The journey to the Cervini town took two days of steady travel through golden grasslands that stretched to every horizon. Jake spent the time observing. Learning. Cataloging details about the Champions and the chosen and the grid's mechanical perfection.

  The team called him "Priest."

  Not mockingly. Just stating fact. Like it was his title now regardless of Krove's override. The female Centaur had been first, asking him to help organize sleeping arrangements in a way that suggested religious authority rather than conscript status.

  "Priest can handle the distribution. He's used to managing congregations."

  Jake had frozen. Processed the implication. "I'm not actually…"

  "The Elder chose you as successor," Stonehoof interrupted. "Despite your weakness, we all know what you did in Millstone. And it was announced to the Warmaster that it had already decided. That makes you Priest in our eyes even if the Champions don't recognize it."

  The Arieti nodded agreement. Curlhorn spoke with the careful respect reserved for religious figures. "It's an honor to travel with blessed leadership. Even in these circumstances."

  Great. Can't escape the reputation. Now I'm 'Priest' to people who think that means something.

  Jake tried to deflect. Tried to explain about the amnesia and the memory loss and how he barely understood Bovari religious practices let alone qualified to lead them.

  But the chosen didn't care. They wanted spiritual authority. Wanted someone to look to for guidance. And Jake's "blessed" status combined with the Elder's selection made him that figure regardless of truth.

  And so… He became "Priest" to nine young taurs heading toward probable death. He would played yet another role. He would ware yet another mask. And his con artist skills would serve him once again, even here.

  Please, just don't let them ask theological questions I can't answer. The first time I slip up and say Snake Fuckers, I am toast.

  The prairie stretched endlessly. Golden grass. Blue sky. The kind of pristine beauty that would have been breathtaking if it wasn't hiding systematic tyranny.

  Jake's enhanced senses detected wildlife movement constantly. Small creatures in the grass. Birds overhead. The ecosystem functioning beneath the grid's agricultural overlay.

  And larger things. Predators that the grid couldn't completely suppress. Creatures that existed in gaps between towns. In the exact spaces where perfect order gave way to natural chaos.

  William scouted ahead. The zombie fly's enhanced speed let it range miles beyond the wagon. Since ingesting the stone, his connection to William had enhanced a hundred fold. Jake monitored through void sense. Watching. Mapping. Looking for threats before they became problems.

  He considered life leaching a few of the prairie inhabitants, but without knowing exactly what the capabilities were of their fearless leadership, he had decided against it. After a few days of walking, he could feel his hunger starting to break through for the first time in weeks.

  The first prairie wyrm appeared on the second day.

  Jake's Life sense detected it before visual confirmation. Large. Serpentine. Flying with the same grace he'd seen months ago when one had chased him into the rabbit warren.

  Dangerous. Not immediately threatening at this distance. But if it gets closer…

  Then he detected more.

  Many more.

  Jake's consciousness expanded through William's perspective. Counted shapes circling in the sky miles ahead. Not just one wyrm. Not even a few.

  A swarm.

  Twenty at minimum. Maybe more. And some were massive. Easily twice the size of the one Jake had barely escaped. Apex predators moving in coordinated patterns that suggested pack intelligence.

  Oh fuck.

  "Stop the wagon!" Jake's voice carried urgency that made everyone turn. "Wyrms ahead. A lot of them. Coming this way."

  Krove pulled his mount to halt. The Champions followed suit with practiced synchronization. They looked where Jake pointed. Saw the distant shapes with eyes better than his borrowed Bovari vision.

  The Warmaster's expression didn't change. Didn't show concern. Just acknowledgment that something existed ahead.

  "How many?" the female Centaur asked casually. Like she was asking about weather.

  "Twenty that I can see. Some are huge."

  Broadhorn snorted. "The 'blessed one' is scared of flying snakes. Typical."

  The other chosen shifted uncomfortably. They'd grown up hearing about prairie wyrms. Knew they were dangerous. Knew attacks could devastate villages if they got past defenses.

  And here was a swarm heading directly toward them.

  Jake's instincts screamed run. Every survival skill honed since Earth said the smart move was immediate retreat. Get distance. Find cover. Don't engage apex predators when massively outnumbered.

  He started moving toward the wagon's rear. Looking for exit. For escape route that would…

  "Where are you going, Priest?" Meadowstride's voice carried contempt that matched Broadhorn's.

  Jake stopped. Realized every chosen was staring at him. Judging. Seeing their supposed spiritual leader trying to flee.

  "The wyrms…"

  "Aren't a threat." Krove's voice was flat. Bored even. "Sit down. This won't take long."

  The Champions moved apart with casual efficiency. No urgency. No weapon preparation. Just stretching like they were about to do light exercise rather than face twenty flying fuck off snakes.

  The chosen watched with expressions ranging from confusion to knowing acceptance. Stonehoof and the Arieti didn't look worried. Looked like they'd seen this before. Understood something Jake was missing.

  Broadhorn's grin was vicious. "First real danger and the blessed one tries to run. This is going to be entertaining."

  Jake's borrowed face burned with humiliation. But he couldn't deny the accusation. He HAD tried to flee. He was still considering crawling under the wagon. As they all stood, just looking at the darkening sky as death swarmed towards them, Jake edged slightly closer to the wagon.

  I don’t give a rats ass if these psychos can’t understand what those are capable of. If shit goes south, I’m bolting!

  The prairie wyrms closed distance rapidly. Jake's enhanced senses tracked them. Counted exact numbers. Twenty-three. With the largest easily forty feet long. Scales glinting in afternoon sun. Wings beating with power that moved massive serpentine bodies through air.

  They dove toward the wagon in coordinated attack pattern.

  And the Champions moved.

  The Verrin stepped forward first. Obese. Tusked. Moving with surprising grace for his bulk. He raised one hand in gesture that looked almost lazy.

  The air changed.

  Jake felt it through every affinity he possessed. Reality bending around concept he'd never encountered. Weight. Pressure. Mass.

  Gravity. That's GRAVITY affinity. I didn't know that existed!

  The diving wyrms slammed into invisible force. Momentum arrested mid-flight. They dropped from the sky like puppets with cut strings. Hit the prairie with impacts that raised dust and broke earth.

  Twenty-three wyrms. All grounded simultaneously. Struggling against pressure that pinned them to soil. Unable to lift off. Unable to fly. Just writhing helplessly while their natural advantage vanished.

  "Gravity manipulation," Jake whispered. Mind reeling. "He's changing FUNDAMENTAL FORCES."

  The female Centaur exhaled.

  Wind spread from her breath. But not normal air movement. This was cold that went beyond temperature. Death woven into atmospheric currents. Life affinity inverted and fused with Air in ways that made Jake's understanding of magic feel like child's play.

  The withering wind touched the closest wyrms. Their scales dried. Cracked. Turned to dust that blew away in the same breeze that created it. Two wyrms disintegrated completely. Just gone. Reduced to nothing by air that drained life force on contact.

  She's using TWO affinities FUSED. Making death into environmental effect. I thought my Cold fusion was advanced!

  The remaining wyrms screamed. Tried to escape. But gravity kept them pinned while withering wind spread through their ranks.

  The first Bovari Champion stepped forward. His hooves stamped earth with rhythm that made the ground respond. Stone affinity on scales Jake had never imagined.

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

  The prairie opened.

  Dirt and rock reshaped like clay in sculptor's hands. A massive stone hand rose from earth itself. Fingers closing. Crushing one of the largest wyrms with force that pulverized bone and flesh. The serpent's death scream cut off as stone squeezed it into paste.

  I pull pebbles from soil. Play with rocks. He SHAPES TONS of earth like it's nothing!

  The second Bovari moved in tandem. His affinity layered over his partner's work. Stone that rose from the ground began to glow. Heat radiating. Temperature climbing.

  The rock turned molten.

  Lava spread through the pinned wyrms. Engulfed them. Their scales provided no protection against superheated stone. They died screaming as flesh cooked and bones dissolved.

  Stone and Fire fused. Casual coordination. They're PLAYING. This is practice to them.

  The Arieti moved last.

  Jake almost missed the beginning. Just thin mist forming. Barely visible fog bank that spread through the remaining wyrms with speed that suggested Air affinity involvement.

  Small droplets condensed on wyrm scales. Water gathering. Coating the serpents in moisture that seemed harmless.

  Then the mist ignited.

  Not fire. Not exactly. Water and Air and Fire woven together in fusion that Jake's mind struggled to parse. The droplets superheated. The entire fog bank became steam in an instant. Pressure building. Expanding.

  The explosion was surgical.

  Wyrm eyes melted first. Burst from sockets as water inside flash-boiled. Scales buckled. Water that had seeped beneath them turned to vapor. Expanding. Tearing flesh from the inside out.

  The wyrms' screams were horrific. Animalistic. The sound of creatures dying in agony as their own biology turned against them.

  In seconds, the remaining wyrms were dead. Scalded. Burst. Destroyed by steam that had condensed and ignited with precision that required FOUR affinities working in perfect harmony.

  Water. Air. Fire. And Amplification to spread it. Four concepts woven together like breathing.

  The entire battle had lasted maybe thirty seconds.

  Twenty-three prairie wyrms. Apex predators that could devastate villages. Reduced to corpses and ash by five Champions who hadn't even broken a sweat.

  Krove hadn't moved. Just watched. Bored expression suggesting this was routine. Expected. Barely worth his attention.

  The Champions returned to their mounts. Casual. Like they'd swatted flies rather than killed creatures that had made Jake flee for his life months ago.

  And Jake stood by the wagon. Humiliated. Terrified. Mind reeling with implications he could barely process.

  I've been lighting candles. Making breezes stronger than farts. Playing with toys while thinking I was learning magic.

  These people wield MYTHOLOGY. Bend fundamental forces. Fuse multiple affinities into effects that shouldn't be possible. And they do it CASUALLY.

  The chosen watched with expressions ranging from awe to resignation. The Arieti nodded like they'd expected this. Bovari from Millstone Crossing looked shaken but not surprised.

  Only Jake seemed completely blindsided.

  Broadhorn's voice dripped satisfaction. "Still want to run, Priest? Or do you finally understand why we're not worried?"

  Jake couldn't answer. Couldn't form words through the realization crashing over him in waves.

  The Pantathians CONTROL these people. Keep them enslaved despite power that could reshape continents. What the FUCK kind of ability do the Snake Lords possess? What keeps Champions like these from just... rebelling? From using this power to break the grid?

  And the darker question underneath:

  What's in those caves that KILLS Champions who can do this? What trials could possibly be dangerous to people who make gravity and death wind and lava from nothing?

  The wagon resumed movement. Rolling past wyrm corpses that still steamed. Past evidence of power Jake couldn't match. Couldn't comprehend. Couldn't even properly categorize.

  He'd thought he was getting strong. Thought months of Syphon feeding and affinity practice had made him dangerous. Thought his collection of stolen abilities gave him edges.

  But compared to this?

  He was nothing. A minnow playing in puddles while ocean predators swam in the dark waters below him.

  The worst part was everyone else already knew. The chosen hadn't panicked because they'd grown up SEEING Champions. Knowing what power looked like when properly wielded. Understanding that wyrm swarms were inconveniences rather than threats.

  Only Jake, isolated in his village for three months, had missed the context. Had failed to understand the scale. Had exposed his ignorance by trying to flee.

  I'm not ready for this. Not even close. Whatever the caves hold, I'm going to die there.

  The realization should have been terrifying. Should have triggered planning. Escape attempts. Something.

  But instead, Jake felt strange calm settle over him.

  Not acceptance. Not resignation.

  Hunger.

  The Champions wielded power Jake had never imagined. Gravity manipulation. Death wind. Lava fusion. Steam ignition using four affinities woven together like breathing.

  And they'd learned it somewhere.

  The caves. They got this power from the caves.

  Jake's parasitic instincts began to tingle. That familiar sensation he'd felt looking at Jonas's brain. At Grikk's rage-filled corpse. At Thornback's dying form.

  Opportunity.

  The caves killed most who entered. But the survivors came out changed. Enhanced. Wielding abilities that went beyond anything Jake had stolen through consumption.

  What if that's not coincidence? What if the caves GIVE power to those who survive? What if that's the whole point?

  The crystal shard pulsed in his stomach. Integrated. Part of him now in ways that connected directly to whatever the caves were.

  Jake had been thinking about this wrong. The conscription wasn't just interruption to his mission. It was access to something he couldn't have reached otherwise.

  A source of power. A place that transformed those who survived it.

  I'm a parasite. I consume. I integrate. I steal abilities from everything I touch.

  So what happens when I enter a cave that MAKES Champions? What happens when something that creates power meets something that steals it?

  The hunger sharpened. Focused. The same instinct that had driven Jake to possess Thornback despite knowing it was theft. The same compulsion that made him drain flies every night. The same parasitic nature that defined everything he'd become.

  He wasn't walking toward death.

  He was walking toward the biggest meal he'd ever attempted.

  Let the others fear the trials. Let Broadhorn chase glory and the Champions feed their addiction.

  I'm going to eat whatever makes them powerful. Going to consume the source. Going to take everything the caves have to offer and make it MINE.

  The thought should have been disturbing. Should have triggered Fallen's conscience. Should have made Jake question whether he was becoming the monster Hope's curse said he was.

  But it didn't.

  Because the return of his hunger made Jake feel like himself. Not victim. Not conscript. Not blessed savior or holy priest.

  Just parasite.

  And once again, he was hunting.

  - - -

  The Cervini town appeared on the third day. Same geometric perfection. Same exact spacing. Same template architecture.

  But the differences were immediately obvious.

  The buildings were taller. More vertical. Designed for species that valued height and speed over bulk. Platforms connected by bridges. Elevated walkways that let Cervini move through their town in three dimensions rather than just two.

  And the Cervini themselves were beautiful.

  Deer-taurs. Graceful quadruped lowers with slender legs built for speed. Their quasi-human torsos showed the same engineered intelligence as other species. But refined. Elegant. Like someone had taken the base taur template and optimized it for aesthetics.

  Their antlers were magnificent. Not horns like the Bovari or rams like the Arieti. Branching bone that sprouted from their skulls in patterns unique to each individual. Some simple. Some elaborate. Status markers that also served as weapons and display.

  They moved through their town with fluid grace. Quick. Alert. The kind of species that valued reaction time and information.

  Messengers. They're built to be messengers. Fast. Agile. Perfect for carrying communications across the 120-mile gaps between towns.

  Jake watched a Cervini sprint across elevated bridge. The deer-taur covered distance that would have taken Bovari minutes in seconds. Leaping. Bounding. Making movement look effortless.

  Cervini. From Cervus. Latin for deer. Just like all the others.

  The pattern was undeniable now. Every species named in Earth's dead language. Bovari. Verrin. Arieti. Cervini. All of them connected to Latin terminology that shouldn't exist here.

  Someone from Earth named them. Or Pantathians have Earth connection. Or the species originated from Earth somehow.

  But how? When? Why?

  No answers. Just more evidence of links he couldn't explain.

  Krove conducted the Choosing with the same efficiency as before. Evaluated. Pointed. Selected five Cervini without hesitation.

  Two males: Swifthorn, Leapstride Three females: Quickfoot, Dashgrace, Boundwind

  They accepted selection with dignity tinged by fear. The Cervini understood what the caves meant. What trials represented. Their speed wouldn't help against whatever killed Champions who wielded mythology.

  Families said goodbye. Mothers hummed lullabies that sounded different again but carried same desperate hope. The universal language of parents losing children to conscription.

  And Jake counted. Four Bovari. Six Arieti. Five Cervini. Fifteen chosen total. The number felt significant somehow. Deliberate. Like Krove had been aiming for this exact count.

  Enough for what? What do the trials require? Why fifteen specifically?

  The Cervini joined the wagon. Crowded now. Bodies pressed together. Fifteen young taurs from three different species all heading toward same fate.

  They were nervous but not surprised by the wyrm corpses they'd passed. One of them, Swifthorn, actually seemed disappointed.

  "We missed the demonstration? I've always wanted to see Champions in actual combat."

  "It wasn't combat," Meadowstride said quietly. "It was extermination. The wyrms never had a chance."

  Swifthorn processed that. Nodded slowly. "Good. That's good. If we're walking into caves that kill people like that, at least we know the Champions are serious."

  The Cervini integrated with the Arieti and Bovari. Formed small groups based on species and personality. Once again continued the bonding that came from a shared dangerous fate.

  Jake stayed separate, as was his prerogative. Watching. Processing. Maintaining paranoid distance.

  But the title followed him. "Priest" spoken with respect he hadn't earned. The Cervini asked him to bless their journey. To pray for safe trials. To provide spiritual guidance for conscripts facing probable death.

  And Jake played the role. Faked prayers. Made up blessings. Let them believe he had connection to divine power that might protect them.

  Because that's what they needed. And he was very good at giving people what they needed while hiding what he actually was.

  Con artist. Parasite. Brain-eating monster pretending to be holy.

  But if it helps them face what's coming, maybe the lie is worth it.

  - - -

  The cave city appeared on the fifth day.

  Jake saw it first. His enhanced senses detected the structures while it was still miles distant. Not a town. Not a settlement. Something much larger.

  A fortress.

  Carved into mountainside that rose from the prairie like some geological anomaly. Stone walls that dwarfed anything the grid towns possessed. Architecture that suggested permanence rather than temporary function.

  And at its center, visible even from miles away, a massive entrance.

  The cave mouth.

  It dominated the fortress. Opening in the mountain that led to depths Jake's senses couldn't penetrate. Darkness that felt alive even from this distance. Breathing. Waiting. Calling to the Champions with addiction they couldn't resist.

  The team's physiological signals changed immediately. Heart rates elevated. Endorphins flooded their systems. The craving that had been gnawing at them for days suddenly intensified.

  They were almost home. Almost back to her. Almost able to feed the addiction that defined them.

  Jake felt what was left of the crystal shard in his stomach pulse. Responding to proximity. Recognizing its source. The fragment wanted to return to the whole. Wanted to reunite with the cave that had birthed it.

  And Jake's parasitic biology held it. Integrated it. Made it part of himself in ways that might matter when he crossed that threshold.

  The chosen fell silent. Staring at the fortress. At the cave mouth. At the destination they'd been traveling toward.

  This was it. The trials. The depths. The place where most of them would die.

  Broadhorn looked excited. Eager even. Like he couldn't wait to prove himself.

  The others showed fear mixed with resignation. They knew the odds. Knew survival was unlikely. But had accepted it with the fatalism that came from growing up in the grid.

  And Jake?

  Jake stared at the cave mouth and saw the pictogram come to life. The shining cave from the temple. Where species emerged. Where the Pantathian had taken the crystal.

  This is it. This is the origin. The source. The place where everything connects.

  And I'm about to walk into it carrying a piece of its heart in my stomach.

  The wagon rolled forward. Toward the fortress. Toward trials Jake didn't understand. Toward caves that bred and breathed and killed Champions who wielded power he couldn't match.

  And he smiled.

  - - -

  END CHAPTER 61