“Damn it, I knew that map was not to be trusted,” a lanky, pale man muttered as he ran for his life. Why was he running, one might ask? Well, it was because of the giant, living mushroom chasing him.

With a crumpled map in hand and panic clouding his thoughts, he frantically tried to make sense of his position. After a few frustrating seconds of failure, he decided that swinging both arms while running was far more valuable than holding onto a useless scrap of paper. With a resigned grunt, he tossed the map aside and pumped his arms furiously, trying to eke out just a little more speed from his gaunt body.

For five agonizing minutes, he tore through the massive, fungal-infested forest, ducking under oversized mushroom caps and leaping over gnarled roots. But in his blind escape, he failed to see a treacherous rock in his path. His foot caught, and he went sprawling forward—only to crash through a deceptively thick layer of moss.

The world flipped as he tumbled down a narrow crevice, his limbs flailing as he fell for what felt like an eternity. When he finally came to a painful halt, groaning, he spent another minute gathering what little remained of his lost pride before standing up and taking stock of his surroundings.

The cavern he had landed in was circular, its walls lined with strange markings faintly glowing beneath layers of dust. In the center of the room stood a pedestal, its surface smooth and ominous, encircled by runes carved deep into the stone floor.

Being a man of at least some intelligence, he decided not to mess with the very obviously trapped object before him. “I am not going back up to roll the dice with that decaying, spore-minded monstrosity,” he said to himself, quite smugly. “But I’ll be damned if I touch whatever that is.”

Instead, he chose the safer approach—walking along the edge of the cavern, running his hands along the walls in search of any hidden passages. Now and then, dust crumbled beneath his fingers, revealing more of the mysterious runes beneath. After a full lap of the chamber, he found nothing that remotely resembled an exit. Worse still, the unsettling gurgle of his oversized fungal pursuer echoed from above, reminding him of the alternative.

Frustrated but not entirely hopeless, he brushed away more dust, revealing a new set of unfamiliar runes. He didn’t recognize them—none of the standard rune languages he had studied looked remotely like these. But he was running out of options.

Hoping it might activate a door or at least provide some kind of clue, he carefully injected the smallest sliver of his mana into the carvings.

It was a mistake.

The moment his mana touched the rune, it was ripped from him with terrifying force. He barely had time to react before his entire core was drained dry, leaving him gasping and nearly collapsing from mana exhaustion.

As his vision swam, the cavern erupted with light. Dust cascaded from the walls as every rune flared to life, greedily drinking in the ambient mana that now flooded the room. Whatever he had activated, it was ancient—and very, very hungry.

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A low hum filled the chamber as the pedestal began to shift. With a deep, mechanical groan, a hidden compartment slid open at its center, revealing a small, woven basket that slowly rose into view. The man, still reeling from his near mana-death experience, stared at it in bewilderment. Out of everything he had expected, this was not it.

Cautiously, he approached, peering inside. Nestled within the basket was a single, red-and-white-capped mushroom, its surface strangely pristine despite its decrepid surroundings. He hesitated, weighing his options. The runes had already drained him of mana, and there was no obvious way out. With no other choice, he reached in and picked up the mushroom.

The moment his fingers made contact, an unbearable pain shot through his body. He gasped, dropping to his knees as the mushroom dissolved into a mass of writhing filaments that burrowed into his skin. His veins darkened, spreading fungal patterns across his arms as his body seized, his very essence shifting at a fundamental level.

His breath came in ragged gasps as he clutched his head, feeling his body twist and reshape. His flesh became pliant, his bones altered, his very nature rewritten. The pain eventually dulled, replaced by an eerie awareness—he was no longer entirely human.

He staggered to his feet, his breath unsteady, his fingers trembling as he looked down at his hands. No longer merely skin and bone, they now bore the telltale signs of fungal growth, an eerie amalgamation of man and mushroom.

“What the actual fuck?” he muttered as he cautiously stretched out his arms. After clenching and unclenching his hands, he got to his feet and began to pace. “Get it together, Thalor. You’re an apprentice, for gods’ sake. I’m sure the masters can fix this.”

Taking a moment to steady his breath and emotions, he became aware of something new. It wasn’t mana, at least not in the way he had known it for the past two years. It was something alien yet familiar. Instinctively, he reached for it the same way he would pull mana into himself.

Something clicked.

Like a limb regaining blood flow after being asleep, the connection felt natural. He realized immediately what it was—spores. He was drawing them into himself, integrating them with his body.

He felt he could release them, mold them into different forms. Experimenting, he pushed a trickle from his fingertip. The spores clumped together under his will, forming a small brown mushroom. He concentrated, changing its shape, size, density, and texture over and over again. It was effortless.

After an hour of tests, he concluded that he could alter their structure almost limitlessly. More importantly, he could substitute his mana to generate fungal mass. The efficiency was about what a tier-one apprentice could expect.

His only offensive spell was a simple force push. He had other freeform uses of mana, such as raw manipulation and infusing objects for inspection. Yet nothing had ever felt as natural as this new ability. It was as if it had always been a part of him, merely waiting to be unlocked.

Deciding it was time to leave, he climbed out of the hole, confident he could now control the fungal beast. Peering over the edge, he saw the monster still nearby. He reached for the fungus within it, attempting to impose his will.

Nothing happened.

After several failed attempts, he changed his approach. Instead of domination, he projected a suggestion—a lack of hostility. To his surprise, the creature responded. Its aggressive stance relaxed, and after a long, contemplative glance at him, it snorted and turned away.

“I wish I could say it was a pleasure,” he joked.

Ensuring the beast was truly gone, he took in his surroundings. After his mad dash, it was no surprise he had no idea where he was. His original goal lost to chaos, he sighed and picked a direction. The sun was lowering in the west, so west it was.

With one last glance at the cavern behind him, he set off into the unknown.