A Nearly-Comprehensive Guide to Early Muricene Bloodsuckers

The fate of the semelparous mosquitoes of millennia past has not been a kind one. They aren't extinct - and might stick around for some time longer - but are relegated to environments still free of available food sources for males. Deserts suit them well, from the ten-year wastelands of central Loxodia to the frigid mountains of Abeli. They generally persist in low numbers, swelling rapidly during brief periods of moisture. In total, they number around 15 species, all the descendants of the original Ae. semelparosus after its reign of dominance ended and its various regional populations became disconnected from one another. Put together, though, these species make up less than 0.2% of global mosquito biomass, a far cry from their former glory. This early-branching group now forms the sister taxon to all other Apterran insects, a collection of once-struggling species that are finally beginning to thrive in their new world.

The Ae. pansanguinophagus subgenus, containing well in excess of a hundred species worldwide, includes the cave-mosquitoes of the great mid-Abelian caverns. This group is characterized by the fact that both sexes now consume blood, permitting relatively long lifespans in both males and females. The aforementioned species, however, is one of the more basal members of the subgenus. More derived forms expand further on the post-pupation growth habits seen in their cousins by separating the non-aquatic portion of their life cycle into two distinct phases. Upon leaving the water, the emerging mosquitoes do not immediately set off in search of a blood meal; in fact, they don't even possess the piercing mouthparts required for such behaviors. Instead, they have a thinner, more mobile proboscis adapted to feed from the sugary stalks of palm-grasses. This is risky business, as the largest sources of nectar also harbor the largest defending armies, but their small size and impressive reaction times allow them to outmaneuver the tanklike isopods. 

They will continue feeding in this fashion for 2-20 days, depending on the species and environment. During this entire period, their exoskeletons are only semi-hardened, as their growth is not yet complete. Once they've filled their stomachs, they fly off to a safe spot, hunker down for a few days, and emerge once more as a fully-grown adult. This does not involve a molt, and all the basic body structures remain unchanged, but several modifications do occur beyond a simple increase in body size. For one, their feeding apparatus finally solidifies into its mature form, its tip sharpening into a point capable of piercing the skin of their victims. This is also the period at which the flies sexually mature, seeking mates immediately after their growth is complete. The longest-lived among them may reach ages of over a year, feeding every few days on unsuspecting rodents.

A close cousin of the pansanguinophagus-type mosquitoes (and one whose males have similar parasitic tendencies) is a complex of about four dozen species. The boundaries between these forms are quite blurred, as the lineage represents an extremely recent radiation. Unlike the previous taxon, therefore, the suite of adaptations that characterize this group is shared uniformly across its members. Mosquitoes of this clade are obligate kiwi parasites, having evolved to specialize on avian targets in order to lessen competition with other Aedes species. The continent of Ailuropia in particular, with its roaming A. grandis herds, is a smorgasbord for these bugs. Fast reproduction is a necessity for those who follow this lifestyle; if an individual takes too long to mature, it may find that its prey has left the area during its larval stage, leaving it doomed to starve without blood to sustain it. As such, the aquatic part of the life cycle has been greatly accelerated, with eggs growing to maturity in under three days. Adults, on the other hand, show impressive longevity, following their quarry for up to four months and laying eggs in every stagnant pool they find during their travels. 

Each species in this group has its own climate preferences; for instance, while a kiwi herd is migrating through the hot savanna, it will find itself pursued by Ae. hydrofugosus, a heat-loving species capable of withstanding significant dry spells. When it passes into the cooler prairie regions of its range, the swarm of parasites will gradually shift towards a population of Ae. melanopteryx, a more moisture-loving species that can handle the occasional cold snap. A similar process will occur for every biome and climate zone of the continent; in this way, niche partitioning is maintained within the group. The kiwis, of course, don't notice these changes, for to them the insects are all just pests, but from the mosquitoes' perspective, this is an epic drama spanning many lifetimes, all at the mercy of the kiwis' often arbitrary movements.

Individuals of the Ae. sedentarius subgenus, however, live their lives in exactly the opposite way. This is an extremely speciose group, its members numbering in the thousands. This extreme-looking figure is deceiving, though; by biomass it contains only 15% or so of all Apterran mosquitoes - nothing to scoff at, but not nearly as much as one might assume given how many species the group contains. This discrepancy is explained by the incredibly high rates of endemism found in this subgenus. Far from the roaming lifestyles of their relatives, these lazy flies never stray more than a few hundred meters from their homes. This isn't to say they're poor navigators, as they have a knack for returning promptly to their birthplace if ever they're blown off course. This inevitably results in geographical isolation; nearly every lake and pond has its own native species found nowhere else.

This leads to a variety of positive and negative consequences. Most obviously, interspecific competition is next to nonexistent within this group, with each species sticking to its own very specific home territory. This also grants them the ability to adapt to the specific conditions of whatever body of water they make their home in; there's no need to be a jack-of-all-trades when you'll only ever find yourself in one particular environment. On the other hand, they are highly vulnerable to outside threats. If a pathogen or disaster wipes out a population, not only will that species have no backup plan to prevent extinction, but its neighbors may take centuries to stumble upon the abandoned waterway. Another disadvantage facing this group is the fact that it cannot survive in the ephemeral water sources where other mosquitoes often lay their eggs. Requiring permanent standing water, this subgenus finds arid and semiarid regions inhospitable. This results in an interesting distribution pattern; they are ubiquitous in temperate and tropical regions, nonexistent wherever water is even temporarily absent, and dominant in small, permanent lakes with unique conditions. 

It must also be mentioned that the sedentarius subgenus displays an interesting evolutionary throwback in its diet. With the ever-increasing spread of palm-grasses, gone are the days when males had to resort to parasitism to survive. Instead, males now feed on the grasses' sweet sappy secretions, essentially reverting back to the nectarivorous habits of their ancestors. While many of their relatives, after adapting out of pure necessity to have both their sexes consume blood, have subsequently maintained their sinister diets, this lineage - or at least one half of it - has returned to a more peaceful way of life. 

Apterra's largest parasite is not a mosquito at all, and it can be found on a small island that lies a few hundred miles off the coast of Abeli. One is sunning itself on a dull grey volcanic rock, looking out over the rough waves on the beach below. It puffs out its throat, stretches its legs, and begins cautiously strolling down to the shoreline. It's overslept; the tide is already coming in, and it only has a few hours to procure its meal for the day. It paces along the sands, sweeping its head back and forth in search of an easy target. Before long, it spots one: a beached fish, flopping in a shallow puddle after being stranded earlier that morning. It is weak, barely reacting to the approaching gecko as the bloodsucker bares its fangs. The thirty-five-centimeter lizard sizes up the mosquitofish, circling it once, twice, thrice, before sinking its teeth into its prey just behind the fish's gills.

The unlucky livebearer gives a feeble jolt of its slippery body, attempting to shrug off its assailant. Its efforts are in vain; its blood has already begun to seep out of its wounds and into the gecko's mouth. Over several minutes, it gradually loses consciousness as its precious oxygen supply wanes. The parasite, though, is preparing to cut its lunch short. It has noticed the water beginning to pool at its feet, a sure sign that the tide will cover this patch of sand within the hour. Not willing to risk being washed away, it begrudgingly abandons the Gambusia, returning to its den just below the sunning rock it claims as its territory. Perhaps tomorrow its hunger will wake it early enough to let it find a complete meal. As the sun sets, the fish is washed away by a breaking wave, waking with a start. It will go on to live another day, unlike most victims of Correlophus sanguinomyzor.