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

by Matt Dinniman

Carl: She has to sing? Have you heard her sing yet? Mordecai: Everyone has heard her singing. Carl: Oh god.

“Okay, buddy. We gotta be quick. You are balls deep in the wrong hole, and mom is pulling into the driveway. You get me?” “I… What?” I asked, trying to make sense of the metaphor.

Donut emerged from the space, all poofed out and clean. Mongo padded behind her. She hummed the theme to the A-Team. “Carl, I think I’ve figured out the melody I’m going to use for my Standing Ovation spell.”

Donut sighed. “You only used the ring once?” “Yeah. I was about to use it again on the orc, but the barrel was rapidly destabilizing, and the list of names was really long. It’s not sorted by proximity. I didn’t have time.” “Mordecai said it’s addictive. I don’t like that. I’ve already broken you from your tobacco and chronic masturbation addiction. I can’t have you gaining a new one, Carl.”

Mongo was curled up on the other side of the room, leaning up against Britney, who was sitting on the ground. She’d tried pushing him away a few times, but she was in his spot. He ended up putting his head on her lap, and she was now petting him like a dog.

“What if she uses her evil whore sex magic to lure him away forever? Like one of those school teacher ladies?”

“So, Holger,” Donut asked as we marched. She rode upon the back of Mongo. The rest of us walked. “Tell me about your hairstyle. What is it called again, Carl?” “A mullet,” I said. “Yes, that’s right. Business in the front, party in the back. Tell me, is it a cultural thing? Where I’m from, it’s a cultural thing. It means you’re from a people who like to say ‘Yeehaw’ a lot and listen to music about trucks and cheating girlfriends and you eat things like corndogs and fried butter. And you like to blow things up.” She looked at me. “Carl, maybe you should grow one.”

“You know what, Donut?” I asked as I sat down on the bed. She just looked at me, a strange, unreadable fear in her eyes. “You snore, too.” The eyes softened. “I have never snored once in my life, Carl. I am both a princess and a cat. It’s quite literally impossible. Now quit talking nonsense and go to sleep.”

Samantha: DON’T SLUT SHAME ME. I’M GOING TO KILL YOUR MOTHER.

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.

“Carl,” Donut said, finally noticing the new ink. “Are you trying to look like Signet? Because it’s starting to work. You keep getting them, over and over. You must be doing it on purpose. Disgusting. All tattoos are disgusting.”

Trauma does that, I thought. It’s an explosion with your heart at the center. It changes everything all at once.

❤️

“Ferdinand may have been my first love, but I am a mother now, and I have more important responsibilities. Mongo needs me, and if I am going to pursue a singing career, I can’t be tied down or all emotional because my ex-boyfriend is suddenly trying to get back into the picture. I admit, it did surprise me. But I am over it now. If anything, I see it as a good thing. If Taylor Swift or Adele can profit off of heartache, I’m quite certain I can as well. It’ll make for a good song.”

For those of you that don’t know what that means, here’s a quick lesson. You gotta earn your keep. This is an action-themed program, after all. Not some sappy drama where everyone just cries and masturbates all day long. I’m looking at you, Hunter Veeka.

“Sir!” the crocodilian called. “I will get in trouble if management finds you down here! If you were anyone else, I’d bite your goddamned head off.” “We’re busy!” I called back. “We’ll be out in a minute!” Then, to Donut I said, “Can you say something to calm him down?” “Carl is pooping! He’s almost done!” The crocodilian’s voice went up an octave. “In the hallway? Sir, this is not a bathroom! This is the skill guild hallway!” “Real helpful, Donut,” I said.

Real people, mostly kids. The girl I was talking to is named Jill. She’s ten years old, and she’s Dutch. I thought she was trying to pull something, but she’s telling the truth. She knew the prime minister of the Netherlands. That is no street kid from Ecuador running an op.

OMG :D

“This is ‘Wonderwall,’” Horton said, and he started to play the song. Donut: OMG. I laughed. I laughed at the absurdity of it all. Here I was, about to get sucked into a literal hell, sitting down at a party, talking to a tattooed, topless fish woman while listening to a mushroom dude named Horton play a poorly-tuned guitar, singing my cat’s favorite song. All while the entire universe watched.