A soft, luminescent glow leaked from the fungus in Paul's hand, casting eerie shadows on the cave wall as he moved deeper into the labyrinthian tunnels. Between the fungus’ dim light and his enhanced vision, he could distinguish details in the caves that previously were invisible.

A copse of mushrooms clustered around a seam in the cave wall. An albino spider crouched in its nest. Occasionally, he would find what he was looking for. A piece of black fur that had rubbed off against a rock here, a giant rat pellet there. Paul pored over these signs, but his Tracking Skill wasn’t able to tell him anything about where the creatures which left those signs may be now.

As he walked through the moist cave, he practiced swinging his jawbone war-club, trying to find a feel for its weight and reach; experimenting with how he could use it most effectively.

I look like an idiot, swinging a fucking jawbone around like a fucking neanderthal. Like that’s going to help me.

*New Skill Earned: Blunt Weapons - Level 1*

He blinked, processing the message, and sighed, Guess I spoke too soon.

Encouraged by the acquisition of the new skill, Paul continued to swing the club as he traveled. No rank up was forthcoming, but he noticed his swings were faster and more assured than before. Eventually, his arm became tired, which stopped his practice.

The last thing I need is to stumble into a rat and not be able to lift this thing because my arm is too sore.

Paul hoped the cave would be linear, but instead, it branched and turned. Sometimes it opened up into vast caverns, at other times it ended in a rockslide or a dead end. Twice he found water running through a fissure in the cave wall, which seeped from the walls onto the cave floor in shallow pools, surrounded by phosphorescent fungus. The puddles were tepid and stagnant, but Paul drank each time greedily.

Every time he moved past a branching passageway, Paul added it to the mental map taking shape in his head; cataloging the passages he traveled so he could find his way back to his cavern.

After endless exploring, his feet blistered and bled, and his arm ached from holding the fungus in front of him. However, he continued walking, mentally reviewing each turn and passageway he had taken, committing them to his memory. Eventually, though, it was too much for him to hold in his head, and he suddenly stopped himself.

Was it two lefts then a right past the cavern with the quartz outcropping, or three?

Cursing, he turned back the way he came, retracing his steps back through the memorized twists and turns. Sweat formed on Paul’s face as he arrived at a junction he didn’t recognize. Swearing again, he closed his eyes, rubbing his temples as he attempted to will his mental map back into place.

I took two rights, then left, then right, then straight through the cavern with the three stalagmites. Then right again from the cave with the phosphorescent fungus.

Paul wiped his brow.

Phew, thought I was lost there.

*New Skill Earned: Pathfinding - Level 1*

Paul nearly jumped as the message pulsed into his mind.

Another skill? What does this do for me?

The answer came to him almost immediately when Paul focused on his mental picture of his route through the caves again. The map was more precise, sharper than before, and took less effort to visualize.

Emboldened by the new skill, Paul turned into a side passage he hadn’t explored yet.

The first thing Paul noticed as he stepped into the passage was the smell, pungent and foul. He was all too familiar with it from the times he had climbed into the burrow of the death-rat he had killed. The tunnel smelled like rat shit. And by the intensity of the odor, there was a lot of it.

A shit-ton, if you will. Paul smirked.

That probably means a really big death-rat. Paul’s smile evaporated, and his hands began to shake.

Paul exhaled slowly. This is why you came in here Paul. It’s not just a rat. It’s food. It’s freedom Maybe it’s the start to a way back home.

Paul moved stealthily forward, following the sickly smell of ammonia deeper into the caves. The further he walked, the harder it became to see. Paul stopped and frowned as the light grew dimmer, colors fading from the caves into shades of gray.

How could have it become darker?

He belatedly realized the light from the glowing fungus in his hand was fading, little by little.

Damnit, I guess I’m on a time limit here. Ok, Paul, you’ve got this. Suck it up, kill this rat, and then you can book it out of here.

Paul didn’t relish the thought of trying to find his way back without the light from the fungus, with or without night-vision.

As the smell thickened, Paul heard faint sounds of rustling and the tapping of small skittering steps. He dropped into a crouch behind a boulder, heart beating fast in his chest. His hands were clammy with sweat, and he wiped them on his kilt before gripping his club again.

C’mon rat, where are you.

Paul rounded a corner, the stench so intense that it made his eyes water. He stopped cold, jaw slack.

The tunnel ended in a small chamber. Paul stared in unbelieving horror. Five death-rats stared back.

Oh fuck. Oh hell. Abort, abort.

Okay Paul, just back away slowly.

They look smaller. Maybe they’re juveniles and don’t hunt on their own yet. Maybe they....

Paul’s hopes evaporated as the rats let out a keening cry and raced toward him.

Fuck!

He spun on his heels and sprinted back around the corner of the tunnel. The five beasts followed close behind, claws scrabbling across the cave floor as they made the turn. Their high-pitch squeals resounded in the echoing tunnel as they doggedly pursued him.

Paul cursed and whimpered as he ran, willing his legs to move faster as he fled, leaping over fissures and boulders. Despite his efforts, the rats' cries grew closer with each step.

I can’t outrun them, but there are FIVE of them. Fucking FIVE. What the fuck!

You’ve got to turn around Paul. If you let them bring you down, you’ll be rat-snack for sure.

Paul’s rational mind warred with his fear, battling for dominance.

Turn around Paul.

Turn around Paul.

Turn the fuck around, or you’re going to be rat food you limp-dicked piece of shit!

Screaming in frustration, Paul whipped his body around, facing the fast approaching rats.

“Fuck you! I’m not food! You’re fucking food!” Paul half-yelled, half-sobbed.

He cast his glowing fungus to the ground and drew his bone shiv, dropping into a combat stance. His hands shook, but when the first rat leaped for him, his club swung true.

The blow struck the rat mid-leap. The jawbone club crunched through the rat’s ribs and sent the rat tumbling through the air, slamming it into the cave wall with a pained squeal. Paul’s backswing connected with the second rat’s shoulder and Paul felt the joint shatter through the war club.

The next three rats were on him a split second later. Two of the rats rushed for his legs, while the other swiped its claws at Paul’s chest. He kicked one as it tried to bite his left leg, sending it tumbling, head-over-heels, colliding with the rat with the crushed shoulder.

The second rat that rushed his legs sunk its teeth into Paul’s calf. Paul cried out in pain, causing him to miss the rat that clawed at his chest, his club whistling through the empty air. He wrestled the rat away, earning him deep gouges in his arms, but allowing Paul to bring his bone shiv in his left hand down onto the rat that tore at his calf. The sharpened bone plunged through one of its four hateful eyes into its brain.

One down.

Paul panted as he stood back up from the dead rat. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and leaped to the side. He narrowly avoided a mass of fur, teeth and deadly claws which had designs on his neck. The rat landed behind him, snarling and squealing, whirling back around to charge at Paul again.

Not many sports from Earth’s 21st century had survived the centuries and the light-years to thrive on Trappist-4, but Cricket was one of them, and Paul considered himself a decent batsman. So, when the rat lined up its next charge, Paul settled into his batting stance, placed two hands on his club, tensed his abdomen, wound up, and swung like it was the deciding pitch of the game.

The club smashed through the rat’s face in a wet crunch, and it dropped to the cave floor, unmoving.

Two down.

Paul didn’t have time to celebrate what he considered the best cricket swing he ever made. Another rat jumped onto his back, its claws flaying flesh off his ribs and teeth tearing at the nape of his neck. Paul slammed his back against the cave wall, smashing the rat on his back into the rock again and again.

The rat with the crushed shoulder leaped toward him as well, but Paul stabbed at it with bone shiv’s sharp point to keep it at bay. The rat on his back bit deeper into his neck, the teeth scraping his vertebra. Screaming in anguish, Paul bent his knees and pistoned his back into the wall. He could feel the rat’s rib cage collapse behind him and heard a wheezing exhalation from the rat’s crushed lungs. The rat’s jaws released as it fell from Paul’s back in a broken heap.

Three down.

Dodging another lunge from the rat with the broken shoulder, Paul raised the war club to strike at its spine. The rat slumped to the ground and Paul dove to follow, stabbing his shiv into its chest. The first stab hit the rats ribs, but the second slid between them. The rat stilled, and blood spilled from between its jaws.

Four down.

Paul’s steps were unsteady as he made his way to the last rat left alive. It still lay against the wall where it landed after smashing into the cave wall. It had been the first to attack him, and Paul surmised that its back must have broken when he had swatted it against the wall. It keened in such a piteous way that Paul almost felt sorry for it when he brought his jawbone club down on its head.

Almost.

Paul’s chest heaved, and he staggered back to rest against the rough stone of the cave wall. Bile rose in his throat, and he vomited noisily. The adrenaline that helped keep him alive faded, leaving him nauseous and weak. Deep slashes lined his arms and chest, and his back and calf also bled from deep wounds. With the adrenaline gone, the pain from these injuries flared.

He took a step but staggered as his vision swam and his muscles rebelled against him. He groaned in pain, blood dripping from a dozen lacerations.

He stared down at the dead rats. They were much smaller than the ones he encountered previously.

They’re just pups, and that cave must have been their nest. But if they haven’t left the nest yet, then where is the moth….

Paul froze as he heard the tell-tale sound of claws on stone.

Shit.