Three days passed after I left the lake.
Three days of motion, scent, sound—and multiplication of perspective.
I wasn't a deer anymore.
I was wolves.
Twelve of them.
Twelve bodies moving through the forest in loose formation, paws silent on damp earth, breath steaming in the morning air. Each body was real. Each heartbeat distinct. And yet every sensation folded neatly into one awareness.
This was better.
Not just more interesting—cleaner. Wolves were built for coordination. Pack logic mapped effortlessly onto hive logic. No resistance. No friction. I could think in formations now.
Spread.Circle.Collapse.
One of me lifted its head and froze.
Bear.
The scent was old but strong. Heavy. Confident. Apex without fear.
I followed it.
We followed it.
The bear was massive, shoulders rolling beneath its fur as it tore into a fallen log. It hadn't noticed us yet. It wouldn't—until it was too late.
I didn't rush.
I never rushed anymore.
The pack fanned out instinctively, twelve angles, twelve approaches. The bear turned too late.
We hit it like a storm.
Teeth sank into eyes, into snout, into soft joints behind the limbs. Claws tore into belly and back. One wolf was swatted aside, ribs cracking—but pain meant nothing when pain was data.
The bear roared.
Then it fell.
Silence followed, broken only by wet tearing sounds as we fed.
We stripped it efficiently. Muscle. Fat. Organs. Nothing left but shattered bone fragments and the skull, split clean through.
Too obvious.
Too much blood.
I pulled the pack away, sprinting toward a nearby lake. We plunged in together, cold water washing red from fur and teeth, scent trails dissolving as we shook and climbed out the other side.
We ran again.
Then—
One of me slowed.
Stopped.
Turned.
That's odd.
Its ears were forward, posture rigid—not alert, not afraid.
Drawn.
Curious.
I followed through it, shifting my focus, slipping deeper into that body's senses.
Voices.
Metal.
Magic.
Ahead, in a clearing, stood a group of humans.
Adventurers.
Classic arrangement. A robed mage, staff glowing faintly. A paladin in polished armor, sword held ready. And behind them—someone different. Focused. Calm.
A summoner.
Interesting.
They weren't looking at us.
They were fighting something else.
A hydra.
Not the fairy-tale kind. No absurd regeneration gimmick. No heads splitting like weeds. This one was… better. Tough. Dense. Its biology screamed durable rather than magical nonsense.
I felt a slow, pleased realization settle in.
I want that.
The summoner raised a hand.
Magic pulsed.
And suddenly, the pack—my pack—felt acknowledged.
Claimed.
I let it happen.
If they thought they'd summoned wolves, who was I to correct them?
We charged.
The hydra reared, heads snapping, jaws like traps. One wolf was caught, lifted, swallowed whole.
Perfect.
I shifted everything into that body as it disappeared down the hydra's throat.
Then I let go of shape.
The wolf dissolved.
Not dying—becoming. Billions of cells flooding outward, dispersing through flesh and blood and tissue. Viral sequences activated in unison.
Injection.
Override.
Hydra cells screamed under the strain, forced to produce me instead of themselves. Bursts rippled through its body as internal systems failed. Heads thrashed wildly, biting each other, collapsing under their own biology.
I harvested as I spread.
DNA cataloged. Structure learned. Regeneration mechanisms noted.
Then I repeated it.
Again.And again.And again.
Until the hydra stopped being a hydra.
Until it was me.
I severed the link.
The remaining wolves collapsed where they stood, lifeless husks now that my will had withdrawn. The summoner stared in confusion. The paladin raised his shield. The mage began an incantation.
Too slow.
I turned—new body coiling, massive, unfamiliar and wonderful—and struck.
The fight was brief.
Messy.
Educational.
When it was over, I fed.
Magic tasted different.
Souls did too.
I settled into the clearing, awareness expanding, satisfied beyond measure.
Man, I thought.
What an exciting couple of minutes.