Cricket has a dungeon. He and his relatively expendable omnidirectional-defense escort - who has a leash, a very cunning piece of technology so Cricket isn't forever hooking his claws through pant legs to lead the half-blind ninny ana and kata - are picking their way through a dungeon styled like a sewing basket, climbing giant skeins of yarn and balancing on knitting needles and finding victims smothered giant tarps of embroidery samplers. The embroidery's really stunning, actually, if you can see all of it at once, but tragically no human camera can capture its complexity. Cricket sits on people as they find them and alerts Woo-young and they vanish and Cricket and his shield move on. The monsters are moths, bigger than Cricket, sharp-mouthed and saw-legged, ferocious but no match for the guy on defense.

Then with no warning the yarn comes alive. The threads from the embroidery unstring themselves and aim themselves like flesh-eating worms, from all directions; the wool fibers unfelt from one another and come like nightmare fiberglass; the silk makes tangling loops and the cotton seeks to smother. Everything that there is to stand on is suddenly trying to burrow through their skin or bury them in a textile avalanche.

"GET US OUT," Cricket roars into the comms, leaping claws-out at his escort to cling to his shirt after all so it won't be hard to find the both of them at once.