“Let’s get this done,” Oz nodded to Chops, standing at the entrance to the secret corridor. The magic in the room was no longer overwhelming him, his eyes had adjusted to the mana, so it was now just a subtle aura around the various concoctions.

  He patted Chops, shifting his grip on the vandalised door, and the now lightly chipped hatchet that he was wielding to do so. He moved ahead of Chops. He didn’t want the dog taking a trap to the face. The Other didn’t approve, it was quite happy to remind him that the dog was a summon, that was kind of its job, but Oz stamped that down. Chops was a thinking being, not some sacrificial pawn.

  Was Oz still happy to kill the Jackals in droves? Yes, that was different. Why? Not sure, but if they tried being a touch more adorable then maybe he’d feel a little more conflicted. Probably not, they kept trying to kill Chops. The Other gave up, admitting that it knew as well as any storyteller, defending a dog excused a double digit body count.

  Moving through the corridor he came to a turn, and looking down the path he could see another door like the first one. Like any dwarf worth their beard oil, Oz could track his paces underground. When you didn’t have windows you had to rely on your ability to measure paces and direction. He knew he was looping round behind the room that the double doors led to. What he hoped was the last room of the dungeon. A smile crept over him, he’d avoided the obviously trapped corridor that led up to the double doors. Oz and the Other patted themselves on the back.

  Screw that corridor.

  He pushed on, moving down the corridor, keeping a watch out for traps. He didn’t spot any, which made sense in a weird way, like why punish him for finding a secret passage. Still, that meant this was the boss room. The Other started to list reasons to return, there were still two crystals unaccounted for, perhaps the chest which the Other called a “mimic” could help him push past a threshold. Oz pushed on, but did so carefully, checking his stride.

  Oz was too keen for the fight and the Other too cowardly. Together they balanced out into a cautious approach. He reached another door, this one was locked. They only had the one key, which thankfully fit the lock. He could feel the end of this nightmare just on the other side of the door. Despite the temptation, he listened at the door, hearing nothing beside the music. He checked the walls for runes or the pulsing sign of magic, again nothing.

  He held his fingers to signal for Chops to stay quiet. The dog just licked him in response. He unlocked the door and prepared to slide into the room ready for the final fight.

  Through the cracked door he could see he’d come out behind some bookshelves. No traps went off, and crouched behind his improvised shield he edged forward. The room was filled with fancy music, and the air smelled like perfume. The books that lined the shelf looked expensive, leather bound with gold leaf picking out the text. Nothing he’d find in Greywater’s municipal library. The room was, in a word, “fancy”, and shifting the books in place to spy through the gap he saw the boss.

  A jackal eared beast-kin lay reclined on a sofa eating something off a silver platter held up by another small Jackal. He had the standard elven look, with pointed black fur ears rising out of his delicate dark curls. He was tall, a good few inches taller than Oz, and in a standard issue uniform, this one whole and complete. The one sign that things weren’t right was the red light that glowed under the shirt. He turned and Oz could make out the man was eating a tiny square of pizza.

  He was insultingly good looking, the kind of face you expect on the front of a newsheet making a kissy face towards the camera. The Other hated him, his cowardice competing with an apparently deep seated loathing of “pretty boys”. Oz, not sure why he was defending the monster, did feel he had to point out that the guy was an evil mastermind who turned people into mutant Jackals. “Pretty” wasn’t the word he’d pick.

  The Other grumbled, people like him had stolen his girl, well, not his girl, but girls in general. The more Oz felt the context wash over him before he could shout out the entitled whinging.

  First though, he wanted to get the lay of the land. With the Other’s cowardice overruled by his “impotent” rage he could already feel his fists itching. It was time to get this done.

  He moved through the room, keeping his steps light.

  The final chamber was like a palace and a student dorm had a baby. Roughly square and ten paces on each side, it had a high ceiling lit with a chandelier, from which hung a collection of bras. Rich mahogany desks lined the far wall, covered in paper and abandoned plates. There was a four poster bed on the wall to his left, and the doors to the trap corridor were on the wall to his right. This side seemed to be his library, and off to the side he spotted the last Jackal, playing a violin in the corner, surrounded by bookshelves.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  The boss was unarmed, but on the floor beside his sofa was a rapier in easy reach. The Other reminded him that the mural showed him with sword in one hand, flames in the other, so blade mage. Neither of the smaller Jackals had weapons ready. Better to take them out quick before they got more lethal, that’d be Chops’ job.

  Oz stood up. Until now there’d been plans. Deceptions, ways to get the edge. Now though, he knew it was time for the Grimbrow special. Get up in their face and start punching. He prepared to make his run, sending Chops down the corridor of bookshelves.

  “I hear you back there, why don’t you join me for a moment, it’s been a while since I’ve had a chance to play this role and I’d like to enjoy it some more.” Oz froze, and then the boss’s head turned to meet his gaze as if the bookcase wasn’t even there. “I do see you, indulge me a brief moment and I’ll make it worth your while.”

  “What do you want?” Oz yelled back through the bookcase. He commanded Chops to stay still. Did the boss know about him or not.

  “Oh really, it’s just I don’t get to play the role often. Barely anyone ever takes this test anymore. A shame, I like acting the spoiled villain.” The voice drawled. The two small Jackals quivered with every word.

  “What’s going on? Are you real, you don’t sound like a template?” Oz was confused. What he knew of how dungeons worked didn’t account for this.

  “Indeed, I’m something a bit more real. Fulfilling the role here as the Jackal Master. What do you think of the place?” The Jackal smiled, Oz didn't know what to think. He'd been fine killing templates, this wasn't what he was expecting.

  “It’s a slagheap full of piss drinking murderous Jackals, I want to leave and you’re in my way,” Oz growled.

  “Oh, that’s not a very proper way of speaking, have standards slipped so low? I mean I’m limited in what I see, but what, some tricks with a door and some fire? Then what, you send your summon to mop up the minions? You need more than that to be a student here.”

  “Been enough so far!” Oz snapped back. He wasn’t going to deny an advantage though, and if the bastard wasn’t going to attack he would use the opportunity to get closer. He walked slowly round the corner to find the boss still lounging on the couch. He now had a clear line of approach, but no one seemed to care. Neither of the two Jackals reacted to his presence, both still acting as faithful servants.

  “See, this is fun for me. So why don’t you stay right there, we can talk, I have a scripted offer to make you.”

  “Is it eat that obviously cursed crystal? Does that ever work?” Oz asked, provoking a laugh so rich it had echoes of caviar and champagne.

  “On occasion, some say yes to get closer to me and attack, others have some magic that they use the crystal to attack me with. At least a couple of times people thought eating the crystal would somehow help them, they were delightfully wrong. Look, we might as well stretch this out, you’ve made the worst possible decision. You should’ve left at least a few alive for me to eat up. You’re a summoner of some sort? I’m not sure why you’ve kitted yourself out as a brawler, but it’s not the worst idea.” The boss’s confidence confused Oz till he remembered that familiars were rarely ever Chops sized.

  Whoever this was must assume that his powers were mostly centred around summoning and empowering Chops, which he supposed made sense if he only saw bits of the fights and with how big Chops was.

  “You should come at me ready for a protracted battle against a weaker opponent. Terrible at a brawl against me at full strength.”

  “Not the best trash talk, pretty boy.” Oz felt his knuckles whiten. The Other was pleased with the insult and how misinformed the opponent was. Neither of them could work out why he wasn’t attacking, but it wasn’t a bad problem to have. It gave him time to prepare for a more tactical fight, as this was undeniably a person. A sentient being.

  Oz had been fine slaughtering his way through the mindless Jackals, but this was different, this was a real person like Maizy, and to a lesser extent Gol.

  He could just charge the guy, vanquish him, and let the respawn sort it out, but that felt off. Sure, he wouldn’t be killing the guy and the rules actively encouraged it. But with his own soul already stitched together like a badly patched quilt, throwing down a respawn was uncomfortable.

  Worse, the Other was swinging violently between rampant hate for cheekbones here, all the way to a sense of ick. It couldn’t really process that this didn’t count as killing someone that was intelligent enough to hold a conversation.

  Still, he was Oz. And his patience for people was never high. After the day he’d had, he was scraping the bottom of the barrel to see if he had any fucks left to give.

  Oz took a step forward.

  “Oh yes, I do like this form,” the figure purred. “So handsome. Look, why not chat a moment? Don’t you want to be sure there’s no clever trick here, no hidden weakness to exploit? I promise, you’re missing something.”

  Their voice was slow, smooth, and utterly unbothered. They clearly had nowhere to be.

  The Other had decided, kill him, respawn or not. Oz, meanwhile, just wanted a clean excuse. Something that would let him stop feeling like he was about to carve up an actual person.

  The Other pushed, reminding him, it’s not real.

  “Still a thinking thing,” Oz muttered. He’d never been someone who threw fists before at least trying words. Sure, “punch” was up there in his primary dialogue choices, but he at least aimed to talk long enough for plausible deniability.

  Oz grumbled, and mentally urged Chops through the link he was only just starting to get a handle on to start moving towards the musically inclined Jackal, telling him to be ready to pounce when he attacked.

  “No, I’m not one for word games. I want this done.” Oz took another step forward, keeping the pretty boy’s attention on him.

  “Well then I’ll have to force patience upon you.” The boss’s voice turned sharp, and then his hand glowed so brightly that Oz had to blink as the magical build up threatened his cornea. Oz raised his shield, but to his horror he realised that the magic wasn’t coming for him.

  From the boss’s hand a beam of fire lanced out, blasting through the books where Chops was hiding. The dog barely had time to whimper.

  [Chops has been vanquished]

  “CHOPS!” Oz felt his voice choke.