Oh Rotten Slugs!

Player: Felicia Bludd

Location: World 1, high school hallway

I never liked slime. I liked blood. Blood made sense. It stayed in veins, came out dramatically, and didn’t smell like compost soup. But slime? Slime was too smug. It slithered, it sloshed, it stuck to places you didn’t even know you had. No, I never liked slime.

“You can see my stats,” the slug said, its voice resembling the sound of wet paper being rubbed together—uncomfortably wet paper. “Can't you?”

I stared at it, blinking back a growing sense of existential dread. Goo, thick and viscous, slid down what I assumed was its face, pooling at its base like the world’s saddest puddle of regret.

And its eyes—those hollow, bottomless voids of darkness—twitched with what could only be described as smug sentience. Like it knew exactly how much I hated it.

Nameless, who was standing next to me like a deer caught in the headlights of her own confusion, was gaping at the slug. Her mouth hung open in that weird, unsettling way, as if it had suddenly forgotten the basic mechanics of being a mouth. She blinked, then mumbled, “What are stats?”

I glanced at her, then back at the slug. I was having philosophical conversations with talking slugs and explaining the concept of “stats” to my confused companion.

“Well, Nameless,” I said, trying to sound as casual as possible, “stats are like... the numbers that tell you if you’re about to get eaten by a giant slug or if you’re about to, I don’t know, summon a demon. It’s really all about balance, you see. Right now, I’m just wondering if I should be more worried about this thing's stats or if it’s about to eat us both.”

The slug blinked again, smug as ever. I think it was enjoying the drama.

I took a step forward. The slug, naturally, took a squishy step forward in kind. And oh, I could hear it—that sound. Like someone stepping on a jelly donut filled with secrets, bad decisions, and possibly the last few slices of pizza someone didn’t want to admit they weren't hungry enough to eat.

And, of course, the slug squished forward again, as though to remind me that, yes, it was definitely a slug. And no, it wasn’t going to let me forget that anytime soon.

"But how do you know that?” I asked. “Nobody’s supposed to know—”

“Ah, so you're talking about the ability to see other creatures' stats?” The slug paused for a moment, then continued, “Yes, that’s correct. It’s likely that, while you were checking your own stats, you discovered that touching another creature lets you see theirs as well. It’s a rare ability, one only a select few possess—and those few are all from World 2.”

A new high schooler walks into the hallway and spots me, shouting, 'A talking slug!' Oh, fantastic. Another teenager. Yes, yes, we’ve all heard that one before. But, here’s the real question, kid: a killing slug is what I’m worried about, not whether or not I can hold a conversation with it.

“But… but… there's no way for you to know. Lisa cursed everybody never to speak of that ability.”

“Enchantments can be broken.”

A student walked in, his footsteps echoing through the hallway like a countdown to something bad. He glanced around before his eyes landed on me. “Felicia, is that you? I never thought you'd come back after the murder. Guess I’ll have to find another way to scare you off.” His voice was casual, almost too casual for someone making a statement like that. That was Diedrich.

The words hung in the air like a poisonous cloud, thick with something dangerous I couldn’t quite place. His smirk was sharp, a little too wide, like a predator showing its teeth.

Victor, who had been watching the entire slug fiasco unfold, now turned toward Diedrich. His expression was unreadable—until it wasn’t. His eyes locked onto Diedrich’s with a cold, seething fury that could’ve set the entire room on fire. The change in his gaze was instantaneous, like a sudden storm rolling in, dark and suffocating.

For a moment, the air between them crackled with tension, thick and suffocating. It felt like time itself had slowed, as if the universe was holding its breath.

Diedrich didn’t notice. Or maybe he didn’t care. But I could see it—the fury that burned in Victor’s eyes, like a fuse ready to detonate. The muscles in his jaw twitched, the only sign of how tightly he was holding himself together.

And then the silence broke—like a crack of thunder.

The slug, with all the grace of a taxidermied blob on a bad day, flicked a glop of slime at Diedrich. It wasn’t a tiny little dribble, either. Oh no, this was a full-on, extra viscous glob of slime, like the universe had decided that this was the moment to test the limits of goo physics.

The student froze for a moment, eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and confusion, as though he couldn’t quite process what was happening—like his brain was running on dial-up internet. And then, with the speed of someone who’s just realized they’ve been slimed by a sentient, menacing slug, he screamed.

And not just any scream. It was the kind of scream you’d expect from someone who’d just discovered they were being chased by an army of very angry, very slimy creatures in a horror movie. He spun around so fast that I half-expected him to sprout wings and fly off, his feet barely touching the ground as he ran for dear life, his arms flailing like windmills in a storm.

“AHHHHHH!” he shrieked, disappearing around the corner faster than you could say “slug apocalypse.”

The slug, for its part, looked completely unbothered by the chaos it had just unleashed. It blinked, its smug expression saying it had accomplished exactly what it set out to do. Mission: Complete.

Well, I guess it had some talents.

Pepper and Nameless smiled, their faces lighting up with the same gleeful energy they always had. Oh, this was getting good—really good. So good, in fact, that it wasn’t just popcorn they were holding anymore, but phones, poised and ready for a video. Instagrammers.

The slug was still lounging in the shoe, as though it had found the world’s most repulsive hammock. Its body was twisted into odd, unnatural angles, slimy folds folding into themselves like some bizarre, living abstract sculpture. But now, there was a definite shift. The air around it seemed to darken, and I could’ve sworn I felt the temperature drop a few degrees. the slug looked mad.

Then, in that voice—raspy, wet, and unnervingly slow—it spoke: “I can definitely see your stats. Monster killer.”

“Well, I bet you can also see my stake!” I yelled, yanking out a wooden stake like I was some kind of supernatural superhero. (But I guess I kind of am.) It was a plump little thing, too—about the size of a hair brush, but with the charm of a freshly carved tree branch. Definitely not something you'd want to stab a slug with unless you were really dedicated to the cause. Most people would say only to use these magnificent tools on vampires, but those people know nothing about fashion. Stakes are cool. Stakes are handy. They strike a cord with the heart, leaving you bleeding from the chest. Truly magnificent.

“Ooh, I’m scared,” said the slug mockingly, its voice dripping with sarcasm in that slimy, squelchy way that only a slug could manage. It somehow made the words sound like it was smiling, which, frankly, shouldn’t even be possible for something that looked like it was made of snot and disappointment.

“You should be,” I snapped back, my teenage bravado in full swing. After all, what could be more terrifying than a kid with a bag of books and a stake? I mean, I’d never exactly trained for slug combat, (Trained for battles with the big three, ghosts, goblins and souls. But never a slug.) but I was pretty sure that a heavy bag of textbooks could do the trick, right? I could save the stake for the final blow. Now that would look cool.

I swung my bag of books at him, the full force of my high school workload aimed at his smug, slime-covered face.

The bag hit the slug with a satisfying thwack, and I waited for it to, you know, flinch or maybe even squirm in pain like any normal creature might after being smacked with an entire semester's worth of notes, overdue assignments, and textbooks that weighed more than my self-esteem.

“Ow!” it said “That's it?”

I froze. "Wait... what?"

"Yeah, that hurt... a tiny bit. But i could take a few more hits, maybe try harder next time? I at least want you to be, you know, not a fool? I am not going to waste my time on a monster discomforter. Discomfort is a pain, but doesn't kill.” The slug made a noise like a wet towel being flung against a wall. If that sound could convey mockery, this was it.

I tapped him, just to make sure I wasn’t imagining things. His stats flickered back into existence like an online shopping cart that just refuses to stay empty. I squinted at the numbers. Health: 100%. Well, that was... disappointing.

Nameless, as always, was ready to capture the moment for posterity. Without a second thought, she whipped out her phone and took a picture of the slug, like it was just another Instagram-worthy moment.

“Hey,” the slug said, gesturing at Nameless. “If this person who just shone a light on me ever finds herself hanging off the edge of a cliff, just ignore her. I’ve got this woman who makes 3D slugs like me. Now she, she’s someone worth keeping alive, unlike this one.”

Jeremy looked happy, just holding onto his shoe. I think everybody had forgotten him and was focusing on his slug.

Glinda came running in like she was auditioning for a role in some kind of fairy tale, her pink dress swishing with a life of its own, as though the fabric had decided it was way too fabulous to just sit still. Glitter shot out from her like confetti at a New Year’s Eve party, leaving a sparkly trail behind her, like she was some kind of human disco ball.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

She skidded to a stop, her eyes widening at the slug like it was an exotic new species she hadn’t been briefed on. “Ew! A slug!” she gasped.

Without warning, the slug flung a massive glob of slime at Glinda, as if it were a professional at slime-throwing competitions. The gooey projectile soared through the air like it had a mind of its own.

I whipped my bag in front of me like a shield, hoping to block the incoming slime like some sort of unqualified superhero. But nope. No dice. The goo still made contact. In fact, it had an uncanny ability to find her. Of course it did. Why would anything go right in this situation?

The slime splattered, mostly landing on Glinda’s hands, which she was desperately using to protect her face—though let’s be real, it was probably more about saving her hair than her face.

The areas on her hands where the slime had touched were glowing a fierce, unnatural red—like something alive was stirring beneath her skin. Glinda stared down at her hands, her breath hitching as the color seemed to spread, like fire crawling up dry wood.

“Ow! It’s burning! It’s burning!” she screamed, her voice cracking with panic. She jerked her hands away from her body, as though the slime itself had turned into molten metal. Her fingers twitched involuntarily, like they were fighting against something unseen, something wrong that was eating its way into her flesh.

The slime laughed."Yesssss... Feel the burn of my burning slime!" it croaked, its voice dripping with unnecessary dramatic flair, like some villain straight out of a bad cartoon. It was almost like it was trying to sound menacing, but all it really did was sound like a malfunctioning microwave that had decided to get into the evil overlord business.

Glinda, in a moment of pure desperation, lunged behind Victor and clung to him like a toddler in a toy store wanting to keep the most expensive toy.

“I’ll use you as a shield!” she announced with the dramatic flair of someone who thought they’d just unlocked the ultimate survival tactic.

Victor didn’t even flinch. He stood there, cool and unbothered, like someone who had just been asked to hold a door open for someone carrying way too many grocery bags. "What if I don't want to be a shield?" he said, voice as calm as a guy explaining the rules of chess to a toddler who’s trying to eat the board.

Glinda didn’t seem to hear him. She was too busy hugging his shoulders like she’d just been handed a VIP ticket to a concert. “What if you don’t have a choice?” she said, as if it were a mighty threat, like she was in a spy thriller and had just tied him to a chair with the world's most glamorous silk rope.

Victor blinked slowly, then turned his head just enough to look at her with the kind of deadpan expression usually reserved for people who had been asked the same question for the fifth time in a row. "Hmmm. Not very likely on that one," he said, totally unfazed. He gave her a once-over like he was assessing whether or not this was a new form of extreme sport.

Glinda’s grip tightened for a moment, but only long enough for Victor to casually reach up, grab her hands, and yank her off his back like a rag doll at a yard sale. “Nope. Not today, Glinda,” he said, voice dripping with what could only be described as “I’m too cool for this.”

Glinda stumbled backward with a look on her face like she'd just been handed the plot of an extremely boring soap opera. She blinked, shook her head as though trying to clear out some ridiculous glitch in the system, and stood there, hands on her hips, glaring at Victor. “Rude.”

Glinda’s eyes widened in sheer panic as the situation around her continued to spiral into chaos. Without a second thought, she dashed like a gazelle on roller skates—arms flailing, hair bouncing in perfect synchronized rhythm—and made a beeline straight for Pepper, who was standing off to the side, probably hoping she could somehow avoid this entire mess.

“PEPPER!” Glinda cried, her voice a mixture of desperation and dramatic flair that could’ve easily been mistaken for an Oscar-worthy performance. “Protect me!”

Pepper barely had time to register what was happening before Glinda collided with her like a runaway shopping cart. She tried to sidestep, but it was too late—Glinda had already wedged herself behind Pepper, somehow making the smaller girl look like a human shield in a very poorly executed action scene.

Pepper blinked, completely unprepared for this level of Glinda-ness. “What the—?!” she started, but Glinda was already clutching her like some sort of terrified kitten that had been locked in a room full of vacuum cleaners.

“Don’t let it get me, Pepper! I can’t handle another slime attack!” Glinda shrieked, peeking over Pepper’s shoulder like a character in one of those cheesy monster movies who’s convinced the entire world is about to explode.

Pepper let out a long, exasperated sigh, her hands half-raised in confusion. “Glinda, are you serious right now?” she asked, voice steady but definitely laced with a mix of “what is happening?” and “I’m too tired for this.”

“I’m serious!” Glinda whimpered, holding on to her like a lifeline in a sinking ship. “This is not just slime, Pepper. This is dangerous. It’s probably got toxic levels of goo. You’re going to be my knight in shining armor. You're the only one who can keep me safe!”

Pepper blinked, then slowly glanced around at the chaos, her expression giving off the very clear vibe of someone who had just realized they were in the middle of a completely absurd situation. “I’m not a shield,” she muttered under her breath, but Glinda was already using her as one.

“I mean, do you see how much slime is involved?!” Glinda gasped, her eyes wide with feigned horror. “This is going to leave stains. My perfect shoes! They're probably ruined already.”

“Glinda, your shoes are... they’re fine, okay?” Pepper said, sounding both defeated and unimpressed. “Just—” She gave one final, half-hearted attempt to free herself from Glinda's death grip. “—can you just, I don’t know, stop clinging to me like this? You’re making me feel like I’m in one of those bad teen movies where the popular girl uses her friends as human shields.”

But Glinda was beyond reason. She clutched even tighter. “This is not a movie, Pepper. This is real life!”

I stood a few feet away, arms crossed, watching this spectacle unfold. “So… what, you’re just going to keep using everyone as your personal fortress?” I asked, genuinely curious. “How many more people do you need before you’re safe?”

Glinda didn’t even look at me. “Shut up, Felicia. This is a crisis, not a social event.”

Pepper, now more than slightly overwhelmed, gave me an exasperated look that said, I’m trapped. Help me.

I swung my backpack at the slug again, the bag flapping through the air like a makeshift weapon of mass frustration. The heavy textbooks inside thunked against each other, making me wonder if I’d accidentally created a perfectly engineered murder tool.

The slug barely moved, just blinked—slowly, deliberately—like it was savoring every ounce of my mounting failure. “You tried this once, didn’t you?” it voiced.

I was not going to let this slug—this disgusting pile of goo—defeat me. No. Not today. I wasn’t about to lose to a creature whose only purpose in life was to slime people and make sarcastic comments.

“You won’t hurt anybody in this school again, filthy slug!” I yelled, the words coming out more like a battle cry than I intended. But hey, it worked for the heroes in movies, so why not? The bag still hovered in the air, trembling from the force of my uncoordinated swing.

The slug just stared at me, unbothered, blinking in that slow, patronizing way, like I was the most entertaining thing it had seen all day. “Filthy?” it said with an exaggerated gasp. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you. You’re the one running around with a backpack full of textbooks that you don't even read.”

I paused mid-swing. “Okay, first of all, that is not the problem right now, slug. We’re having an entirely different fight. Focus!”

Well, I guessed I would need to not save the last blow for the stake. Why wait? I could just use all the attacks with the stake. Yeah, that would be fun. I mean, stakes were made for attacking, right? This was the perfect weapon.

I grinned to myself, a slow, almost evil smile creeping onto my face. I was about to enter the realm of stakes and glory. "This," I thought, "is what I should’ve started with. The last-minute 'Oh yeah, I shouldn't save the best for last, I should save the best for everything."

Victor walked up to the slug, completely interrupting my plan to drive the stake through its heart. He looked... mad.

"Boy, you should fear me!" it declared, its voice dripping with a mix of indignation and overblown pride. The words came out with such overconfidence that for a second, I almost believed it. The slug puffed itself up—or at least, as much as a blob of goo could "puff"—and oozed toward me like it was about to unleash the entire wrath of its slimy empire.

Victor's gaze locked onto the slug, his eyes cold and unblinking. The kind of stare that made the air feel heavier, like every breath was more difficult to take. He didn’t even flinch as the slug squelched in its spot, still oozy and smug in its little puddle of slime.

"You haven’t made a move on Felicia," Victor said, his voice low, almost too calm. "I’m okay with you existing."

The slug paused, unsure how to interpret the words. It twitched—confused but oddly relieved, like it had just avoided a bullet. There was a beat of silence before the slug warbled its own brand of defiance, but it didn’t matter. Victor wasn’t paying attention anymore.

His eyes had shifted, and now they were locked on Jeremy, who had been hovering in the background, nervously shifting from foot to foot. Victor’s attention was enough to make the room feel like it was shrinking, the air getting thicker by the second.

Victor turned toward him slowly, his movements deliberate. There was a strange stillness in the way he moved, as if time itself had bent around him, waiting for something. His eyes, once cold and calculating, were now something darker. Something dangerous.

"You, on the other hand..." Victor’s words came out like a whispered promise of pain, and before Jeremy could react, Victor’s hand shot out, a blur of speed and precision.

With a flick of his wrist, the Swiss Army Knife appeared, gleaming under the dim light. The blade snicked open with a sound that echoed in my chest, sharp and unforgiving.

Victor swung it with a speed so quick, I didn’t even see the moment it landed. One second, Jeremy was standing there, the next—Victor had him in a hold, the knife pressed against his neck with such precision that not even a hair would’ve moved without triggering the blade.

Jeremy froze. His eyes went wide, his breath catching in his throat, and I could see the rapid pulse in his neck, so close to the blade.

Victor's expression remained emotionless—like this was nothing. Just another move, another person in his path. "I don’t care who you are," Victor said, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife of its own. "You don't shove Felicia. Ever. I like to stretch the moments right before my victims death just to see their fear, but I could kill you now, or in ten seconds. The best thing is that you don't know when."

Jeremy was shaking, his body trembling with so much sweat that it looked like he’d just stepped out of a downpour. His hands were slick, his breath short and jagged, but his eyes—they were the only part of him that seemed alert, calculating, like a predator trying to find a weak spot.

He turned his gaze to me, his eyes narrowing with a mix of fear and fury, and there was that twisted smirk again. The one that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“I will tell my slug to attack you,” Jeremy hissed, his voice low and venomous, as if daring me to challenge him. He didn’t move, but there was something in his posture, something in the way he tensed, like he was ready to lunge if he thought he could get away with it.

His words didn’t even sound like a threat—they sounded like a promise.

“If you don’t walk away now,” he continued, his voice laced with desperation, “your boyfriend thought he could kill me... but my slug—my slug... it can scare him.”

The slug jumped out of Jeremy’s shoe.

“Hey, boyfriend,” the slug said, its voice dripping with that sinister smugness that seemed to echo in the still air. The words lingered, hanging in the space between us like a dark omen. “I assume you know not to speak of what happens after I kill with her.”

Jeremy stood frozen, his body still trembling beneath the weight of Victor's Swiss Army knife pressing firmly against his throat. His breath was shallow, too shallow, as if his chest might cave in at any moment. He glanced at the slug, his eyes wild, desperate, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

“What happens after I take unalive her?” Jeremy said. “Dude, that’s a little harsh.”

The slug’s eyes narrowed, the dark voids in its gaze swallowing any trace of compassion. It leaned forward just a fraction, and in that moment, everything felt like it was closing in—like the air itself was heavy, suffocating. The slimy creature tilted its head, letting out an exaggerated sigh as it slowly rolled its eyes, the motion so deliberate, so unnervingly calm.

“I only needed your anger, Germy,” it said, the name coming out like a mocking insult. Its voice was thick, slithering through the air like a poisonous fog, curling around my spine. It was unnerving in a way that made my skin crawl.

Jeremy twitched, his face going pale as he stammered, “It’s Jeremy, you—”

Before he could finish, there was a sudden, violent wham! that echoed through the hallway, the sound sharp and unnatural. Jeremy collapsed, hitting the ground with a sickening thud. The sound of his body hitting the cold floor was like the final note of a funeral dirge, heavy with finality. His limbs flopped limply, his eyes wide and unfocused. For a moment, I thought the world itself had stopped—like everything around us was suspended in some nightmarish trance.

Nameless screamed, the sound high and panicked. “Is he... is he... dead?” Her voice was strangled with terror, her hands trembling as she reached for Jeremy, but something in the way he lay there, too still, too unnatural, made it impossible to even think of checking on him.

The slug, completely unfazed by the panic unfolding around it, casually flicked its slimy body, sending a ripple through the puddle of goo at its base. It lifted its head, the grotesque slithering creature staring down at Jeremy’s unmoving form with an expression of eerie satisfaction.

“Of course,” the slug said, its voice dripping with venomous calm, like it was stating a simple fact. “I have no use for him any longer. I swear, stalling you kids long enough to gain enough strength for all my powers was easy as pie.”

I realized then if Jeremy had A health bar, it would be zero. I mean, there’s ways of going out like A hero. Something respectable like killing 100 titans. Something respectable. Then there’s being killed by A slug.