Sam was pacing in his prison. The study was twenty-two paces from the fireplace to the Gate of Seasons. Fifteen paces from the bookshelf to the bookshelf and 19 paces from the exit door to its opposite wall. It hadn’t changed in over 900 years. The last change had been when a bookshelf came through the gate.

When the first shelf came through, he thought that was a fluke, but then books and other things started appearing one at a time. It was the oddest thing since only souls should have been able to travel to the gate. Opening the gate from the other side should have meant that Sam saw the person who did.

However, it never happened. The gate door would open, and the item would just fly through. It didn’t matter what it was because it couldn’t be damaged in the office. The enchantments that Max put on the place kept it all the same.

Just over a thousand years in the same room, and most of it was spent alone with the books. He couldn’t even read many of them because his language skills just couldn’t handle them. But that didn’t keep him from trying.

Sam sighed, walked over to his booze cabinet, and poured himself a drink. “A thousand years of everything working as it should. A thousand years of boredom, and then he shows up.”

Sam walked back over to his chair by the fire. “How does everything fit in here? All of the shelves, the chairs, everything fits.”

The old champion drank his liquor as he gazed into the fire. He let his mind wander back to happier times when he was fighting the Dark Ones. When at the tip of his dagger, the evil god’s champions found death. They were the best of times with his friends. They might have been fighting for their lives, but they were free.

Now all he got to do was sit in a room and wait for a new Champion to come through. Sure, he had the occasional visitor, but those weren’t the most common. While he hated it, his favorite were the visits from his jailers. He couldn’t hurt them, and they couldn’t hurt him. Yet, since he had nothing to lose, what he said didn’t matter.

He raised his glass and said. “To you, Maximus, wherever you got sent off to. May you have happiness.”

He drained his glass and picked up his journal. It was such a farce; writing on anything other than the forms for the Gate of Seasons was considered damaging. So his journal he couldn’t put anything in for long. Each page, as he finished it, would return to perfectly blank.

As he wrote out that, once again, nothing happened to him and that once again, he drank the same drink, he got a pop-up. Sam’s jaw dropped. He hadn’t gotten a pop-up since he had been imprisoned. Nothing he did could change who he was, so he could do nothing to improve.

Yet the shock turned to anger as he read what was on the pop-up.

Your Claim to the Throne of the Deathwalker has been challenged.

Do you wish to enter a counterclaim?

Yes/No

Sam threw his glass at the fire as he stood up and yelled. “Who would dare take my throne! Not even the gods thought they should try that! Yes, I’ll put in a counterclaim!”

Counterclaim on the Throne of Deathwalker requires your presence.

Would you like to be transported?

Yes/No

Sam smiled evilly. This was why none of the gods dared to take his Throne. It would allow him to be transported there, breaking him out of the prison they put him in. Then he would be able to hunt them.

Sam gleefully selected yes to being transported, and he waited. It should have been almost instantaneous for the system to open a gate and for him to pass through. But, after waiting about five seconds, he was getting angry when the next pop-up showed up.

As you have not passed through the portal, your claim has been dropped.

You are no longer the owner of The Throne of the Deathwalker.

All bonuses have been removed!

Reclaim your lost throne to regain your bonuses!

Sam yelled and picked up the chair he had just been sitting in. He hurled it with all his might right at the fire. The chair hit the fireplace and exploded. The wood broke apart on impact and flew through the room, knocking things off of shelves. His plant was knocked over with the dirt falling out and the pot breaking as wooden shrapnel pierced the clay. One piece even bounced back and slapped him in the face.

He didn’t dodge because he was looking at the next pop-up.

Your Title Deathwalker has been challenged.

Do you wish to contest the claim?

Yes/No

Sam started to cuss in several different languages as he started to throw things around the room. First, it was the side table at the shelf; then, it was a full shelf coming down. Next, he threw the second chair at the fireplace. That one he dodged the blow black on.

As you have failed to respond, your claim has been forfeited.

Hail your successor!

Arn of house Redacted the Deathwalker!

All bonuses related to your title have been removed.

All claims to lands and buildings related to your title have been removed.

Sam screamed out. “Why!”

Sam yelled as he grabbed one of the bookshelves and pulled it down. He felt his skill levels drain out as his title was lost. Then he kicked his desk. His foot was so fast it sliced right through the wooden side and top. He snarled and slammed both arms down on top of the desk. As they impacted the top, the force of his blow sent splinters flying.

He flashed from where he was to the other side of the room from one shadow to the next and punched the wall. It had been a few hundred years since he had last raged against his prison, and there was no better reason than losing his titles. As his fist slammed into the wooded wall, he felt the room push back against him. The wall redirected all his force back into his hand, shattering it.

He yelled again as the magic of the room snapped his hand back into place, all of the bone fragments realigning and the bloody mess that was his hand formed back. He started to flash around the room from one place to the next, throwing his shelves and chairs.

As fast as he could break them, they reformed undamaged. Even when he cast his relatively low leveled exploding fireball into the bookshelves, all it did was throw the books and temporarily set everything on fire. The room filled for just a moment with smoke, and then that too, was gone.

Sam raged on, throwing his room around and breaking things that couldn’t stay broken over and over again. His mana pool, huge as it was, slowly dwindled as he activated one ability after another. He cycled through all his attack spells, fire, necro, ice, stone, and lightning. He even threw in light and dark spells, everything that he found, anything that he could attack with.

Sam had gotten turned around in his rage as he cast a large bolt of death energy down the room. The bolt slammed into the Gate of Seasons and bounced back at him. It was close to a full-power shot, but as he had learned so long ago, the Gate increased the power of any strike that hit it.

He caught his own blast right to the face. Being unable to damage himself didn’t mean he couldn’t feel the pain of a Necrobolt fifty percent more potent than his level 268. Then to be thrown into the fireplace at speed meant that he also felt like he was burning.

Sam struggled out of the broken fireplace. His shoulders had both been dislocated and broken the bricks of the mantle. As he stood up, he could see the room already resetting itself. His shoulders popped back in, causing him to wince.

As he looked around the room, he sighed. The shelves were down with books and baubbles everywhere. He had somehow gotten things under his rugs. He lowered his head and sighed.

“I hate this place; I hate being trapped.”

He looked up at the ceiling, shook his fist, and yelled. “Bet you’re laughing, aren’t you?! I put on a good show, didn’t I?!”

As he stood up, he spat! “One day, I’ll get out of here! When I do, I’ll gut all of you slowly. I might not be able to kill a god, but I can make you suffer. You and that boy.”

Sam reached down and righted a bookshelf. As he did, he shook his head again and started to clean up his mess. A few books at first, and then he came to a snow globe. He shook it and sighed. A tear rolled down his face as he looked at the great market.

As he stared at it, he let a single sob out. “Annises, would you even recognize me right now.”

He looked around the room and took a deep breath, and smiled. “Yes, you would, but you would tell me to get it together too.”

He shook the snow globe one last time and set it back on the shelf. He then got back to work for a few minutes putting things together. Books went back up on the closest shelves, and then the little things that he had went on and around the books. After he had one shelf done, he took a step back.

He slowly muttered. “Better the kid than “Pramie or one of his.”

Then he gave a slight smile. “Maybe…” Then he looked up at the ceiling and shut his mouth.

He let out a sigh and picked up the next shelf. “Can’t get worse.”

Just as he said that, the door to the outside of his prison opened, and the voice of the friend that always managed to make things worse cut through. “Samuel! Darling, why don’t you offer your guest a drink?”

Sam shook his head ruefully as he saw Stephine walk through the door. He mumbled, “Lost my temper and a title. Now her…”

The loss of the title was almost worth it to see her gasp. Her normal actions of sashaying across the room stopped abruptly as she saw the destruction. Then she brought her hand up to her mouth.

Sam could just barely make out her saying. “Gods and goddesses.”

The shock on Stephine’s face vanished as fast as it showed up. Her plastered-on smile showed back up as she walked slowly through the room. She carefully stepped over books, not saying anything until she got near the fire. Then she carefully squatted down and righted the one plant in the room.

She turned at glared at Sam. “Samuel Crane, you must learn to take better care of your plants. Now let me help you rearrange, and as we do, you can tell me what came over you so much that you would want to change the layout of your books.”

Sam shook his head and kept picking up his books. The shelves had repaired themselves, and the chairs he had turned into splinters had remade themselves where the largest pieces were. So while everything was returned from being damaged, nothing was left where it should be.

Stephine stopped moving and tapped her foot. “Well, are you going to tell me?”

Sam took a deep breath and counted to ten, then to thirty. His anger was still there, and if Stephine hadn’t shown up right when she did, he would likely be fuming his way through the issues. But, instead, he glared over at Stephine and then sighed.

He wasn’t angry with her for this. This was different. Over the years, he had plenty of reasons to be angry with her, but mostly she was just a friend. A crazy friend, but still a friend that he could talk with. She might be a flirt, but she was also loyal even after she gave up coming after a person.

He took a deep breath in as he lifted a shelf. “I lost my title.”

Stephine gasped. “Max? Did he die or cut you loose?”

Sam smiled and laughed. “No, not that one. He is still fine, from what I can tell. But, no, I am no longer the Deathwalker. Someone found my throne and claimed it and my title. I was holding out hope that I could escape if that happened.”

She nodded and gave him a slightly patronizing smile. “I can understand why that would make you mad. Was it really this bad, though?”

Sam righted one of the chairs and the side table before answering. “Yes! Yes, it is that bad. I had that title far longer than I have been the Winter Champion. It’s not that it is more important than the ones I got through Max. It’s just that was who I was when Max picked me up. He took the Deathwalker and turned him into a Champion. But, more than that, I had hoped I could get out of this place if someone tried to take it.”

Sam sighed and dropped into his chair. Stephine smiled and clicked her way over to him. She lowered herself onto his lap and looped her arms around his neck. Sam glared at her and slightly stiffened as she rested her head on his shoulder. He placed both hands firmly on the armrests and grabbed them.

Then she whispered into his ear. “It wasn’t the title that made Max pick you. It was what he saw in you. He was like that. Picking out someone who could become great and then helping them get there. If the title matters that much, we can get it back for you. Just tell me who has it, and I can arrange something.”

Sam forced himself to relax. This was just his friend trying to help. She knew there was no way he would ever care for her beyond being a friend. She latched on to him for that very reason. Yet it did feel nice having her sit with him.

He sighed and said. “It’s not that easy. First, because I was too angry, I didn’t respond in time, so it’s considered uncontested. But I’m more upset that I am still stuck in this place.”

Stephine tsked. “Now, now, a title is only a title if it is held for a year. So if my man wants me to, I can ensure this little usurper doesn’t get to keep it. So give your woman a kiss, and I will get that title back for you.”

Sam shook his head. “No! First, you’re not my woman, and you know it. Second, we can’t do that to the one that has the title.”

Stephine still pulled herself away from Sam with her arms around his neck. “It looks to me like I am your woman! I came to your home and helped you clean it. Now I am sitting on your lap, helping you with your problems. If this isn’t what your woman does, what else do you want? A Sandwich?”

Sam growled at her. “You know everything, but sitting on my lap is something a friend would do.”

“Your friends make you sandwiches?”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “That’s what you’re going to latch onto? The sandwich?”

“Yes, now tell me, isn’t making food for you something your women have done for you?”

“Yes, but so have all the taverns I have been in.”

Stephine lightly hit Sam on the chest. “And I’ve seen you kiss the girls that bring you that food!”

Sam shook his head. “Not since Annises, I haven’t!”

She pouted a little. “I’m sure you kissed that girl in the tavern by the sea after we stopped the Mer invasion.”

Sam scrunched his face for a moment and tried to think about who she was talking about. Of course, there wasn’t a zero percent chance that she was right, but it was tiny. He couldn’t remember any woman he kissed, but they were all happy to be alive, so that didn’t mean one hadn’t kissed him.

“What did she look like?”

Stephine smiled and said. “She was a redhead. Surely you remember her. You made such a point to give her a kiss and let her sit on your lap!”

Sam sighed. “You mean the little girl burned her hand on the bowl when she brought it out?”

“Yes! You had her sit on your lap and then kissed her and told her that she did a great job bringing out the food and that she was beautiful.”

“She was a kid with a burnt finger! I kissed the finger, and then she asked if she was beautiful. What should I have done?”

At that, Stephine jumped off Sam’s lap and shoved her hand into the fire. Then, in just a moment, she let out a yelp. Then she turned around, smiled, held out her hand, and walked back to Sam.

Sam yelled, “What’s wrong with you, woman?”

Stephine smiled back at him and then went over to his chair. When she returned, she sat gently down on his lap and held out her hand in front of him. It was black and blistered, and the room smelled like cooked meat. Sam looked at her and shook his head.

Stephine gave him a pout and said. “I burned myself. Can you kiss it and make it better?”

Sam pushed her off his lap as he shook his head. “What am I going to do with you? You know full well that that isn’t the same.”

She looked down at her hand, which was healed because of the room, and sighed. “You can at least tell me I’m beautiful.”

Sam smiled, “Yes, Stephine, that has never been in doubt. Even Annises called you that the first time she met you.”

“Then why can’t I be your woman?”

Sam shook his head. “You’re my friend. What would happen if you were my woman? Your whole domain is built around unrequited love. How would you be able to survive?”

She sighed and walked to the liquor cabinet. “I’ve been trying for love since the start, you know, and I think that my domain is broken. I can’t get it to work and advance. I’ve been stuck for so long at the same place.”

Sam nodded. He understood much of what she was talking about as he had stepped on the road of godhood himself. However, if her domain was flawed, then she wouldn’t be able to step out from being a god and move into being one of the great gods.

She poured two drinks and headed back over, stepping around the books on the floor. She flashed him a smile and said. “Your drink, my lord.”

Sam shook his head and took the drink. “That I’m not, and you know it. Perhaps Max could have been called that or even Drath, but not me.”

She sat back on his lap and batted her eyes. “But it feels nice for me to say that, right?”

He took a deep breath and let out a sigh. “Yes, Stephine, it does, but it doesn’t make it so.”

She sipped her drink and said. “I’m thinking about making the next accession before I get a breakthrough with my domain. Either that or I might need to break my domain and try to reforge it. My poetry side just isn’t strong enough to carry me up and over.”

He nodded. “What are you thinking about changing it to?”

She smiled and said. “If I can, I’ll keep poetry and add in housewife or mother. I’m mostly there. I think there are just a few tweaks. Either that or barmaids. They all get more kisses than I do.”

Sam shook his head and smiled. She had been trying to figure out a way to get him to kiss her for right around twelve hundred years now. Honestly, she would be someone he liked if she weren’t so loud and over the top. But with how demanding and loud she was, he always smiled and shook his head.

She kept right on going. “I know what you are going to say, that making a new domain shouldn’t be a rash thing and even more so cutting one off. But I just haven’t been fulfilled at all with my domain, even though I chased it for so long. It was an error near the start that got me there.”

Sam nodded. “Max told me the same when I took my half step. The start was the most important part.”

She nodded and smiled. “Wasn’t being the Deathwalker part of your domain?”

Sam shook his head. “Nope, it influenced it a bit, but it wasn’t a key. The kid who took my title didn’t damage my foundation. Pissed me off, yes. Made me want to hurt him, but he didn’t break my chance at advancement. Besides, I am locked up, so it’s not like I am ever advancing.”

Stephine nodded slowly. “Do you know who took your title?”

Sam nodded. “Yup, but I won’t say. It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s that I might still be being watched. I would rather the kid have it than someone take it from him. Besides, having the Deathwalker roaming might be enough to mess up some of “Pramie’s plans.”

Stephine nodded slowly and then kissed him on the cheek. “So let me help you get this room back together, and we can talk about my new domain and how to make it.”

* * *