"Ahhh… Refreshing."
Stark's throat bobbed as he tried to swallow—only to find his mouth completely dry. There wasn't even a trace of saliva left. His Adam's apple shifted up and down, stuck in an awkward limbo.
His eyes darted between Lemu and the remaining water. The desperation was plain on his face, but his expression grew unreadable as he weighed his options. He seemed to wrestle internally, his mind calculating something.
It only took a few seconds before Stark broke the silence. "Deal."
Without waiting for a response, he strode forward, crouching before the remaining water sphere. With no hesitation, he buried his face in the floating liquid, gulping it down like a man who had just found an oasis after days in the desert.
Lemu raised an eyebrow, suspicion flickering in his mind. That was… fast.
For someone as shrewd as Stark, agreeing this quickly felt off. Was he planning something? Some sort of trick? It wouldn't be surprising, considering Stark's reputation.
Still, Lemu didn't stop him. Stark was no match for him in his current state anyway. And if it came to a fight, well… Stealing a suit of armor wasn't beneath him. Besides, technically, it wouldn't even be stealing—it'd be reclaiming what was rightfully his.
And, from what Lemu remembered of Stark's character, the man wasn't the type to break a promise. At least… not without good reason.
After all, a slime didn't have a conscience, right?
Lemu chuckled internally. If a slime had one, it'd be wise to pluck it out and give it away—maybe feed it to a stray cat, bury it in the dirt, or use it to grow some flowers.
Yes, that's right. I'm just a trashy slime.
The sun had dipped below the horizon by now, and the desert plunged into darkness. The sand dunes around them cast long shadows, their shapes distorted and otherworldly.
It was as though they'd stumbled into a realm of nameless terrors, with unseen beasts lurking in the depths, waiting to strike.
But the desert didn't need monsters to be deadly. It already had its most formidable weapon: the cold.
Temperatures in the desert could swing from a blistering fifty degrees Celsius during the day to below freezing at night.
The biting winds that began to howl across the dunes carried a chill that seemed to pierce through flesh and bone.
Stark and Lemu found temporary refuge behind a sand dune, its curve shielding them from the worst of the wind.
Stark, resourceful as ever, dug out a small hollow in the sand. Nestling into it, he found a trace of warmth still lingering in the grains—a fleeting comfort against the encroaching cold.
Lemu sat nearby, his otherworldly resilience sparing him from the worst of the desert's harsh conditions.
….
Tony Stark sat there, staring blankly at the expanse of the desert. He had no energy to entertain idle thoughts or make small talk.
He knew that while he had escaped the clutches of those terrorists, the merciless sands of the desert were just as eager to claim him.
He needed to conserve his energy. The day had been unrelenting, and his stomach had been growling for hours. Not even a single spider crossed their path.
His eyes drifted toward the alien beside him. A stray thought crept into his mind: Would alien meat be edible? Surely, it must be packed with protein…
As if sensing the silent, predatory gaze, a cold wind swept by, causing Lemu to shiver involuntarily.
Suddenly, the voice of the Great Sage echoed in his mind.
'Notice: Skill acquired—Cold Resistance. Skill evolution in progress… Combining 'Heat Resistance' and 'Cold Resistance.' New skill acquired: Thermal Resistance.'
Lemu leaned back against a sandy hill, his hands crossed—one on his stomach, the other acting as a makeshift pillow behind his head. His thoughts were restless even though his body longed for sleep.
Above him, the desert sky stretched infinitely, a sprawling tapestry of stars. The familiar arch of the Milky Way swept from one end of the horizon to the other, yet he was keenly aware that this was not his home.
This universe housed alien empires like the Kree and Nova Corps, mad titans like Thanos, and creatures he could barely imagine. It was vast, dangerous, and overwhelmingly foreign.
By day, he could distract himself with clever quips and schemes to obtain Stark's iconic armor. But by night, his isolation weighed heavily on him—a stark reminder that he was utterly alone in an unfamiliar universe.
A sudden sneeze interrupted his thoughts. "Achoo!" Stark's unmistakable voice broke through the stillness.
Lemu turned toward him. Stark had curled up to fend off the biting cold, his once-arrogant demeanor now looking oddly vulnerable.
Without a word, Lemu removed his heavy coat, revealing the thin white shirt underneath, and casually tossed it toward Stark.
The genius-billionaire caught it but immediately threw it back. "I don't need your charity."
Lemu smirked and threw it at him again. "You and I aren't built the same. I can handle the cold, but you? You'll freeze to death before the cavalry shows up."
Stark shot him a glare but ultimately relented, wrapping himself in the coat. He muttered something under his breath, but Lemu didn't bother catching it. He simply leaned back against the hill, his smile triumphant.
The desert night passed without further incident.
When Lemu woke up, sunlight had painted the horizon a soft golden hue. Warm rays touched his face, signaling the start of another grueling day in the endless desert.
He stretched, brushing off the sand clinging to his clothes, only to frown at the gritty sensation still sticking to his skin.
Sleeping in the sand was far from pleasant, and the morning sun did little to make him feel better about it.
Next to him, Stark was still asleep. He was curled tightly into a ball at the bottom of the sandy hollow he'd dug the night before, the coat draped over him like a makeshift blanket.
Lemu snorted. For someone so proud, Stark didn't seem above survival instincts when push came to shove.
Still, Lemu couldn't deny the urgency of their situation.
He combed a hand through his messy, sand-filled hair, his expression growing serious. Stark wasn't in great shape to begin with, and if rescue didn't come soon, the billionaire genius would likely succumb to starvation, dehydration, or exhaustion.
And if Stark died here, the world would lose its Iron Man. No one else could design the suits that would go on to save Earth from countless threats—or take down Thanos when the time came.
"Damn it," Lemu muttered. "I need to figure something out, or my Mark series dreams are toast."