Inside his privy, King Boser—a large, proud man—was struggling to exorcise last night’s cheese-filled peppers.

  His face turned steadily redder.

  Every few minutes, a pained scream echoed through the stone chamber.

  Then—he froze.

  He heard voices.

  Coming from the other side of the wall.

  And the strangest conversation began to unfold.

  ***

  “What was that sound?”

  A high, bombastic voice—wobbling somewhere between royal and deeply unwell.

  “I don’t know,” replied a lighter voice.

  Unhinged. Impossible to tell if it belonged to a boy, a girl, or perhaps a clever raccoon.

  “But I think I can lockpick the door now.”

  “How can you suddenly know how lockpicking works?” the bombastic voice demanded—offended by the very idea. “That’s not how doors work!”

  “I heard the ding,” the voice said simply.

  “That was a level up. Naturally, I gained a skill.”

  “Where did the lockpicks come from?”

  A pause. You could hear the twitch in the speaker’s eye.

  “You get a set... when you choose the skill.”

  “Of course. Silly of me to question it,” the bombastic voice said, now sounding completely convinced.

  “Wait... why didn’t I gain a level?”

  “You’re probably a different class,” the lighter voice replied, utterly casual.

  “Might need more XP.”

  A metallic click echoed.

  The sound of a door unlocking.

  “Nice work, Mayo,” the bombastic one said proudly.

  “Wait—why can’t I open the door now?”

  “Strange. Me neither,” the light voice replied.

  “But it is open?”

  Pause.

  “Ah. Only with the left hand can it be opened.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense!”

  “Look—a tiny bug just crawled out,” the lighter voice said, almost delighted.

  With that, two persons stormed into the privy, looking a tall, broad King Boser in the eye.

  ***

  Mayo and Linguini stormed through the bugged-out door.

  Ahead stood a massive turtle—

  Red eyes. Charred breath. The kind of posture that said I could breathe fire, but I’m saving it for someone who deserves it.

  He stared at them, wide-eyed.

  As if they were... completely unexpected.

  “It has a giant exclamation mark floating above it,” Linguini whispered.

  “Ooohhh, a quest giver!” Mayo gasped, nearly giddy.

  “What?” The turtle blinked, deeply alarmed.

  So alarmed, in fact, that a loud, wet thunk echoed through the chamber—

  like a log hitting water.

  Above his head, the exclamation mark flickered—then turned into a tiny spinning hourglass.

  Reralt heard a ding.

  “Ha! Leveled up.”

  Another ding.

  “Wait—two levels?”

  Then a third. A deep, echoing DING that rattled through the castle walls.

  A tiny glowing bug fluttered past his face, trailing code particles like digital dust.

  “Stupid bugs cost me a level,” he muttered, swatting at it.

  ***

  Boser—relieved, as he was now well relieved—found himself having a small but serious philosophical deliberation.

  On the one hand:

  He should absolutely call the guards.

  These two were clearly under the influence of... something. Possibly several somethings.

  They were unpredictable. Dangerous. Possibly contagious.

  On the other hand:

  He was still in the privy.

  Pants down.

  Vulnerable.

  And they absolutely seemed like the kind of people who wouldn’t blink before murdering a sitting king.

  Maybe—just maybe—he had to lean into the crazy.

  “Well,” he stuttered, still seated on his cold stone throne,

  “Your quest is…”

  He thought very hard.

  It had to be something time-consuming, vaguely noble, and located far from the bathroom.

  Something that would keep them busy for at least fifteen minutes—

  Just long enough to find guards.

  And pants.

  “Our cellar is plagued by rats,” Boser declared, summoning all the grandeur a man could manage while seated on cold stone, without pants.

  “Go. Slay the Rat King—and your reward shall be grand.”

  ***

  The two stood quietly, reverently—awaiting the sacred words of the quest giver.

  “Go slay the—”

  A loud buzz filled the air as a bug zipped past.

  “—king. And your reward shall be grand.”

  They both nodded solemnly.

  Mayo clenched his fists.

  Linguini adjusted his imaginary green hat.

  “To slay this evil king,” Linguini declared, full of bombastic pride,

  “will be our honor!”

  He stood tall, staring directly at Boser.

  “Are you the king?”

  Boser blinked, still very much seated and vulnerable.

  “Strange quest,” Mayo muttered with absolute certainty.

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  “Must be the end boss.”

  “Of course,” Boser said, hopeful—desperate, really—just trying to go along with the madness.

  “Meet me in the throne room… for our final battle.”

  “Of course!” Mayo nodded solemnly.

  “Gives us time to stock up on healing items and potions.”

  “I need no potions,” Linguini declared, striking a dramatic hero pose.

  “Nor other forms of cheatery.”

  Mayo squinted at him.

  There was something off.

  His limbs looked… stretched. His hair suddenly longer.

  Silver. Flowing. Glitching just slightly at the edges.

  He looked around.

  The castle—just moments ago a pixelated fever dream—now seemed... more real.

  The bricks had weight.

  The torches flickered without glowing green.

  Even the air felt heavier, less like a side-scroller.

  “Magic,” he muttered.

  ***

  Ten minutes later.

  In the throne room, King Boser—now wearing pants, and with a sliver of dignity reassembled—stood flanked by four guards.

  It wasn’t much.

  He hadn’t had time to submit a proper security escalation form.

  And the royal scribe was, unfortunately, on his mandatory union lunch break.

  It would have to do.

  After all—they were just two deranged lunatics.

  The big silver-haired one? Definitely dangerous.

  The little one? Tired. Nervous. Probably just here for support.

  Barely a threat.

  From the door at the back of the hall, a voice rang out:

  “Can we come in yet? Are you ready?”

  Boser sighed.

  “I really hope I don’t die from this meshuggeness.”

  Boser looked at the guards—sword in hand, looking as if they also did not understand anything of the situation. They nodded.

  “Let’s get this over with,” Boser yelled at the door.

  ***

  “It’s-a me—Mayo!”

  Mayo burst through the throne room doors, skidding across the polished floor.

  “We’re here to save the princess!”

  A beat later, Linguini slipped from a balcony above.

  He landed squarely on a guard, flipped, and kicked another straight in the face.

  Two guards collapsed in a tangle of limbs, armor clattering and surprise.

  Then he himself collapsed—face-first—on the marble floor.

  He scrambled to his feet as if nothing had happened.

  “Cool punchline,” he muttered. “Why don’t I have one?”

  “I believe,” Mayo said, smug and annoyingly proud, “that you are the secondary character.”

  “Hmpf. I don’t like it. Hope these shrooms wear off soon,” Linguini grumbled as he slowly approached the two guards, who were now arguing over a thick rulebook.

  The guards weren’t sure what to do.

  The tall man had fallen on their comrades, but whether it was an attack or just a stumble… unclear.

  “Hmm… Chapter 27, Subparagraph 21-A,” one guard read aloud. “A guard only attacks when observing an aggressive or illegal act.”

  The other nodded. “I wouldn’t call stumbling illegal, would you?”

  “Well, no. But we didn’t see him stumble. Only the result.” The guard stated.

  “But that,” said the first, pointing at the book, “is not in the manual.”

  He turned to Linguini.

  “Good sir—did you stumble or attack?”

  King Boser sat sobbing quietly on his throne, face buried in his hands.

  “That’s a strange script—I mean, rule,” Linguini said, now standing beside them and reading along.

  “So… if someone sneaks up from behind and stabs one of you, you don’t treat that as aggression?” he asked.

  “Good casus,” one of the guards commended him, nodding thoughtfully. “Go to Chapter 46, Harold.”

  The other guard dutifully flipped pages.

  “Here—Chapter 46, Rule 54, Subsection B,” he read aloud.

  “If a clear criminal act occurs without being directly noticed, the guard must enter a state of heightened alert for five minutes to see if the perpetrator repeats.”

  The first guard glanced at his partner, who now lay slumped on the ground—clearly unconscious, struck by a lute-like clubbing device.

  He turned back to the book, flipping pages in search of the definition of heightened alert.

  Then he, too, was promptly knocked out by Mary Syril.

  “Do we get XP for this?” Linguini asked, worried.

  Boser still sat sobbing on his throne, muttering to himself.

  “Should’ve patched the manual. Should’ve been in there in the first place,” he sighed.

  ***

  Mayo’s hands slowly morphed back into their usual five-fingered shape.

  He looked around—and, as expected but still disappointed—saw Linguini grow silver hair, impeccable pecs, and a grin that was, unfortunately, famous.

  The big, fire-breathing turtle-thing had become a broad-shouldered king, now sitting in front of them, sobbing.

  “You still got some shrooms?” Reralt asked Narro.

  “No! That… wasn’t a good thing!” Narro exhaled.

  “Well, I was enjoying myself,” Reralt said cheerfully. “Might be more in the forest.”

  “With the goose?”

  A beat.

  “…Never mind.”

  Boser stood up. Cleared his nose. Drew his sword.

  “Well then—let’s get it over with,” the king said, towering. He was nearly as big as Reralt—and clearly more muscular.

  “Hey!” Reralt shouted at no one in particular.

  Ahem. Almost as muscular.

  “So… why are we fighting again?” Reralt asked, flexing absently. “Something with Princess Peach, I thought?”

  “Princess… Peach?” Boser echoed, slowly circling them.

  “No Peach in this castle.”

  “Freck, did we hit the wrong castle?” Reralt asked.

  Narro rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”

  “You got any dessert, at least?” Reralt continued, hopeful.

  “Well… strawberry shortcake. Freshly baked,” Boser replied, lowering his sword. “I could eat.”

  He looked around. The guards were unconscious but still breathing.

  No real harm done, and always the chance these two were actually capable instead of just stupid.

  ***

  Reralt and Boser were in the middle of a strawberry shortcake eating contest when another very unhappy guard staggered in.

  His face, arms, and legs were bleeding—bruised black and blue, battered from head to toe.

  "By the gods,” Boser exclaimed. He was losing the contest badly, so the interruption was more than welcome.

  “What monster did this to you?” he asked, gesturing vaguely toward Narro and Reralt.

  Reralt, engaged in single-minded cake warfare, was too busy devouring three shortcakes at once—using only his mouth.

  Narro, still on his first, sat covered in cream and crumbs from collateral frosting damage.

  “Well… lucky we have these, ehh, heroes,” Boser muttered.

  He paused. Then nodded.

  Even if they couldn’t slay the beast, at least they were out of the castle.

  Also, they’d eaten the entire week’s supply of cake in a single afternoon.

  His supply of cake.

  The injured guard said nothing. He placed a small cage on the table.

  Inside it: an even smaller kitten.

  One eye black as the void. The other—bright, glowing red.

  “There you are,” Narro said happily, opening the cage without hesitation.

  The moment the latch clicked, the remaining guards let out a collective shriek and bolted from the room.

  The Void purred, climbed into Narro’s lap, and began licking a bit of cream off his cheek.

  Boser sighed, nodded slowly, and wished—deeply—that the day would end soon.

  He’d had enough.

  Just then, a tiny, furry paw reached up… and stole his last cake.

  ***

  The Ballad of the Bugged Throne

  As performed by Narro, later denied by Narro.

  The king was trapped, his pants undone,

  A quest was formed—because why run?

  Two heroes charged with glitchy might,

  And guards were clubbed in noble spite.

  A throne room cracked by coded fate,

  Where rulebooks ruled, though far too late.

  The bug was loose, the XP flowed—

  A kitten smiled, and madness glowed.

  So toast the cake, and guard your rear—

  When Reralt’s close, the end is near.

  No Peach was found, no kingdom saved—

  But cream was licked, and shortcakes braved.

  Maybe even a little bonus this Tuesday… who knows?