Jack opened his eyes to the pale white ceiling. Same as always. Still. Quiet.
But something felt different.
His body was sore—tight from yesterday's fight. But deeper than the pain, he felt something moving inside him. Not like the voices. Not like the rage. Something older. Calmer.
He sat up slowly, letting the cold floor touch his bare feet. Every joint ached. His arms felt heavier than normal, like they were weighed down by something alive under his skin.
The bathroom was small, sterile, silent. He turned on the water and splashed his face, then looked up into the cracked mirror.
His veins were darker today.
Not red. Not bruised.
Green.
Thin greenish lines pulsed beneath the skin of his arms and neck, like glowing roots under glass.
He blinked, stared, then whispered, "…What did I dream last night?"
The mirror didn't answer.
He dried his face and walked out into the hallway. The lights buzzed above. No footsteps. No orders. Just the quiet between battles. Jack's favorite time.
He moved through the halls until he reached the training room—a large, empty chamber with hard walls, faded bloodstains, and dummies lined along the far side.
The door closed behind him with a hiss.
He stepped forward into the center of the room and stopped.
And then—he heard them.
"You came back."
"You're ready now, aren't you?"
"We waited. We grew."
Jack didn't flinch. He recognized the voices.
Not the strong ones. Not Crasher. Not Maw.
These were smaller. Quieter.
The forgotten ones.
Then one voice rose above the others. Calm. Ancient. Like roots whispering through soil.
"I was the vine you drew during the blackout. Page nine. The one with the mouth. You only used me once. But I've been growing inside you ever since."
Jack swallowed hard. He remembered.
It was one of his first monsters—an accident during a panic sketch. A vine with snapping jaws that he'd used to stop a guard from chasing him. After that, he never summoned it again.
"Why now?" Jack asked aloud.
"Because you're not the same. And neither are we. Bind with me."
"Why should I?"
"I'll make you silent. Patient. Deadly. I'll grow where you walk, bite where you point, and bloom where they bleed."
Jack stared at his hand.
"…Do it."
The pain was instant and alive.
He fell to one knee, his arm convulsing as veins turned black-green, crawling up his skin like vines wrapping a dying tree. The skin cracked, softened—bark-like texture breaking through as moss-colored veins pulsed underneath.
Thorns emerged. Tiny. Sharp. Alive.
His right forearm now looked like part of the forest—twisted, breathing.
"We are bound," the voice whispered. "I am the Thornroot."
Jack stood slowly.
The air in the room felt different. Like it knew something had changed.
He raised his right hand, pointed toward a nearby dummy, and focused.
A single vine fired forward, fast and silent. It pierced the dummy's chest with a quiet, wet thunk.
Nothing moved.
Then—the growth began.
The dummy's chest twitched.
Black-green tendrils slithered through the hole, burrowing deeper inside. The arms spasmed. The legs shook. Vines began pushing out from within, tearing the stuffing and structure apart.
The plant wasn't wrapping the dummy.
It was eating it from the inside.
Vines sprouted from its mouth, winding over its face. A large flower grew where its head had been—its petals thorny, its center a pulsing, toothy bloom that slowly opened and closed like a breathing predator.
Jack stepped forward.
He could feel it—the roots feeding off the target. Draining energy. Filling space. Turning the body into compost.
"Damn…"
The dummy fell to its knees.
Then collapsed into a heap of vines and hollow skin.
Jack twitched his fingers and the vine recoiled—snapping back into his arm, vanishing under the moss-textured skin.
Silence.
Then Thornroot spoke once more.
"You planted me. I bloomed. Thank you… for remembering me."
Jack stared at his hand. The bark texture faded slightly, but the glowing green veins remained—his body forever changed.
He didn't smile. But something in his eyes shimmered.
He looked toward the next dummy, already raising his hand again.
"Let's see what else you can do."
The dummy collapsed in a heap of vines and hollow fabric. The flower-faced predator retracted into Jack's palm like it had never been there.
Silence hung in the air again—thick and warm.
But Jack wasn't done.
His arm itched.
Thornroot's voice crept back in, low and eager:
"I have another gift, Jack."
Jack raised his brow, breathing slow. "Show me."
His hand pulsed—once. Then his palm split open, a small oval-shaped hole forming in the center, like a hidden mouth.
It widened slowly, revealing the soft inner green of a spore sac.
"Point." Thornroot whispered.
Jack turned to another dummy.
The hole in his palm puffed out a thick burst of green mist, like a small gas bomb firing from inside his skin. The spore cloud hissed through the air, coating the dummy in a hazy fog that shimmered in the light.
The room went still again.
Then it began.
Mushrooms.
Tiny gray bulbs began sprouting across the dummy's shoulders. Slowly. Quietly. The longer it stood inside the spore cloud, the more they grew—up its legs, across its arms, and even from its eye sockets.
Each mushroom pulsed softly, like it was breathing.
Jack took a step closer, watching in awe. The longer the dummy remained in the gas, the thicker and heavier the growth became. Mold coated its chest. Fungus bloomed like tumors. The mushrooms fused together into layers of armor-like rot.
He reached out with his vine whip, pulling the dummy from the cloud.
Even outside the fog, the growth didn't stop.
The mushrooms kept spreading… feeding off whatever they'd touched.
Jack tilted his head, analyzing. "Delayed infection?"
Thornroot answered proudly.
"Spores cling. They keep growing, even when they're not wanted. Anyone who breathes me in will carry me until I bloom."
Jack grinned faintly.
That wasn't just a weapon.
It was a warning.
He looked down at his still-open palm. The spore sac pulsed once more—gentle, alive.
He closed his fist, and the hole vanished—sealed inside his skin.
Jack turned, facing the rest of the dummies. Twelve of them. All lined up.
All waiting.
He raised his arm again.
"Let's see how fast they rot."