1.2 A Touch Of Class

At last, Sylvia’s shaking feet found a hard earthen floor on which to rest. She doubled over, gasping, and desperately tried to regain her composure before the guards inevitably found their own. But there was still no signs of pursuit, and after a few moments, the escapee turned and tottered off down the rough-hewn tunnel which she could only hope marked the way to freedom.

The way was lit by conical torches bracketed to the walls, but pockets of darkness still remained here and there. She twisted first left, and then right, and then she stopped dead as a huge clicking leggy thing descended on her from the wall and gnashed at her face with its ghastly pincers.

Sylvia shrieked and punched the insect in the abdomen. It recoiled slightly, paused, and reached forward to sink its fangs into her left arm. Sylvia froze as blood soaked into the floor, and then found the strength to retaliate. The beast squawked and crumpled by her feet, legs curled up above its body. Dead, praise this Gurzelwuck or whoever else was listening.

The poor woman winced as she tried to stem the warm flow from her arm. With no other options, she pressed on with gritted teeth. After a few more turns, the tunnel opened out into a larger cavern. A huge crackling bonfire engulfed the room in red light from a rocky ledge far below, and just beyond, Sylvia spotted a neat stone archway leading out of the nightmare. But even as she glanced around the cave, she knew something was wrong. The crackle may have been loudest, but beneath, a writhing and a scuttling slowly infiltrated her consciousness.

The insects were everywhere. Swarms fought over a shard of bone on the floor by the fire. More festooned the far wall. And a whole line sat waiting on the narrow jagged path down to the goal of the doorway. Sylvia stood unmoving at the edge of it all, casting about for another way. And yet none were apparent.

The prisoner may have stood there all day, paralysed by the horror of the underground lair, but suddenly, the highest insect on the platform took a single step forward. It clicked wildly as it rotated to face its next victim, and eagerly wriggled forward. Beneath, more unspeakable forms turned in unison and followed the forerunner ever upwards.

The woman whimpered, but she was thinking more clearly. The need to survive had kicked in again, and she perceived the wide platform she was standing on for what it really was – a death zone. If the beasts fanned out around her, that would be it. But if she made it to the path, she could face her foes one by one.

Forcing herself into action, Sylvia sprinted for the path. She made it just as the first insect reached the top. One punch, one excruciating bite in the thigh, and another jab in the chitinous head, and the thing was down. Sylvia staggered and withdrew as the others marched on. But even as she retreated, she felt strength return, and onwards she charged once more. She punched and kicked and crushed as jaws closed around her wrists, and when the next toppled, away she crawled. Just enough energy returned to face the next, and then the next, and finally, she was gaining momentum. She kicked aside bodies, leapt, and came to rest at the bottom of the cave. Blood ran in rivers down her exposed flesh, but with a few seconds before the onslaught continued, her wounds tightened and staunched the flow. Punch, bite, punch, punch, bite, punch, and the insects were no more.

Sylvia looked up through her matted hair and stumbled towards the bonfire. Needles of pain closed around her, but she was still going. She made it round the flames and cried out in pure joy at the sight of a cool stone passageway beyond the arch. Only one evil insect remained in her path.

Sylvia stepped forward and punched with all her might, but the creature did not budge. Instead, it immediately stabbed out and tore a sickening gash in her stomach with one mandible. Sylvia howled and lashed out blindly. The thing felt like a rock against her raw hand, and at once it was on her again, snapping a finger with a flailing leg.

Sylvia wailed and dragged herself to the tunnel, and her enemy followed, clutching and scraping at her legs. The edges of her vision pulsed blood red. The voice from the prison cell echoed in her mind: she was not to die there. But this was surely her final doom.

“Apple! Box! Now!” chirped a disembodied voice from somewhere to her left. Sylvia screamed in terror as the creature raked a barbed leg down her back, and rolled her eyes about the tunnel. Something flashed just up ahead. She kicked out at the insect, freed her leg, and scrambled to her only hope. She groped out and stared dumbfounded at the round green orb in her bloodied palm. So, it was an apple. Her failing mind found it quite the most hilarious thing ever and she let out a mad chuckle. Here she was, torn to shreds by a cockroach from hell, and what better way to go out than with the sweet taste of fruit in her mouth. As sharp feet poked into her back and a cacophony of clicking descended towards her neck, she opened her mouth and took a juicy bite.

Sylvia felt a warm, fuzzy glow, and suddenly, she was herself. There was nothing in between, no slow return to life, and it was a damn good job. She rolled to the side just as the jaws chipped the paving where her head had sunk in her almost-final moment. Box. There was a little wooden chest just behind her assailant, and she hopped over its carapace to flip its lid.

Sylvia ducked for cover as the wood burst apart at the merest touch of her finger. In its place rested a gnarled old stick, nay, a club, and as she grasped for it, her foot brushed its shaft. She blinked, and it was there in her hand. It couldn’t be, but it needed to be, and there it was. There was no time to think as the scuttling rose above the thud of her heart, and she faced the beast again with a cry of grim determination. She swung the club against the black shell, braced herself for the agony of the jaws, and swung again. The insect gave one final trumpet and flipped on its back to mirror the fallen in the cave. Its opponent drew in a ragged breath, dropped the club, and collapsed to the floor, exhausted and exhilarated in equal measure. The battle had taken no more than five minutes, but right now, it felt like five lifetimes.

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“Noooo! She’s dead. And I really thought this one had what it takes!”

“You’re jumping to conclusions. Look, she’s getting up. I say, come back here!”

The squabbling voices were thin and distant, as if echoing from afar. Curious, Sylvia arose and retraced her steps, giving the dog-sized roach a wide berth. To her right, she spotted a grey tunnel branching off from the main one, which she could now see to be a dead end behind her.

“Come on! Down here!” whinged the second voice impatiently, and Sylvia obeyed. She followed the curve and beheld a three-way fork ahead. Three tiny chambers lay beyond, and three ladders led up each of the far walls. In one, a jagged copper sword and shield adorned a pedestal in the centre. Another held a gleaming dagger wrapped in a dark cape. And in the final chamber, a tiny twig puffed out billows of smoke of all the colours of the rainbow.

The voices had come from the two minuscule figures in the middle of the junction. Sylvia knelt and observed two mice with immaculate brushed fur, and adorable hats on their adorable heads. “Thank you,” she laughed, tears rolling down her cheeks. “The apple, I would never have thought...”

One of the mice took over. “Well, it’s only a morsel, but at this stage, it did the trick. Speaking of which, move a little closer.”

Sylvia shuffled up, and instantly felt a tingle ripple through her battered body. She tilted her head, sure she had heard trumpets playing some sort of triumphant fanfare in the distance.

“I knew it!” squealed the second mouse, jumping up and down with excitement. “You cleared the Ancient Dungeon, so that was almost enough to choose. And now, you’ve made it to the Escape Route.”

“One could say you’ve levelled up in life,” continued the first mouse, a smile playing about his whiskers.

Sylvia ran a hand through her greasy hair. She was getting a headache, and she was eyeing up the ladders with growing relief. Her wounds were hardly bothering her now. She looked down in disbelief. No, her wounds were hardly there.

“Ahh, escape, you say? But which one?”

“Why, all of them!” chorused her teeny friends. “Or one, should we say. But which, is up to you. There are always three paths in life.”

Sylvia laughed. “Love, wealth, and spiritual fulfilment.”

The mice blinked in confusion. “Errr, warrior, mage or rogue. Go on, go on. Choose your destiny.”

“Only one? Well, I want to do what’s right, so rogue sounds a bit dodgy...”

“That’s not what it means!” squeaked the mice, but Sylvia wasn’t listening. “And I’ve been scared of magicians since that horrible birthday. But hitting things turned out alright just now. Warrior can’t be too bad, if I have to choose. But I just want to get out of here. I want a nice sit down, if I’m honest.”

The left-hand mouse frowned. “That’s not going to happen. You’re the One. But you know that already. So, the sword it is. And if you take anything from this, please!” The mouse threw up his paws in despair. “Never ever try to punch a Legendary Blackroach again!”

Sylvia shook her head and pointed back over her shoulder. “What do you mean, legendary? That thing out there? But it looked exactly the same as the rest!”

The mice snorted their derision. “Look, let’s keep it simple, Sylvia. If there’s lots of baddies and then there’s one baddy, that baddy is probably badder than the other baddies. Got it? Now, be on your way!” And with that, the rodents scampered off to a wide crack in the stones off by the smoky chamber. “Oh, and good luck.” Then, they were gone.

Sylvia stood up and stared off at the opposite wall in shock. Prison, blackroaches, talking mice. How could this day end? There was only one way to find out. She sauntered into the first chamber, grabbed the weapons, and started clumsily up the ladder. She gasped as a squeak rang out by her ear.

"Sorry, its me again,” called a furry head from a pocket in the cement. “Just checking, you are definitely a girl, right?”

Sylvia covered her ample bosom with her shield and locked eyes with the rude creature. “Now wait a minute-!”

The mouse held a paw up and cut in. “Okay, okay, just checking. It’s just when we asked you for the first time you seemed a little... unsure.”

Sylvia paused. “First time? What are you talking about? Has the world gone mad? Why was I even in prison anyway? I can’t even remember that!”

The mouse looked concerned. “Hmmm, that’s odd. But no matter. A bit of concussion never hurt anyone. Get your five a day and I’m sure you’ll turn out alright. But again, I must ask, you are a Sylvia, right?”

Sylvia raised her sword to take a swing at the cheeky chap, and then she lowered it again. Something had her thinking. “You know, I’ve never been totally comfortable in my own skin. I’ve always been a bit of a tomboy, I think.”

The mouse nodded, satisfied. “I knew it.” He squeezed a paw out and pressed at the wall. For the second time that day, the stones clicked back and Sylvia looked on as a second ladder clattered into place by her escape path. She could hardly muster surprise any more.

“Onto the new route, please. You’ll feel a bit better soon... Silven.”