The Hollow Moth: Reincarnated as a Caterpillar

The Dusk Stalker I shredded lies motionless, a twisted heap of muscle, blood, and snapped limbs. Black ichor pools beneath its body, thick and slow-moving.

One down.

Tessa's still fighting the other.

She moves like wildfire—snarling, leaping, her flames lashing in sharp arcs as she circles the beast. It's injured now, burned in patches, but it's fast. Too fast. It ducks, sidesteps, and slashes with claws that gleam in the dark.

Then—
It reels back, screeching.

Wait—my spines?

I squint, senses extending—

Yeah. Looks like one of the spines from my scatter-blast grazed it. Good. That must've clipped its leg mid-dash.

But then my pulse skips—
Tessa's panting. She's limping a little. Wait—
Did she get hit too?

I rush forward, scanning her with every sense I've got.

No bleeding. No fractures. No… no punctures. Not hers, anyway.

Just ash, sweat, and fire.

I exhale.

Close call. But she's still standing.

Good.

Tessa snarls—and then erupts.

Not just her usual flame.

This is brighter. Hotter. It lights up the tunnel in a flash of red-orange fury, painting everything in flickering chaos. Her entire body is wreathed in fire now, her paws cracking the ground with each step, steam hissing off her fangs.

And then she moves.

Faster than before. Blazing.

She charges the Dusk Stalker like a comet on legs, dodging its swipes with bursts of heat that scorch the air in her wake. Her claws ignite mid-strike—each slash lands with an explosive burst of flame that sends the panther-like beast reeling, stumbling back under the relentless onslaught.

She's not just fighting anymore.

She's unleashing.

The Dusk Stalker tries to retreat, melting into the shadows—but she's already there, one step ahead, a firebrand crashing into the dark with teeth and fury and a scream that sounds far too much like pain turned into power.

She's burning.
And for the first time…

It's not just to survive.

The Dusk Stalker panics.

It lunges for the shadows again, desperate, dragging its half-burned body toward the safety of the dark. It's fast—but not fast enough.

Tessa bites.

She catches its tail mid-dash—clamps down with a crunch of bone and rage—and swings.

The Dusk Stalker yowls as she hurls it upward, launching it into the air like a flaming ragdoll.

And then—
She barks.

A single, thunderous bark that detonates the space around her.

WHUMP—!

Heat explodes outward in a wide shockwave, rippling up through the tunnel ceiling. The flying beast gets caught mid-air—its fur scorches, its limbs flail, completely helpless as the air itself turns against it.

It slams into the stone above, then crashes down hard.

Burning. Broken.

Tessa lands in front of it, embers trailing from her coat like wings of fire.

And it doesn't get up.

I look at her.

And I see it—clear as flame.

Hate.

Burning, seething, quiet hate. Not rage. Not wild grief. Something colder. Sharper. Older.

She stands over the weakened Dusk Stalker, chest rising and falling, eyes locked onto it like she's staring into a memory she hasn't stopped bleeding from.

I've never seen her like this.

Not even when she talked about them. Not when she cried over Brother Wolf. Not when she whispered Mama's name like it was still sacred.

This is different.

She's not just fighting the beast in front of her.

She's seeing them all in this one.

And for a second…

I don't recognize her.

Then—without hesitation—she moves.

One swift, clean strike.

Her claw, wreathed in fire, arcs down like a judgment.

The Dusk Stalker jerks once. Then lies still. For real this time.

Tessa doesn't look away. Doesn't flinch. She stares down at the smoldering corpse, firelight flickering in her eyes.

Her voice comes low. Steady.

"This is for them."

No theatrics.

No growl.

Just that.

And somehow… that hits harder than a roar ever could.

I step closer, slow and quiet, letting the heat roll off her before I get too near. The corpse still smokes at her feet, but her flame's simmering now—flickering low like the edge of a campfire that just wants to be left alone.

I tilt my head. "You alright there, girl?"

She exhales through her nose. Not a sigh. Just… a release.

"Yeah," she says, voice rough but steady. "I mean… I know what they say. Revenge doesn't really make you feel better. Especially not when you take it out on something just related to the thing that hurt you. Same species, different individual—doesn't change anything, right?"

She looks down at the body. Then adds, softer, "But in a weird way… it made me feel a little less scared."

I nod, glancing at the burnt remains.

"Well," I say, "killing them isn't exactly wrong. It was self-defense."

She huffs a faint laugh. "Yeah. Just… aggressive self-defense."

I flick a leg at her gently. "If it helps you conquer your inner demons—even just a little—then I'm happy for you."

She gives me a tired smile, eyes still glowing faintly in the dark.

"Thanks, Nur."

Then we stand there, side by side, two monsters in the aftermath of fire and shadow.
Not healed.
But maybe… just a bit lighter.

"Alright," I mutter, shaking off the last bits of whatever that was. "Enough moping around. Let's get to the damn checkpoint."

Tessa exhales, the last flickers of fire fading from her fur. "Yeah. Let's go."

We step back onto the path — the one that got rudely interrupted by two oversized void cats with murder issues. The air here feels thinner, lighter. Not in a relaxing way — more like the pressure's shifted. Like something's waiting ahead.

I move first, senses stretched, steps careful.

Then—

I see it.

Light.

Not glowing moss, not mana drift. Light. Cold and silver and real. Moonlight.

It spills across the cavern ahead, casting long beams that cut through the dark like threads of silk. The tunnel widens into an open chamber, and at the center—

A lake.

The water moves. Gentle ripples, clear surface, reflecting that eerie, beautiful moonlight like glass kissed by gods. Soft mist hugs the edges. Moss and stone shimmer faintly in the light.

I stop.

"…Tessa," I say quietly, "I think we found it."

She steps up beside me.

Tessa beams, her eyes wide with something I haven't seen in a while—genuine joy.

"Yes—yes! This is definitely it! The Lunerian Checkpoint! The lake, the mist, the moonlight—gods, it's just like I remembered!"

She trots a little ahead, paws splashing gently at the edge of the water, tail wagging without shame. I think she'd jump in if she wasn't still smelling like scorched cat blood.

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Then she pauses, brow furrowing slightly. "Although… It's different. The one my pack stayed at wasn't this big. And the rock formations were sharper. That one had this weird arch I used to sleep under."

I nod slowly, pulling out the crumpled map again. "Makes sense. Judging by this," I point to the marked symbols, "there's more than one of them in this zone."

She peeks over my shoulder. "Huh… yeah, I see it now. Lunerian symbols… checkpoint markers…"

I smirk. "Guess we found the deluxe edition."

She grins back. "Good. You deserve at least one pretty place in your miserable brooding existence."

"Thanks, mutt. Truly heartfelt."

We both look back at the lake, silver light dancing on the water.

This place is calm. Too calm for the Fourth Zone. But maybe—just for tonight—we'll let that slide.

I step closer to the water's edge, letting the silver mist curl around my legs.

The moonlight here isn't just light. It's weightless. Soft. Gentle in a way nothing in this dungeon ever is. It doesn't burn or blind or press down on you like the darkness does—it lifts.

I lift my face toward it.

And there it is.

That subtle, pulsing thrum beneath my skin—

Lunar energy.

It trickles in slowly, like cold water running through cracked stone. I don't just feel it—I absorb it. My body hums. The ache in my core, the dull drain from the last time I used Lunar Ascension—it starts to fade.

Not instantly. Not all at once.

But I can feel it recharging. Gathering.

The light fills me in quiet waves, steady, clean.

I let out a slow breath.

"Finally," I whisper. "You're coming back to me."

Tessa pads over to the shallows, lowers her head, and starts drinking.

She laps it up in slow gulps, tail flicking lazily behind her.

"Mmh…" she sighs between drinks, eyes half-lidded. "Crisp. Just like I remember."

She laps again. "Not like that murky pass-through water in Zone Three. That stuff tasted like moss piss."

I raise a brow. "You drank that?"

"I was thirsty. And desperate."

She looks up at me, muzzle wet, grinning like she just found a piece of her past hiding under a rock.

"This," she says, nodding toward the lake, "actually tastes clean. Real."

I glance at the water again. It does look clearer than anything else we've seen in this pit.

Tessa smirks. "What? You scared it'll burn your edgy little soul?"

"…Maybe."

We both chuckle, and for a moment, the dungeon doesn't feel so heavy.

I pace slowly along the lake's edge, letting the moonlight soak into my shell as my core recharges. Everything here feels calm, peaceful—even the mist draping the stones moves like it's half-asleep.

But then—

I stop.

There's… something. In the distance, on the far side of the lake. Just barely visible through the haze. A shape? A figure?

No. Not moving.

But it's not the sight that gets me.

It's the feeling.

That weight again.

Heartbreak.

Sudden. Uninvited. Deep in the chest, like something soft tearing inside me in silence.

It's not crushing—just there. Lingering. Familiar in a way I hate.

My mouth goes dry.

"…Tessa?"

She looks up, still licking her muzzle. "Hmm?"

I nod toward the shape. "Uhh… can you see that?"

She squints, eyes glowing faintly in the low light.

Her ears perk.

"…Yeah. I see it."

"What is that?" I ask, voice low.

Tessa narrows her eyes, ears still perked. "I dunno. It's not moving. Could be a rock… or not."

The mist swirls gently around the shape, moonlight catching just enough to hint at edges—too smooth to be stone, too still to be alive. Maybe.

I shift on my legs, instincts twitching.

Tessa glances at me. "Should we get closer?"

I hesitate.

That feeling in my chest hasn't gone away. If anything, it's stronger now. The kind of ache that isn't fear, or danger, or even warning.

It's memory.

Buried somewhere I can't reach.

"…Yeah," I say finally, forcing my legs forward. "Let's find out what's messing with my heart."

We move closer.

The air thickens with each step—not with heat or mist, but with that feeling. That quiet, gnawing pressure behind my ribs. Grief? Dread? Something ancient, like sorrow that's been waiting too long.

Tessa's steps slow beside me. She feels it too. I can tell from how her tail's lowered and her ears twitch with unease.

And then—
Through the mist—

I see it.

A figure.

Humanoid. Sort of.

It's standing still, barely more than a silhouette at first, but the closer we get, the more details bleed through the moonlight.

One arm—too thin, too jointed—ends in a clawed shape that looks like a chicken's talon. Not fully feathered. Just warped. Mangled evolution.

The other arm?

Human. Pale. Slender. Almost normal.

Its legs are bent strangely, hooved—like a cow's. Or a bull's. Thick at the bottom, trembling slightly under its own weight.

It's wearing a ragged cloak, tattered like it's been wandering for centuries. Its body's thin. Frail. Ribs are almost showing.

Can't see the face.

The mist won't let me.

But the feeling—

It's so familiar.
Too familiar.

Then it turns.

Slow. Deliberate.

Its head swivels toward us like it just remembered we existed.

Tessa flinches beside me with a sharp, startled "EEK—!"
Yeah. Fair reaction.

Because that face—

It's a disaster.

One eye is a narrow slit, stretched almost diagonally across its skull like someone carved it with a dull knife. The other is bulbous, round, glossy—too wide, too wet. It bulges slightly out of the socket, twitching with slow, unsettling movement. The kind of eye that doesn't blink—it stares.

Its mouth hangs open just a little. Not a grin. Just… wrong.
It was built by someone who ran out of reference halfway through.

Tessa leans in, whispering, "What the hell is that—?"

"I dunno," I murmur back. "But it definitely failed character creation."

The thing doesn't move. It just watches.

And that feeling in my chest?
It's no longer quiet.
It's clawing

Then it starts speaking again.

But this time… It's different.

Not gibberish. Not that surreal fever-dream nonsense from before.

The words have structure. Cadence. That same odd rhythm I remember hearing during the fight with those humans.

"…Seyva dol ven haren… loth evi sarah, ten va… venoth."

Tessa stiffens. "Wait. That… that sounds familiar."

Yeah. It does.

My eyes narrow. The sounds—it's the same language the humans were shouting during the ambush. Not beast-speak. Not monster instincts.

Just that strange, flowing tongue.

"I heard this before," I mutter. "Back when we fought them. The humans."

Tessa nods slowly. "Yeah… I don't know what it is, but it creeps me out. Like it's… clean. Structured. Too human."

The creature tilts its head again, like it can feel us trying to understand. It doesn't stop speaking. Just goes on, that same even tone, like it's reciting a prayer or a formula.

It doesn't seem hostile.

But it sure as hell doesn't seem safe, either.

It tilts its head at us—slow and weirdly childlike, like it's trying to compute us. One eye twitches, the bulbous one tracking us with far too much clarity.

Then it speaks again.

"Venhal toris… malia e'vren? Sa dorru mevi senah?"

Tone? Confused. Curious, even.

Then I blurt out, "Uh—Me habla no idioma? Or… something?"

Tessa immediately turns to me, deadpan. "Really? That's what you're going with?"

"I panicked, okay?"

The creature just stares, blinking asynchronously. Then, without warning, it lets out a soft giggle.
A broken, fluttery thing that sounds way too close to sobbing.

I step half a pace back. "Okay, this just got worse."

Tessa's ears fold back. "What is this thing?"

Then its head… shifts.

I freeze.

The flesh around its face starts to writhe, garbled and wet. Like clay being kneaded the wrong way. That slit eye narrows even further, the bulbous one collapses inward with a sickening squish—and new ones form. Bigger. Clustered.

The shape of the skull changes. The jaw warps. Mandible form.

"Oh no," Tessa breathes.

Because I know that shape.

The segmented plating. The jaw curve. The frills.

It's not me. Not exactly.

It's a Spiky Caterpillar.

My species.

The thing morphs into it, piece by piece, twitching as its limbs thicken and its back arches the same way mine does when I'm on edge. Its new eyes glow faintly purple in the moonlight. Still wrong. Still… off. But familiar.

Too familiar.

It just stands there. Wearing my body like a loose coat.

And smiling.

Then—

A voice creeps into my head. Not through the ears. Not through sound.

Directly. Into. My mind.

Tessa jolts beside me, fur bristling.
"You—You heard that too, right?" she stammers.

And then the voice gets louder, like someone tapping a mic they definitely shouldn't be trusted with.

"Uhhh… testing, testing—yes, yes, I see you, little silkborn! Loud and slimy! Hello? Helloooooo??"

I feel my brain physically wince.

"Oh, this is delightful. Telepathic connection successful! I always knew licking the moonlight was the answer. Mm. Crisp."

"Now, now, don't be shy! You're probably confused. I'm confused too! Existentially! All the time! But you know what helps? Spinning in circles and reciting every name you've ever forgotten."

Tessa's jaw drops. "What is—what is happening?"

The voice continues, louder, faster, derailing itself as it speaks.

"My name? Oh no no no, not yet, not yet. Names are heavy. Sticky. Like wet silk in a sandstorm. First, we bond! Bonding is very in right now."

"Tell me, do you also see colors when you hear regrets? No? Just me? Okay."

I rub my head with a claw, wincing. "It's like a fever dream wrapped in teeth."

Tessa's tail is curled tightly. "I don't know if I want to fight it or hug it or just bury it under a rock."

It stands there—still in my form, twitching occasionally—grinning at us with its own mouth.

This just got so much worse.

Huh.

So it can get through the language barrier. Psychic link, direct thoughts, no need for words or mouths.

And yet—

I squint at it, antennae twitching. "I still didn't understand a single thing it's trying to say."

Tessa is nodding rapidly beside me. "Nope. Not one. I mean, the words are in my head, but they're like… scrambled eggs having an identity crisis."

The creature—still wearing my body like a cosplay gone wrong—tilts its head again, clearly pleased with itself.

'"Oh, communication achieved! Results: complete incoherence! Just as planned!"

It gives us a little spin. An actual spin.

"We're bonding through nonsense! Don't fight it—be the spiral. Embrace the flavor of confusion. This is how legends begin."

Tessa leans toward me. "Is it… broken?"

"I think it woke up broken."

"Should we… help it?"

"I think we should quarantine it."

It stares at us, still grinning, mandibles twitching like it's trying to wink with its whole face.

I have no idea what this thing is.

But now it's in my brain. And I don't think it's leaving anytime soon.

Then something catches my eye.

Not the thing in front of us—it's still grinning, twitching, muttering something about "skyworms in formal attire"—but what's around it?

Stones. Arranged haphazardly. Piled like it was nesting, or hoarding, or maybe just... existing in the middle of a breakdown. Most of them look ordinary. Worn smooth. Dusty.

But one of them—

Isn't.

A jagged shape, sharp edges, and deep grooves. Dull now. No glow. No hum.

But I know it.

My breath catches.

That's—

Tessa sees it too. "Wait. Is that—?"

"The artifact," I mutter, stepping closer. "The one from the Third Zone. The one that… Orbed used."

The one that rotted everything it touched. Plants. Ground. Flesh.

It's here.

Dead now, sure. But unmistakable.

And suddenly, everything clicks.

The warped limbs. The fragmented evolution. The way it shifted into me without fully getting it right. The unfiltered psychic noise.

I look back at the creature.

"Tessa," I murmur, "is that the same one we saw in the Third Zone?"

Her eyes widen. "The one that picked it up… and absorbed it?"

The thing tilts its head again, proudly.

''Ah! You're putting it together! Wonderful! Would you like the full story or the illustrated dance version?"

My stomach drops.

It is him. That warped thing from before.

And somehow—

They survived.
And evolved.
With that artifact still inside him.

I take a breath, steady my stance, and ask the only question that makes sense anymore.

"…What are you?"

The creature perks up at that, like I've just asked its favorite question. It straightens its half-me, half-mangled body and places one warped limb over its chest with dramatic flair.

'''Aha! I am a—"
It pauses. Twitches. Something in its jaw dislocates slightly, then clicks back into place.

"—a fleshling! Yes! Born not of egg or seed but of echo and ruin! A little pocket of possibility stitched together by accidents and discarded dreams!"

Tessa stares. "...What?"

It continues without pause, hands flailing as it spins in a small, uneven circle.

"I grew from whispers. I fed on rot and memory. I saw colors that didn't exist yet. I peeled myself from a shell of unshapely. And then—!"

It hiccups. Literally hiccups.

"—I found The Sharp Thing. The one that screams in silence and made me new!"

Its voice gets slower then, more strained—like it's trying to say something real, but the words keep slipping away.

"I… I remember… a hand? No. A… face. Two? Or was it—? I am supposed to be a…"

Then its tone shifts, lighter, more coherent for just a second.

"…Male. I think. Yes"

It grins again, lopsided, pleased with itself.

Before that moment, I wasn't sure if this thing was sentient or just a walking symptom of some magical disease.

Now?

Still not sure. But it thinks it's something.

And apparently, it thinks it's a he.

"Alright then, buddy," I say, taking a few cautious steps back, "good luck with your… rock-eating, identity-crisis journey."

I gesture to Tessa. "Let's go."

She doesn't argue.

We both turn, start making our way around the lake, careful not to look back—

"Wait."

Tch. Damnit.

We stop.

Behind us, the thing twitches once, then shuffles forward—limping on its uneven hooves, arms slightly out like it's trying not to fall apart.

"Let me accompany you," it says, voice still jittery, still that off-rhythm muttering like it's mimicking a broken lullaby.

"Nope," I mutter under my breath, "absolutely not."

But then—

It pauses.

Stiffens.

For just a moment, everything in it… shifts.

Like static clearing on a broken channel.

Its eyes narrow. No twitching. No nonsense.

And then, in a low, calm voice—clear, lucid—it speaks:

"They're using the artifacts. The humans. They're collecting them. Repurposing. Wrong hands, if they align, it'll tear through the lattice—"

Then it blinks.

And the moment's gone.

He twitches, snorts, tilts his head, and mutters, "The frogs told me this would happen, but did I listen? Nooo, now look at me. All hoof and confusion."

Tessa and I stare at him, frozen.

Mouths slightly open.

Silent.

"…Did he just—?" she starts.

"Yeah," I say flatly. "He went sane for like five seconds."

"…I hated that."

"Me too."

End of Chapter 49