"Spread out! Circle that damn thing!"

There were 15 men present. They rushed towards Rozalin with far more poise than drunks had any right to possess. The man who had yelled the order brought up the rear, eyeing the battlefield carefully.

While perhaps not intelligent, he was also no fool. The foe before him said something about a 'companion', so this prompted the man to scan the field for a second monster, or perhaps even a third.

Not that any such reinforcements were coming.

Rozalin was both alone and missing a third of her Mana. To complicate matters further, her Mana flow was in disarray from forcing those earlier Spells.

—Slime Bullet + Multi-Venom!

Yet that didn't stop the squishy woman.

Necrotic and Poisonous strains of venom were quickly synthesized in her body, before being ejecting with all the force of a fastball. It took just under half a second to bridge the small gap between her and the stampeding men.

The slime pellets fanned out, similar to a flattened shotgun shell. Three men were struck, with the middlemost thug taking the brunt of the attack. One man on the left managed to put his arm up in time. The middle one cried out soon after.

"GAAAH-!!"

His charge slowed, then stopped as he fell to the ground in pain, chest heaving. The slimy concoction began eating at his flesh. Survival was a grim prospect for this one.

The man on the left swore loudly, arm burning and tingling. He received the least of it, not realizing the literal bullet he'd dodged. The same couldn't be said for the man on the right.

He hollered simultaneously, "Fucking! Argh-! What is this shit? Poison!?"

The few pellets that made skin contact were causing decay, though the effect would soon taper off.

For his part, Ralph was indeed the leader of these men. Noting as many details as possible, he guided the group of 14 others present with him. He yelled, "It's a Slime! Spitting acid! Light those torches, boys!"

That gripping fear present in the dozen-plus men began to lessen. Having finally some insight into what this thing was, along with a guiding hand at their backs, gave them courage. Ralph rushed over to the middlemost man, the one who'd taken the brunt of the initial attack.

It was far worse than expected. He was spasming, digging at his throat. The skin was melted black, and even in the dim moonlight, Ralph could see well enough to know there was no saving this fellow.

A primal grunt exuded from Ralph, fury building. He'd lost another.

"Don't let that acid hit your face! Guard up!"

By the time he finished, another glob of acid had been synthesized, aiming for a different group of two men. Events played out much differently, causing Rozalin to curse.

'Fuck! I need to thin their numbers much, much more than this!' she cried internally.

Had she been able to incapacitate at least one man with each Shotgun-Venom combo, it would have been deemed 'cost-effective'. She was walking atop a narrow tightrope, trying to carefully balance Mana expenditure and offensive capability. If she ran out of HP, Stamina, or Mana, then this fight was over.

She hadn't expected them to have already adapted by her second shot.

The encirclement was hastily completed, with several men beginning to charge from the two flanks. The men at the 'front' of the encirclement were ready to jump in at a second's notice.

"It must be a high-level Assassin Slime! Avoid the poison and attack it at range with spear—"

Just then, another Ice Javelin formed mid-air. The javelin whizzed! towards Ralph's chest. At this distance, the best he could do was turn his body.

*thhck!*

There was a dull thump, along with the sound of blood splattering. Stuck in the man's meaty deltoid muscle was a crystalline chunk of ice. Had Ralph been a hair slower in leaning backward, it would have pierced right through his heart.

A chill, both figurative and literal stuck the man. Despite him bringing up the rear, he'd been targetted.

His thoughts raced, 'That's not an Assassin Slime. What, poison AND magic? This isn't good!'

Ralph's hopes of keeping casualties to a minimum quickly diminished. What's more, the suppressed pain from having a large chunk of his arm mutilated wasn't going away fast enough. The beast before them growled, seemingly disappointed at the 'failed' attack.

Ralph jumped backward, another man rushing forward with a small shield and sword to safeguard him. The icy javelin was ripped from his shoulder, causing blood to begin running down his arm at an alarming pace. Ralph's still-good hand went to his belt pouch, as he quickly downed the only healing potion he had on him. An emergency ration.

Out of the 15 men present, one was now dead, with 3 more incapacitated. Doubt set in.

"It can use magic and spit poison! Pierce it and use those torches! Angar, some fire magic would be nice!"

Rozalin was a mix of furious and desperate. While the idea had been sound, her attempt at killing the men's perceived leader had been unsuccessful, only serving to further drain her Mana. Now that she had been surrounded, a melee would occur.

The first bandit lept at her, a spear cutting through the air. Were she going only by sight, perhaps it would have been more difficult to dodge the strike. Yet these people were in her Domain now.

The spear met ground, the man's balance was now poor. Another was charging Rozalin from behind, ready to strike. The spearman found himself pierced in the stomach by a slime tendril, before being yanked forward and used as a human shield.

When he saw this, the swordsman hesitated and managed to stay his blow. Had he continued, his companion would only receive a gaping back wound. Yet from the side of the 'shield', another tendril shot out toward the man's face. He let out an awkward, muffled cry. Slime poured down his throat, which had begun to melt.

The 'shield' had his throat slit by the dagger borrowed from earlier, gurgling as he was thrown to the ground.

—Disk of Flame!

A shimmering disk flew from the man named Angar's outstretched fingers, whirring through the air like a piece of glowing metal. Despite her best attempts, Rozalin was unable to dodge it fully.

*Shhhtkkt-!*

First came a crackle, then a popping noise almost immediately after. A chuck of flesh the size of several fists was sliced off the Slime, leaving behind a charred and bubbling wound.

For a brief second, Rozalin's thoughts scattered from the pain. This brief lapse caused two of the men present to lurch forward, bringing a glaive and broadsword down upon her.

Compared to the searing and shearing force of the earlier disc, these only served to irritate. Rozalin yanked the weapons inward, driving the pilfered dagger directly through the glaive user's mouth. A second tendril went for the broadsword user, but he managed to tilt his head. He jumped backward, leaving his sword in the creature's grasp.

His retreat was met with a burning sensation, as the left side of his face started decaying. By the end of it, a quarter of his face had turned black and he was roaring in pain. In pain, but still alive.

—Fire Bolt!

A quick Spell followed up. Yet it only struck the glaive user's back, the man acting as an impromptu shield. Rozalin saw the projectile coming and managed to shift the dying man's body in time. Yet he was too heavy to use further, the now-corpse hitting the grass floor.

The mage-thief named Angar yelled, "Damn thing! How low can you stoop!?"

Another man swung a torch horizontally at Rozalin. The deeply ingrained fear of fire made Rozalin's reaction falter. There wasn't a good way to dodge.

And it burned.

The torch was enveloped within her flesh, bubbling and charring where contact was made. Another hissing noise escaped the Slime woman, as she batted at the aggressor's head. Slime flesh hardened, acting as a mallet upon contact with the man's head. He was knocked away to the ground, spitting out blood and several teeth. Unconscious.

A disastrous melee skirmish continued for over a minute. The men and mage continued to whittle the 'beast' down, slinging rocks and bolts of flame, cutting and slicing and bludgeoning as best they were able. Even the small nicks were piling up.

'Bastards! If you had just listened to me-!'

Rozalin was roaring internally, in a trace of anger and determination. All the movements within her Domain were cold and calculated, wasting as little Mana and energy possible. Terrain, people, their weapons—nothing was off the table. Yet despite all that, anxiety still filled her tiny, jewel-like heart.

94 Health and 38 Mana left. That numeric quantification of her mortality and chances of winning hung over the normally number-obsessed woman's head like a reaper's scythe.

Ralph had recovered from his injury and flexed his arm, rolling his shoulder once to test it out. Pain shot through the area, but it was useable.

With a snarl of his teeth, the man gripped his thick, wooden club and charged into the melee. At this point, only he, Angar, and three men remained standing.

Ralph shoved the man guarding him backward, not roughly, "Get out of here! Report this to the Northern camp. We're gonna need healing after!"

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Ralph stood between Rozalin and the man, who reluctantly turned to flee. An icicle shot towards the man's legs—

—Counter-Smash!

Ralph's weapon glowed briefly, letting off a small crackle. The Ice Bolt fizzled and was batted directly out of the air with surprising agility.

'No! I can't let them!' Rozalin cried.

35 Mana. Those numbers gave Rozalin pause. Two men flanked her, their leader in her front, that blasted spell-slinger still in the back, guzzling some vial of Gods-knows-what.

A bubbling, disgusting roar came. Roiling tendrils whipped out at the two closest men, causing them to jump back. Rozalin charged towards their leader.

—Cleave!

A thunderous strike came from above. Rozalin attempted to brace herself, planning to slip around the wall of muscle blocking her. Even with the Tough Hide Skill and her absorptive nature, the blow was—

'Ftthpt!'

—severe.

Her body bubbled in agony. Rozalin felt light-headed. Swords and weapons weren't supposed to hurt this much. Why did it hurt this much?

Her thoughts rallied, 'Focus! Do it! Grit your teeth like always, ignore it!'

Not even pausing to reflect on the fact she no longer had teeth to speak of, the dented mass of slime-flesh jumped between Ralph's legs, causing him to jump backward. A tendril coated in venom struck his leg, causing a grunt of displeasure. A shotgun blast of slime was partially batted away by the man, some pellets still striking his flank and stomach.

27 Mana.

Rozalin bounded a short distance after the escaping man when another bolt of flame whizzed toward her. She quickly and painfully severed a portion of her body, tossing it at the projectile to snuff it out.

She still had enough mass to spare for this. Better than taking the impact.

She roused herself, 'It's just pain! Don't miss!'

—Magnification!

Within her Domain, time seemed to slow. Rozalin could make out every detail on the fleeing man's turned face. Desperation, fear, hope. If one person here was to survive, surely it would be him, no? That thought fueled his mad dash.

A single bullet of slime cut through the air. The shotgun-style bullets wouldn't be effective at this distance. Switching to the Long-range type was required. Extra, hardened mass was poured into this lone shot, all with the hope that it would strike true. Hoping it would penetrate flesh deep enough.

Seconds later, the man was rolling forward on the grass, fingernails futilely ripping the back of his neck; maddeningly desperate to peel away his armor, clothing, and skin itself.

While the necrotic venom ate away at his spine, the mage-thief began focusing a Spell.

22 Mana. Dizziness had long set in. The only thing keeping the woman going was a single-minded focus.

Don't lose.

Ralph roared from behind, swinging wide at the Slime. She was batted several feet away like a sack of vegetables. Her form was becoming unstable.

Yet this strike was a godsend. The mage-thief Angar turned, tracking her movement. His Spell finished, and the second he launched it, his eyes went wide.

—Flamestrike!

It was too late. He'd already cast the Spell. A dropped shield lay on the field, quickly propped up. The serpent of fire smashed into the shield with little effect.

A single thought went through Angar's mind at this moment.

'This thing has the devil's luck! And a demon's ruthlessness!'

His eyes bulged in disbelief. Unlike a human opponent whose damage and fatigue were more easily monitored, doing the same for a monster like a Slime was much more difficult. That uncertainty loomed over the battlefield.

The creature was fast, quickly bounding his way in a slight zig-zag pattern. A long, spiked club was picked up by it several meters in front of Angar.

The man named Angar was in his late 40s. He was neither as swift nor durable as many of the younger men. Time was an unkind master. But he still had his life experience. That would be his trump card.

Ralph ran, hollering, "Angar!"

Ralph wasn't quite as fast as the thing. The two other men heading its way wouldn't make it in time. Angar could only steel himself for the blow.

The Slime lept. He raised an arm up in a sacrificial attempt to block the strike and protect his skull. That would be enough time. Surely.

He watched the Slime sail through the air, writhing, small pieces of it flecking off. Angar knew a few things about Slimes. What kind of mercenary or adventurer didn't? Realization dawned on him, as he understood the beast truly was on its last legs. The spiked club drew an arc, and then the impact came.

—*tap!*

Confusion grew. It was light. His arm would have no more than a nasty bruise and some cuts. Joy filled the man. Just one more push and he could win!

The slime was suspended in mid-air for the briefest of moments from the kinetic transfer. Angar's right hand channeled a gout of flame, ready to release it upward. A singed face and hair was worth victory. He'd blow the thing up right before his very eyes! He could do it-!

Glee danced upon his lips. They crept open as he began to utter the final, vocal component to fully charge his Spell.

It was muffled.

A tendril of disgusting, gore-covered slime entered his mouth, pouring in. There was no time for nausea or gagging. He was yanked slightly forward, the Slime landing on his head. A noise came from above an instant later, broken and haunting.

'bON—

It was then, he felt a sharp pain in his chest. His insides exploded, stomach acid and venom mingling and burning and corroding.

'—APpeTIT-!!'

Those words may as well have been nonsense to the man. Angar fell to his knees. Horror and ever-building frustration were on Ralph's face. The two remaining men were struck with disbelief, masks of doubt etched directly onto their features.

It was not a merciless death. Angar clutched his mouth and throat uselessly. Suffocation would slowly occur, should he somehow last that long. One arm reached out in vain, outstretched toward his leader. He hoped that Ralph would have a solution. He usually did. So, this time too—

A final crack! echoed.

That 'should' turned into a fleeting fantasy.

"ANNNGAAARRR!!!"

Ralph flew into a rage. Mana coursed through the man's arms—veins bulging and pulsating. He roared,

—Split Horizon!

Every ounce of regret Ralph had experienced the last several minutes came to a boil, as Angar's head, along with Rozalin, were blown away by the force. Rozalin flew several meters, rolling, before coming to a stop.

The moon that had been peeking out from between clouds was once again covered. An Ice Javelin floated in mid-air, aiming directly at Ralph. He readied himself to dodge. Yet, something strange happened.

The Ice Javelin pointed at one of the two men behind him, the youngest of their group. He was a 19-year-old man named Dustin. Nephew of an old buddy Ralph knew from back in the war.

Ralph knew somewhere in his head there was no way the monster knew that. Yet that still didn't change what happened next. Ralph's features fell and warped in panic.

He hastened to his left. As soon as he moved, the spear whizzed forth. Ralph jumped in front of the whizzing ice spear without a moment's hesitation. It was a shame he never realized that deliberate aiming of the ice spear had been a test to gauge his reaction. He failed that test.

Blood splattered as the man's intestines and oblique muscles were rent asunder. A deep grunt escaped his throat. Then came the freezing, biting pain.

But a man such as Ralph would not be distracted long by such a thing. He quickly directed his attention back towards where the monster previously was, only to realize it disappeared.

Ralph scanned the horizon, looking for rustling grass or anything of the like. He found nothing. No noise, no movement, none of that dark, reddish-black colored slime from before.

"Keep your wits!" he hollered at the two men. The younger one named Dustin was holding a shortsword, the other man a somewhat dull-looking woodcutting ax. They both trembled in uncertainty, eyes scanning for threats. This was not a type of violence they were used to.

The short-lived carnage had turned into a bizarre waiting game. Each second that passed by felt like ages; every breath of wind rustling the grass another potential attack. Beads of alcohol-laced sweat continued to run down the three men's brows. A few groans could be heard from the not-yet departed. Stragglers.

Ralph quietly moved towards the last spot he'd seen that freakish abomination. He was confused. Had it ran away? It was possible. He crept low, ready to swing at a second's notice. Closer, closer, closer still.

The moon peeked back out from behind a cloud. That's when he saw it.

It made no sense. There was a hole directly where that Slime had been. He looked down at the hole, seeing only dirt.

And then, came the screams.

Whirling around, Ralph's eyes bulged as he spotted the source. A throaty gurgle was escaping from Dustin's lips, the upper half of his face already melting. A familiar shortsword was stabbing into his chest again and again. A dagger was already through the other man's chest, who had fallen backward on it and was now staring at the dark sky in disbelief.

"You-! You fucking coward! I'll smash you to pieces!"

The bandit leader, or rather, Ralph howled in indignation. He was just one, lone man now. And a man without those to guide was no longer a leader. His small empire lay crumbled.

Yet that did not stay his hand, nor his grief. Ralph bull rushed the shrieking, still-walking corpse of Dustin, channeling all his might into one massive, final blow. He'd put them both out of their misery.

—Lock-on!

Muscles and tendons alike tore, severely weakening and damaging them. His legs braced the ground, momentum and strength building in his lower legs, then his hips, his torso, shoulders, and finally his arms. 14 lost men's worth of anguish fueled one last mighty blow. It would not miss.

Ralph watched as the Slime-creature attempted to push Dustin's body towards him and escape. It was sluggish. Much too slow. Even with Ralph's blood loss and damage to his side, it was too slow. It was like watching a paper plane sail in midair.

—Greater Sunder!

There was a small, nearly inaudible cracking noise. Certainly not something the bandit noticed. The kinetic force rippled throughout the Slime-flesh like a water balloon. Rozalin was smashed down into the ground with tremendous force, making a wet, splat! noise. The diamond shell around the woman's Core—her very essence—had a crack running through the top half.

The 'monster' moved no longer. Dustin's twitching corpse lay beside Ralph's feet, face down.

Fatigue hit Ralph like a stampeding bison. He'd overdone things with his last Skill. Some of his intestines had worked their way out from the exertion on his midsection. Ralph noted he'd have to give himself first aid. He still had a few healing potions in the back. If he were quick, he might still be able to save a few lives.

He looked around. The few men still at death's door were mutilated mercilessly. Was there any hope for them, after, after all this?

He swore loudly. Then he began panting.

There was a small twitch below his thick, wooden club. More anger fueled Ralph's veins, his hatred focusing on this damn beast below. A tendril of slime reached out toward his leg, weakly gripping around it. Ralph sucked in air, then brought his club upward. A small sizzling could be heard around his boot, the thing still trying to use its poison on him.

With a hoarse voice, he spoke quietly.

"You should have never hurt my boys. I only wish I'd the strength to do this sooner. Rot in Hell."

His voice dripped with venom. Ralph was tired and overspent, but he had enough for this. A basic strike. He brought his club down on the Slime-creature in front of him. A wet *shlltk!* was heard.

A light sigh escaped Ralph's lips, as his grip on his club finally loosened.

The club fell behind him—to the ground. His free hands were clutching a shortsword that had pierced his stomach at an odd angle. He jerkily turned his neck around.

There was a girl there, legs spread on the ground, clutching onto the hilt of the sword. A sheath was in her other hand. She was muttering something, the front of her clothes stained with vomit.

Ralph looked down at the sword that had stuck through his already wounded abdomen. With a guttural cry, he forced his overdrafted muscles into motion. A rough slap! was heard, as the girl went flying an arm's length through the air, sword yanked clean out of the man.

"D-Damn ... bitch!"

Ralph eased himself down. The girl remained motionless in the corner of his eyes. He picked up his club, hefting it up to his shoulder. The metal and wood construct had never felt heavier to the man. He needed to hurry. Hurry, and get another healing potion. Or else the bleeding would ...

As Ralph turned around to finally finish his hated foe, a wet glob weakly slapped him in the face. It was as if a child had tossed a lump of dough at him.

He attempted to pull the fist-sized mass off, yet it held firmly. Seconds passed, his eyes began to burn. Panic was rising.

"Shit! Why, won't it-!"

His Vitality was waning. Legs trembling. Thought was difficult. Everything was darkened by the lack of light and the mess on his face. He tried relying on hearing. His head throbbed in pain.

And then, he felt the cold taste of steel enter his chest yet again, only partway this time. Ralph toppled over, seeping blood all over the place. He felt his last dregs of strength leave him. Regret swirled in his mind, wishing he'd done things differently. Lived differently. So, so many things.

He could no longer see, yet one image flashed before his eyes. A memory. A regret.

One last sigh escaped his chest.

"Ka ... ren."

That was the last time he stirred.