Chapter One

Reincarnated as a Slime

Vance weighed over five hundred pounds when he died. It never bothered him.

"I just like to eat, Doctor," Vance said with a bashful smile.

The doctor did not return the look.

"That much is apparent," Dr. Morris said. He was a tall man with the face of a hungry vulture. "But which do you prefer? Eating or living?"

"Oh, I don't think it's that serious," Vance said with a little chuckle. Despite Dr. Morris' harsh appearance, he was always quick with a quip.

"It is a small miracle you could even walk into my office unassisted," Dr. Morris said. His mouth had become a thin line. "If you have another heart attack, we'll likely be meeting in the morgue."

"I don't know about that," Vance said brightly. "I can't stand the cold."

It was clear from the vulture's expression that he did not appreciate the joke. Vance cleared his throat and continued.

"Look, I want to do better. I really do, but at the same time I just... I just really like to eat!"

Dr. Morris loosed a heavy sigh and started to massage his forehead. This was not their first time meeting. Vance had been seeing Dr. Morris since well before the heart attack.

The rest of the checkup felt like a repeat of last week's. Vance needed to dramatically change his diet. He needed to dramatically change his lifestyle. He needed to essentially become a brand new person.

Vance dutifully nodded his head. He promised to try.

"I want to see progress!" Dr. Morris said as he escorted Vance down a sterile hospital hallway. "We need to see progress!"

"I'll try, Doctor," Vance said, which was the truth. He did not have much faith he could change, but he would try.

The problem was Vance liked to eat. He did not have friends. He did not have family. He did not watch sports or superhero movies. He did not have a Netflix subscription or own a pet. He was an altogether boring person with an altogether boring life.

But he liked to eat. He was not sure how other people lived their lives, but for him each meal was like a little milestone that got him through the day. What to have for breakfast, for lunch, for dinner. What kind of sweet treats to have in between. That was his happiness. That was his only happiness. To tell him to eat less was the same as telling him to die.

"I'll try," Vance said with a bright smile.

Dr. Morris patted him on the back. Despite his harsh words, the doctor was a good man. Sometimes Vance would fantasize about walking into his office after having lost several hundred pounds. Vance would spend hours in bed simply conjuring up the delusion, a happy little smile on his face.

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And then he would eat.

Vance's thoughts had already turned to lunch. He would try to eat less, yes, but there was a nice Indian restaurant near the hospital. Indian food was healthy, and after that meal, he would commit himself to the doctor's prescribed diet. This would be one last feast to kick off progress.

"And their lunch buffet is so cheap," Vance whispered to himself.

Happiness. Just the thought of lunch filled him with happiness. Why was the human body so wretchedly cruel as to punish him just for being happy?

Vance squinted and noticed a crumpled-up wrapper on the sterile hospital floor. Dr. Morris had walked right past it and down the adjacent stairwell, but Vance always tried to pick up trash.

"One second, Doctor."

It was harder than it should have been to lean over and pick up the wrapper. He could feel his weight press against his chest and seemingly squeeze his lungs. He had to steady himself with one hand on the nearby wall.

Dr. Morris turned around, and Vance felt crimson spread across his face. He knew how ridiculous he must have looked. Change. He needed change.

The doctor's eyes widened and his mouth opened in alarm. Vance felt the pair of hands on his back before Dr. Morris could shout.

"Stop!"

That was the last thing Vance heard before someone shoved him from behind. He stumbled forward into the empty air of the stairwell. The world became dizzy and disoriented. Red hurt flashed across his body as he tumbled.

And then there was black.

The pain became a whimper.

The invisible world around Vance grew heavier and heavier. He was sinking into a viscous black sludge. All he had wanted was a little bit of Indian food, and this was life's answer.

From within the impenetrable black, a high-pitched voice snickered.

< Hunger, eh? I can work with that. >

The black sludge seemed to wrap and tighten around Vance's body. He could feel inky wet tentacles pull him up and out of the darkness.

< Mangia, little one. Fill yer belly until yer ready to burst... and then we'll talk. >

With a wet splat, Vance broke free from the endless black. The bright sun tickled his eyes, and a pleasant breeze tickled his entire body as if he were naked.

"Whoa! That surprised me!"

A voice interrupted the quiet left over from the endless black. Vance could hear tree branches rustling in the wind. Animal noises sounded in the distance. And several footsteps drew near.

"That slime came out of nowhere." A different voice. Vance's thoughts were in complete disarray. What was going on? Where was he? What had happened to the hospital?

"You don't have much future as an adventurer if a slime can sneak up on you."

Two men and a woman stood a few feet away from Vance. It made no sense, but the men wore metal and leather armor. They looked as if they had wandered off the set of a movie.

The woman looked even more bizarre. In her left hand was an intricate staff, which glowed brightly at the top end. Her clothes were colorful and out of place. She almost looked like... like a wizard. The only thing missing was a floppy hat.

(What...? Who are you people...?) Vance asked, but something was wrong with his voice. Little more than a wet gurgle escaped his lips.

"I think we have its attention," the wizardly woman said. She brushed aside a lock of thick black hair from her face. "So?"

(Hello?! What is this!?) Vance shouted as he started to panic, but just like before his voice came out wrong. Only a wet gurgle kissed the air.

"There's nothing to be worried about, Sil," one of the men said. He was the oldest of the group, and he patted the other man roughly on the shoulder. "We chose a weak monster for you."

"I know that," the young man called Sil said bitterly. He swatted away his companion's armored hand. "And don't act like I'm afraid of some slime."

(What are you...?) Vance said slowly as Sil drew two short knives from his leather armor. A faint chill rippled across his body.

Vance tried to back away, but something was wrong with his legs. He could not move.

"I still think my first kill should be something stronger than a slime..." Sil said with a pout.

The young man leveled his two knives at Vance and narrowed his eyes.