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"Stop squirming, you little freak, or I'll peel your skin off while you're still breathing."
Cold steel pressed into the soft flesh under my jaw. I couldn't even scream—mostly because my throat was the size of a pencil and I didn't have a human voice anymore. All that came out was a pathetic, wet squeak.
I was pinned against a damp limestone wall, my tiny, furred body crushed under a gloved hand that felt like a vice. I looked up, and all I saw was the sharp edge of a tactical boot and the glimmer of a high-grade obsidian blade.
"What the hell are you?" the voice boomed. It was deep, grating, and sounded like it had been dragged through gravel. "You're not a standard Level 1 vermin. You've got eyes. Actual, conscious eyes."
I tried to thrash. I kicked my small, clawed feet, scratching uselessly at the leather of his glove. *Let me go, you arrogant prick!* I wanted to scream it, but I was a rat. A glorified piece of dungeon trash. A Level 1 glitch in a world that wanted me dead.
"Squeak! Squeak-squeak!"
"Great. A mute one," he muttered. The blade nicked my skin. A tiny drop of red blood beaded on the steel. "Look, I don't have all day. The Maw is resetting in ten minutes, and if you're a spy for the Broker, I'm just going to gut you and leave you for the scavengers."
He shifted his grip, slamming my head back against the rock. The impact rattled my skull, and for a second, the world blurred. Then, a flicker of blue light sparked in my vision.
[System Error: Consciousness detected in Low-Tier Mob.] [Ability Unlocked: Mimicry (Passive) — Consume to Adapt.]
I didn't know what it meant, but the moment the prompt appeared, a hunger hit me. Not the kind of hunger where you want a sandwich. It was a feral, screaming void in my stomach that demanded *more*. I looked at the gloved hand pinning me down. I didn't want to escape anymore. I wanted to bite.
I lunged. My tiny teeth clamped down on the gap between his glove and wrist, sinking deep into the skin.
"S--t!" he roared, recoiling.
He didn't just pull away; he flung me across the corridor. I hit the wall with a sickening thud and slid down the slime-covered stone. I lay there, gasping, the taste of his blood—metallic, hot, and strangely electric—filling my mouth.
[Analyzing Target: Kane Draker (Apex Delver)] [Attribute absorbed: Strength +0.1, Agility +0.1]
I felt a jolt of energy snap through my spine. My muscles tightened. The sluggishness of the rat body vanished, replaced by a sharp, predatory instinct. I scrambled to my feet, my whiskers twitching.
"You actually bit me," he said. He wasn't yelling anymore. He sounded... intrigued. That was worse. He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing me whole. "No Level 1 rat has that kind of aggression. You're either a mutation or someone's little science project."
"I'm not a project!" I shrieked.
It didn't come out as a squeak this time. It was a raspy, distorted version of my own voice, echoing off the walls like a broken record.
He froze. The obsidian blade stopped mid-air. "You can talk?"
"Get... away... from me," I hissed, my voice cracking. I backed away, my tail whipping nervously. "Who the hell are you? Where am I?"
"You're in the Maw, sweetheart. And I'm the guy who decides if you get to keep your head," he replied. He didn't look scared; he looked like he'd just found a rare loot drop. He moved fast—too fast. Before I could scramble into a hole, he lunged, his hand snapping shut around my midsection.
He lifted me up to eye level. He was devastatingly handsome in a way that made me want to punch him—sharp jawline, eyes like frozen steel, and a smirk that screamed 'I own this place.'
"A talking rat with a grudge," he mused, his thumb pressing into my side just hard enough to make me gasp. "This is going to be worth a fortune to the Broker. Or maybe I'll just keep you as a pet."
"I will bite your fingers off one by one," I spat, snapping my teeth at his thumb.
He laughed. It was a low, dangerous sound that vibrated in his chest. "I like the spirit. But let's talk about why you're here. Who sent you? Was it Vera? Is she testing a new soul-binding spell on vermin now?"
"I don't know any Vera! I just... I died!" I yelled, the memory of the fall hitting me. The darkness, the feeling of being torn apart, and then waking up in this disgusting, furry body. "I remember dying, and then I was here!"
His expression shifted. The smirk vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating intensity. He didn't let go. Instead, he pulled me closer, his scent—leather, ozone, and something like old parchment—filling my senses. The proximity was suffocating. I could feel the heat radiating off him, a stark contrast to the damp chill of the dungeon.
"Died, huh?" he whispered. "You're a Looper. A glitch in the cycle. You're not supposed to exist."
He tightened his grip, his fingers digging into my ribs. I let out a sharp cry, my small body trembling.
"If you're a Looper, you have information," he said, his voice dropping to a lethal murmur. "Information about the core. About the exit. About how to break the loop without triggering a total wipe."
"I don't know anything! I'm a Level 1 rat! What do I know about cores?"
"You know more than you think. Every time you die, you carry a piece of the dungeon's code back with you," he explained. He shifted his hand, pinning my tail against the wall with a sudden, brutal precision. The pain shot up my spine, making me arch my back.
He pressed the obsidian blade back against my throat. The edge was so sharp I could feel the individual molecules of the metal threatening to slice through my windpipe.
"Now, here's how this works," he said, his eyes locking onto mine. There was no mercy in them, only a hunger for power. "You're going to tell me exactly what you saw when you 'died.' You're going to tell me if there's a pattern to the respawn. And you're going to do it now, or I'll find out how many times a talking rat can die before it stops coming back."
I glared at him, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I hated him. I hated this body. I hated the way he looked at me like I was a bug under a microscope. But more than that, I wanted to live.
"I... I saw a door," I whispered, my voice trembling. "A black door with a gold seal. It whispered my name."
He didn't move. He didn't even blink. The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy, broken only by the distant roar of a dungeon monster in the next corridor. I could feel his breath on my face, the tension between us pulling tight like a tripwire.
"A gold seal?" he repeated. His grip on my tail tightened further, pinning me ruthlessly to the stone. "That's the Archive's mark. You're lying."
"I'm not! I swear!"
"Lie to me again," he whispered, the blade sliding a fraction of a millimeter deeper, drawing a thin line of blood, "and I'll carve the truth out of you piece by piece."
He leaned in closer, his face inches from mine, his gaze searching for any sign of a flinch. "Talk. Now. Prove it, or start dying again."