Respawn Condition: Trash Mob

Hours have passed now. I think that I’ve closed my eyes, but it isn’t like I can see anything else, anyways. It’s just more comfortable this way. It’s easier to think when I’m not watching the muddy water float all around me. If I ever get a chance to talk to the dungeon-master, I really need to tell him to hide some stuff in the water here. Giant enemy crabs or traps or something. What a total missed opportunity this muck is.

Wait. I stop at the idea that I had just thought of. Traps.

During the sub-boss fight with mama, the adventurers would often go into the water. It itself is harmless though. Maybe kind of gross, if you’re a living thing, but other than that. But what if… what if I put some shadow-bolts underwater? If I hid up in the air and waited for them to step in one? Dark-lord have mercy. This could be a game changer! My eyes open again, they were closed. I could take out one of them like this. Hell, maybe I could even get the hero. If he stepped into the water and I snapped the bolt shut, I’m sure I could take a foot easily. He would be totally out of the game.

If I took the hero out, mama might even have a chance. I hit myself in the head to shake myself out of it. Fairy-mother. Not mine. My fist however, is slowed by the water around myself and the inertia of the motion is similar to when you try to run in a dream. Floaty. Weak. But I know what I was trying to do, so it works anyways, if that makes sense. It’s more of a symbolic gesture, really. My enthusiasm wanes however at the realization that I won’t be able to do that this time. So I’ll have to remember this until I’m a dark-fairy here again in another life. Traps. Traps. I said the word several times trying to etch it into my memory. I need this one to stay. This could be big. This could revolutionize the dungeoneering industry as we know it.

Sure, the dungeon-master has his own kinds of traps set up. The usual stuff. Spinning blades and boulders and all of that. But they, honestly, take more of us out than they do them. As far as I know, they’ve never actually even gotten any of the adventurers, period. You need to understand what our situation is here, okay? Bottom tier. Lowest of the low. Everything sucks in the dungeon. But what about trash-mob set traps? Apart from the mimics, which are traps in and of themselves. They could never see it coming. They would never see it coming. I smile. I think I do at least. I still don’t have a jaw. Traps. Will I remember? I hope I do. I have trouble remembering. What was my before-last life? I was a goblin last time, right? So what was I before that? I rack my brain, desperate to keep myself busy. I can’t not think. If I stop, if I cede ground to the fog in my head, then I won’t get it back. I am sure of that. How much have I lost already?

How long has it been? Can I die yet? I try to look up towards the surface, to see if the light is any different. To see if I can maybe get a glimpse of a spell being cast or some shadow moving or of the ripples of battle running through the water. But nothing shifts and changes. I think I am too far down to see anything anyways. Though I think it’s still too early for all of that. Man. This really blows. I miss being a goblin. But I suppose this is all just a part of being a dark-fairy, just like the shadow magic. The shadow magic. The shadow magic. I repeat the words to myself, realizing that I am an idiot. Mama raised a fool. Raising my hand, I make the gesture and form a shadow-bolt just above myself and guide it to the rock crushing my body down. I try to get it from the top-middle, so it will fall apart sideways. I release the spell. A great vibration shoots through my body, as a singular pulse flows down through me and into the rocky sediment which I lay on.

The rock that was pinning me this whole time, shatters in half and the pieces fall to my left and right as planned. Why didn’t I think of that sooner? It was so obvious. I try to pull my body out from the rubble, using my arms to pull myself backwards. I come free. Well. No. Not entirely. I have no legs. I am just an upper torso now, with arms and a head. My legs are a smushed mash before me, disconnected from what is left of my upper body. Oh man. This is like that time I got cut in half by the hero, but not quite as bad, because I can’t feel it now. But it’s still gross, you know? Looking down and seeing half of yourself missing all of a sudden. I crawl backwards further. I guess I don’t need legs as a fairy at least.

A bitter realization dawns on me. I still won’t be able to get out of the water. What a slog this whole life is. This is the worst life I’ve ever had. I climb up the mushroom from before, nonetheless. Never give up. Mama wouldn’t want you to give up. It’s a lot harder than you would think, with just your arms though, climbing back up this thing, tell you what. It takes a long time and I have to claw myself forward the entire way. I lose another finger during the journey and put it in my bag with the other one. Though I am still unsure why I am keeping them, I didn’t keep my legs either. Before me is the cap of the mushroom, a wall that I manage to scale. But now ,sitting on the rim, I realize that I can’t look out of the water without legs. I am too short. There is something else now though. The stalagmite that I had knocked loose. There is a rock pillar sticking out before me.

It is an awkward motion, but I propel myself forward with my hands in a sort of half launching, half leaping movement towards it. I grab on to the edge of the rock. It is a little higher than where I just was. It is a close call though and I almost fall down into the abyss again, but I manage to pull myself up on top of it. The top surface is rough and jaggedly broken off where I cut it with the spell before. Some of the jagged bits go higher than the others and I manage to climb up one and breach the surface. My tiny head breaks through the surface of the black-water, which seems to press down on me, holding together like a weighted blanket for a moment, as the surface-tension refuses to give way to my meager penetration.

I stare out into the room.

Oh. Everyone is dead. Well, double-dead, seeing as they were undead before. But you know what I mean. The arena is on fire. A face looks towards me. The priestess of the hero party. She is wearing a long white robe with a hood. The robe has floral and geometric patterns along the rims of the hood and sleeve. She says something to the rest of them. I can’t understand the language, it’s just a garble of sounds to me. Most of them look disinterested.

There are a few of them, but I don’t see all of the usual ones here. Wonder where they are? The red haired wizard is here, she spares a glance, but then looks back to the hero. I look over to the middle of the chamber. Mama is dead again. Well, shit. Sorry mama, I really messed up this time. The weakness hasn't set on me yet, it must have just been a second ago. I have a minute left still, maybe two until it starts, the fading. As an undead, it takes a little longer for some reason. I wonder though. This was fast. Too fast. Didn’t I have more time? Or did I entirely lose track of time down there? If another sense was slipping, especially one as critical as my sense of time, then I have a real problem.

Well, if the priestess kills me, then that’s fine. That was my plan anyways. I think she feels bad for us, she always has a really sad expression whenever I see her. Not like the others. They’re more excited, real go-getters as far as I can tell. I suppose that’s just the personality type that naturally tends to adventure, honestly. She’s the quiet type, if I had to guess. But every time she’s killed me it was always quick, so I suppose I like her for that. I see the hero in the back, he is standing alone by the door, looking at his menu. Yeah. It’s like a little golden rectangle he can project in front of himself. There’s all sorts of markings and letters inside of it, but I can’t read anything except goblin hieroglyphs and fairy signs anymore.

Ah, I hear the word. The familiar chant of the spell. I don’t know what she’s saying, but I’ve memorized the sound. I look back to the priestess, her hands are cupped together as if she were holding a liquid in them. Actually, there is a liquid. Sort of. It’s magic. A bright, multicolor, thin liquid is clasped in her locked hands, liquid white-magic, a stream of it flows out from the gaps between her fingers, which can’t keep a complete seal. White-magic is always nice to look at, it’s very pretty. Very colorful and vibrant, I like it a lot. These are colors I don’t see down here otherwise. Pinks and sky blues and spring greens. Very happy, beautiful tones. I feel sad. Why? The colors, I realize, looking at them. They make me sad when I see them. Why? This is what I wanted.

Something touches my back. I realize that I shifted my position and move the bag. Oh. Right. I’m on it, boss-man. She is watching me closely, to make sure I don’t try to kill her with a spell. I won’t, don’t worry. You’re my favorite. I shift my body sideways towards her, the side with the bag facing her, so she can see. With slow hands, I open the bag and pull out the single coin. She is frightened by my movements, I can see it in her face. That’s okay. I understand. This isn’t usual undead behavior. She is speaking to the rest of the group again, but they continue to ignore her. She speaks again, but now the wizard says something. Sternly. She looks unhappy when her eyes return to me. Her hands break free from each other, the liquid in her grasp floats in the air, suspended in space. It shifts and twists like a dough being formed into something undefined, something it doesn’t know yet. With a sober expression she touches the spell and it turns into a perfect disc shape that flies towards me in an instant, with the flat surface facing my way, like the snap of lightning.

I have seen this many times. This was a good death. I was prepared. A second before her spell leaves her hands, I toss the coin out to the priestess girl. Payment for services rendered. I don’t get to see her expression anymore before I die. I hope it was enough. Everything is white. Oh. Ah. Mm~ Dying to white-magic as an undead tingles in a special way, guy. No, not like that. Get your mind out of the gutter! But it’s like all of the sensations and feelings and nerves you didn’t have, shoot back all at once, for just a tiny fraction of a millisecond and then it’s over. But everything is warm and soft in that millisecond. It feels like you’re wrapped in a thick, fluffy, blanket in bed on a cold winter’s day. Like you were the only thing that is warm and comfortable in the whole world. Like you’re a ball of light in the darkness. It’s a nice death. I’m sad.

I wish I had somebody to share this death with. Dying is lonely. You can only ever die alone, obviously. The person who kills you can never know what it is that you feel in that instant. I really like this feeling though, so why does it make me sad? Man. Come on. Get it together. New day. New life. I would shake my head, but I don’t have one anymore. I am ethereal, incorporeal. I am wherever it is I go when I die. I have no senses, no sight, no taste, no touch. Nothing after my body has gone remains, but the patterns of my thoughts. It will take a minute now until I release. Until I respawn. It’s always a little different depending on how I die and as what. Undead are usually pretty quick ones though. The living always take a while, since you have to wait a little, until your spirit is ready to leave the body. There’s a real science to that death and resurrection stuff. Well as an undead they were ready for a looong time. Amped and rearing to move on to what comes next. Not so much so in my case though, so maybe that’s why I take a second here too. I feel lonely when I die, so I suppose I try to avoid it on some level.

I want to sigh, but I can’t. I don’t have the physical capacity to do so. I hope I become a goblin next time. I haven’t been a goblin in a while, I think. Wait…

No, I was jus-