Already lost in his frenzy, Nemo's conscious thoughts had been buried beneath layers of raw, primal instinct. His hunger knew no fear, no logic, and no sense of caution.
All it knew was to chase the scent, the promise, the flavor of satiation. His limbs moved with reckless speed, hurling him upward along the grotesque trunk.
A glimpse of blue—hidden within a dense veil of blood-clot black leaves—triggered another burst of motion. He leapt toward it, arms outstretched, unaware of the furious response his actions were provoking.
The tree shuddered violently. A deep, bone-vibrating tremor rolled through its fleshy trunk, and from within the bark, dozens of writhing branches erupted like spears.
They moved with grotesque speed, each tipped with a wriggling bundle of tendrils, reaching for him.
Nemo, or at least the part of him governed by his hunger, moved like lightning. He ducked, spun, and leapt with inhuman grace, evading the snaring appendages with an ease that felt utterly foreign to him.
A heartbeat later, he had ripped the blue fruit free and continued his climb—not directly upward, but now curving sideways, bounding along the trunk like a creature possessed.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
The shriek came from everywhere and nowhere, reverberating across the entire world of flesh and blood. Before the sound had even fully faded, he had torn a second fruit from the tree—and devoured the first.
The tendrils went wild. Branches lashed through the air with deadly force. One grazed him—a single touch—and sent him spinning through the air like a ragdoll, crashing through clusters of red and black foliage.
His skin tore. Blood sprayed.
But when he landed, he rolled and sprang back up in one motion. The wound knitted shut before he'd even finished standing. And there, just within reach, pulsed another blue fruit.
He didn't hesitate. He tore it from its stem with his teeth.
By the time they finally caught him, he had eaten over a dozen.
Now he hung, mummified in tendrils, pinned against the pulsating trunk. Even his eyelids were held still. But the juice of the final fruit still stained his mouth.
Some of it dribbled down his chin, over his shoulders and arms, dripping slowly onto the writhing mass of tentacles below.
The movement of the tendrils changed. They writhed upward, tangling with one another, weaving into shape.
A figure began to form. Muscle, sinew, and thick black cords layered themselves like sculpted meat, assembling something vaguely humanoid, towering and writhing, emanating rage.
Nemo, still hidden within his own mind, felt his hunger gurgle and laugh—wet, mocking.
"What did you do, you monster?" the creature hissed, voice crackling with fury.
The hunger didn't reply. It only chuckled again, then tried to grin, despite the restraints. The face muscles pulled, and the corners of his mouth twitched unnaturally.
Then, like a fog lifting, the hunger slowly receded.
Nemo came back to himself.
And immediately, he wished he hadn't.
He was bound completely, unable to move, and standing face-to-face with a sentient horror that pulsed with malice.
Terror surged through him, and he began to tremble. His mind raced, but his body refused to obey.
The creature observed him for a long, silent moment. No movement. No noise.
Then, slowly, it smiled.
Or something close to it.
"I should have guessed," it said, its voice no longer screaming but thick with contempt. "I don't want to see you right now. But we have to clarify a few things."
The tendrils pulsed tighter.
"You are my avatar. That means you carry out my will. You complete the tasks I assign. You obey my orders. You are no longer just yourself—you are an extension of me."
The creature tilted its head slightly, the motion sickeningly serpentine.
"In return," it continued, "I offer power. Power beyond anything you've dreamed of. Power like... well, never mind that. Let's not speak of beings best left unmentioned."
The smile—if it was one—twisted.
"I see another has placed their scent on you. A meddler. But don't worry. He never intervenes directly. Only 'teaches lessons.' A shallow philosophy.
That's why you won't be a 'follower.' That's beneath you. You'll be an avatar. A student. Direct instruction. No riddles. No veils."
It leaned closer, breath like curdled blood.
"So—do you accept? Will you become my avatar? Will you receive my teachings?"
Nemo's heart pounded in his chest. He heard the echo of the alabaster youth's voice: "Don't agree. Not to anything binding."
He wanted to scream, to run. But he couldn't move.
And so, instead of answering, he thought.
And then, carefully, he chose silence.
He had to act like any normal human would in his situation—paralyzed by fear, overwhelmed by the enormity of what stood before him. So he said nothing.
The creature loomed, vast and terrible. The tangle of tentacles that had once formed a half-human shape now unraveled, revealing its true body: a nightmare of flesh and sinew.
It was a thing of grotesque scale and grotesquer still in form, a writhing mass of muscle cords, glistening meat-flesh, and ever-blinking eyes that blinked out of sync, each fixed on him with wet, unblinking hunger.
It was a thing not meant to be seen by mortal minds. It had no symmetry, no reason, no end. Wherever Nemo looked, it kept growing—more tendrils, more eyes, more mouths.
The mouths especially were horrible. Gnashing teeth, slick with rot and acid, whispered threats and promises alike.
"Hmmm... don't you want to rule the world? Take any woman you desire? Crush your enemies into dust?"
The voice echoed through the walls of his skull rather than through the air, pressing against the inside of his head like a second heartbeat.
Nemo remained silent. He didn't even dare blink too fast. He let the fear rule his expression. Luckily, he didn't need to fake much. Terror was already in control.
Deep inside, he felt his fault stir—his cursed, tireless curiosity—but fear pinned it beneath waves of dread.
For once, he asked nothing. His mind was quiet, still, crushed under the weight of presence.
The being grew restless. Its tentacles twitched and undulated around him, the sound of wet flesh smacking and twisting echoing grotesquely.
"What is this? A mute? Am I Ipleaded, and cursed with a mute avatar? The others—at least they screamed, pleaded, and begged. They wanted."
It hovered in front of him, its mass of limbs pulsating with its fury. The air was thick, not with heat, but with pressure. A crushing, humid tension that made every breath an effort.
The creature's form began to sway slowly, as though caught in a deep internal current. Gurgles and clicks issued from unseen orifices, and the temperature dropped.
"You're a horrible thief. You stole from me. My real fruits—mine. You drained my seeds of potential. You robbed me of my hunger."
Its voice rose, the psychic echo behind it turning sharp and grating. Nemo felt his teeth rattle.
"And now, now you just hang there like a limp rat. No questions. No ambition. No fire. You reek of cowardice."
Then the fury boiled over.
"GET OUT OF MY STOMACH!"
The tendrils tightened all at once. The cords around his chest and limbs constricted with sickening force. Flesh was no match.
Nemo felt the pressure first in his arms and legs—his circulation cut off, his muscles screaming. Then the real pain came.
The tendrils dug deeper, slicing into his skin. His ribs groaned, then cracked. One of his shoulders shifted—then popped out of its socket. The pain lanced through him like white fire.
A scream tore from his mouth, distorted and wet, forced through clenched muscles.
Another joint snapped. A rib shattered. Blood poured from his nose and mouth, every breath a sharp stab.
His bones began to cave in under the relentless crush. He heard the snapping of cartilage, the grind of marrow splitting.
Then his ribcage gave out completely—crushed inward with a sound like collapsing wood. His heart stuttered.
Something deep inside him tore—something more than bone, more than muscle—and finally, with a satisfying pop, his heart was crushed and his head exploded.