#bahrag

Welcome to my prison-nest, brotherling

A large, draconian head emerged into the firelight. Four massive glowing eyes focused loosely on him, shimmering green with compound facets under which shone a clear intelligence. The iridescent metal-flesh of the being seemed to flicker in color every so often with the dancing flame, a bright blue or red sometimes taking hold over the dull silver for a brief moment.

“What… are you?” Vakama murmured quietly, though the thing seemed to hear him without issue. The large head rose backwards as it stepped forward, revealing a serpentine neck that folded over itself and two small forelimbs. Along its tail- or perhaps thorax- were several spheres, each gently glowing a different color, pulsing as if they themselves were alive, separate from the beast.

Our name has no meaning. The Sister-queen is dead. We were called Bahrag. That shall suffice.

He remembered the stories now. Massive beasts that had been brought by Barraki Raiders to the city as siege-weapons. So dangerous, they had to be restrained by six of the Raiders, even in the midst of battle. Lhikan and a few other toa had dispatched the whole crew, beasts and all. Or perhaps not. 

Indeed, brotherling. The voice interrupted his thoughts, This One was not killed that day. This One was half-dead, stolen away by the same Toa Tuyet who holds you captive now.

The Bahrag began circling Vakama, each eye seeming to focus on a different part of him for a brief moment before scanning another portion of his body. After a moment, it stopped, leaning in close enough for Vakama to feel hot air escaping from the beast’s frontal vents.  Rejoice, brotherling, for this Queen accepts you into her Horde. Be honored that the toa-energy of you and your fellow Hordika has been used to feed the newest Kal.

“Kal? Is that your kind’s name for the spiders?”

A repeating, sickly grunt emanated from the Bahrag, but the translation of laughter was clear.

The Kal are much more than what you call “spiders,” or even their following stages. They still sleep, waiting to wake only when I cease to be. No, the “spiders” are just our beginning.

As if to demonstrate, one of the spiders descended from the ceiling, resting on an outstretched Bahrag-claw. Now holding still, Vakama could clearly see that these ones were different from the dangerous Rahi pests he was accustomed to. The armor on it was thin and loosely-spaced, revealing a rubberlike layer of skin and muscle underneath.

We have learned that your kind do not speak the true names of the Horde out of fear, but this One shall teach you, brotherling. These children are ‘Krana.’

An orblike cocoon fell from the ceiling, the thick webbing below doing little to quiet the loud crack of flesh-metal striking stone. The same translucent shell tore through the layers of silk surrounding it, revealing claws that sparked and smoked.

The sphere began to unwind, and arms and legs that looked far too much like a Matoran’s began extending from the main body, only to shudder and begin flailing. A group of Matoran scurried from behind the webs, at least two holding onto each thrashing limb. A dull, lifeless glow emanated from the eye-holes of the Krana attached to their face, each of its spider-like legs now seeming to meld with the Matoran’s head.

These ones, who have fused to a host, are ‘Va.’

An insect-like clicking sound emanated from the spherical being.

Chikt-chikt-chikt-chikt-chikt…

Those that have encased their host and have grown into walking chrysalis are ‘Bohrok,’ such as the one entering the final stage of it's metamorphosis before you.

The carapace of the being began to crack, the clicking becoming louder until the solid crystalline shell flung forward, revealing the form inside.

And those that have fully subsumed the host and shed their chrysalis are the true Horde. The last host who gazed upon their birth and managed to live called the Horde ‘Stealers of Life,’ and so we have named ourselves. 

It pulled free from its old skin, two compound eyes gleaming despite the darkness. Spider-like legs and long, wicked pincers tore the remaining chrysalis apart, what little resemblance to the poor person the thing had consumed now lost forever.

Vakama took a step back. He had heard of them, monsters from circle-fire stories on the darkest and coldest of nights.