Qale dragged his feet through the sand, back hunched and head drooped like a wilted flower. Sizzling heat seared him like a well-done steak, and no amount of aloe vera could prevent him from shedding like a snake the next day. Lips cracked and bloodied, his oven-baked brain took drastic measures to gather precious water to his head—it left his face swollen and red as if he had given birth to a Xenomorph through of his arse.
The hunky scorpion had stopped chasing him many hours ago. Right after it stormed out of the cave in pursuit of Qale, the beaming sun bewitched the brorpion like a moth to a flame. Faced with the choice of chasing a young dungeoneer covered in its viscous discharge and bronzing its hard-earned muscles, the hulking arachnid chose to flex its gun under the glorious sun.
Qale called it the sun, but it was, in fact, a blazing crystal. Black spots danced in his vision—a side effect of looking at the pseudo-sun. Jagged and blinding, the crystal hung from the cavernous ceiling like a sparkling chandelier. The existence of a sun miles deep in the dungeon defied human logic. Such logic, too, could not apply to his floating companion.
Like a hyperactive toddler pumped full of caffeine and sugar, the jade eyeball zipped up, down, left and right. One second, it stared at the false sun, unblinking; the next, it zoomed across the dune, leaving little dust devils to go with the lone dungeoneer.
Qale walked forward, eyes narrowed into slits against the billowing sand. Identical dunes and shifting sands teased his hallucinating mind to no end. Other than the fiery crystal in the cloudless dungeon sky, the eternal wasteland bore no landmark—not even a single cactus. The cruel desert would not even let him know how far he’d wandered. The desert wind removed all traces of his passage.
Left without a choice, he steeled himself and marched. Unfazed by the unchanging horizon, he kept marching. Unwavering. Determined. He needed to return—home was waiting for him.
Hunger, exhaustion, and bruises consumed him. If the sand wasn’t so blistering, he would have lain down and shut his eyes. Heck, the smell of his charred skin might even jolt him up from this nightmare.
But the universe was a cunt. Just as he thought things couldn’t get worse, he tripped over an unexpected mound of sand, sending him tumbling headfirst down the scalding dune. The world spun around him in a blur of burning heat and grating sand. He tasted salt, the harsh tang stinging his parched mouth, and felt the coarse, abrasive sand scrape against his tongue like a sandpaper.
Unaware of a tumbling man’s plight, the jade eyeball tagged along with glee. It twirled and cartwheeled at Qale’s inelegant descent. When the dungeoneer finally landed arse-over-tits at the foot of the dune, the eyeball spun in celebration.
He struggled to get up like a fawn fresh out of a venison cunt. His boyish features did not stop him from groaning like an old man. Everything pissed him off—the sand, the pain, and the water… the water?
He blinked twice.
Out in the distance, date palms swayed in the desert breeze, looking like they were having the time of their lives. Bushy shrubs—nature’s pubes—grew wild and free beneath the leafy shades. Vibrant and lush, the emerald leaves breathed life into the sandy monotone. In the middle, flanked by the waving palms, crystal-clear pool mirrored the pale blue sky. It was supposed to be a heavenly sight.
Qale fell to his knees, shoulders slumped like he’d just lost a staring contest with a cactus. The weight of today came crashing like a mighty wave. Emotions roiled within him, never quite mixing, like water and oil. Jaws clenched, he dug his nails into his palms to stop the tremors.
Home. The thought flashed in his mind and sprung him to his feet.
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He barricaded his thoughts and set his sights on the blue waters. Miniature waves formed as a familiar dark ball zipped across the pool like a jet ski.
Qale narrowed his eyes, but kept walking.
The cool breeze from the oasis caressed his burning cheeks, making him sigh like a human kitten. Sweet scent rejuvenated his tattered lungs. The growing roar of a waterfall made sweet melodies to his ears.
At the edge of the oasis, the eyeball ambushed him like a charity salesperson asking for your two minutes or your entire fortune to save some fat, leathery unicorns. Qale brushed past it and headed for the lake. Eye shut and its nonexistent snout up in the air, the eyeball escorted the young dungeoneer to the shore like an unfazed maître d’hotel.
He dropped to his knees on the sandy shore and leaned over the pristine water. A young man stared back at him. Save for his bloodied lips, he looked as though he hadn’t fought a legged fish a day in his life. One look at his unsullied face and none on the surface would believe his tale of fighting an army of rainbow salamanders.
He tapped the water with his index finger. Cold, he thought, and brought his wet finger to his mouth and winced. The sweet liquid sent his saliva glands into overdrive.
Instead of scooping the water to his lips like a civilised lad, he dunked his entire head into the lake. The first sip sent shockwaves to his brain like he’d just discovered the elixir of life.
A dull ache throbbed across his body as the shrivelled organs within demanded more. And so he drank and drank, like a thirsty fish. The translucent nectar, sweet and crisp, had never tasted more divine.
Sips became gulps, and soon he was drinking through his nostrils too. A sharp pain pierced his nose as the water rushed in, causing him to withdraw his head while coughing his lungs out.
Water and snot leaked from his nose, knuckles white, and his face a morbid red. With a watery wheeze, he expelled Adam’s ale. As he lay there, sprawled out on the sandy shore, he couldn’t help but laugh.
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Tap tap. Wet drops fell on his face.
He opened his eyes, and the shivering darkness greeted him. He half-expected a pseudo-moon glowing above. Instead, a ghostly-white face stared back at him. He froze.
The tall creature watched him from above, rising from the creek in watery robes, and its face concealed behind a flowing veil. Blacker than a moonless night, two holes protruded where its eyes should have been, hiding the creature’s intentions within the swirling voids.
Large ivory horns—twice as long as its head—jutted out from the sides, with water dripping from its pointed tips. The creature made no sound, its presence silencing the world around it. Not a whisper of the evening breeze nor the rustling of the leafy palms. Time froze as they stared into one another.
But time did not stop for anyone. Like a coiling snake, the watery creature reared its head to reveal an enormous, gaping black maw. Alarmed, the sauveté flipped to his left as a heavy thud landed on the wet sand. He hopped to his feet, fists ready and heels dug into the sand.
Poised under the beautiful dungeon moonlight, the creature did not strike; it remained as still as the lake.
The eerie silence was interrupted only by the soft lapping of water against the shore. Qale, his heart still racing from the near encounter, took a cautious step forward. His eyes, adjusting to the dim, otherworldly glow of the dungeon moonlight, focused on the watery creature's outstretched form.
"Um... hello?" Qale began, his voice wavering slightly. "Can you show me the way out of here?"
The creature, with its back still turned to him, did not respond verbally. Instead, it extended a sinuous arm, pointing at something in the distance. Squinting his eyes, Qale directed his gaze to the location it indicated.
At the end of the winding creek, about the height of two adult humans, was a small waterfall. The cascading water glowed like a million fireflies diving into the moonlit water. The source of light came from within—a cave behind the fall.
Qale turned to face the creature, but it vanished and left no trace, not even a ripple in the tranquil creek. Scratching his head, he knelt where he heard the thud, and picked up a sheathed blade—a machete.
The sauveté unsheathed the machete and felt its weight with his hand. He clasped the grip, made of driftwood, and swung the blade a few times against an imaginary taxman. Heavier than a smartphone, but lighter than a laptop—perfect for chopping twigs.
He held the blade closer to his face, then away, ran his finger across the flat surface, and brought it to his nose. The smell of iron and rust pierced his senses. He could almost taste blood in his mouth.
Old and unremarkable, the machete was a piece of junk. Not even a beggar would want it. Yet, in a dungeon full of man-eating monsters, a rusted blade triumphed over bare fists any day. He traced the deep lines in the grip with his fingers, then strapped the blade to his belt.
Qale set his sights on the glowing waterfall.