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

by Matt Dinniman

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

New Achievement! The Hand that Claws the Master (x35) You have permanently killed a non-crawler biological. They ain’t just dead. They dead dead. Their children are now orphans. Their mothers are gnashing their teeth and cursing your name. And you’re just sitting there all alive and shit, and girlfriend, I am all in.

New Achievement! Mass Casualty Event. Okay. Calm your man-tiddies. Did your mother not love you? Is your god promising you unlimited handjobs in heaven or something? You planted and then detonated an improvised explosive device within an urban population center that resulted in more than 250 non-mob casualties. You’ve done this a few times now, but this was a big one. And on purpose. You really know how to paint the town red. Reward: You’ve received a Platinum Asshole’s Box.

Donut: BOMO IS OUR FRIEND. WE DON’T BLOW UP OUR FRIENDS, CARL. Carl: He actually seemed kinda excited at the idea.

Elmer. Level 40. Ursine. Mayor of this settlement. Hoo boy. An Ursine. So there are bears, which are the vicious, brutal-yet-somehow-cuddly creatures we all know and love. And then there are the Ursine. They’re 49% bear, 51% racist uncle who works for the IRS and has to hide his erection when he prepares for an audit. I have nothing against those who choose to live a saintly existence or those who choose to find hope and peace in comfort in a life of purity and virtue. Actually, that’s a lie. I hate these smug fucksticks. Why? Because of the gods damned hypocrisy. It’d be one thing if these hairy bitches practiced what they preached, but all of their rules and self-righteousness is nothing but a shiny veneer covering up the fact they’re just as rusted and immoral and imperfect as the rest of us. If internet porn was a thing in the dungeon, there’s no doubt these repressed assholes would be the number one connoisseurs of gnomish femdom porn or something of the like. Well, except maybe after the Gingers from the seventh floor. But you get the idea. They think they’re better than everybody else.

Mongo lifted his head into the air and howled joyfully as he continued to jackhammer into Kiwi like a drunken sailor on his first liberty at a foreign brothel.

This is a regular arrow, but the tip is dipped in a poison that will inflict you with Enthusiastic Double Gonorrhea. Trust me on this. You don’t want Enthusiastic Double Gonorrhea. It doesn’t kill you, but you’ll want it to. It sets your genitals aflame. Literally. And then it heals that area of your body over and over. The only way to remove the disease is to, uh, geld yourself. Or pass it on to someone else.

But you can’t just do it willy-nilly. And certainly not when you’re not a member of that congregation. It’s like walking into a random ICU from off the street and pulling the plug on someone’s braindead grandma.

New Achievement! That’s not how you use arrows, dumbass. You took an arrow, and you physically stabbed someone with it. That’s something a kid who eats glue would do. You know I’m pretty sure you have a bow in your inventory.

New Achievement! It itches when I pee! You infected another combatant with a venereal disease. Good job there, Derek Jeter. I hope you bought them dinner first. Reward: You’ve received a Bronze condom. Use it next time.

New Achievement! This little piggy made a boom boom! You deployed a bomb with the supple, curved sole of your foot. You took your perfectly-perfect, 30.004861 centimeter-long right foot and compressed it against an explosive device—a device named after me no less—and you gave it a naughty little shove before you pushed it out the door and detonated it. You killed them. You killed them all for your daddy.

“Carl, do bugs even have genitals?” Donut asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bug penis. I bet they’re really gross. Like a corkscrew duck penis. Or a dog penis. Have you ever seen one of those? They’re absolutely revolting, and sometimes they just have them hanging out for no reason. They look like sweating lipsticks. Whenever Miss Beatrice pulled out that red tube and brought it to her mouth, I couldn’t help but think...”

New Achievement! Sex Pervert! A nipple ring? Really? The next thing you know, you’ll be waxing your perineum and attending those parties where you have to put your keys in a bowl. You’ll have to grow out your sideburns, buy a Trans Am, and you’ll no longer be able to make eye contact with your child’s orthodontist. Reward: Whores don’t get rewards.