There were ten more of the things he had fought, some twice the size. There were other things. Dead things like the one he laid on. There was no ground, only a sea of hostility and death.

He laid there, aware that his fight was one of several he’d have to engage in. His mouth was open and wouldn’t close and he was glad for it, because it could catch some of that moisture.

Survive, was the imperative.

The imperative gave him the strength to dismantle his attacker further, to work the gap open and to tear what he could free. Already, another hostile thing was scratching idly at the body of the dead thing he laid on. It might have been seeking entry. It might have been seeking him.

Much of his enemy was hollow, the space occupied by fluids that were easily displaced or lost. He tore what he could and worked his way inside, his hard nub of a limb doing some of the work. His head was heavy, and following the imperative meant that he had to stop taking that meager water from the sky and put his head within.

It was not an easy fit, and it was one that took some effort. The roles had been reversed, and it was him that sought ingress. Him that had to retreat, then try again, fight and scrape away.

He worked most of himself within the shelled carapace, then stopped to rest. He couldn’t close his mouth, but with his reaching tongue pressing things to the roof of his mouth, he could suckle and pressure. Dangling bits of meat provided moisture, sustenance.

The world of scales and moisture around him shuddered, and he flipped over, fluids spilling into the cavity he occupied, then quickly draining out. They tasted as before, chemical, acrid, filling his nose and coating the back of his throat with the smell, leaving his head pounding.

He’d been buried. Ensconced within a borrowed shell, he couldn’t see the black-gray expanse of sky overhead anymore—only writhing and struggling scale, plant life, and the occasional twitching limb.

Survive.

He gathered his strength. Time passed, and he remained alert for the scraping of the things like the one that had attacked him. Now and again they prodded and crawled through the forest of living matter, but they didn’t bother him while he was shelled.

The world turned upside-down again. Not to add more, but to separate. There was more noise as they were separated further, and with blurry eyes, he watched while a massive figure brought a weapon down, severing the head of a living, writhing thing. The action injured the shelled thing that had taken up residence inside, and the weapon killed that.