Jacob observes as a much larger puzzle is created in front of his eyes.

  It’s a veritable palace of Madness, red and pulsating.

  “You’ll have to enter this,” the Mad King says, “in order to complete it. And Madness shall catch you, Cloud. You will enter and forever lose your mind. But if you don’t I’ll first kill the girl, and then I’ll take care of your soul, dipping it into an ocean of Madness such as you could never picture even in your worst nightmare.”

  The Mad King observes, tasting on his bony teeth the joy of seeing such an arrogant brat about to go Mad.

  Those who enter Madness are never the same again, the Mad King thinks to himself, gloating.

  “There are things you cannot know, Mad King,” Jacob says, taking the first step toward the massive palace-like puzzle. “You can map every rune and every curse and every pattern and still not know if the person in front of you will break or not. You can be Madness, fully aware of it, and still trust the wrong voice. You can solve a thousand puzzles and still have no idea what happens when you swing your sword one more time.”

  “You’re already not making any sense,” King Baalrek laughs. “You are preaching ignorance to an Infernal king, which clearly means Madness is already taking root in you. How delightful.”

  “There’s no Madness in me and I am not preaching ignorance,” Jacob says, turning to look at the giant skeleton. “I am saying you built your life on the idea that everything can be understood if you stare at it long enough. Too much knowledge, too much information. Too much…”

  Jacob shakes his head.

  “Too much what, Cloud?” the Mad King says in a thunderous laugh.

  “How you’ll regret simply not putting a sword through my heart, Mad King. But it is the destiny of those who do not act to succumb to those who do.”

  The puzzle stretches out like a crooked palace made of stone and red light. Its walls form long corridors that bend in on themselves.

  Jacob looks at them. The floors breathe like living skin and the ceilings rise and fall with slow pulses of mana. Tall gates open and close without sound.

  A weird red glow that feels like tentacles reaching for the living seeps out of every crack.

  For a moment, the Mad King feels a spike of doubt, but then Jacob Cloud walks inside the gigantic palace-like cube, which closes after him.

  “He’ll lose himself soon enough.”

  He looks briefly at Nimirea, struggling in his grip, and wonders what kind of Madness will affect Jacob, what deep-rooted desire will be twisted and surface.

  He’s going to live a nightmarish existence. All he thought he was is going to crumble around him and he will never forgive himself for letting Madness turn him into the man he always was but refused to see.

  He waits, but about one minute later, the Mad King feels a tremor in the palace.

  He lifts his hand toward it, trying to glean what, exactly is happening. But the construct’s Mana is too dense even for him. He can’t see through it.

  Yet, before he can formulate any more thoughts, the puzzle collapses.

  The shards of Mana that made up the walls fall apart into dust. The runes burn out. The humming stops like a throat that has been cut.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Jacob Cloud appears from the ruins, walking back toward the Mad King.

  Then, Nimirea, who was about to pass out from the lack of circulation in her neck, feels the change in the Mad King’s grip. His fingers loosen without his consent. His whole body jerks because something inside his curse reacts.

  The Mad King’s hand opens.

  Nimirea drops.

  Jacob moves before he thinks. He darts forward and he catches her under the shoulders. He grits his teeth and steadies her.

  The Mad King stares at the empty space where the puzzle hung. His flaming eyes narrow. For a moment he looks like he cannot see the room around him.

  “How,” he mutters. He drags his gaze back up to Jacob. “How did you do that?”

  Jacob shrugs. “Luck.”

  The answer hits him like a slap.

  “You expect me to believe that.” His voice thunders now. “You expect me to accept ‘luck’."

  “Believe what you want,” Jacob says. “You lost the bet.”

  King Baalrek forces himself to move. He straightens his spine and pulls his aura back under control.

  “You want a swing at me,” he says. “You have that right. I gave it to you. After you take it, Cloud, I’ll take your pitiful life and shatter it. Before that, I’ll take Asmodeus’s creature, this girl you seem to care so much for, and break her in front of your eyes right after your sword breaks against me.”

  Jacob holds the Mad King’s gaze as something comes out of his Interspatial Ring. The Mad King’s gaze flicks to Jacob’s hands. He expects some hidden relic. He expects a new Skill. He expects a weapon worthy of the bet.

  Jacob reaches behind his back and pulls out a hilt.

  It looks ridiculous. The blade is gone. Only a jagged fragment of metal clings to the guard. The remainder of the sword is a twisted stump that barely reaches past his fist.

  The Mad King stares. Then he laughs.

  “Is this what you bring to strike down a king?!” he cackles, and holds his non-existent belly. “You do not even know what you hold. You do not even understand why it broke.”

  Jacob’s fingers tighten around the hilt.

  “You broke it,” he says. It is not a question.

  “Yes,” King Baalrek replies. “I broke it. I reveled in breaking what my past foolish self thought was the greatest catalyst of his power. I reforged its power into Madness. I have the memories of my past self forcing you to buy that scrap metal at an auction. And for what?! Pitiful nostalgia—that’s what.”

  “Really?” Jacob smiles.

  “It cost you more than you liked, did it not? And now, you think it’s going to do anything to me? It’s been drained, Cloud. Its power is gone.”

  But Jacob does not answer.

  He starts walking.

  The red lightning pulls back from him as he moves. The Secret Room seems to hold its breath. King Baalrek spreads his arms as if he wants to make it easier.

  “Go on,” King Baalrek says. “Hit me. Make it count. This is your only swing. Your last one before your death.”

  Jacob stops an arm’s length away. He looks up at the towering skeleton. He sees the curse etched into every bone. He sees the flicker of Madness behind the soul fire in the skull.

  “You really think my master is such a fool? That he’d want me to buy memorabilia from a past life?”

  “What else, then, would explain such a useless purchase?” the Mad King snickers.

  Yet, a creep of doubt hits him when he sees Jacob winking at him.

  Before the Mad King can do anything else, Jacob has already driven the broken sword forward.

  The fragment of the blade scrapes between two ribs and bites into the sternum. At first it feels like any other thrust. Bone resists. The hilt slams against the chest with a dull thud.

  King Baalrek throws his head back and laughs in relief.

  “Is that all?”

  He raises his hand. For a moment he prepares to crush Jacob where he stands. Mana surges through his arm. He starts the motion.

  Golden lines appear on his bones.

  They start at the point where the shard touched his bones. Thin cracks of light run along his ribcage. They race across his spine. They spread up his neck and down his legs. Every bone in his body gains a thin glowing fracture.

  His hand freezes in mid-air.