Hermits

It all begins when an adult hermit lays a larva. Any object with a hollow inside will do for a start — preferably made of metal. A galvanized bucket? Perfect. An old teapot? Welcome aboard! A tin can? Well, it'll be cramped, but what can you do? Every hermit starts small, switching to a larger home as they grow. Many maturing nymphs won’t find a big enough portable shelter, and then brutal battles will erupt over abandoned car shells — the main goal is to drive off your rival before sunrise and claim your new shell.

The sun is the hermit’s fiercest enemy, mercilessly scorching its black, tar-like body. Daylight hours are spent curled up deep in the darkest corner of its refuge. But at night, it stretches into its rusting armor, releases its support limbs, and begins the hunt. Energy must be conserved — who knows when a stray crow might fly past, or a limping cat might seek shade under a lonesome vehicle? A lunge — and the prey, snatched by a deft tentacle, is dragged into the cabin for a thorough feast.

Staying in one place is risky too. Creatures might remember the stench of death that wafts from that car and avoid it altogether. Undigested bones, feathers, and tufts of fur might attract the wrong kind of attention. So the hermit must wander the nocturnal city in search of new hunting grounds.

With time, experience comes. Hunting gets easier. The machine's shell slowly fuses with dark flesh, and the distances covered each night grow longer. How lucky that cars fit so well for merging — eyes fit neatly into headlight holes, a maw where the rotting radiator was, legs protruding from beneath the chassis, mimicking wheel positions.

And then — who knows — maybe one day it’ll hunt the noisy bipedal beings that crowd the streets day and night. Fresh meat will fuel a new stage of growth, and if the hermit finds a body big enough, it’ll become a colossal, seasoned giant no one dares challenge. If it learns to mimic headlights with its bioluminescent organs, its hunting grounds will stretch along entire highways.

Years later, its metal armor will inevitably crumble into rusty dust, and unless it finds a new shell, the sun will finish the job — turning it to ash. But by then, the relentless instinct will have called it to reproduce, and new larvae will hide in dark crevices, to feed and grow. And the cycle will begin again…