The ashlands did not rest. The storm had broken and passed, the serpent had fallen, yet the land still moved with restless tension. Fissures widened in the stone, glowing faintly with heat that bled into the air. Soot still drifted from the sky, carried in lazy spirals. The silence was thick, not empty but holding its breath, as though waiting for the next predator to rise. Zeke lay low against the ash, filaments extended in every direction, tasting for what the land concealed.
Hunger gnawed constant, sharper now for the lack of prey. Rodents and insects had not returned in their usual numbers. The small things that filled his belly had not yet dared to creep back into the open. Instead, the only heartbeats his filaments brushed were heavier, stronger, predators pacing the silence. The ashlands themselves seemed to say: survive predators or starve.
He dimmed further, patient but tense. Split was ready, his fragments trembling on the edge of division. He would not be caught unprepared. The storm had taught him that the land struck in more ways than one, and only constant readiness kept him whole.
A ripple disturbed the ash ahead. Then another. Then three more, circling. Their rhythm was different from serpent or stalker. Lighter, quicker, not one body but several. The vibrations grew sharper as they closed in. Zeke's glow dimmed to almost nothing.
Ash hounds.
They burst from the dust in a coordinated surge, lean shapes with ember veins glowing under blackened hide. Their eyes burned like coals, and their breath hissed smoke. Claws scraped ash as they circled in practiced formation, six of them weaving arcs in the soot. Pack predators. Not one great threat, but many smaller ones, dangerous for how they struck together.
The first three lunged at once.
Zeke Split instantly, six fragments scattering wide. Pseudopods lashed in all directions, some cloaked in Darkness, others burning with Fire. One hound yelped as flame seared its flank, another bound in shadow threads. But the third slammed through, claws tearing into a fragment's edge. Sparks bled uncontrolled, pain ripping through Zeke. He nearly lost that piece before he dragged it back. Threads screamed.
Hunger pressed sharp against him, demanding fuel, urging him to gorge while his enemies fell. He forced it down, pulling clarity over instinct like a veil. Feeding recklessly in battle would only end with collapse.
The hounds circled tighter, growling, their eyes glowing brighter. Ash swirled as their claws dug arcs in the dust. Three more burst from the side, doubling the pack. Nine now, surrounding.
Zeke trembled, his Split stretched thin to meet them all. Instability surged, fragments quivering at the edge of collapse. Mana bled constantly, threads stretched farther than they should. But retreat meant being torn apart. He coiled tighter, ready.
They lunged as one.
Chaos erupted. Pseudopods cracked like whips, lashing into bodies mid-leap. One hound twisted, jaws snapping, biting through a limb. Another coiled in flame, burning as it howled. A third slammed into a fragment, claws raking deep. Sparks showered, filaments shrieked. Zeke forced himself tighter, holding fragments together with sheer will.
His glow dimmed to near-black. He measured, forced control into every fragment, refusing collapse. This battle was not only survival—it was training. Every strike, every fragment held steady against the tide, sharpened him further.
The pack pressed harder, momentum building. Their coordination was brutal—one harrying from the side, another striking from behind, a third leaping straight for his core. He lashed Light in a sudden flare. The hounds staggered, blinded for a heartbeat. He seized that instant, Fire lashing in arcs. Flames tore through one hound's throat, shadows bound another. Bodies burned, fell hissing into the ash.
Still they came. The survivors snarled, circling again. Their heat throbbed against his filaments, steady and disciplined. Predators of the ashlands were not mere beasts. They hunted as he did, with patience, with precision. And they did not fear death.
Instability worsened. Threads shuddered, bleeding sparks. He felt his form slipping toward collapse. Desperation grew sharp. He could not outlast them this way. He needed more.
He reached for resonance.
Darkness pooled into one fragment, Light into another, Fire threading through both. The vibration was violent, his essence quivering at the strain. Instability screamed. But he forced the fragments together anyway. For a heartbeat, the world bent. Heat warped, shadows stretched, and the pack faltered. Their eyes widened as their rhythm broke.
Zeke struck.
All pseudopods lashed at once. Fire cracked through scales, Darkness bound limbs, Light seared eyes blind. The pack howled, writhing in chaos. Two collapsed instantly, their bodies burning, molten blood spilling into the ash. Another staggered, crippled by shadow coils. The survivors snapped in panic, their coordination lost.
One last hound lunged in desperation. Its claws tore into a fragment, ripping deep. Sparks burst uncontrolled, pain flooding Zeke's core. He dimmed almost to collapse, threads quivering. He retaliated instantly, Fire lashing down its throat. The hound screamed and fell still.
The silence returned, broken only by the hiss of burning bodies. The ash stank of molten blood.
Zeke sagged, fragments trembling as they collapsed back into one form. Sparks leaked from him, glow unsteady. Hunger pulled at him, every thread demanding fuel. He gave in, but with restraint. He dragged the corpses in one by one, never all at once.
Assimilate surged. Heat and flesh dissolved into essence, flooding his core. His body swelled, mass pressing at every thread. Instability screamed again, collapse looming. He Split wide to bleed it off, fragments shivering as they spread. Each Assimilation tightened his control, forcing him to manage intake thread by thread. It hurt. It nearly tore him apart. But he endured.
Pseudopods lashed at the ground even as he fed, sharper than before, faster, more precise. His instincts refined with every strike, his form adapting under the strain. The skill itself grew sharper, more versatile.
When the last hound was gone, only blackened ash and smoldering carcass fragments remained. Zeke rejoined, his body quivering but whole. He pulsed faintly, calculation weighing heavier than hunger. One great predator was dangerous. But a pack was worse. Numbers tore threads apart faster than claws.
The hunger still burned within him, but he had held the balance. The ashlands demanded survival, and he had endured again.
The System stirred.
System Update
Status
Name: Ezekiel AshbourneRace: Prime Slime (Unevolved)Level: 13 → 14
Affinity: Fire (Basic), Light (Basic), Darkness (Basic)
StatsSTR: 8AGI: 8VIT: 11WIL: 10RES: 11MNA: 42 → 45CTL: 14 → 15
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 → Lv.7): 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.