If you were to ask Szeth what he thought about Termites, he would probably answer something like this:
"Whoever came up with that name needs a fucking optical prescription."
In terms of similarity, both real termites and their xenos counterparts looked like bugs. That was about it.
A Termite was the basic unit of a xenos colony. They were the first to spawn from a Blight outbreak. Their role was to act as builders, using organic matter to bring your wildest nightmares to life. More often than not, they gathered and processed the organic matter themselves, though that was only necessary at the beginning of an outbreak, when hunter and gatherer-type xenos hadn't spawned yet.
They looked like something half way between a beetle and a worm the size of an adult's forearm, with dark turquoise segmented bodies carried by four chitinous legs sprouting from each side, at the joints. Their mouths were riddled with hard, spear-sharp teeth that they used to rend whatever they came in contact with, be it wood, concrete, or flesh and bones. Their small composite 'eyes', three at either side of their head, were actually the special organs they used to detect vibrations. Since they weren't made for combat, their dark-grey exoskeleton wasn't particularly hard, and they didn't have any pincers or stingers like their more dangerous brethren.
Against humans, though, they hardly needed them. Their sharp teeth and large numbers, paired with the fact that even the slightest contact with their fluid would turn your body into a convenient fleshpod for the birth of their kin, made of Termites every civilian's worst nightmare. Two or three of them working in tandem could quickly dispose a small group of unarmed men.
Szeth was currently running from five of those very same Termites.
"FUCK!!! Why did this place need to have concrete walls?! If you're gonna line it up with steel, at least make it thick enough to matter, goddammit!"
Cursing at whoever had been in charge of the original construction of the warehouse, he darted away at full speed, trying to outrun the xenos giving him chase. Though not particularly fast, they still moved like an insect and had several times the size of one. Szeth was just barely outpacing them. Still, that would only provide temporary relief. The fact that the Termites were chasing him meant there was nothing worth their attention around. In other words: they would prioritize killing him over the unmoving but infinitely less nourishing waste that littered the streets, and the food rations were all neatly packed and waiting for pickup. Which meant they would chase him to the ends of Earth.
"Shit, shit, shit…!" Chased by the hellish bugs, Szeth was forced to make a decision.
Do I run from this place, or… Deeper into it?
On one hand, being trapped with five Termites in a closed building wasn't his definition of 'safe.'
On the other hand, leaving even the meager safety of the warehouse in the middle of a Blight outbreak was his definition of 'suicide'
Deeper it is!
Deciding on the lesser of two evils, Szeth threw himself at the small service door at the back of the giant room. He didn't look back to find out if the Termites were giving chase: the sound of their little legs scuttling in the floor tiles sent a shiver through his spine.
Haunted by the image of the xenos bursting from a dead corpse, he decided it would be just as horrible to have them spawn from him than to have them lodge themselves inside him, as was normally the case with these bugs that didn't even possess the intelligence to classify him as something other than moving food.
Szeth launched himself running into a long, narrow corridor. There were doors at each side, but he ignored them, reasoning they would just lead to dead ends. He dashed full-speed at the one door in the end of the corridor. The ticking sounds of his chasers felt like the whispers of the Grim Reaper.
He kicked the door open.
Inside was just a regular storeroom, with a single way in and out: the door he had just come through.
Szeth felt his legs buckle under his weight.
No…!
The approaching Termites didn't even slow down as he fell to his knees, looking at his hands.
He was losing hope.
Not again…!
Another dead end.
Another futile struggle.
Would every single attempt to challenge his fate end in failure?
No, you're not dead yet! Refusing to give in to despair, his survival instincts kicked in, sending him into a frenzied crawl to the relative safety of the storeroom. He closed the door behind him, and looked desperately around the place for something to use.
His eyes came across a row of metal shelves standing in the wall close by.
"They can't eat metal…!"
They could break it with their teeth if it was thin enough, but they couldn't swallow it.
Just as he arrived to that conclusion, Several metallic clangs came from the door. He turned back to notice it had gained multiple little dents shaped not unlike Termite bites.
Spurred by the severity of the situation, Szeth began to hastily throw the shelves one on top of the other, barricading the door.
"Come on, come on, don't give up on me…!"
Right as the final metal structure fell on place, the dented door, built with a hollow structure since the need to stand xenos bites wasn't included on its original requirements, finall gave up. A hole opened up, followed by another and another. Five Termites reared their ugly heads through the pierced door, which could now double as a strainer.
Szeth fell on his back, quickly crawling backwards, fear-struck by the nightmarish sight. The Termites wiggled in the spot, chewing on the shelves.
He knew that with his only way out sealed, he was doomed. His only choice was to wait for help. Surely, a Watcher would come through, guns shooting, legs kicking, ready to flash that impossibly perfect smile and repeat his motto like a broken recorder.
"No life is beyond saving."
Szeth had the hope of being rescued before his barricade gave out. It was made of metal so it should hold out long enough.
He looked at the Termites.
They hadn't managed to break in.
Yet.
But they were making progress.
They approached, slowly, inexorably.
"Ahhh…"
Time slowed down to a crawl. Szeth could clearly see the disgusting little teeth working in slow motion, scraping and bending and spitting pieces of metal.
He could feel Death's scythe scrapping against his soul, with the sound of crunched steel.
The cold, unintelligent eyes of the Blight stared down at him, seeing nothing but food.
At that moment, Szeth felt all hope drain away.
As he stared at his own demise, he could see as clear as the day he wouldn't live to see another sunrise.
Perhaps thanks to the adrenaline coursing through his veins, or perhaps because he had acknowledged his own death, he saw his whole life flash before his eyes at high speed.
The fabled last flashback encompassing the full extent of one's existence.
Szeth saw himself.
He saw the little kid that lived with a happy family and a handful of childish dreams ans illusions.
He saw the black vein that shriveled his eye into blue mush like a rotten grape.
He saw the faces of his mother crying in shock and his father aiming a knife at his throat.
He saw the fear. The hatred. The injustices, the misery, the ugly world that denied his right to exist and met every single attempt of changing his fate with crushing immutability.
At that moment, Szeth saw himself and realized.
His eye opened in shock, reflected on the gnawing death's own.
He understood.
It wasn't his fault.
It wasn't the world's fault.
It wasn't even the Blight's fault.
It was just life.
That was just how things were.
His struggles were doomed to fail, because there was no future to change.
His anger found no escape because there was no one to direct it at.
Things had happened. He was where he was. There was no bigger plan, no machiavellic greater will intent on enjoying his suffering.
Life had no meaning whatsoever.
"Right."
Faced with this revelation, Szeth felt as if invisible chains had snapped and a weight was released from his shoulders.
"Shit happens."
It was the simple truth. There was nothing he could do about it.
He stood up, knees no longer shaking.
The Termites didn't feel the change, and neither did they stop their advance. They continued gnawing away at the dwindling shelves that formed the impromptu barricade.
Szeth looked at them in the eyes.
"Ah, well. You know what they say, right?" he asked no one in particular in a nonchalant tone.
Faced with the absurdity that was life, he made a decision.
"Ces't la vie, isn't it?" He spat, grinning and grabbing the last shelve, still being chewed on by the Termites.
He would fight back.
Not because of vengeance.
Not because of something like wanting to give himself a purpose.
The reason was much simpler than that.
"DON'T FUCKING MESS WITH MEEEEEEE!!!!"
It was because he was angry.
After all, understanding and accepting were two completely different things.
Szeth grabbed gripped the shelve and heaved.
Pulling the whole metal structure, five xenos included, he threw them against the wall on willpower alone.
And then, he started smashing his foot against it, driving into the shells of the Termites.
"Do you know," wham! "how much shit" wham! "I fucking went through?!" wham!
Fueled by hatred, Szeth kicked the metal shelve over and over again.
Because he felt like it.
Because he wanted to kick.
Nothing more.
"Fucking Watchers!" wham! "Fucking city!" wham! "And last of all, fucking xenos scum!"
Crack!
Three Termites lie in a mess of blue ichor. Two of them had managed to escape his violent onslaught, throwing themselves at him.
Szeth released a warcry as he smashed one fist in a shiny dark shell. It cracked benath the pressure, showering him in Blight blood. The other bit his shoulder with its saw-like maw, literally eating through the flesh and bone in the span of seconds. His left arm dropped to the ground, bleeding.
If he hadn't been dead before, he was now, lacking everything from his shoulder down and drenched in the disgusting fluids that would turn him into an alien eggsack.
Szeth was a already a walking corpse.
But in a sense, he had been since the first day sickening black mark had appeared on his face.
After all, they didn't call him "specter" for nothing.
"DIE!!!" dislodging his fist from the ruined corpse of one Termite, he grabbed the other, the one that was chewing on his fallen arm, and squashed it on his hand.
A shower of viscera covered him from head to toes.
Paying mind to neither the burning pain of his missing limb nor the itch running through his skin, Szeth turned around.
His hate was wasn't spent.
He was still burning.
He wouldn't let it end like this.
He was a specter. He was a dead person come back to torment the living. He wasn't going down just yet, not before the fire in his heart had died out.
Maybe because of the line running down from the left side of his face, he hadn't turned into a bug nest just yet. Szeth grabbed his ruined shirt, tearing a part of it and somehow managing to tie it with his teeth to stop the bleeding on his shoulder.
He walked through the storeroom, sure to find something he could use as a weapon lying in a corner somewhere. At last, he found something he could use: a metal pipe, as long as his arms… well, arm, and surprisingly heavy. He hefted it to feel out the weight before nodding.
"Will do," was all he said.
Then, having finished his preparations, Szeth retraced his steps back to the giant steel gate that had filled him with a sense of security not long ago.
He used his metal pipe to crank the lever, breathing out as the ground rumbled.
His body was burning. The arm that wasn't there was flaring in phantom pain, invisible. His head was throbbing, and his skin itched.
But the seething rage on his soul was much, much harder to ignore.
So he walked out of his hiding spot, dragging the pipe against the ground as it made a hollow sound. The smell of blood and gore wafted from him like top-grade bait.
To avoid the xenos, there were three things to take in mind.
They followed their prey by smell.
They detected the vibrations of the earth.
And they swarmed thicker near the original outbreak points.
Szeth knew this, which meant he knew how to stay away from unwanted attention within the realms of possibility. On the other hand, it also meant he knew exactly how to pick a fight with the xenos.
He walked straight towards the point he had first seen the Blight shard fall into.
His actions bordered suicide, but he argued he couldn't kill himself, on account of being dead already.
He might have held out long enough for a Watcher to come, but then what? They would probably aim their guns at him: after all, he was already taken by the Blight.
No. He would end this on his terms.
The countdown had started. It was only a matter of how many xenos he could bring with him to hell before finally collapsing.