Chapter 12 - Development

And yet… Clint Morgans did not die. Instead, he spoke. “How’d you know about the gun?” More than just speak, he spoke cleverly, choosing what could very well be his last words carefully to achieve three things. First, the Slime Queen clearly took time to think. It still needed to actively process new stimuli, so asking a question would slow its assault. It was a technique that worked on humans too, though in lesser capacity. Secondly, it had a clear interest in expanding its vocabulary, so the foreign word of “gun” would catch its interest, increasing Clint’s chance of survival.

His third goal was a much more selfish one. Clint simply wanted to know how he got got. If he was going to die as a result of the Slime Queen stealing his gun, he wanted to know how it happened, even if it was the last thing he ever heard.

Inches away from Clint’s throat, the pointed tip of the Slime Queen’s blade rested. “G…un?” It asked.

“My weapon.” Clint clarified “You snatched it away right as I was about to use it. How’d you know it was a threat?”

“Oh… Gun… We see…” The Slime Queen jittered, working something out of its body. After a moment, the gun dropped into its hand. “We saw it. It was in our woods where you slaughtered the Hellhound, after all.” It admired the weapon, looking over it curiously. “We were terrified of it. The explosion of sound, the way it tore through a much more powerful creature’s body, the way it created such force, despite being so small…” It shivered.

“Don’t you wanna know how to use it? You could have that kinda power for yourself.” Clint offered. A hail mary play, to say the least. As far as he’d seen, his revolver was a world-changing weapon here; It was able to effortlessly slaughter a beast that even the prodigious Sol and Luna couldn’t fell. To offer up such a power to the Slime Queen… It was a free ticket to a successful genocide.

The spike at his throat drew back. “You’ll tell me?” It asked.

“I’ll show you.” He offered.

Its eyes grew wide again. Processing. “Okay.” It nodded. “If you attempt anything we’ll kill you where you stand.” Clint nodded back; An agreement now made, it threw the gun to his feet.

Clint reached down and picked it up. A sense of calm washed over him. Though he wouldn’t get the chance to fire it, just having his gun made him far more comfortable. “This here’s a Remington 1858. Mostly. Parts’ve been changed and modified a couple times, but I couldn’t tell ya how, so just consider it a Remington.” He spoke slowly and quietly as he educated the Slime Queen in a way that would require all of its focus. “Now a Remington’s a six shooter, see. Can only hold six bullets. One in each chamber. ‘Course, we both know I already used one. That means there’s only got five left…” He spoke so smoothly and comfortably, you would never realise he was stalling.

He was stalling for Sol. His battered and bruised body pulled itself from the ground like a zombie, using his sword for balance. He rose shakily to his feet, taking his sword in hand and shambling toward the enemy. There’d be one opportunity. He’d have to strike the core on his first attempt, kill the Slime Queen in one blow. No room for imprecision. There was no choice in this do or die action but to overcome his greatest flaw and strike the core exactly.

Silver shimmered in the sunlight as he raised his blade. He could see the core, dark and crystalline, right where the heart would be. His muscles were weaker than they should be, wear, tear and injury preventing him from attacking full force. Nonetheless, he swung down hard with the aid of gravity. The air around his sword wailed as his blade dropped cleanly through the Slime Queen’s unaware head, straight down the centre of its mass…

He struck true. Slicing its core perfectly in two.

It looked at Clint as it was torn apart, eyes wide with shock and confusion. Clint had seen many people die before. He knew the face of a dying person well. Despite this, the Slime Queen looked strange to him. Perhaps because it wasn’t a person.

And most definitely because it wasn’t dying.

Sol had exerted himself with his final swing, barely able to pull his sword back out of the ground after its completion. He panted, watching as Clint leapt free from the stunned Slime Queen’s grasp. Sol breathed a sigh of relief, closing his eyes and allowing himself a moment to savour in his victory.

When he opened his eyes, he saw its face inches away from his, still split asunder. Its smile and its wound formed a cross shape across its head. It was a sickly image, bobbling atop its neck, which had twisted 180 degrees to face him. “How rude. We were talking, you know.” It sighed before driving a gigantic fist into his stomach and blowing him back across the clearing.

It lurched over toward him, unable to move at its top speed as it focused on recovering from its injuries. It had become a horrible, lopsided thing, no longer resembling a human as it dragged its huge club of an arm behind it. “How incredible are we? Hardening an area of our body so much that it resembles a core. What a magnificent display of our intellect!” It laughed, drunkenly proud.

Sol scrambled to his feet, his sword once again his crutch. “Ugh. Don’t you know royalty is supposed to be humble?” He groaned.

“Royalty.” It gurgled its grim laugh again. “Yes, you and that girl are this nation’s royalty, aren’t you? Then you shall be a more fitting first death! Yes! We shall slaughter you both and take your place as heirs to this world’s throne.” It threw another punch at Sol, sending him skidding back across the ground. “Die and return to the earth, prince of humans! We shall do to you what your kind has done to ours for centuries!”

Once again though, Sol rose to his feet, spluttering up blood once more. “Die and return to the earth? Hah. Sorry, your majesty, but that’s way too passé for me.” Sol balanced himself on his sword’s handle, using his other hand to charge a fireball. “I’m going out in a blaze of glory.” He declared with a grin, beginning to gather all the mana his body could muster.

The Slime Queen walked slowly toward Sol, observing his magic. It didn’t understand the magic used against it in its simpler state, so it used this opportunity to comprehend it now. “Strange.” It remarked. “Why do you use a sword when you have this?” it admired the fireball as it formed larger and larger. “Your sister needed this to reach such a level of power.” It remarked, working the staff out of its body and into its hand. “But you can achieve such potency alone…”

“Yeah, I can use a fireball, big whoop. That’s nothing compared to Luna. With her mana, she can cast hundreds of spells.” Sol’s eyes flickered, consciousness fading once more. “You know how many I can cast?”

The Slime Queen looked upon the fireball. It was larger than Sol’s own body now, all the mana he could muster poured into it. It recalled the way the first one had burned through its flesh, how it nearly led to her defeat and prevented her evolution much earlier. It realised now that staying back and observing was a mistake. It should have killed the prince long ago.

Its body fully recovered, it rushed toward Sol, a green blur, faster than his fluttering eyes could even see. In just a moment it was upon him, its hand morphed into a blade, raised above his head like a guillotine and ready to cut him in two.

“Just one.” Sol smiled, finally releasing his spell, expelling the last of his energy and once more blacking out.

The flame consumed the Slime Queen, burning her like a candle as she melted, reformed and melted again. Its shape was seared away, leaving it a formless blob at the centre of the ongoing fire. The flame was self-sustaining, using the densely packed slime as fuel. The Slime Queen screamed an awful scream, like the death cries of a hundred boars harmonising with a thousand cawing crows.

If its core had been within its body, it most certainly would have died. Instead, it only suffered. The agonizing onslaught seemed to last hours, flames burning high as her form was broken down entirely. By the end of it, the Slime Queen was just a puddle on the ground, unable to see or sense anything but the still lingering heat of the fireball.

After some time, it managed to reform back to completion. It felt sick and dizzy. If it had a stomach, it would be churning.

And if it had a stomach, it would have dropped at what it saw next.

Clint Morgans stood before it, its core in his hands, revolver raised and ready to kill.

Bullets Remaining: 5