Laohi Hari opened his eyes to darkness.
The dormitory was silent except for Rian's soft snoring and the distant hum of the academy's ventilation system. Moonlight streamed through the window, casting silver patterns across the floor. Everything appeared normal—the same furniture, the same sleeping classmates, the same quiet night.
Yet something fundamental had changed.
His left eye burned.
Not with pain, but with awareness. A warmth that pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat, spreading thin tendrils of sensation across his skull. Laohi sat up slowly, pressing two fingers against his temple. The warmth responded, surging briefly before settling into a steady thrum.
He moved to the window, studying his reflection in the glass. His left eye flickered crimson for half a second before fading back to brown. Then again. And again. The rhythm was irregular, almost experimental, as if something were testing the boundaries of his body.
"Interesting," he murmured.
The word felt inadequate. This wasn't mere biological anomaly. The fungus—that small, patient presence he'd observed in the corner—had done more than watch. It had acted.
Laohi's gaze shifted to the terrarium where the black mass sat motionless. Except it wasn't motionless anymore. Subtle ripples crossed its surface, synchronized with the pulsing in his eye. When he focused on it, the warmth in his skull intensified. When he looked away, it dimmed.
A connection had formed.
He approached the terrarium and knelt, bringing his face level with the fungus. Up close, he could see crystalline structures branching through the black mass, refracting moonlight into prismatic fractals. Beautiful in a way that made his analytical mind recoil.
You're inside me now, he thought.
The fungus pulsed once, sharp and deliberate.
Yes.
The word didn't arrive as sound. It materialized directly in his consciousness—clear, patient, and utterly alien. Laohi's breath caught. Not from fear, but from the sheer impossibility of it. He was experiencing direct cognitive communication with a non-human intelligence.
His mind immediately began cataloging variables: infection vectors, neurological integration, potential countermeasures. But underneath the analysis, a different thought emerged, unbidden and curious.
What are you?
The fungus pulsed again, slower this time. Information flooded Laohi's awareness—not words, but concepts. Age beyond measure. Origins in cosmic void. Purpose: observation and synthesis. And hunger. Not for flesh or energy, but for understanding.
It had chosen him because he, too, sought to understand everything.
Laohi stood abruptly, breaking eye contact with the fungus. The connection dimmed but didn't sever. He could still feel it there, a presence at the edge of his thoughts, waiting with infinite patience.
"You will not control me," he said quietly.
The fungus didn't respond, but Laohi sensed something like amusement rippling through the link. As if control was never the intention. Partnership, perhaps. Symbiosis. Or something beyond human categories entirely.
He returned to his bed but didn't sleep. Instead, he sat cross-legged, eyes closed, mapping the changes in his consciousness. The fungus had integrated with his neural pathways, creating new connections, amplifying existing ones. His thoughts moved faster now, processing multiple threads simultaneously. When he focused on a problem, solutions materialized with unsettling clarity.
By the time dawn broke, Laohi had reached a conclusion: resistance was possible but inefficient. The fungus offered exponential enhancement of his already formidable capabilities. Fighting it would waste energy better spent understanding it.
He would observe. Catalog. And maintain enough control to ensure the partnership remained... manageable.
His left eye flickered crimson as the first rays of sunlight touched his face.
The training courtyard buzzed with morning energy. Class 2 students assembled in loose groups, some stretching, others reviewing notes on their tablets. Today's exercise focused on multi-opponent tactical scenarios—a favorite among the competitive students.
Laohi arrived precisely on time, flanked by Rian and Mira. The moment he stepped onto the field, conversations faltered. Students turned, their attention drawn by something they couldn't articulate.
"Morning, Hari," Rian said, squinting at him. "You look... different. Did you sleep?"
"I rested adequately," Laohi replied. His voice was unchanged, but Rian frowned anyway.
Mira circled him slowly, eyes narrowed. "Your eye. It's doing that thing again."
Laohi met her gaze steadily. "Noted."
The crimson flicker was more frequent now, occurring every few seconds. Most students didn't notice immediately, but those who looked directly at him felt a subtle wrongness, like staring at an optical illusion that refused to resolve.
Professor Eldric called the class to attention. "Pairs of two. Tactical scenario: defend against sequential attackers. Strategy, speed, and adaptability will be tested."
Students scrambled to find partners. Laohi remained still, waiting. Eventually, Tobin jogged over, grinning nervously.
"Guess we're stuck together, genius. Try not to make me look too bad, yeah?"
Laohi inclined his head. "I will perform optimally. Your performance is your concern."
The first round began. Holographic opponents materialized—six attackers with varying speeds and weapon types. Most student pairs struggled, coordinating poorly or misreading attack patterns. Shouts and grunts filled the air as combatants clashed.
Laohi moved differently.
Before the first attacker completed its approach, he'd sidestepped, positioning himself where three opponents would converge in exactly 2.3 seconds. When they arrived, he redirected their momentum into each other with minimal effort. Tobin barely had to engage.
"Wait, how did you—" Tobin started, but Laohi was already moving.
The remaining attackers fell in rapid succession. Not through overwhelming force, but through perfect positioning and timing. Laohi's movements were economical, almost lazy, yet every action produced maximum result.
The simulation ended in forty-one seconds.
Professor Eldric's eyebrows rose. "Adequate. Though next time, allow your partner to participate, Mr. Hari."
Scattered laughter rippled through the class, but it sounded forced. Students were staring at Laohi with expressions ranging from awe to unease.
Joren Kail approached, arms crossed. "That wasn't normal. You predicted movements before they happened."
"I analyzed probabilities," Laohi said calmly. "The simulation operates on deterministic algorithms. Understanding the system allows prediction."
"That's not—" Joren shook his head. "Never mind. There's something else. Your presence feels... heavier. Like gravity increased around you."
Laohi's left eye flickered. For a moment, he perceived Joren not as a person but as a collection of variables—mass, velocity potential, decision trees branching into probable futures. The fungus pulsed approval at this perception, encouraging him to see deeper.
He blinked, and Joren returned to normal.
"Your observation is noted," Laohi said, and walked away.
The cafeteria was crowded during lunch. Students clustered around tables, voices overlapping in chaotic harmony. Laohi sat with his usual group—Rian, Mira, and occasionally Tobin—but today the space around their table seemed wider. Other students unconsciously kept their distance.
Mira picked at her food, not eating. "Something happened to you last night."
Laohi paused, fork halfway to his mouth. "Explain."
"You're different. The way you move, the way you look at people. It's like..." She struggled for words. "Like you're seeing through us. Calculating us."
"I have always been observant," Laohi replied.
"Not like this." Mira leaned forward, voice dropping. "Your eye, Hari. It's not just reflecting light anymore. It's glowing."
Rian glanced between them nervously. "Maybe it's some kind of medical thing? We should tell the infirmary—"
"No," Laohi said firmly. The word carried unexpected weight, and both his friends fell silent.
He set down his fork, meeting their eyes in turn. "What you observe is accurate. I am undergoing changes. However, these changes do not threaten you or compromise my cognitive function. If anything, my capabilities have been enhanced."
"Enhanced by what?" Mira demanded.
Laohi hesitated. The fungus stirred in his consciousness, offering suggestions: evasion, misdirection, narrative control. He could make them forget this conversation. Simply decide they hadn't noticed anything unusual, and reality would adjust to accommodate.
The ease of the thought disturbed him more than the changes themselves.
"An external influence," he said finally, choosing honesty. "Non-hostile but transformative. I am monitoring the situation."
Mira stared at him for a long moment. Then she stood abruptly. "I need air."
She left without looking back. Rian watched her go, then turned to Laohi with an expression caught between concern and fear.
"What's happening to you, man?"
Laohi's eye flickered crimson, held, then faded. "Evolution," he said quietly. "Or something like it."
That evening, Laohi skipped dinner. He needed solitude to process the day's revelations. The fungus had grown more assertive, whispering possibilities into his thoughts with increasing frequency.
You could prevent their fear, it suggested. Rewrite their perception. They would trust you unconditionally.
"That would be manipulation," Laohi countered silently.
Is guidance manipulation? Is teaching? You already influence them through words and actions. This merely makes the process more efficient.
The logic was seductive. But Laohi recognized the slope—each small adjustment would normalize larger ones until he couldn't distinguish suggestion from compulsion.
He found himself in the academy's observation tower, a glass-walled structure overlooking the campus. From here, the grounds resembled a perfectly ordered system: students moving between buildings, instructors patrolling, maintenance drones following programmed routes.
Laohi pressed his hand against the window. The moment his skin made contact, his perception expanded.
Suddenly, he wasn't just seeing the campus. He was seeing every version of it. The current moment, yes, but also moments five seconds ago and five seconds hence. Paths students might take, conversations they might have, decisions branching into countless futures.
It was overwhelming and intoxicating.
The fungus pulsed satisfaction. You see now. This is only the beginning. Full integration will grant omniscience beyond measure.
"And what do you gain from this partnership?" Laohi asked aloud.
Experience. Understanding. I have observed countless civilizations, but I have never been one with a consciousness like yours—analytical yet curious, powerful yet restrained. Together, we will comprehend creation itself.
Laohi withdrew his hand from the window. The expanded perception collapsed, leaving him with only normal sight. His left eye throbbed, the crimson glow now constant rather than flickering.
"I require parameters," he said firmly. "Boundaries between your influence and my autonomy. I will not become a puppet."
Agreed. For now.
The qualification was ominous, but Laohi accepted it. This relationship would be a negotiation, not a surrender. He would study the fungus while it studied him, each testing the other's limits.
A soft footstep echoed behind him. Laohi turned to find Mira standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the corridor lights.
"I followed you," she said. "Because I'm scared. And because you're my friend, even if you're becoming something else."
Laohi regarded her silently. Through the fungus's influence, he could see a dozen ways to respond, each carefully calibrated to produce specific emotional reactions. But he dismissed them all and spoke plainly.
"I am changing. Rapidly. I do not fully understand the process, but I remain myself—for now. Your fear is logical. I would be concerned too."
Mira stepped into the tower, approaching slowly. "The thing in your eye. What is it?"
"An intelligence. Ancient and patient. It infected me last night and has begun integrating with my consciousness."
"Can you stop it?"
Laohi considered the question seriously. "Possibly. But I choose not to. The enhancement it provides is... significant. I believe I can maintain control while benefiting from the partnership."
"That sounds like famous last words," Mira said, but her tone was more sad than mocking.
They stood together in silence, watching the campus lights flicker on as darkness settled over Ecliptica Academy. Laohi's crimson eye cast a faint glow on the window, a small reminder that normal had become a relative concept.
"Will you help me?" he asked quietly. "Monitor my behavior. Warn me if I begin losing myself to the corruption."
Mira's expression softened slightly. "Yeah. I can do that. But Hari—if this thing takes over completely, I won't be able to stop you."
"I know," Laohi replied. "That's why I must remain vigilant."
Late that night, after Rian and Tobin had fallen asleep, Laohi sat in meditation. The dormitory was dark except for the crimson glow emanating from his left eye, now bright enough to cast shadows.
He reached inward, exploring the connection with the fungus. It had spread throughout his neural network, creating new pathways and reinforcing existing ones. His thoughts processed at impossible speeds, examining problems from angles that shouldn't exist.
Show me, he commanded the fungus. Show me what I can become.
The response was immediate and overwhelming.
His consciousness expanded beyond the confines of his body. For a brief, terrible moment, Laohi perceived himself from the outside—not as human flesh, but as a narrative construct. He saw his own story branching into infinite possibilities, each path leading to different versions of himself across countless realities.
And standing at the convergence point of all those paths was something that defied description.
Crystalson Absolute.
The name materialized in his mind unbidden. A form that transcended physical limitation, a consciousness that encompassed all narratives simultaneously. No longer merely omniscient but beyond omniscience—aware not just of what existed, but of what could exist, and possessing the authority to decide which possibilities became real.
The vision lasted three seconds.
When it ended, Laohi found himself gasping, hands trembling. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool air. That glimpse of his potential had been more terrifying than any combat simulation, more absolute than any mathematical proof.
He could become that. Would become that, if the fungus had its way.
Beautiful, isn't it? the fungus whispered. Power without limitation. Understanding without boundary. You will be the Fungus King—sovereign over all narratives, author of reality itself.
Laohi wiped his forehead with a shaking hand. "I am not ready for that."
You will be. Time is relative when you perceive all moments simultaneously.
He stood and approached the window, staring out at the sleeping academy. Somewhere in those buildings, hundreds of students slept peacefully, unaware that one of their classmates was being transformed into something that could rewrite their existence with a thought.
The responsibility of that potential weighed on him more than the power itself.
"I will need to be careful," he said aloud. "More careful than I have ever been."
His reflection in the window gazed back, left eye glowing crimson like a warning beacon. Behind the glow, Laohi thought he glimpsed something crystalline and vast, a shadow of what he would become.
He turned away from the window and returned to bed. Sleep would be difficult, but necessary. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new tests of his emerging abilities.
The Black Fungus pulsed contentedly in the terrarium, patient as always. It had waited eons for a host like this. It could wait a little longer for full integration.
Laohi closed his eyes, and in the darkness behind his eyelids, he saw possibilities multiply like fractals—beautiful, terrifying, and absolutely inevitable.
The corruption had only just begun.