Chapter 203: Loop 2, Day 4 (2)

Chapter 203: Loop 2, Day 4 (2)

It was to a changed nest that my spore-puppets returned, lugging their venom-filled gift behind them. Where once there had been a whirl of activity, with bad-thing after bad-thing busy shoring up its defenses, there was silence; an air of hopelessness, almost, palpable in the air. Of hunger.

Many of the hunters had never returned, joining the ranks of my spore-puppets instead. Those that did came back with either nothing at all, or just enough to be snatched away by the strongest members of the nest.

It was like a new nest entirely, one fallen into the torpor of unmet necessities. My spore-puppets had helped me realize that the Darkweavers were even more vulnerable to starvation than I had first realized; the many-legged bad-things required not just energy to sustain their large bodies, but also to produce their threads. And I had taken away their food just after most of them had expended vast amounts of energy on quickly producing threads for the nest.

It was little wonder that they were suffering so quickly.

From a high vantage point on the wall, reached by carefully forming a wall-crack through which I could slither upwards with [The Golems Fading Heart] before poking back through again, I was able to watch. [Ambushers Vision] let me pick out the forms of my gathered puppets; for the most part, they surrounded the nest, positioning themselves - being positioned by me, really - all around the nest. It wouldnt do to send so many back at once, especially not with the way that many of them were visibly beginning to fall apart.

There were even a few that I doubted would last longer than the coming struggle itself. Those would be the frontline of the assault, the first to give their lives for the Great Core. I sent out a thought-hiss to each of their number, having the spore-roots within them - and now, partly outside them - flex minutely. A few moved both less and more than Id hoped, limbs twitching in a way that I hadnt intended, and I mentally marked them.

They would be the first to go - but for the moment, I had them hold still. Their time would come. Hopefully before they fell apart; one of them in particular was about to lose a leg.

Then again, they had seven more, and I refused to mourn a lost leg on principle.

As the four spore-puppets that had been sent into the nest itself finally came closer to the interior of the many-legged bad-things lair, a few of their kin clambered from their homes; they moved with a placidity that had been lacking when I previously observed them, one that I knew was born not from calm, but from necessity.

There just wasnt the energy to spare.

Despite that, their bodies visibly reacted at the sight of the corpse-sac that trailed behind my spore-puppets, tilting towards the messy threads like mana to water.

One of the bad-things, the smallest of the four, suddenly stopped eating. It stood tall, then stumbled backwards on now-shaking legs. Another, smaller bad-thing, tried to take its place. The disoriented and dying bad-thing lunged, either as punishment or warning. I didnt know which.

It didnt matter.

A thought-hiss went out, calling to my spore-puppets. Those already inside the nest lurched forward, throwing themselves in the still-feeding bad-things direction. Already alerted by the scuffle between other bad-things, they were quick to react, and even quicker to show their dominance over the other members of the nest. My spore-puppets, so much smaller and already beginning to break down under [Spore Puppeteer]s not-so-gentle touch, provided little challenge. Only two things allowed them to stand any chance at all - their complete and total disregard for their own lives, and the venom that had found a home in their enemies stomachs.

It still wasnt enough. One by one, my three spore-puppets, once so much healthier than the others that served the Great Core, were reduced to fragmented limbs and bloody bodies; blue-gold roots began to reveal themselves through the gaps and chinks in their flesh, the splash of color prominent against the otherwise-dark creatures. I set them to move as best I could, sending out a thought-hiss that allowed a dodge here and a strike there.

But, in the end, they were just too weak. Of the many blows that my spore-puppets managed to land, hardly any managed to spread their spores. There wasnt near enough to quickly take over the bad-things flesh, even with [Verdure Parasite]pulling on all my surrounding spore-roots.

Luckily, that was only part of the plan.

The other came just afterwards as, maddened by hunger, a fight, and the sight of unfinished food before their very eyes, the watching bad-things cast aside their fear of the strongest bad-things. They rushed for the corpse-sac, not knowing that it had been a trap all along. And if they had?

They might have done it anyway. To not eat was death. To eat was to live. It was an easy decision.

That didnt make it a safe one, however, as there was something important they were ignoring. My spore-puppets, looking like kin save for the lines of blue and gold that traced down their wounds, had just betrayed the largest of the bad-things. Forced them to defend themselves. Forced them to fight.

And now, swaying and addled by consuming my venom, the strongest of the bad-things would be forced to think that it was happening again. They struck out, fangs and sharp-tipped limbs moving to intercept the newest arrivals.

As the slaughter commenced, my spore-puppets, waiting at the edges, finally began to move in.