The ants learn their lesson.

We don’t get any more raids of that magnitude.

Other predators test their luck and I get into a few scrapes, but none are a threat to the level of the previous battle.

My wounds heal quite quickly. My siblings seem to have recovered, too. Sans a couple of losses, we are back to the state we were at.

As time runs its course, we keep growing. The itch makes a visit, after many days.

I surround myself with caterpillars and begin the process.

The whisper offers me a world of possibility. My wildest dreams are but a molt and a word away. I have gathered many ideas from my fights and the quiet, long hours of feeding.

First is protection. Hardy as I might be, if a truly dangerous bug got close I would be done for. But a tougher exoskeleton would only make me slower. Therefore, the hairs are back.

These are not the same hairs as before, though. They’re longer and much more resilient. I don’t know what they’re made of, but it doesn’t seem to be a normal material. The downside is that I can’t use them for hearing, but that’s not a big concern of mine for now. The whisper more than makes up for such a short-ranged sense.

Second is healing. I said before that I recover quickly, but I’d feel much safer if I were able to heal even the gravest of wounds. There are no doctors around, after all.

Sadly, this is pretty expensive. Especially for a species like mine, which focuses most of its energy in growing absurdly fast. I have the good fortune of having a particularly efficient diet and a surplus of it, but I won’t be able to afford more changes that require such a high nutritional upkeep.

Third, poison. Nothing too extreme. I can borrow some of the existing infrastructure for my pheromones and make a light sedative or a pain inducing liquid. If anything, it’ll make predators hesitate. Eating a mysteriously lethal being is a seriously bad idea.

That is the limit of my skill. I don’t have enough energy left to make anything else. But this is certainly my most ambitious molting so far. My hairs require a lot of matter and my regeneration energy.

[Molt has granted Larvae +1 Endurance]

[Molt has granted Larvae +1 Intelligence]

[Molt has granted Larvae +1 Wisdom]

[Molt has granted Larvae the skill Regeneration]

[Molt has granted Larvae the skill Poison]

[Regeneration: To live is to persist]

[Poison: To kill is to survive]

As soon as I escape my skin prison I notice the difference. The world around me is muted. Even the bark of the branch I’m on is hard to feel with my hairs acting as a buffer for my skin. Every touch is absorbed by my new armor, and I can barely feel the breeze.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

I lost another sense, but the price is worth paying. I can tell that it will be much harder to hurt me, and coupled with my regeneration I should be borderline unstoppable for the weaker bugs that wander in this area. The whisper wasn’t merciful enough to make the shock absorption as effective the other way around.

In my dreams, I cook.

The new recipe I have in mind is nastier. I cut garlic and onions and squeeze a batch of lemons into the cauldron. My table is full of strange and esoteric ingredients. With a deranged cackle, I grab a screaming plant from the roots and throw it whole on the simmering concoction. I stir the ladle once, twice, thrice and watch it change to a black, disgusting color. I swirl my wand and begin a chant of suffering wails and pained groans. When I finish, a foreboding miasma starts to spill out of the iron, rotting the wood of the floor as it passes. I take a flask and fill it to the brim of the evil liquid, chuckling sinisterly all the while.

My deeper self has a flair for dramatics.

The venom flows easily out of my glands. I listen to the whisper gush with disturbing glee about the potential pain and suffering that it can cause.

In the end, it is but a part of me.

The next time an enemy approaches, I test my new and augmented body.

I let it attack me.

Its mandibles close near my torso and try futilely to cut through my hairs.

After a few minutes where I don’t even bother to stop eating, I finally conclude that the situation won’t change anytime soon.

A shame. I wanted to try my healing.

A slight turn of the head and a shower of poison rains on the pitiable insect.

It writhes on the ground, trying to dislodge the liquid clinging to its skin.

It doesn’t cause a lot of actual damage. In fact, a few liters would probably drown before it killed anything. But the pain seems to be quite debilitating, and when it recovers enough to move the bug escapes as swiftly as it is able to.

I watch it run with a complicated feeling of elation. On one hand, I’m proud of the progress that I’ve made since I was a tiny, powerless worm. On the other hand, I don’t want to think about the implications of the turn that my dreams took.

I strut haughtily around my siblings, daring any foolish insects to attack the cute tagalongs. As more and more beings fall under my graceful head bashes, my arrogance starts to reach the ceiling.

That is, until we migrate to more bountiful branches and the whisper starts screeching like crazy.

Right. I am small fry. I should try to keep that in mind.

Luckily, I manage to make my siblings change course. It only takes a few shoves and a great deal of patience, but the dangerous predator doesn’t seem keen on chasing after us. It must be something of an ambusher.

My diet also changed with my body.

It is approaching nonsensical territories.

I need a few leaves to sustain me for a day now. Sometimes, I have to distance myself from my siblings a bit, lest I eat all of their food. Their appetite is voracious too, but nothing noteworthy compared to mine.

But my whispering has reached a proficiency that abates this problem.

If I used Liquify as I had been doing until now, the leaves would bend under the weight of the fluid and drip all of my food to the ground. But as I have come to familiarize myself with the whisper of these plants so much—and probably, also thanks to the growth of my brain and subsequent point gains—, I’m able to hold the word around my mouth and transform the leaves on contact.

It is a delicate process. Complex. I have to say the word with a constant influx of whispers, which requires regular focus.

But it’s not like I have anything better to do with my time.

As a result, I can slurp down an entire leaf without a drop of waste. My siblings, similarly, don’t leave anything behind, but my method is fairly quicker.

Days pass, dark then bright. Besides some boringly one-sided fights, not much of note happens.

And then disaster strikes.