Light footsteps pattered over the forest floor as the gale rabbit darted toward the goblin den. One thought echoed through its mind, simple and insistent: "Head south."
The rabbit moved fast, its small paws barely rustling the fallen leaves and soft moss underfoot. The forest air was cool and damp, carrying hints of pine and rotting wood. The command pulsed from the creature anchored at the base of its skull, guiding it like an invisible rein. The journey was short, the familiar stench of smoke, unwashed hides, and old blood growing stronger until the clearing materialized from the shadows.
Upon finally reaching the outskirts of the camp, he saw three goblins lying around, busying themselves with idle tasks. One poked at dying embers in the fire pit with a stick, its green skin mottled and scarred from past fights, yellow teeth bared in a bored grimace. Another scratched at its ragged cloth armor, muttering curses in a guttural language while picking at fleas. The third leaned against a crude wooden post, spear propped lazily beside it, eyes half-lidded in a stupor. No hobgoblins were in sight, the air quiet except for their occasional grunts.
He decided this gale rabbit was too valuable to discard. It was swift, agile, a perfect scout for now. He split a single tentacle from his main body, thinning it into a separate, agile extension—dark-red and glistening, no thicker than a worm but with its own set of tiny tendrils for movement. The tentacle slithered ahead through the grass, sneaking into the cave mouth while the other body remained hidden at the tree line, vibrations from the ground confirming the goblins were distracted.
Inside the tunnel, the sound of skin hitting skin echoed like rhythmic slaps against wet stone. Vibrations pulsed through the space, traveling up the walls and floor—a constant thrum of motion and force that made the air feel heavy and charged. The scent was thicker here, a mix of sweat, blood, and musk that clung to the damp rock.
The tentacle got close enough to the cavern's edge, where torchlight flickered in uneven orange glows, casting long shadows over the scene.
Six goblins were there, surrounding the captives. The five human women and three kobold females lay limp on the dirt floor, bodies bruised and streaked with grime, their skin pale and marked with red welts. Their eyes were vacant, stares fixed on nothing, minds shattered beyond repair. No resistance remained—only weak grunts escaped their lips as the goblins continued their brutal work, thrusting and groping with mindless ferocity. The air was thick with the smell of exertion and fluids, the floor slick in spots from spilled essence.
He decided to take control of them all.
He tried to split into five copies—then six. The process failed. The flesh resisted, pulling back with a strange, limiting sensation—a tight pressure in his core, like an invisible barrier blocking the division. He sensed the limitation clearly: only four copies at once. And only two of those could parasite a host. The other two lacked the anchoring capability.
He decided to attack.
He increased his mass first—consuming biomass to expand the four bodies, swelling them larger to pose more of a threat. The dark-red flesh bulked up in pulsing waves, tentacles thickening like ropes, drawing from his stored reserves. The copies grew to nearly a meter each, heavy and menacing, tendrils coiling with newfound strength.
The copies lunged at the goblins. Tentacles wrapped around limbs, necks, and torsos, squeezing to restrain with crushing force.
The goblins were too strong. They roared, muscles bulging under their green skin, veins popping as they flexed. With raw power, they broke free from the restraint—ripping tentacles apart, clubs swinging in wide arcs. Two copies were smashed—destroyed with little effort, crushed under boots and blows that splintered their fleshy forms into pulpy messes on the cave floor.
The remaining two copies moved faster. One slithered up a goblin's leg, burrowing into a fresh cut on its thigh. It anchored deep, tentacles hooking into the brainstem. The goblin stiffened, eyes rolling back.
The last copy reached a second goblin, slipping through torn skin at the arm. Anchored.
The two parasitized goblins froze, bodies twitching. He took control.
One raised a large rock from the floor—rough, blood-stained. Smashed it down on a third goblin's skull. Bone cracked with a wet snap. The goblin dropped, dead, brains spilling onto the dirt.
The other three goblins roared, clubs swinging. The controlled goblins fought back—clumsy but brutal. One tackled a goblin to the ground, fists pounding. The other smashed the rock again, caving in another skull. Spears stabbed into flesh, ripping wounds open. Blood sprayed across the walls, mixing with the torchlight in red glistens. Fists flew, bones broke, grunts turned to screams.
The battle erupted—chaotic, short. Four goblins lay dead at the end, their bodies twisted in pools of their own blood, limbs splayed, faces frozen in shock or rage.
The remaining two screamed in pain as he devoured them from the inside—tentacles spreading through their chests and abdomens, dissolving organs and muscle while they thrashed on the ground, cries echoing off the cave walls in high-pitched agony until their voices gave out, bodies going still as the last of their insides liquefied.
He assimilated all the corpses—tentacles burrowing into the dead flesh, drawing in biomass and traits with steady pulls. The process was quiet after the screams faded, the cavern filling with the wet slurps of absorption.
He returned to the women.
They were limp, grunting softly, minds shattered. No spark left. He parasitized them one by one—anchoring at the nape, reading their memories.
The memories were fragmented, broken like their minds, flashes of pain, faces blurred, villages named but paths unclear. They weren't useful beyond basic directions—a nearby settlement called Eldige, a few hours west, but the details were hazy, warped by trauma. He caused them painless deaths, forcing their bodies to release pain numbing enzymes as he devoured from the inside. Bodies devoured slowly, no screams, no resistance, enzymes ensuring they felt nothing as organs dissolved, skin sagging over empty frames. The kobolds went the same way—scaled bodies yielding easily, memories even less coherent, animalistic fragments of dens and packs. Biomass surged as the last one was consumed.
A familiar notification chimed in his mind.
—--
[Requirements Met]
Evolution Available
—--