"It’s pregnant."  A voice.

 

"What?" I feel like I'm waking up from a deep slumber, confused and disoriented

"The dungeon pearl. Look right there- it has a weird looking bump." I also feel hate. Burning, overwhelming hate- but oddly, as if it was somehow distant.

 

"Huh. Think we should pop it?" Is there someone else here- in my head? It's so hard to think, like the hate is a roaring noise and my thoughts are music.

 

"Fuck no- what if we break the dungeon? Half the tribe will starve. Besides, if it IS pregnant we could use another/" The darkness is receding- I can start to see. Or 'see'. It's fuzzy and odd- I can see two figures in front of me, but from all angles. I think I can even see inside them- but my vision is so fuzzy I can't be sure. They're huge.

 

"Go back and report to the elders then?" They seem to be human- humanish. Bit odd coloration. Both of them are covered in bulky something and they have long things in their hands planted in the ground- spears? Something on their backs too- backpacks?

 

"Might as well. Packs are full anyways and we checked on the dungeon pearl. What else is there to do?" One of them moves forward and reaches out. His finger looks enormous as he pokes me, triggering the hatred to almost explode. I wouldn't have known it was me if he hadn't- I seem to be a little round reddish thing embedded in the wall. A soft pearlescent sheen covers me and there's a bump- it does look pregnant. And uh, I think the baby is me. I can't feel the wall around me- just air on one side.

 

"Oh, you pissed it off. Best we better run, huh?" There's humor in his voice as they turn and begin to stroll away. My vision is improving and now I can tell their packs are full of meat and furs, still wet with blood. As they leave my vision I feel a wave of tiredness fill me, the hatred receding, replaced with triumphant satisfaction.

 

-Is there someone there?..- I ask in my mind. Surprise, fear, consternation, hate. The wave of feeling passes over me as I fall into the dark.

 

----

 

I don't know how much time passed before I woke again. I dreamed of my life, but it didn't feel like my own. I remembered my parents, remembered love and frustration tinged with contempt- they were, ah, old-fashioned in their opinions.

 

I remembered those feelings but didn't feel them, as if I watching a boring movie. My name was Zeke, short for Ezekial. As I said, my parents were old fashioned. I was a nerd and a construction worker. I loved to trawl Wikipedia, even read college textbooks on some sites. DMed. DnD, Pathfinder, Call of Cthulhu, White Wolf...

 

I desperately wanted to make a video game and had a binder full of notes on worldbuilding- and a bit of plot. I don't think I ever would have actually done it.

 

I had a girlfriend, she cheated on me, we broke up, I went to the bar and got drunk. I decided to walk home and saw a car swerving over the road. It hit me. My last thoughts were of the irony of getting killed by a drunk driver when I decided not to drive drunk. I remember the joy, betrayal, pain, loss and hate, then black humor as I bled out.

 

I feel none of that now.

 

I don't feel like Zeke anymore- I just have his memories. Zeke was a human with hormones and such, I'm just his... Soul? Guess I was wrong about a few things.

 

Moving on, what woke me is a feeling of anticipation from my, uh, roommate. Glee, even. I can see strands of... Something, leading off into the darkness, twitching. Something hops into view- a little mouse thing. Jerboa? The strands are hooked into it- the head. A thousand strands come out of the orb, the pearl, the... Dungeon core.

 

The fuck. I got isekaied.

 

I don't have time to think about it as the strands plunge into the little beast, so thin and sharp they don't even draw blood. Inside I see them split and split again till they fill the entirety of the creature then do something I can't make out. My vision is still rather fuzzy. I hope I don't need glasses. Doubt they make a prescription for dungeon cores.

 

After a few moments I feel a burst of triumph from my roommate- then the mouse's skin falls off. Just all sloughs off. The poor thing begins to shiver- then the strands come out and it begins to screech and pain and leap about.

 

-What the hell are you doing?- I, uh, shout.

 

<Surprise, consternation. Pondering. The impossibly precise 3d model of a jerboa without skin. Excitement. Triumph.>

 

-It's in pain! It'll bleed out and die!-

 

<A complete lack of concern. Image of jerboa jumping around. Skinless triumph.>

 

-That's because it's in agony! Look at it, it's bleeding! It'll get weaker as it loses more blood- look, it's happening already!> The jerboa slows it's thrashing. Looks like it had injured itself too, bits of gravel stuck all over. It curls up and begins to shiver, going into shock.

 

< Concern. Denial. Image of sleeping jerboa/disapproval. Image of jerboa leaping about/approval. Leaping/skinless/triumph, but underlaid concern.>

 

-...Yeah, no. You can't make creatures more energetic by removing their skin. It's going into shock. It'll die soon.-

 

<Confusion. Denial/concern! Patience/stubbornness.> We wait for a while. My mind wanders a bit- I'm not as concerned about the dying agonized thing as I should be. I briefly ponder morality and decide to keep it even if the, uh, empathetic underpinnings are gone. I've read philosophy. I like Nietzche. Nothing has meaning but the meaning we create.

 

Then I ponder my roommate. The dungeon pearl. Pearl, core. Cor...ey. Corey in the house. The White House. Presidents. George Washington, pioneer and businessman and general and immoral slaveowner and rapist. I can be Benjamin Franklin, wise scientist, manslut, and proponent of slavery abolishment. Had some slaves but freed them.

 

-Your name is George Washington. My name is Ben.-

 

<Confusion. Unclear image of someone washing something unclear.>

 

- Good enough. You're Wash then.-

 

< Stronger confusion. Hatred. Alarm! Disbelief! Disappointment! Hatred of YOU!> Ah, the jerboa died. And he hates me. As it died a little wisp flew out and got sucked into a small hole on the core. Tendrils come out of the ground to pierce the flesh, which begins to slowly but visibly degrade. Wait, he? It, they? Can you misgender a rock with no concept of gender? Whatever. They. Wait, are they blaming me?

 

-Told you so. Don't blame me, it would have happened whether or not I warned you. Don't shoot the messenger.- It feels like I'm talking to a little kid. A stupid evil little kid who tortures animals.

 

<Extremely unclear image of shooting the messenger.> Ah- they don't get the concept but are repeating it at me because I implied it was bad. Charming.

 

<Hokay. To prevent more mouse torture I'm going to give you biology 101.>

 

<Confusion. Give? Not-owned/bad turning to owned/good. Shock/disbelief/contempt.> So, uh, guess they can't believe the concept of willing giving something to someone else. Not a good sign. Whatever.

 

I go on to give Wash the lesson anyways. It doesn't go well. While they are excited to learn they have trouble connecting concepts and as soon as I teach them something they forget about everything else I taught them and summon another animal to creatively maim. They seem content now, with the attitude of learning from mistakes and proving what I tell them, unconcerned with what they kill.

 

-Can I interest you in the concept of empathy?-

 

<Incredulous dismissal. Contempt of you.>

 

I don't like Wash. I don't think we'll be friends. Wait...

 

-Wash, what do you think of me?-

 

<Contempt. Fear. Hatred. The sensation of choking on food. Image of a tick embedded in flesh.> Ah. Yes, we won't be friends.

 

-What do you plan on doing to me?

 

<Take/own %$#%#.> Hmm. Words? Wisdom? Information? <Empty %$#%#. Image of jerboa grooming itself. It discovers a tick and eats it.>

 

Yes indeedy. Not friends at all.

 

-I'll...- I stop myself. I'll kill you first, I almost said. -I won't resist.-

 

< Relaxation. Complacent satisfaction.> Nobody ever taught them what lying is.

 

 I begin to examine our body, the dungeon pearl, even as I begin to teach them again. I need time to plan my little coup after all.

 

---

 

It would have been quite easy for my last life to have been a nightmare. My parents were catholic and quite conservative, and I... Was not. Fortunately I had a few things on my side.

 

First was the fact that my parents were intensely self-interested people. My father had little interest in things that were not work or his hobbies- he had a private room where he did things like ships in bottles and analyze the bible for secret codes. The most I ever talked to him was when he wanted me to set up a youtube channel to share his theories.

 

My mother on the other hand was involved with a billion church socials. If she needed a child to show off she'd grab Gabe or Mary. Gabe was the oldest, a perfect golden boy, at least before his fall from grace. Blond, handsome, charming and clever. Also, gay as a rainbow. Thus the fall from grace. When they found out he got in one (1) explosive argument and left forever. Works at Google now.

 

Mary was feral. She got in a lot of arguments over minor things but hid the things that would really piss our parents off. Like how her girl friends were in fact girlfriends. Or what went on on her many camping trips- not that I ever went on one, but when you see a strapon in someone's camp bag there are only so many explanations. She went on a whole lot of camping trips with her friends. Like Gabe and me, soon as she went to college she never came back.

 

My younger sibs were the twins, Michaelangelo and Raphael. Yes, they loved TMNT. Gabe was Leonard because he's blonde and I was Donatello, by default. Mary wasn't forced to play because 'there are no girl turtles!' There is one. Venus de Milo from TNM.

 

Anyways. Pair of little shits who were always gone from the house. Aside from playing turtle when they were young I had little to do with them. They seemed popular with the other munchkins.

 

Point is, Gabe and Mary soaked up what little attention my parents had for their kids and I learned to stay quiet and do my own thing. If I got noticed it was generally to get a scolding. I had my computer and used Gabe's little gym on the patio and that was enough for me. I only blossomed socially when I hit college.

 

In this instance I metaphorically sit down and shut up unless I'm asked questions, which is a fair amount. Like a child, why why why? But Wash doesn't understand the answers half the time. I'm not sure whether it's a question of intelligence, mental flexibility, or communication difficulties. Probably the second two- when they get it they GET IT.

 

Wash is currently dragging a variety of small critters over to the core and giving them all scales. Also heavier bones. I do not think Wash appreciates birds.

 

As for me, I'm navelgazing. Or organgazing. I think I see through some kind of magical echolocation. Our shell is covered in little pulsing bits that look something I don't have words for, possibly magical. Like glowy or shiny but without light. Then other bits look kinda sorta like ear canals. They have a drum bit, at least.

 

The shell is a shell, made of... Shell. Not rock or crystal. There is a lipless little mouth constantly sucking in what may or may not be magic and the occasional wisp of sorta like magic but not. Despite being unscientific I will label them magic and souls. Below the shell is a soupy bit with weird organs just floating about surrounded by a sea of noodly bits I suspect are a prehensile nervous system. These tendrils connect bits to other bits, then detach and switch up.

 

In the center is a brain on a trunk. Clearly a brain. The trunk goes into the shell and then separates into innumerable little strands which burrow through the ground- fuck it, roots- along with a thicker spine that goes straight down past my visual range. A third unidentified magical substance travels up that spine and into the brain where it combines with magic- mana?- and forms a fourth material, this one kinda goopy.

 

(Later I would learn that they are called non-English words, but since I still think in English- it protects against telepathy if they don't know English- I would label them mana, souls, warp for the spine stuff and essence for the goopy stuff.)

 

The essence was transferred down the roots and out of my sight or through the tendrils into other organs. One organ connected to the shell and was reinforcing it somehow. Another organ sprouted little tendrils which fed through pores in the shell, then out to stab into whatever creature wash was modifying. A third organ, also connected to the shell, farted essence into the air.

 

The variety of creatures was much larger than I would expect for a cave. They seemed to like the essence. They generally disliked growing scales or extra legs or whatever. They weren't dying in agony anymore so that was an improvement.

 

Oh ye. Have I mentioned we're in a cave? We're in a cave. It's dark and full of rocks. And small animals.

 

Finally, inside the brain was a soul. A tiny soul. At least compared to mine. Muahaha.

 

In my little pimple is all this in miniature, like I'm a second pearl budding off the first. I'm right next to the mouth, which leads to a small chamber where tentacles cut souls into little pieces by smacking them. The tube between them is badly bent where it moves around me. Then a special little tendril 

 

My current theory: Wash tried to eat me, but my soul was too big for his tube. I got stuck and so the shell encapsulated me in a cyst and rerouted the tube around me. Then, detecting a soul in a bubble, it decided to treat me the same as Wash itself, thus the dual core system. Not sure if this is normal core reproduction or not. Probably not, given that they regard me as a tick.

 

What I am currently doing is using my tiny little baby roots to bore a tunnel between my bubble and Wash's. Wash dislikes this.

 

<Worry! Confusion! Pain!>

 

-This is fine. Don't think about it. Look, a small animal to torment.- 

 

<Torment? Rejection! Improvement! Witness!>

 

He is easy to distract.

 

It doesn’t take long either- these tendrils are extremely adept at boring into things. I suspect they’re turning whatever they ‘eat’ directly into mana. Either that or the conservation of energy is just fucked. Hopefully my vision will improve once I’m in the main brain.

 

See, I got a little theory. After souls go through the soulhole they get diced, right? However, they don’t seem to change in composition, the same sort of, uh, sticky gas feel. Like a cloud with a membrane? Wait, would that just be a lighter than air liquid? Anywho.

 

I’m gonna let him eat me and then duke it out. Since the soul is basically the same substance but in smaller bits then maybe the chopping bit is necessary for digestion- makes it so that the little giblits can’t fight back, or die before eating? Either way, I have no other plan for taking control. I could make a BIG hole and yeet my brainstem at him but uh.

 

Yeah. Not sure that’d work out for me.

 

I also thought of chopping up his brainstem, but he has way more tendrils than me and my brain is a much smaller target. Inadvisable. My only advantage is in soul to soul combat.

 

Either that or I can wait for an opportunity. I have never been a patient man. I can only distract myself by doing something and there’s nothing else to do here.

 

After a few minutes of musing I make a hole big enough to stick a tendril through and grab a, uh, tube. Everything is the same shape in here.  This is the tube that leads from the soulstomach to the brain. 

 

<Confusion? Nausea! Notworry but worry?> I think if I give Wash a little time he might figure out the concept of lying. I sever the tube from the wall.

<Pain! Notworry rejection! WORRY!> Also are these compound sentences I hear? Or compound concepts. I shove the little tube in my hole.

 

Heh.

 

<FLABBERGASTED!> I made the hole a bit wider than it needs to be- this manalocation is fantastic for gauging sizes- and tug it through easy. One question plagues me before I press it against my pink matter.

-Is this vore?-

 

Schlorp.