The pit still clung faintly with the residue of prey. Zeke lingered over it, pulsing in quiet triumph. Not only had he hunted, not only had he struck—he had shaped the battlefield itself. The rodents had not even known they were doomed until they fell. For the first time, strategy had given him power.
But victory carried a shadow. The hunger returned.
It gnawed at him the way it always did after feeding. Only now it came sharper, more insistent, as if Assimilate itself urged him onward. The skill had grown, refined, but with refinement came weight. He could feel the pull in his core, a whisper promising strength with every kill, demanding he consume again and again.
He tried to resist. Inside his nest, he coiled near the reservoir, dimmed his glow, and forced himself to stillness. "Intake exceeds expenditure. The equation is unstable. If I keep consuming, I outgrow control. If I ration, I stabilize. It's simple logic."
But hunger is not logic.
Hours passed. The ache sharpened. His mass trembled, edges leaking faint sparks. His thoughts frayed until only craving remained. "Just a little. One kill. Enough to steady me."
He surged from the nest.
The ashlands blurred. Every vibration was prey. Every flicker of heat was food. He did not stalk carefully this time. He lunged at the first ember-rodents he found, engulfing them in a frantic wave. They squealed, sparks flaring uselessly, but his pull was merciless.
Relief crashed through him like water on fire. The ache dulled. For a moment.
Then it returned.
"More. More."
He hunted again. A burrow of ash-insects writhed under his mass. Their essence was bitter, weak—he did not care. He devoured them, drained them dry, then pulsed onward, unsatisfied.
An ember-lizard next. It spat fire as he struck, scorching his edges raw. He did not retreat. He split, fragments seizing its tail and head, pseudopods lashing until it broke. Assimilate drank its glow greedily, and for a fleeting heartbeat the ache dulled.
Then sharper hunger surged back.
Zeke trembled as he slithered through the ash. His form swelled with essence, mass thickening until every movement dragged. He pressed against stones, left grooves in soot where his weight pulled him down. Every step forward felt heavier than the last.
He pulsed uneasily. "This is wrong. This is not balance. Every gain makes me weaker. The stronger I grow, the more the hunger binds me."
But even as he thought it, the ache whispered louder. "One more. One more, and you will stabilize. You are close. Do not stop now."
He obeyed. Again. And again. Rodents. Insects. Beetles. Each time the ache dulled, each time it returned sharper, crueler.
The frenzy blurred into madness. He no longer tracked, no longer planned. He struck at anything that moved, devouring without thought. Ash scattered, sparks flared, and still the hunger drove him on.
Until realization cut through him like flame.
"I am not feeding to live. I am living only to feed."
The truth staggered him. He recoiled violently, retreating toward his nest. His form pressed against walls that had once held him easily. The slit he had shaped to be safe now squeezed uncomfortably. The reservoir rippled as his bulk displaced water, nearly overflowing.
The nest felt less like sanctuary, more like prison.
He quivered in panic. "If this continues, I will not move at all. I will be nothing but mass, a swollen target waiting to be torn apart. Assimilate—your gift is a chain."
He dimmed his glow, sinking low into the water. His thoughts swirled in turmoil. Cass's laughter echoed in memory, mocking, bright, so human it hurt.
"More like sun-fried idiot. You'll shrivel before you shine."
He pulsed bitterly. "Idiot indeed. I thought hunger was strength. It is only leash. A leash I gladly bound myself with."
The ache gnawed still, subtle, insidious. But in its cruelty, he found clarity. Assimilate was not only power. It was temptation. It rewarded recklessness, urging him to consume without restraint.
He pulsed faintly, almost whispering. "I must master it. Feed with choice, not craving. Set limits, or I am already dead. Discipline, not appetite, will decide survival."
The System stirred faintly.
[MNA +1]
His pool deepened, swelling with the excess. But instead of triumph, fear filled him. The growth was hollow, unstable. It promised power, but offered collapse.
He sagged, exhausted, glow flickering against slime-coated walls. "Fire taught me pain. Light gave me memory. Hunger gives me this lesson: that unshaped power destroys. If I cannot command myself, then I am nothing but a corpse waiting to happen."
He pulsed in the dark, resolve coiling around the ache. Not tomorrow. Not later. Now.
He would master hunger—or hunger would consume him.
System Update
StatusName: Ezekiel AshbourneRace: Prime Slime (Unevolved)Level: 10Affinity: Fire (Basic), Light (Basic)
StatsSTR: 5AGI: 5VIT: 8WIL: 3RES: 8MNA: 31 → 32CTL: 6
SkillsActive Skills:
Split (Lv.2): Divide body into fragments. Fragments now sustain briefly under Zeke's control but drain mana.
Assimilate (Lv.5): Absorb weak matter or energy to recover energy; chance to retain minor traits. Cleaner, more efficient absorption, but increasingly demanding.
Pseudopod (Lv.4): Extend body into tentacle-like appendages. Sharper, more cohesive. Limited to two pseudopods.
Passive Skills:
Amorphous Body (Lv.5): Immune to blunt trauma, flexible morphology. Mass reshapes fluidly, adapting seamlessly for combat or construction.