A good night out drinking never ended with an expertly delivered, two-footed kick to the chest in dark back alley.

I’d been taking a leak when it happened. Not just hanging out in back alleyways.

As I lay there in a puddle of piss of my own making, a rat scarpering mere inches past my head, I had the presence of mind to suspect the perpetrator of the assault, was not from around these parts. Which begged the question.

What the hell was a ninja doing in the heart of Sunderland’s city center?

I tried to get back to my feet. Attempting to put myself away and fasten my zipper, whilst fending off this remarkably short, black-robed assailant.

I was a fairly big bloke. Six-three and I worked out a few times a week. I could handle my business in most altercations. Tonight, however, I’d been celebrating with a passion, after the bank agreed to a business loan for my new restaurant.

I’d barely been able to stand up straight before this little soiree, and despite the adrenaline now pumping through my veins, I was like Bambi on ice.

The ninja dude wasn't too enthusiastic about me standing back up, either. I felt a blunt, heavy object bash me in the back of the skull.

Goodnight, Clive.

Upon awaking, I was in complete darkness. I could tell from my position that I’d been tied to a chair. So I seriously doubted I was still in the back lane. Beyond that, I knew nothing more, which terrified the ever-loving shit out of me.

I tried to make sense of the attack, but all I could manage were vague disjointed memories that swirled around my mind, unwilling to link into anything meaningful.

The effort it took trying to think brought on the urge to spew, and that’s when I realized something very important. I had a sack over my head! I couldn't understand how I’d missed it. The room I was in might not have been dark after all. Hell, it might not even have been a room. I suspected I was still drunk.

“He’s awake.” A scratchy, high pitched voice said in a not particularly comforting tone.

“Is he now? Good, good.” A lower and far more sinister voice replied. I started freaking out, trying to free myself from my restraints.

“What the fuck do you guys want?” I shouted. “I’ve barely got any enemies, and none of them are ninjas. I’m pretty sure none of them knock around in ninja circles, either.”

“We’re not your enemies Clive. You are merely in possession of something we require,” the second more sinister voice replied, as if speaking to a child.

“Okay… okay. If you’ve heard I’ve got money, then you’ve gone and fucked up. The bank’s sorting me out with a loan for a restaurant, but I’ll never see the actual cash,” I rambled desperately.

“Your money means nothing to us,” sinister voice said. “We are here for a recipe.”

“A recipe! You kidnapped me for a fucking recipe?” I ranted. “Come on then, spit it out. Is it my famous Cheese and Ham souffle? My next-level roast potatoes? The secret for those babies is semolina flour. Parboil. Fully cool. Then salt, pepper and semolina, those tasty little bastards. Honestly, it’s a fucking game changer. In your roasting dish, you want lard, but if you're one of these vegan types, then the only substitute I’d recommend is coconut oil,” I explained. Entirely forgetting my predicament for a split second as I conjured images of crispy, fluffy, golden potatoes. I was snapped back to reality by a deep and forceful grunt. I knew sinister and screechy voice were in the room with me, and I was pretty sure neither of them made that noise. So there was definitely another kidnapper here. I felt my odds drop further.

“You are obtuse and unpleasant Clive, but no matter. The recipe we require is from Hakan Sokar’s soul bound recipe book. While he may have perished in your plane, you are marked by its power. Which if I’m not mistaken, means you have it in your possession,” the sinister voice said.

“You want Hakan’s recipe book?” I asked, disbelievingly. Hakan had trained me to be a chef. I was a bus boy for him from the eleven and at sixteen he took me on in the kitchen.

Sixteen years, I worked with him until his apparent death a year ago.

“I mean dude, I knew Hakan, for sure. But I ain’t got no book of his.”

There was a moment of tense silence, before a different, rumbling voice spoke. The voice of whoever had grunted earlier. It had me feeling like I’d sat on a speaker at a Slipknot concert.

“If he does not have the required tome, then dispose of him. Send people to remove everything from his abode, then continue the search.”

“Woah! Wait a damn minute there and let me think. I might be able to help you find it.” I snapped, trying to convey confidence I didn't feel.

“How will you find it?” sinister voice asked.

“Hakan and me go way back. He was like my abusive step dad or something. I can help. Trust me.” I said cringing inside as the words fell from my lips. I didn’t know how the hell I’d find it. All I had, was a desire to live and I'd just had to rely on my sober, less terrified me to find a way out of this.

“Grashuyk. Take this wretch with you. Should he pose any problems in your quest, you may devour him,” the reverberating voice said.

“Thank you, sir,” Grashuyk, the artist formerly known as sinister voice, replied. I heard the one with the high pitched voice, let out a peal of delighted laughter. What in the hell had Hakan gotten me into.

The bag was suddenly whipped from my head, and I wished to high heaven that it hadn’t been. Initially, I was blinded by the well illuminated room. I took a quick moment to reflect on how excellent the head covering had been at blocking out the light. Whatever material it they’d used would make awesome curtains. The supposed blackout ones that currently hung in my apartment were utter dog shit. I might as well have hung a pair of tights over my window, for all the good they did.

As my vision cleared, my Ninja assailant stood to the side of me. I couldn’t make out his face, but when he spoke, I knew it was the one called Grashuyk.

“He will make good eating.”

I ignored the terrifying threat to look at who he was talking to. I did a double take. On the other side of what appeared to be a glowing portal stood… I kid you not, a gigantic fuckoff demon. It had what looked like a goddamn NPC identifier above its head.

Buer:

Baatazu Demon

Level 73

It was the last thing I saw as I received yet another forcefully delivered blow to the back of my head. This time, part of me was actually grateful, as the world spun back into darkness.