I flicked my gaze around frantically, hunting for anything—a gap, a hollow, a burrow, something I could dive into and vanish. There was nothing. Just foliage. Overgrown forest. Branches and vines woven together, trees packed so tight they looked like they'd grown into each other on purpose. No path. No hiding place.
So my eyes snapped back to the monster as it moved again, the ground rolling under me in heavy shudders that made it impossible to focus on anything else. The pressure in the forest swelled with every movement—thick and crushing—and each time it shifted, a hard gust rolled out from it. Trees bowed and swayed under the sudden wind, leaves thrashing, branches creaking—and I swayed with them, forced to ride the air and the shaking ground like I was part of the undergrowth.
It was rising. The bulk behind the trees kept lifting until it peeked over the treeline, pushing through swaying branches like the forest couldn't hide it anymore—thick, layered hide over a frame built like a siege engine. More stone than flesh, ridged and compact in a way that made the idea of a blade feel stupid.
It finished standing—and then it looked straight at me.
Then it bent down slightly, angling that massive frame toward my tiny patch of ground, and unleashed a roar.
The sound ripped through the trees. Branches thrashed overhead and leaves burst loose in a sudden storm. Trunks groaned as the ground shook, roots grinding and shifting under the force like the whole forest was being shaken by the throat.
Saliva sprayed from its mouth with the roar—thick strands and hot droplets flung wide, cutting through the air
The monster took a step forward, and the ground rumbled under the weight of it. Then it reached out, grabbed the trees in its way like they were weeds, and ripped them out—roots and all—holding the torn trunks in its hands.
It moved its hands with ugly precision, shredding the branches off one trunk in a single ripping motion. Leaves and splinters exploded outward, and what was left was just a stripped length of wood—thick, heavy, sharpened by violence into something like a spear.
Then it threw it at me.
I leapt backward as the first tree trunk came spinning through the air, so fast it seemed to peel the air off itself. It slammed into the spot I'd been standing a heartbeat earlier and detonated into the ground with a brutal crack.
Bark and wood splintered outward in a spray—chunks and needles of timber whipping everywhere. Some stabbed into the dirt around me. Others punched into nearby trees and stuck there, quivering.
Then it grabbed another tree.
The same violent efficiency—hands ripping, branches torn away in a single ugly sweep—leaving only the trunk.
It hurled it again.
This one flew higher. I ducked and flattened myself as low as I could, pressing into the earth while the trunk screamed past like a missile. It didn't slow. It punched through a tree behind me with a brutal crack, tearing straight through the wood and sending shattered limbs and splinters whipping outward, then kept going and slammed into a low stone cliff.
The impact was so extreme the wood actually bit into the rock. The stripped trunk hung there, half-buried, vibrating—embedded in stone like the cliff had been stabbed.
I stared at it for a fraction too long.
Then I looked back.
The monster's gaze met mine. We locked eyes across the wreckage, and the expression on that massive face—if it could be called that—felt almost… annoyed.
Like I was too small to hit properly.
Then I heard it—another roar. Not as deep as the massive monster, but close enough that it prickled along my spine.
The fire dragon.
Its wings thundered behind me as it shoved through the foliage, forcing its way into the clearing. Embers shook loose from its body with every step—natural sparks that scattered into leaves and brush and turned them into tiny flash-fires. A faint wash of warmth chased in, A faint wash of warmth chased it in, sliding over my back—smoke-thick and sharp.
It spotted me and didn't hesitate. The moment its eyes found my shape, its jaws opened—wide—and it exhaled.
A continuous stream of fire slammed toward me, close-range, so fast I realized I wasn't going to dodge it—not cleanly. I twisted anyway, throwing myself aside—
—and the massive monster behind me stepped.
The ground lurched with the weight of it. The rumble knocked my footing sideways, and I saw the fire dragon's stance wobble too—just a fraction.
It was enough.
The stream veered.
Flame passed my head inches away. I felt it—heat like a blade, air turning white-hot beside my face—and for a split second my eyes tracked the line of it as it missed me by nothing and kept going.
Straight into the giant's leg.
The impact flared, orange light washing over the ridged hide. For a split second the fire dragon held the breath steady, pouring heat into the strike like it expected pain—like it expected the leg to buckle and the world to behave.
Nothing happened.
The giant didn't even shift.
The fire dragon's head tilted up. Its eyes traced the leg, then the layered bulk, then the towering frame blotting out the treeline. The stream thinned—not because it chose to, but because its breath caught. Flame shrank to a weaker line as it stared, realizing what it had just challenged.
And that it couldn't win.
The monster's eyes shifted and locked onto the fire dragon. Anger rolled off it in crushing waves, sharp and focused, and the air felt heavier the moment that gaze landed. The fire dragon staggered mid-step, frame trembling like its bones had remembered fear before its mind did.
The giant didn't move. It didn't need to.
It just stared at the fire dragon, and a low growl rolled out of it—quiet, but packed with anger—while the flame continued to wash over its leg.
I didn't waste the opening. While its attention stayed on the fire dragon, I flicked my gaze around again—desperate—searching for any gap I could disappear into. A hollow. A split in the rocks. Anything.
Nothing.
Just wreckage. Uprooted trees. The stripped trunk still embedded in the cliff like a monument.. Broken ground and torn foliage with nowhere a small body could vanish properly.
So I chose the closest lie to safety—I darted behind a fallen trunk and flattened myself against the earth, pressing my soft body into dirt and bark until I barely felt like a shape at all.
If I stayed still, maybe I could become invisible. That was a stupid hope. I grabbed it anyway.
Footsteps crunched closer—careless and annoyed.
The human shoved through the foliage behind the fire dragon, stepping over scorched ground and broken brush, boots grinding ash into the dirt as he came into view.
"What's with the racket?" he snapped. "Why are you taking so long? You're so use—"
He followed the dragon's gaze.
His eyes lifted and locked onto the giant monster.
The confidence didn't drain.
It shattered.
He went still like his body had forgotten how to move. His arm shot up on instinct, then locked halfway—hand trembling as he realized it wouldn't matter.
Light flared in his palm—different from before. Thinner. Tighter. Not a summon, but something searching, like he was trying to read the threat in front of him.
"…No way," he whispered. "Level thirty-four? That shouldn't be here."
Whatever arrogance he'd been wearing broke apart into something simpler and uglier. He raised his arm toward the fire dragon. Light flared around his forearm—orange and ember-red at first, the same heat it had spilled out with—then the glow shifted as the dragon was pulled in, thinning into streams that bled toward blue as they spiraled back into his skin and vanished.
Then he ran.
Not a retreat. Not strategy. Panic.
He tore through the forest the moment the dragon was gone, boots slipping on ash and loose dirt. He hit a patch of loose soil, skidded, nearly went down, caught himself with a flailing arm—and kept running like the ground was trying to grab him too.
"MOVE!" he screamed over his shoulder. "RUN—GET OUT OF HERE! IT'S—!"
The human's shout broke apart as the giant growled again—louder this time—and started moving.
Quicker.
Its legs drove into the earth in heavy, accelerating steps, and the tremors stopped being background noise and became the floor. Each impact sent a fresh earthquake rolling through the forest, making the ground jump and buck, making everything sway.
Birds exploded out of the canopy in panicked bursts, abandoning nests and branches as trunks shook and snapped. The giant didn't go around the trees—it went through them, barreling forward while the forest tried and failed to get out of its way.
I stayed low. Lower than low.
My body spread out without me even thinking about it, soft flesh flattening against dirt and bark like it wanted to be a smear instead of a creature. It felt… natural. Comfortable in a way that made my skin crawl, because mentally it was the least human thing I'd ever done.
Ahead, the human ran like his life depended on it—because it did—and he nearly went down twice as the ground betrayed him, stumbling hard whenever the giant's foot hit and the world shifted.
I stayed still while the destruction moved farther away, tremors stretching out and thinning with distance. A distant scream echoed through the forest, then another, and then the sound of something very large colliding with something much smaller.
Hard.
Final.
My body clenched—not fear, not relief. Something colder moved through me instead, tight and instinctive, and it left a sour knot under my ribs.
That's what you get.
For killing my parents.
The words felt wrong even inside my head. They hadn't really been my parents; they were… something else. But my body didn't care about definitions. It had filed them under mine the moment they spoke to me, and now it approved of the human's screaming like the world had corrected itself.
That approval was the part that unsettled me most.
Because I didn't feel satisfied.
My body did.
I stayed there a moment longer, spread thin against the ground, listening to the ugly quiet settle in. Ash drifted down through smoke-thick air, and every tiny leaf-fall sounded like a footstep.
Then, slowly, I pulled myself back together. The flattened smear of me gathered inward, flesh drawing up from dirt and bark in tacky strands until I was a shape again—closer to what I'd been before.
So this is what "fodder" looks like.
I let out a slow, tired breath I hadn't earned.
The system wasn't wrong. Mimic Larvae really were experience fodder.
I'm never wrong.
I flinched. Don't—
I forced myself to exhale slowly until the tightness eased a fraction, then listened.
Nothing chased me. Nothing breathed nearby.
But my nerves didn't care. My head was still full of screams and fire, so when that sterile presence brushed the edge of my thoughts again, I flinched hard and scanned the shadows on instinct—half expecting teeth to come with it.
The human's words looped back through my mind anyway—easy levels, level thirty-four—and they wouldn't let go.
Levels… what does that even mean here?
You gain levels by killing monsters.
I hadn't meant it as a question.
So when an answer slid into my head anyway, I flinched.
…Yeah, I paused, letting it settle. Of course. I guess that's obvious.
Stupid question.
I blinked and stared at nothing.
Why are you being like this?
Silence.
Which was an answer on its own. Some of the pressure in me eased—just a little—before I looked down at my weak sticky body. Leaves and thin branches were embedded in me, half-sunk into jelly-like flesh like I'd been rolled through glue and left to dry.
I reached up and pinched one. When I pulled, my body stretched with it, stringing out in a tacky strand that refused to let go.
Disgust crawled up my spine. I tugged harder. The strand thinned—thinner—then snapped free with a wet tear, the branch finally ripping loose. I stared at the torn edge of myself as it slowly sagged back into shape, like my body had decided damage was optional.
What has my life come to?
I sat there and listened, but the forest didn't offer comfort. Ash kept falling. Somewhere out there something shifted—quiet and unseen—just enough to make the leaves whisper, and then it stopped.
And that was the problem.
I didn't understand this place. I didn't understand me. I didn't even know what counted as dangerous anymore—only that something could be watching right now, close enough to hear me breathe, and I'd have no idea until it decided to move.