Rebirth: Crawler

“We could cut through with our blades,” Kayara said. She floated up next to Ayn, opposite of Miit, and to her credit, only glanced his way once.

Ayn couldn’t tell if her restraint was because of her keeping her promise, or simply trying to avoid annoying the familiar further. Miit floated at Ayn’s shoulder, his bubble restored, but still soaked. His ears were flat against his skull, his teeth were bare, and his whole body shook as he shivered. Ayn resisted the urge to cuddle him. He didn’t seem to be in the mood.

“No,” Ayn said. “The kelp seems almost…sentient. It wrapped around my sabers when I tried to pull them free. I’m pretty sure if we try to cut them down, we’ll just end up without our weapons, or stuck.”

Kayara scowled. “Sentient plants. Like getting stalked by everything else isn’t bad enough. I used to enjoy swimming. After this, I’m not sure I still do.”

“Why don’t we ignore it?” Bren asked. “Or do you think there’s something important in there?”

Kayara opened her mouth, but Ayn cut her off before she could speak.

“No. I don’t think it’s important.”

Ayn pitched her voice, making sure it was loud enough to carry. She had an idea.

Kayara cocked an eyebrow.

“Let’s go back,” Ayn said. “We’ll try a different direction.”

She waved Bren and Sheyric away, and they dutifully turned back the way they’d come. Ayn turned her back on the kelp bed, hands dropping to her weapons. Kayara did the same. As Ayn had figured, Kayara’s perception was high enough to feel the eyes watching from the kelp for their chance to strike, and she was more than smart enough to catch on to Ayn’s plan.

With all their backs exposed, it took only a few seconds for the squawking battle-cries of more shrimp-chickens than Ayn cared to count to echo off the walls.

Kayara shot up, somersaulting over the group of mobs, the odd gravity of the pseudo-water allowing her to touch down right in the middle of the charging clump of chickens. Ayn followed far less gracefully. She went straight for the leader of the group. The same little bastard who’d bit up her legs now stood proud even as Kayara divided his group of white-feathered hens in half. With his glossy black wings spread wide, the rooster stretched his neck and crowed, his sea-foam green shrimp-tail beating in time with his call-to-arms.

Five pairs of jiggling eyes locked on to her position. Every pair not dead or dying by Kayara’s blades. Ayn freed her own blades, smiling as they slid free without complaint. It looked like she’d get her revenge on the rooster after all, and his flock for extra benefit.

The rooster and his remaining entourage surged forward, meeting Ayn halfway. The little bastard angled toward her feet again. Her saber caught him on the way down. He jerked back with a squawk, red leeching from his feathers. The hens filled the gaps. They fanned out, surrounding Ayn. Their plan was getting smarter, but Ayn didn’t let them consider their next move.

She spun, pirouetting in a sharp-edged hurricane. She caught a hen broadside, and it puffed away, leaving a drenched white feather in its wake. The other four pulled back, and as Ayn came to a stop, went back on the attack. This time, they seemed to remember they were in water, and came at Ayn from different angles and directions. Ayn picked the largest opening between them, and dodged. The rooster cut her off. Her blade came up on reflex, barely blocking his wickedly curved beak from sinking into her eye. A couple of clucks told her his hens were closing in on her backside. She let them.

Her block had stunned the rooster. His eyes rolled as he went still, and he didn’t move as Ayn’s saber sunk in. A series of sharp stabs erupted across Ayn’s back. The hens found her an easy target, but the sight of the rooster turning into glitter was worth the pain.

HEALTH AT 267

Ayn winced, suddenly feeling a little guilty for making Sheyric heal her so often. So much for an agility tank. But, maybe all the punishment would net her a nice skill.

She wheeled. Her sabers sliced through two more hens, who promptly turned into feathers. The remaining two fled. A fireball arced toward the fleeing mobs, boiling a circle of water and turning them to dust.

“Sorry,” Bren called from a dozen feet away. “I know I’m supposed to be saving mana, but that looked too fun.”

Ayn grinned at him in full agreement. It was a good thing she wasn’t a magic class. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to hold back at all.

SIX SOGGY FEATHERS OBTAINED

It seemed Kayara had finished her lot as well. A quick glance confirmed the ranger was floating back over, all traces of shrimp-chickens gone. After a bit more scrounging, the party’s soggy feather tally was up to nine. Two of the hens had also dropped eggs. The rooster had dropped a raw drumstick which was, in fact, named Shricken Meat.

Kayara voiced her disappointment that it wasn’t the clearly superior chicken-of-the-sea, but accepted it quickly when she realized how much Bren disliked Shricken, or at least the thought of eating it.

“What’s so bad about shrimp and chicken?” Ayn asked as they floated south down another narrowing corridor.

They’d all decided that while the kelp bed probably held treasure, going for it would cost Bren all of his mana, or someone their life. It took more cajoling to make Bren give up the idea of treasure-hunting than Ayn expected, likely leading to Kayara’s harassment.

“Nothing, when they’re apart,” Bren said. “Eating mutant abominations who recently tried to kill you seems in poor taste.”

“Hey, don’t knock it until you try it,” Kayara said. “Besides, Choir Boy, you’re a Crawler now. No more pretty Crafter Guild meals for you for a while.”

Ayn raised an eyebrow when Kayara stopped talking. She’d figured the ranger would stay on the attack, especially since Guild Crafters used Dungeon ingredients of just as bad, if not worse, “abominations”. It seemed no one had bothered telling Bren the ingredients.

Bren’s expression soured, a sharp retort clearly on his tongue.

“Ho there!”

The party turned toward the sound. A farmer’s head, straw hat perched above brown hair and a sun-dried face, poked out from a thin tunnel carved into the right wall.

Ayn’s weapons were free before the man finished his sentence. His eyes bulged, the rest of his body appearing from the side tunnel with his hands in the air and a pitchfork balanced between them.

“Whoa!” the farmer said. “I’m not here to tussle, and that’s the honest truth.”

Kayara put a hand on Ayn’s shoulder. “I think he’s the one from the mural.”

Ayn scowled, then sighed and returned her sabers to their sheathes. She’d already been ambushed by a Wark, Shrickens, kelp. The farmer could be a quest giver or informant, or he could be a boss waiting for them to let their guard down. Either way, she supposed she had to get friendly to find out. Killing an important NRC in the Dungeon wouldn’t botch the entire floor, but from what she’d heard, it would make things a lot harder.

“Fine. What are you here for?” Ayn asked.

The farmer drooped in the water. “I’m just a poor worker of the dirt, with nothing left. I’d given up hope that I’d ever get my calling back, that I’d spend forever all alone in these dark waters.”

He lifted his eyes, brimming with tears, and gave a sad smile. The System was laying it on thick. It didn’t ease Ayn’s suspicions at all.

“But now, I think Lady Luck has smiled on me.”

A howl echoed through the water. The farmer clung to his pitchfork, all sadness discarded for abject terror. “A Wark. Infernal beasts. Run for your lives!” He disappeared back into the crack.

They all stared at the narrow passage for a moment. Miit hissed and vanished, making his opinion on the matter quite clear.

“So,” Bren said. “Are we supposed to follow him?”

Kayara snickered. “What, afraid you’ll get stuck?”

“Apologies for eating more than a berry a day.”

Kayara’s face went red, her mouth clamped into an angry line. Ayn drifted back a pace and waited for the inevitable explosion.

“You really are a rich idiot, Choir Boy.” Kayara hissed the words out through clenched teeth, then swam after the farmer.

Sheyric mumbled something, head shaking in solemn disappointment, as he too went after the farmer. Ayn and Bren stared in confusion.

“For someone who likes to throw the gauntlet, she doesn’t take challenges very well,” Bren said.

“Yeah,” Ayn said.

Kayara usually seemed willing to fight for anything. Where Bren saw defeat, Ayn saw…sadness. She shook her head. They all needed to focus on the task at hand, and right now, two of her party had vanished into a suspicious tunnel with an even more suspicious farmer.

“Keep your head up,” she told Bren.

He looked confused, but she didn’t waste time trying to explain. Ayn slipped into the crack. The rock walls scraped her shoulders, and she’d only gone a few feet before the narrowing tunnel forced her sideways. She looked back at Bren, suddenly worried Kayara’s outburst had been less of a jab, and more of a misguided warning.

Unlike her, Bren couldn’t enter straight. Already, he canted to the side to allow his girth through. Ayn sidled farther into the crack, watching Bren’s face go pale as he approached the spot where it had got tight for her.

“I…” he said. “Do you think…. No. Nevermind. I’m right behind you.”

Ayn knew what was on his mind, and no, she didn’t know if he could get stuck. Either way, it was clear Kayara’s words had hit hard enough that he would try, regardless. A sharp-edged stone cut across Ayn’s hand. She cursed under her breath and turned her attention back to their destination.

From her current vantage point, the tunnel seemed to go on for eternity. She could no longer see the spot they’d entered, and the still-narrowing path in front of them gave no hints to an ending, only stagnant, hazy blue. Even the top and bottom of the crack had closed up on them, crawling closer until Ayn wasn’t sure she or Bren were getting out alive.

Ayn took a deep breath and pushed on, inch by inch, reminding herself that she could take a deep breath, so the walls couldn’t be as close as they felt. Ayn slid farther, hands pushing against the wall at her back. She stretched out her lead hand into the deepening murk and felt…nothing. A jolt of excitement passed through her. With another breath and push, she popped out of the crack into clear waters.

The circular area she found herself in was still small compared to the open expanses of the rest of the floor, yet felt enormous after the tiny tunnel.

Bright green seagrass covered the ground right below Ayn’s feet, brushing against the bottoms of her boots. She floated up a little, just in case. The grass was too short to hide much, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

The roof had opened up again, allowing a halo of light to brighten the little room. It bathed the room in bits of color as it reflected off the coral walls. Kayara floated at the center of the room with Sheyric and the farmer. No one looked bloody, and there were no weapons drawn, so that was a good sign. Kayara, however, looked ready to kill or run. She stood to one side of the farmer, face deathly pale and hands on the hilts of her daggers. Her lips pinched together as she stared at the creature gazing peacefully on the farmer’s opposite side.

As with every creature they’d encountered on the floor, its front half mostly resembled a land animal—a sheep this time—except the whole of it looked as if it had been placed between two boulders and squeezed. Where a sheep should be round and fluffy, this one looked as if it wanted to be two-dimensional, with the sides of its body weirdly flattened out, and the front of its body squished into a thin line. This bizarre proportion continued down its length, into a silver-scaled tail waving lazily in the water.

The sheep creature picked its head up to stare at Ayn with round, flat eyes the size of her palm. It let out a gurgling bleat.

Kayara was behind Ayn in an instant, hands gripping the back of her shirt. Ayn could feel her shake. A strangled call for help cut through Ayn’s attempt at figuring out what to do next.

Bren had wiggled himself all the way to the end of the tunnel and now was stuck with one arm and leg out. He waved them both in emphasis. Kayara took the distraction as both she and Ayn grabbed his arm and pulled. Bren’s face turned purple as they tugged harder, but with a few good tugs and a clattering of loosened rocks, the bulky mage broke free of the strangling tunnel and floated, gasping, at the room’s entrance.

Miit took that instance to pop back to Ayn’s side. Kayara was across the room, plastered against the wall farthest from both animals before Ayn could blink. She sucked in a stabilizing breath and let it out slowly.

“Oh, good. You’re all here now,” the farmer said in what Ayn could only assume was meant to be a backwoods drawl. “Sorry about skedaddling earlier, but this is a far better place to chew the cud, anyway. Those Warks don’t like tight spaces.”

Bren made a noise halfway between a choke and a laugh. “Can’t…imagine…why.”

Sheyric eased a hand up. Bren nodded in thanks as his gasping subsided under the healing spell, then went to take his place in front of the farmer.

Miit mewled in irritation and vanished once more. Ayn was about to call him back, intent on making her new party member deal with her long-time friend, but the instant relief on Kayara’s face killed the thought as it formed.

With no more upsets appearing, they all gathered around the farmer, who stood waiting for them to arrange themselves. Ayn stoically placed herself between the farmer and the sheep, even though it put her far too close to both.

Despite being in water, the farmer and beast smelled like manure, hay, and dirt. The sheep-fish bumped into the back of her legs and bleated. Ayn ignored it and the shiver running up her back. For once, she understood part of Kayara’s fear. The thing was hideous at best, and considering every other animal had tried to kill them already, she was just waiting for the sheep-fish to take a chunk out of her backside. But, she supposed, that’s what tanks were for—shielding their teammates from danger. Kayara, of course, had moved so both Ayn and the farmer blocked her view of the creature.

The farmer gripped his pitchfork, a look of gloom descending over his face. “Well, I suppose ya’ll are wondering how I got down here.”

“No,” Ayn said curtly as the sheep bumped into her again.

“We saw the mural,” Bren said. “Looked like you were tricked by merfolk.”

The farmer shook his head and chuckled. “You’d think I’d have known better, what with all the tales told to scare kiddos. Mers are tricksters at best, evil at worst. But, when your whole village gets eaten by waves and you lay dying, well, you forget some stuff.”

“You were dying? The mural didn’t show that.”

Ayn gritted her teeth and pushed against the obstinate sheep. She didn’t really care about the NRC’s history. She just wanted to finish the damn conversation.

“Well.” The farmer dragged out the word until it nearly lost meaning. “Not dying, dying. But with all my land waterlogged, and the people and animals all washed away, what did I have to live for?”

Ayn kicked a bit as the sheep nibbled at the back of her boot. “Yes, yes. Tragic. What do you need from us?”

Bren looked taken aback. Ayn ignored him. He wasn’t the one getting into a shoving match with a flattened sheep.

The farmer took it in stride, his expression shifting from gloom to pleading. “The mers might have taken my livelihood on land for a bit of sport, but one of their own took pity on me and gave me, and my critters, new life under the sea.”

“And?”

The sheep bleated again, more insistent this time. If the farmer didn’t get to the point, the party was about to add mutton to the menu.

“Well, another mer didn’t like it, no sirree. He couldn’t go against the other’s wishes. It was bad manners or some such. Anyway, so instead he brought down and created his own critters to harass me and mine.”

“Ah. The Wark,” Bren said.

The farmer’s eyes grew wide. “Yeah. Devil-beasts. They took half of my livestock and ran the survivors off to who knows where.”

His eyes filled with tears. The farmer moved past Ayn, who darted out of the way of another body-check from the sheep, and lay his hand on the animal’s narrow back. Now that she could see her assailant, some of Ayn’s tension bled away, only to have her body lock up in surprise when Kayara darted behind her back and gripped her shoulders hard enough to hurt.

“This here’s Fluffy. My best, and last, sheep in my flock.” The farmer petted Fluffy, a single tear trailing down his face. “That’s bad enough, yet it wasn’t enough for that mer.”

“There’s something worse than Warks? Killer sheep, perhaps?” Bren’s eyes flicked toward the cowering Kayara, a wry smile playing on his lips.

Ayn glared at him with all the anger her hurting shoulders gave her, and his grin disappeared. He coughed lightly.

“Goodness, no. Something far worse than sheep.” The farmer paused.

The pressure of that silence built until Ayn felt like screaming. “What? What is it?”

“Goats!”