The forest road stretched east in a long uneven line, broken by roots, stones, and strips of dry grass. Afternoon sunlight spilled through the thinning trees, leaving patches of heat across the dirt path. Thalia moved steadily ahead, one hand resting near the hilt of her sword, her pace unbroken.
Sora followed at his usual distance.
Though now he could speak in fragments, neither of them had filled the road with much conversation. Thalia asked practical questions when needed, and Sora answered as best he could. Most of his focus remained inward, testing the strange new existence of words in his mouthless—now somehow mouth-capable—state. Every time he shaped a sentence, the skill tugged mana from his core in little pulses.
It was tiring.
But useful.
The quiet march came to an abrupt halt when voices drifted from below the ridge they were crossing.
Human.
Thalia raised a hand.
Both stilled.
Three armed men stood near a shattered cart in the ravine below, rough-looking and filthy. Two laughed while the third rifled through scattered supplies. A bound traveler lay nearby, bloodied and groaning.
Bandits.
Thalia exhaled once, low and cold.
Then she moved.
Steel flashed.
The first bandit fell with his throat opened before he could shout. The second barely got his axe halfway up before Thalia drove her sword through his chest. Blood darkened the dirt.
The third cursed and bolted into the woods.
Thalia pivoted to chase, but the injured traveler cried out, dragging her attention for a moment.
Sora felt the fleeing man's mana signature pulsing through the trees.
And without instruction, he pursued.
He slipped through brush and roots, following the frantic heartbeat ahead until the bandit stumbled into a small hollow between trees. The man spun around, dagger in hand, only to stare in confusion.
"A slime?"
His fear vanished instantly.
Then came the sneer.
He raised his boot and slammed it down.
Pain exploded through Sora as his body split under the impact.
"Disgusting little pest."
Another kick sent him rolling through dirt and leaves.
Humiliation flared hot inside his core.
Before the man could stomp again, Sora surged upward and wrapped around his leg.
"What the hell— GET OFF!"
The dagger stabbed downward repeatedly, but Sora climbed higher, clinging and tightening. The man screamed as the slime engulfed his torso, his throat, his face. Human mana flooded into Sora in violent burning waves. Thoughts, flashes, sensations—cheap alcohol, greed, irritation, fear—splintered through him.
Then the man was gone.
Absorbed completely.
Sora dropped to the dirt, pulsing violently.
His core burned.
A ringing spread through his consciousness.
Skill Acquired: Mimetic Assimilation
Humanoid Form Available
Before he could understand the words, his body began to change.
Slime stretched upward against his control, pulling itself into unnatural length. Shape formed from liquid—legs, arms, a torso, a head. Bone-like mana hardened beneath translucent skin. Hair spilled over his forehead. Breath crashed into lungs that had not existed a second ago.
He hit the ground on hands and knees.
Air tore into him.
He coughed violently.
His chest heaved.
His fingers dug into the dirt.
Fingers.
Sora jerked back and stared at his hands in stunned horror. Pale. Human. Shaking.
He touched his own face.
Skin.
Hair.
A mouth.
He scrambled toward a puddle caught in a rock depression and nearly toppled over with his unsteady legs.
A human male stared back.
Messy black hair.
Sharp red eyes.
Blood smudged across pale skin.
And absolutely no clothes.
Sora recoiled so hard he fell backward.
"What—"
His own voice came out rough and startled.
He slapped both hands over himself instinctively despite having no real understanding of modesty beyond fragmented human memory impressions from absorbed thought.
"What is happening?!"
He shot to his feet, instantly regretted it, and stumbled sideways into a tree. Legs were strange. Too long. Too separate. His balance was terrible.
He looked down at himself again in alarm.
Human.
He was human.
No—human-shaped.
Maybe.
He poked his own arm.
Solid.
He grabbed his face.
Still there.
Then suddenly his right hand dissolved.
Sora screamed.
His fingers melted into blue-black slime up to the wrist.
"No!"
He shook the arm frantically.
"No no no—"
The slime crawled back into flesh a second later.
Sora stared.
Then his left calf flickered gelatinous.
His breathing turned ragged.
"My body— my body—!"
He spun in place in blind panic, grabbing at his limbs.
"Did I lose it?! Did I kill it?!"
His chest half-melted and solidified again.
He made a strangled noise and dropped to the ground, patting himself all over as if checking for missing pieces.
"Where is the slime?! Where did it go?!"
He was so consumed by panic that he did not hear Thalia arrive until her shadow fell over him.
She stood at the edge of the hollow, sword drawn, staring.
Her eyes swept over the scene.
The dissolved remains of a bandit.
A naked black-haired young man on the ground hyperventilating and smacking his own flickering limbs.
And patches of slime appearing and disappearing over his skin.
She blinked.
Once.
"…Sora?"
He whipped around.
"THALIA, SOMETHING IS WRONG!"
She physically flinched at the full-volume human voice.
Sora lurched toward her, still very naked, red eyes wild.
"I think I absorbed too much and now my slime body is gone and this one keeps melting and I do not know where anything is supposed to be—"
He looked down as one foot briefly turned gelatinous.
"SEE?!"
Thalia stared at him for a long, stunned second.
Then, unbelievably—
she pinched the bridge of her nose.
"You killed the bandit."
"Yes, but that is not the current issue!"
He pointed at himself frantically.
"I am unstable!"
Another flicker ran across his shoulder.
Thalia sheathed her sword with a slow exhale and crouched beside the remains of dissolved cloth and gear left from the bandit.
"It's a transformation skill," she said.
Sora blinked.
"What?"
"A transformation skill," she repeated, far too calm for Sora's liking. "Your slime body is not gone. This is an alternate form."
He stared.
"…Alternate."
"Yes."
He looked down at his hands.
Then at his feet.
Then back at her.
"So I am not dying?"
"No."
He stood frozen.
A beat passed.
Then he pointed furiously at himself.
"I PANICKED FOR NOTHING?!"
Thalia gave him a flat look. "Apparently."
Sora opened his mouth, closed it, then made an offended strangled sound.
Only then did Thalia's eyes narrow slightly as she looked him over again.
"You cannot walk around like that."
Sora looked down.
Realized again that he was entirely unclothed.
And promptly crouched.
"Oh."
Thalia turned away with visible restraint and began rummaging through what little remained of the bandit's possessions that had not dissolved. "There should be something usable."
After several moments she tossed a bundle behind her without looking.
Sora caught it awkwardly.
Inside were black leggings, slightly fitted; a sleeveless skin-tight black turtleneck; a dark oversized hoodie with a worn but dramatic cut; and a pair of thin round glasses miraculously intact in a side pouch.
Sora blinked.
"…These are surprisingly stylish for a criminal."
"Put them on."
"I do not know how."
Thalia went silent.
Then she sighed the sigh of a woman questioning every life choice that led her here.
"Of course you don't."
The next fifteen minutes were spent with Thalia giving increasingly irritated instructions while Sora fought for his life against clothing.
By the end of it, he stood dressed—black leggings fitted close, sleeveless turtleneck hugging his frame, oversized black hoodie hanging open, round glasses perched crookedly on his nose.
His messy black hair fell into his eyes.
He looked down at himself.
Then at Thalia.
"…I look cool."
Thalia stared for a moment.
Then turned and began walking back toward the road.
"We are never discussing this."
Sora hurried after her, still poking at his sleeves and occasionally checking if his hands were solid.
"Can I keep the glasses?"
"Yes."
"Can I name this form?"
"No."
"I am naming it anyway."
Thalia's pace somehow became faster.