I cleared a spot and laid my old rags over the slab—no way was I dirtying my lovely new robe. Then, settling down, I focused on meditation, trying to turbocharge my mana.


    After a while, the little slime beside me stirred. I could feel its agitation but didn’t understand why. Unfortunately, I only reacted when it touched my ankle— but by then, it was too late.


    I heard voices. And they were talking to me.


    “Hey, hello! Why are you alone? Did something happen?”


    Two cultists were approaching. I didn''t know what to do. Frozen by panic I kept my head low. From the way they looked at me, they must have mistaken me for that girl.


    “This is not Delia!” one of them suddenly yelled.


    I looked up. Oh well.


    At least now I knew her name was Delia.


    Too bad they figured out way too soon that I wasn’t her. Maybe it was the horns. Or the wings stirring behind me.


    As my instincts took over I jumped to my feet and fired two quick firebolts in succession.


    One of them hit, the other one was parried.


    Whoa. Good reflexes!


    The guy deflected my firebolt with his spear.


    I was so pleased with myself for aiming both bolts almost perfectly—and this clown just knocked one away like it was playing tennis... with a rod in his hands.


    Aiming firebolts with this cumbersome staff in my hands was a nightmare. It wasn’t like a rifle—where you just point and shoot.


    No, this was awkward sorcery. I had to hold the staff at ninety degrees and aim with hand movement, not by lining up a shot.


    Or… maybe there was something else entirely?


    My best hit rate always seemed to happen when I wasn’t focusing too much on it. Like right now.


    I shook my head in frustration.


    I was never going to make a good staff-wielding mage—unless, of course, it involved clubbing people with it. But for that, I’d need more muscle... and not be a mage.


    Meanwhile, the wounded warrior screamed, writhing in pain, while his companion charged at me.


    I jumped aside like a flea, my wings beating briefly against the air, propelling me high. As I soared, I fired another bolt at the injured one— and then… for a split second, the robe acted almost like a parachute, billowing out behind me— before nearly yanking itself off.


    Oh, fuck me.


    I landed hard, my robe tangled over my head.


    I had flashed them.


    If I’d at least stripped entirely, I’d be able to see.


    “Flying demoness! HELP!” the wounded warrior shrieked.


    Under other circumstances, I might have laughed at the ridiculousness of it all.


    But this was a life-and-death situation and I was blind. I could hear his companion stepping closer.


    I gripped my staff in my left hand while my right hand flailed desperately, trying to free my face from the fabric disaster.


    I managed to pull my head partially out— only for the damn thing to get even more tangled. Something had caught.


    Oh no. A horn!


    I must have pierced the robe, and now it was somehow half-strangling me, wrapping tighter around my neck like some traitorous, sentient scarf.


    But at least I could see!


    A spear rushed toward my chest, perfectly aimed— and it would have hit me, if not for my wings.


    They suddenly battered the air, and for a split second, the effect was immense—like a creature with a fifteen-meter wingspan taking flight. Well… actually, it was a wing and a half. Because at least one of my four wings was still trapped in the damn robe.


    The sudden movement saved me from the spear thrust, but it made things worse, tightening the fabric noose around my neck.


    A gurgling sound escaped me as I lurched backwards and sideways, completely off-balance. Instead of a clean retreat, my trajectory twisted into an unintentional circle, spinning me— right back toward the standing warrior.


    Oh fuck, I’m getting closer.


    Panic surged as I could see him only over my head. I fired a bolt straight at his face. Meanwhile, like a drunken sailor, I was half-flying, half-falling, careening toward him backwards, head first.


    With my staff clutched in my left hand, I hit the ground at an awkward angle.


    A screeching noise tore through the air as the staff dragged against the floor, yanking me into an even wilder spin.


    I don’t know what shocked him more— the screeching sound of my staff grinding against the ground, the sight of my horns barreling toward him, or the firebolt to his face.


    Whatever it was— He gave up. He turned and ran.


    Another flap of my wings barely kept me upright—a swaying, unsteady Tower of Pisa, flying further backwards. My face burned red as I fought against the tightening noose around my neck, but I still managed to fire off another bolt at the second warrior, who was scrambling to stand.


    He’d noticed my struggles—and he was ready to take advantage of them.


    My shot partially missed—just grazing his shoulder with barely any effect.


    He charged at me, screaming something to his fleeing companion.


    In panic I flapped my wings again and skidded wildly across the stone floor. My legs flailed as I desperately tried to get my feet under me. I shot another firebolt—this time, straight at his face and scored a direct hit.


    He stumbled— but was too close.


    I flapped again, just as he lunged and was sent even further into my backwards flying, spiral flight, my legs skidding wildly over the wet stone, my poor ass slamming into the ground more than once.


    I flapped my wings desperately, trying to lift myself mid-flight— and then— WHAM - my horns stuck into something—and darkness swallowed my vision as whatever it was collapsed over me.


    It took me some time to understand that it was the other warrior who fell on top of my head and almost broke my neck in the process, slamming my own chin into my chest, making me bite my tongue while his sword crashed into my staff.


    All I could see was bloodied scraps covering my vision as my back hit the cold stone floor and fresh blood splattered across my face.


    Somewhere above me, the warrior let out a strange, wet, weeping sound. I felt his left hand clutching my left leg, struggling for balance.


    Desperate to escape, afraid he’d slice my legs open, I flapped my wings again—trying to disengage.


    Instead— The force of the push slammed me harder against him, tilting my head to the side.


    He whined.


    A metallic clatter echoed as his sword hit the stones.


    Then— He collapsed onto me completely, pressing me down into the ground and more gore splashed over my face.


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    A disgusting stench filled my nostrils— Shit. Blood. Piss. And… something else. Bile?


    He moaned in pain, shifting— And agony shot through my neck.


    I screamed.


    My horns were tangled deep in his lower abdomen, and every slight movement strained my neck further. I yelled, the metallic tang of my own blood mixing with the warm, sticky filth covering my face— and instantly, I vomited. My stomach heaved, shaking my entire body—and my head with it.


    Each jerk made him whine.


    I dropped my staff, spitting, my hands scrambling against him, trying to push him off— but he was too heavy.


    I yelped, a choked sob escaping— and I started to cry.


    He must have grabbed a blade—stabbing blindly into my thighs and I couldn''t escape! I couldn''t move!


    Each cut burned like hellfire.


    I screamed again, choking, spitting gore, tears streaming down my face and did the only thing I could— bolt after bolt blasted into the mass of flesh pinning me down.


    I didn’t need the staff to cast— and thank the gods for that.


    His hand clamped down on my right arm, trapping it.


    Fine. I fired with my left hand.


    Most shots probably missed—but a few struck home.


    His body convulsed, then, finally— he stopped moving.


    Only his bowel fluids continued to trickle over me.


    I tried to inhale— and sucked in nothing but blood and filth.


    Choking. Gagging. Drowning in it.


    I tried again to push him off— but he was simply too heavy.


    My heart pounded wildly, my breathing ragged—I could only take in small gulps of air at a time, but at least— I had survived.


    I tried again to push him off, but—no use. He was too heavy.


    Almost out of mana, I forced a partial heal on my thighs when I heard a sloshing sound. Something touched my left foot.


    The little slime.


    What is it trying to do?


    I ignored it, still struggling to shove the lifeless mass off me—to no avail.


    Frustration burned inside me. I wanted to blast him apart, to reduce him to nothing— But that would take far more mana than I had left.


    I fought against the rising panic, trying to think, to plan—


    Then, suddenly— A vision.


    A strange, distorted picture, as if I were looking through water.


    A foot.


    My foot?


    And behind it— something moved.


    Oh fuck.


    The other warrior.


    He was alive and was struggling to stand.


    Is this real? Is this telepathy? Can slimes project their vision?


    Desperation. Not just mine— The slime’s too. I could feel it.


    The warrior was up now, leaning heavily on his spear.


    Then he took a step. Then another.


    Huch! I’m pinned under this mountain of flesh! I can’t move!


    He only had to stab downward a few times. That was all it would take.


    I tried flapping my wings, but they were trapped beneath me, battering uselessly against the ground.


    It kicked up some wind—but nothing else.


    I kicked, flailed—nothing helped.


    Then— He moved to strike.


    I fired a firebolt.


    I had to rely entirely on what the little slime let me see. The vision was warped, making it impossible to judge the distance properly. It wasn’t well-aimed— So I was damn happy when it hit him.


    Right in the lower abdomen.


    His spear still jabbed my thigh, but it had no power behind it.


    He screamed, his knees buckling.


    I shot him again.


    This time, he collapsed completely—


    Like a sack of potatoes.


    Right on top of the other idiot already crushing me.


    The impact smashed the air from my lungs.


    I let out a forced, strangled croak— I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move.


    I struggled desperately, trying to escape— I was trapped. Suffocating.


    Fuck, what do I do now?!


    I struggled desperately to escape, but now— Even my legs were pinned down.


    I heard a noise.


    Someone was coming!


    Should I play dead?


    My mind slowed, sluggish from exhaustion— Had I blacked out for a moment?


    Something changed. Something even heavier pressed down on me. Or… was that just my imagination?


    There was a sloshing sound.


    My slime?


    No. My slime was still at my foot—not where the noise had come from. And it was… Trying to send me reassuring feelings?


    Can it be?


    Oh fuck.


    More slimes. There were slimes here!


    Uh-oh.


    At least a heavy slime was pressing down on me. Hard.


    I was crushed beneath its weight, my chest straining, every breath shallow and desperate.


    I expected my thorax to cave in at any moment.


    Slippery bodies slithered over me.


    I had to fight the urge to shoot at them— To thrash, to scream, to fight.


    But— my little slime was still sending me reassuring feelings. And they were not eating me!?


    I was alive!


    But I had almost no air left. I still couldn’t move buried alive in slimes.


    Would they eat me?


    Or—if not— were they smart enough to know I needed to breathe?


    I am not a slime! I need air!


    It took them less than a minute to free me, but in my mind it was hours. If need be, I could have held my breath this long, but there was no need. Finally, I could sit and look around. I was surrounded by slimes who were busy digesting... ah, cleaning the place.


    Speaking of clean, I was cleaned like probably never before in my whole life. I mean Andy. OK, the back was not entirely neat, as it had been pinned to the cavern''s floor, but the rest was squeak-clean. As I was sitting now, I did not even bother with the slimes that came to clean my back. Ahm, actually to eat the gore that was still hanging on it. As afraid as I was thirty seconds ago, as calm I was now. Tired calm.


    I watched the small slime still clinging to my foot.


    “You did call them, eh? And you are soothing me?”


    It was again smug.


    “You got yourself a familiar.”


    “A familiar?”


    “Yes. This is a magical bond between you and Bubble.”


    “Bubble? You named it?”


    The slime bubbled whilst I was talking with myself. Does it know I am talking about him? I healed myself and stood up. The robe had been partially decomposed, but I could not be angry at the slimes. I undressed the remaining scraps, finally freeing my wing in the process, ignoring the slimes nibbling at my legs.


    “I''ll never ever wear a robe again. Not in this lifetime! How could I be so stupid?”


    “You almost strangled yourself! Are you sure you don''t want to let me lead?”


    “You screamed all the time in my mind. That was not helpful!”


    “Yeah, it could be that I panicked too; sorry for that.”


    Lucky me, there were no witnesses to my fabulous fight. I sighed, looking for some panties and trousers in my inventory. It was such a mess that I would have to pick them out, but I was afraid the slimes would clean them too much if I put something down.


    I watched the small smug slime:


    “You haven''t seen anything!! Eh?”


    It bubbled. Does this bubble mean anything? OK, she will hopefully not be able to tell anybody what she saw. There were no trousers in my inventory box, but I could recuperate the trousers of one of the warriors. It has been cleaned, and the material was partially weakened, but I could cut a pair of shorts out of it.


    No. Too large. No way I’ll wear that.


    In the end, I went for a mini skirt. A longer skirt that I cut to make a mini-skirt out of it. In no way will I let some material in the future entangle me. Yeah, in a fight, they might see my panties, so what!?


    Instead of a blouse, I went for a kind of bra. It was covering well enough my underdeveloped breasts. I found a belt and strapped my inventory box to the belt. Better than at my thigh. I kept only the shoes from before.


    OK, I lost enough time with the last fight. Most of the slimes, meanwhile, had dispersed from the cavern. Unfortunately, I cannot use them as scouts, and my little slime seems able to show me something only when it has a direct connection to me. Maybe this will improve with time, but this is it now.


    I flapped my wings to check if everything was ok. I examined them for a moment. No butterflies do not have four wings; are these rather dragonfly wings? I never had the occasion to see how my wings would mature, and now I was closer to that case than ever. Two bigger wings above and two smaller and more elongated lower wings. It was strange to see how good control I could have over them; even if they did not have muscles or nothing visible the way I understand muscles, I could bend them or use them almost as a member. Almost like a leg or a hand. How does this work?


    I flapped my wings, and I was raised in the air! Not as elegantly as Flo did at the time when she was a flying fairy, but similar to it. Well, I am heavier. I grinned: soon I’ll be able to fly!


    I touched my horns. Sharp, seven to eight centimetres horns. OK, not ideal to use as a weapon, but I got my first horn-kill. I grimaced, remembering the fight. I shuddered. Oh well, try to forget it, Dolores, try to forget it.


    Untangled, equipped, with the broad belt over my naked belly, I raised the staff and hesitated if to follow the tunnel or not. It was pitch black; there was no more luminescent moss illuminating it. Only the torches that the two had carried made now two flickering spots of light where they’d dropped them.


    “I know some spells to make light. Let me take the lead at least until you learn the spells.”


    “No, I think you were right. You are better at fighting as a mage. I''ll let you do the next fights.”