Chapter Fourteen

She opened her eyes, her head throbbed, and everything felt cloudy and disjointed. The desert was gone, and in its place was an empty room made of stone. Sitting in the center of the room was a golden chest embedded with rubies the size of marbles.

Moira sat, rubbing her head. There didn’t appear to be a door or any sort of exit out of the room. She looked up; red sand wavered across the ceiling, moving in soft waves.

She swallowed. Here she was, stuck in another room with no way out. Fuck the Dungeon and its stupid puzzles.

Anxiety tickled her chest as the fear of being buried underground bubbled to the surface. Air. Could air get in? She’d fallen through hundreds of feet of dense sand, so likely little to no air could get through to the room from above. She looked at the stone room and gulped.

Moira squeezed her eyes shut and let out a shaky breath. She could do this. She could figure it out. She just couldn’t panic. If she panicked, she’d use up too much air. That’d be it.

Okay, what were her options? Maybe she could blow her way out with Mana Blast? If that didn’t work, she could try to crawl back up through the sand using Creeping Vines. Or there was always the suspicious chest in the middle of the room. She wouldn’t dare touch that until she’d tried everything else.

Nothing good could come from a chest sitting in an empty room. She’d learned that, at least from playing Realm of Legends. Never trust a golden chest.

Moira focused on the skill Mana Blast and stuck out her hand, aiming for the far wall. Mana exploded out of her hand, blowing her back against the wall. The blast slammed into the wall and—bounced off it?

Bang!

She ducked as the blast hit the wall above her head, narrowly missing her.

Bang!

The blast hit the left wall before finally petering out.

“Note to self, don’t ever do that again.” She slumped down against the wall.

She eyed the chest again. It sat motionless against the floor. The gold gleaming in the lantern light.

There was one more thing she could try. She focused on Creeping Vines, letting her mana flow through her, guided by the skill.

ERROR! Creeping Vines cannot grow through stone. Skill Fails.

“Shit.”

Moira turned back toward the chest. “Here goes nothing.”

She reached over and carefully flipped open the lid.

A purple tongue lurched out, grabbing onto her waist and pulling her into the chest. Slamming closed behind her.

#

Moira landed on her feet.

“I knew it was a fucking mimic.”

Mimics were a classic in Realm of Legends. The game loved to fool unsuspecting players into cornering themselves with a mimic. Mimics were creatures that could shapeshift into objects and maintain their form as long as they stayed motionless. The fact that they existed here was concerning. However, what was more interesting was that she wasn’t dead.

Instead, she was in a tunnel made of pink mucus-like material.

She was inside the mimic.

Moira did the only thing she could do in the situation. She followed the tunnel. The mucus tunnel was soft and sticky against her feet. Every step was an effort to pry up her foot.

“Blah. This is just unnecessary,” she muttered to herself after having to physically yank her foot up with her hands.

Thankfully, the tunnel didn’t smell like the inside of a monster. Otherwise, she’d be doing more gagging than walking.

The tunnel split in two. One turned left, the other to the right. Moira looked at both pathways.

The mimic and the tunnels had to be one of the Dungeon’s puzzles. If not, she would be dead already. Dissolving in the stomach of the mimic. So, which path to take?

She wiped the sweat from her brow and placed her hands on her hips. Neither path had any markings or differences beyond direction.

“Duke, which—oh.” Her heart panged. She’d forgotten for a moment. Moira was so used to bouncing things off him and watching for his head tilts.

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She pushed down those feelings, wrapping them tightly in a box and hiding them behind the wall in her mind.

She swallowed and went down the right tunnel.

She followed the tunnel for ten minutes as it twisted and turned. Moira turned another corner and stumbled to a halt. A dead end. A wall of solid pink mucus stood in her way.

She’d chosen wrong.

She retraced her steps back to the intersection. This time, choosing the left tunnel. Within minutes, it split into three paths.

Moira pressed her hands against the soft pink walls, feeling for any type of symbol or indicator of which path was the correct one. There was nothing. Each tunnel looked identical.

She smacked her hand against the wall in frustration. There was nothing to solve. Did the Dungeon just expect her to blindly find her way? Who knew how many tunnels there were? She could wander this place for days or weeks. There had to be some kind of clue she wasn’t seeing.

Nothing changed. So, she followed the path to the left.

It led to another dead end.

“If I can’t find a way through. Maybe I can make my own way through.” She lifted her sword and charged at the wall, slashing against the thick layer of mucus. Each slice tore a deep wound into the wall.

She stepped back panting, admiring her handiwork—and watched as the gashes sealed up, leaving no trace.

“Are you kidding me?”

She focused on Mana Blast and sent it flying into the wall. It tore straight through, creating a narrow gap.

Moira ran, jumping toward the gap.

Thunk!

She slammed into the solid wall and fell to the ground; the wind knocked out of her.

She pounded against the wall. Her hands sticking to the thick layer of mucus. “Let me out.”

It was pointless. No one heard her.

She slowly rose to her feet, her head tilted down, and walked back the way she came.

Back at the crossroads, she made a split-second decision and started down the tunnel on the right.

The ground shook beneath her feet, and the tunnel going straight started convulsing. No, contracting. The tissue narrowed and expanded like intestines moving food through the body.

Moira’s eyes widened. “I’m IN the mimic.”

She’d been looking at it in the metaphysical sense, but she was actually within its digestive tract. That was something she could work with.

She turned and went down the middle tunnel.

If this was a digestive tract, then the way out was by following the contractions. It all led one way—out.

#

Another split in the tunnel stopped her; she wiped the sweat off her face and waited. Another muscle contraction rumbled through the tunnel, veering to the right. She followed it, just like she had the last thirty.

Her legs ached from the strain of lifting them off the sticky ground of the mimic’s intestinal tract. The maze had to end at some point. It couldn’t keep going forever. Maybe she’d gotten it wrong and followed the wrong path.

She turned the corner and stopped. A circular door. It glowed with a golden light. It mimicked the chest, with gold engravings and embedded rubies.

Moira turned the doorknob; and a flash of white light blinded her.

A familiar stone room greeted her. She was back in that cursed room; all of that had been for nothing, just a waste of time.

Rage bubbled to the surface. She’d solved the maze. She’d done exactly what this place had wanted. Yet, she was back, right where she’d started.

A storm rumbled inside her; lightning raged and thunder boomed. Her eyes narrowed. Someone would pay for this, for bringing her here, and for Duke’s death. Someone would suffer.

The room looked altered. The chest was gone, but there was something else too. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

There was something different about the far wall. Moira moved toward it, a shuddering cough stopped her cold. It wracked against her lungs and her next breath felt strained, like it was harder to inhale.

The room was running out of air.

She’d taken too long in the maze and she was running out of time.

Moira closed her eyes, refusing to let panic overwhelm her. Letting her rage force her focus. She inhaled slowly, counting to five, then exhaling. A sense of calm dread fell over her.

When death is almost certain, and the moments ahead decide whether survival is possible. The human body goes into hyper-drive. The magic of humanity takes over, along with their complete and utter unwillingness to die.

She placed her hands on the wall.

A flash of white light blinded her, and when her eyes adjusted, she realized she was staring at a door. The door looked like it’d been carved straight into the wall. Intricate symbols blanketed its surface.

The only thing missing was a doorknob.

Moira pressed hard against the door. Willing it to open. It didn’t budge. The panic she’d been forcing back bubbled up. She slammed her body against it, again and again. Nothing.

Her breathing became erratic and dizziness overwhelmed her. She slid to the ground.

Pop!

A rectangular box popped out of a hidden crevice in the door. Almost like a keypad with a three number combination.

Moira pulled herself up, trying to focus on the door. Everything spun, the symbols multiplied in front of her eyes, twisting and turning as she ran out of air. It was another puzzle, one she was almost out of time to solve.

Her eyes fluttered, and darkness reached the edge of her vision. She didn’t have time to solve it. So, she’d do the next best thing.

Guess.

Moira dragged her hand against the keypad and pressed.

One.

Two.

Three.

Her hand fell, and the darkness won.

A loud click echoed through the room, and the door swung open.

 Congratulations! You have passed floor 2 of the Dungeon: Grow or Die.