The ashlands blurred into a haze of corpses and drifting cinders. Zeke pressed forward, unrelenting. Sparks filled Vessel Chambers until they brimmed, Compress folding each battle into new density. Hunger never slept—Maw made certain of that—but the cycle remained intact. Logos watched, measured, refined. Every strike was heavier. Every net sharper. Every devouring smoother.
But the pace had become relentless.
Ashstalkers emerged now, thin and fast, their bodies like blades of stone, their sparks burning sharp. They hunted in packs. Zeke lashed outward, Morphic Arms snapping, but the stalkers darted through nets, cutting at his lattice with their claws. Sparks bled from shallow wounds, ash trailing behind him. He compressed tighter to keep pace, each movement sharper, but instability clawed at his edges.
[Skill Advanced: Morphic Arms → Lv.7]
"Conserve," Logos instructed, voice cool. "Excessive compression for speed will destabilize cohesion."
"Don't listen!" Maw roared, gnashing like teeth in the dark. Chase them! Tear them! Run them down and rip out their sparks!
Zeke struck again, but missed—his arms carving only air. The pack split, circling, cutting in rhythm. They were coordinated, faster than burrowers, sharper than brutes. Each strike chipped at his vessel, sparks scattering into the ash. He pressed tighter, Compress howling, his body trembling at the edge of collapse. Sparks bled uncontrolled, his lattice screaming warning. Logos pushed for restraint, Maw urged abandon, and he teetered between them.
Feed. Break. Restrain. Hold. The voices crashed like storms.
Then—another voice whispered. Not a shout, not a roar, but a thin thread of calm cutting through the chaos.
Wait. Do not chase.
The words did not claw or command. They steadied. A whisper against the storm. Zeke pulsed, startled, but the presence pressed again, firmer this time. They circle. Anticipate. Anchor nets, do not scatter them.
Maw snarled, furious. Another voice? Hah! Weak little whisper, trying to stop the feast?
"Sub-core emergence," Logos observed, clipped. "Caution. Neris."
[New Sub-Core Personality Awakened: Neris]
The whisper deepened, steady. Set your anchors. Do not pursue. Let them come.
Zeke obeyed. He spread Core Division threads, not wide, but precise, weaving nets into the ash around him. He compressed, not for reckless speed, but to hold dense form at the center. The stalkers circled again, sparks flickering as they lunged. This time, his nets snapped tight, anchored deep. Their speed carried them into his reach, and Morphic Arms struck like hammers. One shattered, then another, sparks devoured clean.
[Skill Advanced: Essence Feast → Lv.4][Stat Increased: STR +1, AGI +1, VIT +1]
The pack shrieked, scattering. Maw laughed, urging pursuit. Yes! Run them down! Don't stop until they're ash!
"Restraint," Logos warned. "Scatter and you waste cohesion."
Neris's whisper cut across them both. Hold ground. They will regroup. Efficiency lies in patience.
Zeke pulsed faint, and for the first time, he felt the balance shift. Logos's logic, cold and sharp. Maw's hunger, wild and loud. And now Neris, a quiet weight pressing for caution. Three voices, pulling at him, each demanding a path. He did not silence them—he walked between them.
The stalkers regrouped. This time they came in staggered strikes, one drawing his attention while two sliced at his flanks. Sparks flared as claws scraped his lattice. He felt Compress strain, body vibrating on the edge. Maw howled, Tear them apart! Use everything! Burn bright, burn fast!
"Reckless," Logos countered. "Energy loss unsustainable. You risk collapse."
Anchor, Neris whispered, calm. Bait them. They rely on speed—deny it.
He obeyed. Zeke anchored filaments deep, setting false gaps in his nets. When the stalkers lunged for the weakness, he compressed inward, snapping traps shut. Nets coiled like jaws, dragging them into his reach. Arms lashed, sparks burst. Two fell at once, devoured smooth.
[Skill Advanced: Compress → Lv.4]
The remaining stalkers shrieked, sparks wavering with fear. They tried to scatter again, but he did not pursue. He waited, patient, anchored. They circled hesitantly, then lunged once more. His nets closed, his arms struck, and silence fell at last.
Or so he thought.
From the ash rose an alpha stalker, larger, faster, sparks burning brighter than the pack combined. Its claws gleamed obsidian, carving through his nets like glass. It lunged with speed beyond his rhythm, slashing across his vessel. Sparks bled in sheets, Compress straining to hold.
Maw exulted. Yes! A real fight! Tear it apart, tear it apart!
"Hold density!" Logos snapped. "Redirect pressure to arms."
No, Neris whispered, sharp for the first time. Do not meet it head-on. Trap the ground beneath it. Patience, not force.
Zeke hesitated. The alpha lunged again, sparks screaming as claws dug deep. Maw pushed him to frenzy, Logos to precision, Neris to patience. Three voices, three demands. His vessel trembled. Collapse loomed.
Then he chose. Nets spread low, anchoring deep into molten stone. He let the alpha come, let it strike, then snapped anchors tight. The ground itself shifted, filaments binding its limbs. It thrashed, tearing sparks, but he compressed inward, arms denser than stone, striking down. The beast shrieked once before its chest split open. Sparks poured inward, devoured whole.
[CTL Increased: +1 (Maintained Stability Under Tri-Voice Pressure)]
Silence fell again. For real this time.
The wastes lay broken, graveyard of stalkers and ashstorm beasts. Zeke pulsed steady, vessel trembling but intact. Three voices pressed at him now—Logos's clarity, Maw's hunger, Neris's restraint. They clashed constantly, but each shaped him. One sharpened reason, one sharpened appetite, one sharpened patience. Together they pulled him apart and bound him stronger.
"Three now," Zeke murmured within himself. "And more waiting."
"They are anchors," Logos said. "Fragments forged under pressure. Division preserves stability."
They are chains, Maw spat. Cut them loose! Hunger doesn't need voices, it needs prey!
Neris whispered steady, And yet without chains, you scatter. Pressure needs anchor, or it is only collapse.
Maw snarled, Collapse, feast, it doesn't matter! More! Always more!
"Excess collapses the cycle," Logos cut. "Refinement sustains it."
Their voices pressed at him, endless argument shaping his core. He did not silence them. He let them clash, let them pull. Each sharpened him differently. He wondered how many more waited to awaken, how many more fragments would rise from pressure. The spree was not just feeding—it was forging.
The ashlands stretched on, endless prey pulsing faint beneath ash and haze. He moved forward, unbound, carrying Logos's precision, Maw's hunger, and Neris's caution in tandem. The spree had only begun.
System Update
Name: Ezekiel AshbourneRace: Prime Slime (Unevolved)Level: 19
Affinity: Fire (Intermediate), Darkness (Intermediate), Light (Intermediate)
Stats
STR: 12 → 13
AGI: 11 → 12
VIT: 16 → 17
WIL: 10
RES: 26
MNA: 66 → 69 (+3 per level)
CTL: 30 → 31 (Maintained under tri-voice pressure)
Skills
Core Division (Lv.3): Divide essence into sub-cores. Fragments act with independent will under Logos's guidance. Nets hold stable under pressure.
Essence Feast (Lv.4): Devour prey essence directly. Converts sparks smoothly into stable fuel.
Morphic Arms (Lv.7): Limbs shift faster and strike heavier with Compress.
Compress (Lv.4): Condense essence into denser form. STR, AGI, VIT rise sharply while active. Instability risk increased.
Passive Skills
Vessel Chambers: Internal reservoirs stabilize essence, prevent overflow, and channel affinities.
Personalities
Logos (Sub-Core): Rational, calm, precise. Guides efficiency and stability.
Maw (Sub-Core): Hunger externalized. Demands endless growth and feeding. Venomous, relentless, always urging to feed.
Neris (Sub-Core): Caution given voice. Patient, measured, anchoring restraint against recklessness.