Darkness. Silence. An overwhelming pressure wraps around me, suffocating, crushing. My body—no, my entire existence—feels different.

Where am I?

The last thing I remember… The bus. The trip. Tessa laughing about something stupid. Teach telling us to settle down. Then—chaos. The sound of earth splitting. Screams. My own voice lost in the avalanche of stone and dust. And now… nothing.

Something is pressing against me, hard and unyielding. I can’t move properly. My limbs—or whatever I have now—push against the walls trapping me. It cracks. Light pierces through the fractures. A final shove, and the shell shatters around me.

I fall forward, gasping for breath. Cold air rushes into my lungs. My body feels strange—lighter, smaller. I look down.

Six legs.

What.

What is this?

Panic surges through me as I scramble to move. My legs—my many legs—twitch and stumble over each other. I collapse onto the ground, breathing heavily.

I need a mirror. A reflection. Something.

The ground is damp and uneven, stone and dirt beneath me. A puddle. I crawl toward it, dread settling deep inside me. I look down.

A caterpillar. I am… a caterpillar.

No. No, no, no. This isn’t real.

I try to scream, but no sound escapes—just a strange clicking noise. My breathing—if I even breathe anymore—quickens. My mind races.

Reincarnation? Like in those stories? That’s ridiculous.

But the proof is right in front of me. I am the proof.

Deep breaths. Focus. Freaking out won’t change anything.

I scan my surroundings. A cavern? No—more than that. Jagged rock walls stretch into the darkness. Stalactites drip water from above. The air is thick, damp, and smells… wrong. There’s something else here. Something alive.

Footsteps.

Not human.

Something big.

I press myself against the damp stone. Instinct? Maybe. The vibrations in the ground grow stronger. My body tenses. Then—movement from the shadows.

A massive centipede emerges, its many legs clicking against the rock. Its mandibles twitch. It stops. Sniffs the air. Turns its head toward me.

It sees me.

No. 

I scramble back, my tiny legs barely cooperating. The centipede moves fast. Too fast.

Run. Run. Run.

I don’t think. I just move. My body is slow, clumsy, but instinct pushes me forward. The centipede lunges, its mandibles snapping shut where I was a second ago.

I don’t want to die.

I push forward, my tiny body slipping through cracks in the rocks. The centipede slams against the stone behind me, letting out a screech of frustration. It can’t follow. I keep moving, deeper into the darkness.

Eventually, the sound of the centipede fades.

I collapse.

I don’t know where I am. I don’t know what I am supposed to do.

But one thing is clear.

I’m alive.

For now.

Darkness stretches endlessly ahead. My tiny legs ache, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop. If I do, I’m dead.

Just keep moving. Just keep—

The sound of clicking legs echoes through the tunnel behind me.

Oh, come on.

I whip around, and there it is. The centipede. Bigger than before? No, just my paranoia making it look worse. But still, those mandibles are not something I want to be introduced to up close.

It pauses, antennae twitching, then surges forward.

"Wow, persistent, aren't you? I guess they do have stalkers in this world too"

I brace myself, but before it can reach me—

Movement. From the walls. The ceiling. The ground itself.

Caterpillars. Like me.

They drop from above, crawl out from cracks, and scuttle forward with eerie coordination. The centipede halts, sensing the shift.

Then they attack.

Bristles stab into its carapace, thin but sharp. It screeches, flailing, trying to shake them off. Mandibles clamp onto its legs, its back, its face. It thrashes, but for every caterpillar it crushes, more take its place.

I watch, frozen.

That was… fast.

The centipede collapses, its body twitching as the caterpillars overwhelm it.

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Then they start eating.

Yep. That’s happening.

I stare at the wriggling mass of my “kind,” devouring the centipede like it’s an all-you-can-eat buffet.

One of them turns to look at me, mandibles clicking.

I raise what I think is a front leg in surrender.

"Hey, no need to share. I’ll just… let you guys enjoy."

I back away as they continue their feast, the centipede’s body already torn open. The smell of fresh meat—surprisingly not disgusting—fills the air.

Okay. New rule: Do not piss off the locals.

Anyway, I tried to go about my way but my legs feel like they weigh a ton. I try to move, but nope—nothing. My whole body just flops onto the ground like a wet noodle.

"Oh, great. Guess I’m officially part of the floor now. Living the dream."

I lay there, unmoving, watching as my fellow caterpillars continue their little murder feast. Good for them. I’d clap if I had hands.

Maybe it’s exhaustion from running for my life. Or maybe my body just sucks. Either way, I’m not going anywhere for a while.

Then—movement.

Not another centipede, thankfully. A caterpillar. But not like the others.

This one… looks different.

Its body is golden, the color rich and metallic, laced with soft gray accents. Its bristles, unlike the others, have glowing red tips, pulsing faintly in the dim cave light.

Okay. Fancy.

It stops in front of me, staring. I stare back. A silent standoff.

Then, without a word—or whatever bug communication we’re supposed to have—it pushes a piece of flesh toward me.

Centipede flesh.

Ah.

I glance at the half-eaten corpse. Then at the chunk of meat. Then back at the caterpillar.

"Wow, thanks. Exactly what I wanted. Mystery dungeon bug sashimi."

It doesn’t react. Just waits.

I sigh—or at least, mentally sigh.

"Right. Either I eat, or I starve."

I eye the meat. I don’t want to eat it, but my body is screaming for energy. I sigh again.

"Fine. Bon appétit, I guess."

And I take a bite.

The moment my mandibles sink into the flesh, a sudden flash—like a shockwave—rips through my head.

A voice, distant yet overwhelming, echoes inside me.

"Eat… Be… Strong".

My whole body tenses. My vision blurs, twisting, distorting. The cave, the feasting caterpillars, the golden one in front of me—all of it flickers for a split second, like reality itself is unstable.

I snap my head up, heart—no, whatever organ I have now—pounding.

The golden caterpillar hasn’t moved. But now, as I truly look at it, its eyes…

They’re glowing. A deep, unnatural purple.

Chills—not from the cave’s cold, but something far deeper—crawl down my spine.

Okay. That’s definitely not normal.

I swallow, the taste of raw centipede still lingering.

"Alright, I’ll bite—what’s your deal, glowing bug?"

No answer. It just stares. Waiting.

The voice still lingers in my mind, like an imprint burned into my thoughts.

Eat. Be strong.

I glance at the remaining chunk of meat. Then back at the golden caterpillar.

It gave this to me on purpose.

…What exactly did I just sign up for?

I stare at the golden caterpillar for a moment, then at the half-eaten chunk of centipede flesh in front of me.

"Well… uh, thanks, I guess."

It doesn’t respond. Not that I expected it to. But still, it’s weirdly considerate for a creature in a murder dungeon. Unlike the others, which went straight into devour mode, this one actually shared.

I glance at the swarm still feasting on the centipede. Are they… my siblings? I mean, we look alike—except for Goldy here, who’s clearly built different.

Wait. Goldy?

I pause. Then nod to myself. Yeah. That fits.

"Alright, Goldy, you’re officially the least horrifying thing I’ve met since waking up in this nightmare. Congrats."

Goldy blinks at me, its bug eyes are unreadable.

I sigh and take another bite of the centipede. It’s… not terrible? Chewy, slightly bitter, but weirdly satisfying. My body already feels a bit stronger. Maybe that creepy voice had a point.

I glance at Goldy again.

Something tells me sticking with this one might not be a bad idea.

I let out a satisfied sigh—well, the mental kind—now that my stomach, or whatever caterpillars have, is full. Okay. That was weird, but at least I won’t keel over from starvation.

Now, time to figure out this whole “being a caterpillar” thing.

First test: mandibles.

I crawl up to the centipede’s remains and give it an experimental chomp. My mandibles sink in with ease—sharp enough to tear flesh, but not exactly knife-grade. I glance around and spot a small rock nearby.

Alright, let’s test this.

I bite down.

Clink.

Nope. Not happening.

"Right. Not a rock-chewing kind of bug. Got it."

Next test: flexibility.

I stretch, trying to twist my body—and suddenly, my bristles flare out.

Whoa.

I wiggle a bit more, and the spikes retract. Then extend again. Huh. That could be useful.

But when I compare mine to my siblings', I notice something. Some of them—especially the bigger ones—have this weird sheen on their bristles. Almost like… venom?

I glance at Goldy. Its bristles glow faintly at the tips, that same eerie red, but there’s no obvious sign of venom.

"Okay, so some of us get poison, and some of us just get to be pokey."

I poke a rock with my bristles. Nothing happens. Just a rock getting stabbed by a slightly annoyed caterpillar.

Great. So, I’m all bark and no bite.

But then I look at Goldy again.

"Wait… are your spines venomous?"

It just stares at me, unblinking.

"Cool. Love the mystery."

I sigh. Maybe I’ll find out later. For now, at least I know what I’m working with.

As my siblings finish their centipede buffet, they start moving out, wriggling deeper into the dungeon in a coordinated mass.

I stay put, hesitating.

This is the tricky part. Do I follow them or go my own way?

I glance around the dark, rocky cave. It’s not exactly welcoming. The only real safety I’ve had so far was with the swarm.

But then again… I died on that bus. Which means my classmates did too.

And if I reincarnated, then… could Tessa be here too?

The thought grips me hard. If she’s out there, lost and alone in this hellhole, then I need to find her. I owe her that much.

But.

I glance at the caterpillars ahead, their spiky bristles swaying as they move. This species—my species—is carnivorous. They hunt, they fight, they survive by sticking together.

If I go alone, I might as well just lie down and accept my second death now.

I let out a slow breath.

"Alright Murder Grubs, looks like I'm tagging along."

With that, I push myself up and crawl forward, slipping into the swarm.

If I’m lucky, I’ll find Tessa along the way.

And if I’m really lucky, I’ll figure out how to survive long enough to make sure we both get out of this.

As the swarm moves, I notice something weird.

Goldy is in the front.

Not just moving, but leading.

The other caterpillars are following it without hesitation, like it’s some kind of alpha grub.

"Okay, what the hell? Are you secretly royalty or something?"

Goldy, as usual, doesn’t respond. Just keeps wriggling forward with that eerie, quiet confidence.

And then, to make things even weirder, I notice how they’re moving.

Not just along the ground.

But along the wall.

They’re literally climbing up and sticking to the rough surface, gliding across it like it’s nothing.

I watch, fascinated—and also a little annoyed.

"Well, I’ll be damned. I don’t know how to do that yet."

I glance at my own stubby legs, then at the wall.

Alright. Time to test my limits.

I push forward and try to follow.

One way or another, I will figure this out.

Turns out, my lovely siblings don’t believe in waiting.

They just keep moving, no hesitation, no looking back.

"Wow. Real heartwarming family dynamic we got here."

I glare at the wall, then at my stubby legs. Fine. If they can do it, I can do it too.

I press my underside against the rough surface and try to crawl up. At first, I slip. My body feels awkward, like I’m fighting against gravity itself.

But then, instinct kicks in.

My legs adjust, gripping in a way I didn’t even realize they could. My underbelly secretes something—sticky, but not exactly wet—and suddenly, I’m clinging to the wall like I’ve been doing it my whole life.

Well. That was easier than expected.

I take a step. Then another. Slowly, I start moving sideways, just like the others.

"Alright. Look at me. Wall-climbing pro in the making."

But now I’ve got another problem—I’m falling behind.

The swarm is already ahead, their dark forms blending into the rocky shadows. Goldy is still in front, leading the way like some kind of majestic golden overlord.

If I don’t pick up the pace, I’ll really be on my own.

I grit my mandibles and push forward.

No way am I getting left behind.

Oh, come on.

Just when I thought I was getting the hang of this, they all start climbing up.

And now, we’re on the ceiling.

Upside down.

I freeze, my tiny legs gripping onto the rock for dear life.

"Are you guys serious? This is a thing we’re doing now?"

No response. Just the silent, unwavering march forward.

I take a shaky step. My grip holds. Another step. Still good. Slowly, I force myself to move, trying not to focus on the fact that gravity exists.

At first, it’s like walking on a tightrope—every step feels like I could just slip at any moment. But then, like before, my body adjusts. The secretions from my underside increase, making my grip more stable.

Okay. I think I got this.

After what feels like an eternity of nerve-wracking crawling, the swarm finally stops.

I take a moment to breathe, only now realizing how much I’d been concentrating on not dying.

And that’s when I finally look around.

…Oh.

Oh, that’s not good.

Unlike the cramped corridor we were in earlier, this place is huge. The ceiling stretches out above an enormous, open void. The floor—if it even exists—is too far down to see. Just endless darkness below.

I swallow.

If I fall… yeah, I’m done.

"Fantastic. Just one slip and I’m caterpillar pancake."

I glance at Goldy, who, as usual, seems completely unbothered by the horrifying drop below us.

"Of course you’re fine with this."

I take a deep breath.

Okay. I need to stay calm, stay still, and not think about falling.

Whatever we’re waiting for, I just hope it doesn’t involve letting go.

As I stay there, gripping onto the ceiling for dear life, I notice something odd.

The bigger caterpillars, including Goldy, start… secreting silk.

Thin, sticky strands stretch from their bodies, latching onto the ceiling and weaving together into what looks like a makeshift hammock. One by one, they settle in, curling up as the silk holds them securely in place.

All of them spin the same whitish silk—except, of course, for Goldy, who just has to be different. Instead of white, it spins golden silk, shimmering even in the dim dungeon light.

"Of course. Because why wouldn’t you have premium, luxury-grade silk?"

But as I keep watching, realization dawns on me.

They’re not waiting for something.

They’re resting.

"Oh. It’s snoozy time."

That’s actually… kind of nice? For a bunch of scary flesh-eating caterpillars, anyway.

There’s just one problem.

I have absolutely no idea how to make silk.

I shift uncomfortably, glancing at my own body. No silk strands. No weird secretion. Nothing.

"…Well. This sucks."

As I awkwardly cling to the ceiling, wondering if I’m just supposed to stay like this all night, another caterpillar crawls up to me.

It stares at me for a second before casually spitting out some silk, sticking it to the ceiling, and weaving a small, temporary bed right next to me.

Once it’s done, it backs away and curls up in its own silk nest, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

I blink.

"Oh. Uh. Thanks, I guess?"

No response. Just peaceful silence as the swarm settles in.

I glance at my borrowed silk bed, then at my aching legs.

Yeah, okay. I’ll take it.

Carefully, I crawl onto the silk, testing its strength. It holds firm.

With a relieved sigh, I curl up, finally able to rest.

Even if I’m not the fittest in this whole survival thing, at least I’m not completely alone.

End of Chapter 1