Honestly I have no idea why, or how I wrote so much. But I did. i I was thinking maybe of posting this to tumblr or archive of our own but I figure hey, why not do it here? (Partially because I am unsure if I'm allowed to do the first and there is no actual category for Endless Legend in the second but hey what are you gonna do) Got really damn passionate about the Necrophage after finishing their quest for the first time. I love these guys. Like a lot. A lot. I will straight up buy Endless Space 2 of there's necrophage lore in there. Forewarning there are some mentions of bloody bug bits and the death of said bloody bugs. Long monologue drabble fic thing about the end of the Necrophage post elimination ending I guess??? Also any and all criticism is welcome, read a bunch of necrophage lore and looked up a lot of insectoid terms but I finished this like.... 15 minutes ago? And am too tired to proofread it and will probably pass out in another 15. But not before I leave this here.

Searing Stars

Words such as “Nation” or “Empire”, the hind-legs always had such a fascination with those words. It was an obsession, the way they tried to cut the land into pieces and scrawled imaginary walls onto maps only to push at the very lines they had trapped themselves inside of. So many distinctions, so many names, so many frivolities. In the end the hind-legs did not make anything that had lasted. Towering hive-spires dotted the land, twisted and reaching towards the sky as tunnels tore through the land to link them together. Perhaps in some ways they had created the sprawling empire the hind-legs had always coveted. It was the Colony.

But the Colony was dying.

------

It was almost like something physical, He-Who-Meddles could feel the burden of age upon him with so much more weight than any ephemeral concept. No, it pulled at him, as if trying to tear chitin and skin from his body with that damnable weight. Deep inside of him there was anger, the hissing hateful voice of his instinct that wished so desperately for him to fight. To lash out and sink his jaws into time itself. However it was quiet, burning like a dull ember at the back of his mind. No matter how much that pure part of him wished to die clawing and howling at the stars he had resolved to wait. In whatever way it would come he wished to see the end.

Their kind were not meant to live so long. It was ingrained within their nature, to fight until faced with death itself and then continue fighting. A brood-mother was born to kill her predecessor and give life to the hive till she herself is killed by her successor. Soldiers would throw themselves against the enemy till they were struck down and would feast on their own siblings to simply keep doing so. Workers would tunnel and build as long as their body could support them, and then that body would become the foundations for what the next generation would come to make. Even the groomers would devour the weak among their number and cull those who were unfit regardless of where their stood amongst the Hive, removing waste until they themselves became waste. A cycle of death that every individual member fit into, all to keep the Colony itself alive. Yet there was no caste that He-Who-Meddles fit into, not anymore, what he had once been was only the faintest memory now.

Instead he had stolen what he lacked and built himself into something new. There was no name for what he was, after all there was no need to name it. A caretaker, a shepherd, a leader, it all amounted to the same. In the end he wished to lead his kind towards greater things, what he believed was their birthright. In their own way his broodmates understood the role he played. Oh of course they challenged him, time and time again they would challenge his authority. Yet he never blamed them, the strong survived and he would show them to never question his strength. With his claws, with a blade, with his mind. At one point he believed that the Colony could gain that same sentience he had. All the strength and ferocity of the Necrophage with a new and calculating intellect to rival the hind-legs. But that was not to be. Destiny, whatever means had been used to forge them eons ago, that oh so powerful nature of theirs also limited them. They were creatures of instinct, hungry slavering animals first and foremost. And that was the answer. With time He-Who-Meddles found peace with that fact. Perhaps something such as himself was not meant to exist, not a next step but an unnecessary dead-end. Some day there could be others such as him, or none at all. Whatever the truth was though there was no point to contemplating questions with no answer. No matter the obstacle the Necrophage would survive, he made that his mission. From so many separate hives he had made a unified colony, channeled their hunger to wage war, he had made them more. It had taken so long but he had led his brood there, they commanded the surface of Auriga, they had inherited the world that should have been theirs all along. A dying world but theirs nonetheless. However he wished to see that grand death, even if he would be alone in watching.

Even the youngest broodlings understood, knew that the nearly boundless winters meant the end. However none of them could ever think beyond that, none of them could look past it and plan for a future they could not see. No matter the time that had passed he still remembered. So long ago when he struggled with the complex webs of thought in his mind and so new to the role he had given himself. It was then that he met a hind-legs who proved himself useful. Useful enough to listen to and not simply devour. All those cycles ago the man had gone by a different name, wore a different shape, but even then had managed to capture He-Who-Meddles attention in such an all-consuming way. The man became more, grew past that fragile soft skin, became part of the Colony. And then He-Who-Meddles gave him a name.

Ka-Riss.

It was a name that brought feelings still so perplexing, a sort of acceptance, nostalgia, a quiet mourning for that which wasn’t dead. There were so many inscrutable emotions, some their kind did not even have names for. Such sentimentality was maybe proof of what he was, what they both had been. Aberrations. However He-Who-Meddles was alone now. No more questions, no more discussions to help quicken his soaring thoughts, no more lingering worries in the corners of his mind. Ka-Riss was gone. What stood in his place was powerful, the greatest force that stood upon the field, and just as simplistically savage as any of his broodmates. There was no thought there, no other will than that of the Colony.

It was their efforts together that lived on though. Ka-Riss taught him of the darkening winters and their meaning, the measures that could be taken to survive. That was what mattered. Survival. The Necrophage had claimed Auriga and they would fight the world itself to keep it. The preparations had been completed, even without his mind Ka-Riss could follow instructions, he was the one to deliver them. Hundreds, thousands, millions. So many eggs none could hope to count their number. Bred from their strongest and most cunning, culling and feeding upon the weak till nothing remained but their greatest. It would be those slumbering young that would stay beneath the earth, preserved in the darkness of ancient places. He-Who-Meddles knew, he knew the significance of those places, the ones who had built them, the very same who spun the Necrophage from sinew and bone. But whatever the ancients, the Endless, had crafted them for it was unimportant. The Necrophage had fulfilled their purpose better than any could ever hope, they killed and killed and killed. Even if the planet itself fought them they would dig their claws into the ground and fight. Perhaps those born of their strongest would survive the endless winter, go against the very elements and live beyond them. Survive. Or they would die. Whichever would come would be for them to see, He-Who-Meddles had done everything that could be done. There was nothing left.

Nothing left but to bear witness.

------

It was cold. A cold so deep and stabbing that it felt like fire and not any form of ice. It was no surprise of course, winter had whirled and ravaged across the land for cycles now with no end in sight. It was a surprise they had lasted so long. The scattered and sheltered tribes of hind-legs that remained were dead, wildlife cold dormant and dying, even what meager farmland they had frozen and lifeless. Contact between hives had long since stopped, He-Who-Meddles found no need to continue it.

What he could call chambers was a single open room. High atop the central hive-spire there was only a single entry way with a rough curtain hanging over the opening. It was hardly a space for living, simple crudely fashioned tables pushed to the walls were covered in maps and chronicles of long gone conversations and events. However at the far end of the room was a massive arched outcropping, something close to a balcony that led out into open air. It gave a wide view of the entirety of the surrounding area, as well as let the cold of the high altitude air sear his very chitin. However despite the warmth, lacking as it was, that could be found in the deeper chambers and tunnels He-Who-Meddles had spent more and more time there as the days wore on. Frantic bouts of pacing had stopped, trips for what food remained slow and lacking any urgency, he was waiting.

When it finally came it was as if it happened in an instant. The strained agitated movements of the hive lost all order and cohesion as the chaos bloomed outward. With one violent crack an explosion tore through the fungal laboratory, clouds of dark noxious smoke spilling into the frigid air. There was no telling what could have caused it, a simple misstep from a sluggish forager, the short temper of a starving soldier, it didn’t matter. In moments the air became a buzzing cacophony as the single act of violence spread out. Lashing out at one another the hive was whipped up into a writhing frenzy, devouring one another and tearing apart anything they could sink their claws into. Perhaps this was the first hive to fall, perhaps it was the last, it truly did not matter. Even after the resounding crash the buzz of the warring hive grew louder and louder till the air practically vibrated. And so he stood.

It was odd to notice such simple things, He-Who-Meddles was almost hyper aware of his surroundings. The way the floor cracked in the more brittle portions when his clawed toes scratched against it, how worn and soft his cloak felt against his skin while it practically fell apart, the clear sky and the sea of stars surrounding the cold empty crescent moon. Slow footsteps were practically inaudible among the piercing shrieks and howls echoing throughout the hive as millions of Necrophage tore one another apart. Oddly enough none came through the main entrance, the curtains undisturbed by the chaos that lay beyond it. A wild screech outside of a voice so familiar almost made him pause, almost. However his steps did not falter, not till he reached the outside.

Forceful whipping wind pulled at his cloak as he held it against his chest, the air unbearably cold yet he did not so much as flinch. Instead pushing down his hood He-Who-Meddles looked up at the sky. Silent.

Many eyes searched for a meaning that none could guess, the moonlight faintly shining off his hide. It was the beginning of the end and he simply watched. One clawed worn hand held his cloak in place, another hanging limply, the third held a blade of simple iron but with such natural ease that it might have simply been an extension of the arm. It was the fourth hand however, scarred and tipped with battle-tested claws that reached out, trying to grasp at the very heavens.

Then the silence was broken.

None came through the front entrance, the curtains still and perhaps would never move again. No instead one drone landed at the edge of what could be called the balcony. One wing torn and riddled with holes, mandibles twitching as they clacked together slavering jaws. Followed with a purpose two, then three others split off from the air bound bloodbath to perch next to their broodmate. Some land bound workers and soldiers already had begun climbing the walls, a few losing purchase and falling to the ground below or attacking one another along the way, but some reached the top. So many eyes on him, watching him with fiery intensity. There was no question what this was, no it was so very natural. To both him and the rest of them. Like breathing.

It began in a flash, a second blade drawn from his hip he sunk both into the shoulders of a soldier that still tried to crawl up the edge, a hard push sending the unfortunate straggler off the edge. The others were upon him in an instant, a hard kick colliding with the center of that first leaping drone, a sickening crack and wet warm dripping down his leg confirming that the drone would not be getting up again. Some were young, so fresh to this world they knew summer as only a fleeting few moments and had never seen him upon the field. But the elder of the group, those strapped with armor and metal reinforced claws knew what they were challenging. Their leader, their architect, the very embodiment of the Necrophage. Yet they all leapt at him without a single moment of hesitation, some perhaps cunningly trying to spot openings or slipping behind their more feral broodmates but never even once hesitating to try and tear him to pieces. All the while He-Who-Meddles was a whirling flash of blades and mandibles, burying his fangs in flesh when claws and blades would not suffice. Even simple weapons of iron were death when wielded in his hands, easily plunging between the weakest spots between chitin and armor, even when those battle tested blades of his shattered he never paused as he ripped the weapons from another challenger’s corpse.

In that one blissful moment he was alive, the weight of age and exhaustion melting off him so easily. Fire coursed through his veins, thrummed under his skin, bursting free in every howl and snarl. Dead continued to pile as seas of his own swarmed the wall to try and drown him. No matter the numbers though he never faltered, cracking open shells with every blow and tearing to pieces any who drew close.

The hive burned, one among many dying across the land. Countless swarmed and cannibalized the fallen, ripping each other to ichor drenched pieces under the night sky. Yet even at the center of it all the one of their number who saw farther than all of them reveled in it just like the rest. In this moment they were alive, live or die they would fight and fight until their very bodies broke under the weight of their rage.

------

He-Who-Meddles looked up even as he continued to rip and tear and kill. Eyes burning with an endless inner fire between flashes of blades and blood. It was the end, among the icy night air with the sky so clear they would all die. Yet his heart soared. In ancient places their young waited, perhaps one day to claim the planet or to simply be the legacy of their race. On the surface their entire species was ripping itself apart, the whole of the planet a savage bloodbath in burning hives and upon frozen seas. Glaring wild eyed up at the stars every stab and slice made his body sing, watching the stars and daring them to look upon them as they enveloped the planet with their insatiable hateful hunger. This was the end he had been waiting for, the ending he had needed, the ending he CRAVED.

THEY WOULD SEAR THEIR IMAGE INTO THE STARS