Logan had help getting his things down into the bottom of the Ladder Hole, which was yes, four rooms stacked on top of one another connected by a ladder set into the stone wall. Logan couldn’t be happier. He was in the bottom room, which was set deep underground, but had a window that showed the churning depths of the Loch Endless. It was cramped, but he was small, and he didn’t need much. The bed, the desk, and the little closet with the red-velvet curtain, were certainly an upgrade from his room last year and about a thousand times nicer than the shed he’d been staying in all summer.

Logan set his digestion pit inside the fireplace, since he wouldn’t need heat until the dead of winter. He set about unpacking his meager belongs before summoning a halo of invisible spores, which clung to the walls and crevices like spider webbing. A burst of Rapid Growth and he had a small forest of Opal Truffles and beautiful glowing God’s Eye Caps. Not only did the mushrooms make him feel more at home, but Opal Truffles were a rarity, coveted by foodies across the galaxy. He had a feeling the God’s Eye Caps, would also carry a premium.

Satisfied with his handiwork, Logan opened the door and stepped into the shaft with the ladder on his left. “Hey, you guys! Do any of you have food you can give me? Ideally, something spoiled or spoiling. I was going to get started on breakfast.”

Marko stuck his head out of his own doorway above Logan. “I have a ham sandwich I brought from the Wayfarer. It’s a couple of days old.”

“Perfect!”

Logan caught the sandwich, turned, and tossed it into the fireplace and got to eating. Live prey had more Apothos, but a sandwich wasn’t so bad.

Marko’s s room was at the level of the lake, so his windows would give him extra light. However, on windy, stormy days, that lake water would splash up the side of the castle and cover Marko’s window. Each room above Logan doubled in size, so Treacle, at the top, would have massive living quarters. He’d need it with all the gizmos the minotaur tinkered with.

Marko called down. “So, Logan, Steve wants me to tell you he likes you. Getting good vibes off you. He’s also sorry that he freaked you out.”

“Does Steve actually talk?” Logan called back.

“Does he talk?” Marko squinted. “Yeah. He has to talk. He’s a floor boss.”

“A floor boss?” Huh. Logan was impressed.

Inga closed her door and then let herself drop down the ladder shaft. She extended her wings, and caught a draft. She grabbed the ladder just above Marko’s room, where the hallway led to other the sophomore rooms and the common room. “Yes. Marko really did do summer homework. This year, we have a class called—Best Friends Forever: Your Minions and You. Professor Arketa the Hellgazer is teaching it.”

Logan left his room, nodding. “So she finally gets to teach us about minion management and floor bosses.”

“Heck yeah she does!” Marko spouted enthusiastically. “So, I read a few books, and I created Steve, who is connected to my core. GK may have helped a little—that guy is wicked smart.”

Inga leapt into the hallway. She had a huge backpack stuffed to the brim with old tomes. Marko followed. Steve leapt as well, squeaking with every step.

As for the alchemical minotaur. Treacle lowered himself on a grappling hook and winch system that sprouted from his left arm. He just fit inside the hall with his big horns.

Logan clambered up the ladder and leapt into the hallway, torches flickering. Other students were leaving their rooms, all headed for the Golden Serpent Hall.

Inga sighed. “We are so very fortunate to have the Ladder Hole rooms. It allows Treacle a workshop, I have adequate space for my books, Marko and Steve are happy. I would imagine your room is damp enough to be to your liking as well. Am I correct, Logan?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Strangely enough, I think it’s prefect.”

“Because Rockheart just wuvs you!” Marko slung an arm around Logan’s neck and pulled him in close.

Logan playfully pushed his friend away. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Well, I had to work for him all summer long. And it wasn’t just training, I had to clean and organize the Akros Coliseum, there was some light office work, and I had to file. You’d think a magic school would have less filing,” he grumbled

“Not at all,” Inga insisted. “Filing and efficiently go hand-in-hand.”

“Okay,” Logan said. “So Marko makes a floor boss. That’s great, but why keep him around?”

“Phft. Why? Isn’t it obvious,” Marko said dancing a bit, moving his hooves with remarkable rhythm. “Because he’s awesome!”

Steve clattered along, hip and knee joints creaking.

The satyr was crazy, and Steve was strange. But the fact that Marko had cared enough to try and get ahead in his classes was good news. Logan would tolerate the weirdo dummy, if only to encourage his friend to continue his hard work. No one in the Terrible Twelfth wanted a repeat of their first year when they’d had to bail Marko out of the trouble he’d gotten himself into.

Inga motioned to the gaunt minotaur in front of them. “Hey, Treacle, tell Logan about your summer.”

“He didn’t seem interested,” Treacle said morosely. “He was too captivated by Steve, no doubt.”

“Come on, Treac, tell me.” Logan stopped them in the hallway.

Ed the Rot Troll, green and impossibly thin, dodged them. “You. Terrible Twelfth. Me wish you luck. Me fan.”

“Thanks Ed!” Marko said and waved.

Steve mimicked the wave as well. Then dropped his arm. More squeaking.

Logan knocked his fist against a metal plate in the minotaur’s thigh just below the hem of his leather skirt. Logan wasn’t so short—certainly not as short as he was in his first evolution—but he was far from tall. “Tell me, big guy. I think you lost a little weight.”

“I lost a lot of weight.” Treacle sighed. “As you know, I worked the summer with Professor Crucible. Ronnalg eats a lot of meat. Not a lot grass up in the World Forge Wastes. I did research on magic objects, making blueprints, crafting exothermic and endothermic objects, and didn’t eat much.”

“Sorry, man,” Logan said. “But you’re back. We’ll get you a ton of grass. A little cud chewing and you’ll be back to your old self in no time.”

“I hope so.” The minotaur shook his head sadly. “Truth be told, I dreamed about hay most nights. Not even good hay… but … rainy hay. Rainy hay is terrible. I’m sure you understand.”

Logan had spent some hungry days in the Army. And during deployment, MREs—Meals Ready to Eat—got real old, real fast. Somedays he had simply not eaten, rather than choke down something nightmare inducing like the Veggie Omelet Meal. Logan shuddered at the thought. “Yeah, I do. Come on, Treacle. Let’s get you to the Golden Serpent Hall so you can eat.”

Marko and Steve had walked farther down the corridor. Steve’s joints creaked. The satyr burst out laughing. “That’s flippin’ hilarious, Steve-O. Your wit cuts me to the bone. To the bone, Steve!” Marko turned to them. “Come on, guys! Hurry up! I want to get some food in me before I lose the Apothos and have to re-absorb Steve.”

The satyr turned. “Just kidding, buddy. You’re too funny to die.”

“See?” Treacle exhaled like his heart had only just started breaking. “Steve likes the limelight.”

Inga pulled the minotaur forward by one of his furry hands. “I would be shocked if Marko maintains his interested in Steve.” She pat the back of his hand reassuringly. “Eventually, our dark muse will get tired of the mannequin and will move on to his next toy.”

Logan wasn’t so sure. Marko seemed smitten—only time would tell where Steve was concerned.

They all walked into the Golden Serpent Hall, which was like walking into the Notre Dame Cathedral complete with the stained-glass windows, flying buttresses, and vaulted ceilings. Rows of tables and benches sat below a raised dais where the professors would eat.

With an average of forty-eight dungeon core guardians per class, it meant there was nearly two hundred monsters filling out the grand hall. The Treegees were busy bringing out dishes of food and laying plates and cups in front of students. Chef Treegee was a whizz in the kitchen, and he’d memorized everyone’s favorite food—no easy feat consider how high the turnover rate was among the students.

Thanks to the brutal nature of Shadowcroft Academy, students were killed all the time, but others invariably came in to take their place. Usually in the form of new recruits, but also as the occasional transfer students from the other dungeon core schools, like Gadsore’s Institute of Defense or the Crossworld Academy of the Arcane. Both fine schools. Though there were also less reputable academies. Everyone agreed that the Plaguebringer College of the Undead was a dump, and that Saudrian’s School of Guardians was a basically a degree mill that turned out the least qualified of all Guardians. Nightfall University, though had the best reputation outside of Shadowcroft’s Academy.

Logan and his cohort found a table off to the side, where they normally sat. A juniper bush with eyes, legs, and arms, dropped off their usual breakfasts.

Treacle sat in sullen silence and it was clear he wouldn’t be doing any of the talking. He dove into a tray of golden hay, piled high, along with a huge mug of weak beer, which was basically hay in a cup. Inga had candied almonds, which she drenched in honey. Marko had a big glass of orange juice, which he proudly declared was non-alcoholic. Along came his veggie-goat cheese omelet with a ton of spicy potatoes also sprinkled liberally in goat cheese.

“So, you’re a goat,” Logan said. “And you’re eating goat cheese. This is vaguely disturbing.”

“Why?” Marko munched on some potatoes. “Baby goats drink goat milk. Goat cheese is just old goat milk. And let’s not talk about disturbing, my fungal friend.” He paused and cocked an eyebrow at Logan. “How’s my old ham sandwich.”

Logan lifted his hands in concession. “Fine, fine. You win this round, goat boy.”

Steve’s head swiveled on creaking joint to take in Inga’s sickly-sweet breakfast. It then swiveled his eye impressions back to Marko.

“Good point, Steve!” Marko burst out. “Inga’s meal is the vaguely disturbing one.”

The moth woman waved a hand. “Yes, all of this is very funny banter. But we have to go over this year’s classes, and we have to pick our electives. I’m fairly certain I know what I want, and I absolutely certain none of you will be interested.”

They would have time to do that later, but it wasn’t like Inga would wait. The only thing she hated more than procrastination were books out of alphabetical order.

She removed a huge book from her backpack and slammed it down onto the table. It nearly dumped Marko’s orange juice, but he deftly snatched it up. “So, I’m assuming those are your notes and suggestions on how I can improve myself and Steve.”

Inga glared at him. “No, these are all possible electives, many of which you won’t find in your DCGs. Tell me what’s available.”

Marko had stopped paying attention and waved over at GK, who was with his cohort as well as the first year zombie merman.

Treacle couldn’t do a thing except eat. Poor guy, it was like he was running on pure Apothos rather than food. He crunched on his hay and washed it down with more liquid hay.

Logan opened his grimoire. Listed were the five required classes his cohort had to take as second years:

Best Friends Forever: Your Minions and You Professor Arketa the Hellgazer The History of Arborea and the Four Clans Professor Bartholomew Nekhbet Intermediate Crafting: Keep It Simple, Stupid Professor Ronnalg Crucible Core Calisthenics II: Pain Endurance and Soul Torture Techniques Rector Prime Yullis Rockheart Offensive Dungeon Design: When the Best Defense is a Good Offense Professor Zuzanna Zantho

“Soul torture techniques?” Marko stopped waving at people and came around to read over Logan’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Logan sighed. “It’s worse than it sounds.”

“Funny,” Marko said, though he didn’t sound amused in the least. “So those are the five classes. Hey, Treacle, are you excited for the crafting class?”

“No. It’ll mostly be a review for me.” The minotaur crunched more hay to fill another stomach. “Professor Crucible said as much, but he thinks school is mostly a waste of time, and we should just start our dungeons. The weak ones will die. The strong will survive. Nature is the best teacher, according to him.”

“Dungeon Darwinism,” Logan said absently. “Who is Zuzanna Zantho? And what is an example of an offensive dungeon? That sounds interesting.”

Inga turned a page in the big tome. “I’ve read articles on dueling dungeons, but I don’t necessarily understand the specifics. Something to do with spatial gate ways and something called Null Arenas. I’m sure it will be covered exhaustively, though. Now, what are the official electives that the faculty wants to ram down our throats?”

“Someone’s a little salty,” Logan said, before running through the provided list:

A Kaleidoscope of Killzones: Diverse Dungeon Environments Professor John Toothbyte Beyond the Sword: Crafting Blunt Weapons Professor Ronnalg Crucible Advanced Dungeon Sounds and Music Design Professor Arketa the Hellgazer Tiles, Turf, and Terror: Dungeon Flooring Professor Terrence Bonedust Treasure Troves and Luscious Lures: How to Seduce Dungeoneers Professor Suresh the Merciless, the Cunning, and the Bloodthirsty Dungeon Crockery, Kitchen Crucifixions, and Odious Oven Mitts: How to Cook Up Murder Professor Ekzatrix the Endless Devourer Story, Metaphor, and History: The Significance of Thor: The Dark World Professor Bartholomew Nekhbet Die Trying: Core Strength and Xtreme Guardian Form Fitness Professor Zuzanna Zantho

Marko let out a whoop. “Oh yeah, my would-be girlfriend is teaching the ultimate class for me.” He jabbed a finger at the manual. Advanced Dungeon Sounds and Music Design. “Gonna get my spooky sounds on. Like to hear one?” The satyr whistled eerily, making a noise that put a feeling of dread in Logan’s belly

He had to smile. “Wow, Marko, that’s pretty good.”

“Hammers,” Treacle swallowed loudly. “I suppose I’ll do blunt weapons. I’ve always thought swords are overused. Like Excalibur. How often can a dumb sword make some dumb kid a king?”

Logan found it surprising that Treacle knew about the Arthurian legends, but then, there were aspects of Earth’s popular culture that seemed to have permeated the multiverse. Take the obsession with the second Thor movie, which baffled Logan. Shadowcroft insisted it was both the best movie of the franchise and also a fairly accurate depiction of the universe, despite the fact that it was objectively terrible. Easily the worst movie in the MCU. And obvious Ragnarök was the best Thor movie, hands down.

“So, Professor Nekhbet has a class,” Logan pointed out.

All eyes fell on Inga. Even Steve had his creaking head turned towards her.

Inga blushed and her antennae shrank into her temples. “Well, yes, I saw that class. However, there is a special class I found in the extended electives list. Bart—Professor Nekhbet, I mean—has agreed to teach it, since there’s someone else who signed up. I’m dying to know who else here might share my love of advanced dinner etiquette and table settings.”

“Uh, what class now?” Logan asked.

Inga’s antennae extended and a look of pure anger flashed in her eyes. “Don’t make fun of me. I know, I know, I have a silly crush on Bart.” Sigh. “Professor Nekhbet. But you have to admit, his waddle is so red and dangly. And that beak, so yellow and sharp.” She fanned her face. “Yes, it’s my honor to be taking the professor’s special offering called The Cutlery of Eritreus.”

Eritreus was one of the most powerful planets in the multiverse, and there were various dungeons there, protecting the Tree of Souls. That world was also where the premiere dungeoneering guilds were headquartered.

Logan squinted. “Professor Nekhbet wrote that book on the butter knives, right? How can you teach a class on butter knives?”

Inga snorted. “It’s not just decorative dinner knives, Logan, there’s also spoons, threeks, forks, quints, and various other dining implements. It can get very complicated.”

Her description only made Logan squint harder. “How does this apply to dungeons and protecting the Tree of Souls.”

“Right there,” Inga said fiercely, “is your lack of basic understanding of how important cutlery is to the Eritrean elite.”

Logan nodded and blew out a breath. “You aren’t wrong there. So, it’s basically a lures class. Gotcha.”

Inga’s cheek flushed with rage. “Logan, we need to stop talking about this. I’m getting far too upset.”

Perfect timing.

The Headmaster, Skip Shadowcroft, rose from his seat at the table and held out his tree hands. A mossy beard hung from his chin, and a few flowers sprouted from his hair. He wore the black and silver robes of the Onyx Tortoise clan. “Welcome, my dungeon core friends, to another year at my academy. The finest and the very first dungeon academy. This year, we’re doing a few things differently than we did last year as far as orientation is concerned. Professor Arketa suggested we be more welcoming. While some disagreed”—Rockheart’s scowl confirmed his opinion—“I think it was an excellent idea. I’d like to welcome the returning students. You survived, you aren’t dead, and so you can do wonderful things. Give yourselves a hand.”

The hall exploded into shouts and applause. That was Shadowcroft’s motto: Don’t die and do wonderful things.

The headmaster lifted his wooden hands, hushing the assembled students. “I’m sure it will be another auspicious year, and I’m glad to say only three dungeon cores were killed in the Threshing. I’d like to congratulate those first years who’ve survived to do wonderful things. Please stand and be acknowledged.”

Logan saw the geriatric zombie merman stand up and raise his hands over his head. He balanced pretty deftly on his tail.

GK clapped, slime spraying from his mailed hands. Several monsters around the armored knight ducked for cover.

Marko pumped a fist in the air. “You go, Nemoy!”

“Nemoy?” Logan asked in a whisper.

The satyr shrugged. “Yeah. Nemoy. He’s an undead merman, old guy, he got reaped when he was in his eighties, so yeah, he’s old. GK knew him back on his homeworld, Geyseria. There are a ton of geysers there.”

“Like Yellowstone?” Logan asked.

Marko chuffed laughter and elbowed Steve. “Like I know the geography of Uroth. I barely know what’s inland on Sangretta. But yeah, Logan, sure, Yellowstone.”

Steve’s creaking joints sounded like wheezy laughter.

Shadowcroft hushed the crowd once more. “I’d also like to welcome our transfer students. While the other academies are excellent—”

From across the room, Chadrigoth had appeared finally. He shouted, “Except for the Waldorf School of Strategic Learning. They suck!”

Shadowcroft laughed in a series of huffs that sent his mossy beard swaying. “Perhaps,” he said, thumbing his nose, “but I won’t say it out loud. I do know that none can compare to our school here.”

Chadrigoth nodded, crossing his beef slab arms. He was a huge demonic creature complete with bat wings, a spiked tail, and black horns jutting from his handsome dark blue face. Fire would burst forth every once in awhile to circle his shadow form. While he was a high-ranked Azure Branch cultivator, he was also a total asshat.

Shadowcroft clacked his branch fingers together. “Let’s give our transfer students a warm Shadowcroft welcome. Please stand.”

About a dozen monsters rose from their seats—various kobolds, orcs, a goblin—but one stood out. A tall guy with a face like dead fish meat stared at Logan’s table without looking around. His skin had the blue and greens of decay, but his eyes were big and brown, with thick eyelashes and thick eyebrows. When he smiled, he had silver teeth like knife blades. He was strangely proportioned. While his arms and legs were basically sticks, he had huge hands, ungainly feet in white tennis shoes, and a large swollen belly that filled chef’s whites. Strangest of all, he wore a black fedora which he tipped at Logan.

Logan returned the hat tip with a little salute. Didn’t want to be impolite, even if the dude was even weirder than Marko’s mannequin.

While the other transfer students sat, Mr. Fedora started making his way toward Logan and the gang. There was a look of expectation in his sludgy brown eyes.

Logan wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, but Shadowcroft kept talking. “This morning, we’ll give you some time to choose your electives, talk with your cohort, and each of the clan leaders will be meeting with their clans to go over their strategies for winning the yearly competition among clans. Will the clan leaders stand up.”

Professor John Toothbyte was an enormous half shark half-man—who oddly reminded Logan of that old 90s cartoon Street Sharks—with a long tail, two powerful legs, and a gleaming barbed hook on his right arm. He had a spiked anchor slung across his back. He led the Onyx Tortoise Clan of the North, for those with cool heads and kind hearts.

The tiger-headed rakshasa, Professor Suresh the Merciless, was in charge of the Crystal Tiger Clan of the West, for the headstrong and brave.

Rockheart raised a stone claw awkwardly and kept his wings closed. The Azure Dragon Clan of the East was his. Those of the Azure Dragon clan were bold, yet loyal and disciplined. Logan often wondered how Marko had ever ended up there. He was certainly bold and loyal, but discipline might as well have been a foreign word.

Lastly, was Rockheart’s girlfriend, Professor Arketa the Hellgazer, a gorgon who bore a striking resemblance to Reese Witherspoon in Legally Blonde. Dark glasses covered her eyes, to save them all from turning to stone, and a pink scarf covered her bulging snake hair. She headed up the Vermilion Phoenix Clan of the South, those with a virtuous nature and a fiery temper.

The mysterious big-bellied chef guy in the fedora stopped to clap politely.

Shadowcroft continued as Professor Arketa took her seat. “This afternoon, you’ll register for your classes. After dinner, we’ll have some music and dancing. Enjoy the downtime while you can. This year will be busy. The first years will have the Winnowing to prepare for, the second years will have another exciting field trip and will be introduced to the exciting world of dueling dungeons. The third years will have the inter-school competition, like normal, while our dear fourth years will have their senior projects—off-world, getting real-life experience, facing vile dungeoneers, and protecting the sacred Tree of Souls from the raiders. Thank you all for the wonderful things you’ll do, not just this year, but also in the years after you graduate.”

Shadowcroft made to sit, then paused, half stooped. “Ah, there is one other small thing. Some rather unfortunate news, really. One of our long-time professors, Thozz Grimemaw the Necro-Ghoul has died both suddenly and terribly. Sadly he will no longer go on to do wonderful things. His death is purely an accident, of course. I suspect it likely has something to do with a new Revival Ritual Professor Grimemaw was pioneering. But such is the life of a rock-star academic.” He had a wistful look on his wooden face.

“Grimemaw always did live fast and loose, playing with things he ought not to have touched. An Alvoreian Malark, flying too close to the sun, as they say. For those third and fourth year students that had his Ritual Revival and Reincarnation elective—never fear, I will personally teach the course until we can find a new visiting professor. Also, incidentally—and for reasons completely unrelated—the Cruelwood Dungeon in the heart of the Xiru Forest will be strictly off limits, upon pain of possible death. You are dismissed! Go and do wonderful things!”

The Headmaster sat, signaling the end of formal orientation, and the room erupted in a muted buzz of excited voices. Logan shared a glance with Inga.

“That was weird right?” he said waving at Shadowcroft. “The whole mysterious death of a professor and the Cruelwood Dungeon being closed. Super suspicious.”

“Very much so,” she agreed, antenna quivering.

Before Logan could say more, though, he had a new problem to deal with—and not the weirdo in the fedora, who was also fighting against the crowds to get closer. Nope, he had a face full of his nemesis, Chadrigoth.

The abyss lord pulled Logan off the bench, and held him dangling off the ground. Logan had a strange moment when he inhaled Chadrigoth’s scent. Was this asshat wearing Polo cologne?

The multiverse was a strange place indeed.