POV: Whitters

Whitters scaled the rocky shaft above his creator, fulfilling his last order with whatever intelligence existed in his empty head.

'[Notice:]

[Title Update: Dungeon's Restless Servant (Unique D+)]

[Spell Update: Forever Bound (B-)]

[Description: Your servitude is appreciated and required. Death will not stop it. You are compelled to follow the orders of your master.]

[Notice:]

[Job Update: Beginner Mountain Climber (F-)]

[Notice:]

[Menu Update: Job Level (Beginner Mountain Climber): 1]

[Spell Update: Stable Grip (F)]

[Description: You know exactly where to grab to get the best grip]

Mountain climber. Useful. Climb better. Hands get grabbing spots. Useful.'

Evidently, it wasn't much.

His body climbed far better, thanks to his newly acquired job assisting him in his ascent. His climbing session didn't last much longer, however, as after only 8 meters of climbing, he'd arrived at his destination. It was a forest that was densely packed with greenery and trees, unkempt and overgrown. Somehow, it'd survived this long without a fire, and was beginning to look more like a jungle than a forest. The area the hole escaped into was a small patch of grass which was devoid of shrubbery, and one of the only spots in the nearby forest with any considerable amount of sunshine. Whitters immediately set to carry out his orders, using his hands to tear as much grass out of the ground as possible, his minimal intelligence granting him the wisdom to not climb down again. He merely tossed the grass back down into the pit.

He repeated this process for quite a while, before his head lifted to attention and turned to stare at the woods, mid-toss. 'Move.' The skeleton thought, as it had spotted the bushes shuffling. The silence was deafening as the skeleton calmly scanned the treeline for living things. Back and forth, his head went, in the forest devoid of even wind for an eerily calm moment.

A small, brown-red blob suddenly darted at him, and leaped into his ribcage. Ribs cracked and the skeleton fell back with a hard thump. The skeleton's jaw hung open as it stared at an oversized weasel that rapidly tore into its bone, ripping off chunks of the relatively weak skeleton.

A white had struck out and tore into the fur, earning itself a squeal from the creature as it writhed and tore away a patch of fur to escape. Chaos ensued as the skeleton righted itself just long enough for the weasel to run itself around the skeleton and knock it down again. It'd managed to miss the hole a second time, just barely saving the newly born dungeon from a guaranteed death. The skeleton wrapped its limbs around the weasel, its arms contorting and snapping to get a hold of it while still behind its back. It spun its head around and sunk its teeth into the screeching weasel, crushing with inhumane strength as the neck of the weasel tore open.

The weasel didn't stop despite the mortal would, however, thrashing its way into dislocating the skeleton's arm. It leaped out of Whitters arms and turned around immediately, its throat torn open and gushing blood. Mere adrenaline was keeping it going, even as its eyes began to cloud. The only sound that came out of it was the bubbling of air as it attempted to squeal, pushing out of its throat instead of mouth. It charged the skeleton as Whitters began to ascend to its feet. It made it halfway in merely a moment before it slipped. Its leg slipped out from under it as its vision began to cloud, causing it to slide another fourth of the way and stop, helpless and gasping.

Whitters shambled over, fragments of bone showering down around it. It stopped above the weasel, staring down at it as it drowned in its own blood. Its sockets lit with a momentary, gleeful glint, and it fell over the weasel. Its head clamped down on its skull, and ended its life as it pierced through to the brain.

Notifications flashed through Whitter's mind, awarding him for his efforts.

'[Notice:]

[Class Update: Class(es) available]

[Beginner Macabre Grappler (F-)]

[Beginner Grim Fighter (F-)]'

Whitters stared at these for a few moments, before snapping its bones back into place. The death of the weasel had begun to strengthen it, and he was quite happy with that. He picked the first option without looking at what it was, feeling himself strengthen further as the updates began to come in return.

'[Notice:]

[Menu Update: Class Update (Macabre Grappler): 1]

[Spell Update: Rigor Mortis(F)]

[Description: Your body stiffens unnaturally. Nothing can open your hand for 2 minutes, even you.]

[Spell Update: Death Throes (F-)]

[Description: Contorn a few inches in any direction you desire. In exchange, contort in a random direction an equivalent distance immediately after.]'

Whitters watched the notifications as he began to return to picking grass. He tossed the grass back into the pit along with the weasel. He decided that combat was desired, even as he shambled around with broken bones. Grass and moss and dirt got tossed into his creator's pit, as he dug up the immediate surroundings, and would likely have to remove much bigger things to give to his creator. He didn't stop as he shambled over to the foliage and began tearing into it, wanting nothing more than to follow the orders of his master.