The last sensation I registered in the world of the living was the smell of ozone and the taste of iron.
It was a Tuesday. It should have been a Tuesday. I had been walking home from a convenience store, carrying a bag of lukewarm oden and a magazine I'd never get to read. The screech of tires hadn't sounded like a movie; it sounded like a dying animal. Then came the impact—a dull, heavy thud that turned my vision into a kaleidoscope of red and black.
I remember lying on the asphalt, the cold rain mixing with the warmth of my own blood. I waited for the "white light." I waited for my ancestors to beckon me. Instead, I just felt a profound, biting regret.
I didn't do anything, I thought. Thirty-four years. I had mastered atmospheric chemistry to sit in a cubicle. I had read a thousand stories of heroes to stay in my room. I was a spectator who had finally been kicked out of the stadium.
Then, the world vanished.
How long was I in the dark?
In the beginning, there was no "I." There was only a sequence of sensations. Cold. Damp. Pressure. I felt like I was being squeezed through a straw for an eternity. I tried to gasp for air, but I had no lungs. I tried to flail my arms, but I had no limbs.
I was a mind floating in a thick, gelatinous void.
Am I a ghost? I wondered. Is this the 'Limbo' the priests talked about? Just an infinite stretch of nothingness where you're left with your own failures?
I tried to focus. I pushed "outward" with my mind. To my shock, something pushed back. It was a physical sensation—the feeling of something smooth and viscous hitting a jagged surface.
Clack.
The sound vibrated through my entire being. It wasn't a sound I heard with ears; it was a frequency I felt in my marrow.
< Logic Sequence Initiated... > < Analysis of Local Mana Density: High. > < Physical Vessel: Confirmed. > < Status: Spirit Slime (Juvenile Grade). >
The voice was cold, mechanical, and echoed from the very center of my consciousness. It wasn't the voice of God. It felt like an operating system booting up on a damaged hard drive.
Spirit Slime? I thought, a wave of hysterical realization washing over me. You've got to be kidding me. I died as a bottom-tier human just to be reborn as a literal puddle of goo?
< Answer: Your current form is a result of high-order soul migration. The 'Spirit Slime' genus possesses 'Infinite Growth' potential, provided the core remains intact. >
"Who are you?" I pulsed.
< I am the Archivist. I am a sub-skill born from your subconscious desire to categorize and understand the world. I am the bridge between your human memories and your current biological reality. >
I took a figurative breath—or rather, I expanded my translucent body. If I was going to be a slime, I wasn't going to be a pathetic one. I remembered the stories. I remembered the legends. In those worlds, magic wasn't just a miracle; it was a science.
"Archivist," I thought. "If I am a Spirit Slime, I should be able to sense the energy around me. Show me."
< Skill [Magic Sense] is currently dormant. To activate, the host must synchronize their internal mana circulation with the ambient atmospheric pressure. >
This was where my old life came in. I knew pressure. I knew the laws of gases. I began to focus on the "weight" of the air in the cave. I imagined the mana as a fluid, much like the oxygen and nitrogen I used to study. I drew it in, not through a mouth, but through the semi-permeable membrane of my skin.
The world suddenly "snapped" into focus.
I still didn't have eyes, but I could see. It was like a 360-degree sonar map. I was in a vast, glittering grotto. Stalactites hung from the ceiling like frozen teeth. The walls were laced with veins of blue ore that pulsed with a faint, rhythmic light.
I was beautiful. My body was a sphere of shimmering, silver-blue liquid, glowing with an inner luminescence.
But I was also alone.
The first month was a lesson in technical obsession.
I didn't explore. I didn't seek out adventure. I followed the philosophy of a man who knew that in a new world, the one with the best foundation wins. I spent hours—days, perhaps—manipulating the mana inside me.
In the stories, mages chanted long, flowery poems to make a spark. To me, that seemed like a waste of breath. Magic was simply the application of intent upon reality.
I focused on a small puddle of water near a geothermal vent. I didn't think "Fireball." I thought Excitation. I visualized the molecules of the water moving faster and faster, rubbing against each other, generating friction.
Hiss.
The water began to steam. Within seconds, it was boiling.
< Proficiency Gained: [Thermal Manipulation - Level 1]. > < Title Acquired: The Silent Scholar. >
"Not bad for a puddle," I muttered to myself.
I moved through the cave, consuming anything that looked magical. I ate "Glow-Moss," which gave me [Acid Resistance]. I consumed "Mana-Laced Quartz," which sharpened my [Archivist] functions. Each time I ate, my body grew denser, my silver sheen more pronounced.
I was evolving. Not through a "Level Up" screen, but through biological adaptation. I was building a masterpiece out of my own slime.
But the cave was quiet. Too quiet.
I found myself talking to the Archivist just to hear a voice. I'd recount the plots of movies I'd seen, explain the laws of thermodynamics, or complain about the lack of decent coffee in the afterlife. The Archivist never judged. It just recorded.
Then, one day, the vibrations changed.
Usually, the cave was a symphony of dripping water and shifting stone. This was different. It was a ragged, uneven pulse. It was the sound of something living—and something dying.
I slid toward the source, my body moving with the grace of mercury on glass.
In a side-chamber, lit by a cluster of crystalline fungi, I saw him.
He was massive. A wolf the size of a carriage, with fur that looked like it had been woven from moonlight. A Direwolf. But the silver fur was matted with dark, viscous blood. A massive gash ran from his shoulder to his flank, exposing bone. His breathing was a series of wet, bubbling rasps.
He had been the king of this mountain, and now he was a carcass-in-waiting.
His eyes—a piercing, intelligent gold—flickered toward me. He didn't growl. He didn't have the strength. He just looked at me with a dignified sort of resignation.
He's like me, I thought. A remnant of something great, discarded by the world.
"Archivist," I pulsed, my core humming with a sudden, frantic energy. "Can I heal him?"
< Warning: The subject has lost 70% of its vital essence. Conventional healing magic will fail. The only viable path is 'Soul Anchoring' through the act of Naming. >
"Naming?" I remembered the term. In this world, a name wasn't just a label; it was a gift of power.
< Caution: Naming a creature of this caliber will consume 90% of your current mana capacity. There is a 40% chance of core collapse. >
I looked at the wolf. In my first life, I had always played it safe. I had stayed in the lines. I had let opportunities pass because I was afraid of the "cost."
Not this time.
I slid forward until my silver body touched the wolf's cold fur. I felt his life force—it was a fading ember, flickering in a cold wind.
"I won't let you go out like this," I whispered into the mana-stream. "You are too beautiful for this hole in the ground."
I gathered every drop of energy I had spent the last month cultivating. I compressed it into a single point of light within my core.
"Your name," I declared, the words vibrating through the very stones of the cave, "is Fenris. You are the Silver of the Moon and the Fang of the Forest. Rise."
The cave didn't just light up; it screamed.
A pillar of silver light erupted from the spot where we met. I felt a vacuum open up inside me. It felt like my very consciousness was being unspooled, thread by thread, and woven into the wolf's skin.
< Naming Confirmed: Fenris. > < Evolution Initiated: Silver-Moon Wolf. > < Mana Depletion: Critical. Entering Sleep Mode... >
The last thing I felt before the darkness claimed me was a warm, wet tongue licking my silver surface, and a pulse of fierce, undying loyalty that wasn't my own.
I had a friend. And for the first time in two lives, I had a purpose.
[Volume 1: Chapter 1 End]