[25:18:02]

  Wave after wave of the slippery rodents surged through the mucus-lined tunnels, their gnashing teeth creating a cacophony that vibrated in Buck’s molars. Beady eyes glowed with a mindless hunger in the dark, fixed on Buck’s mist-shrouded form.

  Perfect.

  Each frenzied attack passed through him, bloodlust clouding their simple minds as he siphoned their vitality like a vampire’s kiss. With each pass, every point of Endurance drained out of them, their bodies softening to pre-Integration standards. The rats weakened and slowed, their movements sluggish as Flint’s tomahawk carved through them with mechanical precision.

  The barbarian had a stoic look plastered across his face, focussed solely on the absolute destruction of their foes. Even in the cramped corridors of the [Rats Nest], every swing found purchase. Not one of the goo-ridden, bug-covered, slimy [Rodents of Totally Normal Size] landed a blow, and even if they did, Flint’s increasing Endurance made his skin the density of tempered leather. The rodent’s teeth could never pierce his hide.

  Level by level, Flint’s [One-Handed Weapons] skill ticked up toward its zenith. If Buck wasn’t drowning in nausea from the stench and viscera, he might’ve marveled at Flint’s brutal efficiency. The jackalope moved through the cramped tunnels like death incarnate, his Skill progression visible in every severed spine.

  The thinning horde brought unexpected benefits; their [Spelunking] Skill ticked upward with each slime-slicked turn, the map in Buck’s interface expanding like a malignant fungus. Yet the labyrinth refused to yield its secrets, its intestinal passages twisting in impossible geometries.

  Then, the ambush came from behind.

  The [Rodents of Totally Normal Size] had adapted, finding new routes through the mucus membranes of their warren. Thank the gods they had access to their [Inventory], or they would have quickly been overrun. Flint worked with chilling efficiency, weaving nets from severed tails and sinew, creating macabre tripwires that snapped shut with wet, meaty thunks.

  Buck’s hands shook as he helped. His Source—that bottomless well of power—now guttered like a dying candle. The ever-present maelstrom was now more of a sprinkling of rain on a spring day. The realization struck him. Flint couldn’t protect them all for much longer. He was already struggling to keep the [Zombie Rodents] and the [Corpse Seeker] alive.

  Buck would have to kill soon. The thought turned his stomach more than the omnipresent stench.

  “Master,” Flint wiped gore-stained paws on his already filth-caked kilt, the motion disturbingly casual. “The trap is set. We may continue.”

  “Good,” Buck said with a resigned sigh. “So, left or right?”

  Before them, the path split like a diseased artery. Left: silent and glistening. Right: Well… here’s the thing, it was silent and glistening.

  Flint paused, looking thoughtfully at the two paths that lay before them. “Master, shall we head towards the rats or away from them?”

  “What?” Buck blinked; how had he missed that?

  “Master,” Flint said simply. “The rodents are favoring the right passage. By a factor of three-to-one.”

  Buck paused. Had he been so distracted by his own problems that he’d missed something? Looking down the tunnel, he could see it. The rats had bounded across the goo like some sort of nightmarish trampoline, leaving microscopic claw marks scoring the walls. Hidden in the wet folds were slick paths worn by countless tiny feet, a rhythm of disturbances, like workers following shift patterns.

  It was like a blind man had suddenly been rewarded with the gift of sight. His [Tracking] skill kicked into overdrive.

  Buck clearly saw the paths that the rats followed. While tunnels spread out in every direction like some intestinal spiderweb, the rats only traveled them in specific ways. Was this a clue? Did they need to follow the rats? Or try to stay away from them?

  [Strive for Greatness, and Greatness will Find You]

  “Of course,” Buck muttered, smiling to himself. “Subtle as always, Bev.” He turned to Flint. “Good eye. Ready to kill more rats?”

  Flint hefting his tomahawk, gore dripping from its edge. “The prey becomes the hunter.”

  As Buck reactivated [Gray Mist], Bev chimed in again:

  [Good. I was getting bored]

  —-

  They weren’t prepared for what they found. The cavern exploded upward around them, its walls pulsating with thick strands of luminous slime. The smell hit like a physical blow, multiplying tenfold, carrying notes of fermentation, spoiled milk, and something sweetly rotten.

  Then Buck saw the floor.

  Eggs.

  Not your normal-looking chicken eggs either. No, these were anything but natural. These were more the, something is gonna burst out of them and latch onto your face kind of eggs.

  Fleshy, translucent sacs covered the floor, each one quivering with the movements of the half-formed horrors inside. Rats skittered between them, anointing each egg with fresh goo from their fur. They were like bees, spreading their honey in an ever-growing hive. Was it to keep them warm? Were they pulling nutrients from the green substance?

  [R.O.T.N.S Egg] (Common)

  Increase [Zoology] Level to learn more.

  Buck’s stomach lurched. A [Zoology] Skill?

  He’d been writing down everything he could about the beasts they encountered, but this was the first time he’d heard of this skill. How could he unlock something like that? Was it hidden down some skill tree he hadn’t unlocked yet? But the eggs weren’t even the strangest part.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  His thoughts shattered at the sight of the door.

  A suburban front door.

  Like a door, door. Oak paneling. Brass knob. A cheerful holly wreath declaring seasonal goodwill. Pristine amidst the biological nightmare.

  Crawling back around the bend of the tunnel, Buck turned to Flint. “I’m not sure; it’s a door. Just sat there in some sort of twisted birthing camber for these rodents.”

  “The Eidolon’s Gateway.” Flint intoned as if announcing a bus stop.

  Buck’s laugh came out as a half-hysterical bark. “So we just…walk through? Like trick-or-treaters hoping for full-sized candy bars? Just step through, and Bam, we relive whatever memory the Root planted here?”

  “I know as much as you, Master.”

  “Right,” Buck turned, facing the entrance to the cavern. “You’ve got this amazing talent for stating insane shit like it’s a weather forecast.”

  All that had happened. After everything—the zombie rats, the slime baths, the hamster overlord—why wouldn’t there be a magic door that opened to the Realm of Memory? Shrugging, he turned back toward Flint.

  “Alright, Mr. Practical. How do we do this? Suicide sprint?”

  Flint pointed with his tomahawk at their [Zombie Rodent] Minions. “The rats are quick; send them.”

  “Huh, that’s a good idea,” Buck replied, looking down at his gooey compatriots. His little expendable army. Expendable. Those beady little eyes stared up at him. Silently waiting for their Master to give them a command.

  His throat tightened.

  Buck sighed, his heart betraying him in this final moment. “I…I don’t want to put them in harm’s way.”

  “Why?” Flint said, his head tilting like a confused puppy. “It is our purpose. We live to serve.”

  “But you can fight, you can level up, these guys…” Buck waved at the squirming egg chamber. “These guys have only known death. They struggle to survive in a world they didn’t choose to live in. I mean, look around us; look at what the Root has turned them into.”

  Flint paused, looking deep into Buck’s eyes. He could see the flicker of emerald light, a constant reminder of his undead nature. “Your compassion honors you. But denial of our nature breeds only pain. What are we without the Root?” His hand touched softly against his chest. “I would not even be here without your strength. It is my honor to serve you, my creator, my Master.”

  [Embryotic Goo] chose that moment to plop onto Flint’s snout with a wet splat.

  Buck shook his head. Only in this hellscape would he be having an existential debate while his undead bodyguard wore rat womb juice as a facial mask.

  “You’re right, Flint,” Buck sighed, wiping the gunk off Flint’s face. “But I’m not going to use you as bait.”

  “Master has avoided combat this entire Dungeon.” Flint deadpanned. “I have been ‘bait’ since breakfast.”

  “Okay, new plan!” Buck clapped his hands, desperately changing subjects. “So I think we send the rodents to one side of this egg-birthing chamber thingy. Rodents cause a distraction—” he pointed left “---we book it to the door—” pointed right “---try not to die. Thoughts?”

  “Flawless,” Flint said, pulling his tomahawk from its sheath. “Release the horde.”

  Using Mr. Seeker to get a birds-eye view of the cavern, Buck sent his little spies forth. The rodents skittered across the top of the goo, moving like furry ninjas, leaving no trail in the slime. Weaving back and forth between the eggs, Buck watched as they worked their way to the far end of the cavern. Each rodent placing itself at the entrance to other tunnels.

  With a resolute sigh, Buck activated [Push], commanding his furry friends to attack. “Thank you,” Buck whispered.

  In a splash of blood and goo, the [Zombie Rodents] sunk their overgrown orange incisors into the closest egg, bursting them like water balloons. Again and again, they attacked, leaving a carpet of gore behind them. It had worked. Buck heard the [Rodents of Totally Normal Size] release a primal roar, well, it was more of a high-pitched squeak, but the meaning behind that squeak was mighty.

  Buck’s Minions ran, charging down their respective tunnel, leading the remaining rodents on a deranged Easter egg hunt. Stepping into the cavern proper, Buck strained his ears for any sign of stragglers. Any squeak, any slimy squelch that would signify a remaining rat. With each tentative step, the pair approached the oaken door.

  Every squish underfoot made his shoulders tense.

  They moved like shadows, stalking forward with the utmost precision. Weaving between pulsating eggs, Buck allowed himself a grin. They’d actually pulled it off. After the debacle, which was their previous plan, they needed a win. The small victory tasted sweeter than Flint’s questionable cooking. With his [Sneak] at Level 24, patiently walking through this cavern felt like second nature.

  [Congratulations! Your Sneak has increased to level 25! You may now Select a Specialization!]

  The system fanfaire nearly liquefied his brain. Trumpets, trombones, tubas, hells, an entire horn section blasted directly into his cerebellum. It bounced through his skull like some overzealous prick had loosed a pinball into his frontal lobe. Buck staggered—

  —right foot plunging through an egg.

  The sensation was horribly familiar, like a soft-boiled egg, hard on the outside, soft and runny on the inside. Except whatever was on the inside took a little nibble of his exposed calf.

  “Oh gods no—”

  The smell hit him—rotten custard and biological warfare. His gag reflex threatened to turn him inside out, the smell of the amniotic fluid wafting up towards his nose as it covered his leg.

  The sounds of the incoming rodents pulled him from his disgust. “Run!” Buck shouted at Flint, who was already moving.

  What followed was the world’s worst obstacle course. Each step bursting another sac, each burst releasing screeching, underbaked horrors. The remaining rats gave chase, pouring out of the tunnels around them, their collective squeaks forming what sounded like a very, very angry choir.

  Buck reached for his dwindling Source. Not enough for [Step Forward]. He glanced at Flint—his stupid, loyal, already-sprinting jackalope—and knew he couldn’t leave him. So they ran. Ran up the mountain of stinking flesh. Ran up the waterslide of wet flesh, each step causing them to slip and stumble.

  Buck took a chance and glanced back; seeing the brown horde of rats filling the cavern gave him the strength to push on. Gods, it was like a tsunami of chittering teeth charging forward in a mindless fury.

  “Master!” Flint shouted. He’d reached the door, and with a pull, it swung open. If this was a portal to the Realm of Memories, it sure didn’t look like it. All that was revealed was, well, it revealed the other side of the cavern. Where Buck saw an equally distressing horde of teeth and tail surging toward them.

  Well. There’s no turning back now. “Go!”

  Flint stepped through—and winked out of existence.

  “Well, I hope that’s a good sign. Mr. Seeker!”

  Buck turned, looking for his Corpse Seeker companion—just in time to see death descending.

  A rat launched through the air, jaws wide enough to swallow the Corpse Seeker whole, rancid saliva stretching between needle teeth.

  No time to think.

  Buck’s body moved before his mind could protest. Every last drop of Source surged down his arm as he unleashed a desperate [Punch]. The act drained him empty.

  But, It was enough.

  Mr. Seeker danced through the bloody rain, scampering up Buck’s arm with the grace of a falling feather.

  No power left. No options remaining.

  With his last loyal Minion clinging like a squishy lifeline, Buck threw himself backward—

  —into the waiting darkness beyond the door.

  —-

  The trickle of power thickened just a fractal more, like the first crack in a dam.

  “So… close…”

  The Gray extended its consciousness, fingers of mist probing the weakening walls of Buck’s mind. Where once stood impenetrable fortifications, now only rotted battlements remained. The barrier quivered like a dying thing beneath its attention.

  It had never tasted such potential.

  It had never been this close. The Gray savored the moment, the way Buck’s exhaustion made his mental defenses shimmer and thin like ice under spring sunlight.

  “So… close…”

  One more push. One more desperate expenditure of power. That was all it would take to flood the gaps and claim what had been promised.

  After centuries of waiting…

  After lifetimes of failed hosts…

  This stumbling mortal had invited it in. Had chosen the bond. The irony coated The Gray’s thoughts like honey as it prepared for the final descent.