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

by Matt Dinniman

Carl: Donut. What did you pick? Donut: I’M A BARD! ISN’T IT GREAT! IT’S NOT A NECROBARD LIKE THEY OFFERED ME BEFORE, BUT IT’S BETTER. I’M A LEGENDARY DIVA. THAT’S WHAT THE CLASS IS CALLED. LEGENDARY DIVA. I SING!

I never thought I’d get anything from that “pacifist” group, and they sent me some great stuff. Donut: YOUR LAST SPONSOR GAVE YOU A VEGETABLE.

“She did it,” Donut whispered. “She did it.” I looked down at Donut. “What the hell? What happened? Did you have anything to do with this?” She looked up at me. “Viva la revolución, Carl.”

How was Odette’s show?” “I’ll tell you about it later,” I said. Donut: THERE WAS A SPECIAL SURPRISE GUEST! I TOLD HER OFF!

Samantha: THERE’S A LOT OF BLOOD IN THE WATER. AND THE GREEN ALGAE STUFF THAT WAS COVERING ALL THE NAIADS IS FLOATING ALL OVER THE PLACE. Donut: THAT SOUNDS DISGUSTING. Samantha: IT REALLY IS. I CAN TASTE IT IN THE WATER. IT MAKES THE BLOOD TASTE EARTHY. LIKE I’M EATING A SALTY, FISH-FLAVORED SALAD. Donut: EW.

“Carl, that notification woke me up,” she said between licks. “That’s never happened before. If you’re going to be investigating quests, I must insist you only do it when I’m prepared.” “You were sleeping outside of a safe room,” I said. “Well that’s because I’m bored, Carl. And if I’m bored, that means the Princess Posse is bored. We’ve fought one boss all evening, and that’s it. I only got to fire one fireball!”

“Carl,” Circe eventually said. “What are you doing?” “You did it,” I said, not moving my head from the table. “You killed me. I am literally dead right now. Your kid couldn’t do it, but you pulled it off. You’ve succeeded in boring me to death.” The crowd erupted in laughter. To my right, Uptown Hal said nothing, and neither did Sydnee. Drick guffawed.

“Sounds like a great time. If you guys really want to learn about this stuff, read that book. I guarantee it can’t possibly be less interesting than this bullshit.” “Thank you, Carl,” Sydnee said. “Can I put your endorsement on the cover?” “Absolutely,” I said.

“I just judged a little kid’s art contest where a bunch of them drew pictures of me dying. Of my friends dying. You treat us like we’re nothing. Like we’re not real. Like we’re below you. It’s like you’re all members of this giant death cult, and all the pain and suffering is just great as long as it’s entertaining and as long as it’s not you. You’re all smart. You’re intelligent, thinking species. You allow yourselves to separate people like myself into a different class. It’s okay. It’s just crawlers. But deep down, you know. You have to know what you’re doing.

This is it, I thought. This is my family now. My heart continued to pound from the fight. I knew I was about to crash, that the shakes would hit me, that the river in my mind would roar. But for now, at this moment, I took comfort in the friendly faces all around me.

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. The AI made a deep, throaty groan for like five seconds straight, an uncomfortably long time.

“Oh, oh, the prize is just great,” Donut said, pointing. There was a small, closet-sized room next to the restroom in the main space. I hadn’t noticed it until now. “It’s a vocal coach! It’s a special training room! Can you believe it? There’s a little room with a microphone behind glass and a holographic NPC lady who shows me throat exercises to train my voice. Her name is Lover Illiana, and she’s just wonderful. She says I have a voice like a Cygnus cloud gull. My singing has already gone up to level four.”

Donut: Carl? Would you do the same thing to save me? Carl: Without hesitation. I will break you all.