“Oops,” Booger says.
I turn to find him staring at a shimmering circle of red and black etched on the floor—runes still glowing.
Burnout looks sheepish. “I might’ve spilled some Monster on it.”
“Youwhat?!”
Before anyone can scream or curse or run, the circle ignites.
The lightsexplode—every bulb shattering in a symphony of cracking glass and ozone. The building shakes. Wind whips from nowhere, knocking papers into a cyclone of chaos.
And then it appears.
A ghost. No—worse. Athing, half-seen, flickering like a bad VHS tape, crawling from the runes on too-long limbs. Its mouth isn’t on its face—itisits face. Its voice is just a high-pitched whine of despair.
Burnout shrieks. “OH MY GOD IT’S A HELL GOBLIN.”
I can’t move. I’m frozen. The thing lunges and Kurskmoves.
He hits it like a freight train, spear flaring with silvery light—but he doesn’t stab. No time. He slams it into the wall, grabs thefire extinguisher I’d kept by the staff fridge, andblaststhe thing full force in the face.
The hiss of cold foam drowns the thing’s wail.
It thrashes. Flickers.
Then vanishes with a pop and a final shriek, like someone yanking a plug from a screaming TV.
Silence.
Smoke.
Then Burnout, voice cracking: “That… was…METAL.”
Booger claps. “Teach me your moves, sensei.”
Kursk turns slowly, smoke curling around him like a battlefield god. “You are unworthy.”
After we sweep up the broken bulbs and silence the emergency alarms (thank you, ancient breakers and my knowledge of outdated circuits), Kursk and I gather the data.
The ley lines. The properties. The corrupted magic.
“It’s worse than I thought,” I mutter, rubbing my eyes. “He’s not just screwing the town—he’s giving the Vorfalukaroots.”
“He is no fool,” Kursk growls, frowning at the glowing blueprints. “He is a weapon. And like all weapons… he must be unmade.”
“I don’t know if he’s doing it on purpose,” I admit. “But the effect is the same.”
We stand in silence.
The boys finally crash on beanbags in the back, muttering about kung-fu orcs and boobs made of fire.
I look at Kursk. He’s staring at me again.
That look.
Like I’m something he can’t quite believe but wants to anyway.
“You did well tonight,” he says softly. “Bravery… is rare. Even in my world.”
