With a weary sigh, Nick came to a stop in front of the entrance to the final chamber on this floor.
Over on the far side of the room, he could make out the top of a concrete ramp leading to the level below. He lowered himself to the ground, then stuck his head past the corner of the brickwork. As he scanned the enclosure, he caught wind of an acrid stench that made his gag reflex twinge.
That must be the sewer I’m smelling. I’m not looking forward to finding out how much worse it gets. At least I don’t have to worry about going down there until tomorrow. I should take a peek and find out what I’ll be dealing with, then head back to the entrance and call it a day. Wary that the dungeon’s dangers would escalate past this point, he decided to walk down to the bottom of the ramp, check out the space visible from the landing, and then get the fuck out of dodge.
Setting foot onto the lower level wasn’t a risk-free venture. But even a glimpse would give Nick a starting point when he began his nightly strategy session. He rose to his feet and entered the room. He placed every scrap of his focus into moving silently, watching for anything emerging from the passage ahead.
When he drew near the ramp, he could hear a faint, rattling wheeze, which he assumed was echoing up from the opening ahead. He slowed his pace to a crawl, walking past piles of rubbish that were indistinguishable from the hundreds he had seen so far.
Nick had just reached the top of the ramp when he heard a distinct cough emanating from behind his back. He spun on his heels and got ready to run, horrified by the implications posed by the nature of the sound and its origin.
That was the moment when what he had thought was a man-sized pile of junk rose to its feet with a groan. As the garbage-coated creature let out a sleepy yawn, the hood of its grime-studded robes fell back, revealing a head roughly the same size as his own. Its features, however, could never be mistaken for human.
This was partially because of the matted fur covering its face, so encrusted with muck that it was impossible to determine its original color. But the distinction was mostly due to the creature’s mouth, more specifically its teeth. The profile of its protruding muzzle was punctuated by a pair of massive incisors, filed down to razored points. The rest of its teeth were brown and rotting, shattered remnants festering in its mouth. The creature’s breath smelled like microwaved diarrhea, making him gag despite the distance between them.
Nick suppressed the urge to panic, willing his brain into overdrive as he analyzed the organism. It looks like some kind of rodent or vole. It must be the native species mentioned in the dungeon’s description. I can’t see its arms. But since it appears to be humanoid, I should assume that it can use weapons and tools.
His fleeting moment of clinical appraisal ended abruptly as the creature, which he absently categorized as a ratman, finished waking up from its nap. Its beady red eyes locked onto his own, then widened with astonishment.
Before he could hope to dart past, the creature broke into a chilling snarl, every crook of its face twisting with rage. It began to drool while lurching in his direction as he desperately tried to determine his next move.
Despite Nick’s best efforts, he had let an enemy get between him and his line of retreat. Although the rat is clearly hostile, it doesn’t seem very alert. Maybe I can slip past and get out of this without having to fight. If it follows me back to the dungeon’s entrance, I’ll engage it there, where the sound won’t attract anything lurking on the level below.
That plan went down in flames a heartbeat after its conception. To his dismay, the ratman was not nearly as disoriented as he had thought. It deliberately stepped in front of the exit, trapping him inside the chamber.
Nick was now caught in the jaws of a dilemma. He could either fight until he was able to break free or retreat deeper into the dungeon. Neither of which he wanted to do. Just in case he had misjudged the situation, he raised a hand in greeting and said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’m a bit lost and was hoping that you could give me directions.”
With those words, two events occurred within the span of a single heartbeat. First, the fleeting hope that he could talk his way out of this situation collapsed like a house of cards. When he looked into the creature’s eyes, he saw only madness and suffering in its gaze.
The second was that the ratman unsheathed a pair of rusty daggers from somewhere inside its armor of rags, charging straight at Nick with its weapons poised to strike. Ah. There are the arms. Definitely humanoid, an absent corner of his brain cataloged. Left with no other options, he raised his spear in front of him and waited for an opening to disengage and make his escape.
Although it was dishearteningly swift, the ratman was anything but graceful. It lurched and staggered its way across the floor, as if its body was too heavy for its legs. It was wrapped in a heavy cloak fashioned from what appeared to be a pile of rotting blankets, the bulk of which made the creature nearly as wide as it was tall.
Though this armor was both crude and absolutely disgusting, Nick was certain that it would absorb blunt force efficiently, distributing the impact of a blow issued by a foot or fist. A sword could likely split the mass of fibers in a single slash. But his spear would be nearly useless unless he managed to hit a critical point, like an eye or the hollow of its throat. Which was unlikely, as he had absolutely no experience in wielding the weapon.
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In the middle of that hectic moment, he felt an urge to grab his wand but forced his attention back onto his foe. Stupid, useless fucking wand. I should have picked the pistol instead. Nick was too distracted by the impending battle for his life to process the fact that he had recovered another snippet of his missing memories.
As the ratman’s rush devoured the distance between them, time seemed to slow, granting him a fleeting moment to plan and reflect. Think Nick. Pretend this is a game. You’re fighting an intelligent humanoid, although it seems short on processing power. Its armor has blunt damage resistance, and its weapons include two short blades, claws as a backup, and a nasty-looking bite.
I don’t think the rat can stand up straight, so expect its attacks to land somewhere between your knees and lower ribs. Watch out for surprises, but since the ratman seemed shocked to see you, the odds of an ambush or traps are low. Although it looks pissed, I think it’s trying to be quiet… Why? Maybe it doesn’t want to share my meat with the other denizens of the dungeon.
With that thought, time resumed its full course. Half a heartbeat later, the rat was right in front of him. In that moment, Nick knew with stark clarity that his options had been reduced to two—win or die.
Hesitation fell away as he raised his spear, launching a jab at the ratman’s face to keep it from closing the distance and striking with its daggers. His attack caused the creature to leap back, buying him time. He was almost able to line up a second thrust before the rat jumped back into his path, twin daggers poised to strike.
Something in his stance must have revealed his inexperience. Because when he tried jabbing again, the ratman kept right on coming, using one blade to push his spearpoint aside while it drove the other straight at his stomach.
As adrenaline surged into his bloodstream, Nick spun to one side and took a step back. If he misjudged the angle of his torso, the blade would bury itself up to the hilt inside his abdomen. The motion caused part of his bathrobe to pass in front of the dagger, fouling the rat’s aim enough to keep his guts inside his body.
As he completed his hasty dodge, the ratman’s weapon became tangled in the folds of his bathrobe. The fabric twisted tight around the hilt after it passed through the slit opened by the blade, narrowly missing his stomach in the process. When he leapt back a second time, the force tore the dagger free from the creature’s grasp, falling to the concrete below with a chiming clatter.
The ratman lashed out with its other blade. It brought it around in a wide arc to drive Nick back so that it could retrieve its weapon. It’s not mindless after all. It can reason on at least a rudimentary level.
He changed tactics after incorporating this observation. Instead of leaping out of harm’s reach, he brought his weapon to bear. He drew the spear into the path of the blade, at an angle that he hoped would keep his fingers from being severed during the exchange.
Since the rat’s attack was only a feint, the blow lacked follow-through and didn’t have the weight of the creature’s body behind it. Although the impact stung his hands, he blocked the swipe cold, catching the dagger a few inches down from where his hands gripped the spear’s shaft.
Through the shared point of contact, he felt the ratman freeze in surprise for just a second. It hadn’t expected Nick to counter its maneuver. This time, a second was all that he needed. He struck out with his newly acquired boots, catching the fallen dagger’s pommel with the steel plate running across his toes.
The weapon shot forth like a greased rocket, skittering across the floor before sailing out over the grate and slipping between the bars. It disappeared into the depths below with a hearty plop.
Shit, Nick growled in frustration. He had removed one of the weapons from the ratman’s possession, which would make tracking its attacks significantly easier. But he had been hoping to slide the dagger in a different direction, where he would be able to retrieve it.
He didn’t have time to wallow in regret. The ratman stepped inside the angle of his spear while lashing out with both hands. One clawful paw came streaking for his eyes, while the dagger went darting around to sever his jugular.
With no time to dodge and no room to parry, he dropped his spear and grabbed the ratman by both wrists, catching a face full of its rancid breath in the process.
Straining to hold back the rust-coated blade, which was hovering three inches away from his throat, Nick’s eyes locked onto a section of the ratman’s robes. It seemed that he had inadvertently discovered a weak spot in the creature’s armor. The bottom is split so that it can walk. The padding is thinner on the inside of its legs to allow for mobility in the joints. Target acquired.
Knowing that this attack would determine whether he lived or died, Nick struck without mercy. He brought his right foot back and then swung it fast in a low arc, with the full power of his body behind it. After passing between the ratman’s knees, his toe came up, crashing into his opponent’s pelvis with a thunderous crack.
His fear that there might be unanticipated anatomical differences between their species was allayed when an agonized whimper escaped the creature’s lips. Its veil of madness was pierced by the excruciating pain of having its babymaker smashed to pulp.
The dagger fell free from its spasming fingers, rebounding from the concrete with a clang. Before he could fully process this turn of events, instinct kicked in.
Still holding the creature’s wrists, he assumed a wide stance, reversed his facing, and then threw the ratman over one shoulder. It came slamming down into the concrete hard enough to make its head bounce.
Nick leapt on top of the rat to keep it from turning around or leveraging the strength of its arms. Then he wrapped both hands around its neck and squeezed with everything that he had.
The creature bucked and writhed, flailed and screamed, but he gritted his teeth and held on for dear life. His arms shook with exertion as he strangled his enemy, but he didn’t let up. Nick was certain that if he lost his grip, he would be dead. It was as simple as that.
With his survival hanging in the balance, he choked the life from his opponent until the rat went limp. He wanted to grab the dagger and stab it in the back, but he was afraid that this was some sort of trick.
Instead, Nick kept on squeezing for the next five minutes, until he was certain that his enemy was dead, heart hammering in his chest all the while.