The Acarid Parasites are the most common and numerous form of the brood, a tide of hunters that embody the hive’s hunger. Fully formed at hatching, they burst from their eggs clad in hardened chitin, already capable of lightning speed and reflexes. Their lamprey-like mouths clamp onto prey with rows of rasping teeth, anchoring them in place while invasive tendrils sink deep into flesh. Within moments, the host’s body is flooded with alien tissue, nerves rewired, and the mind silenced. What remains is a body still moving, but now a puppet of the brood’s will.

They infest every corner of the ruined church, from the collapsed reliquary halls to the rafters where hymns once echoed. Pilgrims who came seeking miracles instead became vessels, their movements now directed by unseen masters. Larger beasts and men often carry more than one parasite, staggering unnaturally as multiple invaders tug at muscles in grotesque conflict. The sound of carapace scraping across stone has replaced the ringing of bells. Where once the faithful knelt in devotion, now only parasites scuttle and strike, tireless hunters ensuring that none escape once they enter the hive.