Chapter Text
Welcome, Crawler to the third floor.
Lani and I reappeared at the end of a green-walled corridor, though this one had an open roof. The walls themselves were only about ten feet high, the space above it open air. I stood, staring, at the sky above me, never so happy to see stars.
I felt like crying. We were outside.
But the reality of the world I was living in caught up with me after a second. I’d just received the floor notice, and that indicated there should be a roof over my head.
I looked around the golden bricks on the ground, spotting a loose stone up against the wall. I picked it up and pegged it at the sky, waiting for the thing to clatter – I don’t know why, but I was expecting the sound of the rock hitting corrugated iron. The stone itself barely managed to hit the invisible roof, but its sudden arrested momentum told me what I needed to know; we were still underground, though thankfully the roof was further away than a few feet above me.
I sighed, looking back at the ground. Lani clung to my back, riding my movements, clearly not even a little upset at our latest teleportation. His tongue occasionally flicked out, but he didn’t look stressed, wasn’t digging his claws into my back, so I relaxed a little more, looking around.
At the end of the corridor in front of me was a single familiar door, a long red carpet underfoot indicating where I was supposed to walk.
I knocked on the door to the room, and it swung open very quickly, revealing a very splendid-looking Clarissa. The demonessa had abandoned her black singlet-top and jeans, instead wearing an elegant one-strapped dress that reached the floor. Her dark hair was bundled up in a style above her head, looking distinctly ruffled. As she moved, I could hear her heels hitting the floor, and knew she’d abandoned her boots.
“You look amazing, Clarissa,” I said, giving her a smile. The smoky eyes thing she’d done with her makeup made her look more menacing than I’d ever seen her.
“Well. Aren’t you a bit of a surprise,” Clarissa said with a smile, motioning me inside and closing the door after me. “You disappeared for almost an entire floor; your friends are worried about you.”
“You’ve seen them?” I asked, taking a seat next to her favourite, at the fire.
“Oh, yes. Everyone goes through class selection. Thankfully, Alistair and Damien weren’t here at the same time, or I might have had to break up a fight.” She smiled softly, patting me on the knee. “When we’re finished, I encourage you to send them a message, let them know that you’re alright.” She looked me over as she sat down with a glass of something in her hand. It smoked a little. “you are alright, aren’t you?”
I realised that this was the first time someone had actually asked me that. I took a moment to think about it. “I mean, I think I am. I got some cool equipment, and met a truly insane woman, but I think I’m okay.”
“Good,” Clarissa said with a smile, and put her glass down, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “Because it’s not fun to break this early. Now. You’re here to pick a new race and class. Most people don’t change races, but I recommend at least giving it a solid think, because a race change can bring about a lot of advantages, disadvantages and issues. But we’ll go through them as we browse, we have a lot of time to spend considering this choice.”
I was a little put off by Clarissa’s comment about me breaking, but realised that the woman probably had a warped way of thinking, thanks to being both a part of the dungeon, and a demonessa. Still, that didn’t negate the information that the woman had locked in her head, and I was going to pick her brain as often as I could – I wasn’t going to be able to talk to her once this level ended, and I would need all the information I could get if I wanted to survive.
“So. First up, we choose race.” Clarissa waved her hand, and a screen appeared, floating in the air between us. She sat back again, picking up her glass. “Your current race, of course, is ‘human’. This,” she waved her hand towards the list dismissively, “is a list of every race you could turn into. Not all of them will be good, few of them will be great, and there might only be one or two truly amazing races that you’ll have to choose between. Your list is—” she consulted something, “—178 races long. You’ll find it’s in alphabetical order, so if you have any ideas about something you’d like to become, you can scroll down and check them first. Do you have any ideas?”
“Do I become this new race, or is this just a description change?” I asked, scrolling quickly through the list. “I’ve always thought about becoming a Tiefling, but I’m not sure it’s something I’d like to be permanently.”
Clarissa nodded. “This is a permanent change to your biology. I think you’d look damn fine as a Tiefling or a demonessa, but I do encourage you to look at everything before you make a choice. Especially if you’re going to be hunting viewers for your survival.”
I nodded. “Okay. Give me a minute to read.”
Clarissa nodded, sitting back in her chair with her glass of wine. I took a deep breath, let it out, and turned to the list of potential biological morph templates.
God, that sounds creepy.
There were three recommendations at the top of the list, highlighted to bring my attention to them. They were:
Bralgar
Murtlik
And
Vethari
I had no idea what they were – they definitely weren’t anything I’d heard of on earth. I glanced at Clarissa, who was browsing through the list on her own, familiarising herself with a few options what were new to her – she kept muttering “what is that?” under her breath as she read.
Okay. Time to get down to this shit. I clicked on the first one. It opened a popup window, including a fully-realised 3D rendering of the creature. This one was almost a cross between an orc and an ogre, and I wasn’t entirely sure I was imagining the stink lines in the image. Though I wasn’t specifically chasing viewers, I could tell this one would absolutely leave me without a single further view.
Bralgar
A species bred for war, the Bralgar are thick-skinned, tusked humanoids with an instinctual need to settle disputes through sheer brute force. Their arms are slightly longer than a human’s, built for power over finesse, and their bones are reinforced with dense cartilage, making them ridiculously hard to put down. A Bralgar in battle doesn’t stop until either they’re dead or everyone else is. Much like the Incredible Hulk, the Bralgar gets stronger the more injured they become – and the Bralgar will gladly provide you with a lifetime of opportunities to check that out.
+5 Strength
+4 Constitution
-2 Intelligence
-5 Charisma
Unlocks Bloodied Resilience
Unlocks Brawler’s Instinct
“Jesus, that’s a trade-off,” I muttered, looking between the strength and charisma stats. There was no way I was picking that race.
I scrolled down to look at the next race. This one looked like a fat rat, rolled up in a ball. I had no idea why this one would have been recommended to me – the Bralgar made sense, what with the strength bonus, but this one was just nuts.
Murtlik
The Murtlik are a race of hyper-adaptive scavengers, somewhere between a rat, a cephalopod, and a particularly bad idea. Their slick, rubbery skin shifts colours to blend into their surroundings, and their four grasping limbs—two arms, two smaller secondary manipulators—are built for snatching, hoarding, and, when necessary, throttling. Murtlik thrive in environments where others fail, finding opportunity in every scrap and surviving against all odds. They're fast, they're slippery, and if you leave your rations unattended, you won't have rations anymore.
+4 Dexterity
+3 Intelligence
-2 Strength
-2 Charisma
Unlocks Opportunist’s Grip
Unlocks Adaptive Metabolism
Well, that one was out. I didn’t like rats to begin with, and there was no way I was going to become one. I closed out of that one and moved to the next.
The third race was vastly different, more akin to a Kaminoan than anything found on Earth. It was long and thin, with its neck almost five times as long as a human’s. Its legs were wispy and under-developed, the reason for which became obvious once I read its description.
Vethari
These are an ancient, floating race of near-humanoids, their elongated forms trailing wisps of ethereal energy where legs should be. Their luminous, pupil-less eyes see the world through a lens of pure arcane perception, and their very touch can warp reality around them. Vethari do not run, do not panic, and do not waste time with trivialities like “physical exertion”. Instead, they levitate, cast, and command the battlefield like a living conduit of magic itself. They are as arrogant as they are powerful—and that’s saying something.
+6 Intelligence
+3 Charisma
-3 Strength
-3 Constitution
Unlocks Arcane Drift
Unlocks Spellweaver’s Touch
This thing sounded badass, and I almost selected it on impulse. I opened my mouth to tell Clarissa but stopped, thinking about it again. There were almost 180 races here; there is no way this thing was the best there could be.
And if it was, I could always come back to it.
I started scrolling through the list from the bottom, opening the ones I liked the name of, or that I half-remembered from Earth folklore. There was a Sasquatch here, which I found funny, and something called a Yara-ma-yha-who, which I noped out of as soon as I saw the sucker-tipped fingers and massive mouth.
There was an earth fairy on the list, and I loved the look of her, but I didn’t think she would mesh all that well with my current skills and spells. I spotted something interesting near the middle of the list and clicked through to look at it.
Ossavore
This limited race is only available to Crawlers who have either revived another Crawler or been revived through non-magical means.
A skeletal figure wrapped in tattered cloaks, the Ossavore is neither fully dead nor truly alive. Drawn to graves by an insatiable hunger, they consume bones for strength, their hollow eyes burning with unnatural fire.
Some master necromantic arts, bending death to their will. Others embrace raw fury, swinging rusted weapons with relentless force. Whether scholar or savage, an Ossavore is a walking defiance of mortality itself.
+4 Strength
+3 Intelligence
-3 Constitution
Adds the Bone Gluttony trait
Unlocks Ossified Rage
Forget the floating spirit-wizard, this thing was amazing! But did I really want to turn into a Charon-type figure for the rest of my life? I didn’t think so. And that minus to constitution would mean I would become almost as rickety as a skittle stack, which is not something I wanted. It went into my shortlist, but I continued on.
I pulled up a random picture from the list, growing bored with the process, and did I double-check when I saw what I’d opened.
Rendling
This limited race is only available to Crawlers who have had a near-death experience.
A Rendling isn’t just a survivor—they are a walking tally of every wound that should have killed them. Their flesh bears the scars of past suffering, yet they endure, trading pain for power. Each injury leaves a mark, but it also leaves them stronger. They can carve away their own flesh to fuel their abilities, growing harder, sharper, deadlier.
Rendlings fight with a reckless ferocity, knowing that every wound they take only fuels their potential. Their bodies heal, but never cleanly. They are built from their own ruin, sculpted by agony into something that refuses to break.
+4 Strength
+4 Constitution
-2 Charisma
+2 Dexterity
+2 Intelligence
Adds the Regeneration skill
Automatically worship the god Anven-Hael
I stared at the creature. The one in the image was scarred up, with obvious marks where the creature had been hit by something and received gashes over his face. It was red-skinned, like Clarissa, but didn’t have the same wings or tail. Instead, it was bulky, angry, and looked like it could kill something just by looking at it.
I looked between the Rendling and the Ossavore, trying to make up my mind. One had the potential to be a tank, but could end up very disfigured. The other was a walking bag of bones, but had that intimidation factor.
“Hey Clarissa,” I said, reading through the description on the Rendling again. “Does the Regeneration skill do what I think it does?”
Clarissa smiled. “What are you looking at?”
“I’m trying to decide between a Rendling and an Ossavore. What’s your opinion?”
Clarissa pulled up the two, comparing them. I watched her as she read, taking note of her facial expressions as she went. She blanched as she got to the end of the Rendling’s description.
“Well.” Clarissa let out a deep breath, looking at me. “You’ve definitely chosen two very strange races, but I admire your imagination. Both of them have the potential to be very, very powerful. But there are a couple of reservations, and you’ll have to figure out which is the lesser of two evils.
“The first evil is with the Rendling. Worshipping a god is always a path fraught with peril. You’ll get quests and tasks to perform, and they’re serious about you doing it. Thankfully, the Warden at the Door - Anven-Hael – is one of the god who rarely bestows quests, so it should be relatively easy to work within his structure.
“But the Ossavore is a fair snatch worse. They don’t just worship death—it hungers for it.” She glanced at me warily. “Ossavores don’t follow gods, they follow instinct, and that instinct is to consume. Their defining trait is Bone Gluttony—they can absorb the bones of the dead to gain temporary stat boosts, heal themselves, or even fuel powerful abilities. Sounds great, right?”
I nodded. It did, which made me feel like it was a shoe, and the other one was about to drop.
Clarissa folded her arms. “Here’s the problem. It’s not optional. If you go too long without feeding on fresh bone, your stats start decaying. First Strength, then Constitution, then Dexterity—it’ll eat you from the inside out. And before you ask, no, scraping a bit of marrow off an old femur won’t cut it. It has to be fresh, or at least recently dead.”
I stilled, feeling sick.
Her expression darkened. “And if you get really desperate, your body will start making its own solution. Your bones will thin, your ribs will crack, your fingers will snap under their own weight. The hunger will gnaw at you until you either feed or collapse into a heap of brittle dust.” She shook her head. “At least with Anven-Hael, you can ignore his quests for a while. With the Ossavore, your own body is the punishment.”
“Yeah. I’m not doing that.” I thought about all the other options I’d read through, and shook my head. “I like the Rendling. There’s a couple of others, but I think the Rendling will work for what I want – and if I lose an arm or anything, it will grow back. I pick the Rendling.”
Clarissa looked me over. “Are you sure?” she asked, pulling up her own menu.
“Yes. Rendling.”
Clarissa sighed, then nodded. She pulled up a menu. “Alright. Tap your selection, and we’ll move on to the next bit.”
I tapped the selection, then waited. I expected my skin to change colour, or to be covered in scars or whatever, but there was no change.
“Did I mess it up?” I asked, looking at my hands.
“No, the changes will take place all at once, so you only have to go through it once.” Clarissa tapped on the menu in front of her, and another, longer, list of classes unravelled in front of me. “Alright. Same as last time, recommended at the top, but you’re welcome to look at the rest of the list and choose from it, if you wish. If you need help with something, give me a shout, but I’m going to refill my drink while you browse.”
She wandered off with her empty wine glass as I started browsing. First, I examined the three classes at the top of the list.
Extreme Survivalist
Junkyard Bruiser
And
Surplus Management Officer
I cracked my neck, ready to dive into the choices. There was no 3D-image of the classes this time, as I doubt there would be some physical changes to the classes. I pulled up the first option, not sure it would work well with my new race.
Extreme Survivalist
When most people would lie down and die, the Extreme Survivalist keeps moving. This is the class of people who’ve crawled out of disasters, who’ve endured starvation, dehydration, and exposure, who’ve pushed past every limit a body should have. You didn’t just survive your near-death experience—you learned from it. Now, pain is just information, exhaustion is an obstacle to push through, and every scrap of food or water is a precious resource.
50% chance to gain a temporary stat boost in a low-health state
Access to the Scavenge Instinct perk
Access to the Indomitable Will perk
+2 Intelligence
+2 Dexterity
+1 Strength
That one sounded like it would work with my new race, but I was sure there would be something that would mesh much better. I opened the second recommendation.
Junkyard Bruiser
Some fighters train for years, mastering elegant techniques and wielding finely crafted weapons. You, on the other hand, learned to fight in back alleys and scrapyards, where whatever you can lift is good enough to break someone’s jaw. The Junkyard Bruiser isn’t about finesse—it’s about dirty tricks, brute force, and knowing exactly where to hit to make it hurt.
Access to the Improvised Arsenal skill
Access to the Scrapyard Guarddog skill
Access to Reckless Resilience skill
+2 Intelligence
+2 Strength
+2 Constitution
-2 Charisma
Ew, no. That class was more a fighter class, and would result in my body being made almost entirely of scars by the end of the floor. As I would rather keep my scars minimal, I was not picking that class.
Finally, I pulled up the third recommendation. I couldn’t say I had much hope for the class, but as I read, my thoughts began to plot.
Surplus Management Officer
This exclusive class is only available to Crawlers who have demonstrated resourcefulness without access to healing or arms.
Whether it’s scavenging battlefields, breaking down old equipment, or stretching a single potion to last twice as long, a Surplus Management Officer ensures nothing ever goes to waste.
You don’t just survive on scraps—you thrive on them. Every item, spell, or enemy corpse has potential, and you know exactly how to extract every last drop of usefulness. Those who overlook the power of leftovers tend to find themselves recycled.
Salvage broken or discarded items for usable components, restoring up to 50% of their original function.
Absorb lingering magical energy from spells or fallen creatures to reduce casting costs.
25% chance to preserve consumables.
Break items for resources.
+4 Intelligence
+2 Constitution
-2 Charisma
This is an Earth Class. As an incentive to choose an Earth Class, you will receive a Silver Earth Box upon selecting this class.
Holy shit. yeah, I was about to take an even bigger hit to my charisma, but that was only four levels – I could probably restore that within a couple of days, considering how much the game seemed to delight in throwing near-impossible challenges at me.
I looked at the bracelet on my wrist, thinking. The stupid thing would continue to sap my strength until I figured out how to get it off. The Surplus Management Officer would top my strength up even further, while offering me the ability to scavenge everything off the battlefield. Combined with the Rendling’s ability to regenerate, I had the possibility of building one of the most powerful move-sets in the game.
If I could get that bracelet off.
I spent some time looking through all the other choices, but I kept thinking about that surplus manager class.
“Clarissa,” I said slowly, looking up from where I’d been studying the screen, to find her asleep in the chair. I sighed, realising I’d already spent too long staring at the choices before me, rolled my eyes and nudged her with my foot. “Clarissa, wake up.”
The demonessa snorted as she woke, peering around confusedly until she caught sight of me. She rubbed at her face, pushing herself to sit up straight and yawning. “Sorry,” she said through a second yawn. “I’ve been awake a long time.”
I shrugged. “Can you check my choice for me, please? Third one down.”
Clarissa nodded, then rubbed at her eyes and squinted a little, peering at the menu. “Okay. Rendling, we already settled on that and… Surplus Management Officer?” she asked, looking between me and the screen. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” I said. “Why? What did you see?”
Clarissa clucked her tongue. “Do me a favour,” she said, looking me in the eye. “Don’t call on your allies too often. They don’t tend to like that.”
“What--?”
Clarissa shook her head and indicated I should make my selection. I did, watching her warily. “Okay, now explain. What—"
Pain shot through my body, and I screamed, falling from my chair.