The little demon moved like a thrown dagger—low, fast, precise.

  Behind them, the swarm searched around their fallen comrade with a metallic hiss, rotors whining as they recalculated trajectories.

  Ben vaulted over a collapsed irrigation pipe and nearly face-planted on the other side. Thorn caught his sleeve and yanked him upright without breaking stride.

  “Less dying,” Thorn snapped.

  “Working on it,” Ben breathed.

  They burst through a line of half-melted fencing and then—

  The land stopped.

  A sharp, sudden drop.

  Ben skidded to a halt at the lip of a small cliff, boots spraying pebbles into the void below.

  Below them stretched a valley of death.

  It was a forest—if it could still be called that. Trees stood shriveled and twisted, bark rotted, roots clawing uselessly at the surface as if they had tried to escape the soil and failed. Many had simply fallen, trunks snapped and splintered. The ground was an ugly, tar-black expanse between them.

  No wind.

  No insects.

  No birds.

  Just stillness.

  In the far distance, rising above the skeletal trees, stood a massive satellite dish. It tilted slightly, and it was intact, mounted atop a fat slab of a building that rose up from beyond the valley floor like a concrete fortress.

  Ben squinted at it. “If we can make it there, do you think we could boost the tracking beacon’s signal?”

  Thorn followed his gaze. His eyes narrowed.

  “High ground. Clear transmission vector. If we can feed enough mana into the cores to power it, but everything else would still have to work. Of course, it isn't as though we are spoiled for choice. ”

  The distant hum of drones drifted closer, and they didn’t debate further.

  The climb down was ugly. Loose shale. Dead roots that snapped underweight. Twice Ben slid and had to arrest his fall by stabbing his wand into the dirt like a climbing pick.

  Thorn flowed down more gracefully. Claws helped.

  When they reached the valley floor, the silence pressed in.

  Even their breathing sounded too loud.

  Ben stepped onto the black soil. It had a strange texture—spongy in places, cracked and brittle in others.

  “Tell me this isn’t organic,” he muttered.

  Thorn crouched and pressed two fingers into it. He brought them up slowly. Viscous residue stretched between his claws.

  “It is.”

  “Cool. Great. Love that.”

  The trees loomed above them like the ribs of something enormous and long dead. The air smelled faintly metallic and sour, like old batteries and rotten algae.

  They walked for several minutes. Nothing.

  No movement. No sound but their feet navigating across the weird forest floor.

  Ben almost started to relax.

  That’s when the ground twitched.

  He felt it through the soles of his boots—a subtle shift, like something rolling over in its sleep beneath him.

  He froze.

  Thorn’s dagger slid into his hand without a sound.

  The soil split.

  Something pushed upward slowly, as if reluctant to be born.

  A pale, glistening shape emerged—a worm-snake-looking thing about the size of Ben’s forearm. It was segmented and slick, coated in translucent slime. Tiny glowing nodes pulsed along its sides in sickly greens and purples. Its mouth opened like a blooming flower of teeth.

  No eyes.

  Just circular rows of fangs.

  It made a wet clicking noise.

  Ben stared at it.

  “That’s a strong nope.”

  Another patch of ground bulged.

  Then another.

  Three.

  Five.

  Ten.

  They began crawling toward them, bodies rippling in unnatural waves.

  Thorn moved first. He dashed forward, dagger flashing, and sliced one cleanly in half. It burst with a pop like an overripe fruit. Luminescent gore splattered his boots.

  One lunged at Ben’s ankle.

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  Ben yelped and jumped backward, firing a pulse from his wand. The blast hit the worm squarely and vaporized its front half—leaving the back half wriggling blindly for a few seconds before collapsing.

  “Okay!” Ben shouted. “They’re gross but manageable!”

  A worm launched itself at his chest.

  He screamed and smacked it away with the wand like a flaming baseball. It stuck briefly to a tree trunk and began chewing.

  “Why are they eating everything?!” he yelled.

  “How should I know? Maybe they’re testing for nutrients!” Thorn called back.

  “That does not make it better!”

  Ben vaulted over a fallen log. Thorn followed, then pivoted midair to slice two pursuing worms in a single spinning cut. One latched onto Thorn’s calf before he could react.

  He snarled and stabbed downward, ripping it free—but not before it left a bloody gouge.

  Ben planted his feet and shot a blast from his wand into the ground.

  Energy flared outward in a shockwave, blasting several worms into nearby trees. Bark splintered. Slime rained down.

  “Move!” Ben shouted.

  Worms launched from both sides now, flinging themselves like fleshy darts. One clipped Ben’s shoulder. Teeth scraped through fabric and skin.

  He swore loudly and ripped ot away, staggering forward.

  Finally, the nightmare forest started to thin. The ground hardened beneath their boots, shifting from black organic rot to fractured stone.

  The worm monsters faltered at the edge.

  One attempted to follow them onto the rocky ground—then convulsed violently, glowing nodes flickering before it retreated back into the soil.

  Ben bent over, hands on his knees, panting.

  “Please tell me that means they’re territorial.”

  Thorn pressed a hand to his bleeding leg and nodded once. “Likely. Or soil composition may sustain them.”

  “Good. Love that they have boundaries.”

  They both laughed—hysterical, breathless.

  Then they looked up.

  The building loomed ahead now.

  Huge.

  Concrete walls cracked but standing. Rusted scaffolding clung to its sides. And atop it, the satellite dish angled toward the sky like a broken halo.

  “We boost the beacon,” Ben said. “We get rescued. We leave the worm buffet planet.”

  Thorn adjusted his grip on his dagger. “Yes, because everything will go to plan.”

  As they started across the rocky expanse it was quieter—but not peaceful. The silence felt thinner. Expectant.

  They were about halfway to the building when the ground trembled.

  Not a twitch. A rumble. Pebbles danced. Dust sifted into the air.

  Ben and Thorn froze.

  The rumble deepened into a low, grinding vibration. Something moved beneath the rock.

  The earth split with a violent crack.

  A massive shape pushed upward, stone cascading off its slick surface.

  The giant worm emerged slowly, impossibly large—thicker than a transport shuttle, its body ringed with armored segments that gleamed faintly under the dull sky. Its emergence displaced enough stone to build a house. It rose higher… higher… until it towered above them.

  No eyes, just like the little ones. Just a circular maw of interlocking teeth large enough to swallow a car.

  A long, forked, muscular purple tongue flicked out, tasting the air.

  Ben swallowed.

  The creature swayed and its bulk shifted.

  Then—without so much as acknowledging them—it turned its head toward a nearby boulder the size of a truck.

  Its jaws clamped down.

  Stone shattered like brittle candy.

  The worm chewed. Crunching. Grinding.

  Dust poured from between its teeth as it swallowed the remains.

  Ben blinked.

  “Huh… It eats rocks.”

  “Metal as well, I suspect,” Thorn murmured.

  The worm’s body rippled. It lifted and slammed a portion of itself down, testing the ground. Then it coiled slightly and swung its tail in a lazy arc, smashing another outcrop, adding to its dinner.

  Ben leaned closer to Thorn. “Okay. We don’t fight that.”

  “No,” Thorn agreed.

  They began edging sideways. Slow. Controlled. No sudden movements.

  The worm continued chewing. Another flick of the massive tongue.

  Then it paused mid-chew. The air felt heavier.

  Slowly, antennae-like tendrils unfurled from either side of its “head”.

  They were thin. Delicate.

  And they began to glow. A soft, ominous violet light pulsed at their tips. Ben felt the hairs on his arms stand up.

  The antennae brightened, the air vibrated slightly near the tips, and its head began to turn.

  Toward them.

  The violet glow pulsed once. Twice.

  Ben’s grip tightened on his wand. His throat went dry. Every instinct screamed run, but his legs refused to move. The worm’s massive head turned with impossible slowness, stone dust cascading from its jaws in a lazy stream.

  The antennae stretched farther, swaying as if tasting something the air itself carried.

  Thorn lowered his center of gravity, dagger angled defensively. “If it charges,” he whispered, “we split. Different directions.”

  “That’s your plan?” Ben hissed. “Die separately?”

  “It is better odds.”

  The worm’s head stopped turning.

  Its antennae pointed directly at them.

  The glow deepened.

  Ben braced for impact.

  Instead—

  Something washed over him.

  Not a sound. Not a smell. Not even a pressure exactly. More like a feeling slipping under his skin. A slow, heavy emotion that didn’t belong to him.

  Hunger. Not rage. Not aggression.

  Just… hunger. Old. Patient. Vast.

  Ben blinked rapidly, the sensation wobbling through his thoughts like heat haze. Images flickered at the edge of his mind—stone breaking, minerals dissolving, the slow satisfaction of pressure easing inside an enormous body.

  He swallowed hard. “Uh… Thorn?”

  “I feel it,” Thorn said quietly, voice strained. His ears flattened. “It is… communicating.”

  The worm’s antennae pulsed again. The emotion shifted slightly. No threat/Ignore/Eat.

  The massive creature turned away from them as if they had ceased to exist.

  Its jaws opened wide and clamped onto another section of rock. The ground vibrated with each grinding bite. Pebbles bounced against Ben’s boots. He exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

  “It doesn’t care,” he whispered.

  Thorn watched the creature carefully. “Huh.”

  The worm’s tongue flicked out again, sweeping across the shattered stone and pulling fragments inward. It moved with surprising laziness now, almost peaceful. Each movement was deliberate, efficient, like an animal grazing.

  They stood frozen a moment longer, watching the giant worm continue its meal. It lifted a portion of its immense body and slammed it down onto a ridge, breaking it apart with casual force. Dust billowed outward in a slow cloud.

  The emotional pressure faded as the antennae dimmed, folding back against its head.

  Ben let out a shaky laugh. “I think… it just told us to mind our business.”

  Thorn sheathed his dagger. “Wise advice.”

  Another crunch echoed across the rocky expanse.

  Ben glanced toward the looming facility. The satellite dish looked even bigger now, its shadow stretching across broken stone.

  “We should go,” he said softly. “Before it changes its mind.”

  Thorn nodded.

  They started moving again—slowly at first, keeping their profiles low, eyes never fully leaving the creature. The worm ignored them completely, focused on demolishing a cluster of metallic debris half-buried in the rock. Sparks flashed briefly as its teeth crushed rusted metals.

  “Okay,” Ben muttered as they walked. “New rule. Giant worms that eat rocks are friends.”

  “Neutral,” Thorn corrected. “Do not assign friendship where none exists.”

  “Fine. Neutral geology worm.”

  They put more distance between themselves and the creature. The rumbling crunches grew quieter behind them, becoming part of the landscape’s strange portrait.

  Eventually Ben risked looking back.

  The worm had half-buried itself again, only the upper sections visible as it continued feeding. It looked almost… content.

  He felt the faintest echo of that emotion again—slow satisfaction, the simple peace of a full meal. Then it faded entirely.

  The rocky ground sloped upward toward the facility entrance. Cracked steps led to a set of heavy blast doors hanging crooked on their hinges.

  Ben adjusted his grip on the wand and forced himself to focus.

  “Alright,” he said, voice steadier now. “We boost the beacon. Signal the Ember. Get off this planet.”

  Thorn limped slightly but kept pace. “And hope the building contains fewer surprises than the valley.”

  Ben snorted. “At this point I’m expecting haunted elevators.”

  They reached the base of the structure and paused, looking up at the massive dish above them, silent against the dead sky.

  Behind them, far across the rocks, the giant worm continued to crunch and grind, unconcerned with the tiny creatures passing through its territory.

  The feeding sounds followed them like distant thunder as they stepped into the building’s shadow.