Darkness. Not the kind that comes from shutting one's eyes, but the deep suffocating absence of sensation. For an unmeasurable span, that was all he knew. Then, like a thin crack opening in the void, awareness bled in. A thought surfaced—fragmented, confused.
"…Where… am I?"
The words echoed without sound. No lips. No voice. Only the pressure of his own mind feeding itself its questions. He reached for breath, for the comfort of lungs filling and emptying, but there was nothing. No chest. No arms. No heartbeat. Just a strange floating suspension, a weightless drift in an alien silence.
Instinct screamed that this was wrong. Yet another sensation rose, overpowering the confusion—hunger. It tore through him like a primal scream, gnawing and endless. Not the distant pang of a skipped meal, but a raw and unbearable void in his very being. The craving was not for bread or water—it was for energy, for something fundamental he could not name.
He tried to move. His will pulsed outward, and something sluggish responded. His perspective shifted, not with the clarity of sight but through a warping awareness. He was… jellylike. A body without bones, without limbs. A thing of shifting substance. When he stretched, part of him elongated; when he recoiled, it snapped back. Alien and yet, disturbingly, it was him.
The realization sank in like ice. He had no flesh, no blood. Only a malleable form. And within that realization came memory—brief, disjointed. A flash of standing upright, of holding a book in hand, the warmth of the sun on skin. He clutched at it, desperate. But the memory slipped away like sand through water, leaving only the certainty: he had once been human. Now, he was not.
That thought alone might have broken him, if not for the gnawing emptiness that demanded priority. The hunger clawed deeper. It demanded action. His awareness spun outward, dragging sensation across the world around him. The ground—he felt it now—was not soil but brittle ash. It crumbled beneath his shifting mass, fine grains sticking into his substance. Heat radiated faintly through the particles, whispering of some inferno far beneath. The air was thick, heavy, reeking faintly of brimstone.
He drifted, sluggishly dragging himself across the ash. Each motion was clumsy, a child's first crawl without bones to anchor him. He rolled, he bounced, he spread and recoiled until his instincts began to carve a pattern. Every stumble was a lesson, every collapse into the dirt a reminder that he was still alive—if this state could be called living.
And then—movement. Tiny sparks of warmth crawled along the ash nearby. Insects, though no insects he remembered. Each one glowed faintly, a mote of ember given legs. Fire-mites. They scuttled, leaving faint red trails in the darkness. The sight—or rather, the perception—snapped something open inside him. His hunger surged. His body, unbidden, rippled forward.
Instinct guided him. No mouth, no jaws, yet his form expanded, engulfing one of the ember-creatures. The instant it touched him, the System stirred.
[Skill Activated: Assimilate]
Heat trickled into his body, seeping like fire into cold water. Energy flooded him—meager, but blissful relief. The fire-mite thrashed inside him for a heartbeat before dissolving into warmth. The raw ache of hunger dulled, if only slightly.
He froze, horrified. "I… ate? Without eating?"
There had been no chewing, no swallowing. Just absorption. He had devoured another life, drawing its essence into himself. The realization was monstrous, revolting—and yet, intoxicating. His trembling awareness shuddered as more fire-mites scurried. The hunger screamed again. His will faltered, and instinct surged. He lunged, engulfing another.
The ash around him shimmered faintly as a pulse echoed through his body.
[Level Up: 1 → 2]
Information burned into his mind, words without voice, etched into the fabric of his being. Numbers. Stats. Strength, Agility, Vitality—all pitifully small. Mana, Control, Will, Resonance—alien concepts, but now part of him. A panel of truth unveiled within.
A flicker of memory returned then. Hands—his hands—turning the brittle pages of a tome. The weight of knowledge, the quiet sanctuary of study. His old self had been someone who sought meaning in words, not in devouring glowing insects. And yet here he was, reduced to instinct, ruled by need. The contrast gnawed worse than hunger.
The ember-creatures continued to crawl, unaware of their predator's awakening. His awareness expanded further. The ashfields stretched endlessly, the horizon blurred by waves of heat. Above, no stars twinkled, only a sky choked by smoke and ember haze. This was no earth he had known. A world of fire and ash, merciless and strange.
He tried to speak again, to force words into the emptiness: "I… was human."The declaration emerged not in sound but as conviction etched across the core of his being."And now… I'm this."
The words carved into him like a vow. Fear twisted through his being, yet with it came something else: resolve. If this was the body he was given, if this was the world he must endure—then endure he would. Not simply as prey, but as something more.
Another fire-mite scurried across the ash. His form quivered. He hesitated, torn between revulsion and need. But the gnawing ache of hunger brooked no argument. He moved again, flowing forward, and the mite vanished into his substance.
The heat was weaker than before, less satisfying. Already his body demanded more, more, more. He realized with dawning dread that hunger would not allow morality. Not here. Not in this form. Survival itself was the only law.
The sky above rumbled faintly, a heat-wind rolling ash across the plain. Insects scattered. Zeke's form, small and pitiful though it was, crouched low in the drifting soot. For the first time since awakening, he felt the world pressing down upon him—not just hunger, but danger. An entire realm hostile to his existence.
Yet within that realization, a spark. Not of flame, but of will."I will not die here."
It was a whisper, a thought pressed against the silence. But in it, there was resolve. He had been stripped of humanity, reduced to slime, but he was still Ezekiel Ashbourne. He had endured once before. He would endure again. Even if he had to crawl through ash and devour the fire itself.
And so, the Prime Slime hunted.
System Sheet
Status
Name: Ezekiel Ashbourne
Race: Prime Slime (Unevolved)
Level: 2
Affinity: None (absorptive state)
Stats
STR: 1
AGI: 1
VIT: 3
WIL: 3
RES: 2
MNA: 5
CTL: 1
Class
Archetype: [Locked]
Class Name: [Locked]
Description: [N/A]
Stat Multipliers: [N/A]
Skills
Active Skills:
Split (Lv.1): Divide body into fragments; fragments are weaker and drain stamina.
Assimilate (Lv.1): Absorb weak matter to recover energy; chance to retain minor traits.
Passive Skills:
Amorphous Body (Lv.1): Immune to blunt trauma, flexible morphology.
VesselsBody Vessel
Tempering: None (Dormant)
Condition: Dormant
Collapse Risk: None
Bottleneck: None
Rank: None
Soul Vessel
Tempering: None (Dormant)
Condition: Dormant
Collapse Risk: None
Bottleneck: None
Rank: None
Mana Vessel
Tempering: None (Dormant)
Condition: Dormant
Collapse Risk: None
Bottleneck: None
Rank: None
Evolution[Locked] – Unlocked at Level 20
Lineage
Bloodline: Prime Slime
Authority: [N/A]
Traits:
Mana Body → Absorbed mana increases slime body size and mana pool.
Racial Imprint: [Asuran Neo-Nephilim Primogenitor]
Records
Past Evolutions: [N/A]
Titles: None
Achievements: None
Cycle
Regression: [Neo-Human] → [Neo-Human]
Reincarnation: [Asuran Neo-Nephilim Primogenitor] → [Prime Slime]
Stat Gains
Per Level Up:
+3 MNA
+1 STR, AGI, VIT on odd levels
Per New Basic Affinity:
+3 RES
Training Gains:
CTL and MNA can increase independently through training