1.14 Monsters

Subconsciously acting on his [Lesser Reflex] skill, Michael's hand shot out, slapping the creature that jumped at him with a deafening crack. Its own momentum working against it, the creature veered to his left, tumbling down the stairs. It crashed into a wall, and didn't climb back up. Instead, it chirped painfully and disappeared out of his sight.

Michael gaped. Skills were awesome. "But what was that thing?" It had looked like a dog with carapace instead of fur. He could be wrong.

Loud, chirping and hissing sound made Michael turn his gaze back to the room. Six pairs of glowing eyes stared back at him. The eyes looked human, but Michael knew the creatures were anything but human.

The monsters—Michael could not help but think them as monsters—only stared and hissed at him as if unsure what to do.

"Oh, god I am dead."

Michael stepped back. That must have spooked them, for the monsters surged forward.

Shrieking like a cat whose tail has been stepped upon, Michael closed the door and hefted the bar back up. The door trembled with multiple thuds, but blessedly it held. That was some sturdy wood.

They constantly battered at the door. "Monsters! Why wouldn't they be real?"

After every thing Michael had expected his encounter with them, only not so soon.

He took in a ragged breath, warmth spreading down his legs. No! I did not just do that. It did not happen.

Michael looked down. Yellow liquid pooled beneath his feet. He looked at it with wide-eyed horror. No! He covered his face with his hand, flushing with embarrassment. He was no hero, was he? If he was, he wouldn't have peed himself.

What will mother say when she learns of this. He didn't even want to think about his brother and sister's reaction. No, it would have to remain a secret, forever forgotten.

The battering in the door intensified, bringing him out of his stupor.

"What am I doing standing here like a fool? That door won't last long no matter how strong. I need to do something."

Michael looked around, weighing his option. There was nothing on this floor that could help him.

His only option was to was get the hell out of this place, wasn't it? If only it were that simple. If only there wasn't a monster downstairs. If only!

"Why didn't I bring my axe up here with me. Real smart, Michael. Real smart."

Michael looked at the door. These monster really don't know how to give up. Michael looked down the stairs, firming his resolve. Facing one beast was better than six. Of course, it was like saying being hanged was better than being burned alive.

Michael descended the stairs, one hesitant step at a time, hoping to minimise the creaking of the stairs. But he didn't have to worry. The sound was drowned out by the loud thuds coming from above.

After reaching downstairs, he moved ever so slowly, staying close to the corridor—he practically stuck to the wall like a glue. At the end of the corridor, Michael peeked.

There it was, next to the hearth—the monster he had mistaken as a dog with carapace. It was no such dog, but much, much worse. It was a giant … cockroach. There was no other way to put it. It was a giant cockroach with human like eyes that had no eyelashes. That brownish exoskeleton, those leg like serrated knives, it could belong to nothing else.

Michael felt a lump in his throat. It wasn't as if Michael hadn't expected such creatures in this world, it was just that … Why did it have to be a fucking cockroach. They were disgusting enough when there were small.

But now …

And those eyes … Michael shivered.

Michael looked away, looking at it for too might destroy what little courage he had. If only he could find a weapon while the insect was busy tearing through half roasted fish he had abandoned, its mandibles clicking.

Michael scanned the hall, searching for his axe. He found no hint of it. Damn it, where did I put it.

He stepped closer, squinting his eyes. It had to be somewhere in the hall. The creature's antennae twitched. It must have sensed his motion, for it turned in his direction, setting its unsettling eyes on him. The insect's antennae sniffed the half eaten fish, then the air in his direction. Deciding he was a better meal than a fish—it pounced.

Michael ran to the bedroom. He had intended to close the door behind him and bar it, but it was already almost on top of him. The bloody thing was incredibly fast. Michael pivoted and kicked the insect. Unlike his slap before, his kick barely did anything and hurt his toes—he was no martial artist.

However, his retort did confuse the creature long enough for him to climb the bed and grab at the one-legged cloth hanger. The creature jumped him. Michael swung the hanger like a baton with all the strength in the world, sending the creature flying. It crashed into the wall with a thunk.

The hanger did little damage, protected as the creature was by its exoskeleton.

Fuck.

Michael tossed the bedsheet and the mosquito net at it. The tangle of it buying him enough time to run out of the room. The door of the room didn't latch properly as ran for the hall.

Why does this world hate me?

Michael looked around wildly for a weapon, for anything that could help with the creature. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, sensing the danger from behind.

Please, I don't want to die.

His eyes landed on the fire-poker half eaten fish still sticking to it. Michael dove for it, the creature piratically flying at him from behind.

His hand closed on the hilt. Taking a breath through his gritted teeth, he rolled onto his back. "I'm not an easy pray, you bastard."

He thrust the poker, point first, aiming at its eye. The poker struck true, going through its eyes, digging into its brain. His success didn't stop the creature from crashing into him, knocking the breath out of him.

The insect screamed, thrashing wildly, its legs ripping at his flesh. Michael screamed. He heaved with all his strength, pushing the creature off of him. It landed onto its back, losing its mobility.

He stood up with heavy breath, blood welling up from his many wounds.

"I did it. I survived."

Michael laughed. And once he began, he failed to stop himself, his laughter turning into hysteria. As he continued to laugh, he saw the blade of the axe poking out from among the pile of his supplies.

Now! Now, he finds it. Now that he had already dealt with the monster. What a joke it was. But it was the kind of joke that stopped his laughter, replacing it with anger and frustration.

Michael grabbed the axe with a snarl. Michael eyed the still struggling creature. Stubborn creature. He looked at the blade of his axe and them back.

The creature was disarmed, but it wouldn't be over until it was dead, would it? It had put the fear of god in him. Now it was time for revenge.

Michael screamed at the top of his lungs and hacked at the creature in a mad frenzy—again and again and again.

"Die. Die. Die. Die. DIE…"

Its head came away, splattering Michael with white blood. He dropped the axe and backed away, lucidity coming back to him. "Gods, did I just do that?"

Michael slumped onto the floor, gasping for breath, exhaustion finally coming over him. Then, his eyes sharpened. "Did you see that?" he screamed at the world. "I did that. I did it! I told you before didn't I? I won't go down this easily. I'll survive. I'll return home."