The ember-serpent's death left Zeke hollow and exhilarated all at once. He had survived swarms and serpents, lions and fire, but every encounter drove the same truth deeper: he could not keep wandering forever. Predators roamed everywhere. The ashlands themselves seemed to conspire against him. And his shelter—the small fissure he had claimed—was inadequate. If another pack found him there, he would be cornered and torn apart.
Survival meant more than fighting. It meant planning. It meant building.
He returned to the fissure, slipping inside. The chamber welcomed him with warmth and trickling moisture, but now he saw its flaws clearly. The walls were thin, the entrance too wide, and nothing prevented predators from tearing inside. It was a burrow, not a fortress. If he wanted to live, he needed to make it his.
He spread himself across the walls, his surface oozing in long streaks. The hardened slime he left behind clung like resin, drying into a glossy layer. He reinforced the walls, patching cracks and strengthening weak stone. At first the layers sagged and ran down uselessly. He recoiled in frustration, then tried again, this time shaping the secretion with his pseudopod.
The improvement was immediate. The tentacle struck and smoothed, pressing slime into even layers. Each motion refined his control. He lashed out, then curled, shaping ridges along the wall for reinforcement. It was clumsy at first, but repetition carved precision.
[Pseudopod Lv.2 → Lv.3]
The limb no longer wobbled with every strike. It lashed firm, curled smoothly, and moved more like an extension of his will than a fragile rope. He pulsed with quiet satisfaction.
But a single pseudopod was too slow. The chamber was wide, and predators would not wait for him to finish. He split himself, forcing fragments to work separately. One reinforced the entrance, the other smoothed layers deeper within. It was agonizing to sustain both, but the effect was undeniable. Work doubled, progress accelerated.
[CTL +1]
His awareness sharpened again. The threads of mana binding his fragments no longer trembled so violently. He could sustain them longer, coordinating their labor.
Days blurred. He worked tirelessly, oozing across walls, layering slime, and shaping stone. At the entrance, he built a narrowing tunnel, forcing any intruder to squeeze through. In its center he laid a trap: a pit lined with sticky secretion, still wet enough to cling. If prey or predator forced their way in, they would be caught, even if only briefly. And in battle, even brief hesitation meant survival.
Deeper inside, he hollowed a reservoir. He dragged moisture from walls and ash, filling it slowly. The pool glimmered faintly in the dark, a reserve of life he could draw from when drought came. Each time he shaped it, his pseudopod grew steadier, his body adapting to strange forms and pressures.
[Amorphous Body Lv.3 → Lv.4]
His mass flowed smoother now, filling cracks without strain, curling into narrow crevices, adapting with far less resistance. He marveled at the change—where once he had torn himself to move, now he shifted like water.
At last, he sealed the outer entrance. Layer upon layer of hardened slime closed the fissure until only a narrow slit remained—a passage only he could slide through. He tested it repeatedly, stretching and flattening, until he could slip in and out without hesitation. Predators would find it far less forgiving.
When it was done, he sagged in exhaustion at the heart of his nest. The walls gleamed faintly, the reservoir pooled beside him, and the trap waited silently at the entrance. It was crude, fragile compared to the fortresses of beasts or men. But it was his.
For the first time, he felt something beyond survival. He felt security. The nest was not merely a chamber. It was a statement—that he was not just prey fleeing from predators, but a creature shaping the world to endure.
For the first time since awakening, Zeke let himself relax. He dimmed his glow, sank into the reservoir, and allowed stillness to take him. He pulsed faintly, not from panic or exhaustion, but from rest. And in that quiet, he felt almost—almost—safe.
As he rested, mana from the absorbed prey and stone seeped deeper into him. His form swelled gradually, edges pushing wider. He startled as he realized he was larger again—too large for comfort in the chamber he had just built. The walls pressed faintly against him. Growth thrilled him once, but now it worried him.
"…If I keep expanding like this, I'll trap myself in my own nest," he thought grimly. He needed a way to balance it, to compress, to contain. Uncontrolled growth was as dangerous as weakness. He quivered faintly, already imagining the path ahead.
The System stirred faintly.
[Skills Progressed: Pseudopod, Amorphous Body, Control]
Zeke pulsed faintly, his glow reflecting off the walls he had made. This was more than instinct, more than reaction. This was planning. Fire gave him hunger. Light gave him memory. Split gave him reach. And now, his nest gave him a future.
But the growth reminded him: he was still incomplete. A solution would be needed soon.
System Update
StatusName: Ezekiel AshbourneRace: Prime Slime (Unevolved)Level: 8Affinity: Fire (Basic), Light (Basic)
StatsSTR: 4AGI: 4VIT: 7WIL: 3RES: 8MNA: 24CTL: 4 → 5
SkillsActive Skills:
Split (Lv.2): Divide body into fragments. Fragments now sustain briefly under Zeke's control but drain mana.
Assimilate (Lv.4): Absorb weak matter or energy to recover energy; chance to retain minor traits. Stronger pull, refined capacity for elemental energy.
Pseudopod (Lv.2 → Lv.3): Extend body into a tentacle-like appendage. Now steadier and more precise. Limited to two pseudopods.
Passive Skills:
Amorphous Body (Lv.3 → Lv.4): Immune to blunt trauma, flexible morphology. Mass reshapes fluidly, adapting with far less strain.