that they slew and ate without issue, some even more visually displeasing than the thing before them. None bothered them as this one had.
It was something like an instinct, another sense that alerted them to a danger that was not natural. In such creatures as the wasps, it was stronger than that of the baser beasts that they hunted so effectively.
So, none of them ate from the foul-thing's flesh, nor did they think to bring it back to feed to the young. They watched it for a while longer, before a chittering command from the leader had them slowly rise from the forgotten mound of decaying biomass.
The leader was taken completely off-guard by the strands of webbing that shot out from the darkness, not having expected the pod to be a distraction. It collapsed to the ground as its wings were pinned in place, chittering and clacking its mandibles in anger, the two of its legs still free waving wildly.
The other wasps were quick to react, but disorganized without their leader. Two stayed back, searching for the source of the webbing in the darkness, while the others had spotted the spider crouched in the corridor, just then skittering behind an outcrop of wall. A familiar foe, one they had hunted before, even if this was an oddly bold creature. They had never been attacked so brazenly before and it stoked a primitive rage within them.
Even with only two of them, spiders were common prey for the wasps and the lone predators could not spit webbing fast enough to catch them both now that they were alerted to its presence. They rounded the corner, seeing the spider had retreated further back and swarmed towards it.
As before, one of the wasps was the recipient of webbing spat by the spider, crashing to the ground roughly. The spider's many eyes shifted over to the other wasp, whose stinger was extended and held out before it, far too close for it to use the same trick thrice. A single blow would inject its killing venom and end the presumptuous spider.
Instead, a strange tendril whipped out from behind the spider's head, unnoticed by the wasp, slamming down upon it with far more strength than such a thin appendage should have been able to possess. The hammer blow was enough to send the wasp crashing into the duracrete floor, sending shudders through the ground, loud cracks echoing all along the corridors as the wasp's chitinous armor was shattered by the impacts.
The other two wasps approached now, following their allies, only to be just as easily taken down by the spider. Five new Infector Pods scurried forwards, quickly latching onto the dead and incapacitated wasps, burrowing inside them as the still-living creatures chittered in rage and pain. It did not take long for those chitters to fall silent.
The combat spider released its prey from its webs, the five new combat wasps twitching as their wounds were repaired, chitinous plates clicking back into place, knit back together by Flood cells. Soon, they each appeared as they did in life. Another five Infector Pods arrived and the wasps fell upon them with their stingers, easily killing the small creatures, though they took care to not slash the pods into pieces as the first one had been.
Gathering up the slain pods, the wasps slowly began flying back towards their hive. They had to hurry.
It was nearly feeding time.
He had acted on a spur of instinct, he recognized. Infecting that arbites had not been his intent all along yet seeing such a perfect opportunity had been too tempting to pass up for him.
It was a little bit messier than with Trellis. This new one, Eddard, had fought harder and nearly shot his infector pod as a result. That could have caused him to be discovered and it was only on reflection that he realized how large a bullet had been dodged, pun not intended.
Eddard was much more useful than Trellis, both in terms of knowledge and access to the hive. An arbites travelled quite a bit and was privy to more of the hive's secrets than common folk.
At first, he'd been forced to take control of the confused and terrified arbites, so as to not alert his compatriots. The pod had needed mere seconds to latch onto the man's face and essentially burrow inside, morphing to replace the neck and jaw as it latched onto the man's nervous system. Fortunate, since the other arbites had reacted far more swiftly than he'd expected they would. Regardless, by the time they'd arrived the infection had more fully taken root within him, Eddard's body no longer his own to control.
He'd essentially sent the man into a temporary coma so he wouldn't need to experience the horror of not being able to control his own body, simultaneously scanning his memories for information on his fellows and how he acted even as he tried to act natural. His puppeteering had been rudimentary and likely would not fool a close friend or someone very perceptive, but it seemed to have worked on the other arbites.
After that, he'd awakened the man and returned control of the body to him, albeit after selective editing of his memories. He now believed the same story he'd given to Corvus and was unaware of the new passenger carried inside of him.
Was he becoming a bit cavalier with the body snatching? Maybe. Was it necessary for his survival? Certainly.
More than that, it wasn't like his presence didn't provide benefits. He'd been experimenting with what exactly he could do in a more… positive manner with those he had dubbed his 'Altered'.
That was certainly kinder than anything the Flood would have ever done.
There were a number of things he could change within those he'd infected but not taken over. Their bodies were essentially clay in his hands and could be molded as he saw fit, though he took care to not cause any observable changes.
Their strength and dexterity were increased, though he purposefully kept these boosts minimal. He wasn't going to make someone suddenly become as superhumanly strong as a combat form after all.
That was only the start, however. Not only could he boost their immune systems, he even found his Flood spores could actively target and destroy viruses, infections, and more. If he wished, he could even increase their lifespans with careful mutations over a long span of time. How long, he had no idea, but it was possible that he could keep those infected alive indefinitely. He doubted he would do that very often, as such things would become easily noticeable with enough time, but if he ever wished to…
He could replace their organs with stronger, healthier versions made of Flood cells. For example, Trellis' lungs were weakened by life in the toxic environment of the hive and Eddard's were nearly as bad. He could have done it all at once, but that would have been too noticeable, so he would instead continuously replace their lungs with slightly stronger versions over the next few months. As a further plus, these lungs began naturally producing Flood spores that would be released unnoticeably with every breath. In less than a day, he already had dozens of newly infected beings, all of which would be undergoing the same changes as Eddard and Trellis, albeit far more slowly. A few spores could not infect a human nearly as quickly as an Infector Pod, after all.
It still was an incredibly effective method of spreading and frighteningly insidious since every newly infected swiftly became a new vector as well. At his current rate of exponential growth, he could very easily infect every person in this hive city within a matter of months or even weeks. That medical practitioners seemed relatively rare and restricted to the Magos Biologis Tech-Priests would only allow him to spread practically unhindered.
It took mere days for a single spore to take root, especially now that it had a central intelligence to guide its development. Within a week, they'd be just as infected as Trellis and Eddard were. Observable only through an intensive medical examination.
And then, if he wished, all at once the entire city would transform into combat forms, unable to do anything as their bodies were twisted into grotesque abominations. How many people could that be? How much growth would his intelligence undergo from this city alone? This planet?
Countless billions of lives, his to take, his to become. Their biomass would accelerate his growth and let him surge across the stars, consuming world after world, only growing ever stronger as enemies fell before him and rose up to turn upon their own allies! His expansion would cause the stars themselves to twist and bend to his-!
Woahwoahwoahwoahwoah. Calm down, god-complex.
He'd noticed it, slowly at first, but it was becoming more obvious with time. The Flood had some inherent instincts that it seemed he was not able to entirely shake with his ascension into a Proto-Gravemind. That demand to grow greater and endlessly expand was always at the edge of his mind and, if he wasn't mistaken, there was a callousness and disdain for any other kind of life other than Flood as well.
It wasn't helping that he was essentially forced to think of himself as the Flood. 'He' wasn't even really the proto-gravemind, that was only a particularly powerful form of his that was required for consciousness and direction. Similar to how a person wasn't just their brain, but also their organs, bones, and flesh. Granted, there were important differences.
Still, the fact was that his mind was starting to automatically tie his identity with this new form of existence. That wasn't acceptable, not with how frankly monstrous the Flood was. He did not want to think about what might happen if he lost what little of 'him' he still had.
That he could not remember his former name was making this difficult, but it also gave him a possible solution: He needed a name.
He was in control of the Flood… Floody? No, that was weird. He didn't want a weird name. Rex? His favorite clone trooper came to mind, but something told him that one wouldn't work out. Name, name, he needed a name…
Maybe he could at least take inspiration from the Flood, since he was now… well, since he was them now, essentially. What was a good quote from the Flood?
This is not your grave… but you are welcome in it.
Grave? No, too edgy. He was already in 40k, he didn't need any more edge in his life than what he already was going to have.
There is much talk, and I have listened, through rock and metal and time. Now, I shall talk, and you shall listen.
Listener? No, that didn't feel quite right either.
Resignation is my virtue; like water I ebb, and flow. Defeat is simply the addition of time… to a sentence I never deserved… but you imposed.
He liked that quote, though he's surprised he remembered it. Flood… Water… Ebb and Flow…
Ah, he had it.
Tide.
In one of the many corridors of what had been dubbed by one entity as Level -1, five wasps surrounded a mound of flesh and oozing sludge. The squadron of wasps buzzed their wings and clacked their mandibles in anger and confusion. The largest of them, the squad leader, poked their latest, and strangest, kill cautiously with one razor-sharp limb.
Though not intelligent enough to form a language or utilize tools, these wasps were capable hunters and knew their territory, and the creatures within it, well. This strange, squishy foul-thing was not something they had encountered before and, unlike their lost kin, these wasps were not so desperately hungry as to simply ignore that.
This foul-thing had crawled on many small legs and had moved in the open, seemingly without fear of being noticed. Occasionally, a piece of it twitched and was swiftly further slashed up by the squad leader.
Exactly what was wrong with the foul-thing wasn't something the wasps could explain, for there were plenty of creatures of strange shape and disgusting appearance that they slew and ate without issue, some even more visually displeasing than the thing before them. None bothered them as this one had.
It was something like an instinct, another sense that alerted them to a danger that was not natural. In such creatures as the wasps, it was stronger than that of the baser beasts that they hunted so effectively.
So, none of them ate from the foul-thing's flesh, nor did they think to bring it back to feed to the young. They watched it for a while longer, before a chittering command from the leader had them slowly rise from the forgotten mound of decaying biomass.
The leader was taken completely off-guard by the strands of webbing that shot out from the darkness, not having expected the pod to be a distraction. It collapsed to the ground as its wings were pinned in place, chittering and clacking its mandibles in anger, the two of its legs still free waving wildly.
The other wasps were quick to react, but disorganized without their leader. Two stayed back, searching for the source of the webbing in the darkness, while the others had spotted the spider crouched in the corridor, just then skittering behind an outcrop of wall. A familiar foe, one they had hunted before, even if this was an oddly bold creature. They had never been attacked so brazenly before and it stoked a primitive rage within them.
Even with only two of them, spiders were common prey for the wasps and the lone predators could not spit webbing fast enough to catch them both now that they were alerted to its presence. They rounded the corner, seeing the spider had retreated further back and swarmed towards it.
As before, one of the wasps was the recipient of webbing spat by the spider, crashing to the ground roughly. The spider's many eyes shifted over to the other wasp, whose stinger was extended and held out before it, far too close for it to use the same trick thrice. A single blow would inject its killing venom and end the presumptuous spider.
Instead, a strange tendril whipped out from behind the spider's head, unnoticed by the wasp, slamming down upon it with far more strength than such a thin appendage should have been able to possess. The hammer blow was enough to send the wasp crashing into the duracrete floor, sending shudders through the ground, loud cracks echoing all along the corridors as the wasp's chitinous armor was shattered by the impacts.
The other two wasps approached now, following their allies, only to be just as easily taken down by the spider. Five new Infector Pods scurried forwards, quickly latching onto the dead and incapacitated wasps, burrowing inside them as the still-living creatures chittered in rage and pain. It did not take long for those chitters to fall silent.
The combat spider released its prey from its webs, the five new combat wasps twitching as their wounds were repaired, chitinous plates clicking back into place, knit back together by Flood cells. Soon, they each appeared as they did in life. Another five Infector Pods arrived and the wasps fell upon them with their stingers, easily killing the small creatures, though they took care to not slash the pods into pieces as the first one had been.
Gathering up the slain pods, the wasps slowly began flying back towards their hive. They had to hurry.
It was nearly feeding time.
Things are going to start accelerating a bit by next chapter.
TheAkashicRecord
The Library Of All Knowledge
- Location
- Somewhere~
- Pronouns
- He/Him
EYYY NEW CHAPPIE GET!
- Location
- Utah, salt lake city
Great chapter. Loved the way you wrote the whole wasp encounter.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I'm starting to feel more bad for the wasps then the humans. At least they get free healthcare.
Not_Interesting
The Munchkin of Megastructures
- Location
- In your walls(the walls between realities)
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Classic Flood, the thing ramps up fast from essentially nothing. There is a reason Ancient Humans and Forerunners had EXTERMINATUS as basic protocol when Flood Infestation was detected.
Can the Flood infect Ambots? They are essentially Xenos Servitors and really cool! Hive gangs usually have Ambots...at least in Necromunda. It would be a cool covert combat unit. Since the Flood could hide under the armor in the Ambull and nobody would even notice.
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Wasps deserve no mercy for the crimes of their kin.
I don't see any reason why not. The Flood is capable of infecting both organic and cybernetic beings. Ambots are more common in Necromunda than anywhere else, so I don't think its likely to happen soon.
- Pronouns
- He
Im just here waiting for one of the Necron's flayed ones to finely get the flesh they deserve.
- Location
- Puerto Rico
Awesome chapter.
Actually now that I think about it, that could another way to spread Flood to nobles and powerful Imperium people, posing as Rejuvenat Adept.
Also, I know we talked about the Tyranids but there is a specific question I need to ask:
How would the Flood deal with a Hive Tyrant, specially if he were to encounter the unique Swarmlord.
Well, depending on the person, you could use the excuse of the person taking Rejuvenat treatments.
Actually now that I think about it, that could another way to spread Flood to nobles and powerful Imperium people, posing as Rejuvenat Adept.
Also, I know we talked about the Tyranids but there is a specific question I need to ask:
How would the Flood deal with a Hive Tyrant, specially if he were to encounter the unique Swarmlord.
Strunkriidiisk
THE LEGEND
- Location
- Canada
- Pronouns
- He/Him
"This is not your grave, but you are welcome in it."
Infest - or kill and then infest if that's easier - if the opportunity presents itself, and then the Flood has a powerful new combat form and/or extra juice for the Gravemind. Funnily, much like the 'nids, the question of "how do the Flood deal with [X]" is usually answerable with "they eat [X]".
The Flayed One skins a combat form and then gets confused when the skin grows tentacles and starts trying to choke the robot out.
Biomass is biomass.
To be honest, Hive Tyrants and Swarmlords would probably be among the more dangerous of Tyranids for the Flood, not necessarily just because of their physical strength, but also because they're less easily infected simply through lack of exposure. A lot of Tyranids use their teeth to rend and tear their enemies, which is an easy way to get a stomach full of Flood Cells, but the Hive Tyrants and Swarmlord prefer to use their blades.
Although, to a degree, anything fighting the Flood in melee combat is going to have a bad time. Hive Tyrants and Swarmlords are very capable combatants, but the Flood really only needs to scratch you once in order to infect you. Pods are a lot faster, but a tiny cut with a few Flood Spores is all that's really necessary. A horde of combat forms, especially combat forms augmented with some of the various juicy genetics found in the 40k galaxy, would probably be able to deal with distracting the Swarmlord until the infection can take route, if not outright killing the thing on their own. The bigger threats to Flood forms would be ranged units, particularly ones that explicitly destroy affected biomass. The Tyranids don't have many of those, for obvious reasons, but they might be able to evolve them in a similar way to what they did in response to Chaos with Hive Fleet Kronus. It depends on how big of a threat the Hive Mind thinks the Flood is.
In summary, like I said, they're just biomass. Granted, very tasty biomass, but not something that can't be dealt with with proper preparation or sheer numbers.
Yeh. Crunchity munchity, your genes are now my lunchity.
Strunkriidiisk
THE LEGEND
- Location
- Canada
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Frankly I think the more interesting question is "what does the Logic Plague work on." Anything biological is pretty well up for grabs - I can't think of any biological 40k races that are resilient against infection to the point Mgalekgolo would be, which basically means outside some short-term edge cases they're fucked. The Flood's psychological vectors though have a wide range of things they may or may not be effective against.
Machine spirits? Depends how the author goes - if they're closer to dumb AIs/have actual awareness they're probably susceptible.
The Necrons? The dynasties actively looking to restore the Necrontyr as a living race may well be uniquely vulnerable, since the Flood can almost certainly craft the bodies they want.
Daemons? Now that's a spicy and intriguing thought...
Machine spirits? Depends how the author goes - if they're closer to dumb AIs/have actual awareness they're probably susceptible.
The Necrons? The dynasties actively looking to restore the Necrontyr as a living race may well be uniquely vulnerable, since the Flood can almost certainly craft the bodies they want.
Daemons? Now that's a spicy and intriguing thought...
Not_Interesting
The Munchkin of Megastructures
- Location
- In your walls(the walls between realities)
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Ork Spores meet Flood Spores:
Flood Spores: "This Galaxy ain´t big enough for the two of us."
Ork Spores: "YUZ DAM´ ROIGHT!"
Flood Spores: "This Galaxy ain´t big enough for the two of us."
Ork Spores: "YUZ DAM´ ROIGHT!"