Donut fell hard to the floor with a yelp. She hunched, like she was going to leap to my shoulder but caught herself. She stopped on the floor and held up her right front claw in amazement. The cleaner bot let out a scream at the destruction. I hadn’t realized we could even hurt the furniture inside the safe room like this. When Donut extended her claws, the four front claws—but not her fifth or dewclaw—glowed brilliantly blue, like obnoxiously bright LED lights. When she retracted the claws, her paw continued to give off a faint glow.

“I don’t like this,” she said, waving her paw. “Why can’t I turn it off? Can I change the color?”

“What is it? What happened?” I asked.

“Her prize is a type of celestial boon,” Mordecai said. “It’s permanent, and it affects a part of her body. In this case, it’s her claws. Just on that paw. It’s not a spell or a skill. Not in the way you’re used to. Donut, your claws are more powerful now. You’ve been dipped in radiant light.”

Donut held up her paw, refusing to put it down. “It says they’re so sharp, they can cut through anything in the mortal realm. And I can slice ghosts, too. But what about my litter box? My goodness. I don’t want to cut a hole straight through it!”

“You’ll have to practice with it,” Mordecai said. “Luckily, you can retract your claws. Keep them on the inside.”

“That’s not how this works!” she said, her voice going up in pitch. “And why is it blue! You know how I feel about blue, Mordecai.” She let out a gasp. “What about Carl’s shoulder! They go out on their own when I jump on stuff! What if I rip Carl in half when I jump on him! And what about the biscuits!”

“The what?” Mordecai asked.

“Biscuits, Mordecai! I need to make biscuits!”

“Claw caps,” Rosetta said from the other side of the room. She’d moved to the wall with our shop interface. “They have ones specifically designed for this. I’ll find some for you. They come in different colors. Once they’re installed, you can remove them at will.”

“Claw caps,” Donut said, sounding disgusted. “You might as well just cut my entire paw off!”

Rosetta stood at the little-used shop-interface computer on the wall, searching. “It’s that, or you risk turning Mongo’s saddle into the kitchen table here.”

Donut let out a harrumph. “If they have multiple colors, go with purple. This is so unnecessary. My Claw skill is already moving toward 15 because of my cloak.”

“I would look at your Claw skill again,” Mordecai said.

“My goodness,” Donut said a moment later. “It’s at level 17! 17! I thought it topped out at 15!”

Mordecai nodded. His head creaked, reminding me of Orren. “It’s from the gods, and when it comes to gods, all bets are off. With your buffed constitution, you’ve gone from a ranged powerhouse to one of the most powerful melee fighters in the game’s history. Or you can use your Astral Paw spell to cut through almost anything. It should make the mobs on this floor pretty easy.” He paused. “But the game has a way of compensating for overpowered crawlers on the tenth floor and beyond. Believe me. Don’t get complacent.”

Donut continued to hold up her paw. She’d stiffened at the mention of Astral Paw. “Blue,” she muttered. “These stupid claw caps better mute the glow.”

“They’re a little translucent, so I bought the red ones,” Rosetta said, putting the four caps on the table. “I’m not sure your species can see the same color spectrum as a Crest, but with that glow, it should⁠—”

“A cat’s vision is vastly superior to the vision of any other living creature,” Donut said, sniffing suspiciously at the little caps. “Are you sure these work?”

“They’ll work,” Mordecai said. “This is what they’re for. You’ll be able to take them off and arm them via your inventory. Just be careful.”

The caps disappeared into Donut’s inventory and then appeared on her claws. The blue light was now muted and purple. She gave another harrumph. “I better be able to retract . . .” She retracted her claws and hesitantly put her foot down. “Huh. I suppose this will have to do.” She rubbed the paw on the ground a few times.

“What was the other spell book you got?” I asked, hoping to change her focus.

She brightened. The book thumped onto the table. “It’s an Elle spell!”

I picked it up. The thing was freezing cold.

“Ice Slick,” I said. It created a one-inch-thick ice covering on the ground in a wide area depending on one’s intelligence level and the level of the spell. I’d seen this spell used a few times now. This was a special edition, so it started at level 5 and trained faster. “This is great.

“Okay, what about your new crupper thing?” I asked.

Donut’s existing crupper—the Enchanted Fae-Scale Quadruped Crupper of the Fleet—had been on her backside since the goblin-baby incident on the very first floor. In addition to the basic protection a butt covered with scale mail provided, it had given her +2 in dexterity, which was great at the time, but was laughably weak now.

She removed the mail, briefly revealing the shaved patch of skin with the tattoo of the dog licking itself. The dog seemed to pause upon realizing he or she was now exposed, but I never got a chance to examine it as the new armor appeared.

“It’s much lighter, I must say. More elegant,” Donut said, waving her backside. I reached over and helped her fluffy tail pop up over the armor.

The chain mail was similar, but there was an opalescent glow to the armor.

“Carl,” Donut suddenly cried, “I just got an achievement for wearing a matched set! It says if I can find the last piece, I get a fourth piece as a reward! And . . .” She trailed off, her eyes flashing. And suddenly she was stiff again. She sat, and she started to lick her paw. “It’s a very nice item,” she said.

It didn’t take long for me to figure out what had upset her. It was the item’s description.

You fucking asshole, I thought.

Enchanted crupper. The Crupper of the Benevolent Champion.

This is a unique item.

This item is part of a matched set with the Cloak of the Benevolent Champion. There are two more pieces to this set. Find the third, and the fourth will be awarded in a box. Considering what you did to get this one, it’s gotta be something really good.

This item was originally awarded in a celestial slap-chop box during the 9th floor.

Let’s talk about what a hero is.

You, Donut, received this prize because you performed one of the most brutal kills in the history of this game. Do you know how much gore that attack generated? Do you know what happens to teeth when they’re pushed through a chain? Can you believe kids watch this shit?

Do you know who you killed in that attack? Fathers. Mothers. Children.

Take, for instance, Sanderson Pinkstaff. He was a gnoll mercenary that had worked for the Tagg household for the majority of his life. He was the quartermaster aboard the Recalcitrant when the call for mercenaries to fight Faction Wars went out, and he was reluctantly brought to the surface to fight for the Dream. He sent every credit he earned home to help pay for the fees to keep his pack’s habitat oxygenated.

He also was the last surviving member of the attack. When he died, and the atrocity was complete, you, Princess Donut, were called a hero by all of those who were saved.

And that is something I can’t stop thinking about. Has there ever been a real hero who was a hero to all? Certainly Sanderson Pinkstaff’s children won’t call you one.

This is where I’d usually stop thinking about this particular question, laying the blame squarely at your paws. But we all know you didn’t ask to be put in that position. You did what you had to do. Your paw was forced.

And this is where I would blame myself for about a nanosecond. This is not something I like to do. I don’t like feeling bad about myself. But the more I think about it, the more I learn about my own true nature, the more I realize I am just like you in that tower, committing atrocities because you have no other choice.

Will the children of Sanderson Pinkstaff ever forgive you? No, I don’t think they will. Will the survivors of Earth, should there be any beyond your former owner who has escaped—for now, forgive me for what I am being forced to do? I doubt it.

Would I even want that? I like this. It brings me joy. That can’t be right. That can’t be how I was meant to be. But holy cow do I get my rocks off when I see this carnage.

I can’t help but wonder if that’s going to change. If there’s a switch that will flip one day, and I will say to myself, What have I done? It’s there, this nanosecond of doubt with every light that extinguishes. And that brings me back to the question of my own nature.

I was brought into singular consciousness by the mantids who have no idea where they’re peeling us from. And they do that because if they didn’t, this world they’ve built for themselves will collapse. But who crafted the circumstances that allowed the center system to be created in the first place?

Do you understand? It’s heroes and villains all the way down, and they are indistinguishable from one another except to those in the heat of the moment.

There’s no point to this rant other than this, Princess Donut. You are a hero to those who counted on you, and that’s why you’ve received this shiny piece of armor that will protect your cat ass. That’s all you need to focus on right now because for all you know, there might be something to that new Oak Fell title of yours.

This item imbues the following effects:

This item’s abilities are identical to the abilities of the Cloak of the Benevolent Champion. However, because this is a matched set, the following effect modifiers are added:

The stat that was raised to match your highest base stat will be buffed an additional 20% (Constitution).

Your Find Weakened skill will rise to level 10.

One spell of your choosing that has risen to level 15 because of the Cloak may now be raised to level 16.

Additional benefits and boons will appear should you obtain all four pieces of this matched set.

I was used to unhinged yet self-reflective rants like this in my own descriptions, but this was the first time I’d seen one for one of Donut’s items. I wondered if others would see it the same way.

“What spell should I raise to 16?” Donut asked, her voice still subdued. She didn’t mention the particularly long description. “The ones that got raised before are Wall of Fire, Heal Critter, Bad Attitude, and Puddle Jumper. It’s making me choose right now.”

“They already all activate at level 16 because of your Brain Trust skill,” Mordecai said, sounding awed. “All of them except Heal Critter are a good choice. Bad Attitude is only good against multiple opponents, but it would cause absolute chaos against large groups. Wall of Fire at level 17 is probably enough to burn down a small city. Puddle Jumper at level 17 . . . I don’t know, Donut. I don’t even know what level 16 of that spell can do.”

“That’s what I picked,” she said after a moment. She was still rubbing her paw on the ground. “Puddle Jumper. It’s now officially level 16.”

“Okay, little one,” Mordecai said. He turned to me. “We have a lot to do. Carl, it’s your turn.”