Blake Pudding

A moment earlier…

"Ouchie," I groaned, staring up at the sky. I tried to sit up—only to realize I had no arms. No legs. No torso.

Shit.

I was just… face. A gooey, twitching face smooshed into the dirt.

That damn dwarf had hit me way too hard with his hammer. After blasting through a buffet of buildings and leaving a trail of pudding-shaped carnage, there wasn't much left of me.

Muttering something between a whimper and a growl, I formed a single tentacle, hoisting one of my eyeballs from the goo like a periscope. Surveying the wreckage, I spotted the crash trail—long, deep, and messy. My poor little pudding bits were strewn everywhere.

Well. Technically, I'm an Eldritch Horror with a subrace classification of Black Pudding... and two hidden races: Titan and Demigoddess.

Yeah, I'm a fucking mutt.

But hey—I still identify as a Pudding, thank you very much.

With a squishy sigh, I let the eyeball sink back into my face. I just lay there for a moment, listening to the distant thunder of champions beating the ever-loving shit out of each other.

What to do next…

"That looked like it hurt," came the annoyingly cheerful voice of a little girl.

Glancing back up, my view was filled with a large mop of vibrant pink hair.

"Ugh, am I dead?" I burbled, my gooey face starting to sag and puddle further into the dirt.

Death, tapping her lower lip thoughtfully, replied, "No, not yet, anyway. Besides, I don't bother with collecting souls much these days," she added with a shrug.

"So, what do you want, Grandma?" I gurgled.

I mean, that was a fair question, right? I was her Disciple or something, and she was the mother of my re-reincarnated newest mom—Duskara, aka the Crone, aka Goddess of Dreams.

That being said... if I was supposedly Death's Disciple, like my title clearly says, then she's a shit teacher or whatever.

Let's break this mess down once more.

I was brought into this realm, reincarnated as a Black Pudding, died horribly, then had my soul(s) glued back together by a literal goddess who jammed a piece of herself inside me.

Boom—my soul was reborn. Souls, technically, since every splinter came with its own unsolicited commentary and I'm stuck listening to the director's cut on loop.

Anyways! I've got a new mom. And a brand-spankin' new me.

And Grandma here has done what for me?

Nothing!

It's a convoluted process, okay?

Barely makes sense when I say it—and I lived it.

Still, I was kind of relieved. I mean, it couldn't get any more baffling than this.

...Right?

"Grandma?" Death grumbled, looking genuinely affronted. "I'm no Grandma."

She scoffed, arms crossing in a huff. "If anything, I'm more like your stepmother. Well… my kid, Duskara, did sort of adopt you—or was it a rebirth? I mean, she's essentially your half-sister… well, not just essentially, she's also your mother now? Huh. I guess it's both?"

She continued tapping her lower lip, visibly trying to puzzle it out.

"Also, your cousin?" she added, gesturing vaguely in my direction. "Maybe."

After another moment of contemplative silence, she finally shrugged.

"Heck if I know. It's a rather large family tree. There's probably billions of you little ones scuttling around that other realm by now."

Then, her tone shifted back to casual as she tilted her head. "Anyway, what exactly are you doing down there?"

"W-What?" I bubbled out, drowning in confusion.

Just when I thought I was finally getting a grip on this convoluted lineage, Death tosses me a goddamn reality pretzel and tells me to deal with it.

Are we inbred?

Oh no, more like kissing cousins from Montana.

Well, we do come from a long line of hillbillies.

I thought we were never to mention that.

"I'll repeat it. What are you doing down there? I can't believe you let that weakling pummel you like that," Death scolded, wagging her finger at me like I was some misbehaving toddler.

"He's at a higher level than me," I muttered between blurps, then quickly backpedaled. "I mean—why don't I have any levels?"

Observing the literal embodiment of Death—manifested as a little girl in a frilly pink dress, topped with a ridiculous puff of bubblegum hair—standing over me with that petulant glare was... surreal. Her hands on her hips and exaggerated huff kind of killed the whole gravity of the situation.

"The system is a training aid for learning magic," Death harrumphed, clearly offended I didn't already know. "That fool over there? Sure, he's nearly finished with it. But it was designed for children."

"You don't need it," she continued with a dismissive wave, "except maybe to learn a few cool tricks."

"A training aid?" I echoed, still struggling to wrap my gooey, scattered head around that explanation.

"Not sure why my other kid is so obsessed with destroying it, but whatever," Death muttered with a shrug. "Yep! It's a relic from the Eldritch War—designed to train baby Titans in magic and combat."

She gestured directly at me. "You. Or rather, that vile, repulsive body your soul currently inhabits."

I blinked—well, blinked as best as a puddle can.

"Quite a lamentable situation, if you ask me," she sniffed, nose tilted upward. "I can't overstate my disdain for that detestable aunt of yours who created the Eldritch."

Her expression twisted.

"Every time I see you, I get this urge to obliterate you."

She sighed, tapping her chin now.

"Luckily for you, you've got that soul—and Duskara's claimed you. Otherwise, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Overwhelmed by Death's onslaught of revelations, each more bewildering than the last, I lay there—motionless pudding goop—as the ground trembled beneath me like it was vibrating to some intense cosmic bassline.

Was Death seriously reducing this ferocious clash of champions to child's play?

Once the chaos subsided, I promised myself—I'd get clearer answers out of her. Somehow.

Death, either oblivious to my mental spiral or just choosing to ignore it—because, let's be honest, reading facial expressions when I'm literally a puddle is kind of hard—pressed on.

"Don't engage in a battle as a system user," she instructed. "Rise, gather yourself, and fight like a Titan. Or like an Eldritch—just embrace your true nature and fight."

"Titan?" I burbled, trying to keep up with this acid trip of a conversation.

"Ugh. Just pull yourself together," she muttered, exasperated. "At least kick that dwarf where it hurts and make a run for it, for all I care."

And just like that, she vanished. No puff of smoke. No dramatic exit. Just gone.

"Well, that doesn't help me," I grumbled, oozing my gooey body into a tennis ball-sized spider.

My form was severely depleted. Worse, I couldn't sense Phantasia anywhere inside me.

I scuttled through the destruction I'd carved into the landscape, hunting for chunks of myself.

And surprisingly? They weren't hard to find. Little blobs of my essence glistened under broken stone and shattered debris—some even crawling toward me on their own.

It got me thinking... Could I, like, reproduce by splitting myself up? Divide and conquer? Or were these just parts of me—pieces drawn back by some instinctive "get the band back together" vibe?

Probably the latter.

I moved from blob to blob, reabsorbing each one as I darted between the wreckage.

All while those two continued their glorious, over-the-top, Michael Bay-ass battle in the background.

Explosions. Flying rocks. Screaming mana.

And me?

Frantically scooping up my goo like I was on some post-apocalyptic scavenger hunt for pudding-flavored power-ups.

Every now and then, as Anal-lyth and the dwarf passed too close, gravity warped.

Not metaphorically—literally.

I was lifted off the ground, my spider-like legs flailing.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Yes—I was using that old spider form while I gathered myself together. Not quite enough yet to take human form... yet.

Stones floated beside me for a heartbeat... then slammed back into the dirt.

Each wild swing of the dwarf's hammer came with a burst of gravitational chaos.

Amidst my pudding-quest, I stumbled across a few beastkin huddled under a collapsed stone arch.

Their eyes locked onto the two clashing figures ahead—faces a cocktail of awe and raw terror.

Even I could see it.

Anal-lyth was struggling. Forced into a defensive dance just to stay upright.

And the dwarf?

Laughing like a lunatic.

Not just fighting—playing.

This wasn't combat.

It was a sadistic game.

And my bitch of a Champion was getting wrecked.

How the heck are we supposed to fight that?

I thought we already established that.

And what was that again? 'Cause Granny Death sure as hell didn't give us shit to go on! Fight like a Titan—really?

We cheat, obviously!

But how?

Oh, I've got a 'hole' idea in mind. You might say it's our 'core' strategy.

Really? Puns, now? And from you? We must be seriously screwed.

Oh, shut up and let's go Super Saiyan on this bearded bastard.

Fine, but I call dibs on his intestines. I need a new jump rope.

What? An intestine necklace is way better!

Too late, I already called it.

Ugh, fine!

Back to now…

Catching that dwarf's hammer with just one hand?

Easy peasy.

Honestly, I should start giving myself a pat on the back right about now. And, surprise—a couple of my back-tentacles already were. Clap clap clap. Just for me.

Seriously, the real challenge wasn't the catch—it was using every ounce of self-control not to drop the damn thing and break into an ecstatic, tit-shimmying pudding dance of unholy glee. Not because the hammer was heavy or anything—please—but because I'm me.

Divine Stellar Core-enhanced eldritch badass extraordinaire. Ha!

Down below me lay Jason, his stupid anglerfish-toothed face gaping at me like he was in shock or some shit.

Pussy.

Realization flashed across Jason's face as he stared up at me, followed by a resigned sigh.

"Ah, fuck, it's you."

And in front of me? Oh-ho-ho—there he was. The bearded bastard himself.

His face? Priceless.

A confused mix of how the fuck? and I may have made a huge mistake.

He glanced from the long, thick shaft of his hammer to my dainty little hand gripping the tip.

The bashy end, you pervs.

Not that I minded the imagery. I was halfway to licking it.

His grip trembled.

Mine didn't.

I smiled.

He did not.

I mean—did you see that catch? Baby eldritch tier simple.

I'm such a bad bitch.

—Says the girl using the Divine Stellar Core training wheels.

Ssh! We don't have to talk about that part.

Oh no, by all means, let's ignore the fact we're basically cheating at this point.

Cheating implies rules. And last I checked, we don't like rules.

Wow. That's definitely not something a future villain says right before leveling an entire world.

Tee-hee.

Um... Moon.

What?

We're on a moon.

Oh, fuck off.

Hey. Hey. Can we get back to our fight?

"Ugh," I groaned, rolling my eyes so hard I swear they did a full loop. "Will all of you shut the fuck up?! Can't you see I'm in the middle of something?!"

"W—Wha' in the bloody hell?!" the dwarf sputtered.

"She does that," Jason offered flatly.

Simple. Honest. A little unhinged. I gave a cheerful little shrug, one hand still wrapped around the hammer.

"Multitasking, bitch," I chirped. "Some people juggle swords—me? I juggle trauma, divine energy, and a shit ton of internal voices."

Then I winked. At no one. At everyone. Offered a manic giggle—humming a little tune out loud while I did it.

Jason gave me a look, voice flat—"Voices in My Head?"

My eyes lit up, golden light flaring just a bit brighter as I smiled and did a playful little hop—hammer still held back effortlessly in one hand.

"I love that song! Though, I really wish Maggie Lindemann and Siiickbrain would do a remake of it. As much as I love Falling in Reverse, there were never enough insane woman songs that didn't sound like Taylor Swift crying about a breakup."

The dwarf scoffed, clearly struggling to process the situation unfolding in front of him.

"Sweet shite, yer off yer bleedin' rocker, aren't ye?"

I nodded enthusiastically.

"—Yep! I had a thing for those two. The video for break me!—totally did it for me. Can't tell you how many times I smashed myself to the thought of being sandwiched by them."

A dreamy sigh might've slipped out. Might not've. Who's judging?

"I even rocked Siiick's shaved-head look for the last couple years of my past life. And for a natural redhead? I like to think I pulled it off—tattoos and all."

I twirled a tendril strand of black hair, grinning like a lunatic at the pleasant thought of those hot bitches.

"Though... I did love my wigs," I dreamily added.

"…Blake," Jason breathed out, almost sounding disappointed.

That snapped me right out of my steamy thoughts. In my best haughty tone, I glared down at him, dripping with disdain.

"Hey! You may call me Mistress, you little bitch," I said, lips curling into a dark grin. "Oh, and you're welcome, by the way. Now fuck off. I have dibs on this short shit."

My gaze snapped back to the dwarf, sharp and gleaming.

Then I tilted my head back just enough to radiate peak smugness—the kind of expression one reserves for an insignificant insect. You know, the same disdain rich people show toward orphans—not the cute foreign ones they collect like trinkets for a tax write-off, but the crusty little vagabonds begging outside their multimillion-dollar condos.

That's the look!

Ah, I love that look.

Me too, we should give it off more often.

I'm not against that idea.

As for the dwarf, his eyes kept darting between his hands gripping the war hammer and my single hand effortlessly halting its descent toward Jason—well, that and the look he was giving me. Like I was insane or something.

That's fair.

This brief moment, lasting only a few seconds, gave Jason just enough time to blink into awareness—and for me to make my cheeky comment.

Yep. Cheeky.

Definitely not stuck-up bitchy.

Jason quickly scrambled to his feet, muttering, "Fucking psycho."

Before he could vanish into his usual shadowy escape, a tentacle from my hair shot out, snatching the fae by the neck and lifting him slightly off the ground. His feet kicked in desperation, seeking the unattainable ground beneath him, as his hands clawed frantically at my tendril.

All the while, my gaze stayed locked on the dwarf, who bore an expression somewhere between confusion and amusement.

"What did I just say?" I purred. "It's Mistress Psycho," I emphasized. "Now, say my name."

A gurgled sound struggled out of Jason's throat, eventually forming into a stammered, "Y-Yes, M-Mistress Psycho."

Nodding in approval, I nonchalantly dropped the pathetic man. "Now, be off, little bitch," I said with a dark smile, never breaking eye contact with the dwarf.

There was a grumble—a sound of disgruntled acceptance—before Jason vanished into thin air.

Overall, I think I made it pretty clear who's the alpha in this scenario.

—Now, back to the matter at hand.

"Aye, that was entertaining," the dwarf finally said, his voice rough and earthy, like gravel soaked in whiskey.

"Still, I'll give ye credit—stopping me hammer like that's no small feat. Strong, aye… but there's more to ye, I reckon." His eyes drifted to the hole in my chest, narrowing as he watched little sparks of orange lightning crackle and dance around me.

A beat passed. Then his face shifted.

Realization.

"Ye're saturating the whole place with mana—throwing off me skills," he muttered, eyes sharpening.

"Well then," he said with a crooked grin, voice laced with challenge, "let's see how ye fare against me magic without me wee tricks."

Umm… What's he talking about?

Fuck if I know.

"By the way, if I haven't said it already—name's Einarr. The Gravitational Destroyer. Champion o' the Abyssal Stone God, Khyron. And all-around great feck," he introduced himself with a mischievous glint in his eye and a grin to match.

"Blake. Blake Pudding. Daughter of Dreams. Total nightmare bitch," I replied, a cruel smile spreading across my face. "Demigoddess. Loli's Disciple. And all-around much greater fuck—and thief of vampiric virtues and panties."

"Loli?"

The grin on his face vanished for some reason.

Odd.

"Vampiric virtues and panties?" Einarr repeated, brow knitting in visible confusion. "What the feck does that even mean?" His voice carried a dismissive edge as he shook his head.

Funny how things pop back into memory at the most inconvenient times—like right now.

I had completely forgotten about all the stuff I'd stashed in my dimensional storage space—before it got merged with a bunch of other skills when my soul got reforged.

Not complaining, by the way. I love my Divine Stellar Core.

That said…

Among the prized possessions I lost?

A cock ring, some other ring whose origin I still couldn't recall, and my most treasured item—the one thing that actually ticked me off?

A pair of Aurelia's panties.

I snagged them after she wore me like a fancy dress during our little team-up massacre outside Elsternwick, and they mysteriously vanished when I returned her clothes.

I plead the fifth on why she never got them back.

But seriously—why am I just now remembering I had them? And why, oh why, are they gone?

It would've been so tantalizingly perfect if I could've shoved them in my mouth mid-fight like a deranged, lust-fueled battle snack.

It's so unfair!

Disregarding my flamboyant introduction, his eyes sharpened—locking onto me with the intensity of a hawk zeroing in on prey.

My grin stretched into an unnervingly wide arc, so unnatural it would've dwarfed even the infamous Crown Prince of Crime's manic smile in Gotham City.

Einarr, clearly unsettled by my eldritch Joker face, yanked fiercely at his hammer, desperate to reclaim it from my grasp.

I bided my time.

Tch.

That Batfleck reference? Lame.

Batfleck?! Oh, hell no! Wrong clown. Wrong clown!

Then—right as he gave a particularly forceful tug—I let go.

He staggered backward, caught off guard.

That's when I lunged.

Seizing the moment like a giggling predator.

As Einarr stumbled backward from my sudden lunge, my hair—or rather, a dozen tentacles that barely resembled hair—shot out toward him.

I found it amusing that I was even maintaining a human form. I'd even given myself patches of silk-white skin here and there. Sure, it was meaningless, but it had become second nature to me. Sometimes I didn't bother, but that actually required a conscious effort not to blend silk into skin.

But back to the point—the tentacles!

The dwarf moved with a speed that was beyond superhuman.

Or should I say... superdwarf?

He ducked and weaved, narrowly avoiding each tentacle I thrust at him. Amidst this dance of evasion, I could barely catch his muttered obscenities—largely drowned out by my own raucous laughter and incessant maniacal giggling.

Occasionally, I could sense Einarr's attempts to manipulate gravity. The ground beneath me felt as if it were receding, creating a sensation akin to walking on the moon.

I mean, technically I was walking on a moon—but you get the idea.

His gravitational manipulations weren't particularly forceful. The pull was mild, and the light, weightless sensation when it inverted barely increased my weight. I couldn't tell if my strength was overpowering his efforts or if Einarr's grumbling about me "saturating the area with mana" was screwing up his skills.

Though, if I had to hazard a guess?

Probably both.

"Now, let's see how ye handle me own magic!" Einarr roared.

There was a slight shift in gravity again. I felt my knees barely buckle, causing me to pause for a brief moment. It wasn't as strong as what I'd felt when he fought Anal-lyth—not by a long shot.

Actually, it was much weaker than that.

But what I sensed now was different. He seemed to be layering his magic.

My best guess? He was still using his system skills, which weren't having much effect on me, while also tapping into something else. It wasn't just ambient mana—I could feel that all around me. What he was doing felt more personal, like it was flowing directly from him.

That's it!

He's using his own internal mana in conjunction with the system mana to reinforce his gravity manipulation.

Another surge of magic emanated from Einarr, and I felt the strain again. With each burst of internal mana, the gravity acting on me increased incrementally. It wasn't enough to significantly slow me down yet, but if he kept this up…

Would he eventually be able to flatten me?

"Screw this physical crap," I grumbled under my breath. "No shit—let's go scorched earth sorceress style." A wicked grin spread across my face. "Oh, now we're talking."

"Do ye always talk to yerself like that? Ye not insane, are ye?" Einarr chuckled, ducking skillfully under a swipe of my arm—now morphed into a hook-like tentacle.

With a fluid motion, I reshaped it back into a normal arm, all while considering his amusing question.

"Yep! I am most certainly insane," I nodded, then hastily added, "Don't tell him that, shut up!"

What? It's not like he's wrong.

Shut up. Don't tell him that.

Why not? This is, like, the third time someone's said it out loud.

...Wait, is it? Shit. Maybe? Who's counting?

We should be counting! That feels important!

Oh my gods, we are so bad at this.

Einarr seemed to stagger—more out of disbelief at my inner dialogue seeping out than anything else.

Seizing the moment, I landed a solid hit with a tentacle to his ribs.

Like a horizontal rocket, the dwarf went flying—crashing through several buildings in his path.

"Ha! How do you like that!"

I bellowed with laughter, throwing both arms up in the air like I'd just scored a winning goal.

Umm… That's not how a sorceress fights.

—Oh, right!