Today's Earth date: December 1, 1991

Christmas is coming up. [Redacted] has never heard of Christmas, of course, but she likes the idea of the holiday.

This will be the first Christmas I won't get to spend with my family on Earth. That's going to be hard, but having someone to share it with will make it a little bit easier.

Yet, I'm a Chosen Hero. The gods picked me to save this world, and the people here are counting on us. And I'm thinking about Christmas instead of the quest.

The Earth Temple is supposed to be our next stop. Getting there means going through this nasty jungle the locals call the Forest of 10,000 Cuts. It's so bad that most people would rather spend a week going around it than two days going through it.

-The Journal of Laszlo the Paladin

Fergus looked down at the remains of the weresnail far below, half buried by the rubble of the bridge to Iomallach. What used to be the bridge, rather.

"What makes you say this is our fault?" Fergus asked.

"It felt scripted," Wayne answered. "On Earth, a lot of game bosses follow the pattern of three. Successfully hit the weak spot three times in a row, and you win or advance to the next phase."

"Could be a coincidence?"

"Could be. Probe isn't picking up any buried treasure, but I bet you there's a Diagnostic Cube or a Spawner around here somewhere."

"Umm… Sirs?" An older guardsman covered in sticky, tattered leathers and wielding a halberd approached the edge of the collapse to speak with Wayne and Fergus. "Probably goes without saying, but do you sirs plan to do this town harm?"

"Only to your stock of wine."

"I'm sorry?"

Wayne shook his head. "He's joking. No, we don't mean this town any harm. We were riding in from Cuan when we heard the alarm."

"Well, it's nice of you sirs to pitch in. I wasn't liking our odds." The guard stepped forward and introduced himself as a captain. Wayne shook his hand and shared introductions as well.

"Did you see where it came from?" Wayne asked.

The captain walked to the far left of where the bridge used to be and pointed over the edge. "Crawled up from below. Came over this side here."

Wayne might have surmised that himself had he taken the time. The trail of mucus was easy enough to follow.

Looking down, Wayne didn't see any obvious path the snail had taken through the Cuts, which helped him to narrow his mental search. Feeling confident in his blossoming theory, he jumped over the edge. The captain yelped as he did, and Wayne realized he should have warned the man. He'd have to apologize when he returned.

Wayne used Brake to periodically pause his descent, but he didn't need to look very hard. A cavern the size of the weresnail was directly beneath the bridge, and it looked freshly dug. Prior to the battle, this was likely just another uninteresting stretch of rockface.

Blitz-Blitz-Blitz.

Entering the cave, Wayne activated Light and saw that though the chamber was large, it wasn't very deep. It seemed big enough to fit the boss and nothing else.

At the back, Wayne found what he had begun to describe as a "Spawner" when he spoke about first dwarf tech with his party. Like the cube frame they found beneath the Crustacean Crusader, Wayne found one large cube with slots for normal-sized Diagnostic Cubes on the four visible surfaces.

"Found it. Any qualms with me translating it now or would you rather me bring you down here?"

"Skipping that commute is fine by me," Fergus answered.

Mentally switching between documents in his HUD had become second nature for Wayne, so much so that he wondered how hard it would be to suddenly not have this kind of system access. He pushed that thought out of his mind and translated the cube faces, transcribing his findings into his notes.

Access: Forgemaster

Condition: Proximity

Phase: 3

On Death: Bridge Collapse

Pale Weresnail - Exp 20,000 - Levels 15 to 20

Werefail Snails, Continuous

100% Regeneration

His hunch was correct. Like the Crustacean Crusader, the Weresnail had been dormant beneath the bridge for some time. Unlike the Chosen Heroes, Wayne's party had system access a role higher than the Chosen Heroes. Where the system seemed to treat the Zeroes as Forgemasters, the heroes were simply "Heroes." Therefore, they would have walked right over top of the snail and never been the wiser.

That amount of experience, however, sounded substantial. He would have expected to go up a level, but that was something he knew only by feel. The place in his system menus that listed his current experience points and how much was needed for his next level was a garbled mess of glitched and broken graphics.

The harsh beam of Wayne's Light spell caught a corner shadow of the cube responsible for determining the enemy. Where the other three were inserted so perfectly flush as to have no visible borders, this one was a few millimeters displaced.

Wayne pushed.

He felt the notification for a level up and chuckled. Maybe he should try blowing it in next time, he thought to himself.

"Do you need help down there?" Fergus asked. "I just gained a level."

"Nope. We're good."

When Wayne Blitzed back to Fergus and the captain, he apologized to the guard for startling him just then.

"I know you hate me using this right next to you," Wayne said, "but we should probably talk about the Spawner in private."

Fergus physically nodded. "Thanks to the kind welcome of our friend here, I have several recommendations for accommodations."

"Great. If you and the rest of the party want to pick one, I'll head back for the wagon."

"Are you sure you don't want one of us to fetch it?"

Wayne shook his head. "It's faster if I do it, and I'm the only one who can summon Outlawson."

"Right, right."

Before Wayne departed, the captain suggested he visit the Governor's mansion at their earliest convenience. His party's help would be well-documented, and local authorities would appreciate the opportunity to debrief. Wayne promised he would make an appointment as soon as he could.

Then he Blitzed across the sky to retrieve Sammy and Vanilli.

"That was definitely a scripted boss fight," Wayne said to his party as the waiter circled the table, filling each member's wine glass. "We were never supposed to kill it. The setup made it so the fight would end with the bridge collapsing."

"Why would the dwarves script something like that?" Armond asked.

"The only comparison I have is from games on Earth. Arriving in a town to immediately fend off some kind of attack was a typical part of many stories. Destroying the bridge means we have to spend more time in town, probably for a quest to repair the bridge or get around it somehow."

"Remember that the Spawner was disabled for all intents and purposes," Fergus added. "They seem to have changed their minds about putting the Heroes through that scenario."

"Rebuilding that bridge every 100 years would certainly be a chore," Wayne agreed. "Vanilli was telling me it was another demon on our way into town after the battle."

Fergus looked at Vanilli. Their demon hadn't found a leather biker jacket, but he did find a demur black overcoat with a white ruffled shirt beneath it. To Wayne's relief, the pants were black as well and not stonewashed denim. Vanilli was already asking the waiter for a refill of his wine.

"Wayne is correct. That's what I said."

"Are there a lot of giant snail demons in your world?" Fergus asked.

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Vanilli shook his head. "None. It was a remade demon, like the crab man."

"Remade?" Margo asked.

"Like clay. Used to be demon-shaped at one point, and now it's snail-shaped. Or was snail-shaped."

"I wonder if our other boss fights were reshaped demons," Fergus mused. "Would have been nice to have Vanilli with us for those."

"And if we assume they were demons?" Wayne asked.

Fergus wobbled his head. "My working hypothesis is that the dwarves used demons as a sort of building material. The ratman fleshmancer was using a Forgemaster Hammer, right? Likely a similar process to remaking a demon into something else."

"Damn dwarves," Vanilli gruffed.

"Damn dwarves indeed," Fergus said, nodding. "And damn rats. How do they know more about this than we do?"

Before the conversation could continue, the waiter arrived with a tray, flanked by two other waiters also carrying trays. Each set down a plate with a thick pork chop and a side of brussel sprouts in front of each party member, Sammy and Vanilli included.

Sammy, seated next to the demon, pointed his fork at Vanilli's plate. "This is a pork chop in a brown sugar glaze. We had some pork on the road, but everything we had was smoked, and we didn't have this cut of meat."

Vanilli nodded. He remembered the barbecue very well.

"Brown sugar is sweet, so it's meant to be a complement to the flavor of the meat, a bit of contrast. And these are brussel sprouts. It looks like they were sauteed in bacon, which is another cut of pork. We'll spend a lot more time with bacon in the future, trust me."

"Hear hear," Hector said, raising his glass to the mention of bacon.

"Brussel sprouts are known for being bitter, but farmers have been working to make them sweeter over time, so the flavor of these brussel sprouts shouldn't be so bad. The bacon helps."

"Are these fork-and-knife foods also?" Vanilli asked. Identifying what dishes were meant to be eaten by hand versus with utensils was still a conundrum for Vanilli, but he was practicing.

Sammy said that they were and began cutting his own pork chop. Vanilli watched, and mimicked the party's cook a few seconds later.

As Hector finished his final bite of pork, he asked, "Are we turning back now that the bridge is out? Take the long way around?"

Wayne admitted he wasn't sure. "I'd rather not do that. We have to meet with the Governor. Maybe we get lucky, and they have a short-term solution."

His initial idea was to ferry every party member down to the Cuts himself, carrying one at a time, but then they would have to abandon their wagon. The party was vehemently opposed to that option. The wagon offered far too much comfort and stored far too much food and gear to be left behind.

As dinner wore on, the party's group conversation fractured into several smaller conversations held between two or three people at a time. Wayne sat back to take in the details of this moment. He wanted a good memory to enjoy later, but he also didn't want to miss the comforting joy he felt, surrounded by friends.

When he felt boredom creeping in, he opened his system menus to check in on his level-up.

Hero: Wayne the Guy

Level: 17

HP: 249/249

STR: 34

AGI: 26

VIT: 18

LCK: 31

The progression was small but fairly typical. He was more excited about his new abilities.

From It Came From the Desert he learned:

Dynamite – To throw a stick of dynamite, face the creature by moving the joystick and press the button.

From Tunnels & Trolls he learned:

Upsidaisy - Allows the caster to levitate and move one companion or foe for one normal round.

But he was most excited about his new Centurion unlock because he had no idea what it would do:

Skulduggery – Bribe an opponent.

When Wayne looked up from his system, he noticed the party's newest member sitting quietly while everyone else talked.

"I was worried being around all these people would be overwhelming," Wayne said to Vanilli. "Seems like you're doing fine, though."

"My world is more crowded than this, and the Temple was worse when a cycle hit. It got very… sweaty."

Wayne laughed. "Okay, fair."

"Vanilli has never experienced an old-fashioned pub crawl," Armond said, leaning over to insert himself into the conversation. "You should join us, Wayne."

"I don't know…"

"Come on. Put that young body of yours to good use and beat it up with booze a bit."

"Okay, fine."

Demons had a low tolerance for alcohol, Wayne learned. Or, at least, this particular demon did.

Armond, Hector, Margo, and Vanilli played a game of doubles darts while Wayne, Fergus, and Sammy watched. Vanilli was surprisingly good.

This particular tavern–the third on their crawl–looked so much like a stereotypical fantasy game tavern that the scene felt artificial. The people bustling about, the smell of stale ale and bubbling stew, the din of conversation–It was all perfectly real. Yet, Wayne's mind struggled to accept that a place like this, which had only ever existed in his imagination for forty-some years, could actually exist.

"I've got a favor to ask," Fergus said, his eyes on the game of darts. "I want you to try the Dum Dum spell on me."

"Huh? Why?"

"It won't kill me, right? I'm just curious what that change would feel like."

Wayne revisited the spell description in his system menu:

Dum Dum – Reduces a foe's IQ to 3. If the spell should fail, then the caster's IQ will drop.

Frankly, Wayne disliked the risk implied in the description so much that he had only cast the spell twice. Once during the banshee attack in Cuan and once against the crab knight outside the Water Temple. In both cases, they were desperate attempts to gain the upper hand. The banshee's intelligence drop rendered it helpless, but the crab knight resisted it completely.

"Seems like a silly risk to take," Wayne said.

"How much more ale do you need?"

"At least two pints."

Fergus leapt out of his seat to order more ale.

With two more pints in his stomach, Wayne was more amenable to making poor choices.

"You're sure you want to do this in the middle of a tavern?" Wayne asked.

"Why not?"

"...Because a lot of people will see?"

Fergus waved that concern away. "Proceed, my friend."

Wayne cast Dum Dum and targeted Fergus.

The world around Wayne muddied into an impressionistic painting. Gone were the hard edges and defined separation between objects. Everything became blurred light and melted into one another. He was aware of living things around him and could track their shapes when they moved, but he was unconcerned. These weren't threats. He was safe.

That realization didn't arrive as a thought. It arrived as a feeling, as a sensation as visceral as if it had come by touch or sound. Reason and analysis ceased to exist within his mind, and he was unaware that they ever had. Any grasp of the past or the future was gone as well, replaced by this amplified, highly stimulating present.

A deep sense of satisfaction reverberated through his body as his tongue tasted what little ale lingered in his mouth. He knew he should pursue food next, an idea that came to him as the feeling of hunger. He didn't interpret the hunger signal and make a choice in his mind to acknowledge it, however. He simply knew hunger.

He looked around for food, but more enticing forms caught his eyes. These were the forms of potential partners, and recognizing that fact triggered a new type of hunger. He knew he had to mate in the same way he knew he was hungry. These needs demanded all of his attention and compelled him to action to satisfy them. Satiation was his only goal in life.

A torrent of sensations suddenly poured into Wayne's mind, the world around him reclaiming its definition and details. The feeling was not unlike waking up unexpectedly and not knowing where he was, except that feeling was limited to what he could see. He felt the same confusion and absence of understanding in all of his senses.

And his hands were sticky.

Wayne realized he was crawling across the tavern floor on his hands and knees, mere feet from his seat.

"What was that like?" Fergus asked, leaning around the table to speak to Wayne without himself leaving his seat.

When Wayne tried to articulate the experience, the memories evaporated like a dream. He still knew they existed within his mind, but they had been stored in whatever primal part of his brain could still operate with three IQ points.

What the spell description said was three IQ points, anyway. Wayne remembered IQ being, at best, a controversial measure of intelligence on Earth. He also recalled any score somewhere below sixty being the threshold for severe cognitive impairment, to the point that the person did not have capacity to make decisions for themselves.

Was three IQ points even enough to survive?

A new fear gripped Wayne.

He checked his pants. He had not shit himself. He was grateful at least one of those three points went to managing his bowel movements.

"Umm…" Wayne began, finding it strange to speak. "I can't describe it. I only kind of remember it."

"Should we try again?"

"Definitely not."

Fergus narrowed his eyes in thought as he sipped his ale. "The most plausible explanation is that the spell compares your intelligence to the target's, and whoever has the lowest gets the Dum Dum."

"Very funny."

Before Wayne could fire back at his friend, Armond appeared at their table, swaying slightly. "On to the next!" he announced.

On their way to the next tavern, Wayne noticed that Hector carried Sammy over his shoulders like a fireman rescuing a victim. The cook snored.

"Maybe we should head home," Wayne suggested.

"Nonsense!" Fergus shouted much too loudly.

The next tavern was locked, and they saw chairs stacked on tables through the windows. The tavern after that was not locked, but barely any of their group got through the door before they were shooed back outside. Nightlife in Vientuls was closing up for the night.

"Suppose that's it, boys," Armond said. He looked at Margo. "And female."

"Female?" Margo asked.

"Is that not correct?"

"It's a weird word to use."

The party got lost on their way back to their inn, despite asking for directions several times.

Wayne had to pee. He asked Hector to stand watch while he ducked into an alley to relieve himself. He enjoyed the cool night air on his skin and the melody of the steady drizzle of a strong stream. He sighed, savoring the relief of urgent tension draining out of his body with every passing second.

More drizzles joined his.

Everyone but Margo was in the alley. Fergus had a hand on the wall to steady himself. Armond maintained a two-handed grip as did Vanilli. Hector leaned his head forward into the wall to hold himself upright. His arms dangled as limply as the cook's body slung over his shoulders.

Actually, where did Margo go? Wayne didn't see her.

"Gentlemen," a gruff voice barked. "When you're finished, I'll need you to come with us."

Two guards, with a third approaching from down the street, stood at the entrance of the alley, scowling at the Zeroes.

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