The Archetype | Rimuru Tempest x TBATE

Even the day's last sliver of light must submit to darkness. But it also holds the fierce will of the sun to rise once more.

—Angie Weiland-Crosby

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I always wondered where the line was drawn.

The invisible boundary that separates right from wrong, reality from fantasy, and love from obsession. It's a question that has lingered in the back of my mind. There's a certain ambiguity to it, an unsettling gray area that refuses to be neatly categorized or easily understood. And yet, that line, elusive as it may be, has been my whole, dictating the terms of my struggles, my desires, and my search for meaning in a universe that seldom offers clear answers.

I've crossed it more times than I care to admit. Each time, the line moves a little further away, beckoning me deeper into the unknown, daring me to test its limits. Sometimes, I think it exists solely to remind us of our fragility, of the thin thread that binds us to our morality, and of how easily it can be severed.

I remember those crossings—of moments where I stood on the edge of that line, hesitating, questioning, and, more often than not, stepping over it. And I know how to search for the line, the endless pursuit of clarity in a world mired in chaos, led me down paths I never imagined I'd take.

But most of all, it's about the line itself—where it begins, where it ends, and how far one can go before everything is lost.

I've thought of what might happen once I crossed that line I could never go back to. I don't regret it, but I felt scared when I thought about what might become of me. Killing thousands of humans to bring back those who were important to me, I thought, was a small price to pay. Even now as I drift in the depths of my subconscious world, the fears of me waking up as a different person gnawed at me.

I am a Rimuru Tempest.

A man reincarnated as a slime.

And a slime turned Archetype of the Storm Dragon.

I have become a demon lord; both in name and in act.

But what does that mean, truly? Power without direction is chaos. Destruction without purpose is emptiness. Power without ideals is hollow. Ideals without power are pointless. I wrestle with these truths, even as I cling to the choices that brought me here. I hold on to the faces of those I've saved, the warmth of their smiles, the weight of their trust.

It would be easy to say I've done all of this for them. For Shion, for Shuna, for Benimaru, and the others. That it was their love and loyalty that gave me the strength to rewrite the rules of life and death, to defy the very laws of the universe. But it would be a lie.

There's a selfishness to my actions, one I cannot deny. I did it for me. To stave off the unbearable void of loss. To avoid the hollow existence of someone who lets fate dictate their story.

Would I do it again? The answer is simple: yes. Without hesitation. But the simplicity of that answer doesn't make it easy to bear.

It's strange, this feeling. To know you've shattered a barrier and can never return to who you once were. The old me—the one who lived a mundane life on Earth—would never have imagined wielding such power, let alone using it. But that person is gone, dissolved like salt in water, leaving behind someone unrecognizable to even himself.

Perhaps that's what frightens me most. Not the destruction I've wrought, but the realization that I've become the kind of person who feels nothing but resolve in its aftermath. The kind of person who wakes up as something more—and something less—than human.

And now, here I am. A being beyond humanity, yet still tethered to human fears.

My soul drifts here, in the shadowed recesses of my mind, where light and darkness intermingle, where silence roars louder than any storm. I see reflections of myself—who I was, who I could have been, who I might become.

They mock me and comfort me in equal measure.

I wonder, is this the price of divinity? To stand above all, yet remain haunted by the burden of the line I once crossed? If so, then I accept it. Because to be a demon lord is to bear the burden of choices.

———

"Shit. I'm cooked," I muttered helplessly as I looked at my surroundings. Sitting at the fountain of a city called Xyrus, I finally managed to grasp the predicament I found myself in. That didn't make it any less easy to accept, however. The splashes of the fountain made its way to my black garments, and my panic was drowned out by the hum of the city around me while I felt lost in this sea of strangers.

"Why now of all times!?" I shouted, gripping my head with my hands, earning me looks of confusion and a plethora of curios gazes directed my way. Once again, one more time, I found myself in another world—against my will.

How could this happen?

I asked myself, already having understood it but never having come to terms with the reality. I sat for a little while longer, just letting the fountain splashes soak into my black coat. I gripped my bluish silver hair and just stared at the ground, unmoving for hours. Many people approached and talked to me, but I never bothered even glancing up.

Sorry, I'm just not in the mood.

They all went away after a few minutes of never having received a response from me. Eventually, the sun began to sink beyond the horizon, casting the city in hues of orange and purple. The business of Xyrus continued. Merchants called out to passersby, children laughed as they ran through the streets, and the scent of freshly baked bread leaked from a nearby stall.

Life here carried on.

I finally forced myself to move. With a deep breath, I stood, letting the water droplets on my coat drip onto the cobblestone below. My reflection in the fountain caught my eye—an androgynous person shrouded in black, hair like molten silver streaked with blue, and eyes that glowed faintly like the embers of a dying crimson sun.

I looked alien.

Otherworldly, even.

And yet, I knew this was me.

"Another world…" I muttered bitterly under my breath. "Again."

Damn it. I had worked so hard to create a home, to build something that mattered in the world I called my own. And now, all of it was ripped away. Again. My hands clenched into fists. Was it fate? Some cruel joke played by the universe?

"Excuse me, are you alright?" a voice broke through my spiraling thoughts.

I glanced to my side to see a young elf woman standing before me. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, with shoulder length white hair and light blue eyes filled with concern.

I stared at her for a moment, unsure how to respond.

What could I even say?

That I was a being from another world, a slime turned into an Archetype by assimilating with the Storm Dragon's draconic will, then evolved into a Demon Lord, stranded here by forces I knew nothing about? That I carried the weight of countless lives, both saved and destroyed, on my shoulders?

"I'm fine," I said finally, my voice low and distant as I looked away.

Her brow furrowed, but she nodded, seeming to sense that pressing further wouldn't yield answers. "If you're sure… You just looked like you could use someone to talk to."

I forced a smile, though it felt hollow. "Thanks. I'll be fine."

She hesitated, then conjured a single magical flower from her hand on the edge of the fountain before walking away.

"I'm Alea, by the way."

I watched her go, the faint scent of lilac lingering in the air.

I turned away. I didn't have time for sentimentality. If I was here, there had to be a reason. And if I wanted to find my way back—or at least understand why I had been brought here—I needed to act.

The first step was figuring out where I was and what kind of world I'd been thrown into. This wasn't my first time in a situation like this, but that didn't make it any less daunting. Still, I wasn't one to sit idly by.

And if this world thought it could break me, it was sorely mistaken.

———

I wandered around the evening streets. The pavements had streetlights lined up neatly, cascading down the road as carriages of all sizes clattered the ground.

How's analysis going, Raphael?

<>

Right. Whatever brought me here was clearly not to be trifled with, let alone something Raphael could unravel with limited information—if it's even an entity in the first place. According to Raphael, it happened during my evolution into a demon lord. I wondered if the evolution had nothing to do with it, and I'd hope that was it.

<>

But the Lord of Wisdom denied my claim and said it was impossible without outside intervention, just strengthening my anxiety.

Someone was behind this, and I didn't even know where to start looking.

I continued walking for hours. I am now a divine being so I have a self-sustaining and immortal physical body, so I can continue without ever feeling tired, but this whole emotional stroll was tiring me mentally. I took a look around and eyed a certain geezer walking down the streets with three women snuggling up to him affectionately.

I passed by them and in a heartbeat, I looked at my hand. The geezer's wallet was in my grasp, and I had stolen it fast enough that no one saw me in the act.

Perfect, I thought. I could be charged with theft for all I knew but I was as confident in my ability to deal with it as I was in my speed.

The weight of guilt didn't even graze me. A theft like this—insignificant in the grand scheme of things—barely registered as a moral offense. I had long since stopped agonizing over such trivialities. The world operates on power and necessity, and right now, I needed money.

So, I continued walking. I stopped by a nearby stall and brought a snack as I handed the vendor a few coins. A chocolate bar, wrapped in a material that was foreign to me. I unwrapped it and took a bite. Sweet, I thought. Surprisingly good.

I paused in front of a modest inn tucked between two larger buildings. The lettering read The Restful Hearth and light seeped through its curtained windows. It wasn't grand, but it didn't need to be. For now, I just needed a place to think, and this seemed as good as any.

Pushing the door open, I was greeted by the familiar noise of conversation mixed with the faint crackle of a hearth. The air smelled of wood smoke and roasted meat. The innkeeper, a stout woman with sharp eyes and a warm smile, looked up from her ledger as I approached the counter.

"Looking for a room, gorgeous?" she asked.

"Yes. One night," I replied, fishing the stolen wallet from my pocket and sliding a few coins onto the counter. She didn't question the source of my funds, only nodding as she scooped up the money and handed me a simple brass key.

"Room's upstairs, second door on the right. Supper's still hot if you're hungry."

I declined the offer of food with a small shake of my head, making my way up the narrow staircase to my room. It was small but clean, with a single bed, a wooden chair, and a washbasin by the window. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring out at the city below.

I leaned back, letting my body sink into the mattress. Sleep wasn't a necessity for me anymore, but the act of lying down was comforting in its own way.

———

The morning came quietly, with soft rays of sunlight filtering through the curtains. I left the inn before most of the city had stirred, making my way to the Adventurer's Guild. If I was going to figure out this world, I needed information and I needed to explore, and the guild was the best place to start.

The building was hard to miss—a grand structure with high ceilings and a bustling entrance. The emblem of crossed swords hung above the doorway, a universal symbol of adventurers. Inside, the atmosphere was lively, with people of all shapes and sizes—mostly human, some elves, and some dwarves—gathered in small groups, poring over maps and bounty boards.

I approached the reception desk, where a young woman in a crisp uniform greeted me with a practiced smile.

"Welcome to the Xyrus Adventurer's Guild! How can I help you today?"

"I'd like to register as an adventurer," I replied.

Her eyes scanned me briefly, perhaps sizing me up. Right now, I looked no different from a fifteen-year-old or so, so I figured I had no problem in the age criteria. "Of course. Please fill out this form and provide your identification."

I froze for a moment. Identification? Right. That was going to be a problem. I accelerated my thoughts as soon as I felt like I was sweating (even though I physically couldn't). Quickly, I consulted with Raphael.

Can you create a suitable identification for this world's system?

<>

A small flash of light appeared in my palm, and a card materialized—complete with a name, age, and fabricated background. It seems that there was an identification card in the wallet I had stolen, so Raphael used it as a reference. I handed it to the receptionist, who didn't even blink as she accepted it.

"Everything seems to be in order," she said after a moment. "Now, we'll need to conduct a basic assessment of your abilities to determine your initial rank. Are you ready?"

I nodded, a confident smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. An assessment? This should be interesting.