章 1: Prologue: A Slime Girl in Imprisonment
Giselle D. Balor awoke groggily, her body heavy and aching, as if it hadn't moved in years. Darkness clung to her, thick and stifling, broken only by faint glints of light reflecting off cold, rusty chains that bound her in place. Her head throbbed, and the faintest attempt at movement sent waves of stiffness through her limbs, as if her very bones had been forgotten by time. Chains were wrapped tightly around her body, crossing over her shoulders, waist, and wrists, connecting her to the damp stone walls surrounding her. Every link seemed to sink into her pale skin, pressing into her as if it wanted to merge with her flesh, to remind her of how long she'd been held here.
The air was thick with the putrid smell of mold, decay, and something worse—an acrid, rotten scent that clung to her throat. It was as though death had settled in this place, lingering in every breath, saturating every inch of stone. Her senses, dulled from centuries of imprisonment, slowly stirred to life, registering the suffocating dampness that seeped into her bones. She could feel a faint draft, cold and biting, brushing against her skin and sending an involuntary shiver down her spine.
As she raised her head, the movement was sluggish, almost alien, like her body had forgotten how to respond to her own commands. Memories trickled back, faint and fragmented, swimming in the darkness of her mind. Her fingers twitched as she remembered the chains—the seastone chains that bound her power, their icy bite draining her strength even now. She was trapped in a body that had been abandoned, neglected, but still cursed with a painful awareness.
Her eyes, hidden beneath a veil of silver hair tangled and matted from years of confinement, opened slowly, adjusting to the dimness. She could barely see the walls of her cell, coated in grime and shadow, stretching far beyond her reach. The heavy chains, dotted with spots of corrosion, were wrapped around her like a twisted embrace, tightening with every shallow breath. Their weight was a constant reminder of her captors' vigilance, a reminder that she was something they feared, something dangerous.
Giselle's mind drifted back to the day of her capture, the day everything she had known was annihilated. Sakura Island, her home island, a place now lost to the flames of a distant past, destroyed by the Navy's merciless hand. Desperation had driven her to devour the mythical Zoan-type Slime Slime Fruit, an act of survival that cursed her to this eternal prison. She remembered the transformation, half of her body morphing into a pale, unsettling pink slime—a form that horrified her captors and led to her brutal subjugation. The taste of sea stone chains around her neck had been the last sensation before everything went dark.
She closed her eyes, letting the memories wash over her, remembering the fleeting moments of freedom before her capture. Her captors fed her just enough to keep her alive, fearing the truth of her curse. They discovered that anything she devoured gave her its abilities, a power she could feel pulsing in the back of her mind, dormant yet present. She recalled the sensation of absorbing the essence of other creatures—their strengths, their skills, each one leaving an indelible mark on her being. Angels, demons, mermaids—they had all tasted so distinct, each flavor unlocking a part of her power. The memory of them lingered on her tongue, a bittersweet reminder of a freedom she could only dream of now.
Giselle's head dropped back against the wall as a surge of despair rose within her, mingling with a strange hunger, a need for something more than the scraps they threw her. She had been abandoned here, left to rot, but her mind clung to the fragments of herself, refusing to fade into the shadows of her prison.
It's getting harder to remember myself every time I come back from the darkness of myself. Sigh. Eventually, I won't be able to return to myself.
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Giselle D. Balor crouched in the shadows of the bustling Sakura Island marketplace, her stomach aching with hunger. Days had passed since she'd last had a proper meal, and desperation gnawed at her insides, making her movements sluggish, her focus razor-sharp. She had learned the art of survival from the older alley kids, a scrappy band of orphans who taught her how to steal without being seen, how to blend into the shadows, and how to run faster than any guard. But the streets were becoming harsher—especially since the new head of the guards had tightened surveillance, his sharp eyes always scanning for petty thieves.
For hours, Giselle watched from behind a stack of barrels, her gaze darting from stall to stall, looking for the slightest opportunity. Her thin, dirty fingers clenched with anticipation as she spotted a merchant fumbling with a bag, distracted as he searched for something within its depths. A glint caught her eye—a strange, shiny fruit left unguarded, resting on the edge of the stall, almost beckoning her. She had never seen anything like it before, but she didn't care. Food was food.
Moving like a shadow, she crept forward, heart pounding, each step light and silent. In a swift motion, she snatched the fruit and darted back, her small frame easily slipping through the crowd. Before the merchant even noticed the fruit was missing, Giselle unleashed a stray dog tied nearby, causing chaos as the animal barked and ran amok, scattering pedestrians and turning all eyes away from her. She used the distraction to disappear into the maze of alleys that led back to her hideout.
Back in the abandoned, crumbling building she called home, Giselle felt a sense of triumph mixed with relief. The building, a derelict structure of wood and stone, was a sanctuary for street kids like her—kids who had been forgotten by society. She ducked under a sagging wooden beam and made her way to her little corner, her "tent" made of old fabric scraps and bits of cardboard she had pieced together. It wasn't much, but it was hers.
Once settled, she pulled the fruit from her ragged cloak and examined it closely in the dim light filtering through the cracks in the wall. It was an unusual sight—a silvery-blue fruit, oval-shaped, with a strange slimy sheen that seemed to shift colors as she turned it in her hands. The skin was slick, almost wet to the touch, like it was covered in a thin layer of slime. She squeezed it gently, feeling the soft, jiggly texture beneath her fingers. It reminded her of a piece of jello she'd tasted once, a rare treat she had found discarded behind a fancy restaurant.
Her stomach growled, reminding her of her hunger. She hesitated for a moment, unsure if this was even edible. It didn't look like any fruit she'd seen before, but desperation pushed her curiosity aside. Carefully, she brought it to her lips and took a cautious bite.
Instantly, her face twisted in disgust. The taste was... horrible. It was nothing like the sweet, juicy fruits she had occasionally managed to steal in the marketplace. Instead, it tasted bitter and sour, with a slimy texture that clung to her mouth like oil. She nearly spat it out but forced herself to swallow. She was starving, and the bitter slime was better than nothing.
She took another bite, gagging slightly as the strange, thick texture slid down her throat. Each mouthful was worse than the last, but hunger drove her to keep going until she had eaten every bit of the fruit, her stomach rebelling with each swallow. When she was done, she grimaced, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, trying to banish the taste that seemed to linger.
But as she sat back, she noticed something strange. Her body felt warm, a strange heat building in her chest and spreading outward. It was almost like she was burning from the inside, a sensation both thrilling and terrifying. Her fingers began to tingle, and when she looked down, she gasped. Her hands weren't normal anymore. They were shifting, transforming—half-solid, half-liquid, as though her very flesh was melting into a strange, pale pink substance.
Panic surged, and she tried to wipe it off, only to realize that this slime was a part of her, an extension of her very being. Her hands, her arms—parts of her body had turned into slime.
What did I just do?
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