The Hollow Moth: Reincarnated as a Caterpillar

"Orbed is coming!?" Tessa nearly howls, her ears twitching so hard they blur.

We're mid-run, claws tapping fast over cracked stone, the tunnel air thick with burned spores and fresh dread.

"That's what she said," I snap, antennae low, trying to keep my breath steady. "Goldy ran into them. One of our own stayed behind… took the hit."

Vex says nothing.

He's been quiet ever since I told them.

But I can feel it—rolling off him in waves.

Not rage.

Grief.

Behind me, he mutters, low and rough. "He was one of mine… one of our own."

I glance back just long enough to catch the gleam of venom glistening on his mandibles.

"He wasn't strong. But he stood anyway."

I don't say anything. I just keep moving.

Because there's nothing I can say that makes that better.

And nothing we can do right now but run faster.

Eight down.

That's the number rattling around my head as we run.

One Myconid Dusk—me and Spiky handled that.
Four more—the Spikeward Mothkin's been fighting them alone. Status is still unknown.
Then there was Yelinod… and the two Advanced Myconids Tessa and Vex took down before I showed up.

Eight Myconids accounted for.

Which means—

Six left.

Not counting Orbed.

I grit my mandibles.

That's Orbed and potentially six more Advanced Myconids heading straight for the ritual site.

Victor, Gyldis, Astor… they're strong, sure.

But seven enemies?

With Orbed leading them?

I don't care how fortified Sporehaven is.

That's a slaughter waiting to happen.

"We're close," Vex says suddenly, his voice cutting through the stale air.

I don't need to ask how he knows.

I can feel it too.

The mana pressure sharpens—thick with conflict, heavy with the scent of rot and scorched fungus. We push through the final bend in the tunnel—

And then we see it.

Exactly what I feared.

A battlefield.

Chaos.

The ritual site is drowned in it. Myconid Workers clash in desperate formations, spores thick enough to choke on, their bodies strewn across the ground like broken roots. Some still twitching. Most not.

Orbed's already here.

And they didn't come quietly.

My eyes lock onto the figure across the battlefield—broad and massive, with a crown of antler-like growths curling from their cap. In one hand, they hold the glowing, jagged artifact like it's an extension of their will.

Orbed.

Beside them—three Advanced Myconids, clustered close like loyal teeth waiting to bite.

On the other side of the chamber—

I see Goldy.

Frontline, of course. Covered in black smears, panting, but still upright. Victor stands beside her, defensive posture tight, antennae tuned and ready. With them: one of our Spiky Caterpillar siblings, two Lesser Spikies, Astor, Gyldis, and five Advanced Myconids aligned with Sporehaven.

Some are wounded. Bleeding. But alive.

Tch.

We're late.

But not too late.

Goldy, mid-swing—literally mid-swing—blasts a Myconid Worker across the floor with a spine burst, then whirls around as if she felt us more than saw us.

Her eyes light up.

"Ahhh! You finally arrived!" she yells over the chaos, waving with one claw while still kicking a mushroom in the face. "Took you long enough!"

Then her eyes lock on me.

"Wait—Nur!? Since when were you with them?! I thought you went with Spiky!"

I raise a claw and shout back, "Long story!"

Because it is.

And this is not the time.

But seeing her—standing there, battered and grinning like a maniac—sparks something tight and sharp in my chest.

Tessa wastes no time.

The moment we step in, she lets out a sharp breath—then she's gone, a bronze blur streaking through the chaos. She pounces on the nearest opposing Myconid like a wild bolt, claws out, fangs flashing, howling through spores, and screams.

Figures.

Vex, still at my side, doesn't move yet. He just watches.

Eyes narrowed. Antennae still.

"Tch," he mutters. "That Myconid Warden—Orbed."

He tilts his head just slightly, tracking them through the haze. "They're not moving."

I follow his gaze.

He's right.

Orbed's just standing there, jagged artifact pulsing in one hand, antler crown catching the light. Watching. Waiting.

Commanding without lifting a hand.

Creeping tension knots in my stomach.

That's never a good sign.

I shift my focus, locking onto Vex with a narrow pulse of psychic communication—tight and quiet, just between us.

"What do you reckon, Vex? Think you can sneak up on them?"

He doesn't even blink.

His reply slides into my mind like a dry blade.

"Yeah. Sure. If you want a rotting beam blasted through my face."

I glance at him.

He's still watching Orbed, eyes calm, voice laced with his usual please don't make me do something stupid tone.

"They're watching everything. Every movement. That artifact's not just for show, Nur."

Tch. Figures.

Then I take a look at it.

The artifact.

I hadn't really noticed it before—not really. Too busy running, fighting, calculating. But now, with everything slowed just for a second, my eyes lock onto it.

That jagged stone in Orbed's hand—glowing sickly green, pulsing like a heartbeat through rot.

And something… shifts.

Familiar.

I don't know why.

But something about it—it pulls at me. Not with magic. Not with psychic pressure.

With… nostalgia?

Why?

I stare—and pain crashes through me like a crack in my shell. Not sharp. Not physical.

Worse.

It's this weird, deep ache like something's gone that I never realized I missed.

Like—

Heartbreak.

I flinch.

What is this?

Where is this even coming from?

Why now? Why that thing?

I don't understand.

Is this the effect of the artifact?

No.

No, it doesn't feel like that.

It's not like the spores or the psychic weight pressing down from Orbed's presence. This is something else. Something from within.

As if—

"Nur."

Vex's voice cuts through my thoughts like a blade.

I stare.

He's standing close now, eyes sharp. "Snap out of it. You were zoning."

I shake my head hard, antennae twitching, trying to reset.

"Yeah… yeah, I'm good."

But I'm not.

Not really.

Alright. Focus.

No more spiraling. No more weird feelings.

Time to analyze the field.

Goldy's out front, of course—blowing up Myconid Workers left and right like it's her personal sport. Laughing, probably. Covered in goo, definitely.

Victor is near the center, holding position, giving sharp commands through tight bursts of psychic pulse—coordinating the Myconid Worker forces, keeping the lines from collapsing.

One of our Spiky Caterpillar siblings is holding back a bit, performing spine-shooting support—clean arcs, smart angles. Doing their job.

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Two Lesser Spiky Caterpillars are tangled with Worker units, holding their own. Messy, but holding.

And there—off to the left—

Astor.

Clashing with someone bigger, faster.

An Advanced Myconid—a Combatant. Fungal plates, long arms, wild swings. Just like Astor.

Looks like a mirror match, except this one's not holding back.

Gyldis is behind them, glowing faintly—supporting, shielding, casting spores to slow the enemy's movement and patch Astor's wounds on the fly.

Tense.

Then I see it.

Four of our Advanced Myconids—the ones who haven't been taken out or crippled—moving.

They're not just holding formation anymore.

They're making a move.

One is creeping along the flank, low and slow, spores clinging to the walls like camouflage.

Another is going straight for it—charging head-on toward Orbed like they've already accepted they won't walk away.

The other two?

They're engaged—holding off two of Orbed's Advanced Myconids, keeping them locked down, blades and spores clashing hard, keeping them too busy to notice what's happening behind them.

I feel it in the air.

A coordinated assault.

A strike on Orbed.

Finally.

But then—

In an instant, Orbed moves.

No warning. No dramatic buildup. Just a simple wave of their hand.

Fungus warps and twists—shhk!—their arm reshapes into a long, jagged spear, like rot forged into precision.

And before the flanking Myconid can even strike—

Impaled.

The blade drives through them, pinning them mid-lunge. One clean, perfect motion. Not even a sound.

At the same time, Orbed lifts the artifact with their other hand—
And from it, a sickly green light builds—then fires.

A beam.

Pure and sharp, it lances straight through the air, slamming into the charging Myconid's chest with a cracking burst.

They're thrown backward, twisting midair before crashing into the stone.

Both down.

Just like that.

"Shit—you see that, Vex?"

No reply.

I glance to the side where he was just standing—calm, close, watching with that usual too-cool-to-blink expression.

But he's not there.

"…Vex?"

I look around, quick, sharp.

Still no answer.

Gone.

I whip my gaze back to Orbed—instinct, panic, something in between—

And there.

There he is.

Vex.

Creeping through the battlefield with that same slow, deliberate glide like he's just out for a stroll. Spores brush past him like they don't even notice he's there.

He's getting closer.

Way closer than he should.

My antennae twitch.

"What happened to not wanting a rotting beam in the face!?" I hiss under my breath.

But he doesn't turn.

He's focused.

Slipping through the chaos like a shadow.

Because, of course, he is.

Just as Vex gets close—too close, almost within striking range—

SHUNK.

A jagged antler-like protrusion suddenly bursts from Orbed's back, whipping around like a living spear, aimed right for Vex's head.

He twists just in time, flipping back with a grunt, the spike missing him by inches.

So much for subtlety.

Vex doesn't hesitate—he fires in mid-air, his spines snapping out in a tight spread aimed straight for Orbed's center.

No more creeping.

Plan B: violence.

The spines hit.

Clean, direct—right into Orbed's side.

They sink in, and I can see it—the venom taking hold, the flesh around the wounds turning a deep, bruised purple, spreading like a stain through rot-drenched bark.

For a second, it looks like it worked.

Then—

Orbed reaches up.

Calmly.

Grabs the spines.

And pulls them out like they're splinters.

The wounds remain. The skin is darkened, pulsing faintly with venom.

But Orbed just brushes it off.

Like it's an itch.

No reaction.

No stumble.

No sound.

Vex scuttles back beside me, breathing hard but eyes still sharp.

"Well," he mutters, "that was almost cool."

"So… what now?" I ask, still watching Orbed like they might sprout another dozen weapons out of their spine at any moment.

Vex doesn't answer right away.

He's still catching his breath, mandibles tight, watching the rot-pulsed spots on Orbed's skin fade like the venom's already losing the argument.

"We lost two Advanced Myconids just like that," I say, quieter this time. "I mean—sure, they gave you an opening, but damn."

Vex finally speaks, voice flat. "Yeah. I know."

He doesn't look at me.

Just stares forward, calculating.

"That thing… it's not just strong. It expects you to try something clever."
A pause.
"And then it makes sure you regret it."

Then a voice cuts through the chaos—calm, crisp, just loud enough to reach me:

"Dear sister—behind."

Victor.

I don't think—I move.

I sidestep instantly, and a Myconid Worker lunges past where I was just standing, off-balance, spores trailing behind them in a messy cloud.

They stumble—clumsy, exposed.

I crouch low, spines primed, and then shake—

I stab upward, straight through their midsection.

No drama. No hesitation.

They crumple, already dissolving before they hit the floor.

"Thanks," I mutter, glancing at Victor's way.

He nods once, already turning to deal with the next threat.

Vex clicks his mandibles beside me, voice dry as ever.

"You know," he mutters, "you could've just flexed your spines and ended that in one move, right?"

I hiss at him, antennae twitching. "Yeah, but that would've been lame."

He stares at me for a second.

"…You're unbelievable."

I grin. "You're just mad it looked cooler than anything you did today."

Then, right on cue, another Myconid Worker lunges at us from the side—jagged claws raised, spores flaring wild.

Without even looking, Vex just flexes.

A sudden, violent burst of spines erupts from his back—laced in venom, precise as needles.

The Myconid doesn't even get to scream.

They stagger mid-step, hit full-on, and just—collapse.
Twitching. Foaming. Melting into a venom-stained puddle.

I glance at him.

He doesn't even blink.

"Lame, huh?" he mutters.

"…Okay, fine." I hiss. "Maybe efficiently lame."

"Alright, enough of that," I mutter, shaking off the last of the spores clinging to my legs. "We've gotta think."

My eyes lock back on Orbed.

Still standing.

Still untouched.

Still watching.

"I would've regrouped with Goldy and the others," I continue, "but that's just asking to be lined up and erased in a single shot."

Vex nods grimly. "Tight formation's suicide. That artifact's built for body counts."

I hiss through my mandibles.

We're scattered. Worn. Our Advanced Myconids are dropping like flies and Orbed still hasn't even moved.

We need a plan.

"Alright, Vex," I murmur, eyes narrowing. "What if we take their numbers first?"

He looks at me sidelong. "You mean the Advanced Myconids."

I nod. "Yeah. Orbed's dangerous, sure—but it's the others that keep the pressure up. Take them out, maybe the Warden has to move. Or gets sloppy."

Vex clicks his mandibles, thinking. "Risky."

"Everything's risky."

He doesn't argue.

"Alright," he says. "Pick them off. Fast. Clean. Keep Orbed reacting, not controlling."

I grin.

"Finally. Something fun."

Orbed's still not moving much—but I can see it now.

They're chipping away at our side. Not just standing—commanding.

Every motion, every subtle shift, sends a ripple through the field. Our Myconid Workers are falling—one by one. Crushed. Burned. Cut down.

It's control. Quiet, slow control.

And we're not letting it last.

I nod once to Vex.

We take off—low, fast, staying out of the direct lines, spores swirling around us like smoke. No battle cries. No flashy moves.

Just two predators, cutting toward the nearest pair of Orbed's Advanced Myconids like we've already decided they're dead.

Then we see it—just ahead in the chaos.

An enemy Advanced Myconid, all bulk and brute strength—definitely a Myconid Combatant. Heavy fungal armor, oversized limbs, swinging like every strike is meant to break something permanently.

They're locked in with one of ours—a thinner, twitchier figure. Pale cap with vibrating ridges.

A Myconid Howler.

Tch.

I recognize the type. Sound-based. Disruptive caster. They attack and interrupt by emitting sharp, concentrated bursts of sound—not much in terms of brute force or defense.

And right now?

That's a bad matchup.

The Howler's getting overwhelmed. Every time they open up to scream, they get slammed mid-charge.

The Combatant slams into the Howler, hard—driving them back with a shoulder like a living battering ram. The Howler stumbles, barely upright, trying to charge up another scream.

But the Combatant doesn't give them the chance.

They rear back, limbs twisting, ready to stab straight through the Howler's chest.

I don't even think.

I fire a spine—sharp, fast, aimed for the elbow joint.

Thunk.

It hits.

The Combatant flinches, staggering slightly from the force.

And in that blink—Vex spits.

A stream of corrosive venom, hissing through the air, lands square on the exposed side of the Myconid's head and shoulder.

They reel, twisting with a hiss, spores flaring in sudden, panicked bursts.

The Howler, seizing the opening, rears back—cap trembling—and lets out a piercing scream that bursts into a full shockwave.

The sound rips through the air, bending spores and shaking the stone.

The Combatant stumbles back—arms flailing, balance gone—and then crashes to the ground with a heavy, shaking thud.

That's our cue.

Me and Vex pounce.

We don't waste time. No fancy moves. No dramatic declarations.

Just teeth and mandibles, spines, and venom.

I bite down on one arm—rip—the fibers tear like wet bark, spore-blood splashing across my face.

Vex goes for the midsection—crunch, his venom sizzling into the core.

We don't stop.

Piece by piece.

Mangled.

Dismantled.

Until what's left isn't a Combatant.

Just mulch.

Phew.

One Advanced Myconid down.

Finally.

I spit out a chunk of whatever used to be their arm and shake the goo off my mandibles.

"Not exactly clean," I mutter, catching my breath. "But hey—one less problem."

Vex wipes some of the mess from his claws nonchalantly. "Could've been worse."

We both glance around.

Plenty more where that came from.

The Myconid Howler staggers a bit, steadying themselves with one trembling arm. Their cap vibrates faintly, and a soft pulse of psychic breath washes over us.

"...Thank you," they say. Not loud, but felt. Like a whisper in the spine.

I nod, flicking a glob of Combatant off my claw.

"Don't mention it," I grunt. "You scream, we stab—it's a good system."

Vex just shrugs. "Try not to get flattened next time."

The Howler hums—probably their version of a sigh—and slips back into the fray.

One saved.

Still, a lot left to do.

I scour the battlefield, eyes darting between bodies and spores.

Still, a lot of Myconid Workers kicking, punching, and flailing like a swarm of angry weeds. Clusters everywhere, tangling with ours, clogging the lanes.

It's a mess.

And then—
whoosh.

From above, a streak of gold drops out of the air.

Goldy.

She lands hard right next to us, kicking up dust and half-melted spore guts, her eyes blazing with excitement. Her whole body hums with leftover explosive pressure like she's trying really hard not to detonate something just from the joy of landing.

"Sup, losers!" she grins.

Right behind her, two Lesser Spiky Caterpillars follow suit—landing a little less gracefully but still upright, flanking her like loyal cannonballs with legs.

"Oh look," I mutter. "Reinforcements."

Goldy winks. "Told ya I'd show up in style."

"So what have you here, Your Young Majesty?" I ask, antennae flicking.

Goldy grins wider, eyes gleaming.

She jabs a leg forward.

There—across the mess of scattered bodies and crumbling spores—is a bulky Advanced Myconid, towering over the others. One of their arms isn't an arm anymore—it's warped into something massive, like a hammer made of hardened fungus, laced with veins of mossy green.

"That shroomhead," Goldy says, "suddenly made their hand big—real big."

"We were about to strike," one of the Lesser Spikies adds, spines still twitching with tension.

Goldy nods. "And then they slammed the ground."

"And this happened—"

CRACK.

The memory's still fresh as the ground around us groans, deep fractures splintering through the stone.

Even now, the terrain is still warped from the shock—ridges broken, tunnels shaken, patches of unstable floor radiating out like scars.

"Area control type," I mutter. "Great."

Vex narrows his eyes. "Even better. A hammer-waving earthquake generator."

Then Vex tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he watches the hulking Myconid wind up another slow, ground-splitting swing.

"We fought one like that," he mutters. "Me and Tessa. Back when Yelinod was still kicking."

I glance at him. "Yeah? And how'd you deal with that one?"

He shrugs, mandibles clicking with zero enthusiasm.
"I shoved a bunch of venom in them."

Of course.

I roll my eyes. "Groundbreaking strategy, Vex."

"Literally," he deadpans.

I turn to Goldy, still half-grinning like this is all a game.

"Alright, so—Goldy," I say, voice low and sharp. "Can you do that, but y'know… with explosives?"

She stares.

Then her grin stretches wide, mandibles twitching with excitement.

"Ohhh," she breathes, eyes lighting up. "You want me to go full boom on mushroom hammer guy?"

I nod. "Yup. Groundbreaking strategy, but make it louder."

Goldy cackles. "Say no more."

And just like that, she starts twitching her spines. The red tips already glowing.

I raise a quick psychic ping to Victor—sharp, direct.

"Tell the Workers to fall back. Now. Goldy's about to make a mess."

Across the battlefield, I see Victor's antennae twitch. No questions asked—he pulses out a command, and our Myconid Workers start pulling back fast, spores parting around them like a tide in retreat.

Goldy's already crouched, body tense, the red glow of her explosive spines building brighter with each second.

"Alright, Hammer-arm," she mutters, aiming high, "let's see you dance."

FWUP-FWUP-FWUP—

A whole cluster of glowing red spines shoot out from her back in a wide arc, trailing sparks—

Right toward the Myconid.

And then—
BOOOOOOM.

The spines detonate mid-impact, one after another, like a chain of firecrackers made of rage and fungus hate.

Chunks of the hammer-armed Myconid are sent flying—limbs, cap fragments, spores bursting in every direction like rotten confetti.

The shockwave rattles the stone, and every Myconid nearby—friend and foe alike—gets caught in the blast radius.

Several of Orbed's Workers are launched through the air, flailing helplessly as they're tossed like leaves in a storm.

What's left of the Myconid?

Barely a torso.

Goldy puffs her chest out, eyes blazing. "And that's why I'm the big sister."

Tch.

Hard to argue with results.

One of our Advanced Myconids rushes up, spores flickering with excitement. Probably a Myconid Combatant too, judging by the way they carry themselves.

"Nice!" they shout through the pulse network, still riding the echo of the explosion. "That's one more down!"

They point across the field, where the last visible enemy, Advanced Myconid, is still standing—locked in a brutal, back-and-forth exchange with Astor and Gyldis.

Big. Fast. Resilient.

But they're cornered.

"Only one of those freaks left," the Combatant adds, voice buzzing. "Let's end it before Orbed decides to care."

I nod once, claws tightening.

"Agreed."

Time to tip the scale.

"Alright, you two—" I nod toward the two Lesser Spiky siblings, both still buzzing with leftover energy, "stay here and munch away the enemy Workers. Clean 'em up."

They chitter excitedly and immediately start bristling like they've been waiting for permission to go full gremlin.

"Vex—uhhh," I glance at him, "find Tessa. Keep an eye on her. I haven't seen her in a while, and you know how she gets."

He groans but doesn't argue, already slinking into the spore-clouded mess.

I turn to Goldy, still slightly smoking from her last spine burst.

"You. With me. Let's go finish off that last Advanced Myconid."

Goldy stares.

Then smirks, mandibles twitching.

"Heyyy, here you are again, commanding us like you're the boss." She jabs her claw at herself. "I'm the royal here, remember?"

I roll my eyes. "Yeah yeah, your majesty. C'mon—let's go crown ourselves a kill."

She grins. "Now that's how you address royalty."

As we move, Goldy's still bouncing with energy—barely keeping her spines from flaring with every step.

"Oh! By the way," she says casually, "before I got back here? Fought two Advanced Myconids on the way. Tough ones. Way harder than this mess right now."

I freeze for half a second.

"Wait—what? Two?"

She nods. "Mhm! Creeper type and some weird floaty one. Blew one up, chewed the other."

I do the math in my head.

We fought one with Spiky. Spikeward had four. Yelinod with two more. That's eight. Then Goldy's two? That makes… ten.

I glance toward Orbed—three Advanced Myconids still with them.

I thought it was weird there were only three.

But now?

Now that Goldy mentioned she already fought two…

That means there's one more.

Unaccounted for.

Missing.

Where the hell is it?

Then it hits me.

That creepy feeling from earlier—like I was being watched. Like something was breathing down my neck without making a sound.

Wait.

Was one of them… here?

Alongside us? This whole time?

I spin around—fast.

Behind us, the two Lesser Spiky Caterpillar siblings are still there, munching happily away at stunned Myconid Workers. And right beside them—

That Advanced Myconid. The one who talked to us earlier. The one we rescued from Orbed's prison, right?

Or… so I thought.

They look at me.

No mouth. No expression. No face that should mean anything.

But I feel it.

That grin. That silent, twisted joy.

And then—their body begins to liquefy.

Sloughing off shape. Breaking form. Melting into that all-too-familiar slick, glistening spore sludge.

"DAMN IT—CREEPER!" I shout.
"YOU TWO, WATCH OUT—!"

....

But I was too late.

End of Chapter 40