An entire section of rock wall along the tunnel below collapses with a deafening crash. The little rodent on my back startles at the noise.

Oh? Did that scare you now? Nothing quite like the sheer might of a serpent to send chills down your spine, right? What? Why are you looking at me like that?

Unlike what I intended, Sciacylch doesn’t run terrified from the power of my tail crashing through stone, nor my larger size. Instead, after brushing off the surprise, it looks up at me with wide, glistening eyes. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it’s viewing me with reverence.

I don’t like it.

This bat shouldn’t look at me as I’m some saviour. It should treat me as the predator I am and flee without hesitation. Did it not see how easy it was for me to kill that worm? I could do the same to a bat like it in an instant.

With a hiss of disappointment, I slide through the now unobstructed path. The worm that filled the space now floats lifelessly in a pool of its own juices. My eyes don’t linger for more than a moment, and we continue forward.

Little Sciacylch… that name is annoyingly long. Little Scia’s eyes follow the corpse as I squeeze forward, my body shrinking back to a more comfortable size. Her gaze lingers, before flicking to the wall I collapsed. Scia finally turns back to me with large, starry eyes, obviously awed by my strength.

It’s not the right reaction, but maybe I should just accept this bat isn’t the brightest of the bunch. Any more loathing over its lack of fear will only irritate me further.

The deeper tunnel is thankfully not a dead end. Trust a worm to leave its back unguarded. What would it have done had a creature wandered upon its tail? Crawl away? Turn around? Unlikely. As effective as its lure was on my passenger, the lack of self-preservation is shocking.

Though, that seems to be a trend lately.

I glance back again as my passenger snuggles into my scales. It chirps excitedly as we cross eyes, wiggling at the attention. Seriously, this one has some gall.

We pass through a dozen tunnel-splits, the sweet scent of acid soon leaving the air. Every so often, a blockage or narrow tunnel blocks our path and we have to backtrack. My memory has improved immensely over my many hunts, but after so many incredibly similar splitting tunnels, I’ve lost track.

If this labyrinth doesn’t lead anywhere, then I’ll have to discover another way down again. So, how long should I thread my way through these tunnels before giving up? For all I know, they curve in on themselves and there is no end. How much time should I waste before I give up and try the other borders for ways through them?

Well, it won’t hurt to spend a couple hunts here. Finding my way back will be just as hard, but it’s worth checking whether there actually is anything beyond this labyrinth. I’ll be rid of the bat by then, regardless, so I can enjoy my solitude again.

Each time we enter a new tunnel, I glance back at the slacking mammal behind me. The little creature clearly got more rest than I was hoping; while it slouches comfortably into my scales, its eyes dart around, taking in every minute detail of the surrounding rocks. The ambush of the worm really must have startled it.

I crush the sense of envy that trickles within me. Feeling that way toward a worm? I refuse! Absolutely reject the possibility.

Whenever I check on Scia, the bat lets out a happy squeak and stretches itself across my back. Foolish. I just shake my head away in disappointment.

After countless splitting caves forced to slide my body along hard ground, we finally find something interesting. Or, interesting to me. Scia takes one look and almost leaps off my back. I can feel the bat’s chest push off, but its clawed feet never let go of my scales.

Before us is a much larger split cavern than what we’ve found until now. Large enough to support my full size, with room to spare. But the size of the tunnel isn’t what attracts either of our attention. No, it’s the sheer number of corpses and littered bones piled up through the tunnel.

Someone’s a picky eater.

While Scia is fussing over the warning of a predator’s den, I’m lamenting all the wasted prey. My tongue darts out to taste the air, but I can only smell the dead, not the culprit. Whatever predator this is territory of, they leave a lot of their catch uneaten. Bones are almost universally untouched, but it is strange to see only half-eaten bodies and some that have had barely more than a nibble.

Amongst all these corpses is a creature I’ve never seen before. Sure, some Prey are rare, but I almost never come across completely unknown species anymore. Thankfully, besides a missing lump of chest, it is mostly intact.

A four-legged beast not completely dissimilar from feline or canine types, but is more slender than both, with short, stubby appendages and a thick coat. That fur coat is the most interesting part. It fades into the rock as if part of the wall, taking on the texture of its surrounding with an uncanny ease. I’ve only seen similar camouflage in some types of lizards or fish, never mammals.

If not for the wound bleeding out over the floor, I might not have even noticed the creature amongst all the other dead. As I move in closer, Scia grows increasingly restless, but I ignore the bat. My tongue darts out at the air around the wound, and to my surprise, the creature died not long ago. Whatever killed it was here recently.

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The fumes of decaying corpses are stronger on one side of the tunnel, and I consider heading down that way simply to see what kind of creature is this wasteful… but I shouldn’t waste my time. The other end of the cave — where the scent of corpses lessens — is more likely to lead to the predator’s hunting grounds.

A place beyond these Labyrinthine Passages.

I slither forward, brushing aside brittle bones and rotten meat. Clearly, the predator isn’t a snake; besides the obvious of its meals not being swallowed whole, a lot of these bones crumble with even the slightest touch of my minuscule mass. If it were a snake slithering through here all the time, there would be more obvious paths. Well, that would probably be the same for many creatures, but besides the outer edge of the large tunnel, most of the dead are untouched.

Not to mention, any snake would eat their prey whole. No bones would remain.

If anything, it’s strange that this area isn’t mobbed by scavengers. The greedy creatures typically swarm discarded prey regardless the risk of angering a predator. Why are they nowhere to be seen?

Scia struggles on my back, just as terrified as when they realised we were slithering into a trap. The tiny bat tries to pull me back, force us down into the tunnels we came, but I don’t listen.

Again, it shows it can feel fear, and yet, not once has it fled from me.

As I slither through the large tunnel, I do my best to keep away from the worst of the decaying corpses. Scavengers may not be around, but that doesn’t mean the bodies aren’t a feeding ground for minuscule bugs. Maggots and beetles skitter all over the worst of the rot.

The thought of having to slide through this muck rather than in the air with spatial bends is disgusting. I dislike getting blood on my scales in the best of times — what with how difficult it is to clean out after it dries — so the last thing I want to do is wade through filth. If it weren’t so likely that this tunnel leads where I’m trying to go, I’d stick to the path I came from.

I’m also not opposed to the opportunity of happening across something actually competent. It’s been a long time since I’ve found worthy prey like this. I won’t go out of my way — not while I don’t hunger — but I won’t avoid a fight.

Scia has given up on its attempts to stop me. Now the bat holds its only good wing over its snout, trying desperately to block out the scent of death. Sciacylch aren’t carnivorous, then? I shouldn’t be surprised, but the very idea of eating something that isn’t moving is strange. Even a meal left untouched while I slept lost most of its taste when eating it later. To eat plants that rarely move at all is an odd prospect.

Prey are lesser for a reason… is what I would have thought any time in the past, but that seems wrong now. Sure, they are lesser than those with the strength to eat them, but that doesn’t mean there’s a reason to it. Or maybe there is, and those without power are simply unlucky. Not all creatures can be predators, after all.

What would a world of predators look like? If each creature needed to eat others to survive, then how would there ever be enough food to go around? It’s only because the lesser creatures feed upon sources other than meat that everything doesn’t starve.

But if most creatures eat other animals or plants to grow, then what do flora consume to do the same?

The thought reminds me of the Beyond’s mention of energy. How it isn’t endless. If what the plants eat to survive runs out, then the prey’s food will die, leaving me without prey to hunt. Such a concept makes me reconsider my thought on those creatures I’ve always looked down upon. They may be lesser, but if they disappear, what would I eat?

I snap out of my thoughts at the sight of a blood trail through one of the many branching tunnels. With the lack of scavengers around, it’s a surprising sight. Dead bodies don’t crawl away after their deaths… well, unless they are centipedes.

This is one of the few tunnels besides the large, central one with any carrion. All the others only experience overflow from the main chamber.

My head snaps back, making sure the bat hasn’t drifted off to sleep in the time since I last checked. Nope, Scia sits there, still covering nose with wing. Well, at least this one will enjoy my choice.

I slither in after the blood trail. Really, I should keep following the large tunnel, but my interest has been piqued. Why is this the only tunnel touched by blood? Is there actually scavengers around, but they’re just too scared to stay out in sight long? I don’t have a reason convincing enough to take me from my search, but I still find myself getting distracted.

The blood trail goes on for a while. So long that I question whether it is a single body dragged away and not a pile, what with how far the painted earth extends. But no, I eventually find the source, and it is a single body. One of those unique slender mammals with the camouflaging fur lays prone before me, unmoving.

Most importantly, its lower half is missing.

Blood dribbles out the midsection of the creature, and I look on in surprise to notice its claws clenched into the earth. It dragged itself this far entirely on its own before succumbing to its missing lower body. Only recently did it die. In fact, the body is still somewhat warm.

Merminea.

So that’s what this creature is called? It would be nice to see them alive; the blood and open wounds tend to ruin the effect of their camouflage. Could I spot them without all these obvious tells? Wait, is it possible they’ve been around in the past, but their camouflage is so good I haven’t noticed them until now? I don’t like the idea.

A naturally sapient species.

What? Beyond has been talkative lately. But really, this species is sapient? Wait…

Beyond, what am I?

A Jötnorm.

Okay, and are Jötnorm naturally sapient?

No.

Are Jötnorm sapient?

No.

Am I sapient?

Yes.

The beyond has never considered my species sapient, so why does this… weak mammal get that description? You have to have strength to live long enough to gain sapience, so why does a creature that died to some random predator get the prestigious status as a sapient? Especially when it took me thousands of hunts to do the same.

I’m currently only the width of the mermineae’s leg, with Scia being the size of a claw at most. It’s not like these creatures are all that big, so what makes them strong enough to be worth sapience? Naturally, too? My fangs slide into an outstretched arm with outrage. My goal is to find any reason to label this being as something superior to the lessers, but my fangs slide through its hide, flesh, and bone easier than most other creatures of similar size.

Relinquishing my bite from the weak flesh, I stare over the dead mammal with indignation. I can understand the Titan; that is a superior being in every sense. Anywhere I’ve travelled over countless hunts, I’ve been the apex. But this… merminea is at the same level? I don’t believe it.

No. Let’s think about this properly. It’s already dead, so maybe its true strength cannot be determined unless it still clutches to life. In that case, I’ll simply have to be careful around the next living ones I find. From the corpse before me, nothing strikes me as worthy, but I can keep my eyes peeled for what might uplift them to sapience. I do not believe there’s any chance for a sapient creature not being a predator. That’s just how things work.

Now, there’s also the issue that if this creature really was sapient, then the being who holds that wide tunnel in its territory is likely to be stronger than I expected.