CWD: OE ~ Twenty-Eight

Nacho ignored the blinding light of the portal as he scrambled over to Jennifer. He slid to her side and was relieved to find that she was still breathing. He helped her sit up, noticing a vial of lime-green liquid still clutched in her hand. It must have been the Missile Margarita she'd been attempting to create. “What happened?”

Jennifer’s eyes fluttered open, and she looked around deliriously. “I’m so hungry, thirsty, and everything in between.”

“How about some big, angry hippo steaks?” Nacho eased her back to lean against a nearby tree trunk, his eyes scanning hers to see if she had a concussion.

“That’s a deal,” Jennifer groaned as she wiped away a stream of blood that was flowing from her left nostril. “I’ll wash them down with a bottle of my Mana Pop. I made a six pack in preparation for the Starvation Dungeon.”

Everyone had gathered around them, except Reuben, who knew what needed to be done. “Pack your things! We don’t know how long that Portal is going to be open, so we need to move, people!”

As the leader of the Snack Attack, you should approach the Portal. We’re going to have ourselves a little chat about how the Starvation Dungeon works.

Nacho stood, realizing that he was only clad in his jeans and t-shirt, since he had been using his gear to cook. “Reuben is right. I just got a message from the Patrons. I’ve been called to a conference.”

He grabbed his knives and sheathed them on his belt, then asked Reuben to take care of cleaning his armor. He did grab his skillet shield, the metal still hot and greasy, only for Reuben and Brie to stop him.

“Are you sure you need to go over there alone?” Brie questioned him with a glare that practically dared him to say ‘yes’. “I think that’s a bad idea.”

“Yeah, what she said.” Reuben was a bit pale. “Uh, be careful.”

“I will.” Nacho hurried over the bridge as Brie tossed her hands up in a ‘why do I bother’ motion. He approached the blinding radiance with his skillet raised to block some of the light, rapidly analyzing his status. He was at full Health, Hunger, and Thirst. He had magically enhanced food in his Slots—four full portions of Resent-o-potamus steak and pocket pancakes.

Unwilling to stall and risk ticking off the Patrons, he walked into the light and arrived… in a very cozy sitting room. Polished wood floor, gleaming panels, and velvet wallpaper ensconced the space with an air of understated elegance. Comfy couches were bookended by ornate end tables. On a central coffee table sat a colossal leather bound tome, its title glittering in ornate golden script, The History of the Seven Hundred and Seventy-Seven Thousand Juxtapositions. Volume 1.

Nacho would’ve gone right for the book, except that he found himself not ten feet from Arriod, who stood with his katana drawn. His sunglasses had been pushed rest atop his head. The CruxTerran had dressed to blend in surprisingly well with regular humans from Kansas City. Cowboy boots, jeans, skin-tight black T-shirt beneath a fur-lined vest. Where was his armor?

Next to Arriod stood a guy in a toga and strange boots. A toothpick jutted belligerently from the corner of his mouth. On his head was a helmet with an eye on the front—an eye with cross-shaped pupils. The helmet was more likely to fit in on a football field than a field of battle, but Nacho had no doubt that it was an item he would kill to attain for himself: this was obviously a Patron.

The next moment, Kronos walked out of the wall, adjusted his New York Yankees cap, and brushed some lint off his own toga. Kronos nodded at the other Patron. “Hey, Johnny, so glad we all decided that we could have this little meeting in person. I mean, we all know about the rules that get… bent.”

‘Johnny’ nodded and chewed on his toothpick. “Can’t break ‘em. You know the Cultivator would know. As it is, he’s busy lookin’ elsewhere.”

The Cultivator? Who was that? Nacho hadn’t heard the name before, but it seemed the Patrons answered to someone else after all.

Johnny swept off his helmet to reveal a sweaty scalp, motioning to Arriod. “This is my guy, Arriod. That’s Nacho?”

“That’s right,” Kronos replied as the tension ramped up in the room. He evidently hated Arriod’s silent intensity, unnerved by those very strange eyes, despite his lofty status as a Patron.

Right then, Nacho had to remind himself that at one point, he’d been the Shadow Killer. He accessed and equipped some of that old bravado, anxious to move things along and get back to his team. “Hey, guys, great to see everyone. Firstly, if Arriod and I are going to fight, I’d like to get my armor on before his blade can get anywhere near my flesh.”

Arriod was silent, though he took a fresh grip on his sword when Nacho stressed the word ‘flesh’. Nacho laughed darkly and crossed his arms. “Yeah, Arriod, I know about your sword. How it deals crazy bonus damage to flesh, how you-”

“Enough table talk!” Johnny burst out, and Nacho found that his jaw had been forcibly clenched shut. “You two are going to go head-to-head in the game now. This is what everything we’ve done so far has been building up to. We’re starting a bit early, but a certain Patron’s boon messed up our build order-”

“You better watch your mouth.” Kronos pushed his cap back, flipping the visor to face behind his head. “I played by the rules; I just went all-in on my boy Nacho. Sure, some Patrons aren’t happy, but at least you can’t say this round is boring. Action, romance, danger, intrigue, and high-stakes betting? Multiple worlds are on the line! The entire universe will one day hang in the balance, and it might all come down to which world wins… right here, right now.”

“Zero-sum game,” Nacho concurred as soon as the restriction was lifted. “Too bad it has to end this way. If things were different, I could’ve introduced you to personalized meals, Arriod.”

“I’m sure it would’ve been a new experience.” The CruxTerran finally replied in a deep voice, very confident, not a hint of sarcasm to be found. “But as the Store has proven, it is highly inefficient.”

“Let’s cut the chit-chat,” Johnny grumbled, clearly sullen that he was no longer the star of the show. “The rules are simple: You each will gather your parties and enter into the Pantry. Fight or don’t, but the name of the game is to reach the Dining Room Table without eating. First one to reach the Feast Portal wins. If you eat, you lose.”

“Uuugh. Your lack of details makes everything so boring!” Kronos sighed and shook his head. “Come on, Johnny. Let’s not cut to the chase. Let’s build this up more. I wanted you to brag about the Starvation Dungeon a bit.”

“You want me to brag? Fine.” Johnny plopped down in a chair and settled his helmet on his knee, Waving his toothpick around like a conductor’s baton. “The Starvation Dungeon isn’t on any world. It’s an in-between place, a little pocket dimension we created between your two Starter Worlds. We really pulled out all the stops for this one. You’ll see. It’s not like any dungeon that you two have run before. Once you step inside, you’re trapped. The only way out is through the Portal of Feasting. Even better, this is the actual bridge between your worlds. But the portals that let you cross over to each other's planets don't let you into the… fun part.”

“Let me tell our lucky contestants what the spoils are!” Kronos selected a chair across from Johnny, their overwhelming power causing the air between them to spark and *snap* as if they were starting a fight too fast for the human eye to see. “The winning party takes control of the Portal you two have been zipping through. That’s the one in Nacho’s AKC, and Arriod’s zone four, section three, subsection two-point-three-two.”

“As soon as there is a winner…” Johnny took over, as though the explanation was all perfectly rehearsed, “all other Portals between the worlds close forever. The winner’s world gains various bonuses. Additional credits per kill, some boons, and other fabulous prizes. What does the loser’s world get? A Putrid Mana dump. That translates into a near-immediate doubling of the Tiers of all monsters. Tier twos become Tier fours. Tier fours become Tier eights. Bam. Instant death planet. Now, we’ve had losing worlds take years to finally fail, but once every sapient planetary native on a world is gone… the next round begins.”

When it became clear that no other details were freely forthcoming, Nacho immediately started asking questions. “With the one Portal, the winner controls it completely, right?”

“Along with a brand-new castle to keep out unwanted visitors.” Kronos nodded approvingly at his insightful guess. “The best, most Epic fortress that credits can’t buy. It will make Armor Mountain look like a couch-cushion fort.”

“Why do your people have so many competing convenience stores? They all sell nearly the same items.” Arriod’s questions took an abrupt turn into bizzaro land. “Why waste your time and resources on so many practically identical brands?”

“Free market capitalism,” Nacho replied without pausing to wonder why he wanted to know. “It drives innovation and intellectual advances faster than any other system.”

“That’s a shame,” Arriod whispered softly.

“Rules.” Johnny cut in once more. “No eating in the Starvation Dungeon. If you eat anything, even an eighth of a portion, you forfeit everything. Drinking is okay, which will be good news for your Mind Players. They’ll get their Thirst Points, but there’s no way to regain Hunger Points in the dungeon. Your Body Players are going to have to use their Skills wisely-”

“Arriod and Brie recently acquired some Skills that allow them to regain some of their Hunger Points,” Kronos interrupted the other Patron. “Those won’t work until you’re within three hundred feet of the Feast Portal, or fifteen elephants trunk-to-tail. Football is kinda like Quack Ball, for the CruxTerrans. We figure if you all get that far, then you should be allowed to use every Skill you have at your disposal for the battle royale.”

Nacho had a bad feeling about all of this. Brie would be furious that she wouldn’t be able to use her Melee Munchies. What kind of ability did Arriod have? The CruxTerran tilted his head, those strange eyes fixed on Nacho. “You seem troubled, round-pupil. You seem weak.”

“Beating you will only double the pleasure,” Nacho lazily retorted. “Also, your face is weaker than tea that’s been left to steep for only thirty seconds.”

“What does that even-” The CruxTerran’s eyes narrowed as he tried to piece together the non sequitur.

“Nope, it’s odd.” Nacho kept up the inane drivel, trying to test whether he would be able to use his strange insults to gain an edge, “That’s how you know it’s number one. What’s a ‘peef’?”

“Large herd animal we use as a meat source,” Arriod answered quietly, apparently having completely let go of his emotions in order to focus more closely on the Patrons.

“Too bad.” Nacho had figured as much, but he had been hoping to make the man miss something important. It hadn’t worked. “Let’s roll. We start in the Pantry, and we have to get to the Dining Room Table. I’m assuming this is going to be a foodie dungeon? There a time limit?”

“You know what happens in twenty hours if you don’t eat,” Kronos reminded him. “You start losing Hunger Points, and if your Body Players are using their Skills while starving… well, that’s going to give them a bad case of dying.”

Nacho hated how casually his Patron mentioned that particular mechanic. One of the reasons why he had decided to become a cook had been to prevent people from starving to death. He’d seen it happen, and it wasn’t pretty. It had directly driven the entire world to cannibalism during the Probability Vision.

Johnny put his toothpick back into his mouth and his helmet back on his head. “That’s already too much of a hint. Nacho, sorry you’re going to die, but my guy is going to win this little race. I hope your round-eyed world is ready to fight unrelenting waves of monsters while CruxTerra gets all the goodies.”

A twinkle danced in Johnny’s eye, and Nacho figured that the Patron had some kind of secret plan.

“Not going to happen.” Kronos took off his cap and waved it at the other Patron. “I’ve bet it all on Nacho, and I have a secret weapon. A little piece of intel just might change everything… but we’re not here to discuss secrets, and we won’t be taking any more questions.”

“Agreed. Let the games begin.” Johnny snapped his fingers.

An instant later, Nacho felt his armor in place, from his helmet-pot to his shoulder pans, to his Wok of Blocking protecting his chest. They hadn’t been cleaned, and he grimaced at the fact that he was wearing dirty dishes. He found himself surrounded by Reuben, Brie, Jennifer, the Breakfast Club, and the Five Sword Guys. They weren’t on Earth anymore; each of them had been transported directly into the Pantry.

Across from them, not twenty feet away, Arriod waited with his strike team.

Their Starvation Dungeon run had begun.

“Everybody…” Nacho took a deep breath, pointed into the distance, and bellowed, “Run!”