I woke up slowly, and my first instinct was to blink and shift—anything—but my eyes and body responded a beat late, like everything was moving through syrup that didn't want to let go.
A yawn dragged out of me—long, involuntary—followed by a groan that sounded like it belonged to someone waking from a deep, heavy sleep. I blinked into darkness and saw nothing. No ceiling. No outline of a room. Just pitch black pressing in on every side.
Was it still night?
I tried to shift, tried to sit up, and instinct made me look down for my arms—only for my body to answer in a way that made my thoughts snag.. The movement came wrong. Not painful. Not numb. Just… off, like my limbs weren't where they were supposed to be, or the signals were taking a detour through someone else's body.
A faint crack echoed above me.
Light flooded through the thin fracture overhead—sharp, sudden, cruel—and it nearly blinded me on impact. I recoiled on reflex, but even that came sluggish and delayed.
What is happening?
The crack widened—then splintered outward, branching fast through whatever I was trapped inside. Something gave way with a brittle snap, and a chunk broke loose.
Cool, damp air rushed in.
I breathed in on instinct—and frowned. It still smelled like nothing. No rot, no soil, no forest. Just emptiness, like the outside world hadn't actually reached me yet, only the pressure of it.
I tilted my head up.
The radiant blue sky filled the gap above me. Trees leaned over the opening, their branches swaying gently as wind moved through them, leaves rustling in soft, steady waves.
The rest of whatever had been holding me together gave out and collapsed around me with a brittle clatter. My body locked up like it had been chained in place, and my mind became scrambled—desperately trying to force what I was seeing into something that made sense.
It didn't.
I wasn't in my bed. I wasn't in my room. I wasn't anywhere familiar.
The invisible chain on my body started to loosen as I looked around. I was sprawled on top of something hard and curved, broken into jagged pieces beneath me.
A sharp crack popped nearby.
Then another.
The sound was unmistakable—like an egg splitting and shell giving way.
I turned my head toward it.
All around me, scattered through the nest, were dozens of other shells—eggs—cracking open one after another.
Pieces of shell crumbled into the dirt as pale, slick larvae wriggled free and spilled out. Their bodies shifted like soft flesh trying to remember a shape, and their eyes… their eyes didn't settle. They slid and rolled in wrong directions, never locking onto anything for more than a heartbeat, like they couldn't tell what was up and what was down yet.
This wasn't right. Am I dreaming?
The warmth that had been soaking into me started to fade. The radiant light overhead thinned—then dimmed, like something was sliding between me and the sun.
Something loomed above me.
I looked up—and my mind refused to cooperate for a second, like it could reject what it saw if it stalled long enough.
A grotesque shape crouched above me—low and slumped, spread out like melted flesh. Its pale, slick skin sagged as it shifted. Even its face wouldn't settle—eyes slipping slightly out of place, then correcting, mouth working unevenly like it was trying to remember how expressions were supposed to look.
It leaned closer.
"Look, darling," it said in a high, oddly cheerful voice—and leaned closer, close enough that its shadow swallowed what little light I had left. Its eyes widened as if it had to force focus, pupils swelling while it studied me. "Our first egg hatched."
My stomach tried to climb into my throat.
WHAT IS THAT?!
Another voice answered—deeper, slower, like it had to think before it spoke.
"This one's… off."
The first creature tilted its head, warping in a way that made my balance wobble even though I hadn't moved. "Off?" it echoed brightly. "It opened just fine."
The deeper voice didn't respond right away. It glanced past me toward the other eggs, where the other larvae had wriggled free and collapsed into twitching heaps. Their eyes kept drifting, never settling, while their bodies rolled and twitched—limbs shifting without purpose, like control hadn't arrived yet.
Then its gaze returned to me.
I wasn't rolling. I wasn't twitching. I sat in the broken shell, staring back—unblinking.
After a pause, the deeper voice said, "…It's doing that."
The first creature leaned closer, cheerful as ever. "Doing what?"
The deeper one hesitated. "…Staying."
The other creature blinked. Its eyes misaligned for a heartbeat, then corrected. "Oh," it said, pleased. "Maybe it's scared."
The deeper one paused, then nodded slowly. "…That's good."
My thoughts spun in tight circles.
What are these things—and why can I understand them?
The moment that question formed, pain lanced through my skull like someone had driven a spike into the center of my thoughts and twisted. I clenched without meaning to. Something clicked into place inside me, invasive and cold, and I tasted metal like I'd bitten my own tongue.
A chime rang out.
My eyes snapped wider.
[System Initialized]
Species: Mimic Larva
Level: 1
Status: Stable
Gender: Unknown
The text hovered, then steadied, like it had to brace itself against the air.
I stared at it until my vision stopped trying to blur around it.
…What?
A system?
My gaze flicked back and forth like I could shake a different answer loose. Mimic Larva? The phrase barely finished forming before another window slid into view, smooth and uncaring.
[Species Information]
A Mimic Larva is a low-tier monster born without innate abilities.
Commonly used as experience fodder.
Often killed for training or sport.
I let out a thin, ugly breath.
…Well that fills me with confidence.
My throat felt tight, and swallowing didn't help. This wasn't a dream. The dirt under me was real. The air was real. The wrongness of my body was real.
Why am I here?
A distant boom rolled through the forest. Not thunder—footsteps. Voices.
Human voices.
The relief that hit me was so strong it made my hands—whatever my hands were—shake.
Humans.
If anyone could make sense of this, if anyone could undo it, it would be them. That thought was the first thing that felt solid, and I clung to it.
The two hideous creatures above the nest—my… parents, I guessed—didn't react at all. They stood there smiling vacantly as the sound drew closer, like the forest itself could be screaming and they'd still be pleased about it.
Figures emerged between the trees, armored and relaxed… or pretending to be. One of them laughed, the sound was easy, and practiced.
"Oh, perfect," the man said, forcing a grin like this was routine. "This is the right nest."
His eyes flicked up through the trees—quick and automatic—checking the sky like it was part of a checklist. "Don't waste any time," he added. "We've got two more nests to hit before nightfall."
Another voice chimed in, eager. "Yeah. Quick and easy."
The first man lifted his hand like he'd done this a hundred times. "Alright," he said smoothly. "Easy levels."
My mind caught on those words.
Easy… levels?
None of them even looked at me. Not like I was a person. Not like I was anything that could matter.
His fingers curled. Lightning-like light coiled around them, snapping and crawling over his knuckles as if he'd opened a warp in the center of his palm. A thin beam lanced out—blue at first, sharp and cold—then it shifted, warming into orange-red as the glow thickened and swelled.
A small fire dragon unfolded from it, scales glowing faintly red—and the moment it solidified, it threw its head back and let out a sharp, crackling roar, wings flexing as if it needed to announce itself to the world.
The man smiled at it like it was his trusted tool.
"Kill them fast," he murmured. "Don't waste my time."
The other two moved immediately. Light flared again, and a thick-bodied lizard with plated skin slammed into existence beside them. Then a massive dog-like beast appeared, jaws parting to reveal far too many teeth.
Every part of me wanted to crawl back into the shell and pretend this was someone else's problem. That wasn't an option.
The fire dragon stepped forward, and my… parents moved too.
Not to fight. Not to flee.
They waddled toward the dragon without fear, like curious hosts greeting guests.
"Well isn't this lovely," the higher voice said pleasantly. "We've never had visitors before."
The dragon inhaled.
Fire roared out, and the deeper-voiced creature was engulfed instantly. No scream. No resistance. Just ash drifting down where it had stood, dark flecks floating through sunlight like a slow snowfall.
I stared, unable to make my body do anything except witness.
The remaining parent tilted its head at the empty space. "…Darling?" it asked. "Where did you go?"
Then it looked back at the dragon, as if it had noticed the inconvenience. "Oh, sorry about him. He disappears sometimes. A bit foolish, really."
Something inside me shifted into place.
Not grief. Not rage.
Clarity.
I couldn't rely on these monsters. They didn't even understand what was happening to them. I expected something—protectiveness, instinct, anything—and what I got was emptiness wrapped in a smile.
"Hurry it up," the human snapped.
Fire washed over the second parent. It didn't even have time to react.
Then there was nothing—just ash drifting down, and the sudden, ugly quiet where a living thing had been.
Around me, the other larvae didn't react. They wriggled, stared into nothing, and existed in tiny instinct-driven worlds—waiting for whatever ended them. The casualness of it was the worst part. Not death. The routine.
These humans weren't here to hunt.
They were here to harvest.
I stepped back—and my body resisted. Every movement dragged, sticky and sluggish, like I was made of half-set glue. Across the nest, another blaze washed through the far side. A wet snap followed as the lizard's tongue shot out—long and fast—wrapped around a larva, yanked it close.
Pop.
Soft flesh burst.
The dog lunged at another, bit down, then recoiled in disgust and switched to raking claws instead, shredding through twitching bodies with quick, brutal swipes like it was tearing apart rotten fruit.
My breath came in short, hot pulls. I didn't have time to be horrified—horrified didn't get you away from fire.
So I turned to run.
My foot came down on a shard of shell.
Crack.
The sound was small, but the moment it left me it felt enormous.
One of the humans snapped his head toward me.
"Oh?" he said. "Is this one trying to run?"
He laughed, delighted. "Look at that. It's got a bit of a spark."
His eyes flicked to the fire dragon. "Kill this one first."
The others chuckled, already turning away like I was a side quest.
"You two clear the rest. I'll take this one."
My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.
This cannot be happening.
Something hot and urgent surged through me—pure panic—and my body finally made a decision.
I ran.
But it was wrong. Sticky and slow, like I had to peel myself off the ground with every step.
My limbs didn't move like limbs. Each step peeled me off the ground with wet resistance, and one arm lagged, stretching instead of swinging, dragging my balance sideways. I stumbled, corrected, then stumbled again, hating the way my body betrayed me in public.
Behind me, footsteps quickened.
Then the crackle of gathering flame.
Heat rolled over my back like someone had opened an oven.
I didn't look back. I just threw myself into the trees, crashing through bushes and low branches, using the undergrowth like a shield.
The first fireball screamed overhead and detonated in the branches above me, showering embers through the leaves. I ducked beneath the canopy as another tore past close enough to sting, and the forest took the worst of it—leaves igniting, bark splitting—while fire spread into undergrowth instead of swallowing me whole.
For a few seconds, the trees shielded me. I didn't thank them. I just used them.
Then my footing failed.
One step clung too long, then released all at once, and the ground vanished beneath me. I slipped, fell, and the world flipped as I tumbled head over—if I even had a head—rolling faster and faster while my form warped with every impact: eyes sliding, mouth shifting, limbs stretching and snapping back like rubber under tension.
Trees blurred into green streaks. Dirt and leaves slammed into me from every direction. Somewhere in the chaos I realized I wasn't nauseous, and that should've been comforting.
It wasn't.
I skidded to a stop at the bottom against something hard, dizzy and disoriented. When I pushed myself upright, the fire dragon descended from above, wings beating slowly as it hovered just off the ground, and its eyes locked onto me and didn't let go.
Just my luck.
I bolted. My feet tore free of the dirt with wet, peeling sounds as I sprinted through the forest, and behind me the dragon swooped lower, fire building in its throat.
It fired.
Flame streaked past—and missed.
Too wide. Too sloppy.
Fireballs tore into trees instead, bark exploding as trunks ignited, and I zigzagged through burning roots and falling branches while more shots followed, each one late, chewing up the forest instead of me. I should've been grateful for its bad aim. All I could think was: it only had to get lucky once.
Then the dragon changed tactics.
Its jaws opened and it exhaled a continuous stream of flame—weaker, but tracking. It stopped lobbing shots and started painting the air, sweeping the fire after me in a steady line that adjusted every time I shifted, closing the gap inch by inch.. Heat gathered at my back until my skin—whatever my skin was—felt tight.
It was following me now.
I ducked, vaulted a fallen log, cut sharply left—and the stream didn't just chase my path, it bit through it. Flame carved into the log I'd just cleared, slicing it in half with a violent snap. Splinters and burning shards exploded outward, whipping past me and hammering into the trees beside me like shrapnel. I risked a glance back—enough to see the dragon adjust again—and the flame swept too close, heat washing over my side as leaves snapped into sparks.
I turned forward—and slammed into something solid.
Immovable.
The impact knocked the air out of me. I bounced off it hard, ricocheting backward in a messy tumble—once, twice—before I finally caught myself, limbs splaying as I fought to stabilize.
As I hauled myself up from the impact, my gaze lifted—and snagged on something I couldn't fully make sense of.
There was a mass ahead of me, half-hidden behind the trees, like a sleeping giant using the forest as a blanket. I could only see parts of it between trunks and hanging leaves—too big, too still, too wrong to measure.
Then it shifted.
The ground rumbled beneath my feet as loose dirt slid, and the thing sat up from where it had been lying, foliage sliding off its back in slow waves.
Something opened through the leaves.
An eye—sharp yellow, slit like a lizard's—huge, heavy, unblinking.
Pressure crashed into me the moment it locked on, so dense it felt like the air had gained weight and decided to sit on my ribs. My legs trembled without permission. My mouth filled with saliva I didn't want.
…Are you kidding me?
I'd run from humans. I'd run from fire. And now that thing—the one that had been lying in the trees like it owned the forest—had decided I was in its way.
The earth shuddered again as the creature began to rise, pushing itself up with slow, crushing weight. Its breath rolled out in a low, bone-deep rumble that buzzed through me like a warning you felt more than heard.
If I went forward, the massive thing in the trees would crush me.
If I went back, the human's fire-dragon would burn me.
There was no safe direction. No gap. No mercy.
I had to figure something out. Right now.
What the hell do I do?