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The Yeerk was gloating, as always.
I was used to it. After so many years of being the parasite's host, I had gotten the hang of just tuning him out. No need to listen to his little speech. It always boiled down to the same meaning anyway : "You're going to die at my hand, and also, have I mentionned I'm the greatest Yeerk that ever lived?" They say that we Andalites are an arrogant species, but the Yeerks have nothing on us. At least that particular Yeerk doesn't.
The Visser also took pride in mentioning that he was the only Yeerk morph-capable, a part that never failed to make me cringe. I was the one that was morph-capable here, not that slimy slug. But I had pretty much ceased to exist as an individual that fateful day he had crawled up my ear canal and taken control of my every move. I swore I could feel him up there sometimes, actually feel his revulsing body wrapped around my brain. The very thought made my tail blade twitch - or at least it would have, if it had still been my tail blade.
And to think it all happened because of one stupid, young Andalite. A fool of an aristh. I had hated him for a long time, cursing his name even in my dreams. Wishing he had never existed. The fact that the Visser often replayed the memory of how he had come to control my body did not help matters, either.
It was all a game to him, you see. How much more could old Alloran take before losing it ? I was walking on a very fine edge between one sick, sadistic Yeerk, and enough memories of blood, fear, and despair to drive even the toughest of Andalite warriors insane. One push and I would tumble headlong into madness.
So yes, for years, I cursed the name of Elfangor. Just like a Yeerk, Esplin would say, and he would laugh, relishing the irony. But then, as time passed, I stopped caring. What did it matter how the Yeerk had managed to make me his host? He just had. All the swearing in the world wasn't going to change the fact that I was no longer in control of my life anymore. Blaming Elfangor was useless.
Of course, that didn't mean I had changed my mind about him. He was an idealistic fool, all right.
Still, I felt something as I saw him there, standing his ground against the Visser even in his weakened state. A strange tightening in my hearts. Little tingles of anticipation coursed through my veins. Did it came from me or from the Yeerk ? I knew that Esplin had really been looking forward to this, having been on the receiving end of his scenarii of revenge more than once. Understandable, of course. Elfangor and him went way back. Every great warrior needs a equally great foe. A mortal enemy. Esplin was this to Elfangor. They had faced off so many times, and Elfangor had always managed to come out on top. Until now.
I could sense Esplin's deep satisfaction at having finally cornered his adversary. He didn't bother to conceal it; it was oozing from him in really obvious waves. There was no escape for the brave Andalite warrior now. The nasty burn that marred his right side was draining his strenght with every passing moment. He was too weak to morph, too weak to flee, and soon, he would be too weak to even stand. But no so weak that he wouldn't put up a fight.
Suddenly, mouvement! As the Visser was taunting him by threatening our home planet, Elfangor struck. His tail blade whipped in the air. Fast! The old warrior reflexes took over, and before I knew it my head had moved, dodging the lethal blow. Blood gushed from my shoulder as the tail blade sliced into it.
Aaaargh! screamed the Visser, more out of surprise than actual pain.
As for me, I wanted to scream in frustration. If not for those damn reflexes, the blade would have slashed my throath, ending both our lives, Andalite and Yeerk alike. I would have been free. But unfortunately for me, life doesn't give up so easily. If you could wish yourself dead, all of my problems would have been over a long time ago.
Mirroring Elfangor's attack, the white-blue light of a shredder beam cut through the night. A wave of intense heat envelopped us as a Bug fighter behind us sizzled and went up in smoke. That didn't sit well with the Visser.
Fire! he ordered. Burn his ship!
Dracon beams shot from the Blade ship and the remaining Bug fighter, striking Elfangor's ship. It gave off a brief glow and disintegrated slowly as its atoms were being torn apart. Now he really was trapped.
I felt the Yeerk's bloodlust, his pleasure at the thought of killing his greatest enemy. He had never planned on taking Elfangor alive. I knew that. I envied him, in a way. Death was a thousand times preferable to infestation. Even excruciatingly painful death. And I had no doubt it was that kind of death the Visser had in mind for his old foe.
What are you going to do, Esplin? I asked.
He didn't answer me. Not that I thought he would.
Take the Andalite. Hold him for me.
His thought-speak was thrumming with anticipation. Three Hork-Bajirs immediately surrounded Elfangor and held him down.
What are you going to do, Esplin? I repeated.
Nagging at him like that was really childish, but there wasn't anything else I could do. He ignored me once more and began to focus. I felt the familiar sensations took hold of me. So we were morphing, then. Into what? I watched as my body started to grow, my head swelling to an almost ludicrous size. Not really much of a clue. Most of the Visser's morphs were in the giant category. But when my skin turned dark grey and acquired that familiar rubbery feeling, dread filled my hearts. Because I knew.
Antarean Bogg?
I knew.
Esplin, you're not serious. You cannot really mean to...
What's wrong, Alloran? he taunted me. Too much for you?
I lost vision in my stalk eyes when they were absorbed into the ever growing mass of flesh. There was the usual muted squishy sounds as my internal organs shifted and rearranged themselves. A disguting process. And yet it was nothing compared to the storm of feelings that was raging in my mind. Revulsion, despair, helplessness, all mixed together. However, the dominant feeling was incredulity. Incredulity at the callousness of the Yeerk.
He deserves a warrior's death, an honourable death. At least grant him that!
Is that you begging, Alloran? It's been a while. I've missed it.
My legs fused together, divided up again in two massive members, and grew, until each one was as big as a therant tree trunk. My arms thickened into gigantic tentacles. Finally, the mouth appeared - a mouth filled with very, very sharp teeth.
The Visser opened it and gave a roar so powerful it made the ground shake.
Mmh, that Antarean Bogg morph is quite hungry, he mused.. We wouldn't want to keep him waiting, now, would we?
But that's... that's cannibalism, was all I could say, horrified.
Only for you, he pointed out gleefully.
Now, let it be said that I was not squeamish by any standards. I had seen - and done - more ruthless acts than I care to remember. I had embraced the warrior's way of thinking. Let nothing stand between you and victory. Do whatever it takes. But this... this was just monstrous. Unthinkable.
The Visser reached out with one tentacle, grabbed Elfangor by the neck, and lifted him high up in the air. Elfangor, determined to fight till the very end, drew back his tail and struck. One, two, three times. He might as well have been poking the Antarean Boog with his fingers for all the damage it did.
Then he did something that surprised me. He trained all of his eyes on me, and I heard him in my head, his thought-speak solemn and calm.
Alloran. I'm sorry.
Silence. Dead silence. Then Esplin laughed.
Oh, this is too good.
I felt him withdraw his control, just a tiny little bit, and suddenly I could talk. The Yeerk had given me my thought-speak back.
Go ahead, he said. Tell him. Tell him how you curse the day he was born every time you go to sleep. Tell him how you hate him with every fiber of your being. Tell him how you want to die.
Elfangor, I started to say.
Then stopped.
What's the matter? Esplin smirked. Is the Butcher of the Hork-Bajir afraid of the truth?
How I hated that nickname. And that Yeerk. Even myself. But not Elfangor. Not anymore.
I forgive you, I said, I finally said.
And meant it, too. Elfangor briefly closed his main eyes, and the merest shadow of a smile ghosted over his face.
Tsk. How disappointing, commented the Yeerk.
He assumed control of my thought-speak again.
Let's hope the main course will be more satisfying.
He started to open our mouth. I could feel the terrible hunger of the morph, its desire to consume its prey, running so deep they were almost Taxxon-like. The Visser basked in it, encouraged it even. It was insane.
I was fighting him, of course. Fighting the Yeerk's hold over my body with all my strength. But, as always, it didn't amount to anything. I was forced to watch helplessly as he lowered Elfangor into my mouth, and closed my jaws on the still breathing Andalite. I heard - I felt - the sickening crunch of the bones snapping under my teeth. The taste of Andalite blood, of Andalite flesh, filled my mouth.
I felt him in there, still moving, still trying to fight. The Visser brought our teeth down once again, and a great, terrible scream echoed in my head. The scream of a dying Andalite. His tail blade struck one last time, and then fell away, severed from the body. It was gobbled by a near-by Taxxon. The Yeerk made me chew and swallow what was left of Elfangor, deliberately taking his time.
A little stringy, don't you think? he taunted me.
He laughed and morphed out, back into my own Andalite body. I wanted to feel sick. I wanted to throw up. I wanted my body to mirror my mental state. But it was not my body anymore. It was the Yeerk's. It would always be the Yeerk's.
I saw my future, then, with absolute clarity. I would go mad and become a shadow, a ghost haunting my own body. Something for which even the Yeerks had no name. I would lose my mind.
It was just a question of time.
Just a question of time.