Ophiocordyceps

He doesn’t remember what he was before.

All he knows now is his need to infect. His need to feed.

Much of the heavy, exoskeleton-like plating on his body fell off centuries ago. The dark, tender, decaying flesh that used to be under it is exposed now. It rips and tears and flakes away into the wind like spores. The bones in his torso and arms have been bared for as long as he can remember. Some tatters of flesh remain; rotten leftovers of what used to be organs, now infested with insects and small plants. They nestle in his ribcage, dusty brown and green leaves partially obscured in shadow as they feed on the putrid meat. Fluffy, green moss took root in his wandering corpse long ago, even growing on what’s left of his plating. And yet, he continues to walk.

His crimson fanged maw gapes open and a horrible sound comes out. A scream of agony. Some of the desiccated bits of what used to be cheek tissue rip and snap from the sudden stretch. He falls silent as suddenly as he wails. He knows not where he is. The soft cloth wrapped over the gaping sockets where his eyes used to rest is filthy. A scent catches his attention. A nest. Fresh eggs. Food.

They’ve been left alone. He steps into the nest, his jaws puncturing and closing around one of the golden shelled, softly glowing eggs. Orange yolk oozes out. The egg goes dark without a sound as it disappears down his throat. He only eats one. The others suffer his infection. By the time he leaves, they too are dead. However, they will hatch. They will be like him.