Unlike Any Other

It had been… days? Weeks perhaps? Monty couldn’t tell. Seconds and hours bled together in such a way that made it difficult to gauge the time. The lack of any point of reference only compounded that difficulty. The only thing he had to go on was his own body.

Monty was still hesitant to even call it his body. From what he could remember of his moments of lucid thoughts during his bout of hysteria, he knew that he didn’t really exist, at least not in the physical sense. The one experience that came close to describing that period was that of a dream of which he was aware of. Monty knew that he was still here —wherever ‘here’ was— but he had no influence beyond his mind. If he did have a body, he had no sensation over it.

That had been the initial assumption. Eventually his senses did come back, albeit at an agonizingly slow pace.

It was a gradual process. The first thing that returned to Monty was the sense of a physical head, followed soon after by what he could only assume was that of his torso and lower body. He couldn’t move anything back then. Monty suspected that perhaps he hadn’t formed the necessary muscle mass to do so or still lacked the actual structures, like it was in the case of his eyes and mouth early on.

It only dawned on him then that he was being reborn as a fetus.

Key phrase here was ‘a fetus’. The hopes of it being a human one had since been dashed when Monty noticed that the supposedly vestigial tail never went away, or when the structure of his mouth was markedly different from what he had remembered. He would have chalked them up to odd moments of development, were it not for the seemingly ceaseless growth of his upper canines that eventually jutted out of his lips.

Monty briefly considered the notion that he could have possibly been a vampire of sorts. It had probably been the least absurd scenario of the lot!

But other developments put an end to that thought; his ears seemed to have been higher up along his head than they had once been; there was some sort of growth jutting out from his forehead; his limbs were completely disproportionate from what he had been used to; two small knobs of flesh protruded somewhere on his back; he even suspected that he lacked digits.

Whatever Monty was developing into, it was most certainly not human or human-like.

All of this had been deduced from his developing senses while remaining stationary in what he assumed was a fetal position, or whatever passed for it in this freaky conglomeration of a body. He still couldn’t move anything except his own thoughts, though Monty believed that it wasn’t for a lack of muscle strength like before. He almost felt like he was tensed up like a coil, waiting to spring after whatever was blocking it was removed; there was plenty of potential strength.

Regardless of the reason why, Monty could not move an inch of his body. As such, he couldn’t feel it out in motion. He couldn’t even open his eyes, though he didn’t expect to see much in the womb or whatever he was in. Additionally, he couldn’t operate his mouth or his nose (if he even had the latter), which meant that breathing was out of the question.

The prospect of not being able to breathe had contributed to his initial irrational break, but weirdly enough, he had grown used to not requiring air. Besides, with all of the warm liquid surrounding him, Monty didn’t want to take the chance only for him to drown before officially being born.

That made him chuckle inwardly. Dying before being born would very much put a damper on his mood, and he had no intention of dying before figuring out at least what he looked like.

With all of these limitations, he had worried that he would have nothing to interact with (asides from himself) until ‘the time was right’ or whatever.

Fortunately, and quite unexpectedly, Monty began to sense… emotions.

That’s the closest word that he could attribute to the sensations that came to him. It was difficult to say why or how these senses existed, but they were definitely recognizable. In his past life, he has had moments where the emotions of others were so palpable, that he could recognise them without needing to hear or see them.

This was similar, just far more intense, by several orders of magnitude.

At first, when Monty began feeling them, it was mostly a jumbled mess of frustration and anxiety. That gave way to curiosity, then to hope. From then on, the exchange had become a series of ‘conversations’, as whatever was radiating them seemed to respond to his own. Granted, these were as basic and as frustrating as the conversations he had with Peruvian locals who didn’t speak a lick of English during his time in the country.

Still, this was probably the closest that Monty would ever get to having a conversation with someone using their minds alone, and he had to admit: that in itself was pretty damn cool.

As time passed, he concluded that he was with at least two other beings. There were on occasion others that passed by and contributed to the ‘discussions’, mostly by providing reassurances and consolation. With these visitors came along what Monty believed to be voices. Being distant and muddled (probably due to, in no small part, being a fetus in amniotic fluid), he couldn’t identify the language. Going by what had happened since his reawakening, this pointed to it being an alien language.

Then again, Monty had always been terrible with foreign languages. It could have been Chinese or some African bush language as far as he could tell.

In time, he supposed that it was unlikely that the series of what sounded like hisses and chirps belong to any human language. Judging by the emotions that came with the ‘words’, whoever or whatever was speaking was referring to Monty.

Maybe—conversing with emotions was still a hard concept to fully grasp, and ‘directional emotions’ might have been him assigning directions where there were none.

There was, however, one voice that stood out. Perhaps not so much by the sound, which sounded vaguely feminine, but by the emotions that accompanied it. They were difficult to decipher at first, mostly because Monty felt like he was drowning in them. Eventually though, he narrowed it to one possible candidate:

Love.

Pure, unconditional love.

Even as an alien fetus, the emotion was completely instinctual and matched with the same love that he once shared with his two-years-old daughter Ruth in his previous life. The startlingly similar sensation had renewed the sorrow that Monty experienced whenever he remembered that his friends, family, wife, and daughter, weren’t there to comfort him.

That had prompted an immediate response from those around him, specifically from the one that loved him so. There was a sense of worry and confusion from the latter, clearly at a loss as to why he was despairing, as she —such love and concern felt more like those of the maternal variety— redoubled her efforts to assure Monty that nothing was wrong.

Again, this was all mostly conjecture on his part, as he still couldn’t attach meanings to every emotion with absolute certainty. His gut feeling, however, insisted that his new biological mother (another intuition that his body had) was only doing her best to assuage to Monty’s distress.

She had even hummed to him.

And, more surprising to his human mind, it worked.

The foreign lullaby had put Monty to sleep multiple times already, and it always brought peace of mind, even when he was at his most anxious. As was happening right then.

This time though, the song wasn’t directed at him. One of his two companions had been radiating misery by the bucket loads, eventually garnering the attention of a fourth soul that often came by and joined in the emotions ‘discussion’ that the three of them usually had. Their ministrations were insufficient this time, and they had left to fetch Monty’s mother (although by now, it had become rather evident that she cared for all of them, even the fourth person.)

Her arrival was swift as were her quiet whispers and soft hums. She spoke again, and although he still couldn’t define those words, the tones spoke volumes. Or was it perhaps the emotions charged into her words?

Regardless, Monty got the sense that something was going to happen, and soon.

To that, he joined his companions in making their relief evident. Perhaps finally he could get some answers. But now, despite the tinge of anxiety that constantly protested in the back of his mind, he was drowsy again. Growing a body as a fetus really drained him.

Monty’s consciousness drifted away with the relaxing tune reverberating in his head.

Chrysalis continued humming the lullaby passed down to her from her mother, repeating the full verse to allow her three children to fall soundly asleep. As the final tones faded, she proudly noted that all three of them were content. Her good news had definitely gotten through to them.

Still, her mind was not at ease. Why had her cocooned children emoted so negatively and so frequently? Never before had any of her children displayed such distress outside of physical ailments disrupting their growth.

Yet there is no sign of ill health in any of them, Chrysalis reminded herself, recalling the observations that the nurses had reported to her. This problem was clearly related to their marks for greatness, but she couldn’t understand how.

The first time she had shared her genuine affection, the Queen had nearly panicked at the massively negative response from one of them. Only later did she recognise it as the longing sort of grief, the kind that one held when they had lost something once very close to them.

It made absolutely no sense: what could possibly have been the object of this quasi-nostalgic desire of a budding changeling larva? Perhaps there had been a nascent relationship between the three clutchmates; changelings from the same clutch did tend to foster closely-knit relationships, but, again, never prior to emerging as nymphs.

Moments like these brought Chrysalis frustration. Why hadn’t she asked her mother more on how she had behaved as a cocoon or as a larva when she still had the chance? What was the Queen missing here?

“Mother?”

With Chrysalis’s reverie momentarily shattered, she eyed the concerned nurse drone. “Yes, Petiole?” she said sweetly.

“Are you alright?” Petiole asked. “I can smell your worry.”

The Queen ran her forked tongue along her teeth. This hadn’t been the first time that she had allowed her tight grip on her emotions to slip. Normally this wasn’t necessary, as she had few concerns plaguing her mind and thus, usually allowed her glands to announce her mood. Chrysalis had recently found herself carefully keeping her emotions in check lately. After all, a worried queen was a worried hive.

“I’m...” She swallowed. “I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing here.”

Petiole’s widened eyes seemed superfluous with the amount of surprise that he radiated. “Mo‒ my Queen?”

“It’s true,” Chrysalis said with a remorseful tone. “This has been very trying, Petiole.” Her eyes returned to the three burgeoning cocoons. “For most of the challenges that I have faced in my long life, I have had experience to assist me. Failing that, I had my instincts to fall back on.”

She waved a hoof to the cocoons before her. “I’ve done as experience has taught me and followed my intuition, and yet I have no idea how these three will emerge.” Chrysalis focused her gaze once more on the small male. “Have I been wrong to do as I have done countless times before?”

In the darkness of the brooding chamber, his white pupils seemed to almost glow, darting every which way. Petiole may have been an alpha nursing drone, but he was still only a drone. It had been he who summoned Chrysalis for insight whenever he was at a loss when dealing with these particular siblings, not the other way around. What could his comparatively miniscule experience teach that his own mother didn’t already know?

“Er, I’m not one with the answer, mother,” he began slowly, rubbing at his chin. “But I do not think that you were wrong.”

Chrysalis wanted to sigh: despite the smells that he was emitting, Chrysalis admired the rather convincing front that Petiole put up. Unlike him, she made sure not to let her true feelings be so evident.

Instead, she allowed herself a smile. “Thank you, Petiole.”

His respectful bow came by far more naturally than his prior response. “I aim to only help, my Queen.”

The changeling queen’s gaze shifted back to the near-still cocoons. Two days, she told herself. Two days and then I’ll understand them better.

Hopefully there wouldn’t be anymore unexpected emotional bouts prior to their emergence.

As Monty woke, he immediately knew that something had changed. It wasn’t how his body had grown or developed in his sleep (though his limbs did feel a bit longer now), but something else.

There! He just felt movement somewhere nearby. Was that the womb shifting about? He hadn’t noticed it before, so Monty moved a limb to—

The surprise was such that he barely noticed his brows shoot up. He could move! He could finally move!

With much gusto, Monty explored his body’s articulations and quickly came to realise just how different everything was from what he had been used to.

Of immediate note was the skin, or rather, the smooth and inflexible material acting as skin. It was soft to the touch, but it was far less elastic than what he recalled of his own skin. There were hard greaves in certain spots (like at the base of his enlarged neck and at the joints) that made each patch seem like different segments of skin, much like plated armor.

The next thing Monty realised was that one of his early suspicions was correct: he did lack fingers after all. Or rather, he only had something that felt like a single big toe stuck on a wrist-like structure. A quick flick of his legs told him that it was a similar situation with where there had once been feet.

The fact that his fingers and toes had all fused into single digits on each limb was disconcerting enough, but running the stubby digit along the ends of his arms and legs, Monty was horrified to find them riddled with holes and pits. He couldn’t see them to confirm it visually, but they almost felt like the flesh and skin had been eaten away. But that didn’t make sense; he would have felt the pain if that were the case—he should have.

...right?

A thought occurred to him. Monty extended his right arm as far as he could, eventually pushing out against the womb or sac, finding that he didn’t have much room in there and that the walls were surprisingly elastic. Once stretched to its maximum, he swung the big toe right against his chest.

He got a mouthful of fluid as his jaw dropped reflexively, in addition to some minor twitches along his body, as pain spiked from the point of impact. Damn, that smarts!

At least Monty confirmed a few things with that questionable test: first, he could very much feel pain; second, the toe end was very, very hard, and was probably deadlier than a fist; lastly, the amniotic fluid didn’t taste half bad.

That led him to another thought, one bit of trivia that had stuck with him for many months after reading about it when Charlotte was pregnant with Ruth.

...wait, did I just taste my own piss?

A part of him, the logical part, decided that it couldn’t have been the case, as he didn’t recall ever relieving himself at any point. A decidedly larger and concerned part wondered if it had been possible for him to wet himself while asleep.

Despite vehemently repeating to himself the risks of attempting to breathe while submerged, it took all of Monty’s will not to gag.

Desperate to take his mind off of the possibility that he had just gotten a taste of his refuse, he continued to get a feel for his body, this time focusing to feel out his head.

Another one of Monty’s early guesses regarding his ears proved to have been correct. They were higher up, right at the cusp where the sides of his head curved into the top of his head. Oddly enough, their structure seemed to resemble more of a tube with a somewhat wide opening. He noticed that they were far more mobile than the seashell-like design that was intimately more familiar, twitching at every hint of a sound beyond his containment.

The growth on the forehead turned out to be a rather sensitive horn curving skywards, sharp as a thorn. Whereas lower down, gingerly touching what Monty was fairly certain were his eyelids, he found that his eyes were absurdly large, though their shape at least felt very human.

What really got to him though was the snout. It was a tiny thing, barely sticking out from the very rotund head, but it had a sharp upturned structure (my nose?) and his mouth ran along the muzzle. Of all of the weird things that were different from his previous body, Monty was mostly fixated on the facial protrusion. Would it be consistently within his field of view, or would it go by unnoticed as his human nose did?

In fact…

Part of him outright rejected the idea that had just then cropped up. He had already gotten urine in his mouth, why should his own eyes get the same treatment? Just because human babies in the womb did occasionally open their eyes, it didn’t mean that he could too. In fact, like human fetuses, Monty would probably see nothing. Were his new eyes even capable of seeing in the darkness of the womb?

No harm in trying, right?

Eventually curiosity won out and Monty willed his eyes to open.

A world of dark greens and blues greeted his vision for the first time. Completely ignoring the pointed shape present at the bottom of his sight, he took in the surprising view before him. He was encased in some sort of green sac or semi-transparent fleshy membrane.

Well, there went the possibility that he was in a womb.

The first word that came to mind was ‘egg’, soon followed by ‘xenomorph egg’. That comparison made little sense, Monty eventually decided. The iconic eggs from the movie series were opaque and leathery things, whereas here, he could see beyond the boundaries of the egg, spotting dark shapes through the walls.

Excitement surged through him as he recognised two of the smaller shapes to be of a similar size to his own egg. His two companions!

Possibly waking only now, Monty’s emotional probing was slow to earn a response from two of them—the third presence, possibly the third dark, unclear shape, replied with a wave of empathetic pleasure. Soon enough, the initial confusion from his companions turned to an excitement palpably similar to his.

Before long though, the excitement from one of them turned into something altogether unexpected:

Dogged determination.

Monty felt confused along with his second companion, whereas the third other presence felt excited themselves. Soon enough, they had left the vicinity. Where did they go?

Then the other companion grew determined as well. Monty found himself at a loss. Every time he probed the others, he was rebuffed with the same conviction to accomplish something. The chief question that presented itself here was simply ‘why?’

Suddenly, there was something that surpassed every curiosity, want and need. Something very basic, yet very powerful, came from deep within Monty’s self. A single directive that outweighed any other, and a single command:

Escape.
Escape.
Escape.

Driven by that instinctual call, Monty felt momentarily at a loss. He had tested his boundaries by pushing against the placental wall with his limbs, and while it was flexible, it seemed rather resistant to brute force. With this, he wondered what he could possibly do.

That was when he realised that he was approaching the wall with his maw extended to its very limit.

Whatever surprise he had felt that his body was acting on its own accord, and whatever disgust that had surged again because he had let amniotic fluid inside his mouth once more, simply didn’t matter. He had a job to do, and he would do it.

He bit into the wall and began to cut.

“Quickly, mother!” Moxa cried out excitedly. “They’ll be done emerging by the time we get there at this pace!”

Chrysalis kept close to the beta worker, though her pace remained constant. Just from the playful tone alone she knew that Moxa was exaggerating the urgency, and had allowed herself to simply join in her daughter’s enthusiasm. Her giddiness lingered as an olfactory trail for others to follow, and, soon enough, Moxa and Chrysalis were joined by other workers and drones from nearby nursing chambers.

Part of the Queen hoped that those following her had best not be busy with their charges, but she ultimately couldn’t bring herself to chastise them for this lapse of responsibility; this was to be a once-in-a lifetime event for them, after all.

Smiling widely for all to see, the smell and watchword for the day was clear: triumph. Or, more specifically, Chrysalis’s triumph. It was expected for a changeling queen to match her mother’s own achievements, and it was safe to say that Chrysalis had managed just that.

Oh, how mother would beam if she could see me now.

Her self-congratulatory thoughts faded as she entered the chamber that had housed her three prized children. A small group of two beta nurses and an alpha nurse was already present, intently and eagerly watching their assignments with keen eyes, ready to intervene if anything went wrong. The Alpha, Petiole, was the first to take notice of the new arrivals.

“My Queen, you’re just in time,” he said with a grin. “They’ve been hard at work cutting the silk, and this one here”—Petiole pointed to the cocoon shaking the most—“has almost emerged!”

Pride once more swelled within the changeling Queen. No matter how many times she witnessed her children emerging out of their shells into the world for the first time as nymphs, it never failed to make her happy. Only now, as the chamber filled with onlookers and eager nurses, did Chrysalis see just how lucky she had been in her life. Throughout her trials and tribulations, this was among the few things that brought her true joy, the same that she was now sharing with all of her present children.

Patiently and silently, she watched over the cocoon indicated by the drone, smelling the intimate determination of the soon-to-be nymph. The Queen gave her own wordless encouragements among those offered by the nearby nurses. “You are so close,” she whispered.

The changeling within was finally rewarded for their effort as they gave a final push and stumbled out of the cocoon with a small flood of fluids.

It turned out to be a drone. Though ghastly pale and miniscule, there was no mistaking this particular drone with any other. That blue marking from his days as a mere larva was still there, just in between his wings. That would fade in time, to be replaced with the sheen of blackened chitin, if it was anything like it had been with Chrysalis.

Before she could fantasise about the little drone’s future, Chrysalis had to make sure that the nymph would complete his emergence without issue. Following an unspoken command, two nurses approached the writhing changeling and stood by just in case. He would start breathing soon enough.

And with the first gasps of air, the drone finally got a taste of the Hive’s plethora of smells. He coughed up some fluid that remained in his mouth, but he otherwise appeared healthy. So far, the little drone’s emergence had been nominal.

One of the nurses moved in to antiseptically coat the drone with her saliva. The nymph recoiled at the contact; he still had not opened his eyes, and likely had no idea what was happening.

Pouring out as much reassurance as she could, Chrysalis spoke. “Come, little Farris. Pry your eyes open, so you may see your home and family.”

The newly-dubbed changeling had been shaking since he had emerged, but his trembling ceased almost immediately upon hearing his mother’s voice. His earlier confusion that had followed his emergence only intensified, and had almost completely rebuffed the love offered by everyone present.

Before Chrysalis could wonder why that was, Farris’s brow furrowed and shot up along with his eyelids, revealing beautiful emerald green eyes: far more exotic than the typical teal or blue in most changelings.

But instead of curiosity or joy, there was a sense of disbelief and terror within those eyes.

Farris opened his mouth not to chirp like any other nymph, but to outright shout three alien words:

“¡¿Qué coño eres?!”

There—he heard another voice, but this time Monty could at least recognise the language. Bad as he was with languages, he could at least tell when someone was speaking Spanish.

Why anyone here would be speaking Spanish was a worthwhile question to ponder, but completely irrelevant to the current circumstances. His companion’s voice was fraught with fear, and the accompanying emotions redoubled Monty’s efforts.

Instincts formed by years of training and experience woke up, and a new objective secondary to that of escaping his containment made itself evident. Monty would come to the aid of his companion, regardless of the consequences.

Despite having his attention focused elsewhere, he still had noticed certain things that were odd.

First was the greatly increased number of presences that had come in. Monty recognised some of them as previous entities that had overseen his ‘conversations’, some who had even participated in them. There also was his new biological mother, who possibly set off his companion’s current distress, but Monty was somehow expecting her.

What was of more concern were the newcomers; there were so many! It was difficult for Monty to separate the influx of emotions from multiple individuals, but he counted at the very least ten people in the immediate vicinity, not including him, his two companions or his mother.

Monty would have thanked his lucky stars that he wasn’t troubled by large crowds, but he really didn't care about that right then; someone needed help.

As he kept slicing away at the increasingly malleable egg, among the number of perplexed and frightened emotions, Monty felt his second companion grow confused as well, soon joining their Spanish speaking friend’s anxiety.

Funnily enough however, while the latter's fear was typical of a panicked person, the former’s was far more restrained: they hadn’t screamed or so much as let out a startled gasp. Among the chaotic chirps and, presumably, highly vulgar Spanish expletives, Monty’s second companion was unnervingly quiet.

Images of people frozen in burning rooms, numbed by fear, formed imperfectly in Monty’s mind; even though he couldn't see, he had no trouble picturing what he had seen so many times before. Such a response wasn't common, but far from being unusual or unfamiliar to him.

Part of Monty worried: another person to assist. Would he be able to help both of his companions with the current circumstances?

Escape, the instinct insisted. The others don't matter.

Before Monty could even formulate a counterargument, his efforts were suddenly and unexpectedly rewarded as the egg wall peeled open, allowing for gravity to punish him.

Many things happened at once asides from the obvious.

The first was the sudden explosion of sounds—everything had gotten much clearer and louder. The chirps, the hisses, the string of Spanish, momentarily ceased only to start up with gusto, to the point that Monty’s ears automatically tried to flatten against his skull. The Spanish was particularly harsh in volume and...

He would have furrowed his brow were he not already doing so from hitting the gravelly ground. Were there two people speaking the exact same words at the same time?

The next thing that Monty was aware of was the hurried approach of two people who promptly began to—

They were licking him! These two definitely-not-dogs-but-people were licking him with their long and thin tongues and leaving spit and slobber all over and oh God stop stop stop!

Monty clumsily scrambled away from the tongues, thrashing his limbs uselessly and finally forced open his eyes to understand just what was going on.

When he did, he immediately regretted it.

The place wasn't a room. It was dark, claustrophobic and humid, probably a tunnel that had been dug manually or a cavern. Filled with beings that were not people.

Bugs. Large charcoal-black forms with nearly luminescent, arctic blue pupiless eyes staring and darting this way and that. Wings on their backs buzzed maliciously and their long jutting canines held a cruel sheen. This was a scene taken straight from an insectophobe’s worst nightmare, and was now Monty’s reality.

Heart racing and limbs quivering, he made to yell, but found that something was keeping him from doing so. In fact, his chest was burning up. Why couldn't he…?

Monty took notice of something that he really should have realised as soon he had cut open the egg: he wasn't breathing. After so long of not requiring air, it had simply not occurred to him.

Fortunately for Monty, the mechanism was functionally similar to what he was used to before, and after a moment of struggle he willed his lungs to work and took in a big gulp of air. Part of him noticed the plethora of smells that came with that breath, but he really had one concern in mind.

Taking a few more breaths to get his new lungs to function properly, Monty inhaled deeply and screamed with two voices that did not belong to him.

“What the fuck is happening?!”

His outburst and string of repeated cursing that followed it were immediately picked up. The Spanish stopped entirely, and what few of those glowing eyes that were focused elsewhere were now solely fixed upon him. Emotions that were not his billowed out and flowed to him, most of them originating from the monstrously large insect creatures, and they were…

Caring and loving? The hell? Weren't these things about to attack him? With such terrible features, how were they capable of such empathy?

Still breathing rapidly, Monty’s fear abated somewhat, enough for him to take another once over of the creatures. Somehow, those fangs weren't as threatening as before, neither were the eyes. If anything, the almond shapes radiated a warmth that simply wasn't there before, and appeared… right. Even the buzzing wings just seemed to fit with everything else that was going on.

“You!”

Turning perhaps a bit too fast for his body, Monty looked for the one who had spoken with the odd accent. On his left were four more of those insect things standing over two pathetic-looking pale forms. They were petite and the wrong color when compared to all of the others, but there was no mistaking it: these were the same creatures, with the same small horn, four scarred legs, tube-like ears, and solid eyes, just on a smaller scale and different coloration.

Somehow, Monty recognised these creatures, not by their name, but by their emotional ‘fingerprint’: his companions.

He had lost track of them in the confusion following his escape.

Only one of them, the one with green eyes, was the focus attention of the insects including the other companion. For its part, the little white thing began to move towards him, only to stumble and fall forwards. A new wave of concern crashed upon Monty as the two large insects besides the smaller one closed in to assist, their solid eyes going wide.

Had Monty the time, he would have been more amazed by just how much emotion those faces could show. Right then however, his attention was on the small creature that was struggling to get on its feet. It lashed a limb at one of its larger kin, almost as if it was refusing the help provided.

Once it had managed to bring its muzzle to his level, it spoke again.

“You, do you spea– do you understand me?”

Monty felt his eyes widen. The voice had an odd quality to it, sounding as if two people were speaking perfectly in sync with one another, only breaking the illusion due to one of them being about an octave higher in pitch and reverberating as if it was faintly echoing. The end result was something that would pass as an alien or demon voice on a budget show on the Syfy channel.

Monty nodded dumbly at the decidedly male companion. This is too fucking surreal.

The companion worked his fanged jaw, either failing to speak or because he didn’t couldn’t quite get it working right. After a third false start, he shifted his eyes (exactly how, Monty couldn’t tell) to the second, silent companion with the peach-colored eyes.

He again raised a forward limb and pointed. “C-can you understand?” he shakily asked in his strong accent.

Whatever the response was, it was overshadowed by the approach of a massive presence. Their mute companion was the one to first notice it and grow deathly still. Following its gaze, both Monty and the speaker turned to face the oncoming creature.

It was far too large: larger than the ‘adult’ insects, it stood towering over everything in the chamber. Monty’s eyes followed the scarred and chewed up limbs, up along the lean articulations and to its center of mass. From its sides sprouted two tattered, see-through wings, splayed open, looking absurdly tiny in comparison to the rest of the body. Where middle school biology had taught him to expect to see a head, he found none; there was instead a vertical and slender neck. Its height seemed superfluous, and, from where Monty stood, it seemed to go all the way to the ceiling.

Of course it didn’t, and it ended well before with a head affixed on the top of it. However, when he finally set his eyes on the head, Monty was stilled into silence.

The eyes were what caught his immediate attention. They seemed far too large for the head, like those of the other insects, but that was where the similarities ended. They each had a vertically slitted pupil, encased in what were two different irises, similarly colored in green hues. Above them was some sort of oily and matted material that Monty was reluctant to call hair, even though the stringy strands were long, and formed a veil not unlike that of human hair. Sprouting underneath it was a jagged, black horn that almost resembled the shape of a lightning bolt striking upwards.

As those predatorial eyes took him in, the pupils dilated enough to swallow up the inner iris, and the creature finally opened up its fanged maw.

Monty hadn’t taken too much notice of the snout, as it was similarly pronounced to the smaller insectoids but with smaller fangs. Now that he could see all of its many, many teeth, Monty could fully appreciate the old adage of size not always mattering.

Some part of him immediately recognised both the creature and its action. It was his biological mother, offering a forced grin. Monty didn’t know how he knew that, but the larger, more concerned part of him didn’t care about that, nor did it care about the palpable love that was practically dripping from her very being.

He was scared shitless.

And judging by the renewed wave of terror radiating from his two companions, Monty wasn’t alone with a low opinion of he– it. Dirt scratched against him as he tried to skitter away from the terrifyingly large quadruped.

The grin fell and the pupils became cat-like once more. It emanated a series of chirps that denoted pain, reinforced by the accompanying emotion.

Monty’s heart hitched in his throat; the sound wasn’t physically painful, but it made every fibre of his being cry out in want. Something within him wanted to move in to offer the large creature a comfort that could only be given with a hug.

But Monty wouldn’t have any of that. He forced himself to continue his retreat.

That decision hadn’t gone by unnoticed by the large being, as its brow creased in a startingly human manner that just screamed sad. Again it let out the same forlorn chirps, and again, Monty’s body threatened to rebel against him. This time, it was a struggle for him to keep backing away from her.

The creature stared back with a slack jaw. Monty momentarily paused, this time almost compelled to stop and observe, although he was still mostly concerned abo—

A sickly green glow lit up the chamber. It was faint, but the light was evident from the horn of the insect before him. The soft gleam was somehow warm and inviting. He couldn't bring himself to look away from it, even though Monty belatedly noticed that he was losing himself. His vision narrowed and slowly darkened, always focusing on the light until an afterimage replaced it when his heavy eyes closed.

Despite everything that had happened, even as he wondered what was happening to him, Monty was at peace when he gave into unconsciousness.

Chrysalis’s horn shimmered as she closed the spell, but everything was still as strikingly clear when the nursing chamber had been illuminated. The three little nymphs, her little nymphs, now rested peacefully.

She let out a shuddering breath. What happened?

When Farris had begun blabbering in his utterly alien language, all of Tartarus had broken loose, and a practiced ritual had fallen into chaos. He was so afraid, so terrified, so… mature. His distress, the weird language: they were all completely unbefitting of a recently emerged nymph. No nymph had ever spoken anything more intelligible than a chirp or a hiss. Granted, Farris was special, but…

Then the worker had emerged, and while she was (thankfully) quiet, her emotional state was perhaps in a worse state than Farris’s. The terror had taken hold over her, and Chrysalis could sense the unhealthy speed at which the little one’s heart was beating at. That had prompted two nurses to assist their young sibling, trying to salvage the rite, at least in part. Their cleansing only seemed to allow for the fear to tighten its grip on the young worker, quickening her already frenzied pulse.

Then, before Chrysalis could think of something, a second voice tore through the cacophony, and had effectively silenced everything else. The warrior had spoken, but in yet another language. Just how were they speaking already? The worker would have let out a verbal outburst of her own, had she not been petrified from fear, Chrysalis was sure of it.

Hearing the warrior seemed to snap Farris out of his hysterics, and had switched to this new language to question his siblings. The confusion and apprehension was still there, but things seemed to have calmed to the point that even the worker appeared to be responsive.

Chrysalis tried to seize the opportunity, by pouring out as much love as she was physically capable, and showing her pleasant surprise. It wasn’t an entirely genuine attempt, as her mind was still reeling at the unexpected reactions. In retrospect, her smile was perhaps too large and wide, but there was honest intent behind it.

But they all rejected it. Her placating smile; her peace offering; her unyielding love: they were all rebuffed.

At that point, Chrysalis felt an ice-cold claw grip her heart. Her children were afraid of her.

Even her mournful cooing did not work, as both Farris and the warrior stumbled over themselves to get away from her. Left without other options, Chrysalis resorted to a sleeping spell that she only reserved for the most unruly of nymphs, one that she herself deemed to be extreme.

And yet, there she stood, having cast it on new nymphs. What kind of mother would have done such a thing?

“M-mo– mother…”

Chrysalis snapped her head towards Moxa’s voice and faced several shocked visages. She slowly blinked; she had almost forgotten that she wasn’t alone, even though their emotional presence was so thick that their physical presence felt redundant.

She briskly shook herself and rid any weakness from her smells and appearance.

“Petiole,” Chrysalis suddenly called, prompting the Alpha to snap to attention. “Take them to a chamber separate from the main hive,” she said, indicating the three pale forms. “Have a nurse present and ready to feed them at all times until I order you otherwise. No one else has the authority to do so but myself. Am I clear?”

His breath was sharp. “Ah, I-I…”

Chrysalis’s gaze didn't waver. All she did was cock her eyebrow questioningly and punctuate it with the appropriate pheromone.

Eventually Petiole relented with a muted affirmative and relayed the order to the other nurses. After some momentary hesitation, an entourage of them carried their sleeping siblings out of the nursery.

Petiole cast one last glance towards the Queen before leaving. He saw a changeling that had assumed control of the situation, a look that was far more at home on that visage than the bewilderment before it.

Meeting the Alpha's stare, Chrysalis's lips confidently turned upwards in a lopsided smile. This was the Chrysalis that he knew and cherished. Returning it with a smile of his own, the drone exited.

Chrysalis stared intensely at the threshold of the tunnel, almost daring for it to bring someone else in. When she was completely certain that she was truly alone, she took a long and deep breath, and slowly exhaled it.

The second intake wavered almost instantly and her voice cracked. Sobs soon overwhelmed the large changeling, her legs buckling under her own weight, and she collapsed to the ground. Ears folded, she brought up a hoof to stop herself, but she couldn't stifle her tears or her whimpers.

Chrysalis wept for a long time before anyone took notice of her prolonged absence.