Jeremy spun around. What he saw was so out of place that he blinked, closing his eyes for a few seconds to see if the view would change when he opened them again. It didn't.
“Who? No... what... are you?” Jeremy asked. He'd already tried Identify. There was no response. Nothing. Not even ??? Just... a blank—nothing. Even using Identify on thin air would gain the response.
This is air. You need it to breathe.
But not the being in front of him.
The being in front of him resembled an older boy wearing an expensive suit and carrying a cane. Tall, with dark hair and piercing gray eyes, the cane was not to help the boy walk. No. The cane, no doubt, contained a sword and many other lethal instruments. The older boy oozed competence and spoke with a crisp upper-class British accent.
The older teenage boy resembled a younger version of Jeremy's favorite movie character. A secret agent, able to single-handedly take down a supervillain lair, killing hordes of evil henchmen while discussing the merits of different French champagnes with the young women he rescued along the way. In short, exactly the sort of person you wanted to be trapped in a monster-infested dungeon with.
Someone who'd always have the situation under control and know what to do. “Dragons? Dragons hate it when you cut off their heads. Let me show you.”
The older boy drew himself up and brought his cane down on the dungeon floor with a bang. “My name is Flint Frozen-Fury Ultra-Maximum Steel. At your service. First, let me give you the good news.”
“What's your real name?” Jeremy said. “Nobody is named Flint Frozen-Fury Ultra-Maximum Steel."
“Jeremy Titley Wilkins. Let me suggest you are in no position to criticize my name,” Flint responded. “I will admit my name sounds far more impressive and heroic in my native language. Flint Frozen-Fury Ultra-Maximum Steel is as close an approximation as I can make in your crude primitive speech.”
“How are you talking to me without making any noise?” Jeremy shivered. Though Jeremy was speaking out loud. The being in front of him was completely silent, somehow speaking to him while doing nothing to affect The Fun House's tomb-like silence. “And how do you know my middle name?” His middle name, which he avoided using for obvious reasons, wasn't on his stat sheet.
Was he hallucinating? Jeremy clenched his eyes shut and willed this being to disappear.
Though Jeremy's eyes remained closed, Flint somehow remained visible, standing in front of him. “You are correct, Jeremy. I am a nonhuman, non-corporeal entity appearing before you and speaking in a way your small mind can comprehend. As I've attached myself to your soul, I do not require your senses to make myself visible or understood.”
Uh, oh. “So what are you?”
“Explaining what I truly am would be like you explaining quantum physics to an ant.”
“I don't know quantum physics,” Jeremy responded.
“Exactly. Now, if I may continue, I will give you the good news. You, Jeremy Titley Wilkins, are The Chosen One. Not that I had much choice in the matter. My choice was you, or nothing. But that does not detract from the fact that you are The Chosen One just the same.”
“How about unattaching yourself from my soul, unchoosing me, and going away.” Jeremy clenched his eyes more tightly shut and willed the strange being to disappear.
This did not affect the being standing in front of him.
“That is not an option, Jeremy. Sadly, we are stuck with each other.”
“How do I know you aren't a monster?”
Flint sighed, growing exasperated. “You don't need to be afraid, Jeremy, I'm not here to hurt you. In fact, you will be getting the better of this arrangement. It's the mark of a great leader to do much with minimal resources. With you, Jeremy Titley Wilkins, I expect my abilities to be tested to the utmost.”
Jeremy opened his eyes again. Flint was unchanged, but the rest of The Fun House came into view.
Jeremy walked over to Flint and waved his hand through the older boy's insubstantial form. “Chosen for what, exactly?”
“Chosen for the extremely important task of getting me to the seventh floor, through the dungeon portal, and out of this dungeon so I can save the universe. And please stop doing that.” Flint glared down at Jeremy. “Putting your hand through another being's body is considered rude.”
“Save the universe from what? And why don't you just float up to the seventh floor and leave?”
“Explaining to you how I'm saving the universe would be going back to the whole quantum physics to an ant thing. As for floating to the seventh floor, you don't suppose I haven't thought of that in the thousand years I've been trapped in this dungeon? Sadly, after losing my physical body, my non-corporeal form has been largely immobile. I had no choice but to wait until I could attach myself to the soul, of, well,” he sighed, “a rather substandard adventurer like yourself.”
Jeremy glared at Flint, not liking the older boy's attitude and not knowing what to think. “You want me to carry you to the seventh floor of the dungeon so you can leave?”
“Exactly. As The Chosen One, this is your sacred birthright. Now, if I may continue.”
“Wait. You claim the universe is in dire peril, but you've been here for a thousand years? If you knew about this before you entered the dungeon, how is the universe still here?”
“The universe won't be destroyed tomorrow, but maybe in the next ten to one hundred years. Tick tick, Jeremy. The clock is ticking.”
“How do you know my middle name?”
Stolen story; please report.
“I'm attached to your soul and know everything you do, Jeremy. A sadly small amount of information.”
“How about unattaching yourself and leaving,” Jeremy glared at the entity, not at all sure he believed Flint, or that Flint was what he claimed.
Flint paced slowly around The Fun House, tapping the odds and ends scattered around the large room with his cane. It was over a minute before he resumed speaking.
“Let's talk about strength, Jeremy. They say it's important to be strong inside. At least that's what they tell weak people. They say there's strength in numbers. But usually, you end up with many weak people waiting for someone strong to show up and tell them what to do.”
“Who's they?” Jeremy asked.
“They, are your leaders. The ones who decide what's wrong, what's right, and what you should believe to make you behave and pay your taxes. You should always view what they say with skepticism.” Flint paused for effect, then created a whiteboard out of nothing. “But enough about them. Let's focus on you.”
The corporeally challenged being named Flint made a graph appear on the whiteboard he'd just created out of thin air. On one side of the graph was a bar that went to the top of the whiteboard, labeled “Strength Needed to Navigate and Leave This Dungeon.” Next to it was a bar the width of a dime on the bottom of the board labeled “Jeremy's Strength.”
“Now, if you carefully examine this graph, Jeremy, you will notice a slight discrepancy between the strength needed to navigate this dungeon and your strength. If you are to perform your sacred Chosen-One duty of getting me out of this dungeon so I can save the universe, this slight discrepancy must be addressed.”
“I'm not that weak, am I?” Jeremy said, looking at the graph. “I'm a Level 8 adventurer, and I have Enhanced Physical 1 along with many other skills, passive and not.”
Flint chucked. “Exactly. Now, to continue, this dungeon has researched the subject of strength for thousands of years and has arrived at several conclusions. The first, and most important, is that strong adventurers are less likely to be eaten by monsters.” He pulled up a second graph, putting it next to the first. “You will notice on this graph that no adventurer has zero strength and none is infinitely strong, though a few approach both extremes.”
The bottom of the graph was labeled “Strength of Adventurer,” starting with a zero strength on the left side and an infinity symbol on the right. The left vertical side of the graph was labeled “Likelihood of Getting Eaten by Monsters,” with a 100% on the bottom of the graph, and a 0% on top.
Unlike the previous graph, this one had a curved line starting at the lower left corner and curving upwards. The left side approaching 0 strength and 100% chance of being eaten by monsters, and the right side approaching infinite strength and 0% chance of being eaten by monsters.
An “x” with Jeremy Wilkins's name next to it was very close to the lower left corner.
“You may have noticed, Jeremy, that you have a 99.6% chance of being eaten by monsters, and since your getting eaten by monsters will prevent me from reaching the 7th floor so I can leave this dungeon and save the universe—this is a problem.”
“Well, I don't care,” Jeremy answered. “I don't like this universe.”
“Let me point out that you, your friends, family, and all your possessions are part of this universe. If this universe goes, so do they.”
“Whatever,” Jeremy said.
Flint banged his cane on the floor again for emphasis. “Very well. Since that's been resolved, let us move on to the next lesson.” He pulled another whiteboard out of nothing. “Keeping the previous lessons in mind, what do you suppose our first step should be?”
“You going away?” Jeremy asked.
“Wrong!” Flint smacked the empty board with his cane. “Our first step is to make the Chosen One, AKA Jeremy Titley Wilkins, less weak!” Words appeared on the whiteboard
Make Jeremy Less Weak!
“Making you strong is not an option, Jeremy, but we can make you less weak.”
“What does that mean?” Jeremy asked, ignoring the insult. “What even is Strength?”
“An excellent question, Jeremy,” Flint responded. “There is no one definition of Strength. There's physical strength. Your physical Strength Attribute is an example of that. The definition of Strength used by the dungeon, however, is 'those qualities in an adventurer that prevent them from being eaten by monsters'.”
Jeremy thought that over. “That does not answer my question. What qualities?”
“Another excellent question.” Flint wrote “What Is Strength?” below the previous line. “Character classes and levels are one of the more conventional ways people define strength. All things being equal, a Level 2 adventurer can defeat a Level 1 adventurer. But all things are never equal. A Level 1 adventurer who spent their life training could easily beat a Level 2 or even a Level 10 adventurer in single combat. Another quality is your skills, both active and passive. The higher you can raise your skills, the better.”
Flint wrote “Character Levels” and “Skill Levels” underneath.
“There is a lot more to strength,” Flint said, “ability to think strategically, how you distribute your Attribute points, things of that nature, but this will do for now.”
There was a pause. Jeremy wasn't sure how to respond.
“I believe Clown Lord's initial assessment of you was correct. If you were able to get Enhanced Physical 10 and kill every boss monster in this dungeon, you would be strong enough so that even that Mezirma creature would think twice before engaging you in combat. However,” Flint continued, “Clown Lord didn't mention how impossible both those tasks are. Each Enhanced Physical level is harder to gain than the previous one. In the past, gifted warriors have dedicated their entire lives to getting Enhanced Physical 10, and failed. Also, several of the boss monsters in this dungeon are considered unkillable, even by the strongest adventurers who've encountered them.”
“You mean the hydra?” Jeremy asked.
“No. The hydra, in the greater scheme of things, is only moderately dangerous. And is simply the most dangerous monster you must get past to leave this dungeon. And don't worry, you won't have to fight it. Most adventurers sneak past the hydra when it's in a torpid state. There are monsters in this dungeon able to eat the hydra for breakfast.”
“Speaking of Clown Lord, where is he?” Jeremy asked.
“There is a dungeon rule. You may not kill the same monster twice during your stay on any floor of the dungeon. To see Clown Lord again, you'd have to leave this floor of the dungeon and return, which, to the best of my knowledge, is impossible without leaving and reentering the dungeon.”
“What if I promised not to kill him?”
Flint chuckled. “You know that's not how it works, Jeremy. As I was saying, we may not be able to make you strong, but we can make you less weak. Go to The Fun House balcony, stand on the balcony railing, eat one of the poisoned dungeon candies you've collected, and practice sword drills.”
“What if I fall off?”
“Now, Jeremy. Oh. And put one of your remaining Attribute points into Will Power and the other into Endurance. Neglecting your weakest Attributes is a good way to die.”
“You don't even have a body. What if I refuse, Flint? What are you going to do about it?”
Flint chuckled. “I will do nothing, Jeremy. I'll remove myself from your perception, stand back, and do nothing while you die, a weak, pathetic adventurer. Your mother will never know what happened to you, and few other beings in the universe will notice or care about your demise.”
“How do I know you're not planning on eating my brain or something?” Jeremy asked.
“If I was a being that ate brains, I would not waste my time with you,” Flint replied.
After glaring at Flint for a few minutes in a staring contest in which Flint's unblinking stony gaze never wavered, Jeremy turned away and went to the balcony. But he left his Attributes alone. Perception and Strength had kept him alive so far, and for what he had planned, he didn't expect that to change.
