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Primal Devourer: A Monster Evolution LitRPG, page 1
Primal Devourer
A Monster Evolution LitRPG
By Zaxus Void
Copyright
Primal Devourer © 2025 by Zaxus Void
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author. Furthermore, no part of this book may be used for the purposes of training artificial intelligence technologies or systems without the express permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Contents
Chapter 1: Awakening in Acid
Chapter 2: Hunger’s First Bite
Chapter 3: Trap in the Muck
Chapter 4: Shadows of the Fen
Chapter 5: Biomass Build-Up
Chapter 6: The First Raid
Chapter 7: Feast of the Fallen
Chapter 8: Threshold of Change
Chapter 9: Eyes in the Mist
Chapter 10: Web of Venom
Chapter 11: Corrupted Light
Chapter 12: Whispers of the Wilds
Chapter 13: Ruins of the Forgotten
Chapter 14: Synod of Shadows
Chapter 15: Mimic’s Masquerade
Chapter 16: The Fallen Saintess
Chapter 17: Legion’s First Stir
Chapter 18: Inquisitor’s Decree
Chapter 19: Traps in the Thorns
Chapter 20: Flames of the Vanguard
Chapter 21: Whispers from the Void
Chapter 22: Grove of the Eternal
Chapter 23: Guild’s Reckoning
Chapter 24: Archives of Heresy
Chapter 25: Brink of the Abyss
Chapter 26: Storm of the Sovereign
Chapter 27: Paladin’s Shadow
Chapter 28: Visions of the Seer
Chapter 29: Behemoth’s Roar
Chapter 30: Threads of the Gene-Tree
Chapter 31: Crusade’s Vanguard
Chapter 32: Stormcaller’s Fury
Chapter 33: Inquisitor’s Wrath
Chapter 34: Bloat of the Soul
Chapter 35: Echoes of the Void
Chapter 36: Fractured Alliances
Chapter 37: Roots of Rebellion
Chapter 38: Shadows of Doubt
Chapter 39: Herald’s Temptation
Chapter 40: Sovereign’s Horizon
Chapter 1: Awakening in Acid
I didn’t wake up in a hospital bed or some ethereal afterlife lobby. No, it was worse. Much worse.
The first sensation was burning. Not the kind from a stubbed toe or a bad sunburn—the kind that felt like my entire existence was unraveling, molecule by molecule. Acid. It seeped into every inch of me, or whatever passed for inches in this state. I couldn’t see a damn thing; the world was a void of stinging darkness, my “body” nothing but a quivering puddle of slime, blind and limbless, dissolving in some hellish bath.
What the fuck? My mind raced, fragments of memory slamming back like a glitchy hard drive. Last thing I remembered: late-night grinding in that Diablo clone, controller sticky from energy drinks, headlights swerving out of nowhere. Car crash. Death. And now… this? I tried to scream, but there was no mouth, no lungs—just bubbling ooze, popping like overcooked Jell-O in a microwave. Panic hit like a crit, my thoughts spiraling. This can’t be real. I’m a puddle? A goddamn slime? Not even a cool one like in that anime—I’m trash-tier goo in some acid swamp.
The pain intensified, a relentless fizzing that stripped away layers of whatever I was. I could feel myself thinning, spreading out, losing cohesion. Distant gurgles echoed around me—bubbles rising from the muck, the slosh of viscous liquid lapping at… nothing. No edges, no form. Just dissolution. Respawn glitch? Permadeath? My gamer brain kicked in, desperately pattern-matching this nightmare to every RPG I’d ever binged. But this wasn’t a tutorial. This was hardcore mode, blindfolded, with no save point.
Then, something shifted. A vibration rippled through the acid pool, close enough to send my jelly-like mass jiggling. It wasn’t random swamp noise—this was deliberate, scuttling, like claws scraping chitin. Prey? Predator? I didn’t know, but instinct—primal, alien—surged up, overriding the terror. Hunger. Not the “time for pizza” kind, but a gnawing void in my core, demanding I fill it or fade away.
I had no limbs to lash out, no eyes to target, but the hunger guided me. I extended what felt like a tendril, a pseudopod of slime stretching blindly toward the vibrations. It brushed something hard, metallic—shell? The thing thrashed, pincers snapping at the air, but I was already flowing, enveloping it in a sluggish wave. The crab—yeah, that was it, iron-shelled and furious—clacked wildly, its legs kicking up splashes that burned my edges. But the hunger won. I pulled it in, my form expanding to swallow it whole.
The fusion was grotesque. No clean “loot drop” animation here. I felt its exoskeleton crunching, dissolving into my gooey mass, the iron flecks embedding like shrapnel in wet clay. Venomous juices from its innards mixed with my acid, bubbling violently. Pain and ecstasy blurred—pain from the strain, ecstasy from the rush of… something filling the void. Memories flickered, not mine: burrowing in mud, snapping at fish, the endless swamp cycle. Then, a chime in my mind, crisp and digital, cutting through the haze.
[System Notification: Mythic Talent Unlocked - Gluttony. Devour to evolve. You are what you eat.]
The words hung there, ethereal blue text in my mental vision—the first sight in this blind hell. A status screen? Like in every LitRPG I’d devoured. But this wasn’t a game. This was real, and the confirmation hit like a gut punch. Isekai’d. Reborn as bottom-barrel slime with a cheat talent. Of course. Universe’s idea of a joke.
The crab’s essence settled, hardening patches of my slime into a rudimentary shell. Less melting now— the acid hissed but didn’t eat through as fast. Another chime.
[Devoured: Ironback Crab (Level 2). Gained [Iron Skin] (Defense +2). Biomass +10. Level Up: 1 → 2. XP +50. Core Stats Updated: Strength 1 → 2, Vitality 1 → 2.]
A rush hit me, like caffeine and endorphins slamming together. My “body” stabilized, pseudopods forming more easily, pushing against the pool’s bottom. I could move. Barely—a sluggish inching, but it was motion. Vision flickered—not eyes, but a hazy thermal outline, heat signatures blooming in the dark. The swamp came alive: warm pockets of life slithering nearby, cooler voids of stone and water.
Okay, not dead yet. First kill, first loot. Not bad for a respawn glitch. Sarcasm bubbled up, my old coping mechanism kicking in. Back on Earth, I’d joke through raid wipes or permadeaths in MMOs. Here? It was all I had. The hunger eased slightly, but it lingered, a constant itch. More. I needed more to survive this acid bath, to not dissolve into nothing.
The pool’s edge loomed in my thermal sense—a sloped bank of mud and roots, bioluminescent fungi pulsing like faulty neon signs. I oozed toward it, pseudopods propelling me with awkward determination. The crab’s iron made me tougher, but the acid still nipped at my trailing edges. Come on, blob. Crawl like you mean it. Each inch was a battle, slime stretching and contracting, but the surface air hit different—less corrosive, laced with swamp rot and distant roars.
Vibrations again. Multiple now, slithering closer. Vipers? More crabs? My thermal haze picked them up: sinuous heat trails weaving through the undergrowth. The hunger roared back, sharper. Farm time. I wasn’t just surviving anymore. This [Gluttony] thing? It was a hook, reeling me in. Devour to evolve. Sounded like the ultimate build path—no stat points wasted, just eat your way to OP.
But doubt gnawed beneath the sarcasm. What if this was it? No heroic sword, no magic academy. Just goo, grinding trash mobs in a bog forever? The thought fueled the push. I reached the bank, flopping onto semi-solid mud. The vibrations intensified—three signatures, coiling. Bring it. Level 2 blob versus snake party. Let’s see who gets rolled.
The first viper struck, fangs sinking into my pseudopod. Venom burned, but [Iron Skin] held, and my acid countered, bubbling around its coils. I lashed out, engulfing its head in a sloppy embrace. Fusion again—scales dissolving, neurotoxin glands popping like overripe fruit. The rush was addictive, a dopamine hit straight to my core.
[Devoured: Swamp Viper (Level 1). Gained [Neurotoxin Synthesis] (Agility +1). Biomass +5. XP +30.]
Two more lunged, but I was adapting. Pseudopods whipped, iron-hard tips cracking scales. One by one, they went down, their essences fueling me. Vision sharpened—thermal outlines clearer, hints of color bleeding in from the fungi. The swamp wasn’t just a prison anymore. It was a buffet.
Alright, universe. You threw me in the tutorial zone naked. But I’ve got the meta talent. Time to min-max this shit. The sarcasm felt like armor now, masking the terror. But deep down, the hunger whispered promises. Evolve. Grow. Conquer. Or dissolve trying.
The distant roars grew louder. Bigger things out there. And those torchlights from earlier? Not beasts. Humans. Gamers in this world, probably. Hunting for XP. Fine. If they’re farming monsters… maybe it’s time to farm back. I dragged myself—oozed myself, really—onto the muddy bank, the acid’s bite fading to a dull throb against my new [Iron Skin]. It wasn’t mu
The swamp unfolded in hazy thermal outlines, a world of blurred heat signatures and cooler voids. No colors yet, just shades of warmth—like an infrared filter on a crappy security cam. Fungi bloomed nearby, their bioluminescent pulses registering as faint, inviting glows. Prey? Resources? The hunger clawed at me again, sharper now, demanding I test this body. I couldn’t just sit here philosophizing about my shitty isekai start. Survival first. Theory-craft later.
Vibrations rippled through the mud—slithering, sinuous. Vipers. Three of them, their heat trails weaving like live wires in the undergrowth. My thermal sense sharpened, zeroing in on the lead one: longer, thicker, its core pulsing with a predatory rhythm. Boss variant? Or just a fat one? No time to appraise like in a menu. They sensed me too—their trails stiffened, coiling toward my position.
Instinct overrode thought. I flattened my form, spreading thin across a root cluster, pseudopods retracting to minimize my signature. The first viper struck, fangs sinking into what passed for my flank. Pain flared, hot and venomous, but [Iron Skin] held—just. The toxin burned like liquid fire, seeping into my slime, but my acid countered, bubbling up around its jaws. It thrashed, scales scraping against my hardening exterior, but I was already flowing, enveloping its head in a sluggish wave.
The swallow was messy. No elegant chomp—just a slow, inexorable pull, my mass expanding to smother it. Its coils bucked wildly, venom sacs bursting in a toxic spray that sizzled on contact. But the fusion hit like a power-up. Scales integrated, glands dissolving into my core, the neurotoxin essence flooding me with a cold, electric rush. Memories flickered: slithering through reeds, striking at warm-blooded fools, the endless cycle of venom and venom. Then, the chime.
[Devoured: Swamp Viper (Level 1). Gained [Neurotoxin Synthesis] (Agility +1). Biomass +5. XP +30. Core Stats Updated: Agility 1 → 2.]
The rush was electric—literally. My pseudopods elongated, more fluid, propelling me faster across the mud. The remaining vipers lunged, but I was ready. One pseudopod whipped out, iron-tipped and venom-laced, cracking the second viper’s skull before it could coil. I engulfed it mid-strike, the fusion quicker this time, smoother. No blue box for duplicates, but the biomass stacked, a warm pool building in my center. The third slithered back, hissing retreat, but I wasn’t letting it go. Hunger demanded completion.
I pursued, oozing over roots and puddles, the swamp’s acid nipping at my edges but [Iron Skin] shrugging it off. The viper darted into a cluster of fungi, their glows flaring in my thermal view like warning lights. Trap? Or cover? No time. I surged forward, pseudopod lashing out to pin its tail. It bit back, fangs grazing my side, but the neurotoxin in my system neutralized it—tit for tat. Engulf. Dissolve. Absorb.
[Devoured: Swamp Viper (Level 1). Biomass +5. XP +30.]
Level 3 pinged, a subtle vibration through my form. Stats ticked up—Vitality edging toward 3, the pool’s corrosion feeling more like a tickle now. But the real prize was the synthesis kicking in. I could feel it: glands forming in my core, ready to extrude venom on command. Neurotoxin online. Agility boost? Yeah, I’m sliding like butter now. The pseudopods felt nimbler, less like dragging wet laundry. I tested it, whipping one out to snag a nearby root—snap, clean break. Not bad for a blob.
The environment pressed in, demanding respect. Toxic mists drifted low, carrying the acrid tang of decay and distant roars that rumbled like thunder in the fog. Faint cries echoed—beasts tearing into something fleshy, or maybe just the swamp’s symphony of suffering. I paused amid the fungi, their caps pulsing softly, heat signatures warm and inviting. Regen bait? Hunger nudged me toward one, but caution won. Survival trumped snacking. I needed to scout, adapt, build this build before whatever hell this world threw next.
Pushing deeper into the shallows, the ground softened to sucking mud, pseudopods sinking with each step. Thermal outlines sharpened further—hints of blues and greens bleeding in, like my senses were patching themselves in real-time. The swamp revealed itself: twisted roots like veins, pools of bubbling acid reflecting faint glows, and life everywhere, predatory and prey in endless churn. Darwinian MMO. Eat or be eaten. Fits the talent. But theory-crafting would wait. A larger vibration hummed ahead—a pack, maybe, or something bigger. Roars closer now, guttural and multiple.
I flattened again, oozing into a crevice between roots. The pack emerged: four hulking shapes, heat signatures bulky and armored, scuttling on multiple legs. Crab variants, bigger than my first meal, shells glinting in the haze. Ironback pack. Level 3-4? The leader, a brute with oversized claws, paused, its thermal outline scanning the area. My heart—if I had one—would’ve pounded. Body limitations screamed retreat, but intellect plotted. Trap them. Use the environment.
The ground sloped toward a shallow acid pool, fed by a dripping overhang. Perfect. I extended a pseudopod, injecting [Neurotoxin] into the mud to create a slick, venomous lure—faint vibrations mimicking wounded prey. The pack stirred, claws clicking as they approached. Come on, fish for the bait. The leader dipped a claw, triggering the drip. Acid rained down, sizzling on their shells, but the neurotoxin in the mud slowed them, legs twitching.
I struck. Pseudopod lashed the leader’s underbelly, acid bubbling where [Iron Skin] met softer joints. It thrashed, pincers snapping air, but I was on it—engulfing, dissolving. The pack turned, but the trap worked: two more slipped into the pool, acid eating at their joints. Fusion surged—thicker shell, stronger claws integrating. The rush was intoxicating, biomass flooding my core.
[Devoured: Ironback Crab Alpha (Level 4). Gained [Claw Appendage] (Strength +2). Biomass +15. XP +100. Level Up: 3 → 4.]
The remaining crabs scattered, but I pursued one, pinning it with a venom-laced pseudopod. Quick devour, more biomass stacking. The pool’s acid amplified my own, a natural synergy. Environmental cheese. Not bad. But the roars—those weren’t crabs. Deeper in the mist, new signatures bloomed: humanoid, clustered, with steady heat from torches. Banter carried on the wind, cocky and laced with that gamer edge I knew too well.
“Easy XP farm ahead. These slimes are just trash mobs—level ’em up and call it a day.”
Torchlights pierced the fog, steady and advancing. Not beasts. Players. Adventurers, probably, geared up like it was a lowbie zone clear. My thermal haze picked out details: armor outlines, weapons glinting hot from forges. Humans. The real threat. The hunger twisted—not just for food, but for their traits, their builds. Strategy warred with instinct: hide, or strike?
If they’re hunting monsters… maybe it’s time to hunt back. The thought settled, cold and resolving. The swamp wasn’t my prison anymore. It was my starting zone. And those lights? First real boss fight.
Chapter 2: Hunger’s First Bite
The acid’s hiss was a constant whisper now, like a leaky faucet in hell, eating at the edges of my newly hardened [Iron Skin]. I could feel it—those iron flecks from the crab embedding deeper, turning soft goo into something resembling a crusty outer layer. Not exactly plate mail, but better than melting into the swamp’s soup. My pseudopods, those ridiculous slime extensions I’d willed into being, squelched against the muddy bank, dragging my basketball-sized mass forward one pathetic inch at a time. Crawling like a drunk jellyfish. This is what passes for legs in hardcore mode?
Dawn’s light—if you could call it that—filtered through the perpetual fog in dim, sickly pulses from bioluminescent fungi clinging to twisted roots. The air hung heavy, humid as a sauna run by sadists, every breath (or whatever slime equivalent I had) laced with the tang of decay and sulfur. Claustrophobic didn’t cover it; the swamp pressed in from all sides, vines draping like funeral shrouds, acid pools bubbling lazily nearby as if mocking my progress. I was out of the main bath, but the ground still sizzled under me, tiny splashes leaping up to nip at my underside. [Iron Skin] shrugged off the worst, but it stung—a reminder that I was still bottom-tier, a Level 2 blob in a world that ate the weak for breakfast.
