But for a Slime

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Approximately Eight months ago…

He found himself in a strange world in a strange pod with a strange blue screen before his eyes, perfect French welcoming him to a strange land. He cared little for what he was seeing, but upon reading the consequences of naturalization, he grew concerned. He took several days marching through beautiful farm land, golden fields of wheat and a variety of other grains and vegetables dotted the landscape. Each plot was dutifully cared for by a variety of farmers. He could not understand much of anything said, but the farmers seemed polite enough, offering him a bed to sleep and a pointing finger the next morning towards the same direction each morning.

Several days later, he arrived at a city, which began a frustrating experience that proved trying for a time, but quickly gave him a purpose. Struggling through the various commoner jobs had been a chore at first, but finding the cook job gave him hope until he found the variety of jobs available to be sadly lacking. He took a chance to open the metropolitan line of jobs, which seemed to make sense, since chefs would more likely to be metropolitan.

His hope proved prescient and he only sighed in relief when a good eighteen or so chef jobs revealed themselves in the metropolitan line of jobs, including all the necessary jobs for a meaningful restaurant. His dream only proved more likely, and he threw himself into developing his chef jobs before his year came up. It took a long time, but his efforts proved themselves and he quickly began developing his various chef jobs rapidly after he finally opened his own restaurant and soon became famous. With that fame came wealth and even more rapid growth for all his chef jobs when he equipped them. He found his dream, and clung to it with intensity. I will have… will be… the best!

* * *

The spymaster huddled in the branches of the thickest tree he could find, remaining in the tree for days at a time while cautiously peering out through the leaves every hour or so for a few moments but otherwise accepted his poor view of the city. No change had occurred for a long time, and the spymaster began to despair and feel relieved, the strange conflicting emotions twisting within him. But almost when the spymaster had prepared to return to his current master, the walls began to bustle with activity. The spymaster breathed in deeply, fragile hope beginning to grow in his heart even as worry swelled with it. He continued watching on for some time before finally parting the leaves to get a better view. The walls rapidly emptied of soldiers only a few moments later and the spymaster’s pounding heart finally settled, now replaced with burning fear. He sighed twice then jumped down the tree trunk before slipping through the forest as rapidly as he could.

He made the camp only moments later, much too fast for what his capabilities should be, and immediately sought out the Second in Line for Patriarch, reporting the change. The cruel smile that grew on his master’s lips caused a slither of disgust to twist in his guts even while simultaneously feeling some relief. This fool job is almost done!

Gunlan Galgandar, Second in Line for Patriarch stood and laughed, crying out orders to the camp, “Pack up! It is soon time to return! Spymaster, return and report when the guards return to the wall! We will return with their return. Take a runner!”

The spymaster bowed, hiding a curse, but turned and called for a runner, his rapid retreat an escape as much as it was a return to duty was hampered by the rather slow movement of the runner. Granted, the runner should have had a significantly greater speed than his own, and he had to keep up appearances, cursing at how slow the runner was.

When they had moved far enough from camp, his impatience finally overwhelmed his control and the runner was quickly knocked unconscious. The spymaster took no chance in killing the runner, uncertain of whether the Galgandar clan employed any life tracking services or devices. The man would have to remain alive for now.

Bundling the runner in enough restraints to best even a master beast, he also doused the man with enough drugs to leave him unresponsive then deposited him in a tall tree before fleeing to another city. Damn Matriarch closing the clan gates… gotta run… He sighed and vanished with a speed far exceeding a lowly spymaster. He couldn’t go to his wife and family. He truly wanted to. Everything within him called that he seek out and protect his family, but the collar and geas bound him, and he found himself sprinting with all speed to the nearest available gate.

The normally several days of travel was completed in only a bell or two, although it left him exhausted on wobbly legs. The gate opened quickly, his wealth enough to bribe private travel and opening and he soon found himself back in the bustling megacity on the capital plane. Rushing here was folly and would only attract the wrong attention, so he moved only slightly faster than most mortals. When he arrived at the inn, he found his master almost immediately and quite easily. The Wyvern’s loud and boisterous laughter was simple to find but completely grating to his ears. He stepped to the man’s side and waited silently, then ground his teeth as he found himself royally screwed. He had urgent information to tell his master, but his master did not take kindly to interruptions.

He ground his teeth for a time before finally interrupting the man, knowing the consequences but too concerned for his family, “Wyvern. I bring you urgen…”

The strike came from nowhere, too fast for the spymasters perceptions to see and certainly too fast for his reactions to ever offer any meaningful protection. He crashed across the room and smashed into the wall at the back. The wall did not hold, crumpling under his weight as he tumbled into the back alleys behind the inn. His master was almost on him when his master found himself confronted by the innkeep.

His master quickly backed down, talking a step back, “It will be repaired. It will be repaired. My apologies, innkeep.”

The innkeep seemed furious and the spymaster struggled to withhold his groan of fear. Master will be furious!

“You are a fool, Wyvern. Repair my inn by tonight, or suffer the consequences.”

“But, I don…”

“Tonight!”

His master twitched, rage burning through him before he quickly bowed, “Of course, innkeep.”

The innkeeper turned away, then simply vanished, reappearing behind the bar already washing another cup. The Wyvern stared at the innkeep then back at the spymaster, the respect vanishing under his overwhelming rage.

“You interrupted me!”

“Yes, master.”

“You should not interrupt me, fool!”

“Yes, master.”

The Wyvern raged for some time, cursing and angry before finally turning back to the spymaster.

“If you are so willing to interrupt me, then what news do you have to report!”

The spymaster tried to hide his fear, but reported quickly, “The Gunlan welp, Second of Galgandar… he has initiated the dungeon breaks.”

The Wyvern stared at the man, then raged, anger swelling violently even as he turned to take out his rage upon the spymaster.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner, you fo…”

His fist simply vanished, then appeared in the palm of the innkeep, even as the blast wave of the impact erupted through the room silencing everyone and punching the spymaster back another half a dozen feet, tumbling across the ground. The spymaster grunted, then looked up, almost unable to hide his glee.

“I said… this will end, Wyvern! I will not speak again!”

The Wyvern froze, staring at his fist gripped in the innkeep’s hand then looking back up at the innkeeper, even as he blubbered a bit.

“Apologies! I will not…”

“You will not. Understood?”

The Wyvern quickly bobbled his head and the innkeep vanished from the spymaster’s perceptions again before appearing behind the bar and washing the same cup.

Immediately after the innkeep vanished, the Wyvern grimaced, groaning and pulling in the hand he’d hit the innkeep with, cradling it carefully to his chest. The spymaster winced to see the Wyvern’s hand crushed and struggled to hide his glee. The Wyvern didn’t give him long. Turning to stare with absolute hatred at the spymaster. The Wyvern’s lips curled then whispered a simple command that terrified the spymaster for only a moment.

“Pain.”

“NoooaaarrrRRGH!”

The command only terrified the spymaster for a moment because he only had a moment to think as all he had to think shortly after was of the immense pain that shuddered through his entire being. The collar around his neck flared and spikes, spines, and thorns erupted from it in a fractal like pattern of no discernable order, pattern, or purpose. Most simply spiked up into the air to surround his head, others arched down around his shoulders and upper torso. Some few pierced into his body, but not too far. None of those really mattered or really affected the spymaster. In fact, the spymaster pretty much didn’t notice any of it as he pretty much couldn’t sense anything at all. Sight vanished, as did all sounds but for his own screams of pain. His sense of taste and touch washed away and the only thing he felt was a pain beyond anything he’d experienced before, except from the collar around his neck. He lost all sense of time. He knew nothing of what happened. He wallowed in a sea of fire and pain, darkness and loss. But ultimately could do nothing of it at all, only experiencing. Only experiencing without any action or control, leaving him despairing of everything and desiring only one thing: for it to end and to never experience it again.

Suddenly, the pain ended and he returned to awareness and the present, the world flooding back into reality around him even as he panted and swallowed, desperate to sooth his aching throat. He didn’t have time to return at all, his master leaving him no choice.

“Return, you fool. I have almost lost this chance.”

The spymaster fought against the lightheadedness even as he reflexively nodded, but still found will enough to speak up, “My family? Please…”

“Your family can go leap on a goblin’s spear! Return to the whelp and make sure the breaks happen.”

The spymaster despaired, even as his feet leapt up and dragged his body from the room at full speed. He fled through the gate, back to the furthest plane, and sped back to where he’d placed the unconscious runner. NO! No… my family…. Please… my family! But his thoughts meant nothing, utterly ignored even as his body obeyed his master’s last words.

* * *

In the depths of a dungeon, a husk of a man roared in rage surrounded by death. He spared nothing.

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