The path wasn't straight.

  It curved. Wandered. Doubled back on itself for no reason I could identify. Like whoever made it had been drunk. Or fleeing something. Or both.

  "This is a terrible path," I said.

  "It's getting us somewhere," the imp said.

  "Is it though?"

  "Technically yes. We're moving forward through space."

  "That's not reassuring."

  We walked for another twenty minutes. Maybe thirty. The black structures on the horizon grew marginally larger. Still distant. Still jagged.

  Then the imp stiffened.

  "Daniel."

  "Yeah?"

  "Something's coming."

  I stopped. "Where?"

  "Ahead. On the path. Moving fast."

  I looked forward.

  At first I saw nothing.

  Then I saw movement.

  Something was approaching. Fast. Too fast. It moved in bursts—sprinting, then stopping, then sprinting again. Like it couldn't decide whether to commit to the run.

  A tag appeared above it as it got closer.

  ANXIETY HARE LEVEL 2 STATUS: EXTREMELY WORRIED

  I blinked.

  "What the hell is an Anxiety Hare?"

  The creature burst into view. It was a rabbit.

  Sort of.

  The size of a large dog. Fur that shifted between gray and white in patches that didn't quite sync up. Its ears were too long and flopped at odd angles. Its eyes were enormous—bulging, actually—and darted in every direction at once.

  It spotted me.

  It froze.

  We stared at each other.

  Then it screamed.

  Not a rabbit sound. A human sound. High-pitched. Panicked. The kind of scream someone makes when they see a spider and completely lose all composure.

  "AAAAHHHHH!"

  It ran directly at me.

  My Delayed Reaction timer kicked in.

  2.4 seconds.

  The hare closed the distance in half that time.

  It stopped three feet away.

  "OH NO," it yelled. "OH NO OH NO OH NO."

  "What—" I started.

  "YOU'RE IN MY WAY," it shrieked. "I'M SUPPOSED TO BE RUNNING THIS WAY BUT YOU'RE HERE AND NOW I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO."

  "You could go around me," I suggested.

  "AROUND?" It looked left. Looked right. Looked back at me. "WHICH SIDE? WHAT IF I PICK THE WRONG SIDE? WHAT IF THAT'S THE SIDE WHERE SOMETHING BAD IS?"

  "Both sides look the same," I said.

  "THAT'S WORSE," it screamed.

  It started running in a circle around me. Fast. Dirt kicked up in small clouds.

  "Is it attacking?" I asked the imp.

  "I don't think so," the imp said. "I think it's just… anxious."

  "ANXIOUS?" the hare screamed, somehow hearing us. "I'M NOT ANXIOUS. I'M BEING APPROPRIATELY CONCERNED ABOUT EVERYTHING."

  It stopped abruptly.

  "Wait," it said, staring at me. "You're a skeleton."

  "Yes."

  "You're wearing a pink sash."

  "Yes?"

  "That's the worst combination I've ever seen," it said, voice cracking. "You're going to die. You're absolutely going to die. Pink is SO visible. Everyone's going to see you. Why would you wear that? WHY? No one's going to stop killing you even if the sash says not to—who would listen?!"

  It started running in circles again.

  "Okay," I said slowly. "I'm just going to keep walking."

  "WALKING?" it screamed. "WHERE?"

  "That way." I pointed down the path.

  "NO," the hare said. "NO NO NO. YOU CAN'T GO THAT WAY."

  "Why not?"

  "BECAUSE SOMETHING'S THAT WAY."

  "What?"

  "I DON'T KNOW. I DIDN'T LOOK. I JUST RAN."

  "So you don't actually know if there's danger."

  "THERE'S ALWAYS DANGER," it shrieked. "EVERYWHERE. ALL THE TIME. THAT'S HOW HELL WORKS."

  It had a point.

  "Look," I said. "I'm going that way. You can come with me or keep running in circles."

  The hare stopped.

  It looked at me.

  It looked down the path.

  It looked back at me.

  "NO," it said suddenly. "ACTUALLY NO. I'M NOT DOING THIS."

  "What?"

  "I'M NOT COMING WITH YOU," the hare said, voice rising. "THIS IS A TERRIBLE IDEA. YOU'RE GOING TO DIE AND I'M NOT GOING TO DIE WITH YOU."

  "Okay," I said. "That's fine."

  "IT IS?" It looked surprised. Then suspicious. "YOU'RE NOT GOING TO TRY TO CONVINCE ME?"

  "No. You do what you want."

  "OH," it said. Then quieter: "Okay."

  I turned and started walking.

  The imp settled on my shoulder.

  Behind us, I heard nothing for about five seconds.

  Then:

  "WAIT."

  I kept walking.

  "WAIT WAIT WAIT."

  The sound of frantic scrabbling. Paws on dirt.

  The hare caught up, running in panicked circles around me.

  "YOU CAN'T JUST LEAVE," it yelled.

  "You said you weren't coming."

  "I KNOW WHAT I SAID BUT YOU CAN'T JUST—WHAT IF SOMETHING HAPPENS TO YOU?"

  "Then something happens to me."

  "BUT THEN I'LL BE ALONE," it said, voice cracking. "AND THAT'S WORSE. WHAT IF SOMETHING COMES? WHAT IF I HAVE TO DECIDE WHICH WAY TO RUN? I CAN'T DO THAT ALONE."

  I stopped walking.

  The hare stopped too, breathing hard, eyes darting everywhere.

  "So you're coming?" I asked.

  "I DIDN'T SAY THAT."

  "Then what are you doing?"

  "I'M—" It looked around frantically. "I'M JUST MAKING SURE YOU DON'T DIE IMMEDIATELY. THAT'S ALL. JUST FOR A LITTLE BIT. THEN I'M LEAVING."

  "Sure."

  "I MEAN IT."

  "Okay."

  It fell into step beside me. Then immediately started walking faster. Then slower. Then faster again.

  "Can you pick a pace?" I asked.

  "NO," it said. "EVERY PACE FEELS WRONG."

  The imp leaned closer to my skull. "I hate this rabbit."

  We walked.

  The hare muttered the entire time. A constant stream of worry. About the path. About the sky. About whether the dirt was too crunchy. About whether silence was worse than sound. About everything.

  After ten minutes, I saw something ahead.

  The path widened. And in the center of it, sitting cross-legged on the ground, was a figure. A skeleton.

  Human-shaped. Wearing a ragged brown cloak that had seen better centuries. A wooden staff lay across its lap.

  A tag appeared.

  ENLIGHTENED VAGRANT LEVEL 4 STATUS: MEDITATING

  "That's a level 4," I said quietly.

  "OH NO," the hare whispered. "WE'RE GOING TO DIE."

  "Shh."

  We approached slowly.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  The skeleton didn't move.

  I stopped ten feet away.

  "Uh," I said. "Hello?"

  Nothing.

  "Excuse me?"

  Still nothing.

  I looked at the imp. "Is it alive?"

  "Probably."

  "Should we go around?"

  The skeleton's skull tilted up slightly.

  "No," it said in a voice like dry wind through bones. "You should not."

  The hare made a noise that can only be described as a whimper-scream.

  The skeleton stood up slowly. Deliberately. It picked up the staff and leaned on it.

  "You walk the Red Margin," it said.

  "Uh," I said. "Yes?"

  It stepped closer.

  "I have meditated here for three hundred years," it said. "Waiting for enlightenment. Waiting for understanding. Waiting for the universe to reveal its truths."

  "Did it?" I asked.

  "No," it said. "So I have decided to hit someone with this stick instead."

  It raised the staff.

  My Delayed Reaction timer kicked in.

  "Wait," I said. "Why?"

  "Because," the skeleton said, "I am very frustrated."

  It swung.

  I dove left.

  The staff whooshed past where my skull had been.

  The skeleton turned.

  "Stand still," it said calmly. "This will only hurt existentially."

  "No thanks," I said.

  It swung again.

  I rolled. The staff cracked against a nearby stone marker, shattering it into fragments that scattered across the path.

  "DANIEL," the hare screamed from somewhere behind me. "DO SOMETHING."

  "HOW DOES EVERYONE KNOW MY NAME?!" I yelled back.

  The skeleton advanced. Calm. Methodical. Like this was just another part of its meditation routine.

  "You know," it said, swinging again, "the universe is vast and uncaring."

  I ducked.

  "That's great," I said. "Can we discuss this without the stick?"

  "No," it said. "The stick is integral to my thesis."

  It jabbed forward.

  I sidestepped—

  Not fast enough.

  The staff caught my ribcage. Hard.

  There was a sound. A crack. Sharp and clean, like someone snapping a dry branch.

  Pain exploded through my chest. Not the dull ache I'd felt before. Real pain. Searing. The kind that makes your vision white out for a second.

  I stumbled backward, one hand clutching my ribs.

  One of them was cracked. I could feel it. The bone shifting wrong under my fingers.

  "Oof," I said through gritted teeth. "That hurts."

  The skeleton tilted its head. "Does it? Fascinating. I thought you were already dead."

  "Being dead doesn't mean you can't feel pain," I gasped.

  "Learn something new every century," it said, raising the staff again.

  My mind raced. I was level 1. It was level 4. I had Pocket Sand and Delayed Reaction. Neither seemed useful against a stick.

  The skeleton swung again.

  I tried to dodge. Too slow. The staff clipped my shoulder, spinning me around. I hit the ground hard, dirt kicking up around me.

  "DANIEL!" the hare screamed.

  The skeleton stood over me, staff raised.

  "This," it said, "has been educational."

  It brought the staff down.

  I rolled left. The staff slammed into the ground where my skull had been, leaving a crater in the red dirt.

  My ribs screamed with every movement. Every breath felt like someone was grinding broken glass inside my chest.

  This thing could kill me. Actually kill me. Again.

  The skeleton pulled the staff free and turned.

  "You're surprisingly resilient," it said. "Most things would have stopped moving by now."

  "I'm stubborn," I wheezed.

  It advanced again. Calm. Unhurried.

  I scrambled backward, still clutching my ribs.

  Wait.

  Pocket Sand.

  I raised one hand and shouted the words I never thought I'd say in this situation.

  "POCKET SAND!"

  A handful of gritty red dirt materialized in my palm. I hurled it at the skeleton's face.

  The skeleton stopped.

  It stood there, perfectly still, covered in red dust.

  Then it screamed.

  "MY EYES!" the skeleton shrieked, clutching at its empty eye sockets. "MY EYES!"

  "You don't have eyes," I said, still clutching my cracked rib.

  "I KNOW THAT," it wailed, still clutching its skull. "BUT THEY HURT ANYWAY!"

  It staggered backward, dropped its staff, both hands pressed to its face.

  "How is this possible?" it moaned.

  "Pocket Sand works in mysterious ways," the imp said from my shoulder.

  The skeleton dropped to its knees, still rubbing frantically at its sockets.

  I used the opportunity to catch my breath. Every inhale felt like someone was stabbing me. The cracked rib shifted with each movement.

  Then, slowly, the skeleton stopped.

  It looked up at me.

  And started laughing.

  Not a small laugh. A full, wheezing, bone-rattling laugh that echoed across the empty plain.

  "Did you just," it said between laughs, "make my nonexistent eyes hurt?"

  "Apparently," I said, wincing.

  "With Pocket Sand?"

  "Yes."

  It laughed harder, picking up its staff and using it to stand.

  "That's amazing," it said, wiping at its eye sockets even though there were no tears. "I spent three hundred years meditating on the nature of power and meaning, and you just made me feel pain I shouldn't be able to feel with dirt." It paused, looking at me more carefully. "And I broke one of your ribs."

  "I noticed," I said.

  "Good," it said. "Pain is enlightenment. Suffering is truth." It gestured at me with the staff. "You felt real fear just then, didn't you? The knowledge that I could actually end you?"

  "Yes."

  "Perfect," the skeleton said. "You know what? You can pass."

  "Really?"

  "Really." It stepped aside. "You've given me more enlightenment in thirty seconds than three centuries of meditation. Absurdity is truth. Violence is meaningless."

  "I don't think that's what I was going for."

  "Doesn't matter," it said. "Go. Before I change my mind."

  I didn't wait.

  I started walking.

  The hare scrambled after me.

  The imp clung to my shoulder.

  Behind us, the skeleton sat back down and resumed meditating.

  After a minute, the imp said, "That was insane."

  "Yeah."

  A notification appeared.

  EXPERIENCE GAINED: 50 XP

  REASON: SURVIVED ENCOUNTER WITH SUPERIOR OPPONENT THROUGH ABSURDITY

  CURRENT EXPERIENCE: 90 / 100

  The hare was still shaking. "THAT WAS THE WORST THING I'VE EVER SEEN."

  "It worked," I said.

  We kept walking.

  Then a notification appeared. Different from the others.

  It wasn't about experience or skills or levels. It was simple. Clean. And deeply unsettling.

  [VIEWERS: 1]

  I stopped walking.

  "What," I said slowly, "is that?"

  The imp leaned forward to look at the floating text in my vision.

  "Oh," it said. "That."

  "What do you mean 'that'?"

  "You're being watched," the imp said. "Obviously."

  "By who?"

  "By someone in Hell," it said, like this was the most normal thing in the world. "Everyone down here can watch anyone they want. It's entertainment."

  "That's—" I looked at the notification again. Still there. Still said VIEWERS: 1. "That's horrifying."

  "It's Hell," the imp said. "What did you expect? Privacy?"

  The hare made a strangled noise. "SOMEONE'S WATCHING US?"

  "Apparently."

  "WHAT IF THEY'RE JUDGING US?"

  "They're definitely judging you," the imp said.

  "OH NO."

  I stared at the notification.

  "Can I turn this off?" I asked.

  "No," the imp said.

  "Great."

  I started walking again.

  The notification stayed in the corner of my vision.

  VIEWERS: 1

  Whoever they were, they were still watching.

  The path ended at a wall.

  Smooth. White. Impossibly clean in a place where everything else was coated in red dust.

  I stopped walking.

  The imp shifted on my shoulder. "Oh," it said quietly. "We're here."

  "Where's here?" I asked.

  "Floor One's end," it said. "The Gallery."

  The hare made a noise that sounded like someone slowly deflating a balloon made of fear. "THE GALLERY. OH NO. OH NO NO NO."

  "What's the Gallery?" I asked.

  "Boss arena," the imp said. "Every floor has one. You beat the boss, you move down. You don't beat the boss—well, you still can move down."

  "Wait," I said. "You said I can move down either way—beat the boss or don't beat the boss. How does that work if I don't beat them?"

  The imp shifted on the pedestal. "There are... other ways."

  "Like?"

  "Convincing them," the imp said. "Persuading them to let you pass. Making a deal. Offering something they want more than your death."

  I sat up straighter. "So I could just talk to this Boss?"

  "Theoretically," the imp said slowly. "But there's a problem."

  "Of course there is."

  "Floor bosses don't work for themselves," the imp continued. "They work for the gods. Directly. They're appointed. Sanctioned. Their entire purpose is to filter out the weak and entertaining before they reach the deeper floors. Convincing one to let you pass without proving yourself..." The imp trailed off.

  "Is impossible," I finished.

  "Nearly impossible," the imp corrected. "It's happened. Maybe a dozen times in Hell's entire history. But those were special cases."

  I looked back toward the Gallery's entrance. At the rows of labeled skeletons visible through the archway.

  "Which means my real option is—"

  "Get stronger," the imp said. "A lot stronger. And then beat the boss."

  The hare whimpered from its corner.

  I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes again.

  "Right," I said. "Simple."

  The white wall stretched upward into darkness. I couldn't see where it ended. It curved slightly at the edges, suggesting something vast beyond it. The red dirt path I'd been following for what felt like hours simply stopped at its base, as if the landscape itself had given up and said not my problem anymore.

  I walked closer.

  The wall wasn't perfectly smooth. There were seams. Lines carved into the stone with surgical precision. Geometric patterns that repeated at exact intervals. The kind of perfection that made your brain itch because nothing in Hell had been neat until now.

  "Why is it white?" I asked.

  "Because," the imp said, "the Curator of Ruin likes things organized."

  I followed the wall to the left. It curved gently, maintaining that same flawless surface. After about thirty feet, I found the entrance.

  It was an archway.

  Massive. Thirty feet tall. Twenty wide. The kind of entrance designed to make you feel small. The white stone formed perfect columns on either side, fluted and symmetrical. No cracks. No wear. Like someone had installed them five minutes ago and then polished them obsessively.

  Beyond the archway was darkness. Not the red-tinted gloom I'd gotten used to. Pure, empty black.

  I stopped at the threshold.

  "DANIEL," the hare whispered from somewhere behind me. "PLEASE DON'T GO IN THERE."

  "I'm not going in there," I said.

  "Good," the imp said. "Because you'd die immediately."

  "Also good to know."

  I stood at the entrance and stared into the dark. My eye sockets adjusted slowly—which was weird, because I didn't have eyes—and shapes began to emerge.

  The space beyond was huge.

  Between the columns were alcoves carved into the walls. Deep rectangular recesses, each one perfectly spaced. And inside each alcove—

  "Are those—" I started.

  "Bodies," the imp finished. "Yes."

  Not bodies. Remains. Skeletal figures, frozen mid-motion. Some were standing. Some were kneeling. Some were reaching toward the center of the hall like they'd been trying to grab something before they stopped moving forever.

  Each one was positioned with care. Arms angled just so. Skulls tilted at deliberate degrees. Like mannequins in a store window, except the store sold existential dread.

  "What happened to them?" I asked quietly.

  "The boss is the Curator of the Ruin," the imp said. "That's all I know."

  I looked closer at the nearest alcove. The skeleton inside was arranged in a reaching pose, one arm extended forward, the other pulled back. Its ribcage was cracked open symmetrically, each rib bent outward at the same angle. Below it, carved into the white stone in small, precise lettering, was a label.

  ATTEMPT #4,872

  SPECIES: HUMAN (FORMER)

  FLAW: OVERCONFIDENCE

  DURATION: 12 SECONDS

  I stared at it.

  "They're labeled," I said.

  "The Curator likes to document his work," the imp said.

  I moved to the next alcove. Another skeleton. This one was curled into a ball, arms wrapped around its knees. The label read:

  ATTEMPT #9,601

  PECIES: HUMAN (FORMER)

  FLAW: HESITATION

  DURATION: 11 SECONDS

  "Eleven seconds," I repeated.

  "The Curator is very efficient," the imp said.

  I backed away from the entrance. The hare was pressed flat against the ground about ten feet behind me, shaking so hard its bones rattled.

  "We're not going in there," I said.

  "CORRECT," the hare squeaked. "VERY CORRECT. BEST DECISION YOU'VE EVER MADE."

  I looked at the archway again. At the darkness beyond. At the rows of alcoves stretching into the distance, each one holding another frozen figure. Another failed attempt.

  I turned and started walking along the exterior of the white wall, following its curve. The hare scrambled after me, still muttering about doom. The imp stayed perched on my shoulder, unusually quiet.

  After a minute of walking, I found something.

  Another alcove. But this one was on the outside of the structure, carved into the exterior wall. It was smaller than the ones inside. More humble. And inside it—

  Nothing.

  Just a flat stone bench and a small pedestal with a flickering blue light.

  A waypoint.

  I stepped inside carefully. The moment I crossed the threshold, the oppressive weight of the Gallery's entrance vanished. The air felt neutral again. Safe.

  A notification appeared.

  WAYPOINT DISCOVERED: THRESHOLD OF THE GALLERY

  FUNCTION: TEMPORARY SANCTUARY. NO HOSTILES MAY ENTER.

  DURATION: UNLIMITED WHILE OCCUPIED.

  NOTE: RESTING HERE WILL NOT PREPARE YOU FOR WHAT LIES BEYOND.

  "Comforting," I muttered.

  I sat down on the stone bench. The hare collapsed in the corner, still trembling. The imp hopped off my shoulder and landed on the pedestal, staring at the blue light.

  "So," I said slowly. "The Curator of Ruin."

  "That's his title," the imp said.

  "What does he do?"

  "He arranges things," the imp said. "That's his whole deal. He's obsessed with order. Symmetry. Perfection."

  I looked out at the white wall. At the archway in the distance, still radiating that silent, deliberate wrongness.

  "What level is he?" I asked.

  The imp was quiet for a moment.

  "I don't remember," it said finally. "Ten, maybe?"

  I closed my eyes—or made the gesture of it—and let my skull rest against the wall.

  I sat there in silence. The blue light flickered peacefully. The hare's trembling gradually slowed. Outside, the white structure loomed, vast and patient.

  The viewer count in the corner of my vision hadn't changed.

  VIEWERS: 1

  Whoever they were, they were still watching.

  "I need to get stronger," I said finally.

  "Obviously," the imp said.

  "A lot stronger."

  "That would help, yes."

  I stared at the notification still hanging in the air.

  [RESTING HERE WILL NOT PREPARE YOU FOR WHAT LIES BEYOND]

  "Then I'm not resting," I said. "I'm going back. There has to be more of Floor One I haven't seen. More things to fight. More experience to gain."

  The imp tilted its head. "You're going to grind?"

  "I'm going to not die immediately," I said. "Which means I need to be less pathetic than I currently am."

  "That's actually not a terrible plan," the imp admitted.

  "IT'S A TERRIBLE PLAN," the hare wailed from the corner. "WE'RE GOING TO DIE."

  "We're already dead," I pointed out.

  "WE'RE GOING TO DIE AGAIN."

  I stood up and walked to the edge of the safe room. I looked out at the red wasteland stretching behind us. Then at the white wall ahead.

  Somewhere inside that Gallery, the Curator of Ruin was waiting.

  "Alright," I said. "Let's go kill some things and hope I don't regret this immediately."

  The imp climbed back onto my shoulder.

  I stopped.

  Turned back.

  The hare was still pressed against the wall of the safe room, trembling.

  "Hey," I said.

  It looked up at me with wide, terrified eyes.

  "You're staying here," I said.

  "WHAT?" the hare squeaked.

  "This place is a sanctuary. As long as someone stays inside, nothing can get in. You'll be safe here."

  The hare's trembling slowed slightly. "YOU'RE… YOU'RE LEAVING ME?"

  "I'm coming back," I said.

  "WHAT IF YOU DON'T?"

  I looked at the hare. Really looked at it. Then I crouched down so we were at eye level—or socket level, in my case.

  "I'm coming back," I said again.

  My voice came out different. Flatter. Harder. No joke attached to the end of it. No sarcasm to cushion the words.

  Just certainty.

  The hare stared at me.

  The imp stared at me.

  I didn't like people staring at me.

  "Stay here," I said. "I'll be back."

  VIEWERS: 1

  Then it flickered.

  VIEWERS: 2