The dungeon trembled beneath his feet.
His mere aura alone had chased the serpids back, minotaurs back to their dens, goblins near death.
His armor clanged against the walls as he walked, fully plated in sliver and black, a large greatsword tucked in metal gleamed underneath the Frausch lights.
He walked forward. Stopping, looking around.
"I've come all this way."
He turned, flower guised monsters behind him wilted.
"Where are all the cute monsters!?"
He sighed, the sound rasping through his mask, and kept walking.
The dungeon shifted around him. Walls scraped, corridors rotated, and the layout bent itself into something new. In a few minutes, he'd be lost... assuming he wasn't already.
He stopped again. Just beside a loose rock, a Rinlon crouched. A small creature, barely three inches tall—five if nature was generous. And while Rinlon was the appropriate name, most people called them Rock Rats.
Still beside that small rock, the Rinlon group huddled together, the male, identified by his drooping ears and large front tooth, stood in front with his arms outstretched. Protecting a female about his height, and two smaller ones whose genders he couldn't tell.
"Please... don't kill me... I'll offer you anything, so please. Take..." the Rinlon male stammered, "take my life instead!"
"Your wife is a half breed isn't she." He was practically lying on the ground now, armor soaking up dirt and grime, his hands inched toward the Rinlon female, hoisting her up.
She shrieked, covering herself with her hands.
"Let her go, you pervert!" the male shouted, rushing forward and punching his helmet with tiny fists.
"Leave mommy alone, you pervert!" The children echoed the same sentiment.
All he could do was shake his head and sigh, he had no interest in Rock Rat genitalia. All he wanted to see was her anus, or rather the pattern just beside her tail.
It was a striking white-striped shade, practically impossible to see on a typical Rinlon, unless they were mixed with something.
"Is it okay if I ask... what your parents were?" he said quietly.
The male spat back, "Now you ask?"
Moments later, the little family sat pressed against a wall, staring at his helmet like it was some kind of ancient monument. They weren't scared anymore, but seeing him sprawled in the mud with his feet kicked up, made them think he was weird. The kind of weird you walk away from very quickly.
"So, Finn," he said, nodding to the male. "Mind if I ask your wife a few questions?"
"Sure." Finn responded.
He turned to the female, "Alright... can I ask what you're mixed with?"
"Ryza." She said softly. "My mother was a Ryza female, and my father was a Rinlon." She laughed. "Doesn't seem like my mothers genes did anything though,"
"Yes, they're practically nonexistent."
"Watch your mouth!" Finn said, fist balled in the air.
"Ryza are a sub species of weretiger, not to be confused with Fenrir, the subspecies of werewolves. They have white shaded fur and their females have an amazing scent..." he drifted off in thought.
"Honey... take the kids far away from this man!" Finn screamed.
"Oh, that reminds me." He said. "Do you happen to know where the exit is? I ended up on the lower floors by accident, and now the dungeon's reshuffling."
"That's bad," Finn said, eyes narrowing. "Guess you really are a surface dweller."
He pointed toward a green-glowing door by the edge of the room, water sounds rushing from inside.
"That's a dead point—a hole in the dungeon. From there you can watch the rooms rearrange. If you're lucky, you can jump onto one before the next Parashift," Finn explained.
Standing up, dusting off his armor, he waved. "Thanks for the help, Finn. And you too, family. Hope to see you again."
"Please leave my family alone!" Finn shouted after him.
"Okay, sheesh," he said, eyes on the door. Then, stepping forward, he entered the dead point.