The hunger was constant now.
Zeke could feel it gnawing at the edges of his awareness, a relentless tide that surged forward each time his mass grew beyond what he could comfortably control. His form swelled and contracted as he consumed, the biomass flooding into him faster than his mind could direct. The result was a sluggish heaviness, an unwelcome reminder that even survival carried dangers.
"Too much," he pulsed inwardly. His own voice echoed strange in the hollow of his core, a whisper smothered by gnawing need.
Fragments trembled as he pressed them together. The predator's essence still burned within him, ember-heat woven into slime, but it did not sit evenly. Pockets of mass ballooned, threads straining to hold them in. Every motion felt cumbersome, a half-second too slow, as though his body dragged through mud.
His CTL threads stretched desperately to keep order. They screamed for relief.
Instinct urged him to consume more, to gorge until the ache vanished. But he knew better now. More would only bloat him further, until the hunger sharpened into madness and collapse.
He had only one tool to resist it.
Split.
The command rippled out, and his body ruptured into fragments. Six, then seven, then eight, scattering like shards of dark glass across the ash. Each piece quivered, lighter, easier. The heaviness lessened instantly, pressure bleeding away. The hunger quieted, if only by a fraction.
But the threads binding them together strained under the sheer number. Mana bled out of him in steady streams, too fast, too wasteful. He clenched down, forcing every fragment to remain tethered. One slipped—he reeled it back violently, nearly tearing it apart.
The hunger laughed at him in silence.
"This is not control. This is desperation."
The thought came bitter, but he could not deny it.
His scholar's voice whispered across his mind, calm even as his form frayed. "Split buys you time, but not balance. Compress must come. To draw inward, not outward. To hold, not scatter."
But Compress remained out of reach, a phantom skill, a promise not yet realized. Until then, all he could do was scatter and pray the threads did not snap.
He lingered in stillness, fragments circling one another like faint motes of ash. The silence of the battlefield remained unbroken; the stalker's corpse had long since been devoured, leaving only faint scorch-marks and claw-gouges in stone.
And yet the hunger persisted.
He turned his awareness inward. The ember-heat he had consumed was still there, coiled in his essence. It wanted release. Fire bled through pseudopods without command, flickers of uncontrolled flame guttering across his surface. He smothered them in Darkness, but it only dulled the instability.
"Not enough."
He dimmed, trying to sink into the stone. He remembered resonance—Light and Darkness bending together, Fire threading through—but resonance had nearly broken him against the predator. He could not gamble on it now.
What he needed was steadiness.
One fragment split again, deliberately this time. Smaller, thinner. Threads wove tighter around it, a trial in miniature. He guided the sliver into motion, testing how long it could survive apart. It wavered, nearly unraveling, but his will pulled it back.
A flicker of progress.
CTL throbbed, aching, but not tearing.
"Yes," he pulsed faintly. "If I scatter with purpose… not collapse, but discipline… Split can become training."
The hunger clawed again, demanding he feed. He ignored it. He would not consume until his control matched his appetite.
Far across the ash, a tremor stirred faintly. Prey returning now that the predator was gone. Rodents, burrowers, insects. The ashlands' rhythm slowly mended. His filaments brushed against them, tempted. He could feed, gorge, silence the ache.
But instead he folded inward, fragments rejoining with slow deliberation. The mass pressed heavy once more, threads screaming—but steadier than before.
He waited.
When the first rodent skittered out from its burrow, whiskers twitching at the ash, Zeke lashed out—not with hunger's fury, but with measured intent. A single pseudopod, cloaked in Darkness, shot forward, wrapped around the creature, and drew it in.
Assimilate.
The process was smoother now, though slower when he controlled the pace. Instead of flooding himself, he let the rodent dissolve piece by piece, threads weaving the essence carefully into his form. The hunger hissed in protest, demanding speed, but he refused.
"Not indulgence. Instruction."
The rodent became heat and matter, absorbed without swelling. The heaviness rose, but not uncontrollably. He dispersed it again, a small Split, and rejoined with care.
Another rodent surfaced. He repeated the process. And again.
The hunger dulled, though it did not vanish. But the ache was quieter, more a whisper than a scream.
He lingered, dim against the stone, pulsing faintly in thought.
"The predator hid in heat, as I do in shadow. It struck unseen, as I do with thread. It was my reflection."
Silence answered.
"If the predator was a mirror, then so is hunger. It hunts me from within. It strikes unseen, not with claw, but with need."
He trembled faintly, a slow ripple through his body. "And as I broke the predator, I must break this. Not with more prey. Not with more mass. But with control."
His scholar's voice approved, gentle as ash drifting. "Yes. To master hunger is to master yourself. Only then will Compress answer."
He risked resonance again, just enough to test, not fight.
Darkness pooled into one fragment, Light into another. Their threads bent toward one another, vibrating with tension. When they touched, resonance rippled out in faint waves, warping the air. Fire trembled at the edges, ready to ignite.
He held them apart, forcing balance. The resonance wavered, unstable, but did not collapse. His core throbbed from the strain. He rejoined before it broke.
Pain lingered, but progress shone faintly.
Hours bled into one another. The ash cooled, then warmed again, the land breathing as the fissures pulsed faint glow. Through it all, Zeke practiced.
Split. Rejoin. Split. Rejoin.
Not frantic scattering, but deliberate division. Each fragment held steady longer than the last, threads stitching tighter. The hunger ebbed and surged, but with each cycle he denied it its chaos.
Prey passed near. He consumed sparingly, never enough to overwhelm. Each Assimilation deliberate, each thread forced to weave without waste.
His form grew steadier. His CTL threads did not scream as loudly. His mana still bled, but less violently.
The hunger still prowled, but now it felt less like a predator and more like a leash. He held it, strained, but unbroken.
When dawn shimmered pale across the ash horizon, Zeke pulsed faintly, fragments dim in the haze.
"I will not be ruled by hunger."
The ashlands whispered back with the tiny heartbeats of prey. He did not lunge. He did not gorge. He simply listened.
For the first time since his birth, silence within felt stronger than silence without.
System Update
Status
Name: Ezekiel Ashbourne
Race: Prime Slime (Unevolved)
Level: 12
Affinity: Fire (Basic), Light (Basic), Darkness (Basic)
Stats
STR: 7
AGI: 7
VIT: 10
WIL: 10
RES: 11
MNA: 38
CTL: 13
Skills
Active Skills:
Split (Lv.4): Divide body into fragments. Fragments sustain longer, coordinate better, and bleed less mana. Overflow dispersal more efficient.
Assimilate (Lv.6): Absorb matter or energy to recover essence; smoother, more efficient absorption. Can now pull minor elemental traces.
Pseudopod (Lv.6): Tentacle-like appendages with whip precision and crushing power. Limited to two, but refined.
Passive Skills:
Amorphous Body (Lv.6): Immune to blunt trauma, flexible morphology. Reshapes seamlessly under combat pressure.