The three companions stood back-to-back in the center of the decrepit courtyard, surrounded by a wall of undead soldiers. Skeletal knights clattered their teeth menacingly, while zombified guards groaned and shuffled forward, swords raised.

  John let out a slow breath. “Okay. So. Not great.”

  Kaia glared at him. “Not great?! We’re trapped!”

  Thorin rolled his shoulders. “Bah. We fight our way out.”

  John raised a finger. “Or! And hear me out—we run for our lives.”

  Kaia and Thorin exchanged glances.

  “Fair,” Kaia said.

  And then, like someone hit fast forward, all three of them bolted—straight for the nearest door.

  The undead, momentarily surprised, took a beat before scrambling after them in a comically uncoordinated mess of clattering bones and shuffling limbs.

  John, Kaia, and Thorin tore down the corridor, their feet pounding against the stone floor. Behind them, a horde of undead thundered after them like a very aggressive drumline.

  “Left!” John shouted.

  They veered left.

  “Right!”

  They veered right.

  “Other left!”

  Kaia smacked him as they turned down a staircase instead. “That’s right, you idiot!”

  They hit the bottom of the stairs and—bam—another squad of undead appeared.

  “Reverse!” John yelped.

  They ran back up, barreling right through the pursuing skeletons, scattering bones everywhere.

  They skidded into a long hallway lined with doors. Without thinking, John yanked one open, and they all piled inside.

  The pursuing skeletons stopped and stared at the door.

  Then—BAM!—a different door down the hall burst open, and John and the gang ran out at full speed.

  The undead did a double-take.

  A zombie threw open a random door—revealing another confused zombie inside.

  A skeleton yanked open a door—only to get yanked inside by a third skeleton.

  John suddenly ran out of another door—this time carrying a very confused zombie under one arm.

  “Wrong door!” he shouted, shoving the zombie back inside.

  Kaia sprinted past, clutching an armful of pastries from somewhere.

  Thorin, mid-run, somehow had a tiny undead puppy happily trotting beside him.

  One of the zombies looked at his skeletal buddy, shrugged, and just slowly closed the door in front of him.

  The three of them darted into a storage room filled with rusted suits of armor.

  John grinned. “Quick! We hide!”

  As Undead soldiers shuffled into a den filled with comfortable sitting chairs and bookshelves filled with many leatherbound books three very badly disguised sets of armor were standing stiffly in the middle.

  One skeleton paused, looking at the obviously too short “armor” that was Thorin. Another turned to “Kaia’s” suit, which had a big chunk missing where her actual hair was sticking out.

  And then there was John. Who for some reason had put his armor on backward.

  The skeletons exchanged looks.

  Then one of them shrugged and moved on.

  Just as the last undead passed, John whispered, “See? Flawless.”

  Kaia groaned.

  Then John’s helmet fell off with a loud clang.

  All the skeletons stopped.

  John sighed. “And that’s our cue to run again.”

  With the entire undead army now barreling toward them again, the trio sprinted toward the grand ballroom.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  At the end of the room? A massive stained-glass window.

  John nodded. “Only one way out.”

  Kaia groaned. “Oh, I hate this plan.”

  Thorin grinned. “I love this plan.”

  John leapt first, dramatically diving through the glass like an action hero.

  Thorin followed, roaring in triumph.

  Kaia…stopped at the edge, muttering, “This is so stupid.” Then a zombie tripped and accidentally bumped her out the window.

  The three of them hit the ground outside in a pile of shattered glass, bruised egos, and general exhaustion.

  John groaned, lifting his head. “Okay. That could have gone better.”

  Thorin cackled. “Could’ve gone worse!”

  Kaia, lying face down, just muttered, “I need a vacation.”

  John rolled onto his back, staring at the dark sky. “Well… I think we lost them.”

  Inside, the undead soldiers peered out the shattered window, confused.

  Then, a single zombie flopped out after them, landing right next to John.

  John yelped and punted it back through the window.

  Thorin clapped. “Ten points!”

  Kaia just groaned louder.

  ***

  The undead soldiers closed in, their hollow eyes glinting with eerie green fire. Rusted swords scraped against armor, skeletal fingers flexed around ancient weapons. The circle around them tightened. There was nowhere to run.

  Kaia’s voice was sharp, desperate. “John, do you have any more bright ideas?”

  John had nothing. His mind was blank. He glanced at Thorin and Kaia, seeing the truth in their eyes. They knew. They knew this was it. They were outmatched and outnumbered. There was no last-minute trick, no clever escape.

  For all his jokes, all his bravado—he was going to fail them.

  The whisper in the back of his mind, the one that had haunted him for years, slithered in.

  You’re not good enough.

  You put on a good show, but you always come up short, don’t you?

  You tried. But it wasn’t enough.

  His throat tightened. His fingers curled into fists.

  This was how it ended. At the hands of some undead valley girl’s army, a punchline to a joke no one would hear. He would never see his family again. Never go home.

  And then—

  "I can help."

  The whisper wasn’t his own this time. It was something else.

  John’s breath hitched. “What?”

  "I can help you. I can give you power. Enough to destroy every last one of these flesh bags. Enough to kill that insufferable girl. Enough to get you home."

  His hand twitched toward his pocket. The weight of the ring was suddenly there—a presence he hadn’t noticed before.

  "Who are you?" John asked, though deep down, he already knew.

  "I am…" the voice in his mind deep

  The voice slithered through his skull like smoke, curling around his thoughts.

  "I am Malrikoth."

  Oh yeah. That was definitely a demonic name. Nothing friendly or neutral about that one.

  John exhaled sharply. "Of course you are. And let me guess—you live in the creepy cursed ring I’ve been carrying around?"

  "Oh, you wound me, John. 'Creepy'? I prefer 'ancient and powerful.' But yes, I reside within the ring. And I can give you all the strength you need. Just say the word."

  His fingers traced the edge of the ring in his pocket. It felt cold, unnaturally so, even through the fabric of his pants.

  Kaia’s voice snapped through the haze. “John? John! What are you doing?”

  He swallowed hard. The undead were closing in, their breath rattling, their bones clattering with each step. Thorin had his axe raised, but even he knew they couldn't win this fight.

  "So," John muttered under his breath, "just to be clear, you're offering to turn me into a total badass, wipe out all these skeleton assholes, and help me get home?"

  "Yessssssssss," Malrikoth hissed.

  John smirked. “And the teensy, tiny cost?”

  There was a pause, then a sigh.

  "Your soul."

  John let that hang in the air for a moment. Then he snorted. “Oh, just my soul? That’s all? Damn, Mal, you drive a hard bargain.”

  "Come now, John. You and I both know you’re already damned. What’s one more step into the abyss?"

  His fingers closed around the ring.

  “John, don’t you dare!” Kaia’s voice was raw, pleading. She saw the shift in his stance, the glint in his eye. She lunged forward, but it was too late.

  John pulled the ring from his pocket and slipped it onto his finger.

  The world exploded.

  A blast of black energy erupted outward, throwing Kaia and Thorin back. The ground trembled. The undead army staggered, caught in the shockwave.

  Darkness poured from John, coiling like living shadows. The temperature in the cavern plummeted. The torches along the walls flickered and died. The only light now came from John himself—his eyes, black as midnight with burning crimson irises.

  He stood in the epicenter of the chaos, breathing slowly, deliberately. A wicked grin spread across his face.

  The skeletons hesitated.

  John flexed his fingers, and dark energy crackled around his fists. He tilted his head, feeling the power surging through him.

  “Oh,” he said, his voice layered with something deeper, something other. “This is fun.”

  Kaia pushed herself up, coughing. “John! Take it off!”

  Thorin, still sprawled on the ground, looked up at John and whistled. “Well, shit. This can't be good.”

  John turned to the horde of undead surrounding them. The fear was palpable. Even in their rotting sockets, their eyes burned with hesitation.

  John raised his hand.

  “Alright, you bony bastards. Who wants to dance?”

  The first wave of undead charged.

  John barely moved. He thought about moving, and his body responded before his mind could catch up. He blurred through the air, appearing in front of the nearest skeleton, his fist already swinging.

  His punch didn’t just hit—it obliterated. The skeleton exploded into a rain of bone shards.

  The next one lunged—John spun, grabbing it by the spine and tearing it in half.

  Another tried to stab him. He caught the blade between two fingers and snapped it like a twig before grabbing the skeleton’s skull and crushing it in his grip.

  His body moved on instinct, possessed by the demon’s overwhelming power. His limbs blurred as he tore through the undead ranks like a hurricane of destruction. Shadows coiled around his arms, manifesting into wicked claws that shredded through bone and rotting flesh with effortless precision. A skeletal knight lunged at him, only for John to catch its sword arm and rip off at the elbow, swinging the arm still clutching the sword it cleaved a zombie in half, Dropping the arm he drove his fist through its ribcage, obliterating it in a burst of black energy. Zombies swarmed him, but with a mere wave of his hand, tendrils of darkness erupted from the ground, impaling them where they stood. A hulking ghoul tried to flank him—John turned, eyes burning with unholy power, and with a flick of his wrist, the creature was ripped apart, its pieces flung into the walls like ragdolls. He was unstoppable, a force of pure destruction, cutting through the undead army like a god of war incarnate.

  The rest of the undead started backing away.

  John laughed. A deep, resonant laugh that made even the walls shudder.

  Kaia scrambled to her feet. “John! This isn’t you! You need to fight it!”

  John turned, smiling at her. His expression was calm. Too calm. “Fight what, Kaia? I feel great.”

  “You made a deal with a demon!” she shouted, her voice desperate. “That’s not power—it’s corruption!”

  John took a step toward her. For a second, Kaia flinched.

  Then, something flickered in John’s face. A moment of hesitation. A crack in the perfect confidence.

  He knew she was right.

  A whisper slithered through his mind.

  "Ignore her, John. She's afraid. She doesn't understand what we could do together."

  John clenched his fists. The power was intoxicating. It was everything Malrikoth had promised. But there was a price, and if he kept going down this road…

  Kaia stepped closer. “Take it off, John. Please.”

  John hesitated.

  The last remaining undead had completely backed off now, watching warily. They sensed the shift in power.

  Thorin finally stood, rolling his shoulders. “John,” he said carefully. “I’m all for getting stronger, but I gotta say, this whole ‘eyes of death’ thing you got going on? Not your best look.”

  John let out a breath. His hands shook slightly. The power still wanted him.

  "Don't listen to them, John." Malrikoth’s voice was silk and poison. "With me, you could be unstoppable. You could win. You could go home."

  Home.

  His family.

  John squeezed his eyes shut

  He stood in the vast, empty void of his own mind, face to face with Malrikoth. The demon wore his face but twisted—black eyes, fine silk clothing, a smirk full of cruel amusement.

  John cracked his knuckles. "Alright, thanks for the assist, but I think it’s time for you to go."

  Malrikoth threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, John. You still don’t get it, do you?" His voice dripped with condescension. "You lost the second you put that ring on. Your soul is mine now."

  John’s expression shifted to terror. He took a shaky step back. "Wait… so you’re really going to eat my soul? I’ll never see my family again?"

  Malrikoth’s grin widened, his eyes glowing with victory—until John started laughing.

  The demon’s smirk twitched. "What—"

  John pointed at him. "No, bitch. You’re in my domain now."

  The endless void around them twisted and shifted, reshaping itself into a dimly lit underground arena, the air thick with the scent of sweat and blood. The floor beneath John’s feet became a red mat, slightly worn from countless battles, its texture rough under his bare soles. All around, shadowy figures filled the stands, an eerie crowd of faceless spectators watching in silence, their murmurs echoing through the space.

  John glanced down at himself—his jeans and Hawaiian shirt were gone, replaced by a pair of loose black fight shorts and a sweat-slicked torso, muscles tense and ready. He looked like he had stepped straight out of Bloodsport, the spitting image of Jean-Claude Van Damme before the final fight. He rolled his shoulders, bouncing lightly on his feet, his stance widening.

  If this bastard wanted a fight, John was about to give him one straight out of an ‘80s action movie.

  Malrikoth’s amusement shattered into fury.

  "You thought you could worm your way in, feeding off my momentary doubts? Yeah, I’ve got insecurities—who doesn’t? But you mistook my bravado for an act. I don’t break that easy. It’s not about being stronger; it’s about taking the hits and pushing forward." John grinned. "That’s how winning is done."

  Malrikoth scowled. "Did you just—did you seriously just use a movie quote on me?"

  John rolled his shoulders. "Yeah, I did. And now I’m about to fuck you up."

  John screams a battle cry and hits Malrikoth with a Flying spin kick to the head.

  Outside, John ripped the ring from his finger.

  A shockwave of dark energy exploded outward, nearly knocking him to his knees. Shadows shrieked, recoiling into the void. The weight of Malrikoth’s presence vanished in an instant, leaving only silence.

  John stood there, panting. His hands were his own again. His eyes no longer burned with unholy light. The ring sat lifeless in his palm.

  Kaia and Thorin stared at him warily.

  Kaia raised an eyebrow. "Are you… you again?"

  John slipped the ring into his pocket with a smirk. "Yeah, yeah. Demon tried to take my soul."

  Thorin frowned. "And…?"

  John shrugged. "Joke’s on him—I traded that shit away for school cafeteria pizza back in high school."

  They stared at him in confusion.

  He clapped his hands together. "Alright, let’s go kill Tiffany."