The ashlands lay still, a muted rhythm beneath Zeke's filaments. The silence was no longer the jagged quiet of a predator's shadow, nor the hollow calm left in the wake of the burrower's fall. Now it was something else entirely—an even stillness, broken only by the faint shuffle of vermin and the soft rasp of ash carried on the wind. For the first time in a long while, Zeke was not fighting for survival. Yet the hunger was constant. It pressed against him, urging, demanding, a dull burn that would not fade.
He resisted. Prey skittered within reach, their tiny sparks bright against the muted ash, but he did not strike. Consumption would steady him, yes, but it would also swell him further. Instability lurked, and refinement was worth more than hollow fullness. He let the gnawing remain, using it as grindstone against his thoughts. Hunger was no longer just a burden. It was a teacher.
He spread himself wide again. Split fragments rippled outward in concentric lines, threads sinking into cracks, weaving over ridges. Sparks shivered across the lattice, threatening to scatter, but he pulled them back, binding them tighter. The loom of yesterday had been foundation. Today, it would be stress. Threads must hold not in stillness, but under pressure.
Filaments crossed in layered webs, thin enough to quiver at the smallest motion. Sparks danced like fireflies where mana pressed too hard, bright warnings of collapse. Zeke forced stillness into them, layer by layer, weaving finer. He split again, doubling threads, then doubled once more. The strain was immense, each fragment a quivering bead of tension. Sparks spat violently, but he endured, pulling each back until they wove together in precarious balance. His form trembled like a web in storm, but it did not collapse.
He began to move.
The loom shifted as he rippled across the ash, pulling wide, then snapping tight. Threads curved, arced, lashed through dust. The wider he spread, the more sparks scattered. Instability clawed at the edges of his form, but he refused to retract. Instead, he layered further. Filaments folded over one another, twisting into braids that flexed instead of shattering. Mana bled, but less. For the first time, Split did not feel like endless dispersal. It felt like weaving.
Yet sparks still burned. Precision was not enough. He needed harmony.
He summoned Fire into his filaments. The lattice glowed faintly, threads sizzling as they scorched the ash beneath. Heat bled outward in ripples, forcing vermin to scatter. Sparks flared dangerously, threatening collapse. He steadied them, weaving tighter. Darkness came next, coiling around glowing threads, swallowing heat into shade. The clash rattled him, threads shivering between extremes. Sparks bled uncontrolled, but he bound them tighter, forcing Fire and Darkness to settle side by side. Where they touched, the web hummed with tension, unstable but survivable.
He pushed further, calling Light into another layer. It seared bright against the shade, arcs of brilliance dancing across his web. Sparks erupted instantly, scattering uncontrolled. The entire lattice shuddered on the edge of collapse, instability howling. For a moment, he thought he would unravel entirely, filaments snapping into formless fragments. Hunger surged, screaming for release, promising stability in consumption.
But he held. Darkness thickened, a shroud that drank away the scattering sparks. Fire steadied within it, heat compressed into coals instead of wildfire. Light flared once more, not as uncontrolled blaze, but as glimmers cast between shadows. Three affinities, crude and uneven, yet woven into something just short of collapse. The resonance was jagged, painful, but it did not tear him apart.
The instability deepened before it eased. Sparks cascaded in waves, some devouring filaments entirely. Zeke forced them back, weaving faster, more intricately, until the lattice itself became less web and more braid. Threads overlapped, folding over one another to distribute strain. The effort cost him dearly. Every pulse of thought felt like burning. Hunger clawed harder, demanding he break and feed. Still he endured.
He pulsed faintly, threads dimming, then drew inward. The lattice contracted, pulling affinities closer. Sparks shrieked, but he forced them still, weaving faster than they could unravel. Pain split through his awareness, but with it came clarity. Affinities were not separate weapons. They were threads of one fabric. Only when bound together would they sharpen into strength.
The strain nearly broke him. Sparks showered the ash in blinding arcs, his form trembling as if to tear itself apart. A lesser prey might have fled, but Zeke endured. He pulled every thread taut, every fragment bound to another, until the entire lattice hummed with tension. And then, slowly, the sparks lessened. The loom held. His web did not collapse.
When at last he withdrew, condensing into a compact form, silence returned. Sparks still hummed faint within, but they no longer bled uncontrolled. Hunger remained, constant as ever, but it was no longer distraction. It was fuel, steady flame at the heart of his weaving. For every near-collapse, there was strength gained. For every strain, a new thread forged.
He reflected in stillness. The hounds had taught coordination, the drake patience, the burrower anticipation. But this—this was something different. It was not the lesson of prey or predator. It was the lesson of himself. Control, resonance, hunger—woven together into endurance. The silence of the ashlands was no longer empty. It was a loom, and he was both thread and weaver.
The System stirred.
System Update
StatusName: Ezekiel AshbourneRace: Prime Slime (Unevolved)Level: 15
Affinity: Fire (Basic), Light (Basic), Darkness (Basic)
Stats
STR: 9
AGI: 9
VIT: 12
WIL: 10
RES: 11
MNA: 49 → 50
CTL: 19 → 20
Skills
Active Skills:
Split (Lv.6 → Lv.7): Divide body into fragments. Threads sustain wider spreads and finer densities with reduced mana bleed. Braided layering stabilizes under strain.
Assimilate (Lv.8): Absorb matter or energy to recover essence; smoother, more efficient absorption. Can now pull minor elemental traces.
Pseudopod (Lv.8 → Lv.9): Tentacle-like appendages with whip precision and crushing power. Now integrates more fluidly with Split, striking alongside threads without delay.
Passive Skills:
Amorphous Body (Lv.6): Immune to blunt trauma, flexible morphology. Reshapes seamlessly under combat pressure.