[A/N]
The finished and polished Vol.1: I've Become a What!!? will be available on Ko-fi soon.
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The ashlands shifted once more. What had been stillness only hours before now roiled with restless air. Winds gathered across the barren expanse, low at first, then sharper, carrying with them clouds of fine grey dust. The horizon blurred into haze, the ground into shifting currents. Zeke lingered low to the surface, filaments pressed tight, testing the change. Each gust clawed at his body, scattering fragments, pulling sparks loose. Instability surged again. The world itself had become a predator.
Hunger gnawed with it. The ash carried the scent of prey—faint sparks buried within—but the storm blurred them into static, indistinct. The temptation stung. Consumption would steady him, but once again, it would also bloat him beyond control. The storm was challenge enough. He refused to dull it with feeding. Hunger would sharpen him further.
He split himself wide, threads unfurling into a net across the ash. Immediately, the wind tore through him, scattering filaments like smoke. Sparks bled uncontrolled, fragments drifting apart. He pulled back, weaving fast, binding threads into a tighter mesh. The wind howled, filling every gap, but his net held. Not stable, not strong, but present. He spread wider, testing. Again, the storm tore at him. Agai,n he reforged. Collapse, reform. Break, weave. The cycle returned.
Dust thickened. Each particle was a blade, grinding through filaments, wearing his body thin. He adjusted. Threads braided tighter, filaments folding over themselves until they flexed like ropes instead of fraying like hair. Mana bled fast, sparks scattering, but he endured. Split was not dispersal now. It was survival. Every gust tested cohesion. Every collapse forced him sharper.
The storm howled louder. Whole fragments tore away, ripped into the haze. Zeke chased them, pulling sparks back, binding them before they unravelled. He lashed pseudopods through the wind, striking ash-shards as they slashed toward him. They cracked apart, scattering in clouds, but even as he struck, the turbulence scattered him again. His form trembled on the edge of collapse. Still, he held.
Then he called the affinities.
Fire first. Threads glowed faintly, embers crackling against the storm. Heat flared, carving gaps in the ash, forcing the wind aside. But the fire spread too wildly, scattering into sparks that the storm devoured. He pressed tighter, forcing the flame into a steady glow. Coals, not blaze. Controlled the heat that endured the wind instead of feeding it.
Darkness came next. It folded around glowing threads, pressing into seams, binding loose sparks. The storm clawed, but darkness wrapped them inward, refusing dispersal. Where Fire steadied, Darkness contained. The two together wove into resistance against the storm's chaos.
Light was last. It flared bright, cutting through haze in blinding arcs. Dust scattered in flashes, ash burning away in streaks of brilliance. But light consumed him faster than fire, bleeding sparks uncontrolled. He dimmed, pulsing in intervals, flashes sharp but brief. Not constant blaze, but bursts that carved clarity into the storm.
Together, the three affinities burned, bound, and flared. Not harmony, not yet. Their resonance still jagged, still grinding. But less so than before. The storm did not scatter them utterly. The storm tested them, and in resistance, they bent sharper.
Still, the pressure grew. Winds swelled, carrying shards of ashstone aloft, striking like knives. Filaments tore again and again, sparks bleeding out in showers. Zeke collapsed, reformed, collapsed once more. Every cycle cost him mana, every recovery drained him further. Hunger clawed viciously, demanding prey, demanding fuel. He resisted, binding sparks tighter, weaving faster. Hunger had become a whetstone. The storm was a forge.
Instability surged again. One fragment tore too far, unravelling into dust before he could reclaim it. Pain seared through him, essence ripped away. He lashed pseudopods out in fury, dragging fragments inward, striking at the air itself. Sparks scattered in arcs of light and shadow, burning across the haze. The effort nearly undid him, but he pulled cohesion back at the last instant. Fragments fused, trembling but whole. Collapse pressed him, but he had learned: collapse was not the end. Collapse was a step.
Time stretched. He lost track of cycles. The storm's roar became rhythm, its grinding ash a constant chorus. Every gust scattered him anew. Every reform carved instinct deeper. He learned to lean with the storm, not against it—stretching filaments along the wind, bending to its pull, letting pressure guide his weaving. What once tore him apart now became a thread to shape. His body was no longer simply resisting. It was adapting.
Hours bled into unmeasured time. The storm roared without end, ash grinding through him, wind scattering him endlessly. Yet still he endured. Threads grew tighter, braids steadier. Pseudopods lashed faster, striking shards from the air, weaving alongside Split instead of apart from it. Amorphous flesh bent to every gust, stretching, compressing, reforming with speed. He was no longer simply resisting the storm. He was shaping himself within it.
The ash-winds howled until his awareness blurred. Sparks dimmed within him, mana bleeding away in rivers. Yet his cohesion held. Not perfectly, not without cost, but enough. Every fragment scattered returned. Every collapse reforged. Where once the world unravelled him, now it sharpened him.
At las,t the storm eased. The winds calmed, dust settling back into the broken plains. The ashlands stilled, quiet save for faint sparks of prey daring to emerge once more. Zeke drifted low, compact, mass folded in a tight sphere. Sparks hummed faintly within him, dim but steady. Hunger pressed still, sharp as ever, but now it was background. Not master, not even rival. Companion.
Affinity stirred within him again. Fire simmered like a steady forge, not a wild blaze. Darkness coiled dense, binding seams unbroken. Light flashed sharp, brief arcs that cut clean. Together they pressed, nearing change. The ceiling of Basic quivered near its end. Soon, he sensed, they would rise. Not yet, but soon.
He pulsed faintly, reflecting. Predators had sharpened him. Training had refined him. Now the world itself tested him. Storm, stone, hunger—none sought to kill him out of malice. They pressed him because that was their nature. And in pressing, they honed. He was thread and vessel both, but more than that—he was being woven by the world itself.
The storm had not been a predator. It had been a loom. And he, once again, had survived its weaving.
The System stirred.
System Update
Status
Name: Ezekiel Ashbourne
Race: Prime Slime (Unevolved)
Level: 15
Affinity: Fire (Basic), Light (Basic), Darkness (Basic)
Stats
STR: 9
AGI: 9
VIT: 13 → 14
WIL: 10
RES: 11
MNA: 51 → 52
CTL: 21 → 22
Skills
Active Skills:
Split (Lv.7): Divide body into fragments. Threads sustain wider spreads and finer densities with reduced mana bleed. Braided layering stabilizes under strain. Storm resistance gained.
Assimilate (Lv.8): Absorb matter or energy to recover essence; smoother, more efficient absorption. Can now pull minor elemental traces.
Pseudopod (Lv.9): Tentacle-like appendages with whip precision and crushing power. Now integrates more fluidly with Split, striking alongside threads without delay.
Passive Skills:
Amorphous Body (Lv.7 → Lv.8): Cohesion resists environmental turbulence. Reforms faster when scattered by external forces.