The clutch is dead. They fought with purpose and duty – sacrificed themselves so that the Host might live. Kree is dead. Kak-ka is dead. Everyone is dead. I am clutchless. It is strange.
Never quite alone, the Hive keeps my thoughts occupied. The primal spirit of a million generations of insects drone within my chitin – I am not alone – but the Hive is not a clutch. Their wishes too simple, their goals too primal. They do not value my life – I am only a vessel for them. They do not understand that this body must survive – they care nothing for my shell – but if I perish, so will they.
I must find a new clutch. They take me to Nibenay – to fight as a gladiator. The Hive relishes the chance to hunt again – but I take no pleasure. Hunting should not happen in a cage. I seek freedom. I seek a new clutch. There will be few of the true people, few of the Thri-Kreen in those slave pens in Nibenay. Will the mammals have hunters worthy of joining? Left alone with only the Hive within me, I feel I might perish – succumb to their base and primal desires – perhaps I will lose myself to the things that dwell within me.
Already it is difficult to resist their urges – already I spend too much time in the form of the Primal Hive. My chitin feels strange, as if it is not my true shape any longer. The mammals – slaves, captured things, mostly prey – but with luck there will be a few ants among the aphids. With my guidance, perhaps I can shape a new clutch – they will see it is for their own good.
I must remember who I am, I must contain the things within me. Do not succumb. Do not forget who I am.
I am Hakka, host of the Primal Hive. I am Hakka, one that communicates with the spirits of The Innumerable Swarm. I am Hakka… I am Hakka…
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