Leon—or B-741, as the system insisted—clung to his new fungal spore cluster, two tiny specks gorging on the soft, wet decay.

  The air up there was thick with moisture, dripping from leaves and soaking into the soil, but down in his microscopic world, it was just a vague push, a current nudging him along.

  He didn't feel the dampness, didn't smell the mildew—just tore into the spores with a grim kind of focus, both of him working in sync.

  "Twenty-four hours," he muttered in his head, the thought sharp and restless. "One day, and I'm four. Then what? Eight? Sixteen? I'm a damn pyramid scheme." He couldn't taste the spores, couldn't savor the upgrade from bug shell to moldy mush, but the system's updates told him it was better. Denser. Richer. A step up in the food chain, if you could call it that.

  [Nutrient intake at 80%. Split projection: 22 hours.]

  "Close," he thought, a flicker of satisfaction breaking through the gloom. "Guess I'm good at this eating crap. Who knew?" He pushed harder, both specks of him chipping away at the cluster like it was a grudge.

  The system stayed quiet for a while, letting him stew in his own head. He tried to picture it—four of him, then eight, a little army of Leon-germs taking over the jungle floor. "What's the endgame here?" he wondered, half-serious. "I take over the dirt? Build a germ empire? This is so messed up."

  Hours passed by, slow and sticky. The jungle droned on—bugs chirping, leaves rustling, water dripping somewhere far off.

  He couldn't track time without the system's nudges, just felt the slog of it, the endless grind of eating and waiting. His mind stayed sharp, though—no drifting off, no zoning out. Just him, trapped in his own skull, split across two bodies he couldn't even see.

  Here's a simpler, easier version of your text with no big words, no repeats, and a natural vibe. It's still got the same gritty, sarcastic guy, just talking and thinking like a regular person stuck in a weird spot.

  The system went quiet for a bit, leaving him stuck in his own head. He tried picturing it—four of him, then eight, a little germ army taking over the jungle floor. "What's the point of this?" he wondered, half-joking. "I rule the dirt? Start a germ kingdom? This is so screwed up."

  Time crawled by, slow and gross. The jungle kept going—bugs buzzing, leaves moving, water dripping somewhere far away.

  He couldn't tell how long it'd been without the system chiming in. It just felt like forever, eating and waiting. His mind didn't wander off, though—he stayed sharp, trapped in his skull, split between two bodies he couldn't even see.

  [Nutrient intake at 90%. Split in 12 hours.]

  Halfway done, he thought, feeling a quick burst of pride.

  He went at it harder, both specks tearing into the spores fast. The fungal stuff was running low, though—not something he could feel, just a hunch, like he was almost out of food. "Better be more of this crap around," he mumbled. "I'm not floating off blind again if I can help it."

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  The ground shook a little, a tiny wave through the dirt. He almost missed it until the system spoke up.

  [Something moved nearby. New food coming.]

  "Again?" He perked up, part curious, part annoyed. "What now? More mold? A dead bug?"

  [Rotting plant piece. Close by: 0.03 millimeters.]

  "Plant piece?" He imagined it—maybe a wet root or a torn leaf. "Sounds like a snack. Better than bug insides, I guess."

  [Food's okay. Suggestion: move to it.]

  "Move again?" He groaned, like it was a bad joke. "I just got comfy! You want me to drift through the slime again?"

  [Drifting works. More food beats staying put. Keep going.]

  "Keep going, huh?" he snapped. "You say that every time, you know?" He thought it over. The spores were drying up, yeah, but floating off twice in a row felt risky. "What's the downside? I'm not getting stuck somewhere wet, am I?"

  [Low chance. Everything's fine. Move advised.]

  "Fine, huh?" He mulled it, antsy. "Alright, let's try it. Plant stuff beats this moldy junk." He focused, nudging both specks off the spores—easier this time, like he was getting good at it. The current grabbed him quick, a little spin of water or muck, and he rolled, two specks tumbling through the dark.

  It didn't last long. He hit something stringy—tough but soft, like soggy rope. The system buzzed.

  [Move worked. New spot: plant piece. Eating again.]

  "Plant piece," he muttered, settling in. "Feels like chewing a stick." He started eating, both of him digging in. It wasn't as good as the spores—harder, tougher somehow—but it kept him going, steady and slow. "Guess I'm a plant-eating germ now. Awesome."

  [Nutrient intake at 92%. Split in 10 hours.]

  "Ten hours," he thought, smirking a little. "Cut two off. Not bad." He kept going, chipping away at the plant like it owed him something. The jungle hummed around him—something flew overhead, wings cutting the air, but he ignored it. Just him, two specks, taking on the world.

  Time stretched out, but he was used to it—no panic, just the slog.

  [Nutrient intake at 98%. Split in 4 hours.]

  "Four hours," he said to himself, a spark of excitement kicking in. "Almost there. Four of me. Wonder what's next." He pushed harder, both specks ripping the plant apart like it was a race. The strand was breaking down now, falling apart under him. "Come on, split already," he grumbled, itching to move.

  The ground shook again—harder this time, rattling the dirt. He stopped, mind racing.

  "What was that?"

  [Something big moved. Close: 0.1 meters.]

  "Something big?" He panicked a little. "Like a bug? A rat?"

  [Not sure. It's small trouble. Food's fine.]

  "Small trouble, huh?" he shot back. "Something's stomping around, and I'm just sitting here!" He waited, braced, but nothing happened—no smash, no flood. Just the jungle being loud. "Okay, whatever," he muttered. "Four hours. Focus."

  [Nutrient intake at 100%. Splitting now.]

  "Now?" He didn't have time to think before that weird pull hit—stretching, snapping. No pain, just a jolt, and suddenly he was four. Four specks, all him, stuck to the plant, all mad and amazed at once.

  [Split done. You're four now. Evolution choice ready.]

  "No way," he thought, the words echoing in four heads that were still one. "I'm a team now." The choice popped up, clear in his mind.

  [Evolution choice: Pick one.

  Toxin Resistance – Handle bad stuff 20% better.

  Cluster Mode – Stay close, move together.

  Quick Split – Split 15% faster next time.]

  He looked it over, thinking fast. "Okay, what's good? Toxin Resistance—if something nasty shows up, I'm safe. Cluster Mode—maybe I can move easier. Quick Split—more of me, sooner. Which one?"

  [Pick fast. 60 seconds.]

  "Sixty seconds again," he growled. "You love rushing me." He figured it out quick. "Toxin Resistance is boring but safe. Quick Split means more of me fast. Cluster Mode—maybe I won't drift like a loser." He picked. "Cluster Mode. Let's stick and move."

  [Done. You're in Cluster Mode. Sticking together better.]

  "Sticking together, huh?" he said, trying it. He nudged all four specks, and they slid—slow, clumsy, but as a group, like a tiny blob on the plant. "Well, look at that," he thought, grinning. "I can move. Sort of."

  "Okay," he said, pumped up. "Let's see what I can do now."