My entire lower body below the navel was covered in a sheath of moving silver that seemed to ripple like a silk cloak when I moved. My feet were encased in thick silver boots, narrow and fine, a succession of shells which grew into greaves to the knee then flowed up onto my thighs and around my buttocks. Something of the stuff was attached to my spine, almost like a cybernetic implant; I could feel the weird liquid of the symbiotic armor inside me, feeding through my nerves, filling my body with the Pudding’s strange energies. There was a space between the high points of silver that flared slightly out into crystalline waves of silver that bared the front of my hips, and I could see the line of hair that ran from my navel to my bits had been showcased provocatively in the wide cutout.
“What the hell?” I choked, touching the suggestively exposed bare spot between my navel and my toy chest. “Great. I’m Sydney from Vagrant Story. I hope nobody sees me in this.”
The Black Pudding’s rubbery malboro laughter echoed from everywhere, jangling around inside my head and rattling my bones and brains.