I finally managed to catch one of the murlock scout’s notice. They only glance in for a second, so I had to watch the shadows like a hawk. They have pretty yellow eyes that gleam in the firelight. When I spotted a flash in the shadows, I dropped down from my hiding spot and zipped back and forth so they saw me.

The scout ran off. I thought that attempt was a failure, but a few minutes later, they returned with another scout.

One crept closer to the camp as I waved it forward.

When it was close enough, I stretched out my arms and wrapped them around one of the adventurers’ spears, and then silently brought it over. I pushed at it until it was through the barrier and the murlock scout could grab it.

It took the spear cautiously.

On the upper floors, murlocks and adventurers are always fighting. The murlocks only have stone knives and bone clubs, and usually run around without clothing. This makes them easy prey for new adventurers, who usually have basic weapons and armor.

I hoped this pack would be willing to fight these three adventurers if I lowered the barrier.

I gesture to the scout, the candle, and then the sleeping adventurers. The scout licks its chops—not only does this group have nice gear, but there’s the entire body of the rock turtle for eating. I think it understands.

It slinks off and I wait, pressed to the ceiling for what feels like another hour.

Soon a group of ten murlocks return. They wear bits of armor and carry spears and blades from town.

Then, like magic, one of the adventurers wakes up. Not too surprising. I’ve seen that happen before. Some of them have a sixth sense when it comes to danger.

The adventurer cries out and alerts the others, who grab for their weapons. The murlock pack hisses and growls.

One of the adventurers laughs as he strings a bow and pulls back his arrow. With the candle intact, he can fire at will, and the murlocks can only run off or become pincushions. None of them think to look up or have noticed the missing spear.

Murlocks are dumb fodder to them. Like goblins or kobolds.

I have a large rock resting inside of me and pull it out, then drop down. One of the men yells in alarm as I give the magic warding candle a hard whack. Wax goes flying and an axe slices through me. It’s the strangest sensation as it cuts me in two for a second and my body just flows back together.

I beat the little flame on the candlewick with my rock until it goes out and then zoom through the air out of the room.

Behind me, the murlocks are barking and snarling, and I can hear the first clash of weapons.

I don’t care though. I fly and fly until I’m far away and back in the cavern with the pool and the rock turtles. There’s a special crack high up, just big enough for a human hand that leads to a small burrow. I don’t know what made this, but I’m grateful.

I huddle in my spot in fear. In my head, I know it doesn’t make sense for me to be afraid, but the idea of leaving this place fills me with dread. As though there was a monster lurking right outside, waiting to devour me.

There isn’t, of course. After a while, I calm down again and squeeze myself through the hole. I can see the pool from here. The water sparkles from the fireflies above it. A rock turtle is half-buried in the mud, its powerful talons tearing open the earth as it expands the pool. I can also see the Strix's nest high above me but nothing moves in it.

Silently, I float back to the side room. Adventurers are strong and even against ten murlock, they put up a fight. But they lost, and the largest murlock is munching on an arm as the others paw through their gear.

One of the murlocks was run through and his fellows are carefully applying one of the healing potions they’ve received to the wound in his stomach. He bites down on a strip of leather and groans as his friend tries to help him.

This is something I’ve seen before: the murlocks are fierce and cruel to their enemies but always care for one another. It’s one of the reasons I’ve returned.

It would be easy for this pack to chase me off now that they have what they want. Make no mistake, simply because we’re all considered ‘monsters’ doesn’t mean we’re friends or allies. The dungeon has predators, prey, scavengers, and thieves.

If everyone in the dungeon worked together, they could probably take over the town above us with ease.

The scout from before gives a yip as I float into view. The murlocks raise their shaggy heads and a few pull back their black lips to flash their fangs at me. No one is waving a weapon at me though, so I slowly move through the group to who I think is the leader.

He barks something to me in their language. I shrug in response. Again, he speaks. It sounds like a question. I bob in the air before his face. He reaches out and pokes me in the chest, his claw sinking in a bit.

This surprises him and he jerks back, checking his fingers as though I might have stolen one.

I stretch out my arms and use them to wave at the pile of goods they’re looting. His face hardens and I can tell he’d rather not give me anything. I’m not part of his pack. His friend was injured while I ran off. Yet, if it weren’t for me, they’d have nothing.

After a moment’s consideration, he reluctantly makes a sound of affirmation while waving at the pile with the chewed on the arm he carries. I find myself staring at it without meaning to. The severed arm doesn’t look real. It looks like a cheap prop from someone’s Halloween costume.

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How come I was so scared before but when I see this, I can only think how fake it looks?

I float over to the pile and stretch out my arms to pull away items. A few of the other murlocks chuff and growl, but I can tell it’s only posturing. Their way of telling me ‘I get dibs on the good stuff.’ If they really didn’t want me to touch anything, they’d swat me away.

Not that what they consider the good stuff means much to me. Food? I don’t eat. Clothing and armor? All too large for me and would weigh me down. Weapons? Most of these weapons are bigger than I am.

I do find a leather pouch filled with iron balls and tuck that into a backpack. I pick up the remains of the warding candle as well as a tinderbox. These all go into a backpack. There are three books—I glance at the murlocks as I toss them into the bag. No one cares.

One dagger in its sheath and a belt it attaches to. A magnifying glass. A length of rope.

I pull all of this to the leader so he can make sure I’m not stealing anything valuable. He has a short conversation with one of the other murlocks and pulls out the length of rope, and then indicates their hurt companion. Oh, he’s not patched up yet, so they want to put together something to carry him with.

I nod my head in understanding. The leader scratches at his thick, filthy beard while considering me. There’s another, smaller pile with potions and the like. I didn’t touch that because I know how valuable healing potions are in the dungeon.

He walks to the pile and picks up a small vial of fluid and offers it to me. I don’t know what it is but I hold up my backpack for him to place it in.

I bob once in thanks, carefully gather my things, and float out.

Even though I’m not carrying much, it feels heavy. I move along at my regular pace but when I reach the cavern, I have to strain to fly upwards.

I wish my powers made more sense.

There’s no way to shove the entire bag into the hole, so I open it up and slip in one object at a time. This high up, there’s little that can get me, but I have to keep an eye out anyway. This cavern is the home of the Strix. It’s a giant horned owl with metal talons that is as silent as I am when it flies. I have seen it tear through metal shields and armor like tissue paper.

It might be the most powerful thing on this level. Heck, it might be more powerful than anything on the next level as well. Level five is very hot and cramped and doesn’t have any nice green-filled caverns like this one.

The Strix is big enough to swallow me whole. I don’t think I’d survive that. I’d rather not find out. But, because it’s so powerful, it keeps other creatures from sniffing around up here.

After I finish curling up the last book and slipping in it, I stuff the backpack into the hole and squeeze in. Then I fit a rock behind me.

I can see fine in the dark, but I’ve scraped off the glowing moss from outside and made a little carpet of it.

A dim green glow fills my little den. By the light, I carefully pick up each treasure and arrange them near the back. Not much. When I was human, I had so much stuff that paid money every month for a storage unit, just to hold all the boxes of things. I could fit two boxes in my burrow.

Well… no boxes. Can’t fit those through the hole.

I hold my head and try to remember what was in those boxes. Nothing much comes to mind. I wonder if there was anything useful. When I try to think of what I wish I had here, all I can remember is my dog and my guitar.

But my dog died a long time ago and I haven’t played the guitar in years. Probably should have sold it a long time ago.

I stretch out on the moss and flip through the books. I can’t read them but there are drawings of various monsters. It looks to be a dungeon guide. At the back is an illustration of a candle, and what I think must be the words the adventurer’s chant. None of them looked liked spellcasters, but they were still able to put up a basic ward.

There look to be a few more rituals in the back. I wish I knew what they did. I’m not strong and I can’t wield most weapons, so learning magic would be good.

My eyes get heavy. I close the book and rest my head on its soft cover.

Before I know it, I’m floating in hot darkness. I feel myself rise and when I reach the surface there’s the pop of a bubble bursting. All around me are other tiny ink demons. We’re in a bubbling pool of liquid shadow, rising from

the bottom and floating to the shore.

I wash up on the dark sand with the others. Is this how we’re born?

I push myself up, and shadow runs down my body and pools under me. Yes, I think these are my first seconds. All the other blobs around me are my sisters and brothers. We can’t fly yet so we roll around, tiny arms and legs waving until we can sit upright.

The world around us is an alien wasteland of twisted, hulking metal rising as high as skyscrapers.

High above, the sky is filled with stars. I stare at the brightest one and realize that it’s the sun—but it’s blue, dim, and distant. This world must be very far from its sun.

From the middle of the pool something huge rises. It’s like a massive serpent made out of black goo but instead of a head, it has a mass of a hundred tendrils. It leans over us on the shore and the tendrils brush against us gently.

I think… I think this is mom.