If it were before the loss of my home, I’d be excited at the prospect of a challenging beast, but after that Titan, I find myself hesitating.

Such a reaction isn’t like me. I’ve been waiting for decent competition for so many hunts, but a single experience has me spooked? I’m tempted to dive right back into the depths of the creature’s nest to disprove this cowardice. No matter the beast, I’ll overcome it… as long as it isn’t the Titan.

You know what? No, I will not be distracted. My goal to find what lies ahead is more important than challenging some slightly strong beast.

I whip away from the upper half of the corpse and return to the large tunnel. Scia chirps at the sudden motion, indignant at having almost been tossed off. I ignore it and slither through brittle bone and gore.

There’s no avoiding the filth — not without flight — and I can only hope it’ll clear off my scales once we’re clear. I’d rather not carry the stench with me.

Scia squeaks again, but when I turn, I notice my passenger staring off to the side. Along the side of the tunnel is a half-eaten bat. The creature is far too large to be related to the one behind me — what with it being twice the size of the merminea — but Scia is still shocked to see one of their greater kin dead.

There are plenty of other creatures amongst the piles of dead that I’ve never seen. A mass of carapace with pincers larger than its midsection; the shell of a tortoise, empty of any innards; a long, hairy, chitinous leg crossing the width of this tunnel. The sight of so many unique species is encouraging; it means the area ahead is somewhere I’ve never been.

The tunnel continues for a long while. Eventually the corpses thin out, but the walls are still caked with dried blood from endless deaths brought through here. Another check on Scia reveals its wing no longer blocking the bat’s muzzle.

Beneath me, the ground gradually slopes upward, which is a good thing… until the incline is so great I can no longer progress. The tunnel has a few equally large branching paths to my sides, but none angle up besides this one. If there were roots or jutting rocks lining the tunnel, it would be possible to climb, but there are none. Doesn’t help that the tunnel becomes vertical only a short distance ahead.

I put in some effort to climb as far as I can so I can at least see up the chamber. Unfortunately, it is a pointless endeavour as the end of the tunnel isn’t visible.

Now what? Back to the smaller tunnels? Search the larger ones I just passed? I’d been hoping this would lead me directly to the place beyond the border, but it obviously won’t be so easy. I should be happy to know I’m close. Never did I imagine my search would be quick, so why does such a small obstruction annoy me so?

Scia chirps. I’ve been staring up this shaft for long enough to worry the little bat, have I?

Turning to look at the little one, I barely catch it blinking out of existence. A high-pitched screech echoes from above, before Scia appears on my back again, as if they never left. Their head twists, ears swivelling as they stare toward one of the smaller tunnels. Scia looks to me, before another hole forms around its body and takes it to the nearly unnoticeable crack in the wall.

I simply stare. Has the little creature finally decided to leave me alone? Is she going to leave me to my solitude? Well, I’m not about to give it the chance to back down on its choice.

I move toward another branching path along the other wall. Before I even make it a full body length, Scia chirps and appears before my head, blocking my way. The bat’s expression twists in anger, which makes me open my mouth to bite the annoying rodent.

She’s gone the next instant, screeching at me from across the tunnel. I let out a hiss and move to continue, but Scia appears in front of me again. She bats me on the snout with her unharmed wing.

I stare open-mouthed at the audacity. Just how stupid can it be? All I need to do is lunge forward and it’ll be dead, but thoughts of actually doing so flee my mind at the sheer incomprehensibility of its actions.

She’s pouting again.

Scia is gone. Once more over by the crack in the wall, the bat waves its wing at me. It’s clear now it wants me to follow, rather than leave my side, but after whacking me with its tiny, weightless wing, why should I go where it wants?

I find myself slithering over there, regardless.

Even as small as I currently am, the crack is only barely wide enough to slide through. I brush past Scia, who chirps happily and blinks onto my back, nestling comfortably in the same spot as ever.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

The tight passage immediately descends, clearly not leading up to where I want to go. I glance back to Scia, whose ears twitch with each chirp. Am I truly trusting the bat’s direction? It could somehow detect the worm, so maybe I’d be willing to give it the benefit of the doubt… if we weren’t going down.

Scia, noticing my gaze, clambers along my back until they sit on my head, right between the eyes. The bat juts its head forward, small snout pointing toward the widening tunnel off to the left. I look into the indicated branching cave, but find it leads down further. Uncertain of their choice, my eyes return to my passenger, but Scia remains steadfast.

I hiss, resigned to waste my time, and follow the bat’s directions.

At first, my doubt only grows. We continue downward long enough that I’m sure it was a mistake to listen, but Scia is determined. It is only the odd sight of such a weak, lesser creature acting so confident that delays any attempt to turn around. I find it… amusing.

It’s a bit like watching the playful bilbies. Do they jump around and act so self-assured because they don’t realise how small they are, or does it have something to do with their short lives? Are they willing to put themselves in danger for enjoyment because they realise some predators cannot be run from? Is that why Scia sticks to me despite being the most terrifying existence it has seen? Because it knows its life is short and doesn’t care?

It makes some sense considering the sheer lack of self-preservation it has shown. But… what does it find enjoyable about sticking near me? The constant proximity to a being of insurmountable power shouldn’t be enjoyable, it should be terrifying.

To my surprise, the tunnel eventually curves upward. The slope is steep, but by bending my body, I can keep my sides pressed against the wall for more grip and slowly push myself up. I can’t slither as fast, but we rise quicker than anywhere else in the interwoven tunnels.

After gaining quite a distance in this tunnel, it splits off again. I intend to follow my current path further up, as it has taken me this far already, but Scia shrieks at me, jutting its muzzle to the side. The indicated tunnel leads back down. I cast a doubtful gaze at Scia. As far as I can tell, we can still go a long while climbing this shaft.

Scia is adamant. Not even looking anywhere besides the tunnel that will have us backtracking again. Little ears twitch often, but always return to the branching cave Scia points toward.

I cast a last longing gaze at the shaft above before sliding through the opening to a wider tunnel. Scia was right once; I can at least give it the benefit of the doubt.

Turns out, the bat is right again. Though this time, we aren’t without obstruction.

Ahead is a shaft opening in the ceiling of the cavern. Only, it is behind a forest of vine-like roots that hang from above. They hardly seem like a problem at first, but as I move toward the opening, I watch as they all reach for me. No, they don’t reach for me; they’re angled slightly too high for that. They reach for my little passenger.

I poke my head into the first of the vines and while they let me brush them aside at first, the moment I try to pull back, they cling tight to my scales and wrap around my body. I snap them at the roots with a bit of strength, but the vines show greater strength than their size would indicate. If Scia were to get tangled… well, I don’t think there will be a Scia any longer.

This is my opportunity, right?

No. Scia’s already proven effective at navigating these tunnels. I can get rid of the tiny bat afterwards.

So, how do I get Scia across without being torn apart by these vines?

The little bat, likely realising the problem, blinks right beneath the shaft we need to get to. They appear in the single spot where the vines don’t grow, but that doesn’t mean they are safe. Each of the vines leap toward the bat, trying to grab what placed itself right in the middle of its trap. Scia squeaks in fear and reappears on my back a moment before the vines can snatch her up in their grasp.

My hiss of amusement is completely involuntary.

Scia blinks to my snout and whacks me with her one good wing and chirps in anger, sulking. I should be annoyed, but her actions only incite more huffs of laughter from my throat.

This little thing thought it was so clever.

With slow motions, I bring my tail up to carry Scia off my head and place her on the ground. She maintains her pout the entire time, but doesn’t avoid my touch.

With Scia not with me, I choose the easiest solution and rush through the tunnel, tearing all the vines from their roots whether because they made the mistake of grabbing me, or snapping my jaw down on a bundle of them. Soon enough, the tunnel is clear.

I slither toward the now unobstructed opening in the ceiling, but hesitate. Turning toward Scia, I wait for them to join me. With a happy chirp, the bat rides on my back once more, annoyance forgotten.

I have to increase my size slightly to reach the ceiling, but as soon as I’m inside, climbing isn’t a problem. Only when there’s too much space, or not enough, are vertical shafts difficult to climb. Regardless of my climbing ability, it becomes a non-issue soon enough.

A viscous substance coats the walls of the vertical tunnel and clings to my scales as I make my way up. I could relax my muscles entirely and it would likely hold my weight. Annoyingly, the higher I climb, the thicker it gets. While it stops me falling, it only makes climbing slower than it could be.

Somehow, I just know this sticky substance won’t clean off easily.

Scia sticks to the part of my back not drenched in the jam. I’m tempted to twist my body so the little bat gets a taste of what I have to swim through… but doing so would dirty even more of my scales.

A tiny bug lands in the goo. It tries to eat the thick substance, but only sinks itself further. The minuscule life struggles longer than expected, before growing still, suffocating or drowning in the liquid.

Well, Scia isn’t the only one foolish enough to kill itself because it couldn’t distinguish food from bait. The bat must sense my thoughts as she snubs her snout away from my gaze.

I shake my head with a hiss and return to climbing through the sticky substance that easily beats the reek of carrion. That bug quickly turns out to have not been alone. Millions of the insects flow down into our shaft, each diving for the juice lining the wall as if their lives depend on it, only to have those lives taken away as they are consumed.