I was never one for art.

My mother would go through phases of television censorship. Some cartoons were too crass and taught bad behavior. Movies with violence would lead to violence. She tried, in her poorly conceived way, to ensure her children grew up to be good people. But no amount of kind shows and smiling faces would undo the damage actively done by the person who slid a ring over her finger and said that he loved her in the past.

One of those shows she had me watch was Painting with Bob Ross. Given a selection of off-brand crayons, I was expected to recreate the landscapes under the soft-voiced instruction of a man with hair like a dandelion.

I never succeeded in creating a babbling brook or a majestic forest, but I did learn that there was beauty in the natural world. However, I found myself more drawn to the more chaotic works. Jackson Pollock splatters on a canvas like an exit wound of headshot or the self-portraits of dementia patients were more appealing to me. The frantic chaos at the far reaches of the human experience spoke to my experiences far more than a happy tree.

Today, I was the instructor; the conductor of orchestral carnage. Blood, the greatest paint, spilled over the stone circle. It spilled and flowed and drained according to forces both natural and unnatural.

Gravity, the topography of the stone, spells, and weapons served as the brushes that spread the paint across the rocky canvas to create a masterpiece that could not be conceived by the greatest minds. It was ugly and evil like the artists that collaborated to create it.

There was one paint tube that had yet to be squeezed to contribute to this profane masterpiece. The rabbit had sent a few exploratory kicks my way; mapping out my defenses and testing the reactions of my starving body. They were rapid attacks, shallow and unwilling to fully commit to prevent me from gripping their ankles and hoisting them up head-down. They could likely see it in my eyes, wide and eager for a misstep.

Even those noncommittal strikes packed a powerful amount of force behind him. My flesh rattled beneath my scales and [Reinforced Carapace] returned a small amount of damage back into their health.

I summoned a pool of tar on the stone. Black consumed red and began to submerge their plant foot. I barged forward and pushed into the rabbit monk with my shoulder.

They slipped slightly before collecting themselves with a powerful kick that sent them hurtling across the bloody circle and sliding to the other side of the monolith. Three jagged red lines from my destroyed claws cut the monk’s sleeve to ribbons and drew blood.

A pair of crescent blades appeared in the rabbit’s hands. Soft green glowed from of the jades dangling from their ears.

Blood splashed up and then appeared directly before me. Both weapons were mid-swing. I swung my fists upwards to punch against the flat surface of the blades and push them overhead. I spat a spray of acid onto their fur, but the other jade glowed and a green sphere enveloped their body and deflected the spray. Mana sizzled and burned from where the acid corroded it away.

The rabbit kicked at my shin. My foot slid an inch, enough to send me off balance. A second later, an overhead attack from the right whistled overhead.

Like an experienced limbo player, I dropped backwards at almost a ninety-degree angle while using my tail as a meaty crutch to spring me back upwards. A pummeling foot met me again, but, this time, I managed to use [Iron Fist] and graze their ankle as it was being pulled back to the monk’s body.

The rabbit went rigid for a second, allowing me to fully recover from my compromised position. Like a heavyweight boxer, I pressed forward in an attempt to string together several devastating blows. Stun into stun into stun, I smashed into the rabbit’s body three times.

My teeth bit into the rabbit after each strike. Their flesh was tough and resistant to my puncturing teeth. The cloth draped around their body magically stretching upwards to meet my jaw and gum it up like sap in a wood chipper. I did manage to apply some damage to them and lap up the much needed blood to stave off my crippling hunger just a bit longer.

On the fourth strike, I did not activate [Iron Fist]. My mana was dipping below halfway and I needed to conserve my much needed [Sanguine Bite]. The monk, in the split second between the end of the stun and the connection of my fist, managed to get their shield up to soften the blow. My hand met mana and magical cloth, doing no more damage than if I punched a golem made of pillows.

They hopped away from our engagement, wary of the potential that I possessed to rob them of their preferred speed advantage. They backed further and slammed the hilts of their blades together.

A circle of light formed around me. Gentle white moonlight touched my scales and made me look like an extra from Jurassic Park.

But then, pain pricked up from every piece of my body that the light touched. I jumped from the beam and slid on the blood-soaked ground. My scales smoked and my eyes were blurred from the pain. I tried to blink my vision back into them. But, before I could manage to restore my eyesight, I could hear the rapid sounds of furred feet through puddles of blood.

From the left, they came. My body reacted as best it could, flexing and placing my limbs in a defensive posture. I prioritized my head while fully expecting my ribs to be sacrificed to the rabbit’s counteroffensive.

I felt the impact. Then, I felt it again. A double-tap that penetrated through my scales and felt as though it smashed into the meat beneath. I swung down instinctively to meet them for a return attack to feel cloth retreating through my fingers.

I gripped onto it and pulled as hard as I could. A difference in levels could not overcome the difference in our physical strength. I grew bored of this cat and mouse game.

This was no Sir Leal, this was no eagle knight from the Inverted Tower. This was a cagey fighter. No more inspiring of awe than the boss that sprinted through the plains. I had no sense of deference towards this rabbit and felt no betrayal within my soul to activate my most profane of abilities.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Their barrier meant nothing when I was already in physical contact with them. [The Great Decay] seeped from my fingers and wreathed the rabbit in pungent black miasma. Only after the spell completed did they wrest themselves from my grip and retreat back towards their comfort behind the obelisk.

As my mana drained the rabbit’s stats, my stomach howled. I looked around at the buffet that surrounded me and smiled with deep satisfaction.

It was carnage. Whatever position either side took seemed to no longer matter. They were all dying in droves and their ruined flesh remained as a generous offering towards me, the bringer of this wisdom.

As it was my teachings that brought them this glory, then their remains were also meant for me to use as I wished. So I supped upon their bloodied flesh in greedy handfuls. Blood dripped from my mouth and viscera hung from my teeth.

But, the rabbit did not strike out at me again. Instead, they relied on their burning beam of light to cook my food and burn my flesh with its harsh mana. They assaulted me with petty hit and run tactics, carving at me with swords that only did marginal damage to my heavy scales.

It did not matter to me anymore. They had begun to bore me. Perhaps, if they charged at me again and fought with their feet and their blades and their teeth would I rescind my spell and allow us to, once again, fight on equal footing. To fight as demons worthy of respect locked in ideological debate.

However, such a thing was not meant to be. If they spoke the same language of violence that I did, we would likely view each other as brothers and eaten away at each other’s flesh until there was nothing left but bones and my hatred towards the ones that sent me here.

The stat that governed the rabbit’s health was its lowest property. Combined with the decreasing health that the starvation in this Dungeon necessitated, their bar dropped precipitously low.

“There’s a way out of your predicament,” I stated, hopping out of another moonbeam that infused mana into my unfortunate lunch. “Just start eating as well. You’ll survive.”

“I will not bend,” the rabbit answered resolutely. They took a sip from their potion, only delaying the inevitable.

They continued a spirited attack to defeat me. But, they only came when I was looking at them. I knew they were stronger than I was. We probably both knew that. But, if that was the case, then how could I explain this terrible behavior?

Death used to come to us all equally in the end. These monks seemed to have forgotten that. Robbed of feeling like a human because they did not feel the need to eat or sleep. Yet, they seemed to neglect the fundamental truth that dying is what once made us human too. They sit here, in a circle, using their deaths as a rite of passage for greater understanding. There is no reverence or gravity held within it.

Most of the others had died. Only a few remained that either gnawed on the flesh of their kills or had returned to solemn meditation once they had dispatched their flesh-starved compatriots.

“I will show you,” the rabbit said on unsteady legs.

So the rabbit fell, succumbing to the death that would be just another rite in their path to knowledge. They would rise where they entered and start this cycle anew. This time, surely they would reach the understanding that they so desperately sought out.

An understanding that was not made for them.

As soon as their body touched the stone, the room began to rumble. The maze of lines etched into the surface were overfull with blood and it had filled the entirety of the long dividing line in the stone.

Like the Red Sea, the large stone discs separated. The blood that coated the surface spilled over the side like crimson waterfalls to splash against the carved steps hidden beneath. The stairs led directly beneath the obelisk. The golden etchings began glowing and a loud humming could be heard from the structure.

The surviving demons, the skeleton, the mallard, and a demon with clear blue skin that showed all the organs inside, gathered around the entrance to the stairs. As survivors of the discussion, we silently walked down the stairs together to greet whatever awaited below.

I activated my magical torch and allowed it to float in front of us to illuminate the floor awaiting us. We stepped off into a small room. There were four doors, two on the front wall and one to either side.

“What sort of meaning is behind these doors?” The mallard asked itself while inspecting the surface of each.

“Could it be another test?” The ooze inquired in turn, joining the duck on their pursuit.

But, the skeleton remained silent. Their eyeless sockets were transfixed on the door to the left. They lowered their head and pressed their forehead directly to the door. A soft chuckle could be heard from them before it escalated into uproarious laughter. The other two spun around to look in his direction.

“It’s my name,” the skeleton said to nobody. “This door has my name on it!”

The mallard and ooze quickly moved over to the door and looked to where the skeletons' eyes were plastered. A small metal placard was drilled into the door frame. Small letters that could not be read danced and wriggled as if they refused to be comprehended.

“Appears to be nonsense,” the ooze said confidently before looking over to the mallard for assured agreement.

However, the mallard did not provide what the ooze sought. Instead, their focus moved to a placard on the right front wall door.

“Here’s my name!” The mallard exclaimed. “I cannot read it and I do not remember what my name is, but I know for certain this is my door. This door was made for me!”

The ooze backed away from its once sane counterpart. It looked to the side and became transfixed on the right door. Wordlessly, they stepped towards it and placed their hand on the handle. It clicked and allowed the ooze to move through to the other side.

Hearing this, the other two quickly shoved their way into their own rooms, leaving me alone.

Only one door remained unopened. I moved towards it and looked at the same placard that the rest did. Nonsense was carved into the surface, purposeless garble. Yet, at the same time, I could hear my mother’s voice in my head. She called for me in radio static. I felt sweaty with recognition. This door was my door; my specific challenge for revelation.

I turned my handle and proceeded inside to see for myself what awaited me.

Unnatural light came through an open sliding door, illuminating a marble floored room with white curtains. In the center of the room was a white-painted wooden bassinet. A wailing cry of an infant could be heard within. It screamed at the top of its lungs, desperate for anyone to attend to its needs.

I walked across the floors, polluting the beautiful white with my blood-stained body. I placed and hand on the bassinet and peered over the side.

A pungent odor met my nose and I nearly vomited my well-earned meat. Inside, rocking gently was the desiccated corpse of an infant. Their soft features were eaten away. Its sockets were robbed of eyes, its face robbed of its nose, and its head robbed of its ears.

Yet, it still cried out from a mouth full of cobwebs.

“The baby, he’s very hungry,” a creaking voice emanated from behind me.

I blinked once. The white marble disappeared and was replaced with moth eaten curtains stained with the rust of blood. The marble was cracked and chipped and broken. The light from outside dimmed as the black of night and a few scattered stars was all that watched from beyond.

I turned to face the voice. A woman in tattered black robes looked at me with sad, sullen eyes. Her skin was pulled taut over her bony face, threatening to rip and the slightest pull. Her creaking bones protested with each step she took towards me.

But, I quickly saw that the popping was not from the walking. Her shoulder became dislocated after a sickening crack. Muscles bulging into the space and had her grow taller until she looked down on me. Nails grew from her fingers to form an arsenal of keratin blades that spanned from wall to wall. Her mouth dripped saliva as she viewed me as a piece of meat.

“Will you be the one to feed him?”