The Hollow Moth: Reincarnated as a Caterpillar

I hate this.

Every. Crawling. Second of it.

Running.

Not fighting.

My legs slam against the ground in rhythm, legs digging into the stone, but it feels wrong—like my body's wired for war, and I'm dragging it away from where it wants to be. Where it should be.

I glance back once. Just once.

He's not behind me anymore.

The Spiky Caterpillar sibling—the one who stayed.

The one who took the hit.

I grit my mandibles and push faster.

One's still with me, scuttling beside me, legs uneven, spines twitching. I don't look at her. I can't. Not right now.

The tunnel curves. The mana in the air gets thicker. I can feel it pulsing under the stone now—close to the ritual site. Close to Ypal.

I press forward.

I want to turn around. Damn, do I want to fight. To blast something. To show Orbed what happens when you touch my siblings.

But I can't.

If I turn back now, I bring them with me—Orbed, and maybe more. And if that happens, if I lead that monster to the ritual site?

I'll put everyone in danger.

Mother would say that's the cost of leadership. That restraint is the sharpest weapon.

Yeah, well—restraint sucks.

But I keep running.

I veered off the main tunnel.

Took a different route—narrow, jagged, barely traveled. The kind that snakes through cracks and splits in the dungeon wall. Not because it's faster. It's not. In fact, it's slower. Harder.

But that's the point.

The last thing I'm going to do is lead Orbed straight to the ritual site.

So I take the difficult path.

One that coils through tight crevices, walls that close in just enough to scrape your sides, ridges that demand climbing with every limb engaged. Places only we—caterpillars—could even think of passing through.

Behind me, the remaining sibling huffs and pants, but keeps pace.

Good.

Let the harder path buy us time. Let it wear us down, scratch our armor, slow our steps.

If it means keeping the others safe?

I'll take every inch of it.

Gladly.

Or so I thought.

I had just started to believe we'd lost them—whatever was following us, whatever stink of Orbed I'd dragged behind—

Then I feel it.

A pulse.

A wave of mycelium flooded through the crack behind us, surging along the stone like a tide of white threads. Fast. Silent.

Then—movement.

From the ground, something jumps—liquid at first, then pulling together like wet clay snapping into shape. A creature forms, low and twitching, like half-dissolved meat sculpted into a stalked body.

Not smooth like a Mender.

Not armored like a Warden.

Just... wrong.

Like the one we fought in Orbed's prison.

A Creeper.

I slam to a halt, mandibles wide, legs bracing.

It doesn't speak. It just twitches. Like it's listening to something I can't hear.

And then it starts moving toward us.

Fast.

Then—great.

As if one wasn't enough.

A clump of spores floats in beside the Creeper. Just hovering there. Innocent, for a second.

Then it starts to disperse.

The cloud shifts, twisting into limbs, shaping a form out of nothing—until another Myconid stands beside the Creeper like they just grew out of the air itself.

I click my mandibles, annoyed. "Ah, damn. Another one."

This one's not like Yyshad. No fire trailing behind them. No wild thrashing or explosive madness. No heat or pressure in the air. No presence.

They're still clearly Advanced—that trick alone is more than a basic Myconid could pull.

But they're not an officer.

Not one of them.

Which means... this should be manageable.

I brace myself, legs firm against the stone, spines humming with tension.

"Fine," I mutter. "You want a fight?"

"I'll give you one."

"Hey, you," I bark, antennae flicking back without turning.

The Spiky Caterpillar sibling behind me perks up, startled but attentive.

"With me. Back me up with spines—same as usual."

She doesn't hesitate.

I hear the sound of bristles rattling, their posture shifting into that familiar formation. Not in front. Not behind. Just off to my side, angled for cover fire.

They know the rhythm.

I charge forward.

Let's see what these two fungi freaks are made of.

The moment they move, I don't hesitate.

I charge straight for the Creeper, spines flaring, mandibles wide. No words. No warning. Just movement and instinct. That thing's already twitching like it's about to melt again—I'm not giving it the chance.

But it's not after me.

It slips left, low and fast, aiming for my sibling instead. Trying to flank.

Bad move.

She doesn't even flinch—just flexes, her spines snapping outward in a tight, reflexive burst

The Creeper lashes forward and—

shhk.

It hisses. Flesh hits the spine.

I see the damage instantly—small punctures along its liquefying limbs. It doesn't scream. It just melts, body sloshing into a wet smear to escape the pain.

Coward.

I turn my focus toward the other one—the quiet one.

The Unknown Myconid.

They're just standing there. Still. Watching. Like I'm a problem they're waiting to solve.

I don't give them the chance.

I lunge.

And—poof—they disperse into a cloud of spores the instant I make contact. No resistance. Just air and dust and that sharp, fungal scent that clings to everything.

I land where they were, claws scraping stone, mandibles clicking.

Gone.

Not gone gone.

Just… around.

"Hohoho, you wanna play like that, huh?" I growl, antennae twitching. "What about this!"

I fire.

One of my sharper spines—straight into the cloud.

It whistles through the air and—

Nothing.

It just goes through.

No reaction. No hit. Just spores drifting apart like I swatted a puff of dust.

No sound.

No pain.

No form.

I narrow my eyes.

"…Huh."

Then something shifts.

The spores tighten—clumping into a dark ball, dense and pulsing.

Before I can even growl, it launches.

Fast.

I jerk my body sideways—just enough—and the thing screams past me, close enough to rattle my plates.

BAM.

It hits the wall behind me.

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The stone doesn't crack.

It disappears.

What's left is a hole—wide, scorched, still hissing. Like someone ripped a chunk out with acid and pressure.

I stare for half a breath.

Okay.

That's new.

Anddd... dangerous.

Definitely dangerous.

That wasn't some weak support type or squishy spore-thrower.

That thing could've killed someone.

I tighten my stance, antennae low.

"Alright," I mutter, claws digging into the stone. "No more messing around."

I surge forward, ready to strike—no thoughts, just instinct and force—

But then I feel it.

A rush under my feet.

The mycelium surges—fast like a wave boiling beneath the stone—and in the blink of an eye, the Creeper pulls itself together right in front of me, forming mid-lunge, limbs sharpened, eyes locked.

It's fast.

Too fast.

I brace—

But before it can reach me, my sibling leaps in from the side, slamming into it mid-charge.

Spines clash against half-formed flesh.

They both hit the ground hard.

I waste no time.

The second my sibling hits the ground with the Creeper, I launch forward again—straight for the Unknown Myconid.

They're already drifting, spores lazy and silent.

Of course, the moment I get close—just as my mandibles snap forward to tear into their stupid neck—

Poof.
Gone again.

They hover to the side, reforming like mist tightening into shape. Calm. Predictable.

Hehe.

Little did they know…

That's exactly what I was going for.

As their form pulls back together—denser, almost solid again—I fire a spine. This one's different. Heavier.

They don't even dodge.

They probably think it's gonna pass through them again like the last one.

But the moment it grazes their shoulder—

BOOM.

I detonate it.

"*Try dispersing out of that!" I roar, claws digging into the ground as the explosion rips through the tunnel.

The blast sends the Myconid flying backward—spores bursting off them like loose ash. They slam into the stone with a wet crunch, limbs twitching.

For a second, they don't move.

Then—slowly—they stir.

They don't dissolve.

They don't scatter.

They get up like a normal Myconid, dragging themselves upright with shaky limbs, no tricks this time. No cloud. No ghosting.

Just bruised, burned, and solid.

Finally.

"Whew…" I mutter, bristles twitching from the blast's echo. "Normally a monster bursts and dies from that…"

The Myconid stands fully now, swaying slightly, half of their outer layer scorched, one arm hanging loose.

Still breathing. Still moving.

I click my mandibles, half impressed, half annoyed.

"You're tough, aren't ya?"

I glance to the side—just for a second.

My sibling's still locked in with the Creeper, and it's going nowhere fast.

It keeps doing the same thing—liquifying, slipping behind her, going for a strike—

And every time, she just flexes her spines, hard and fast, forcing it to recoil with fresh punctures.

She tries to counter and lunges in to attack, but the Creeper just melts again. Slips out of reach like wet sludge.

A stalemate.

Annoying little slug.

I look back.

The Unknown Myconid is stepping forward now—no tricks, no spores, just steady, deliberate movement.

Then they start charging.

Straight at me.

I grin, mandibles wide. "Oh ho—you want a direct fight now?"

I lower my stance, spines humming.

"Bring it on!"

I charge forward—low and fast, aiming right for their center. Stone cracks beneath me as I pick up speed.

I swing low, ready to clip their legs and drive them down.

But they sidestep—quick, sharp.

And then—bam—a fist slams into my side, heavy and direct.

But I'm not some soft-skinned crawler.

I flex my side just in time, and one of my sharpest spines punches straight through their arm mid-swing.

The impact jerks me, but it jerks them worse.

They stumble, arm leaking spores.

I grin through the pain. "Not so fun up close, huh?"

They charge again—faster this time, closing the distance with zero hesitation.

I brace, antennae twitching, and duck to the left—thought I had the angle—

But it was a feint.

Their real strike comes from the other side.

CRACK.

Fist to the face.

My head jerks sideways, my vision flaring white for a second. Mandibles grind together as I stagger back, claws dragging sparks against the stone.

Okay.

That one hurt.

They go for another swing—same side this time, too predictable.

I duck low, then snap upward.

My mandibles clamp down on their leg, tight.

"Alright…" I growl, body coiling, pressure building. "Time for Nur's special."

I twist hard, using the full weight of my body, and hurl them sideways with a grunt. They go flying, crashing into the wall with a loud, wet thud.

Before they can recover—

Boom.

I fire an explosive spine straight at them.

The blast should've landed. Should've torn through their chest like it did last time—

But no.

At the last second, they disperse into spores again, slipping out of the blast like fog on the wind, zipping across the tunnel before pulling back into shape—solid, twitching, annoyingly intact.

They turn slowly, one shoulder jerking unnaturally.

"Tch… that's annoying!" I hiss.

But the way they move… yeah. That cost them something. That shift wasn't clean.

They're fast.

But not endlessly.

They're not the same anymore.

Not since that explosion hit them directly earlier.

Their form's still intact, sure—but it's off now. The movements aren't smooth. The way they shifted into spores just now—it was fast, yeah, but rough. Flickering at the edges.

They twitched when they pulled themselves back together.

Like the whole "turn-into-spores" thing is starting to cost more than it's worth.

Good.

That means I've got an opening.

Their little ghost trick isn't endless after all.

Alright, alright—

Now what?

What would Nur do?

Ugh. Listen to me. I'm actually thinking mid-fight now. Not just charging in, not just biting the nearest stalk and calling it strategy.

Gross.

I puff my chest a little, grinning to myself.

And here I thought I was the big sister.

But nooo, apparently I'm stealing my lil' sis's brain moves now.

Whatever.

She's still my favorite grub.

I'll take her smarts and still get the fun part.

Now—back to murdering this mushroom.

And maybe eating them later.

Y'know.

If they're not too chewy.

Just as I'm about to move—thinking I've got the upper leg, planning a clean finish—

They move first.

The Unknown Myconid twitches and then waves both arms.

PFFFSSHH.

A thick spray of spores bursts out from their body—dense, fast, spreading in every direction like a puffball under pressure.

I cough and stumble back, vision swimming.

Everything's off.

My balance. My breath. My depth perception. The walls stretch and shrink like they're breathing, the tunnel lights double in my eyes.

"Gghhh—what—"

I sway, legs scrambling, claws scraping stone. The spores cling to my shell like dust, and my instincts? Scrambled. I can't feel the walls right—I hate that.

I can still hear them moving. Fast.

Coming closer.

Can't end like this.

Not yet.

Enough.

If my senses won't work, then I'll just stop using them.

I shut my eyes.

Block out the blur. The tilt. The pounding pulse behind my forehead.

I stop seeing.

And I start feeling.

Psychic lines stretch out from my mind—soft, subtle, like threads in water. I feel the air move. The twitch of spores. The tension in the stone. The heartbeat of something wrong just ahead.

They're there.

Right in front of me.

I grin.

"Gotcha."

I launch forward—low and fast. Mandibles are wide. I don't need my eyes. I don't need the tunnel. I just need the pressure.

The moment I sense resistance—

I drive a spine up, point-blank.

BOOM.

The explosion lights the back of my eyelids.

When I open them again, the Myconid's on the ground—twitching, scorched, not getting back up.

Still breathing.

But done.

"Night-night."

I try to look around, but—ugh—my senses are still off.

Everything's wobbly. Blurry. The tunnel walls feel like they're leaning the wrong way. My antennae twitch, trying to reorient.

I blink a few times.

Still dizzy.

Still can't tell up from down without second-guessing it.

"Okayyy," I mumble, wobbling in place. "Not ideal."

I shake my head hard, trying to snap it back into place.

Spores are stubborn.

So is my skull.

I close my eyes again.

Forget sight. Sight's useless right now.

I reach out—psychically. Let the world hum instead of spin.

And there it is.

There.

I can feel her—my sibling. Steady, sharp, bristling with focused energy. Still holding the line. Still fighting.

The Myconid Creeper?

Not as clear.

But they're there too.

Faint. Slippery. Like trying to grab water with claws.

They're close.

Still dancing around her. Still stalling.

Guess it's my turn to wrap this up.

I wait.

Still can't see. Still not trusting my legs to tell me what's level and what's ceiling.

But I can feel it.

And what I'm sensing?

The Creeper's getting sluggish.

Its movements aren't as sharp, not as slithery. Every liquify is slower, and every reform takes longer. Like it's running out of steam—or patience.

My sibling, though?

She's just standing there. Spines flaring, flexing every time the Creeper gets close. Over and over. Again and again.

Immovable object.

Unstoppable force.

And it's clear which one's cracking first.

I stay still. Wait for that tiny, perfect crack.

The Creeper liquifies again, sinking into the floor like it always does—trying to escape, to reposition, to cheat its way around losing.

But this time?

I'm ready.

The moment it starts melting, I send a tight psychic pulse to my sibling.

Back off. Now.

She doesn't question it—just leaps away, spines flaring wide.

And I plant myself.

My body tenses, and I extend my spines—hard. Drive them down, deep into the floor like iron stakes.

Then I feel it.

There. A shift beneath the stone. A soft, cold wriggle.

I grin.

"Gotcha."

CRACK.
My spine punches straight through the ground—and straight into the Creeper's liquefied mass.

Click.

BOOM.

The blast rips upward, chunks of stone and Myconid goop spraying in all directions. The tunnel shakes. Wet, sludgy bits rain down from the ceiling.

I stand there in the middle of it, dripping, grinning.

"Now that's how you mop a floor."

I'm still grinning, still covered in steaming bits of Creeper stew, when I hear the skitter of legs rushing toward me.

My sibling slides to a stop beside me, eyes wide, spines twitching with leftover adrenaline.

"That was outstanding, Royal Highness Goldy!" she blurts out, practically bouncing.

I puff up, shoulders high, antennae lifted.

"Well, of course it was," I say, striking a triumphant pose with goo still dripping off one mandible. "We don't half win around here."

She nods rapidly, still breathless. "That was like—foosh—and then—boom! And then goo everywhere!"

"Exactly." I flick some off my face. "Glorious."

Totally worth the mess.

"Alright," I huff, shaking the last of the goo off my limbs. "We need to head back. Fast."

My sibling nods, already turning toward the winding path ahead.

"We've gotta warn Victor and the others. If Orbed's moving…"

I don't finish the sentence.

Because we both know.

I take a step forward—and instantly stumble, catching myself with a hiss.

"Ughhh—I still feel a little disoriented though," I grumble, swaying just enough to feel like I'm walking on soup.

She gives me a worried look.

I wave her off, mandibles twitching into a grin. "It's fine. I've fought worse with a stomach full of rock moss and half a brain."

"...That explains a lot," she mutters.

"Let's go!" I declare, as heroically as I can while wobbling slightly.

Before I go, I glance at the scorched, still-twitching body of the Unknown Myconid.

Yeah. Definitely dead now.

I reach down, grip one of their legs—still kinda intact—and yank it clean off with a wet snap.

My sibling freezes mid-step, giving me a slow, wide-eyed stare.

"What?" I say, holding the limb up like it's a snack I found under a rock. "Waste not, want not."

She doesn't say anything. Just keeps staring.

I shrug and toss it onto my back like luggage.

"Emergency rations."

"…You're unbelievable."

"I know," I beam. "Now let's go."

We move.

Climbing up the walls, slipping through narrow splits in the stone like threads through a needle. My balance is still a little off, but I muscle through it. My sibling follows close behind, quiet but steady.

The closer we get, the thicker the mana gets—soft, warm, full of pressure. Not hostile. Not yet. Just dense. Familiar spores start to mix into the air, the kind that hums with life instead of rot.

We reach the edge of the chamber, and then—there it is.

Sporehaven.

The ritual site.

Glowing softly in the center of the vast cavern, with bioluminescent caps hanging like chandeliers above. Myconids all around. Defensive formations still holding.

And at the front?

Victor.

He turns the moment we enter, antennae flicking toward us with a quiet smile.

"Ahh… back already, Young Highness?" he says, voice polite with just a pinch of amused judgment.

I puff out my chest, still dripping with Creeper goo and carrying a dead guy's leg.

"Yup," I say. "Miss us?"

Victor's eyes narrow, antennae lowering just slightly. He catches the shift in my tone, in the way I stop grinning after that first word.

"We ran into Orbed," I say, flat and quiet.

That gets everyone's attention.

Movement around the chamber stills. Subtle. Controlled. But I feel it.

"They ambushed us," I continue. "Not with words. Not with threats. Just that creepy stare and something jagged glowing in their hands."

Victor's expression doesn't change—but his bristles tighten.

"I didn't fight," I add, and I hate how those words taste in my mouth. "I ran. Took the long path back so they couldn't trace me to the ritual site."

I glance at my sibling beside me.

"Only reason I got away is because one of ours—one of the Spiky Caterpillar siblings—stayed behind."

I swallow hard.

"They saved me. Took the blow. Took everything."

I lower the Myconid leg from my back, suddenly feeling heavier.

"I'm here because they're not."

Silence hangs in the spores. Heavy. Real.

"Anyway," I say, shaking the weight off my shoulders with a grunt, "how long's the ritual got left?"

I glance toward the glowing spire of mycelium at the heart of the site—Ypal still seated in the center, spores weaving around them like threads of silk and mana.

"Because Orbed's on their way," I add, voice sharpening. "Probably gonna be here any minute now."

Gyldis steps forward from the far side, her bulk heavy with moisture and age, her cap flickering with dim pulses.

"The ritual… won't finish for a little while yet," she says, calm but low. "The final phase requires full spore-link harmony, and Ypal is still drawing in the outer threads."

I groan, claws dragging across my face. "So basically, we're stalling."

Gyldis nods solemnly. "Precisely."

Then we feel it.

Not hear.

Feel.

A tremor through the stone—deep, slow, heavy. Like the dungeon itself is flinching.

Steps.

Each one lands like a sentence.

Heavy.

Ominous.

Oppressive.

The spores in the air start to shift, flickering uneasily. My bristles lift on instinct, every plate in my body going tense.

The steps get closer.

Closer.

And with them… a light.

A faint, sickly green glow crawled in through the cracks of the far tunnel.

It pulses like rot-given shape.

Like something very, very wrong is finally arriving.

And then—

They appear.

A massive Myconid steps into the chamber, stone cracking beneath each slow, deliberate footfall.

Their body is bulky, gnarled with hardened fungal bark—like they were grown for war, not thought. Thick strands of mycelium trail from their limbs, dragging behind like roots torn from the earth.

Their cap is crowned with protruding branches, twisted like antlers, reaching outward as if to claim the space around them. Faint veins of green pulse through them, glowing brighter with each step.

And in their hand—

A jagged stone, crooked and warped, glowing with the same sickly green light we saw in the tunnel.

The spores around them retreat. The air pulls back. Even the other Myconids falter slightly, shifting like they feel something they don't want to admit.

Orbed.

End of Chapter 39