Lemu breathed a quiet sigh of relief. 'Thank goodness I haven't gone insane. I mean, who wouldn't start questioning their sanity after being stuck in a dark void for what felt like centuries?'
He pressed on. "Alright, so… Who are you? And what exactly happened back there? Mind explaining?"
"Acknowledged. I am your Unique Skill: Great Sage."
Great Sage? Lemu blinked, processing this. Wasn't that the same overpowered AI-like ability from the reincarnation stories he used to read? A magical system capable of calculations, decisions, and near-infinite processing?
The voice continued, its tone as devoid of emotion as a well-tuned AI. "Earlier, you unconsciously utilized your skill, Predator, to consume atmospheric elements. Following analysis, the skill: Airflow Manipulation was acquired. Upon detecting a life-threatening situation, I automatically activated Airflow Manipulation to stabilize your descent."
Lemu frowned slightly. "Wait, wait, hold on. Predator? When did I use that?"
"Acknowledged. During freefall, air entered your dimensional space through your respiratory system. This was interpreted as an instance of skill usage."
Lemu's thoughts ground to a halt for a moment. So, swallowing air counts as using Predator? Does that mean I've been 'consuming' stuff all along without realizing it?
Shaking off the absurdity of the situation, he tried a different approach. "Okay… Do you know how I ended up in this world? Or how you came to exist?"
"Acknowledged. Insufficient information. Unable to analyze."
Even Great Sage didn't have all the answers.
Lemu sighed, slightly disappointed. "Fine, let's move on. Can you at least list all my skills? I need to know what I'm working with."
"Acknowledged. Compiling skill data."
In an instant, a translucent interface materialized in his mind, lines of text appearing in neat, orderly rows:
Unique Skills:
• Great Sage: Grants advanced computation, thought acceleration, and decision-making capabilities. Reduces the difficulty of skill acquisition significantly.
• Predator: Enables the absorption and analysis of targets, granting access to their properties and abilities.
Intrinsic Skills:
• Rapid Regeneration: Heals injuries at an accelerated rate.
• Magic Perception: Detects the flow and presence of magic in the environment.
• Bloodless Body: Negates the need for blood circulation, eliminating vulnerabilities tied to blood loss.
• Human Mimicry: Allows perfect replication of a human appearance and physical traits.
Acquired Skills:
• Airflow Manipulation: Grants control over atmospheric currents for movement or defense.
• Heat Resistance: Mitigates the effects of extreme heat.
Lemu's gaze swept across the list. As his focus settled on each skill, detailed descriptions flowed seamlessly into his mind.
For example:
• Great Sage: Provides analytical, computational, and decision-making capabilities. Reduces acquisition difficulty of new skills through optimization.
The glowing text hovered in Lemu's mind, crisp and clear, as he reviewed his newfound abilities one by one.
Predator: Engages in the consumption of objects, storing them within a personal dimensional space for analysis. Skills of the consumed target can be acquired, its form simulated, and harmful substances safely isolated.
Magic Perception: Allows the user to sense the flow of magic in the world. Can directly interpret the intent behind the magical fluctuations of living beings, enabling communication across species or languages. Similarly, the user's own magical and verbal emissions will be universally understood.
Bloodless Body: Grants the structure of a slime, eliminating the need for a circulatory system and removing vulnerabilities related to blood loss.
Human Mimicry: Enables transformation into a specific human form.
Lemu's gaze lingered on the words as realization dawned on him.
"So," he muttered to himself, "I'm… a slime now. This human appearance? Just a simulation."
That was a strange pill to swallow. He didn't feel particularly slimy, yet the truth was clear: he wasn't human anymore.
'What gender am I… male? Female? Or something entirely outside those categories?'
The question gave him pause. The thought of "biological barriers" and "reproductive isolation" made him scratch his head. Did being a slime even count as having a gender?
As for his newer abilities, like Airflow Manipulation and Heat Resistance, they seemed perfectly tailored for surviving in this blazing desert.
The former had already saved his life, while the latter made walking through this furnace of golden sand feel oddly pleasant—like a stroll on a warm beach.
Counting everything, there were eight skills total.
"Not a huge list," Lemu said, tapping his chin thoughtfully, "but the potential is massive. Bread will come. Bullets will come. And eventually…" He smirked. "So will power."
Following leisurely behind Tony Stark, Lemu adopted a relaxed gait, one arm folded across his chest, the other propping up his chin. For a slime, he looked remarkably smug.
But then, another thought struck him like a bolt out of the blue.
'Wait a second… slime bodies don't have reproductive systems. Did I just become biologically immortal?!'
Before he could dive further into his existential musings, Stark's gravelly voice shattered his train of thought.
"So, you're claiming to be an alien?" Stark's tone was equal parts skepticism and snark, his voice rough from dehydration and exhaustion. "Got any proof to back that up?"
The inventor didn't even turn around as he spoke, his steps heavy and uneven on the scorching sands. Despite his injuries and the lack of rescue, he still found time to needle his strange companion.
"And what's with that prehistoric fur coat? You're telling me advanced alien civilizations don't have something more fashionable? What happened, too broke to afford a nice jacket or—hell—even a cute little skirt?"
The sarcasm was practically dripping off his parched lips.
Lemu came to a halt, his eyes narrowing at the man's back.
"Ha!" he shot back, his voice dripping with disdain. "What would a provincial Earthling like you know about fashion? This,"—he gestured dramatically to his fur-lined attire—"is called retro-chic. The simplicity of its design speaks to a refined, understated luxury. The plush texture evokes a nostalgic warmth, an elegance that transcends time."
He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in before delivering the final blow.
"And as anyone with even a shred of cultural awareness knows, fashion is cyclical. Your so-called 'modern style' is nothing more than a fleeting echo of the classics."