Reralt woke to an already-waiting Narro and the Void. They were in the same room as before. The glass window showed them their opponents.

  Harlada looked straight at them from the room across the hall. She appeared to be alone—moodier than usual. The switch to even darker makeup and empty white eyes made it clear she was not the happiest of dimensional shifts of the mage.

  She raised her hand. Two bodiless heads on a chain dangled in front of her in the window. Harlada laughed—a laugh revealing pearly white teeth, filed to points, blood dripping from each one.

  “Looks capable,” Reralt nodded.

  Next to the Harlada-in-dire-need-of-friends stood the useless three they had met before. Leo, Bert and Harlada were eyeing the Goth version of Harlada with fear.

  Reralt waved happily, both to the three as the Lonely Harlada, all stared back at him confused.

  On the other side were three goblins. All of them vaguely resembled the three.

  “That should pose no problem.” Narro examined them. Drool spilled from their mouths; low intelligence shone in their eyes.

  “Don’t underestimate stupidity.” Reralt bumped him, almost insulted.

  The last window was seemingly empty, though a vague distortion occasionally flickered across it.

  “Great.” Narro picked up the Void so she could also see. The cat looked at the window, annoyed, then meowed an angry meow.

  ***

  The maze pulsed.

  MAZE RUN #70844 COMMENCING IN 1 MINUTE.

  “There is something very wrong with this dungeon,” Reralt mused, staring at the blue gem screen.

  Narro, inexperienced in the subtleties of dungeons, frowned. “Why?” He started to puzzle it out. “It doesn’t make sense. A run in the maze—first one progresses. It looks too purposeful. Almost like a sport.”

  “No, just… blue,” Reralt said, like a lecturer at one of the more serious schools. “Why not red? Or green?”

  He took a thinking stance, which made Narro sigh.

  “Orange, maybe.” Reralt now looked the most intelligent he ever had. “Could go for some oranges,” he added, rubbing his belly. “Great, now I’m hungry.”

  Narro looked at the Void. They were thinking exactly the same.

  “So it is probably some kind of arena.” Narro knocked on the stone wall, as if it had all the answers. “For the gods’ entertainment?” he murmured.

  Reralt could be right. It was wrong to bring those kinds of cruel beings back.

  ***

  The doors opened. Narro and Reralt nodded at each other. It was go-time. Time to get the three off-heroes to the stairs, get the Hat, then get Mary and Syril back.

  They moved quickly, with purpose. Reralt in front, Narro behind him yelling directions.

  Down one corridor, across a square, through a door. Reralt took big steps. He only stopped when Narro shouted, “Trap!”

  They were making good progress.

  “Left here!” Narro called, walking briskly behind Reralt while carrying the Void.

  “Here?” Reralt pointed down a passage.

  “Oh—sorry,” he muttered, retracting his hand quickly. It came back bloodied.

  “Narro?” Reralt beckoned him closer.

  A small knife was thrust toward Reralt; he dodged it without even looking. Narro peeked around the corner. Two of the three goblins were trying desperately to stab Reralt. The other one—the female—lay dead on the floor, her eyes poked out.

  Narro looked at Reralt, one brow raised.

  “I said sorry,” Reralt muttered.

  The Void leapt at one goblin, tearing out his throat with her mighty yet tiny claws.

  The last goblin stared at his two dying teammates, sighed, and closed his eyes, waiting for the final thrust.

  Reralt looked at Narro, then handed him the sword.

  “All for one?” he said, gaze deepening.

  “No, wait—one for all,” he corrected himself with a satisfied nod.

  Narro shrugged and drove the sword through the last goblin.

  He did not comment to Reralt how stupidity basically defeated stupidity.

  ***

  They arrived at the rendezvous a minute later.

  “When it’s just a meeting place, call it a meeting place,” Reralt complained. “Stupid French words nobody understands.”

  At roughly the same time, the three off-heroes sprinted across the square they had agreed on—straight past Reralt and Narro then dove into a corner.

  Behind them, a maniacal laugh grew louder and louder.

  “The Lonely Harlada!” Bert yelled, pointing at the hall.

  Slowly—each step like her joints were rebelling against her command—the Lonely Harlada advanced, holding the two heads of dead Leo and dead Bert firmly by their hair. The heads moaned softly.

  Narro felt a chill run deep into his bones. The Void hissed, fur standing straight, tiny nails digging into Narro’s arm.

  Reralt threw his axe.

  Before the Lonely Harlada could object, she had an axe planted squarely in the middle of her face. Red streams of blood ran down. The two heads moaned—surprised, even slightly amused.

  “Think she just needed a hug,” Reralt said, holding out his hand as the axe returned to him. “So cool.”

  He looked back at the four faces—white as ghosts—and one very upset kitty.

  “You didn’t feel that cold taint enter your soul?” Leo asked, adjusting his glasses.

  Reralt blinked. “My boots are insulated, of course.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Then he flexed his arms, tossed his hair in the wind, and winked at Harlada—who had no idea where to look.

  “Are you not entertained!” Reralt roared.

  Four humans and one kitty stared at him with open mouths and, in a shared, unspoken decision, collectively chose to ignore the whole thing.

  ***

  “So, Leo—”

  He showed a drawn map to Narro. Reralt had lost interest the moment the words let’s plan were spoken and was now scaring Bert with the head of Bert.

  “We are here.”

  An X marked their rendezvous point.

  “Progression is here.”

  A circle indicated where the stairs to the next level were.

  “And here”—Leo pointed at a squiggly line—“is where we found the Hat.”

  Harlada nudged him with her elbow.

  “Well then, you say it,” Leo muttered, annoyed.

  “It is just a large conical orange hat,” Harlada said. “Doesn’t do anything.”

  She nodded at Leo.

  “So if you want,” Leo continued, “you can join us at the next level. We, uhhh…” he blinked. “Could use your help, honestly.”

  Leo and Harlada both stared at their feet.

  “More like—you need our help,” Reralt laughed.

  Narro silently shushed him.

  “We understand, but we really can’t. My wife and child need that Hat,” Narro said sternly. “Nothing can persuade us.”

  He looked at Reralt.

  “…Me,” he corrected, then looked hopefully at him.

  Reralt smiled. “However fun this is, Syril is much more important.”

  He agreed—though Narro saw in his eyes that he at least considered the idea of staying and slaying in this dungeon.

  ***

  Every few steps, Narro stopped the group and asked for silence. The Void’s ears were raised high, flicking, hunting for the faintest sound. She meowed heavily—as if her prey were slipping away.

  “The other group was invisible, were they not?” Narro asked Leo.

  Leo nodded.

  Bert stopped and pointed at a tile. “Trap.”

  Reralt threw his axe at it, setting off the mechanism. The entire hallway erupted in flames. Then the axe flew back to his hand. Reralt looked smugly at Narro.

  “And you thought you’d miss Mrs. Hackey,” Narro joked—immediately regretting mentioning Reralt’s old friend.

  Reralt looked sad. Thankfully, he could explain his weapon-loss trauma to Bert, who apparently once had a pet spear.

  “Ah.”

  Leo stopped, turned around, and whispered to Narro. Harlada and the Void leaned in.

  “They’re following us. Waiting for us to reach progression—then they’ll attack.”

  Narro nodded, thought for a moment—then smiled.

  “Reralt!” he yelled. “You’re going to love this.”

  ***

  They turned another corner in the maze. Leo, Harlada, and Narro walked in front; Reralt and Bert followed at the back.

  A door stood at the end of the corridor—large, ornate, and blue, unlike any door they had seen so far in the maze.

  Suddenly, from behind them, laughter echoed.

  Three distinct voices spoke, filled with false confidence.

  “Ssshooowwwedddd ittt riiiigggghhhttt to ussss…”

  A windlike voice drifted through the high corridors, scraping along the stone and echoing back at them.

  Reralt smiled.

  Bert smiled.

  The voices instantly sounded less smug, more annoyed—clearly not getting the reaction they expected.

  With all the effort he had, Bert grabbed Reralt and tossed him into the corridor toward the voices.

  “Ffffooooollllssss!” one voice screeched with glee.

  Harlada raised her hands, electricity crackling between her fingertips.

  “Ohhhhh sssshhhiiiiiittttt,” all three wind-voices whispered simultaneously.

  Lightning struck Reralt. He squealed, giddy like a little girl.

  “Smart, really,” Leo said, taking notes. “The lightning will search for a conduit closer to the ground.”

  Narro nodded, proud. “Physics.”

  The lightning arced from Reralt into three previously unseen windy beings, exposing them fully.

  One by one, Reralt, Bert, and Narro finished the job.

  “Are you taking notes?” Harlada asked Leo.

  Leo nodded. “If only so we don’t forget this worked.”

  ***

  It was time.

  Reralt and Narro said goodbye to the three, who promised to wait one hour before entering—enough time for the two of them to get the Hat.

  Without effort, they found the room using the map.

  It was a strange room. It did not seem to belong in the maze. The walls, floor, and ceiling were not the usual blue-grey brick but a smooth black material streaked with yellowish light. The light ran in perfect squares across the surface.

  In the middle of the room, on a pedestal, stood a large orange cone, striped with thick silver bands. A rim at the bottom made it stand out.

  Both Narro and Reralt thought the same thing: Someone forgot to add the tip.

  The last hand-length of the Hat was left stump—ending in a hole. The color was bright, the stripes reflecting the light angrily. If you placed this on the road, all horses would surely be distracted.

  They both stood for a second, basking in awe of a silly orange hat, the effort they had finding it.

  “We found it,” Narro muttered. Immediately his resolve changed—time to get back and save Mary and Syril.

  Reralt picked it up. “Great. Now what?”

  Narro looked around—

  —and the dry desert wind greeted him with a stench so strong it could make a giant army surrender.

  He turned.

  And stared straight into the mauling jaws of Sally.

  “So… back to Devin?” Narro sighed.

  He longed for Mary’s embrace and Syril’s giggle.

  “We need a plan,” he added—determined not to release the gods, and already feeling regret for leaving the three to run the maze for eternity.

  ***

  In a crevice of reality—where nothing existed except an imaginary bar bristling with life—an imaginary smell of bourbon, rum, and stale beer hung in the air. The Five Lost never agreed whether it was an old Irish pub or an 80’s disco bar, so it remained stubbornly in limbo.

  One of them insisted only that it drifted in and out of existence at the end of a universe.

  The Patron of the Stick raised his bourbon high.

  “A toast, fellow gods.”

  Without looking, they all knew: Reralt had found the Hat.

  “A toast for what?” The Felt grumbled, still feeling invaded in his imaginary bar. “They still need to actually do it.”

  “Yes,” the Lord of the Disc agreed. “Narratively, a plot twist is likely.”

  “To have the potency of relinquishing the materials is not the same as relinquishing the materials,” the Terrycloth warned. He knew this all too well.

  “In the end, the heroes will be heroes,” the Patron waved it off.

  “Not sure if, in this story, we are the good,” the Barefoot mused. “Perhaps we are the root. No more than soot—wiped clean like trash.”

  “No matter what he does,” they all said together.

  “We should get ready.”

  None of them agreed on, for what, which was, historically, never a good sign.