Critical Failures III (Caverns and Creatures Book 3) (4 page)

“I thought only criminals carried hypos in their pockets.”

“Now what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you have a tiny dick.”

“Why you little shit.” Dennis backhanded Tim across the face, knocking him to the ground. “I reckon I’m gonna enjoy this. Randy, you got any rubbers? With a mouth like that, you know this ain’t his first time around the block.”

“Come on, Dennis,” said Randy. “Just let the boy go.”

“Never mind,” said Dennis. “I got one.” He kicked Tim. “Go on. Get up, boy.”

Tim stood up. “I’m warning you, you sick fuck. You’d better stay away from me.”

“Hop into the back of the van, son” said Dennis. “Randy, not a word out of you or I’ll shoot you dead and put a knife in your hand.”

“You’re a fucking police officer!” cried Tim.

“That’s right,” said Dennis, pulling a condom out of his back pocket. “And now I’m about to protect and serve.” He opened the right side door.

“Sleep, baby, sleep,” sang Chaz with a single strum of his lute.

“The fuck?” Dennis dropped to the ground like a bag of potatoes.

“Well,” said Chaz. “That’s me tapped out of spells for the day.”

Tim removed the officer’s gun from its holster. “Help me get him into the van.”

“What?” said Chaz. “We’re kidnapping a fucking cop now? Are you out of your mind?” In spite of his objection, he still grabbed the arm Tim lifted up to him. “You know those cop cars have cameras, right?”

“I think the good officer probably shuts the camera off before he rapes kids,” said Tim. “Don’t you?”

Dave and Chaz pulled the sleeping officer into the van.

“You hop up front, Chaz,” said Tim.

“Why?” asked Chaz. “What if Randy comes out of the spell?”

“Keep this pointed at him.” Tim slapped the gun into Chaz’s gut. “It’s just as good as a spell.”

Tim grabbed the rear bumper of the van and lifted himself inside like a gymnast. He and Dave closed the doors. Dave sat back against the wall, but Tim’s mind was racing. He could feel his pulse beating in his temples. He scanned the van until he spotted a roll of duct tape. That would do.

As soon as the van’s engine started up, Tim got to work taping Dennis’s hands together and his mouth shut. He then set to unbuckling the officer’s belt.

“Um…” said Dave. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Do you remember that scene in
Fight Club
,” said Tim, “when Brad Pitt threatens to cut the police commissioner’s balls off?” He unzipped Dennis’s pants and pulled them down to his knees, revealing white briefs against whiter skin. “See if you can find a rubber band.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” said Dave. “That dude’s a cop. Don’t you think we’re in deep enough shit as it is?”

“This
dude
just tried to fuck me against my will,” said Tim.

“Yeah, I know, but –”

“And do I have to remind you that he thought I was a kid?”

“I’m only thinking about –”

“You’re not thinking,” said Tim. “You and Chaz are missing the bigger picture here. We’re off the grid. If the cops get us on camera, get our fingerprints or whatever, who gives a fuck? We’re in deep shit all right. But here’s the good part. We’re in so deep that we get to act with a sort of impunity. We can’t live here like this. There are only two ways this can end. We get Mordred to change us back into our normal selves, in which case we’ll never be suspected of the crimes committed by the carnival freaks we currently are. Or we die trying, in which case why not put the fear of God into this kid-fucker before we go?”

Tim pulled the cop’s underwear down. The sick fucker still had a semi going. He wiped his sweaty palm on his pants and shivered as he wrapped his hand around Dennis’s scrotum. He drew his dagger and placed the blade against the base of the sack. “Wake him up.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” said Dave.

“Fine,” said Tim. “
I’ll
wake him up.” He squeezed Dennis’s balls together.

Dennis groaned. It sounded more like pleasure than pain, so Tim squeezed harder. The groan became suddenly sharper and louder until Dave finally acquiesced and clapped his palm over Dennis’s mouth.

Dennis came wide awake and struggled against his bindings.

“I wouldn’t squirm too much, officer,” said Tim. “I’ve got a knife on your sack.”

Panic and understanding shone in Dennis’s eyes, and he stopped struggling at once.

“My friend’s going to take the tape off your mouth,” said Tim. “Promise not to scream?”

Dennis nodded.

“All right.” Tim nodded at Dave, who then ripped the duct tape from Dennis's mouth.

"Ow!" said Dennis. Some of his mustache hairs had come off with the tape. “You two assholes got no idea how much trouble –”

Tim pressed the dagger more firmly against Dennis’s skin, just short of slicing through. “You’re the one who’s in trouble right now, officer. So shut up and listen.”

Dave looked sympathetically down at Dennis. “I’d hear him out.”

“Now here’s what’s going to happen,” said Tim. “I’m not what you think I am. I’ve got eyes and ears all over town, and I’m going to be watching you. If I
ever
hear of you even
looking
at another –”

Bump
. The van ran over a pothole, knocking Tim backward onto his ass.

Dennis screamed.

Tim looked down and discovered he still had a pair of hairy, bloody testicles in his hand. “FUCK!” He flung the sack away to the other side of the van.

“JESUS CHRIST!” shouted Dave. He clapped his hand over Dennis’s mouth. “You cut his fucking balls off!” Dennis writhed around, smearing blood all over the van floor.

“Dude!” cried Tim. “Heal him already!”

“I heal thee!” said Dave.

Dennis stopped squirming and passed back out. New, hairless skin closed the wound, and a small squirt of semen seeped out of his dick.

Tim sat back, groping in his vest’s inner pocket for the pack of cigarettes he’d grabbed from the Chicken Hut. “I guess he still had one left in the chamber.”

Chapter 4

Scott and his crew sat around a lonely table in a dark corner of the Stone Dragon Tavern, the ritziest place their group was still allowed into. While the other three merely sat silently, sulking into their beers, Scott tried to remind himself that all was not lost. They’d had a bad day, but they were still the biggest badasses on the block, at least in this part of town. They could still stir some shit up.

Eric was doing more than sulking. He was still seething as he sat, bare-chested while he had the tavern keeper clean the vomit off of his armor and undershirt. His half-orc skin was gray and smooth, save for the scars he’d earned in the battles they’d fought since they’d come here. When he was in a good mood, he’d point to a certain one and recall the story behind it. The battle they’d just walked away from wasn’t a story he’d likely be telling anytime soon. Vomit stains were not scars, and defeat was not fun to recall.

“I’ll murder them all,” Eric murmured into his beer. “I’ll save that half-orc for last. Make him watch while I tear his friends apart with my teeth.”

“They’re gone,” said Scott. “I know the aura of a Teleport spell when I see it.”

“Then we’ll find them,” said Eric. “How soon can you get the Scry spell?”

“It’s a fourth level spell,” said Scott. “I get my first one next time I level up, but I don’t want to waste it on
Scry
. I want Greater Invisibility.”

Eric slammed a meaty fist on the table. “Do you want to find those bastards or not?”

Scott sat back in his chair just far enough so that if Eric wanted to punch him, he’d have to stand up first. “It’s not a problem. I’m a wizard. I can write both spells in my book. It’s just that I get the first one for free. The second one will just be a little expensive.”

“You’re both wasting your time hunting that half-orc,” said Milton, lifting his beer to his bony face with arms thinner than the legs of the chair he sat on. He grinned in spite of his cloak still being damp with half-orc urine. “He’s well dead by now. I left that jerk a little surprise. That dagger I shoved in his gut was slathered with giant scorpion venom.”

“It’s still worth finding them,” said Nathan, barely visible in the dark corner. His white teeth gleamed through the shadow of his black hood. “Wouldn’t it be fun for me to turn his filthy body into a zombie?”

Nathan, Milton, and Eric looked at Scott.

“That would be badass!” said Scott. “Scry it is, then!” He raised his glass. The others raised theirs and they all clinked together.

It was no easy feat getting Eric in a good mood when he didn’t want to be in one. Nathan’s suggestion of animating that disgusting half-orc’s body seemed to be doing the trick, though. And so of course some jerk had to come nosing around and threatening to ruin the mood.

It was either a tall halfling or a short human who entered the tavern’s common room. Scott would have guessed female, but he couldn’t be sure. It was older than most religions, with wispy white hair sticking up in every direction, like it hadn’t been washed in a decade. It only had one eye, and didn’t even bother to cover the other empty socket with a patch or anything. It wore a simple gown which appeared to be cut from a burlap sack, and it held a rusty tin cup.

“Alms for the poor,” the pitiful creature rasped, clanking around what Scott imagined was supposed to be seed money inside its cup, but sounded more like just a rock.

The other patrons gave the wretched thing a wide berth. Scott supposed it was good that there was someone in the tavern more hated than themselves. And then its one creepy white eye locked on to his. It grinned at him, its four rotted teeth showing through cracked, bleeding lips. It hobbled toward their table.

“Alms for the poor?” the thing repeated.

“We gave at the office,” said Milton. “Beat it.”

The creature rattled the rock inside its cup too close to Eric’s face for comfort. “Alms for the poor?” Eric’s jaw tightened. The vile beggar didn’t know what it was getting itself into.

“All right,” said Scott, not wanting Eric to make a scene. It had been a long day, and he just wanted to drink the rest of it away in peace. He reached into the coin pouch tucked under his robe and pulled out a copper coin. He placed the coin into the cup, where it made a much more convincing clink of metal upon metal. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

Eric let out a soft snort.

The beggar began coughing violently. It was a wet, phlegmy cough which grew louder and louder until a gob of blood and phlegm flew out of its mouth and stuck to Eric’s arm. It was a swirl of red and yellow, like ketchup and mustard.

Eric stood up, towering over the old beggar. He pointed a massive finger into its face. “You’re pushing your luck, you creepy old faggot. Now get lost, before it –”

“Temper temper, Pestilence,” said Nathan. They called each other by their game names in the presence of locals. Nathan had that kind of creepy presence where he barely needed to speak above a whisper to interrupt a pissed-off half-orc.

Eric wiped the bloody phlegm off his arm and flung it down at the beggar. “I said it’s time to go.”

The beggar grinned up at Eric and shook its cup. “Alms for the poor?”

Eric drew his sword. “I’m giving you one last chance to scram, you stupid piece of –”

“Pestilence!” said Nathan. It was rare that he raised his voice even to the conversational level he did now.

All eyes in the tavern were fixed on their table. The patrons knew them well enough to keep their distance, as none of them could take the Horsemen in a fight. But if they all joined together... Eric wasn’t the sort to weigh all of the possible ramifications of his actions before just jumping into something stupid. The assault on the Whore’s Head Inn had been his idea, and he was the only one who hadn’t regretted it the next morning when they all sobered up.

Scott was trying to think of something he could say to calm Eric down, but the tavern owner beat him to it.

“Get on yer way now, stranger,” said the unusual-looking dwarf from a raised platform behind the bar. Unlike most dwarves, the owner of the Stone Dragon Tavern shaved the sides of his face, leaving behind only an impressive set of lamb chops, a thick handlebar mustache, and a beard which, while long and braided, was only allowed to grow directly under his mouth. “These folks shared their coin with ye. Now get on outta here before ye get yerself hurt.”

Scott knew the tavern owner had no love for his group. That exit order had been strictly meant to protect this old beggar. But the beggar didn’t even seem to hear him. It just continued grinning up at Eric, jiggling his cup.

“Alms for the –” The beggar sneezed into his hand. When he pulled it away, it was covered in more snot than should have been able to fit inside the thing’s whole hollow head. “Excuse me,” it said, and then wiped its decrepit hand on Eric’s pants.

“Well shit,” said the tavern owner.

“Why you little…” Eric was too enraged to finish his sentence. He thrust his sword into the pitiful creature’s gut.

The beggar let out a small grunt as the sword entered its belly. It gagged, like it was going to hurl, but no vomit came out. Instead, the end of Eric’s sword did, as if it had curved around inside the creature’s body.

Scott stepped to the side and looked behind the beggar. Sure enough, there was no exit wound. It was as though Eric had shoved his sword into a pipe-bending machine.

“What the hell?” said Eric.

The sides of the beggar’s chapped lips curled up in a grin, made all the creepier by the big, pointy, metal tongue he was now sporting. Before their eyes, the end of the sword morphed into an actual tongue, the tip melted into a curve, thickening slightly and glistening pink. The tongue did not, however, shrink to an appropriate size. It just hung out of the creature’s mouth, wagging and drooling. The beggar closed its one eye and began panting.

“What the – AAUUGH!” said Eric, jerking his hand away from the hilt of his sword. Only it wasn’t a sword hilt anymore. It had morphed into the creature’s enormous exposed penis. Now that Eric had removed his hand, the creature took up the task with both of its (
his
, Scott now supposed) own hands.

Scott turned away, but morbid curiosity pulled his head forward again. The penis was a sword hilt again, and the horrible creature was pulling it, unbloodied, out of his gut. As he did so, his giant, flapping tongue receded into his mouth and down his throat. When the sword was completely removed, the beggar held it up to Eric, hilt first.

Eric cautiously reached for the sword, but when his hand was close enough, the beggar grabbed it and twisted it behind Eric’s back. It was a move that should have been impossible, considering the great discrepancy in their sizes. The old beggar was on Eric’s back, wrist in one hand and the topknot of Eric’s hair in the other. He slammed Eric’s face onto the table.

“Beg for mercy,” said the beggar.

“Mercy! Mercy!” cried Eric.

The beggar hopped off Eric’s back and landed nimbly on top of the table. “It’s like you idiots have never played this game before.”

“Excuse me?” said Milton.

The beggar reached a hand down the front of his burlap gown, and then popped something into his empty eye socket. He blinked a few times, and then looked the group over with two fully functioning eyeballs. “Ah, now. That’s better.”

“What are you?” said Scott.

“Don’t you know?” said the beggar. “The more harmless and pathetic a creature appears to be, the more cautious you should be of it. That’s just a basic rule of storytelling.”

“Wait a minute,” said Nathan. “Are you…?”

The beggar raised his arms and grinned with a mouthful of shiny white teeth. “I’m back, boys.”

“Mordred!” they all called out together.

“Oh great,” grumbled the tavern owner. “They know each other.”

Eric wiped away some blood from under his snout. “Where have you been, man? We were worried about you.”

Mordred’s beggar avatar hopped off the table and pulled up a stool taken from a table nearby. The other occupants of the table raised no objections. “I ran into a problem with the latest group of gamers I sent in. The bastards nearly killed me.”

“I think we met them,” said Nathan. “Was one of them a half-orc with a really dirty mouth?”

“That’s them,” said Mordred.

“Those jerks puked on me,” said Eric. “And then they threw a dead pig at me!”

Mordred looked perplexed. “I must have missed quite a bit while I was away. Anyway, I’ve got some bad news and I’ve got some good news.”

“What’s the bad news?” asked Nathan.

“That group has managed to find a way to cross between this world and our world.”

“That’s impossible,” said Scott. “I mean, without your say-so, right?”

“I would have thought so,” said Mordred. “But they’re here now, and they’ll be coming after me. That’s the bad news.”

“Then what’s the good news?” asked Scott.

“I’m bringing you boys home!” said Mordred.

“No!” said Eric. “I don’t want to go home. I like it here.”

Scott agreed. Home was full of school and homework and girls who wouldn’t give him the time of day. Here he could do magic and drink beer and pay for sex. “I don’t want to go back either.”

“I haven’t told you the whole story yet,” said Mordred. “The guys who came back, they’re still their characters!”

“What?” said Nathan. Even his blue eyes shone from beneath the shadow of his black hood. “You’re saying they’re still an elf and a half-orc and all that?”

Mordred grinned. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“And they still have their powers?”

Mordred slapped his palms down on the table. “They blew out the back windshield of my car with a Magic Missile!”

Scott chuckled. “Magic Missile. Lame!”

“So what do you say, fellas?” asked Mordred. “You can keep screwing around in this place, or you can come back home and get some revenge on those jerks... and protect me.”

Milton leaned in. “Do you guys realize what we could do back on earth with the powers we have?”

Scott’s imagination raced. “The next time one of those jerks on the basketball team says something to me, Fireball!”

He and Eric looked at one another and smiled. “Greg Hines,” they said in unison. That prick had it coming for sure.

“Heck,” said Scott. “I can just Fireball the whole stupid gym.”

“You two are thinking too small,” said Milton.

“They’ve just started plotting murder and arson,” said Mordred. “That’s thinking too small?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of robbing banks and stuff like that,” said Milton. “Grab the loot and just teleport out of there.”

“Still too small,” said Nathan, once again cloaked in the darkness of the corner. He rested his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers together.

“What’s left?” asked Mordred. “Genocide?”

“Are you in danger right now?” asked Nathan.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean are they currently chasing you at this moment?”

“Nah,” said Mordred. “I gave them the slip, and they have no idea where I am. But I can’t keep hiding forever.”