The fight begins again now for the second time, as the next wave descends down upon us from the bayou. Though they are somewhat slower now, as the first bad things make quick work of all the rats that they can reach, of which there are many. Many-many. The swarm of rats, for whatever reason they were here, is easily decimated and then worse. Of the entire swarm, only a small fraction now remains a minute later. Those that had keen enough instincts. Those that knew that they had to go higher, they survived. Rats have a keen sense for things like that most of the time. Like when a storm’s coming and they all run the other way to higher ground, even though they don’t know why. It’s like that.

  But dungeon-life has numbed many of them, there aren’t many ambient threats down here, especially for the rats that prefer to stay in the sewer near their queen. I suppose most of their senses have grown dull over their many pampered generations. But those that survive now sit high on the branches, nested in the boughs as they manage to peer with their horrified, little vermin-eyes away from their brothers and stare towards the boat. Stare towards me. Why are they following me? I remember a group of them was sneaking after me in the foundry as well that one time when I was… uh… whatever I was there. I forget.

I remember the rats though!

Man, I kind of wish the rat-queen didn’t take everything so personally. Oh well, you can’t please everybody.

  The ripples make their way towards us now and the fight continues on just as it had left off before. The hero and the monk holding the line while the other three, my favorite thief included, pick them off one by one. Well, except for the elf. She seems to be shooting past the bad things. She’s just aiming for the rats, though I don’t really know why. She looks pretty uh… angry though. Well, not angry. But you know, uh, obsessed. Her eyes are doing that thing again where they go wide and she doesn’t blink. Seems unhealthy.

  I wonder how the hero and the monk see the invisible arms they have to block? I suppose they have some keen senses at their level of existence too. Must be nice, having godly cosmic powers. I scratch my rear and keep watching. Soon enough the rats wise up and go into hiding deeper into the trees where the thief can’t reach them anymore with her arrows. Where she can’t get them-get them. Ooh!

  There’s not much I can do to be of use here honestly, so I enjoy the show, not quite sure which side I should be rooting for. I guess the… adventurers? No. Well… uh… it’s complicated. I don’t want the bad things to win. But I also don’t want the adventurers to win. So… hmm… I guess I’ll just say the adventurers this time, because them winning doesn’t involve me being gutted. Today at least.

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  You know, I wonder what happens if the hero-party wipes. If they all die. Has that ever happened? Will they just respawn when I do? Or do we ‘win’ the dungeon if they die? I shoot a glance over to the hero who is doing his best to swing the massive hero’s sword without falling off of the boat. Can the hero swim? I look at his open, plate-armor covered back and cape and wonder; should I?

  A single push and he’d fall into the water. With that armor he’d sink like a rock. Maybe even the bad things would get him, maybe even the bad things would get the rest of them then, since a flank would be open. I rise to my feet and look at him. I look at those perfect eyes of his and wonder what they would look like if they reached them. If they took them and dragged them down beneath the bad water. I could do it. I could end the hero, at least for this run. What would that mean? My hands raise up higher as I think.

Just a push. Just a little shove and I’d be the hero of the dungeon, the trash-mob who killed the hero.

And then?

  And then the hero would be dead. Then the bad things would come through and get the rest of them. The wizard, the priestess, the monk. I look over behind myself. Then the thief and me. They’d get us too. My hands drop lower. No. No, this isn’t a good plan. Besides, is this what I am? What I do? No. No.

  I don’t back-stab. I do things the right way. If I kill the hero, it’s going to be from the front. I want to have earned it. Though I guess in a sense I don’t even want to kill him anymore. I don’t want to kill anyone. I just want it all to stop, but I know it won’t. So when the day comes, I’ll fight him one on one. A real hero’s duel. Hopefully this time without being stabbed in the back by the thief.

  She’s lowered her bow, the rats now too well hidden for her to shoot any more of them out of the trees. So, when are we going to get off of the boat? When are we going to start going towards the secret stairs? Don’t tell me we have to clear this whole floor first. Is this like with the graveyard, where the secret exit only opens up after the floor has been cleared? Ugh. I really hope not. But it’s certainly starting to look that way, as the last of the bad things are cleared out by the hero-party, leaving only the faint sound of running water and the odd occasional squeak stemming out from the trees.

  Feeling uneasy, I turn forward and look down the river knowing what comes next. The two waves are done, that means next is the sub-boss fight. Looking around myself, I scan the area for any branches or for any low hanging limbs to latch on to so I can get out of the boat before its too late. Before I’m stuck in the middle of this. But there are none and it looks like I am. Oh boy.

  The current of the river begins to pick up its pace, the gentle pull of the stream that was carrying us along shifting now into a forceful drag, as if something were grabbing us by the scruff of our necks and yanking us forward. Forward ahead to where the water churns, to where the river opens into a mouth into a larger, open lake-area. All the water swirls in the center in a whirlpool. All of the guts and viscera, the fallen fruit, the dead apes, the dead rats, the eyes. All of that swirls around in the center of the water that we are heading straight towards.

Something shifts beneath the surface, as some great shadow makes its way up towards the brink.