Devoured by Butterflies
The Invaders fanfiction

Disclaimer: The Invaders, its universe and characters belong to their legal owners, who unfortunately aren't me. This is an unofficial fanfiction that is not officially endorsed in any way. It was written solely for enjoyment and I make no money with it.

Devoured by Butterflies
Completed (29th April 2021)
Science-fiction, horror
Rating / warnings
Non-graphic death.
Spoilers for Nightmare.
David Vincent, a couple of aliens from the episode

Insects. Omnipresent on Earth, generally ignored, though often seen as pests, occasionally gazed upon, sometimes poisonous or vectors of illness, but seldom terrifying to the average human, and never before to David Vincent.

Until the aliens weaponised them.

April episode of David Vincent's monthly death, based on Nightmare.

Written for the Killing a character once a month of 2021 AO3 challenge, with the following prompt:

4. "Dumb ways to die" - Is your character known for hiding injuries? Or in general being bad at taking care of themselves? Or are you also you really inspired by the song from that weird phone game? Your choice.

This story is also available on AO3.

Insects. Omnipresent on Earth, generally ignored, though often seen as pests, occasionally gazed upon, sometimes poisonous or vectors of illness, but seldom terrifying to the average human, and never before to David Vincent.

Until the aliens weaponised them.

Outside the town of Grady, in the heart of middle America, David had just narrowly escaped from the two alien constables set to murder him. From their car stuck on the dirt shoulder, they watched him run through the cornfield.

As Deputy Braden took out his gun and prepared to rush off in pursuit, Constable Gabbard stopped him with a hand on his arm. "No, I'll call the Danielsons." He took out his communicator and spoke into the half-egg-shaped device: "Vincent got away. Activate the emitter and send the insects to Iverson Road."

The quick call over, Gabbard turned back to his deputy: "Help me push the car back on the road."

At the farm not too far away, Ira Danielson returned the communicator to his pocket, walked to the barn and switched the controller on; the alien machine lit up and emitted its high-pitch whirr. In the nearby fields, a swarm of locusts formed into a dark organic cloud.

David ran among the corn stubs, crouching and swerving to prevent the aliens behind him from getting a clear shot. He tripped and caught himself on his knee, then shot up and darted again. In the back of his mind, he noticed how the field was covered with a fine white powder that stuck to his skin and hair and impregnated his clothes. He couldn't waste time examining the odourless substance, but he didn't recognise it.

A droning getting louder in the air behind him attracted his attention and he afforded to look behind. His eyes widened in horror as they fixed on the sinister cloud of locusts on a fast approach. Stumbling again, he fell to the ground, but fear galvanised him. He staggered back up and turned off towards the nearby woods.

As soon as he entered the cover of trees, he heard the ravenous locusts swoop down on the powder-covered plants. He ran deeper into the woods before finally daring to turn and look back.

The field was black with locusts, the noise of countless mandibles chopping viciously at the corn deafening. Fear gripped him when a few insects broke away from the main swarm to fly at him, and he ran off, swatting at them as they tore tiny chunks of his skin and even his clothes. To his relief, he was soon able to crush them, and the others continued ignoring him.

Once he emerged on the other side of the woods, he paused to think at what he'd just witnessed. The locusts had ignored the trees and bushes in favour of the corn stubs and himself: obviously, while the aliens directed the insects' flight with the machine Miss Woods had described, the white powder served to attract them to a specific target. Which meant he needed to clean up the substance sticking at him. He vigorously dusted himself, though he could still see some white on his skin, and thought of his next move.

Before him laid grassland, and the vegetation hinted at a pond further ahead. Insensitive to the peacefulness of the scene, he eyed the butterflies and dragonflies warily before walking to the pond. He plunged his hands in the cold water and rubbed; to his relief, it removed most of the powder. He then cupped water and splashed it on his face and his clothes, and finished by washing his hair. The cold made him shiver, but he felt a bit safer now.

The feeling didn't last. He'd barely started walking away and planning his next actions when he heard the humming of a quickly approaching propeller aircraft. He dashed to the woods, but he'd barely taken a few steps when the small plane came into view –David recognised it as the kind farmers used to spray DDT on their crops.

Panic set in as he guessed what it meant. He redoubled his efforts to reach the wood in time; but he didn't make it far until the plane dived towards him and drenched him in the sinister white powder. The chemical coated him, sticking on his wet skin and clothes even more than before. And then he heard the fluttering of hundreds of wings.

The butterflies reached him first. Colourful petals darkened his field of vision, fluttered around his ears, brushed on his skin. For every insect he swatted, two more arrived, and the pain soon followed suit.

It only lasted for a few seconds, a mass of slowly flapping wings in a vaguely human shape as the insects melted and devoured his flesh. Then the butterflies and a few dragonflies flew away in a delicate air ballet. The sight was beautiful, but there was nobody left to see it.

Of David Vincent, only dazzling white bones remained.



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Last update: 29th April 2021.