Too — Too — Too Loud
The fox froze.
Its fur bristled.
Its voice caught in its throat.
"…What—what did you just—?" it muttered, barely moving its lips.
The lizard's jaws clenched tightly.
"Be quiet."
The words rang inside the fox's head—loud. Too loud.
It blinked, staggering slightly.
"I… I wasn't even speaking loudly!" it whispered shakily. "…What are you talking about?!"
The lizard's golden eyes remained locked on the fox. Its new white ears twitched faintly, picking up the slightest vibrations in the air.
And yet… it heard everything.
Every subtle shift of rock beneath their paws.
Every distant insect chirp.
Every faint whisper of wind brushing across the clearing.
Even the fox's quietest murmurs seemed to amplify and echo inside the tiny predator's skull.
The fox's tail curled tightly around its body. It lowered its head, suddenly careful not to move a muscle.
"…How—how is this possible?" it muttered under its breath, voice trembling.
The lizard's jaws clenched again, pain rippling through its small frame.
Golden eyes squinted as it focused, straining against the torrent of new sensations.
"What… what is this?" it muttered inwardly, voice low but urgent.
A calm, unflinching tone echoed back inside its mind.
{SYSTEM}:
"You have fused with the gene of the Echo Bat. You now possess heightened auditory and spatial perception beyond natural limits. Your ears can detect vibrations across vast distances. Even the faintest noise is amplified within your consciousness. Sound, no matter how soft, is carried directly into your perception."
The lizard's eyes widened slightly as realization settled in.
"…So that's why…" it whispered, tail flicking faintly. "…Everything… I can hear everything."
{SYSTEM}:
"Yes. This adaptation is a direct result of the fusion. You can locate movement, discern hidden presences, and perceive subtle spatial distortions through auditory resonance. Your senses now surpass conventional sight limitations. However, your perception of volume is skewed. What is quiet to others is amplified to you as though a speaker is inside your head."
The fox's fur bristled again, eyes narrowing.
"…Oh, great," it muttered under its breath. "…So now even being quiet doesn't matter. Fantastic."
The lizard's tiny body trembled as it tested the new power, ears flicking to track invisible currents in the air. Pain radiated faintly from overstimulation, but its focus sharpened by small, painful increments.
{SYSTEM}:
"This gene fusion also allows limited echolocation. You can map your surroundings through sound alone. Your auditory awareness is now a weapon, a shield, and a tool for survival. However, overuse may strain your neural pathways until full adaptation is achieved."
The lizard's golden eyes flicked back toward the fox.
It didn't speak aloud.
It didn't need to.
The fox's muttered complaints, the whispering wind, the distant hum of insects—they all poured into the lizard's consciousness without mercy.
The lizard lowered itself slightly, trembling.
Both front paws lifted instinctively, pressing against its newly grown white ears.
Yet even with its ears covered, the pain did not fully subside. Faint tremors ran along its jawline and temples, as if the amplification was rooted deeper than the outer ear—woven into its very nerves.
The fox watched silently for a moment.
Its mind raced, piecing together what had just happened.
"…So that's why it told me to be quiet," the fox muttered softly, almost to itself. "…And now…"
It studied the lizard's posture—the slight flinch at every rustle of wind, every distant insect call.
"…This state… that pain…" the fox's gaze sharpened. "…It has to be the ears. They're hypersensitive."
Cautiously, it tested the only communication method it could trust now: voice transmission.
"…Hey," the fox said slowly, voice quiet but steady. It didn't project—just allowed the sound to carry naturally. "…Is this because of those… new ears?"
The lizard froze. Its paws remained pressed against its ears. Golden eyes flicked toward the fox.
A faint shiver ran through its small body, but it did not answer aloud.
The fox tilted its head, analyzing.
"…I mean, it makes sense," it murmured.
It hesitated, brow furrowing. "…They just grew while you were asleep?"
The lizard's jaw twitched slightly, almost imperceptibly. Pain radiated faintly, but its golden eyes remained fixed on the fox.
"…It's new," the fox said quietly to itself, voice still transmitted. "That's the only explanation. They weren't there before… and now they are. And they're… extremely sensitive."
It exhaled shakily, shoulders sagging with exhaustion.
The fox crouched lower beside the lizard, still coughing softly, blood staining its fur.
It studied the tiny figure carefully.
"…You're still blind," it muttered under its breath, voice trembling from both fatigue and lingering pain.
Yet the way the lizard's golden eyes fixed on it—even though sight should have been useless—it moved as though it could see.
The fox tilted its head, frowning.
"…So that means… it's locating me through sound. My voice. Every movement I make."
It let out a small, humorless chuckle despite its injuries.
"…Well… that's actually good. Its body must have grown those ears to compensate for the blindness."
The fox's gaze flicked toward the small white ears, still twitching, still trembling beneath the lizard's paws.
"…But…" it thought, "…it doesn't seem to know how to use them properly yet."
It could see the overreactions to even the softest noise, the tremor running through the tiny body as if the world itself had become too loud to bear.
"…So it can locate me," the fox said quietly, "but it can't control it. Not yet. Not efficiently."
It released another shallow breath, tail twitching faintly.
The lizard's small body quivered again, paws still pressed to its ears, eyes blank yet unnervingly attentive.
The fox winced, unsure how much the creature could truly process through voice transmission—but it persisted carefully.
"…I guess… welcome to the next stage," the fox muttered, voice trembling slightly with exhaustion and awe. "You've… really leveled up."
The lizard remained silent—breathing, absorbing, enduring subtle waves of pain. But one truth was undeniable: it was awake. Hyper-aware. Tuned to a new dimension of perception.
The lizard's body tensed.
"Stop… stop speaking…" it muttered inwardly, voice strained and low.
Golden eyes squinted, pupils narrowing.
"How… how can it make it stop?!" it hissed in its mind, frustration bubbling beneath its rigid composure. "I just want… I want it to stop."
The calm, mechanical tone responded instantly.
{SYSTEM}:
"Ceasing communication entirely is impossible. Partial suppression is achievable through conscious focus and energy allocation. However, doing so will reduce auditory awareness and slow adaptive synchronization."
The lizard's tail flicked restlessly. Its golden eyes widened, then narrowed again.
"That…That's insane," it whispered inwardly. "…It's always there…"
Its small paws pressed harder against its ears, desperately trying to dull the overwhelming flood of sound. Pain pulsed faintly along its temples, but the System's voice remained steady—unyielding, intrusive.
The fox, crouched nearby, noticed the subtle flinch, the tremor of overstimulation.
"…It's still trying to control itself," the fox muttered softly. "…And it's struggling."
The lizard's golden eyes flicked toward the fox briefly.
It wasn't ready to speak aloud.
But even through the pain—through the endless cascade of sound and the relentless echo of the System—one undeniable truth remained.
It was awake.
And it was aware.