Chapters 179 and 180 (Patreon)

Chapter 179

17 days earlier.

“It was glorious,” Quasar said. “Shame how it ended for Remex. They made us study the exit deal he made in school. But the mudskippers cleaned up that season. It was a real windfall. You ask for this spell, and they’ll fall over themselves to give it to you. And you want to know the beautiful part? All those other pricks won’t interfere. Everyone will want you to pull it off. All the factions. All the fans. The showrunners. The AI. Everybody. That spell always leads to carnage. Everybody likes carnage when it’s not them.”

“What, exactly, does this spell do? And why does it lead to such chaos?”

“It’s called Zerzura. The spell itself is pretty simple. It takes a full city or town, NPCs and buildings and all, and it transfers them one floor down. It transfers the town itself and all the NPCs. That’s it. No mobs or enemy, red-tagged NPCs. No stairwells or any other special rooms, either, like prize rooms.”

“That’s exactly what I need,” I said. “I promised I’d help the changelings get down, and we were going to use the gate. This would be a good compromise.”

“I should note, there’s a few, uh, negative side effects of the spell,” he said.

“What are they?”

“It’s pretty hard on the caster, first off. We won’t have to worry about that because we’ll have them install it into one of the four mercenaries. On the Scolopendra levels, it skips floors. Remex found this out the hard way. He got that spell on the fourth floor during his crawl. He sent his army to the fifth floor, then the sixth, but when he cast it again, the town skipped the seventh and eighth floors and went straight to the ninth. He wasn’t prepared for that, and his NPCs and mercenaries all got slaughtered by both the revenants and the faction wars participants. That’s a whole, sad story right there. But you should have seen him when he hit that ninth floor. He was a one-bird army. He gave it all up to save his kid.” Quasar took a long drag of vape. “I’d forgotten he was still around until you freed him. That was some compelling drama, let me tell you. My wife bawled her eyes out. Or was it my girlfriend?” He waved his hand. “It’s not important.”

“Okay,” I said. “So if we cast it now, the changelings will go straight to the ninth. That’s what we wanted anyway. They’ll have to run the moment their town lands. It was always going to end with a fight. We can give them the Twister. At least they’ll have a chance. We should probably do it right away.”

“Yeah, that’s a problem. The spell can only be cast at the end of the floor. If the spell miscasts, that’s it. You don’t get to try again. It takes like five minutes to cast, too, so you’ll have to protect the dude.”

“Shit. Okay,” I said. “That doesn’t seem so bad. If we were using the gate, we’d have to wait until the end of the floor anyway. Is that it?”

“Not quite, pal. I’m getting to the good stuff. The city or town or whatever you send can’t be steered, so it’ll land in some random place. And when I say random, I mean in the worst possible area. They almost always splat the whole village right in the middle of a monster nest or boss room, killing everybody it lands upon. That doesn’t sound like a big deal, but there’s a catch. Everything that’s killed is immediately resurrected as a type of powerful revenant. They’re called the Children of Inpewt. Everyone in the town plus the caster is marked. The creatures then actively hunt down the marked. They are fast and strong and still have any spells and special abilities of the monsters they were before they were smushed. That’s why so many people enjoy watching this spell in action. It’s just chaos and carnage. If the revenants successfully kill one of the marked, they are also turned into a revenant. The monsters don’t go away until the villagers and the caster are all dead. Remex used it as an easy way to level up, but when they jumped from the sixth to the ninth, the revenants managed to cause a lot of chaos for the faction wars participants. Almost as much as you did. They’ll all still want you to do it, though, since the odds are in their favor that it’ll tiddie-bang one of their competitors and not them.’”

“Yikes,” I said. “So my changelings will have a horde of undead monsters chasing them?” I thought of little Bonnie the gnome and Skarn. Of Ruby, the sweet, gentle changeling girl with compression sickness. Was this really our only choice? Would it be better to just let them collapse with the floor?

“Yes,” Quasar said. “If the people are adequately prepared, they can usually handle it. But that ninth floor is a Forsoothian milk marm, if you know what I’m saying. The teleported town won’t land inside another town, so you don’t have to worry about it crashing into what remains of Larracos, but it'll likely land in the midst of another faction’s territory killing a bunch of their mercenaries. Then you’ll have zombie mercenaries and the pissed-off survivors all attacking your villagers all at the same time.”

“So I could plant a giant bomb,” I said, thinking.

“You could. The changelings might not like that too much. And you don’t know where it’s going to land. They say this stuff is random, but we all know it ain’t. You’d likely end up blowing away a bunch of trees.”

“Damn. That’s not nearly as good as the gate. With the gate, we have coordinates.”

“True. That’s why we’re negotiating. We’re going to ask for the six mercenaries, they’ll counter with two, and we’ll settle on four. One with a teleport spell. One with this Zezura spell. We also need to keep you alive. I see you’ve already signed a shitty contract with the Vengeance of the Daughter show. We need to revisit that. You’re a taxpaying stockholder now. This changes everything about your situation and what you can and can’t do out in the universe. Can’t change the contract between you and the production company itself, but I have a few thoughts on how to keep that star burning. I might be able to finagle a ninth-floor extension out of the mudskippers, which’ll keep the Vengeance folks from trying to kill you on this one. That show sucks, by the way. It’s only interesting when you and the cat are on, and everyone knows it. That’s equal parts dangerous and lucky. At least the naiad doesn’t wear a shirt.”

“Okay,” I said, still thinking of Bonnie and the changeling children being thrown into danger like that. This was inevitable, but was there more I could do to protect them? I thought of the Dreadnoughts.

“I have a crazy idea. Tell me what you think.”

~

<Note added by Crawler Carl, 25th edition>

I’m starting something I don’t think will succeed. I will be documenting every step along the way. We have a method of communication that allows prying eyes not to see it. See my earlier post about the coffee shop author’s kit to see how it works. I just erased the first page. Here’s a copy and paste of what was on it:

The Butcher’s Masquerade is a trap. They’re going to try to kill us all. Queen Imogen is a country boss. I don’t know how it will happen, but we’ll probably have to fight her at the end of the party. Since I can’t talk all of you into going down the stairs early with me, we’ll have to figure out how to survive.

I also have an issue with my elite quest. They want to fight this same boss, but before or maybe during the party. That means they’re doomed to fail, because the main showrunners aren’t going to allow their climax to get hosed by a secondary production. As much as I like the elite, Signet, I would like to avoid going down with her. The production goes out of their way to make sure I’m involved, so I might be forced to deal with this secondary show’s climax whether I want to or not.

I’ve been working the problem, and I have a few ideas. Before we get to that, we need to lay out our objectives.

Goal one is to survive. Everything else is secondary. However, if we meet all of these secondary objectives, we’ll not only survive here, but we’ll also have a good footing once we hit the ninth floor.

As I see it, here are all our secondary objectives. In order from least important to most important:

1)  Solve the Tina Quest. Get her to dance on stage. I used to want to abandon this one, but I think we can use this to our advantage.

2)  Kill Eva. If she’s stupid enough to go to the party, we shouldn’t waste the opportunity. Not something I really want to do, but how many more good people will she hurt?

3)  Save the changelings and get them to the next floor down.

4)  We can only accomplish #3 if we first kill Queen Imogen and take the castle. If we take the castle, we can use the Sledge to get them and the castle down to the ninth floor. I’ll explain how this will help us later.

5)  Kill Lucia Mar. Again, I don’t want to do this, but she’s too dangerous. Her very presence at this thing is going to be a problem because she’s such a wildcard. She’s likely to tank the whole operation and get us all killed. The further she gets, the more dangerous she becomes.

6)  I made a promise at the end of the last floor, and I intend on keeping it. We are going to make sure not a solitary, single hunter gets off this floor alive.

Once you see this, sign your name so I know I can erase it, and we can move on to the planning. I have ideas for most of this, but I’ll need your input.

Signed,

·  Katia

·  Imani.

·  Jesus Christ, Carl. You’re going to get us all killed. Elle.

·  I HATE THIS PAPER THING, CARL. GC, BWR, NW PRINCESS DONUT THE QUEEN ANNE CHONK.

·  I am claiming Lucia Mar for myself. If someone attempts to stop me, we will have a problem. Florin.

·  Nobody has tried to convince me not to go down the stairs. I think we should. Louis.

·  Same. Firas.

·  Li Na. I have my own method of speaking with my team. I will keep them updated. Also, I agree with Elle.

·  Daniel Bautista. I’ll do whatever I can.

·  Chris.

~

Time Until the Butcher’s Masquerade: 1 hour.

Time Until Level Collapse: 31 hours.

Total Number of Remaining Crawlers: 59,259

Total Number of Crawlers still on the sixth floor: 23,385

Number of Crawlers attending the party: 73

Number of Hunters attending the party: 264

“You will be required to enter the castle through the attendant entrance,” the uptight, nasally elf announced as the large, covered wagon bumped over the road. He shifted uncomfortably on the bench. In addition to the elf, it was just me and Britney in the cart. We were in a caravan, dotted with armored and armed elves and wagons. Big Tina and the lady Mongos walked in procession behind us. Tina kept wandering off, so Donut had to go out there and keep her in line, much to the dismay of the elf servant guy, whose name was Theobold. He was a level-35 High Elf Footman.

“Upon entrance, you will be subject to a security sweep. You and all your supplies will be re-inspected. You will be able to secure your attendants in the servant ballroom. From there, you and your invited guests will be escorted to the main ballroom. During the presentation of the pets and the talent portion, those of you who are performing will be given access to the anteroom behind the stage where you may interact... sir, I do think I should wait until Princess Donut returns so I can explain the procedures to her as well.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. I thumbed over at Britney, who sat there looking especially grumpy. “Donut’s plus-one will explain everything to the princess. She’s part of the act. Aren’t you, Britney?”

“Uh-huh,” Britney said.

The elf looked upon Britney and her fluffy, green and brown jacket with an unmistakable air of contempt. It reminded me of the time I’d gone out to dinner at a super fancy steak place with Bea and her parents, and they had made me put on a sports coat that was two sizes two small. I’d had grease on my hands because I’d come straight from work, and I’d gotten it all over the coat.

“Very well,” Theobold said. “Like I was explaining, you will be given backstage access. Another footman will be present to further explain those procedures. Please follow all instructions. The queen will not attend either performance, but it is crucial we keep to the timeline.”

Shit, I thought. “She doesn’t want to see the pet show? Who doesn’t want to see a pet show?”

Theobold ignored me. “Before you enter the main ballroom, you will be given access to a guest’s boudoir where you may change into proper masquerade attire.”

He looked me up and down.

“I do hope, sir, that you brought shoes for the event. And pants.”

“Nope,” I said.

“No, no, no, Tina,” Donut called from just outside. “If you try to eat the elf, he won’t let you into the castle! Really, Kiwi. You must keep your child under better control. Why can’t people ever keep their children under control? Tina! No! You’re going to get your new boa all dirty!”

Theobold sighed. “No weapons will be brandished in the ballroom, nor will magic of any kind be tolerated. Yes...” he said, cutting me off before I could interject, “You may cast magic or brandish weapons on stage if it is crucial to your act, but you will not be allowed to physically interact with anyone not on stage with you.”

I relaxed as he continued to drone.

“Those of you with magical storage will not be able to access it within the ballroom. Once you enter the ballroom and you are deemed to be in compliance with all the rules, you will officially be under the formal protection of the Queen of All That Is and the Queen of All That Will Be, the One and Only True Blood, Her Majesty on High Queen Imogen of the High Elves. Any attempts to break the peace from yourselves or your attendants will be met with instant and punitive action. This protection is only active while you are in the proper, designated ballroom.”

“Sounds like my kind of party,” I said. “Tell me, Theo. What does the queen’s protection actually mean? Those hunter assholes don’t like me so much. What’ll happen if one of them takes a swing?”

“As you’ve no doubt been informed, sir, you will be attending the party in what’s known as a goodwill ballroom, so it will be quite impossible for the opposing guests to harm you. You will not be in the same physical location as them, and any strike will feel like a whisper. But if a serious attempt to harm you is made, protections are in place.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It is not of your concern. Rest assured these protections were put into place by Apito herself.”

“Apito?” I asked. “The goddess?”

“Yes.”

Uh-oh, I thought.

“...and in case they don’t prove sufficient, the queen’s personal guard will remain in the center ballroom, where the queen herself will eventually be in attendance.”

“So, she’ll be in a third ballroom all by herself?”

“She and her personal guard, yes. We take the queen’s safety quite seriously. Not that she needs such protection.”

“I’m assuming the guard dudes in the queen’s private ballroom can smack me around, but I can’t hit back?”

“That is correct, sir, but again, we have additional protections that would make such interventions unnecessary.”

I needed to find out, exactly, what those additional protections were. “Okay, that’s all well and good. But there are going to be people at the party all in the same ballroom who don’t like each other too much. There’s this one-armed dude named Quan whom I’m pretty sure will be there. There’s this girl with a giant dog who’ll probably just want to go apeshit and kill everybody, especially Princess Donut. Oh, and there’s this snake lady with three hands. Her name is Eva. She’s still around, and she has a thing for my friend Katia. They used to be best friends, but they had a falling out. And those are just the beefs I know about.”

“Fighting will not be tolerated,” Theobold said.

“So if my friend Quan tries to one-arm strangle me, you’ll intervene?”

“Like I said, sir, an attack upon the queen’s protected guests is the same as an attack upon the queen herself. All guests at the masquerade will be reminded of this. This protection cannot be circumvented.”

“Got it,” I said. An ominous feeling washed over me.

Outside, one of the stag mounts let out a squeal, followed by Donut shouting. “Tina! No! Play nice!” A guard gave a muffled warning.

Next to me, Britney shifted uncomfortably. She did not want to be here, especially considering she wasn’t in the top 50. She was miserable in her new, itchy jacket. Firas, who’d ended up at number 43, had talked her into coming and being Donut’s “assistant.” It was either this or be part of Gideon’s assault team, which she did not want to do.

“Hey,” I asked. “Will the queen’s pet be at the party?”

“Sir Ferdinand?” Theobold asked. “I imagine so. When he isn’t ranging from the castle to hunt, he is usually upon her shoulder. The two are quite inseparable.”

His tone suggested he felt the same way about the cat as he felt about my lack of pants.

“Sir? So he’s a knight? Does that mean he’s like your boss then?” I chuckled. “Cats, man. Princess Donut there is pretty much my boss. I don’t like to admit it, but she’s the one in charge. Just wait until you see her act. She has a new song she’s trying out.”

“A knight? Certainly not,” Theobold said. “We are a civilized kingdom. Ferdinand is nothing but a lowly creature. A familiar. A pet. The ‘sir’ is simply a part of his name. It’s not a real title.” He turned his gaze toward the curtain. “That seems to be a common thing amongst their kind.”

“So, he’s not royalty?” I asked, feigning surprise. “We met him a few days back. Out in the woods during that whole issue with the odious creepers. He implied that he was second in charge of the whole kingdom.”

“You must be mistaken,” Theobold said.

“Maybe,” I said. “I’d watch him, if I were you. You can’t ever trust cats. Like, ever. They’re all cute and cuddly, but they’ll eat your corpse in a second.”

“Gross, Carl,” Britney said.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “One last question.”

“Of course, sir,” Theobold said. “It is my pleasure to accommodate you.” It did not sound even a little sincere.

“I have a whole stash of these hands I got from killing the hunters. They said there would be a prize counter where we could turn them in. Do I need to take them from my inventory ahead of time?”

“No need, sir. The award table attendant will be able to extricate the items from you.”

“Have you seen the prizes?” I asked. This whole part of the masquerade was still a mystery, and it was one of several unknowns I was worried about.

“I have not, sir. Do not worry. The prize counter will be open for the entire evening. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must attend to the other guests in the caravan.” He deftly pulled himself from the carriage and disappeared, leaving me and Britney alone.

“This isn’t going to work,” Britney whispered, an edge of panic to her voice. She kept nervously rubbing her right hand up and down the left arm of her fur-covered jacket. “He said there’s a security check when we get to the castle and another on the way into the ballroom. Those are just the ones they’ve told us about it.”

“Did you take the potion?”

“The dinosaur repellant? Yes. I’ve been taking it every day. But I don’t think it works. Mongo insists on putting his head on my lap every time I visit your room.”

“That’s because he likes you. What about your shield spell? Is it ready to go?”

“Yes. The cooldown just reset.”

“Good.”

Britney had gotten into the bad habit of casting her shield the moment she saw a mob. The spell was actually quite powerful now, able to block both magic and physical attacks for thirty seconds, but it had a four-hour cooldown.

I peeked out the curtain of the covered wagon. The setting sun shone through the trees. It’d be dark soon. Multiple guards mounted on their white stags were coming in to join the progression, flanking the sides.

There were six separate wagons mixed in with the dinos and stag mounts. Theobold had been riding in that first one along with two guards. Li Jun, Li Na, and Zhang were in the second. They’d entered the talent show as jugglers. We were in the third. Imani and Elle, who were participating in the talent show, sat in the fourth. They were going to perform a skit.

Tserendolgor—now ranked number 38—and her plus-one partner were in the fifth wagon. We’d taken to calling her Ren because nobody could pronounce her name. She had a pet show entry with her, lumbering behind their wagon and keeping a wary eye on Tina and the other dinosaurs. It was a blob thing called a tummy acher. His name was Garret. She’d just received the pet on this floor, as a gift for going to Crawl Con. The level-20 pet was as tall as me, and it looked like a giant, lumpy meatball. It had no arms, but it did have a pair of stubby legs, giving it a bouncy gait as it followed, like a fat toddler chasing after his parents. Garret had an enormous, jagged mouth with a single tooth that could probably swallow me whole. The damn thing was equal parts adorable and horrifying. It made a kind of giggling noise when it walked and could tank a massive amount of damage. Apparently, people loved the thing.

Donut: THERE ARE MORE GUARDS COMING. THERE’S NEW ONES WITH BLACK JACKETS.

Carl: You need to keep Tina under control.

Donut: SHE’S EXCITED. YOU KNOW HOW CHILDREN GET WHEN THEY’RE EXCITED. THE GUARDS ARE AGITATED. IT’S PROBABLY BECAUSE OF THAT LADY IN THE LAST CART. THEY MIGHT TRY TO GET HER BEFORE WE GET TO THE CASTLE.

The final, larger cart contained all of the props and costumes and supplies for both the talent portion and the beauty contest. They’d insisted upon us removing it all from our inventory so they could inspect it. Also riding in the cart were the non-crawler attendants who didn’t want to walk. Samantha was in there along with the cretins Clay-ton and Very Sullen and a mysterious, robed woman.

The robed woman, as far as most people knew, was Signet. It was actually Pearson the changeling pretending to be Signet.

The guards had hesitated when they saw the changeling, but they didn’t react. Gauging their reaction was one of the reasons why we did it this way. Signet seemed to believe that Queen Imogen had an order in place not to attack her directly. The naiad suggested that the Queen herself would want to deal with her once she finally revealed herself, and the guards’ reaction seemed to imply that was the case.

So far, nobody on the floor had yet seen the Queen.

Bomo and the Sledge remained in the saferoom. They both had jobs to do, and they’d both wait until the party started to get moving.

I knew there were other crawlers and possibly some hunters also riding to the castle this way in other caravans. They didn’t tell us how many acts there would be for the talent and pet show, nor if the hunters were participating. Another unknown. We only knew of five entrants total to the pet show and of five teams with spots in the talent portion.

There were also about fifteen crawlers going to the party whom I didn’t know at all. That was going to be a problem.

Only some of the ones I did know were bringing a plus one. Britney was Donut’s guest. I didn’t have anyone.

Donut: THEY WENT INTO THE LAST CART.

A minute passed. Then the curtain to our covered wagon rustled, and suddenly a new person appeared in the cart, fading into existence next to Britney like she’d been sitting there the whole time.

Notifications and achievements scrolled across my view.

Britney squeaked in surprise and slid to the edge of the cart. She panic-cast her Shield spell just as the white-tagged Queen Imogen finished fading into existence.

“Your majesty,” I said, trying to swallow. Oh fuck. Oh shit. He’s going to lose his mind.

“Are you really attempting to smuggle someone who looks like my half-sister into the castle?”

Carl: Katia. It worked. We drew her out. But it’s Ifechi. Queen Imogen is Ifechi, Florin’s dead girlfriend.

Chapter 180

<Note added by Crawler Carl, 25th edition>

From page five of our planning notes:

According to Edgar’s map, the control center for the four ballrooms—the two main ballrooms and the two attendant ballrooms—is located in the very middle of the castle in a secure chamber on the third floor. Each of the four ballrooms is controlled by a small soul crystal. There’s a fifth, larger crystal that controls the whole overlay system that allows us to interact with everyone in the other rooms. When we go into the ballroom, there’ll be a mute spell that’ll keep us from casting our magic and another that’ll keep us from using our inventory. I think that’s it. We can’t brandish weapons, either, but I don’t know how they’ll enforce it. The mute and inventory spells are not active in the attendant ballrooms. Also, the queen’s ballroom doesn’t have any protections, so there’s no controls.

What we need to do is get someone into the control room and turn off the protections without disturbing the other rooms or turning off the goodwill overlay. There’ll be a notification when the switch occurs, so we need to make sure everyone keeps their mouths shut until we make our move.

Here’s my idea. We go with the distraction we talked about earlier to empty the castle of as many guards as possible. We’ll have to brainstorm some ideas on how to get to the security room, so everyone study the map and let me know your thoughts.

Also, on another subject. I’m pretty sure Imogen is going to be someone one of us knows. I think they were originally planning on her being Bea, my ex-girlfriend and Donut’s owner. We need to be prepared for that.

~Carl.

We all have people it could be. We’ll deal with whatever happens like we always do. We need a better method of communication. I can’t keep going to the bathroom like this. It’s becoming obvious.

~Imani.

Your idea of using Donut’s charm for the fight against Imogen might also work for the security room, but the timing might fuck us. It’s a lot of pressure on her.

~Elle.

I like that idea, but it’ll only work if Imogen is at the party the whole time.

~Carl.

CARL IS ALWAYS IN THE BATHROOM. AND I DON’T LIKE THE CHARM PLAN. IT’S THE NIPPLE RING ALL OVER AGAIN. I DON’T LIKE BEING STABBED, CARL. I’D LIKE FOR YOU TO GET STABBED FOR ONE OF YOUR PLANS SOMETIME.

Sign the notes, Donut.

~Carl.

WHY DO I NEED TO SIGN IF YOU KNOW WHO I AM. EVERYBODY KNOWS WHO I AM.

~

I examined the beautiful elf who sat there, glaring at me.

Queen Imogen – High Elf Cleric Sorceress

Level 145 Country Boss

This NPC is Intangible. You may not physically touch it.

This isn’t just any high elf. This is Imogen, the queen of the elves. The big baddie of the floor. Don’t let her good looks and polite manner fool you. She is as ugly as they come.

Sometimes when we meet bad guys, there’s a lingering possibility that we might see some sort of redemption arc. There’s a good quality buried in there somewhere. Did you know, for example, that Juicer guy you murdered on the first floor used to spend all his free time volunteering at a hedgehog rescue? Remember Denise the goose? The one you shoved headfirst into a garbage disposal? She loved reading to children. In fact, you’ve now killed two bosses who loved reading to kids.

Anyway, Imogen doesn’t have any qualities like that. Not a one. She has never left a tip in her life. If they had shopping carts in this world, she’d never return it to the receptacle. Sure, she pretends to be a kind and just leader. She throws a killer party, that’s for certain.

But in the end, it’s all a show. Everything she does is in service of her main motivation, which is power. She’s nothing more than a terrified little girl, afraid of weakness, afraid of dying like her father, King Finian. Impotent and alone and overshadowed by someone more powerful.

She has a plan to make certain that never happens to her. A plan that all hinges on the success of tonight’s masquerade.

I sure hope you don’t do anything to piss her off. That might be bad.

Katia: It’s not Ifechi. It’s her twin sister. Florin told us she had one when we met the Popovs. I’ll warn him.

Jesus, I thought. She has her voice.

I forced a grin on my face as I fired warning messages off. “Smuggle someone? Me? Of course not. Do I look crazy? That woman is part of Princess Donut’s act.”

She looked at me, then. Her dark eyes bore into me, as if she truly was attempting to decide if I was crazy or not.

I went very still while she examined me. A notification appeared. An achievement for total views. A fan box. I exchanged a look with Britney, whose eyes had gotten huge. She’d likely gotten something similar.

Donut: I JUST GOT MY PLUS-ONE TOKEN BACK. I DON’T KNOW WHY.

Carl: I think Britney might’ve hit the top-50 on her own. She was 58 a few hours ago.

Donut: WELL THAT’S JUST RUDE. NOW I LOOK LIKE I’M GOING TO THE PARTY ALONE LIKE A LOSER.

Queen Imogen had clearly been preparing for the ball when she’d decided to come here for a visit. She wore a long, glittering, color-changing gown covered with magical sparkles. Hanging from her neck was a gold chain with a distinctive, glowing gemstone pendant. A large soul crystal. Her dark brown skin was complemented with highlighted and silky brown hair held up in a pile atop her head in one of those fancy, I’m-getting-married-today updos with a single, curled strand of hair dangling on each side. Perfectly-applied, gold-colored makeup covered her face like gold leaf upon a piece of art.

I’d never met Ifechi, but she’d been from Nigeria. A member of the Red Cross who’d been following around a group of militants when they’d all entered the dungeon. I’d assumed the bald woman was male until Katia had pointed it out. This version of her—or her twin sister—was stunningly beautiful. Still, I saw it in her eyes. I remembered the haunted look on Ifechi’s face just before she died on the recap episode, killed by Lucia Mar at the end of the fourth floor. Queen Imogen had the same look.

All of these elves so far had been pale, white dudes, so her darker skin tone was a surprise, especially considering their whole racial-purity schtick. The aliens watching this probably wouldn’t even notice the difference.

This was supposed to be Beatrice, I thought, and I was endlessly grateful that it was not. I’d been worried that it would be someone else I knew, such as Bea’s mom. I felt guilty for being so relieved. Especially considering this was probably worse. I’d been concerned for a while now about Florin’s mental health.

Carl: Get him down the stairs.

Katia: There’s no way that’s going to happen. He’s been pacing back and forth for an hour straight, excited for the party.

Britney remained in the corner, huddled in on herself. Her shield would run out in a few seconds, not that it mattered here. Imogen’s dot remained white on the map.

An new elf was suddenly in the cart, hanging on the outer edge. The sleek and muscular guard was dressed in black and gold, form-fitting armor with straight, white hair. He leaned in and whispered into the queen’s ear. She nodded and shooed him away.

She returned her gaze to me and raised an amused eyebrow. “Tell me, Carl. What are you playing at? Why bring that woman? Why dress her in such a manner?”

Donut: THE GUARDS ARE BEING JERKS. THEY’RE TELLING ME I CAN’T GO BACK INTO THE CARRIAGE. THEY TOLD ME I COULD GO IN THE ONE WITH THE DOG LADY, AND I SAID NO. I CAN’T BELIEVE THEY LET HER IN THE TOP 50.

Carl: It’s okay. I need you out there. Be ready.

I struggled to appear much more confident than I felt. Pearson the changeling had been instructed to look almost like Signet, enough, at least, to garner the attention of the elves, but he needed to remain in human form and not change. If we were especially lucky, she would’ve touched him. And not outright murdered him.

“I’m not playing at anything. I didn’t even realize you knew my name, your majesty.”

“Are you scared of me, Carl?”

I was goddamned terrified. I didn’t want to admit it, but it felt prudent at the moment to tell the truth.

“Very.”

The queen sighed. “The Butcher’s Masquerade is a pause in all the ugliness of the world. Everyone in attendance will be under my protection. The event will be perfectly safe, and to suggest otherwise is an insult.”

“Then I’m looking forward to it,” I said.

The cart continued to bump over the trail. Britney and I remained frozen, unsure what to do.

“Do you know why it’s named such? The Butcher’s Masquerade? We do not wear masks, yet it is a masquerade. Do you know why this is so? Do you know the story?”

“I haven’t really thought about it.”

She nodded. “I wouldn’t expect someone so unclean to know. The first masquerade was held in the Halls of Ascendency. Taranis and his wife, Apito, the Blessed Oak Mother, put the party on for all of their children and extended family, who are constantly vying for control, even to this day. The party was meant as a night of respite. No violence. Their son, Grull, asked why it was called a masquerade when they did not wear masks. Apito’s response is considered sacred gospel:

“She said, ‘My son, the masks we wear are the smiles upon our faces and the goodwill we present to each other this evening. There will be no violence. No maneuvering. Just an evening of feats and friendly contests and tales of past conquests. A place where you can face your greatest enemies and not worry about it being the end of your plots.’ Grull didn’t understand, of course. But he and the others followed his mother’s wishes and attended the event. The party went on, as planned at first. It was Yarilo, god of lust, who broke the peace. Drunk, he attempted to force himself upon the familiar of one of the other gods. For breaking the seal of peace, he was banished to the Nothing by Apito. Taranis, angry with his wife for exiling his child, raged. Fights broke out after that. All the attending mortals and demi-gods were slaughtered, leaving Apito in tears.”

“I’ve been to a few parties like that,” I said.

Imogen scowled at my interruption. I was having a hard time reading her. She was an odd mix of polite and barely bridled rage. If I didn’t know better, I’d also think she was stoned out of her gourd. “After, the party became a ritual. A holy sacrament. A rite of reflection and of non-violence. Of us striving to meet the goal of Apito, the most perfect of Mothers, who wants nothing more than for all of us to get along.”

I remembered the crazy-ass city elves on the third floor. Their whole thing had also been the worship of Apito. “Don’t you go around killing everything that’s not a pure-blood elf?”

“Only when they dare to carry themselves as our equals. Apito seeks harmony above all. Mongrels add chaos to the mix. To grow the perfect tree, one must first cut off the rot.”

I wasn’t about to go exploring down that path. “So, you have a party, deliberately invite people who don’t like each other, and try not to have it turn into a clusterfuck?”

She nodded. “Only the most divine are granted the right to cast the spell. And they can only cast it once in their lives. Once cast, the ritual begins, the guest list forms, and we have the party.”

“Wait, you cast a spell for the party?”

She fingered the soul gem around her neck. “Of course. It’s one of Apito’s holiest sacraments. The party is named after the spell. The Butcher’s Masquerade.”

This conversation was not going anything like I thought it might.

Imogen continued. “The guest list comes from the goddess herself, and we are not to harm the attendants before the party.”

“Really?” I asked. Traditionally, the elves were considered a deadly menace to both the hunters and the crawlers. That was why everyone stayed away from their property. I knew this whole Butcher’s Masquerade storyline was something new. Huh, I thought, trying to remember if I had any reports of people fighting the elves.

“Not unless they attempt to harm us first,” she said. “Which is why I am here right now talking to you instead of having my soldiers fertilize the forest with your entrails.”

“Your cat almost murdered my cat,” I said. “That wasn’t self-defense.”

She nodded. “You are correct. Everything was almost ruined when your friend jumped in front of Ferdinand’s bolt. Do not worry, he has been properly chastened for it. I did not instruct him to attack you or your friend’s familiar.”

I grunted. “There’s no such thing as chastening a cat. You can yell at them, but it’s like yelling at a wall, believe me.”

Donut pinged me for the tenth time asking if everything was okay. We were coming up on the castle.

Donut: IT’S REALLY UGLY. I THOUGHT ELVES WERE SUPPOSED TO DESIGN THINGS WITH WATERFALLS AND FLOWING LINES AND TREES AND NAKED STATUES. IT LOOKS LIKE A WHITE VERSION OF THAT ROBOT SPACESHIP FROM STAR TREK. IT LOOKS LIKE IT WAS MADE BY A THREE-YEAR-OLD IN THAT MINECRAFT GAME YOU USED TO PRETEND NOT TO PLAY.

She did not appear amused. “We prepare the evening just as Apito tirelessly prepared. We offer the same refreshments, the same opportunity to showcase one’s talents and familiars, and if the party properly finishes without violence, Apito grants a boon. The guestlist is deliberately chosen by the goddess to sow discord amongst everyone involved. It is my duty as host to make certain we get through the entire evening without violence. If we can succeed, I am granted the goddess’s gift.”

She pointed at me accusatorily. The nails on her slender fingers were ridiculously long, like claws.

The cart pulled to a stop.

“I want that boon, Carl. I cannot keep you from the party. I cannot harm you because you haven’t made any overt moves. Yet, you’re working with my mongrel half-sister. I do not know what your plot is. You will not succeed. The moment you attempt something, the ground will open underneath your feet, and everyone involved in breaching the peace will be fed into the Nothing. You can hide your plotting from me, but not from the Oak Mother. That’s the price one pays for breaking the seal of peace.”

I turned to Britney and said, “And all this time I thought she was going to just straight-up murder us. She has to use her goddess to do it.”

Britney did not respond. She looked like she was going to vomit.

“Killing you would be easy,” Imogen said. “Watch.”

She turned toward Britney, lifted her hand, as if she was about to cast a spell, but paused.

“Oh, Oak Mother,” Imogen whispered. “You vex me so.”

I was pretty sure she’d been about to kill or seriously injure Britney, but she’d stopped when she realized Britney had just entered the top 50 and thus was invited to the party on her own.

Imogen sighed. “If I wanted you dead, Carl, you would be. If you do anything to disturb the peace, I won’t be the one to hurt you. An eternity in the Nothing, the realm of darkness and of gnashing of teeth is a fate worse than any death I could conjure. If by chance, someone else breaks the peace, and you’re spared by the goddess, you will be the first to face my wrath. If my ritual is disturbed, and I am free to respond, you will be the first worm I will crush. Now, I will take my leave. I have you on my dance card, Carl. We’ll talk further later.”

And just like that, she was gone. The curtain rustled, and the high elf queen dissipated, coming apart like dandelion seeds caught in a breeze.

The party hadn’t even started yet, and our plan was already fucked.

“She reminds me of my mother,” Britney said.

~~

Hey hey everybody! I have the next several chapters already written, but I'm still doing some extensive moving about and editing and will post them in a couple of days. I plan on finishing the whole book over the next few days. Word count on this damn thing was projected at 150-160 when I started, and we're pushing 210K. So, yeah.

In the book, this section will be preceded by a map of the Sugarcube (elf castle) that's being drawn right now by a very talented map-maker. I'll post it when it's done. In the meantime here's a half-ass photoshop made by me of the important information:

I'm still going back and squashing inconsistencies and bugs. But I finally know how it's going to actually end, and that's a big relief. Thanks for reading and all your support.