Formation
Slime x ??? - how he came to be.
The night it was born was cold and rainy, woods pitch black, shrouded in fog. Somewhere deep within a forest where most humans never ventured lay a tiny puddle of black-purple goop. Just beneath a rowan berry bush, barely shielded from the water drizzling down on it. To anyone noticing it, it would have looked unremarkable - lifeless, probably the remnant of a deceased monster. Those well-versed in creatures and their biology would have recognized the puddle as the remnants of what was, at some point, a slime. And then, they would move on, quickly losing interest - because slimes were common. Some of the weakest monsters in the area.
It just so happened that this particular pile of goo wasn’t just any slime. Like the night it came to live, it was dark in essence. And dark slimes were a rarity among their own - for good reason. Their potential for growth and danger was high enough for them to be nearly eradicated.
This tiny, leftover part, however, had not yet given up. Clinging to live, it cautiously opened two lavender eyes, peering at its surroundings. There was not much thought within the critter yet, too small its body. Every sound too new still, every scent overwhelming - and the touch. The grass beneath it, pricking at its body. The one thing it knew was: To survive, it had to grow. To grow, it had to eat. To eat, it had to survive - and to survive meant to stay hidden long enough to do so.
Unfortunately for this little one, fate would not be so kind. It occurred on a day so sunny that the dark slime slithered beneath some rocks, hoping for the offending hot sun rays to disappear sooner rather than later. Night would not come that day, not in the way it expected. Instead, footsteps. Hushed voices. The dark slime tried to make itself as small as possible, no part of it visible through the rubble. No matter. These were humans in search of treasure, and as such they would leave no stone unturned.
“Whoa, look at this. It’s a slime, just…darker.” At that point, human language was but a series of sounds it could not comprehend.
“That’d be because it’s a dark slime. This is our lucky day!”, a man with thick glasses and a book in hand stood over it, grinning from ear to ear. The slime tried to wiggle away, to no avail.
“We should capture it. Could sell for a fortune. These things are rare these days.”
And then, it was suddenly surrounded by a dome of glass. The blob tried to find a way out, any tiny hole or crevice would be enough - there was none. Just glass, annoyingly slippery and dense. And such unbearable heat.
If you asked Slime, that would be the worst day in his life. Caught before he was able to grow, confined to a much hated jar. What he didn’t know back then was that his capture had been a stroke of luck in disguise. For keeping a dark slime alive was forbidden if not under strict regulations. And he may as well have died for good that day.
