“How the hell do I do that if you don’t open the door!” I yelled as I kicked the downed goblin in the ribs. I felt a satisfying crunch. “Can’t you just let me have access now?”
“It doesn’t work that way, kid,” Mordecai said. “We can’t just have untrained crawlers wandering around the dungeon, you know. Besides, you can’t open boxes unless you’re in a safe zone. And unless you’re a complete idiot, you can probably guess you’re not in a safe zone right now.”
The goblin’s health bar had moved deeper into the red, but he wasn’t dead yet. A distant part of me seemed horrified that I was planning on killing this thing. Despite his weapon, he was incredibly easy to hurt. But one glance up at the bulldozer, which had stopped to pick up the second goblin, relieved me of any potential regret. I put my hands on either side of the unconscious goblin’s head and I smashed down on the stones. I smashed down again and again until the health bar completely drained away.
“Hey, hey!” Mordecai yelled. “Hey, stop!”
“Whose side are you on anyway?” I asked, whirling on the creature.
But then I realized the rat wasn’t talking to me. “You can’t come in here!” he was saying, his back now turned.
Donut. He was talking to the goddamned cat. She had decided she’d had enough of this hallway and wandered into the guild through the cracked door.
A whole wall of New Achievement notifications appeared along with a couple other, new notifications, but instead of auto-playing like they did before, they appeared as little messages in the upper left of my screen. I sensed I could mentally click on them, but not now. The AI or whatever the hell was running this circus seemed to know that right now was not an opportune time to cover up half my line of sight with game bullshit. Not with the real danger barreling down on me.
“Open the fucking door!” I cried.
“Kid, get your creature!” Mordecai said, turning toward me, a strange hint of panic in the rat’s voice. “I’ll get in trouble if they find out I let a crawler sneak in against the rules.”
“Open the door,” I repeated. “Look. It’s clear, but it won’t be will be in about five seconds. Let me in!”
The door slammed, the last chain rustled, and then it opened all the way. I rushed inside just as the murder dozer barreled by, rolling directly over the bloody corpse of their friend. The brakes screamed, but the dozer continued its forward momentum, sliding on the body as it smeared down the hallway. The two goblins turned and met my eyes as I flipped them both off. They squealed in rage as I slammed the door.
3
The moment the door closed, a notification appeared.
Tutorial Guild Hall
This is a Safe Zone.
Warning: level timers are still active.
“I shouldn’t have let you in,” Mordecai said, wringing his furry hands. I examined the rat creature. He wore a black vest and blue pants. He had a pair of well-worn sandals on his feet. An infobox popped up.
Mordecai – Rat Hooligan. Level 50.
Guildmaster of this guildhall.
This is a Non-Combatant NPC.
Hooligans are the smartest, fastest, and ugliest of the Rat-Kin race. While not as roided-out as a Rat Brute, or as Imma fireball yo ass as a Rat Shaman, Rat Hooligans offer the best of both worlds. They are physically strong, and they have a decent grasp of magic.
I closed out the box. Through the door, I could still hear the screech of goblin machinery just outside.
I mentally clicked on the first of several information boxes cluttering my vision.
Error. You may not access this until you have completed the tutorial.
All the boxes disappeared, swooping away into a single folder item that started to blink.
I stood in a wide room about the size of a classroom. A fireplace and bed dominated one side of the room. Several shelves dotted the walls on the left half of the room, filled with random objects and a few framed photographs of bird-like creatures. The other half of the room was nothing but a well-worn and oval-shaped gray carpet and an empty desk. A half-dozen classroom-style chairs lay scattered about. I turned back to the door.
“Is this the only way out of here?” I asked.
“What?” Mordecai asked. The rat wasn’t paying attention to me. He was focused on the cat.
“Yo,” I said. “Morty. Is this the only exit?”
“It’s Mordecai, kid. And yes, yes. Of course.”
“Are those green assholes going to still be waiting for me when I get out of here?”
Donut jumped up on a high shelf and knocked a vase over. Ash spilled out.
“Mom!” Mordecai cried, running to the shelf, shooing the cat away. He reached up for the shelf, but he couldn’t reach. “Damn this body.” He turned back to me. “Can you just grab that thing for me? Get him out of here?” Mordecai sneezed. “I think I might be allergic.”
I didn’t think he was sneezing because of the cat but because of the gray cloud of dust that had formed around the spilled ash.
“Holy shit, man,” I said. Be careful, I warned myself. He doesn’t seem too tough, but he’s level 50. That’s gotta mean he’s a powerful bastard. “Can you help me? Are they going to wait for me or not?”
“Yes. No. Probably. Well, it’s complicated. One might wait. But one will definitely go back to their clan and call the others. You smashed that poor goblin’s head right in. Give them an hour and the whole family will be out there.”
Across the room, Donut discovered the fireplace, which crackled merrily. The cat sat in front of it, lifted her leg, and started licking herself.
Shit. “Okay,” I said. “Don’t you dare lock this door.”
I grasped the handle and went back outside.
I barely had time to hear the rat say, “You’re tracking my mother’s ashes all over…” before I slammed the door.
The goblin tractor had overshot the doorway by about ten meters and was in the middle of a wide turn, trying to come back the way it had come. The engineer had driven the tractor right into the wall. The spinning wheel sparked as the spikes shredded against the stone. The dead goblin remained smeared over the tiles. The corpse looked more like a party-sized sausage and green pepper pizza that had been run over a few times.
Both of the remaining goblins had their backs turned to me. I sprinted toward the vehicle.
The murder dozer had a small ladder near the back. It looked as if it was made of bones tied with rope. One of the goblins would turn at any moment. I had to get them now. If one of them got away and warned the other members of its “clan” or whatever, I’d be screwed. I needed this tutorial guild, so I only had one choice.
The jagged bones of the ladder ripped into my bare feet as I pulled myself up. I stifled a cry. I jumped onto the top of the metallic, whirring contraption.
The murder dozer screamed so loudly that neither had noticed me. The whole top of the machine was nothing but a fur-lined, recessed hole with benches running the length. Despite the fur, the ground was hot on my feet, almost burning. It smelled of scorched tar and animal musk. The machine could probably carry about fifteen or so goblins, not including the driver, who had a seat up front. A dozen levers and spigots and vibrating handles extended from the floor in the cockpit area. The controls all vibrated and bounced up and down. The pan-wearing goblin sat in the seat, screaming and grunting something as he twisted and turned and pulled on levers. Smoke billowed and steam hissed from multiple pipes. The whole machine vibrated like a boiler about to blow.
The smooth, rocky ceiling of this tunnel was much lower than the long, main hallway leading off the stairs. When I stood to my full height, I could reach up and touch it. Barely. It still amazed me, the idea of an entire world made up of these hallways and paths.
I rushed forward and grasped onto the regular goblin, who still clutched his pineapple-less stick in his hand. The creature barely weighed anything, surprising me. I picked him up as he grunted in surprise. He unsuccessfully attempted to hit me w
ith his stick. With all of my strength, I threw the goblin forward. He rocketed out of the passenger area of the dozer.
The screaming monster sailed directly over the head of the engineer, who was only now starting to react. The flying goblin crashed onto the tunnel wall then bounced back, landing directly onto the spinning front blades. A spray of red showered over the both of us.
The final goblin snarled, and quick as a whip pulled a small, curved blade from a sheath on his side. He jumped from his chair and rushed at me.
Oh fuck.
The monster moved much more quickly than I anticipated, surprising me. I had to remember this was a different class than the last two, and he was a level higher. Two levels higher than myself.
This was a dumb idea. What was it that Bea always said? “You just jump headlong into things without thinking it through?”
I kicked at the goblin with my bare foot. With nobody at the controls, the tractor continued to whine and shred at the dungeon wall. The vibrations got worse by the moment. Soon the whole thing was bucking like a washing machine with a rock inside it.
The goblin was yelling something at me in its guttural language.
“You’re in my world now!” I yelled back at him. “You need to speak my language you weird, green piece of shit.”
To my surprise, the goblin grinned. I could tell he understood me. The little monster switched the knife back and forth between hands. “You’re not speaking your language,” he said. “You’re speaking Syndicate Standard, you idiot slave. They programmed it into your brain. Do you really think you’ll survive past…”
The goblin never finished the sentence. As he was distracted with his own soliloquy, I leaped forward, snatched the pot off his head, and clobbered him with it. Sharp little teeth went flying. The goblin stumbled. I smacked him again. He careened off the side of the tractor. His health bar appeared after I’d smacked him the first time, but it was still well in the green. He splatted to the ground, groaning. His knife went flying.
I peered over the edge. The goblin lay on his back. The tractor continued to spin and buck, but it was edging in the opposite direction. The goblin’s health was still 3/4's full, but he’d had the wind knocked out of him.
The goblin started to sit up and I threw the pot at him. To my utter astonishment, I clobbered him right in the forehead. He cried out, his hands reaching to grasp the new wound.
I gauged the distance. It wasn’t very far. Like maybe seven, eight feet. I’d done that plenty of times as a kid.
What the hell. I jumped off the murder dozer, aiming both feet toward the chest and stomach of the still-recovering goblin.
I’m not sure if I mentioned this earlier, but this is important information right here. I stand six-foot, three inches tall. I weigh about 230 pounds, and while I wasn’t in nearly as good shape as I was while I was on active duty, I’d been hitting the gym three times a week for years, building my muscle mass. I’d always been blessed with one of those bodies that naturally held muscle well. My dad was a linebacker. Hell, even my mom was five foot ten. And her dad had played center for Oregon State before becoming a prison guard.
So, what I’m getting at is that I’m a large dude. I have a lot of bulk. The goblin was small, and he did not have hardly any mass at all. The effect of me jumping onto him from high above was like someone smashing a fat jelly donut with a sledgehammer. The little dude didn’t have a chance. Goo spurted out of the goblin from every orifice.
The murder dozer started to whine even louder. I looked down at what I’d done, and I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. More notifications appeared on my screen. A tooltip popped up, appearing in my peripheral vision. I turned to look.
Goblin Murder Dozer – Boiler Breach Imminent.
A countdown timer appeared below the text. It was at 12 seconds and counting down.
Son of a bitch. It’s gonna blow.
I turned back toward the room, a mere thirty meters down the hall. Was that too close? I didn’t have time to think about it. I ran, slipping and sliding on the tiles as I booked it back to the room. I ripped open the door and jumped inside. I slammed the door and braced for impact.
Bam! The world shook. The door bucked, throwing me forward onto the floor of the guildhall. My ears rang. But the door held, and I didn’t seem to be otherwise injured. Donut was in the corner of the room, poofed out and hissing.
“What the bloody hell did you do, kid?” Mordecai asked, looking over me at the door. “That gate is capable of holding back a kinetic strike from a star destroyer. I’d never seen anything shake it that much.”
“Huh,” I said, sitting up. My ears continued to ring. “That goblin bulldozer thing got stuck against the wall, and then it blew up.”
Mordecai nodded slowly. “A boiler breach then. The local shaman probably enchanted it in case it ever exploded. It would have focused the energy from the blast at the closest non-goblin. You’re lucky you were behind that door. A focused explosion, even a small one, has a lot more energy than you might think.”
Having decided the commotion was over, Donut left the corner and returned to her spot in front of the fire. Her normally-poofy exterior remained extra puffed out, and her tail swished up and down. I could tell the cat was pissed off.
“Your creature crapped in my mother’s ashes,” Mordecai said, shaking his head. “This is so not worth it. Not worth it at all.”
“So, Mr. Training Guild,” I said, leaning against the wall. My feet ached. My heart continued to thrash in my chest. I was covered in goblin blood. It felt as if I had raw hamburger meat stuck between my toes. I shuddered. I need to get shoes. Shoes and pants. “What the hell is going on? What’s with the dungeon? Is everyone really dead? How do I work this shit?”
A million other questions popped into my head. I knew he could probably snap and break me in half, but I had an overwhelming urge to grab the rat man by his stupid vest and shake him until all the answers tumbled out of him. “Also, who the hell are you? Why are you here? What’s really…”
Mordecai held up his hands. “Okay, okay, slow down, kid. I know you’re confused. I’ve been in your position. All will be explained. That’s why I’m here. But before I start, I need to explain something to you two.” The rat looked over at the cat, who glared back at him. “My name is Mordecai, and I am what’s called a Non-combatant NPC. I am like you. I’m a person whose world was displaced. This was many, many solars ago. I was a dungeon crawler just like you. I made it all the way down to floor 11, and I knew I would never make it any further than that. Once you descend to floor 10, you’re given several options to exit the dungeon. The deeper you go, the better those options are.” He walked over to the shelf with the upset vase, and he picked up a framed photo of one of the bird creatures. He handed it to me. It looked remarkably like a normal, framed photo. But the material was peculiar, and the photo was cut oddly, oval-shaped with the corners lopped off.
“That’s what I really look like. This is a photo of my brother. I was born a skyfowl, but I became a Changeling when I reached floor three of the dungeon. I switch form every time my guildhall is moved.”
Mordecai continued. “When a dungeon first opens, I work in a guild such as this. Later on, after the third floor collapses, my room here is transported to a much-deeper level, and my form is changed again. I spend most of my time working a magic guild, which is a place one can go to pick spells and train if they’ve chosen a magic-based path. Though over the years I’ve only had a handful of people actually make it that far. Most crawlers don’t make it past the tenth floor.”
“So, a Changeling is a shapeshifter?” I examined the picture. I couldn’t tell if it was a photograph or a painting or something else. The eyes of the image seemed to bore into me. It was a golden eagle-like creature. Wings, angel-like, were folded on its back.
“Yes,” Mordecai said. He sighed. “They recreated my home for me, including all my possessions when I decided to become a guildmaster. I had but a few moments
to grab anything I wanted before they evaporated it all. Now, every time I move to a new world, they change my shape. It’s something different every time, but it’s always a type of mob from the current floor of the dungeon. I don’t know why.”
“I don’t believe any of this,” I said. “So you’re aliens? You’re all from a different world? Then how does the game or whatever know how we talk? Some of those last notifications mentioned Jean Claude Van Damme and incels and steroids!”
Mordecai nodded. “You’re getting ahead of yourself. Each dungeon is specially built for the world it inhabits. And they spend a lot of time... a lot… of time making sure the locals understand the game and the notifications. They go for authenticity. I’m not really supposed to tell you any of this stuff, but I figure if you’re going to be stumbling around out there, you need to know what’s happening.”
“I still don’t know what’s happening,” I said, frustration rising further.
Mordecai shook his head. “You humans are all the same. This is the seventh or eighth human-seeded world, and it’s always the same. You always want to know why. Why can’t you just accept your circumstances and move on? My people, the skyfowls, we generally last much longer than you humans. You know why? Because we roll with it.”
I didn’t say anything for several moments. There was a lot to parse there. “Human-seeded world?” Did that mean that conspiracy-spouting asshole on TV with the crazy hair was correct? That humans weren’t unique, but a crop, left to grow unattended until, until… this?
Mordecai saw my look of bewilderment and sighed. “Okay, okay. I’ll give you the quick version,” he said. He pulled a seat and sat down. He gestured to another chair situated in the center of the round carpet. “You might as well get comfortable.”
Dungeon Crawler Carl Page 3