The hole in the wall is, all things considered, surprisingly comfortable. Cramped, sure, but not all that miserable. The wooden tunnel is wide enough for Verek to crawl without having to twist sideways or dislocate a shoulder, which is more than he can say for some of the other gaps he’s had to squeeze through in the past.

  The silverfish are annoying, of course. They nip at him constantly, quick little pinches against his skin, and every time they do, they erupt in tiny flashes of light and soft pops of silver and pale scales. He winces at the bites, but he can’t help but think it’s kind of pretty.

  It does feel a bit strange, just earlier he was afraid of a dark stairway with absolutely nothing in it, almost frozen in fear, and now he is quite comfortable crawling in a wooden tunnel full of aggressive mutated insects that are actually attacking him and actively trying to eat him alive.

  It helps that it’s not cold in here. Or all that dark, thanks to the flashes, though they do irritate his eyes a bit. The frequent bursts from the silverfish keep the tunnel strobing gently with glow, and the wood around him feels oddly warm. He doesn’t really know if it is purely psychological or if it actually is warmer here. He presses on, occasionally letting out a quiet yelp when a bite pinches a little too hard, or in a softer section of his body.

  The insects themselves haven’t changed much. They’re still finger-length, in fact, most of them even smaller. They still have the same white shimmer along silver scales. They all explode the same though, just slight variations in flash and pop, he wonders how big one will have to be to resist the sheer amount of gramaryes inside of him.

  Slowly he crawls forwards and slowly he starts to notice the changes as they happen, the silverfish are still the same size, but now their patterns are starting to change and their growths are becoming more distinct. They are not changing in size, not getting bigger, rather they are changing form, their shape becoming more distinct.

  The ridges on their backs, the strange protrusions, are starting to look… familiar. Like teeth and jagged notches.

  Keys, they are starting to look like keys.

  Specifically their growths are starting to look like key teeth, their little legs still look the same. He had never seen such a thing before. There is something else too, they may not be growing in size, but they are growing in number, noticeably too. The pinching bite becomes a constant, as does the little silver bursts.

  He blinks, squinting at one that looks oddly squarish, it scuttles across his forearm before exploding in a puff of silvery light.

  Did that one have a key shaped head?

  He’s not quite sure. But the next one definitely has a flat end, like the handle of a key, and the next after that has sharper, more defined teeth.

  They’re growing more distinct. Their bodies are still the same white shimmering silver, but now they glint in ways that make his skin crawl, like tiny keys crawling towards a lock. He swallows down the unease he feels at their strange transformation, surely key shaped insects are not scarier than giant ones. What will they do? Open locks?

  Maybe I am the lock. He thinks, the unbidden thought transforming. He imagines a bite breaking his skin, the insect entering it and turning, opening his skin and separating it from his flesh like opening a book, or a door. He shakes his head, banishing these thoughts. It’s just like the stairway, he is scaring himself, his thoughts worse than the actual situation.

  But they keep multiplying, there are now so many insects he can barely see the wooden crawl space. The bites have become a constant feeling now. It’s not even pain anymore, so much as a hum of sensation, like an itch across his whole body. Pinch. Flash. Pop. Pinch. Flash. Pop. A strobing light in the darkness, a rhythm of their tiny deaths, like moths to a flame. At some point it becomes so constant he feels there is more flash than darkness. Why do they keep doing it? Can’t they see the results right in front of them?

  Why do moths fly towards flames?

  Cumulus once said that moths must know why they do so, from their perspective it must make sense. We all do things that to a moth would make no sense either.

  “Oh.” He murmurs, stupid thoughts halting for a moment.

  He sees the end of the tunnel, it opens ahead of him. A perfect square hole bathed in soft blue light. He sees more of the silverfish swarming near the threshold, but he doesn’t slow down, he ignores them and the constant discomforting pinches and presses forwards. He leaves the tunnel, crawls out of it and immediately falls down into a heap of trash.

  He hits the floor with a muted thud, landing something brittle and soft and alive.

  He pushes himself up, brushing at his legs and arms, only to realize the entire floor is covered. Not just crawling and dead silverfish, but of broken wood, shredded bindings, and torn parchment. Endless detritus all being eaten by the living silverfish. There isn’t a single patch of visible stone or wood beneath him.

  “What th—ow!” He ignores the bites and reflexively starts to stomp on the silverfish all around him, crushing them underfoot. There are a lot of them, and it feels very uncomfortable with his bare feet. Some jump and dodge him, they bite him and proceed to burst around him in small clouds of silver, and with every crunch, a faint metallic ting rings out. He sucks in a breath as paint shoots up from his feet, he looks down and sees the remains of the insects and something else. It takes him a moment to realize what they are: keys.

  There are also keys, all over the ground, besides the detritus and insects. Silver keys with strange filaments, like legs and antennae. They’re not just silverfish anymore, it seems.

  He once again takes a look around the room, his eyes now picking up previously unseen details, distinguishing the insects from the keys. He sees hundreds of them, some fully changed, some somewhere in the middle, some clearly in the beginning of the mutation. Long and thin, short and squat, some old and pitted, some gleaming like they were just forged. All seemingly made out of silver.

  Then he notices it, to his right is just a broken wooden shelf, the stone wall behind it visible through the broken pieces being eaten by the bugs. To his left however…

  There, rising like a monument in the dim blue glow, is a book. A massive book, the biggest he has ever seen. The book is easily the size of his whole torso, perhaps even slightly larger, and it sits evenly atop the detritus mess, surrounded by a sea of shining keys, its metal cover dull compared to then but unmistakably solid, in a way the keys do not seem to be.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Iron. He thinks, the thought surfacing unbidden.

  Iron? He’s never seen a book bound in iron before. He has heard of books with metal in their cover, but not fully made out of it.

  Still, it’s not just the size or the material that makes him catch his breath—it’s the keyhole right in the center of the cover. A smooth, circular fitting, as though the book itself is locked. And it is a book, not a weird box, not a vault door, he can see the paper pages between the cover of the book. Fragile pages trapped within thick doors of metal. He sees flashes near it, and sees that there are silverfish trying to enter the lock, some crawling up towards it. One enters it, head first, there is a sudden flash, its marking shining bright as it moves erratically, almost like a predator has bitten it. Verek sees its body ripple, as if it was suddenly made out of liquid. He sees it change, morph, growing more notches along its body.

  The creature then stops moving, it becomes deathly still, it goes rigid and then it becomes a key.

  He stares as the key falls from the lock, completely transfixed, down into the ground. It plinks against it, a slightly shrill sound. There are more of them, and now he notices that the sound of the keys fallin is a constant thing. A silverfish, or multiple of them, reach the look, they try to…enter? No, they try to open it. They fail, they become keys and fall into the pile. Constantly, how did he not hear it before? How did he not see the glimmering pile of keys as soon as he entered the room. Why didn’t he see the book?

  It doesn’t matter, he sees it now. It is just so, so… He blinks, there is something wrong, he should leav—

  He shakes his head, leave? Why, this is clearly a spellbook in front of him. This is what he wanted, this is what he needs. Before his head can be filled with more stupid thoughts, he moves.

  As he approaches it he thinks of another word for the book, Gigantic,it truly is bigger than his torso. Cumulus once told him of giants, beings like humans, but so much more. Size, sin and virtue all enhanced into epic proportions. Verek had thought them a myth, just like so many other things Cumulus had told him. Now though? With this in front of him? Looking at it he’s not so sure anymore.

  He inches toward it, heart thudding. The silverfish, their growths and patterns, the keys. All of it is connected, surely to this locked book. All of it was leading to this book. He understands it now, the way they just kept piling onto him, how they rushed to their deaths.

  They want to open it, they know it is worth it. He approaches, his hand reaching out to touch it, to feel the iron on his fingertips. To shove them into the lock, to open the book.

  He is so close to it, then he stops as something shifts to his right.

  The sound isn’t like the scattered skittering of the smaller silverfish, nor the plinking of keys. It’s heavier and rustling, the mound of trash rises, the detritus around it ripples, almost like water. The smaller insects scatter, vanishing between torn papers and broken bindings as the debris falls apart revealing an utterly gigantic silverfish. It seems to stretch, its segmented gleaming exoskeleton glittering in the light, a thing of metal and bug meat. Each part almost clicking into place, like an armillary sphere, antennae unfurling like twin silver whips, ending in key-like growth. Just like its six legs and three tails. The creature peels itself from the debris with unnatural skittering movements, almost like it does not know how to move, it’s almost as big as Verek himself.

  He stares at it, the creature seems…groggy. Almost like him just after waking up. it is not moving, not shaking its head or rubbing its eyes. But he can’t help but feel the creature is taking in its surroundings.

  He stares at the white markings along its carapace, similar to the ones he has seen on the others, but now much more complex. It still feels unfinished, incomplete, like it is still growing, still changing into something else.

  It turns its bulbous many-faceted eyes toward him, and it stares. All others were just insects, this one however…Its compound eyes seem to radiate purpose as it keeps staring at Verek.

  A single heartbeat passes. Then it lunges. Verek throws himself sideways, nerves faster than brains, instinct screaming louder than thoughts. He narrowly dodges the initial strike, but not the second—its heavy tail whips around with brutal force and slams into his ribs, sending him tumbling across the floor crashing against the scattering debris, destroying the hiding place of many insects. In the back of his mind, he can’t help but notice they are now completely ignoring him.

  The room is spinning, his breath has been knocked out of him, he tries to get up but struggles to get his bearings with the pulsating pain and fear inside of his head. He feels as though there are a thousand voices screeching inside his skull, telling him what to do, where to run, how to hide. None tell him to fight back. The creature moves, slowly and with purpose, and it puts itself between him and the book. He feels a sudden flash of irritation. Irrationally, he can almost see disdain across its insectile features. Like it thinks he’s not worthy of touching the book, like he’s too dumb to open it.

  Like he’s the insect invading its house, like he should be the one to be squashed.

  The creature lunges, coming towards him, but before he can scramble away the creature is on top of him, pushing him against the floor and further away from the book.

  “NO!” He screamed. He was so close! He has to touch it, to open it! He has to—

  Its insectile jaws snap forward. Verek throws up his arm. The mandibles catch on it, the silverfish bites down, gramarye surge forwards across his skin, it invades the creature’s body, moving across its shell like poison.

  And just as if it had been, the creature recoils, its white markings gleam in radiant light. He watches in horror as the white patterns on its body shift. Twist. Sharpen. Becoming brighter, absorbing his gramaryes, becoming more distinct. The creature stops, the markings across its body, they change, they become structured for a second, then they return to being meaningless streaks of white.

  The creature is still. Completely.

  The room is silent now, Verek is silent. He is holding his breath while staring at the creature.

  For a second Verek fools himself into thinking it is dead, maybe it burnt its brain. It shifts, a miniscule thing, but he knows why it did so. The silverfish’s eyes settle on him again, dead center. There's something terrifyingly close to intent behind them, almost as if the creature just became smarter.

  It moves, one of its antenna dainty points itself towards the book. Its key-like end approaches the lock. Verek feels a whirlpool of emotions surge from him. Anger and envy being at the forefront. And dread, dread that the book will be opened. Dread that it will not be him opening it. The key enters the lock, there is a flash…and nothing happens.

  The creature pulls its antenna out. It stares at Verek. It charges—faster this time—Verek can't dodge. It moves too quickly.

  The creature slams into him, jaws wide, and he raises his hands to shield his face or to try and punch it, he can’t tell which and then—the bite lands—not on his face, but on his right hand. Pain blossoms in his mind, as sharp and bright as the light explosions before. He chokes on a scream through gritted teeth, countless lines of letters pulse across his body. His mouth opens as he cannot hold his scream any longer. Breath and fear escape from his lips, mixing into a strident scream.

  He feels the skin tear, feels the bones break, feels the blood tendrils thinning as the creature distances itself, with his hand in its mouth.

  He stares dumbfoundedly at his arm, in pure shock.

  His hand. His hand is gone.

  NO, not gone, it’s there! Right there! In its damn mouth! Something at the back of his mind screams. For a single moment, he does not believe. There is no pain. Maybe it's a trick, a spell, an illusion from the creature.

  Then the moment continues. Blood pulses out of the stump with his every panicked heartbeat, and then along comes the pain.

  It hits him like thunder, it crashes over him like a wave, he doesn’t scream, he manages to bite it down his time. Gramaryes flash involuntarily across his skin, reacting to trauma rather than will,they dance like fireflies across his chest and neck.

  He grabs his arm, trying to stop the bleeding. The creature watches, chewing slowly. They stare at each other for a few seconds, Verek too fearful, too hurt and shocked to make any move at all, to think anything at all.

  The creature… too occupied chewing on his hand.It’s antenna inside the keyhole of the book. He hears the bone—of his damn hand!—break, the blood squirts out of it. There is a flash, the markings on its back shine once again, he sees the gramaryes in his hand move, and be absorbed. Yet the book does not open, the markings do not change significantly.

  It stops chewing.

  It goes still, and once again he can feel the thoughts behind its silence, once again he can see something behind its faceted eyes. A single thought blooms inside Verek’s head, probably at the same time it does on the creature’s.

  It does not want my flesh, it wants—

  It lunges, and in a single instinctual moment, Verek kicks it with both feet, right underneath its carapace. For one terrifying moment he sees its underside. Its momentum, as much as Verek’s kick, sends the creature flying past him, crashing against the wall.

  He doesn't wait to see what happens next.

  He scrambles upwards, clutching his bleeding arm to his chest, slipping on parchment and splintered wood, he bolts towards the crawlspace. He can feel the creature right behind him before he leaps, hoping to reach that dark square opening. He crashes into it. The walls scrape his shoulders, his knees, his bleeding arm screams with every jolt—but he keeps moving, dragging himself forward with one good hand, teeth clenched so tightly his jaw pops. He hears the creature reaming itself against the opening, crashing against wood and stone, it is wider than him, it can’t get in.

  At least that’s what he thinks, he does not dare to look behind him.

  Yeah, pretty disappointing overall. After that, I managed to write every day, although I don't feel all that great about the later chapters. I will probably spend some time changing things to be more aligned with what I wanted.