My body went limp and soft. The water, which moments ago had been my lifeblood, was suddenly a crushing weight. My gills vanished, replaced by… nothing. I was a blob of jelly in a world that demanded lungs or gills, and I had neither.
It seemed Transform was a one-stack command. You couldn't use it again while already transformed. To change into something new, you had to revert to the base form first. A fatal oversight.
Instead of transforming into a Goldeen, my body had reverted to its default state. I was a Ditto again. And I was choking.
How the hell does a slime even choke?! The thought was absurd, but the panic was very, very real.
"Diiii..." I gurgled, the sound muffled and pathetic as water filled my non-existent mouth.
Fuck. Dittos can't breathe underwater.
I didn't know the logistic of a slime breathing, but that's what my biological instincts screamed to me.
Panic flared for the second time that day, hot and visceral. I frantically tried to push myself upwards, but my amorphous body was completely unsuited for swimming. I was a sinking stone made of goo, my own density betraying me. The surface, a shimmering ceiling of light, seemed miles away.
Just as my vision began to dim at the edges, a hard, scaly object rammed into my underside. My Magikarp companion, bless its stupid, loyal heart, had seen my plight. It wedged its body under my gelatinous form, its powerful tail thrashing against the water, pushing upwards with all its might.
Gasp!
Together, we broke the surface. I flopped onto the muddy riverbank, a pathetic pink puddle, convulsively trying to gasp for air I didn't technically need but my primal instincts screamed for. My entire body quivered, shedding water like a wet dog.
The Magikarp stayed in the shallows, its head poking out of the water, watching me with those same dumb, unwavering eyes.
"Ditto..." I managed, my form slowly firming up. The sound was weak, but it translated roughly to, "Thanks, you magnificent moron."
It just blinked. "Magikarp."
After a few moments, my fish-bro flapped away to a nearby rock and resumed its intense, one-sided conversation, nibbling at the stone as if it held the secrets to the universe. I wondered about its strange obsession with geology, but quickly dismissed it. There were more important things to check. I pulled up my status.
[Status: Satiated]
Damn. So the debuff is on me, not the form. I sighed a bubbly sigh. Still, my HP was nearly full, and my regeneration was ticking up nicely. The theory held. I felt far better than before; there was no pain in movement, no lingering exhaustion. It felt so good that I decided to just relax.
I stayed on the bank, a gelatinous beach bum soaking in the warm sunlight.
My fish-bro, having finally exhausted the intellectual possibilities of its chosen rock, swam back to the riverbank and nudged my goopy side with its head.
Wonder what is he thinking? Maybe it things I am one of his orange buddy who occasionally change into pink poop or something. My thoughts were suddenly stopped in their track as I heard a sound.
Snap.
The sound of a twig breaking underfoot cut through the peaceful chirping of Pidgeys. It was sharp, distinct, and utterly out of place.
My entire form tensed. That wasn't a Pokémon sound. That was a bipedal sound. A human sound.
The Magikarp bumped against me again, oblivious. "Karp?"
No time to explain. "Diii-ditto!" I gurgled urgently, nudging it back towards the water. Get out of here! Go!
The fish blinked its vacant eyes, but for once, some sliver of my panic must have translated. With a flick of its powerful tail, it disappeared into the murky depths of the river. Good. At least one of us was safe.
Instinct, a holdover from my time as a trampled street stain, screamed at me. HIDE!
There was no time to transform. My gelatinous body reacted on pure, primal terror. I oozed off the riverbank and into the nearest, densest-looking bush, flattening myself against the damp earth. I wasn't just hiding in the bush; I became part of its shadowy undergrowth, a grotesque, pinkish-purple lump that could almost pass for a weirdly shaped rock or a particularly nasty fungus.
From my leafy sanctuary, I watched as a figure emerged from the treeline. It was a kid, maybe fourteen, decked out in the classic uniform of a Pokémon world NPC: khaki shorts, a vest covered in pockets, and a big, goofy net slung over his shoulder. A Bug Catcher.
But it wasn't the kid that made my semi-liquid form run cold. It was what was following him.
Floating silently behind the boy, its wings beating with a low, resonant hum that sounded less like an insect and more like a high-powered industrial drone, was a Beedrill.
And holy shit.
On a screen, a Beedrill is a cool, spiky bug. In reality, it was a three-foot-tall, bipedal murder-hornet with a pair of colossal, cream-colored lances where its hands should be. The drills weren't just pointy; they were sharpened, wicked-looking weapons that glinted in the sunlight. They looked like they could puncture steel, let alone the soft, squishy body of a Ditto. Its stinger, tucked menacingly beneath its abdomen, was the size of a Bowie knife.
This wasn't a pet. This was a walking, flying war crime with wings.
"Alright, Beedrill, we'll rest here for a bit," the kid said cheerfully, completely oblivious to the harbinger of pointy death hovering over his shoulder. "Gotta find some new team members! Maybe a Caterpie, or a cool Pinsir!"
The Beedrill gave a low buzz of acknowledgement, its massive red eyes scanning the surroundings with a cold, predatory intelligence.
I held my metaphorical breath, trying to make myself as flat and un-Ditto-like as possible. My perspective on this world was undergoing a rapid, terrifying recalibration. These weren't just cute monsters that fainted and came back after a trip to the Pokémon Center. These things were real. And this kid... this Bug Catcher Billy... he just treated it like a golden retriever. The sheer, casual insanity of this world was staggering.
The Bug Catcher, meanwhile, had spotted the river. "Ooh, water Pokémon! Maybe a Poliwag!" he exclaimed, his eyes lighting up. He unslung his net and began poking around the river's edge.
Just then, an orange head popped out of the water. My fish-bro.
Are you kidding me?! I screamed internally. Get back down, you moron! Do you want to get caught? To be enslaved in some kid-friendly poké-ball for the rest of your life?!
The boy's eyes fell on the Magikarp. He squinted. "Ugh, just a Magikarp," he groaned, his voice dripping with disappointment. He didn't even bother to swing his net. He turned away, his shoulders slumping.
My fish-bro, seemingly sensing the rejection, sank back beneath the surface. I let out a silent sigh of relief. But my relief was short-lived. The kid's gaze, having dismissed the river, now swept over the treeline.
And landed squarely on my bush.
He turned his attention toward it.
Oh, hell no.
"Maybe there's a Weedle in here!" he said with renewed enthusiasm, and took a step toward my hiding place, his net raised like a weapon of mass bug-catching.
This was it. I was about to get netted like a common butterfly. My mind raced. Transform? Into what? A rock? A bigger, scarier Beedrill? No, that would just start a fight I couldn't win. A Pidgey? I don't know how to fly!
The net came closer. I braced myself, my fear solidifying into a cold, hard resolve. Alright, you little bastard. You want to poke the weird fungus? Let's see how you handle it when the fungus pokes back. I am a fucking immortal, shape-shifting, once-a-god bitch! You are not walking away from this!
"Wee-dle! Wee-dle!"
A sharp cry came from a nearby tree. The Bug Catcher froze, his head snapping up. There, munching happily on a leaf, was a small, brown, horned caterpillar. A Weedle.
The boy's eyes lit up like he'd just found the Holy Grail. "A Weedle! Awesome!" he whisper-shouted, completely forgetting about my bush. "Okay, Beedrill, stay quiet. I'm gonna catch this one myself!"
He dropped into a low, theatrical crouch and began to creep slowly, painstakingly, toward the Weedle's tree, his net held at the ready.
I let out a slow, silent gurgle of relief, my gelatinous body slumping further into the dirt. Saved by a worm. I'd have to send it a thank-you card. Or, you know, not get eaten by it later when it evolved into its own murder-hornet form.
This world was way too stressful.
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Sorry guys, I had forgotten about uploading this in between everything going on in real life. So how do you think is this more grounded version of storytelling?
If you did read the previous version, do you think there are any plus or minus points?
And please give a review and add it to the library if you liked this book!
100 PS for bonus chapter. Currently at 41.