The Lair of the Wyrm

Imagine having power to wrest change in this great field generator… this consensus reality…

…and then deciding that rather than work for the Good such a creature would waste that power on endless attempts to prevent others from being true.

Ressentiment?

The lair of the Wyrm seethes a parasitic hive mind, a swarm that collects but never individuates, that reels in energy for the wicked beast from the unsuspecting environment beyond.

Perhaps the humble bee makes honey so it can reincarnate as an individual consciousness to enjoy a sweet reward. Not all hives are bad.

But the Wyrm radiates hate and loves drama. The psychic whip of self-torment flagellates the earth in waves unseen. Everything it draws back to itself increases its power…

…but decreases its strength. Torpid, bloated with its own self-loathing, it cannot move to stop its descent into madness.

To what terrible Hell will the Wyrm plummet when power recedes as well?

Its time is running out. It exhausted its resources and must bind itself ever faster to its lair while the source of supply within its range dwindles.

The worker bee lays its life down for the Queen as also the individual must offer its wisdom to the collective; but the Wyrm eats the collective and undoes the individual, which is to say, itself, for it is no other, and must choose between it satiety and its grace.

Bee Good.

It’s worth it.