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When the opening arrived, their call to emerge.

Activated with only one task at hand; consume those with the most vitality.

Unable to guide themselves, they served as the fledgling meal.

The acidic secretions, make quick work of their dermis with no integument to save them.

The vociferous shrieks of the helpless observer in the knowledge it will also be their outcome.

Some even offer themselves as if there was a prospect of mercy, from the illustrious eating machines.

The sound of masticating, a small respite that their sufferer has at least expired.

But they continue, seemingly never to be surfeited.

Driven by the instinct for the next hunt and so they dine.

Undone by our own unerring spread.

The belltower becomes a hive of the neophyte devotees.

Hoping as always they will be the ones to be spared.

The zealots welcome the progeny feast