ADAPTATION

Taylor’s form shifted seamlessly over the uneven terrain, her gelatinous body adapting to every dip and rise without effort. The outpost had given her direction—Brockton Bay was still there, still struggling, and her team was still fighting. But she wasn’t ready to face them. Not yet.

She needed to be stronger.

Her evolution had continued without pause. The fight with the monstrous wolf had opened new doors, and her relentless experimentation had pushed those doors wide open. The amorphous, gelatinous mass that made up her body was no longer a simple blob—it had refined itself, growing more responsive, more efficient. She could condense into a dense, compact shape for defense or stretch herself impossibly thin to slip through the narrowest gaps.

But her most significant breakthrough had been her ability to create constructs.

Confirmed. Slime Construct successfully acquired.

It had begun as a realization—if she could form tendrils, why not something more? The idea took root, and she had spent hours molding herself, shaping portions of her body into independent forms. The process had been strange at first, disorienting, but she adapted quickly. She always had.

Now, at the edge of a clearing, several constructs drifted around her like living extensions of her will.

Each was unique, though still crude. One coiled like a serpent, edges jagged, perfect for slicing through obstacles. Another was bulkier, its exterior hardened into overlapping plates that absorbed impact. The smallest was sleek and nimble, flitting through the air in graceful movements—ideal for scouting ahead.

At their core, they were still her, but different.

The insects from her swarm reinforced the structures, filling the gaps like muscle and sinew. She had always been able to control them with unparalleled precision, but this was something else. They weren’t just obeying her commands—they were part of her, bound to her in ways she had never experienced before. She could feel through them, see through them.

And when she called them back, they dissolved seamlessly into her body, merging without resistance.

The new ability was undeniably powerful, but they reopened unsettling wounds.

How much of me is still Taylor Hebert?

She still thought, still remembered, and could still feel. But the boundaries between herself and the creatures she commanded were blurring. Her slime constructs were extensions of her will, and even the insects she controlled felt less like tools and more like limbs.

How much of me is just… this?

A part of her recoiled at the thought, clinging to the memories of her father, her friends, the life she had lost, and the city she had fought to protect—the identity she had always known. But another part—something deeper, more primal—embraced it. The adaptability, the strength, the potential. She had always been about survival, about pushing forward no matter the cost.

If she could evolve endlessly…

What would she become?