The wind of the Abyss Rift was unlike any other. It did not howl—it whispered. It carried no sound of life, only the faint hiss of ash brushing against black stone. In that silence, five figures stood before a yawning fissure that pulsed faintly with blue light.

 Kael Rivenhart adjusted the straps of his armor and looked into the depths below.

 "Level thirty-seven of the Rift," he muttered. "No one's ever returned from this point."

 "Until now," said Mira, the team's mage, her voice sharp with forced confidence. The pale glow of her staff bathed her face in gold, casting long shadows across the jagged rocks. "The Guild said this floor holds something... unique. A living relic."

 Kael didn't answer. He'd heard the rumors too—an artifact born from the Abyss itself, called the Core of Evolution. A thing said to grant power beyond divine comprehension. It wasn't treasure that drew Kael here, though. It was curiosity—and something darker, something that whispered from the same depths as the Rift itself.

 The others were restless. Bren, their swordsman, cracked his neck with a smirk. "Come on, Kael. Let's claim it before another party beats us."

 Kael glanced back at them—Mira, Bren, Loran the priest, and Veyra the archer. They were comrades he had fought beside for three years. They'd survived dungeons, beasts, and curses together. He trusted them.

 Or he thought he did.

 ***

 The descent took hours. The walls grew smoother the deeper they went, until the rough stone turned into something almost organic—veins of faint luminescent tissue pulsating beneath the surface. The air grew heavier, moist, alive.

 When they reached the bottom, the cavern widened into a colossal chamber.

 And there it was.

 The Core of Evolution floated above an altar of bone and obsidian, a sphere of translucent crystal with a faintly beating light inside—like a heart still trying to live. Every pulse sent ripples through the air, bending reality in subtle, nauseating ways.

 Kael's breath caught. "It's… alive."

 Loran made a sign of blessing with his staff. "A blasphemy," he whispered. "No creation of the light could be this."

 Mira ignored him. "Help me set the circle. We'll need to contain the energy."

 Bren and Veyra spread out, forming a perimeter as Kael approached the altar. He could feel the pulse in his own chest, resonating with the Core's rhythm. It was calling to him. Not in words, but in meaning—an unspoken invitation.

 Evolution requires death.

 The voice was faint, distant, like a dream half-remembered. Kael shook his head and forced his hand away.

 "Mira, it's unstable. We should—"

 "Activate it," Mira interrupted. "Now."

 Kael turned to her, startled. "Wait. We don't even know what it—"

 But before he could finish, Bren's sword pierced through his back.

 He gasped, his body locking in shock. The blade slid out through his abdomen, warm blood spilling down his armor.

 His vision blurred, and when he turned, he saw not concern—but calm indifference in Bren's eyes.

 "Sorry, Kael," Bren said quietly. "Orders from above."

 Kael staggered, trying to reach for his weapon. Mira was watching, unmoving, her staff glowing faintly.

 Veyra avoided his eyes.

 Loran muttered a prayer—not for Kael, but for himself.

 "Why?" Kael managed to choke out, his knees hitting the ground.

 Mira's expression was unreadable. "You were chosen by the Core, Kael. And that makes you a danger. The Guild doesn't tolerate potential threats. Neither does the Church."

 "Chosen…?" He coughed blood. "You're lying."

 "The light burns the unclean," Loran said softly, stepping forward. "You've walked too far into the dark. It's not personal."

 Mira raised her staff. The sigil beneath Kael's feet ignited, golden runes spiraling upward.

 The light was pure, holy—and it seared.

 Kael screamed as divine fire erupted around him. His armor melted, flesh blistering under the sanctified heat. The smell of burning blood filled the chamber. He could barely see through the agony, but he caught a glimpse of Mira's cold, distant stare.

 "May Solaris cleanse you," she whispered.

 The last thing Kael saw was the Core of Evolution pulsing faster, as if alive with excitement—its faint glow reflecting in his burning eyes.

 Then everything went white.

 ***

 When Kael's body hit the floor, it was little more than ash and bone.

 Loran raised his staff, murmuring another prayer as the flames receded. "It's done."

 "Is it?" Bren asked, looking toward the Core. The light within had dimmed to a faint heartbeat. "What about that thing?"

 Mira lowered her staff. "The Church will handle it. Solaris' light will purify this place."

 She turned without looking back. The others followed, their faces expressionless, their footsteps echoing in the cavern as they ascended toward the surface. None of them noticed the faint pulse of light returning to the Core. None of them saw how the ashes on the ground stirred.

 ---

 By the time they reached the Rift's surface, the sky was already burning orange with dusk. A procession of priests awaited them—dozens in white robes embroidered with gold, bearing the sigil of the Church of Solaris. At their head stood a tall figure with silver hair and eyes like molten sunlight: Inquisitor Seraphiel.

 He regarded them in silence for a moment. "The heretic Kael Rivenhart. Where is he?"

 "Purified," Mira replied calmly. "By divine flame."

 "Good." Seraphiel raised a gloved hand, and two priests stepped forward carrying censers. Smoke filled the air, thick with the scent of myrrh and holy oil. "And the relic?"

 "Still below," Mira said. "Dormant, but intact."

 Seraphiel's eyes narrowed. "The Abyss spawns no relics worth keeping. The light burns all impurity."

 He turned to his priests. "Cleanse the Rift."

 Within moments, chants rose—a thousand voices murmuring ancient words of purification. The ground trembled as runes spread across the Rift's edge, igniting in radiant gold.

 Then came the fire.

 A column of divine flame descended into the darkness, so bright that even the clouds seemed to recoil. The priests kept chanting as the light devoured everything below—the bones, the rock, even the air itself.

 Mira watched in silence. There was no satisfaction in her face, no triumph. Only emptiness.

 When it was over, Seraphiel gave a small nod. "The stain is gone."

 ***

 But it wasn't.

 Far beneath the earth, where the fire had burned brightest, something remained.

 Among the melted stone and scorched remains, a faint ember pulsed again.

 The ash that had once been Kael Rivenhart began to move—not with wind, but with will. The fragments drew together, forming a blackened shell around a single, faintly glowing spark.

 The Core of Evolution hovered above the remains, its surface cracked, its heartbeat weak but steady. The light inside it flickered between gold and crimson.

 Then it pulsed once—hard.

 The ash stirred faster. The faint outline of a body began to form, but small, twisted, incomplete. Limbs too thin, eyes not yet formed. It was not human—it was the first stage of something else. Something alive.

 And somewhere within that embryonic shadow, a thought surfaced.

 Why... why the light...?

 The voice was faint, almost broken. Memories flickered—faces, betrayal, flame, and pain.

 Then silence again.

 ***

 Above, the priests of Solaris left the site cleansed and marked with holy sigils. The Guild declared the Abyss Rift sealed, forbidden to all travelers. Kael Rivenhart's name was erased from record—his deeds reassigned, his existence rewritten as a cautionary tale: "He who strayed from the light shall be forgotten by it."

 But in the void below, life was forming once more.

 Weeks passed. The creature that had once been Kael changed. It grew—not upward, but inward, feeding on the lingering essence of the Core. The shell hardened into chitin, black as obsidian, veins glowing faint red. Tiny eyes blinked open—six of them, each reflecting the faint light of the Abyss.

 The world was still silent, but he could feel it now: every vibration, every particle of air, every whisper of life above. His body was small, insect-like—fragile—but his mind burned with something fierce and raw.

 The light burns. The light lies.

 Each thought pulsed in rhythm with the Core's heartbeat. It wasn't just inside him—it was part of him now. The Core had fused into his essence, rewriting what it meant to exist.

 Evolution requires death.

 He finally understood.

 ***

 Far above, the Church of Solaris prepared for another crusade. Rumors spread of strange movements near the Rift's sealed gates—tracks that led nowhere, guards who vanished without a sound. Mira dreamed of Kael's eyes burning in the fire. She would wake with her heart racing, convinced that something was watching her from the shadows.

 And in the deepest darkness, a spark flared once more.

 The small creature crawled from the ashes, its chitin glistening under the faint bioluminescent glow of the abyssal walls. It stopped at the edge of the blackened altar—the place where it had died—and looked up.

 The fire that once consumed him had long faded.

 But he could still see it—the light that betrayed him, the hands that turned away, the faces that prayed while he screamed.

 A low hum filled the air, like the beating of a second heart.

 Not yet, the voice inside whispered.

 The creature—Kael—lifted his gaze toward the distant ceiling of the cavern, where faint cracks of light bled through the stone. He felt the cold embrace of darkness around him and, for the first time, found comfort in it.

 Because now, he understood what the Abyss truly was.

 It wasn't death.

 It was rebirth.

 And even light cannot burn what has not yet finished living.

 ***

 The air in the chamber stilled. The last ember faded, leaving only the quiet sound of chitin scraping against stone.

 Somewhere above, the priests of Solaris sang hymns to their god of cleansing flame.

 Far below, in the heart of the world's wound, a new being opened its eyes.

 Tiny. Black. A single semitransparent shell gleaming faintly in the dark.

 Kael's soul—what little remained—watched, detached yet alive, as the creature began to crawl across the cold stone.

 The fire of the Church had died out. The Rift slept once more.

 But evolution had already begun.

 And in that endless dark, a small ant opened its eyes.

The world smelled of decay. Kael—or whatever he had become—opened his compound eyes and immediately recoiled from the stench of rot. He did not understand fear the way he once had, but the instinct to survive pulsed stronger than any thought. Hunger gnawed at him from the inside, sharp and unrelenting.

 His body was alien. Segmented, blackened, chitinous, yet surprisingly strong. Limbs that had once wielded swords now flexed with precision he did not yet comprehend. Six small legs carried him across the jagged stone floor with terrifying speed, while delicate antennae twitched at every vibration in the air. His once-human senses had dissolved into something new: a spectrum of perception that registered heat, chemical traces, air currents, and danger all at once.

 The chamber above—the place where he had died—was gone. Only the abyss remained: an alien expanse of shadow, faint light, and unending surfaces that defied normal geometry. Red luminescent fungi clung to the walls, pulsating softly like veins pumping with a strange life. The spores from the fungi hung in thick clouds, drifting downward, and each breath stung like fire in his new respiratory organs.

 The air carried voices—or rather, vibrations. The faintest hums and scrapes of movement far beyond his range of sight. Predators lived here, predators that knew only instinct and hunger. Kael's mind grasped this truth almost immediately: Eat or be eaten. The world does not forgive weakness.

 He crawled forward instinctively, legs scraping against the uneven stone. The chitin of his body gave him armor against jagged rocks and sharp fungal thorns, but he still recoiled from the splintering sounds of brittle debris beneath him. His antennae twitched rapidly, scanning the environment. Every pulse of air, every whisper of chemical scent told him something about the abyss.

 Above, the ruins of the altar glimmered faintly, fragments of Core energy lingering in tiny motes. They drifted like sparks in the darkness, and Kael could feel them coursing in some way through his body. A strange resonance echoed in his mind, not conscious thought, but awareness—a memory of power and hunger intertwined. The Core had changed him, fused him with its essence, and it whispered faintly, urging him to move, to grow, to conquer.

 He turned his compound eyes toward a tunnel where spores floated thickly, red mist drifting from cracks in the stone. Something shifted beneath the surface, and instinct screamed at him: danger, potential food. Kael paused, legs tensing, antennae quivering. Hunger pressed harder. The small, alien mind processed the situation quickly: he could attack, feed, or retreat. Retreat was weakness. Survival demanded action.

 Without hesitation, he leapt toward the vibrations, tiny claws gripping stone and fungal threads alike. Below him, shadows shifted in the blackened mist. A small creature, no larger than a rat had been, scuttled into view—a body composed of soft tissue, vulnerable yet alive. Its instincts were crude, simple, and predictable. Kael's mandibles opened, instincts guiding him.

 He struck.

 The scuttling creature did not scream in human terms, but the sound of its body tearing and its chemical signals flooding the air reverberated in Kael's antennae like an alarm bell. He consumed rapidly, feeding on the flesh and absorbing the energy. With each bite, his strength increased, his reflexes sharpened, and the Core's pulse within him grew more insistent, faster, brighter.

 Hunger, Kael realized, was more than necessity. It was pleasure, awareness, survival—the foundation of life in this new form. The fear that had once held him captive as a human was gone, replaced entirely by calculation and instinct. This was pure life, stripped to its essence.

 The Abyss Rift revealed itself gradually. Red fungi clung to every surface, some delicate, others thick and bark-like, their luminescence faintly illuminating the cavern. Massive roots descended from cracks in the ceiling, coated with slime that burned weakly against his chitin. The air was heavy with spores and chemicals so potent they could disorient a human in moments. Yet Kael inhaled, processed, understood. Every toxic particle was data, every vibration a map of predators, prey, and obstacles.

 From far ahead came a low hum—a vibration in the stone that could only belong to something much larger. The creature paused, antennae twitching. A pulse of Core energy surged within him, a subtle reminder: adaptation. He was not human anymore; the Abyss would teach him, force him, reshape him. He would learn to move, to strike, to survive.

 Kael's body adjusted automatically. Muscles flexed in unfamiliar ways, chitin reinforced, sensory organs sharpened. He felt his mind stretching, synapses firing faster, instincts overriding thought in a seamless, terrifying flow. The hunger did not diminish—rather, it grew, shaping every motion. He no longer thought about food, only the act of consuming, understanding that energy, strength, and life were one and the same.

 Time passed in a rhythm he did not measure. The Abyss did not care for hours, days, or months—it only demanded survival. Kael crawled across the jagged terrain, leaping over fungal growths that glowed faintly red, sliding under roots dripping acidic slime, pausing only when the vibrations beneath the stone suggested predators too large to risk. Each encounter honed him. Small prey strengthened his body; near-misses with predators sharpened his reflexes.

 A rustling sound came from the walls themselves. Roots shifted. The fungus pulsed. And somewhere in the distance, a roar—low, guttural, a vibration that made the stone itself tremble. Kael froze. The instinct to flee warred with the instinct to hunt. Hunger, sharper than fear, pushed him forward. He crept closer, sensing the source not with eyes but with vibrations in the air. Every leg, every mandible, every fiber of his being registered it.

 Then, the ground beneath him trembled violently. Dust and spores rose in a red mist, stinging his sensory organs, but Kael did not retreat. Instead, he crouched, legs tensing, antennae twitching. His instincts, honed by hours in the Abyss, whispered clearly: Prepare. This is not food. This is a test.

 The soil cracked, a small fissure opening. From it emerged a hulking shape. The smell of decay and earth rolled outward as it rose—black, glistening, segmented. Its body was massive, dwarfing Kael's tiny form. A worm-like monstrosity, slick with slime, eyes small but intelligent, mandibles gnashing instinctively. Its vibrations throbbed through the ground like a drum, a rhythm of predator and power.

 Kael's six legs braced. His chitin hummed with Core energy, reinforcing his body. Hunger surged, yes—but it was now tempered by instinctive awareness: this was a rival, something that could kill him if he faltered. Yet the prospect excited him, stoked the same fire that had awakened in him when he first consumed his prey.

 The black worm rose fully from the ground, its body curving, mandibles snapping, eyes fixed on him. The pulse of its presence reverberated through the cavern, mingling with the Core's faint heartbeat inside Kael. The Abyss itself seemed to acknowledge the encounter—the fungi pulsed brighter, the spores swirled violently, the red mist thickened as if holding its breath.

 Kael's mind—or what remained of it—focused. Instinct sharpened. Hunger tempered itself with strategy. The Core's energy inside him surged once more, illuminating his chitin in faint red pulses. The small predator that he had become would not perish here. Survival was the first law, but domination, adaptation, evolution—it was the only law.

 He advanced cautiously, legs moving in precise, silent rhythm. The worm's mandibles snapped close enough to feel the rush of air. Kael darted, rolling across the stone, wings of his body balancing with fluid precision. The Core pulsed again, urging him, whispering strategies in ways his alien mind could comprehend. Instinct and intelligence merged into something new, something dangerous.

 The black worm paused, sensing a challenge. Its vibrations were hesitant, analytical, but Kael did not falter. Hunger roared inside him, no longer simple need, but the clarity of purpose: adapt or die. Strike or be struck.

 Kael's legs shifted. His mandibles opened wider, muscles tensing, Core energy flaring faintly like molten veins beneath his chitin. The first battle of his rebirth had arrived.

 He barely noticed the fungus glowing brighter around him, the mist thickening, the abyssal air humming with tension. This was a world of predators and prey, of instinct and strategy, of life born from death. Kael—no longer human, no longer bound by frailty—embraced it fully.

 The black worm lunged.

 Kael's mind whispered only one truth: I was born from corpses. I will consume or be consumed.

 And he struck first.

 The cavern shook as predator met predator. The abyssal night seemed to hold its breath.

 From beneath the soil, more vibrations stirred—ominous, massive. Kael paused mid-strike, mandibles clicking, antennae quivering.

 Something else had come. Something far larger, far more dangerous.

 A long, black shadow emerged from the ground, coiling like molten earth. Its massive bulk rose slowly, segmented body slick with black slime. Eyes glinting faintly in the red mist. A test. A challenge. A threat.

 Kael felt the Core pulse violently inside him, excitement mingled with anticipation. His first real test of survival in this world—the Abyss—had only just begun.

 The black worm's hiss mingled with the low rumble of the new creature. Kael's six legs dug into the stone, antennae quivering. Hunger, instinct, survival, and power converged into a single moment of clarity.

 This was the Abyss. This was life.

 And the trial had begun.

 "So… this is my first trial… in a new world," Kael thought—not as a human, but as a creature reborn from corpses, darkness, and Core energy, ready to face whatever horrors the Abyss would throw at him next.

The black worm loomed, its bulk rippling with segmented muscle as it shifted toward him. Kael's compound eyes scanned every detail—the slick of its slime, the twitch of its mandibles, the subtle vibrations of its weight across the stone. Hunger screamed inside him, sharp and insistent, but for the first time, he realized that instinct alone would not carry him through. The Abyss did not reward mere speed or strength. It demanded cunning.

Kael's small legs flexed, feeling the stone beneath him with precision impossible for any human. Each movement sent a faint tremor back into his body. His antennae twitched rapidly, mapping the distance between him and the worm, calculating trajectories, weaknesses, and openings. The Core pulsed faintly in response, urging him to adapt, to think.

The worm lunged. Its mandibles snapped like jagged scissors, a rush of wind preceding the strike. Kael darted aside, rolling over the slick stone. Reflex alone saved him, but strategy would win the encounter. He darted toward a cluster of red fungi, tiny roots dangling like traps. Using his weight and momentum, he flicked a few strands into the worm's path. They clung to its slime, tangling its legs briefly.

The worm hissed, recoiling. Kael seized the moment. He raced forward, skidding across the uneven floor to plant himself near the worm's softer segments beneath its exoskeleton. He bit. Hard. The mandibles closed over his back, but the chitin of his body absorbed the impact. Pain was unfamiliar, a distant echo now overridden by adrenaline and Core energy.

Kael retreated, dragging the worm's attention into the maze of fungi and jagged rocks he had memorized. Every move was deliberate, every step a trap. The worm struggled, thrashing in blind rage, but Kael anticipated each motion, weaving his body between strikes, exploiting the creature's predictable momentum.

Then, he feinted—a movement that suggested escape—but instead lured the worm toward a narrow fissure. The worm's massive body, too large and unwieldy, became trapped for a fraction of a second. Kael struck again, mandibles sinking into softer tissue along its midsection. The worm writhed, slamming against the rocks, sending vibrations that threatened to unbalance him. Kael held firm. Instinct, strategy, and Core-driven calculation merged in perfect harmony.

With a final coordinated strike, Kael bit through a critical segment. The worm shuddered violently, then collapsed, its body quivering as its life drained into the Abyss floor. Silence returned, save for the faint hum of spores and the pulse of the Core within him.

Kael crawled onto the worm's body, legs trembling with exhaustion, antennae quivering in relief and anticipation. Hunger clawed at him—not a simple desire for sustenance, but a command from within. He began to consume the creature, biting into flesh, absorbing nutrients, and feeling the Core's energy surge in tandem. Every particle he absorbed fed him, strengthened him, reshaping him subtly yet unmistakably.

A soft, mechanical hum resonated within his consciousness, an echo that had not been there before. Words—clear, functional, unfeeling—pulsed inside his mind:

[Essence Fragment Absorbed]

[Evolution Points +3]

The sensation was electric. Kael's body shivered, as if acknowledging a power long dormant. His legs flexed faster, chitin reinforcing, antennae flicking with heightened sensitivity. Every sense sharpened to unnatural clarity.

A faint voice—mechanical, impartial, almost ethereal—spoke again. Target consumed. Attributes processed. Evolution available.

Kael paused mid-feast, processing. This was no instinct, no biology he recognized. It was something else entirely. A system, he realized. A structure within me dictating growth, adaptation, and power. Hunger alone had driven him this far, but now there was a second force—mechanical, precise, unstoppable.

The black worm's corpse lay beneath him, a monument to his first kill in this reborn existence. Kael's mandibles flexed, tasting the essence, feeling strength surge through his segments. I can… change, he thought.

The Core pulsed violently in response, radiating warmth through his entire body. Tiny cracks of black energy snaked across his chitin, faintly luminous and coiling like living threads. A shadow of possibility whispered through him. Kael could feel the world bending slightly, reality itself acknowledging the energy inside him. His body—it was not just flesh and chitin anymore. It was malleable, responsive to the will of this new system.

Kael experimented, flexing his limbs. Muscles thickened, joints adjusted, and the faint glow in his chitin deepened. He could feel subtle shifts in density, slight changes in structure, as if his very form obeyed the silent instructions of the Core and the mechanical voice within. The worm's body beneath him was no longer just nourishment; it was data, raw material, a blueprint for evolution.

The Abyss seemed to watch him. The fungi pulsed brighter in response to his Core's activity, spores drifting lazily but purposefully. Somewhere in the distance, vibrations hinted at predators or prey sensing the shift. Kael's mind, still small and alien, registered everything with terrifying clarity. Instinct and intellect had merged into a new form of awareness.

He paused again. This was not hunger. This was learning. Adaptation. Ascendance. The worm had been a trial, and he had passed—but the system had opened a door. Evolution was no longer passive; it could be controlled, guided, directed by will. Kael flexed his legs experimentally, sensing subtle shifts in mass, noticing that he could redistribute energy across his body. Mandibles elongated fractionally, exoskeleton hardened selectively, antennae expanded to receive more sensory input.

The mechanical voice echoed faintly again: Evolution module active. Attributes available for modification. Select target.

Kael froze. He did not yet understand the full range of choices, the limitations, or the cost. But instinct urged him forward. He raised a segmented limb toward the faint black glow running along his thorax. Will met system. Darkness coalesced, swallowing parts of his body in an expanding black haze. He felt a surge of pain and pleasure intertwined—muscles tearing and rebuilding, chitin melting and reforming, sensory organs realigning.

His compound eyes focused automatically, shifting visual spectrum. Mandibles sharpened. Legs flexed differently, optimized for speed and leverage. He was changing, evolving, becoming something new.

A distant rumble reached him, vibrations of massive creatures far below, yet he no longer trembled. Hunger had been replaced by calculation. Instinct had been replaced by potential. Kael was no longer merely alive—he was adapting, becoming something that could survive in the Abyss no matter what came next.

Black light swallowed his small body completely. Shadows flared and retreated in unison, coiling over his chitin like living ink. Kael could feel the Core thrumming in tandem with the Abyss itself, teaching him, guiding him. Every nerve, every joint, every segment of his body now obeyed a law beyond simple biology.

"I… can change," he whispered—or, more accurately, the fragmented echo of thought passed through him. Words were vestiges of human consciousness, but the meaning remained intact. I can shape myself. I can become stronger. I can survive.

The black light deepened, expanding outward, coalescing around him like a cocoon. The mechanical hum of the Core merged with the Abyss's pulse. Evolution had begun in earnest. His body throbbed, reformed, and reimagined.

Outside, the Abyss rumbled, sensing a new presence. Predators and prey alike felt the subtle shift in vibrations, the faint pulse of Core energy that now beat in tandem with Kael's own heart—or whatever had replaced it. Life here had not yet seen a force like this: small, unassuming, utterly adaptive.

Time lost meaning. Hunger remained, but it was no longer urgent—it was potential, a resource to be directed. Kael felt fragments of memory from his human life flicker briefly, mingling with the Core's guidance. Strategy, survival, calculation—these were no longer tools of man but instincts embedded in something alien, something far more efficient.

The black light began to fade slowly, leaving only faint traces of energy coiling along his body. Kael's chitin had hardened, mandibles sharpened, legs optimized for both speed and leverage. Antennae extended, capable of sensing chemical, thermal, and vibrational stimuli with precision. The first evolution was complete—but he knew, without thinking, that this was only the beginning.

He turned his multiple eyes toward the abyssal tunnel beyond the red fungi, sensing distant vibrations: predators, prey, and the unknown challenges awaiting him. The Core pulsed faintly, a heartbeat within him, whispering again. Evolution is endless. Adapt or perish.

Kael's new body flexed, responding to the instinctive command. Hunger, survival, and strategy merged into one coherent force. Darkness coiled over his body as if the Abyss itself acknowledged the rebirth of something extraordinary.

"I… can change," he repeated, louder this time, mandibles clicking. The words, though faint, carried weight. He could feel his body ready to respond to any stimulus, to any challenge, to any predator that dared approach.

The black light retracted, revealing Kael in his new form. Small, but lethal. Intelligent, but instinctive. Adaptive, but driven by a hunger that would not be denied. The Core pulsed faintly along his thorax. The system had awakened.

And the Abyss had taken notice.