Time felt like it didn’t move at all. Without sunlight, the passage of the day was impossible to determine. Not once during our trek did I feel hunger, thirst, or exhaustion. I didn’t even feel the need to piss. While I felt unnerved by these perpetually waking hours, it was likely better than needing to find food and water. The only food was mysterious demonic mushrooms and beast and not once had I found any signs of water.
Without sleep or need of rest to break up the monotony, we moved endlessly through this identical scenery. Even the beasts, scarce as they were, started to fall into one of three predictable categories. There were the slow and large “blobs”. There were fast and hairy ones that could move on the walls and ceiling that Squealer started calling “apes”; a designation that I did not understand. Finally, there were the “floaters”, flying creatures coated in spines.
All were of similar strength. All of them emitted a disembodied voice when they died. Blobs hurt the most, apes were difficult to hit, and floaters came in groups of three that had to all be killed to be rewarded.
Squealer got to Level 2 fairly quickly while I grew tantalizingly close to Level 3. It was only after leveling up that the demon’s quills seemed to have any sort of noticeable effect on their prey, making it so that I didn’t have to do all the work every time.
I experimented with my new passive ability as well. By virtue of [A True Beast has no Need for Magic], I learned that my health would deplete instead when using a skill in exchange for a far higher health stat. During a later fight, I flayed an ape with my tail. Not only was it far more accurate than trying to line up an attack with my own instincts, my health dropped by several points before quickly recovering to full once the fight ended.
[The Body is the Best Weapon] was an ability I was too worried about losing to push the limits of. If I threw a rock at a Floater, would it go away? That damage buff was far too great to risk on something so stupid.
The skill that I still needed to be accustomed to using was [Sanguine Bite]. It was a skill that was as useful as it was loathsome to use. While easier to use than [Flaying Tail] and also restoring more health than it cost, it was accompanied by a dreadful taste.
I took several bites out of all of the monsters. Blobs, by far, tasted the worst, akin to rotten eggs and curdled milk that filled my throat with the flavor of bile. Floater’s spines made it pointless to eat, dealing more damage than I recovered with the skill. This left apes as my only viable target. It, unfortunately, did not taste much better. I had to break through the tough skin like shag carpet only to be met with rubbery meat that tastes like undercooked chicken. Fortunately, I could spit out the flavors without losing the healing effect.
After making a decision that seemed no different than the others, Squealer began to pick up the pace. By this point, I had long since stopped caring about the directions. However, the change in Squealer’s demeanor brought some feeling back into my dulling brain.
“What’s with the excitement?” I wondered aloud.
“I can smell another demon. It’s different than the stuff we have been killing,” Squealer said with excitement, seemingly also bored of walking the endless tunnels with me. “Maybe it knows something about this place.”
In the dim light of the tunnels, I saw it. A thin feline creature wearing a skirt and a denim jacket over a hoodie stumbled slowly along the path ahead, back facing the approaching pair. Its gray fur bristled with knowledge that something was watching it.
Its hunched posture and weak steps did little to stir anything within me. Even if it did fight back, it likely was unable to do much against the two of us. It was a pitiable sight, I could admit, and reminded me of how Miranda would always change the channel whenever an ASPCA commercial came on TV. She cried for the abandoned animals, but never offered the paltry cash that they asked for. Much in the same way to her actions, I was more than satisfied with ignoring the creature and allowing it to be a faint memory.
“Cat,” Squealer scowled, all thoughts of cooperation draining from his mind.
Squealer’s reaction, however, interested me. I had listened to his story of cat poisoning without great interest. The act of forcing him to admit his misdeeds entertained me far more than the recounting of them. But, now that they were faced with a weak looking cat-human, I began to wonder if this was a tipping point for the rodent. The thoughts of such a descent set my mind alight with eagerness.
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The cat demon attempted to run away, but Squealer shot his large quill at it. Hours of practice seemed to pay off as most of the length of the quill dug into the demon’s flesh, causing it to clutch its shoulder and begin running.
The hunt was on.
Squealer broke out in a sprint after the cat and I followed along, at a distance. I only wished to be the observer. I was the nature photographer that watched the violent end of the gazelle at the hands of the leopard. My eye, pressed to the viewfinder in morbid fascination, watched as the rawest of animalistic natures took hold. Something was going to die and I was not going to interfere, despite my ability to.
It would not be right.
Squealer launched a volley of quills towards the cat, catching it in the back and behind the knee. The prey ripped the quill out, causing the rich metallic scent of fresh blood to fill the tunnel. It limped away, spilling blood from its sucking wound.
Emboldened further by the lack of resistance, Squealer gave an impassioned chase and I had to quicken my pace to ensure that I caught the scene from beginning to end. The silent audience, if they were still there, would not miss out on a single moment. If I were them, I would be enraged if a single frame of this maddening descent was lost.
More quills created more wounds. I could see the health bar drop to around a third. Squealer had another clear shot to fell the demon but could not take it. He had to wait for his mana to recharge. He spat curses into the sky for the bar to fill faster before finally being able to fire another volley into the demon. Blood spewed forth from the various wounds as it could not go any further.
“Wait,” the cat pleaded to Squealer. Its hands were raised in the air in surrender. “Please don’t kill me.”
However, there would be no reasoning with their assailant; the rat’s only objective was the death of the cat. Squealer, grinning with unrestrained glee, released more needles at point blank into the demon, executing it.
Level Up.
For the first time, I benefitted without lifting a finger. If everything in the Bowels were cats, we’d already be Level 5.
Squealer was too occupied with his own triumph to complain about my undeserved gains. He pumped his fist in happiness and chittered in glee. “Finally, finally I got all the stats you stole from me!”
I walked up beside Squealer, the demon too intoxicated in his victory to pay me much heed. Considering how little of a fight it put up and the type of clothing that it was wearing, the cat must have been a new loser like Squealer. It was likely that it did not come down the same pathways as its killer, or, perhaps, killed again and abandoned within the innumerable caves. The crossing slash scars that parted the fur on its exposed forearm alluded to the potential cause of its descent. While cruel, the desecration of your own body was a sin.
The troubled beast likely found the world too painful to continue on in, only to find itself in a place that was far worse.
“Now, there is nothing that separates us,” I commented warmly, patting Squealer on his shoulder and ripping him out of euphoria like a bucket of ice water.
“N-no,” Squealer said weakly, taking a few horrified steps away from me. “It was a cat, it was just one of those damnable cats.”
“Oh, only a cat,” I said, nodding in agreement.
I knelt down next to the corpse. Its jacket was unbuttoned, revealing some of the words on the hoodie underneath. I pulled the jacket apart, showing myself and the rat in denial the words emblazoned across its chest. Hilton High School Cougar Marching Band.
“I wonder what kind of school a cat goes to,” I said to myself, adopting a look of intense focus as though my life hinged on the answer. “What instrument do you think a cat plays?”
Squealer placed his hands over his face and wailed something incoherent. He had become what he was convinced he was not. Dissonance between the revulsion of that revelation and the triumph that he felt when single-mindedly eliminating the cat ripped at his mind. I hoped for a greater outburst, but knew I would not get it. Squealer was a coward. He would not face this uncomfortable change in his identity. It was likely that all his little brain concocted was another excuse to avoid looking himself in the mirror and accepting who he has become.
“I thought you wanted to talk to it, but you went and murdered it,” I said, driving the point further. “We could wait for it to revive and then ask. I suppose it wouldn’t lie to us now.”
“No!” Squealer shouted.
I raised my hairless brow at Squealer’s outburst. I rose to my feet, staring him down with my cold reptilian eyes. I could see the fear take hold of him, rooting him to where he stood.
“Sorry, I-I’m sorry! I-I mean…I just meant that it doesn’t look like it knew anything. I doubt it can show us to wherever this portal is, even if we do wait for it to revive,” Squealer justified. “Besides…she did something bad to be here. A-and isn’t gaining higher stats all that really matters?”
“I can’t argue with you there,” I replied with a shrug, sufficiently entertained by Squealer’s selective cold-bloodedness. For a brief moment, I wished for a feline transformation in order to harness more for the spiny rat during their duel. It wouldn’t hurt to torment him further if I were in his most loathed form.
Then, Squealer began sniffing the air, his nose attracting him to a new interesting scent. He turned his head to face the direction the cat was walking. He froze and crouched low to the ground, sniffing again to gain consensus on what he felt.
“There are more demons that way,” Squealer informed. “A lot more.”