A/N: Here it is, the revamp of the Band of Brothers series! I hope you enjoy it, and please, by all means, leave comments and reviews!

Amorphous Collagen

Shoichi Shin

Shin Household

Even before he was swallowed by gelatin, Sho was having a horrendous week.

It began in his room, a zen-like space with minimal decorations: a bookshelf against the wall, a desk, and his gaming rig. He sat on the normally bare floor, fiddling with a rectangular, blue-shaded device. Similar parts were strewn around him in a loose circle of glass, aluminum, and sheets of polyethylene. This wasn't necessarily the horrendous part. The project was enjoyable, if only for the couple of hours that it distracted him from the real terror behind the walls: school.

An absolute, God-forsaken, hell hole of a dimension, school was the biggest obstacle between wallowing in an endless cycle of education and partying like no tomorrow. Impossible to escape, destructive, and alive, its spawn—a bio book and stacks of papers—breathed heavily on his desk.

Sho stared at the pile. Perhaps if he tried hard enough, they would vaporize. Then again, his chances of latent laser vision were as high as his chances of discovering the Higgs-Boson. Both were possible, neither was going to happen. He sighed and ran a hand through his black hair, a perpetual state between completely unkempt and buzzed until nearly bald. Asian beyond all measure, he tapped a finger against the box in his lap and wondered if joining the circus was an option.

"I'd make a great carny," he muttered. "I've even got an act."

It was appealing, of course, not to have your cingulate gyrus dry up every night. Nothing was more depressing than the illustration that sneered at him from the front page of the take-home practice exam, discarded in his bookbag by the waste bin. He remembered it clearly: squares-missing-triangles, little antibody wishbones floating in a perverted alphabet soup—something about acetylcholine forced a curse from his mouth. Snapping another piece on to his box, he raised it to eye-level and nodded.

"Theory allows for practice," he repeated mockingly, adding a high-pitched lilt to his voice. "Without theory, no one ever built anything worth building! After all, knowledge grants power and absolute knowledge grants absolute power!" Snort. As if Ms. Taeyhoshi knew what power was. The most that ditzy brunette knew was how to turn on the toaster and clop about in high heels. "Oh, Mister Ayato!" he shrilled. He opened the toolbox he'd made specifically for this project. "You're such a model student. I wish everyone was like you!"

Sho rolled his eyes.

He slid his stuff under the bed and straightened. Muscles he never knew he had screeched in agony, torn into positions that defined where he sat for most of the morning. "Oh, I realize it's Halloween," he mocked, pursing his lips like the annoying biology teacher of class 4B. "But guess what, I don't give a flying squirrel! Hehe, I think the universe is a marble, and everyone loves me! Here, have this overly unnecessary packet, finish it for Monday, and—goodness me, I don't know—we'll have a test in two weeks!" Breaking character, Sho dove headfirst into his bed.

"TWO WEEKS!" he screamed, voice muffled by musky sheets.

While not a man of prayer, Sho was willing to risk one for the sake of his sanity. He rolled like a burrito over on to his back and raised his eyes to his white painted ceiling. Once upon a time, there would have been plastic, glow-in-the-dark constellations puttied into the plaster.

Now he regretted staying at home.

"By the lords of whatever unholy timeline I've ended up in," he began, hands held together, "And Moses too, because why the hell not—I hereby ask Saint La Salle to bless me with his holy presence. I also want a hundred on that physics lab, a ninety-five on the calc exam, and a bottle of orange juice. Amen, Shalom, and may the Force be with you." Making the sign of the cross, that claw symbol from Percy Jackson, and pretending to spin Buddhist beads through his fingers (which really was just a stray gear he found in his pocket), Sho projected his entire mental energy into communing with the spirits.

Their divine response was a silence more awkward than a rejection to prom.

"Alright," he said. "Fine. We'll play it your way. I'll get out of bed and leave the room. Whatever."

He flung earbuds on to his pillow and meandered outside. Brilliant light from the hall blinded the Shin family's resident bat. Stumbling his way down the stairs, Sho rubbed his eyes and headed for the kitchen. Breakfast had since passed; his only thought lay in the Promise Land that was his fridge. He expected to be alone but was greeted by a broad-shouldered individual solo-dancing to the radio. He rubbed his eyes again, in case he was somehow hallucinating.

The individual wore a white tank, matching white pants, and a loose black belt looped around his hips—and boy did he work those hips. An oldie but a goodie, he flossed to-and-fro with maddening acceleration while a hip-hop beat ramped in volume. Then he stopped, mid-motion, and spun, turning around to reveal a pot boiling with some reddish goo. Strawberry scents wafted into the air. Still bouncing his hips like some crazed Zumba instructor, the dancer finally noticed the dark cloud that rolled into the room. Quickly setting down the mixture, he sheepishly gave a wave to his brother.

"I'm going to pretend I never saw that," was Sho's response. He pushed himself off the wall and uncrossed his arms, pattering over to the fridge in his dust-brown socks. He could feel eyes on his feet. "And don't you start. I already told you—I'll do laundry like… whenever."

"You should probably do it soon." The cooking-boy said. His tongue stuck out as he carefully poured the slush-like concoction into a vertical mold shaped like an apple. Steam poured out from the opening at the top, and he waved his hands to banish the smoke. "Oh, and before you start, yes, I did turn off the smoke detector."

"That's great, Raiden," Sho said dryly. He pulled a Gogurt tube from the fridge's door-bin, thought against it, and returned with five more tubes. Yanking a cheese knife from its wooden block, he sliced off the tops of the tubes. The scraps were tossed into the trash, and he was soon seated at the dinner table, right leg kicked up on the back of a chair.

Raiden sighed and made a shooing motion towards the offending foot. There was no movement as Sho simply continued to guzzle on the plastic tubes, pointedly raising an eyebrow at his brother, daring him to try. For a moment, there was a fire within the two's eyes, the older's black-within-black, an edge about the gaze, and the other's, brown like mud, touched with amusement. The stare off lasted mere seconds until one remained. The victor pumped his fist in victory.

Sho rolled his eyes and removed his leg from the table.

"So," Raiden said, back to his cooking. "Whatcha been up to all day?" He grinned mischievously and grabbed the stranded cheese knife. Sho raised an eyebrow at how casually his brother twirled the blade. "Did you finally finish Pandora's box?"

"That's not what it's called," Sho answered. He crinkled up another finished tube and Kobe-ed it into the trash can. "It's a portable soil, air, and water testing device. It doesn't release the Seven Deadly Sins or whatever."

"But it is a box. And it's kind of mystical looking. It's better than 'portable soil, air, and water testing device.'" He made bunny ears with his finger and pointed at Sho with the knife. "Rule one of marketing: a cool name. If you're gonna make millions, you need something that rolls off the tongue. It doesn't even have to be semantically accurate."

"Yeah? And when did you suddenly become an expert in marketing?"

"I told Will about the project. He sounded excited. Said to contact him if you ever need help."

Sho raised his other eyebrow and stuck a Gogurt into his mouth. "I can't be the only one who thinks that dude is kinda shifty."

"Sho, you think everyone is shifty."

"I mean—when you're that rich and dress in essentially only brand name—it's kinda hard not to wonder what a dude is up to. He legit rolls up to school in a Tesla! And not just any Tesla," Sho said, energized by the shit-posting, "The Model X2. The X2, Raiden. The mother fricking X2. That thing is like—I don't even know. It's just—I can't. I can't. The dude is way too rich."

"But he's also a close family friend," Raiden said. He waved his ladle around the kitchen. "Look at us. We're pretty rich too."

"Yeah, but it's not Lee William McCarthy rich."

"Okay, I guess that's fair." Raiden nodded and turned back to the stove.

"Hardly." A moment of silent covered the room, and Sho quickly changed the topic. "By the way, how many of those are you going to make?"

"Let's see," Raiden counted on his fingers, "I need two for the party tonight, one as a gag gift for Gilly, and I might've wanted one for myself." He performed that nervous tiptoe raise, like he really was sorry for eating an entire container of hardened slime in one sitting.

Sho knew better.

"Shouldn't you stop calling her Gilly?" Sho sucked the rest of the yogurt from his tube. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he dug into his pockets for that gear from earlier. "She's like fifteen. And a gag gift? That?" He gestured in the general direction of a giant blueberry mold that now sat filled next to the apple. "You might as well have hurled into a bucket and frozen it. That stuff tastes like the rough end of a boot and has the consistency of a lump of lard. At least get her a fidget spinner. Not this elementary school crap."

"Yeah, but that's just too easy." Raiden shrugged and popped open another box of fruity mix. "It's handmade. It's special."

"And," another voice interjected before Sho could add his acerbic two-cents, "today's a rather special day."

Like a pop star strutting on to stage, the youngest of the Shin brothers appeared, sauntering into the kitchen, completely topless. He wore matching white pants like Raiden, except these looked loose and mobile. A similar black belt was tied around his waist. He wore no socks, just barefoot against the cold tile. Clapping Raiden on the back, he dropped himself into the seat across from Sho and rested his chin upon his hands.

"Kuzon," the older two brothers said simultaneously, "put on a shirt."

"Shirts are for those not comfortable with their body," Kuzon quipped. He reached forwards with a finger, intent on poking the contents of the apple. It was slapped away by Raiden's watchful ladle. "Dude, come on. Lemme taste it. Last time you made gelatin, it was way too fruity. You gotta have sixty sugar, forty fruit."

"I'm following the recipe," Raiden pointed out. "It specifically said to mix the entire contents with forty percent the amount of sugar." He picked up the box and tapped a finger on a line. "Right here. Mix the entire packet thoroughly and add sugar."

"Do the math," Sho said bluntly. He was nibbling a fingernail and spinning the gear he had on a chopstick. "See if it's really forty."

"And now you're doubting the box."

"Just saying. Might not be forty. If you're going for forty, then actually get forty. If you're not, then follow whatever weird baking scheme those guys want you to do."

"I'm just making gelatin," Raiden chuckled. "How hard can this really be?"

"Real hard," Kuzon smirked, "if you can't figure out how to make it taste good. Sixty, forty. I give it to you on a finely served, ornery plate." He stretched and the six-pack he so caringly cultivated rippled. At some point, Sho wondered if they were just Hawaiian buns. "Oh, by the way, Sho—my dude. Good news."

"What?" Sho said dully. The only thing he'd heard was his name. Perhaps the gear would work best externally to the insertion slot? The polyethylene was always getting stuck and torn.

"Wow, try to sound a little more excited. I am doing you a fantastic favor."

"Now this I need to hear," Raiden said. He stopped his mixing and leaned against the kitchen counter, grinning like it was Christmas Eve.

With all eyes on him, Kuzon grandly waved his hands. He brandished his phone, the Excalibur of the modern age. Then he sliced down upon the unworthy heathens before him and showed them both the incredible text that he received. In slightly dimmed lighting, the words « Sure she said she'll go » winked back at them, and Kuzon crowed in victory.

"I got you a date!"

"Wait, Sho?" Raiden balked at the news as if the eldest's social skills were a foregone conclusion. "No way."

"Yes, way. I got that Katta High chick to go to the party tonight. She originally wasn't going to go, but with a little of wooing on my part, I convinced her sister to convince her to go to the party with us and get you—my mans—absolutely lit."

Wait, us? When was there an us? Wait wait wait!

Snapping back to reality—oops there went gravity—Sho blinked owlishly and swayed precariously in his chair. "Objection—"

"—Overruled."

"Can someone with a clue tell me what this is about? Please? Right now?"

He was hopelessly single and could care less at this point.

"Listen," Kuzon said in a voice you reserved only for babies, "you dolt, you need a girlfriend. And for a Halloween party, this is literally the best time to do it. Winter is getting here. It's cuffing season. There's no better time."

"Yeah?" Sho said, sarcasm dripping from his words. "And when did this amazing revelation come to be? You're just going to make choices for me now?"

Taxation without representation! Taxation without representation! Quick! Grab the flags!

"Dude, you need to get… well…" Kuzon looked around suspiciously.

"Mom's not here," Sho reminded him sardonically, "You don't need to be a good boy."

"Fine. Laid. You need to get laid."

"Right… because it is the life goal of every teenage male." His sarcasm couldn't contain itself. The faucet no longer dripped. A steady stream escaped from his lips, and Sho leaned forwards, a wolfish smile radiating his face. "Sure, let's get laid. Let's lose our virginity in the most, fastest way humanly possible. Let's not even decide what the girl thinks. No no, we just want to focus on us, and what our fucking dicks want."

"Woah, hey now," Raiden interrupted before something less than friendly could erupt at the kitchen table. He pushed himself between the two brothers who were now almost nose to nose. "Kuzon, don't bother Sho with this, okay? He doesn't need the heat. And Sho, no swearing, please. Kuzon just wants you to relax and make more friends. He didn't mean you had to do anything."

"Oh, no," Kuzon mumbled, "I did." He angrily pushed himself off his seat and grabbed the third boiling pot on the stove. Grape joined its berry-scented friends in the air. "It's fine, Raiden. Whatever. I mean, it's not like Sho has any other friends other than us and Will. It's not like he goes outside, or hangs out. I mean—" He shrugged. "—I gave it my best shot. She's still coming to that party. I'm sure she'll find someone with a bit more class to hang out with."

"Actually," Sho burst out suddenly.

Kuzon looked hopeful for just a moment, and Sho felt almost bad for crushing his dreams.

Almost.

"Tell her that I'm not going to the party with her. Ever. And tell her that the chances of her beating me at regionals are so slim that she might as well try fishing for a great white shark in the Yangtze. Tell that to her."

There was a considerable pause after the caustic outburst. Slowly, Kuzon blinked. He placed the pot down.

"You can paraphrase," Sho added, driving the point home. "Verbatim if you like. Or not. Your choice."

Muttering a few curses, the younger brother stormed out the room. Raiden just looked at Sho in disappointment. "He was only trying to help."

"Unwanted," Sho said with an eye roll.

Having had it with—everything—Sho also stood. He glared at the molds and decided.

"God, I hate gelatin."

With that, he left the room, swiping the gear and chopsticks that remained on the table.

Floor 1: Southern Fields

Purple. Purple gelatin.

He hated purple gelatin.

He really should've been more specific, you know, just in case he ended up dying and someone had to write his obituary.

They're going to ask, years down the road, where Sho was when he died; how he died; and whether he went out like a badass or passed quietly into the void. Jokes on them. He was simply swallowed by a huge gelatin creature and held captive inside its engorged stomach. Like a twisted version of a kangaroo and its 'roo, Sho floated inside the «King Blob», arms and legs spread asunder. His limbs continued to move, reaching further and further, straining the tends and ligaments that bound them to his body. He could guess what the monster wanted to do.

All things considered, not a bad headline.

Sucking in air was difficult. It was the same as sucking in blubber; the oxygen he did manage to consume was mixed with ooze that stuck to his esophagus. He coughed, which only served to make it worse. His arms struggled, locked in place by a honey-like substance. His face stung; the purple crap around him called tears to his eyes. Bubbles rose from where the tears touched the gelatin, and Sho managed to raise his eyebrows.

Water. Gelatin melted in water. That was the weakness. He needed more water.

But where the hell was he going to get water inside a blob?

Sho could think of two ways: first, he bawls his eyes out until he created a sizeable hole where his head could fit through. From there, he could eat his way out, though he really really didn't want to do that. Of all the ridiculous stuff you could eat in Aincrad, Sho didn't want one of them being the flesh of a blob. For one thing, there were all sorts of debris floating around him. For another—just, ew, no. Gelatin was disgusting. Gelatin infused with anger?

Jesus Christ.

The second way was to spit. Spit so much that it would burn like acid through the blob. That too presented a few problems. A) He wasn't hydrated enough to recreate a cowboy Western movie. B) As much as he found gelatin repulsive, he also didn't want his own spit surrounding his face like a new-age, hipster facelift. His pores were fine, thank you. He's had enough kale and spinach over the past couple days to last him a few centuries.

But, as he deliberated on his grand escape, he could feel his body being torn apart. It began slowly at first, just a few inches at a time. Then it intensified as the Blob's innards gripped his extremities. He could feel a burning sensation around his wrists and ankles. His joints protested at the tension, and the HP bar to the right of his vision shrunk steadily smaller. Pop! Gasping, Sho could no longer feel his wrist. Strange spikes of pain ricocheted over his body, and he remembered Raiden very specifically telling him that there was no pain in Aincrad.

Nevermind. Spit it is.

Shot after shot of saliva flew out of his lips. Sho could feel invisible hands grasping his head. Every second it tightened further and further till he saw flashing lights. The teen wanted to scream and kick and punch. He wanted it to stop—needed it to stop. He could envision the bones in his neck cracking, the muscles tearing. The picture was so vivid in his mind's eye that it invigorated the pins and needles around his throat. His fists clenched, and body convulsed.

Come on, come on…

Slowly, the King Blob's stomach fizzled. Purple haze poured from its body and a large chunk liquefied. It dumped on to the floor; Newton did the rest as Sho dropped unceremoniously to the dirt. He inhaled deep gulps of air, greedy for the life-giving essence. A headache pounded his skull, and the back of his eyes felt like drums in the world's most rowdy rock concert. He clutched his left arm to his chest and forced energy to his legs. Their aching groan brought a grimace to his face. Just as he managed to gather himself to his feet, a massive fist struck him in the side, and the teen was flung into the air.

"Agh, shit," he barked, crashing into a tree. Leaves showered down around him as the King Blob roared. "Now you're pissed," Sho managed through clenched teeth. "Great. Someone remind me to kill Raiden after this."

Checking over his HP, which was at approximately half, Sho pushed himself upright yet again and pressed his back against the tree trunk. His opponent towered in front of him, advancing at a pace comparable to a slow walk. Hits like a truck and moves like a snail—classic MMORPG archetypes. The one issue—there was no way he was fighting this thing head on. As for physical weakness, he could see none. Characterized by its name, it was a fat lump with purple globules that dragged themselves across the ground, eating up the earth beneath it. It had pancake-like, wine-colored eyes and fists the size of cinder blocks. Where its chest had been, a human-shaped hole remained. Its health was a quarter gone, and already the wound was stitching itself together, increments of HP rising. Sho rolled his eyes.

"Not one ounce of luck." Grunting, he limped around the oak. Settling down into the shadows beneath the branches, he considered his options.

A weapon. He needed his staff.

There was, unfortunately, another problem: it lay buried in the back of the King Blob's head. He peered around the trunk and saw it, speared diagonally from its left temple to its right cheek. The monster had to be over eight feet tall; no matter how mad his hops, there was no way he was going to reach it. And even if he could Michael Jordan his way up there, the thing wasn't going to let him. As Sho watched, it ripped off a chunk of its flesh and lobbed it in an arc. "Shit!" he yelped and dove back under cover. The chunks fell like mortars, gooey shrapnel splattering in all directions. A handful slashed through the pallid threads of his «Common Tunic». "Gack! Fuck!" He yanked his arm away and flattened into the tree. There went another five percent of his health. He checked his lower half; the robe bottoms he had were somehow immaculate, and this, above all things rose a wave of bile from his throat.

"I look like a fricking twat," he spat and tore at the stupid thing. He didn't even know why he put it on in the first place. Whatever armor bonus they provided wasn't worth it. He continued to yank, and the words « Are you sure you want to UNEQUIP? » blinked startlingly at him. "Yes," he said, "get this thing the hell off me." With another pull, the item came off to reveal standard video game boxers. Ten seconds later, they were replaced by the default pants offered to everyone—unless you really did want to go nude. Another messy gob exploded nearby.

"God, what am I gonna do with this piece of junk?" Sho shook the robe disgustedly and flung it to the side. His eyes roved over the crawling field in front of him, and his faced dropped. "Damn it, dude. Game sense!" Of course, it was an open area. This was the hugest sign next to the fucking Nazi rallies. Open space, ample lighting, and a single landmark—another typical RPG setup. He should've seen it coming.

"Yet, I didn't," he mumbled dryly. "I walked right in, thinking, oh hey! I bet you can totally do this without even checking out the area. I mean, pfft, Raiden's done it, right? And if Raiden can do it, his totally intelligent older brother can too!" Hah, right. Obviously. All he got now was a lot fewer options for him to screw around with. Running away in terror was looking very good, right about now. But if the explosions were any indication, he'd be sidewalk paste within ten meters. Plus, he needed that item.

So, that left backward, towards the monster.

"Still got no weapon," he reminded himself in a sarcastic, sing-song voice. "And you've run out of health potions. Come on, Sho. Think your way out of this one."

He reached back into his mind, trying to recall if he was every taught anything about fighting gelatin-based creatures. Anything at all.

Video games? Uh, school books? Anything?

Blank, blank, blank blank.

Not a soul prepared a man to fight such dastardly villainy.

"I need the staff," he decided. "The staff. The staff. The staff."

Repeating that mantra over and over, Sho calmed his ringing nerves. If he can get his weapon, he could survive. Glancing up the tree, he had a wild, completely stupid idea. In any other dimension, he would've torn himself a new one for doing something so dumb. He licked his lips. Yes, this rated high on his list of all-time terrible decisions, one of which was going to that shit-show of a party. Grasping his wrist, the one that now had the «Dislocated» tag attached to it, Sho pressed it against the tree trunk.

One, two— "AGH!" he screamed and twisted. The joint snapped into place, and a hot slash of agony surged up his arm. His eyes flashed black for a moment, and he could hear the shocked exclamation of an invisible crowd. His visage contorted, and he weakly clawed at the tree bark. With the single-minded focus of a beast at bay, Sho climbed.

Hands, and feet. Hands, and feet. Hands, and feet.

He reached the top of the oak, several dozen yards off the ground. It was chilly up there; wind rustled through his hair and whipped by his cheek, little happy zephyrs on their way to play. It was almost serene, but below him was the Blob. And like two mortal enemies, their eyes met. Sho's were a tired coal, barely managed calm; its were scarlet disks filled with unbridled rage. Internal programming ramped the monster's size to match that of its artificial anger. So, what once was a monster was now a twelve-foot tall behemoth. It formed a mace-like projectile in its hand, wound up, and with a resounding roar, hurled it at the opposing meat bag.

Sho jumped.

It was not fancy, no choreographed flair; it was a jump displaying extreme concentration. Lips in a line, Sho soared through the air, reached the pinnacle of his ascent, then fell, tipped headfirst towards his target. His right arm was outstretched, his breath held. He swooshed through the head of King Blob, hand immediately clasping on to his staff as he flew out the other end, thudding like a skipped rock across the ground. He bit his tongue, gashes of orange-red and microscopic shards floated from wounds on his forearms, legs, and knees. His health was at thirty-six percent.

Then, the staff-wielder stood.

He wore a crooked smile.

Sho idly spun his basic iron staff and easily sidestepped the spike that was launched his way.

"I have had it up to here! with gelatin. I will never never eat that shit again. If I touch that driveling, distasteful abomination in the next eternity—so help me God, I will tear your amorphous collagen butt into the next galaxy." The staff began to glow as he spoke, each word emphasized by a split burst of light. "I've fought wolves, I've fought fucking cauliflower—and I have fucking been in your shitty stomach. So, unless you've got another 'flavor' in that thing you call a body," Sho placed his shining blue weapon on to his shoulder. "I suggest you hurry up and try to kill me, because I have been waiting so, so long."

As if to match the meat bag's words, the King Blob transformed one of its arms into a giant cudgel. It screeched at the boy and swung. Sho did the same, both hands gripped around the lower half of his weapon. The skill «Force of a Thousand Tons» activated, connected, and blasted through the arm with the boom of thunder. Goo flew everywhere as Sho pivoted on his spinning foot. For a moment, he froze, and the thought of getting thoroughly flattened zipped through his mind. But, as soon as it appeared, the [Post Motion Delay] debuff vanished, and he flowed into a crouching strike at the second arm's attack. He kicked through the attack then planted his weapon into the ground and hurled himself over a tail that emerged from the Blob, whipping at the spot he was at moments before. When he landed, he flowed immediately into a butterfly twist that dodged three arrows aimed at his heart.

The King Blob roared again and its body spazzed. Sho watched it start to radiate purple light, then, from random locations on its body, tentacles shot out at him. He avoided one, ducked beneath a second, and made the mistake of rolling. The ground, which had been mowed by the blob earlier, was slippery, coated at haphazard locations with slime. "What?!" he exclaimed as his left hand slipped from position. He smashed into a puddle of ooze. "Oh, no, no no no!" he said as he flipped himself upright. A tentacle zipped towards his face, and he slapped it away. "You are not going hentai on me! Fuck! Get off!" Another wrapped around his left leg. "This is not happening! I will not die like this!"

He swung at his leg, but the first tentacle had other plans. It latched on to his staff. "No, give! You piece of—" King Blob dislodged his weapon from his hands and flung it into some unknown region of the Southern Fields. Sho's eyes went wide, and his self-imposed calm began to evaporate. Grunting, he twisted on his free foot and whipped his left leg into a powerful hook kick, then continued, flipping through the air into a 360-hook. Yet the slime's appendage hung on.

"Gah, git! Off!" He went to spin again but the second tentacle was back. Striking at it with the flat of his hand, he uppercutted the limb. But as his move ended, he found himself ensnared. "Ah shit," he muttered as the King Blob rose its prey into the air and smashed him back down. Sho twisted as he went up, putting as much of the tentacles around him as possible, in a vain attempt to soften the blows.

His health bar was now flickering madly out of control. He'd dropped into the red.

"Urgh, no," was all he could manage. There came another smash, and his world suddenly became all fuzzy, like static on an old television. He watched himself, almost detached, as the King slithered a tentacle around his neck. Everything just ached, every muscle, every bone. Small squares sat to the right of his health bar, but there was no need for debuffs to debilitate the staff wielder.

He was a useless sack of meat. His eyes were half closed, part of his face was swollen. He'd lost his shoes at some time during the fight, splinters wedged into his heel, and as he was lifted into the air for the final blow, Sho could only see a blurry world before him. It was… mystifying. Beautiful. Perhaps he'd been wrong. Perhaps this world wasn't so bad. He tried to raise his hand, just enough to touch the sunlight. An echoing, rhythmic beat played.

He really did hate gelatin.