Once my purchases were complete, as the hours had passed, I stayed a moment longer to observe the marshland floor — it was growing darker, more spongy, under the effect of time acceleration. The heart of my matrix was breathing slowly, but with increasing strength. Moisture was rising. Life would soon take root.
Then, satisfied, I summoned teleportation.
In a single thought-beat, my body dissolved into the air to reappear on the other side of the marsh, to the north, where everything still had to be built. This place had nothing yet — no flora, no relief, no plan. It was virgin, but not for long.
I slowly stood up, feet anchored in this bare earth, then, in a controlled breath, I spoke a word:
— Inventory, I said in a calm voice, barely hiding the excitement already vibrating in me.
[INVENTORY I — Main Access]Stored elements: 3/50
[Polara Toxica] x3[Arborea Toxica] x1[Lysirides] x4
I clicked on [Polara Toxica] for the first time.
And immediately, a seed appeared in my palm — tiny, almost ordinary, but full of promise. I couldn't wait any longer. On my knees, with bare hands, I dug into the dark, grainy earth, just a few centimeters deep, just enough to receive the poisoned vegetal heart.
I planted it at the direct edge of the marsh, where the moisture was already licking the soil's invisible roots.
I repeated the gesture twice more, carefully spacing each seed by a few meters, as if to offer them distinct territories, their own breath. Each implantation was an almost sacred act. A discreet but strategic alignment.
Then I moved on to the next.
[Arborea Toxica].
The seed, heavier, rougher, appeared with a new gravity in my hand. I chose a more withdrawn spot, slightly drier, less exposed to direct marsh water, but no less crucial.
I knew that water, inevitably, would seep in. That the soil would slowly become saturated with moisture. And in any case, I fully intended to help it do so. The terraforming tool would be there to artificially expand the marsh, branch its veins, stretch its grip across the entire floor.
This was the beginning of a living network, a poisoned scaffolding that would grow in silence… and beauty.
So this time, I dug deeper.
I wanted the Arborea's bulb to find a bed worthy of the name, solid, buried, stable. My hands slowly sank into the still compact soil. I placed the bulb there with almost tender care, then closed the hole, re-compacting the earth around it, like tucking in a sleeping body.
I stood up, then walked toward the marsh.
With bare hands, I scooped some water, held it like a fragile offering, and returned to moisten the soil around the young sprout. I did this several times, silent back-and-forths, until the soil in that precise spot was darker, softer, more welcoming.
The ground had changed.
And now… there was nothing left but to wait.
Time, accelerated, would do its work.
I had only to watch, to hope, to witness the toxic life I had just sown begin to grow.
So I lay down on my back, where the earth was still hard, sterile, foreign to any form of life. Back pressed to the bare ground, arms open, eyes lost in the gray, neutral sky, I let the accelerated time pass — twenty times faster than normal.
Three days.That's how long it would take for my Polara Toxica to reach maturity, before their stamens released the toxic pollen, that delicate and deadly mist.
At that moment, in about three and a half hours for me, I would introduce the Lysirides.
They would then come to feed on the pollen, participate in pollination, support the plant in its reproductive cycle. A subtle alliance: the plant offered the toxin, the insect returned permanence.
Everything fit together.The marsh offered water, the Lysirides ensured diffusion, and the Polara, once nourished and matured, would produce their poisoned fruits, which, upon falling, would trigger the next phase of the process.
I had done my calculations:
The lifespan of a Polara Toxica was 12 days, with 3 days of growth. That left 9 fertile days. During that time, each plant produced 1 to 3 fruits every two days.
Assuming an average of 2 fruits per cycle, that gave 4 cycles… so about 8 fruits per plant.
With a germination rate of 20%, each Polara would give birth, on average, to two new Polara before dying.
And that was just the visible surface of the plan.
The true genius, the true invisible engine of my floor, was the fruit fallen to the ground.
Because each fruit would ferment, compost, heat the soil. And that heat, slowly but inexorably, would raise the local temperature.
The more the Polara multiplied, the more fermentation would increase — and with it, moisture, condensation, dampness.
It was exactly what I wanted: a heavy, humid, sticky climate. A swampy heat, unnatural, self-generated.
A closed toxic cycle.
And that wasn't all.
The fruits, once rotted, would nourish the soil. Not only with minerals, but above all with toxins. And with the marsh water slowly seeping into underground veins, every parcel of earth, every liter of water, would eventually become poisoned.
Toxic. Deeply. Irreversibly.
And I, lying there, eyes half-closed, smiled.
The process was underway.
The concept extended to Arborea Toxica as well.
Their life cycle was longer, slower, graver — but the mechanism remained the same. Each violet fruit, fallen onto moist ground, had a chance to germinate, to give birth to a new tree.
Little by little, methodically, the Arborea would spread across the floor, accompanying the artificial expansion of my marsh, following its trace like a silent vine. Its roots would sink into ever-damper soil, its leaves would weigh down the air, and its fruits — them too — would feed the ground, poison the water, stain every trickle with toxin.
The soil would become saturated. The water would turn bitter, unstable, heavy with slowly distilled substances.
I couldn't help but exhale, aloud:
— Beautiful…
And that was still nothing compared to what the Lysirides promised.
They were something else. A proliferation. A soft, continuous, almost invisible explosion — but exponential.
Each insect, in its short nine-day life, would lay two eggs every three days. With a hatching rate of 50%, that meant nine descendants on average per individual. And each of those descendants… would do the same.
They would be everywhere.
Under the Polara leaves, in the crooks of Arborea branches, around stagnant pools and floral mists. Everywhere.
And most importantly… they wouldn't die for nothing.
Each Lysiride, at death, would bring me souls. A slow but steady point source. A natural, self-sustaining source. A cycle that needed nothing but time and space to grow.
It was my invisible army, my silent swarm, and for now… my greatest source of power.
And precisely, thinking of them, I felt the moment approach.
It was time.
I slowly turned toward the spot where, a few hours earlier, I had planted my first Polara Toxica, those poisoned promises. And what I saw took my breath away.
They were now mature.
The Polara Toxica stood tall with a strange grace, like forgotten flowers from a toxic world, frozen in silent bloom. Their thin stems, both supple and tense, seemed to vibrate in the wind — a wind that did not exist.
But it was their petals that captured the light.
Mauve, almost translucent, they radiated iridescent reflections, oscillating between deep violet, electric blue, and pale silver, as if each cell of their surface contained a living prism. At their center, their stamens had lengthened, bristling with dark violet pollen grains, dense, shining, ready to explode at the slightest touch.
The air around seemed heavier, denser, as if the mere presence of these flowers altered the consistency of the atmosphere.They were beautiful, undeniably, but in that beauty, there was something deadly, hostile, irreversible.
It was exactly what I wanted.
— Inventory, I said, my voice barely steady, tense with excitement, burning with the urge to introduce the very first fauna of my world.
It was a founding moment, almost sacred. The passage from plant to animal. From stillness to motion.
I had sown the decor. Now… the actors were about to take the stage.
[INVENTORY I — Main Access]Stored elements: 1/50
[Lysirides] x4
I clicked once, and immediately, it appeared in the hollow of my hand.
A Lysiride.
Small, fragile in appearance, but incredibly elaborate.
Its body, barely wider than a finger, was covered in translucent scales with iridescent reflections — like a poisonous flower in mid-flight, ready to deceive the eye of its prey.
Its wings, diaphanous, slowly folded, seemed to barely vibrate, charged with a liquid mirror where every hue of the sky was refracted.
But they were not simple wings: they pulsed, emitting a delicate aerosol, nearly invisible, a narcotic mist barely perceptible to the eye, yet already heavy with slow sedation.
Its legs, fine, tapered like those of a sphinx, bent with grace, and at the end of its abdomen glowed a chitinous needle, fine as a hair — neurotoxic weapon, brief but precise.
Then I clicked three more times. Three beats. Three creations. And my inventory was empty.
They flew off immediately, all four of them, in an almost supernatural choreography. And under the effect of time acceleration, their flight took on phantasmagorical dimensions.
They moved in slow waves, their wings beating softly, as if in slow motion, but multiplied by twenty, their trajectories became hypnotic spirals, nervous arabesques tracing misty lines in the thickened air.
They danced around me, then, as if driven by innate instinct, flew fluidly toward the three Polara Toxica.
Their approach was precise, measured. Each Lysiride positioned itself above a flower, hovering just low enough to brush the stamens with their trembling wings. In response, the plant pulsed, its filaments vibrating with contained energy, offering its pollen as a gift.
The Lysirides were feeding.
Their presence also fed the plant, which, stimulated by the contact, swelled with reproductive intent. A toxic symbiosis, perfect. A venomous but balanced cycle, launched in the loop of a world beginning to breathe.
And I, witness to this accelerated scene, stood still, watching life animate itself in speed, precise, mechanical, sublime.