"Finally… we've succeeded!"

A man in black robes declared triumphantly, his voice echoing across the dimly lit laboratory. Around him, others cheered, their faces alight with fervent excitement. Their gazes fixed on the creature suspended inside a glowing tube filled with viscous liquid.

The thing inside squirmed, shapeless and unsettling, like a mass of living goo. But to the gathered magicians, it wasn't just a bizarre creation. It was their greatest achievement.

"The very first of its kind! With this, we shall be remembered forever in the annals of history as the magicians who created a living god!" The man's voice grew louder, his fervor infectious as he gestured toward the tube.

The crowd roared in agreement, intoxicated by their success. With trembling hands, the leader unlocked the tube, releasing the creature within. It oozed out, its translucent, gelatinous form reflecting the light of the glowing runes etched across the laboratory walls.

At first, the creature did as they had hoped—it consumed and took on the forms of what it devoured. Monsters, beasts, even humans. But there was a flaw. It didn't gain their strength, their abilities, or their essence. It could mimic appearances, but nothing more.

"It's useless…" one of the magicians muttered bitterly, shattering the celebratory atmosphere.

Days turned into weeks, and their once-celebrated creation was reduced to a failed experiment. With disdain, the magicians abandoned it near a monster settlement, hoping it would learn to hunt and prove its worth.

But the creature was left with nothing. Starved, confused, and desperate, it wandered the wilderness.

---

The first time the creature met her, it was hunting for food. A cicada buzzed nearby, and the creature, now shrunken to the size of a fist, lunged at it clumsily. Its translucent body quivered with frustration as the insect darted away.

And then it saw her.

A small figure with disheveled white fur and striking blue eyes. She looked fragile, her matted coat and dirt-streaked face telling the story of a hard life. The creature tensed, instinctively wary.

But instead of running, the girl crouched and held out a piece of half-eaten bread. Her hand trembled, but her eyes held a soft determination.

"Here," she said quietly, placing the bread on the ground before stepping back.

The creature hesitated. The last time it had accepted food from humans, it had been forced to devour a living man, his screams haunting its memories. But hunger gnawed at it, and the girl's presence was oddly calming.

Cautiously, it inched forward, consuming the bread in one swift motion.

'It's dry… not like the food they used to give me,' the creature thought. And yet, for the first time, it felt something warm stir within its shapeless form.

The girl smiled, her expression lighting up as though she'd won a great victory.

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---

The days turned into weeks, and the girl returned every day with scraps of food. The creature began to anticipate her visits, lurking near their meeting spot even when it wasn't hungry.

She would talk as she fed it, sharing stories of her life. She spoke of a once-loving family, a mother who sang lullabies, and a father who once called her his precious star. But when her mother died, everything changed.

Her father remarried, bringing a stepmother and a half-sister into the household. The once-warm home became cold and cruel. Her stepmother's disdain was evident, and her father turned a blind eye to the abuse.

"She doesn't hit me in front of the others," the girl said one day, absently tossing crumbs to the creature. "But she doesn't need to. Her words hurt more."

The creature didn't understand everything, but it listened.

Over time, the girl gave it a name: "Little Friend."

It wasn't much, but to the creature, it was everything.

---

A year later, during the rainy season, the creature returned to their usual spot, eager to see her again. It had grown stronger, its form slightly more stable, its movements more deliberate.

But when it saw her, something was wrong.

She stumbled toward it, her once-bright fur matted with blood and rainwater. Three deep claw marks marred her back, and her pale face twisted in pain.

"Little Friend…" she whispered, collapsing to her knees.

The creature froze. Its instincts screamed at it to devour her. She was wounded, weak, and dying—a perfect prey. But it fought against the primal urge, quivering with conflict.

"I… I need to ask you a favor," she said, her voice trembling. "Take my body. Use it to live. But promise me… promise me you'll take revenge."

Through gasps of pain, she told the creature what had happened. Her half-sister, jealous of her position as the legitimate heir, had plotted her death. She had given her a pouch of poisoned sweets, and when that failed, sent a red-eyed wolf to finish the job.

The creature trembled, its emotions roiling. How could this girl, who had been so kind, ask it to consume her? Wasn't she different from the mages who had created and abandoned it?

But as her breathing grew shallower, the girl's tears mixed with the rain.

"I… just wished we could've talked more," she murmured, her voice barely audible.

The creature made its decision.

It approached her, its form shifting with hesitation. Slowly, gently, it wrapped itself around her. As her body grew still, her final words echoed in its mind.

"Thank you."

And when the process was complete, the creature wasn't the same.

It had gained more than a form. It had gained her memories, her pain, her determination.

And....it had gained her name.

"Leah."

The name echoed in her mind, heavy with the weight of its meaning. She had no choice but to take it now, to take her.

The child's memories—her laughter, her struggles, her hopes—they all rushed into Leah's consciousness, intertwining with her own thoughts like threads in a tangled web. It wasn't just a name anymore. It was a life. A life that wasn't hers but had been entrusted to her.

She glanced down at her small hands, clenching them tightly. They trembled, not from weakness but from the overwhelming ache of guilt. Leah took a shaky step forward, the body responding like it was hers yet feeling foreign, hollow. Her breath hitched as flashes of the child's happiest moments flickered behind her eyes—running through the fields, a bright smile on her face, the sound of her carefree laughter.

Her vision blurred with unshed tears.

"I didn't ask for this," she thought, her fists clenching so tightly her nails dug into her palms. "You deserved better. You deserved to live."

But no amount of regret or sorrow would change the reality. The child's body was gone, her soul extinguished, and Leah—no, she—was here now.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking in the quiet air. "I'll make this life worth it. I promise, I'll drag them down no matter how long it takes."

The words felt hollow, but they were all she could offer. Her eyes, damp and glistening, steeled with determination. There was no going back, no undoing what had been done. All she could do was carry the weight of the name, the memories, and the life that wasn't hers.

And so, Leah took her first step, her heart heavy but her resolve firm. This life—her second chance—wasn't a gift. It was a responsibility. One she would bear, even if it broke her.

A few miles back, a hooded figure with emerald green eyes can be seen looking at the direction where Leah was. The body beneath her feet was trying to claw at her, unfortunately, the figure didn't care and instead smiled...