《Greg the Guard: And the Prophecy He Totally Didn’t Sign Up For》


 Chapter 1

    I didn¡¯t sign up for this. Well, I guess I did. Technically.


    But when I raised my hand in a half-hearted oath, I thought this job was going to be, I don¡¯t know, heroic.


    Guarding a castle gate sounded noble. Like I¡¯d be protecting a king. Maybe saving a princess. At least stopping a thief or two. Something that would make me feel like I mattered.


    Not¡­ this.


    This is ridiculous.


    The sun is blinding. I¡¯m sweating through my boots. And some guy who looks like he got his outfit from a boss fight just walked past me with a swagger that makes me want to trip him.


    Except I can¡¯t. Because I¡¯m supposed to stand here. Stoic. Unmoving. Silent. That¡¯s the trope. And apparently, I¡¯m too stupid or too broke to question it.


    I clear my throat. Mostly because it¡¯s dry. But partly because if I don¡¯t say something, I might actually explode. ¡°Halt! Who goes there?¡±


    He doesn¡¯t even slow down. Not a twitch, not a stumble. He tosses a look over his shoulder and says, ¡°I go wherever destiny calls me.¡±


    Destiny? Who even talks like that?


    I blink at him, my brain stuttering as I process the absolute nonsense of his words. Then I realize something important. ¡°Yeah, okay, but did you fill out the logbook?¡± I call after him.


    The logbook is my thing. It¡¯s the one piece of order I cling to in my otherwise chaotic life. It doesn¡¯t matter if you¡¯re the Chosen One, a traveling bard, or the guy delivering apple pies. If you want to cross the gate, you sign the logbook.


    He doesn¡¯t answer. Obviously.


    So, I do something I¡¯m not supposed to do. I leave my post.


    I know the rules. Don¡¯t abandon the gate, Greg. The gate is life, Greg.


    But I¡¯ve had enough. The other guards can laugh at me later. This guy needs to learn respect.


    I jog after him. The clanging of my armor makes me sound like a barrel of pots falling down stairs.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    By the time I catch up, he¡¯s already in front of the Ancient Doors of Doom. Or whatever overly dramatic name the architect gave this stupid entryway.


    He spins around, annoyance written all over his face. His cape does that unnecessary flowing thing, like the wind¡¯s been hired as his personal stylist.


    ¡°Do you mind?¡± he snaps. ¡°I¡¯m kind of in the middle of my hero¡¯s journey.¡±


    Oh, for¡ª


    ¡°I do mind,¡± I say, crossing my arms. ¡°You didn¡¯t sign the logbook. It¡¯s regulation. Everyone signs it. Even the guy who delivers the apple pies.¡±


    His face twists in disbelief. ¡°The apple pie guy signed it?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Because he respects the process.¡±


    The Chosen One, or whatever he calls himself, rolls his eyes so hard I¡¯m worried they might get stuck.


    Then, with an exaggerated sigh, he grabs the quill from me and scribbles something on the page.


    I squint at the logbook. ¡°This says ¡®Destiny, last name Unknown.¡¯¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s my name,¡± he says smugly.


    I wave the quill in his face. ¡°Your real name.¡±


    There¡¯s a long, dramatic pause where he glares at me like I¡¯ve just insulted his ancestors. Finally, he sighs again. ¡°It¡¯s Bob.¡±


    I blink. ¡°Bob?¡±


    ¡°Bob.¡±


    I have to bite my cheek to keep from laughing, but it¡¯s hard. This guy has the whole ¡°hero aesthetic¡± going: flowing cloak, extra shiny sword, boots that look like they¡¯ve never touched mud. And now all I can picture is a bunch of villagers screaming, ¡°Save us, Bob!¡±


    ¡°Alright, Bob,¡± I say, writing it down. ¡°Good luck in there.¡±


    I turn to leave, ready to go back to my boring, sweaty gate post, when I hear it. A soft but clear click.


    Bob freezes. ¡°Uh¡­ is that bad?¡±


    The floor beneath us starts to rumble. And then, because of course it does, giant spiked walls start sliding out of the stone, closing in on us.


    Bob starts flailing his arms like a panicked chicken. ¡°What do we do?! What do we do?!¡±


    I stare at him, deadpan. ¡°You¡¯re the Chosen One. Don¡¯t you have, like, a prophecy for this?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± he yells. ¡°This is my first dungeon!¡±


    The walls are getting closer, the spikes shining in the torchlight like they¡¯re laughing at us. I look around, my eyes scanning the room for something. Anything.


    Then I see it. A lever.


    Grabbing Bob by the cape, I drag him toward it. He¡¯s still panicking, muttering something about how he¡¯s ¡°not ready for this¡± and ¡°why are there so many spikes?¡±


    I pull the lever. The walls stop moving.


    Bob looks at me like I¡¯ve just summoned a dragon out of thin air. ¡°How did you know to do that?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a lever,¡± I say, my tone dripping with sarcasm. ¡°Levers stop things. It¡¯s, like, Lever 101.¡±


    He stares at me. Then at the lever. Then back at me. ¡°You saved me.¡±


    Oh no. No, no, no. I don¡¯t need this guy getting attached. ¡°I didn¡¯t save you. I saved me. If you died, I¡¯d have to fill out so much paperwork.¡±


    Bob nods slowly, like he¡¯s trying to process the depths of my genius. ¡°You should come with me.¡±


    ¡°Nope,¡± I say, already heading back to my post. ¡°I have a gate to guard. Go fight your dragon or whatever.¡±


    ¡°Doom Serpent,¡± he corrects.


    ¡°Of course it is,¡± I mutter.


    As I walk back to my gate, I can¡¯t help but laugh. Bob the Chosen One. If he¡¯s the guy who¡¯s supposed to save the world, we are all so doomed.

 Chapter 2

    ¡°The Chosen One,¡± I mutter, rolling my eyes so hard I¡¯m surprised they don¡¯t fall out of my head.


    Bob¡ªor ¡°Destiny, last name Unknown¡±¡ªis out of earshot now. His cape swishes as he approaches the overly fancy set of doors.


    I swear, if I had a copper coin for every Chosen One I¡¯ve seen cross through this gate, I¡¯d be rich enough to buy a decent pair of boots¡ªones that don¡¯t make my toes feel like they¡¯ve been soaking in a swamp.


    ¡°Another one bites the dust, huh?¡± Dave¡¯s voice slides into my ears, like it¡¯s wearing the same smug grin he¡¯s been perfecting since we started this gig. He¡¯s leaning against the guard tower, munching on an apple like he¡¯s the poster boy for ¡°I Don¡¯t Care.¡±


    ¡°Yup,¡± I reply. ¡°Another Chosen One. Ready to save the world or die trying.¡±


    Dave smirks. ¡°I¡¯ll wager ten bronze coins they don¡¯t survive the first quest.¡±


    I snort. ¡°Not taking that bet. Odds are way too good.¡±


    Dave tosses the apple core over his shoulder, where it lands with a splash in the mud. ¡°You¡¯d think they¡¯d learn by now. Half the time, the prophecy¡¯s just some poetic mumbo jumbo some drunk bard scribbled on parchment.¡± He waves a hand in the air. ¡°¡®Oh, the Chosen One will rise when the stars align and the goats bleat twice at midnight.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t forget,¡± I add, ¡°¡®He shall wield the Blade of Infinite Light, forged in the fires of Really Specific Volcano.¡¯¡±


    Dave chuckles, shaking his head. ¡°Yeah, well, it¡¯s not our job to save the world, Greg. Just keep it from falling apart until someone else does.¡±


    The words hit me in that annoying, deep way I don¡¯t like to admit. I¡¯ve been guarding this stupid gate for so long, I¡¯ve forgotten why I¡¯m even here. Protect the castle, keep the troublemakers out, make sure the logbook is perfect. That¡¯s the job. But saving the world? Not my department.


    I¡¯m about to respond when a loud crash echoes through the courtyard.


    Both Dave and I whip our heads around to see Bob¡ªsorry, the Chosen One¡ªbackpedaling out of the Ancient Doors of Doom. His sword clangs uselessly against the cobblestones. Behind him, a huge orc stomps into view. It¡¯s got green skin, tusks as big as my arm, and an expression that says, ¡°I¡¯m not here to chat.¡±Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Dave takes one look at it and sighs. ¡°I¡¯m too sober for this.¡±


    Bob scrambles to his feet, pointing his sword at the orc like it¡¯s going to magically turn into a flamethrower. ¡°Stay back, foul beast! I am the Chosen One!¡±


    The orc does not look impressed. It lunges.


    Bob lets out a scream that¡¯s somewhere between ¡°Help me¡± and ¡°My boots are ruined.¡±


    ¡°Should we¡­?¡± I gesture vaguely toward the chaos.


    Dave shrugs. ¡°Not our job.¡±


    Bob¡¯s still flailing, his cape now tangled around one of his legs. The orc¡¯s massive hands swipe dangerously close to his head, and I sigh.


    ¡°Fine.¡± I grab a spear from the rack by the gate and jog over, muttering the whole way. ¡°Not our job, he says. Just keep it from falling apart, he says.¡±


    The orc¡¯s distracted enough by Bob¡¯s theatrics that it doesn¡¯t see me coming.


    I jab the spear at its side.


    The orc lets out a roar that rattles my brain. With one last shove, I manage to send it stumbling back into the dungeon.


    Bob collapses to the ground, breathing like he just ran a marathon. ¡°Thanks,¡± he wheezes. ¡°I had it under control, though.¡±


    ¡°Sure you did,¡± I reply. ¡°Great job, Chosen One.¡±


    Bob doesn¡¯t move right away. He¡¯s just lying there, staring at the sky like it might offer him answers. ¡°That¡­ that was terrifying.¡±


    ¡°Welcome to Tuesday,¡± I say, dusting off my hands. ¡°Next time, maybe bring a backup plan.¡±


    ¡°Backup plan?¡± Bob asks, sitting up slowly. ¡°Like what?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I reply, gesturing toward his tangled cape. ¡°A less dramatic outfit? Some snacks? Maybe a map?¡±


    Dave¡¯s joined us now, arms crossed as he surveys the scene. ¡°Snacks are key,¡± he says sagely. ¡°You can¡¯t save the world on an empty stomach.¡±


    Bob looks between us, clearly confused. ¡°Aren¡¯t you supposed to be¡­ I don¡¯t know, encouraging?¡±


    Dave snorts. ¡°Encouragement¡¯s extra. We¡¯re on the basic guard package.¡±


    I hold out a hand to help Bob up. He takes it, wobbling a bit as he gets to his feet. ¡°Look, Bob,¡± I say, ¡°being the Chosen One is great and all. But maybe next time, read the fine print. The prophecy doesn¡¯t mention anyone coming to save you from an orc, does it?¡±


    Bob shakes his head, clearly embarrassed. ¡°No, it doesn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Exactly.¡± I pat him on the shoulder. ¡°Now go get your doom serpent or whatever and try not to die. We¡¯ve got a gate to guard.¡±


    Bob looks like he wants to say something else. But he just nods and heads back toward the doors. His cape swishes, this time less dramatically, as he disappears inside.


    ¡°Think he¡¯ll make it?¡± Dave asks, watching him go.


    ¡°Not a chance,¡± I reply.


    Dave grins. ¡°Ten silver says he trips over his own sword.¡±


    I¡¯m tempted, but I just shake my head. ¡°Odds are still too good.¡±


    Dave crosses his arms. ¡°You know, if you keep saving these guys, they¡¯re gonna start thinking it¡¯s part of your job description.¡±


    I shoot him a look. ¡°Just keeping it from falling apart.¡±


    He grins. ¡°Attaboy, Greg.¡±

 Chapter 3

    I¡¯m staring at King Marcus¡¯s new hat, trying not to laugh. It¡¯s huge, golden, and looks like a pineapple.


    I¡¯m trying to be professional. I really am. But my mouth has other plans. ¡°Looks like the royal treasury¡¯s been robbed by a fruit salad.¡±


    The words hang in the air like a bad smell.


    King Marcus turns to me, his face going so red I¡¯m worried he¡¯s about to pop. ¡°WHAT did you just say, Guard Greg?!¡±


    I snap to attention. ¡°Your Majesty, I said your hat is very¡­ uh¡­ creative.¡±


    His eyes narrow. He¡¯s trying to decide if that was a compliment or not.


    But before he can yell again, he storms off. His giant pineapple hat wobbles on his head like it¡¯s about to fall off.


    Beside me, Dave nearly chokes on his own laughter. ¡°Creative? Really?¡±


    ¡°Shut up, Dave.¡±


    ***


    Lunch is supposed to be the highlight of my day. It¡¯s not much. Just a sandwich I¡¯ve been thinking about since breakfast. Fresh bread, ham, cheese, a little mustard. Perfection.


    I set it down for one second. Just one second on the stone ledge by the gate.


    And then¡­ fire.


    Not metaphorical fire. Actual, literal, dragon fire. A stray flame shoots out of nowhere and destroys my sandwich in one fiery blast.


    I stare at the burning remains. My perfect lunch, reduced to ash. My jaw moves, but no sound comes out.


    Dave, of course, is still eating his own untouched sandwich. He glances over, chewing slowly. ¡°That¡¯s rough, buddy.¡±


    ¡°Rough?¡± I repeat, my voice a hollow shell of its former self. ¡°A dragon just roasted my sandwich, Dave. This isn¡¯t rough. This is a personal attack.¡±


    Dave shrugs. ¡°Should¡¯ve seen it coming.¡±


    ¡°How does one ¡®see¡¯ dragon fire coming, Dave?¡± I snap. ¡°Does it send a memo?¡±If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Dave takes another bite. ¡°My wife would¡¯ve seen it coming. She¡¯s got a sixth sense for stuff like this.¡±


    ¡°How¡¯s work going for her?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Busy.¡±


    Darla the maid appears while I¡¯m still mourning my sandwich. She¡¯s carrying a purple basket of bread rolls.


    ¡°Here,¡± she says, handing me a roll. ¡°You look like you¡¯re about to cry.¡±


    I take it gratefully. ¡°Darla, you¡¯re an angel.¡±


    She laughs, but there¡¯s something¡­ off about it. Like she knows something I don¡¯t.


    ¡°Don¡¯t mention it,¡± she says, her voice almost too casual. ¡°Just be careful. Things are¡­ changing.¡±


    I frown. ¡°Changing how?¡±


    She just smiles. You know the type. The ¡°I know what¡¯s coming but I won¡¯t tell you¡± smile. I¡¯ve seen it before. Usually right before everything goes wrong.


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯ll see,¡± she says, and then¡­ she just walks off.


    ¡°Wait, what?¡± I call after her. ¡°What do you mean? Why do you sound like you¡¯re foreshadowing something? Darla?¡±


    She doesn¡¯t answer. Just disappears around the corner, leaving me holding a warm bread roll and a growing sense of unease.


    I turn to Dave. ¡°Did she just foreshadow me?¡±


    Dave¡¯s chewing thoughtfully. ¡°Yep. Classic cryptic hint. She knows something.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s clearly important,¡± I say, staring after her. ¡°And no one¡¯s told me why. She¡¯s probably secretly a wizard or the king¡¯s illegitimate daughter or something.¡±


    Dave shrugs. ¡°Or she¡¯s just messing with you.¡±


    ***


    The afternoon somehow manages to get worse. I¡¯m standing at the gate, minding my own business, when the king¡¯s royal messenger shows up with a scroll. He thrusts it at me without a word and marches off.


    I unroll it, skimming the contents. My stomach sinks. ¡°Uh-oh.¡±


    Dave glances over. ¡°What now?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been summoned,¡± I say, holding up the scroll. ¡°To the throne room.¡±


    Dave raises an eyebrow. ¡°For what?¡±


    I groan. ¡°Probably to apologize for insulting the king¡¯s hat.¡±


    ***


    The throne room is as intimidating as ever, all high ceilings and echoing footsteps. King Marcus is seated on his golden throne, the pineapple hat still on his head like some kind of cruel joke.


    ¡°Guard Greg,¡± he booms. ¡°Do you know why you¡¯re here?¡±


    I bow awkwardly. ¡°To apologize for my¡­ uh¡­ comments on your¡­ fashion choices, Your Majesty.¡±


    He narrows his eyes. ¡°Indeed. Your words were¡­ inappropriate. But¡­¡± He pauses, and I swear he¡¯s trying to make this moment as dramatic as possible. ¡°You¡¯re also the best guard we have.¡±


    I blink. ¡°I am?¡±


    ¡°Unfortunately,¡± he replies, his tone sour.


    Before I can figure out if that was a compliment or an insult, he continues. ¡°I have a task for you. Something important. Dangerous. Vital to the kingdom.¡±


    My stomach churns. ¡°Dangerous?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± he says gravely. ¡°I need you to¡­¡± He leans forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. ¡°Escort the Royal Pineapple to the annual fruit festival.¡±


    I stare at him, waiting for the punchline. It doesn¡¯t come.


    ¡°You want me to guard¡­ a pineapple,¡± I say slowly.


    ¡°The Royal Pineapple,¡± he corrects, as if that makes it better.


    Somewhere behind me, Dave is definitely laughing his head off.


    ***


    By the end of the day, I¡¯m back at my post, exhausted, hungry, and deeply regretting every life choice that brought me here. The Royal Pineapple is safe in the festival¡¯s hands, and Darla¡¯s cryptic words are still rattling around in my head.


    ¡°What do you think she meant?¡± I ask Dave, breaking the silence.


    ¡°Probably that your life¡¯s about to get a whole lot weirder,¡± he replies, grinning.


    Great. Just what I needed. As if today wasn¡¯t weird enough already.

 Chapter 4

    I¡¯m standing at the gate, picking at a smudge on my armor, when Bob shows up again.


    ¡°Greg!¡± he calls, his voice way too cheerful for someone who recently got beat by an orc. His cape swishes behind him, now with a suspicious tear near the hem. I¡¯d bet my logbook he tripped over it.


    ¡°Oh good,¡± I mutter. ¡°The Chosen One¡¯s back. My day was missing just the right amount of disaster.¡±


    Bob doesn¡¯t even hear me. He¡¯s practically bouncing on his boots, his shiny sword clinking against his leg. It¡¯s like watching an over-eager puppy with a very sharp stick.


    ¡°Greg,¡± he repeats, stopping way too close to me. ¡°I need your help.¡±


    I cross my arms. ¡°If it¡¯s about the logbook again, the answer is no. You¡¯ve already signed it as ¡®Destiny, last name Unknown,¡¯ which, by the way, is not how last names work.¡±


    He shakes his head. ¡°No, no. This is bigger than the logbook. This is¡­ the quest.¡±


    ¡°The quest?¡±


    ¡°The quest!¡± he says, as if saying it louder will make it sound less ridiculous. ¡°I need to recruit a team. Heroes! Adventurers! Brave souls to join me in my noble journey.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re asking me?¡± I raise an eyebrow. ¡°A gate guard with questionable lunch luck and zero interest in noble journeys?¡±


    Bob nods earnestly. ¡°Exactly! You¡¯re special, Greg.¡±


    I blink. ¡°Special?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± he says, leaning in like he¡¯s about to share a secret. ¡°You know about levers.¡±


    Oh, for the love of¡ª ¡°It¡¯s not exactly an ancient art, Bob. It¡¯s basic physics.¡±This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°Exactly,¡± he says again, as if he¡¯s just cracked the code to the universe. ¡°That¡¯s why I need you. You¡¯re clever, resourceful, and practical.¡±


    I open my mouth to argue. But then I notice he looks¡­ defeated. His shoulders sag slightly under that silly cape, and there¡¯s a flicker of doubt in his eyes.


    That catches me off guard. Bob, the Chosen One, looking like he¡¯s clueless? That¡¯s new.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± I ask, trying not to sound too curious.


    He sighs, dragging a hand through his perfectly messy hero hair. ¡°I mean this whole Chosen One thing. The prophecy, the destiny, the doom serpent. I don¡¯t even know what a doom serpent is. Is it a snake? A dragon? A¡­ snagon?¡±


    I snort. ¡°A snagon?¡±


    He shrugs. ¡°I¡¯m just saying, nobody gave me a manual. All I have is this sword, this cape, and a whole lot of expectations.¡±


    For a moment, I almost feel bad for him. Almost. Then I remember he¡¯s the reason I had to fight an orc last week.


    ¡°So, what?¡± I ask. ¡°You want me to hold your hand and walk you through your hero¡¯s journey?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he says, a little too quickly. ¡°I just¡­ I thought we could team up. You know, two unlikely allies facing impossible odds together.¡±


    ¡°Hard pass,¡± I say, turning back toward the gate. ¡°Good luck with your snagon.¡±


    ¡°Wait!¡± he yells, grabbing my arm. ¡°Look, just hear me out. I found this.¡±


    He pulls something out of his bag and holds it up. It¡¯s a small, glowing orb, pulsing with an eerie blue light.


    ¡°What is that?¡± I ask, immediately suspicious.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he admits, which is not reassuring. ¡°But I think it¡¯s important. It was in the dungeon, next to the lever you pulled. I figured it might be part of the prophecy.¡±


    ¡°And you¡­ picked it up,¡± I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. ¡°Because nothing bad ever happens when you touch mysterious glowing objects.¡±


    Before he can answer, the orb¡¯s glow intensifies. It starts to hum, a low, evil sound that makes my skin crawl.


    ¡°Uh, Bob?¡± I say, stepping back. ¡°What¡¯s it doing?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± he yells, panicking. ¡°It wasn¡¯t doing this before!¡±


    The orb suddenly lets out a blinding flash of light, and then¡­ nothing. The humming stops, and the glow fades back to a soft pulse.


    ¡°Well,¡± I say, blinking spots out of my vision. ¡°That was anticlimactic.¡±


    And then we hear it.


    A distant roar. Followed by another. And another. It¡¯s coming from all directions, echoing through the air like some kind of monstrous symphony.


    Bob¡¯s face goes pale. ¡°Is that¡­ bad?¡±


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s definitely bad,¡± I say, grabbing my spear. ¡°Congratulations, Bob. I think you just sent out a magical signal to every villain in the realm.¡±


    As if on cue, the ground starts to shake. In the distance, I can see dark shapes emerging from the forest. Big shapes. Spiky shapes. Shapes that definitely don¡¯t look friendly.

 Chapter 5

    The first sign something¡¯s wrong is the screaming.


    I don¡¯t mean the kind of screaming you hear when the King makes his monthly parade. I mean the kind that says, Hey, maybe you should start running before something eats your face off.


    I grip my spear tighter and scan the horizon. The dark shapes from earlier are closer now. So close I can see their details. Goblins and orcs. Lots of them. Like, ¡°We¡¯re here to destroy your castle and your hopes and dreams.¡±


    ¡°Uh, Dave?¡± I call out, my voice cracking slightly. ¡°We might have a situation.¡±


    Dave walks up beside me, munching on an apple like this is just another Tuesday. ¡°Yup. That¡¯s a lot of goblins.¡±


    ¡°And orcs!¡± I add, gesturing wildly. ¡°Don¡¯t forget the orcs!¡±


    Dave shrugs, unbothered. ¡°Eh. Goblins, orcs, whatever. Same difference.¡±


    ¡°Same difference?¡± I repeat, my voice climbing higher. ¡°One of them¡¯s small and stabby. The other¡¯s big and smashy. Both are going to kill us. How is that the same?¡±


    Dave takes another bite of his apple. ¡°Relax. We¡¯ve got walls.¡±


    As if on cue, the goblins launch a volley of flaming arrows that arc beautifully through the air... And they land directly on the hay bales stacked against the gate. The hay bales instantly go up in flames like someone dumped a barrel of oil on them.


    I turn to Dave. ¡°So, about those walls¡­¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± he says, tossing the apple core behind him. ¡°Maybe a little less effective than I thought.¡±


    I¡¯m about to launch into a full-blown panic spiral when I hear a familiar voice.


    ¡°Greg!¡±


    Oh, no. No, no, no. Not now.


    I spin around to see Bob waving his sword in the air like a lunatic. His cape is flapping wildly behind him, which would look cooler if it wasn¡¯t trailing mud.


    ¡°Greg!¡± he yells again. ¡°I need your help!¡±


    ¡°Bob, we¡¯re kind of busy here!¡± I shout back, gesturing toward the army of goblins and orcs currently setting the castle on fire.


    ¡°I know!¡± he says, skidding to a stop in front of me. He¡¯s breathing heavily, his eyes wide with panic. ¡°But it¡¯s part of the prophecy!¡±If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°Prophecy?¡± I hiss, trying to keep my voice down. ¡°The prophecy can wait! We¡¯re under attack!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I mean!¡± he says, grabbing my arm. ¡°The prophecy says, ¡®The Chosen One shall face the Horde of Shadows.¡¯ This is the Horde of Shadows!¡±


    I blink at him. ¡°The Horde of Shadows?¡±


    Bob nods frantically. ¡°I think so! Unless there¡¯s another horde out there I¡¯m supposed to fight.¡±


    Dave leans in. ¡°Does the prophecy mention anything about flaming arrows? Or, I don¡¯t know, dying horribly?¡±


    Bob frowns. ¡°Not specifically¡­¡±


    ¡°Great,¡± I say, shoving Bob behind me. ¡°Then let¡¯s focus on not dying horribly. Dave, grab a weapon. Bob, try not to trip over your cape.¡±


    The goblins are at the gate now, their green faces twisted into evil grins. One of them climbs onto a rock and yells something in Goblinese. Which I can only assume translates to, Let¡¯s kill the idiots guarding this gate!


    ¡°Any bright ideas?¡± Dave asks, picking up a spear from the rack.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I reply, gripping my spear. ¡°Don¡¯t die.¡±


    The goblins charge.


    The next few minutes are a blur of chaos. Goblins everywhere, screeching and stabbing. Orcs smashing through anything that looks breakable. I¡¯m pretty sure I hear the King screaming something about his pineapple hat, but I don¡¯t have time to care.


    ¡°Greg!¡± Bob shouts, flailing his sword wildly. ¡°I think I¡¯m doing it!¡±


    I glance over just in time to see Bob accidentally knock out a goblin with the flat side of his sword. The goblin goes down like a sack of potatoes, and Bob looks way too proud of himself.


    ¡°Good job, Bob!¡± I yell sarcastically. ¡°You¡¯re a real hero!¡±


    Another goblin lunges at me, and I jab it with my spear. It squeals and runs off, but not before spitting on my boots. Great. As if they didn¡¯t smell bad enough already.


    ¡°Greg!¡± Bob shouts again. ¡°There¡¯s more coming!¡±


    ¡°Of course there are!¡± I shout back. ¡°It¡¯s an army, Bob!¡±


    The ground shakes. I turn to see an orc the size of a small house walking toward us.


    ¡°Oh, come on!¡± I groan. ¡°This is ridiculous!¡±


    The orc roars and swings its massive club at me. I duck just in time, the club smashing into the gate behind me.


    ¡°Greg!¡± Bob screams. ¡°Do something!¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡± I yell back. ¡°Ask it nicely to leave?¡±


    Bob looks at me. Then at the orc. Then back at me. ¡°What about the lever?¡±


    ¡°What lever?¡±


    ¡°The one in the dungeon!¡± he says, his eyes lighting up. ¡°There¡¯s always a lever!¡±


    ¡°This is not a dungeon, Bob!¡± I shout, dodging another swing from the orc. ¡°This is real life!¡±


    But then I see it. A lever, sticking out of the wall near the entrance. It¡¯s probably part of some old mechanism for raising the gate. But right now, it¡¯s the only thing that might save us.


    ¡°Cover me!¡± I yell, sprinting toward the lever.


    Bob flails his sword at the orc, somehow managing to distract it long enough for me to reach the lever. I grab it and pull with all my strength.


    But nothing happens.


    ¡°Greg?¡± Bob calls, his voice tinged with panic.


    ¡°Working on it!¡± I shout, yanking the lever again.


    This time, it moves. There¡¯s a loud, satisfying clunk, followed by the sound of gears grinding. The gate slams down, crushing the orc.


    The goblins, seeing their giant friend defeated, screech in panic and start to scatter. Within seconds, the courtyard is clear.


    I collapse against the wall, breathing heavily.


    Bob walks over with a big, stupid grin on his face. ¡°We did it!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± I say, too tired to argue.


    Dave strolls up, looking entirely too relaxed. ¡°So, same time tomorrow?¡±


    I glare at him. ¡°Don¡¯t even joke about that.¡±


    Bob claps me on the shoulder. ¡°You¡¯re a hero, Greg.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I say, shoving him off. ¡°I¡¯m a gate guard who just saved you. Again.¡±


    Bob just grins. ¡°Same thing.¡±


    I shake my head and walk back to my post, already dreading whatever nonsense tomorrow will bring.

 Chapter 6

    The castle is a disaster zone. Smoke curls from charred sections of the gate. The courtyard looks like a goblin rave gone wrong. And there¡¯s a suspiciously large dent in the cobblestones where the orc¡¯s club landed.


    I¡¯m pretty sure the king¡¯s prized pineapple hat got burned. And for some reason, that¡¯s what¡¯s going to get me in the most trouble.


    Because of course.


    I¡¯m standing in the throne room, trying to focus on King Marcus¡¯s words and not the soot on my armor. The king is pacing, his golden robe trailing behind him like a very judgmental shadow. His face is redder than a tomato in a heatwave, and his eyes are locked on me like he¡¯s thinking about the best way to roast a gate guard.


    ¡°You abandoned your post,¡± he thunders.


    ¡°Technically, I saved your castle,¡± I say. Which, in hindsight, might not be the smartest move.


    His eyes narrow. ¡°You¡¯re fined.¡±


    ¡°Fined?¡± I ask, my voice rising. ¡°For what?? Doing my job too well?¡±


    ¡°For¡ª¡± he waves his hand at the destruction outside the window. ¡°That.¡±


    ¡°Your Majesty,¡± I say, putting on my best ¡°this is absurd¡± face. ¡°If I hadn¡¯t left my post, we¡¯d all be orc food by now.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re still fined,¡± he says with finality. ¡°And consider yourself lucky I¡¯m not cutting your wages for the next ten years.¡±


    Great. Just great. Because nothing says job satisfaction like saving the day and getting a bill for it.


    Bob, who¡¯s standing next to me and somehow looking like he belongs here, clears his throat. ¡°Um, Your Majesty? If I may?¡±


    The king glares at him.


    But Bob continues, oblivious as ever. ¡°Greg was essential in stopping the Horde of Shadows. He pulled the lever, Your Majesty. The lever!¡±This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    The king¡¯s glare doesn¡¯t soften. If anything, it hardens. ¡°The lever doesn¡¯t excuse his rule-breaking.¡±


    I turn to Bob and mutter under my breath, ¡°You¡¯re really bad at this.¡±


    Bob flashes me an apologetic grin before turning back to the king. ¡°Regardless, I¡¯ll need Greg for my quest.¡±


    The room goes silent. I can hear Dave¡¯s muffled snort from the hallway. Thanks for the support, buddy.


    ¡°Greg?¡± the king repeats, as if Bob just suggested taking a sandwich to fight a dragon. ¡°For your quest?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Bob says earnestly. ¡°He¡¯s brave, resourceful, and¡­¡± He pauses, searching for another compliment. ¡°He¡¯s very good with levers.¡±


    ¡°Lever skills aside,¡± the king snaps, ¡°Greg is a gate guard, not an adventurer. And as punishment for his¡­¡± He waves at the destruction outside again. ¡°Whatever that was, he¡¯s staying here.¡±


    Bob looks at me, his eyes wide and pleading. ¡°Greg?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t look at me like that,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯m not exactly thrilled about this either.¡±


    The king¡¯s eyes narrow further. ¡°You¡¯re fined and you¡¯re staying.¡±


    The words land like stones in my gut. Sure, staying means I won¡¯t have to deal with Bob¡¯s ¡°snagon¡± nonsense. But it also means I¡¯ll be stuck here, getting blamed for every goblin arrow and orc footprint. And if Bob dies¡­ Well, let¡¯s just say I¡¯ve got a bad feeling that ¡°Chosen One¡± paperwork is the worst kind of paperwork.


    ¡°Your Majesty,¡± I say, stepping forward before I can stop myself. ¡°I volunteer to go with Bob.¡±


    The king blinks at me. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Bob asks, looking both thrilled and surprised.


    ¡°What?¡± Dave adds from the doorway. Because he¡¯s a supportive friend like that.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go,¡± I say, louder this time. ¡°If I stay, I¡¯ll be fined into the ground. And let¡¯s be honest, Bob¡¯s not surviving this quest on his own.¡±


    Bob beams. ¡°You really think so?¡±


    I give him a flat look. ¡°That wasn¡¯t a compliment.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± the king says, waving a dismissive hand. ¡°Go. Both of you. And don¡¯t come back until the prophecy is fulfilled or you¡¯re dead.¡±


    ¡°Motivating,¡± I mutter as I turn to leave.


    ***


    By the time we¡¯re outside the castle gates, Bob is practically skipping. ¡°This is going to be great! Two brave adventurers, united by destiny, setting out to save the world!¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I say, walking along behind him. ¡°Great.¡±


    Bob¡¯s excitement doesn¡¯t let up. ¡°I¡¯ve got the map, the sword, and the glowing orb. You bring the practicality and the¡­¡± He pauses, searching for words.


    ¡°Sarcasm?¡± I offer.


    ¡°Yes! That! It¡¯s a good balance.¡±


    I groan, already regretting every decision I¡¯ve made today. But as I glance back at the smoky castle, I can¡¯t help but think that maybe, just maybe, keeping Bob alive might be worth it. If only for the entertainment value.


    ¡°Alright, Bob,¡± I say, lifting my spear. ¡°Let¡¯s go save the world.¡±


    And with that, we set off. Two unlikely allies facing impossible odds together. Because apparently, that¡¯s my life now.

 Chapter 7

    I swear, if Bob calls this an epic saga one more time, I¡¯m going to throw him into the next muddy pond we pass. Which, knowing our luck so far, will probably happen in the next five minutes.


    ¡°This is it, Greg!¡± Bob says, arms wide like he¡¯s about to hug the universe. His silly cape flaps in the breeze, and for a second, I think it¡¯s going to smack him across the face. ¡°This is the start of something legendary!¡±


    I adjust the strap on my spear and roll my eyes. ¡°Legendary? Bob, we¡¯ve been walking for fifteen minutes. And you¡¯ve tripped over your own feet twice.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s just the warm-up,¡± he says, unfazed. ¡°Every hero¡¯s journey starts small.¡±


    ¡°Small?¡± I gesture at my boots, already caked in mud. ¡°This journey is starting filthy. There¡¯s a difference.¡±


    He shrugs, swinging his sword in what I think he assumes is a menacing arc. Except his ¡°arc¡± is more of a flail, and the tip of the sword grazes my helmet with a metallic clink.


    ¡°Bob!¡± I bark, stepping back before he accidentally turns me into a human shish kebab. ¡°Would you stop that?¡±


    ¡°Sorry,¡± he says, lowering the sword with an apologetic grin. ¡°Just practicing my technique.¡±


    ¡°Practice further away from my head,¡± I say. ¡°Preferably on the other side of the continent.¡±


    We keep walking, and Bob¡¯s chatter never lets up. He keeps calling this a quest, while I¡¯m pretty sure it¡¯s just a way to ruin my boots. He¡¯s got the map, but apparently, maps are ¡°optional guidelines,¡± and ¡°heroes rely on instinct.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m telling you,¡± he says, pointing toward a dark forest that looks like it¡¯s auditioning for a horror story. ¡°This way feels right.¡±


    ¡°Feels right?¡± I stop walking and plant my spear in the ground. ¡°No, Bob. This way¡±¡ªI jab a finger at the actual marked road¡ª¡°looks right. You know, the road? The thing people use to go places without getting eaten?¡±


    He squints at the road, then back at the forest. ¡°But the forest is so much more¡­ heroic.¡±


    ¡°Heroic,¡± I repeat, deadpan. ¡°Sure. Nothing screams ¡®heroic¡¯ like getting eaten by a bear.¡±The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Bob doesn¡¯t answer. He¡¯s too busy waving the map around like it¡¯s a flag and he¡¯s leading a charge into battle. I decide to let him wander in circles until he realizes I¡¯m right. Spoiler alert: I¡¯m always right.


    ***


    We stumble into an abandoned village as the sun dips lower in the sky. It¡¯s the kind of place that should feel spooky, but I¡¯m too tired to care. The houses are crooked, their roofs sagging under the weight of years of neglect. A well sits in the center of the square, its bucket dangling like it¡¯s given up.


    ¡°This is perfect!¡± Bob says, perking up like he¡¯s just discovered a treasure chest. ¡°We can set up camp here.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s a good idea,¡± I say, eyeing the shadowy corners of the crumbling buildings. ¡°This place screams ¡®trap.¡¯ Or ¡®haunted.¡¯ Or both.¡±


    ¡°Nonsense,¡± Bob says, drawing his sword. ¡°I¡¯ll clear the area for danger.¡±


    ¡°Bob¡ª¡±


    But he¡¯s already off, doing what can only be described as a very excited dance with his sword. He twirls. He lunges. He trips.


    And then he disappears.


    ¡°Bob?¡± I call, my voice flat. I don¡¯t even sound worried. This is just¡­ expected at this point. ¡°Where¡¯d you go?¡±


    There¡¯s a wet, slurping sound, followed by Bob¡¯s muffled voice. ¡°Uh¡­ I¡¯m fine! Everything¡¯s fine!¡±


    I follow the sound and find him face-first in a muddy pond that I¡¯m pretty sure wasn¡¯t there a second ago. His cape is stuck to his back, and his sword is nowhere in sight. Bubbles rise to the surface as he groans.


    I cross my arms and sigh. ¡°You¡¯re making it really hard for me not to say, ¡®I told you so.¡¯¡±


    He lifts his head, his face streaked with mud. ¡°A little help?¡±


    I grab the back of his cape and yank him out, muttering under my breath about how I should¡¯ve stayed at the castle. He¡¯s dripping and pathetic, but still manages a sheepish grin.


    ¡°Well,¡± he says, spitting out a mouthful of muddy water, ¡°at least we know it¡¯s safe.¡±


    ¡°Safe?¡± I snap. ¡°You almost drowned in a puddle!¡±


    He shrugs, wringing out his cape. ¡°It¡¯s all part of the adventure.¡±


    I stare at him, wondering¡ªnot for the first time¡ªhow someone like Bob was chosen to save the world. ¡°Bob, if this is what the adventure looks like, we¡¯re doomed.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be so negative,¡± he says, slapping a muddy hand on my shoulder. ¡°We¡¯ve got spirit. We¡¯ve got courage. We¡¯ve got¡ª¡±


    ¡°A severe lack of common sense?¡± I finish.


    He grins. ¡°Exactly!¡±


    I shake my head and start walking toward the least broken-down building, hoping it¡¯ll have four walls and a roof that doesn¡¯t leak. Bob trails behind me, still dripping mud and humming what I assume is supposed to be a heroic tune. It¡¯s not even in key.


    As the sun sets and the village grows darker, I can¡¯t help but feel like this is the beginning of a very long, and very stupid, journey. But then I glance back at Bob, who¡¯s holding the map upside down and squinting at it like it¡¯s a riddle he needs to solve.


    I sigh. ¡°Come on, Bob. Let¡¯s go figure out where we¡¯re sleeping tonight.¡±


    He brightens immediately. ¡°See? Teamwork!¡±


    If we survive this, it¡¯ll be a miracle. But for now, I grab the map, shove it in my pocket, and lead the way. Because apparently, being the responsible one is my job now.

 Chapter 8

    The forest is spooky. Like the kind you read about in stories where someone is definitely getting cursed before the chapter ends.


    Bob insists we¡¯re on the right path. But I¡¯m not holding my breath.


    ¡°Greg,¡± he says, his voice hushed, like he¡¯s about to say something deep. ¡°Do you feel that?¡±


    I stop, gripping my spear. ¡°Feel what?¡±


    ¡°The destiny. The energy. The sense that we¡¯re about to stumble upon something incredible.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I say flatly. ¡°I feel mud in my boots and regret in my soul.¡±


    Bob doesn¡¯t answer. He¡¯s too busy pointing ahead, where the trees open into a small clearing. In the center is a rickety wooden platform, and sitting cross-legged on it is a figure cloaked in shadow. A staff leans against her shoulder, and her hood is so deep, it¡¯s basically wearing her.


    ¡°Greg,¡± Bob whispers, his voice trembling with excitement. ¡°It¡¯s an oracle.¡±


    ¡°Great,¡± I say. ¡°Because what we really need right now is cryptic nonsense.¡±


    We step closer, and the figure lifts her head slightly. Her voice is low and gravelly, like she¡¯s been gargling gravel tea. ¡°Who dares approach the Oracle of Everlasting Knowledge?¡±


    ¡°Uh, hi,¡± Bob says, bowing. ¡°It is I, the Chosen One, and my friend, Greg.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t introduce me,¡± I hiss. ¡°I¡¯m just here for moral support.¡±


    The oracle raises a hand, stopping us in our tracks. ¡°Before I share my wisdom, you must solve¡­ the Riddle of Truth.¡±


    Bob gasps. I groan. Of course, there¡¯s a riddle. There¡¯s always a riddle.


    She pauses for dramatic effect, then speaks: ¡°I speak without a mouth. I hear without ears. I have no body, but I come alive with wind. What am I?¡±


    Bob claps his hands. ¡°I know this one! It¡¯s¡­ um¡­ destiny?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I say, rubbing my forehead. ¡°It¡¯s an echo.¡±


    The oracle doesn¡¯t react. She just sits there, unmoving.


    Bob frowns. ¡°How do you know?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a classic riddle,¡± I say. ¡°Everyone knows it.¡±


    ¡°Well, maybe the answer is destiny,¡± he says, crossing his arms. ¡°You don¡¯t know her life, Greg.¡±Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    ¡°Are you serious right now?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just saying,¡± Bob says, puffing up his chest, ¡°she¡¯s an oracle. Maybe it¡¯s not the obvious answer.¡±


    I turn to the oracle. ¡°It¡¯s an echo, right?¡±


    She tilts her head. For a second, I think she might actually speak. Then, she just¡­ shrugs.


    Bob¡¯s jaw drops. ¡°What kind of oracle shrugs?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s probably waiting for us to figure it out,¡± I say.


    ¡°Or maybe,¡± Bob says, pointing at me, ¡°we¡¯re supposed to be the answer.¡±


    I stare at him. ¡°How would we be the answer, Bob?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know! Maybe it¡¯s metaphorical.¡±


    The oracle clears her throat. ¡°No, it¡¯s an echo.¡±


    I blink. ¡°Wait, really?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± she says, waving a hand dismissively. ¡°That¡¯s the answer. Can we move on now? I have things to do.¡±


    Bob looks deflated. ¡°That¡¯s it? No glowing lights? No epic reveal?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m an oracle,¡± she says. ¡°Not a special effects team.¡±


    ¡°Fair enough,¡± I say. ¡°So, what¡¯s the deal? Are you going to tell us our destiny or whatever?¡±


    The oracle leans forward, her shadowy hood slipping just enough to reveal what looks like¡­ purple sunglasses? ¡°First, payment.¡±


    Bob looks like she just slapped him. ¡°Payment? Payment?? You¡¯re a legendary oracle! You can¡¯t charge us! That¡¯s against the rules of literally every fantasy ever written!¡±


    ¡°Bob,¡± I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. ¡°Let¡¯s just see what she wants.¡±


    The oracle tilts her head like she¡¯s thinking. ¡°Bring me¡­ a pastry.¡±


    Bob¡¯s jaw drops. ¡°A pastry? Are you serious?¡±


    ¡°She looks serious,¡± I say, already digging into my pack. ¡°Do you have a preference? Honey cake? Meat pie?¡±


    The oracle smirks. ¡°Surprise me.¡±


    Bob practically shakes with frustration. ¡°Greg, no! You can¡¯t bribe an oracle with a pastry! She¡¯s supposed to test us with riddles and trials! We¡¯re supposed to earn her wisdom, not buy it like we¡¯re at a village bakery!¡±


    ¡°Calm down, Bob,¡± I say, pulling out the only thing I have left, a slightly squished jelly-filled donut. I hold it out to her. ¡°Will this work?¡±


    The oracle snatches it with alarming speed, cradling it like a sacred artifact. She takes a slow bite, her hood shifting just enough for me to catch a glimpse of what I¡¯m sure is a smug grin. ¡°Ah, yes. This pleases me.¡±


    Bob looks like he¡¯s about to explode. ¡°Greg, this is against the heroic code! We¡¯re supposed to be noble and brave, not¡­ donut delivery guys!¡±


    ¡°Bob,¡± I say, gesturing to the oracle, who¡¯s now lounging on her platform like she¡¯s just been served a royal feast. ¡°Does she look like she cares about your heroic code?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care about his heroic code,¡± the oracle confirms between bites. ¡°Now, on to business.¡±


    Bob throws up his hands. ¡°This is ridiculous! What happened to the mystery? The drama?¡±


    The oracle burps. Loudly. ¡°Mystery doesn¡¯t feed my sweet tooth, sweetheart.¡±


    I have to bite back a laugh as Bob glares at both of us. ¡°Unbelievable.¡±


    ¡°Now then,¡± the oracle continues. ¡°You need to find the Amulet of Slightly Above Average Power.¡±


    Bob gasps. ¡°The legendary artifact!¡±


    ¡°Legendary might be a stretch,¡± she says, adjusting her sunglasses. ¡°It¡¯s in the Swamp of Eternal Squishiness.¡±


    Bob looks like he¡¯s about to faint from excitement. ¡°A swamp? Eternal squishiness? This is the stuff of legends!¡±


    I groan. ¡°Great. Because nothing screams ¡®fun¡¯ like wading through mud and mosquitoes.¡±


    The oracle points toward the horizon. ¡°Go forth, heroes. Your journey awaits.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, oh wise oracle!¡± Bob says, bowing so low he nearly falls over.


    As we walk back toward the forest, Bob is practically bouncing with excitement.


    ¡°The Amulet of Slightly Above Average Power,¡± he says, his voice full of wonder. ¡°Greg, this is it. This is destiny.¡±


    I glance back at the clearing, where the oracle is now reclining on her platform, picking crumbs off her cloak. ¡°Destiny¡¯s weird,¡± I say.


    And with that, we head off toward the swamp.

 Chapter 9

    I¡¯m knee-deep in the Swamp of Eternal Squishiness, and it¡¯s officially the worst day of my life. Mud clings to my boots like it¡¯s trying to drag me down to its slimy lair. The air is thick with mosquitoes that seem personally offended by my existence. And Bob is humming some made-up heroic tune like we¡¯re on a fun little picnic.


    ¡°Bob,¡± I snap, swatting at a bug the size of my fist, ¡°if you don¡¯t stop that noise, I will personally feed you to the next swamp creature we see.¡±


    He pauses mid-hum, his face all innocent confusion. ¡°What noise?¡±


    ¡°That,¡± I say, waving my spear toward him like it¡¯s a conductor¡¯s baton. ¡°The humming. It¡¯s worse than the mosquitoes.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a battle tune,¡± he says defensively. ¡°Heroes need themes, Greg.¡±


    ¡°Heroes need common sense, Bob,¡± I counter, trudging forward. ¡°And maybe a pair of boots that don¡¯t smell like something died in them.¡±


    Before he can argue, the ground beneath me shifts¡ªand I fall forward. My arms spin as I try to keep my balance.


    But it¡¯s no use. I¡¯m sinking. Fast.


    ¡°Quicksand!¡± Bob shouts. His voice is way too excited for someone who¡¯s supposed to be helping.


    ¡°Yeah, I noticed!¡± I yell back, thrashing around. ¡°Get me out of here!¡±


    Bob scrambles toward me, slipping and sliding like a newborn deer. He reaches out, grabs my arm, and pulls with all his might.


    To his credit, he does manage to drag me out. Unfortunately, he also manages to fall into the quicksand himself.


    I stand there, covered in mud and glaring at him as he flails. ¡°You¡¯re kidding me.¡±


    ¡°Little help?¡± he gasps, his hand flopping toward me like a sad fish.


    I sigh, grab his arm, and yank him free.


    He collapses onto the bank, panting and dripping with swamp goo. ¡°That was¡­ intense,¡± he says between breaths.


    ¡°That was embarrassing,¡± I reply, wiping mud off my face. ¡°For both of us.¡±


    Bob grins up at me, his face streaked with dirt. ¡°We make a great team.¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± I say. ¡°If by ¡®team,¡¯ you mean ¡®a disaster waiting to happen.¡¯¡±You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    We walk on. The swamp grows darker and somehow even smellier. I¡¯m about two seconds away from giving up and letting the mosquitoes carry me off when Bob suddenly stops.


    ¡°Look!¡± he whispers, pointing at something in the distance.


    I squint through the haze and spot a small clearing. In the middle of it sits a pedestal, and on the pedestal is an amulet.


    ¡°There it is,¡± Bob says, his voice full of awe. ¡°The Amulet of Slightly Above Average Power.¡±


    I tilt my head, studying the thing. It¡¯s not slightly above average. It¡¯s aggressively overpowered. The amulet is huge, covered in sparkling gems that pulse with an unnatural light. It looks like it could shoot lasers, summon dragons, and maybe even bake a cake.


    ¡°Bob,¡± I say slowly, ¡°are you sure that¡¯s the right amulet?¡±


    ¡°Of course!¡± he says, running toward the pedestal. ¡°It¡¯s colorful. Things that are colorful are always important.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not how logic works,¡± I say, following him reluctantly. ¡°The oracle said it was slightly above average. That thing looks like it belongs in a museum titled ¡®Artifacts That Will Absolutely Get You Killed.¡¯¡±


    He waves me off. ¡°You¡¯re overthinking it.¡±


    Bob reaches for the amulet, but I grab his wrist before he can touch it. ¡°Wait.¡±


    ¡°What now?¡± he asks.


    I gesture toward the pedestal. ¡°Did you not notice the spikes? The ones that pop out every five seconds like they¡¯re just waiting for someone stupid enough to grab that thing?¡±


    He squints at the pedestal. ¡°Oh. I thought those were decorative.¡±


    I stare at him. ¡°Decorative spikes. Really, Bob?¡±


    ¡°Well, how do we get it, then?¡± he asks, crossing his arms.


    I glance around, my eyes landing on a long stick lying nearby. I pick it up and poke the amulet. The spikes immediately shoot out, slicing the stick in half.


    Bob whistles. ¡°Okay, yeah. Those are not decorative.¡±


    ¡°No kidding,¡± I say, tossing the broken stick aside. ¡°We need a plan.¡±


    Bob¡¯s face lights up. ¡°I¡¯ve got one!¡±


    I groan. ¡°If it involves destiny or hero instincts, I¡¯m out.¡±


    He ignores me, pulls his sword, and wedges it between two of the spikes. Then, with a surprising amount of skill, he pulls the amulet loose.


    I blink at him. ¡°That¡­ actually worked.¡±


    ¡°See?¡± he says, holding up the amulet like it¡¯s a trophy. ¡°I told you I could do it.¡±


    ¡°So,¡± I say, crossing my arms. ¡°You really think this is the Amulet of Slightly Above Average Power?¡±


    ¡°Yep,¡± he says, completely unbothered. ¡°Looks slightly above average to me.¡±


    I stare at him. ¡°Bob, it¡¯s glowing. Amulets that glow are never ¡®slightly above average.¡¯¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s probably just¡­ good craftsmanship,¡± he says, shrugging. ¡°You know, polished gems, high-quality materials. Like those shoes you buy that are nice but not too flashy.¡±


    I point to the swirling vortex forming in the center of the largest gem. ¡°That gem has a literal storm inside it. I¡¯m pretty sure it¡¯s summoning a hurricane as we speak.¡±


    Bob squints at the gem, then waves a dismissive hand. ¡°It¡¯s decorative. Adds flair.¡±


    ¡°And the inscription?¡± I ask, leaning in to point at the glowing words etched into the gold. ¡°The one that literally says, ¡®With this power, kingdoms shall fall and skies shall burn.¡¯¡±


    Bob squints at the text. ¡°Eh, that¡¯s just marketing. Makes it sound cooler than it is.¡±


    I rub my temples, wondering how I ended up here. ¡°Bob, this is not the amulet we were sent to find.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± he says, slipping it into his bag. ¡°An amulet¡¯s an amulet. Let¡¯s just get out of here before something tries to kill us.¡±


    For once, he has a point. As we make our way back through the swamp, I can¡¯t shake the feeling that we¡¯ve just made a huge mistake.


    But Bob is skipping, humming his battle tune again and looking like he¡¯s on top of the world.


    I sigh. ¡°Bob, if this thing gets us killed, I¡¯m haunting you forever.¡±

 Chapter 10

    We¡¯re standing at the base of the most absurdly evil-looking tower I¡¯ve ever seen. It¡¯s like someone asked a child to draw a ¡°bad guy castle¡± and then built it to scale.


    Pointy towers stab the sky. A blood-red glow pulses from the top. There¡¯s even an actual lightning strike just for dramatic effect. This place is not subtle at all.


    ¡°This is it, Greg,¡± Bob says, his voice full of awe. He stares up at the tower like it¡¯s the answer to all his problems and not the most obvious ¡°stay away¡± sign ever. His cape flutters behind him, which is impressive since there¡¯s no breeze. I suspect the universe is trolling me.


    ¡°Sure,¡± I say, gripping my spear tighter. ¡°Totally safe. Definitely not a deathtrap.¡±


    Bob doesn¡¯t hear me. He¡¯s too busy psyching himself up with phrases like ¡°This is my destiny¡± and ¡°The world is counting on me.¡±


    I¡¯m over here calculating how many steps it¡¯ll take before he trips over his cape and gets us both killed. My money¡¯s on three.


    ¡°Let¡¯s do this!¡± he yells, pointing his sword at the tower¡¯s entrance.


    I sigh. ¡°Yeah, let¡¯s go meet our doom. Can¡¯t wait.¡±


    The inside smells worse than I imagined. And I imagined bad. It¡¯s like someone boiled swamp water and threw in a dash of dead fish. Every step we take makes a squelching sound, and I can actually feel my boots getting heavier with each step. Fantastic.


    ¡°This place has ambiance,¡± Bob says, looking around like he¡¯s just walked into a five-star inn.


    ¡°If by ¡®ambiance¡¯ you mean ¡®a smell that makes me want to rip my own nose off,¡¯ then sure,¡± I reply.


    We don¡¯t even make it ten steps before the first trap springs. Blades shoot out of the walls like this place is a giant blender.


    Bob yelps, diving to the ground in a way that¡¯s less of a ¡°heroic dodge¡± and more of a ¡°panicked flop.¡±


    ¡°This is fine,¡± he squeaks, his voice a full octave higher than usual. ¡°Totally fine.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re about to get diced into Bob-nuggets.¡± I grab his arm and yank him to his feet just in time to avoid a blade that sings through the air where his head was. ¡°Quick reflexes, huh? Real impressive.¡±


    He tries to look cool, brushing imaginary dust off his cape. ¡°It¡¯s part of the hero package.¡±


    I¡¯m too busy dodging another blade to roll my eyes properly.


    By some miracle¡ªand let¡¯s be clear, it¡¯s mostly me doing the work¡ªwe make it through the traps and into the next room.


    And that¡¯s when I see it: the monster.


    Oh, it¡¯s a beauty. By ¡°beauty,¡± I mean it looks like a bear, a porcupine, and a tiger had a very bad day, then decided to come back as a single angry, spiky abomination. Its claws are the size of my forearm, and its glowing red eyes scream ¡°unstable anger issues.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Bob freezes. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ bigger than I expected.¡±


    ¡°Shocker,¡± I say, gripping my spear. ¡°Got a plan, Chosen One?¡±


    He nods. ¡°I¡¯ll distract it, and you go for the weak spot.¡±


    ¡°Great,¡± I say, side-eyeing him. ¡°And where exactly is this weak spot?¡±


    He blinks. ¡°Uh¡­ it¡¯s¡­ um¡­¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know,¡± I deadpan.


    ¡°Well, there¡¯s always a weak spot,¡± he says.


    The monster¡¯s roar hits me like a thunderclap, shaking the air and rattling my bones. It charges, each step sending shockwaves through the floor.


    Bob, in all his clueless glory, raises his sword and screams, ¡°Over here, beast!¡± like he¡¯s auditioning for the role of dead guy number one.


    The monster lunges. It¡¯s fast. Too fast for something that big.


    Bob barely rolls out of the way before its claws carve deep gouges into the stone floor. The air¡¯s electric, alive with the sound of scraping metal and snarls.


    My pulse is hammering, my spear slick in my hands. ¡°Bob!¡± I yell. ¡°Keep it moving! Don¡¯t stop!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m trying!¡± he shouts back, his voice cracking as he stumbles over his own feet.


    The monster turns on him, eyes glowing like burning coals. It swipes again.


    Bob dives as the claws miss him by a hair.


    I don¡¯t wait. I sprint forward, adrenaline roaring in my ears.


    My spear finds the monster¡¯s side, sliding between its scales.


    But it barely reacts. It whips its head around, teeth snapping.


    I only just manage to pull back before I lose an arm.


    ¡°Greg!¡± Bob yells, scrambling to his feet. ¡°Plan?¡±


    ¡°Working on it!¡± I snarl, ducking under another swipe.


    The beast¡¯s claws whistle through the air, lethal and relentless.


    I jab again, this time aiming for its exposed underbelly.


    But it twists too fast. My spear skids off its scales like I¡¯m trying to poke a boulder.


    Bob swings his sword wildly, yelling something about ¡°the power of destiny.¡±


    The monster doesn¡¯t care. It stands up, towering over both of us, and slams its massive claws into the ground.


    The impact sends me flying, with my spear clattering out of reach. I hit the wall hard enough to see stars.


    ¡°Greg!¡± Bob¡¯s voice is panicked now. He¡¯s dodging, but barely. His sword glances off the monster¡¯s flank, doing absolutely nothing. ¡°I think it¡¯s mad!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I noticed!¡± I growl, dragging myself to my feet. My eyes lock on its neck, on the patch of discolored scales. Weak spot. That¡¯s it.


    ¡°Bob!¡± I shout. ¡°Get it to turn!¡±


    Bob doesn¡¯t question me for once. He darts to the side, waving his arms like a lunatic. ¡°Hey! Big guy! Over here!¡±


    The monster roars again, the sound deafening. It lunges for him.


    But Bob¡¯s faster this time. He ducks. Rolls. Spins. His sword flashes as he keeps its attention on him.


    ¡°Now!¡± I yell, grabbing my spear and charging. The weak spot gets closer, glowing red in the chaos.


    The monster turns too late.


    I leap, driving the spear with every ounce of strength I have.


    The world seems to pause.


    The spear pierces the spot, sinking deep into flesh.


    The monster lets out an ear-splitting shriek. Its body thrashes wildly.


    I hold on, gritting my teeth as it bucks and twists, trying to shake me loose.


    ¡°Greg!¡± Bob shouts. ¡°Finish it!¡±


    I twist the spear, driving it deeper.


    The monster shakes. Roars. Collapses.


    Dust explodes, choking the air. Silence.


    I can¡¯t breathe. Can¡¯t see.


    When it clears, the monster is still.


    Bob collapses onto his back, arms spread like he¡¯s posing for a victory painting. ¡°We did it,¡± he breathes, eyes wide with disbelief.


    ¡°We barely survived,¡± I reply. My legs feel like jelly, and I¡¯m pretty sure there¡¯s swamp muck in places swamp muck should never be.


    Bob grins up at me, his face streaked with dirt and sweat. ¡°Still counts.¡±


    I glare at him. ¡°If we¡¯re counting, that¡¯s one point for the monster for almost killing us and zero points for your ¡®plan.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Come on,¡± he says, sitting up and giving me a grin that¡¯s way too smug. ¡°We¡¯re a great team.¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± I say, deadpan. ¡°The dream team of disasters.¡±


    Bob jumps to his feet, already back to full energy. ¡°This is just the beginning, Greg. We¡¯ve got destiny, adventure, and¡ª¡±


    I groan, cutting him off. ¡°Mud in my boots and regret in my soul. Let¡¯s move.¡±


    As we head to the next room, Bob¡¯s humming again. I¡¯m too tired to argue. For now.

 Chapter 11

    We¡¯re walking down another creepy hallway, and Bob is acting weird. Like, weirder than usual weird. His cape isn¡¯t swishing all over the place. His sword isn¡¯t accidentally bonking into walls. And most alarming? He¡¯s quiet.


    Bob doesn¡¯t do quiet.


    I stop, leaning on my spear. ¡°Alright, what¡¯s your deal?¡±


    He glances at me, his face pale under the faint glow of the torches lining the hall. ¡°Nothing. I¡¯m fine.¡±


    Fine? Bob doesn¡¯t do fine either. Bob does ¡°heroic¡± or ¡°excessively emotional¡± or ¡°falls into mud.¡± Not fine.


    ¡°You look like you¡¯re about to puke,¡± I say, poking him. ¡°You¡¯re not gonna die on me, are you? Because if you do, I am not filling out that paperwork.¡±


    He shakes his head, swallowing hard. ¡°No dying. Just¡­ give me a second.¡±


    ¡°Oh, sure,¡± I say. ¡°Take all the time you need. It¡¯s not like we¡¯re standing in what¡¯s clearly the entrance to certain doom.¡±


    Bob doesn¡¯t laugh. Or even argue. He just stares at the door ahead of us. It¡¯s a massive thing, carved with scary symbols and glowing faintly like it¡¯s judging our life choices. Typical evil lair vibes. Normally, Bob would be charging toward it with a battle cry and at least three terrible plans.


    Instead, he¡¯s frozen.


    ¡°Okay, seriously,¡± I say, stepping in front of him. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±


    He exhales shakily, rubbing the back of his neck. ¡°I think¡­ I think this is the Fear Room.¡±


    ¡°The what now?¡±


    He gestures at the door like that explains anything. ¡°You know. The part of the hero¡¯s journey where you face your greatest fear.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that,¡± I say, pretending to be impressed. ¡°And you¡¯re scared of¡­ what? Spiders? Clowns? Losing your cape?¡±Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Bob doesn¡¯t laugh. Or smile. Or do anything remotely Bob-like. He just looks at me with this sad, hollow expression that makes me feel like the world¡¯s biggest jerk. Which, to be fair, I kind of am, but still.


    ¡°What if I¡¯m not enough?¡± he blurts out.


    I blink. ¡°Enough for what? Lunch? Because you¡¯re definitely not. You ate all the snacks three rooms ago.¡±


    He shakes his head. ¡°No, Greg. Enough to be the Chosen One.¡±


    Oh.


    I lean back against the wall, fiddling with the strap on my spear. ¡°What brought this on?¡±


    He gestures vaguely at the door again. ¡°I don¡¯t know! Maybe the glowing evil door ahead of us. Or the fact that I¡¯ve nearly died ten times since we started this quest. Or that the only reason we¡¯re still alive is because you keep saving me.¡±


    ¡°Well, yeah,¡± I say. ¡°That¡¯s just¡­ normal. You do something dumb, I fix it. It¡¯s called teamwork.¡±


    ¡°But I¡¯m supposed to be the hero!¡± he says, his voice cracking. ¡°The prophecy says I¡¯m destined to save the world. What if it¡¯s wrong? What if I¡¯m just¡­ Bob?¡±


    The way he says his name, like it¡¯s some kind of curse, hits me harder than I¡¯d like to admit. I sigh and rub the edge of my nose. ¡°Alright, listen. I¡¯m only saying this once, so pay attention.¡±


    Bob looks at me, wide-eyed, like I¡¯m about to deliver the meaning of life. No pressure.


    ¡°Nobody really knows what they¡¯re doing,¡± I begin. ¡°Not you, not me, not the king in his stupid pineapple hat. You just fake it. You fake it so hard that everyone around you believes you know what you¡¯re doing. And before you know it, you¡¯ve faked your way through a whole prophecy.¡±


    Bob¡¯s brow furrows. ¡°So¡­ you¡¯re saying I should fake being the Chosen One?¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± I say, pointing my spear at him for emphasis. ¡°You think I know what I¡¯m doing when I pull levers or stab monsters? Nope. I¡¯m winging it. Constantly. And so far, no one¡¯s called me out.¡±


    ¡°But¡­ what if I mess up?¡±


    ¡°Bob, you mess up all the time,¡± I say. ¡°You tripped over your own cape yesterday. And you know what? We¡¯re still here. You¡¯re still alive. And honestly, you¡¯re doing better than I expected.¡±


    He blinks at me. ¡°You expected me to die?¡±


    ¡°Oh definitely,¡± I say. ¡°But here you are. Still kicking. And that¡¯s half the battle.¡±


    He¡¯s quiet for a moment, staring at the ground. Then he looks up at me, and there¡¯s this flicker of hope in his eyes. ¡°You really think I can do this?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I say immediately. His face falls, and I sigh. ¡°But I do think you¡¯ll keep trying. And that¡¯s what matters. Because eventually, you¡¯ll get it right. Probably. Maybe. Who knows? But you won¡¯t find out by standing here and freaking out.¡±


    Bob¡¯s quiet again. Then, slowly, a grin spreads across his face. It¡¯s lopsided and a little shaky, but it¡¯s there. ¡°You¡¯re terrible at pep talks.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well,¡± I say, shoving him toward the door. ¡°You¡¯re terrible at being the Chosen One. Guess we¡¯re even.¡±


    He laughs, and for the first time since we got here, he actually looks like himself again. It¡¯s annoying how much better that makes me feel.


    We stand in front of the door, side by side.


    Bob takes a deep breath. ¡°Alright. Let¡¯s do this.¡±

 Chapter 12

    Sintra is spinning around in her long black dress, looking as dramatic as ever.


    Groth bursts into the room. ¡°Lady Sintra,¡± he growls, his voice rough and gravelly. ¡°The Chosen One has entered the tower.¡±


    Finally.


    She freezes mid-spin. Perfect. All of it. The stance, the timing. She¡¯s been working on this.


    ¡°So,¡± she purrs, her voice dipping into the silky, evil tone she¡¯s practiced in front of her cursed mirror. ¡°He dares to invade my tower?¡± She pauses for effect. The vibes have to be perfect. Otherwise, what¡¯s the point?


    Groth scratches one of his tusks, looking more awkward than usual. ¡°Uh, yeah, Lady Sintra. Should we fight him now?¡±


    Sintra sighs and steps closer, towering over Groth from the raised platform beneath her throne. She had it installed specifically for this purpose. Villains need to look intimidating. It¡¯s a rule.


    ¡°Fight him?¡± she scoffs, one perfectly arched eyebrow shooting up. ¡°No, Groth. We are not barbarians. We are masterminds of doom. We must prepare properly.¡±


    Groth shifts on his feet, looking like he¡¯d rather be anywhere else. He¡¯s seen this before. He knows exactly where this is going.


    ¡°Minions!¡± Sintra¡¯s voice bounces off the stone walls, loud enough to send a few bats flapping from the rafters. She spins on her heel, arms thrown wide. ¡°Prepare the lair for the Chosen One¡¯s arrival!¡±


    Chaos breaks out instantly.


    Minions scatter like startled chickens. One accidentally drops a box of skulls, and they roll across the floor like marbles.


    ¡°You!¡± Sintra points at a goblin trying to stack candles onto a chandelier that clearly has too many. ¡°We need spooky lighting, not a fire hazard!¡±


    ¡°Yes, Lady Sintra!¡± the goblin squeaks. But then he drops a candle, and his sleeve catches on fire.


    Sintra rolls her eyes and snaps her fingers, putting out the flame with a quick spell.


    ¡°And you!¡± She whirls to face an orc fumbling with a magic fog machine. ¡°I want mysterious fog. Like the breath of an ancient curse. Not a toxic gas cloud. Got it?¡±Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°Got it,¡± the orc grumbles. He doesn¡¯t. The orc adjusts a dial and half the room fills with blinding smoke.


    ¡°Groth,¡± Sintra hisses, pinching the bridge of her nose. ¡°Control them. The lair must look terrifying. Menacing. Perfect.¡±


    Groth awkwardly salutes and stomps off. He shouts at a pair of goblins arguing over whether skeletons should hang at a ¡°spooky¡± or ¡°casual¡± angle.


    Sintra exhales, willing herself to remain calm. Composed. Evil. This is her brand.


    ¡°Watcher!¡± she yells, her voice echoing up the spiral staircase. ¡°Is the hero close?¡±


    A high-pitched voice answers from above. ¡°Not yet, Lady Sintra!¡±


    She sighs again, pacing the room as another minion struggles to hang a ¡°Beware¡± banner. Crookedly.


    ¡°Fix that sign!¡± she barks. ¡°We¡¯re not amateurs. And someone dust the skulls on the mantle. Dusty skulls scream ¡®neglected villainy.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Yes, my lady!¡± comes the nervous chant of obedience.


    Time crawls. Five minutes. Ten.


    She adjusts her evil throne¡¯s dramatic spin mechanism.


    ¡°Watcher!¡± she yells again.


    ¡°Still no sign, Lady Sintra!¡±


    She mutters under her breath, pacing furiously. ¡°Stupid heroes. No respect for a villain¡¯s schedule.¡±


    Then the watcher¡¯s frantic voice echoes down. ¡°They¡¯re here! The Chosen One and his companion have reached the door!¡±


    This is it!


    Sintra runs for her throne, her dress flowing behind her. Her heart pounds. Definitely not from excitement. It¡¯s adrenaline. Totally different.


    She adjusts her crown with a swipe. Chaotically perfect. Just how she likes it.


    Her finger hovers over the button on the armrest. Showtime for real. She presses it.


    The throne spins with a hiss of mechanics. Her dress billows. Her grin sharpens. Everything about this moment is villain perfection. Dramatic. Powerful. Iconic.


    The throne stops, perfectly facing the door.


    Sintra throws her arms wide. ¡°Welcome, Chosen One, to¡ª¡±


    The door doesn¡¯t open.


    She blinks.


    The door rattles but stays closed. Muffled voices filter through.


    ¡°Idiots,¡± she mutters, cheeks burning red. ¡°Who even struggles with a door?¡±


    Groth shifts behind her. ¡°Uh, Lady Sintra¡ª¡±


    ¡°Silence!¡± she snaps. ¡°This is part of their plan, obviously. To throw me off. But I¡¯m totally fine.¡±


    The door rattles again. Still nothing.


    ¡°Ugh!¡± She huffs, readjusting her dress. She smooths her expression into a mask of calm. ¡°No problem. I¡¯ll just... reset. Not because I care or anything. It¡¯s just... proper villain manners.¡±


    She spins the throne back into position, testing the dramatic effect again. The spin mechanism needs oiling.


    ¡°Groth,¡± she growls. ¡°Remind me to curse this throne maker.¡±


    ¡°Yes, my lady,¡± Groth says, not bothering to hide his smirk.


    ¡°Minions!¡± Sintra shouts. ¡°Perfection at all times. This is non-negotiable.¡±


    The minions scatter, giggling nervously.


    Sintra¡¯s eye twitches. ¡°The hero better hurry up,¡± she says. ¡°My monologue is losing all dramatic tension.¡±


    Finally, the door creaks. Showtime.


    Sintra slides into her seat, presses the button, and spins. Dress flowing, grin sharp, timing flawless.


    She throws her hands up. ¡°Welcome, Chosen One, to¡ª¡±


    The door is still closed.


    Sintra slumps back into her throne. ¡°Idiots,¡± she mutters. ¡°Late. Clumsy. And probably not even smart enough to realize how epic my entrance was.¡±


    She pouts as she rests her chin in her hand. ¡°What¡¯s the point of being evil if no one appreciates the theatrics?¡±

 Chapter 13

    Bob¡¯s standing in front of the massive magical door, pulling on the handle like it¡¯s a stubborn wagon stuck in the mud. He¡¯s putting his whole back into it. He grunts something about ¡°chosen strength¡± and ¡°divine right of passage.¡±


    ¡°This thing¡­ doesn¡¯t¡­ budge!¡± he says, his voice strained.


    I¡¯m leaning against my spear, watching him with a mix of amusement and embarrassment. ¡°You¡¯re making a scene, Bob.¡±


    He ignores me, still yanking on the door. It doesn¡¯t move an inch. Not even a wiggle.


    I tap my spear against the stone floor, the echo bouncing off the walls. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s magically locked,¡± I suggest. ¡°It is a magical door, after all.¡±


    Bob steps back, panting. ¡°How do you know it¡¯s magical?¡±


    I point at the glowing runes carved into the wood, which are pulsing, as if to say, Yes, Greg, you are correct. I am, indeed, magical.


    ¡°Oh, those could just be¡­ decorative,¡± Bob says, waving a dismissive hand.


    ¡°Decorative?¡± I repeat, my voice dripping with sarcasm. ¡°Sure, everyone loves glowing scribbles on their furniture. Really ties the room together.¡±


    Bob scratches his head. ¡°Well, we¡¯ve got to get it open somehow. The prophecy¡¯s counting on us.¡±


    ¡°Oh, the prophecy,¡± I say, rolling my eyes. ¡°What does it say? ¡®The Chosen One shall stare at a door until it feels bad for him and opens itself¡¯?¡±


    Bob¡¯s frown deepens, and he squints at the runes. Then he steps closer and starts whispering to them. ¡°Hello? Door? It¡¯s me, Bob. Chosen One. Would you mind opening?¡±


    I stare at him. ¡°Are you¡­ negotiating with the door?¡±If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    He turns to me, his face serious. ¡°Sometimes, you¡¯ve got to meet the magic halfway, Greg. Build trust.¡±


    ¡°Right. Because doors are known for their emotional intelligence.¡±


    He huffs, stepping back again. ¡°Fine. Your turn. What¡¯s your big idea, Mr. Sarcasm?¡±


    I glance at the door. Then at the runes. Then at my spear. ¡°Alright, stand back.¡±


    ¡°What are you gonna do?¡± he asks, his eyes wide.


    ¡°What I do best: wing it.¡± I jab the spear at the runes, hoping to disrupt whatever magic is keeping the door locked.


    Sparks fly. The runes flash.


    And I feel like I¡¯ve just been kicked by an angry mule. The spear goes flying out of my hands, clattering to the floor as I stumble back.


    ¡°You okay?¡± Bob asks, running over.


    ¡°Peachy,¡± I grunt, shaking out my numb hand. ¡°Guess the door doesn¡¯t like that.¡±


    ¡°Well, violence isn¡¯t the answer,¡± Bob says in his ¡®wise hero¡¯ voice.


    ¡°It¡¯s a door, Bob. It doesn¡¯t have feelings.¡±


    ¡°Have you tried asking it nicely?¡±


    ¡°Have you tried thinking it through?¡±


    He puffs up, clearly ignoring me. ¡°I¡¯m trying something new.¡± He steps up to the door, places both hands on it, and gives it a serious look. ¡°Alright, Greg. Hear me out. What if¡­ we push it instead of pulling?¡±


    I blink at him. Slowly. Dramatically. ¡°Push it?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Bob, it¡¯s a magical door.¡±


    ¡°So?¡±


    ¡°So, I think it would¡¯ve mentioned in the prophecy if the great and mighty Chosen One¡¯s ultimate challenge was¡­¡± I gesture vaguely. ¡°¡­pushing.¡±


    He grins, infuriatingly confident. ¡°You don¡¯t know that.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t not know that. But I¡¯m also not about to waste my energy trying something stupid.¡±


    Bob shrugs. ¡°Fine. Watch and learn.¡± He places both hands on the door and gives it a solid shove. And wouldn¡¯t you know it? The stupid thing creaks open with an exaggerated groan. Like it¡¯s been waiting for someone to figure it out for centuries.


    I stare, my mouth hanging open. ¡°Are you kidding me?¡±


    Bob steps through, grinning from ear to ear. ¡°See? Told you I had it under control.¡±


    ¡°You did not have it under control,¡± I say, storming in after him. ¡°You got lucky. That¡¯s not a skill.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s instinct,¡± he says, tapping his head. ¡°Hero¡¯s intuition.¡±


    ¡°Hero¡¯s¡­¡± I groan, gripping my spear so tightly I¡¯m surprised it doesn¡¯t snap. ¡°I hate you so much right now.¡±


    ¡°You love me,¡± Bob says, still grinning like he¡¯s just won the lottery.


    I¡¯m about to launch into a rant about how much I do not love him when the air around us changes.


    ¡°Uh¡­ Greg?¡± Bob says, his voice small.


    ¡°Yeah?¡± I ask, gripping my spear tightly and scanning the room.


    ¡°I think we¡¯re in trouble.¡±

 Chapter 14

    The room is dark and menacing with too much dramatic smoke spilling over the stone floor. There¡¯s also the faint smell of lavender, which feels out of place but oddly calming.


    And there she is. Sitting on her overly dramatic throne. Sintra presses a button, and the throne begins a slow, menacing spin.


    Except it doesn¡¯t stop.


    ¡°Welcome, Chosen One and his¡­¡± she begins. But the throne keeps turning, cutting her off mid-sentence as her back faces us. ¡°Sidekick,¡± she finishes, voice growing more distant as she completes another spin.


    Bob and I exchange glances.


    ¡°Do we¡­ wait until she stops?¡± Bob whispers.


    ¡°I think she¡¯s stuck,¡± I whisper back.


    ¡°Lady Sintra?¡± Bob calls out, a little louder.


    ¡°I know!¡± she snaps as the throne spins again. ¡°This is all part of the plan!¡±


    ¡°Uh-huh,¡± I say, crossing my arms. ¡°Very menacing. We¡¯re definitely shaking in our boots.¡±


    She ignores me as the throne finally stops to face us. ¡°You¡¯ve made it far, but your journey ends here!¡± Her dress flows dramatically, even though there¡¯s no wind. Seriously, how does she do that?


    Bob is already walking toward her like he¡¯s about to deliver a motivational speech. ¡°We¡¯re not afraid of you, Sintra! Your evil schemes end now!¡±


    Sintra¡¯s lips curl into a smile. ¡°Oh, I highly doubt that. You couldn¡¯t even open my enchanted door.¡±


    Bob freezes mid-step. I swear his shoulders puff up a little. ¡°Actually, I opened it just fine. Turns out it wasn¡¯t enchanted. It just needed a push.¡±


    Sintra¡¯s smile falters. ¡°Push?¡±


    ¡°Yep,¡± Bob says, all smug. ¡°Classic rookie mistake. You should label your doors.¡±


    ¡°Label my¡­¡± She¡¯s flustered now. ¡°It was a magic door! A test of willpower and intelligence!¡±


    I lean casually on my spear. ¡°Pretty sure it was a test of basic problem-solving skills. Push, pull, you know, the usual.¡±


    Her eyes narrow at me. ¡°You dare mock my craftsmanship?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely,¡± I say, nodding. ¡°Your door¡¯s about as intimidating as a wet towel. No offense.¡±


    ¡°None taken,¡± Bob chimes in, which is not helpful.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    Sintra¡¯s face flushes red. She stands quickly, pointing her staff at us. ¡°Enough! I will not be disrespected in my own lair. You common fools have no idea who you¡¯re dealing with!¡±


    ¡°Oh, we¡¯re getting to the monologue already?¡± I ask, raising an eyebrow. ¡°Usually, villains save that for when they¡¯re about to lose.¡±


    Bob elbows me. ¡°Greg, let her talk! This is where we learn her backstory. It¡¯s important!¡±


    Sintra looks caught off guard but recovers quickly. She flourishes her staff again, her voice echoing dramatically. ¡°For years, I have bided my time, gathering power, waiting for the perfect moment to strike! My rise to ultimate dominance will be unstoppable!¡±


    I raise a hand like I¡¯m in a classroom. ¡°Quick question: Does ¡®biding your time¡¯ include planning that throne spin?¡±


    Her jaw tightens. ¡°The spin is an essential part of my presentation.¡±


    ¡°Oh, absolutely,¡± I agree, nodding seriously. ¡°Really adds to the whole ¡®menacing overlord¡¯ vibe. But don¡¯t you think it¡¯s a little much?¡±


    ¡°Greg,¡± Bob hisses. ¡°Stop provoking her! She¡¯s clearly very powerful.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Chosen One,¡± Sintra says, smirking. ¡°At least one of you has some sense.¡±


    Bob beams. ¡°See? She respects me.¡±


    ¡°Pretty sure she¡¯s buttering you up so she can roast you later,¡± I say.


    ¡°Silence!¡± Sintra snaps, her voice booming. ¡°You insolent fool, do you truly think you can mock me and live?¡±


    I shrug. ¡°I¡¯m already living a pretty ridiculous life. At this point, what¡¯s a little more mockery?¡±


    She growls, frustration leaking through her villain act. ¡°Do you not take me seriously at all?¡±


    ¡°No offense,¡± I say, ¡°but you¡¯re giving off more ¡®theater major¡¯ vibes than ¡®dark overlord.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Greg!¡± Bob yells. ¡°She¡¯s going to kill us!¡±


    Sintra exhales sharply, clearly trying to regain her composure. She steps down from her throne, her dress flowing unnaturally behind her. ¡°Enough games. You will bow before me, or you will perish!¡±


    ¡°Bow?¡± I repeat, pretending to think about it. ¡°Is there a third option? Like, maybe a nice chat?¡±


    Bob groans and steps forward. ¡°Ignore him! Sintra, your reign of terror ends here. The prophecy¡ª¡±


    She cuts him off with a laugh. ¡°The prophecy! Oh, you sweet, naive fool. Do you even know what it truly says?¡±


    Bob hesitates. ¡°Of course! It says I¡¯ll defeat you and save the world!¡±


    Her grin widens. ¡°Does it? Or does it say the Chosen One will attempt to defeat me? There¡¯s a difference.¡±


    Bob glances back at me, uncertainty creeping into his expression. ¡°Greg, is there a difference?¡±


    ¡°Oh, definitely,¡± I say, smirking. ¡°It¡¯s like when someone says, ¡®I¡¯ll try to make it to your party.¡¯ They¡¯re definitely not coming.¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Sintra says, pointing at me like we¡¯re on the same side now. ¡°Finally, someone gets it.¡±


    Bob looks between us, completely confused. ¡°Greg, whose side are you on?¡±


    ¡°Yours, obviously,¡± I say, jabbing my spear into the ground. ¡°But that doesn¡¯t mean she¡¯s wrong about the prophecy being vague. It¡¯s probably written in riddle form or something.¡±


    ¡°It is written in riddle form,¡± Sintra says, sighing. ¡°Honestly, it¡¯s exhausting. Can¡¯t anyone just say what they mean anymore?¡±


    ¡°I know, right?¡± I say, shaking my head. ¡°Just once, I¡¯d like to see a prophecy that¡¯s straightforward. Like, ¡®Greg saves the day by pulling a lever. The end.¡¯¡±


    Sintra¡¯s eyes narrow. ¡°You¡¯re mocking me again.¡±


    ¡°Only a little,¡± I admit. ¡°But in my defense, you make it really easy.¡±


    ¡°Greg, stop!¡± Bob yells. ¡°This is serious!¡±


    Sintra rolls her eyes. ¡°Oh, relax, Chosen One. I¡¯m going to destroy you either way. Let the fool have his fun while it lasts.¡±


    I flash her a grin. ¡°See? She gets me.¡±


    Bob groans. ¡°Why are you like this?¡±


    Before I can answer, Sintra slams her staff into the ground, and the room shakes. ¡°Enough chatter! Prepare to face my ultimate power!¡±


    ¡°Ah, there¡¯s the villain monologue again,¡± I say, bracing myself. ¡°We¡¯ve officially hit Act Three.¡±


    Sintra snarls, her eyes glowing. ¡°Laugh while you can, Greg the Fool. Because your end is coming!¡±


    Bob raises his sword, and I ready my spear.


    ¡°Here we go,¡± I say. ¡°Another Tuesday in paradise.¡±

 Chapter 15

    The room erupts into chaos faster than I can process what¡¯s happening. One second, Sintra¡¯s standing there looking all smug, like, ¡°I¡¯m about to destroy you with my ultimate power.¡± Classic villain vibes.


    And then? Goblins. Everywhere.


    They pour in from the shadows, screeching and wielding weapons that look like they were stolen from a garbage heap.


    One of them charges at me with what appears to be a sharpened spatula. Seriously? Who arms goblins with kitchen utensils?


    ¡°Greg! They¡¯re attacking!¡± Bob yells, stating the obvious as he swings his sword like a toddler trying to hit a pi?ata.


    ¡°Yeah, I noticed!¡± I shout back, ducking under a goblin¡¯s wildly flailing axe. I jab my spear into its side. It yelps and runs off, saying something about unfair advantages.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got this!¡± Bob says, his voice shaking with equal parts determination and panic. He swings his sword again, narrowly missing a goblin¡¯s head. Unfortunately, he also loses his balance and ends up flat on his back.


    ¡°You okay down there?¡± I ask, stabbing another goblin who thought it was a good idea to charge me.


    Bob scrambles to his feet, his face red. ¡°I¡¯m fine! Totally fine! Just¡­ strategy. I¡¯m luring them into a false sense of security.¡±


    ¡°Sure you are,¡± I say, spinning around to block an aggressive goblin armed with a frying pan. ¡°Keep up the good work, Chosen One.¡±


    He narrows his eyes at me but doesn¡¯t respond. Instead, he charges into the fray, yelling something about destiny and honor. It¡¯s almost inspiring¡ªuntil he trips over a loose stone and faceplants. Again.


    I sigh. ¡°Bob, I swear, if you get yourself killed, I¡¯m not filling out the paperwork.¡±


    The goblins are relentless, swarming around us like mosquitoes on a humid day. My spear flashes left, right, and center, keeping them at bay.


    But there¡¯s no end to them. One of them actually tries to bite me. Bite me. Who does that?


    ¡°Bob!¡± I yell, dodging another attack. ¡°A little help here?¡±Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    He¡¯s on his feet now, swinging his sword with slightly more precision. ¡°I¡¯ve got this!¡± he yells back, slicing through a goblin¡¯s crudely made shield. His confidence lasts all of three seconds before another goblin tackles him to the ground.


    ¡°Greg! Help!¡±


    I roll my eyes, stabbing the goblin currently trying to grab my spear before sprinting over to him.


    With a quick jab, I knock the goblin off his chest and pull Bob to his feet. ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± I say, glaring at him. ¡°Again.¡±


    ¡°I had it under control,¡± he says, brushing himself off.


    ¡°Sure you did.¡±


    We¡¯re holding our ground, somehow, despite Bob¡¯s complete inability to stand upright for more than two minutes. He actually manages to take down a few goblins.


    I¡¯ll admit, he looks kind of heroic for a moment¡­ until he swings too hard and his sword flies out of his hand. It lands somewhere in the sea of goblins.


    ¡°Oops,¡± he says.


    ¡°Oops?¡± I repeat, jabbing another goblin in the gut. ¡°This is not an ¡®oops¡¯ situation, Bob!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll get it back!¡± he says, diving into the swarm of goblins. Because of course he does.


    I lose sight of him almost immediately, too busy trying to keep myself alive.


    The goblins keep coming.


    My arms ache from swinging my spear. I¡¯m about to yell for Bob when I hear a loud, triumphant ¡°Aha!¡±


    He emerges from the chaos, sword in hand, looking overly pleased with himself. ¡°I told you I¡ª¡±


    A goblin tackles him from behind, and he goes down like a sack of potatoes. Again.


    I¡¯m about to run to him when the room suddenly goes quiet. Eerily quiet. The goblins freeze, their glowing yellow eyes turning toward the throne. Sintra stands there, her staff glowing with a purple light.


    ¡°Enough!¡± she roars, her voice echoing through the chamber.


    The goblins scatter, retreating into the shadows.


    I step forward, gripping my spear tightly. ¡°Looks like your minions couldn¡¯t handle us.¡± I try to sound cocky even though I¡¯m one swing away from collapsing.


    Sintra smirks. Her eyes lock onto Bob, who is still struggling to get up. ¡°Oh, they served their purpose,¡± she says, her tone dripping with smugness. ¡°They distracted you.¡±


    Before I can react, she waves her staff. Purple tendrils of magic shoot out, wrapping around Bob. He yelps, his sword clattering to the ground as he¡¯s lifted into the air.


    ¡°Hey!¡± I shout, charging toward her.


    With a flick of her wrist, the tendrils lash out. They slam me against the wall. My spear falls from my hand as I hit the stone hard enough to see stars.


    ¡°Greg!¡± Bob shouts, struggling against the magic holding him.


    ¡°Let him go!¡± I manage to gasp, trying to push myself up.


    Sintra laughs, a cold sound that sends a chill down my spine. ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t think so. This one¡±¡ªshe gestures at Bob¡ª¡°is far too important. You, on the other hand¡­¡± Her eyes flick to me, filled with disdain. ¡°You¡¯re just a distraction.¡±


    ¡°Distraction?¡± I snap, dragging myself to my feet. ¡°Lady, I¡¯m the only reason he¡¯s still alive.¡±


    She tilts her head, considering me. ¡°Perhaps. But that ends now.¡±


    With another wave of her staff, the tendrils tighten around Bob. He lets out a strangled gasp.


    Then, Sintra vanishes in a swirl of dark magic, taking Bob with her.


    The room falls silent. The goblins are gone. Bob is gone.


    I¡¯m standing there. Alone.

 Chapter 16

    I¡¯m standing in the middle of the empty room, gripping my spear like it¡¯s going to give me answers. It doesn¡¯t. Bob is gone. Sintra is gone. The goblins are gone. And I¡¯m left standing here like the universe¡¯s most useless gate guard.


    For the first time in forever, I feel hollow. Not the ¡°I skipped lunch, and now my stomach is staging a protest¡± kind of hollow. No, this is worse. It¡¯s the ¡°I let the Chosen One get kidnapped by a glow-stick-wielding villain while I ate floor¡± kind of hollow.


    I pick up my spear and start the journey back to the castle. My boots squelch with every step. Of course, they¡¯re still full of swamp muck. Because why not? If I¡¯m going to be miserable, might as well go all in.


    When I reach the castle gates a few days later, Dave is there. He¡¯s leaning against the wall, eating an apple.


    ¡°You¡¯re back,¡± he says, taking another bite. ¡°Where¡¯s Bob?¡±


    ¡°Gone,¡± I say, walking past him.


    Dave raises an eyebrow. ¡°Gone as in dead? Or gone as in kidnapped?¡±


    I glare at him. ¡°What kind of question is that?¡±


    ¡°A serious one,¡± he says, following me as I stomp toward the throne room. ¡°Because there are different forms to fill out. If he¡¯s dead, it¡¯s Form 42-A. If he¡¯s kidnapped, it¡¯s Form 19-B. And if he¡¯s just missing¡ª¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not ¡®just missing,¡¯¡± I snap. ¡°The villain took him. Poof. Gone. Kidnapped.¡±


    Dave whistles. ¡°Form 19-B it is. The king¡¯s going to love that.¡±


    I don¡¯t reply because I¡¯m already dreading what¡¯s coming.


    When I get to the throne room, King Marcus is sitting on his oversized golden throne. His stupid pineapple hat is back. Though I can¡¯t tell if this is the same one or a backup hat. Either way, it¡¯s still hideous.


    ¡°Guard Greg,¡± he booms when he sees me. ¡°Explain yourself!¡±This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    I step forward and bow awkwardly. ¡°Your Majesty, I¡­ I failed.¡±


    He narrows his eyes. ¡°Failed how?¡±


    ¡°The villain kidnapped the Chosen One,¡± I admit. ¡°She used some kind of purple noodle spell and just¡­ took him.¡±


    ¡°Noodle spell?¡± The king raises an eyebrow.


    ¡°That¡¯s not the official term,¡± I mumble.


    The king sighs dramatically, like I¡¯ve ruined his whole day. ¡°This is unacceptable. Do you know how much effort we put into training the Chosen One?¡±


    ¡°None?¡± I guess.


    ¡°Exactly!¡± he shouts, slamming a fist on the armrest of his throne. ¡°He came pre-trained. Do you have any idea how rare that is?¡±


    I resist the urge to roll my eyes. ¡°Your Majesty, I¡¯ll do whatever it takes to make this right.¡±


    ¡°Whatever it takes?¡± He taps his chin, clearly savoring the moment. ¡°Very well. Your punishment will be severe.¡±


    I brace myself. Here it comes. Dungeon duty. Public flogging. Or worse¡­ pineapple hat duty.


    ¡°I sentence you,¡± he declares, ¡°to¡­ fill out the necessary paperwork.¡±


    I blink. ¡°Paperwork?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± he says, nodding. ¡°Specifically, Form 19-B: Hero Kidnapped During Active Quest. And Form 19-C: Villainous Gloating Observed. Oh, and don¡¯t forget the extra 19-C-2: Witness Testimony Of Monologues.¡±


    ¡°Is that even a thing?¡± I ask, half horrified, half impressed.


    ¡°It is now,¡± he says, smirking.


    ¡°You¡¯re punishing me with paperwork?¡±


    ¡°Not just paperwork,¡± he says. ¡°You must make sure every form is signed and stamped by the Royal Department of Absolutely Everything.¡±


    I groan. ¡°Your Majesty, with all due respect, wouldn¡¯t it be more productive to send me after Bob?¡±


    The king leans back, his smirk widening. ¡°And risk you failing again? I think not. The kingdom doesn¡¯t need another incident.¡±


    ¡°Another incident?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± he says, gesturing vaguely. ¡°Last time, we lost a Chosen One to a bridge troll because someone didn¡¯t file Form 36-A: Request for Bridge Repairs. Do you see the stakes here?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m beginning to,¡± I say.


    He claps his hands. ¡°Good! Now, get to work. And don¡¯t even think about skipping the appendix on page forty-two. That¡¯s where the fun begins.¡±


    Fun. Right.


    I turn to leave, already dreading the mountain of papers waiting for me.


    ¡°Oh, and Greg?¡± the king calls after me.


    ¡°Yes, Your Majesty?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t mess up the margins,¡± he says, his tone suddenly serious. ¡°You know how the Department feels about crooked lines.¡±


    ¡°Noted,¡± I say through gritted teeth.


    Dave¡¯s waiting for me outside, looking way too amused. ¡°So, how¡¯d it go?¡±


    I glare at him. ¡°You¡¯re helping me.¡±


    ¡°Nope,¡± he says, tossing his apple core. ¡°I don¡¯t do paperwork. That¡¯s Form 12-F, and I¡¯m exempt.¡±


    ¡°Exempt?¡±


    ¡°Fine print,¡± he says, grinning. ¡°Good luck, buddy.¡±


    As he walks away, whistling a tune, I seriously consider using my spear for something other than goblins.


    But for now, I head to the Department, wondering if Sintra has a job opening for minions. Because honestly? It might be an upgrade.

 Chapter 17

    I¡¯m standing at the massive stone archway of the Royal Department of Absolutely Everything. Carved into the granite is the slogan: ¡°Because No Task Is Too Small, and Every Task Is Too Big.¡± Beneath it, someone has added in smaller letters: ¡°And Absolutely Everything Takes Forever.¡±


    I¡¯d laugh if it weren¡¯t so painfully accurate.


    Inside, it¡¯s chaos. Rows of desks stretch farther than the eye can see, each one manned by a worried clerk. Scrolls, quills, and ink bottles are scattered everywhere.


    Overhead, a giant clock ticks loudly, though none of the hands are pointing to any recognizable hour. Somewhere in the distance, I hear someone crying. I¡¯m not sure if it¡¯s a clerk or a customer.


    A desk with a giant sign that says ¡°QUEST INTAKE¡± is just ahead. I shuffle forward, boots still squelching with swamp muck.


    The clerk doesn¡¯t look up as I approach. She¡¯s wearing tiny spectacles and has a quill tucked behind one ear. Her nameplate reads: ¡°Martha, Chief Form Sorter.¡±


    ¡°Name?¡± she asks, monotone.


    ¡°Greg,¡± I say. ¡°Royal Gate Guard. Hero recently¡­ kidnapped.¡±


    Her quill scratches across a piece of parchment. She finally looks up, eyes narrowing at my boots. ¡°You¡¯re tracking muck on my floor.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not your floor,¡± I say, already regretting my tone.


    Her lips thin. ¡°It¡¯s my desk¡¯s floor, and I don¡¯t appreciate it.¡±


    ¡°Noted,¡± I mumble.


    ¡°Purpose of visit?¡± she asks.


    ¡°Filing paperwork for a hero being kidnapped,¡± I say. ¡°Form 19-B. Also, apparently, Form 19-C and 19-C-2.¡±


    Her quill pauses. ¡°Ah, villainous gloating and monologue testimony. A busy day.¡±


    She reaches under the desk and plunks down a massive stack of parchment. ¡°Here you go,¡± she says, sounding almost smug. ¡°Start with the first section: Incident Description.¡±


    I drag the stack to a nearby table and sit down, staring at the first page.


    <blockquote>


    Form 19-B: Hero Kidnapped During Active Quest


    Section 1: Describe the Incident in Detail. Use complete sentences. Do not exceed 500 words.


    </blockquote>


    I dip the quill into the ink and start writing.


    Sintra, wielding a glowing purple staff, used some sort of¡ªwhat I¡¯m calling¡ªnoodle spell to attack me. While I was busy eating floor, she took Bob and vanished. It happened faster than I could¡­


    I pause. I can feel Martha¡¯s judgmental eyes on me from across the room. I cross out ¡°eating floor¡± and replace it with ¡°being temporarily disabled.¡±Stolen story; please report.


    Great. This is going to be a long day.


    The next section is even worse.


    <blockquote>


    Section 2: Rate the Villain¡¯s Gloating.


    On a scale from 1 to 10, how impressive was the gloating? (1 = Barely Noticeable, 10 = Shakespearean Speech)


    </blockquote>


    I groan. Are they serious?


    I think back to Sintra¡¯s evil laugh and how she waved her glowing staff around like she¡¯d just won a talent show.


    I write: ¡°5. Overly theatrical but lacked originality.¡±


    <blockquote>


    Section 3: Describe Any Monologues Delivered by the Villain. Attach additional pages if necessary.


    </blockquote>


    ¡°Attach additional pages?¡± I ask. ¡°How much monologuing do they think happened?¡±


    I grab another sheet and start scribbling.


    ***


    Three hours later, I¡¯m halfway through the stack. My hand cramps, my stomach growls, and my boots are somehow even squelchier than before.


    I flip to the next section.


    <blockquote>


    Section 12: Witness Details


    Was there anyone else present during the incident? (Circle all that apply.)


    ¡õ Other heroes


    ¡õ Villain minions


    ¡õ Random bystanders


    ¡õ Livestock


    </blockquote>


    I circle ¡°Villain minions.¡±


    ***


    Finally, I reach the last section.


    <blockquote>


    Section 42: Reflection and Lessons Learned


    What could you have done differently to prevent the incident?


    </blockquote>


    I stare at the question, the quill hovering above the parchment. What could I have done differently? Not eaten floor, for one. Paid more attention?


    I sigh and write: ¡°Next time, don¡¯t let Sintra turn me into a human pancake.¡±


    By the time I¡¯m done, the stack of forms is taller than it was when I started. I lug it back to Martha¡¯s desk and drop it with a satisfying thunk.


    She looks at it, unimpressed. ¡°You¡¯ll need to get this stamped.¡±


    ¡°Stamped?!¡± I ask. ¡°It¡¯s already signed.¡±


    ¡°Stamped by the Sub-Department of Heroic Mishaps,¡± she says, pointing to another desk at the far end of the room.


    I follow her finger and groan. The line for the Sub-Department of Heroic Mishaps is at least a mile long. Someone at the front is arguing with a clerk about whether their enchanted goat counts as ¡°collateral damage.¡±


    I wonder again if Sintra has any openings for minions. At least she¡¯d pay me in something other than misery.


    ***


    As I wait in line, I think about Bob. He¡¯s out there somewhere, probably chained up in a villain¡¯s lair. Or worse, forced to listen to more of Sintra¡¯s monologues.


    I have to find him. I have to make this right.


    But first, I have to get this stupid paperwork stamped.


    The line stretches forever. Ahead of me stands a glowing figure that looks like it was made from starlight.


    I can¡¯t help myself. ¡°Long line, huh?¡±


    The figure turns, and their face¡­ shifts. One second it¡¯s all-knowing and godlike. The next, it¡¯s just a face, unimpressed. ¡°You have no idea. I¡¯ve been here for three hours.¡±


    ¡°Three hours?¡± I frown. ¡°What are you even here for?¡±


    He sighs, and I swear the air around him ripples. ¡°A typo on my inter-dimensional permit.¡±


    I squint. ¡°Inter-dimensional permit?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± He rolls his eyes. ¡°The Department marked me down for ¡®Inter-Dimensional Chaos,¡¯ when it¡¯s supposed to say ¡®Inter-Dimensional Order.¡¯ Do you have any idea what kind of reputation that gives me?¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­ bad?¡±


    ¡°Terrible!¡± He waves his hand. For a split second, I see a swirling vortex of stars. ¡°Do you know how hard it is to explain a typo to a talking sun?¡±


    ¡°Suns talk?¡± I ask, before I can stop myself.


    ¡°Not well,¡± he says, rubbing his forehead. ¡°Mostly in haikus.¡±


    I nod. ¡°Paperwork¡¯s the worst. One time I had to file a goblin theft report, and they made me categorize everything by hat size. Absolute nonsense.¡±


    The figure freezes. Then he leans in, cosmic energy radiating off him. ¡°Wait, they¡¯re still making you do the hat size thing? I thought I fixed that two million years ago!¡±


    I tilt my head. ¡°You fixed it?¡±


    He holds out a hand, expectantly. ¡°Vortagos. Balancer of Universes.¡±


    I shake it. ¡°Greg. Guard of Gates.¡±


    Vortagos stares at me for a moment. ¡°Guard of Gates?¡±


    ¡°Yup.¡±


    He nods slowly. ¡°Cool.¡±

 Chapter 18

    I¡¯m back at the gate. The same gate I¡¯ve been guarding for what feels like forever. The sun¡¯s too hot. The wind¡¯s too cold. And my boots are still swampy. The only thing that hasn¡¯t changed is Dave, who¡¯s leaning against the wall like it¡¯s his personal recliner.


    ¡°You¡¯re back,¡± he says, not even looking up from his apple. ¡°How¡¯d the paperwork go?¡±


    I groan. ¡°Horrible. I think it was designed to break me.¡±


    ¡°Shocker,¡± Dave says, taking a bite of his apple. ¡°You get it stamped?¡±


    ¡°Of course I got it stamped.¡± I scowl at him. ¡°You think I¡¯d come back here if I didn¡¯t?¡±


    He shrugs. ¡°Stranger things have happened. Like you willingly leaving the gate in the first place.¡±


    I glare at him. ¡°You¡¯re hilarious.¡±


    He smirks. ¡°So, meet anyone interesting?¡±


    I think back for a moment. There was that one glowing guy in line¡­ What was his name? Vince? Victor? Something like that. He was mad about a typo on his paperwork. ¡°Nah. Pretty normal day.¡±


    Dave tosses his apple core over his shoulder, probably aiming for the exact same mud puddle he¡¯s hit a thousand times. ¡°So, what¡¯s next? You gonna stay here and guard the gate until another Chosen One stumbles through?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the plan.¡±


    He laughs, short and sharp. ¡°Good plan. Really solid. Definitely not the plan of someone who just lost their hero to an evil noodle witch.¡±


    ¡°Her name¡¯s¡­ something¡­¡±Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    ¡°Whatever,¡± he says, waving a hand. ¡°Point is, you¡¯re just gonna let her keep Bob?¡±


    I grip my spear a little tighter, my stomach twisting. ¡°Protocol says I guard the gate.¡±


    ¡°Right. Protocol,¡± he says, nodding. ¡°And what¡¯s the protocol for when the Chosen One gets snatched by the villain?¡±


    I don¡¯t answer. Mostly because there isn¡¯t one. Protocol stops at ¡°fill out Form 19-B.¡±


    Dave lets out a low whistle. ¡°Wow. You¡¯re really just¡­ staying here.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± I snap. ¡°That¡¯s my job.¡±


    ¡°Your job,¡± he repeats, like he¡¯s testing the words. ¡°Standing here. Doing nothing. Letting Bob rot in some evil lair while you babysit a gate.¡±


    I bristle. ¡°It¡¯s not nothing.¡±


    He grins. ¡°You¡¯re right. Sometimes you have to yell ¡®Halt!¡¯ at travelers. Very heroic.¡±


    I open my mouth to argue. But the words stick in my throat. Because he¡¯s not entirely wrong, and that¡¯s the worst part.


    Dave picks at his nails, completely unfazed. ¡°You know what I think?¡±


    ¡°Do I want to know?¡±


    He ignores me. ¡°I think standing here¡¯s the easiest thing you¡¯ve ever done. And now that something actually matters, you¡¯re scared.¡±


    ¡°Scared?¡± I scoff, but it comes out weaker than I¡¯d like. ¡°I¡¯m not scared.¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± he says, smirking again. ¡°That¡¯s why you¡¯re clinging to protocol like it¡¯s your mom¡¯s apron strings.¡±


    I grip my spear so tightly my knuckles turn white. ¡°What do you want me to do, Dave? Go after him? Storm the lair alone?¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡± He shrugs like it¡¯s the most obvious thing in the world. ¡°At least you¡¯d be doing something.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not¡ª¡± I stop myself. Because deep down, I know he¡¯s right.


    The silence stretches between us. Dave yawns, like this conversation isn¡¯t life-changing for me and mildly inconvenient for him.


    ¡°Good luck,¡± he says, pushing off the wall. ¡°If you die, I¡¯m not filling out the paperwork.¡±


    ¡°Thanks for the support,¡± I say.


    He starts to walk away but pauses. He looks back over his shoulder. ¡°Oh, and Greg?¡±


    ¡°What now?¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re going to bet on anything, bet on yourself,¡± he says, smirking. ¡°Crazy works better than standing still.¡±


    I watch him go, his carefree whistle fading into the distance. Then I look at the gate. The same stupid gate I¡¯ve been guarding for years. It¡¯s just a gate. It doesn¡¯t need me. Not really.


    But Bob does.


    I stand up, grabbing my spear and slinging it over my shoulder. The wind picks up, making my cloak flap behind me like it¡¯s trying to be dramatic. Finally.


    ¡°Alright, Sintra,¡± I say to myself. ¡°Let¡¯s see how you like it when the guard leaves his gate.¡±

 Chapter 19

    Breaking into the king¡¯s private stash of legendary weapons isn¡¯t in the gate guard handbook. But I¡¯m out of options. And if I¡¯m going to save Bob from Sintra, I need something a little more intimidating than my standard-issue spear and a bad attitude.


    The massive stone doors in front of me are carved with scenes of legendary battles. Above them, an inscription reads: ¡°FOR HEROES ONLY.¡±


    I glance around, making sure the courtyard is clear. ¡°Okay, Greg,¡± I mutter to myself. ¡°This is either the worst idea you¡¯ve ever had, or the best. Probably both.¡±


    I pull on the door¡¯s massive handle. It doesn¡¯t budge. Of course it doesn¡¯t. It¡¯s the royal armory, not a bakery.


    There¡¯s a glowing rune above the door that probably means it¡¯s enchanted shut. I stare at it, thinking.


    ¡°Alright,¡± I say aloud, setting my regular spear down. ¡°Time for Plan B.¡±


    Plan B is technically just Plan A, but with more brute force.


    I grab a nearby broom and wedge it under the rune. With a grunt, I push, twist, and jiggle until the glowing magic fizzles out with a disappointed hiss.


    ¡°Magic door: zero. Gate guard: one,¡± I say.


    The doors creak open slowly, revealing a room so over-the-top it almost blinds me. The royal armory isn¡¯t just a storage room. It¡¯s a museum to crazy weapons.


    I step inside, and the air shifts, heavy with power and the faint smell of lavender. Why lavender? No clue.


    Weapons of every size and shape line the walls, each more ridiculous than the last. This is where heroes go to shop when they have too much money and not enough sense.


    I close the doors behind me, ignoring the faint sense of guilt clawing at the edges of my brain. It¡¯s not stealing if you¡¯re doing it for a good cause, right?


    ¡°Alright,¡± I say, cracking my knuckles. ¡°Time to find something that says ¡®I¡¯m here to save my friend and ruin your day.¡¯¡±


    The first thing that catches my eye is a sword so big it could double as a surfboard. Its blade glows with shifting colors, and its hilt is covered with jewels that probably each have their own backstory. The plaque beneath it reads: ¡°The Rainbow Reckoner: Sword of Ultimate Justice and Minor Property Damage.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, no. I¡¯d pull a muscle just trying to lift it.¡±


    Next is a hammer that¡¯s literally on fire. It¡¯s floating in midair, surrounded by swirling flames that I can feel even from ten feet away. The tag says: ¡°Flaming Smite: Caution, Hot.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not dragging a bonfire around. Hard pass.¡±


    There¡¯s a bow that whispers unsettling threats in a deep voice every time I get near it. ¡°You¡¯ll never escape,¡± it hisses. ¡°I seeeeee youuuuu.¡± That¡¯s going to haunt me.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    Finally, in the back corner, something catches my eye. A spear. But not just any spear. Oh no. This thing is insane.


    The shaft is made of some kind of glowing crystal. The blade at the tip shines with an unnaturally sharp edge. And every so often, sparks shoots out, like it¡¯s getting impatient. It hums softly, the sound vibrating through my chest like it¡¯s alive.


    The plaque beneath it reads: ¡°The Spear of Absurd Glory: Glory for all, but mostly myself.¡±


    I grin. ¡°Perfect.¡±


    I grab the shaft. The moment my hand touches it, the spear vibrates. A deep, booming voice fills the room. ¡°Who dares attempt to wield The Spear of Absurd Glory?¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­ Greg,¡± I say. ¡°Royal Gate Guard.¡±


    The spear hums in a way that feels suspiciously like a laugh. ¡°Only the Chosen One may wield me.¡±


    I blink. ¡°Okay, but here¡¯s the thing¡­ I¡¯m going to save the Chosen One. So, technically, this is part of their heroic journey.¡±


    ¡°Nice try,¡± the spear replies, its voice dripping with skepticism. ¡°But you¡¯re not the Chosen One. You¡¯re just¡­ Greg.¡±


    ¡°Wow,¡± I mutter, narrowing my eyes. ¡°Rude.¡±


    ¡°Accurate.¡±


    I take a deep breath, trying to sound reasonable. ¡°Alright, hear me out. I¡¯m not keeping you. I¡¯m just borrowing you. For Bob. To help him fulfill his destiny.¡±


    The spear goes silent for a moment, then hums again. ¡°You intend to lie to a legendary weapon?¡±


    ¡°What? No!¡± I sputter. ¡°I mean¡­ okay, maybe a little. But it¡¯s for a good cause!¡±


    ¡°Lying is not heroic. You fail.¡±


    The spear vibrates one last time in my hands, then yanks itself free.


    I stumble back as it hovers midair, spinning like it¡¯s judging me.


    ¡°You¡¯re just Greg,¡± it says, almost smugly, before it shoots back to its stand. ¡°Goodbye.¡±


    I stare at it, mouth open. ¡°Goodbye? That¡¯s it? You¡¯re just going to sit there while I go save your precious Chosen One?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± it replies simply, the glow dimming like it¡¯s going to sleep.


    I groan and turn away. ¡°Useless oversized toothpick.¡±


    As I shuffle past another row of weapons, something catches my eye. It¡¯s¡­ not impressive. A sword, plain and unpolished, leaning against a corner of the wall like it¡¯s been forgotten. The hilt is chipped and the blade is dull. I squint at the inscription: ¡°The Blade of Aggressive-Aggressive: Because why be subtle?¡±


    Before I can take a step closer, the sword rattles and springs upright on its own.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s about time!¡± the sword snaps, its voice sharp and irritated. ¡°Do you have any idea how long I¡¯ve been waiting for someone to pick me up? Years. Decades, probably. And now you just stroll by, thinking you¡¯ll ignore me too?¡±


    I freeze. ¡°You¡­ talk?¡±


    ¡°Of course I talk!¡± she barks. ¡°I¡¯m proactive. Efficient. Assertive! Now, pick me up so we can get to work.¡±


    I glance at the rows of glowing, legendary weapons around me, then back at the chipped blade. ¡°You don¡¯t¡­ look like much.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sorry,¡± the sword says, voice dripping with sarcasm. ¡°Should I sparkle for you? Maybe shoot confetti out of the hilt? Pick me up, genius, and you¡¯ll see what I can do.¡±


    Against my better judgment, I reach for the hilt. The moment my fingers wrap around it, the sword vibrates with energy. Its weight is surprisingly light. It feels¡­ right.


    ¡°There you go!¡± she says, voice filled with enthusiasm. ¡°See? Perfect fit. Now, what¡¯s the plan? We smashing skulls, slicing villains, or just looking scary? Wait, don¡¯t answer. We¡¯re doing all of it.¡±


    I blink at her. ¡°Are you¡­ evil?¡±


    The sword pauses, as if choosing her words carefully. ¡°Define evil.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not a no,¡± I say flatly.


    ¡°Look,¡± she says, exasperated. ¡°Every legendary weapon has its thing. Some glow, some hum, some shoot lasers. Me? I might lean a little evil. But do you want to know what else I do?¡±


    I brace myself. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I win,¡± she says with an air of finality. ¡°And isn¡¯t that what matters?¡±


    I hesitate, glancing at the dull, chipped blade. ¡°So¡­ you¡¯re evil, but you¡¯re good at it?¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± she says, filled with enthusiasm. ¡°And lucky for you, I¡¯m picky about my wielder. So congratulations, Greg. You¡¯re the morally ambiguous antihero of my dreams.¡±


    I groan. ¡°This feels like a terrible decision.¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± she says cheerfully. ¡°But you won¡¯t regret it. Probably.¡±

 Chapter 20

    Sintra reclines dramatically on her throne. The room is filled with purple light from the magic currently trapping Bob in midair. He dangles there, arms pinned to his sides, legs flopping helplessly. He sways slightly every time he tries to shift. It¡¯s not his proudest moment.


    ¡°So,¡± Bob says, trying and failing to sound calm, ¡°what are you planning to do with me? Torture? Turn me into a frog? Force me to do your taxes?¡±


    ¡°W-Why would I need you for taxes? I already have a tax guy! Not that it¡¯s any of your business!¡± She flicks her fingers, and the magic tightens around him just enough to make him squeak. ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll just keep you as a decorative Chosen One. You¡¯d look excellent as a chandelier.¡±


    Bob grins nervously. ¡°You think I¡¯d add to the vibe?¡±


    She glares at him. ¡°Don¡¯t flatter yourself.¡±


    He glares right back. ¡°You started it.¡±


    Sintra narrows her eyes and stands. Her black dress flows out behind her like it has its own fan.


    She stalks toward him, heels clicking on the stone floor. ¡°You know, you¡¯re taking this whole ¡®captured hero¡¯ thing rather lightly. Do you even understand the gravity of the situation?¡±


    Bob nods. ¡°Yeah. Gravity¡¯s what¡¯s keeping me dangling like this, right?¡±


    Sintra groans, dragging a hand down her face. ¡°Ugh, you¡¯re lucky I¡¯m so talented or this would be a real waste.¡±


    ¡°Hey, this magic is top-notch,¡± Bob says, twisting in his glowing bonds. ¡°Really secure. Zero wiggle room. A solid nine out of ten.¡±


    ¡°Only nine?¡± Her voice is icy, but there¡¯s a twitch of amusement at the corner of her mouth.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s purple,¡± Bob says. ¡°I¡¯m more of a blue guy.¡±


    Sintra stares at him, her eyes narrowing.


    Then, with a frustrated huff, she turns around and walks back to her throne. She slumps into it, looking less like a terrifying villain and more like someone who just found out they have to work on a weekend. ¡°I don¡¯t even know why I¡¯m bothering with you.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I know why.¡± Bob grins again. ¡°It¡¯s the prophecy. You¡¯re scared I¡¯ll defeat you.¡±The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    She snorts. ¡°The prophecy? That riddle nonsense? Please. I¡¯m more afraid of the rising real estate prices in this area than I am of you.¡±


    Bob blinks. ¡°Wait. What?¡±


    Sintra gestures grandly at her surroundings. ¡°Do you have any idea how much it costs to maintain a castle like this? Towers don¡¯t come cheap, you know.¡±


    Bob tilts his head, interested despite himself. ¡°You¡¯re saying being a villain isn¡¯t profitable?¡±


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s very profitable,¡± she says, tapping a finger against the armrest. ¡°But only if you¡¯re lucky enough to inherit a castle. I had to buy this one. Do you know how competitive the market is for evil lairs? Everyone wants a tower these days.¡±


    Bob nods supportively. ¡°That does sound rough. Did you at least get a good deal?¡±


    Her eyes darken. For a moment, she looks genuinely pained. ¡°Don¡¯t get me started on the bidding war.¡±


    There¡¯s a long pause as Bob dangles, processing. Finally, he asks, ¡°Is this the part where you start monologuing?¡±


    Sintra perks up immediately. ¡°Oh, you¡¯d like that, wouldn¡¯t you? A classic villain monologue, just for you.¡± She stands, flourishing her dress again. ¡°Fine. Let¡¯s talk about the traps.¡± Her voice drops into a dangerous tone, and Bob can practically hear the invisible thunderclap. ¡°Do you know how many traps I¡¯ve set up in this castle?¡±


    ¡°Nope,¡± Bob says. ¡°But I¡¯m guessing it¡¯s enough to make a hero hate his life.¡±


    She smirks. ¡°Exactly. The Spikes of Impending Doom. Classic, I know, but they never fail to intimidate. The Endless Hall of False Exits? Truly underrated. And, of course, the Room Where the Floor is Lava. Because what¡¯s a villain¡¯s lair without lava, am I right?¡±


    Bob raises an eyebrow. ¡°You ever think these traps are a little¡­ clich¨¦?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re not clich¨¦! They¡¯re iconic! There¡¯s a difference,¡± she snaps. ¡°Oh, and let¡¯s not forget the minions.¡±


    Bob raises an eyebrow. ¡°The ones who keep tripping over their own feet?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t insult my minions! They¡¯re¡­ they¡¯re just clumsy sometimes, that¡¯s all!¡± she says defensively. ¡°And besides, your friend¡­ What¡¯s his name? Grog? George?¡±


    ¡°Greg,¡± Bob corrects, his voice suddenly sharp. ¡°And he¡¯s coming for me.¡±


    That makes her laugh. A deep, rich laugh that echoes around the throne room. ¡°Greg? The gate guard? The one whose most impressive achievement is pulling a lever?¡±


    Bob glares at her, his jaw set. ¡°Greg¡¯s more than just a gate guard. He¡¯s¡­ he¡¯s resourceful. And clever. And¡­ and¡­¡±


    Sintra leans forward, her smirk growing. ¡°And what? Conveniently nearby?¡±


    Bob sputters. ¡°You¡¯ll see. He¡¯s probably on his way right now.¡±


    She rolls her eyes. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m shaking. Truly. Do you really think your friend is going to make it through my traps? Past my minions? To me?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Bob says firmly.


    ¡°Well, he¡¯d better hurry,¡± Sintra says, standing and raising her staff. Purple magic crackles around her, the light growing brighter and more menacing. ¡°Because I¡¯m done waiting.¡±


    The magic around Bob tightens, and he gasps. ¡°You¡¯re bluffing,¡± he says, though it sounds more like a plea than a challenge.


    Her grin widens. ¡°Oh, sweetie. I never bluff.¡±


    She raises her staff higher, and the purple light swirls into a vortex above her head. Bob squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself for whatever comes next.


    And then¡­ the castle starts to shake.


    Sintra freezes, her magic flickering. ¡°What in the¡ª?¡±


    Bob opens one eye, then the other. ¡°What was that?¡±

 Chapter 21

    I¡¯m staring up at the most ridiculous villain¡¯s lair I¡¯ve ever seen. And trust me, I¡¯ve seen a few. The castle is tall, black, and pointier than a porcupine. Lightning strikes in the distance. Not close enough to be dangerous, but enough to set the mood. Somewhere, a wolf howls. Because of course it does. Villains must have a manual for this sort of thing.


    ¡°You sure this is the place?¡± I ask the sword in my hand. I¡¯ve decided to call her Aggie because Aggressive-Aggressive is a mouthful. And honestly, Aggie fits. It¡¯s short. Sassy. Annoying. Just like the sword itself.


    Aggie hums in that way she does when she¡¯s being smug. ¡°Oh, it¡¯s the place. Look at it! Screaming villain vibes.¡±


    I squint at the castle. It¡¯s got towers. A moat. Gargoyles with glowing eyes. Very subtle. ¡°You think they have a gift shop?¡±


    ¡°Are you expecting a doormat that says ¡®Welcome, Chosen One¡¯?¡± Aggie says.


    I smirk. ¡°What¡¯s the plan?¡±


    Aggie vibrates, like she¡¯s gearing up for something dramatic. ¡°We don¡¯t go in.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I blink. ¡°You¡¯re kidding.¡±


    ¡°Nope,¡± Aggie says. ¡°We destroy the castle. From the outside. Efficient. Unexpected. Brilliant.¡±


    I snort. ¡°Destroy the castle? With what? My charming personality?¡±


    ¡°With me, obviously,¡± Aggie snaps. ¡°Do you see any other legendary weapons around here? No, because they¡¯re all too busy posing for statues while I¡¯m out here solving problems.¡±


    I shift on my feet, glancing back at the castle. ¡°You want me to just¡­ destroy the entire lair? What about Bob?¡±


    ¡°Bob¡¯s inside, sure,¡± Aggie says, ¡°but think about it. You blow the place up. The villain comes running out. Bam! You save Bob without having to deal with a single trap or monologue.¡±The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°That¡­ feels like a stretch.¡±


    ¡°Is it?¡± Aggie asks, dripping with mockery. ¡°Or is it genius?¡±


    I tilt my head. ¡°And how, exactly, am I supposed to destroy an entire castle with a sword? You planning to grow legs and karate chop the walls?¡±


    Aggie hums cryptically. ¡°Let¡¯s just say I¡¯ve got¡­ options.¡±


    I grip the hilt tighter. ¡°Define options.¡±


    ¡°Maybe I¡¯ve got some explosive energy stored up,¡± Aggie says. ¡°Or maybe I¡¯ve been holding back on showing you my true power.¡±


    I groan. ¡°This isn¡¯t the time for vague nonsense, Aggie. Either you can do it, or you can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I can,¡± Aggie says confidently. ¡°But the real question is: Are you ready?¡±


    ¡°For what? To become the idiot who blows up a castle and accidentally kills the hero?¡±


    ¡°Details, details,¡± Aggie says dismissively. ¡°Think of the drama! The villain stumbles out, coughing on rubble dust, demanding to know what¡¯s going on. And there you are, standing in the ashes, looking like a total genius.¡±


    ¡°Or,¡± I say, ¡°I blow up the castle, bury Bob under a mountain of debris, and end up explaining to the king why his Chosen One is now a pancake.¡±


    ¡°Pfft,¡± Aggie says. ¡°Bob¡¯s fine. He¡¯s got plot armor. It¡¯s you I¡¯m worried about.¡±


    ¡°Me?¡± I narrow my eyes. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re overthinking it,¡± Aggie says. ¡°Look, Greg, being a hero isn¡¯t about planning. It¡¯s about doing. Big, glorious actions that defy all logic and somehow work.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s your advice? ¡®Stop planning and do big things¡¯?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s my strategy,¡± Aggie says proudly. ¡°And you¡¯re welcome.¡±


    I stare at the castle, weighing my options. On one hand, this feels like the worst idea I¡¯ve ever had. And I once tried to make soup with a ladle as a pot.


    On the other hand¡­ it¡¯s Sintra¡¯s lair. It¡¯s begging to be destroyed. Loudly. Flashily. Aggie-style.


    ¡°Alright,¡± I say slowly. ¡°Let¡¯s say I¡¯m crazy enough to go along with this. What exactly do you want me to do?¡±


    Aggie hums again, her tone smug. ¡°Oh, you¡¯ll see. Just swing me and¡ª¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± I cut in. ¡°You don¡¯t even have a real plan, do you?¡±


    ¡°Do you have a real plan?¡± Aggie fires back. ¡°Or are we just going to stand here arguing while Bob is getting tortured?¡±


    I groan, lifting Aggie to eye level. ¡°If this goes wrong¡ª¡±


    Aggie interrupts with a laugh. ¡°It won¡¯t! Probably. Now, quit stalling. Let¡¯s give that castle the old razzle-dazzle.¡±


    I take a deep breath, tightening my grip on the hilt. This is a terrible idea. Possibly the worst idea.


    But for some reason, it also feels¡­ right?

 Chapter 22

    ¡°Alright, Aggie,¡± I say. ¡°Let¡¯s hear it. What¡¯s this big, impressive plan of yours?¡±


    Aggie hums, which somehow manages to sound both condescending and way too cheerful. ¡°Simple. Point me at the castle, swing me like you mean it, and let the magic happen.¡±


    I squint at the glowing blade. ¡°Swing you? That¡¯s the whole plan?¡±


    ¡°Trust me, Greg,¡± Aggie says, oozing smugness. ¡°This is going to be spectacular. Big. Flashy. Memorable.¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± I say, shifting my grip. ¡°And when this goes horribly wrong?¡±


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯ll go horribly wrong,¡± Aggie chirps. ¡°For them.¡±


    Against every ounce of common sense I have left¡ªwhich, let¡¯s be honest, isn¡¯t much¡ªI raise the sword.


    ¡°Alright,¡± I say. ¡°Here goes nothing.¡±


    The moment I swing, Aggie erupts with energy. Ancient runes flare to life along the blade, glowing in black and purple. A low hum builds in the air, like the universe itself is holding its breath.


    ¡°Behold!¡± Aggie¡¯s voice booms, more powerful than I¡¯ve ever heard her. ¡°The true power of aggressive-aggressive!¡±


    Light bursts from the sword, snaking through the air like a living serpent. Runes flicker into existence around the beam, spinning as if responding to an unseen rhythm. The energy spirals forward, slamming into the castle with a force that makes the ground shake.


    Then, the entire castle explodes. Like a fireworks show that doesn¡¯t believe in budgets.


    Towers crumble. Gargoyles shatter. Fireballs shoot into the sky for no apparent reason. Even the moat boils over, and I¡¯m pretty sure I hear screaming.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡°Oh, come on!¡± a voice shrieks from somewhere inside the chaos.


    A second later, Sintra comes flying out of the rubble. Her dress is still billowing because apparently, even explosions can¡¯t ruin her vibe.


    She lands a few feet away, brushing dust off her sleeve. ¡°What kind of lunatic just destroys someone¡¯s castle like that?! Do you have any idea how much time and money I spent?¡±


    ¡°Uh, no,¡± I say, resting Aggie on my shoulder. ¡°But I¡¯m guessing it¡¯s a lot?¡±


    ¡°A lot,¡± she hisses, throwing her arms out. ¡°Do you know how hard it is to find contractors willing to install traps? Let alone ones that work in lava zones?¡±


    ¡°To be fair,¡± I say, ¡°your traps didn¡¯t do much.¡±


    Her eye twitches. ¡°Because you didn¡¯t even use the traps! You¡­ you barbarian! You just blew everything up from the outside! Who even does that?¡±


    Aggie hums smugly. ¡°I do.¡±


    Sintra glares at the sword. ¡°Oh, of course you¡¯re one of those weapons. Always so flashy.¡±


    ¡°Flashy gets results,¡± Aggie says.


    ¡°This is so unfair,¡± Sintra says, pacing in a tight circle. ¡°I had plans! An epic final battle! Monologues! Spikes!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure it was very impressive,¡± I say, trying not to laugh. ¡°Maybe next time, start with the monologue and work your way up to the spikes.¡±


    She stops pacing and turns to me, her staff glowing with that purple light. ¡°You think this is funny?¡±


    ¡°A little,¡± I admit.


    She groans, complaining about ¡°idiots ruining everything.¡± Then, she steps aside to reveal Bob.


    He¡¯s tied up with purple tendrils of magic, dangling midair like an awkward balloon. His cape is twisted around one leg, and there¡¯s a smudge of dirt on his face.


    ¡°Greg!¡± he yells, flailing against the magic. ¡°You found me!¡±


    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°Congratulations, Bob. You¡¯ve officially been kidnapped. Hero status achieved.¡±


    ¡°Thanks?¡± he says, looking confused.


    Sintra crosses her arms, glaring at both of us. ¡°Ugh. Why did I even bother? You¡¯re all idiots.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s been mentioned,¡± I say, spinning Aggie lazily in my hand. ¡°So, what¡¯s next? Are we doing the whole final showdown thing, or should I just blow up the rest of your stuff now and call it a day?¡±


    Her eyes narrow, and the glow around her staff intensifies. ¡°Fine! If you¡¯re so desperate to lose, I¡¯ll fight! B-but don¡¯t expect me to hold back!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± I say, adjusting my grip on Aggie. ¡°You talk a big game, but can you actually back it up?¡±


    Sintra smirks, her staff crackling with raw energy. ¡°Oh, you¡¯ll see.¡±


    The air around us grows heavy, charged with magic and tension. Bob¡¯s still flailing in the background, yelling something about how ¡°he¡¯s got this.¡±


    I grip Aggie tighter, feeling the sword¡¯s energy pulse through me. This is it. The showdown.

 Chapter 23

    Sintra doesn¡¯t even wait for me to say something witty before launching a bolt of purple energy straight at my face.


    I duck, barely missing the magical death ray. It crashes into the rubble behind me, sending chunks of stone flying.


    ¡°Okay,¡± I say, adjusting my grip on Aggie. ¡°She¡¯s not messing around.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s trying too hard,¡± Aggie says. ¡°Bet her childhood doll collection was all mismatched.¡±


    Sintra glares at me, her cheeks slightly pink. ¡°What are you talking about?! Are you even taking this seriously?!¡±


    ¡°Oh, absolutely,¡± I say, sidestepping another magical blast. ¡°Taking it very seriously. Deadly seriously. Aggie, help me out here!¡±


    ¡°Swing, genius!¡± Aggie yells.


    I charge, lifting Aggie high. The blade hums, spitting out sparks like she¡¯s warming up for a light show.


    Sintra raises her staff, her eyes narrowing as she says something under her breath. A glowing purple shield forms in front of her.


    Our clash is instant and loud, like a drum solo gone rogue. Sparks and purple lightning fly everywhere. The ground shakes. My arms ache from the impact, and Aggie¡¯s vibrations are almost too much to handle.


    ¡°Gotcha!¡± I yell.


    ¡°You wish!¡± Sintra snaps back, pushing me away with a burst of magic.


    I stumble, nearly dropping Aggie, but manage to hold on.


    Sintra twirls her staff like it¡¯s a baton in a cheerleading routine. ¡°I was planning to toy with you a bit longer. But if you¡¯re going to be this annoying, I¡¯ll just end it now!¡±


    ¡°Oh no,¡± Aggie says. ¡°She¡¯s pulling out her ultimate move: talking us to death.¡±


    ¡°Shut up!¡± Sintra¡¯s cheeks are definitely red now. ¡°You¡¯re so annoying!¡±This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I say, grinning as I charge again. My sword¡ªahem, Aggie¡ªslashes through the air, aiming for her shield.


    She parries with her staff. For a moment, we¡¯re locked in place, energy crackling between us.


    ¡°You¡¯re stubborn,¡± she growls.


    ¡°You¡¯re dramatic,¡± I shoot back.


    Her eyes narrow. ¡°You¡¯re¡­ insufferable.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re¡­ not wrong.¡±


    She lets out a frustrated yell, shoving me back with another wave of magic.


    I land hard on my back, the wind knocked out of me. My chest heaves as I struggle to catch my breath.


    ¡°Greg, focus!¡± Aggie yells. ¡°She¡¯s getting serious!¡±


    ¡°No kidding.¡± I roll to my feet just in time to dodge another blast.


    Sintra is relentless. Her attacks come faster now, each one bigger and more chaotic than the last. Lightning. Fire. A cloud of glitter. Wait, glitter?


    ¡°What is this, an evil arts-and-crafts project?!¡± I shout, batting away a sparkly orb of doom.


    ¡°Magic is flexible!¡± she snaps, summoning a dozen floating swords that hover around her.


    ¡°Okay, that¡¯s cheating,¡± Aggie grumbles.


    ¡°No, it¡¯s strategy,¡± Sintra says smugly. Then she flicks her wrist. The swords fly at me like angry seagulls at a beach picnic.


    I spin, duck, and swing Aggie as fast as I can, deflecting most of the swords. But one grazes my shoulder, cutting through my armor. I hiss in pain.


    ¡°You okay?¡± Aggie asks, sounding less cocky now.


    ¡°Peachy,¡± I grunt, dodging another sword. ¡°Totally loving this whole ¡®getting stabbed by floating blades¡¯ thing going on.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Aggie says. ¡°Because I¡¯m running on fumes here.¡±


    ¡°What?!¡± My voice cracks as I barely block another magical attack. ¡°You didn¡¯t mention a fuel gauge!¡±


    ¡°Destroying a castle takes a lot out of me, alright? Cut me some slack.¡±


    Sintra smirks, catching the exchange. ¡°Running out of juice, are we? How tragic.¡±


    Her staff glows brighter, and I can feel the heat of her magic even from across the battlefield. She¡¯s winding up for something big.


    ¡°Greg!¡± Bob yells from his magical restraints. ¡°Don¡¯t let her win!¡±


    ¡°Thanks for the tip!¡± I yell back.


    I roll out of the way as a beam of energy scorches the ground where I was standing.


    Sintra points her staff at me. Suddenly, the air around me grows heavy. I can¡¯t move. It¡¯s like being trapped in a bubble of quicksand.


    She walks forward, her heels clicking on the cracked stone, and looks down at me with a mix of pity and triumph.


    ¡°This is where you fall,¡± she says softly, raising her staff. ¡°Any last words?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I say, struggling against the magical force pinning me. ¡°Your lair had terrible feng shui.¡±


    Her eye twitches. ¡°You¡¯re impossible.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re predictable,¡± I reply. ¡°What¡¯s next? An evil laugh?¡±


    Her lips open, but she clamps them shut. Her cheeks flush again. ¡°I don¡¯t have to laugh to win.¡±


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t hurt your credibility, though,¡± I manage to say, even as the magic presses harder against me.


    ¡°Enough!¡± she shouts, her staff glowing so brightly that I have to squint. The ground trembles. The air hums with power.


    For a second, everything is still.


    Then she activates the spell.

 Chapter 24

    ¡°Wait!¡± I yell, my voice cracking mid-word. Real smooth, Greg.


    Sintra freezes. Her glowing staff hovers inches from unleashing what I¡¯m sure is a painful death. Her face twitches, caught between her villainous smirk and what looks like curiosity.


    ¡°Wait?¡± she repeats, her tone drenched in sarcasm. ¡°You¡¯re about to be obliterated, and your grand strategy is ¡®wait¡¯?¡±


    I nod, still pinned by whatever magical nonsense she¡¯s using to hold me down. ¡°Yes. Wait. Dramatic pauses are very in right now. Builds tension.¡±


    Her staff doesn¡¯t move. ¡°You¡¯re stalling.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m negotiating,¡± I counter. ¡°Totally different.¡±


    Her eyebrow raises. For a moment, I think she might actually buy it.


    Then her smirk sharpens. ¡°Nice try, Greg. But you¡¯re the Chosen One¡¯s annoying sidekick. What could you possibly have to negotiate with?¡±


    ¡°Exactly!¡± I blurt out, my voice rising in pitch. ¡°I¡¯m not even the Chosen One! You can¡¯t get epic points for killing the sidekick. That¡¯s Villainy 101.¡±


    Her smirk falters. ¡°And why should I care about your survival?¡±


    ¡°Because,¡± I say, dragging the word out for maximum effect, ¡°if you spare me, I can be your new sidekick. Think about it. I¡¯ve got sarcasm, charm, and a certain¡­ flair.¡±


    ¡°Flair?¡± she repeats. ¡°That¡¯s your pitch? I should spare you because you¡¯re¡­ flairful?¡±


    ¡°¡®Flairful¡¯ is definitely a word,¡± I say. ¡°And yes, I bring value.¡±


    Sintra stares at me, her lips twitching like she¡¯s fighting a smile. ¡°You¡¯re an idiot.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re blushing,¡± I point out, unable to resist.


    ¡°I am not!¡± she snaps, her cheeks definitely a little redder.


    ¡°Sure,¡± I say, grinning. ¡°It¡¯s just the lighting. The very evil, lighting.¡±


    She huffs, her grip on the staff tightening. ¡°Do you have an actual reason for wasting my time, or is this some last-ditch effort to irritate me to death?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I have a reason,¡± I say, filling my tone with mystery. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to use this¡­¡±If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    Sintra hesitates, her eyes narrowing. ¡°Use what?¡±


    ¡°Wait, what?¡± Aggie chimes in. ¡°What are we using?¡±


    Sintra¡¯s gaze darts to Aggie, and her face does this thing. Half annoyed, half surprised. ¡°Your sword doesn¡¯t know what you¡¯re doing?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t look at me!¡± Aggie says defensively. ¡°I¡¯m as confused as you are. This is Greg we¡¯re talking about. He wings everything.¡±


    ¡°Thanks for the vote of confidence, Aggie,¡± I say. Then, with a flourish that I¡¯m sure looks way cooler in my head, I pull the amulet from my pocket.


    Sintra¡¯s eyes widen, and for once, she looks thrown off. ¡°Where¡­ where did you get that?¡±


    ¡°This?¡± I say, holding up the glowing piece of jewelry like it¡¯s a cheap souvenir. ¡°Oh, you mean the Amulet of Slightly Above Average Power?¡±


    Her jaw drops. ¡°You think¡­? No. No. Where did you get that?!¡±


    ¡°Long story,¡± I say, pretending to examine the amulet like I know what I¡¯m doing. ¡°Let¡¯s see¡­ a swamp, some mosquitoes, an oracle. Oh, and a donut. Can¡¯t forget the donut.¡±


    ¡°A¡­ donut?¡± Sintra looks like she¡¯s questioning every decision that brought her to this moment.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I say casually. ¡°Apparently, all it takes to get divine wisdom these days is a donut. Not even a fresh one, mind you. It was squished.¡±


    Sintra¡¯s mouth opens and closes like she¡¯s trying to form words but failing. Finally, she speaks. ¡°You bribed an oracle with a donut and this is what you walked away with?!¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± I say, tilting my head, ¡°there was also some vague prophecy stuff. But I tuned most of it out.¡±


    Her hands fly to her head. ¡°You¡¯re unbelievable!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been told.¡±


    She lowers her staff slightly, her expression shifting from furious to¡­ concerned? ¡°Greg, do you have any idea what you¡¯re holding?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± I say confidently. ¡°The Amulet of Slightly Above Average Power.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she says, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. ¡°That¡¯s the Amulet of Total Destruction.¡±


    My grin freezes. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, what?¡±


    ¡°The. Amulet. Of. Total. Destruction,¡± she says, pronouncing every word like she¡¯s explaining the concept of fire to a caveman. ¡°Do you know what that means?¡±


    ¡°That it¡¯s¡­ slightly above average at destroying things?¡± I guess.


    Sintra groans, dragging a hand down her face. ¡°Greg, that thing can destroy everything. Armies. Kingdoms. My castle.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± I say, glancing at the rubble behind her. ¡°Good thing the castle¡¯s already gone.¡±


    Her glare could melt steel. ¡°You absolute buffoon.¡±


    ¡°Hey, I¡¯m just trying to keep things interesting.¡± I pause, squinting at the amulet. ¡°But, uh¡­ just to clarify¡­ what happens if I activate this? Hypothetically speaking.¡±


    Sintra stiffens. Her usual scowl deepens, but there¡¯s something else flickering behind her eyes. Panic? ¡°You wouldn¡¯t dare,¡± she snaps, stepping closer. ¡°That¡¯s not just a trinket, Greg. That thing was sealed away for a reason!¡±


    I raise an eyebrow, the corners of my mouth twitching upward. ¡°Oh? So it¡¯s powerful enough to stop you.¡±


    She hesitates, her confidence cracking just enough to let me see the fear lurking beneath. ¡°Stop me? Are you insane? If you activate it, it¡¯ll¡ª¡± She cuts herself off, biting her lip.


    I tilt my head, faking innocence. ¡°Destroy you? What a convenient feature.¡±


    Her face pales as her hand hovers near her weapon. ¡°Don¡¯t be stupid, Greg,¡± she hisses. ¡°That¡¯s not a weapon you can control. You¡¯ll regret it.¡±


    I glance at her. Then at the glowing amulet. ¡°Define ¡®regret.¡¯¡±


    Her eyes widen. ¡°No. Don¡¯t. Greg, I¡¯m warning you¡ª¡±


    But I¡¯ve already tightened my grip.

 Chapter 25

    Sintra lowers her staff slightly, just enough to make me think she might actually surrender. ¡°Wait.¡±


    I pause. ¡°What do you mean, ¡®wait¡¯? You can¡¯t wait. That¡¯s my thing.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡± Sintra asks, all mock-innocent as she taps her chin. ¡°It worked for you, didn¡¯t it? Oh no! Look at me! Stalling for time with conveniently dramatic flair!¡± Her voice is dripping with sarcasm, but her staff glows like it¡¯s ready to vaporize me at any moment.


    I lower the amulet slightly. ¡°You¡¯re not allowed to steal my moves. That¡¯s against the rules.¡±


    ¡°Rules?¡± Sintra¡¯s eyes widen. ¡°Please, Greg. The only rule of combat is to win.¡±


    Aggie chimes in. ¡°And to look good doing it.¡±


    ¡°Exactly!¡± Sintra says, pointing her staff at Aggie. ¡°See? The sword gets it.¡±


    ¡°The sword doesn¡¯t get anything,¡± I snap. ¡°She just likes to hear herself talk.¡±


    ¡°Rude,¡± Aggie huffs.


    Bob, who has been dangling in the background this entire time, chooses this exact moment to yell. ¡°Greg, use the Amulet of Slightly Above Average Power!¡±


    Sintra and I both freeze.


    ¡°Oh, for the love of¡­¡± Sintra groans, massaging her forehead. ¡°Bob, did you read the inscription?¡±


    ¡°Of course!¡± Bob protests. ¡°It said something about¡­ uh¡­ ¡®skies will burn¡¯?¡±


    ¡°And that,¡± I cut in, holding up the glowing amulet, ¡°doesn¡¯t strike you as¡­ I don¡¯t know¡­ more than slightly above average?¡±


    Bob blinks. ¡°I mean¡­ it¡¯s impressive. But slightly above average can be pretty impressive, right? Like, better than average but not overwhelming?¡±


    ¡°Overwhelming?¡± Sintra¡¯s voice goes higher. ¡°Bob, it literally says, ¡®Kingdoms shall fall¡¯ in big, glowing letters! How did you miss that?¡±


    ¡°I thought it was metaphorical!¡± Bob squeaks. ¡°You know, like an oracle thing.¡±Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°No,¡± Sintra snaps. ¡°It¡¯s not metaphorical. It¡¯s the Amulet of Total Destruction. How is this even up for debate?¡±


    ¡°Honestly,¡± I say, turning the amulet over in my hands, ¡°the lettering is a little over-the-top. Makes it look like one of those trinkets they sell to tourists.¡±


    ¡°A tourist trinket?!¡± Sintra¡¯s face turns red with anger. ¡°Greg, that amulet is capable of destroying kingdoms!¡±


    Bob interrupts again. ¡°Wait¡­ does this mean we¡¯re all going to die?¡±


    ¡°Not if I win.¡± Sintra grips her staff tighter.


    I squint at her. ¡°How?¡±


    Her smirk grows. ¡°The prophecy.¡±


    ¡°Oh, here we go,¡± Aggie says. ¡°Prophecy nonsense incoming.¡±


    Sintra tosses her hair over her shoulder. ¡°The prophecy clearly states that the Chosen One will defeat the villain and bring peace to the land.¡±


    ¡°And?¡± I ask.


    ¡°And,¡± Sintra says, poking me in the chest with her staff, ¡°you¡¯ve already defeated me.¡±


    ¡°What? No, I haven¡¯t.¡± I gesture to her standing right there, very much undefeated. ¡°You¡¯re still here. I haven¡¯t even finished the job.¡±


    Sintra sighs like she¡¯s explaining calculus to a toddler. ¡°Greg, you destroyed my castle. You¡¯ve ruined my plans. You¡¯ve embarrassed me in front of my minions. Technically, you¡¯ve fulfilled the prophecy. Congratulations. Now you can go home.¡±


    I blink. ¡°That¡¯s it?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± she snaps. ¡°You win. Go away.¡±


    Bob, ever the cheerleader, chimes in again. ¡°Greg! You did it! You¡¯re a hero!¡±


    ¡°Hold on,¡± I say, raising a hand. ¡°If I¡¯ve already won, why not finish the job here? You know, tie up loose ends? Maybe take you out for good?¡±


    Sintra¡¯s cheeks flush pink. ¡°Excuse me?! Are you suggesting murder?! How very noble of you, hero.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a hero. I¡¯m just Greg,¡± I point out. ¡°And if you¡¯re the villain, wouldn¡¯t it be cleaner to¡­ you know, deal with you now?¡±


    Her eyes narrow. ¡°Cleaner?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Less risk of a sequel.¡±


    Sintra sputters. ¡°A sequel?! What do you think this is, a bard¡¯s epic tale?¡±


    Aggie, always helpful, hums thoughtfully. ¡°He has a point. Villains do tend to pop back up when you leave them alive.¡±


    Sintra¡¯s staff crackles with energy. ¡°I¡¯ll have you know that I have no intention of returning for some silly sequel. Unlike you bumbling fools, I have standards.¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± I say, smirking. ¡°That¡¯s what they all say.¡±


    Her face flushes deeper, and she glances away. ¡°You¡­ you¡¯re so annoying.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re stalling,¡± I counter. ¡°What¡¯s the play here, Sintra?¡±


    Her lips curve into a sharp smile. ¡°Oh, wouldn¡¯t you like to know.¡±


    Before I can reply, her staff glows brighter. The air around us shifts. A deep hum fills the space, and a cold shiver runs down my spine.


    Aggie groans. ¡°Oh no. She¡¯s doing the thing.¡±


    ¡°What thing?¡± I ask.


    Sintra grins, raising her staff high. ¡°The thing where I learn your deepest fears.¡±


    My heart skips a beat. ¡°Wait, what?¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes,¡± she purrs, her voice dripping with confidence now. ¡°I¡¯ll dig into the depths of your pathetic mind, and expose the things that terrify you most.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like this,¡± Aggie says.


    ¡°Neither do I!¡± I snap. ¡°Sintra, can we not?¡±


    She laughs, a wicked sound. ¡°Oh, Greg. You started this. Now, let¡¯s see what secrets you¡¯ve been hiding.¡±


    Her staff flares, and the light becomes blinding. The hum turns into a roar, and I feel the weight of her magic pressing against me.


    She leans in close, her smirk pure triumph. ¡°I win.¡±

 Chapter 26

    Sintra¡¯s eyes glow purple as her staff buzzes with energy. The air grows heavy, and it¡¯s like standing under a storm cloud that¡¯s seconds away from letting loose.


    I grip Aggie tighter, even though the sword is literally useless right now. Thanks for nothing, buddy.


    ¡°This is it, Greg,¡± Sintra purrs. ¡°The moment where I uncover your deepest and darkest fears. Prepare yourself.¡±


    ¡°For what? A therapy session?¡± I ask, though my hands are sweating on Aggie¡¯s hilt.


    ¡°Oh, Greg,¡± Aggie chimes in, her voice sounding worried for once. ¡°You¡¯re so doomed.¡±


    ¡°Not helpful!¡± I snap.


    Sintra¡¯s smirk widens as she concentrates.


    Then, her expression shifts. The glow from her staff falters as her eyebrows shoot up.


    ¡°Wait,¡± she says, tilting her head like she¡¯s trying to solve a riddle. ¡°This is your fear?¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­ probably,¡± I admit, even though I have no idea what she¡¯s seeing. ¡°Is it spiders? I bet it¡¯s spiders.¡±


    Her jaw tightens, and her voice drops, low and surprised. ¡°You¡¯re serious?¡±


    I squint at her. ¡°About what?¡±


    Sintra steps back, pointing her staff at me like I¡¯m contagious. ¡°You can¡¯t kill me.¡±


    ¡°Uh, sure I can,¡± I say, lifting Aggie slightly. ¡°Pointy end first. Classic hero stuff.¡±


    Her laugh is sharp and mocking. ¡°No, you really can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    She leans in close, her voice dripping with satisfaction. ¡°Because you¡¯re afraid of¡­ paperwork.¡±


    I freeze. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, what?¡±


    ¡°Paperwork,¡± she repeats, her smirk returning in full force. ¡°If you kill me, the king will make you fill out forms for weeks.¡±This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Oh no,¡± I breathe. My stomach sinks. She¡¯s right. The king¡¯s paperwork is legendary. I once had to fill out a three-page form because a squirrel stole my helmet.


    ¡°Greg!¡± Bob shouts, still dangling in his magical restraints. ¡°You have to defeat her! The prophecy demands it!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, Bob,¡± I shout back, ¡°easy for you to say! You¡¯re not the one who¡¯ll be stuck itemizing travel expenses!¡±


    Sintra¡¯s face lights up. ¡°Travel expenses. Yes! Let¡¯s talk about those.¡± She waves her staff, and a projection of a parchment appears in the air. ¡°You¡¯ll need receipts for every meal, inn stay, and wagon rental. If you can¡¯t provide receipts, they dock your pay.¡±


    ¡°Oh, come on!¡± I yell. ¡°What if the inn doesn¡¯t give receipts? Am I supposed to beg the bartender for a signed note?¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Sintra says, her tone dripping with fake sympathy. ¡°It¡¯s a nightmare.¡±


    ¡°Greg,¡± Bob cuts in, his voice urgent. ¡°Stop bonding with the villain! You¡¯re supposed to defeat her!¡±


    ¡°Bob, unless you¡¯re the one staying up all night filing Form 37-B for ¡®damage to personal armor during combat,¡¯ you don¡¯t get an opinion!¡±


    Sintra bursts out laughing. ¡°You¡¯re impossible,¡± she says, clutching her side.


    I glance at Sintra. ¡°Look, can we talk about this alone? Bob¡¯s making things awkward.¡±


    She raises an eyebrow. ¡°Alone?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I say. ¡°You know, like adults.¡±


    She taps her staff against the ground. With a flash of light, Bob and Aggie disappear.


    ¡°What the?!¡± I shout. ¡°Where did you send them?¡±


    ¡°Relax,¡± she says, rolling her eyes. ¡°They¡¯re back at the kingdom. Safe. Annoying as ever.¡±


    I narrow my eyes. ¡°If you can just teleport people around, why didn¡¯t you do that with Bob to begin with? You know, capture him? Avoid all this?¡±


    Her smirk returns. ¡°Greg, Greg, Greg. Where¡¯s the drama in that? What kind of villain skips the suspenseful kidnapping trope?¡±


    ¡°Right. Of course,¡± I say. ¡°Heaven forbid we break character.¡±


    We stare at each other for a moment. The silence feels¡­ awkward.


    Finally, Sintra clears her throat. ¡°Greg,¡± she says, her tone softer now. ¡°Let me go. I promise I won¡¯t be evil anymore.¡±


    I laugh, loud and disbelieving. ¡°Oh, sure. And next you¡¯ll tell me you¡¯ll open a bakery and start handing out free cupcakes.¡±


    ¡°Cupcakes are overrated,¡± she says, crossing her arms. ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll start working on something meaningful. Like perfecting sauces.¡±


    ¡°Sauces? That¡¯s your redemption arc? Barbecue and pesto?¡±


    ¡°Y-you¡¯re so annoying,¡± she says, her cheeks going pink again.


    ¡°And you¡¯re stalling,¡± I counter. ¡°Do I look stupid enough to believe you?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± she says flatly.


    ¡°Rude,¡± I reply.


    The tension stretches between us, crackling like static.


    The weight of Bob¡¯s words presses on my thoughts. ¡°You have to defeat her! The prophecy demands it!¡±


    I glance at Sintra, who¡¯s smirking like she¡¯s already won.


    For once, I think about the kingdom, the people, the responsibility. Maybe this is my chance to finally do something heroic.


    With a deep breath, I pull out the Amulet of Total Destruction.


    Sintra¡¯s eyes go wide. ¡°Wait!¡± she says, her voice shaking. ¡°You¡¯re not actually¡­¡±


    I hold it up dramatically. ¡°Oh, I am.¡±


    ¡°Greg, think about this,¡± she says, her tone shifting to alarm. ¡°Do you even know how to use that?¡±


    ¡°Nope,¡± I say, grinning.


    Her mouth opens in protest.


    But before she can say another word, the amulet begins to glow.

 Chapter 27

    I¡¯m standing in the throne room again. And let me tell you, the d¨¦j¨¤ vu is real.


    The king is sitting on his golden throne, wearing his stupid pineapple hat.


    Bob is bouncing next to me. Probably because he thinks we¡¯re about to get knighted or showered in glory or whatever nonsense he¡¯s been dreaming about.


    I, on the other hand, would kill for a sandwich and a nap. In that order.


    King Marcus clears his throat. ¡°So, Hero Bob, explain.¡±


    Bob, ever eager, jumps in like a puppy who just learned a new trick. ¡°Your Majesty, it was incredible. Greg saved me from the villain!¡±


    The king raises an eyebrow at me. His expression says he doubts I could save a kitten from a puddle. ¡°Greg saved you?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± Bob says, puffing out his chest. ¡°He was brave, resourceful, and¡ª¡±


    ¡°Hungry,¡± I cut in. Because let¡¯s be honest, I¡¯m not letting Bob turn this into a fan club meeting. ¡°I was also very hungry.¡±


    The king waves a dismissive hand. ¡°Spare me the poetry. What happened to the villain?¡±


    Bob scratches his head. ¡°Uh¡­ I don¡¯t know. I was teleported away before I could see what happened.¡±


    The king¡¯s gaze shifts to me, sharp and suspicious. ¡°And you, Greg. What happened to her?¡±


    I straighten up, trying to look impressive, which is hard when you¡¯ve still got soot on your boots. ¡°I defeated her.¡±


    ¡°Did you really?¡± the king asks, leaning forward like he¡¯s sniffing out a lie. ¡°How can I trust you?¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t,¡± I say, deadpan. ¡°I¡¯m a very shady character.¡±


    Bob chokes on a laugh.


    The king narrows his eyes. ¡°Do you have any proof, Greg?¡±


    I reach into my pouch, pulling out the amulet. The thing glows dangerously, pulsing with a kind of energy that screams bad idea. I hold it up like it¡¯s an apple I found at the market.Stolen story; please report.


    The king¡¯s eyes nearly pop out of his head. ¡°Is that¡ª? Is that the Amulet of Total Destruction?!¡±


    ¡°Yep,¡± I reply, shaking it slightly. ¡°Although, I was thinking of renaming it. Maybe something less dramatic. Like ¡®Greg¡¯s Problem Solver Deluxe.¡¯¡±


    The king sputters, pointing at the amulet like it¡¯s a live grenade. ¡°That thing could destroy an entire kingdom! And you just¡­ you just have it?¡±


    ¡°Well, yeah,¡± I say, tossing it lightly and catching it.


    Bob gasps. ¡°Greg! Be careful!¡±


    ¡°What? It¡¯s fine,¡± I say, handing the amulet to the king. ¡°Probably.¡±


    The king stares at me like I¡¯m the most reckless person he¡¯s ever met. Which, fair.


    Finally, he shakes his head and sighs. ¡°Well, regardless. Congratulations on defeating the villain.¡±


    Bob beams. ¡°Thank you, Your Majesty! But really, Greg did all the work¡ª¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter,¡± the king interrupts, holding up a hand. ¡°The people need a hero to rally around. Someone noble. Inspiring. Someone who makes them feel safe.¡±


    I start to feel a tiny flicker of pride. Maybe, just maybe, the king is going to give me some credit.


    ¡°And Greg the Guard,¡± the king continues, looking me up and down, ¡°is not that guy.¡±


    Ah. There it is.


    Bob frowns. ¡°But¡ª¡±


    ¡°No,¡± the king says firmly. ¡°The people need the Chosen One. They need you, Bob. That¡¯s why we¡¯ll be throwing a parade in your honor.¡±


    Bob¡¯s face lights up like a child who¡¯s just been handed a mountain of candy. ¡°A parade? Really?¡±


    ¡°Really,¡± the king says, clapping his hands. ¡°There will be banners, musicians, food carts. The works.¡±


    Bob turns to me, smiling. ¡°Greg! A parade!¡±


    ¡°Great,¡± I say, forcing a smile. ¡°Sounds fun.¡±


    The king clears his throat. ¡°Greg, you will not be going.¡±


    I blink. ¡°Come again?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not exactly¡­ parade material,¡± he says delicately. ¡°And we can¡¯t let the people know you defeated the villain. That would complicate things.¡±


    ¡°Oh, sure,¡± I say, crossing my arms. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t want to complicate things with the truth.¡±


    Bob steps forward, looking upset. ¡°But Your Majesty, Greg deserves to be in the parade! He saved me, and he¡ª¡±


    The king waves him off. ¡°This isn¡¯t about what Greg deserves. It¡¯s about what the people need. And what they need is you, Bob. Not Greg.¡±


    I snort. ¡°Well, at least I don¡¯t have to smile and wave for hours. That sounds exhausting.¡±


    The king ignores me, standing up and motioning toward the door. ¡°You¡¯re dismissed. Go. Prepare yourselves. The parade is tomorrow.¡±


    Bob looks like he wants to argue more. But I grab his arm and steer him toward the exit. No point sticking around to get snubbed twice.


    As we walk out of the throne room, the silence stretches between us.


    Finally, Bob stops. He turns to me with a sincere expression that makes me want to roll my eyes and pat him on the head at the same time.


    ¡°Greg,¡± he says, his voice soft, ¡°thank you. For everything. For saving me. For putting up with me. For¡­ just being there.¡±


    I stare at him for a moment, then sigh. ¡°Bob, don¡¯t get all emotional on me. It¡¯s weird.¡±


    ¡°I mean it,¡± he insists. ¡°I couldn¡¯t have done any of this without you.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± I say, cracking a grin, ¡°technically, you didn¡¯t do anything. But you¡¯re welcome.¡±


    He laughs, and for a moment, the weight of the day feels a little lighter.


    ¡°Come on, Chosen One,¡± I say, clapping him on the back. ¡°Let¡¯s get you ready for your big parade. I hear they¡¯re serving snacks.¡±