February 23rd, 2005

Mask

Ostiolopher

The body was a grotesque and absurd shell, a warm cover for the Ostiolopher to take shelter in. He grasped her stomach with his teeth, claws burrowed through her, clutching her spine, feeding his consciousness into her control centers, operating her body by remote control.


It had been fifteen days, but she was finally dead, her mind a blank template. Other humans found her physically attractive, which was useful in the Ostiolophers work. Her name had been Katarina, and, fortunately for the parasite, she had been no one important. No one but her head-sick lover noticed her absence. The Ostiolopher was careful to keep his human shell clean, to keep her systems working pumping blood through his own body, remembering to wet her mouth and eyes.





The Ostiolopher could use this body and access human transport to return to the verdant forests of his youth. Years in a filthy zoo, unable to communicate, eating and shitting and waiting for a opportunity, a chance to break free. He would return to his home and tell his people about this cold rich land. There, he could plan his return, raise a parasitic army to conquer these hot, scrabbling animals.





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