For once, I was glad that my body’s movements were a step removed from my own control - beyond the protection that it provided from the Lesser Core’s corrupting influence, that is. With my ribs splintered and shattered as they were, only held together by the many spore-roots that stretched out to bundle them back together again, attempting to move would have been an agonizing nightmare.

It still was, in fact.

My torn flesh and fractured bones - hundreds of them, each half of the whole forming one of two sets of broken lines running through my body - hissed in displeasure with every slither, fighting against my length’s attempts to curve and wind itself about. A few of the ribs, damaged too much for even the bundles of spore-roots to hold them firm, simply splintered again under the pressure. The shards they created were a burning hot pain within my flesh, yet another source of pain that hissed at me to stop, just stop.

Despite that, I didn’t stop. To stop would mean death, and death was not something that I could afford; or rather, I could afford it - the Great Core’s power made that an inevitability - but I wanted nothing less than that. It had been too long since my skin had been shed. Part of me regretted the choice to not force my skin to shed when I had the chance, but the rest of me knew that I had gained too much by choosing not to do so.

Life essence had proven too valuable, too crucial to regret choosing.

If only I could use it now, but doing so would leave me vulnerable to the spore-mist again - and that vulnerability would force me to slow. Force me to die, most likely.

I don’t want to go back.

The Great Core deserved - I deserved - more than that; winning over so many Coreless hadn’t been easy, and the idea of doing it all over again was more painful than the slivers of bone that sliced through my sides. Even worse was the idea that I might not be able to do it all over again.

It would be so easy for something to change when I wasn’t paying attention. Could a difference of a few slithers be enough to force a new result? I couldn’t remember everything that I had done. The Great Core hadn’t created me with a perfect memory, something that I could use to recall all of that.

Which meant that I simply needed to try harder; not to remember the past, but to not die in the first place.

My flesh screamed at that decision, but the spore-roots didn’t care. It was my pain, not theirs. They simply bound themselves tighter around failing ribs and pressed on.

My body slithered through mounds of dead spore-flesh, urged onwards by the thought-hiss it had been given.

Escape. Hide. Live.

The spore-flesh tunnel shifted around me in a great plume of debris, and I was suddenly exposed to air again. A massive, glowing chunk of ore-flesh swept by, scraping through the sides of my forcefully created small-tunnel, disturbingly close.

I couldn’t help myself; even as the ore-flesh swept on by, I sent out another thought-hiss. My head turned, and I caught sight of the stolen disciple again.

He was close. How could he not be? Even with the spore-roots to press me onwards, my body could only move so fast - because it wasn’t moving right. My slithers felt more like sluggards, slow and sickly, painfully winding through too-resistant surroundings.

He saw me; I knew that he did, even if the spore-roots infesting him didn’t bother to control his expressions. The spike of [horror] from the disciple still trapped within was enough to tell me that. He saw me.

Ore-flesh came down again, borne by the stolen disciple’s right hand. Straight down this time, its mass carefully lined to meet my throat. The shadow descended, blotting out all else.

And then it struck, slamming into vulnerable flesh with all of the force that Will’s giant body could muster.

Blood poured, coating my scales in its crimson hue. It wasn’t mine, I realized. My blood was black.

I was still…

Alive.

The Grateful One, body perched above mine in a protective embrace, let out a gurgle. More blood spilled from her mouth, brought forth in coughs and sputters.

“If you can understand,” she hissed, the sound warped by the blood still dripping from her open mouth. “Need...more...healing...quick.”

My body moved before she finished hissing, leaping upwards with far more force than it wanted to handle. My bones groaned. My mouth opened.

Vitality poured through my fangs.

The thought-light flickered.

Lesser Core Skill: [Life - Vitality VII] Increased.

[Life - Vitality VIII] Acquired.

I hung from her flesh, length stretching downwards like vines from a tower-nest, pouring more and more drops of vitality into her damaged form. Something hit her again with an audible crack, almost sending me tumbling away, but I held on to my only hope.

Without The Grateful One, my stolen disciple would have already killed me.

Without The Grateful One, he still would.

My tail, directed by an almost unconscious thought-hiss, reached out to curl itself around her arm. A slightly more conscious thought forced [Constriction] and [Clinging Grasp] to activate, ensuring that I wouldn’t fall.

If I fell, The Grateful One would fall with me - and I with her.

She shook again, arms buckling, as a third blow landed. It had taken longer this time; the stolen disciple’s body was beginning to slow at last, though I knew that it might already be too late. A few more drops of vitality dripped through my fangs, hesitant and timid, straining to fall. There wasn’t much left.

I cursed my own failure; as the Great Core’s Champion, I should have been better than this. I knew that I could be better than this, given time. I just needed time. Time to fight, time to grow, time to devour and become stronger.

And I would have it, even if it was only found in another life, created through the sacrifice of a life that might have been. A life that was until one day it wasn’t.

The thought-light flickered again.

Lesser Core Skill: [Life - Vitality VIII] Increased.

[Life - Vitality IX] Acquired.

The Grateful One surged forward, hands digging into the loose spore-flesh below us. Coiled tightly around her arm, I came with her. Coiled tightly around her arm, I fell with her when the next blow came. A familiar stuttered crack came with it, the sound of bone breaking before the spore-mist swallowed it whole.

Her body drooped over me as the force sent us down into the mounds of spore-flesh again, with only The Grateful One catching herself by an elbow saving me from being pulverized again. She hissed in [frustration]. I hissed alongside her.

Vibrations ran against my scale-flesh as The Grateful One’s insides twisted and jerked, the gathered vitality within continuing its efforts to rebuild her anew. Even so, I was impressed. Though I had caught snippets of emotion through her [Little Guardian’s Totem], I hadn’t found any [pain]. Based on the pain that was surging through my own body, I knew that there should have been a huge amount of it; there wasn’t.

I had a feeling that it was the pure devastation being wreaked upon her body that slowed her, rather than the pain that came with it.

Still, it slowed her enough. I could only heal her so fast, and that wasn’t nearly fast enough. Another blow landed, pressing me into the spore-flesh below us.

My fangs held on, still dripping the meager bits of vitality that I had left.

The Grateful One surged forward again, and the next blow landed - even heavier than before.

Behind us.

We were free. Alive. Broken, but alive.

I let a few more drops of vitality spill through my fangs, knowing that we wouldn’t have much longer. The Grateful One darted to the side, snatching up a fallen fang of ore-flesh in each hand. Another drop of vitality dripped through my fangs, and we spun around to meet the stolen disciple head on.

There was no need.

A body laid on the ground, pale flesh marred by lines of green and black, paralyzed by my slow-venom at last.

I let out a hiss of relief.

The Grateful One hissed with me in between heavy gasps, just as [relieved] as I was.

We had won; more importantly, we were still alive.