a demon only another could love

Even in demonified death, there are things - people, purposes - that don't make sense. You would think, Slime theorizes, that if humans' life makes no sense, always contradicting itself and oozing into spaces it shouldn't, shouldn't demons' death be the opposite? Just as Knowledge and Life are two halves of a whole.

But Preta insist upon subsisting, even when their bodies never find satisfaction. They gather in groups so unlike a Legion, cackling woodenly and blaming each every other on the collective hunger of the group - leaving those others out to dry when they never return, even.

And still, Slime finds some envy in the situation. Moreover, some judgement to be harvested and spat.

"yOu hAvE a fOrM. yOu cAn'T diSsOLvE. yOu'rE tHe sAmE sPiRiT yOu aLwAyS wErE," it mutters and mutters and mutters, magmaw sloshing about with gelatinous fervor. "i dOn'T gEt yOu pUnKs. wHy nOt dEcOrAtE iT wiTh sOmEtHiNg sHiNy?!"

Why be incomplete, imperfect? Why continue to struggle like that?

"nOt yOu wiTh tHe fUcKiN' gUt..."