The cold from the iron bars bit into Joe's skin, sharp as the broken promises he used to hear back home. His wrists were shackled above his head, every inch of him aching like he went three rounds with a mountain—and lost badly.
He groaned, adjusting his position for what felt like the hundredth time.
"Okay, Joe... think. How do people escape prison in movies?" he muttered to himself.
"Step one: Find a dumb guard. Step two: Seduce said guard. Step three: Profit... somehow."
He glanced around.
No guards.
Just a glowing enchanted wall, a floor made of nightmares, and Spiritfang sleeping like a dead wolf in the adjacent cell.
"Great. No dumb guards. And unless I grow another set of arms, seduction is off the table."
Spiritfang cracked one eye open.
"You are speaking nonsense again."
Joe shot him a look.
"You don't understand, buddy. Seduction is a critical survival tactic. I read it somewhere. Probably."
The wolf huffed, closing his eye again.
"I would pity any creature you attempt to seduce."
Joe smirked, despite himself.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, furball."
He twisted slightly, inspecting the manacles binding his wrists. The metal pulsed softly, humming with foul magic.
"Huh. Okay, magic chains. That's fair. Totally fair. Very sportsmanlike."
As he shifted, a flare of pain shot through his shoulders—and then he spotted something: tiny hairline cracks near the bolt holding the chains to the wall.
Probably from all his earlier panic-flailing.
His lips curled into a grin.
"Heh. They underestimated the ancient martial art of 'panic flailing.'
Joe pressed his foot against the wall, bracing. Then, gritting his teeth, he yanked with everything he had left.
Nothing happened.
He tried again—gritting his teeth, putting every ounce of stubborn rage into it.
Craaaaack.
The bolt loosened a little.
"Oh-ho. Oh-ho-ho. Big mistake, evil architects."
Spiritfang raised his head lazily.
"You realize if you fall and break your neck, I will not catch you."
"Love the encouragement. Really fuels my spirit," Joe grunted, yanking again.
Craaaaaack!
The bolt tore free—sending Joe crashing face-first into the grimy floor with a wet thud.
"Mmph. Perfect. Exactly as planned," he mumbled into the stone, tasting dirt, regret, and poor life choices.
Spiritfang made a sound suspiciously like a snort.
Joe peeled himself off the floor, wincing as he rubbed his bruised face.
"Alright...
Phase One: Improvise.
Phase Two: Escape.
Phase Three: Ice cream.
Phase Four: Therapy.
Maybe Phase Five: Question every decision I've ever made.
(And cry in a corner.)"
He scrambled toward Spiritfang's cell, fiddling with the glowing magical lock.
"Don't worry, buddy. I've got a plan. Worst-case scenario, we die horribly, and I haunt your dreams forever."
Spiritfang blinked slowly.
"Your optimism is infectious."
Joe grinned wider.
"I know. I'm basically a morale officer at this point."
The lock pulsed angrily as he poked it. It zapped his fingers.
"OW. Rude."
He grabbed a piece of broken chain from his cuffs, jamming it into the magic rune.
Sparks flew.
The barrier around Spiritfang's cell flickered—and died.
"BOOM! Joe: 1. Evil Magic: 0."
Spiritfang padded out gracefully, shaking off imaginary dust.
"Perhaps there is hope for you yet," the wolf said.
Joe clapped his hands dramatically.
"Thank you, thank you. I'll be here all week. Hopefully not in prison, though."
He turned toward the dark hallway leading deeper into the underground fortress.
Joe cracked his knuckles.
"Alright. Time for Phase Four: Punch everything between us and freedom."
Spiritfang growled low in his throat, muscles tensing, senses sharp.
The two of them sprinted into the shadows—toward whatever hell awaited.
Because honestly, at this point, what could possibly go wrong?
Joe sprinted down the dim corridor, Spiritfang loping easily beside him.
"Okay, okay, no guards yet. This is suspicious. Too suspicious," Joe muttered, glancing around.
Spiritfang's ears twitched.
"It is either a trap or extreme incompetence. I am unsure which is worse."
"Bro, incompetence all the way. At least I can punch that."
They rounded a corner—and immediately Joe triggered a pressure plate.
CLICK.
From the ceiling, a hail of poison darts shot down.
Joe dove like a man possessed, landing in a clumsy roll.
"SPIRITFANG, PARKOUR!" he yelled — not that he even knew what parkour actually meant.
The wolf snarled and leapt, twisting through the air like a shadow.
The darts peppered the ground behind them.
Joe lay on the floor for a moment, breathing hard.
"Okay. That was... suboptimal. Let's not do that again."
He pushed himself up—and immediately stepped onto another plate.
CLANK.
Gears whirred. The floor ahead split open to reveal a pit full of writhing, very pointy spikes.
Joe skidded to a stop so fast he nearly fell in.
"SERIOUSLY? WHO DESIGNS THESE HALLWAYS? SATAN?"
Spiritfang padded carefully beside him, giving Joe a long, unimpressed look.
"If you die by stupidity, I will inform your ancestors personally."
Joe wiped sweat from his brow.
"Tell them I was a hero, a very handsome hero."
The wolf sighed deeply, the sound filled with centuries of disappointment.
They carefully edged around the pit trap, only to find a thick iron door blocking the way.
"Alright. Final boss door. Let's go."
Joe charged and kicked it.
The door didn't budge.
Instead, the door punched back. A shockwave blasted Joe across the hallway, slamming him into a wall.
He slid down, groaning.
"Okay, new plan. We knock politely first."
Spiritfang, unbothered, tapped the door lightly with a paw—and it creaked open.
Joe stared.
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!"
The wolf gave a tiny, smug wag of his tail.
Inside was a massive chamber bathed in flickering red light—and standing there, waiting, was Aigos Banger.
His cloak rippled around him, his face half-shrouded, his eyes burning with cold amusement.
"Took you long enough," Aigos said casually.
"I was starting to think you'd died in the hallway like an idiot."
Joe pointed dramatically.
"First of all: RUDE."
Then he squared his shoulders, feeling Spiritfang growl low beside him.
"Second of all: We're leaving. Get outta the way, Banger."
Aigos chuckled darkly.
"Leaving? Oh, no no no, little flame. You've barely begun to entertain me."
He snapped his fingers.
From the shadows around him, three dark figures materialized—tall, powerful, each wearing distorted, ancient armor cloaked in living shadow.
Joe felt the air turn heavy.
"Ooooh crap. Mini-bosses. Hate mini-bosses," Joe muttered.
The three shadows knelt before Aigos.
"Recognize them?" Aigos said, grinning.
Joe squinted.
"Uh... creepy fan club?"
Aigos laughed low.
"Those are the Royal Musketeers. Heroes once... now twisted by the system's gift. My gifts."
Joe's eyes widened.
"Wait. You're telling me the SYSTEM gave you shadow minions? That's cheating!"
Aigos shrugged.
"Life's unfair. Also, you're doomed."
Joe cracked his knuckles, stepping forward.
"Yeah? Well guess what, edgy grandpa—I've got a wolf, a headache, and a lot of pent-up anger."
Spiritfang bared his teeth.
"We are not afraid."
Joe pointed dramatically again.
"Bring it!"
The shadows surged forward—and the room exploded into chaos.
Joe crouched low behind a crooked pillar of stone, Spiritfang pressed tightly against his side. In the eerie darkness, the distant echo of boots and shifting shadows was getting louder.
> [ Current Situation: ] 90% Danger. 10% Hopelessness. Good luck, Master.
Joe gritted his teeth. "No pressure, huh?"
He peeked out—three figures were stalking toward their cell: the blackened, half-ethereal forms of the Royal Musketeers, now twisted into Aigos' loyal shadows.
"Spiritfang," Joe whispered, "when I say 'now,' we bolt."
Spiritfang gave a tiny growl of agreement.
> [ Escape Plan Uploaded: ]
> Step 1 - RUN.
> Step 2 - DON'T DIE.
> Step 3 - PROFIT.
Joe gave a shaky thumbs-up.
NOW!
They exploded from cover. Joe sprinted like a madman, Spiritfang right beside him—but the shadows reacted instantly, surging forward with supernatural speed.
One of them appeared directly in front of Joe.
"SURPRISE!" Joe yelped, sliding under the figure's lunge like he was stealing home plate.
> [ Dodge Successful: ] +1 Style Points.
"I swear if I survive this, I'm marrying a goat," Joe gasped as he stumbled to his feet.
"Focus!" Spiritfang barked.
They twisted and turned through narrow passages, but the Musketeers herded them like wolves. No matter how they ran, the shadows closed in.
Finally, at a dead end—trapped.
Joe clenched his fists. "Guess we gotta punch our way out."
> [ Activating Emergency Protocol: ] Underdog Fury. Temporary boost to Desperation-based Skills.
Joe felt a surge of wild energy ripple through his body.
The first Musketeer struck. A blur of shadow and steel, faster than Joe could blink. He ducked on instinct, feeling the rush of air as the blade sliced just inches from his face. Joe sidestepped—barely—and countered with a clumsy but furious haymaker.
"SPIRITFANG SUPLEX!" Joe screamed.
"...which didn't even make sense, but Spiritfang made it work anyway." Joe said.
Spiritfang roared, leaping and catching a second Musketeer in mid-air, slamming him into the rocky ground. Dust exploded around them.
> [ Combo Move Executed: ] +5 Awesomeness.
The Musketeers recovered fast. Their swords became extensions of shadow itself, warping and stretching unnaturally as they attacked.
"These guys don't play fair!" Joe shouted, ducking another blow.
From the far side of the cavern, Aigos finally appeared, arms crossed, amused.
"Having trouble?" he said, his voice dripping with mockery.
Joe flipped him off.
Aigos laughed. "These shadows you face are no mere minions. They are SYSTEM-FORGED—fallen champions, corrupted by failure, bound to my will."
Joe's stomach dropped.
> [ Historical Data Unlocked: ] The Royal Musketeers - once the pride of a lost empire. Now, glorified henchmen.
The battle intensified. Joe and Spiritfang fought with everything they had, their movements growing sharper, faster.
Joe rolled under a blade, jumped, and elbowed another shadow in the jaw—only to be kicked back hard.
> [ Pain Level: ] 87%. Consider screaming dramatically.
"Already doing that!" Joe yelled mid-air.
Just as one of the Musketeers raised his sword for a finishing blow, the entire cavern shuddered—a low rumble splitting the ground.
Then... a new presence.
A man stepped out from the deepest shadows.
Tall. Cloaked in darkness.
Eyes burning like dying stars.
Even Aigos stiffened for a fraction of a second, his smugness flickering.
Joe, barely conscious, bleeding from a dozen wounds, still managed to grin crookedly.
"Oh great," he wheezed, "another edgy dude with dramatic lighting. Because that's exactly what we needed."
The man's shadow bled across the battlefield, swallowing everything in cold far older than death itself.
The real nightmare had arrived.