Diabolical Worker

Clang, clang — as you clean your sharp claws with your saliva, your compound eyes lock on to your targets. There are many of them, and they smell sweet. You leap through the meteorite camouflage and arrive before the iron block. Before your food senses your presence, you tear through its flesh and call out for the children that wait to be fed.

Your glands begin to shake uncontrollably, secreting hormones that send excitement coursing through your body and strengthening your limbs. You bite at the iron arm flying toward you, lacerating through its flesh in an instant and letting the light drops that fall like rain shatter your wings. You let out a roar, simply eliminating all sources of heat ahead of you. For species, death is a concept that has never existed. THEIR voice comes forth from your neuron ganglia, ordering you to abandon everything and destroy even the sharpest spike of your prey.