When I think my body has at last given up and the void will come to take me in its embrace, the whisper subsides.
I am tired. Exhausted.
I can’t even move enough to eat.
My body still feels on fire, but if the silence is anything to go by, the worst has come to pass.
While I recover, I wonder.
How long until something similar happens again?
Will I make it next time?
Luck runs out eventually.
Even for me.
I get up and crawl slowly to the healthier leaves.
I feel like I’m leaving a trail of blood behind, but I know my wounds are internal.
When I get there I struggle to form a single word.
Even my brain feels bruised.
I manage a weak Liquify that melts a small patch of plant matter.
I drink.
And I relish in my survival.
Victory.
It may not feel like it.
I may have suffered an inordinate amount against the first hostile being that I encountered.
But I’m alive.
And that is a privilege I don’t take for granted.
Days pass. Dark then bright.
Slowly, I get better.
The flares of agony abate until there is only a slight discomfort.
In the meantime, I grow.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
The tightness comes with little fanfare.
I already know what I need.
[Molt has granted Larvae +1 Strength]
[Molt has granted Larvae +1 Agility]
[Molt has granted Larvae the skill Pheromone]
[Pheromone: To deceive is to control]
I burst out of my skin stronger. Faster.
In the tail end of my body, there was a small protrusion. It almost looked like a horn, only softer. Useless. I assume that it was for mere intimidation purposes.
Not anymore. Now it is a proper piece of exoskeleton, hard and sturdy. Striking with my butt is much harder than my head, but it’ll make bugs think twice before attacking from behind.
My head has also been reinforced. A thick plate now covers the soft skin, and the strengthened muscles that line my torso should make it a decent weapon. Instead of stunning, a good hit should crush most insects.
The skill is a nice surprise. It seems that the bug that injected its eggs also marked me with a pheromone to ward off others of the same species. Or perhaps to remind itself that I was already infested.
With the help of the whisper, I managed to create a gland that should secrete the same pheromones used on me. My siblings are completely defenceless, after all. Beyond emotional attachment, having a pile of bodies between me and whatever beings might want to hurt me sounds like a good idea.
In my dreams, I do science.
I mix strange concoctions in baubles and cauldrons. Stir the ladle once, twice, thrice and sprinkle green dust that puffs into a black cloud as soon as it touches the mixture. I swirl my wand and chant an incantation, words bleeding together to form an incoherent mess of screeches and guttural sounds until I point to the potion with a flourish and it shines brightly for a moment.
So maybe it’s not science.
When I finish I take a good scoop and pour it into a wide glass bottle. I blow a last word into it then close it with a piece of cork. The room smells sharply and unbearably sour. Like month-old milk and bat guano. It’s an acquired taste. I go outside to fresh air and a pleasant sun and the chirping of birds at rise. Then I throw the bottle into a random tree and watch as it shatters into a thousand pieces, the foul liquid inside splashing everywhere. Satisfied, I clap my hands and walk back into my cottage.
My new glands are secreting something, so if it works I can’t complain about the methods.
It doesn’t take long for my siblings to arrive.
They seem to have tired of the same bland leaves when a bigger bounty was waiting for them around the corner.
As I had predicted, they are smaller than me. Although not by a huge margin.
But with my many ‘upgrades’, the whisper insists that I am significantly stronger.
No matter. Their strength lies in numbers.
I make my rounds and coat a bit of their skin in the stinking fluid. Or it should be, at least for the bugs that prey on us. We don’t smell a thing, and I suspect most insects won’t either, unless they have receptors for this specific chemical mixture.
I eat. And I wait.
This many maggots should make for a juicy target, but even after a few days have come to pass none of my siblings die by another insect. They sometimes swallow poisoned leaves or perish from some other disease they have carried from earlier, but none of them explode from dozens of bugs eating their insides.
We are in luck.
It seems like what infested me goes only for the bigger specimens. And that the pheromones that I’ve created keeps them away.
Perhaps my assault was a blessing in disguise.
But I have to say.
What a shitty disguise.