The night was almost over, and the moon was slowly sinking below the horizon, casting a soft, silver glow across the swamp. The sound of creatures in the distance filled the air—frogs croaking, insects buzzing, and the occasional rustle of something moving through the brush. The harmony of it almost made it seem like a peaceful place, but I knew better than to trust appearances.
We stood atop a high hill, scanning the area below us. The dim light of the fading moon made everything look shadowed, unclear, and treacherous. My eyes swept the land, looking for our target. I knew what we were after—sentient slime. Gross as it was, we needed it to finish the machine, and I was ready to do what needed to be done.
Barten stood a little behind me, his stance steady, his eyes narrowed as he surveyed the swamp.
Barten: Hey, I'll snipe from up here. I have enough arrows for another horde.
Asellus: Got it. Whatever gets us home quicker.
Barten: I see a slime over there.
I followed his pointing finger to the left. Sure enough, I spotted a cluster of the disgusting things wriggling in the muck, glowing faintly in the moonlight. They were moving slowly, minding their own business. They didn't know what was coming for them.
I nodded at Barten, already feeling the weight of exhaustion pulling at my legs, but I had no time to rest. I had to finish this.
I started to move down the hill, my steps more sluggish than I'd like to admit. The lack of rest was catching up to me, and the aching in my bones only seemed to grow with every step. But the thought of getting closer to the end, of finally finishing this damn machine, kept me going.
As I made my way down, I heard the sharp whistle of an arrow flying through the air. I glanced over just in time to see one of the undead collapse, an arrow buried deep in its skull. Barten's aim was as precise as always. I couldn't help but appreciate the quiet efficiency of his work, even if we were both running on fumes.
I pushed myself faster, moving with the determination of someone who knew there was no turning back. We needed this—needed to finish what we'd started. No more hesitation, no more second-guessing. This was the only way forward.
With each step, the swamp seemed to grow darker, more menacing, but I didn't stop. We couldn't afford to stop. Not now. I wanted to sleep so badly, but the thought of stopping felt like a luxury I couldn't afford.
My legs churned through the thick mud, every step heavier than the last. The muck clung to my boots, sucking me down and stealing what little speed I had left. I could see the slimes now, their gelatinous forms writhing and glimmering faintly in the pale moonlight. Disgusting. They noticed me immediately, shifting and pulsating as they began to close the distance.
I tried to stop, but the treacherous mud had other plans. My footing gave way, and I skidded, flailing for balance. My heart leaped as the world tilted—too late. The slick ground betrayed me, and I slipped, landing hard in the middle of the squelching mass of slimes. Their cold, slimy texture pressed against my skin, and I gagged as their gelatinous forms writhed against me—
Barten: This idiot.
The words slip out—half exasperation, half disbelief. How the hell does someone fall into slimes? And honestly? This isn't even the worst thing Asellus has managed to get himself into. There was that time with the lava. Lava. I had to drag him out of that mess, half-cooked and still yelling. It's a miracle he survived. At this point, I'm convinced he's competing with his own bad decisions.
I sigh and start down the hill, following his clumsy, mud-soaked trail. Every step squelches underfoot—annoying as hell and a constant reminder to tread carefully unless I want to end up the sequel to his disaster.
Then I hear it—the low groan of an undead, close. My body moves before thought catches up. I reach for the bow, fingers wrapping around the familiar worn grip. One smooth motion, one breath, one shot—the thing crumples, arrow buried in its skull.
Barten: Just great. Cleaning up his mess and watching my back.
I mutter under my breath and press forward. The slimes are still writhing where Asellus landed, and I can hear his muffled groans echoing up from the mess.
I draw my blade and slice through the pulsing slime mass with careful precision, jaw tight. The last thing I need is to nick him and listen to him whine about it for the next week. The creature shudders, collapsing in on itself as I reach in and yank out the slime sample we need.
Like hell I'm letting this miserable trip be for nothing.
Moments later, Asellus's head bursts from the goo, gasping like a man nearly drowned. His face is pure disgust as he wipes the slime from his eyes.
Asellus: This... is the worst.
He mutters, voice rough and soaked in frustration. He grabs his sword from the muck with a grimace and throws a glare my way, like I'm the one who dunked him in monster soup.
I don't even dignify it. Not this time—
Asellus: It's also cold as hell!
I pushed myself out of the disgusting mass, my arms straining as I finally broke free. With one swing of my sword, I cut through the remaining slime, its gelatinous body splattering onto the already filthy ground. The rancid smell clung to me like a curse.
Barten: Hell is cold?
Asellus: Shut it.
Taking a long, shuddering breath, I started furiously wiping at the slimy residue coating my armor and clothes, but it was no use. It seeped into every crack and crevice, making me want to crawl out of my own skin.
Asellus: Let's get out of here. Now.
I glanced up at Barten, who was watching from a safe distance with the most infuriatingly smug expression I'd ever seen.
Asellus: And don't even start.
He held his hands up innocently, but his smirk betrayed him. My skin crawled, and not just from the slime.
Asellus: I swear, I'd rather eat dirt. No—fall into lava again. At least lava kills you quickly.
I stomped past him, trying to pretend I didn't hear the quiet chuckle he let slip as he followed... Home was almost there...13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwTfunfrflC
