Hermes turned into the final corridor leading toward the surface, his boots echoing hollowly against the damp stone. Behind him, the four High Elves were nothing more than a memory trapped in a void, but on his skin, the Slime was practically vibrating with a sickeningly sweet energy.
It was gorging itself. To the Slime, the sewer wasn't a wasteland; it was a banquet hall. It had spent the last hour vacuuming up every wandering wraith and lingering evil spirit trapped in the muck.
"Master, Master!" the Slime chirped, its voice echoing inside Hermes's skull like a caffeinated child. "I've hit a record! 1,243,546 mana units in a single day! We're nearing the million-soul limit. Give me twenty-four hours to digest, and the 'Growth Rate' will skyrocket. Isn't it wonderful?"
Hermes felt a wave of nausea hit him. He forced a stiff, plastic smile onto his face, though his eyes remained cold. "Right. Good job, Slime. Truly... efficient hunting."
I'm going to puke, he thought, his stomach churning. A million souls? Just how much blood has been spilled in this hellhole over the centuries?
"Are we there yet?" Hermes asked dryly, desperate for a breath of air that didn't taste like ancient death.
"Almost, Master. Just past this junction is a narrow service path. It leads directly to the stairs of the secret entrance," the Slime confirmed, its gooey form pointing toward a dark slit in the masonry.
Hermes let out a heavy sigh of relief, his shoulders dropping for the first time in hours.
"Master, focus," the Slime chided, its tone suddenly sharp. "This is a Red Zone. Relief is a luxury for the dead. Keep your eyes on the road."
A flash of irritation sparked in Hermes. The stress of the sewer, the corpses, and the near-death encounter with the Elves finally boiled over. "I know," he snapped, his voice echoing sharply. "You don't need to remind me every five seconds."
"I... I apologize, Master. Please, forgive my insolence," the Slime whispered, shrinking back into the fibers of his coat.
Hermes took a breath, letting the anger fade. He didn't want to be a tyrant, not really. "Forget it. Just do your job. Keep us alive, okay?" He offered a small, weary smile.
The Slime went silent for a moment, then let out a muffled giggle. "Master, your smile is... truly terrifying. It looks like a death mask. You should really practice in a mirror before you try that in public. You won't deceive anyone with a face like that."
Hermes stopped dead in his tracks. A vein throbbed in his temple. He slowly raised a hand to his mask—the living tissue of the Slime itself—and gripped it. His "smile" widened, becoming something jagged and monstrous.
"M-Master?" the Slime stammered, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. "Whatever you do... don't break me. If my core cracks, we both die. Wait—Master! Stop! Forgive me! Please!"
CRACK.
A sound like snapping porcelain echoed through the tunnel. Hermes didn't let go until he felt the Slime's form go limp with terror.
"I'm just joking, Master!" the Slime wailed, frantically knitting its torn fibers back together as Hermes finally released his grip. "You didn't have to actually try to crush me!"
"Next time," Hermes declared, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register that would have made Justin proud, "choose your words with more care. I don't pay you to critique my face."
"B-but I'm not even human!" the Slime laughed nervously, trying to lighten the mood again.
Hermes's expression shifted instantly. His features contorted into a ghoulish, predatory snarl—reminiscent of a Manananggal or a vampire ghoul from the dark folklore of his old world.
"O-Ouch! Master! Release me! You're going to break my essence again!" the Slime cried, genuinely terrified now.
Hermes let go, his face smoothing back into its usual pale, calm mask. "Good grief. You should have just said so. Don't screw with me, Slime. We aren't friends; we're partners. Understand?"
"Yes, Master!" the Slime squeaked, sounding more submissive than ever.
As they reached a ventilated area, Hermes sniffed the air. The chemical stench had faded, replaced by the smell of old dust and stagnant stone. He peeled back the mask, taking a deep, real breath.
"You're slacking, Slime," Hermes grumbled. "You didn't report the oxygen levels were back to normal. Were you too busy playing 'soul-collector' to notice your Master was still breathing through a filter?"
"I... I am so sorry, Master. I was just so focused on the harvest that I almost—"
Hermes's hand twitched toward his collar, and the Slime cut itself off mid-sentence.
"Enough," Hermes commanded.
Instead of shrinking in fear, the Slime seemed to hum with a strange, dark ecstasy. "Master... you truly are the one. Fearless, assertive... outstanding. Just like the legends say. You trample your subjects like discarded toys. No—you treat us like insects beneath your heel. I am so proud to serve under such harshness!"
"Huh?" Hermes tilted his head, genuinely confused by the creature's sudden masochistic loyalty.
"You're the only thing in this world that scares me, Master," the Slime simpered, its voice dripping with adoration. "You're showing me who the real Boss is. Brilliant. I can feel the old, vicious Don returning to the surface."
What the hell is wrong with this thing? Hermes thought, a genuine shiver of fear running through him. It's not just a weapon; it's a fanatic.
"Master, we're here. The final door," the Slime whispered.
Hermes took a steadying breath and pushed the heavy door open. He expected an ambush—a hail of bullets or a flurry of spells. Instead, he found a massive, vaulted chamber, the size of a luxury apartment, completely empty. A grand staircase swept up the left side toward a set of imposing double doors.
"Strange," the Slime muttered.
"What now?"
"My sensors counted seventeen 'sinners' in this room just moments ago," the Slime responded, its voice laced with confusion. "But now... the room is cold. They've vanished."
Hermes felt his blood run cold. "A trap?"
"Wait... this aura..." The Slime suddenly giggled, a sound of dark realization. "Now I understand. I know exactly what happened here."
"Spill it!" Hermes demanded.
Before the Slime could answer, a thick, purple-black miasma erupted from the floor, swallowing the light. The Slime immediately flipped Hermes's vision into a high-contrast 'Spirit View.'
"Worry not, Hermes Archnemesis," a voice drifted through the fog. It was high-pitched, delicate—the voice of a young girl, yet it carried the weight of an ancient mountain. "I am not here to break you. Not yet."
Hermes straightened his coat, hiding his trembling hands in his pockets. He stood tall, projecting the image of the Don. "Who's there? Show yourself."
"You have no need for my name," the voice replied bluntly.
"Listen, kid," Hermes barked into the mist. "Show your face or I'll have my friend here turn this room into a buffet. I don't have time for hide-and-seek."
There was a sharp, audible gasp from the darkness. "Little girl? You... you can hear my true voice? But how? That is impossible. No mortal should be able to pierce the veil."
Hermes looked down at his shoulder. "Slime? What am I looking at?"
"As expected of my Master," the Slime praised, its tone awestruck. "You heard her true resonance. I knew I was right to choose you."
"Are you serious right now?" Hermes sighed, folding his arms. "You're throwing a tantrum because I can hear you? This kid is an idiot."
"How dare you!" the voice shrieked.
Suddenly, the air behind Hermes hissed. Three jagged tentacles made of solid shadow tore out of the ground, lashing toward his spine with lethal speed.
The shadow tentacles slammed into Hermes with the force of a falling building, burying him in a crater of pulverized stone. The dust hadn't even settled before the girl's voice rang out, trembling with shock.
"I—Impossible! Not even the Emperor's strongest Paladins could survive that assault! Just what kind of monster are you?"
Hermes walked out of the settling debris, casually brushing a layer of soot from his shoulder. Thanks to the Slime's fortification, he hadn't felt a thing. He let out a short, sharp laugh.
"Can you shut up, kid? You're trying to kill me with that? It felt like a light breeze. You've got to be kidding me."
"How dare you!" the girl shrieked.
More tentacles erupted—ten, twenty, a forest of jagged darkness. They lashed out in a chaotic frenzy, smashing into Hermes again and again. Inside the chaos, Hermes didn't even flinch. He just stood there, rubbing his chin thoughtfully while the world exploded around him.
"W-Why? Why are you still standing?" the girl's voice faltered, bordering on tears.
"C'mon," Hermes yawned, the sound echoing through the mask. "Stop messing around. I've got a busy schedule."
"I am not messing around, Hermes Archnemesis! And stop calling me a little girl! I have a name, and it's a lot more terrifying than you think!"
Hermes shrugged, looking down at the empty air where the voice seemed to originate. "You started the fight. Don't make it sound like I'm the one bullying the weak here."
"Weak? You call yourself weak?" the voice fumed. "You're the one who seduced my big sister! You turned her into your familiar! Give her back to me!"
Hermes froze, his left eyebrow shooting up.
"Sister? What are you talking about?"
"Yes! My beloved Big Sister! She shouldn't be... be licking your dirty face like that! You're making her kiss your disgusting skin!"
"Rude," the Slime interjected, its voice suddenly defensive. "I'm not kissing him. Besides, the Goddess would kill me if I actually made a move on him."
"S-Sister? You can speak?" The girl's voice was full of awe. "This is the first time I've ever heard your voice!"
"Listen here, you piece of stationery," the Slime scolded. "How dare you speak to your sister like that?"
"Big Sis, I'm sorry! But this isn't the time for a family spat. Please, come back to our side! That man is a fake! He's a pretender!"
"Sister? Wait, wait, wait." Hermes reached up and grabbed the edges of his mask, peeling the Slime off his face with a wet shluck sound. "You're a girl?"
"N-No! My disguise!" the Slime squealed. The liquid in Hermes's hands began to shift and churn, taking the shape of a tiny, translucent girl with glowing eyes. "You'll pay for this, you flat-chested letter! I'm so sorry, Master... but why did you take me off? I'm not a bad girl, I promise!"
Hermes stared at the small, liquid figure in his palm.
"Holy shit. You're actually a girl? Since when?"
The Slime girl puffed her cheeks out, looking genuinely offended.
"I've been a girl since the moment I was born into this world! Stop being such a jerk, Master. It's rude to assume a Slime is just a 'it'."
I thought they were genderless monsters, Hermes thought, his brain struggling to keep up.
"All of my sisters are girls," the Slime explained, her tone softening. "We were created as Familiars—powerful tools for a Master's ambition. We didn't choose this form; the Goddess did."
"Hey! Don't ignore me!" the girl in the mist shouted.
"Shut up, you useless scrap of parchment!" the Slime yelled back, her liquid eyes flashing. "Because of you, I can't protect—I mean, lick—my Master's face anymore!"
Hermes's expression shifted to pure disgust.
"Did you just say 'lick'?"
"M-Master! Stop looking at me like that!" the Slime cried, her watery form beginning to overflow like actual tears. "I'm a good girl, really!"
Hermes pressed a hand to his forehead and exhaled a long, exhausted sigh. "Alright, enough. I'm already suffering from a massive spoiler overdose. My brain can't take any more 'unimportant' details. You, the sister in the fog—remove the miasma. Now."
"You don't have the right to—" the girl started, but then she grumbled under her breath. "Fine. Whatever."
The purple fog began to swirl and dissipate, revealing the vast, empty room. Hermes looked around, expecting a child, but all he saw was a single, pristine white envelope floating in mid-air.
"Where are you?"
"Right in front of your eyes, idiot," the envelope spoke, fluttering its corners like wings. "This is my battle form, Hermes Archnemesis."
Hermes stared. "I... I don't know if I should laugh or cry. I'm being threatened by a talking letter with the voice of a ten-year-old."
"Remember this!" the letter shouted, hovering inches from his nose. "You won't get anything out of me. No secrets, no names, no identity—"
"Her alias is 'The Informant'," the Slime interjected flatly. "She's a useless messenger for the Empire and one of the Great Spirits who tried to seduce you back in the day. She's a total loner and was the Goddess's favorite toy to kick around during the Ratican Era. That's all she is."
Hermes nodded slowly, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"Ah, so she's a useless girl. Got it."
"S-SISTER!" the Informant shrieked, the letter vibrating so hard it looked like it might tear. "Why would you tell him all that?!"
"I'm just stating facts," the Slime giggled. "Stop crying. You're over a thousand years old, sis. Act your age."
"That's not the point! I'm not a useless messenger! It's not my fault no one knows how to open me properly! The messages aren't 'late,' they're 'delayed by technical ignorance'!"
As the letter continued to rant, it began to glow, folding and refolding itself until it took the shape of a tiny paper-doll girl with a little red ribbon pinned to her head. She looked small, fragile, and utterly pathetic.
Hermes watched the two spirit-sisters bicker, his eyes crinkling at the sheer absurdity of his life.
I woke up as a Mafia Boss, he thought, and now I'm the middle-man for a family reunion between a perverted slime and a sentient piece of junk mail.