“Are you okay... ?”

  A little boy extends his hand toward me, his eyes wide with guileless concern. Does he not understand the danger? I am drenched in blood—viscous, dark, and smelling of copper. Why is he not running?

  “I am functional. Please do not concern yourself with my status,” I reply, grasping his hand to pull myself upright.

  He is small and petite, even for a human, with blonde hair; his appearance is generic. As for me... I still lack a clear definition of my own nature. The researchers only ever told me that I am composed entirely of nanomachines.

  “Are you some kind of robot? I think I have seen things like you in movies!” the boy exclaims, his voice rising with an irritating level of excitement.

  I look at him.

  I could terminate him in a fraction of a second and conceal his remains in the dense undergrowth of this forest; no one would ever find him. Humans truly possess a staggering lack of self-preservation.

  “My name is Ivanna,” he continues, beaming. “What about you?”

  “I... call me Violet,” I say. “That was the designation provided by the Foundation. It is not a matter of preference; it is simply written into my primary directory.”

  “So you really are a robot! Did you run away from your research facility? If you do not have anywhere else to go, I can hide you at my house! Oh—but you would have to stay away from Auntie Tatiana. She definitely would not want a robot in the house, haha!”

  “Be silent, boy,” I hiss.

  I press a blood-stained finger against his lips as the sound of snapping branches echoes through the thicket.

  “I heard something over here! It has to be the escaped subject!” a man’s voice barks, muffled by the internal acoustics of a specialized tactical helmet. “Move in before she breaks line of sight again!”

  “Tch. Relentless freaks,” I whisper, my internal processors whirring as they analyse the approaching footfalls. “I suspect they have come better equipped this time. Boy... lead me to your residence. Immediately.”

  “Yes, Captain!” he chirps, snapping a mock salute before darting into the shadows. I follow behind him.

  I tug my hood low, making sure my face is hidden.

  The bell above the door lets out a sharp ring as I dart into the antique shop. The room is cramped, overflowing with ancient relics and dusty books. I lunge toward the counter, nearly flipping a display table in my haste. I dive behind the desk and crouch low, startling the lamia shopkeeper.

  “H-huh? Who are you? An Imp?—”

  “Shh! Keep it down!” I hiss, looking up at him with a grin. “You have to hide me from the maids. It is me, Violet. You know, the Slime Lord’s daughter?”

  The old man blinks at me, clearly struggling to connect my voice to my new body. “Oh! It is you, Violet! You look so—”

  “Zip it! They are here!”

  The door chime rings again. Two girls enter the shop, both dressed in maid uniforms. One is an undead ghost Imp, huffing in exhaustion; the other is a Harpy.

  “Mr. Lamia, have you seen Lady Violet?” the Imp asks between gasps.

  “Uhh... no, I have not,” the shopkeeper stammers. “Did she get into trouble again?”

  “Not exactly,” the Harpy sighs, crossing her arms. “But she escaped the Demon Queen’s Tower again. They have sent out half the staff just to track her down.”

  “We are dead if we do not find her by tonight,” the Imp adds, her translucent face pale with worry. “I cannot even imagine what the Demon Queen will do to us if something happens. Lady Violet only recently got a physical body—Iréne's body, nonetheless... she is still getting used to having actual limbs.”

  “Do not worry. If the worst happens, we will just flee the country,” the Harpy mutters. “Though we still do not have enough finire crystals to make it to the Sabbath Empire. Anyway, thank you, Mr. Lamia. We will check the next district.”

  “You are welcome, ladies,” the shopkeeper says, waving them out.

  I wait until the door clicks shut before I stand up, stretching Iréne’s arms above my head. “Man, having a physical spine is so much drama. Do they really think I would break her body that easily?”

  “I think they are more worried about you getting hurt than you breaking your new body,” he adds.

  “Is not that the same thing?”

  I climb out from under the counter, exhaling a long sigh of relief. I know I am being a handful, but I do not care. I need to be one of the first people to meet the new Phantom Witch’s Apprentice in the flesh!

  “Well, what are you actually here for? You did not just come to use my floor as a hiding spot, did you?”

  “Of course not! Today is a historic day!” I lean on the counter. “I am on a mission to meet the new Summoned Witch. You know exactly who I am talking about.”

  The lamia rubs his chin. “Ivanna, right? I heard when she was first summoned, she was a total wreck. Injured, unconscious for days... there has not been a peep of news since.”

  “Well, my sources say she is finally awake! So, I am going to pay her a little surprise visit.” I hold out my hand expectantly. “I need a map to the Phantom Manor. Chop-chop!”

  I reach into my chest—or rather, reach internally into Iréne’s now flat chest—and pull out a few purple finire crystals, dropping the slightly slimy gemstones into his palm.

  “Ah, Violet! I knew you would come back! It has been ages!”

  A high-pitched voice pierces the air from behind me. Before I can react, I am slammed into a massive, suffocating hug. I stumble, almost tipping over.

  It is Zlata, my childhood friend. She is a Lamia, just like her father, and I have not seen her in forever.

  “Careful there, Zlata,” I say, catching her hands and glancing back over my shoulder into her eyes.

  “... Iréne?” she whispers, her expression melting into confusion.

  “Nope! It is me, Violet. Have you not heard the news? I finally got a physical form!”

  “You... took Iréne’s body?” she asks, her voice trailing off.

  “Do not make it sound like I am some kind of parasite! It was part of her contract with the Slime Lord back when she was my teacher. Plus, it was her wish to grant me her body as my physical form~”

  Iréne was my chemistry teacher back when I was still in my slime form. Now that she has passed away, she gave her body to me. I still miss her, of course—she will forever be in my heart—but I am going to enjoy this new upgrade!

  “You do look younger than Iréne did, though,” the shopkeeper notes. “She looked way more mature than you do. You just look like a teenage version of her; I did not even recognise the body when you first rushed into the building.”

  “I miss the old Violet already... Hey, can you change back to your slime form? I think you looked cooler as a slime!” Zlata says, leaning in.

  I shake my head.

  “I cannot change back. It would require this body to be severely damaged for me to revert. It would heal eventually, but this is my teacher’s body, after all. I am not going to wreck it.”

  “Enough chatter,” the shopkeeper—Zlata’s father—interrupts. “Violet, you said you are here to purchase a map to the Phantom Manor to meet the new Witch, right?”

  “Indeed—”

  “What?!” Zlata cuts in just as I am about to reach out my hand again. “You are going out again? To meet another girl, too! How could you come to a girl’s house just to cheat on her with another girl!”

  The shopkeeper stares at his daughter as if he has raised a total dummy. Which, to be fair, he has.

  “If you are going out to meet the new Witch, you should not be wearing such rags,” the shopkeeper sighs, gesturing to my tattered robes. “You want to make a good first impression, right?”

  “Ah! You are right! I cannot believe I almost forgot the most important part!”

  “Well, when you were still in your slime form, did you not always just walk around the streets naked?” Zlata asks, tilting her head.

  “Urk... I am not an exhibitionist, I swear...” I mutter, feeling a flush creep onto Iréne’s cheeks. Being a liquid did not really require a wardrobe.

  “Zlata, go get your mother’s spare clothes for Violet,” the shopkeeper instructs.

  “Ah, you really do not have to! Plus, I was planning to buy some new clothes later today anyway,” I insist, waving my hands dismissively.

  “No need!” Zlata chirps. She grabs me by the arms and begins hauling me toward the backrooms.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Behind us, the shopkeeper lets out a soft giggle as he turns his attention back to the front of the store, leaving me at the mercy of Zlata’s fashion sense.

  ...

  I stare into the mirror. A pretty girl stares back: a pair of sharp black horns, a crisp white blouse under a brown poncho, a short, tattered purple skirt, and polished black shoes. Who is this girl? Right—it is me. Well, it is Iréne’s body, but it belongs to me now.

  “You really do look like her,” Zlata murmurs, her hands steady as she combs through Iréne's—my—hair. “Like teacher, like student.”

  “It was an honour,” I reply, my voice softening. “Even if she was just a common Demon, she was the best teacher I could have asked for.”

  I tug at the hem of the fabric. “Your mother has decent taste, but is not this skirt a little short? Actually, why did she even own a skirt? She is a lamia, is she not?”

  Zlata taps a finger against her chin, pausing to think. “Well, that is because my mother was not a lamia. She was an Imp, just like you.”

  To emphasise the point, she reaches down and catches the spade-tipped end of Iréne’s—my—new tail.

  “She had these horns and this tail. Just like Iréne.”

  “Where is she now, anyway? I never knew your mother was a different race,” I ask, meeting her gaze in the reflection.

  “Still in the military. She is a commander serving under the Sun Goddess,” Zlata replies. “Her unit tracks down Oswald’s bloodline—you know, to wipe them out. The former King of Hell, the one before Demon Queen Gabrielle. Basically, my mother is the Demon Queen’s right hand in the purge!”

  “That sounds... intense. But is it not a bit much? Oswald’s descendants did not actually do anything. It was Oswald who harassed the Queen, not them.”

  “Does not matter,” Zlata says, her voice turning oddly flat. “The moment they are born with that blood, they are branded heretics. There is nothing anyone can do about it.”

  “But Oswald has been dead for ages.”

  “The Demon Queen does not care how long you have been a corpse.”

  ...

  “So soon? You are already leaving? And for another girl!” Zlata’s voice rises into a dramatic wail as she follows me toward the door. “You are the worst, Violet! A heartbreaker! A swindler!”

  I roll my eyes, adjusting my new poncho, and head for the counter. The shopkeeper lets out a long, weary sigh.

  “When you meet this new girl, try not to do anything inappropriate,” he adds, leaning over the counter. “You are still a teenager, after all.”

  “Give it a year. I will be an adult by then,” I smirk.

  “That is also no good,” he counters flatly. “The body you are wearing is not yours. You have a responsibility to protect Iréne’s legacy and her dignity. Besides, Slime Demons procreate asexually. You have no biological reason to engage in such acts, regardless of your new hardware.”

  “Urk... y-you are not my dad. You should not be lecturing me...”

  “Even the Slime Lord would say the same,” he replies, sliding a rolled parchment across the counter. “Here. The map to the Phantom Manor. It is deep in the forest, a fair distance from the Marketplace. Try not to get lost.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Thanks,” I mutter, tucking the map away. I look back at Zlata and give a small wave. “I will be back to hang out later, okay? Do not be such a baby.”

  I turn to leave, but the bell above the door chimes before I can reach for the handle.

  A woman in a sharp, tactical orange military uniform marches in—her double-ringed halo glows bright as she walks. I recognise her immediately: she is the Sun Goddess, Chiara Luz. She is mid-sentence, speaking to an Imp woman in her mid-thirties wearing a yellow military uniform.

  “—confirmed the location of Athena’s hidden manor,” Chiara says. “He is one of the last of Oswald’s line. Intelligence confirms they have a daughter named Verchiel. Luckily, the Angel blood in her veins is starting to thin.”

  “Mom!” Zlata chirps, her face lighting up as she rushes toward the Imp woman, who catches Zlata in her arms.

  The Sun Goddess stops. Her gaze shifts to me—her eyes are piercing, the kind that make you feel like you are standing under a magnifying glass.

  “Violet,” she says, her voice strangely calm. “Make sure you are back at the Tower before nightfall. And stop making things difficult for the servants. They have enough to do without chasing a slime through the districts.”

  She does not wait for an answer, brushing past me into the shop. I do not stick around to chat either; I slip out the door and into the street, the cool air hitting Iréne’s face as I disappear into the crowd.

  I am going to meet the new Witch—Ivanna—if it is the last thing I do.

  ...

  Light barely passes through the thick canopy of the forest. A massive, ominous manor made of stone and dark wood stands before me. It looks ancient, yet undeniably fancy.

  This is the Phantom Manor, the residence of the Phantom Witch—otherwise known as the Queen of the Undead.

  Supposedly, the person I am looking for is inside this place. Ivanna... it is a familiar name, one I hear in my dreams over and over again. She is someone dear to me, yet I cannot even remember her face.

  In this country—the Demon Queen’s Territory—many people are named Ivanna, but they are not the one. I know for sure that I will recognise my Ivanna the moment I see her.

  I step up to the massive front door and knock, but I am met only with silence. I know I am a Slime Demon, but I do not think Iréne’s fist is so soft that they cannot hear me. Though, to be fair, I did not exactly make an appointment.

  Scanning the manor’s exterior—which is covered in intricate, swirling designs—my eyes land on an open window on what I assume is the third floor.

  Hmm... too late to turn back now.

  Scaling the walls is not easy. I am still not used to having a physical body. I end up falling a few times, but slowly, I manage to work my way up.

  “Ahh... fresh air... this place sure is suffocating. Hah? Where did you—?”

  Panting in exhaustion, I hook my scratched-up hand onto the open window frame and pull myself up, my muscles shaking. I peer over the ledge.

  My eyes make contact with a beautiful young girl. She has long, curly blonde hair and a slender figure, dressed in an elegant, frilly black dress and a tattered, brown, pointy witch hat. Her blue eyes glitter in the dim light of her own double-ringed halo.

  She raises her eyebrows in surprise, her face wearing a hint of alarm. She does not drop her guard for even a second. I suppose that is understandable; I would be startled too if I saw a girl dangling from a third-story window.

  I cannot explain how or why, but she is definitely the one I have been searching for. The girl from my dreams.

  “Ivanna... Noevna Malakhova. That is your name, right?” I ask.

  Her eyebrows climb even higher. “Wha—how did you... know?”

  “I see. You really are the person I am looking for,” I say, a small smile tugging at my lips. “It has been so long... let us get together again.”

  “My, my, our protagonist is finally waking up! I am so excited! I am so excited!”

  “Don't you mean ‘antagonist,’ Marina? Silly you~”

  I find myself waking from the dark to chattering voices. It is not the sound of a nurse or a worried friend; it sounds rehearsed.

  The ceiling is vaulted stone, draped in cobwebs that catch the dim, flickering candlelight. Sitting at the edge of the bed is the woman from before—the one with the pointed hat and the black dress. Two peculiar yellow rings float above her head.

  On her right hand is the patchwork puppet named Marina that the playwright gave me back at the theatre club.

  “Do not be so tense, Ivanna,” the woman says, her voice smoothing out. “You are going to be staying here for the rest of your life. Might as well get comfortable.”

  “Do not be so tense, Ivanna,” the woman says, her voice smoothing out. “You are going to be staying here for the rest of your life. Might as well get comfortable.”

  I struggle to sit up as the sheets rustle against my skin. “Staying here? Elaborate. I do not... I was on the road. Yuki—he needs help. He was hit by a car. I have to go back.”

  The woman tilts her head, the puppet’s button eyes staring blankly at me. “It is pointless now. He is already dead.”

  “No. That is not—”

  “Chances are, he is probably reincarnated into this world, much like you,” she interrupts. “And strictly speaking, you are likely dead, too. Your body is only preserved through the summoning ritual. It is a bit of a technicality, really.”

  She leans closer. “Tell me, have you ever read an isekai light novel? You lived in Japan, after all. You should be familiar with the trope.”

  How does she know so much about me? “How do you know I am from Japan? Who are you?—“

  “I asked you a question, Ivanna. Have you read them?” she cuts in, ignoring my query and adopting a sudden, cold tone.

  “Yes. I have read them,” I tell her. My voice is a mere whisper, taken aback by her sudden shift in energy—like a director snapping at an actor after a missed cue.

  “Good. Then this will be easier to digest,” she continues, the coldness lingering. “There are two main factions—or to be precise, races. The Living Angels and the Demons. The Angels summon ‘Heroes’ to defeat the Demon Queen. Their power is a ‘blessing’ from God. Then there are the ‘Witches.’ We are summoned by our own kind to stop those Heroes. Our power is inherited, and we are under the Demon Queen’s thumb.”

  “So... I have been summoned as an anti-hero?”

  “Basically.” She finally pulls the puppet off her hand and sets it on the bedside table. It was mine after all... did she go through my belongings?

  “I realise I have not introduced myself properly. My name is Yumi. Yumi Haruka. Though in this world, I am the Phantom Witch. And you? You are Ivanna, my new apprentice.”

  “Yumi?” The name is undeniably Japanese. “How do you know my name? How do you know about Yuki? I have a foreign name; I did not even tell you where I lived—”

  “It is part of the power of the Phantom Witch,” Yumi says, waving a hand dismissively. “You will master it one day. Or you will not. Either way, you should rest. Training begins tomorrow.”

  She stands up. “Tomorrow, I will explain the things you actually need to worry about. Like the... unpleasantness regarding the demonkind’s view on male Witches. But do not let that keep you up tonight.”

  “I am going to walk you through this new life, Ivanna. It will not be as peaceful as your theatre club. You will have to fight for your life every single day. But I am sure you will survive. After all, if you go down, I go down with you.”

  “That sounds like a lot to worry about,” I say, feeling a dash of concern for my new life. I much prefer the calm atmosphere of theatre.

  “Of course it is,” Yumi replies. “The moment I summoned you, we became Heretics. Plus...” She dims the light with a flick of her wrist. “...to be a Witch is to lose your humanity.”

  The door clicks shut, leaving me in the dark with nothing but the silent, button-eyed stare of a puppet.

  I stared into the silver-framed mirror, and a stranger stared back.

  My face... my body... are different now. I find myself in the body of a little girl: pale skin, red eyes, pointed ears, and long, silky white hair. I find myself in the body of a little vampire girl. A Demon. Except, I also have a halo floating over my head, which casts a dim light over my new hair.

  “Lady Verchiel, dinner is ready.” A voice calls out to me and breaks my trance.

  Turning around, I see the voice comes from Mia, my personal maid assigned by my new father. She is a Demon just like me, a cat Demon: long black hair and fluffy cat ears and a tail. She is the only one I had told about my reincarnation a month ago.

  I did not have enough courage to tell my parents.

  ?“Ah! O-okay...” I tell her; my voice is high-pitched and that of a child now.

  ?Mia smiles as she enters the room. “I have news. Lord Athena received an invitation today. A welcoming party for new Demons at the Phantom Manor, deep within the Demon Queen’s Territory. It is a gala for new Demons, much like you.”

  “... That sounds dangerous, does it not? Is our family not currently being hunted? How did they even... find our location to send such invitations?” I ask, getting off the high chair, away from the mirror. “Plus, being half Angel... would make me, father, and mother stand out amongst other Demons.”

  ?Mia starts walking toward me and kneels down, looking into my eyes.

  ?“You told me about your past once, right? About your old life as ‘Yuki’?”

  ?I nod slowly. I had spilled everything to her in a feverish haze when I first woke up as Verchiel. The school, the theatre club, the girl I had loved with every clumsy beat of my heart.

  ?“You told me about a girl named Ivanna,” Mia whispers.

  ?My heart skips. “Ivanna… what about her?”

  ?“I heard that the Phantom Witch’s new Apprentice Witch is an Aubade—a traveller from another world—and that her name is Ivanna.”

  ?Ivanna... it could not be... I look into Mia’s face to see if there is any sign that she is joking, but there is none.

  ?“Just like the Summoned Heroes,” Mia explains, “Witches are Aubades. They come from the stars, from worlds far beyond Gaia. If your Ivanna followed you here, that party is where she will be.”

  “It is... it is still too risky, though... the outside world beyond father’s manor is dangerous. What if something goes wrong?” I tell her, my voice sounding a little desperate.

  ?I look at my small, pale hands. If Ivanna was here—if she was a Witch in this terrifying world—then she was just as lost as I was.

  ?“It will be dangerous, of course. But Lord Athena... your father does not want to live a life of seclusion anymore. He wants to take the risk to build some relations with fellow Demons... so, we will be going to the Phantom Manor in a few days.”

  ?“Mia... Will you protect me? If I go out there… if things get dangerous… will you stay with me?”

  ?Mia does not hesitate. She leans forward and pulls me into a warm, protective hug, the scent of lavender and starch filling my senses. “Of course, My Lady. I will always be your shield.”

  ?I bury my face in her shoulder.

  ?“Wait for me, Ivanna...”

  ???