The pearlikan ascended.

Shattering glass grew louder by the second. Its scythe-like appendages were wicked sharp, breaking and felling crystal with every step like a reaper announcing its arrival.

“Speed up the hoist—get rid of the camera idiot!" Qale yelled into the talkie.

The chains rattled and the unconscious man's limp body ascended with twice the speed.

The camera stopped flashing but the young dungeoneer didn't stop raging. Jaws clenched, nostrils flared. Qale was like a whistling kettle. His ears were chili red, had it been winter steam would be coming off from the either side of his head.

Seeing red, he grabbed the pointed stakes from his back, one in each hand. The wood creaked in his viper grip. The young dungeoneer needed to vent. He had a sudden craving for sashimi.

The talkie crackled, “Man's out, sir!”

Qale radioed in, “And the plug?”

“It's... it's here, sir. But—"

“Good—set it up.”

“Are you—” The pearlikan screeched and Qale couldn't hear the rest of it. Bottling the swirling storm in his guts, he placed his trust in the crew. He had to—he had a bigger fish to fry.

The legged fish smiled at him, two rows of human-like teeth. Flat and sharp like cleavers—a fish with a deadly smile.

Undeterred, the sauveté gripped the stakes tighter—he was ready for the beast.

It gave the young dungeoneer the once-over.—blunt face; dark eyes; lightweight; and nothing shiny. The crystal-eating fish snorted at Qale as if to say u is poor. It continued its ascend.

“Oi! Come back here!” Qale yelled but was ignored.

“Crystal digger!” Nothing.

“Bottom feeder!” The legged fish stopped climbing.

“Ass eater!” The crystal-eating fish whipped its head and bared its sharp teeth.

“That’s right, you rear cunt crawler. Come here, you rear cunt crawl—”

The pearlikan landed next to him, the platform creaked loudly. He grabbed the rope and swung away before the platform broke under the weight of the large fish. It went down crashing, RIP anus of Tirfo A1. Sadly, the lithe fish escaped to the crystal wall and was crawling towards the dangling dungeoneer with blinding speed! Qale released the pulley’s braking mechanism and zipped past the fish. Hot on his heels, the legged fish leaped past the zipping man and perched itself several metres below, its maw wide open—Qale was zipping right into it!

He hurled a pointed stake and the beast howled, one of its large eye impaled. It made a blind swipe at its attacker, missing his head but not the rope. It snapped but the sauveté was onto his next move—he rammed his remaining stake into the pearlikan's good eye. Shrieking, the wounded fish thrashed and bucked like a raging bull in a bid to shake its attacker off. And when that didn't work, it climbed.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

"Wrong way, stupid fish!" yelled Qale. "Hell's the other way!"

A thousand scenarios flashed through his mind but there was not much he could do while dangling for his life on a piece of wood. Right before his organic computer hang, a large shadow loomed above him, causing him to look up.

Chains clinked as a colossal steel structure rumbled over the pit with its tank-like tracks. In the centre of the structure, held by thick chains, a large spherical object came into view. The crew above activated the spotlights and one by one the ray of artificial lights unveiled the ominous object. It was an eyeball, tall as a Ferris wheel and just as wide, waxy exterior the colour of a yellowed apple flesh covered much of the mammoth orb save for its deep pupil and lifeless iris. The ground shook under the stupendous weight of the chained eyeball as it eclipsed the pit—a place where it once captured and tormented its prey. A place where it itself was exterminated, its massive optic organ harvested, and its valuable crystalised bowels mined. The dead eyeball of Tirfo A1 had returned to its birthplace—the Plug had returned.

Relief? Sad? Victorious? It was difficult to grasp these emotions looking above but he could at least take comfort knowing the crew and by extension the world would be safe. Was it worth it? Qale wondered. How would I go home today?

His thoughts vanished when his fishy ride reached the top of the pit. A familiar man stood on the ledge peering down at him, his wanking hand healthy and whole. A camera hung round his neck.

The man grinned at Qale.

“Plug the hole,” said Knappa.

"For the book!" affirmed the crew. They released the chains and the massive eyeball came smashing like a divine hammer. The pearlikan would be the first to receive its judgement. The delivery was swift—the Plug smacked the large fish off the wall like a child flicking a bug. Inconsequential. Insignificant. The blow was so great, so devastating, it liberated both fisheyes from its sockets, and with it Qale.

Heavy with responsibilities, the plug was not done. It must deliver the final judgement and it did not discriminate. It barreled into the pit and took after the falling Qale. He released his grip on the stake and the fisheye went splat against the plug. The roar of plummeting eyeball was like a victory cry for first blood, followed by the forced applause of a million crystals shattering.

The plug was relentless, seconds after its first kill, its pale iris stared at its next victim—the pearlikan. The young dungeoneer felt sorry for the creature. The poor fish should’ve been given a few more seconds to contemplate its eventual death, to reminisce the happier times before it crawled into the ass of a dead eyeball. But alas, no matter the breed, all are made of greed.

On the one-way tumble to hell, one of the pearlikan’s legs was caught between the plug and the wall. Its death was swift—pancaked in a blink. No blood, no guts and no quarters given.

Qale dove head first to the remaining fisheye.

He grabbed the stake lodge in the eye and brought the eyeball above his head.

He descended like Mary Poppins—slow and graceful —but the eye’s non-aerodynamic shape allowed the plug to catch up.

He did an upside-down squat on the eyeball. A scene very much like Spiderman was kissing MJ. Instead of looking dripping-hot like Toby Maguire, Qale's constipated face was dripping sweat and fish paste. It was difficult to dislodge a stake mid-air.

In a last-ditch attempt, he brought his legs to his chest and kicked the eyeball with all his might.

The stake dislodged, sending the eye towards the plug.

Splat!

The plug plummeted faster. The splattered fisheye must've lubricated the massive eyeyball.

Hands to his sides, legs straightened, Qale dove head-first into the abyss.

Rocks and shattered crystals pelted him but he kept his course straight and true. A single degree off course and he would be grated cheese on the rainbow crystal wall.

Apple should have never fallen on Newton’s head. The plug was massive, its momentum unceasing. No matter the breed, all are made of greed, even gravity.

Would it be swift? Would he splat or would he pancake? Pain? Home? Who would take care of her?

So many questions for a dying man.

Then it stopped. The roar silenced. The shattering ceased. His ears rand but there was peace.

Why was the wind yanking his hair? Was this how one would ascend to heaven? No. He thought—the plug was caught above.

The hammer of god was no longer falling on him.

But he was still falling.

Deeper and deeper he fell.

Regret and remorse he felt.

There were many farewells.

That he could never tell.