As soon as water was an option, my slimey half lunged in its direction, craving the hydration I wasn't aware it lacked. I reeled the control back some and elongated to reach the other corner. Suctioned onto the floor, I pulled the main mass of the body along and then further pushed my bulk ahead into the other bowl. As it turned out, slime and water act the same when in direct contact; a thin gelatin membrane-like film overtook the water, spreading through it at a rapid pace before shifting into more malleable slime. The new mixed with the old, and overall felt like it could be manipulated way easier.

At the same time, it turns out the horned humanoid had been observing, watching the impulsive slime get reeled back by an abnormal mentality and, by a far more logical stance, operated and maneuvered the slime efficiently across the room.

"I've never seen a normal slime so extremely dehydrated, calmly enter water." He slid the leather curtain aside and maneuvered to sit on his bed platform. "Let me just break the ice since I know how those heathens behave up top the mountain. And since you are a reincarnation, I assume there isn't any reason you shouldn't be afraid of everyone if all you've met are those from up above."

Releaving himself of his cloke, he shifted over to the end of the platform, leaning back to rest his back on the wall with his knee up for his clasped hands to hang on. He continued, "My name is Tren; its pretty obvious you're at least trying to hide your situation. The lawless people who work the mines would indeed be a good reason to hide, no doubt. Still, no one but me down here. I can't think of anyone dumb enough to go down here other than me either. So just between you and me, want to have a talk? No one is allowed to hunt reincarnations anywhere else in the world."

Well, great news for me. No need to remain in hiding until I was stronger than everyone else. How would that even happen? I doubt it even being a possibility since I now think of it. Other than genocidal behavior to power level myself into oblivion, and that likely wouldn't come without it's own repercussions. The whole world and all its nations, races, and creatures against a slime who just wants a little experience if the form of oblideration to any and all that got in it's way? Sounds like a poor path to take, if I've ever heard one.

'I used to go by Jackson; my counterpart has yet to be named yet though. Giving it it's own identity seems like the right thing to do to me.'

A tiny sliver of a smile appears at the edge of the man's lips. "Can I ask why?"

'The world I'm from has lots of stories, more than you might imagine, and some stories have pieces of fiction where the main character holds too tightly onto their past and it holds them back. Other times it gives them the strength to push through and persevere. If I forget to include all and every part of this symbiotic relationship, I think it'll eventually crumble. I'm holding onto my past for good reason. Throwing away my morals and knowledge just to take advantage of my beneficial situation to the detriment of my own body? Horrible thought.'

My slime body completed it's remixing and started converging contaminants into a dark cell on one side of the mass. I moved up to "sit" next to my conversation partner. I watched as I assumed the man was pondering my words. His reply came shortly after my repositioning.

"If you want to officialize a new name, you would need to visit a high pylon. That is quite the journey for someone so small, but at least you wouldn't need to worry about getting slaughtered by travelers along your path. Couldn't say the same 2 years ago though. During the war, there was no one to uphold the law, and you'd have been killed just so someone could have a meal." He shook his head. "Everyone stole food, money, heh, even people stealing people to work on one farm instead of another. Your reincarnation status would have just been a bonus."

'2 years ago? Is that recent for a war?'

"Yes, they happen every four to seven years. Every time a new king is placed upon a throne, all the neighboring countries send just a small attack force to harden their position or to make them crumble from the pressure. Getting attacked by 2 or 3 is fine, but some have to deal with upwards of 8. It all matters how big the country you are starting to rule over is. The exception this time, however, was the king attacked back, going against tradition of kings and proving themselves fierce in the face of battle." He shook his head. "The result placed themselves a head and shouder above the other crowned, took a rather large chunk out of one too, but I wish they wouldn't send their men to die, only to establish or tear down one another as soon as the next heir happens to come into power. Head across the ocean to the southwest, however, and there exists another body of land where all have agreed to live in peace under one ruler."

If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

'Sounds tough. Do the people not seek peacetimes? Is there not a continual loss of civility every time these wars happen?'

Nodding along with my notion, he said, "The kings some 200 years ago all came together and agreed not to unjustly harm the people who lived under their rule. The general consensus is to build people things separate from war things. Civilisation is often so far from the dedicated warzones that everyday life is rarely affected. Except for the fact that most of the workforce is absent, participating in the war for the kingdom that just so happens to be under attack."

'Well, I'm no history buff. I imagine half of what you've told me will come to be a surprise when the time rolls around again.' I plopped back onto the floor and rolled over to be in front of the towering individual from 6 inches off the ground. 'Is there a fast or easy way out of these depths? Really, I'd like to be in a more slime-friendly environment, and judging from what you've said previously, this is about anything but an unhostile place.'

Tren leaned forward and placed his chin on his hand-capped knee. "If you want fast, I can get you out quick, but I'd need something in return. So far you've only taken a little water—something relyably hard to find down here. Otherwise the safe route is straight that way." He pointed at the corner with the water flowing out of it, chuckling. "Not that I'd be able to accompany you or know where it leads."

I sighed; everything he said seemed like a logical truth, but I picked out the half lie in his words. 'Sounds like there is only one option, because if any logical sense is to be used, an unknown end of a path sure doesn't sound like a validated safe one.'

He smiled at my response. "Very true, but I lied. On the other end of that tiny leak from a rather massive lake is a whole lotta hungry aquatic beast in wait of anything that moves. I'd have never actually let you take that path in good will, or let you go at all, for that matter. You can see yourself how slowly that water trickles in. I do need something in return for the water you've happened to be in desperate need of. But you say you don't know what you can do for me, but there's at least a few things you can do for me. I saw how well you cleaned those forsaken rocks out there—rocks I'd have never thought cleanable, to be completely honest." Tren stood and walked back into the deeper room. "Here, just clean my tools and maybe give it a bit of organization, and I'll help you out of here in no time."

He had a bit of an evil grin on his face in that last sentence of his; however, I was more curious than concerned as he'd shown no real hostility and only transactional mutual gain. 'Want the floor clean too while I'm at it?' Might as well be enthusiastic.

Smiling once again, he said, "That's the spirit, and that'd be great if you would be so kind."

As I went to enter the room, he stepped over me and went to leave. "I'll be back after a bit; I've got to get enough water for the both of us as that tiny drip isn't going to sustain us both. You'll need more after doing your cleaning, and it wasn't enough when I was alone."

Before I could reply, he was gone, vanishing from view, I assume like he did when observing me earlier.

The floor obviously was going to come last; I need to get some things sorted in this demonic's stone-encased workshop before any organisation or cleaning can be done. My slime's mental poked my conscious in protest to my thoughts. It ushered in thoughts of cleaning and sorting at the same time, getting all the work done at once. I shook my pseudo-head in a mind-clearing manner and reassessed the situation from a slime's point of view. There really was no reason to go about this human style, was there? I guess I should take my own advice in both ways. Throw out my old way of thinking and apply my knowledge to create the best of both worlds. The answer never was so black and white to begin with.

So I began. The first tool of many scattered about on the floor was a simple pair of pliers, but it had some kind of twist to the tip, clearly a tool meant for a more specific job. The slime groped at it for a bit before getting under it and trying to lift. Before the tool got off the ground, I ended up engulfing the well-shaped metal and moving it nowhere. I was surprisingly weak for what I thought would be a menial task of lifting to clean. So instead I ended up sliding it across the ground towards the bench as it became shiny once again. A small amount of rust, grease, and other dust buildup pealed away as it was worked on. Now near the bench and the only shiny thing in the room, I had cleaned the floor along my path and placed it down on the dull, freshly scrubbed stone floor, and proceeded to the next oddly shapped tinkerer's armament.

The repetetive and continual work was only interupted by the sounds of snoring coming from the other room. I guessed my new aquantance had came back and I was too engrossed in my enlisted service to pry my attention back to my surroundings. There lay about 50 tools gleaming in the darkness, mostly repositioned to be nearby the workbench and the floor was now spotless of its mud splotches, what i assumed was sawdust, half eaten baked good that was moldy half over that the slime just refused not to eat, and rare oil spills. I hadn't grown tired and the slugishness that the slime had shown disappeared with its questionable under-the-workbench delicacy. I guess cleaning is just something slimes do and now it was time to set my sights on what lay above my 6 inch height.