The massive monster with designs on my meat pile looks unfortunately familiar. It walks on two thick, powerful legs, ending in wicked claws. It has no head, only a mouth that stretches most of its upper body length, big enough to swallow any of my bodies whole. Four limbs ending in barbed spikes surround the circumference of the mouth, ready to impale a target and feed it into the beast’s awaiting gullet. It looks to be a few feet over EE’s eight in height, which is more than big enough to crush any of my bodies. This thing's face-grabber limbs kind of remind me of the Reaper Leviathan from Subnautica, so one of my brains decides to name it the reaper maw instead of responding to panic in an appropriate or helpful way. The reaper maw is the same species as the monster I saw caught in that giant scary wire-trap mega-antlion thing, but this one is a lot less injured, a lot less trapped, and seemingly just as angry. Growling, it makes its way slowly towards my pile of dead sloths and fish.

Not to mention the Mooshians. I refuse to let anything happen to my beautiful protectors. I start to expel pheromones of danger and panic, trying to encourage the little friends to scuttle away, but instead of fleeing they all clonk down into their shells and become completely motionless. Somehow I doubt that will help, considering this thing's grabby face parts seem perfectly capable of lifting up a Mooshian and swallowing it whole.

"Come on, Mr. Mooshi!" I plead, running over to him with EE as the monster stalks closer to us. I shove and tug at him, but he is a whole lot of Moosh. I can barely lift him, and I certainly can't carry him and any of the other Mooshians at the same time. Further use of pheromones can't encourage him to move, either. He’s too scared.

The hungry animal roars threateningly at me as it continues to plod closer, likely trying to get me to give up my hoard without a fight. But with the Mooshians here, that's a no-go. Besides, those rippling leg muscles look delicious.

I have Evelyn Experimental, both Evelyn Borks, and a handful of Evelyn Tinkerbells here in this clearing. OMNIDOME is yet to sprout, and my ESTOL bodies don't feel ready to hatch yet. So I have eggs to defend on top of everything else.

Fine. Fighting it is.

"My name is Evelyn Montgomery!" I shout loudly at it in Sthrenslian. "This is mine! I won't let you hurt anything here! I don't want to hurt anyone, so if you're smart, please let me know or leave! If you don't… I'll eat you! So I'll say it again: my name is Evelyn!"

"Evelyn, is it?" Healer Katrs drawls at me in that arrogant tone of an expert annoyed with a layperson. "Popmold is spongy, thick, and wet. You won't find it, however. I've had people scouring nearby caves for it for days."

While my adrenaline pumps in my bodies above ground due to an impending monster fight, the ones below ground are freaking out over Warrior Katrk dying due to a medicine shortage. One that I'm going to fix.

"And you're completely, entirely out?" I press. "I just need a single intact sample and I can make you as much popmold as you could ever need."

"I'm completely out," Katrs grunts. "And I wouldn't give you any regardless. You can't farm popmold."

"Don't tell me what I can't do," I bite back, all my other underground bodies breaking off from other tasks and conversations to start searching immediately. "You have no idea what I am."

"Then why can't you let me see again!?" Hsthressis whines. "You can't just show me that and then take it away forever!"

We need to have this talk later, Hsthressis, I insist. I'm currently fighting a massive demon. Also, do you know what popmold is?

"Popmold? Evelyn, come on! Don't change the subject. I—"

TELL ME.

Immediately, I retrieve my memories of popmold, understand how it feels to echolocation, gain a smattering of information on where it grows, and intuitively understand where the True People store their medicine. I'm aware they likely have a stockpile.

"...Wh-what was that?"

Shit, I hiss. Sorry. Someone's dying and I need that mold now.

"That stuff is precious. You're not—"

Fuck it. I don't have time for a better plan.

If you convince your mom to feed me some popmold, I'll grow that body some eyes. Afterwards, I'll give her all the popmold she could ever want.

The reaper maw continues to stalk closer, ignoring my attempts to communicate both verbally and through writing. It's cautious, likely because it doesn't know what I am and because it's used to fighting slightly smaller prey, but it must be either tempted enough by my stockpile or hungry enough to be desperate, because it refuses to back off. So be it. I flood my muscles with all the right chemicals, letting fire burn in my limbs.

Shrieking out a furious roar, I charge right at it, Evelyn Experimental dashing head-on while each Bork body moves to flank it. Startled, the creature has to spend a few precious seconds deciding whether to flee or meet my charge, leaving it slightly off-balance when our attacks meet. It stabs forward with its terrifying, barbed limbs and I duck underneath, tackling it around the waist. The tentacles on my back shoot up to grab and hold the limbs trying to stab me while my Borks rush in from behind to bite into its ankle. My teeth sink deep, injecting the wound with acid as the monster roars in pain. Next thing I know there's a brutal crunching noise in my face and I'm watching myself get sent flying by a powerful kick.

That hurt like hell, but the blood was delicious. I roll to a stop along the river shoreline, my own blood leaking from EB2's shattered nose. My cute doggy snout has seen better days. Meanwhile, EE starts losing the wrestling match with the far larger and stronger reaper maw, despite its damaged leg. Acid hisses within the wound, but the reaper maw has phenomenally thick skin. I want its skin. I grit my teeth, ignoring the pain as my tendrils slip and hooked limbs stab into my back. My undamaged Bork body moves in for another bite.

Then two additional yet much smaller reaper maws jump out of the trees towards my injured Bork.

"Damn it," I mutter. "What is with this planet and making me kill children?"

"P-pardon me?" Priestess Saslitak stutters.

Oh, whoops, I didn't mean to say that out loud.

"It's… sorry," I mutter. "Out of context. Anyway, I'm in contact with another clan. I'm going to try to barter for popmold. Katrs, how long does Katrk have left?"

Saslitak goes stiff, but the healer just barks out an answer, for some reason suddenly a lot more compliant.

"Without medicine?" He grunts. "Five cycles, at most. I'm doing all I can to prolong that, but—"

I don't bother to ask, my panicked brain instinctively querying Hsthressis' memories for the length of a cycle and getting an intuitive answer. It's a very vague time frame, but it's about eight hours. So Warrior Katrk has only a day and a half to live?

"Er…" Saslitak butts in politely. "When you say another clan, could I ask…?"

"They call themselves the 'True People,'" I answer. "You know them?"

The tension all around the cave suddenly becomes thick enough to cut. There's rage in the air. I can smell it.

"They… killed most of us and drove us from our home," Saslitak answers softly. "We are at war."

God damnit.

"I guess I won't mention you, then," I groan.

"So she won't say why?" Chieftain Chlrehistra grumbles. "Hsthressis, popmold is extremely valuable. We cannot just give it away to a possible demon."

"Mom, she's not a demon," Hsthressis insists. "She's something way, way more than that. It's like… agh. I don't know how to explain it, mom, but she's not crazy. Not like she sounds. It all means something, everything she says. And she… she can multiply it! She can make more popmold! As much as we need!"

"We have no reason to believe that's true," Chlrehistra grunts.

"It is!" Hsthressis insists. "I remember it, that's something she can do. She showed me, I… agh. But I promise, we'll be able to use as much as we need!"

Chlrehistra squirms with irritation and worry, seemingly thinking about the implications of that.

"...That would certainly be a boon," Chlrehistra agrees. "But even if her copied popmold isn't just a cruel way to deliver surface-curse, which it very well may be, there's still a problem. If she supplies us all the popmold we need, if she allows us to use it liberally and freely, we will start to rely on her for its production. Even if she is as sane and clever as you say, daughter… no, especially then, we must be cautious. There are ways beyond war to crush a people."

Agh, this paranoid bitch! I'm not attempting a damn economic takeover, I just need medicine! But she's obviously not interested in sharing out of the goodness of her heart… shit!

When the young reaper maws enter the fray, the mommy stops trying to eat Evelyn Experimental and instead tosses me into a tree, moving back to support her babies. I nip at her injured leg, but fail to bite any deeper than my first chomp. Meanwhile, my injured Bork is beset by two smaller reapers, and with what I'm fairly certain is a serious concussion I wobble around, trying to escape them. I let a handful of Tinkerbells above ground go limp, rerouting their brainpower to the injured Bork just in time to avoid getting my back leg bitten off.

Each 'baby' reaper maw is as big as one of my Borks, and I am justifiably terrified of each of them. All of a sudden I lack the numbers advantage and the strength advantage. If I want to take these things out I'll need a plan.

Okay. Tactics. This is a boss fight. We've got the big bad and two minions; game logic says gank the summoned minions ASAP. Focus the squishies! I shoot up into the sky, using a Tinkerbell to scout the fight from overhead and imagine myself as units in a Starcraft skirmish. I may suck at strategy games, but you can't really get more noob than straight-up non-sapient. They're going to fight what's in front of them and flee from anything too dangerous… hopefully.

I dance away from my aggressive prey with my injured Bork, leading the two babies to where I can surround them as I send two Tinkerbells at the adult to attack its eyes. RPG bosses without status resistance? Easy! I dive-bomb it from above, punching and biting at its bulbous black sight-organs. It shrieks in pain, headbutting a tree to try and kill me, but I manage to flit away just in time and resume the attack.

This gives me enough time to send both Borks and EE to attack the babies. I feint an opening with my most injured body and then lash out with the tongue of my uninjured Bork, wrapping up the legs of a baby reaper and knocking it over before I punt it as hard as I can with EE. I don't send it flying; my Bork holds it in place so the impact rings hard, crushing bones. The monster goes limp, and while I don't know if it's unconscious or dead either is good with me for now. At the brutal display, the other baby starts to back off, keeping significant distance from me as it tries to return to its mother's side.

"Sorry, buddy," I mutter. "I have to Bambi you."

I use a Bork tongue to lash each ankle of the momma reaper maw, yanking when it tries to move and tripping it. It lands on the ground with a crash as I run at it with Evelyn Experimental. The remaining baby works up its courage to try to save mom, but I let go of one ankle and intercept with a Bork, jaws closing down hard on its leg. I twist my head, feeling the bone snap as I pump acid into its veins. The baby shrieks, immediately sending mom into a terrified fury.

It's too late, though. Hmm… how did Talrisark phrase it? 'The big creatures always forget the justice of the fall?'

Footsteps heavy, EE runs up the monster's tree-trunk legs and with a final burst of effort leaps as high as I can jump. The body I made on a whim may not be well-optimized. It may not be well-planned. But it's big, it's full of food, and it’s heavy. Both feet together, I stomp down hard on the giant monster's back, shattering the beast's spine and pushing a final scream out of its lungs.

The remaining child struggles and cries, but with a broken leg there's little it can do. I don't really want to kill it. Its widdle pedipalps are so cute and it's just a baby…! Except, y'know, it isn't really. It's as big as I am and at least as hungry. There's no way I can tame this thing like I did with Mr. Mooshi. It still hurts me a bit, now that adrenaline is fading, to clamp my jaws around what passes for its 'head' and crunch down. The poor thing doesn't really deserve it.

Then, right when I kneel down and prepare to eat my kills, I feel the ESTOLs wake up, ready to hatch.

"...You stupid bodies," I grumble. "I needed those acid cannons."

The ESTOLs don't have much in the way of limbs, and are inherently not very self-sufficient. I'm repurposing the ETBs as support units for the larger and heavier ESTOLs, but in the meantime I walk over with EE and have to punch all my eggs open from the outside, extracting my weird, fighter-jet-inspired goop-covered selves. Then I collapse, because I'm bleeding profusely. But it'll probably be fine. Worst thing that happens is I die.

Anyway, I set my injured Bork to munch on the prizes. It's as beautiful and unforgettable of a meal as I expected. Fear grips me as I eat the brain, but... it's an animal. It's only an animal. It has no name, no dreams, no culture, just instincts and habits. Thank fuck. I stop thinking and let myself enjoy it properly.

The catching spines on its massive pedipalps are similar to a fishhook in structure, which explains the profuse bleeding on EE's back. Getting tossed really ripped open my insides. I was also spot-on when I assumed these things might eat Mooshians whole: the stomach is nearly as tough on the inside as it is on the outside, clearly designed to crush and burn anything that gets caught inside with—you guessed it—acid. At least a stomach is a normal place to have acid, I guess.

What I really love about this body is the tough, flexible skin that offers far better protection than my current epidermis (chitin included) and the drastically more efficient muscular structure. I can use this to make my bodies a lot stronger, which I will need because there are apparently ten-foot-tall dinosaur monsters in the forest. This is just my life, I guess.

I flick a brief bit of attention to Hsthressis to confirm she hasn't convinced her mother to give me lifesaving medicine or to come talk to me so I can try to convince her to give me lifesaving medicine. Likewise, my ETEs are scattering through every tunnel I can find in a desperate search for this mold stuff, but obviously I haven't had any luck. But that can't possibly be the only general antibiotic in the world, right? There has to be something else, and I have an easy way of finding it: I just need to put it in my mouth.

And so my instincts sing with delight as I decide to go to the highest-biodiversity biomes I can find and eat everything I see.

This is risky, stupid, and dangerous. But I don't care. I cannot, will not let Warrior Katrk die. I refuse to allow another person's life to pass when I could have saved it. This is about something far more important than my ephemeral 'humanity.'

"Are you sure this is the decision you'll regret the least?" Mr. Mooshi asks, finally peeking his head out from under his shell.

"Mr. Mooshi," I greet him, exhausted and anemic. "You were worse than dead weight in that fight, you meanie."

"D-don't change the subject," he chides.

"Mmm," I groan. "Well, that's an interesting way to phrase it. 'The decision I'll regret the least.' No, I'm not sure. How could I be sure? I know more or less exactly how much I'll regret letting him die. But how much or even if I'll regret eating a planet? Who knows. It might be a different Evelyn that answers that question."

"You're afraid of losing yourself, then," Mr. Mooshi says. "You've already made questionable decisions today, but I'd argue your panic has more of an impact on that than anything you've consumed."

"It doesn't matter. I'm doing it. I can't let him die. If I can't save anyone after the people I killed, I just… I don't know what I'll do. The idea of him dying is just too terrifying."

Especially because, if he does die in front of me, I'll feel morally obligated to eat him. And I still don't know whether or not that's a fate worse than death.