The Hollow Moth: Reincarnated as a Caterpillar

"NO—!"

The words tear out of me as I lunge forward, legs scrambling for traction on the blood-slick stone.

But I'm too far.

The Creeper finishes liquifying—faster than the one we fought before. No hesitation. No theatrics. Just pure, practiced infiltration.

It surges up behind my siblings, tendrils rising like whips of acid-laced slime—

And then it strikes.

Sharp, wet sounds—like stabbing into fruit that's still alive.

One of the Lesser Spikies jerks, mid-chomp, then collapses sideways, limbs twitching.

The other shrieks, barely turning in time before a tendril wraps around her thorax, slamming her to the ground.

Goldy spins next to me, eyes wide with shock—then rage. "NO—!"

I feel it too.

That burns in my chest.

Not just fury.

Shame.

I should've seen it.

I should've known.

I fire a spine—fast, sharp, dead-on.

But the moment it's about to hit, the Creeper liquifies again, its body collapsing into that same slippery sludge. My spine sails right through, useless.

"Tch—coward!"

I sprint closer, mandibles clenched, claws digging into the ground with every step. But before I can close the gap—

It slips through the floor.

Literally.

It just melts into the cracks, sliding between stones like water, vanishing into the lower levels of the cavern.

Gone.

Again.

Goldy's breathing hard beside me, spines trembling with restraint.

I just stand there, staring at the spot.

It was here. Right next to us.

And we let it get away.

Me and Goldy rush to them, claws scraping against stone.

One of the Lesser Spikies is down—badly. Bleeding thick, dark fluid, twitching with shallow movements. Her spines are cracked, her thorax torn open like a crushed shell.

The other's still standing, barely—wounded, panting, but not fatal.

"Damnit…" I hiss. "We need a healer. Now."

Goldy looks panicked for half a second—then her voice firms. "Gyldis. We need to call Gyldis."

She turns, already ready to bolt.

But then—

A weak voice stops her.

"No…"

The injured Spiky lifts her head, eyes dull but steady.
"Don't… have... too much time left. Don't waste it… on me."

Goldy freezes.

Shaking.

Then from behind us—
skitter skitter skitter—

Vex returns, antennae twitching, senses already sharp.

And just behind him—
Tessa.

Eyes wide, fur dusted in ash.

They both take in the scene, and the air goes still.

Vex stops short, staring at the blood pooling beneath the fallen Spiky.

"Wh—what happened?" he asks, voice lower than usual, uncertain in a way I rarely hear.

I don't look at him.

I just keep staring at her—at the way her breathing shudders, her legs twitching slower.

"It's my fault," I mutter. "One of Orbed's Creepers… it disguised itself as one of ours. An Advanced Myconid. I don't know how, or when."

My mandibles clench tight.

"But before I realized it… it was too late."

"Damnit," Vex growls, his voice tight, claws curling at his sides.

Goldy kneels down, lowering her head beside the injured Lesser Spiky. Her voice softens, trembling just a little.

"Hey… hey, it's okay. We're here now. You're not alone, alright? Just hang on—"

The Lesser Spiky twitches, her breath rattling like it's being pulled from somewhere too far away.

Then, with one last flick of her antennae, she speaks—barely a whisper, but the psychic pulse carries it to all of us.

"Promise you'll eat me…"

Goldy stares, stunned. "Wha—?"

But the sister doesn't answer.

She just… goes still.

No more twitching.

No more breath.

Gone.

Goldy stares.

Then, very quietly, "…she would say that."

Damnit.

I didn't even get to name her yet.

She was just—

One of ours.

One of mine.

And now she's gone. Not in a blaze of glory. Not even in a proper fight.

Just…

Gone.

Because I was too slow. Too late. Too focused on the big threats to see the one right beside us.

That Creeper's still out there.

And they are going to pay

Vex exhales through his mandibles, gaze lingering on the still form of the fallen sibling.

Then he stands, voice low and sharp. "As much as I'd like to mourn… we're still on a battlefield."

He steps over to the surviving Lesser Spiky—who's breathing hard, one leg dragging slightly, spines twitching with pain but still upright.

"We've already lost two of us to this fight," Vex mutters. "Let's make sure there won't be a third."

He reaches out, helping him up with a steady grip.

"You alright there?" he asks, not unkindly.

The younger sibling nods once, weak but determined.

Still in the fight.

Then a voice drifts in—measured, composed, carrying just enough weight to still the moment.

"What a most lamentable result this is.."

Victor.

He approaches from the side, his form still pristine despite the chaos, bristles twitching with quiet grief.

His gaze lingers on the fallen sibling, then shifts to the one Vex is helping up.

No judgment.

Just acknowledgment.

"Such grievous losses… are by no means uncommon in the theatre of war," he says. "Yet that doth not render them any the less bitter."

I clench my mandibles, staring at the bloodied ground.

Bitter doesn't even begin to cover it.

Victor steps closer, his tone never rising, never rushed—just steady, resolute.

"But as it stands, Vex," he continues, "we must press on."

He glances toward the battlefield, where the lines are thinning, the Myconid Workers straining under pressure they weren't meant to bear.

"I fear there will not be enough of our Worker allies to hold Orbed's forces much longer," he says, evenly. "And Ypal's ascension will not arrive any sooner simply because we grieve."

He turns back to us, antennae lifted, posture composed.

"It falls to us now—to ensure this effort was not in vain."

"Alright, Victor," I say, pulling myself back into focus. "Quick assessment. What's our situation?"

He nods once, already prepared.

"As it stands," he begins, "Astor and Gyldis find themselves presently embroiled with a most obstinate Myconid Combatant—one which hath proven exceedingly arduous for either of them to vanquish."

He gestures subtly toward the far side of the battlefield. "One of our illustrious brethren, the Spiky Caterpillar, doth persist in the solemn duty of spine-shooting, ever mindful to uphold the requisite pressure."

"Our Myconid Howler doth hold Orbed at bay—interfering with their coordination by means of sonic disruption. A most perilous undertaking indeed."

He pauses, eyes narrowing just slightly.

"Two of our esteemed Advanced Myconids did sadly perish in their endeavour to engage Orbed earlier. Another, alas, met a most regrettable fate, being crushed to death by a creature known, as I understand it, as a Myconid Poundroot—a veritable brute, which the Young Highness hath since reduced to mere fragments.

His antennae twitch faintly.

"And then, of course—there's us."

The weight in those words is clear.

It's not much.

But it's enough… if we move smart.

Goldy steps forward, still a little scorched, a little too eager.

"I'll take care of the Creeper," she says, her voice sharp with that usual explosive cheer. "I've taken out two of them before—what's one more?"

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

She cracks her neck, spines already twitching with anticipation.

"Annoying little goop piles. I'll blast them into a fine mist."

I glance at her, then at the blood still on the ground behind us.

And nod.

"Make it hurt."

Then I hear her.

Tessa.

"I'll take down Orbed," she says, not hesitating for even a second. "Or at least keep them busy."

I whip around to face her. "Tessa, I don't like that idea."

She tilts her head. "Well I don't like fungus on my fur, but here we are."

I hiss, frustrated—then exhale.

"Fine. You're the most agile one here anyway. If anyone can dodge those rotting blasts, it's you. Just… make them shoot. Over and over. Burn through that power until there's nothing left."

But before she can respond, Victor steps in.

"Ah, regarding that matter..." he says, tone crisp. "Dost thou remember the Myconids of yore, those who were so linked?"

We all glance his way.

Victor lifts a limb, gesturing past the frontline. "Behind Orbed. There—dost thou see it?"

I squint.

And then I do.

A glowing blue mushroom, rooted just behind Orbed, pulsing slowly like a mana heart. Thin mycelium strands connect it directly to the artifact in their hand.

Victor nods. "I am of the persuasion that it is that which sustains their armament and not the inherent might of Orbed themselves."

My antennae twitch.

Oh no.

This just got more complicated.

Victor continues, his tone never wavering, but the weight behind it grows heavier.

"The Myconids of Linkage seem to be channeling what I can but describe as an immense reserve of mana. This reserve, in its turn, serves to invigorate the artifact."

He pauses, eyes fixed on Tessa now.

"We doth not know how long Miss Tessa could continue dodging… nor whether such agility would matter should Orbed decide to unleash a wide-range blast."

His voice dips just slightly.

"As observed in the spore memory of Ypal—an all-encompassing unleashing. No delineation. No ray. Merely… ruin."

I glance at Tessa.

She's still standing tall.

But I see her ears twitch. Her tail stiffens.

Even she knows—there's no dodging a room-sweeping death wave.

Not forever.

"Then what do you propose, Victor?" I ask, stepping forward.

He doesn't hesitate.

"We must sever the connection forthwith," he says. "The Myconids of Linkage are the fulcrum of our endeavor. Shouldst thou remove them, the artifact may well wane—or, at the least, encounter a notable diminishment.

I start to respond—and then it clicks.

Spiky.

"Wait—Spiky's still in the southern tunnel, right?" I say, snapping my mandibles. "He was watching the link from earlier… probably poking around those very Myconids right now."

But then I frown.

"We have no idea what's going on with him. No contact, no signal. If something's wrong—"

"I'll go," Tessa cuts in, stepping forward again.

I open my mouth, but she raises a paw. "No biting Orbed? Fine. I'll take the next best target."

She grins, fangs gleaming. "Burning their fuel line."

She rolls her shoulders, heat already rippling off her fur.

"I can move fast, sneak past. Burn the link. Maybe meet up with Spiky, maybe not. Either way, I'll get it done."

I look at her—really look.

And sigh.

"…Try not to burn yourself out too."

"Alright," I say, turning back to the rest. "What's left is the Combatant—and Orbed."

I point.

"Victor, Vex—you two go support Astor and Gyldis. That Combatant's not going down easy, and they need backup now."

They both nod—Victor with a clipped, formal tilt of his head, Vex with a casual "' Bout time." as he flexes his claws.

I step forward, eyes locked on Orbed.

"I'll hold Orbed."

That's when Tessa barks out, "Wha— you just want the spotlight, don't you, Nur?"

I smirk. "Don't worry. I've got plan.

Tessa stares.

Then leans back, eyes wide. "Ohhhhhh. Right. You have that."

I glance at the injured Lesser Spiky, still standing near Vex, wobbling but stubborn.

"And you," I say firmly, "retreat. Head back. You're in no condition to fight."

He opens his mandibles to protest, but I cut him off with a look.

"That's not a suggestion."

Victor starts to raise an objection—but Vex stops him with a leg on the thorax.

"She's fine," Vex says.
"Yeah," Tessa adds, already stretching her legs. "She's got something up her sleeve."

"Alright," I say, gaze sweeping over all of them. "That's the plan."

I let it hang for a second.

"...And remember—don't die."

Goldy puffs up her chest, spines already glowing faintly. "I'll turn that Creeper into slimy goop and splatter it all over the wall."

Tessa grins wide, fire already licking at her paws. "I'll burn the fuel line. Make 'em beg for mana."

Victor nods crisply. "We shall subdue the Combatant."

Vex flicks his bristles. "And if we don't? We'll make sure it hurts trying."

We all look at each other.

One last moment.

Then—

We break.

Alright, alright…

I'm not entirely sure going toe-to-toe with the big bad before weakening them is the brightest idea I've had all week—but here I am.

I'm not alone, at least.

There's still a handful of Myconid Workers nearby, battered but standing.

And then there's the Myconid Howler, still clinging to their position, still tossing out disruptive soundbursts like an angry instrument with legs. I don't think they've actually hurt Orbed, just… mildly irritated them.

Still, that counts for something, right?

Alright, Nur.

Time to see if "mildly irritating" can turn into "fatally distracting."

I turn toward the Myconid Howler, still planted near the center of the chaos, cap vibrating in tight pulses of sound.

"Yo," I call out, antennae twitching. "Still alive?"

Their cap shifts slightly, and a wave of psychic static flicks back at me—tired, but still holding.

"Yeah. I'm trying my best to keep Orbed at bay. The pressure is building... Ypal's ascension must be close now."

I nod, stepping up beside them.

"Then let's keep buying time."

I narrow my eyes, locking onto Orbed.

They're in motion—impaling one Myconid Worker with a casual flick of their twisted spear-arm, the jagged stone in their other hand already glowing again—

Then blasting another with a wide, sweeping green beam, sending spores and limbs flying like dust.

Tch.

Not on my watch.

I fire a spine, sharp and fast, aimed right at the arm holding the artifact.

It whistles through the air.

Let's see if I can get their attention.

The spine hits—buries itself cleanly into Orbed's side, just beneath the ribbed plates of fungal armor.

They pause mid-motion.

Then slowly, deliberately, they turn to face me.

Spores bloom around them—thick, swirling, and laced with meaning.

Their voice comes through, low and even, vibrating directly into my mind.

"So. You are one of her spawn. The irregularity in my plan."

Their hand lifts, casually ripping the spine from their side like it's nothing more than a twig. Thick fluid oozes out, dark and sluggish, but they don't even flinch.

"That was a nice attempt," they continue, raising the broken spine.
"Your brother's strike, I presume. I could still feel the venom. It tingled."

They drop the spine.

Then take a step toward me.

"So," Orbed says, voice coiling tighter now, spores swirling like smoke.
"Are you here to face me? A mere Lesser Caterpillar?"

As they speak, a spiral of mycelium opens on their chest, flesh peeling back like layers of bark, revealing a hollow cavity pulsing with blue-green glow.

With calm precision, they tuck the artifact inside, embedding it deep.

The mycelium spiral closes, sealing it beneath layers of twisting fibers and armored growth.

Their hands are empty now.

But I don't feel safer.

"Then show me what you've got."

Orbed takes another step forward.

Spores fall around them like ash.

Huh. They're really underestimating me.

Calling me mere. Tucking away their weapon like this is going to be a light warm-up.

Good.

Let them.

I start simple—fire a spine straight at their chest.

They don't even dodge—just swat it aside like brushing off a loose vine, their arm moving with slow, deliberate arrogance.

Perfect.

While they're distracted, I veer hard to the side—fast, low, legs scraping for grip—and fire another spine, this time aiming straight for the leg joint.

Let's see how heavy they move when they're bleeding from the knee.

The spine hits—

Thud.

Right into their leg joint.

But they don't even react.

No stumble.

No flinch.

They just stepped through it like it wasn't even there—like I tossed a pebble into a flood.

Then their leg swings up.

Fast.

Heavy.

CRACK—

A full-on kick slams into my side, knocking the wind out of me as I'm flung backward, skidding across the stone floor like a ragdoll.

Everything rattles—shell, ribs, pride.

Okay.

So they're not playing after all.

I cough, claws digging into the ground to stop my skid. My sides are aching, bristles rattling from the impact.

I snap my head toward the Myconid Howler, still standing back, cap humming faintly.

"Hey, you!" I shout, psychic pulse sharp.
"A little support would be nice!"

Their cap tilts slightly.

"Right," they pulse back. "Sorry—thought you had it under control."

"Do I look like I have it under control!?"

They don't answer.

But their cap starts to vibrate harder.

I grit my mandibles, push through the pain, and lunge at Orbed again.

They see it coming this time.

Their arm lifts—slow but precise, winding up for a counter-blow aimed right at my skull. I can feel the pressure building in the air, the tension in their joints.

But then—

BOOOOM.

A sonic burst erupts from the Myconid Howler, slicing through the air like a blade of sound. It hits Orbed square in the side of the head, their cap rattling from the force.

Their counter stalls—just for a moment, just enough.

And that's my window.

I land hard on Orbed—right on their collarbone, claws digging in deep.

My mandibles snap forward, sinking into the tough fungal flesh of their neck, yanking with everything I've got.

But damn—it's like trying to tear through bark and iron.

I feel something give—spores burst, the skin tears, a chunk rips free.

But before I can go for another bite—

Orbed grabs me.

One massive hand clamps around my midsection like a vice.

And then—
WHAM.

I'm thrown, full force, body flipping midair before slamming into the ground like a shot spine.

The impact stuns everything.

But I'm still breathing.

Barely.

Pain.
Bruises.
Blood soaking through every gap in my carapace.

My body's screaming, but I can't stop. Not yet.

I push myself up—limbs shaking, breath ragged—and look around through blurred vision and pulsing spores.

On one side—Goldy, tangling with the Myconid Creeper. She's laughing between explosions, barely even struggling. Guess she's a creeper-slaying pro now.

Farther off—Vex and Victor, locked in with Astor and Gyldis, working like a blade in sync against Orbed's Combatant. Tight formation, clean hits. They're winning. Slowly, but definitely.

And then there's me.

Launched. Bloodied. Still here.

I guess I got a little cocky, huh?

Thought I'd take the boss alone. Steal the spotlight. Prove something.

And they haven't even used the artifact yet.

I grit my mandibles, dragging myself back to my feet.

The goal isn't to win.

It's to stall.

Hold Orbed.

Until Ypal ascends.

That's all I need to do.

Just hold.

Spores swirl again—thick and pulsing, like the air itself is holding its breath.

Orbed's voice threads through them, smooth and steady.

"What a troublesome little worm."
"You fare better than I expected."

Then—
Their chest spirals open once more, those mycelial plates peeling back with that same wet, unnatural precision. From the hollow cavity, they pull out the artifact—still glowing, pulsing with that sickly green mana.

The spiral closes behind it as they raise the artifact in one hand.

"Enough playing," they say, voice deepening. "Let's end this nonsense."

I wipe blood from my face, limbs still trembling.

"Huh. This cornball's finally getting serious, huh?"

I square myself.

"Guess so am I then."

Silver light starts to glow along my bristles—soft at first, then pulsing brighter.

My mandibles twitch. My vision sharpens. I can feel it—building in my chest, in my limbs, in the marrow of my shell.

Then—

My eyes ignite, glowing like twin moons.

Lunar Ascension.

"Yeah," I breathe, a grin cutting through the blood. "It's Lunarin time."

Let's see you shrug this off, rothead.

Orbed doesn't waste a second.

The artifact in their hand flares—and a beam of rot screams toward me, crackling with sickly green light and the stench of decay.

But this time—

I'm already moving.

Faster. Lighter. Sharper.

I sidestep, a blur of silver and instinct, the beam slicing through empty air where I was just standing.

It melts part of the stone behind me, hissing and cracking.

But me?

I'm untouched.

Thanks to Lunar Ascension.

Your turn, fungus freak.

"You think only you can shoot beams?" I growl, bracing my stance.

My mandibles part, mouth stretching wide as a silvery glow builds in my throat—hot, steady, rising like a tide under the moonlight.

The air around me shimmers pulled into the charge.

My whole body hums with power, light pulsing through my veins like starlight.

"Alright," I whisper, the glow now blinding,
"Time to test Lunar Beam."

FWOOOOM—

A searing silver beam erupts from my mouth, crashing into Orbed like moonlight turned into a blade.

It hits them directly, and for a split second, I think I see the blast start to tear through—

But Orbed raises both arms, crossing them in front of their chest, taking the brunt of it head-on.

The rot hisses and clashes with the silver as the blast pushes them back—feet grinding against the stone—but they don't fall.

I shut my mouth, cutting the beam off before it drains too much.

Right…
The Lunar Beam uses up to 3% of my Lunar Reserve.

I can't just go blasting like a fireworks display.

Control, Nur. Control.
Use it when it hurts most.

I squint through the fading glow, focusing on Orbed's arms—still raised, still smoking.

The scorch marks are there—silver burns seared deep into the fungal plating. Lines of lunar energy still flicker faintly across their forearms.

But…

Nowhere near enough.

The flesh is damaged, sure.
But it didn't melt.
Didn't break.

They lower their arms slowly.

Spores hiss from the wounds, patching, pulsing, trying to heal.

"Tch," I mutter.

Not enough to stop them.

But enough to make them bleed.

Then it hits us—

A pulse.

Big. Deep.
Rolling through the cavern like a heartbeat made of mana.

It comes from behind—Ypal's ritual site.

That kind of pulse?

It only means one thing:

The ritual is nearing completion.

I glance back at Orbed.

You can't read a Myconid face easily—no mouth, no brow, just eyes on a blank fungal cap.

But I feel it.

The slight shift in posture.
The tension in their arms.
The pause—just a half-second too long.

They're nervous.

Tense.

For the first time… uncertain.

Which also means—

Shit.

They're gonna get aggressive now.

I see it in the way they shift—no more measured steps, no more drawn-out control. Just raw intent.

Orbed moves.

Fast.

Their body lurches forward and they sprint—straight toward the ritual site.

Spores erupt from their body in a massive wave—thick, churning, toxic green. It clouds everything, choking the air, blinding vision, disrupting psychic links.

They're going to stop the ascension.

I grit my mandibles, legs already pushing forward.

Not on my watch.

I dash forward, lungs burning, body still aching, but none of that matters now.

They're going for the ritual. For Ypal.

I can't let that happen.

As I run, I summon a Crescent Blade—silver light curving into existence beside me like a fragment of the moon sharpened to kill.

It spins, humming.

And I hurl it—low and fast—aimed straight at Orbed's leg.

Let's see how far you get when you're missing a leg

The Crescent Blade slices through the spores—clean, bright, silent.

It hits Orbed's ankle with a flash of silver.

SHHK—

The edge cuts deep, right through a joint plate. Not enough to sever—but enough to disrupt.

Orbed stumbles forward, one foot dragging, momentum pitching them off balance. The spores around them hiccup, swirl unevenly.

They catch themselves, but they're slower now.

Less perfect.

Less untouchable.

Good.

That's one step closer to stopping them.

Literally.

Orbed swings their arm back—
And suddenly clumps of spores burst forth, swarming toward me like living clouds of sickness and rot.

They writhe midair, trailing filaments, pulsing like they're looking for a way in.

"Oh—that looks like bad news—"

And then—
THWIP—THWIP—

A streak of red-tipped spine cuts through the cloud—

BOOOOOOM.

The explosion hits center mass, tearing through the spores in a blast of heat and pressure, scattering the swarm before it could even touch me.

Ash and light fill the air.

Behind me, I hear Goldy shout:

"Eat THAT, you moldy freak!!"

"Nice shot, Goldy!" I shout, already charging forward again.

Orbed's still moving—limping, but pushing hard, cutting through the battlefield like a walking plague. Their eyes are locked on Ypal's ritual, and they're not slowing down.

"Shoot their legs!" I bark. "They're going straight for Ypal!"

Goldy doesn't even hesitate.

"You got it, sister boss!"

Her spines start glowing again—brighter, hotter, aiming low.

Let's see how far Orbed gets without legs to stand on.

THWIP—THWIP—BOOM!

Goldy's spine hits Orbed's leg, dead-on—just below the knee.

And then—
BOOOOOOM.

The explosion rips through fungal plating, tearing a chunk clean off their lower limb. A twisted mess of rot and mycelium scatters across the stone, steaming.

Orbed stumbles hard, crashing to one knee, one arm catching the ground.

The spores around them flare in a frantic pulse—but they're not moving forward anymore.

Not with half a leg.

End of Chapter 41