The ashlands no longer felt empty.
Where once silence pressed down like a predator's shadow, now the land itself seemed to breathe. Heat pulsed faintly through fissures, rhythmic, steady as a heartbeat. Zeke lingered low, filaments brushing against the ground, tasting every tremor. His vessel thrummed with a quiet strength; the storm had battered him, broken him into fragments again and again, but he had reformed stronger each time. Collapse was no longer defeat. It was practice.
Yet hunger remained. Relentless hunger. A constant gnaw at the edges of his awareness, urging him to consume, to expand, to lose control in fullness. He resisted still, though the restraint grew harder. The storm had cost him dearly. Sparks within him flickered dimmer than before. Mass thinned from endless reformations. Each filament strained to stretch as far as it once did. Hunger whispered: feed, and you will be whole. But instinct whispered back: endure, and you will be more.
He spread fragments wider, testing reach. Threads stretched into hollow burrows left by long-dead prey, into cracks where ash shifted with hidden heat. Sparks trembled faintly in the distance—vermin perhaps, or something larger. He waited, listening, weighing patterns. Not predators. Not rivals. Small lives, scurrying in rhythms too faint to threaten him. He could feed, and it would not undo him. But it would not sharpen him either. And sharpening mattered more than soothing.
So he turned inward once more.
His form expanded deliberately, stretching thin across the fissures. Heat rose in waves, searing filaments until they crackled. Sparks bled uncontrolled as essence boiled. He did not retract. Instead, he forced the heat deeper, weaving it into his threads. Fire responded instantly, surging into the lattice. Filaments glowed red, bright enough to sear vermin fleeing from their cracks. Hunger roared with the blaze, demanding he consume to balance the loss. He refused.
Darkness pressed in next, coiling around burning strands, swallowing heat until fire steadied. The lattice dimmed, threads glowing like coals instead of wild flame. Sparks settled, faint but controlled. Light followed, streaking through in arcs, searing brilliance weaving between shadow and ember. Together they hummed, unstable yet sharper than before. The resonance still grated, but less jaggedly. Where once they tore him apart, now they strained like cords drawn taut but unbroken.
The pressure mounted as he layered them deeper. Fire scorched, Darkness bound, Light cut, each pulling in its own direction. Sparks cascaded violently, burning away fragments, but he reformed faster, weaving tighter. The hunger inside sharpened into fury, a constant demand that he break the cycle with prey. He ignored it, every pulse of pain a reminder that endurance itself was the path forward.
And then the tremor came.
Not small, not faint. A heavy rhythm, distant at first but growing, shaking the ash beneath his filaments. Prey scattered instantly, fleeing into cracks. The ground shivered as something vast moved beneath the surface, larger even than the burrower he had fought before. Each tremor carried weight, a pounding rhythm of legs or claws tearing through stone. Zeke tightened instinctively, fragments pulling close. Hunger vanished beneath instinctual alertness. This was not the land's stillness. This was a predator.
The tremor circled wide. Then split. Two pulses, heavy and deliberate, moving apart before joining again. Zeke's threads quivered, straining to follow. Not one predator. Two. He stretched wider, weaving his lattice across the ground, each filament trembling at their movement. Sparks flared uncontrollably, his form threatening to unravel, but he steadied. He would not retreat.
The ash split in a violent eruption. A hulking form burst upward—chitin blackened with soot, eyes glowing faintly in the haze. Mandibles snapped, ash cascading in clouds. Another burst followed meters away, nearly identical, a second predator clawing from beneath. Twin hunters, armored and vast.
Ash Wyrmlings.
They surged forward together, mandibles clashing, each strike scattering ash and stone. Zeke split instantly, fragments scattering like shards across the field. Pseudopods lashed outward, striking plates, sparks showering at each impact. His blows slid across armor, leaving only faint cracks. The wyrmlings shrieked, tails lashing, bodies burrowing half back into the ground as they circled.
Instability surged as his fragments stretched wide, weaving nets to track both predators. Sparks bled uncontrolled, fire flaring through seams. He forced darkness to bind them, light to sharpen angles. Threads quivered with strain, but anticipation carried him. He had fought burrowers. He had endured storms. He would endure this.
One lunged from below, mandibles wide. Zeke lashed threads tight, binding jaws with darkness while fire seared into gaps. Light flared across its eyes, blinding. The beast shrieked, but its twin struck from behind, tearing through fragments. Pain ripped through him, sparks bleeding uncontrolled. Instability howled, threatening collapse. He reformed on instinct, weaving fragments tighter even as hunger screamed to consume. No. Not yet.
The wyrmlings circled, striking in tandem. Their rhythm was relentless—one attacking from above while the other surged from below. Zeke split wider, fragments darting in arcs, weaving nets around each strike. Sparks cascaded, pseudopods lashed, fire burned into armor, darkness bound legs, light flared across eyes. Each exchange cost him dearly, threads fraying, cohesion trembling. But each exchange sharpened instinct further.
The battle dragged on. Ash collapsed into pits where wyrmlings burrowed, clouds rising in choking waves. Zeke's lattice quivered like a storm-tossed web, every thread vibrating with pressure. Instability grew unbearable, sparks bleeding in torrents. He forced cohesion harder, weaving faster, braiding fragments tighter. Every collapse resisted became a victory. Every fragment reclaimed was survival. Hunger pulsed like a drum, begging release, but he endured. He was not prey. He was thread, vessel, weaver.
At last, one wyrmling faltered. Its body cracked from repeated searing, molten blood spilling into ash. Zeke pressed hard, threads binding, pseudopods striking, fire carving deeper into flesh. The beast convulsed, shrieked once, then collapsed in shudders. Its essence flared, heavy and molten. Hunger howled, demanding consumption. He gave in only carefully, pulling essence thread by thread, weaving it into himself with painstaking control. Sparks burned, essence grinding harshly, but he forced it into place.
The second wyrmling shrieked in fury, thrashing in circles. It surged from below, mandibles snapping into Zeke's core. Pain exploded, sparks cascading violently, fragments scattering across the ash. Instability screamed, collapse moments away. But he endured. Threads lashed, darkness binding jaws, light searing eyes, fire burning through soft seams. Pseudopods struck in tandem, each blow heavier than the last. The beast convulsed, struggling, then collapsed into the ash beside its kin.
Silence returned, broken only by faint crackle of molten blood cooling. Zeke pulsed faintly, fragments trembling, cohesion near collapse. Hunger surged stronger than ever, demanding release, demanding prey. He gave in this time, pulling both wyrmlings inward. Assimilate burned violently, their essence grinding against his threads like jagged stone. Sparks erupted uncontrolled, his vessel trembling on the brink of rupture. But he forced it still, weaving essence tighter, slower, smoother. Collapse loomed, but did not come.
He condensed, folding fragments inward, pulling into compact form. Hunger dulled faintly, not gone, but quieted. Sparks dimmed, instability settling into calm. He pulsed faintly, steady now. The predators were gone. He remained.
The System stirred.
System Update
StatusName: Ezekiel AshbourneRace: Prime Slime (Unevolved)Level: 15 → 16
Affinity: Fire (Basic), Light (Basic), Darkness (Basic)
STR: 9
AGI: 9
VIT: 14
WIL: 10
RES: 11
MNA: 52 → 55
CTL: 22 → 23
Skills
Active:
Split (Lv.7 → Lv.8): Divide body into fragments. Wider nets possible, braid-stability holds under dual predator assault. Coordination between fragments noticeably sharper.
Assimilate (Lv.8 → Lv.9): Absorb matter or energy to recover essence. Handles heavy elemental essences with reduced tearing. Wyrmling essence partially stabilized.
Pseudopod (Lv.9 → Lv.10): Tentacle-like appendages with whip precision and crushing power. Strikes now chain seamlessly with Split threads, enabling simultaneous binding and impact.
Passive:
Amorphous Body (Lv.8): Cohesion resists environmental turbulence. Reforms faster when scattered by external forces.