Chapter 1. Fate
In the old prison of a castle, cracks wove through the crumbling stonework, threatening collapse with every tremor. Each footstep stirred fine dust from the decayed walls, which hung in the dim, heavy air like a spectral veil. The atmosphere was oppressive, thick with the weight of abandonment and whispers of long-forgotten curses.
It felt as though the walls themselves were alive, slowly closing in, murmuring dark tales of the castle's cursed past—stories that everyone who ventured here wished to erase from memory.
A man entered the decrepit prison, his movements slow and steady. By his side was a grotesque 'thing' that resembled ground meat, pulsating and shifting unnervingly.
The thing made noises as it moved, wet and organic, and with each squelch, a single word escaped its shifting mass. "Please." It repeated the word over and over, in a pleading tone that filled the cold air, amplifying the eerie silence of the desolate space.
The man didn't react to the creature's desperate cries, his face void of emotion. He continued walking, the faint echoes of his steps merging with the ceaseless whisper of the walls and the grotesque plea of his unsettling companion.
"Pity, can you calm down?" the man says, addressing the 'thing' following him. The 'thing' begins to repeat the word "please" in various tones and inflections.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," he replies with a sigh. "We'll take a look and come back quickly."
They continue walking toward the people from the prison, the man doing his best to ignore his peculiar companion. His focus is on searching for the individuals kept behind these walls.
'Why are we so poor?' Damien thought to himself as he searched for food for his summon.
His mind drifted back to that day in the church when he received "the miracle." At fifteen, everyone was granted their destiny—heroes, mages, merchants, and other occupations.
While some occupations promised prosperity, not all of them were truly beneficial. Still, even the new ones earned a silver stipend for allowing the kingdom to study them.
Damien was given the role of Summoner. It was a straightforward yet potent occupation—he could summon and tame creatures, even gaining some of their traits. But there was a catch.
He was jolted from his thoughts by the screams and insults of prisoners as he opened a door. Entering, he scanned each face, searching for something out of the ordinary—an influential merchant, a familiar figure, or someone who looked unusually strong.
As he searched, someone hurled feces at him. Before it could hit, the 'thing' intercepted it, devouring the projectile without hesitation.
"Pity, don't eat that. No!" Damien exclaimed, reaching to stop it.
The 'thing,' however, shielded its prize with a pair of grotesque limb-like appendages. Though they looked like clumps of ground meat, the creature wielded them like arms.
"Just... eat quickly," Damien said, placing a hand on his forehead. "Poison gas."
A red mist began to seep out of the 'thing.' Prisoners in the cells panicked—some desperately tried to escape, while others scrambled to get as far away from the gas as possible.
Damien watched the chaos unfold, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd, searching. He was looking for someone... special.
But then, as suddenly as it had begun, the noise ceased. The prisoners fell silent, their eyes wide with terror as the 'thing' turned its gaze toward Damien. Slowly, it began to smile.
"Yes, you can," Damien said, signaling his summon to feed off the prisoners.
He sighed inwardly.
' I'll never get used to watching Pity eat. Maybe next time, I'll summon something better.'
Damien's mind wandered as he thought about his occupation. Being a Summoner was a strange mix of luck and skill—half goldmine, half gamble.
Summoners had one opportunity every five years to summon a creature, not counting the initial summon. Some got dragons or golems, powerful beasts that inspired awe and respect. Others ended up with lizards or mice, barely worth a second glance.
In some ways, Damien considered himself lucky. He'd managed to summon a High Slime—a variant of the usually harmless slime. Intelligent, adaptable, and strong. Yet, they were often called "God's Mistake."
Ordinary slimes were harmless, even beloved by humans. They were kept as pets, helpers, and companions, their symbiotic relationship with humanity lasting for generations.
But Pity... Pity was different. A slime that could only feed on humans was something else entirely. Something unnatural. Something monstrous.
Damien heard a sound, something different from the familiar crunch of bones.
"Pity," he whispered, gesturing for silence.
He reached for a mask and covered his face. Then, he drew a pair of knives, their blades gleaming faintly in the dim light, and settled into the shadows to wait.
He was inside the castle of a minor noble, searching for food. Usually, he targeted thieves or those teetering on the edge of death. But after his village discovered his secret, he'd been forced to flee.
He didn't believe everyone here deserved what was coming, but at least he could end the suffering caused by this noble. Quietly, he remained still, ears straining for another sound.
Minutes felt like hours—or perhaps hours had passed like minutes. He wasn't sure. All Damien knew was that doubt had become his constant companion since the day his life had been altered by his summons.
Then... an explosion flung them backward. Pity shielded Damien to minimize the damage, but he lost consciousness as they slammed into the castle walls.
When Damien awoke, he found himself enveloped in darkness, surrounded by a strange, warm smell. Once again, Pity had saved him.
'I was foolish,' Damien thought bitterly. He had been unlucky enough to gain a feature that made him immune to Pity's venom—useful for a noble or a future, but useless now when he was weak and vulnerable.
He reached out, his hand finding Pity's body. With a gentle movement, Pity coiled around Damien's hand, acknowledging his wakefulness.
They were buried beneath the rubble of the castle. Pity had used acid to dig a tunnel underground, ensuring their survival. At one point, they stopped, and Damien realized Pity had consumed some of the corpses trapped in the collapse. It was grim, but it meant Pity would not starve for a time.
After a couple of days, they began moving through the underground tunnels, putting as much distance as possible between themselves and the ruined castle. When Damien finally surfaced, he could see the noble's stronghold reduced to rubble in the distance.
He sighed, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him. He doubted the explosion had been for them. It had to have been for someone else, dangerous enough to be an option.
"Come on, Pity. I'm starving," he muttered, turning to continue his journey.
He doesn't expect that someone note their departure and change their future.