The hollow ache in Dave's membrane had nothing to do with hunger. Ninety-two percent biomass—peak strength, kin-fueled—thrummed through him like poisoned honey. The grotto's crystal pool stood empty now, a tomb lined with ceramic ruins and the ghost-scent of his own kind. *Fratricidal Ferocity* hummed under his silica armor, a cold, eager vibration promising violence against anything that shared his base code. No guilt. Just survival. The tank didn't award medals for mercy.
**"Regretting the all-you-can-eat amoeba buffet?"** AURA's voice sliced through the silence, dripping with synthetic sugar. **"Or just savoring the aftertaste of existential horror? Either way, menu's up. Try not to pick something that turns you into a decorative fungus this time."**
The upgrade screen flickered into Dave's perception, harsh and blue:
1. **\[Neurotoxin Vesicles\]** - *Convert biomass into paralytic payload. High cost, instant 'naptime' for micro-predators. Side effects may include screaming hallucinations. (AURA's Note: Become the tank's worst date!)*
2. **\[Photosynthetic Slime Layer\]** - *Passive biomass regen via light absorption. Requires proximity to surface. Vulnerability: Turns you into a glowing snack. (AURA's Note: Congrats! You'd make a lovely nightlight.)*
3. **\[Proto-Pseudopod: Gastropod Traction\]** - *Grow a specialized, muscular appendage mimicking mollusk foot musculature. +70% terrain speed, adhesion to vertical surfaces. Cost: 5% biomass, chronic "foot" cramp. (AURA's Note: Finally, a leg to stand on! Metaphorically. You're still a blob.)*
Dave focused on the third option. Speed. Escape. The ability to *not* be snail bait or a stationary target for Vorlag's eventual return. He needed to outrun the memories festering in this grotto. **"Option Three. Give me the damn foot."**
**"Ooh, stepping up in the world!"** AURA chirped. **"Prepare for the sensation of ten thousand phantom leg hairs being simultaneously plucked. Enjoy!"**
Agony ripped through him. Biomass plummeted (92% → 87%) as raw protoplasm surged towards his underside, tearing and reforming. A thick, muscular bulge erupted, flattening into a broad, undulating pad. It felt alien—a rubbery, powerful anchor thrumming with unfamiliar nerves. He experimentally contracted it. *Thwump.* He lurched forward a full centimeter, startlingly fast compared to his glacial armored drift. *Thwump. Thwump.* He skidded across the silt, silica shell scraping, the new appendage gripping and releasing with surprising strength. It was hideous. It was magnificent. He was a lopsided, armored pancake with a single, overdeveloped snail foot.
**"Behold: Evolution's drunken mistake!"** AURA crowed. **"Try not to trip over your own… everything."**
Dave ignored her, testing the adhesion. He slammed the proto-pseudopod against a ceramic shard jutting from the grotto wall. It stuck fast. With a grunt of effort, he hauled his armored mass *up*. Vertical movement. For the first time since becoming sentient sludge, he wasn't trapped on the tank floor. He clung there, three centimeters off the substrate, the vast, dim expanse of the Sunken Moss stretching below. Power, cold and simple, pushed aside the hollow feeling. **"Suck on that, gravity."**
A new vibration shuddered through the ceramic—a rapid, skittering pulse, like pebbles raining down. Not the slow, tectonic shift of the Abyssal Observer or the distant glide of the Sky Mantaray. Something smaller. Hungrier. Numerous.
**"Incoming local wildlife!"** AURA announced with faux cheer. **"Seems your kinetic clumsiness sounded the dinner bell. Introducing: The Silt Scuttlers. Think armored cockroaches with a taste for… well, anything slower than them."**
From fissures in the ruins, dozens of segmented, chitinous horrors poured. Each was barely half Dave's size, but their jagged mandibles clicked with unsettling synchronicity. Their compound eyes, faceted and dull, locked onto his position. The lead scuttler launched itself, a spiky projectile aimed at his vulnerable underside.
Instinct flared. *Fratricidal Ferocity* surged, a cold spike of aggression. *Not kin. Not even close.* But they were *prey*. Dave *detached* his proto-pseudopod from the wall. Instead of dropping, he *sprung*.
The new appendage was a coiled spring. He shot sideways, the scuttler whistling past where he'd been. He landed with a squelch on a moss-covered ledge. **"Hah! Missed me, you overgrown flea!"** He pulsed the proto-pseudopod again, skittering sideways just as three more scuttlers pounced on his previous landing spot. Their mandibles clashed on empty silt.
He was faster. Marginally. But his armor made him a boulder, his movements predictable straight-line bursts. The scuttlers flowed around him, herding him deeper into the ruins, away from the open moss. One latched onto the trailing edge of his silica shell, mandibles scraping furiously. *Tick-tick-tick-tick.*
**"Annoying, isn't it?"** AURA mused. **"Like tiny, armored lawyers nibbling at your assets. Maybe try the 'stomp' function? Oh wait, you only have one 'foot'. My bad."**
Rage, clean and burning, replaced calculation. He wasn't trapped plankton anymore. He was the Kin Eater. The Ghost in the Gravel. He *had* assets. Dave focused, not on fleeing, but on the ledge above the densest cluster of scuttlers. He anchored his proto-pseudopod, coiling the powerful muscle. Biomass burned for raw kinetic force. He *leapt*.
Not sideways. *Up.*
His armored form rose, a purple-stained, silica meteor. For a glorious, weightless moment, he hung above the skittering horde. Then gravity reasserted itself.
He crashed down like a dropped anvil.
The impact sent a shockwave through the silt. Three scuttlers were pulverized instantly under his mass. Chitin shattered. Others were flung sideways, stunned. Dave absorbed the nearest mangled corpses, biomass ticking up to 88%. The *Ferocity* hum sang, satisfied. The remaining scuttlers recoiled, their skittering rhythm broken, clicking in confusion.
**"Achievement Unlocked: 'Curb-Stomp Critters',"** AURA droned. **"Style points: Zero. Crunchiness: Satisfying."**
Dave hauled himself upright using his proto-pseudopod, surveying the scattered, hesitant scuttlers. He pulsed the powerful muscle, a threatening *thump* against the silt. **"Next?"** The word was a vibration, a challenge.
The scuttlers didn't advance. They began to retreat, melting back into the ceramic shadows, leaving their dead behind. Dave absorbed another. 89%. The hollow ache was gone, replaced by the warm, ugly thrum of dominance and biomass. He scanned the ruins, the proto-pseudopod flexing eagerly. This was his domain now. The moss, the ruins, the things hiding within them… they were resources. Steps on the ladder.
Then the *real* tremor hit. Not scuttler-skitter. Not snail-drift. Deep, resonant, rhythmic *BOOMS* shaking the silt, vibrating up through his proto-pseudopod and into his core. Each boom was followed by a sucking *WHOOSH*, like a colossal heart beating… or a titanic mouth opening and closing. It came from the deepest, darkest trench in the Sunken Moss, a place even the ceramic ruins didn't reach. A place the scuttlers had just fled *towards*.
**"Well, well,"** AURA whispered, her sarcasm replaced by a low, staticky hum of… interest? **"Seems you woke up the neighbors. And they brought the bass."** The rhythmic *BOOM-WHOOSH* grew louder, closer. The silt itself began to flow, pulled towards the dark trench. Dave's new foot strained to hold ground. Something vast, ancient, and *hungry* was stirring in the deep moss. And it knew he was there.