The sheer face of the red pebble mountain loomed above Dave, an insurmountable cliff in his microscopic world. The faint, sweet scent – promising energy, promising the precious biomass he needed – drifted down from a narrow fissure far above. Vorlag's chilling presence, a lingering pressure wave of cold intent and potent Aether, had thankfully receded from the glass, leaving only the low hum of the palace and the tank's filtration. But his threat echoed in Dave's consciousness: *Scour that moss bed. Filter the substrate. Get a sample.* The siphon wasn't coming; it was *hunting*.
Dave pushed the fear down. Paralysis still numbed his right side, making his cilia sluggish and uncoordinated. Biomass: 88%. The climb was madness, but staying low meant being vacuumed into oblivion when Kael arrived. He pressed his membrane against the cool, slightly rough surface of the pebble. Using his functional left-side cilia and pseudopods for grip, he began the agonizing ascent.
It was a battle fought micron by micron. Gravity was a relentless enemy. Water currents, stirred by distant movements he couldn't see, threatened to peel him off. He felt every minute imperfection in the stone: smooth patches where he slid back, gritty sections offering fleeting purchase, sharp ridges that threatened to puncture his weakened membrane. He tasted the minerals – iron, silica – leaching from the stone through direct contact. His chemoreceptors, hyper-alert, scanned only his immediate surroundings: the mineral tang of the rock, the faint decay scent from below, the distant, ever-present fear-smell of predators (the nematode was still near the moss, its signature a cold ember of danger). There were no voices, no faces, only the vast, silent pressure of the water and the looming stone.
Halfway up, exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him. Biomass dipped to 86% from the sheer effort. The sweet scent seemed no closer. Despair whispered again. Then, his leading pseudopod touched something different – not stone, but a slick, viscous film coating a small ledge. The source of the scent! **Algal nectar**, secreted by a micro-colony of diatoms thriving in a damp crevice. It smelled like concentrated life-energy.
He latched onto it, extending his membrane to envelop the sticky treasure. The influx of sugars and complex molecules was immediate and revitalizing. Energy surged through him, dulling the numbness slightly, strengthening his grip. Biomass climbed: 89%... 91%... *94%*. He consumed greedily, the film shrinking under his assault. It wasn't enough to reach 100%, but it was a lifeline.
As he fed, his chemoreceptors picked up a subtle shift nearby. Not a predator. Something… strange. A cluster of faint, almost metallic signatures embedded in the stone itself, near the nectar crevice. They felt inert, dormant. **Metallic Micro-nodules?** AURA offered no designation, just a neutral `> UNIDENTIFIED INORGANIC INCLUSIONS. MINIMAL AETHERIC SIGNATURE.`
Suddenly, a powerful vibration shuddered through the stone, jolting Dave. It wasn't localized; it resonated through the entire tank, strong enough to dislodge silt far below. It felt *mechanical*, rhythmic. *Thrum-thrum-thrum.* Then, a change in water pressure – a distinct, localized *pull* originating from the far end of the tank, near where the filter outflow was. The direction Kael would approach from.
`> PRESSURE ANOMALY DETECTED. FLOW PATTERN SHIFT.`
`> ANALYSIS: INITIAL FILTER SYSTEM TEST. PRELUDE TO MAINTENANCE CYCLE.`
`> ESTIMATED TIME TO HOSTILE ACTION (SIPHON DEPLOYMENT): 15-30 MINUTES.`
Panic, cold and sharp, sliced through Dave's relief. Kael was starting the systems. The hunt was imminent. He had minutes, not hours. He needed that final 6% biomass *now*. The algal nectar was gone. He scanned desperately with his chemoreceptors.
Below him, the nematode's cold signature was still near the moss, patient. To his left, only bare stone. To his right… a new scent. Faint, yeasty, but different. Not bacteria. **Fungal spores?** Drifting down from higher up on the pebble, carried by a slight current. They smelled… edible. Risky, but everything was risky now.
He pushed off the ledge, angling upwards and right, following the spore trail. His right-side cilia were regaining some function, the paralysis receding, but still clumsy. The rhythmic *thrum-thrum-thrum* of the filter test was a constant, terrifying reminder. He felt the water pulling more insistently towards the filter end.
The spores led him to a darker patch on the pebble – a patch of **black micro-fungus**, growing in a damp, shaded overhang. It pulsed with a faint, unhealthy aura. The scent was stronger now, tempting but also carrying an undertone of… wrongness. Potential toxin? Rot? AURA remained silent, offering no analysis.
*No choice.* Dave extended a pseudopod, touching the fungal mat. It felt cold and slightly slimy. He drew in a small filament. It dissolved easily, releasing a burst of complex, slightly bitter energy. Biomass: 96%. No immediate ill effects. He consumed more, faster. 98%... *99%*.
Then, agony. A searing, corrosive pain erupted where the fungus contacted his membrane. It felt like his very essence was dissolving. He recoiled violently, tearing away, but a patch of his membrane was left fused to the fungal mat, burning.
`> MEMBRANE INTEGRITY CRITICAL! UNIDENTIFIED CORROSIVE AGENT DETECTED!`
`> BIOMASS LOSS! 97%... 95%... STABILIZING AT 94%.`
`> WARNING: LOCALIZED TISSUE NECROSIS.`
Dave trembled, the corrosive pain a white-hot brand. He'd been so close! Now he was worse off than before, injured and still below the threshold. The *thrum-thrum-thrum* of the filter intensified. He felt a new, stronger suction wave pull at him. The siphon was coming online.
Desperation morphed into cold, focused rage. He *would* not be sludge. He scanned again, ignoring the pain. Then, he sensed it – right beside the burning fungal patch, almost masked by its corrosive signature. A tiny crack in the stone, weeping a clear, viscous fluid. It smelled… pure. Clean. **Mineral-rich seepage.** Water filtered through the stone itself, carrying dissolved nutrients.
Ignoring the searing pain from the fungal contact, Dave lunged for the seepage crack. He pressed his wounded membrane against it, enveloping the oozing fluid. It was cool, soothing. It lacked the explosive energy of the fungus or nectar, but it was safe, constant. Biomass began a slow, steady climb: 95%... 96%... 97%...
The *thrum-thrum-thrum* shifted pitch, becoming a deeper, more powerful **WHOOSH**. The suction intensified dramatically. Dave felt the water *move*, dragging silt, debris, and small organisms towards the far end of the tank. He clung to the seepage crack, his cilia digging into the stone. The red pebble vibrated with the force of the activated systems.
He could sense distant chaos through the water – frantic chemical bursts as micro-fauna were caught in the current, the panicked scrambling of Glimmer-Skrimps, the detachment of small snails. Closer, the cold signature of the nematode near the moss suddenly surged with alarm and began moving *away*, fleeing the disturbance.
Dave kept feeding, the mineral seepage a slow but steady lifeline. 98%... 99%... The world narrowed to the crack, the pain, the terrifying pull of the current, and the relentless climb of his biomass counter. He could almost taste the Evolutionary Menu.
Then, a new sensation. Not chemical, not pressure. *Vibration.* Directly transmitted through the stone he clung to. Rhythmic. Heavy. *Footsteps.* Approaching the section of the tank *beneath* the red pebble mountain. Stopping. A metallic *clank* resonated through the water, louder than the filter's whoosh. The sound of equipment being set down. Right where the substrate met the glass. Right where Kael would start his "thorough" cleaning.
`> BIOMASS THRESHOLD REACHED: 100%.`
`> EVOLUTIONARY MENU UNLOCKED.`
`> WARNING: HOSTILE ENTITY PROXIMITY: EXTREME. SIPHON ACTIVATION IMMINENT.`
`> SELECTION WINDOW: OPEN.`
The menu shimmered in his perception – Cilia Propulsion Array, Thickened Pellicle Membrane, Photosynthetic Patch. But Dave barely registered the options. All his enhanced senses screamed one thing: the siphon's nozzle was inches away, in the hands of a giant who wouldn't see him, only the "detritus" he was about to erase. The heavy footsteps vibrated through the stone, through his very core. The metallic *clank* echoed again, final and terrifying.
He had seconds. Choose, or be chosen by the vacuum.