The Butcher's Masquerade (Dungeon Crawler Carl, #5)

by Matt Dinniman

No love dolls were decapitated in the making of this book, and any rumors to the contrary are known to be unfounded in the state of California.

“When a crawler hits the tenth floor, he gains a teeny, tiny bit of autonomy over his fate. He’s officially a citizen of the Syndicate. The moment anybody becomes a citizen, the Syndicate bends them over and fucks them. I can’t stop you from getting fucked. But I am the condom. You guys have condoms on your world? Of course you do. Everybody has condoms. Your ass is gonna hurt no matter what, but at least you won’t have tryptic genital mites after.”

Your reward is advice. Fatherly advice. Don’t be a little bitch. There’s your reward.

“Don’t use a fireball when we’re in a tight space,” I said. “It’s a lot more dangerous to cast than magic missile.” “I know how fire works, Carl.”

I have never claimed to be a smart person. We all do stupid things. A lot of times, people do stupid shit not because they are stupid, but because in the heat of the moment, they make rash decisions. It’s a different sort of thing. That’s my excuse here.

Violence breeds chaos. From chaos we were born and into chaos we will succumb.”

The velociraptor moonwalked back across the platform. He goddamn moonwalked.

Sledge: I have controller... I can crash Twister into other turrets... Bombs still dangle... Like helicopter in game GTA.... I think I can get both. Louis: THE HELL YOU ARE. Sledge: I crash like in GTA. Louis: DON’T CRASH THE TWISTER!

Surviving is winning, Louis. Everything else is bullshit.

Authors can only sell books if they get reviews. And if I don’t sell books, I can’t afford dog food. If you don’t leave a review, then Toby won’t get fed, and he is wasting away. Please, think of Toby.