Chapter 28: Maybe two at Once

Chapter 28: Chapter 28: Maybe two at Once

The SwampGorilla stood in the moonlight, waiting.It just stood there, arms at its sides, calm and enormous, as though it understood that something had changed.

Jared looked up at it for a long moment.

"System," he said quietly. "How much of the gorilla can I wear? As a skin."

The panel unfolded at his shoulder, glowing a soft, pale green in the dark.

[Pretty much all of it.]

He blinked. "All of it?"

[Everything but the head. The arms, the torso, the legs, the shoulders. If you want the full suit, it’s yours.]

"Last time I only wore the arms."

[Last time you were having an emotional breakdown. You weren’t thinking about the full catalog.]

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Jared’s mouth. It was the first one in hours. He reached up and laid a palm against the gorilla’s chest, where thick green vines wound around a barrel of dark, mossy fur.

"Okay, big guy," he said. "Let’s try it."

The gorilla lowered its head, slowly, like a bow.

The vines began to loosen. They uncurled from its shoulders and slid down its arms, dripping swamp water, and crept toward Jared in long, green ribbons. They wrapped around his wrists. They climbed his forearms. They coiled up his shoulders and around his ribs.

The gorilla’s whole body began to dissolve, breaking into thick, damp sheets of moss and root and bark, and flowed across the air toward him like a tide.

He braced himself.

The swamp rolled over him in a wave,It fitted itself around his chest, his back, his arms, his legs.

When it was done, he stood very still.

He flexed his fingers. The roots flexed with him. He rolled his shoulders, and the bark plates shifted, smooth and quiet, like they’d been oiled.

It felt like he was in a suit of armor.

It didn’t weigh him down. It wasn’t heavy or clumsy. It was warm and solid, like a second skin, as if someone had built a fortress around his bones. He lifted one fist and looked at it, a huge, green, vine wrapped thing, thick as a tree trunk.

’Wow.’

He took a step. The ground rumbled faintly beneath him.

’This is for attack. Close range. Not ranged. Not ranged at all.’

[Excuse me?]

"What?"

[You’re muttering again. ]

"It’s a thought."

[It’s a malfunction.]

"I’m just saying, this is a melee build. Up close, I’m solid. But from a distance, I’ve got nothing."

[That’s an astute observation. I’m shocked.]

"So I need something else." He lifted his chin. "Something that fires from far away."

He reached into the pouch at his belt. His fingers found a rough, rusty gem, a little gritty to the touch. He pulled it out and let it fall.

It cracked against the dirt, and a bright flare of orange light rose out of the dark.

When it cleared, a small shape was standing in the ring, antennae twitching.

The AntBeast came up to roughly Jared’s hip this time, a little taller than before. It stood upright, waved one antenna at him in a polite, cheerful greeting, then glanced down at the gorilla armor and gave it a respectful nod.

[Starting size can be inconsistent,] the system reminded him. [Hip height. That’s an improvement.]

"Hey, buddy," Jared said. "I’ve got a plan."

The ant tilted its head.

His thinking was simple. In the wilds, he’d made a stupid mistake. He’d brought one beast and expected it to do everything. It had been a rookie error.

’Rather than training one beast at a time, I’ll train two.’

The AntBeast could fire ranged attacks from a distance. The SwampGorilla armor handled short range. Together, they’d cover each other’s gaps. He’d have a front line and a back line, all in one body.

[You’re covering your weakness from the other day.]

"I’m learning."

[I noticed. Honestly, I’m impressed. I’m also slightly afraid.]

"Don’t be." He paused a while and took it all in.

"Okay, buddy," Jared said. "Dinner."

He pointed at a pile.

The AntBeast scurried over, climbed onto the crate, and began to nibble. It was quick and methodical. A corner of wood vanished in a few bites.

It wasn’t going to be a monster blast. Jared knew that. There wasn’t enough junk in the yard to generate an explosion, no real fuel or chemicals or heavy metal. But it would do. All he wanted was something to hit him. He needed to test the gorilla’s durability.

A memory flas

Zoey’s lizard, pinned against the wall. Her squeal. The wave. The water pouring down her face. How he’d tried the very same thing, a test, a harmless experiment, and how badly it had turned out.

His jaw tightened.

’Not this time.’

He lifted his chin.

"Not this time," he said aloud.

[That’s a significant statement.]

The AntBeast had finished eating. It sat back on its haunches, patting its round belly with one tiny hand, and let out a faint, satisfied burp. A few sparks fizzled at the corner of its mouth. It looked up at Jared, waiting.

He planted his feet and raised both arms in front of his chest, crossing them in a guard.

"Fire," he said.

The ant tilted its head back.

Its belly rumbled. A pale, shimmering glow built in its throat, and then a thin, bright beam burst from its mouth and shot across the yard. It hit Jared square in the chest.

There was a loud crack. A flash of white light. A cloud of dust and sparks.

Jared stood in the middle of it, unmoving.

He felt nothing.

The dust drifted away. He lowered his arms and looked down. There wasn’t a scratch on him. The gorilla armor had absorbed the entire blast without so much as a shudder. It was clear the beast itself had sheltered him, as if the swamp had simply drunk the energy and said thank you.

He stared at his chest. Then he started to grin.

"It worked," he said. "It actually worked."

[It did.]

"I didn’t feel a thing."

[That’s very good.]

He wanted to throw a fist in the air, to yell, to celebrate. He opened his mouth. Then he paused, and the grin slowly faded.

A cold thought crept in.

’Wait.’

He looked at the ant. He looked at the faint, smoking crater where the beam had hit the dirt. It was shallow, hardly more than a scuff. It had been a thin, weak little thing, barely stronger than a firecracker. He hadn’t felt anything because there’d been nothing to feel.

’That blast didn’t have any force behind it.’

His shoulders slumped. The armor sagged with him.

"That was nothing," he murmured.

[Rather unimpressive,] the system agreed.

"It’s because of what it ate. It was just wood ." He rubbed his chin, thinking. "If I want the blast level I really need, I’ll have to get it something worthy to consume."

[Worthy?]

"Something dense. Something with real mass. Metal, maybe. Stone. Something that burns hot."

He stood very still, scanning the yard.

His eyes moved slowly across the dirt, the cracked wall, the splintered fence, the dead tree. He went over every object twice.None of it was good enough. There was nothing in the compound that could serve.

’Nothing. Not a single thing.’

He sighed and turned in a slow circle.He didn’t know what to do.

Then his gaze landed on something at the edge of the driveway.

A silver car.

It sat beneath the porch light, quiet and dim. His mother’s car. Zoey had parked it there when they got back from the wilds, in a daze, without thinking. Now he saw it clearly for the first time.

It was a mess.

The left fender was crumpled like a paper cup. There was a long, jagged scratch down the side, as if something had raked it with claws. A tire sagged low. The rear bumper hung crooked. Dents pocked the hood, round and heavy, the kind a stone or a fist might leave. A cracked headlight dangled by a wire.

It had taken a few hits from some lesser beasts, the kind that lurked in the underbrush around the city wilds.

Beasts that had probably crept up in the dark while he was busy, and tried to have their way with it.

Jared stared at the car.

It was steel. It was heavy. It was full of metal and rubber and glass and plastic. It would burn hot. It was dense and solid and big enough to feed on.

The AntBeast followed his gaze. Its antennae twitched.

[Rex.]

He didn’t answer.

[Rex, no.]

He walked slowly toward the driveway. The gorilla armor creaked with each step.

[That’s your mother’s car.]

"It’s already dented."

[That is not a vehicle for a snack.]

He thought about it.

He thought about it for a long time.