I quickly decided that my preferred method of battle had nothing to do with the insides of a decayed troll. Eating something from the outside was one thing, but from the inside? It was like eating the fleshy bits of harpy stew without the spices and flavors that came from the plants and scale chips.

  This one, in particular, was made even worse by the ashen taste of decay that permeated every bit of tissue. But, I resolutely continued. I could no longer see or hear what happened beyond the wound, but I could feel the monster twisting and turning. Its muscles tensed around me, which was triggering all sorts of imaginative images in my mind.

  I could have been in its stomach, being slowly crushed and digested alive. I could have been in its intestines, with most of my fight taken out of me already and just waiting to die.

  I put it out of my mind. I didn’t want to be here, but I had a job to do. Resolutely, I ignored the foul tastes that surrounded me and focused on taking the matter of this wretched thing into myself and purifying it…especially purifying it.

  [Tag Activated: Consumer of the Fourth Anchor

  Damage increased by 10%]

  There it was again. For once, I was actually glad that the tag triggered. Not only did it provide a faster way to eat through the flesh around me, but it gave me something to think about that was not my present circumstance.

  What was it, anyway? The Creator said that I received it when I reached Tier 2, and by its name, it implied that I ate something. My memories from that time of my life were exceptionally hazy, probably because I was too small and weak to hold onto things like memories.

  In truth, there was only one event that I could recall, and it was vague at best. There were lights, and a voice, and something that tasted like a thousand kinds of magic. Yet, anytime I tried to reach further, to grasp onto even the tiniest detail of memory, it flitted out of reach.

  Was that thing the Fourth Anchor? It must not have been that important if Tier 1 slime was enough to break past its defenses. It was probably just something that reacted especially well with slime magic, or with the magic of Dragon’s Gate, to make me far greater than the sum of my parts.

  But what did that have to do with the tag? I could understand that eating that artifact granted me “Consumer of the Fourth Anchor,” almost like a title given for a great accomplishment. In that regard, it should have held no greater mystery than someone being called a Dragon Slayer or a Hero of the People. Yet, this one felt different.

  Consumer of the Fourth Anchor had given me Friend of Monsters. It had saved Dorin from certain death. It had given me Arcane Ascendent, which was something I couldn’t wait to try again—this time without falling unconscious due to mana exhaustion. Yet, Friend of Monsters didn’t seem like something that would increase the damage of hostile abilities, so why did those get augmented against shamblers?

  And for that matter, what were shamblers that they and they alone were vulnerable to the tag?

  None of it made any sense, but it didn’t matter. My slime brushed against a cold, hard organ that made my core flip inside me. It oozed decay even more strongly than the outside of the creature did. It might have been the creature’s heart, but I didn’t know what a troll heart actually looked like. Regardless, I reached out and poked it, wondering what reaction it would have on the creature.

  I was suddenly squeezed and vibrated all at once as it roared in pain. It was disorienting, being pulled and twisted within the creature, but I poked the organ—based on the reaction, I guessed it was the heart— again.

  There was a muffled shout that might have been Dorin’s voice, but in truth, I couldn’t tell. I hoped he was encouraging me to continue, because this time, I reached up and engulfed the organ in its entirety.

  The ashen taste was far stronger than the shamblers I’d eaten so far, and I quickly decided never to eat one again if I didn’t have to. It crumbled into my slime, and I felt my core pulse several times, trying to fully consume the thing lest bits of ash remain in my mass.

  [Substance Consumed:

  Tier 3 Creature Core

  Evolution path unlocked: Primordial Slime, Tier 3

  Requirements:

  Consume Slimes: completed

  Consume Greater Creature Cores: 1/5

  Master Slime Fighting Styles: 1/4

  Unknown: 0/1

  Required Tags: Slime, Arcane Entity

  Required Evolutions: Slime Orator

  Required Abilities: Enhanced Eater and Slime Sacrifice

  Slime Fighting Styles:

  Ambush: mastered

  Infiltration: intermediate

  Pod Striker: intermediate

  Slime Burst: unlearned]

  Huh. An evolution path that is all about being a slime, I thought. How interesting.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  There was a certain irony to that. I wasn’t a particularly slime-like slime. I could think and speak perfectly well, and I did both quite frequently. Did that mean that I hadn’t completely lost my way along the path of the slime?

  Maybe slimes weren’t as simple as I thought, especially considering the four fighting styles. I’d never even heard of Slime Burst…but if it was anything like the rest, it was probably something I had the capability to do without wasting an ability slot. That was nice to know, since my supply of those were rapidly dwindling and I didn’t know how to get more outside of those given by [Versatility] at each subsequent Tier.

  What I did know was that infiltration was not fun. My single experience with diving into a creature and killing it from the inside left me very disgusted with the whole process, and I quickly oozed my way out of the fallen troll.

  “Dorin, I’m only doing that when absolutely necessary,” I grumbled. “My membrane is disgusting.”

  He huffed in amusement. “I’m sure you’ll clean it off in no time.”

  “Dorin? Dorin Ironclaw? That’s really you?” one of the guards asked.

  “Uh. Yeah,” Dorin said, his head lowered.

  “We thought you were dead! What happened? You have…horns?”

  Dorin cleared his throat. “Yeah. It’s a long story and this isn’t the place. What’s the situation, here? Where is Captain Ultyr?”

  The guard immediately snapped to attention. “The Captain is dead, sir. She died when that thing burst through the gate.” He paused, his voice cracking. “We tried, sir. We tried to keep them out, but there were just so many of them, and then the trolls came and they knocked down the whole gatehouse. Then they rushed into town and we tried to stop them, but they just kept coming.”

  Those who remained—just a fraction of those who’d been there the day I’d met Dorin—looked around the market square at the blood of their fallen friends. Few of the corpses remained, no doubt having stood up and continued the fight as decayed puppets.

  “Where are the survivors being directed?” Dorin asked.

  “Survivors? What survivors? It’s all over,” answered the guard.

  The guard looked down, his face filled with the horrors he’d seen. Haunted as he was, a pep talk was in order. However, human guards wouldn’t listen to a slime. Instead, I crawled onto Dorin’s shoulder and let him speak to his people. After all, he was a natural leader.

  “What’s your name, soldier?”

  “Mattis, sir.”

  “You’re Trenor’s kid, right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Where is he? Where is your brother?”

  Mattis shrugged. “I haven’t seen them since the walls fell.”

  “They could still be out there.” Dorin put a hand on Mattis’s shoulder. “You don’t get to decide when it’s over, son. You don’t get to decide when hope is gone because hope isn’t something we can control. Your father and your brother’s carpentry shop is on the south side of the city. They may still be alive. And until we find them, you have to keep fighting to save them. Do you understand me?” Mattis looked up into Dorin’s eyes but didn’t answer. The draken growled, flared his fire and repeated the question. “Do you understand me?”

  “Y-yes, sir.”

  “Good.” He turned to the rest of the guards. “Group up. Teams of two. Each pair take a street and do not engage any of the shamblers unless they’re actively harming civilians. Gather those you can and bring them to my workshop near the south wall. We’ll all get out together.”

  The guards all saluted and hurried off, leaving Dorin slightly stunned. I didn’t ask, but I guessed it had something to do with how much they still respected him, despite their observations regarding his horns. He stood still for a dozen core-pulses, then he seemed to snap himself out of it.

  “Come on, we have to find my family.”

  “That was a good speech you gave,” I said.

  “Sometimes all it takes is a reminder as to what’s important.”

  I wobbled a gesture that I hoped looked like a human head nod and wrapped a pseudopod into his hair for stability. Riding with him was easier and faster than hopping myself, and I’d never forgive myself if my slow hops were the reason that Samri and Tanev died…

  If they died. I’d do everything in my power to prevent it.

  I wonder if a primordial slime would hop faster or slower? I wondered. Is it inherently slime-like to be slow?

  I didn’t have an answer, and the Creator didn’t provide one. Instead, I just kept watch while Dorin wove through cobble streets towards his cousin’s home. On the way, Dorin traded his halberd for an axe and shield that he picked up off a guard too dead and broken to be raised as a shambler.

  “You are really skilled with a lot of weapons,” I noted.

  He shrugged. “Knight training. I learned several, but my preference is an axe. It has heft without being cumbersome.”

  There were a lot of things I wanted to say about that. The number of human styles he was trained in was inspiring, since I was now considering learning the slime styles to a similar degree. However, before I could say so, Dorin stopped outside a relatively untouched building.

  “Samara lives on the third floor of her tavern,” he explained as he pushed open the door.

  The building was abandoned. Meals and drinks were still warm on the tables, and I helped myself to the food that wouldn’t keep, while Dorin tossed the rest into a burlap sack for the refugees.

  “Did your cousin make all this?” I asked.

  “Probably her chef, actually. Samara has a passion for drinks.”

  “Remind me to give them my compliments if they’re still alive. It’s delicious.”

  Dorin shook his head in exasperation. “Do you ever stop eating?”

  “I’m a slime. No, I do not.”

  Samri watched in horror as Samara’s bolt slammed into the monster that used to be Mr. Dailie, the apothecary. However, now, his kindly face had been twisted into a hungering look of pure malice. Mr. Dailie was never meant to look that way, but that just made it worse.

  The monster jerked as the bolt embedded itself in the creature’s chest, piercing it straight through the heart. Tanev cheered, but it quickly died from her lips as the shambler growled and shuffled forward again.

  “Just figures. The one time I can actually hit a decent target, Dorin’s not here to see it, and the creature doesn’t stop,” Samara muttered. “Samri, take your sister and run down this alley.”

  “But, what about you?” The last thing Samri wanted was to leave Aunt Samara the way the guards had left his dad.

  “I’ll be fine, now go!” she shouted.

  Samri squeezed his eyes shut before nodding. He took Tanev’s free hand—she still held her stuffed dragon in the other—and dragged her down the alley. He didn’t want to admit it, but there were tears in his eyes that he was furiously trying to blink away. He had to be strong. It’s what his dad would have wanted. He had to be strong for Tanev.

  Growling brought the two children to a stop. In the next street over, two more shamblers were waiting. They hadn’t seen the siblings yet, but Samri wasn’t going to give them the chance. He held his mother’s sword high, the shining steel reflecting the lamplights while the diamond embedded in the hilt glittered with magic. There was a time when that diamond could summon an enchantment to summon enormous celestial guardians to destroy any who stood against the blade, but that hadn’t been done in years. Not since his mother died.

  The shamblers began lumbering down the alleyway. Tanev whimpered, but Samri pushed her firmly behind him. His hands trembled, and as the shamblers picked up their pace, he squeezed his eyes shut.

  Please…if there’s any magic left…I need a guardian!

  But nothing came. No magic surged along the blade, not even the spirit of his mother guiding him from beyond the grave. He felt a little disappointed. That was how it always went in mother’s old stories.

  The disappointment didn’t last, for it was quickly replaced by the paralyzing fear of a boy facing down a horrible and violent death with no adults to protect him. He was going to die. Tanev was going to die, and there was nothing he could do about it.

  The shambler shrieked, and the scuffling of stone told Samri that the end was finally here.

  I guess I’ll see you soon, Dad…

  Howling filled Samri’s ears as heat erupted before him. Immediately, he opened his eyes. A figure stood between him and the shambler, as the latter’s head tumbled to the ground.

  Samri couldn’t believe his eyes. He must have been dreaming…or else he just died and was faced with a similar hell in the afterlife. The figure had long red hair that practically danced with flames, and the burly arms were exactly the same as those that had held him tight whenever he was scared. If he didn’t know better, he’d think it was…

  “Dad?”

  thank you for all the wonderful comments you all have left! I'm really enjoying them. Especially all the discussion about Suri's evolutions and the world lore. They are really fun to read, and they help me to know where the readership's interpretations are so I can know if I'm writing things clearly or not. Some things I leave intentionally vague for the purpose of hinting towards later thins, but other times I can be unintentionally vague, and your comments help me to know where I can shore up the story and lore.