Days passed. Time in this new, strange existence wasn't marked by sunrises or sunsets he could fully perceive, but by the rhythmic cycle of consumption and replication. Each successful generation of new units, each pulse of biological creation, added to the growing collective. The simple glory of the first replication had been just the beginning. Fueled by the scattered bounty of Generic Biomass and the richer pockets found through continuous exploration, his numbers had grown exponentially.
He oversaw the process, his awareness now a distributed network spanning a mosaic of cleared ground. Different forms contributed to the outward push against the unknown: the original Juvenile units, slow but efficient replicators, and the Armored variants, also slow but tougher, navigating slightly more challenging terrain. Together, they moved according to his silent direction, consuming and replicating in turn, pushing outwards. The strategy felt ingrained – spread wide, establish multiple points of presence, make elimination difficult by never concentrating all his strength. The satisfaction of seeing his territory expand, the grey Fog of War pushed back bit by bit across his internal map, was a constant, reinforcing reward.
The Juvenile units were slow-moving, their progress across the forest floor a deliberate, inching crawl. He used them for scouting and pushing the Fog of War regardless; their sheer numbers compensating for their lack of speed, covering ground through pervasive presence rather than swift movement. Losses occurred, of course, as this slow, pervasive exploration encountered hazards. Encountering territorial beetles could result in a few Juvenile units being crushed before they could retreat. The sudden shadow and swift strike of a small bird occasionally meant a scout unit near the surface simply vanished from his awareness.
When a unit was lost, a jolt, a sharp pang of disconnection, shot through him. It was a small pain, an awareness of a piece of himself being severed. But because replication remained a high, fundamental priority, an easily accessible function fueled by the steady intake of biomass, this feeling of loss was overlaid by a deeper, strategic calm. The capability to create more, to constantly replenish and increase his numbers, provided a profound reassurance. Each successful replication was a small victory that mitigated the pain of the minor defeats. A unit lost was just biomass that needed to be replaced, a temporary dip in the ever-climbing count, a necessary cost of expansion.
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Now, the swarm numbered close to a hundred units. A significant force, spread across a considerable patch of forest floor. The majority were still the efficient, low-cost Juvenile units, slow but adept at locating scattered resources. But a solid contingent were the Armored variants, their tougher forms navigating slightly more challenging terrain and providing added resilience against the common hazards. He felt the presence of each unit as an extension of himself, a part of the greater whole he was building.
The process of consumption and replication continued ceaselessly, the engine of his expansion humming across his small domain. Scout units, pushing into new areas, revealed subtle changes in the environment on the map – different soil coloration, strange clusters of unfamiliar fungi. The world was vast, and even with a hundred bodies, he had barely scratched the surface.
It was as the swarm continued its inexorable spread, exploring a new sector bordering a patch of unusually pale soil on his map, that the first signs registered. Not of a creature, or a resource, but of interference. A strange static began to appear on the status of the units pushing into that area. Their response to his direction felt... sluggish. Delayed. And then, a growing chorus of internal alarms, not of physical damage, but of fundamental, unsettling conflict. Commands issued were not obeyed. Units began to move erratically, pulled by an unseen force, towards the heart of the pale soil patch.
Unit Control Disrupted.
His connection to those units fractured. He still felt them – their physical presence, their helpless movement – but they were no longer responding to him. They were being drawn away, their forms obeying an alien command. Fury, cold and absolute, surged through him. Nothing controlled him. He was the swarm, the master of his own being, and the idea that something else had dared to take control of his parts, of him, was an intolerable violation. Anything foolish enough to attempt such a thing had to be destroyed.
He focused his awareness, centering his perception on one of the affected units. As his focus narrowed, something new happened – his view shifted, plunging closer, resolving the grainy details of the map into a tighter, higher-resolution perspective than he had ever achieved before. He was zooming in.
The image sharpened, revealing the surface texture of his unit's pale, segmented body in stark detail. And embedded within the chitin, clinging like tiny burrs, were the source of the control: minuscule, pale spores, their thread-like tendrils visibly lacing into the unit's form.
He saw them. He saw the violation made manifest. The feeling of fury solidified into absolute resolve. The source of these spores. The intelligence that dared to puppet his own being. It had to be found. It had to be eradicated.
