Nightbeat, Sky Lynx, and a mysterious transformer with an unpronounceable name set out on a jaunt, which turns into a mystery, which turns into a quest, which turns into a saga involving aliens made out of psychedelics, secret wars between geometry...
Inch by inch. Inch by inch. Wriggle wriggle. Slide. Take what's in front, eat it, expel it. Move. Forward. The mission that comes from beyond.
I look up. There are ten, a hundred, one million, an infinity of worms all crawling in unison to the rhythm. In. Out. They are arranged in the air like so many hot air balloons keeping their distance from one another, this dark night. They glow a green aura. They swell with light and purpose, painting the sky with hues like an aurora. I am in awe of their beauty. I feel their intention. They are heeding the mission that comes from beyond.
I dare not look down. I don't know if I could if I wanted to. My body won't move unless I make a choice. I know this. It comes from beyond.
From beyond, they ask: Do I want to be a part of this greater whole?
I was once a mighty space dragon, the union of the bird and the lynx. I was haughty, proud, and vain. I busied myself with meaningless pursuits. Acting. Acclaim. Accrual of frivolous treasure. I think of my days at the Iacon Performing Arts College. Was I really so grand? I picture my apartment in the bustling city of tetrahex, with it's horrible views and unconscionable rent prices. I picture the rejection e-mails I deleted immediately upon receipt. And for what? What was all that trying for? I was a glorified taxi service for bots who had equally meaningless places to go. I wanted so badly to be appreciated, to be wanted, to be special. And the reality was that I was none of those things.
It's time to face the facts, as they are. My life has been wasted out there. But in here? There's something else entirely here. I can do a new thing, be a new thing.
In my heart, I know I have been transformed. Now I am a worm, like my new kindred above me. Eating. Inching forward through the green-on-black sky. Among me are the uncountable legion all doing the same. In. Out. Inch by inch. Moving through the blackness, and painting it with our ballet of light.
We come together now. Tighter. The space between these floating ribbons of puss and glory and filth and purpose are being pulled together as if by a sinch in a hooded jacket. The space between our bodies thinned and thinned until finally, we touched. The hoards of uncountable glowing green worms touched every part of me. We were stacked together like firewood. There was no trace left of the void that once suspended us. Still, we inched forward in unison. We inched through time. We inched through ourselves.
That was when I was so rudely interrupted.
Nightbeat found me. He said he followed the sounds of my screaming. We were deep underground on the planet Sporia, after being ambushed by mushroom people. My body and mind was being assimilated by the fungal roots (I believe called Mycellium? Or is it Hyphae?). He pulled what he could of the fibrous tendrils from my body, but some were too deeply embedded to be completely removed. I could see on Nightbeat's body that he had been through a much more difficult time than I had. He was inside an enormous root, and the marks of ensnarement were all over his body. Dents and scuffs and damage to nearly every surface. I doubt he could still transform.
I ask about the hitchhiker. Dex must have been dragged down here into these caverns and ensnared like we were. We need to find them, if they are having a horrible experience like Nightbeat did.
It's hard to say whether the dream ended when I was pulled out from the roots, or if that's when it truly began.
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