[Symbiotober 2024] Symbiote Slime (Patreon)

Based on Symbiotober themes by @Symbiotober on Twitter/X.

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Armed with a sword and a patched leather jerkin, Tavrik descended into the dungeon. At first, everything went well—he slashed through a few weak slimes, collecting the odd gem here and there. Their jelly-like forms splattered under his blade, and he smirked at the ease of it.

But then, deeper into the cavern, Tavrik found something strange. The walls dripped with a thick, amber substance, glistening like honey in the low torchlight. His instincts warned him to be cautious, but his greed pushed him forward. Maybe it was some rare treasure or a valuable resource he could sell back in the village.

As he moved to collect some of the gooey substance, it came alive—slithering across the floor in a gelatinous mass, its honey-colored surface reflecting the flicker of his torch. Before he could react, the slime lunged at him, splashing onto his legs and quickly climbing up his body.

"What the—?" Tavrik yelped, trying to shake the goo off, but it clung to him like a second skin, sticky and warm. It wasn’t like the other slimes—this one wasn’t just trying to engulf him. It was fusing with him, creeping under his armor, seeping into every crevice of his body.

He flailed, panic setting in as the amber slime surged upward, covering his arms, his chest, and finally, his face. It coated his skin in a rubbery sheen, and no matter how hard he tugged or scraped at it, the slime wouldn’t budge. Worse, it began to dissolve his armor and clothes, reducing them to nothing more than scraps, leaving him exposed and vulnerable beneath the thick, elastic substance.

As the last of his jerkin disintegrated, Tavrik could feel the slime pulsing against his bare skin, tightening around him, compressing and shifting. His muscles twitched involuntarily as the goo wormed its way into him. He gasped, but his breath was cut short—the slime covered his mouth and nose, yet somehow, he could still breathe, though it felt wrong, unnatural.

He tried to scream, but the sound was muffled. His limbs felt heavy, moving slower with each passing second as the amber slime hardened into a sleek, rubbery shell. His body was no longer his own; it was becoming something else. He could feel it. Tavrik’s green scales had turned yellow, shiny and squeaky like polished latex. His legs were fusing together, losing their form, becoming a solid mass of slime. His fingers, once dexterous, now melded into blob-like appendages. And all the while, his mind raced—he needed to escape, to get help.

Tavrik stumbled forward, his body wobbling unnaturally, like a puppet whose strings had been tangled. He made his way toward the dungeon's entrance, but with each step, he felt his will slipping away. The slime was no longer just on him—it was him. His thoughts grew slower, more distant. His body felt… different. Every movement made that strange squeaking noise, and his new rubbery form caught the light in odd ways.

Somehow, he knew that if he didn’t get help soon, he’d become a permanent resident of the dungeon—a slime lord, mindless and monstrous, trapped in a body not his own.