The Biomass Bank

The driftwood labyrinth stretched below Dave like a drowned forest carved from obsidian and jade. His Sonic Cloak hummed, a barely perceptible vibration that blurred his outline into the shifting currents and dappled Aether-light filtering from above. He moved with agonizing slowness, clinging to the underside of a colossal root, his Proto-Pseudopod gripping grooves in the waterlogged wood. Every micron gained burned focus, a constant calculation against his dwindling reserves: Biomass 43%, Toxin 30%. Princess Lyra's capricious schedule was a ticking clock he couldn't see. *Hurry up and tap the glass, you oblivious monarch.*

His AURA-primed senses scanned the void ahead – the predicted path Lyra's siphon would take along the tank's edge. It was a gauntlet of open silt plains punctuated by bacterial blooms like toxic cotton candy and fields of razor-sharp hydro-sponge shards left by Kael's last purge. Vulnerability gnawed at him. A single misplaced pulse, a curious Glitterfin grazing too close, and his fragile stealth would shatter.

***Scout. Pathfind.*** He detached a QT (Biomass: 38%), shaping it with the directive ***Minimal Signature. Map Safe Routes.*** The scout, a faint, shimmering smudge against the wood, oozed ahead, sending back fragmented sonar impressions – a clear channel here, a swirling eddy of predatory ciliates there. Dave followed its psychic breadcrumbs, his progress measured in heartbeats per micron.

Then, the scout pulsed a complex image: ***Obstruction. Organic Cluster. High Nutrient Yield.***

Ahead, rising from the silt like pale, translucent mountains, lay a clutch of **Glimmershale eggs**. Each was a sphere barely a millimeter in diameter, but to Dave, they were colossal domes the size of small hills, their surfaces slick with protective mucus and shimmering with trapped Aether flecks. They formed an impassable barrier across the most direct route to the siphon zone. Detouring meant hours of exposure. *Of course. Even the damn snails block my path.*

He crept closer, his Aetheric Retina zooming in. The eggs pulsed with a slow, vital rhythm. Inside each, a microscopic Glimmershale embryo swam in nutrient-rich fluid – a primordial soup of proteins, lipids, and Aether-infused yolk. Biomass potential screamed at him. *Pure, undefended biomass.* The Kin Eater trait flared, cold and predatory. *Prey.*

***Risk Assessment,*** he demanded of AURA.

`> ORGANISM: GLIMMERSHALE SNAIL (OVUM STAGE).`

`> DEFENSES: THICKENED MUCOPOLYSACCHARIDE MEMBRANE, PASSIVE AETHER DIFFUSION (MINOR DETERRENT). NO ACTIVE THREAT.`

`> NUTRIENT DENSITY: 92% BIO-AVAILABLE. ESTIMATED BIOMASS YIELD PER OVUM: 60-70%.`

`> WARNING: STRUCTURAL COLLAPSE UPON BREACH WILL CREATE LOCALIZED TURBULENCE. RISK OF ATTRACTING SCAVENGERS: HIGH.`

Sixty percent. More than he currently held. The lure was intoxicating. He could drain one egg, surge to near-max biomass, replenish toxins… and still have *time* to reach the siphon point before Lyra arrived. The embryos weren't sentient, just biological potential. *Fuel. Nothing more.*

Decision crystallized. Ruthless. Efficient. He targeted the egg on the cluster's outer edge. Anchoring himself with his Proto-Pseudopod, he extended his Multivore Maw, not to bite, but to *secrete*. Sovereign Toxin, thick and viscous, pooled at the tip. He focused, channeling not a destructive wave, but a precise, corrosive *needle* – a concentrated stream designed to pierce, not obliterate.

***Penetrate.***

A thin, acrid jet of emerald toxin struck the egg's membrane. Where it touched, the slick surface sizzled. The thick mucopolysaccharide layer resisted, bubbling and warping, but Dave maintained pressure, Toxin reserves dropping: 30% → 27% → 24%. Slowly, agonizingly, a pinprick hole appeared. Then, with a silent *pop* felt through the water, it breached.

A gout of viscous, golden fluid erupted, thick with shimmering Aetheric particles and the raw scent of nascent life. Dave lunged. His Maw gaped wide, not to tear, but to *engulf* the rupture point. He sealed himself against the egg like a monstrous leech.

***Feast.***

It wasn't eating; it was an intravenous infusion of pure life force. The nutrient-rich yolk flooded his system, a tsunami of energy that crashed through his starved pathways. His depleted cytoplasm swelled. Fractures in his silica armor sealed seamlessly. Aether-Vesicles, running near-empty, blazed with renewed luminescence. The sensation was overwhelming, almost painful in its intensity – a supernova contained within a single cell.

`> BIOMASS CRITICAL THRESHOLD BREACHED: 38% → 78%... 85%... 92%...`

`> SOVEREIGN TOXIN SYNTHESIS OVERDRIVE: RESERVES 24% → 41%...`

`> AETHER RESERVES: SATURATED. SILICA ARMOR INTEGRITY: 100%.`

`> USER BIOLOGICAL PARAMETERS OPTIMIZED. UPGRADE WINDOW UNLOCKED.`

The world sharpened. Colors in the Aether spectrum he hadn't perceived before – deep violets and pulsating infra-reds – flared at the edges of his vision. Power thrummed through him, a heady, dangerous intoxication. He was *full*. Biomass: 100%. Toxin: 45%. The egg, still massive, was now a deflated sac, perhaps a third depleted. Golden fluid still seeped slowly from the breach.

AURA's window materialized, stark and demanding against the backdrop of the ravaged egg:

`> UPGRADE OPTIONS AVAILABLE (BIOMASS THRESHOLD: 100%):`

`> 1. ADVANCED CILIA SYNC II: +300% SPEED. COST: 15% BIOMASS.`

`> 2. NEUROTOXIN SPINES: DELIVER PARALYSIS/CONVULSIONS. COST: 12% BIOMASS, 10% TOXIN.`

`> 3. AETHERIC CHAMELEON MATRIX: NEAR-PERFECT ENVIRONMENTAL MIMICRY. COST: 18% BIOMASS.`

`> 4. QUASI-TELE SYNTHESIS UPGRADE: QT DURATION +24 HOURS, +25% COMBAT EFFICIENCY. COST: 10% BIOMASS.`

Dave dismissed them instantly. Spending *his* hard-won biomass now felt like sacrilege. His gaze fixed on the still-seeping egg. The golden fluid wasn't just biomass; it was *unformed potential*. Raw biological clay. *Why spend myself… when I can spend this?*

The idea struck with the force of a tectonic shift. The QT protocol ripped pieces of *his* biomass, shaped them, and imbued them with purpose. But the egg's fluid… it was neutral, nutrient-rich protoplasm. If he used *it* as the raw material, using his own perfected cellular structure and the QT protocol as the template… He wouldn't be splitting himself. He'd be *printing* extensions of himself from stolen resources.

***AURA. Feasibility. QT Synthesis using external biomass source: Target – Glimmershale Ovum Residuals.***

A pause. Then, data streamed:

`> ANALYSIS: EXTERNAL BIOMASS SOURCE DETECTED (COMPATIBILITY: 88%).`

`> QT PROTOCOL CAN BE MODIFIED TO UTILIZE EXOGENOUS MATRIX AS PRIMARY CONSTRUCTION MATERIAL.`

`> USER PROTOPLASM ACTS AS TEMPLATE/CONTROL NODE.`

`> COST: PRIMARY BIOMASS EXPENDITURE REDUCED BY 95%. MINIMAL USER ENERGY FOR DIRECTIVE IMPRINTING REQUIRED (0.5% PER QT).`

`> OUTPUT: STANDARD QT CAPABILITIES. DURATION: 48 HOURS.`

`> RISK: TEMPLATE INSTABILITY IF SOURCE BIOMASS IS TOO DIVERGENT. LOW PROBABILITY (12%).`

A predatory grin spread across Dave's metaphorical face. *Perfect.* He wouldn't just have an army; he'd have a *disposable* army funded entirely by the snail's stolen inheritance. He pressed his Maw firmly back against the breach in the egg.

***Initiate Protocol: External Biomass QT Synthesis. Quantity: Five.***

***Directives:***

***- QT-1: Perimeter Defense (Spine Configuration).***

***- QT-2 & QT-3: Pathfinding & Hazard Scouting.***

***- QT-4: Resource Acquisition (Mineral Scavenge).***

***- QT-5: Stealth & Signal Dampening.***

He didn't just command; he *imprinted*. Focusing his will, he pushed the complex directives through his Sovereign Toxin pathways, using the toxin as a carrier wave into the egg's fluid. Simultaneously, he siphoned the golden protoplasm, not into himself, but into five rapidly forming shapes *outside* his body, hovering near the breach.

The process was mesmerizing. The egg's fluid flowed like liquid gold, coalescing under the invisible guidance of Dave's template and the QT protocol. It wasn't instantaneous; it was a grotesque, beautiful sculpture in reverse. First, gelatinous spheres formed, then internal structures flickered into existence – simplified versions of his own organelles, spines budding on QT-1, enhanced cilia on the scouts, a faint shimmering field around QT-5. His own biomass dipped a mere 2.5% (0.5% x 5) for the psychic imprinting.

Five Quasi-Teles detached, fully formed, pulsing with borrowed life. They weren't *him*, not truly. They lacked his depth, his rage, his Aetheric Retina. But they were extensions of his will, forged from conquered biomass. QT-1's spines glistened with a faint toxin sheen. QT-2 and 3 pulsed readiness. QT-4 scanned the silt for glittering minerals. QT-5 blurred slightly at the edges, dampening their collective signature. Dave remained at a glorious 97.5% biomass, Toxin still a potent 45%. The egg was now a desiccated husk.

`> EXTERNAL QT SYNTHESIS SUCCESSFUL.`

`> ARMY STATUS: ONLINE.`

`> USER BIOMASS PRESERVATION: 97.5%.`

`> ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: 'FRAUDULENT FERTILITY' (CREATION WITHOUT SACRIFICE).`

He surveyed his troops. Not gods, not monsters, but *tools*. Efficient, disposable tools. *Vorlag builds limpets. I build legionnaires from snail eggs.* The Kin Eater purred its approval. Ruthlessness rewarded.

***QT-2, QT-3: Scout ahead to Siphon Zone LZ-Alpha. Minimal signature. Report obstacles.***

***QT-1: Flank position. Defensive posture.***

***QT-4, QT-5: Accompany primary unit. Maintain stealth envelope.***

The QTs pulsed acknowledgment. QT-2 and 3 shot off, swift and silent, vanishing into the murk towards the tank's edge. QT-1 took up position slightly behind and to Dave's left, spines bristling. QT-4 and 5 fell in beside him, their presence making the water around Dave seem slightly darker, quieter.

Dave moved again, no longer a lone, vulnerable speck, but the nucleus of a tiny, lethal swarm. His speed was unchanged, but his presence was magnified, cloaked in active stealth and guarded by spines. The remaining distance to the siphon point felt less like a perilous crossing and more like a controlled advance. He monitored the QT scouts' feeds – clear silt plains, a dormant patch of Moonbeam Crypts, the gentle slope marking the tank's glass boundary. No Lyra yet, but the stage was set.

*Let the princess come,* Dave thought, the stolen biomass thrumming within him, his silent army a shield and a promise. *Her siphon isn't just my ride. It's my victory parade.* He conserved his toxin, his own power now amplified by the five golden soldiers forged from betrayal. The center of the tank wasn't just a destination anymore; it was an inevitability.