FB | Ch. 11 - Instar

Choose a skill to sacrifice.

The prompt wasn’t helpful. As always, the aliens just expected me to figure it out on my own. Jerks. Or maybe that’s just their culture.

How many birds back on Earth kick their chicks out of the nest? It’s not personal—they just believe that if the chicks don’t learn to fly then and there, they’re not worth raising.

Maybe, in some twisted way, our abductors were trying to help us—preparing us for the challenges ahead.

Or maybe I’d developed Stockholm Syndrome. You know, that thing where you start empathizing with your captors. No, scratch that. They’re just jerks. Forget the bird metaphor. The Giants are jerks. Period.

Turns out, to perform an instar, I had to sacrifice a skill. The secret to growth in this planet was letting go, like a breakup, but with fewer texts and more chitin.

I had questions. Did they mean a skill I had leveled up? Then why had I wasted precious skill points on them? Or could I ditch one I never planned to invest in?

And would I get anything in return? I mean, this was a quest. So far, completing quests usually came with a treat—not a dog biscuit, but a skill point.

After some thought, I chose Prey. Because if I ever needed that, something had already gone horribly wrong.

Are you sure you want to sacrifice [Prey]?

I did.

Skill tree updated.

I opened the tree. Something had changed.

There was now a line connecting Camouflage and Wood, labeled Wood Camouflage. Yeah… the aliens’ naming sense? Criminal.

Still, I clicked into it, trying to get a feel for what it actually did. No tutorial, of course. Just a vague description: “Improved environmental blending when surrounded by organic fibrous structures.” Whatever that meant.

Did that mean I’d blend in with trees? Turn brown? Grow bark? Could I pretend to be a log? I stared at a nearby branch, half-tempted to try lying still and see if anything happened.

Later, when I remembered what an instar actually was, it all made sense.

See, an instar is the stage when larvae molt to grow. They eat, they outgrow their skin, and then they shed it to make room.

In my case? I was molting skills. By letting go of old ones, I unlocked new ones.

And that, my friend, is how the aliens built a vibrant new insect ecosystem in Blllrrggh.

Billions of kidnapping victims. Multiple intelligent species. A grab bag of insect templates from their homeworlds. And the freedom to build virtually anything.

I’m serious—it’s almost impossible to find two people with the exact same skills, let alone the same skill point allocation.

After I completed the quest, I got a notification.

[First Instar] completed.

You've received one skill point.

Now I had two skill points to spend—one from reaching level five, and another from instaring.

Carlos spoke up.

“Hal, I haven’t heard you chewing in a while. Everything OK, man?”

He leaned around the mossy stick. He tried to keep it light, but his three pairs of eyes scanned me like he expected to find me belly-up, twitching.

Yeah… if a bug isn’t eating, something’s wrong.

I reassured him I was fine and got back to work, chewing my way to level six while mulling over my next move.

Leveling was starting to slow down. Another point in [Timber Tummy] seemed like a safe investment. On the other hand, I still felt helpless in a fight. Carlos’s earlier false alarm had only made that clearer.

And then there was [Wood Camouflage]—a skill I hadn’t tested yet.

Choosing where to spend skill points? It reminded me of being a teenager when my parents offered to buy me either an Xbox or a PlayStation. I was ecstatic—and completely paralyzed with indecision. Multiply that feeling by three, and you’ve got the thrill of holding unspent skill points. Nothing beats that strange cocktail of frustration and anticipation.

In the end, I played it safe. One point into Timber Tummy. The other—I kept in reserve. For a rainy day.

The moment I activated it, new scents bloomed into my awareness. And boy, oh boy. Something was calling to me.

Compared to before, it was like going from hearing a single instrument to listening to a full orchestra. There was something delicious nearby.

“Hey, Carlos?”

“What?” one of him responded, leaving the other two to keep chewing—a trick he’d picked up during our chat.

“I just boosted [Timber Tummy] again. There’s something tasty in that direction. Want to check it out?”

“You want me to come with you?”

Of course, I did. He was a former police officer and a walking radar. Plus, when predators showed up, he tended to scatter in multiple directions—making me statistically less interesting.

Still, I didn’t feel great about relying on him. What could a larva like me bring to the table? I told him as much.

He waved it off. “Relax, bro. You’re not the only one getting something out of this. You’re showing me where the good stuff is. Besides, talking to you has cleared up a lot of things I was confused about.”

“You sure?”

“I am. You’re my first friend here on Blllrgh. Let’s go.”

If someone had told me yesterday that I’d be adventuring with a termite buddy on an alien planet, I’d have laughed in their face. But here I was.

And just like that, I set off with Carlos, following the scent trail toward what promised to be one very tasty meal.

Ch. 10 - Instagram for the Famous

INDEX