The First Great Game (A Litrpg/Harem Series) Chapter 92: Let’s do the tunnel

Darkness. Total, oppressive, crushing.

Mason’s mind felt split into two parts: 1) conscious and practical, telling him he would need air and had to try and shift and dig and do sothing to get out of the sand; 2) Panic. Total, animal, panic.

He was buried alive. He was trapped beneath God knew how much sand and rock under the ground so far he'd fallen down a hole for several seconds to reach it. There was no escape. There was no chance.

Shut up and move!

Mason turned his head and wiggled his shoulders and his hips. It wasn't over. Not yet. Apex Predator once let him breathe water. Would it let him hold his breath forever? Adapt to the earth like a worm? He saw no ghostly text, no sign of an imminent save.

Think and wiggle. Wiggle and think. He clawed at the earth with his fingers, he pushed at it with his feet. How long it went on he wasn’t sure, but he only had so much air. With his trendous physical stats and his powers maybe he had a lot, but not unlimited. And Streak and Carl would have less. Maybe much less.

Finally Mason activated Speak with Nature, and prayed.

[Co to ], he called in every direction. [Co to and I will feed you.]

He had no idea what, if anything, would co. But he knew he might be feeding them with his corpse.

He activated Predator's Strike and tried to chop with his hand and felt it clear a little room. It wasn’t much of a victory, but it was sothing. He reached out with his senses and could still feel chittering—more insectoids out there sowhere working at the earth.

Ti soon began to lose aning. Had it been seconds? Minutes? He honestly didn’t know. All he wanted was to move, to take a breath, to open his eyes. He ramd his partially free arm and hand over and over into the clearing space, a battering ram pounding an impossibly thick gate. Every strike seed to compact the earth more and more, and soon he was smashing sothing like hardened clay.

But his fist would heal. He had to get out. However desperate he was the others would be worse. Predator's Strike re-charged and he dug with his other arm, trying to bring them together. Forward or back? He had to go forward now. But maybe once he was free he could dig out his friends.

His senses felt more than chittering now. Sothing rumbled in the earth, displacing dirt like a drill as it spiraled straight down at him.

Yes! Co on, he thought, attack . Chew a hole. I'll heal the flesh and blood but I can't heal my way out of this dirt and I can't regenerate Streak.

He soon got his wish. The rumbling turned into a crash as sothing dropped into their tunnel, thrashing and shaking the ground until Mason felt his body loosening. He pushed, and pushed, screaming as he finally rose from the dirt and gasped his first breath.

"Mason!"

He blinked and tried to clear dirt from his eyes, seeing what was maybe Carl hacking at mostly trapped and buried insects. Then the older man was grabbing him and pulling him free.

"Streak," he managed, after spitting a mouthful of gritty, chunky saliva.

The wolf crawled up his dirt mound and barked, seemingly not a speck of dust on his fur.

"It just hit you and the creatures in the tunnel," Carl explained. "We were safe enough back in that room with the pool."

Mason didn't have enough sanity left to express relief. He just sagged to the ground and tried to breathe, mumbling a thanks as Carl took a rag and water and started cleaning his face.

"There's sothing..." Mason choked. "Sothing close. It burrowed past. Shook loose."

"Haven't seen anything." Carl said. "Are you sure?"

Mason nodded, not having the words or the fucks to explain his Speak with Nature call. He wiped at his eyes and glanced around the gloom, then froze.

"Carl," he said quietly. "Don't move."

The man had his flashlight pointing the other direction. But there, not ten feet back towards the crushed tunnel, was a purple worm much like the devourer's Mason had already killed.

It had the sa horrific ringed maw of teeth surrounded by fangs. Except this one had eyes, like a snake. It watched Mason with a black, steady gaze, turning back and forth slightly, as if inspecting.

[Food?] A warbling sound preceded a scent, and between the two sohow he actually understood like the damn worm talked.

"Carl. Did you uh, hear the worm…say sothing?”

“Uh, what?”

“Nevermind. Get out so at, and give it to ."

"Um, sure kid." The older man dug into his bag. "The settlent rations, the bacon, or leftover beef?"

"Just hurry up and give anything."

"Alright, alright, but if you ask for bacon for breakfast I'm going to rember this mont. I surely will." He handed over the slab, and Mason uncovered it and tossed it forward.

The worm leaned down and sort of tickled it with its smaller teeth, then hoovered it up and swallowed it all. It looked up again, and stared.

Mason again activated Speak with Nature.

[Good trade. That's all. No more at.]

What the worm thought of that he had no idea. It did seem to turn slightly towards Streak, though. And after a rather tense, long mont of the most terrible staring contest of Mason's life, it spun and drilled itself into the wall as fast as a man might swim, leaving a hole as it burrowed away.

"Right. No more deadly traps," Mason muttered, spitting so more dirt as he slumped.

"Crushed the bugs at least." Carl shrugged. "Shall we see what's up the ‘main’ tunnel? Follow your purple buddy? Or, uh, do you still need a mont?"

Mason glared at the man until so dirt made him blink, then slumped over.

* * *

They chose ‘main tunnel’ when Mason regained his senses—and also after several long minutes of digging to uncover his buried bow.

He’d wiped and washed the weapon rather than himself, checking for any damage, but wasting water seed like an unfortunate life choice.

Now he crept forward with bow at the ready, spitting the occasional piece of grit and wiping at his nose, Streak and Carl sneaking behind.

The chittering, at least, had stopped. Whatever lay at the end of the passage was either empty or sothing new. Mason wasn’t sure which was preferable.

The tunnel opened into the room previously filled with bugs, this one near identical to the ‘pool room’ they’d found before. This ti, however, instead of a big green pool of ooze, there was a cluster of white, almost translucent eggs.

The larva could be seen inside, and to Mason they didn’t look like mini versions of the insects he’d been killing. They looked like worms.

“Wonderful.”

He stepped forward until he could see down the two new attached passages, but didn’t hesitate long. He smashed the eggs, doing his best to avoid the slimy contents spilling everywhere. Streak went to start eating the larvae, and Mason held him back.

“I don’t rember what the hell that space movie was called, but I don’t think you want a belly full of worms.”

Streak whined and licked his lips with pouting eyes.

“You an Alien?” Carl whispered. “They have to like, implant themselves.”

“I don’t know what it’s called, would you eat those fucking things?”

“Well. No.” Carl scratched his chin. “But I wouldn’t eat shit either, and my old dog did that.”

“Just don’t eat worms!” Mason hissed, then looked down the corridors and sighed. “Left,” he muttered, “always to the left.”

Left turned into another, winding, even narrower tunnel that soon had Mason crawling on hands and knees. He grunted and cursed as he scraped along with his bow and bags, feeling more and more claustrophobic with each second, like the roof would collapse at any mont.

Then it did.

The softest sound of falling sand, then a wave of dust blowing down the tunnel like fire in a movie.

“Back!” Mason shouted, doing his best to turn around. “Go back now!”

Streak turned and sprinted, trampling Carl against the tunnel wall. The older man had hardly moved and Mason was growling in frustration as he raced on hands and knees straight at him. Then the older man just vanished, and Mason went straight through.

Dust swallowed him and blew out into the room, but he reached the end and dropped down without getting buried again. Carl and Streak were waiting without seeming all that concerned. Mason closed his eyes and breathed.

“Always go left, he says. That’s how mazes work, he says.”

“What’s that?” Carl swatted at so dust and ducked down. “Shall we try the other tunnel, then?”

Mason glared, then noticed Streak was eating the worm eggs.

“Oh for. God damnit, Streak.” He groaned and got to his feet. “Yes, Carl, we’ll try the other tunnel. Are you ready, or would you like to join the wolf there and have a snack?”

Carl paused, like he was seriously considering it, then winked.

“Let’s do the tunnel.”

Mason refrained from smashing his nose.