...You continued your atrocious chortling, losing yourself in your grotsque mirth. You sides would be splitting if they hadn't already been blown open, but even this wouldn't be enough to end your gloriously offensive existence. No, not yet. Many of your organs were currently missing in action, to be sure, and the rest had suffered a critical degree of physical trauma, but your FFL(EHSH would keep moving so long as precious paragel continued to circulate between your biovessel and your conceptual core, by far the best protected organ nestled deep within your membranes, and already it was delivering your abberant concept to the empty space your physical material was supposed to be. Already you could feel yourself rebuilding.
You would live. You would survive as you had through countless catastrophes before, to once again enjoy the rich delights of reality itself dissolving around you. With your few remaining digestive sacs still packed with the mangled meats of your plump babies, you didn't even care to finish off your would-be adversaries, snickering with renewed entertainment at the thought of simply leaving them to cave in with the rest of the zone.
Though you were never aware of it, but...somehow, over the course of your unfathomably extensive existence, you had come to place a sort of value in at least one singular life. Consciously you anticipated your inevitable doom, looked eagerly towards what marvelous form your death could potentially take, but somewhere inside you was a quiet, secret resolve that the moment would never come; that oblivion was, strangely, not as desirable as awareness. That even the question of how you might die was a pleasure you might never truly be ready to abandon even for that death's embrace. You were different. You were special. Above all else, you were eternal.
Or, perhaps, you might have been, if your one remaining paragel hose was not only dangling quite unprotected outside of your still-regenerating biomass, but was by meaningless coincidence precisely the right shape to fit between the jaws of one very small, but enormously unhygenic canine.
You would live. You would survive as you had through countless catastrophes before, to once again enjoy the rich delights of reality itself dissolving around you. With your few remaining digestive sacs still packed with the mangled meats of your plump babies, you didn't even care to finish off your would-be adversaries, snickering with renewed entertainment at the thought of simply leaving them to cave in with the rest of the zone.
Though you were never aware of it, but...somehow, over the course of your unfathomably extensive existence, you had come to place a sort of value in at least one singular life. Consciously you anticipated your inevitable doom, looked eagerly towards what marvelous form your death could potentially take, but somewhere inside you was a quiet, secret resolve that the moment would never come; that oblivion was, strangely, not as desirable as awareness. That even the question of how you might die was a pleasure you might never truly be ready to abandon even for that death's embrace. You were different. You were special. Above all else, you were eternal.
Or, perhaps, you might have been, if your one remaining paragel hose was not only dangling quite unprotected outside of your still-regenerating biomass, but was by meaningless coincidence precisely the right shape to fit between the jaws of one very small, but enormously unhygenic canine.
