Chapter 34: Mutation

  Then it began.

  Not with a jerk.

  Not with a bang.

  With a contraction.

  Individual scraps of flesh began to move.

  Strands of muscle turned toward one another like living tendons. Torn fragments of tissue stretched, fused, grew together. Blood did not gather — it flowed back. As if it were breathing in reverse.

  Entrails that had just hung limp over the rock drew together, became denser, more compact — some merged with the main body, others were rejected, fell lifeless to the ground and decayed into black dust.

  Iris’ gaze narrowed.

  “That… makes no sense.”

  The two halves of the salamander began to move toward one another.

  As if by an invisible force, flesh and bone drew themselves together. Bone stumps lengthened, grew, locked into one another with a dry, echoing crack. Scales slid over each other like metal plates. Skin stretched, closed, as if it had never been torn.

  The process began slowly.

  Almost sluggishly.

  But then it accelerated.

  Second by second it gained speed.

  Flesh formed.

  Mass condensed.

  Structures reorganized.

  Not even two minutes later it stood again — in its original full size.

  But it did not stop.

  The regeneration did not halt.

  It overshot.

  Muscles continued to grow. Bones thickened. Its body expanded. Its spine lengthened with audible cracking, segment by segment pushing outward.

  First six meters.

  Seven.

  Eight.

  Its body grew broader. Heavier. More immense. It no longer resembled a slender, serpent-like creature — it became massive. Compact. Condensed like a living siege engine.

  Its ribcage bulged monstrously outward. Its limbs thickened into sturdy, pillar-like extremities. The skin lost its smooth suppleness — it became layered. Multi-layered. Like overlapping armor plates grown atop one another.

  Its surface shimmered.

  Not one color.

  All of them.

  Dark gray flowed into violet. Black blended into it. Transparent layers slid beneath, as if light were trapped inside it. It was no longer a color change — it was a permanent flow, an interweaving of states.

  “How can this be…?” Iris’ voice was no longer mocking.

  “An evolution…? An unfolding…? No…”

  He faltered.

  “A mutation.”

  The air around the being began to flicker.

  The dream itself reacted.

  The sky twitched in short, barely visible interruptions. The outlines of the forest blurred for fractions of a second, as if someone were tearing at the structure of reality. Shadows jumped slightly out of place. Sounds echoed twice.

  This form was not intended.

  The dream visibly struggled with this manifestation. Lines in space trembled as if the fabric of the world were under tension. The light at the edge of the dream flickered irregularly, as if it were having difficulty sustaining it and rendering it correctly.

  And it continued to grow.

  Not only larger.

  Denser.

  Its presence grew heavier. Pressure lay in the air. The ground beneath it began to crack. Earth gave way. Small fractures spread outward from where its feet stood.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  It was now over nine meters long — but that was secondary.

  It was at least twice as heavy.

  Twice as massive.

  It looked like an ancient, overfed primordial form of itself. A nightmare that had existed too long within a dream.

  The feelers appeared heavier, more massive, and moved with an almost bored calm. Its gills breathed deeply and steadily. No panting, no strain. Only steady, pressing presence, as if it had all the time in the world.

  Then it raised its head.

  Slowly.

  Threateningly calm.

  It looked at Iris.

  But there was no anger left in that gaze. No hatred. No frenzy.

  Only emptiness.

  A cold, weighing assessment.

  As if it were not examining an opponent.

  But a resource.

  A piece of food.

  A moving source of calories.

  Its gaze was not aggressive — it was indifferent. Almost condescending. As if in that moment Iris had ceased to be a being and had been reduced to something lesser. Something that would be consumed.

  It did not move immediately.

  It did not need to.

  For it, it was decided.

  What floated before it was no longer an enemy.

  Only food.

  And in that indifference lay something far more unsettling than rage.

  “Shit…” Iris muttered quietly.

  The moon slid further across the sun.

  The light grew thinner.

  And beneath this fading sky there no longer stood a cave salamander.

  But something that had surpassed itself.

  Iris did not remain for even a heartbeat longer.

  The sight of the mutated lizard had destroyed every remaining illusion. Time was no longer an advantage — it was a resource that was slipping away.

  He turned in the air, precise, controlled, and shot off.

  The wind tore past him, but for Iris it was not resistance — it was information. Every current, every swirl traced itself like lines before him. He saw where air pressure shifted, where mass cut through space.

  Behind him the cave salamander set itself in motion.

  Its steps were no longer steps — they were impacts. The ground trembled with every landing. Mud was displaced, roots snapped as if they were merely tendons in flesh that was too soft.

  The forest began to collapse.

  Not piece by piece.

  But as if under a storm of mass and hunger.

  Suddenly something changed.

  The air behind Iris tightened.

  A pressure.

  A vacuum.

  He registered it in the same instant that the currents ahead of him warped.

  The tongue shot forward.

  Not like an animal snapping. Like a spear being fired.

  Thick. Dark. Wetly glistening. With a speed that made the air crack.

  Iris tore sideways.

  Too late.

  The tongue passed a finger’s breadth beneath him. Warm, bestial breath struck him. The smell of blood, regeneration, and hunger settled over his surface like a film.

  The jaws snapped shut.

  CRASH.

  The sound was dull and immense — as if two slabs of rock had collided.

  The salamander did not pause.

  It slowly licked over its teeth. Not frustrated. Not angry.

  Only correcting.

  As if it had just recalibrated the distance.

  Iris accelerated.

  “Darek, we have a problem, a big problem,” Iris said, almost losing composure.

  “Yes, Iris, I see it. We continue as discussed. Just lure him here. We can already see the swamp.”

  Darek said in a serious tone, his eyes radiating a seriousness rarely seen before.???

  At the other end of the forest, Darek and Votaria broke out of the dense undergrowth.

  The swamp lay before them.

  Not an open water surface — but a dark, sluggish basin of black mud and stagnant broth. Gas bubbles rose at irregular intervals, burst with a quiet blubbering sound and released a sour smell.

  The water looked heavy.

  Viscous.

  Almost oily.

  Dead branches protruded from the surface.

  The air here was different.

  More humid.

  Colder.

  More muffled.

  Darek stopped briefly, catching his breath.

  “Here… right here, this will be the place.”

  The light changed again noticeably.

  Not darker like during a storm.

  But thinner.

  Colors lost depth. Greens shifted toward gray. Shadows merged with one another. The forest looked flatter, more two-dimensional — as if substance were slowly being drained from it.

  Birds fell silent.

  Insects stopped chirping.

  Even the wind seemed to wait.

  The moon had now almost covered half the sun.

  A cold twilight spread.

  Then a colder shiver ran through Darek and Votaria, and Iris shot out of the forest and flew almost frantically toward them.

  Then came the sound.

  Not loud.

  Deep.

  A dull tremor that crawled through the ground before anything could be seen. The swamp vibrated slightly. Small circles spread across the black water surface, though no wind blew.

  Darek felt it in the soles of his feet.

  Votaria lifted her gaze.

  Then the forest broke.

  A single tree tipped forward as if someone had pushed it from behind. It did not simply fall — it was thrown. Its crown smashed smaller trunks, branches splintered like bones.

  A second followed.

  Something was working its way through the forest. Straight ahead. Direct. Unstoppable.

  The ground trembled more violently. Mud loosened from the edge of the swamp and slid sluggishly into the water.

  A shadow pushed itself between the trees.

  It was too large to be just an animal.

  Then it stepped out.

  The first step out of the thicket made the ground give way beneath its weight. Earth burst aside. Roots tore. Mud bulged upward like ripped-open flesh.

  It was larger.

  Broader.

  Its shoulders had gained mass. Its ribcage looked like a vaulted battering ram. Every muscle beneath the shimmering skin was condensed, tense, alive.

  Its body shimmered unnaturally in the dying light. Gray flowed into violet, black blended beneath it, transparent layers slid like liquid glass over armor plates.

  It was no longer merely a cave salamander; where it had once been an animal, it could now only be described as a monster.

  Another step.

  The swamp trembled.

  When it placed its first leg into the black broth, it did not displace water — it forced it aside. Mud was hurled meters high. Waves rolled sluggishly outward and broke against the banks.

  The second leg followed.

  The swamp groaned beneath it.

  Gas bubbles burst faster, as if the ground itself were under stress. Black broth ran down its limbs, disappeared between the thickened scales.

  It did not stop.

  Slowly it worked its way deeper in.

  Every step generated waves. Every breath lifted its ribcage like a massive bellows. The sound was deep and controlled.

  No more frenzy.

  Only that heavy, unstoppable presence.

  Its head lifted.

  Slowly.

  It looked at Darek, tilted its head slightly and briefly flicked its tongue.

  Not like at an opponent.

  Not like at a threat.

  More like the acknowledgment of his existence.

  Its feelers moved sluggishly, probing the humid air above the swamp. Its gills opened wide, then closed again.

  And it briefly let every color flare across its skin and disappeared for a moment as it became transparent, as if testing its abilities again and displaying them.

  The solar eclipse had progressed so far that its massive body itself, against the fading light, looked like a second, living darkness.

  It stood in the swamp like a dark obelisk.

  Heavy.

  Unshakable.

  The water surface around it slowly calmed.

  And in that unnatural twilight it became clear:

  This was no longer evasion.

  No trick.

  This was the confrontation.

  The climax. And it had arrived.