Deep in the hidden grotto, a silver creature sat in a pool of similar liquid. Its body was viscous, rippling as it continued to spawn the new clutch. Forms made of what looked akin to mercury slithered from the depths, moving onto the rocky floor. Each creature exited the pool, lifting its snout into the air. Their whiskers extended well beyond their bodies, and a single neon red stripe ran down the center of their spines.

These were a new evolution of Silver Cats, produced by their hive. All of "Mort's" focus was on this task. Not far from the pool, several wolves knelt down, waiting for the countless creatures to climb upon them.

Ten direwolves, all covered with silver bodies easily mistaken for leeches, stepped out into the open air just beyond a large willow tree. Down the hill a border of forestry blocked a hidden path toward a village. It would take less than a day for them to travel there.

"Mort?" Lyn croaked from her bed. Sitting up quickly, she looked panicked. But he was not nearby. Before the tears could fall, the smell of roasted duck filled her nose, causing her head to turn toward the source. At her bedside, a basket waited for her, proving her memories of the night before were real. She breathed out a sigh of relief and wiped the beading tears from her eyes. "Thank God, it was not a dream," she said aloud, reaching for the basket. She stood up, her curly red hair, looked as if a cow had licked it, and it stuck that way.

She checked Gorthan's room first, then the bathroom, the living room, and finally Mort’s room. She could feel a smile forming on her lips; it was warm and endearing. He was sitting with a book face down in his lap, his eyes closed, and he seemed to be dreaming. The title on the spine read ‘Love, Languages, and You.’ That’s so him, she thought to herself. Suppressing a giggle she gently placed the basket by the door. Slowly she snuck over to him, inching ever closer to his ear, she let out an adorable growl from the back of her throat. She could see the goosebumps form on his neck. He had yet to move, so she took advantage of him, encircled her arms around him and bit his ear.

Unknown to Lyn, Mort's eyelid had opened ever so slightly; he watched her inch closer like a cat. It deemed her not a threat in the slightest. It played along with her game, enduring the bite, but still, it sent a shiver down its spine.

A hand reached up to cover his ear, and he scolded her, “Lyn, you can’t be doing that.” His face was beet red. She spun on her heels, ignoring his outburst. She leaned forward, while her shirt twirled around her like a dress.

“Is it because I’m cute?” she asked, posing with her finger pressed to her chin, in an unusually high pitch. Her bedhead made her look beyond adorable. It also looked like she had taken the time to change out of the clothes she had been wearing for days.

It was fast; he closed his eyes, took a single breath, but it did not help. His body moved on its own. Rising from his chair, the book fell to the floor, and he moved toward her. He grabbed her wrists with his right hand and pushed her backward until she was forcibly pressed into the wall. She was surprised, but she did not fight it. His lips almost touched hers as he bent down slightly. He could smell her, the faint smell of salt from the day old tears she had yet to wash away.

Mort lifted the basket with his other hand and said, "Let's eat." The heat of his words touched her lips, causing them to tingle. He released her hands and walked out of the room with the basket in his left hand.

She stayed there for a moment, still against the wall. Her heart was beating rapidly, and the heat in her cheeks refused to die down. It was too much. Her hands fell to her sides, and she smiled. After taking a few calming breaths, she began to wonder what else he would do if she continued to play this game with him.

As they ate, he told her about the rumors he had been hearing around town. There had been a lot of talk about an influx of goblins raiding the smaller villages on the outskirts. The guild was offering eight silver per left ear, It was how they ensured no one was claiming extra rewards.

The thing about goblins is that if left unchecked, they would breed rapidly until eventually, a horde formed that only 8th-circle adventurers could deal with. Otherwise, goblin ears would likely remain a measly few coppers. As the adventures say. “It's Goblin season.” Mort said aloud.

He looked genuinely concerned for the outlying villages, but inwardly, it was drooling at the idea of acquiring their genetic information. It had never had access to so much information before, and this human Mort was full of interesting knowledge. He was like an encyclopedia of monster history. It wondered how the goblins would taste and what sort of new Silver Cat it could create from their genetics.

Lyn was looking at him with wide, admiring eyes. She had never realized how cool he was—or at least she had never wanted to admit it out loud. “You’re so...” She covered her face with her hands and shook her head. It was so embarrassing.

“I’m what?” he said, tilting his head to the side. His expression was so serious, she couldn’t help but think he was cute.

“Cool,” she breathed out, saying the word so softly as she peered through her fingers to see his reaction.

A small smile formed on his lips, and he tilted his head the other way. “Am I?”

Her hands dropped, and she slammed them on the table as she stood up, her face a bright crimson as she said, “And cute!” She covered her face again, trying to hide. But it was too late; her impulses always won in the end. Why did I do that?!

He glanced away from her, his human heart beating fast, and that fluttering feeling began to swim in the pit of his stomach. ‘I ate already, this is not hunger,’ he declared inwardly. His face was a bright red, but she didn't seem to notice. She was too embarrassed to look out from behind her fingers.

Unconsciously, he touched his lips, thinking back to the guild master’s office. ‘This feeling…’ His eyes glanced at her. ‘Is her fault.’ What has she done to us? he thought, as fear slowly started to build in the pit of his stomach, but also curiosity.

After a few hours of chatting with each other and discussing what they should do—you know, with Gorthan having to be dead, or missing—they decided it might be time to find a new third for their party.

With that in mind, he drew a chart with the different circles and the typical pay rate for each one. At the top were the most rare and considered national treasures: 10th circle, followed by 9th, 8th, and so on. The first circle consisted of adventurers who were weak and in need of improvement. Those in the 5th circle and above were considered incredibly strong.

“So, should we settle for a first, second, or ideally get a third circle?” he asked Lyn. What would she say? What would she think? He grew more and more curious, as he learned about the girl, beyond merely relieving memories buried in his new body.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

She put a finger to her chin and looked up at the ceiling while she considered the question. Mort found himself possessed by a sudden need. He stood up, momentarily distracting her, as he lifted a couple of short swords off the table. He held them in his hands, closed his eyes, and let Gorthan’s memories of years of swordsmanship training fill his mind. But it wasn’t just his human mind— the hive itself learned these things, and through Mort's body, it took a fighting stance. He swung the blades expertly, hearing the tips of the swords sing.

Lyn put her hands on the table, far more excited than she should have been. “Waaah, but you—wha—” It was just a bunch of noise coming from her mouth as she excitedly moved her hands. He let out a slow breath and turned his eyes toward her. A bit of silver lingered in his iris, spider webbing through the rest of it until his eye color fully shifted to an iridescent, constantly moving color.

“I feel different,” he said aloud.

She covered her mouth and was in awe. “Mort, y-your eyes. They're so pretty!” She got really close to him, holding his face in her hands while staring into them. They were like two glowing, rainbow-colored orbs. She excitedly dragged him into the bathroom. Their feet sloshed through a few inches of water. The sink was filled beyond capacity, and the spigot was still on, but nothing poured out –only because it had run out of water. She had totally forgotten about it.

He touched his face, looking down at his own reflection. ‘How unexpected. Something has changed within my body.’ He turned his gaze toward Lyn and placed a hand on each of her shoulders. “You're cleaning the mess you made while I refill the water.” he was stern with his words.

She whined and pouted, sticking out her lower lip. “B-but Mort!”

His heart fluttered, and the words too cute formed in his mind. He leaned in close to her and licked her cheek, dragging his tongue along the salt trail under her left eye. “Be a good girl and clean up.” He walked past her, brushing the tips of his fingers along her collarbone before leaving the house. That book he had read was working well.

She stood frozen, her heart beating wildly. Her face burned so hot that she had to rush for the water basin and splashed cold water on her face. Slapping her own cheeks, she thought, ‘Why was that so hot?’ She shook herself from such thoughts and did as he said. After all, she was the one who had made the mess in the first place.

Mort stood outside, his left hand covering his face. ‘These emotions are overpowering. Humans are so very interesting.’ He calmed himself a bit and moved to the back of the house, filling a stone reservoir with blue essence. He caused it to shift forms and filled it with water. It was a simple task, something even first-circle mages could do.

“Ah, finally, I'm at the cave,” Mort said aloud. His eyes closed as he peered through a new set of eyes.

The beggar stood at the cave entrance, the wolves having long since scurried off into the forest, heading toward the next target. Meanwhile, this body continued deeper into the cave. It had no talents, no wealth of knowledge—just alcoholism, memories of criminal violence, and countless other cruel deeds. It proceeded to the large room with the silver pool, and the beggar's arms lifted into a T-pose as tendrils shot from the silver pool, latching onto the beggar and hoisting him into the air. The tendrils rolled him countless times, probing and testing. Learning.

It verified certain facts about the human body that Mort had read about, while also disproving some of the falsehoods. Then, the mound of silver opened up, revealing teeth that almost resembled the serrated teeth of a shark. The teeth clamped down over the human, slurping him into the depths of its mouth. After a few crunches, it could taste the extra information it needed. It needed to create a new Silver Cat to replace the one in Mort—a more perfect, stronger cat. Its silver maw curled into a smile. Even among humans, Mort is special, it thought as it sank down into the depths of the silver and vanished from sight.

Mort abruptly opened his eyes and began heading toward the guild hall. The familiar Fat Cat building stared back at him. The owner was something else for making it look that way. He pushed through the entrance and stood in the middle of the adventurer guild. Clearing his throat, he spoke loudly, “Is anyone in the third or second circle not in a party?” Mort asked, a few individuals raised their hands. "Alright, Follow me." Mort walked past the receptionist without glancing at her, heading into one of the side meeting rooms and holding the door open for the others. Six people filed in, giving him a small pool to choose from.

One was a nervous-looking girl clutching a wand. Her face was unremarkable, and Mort found himself thinking she was not nearly as pretty as Lyn, which was starting to concern him.

The next was a man dressed in robes similar to Mort’s, but his were silver and embroidered with a “3” marking on the back. Another was a man wearing armor, save for a helmet, with two axes strapped to his hips. The one that stood out the most, however, was a scrawny boy with arms that looked like twigs; he seemed to be about eighteen. Mort himself was twenty-six, but this boy appeared to be the youngest in the group. Then he noticed his hands. Each hand was covered in scales, and the tips of his fingers ended in talons, almost like claws. Mort smiled—so far, he was only interested in that boy.

The next person was a girl wearing a pointed hat with a wide brim, but her back bore only the number “1.” Mort stopped her. “Girl, get out. I don't need you.” She huffed, turned around, and shoved past the rest. Seeing this, the last person followed her out instead of joining the others inside.

Mort sat down on the couch opposite the remaining candidates and crossed his legs. “So here's the deal. For the mages in the second or third circle, how much essence can you manipulate without getting tired?”

The girl answered, “Six gallons,” while the man looked down at the floor and muttered, “Two.” Mort sighed and looked at the two of them. “Both of you can leave. Thanks for coming.” They were far too weak. Mort glanced at the man with two axes. “What class are you?” he asked. He could kind of tell, but he still needed to confirm.

The man had a thick accent, clearly not from around here. “Aye, I'm a Berserker,” he said, looking smug.

Mort gave him a blank stare. “You can leave as well.” Berserkers didn’t know how to think, and Mort couldn’t stand fools. The man looked livid but knew better than to attack someone in the hall; at least he had that much sense. Now, only Mort and the boy were left in the room. “Your class is Dragonkin,” he stated simply. The boy's eyes widened in surprise. “So, what circle have you reached?” Mort asked.

He looked down at the floor. “First circle, sir.” Normally, Mort would tell someone like this to hit the road, but the class itself was so rare.

“Why are you adventuring?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“I'm an orphan, sir,” the boy replied, looking really nervous. This was probably his first time in this kind of meeting. “So, I don’t have many options,” he finished. Inwardly, Mort was salivating at the idea of consuming this boy with his real body. But he knew he needed to maintain his camouflage, at least for now.

“And your name is?” Mort asked, glancing at the door.

The boy was visibly sweating at this point. He looked like he wanted to run. “Drake, because of my class,” he said, looking embarrassed by the name.

Mort stood up, held out a hand, and smiled broadly. “Welcome to Triple Threat, newbie!” The boy took his hand and looked like he was about to cry. Mort asked him where he was staying, how he was doing on money, if he had training materials, and a bunch of other questions. Mort was meticulous about this kind of thing, and the fact that the boy was an orphan meant no one would miss him if he was gone. Mort unconsciously licked his lips at the thought.

“Anyway, since you don’t really have a place to stay or any materials of your own, you can stay with us. But if you cause trouble...” Mort's rainbow-colored eyes shifted to a violent red behind his glasses. “I won’t be kind.” Just as quickly as his eyes changed color, they returned to their rainbow hue.

But instead of invoking fear in the boy, it only excited him. “That was so cool! How did you do that? Is that a magic trick? Is there some kind of super cool essence thing you—” He trailed on for a couple of minutes, not really pausing to breathe, with all his nerves seemingly gone. Mort actually had no idea what he was talking about. But rather than explore the question, he moved on.

Mort lifted a hand, and the boy finally stopped talking, sucking in a huge breath but remaining silent otherwise. “Well, let's go see your new home—and my woman.” Mort looked away from the boy as he strode past him, his face turning red. ‘Why did we say that?’ it was concerning.