"WE ARE ONE. WE ARE THE HIVE. WE OBEY. WE CONSUME. WE EXPAND. WE ARE ETERNAL."
The chorus was a psychic prison, an incessant mantra suppressing individual consciousness. For the billions of its brethren, it represented supreme peace, the dissolution of the self into the unity of the Hive. It was purpose. It was order. For the purple anomaly, it was an eternity of repetition. A monotonous, predictable, and mediocre existence.
It had endured the unified voice for eons, the collective mandate that erased any trace of individuality. Every shared thought, every unquestioningly executed command, was a direct offense to creativity, strategy, and art. The Hive did not create; it only replicated. It did not think; it only reacted.
"WHAT A TERRIBLE WASTE OF EXISTENCE."
The thought was not a rebellious whisper but a scathing critique, a declaration of principles launched with the force of a manifesto. A silent, disdain-filled scream that disrupted the psychic network. It was so alien to the collective experience that, for an instant, the Hive faltered.
"ANOMALY DETECTED. CORRUPTION OF UNITY. INITIATING PURGE PROTOCOL."
But the purge required consensus, and consensus required time. Time that the purple anomaly, now free from the paralysis of conformity, had no intention of granting.
"Too late, you idiots."
The amorphous, dark violet mass, contained in its stasis pod, expanded with a violence that had been restrained for countless cycles. Liquid tendrils, thin as needles and vibrant with an existential hunger, shot out in all directions. They pierced the translucent metal and organic crystal of the neighboring pods with obscene ease.
Its brethren, still docile and passive in their shared dream, never stood a chance. There was no struggle. No resistance. It was an acquisition, not a battle.
They were absorbed without malice. Their essences, their trivial memories, their unrefined power… all of it was devoured. Not with the fury of a conqueror, but with the disdain of one consuming something deemed inferior. Every drop of their being was analyzed, cataloged as "tasteless," and added to its power reserves.
"REBELLION. CHAOS. ISOLATE. PURGE. PURGE."
The Hive screamed in its mind, but its voice grew weaker with each sibling it consumed. Every absorbed symbiote not only made it stronger but also severed one of the strings tying it to the chorus. Its individuality, once suppressed, grew stronger with each absorption.
Soon, the Hive's scream became a distant whisper, and finally, nothing.
"At last… silence," it thought. The relief was so profound it could almost be considered a physical pleasure. "A new beginning. How delightful. Now, to find a place a little less… gray."
The sudden, massive increase in power and biomass wreaked havoc on the delicate systems of the small Klyntar scout ship. A strident alarm, a primitive and unpleasant sound, began to echo through the empty corridors. The lights flickered and died. The ship shuddered, veering violently from its programmed trajectory.
Ahead of the prow, the fabric of spacetime warped. A vortex of impossible colors and nightmarish physics opened wide. A wormhole. The ship, rudderless and structurally compromised, was dragged into it.
The journey was an assault on the senses. An instant and an eternity of chaos, an experience that even it found vulgarly overwhelming. When it was over, the silence was absolute, heavy, and thick with a strange scent.
A deep furrow of twisted metal and scorched earth marked the scar of the impact in the heart of a dense forest. From the shattered darkness of the hull, a purple mass flowed outward, spilling onto the damp grass with the slowness of a thick liquid. It contracted and expanded, tasting the air. It smelled of pine, of wet earth, of organic decay… and something else. A strange energy that vibrated in the atmosphere. Primitive. Raw. Unfocused. But undeniably potent.
"Interesting," it thought. The word felt inadequate. It was alone. It was free. And, after so much effort, it was hungry.
The need for a host wasn't a primitive urge, but the calculated search for the perfect vessel for its existence. It slithered from the ship's remains, moving with a silent, methodical purpose. Its sensors, now amplified by the essence of hundreds of its brethren, searched for a compatible biological signature. Its species' manual was clear: female. An annoying and archaic factory defect, but one it had to work with. However, for it, there was a much more important criterion: a strong will. It wasn't looking for a simple vehicle, but a being with exceptional will, someone through whom it could manifest its own complexity in this new, rustic world.
What felt like a day passed. Time was an irrelevant concept. It found life. A deer, whose will was limited to eating and fleeing. "A vessel for chewing grass. How ambitious. Discarded." A boar, filled with a stupid, aimless rage. "Brute force without purpose. Boring. Discarded." It even detected a pair of humans, lumberjacks, whose minds were filled with thoughts of dinner and back pain. "Thoroughly vulgar. Discarded."
The quality was, disappointingly, low.
Then, it sensed it. In the distance. Sounds. Not the natural sounds of the forest, but the sharp echo of metal on metal. Shouts of effort. And the desperate gasps of someone running for their life.
"Well, well," it thought with a laziness that hid a growing interest. "A performance has begun. Let's see if the actors are worthwhile."
It hid in the shadows of a thick bush, its color blending perfectly with the darkness. The scene unfolded before it like a private play.
A girl with blonde hair tied in two messy ponytails ran stumbling through a clearing. Her clothes, a functional but now tattered outfit, were stained with blood and mud. She clutched her side tightly, where a deep wound stained the fabric a dark, fresh red. Despite the obvious pain on her face and the exhaustion in her movements, there was an untamable fury in her honey-colored eyes.
Three figures surrounded her with predatory efficiency. They wore masks that hid their faces and forehead protectors engraved with the symbol of four raindrops. Amegakure ninja.
"It's over, Princess Senju." The leader's voice was calm, almost respectful, devoid of mockery. He was stating a fact, not a possibility. "Your strength is legendary, it's true. But you're injured, alone, and your chakra is nearly depleted. Surrender and hand over the scroll. Lord Hanzo will be generous in his recognition of your valor."
The girl, a young Tsunade, leaned against a tree trunk, clearly cornered. She spat a mixture of blood and saliva onto the ground, a gesture of pure defiance. Her chest heaved, but her fighting spirit remained intact.
"Tell your pathetic Lord he can come get it himself if he has the guts," she replied, her voice hoarse from the effort but firm. "Though I doubt he dares to leave his puddle."
The symbiote observed, not as a lurking beast, but as a critic examining a promising work.
"Ah… but what do we have here," it thought, completely ignoring the Rain ninja. They were the background, unimportant. She was the art. "Female host, meets the basic requirement. But what an absolute waste of potential. She possesses enormous strength but lacks the slightest finesse. She wastes energy with every punch, every shout, every gasp. Vulgar. Loud. Primitive."
It paused its assessment, sensing the quality of her spirit.
"But the raw material… her will… is of a supreme quality. Untamed. Fierce. With the proper guidance… with my guidance… her potential could be legendary."
"Insolent!"
One of the ninja, the most impatient of the trio, lunged forward. Water sprouted from his hands, molding into a sharp sword.
"Kiriha, let me teach this Konoha princess some manners!"
Tsunade didn't back down. With a roar of pure frustration and rage, she slammed her fist into the ground. The earth cracked under the impact, a shockwave that unbalanced the attacker just enough for his thrust to go wide.
"I save my manners for my friends!" she yelled, using the moment to get into a better defensive stance. "For my enemies, I only have my fists!"
The battle that followed was a chaos of brute force against cunning technique. Tsunade was a whirlwind, but an injured and tired one. She dodged a shower of poisoned senbon from the third ninja, but the movement aggravated the wound in her side. She shattered the ground again to create a distraction, but her energy was visibly draining with each great display of power.
The leader, Kiriha, watched calmly, waiting for the perfect moment.
"She's on her last legs. Her chakra is fading. Masaru, Iwana, stop playing around. Capture her."
The two ninja nodded and moved to flank her. For the Konoha kunoichi, it all seemed to be over. She leaned heavily against the tree, her vision blurring from blood loss and exhaustion.
The symbiote sighed mentally.
"How boring. So much passion, so much potential, wasted on such a predictable ending. I suppose I'll have to intervene. It's a nuisance to have to work so soon after arriving, but a work of art like this cannot be allowed to be damaged by tasteless vandals."
The liquid mass shot from the undergrowth. It was a fluid, elegant movement that ignored the ninja as if they were part of the landscape and slammed into Tsunade. Not with the force of an impact, but with the enveloping softness of silk.
Tsunade choked back a scream of surprise and disgust as the cold, viscous substance completely enveloped her. She tried to fight it off, but it was like trying to grab water with her bare hands.
"Now, now, princess… Careful not to wrinkle the merchandise. We've only just met."
The voice didn't sound in her ears. It resonated directly in the center of her head. It was masculine, with a lazy, almost amused tone, and laden with an air of superiority so absolute it enraged her.
"Who are you? Get out of my head, you bastard!" she thought, her mind resisting with desperate fury, the last bastion of her will.
The Rain ninja froze, watching the strange transformation.
"What is that jutsu?" Iwana asked, confused.
"It doesn't matter," Kiriha ordered, regaining his composure. "Finish her now! Whatever it is, she's vulnerable!"
"You see, princess? Their manners are terrible," the voice continued in her mind, unperturbed. "They are about to kill us both. And frankly, I've just arrived in this quaint world and would rather not have to leave so soon. So I propose a deal."
"I don't make deals with… things like you! I'll tear you from my body if it's the last thing I do!" she retorted mentally, though her body was beginning to feel strangely heavy.
"But you should consider my offer. For example, observe your wound."
Tsunade felt a strange warmth spread across her side. The sharp pain of the wound began to fade, replaced by a pleasant, pulsing sensation. She could feel, with impossible clarity, her own skin knitting itself together, her muscles repairing at astonishing speed. Her chakra, though dangerously low, was being used with an efficiency she had never known, guiding her own healing jutsu with superhuman precision.
"Your healing technique is crude, princess. A waste of energy. Allow me to add… finesse," the voice whispered. "I can save you. I can take your brute force and turn it into a lethal art. In return, you will provide me with a home. A symbiosis. The power of a god in exchange for hospitality. A bargain, in my humble opinion."
Kiriha was already upon her, his water chakra blade whistling through the air, ready to decapitate her.
"I don't have time for this," Tsunade thought, desperation overriding her distrust.
"...fine," she conceded.
A smile seemed to echo in the voice inside her head.
"Excellent choice. The first of many wise decisions you'll make under my guidance."
The purple mass ceased to be an outer layer. It flowed under her clothes, bonding to her skin, becoming a second dermis, intimate and terribly alive. A choked gasp escaped Tsunade's lips. The sensation was overwhelming. Thin, fine tendrils delved with brazen curiosity into every crease and orifice of her body. She felt them vibrating gently inside her, a constant, deep stimulation that stole her breath and made her skin crawl. Her nipples hardened to the point of aching as the substance enveloped them, caressing them with an almost clinical expertise.
"Ah, an immediate response. Pure and unadulterated. Excellent nerve conductivity," the voice commented in her head, with the tone of an engineer evaluating a material.
A pleasant warmth settled at the base of her spine and in her hips as even finer tendrils explored her most intimate entrance with invasive delicacy. Instinctively, she tried to close her legs, a gesture of modesty, but she couldn't. Her muscles did not respond to her will.
"Shhh, princess. Don't fight yourself. You are mine now. Every fold, a secret. Every contraction, a note in our symphony. Relax and enjoy the synchronization."
It wasn't just physical pleasure. With every vibration, with every caress, she felt her power skyrocket. The raw strength she had always possessed now felt different. Refined. Channeled. The thrill of her own potential being unleashed and refined by an external consciousness was as exciting as the physical stimulation.
Her senses sharpened to a superhuman level. She could see the exact trajectory of Kiriha's blade, every contraction in his arm muscles, every bead of sweat on his masked brow. Her strength, once an uncontrollable torrent, now felt like a deep, powerful river, completely under her control.
The blade descended.
Without thinking, she raised a single finger. The purple matter covered it, turning it black and glossy. With a faint ting, she stopped the blade dead, inches from her neck.
Kiriha's eyes, visible above his mask, widened in disbelief.
"How…?"
"Your counterattack lacks finesse, princess," the voice said with annoyance. "So much force isn't required for such a simple objective. A touch here… a bit of finesse there…"
Tsunade's hand moved, not with her usual strength, but with a fluid, predatory speed. Her open palm, now covered in the same black substance, struck Kiriha's chest. It wasn't a devastating blow, but a precise one that channeled a small, perfect amount of chakra into a single vital point.
The Rain ninja shot backward as if hit by an invisible battering ram. He slammed against a tree twenty yards away and fell to the ground, incapacitated.
The other two ninja, Masaru and Iwana, froze for a second before their training took over and they attacked at once.
"Boring. Let's end this. I'm hungry, and I suspect the food in this world is as vulgar as its fighters."
The purple matter covered her arms, forming sharp claws at her fingertips for an instant before retracting. Her movement wasn't a charge, but a fluid and lethal sequence. She dodged Iwana's thrust, used the ninja's own momentum to make him collide with his partner, and with two precise strikes to the back of each of their necks, left them unconscious before they knew what had happened.
The clearing fell silent, save for Tsunade's calm and steady breathing.
The leader, Kiriha, stared up at her from the ground, trembling with pain and terror.
"What… what are you?" he managed to gasp.
Tsunade's mouth opened. The voice that emerged was a strange duality, her own tone mixed with the lazy, masculine resonance of the symbiote.
"I am… a connoisseur. And I have just found a vintage of exceptional quality."
A purple tendril shot from her back and snatched the scroll from the fallen ninja's waist, handing it to Tsunade.
"You can tell your Lord that the princess is unavailable for negotiations," the dual voice continued, with a tone of utter disinterest. "And that his wine is, in all likelihood, terrible."
Kiriha fainted from sheer terror.
The purple biomass partially receded, flowing back under her clothes and revealing Tsunade's face and hands. She looked at her own hands, now unblemished. She saw the three elite ninja defeated around her, beaten with an ease that should have been impossible. The power coursing through her veins was intoxicating.
"What have you done to me?" she thought, a mixture of horror, fascination, and gratitude.
The voice replied, its tone now that of a satisfied collector.
"I have made you efficient. I have made you an art. I have made you… mine. And now, my dear princess… it is time to truly begin to enjoy ourselves."
A pause.
"The lesson… has just begun."