The gecko was normal.
That made it worse.
I had survived a mutated cockroach, defeated a mutated spider, and acquired armor, venom, and cold resistance.
A common house gecko entering through the open window seemed beneath my attention.
That belief lasted until its tongue crossed six inches in less time than I could react.
The first strike missed.
Barely.
Air pressure spun me sideways.
I recovered near the curtain.
The gecko clung to the wall, small by human standards and enormous to me.
Pale body.
Wide eyes.
Toes spread against painted cinder block.
It stared.
I stared back.
No mutated energy.
No armor.
No supernatural threat.
Just an animal.
The Codex scanned.
— Common house gecko.
Threat level to host: Extreme.
— Rude.
The gecko struck again.
Tongue.
Fast.
I dodged left.
Too slow.
The sticky edge caught one rear leg.
My body jerked backward as the tongue retracted.
Pain tore through the joint.
The gecko opened its mouth.
No.
I drove my wings forward, twisted, and pulled.
The leg tore free.
Pain erased the room.
I escaped.
Barely.
The gecko snapped its mouth shut around my severed limb.
I flew badly.
Five functional legs.
Balance ruined.
Venom reservoir already pulling slightly to one side, missing leg destabilizing the other.
The Codex flashed.
— Severe appendage loss detected.
Flight stability reduced.
— No kidding.
The gecko’s eyes followed me.
It had tasted part of me now.
Scent.
Prey recognition.
It moved along the wall.
I drifted toward the desk, struggling to keep my turns even.
The gecko jumped from wall to desktop.
Mayra screamed from her bed.
Apparently normal geckos were large enough for humans to respect.
“Amelia!” Amelia looked up from her book.
She saw the gecko.
Then me.
Then the missing leg.
Her expression changed.
Cold—not elemental at first.
Anger.
She stood.
I gave one sharp buzz.
No.
I was not sure why.
Maybe I did not want instant rescue.
Maybe the gecko’s biology mattered.
Maybe pride had survived the amputation.
Probably all three.
Amelia stopped.
The gecko did not.
It lunged.
I rose.
Its tongue passed beneath me.
I dove toward its face.
Neurotoxic Venom I activated.
The minute reservoir contracted.
I struck the thin tissue near its mouth, injected, and withdrew.
The gecko snapped.
Missed.
The dose was tiny compared with its mass.
No paralysis.
But its mouth muscles twitched and one eye closed reflexively.
Good.
I flew toward the window.
The gecko followed.
Amelia understood.
Condensation remained along the sill from her earlier cultivation.
She extended one finger.
The moisture froze into a thin slick layer.
The gecko launched.
Its front feet hit ice and lost traction.
Its body slid sideways into the window frame with a dull thunk.
Stunned.
Not dead.
Amelia moved one hand.
A controlled pulse of cold struck the gecko, and its movement stopped.
Mayra stared.
“Did you just freeze a lizard?” Amelia looked toward me.
“It was attacking.” “Kevin?” Idiot buzz.
Mayra pointed.
“He’s hurt.” Yes.
Thank you.
Amelia approached slowly and held out her hand.
I did not land.
Not yet.
First, the gecko.
I reached the stunned animal and touched the tissue near its mouth.
The Codex scanned.
— Common house gecko biological material detected.
Rare compatible adaptation signature identified.
TISSUE REGENERATION I Translated regenerative pathways capable of restoring lost mosquito appendages and improving minor tissue repair.
Compatibility: High Integration cost: 1.7 Evolution Energy — Exactly what I needed.
Current energy: — Evolution Energy: 0.06 — Not enough.
The Codex continued.
— Fresh donor material may be converted into integration energy.
— Good.
I fed on a microscopic amount of tissue near the gecko’s injured mouth.
Disgusting.
Necessary.
— Evolution Energy gained: +1.9 — Enough.
I selected the trait.
Pain gathered at the stump of my missing leg.
A pale bud formed—not an instant replacement, but the beginning of one.
Cells organized.
A growth pathway activated.
— TISSUE REGENERATION I acquired.
Effects: – Enables gradual regrowth of lost mosquito appendages – Improves minor tissue repair Limitations: – Regrowth requires time, nutrients, and energy – Severe central-body damage remains fatal – Does not instantly restore lost structures — The new leg was barely visible.
Hours required.
Fine.
I looked up.
Amelia and Mayra were both staring.
The stump had visibly changed.
Mayra stepped closer.
“Is his leg growing back?” Amelia’s voice became very calm.
“Yes.” “Mosquitoes don’t do that.” “No.” “Geckos do.” “Somewhat.” Mayra looked from the gecko to me and back again.
Too close.
I flew toward the curtain.
Badly.
The missing leg still mattered.
My body rolled during the first turn.
Amelia held out her hand beneath me.
I landed because I needed stability.
Important distinction.
Her skin was warm.
She lifted me close and examined the growing limb.
Her expression was not disgusted.
Not greedy.
Concerned.
That felt strange.
Mayra leaned over.
“Is Kevin okay?” Idiot buzz.
Amelia’s thumb moved slightly between Mayra and my body, a quiet protective barrier.
“He will be.” Will.
Not might.
I looked at Amelia.
She looked back.
The gecko lay frozen on the sill.
My new leg continued its slow, painful growth.
And for the first time, Amelia seemed less interested in how my evolution worked than whether it hurt.
That was dangerous in a different way.