Respawn Condition: Trash Mob

I jump up to my feet, mustering the little energy that I have left in this old body and keep going. Thankfully, minotaurs are real power-houses, even when they get a little worn and torn.

The back half of the treasury is a long, spiral-shaped corridor. There isn’t much filling it, other than stacks of coins and rubble. See, the sub-boss is in the large room before this strange hallway, so I guess this is like the end-sprint down to the next floor. Seems like a sort of underutilized element of the dungeon, if I’m going to be honest.

I suppose the existential threat in the treasury is mostly self-induced, either way. Mimics aren’t very aggressive creatures, if they aren’t provoked, so honestly, apart from the sub-boss here, you could probably clear the whole floor without any violence. I suppose that’s different now though, with the trash-mobs rising up from below and going through to this floor. As I walk down the hallway, taking the time to carefully examine every nook and cranny on the way, I wonder about that. So, do the stairs on this floor work too? The real ones? I don’t know. My theory is though, that they don’t.

Progression is a key element of dungeon-life. You can’t skip the work. You can’t cheat. Cheating is punished by the gods, cheating is punished by the dark-lord. We have a role to play, each and every one of us. From the hero to the littlest slime. That is the trash-mob gospel and the code we honor in the dungeon. So what that means, in my mind, is that I need to find the secret-stairs. If there really is a set on every floor, then I can move up bit by bit and unlock new floors for us, just like the hero-party unlocked new floors down for themselves. That’s balance in action right there.

Of course I could just be talking manure, this is all based on a mountain of theory, as I’ve said before.

The palm of my hand slides along the rough stone-wall, as I step over a pile of rubble, caved in rocks and bricks from the ceiling and walls. Without breaking my stride, I open my menu, I’ve gotten good at this now. Scrolling up, I go to my map.

Wait… couldn’t I have just used my map to navigate the labyrinth before?

Shit.

I’m an idiot. I’m sorry, dungeon-master. Please don’t hate me, because I’m stupid.

As I look at the familiar treasury map, I am relieved to see it blank. There’s no red ‘X’ on the sub-boss arena, no icons for the hero or his party. It looks like I’m still within my time-limit. Man, this thing looks worse every day, doesn't it? Double checking the map just to be sure that it doesn’t show the secret-stairs, which it doesn’t, of course, I swipe it away and close the menu as I continue onwar- AH!

I fall.

A crashing jingle rings out from the collection of coins that I’ve stumbled over. Just barely do I manage to brace myself for the tumble. I have a robust body, but I’m still old.

Ah. Ow.

I hear a devious, little cackle ring out from around the upcoming corner and can’t help but roll my eyes at it. Stupid mimics.

I grunt as I hoist my hefty body back upright, my hand resting against my hip. Oof. I think I might be the first person to actually ever fall for one of those mimic-traps. Slowly, I continue on, taking a moment to stretch my old bones. I guess I have been calling them traps, but I do admit it's sort of a stretch of the word. But well, what else are they gonna do, you know? It’s in a mimic’s nature to be a little prankster, but they basically only have their eyes and tongue to manipulate the world with and on this floor, there’s nothing but rocks and coins. So they just have to make do with the cards they’ve been dealt. I guess we all do.

As I press around the first corner, now picking up my pace a little again, just as I realize how far I still need to go, I spot the little deviant.

On the right side of the wall, just around the bend, is a small, wooden-chest with golden, metal-bands. Apart from the fact that it’s shaking, the wood ringing out with a dull vibration against the stone floor and the fact that I can hear its snorts from its attempts to stifle its own childish giggling, you’d never know it was a mimic. Bless its dark, little heart.

Giving it a wide berth, I hug the opposite wall and slide along it, never taking my eyes off the little thing. Once, for just a second, I see the lid pop open an inch and two little eyes peer out towards me. As our eyes meet, it freezes for a second. Its lid slams shut and it bolts forward! I get ready to catch it before it can lunge at me, thinking that it's attacking, but instead, it makes a sharp left and hurdles around the corner that I just came through, the wooden-chest drifting slightly from the speed of the escape.

I stand there, puzzled, as it vanishes around the bend. I guess it was shy, but then I remember that all mimics are shy.

I’m wasting time. Hurrying forward, I keep my eyes open for anything out of place, though the truth is that I have no idea what it is that I’m looking for. I pick up the pace, I need to go faster. So going faster is what I do. As I briskly jog down the corridor, around and around as I head out of the spiral, towards the sub-boss room, I check for anything odd. But I find nothing for my trouble. My fur, which is sleek and matte, has never had a chance to dry, the constant tinge of sweat touching the cool dungeon air. If I was in this life for longer than a day, I would for sure get a cold. I shiver.

Minotaurs aren’t made for dungeon life. We like open, sunny places, grass, lots of ah, hmm… ‘frolicking’, if you catch my drift. You might be wondering, guy, what about labyrinths? Don’t minotaurs like labyrinths? Well, to that I must answer that I’m quite frankly shocked at your stereotyping, friend. I expected better of you.

I mean sure, labyrinths are neat and all. But we’re about more than that. Honestly. I shake my head at my imaginary conversation, as I round the final ben-

I hear a pling, my heart drops. Oh no. It can’t be. My map pops up. I see a familiar warning. It’s not possible!

The skeletons aren’t even here yet! They went up last time before the hero got here and they came from the lowest floor! How?! How is the hero party getting faster each time?! It doesn’t make any sense! I abandon all carefulness and caution now, returning to my full sprint. I need to cover ground. As much of it as I can and I need to pray that the secret stairs aren’t near the entrance. I run, knocking over another coin tower on the side. I pass the mimic, who built it before it even has a chance to finish cackling and I feel a pair of very confused eyes stare at me from behind, as I run past. Sorry little guy, no time.

I see the sub-boss room open up ahead of me, the spiral corridor coming to an end. Still in full sprint, I stretch out my right hand and graze the wall, grabbing it tightly as I reach the corner and fling my weight around to the right, my eyes frantic and wild like an animal’s on the hunt.

I hear a creak, like the shifting of a great, metal titan rising from its sleep. An apt comparison, in some sense, but not in others. I look ahead of myself, into the large chamber and stare at the gigantic, wooden and gold-embossed treasure chest. From the lid which creaks open, revealing a permanently dark shadow inside, I see a pair of glowing, creepy eyes staring out my way.

The great-mimic, the sub-boss of the grand-treasury, sees me. He is massive, bigger than me. Easily three minotaurs or six humans high.

Slowly, he closes his lid again, his disinterested eyes sinking back into the dark. You might have noticed the glaring flaw here, that I mentioned before, right? What good is a mimic if you can’t even reach its lid to open it? Why? How? I don’t know. Dungeon-magic. But he’s not a great boss-fight, if I’m gonna be honest. He has a few nifty abilities but… well, you know. He’s kind of lame? Sorry. But I don’t have time for that, I need to hu-!

My eyes stop. My heart stops. My voice stops, as I see it. No, not the stairs. I reach down to touch the pile of treasure next to me. To touch the ornate, dark-purple cape laying there. It reminds of the one I saw down in the labyrinth, but this one is pristine. It’s perfect. It’s… beautiful. I lift up the cloth, now clearly distracted from my task. I hold it and feel the material, it seems unfitting to hold something this fine in these rough, brutish hands. It almost seems li-

Clashes, swords, screams. All of these noises fill the air. The adventurers. I look up, realizing that I’ve wasted too much time again! Damn it! Why do I always do this?! Frantically I look around, the secret-stairs, maybe, maybe they’re here. In this room. I can still find them! It’s not too late! I dash across the room, clambering up on a pile of gold coins, reaching to the ceiling, climbing the great mountain like the last man alive, escaping the rising of a great flood. It has to be here. Somewhere. Anything. Please dark-lord, give me a sig- FU-!

I hold my bleeding hand up to my face, the cape which I still had in my grip, without realizing it, now punctured. The blade of a great spear below me jutting out of the treasure has red on it. My eyes water. I don’t want to die again. I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to fight and hurt someone again. Dark-lord, what am I supposed to do?! I hear the sounds of battle continue, then I hear something else. Goblins.

These aren’t royal-guards, I see a dozen normal goblins, mooks and casters and patrolmen charge out of the spiral tunnel; a fervor has overtaken them.

Stop.

Then a dozen more come after behind them and then another dozen behind them. As far as my old eyes can see, I see them lining the spiral tunnel, goblins clad for battle, ready for war.

Stop.

They hear carnage and their blood has begun to boil with excitement.

Stop!

They charge together around the bend, easily fifty strong and then some. Men, women all standing together as one, as they rush towards the sounds of the fight. I see him, the hero. I see the other adventurers, the priestess, the wizard, the thief, the other.

Stop. I don’t want to fight anymore. The adventurers breach the line of the fairies and the last few royal-goblins who they were fighting against in the long hallway and turn to face the new-comers and the sub-boss, as I watch from a distance, up from my safe perch, pleading. I hate this life. I hate being a trash-mob. I hate dying. I hate killing.

Stop.

The hero holds his sword at the ready, the beautiful metal glistening with a crimson sheen that seems wrong in this dark, dank underground. The goblins, in formation, ready themselves as well. Stop, you idiots! It only takes a second, I see the familiar orange glow come from behind the hero's shoulders, from the wizard-girl, then the same flaming aura returns from the goblin-casters on our side. A moment later everything is orange. Fire. Fire is everywhere. Everything is on fire. Screams. Goblins. Screams. Stop. STOP!

The sounds of swords and spilled blood ring out. Of metal striking metal and metal skewering flesh. Sizzling. I smell meat. The fire cooks them. I want to vomit at the stench, at the screams. Everyone is screaming. Why is everyone screaming?! I can’t feel my hand. Stop! I can’t feel my hand! I look down, I am skewering myself on the spear again, the ebony tip of the blade piercing all the way through my thick hand, now sticking through entirely. Blood. Blood. It hurts. Is this why I’m crying?

Gritting my teeth I scream a loud, wordless shout that overpowers the noises of death for just a moment, if only in my own senses. That deep, forgotten guttural voice originating from a memory of a life that isn’t mine.

I wrench the spear from the heap, it feels good in my hands. It feels right. The torn, bloody cape still gripped in the other, as I charge towards the havoc. Red in my eyes, red in my hands, red in my heart.

I don’t know what I’m doing, as I scream aloud in a language nobody here can understand except for me.