[MP: 1/30]
One point. Enough to spark a thought.
I couldn't craft. I couldn't hunt effectively with this headache. But I couldn't sit still. Stagnation was death. The Larder was empty of fermenting prey, save for the beetle scraps I had pushed aside.
I needed to secure the perimeter.
I hopped to the entrance of the log. The air was heavy, smelling of wet iron and decaying mulch. The bioluminescent fungi casting long, shivering shadows across the forest floor.
I scanned the immediate area.
My vision, sharpened by the recent point in Wisdom, picked out details I would have missed yesterday. The texture of the moss. The slight depression in the mud where a heavy insect had passed.
My gaze snagged on a grey stone about three meters from the log entrance.
It was an unremarkable rock. Slate-grey, covered in lichen. But something was wrong with the shadow at its base.
It wasn't a shadow.
I hopped closer, my talons sinking into the damp earth. I kept my head low, wings tucked tight.
It was a plant. Or the corpse of one.
A single, withered vine curled around the base of the rock. It was the color of dried blood, a deep, brownish-red. It looked brittle. The leaves were shriveled, curled in on themselves like dead spiders.
I tilted my head.
Most plants in the Basin were tough. Iron-Bark. Razor-Ferns. They were rigid, metallic, built to survive acid rain and crushing mandibles.
This thing looked soft. Weak.
I reached out with a talon and poked it.
Twitch.
I froze.
It wasn't the wind. The air was still.
I poked it again. Harder.
The vine recoiled. It was a sluggish, microscopic movement, like a dying worm trying to burrow away from the sun.
It was alive. Barely.
I focused on it.
[System Analysis]
Species: Sanguine Creeper (Sapling)
Status: Withered / Starving
Attributes:
- Durability: 2/20
- Growth: Stunted
A parasitic flora native to the lower basin. Requires hemoglobin for sustenance. Capable of rapid motility when fed.
Parasitic.
The numbers locked into place.
Taking without giving. A minus sign for my supplies. Dead weight.
Survival logic was binary. You don't keep a liability.
You subtract it.
I raised my beak. I could snap the stem in one motion. End the inefficiency.
I paused.
I looked at the vine again. I looked closer at the stem.
Thorns.
They were tiny, barely visible to the naked eye, but they were there. Hooked, recurved barbs running along the length of the red stalk.
I looked back at my log.
My defense relied on me. I was the active element. If I slept, the defense fell. If I was hunting, the Larder was exposed.
The [Reinforced Spikes] were static. They required the enemy to be stupid or forced.
"Rapid motility."
A biological snare. An automated turret.
Its roots clawed at cold granite. Rocks didn't bleed. The location caused the deficit.
My Larder overflowed with waste. Intestines. Gristle. Stale meat that the System valued at 0 XP.
I lowered my beak.
This parasite might be useful to me.
I needed to move it.
I looked at the ground. The soil around the rock was packed hard, mixed with clay and gravel.
I started to dig.
I pecked at the earth around the root ball. The ground vibrated with each strike. My headache flared, a dull throb in my temples, but I ignored it. Pain was just a notification.
Chunk. Chunk.
I loosened the soil. I switched to my feet, kicking the dirt away like a dog.
The roots were surprisingly shallow. They were red, thread-like veins that gripped the stones with desperate strength.
I had to be careful. If I severed the taproot, the asset would depreciate to zero.
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I worked in a circle, isolating the clump of earth holding the creeper.
It took ten minutes. My stamina dipped.
[Stamina: 70%]
I hooked my beak under the root ball. I lifted.
It was light. Fragile. The vine hung limp, a dead snake in my mouth. It tasted bitter, like copper and bile.
I hopped back to the log.
I stopped at the entrance.
I looked at the layout.
The log was a funnel. The entrance was the mouth.
If I planted it inside, it might interfere with my own movement. It might try to eat me while I slept.
If I planted it too far out, enemies would bypass it.
I chose a spot just to the left of the opening. Close enough to the wall that it could climb the bark, but low enough to snag anything trying to crawl inside.
I dropped the seedling.
I began to dig again. This soil was softer, enriched by the decay of the log and the runoff from my previous kills.
I made a hole. Deep enough to cover the roots, shallow enough to keep the stem exposed.
I nudged the plant into the pit.
I used my beak to pack the dirt back in. I tamped it down with my foot.
It looked pathetic. A single, limp red string sticking out of the mud. It listed to the side, resting against the mossy bark of the log.
[Status: Sanguine Creeper]
[State: Critical / Transplant Shock]
It died faster now.
I turned and hopped into the darkness of the log.
The smell of the Larder hit me. Copper. Musk. The sweet rot of fermentation.
I went to the back, where I had shoved the remains of the Iron-Shell Beetles.
I found a leg. It was a jagged piece of chitin with a glob of white, fibrous meat still attached to the joint.
It was trash. I had already harvested the useful shell for spikes. The meat was too small to provide a meaningful meal for me, and fresh meat gave no XP.
It was perfect fertilizer.
I grabbed the leg in my beak.
I returned to the entrance.
The creeper hadn't moved. It looked greyer than before.
I dropped the beetle leg directly onto the exposed roots.
Nothing happened.
I frowned.
Was the delivery mechanism flawed? Did it need liquid blood?
I pecked the meat, tearing a small strip loose to expose the wet tissue underneath. I nudged it closer, pressing the damp flesh against the withered stem.
Shiver.
It was subtle. A vibration running through the plant.
Then, the color changed.
The grey-brown stem flushed. A bright, arterial crimson surged up from the root, racing through the veins of the plant like mercury in a thermometer.
The vine rose.
It didn't stiffen like wood. It writhed. The stalk uncoiled with a wet rasp, rolling over itself.
Fibers bunched under the bark.
It swayed, heavy and fluid. A viper preparing to strike.
A tiny tendril, thin as a hair, shot out from the main stem. It lashed onto the beetle meat.
Then another. And another.
They dug in.
I watched, fascinated.
The plant was pumping. I could see the pulse in the stem. It was sucking the moisture, the nutrients, the life out of the scrap meat.
The shriveled leaves on the vine popped open. They weren't leaves. They were sensory organs. Broad, flat pads with serrated edges, turning to face the food source.
The beetle leg began to wither. The white meat turned grey, then dry and powdery.
In seconds, the scrap was a husk.
The Sanguine Creeper stood taller. It was no longer limp. It was taut, vibrating with low-level energy.
It grew.
Visibly.
The tip of the vine extended, stretching an inch, then two. New thorns erupted from the fresh growth. White at first, then hardening to black.
It waved in the air, blind but searching.
It sensed me.
The vine swiveled. The red tip pointed at my chest.
I stood my ground.
I was the Provider. I was the source of the biomass.
I let out a low, warning click.
The creeper hesitated. It waved back and forth, tasting the air. Then, it slumped slightly, wrapping itself around the nearby bark of the log, anchoring itself.
It settled.
It was waiting.
The red vine shivered. It wasn't the wind. The air in the Basin was stagnant, heavy with the humidity of the coming night. The shiver was internal, a spasm of digestion.
I watched the Sanguine Creeper process the beetle leg. The fibrous meat dissolved, sucked dry by the microscopic mouths lining the stem. The plant bloated slightly, the deep red color brightening to a vivid scarlet.
A chime rang in my skull. Sharp. Clear.
[System Alert]
New Entity Registered: Sanguine Creeper (Juvenile)
Designation: Static Defense / Symbiote
Status: [Ally]
Ally.
I stared at the blue text floating in my vision.
The System was precise. It didn't use metaphors. "Ally" implied a distinct mechanical relationship. It meant my traps wouldn't trigger on it. It meant its thorns wouldn't target me.
It meant I had a squad.
I looked at the plant. It was about six inches long now, curled against the mossy bark like a sleeping millipede.
"Ally" was a generous term. It was a tool. A biological tripwire.
I tilted my head, examining the asset.
It had consumed the scrap meat in under thirty seconds. That was efficient. But efficiency required fuel. If I stopped feeding it, it would wither. If I fed it, it would grow.
I needed to know its parameters.
I hopped back a few feet. I found a loose pebble, smooth and grey.
I flicked it with my wing.
The stone skittered across the dirt, rolling within an inch of the red vine.
Nothing. The Creeper remained dormant.
It ignored kinetic inputs. Good. It wouldn't waste energy attacking falling leaves or debris.
I looked around for something else. A dry twig. I grabbed it in my beak and tossed it. It landed directly on the vine.
The Creeper twitched, then settled. It didn't strike.
No reaction to contact unless it was biological.
I moved to the pile of refuse I had cleared from the log earlier. I found a piece of gristle, a tough, rubbery knot of tissue from the Mana-Grub I had eaten days ago. It was dry, scentless.
I kicked it toward the plant.
Snap.
The movement was a blur.
The vine lashed out, uncoiling like a spring. The thorns snagged the gristle. The plant wrapped around it, tightening instantly.
It held the object for a second. Then, it released it. The vine recoiled, retreating back to the log.
It had tasted it. Rejected it. No blood. No moisture.
But the reaction time...
I ran the calculation. The strike speed was faster than a Wire-Rat's lunge. It was faster than me from a standing start.
It was weak, though. The grip had been tentative. A large rat would tear right through that vine. A badger would eat it as a salad garnish.
Currently, it was a nuisance. A minor debuff to any intruder.
But the System called it a "Creeper." Creepers spread.
If this single vine could become a net...
I looked at the entrance of my log. It was a gaping hole. My bone spikes were a solid second line of defense, but they required the enemy to commit to entering.
This thing was the first line.
I needed to cultivate it.
I checked my own status.
STATUS: REND
Level: 4
HP: 100%
Stamina: 85%
MP: 2/30
My Mana was trickling back, but too slowly to craft more Reinforced Spikes. I had time.
I needed meat.
For the Larder, and now, for the Garden.
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