The rest of our time at ‘Fat Butt’ moved quickly. Borik had shown us a crude map of the underground and where we would be going, which I had surreptitiously copied using Alchemical Recycling inside of me. Then, we had been led out into the streets and into what can only be described as an alleyway for an alleyway before being lowered fifty feet down by way of rope. Now, I was standing in stagnant water of a suspicious color with Mug and Keggr quietly jockeying for a comfortable position inside of me while holding their noses. And the day had started so nice.

  The unused sewers of Advalence were slate gray and foreboding. Dark elves had apparently run this city before the old King Adval had conquered them. The dark elvish architecture reminded me of Earth’s brutalism movement—all sharp angles, concrete, and lacking all warmth. The one good thing was that the tunnels were surprisingly spacious, easily large enough to fit four school buses stacked two by two.

  I used my spider legs to navigate—the water underneath wasn’t deep, but it did make the stone slick. Eight legs were better than two for tricky surfaces, especially since Mug and Keggr were riding inside me. I had tried to make my size larger with Polymorph, but even with it leveled, it seemed I was limited to adding limbs and such to myself instead of straight-up shapeshifting.

  I had recycled some torches for my passengers to hold, though Keggr, being blind, tended to forget the need for a torch, often holding it behind where we were going. He was complaining and bemoaning his situation a lot, which was surprising. Sure, he was a salty old dwarf, but he had seemed relatively tough and not at all the whining type. I politely advised he shut the hell up and focus, but he responded by whacking my side and cursing.

  “Ye don’t get it, longleg! I’m nae a fighter, or explorer, or warrior, or rogue, or any of those other daring, adventurous types! I’m a builder! I build! I don’t infiltrate troll gang territory or fight sewer mutants or retrieve dangerous packages for orc gangs! I build! What am I gonna do when we’ve got a maul of trolls coming for me eyeballs?!”

  “And fingers!” Mug added unhelpfully. Thanks, Mug. I tried my best to put Keggr’s worries to rest.

  ‘Sewer mutants? I’ll just hope that was a figure of speech. Listen, this is not exactly my idea of a weekend outing either, but it could be worse, right? I mean, there’s always the possibility that we don’t even run into any trolls. We might follow the map, find the package, and then go right back in time for Mug to make a stew that you hate. That’s not so bad, is it? A day where we do our job with no trolls or mutants or anything coming after our appendages?’ Mug coughed in the way that let me know he disagreed.

  “Master Lugenhelm, I hate to agree with Mister Keggr but… it’s highly unlikely that we do not encounter a single troll. They can smell the difference between black hair and blonde. They can smell which way a butterfly is flying.”

  “Hell, they can smell if yer old da had a wart on his left arse cheek or right,” Keggr added spitefully, lighting a cigar on his torch. Mug nodded, his eyes glowing slightly red in the darkness.

  “If we are currently walking into troll territory, it is almost certain that they will know.”

  That was concerning, but I didn’t let it get to me. We had fought dragons and adapting guardians; surely we could come out of this… well, not exactly clean, what with this being a sewer, but perhaps unscathed? Or at least all in one piece?

  Still, if the trolls' sense of smell was that powerful, we’d need a little help. I thought for a minute before activating Steam Shot centered on my passengers at a steady rate for an impromptu bath. I had forgotten to give them a warning, causing them to both recoil, but after a few minutes, they were mostly clean. I then looked through my Recycling list until I found something to mask the scent: an oil that had been given to the King as a gift from some foreign dignitary, which had been promptly thrown away as soon as the dignitary had left the room. I distinctly remembered Queen Malbella saying it smelled like ‘wet dog mixed with peasant boots and open wounds’. I couldn’t confirm, but from the way Mug and Keggr gagged, I could assume she had been right.

  “The worst part of it all—besides me bein’ here in the first place, which I feel is a grave oversight and mistake meself—but the worst part? Damn dark elf architecture, all around me. Bah! If you can even call it architecture!” He spat a thick loogie into the water.

  ‘What’s wrong with it? I mean, sure it’s a little… cold and imposing and full of dread for my taste, but it’s stood for this long, right? It can’t be all that bad?’ He angrily puffed his lumpy cigar.

  “Aye, it’s stood this long—probably outta spite, 'cause lord knows it ain’t from design! There was a reason ol' Adval had the whole city torn down, buried, and rebuilt by dwarves! He wanted builders what knew what they were doin’ rather than some brooding knife-ears that ain’t never heard of curves!” It all was rather angular; the frescoes and wall designs looked more like geometry equations than real decorations.

  ‘So Advalence used to belong to dark elves? And dwarves rebuilt it?’ I asked. I had assumed it had always been a human kingdom for humans built by humans. Keggr tapped my side as he thought.

  “Oh aye, this was a dark elven stronghold, back in the wild days. Then Adval took Jellati’s head and claimed it for humans, and that was that. Hired a buncha us hreiddmar to rebuild on account of he had taste. My grand-da, earth king rest his soul, was one of 'em! Did all the fountains and statues of nekkid ladies!” I hadn’t realized it, but there were an awful lot of ‘nekkid’ lady statues around the castle grounds.

  ‘Oh really? They are all… very tasteful,’ I offered diplomatically. He gave a gentle rap of annoyance on my side.

  “Nah, ain’t nothin’ like what they was. Originally they was all proper ladies, dwarven ladies—short, stout, thighs that could crush a kobold, beards you could get lost in—but then Adval had a conniption and made 'em look like longleg women. A downgrade, but no accountin’ for taste, yeah?”

  ‘Indeed.’ Keggr lapsed into taciturn silence as he pondered his granddad’s lost dwarven beauties. I walked quietly through the hushed, empty sewers, the torchlight illuminating the labyrinthine architecture as I did so. The torches only let me see about thirty feet or so ahead, which was annoying until I got an idea.

  I felt the mana well within me as I activated Alchemical Recycling and Golemancy at the same time. What popped out was basically a torso with legs, about three feet tall, with a hole in the top where the neck would be. I Recycled a torch and used Telekinesis to place it into the hole.

  ‘Go, run about fifty feet ahead of me. Stay that distance away as I walk.’ It bowed, almost extinguishing the torch as it did so, before running to obey my command. That extended my vision a little. Golem upkeep was small, at least for the minor golems I could summon; each reduced my maximum mana by about fifteen, which was hardly noticeable. I was using eight legs, which required more mana than two, but it seemed my mana regeneration was enough to basically keep me at full. Slowly but surely, I was improving.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  As we walked, I wondered what else I could do with my golems. Eventually, Brock M. Stome’s book said I would be able to see and hear what they did, or maybe even make one that counted as fully intelligent and autonomous. Right now, that seemed far off; I had only recently gotten them to stop committing suicide via oven, after all. Still, it would be nice to be able to use their senses as my own. It would, for example, allow me to see why the tiny torchlight fifty feet ahead of us was suddenly snuffed out with no warning.

  One second it was there, the next it was gone. I froze, and Mug and I strained our sight in the darkness to see what happened. Only blind Keggr was unaware, or so I thought.

  “Heads up lads. I think you two've got company; if you'll excuse me, I'll just make meself scarce...” Before I could ask what he meant, I heard a clicking sound, like tongs being opened and shut at a rapid pace. At first it sounded like one set of tongs, then another was added, then another, and another…

  From out of the darkness scuttled crabs. Well, something like crabs, anyway. They were all five feet tall, for starters; they had one giant claw nearly as big as them, counterbalanced by three smaller claws on the opposite side. Their eyes were small and black and stupid, and their mandibles foamed and dripped with yellow spittle. They clicked their giant claws as they rushed toward us, rapidly closing the distance. Based on the size, I had a feeling those claws would be more than strong enough to damage my body.

  ‘Mug, would you classify those as mutants?’ I asked, mostly rhetorically. He nodded yes as I recycled a large hammer for him. ‘Thought so.Keggr,, thank you for your support in a situation you managed to get us into. Mug, I think we’re gonna need you outside.’ Keggr grunted from inside of me, his torch held aloft so that it still managed to illuminate the darkness. I used Polymorph to grow my armored arms and a hammer of my own as the crabs approached. There were probably nine or so, but it was hard to make heads or tails of them in the near darkness.

  The first clash was brutal and quick—a crab snipped at Mug, attempting to take his little green head off. Mug slipped under it nimbly and returned the attempted beheading by smashing the joint holding the claw, causing it to fall limp and useless. Before it could recover, I brought my own hammer down directly between its eyes. My strength stat was on par with Mug’s last I checked, and the hammer cracking directly through the carapace and causing it to collapse confirmed it.

  It was the first time I had actually used a weapon instead of some magical solution. It felt strange, to swing a hammer with my own magically grown arms and end a life with them, even if that life belonged to an angry invertebrate currently trying to rip me apart. I wondered if this was step onto some unknown slippery slope, the beginnings of a dark rampage as I made my way through this world using violence as a solution to all life's problems...

  The snapping of claws brought me back to the moment; there was no time to get philosophical or mopey. When life gave you lemons, you made lemonade. When life skipped the lemons for overgrown crustaceans with enough grip strength to turn coal into diamonds, you hit those crustaceans with a hammer. For now, that would have to be enough.

  From there, the rest of the crabs were on us. Mug was good at staying just out of range, jumping back before retaliating with brutal blows that shattered their limbs or disabled their claws. I was there as cleanup. Whichever ones Mug maimed, I would brain, keeping my body directly over him to provide backup if he needed. He didn’t. He danced and struck with a sort of brutal grace. Not for the first time, I was reminded that he wasn’t the tiny goblin he thought he was; he was an orc, a warrior and a fighter, a figure bred for the battlefield. Whether he realized it or not, this was his natural habitat.

  At one point, a crab managed to grab his hammer with its claw—and Mug simply yanked it down, the force causing the crab that was roughly seven times his size to stumble. I really needed to have a talk with him about his ancestry and self-image.

  There was only one hiccup. At one point, one of the crabs managed to lock its claw around me, immediately squeezing my sides with unexpected strength.

  -17 HP CURRENT HP: 68/85

  The pressure was immense, and I could feel my body deforming with the pressure. That alone wasn’t ideal, but what was worse was that Keggr was inside me, currently cowering and also imminently crushable. I used Steam Shot at full blast aimed at its eyes, and while I could tell that hurt it, it didn’t let go. I tried Caustic Creation next; not to be too graphic, but it went from having eyes to having eye soup in a matter of seconds. Still, it didn’t let go or die, squeezing me harder.

  -13 HP CURRENT HP: 55/85

  "If you don't mind lad, I'd rather not be squeezed into dwarf paste!", shouted Keggr helpfully. Yeah, and I didn't want to be two halves of one trashcan either, but here we were.

  Caustic Creation didn’t seem to be affecting the shell, so I didn’t waste time targeting the claw. I thought for a second as it attempted to break me in two before it suddenly buckled. Mug had struck one of its legs, sending it off balance. He struck again at a different leg, then finished with a looping upward blow directly toward the pincer. It shattered, dropping to the ground lamely as the crab squealed with crustacean rage. Mug didn’t hesitate; he hopped on top of its shell then delivered three pounding blows, each harder than the last.

  As the third blow rang, eerie silence resettled in the sewers. All the crabs were either slain or on the verge of death. Mug was breathing heavily but seemed unharmed. My body was squeezed in the middle like a beer can at a frat party, but I was still in one piece and Keggr was unharmed. For a second, the expression on Mug's face was terrifying—focused, powerful, seeming to defy death and asking for another challenge. Then, he was back to good-natured, earnest Mug, asking me if I was alright.

  ‘I am alright, thanks. I appreciate having an orc on the team every time we get into trouble.’ Mug looked confused, then laughed as if I had made a joke.

  “Oh, very funny, Master Lugenhelm! I appreciate the praise, but I am merely a well-trained goblin!” It was a funny thing; he had looked almost six feet in the heat of battle, but calling himself a goblin, I watched as he began to shrink down closer to five. I used my arms to grab him and shake him.

  ‘Mug! I’ve been letting it slide because I thought, oh who cares, if he wants to be a goblin then be a goblin, but no! You are not a goblin! You are an orc! O-R-C, orc! How many goblins do you know that can crack a four-inch shell with a hammer as big as they are?’ He kicked his feet awkwardly.

  “Well, I don’t really know that many goblins… or any goblins…”

  ‘Yeah, 'cause if Edvald let you meet any goblins, you’d realize that you’re like, three times as strong as the strongest goblin to ever exist! And twice as big! Do you realize that you have literally been growing since we started fighting together?’ He continued to kick his feet.

  “Well that’s… I mean, sure, in a certain light I look slightly larger… good food too, that helps with… growth…” I wanted to shake him again but stopped myself. It wasn’t his fault; Edvald had abused and brainwashed and molded him into the shape he was in today. I couldn’t expect him to overcome it overnight.

  ‘Listen, Mug… just think about it. Sooner or later, with the way my luck is, I’m gonna be in a position where I need the help of an orc. Not a strangely strong goblin—an orc. Big, green, monstrously powerful. I hope when that time comes you can see what you are. Now, Keggr, get out—yes, I know the water stinks, get out anyway! Mug, I’m hungry for crab. Let’s get this over with.’

  As he dutifully fed the crabs into me leg-first, I hoped my words would get through to him. Mug the goblin had been a great ally and strong addition to the team; Mug the Orc would be even better. Of course, no matter what, he would always be Mug the Friend; I just wanted a version of him that could accept the truth about himself. Even if he somehow got weaker as an orc, it hurt to see someone so beaten down they couldn’t see their own potential.

  I brushed off the idea that those same words also applied to my former and perhaps current life as Mug placed giant crab legs inside me, Devour methodically vacuuming and crushing them until they disappeared into my body in the darkness of the abandoned sewers.