The Swarm
Part three of three

Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)
Commissioned by Adagiodajiang

Sandor stalked through the space vessel, though the individual he was did not care for the other anthros he found there. Behind him, on the ground, lay dead anthros, blood leaking from their bodies where their cardiovascular systems allowed it to flow, but cool death would soon overcome their bodies. With such fatal blows, cuts and slashes marked across their bodies, they had had no hope of standing up to the swarm. Sandor, as the Queen’s right hand, however, fought alone.

He stalked the hallway with a subtle click of claws on hard metal. It was not a natural environment for him and he hissed. No…it was all wrong. It had to be put right. The hive had to take it over, take it on, bring all into the swarm. Sandor’s antennae twitched as they probed out before him, sensing light changes in the air, his tongue sweeping against his lips.

He tasted fear before him, sweat and the quivering of anthros who knew already their fates were sealed. The emergency lights flickered above him, shifting between red and a glaring, stark white, the electrical system fried. He understood the intricacies of that without going into the details, sharing knowledge with the swarm who guided him.

“It’s coming…”

“Quick, through here…”

He followed them, languidly. What need did he have to rush as he mapped out the vessel in his mind, the interconnected passages and air ducts a simple path for him to cut off his prey. It was not like the maze of the hive, after all, and there was a part of Sandor that longed, even then, to be back there, with his Queen. 

But toying with his prey… Yes, that came with a thrill to it too. His jaws hung open, though the Vyraxi didn’t make a single sound he didn’t intend to. His body was a perfect killing machine, the black of his hide gleaming, lights glancing off it. Still, his prey didn’t know he was coming.

The male anthros clung to each other as he lowered himself from the ceiling behind them, hooking his claws nimbly into one of the vents that would have been utilised for engineers of the ship, in a time that served the anthros better than the Vyraxi. Their screams cut through the air as Sandor let out a blood-curdling hiss, striking fear into them as they backed into a corner, clinging to one another.

He had their exit blocked, of course, dropping to the ground as he licked his lips, his tongue flicking out to drag against the dark of his snout.

“Vyraxi…thank you for your service.”

He mocked them, tail swinging and curling back and forth between them. There may have been hisses and grunts wound through his tone, but he was understandable enough to them. He didn’t sound much at all like the Sandor of old, however, his voice coarser and rougher, hisses tangled through it. He wasn’t meant to be as he used to be.

“P-please,” one of the anthros stuttered, an otter with a sleek, lithe figure, clad in a ripped uniform. “Don’t hurt us! We don’t want trouble!”

“But the Vyraxi need you. Sssserve!”

He lunged for their partner, a lion with a broad chest that, once, may have attracted Sandor’s attention. Maybe. It was hard to say after the scope of his world had changed to such an extent. The lion bellowed, twisting away – but it was already too late. Sandor’s claws sliced, cutting across their neck as he spilt their lifeblood, cleanly and efficiently, to the ground. The metallic ring of it flooded the air and he withdrew his claws, having cut through the bone of their spine too. If he’d had any mercy in him, he would have realised he had made their end, blessedly, swift.

The red light flared above as the otter crumpled to the ground, fear getting the better of them. But it did not matter, not as Sandor hissed, towering over them.

“The Vyraxi…were always to rule.”

“No… Please…”

He laughed, ignoring their begging, though a Vyraxi’s humour was never to be called such. It echoed strangely off the walls of the corridor, bouncing back and forth so it sounded like more of the swarm were in there with him, sharing in the moment. The otter cowered, their muzzle pressed to the ground, averting their eyes from those of their partner, who had held them even in their final moments. But where the soul had departed, all that remained was a corpse. 

As the otter quaked, he smirked and stepped over the corpse of the lion, that was no more than a body. Yet he trembled with the raw exhilaration of making another kill. Could there be anything in his life and world that could make him feel more alive than that? Sandor bared his teeth in a feral grin and raised a hind leg over the corpse.

He released a hot, acrid stream of urine over it, peeing on it like a dog would mark its territory. That was not of the Vyraxi, but, of course, Sandor was not entirely of them. The Queen’s right hand ignored the living creature, for he would deal with them in time, letting out a long, roiling hiss.

“Rrrraaasssggggrrraaaassshhh…”

He sighed, his cock hanging low as he relieved himself, but he stepped back, his shaft throbbing. Ah, he needed more, though it was not of the Vyraxi to do as he did. He was his own creature, but the hive mind of the swarm supported him with hisses and touches on his shared mind, letting him do as he would. As long as he served the Queen, they were all in agreement with one another.

His cock ached for pleasure and he licked his lips as he thrust his cock into the corpse.

“Puny anthro…” He hissed. “Weak willed… The swarm will provide.”

And he believed what he was saying, fully. It was as if, to him, nothing else existed other than the hive and other instincts were buried deep, where they felt like an innate part of him – him as a Vyraxi. He wasn’t seeking a hole in particular, though he still instinctively mounted the lion under his tail, pushing it out of the way so he could get what he wanted.

It was the best relief for the pleasure of the hunt, the thrill of being exactly who and what he was, that Sandor could ever have imagined. With a roiling hiss, he ground his dick deeper, desecrating the corpse as he thrust harder and faster. He didn’t care who saw, not as his bloodlust swelled and the buzz of the hive remained, as ever, in the back of his mind. Sandor was never alone.

Yet he had to hunt, tasting yet another kill in his mouth, as if he could replay, over and over, just how it felt to make the kill, to feel the conclusion of the hunt aching through his veins. He wanted more, so he speared in viciously in his insult of the corpse, until his cock pulsated with a stream of yellowish cum. The fetid semen spilt into the lion, filled with squirming, wriggling worms, and Sandor snarled.

“Rrrrraaaaassssarrrrggghhhh!”

Shudders of lust rolled through him – ah, but it was not solely for the pleasure of his ejaculation. He had another hunt to conduct, dragging his still-dripping cock from the body as he turned in pursuit.

For he’d left a couple more on the ship, just so he could have his own fun. It was in the nature of the Vyraxi to hunt, to pursue, and he could not hold back as his shaft hung below him in a dog-like fashion, never retreating into a slit like what the Vyraxi had. He left it like that, caring not for his exposure, as his mandibles clicked.

He was the prime hunter. If the Vyraxi had counted such things, he would have been the member of the swarm who had the most kills to his name, Sandor’s tail twisting as he levelled the blade at the end, as if he was about to strike. 

He listened to them, hunkering down low as he stalked through the corridors. Stealth echoed through him as he licked his lips, almost able to taste the victory of the hunt again, his shaft throbbing with the raw energy of his excitement. The Vyraxi raked his claws down the wall, herding the anthros he stalked with sound and fear, but the delicious rat-tat-tat of them scampering down the hallways, not knowing he was herding them to the small transport dock, which, of course, was crushed and sparking electricity, out of order. Once again, his toys would be cornered while he got to do with them as he wanted.

Two more anthros hugged one another, one with their snout buried in the neck with the other staring Sandor down. They had their ears pinned, a red and a blue fox. He tilted his head, though recognised nothing of himself in them. 

The lovers pressed in close to each other, but the Vyraxi was ready to see the hunt come to its inevitable conclusion. Muscles contracted and he relished in the raw power surging through him as he took down the red fox, ripping them from their partner as his claws sliced through in a brutal strike. Blood fell from their chest, but Sandor was already turning, mandibles clicking, as his tail lashed out before the first body had even fallen.

The red light gleamed off the blade of his tail as it stabbed, plunging into the next victim, the blue fox. His jaws parted in one last gasp, but Sandor cared not for that as his bloodlust surged.

He was of the hive. He was a servant of the Queen. He was everything the Vyraxi were supposed to be.

Before the bodies fell, for it all happened in the blink of an eye, his barbed tail lunged back into the corpse of the red fox, a moment before it hit the ground. As he withdrew it, corrupted ichor spilt from it in a bubble and a hiss, practically frothing as his poison melded with that of the red fox’s body. He paid little mind to the blue fox, mandibles clacking with obvious pleasure.

The cramped corridors offered him little room to move, his quarries, though dead, pinned up against the door of the loading docks, the control panel flashing emergency lights while sparks flew from it. Such things would not hurt Sandor as he eyed it dispassionately, already feeling the urge all over again to hunt, to kill, to feel the thrill of the pursuit. He needed it, though the anthros that were not killed by the swarm were transformed into Vyraxi too, if they were suited to the needs of the hive.

Writhing larvae squirmed in the dead flesh of the fox, where his tail had sunk into both of them, though Sandor felt no revulsion. There was only the roar of approval of the hive in his mind, sharing in the experience with him, the Vyraxi’s antennae quivering delightedly.

The swarm rules all…

None stand against the swarm…

The Queen must be fed…

The swarm owns the galaxy…

Weak anthros must die…

“Rrrrssssaaaffffsssss…”

He hissed his approval, his mandibles clicking enthusiastically through even his own his. He growled, sounding less like a Vyraxi and more like a vulpine, but he didn’t see himself as that, not anymore. The swarm was there, always there, and their conquering of the galaxy would never be stopped.

He shuddered, taking in the moment, the putrid scent of the worms and larvae filling the air, even over that harsher tang of anthro blood. He was not killing, not really, not when he was with the swarm. No… All he did came in the act of creation too, of building a new world, of seeding a new future for the swarm and the Queen.

“Aha…ahahagrahhhagggghhhh!”

His laugh rasped from him, hoarse and low, spluttering with hisses. He didn’t need to sound like the old Sandor, the Sandor who had been sucked out and remade into something new, someone better. He was one of the Vyraxi and they swarmed in his head, channelling his joy into something they could all share in.

He licked his lips, coming down, seeing the other fox before him. They were no more than meat to him, a body that had ended its course on – and they would not serve the Vyraxi. With a callous shrug of his shoulders, he turned away, only for the barb of his tail to lash out behind him, sinking deep into the corpse as more ichor hissed and spilt forth. But he had more prey to hunt, even if not on that vessel, and his role as the Queen’s right hand still was not complete.

Even if he finished his time as the Queen’s agent, of course, he would never again not be a part of the swarm.

*

His time came, as it would for every Vyraxi that was mutated and transformed. They all had their use, but they were not the hive members swirling through the mass of the mind, everyone combined and a part of something greater. Indeed, Sandor was part of something greater than he ever could have imagined before, but everything was entirely out of the Vyraxi’s control.

Although the mutated fox, who had not looked like such for many, many years, had served her faithfully, her favourite weapon to send out to secure fresh ground for the colony, he deserved to be fully Vyraxi. No more of his “dog-like” tendencies, for that was one thing that set him apart from the hive mind.

For him…she had the ultimate gift. It was time to scrape clean the last of his weak brain, gifting him a complete, Vyraxi mind.

Still melded with the brood chamber, the Queen called him to her once more, for one last time. His cock swelled to attention near immediately, throbbing with desire, for he knew his purpose.

“Ssssraaaassss!”

He answered her call with joy as he scrambled up to mount her, plunging his cock deep into her slit where he could breed her, filling her. Yet something about the Queen felt different that day, even as pleasure washed through him.

Sandor thrust harder and faster, demonstrating the furry inclinations that kept on coming through, all from the remnants of his brain that had been left behind. He licked his lips as her passage pulsated around him, coaxing desire from him as he flooded her with his semen.

Slowly, he pulled out as the Queen’s mind touched his.

My subject… She hissed, communicating with him with no speaking aloud. You have done well. The sanctity and security of the hive is secured. There is no more for you to do.

He bowed his head respectfully, his cock still hard and throbbing, pulsating with dripping, yellow cum.

Serve Queen… He thought, his “speech” disconnected, drifting with the hive mind. Always serve the Queen…

“Ssssraaasszzzz…”

She hissed, gently caressing his face with one of her hands, Sandor pressing into her touch.

You will be rewarded, yes, she told him. With a Vyraxi brain.

Sandor flinched and shook his head, fear churning sickeningly in the pit of his stomach. But he didn’t know why that was the case, not as he growled and leaned back in, blinking away the strange feelings. For those emotions and instincts that the Queen of the Vyraxi had allowed to remain in him lingered in the semblance of biological instincts. 

“Agh – no! Grrasssstttt!”

He twisted as his progeny closed in around him, hands grasping his lips, one of them pinning his tail regardless of him flailing it about in an attempt to free himself. Yet the hive mind knew what he was going to do before he even did it and there was no point fighting back against those that knew him as they did. He wrenched at their hold, confused by his own fight, as the Queen’s second in command leaned over him, pinning him by his shoulders. 

“Aaarrrsssssaaaassss! Zzzzsssssrrrsss!”

He hissed and spat, though he still wanted to obey. Even as the red “head hugger,” a lesser spawn from the swarm, was lowered towards his face, legs twitching and reaching out for him, trying to grasp him even before it had made contact.

He fought and hurled his body up against those who were a part of him – and yet not, at the same time – but his fate was already sealed. The red head hugger’s black, beady eyes locked on to him and it let out a squeal, the creature filling his vision and parting its beak to reveal a blade-like interior. 

“Aaaarrrggghhhh!”

He howled like the fox he had once been as it locked on to him, legs wrapping around his head as it sucked on to his face. A sharp bite of pain rang through him, but there was nowhere for him to go as his body was held in place, the head hugger slicing cleanly into his exoskeleton and through his skull.

A jolt went through his body, bucking like something else was happening to him, but fear snarled through. Sandor howled brokenly, letting go of the last vestiges of his vulpine side, what he had clung on to for so many years, despite his new life out there. 

But he was more than just that and even a Vyraxi knew when they were about to die. He snarled and snapped, clacking his mandibles, but there was no threat display his own kind would respond to while they were under the Queen’s command. She, after all, ruled above them all.

The pain burned, but it faded into the background as the hive mind bubbled and churned within him. They chattered through his head, drowning out the horror.

One of us…

Always the swarm…

The hive provides…

All for the Queen…

All for the Queen…

ALL FOR THE QUEEN!

He roared, a hiss curling through, but no one paid any attention to him, not as Sandor the individual. For the Vyraxi, that simply did not exist. His chest heaved, gasping at air that wouldn’t do him any good, though his cock throbbed in an instinctual response. It pulsed, spending out fishy, yellow cum, worms wriggling and squirming as his body did what it could in the last moments it thought it had of its life. A Vyraxi, in the end, still had to reproduce, to continue their genetic line as part of the swarm.

Messy ejaculate splattered against his progeny and dripped down his thighs as he wasted his seed, snarling and hissing as he fought, as far as he knew, for his life.

But the head hugger did not stop as it dug into his brain, scooping and slurping out more and more of the brain matter remaining there. What had been replaced before, with Vyraxi brain matter, had to go too, for Sandor was to be made anew, entirely as Vyraxi. Only the body, the vessel, would remain in service of the Queen.

It dug deeper, a lewd, wet sound echoing through his increasingly empty skull as it fed on his brain matter, slopping it all out. It didn’t below there, it never had, not as the Vyraxi’s struggles grew weaker. Sandor no longer could push against the arms of his second in command, fingers twitching, his cock drooling voluminous, heavy, yellow semen. 

“Rraassssrrrassssaaahh…”

He turned his head, tongue flopping limply out against the side of his snout. He couldn’t control it, couldn’t move it, his vision blurring and fading out as he stared up blankly at those who were his swarm. The Vyraxi twitched, head lolling, the last scraps of brain sucked out as the head hugger squirmed, fat and happy. It had fulfilled its only purpose in life, after all, and no more than that was needed.

“Raaasssssasssssszzzz!”

Sandor’s voice box worked, thrusting forward violently, though it was a jerkier, rougher motion than usually would have come from him. There was no thought behind his eyes as he strained against his kind, though he wasn’t fighting them. Not as his body gave one last attempt. It was a failed attempt, even as his body spent more than it ever should have, his hips pumping furiously as his Vyraxi tail tried to shake, almost like that of the fox he’d once been. But Sandor would never be that again as he gargled and hissed brokenly.

“Rrrrssssssaaazzzzz!”

He thrust, spilling heady spurts of cum from his cock, still that putrid yellow, arcing out from his shaft. Yet he was not aware of where he was as his body shuddered and fought violently against the restraints, limbs jerking and thrashing as if to give one last try at remaining himself.

There was nothing left of him to fight for, his cock bursting with yellow fluid that the swarm could put to use. The head hugger relaxed its grip, dropping to the ground, where it scampered away. With a trembling pulse, it expelled the brain matter it had sucked out, the worms swarming to it and feeding, sucking it all down. The red face hugger had done what it needed, though the worms ejaculated from their father’s body fed on the last gift Sandor could ever have given them.

This one will do.

The Queen surveyed him proudly, her loyal subject. He had been like her dog, guarding her and stalking around her, always providing for her. She could not have asked for a better first in command after her, of course, and Sandor had been instrumental in winning the war against anthros, spreading their influence across the galaxy. Soon, they would go beyond even that, but they would not have the hive they did without his fighting skills and the gift of his cum.

She extended a leg, touching the exposed root of his spinal cord. He twitched, rocking his hips forward, grinding his throbbing cock into the air for another load. Sandor’s mind may not have been there, but his body still had use as his balls churned and he jerked wildly, yanking against his own progeny while they were forced to tighten their clawed hands around him just to stop him from breaking free.

With his mind gone, his prick pulsed with need, though it was carnal and raw, throbbing visibly. There was no mental power behind his orgasm, only the raw needs of the body as he jerked and twitched, his protests quieting slowly as it was what he was permitted to do. The Queen controlled him and there was nothing in his mind to actively fight against it, not even as his hips rolled forward, thrusting and grinding to spend every drop of seed the Queen deemed fit for his body to lose.

The Queen directed his progeny to release him. Only her new right hand stayed there, rocked back on his haunches while he waited his next orders. For that was all he knew and in service of the Queen, he would stay where he belonged, ignorant to the horrors that the Vyraxi channelled through them.

She touched his spinal cord again, where it connected to the back of his skull, cracked open and currently useless, the Vyraxi spearing his hips forward as if he could still thrust all on his own. That muscle motion was lost to him as the Queen played with his abilities, her touch on his spinal cord forcing him to judder and jerk in an erratic fashion. His hips didn’t work in the manner they were supposed to, going off to the side, but she was easily able to send signals down to his hard dick again.

There was no pleasure in it, though it was a physical expenditure of such. His body thrust and rocked, jerking and shuddering from one side to the other, though the Queen did not try to draw any cries from him. Not as she watched, fascinated, as his lifeless body rocked and humped, wasting his cum in a bone-shaking orgasm all over again. Cum spilt thickly to the ground, splattering over it as it tried to soak in, but that was just another thing that would give life to her Vyraxi. Sandor quivered and she prodded his cord again, amusing herself with the twitching ineffectiveness of his form, how she could make his hard shaft thrust and spill yet more semen, giving his seed then as he had for her as part of the hive too. Yet he was lifeless in mind, his essence sucked out and made use of. Vyraxi, after all, were never wasteful.

The Vyraxi dragged him away, deep into the hive where a room was lined with pods. The green, almost fleshy walls of the pod closed over his head, though Sandor, if he could even hold that name anymore, was dull and unresisting. There was nothing in his head to command the motion of his limbs, or to do anything at all until the Queen gifted him what was truly of the Vyraxi.

The Sandor-dog would no longer be needed… Truthfully, the Vyraxi had never made all that much distinction between dogs and foxes, though the Queen had been amused by his tendencies. That was one more reason she’d allowed her weapon to keep parts of his mind for so long.

The pod supported Sandor smoothly against his cheek as tendrils probed, pushing into the back of his head. Slowly, patiently, they fed him the genetic material and proteins required to create a new brain, though there were still traces of Sandor in it. The essence of who he was had still been in his body, imprinted in muscle memory – for parts of who he’d been had already been shared with the hive mind. In that way, Sandor could never truly die.

The Queen had already known that, of course. Those traces of the anthro she’d mutated could be used as another high-level commander in her hive mind army if she ever had need of it. So, Sandor would always be useful, even as warming pleasure tingled back to life in his limbs, his cock the first part of him to return to throbbing function as brain matter and use was restored. 

He could not groan, could not move, could not do anything else at all. But he could serve the Queen and he could be one of the hive, his body twitching in response.

His cock dripped yellow pre-cum, his body not yet primed for orgasm. Yet he leaned into the warmth, the pleasure swarming his veins, filling him in every way. His exoskeleton was strong and the parts of him that were broken, like the back of his head and skull, would soon be made anew again, with no memory of such an event even being implanted into his head. That, of course, would not serve the hive.

Sandor’s jaw fell slack, tongue flopping out in a splattering drool of saliva. Yet one could have imagined there was a ghost of a smile on his lips, content with his fate, for he was still one of the hive and would, one day, fulfil another purpose for the Queen. He knew nothing else, not as his cock twitched and throbbed, pulsing with life and need.

One day, maybe soon, he would serve the swarm and the Queen as he was always meant to.