Surviving, but not living. The paragon of sparrows awaited death.

His heart beat once, a painful shock as blood vessels expanded past capacity.

The last of his feathers fell away, stolen by his illness.

Every time he moved, he died. An endless march towards not coming back next time.

He had lost his ability to fly. Every time he descended from his nest, it took respawning to return.

So he waited, carefully examining his soundings. Every moment he had was precious, so he would not squander them.

He watched as the dungeon gorged itself on the rewards of war.

His eye noticed the subtle waves of change that swept across the dungeon. Each pass was both order and entropy.

One pass saw the death of spiders. Another had the ants decay.

He saw as it converted their species into a new form. The undead form he craved.

The dungeon’s knowledge was their own. It knew what undead were. He knew it was the only cure.

Yet no change came for him. The waves of change kept passing, apathetic towards his plight.

A fresh wave had the fields of grass glow as energy flowed. A wave of flowers bloomed. The next saw patches mutate into mossy origins.

Each pass was like a hammer to his body. Crushing, warping, debilitating, exhilarating.

It was the final wave that hit him hardest. Instincts. The desire to eat.

A bird still capable of flight found the moss. Tried to eat it. There were seeds at its center. Large and tasty.

The exterior was so dense it formed a shell.

A hard surface that would only break if hit hard enough- with enough speed.

Rockmoss, no, millet-moss. Its rocky exterior protected the prizes within.

His thoughts shattered as a bird threw itself against the moss, breaking it open. The prize was claimed after they respawned.

Another tried, but failed to crack its surface. This moss was stronger- dense.

The failure of the sparrows fed the moss. It had grown stronger.

More tried, some succeeded. The moss that survived was the strongest.

Its spores spread and took root in the mana-rich environment.

The moss was adapting with each battle with the sparrows.

The paragon watched all of this unfold.

Watched countless birds die. Watched the moss’s dense shell become like stone. Watched the birds become stronger themselves, denser.

He understood this was evolution; adaptation to circumstance, yet he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He was flightless- featherless. He could not join if he wanted to.

So his gaze wandered until a slime caught his attention.

A glowing slime that wandered the dungeon. Visibly sad, she walked past the moss without sparing a glance.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

The upbeat and plant-loving Shimmer was off.

He knew it would kill him, yet left the roost. The uncaring earth broke both his fall and a wing.

It wouldn’t matter. He would respawn eventually, mostly healed.

With a flutter that was more of a limp, he reached the slime. He struggled to mimic the vibrations and smells Shimmer used to talk.

Eventually, his words formed. “What’s wrong?”

“Searching. Can’t remember, just… missing something”

Shimmer’s shine dimmed. Lost in thought, she was less bright.

“You have plants. You have friends. What are you missing?”

“I think… my shadow?”

The paragon wanted to ponder what she meant- he wanted to help.

Yet an unprompted wave of mana interrupted them. It did not carry the winds of change, but of attention.

The dungeon itself focused upon the duo. The Clinician that gave the paragon his ill-formed form was soly focused on Shimmer and him. An inkling of an idea formed in their mind.

Mana filled the paragon’s body. He was ready to accept the change. He wanted to be cured- to be saved.

The patch of millet-moss he stood upon glowed. Mana filled both. Intent and change became one as the paragon evolve- shed his dying form.

The words of the Clinician filled his mind.

“Evolved to become stronger. Sacrificed moss, food, to make bird undead. Now it is prey and predator. It is food that eats, like Shimmer slime.”

> Status: Undead requires a living species to be sacrificed. The resulting bird is not undead.

“Not undead? Clearly not living. Have to be dead.”

> Status: Result is a chimera of plant and beast.

“Yes, chimera strong like undead chimera. That good, it means bird is strong.”

The paragon could feel it- his body was different, better. He could feel feathers, strong skin. He would be the paragon that terrorized the sky.

> Evolution accepted: Chimera of Moss - A beast constructed of plants. An avian with feathers of moss that form a protective shell. No longer burdened by its lack of organs, it uses mana to sustain itself.

----------------------------------------

Over the journey through the snow-peaked mountains, Robert had lots of time to regret his choice of clothing. Dressed for summer, he had traveled north without thinking. He had waved to people who were acclimated to the weather and thought nothing of their light clothing. A day later, it dawned on him. This was their definition of warm.

As cold as he was, he couldn’t leave just yet. The cartographers’ guild had bought his time with a quest to map the terrain. All he needed to do was update some maps, discover some ruins, ‘misplace’ any treasure he found, and get double paid.

It was a good deal…. If it wasn’t so damn cold.

His feet were numb, but that was just a reason for his mind to wonder. He reminisced about all the years he had spent in the clock tower with his grandfather growing up. Winding, fixing, and counting every day. An ordeal that had earned him the Clockwinder title, and with it perfect rhythm. It was a skill suited for clockmaking, but was oddly good for map-making, and perfect for combat.

Without thinking, without trying, every step he took was counted and effortlessly calculated. His mind continued to wonder as he gave the minimum effort to working on the map. Ever since his title had evolved into the Temporal Replicator he never really needed to try. An ability he used to replicate years of training and effort, so drawing on paper really was a squander of his talents.

Talents he often made good use of. He had bested warriors and mages with years of training, despite being neither. The ability to copy and perfectly perform tricks that took months to learn. It was powerful and perfectly suited for his greatness.

His recent ascension to power had caused several guilds reach out and ask for his help; they had begged him. A quest to use his power to blaze a new trail for others to follow. The adventurers that came after him would just try to replicate him. Like clocks chasing time, they would chase his fame. He would become renowned across the land, while all others only echoed his greatness.

The self-praise came to an end as Robert stood atop a grass hill. Birds overheard that struggled to fly, sparse foliage at his back, his eyes forward on the valley he had been searching for. A beacon of green fields that called to his inner desire to be rich. Whatever relic had caused these mountains to both die and return would be in this valley full of grass. He needed to find it for…. “Archeological” reasons.

----------------------------------------

The traveler’s pace quickened as they threw themselves down the hill in their rush to reach the dungeon. A shimmering light hidden in the grass had sparked their greed and forgo caution. There was no point in his mind, for how could waist-high grass ever be a concern?

Unfortunately, the grass perfectly hid the tripping hazard of a few loose stones discarded by the ant’s recent expansions. He lost his footing, his leg breached a section of the ant’s nest as the earth held him.

His screams of ants the size of rats were short-lived as a super major thrice the size descend upon the trapped delver.

----------------------------------------

> Delver Slain - Zero mana gained from interaction

What? Why no food?? Words have stolen food from dungeon!

> The interaction with the delver was too short-lived and one sided for any substan-

Words are useless and stupid! Words steal mana from hungry dungeon.

Fine, dungeon eat floating box full of words. Dungeon will still get mana from words.

> Please stop, there is no sustenance contained within-

Nom nom. Words be eaten.