“That’s apparent.” Treacle chewed cud.
“Treacle!” Inga said, exasperated. “This is not the time to be negative. We have to remain positive. Logan would want us cheering him on.”
The minotaur swallowed his cud. “Yay. Go, Logan. You can do it.” It was the flattest, most unhelpful cheer in the history of pep rallies, letter jackets, and beer bongs.
Logan couldn’t respond. He was focusing on breathing, cultivating, and trying to get back into that peaceful vision of his Silverbark forest.
His friends continued to talk, planning out their combined dungeon, and hoping that Logan tied another knot. If this worked, then in theory that would permanently increase his Apothos processing power, which—again in theory—would allow him more symbiotic bonding time with his teammates.
Logan focused his thoughts, shutting out their chattering voices. Suddenly, he found himself under the swirling galaxy light, with the silver fungal towers rising up from the soil covering the Tree of Souls. He was so tired, and though he’d made significant progress along the new path, he still had a good three feet to go. Three feet to connect the new section of path to the original. Three feet didn’t seem like much, but these were the hardest of all. But he couldn’t give up. Not now. Not after how far they’d come and how much they’d all sacrificed to be here.
He gritted his teeth and pushed against the terrible, invisible resistance holding him back. Every inch felt like it sapped the last of his strength. How would he find the energy for the next step?
He couldn’t think about the steps. That was the answer. Instead, he focused on his friends. On his why. His Uncle Bud used to say that if your why was big enough, nothing could stop you from achieving it. He couldn’t dwell on the difficult, but on the reason why that difficult thing was worth doing.
Step...
He thought of Treacle’s pessimism. What if they were able to pass their Final Exam? How would that change the minotaur’s attitude?
Step...
He thought of Inga failing the Stringentia Strigiformes Exam. Her life had been destroyed. And yet she’d believed enough in him to join him. He risked her life and her fate, and he couldn’t let her down.
Step...
He thought about Marko. About the sad, drunken tragedy of his life. The satyr had grown, matured, and Logan wanted to do this for Marko. He wanted them to win, together. Marko had mourned his friend, but he’d also felt the Tree of Souls, the beauty of being connected to the source of life itself.
Step...
And that was the biggest why of all. Logan needed to do this because the Tree of Souls was bigger than him. He knew he could help protect the Tree and that he could help restore Apothos to Earth. He could save his world from withering and dying. If that’s wasn’t worth the pain and the hardship, then nothing was.
Logan steeled himself. It was time to solve this problem, tie another knot, and be the hero. He gritted his teeth and pushed—not just with his physical strength, but with the strength of his will, intention, and determination. He pushed with his whole being and completed the final step, connecting the path into one beautiful whole.
The result was immediate. The red blazed gold, a bright yellow color, a bit brighter than his skin, but not much.
He stood there, glowing, and suddenly, the multiverse wasn’t light, with the shadow of the Tree of Souls reaching through reality. It was the Tree that gleamed silver, and all else was shadow and darkness. The Tree vibrated with all the Apothos in the universe. It was aware of Logan. He felt the presence of this living thing—gigantic, unfathomable, and ancient—and he felt its gratitude.
In a blink, it was gone and he was back in his fungaloid form, lying on his bed. His eyes winked open. No headache. No pain. Nothing but a feeling of being the most powerful being in existence. That was laughable because he was only an Iron Trunk cultivator, Rank 6 now. He didn’t get extra goodies, but he did have Apothos to spare.
Hopefully, enough to pull them all together. He pulled up his Guardian Matrix and toggled over to his Symbiosis ability, muttering a silent prayer under his breath. He scanned over the description until he got to the Restrictions section.
<<< ※ >>>
Logan Murray
Guardian Core Matrix
Base Race: Fungaloid
Current Evolution: Shroomian Acolyte
Cultivator Class: Iron Trunk Cultivator; C-Class, Rank 6
Primary Elemental Affinities: Morta/Toxicus
Racial Abilities:
- Digestion
Racial Skill:
- Domestic Fungi
Level-One Proto-Spore Cultures
- Opal Truffles, Mucal Film, Ghoul’s Snare, Blister Wart
Level-Two Proto-Spore Cultures
- Braincaps, Gem-studded Puffballs
Level-Three Proto-Spore Cultures
- Spore Wargs
Fungal Form (Active):
- Exoskeleton
Fungal Form (Passive):
- Fungal Vision
- Disease Immunity
- Poison Immunity
Spore Halo:
- Pollinic Affliction
- Symbiosis
- Athlete’s Foot
- Rapid Growth
<<<>>>
Alert! As an Iron Trunk cultivator (C-Class, Rank 6), you have the ability to bond with up to three different hosts at the same time.
Restrictions! All fungaloids can naturally bond with one Prime Host, but maintaining a symbiotic connection with more than the Prime Host is a taxing process that can only be maintained for a limited period of time. Note, when the time allotment elapses, the secondary Hosts will be released, though the Prime Host will remain infected! Note, to increase your infection time allotments, cultivate more Core Knots, which will allow for greater focus and more efficient Apothos utilization!
Prime Host = Permanent Bond
Prime Host + 1 = 10 Hours
Prime Host + 2 = 6 Hours
<<< ※ >>>
Logan shot up, leaning against his palms, and couldn’t suppress his grin. “Guys, I did it! It nearly killed me, but I tied that knot like a kindergartner lacing up their sneakers.”
“Sneakers?” Marko asked
“Kindergartner?” Treacle asked.
“He is speaking nonsense! We have our Logan back!” Inga tried to dance, but instead, she stumbled against Treacle, whose horns put more scratches in the sloping ceiling.
Logan hauled himself up. “What day is it?”
“Friday night,” Marko said. “And notice, I’m not in Vralkag. I’m with you, in a cramped attic room which smells basically like a graveyard.”
“A delicious graveyard,” Logan countered. “What time is it?”
“It’s past ten,” Inga said.
Logan winced. “Rockheart isn’t going to be happy to see us.”
Treacle came up with an odd joke. “I don’t know. I’m very handsome.”
“Bovine eye candy!” Marko yelled. “Come on! Let’s go ruin Rockheart’s night!”
Chapter Thirty-Three
PROFESSOR YULLIS ROCKHEART studied the four troublesome students who stood before his desk at an inappropriate time on a Friday night, with an inappropriate request. He was already in his housecoat for the evening, lush slippers covering his stony feet, yet here these miscreants were, disturbing his routine.