As John took in the absolute absurdity of the situation, he broke into laughter. Not just a chuckle, but full-blown, doubled-over, tear-streaming, gasping-for-air laughter. The kind that made his ribs ache and his stomach burn.

  Kaia looked at him, horrified, while Thorin simply smirked, shaking his head.

  Tiffany, standing in all her bubblegum-pink, undead queen glory, placed a perfectly manicured hand on her hip, her lips pursed in offense. "Um, excuse me?"

  Before John could catch his breath, a skeletal guard stepped forward and slapped him across the face. A dull crack echoed through the throne room.

  John's head snapped to the side. Slowly, he turned back, rage flickering behind his amused expression.

  "You will show your Queen the respect she deserves!" said the skeletal guard.

  Tiffany clapped her hands together, delighted. "Thank you! Someone around here gets it."

  John’s lips curled into a mirthless smile. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that.” He shook his head and added, “And, for the record, I already have a queen. And you, sweetheart, are no Dolly Parton.”

  Tiffany’s face twisted in offense like he’d just insulted her entire existence—which, to be fair, he had.

  "As if!" she scoffed. "You think you’re so clever. But, like, joke’s on you, ‘cause adventurers make the best sacrifices.”

  Kaia and Thorin stiffened, eyes widening in shock.

  John simply grinned. "Necromancers make the best bartenders—every drink comes with a little extra spirit!"

  Tiffany pouted, crossing her arms. “What? You’re not surprised I know you’re an adventurer?”

  John tilted his head, mocking her right back. “As if.” He flicked a hand dramatically, "Talk to the hand, ‘cause the face ain't listening!".

  Tiffany gasped, hand to her chest, mock-hurt. "Oh my gosh, rude! You bring about as much value as a Blockbuster late fee!"

  John’s smirk turned to surprise. “Wait a second—you’re from Earth, too? And straight outta the 90s? Are you an Adventuerer?”

  Tiffany let out a giggle, twirling a lock of blonde hair. “Oh no, I’m not an adventurer. Just, like, half an adventurer.” She fluttered her lashes. “Daddy is, though. He’s so powerful.”

  John groaned. “Lemme guess. You’re trying to impress ‘Daddy’ by spreading your undead army across the land?”

  Tiffany beamed. “Duh! I need to show him I’m totally 2 Legit 2 Quit.”

  John snorted. “Your Daddy must’ve been a lawyer. Those guys are seriously evil.”

  Tiffany’s expression darkened, her cheerleader facade cracking for the first time. Her voice turned icy. “You don’t talk about Daddy like that.”

  John just smirked harder. “Touched a nerve, huh?”

  Tiffany flipped her hair and turned away. “Ugh. Whatever. Guards! Take them back to their cell. I, like, have a ritual to prepare.”

  John, Kaia, and Thorin were shoved forward back to their cells.

  ***

  As they were marched back through the dimly lit corridors of the necropolis, the stench of rot and damp stone clung to the air. John kept his head down, his mind racing for an opportunity.

  Then, just as they neared their cell, a door creaked open ahead. A hulking, undead guard stepped out, stretching its grotesquely long arms with an audible pop.

  John’s eyes flicked past it and into the room beyond.

  Inside, several guards sat around a rickety wooden table, hunched over a game of cards. The flickering torchlight cast eerie shadows on their skeletal faces as they grumbled over their hands. One of them cursed and threw his cards down, sending a small pile of bones—probably currency—scattering across the table.

  But John wasn’t interested in the game.

  His gaze slid to the shelf behind them, where he spotted their stolen gear, neatly stacked alongside weapons, belts, and various pilfered trinkets.

  There it is.

  He slowed his pace, angling for a better look—only to be shoved forward by the guard behind him.

  "Move it," the creature growled.

  John bit back a smirk, letting himself be led away without protest. That’s fine. He'd seen all he needed to see.

  Back in the cell, John plopped down onto the cold stone floor with an absolutely shit-eating grin.

  Thorin squinted at him. “Why do you look so pleased?”

  John wordlessly reached into his pocket and pulled out a long, bone-white skeleton key. He twirled it between his fingers, letting it catch the dim torchlight.

  Kaia’s jaw dropped. “How—? When—?”

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  John grinned wider. “Because I have a plan…” He gave the key a final spin before catching it in his palm.

  “…And I love it when a plan comes together.”

  John sat cross-legged in the dimly lit cell, a grin stretching across his face. In one hand, he twirled the stolen skeleton key; in the other, he casually examined a crude, well-worn chef’s knife.

  Kaia and Thorin stared.

  Kaia was the first to break the silence. “Where—” She gestured wildly at the knife. “Where did you get that?”

  Thorin, leaning against the wall, chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Better question—where the hell were you keeping that?”

  John waggled his eyebrows. “A magician never reveals his secrets.”

  Kaia folded her arms. “John.”

  He sighed dramatically. “Fine, fine. When the cooks came in earlier, I may have, y’know... borrowed it.” He shrugged, tossing the knife in the air and catching it effortlessly.

  Kaia’s eyes narrowed. “And the key?”

  John’s grin turned downright mischievous. “Oh, that? I swiped it when I got slapped by the guard.”

  Thorin burst out laughing, nearly doubling over. “So, let me get this straight. You intentionally got your ass handed to you by a walking skeleton just so you could pickpocket him?”

  John gave a theatrical bow. “Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all week.”

  Kaia looked utterly exasperated. “So you actually had a plan all along?”

  John hesitated just a beat too long.

  “Welllllllllllll…” He dragged the word out, rocking his hand back and forth in a so-so motion. “Mostly. Kinda.”

  Kaia’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

  John cleared his throat. “Look, I just went with instinct. Tried some things that worked in the movies.”

  Kaia’s expression darkened. “You gambled our lives on silly moving stories?!”

  Thorin lost it. The big man collapsed onto the stone floor, laughing so hard he actually struggled to breathe.

  John crossed his arms. “I mean, they were gonna sacrifice us anyway. Couldn’t hurt, right?”

  Kaia pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered a prayer under her breath.

  Recovering from his fit of laughter, Thorin sat up. “Alright, alright. I’ll admit, that was some quick thinking.” He nodded toward the key. “So, what’s the plan, oh great mastermind?”

  John cleared his throat and straightened up. Then, with all the dramatic weight of a seasoned orator, he began:

  “Right. We pop down to the Winchester, have a pint, and wait for all this to blow over.”

  Silence.

  Kaia blinked.

  Thorin stared.

  John grinned at their blank expressions. “Nothing? No love for Shaun of the Dead?”

  Kaia groaned. “By the gods, focus.”

  John held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. The actual plan—” He pointed to Kaia. “I use your hairpin to pick the lock. Then we sneak down to the guard room. Once we’re there, we bust in, kill the guards, grab our gear, and—put on their guard uniforms.”

  Thorin nodded, intrigued. “And then?”

  John smirked. “Then we march right into the throne room, take out Tiffany, and get the hell out of here like we owe this place money.”

  Kaia considered it for a moment, then sighed. “There’s a lot that could go wrong, but… that’s actually a solid plan.”

  Thorin clapped a massive hand on John’s shoulder. “The ‘killing undead things’ part is definitely my favorite.”

  John gave a mock bow. “Always happy to entertain.”

  John knelt by the iron cell door, pulling the borrowed hairpin from his pocket. He slid it into the lock, biting his lip in concentration as he worked. A few tense moments later—

  Click.

  He grinned, pushing the door open silently. “Showtime.”

  The three of them crept through the dimly lit halls, keeping to the shadows. They moved quickly but cautiously, staying low and quiet as they approached the guardroom.

  As they neared the door, John motioned for silence. He could hear the clatter of dice and the murmur of conversation inside.

  Thorin flexed his fingers, rolling his shoulders. “Ready?” he whispered.

  John nodded. Pulling the stolen key from his pocket and unlocking the door.

  Thorin threw the door open with a resounding boom.

  The guards—skeletons, zombies, and a couple of very alive and very startled cultists—turned in shock.

  John, Kaia, and Thorin rushed in.

  The undead were slow to react—too used to lumbering around rather than engaging in actual combat. The cultists scrambled for weapons, but it was already too late.

  John went straight for the nearest cultist, who barely had time to squeak in fear before John plunged the stolen knife into his chest. The man gurgled and collapsed, his robes darkening with blood. Grabbing the dagger from the dead cultist, he threw it to Kaia.

  Thorin barreled into the nearest skeleton, shattering it into a pile of bones with a single punch. Kaia danced between two rotting corpses, her blade flashing like silver lightning as she carved them down with deadly precision.

  Within moments, it was over.

  John panted, wiping his blade on a fallen robe. “That went well.”

  Thorin picked up his own recovered warhammer, giving it a satisfied twirl. “I really missed you,” he murmured to it.

  Kaia retrieved her staff, turning back to John. “Alright. We’ve got our gear. What now?”

  John looked around and then spotted the guard uniforms stacked neatly on a bench.

  He grinned.

  “We suit up and walk out of here like we belong.”

  They moved through the dimly lit tunnels, retracing their earlier path. The flickering torchlight cast eerie shadows on the stone walls, but John was in high spirits. His plan was working, and damn if that didn’t feel good.

  He adjusted the stolen guard uniform, barely containing his smirk. “I gotta say, for a half-baked, on-the-fly escape plan, this is going surprisingly well.”

  Kaia shot him a look. “Don’t say that. You’ll jinx it.”

  Thorin grinned. “Let him enjoy it, healer. He thrives on chaos.”

  John chuckled. “Guilty as charged.”

  As they walked, his thoughts drifted back to Tiffany. His grin widened. “So, let’s break this down. I’m guessing her ‘Daddy’—who she talks about like he’s the CEO of Hell, Inc.—must have arrived here back in the ‘90s.” He glanced at Kaia and Thorin. “That’s a time period, by the way.”

  Kaia sighed. “I gathered.”

  “Oh, but you haven’t gathered.” John stretched dramatically, preparing himself. “The 1990s. A golden era of flannel shirts, dial-up internet, and real music. Backstreet Boys vs. *NSYNC, the great wars of Pepsi vs. Coke. Renting movies at Blockbuster, only to forget to rewind them—barbaric. Tamagotchis, neon windbreakers, and, of course, the holy grail of Saturday morning cartoons. You kids don’t understand. It was a time.”

  Kaia stared at him, unimpressed. “That...sounds ridiculous.”

  John placed a hand over his heart. “I feel personally attacked.”

  "How long ago was that in your time?" Thorin asked

  John thought and said, " Um like thirty-five years ago."

  Thorin snorted. “So, thirty-five years ago, huh? You were actually young back then?”

  John narrowed his eyes at the dwarf. “I was young, yes. Spry. Full of life. Not an old, bitter husk of a man like I am now.”

  Thorin smirked. “Hard to imagine you ever being spry.”

  John huffed. “Laugh it up, stonehead. You wish you’ll look this good when you hit my age.”

  Thorin rubbed his beard. “Eh, my family ages well. I’ll probably look the same.”

  Kaia cut in, her tone more thoughtful. “But how could Tiffany’s father still be here? If all adventurers disappeared, why didn’t he?”

  John’s grin faded slightly. That was a good question.

  Kaia continued, frowning. “Maybe some kind of dark magic kept him here. Or…” She hesitated. “Maybe he’s responsible for the Grandfather’s disappearance.”

  That made John stop in his tracks. The Grandfather—the absent god who had supposedly abandoned this world. Whos absence, from everything John had learned, was the reason adventurers had stopped appearing.

  He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Man, this just keeps getting weirder. Every time I think I’m getting a handle on things, another mystery pops up.”

  Kaia sighed. “There have been more mysteries since meeting you than in my entire life before.”

  John gave her a cocky grin. “What can I say? I am a man of mystery.”

  They kept moving, but something felt different now. The deeper they went, the more aware John became of their surroundings.

  Whispers. Shuffling noises. The weight of unseen eyes pressing in from the darkness.

  Thorin noticed it too, his hand drifting toward the hilt of his reclaimed axe. “We’re being watched.”

  Kaia nodded, tense.

  John exhaled, rolling his shoulders. “Yeah. Figures.”

  They pressed on, walking as confidently as they could. The tunnels led them closer to the necropolis, the air growing colder. From the shadows, figures shifted—gaunt faces peering through the barred windows of their cells. Some were human, others monstrous. Hollow-eyed prisoners. Chained wraiths. Creatures half-rotted, still clinging to the scraps of their former lives.

  John kept his gaze forward, refusing to let it get to him.

  They ascended the final staircase, stepping once again into the necropolis.

  The city of the dead stretched before them—twisted spires of bone and black stone, buildings sagging under the weight of centuries. Ghostly green light pulsed through cracks in the walls, illuminating the cobblestone streets in an eerie glow. The air smelled of decay, magic, and something wrong.

  Towering above the city was Tiffany’s mansion, a grotesque parody of luxury. A gothic monstrosity wrapped in crawling vines of necrotic energy. The walls pulsed as if the structure itself was alive.

  John whistled low. “You know, I’ve been in some bad neighborhoods before, but this place takes the cake.”

  They moved quickly, trying to look like they belonged. The mansion loomed closer.

  Then—movement.

  A group of skeletal guards stepped out from a nearby alley, their empty eye sockets glowing with balefire. Their heads tilted as they studied the three disguised intruders.

  John kept walking. “Act natural.”

  Thorin grunted. “Natural for who? We’re in a city full of corpses.”

  The guards didn’t move, didn’t speak.

  Then, one stepped forward.

  “You there.”

  John turned, forcing a bored expression. “What?”

  "You look familiar. Do I know you? The Skeleton asked

  John looked exasperated, and Kaia and Thorin had to stifle laughs.

  John quickly said, " Of course I look familiar. We're both guards, and Tiffany wants us right now."

  John turned and began to walk away.

  The skeleton studied him. “…You’re not one of us.”

  John sighed. “Buddy, none of us are really ‘one of us.’ We’re walking bones.”

  The guard tilted his head, uncertain.

  Kaia shot John a look that screamed Don’t push it.

  The skeletal guards all turned in unison, their weapons raised.

  Kaia grabbed John’s arm. “Plan?”

  John sighed, rolling his neck.

  “Yeah.” His fingers twitched toward his stolen knife. “Same as before.”

  Thorin grinned. “Cause chaos?”

  John nodded.

  Thorin cracked his knuckles. “I love this plan.”

  And with that, all hell broke loose.