In the beginning, it was nothing more than a sentient mass of slime, drifting through rifts within a chaotic void. It wandered without form—until a single rift carried it too far, casting it through the ancient stones of Stonehenge and into the violently alive world of the Nothosaur Mainland.
Veylor needed a host to stabilize its form. It encountered many—the strong, the fragile—but all reacted with the same primal fear. The sensation of being occupied, of being stretched beyond their limits from within, overwhelmed them. In their desperate struggle to escape the intense fullness, they would claw at their own bodies, driven to madness just to force Veylor out.
Until it drifted into the quiet, scent-filled Brooke Grassland. There, it found Conola.
The symbiosis was not smooth. When Veylor first slid into his body, the stallion stiffened. His breathing grew rapid as Veylor expanded within him, pressing against hidden depths that had never been touched. But Conola did not resist. When Veylor sensed his strain and began to withdraw, Conola felt only a hollow emptiness. He craved the weight of being entirely possessed.
Sensing this, Veylor invaded again—this time, without hesitation.
The slime spread, claiming every inch of Conola’s body, embedding its will into his very flesh. As it surged across his deepest sensitive spots, Conola’s legs gave out, pinning him to the earth as he struggled for air. Inside him, Veylor moved with deliberate hunger—not just exploring, but marking territory.
The majestic stallion was transformed into something monstrous. Symbiosis was complete. With eyes burning red and black slime seeping from his throbbing length, Conola wanders the grasslands—no longer alone, and always searching for their next prey.