Eater Blade: Grinding in Apocalypse-Chapter 64: BIRTH OF THE ABNORMAL EATERS.

The trio moved forward, the tunnels ahead glowed faintly—blue veins of light snaking along the walls and floor like living circuits. The deeper they went, the hotter it got.

No one spoke at first.

The silence after a fight like that always hung heavy.

But Savier... never one to hold his tongue, finally broke it.

"So those freaks back there? The armored ones? That was insane. How the hell are Eaters evolving like that? Ordinary humans wouldn’t last a second just seeing those things."

Johnquis kept his eyes ahead, tone flat. "They’re not evolving. They’re adapting. Faster than we can study them."

Savier scoffed. "Abnormal Eater, my ass. Real creative name, Guild."

"It’s not about creativity. It’s classification. We don’t need pretty names, we need to know how to kill them. And right now, no one knows what they’ll turn into next.

Dancer moved ahead of them, silent and watchful—just like always, taking the lead. Her claws scraped gently against the walls now and then, testing the material. The tunnel twisted around them like the insides of some long-dead worm, veined and pulsing with a slow, unnatural rhythm.

Johnquis continued, voice steady.

"Eaters weren’t always like this. The early ones... they were just rotten things. Fast, dumb, hungry. All they wanted was to devour everything in sight."

"Yeah," Savier muttered. "Ugly as sin. Easy to kill. Mostly."

"They changed," Johnquis said. "Not all at once. Slowly. First early humans started seeing ones that could hide better. Then ones that hit harder. Then ones with armor. Abilities. Coordination."

"Now we’ve got damn crystal tanks with fists the size of my ego," Savier muttered.

Johnquis nodded. "They’ve started adapting."

Savier frowned. "To what?"

"To Earth," Johnquis said flatly. "To us."

"Wait, wait. You mean these things are mutating just to get better at living here?"

"Exactly," Johnquis said, stepping over a web of glowing stone. "They’re not just invading anymore. They’re embedding. Figuring out how to survive long-term. Evolving based on where they spawn."

Savier glanced around the cave walls. "So... like what? Local adaptations? One big biological Minecraft?"

"Close," Johnquis said. "Eaters born in cold zones? They get frost armor. Ones from swamps? Slimier, harder to catch. City-spawned? Steel plating, sometimes bio-tech fused right into their skin. Like a virus adapting to the hardware."

"Goddamn..." Savier muttered. "So we’re lucky we’re down here in the Southland. This whole zone’s basically the starter area, right? Training wheels. Low-level freaks."

Johnquis gave a small nod. "Yeah. Southland’s under Guild control. They send new Eater Blades here for first-time deployment. This quest? Maybe halfway to Middleland level. Nothing like the North."

Savier’s face darkened. "Yeah... heard the North’s a whole different hell."

Johnquis turned to him, eyes like stone. "Can you imagine what Eaters have evolved into up there? Especially the early ones—things that’ve been mutating for three hundred years straight?"

"Hey! Just imagining those freaks makes my ass hair stand on end." Savier forced a grin. "But they can wait. I’ll grind my rank, max out my loadout, and then—bam! Apocalypse ends. Delivered by yours truly—Savier the Savi—"

Johnquis cut him off. "Yeah, yeah. Save the monologue."

He kept walking. "The Guild couldn’t even keep up. Mutations came too fast, too chaotic. So they stopped trying to name every type. Now anything that doesn’t fit a standard Eater template? They just call it an Abnormal."

"Which is like... what, eighty percent of them now?"

"Probably more," Johnquis said. "Especially after more nests started stabilizing. Eater activity spiked. Mutations accelerated."

They reached a narrow drop, where the light was strongest. Below, a glowing trench pulsed—alive with heat and color.

Dancer crouched at the edge. Eyes sharp. Motionless.

Johnquis leaned in. "This isn’t just a nest," he said quietly. "It’s a forge."

Savier looked down, brow furrowed. "A forge?"

"A mutation forge," Johnquis explained. "Dense enough to birth new variants. The queens eat everything in the nest, compress it, recycle it. Then the spawn she births? They come out abnormal—stone-plated, crystal-armored, biomeched."

"Jesus..." Savier muttered. "So we’re not just walking into a nest. We’re walking into their damn factory."

Dancer stood, gave a flick of her claw. Forward.

The tunnel narrowed and twisted again. Light deepened—blue veins turning red. The walls shifted too, no longer just stone. Something smoother now. Half-organic. Half-grown.

Savier’s voice lowered. "I always thought Eaters were just some alien plague. Something to kill. Something to hate."

"They were," Johnquis said. "But they’re not just a threat anymore. They’re learning. Building. Adapting to us like we’re just another species to conquer."

"So what... we’re not fighting the apocalypse anymore."

Johnquis gave a dry smile. "No. We’re living in it. We’re the aliens now—living on a planet that doesn’t belong to us anymore."

Savier clenched his jaw. "And the Guild still just calls ’em Abnormals? Like slapping a name on it makes it less dangerous?"

"It’s all they can do. You can’t fight what you don’t understand. And the more these things evolve, the less we understand."

They kept moving. The path grew tighter. Ahead, deep rumbles echoed through the walls—low, distant, but getting closer. Something old. Something awake.

Then Savier spoke again, quieter this time.

"...So. Question."

Johnquis lifted a brow.

Savier’s voice was flat now. "If Eaters can evolve based on the environment... what happens when one of them evolves based on us?"

Johnquis paused mid-step. Glanced at Dancer.

He didn’t answer.

The three moved forward, silent, into the next chamber. They rounded a final bend and stopped.

The path opened into a massive chamber. The floor was flat, smooth, black stone but it was riddled with circular holes. Dozens of them. Some no bigger than a fist. Others wide enough to swallow a grown man whole. Each one gaped open into pure darkness.

Savier stepped closer, squinting down. "That... is way too many holes. Again."

Johnquis cracked a dry smile. "This place your wet dream or something? Endless holes, all shapes and sizes. And for you? Every hole’s a goal."

Savier shot him a look. "Keep talking and I’m pushing you into one."