In a room that looks like it could be made of clouds, a lanky man relentlessly works. Dozens of abnormally long arms stretch throughout the room. Dozens of hands, attached to said arms, scribble away at large books and tap on key boards. One such arm and hand combination accepts a cup of steaming hot coffee from a well-dressed lady. The man raises the cup to his singular mouth, taking a delicate sip. Of his multitude of eyes, all glued to thousands of screens, a single pair closes. A long moan escapes his lips, but his work does not slow.

“You really make the best coffee this world has to offer,” the man compliments the lady.

“I’d better,” the woman responds. “Technically, I invented coffee in this world.”

The man grunts a non-committal reply, instead focusing on the liquid delicacy in his hands. The minutes pass as he savors the rich and bitter taste. Without a word of complaint, the woman patiently waits for the man to finish. After all, rushing someone is no way to ask a favor. Her searching eyes, jumping from screen to screen, keep her from getting bored.

“What can I do for you, today?” The man’s closed eyes open to glance sideways at the woman. “Is this about your little pet project?”

“Yup, I wanted to see how he is doing down there. Still alive and miserable?” The woman squints at a particular screen, trying to make out the details contained within.

“An irritating little brat, that one,” the man grumbles. “As per your request, I split a piece of my consciousness to form a Narrator to keep an eye on him. Despite such special treatment, he never listens to me! Err- it… Anyway, do you know how irritating it is to be ignored like that when you’re the god of knowledge and storytelling?”

“Tell me about,” the woman sighs, continuing her search. “As soon as he got here, he started making outrageous demands. I gave him that stupid title to try to sort him out. Hopefully it has made his life a bit more difficult?”

“Well,” the man’s words hesitate, but his work does not. “The title hasn’t made much of a difference. He mostly gets himself into trouble. It’s part of what is so irritating. As the god of storytelling I want to tell his story. The situations he falls into are fascinating. For example, he accidentally created a whole new species by soul-binding a Dungeon Egg. Not to mention that he is in the process of taking over several floors of the Dungeon, completely on accident.”

The man takes pity on his guest and pulls up the screen she is looking for. On the screen, now in the center of the room, a party of adventurers faces an insect with a human torso attached to it.

“Oh!” the woman exclaims, missing the man’s mention of the Dungeon takeover. “Is that the Insect Queen who fought in the last Dungeon Master Supremacy War?”

“Yes, your little Snowflake stumbled his way into her prison and has been slaughtering her children,” the man taps his chin thoughtfully with his free hand. “Speaking of which, didn’t you say he was supposed to be some genius who unmade his former universe? It’s not often you have to block someone’s memories. It’s just… well despite being clever he seems naïve.”

“About that,” she explains. “He was stuck in one of those dimensions where time moves a lot faster than it does here. By my calculations, he must’ve been trapped by himself for about a thousand years before the System located him. After browsing his memories, I’m pretty sure he just got bored and started picking at all the little flaws he could find. Like an injured picking at a scab. As for being naïve, his author gave him too much power. He never faced any real problems, so he never grew as a person.”

“That’s not so bad,” the man ponders. “I don’t see how that warrants you blocking his memories. He doesn’t sound very threatening.”

The woman summons a chair, plopping down on it. A bag of popcorn appears in her hand as she makes herself comfortable. A highlight reel of Snowflake’s greatest misfortunes plays next to his real-time adventures, amusing the woman to no end.

“Anie, the real issue is that he found his creator’s memory cache,” she informs the many-armed man through large mouthfuls of popcorn. “The information is too dangerous. Even with the limitations of the system, he’d ascend to our level too quickly. It would totally nullify the whole point of the vetting process.”

“You know I hate that nickname, please don’t use it,” the man huffs.

“Its your fault for having such a long name Anie,” the woman says with a cheeky grin. “Do you think he’ll make it past the Dungeon and through the second level?”

The man, glowers at her, but doesn’t insist on the name. A good cup of coffee will go a long way toward improving someone’s mood.

“I’m not sure,” he says. “Those Fantasy types usually have a tough time in the second level. Hypothetically everyone should have a fighting chance with the system, but mixing genres is just so messy.”

“That’s fair,” the woman agrees to his assessment through mouthfuls of never-ending popcorn. “Mind if I stay and watch what happens with the Insect Queen?”

“On one condition,” the man grins. “You have to listen to me narrate it.”

“Ugh, fine, but I want all the dirty details and backstory, no glossing over the unsavory bits.”

***

“No need to look so nervous, friends. Come, sit down. I want to have a chat with you. Well, most of you,” the Queen shoots Mordai a dirty look.

I start to ask her where we should sit, but I'm interrupted. With what looks like half-hearted motions, she draws a circle full of strange symbols. Purple light flows from her finger, leaving her drawing suspended in midair. She lays her hand on it and pushes forward. The circle distorts and disappears. Almost instantly, lines of glowing purple light cover every surface of the roughhewn cave we are standing in. The light grows in intensity until I am forced to cover my eyes with my shield, hiding from the blinding light.

When I force my eyes open, I’m greeted with an astounding sight. The large cave became the very seat of luxury. A massive chandelier made of diamonds and fairy fire hangs from the ceiling. Gorgeous, soft carpet coats the floors. A grand wooden table dominates the room, right beneath the chandelier. Around the walls are floor to ceiling bookcases, the colorful spines of the books rival the delicate art that can be seen decorating the walls between the cases.

The Queen watches are expressions with a smug look on her face.

“What?” She smirks. “Never seen what Source can do once you get past that basic elemental shit?”

“You’ve Ranked Up?” Honey questions the Queen sharply.

“Yes, I have. Take a seat, we’ll have a chat,” the Queen responds, lowering her bulk into a specialized chair.

I exchange glances with my comrades, noting their slight nods. We came in expecting a boss battle, but diplomacy isn’t off the table. I grab a seat as far away from the Queen as possible, keeping my shield and staff in hand. I’ve seen her ‘children’ eat each other. There is no way in hell I’m letting my guard down.

“What do you want to talk about?” Quinn, sitting to my right, asks. Light particles dance around her fingers, ready to spring into action at any moment.

“Straight to business, I like that,” the Queen looks at Quinn appreciatively. “You may address me as Ka’ie. Welcome to my prison cell.”

Her arms spread grandly, Ka’ie waits for some sort of reaction. Unfortunately for her, we sit there, waiting for her to continue. A prison in a dungeon? Not that surprising. The words are practically synonymous.

“Tough crowd,” Ka’ie’s face twitches. “Alright, here’s the deal. I got on the bad side of the Dungeon Master and he tossed me in here. This place is registered to my current Source signature, so I want to sign a soul-contract with one of you so I can get out of here.”

“Why should we trust you?” Honey asks, immediately. Her eyes never waver from the Queen. Her hands are tightly gripped on the grips of her weapons.

“I’m not asking you to trust me,” Ka’ie answers. “I’ll make a fair trade. A favor for a favor, you might say.”

“First off, how do you know you won’t kill us after you’re out?” I interject.

The Queen’s patient expression is betrayed by her impatiently skittering legs. She looks me over, silently, for a couple seconds. Her finger taps her lips as if she is considering something. I’m getting a little nervous. As much as I don’t trust her after that display of magic I don’t want to fight her. I mean, she either created this stuff out of thin air or summoned it. Either way, fighting someone who can do that seems like it won’t go well for me.

“It wouldn’t help if I told you I could kill you at any time anyway, would it?” Ka’ie asks me after some consideration.

“Um, not really?” I say. Man, this is not going well. I can feel a headache blossoming right behind my eyes, accentuating the uncomfortable situation.

Mordai, a bit recovered, does something useful for once. I mean, beside healing us all the time. It’s basically his job to heal us though. No brownie points for that.

“Why don’t you tell us a bit more of your story?” He suggests, his tone timid. Either he is afraid, or he is still upset about the boobs, or lack thereof.

“What more is there to say? I’m stuck here and I want out. One of you needs to take the hit, or all of you will face the consequences.” Ka’ie waves away the suggest without a second thought. Her eyes focus on me, “I’d actually prefer to get contracted by Mr. Ice-Armor over there. His Source signature is very strange. It should alter mine the most. How about it, big guy?”

“Um.. I, uh,” I stuttered, searching for the right words. “There is this policy… I, uh, recently made… I refuse to get close to anyone who might eat me?”

“….” Her eyes narrow and the air grows more ominous.

“I assume that the consequences are death, but you mentioned something about a fair trade? What could you offer us?” Honey swoops in to save the day. Miss reliable!

“Right, that,” Ka’ie relaxes slightly, leaning back in her chair. “Soul-contracts benefit both sides, so there is that. I also have knowledge and riches to offer. Your usual run of the mill benefits. Push comes to shove I could potentially raise an army to wipe out an enemy you might have. How about that, sound good?”

“Um, won’t the Dungeon Master be angry if we get you out of here?” Quinn says, her fluttering wings now covered in light particles.

“Don’t worry about him,” Ka’ie pinches the bridge of her nose. I think she is getting irritated. “He has to let me out in a couple hundred years anyway to prepare for the next contest. Just avoid him for fifty years or so and he’ll get over it. Are we doing this thing or not?”

Awkward silence reigns over the table. I sure as hell don’t want to contract her. She doesn’t seem so bad, but the whole thing just stinks of a bad deal. The Guildmaster really screwed me and I’m not keen to do that again. Quinn and I exchange a glance. She purses her lips and lowers her head, a no go. I look at Honey, but she is busy studying something fascinating off to the side of the room. I don’t even bother considering Mordai. I’m not sure Ka’ie would take him even if he volunteered.

“Looks like you all will be feeding my children,” Ka’ie sighs, disappointment clear on her face. “Maybe someone more reasonable will come searching for you once you’ve been missing for long enough.”

Another casual circle in the air causes the finery to disappear. My seat vanishes from beneath me, dumping me unceremoniously on my ass. Dozens of summoned insect variations I’m unfamiliar with block our retreat.

“You’ve met some of the low-ranking commoners amongst my children, but I am a Queen. A Queen must have a higher echelon of nobles. You know, dukes, barons, knights and stuff,” Ka’ie introduces the insects about to devour us. “Despite our differences, I do not hate you. Out of respect, I will allow you to die at the hands of my more powerful children.”

“Wait!” I shout, both at Ka’ie and my own party, who are scrambling toward a pre-emptive strike. “I may have a solution!”

Ka’ie halts her troops, gesturing for me to continue.

“You just need to change your Source signature, right? If I have a way for you to do that, will you let us go free?” I ask.

“Depends,” Ka’ie gives me a realistic reply. “Tell me what you can do for me.”

“I have the blood of a vampire running through my veins,” I inform her. “I turned into a vampire when I drank another vampire’s blood, so if you drink mine you might change races? I'm pretty sure it works that way.”

“Hmmm, you are correct,” she considers it. “What is stopping me from killing you and drinking your blood?”

“…” The way she says it doesn’t sound malicious, but that doesn’t stop me from breaking out in a cold sweat. I’m gonna bluff it. “My father Charles von Vordaray will hunt you down and kill you?”

My dramatic sentence ends in the lilting tone of a question. I can’t fucking help it. I barely know the guy! I'd like to think he would, but I'm just not sure. Is Charles even a revenge person? Does he know where I am?

“You’re a von Vordaray brat?” Ka’ie whispers, her already pale flesh turning a white I didn’t think was possible. A look of horror imprints itself on her face, the legs supporting her bulbous insect body tremble in fear.

Well, that was unexpected.