Backrooms 3: Kiosk Kingdom - Chapter 34 - 36

Hey y'all. Sorry for posting late. I've got another 3 chapters for you. Less action, a little breathing room, and hopefully some nice emotional moments. Hope you enjoy these and please let me know what you think!

Chapter Thirty-Four – Glyph Array

The defiant leader of the former thralls was a man named Sven.

He was also one of Nikoli’s longest serving slaves, though once upon a time he’d acted as Captain of the Kringlegard guard force. He’d held the post for the better part of ten years, right up until Nikoli rolled into town with all the bluster of a traveling snake-oil salesman. Nikoli had come bearing glad tidings of a brighter future—one filled with Relics, Artifacts, and untold marvels that would make Kringlegard prosper like never before.

When Sven had the audacity to question Nikoli’s intentions, he’d been abducted in the night and found himself bound in the Nikoli’s soul forge with a spiked collar fastened around his throat. He’d also ended up short one ear.

Given his track record, it wasn’t hard to see why he was so suspicious of a stranger who came bearing gifts and promises. But his tune started to change once he saw the other Delvers roaming the store, eating, talking, laughing without a care in the world. And it flipped rapidly when I snagged him a slice of steaming hot pizza from the convivence stall. By the time I finally showed him the swanky airport showers, he’d somewhat reluctantly began to believe.

Though the real proof would come when I finally reunited him with his wife—Rebecka, the old, one-legged woman we’d met at the gatehouse outside Kringlegard.

While Harper tended to the survivors, I took some time to relocate the soul forge, tacking it on to the Pharmacy so that Jakob would be able to access it as well. It was a major upgrade to our current alchemy set up, and I was excited to see what the Cendral would be able to cook up, given some time and the right resources.

And if there was one thing the soul forge had in abundance, it was resources.

There was so much shit to sort through—Relics, Artifacts, ingredients, crafting equipment—that it would probably take weeks or even months to sort it all out. That was a good problem to have, and not something I was complaining about, but it would take time I didn’t currently have. I’d promised Sven and the others that we’d get them back to Kringelgard as quickly as possible. Though I wanted to make sure they all got food, medical attention, and a decent shower before we reunited them with their loved ones.

A couple of hours was a small price to pay to scrub off years’ worth of grime and not smell like a swampy butthole.

Which left me enough time to pry Nikoli out of his mech and pick over his corpse. And hol-ee shit was the guy packing some world class Relics and gear—not that I’d really been expecting anything less.

He had several stamina-based Relics equipped—Calloused Soul, Ruinous Rupture, and Loan Shark—which were all Rare Grade or better. Ruinous Rupture was a direct combat ability that dealt a hellish amount of damage on contact and had a 25% chance to send a ripple coursing through the victim’s body, rupturing a random organ in the process. Could be a spleen or kidney—something that would hurt like a bitch and kill you slowly—or something a bit more vital like the lungs, heart, or even brain.

The effect was basically a roulette table of internal misery.

I’d be sure to give that one to Temp.

Loan Shark was a bit like another Relic I’d seen before called Insurance Pact, which allowed the user to make an “insurance pact” with an ally, allowing both pact members to share up to twenty percent of their max Health Pool with the other for ten minutes. Loan Shark was far more insidious, though, because when activated it transferred 50% of all damage dealt to the caster to a secondary target, under the caster’s influence.

It might benefit me since I could probably pair it with my Horrors, but I had no doubt Nikoli had used his thralls as sacrificial lambs to soak up damage.

The best of the three, though, was Calloused Soul, a fabled-grade Relic that passively allowed the user’s total Health and Stamina Pool to include a boost based on the user’s Resonance Stat. It was a perfect way to turn a glass-cannon into a beefy tank without having to drop a shit load of points into Toughness or Athleticism. Brilliant, if only I had room for it in my current configuration.

I idly wondered if there wasn’t some way to turn it into a usable Sigil, though.

That would certainly solve a lot of my problems.

He also had two offensive Mana-based Relics, Circuitbreaker Surge—a ranged lightning damage spell—and Frost Construct, which he’d no doubt picked up from a Snowmaw Hag. Elemental Distillation and Suspension of Volatility, one Rare the other Fabled-grade, were both Alchemy-focused Relics that dealt with elixir creation, refinement, and enhancement. That wasn’t in my wheelhouse, but I had no doubt that Jakob would give his right arm to get ahold of those.

I recoiled in disgust when I got to a Fabled Relic called Forced Conscription Collar, which perfectly resembled the spiked collars we’d taken off of Nikoli’s thralls.

It allowed the user to fabricate a spell totem collar, which when equipped on any target, compelled them to do the user’s bidding. I’d seen other compulsion spells before—the entire 24th floor had been under the will of the HOA through the use of the Nexus SporeFeed Social Filter—but this was worse in some ways, because the spell effect lasted until the collar was removed.

That could be minutes or years.

I almost wanted to sacrifice it on the spot, just to keep it from getting back out into the wild. I probably would’ve, too, except… Well, it was Fable-grade, and I hadn’t really seen anything quite like it before. So, even though I felt like a piece of shit for doing so, I reluctantly slipped it into storage for latter.

My mood brightened when I got to the last two, Relics, however. It was obvious that Nikoli was a skilled Rune Smith, and the two Relics were at the heart of his power.

Runic Glpyh Array

Rare Relic – Level 15

Range: Variable

Cost: 15 Mana + Stored Sigil Pattern Cost

Cast Time: 20 Seconds

Duration: Until Activated

Material Component: 1 x Runic Engraver’s Awl (Artifact), 1 x Compatible Surface

Welcome to the grown-up version of the Runic Resonance Trap, where we trade in your baby’s first boom-boom for a fully weaponized Sigil Sudoku of death, dismemberment, and—if you’re feeling fancy—spontaneous combustion.

Runic Glyph Array allows you to etch up to three distinct Sigil Patterns into a single synergistic matrix, forming what we in the business refer to as a Glyph Array. Instead of the Runic equivalent of a stick of dynamite, you now have three sticks of dynamite duct-taped together with a nail bomb, all arranged into a lovely symmetrical pattern.

Spells inscribed within an Array can interact—combine a fire rune with a vacuum sigil and suddenly you’ve got a zero-oxygen backdraft bomb. Or pair a paralysis glyph with a force trap and watch some poor bastard get frozen in place and yeeted into a wall at Mach Two. Even better, sigil patterns that utilize Stamina can now also be included in your crafting combos.

And unlike its dumber, leakier little brother, this spell eliminates Mana Leakage entirely—every Mana point goes exactly where you want it. Plus, the triggering conditions have been upgraded and can now be stacked and nested for increased Tomfuckery. Create time delays, conditional logic trees, and extremely specific activation parameters. Basically, you’re now a rune coder. May the gods have mercy on your debugging skills.

This Relic enables Mana usage.

With the right materials and a little prep time, someone with the right gear would be virtually unstoppable. Honestly, if we hadn’t sucker punched Nikoli from the get go, I was pretty sure he would’ve mopped the floor with our bloody corpses. The only downside was that creating and overlapping the sigil patterns for a glyph array sounded tedious, time-consuming, and dangerous. One little slip up or lapse in concentration could undue all the work and blow up right in my fucking face.

But that was where the second Relic came into play.

Runic Auto-Scriber

Rare Relic – Level 15

Range: 15 Feet

Cost: 25 Mana

Cast Time: 3 Seconds

We’ve all been there, diligently trying to engrave runic trap sigils when BAM! Your finger slips, you accidentally draw a glyph backwards, and instead of summoning a life-ending fireball, you accidentally open a portal to the Pocket Realm of Screaming Toenails™. Whoopsie daisy.

But not anymore! 

Once equipped, Runic Auto-Scriber lets you pre-record up to ten unique sigil patterns or glyph arrays into a specialized mental sigil book—an internalized codex of arcane geometry, tattooed directly into the hippocampus. Each sigil or array is stored in perfect mnemonic suspension, sort of like “magical hotkeys” but nestled inside your delicate, spongy gray matter. Once inscribed, these sigils can be cast instantly, flawlessly, and without error—no more “Oops, I meant to write Contain Flame, not Consume Soul.”

This Relic enables Mana Usage.

Even though it was only Rare-grade—and without any direct combat utility—the Auto-Scriber would save me an assload of time when it came to crafting spell cards. I’d still need to do some serious experimenting to formulate effective glyph arrays in the first place, but once I had those down, the process would basically be automated. And now that I could use Relics that were fueled by Stamina, I’d be able to create spell cards that had a much wider range of effects.

I’d need to free up room inside my Spatial Core first, though. That’s what it always came back to. Not enough space for all the cool shit I had.

I saved the Relic for later, but immediately swapped out my basic Runic Resonance Trap for the Runic Glyph Array. I’d need to spend some time creating new trap cards before moving down to the next floor, but this was still one hell of a find for a build like mine.

With the Relics taken care of, I moved onto Nikoli’s gear—or at least the items that were personally on him and not squirreled away in the soul forge. Clearing and cataloging the forge task would be a feat of Herculean proportions.

The red and white suit—which consisted of the jacket, pants, boots, belt, and floppy hat—were all part of a set called, Santa’s Slayer Regalia. This was the first time I’d ever seen a set before and I was as impressed as I was horrified. Each of the individual pieces had some powerful enchantments—ranging from speed and health bonuses, to resistances against cold and physic damage—but sadly, because they were part of a set, they only worked if all items were equipped simultaneously.

That might not have been such a bad thing, assuming I was okay looking like a deranged shopping mall Santa, but having the full set equipped came with a few extra drawbacks.

At the top of the list was the Ho-Ho-Horror Body Reconfiguration, which instantly forced the wearer to gain fifty pounds of “festive mass,” mostly in the gut, ass, and upper jowls. The wearer would also grow a thick white beard, regardless of gender, which couldn’t be shaved off even after the full armor set was unequipped. It also came with a Sweet Tooth debuff, making the wearer obsessed with cookies and other sugary essentials and an obsessive compulsion to “punish the wicked.”

Still, it was almost worth it for the added benefits, like the ability to forgo sleep almost entirely—thanks to a passive buff called Clausian Circadian Rhythm—and an additional ability called Festive Compression, that allowed the wearer of the suit to squeeze themselves into all kinds of tight spaces, like a Raccoon shimmying down your chimney.

The benefits just didn’t outweigh the side effects, but I’d definitely keep the suit around for future experimentation.

The two Artifacts I was most interested in were Nikoli’s sword and the odd pistol that let him blast out runic-engraved saw blades.

The sword—its blade razor sharp on one side, serrated on the other, and covered with faint swirls of red and white—and was a Fabled-grade Artifact with three extremely nasty and debilitating effects.

Dark Solstice Cleaver

Fabled Artifact

Type: Sword, Melee (Enhanced)

There are blades forged for kings, and there are blades forged for war. This one was forged for neither. The Dark Solstice Cleaver is the remnant of an older age—when winter was a thing to be feared, not celebrated. When the sun abandoned the sky for months on end, and people huddled inside to find comfort from the fury of the frozen night. When blood froze to iron and the wind carried whispers of the Wild Hunt instead of Yuletide Merriment.

The Dark Solstice Cleaver was never meant for human hands. Instead, it was the kind of weapon that tribes would offer to their gods before the dark closed in for good. Forged not by simple blacksmiths, but by dark rites—pounded into being beneath eclipsed moons, cooled in the blood of midwinter sacrifices, and quenched in ancient vows. Its core is blood iron and froststeel, wrapped in red-and-white enamel streaks that resemble candystriping only in the way a butcher’s apron might.

May your enemies find no comfort in the dark.

Effect 1, Frostbite Filigree: Deals an additional 25 points of cold damage on every strike. After three successive hits, the target is afflicted with Black Rot Frostbite—a creeping, debilitating effect that will claim hands, feet, fingers and noses. It’s not instant, but it is inevitable.

Effect 2, Candystiped Hemorrhage: Inflicts 30 points of Bleed damage over 60 seconds. If the target carries one or more stacks of Sinful Mark, the Bleed damage doubles in severity.

Effect 3, White Elephant: On a successful strike, the wielder may activate White Elephant, swapping their remaining health pool with that of the target for sixty seconds. Used properly, it turns death into a weapon—baiting stronger foes into a fatal exchange. But if the target’s Toughness is more than double your own, they can resist the effect entirely.

I whistled through my teeth as I read over the description.

Obviously, the soul forge itself was the real prize, but this was a damn good runner up, and better than any of Nikoli’s actual Relics. Dark, twisted, and exceptionally powerful, it would be perfect for Temperance. And, after getting a brief glimpse into her grim past, it seemed like an even better fit. The people closest to her had once accused her of being a witch, and now she would have a weapon suitable for the Devil himself.

I set the sword aside, then turned my attention to the final Artifact, the Saw Gun. Surprisingly, it was only a Common-Grade Artifact and didn’t come with any unique effects at all, though appearances could be deceiving. On the surface, the weapon wasn’t particularly powerful, but I was more interested in how it worked.

Clearly, this was something Nikoli had created himself, and though the design was rather simple, it was also borderline genius. The gun was built from two distinct components that worked together in perfect sync. The upper receiver was a flat metal launcher affixed to a pistol grip with a basic trigger assembly. There was no firing pin and, surprisingly, almost no traditional mechanical parts at all. Sure, the trigger had a basic spring mechanism, but it wasn’t connected to a standard fire control group like you’d find in a typical firearm.

Instead, pulling the trigger activated a pair of glyph arrays—one inscribed into the upper receiver, the other carved into the lower.

The array on the upper receiver contained three primary sigil patterns. The first was a recursive mana battery, supplying a steady current of magical energy to the other two, allowing the system to recharge automatically and be fired repeatedly without burnout. The second was some sort of spatial rune, linked to its twin in the lower receiver. The third consisted of a high-pressure air burst sigil—essentially an arcane pneumatic cannon.

The lower receiver, which threaded directly into the upper, held its own trio of runes: another mana battery, the paired spatial rune, and a storage sigil that created a miniaturized subspace compartment. When the lower receiver was detached, the user could load ammunition—in this case, runic-etched sawblades—directly into the pocket dimension.

Firing the gun triggered a precise chain of runic effects. First, the spatial rune summoned a random blade from the subspace chamber and slotted it into the flat, metallic firing plate in the upper receiver. A heartbeat later, the air rune kicked in, launching the sawblade downrange with the force of a roided out potato cannon. When paired with razor-sharp saw blades, that was a particularly deadly combo.

Sure, Psychic Sovereignty was faster and more accurate, so I wouldn’t be replacing it in my main rotation any time soon—but the saw gun’s design was inspired. The underlying mechanics had an insane number of potential applications.

I intended to steal every one of them.

Off the top of my head, I could already think of a dozen ways to abuse the subspace storage link.

For starters, it would let me massively expand my carrying capacity. With the right runes, I could inscribe a linked glyph array directly onto my toolbelt—granting me instant access to gear that wouldn’t normally fit anywhere short of a shipping crate. A dedicated slot for the Bowling Ball of Rolling Momentum, for example. A specialty pocket for elixirs, salves, and other life-saving contraband. Hell, with enough time and tinkering, I might even be able to replicate Jakob’s infamous sofa launcher, since I was pretty sure it operated on the same fundamental principles.

I was rearing to get to work, but sadly it would have to wait.

I added both the Saw Gun and the Dark Solstice Cleaver to my spatial storage, then left the soul forge behind and made my way to my room. It wouldn’t be long before we needed to return to Kringlegard and I still needed to take care of all the stats I’d earned from leveling up. My gut told me the residents of the 49th floor would be overjoyed to see their missing friends and family members, but Nikoli did have his fair share of supporters who probably wouldn’t be too jazzed to learn that their leader was dead.

I didn’t expect a fight, but I wanted to ready for anything just in case.

Chapter Thirty-Five – What Happens in Flashbacks Stays in Flashbacks

Once I was back in my room, I took a minute to splash some water on my face and thoroughly scrub the dried blood off in the sink—though it was easier said than done with only one hand. Though I was happy to see that my left arm was healing pretty rapidly. Instead of five little nubs, I had what almost looked like a baby fist protruding from the end of my wrist. It wasn’t functional yet and I couldn’t even wiggle the tiny digits, but before much longer I was sure I’d be back to normal.

Well, as normal as anything was in the Backrooms.

With the majority of the gore gone, I headed over to the Progenitor Monolith and pulled up my SBR.

I’d leveled up a grand total of three times since the last time I’d visited a Monolith and had fifteen Stat points to burn as a result—not exactly a metric fuckton by anyone’s estimation, but every little bit counted. Especially since levels were coming more slowly, the more powerful I became. The experience gap was staggering. I’d only needed about a thousand points total to move from level 10 to level 11, but to move from 53 to 54 I needed a little over thirty-three thousand points.

Progress would be slower going moving forward.

Still, even at a drastically reduced rate, I fully expected to be close to level 60 by the time I made it down to the heart of the 99th floor. I would need to be if I had any hope of taking the Franchisor out, even with my team behind me.

By route, I added five points to Resonance, increasing my overall Mana Pool and bringing Mana Optimization up to an even 20%. I dropped five more points into Grit, two into Athleticism—my weakest primary stat, other than Preservation—and three into Perception, which rose to 52. Based on my experience so far, I figured I was still quite a way off from pushing it past the boundary threshold, but inch by inch and point by point I’d get there.

I’d also earned the new Waterboarding 3.0 Title, but opted to leave it out of the rotation for the time being. It was good, but I wasn’t sure how often I’d be fighting heavily armored targets, so it just didn’t seem practical.

I gave my updated SBR a final once over, before nodding to myself in approval.

Dan Woodridge

Specimen Biotag ID #03A-01-B00R7T569C

Variant Assimilation Level: 53

Race: Human, Archetypal

Current Experience: 508,500

Next Level: 541,750

Personal Enhancement Points: 0

__ __ __

Health: 194

Health-Regen/Hour: 15.5

__ __ __

Stamina Reserve: 112

Stamina-Regen/Minute: 11.25

__ __ __

Mana Pool: 287

Mana-Regen/Minute: 28.28

Individual Adaptative Stats

Grit: 89 (84 + 5 Enhanced)

Athleticism: 36

Toughness: 40

Perception: 52

Resonance: 126

Preservation: 21

Spatial Core - Active

(R) Runic Glyph Array – Level 15

(F) Hydro Fracking Blast – Level 10

(F) Hydrokinesis (Fully Tempered) – Level 1

(F) Frostfang Spire – Level 2 (Fully Tempered)

(F) Eldritch Taxidermist – Level 15 (Fully Tempered)

(F) Echoed Aura – Level 5 (Fully Tempered)

(F) Neural Slipstream – Level 7 (Fully Tempered)

(F) StainSlayer Maelstrom – Level 10 (Fully Tempered)

(F) Psychic Sovereignty – Level 10 (Fully Tempered)

(ME) Compass of the Catacomber (Fully Tempered)

!!! Current Titles – Passive !!!

Punch-Out!! Champion, Marked for Death, Legend in the Making, Overkill Overlord, Great White in a Barrel (E), Profane Purifier, Domino Rally, Kaiju Slayer, Dog Fighter, HR Horror Show

I closed out of my SBR and left the Monolith behind, getting ready to head down and meet the others. But when I pulled open the door, I found Temperance outside with her fist raised, as though she’d been about to knock.

“Good, you’re here,” she said, storming in without waiting for an invitation. Her face looked like a thunderhead and I could tell she was upset. Honestly, I wasn’t surprised to see her.

“Yeah, just come on in,” I muttered, even though she was already halfway to the sofa in the living room. “You want a beer or something?” I called out at her retreating back.

“Yes, I think alcohol would be appropriate for this,” she said, before flopping down onto the padded seat.

I grabbed a couple of cold brews from the fridge and handed her one before dropping into the padded chair, opposite the couch. Temperance cracked the tab and took a long pull without saying anything. There was no quip, no sarcasm, and for once her armored shell seemed to down. That, more than anything else, told me exactly how rattled she was.

I had a pretty good guess what this was about, though I waited for her to speak, letting the silence stretch between us.

Finally, she sighed. “We need to talk about what happened with Krampus,” she said. “What we saw.” She glanced up at me, her eyes heavy and tired in a way I wasn’t used to. “Or, rather, what we shouldn’t have seen. The memory loop. You experienced it too, didn’t you? Saw everything I did?”

“Yeah,” I confirmed with a nod.

“That place. In the desert? Where was it?” she asked.

“Iraq,” I replied softly, not meeting her eye. I didn’t want to look at her. Didn’t want her to see the shame burning in my face.

“Then it was real? The explosion? The man who died?” She paused. “Was he your friend?”

I nodded again. “His name was Sergeant Martin. He was a helluva guy.”

We were quiet for a beat before she spoke again, “Why does it haunt you? It was a tragedy, a cruel violence neither of you deserved, but why that memory? What truly happened?” she asked. “Not the tactical summary. The real version.”

I shrugged and shifted uncomfortably in my seat. I hadn’t liked reliving the memory during the time loop and I really didn’t want to unpack it for a second time, but her eyes bore into me. I felt trapped by the quiet and felt a growing need to answer.

“It wasn’t that he died,” I finally said. “We were in a war zone. Lots of people died. It’s one of those things you know is a possibility when you deploy.” I glanced down. “What haunts me is that I didn’t do more. Didn’t do anything. He was just lying there, making these awful little noises. And I was right there. Fifteen feet away…”

I trailed off, not sure how to finish.

“And?” she prompted gently. Far more gently than I’d ever seen Temp before.

“I just stayed there,” I said, voice barely audible. “I laid in the dirt and watched him die.”

“You did the right thing,” she said after a moment. “I saw everything you did. If you’d tried to act, you be just as dead as he was.”

“I know I did the right thing,” I snapped. “But I felt like a fucking coward. Still do. I tell myself that doing something would’ve made things worse. That dying beside him wouldn’t have saved him. That I was just following our SOPs. But that’s not what I remember.”

“What do you remember?” she asked.

“I remember his face,” I said. “That look in his eyes when he realized what was happening. The way he stared at me, almost like he was begging for help. I remember thinking I could make it. That if I was fast enough, smart enough, lucky enough—maybe I could drag him to cover. Maybe I could stop the bleeding. Maybe I could give him more than thirty seconds of agony. And then I remember not moving. Just lying there like dead weight while he bled out ten steps away.”

Temperance stared down at her beer. “Sadly,” she said, “I know that feeling all too well. The fear. The helplessness.” Then she said, softly, “You saw my memory too, didn’t you?”

“I did,” I admitted.

“It was real. So real.”

“I figured,” I replied. “Didn’t seem like something you’d invent for fun.”

“That was so long ago. Feels like a different life, honestly. But I’ve never shaken it. I still have nightmares about that day… I’ve had nightmares about that day for longer than I can remember. Centuries even. When I got stranded in a time dilation after noclipping, it was all I could think about. How weak I was.” She gave a bitter smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “But I’ve never relived it. Not like that. Not with someone else watching.”

“I didn’t mean to see it,” I said, leaning forward. “It just happened.”

“I know.” She stared down at the beer like it had all the answers. “But you did. You saw me—before all this. Before I was the ‘raging bitch with a meat cleaver,’” she added, with a weak attempt at a smile.

I didn’t laugh.

“You were barely more than a kid,” I said. “What happened wasn’t you fault.”

As I said the words, I knew they were just as much for me as they were for her.

“I was old enough to know what was coming,” she replied, voice tight. “Old enough to know they weren’t going to listen. That there was no defense against a mob once it’s convinced of it’s own righteousness. And I did nothing. I begged. I cried. I pleaded with them.” Her lip curled like the words tasted sour. “My family. That pathetic excuse of a man I thought I loved. They betrayed me and I did nothing. Not until the end.”

“You were outnumbered and unarmed,” I said. “I don’t know what else you could’ve done.”

“I could’ve run earlier,” she fired back. “Fought harder. Something. Anything. But I froze. Let them drag me. Let them put the chains on. Let them build the pyre while I wept like a helpless, little girl, too afraid to do what I know I needed to do. It wasn’t until the very end that I remembered how to scream.”

“You survived,” I said.

“Barely. And only because they were more afraid of me than I was of them.”

“That’s not weakness,” I said softly. “It’s just circumstance.”

“No?” she snapped, suddenly bitter. “Because it certainly felt like it. And it’s been whispering in the back of my skull ever since. That I’m only alive because I let them do what they did until the moment they flinched first. Not because I was brave. Because I was lucky.”

I leaned forward, elbows on knees. “You think that’s cowardice? Temperance, I’ve seen you sprint into a horde of monsters like you were on your way to the goddamn farmer’s market. I’ve seen you put yourself between us and death without blinking. I’ve seen you bleed and fight and keep going while everyone else was screaming and losing their shit.”

She looked away and I could see tears on her cheeks.

“I saw the way you went after that horde in Krampus’s lair,” I continued. “How you didn’t even hesitate to dive in, headfirst. And you saved me, Temp. If you didn’t summon those chains, Krampus would’ve reeled me and gutted me like a trout. You’re tougher than anyone I know and fearless—even when you’re scared. If that’s cowardice, then I don’t want to know what courage looks like.”

She didn’t respond right away. When she finally turned back to me, her eyes were glassy but steady. “Maybe you should get a mirror and repeat that to yourself,” she said evenly. “Yes, you lay in the dirt and watched your friend die. But back when we first met, you fought for me, a person you didn’t even know, even though it almost killed you.

“Every day I see you stand up for others. See you put your own neck on the line. I just watched you drown a man inside a battle mech and save a bunch of slaves, because it was the right thing to do. You didn’t know them anymore than you knew me when we first met—didn’t owe them anything—and you still gambled with your life.” She reached over and patted my knee. “You’re an idiot, Dan, but you’re no coward.”

“I still feel like one.”

“Then join the club,” she muttered, lifting her beer again. “But you don’t get to hang that label on yourself. The word coward is reserved for people who don’t show up and you always show up, even when you shouldn’t.”

We both drank in silence for a beat, the weight of old ghosts pressing in around us.

“Thanks for that,” I said finally. “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry I saw your memory. It wasn’t mine.”

“No,” she agreed, voice quieter now. “It wasn’t. But you didn’t mean to see it… And, if I’m being honest, I’m glad someone did. Someone who understands what it’s like. We may have come from very different worlds, but underneath it all, we aren’t all that different, you and I.”

Nikoli had said something similar, but this time the words were a comfort instead of a curse. Sometimes in life, it was all just a matter of perspective.

Temperance set her can aside and leaned back against the couch. “Just don’t ever repeat what you saw. Not to Harper, not to Jakob, not even to Croc.”

“I won’t,” I said, and meant it. What had happened on the battlefield with Krampus was a secret I intended to take to the grave with me.

“Good,” she said, eyes narrowing, “because if you do, I will slow roast you. Bastinade the feet, tie you to a spit, and glaze you in honey until you start begging for ants.”

“Jesus Christ,” I said.

“I’m serious.”

“I believe you,” I replied, raising my hands. Then I brightened, as I remembered the gift I had for her. I opened my spatial storage and pulled out the Dark Solstice Cleaver. “This was Nikoli’s,” I said, gingerly handing her the weapon. “Won’t do me much good, but I figured it might be a nice upgrade for you.”

Temp accepted the blade with a raised eyebrow and turned it over in her hands examining the leather wrapped hilt and the frost-forged steel. She turned the sword over in her hands with something that bordered on reverence. The peppermint stripped steel drank in the light from the room rather than reflecting it, and the faint runes pulsed with a glacial glow along the flat of the blade.

She stood, beer forgotten, backed away a few paces, then gave it an experimental swing. The air seemed to shiver in its wake.

“This thing is… vicious,” she murmured, the barest flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I can feel the weight in it. The balance. Like it was made to carve through something ancient and angry.”

“It was,” I said. “Nikoli forged it to kill Krampus, after all.”

She paused. “What’s the catch?”

“There is no catch,” I said simply.

Temperance narrowed her eyes, unconvinced. “This is the Backrooms. There’s always a catch. No one just gives away something like this and you earned it. You keep what you kill, remember?”

“Not this time,” I said, leaning back in the chair. “You’ve been through hell, Temp. You’ve walked into nightmares, fought tooth and nail for every inch. You stood your ground when you could’ve run, and ran when no one else would’ve had the guts to. This isn’t a bribe or a favor. It’s just… what someone like you should be carrying. Besides, our new motto is ‘need over greed.’ What’s good for you is good for all of us.”

She stared at me and something unreadable passed behind her eyes. Slowly, she nodded.

“It’s a fine weapon and though I’ll be sad to set my cleaver aside, I will put this to good use,” she said before glancing down at the weapon again. “And Dark Solstice Cleaver does have a nice ring to it.”

“Sounded poetic,” I said.

She smirked. “It sounds like something that drinks blood and whispers to you in your sleep.”

“It might,” I replied. “But only if you ask nicely.”

That pulled a low laugh from her, the first real one I’d heard since she walked in.

“Just so we’re clear,” she said, fixing me with that signature steel-eyed glare, “I’m keeping this. You don’t get it back unless I find something better. And even then, you’ll have to pry it out of my cold, undead hands.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, rising to my feet. “Besides, I think it suits you. Winter forged. Brutal. Refined, in a terrifying sort of way. It’s very you.”

“Aw,” she said, patting my cheek like a grandmother with murder in her heart. “You always know how to make a girl feel special.”

I grinned, then sobered. “Now, how’s about we should go round up the others. It’s high time we should be getting back to Kringlegard.”

“I suppose that’s true,” she said, sheathing the sword then slinging it across her back. “There are a lot of people down there who’ve been waiting a long time to see their families again.”

“And we promised to bring them home,” I added.

Temperance gave a single nod and followed me toward the door. “Let’s go make good on it.” She paused and stole a look back at me over one shoulder. “For a long time, I really only cared about myself. About getting stronger so that I would never be as weak as I was that night. I must admit doing things for others is a nice change of pace. It feels good.”

We stepped out into the hallway, old trauma momentarily left behind and new purpose lighting the way ahead.

Chapter Thirty-Six – Holiday Reunion

It didn’t take us long to round up the others and, with the former thralls in tow, we headed back down the elevator and piled into the room Wulfgar had given us back at the Holly Hearth. All of Nikoli’s prisoners seemed to be in much better spirits after a round of hot showers and good eating—though they looked a little out of place. Instead of wearing fur lined coats and arctic survival gear, most of them sported T-shirts and jeans, taken from the store.

They brightened even more, when I ushered them out of the crammed room and lead them triumphantly down the stairs and into the common room, which was already packed to the gills with people, drinking, eating, and generally being rowdy as hell. The merriment died as we descended, though. The scratch of silverware faded, the singing guttered, and the clink of coins fell silent. It was like we’d turned up with an army of ghosts, dredged up from the past.

Hannah—Wulfgar’s wife and the Inn’s proprietor—immediately spotted a familiar face among the crowd of gaunt survivors. She leaped over the counter, and elbowed her way through the crowd, tears streaming down her face as she called out for her son.

“Eirik! Eirik! Is that you?”

A boy of maybe eleven or twelve, hurriedly rushed down the stairs and the crowd parted for him as he flung himself at his mother. He was nearly as tall as she was, but she wrapped him up in strong arms and pulled him tight, visibly weeping into his chest.

“Lo, mother,” he said in a soft voice, stroking the back of her hair with a hand that was missing several digits.

No one spoke. Instead, they just watched, thunderstruck by the scene unfolding.

“Heart of my heart,” she said, finally pulling away long enough to look up at him. She studied his face as though to ensure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her. “I thought… I thought I’d never see you again. Not in this world.”

“I never gave up hope,” the boy said. “Even when I thought Nikoli would break me, I held on for you. For Dad.”

She shook her head in disbelief then glanced at the others. “Sven, Mariah, Kasper…” she trailed off, her eyes skipping through the crowd of assembled survivors. “You’re here. All of you. But how? Is this a dream?” She reached up and slapped her cheek as though she couldn’t believe her eyes. “Is this some trick? And what of Nikoli?”

“Dead,” Sven said solemnly, moving to the forefront of the crowd. “Thanks to the courage of this man and his friends.” He dropped a hand onto my shoulder. “They went to a great deal of effort to punish him for his crimes against this Safe Harbor… And to save us. Now,” he said, breaking into a wide grin, “where is my wife?”

Hannah broke into a large toothy smile, then wiped away her tears with the back of one hand. “Yes, of course. What am I thinking?” She turned to some of the assembled onlookers. “Dmytro,” she said to a ruddy face man the size of a warhorse, “go ring the bells. Anya”—she turned toward a petite woman in a heavy yeti parka, “go alert everyone at the front gate. Make sure you get Rebeka. Luka,” she said to a third man, this one whip thin, “go fetch Wulfgar. He’ll want to be here for this, I think. Go, now.”

The crowd made way for the three, who quickly pushed through the front door and disappeared into the swirling snow outside.

“Carla,” she barked at her assistant, who was now behind the bar counter. “Fire up the ovens, we have a feast to prepare for!”

***

In less than half an hour the bells of Kringlegard were ringing, not in warning but in celebration, and the tavern was packed with bodies. Men and women, both young and old, were crowded around the tables sharing meals and drinks with their missing loved ones. Rebeka—the tough as nails old woman from the guard house—was curled up on Sven’s lap, her arms entwined around the man’s neck as they giggled and kissed like high schoolers.

“You don’t think I’m hideous,” Sven asked over the ruckus.

“Of course not,” she said, reaching up with an arthritic hand and stroking the place where one of his ears used to be. Now it was only a lump of ruined scar tissue. “I think it makes you look distinguished. Fierce. Besides, I wouldn’t want you to be too pretty or the rest of the girls in this town wouldn’t ever leave you alone.”

He grinned, stroking her prosthetic leg in return, then gave her a big kiss.

I turned away from the pair as Wulfgar finally arrived. The big man was huffing and puffing, as though he’d just sprinted across the entirety of the town, which was probably close to the truth. I watched from a distance as he pushed his way toward Hannah and his missing son, who were sharing a table near the hearth.

“My boy!” he trumpeted, his voice carrying over the din of music and celebratory voices.

Erik scampered away from the table, a huge grin splitting his face, before darting toward the burly man and leaping at him with arms outstretched. Wulfgar caught him like he weighed nothing at all and hoisted him into the air, then squeezed him tight in the bear hug to end all bear hugs. The gruff man was crying openly and didn’t try to hide it.

Didn’t seem to care in the least.

He twirled the young boy around a couple of times before setting him on his feet and ruffling his shaggy hair—which was uneven and badly in need of a trim.

“Can you believe it?” Hannah squeed. “Back to us alive and in one piece.” She paused and reached out, gently caressing the boy’s hand. “Mostly.”

“How can it be?” Wulfgar asked. “Nikoli would never let them go. Not willingly.”

Hannah nodded toward me. “You have that lot to thank, love of my heart.”

Wulfgar seemed to sober at the words, then nodded. “Son, join your mother. I’ll be with you shortly. I must have words with the outsiders.”

“Dad,” Erik said, tugging at the big man’s arm. “They saved us, even when they didn’t have to. And they have this shop.” He shook his head, his eyes as wide as saucers. “You wouldn’t believe all the stuff they have. Food. Candy. Relics. Even hot showers.” He paused. Hesitated. “Please be nice.”

“Of course,” the big man replied. “I would never dream of hurting the heroes of Kringlegard. They have done us a great service, and I will find a way to repay them in kind. Now,” he swatted the boy on the bottom, “off with you. Go eat!” He barked with a wide smile. “You’re nothing but skin and bones!”

As the boy scampered off to rejoin his mother by the fire, Wulfgar tromped over to me and the others, sitting at a table near the back of the common room. He looked like a man on the warpath—one who intended murder—and the others made way for him. Despite his words of reassurance, I was half expecting violence based on the look on his face.

But instead, he dropped to a knee and bowed his head.

“You’ve done the impossible,” he said, voice cracking a little. “You brought my boy back from the dead. Saved us from a terror far worse than even Krampus. Though you are not one of us, the rules of the 49th floor are ironclad. Might makes right, and since you slew Nikoli, it is only right that you should become our new Jarl.” He drew his battleaxe and carefully laid it at my feet. “As the next most powerful Delver in Kringlegard, you have my axe, my arm, and my undying loyalty.”

I was thunderstruck by the declaration. It also made me more than a little uncomfortable.

“Woah,” I said, “let’s just pump the breaks there, bud. I appreciate the offer, but I don’t need the headache of running a Safe Harbor.”

“Of course,” he said, before glancing at Temp, Harper, and Jakob in turns. “Then one of your lords or ladies, perhaps?” He suggested. “Surely one of them is fit to rule in your stead?”

“What?” I asked. “No, we’re not like Nikoli. We didn’t come here to take over. As nice as this place is, we’ve got business down on the lower floors.” I stole a look at the others who all nodded their agreement. “Besides, none of us know the first thing about this place.”

“Other than it is colder than a witch’s tit,” Temperance muttered.

“Right, other than it’s colder than a witch’s tit,” I repeated. “The point is, we aren’t part of this community, and we don’t know what it needs.” I reached out a thread of mental power and lifted the axe. It rose from the floor and floated back into Wulfgar’s hand.

“But you?” I continued. “You do. You know this place better than we ever could. You know it’s people. The challenges it faces on a daily basis. And you’re a good person,” I finished, “which is more important than anything else. I can tell that by the way people look at you. The way they treat you.” I shook my head. “We killed Nikoli, sure, but if anyone should be Jarl, it’s you.”

“You honor me too much,” he said, accepting the axe but dipping his head even deeper. “But is there nothing we can offer you in return for the service you’ve done for us? Surely there must be something?”

“About that,” I said. “There is one thing.” I stood and the room grew quiet.

I reached out a hand and summoned one of my doorway sentinels. It lurched through a rift of darkness and scuttled forward on arachnoid crab legs, before finally coming to a stop. I turned the knob and pulled the door open, revealing the brightly lit store beyond.

“I’m hoping to form a partnership with you,” I said. “With all the people of Kringlegard. This”—I gestured to the store beyond—“is my shop. Discount Dan’s Backroom Bargains. Your son was telling the truth. We’ve got food, water, supplies, and necessary utilities. Bathing facilities, a dedicated laundromat, a place to buy and sell Relics and Artifacts, and trade information. If you’ll allow it, I’d like to establish a permeant doorway here in the Holly Hearth.

“The doorway will allow anyone from Kringlegard who wants to come, to come. But it’ll also mean Delvers from other floors can come here as well,” I warned. “We’ve already established a trade alliance with another Safe Harbor down on the seventh floor—Howler’s Hold. And we plan to connect more locations. You and your people will be allowed to freely travel to any level that is connected to the storefront, through spatial gateways.”

Wulfgar squinted, seemingly confused by the prospect.

“That is all you ask?” he said. “A trade alliance that will benefit my people? Surely there must be something more. This… Well, it sounds more like you are doing a favor for us than the other way around?”

I grimaced. “It’s a little more complicated than that,” I said. “I don’t want to bullshit you. I’m at war… with the Flayed Monarch. That assbadger is targeting me and he’s sending his army my way. If you take a deal with us, it’ll put a target on your back, too. The Aspirants of Skinless Court could target Kringelgard, just the same as they’re targeting my store and Howler’s Hold.”

Wulfgar didn’t even bat and eye.

He just barked a rough laugh. “We are of the 49th,” he said. “We are not afraid of the Aspirants. Their ilk are already unwelcome in our Safe Harbor. And if you need men at arms to wage this battle, you will find no shortage of recruits here to help you in your efforts.” He rose to his feet and turned toward the rest of the assembled Delvers. “But do not take my word for it.” His voice rose to a thunder. “What say you people of Kringlegard? Shall we forge bonds of friendship with Dan?”

The crowd erupted in a cheer, the Delvers drawing their weapons then clanging them against shields and tables.

“You see?” Wulfgar said. “We are not afraid of death, and we will not kowtow to another tyrant. We also remember our friends. And you, Dan, are a friend of Kringlegard for what you have done for us. Let the Monarch brak his teeth against our walls. He will find they are not so weak, and that the men and women of Kringlegard have steel in our veins. Now let us feast! War may come for us all in the end, but tonight we celebrate a great victory!”

The proclamation was met with another thunderous round of cheering as Delvers stowed weapons and raised glasses in salute.

***

The party that followed could’ve made even the Marines of the 14 Area Barracks jealous.

Raucous music thundered from the corner stage, where a trio of Delvers—one playing a beat-to-shit electric Fender stratocaster, another on drums fashioned from repurposed cooking pots, and a third whistling through a bone flute—kept the tempo lively and the crowd on their feet. Laughter and shouts bounced off the timbered walls. Platters of smoked reindeer, steaming root stew, honey-baked rolls, and roasted mushrooms were passed hand-to-hand, and no mug stayed empty for long.

Temp dove into the chaos like a shark in a kiddie pool.

She quickly joined a group of hard-bitten Delvers at a table cluttered with dice, cards, and an intimidating pile of Loot Tokens, immediately hustling them with such efficiency that I started to worry for Kringlegard’s economy. After wiping the floor with the gamblers, she challenged a barrel-chested brute named Ragnor to an arm-wrestling match. His bicep was bigger than her entire torso. She still beat him—twice—and celebrated by downing three tankards of mead in a row.

He passed out. She kept drinking. Which only resulted in more cheers of encouragement.

Harper and I danced—or tried to. I had all the rhythm of a busted shopping cart, but she was patient, laughing as she gently guided my hands to her hips. Her touch was warm, her smile radiant in the flickering firelight.

“I never thought I’d feel this way again,” she said when we paused to catch our breath, sweaty and far too close to step away from each other. “After Noclipping, I pretty much gave up on the idea of being happy. Of being fulfilled. There’s so much death here and it’s all so bleak. But then you came along and changed things. Reminded me that it’s not really about where we are, but who we are.” She paused and stared up into my face. “And who we’re with.”

I watched her face soften, her gaze distant.

“Tonight reminded me that I can still help people,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “That I can matter. And that’s because you brought me along. I know it was a risk, but I’m glad you took a chance on me, Dan. Thank you.” She reached up on her tippytoes and lightly brushed her lips against mine.

Her breath was warm and tasted like honeyed wine. When it finally ended, I was swaying on my feet, more than a little lightheaded.

“Wow,” she said, pulling away, though her body was still pressed tightly against mine. “You’re a better kisser than I imagined.”

“And you must be drunker than I thought,” I replied with a lopsided grin.

“No,” she said shaking her head. “I’m only tipsy. Besides, I’ve wanted to do that since the moment we got back to the store after Concourse Null.” A slight blush crept into her cheeks. “Now, how about another dance?”

She pulled me forward as the next song began. I didn’t know what else to say, so I just followed her lead.

Meanwhile, Jakob had found his spiritual brothers in Wulfgar and a stout old brewer named Klaus. The three were locked in a passionate debate over the merits of juniper-infused mead versus classic honey-brewed ale, with each round of debate punctuated by a round of tasting. By the time I walked past their table, Wulfgar was slurring cheerful threats at a laughing Klaus, and Jakob was hiccuping out a song in what was definitely in German.

Croc, somehow, had gathered a small cult following. Several women—including Carla, Hannah’s assistant—were clustered around as the mimic held court near the bar, gesturing animatedly with a copy of Twilight. The margins were heavily annotated. “And this,” the mimic declared, “is where the emotional stakes really bite!”

They listened with rapt attention. Someone asked when the next meeting of Croc’s Book Club would be. The dog who wasn’t really a dog beamed in pride.

As the night began to crest, I found myself dragged—bodily—up onto the tavern’s small stage by Harper and Jakob.

“Come on, Discount Dan,” Harper grinned. “You owe us.”

“For what?”

“Where do I even begin,” Jakob slurred.

I sighed, accepted the rune-etched microphone, and let out a resigned chuckle. “Fine,” I said. “But you’re singing with me.”

The opening bars of “Sweet Caroline” blasted through the tavern, and for the next four minutes, we belted our lungs out, the entire tavern chanting along to every beat.

BAH-BAH-BAAAAH.

Temperance stayed in the back, arms crossed, expression unreadable—but when I caught her eye, she smirked and raised her drink in a silent toast.

When the last verse faded and the laughter died down, I walked to the hearth with Wulfgar and unveiled the final gift.

With a sharp click, I mounted the small doorway anchor plaque to a storage closet.

“By the bonds of blood, sweat, and beer,” I said, holding out a ceremonial bottle of Kringlegard’s finest mead, “I declare this portal… officially open for business.”

With a triumphant crack, the bottle shattered against the doorframe, golden ale trinkling down and puddling on the floor.

More than a few of Kringlegard’s residents immediately took the opportunity to head into the store and have a look around.

Hours later, full to bursting with food and drink and song, we finally made our way back into the shop. The warmth of the tavern still clung to us like a second skin, laughter echoing faintly behind as the door shut on Kringlegard.

I trudged down the main aisle toward my room, rubbing my eyes and barely holding back a yawn. For the first time in a long while, the world felt a little less broken.