Kin of Jörmungandr

Without distortions to improve my sight, these tunnels are nothing but a confusing labyrinth. All I can see is what lies directly before me. Even the slight curve disrupts my vision, making it incredibly difficult to plan out my path.

For a moment, I consider if this is how creatures lacking true-sight feel in the distorted tunnels below. Are they concerned about whether their path will take them where they want, or trap them in an endless loop of tunnels with no escape? No. Such thoughts are foolish; those lacking true-sight would be just as lost in here as down in my home.

My plan is to keep moving upward.

Without spatial distortions, gravity is a far more reliable indicator of up and down. Knowing that, I’ve been taking the tunnel options that will take me away from the natural tug.

Considering the lack of bends to fall through, going up is rather difficult. I can’t simply take a vertical tunnel and reach my target immediately — not that there are many of those — but what I can do is stick to the upward sloping tunnels. So far, it has succeeded rather well. The tunnels we move through are bare. Not just in lack of life, but also frequency of distortions, which I consider a good sign that I’m moving in the right direction.

The tunnels lack uniformity. While most have the consistency of splitting at intervals, many times I’ve found myself slithering into a dead end. They can come to a sudden stop, or peter into a path far too narrow even for my miniaturised size. Other tunnels reach the width of my largest size, but they never grow to the size of the caverns down below.

A few hundred hunts ago — back when the first hints of sapience emerged in my mind — I entered this labyrinth. It was an unsettling experience to have my sight so limited for the first time. So distasteful that once I found my way back to the distortions, I never tried to make my way back.

I can’t say it was my first time getting lost — it’s doubtful that was less than my hundredth — but there is a difference between not knowing how many rifts you’ll have to pass through to find something familiar, and the nearly complete lack of sight these tunnels impose. Even the Other Side — as terrifying and volatile as that place is — doesn’t take away true-sight the way these tunnels do.

Because of the nature of this place, I’ve never dared venture far. If prey dashed through them to escape me, then that was their lucky day. I didn’t follow. As comfortable as I was with my territory, I saw no need to put any added effort into my hunts unless I was sure prey had a fighting chance.

The point is… I’m lost, but that’s hardly my fault, nor is it incompetence on my part. It is simply the unfortunate reality of where I find myself.

While it might seem obvious that going down will lead me back to the distorted regions considering I’ve been taking a rather consistent upward path, the sheer number of blocked passages — or ones that curve away from where you want to go — make such attempts at escape difficult. I wouldn’t willingly enter this place if I wasn’t determined to cross the borders. This is the most likely area to find a way.

My forked tongue darts out as we reach another splitting tunnel.

While scent and sound are unreliable near my territory, the opposite is true here. My sight is worthless, but the remnants of other creatures and slight echoes bouncing around are significant guides. If I can smell an animal, it’s likely to mean they have passed through.

What I smell now is no animal I’ve come across before. An incredibly sweet stench tingles at the roof of my mouth, more intense than any scent has a right to be. Well, it’s obvious this tunnel leads somewhere if such an intense odour permeates the air this thick, so I don’t hesitate to enter.

The little sciacylch squeaks and clambers along my back until it sits just below my head. I twist my head to cast an eye on the bat, but it ignores me. The tiny crippled creature sniffs at the air and wobbles with a little chirp, eyes closed and saliva dripping from its open mouth.

Apparently, the annoying little creature really likes the smell.

This is an opportunity. If it’s so attractive to the bat, then it should get lost enough in its hunger that it won’t notice me leaving. I double my pace, excited at the prospect.

Soon, the stench becomes so strong that I clamp my jaw shut, smelling only through my less sensitive nostrils. Whatever gives off this reek is simply asking to be found. Either the creature doesn’t care and has the strength to fight off whatever might track it down, or it is intentional. With the little bat still salivating on my back, I’d say it’s the latter.

Whether some sort of fruit, or a predator tempting prey, it is more likely that this path leads somewhere other than a dead end, so I continue.

The sciacylch remains transfixed on the scent as we move. By the way it holds itself, leaning forward without restraint, I’m sure the bat would fly forward if it could. But no, with its crippled wing, it happily clings to my scales… to my dismay.

Our tunnel is wide enough even the fat apikull could clamber their way through if they crawled. I’m certain we won’t meet one down here — apes don’t like tight spaces — but similar sized creatures could. Of course, those with wider guts and unnecessary limbs would have to spend far longer than I looking for a path through this labyrinth.

For a moment, I have to thank my perfect body. If I couldn’t shrink, and was stuck at my full mass, not even the larger tunnels would be feasible. Well, I could probably crash my way through the rock to get through, but doing so would just be asking to be buried beneath the denser ranked stone. Not even I would be comfortable experiencing such a cave in.

Sciacylch chirps strangely. I cast an eye back without slowing my movement. The little bat stands ramrod straight, or well, as stiff as a creature holding itself up by three limbs can be. It chirps again, the high pitch tingling at the back of my neck. Its large eyes widen even further, and it scampers to the far back of my tail, sweet scent forgotten.

Why the sudden change in attitude?

The smell is overpowering now, smothering any other scent. Has the little bat noticed something? But how? Nothing looks out of the ordinary. Sure, I know there’s a possibility of the scent being a lure, but I can’t see any reason for the sciacylch to panic.

It couldn’t have better senses than me… right? That’s impossible.

The only other option I can think of is just as unbelievable as the first. A creature as small, young, and weak as this could never have the intelligence to discover the danger ahead of us. Actually, it’s even more incomprehensible considering it doesn’t treat me as the danger I am.

And yet, the tiny mammal chirps and screeches as it flaps its only good wing and tugs at my scales. The way it looks me in the eye with each effort makes it seem like it’s pleading with me to back up, to leave this tunnel.

I can hardly do that. Should there be a creature that dare oppose me, I shall not back down from the challenge.

… Unless it’s the Titan.

However the bat knows about the what lies ahead, it is unimportant. My unwelcome passenger can either flee now with its strange ability to create spatial bends, or it can continue to be an annoyance. I hope for the former.

Never letting up on its panicked squeaks, the little bat clambers back up my spine as I move through the tunnel. The scent is oppressive. I actively ignore the sensations in my nostrils and dare not open my mouth. As the thick sweetness becomes almost tangible in the air, the sciacylch finally settles down. Its saliva involuntarily flows down the side of its jaw despite the slight whimpered chirps it makes.

After a few more moments of slithering through the tunnel without finding the source of the overwhelming scent, Sciacylch’s panicked chirps start up again, more desperate than before.

I tilt my head to look back at the terrified creature, only to watch as the rock closes in behind us. Not like a cave in, but rather the closing of a mouth. There are no teeth, or if there are, they are too small to see, but that doesn’t change the fact that the rock tunnel behind us just became a dead end.

My eyes narrow at the stone walls around me. Does this creature really want to swallow everything without making sure it can’t struggle first? I know firsthand how bad the stomachaches get.

Before I can truly comprehend the arrogance of a creature that thinks it can swallow me and get out of it alive, liquid pours from the walls. In the now enclosed space, it pools around my body and rises rapidly.

Worse than ever, the scent assaults my nose. This liquid is obviously the source, and by the way it sizzles away the blood between my scales, it is anything but water. My passenger leans down the side of my back, reaching for the liquid. Its panic, forgotten. The bat is hypnotised, all but ready to dive into the liquid that would be its death.

This is a solution to my problem, isn’t it? Just let Sciacylch dive into the acid and I’ll be free of its annoying presence. It somehow knew what was coming and instead of making a hole to safety, it was foolish enough to stay by my side as I entered this creature’s maw. It brought this upon itself.

Really, I knew the bat wasn’t intelligent — why else wouldn’t it fear me — but to place itself in what it knew to be a trap is beyond reasonable. Why didn’t it run? It couldn’t have possibly thought I would be in danger, right?

Acid floods higher. A bubble pops, splashing the smallest droplets against the bat’s thin fur. Strands of hair melt away in an instant, but she doesn’t notice, still completely mesmerised by the unbearable sweetness.

I curl up, preparing to teach this creature a lesson on the arrogance of eating everything. My movement tosses Sciacylch to the middle of my back, away from the deadly acid. The tiny bat’s safety is not intentional, rather a happenstance of the scales it grips. I hardly care to save the little rodent. What reason would I have?

In an instant, my size expands as I strike upward. Not even ranked stone could remain intact from such an impact, so it is no surprise the rock-like flesh of the creature’s stomach bursts without resistance.

My much larger size crashes through the actual rock around the creature, but thankfully, besides the now shattered gravel tumbling down below, the tunnel doesn’t cave in.

Only half my body is now outside the creature that tried to swallow us. My tail remains inside its stomach, now large enough to expand the worm from within. And that’s what tried to eat us: a worm.

Skōlex.

I ignore the Beyond’s provided name. It’s a worm. The poor imitators of the superior form. They don’t have limbs, but that’s truly all they have going for them. Scaleless soft skin, boneless bodies, and absolutely no sight at all. So close, and yet so very far. It’s an insult that we share a shape.

Acid flows out of the hole in its middle, flooding over my scales as it escapes. The worm tries to wriggle in the cramped space of the tunnel. It cannot break through the stone like I, but even if it could, my tail growing within holds it still. The spineless creature unable to provide enough strength to move my lower half.

Eventually, my growing size is too much for the worm. It bursts. I watch with interest as the acid rapidly melts through the stone floor, only to stop and pool again after deepening the tunnel double what it originally was. Unsurprisingly, the acid cannot eat through ranked stone.

The presence of ranked stone itself is unexpected. It also answers why the tunnel didn’t collapse after I destroyed so much of the ceiling. If the strengthened rock surrounds the tunnel of normal earth, it’ll hardly collapse because a little of it broke off. I’ll only face an issue if I try to break through the ranked mineral itself.

Before I return to my previous miniature size, I snap my jaw around the back end of the worm and pull it out of our path, dropping the corpse into the acidic pit its own stomach juices made. The motion gives me a mouthful of that sickly sweet stench and I almost gag.

I hope that bat isn’t still trying to throw itself into the acid below.

A glance back reveals she isn’t as suicidal as a moment ago. Rather, the little sciacylch shivers as it stares down the gap between my scales and the wall of the recently carved cavern to the worm. It is dead. I showed how weak the creature was, and this little thing still cowers. The bat is terrified, yet still clings to my much larger scales.

This pest thinks a worm is more frightening than me.

I need to hit something.