Reincarnated as a Mushroom?-Chapter 68 - 67: The Mutation She Left Behind, or: An Unexpected Gift for Research

Chapter 68: Chapter 67: The Mutation She Left Behind, or: An Unexpected Gift for Research

Chapter 67: The Mutation She Left Behind, or: An Unexpected Gift for Research

Ronnie weighed nothing in my arms. I hoisted him like an overripe sack of potatoes—awkward, a little sad, and clearly past his emotional expiration date—and hauled him over to the base of his own ship’s ladder. I set him down against it gently, like he was a fainting Victorian lady in need of a fan and a drink with too much sugar in it.

Didn’t take long for his eyes to flutter open.

The moment he regained consciousness, his face flared so red I thought his cheeks might combust and take half the cockpit with them. His mouth twitched, poised to blurt out some overwrought apology—probably involving the word "Father" and the phrase "unworthy of witnessing a psionic kiss" or some shit.

I cut him off before the cringe collapsed him again.

"Hey, hey. Ronnie. It’s alright. Seriously. You got a little too excited, got overwhelmed. Happens to the best of us. I once passed out after Crystal held my hand and told me she was proud of me. There was drool. A whimper. Some twitching. Let’s not talk about it."

I offered him a hand.

Ronnie hesitated, as if unsure whether he was allowed to touch me. Compared to Sophia—his fearsome bio-cult ’Mother’—I probably seemed like a barefoot cult leader who sang lullabies and let people eat dessert before dinner. But after a moment, he accepted my help.

The moment our skin made contact, a spark leapt across the psionic field between us.

Ronnie’s parasite quivered. I felt it. Deep in the back of his skull, the little hitchhiker of his genetic inheritance practically screamed in antennae-shaking excitement—so close to exploding his cerebral cortex just from sheer proximity to my... well, whatever-the-fuck-I-am.

He didn’t notice.

He chalked the twitch up to nerves.

Which, to be fair, was a great way to survive.

"Alright, Ronnie. Power up the ship and get us ready to depart. I’ve got one last kiss to steal before we’re off."

The words might’ve been casual, but Ronnie processed them like divine commandments from the High Throne of Fucking Olympus. He saluted with the kind of fervor I usually associate with caffeine-deprived cultists and scrambled up the ladder like his ass was on fire and the ladder was salvation.

---

I turned to Kimchi.

"You go find us a room on the ship. Preferably with a bed, a lock, and good sound insulation. You know. For reasons."

She didn’t respond verbally.

She just leapt—an inhuman flex of limb and strength—and landed on the ship’s outer hull with a thunk of possession. No ladder for her. She scaled the metallic vessel like it owed her money.

Then I turned to Crystal.

Her smile was already there, painting her face with that divine combination of smugness and yearning that made my heart flutter and my balls nervous.

"Your punishment earlier aside, I’m glad I saw you today," I said, brushing my palm against her cheek, slow and reverent.

She leaned into the touch like a cat who remembered being a goddess.

"And knowing you’re keeping this body stationed here..." My fingers slid lower, tracing the curvature of her back, resting—then kneading—her perfect, celestial ass, "...I might find myself incentivized to return every few months. Maybe for... scientific reasons."

She moaned softly, a hum of psychic resonance echoing through the air.

"Then I shall await you, my dearest. And I shall be ready. Eager. Prepared."

There were no more words.

Only a kiss—deep, hungry, spiritual.

A kiss that said thank you for loving me through madness and murder.

---

Ronnie—now back in the cockpit—got a front-row seat to that lip-lock through the newly activated hull-view windows.

His entire body convulsed. An involuntary psionic survival reflex slammed his neck sideways, as though his own skull decided to turn away or die trying.

But fate threw him a distraction.

A woman—six feet of muscle, menace, and murder—entered the cockpit behind him like she owned it.

"Cult-prey," she said. "Take me to Irvine-mate’s quarters. Now."

Ronnie tensed. Who the fuck was this?

Mother had never mentioned bringing anyone but Father. And yet... this woman. This warrior. If she stood side-by-side with the Great Mother herself, then she must be important.

Dangerously important.

"M-May I ask how I should address you, Mistress?"

Her eyes narrowed—slits of disdain that could have sliced metal.

"Orchid was the name Irvine gifted me upon our founding day. But you will not need to speak it often. You are prey. You are guide. That is all."

That was definitely a threat.

Ronnie nodded and turned. "Of course. Right this way."

He pointed.

He bowed.

He never met her gaze.

Kimchi didn’t bother to thank him. She swept past like a guillotine on heels, and when the door to the quarters closed behind her, Ronnie exhaled like a dying man allowed one last breath.

Then he went back to the cockpit.

Only to find me climbing up the ladder, backpack in hand.

Or rather... power armor disguised as a backpack. Because I’m stylish like that.

"F-Apollo! Let me carry that for you!"

"It’s all good, bud. I’m already—" I tossed the thing over the lip of the hatch, "—at the top."

Ronnie, ever helpful, still tried to lift the armor out of the way. Poor bastard nearly popped a vertebrae.

I rolled my eyes, activated Gyrokinesis, and casually bent spacetime around the backpack so it weighed about as much as a sandwich. Ronnie blinked, picked it up like it was a pillow, and got very confused.

"You’ve got about a minute before the field wears off," I said. "Go toss it in my room. Try not to drop it. Or sneeze. Or blink too hard."

He disappeared with it.

---

A few minutes later, he reappeared—this time dressed in green overalls instead of gravity gear.

"Apologies for the delay. Moving around in atmospheric stabilizers was... challenging."

I waved him off.

"No problem. I once got stuck in a latex exo-suit for three hours because I bent over to pick up a fork."

He stared.

I smiled.

He sat.

We reached the cockpit.

There were three seats. I picked one that didn’t look like it would eject me into a sun.

Ronnie slid into the pilot’s chair with the nervousness of someone about to confess a sin.

The ship purred.

Thrusters ignited.

And we began to rise.

Unlike the void swimmer’s bone-deep, tendon-grinding takeoff, this was... elegant. I could feel the g-force tug, sure, but only faintly. This was real spaceflight. The kind they sold on propaganda posters and tourism ads.

---

Back on the ground, Crystal stood alone.

Her eyes followed our ship as it lifted off, trailing plasma and promise.

A bittersweet warmth filled her chest. Love. Pride. Loss. A cocktail of contradictions only an apex predator with a crush could understand.

He is free, she thought. And happy.

And if he was happy, then she was happy.

But the ache... was unbearable.

She turned to descend beneath the surface—ready to abandon this form for another, to bury herself in the work of empire.

But then—

Energy.

Familiar.

Him.

It tickled the edge of her consciousness. Not from above. Not from orbit.

But behind her.

She turned.

Not Irvine.

But a warrior.

One of hers. Female.

And on her scalp, like a burn scar carved by divinity—a handprint. His handprint.

Crystal froze.

It was his energy. Somehow. Somewhere in this soldier’s aura, a trace of Irvine remained. A psychic fingerprint branded into her evolution.

The link flared—just for a moment.

A whisper. Faint. Impossible.

> "My queen... this one is changing. This one is... confused."

The drone wasn’t supposed to speak. Not like that. Not with personality.

Crystal’s breath caught. frёeweɓηovel_coɱ

Mutations like these were usually terminated. Unstable. Dangerous.

But this one?

This one had been touched by Irvine. Infused—subtly, accidentally—with a sliver of his impossible potential.

Crystal felt something flutter inside her.

Excitement.

Hope.

And love so vast it threatened to alter planetary orbit.

> "Perhaps these months won’t be so lonely after all," she whispered. "My love has given me a research gift. A mutation to study. A mystery to cherish."

Her aura shifted—vibrant pink leaking into the air like perfume.

She composed herself quickly, lest she yank Irvine’s ship back out of orbit like a desperate girlfriend dragging her ex to brunch.

No. She was regal.

Refined.

And very, very curious.

With a gesture, she summoned the warrior below. There would be experiments. Study. Evolution.

Love.

---

Back in space, Ronnie looked out the cockpit window.

His hands trembled slightly.

"You alright, chap?" I asked, kicking my feet up on the side panel.

> Chap? he thought, confused. What the fuck is a chap?

"I... On the way in, I had to use a special flare to signal I was non-hostile to the Outer Family. I only had one. If we get scanned again, I’m not sure they’ll let us go."

I chuckled.

"Ronnie, relax. I’m on this ship. They won’t get within five light-minutes without pinging Crystal for permission at least fifteen times. You’re fine."

Ronnie inhaled. Nodded. Let the tension melt off him like condensation on a cold drink.

We flew.

Slowly. Carefully.

Dodging Hive-ships and cosmic roadkill.

---

Fifteen minutes later, Ronnie broke the silence.

"We’ve cleared the danger zone. FTL drive is locking onto the nearest warp lane toward the Spartari Ecumenopolis sector. Two weeks to the lane, one week along it. Total journey: three weeks."

He turned.

"Any questions, Fa—I mean, Irvine?"

I smiled.

The kind of smile that should worry anyone who has secrets and squishy bits.

"Questions? Ronnie, you poor bastard. I’m going to grill you so hard over the next three weeks you’ll think you’re a steak at a psion barbecue."

I covered my mouth with a polite hand and said, with calm sincerity:

"None for now, thanks. But I may ask a few later."

---

To Be Continued

This 𝓬ontent is taken from f(r)eeweb(n)ovel.𝒄𝒐𝙢