Morning — or what I think is morning.
I wake up.
There's no breath to draw, no eyelids to peel open, no heartbeat pounding panic into my skull. Awareness just… leaks in, like dye dissolving in water.
Cold.
Wet.
Heavy.
That's the first thing I understand.
The second thing is that I'm on the forest floor.
No — I am on the forest floor. Spread thin, uneven, my edges sinking into damp black soil threaded with roots thicker than my old arms used to be. Sunlight filters down in fractured colors — emerald, gold, sickly purple — through leaves that look too large, too sharp, too alive.
The world is beautiful.
I try to move.
Nothing happens.
I try again, harder. Panic flares — not lungs screaming, not muscles burning, but something deeper. A pressure, like my will is pushing against jelly.
My body responds by… wobbling.
A pathetic ripple runs through me. That's it.
That's when it hits me.
I don't have hands.
I don't have legs.
I don't have bones.
I'm a fucking puddle.
No—
*I think I'm a fucking slime.*
The realization doesn't come with screaming or denial. It lands quietly, heavily, the way a doctor's words did back then:
"You shouldn't still be alive. You're so lucky. If a normal person got damaged like you, they'd already be dead… but somehow you're still here. Well, I won't lie — your body is weird."
(The doctor was a weird person.)
Back then.
The accident flashes through me in fragments. Twisted metal. White light. Pain so absolute it erased everything else. Doctors whispering like I was already a corpse. Machines doing what my body couldn't.
I remember refusing to let go. Clinging to consciousness even when it hurt to exist. Even when fading would've been easier. I lived through what should have killed me — until I didn't.
I fainted.
And that was enough.
Now I'm here.
(My mind trapped in the weakest thing I can imagine. Dammit!)
Something moves nearby.
The forest exhales.
A massive shadow passes between the trees — too large, too slow, radiating pressure that makes the soil vibrate. I don't see it clearly, but my entire body reacts, compressing instinctively, like prey flattening itself.
I understand without being told:
If that thing notices me, I'm dead.
(What the hell is this monster?)
Around that wolf monster… so much strong mana.
(I want to eat it.)
Wh— What? My instincts are screaming in fear but at the same time I want to *eat* the mana.
I feel it now — my body humming faintly, saturated with raw energy. No wonder monsters wander here. This place is insanely dangerous.
I try to move again. This time I focus — not on motion, but on *intent*. I remember how I survived before. Not by strength. Not by luck. But by sheer goddamn will to live longer. I'm not giving up this new life so fast. Fuck you, I won't die.
My body shudders. Slowly — agonizingly — I pull myself together, contracting just enough to shift a few centimeters. It feels like dragging my soul through mud.
If I had a mouth, I'd be gritting my teeth.
*Move. Don't you dare stop.*
A ripple of pain — not physical, something closer to strain — runs through me. Then, suddenly—
> [Grand Design acknowledged.]
The voice is calm. Flat. Female. It doesn't echo; it simply *is*, resonating directly inside my awareness.
> Species: Slime
> Status: Basal Lifeform
> Evolutionary Rank: Lowest
Heh?
> Willpower detected.
> Threshold: Insufficient.
Yeah, no shit.
The voice vanishes.
No reward.
No blessing.
Not even pity.
(So this is a fantasy world? 😍 Yes — my dream… but first I need to run the fuck away from this monster wolf shit.)
I try to move. The wolf monster just ignores me and keeps walking deeper into the forest. He really just… ignored me? Huh… 😮💨 At least I'm still alive. I really thought I was gonna die.
I'm left alone with the forest again.
Something skitters nearby — small this time. Insects the size of dogs crawl over bark, their shells glittering with mana veins. One of them pauses. Antennae twitch.
It senses me.
I compress instinctively, pulling my mana inward, dimming my presence as much as I can. The effort hurts. If I could sweat, I'd be drenched. (Huh?)
I just realized… fucking instincts are taking over.
The creature hesitates… then moves on.
Fucking instincts. I know some fantasy slimes have advantages. They can eat materials, dissolve shit, absorb it. So maybe I can use that.
I move toward the insect following my new instincts. I push my body forward, stretching, flowing. The bug keeps trying to bite me, chewing pieces of my jelly-like form while struggling to escape.
(Haha. You started this — now you die.)
I pull it inside me.