Prologue: I Got Reincarnated as a Lizard Dog in a Meat Grinder Dungeon and All I Got Was Existential Terror
Okay. Don't panic.
Nope, wait. Reverse that. Panic. Panic a lot.
Panic is the correct response when you wake up underground, wedged in a hole that smells like burnt mushrooms and trauma, and your first thought is why are my knees bending backwards. Followed quickly by why do I have fur. And then why is everything screaming.
Because everything is screaming.
I hear roars. Screeches. Stone cracking under something heavy. And the weirdest part? I hear me. I'm making a sound. Like a high-pitched yipping whine that I cannot stop. My throat is doing it automatically.
Cool. Cool cool cool. New body, new instincts, same old existential dread.
Right. Focus. Situation report.
Tiny limbs? Check. Janky claws? Check. Pointy ears twitching like radar dishes during an earthquake? Check checkity check. There's also a tail, which I'm choosing not to think about too hard because I've already got enough identity crises going on.
Memory?
Fuzzy. There was... pain? Cold metal? A truck? Flash of something? Then this.
And now I'm a kobold.
[System Notification]
Race: Kobold (Runtscale Variant)
Trait Acquired: Civilization Mimicry (Sealed)
Condition: Malnourished | Threat Imminent | Mind Fraying (Mild)
Kobold.
As in, bottom-tier dungeon mascot. Weakest of the weak. The thing adventurers farm in the tutorial zone for practice.
Fantastic. I got isekai'd as a meat-based experience point dispenser.
Oh, and my special trait? Civilization Mimicry. Which sounds cool until you notice it's sealed, which means it's about as useful right now as a microwave in the Stone Age.
The whole cave jumps. So does my soul. Floor rattles. Ceiling dust comes down in a sad little death-shower. Yay. It's raining debris. Just what I needed for my trauma collection.
I run.
No plan. No thought. Just legs. Go legs go. Feet-paws-something-skitter over uneven stone. I am speed. I am terror. I am screaming internally and possibly externally. Everything echoes. Everything.
I sound like a squeaky dog toy in a blender.
Every step is me yelling "Free snacks!" to the whole murder dungeon. Real subtle. Love that for me.
Voices up ahead.
Not human. Not even words. Just wet, awful noise. Snarls. Clicks. Something that wants to bite me and maybe chew.
Nope.
Hard turn. There. Stalagmites. Crack between them. I jam myself through like toothpaste. Rocks scrape fur off my sides and I make a noise. Not sure if it's a hiss or a sob. Why not both?
Something behind me.
Big.
Dragging.
No footsteps. Just… slither-thump-grind.
Then a sound. Wet. Slappy. Like raw meat doing a belly flop. Followed by a claw scrape. Then—
Inhale.
It's sniffing me.
Excuse me??? No. No sniffing. No sniff-based murder, please.
I wedge deeper. Go full cave gremlin. Tiny body. Tiny crevice. Become rock. Think still thoughts. Don't move. Don't breathe. Definitely don't fart.
It passes.
Barely.
I peek.
Just a sliver of a look. Regret immediately.
It's huge. Scaled. Hulking. Spines. Too many limbs, all of them wrong. Its eyes are like raisins someone dropped in acid.
My brain goes ping.
Gorrak.
Excuse me???
Where did that come from?! I don't know that. Except—I do. Like someone shoved a biology flashcard into my soul.
Gorrak. Tunnel predator. Apex tier. Brutal. Loud. Super murdery. Known for eating kobolds.
Guess what I am?
Yeah.
Awesome.
[Memory Thread Accessed: Subconscious Species Fear — Gorrak Classification Confirmed]
Terrific. My new racial memories come with a built-in phobia.
A new noise—different this time. Lighter. Faster. Feet scampering past the crevice I'm hiding in. Small feet. Clawed, like mine. A group of little bodies rush past, yipping in panic.
Other kobolds. Smaller than me. Wait—kids?
The last one stumbles. Looks back.
Our eyes meet.
Gold-flecked pupils. Wide with terror. Dirty fur. Scraped limbs. His mouth opens—but nothing comes out.
Just a look.
Like he's asking me to move. To help. To do something.
I don't.
I can't.
My muscles are locked. Frozen. My claws scrape against the stone but I don't move.
And then he's gone.
And I'm still there.
Still useless.
Still frozen in the dark while children die around me.
Then—
The wall behind me detonates.
I'm airborne. Sort of. More like thrown across the floor by a spray of jagged stone and raw force. A howl drowns out my scream.
Something is coming through.
Big. Bigger than the first one. No time to look. No time to think.
My body moves before my brain catches up.
I run.
Everything is a blur. My heart's trying to claw out of my chest. My limbs ache. My breathing is shallow, fast, panicked. The tunnel splits. One path glows faintly, red light bleeding around the bend.
And like an idiot?
I run straight into it.
---
So now I'm running toward the glowing tunnel. Because I'm brave?
Ha. No. Because I'm desperate. And cornered. And very possibly concussed. But mostly desperate.
The tunnel opens up and—
Oh. It's… quiet.
That's not a good sign, right? Quiet in a murder dungeon means one of two things: either everything already died, or I've stepped into a boss arena and the cutscene hasn't triggered yet.
Still. No teeth. No screaming. No gorrak trying to wear me like a backpack.
So... progress?
The room's large. Old. Like, "abandoned ancient subway station turned ancient kobold cult lair" old. The air smells like dust and bone marrow. The stone is cracked but there's a weird symmetry to the layout—pillars, shapes, something that might've once been furniture or ritual junk. And at the center of the far wall?
A mural.
And it's glowing.
Like a slow pulse. Like a fire pretending to be a heartbeat.
Which is fine. Totally fine. Completely not haunted.
I should leave. I should absolutely leave.
Instead I walk up to it.
Because I'm very smart and definitely not the kind of person who pokes unknown magical artifacts after almost dying.
The mural shows kobold-like figures. Or maybe proto-kobolds? They're upright. Cloaked. One's holding a staff. Some kind of ceremonial scene. Others are bowing. Circles of fire. Spiral patterns. A central figure crowned with something jagged.
It's faded and chipped in places, but the meaning clings like moss to stone.
Something sacred happened here.
And I have no business being in it.
Still…
I reach out.
Just to touch it.
Just to know.
Which is apparently enough to trip a magical landmine.
[System Alert: Civilization Mimicry Reactivated]
Source: Obsolete Ritual Site — Dog-Queens of Cycle Three
Cultural Data Fragment Detected
Assimilating...
Ow.
OW.
My head implodes. Not literally, but the mental version of someone pouring boiling soup into my brain and telling me to drink it with a fork.
Images flash. Feelings. Concepts. Rites. Burial rites. Clan structure. A language I don't understand, but somehow recognize. Fire as a sacred act. Stone as memory.
And just like that—
I know something.
Not everything.
But something.
[Prototype Available: Symbolic Burial (Fragment)]
[Thread Unstable — No Construct Present]
[Anchor Required]
I collapse to my knees.
Not from exhaustion.
From the weight of meaning.
I'm not just surviving anymore.
Something in this place wants to be remembered.
My ears twitch again. Not from fear this time.
Movement in the tunnel.
I turn.
It's the kid.
The one from earlier.
He's alone. Blood on one side. Breathing hard. But he's still standing.
He walks in, sees me by the mural, and hesitates.
Then he reaches into his ragged cloth-sling and pulls out a stone.
A token.
Rough-cut. Flame symbol carved in the middle. Not elegant, but deliberate.
He tosses it to the ground between us and runs again.
Doesn't say a word.
[Item Acquired: Burial Token – Torchline Initiate]
[Thread Reconnected: Memorial Rite]
[Prototype Construct Ready]
I look down at the token.
Then at the mural.
Then at my hands.
I could run.
I could hide.
But something deep in my bones tells me to build.
I arrange a ring of stones.
Place the token at the center.
My claws shake, but I do it anyway.
One breath.
Two.
Then—
[Construct Initiated: Burial Rite (Symbolic – Primitive)]
[Prototype Instinct Thread Locked]
[Memory Binding — Weak]
A soft glow lights the stones.
It's not strong.
It's not even stable.
But it's mine.
A grave.
A memory.
Something real in a world of fangs and fire and blood.
I stare at it and feel something settle inside me.
I'm still a kobold.
Still weak.
Still in danger.
But I'm not nothing.
Not anymore.
And if I'm going to die?
Then I'll die not just as prey.
But as someone who remembered.
Who built.
Who meant something.