I quit, said Daphne’s brain.
Daphne couldn’t really blame her brain. An attack from a praying mantis the size of a mastiff was a lot to take, even for a normal person. Unfortunately for Daphne, this was her worst nightmare come to life. Even more unfortunately, giving up was a luxury that her brain, along with the rest of her, simply could not afford.
At least it’s not human-sized, she reasoned with her cowering brain. But while this was a comforting thought, it did not change the fact that she was facing down a giant insect with absolutely zero weapons and even fewer ideas.
The nightmare bugs advanced slowly into the circle of dim light, snapping their pincers and hissing. Eydis had brought her own bottle-pendant full of glowing water. Combined with the four bottles Daphne and Runar had between them, that made five pseudo-torches illuminating the dark tunnel. This would be great for the coming battle, but in the moments before the battle, the detailed view was very not-great for Daphne.
For one thing, the creatures were disturbingly monochromatic. Every single part of them was the same pale, sickly green. Even the eyes were green, staring blankly and bulging way too far on either side of the wide forehead. The face was like an upside-down triangle. From the bulbous eyes, the head narrowed to a jaw with two nasty-long mandibles, which kept opening to either side like a joker’s grin and then snapping shut with terrifying force.
The Pinchers’ bodies were long and glistening. Their four back legs arched horribly high with joints far above their backs like a spider. The two front legs were the ones with the pincers.
Do praying mantises actually have pincers? Daphne couldn’t remember the real-world insect’s physiology. She only knew the front legs were usually up and held together, as if in a position of prayer. That’s how the bug got its name.
But it didn’t matter. In Daphne’s nightmare, the giant praying mantises chasing her had always had pincers. So these monsters had pincers. Giant, lobster-like pincers snapping in almost perfect rhythm with the clicking of the equally giant mandibles.
No, the extra light was doing no favors for Daphne’s courage.
Or her stomach.
Time seemed to slow as the Pinchers crept forward, their pointy feet making loathsome scuttling noises against the rocky ground. Every so often, a hiss would emerge from the general area of their mouths, clashing with the castanet rhythm of pincer and mandible…
Do something! Daphne screamed at her brain, internally.
Externally, she just screamed.
“Aaaaahhhhhhh!”
Then she closed her eyes, waiting for the sharp feel of pincers around her arms.
THWACK!
Her eyes flew open. Runar was standing in front of her, having just dealt her Pincher a solid blow with his basher club.
“Daphne! Thy satchel!” he called, practically singing with the exhilaration of battle. Then he whirled to fend off his own buggy foe.
That was when Daphne started to feel her recent level-up kicking in.
Her +4 Dexterity began following Runar’s words, and her +5 Intelligence rapidly understood how to apply them. She even had time for a quick scan of the battlefield as she unlooped the satchel from around her neck and wound its strap around her hand. Her +3 Wisdom took in Runar and Eydis, each busy holding their own against their Pinchers. Both griffins were an inspirational sight, but in different ways. Runar was full of youthful energy and daring, while Eydis was a war-hardened savage. She swung her basher with a ferocity that made Daphne’s head throb, remembering her own recent encounter with the business end of Eydis’s weapon.
I guess she really did just give me a tap, Daphne thought, suddenly grateful to the grim older griffin.
All that, and Daphne was still ready with her satchel by the time her Pincher recovered from Runar’s blow. She swung the heavy bag, full of preserved letter-fruit, directly at the disgusting creature’s triangular nightmare face.
Her improvised weapon hit home with a satisfying THUD, and the Pincher stumbled back. Unfortunately, the momentum swung Daphne around, directly into the path of Runar’s basher.
“I am sorry!” Runar cried as his club made contact with Daphne’s stomach. She couldn’t answer, what with the air having been knocked out of her lungs by the blow, but she mustered a thumb’s up before staggering back around towards her evil insect dance partner.
The beast raised its pincer-leg, keeping the pincer bit closed to use it as a club. Channeling her heightened Dexterity and every bit of her +3 Strength, Daphne was able to knock the blow aside with her satchel. In fact, her swing was strong enough to send the pincer-leg back at the creature’s own head. As the momentum carried her around again, she heard an absolutely gorgeous CRACK and knew the Pincher was getting a taste of its own medicine.
No matter what happens, she thought giddily, you just made your own nightmare hit itself in the face.
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Adrenaline flooded her veins. She heard Runar laughing madly and joined in, cackling with the crazed glee of giving these ugly buggers the smackdown they deserved.
Finishing her spin, Daphne tried to channel the momentum into a crushing blow at the Pincher’s mouth. That was when she discovered adrenaline was not helpful in the ‘aiming’ department. Her satchel bounced off the creature’s jaw, nearly getting caught in the snapping mandibles. The force required to wrench it free threw her off-balance. Careening into the most dizzying spin yet, she desperately tried to get control of her wits and her satchel before she whirled back into the Pincher’s path.
Too late.
“Aaaaahhhhhh!” Daphne shrieked as her eyes were filled with a hot, stinging spray.
“Watch the mouth!” Eydis shouted. “Its ooze can blind thee briefly!”
Before Daphne could answer, her wildly swinging satchel-arm was caught by some sticky substance and drawn down towards the floor.
“Watch the feet!” Runar yelled. “They produce a webbing which can hold thee fast!”
I know! Daphne wanted to shriek, but her lungs felt empty, like her breath had gone into hiding. She tried to move, only to find her feet were now stuck in the same sticky stuff restraining her satchel-arm.
Her brain felt even more stuck.
What now? she demanded, trying to shake it loose from whatever internal webbing was gumming up its works.
You can’t see, her brain pointed out sluggishly. Can’t use your feet. You’ve only got one arm free, and it’s not the one with the weapon. Sorry. We gave it a go, but this is it. You can’t write your way out of this one.
Write your way out…
With a surge of hope, Daphne thought of the Prism, but the hope was short-lived. Her +3 Wisdom helpfully reminded her that the Prism was in her right-hand pocket, and her right arm was currently full of satchel and bound by sticky mantis-goo. No last-minute saves coming from that corner.
She heard a hissing right in front of her, followed by a THWACK. Runar was probably holding off her Pincher as best he could, but he was just prolonging the inevitable. He couldn’t handle two giant bugs on his own for long. Sooner or later, he would have to focus on not becoming lunch himself, and that would be it for Daphne.
How had the nightmare always ended? Something about the praying mantis grabbing her shoulders with its pincers, holding her motionless while preparing to eat her face. Yes. It was definitely a face-first devouring situation. She could almost feel the mandibles closing around her neck…
Daphne stomach heaved. Maybe she could projectile vomit right into the Pincher’s eyes. That would buy her a few more miserable seconds. Her free arm swung out automatically, looking for something to steady her while she heaved her guts out.
Her left hand made contact with the wall of tunnel. She felt the carvings under her fingers, a rich design of flowers and runes and haunting words, so lovely it made the soul ache with joy.
I wish I could see it, she thought sadly. That would be a beautiful sight to go out on.
Beautiful.
You’ve got a beautiful brain.
Mark’s voice flashed into her mind, the memory brighter than Eloquent Water behind her eyes.
Mark, who had loved this world with her when no one else did.
Mark, who had ridden a griffin, and defeated a monster, and who was the only other person she knew who fully appreciated the glory of a turkey pesto BLT.
Mark, who was currently trapped in the dungeons of a delusional megalomaniac, slowly being drained of all his words. All his stories. All that made him Mark.
What would happen to Mark if Daphne’s face got eaten by a praying mantis roughly the size of a small pony? If she gave up now, and let herself be literally consumed by all the worst parts of her imagination?
Daphne didn’t know. What she did know is that she never wanted to find out.
Miraculously, her brain seemed to agree.
This dream sucks, it said plaintively. Why don’t we change the ending?
Daphne couldn’t agree more.
She pressed her hand into the wall, tracing the carving with her fingertips. It was hard to decipher the exact shape, whether it was a word or a picture or just an arrangement of lines, but that was okay. She didn’t need to understand it to know what it was supposed to mean.
This was her world, after all.
The carving grew hot beneath her palm. She pressed harder, calling on the story humming in the rock — the story running through the roots of this world like blood through arteries. The stone got rapidly warmer. She could feel a portion of that story, the true power of Euloban, gathering and concentrating in this one spot.
A brightness appeared in front of her eyes, piercing through the blinding goo. Light was seeping out of the stone and pooling around her hand. She pulled her hand back, and the light came with it, like a water-chain pulled from the Pool of Eloquence. But she knew without seeing that this was not a chain. It was a globe. It was a fireball of living story, forged by a Wordsmith from the words coursing through Euloban’s very heart.
Just in time too. Daphne heard a shout of warning from Runar, followed by a horrible chorus of hissing and clicking. The source of sound rushed towards her, then paused, apparently perturbed by the ball of light in her hand.
As it should be.
The mandibles clicked once, allowing her to zero in on the exact location of the Pincher’s face, inches from her own.
“Eat this,” Daphne said. And she shoved the story fireball down the praying mantis’s throat.
A small explosion shook the tunnel. Daphne was thrown back, the force tearing her feet free from the sticky webbing. She landed on her back and immediately used her free hand to grab one of the bottle-pendants around her neck. Feeling for the stopper, she removed it with her teeth and poured some of the precious water over her face. The blinding goo stung excruciatingly as it dissolved, but the Eloquent Water was both fast and soothing. Seconds later, Daphne’s eyes were free.
She sat up and looked around. Eydis and Runar were struggling to their feet a few feet behind her, having also been knocked down by the blast. All the Pinchers were likewise sprawled on the floor.
All TWO of the Pinchers, to be more precise. The third was gone. The only signs of its existence were bits of antennae and chitinous shell strewn around the floor, plus a nasty-smelling green goo splattered all over the tunnel (and the tunnel’s occupants, sadly).
It took Daphne a moment to realize that the fireball of living story had torn the monster apart from the inside.
The other two Pinchers scrabbled upright. They looked at the disgusting remnants of their fallen comrade. They looked at Daphne. She stared right back and pressed her left hand to the wall, feeling the carving heat up instantly as light pooled around her fingers.
“Wanna go again?” she asked.
The Pinchers’ mandibles began chattering in a rapid rat-a-tat of anxiety. They backed up slowly. One step, two, three — then they turned and ran, vanishing back down the tunnel in a whirl of clicking and hissing.
Daphne let the light leave her hand and return into the carving. Leaning heavily on the wall, she staggered upright and hobbled over to Runar and Eydis. The griffins stared at her. Eydis’s amber eyes were round and wide with awe.
Daphne wiped some of the truly icky green goo from her mouth, calling upon her verbal powers to deliver an impressive line worthy of a mighty Wordsmith after a triumphant battle.
“I quit,” she said.
Then she threw up.