Dungeon Crawler Carl (Dungeon Crawler Carl, #1)

by Matt Dinniman

I never considered myself a big fan of cats. But, if we’re being truthful here, I liked Donut. That cat did not give two shits about anybody or anything, and I could respect that.

“There are six basic starter species the Syndicate uses to seed worlds. Humans are one of them. They find a compatible world, sprinkle the humans on there, wait a couple thousand years, and then reveal themselves to the largest settlement.

Uncooked Llama steaks X2. Baggie of trailer park-grade meth X2.

“By the way,” I asked as I stroked the cat. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. Who’s Ferdinand?” Donut pulled away at that, her tail swishing. “I have no idea whatever you’re talking about. Whoever that is, he sounds like someone awful.

“Hello Carl and Your Majesty, Princess Donut,” she said, speaking in Syndicate Standard. Her voice was light and musical. Almost cartoonish. “My name is Lexis. I am an associate producer for the program, Dungeon Crawler After Hours with Odette. Congratulations on that last battle, and congratulations on making it down to the second floor. Odette would love to interview you two, on air, regarding your progress so far.” Donut squealed with pleasure.

But Donut didn’t answer. She hadn’t heard me. She stood on the edge of the pillow, standing like that damn lion from the Lion King, her chest heaving with pride as she looked back into the holographic mass of adoring fans. Her eyes sparkled. I suddenly had a feeling of dread. That look. That hunger. That was dangerous. She’d had but a single taste, but I could already tell. She was addicted to this. To the crowd. To the cheers. It was going to be a problem. “Goddamnit, Donut,” I muttered.

“Yeah,” I said. “But imagine raising one of those dingoes back from the dead and using it to kill another dingo. And then raising that one too. You’d be like the Lucia Mar kid with her two dogs, but yours will be zombie dogs.” Her eyes got huge. “This is the best spell ever.”

“It smells like that time you tried microwaving Fancy Feast,” Donut said. “I was drunk,” I said. “And you ate that shit right up.”

“That bitch really said that?” Mordecai said, outraged, after I told him about Odette’s offer. “She wants me to seek her out? I would rather spend another 2,000 years in this room than exist in the same solar system as her. I’d rather meet a woman, sire children, and then devour those children than have anything to do with her again.” “So that’s a no, then?” Donut asked.

The headline screamed, “Trapped! Meadow Lark and The Royal Court of Princess Donut in Peril!” “Wow,” Donut said. “Yours isn’t nearly that big. Or oily looking. And it doesn’t have that hat thing.” If looks could kill, the glare Imani shot at the cat would’ve ripped her in two. “Goddamnit, Donut,” I muttered before realizing I’d said it. “Not now.”

I looked up at the Maestro, a huge smile on my face. “Glurp on that, motherfucker,” I said.

Maggie clutched the skill potion to her chest, staring at me. For the first time, the woman smiled.

For every person that ticked away, I felt I was losing a part of myself, a part of my humanity. I thought of what Donut had said before we’d fallen asleep, and of the unspoken question she had asked and of the answer I hadn’t given her.