A million thoughts spin through my mind in the instant before the fangs tear through my scales. How could I not notice? Did I approach this new area with too much arrogance? Am I going to miss out on seeing beyond the borders? But there’s one thought that sticks out beyond the rest:

I’m going to die to a fucking centipede.

There is not a more shameful way to go out. The disgusting, many-limbed creatures are the worst. They are bugs, and have more legs than any other creature. I cannot think of a worse death. Worse even, then the thought of choking on my own tail.

Regardless of my sheer, unfiltered disdain for my fate, it is far too late to save myself. The centipede’s trio of fang pairs are already in motion to clamp down on my much smaller size. Unlike the arachnids’ fangs, which are more like lumps of chitin with sharp points at the tip, the centipede’s are sharp and smooth the whole way along their — larger than me — length.

Maybe if I had more time, I could try to squirm out of the way of the sharp points. But even then, I’d need to avoid all three and that wouldn’t stop the lower parts from slicing me in half.

If only I took on my larger form for the Nareau. Sure, it wouldn’t have been as enjoyable a fight, but I wouldn’t have left myself so vulnerable. This isn’t the warped tunnels. I should stop treating it as if I still have the same advantages as I did down there.

But really, what sort of creature with this much strength behind it relies on ambushing? None of my competitors of the past ever bothered with it. Ah… I shouldn’t ask questions I already know the answer to.

A centipede. A massive one, but still a centipede.

Disgraceful, disgusting, leggy centipedes.

Right before its fangs cut through me, Scia’s squeak reminds me of her presence. Why did she join me? Somehow, she knew the centipede was coming even when I failed to see. So why place herself in the path of danger? It makes no sense.

I brace for impact. Well, as much as possible while tumbling through the air. The flat, death-like eyes of the centipede stare into my own, but I don’t back down. I glare back with a burning fury in my chest, not willing to submit, no matter how bad the situation looks.

The fangs pierce my scales, one after the other. The sharp points slide into my body as time slows to a crawl. Neither twist nor flex remove me from the beast’s maw. Each blade sinks deeper, another set piercing right below my head. Excruciating pain floods my spine as one of the first fangs slice through bone. A vertebra, severed.

Then… they disappear.

The centipede blinks out of existence from right in front of me.

I stare, uncomprehending, for a few moments until I realise it wasn’t the centipede that disappeared, but myself. An immense weight slams into me, crashing me into the ground. Compared to my wounds, the impact is negligible. The centipede brushes over my head, momentum carrying it toward the arachnid.

I disappeared from its clutches? It was only a short distance, but my body displaced far enough to avoid death in its fangs. How?

The giant centipede doesn’t lament the loss of food. No, it simply rams into the Nareau, carrying the arachnid off its feet with its far greater mass. A crunch resounds, echoing endlessly through the enormous cavern as its six fangs shatter through hard exoskeleton.

The Nareau doesn’t die immediately. It struggles and slams its sharp legs down on the centipede. Each strike cuts into the bug, but stuck as it is within the maw of the giant, it is obvious this is no competition. Both huge creatures crash back to the ground, splattering rock and dirt through the cavern. The quake that shakes through my spine is nearly as bad as those from the Other Side.

Swarms of tiny bugs fly around the fight, completely uncaring for the duo as they battle for supremacy. While I can still see the arachnid clearly, wherever the centipede’s body touches the swarm, it fades out of sight. The flutter between visible and not makes the creature appear unreal, but there is no doubting its presence.

Never letting go of the arachnid, the centipede lifts its upper body into the air. It curls the first dozen legs and the accompanying chitin plated body sections around its prey and lifts the massive weight. I can’t see where the centipede ends amongst the mist of bugs, but enough of it clings to the earth to heft the beast a third the way up to the ceiling far above.

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With a single, rapid motion, the centipede slams back to the ground. The Nareau’s head hits the earth with the full weight of both it and the centipede’s bodies. Even for such a large, sturdy beast as the Nareau, the power of the blow is enough to snap the head.

When the centipede uncurls, the arachnid is motionless. Its head hangs by threads from its abdomen, each leg slumped.

The battle lasted mere moments.

I watch, still confused over my survival, until a soft thump reaches my ears. Scia is there when I turn, tiny little form limp, sprawled in the dirt beside me.

A gutting hollow feeling swells in my chest. Beyond even the pain of my dislocated spine, the sight of Scia unresponsive overwhelms everything. Thoughts of the centipede, the fight and my anger fizzle out of my mind. All that seems to matter is the small, defenceless form before me.

Confusion. My mind is suddenly drowning in it. Why do I care about such a lesser being? It should have known sticking to me would be dangerous, so it’s really just getting what it deserves… but the sight pricks at me.

Scia gasps, a deep, pained breath that does not wake the unconscious sciacylch. Each following breath is rapid and followed by a pained squeak.

Relief — more than I should feel — hits me. Why am I acting like this?

I inspect her body, looking for where she was hurt, but I can see nothing. Not so much as a scratch beyond her already injured wing. Watching her for a few more breaths, I realise she’s exhausted, not hurt. But what could she have done that would exhaust her this much?

Oh.

That’s impossible, right? She couldn’t possibly… Why would she even if she could? It would have been easier, safer, and smarter to simply fly away, but…

Scia saved me.

I don’t understand it. The smart thing would be to run; to keep oneself safe. It wouldn’t even have been difficult for her to just disappear, blink away without looking back. It is what I would have done.

But she didn’t do that. Scia snatched me right from the fangs of death.

She placed herself on my back when she noticed the centipede. When I didn’t listen to her warning, she didn’t run. She stayed with me. Scia pushed herself further than I thought possible and created a distortion large enough to tear me out of the fangs of the larger beast.

Scia, she… even if she’s foolish, I don’t think she’s dumb enough not to realise the danger she was putting herself in. This was intentional. She saved me from the centipede’s clutches because she didn’t want me to die.

My chest writhes. It pulls in a dozen directions in a confusing mass of unfamiliar emotion. What is worse, is that some of those feel good. That is a terrifying prospect. A bait to lure me in with the intoxication of these… warm emotions, only for the horrid rest to hit later.

But… maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to keep Scia by my side.

The centipede is coming again. Nareau forgotten, barely a bite taken from the beast before being abandoned. Through the swarm of flying bugs, I catch glimpses of its form through whatever strange effect keeps it hidden. It is coming this way.

I look down on little Scia. Unconscious as she is, she won’t be able to blink away to safety. Well, the least I can do is return the favour.

This is no longer the time or place to hold myself back. The centipede has already taught me not to be so complacent when without my territorial advantage. I won’t give it the opportunity to make any more foolish examples out of me.

I unleash my full size. More bone, muscle, and scale appear into existence through my body. The full scale of my spine comes into reality, fixing the separation between vertebrae, leaving only a small chip to remind of the nearly fatal blow.

While my body continues to grow, the centipede creeps through the swarm. Now that I’m watching carefully, I can follow it, but I notice that ripple in space that the bugs give off doesn’t seem to affect it all that much. With both the arachnid and my body, the spatial ripples seem to bounce off, but with the centipede, they simply flow through it.

As my eyes follow the hints of the beast’s movement, I ask the Beyond for the species’ name.

Ōmukade.

No elaboration, but most creatures don’t. The Ōmukade is clearly trying to sneak around, unaware that I can follow its movements. What is surprising is the absolute silence the cavern falls into once the last echoes of the battle die off. A being as large as this should make an impact with each step, both noise and tremors should shake the earth. It occurred for the Nareau, so a being at least ten times heavier should be no different.

But no, Scia’s panted breath is louder than the Ōmukade.

If it attacked immediately, it might have won with ease. But because it took to the bug swarm, I’ve had the time to grow. Now, it’ll get a fight it never expected.

Before battling the arachnids, I was about as long as one of those merminea and as thick as its ankle. Now, I’m wider than I was long, and thirty times longer. I am, annoyingly, not as large as the Ōmukade, but I easily clear the mass of the Nareaus by quite a bit.

I slither around Scia, keeping myself between her and the beast that thinks it can get the jump on me twice. At this size, my scales dig through the soil with each movement, creating trenches all around Scia. The constant rumble my slithering thrums through the earth would collapse any lesser cavern. Clearly, I have nothing to worry about if beasts as large as the Nareau and Ōmukade are common here.

The centipede stops moving to the side. I tense up, ready. Everything stills, and if I wasn’t paying close attention to the jagged sections of chitin that rise above the bug swarm, I’d almost think the creature disappeared.

Scia whines behind me, but I don’t look. The Ōmukade strikes. I snap forward to intercept.

Now, I think it’s my turn to teach this shameful bug a lesson.