“You can’t do that!” is at least what I imagine James is saying as he floats alongside of me, flapping his yap as I scuttle through the library. I swipe my tail at him and he flies out of the way. I click and snap at him. I can’t stand James. Nobody can. He dodges out of the way and keeps flapping his covers. But I can’t speak book, so all I hear is the sound of shuffling paper. Some of the others watch us, watch me, as I proceed through the library, having come up the secret stairs. It was a huge pain in my butt to get up here with the fairy-mother on my back, but that’s what a hero does, right?

  I hiss at James as he keeps talking. Some of the fairies sense my agitation and begin buzzing and glowing, charging their hands with magical energies. The book seems to realize his predicament just in time and flies off and away between the shelves, just as the volley of shadow bolts flies at him from a hundred tiny hands, exploding in a series of dark eruptions hot on his heels.

Thanks guys.

I bet he’s going to tell the Dungeon-Master. Cry-baby. That’s fine. I’m going that way myself.

You might be wondering, guy, aren’t you mad at the dungeon-master?

  The answer to that is, why would I be? Sure they yelled at me, but they’re just trying to get me into shape. I get it. They’re a little burnt out from work. The whole Madison thing? Well you and I both know that she’s fine. They’re just playing a trick on me, but I see through it, haha! The dungeon-master would never actually throw Madison into the pit. She’s probably off somewhere, hiding from me, now that James is flying around crying crocodile tears. Nobody can stand James, you know why? Because he doesn’t have any CONVICTION.

*tskskskskt*

I click my pincers in excitement and let out a series of hisses as I feel my blood begin to boil. A hand touches my head.

Oh right.

Sorry ma. I straighten my posture and calm down, don’t wanna get too excited. Mama is watching, you know?

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  I’m a bit too wide for the passages between some of these shelves, but I manage to squeeze through and soon enough, I see the black pit before me. The floating table in the center and the dungeon-master leaned back on their chair. Empty glass bottles surround them on every free spot of the table, occasionally one will roll off and fall down into the darkness below. Vanishing into oblivion.

  As we approach the pit, the books come to span the gap, using their body to create a bridge for me to cross the abyss. Is it a metaphor? Dunno, but it’s practical. A few of them make a small staircase for me to move up closer towards the table and I press my legs up higher. A weight shifts off of my back as the fairy-mother gets up onto the table and sits on the edge, her legs dangling down over and down into the pit. It’s not a toadstool but it’ll do for now.

  James of course has been flying around the dungeon-master the entire time, trying to wake them up to little avail. The dungeon-master simply snores in their drunken stupor and they grumble something illegible, swiping their arms around in their sleep, before falling back limp onto the chair. The fairy-mother and I both stare at them before we look back to each other, just before I turn to leave. I still have work to do, after all. As I return over the bridge of books, to continue on my way, leaving the fairy mother and her swarm of fairies here, I see a single book fly past me, carrying a second book on themselves. I think that was Thelma? We only met once or twice, they’re nice though. Very polite. Not like that brown-noser, James.

Crossing over to the other side, I watch as Thelma floats before the fairy-mother, and drops the other, non-magical, book onto their lap. For the first time that I have ever seen with my eyes, the fairy-mother bends her arms to pick it up. It’s an assorted book on fairy-tales. Cute. Thanks Thelma.

The fairy-mother looks up to me and awkwardly raises her arm to wave. I wave my pincers back as well, sorry ma, I gotta go. You understand. With that I turn around to continue on my hero’s journey, feeling pretty good about myself for a change.

I wonder where the hero-party is now? It’s going to be hard to avoid them on the way back upstairs. Oh well, that’s a problem for an hour from now.

*tskskskskt*

  Vanishing through the library, I scuttle, heading towards the real-stairs up and out of here on the other side of the floor. I hope the dungeon-master wakes up before I die. I’d really prefer it if they make the fairy-mother spawn up here permanently. It would be a real pain if I had to go down and get her every time I respawn. But I will, if I have to. I do it for her, after all. Right, guy? Yeah. Right.

  Clicking my pincers in excitement. I head back up the way I came, wondering how I’m going to make it up almost fifteen floors without being blasted to shreds by the hero-party. Maybe they like scorpions? I like scorpions. They’re like stabby crabs. Stabby crabby. Stabby crabby. Crabby? Ratty. Ratty ratty. I wonder, did you fulfill your hallow quest, rat-hero? Did you rise towards the apex of the world? I hope so.

Is that weird?

Maybe. But it’s good to know that there are others down here who are doing their best. Not all of us can have eyes, so it makes me happy to know that someone else down here has some too. Some real eyes. Some real CONVICTION.

  I’m not looking forward to passing through there again. I scuttle. Through that dark place. It was fine when I went down. But I can’t help but hear it, even now as I move so far away from that place. I can still hear it. The skittering of a thousand little feet, pulling on a thousand more behind them. Can you hear them too? Can you hear that little sound? It goes -

*tskskskskt*