Deeper Problems

The midget-monsters numbers seemed to be their only significant advantage, as even their psychotic lack of self-preservation and the constant hysterical strength it granted them didn't amount to much with their emaciated and internally torn up bodies. Whatever effect Bloodstone has, aside from the obvious, it clearly wasn't worth the rather significant price. While I'm not entirely shelving any potential plans to augment my strength with combat drugs or potions or whatever, seeing this example of the process gone terribly wrong did place those ideas even further down my list of possible desperate ploys.

Even stabbing out with my tail from behind a wall of shifting legs, my heart pounded in my chest, pumping blood flush with the oxygen my deep but rapid breaths flooded my system with. This was far from my first fight, but there was certainly something deeply unpleasant about staring into jaggedly crystal pierced eyes filled with unthinking hatred set into mutilated but still recognizably human faces. Even standing behind my more experienced allies and taking shots of opportunity, the idea of being infected with the parasitic crystals seemingly puppeting these beasts sent ice down my spine, my agitation sending my flies buzzing erratically around me.

One of the concerningly childlike monsters lunged for my current meat shield, showing surprising agility by ducking under the tall man's blade to grasp his leg with both clawed hands. The dusky skinned profesional didn't so much as grunt even as it sank its jagged, crystalline teeth into his thigh, nor did he acknowledge the red stone spikes bursting from its grubby hands drawing blood through his thick leather pants.

My tail lashed out like a striking serpent, driving the short blade on the end into the creature's ear and pushing deep into its brain with a wet, crystalline crunching sound akin to stirring cottage cheese filled with broken glass. I pulled the whippy appendage free in a shower of blood, oddly brownish brain matter, and red shards clinging to both. A deep grimace carved its way across my face at the sight of crystals already spreading across the blood on my tail, driving me to vigorously shake the wormy limb to get the tainted offal off.

Lemoi spared me a nod of thanks, kicking the carcass off him and pulling a simple leather tourniquet from a pocket in his robe. With one hand still holding his blade and both eyes on the enemy howling all around us, he managed to quickly wrap it just above the bite and scratches in an impressive display of speed and dexterity. I tore a strip off my ankle bandages to wipe my tail, scraping the chunky blood off as Lemoi tightened the strap enough to clearly dig into his skin painfully; taking no chances, wise as far as I can tell.

The little device itself was just a loop of oddly stretchy leather with a simple windlass securing system; other than the presumably natively mystic origin of the rubbery leather, the design wouldn't have looked out of place back on earth. A memory of soldiers hanging similar tools around each joint to preempt potential fatal wounds bubbled up in my mind, and I made a mental note to inquire about getting my hands on some as soon as we weren't actively in combat. Combat that wasn't forgiving of wandering minds, and untempered eyes.

It was the diminutive monster's deceptive stupidity that nearly did me in; a scream, loud, high-pitched, and utterly psychotic as any other that riddled the ruined room around me turned my gaze to a trio of pale-skinned humanoids charging with claws extended, one with their guts already dangling around their knees from a wound they didn't even seem to feel. The very instant my eyes locked on the trio, a paranoia fueled vision flowed into my mind.

Red crystals streamed out from an odd angle, slamming into my vision-self's chest at a dozen different points, carving deep gouges into my flesh. Even through the veil of paranoid hallucinations, I could feel the illusory crystals taking root in my veins and growing to shred my lungs before my body even finished hitting the ground. They moved slowly, centimeters at a time, but to say the feeling of bleeding out internally as blood drinking crystals shredded my veins was not pleasant would be a massive understatement nonetheless.

I didn't hesitate a single second the moment I knew which way to dodge, poofing away a handful of moments before the predicted hail of bloodstone projectiles filled the air I'd just stood in. The sharp shards went on to slam into a stocky, gladius wielding killer's cloaked back, but I ignored their cry of surprise and pain to focus on where the shot came from. Even for my sharp eyes, it took a moment to find the shooter; a large, black furred rat shot through with the same red stone as every other creature in this dungeon so far, sitting in a small alcove in the wall. Seeming to notice it had been spotted, the corrupted rat twisted about and began scurrying about behind the thinly painted wood.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Even having seen a depiction of the creature before, it was still more than a touch unsettling to see such a twisted version of my past self. Not enough to truly bother me, but I couldn't deny the forest of red needles holding the creature's jaw so wide open the corners of its mouth were long since torn, exposing raw flesh yellowed by disease in the rents in their fur, made my skin crawl. I didn't have time to think about it over much, in the moment survival took vast precedence over contemplating the nuances of these damnable emotions that crow forced on me.

I didn't have a reliable method of attacking at range; I'd not had the time (and I must admit, the desire) to subject myself to extensively practicing projectile vomiting just yet, and I was less than willing to chuck my only knife at an enemy even if I did have any skill in the field. Fortunately, I wasn't the only one to notice the danger, even discounting the angry thug pulling red spikes out of his back (more than a few of them notably larger than when they hit him); Roin whirled around the moment he heard the wounded man cry out, grabbing him by the shoulder and sliding smoothly into the inner circle while three people inside moved to take their place.

The lanky strangler spotted the little rat as it crawled about behind the wall, seeing it through the various cracks and gaps faster than I had. For the briefest instant an expression of angry surprise flashed across his face at the sight before calm consumed him once more and he reached into his cloak, briefly revealing a thin bandoleer of small, leaf shaped daggers around his chest. In one smooth move, he drew one of the wide blade and threw it with undoubtedly supernatural accuracy.

The blade didn't flip end over end as my teenage experiments showed it should, sailing through the stale air with only a faint whistle of displaced gasses. The small knife’s trajectory somehow curves upwards to slide smoothly between a crack in two boards left exposed by peeling paint. An almost familiar -if unnaturally distorted- squeal of pain sounded as the blade sunk to the hilt in the wall, a thin trickle of crystal ridden blood oozing thickly around the vaguely spade shaped killing tool.

Roin grunted, turning back to rejoin the front line. By this point, the paper-white skinned beasts’ ranks had grown thin, their once great numerical advantage dwindling more and more by the second. Despite this, the tiny terrors showed not a single ounce of fear, charging recklessly into our formation despite no longer outnumbering us.

I lightly jabbed Lemoi's (unharmed) thigh as I slid back onto my now slightly customary position slightly behind and to the left of him, getting a hum of acknowledgement from the hulking murderer. For the briefest of moments, as I turned my head from my nominal comrade to the enemy, I thought I caught a glimpse of yellow eyes set about a grey-toothed smile out of the corner of my eye, but the more immediate threat of a screaming munchkin leaping straight at my face distracted me. Lemoi kicked the ambitious leaper in the face as it flew towards me, carrying the motion through to slam its head into the grimy floor where it popped open like a watermelon in an industrial press.

When I glanced back towards where I could have sworn I saw a smiling inhuman face, but couldn't find a trace of anyone having ever stood there. A slow shiver ran down my spine, like droplets of ice water slowly trickling down ligament by ligament. Somehow, not seeing whatever the hell that was unsettled me even more than if it had still been there.

Now down to only five monsters, the battle ended in short order as they were surrounded and cut down. Roin didn't waste a moment after the last beast fell -save to command the lot of us to help the wounded- before rushing over to his thrown blade embedded in the wall. The tall assassin didn't bother even pulling his blade free, instead punching a gloved hand through the thin boards and tearing the knife out with the shard-ridden rat carcass still attached.

I could see the tension in his shoulders from where I stood, his stance wide and ready to move. He held up the impaled rat corpse by the knife's handle, “This monster isn't supposed to show up until the tenth floor.” He gestured with the carcass towards the remains of the nearly seven foot monster laying slumped in the middle of our group, “And that one doesn't show up ‘till the fifteenth.”

He tossed the already partially crystallized body aside, knife and all. “Something has definitely set this dungeon off worse than I've ever seen. This is a far more hostile reaction to a standard first floor sweep than I've even heard of.” He grimaced, eyes sweeping over the now looser formation of men (and at least one monster) before him, lingering on the few with visible wounds. Slowly, he released a long sigh, “Alright, fuck it, much as I hate to disappoint Rokharth, this is beyond reasonable expectations and we need to report it asap. Make sure you've got everything you care to keep on you, somebody carry the wounded, and let's start heading back. We'll inform Vlad, then be on our way back to the hospital.”

It was about that moment that the wall behind him exploded, showering the room in shards of burning wood and rotten paint.