Qale woke up with a stiff neck. He sat up and felt the world tilt on its axis. A sour taste from his guts worked its way to the back of his throat. I’m gonna be sick.

He placed a hand over his mouth as he gagged. He shut his eyes and took several deep breaths. He reopened his eyes and the world was right again. The acidic purge simmered in the back of his throat but never came.

He turned his head to the only exit of the caved chamber. He frowned—the brorpion stood in the same position. Was it... staring at me while I napped?

He looked at his surroundings. The dust had settled a while back. The chamber was the same before his nap—a circular space with high walls. Tiny holes filled the top part of the chamber where he, the axelotls, and the rustling hairball had fallen from. It was at least 10 storeys high.

He pressed his lips into a thin line. There’s no way to make it up there.

The thought of scaling up those walls brought his attention to the numbing pain in his body. While the short nap recovered some of his strength, he was far from peak performance. He needed substance, he needed—

Water, he told himself.

He licked his lips and tasted copper. Thirst will kill him before that thing does. He stared at the buff arachnid and eyed its erect stinger. Before the paralysis by analysis kicked in, his feet shuffled forward…

“For honour and glory!” said the soldier on the screen.

Qale was in high school when he heard that.

“This is my boomstick,” said the musketeer after he placed the musketeer’s tower. It was a tower defense game—one of his favourite computer games.

The game had a map-like layout. There were routes where the enemies would travel. Defensive towers must be strategically placed. The goal was to stop the enemies before they reached your castle.

The whimsical arts and the infinite strategic combinations drew Qale to the game. But what made it memorable to the then-tween were the catchy in-game scripts.

“Rest in pieces!”

“Bum rush him!”

“I’ll eat your mother next!”

There was a particular battle cry that had a profound effect on Qale. It influenced him a great deal. It still did as he stood before the towering mass of muscle.

The brorpion crouched lower and leaned forward like a sumo wrestle. Its powerful pincers flexed in anticipation like a farmer going in for the cow’s tits. It did not click its fangs for its beady eyes did not reflect a cowering man—but a competent sauveté.

Qale flared his nostrils at the beast. The sauveté was nowhere as tall nor as jacked. The brorpion knew this, but it was not a dumb jock.

If size was the defining factor in dungeon supremacy, the brorpion would’ve came out top. Its stance proved that it would not underestimate this… midget.

This was it. He hoped to make it past in one piece. He didn't spaghetti, not when it's à la bolognaise—too many bits and too many strips—all of it red.

The sauveté breathed deeply. He thought of the pixelated wizard and his battle cry. His lips curled as he uttered those words.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Do or do not—there is no try!”

And he strode forwards.

The brorpion did not move.

He continued until the razor-sharp pincers were on either side of him.

Again, the brorpion did not move.

He strode past the beefy arms and was close to the massive chest.

Once again, the brorpion did not move.

Each of those manly tits were larger than Qale. The impressive physique would have him in awe if his life wasn’t on the line. The beast was ripped to the point he could count the strands of each muscle.

One of the chest muscles twitched. He clenched his fists in response. Not out of spook but as a means to restrain himself. Those glorious pecs were asking to be violated.

He was a step away from the washboard abs when he slammed into the beast’s chest. He fell on his bum but it was his face that hurt more. Those chest muscles could’ve been mistaken for a concrete wall.

As for why he got tit-smacked—the brorpion had moved. It had its chest parallel to the ground. Qale stared at the narrow path to the exit. He would have to crawl underneath those sculpted abdominal muscles.

He tossed what little dignity he had and got on all fours. His humiliation had only begun.

The brorpion dipped lower and pushed Qale into a snow-angel position—butt up. He instinctively rolled onto his back and braced himself. Against the slab of marble-like muscles—his puny arms were useless.

Qale wished for a swift death. He did not like the idea of getting crushed. But the brorpion took its sweet time dipping lower.

Then it stopped.

Qale was less than an inch away from having his skull crushed. He released the air from his lungs and gasped. Breathing was secondary when staring at death.

Qale examined the abdominal wall before him. Bumpy pores covered the breath of the creature’s human-like skin. Each of these pores opened and closed at different intervals. There were no discernable patterns as if each had its own independent mind.

He poked one of the pores out of curiosity. He had multiple near-death experiences today. Adding another wouldn’t make a difference. In fact, he frowned when nothing happened to the poked pore.

Getting out comes first. He chided himself.

The sauveté did a quick scan of his surroundings. He couldn’t move using his legs—there wasn’t enough room to wiggle about. He looked at the palms of his hands and then at the defined abs before him. He grabbed one of the bulging abs.

No response from the brorpion.

He grabbed another and pulled himself forward horizontally. He must’ve looked ridiculous! Rubbing himself against the sculpted midsection of a scorpion. But he couldn’t care less—he was a step closer to the exit. Nice!

The brorpion dipped lower. Qale turned his head to one side to avoid a crushed nose!

The dip was an inch. He was now skin-to-skin to the arachnid beefcake. Not nice!

He groped the muscles before him and dragged himself forward. His face was turning raw from the unintended friction. A metre into his horizontal rock climbing, the pores released a white substance.

The substance oozed to his hands and face. He shook some of it off his hands but could do nothing for his face. It had a sticky consistency that felt familiar. He brought his right hand to his nose and took a whiff.

The sauveté narrowed his eyes in suspicion. It smelled familiar. Too familiar.

It was harder to grip the muscles but he soldiered on. More white substances poured out. It lubricated his entire body—he was practically sliding underneath the beast!

He kept going till he reached the abdominal end of the brorpion. White substance dripped off him as he stood. He was soaked, even his undies were not spared. He wiped his mouth the best he could. He wasn’t sure what the substance was, but he was sure he did not want it down his throat.

He turned to face the exit and jumped back!

An eyeball was hovering before him.

It was the size of his fist. Dark skin covered the entire eyeball. Two eyelids peeled back to reveal a beautiful jade iris.

It zoomed towards Qale!

He tried swatting it away but the eyeball was too fast. It zipped around and eyed him like a meticulous tailor. It made no sound but Qale could feel its enthusiasm.

With both hands on his hips, he narrowed his eyes at the floating eyeball. It seemed to understand his intention and hovered still.

After a minute into the fruitless staring contest, he sighed. The eyeball hopped in victory. It zipped around his head and settled above his left shoulder. Its child-like qualities were disarming and it seemed harmless. The sauveté would let it be for now.

The ground shook and he turned around. He had forgotten about the Adonis arachnid behind him!

He breathed in relief. The brorpion had moved into the chamber where he was. But the universe was a cruel mistress—the brorpion had circled back. Its beady eyes honed in on Qale.

The herculean insectoid crouched into a sumo stance. Its bulging biceps were on full display, and so were its twin pincers. Its powerful legs compressed into a squat—it was going to pounce!

The sauveté turned tail and ran. The eyeball hovered alongside him, its pupil trained on the beast behind them.

It had straightened its tail.

The brorpion clicked its fangs and charged.