The Hollow Moth: Reincarnated as a Caterpillar

I continue trailing ahead. The scent's gone stale, but the psychic residue still lingers. Goldy's silk—cocoon threads. Spread thin, scattered like something dragged her through in a rush. I can't see anything in this damned dark, but I don't need to. The threads pull at my mind. They're everywhere.

We keep walking. Quiet. Tessa's close. Morven trails behind, for once not talking.

Then I spot it.

A corpse. Human. Slumped against the stone wall, half-twisted, blood dried around him. Armor's cracked open down the middle.

Spines stick out of his side. Brutal ones. Thick. Not clean shots. No way to tell whose—could be from Spiky, maybe Misa or Rin. Doesn't matter. Someone fought back.

There's silk on the ground near him. Goldy's. Faint, but enough to confirm it.

I click my tongue. "They're not far."

No one replies.

We move on.

I glance at Tessa. "Can you smell them?"

She sniffs the air, then the ground near the corpse. Her nose wrinkles.

"Yeah… barely. The fight muddied everything. Blood, burnt mana, fear. It's all mixed up."

She pauses, then nods. "But I've got enough. I can figure out where they went."

"Lead on, mutt," I say.

She snorts but moves ahead without arguing.

We walk for a bit more, following the trail Tessa picks out. It's not clean—twists and cuts through uneven stone—but she's steady, ears twitching, nose low.

The deeper we go, the heavier it feels.

I reach out with my mind again. Spines. Embedded in the walls. Some still hum faintly with psychic trace. Not Goldy's. These are thinner, sharper. Probably Spiky's.

Mixed in, I sense arrows too. Wood shafts. Metal tips. Broken mid-flight or splintered on impact. Some are still stuck deep in cracks.

Signs of a chase. Or an ambush.

I narrow my eyes. "They weren't quiet," I mutter. "Good."

Tessa doesn't look back, but I see her ears flick. We keep going.

We run. No more pacing, no more caution. Just forward.

The trail sharpens—fresh silk, disturbed dust, broken arrowheads. Tessa moves like she knows exactly where to go. I stay right behind her.

Then it hits me.

Psychic pressure. Close. Familiar.

Victor. Spiky. Misa.

I can feel them now—faint threads brushing against my mind. Their presence is there, tangled together. But it's not right.

Victor is usually calm and focused. Now it's flickering, like a signal breaking apart.

Spiky's should be loud, reckless. Instead, it's… quiet. Stiff. Wrong.

Misa's psychic is always sharp and cold. Now it feels stretched thin, frayed at the edges.

Something's wrong.

They're close—but they're not okay.

We run. The closer we get, the louder it gets in my head.

Victor. Spiky. Misa.

Their psychic signals crash into me all at once—pain, fear, confusion. Tangled and unstable. I follow it, fast, heart pounding. Tessa's right beside me.

---

Then we arrive.

Victor's curled in on himself, body trembling. His legs are scraped up, bristles broken, eyes half-lidded. He's conscious, barely.

Spiky's leaning against a chunk of stone, spines limp, breathing heavy. His head jerks slightly when we appear, but he doesn't speak. Doesn't even glare.

Misa crumpled near the wall. She's unconscious, but I can feel her—faint, but alive.

It should've been relief.

But it isn't.

Because Goldy's not here. Neither is Vex.

And then I see him.

Rin.

Lying on his side, just a few steps away from the others. Still. Too still.

I walk up slowly. My mind reaches for him—instinct, hope, something desperate.

There's nothing.

No psychic response. No flicker. No field.

Just silence.

Unconscious?

No.

He's lifeless.

And this… this is the part where I wish I were wrong.

"What happened here!?" Tessa screams.

Victor stirs, slow and unsteady. He lifts his head just enough to look at her, voice faint but steady.

"Ahh… Dear Sister… Miss Tessa… you hath arrived…"

Tessa drops beside him, gripping his arm. "Victor—what happened!?"

Spiky answers, voice rough. "Humans. Hit us hard. Traps and arrows."

He breathes out, shaky.

"Victor was carrying Goldy. She couldn't move. Rin covered them both… took a major hit."

His jaw clenches. "He didn't get back up."

"Damnit," I snap. "Damnit all… What about Vex!? They got him too?"

Spiky shakes his head, slowly.

"No… Vex advanced. Next cocoon stage. Still able to move… without my help."

He takes a breath.

"He took the least damage. Saw them take Goldy. Didn't wait. He chased after them on his own."

Tessa turns sharply. "So he went after them? Alone!?"

Spiky nods. "Didn't even hesitate. Just ran."

Tessa spins toward me. "Then let's go after him!"

"You didn't have to tell me," I say. "Yeah, we're going after him. And Goldy too."

I stop in front of her. "But not you. You stay here."

Her eyes narrow. "I'm fine. You know I can fight."

"I know. That's not the point."

I jerk my head toward Victor, Misa, and Rin. "They need someone steady. Someone who can keep them alive if anything circles back."

She clenches her jaw. Her tail flicks once.

"I'll go with Morven," I say.

Tessa glares at me, then looks at Rin's still body. Her shoulders drop, just a bit.

"…Fine. But if you're not back soon, I'm coming anyway."

I nod once, then turn.

Time to move.

"Where did they go?" I ask.

Victor stirs, lifting his head with slow, deliberate grace—as though he were adjusting a cravat rather than bleeding into the dirt.

"Blood trails," he says softly, with disdain curling at the edges. "Forsaken by humankind—gross and unpolished, akin to all upon which their hands do lay."

He inhales, steadying himself, then continues.

"Verily, Vex, by the design of destiny, hath ventured into the exalted cocoon phase… a most fortunate metamorphosis. His psychic aura now doth shimmer with a heightened resonance—prickles honed through anguish and instinct.."

Another breath.

"He shall experience that which we are unable to. Should he seek them out, they shall not evade him for an extended period."

Victor's breath hitches, but his tone doesn't waver.

"Although," he continues, voice calm, almost conversational despite everything, "Following the humans—and the lingering trail that dear Vex hath so benevolently hewn—should not present an insurmountable challenge."

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He closes his eyes briefly, as if bored with the mess around him.

"They are hardly the embodiment of subtlety… and Vex, in his present condition, does indeed cast a most pronounced psychic impression. One need only direct their attention."

I focus my senses. Yeah—blood trails, still fresh. Lingering psychic threads too, rough and rushed. Same path. That's it. Clear enough.

I nod. "Thanks, Victor."

He doesn't reply, just closes his eyes like he's already moved on.

"I'll come back with both of them," I mutter. "Alive."

Then I turn and move. No time left to waste.

---

I run through the trails, claws hitting stone, eyes sharp. The path's clear—blood, psychic residue, disturbed dust. All pointing one way.

Morven follows behind me. No hesitation. No weird commentary. Just… quiet.

I glance back at him. "You're unexpectedly quiet."

He doesn't miss a step.

"And just following orders without question? That's new."

He shrugs, eyes forward. "You're the one who's angry. I figured silence was safer."

He keeps pace, eyes ahead. "Besides, there's no point in questioning. You already said it—get back to your family. That's reason enough."

He glances at me briefly. "And I already promised to accompany you on your journey. No point in more unnecessary questions."

I snort. "Huh. Fair enough, smartass."

He almost smiles. Doesn't say anything else. Good. I don't need more words. I need results.

We keep moving, fast, focused. But of course—as the old saying goes—thou shalt get sidetracked by bullshit every time.

Because right in front of us, sniffing around like they own the place, are wolves.

Not like Tessa. Definitely not. These ones are lanky, black-coated, eyes low and gleaming. Snouts pressed to the ground, following the same damn blood trail we are.

Thankfully she's not here. I can already hear her snarky "oh wow, cousins!" nonsense in my head.

Morven slows beside me, watching them. "Dire Wolves," he says like he's reading off a label. "Distant cousins of our dear friend Tessa… but unlike her, these ones don't burn."

I stare at him.

"Well no shit, Einstein."

I focus.

The crescent plate on my thorax glows silver, steady and cold. One by one, the runes along my body light up, quiet pulses crawling across my shell like frost spreading on glass.

Right. No time.

We don't have time to entertain these canines.

Lunar Ascension, it is.

There are two wolves. Good. Simple.

"So," I mutter, eyes locking on the one to the left, "each wolf for us, I guess."

Morven nods once. Calm. Focused.

Then we move.

Morven steps forward, his hooved foot thudding against the stone with deliberate weight.

The wolf growls and charges.

So does he.

They meet head-on—almost. The wolf leaps, fangs bared, limbs spread wide.

Morven doesn't stop. He drops low, body angled, skidding beneath the leaping beast with barely an inch to spare. Dust kicks up around him.

As he passes under the wolf's shadow, he lifts one hand—steady, open.

The runes on his palm flare. A circle forms, clean and sharp.

Then—boom—a shockwave erupts point-blank from his hand, a pulse of pure kinetic force slamming upward into the wolf's gut mid-air.

The creature twists violently, spine bending as it's thrown back. It crashes into the cavern wall with a crunch, limbs flailing.

Morven rises from his skid without looking back.

"Overcommitted," he says, brushing dust off his sleeve.

Of course, he's smug about it.

The other wolf barrels toward me, all teeth and speed.

Ah. Well. Come at me then.

I raise my thorax, and with a flick of will, two crescent blades shimmer into existence—silver, sharp, and humming low as they spin beside me like moons orbiting a dead world.

The wolf doesn't slow.

Just before it leaps, I send one of the blades flying forward. A clean arc—fast, quiet, aimed dead center.

The damn thing swerves last second, ducking under it. Smart.

But not smart enough.

The dodge throws off its momentum—too wide, too much weight on the wrong paw.

That's all I need.

I lunge in, bristles flared, runes alight. My remaining blade curves around behind me, ready to follow through.

It's my turn now.

I strike with my mandibles, clashing hard against its claw. Sparks fly off the contact, but I hold firm. While it's locked with me up front, I send the crescent blade right into its back.

It snarls, twisting in pain.

Yeah. That's what I'm doing.

Every time it lunges, I meet it—mandibles snapping, bristles flaring, sometimes even ramming with my armored thorax. And while it's busy with me, I guide that crescent blade like a second set of fangs.

Behind the leg. Between the ribs. Across the spine. Again. And again.

It starts getting sloppy. Tries to jump back—too slow. Tries to spin mid-attack—too late. I'm already on the next strike before it reacts.

One clash, two wounds. It can't keep up.

I press forward, blade humming behind it, waiting for the last gap to open.

I keep going—strike after strike. Every time it lashes out, I meet it head-on with mandibles, spines, claws—whatever I've got. And every time, the crescent blade answers from behind, cutting deeper.

The wolf's movements get slower. Staggered. Blood's pooling under its paws now, its back torn up from the constant strikes. It can barely hold itself upright.

Good.

"Alright," I mutter, stepping in close, eyes locked. "Time to finish this."

The crescent blades rise beside me—both now, silver and sharp, humming with built-up momentum.

I send them forward.

They slice clean through the air, curving in like executioner's arcs—and they don't stop. The first digs into its side. The second tears across its neck.

It tries to snarl, but nothing comes out.

It drops.

I don't look away until it's still.

"That's… an interesting tactic," Morven says, tilting his head as he eyes the mess I made. "Although a little brutal for my liking."

I glance at him, deadpan. "Well, we don't really have time for honor and dignity, do we, Mister One-Shot?"

He raises an eyebrow, unbothered. "Precision is efficient."

"Uh-huh. And mine's effective."

He sighs like he's above all this.

We both know he's not.

As we're done with the battle, we keep moving—back on the trail. Where Goldy and Vex went, hopefully.

I turn off Lunar Ascension. The silver glow fades.

So do the crescent blades.
(Unintentional rhyme, by the way.)

The path ahead still hums with their psychic traces—Vex's sharp and angry, Goldy's soft but steady.

I pick up the pace.

As we're pacing through the tunnel, shadows shifting around our steps, Morven speaks again—same curious tone, like he's halfway between conversation and research.

"That power of yours," he says. "That silvery mana glow… It's not something I'm familiar with. At least not Replication, nor Manipulation Magic."

"Hell if I know," I mutter. "So it's Original Magic?"

"Definitely," Morven says without pause. "That crescent blade of yours—it doesn't have a real, tangible, physical presence."

I glance at him. "Mind explaining that to me then? Because from what I saw, it clearly hits like a real saw."

He nods slightly. "Like I told you before, Original Magic doesn't harm the physical directly—it harms through mana. Disrupts it. Cuts it. Although I don't know the exact mechanism behind your crescent blade, there are metric tons of ways Original Magic can inflict damage."

He gestures vaguely with one hand as we walk.

"Mana is everywhere. In the air, on the ground, but especially in the body. Skin, muscle, nerves—they're all layered with mana flow. Disrupt that, and you disrupt the structure holding those parts together."

He pauses, then adds, "And the way it damages depends on things like mana type, density, frequency. Yours seems tuned for shearing—fast, clean disruption along a fixed arc. Pretty efficient."

I snort. "You saying my blade's got settings?"

"Possibly," he says. "Or it's reacting to your intent. Original Magic does that sometimes."

"Well, my intent is to kill things fast."

"Then it's doing a fine job."

We round another corner. The air thickens. The psychic trail ahead sharpens—Vex's energy burns like a fire barely restrained. Close. Not far now.

Along the way, a few monsters try to interrupt us. Nothing serious—nothing like the dire wolves from earlier, or the damn Dusk Stalkers slithering out of the cracks like nightmares.

Mostly just Gloom Bats. Loud, stupid, and fast.

I don't stop. Just flex my thorax and fire a burst of spines mid-stride. They screech, scatter, and fall off the path like shredded leaves.

Morven handles his side in his usual smug fashion—flinging arcs of arcane magic with pinpoint precision. Flashes of violet light, little pops of force. He doesn't even slow down.

I glance at him. "Aren't those inefficient?"

He flicks a bat mid-air and shrugs. "I never said it was inefficient for me."

Istg. This guy.

He's a smartass. But I'll take that over the version of him that won't shut up about soup and whatever metaphysical nonsense used to fall out of his mouth.

We keep moving. Trail's still fresh

We keep moving. Closer now. The pressure in the air hums against my shell, thick with tension and psychic bleed.

And then—we're here.

The chamber opens out before us. It's wrecked. Shattered stone. Deep gouges in the ground. Spines embedded in walls. The sharp, coppery stink of blood clings to everything.

And there—hovering in the center of it all—is Vex.

Still fully sealed in his cocoon, dark and ridged with pulsing veins of faint green light. But he's floating, suspended in mid-air by sheer psychic force. His spines are fully drawn, sharp, twitching, venom-laced. Controlled rage in every movement.

He's hurt. The cocoon shell is cracked in places. Burned. Scarred. But he's still fighting.

In front of him—four humans. Armed. Alert. One is already bleeding at the edge of the chamber. The others tense, encircling.

One of them is holding Goldy.

Still wrapped in her cocoon. Slumped. Barely pulsing with mana. She's not moving. Still can't float.

Then I feel it—clean, sharp, cutting into my mind.

"You're here," Vex says, the psychic words cold and tight, like he's holding himself back from tearing the whole room apart.

I step forward, eyes locked on the humans.

"Yeah," I answer. "We are."

"Who's that strange monster?" Vex's voice presses into my head, low and sharp. "You bringing another friend?"

He flicks a pulse toward Morven, who just stands there like he's posing for a portrait.

Vex sighs—an actual psychic sigh. "Never mind."

A pause.

Then: "Let's kill these humans."

My spines twitch. "Glad we're on the same page."

One of the humans steps forward, barking something in Common Tongue—fast, urgent, hands raised in formation.

I don't catch the words, but Morven does.

He stiffens. "They're preparing spells."

His eyes flick across the chamber, quick. "Two are chanting. One's shielding."

I snarl, low. "How long?"

"Seconds."

Vex doesn't wait for further analysis. His spines twitch violently, energy flaring around his cocoon.

"Then we move now," he says.

Agreed.

I draw on Lunar Ascension again.

The crescent plate on my thorax flares to life—silver light spilling across my body as the runes ignite one by one. The glow hums deep in my core, cold and clean. Everything sharpens.

One of the humans reacts instantly.

He's the biggest of the bunch—broad, leather armor strapped tight across his chest, a massive axe resting on his shoulder like it weighs nothing. Hair wild. Eyes full of bloodlust.

Barbarian type.

He lets out a roar and charges straight at me, axe raised, full sprint.

Good. I was hoping someone would be dumb enough to go first.

Vex launches his spines in a tight, brutal volley—straight at the charging brute.

But the man doesn't slow.

Instead, he stomps the ground hard—hard enough to crack the stone beneath his feet. A shockwave ripples out, thick and controlled, distorting the air.

The spines hit it mid-flight—and stop. Just like that. Hanging for half a second before dropping uselessly to the floor.

"Tch," Vex growls into my head. "Really?"

I stare, then mutter, "How the hell did he even do that!?"

Morven frowns. "Localized earth-type disruption magic. Very niche. Very expensive."

"Great," I snap. "So he's a barbarian and a walking anti-projectile wall."

"Annoying," Vex mutters.

Yeah. That too.
The one holding Goldy starts muttering fast, hand glowing with a familiar flicker.

I recognize that build-up anywhere—classic fireball. Sloppy, rushed, but big enough to torch the room if it lands.

But just as the flames begin to form—poof—they vanish.

Gone. Snuffed out mid-air like someone blew out a candle.

From behind me, Morven's voice, calm as ever: "Counterspell."

I whip around. "What the hell? You can just do that?!"

He shrugs, not even smug about it. "Yes."

Vex said, "I like him."

But before I can even take another step, one of the other humans lifts their hand and casts—quick and sharp.

Lightning.

A bolt rips through the air, aimed straight at Vex.

He doesn't react. Focused, probably didn't even register it.

So I move.

I step forward, fast, right into its path. I flex my bristles just as it hits—hard.

There's a crackling sting, heat crawling across my shell—but that's all.

The bolt disperses across my body, fizzing out in silver sparks. My bristles absorb most of it. The rest barely scratches.

I exhale. "That's all you've got?"

Vex doesn't even turn. Just huffs through the link.

"Took you long enough."

"Yeah," I mutter, "next time dodge, genius."

And suddenly—snap—a flicker of movement in the corner of my vision.

A human. Right beside me. I don't even have time to flinch.

Twin daggers, already mid-swing—he's fast.

But then wham—he's yanked back mid-air like a puppet on invisible strings and slammed into a tree trunk with a crunch.

I freeze. The hell?

"Since when—"

"You're welcome," Vex says, oh-so-casually, his cocoon still floating just a few paces back, eyes glowing faint green. "Honestly, do keep your awareness up."

I squint at him. "Wait... you did that?"

He hums through the psychic link, smug as ever.
"Telekinesis, dear sister. Something you've yet to attain."

I roll my eyes. "Oh, excuse me for not being a floating murder pod with glowy psychic hands."

"Apology accepted."

Tch. Showoff. But... thanks, I guess.

We reset—reforming our side as they gather on theirs. Me. Vex. Morven. Lined up, breathing steady. Spines twitching. Magic simmering.

The humans do the same. Axe guy in front. Casters behind. The one holding Goldy is shifting closer to the edge, still trying to keep her cocooned body shielded.

It's clean. Controlled. No screaming. No panic.

They're not like the usual dungeon scum.

I click my mandibles. "So this is what it's like to fight something with actual coordination."

I flex my spines once, settling into a stance.

"Haven't had that since the Myconid drama."

End of Chapter 55