The ashlands smoldered in silence, fissures glowing faintly beneath the crust. Zeke lingered low, filaments draped over broken stone. The battle with the wyrmlings had left his vessel trembling, sparks dim from strain. Though he had survived, the victory pressed a heavy cost. Their molten essence now burned inside him, coarse and grinding, a weight that refused to settle. Every pulse of thought dragged sparks loose. Every attempt at cohesion felt jagged, uneven.
Hunger gnawed sharper than ever. The wyrmlings' essence fed him, yet it left him emptier somehow, craving endlessly. He knew the temptation of prey scattered nearby—small sparks hiding in the ash, vermin trembling in their holes. One touch, one feed, and the pain would dull. But he refused. Weak fuel would only smother the lesson. The burden of essence was a forge, and he would endure the fire.
He spread wide, splitting threads across the ground. The molten traces within him resisted, lashing violently at each division, threatening collapse. Sparks bled uncontrolled, raining across ashstone. He forced them back, weaving harder, splitting wider, until his lattice hummed with pressure. The wyrmlings had not only been predators—they were trials, and their weight would sharpen him.
The strain pressed unbearable. Filaments twisted, burning like molten veins, and then collapsed entirely. His form scattered, fragments dissolving into sparks. But collapse was no longer defeat. Collapse was practice. He reformed at once, weaving faster, harder, until the sparks bound into threads once more. Then he stretched again, daring collapse to return. Over and over he repeated the cycle. Break, reform. Break, reform. Each time his body remembered, faster, tighter. Each collapse left him stronger than the one before.
Yet the molten essence resisted still, pressing deeper, threatening to unravel him entirely. He lashed outward instinctively—pseudopods striking against shattered stone. They cracked and splintered under his blows, molten sparks scattering with each strike. Again and again he lashed out, stabilizing himself through motion. The strain surged, and then the System stirred.
Skill Evolution Available.
His awareness froze. The prompt pulsed bright in the silence, unmistakable. Pseudopod, the first weapon he had ever wielded, had reached its limit. The System offered more. He felt the change hovering, not imposed but waiting, as if asking.
He accepted.
The shift was immediate. His pseudopods no longer lashed as simple whips. They thickened, threads braiding tighter, weaving into limbs instead of tendrils. Fibers flexed, hardened, then loosened, reshaping themselves again. One moment they curved like whips, supple and fast. The next they compressed into jagged blades, edges sharp enough to carve ashstone with a single strike. Then they spread wider, fingers of filaments splitting apart into crude hands, capable of grasping, of holding.
The transformation rippled inward. It was not only surface that shifted but essence. His threads braided differently now, woven with purpose. Where before his limbs had been extensions drawn from mass, now they were rooted into his core, stabilizing him as much as striking. Every strike carried cohesion, every grasp anchored balance. They were not simply weapons. They were part of his vessel.
Zeke tested instinctively. He slashed down into stone, shearing a clean groove. He clenched, crushing a shard until it crumbled to dust. He snapped outward, limbs unfurling into whip strands that lashed across the ash before rejoining. No longer extensions. These were limbs, weapons of will rather than instinct. They carried intent.
The System confirmed: Pseudopod → Morphic Arms.
He pulsed faintly, reflecting. This was not merely strength. It was function. Where pseudopods had been crude lashes, these arms were tools—adaptable, reshaping as thought demanded. Weapons, yes, but more. He had evolved his first true form.
The molten essence surged again, burning hotter as if reacting to the shift. Sparks cascaded violently, forcing him back to focus. Fire roared through his threads, uncontrollable, searing until his lattice glowed bright red. He nearly collapsed again, but darkness pressed tight, swallowing heat, binding flames into steady coals. The lattice steadied. For a moment the fire simmered instead of raging.
Light burst next, flashing sharp across his filaments. Sparks showered uncontrolled, scattering into brilliance, but he pulled them back, weaving faster, binding them between shade and ember. The lattice hummed, not collapse but resonance. Painful, jagged resonance, yet steadier than before.
The System stirred again. Affinity shifted.
Fire Affinity: Basic → Intermediate.
Zeke trembled at the change. Fire no longer burned wild within him. At Basic, it had been hunger's spark—wild, flaring, wasteful, devouring without thought. Now it simmered like molten stone, steady, enduring, patient. Heat pressed through him not as chaos but as forge, every pulse measured, every spark shaped. His vessel thickened, hardened with its weight, filaments glowing faintly like tempered iron pulled from coals. Darkness folded over it smoothly, binding cracks, swallowing excess. Light flared in arcs that cut sharp but brief, no longer scattering endlessly. Together they pressed toward balance, though still crude. Fire had grown beyond hunger's whim. It had become a forge.
Strength coursed through him, heavy and grounding. His vessel did not feel fragile now. It felt tempered, as if the molten essence had been folded into steel. He flexed his new arms, carving ashstone clean, weaving threads wide. Each motion carried new weight. Each collapse resisted was easier than the last. Fire was no longer instability to suppress. It was fuel to shape.
The molten burden pressed still, but now it was fuel. Assimilate burned brighter than ever, threads grinding essence into cohesion. Sparks cascaded, but each flare smoothed quicker. The strain peaked, essence folding in tighter layers, until the System stirred a third time.
Assimilate Lv.10. Evolution Available.
The prompt hovered. He sensed paths branching—one toward greater hunger, one toward deeper mastery. He glimpsed faint shapes: a maw without end, devouring all, essence stripped to fuel without pause. Another, a forge, weaving essence directly into vessel, every prey becoming permanence. Power lay in both. Yet choice pressed heavy, too heavy.
He pulsed faintly, steadying. His vessel trembled still, unstable, unready. To evolve now would be collapse. He could see it—the molten wyrmling essence tearing him apart if he rushed. The System's offer was not gift but test. He would not break himself by reaching too soon. He forced the prompt away, locking the choice for later. The future would decide. For now, restraint was strength.
The silence returned, heavy but calm. His body dimmed, sparks fading into steady glow. Hunger remained, gnawing constant, but dulled by molten weight. He pulsed faintly, stretching filaments across the ash. The wyrmlings were gone. But they had not vanished. They lived within him now—woven as threads into his vessel, arms, and flame.
He reflected. Predators no longer merely hunted him. They were not only trials to survive. Their essence was material, their strength fuel, their nature threads in his loom. He was no longer merely prey enduring predators. He was predator consuming predators, weaving their forms into his own.
The ashlands whispered with faint heat, fissures glowing in silence. Zeke pulsed quietly, steady. For the first time, he felt more than survival. He felt change.
The System stirred.
System Update
Status
Name: Ezekiel Ashbourne
Race: Prime Slime (Unevolved)
Level: 16
Affinity: Fire (Intermediate), Light (Basic), Darkness (Basic)
Stats
STR: 9
AGI: 9
VIT: 14
WIL: 10
RES: 11 → 16
MNA: 55 → 56
CTL: 23 → 24
Skills
Active Skills:
Split (Lv.8 → Lv.9): Divide body into fragments. Wider nets possible, braid-stability refined further. Instability disperses faster across fragments.
Assimilate (Lv.9 → Lv.10): Absorb matter or energy to recover essence. Handles molten essences with greater efficiency. Evolution Available: Essence Feast (locked).
Morphic Arms (Evolved from Pseudopod): Adaptive limbs capable of shifting into whips, blades, or grasping forms. Integrated with Split for synchronized motion.
Passive Skills:
Amorphous Body (Lv.8 → Lv.9): Vessel reforms more quickly after collapse. Resists molten strain with greater resilience.