252. Intestinal Corridors

As you step forward into the tunnel, you surmise that you are now deep beneath the earth. It's apparent that the terravore's outward appearance––that of a giant worm––belies its true nature. In fact, its organs spread out beneath it in a series of interconnected caverns and tunnels, altering the terrain more profoundly than anyone had previously imagined.

At this depth, the sun can no longer penetrate the outer walls of the great biomeld, yet somehow there is light. Faint though it may be, it's as if the air itself has carried the memory of daylight, drawn into the maw like the rest, unable to escape as it slowly fades.

You see that the passageway before you is composed wholly of flesh, the ceiling dripping with ichor, and the walls slick with digestive juice. Most of what the terravore has consumed has become nothing more than a thick, unrecognizable sludge. The entire corridor contracts and expands with a steady wave-like motion, urging the viscous liquid onward.

You're reminded of the moments you inadvertently swallowed a bug. You suddenly feel an unexpected sense of kinship with those unfortunate insects.