“Fuck," I muttered. "Not again."

Sure enough, from the mist behind the podium, a large dark shape glided forward in midair, cutting through the steam like a gigantic, theatrical vampire bat. The monstrous form slid into place behind the plinth, and now I could see what it was: the fifty-foot colossal mask of Zeol.

“Welcome back,” the mask said congenially.

“Yeah, I saw your sandwich board,” I said. “What the dick do you want now?”

“I am overjoyed to host you,” Zeol said, ignoring my question. There was no expression on the mask other than looking as though it was in a constant state of featureless surprise.

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” I sighed. “Do you have, like, a falling fetish or something?”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, both times I’ve wound up here, I was in the middle of a deep and sexy plunge from a high place. Then you snatched me up for your own devices. I’m just saying: whatever gets you slick and drippy is your business, but you should leave me out of it.”

I tried not to think about the fact that I’d just been careening into an abyss. If last time was any indicator, once I exited wherever here was, I’d be right back where I left off—hitting terminal velocity before transforming into a cloud of bone dust and curse words as I hit the bottom.

“I see,” Zeol said.

“Also,” I continued. “I’ve got a booger to pick with you, buster.”

Zeol chuckled softly.

“Then we are a matching pair, for I also have some contention with your own behavio–”

“I’ll go first,” I interrupted, sloshing forward in the water toward the podium. Then I paused.

“Actually, wait,” I waved around at all the celebratory to-do. “What’s with the Passion Party accessories?”

While looking very clearly antiquated–perhaps from King Arthur times– the party decorations were impressively garish and seemed strange filling the foggy chamber. I wasn’t sure how the ‘god’ managed to procure the supplies for this underwhelming welcome, but he’d had to have known in advance that I was going to be bouncing in here, right? Also, was it way more humid than last time? I felt sweaty and gross all of a sudden.

Zeol was quiet for a moment, then sighed.

“Oh, all this?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I have to admit, you’ve got more of a dollar-store vibe, but a lot of this seems handmade. And buddy, you ain’t got no hands.”

“Yes, it was a… labor of love, so to speak. You seemed to find the previous reception I’d lobbied for you very distasteful, so I endeavored to provide a more inviting atmosphere this time,” his tone shifted and sounded a little more… glum? “But, maybe I overdid it? You don’t seem to enjoy this one much, either.”

Goddammit.

Was this thing actually making me feel bad? That wasn’t fair. You couldn't expect someone to have a good reaction when you pluck them out of a near-death experience and thrust into a room fashioned after a six-year-old’s birthday party. As if to emphasize my point, I noticed a conical hat on my head, the string straining against my lantern chin. I slipped it off but didn’t discard it. Instead, since it didn’t appear I had my pack with me, I tucked it behind into my waistband.

I really need to get a utility belt.

“It’s fine,” I said. “I was just surprised, is all. How come you keep grabbing me unannounced?”

Zeol’s tone was chipper again as he answered.

“It’s the perfect time to do so because you can’t really object.”

I grimaced.

“Yeah, you can’t say that dude,” I explained. “Not super chill–and has weird implications as to the type of… god you are. Why the fuck do you keep summoning me to your partially-flooded basement, anyway?”

Before me, the giant specter didn’t move, but I heard him clear his throat.

“Shall we pick up where we left off, Loon? I promise all will be explained once we have a moment to discuss.”

“As long as you promise not to make me do karaoke or have me pin the tail on the donkey, I’ll try to be patient with you.”

“Splendid,” Zeol said, and I watched as the self-described god floated a little higher into the air, the podium sliding to the left and out of my view. Zeol rotated a little and then settled down into position a few feet from me. It was pretty fucking weird having something that big and mobile suddenly zooming up right next to me from the mist.

“So, one thing I want to know is: does time stop when I come here? Last time it seemed like it did, but how does that work?”

“Time is relatively… inconsequential in this place. It exists as a fragment of a moment, stretched into a strand of mine own divining. While time’s passage is not entirely absent from this place, it is rendered functionally inert. From the second you arrived, to the moment you leave, an unnoticeable amount of time will have been observed…”

He paused.

“...out there.”

“So, let me get this straight,” I said. “This is kinda like the ‘pause’ button on the world? Like when I’m watching wrestling, and I need to take a leak? That’s impressive. Also, where’s your bathroom?”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about, Loon,” Zeol said. “However, it sounds like whatever it is you’re referring to is close enough of an analogy. The only thing that matters is that you believe you understand it.”

I stiffened.

“What does that mean? Is this like Neverland? If I don’t believe in this place, will it disappear?”

I wasn’t sure if I was confusing Peter Pan’s Hyper Party Fun Zone with something else, but I was under a degree of certainty that he had zero idea what I was referring to, so it seemed safe that he wouldn’t call me out.

Zeol chuckled.

“Not at all. I am merely indicating that the conversation can continue to progress if you think you have a handle on it. Explaining the nature of how this pocket works would not be worth either of our time.”

“So, am I just hovering in space on the other side? You know, staring down at my doom with arms wide open?”

Zeol sighed, then his voice shifted–but I couldn’t tell why.

“For all intents and purposes, you are present. Never fear, Loon, my dear. All will be explained in due course. Hungry?”

A gargantuan table instantly materialized in front of me, laden down with an assortment of fruits, vegetables, meats, and grains that were piled high and spilling over the sides.

I stared in awe. There had been nothing there a moment ago, and now… this. It looked like oil paintings I had seen of feasting kings and queens in their court–you know, with the sprawling spread of food that would one-hundred-percent be going to waste. Was it a spell? An illusion? I knew one thing: whatever it was, I needed to learn that little magic trick. I hadn’t had anything to eat since I’d arrived and I was positively starving. Strangely, the last boatload of hours full of adrenaline-fueled terror-fighting and running for my life had kicked my groaning stomach to the back of my mind. Now that there was a literal smorgasbord of delectable cuisine in front of me, I couldn’t contain myself. As much as I wanted to be suspicious of such a gift, I marched forward and started stuffing my face.

I took a massive bite out of the end of an entire loaf of bread and chewed loudly.

This is… goddamn delicious!

I stopped to smash the flaky heel against a large block of butter sitting nearby before wedging it back in my mouth. I swallowed and then wolfed down a handful of grapes, followed by a hunk of–hopefully–pork, and washed it down with a big mug of what I was pleased to learn was milk. I spotted a very enticing sugar cookie wrapped up with a ribbon and sitting by its lonesome near a bowl of chocolate pudding.

Oh, hello there, I thought. Don’t mind me, just gonna save you for later. I slipped the cookie into the pocket of my linen pants.

“Well, now. I suppose that’s one way to start,” Zeol said.

“Quiet,” I demanded between bites. “Eating.”

“I see that. Would you like to begin with our actual dialogue, or would you prefer I left you to this?”

“We ca’ bugg'n,” I affirmed, mouth full of mashed potatoes.

“Excellent,” Zeol said.

Suddenly, to my great distaste, I was sitting in a chair facing the enormous black mask. The table was gone, but now there was a large plate full of sandwiches on my lap. I shrugged and picked one up, taking a bite while staring at Zeol.

“As I mentioned previously,” Zeol began. “I am a god. Now, you may be asking yourself: ‘Loon, what is this fantastically well-mannered and effervescent host doing here talking to little ole me? Surely a creature of such magnanimous might must have countless other tasks to attend to? Golly gee! I surely do hope I’m not wasting this being of incarnated perfection’s time.’”

I nodded.

“Yeah, that sounds exactly like me.”

Zeol continued.

“Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it, Loon? You’re from another world, aren’t you?”

I was about to protest and make up a lie when the god interrupted me.

“Oh, I already know. Don’t bother yourself with trying to drum up falsehoods. I wouldn’t want you to break something in that worryingly smooth brain of yours.”

“E’kyuz me?” I said, roast beef dangling out of my mouth.

“Loon,” he said severely. “You’ve got two brain cells, and both are competing for third place.”

I gaped.

“Wow, that was… actually pretty good,” I said. “My compliments.”

Zeol’s tone changed to one of genuine delight.

“Do you really think so? I was practicing that one while you were away!”

“So, if you know that I’m not from here, then you can tell me why I’m here in the first place and how I can get back,” I said.

“Well,” Zeol began, sounding uncomfortable. “While I know that you are not from here, I am unable to discern the precise reason or method for it, Loon. I apologize for being unable to be more helpful in that regard.

What a useless fucking god.

“Anyway,” I said. “You seem pretty tangent-prone, so let’s get back on track here.”

“Yes, that’s a great idea,” Zeol said. “Where was I? Ah, yes. Why I have my eye on you.”

The mask took a dramatic intake of breath and then let it out.

“You see, I didn’t know what I would find, looking through the Archway like that. Really, I wasn’t even sure why I did it–the morbid curiosity of the unknown, I suppose–but I did look, and there you were.”

I stopped chewing. This was who’d been attached to the constellation? I knew that based on the description, it was random, but I’d kind of been hoping that it would be, well, no one. Primarily to avoid this exact scenario. Yet, here I was, sitting in a big puddle eating the medieval equivalent of a french dip with a sentient harlequin mask.

“The very nature of the Archway dictates that a contract is forged,” Zeol continued. “So, from that very moment, you and I became intertwined. We are bonded, Loon.

I groaned.

“You mean I’m stuck with you?”

I could tell from his tone that Zeol was practically beaming with excitement.

“You should feel very fortunate; not everyone gets to bend the ear of a god.”

“Lucky me,” I said.

“Well, that’s an interesting point that you bring up, Loon.”

“Is it? What point did I make? I mean–er–yeah, I know!”

“A more powerful wit than yours there is not,” Zeol said. “But that is just it, my boy. Luck is everything. Did you notice your own stat changing?”

I nodded. My Luck had hopped up by seven points from my last reckoning, which seemed like a substantial amount. I wasn’t sure what role it necessarily played in all of this, but I had a feeling he was about to give me a far-too-jubilant explanation.

“That was me,” Zeol beamed.

“Wait,” I said. “So… you’re what, the god of luck?”

“Among a few other domains. But yes, fortune is one of my primary aspects.”

Well, that certainly explained a few things. I raised an eyebrow at Zeol. There was something else here that he hadn’t quite explained. I hadn’t ever been the sharpest hammer in the deck, but I was picking up some funky vibes from the flow of this god’s rambling.

“If that’s the case, though, then how come bad things keep happening to me? Sure, I’ve survived so far, but the predicaments I’ve been wandering into should have been negated by my raised Luck, right?”

I paused thoughtfully.

Don’t do it. Don’t you dare fucking say it.

“Unless you’re not a very powerful god?” Then, twisting the knife, I affirmed my statement. “...yeah, you seem kind of wimpy.”

I couldn’t stop myself from being a little shit sometimes. Why was I like this?

I let my statement grow in the silence as I dipped the edge of the sandwich into a conveniently provided au jus and took another bite. It was delicious. I didn’t want to admit it to Zeol, but this may have been the best french dip I’d ever eaten, and in my lap were a dozen more just like it.

Uh-oh. I need to chill before my new body becomes my old body.

Food had obviously played a large part in my previous life. I don’t even know that I did it for comfort or for boredom like I knew many people did. Mine had always seemed to be about the taste. I fucking loved delectable, fat-enriched cuisine. Complex flavors, rich buttery textures, and the more cheese, the better. Food was important, and this was the first time since arriving that I’d eaten anything. These sandwiches were dangerous.

However, it seemed my comment had struck a nerve because as I lifted the dip to take another bite, the entire platter upended in my lap. French dips flew everywhere, landing on me, in the water, and some even slapped against Zeol.

“What the fuck?!” I demanded. “I was gonna eat those!”

“You accuse me, Zeol the Capricious, of being weak? Of being… mundane? I, who contort the ebb and flow of the very fabric of fortune? The Slumberer, me, underpowered? I could lash you to the tips of luck’s volatile fingers and bind you in a cycle of unyielding torment until all life is extinguished from the cosmos and time itself is forgotten. I could flay the boundaries of your dreams and reality, forcing you to become a husk! I could conjure up devils that would haunt your blood, Sojourner Loon! Do not mistake me for anything other than vast, unbridled power!”

I stared at the mask for a moment, a little stunned by the tempestuous tantrum the god was throwing.

Then I slowly took another bite of the sandwich.

“Haunt my blood?”

The french dip exploded out of my hand, arcing across the huge room and into the water beyond with a faraway splash.

“Hey! Not cool, man,” I exclaimed. “That–”

“You are frustrating beyond all measure of understanding, Loon,” Zeol exclaimed, the mask no longer black but white-hot, so much so that I could feel the heat leaping from his form. “You are rude, and you are stupid. Despite knowing nothing, you continue on as though you have all of the answers. If it were within my contract to do so, I would transform these mists into venomous black serpents and let them strike your eyes and tongue until nothing remained in your head but bloat and pus!”

The water beneath him began to boil and bubble threateningly. I quickly lifted my feet out and tucked them up onto the chair.

Zeol’s voice became thunderous and resounding, all indication of the previous calm placidity vanishing. “I invite you into my realm to educate you–nay, to better you and your understanding, and you minimize my merit?! I will not tolerate this in my own plane!”

His words hung in the air, and I wasn’t sure how to follow up such an explosion of emotion. There was a moment of pregnant silence, and neither of us broke it. I just kept my eyes trained on the mask, suddenly very anxious and scanning the fog for any indication that it was about to get bitey. Finally, after several long breaths, Zeol’s tone became soft again.

“I am--er--my apologies, Loon,” he said. “That was… an unfortunate outburst. Inappropriate, even.”

“Wow,” I said, watching the water recede before placing my feet back in it. “I didn’t realize you… hated food so much.”

There was a pause, and then Zeol began to chuckle.

“Yes, I suppose it did look a bit like I had it out for the poor dears, didn’t it? Mercy me, I should really learn to temper my predilections toward that level of fury.”

“Hey, no hard feelings,” I said, waving my hands around. “One time, I got so angry at my aunt that I placed my bowl of cereal on the floor and kicked it into the ceiling fan.”

Aunt Ella had told me that under no circumstance was I to borrow her car on account of getting arrested for disassembling a police bike. Technically, it was only an aggravated misdemeanor (due to Uncle Luke’s assistance). Still, I’d only done it because the officer had chained the bike up to one of those water fountains designed for dogs at the park--blocking any chance of those puppers getting a drink. It had made me angry, so I’d done the only thing I could think of to teach the cop a lesson.

Unfortunately, I was caught in the act, and though Uncle Luke had been able to get a deferred judgment on it, I still had to be punished. It just so happened that two days later, the new Lamb of God album dropped, and of course, I needed the physical album. Aunt Ella had said it was too bad, and I’d either have to wait until my grounding was over or buy it online. Before I knew it, the cereal bowl was already flying through the air, and I spent the next week fixing the damage and using my Legion: XX money to pay the cost.

It seemed silly now, but that was actually a pretty typical outburst for me. I’d been living my whole life as an undersized and over-wide meatball of fury. If there’s one thing I understood well, it was rage.

Zeol considered my statement quietly before seeming to brighten up.

“Alright, well, let’s just forget that, shall we? Let’s continue with why I brought you here in the first place.”

“That sounds good,” I said. “But, uh… could I get another sandwich?”

Soundlessly, another tray of food appeared in my lap. To my disappointment, it wasn’t the archaic french dips this time. It was something resembling paninis.

Great. All the power in the world, and he gets delivery from fucking Panera Bread.

I picked one up and bit into it anyway. To my delight, I found it was a concoction very similar to a Cubano sandwich.

Ooh, never mind! Even better!

“We were discussing the nature of Luck and my power over it, yes?” Zeol began. “But, I must say, you seem to be looking at it incorrectly.”

“Illuminate me,” I said between bites.

“There are specific rules to follow while you enjoy the winsome wiles of Regaia--this world. I am an overseer of luck, but that does not mean you will be blessed with a purely positive fortune at all times. Luck, as they say, is a fickle mistress.”

“Meaning what exactly?” I asked. I was starting to suspect from his tone that I wouldn’t like the possible ramification of that.

“That is just a roundabout way of saying that luck goes up,” Zeol continued and then dropped his voice. “And luck comes down. It is quite an exciting ride! You can never truly know what is going to come next!”

“Wait, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Well,” Zeol said. “What is it you think I am saying, Loon?”

“I think you’re saying that my Luck stat is going to shoot up and down on a whim, and if that’s the case, I am already adding you to my little black book of people’s houses I’m going to egg.”

“I suppose you could infer that result, and you’re not far off. However, it has a much more nuanced structure than that. You make it sound as if you believe it will be sliding all over the place, willy-nilly and the like.”

“So that’s not what will be happening?”

“No, that’s pretty close,” Zeol admitted.

I groaned again.

“But there are some rules!” He added quickly.

That just sounded like bad news with extra steps.

“Lay ‘em on me,” I said sullenly.

“Well, for instance, it works like this: while you are under my purview--and you should understand that as while you are alive in this world--your Luck Attribute will fluctuate. Before you get your… painters in a twist…? Is that the term? Oh, never mind. Before you get flustered, know that the rules state that if Luck goes down, it must go up next--by at least five but never more than fifteen. The same is true for the opposite direction.”

“...and how often will this be happening?”

“Oh, several times per day,” Zeol said. “Based on certain criteria that…”

The god paused, and though there was no physical indication of it, I had a feeling he was passing judgment on me.

“What?!” I demanded.

“Nothing,” Zeol said. “I just don’t think, based on our limited interaction, that you would be interested in those specifics. Am I wrong?”

“Is it something that I can control?”

“No.”

“Well, then you’re right on the money. Will it be inconvenient?”

“Most certainly.”

“Why do I feel like you’re excited about that?”

“Because I am,” Zeol said. “Ecstatic, even. But don’t worry my dearest orc--you will be too.”

“Would you care to elaborate on that, Zee, or am I just going to have to be satisfied with your mysterious puzzle-language bullshit?”

Zeol floated up and shifted, flowing through the mist at a sideways angle before coming to a stop at my other side. It was strange. A creature of his size, I should have felt the wind moving--especially with as close as he was. But there wasn’t anything. No sound or sensation, no general feeling of presence. I had to imagine that if I’d had my eyes closed, there would have been no way to tell he’d done anything. As if he wasn’t actually here.

“When your Luck status is low, it will afford no end of interesting consequences and events,” Zeol said. “But it also offers an opportunity for great rewards.”

I cleared my throat.

“What kind of rewards?”

“Experience. Loot. Power. Take your pick of myriad possible outcomes.”

“That seems… what’s the word--counterintuitive? Why would I be rewarded for being unlucky?”

“Because that is the nature of fortune, my good orc. A deficit in that area is considered a disadvantage, and those are where the true opportunities lie. A man down on his literal luck that can persevere is treated quite kindly by the fates. Likewise, for those that fail despite impressively wonderful odds. High risk, high reward as they say.”

“So, if the stat is, say, negative ten, then bad things will happen–but if I somehow wind up on top, I’ll win a prize?”

“Let’s not get bogged down on the particulars so much, Loon,” Zeol said. “The less you worry over it, the better off you will be. This I promise. Trust me to carry the burden of luck’s rebellious nature, and it will be sorted.”

I took another thoughtful bite, finishing the sandwich. There must have been a bit of some sleeper heat to it because my esophagus felt warm and my cheeks had the sensation of being flushed. I looked at another one of the Cubanos.

Maybe in a minute.

I turned to address Zeol again.

“This might sound like an ignorant question, but isn’t this a dumb… yoke to saddle upon my nigh overburdened shoulders?”

Wait, I thought. That wasn’t what I was trying to say. This isn’t even the way I normally speak. Weird.

I continued.

“Would it not be more appropriate and resplendent if I were not the benefactor of such a–wait but a moment!”

What the fuck was going on? I hadn’t wanted to use any of those words. I knew what I was trying to say, but everything was coming out wrong. This didn’t seem good.

“What manner of language tumbles forth from my lips? Zeol, good fellow! Is this high sorcery? Am I bedeviled? Is my mind suffering the woes of exhaustion or perhaps apoplexy?”

Something fucking goofy was going on, that was for sure. While I’d been trying to say ordinary, everyday words, my mouth seemed to be working of its own volition and creating a bizarre translation–like I’d accidentally set Google Translate to “Shakespearean Douchebag.”

“I know this is you, Zeol! Don’t just stare at me, you big, ugly bitch! Change my voice back to normal right now!”

At least, that’s what I’d tried to say. What actually came out was:

“What ho, Zeol! Rescind thy eyesight from my visage, foul and unseemly cur that you are! I demand the satisfaction of a tongue most modern and that you perform this task with haste!”

Zeol just chuckled.

“Much better,” he said. “I was worried you would never finish that food.”

“What was in the sandwich?!” I tried to demand, but my mouth said:

“What was contained within the bocadillo?!”

Bocadillo? I didn’t know what that meant, but it was probably another, fancier word for sandwich I had to imagine–using, uh, context clues.

“Oh, just an Oratory Splendor potion,” Zeol said matter-of-factly. “You do have a terrible habit of using just the most disgusting language, and I wanted to see if you were a bit more tolerable if I suddenly altered your speech patterns. As it turns out: barely.”

“I am of the mind to transform the planks of your body into kindling whereby I will set them ablaze and empty my waste upon the dancing flames! Then I shall dig a trench and forge a shallow grave for the charred leavings of your coil!” I bellowed.

I couldn’t believe he’d slipped a mickey into my food! And this was the guy that wanted me to trust him? Bend his ear? Now he was pranking me? I had to admit, though, the last line I’d said about the shallow grave was actually metal as fuck, and way more badass than what I’d initially intended.

“Please, Loon,” Zeol said. “This was done in warm humor. It will be over in a moment, and you will suffer no ill-effects afterward. You have always been the type–from what I gather– to relish in a bit of good-natured ribbing. No?”

I thought about that. Honestly, it was pretty harmless–assuming I returned to normal. It’s not like he shot me in the face with bear mace or anything like I had to my last social worker. But I also didn’t like looking like a fool or being the ass-end of a joke.

“I shall hold my reservations until such a time that this fades from the air of my teeth… but, I goddamn promise, man, if I get stuck like this or have a permanent speech impediment, I’m going to kick the sh–oh.”

The Oratory Splendor had ended right in the middle of my sentence.

So, it lasted for roughly a minute, I thought. If I could find out where to get some of that stuff, I thought I’d have a few ideas for how best to use it–to hilarious effect. I moved my jaw up and down to confirm that my ridiculous ventriloquism had stopped, then I relaxed. I took a few long moments before I spoke again.

“Alright, Zeol,” I said slowly. “You got me. You’re a regular Johnny Knoxville. Now can we please move on to the pressing issues? This might be all fun and games for you, but my orcish ass is the one on the line out there. If we’re just sitting around playing ‘who can be a bigger dickmunch’ with each other, I’m probably going to end up dead. Then how would you be able to help me?”

Zeol considered my words. He rotated slowly on his axis before quietly swooping through the mist and returning to float behind the reinstated podium.

“My apologies, Loon,” Zeol said seriously. “I let my foolishness get the better of me. I’ve been without much conversation for a long time, and it has been ages further still since I was able to pull a fast one all in the name of… how did that one woman put it? Ah, yes: ‘breaking balls.’ You’ll have to forgive me once more.”

“I’ll add it to your tab,” I said.

“Most generous of you,” Zeol said.

Now no longer interested in the secret danger-food, I abandoned my tray and began to slosh through the water toward Zeol and the podium. I couldn’t help but think the image of this mansion-sized black mask floating in front of the platform in a ginormous cavern of mist and water would make an excellent album cover. Especially if someone like the famous album art-smith and badass Berliner Eliran Kantor painted it. Kantor had crafted some of my all-time favorite concepts, including the illustrations to albums by the bands Helloween, Venom Prison, Havok, and Heaven Shall Burn.

This scene would be evocative as shit in his style.

Once I came to a stop in front of Zeol’s phallic ice breaker, the god continued his original thought.

“I have a request for you, Loon,” the pomp and severity of his shift into formality was slightly uncomfortable–like he was a politician about to announce on national television that he had been caught having sex with the office copier.

“So here’s a hot, sloppy Q for you,” I stated. “But, is this an actual request–like, can I say no? Or are you just prettying-up the words ‘demand under penalty of death?’”

“I find death so boring,” he said. “I prefer dismemberment—the gentleman’s consequence.”

“Fucking shiny,” I said. “And here I was getting ready to get religious. Guess you’re just going to be a party of one in your vape cave.”

“You’re too paranoid, dear Loon,” Zeol said, still looming above me from the dais. “Of course, you can deny this solicitation without reprimand. I’m a god, not a farm wife. But, I am hoping you will show interest in this venture. It will be incredibly worthwhile.”

“For you, or for me?” I asked.

“They need not be mutually exclusive, my dear,” Zeol said, his voice dripping with honey.

He’s trying to butter me up. But, I’m not a piping-hot piece of toast that you can just slather your words on; I’m like a feral alleycat–notoriously tricky to butter.

“What are we talking about here, Zee-man?” I said. “Power? Untold riches? An Applebee's gift card?”

Zeol turned to the right in response to my questions. From the podium, there was a chirp and then a flash of light as an enormous screen filled the space above, right where he’d turned to look. The display was grayscale and depicted a bizarre shape that looked like a very badly abused potato or a part of male anatomy with a worrying deformity.

“Nice balls,” I said, making myself chuckle. I still hadn’t gotten used to my new, lower voice so the words still sounded like someone else was saying them. I’d add it to the list of things I hadn’t yet gotten acclimated to: the greenish skin, the massive body, literally anything that had happened to me since fucking yesterday. This was getting away from me. Where was I? Oh yeah, the testicles.

“This is my request.”

“I’d love to help, but I don’t think I’m qualified to diagnose this, Zee. Did you fuck them up with two big magnets?”

The god ignored me. Instead, he started bobbing up and down as the image on the screen rotated and enlarged. I could now see that this was actually a detailed sketch of a structure rather than a pair of roughly-handled huevos. It had two distinct domes, though they were dissimilar in size and shape and appeared (to the best of my perception) to be made out of a thick, dark rock. I could see a large doorway inside an arch at the front center of the thing. Flanking either side were two colossal pillars with what I had to assume were statues of an indistinguishable lumpy creature atop each. It looked like a mausoleum for Mr. Peanut.

“This is the Forsaken Crypt of the Dreadnaught Lord,” Zeol announced proudly. “It is a dungeon that holds many highly sought-after treasures and lesser, uncommon spoils as well. My request, at your pleasure, is that you make it to the fifth chamber on the main floor of the Crypt. In that space is an artifact that I require and would like you to retrieve for me.”

I let out a whistle.

“Sweetheart, what makes you think I’m even kind of qualified to go into a dungeon?” I began. “Number A, I don’t know the first filthy detail about those motherfuckers. I’m not sure what they’re like here–but back where I’m from, they’re either ancient shitty prisons or the lairs of all sorts of bad ju-ju monsters and other bullshit in fantasy games. Second: I’m only Level Three. If you think my deficient behind is going to be able to toddle on in there and start wrecking holes, you’ve grossly misjudged my power level. I know my limits. And D, how in the sea-salted caramel fuck would I even begin to find this place?”

Zeol cleared his throat, which I had to imagine was just for emphasis because there’s no way he was rocking actual vocal cords. Right?

“Allow me to answer your queries as best I can,” he said with his imperious inflection. “This dungeon is similar--it seems--to what you described from your world. It was the final resting place of a very, very powerful thaumaturge named Rexen Gravetongue–”

“Well, that sounds like the name of a really wholesome and upstanding guy,” I said. “...and not at all like someone who would rip my spine out through my nostrils and play banjo with it.”

Zeol just kept explaining, picking up right where he’d left off when I’d interrupted.

“--who stowed his hordes of wealth around him in his crypt–to be claimed by any brave and fearless individuals who might have the gall to step within its depths.”

“You’re doing a terrible job of pitching this,” I said.

“To your next point: the main floor is not dangerous–even at your Level Three. Whatever lies in wait in that area will be quite easily dispatched. It is the lower floors that are truly a challenge. I assure you that you will not be in harm’s way as long as you don’t descend the stairs. You are to go to the fifth chamber where you will find a talisman, and you will hold on to it until I can summon you here again. Along the way, you will be able–and in fact, are encouraged–to loot whatever treasure or items you happen upon. I expect there will be a number of interesting baubles.”

Author's Note: If you are reading this story on EastTale, it has been posted without the permission of the author, and was taken from Royal Road.

“Okay, so I get this… talisman and just hold it for you?” I barked out a laugh. “I’ve heard that line before, bub. This isn’t some scam to get me arrested by whatever you guys call cops here, is it?”

“I assure you, no one will know you have it, nor will they likely care. It is an object important only to me.”

You have been offered a Quest!

[Faith Quest] Into The Dungeon

Zeol the Capricious has tasked you with entering the Forsaken Crypt of the Dreadnought Lord to retrieve an object of value. Engage the dungeon and retrieve the item to complete this Quest.

Reward: Experience. Coin. Initiate Degree in the Cult of the Capricious.

Bonus Reward: Unknown

This is a Faith Quest. Failure to complete may result in exclusion or expulsion from Quest-associated Faith.

Accept?

Yes / No

I couldn’t believe it. This oversized Halloween costume was asking me to go on a death-defying mission into the heart of the lair of some fucking evil… thumb-turd or whatever he called it and snatch up his super important and not remotely suspicious collectible keepsake?

I wasn’t feeling very hot or confident about my odds, regardless of what he said. This seemed, for all its potential, like a bad idea. I knew a thing or two about those considering I was the fucking Wrong Approach Warlord of Dipshit Mountain.

I selected ‘No.’

The notification blinked away, but then I heard a displeased grunt from Zeol and another popped up.

You have been offered a Quest!

[Faith Quest] Into The Dungeon

Accept?

Yes / No

Are you fucking kidding me?!

I selected no again. A moment later the same message appeared. I groaned and denied the request once more.

Sure enough, a few seconds later, the same message appeared. Now I was getting pissed off. Rather than deny it this time, I angrily minimized it and glared up at Zeol.

“Alright, this is fucking stupid,” I said. “Where’s the damned block button on this thing? You can’t just keep requesting it if I don’t want to do it! You said I could say no!”

I refused to be dragged into some foolish endeavor that wasn’t of my own design. Gabe Skelter–er–Loon Nolastname was perfectly capable of messing up his own life, thank you very much. Besides, I’d only been here, what, twelve hours? Nah, I was planning to get a lot more mileage out of this new body than that before I departed dearly. This mission seemed like it would end with something big and uncomfortable eating its way through my sternum.

Zeol was silent.

I took a few breaths and tried to calm myself. It wouldn’t do to go flying out of control right now. I was trying to save my strength because getting angry definitely took a lot out of me. Even more so now that there was an actual Ability attached to the emotion. After a few more moments of quiet contemplation I sighed.

“I dunno, man, this seems shitty. Why don’t you walk me through your rationale as to why I have to be the one to do this. Can’t you go? Or someone else?”

Zeol sighed.

“I wish beyond all will that I could just give you an Intelligence potion so that you would understand better without my having to say it aloud.”

“Are we being recorded or something?” I asked.

Zeol’s frustrated exhalation of breath reverberated through my bones.

“We are not necessarily alone. There are always eyes and ears roving about in the shadows. Even here in my domain, I am not safe from the scrying eyes of some who would wish to stick their nose where it doesn’t belong!”

The way he’d emphasized his last line made me believe he was speaking to someone else—likely whoever he believed had him under surveillance.

“Ah, man,” I cooed. “Big Brother got your goose in a noose?”

I straightened up.

“Fine,” I said. “Keep your secrets for now. But can you convince me better as to why I should agree to this? I’m not exactly Mega Man. Going in guns-a-blazin' might be a bit out of my wheelhouse as of yet.”

But not for long.

Zeol seemed to consider this, and when he finally did speak, it was with a quiet, thoughtful tone.

“Loon,” he said. “Are you frightened?”

“What?!” I demanded, kicking up some of the shallow water in protest. “The fuck I’m frightened! I just don’t like doing anybody any favors.”

“Well,’ the god continued. “You sound quite scared. Based on your previous interactions in the world, it stands to reason you might have some trepidation, considering what I’ve seen. Really? Running from that oafish matau you rode down the hill?

Matau? Had that been what Stinky was? I didn’t know or necessarily care, though. The god’s other words were much more prevalent in my brain. I felt my heart rate increase. Zeol was pushing my buttons.

“It was a… calculated risk!” I exclaimed. “I was wounded and running low on Stamina. I’d just passed my Milestones–which I still don’t know about–or anything for that matter because, since the moment I’ve arrived, it’s just been an unending storm of boiled pig snatch without a chance to stop and absorb any detail other than ‘time to die.’”

I was finding it hard to remain calm. My pulse was thundering now, and I’d been subconsciously gritting my teeth, causing my words to come out like stilted barks. Zeol was doing this on purpose, and it was working.

“I doubt very much that your risks are ever calculated. You are as dumb as they come, Loon. Stupider, some might say. It is okay to admit when–”

“You can go fuck yourself!” I shouted angrily, my heartbeat pounding like a jackhammer that had gotten addicted to cocaine. I stormed forward, thrusting a thick, green-gray finger at the mask.

“You and this dungeon can suck my dick! I’m not doing anything for you!”

“You are pathetic,” Zeol said. “A mewling and cowardly crybaby who can’t even–”

I felt it happen. It came, unbidden, like setting a lit match to wood that had been doused in gasoline. I could hear the blood rush to my ears and the roar tear from my lips. My body was vibrating in frenetic anger. A chemical cocktail of hatred spewed into my mind with the force of a crashing wave as my vision darkened and I locked on to Zeol.

I will kill him! I will shatter his body and pull the fragments apart with my teeth!

I hardly paid attention to the notification that popped up in front of me displaying the words: Primal Rage. I was a seething torment and a vicious gale. I would be the gasp of death that filled the void at the end of life. I was going to observe total destruction in this chamber, starting with Zeol.

I lurched forward, my arms outstretched as I shot right toward the mask with the wrath of ten-thousand warring stars in my eyes. However, when I reached the point where he was, my hands grasped… nothing.

Zeol was just gone and so was the room around me. That’s when I noticed the lurch in my belly, even in my compromised state.

It was dark and I was falling.