Chapter 4: Struggling.

  After resting for a while, Lucas began drifting aimlessly along the shadowed walls of the cavern once more. Each awkward slink of his form reminded him of his battle with the slime.

  The cavern stretched in every direction, an endless maze of cold, damp stone, its oppressive silence broken only by his movements and the occasional distant echo. Every touch of his tendrils against the rough ground sent strange, muted sensations rippling through him, reminders of his new body’s odd, alien nature.

  The thought echoed hollowly in his mind. He’d told himself to survive, to push through this ordeal, but in truth, he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do.

  The Rage, despair, fear—emotions that would have flooded him back in his old life—now felt noticeably dimmer, faint echoes dulled by the strange numbness of his form.

  It was as though his new body lacked the capacity to fully process them. And yet, the absence of these emotions gnawed at him, leaving him unsettled, almost as if he were watching himself from somewhere far away.

  He could tell but had no way of finding out the exact problem, neither did he have the time to deal with it.

  So, he continued his slow march along the uneven floor, he focused his awareness on his surroundings as much as possible. Every faint sound and smell captured brought with them the creeping fear of the unknown.

  Suddenly, he picked up on something peculiar—a faint, almost melodic rhythm pulsed through the cavern itself. It was subtle, barely distinguishable from the ambient noise, yet something about it drew him in. He stopped, listening intently, his nebulous form pulsed slightly as he absorbed the gentle beat. The sound was very faint but steady, a rhythm that felt both alien and comforting, like a heartbeat echoing from deep within the earth.

  As he focused, the rhythm seemed to resonate with him, a low, vibrating pulse that coursed through his form, washing over the aches and exhaustion left from the battle. For a fleeting moment, Lucas felt rejuvenated, as if the cavern’s rhythm was lending him strength, grounding him in its ancient, unyielding presence. It was strangely calming, easing some of the anxiety gnawing at him, almost like the cavern itself was speaking to him, offering a strange sort of companionship.

  But then, as quickly as it had come, the rhythm faded, and Lucas snapped out of his trance. The soothing presence receded, leaving him alone in the silence once more, his awareness crashing back into his strange, aching body.

  ‘

  He felt something shift inside him, a kind of yearning he couldn’t quite define. As he tried to make sense of it, his body subconsciously morphed, rippling through different shapes as if trying to mirror his confusion. He wasn’t sure if it was some leftover instinct from his human life or something entirely new, but it was unsettling yet fascinating.

  After a few moments of silent contemplation, he forced himself to push the experience aside. He had just survived a near-death encounter with the slime, and he couldn’t afford to be caught off guard again.

  He began contemplating where a blind creature like him would be safest. The idea of climbing up formed slowly in his mind, a faint spark of hope he hadn’t felt since arriving in this place.

  he thought.

  But he wasn’t exactly confident in his climbing skills, at least not anymore.

  he encouraged, trying to psyche himself up.

  With a tentative resolve, he approached a wall and began testing his finer movements, inch by inch. He reached out, growing a tendril, then retracting it, stretching his flexibility as he experimented.

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  His body, though malleable, didn’t seem to respond quite as he expected; each attempt to move upward sent him stumbling, collapsing back into a amorphous, shifting mass.

  His human mind struggled to fully command this alien form—it was like learning to walk all over again, except this time with limbs that could change length and shape at will. And to make it worse, he felt like he was made of water.

  After experimenting for a few minutes, he focused once more, extending his tendrils as he remembered doing when he frantically lashed out at that slime. He imagined them hardening, visualizing the tension and strength he’d felt when fighting the slime.

  To his relief, they stiffened under his will, taking on a sharper, more precise form. One tendril stretched up, its tip tapering into a crude, hook-like claw that clung to a crack in the wall. He extended another, latching onto the rock beside it, his new limbs swaying slightly with each attempt to stabilize himself.

  The sensation was strange, but a thrill bubbled up in him as he saw his body obey his commands. He could feel his reach expanding, his tendrils responding with a newfound strength. His form was grotesque, certainly, but there was a certain satisfaction in shaping it, in molding it with purpose. Each motion felt less like an awkward nudge and more like the beginning of finer movement.

  With renewed determination, he adjusted his grip, pulling his body upward, one tendril at a time. It wasn’t graceful—far from it—but he was moving.

  The wall felt cold and rough against his shifting form, but he didn’t let go, inching higher and higher, gaining confidence with each movement. He could hear his tendrils scraping along the stone, their rigidity barely holding as he forced them to obey his will.

  Lucas paused, focusing on his senses. His body stilled as he listened to the cavern’s silence, focusing on the faint whispers of the wind and the distant echo of dripping water. The darkness around him pressed close, an almost physical weight, but he forced himself to ignore the doubts creeping in.

  He reaffirmed his resolve and pushed himself upward, inch by cautious inch. Each movement, each small gain, felt like a triumph. His human mind wrestled with this strange mimic body, yet he knew he had no choice but to adapt. Somehow, he had to create a balance between the two, he had to find a way forward.

  He focused his thoughts, narrowing them to the climb itself, every tendril placement a calculated risk but with his new sense, he could navigate the wall well enough.

  As he climbed, he began to notice something odd: his body didn’t tire like it would have before. His human arms would’ve long since begun to falter on such a sheer ascent, but in this form, it was his coordination—his ability to control his limbs and body—that remained his biggest hurdle.

  After nearly fifteen minutes, he hooked a tendril onto a sturdy outcropping above and hoisted himself up, settling onto the wide ledge. His form stretched across its jagged edges, and though it was cramped, he felt a sense of relief. The ledge was just large enough to hold him. After resting for a few moments, he thought to himself.

  He concentrated, and with a moment’s delay, the status screen appeared in his mind.

  ———

  [STATUS]

  Name: Lucas Maverick

  Species: Mimic

  Tier: 0

  Level: 1

  Essence: Freedom

  Achievements: [Anomaly]

  Attributes:

  ?Physique: 1

  ?Spirit: 1

  ?Mind: 1

  Skills:

  ?Guide [Special]

  ?Mimicry [Level 1]

  ?Leech [Level 1]

  ?Spirit Sense [Level 1]

  Attribute points: 0

  ———

  Lucas scanned the screen, trying to make sense of the details it contained. There seemed to be a lot on the screen but he just didn't understand the context of most of it. After a few moments of fruitless analysis, he sighed.

  he mused. '

  The thought of his friend brought with it a pang of melancholy. His mind drifted to the world he had watched get destroyed, the people he’d never see again, and that mind-breaking presence.

  He cursed, the pain and negative emotions from that event still haunting him.

  After a few moments, his emotions simmered down and he refocused. The status screen faded, replaced by the cold, dark reality of the cavern. He was alone, but he was still here. He took in his shifting, amorphous body, a thought struck him.

  He steadied himself, stretching his tendrils experimentally, hardening and shaping them. He imagined them as tools that could anchor and support him—not limbs. His current body was not his old one, he could not view them as the same.

  Little by little, he started to gain some control, twisting his body in ways that felt more efficient. The small victories bolstered his confidence.