Helga and the battle goat scrambled away from the giant silver ball, with Daphne squealing in terror. The halfling then yelled, “Grab hold of the sink, Cal, and we’ll get down to that there pedestal right quick!”

Cal had no idea what Helga was thinking. There was no way that he could climb onto battle goat. Hurricane was already at his maximum carrying capacity.

However, he grabbed hold of the sink’s lip as Daphne leaked salt-free water down to the plastic, getting it wet enough for his boots to slide across the polished wooden floor. He was skating behind the sink/goat combo and away from the incoming danger.

But they weren’t safe yet.

The ball hit a bumper, and there was an electronic scream, and the pinball was careening toward them again. It then hit the top of the -playfield, striking some rubbery device there, that also pinged loudly, and sent the ball thundering back toward them.

Helga laughed unexpectedly. “This is most excellent work for an office-bound dungeon core. I did nae like our Weavelord, but this sanctum certainly has panache!”

That was high praise from the halfling barbarian. But poorly timed, in Cal’s opinion.

His hands were starting to hurt, clutching the back of Daphne’s sink, and he was soaking wet in no time, even as his boots slid across the wet floor.

The pinball raced by them, hit another bumper, and then was sent careening away. Cal thought he was safe for a second, but then the orb struck one of the cages, which opened and released another ball that bounced off bumpers, before spinning across the board. They now had two balls to deal with.

Cal glanced up. Soaring on her steampunk wings, Gwen was staying head of the flaming flying spiders, while Kronke still struggled against the Dweebers trying to pull him down. His will and determination kept him aloft. The elven accountant tried to find Shrimpie and Karl, but then Hurricane nearly hit a bumper, and Cal nearly lost his grip on the leaking sink. He gripped the sink harder.

The battle goat had outpaced both balls, which were bouncing around at the top of the board, but Weavelord still hadn’t revealed himself.

They were about fifty feet away from the pedestal when a secret trapdoor opened, and suddenly, in a burst of webs and fire, Weavelord emerged. Their boss still wore his red power tie, the khaki pants, the brown and red houndstooth suit coat, though he’d added a leather harness studded with spikes. The leather and spikes didn’t go with all the various eyeglasses covering all eight of his eyes.

His hands had turned into talons, with long fingernails, dripping venom.

He might be small, but he looked nightmarish, especially when from behind him came a huge worm from out of the hole behind the pedestal. Not a worm, a caterpillar, it moved by contracting its body, pushing from legs on its back to legs on its front. Its face was a nightmarish round pucker lined with fangs. An enormous tube-like tongue lay at the center of those fangs. Its body was slick, white and pulsating.

Cal had no idea what kind of special powers Weavelord had, and all of what he’d seen so far was beyond impressive. The little Spidercrat might have melee powers equally as impressive.

With zero power left in his Ruby Staff, Cal would be useless as far as combat was concerned. But he might be able to help in other ways.

Cal let go of Daphne and went skidding away. He used his Off the Books skill to vanish behind a bumper off to the side. Then he cast an illusion of himself, standing tall. “Helga, stop! Let’s see if we can talk to him!”

“Talk?” Helga screamed. “He needs to die for wearing that outfit. The harness over the suit is…is…it hurts me eyes, Calcannis. I am blinded by such a fashion disaster!”

Cal didn’t comment. He was too busy admiring his illusion, which was super good, considering the circumstances.

Helga reined Hurricane to a stop. “Besides, he’s nae said three words to us, boyo. He’s not likely to start.” She had her musket resting on her left arm.”

Cal’s illusion waved his hands. “Hey, Weavelord! It’s us. Audit Team Six. I know you hate us, but you have to stop! This Node and four others are threatening over a thousand worlds.”

The giant caterpillar wriggled past the pedestal and Weavelord deftly leapt on top of it, right onto a little leather saddle. One set of glasses on his head flashed, and Weavelord pointed to where the real Cal stood.

Then the caterpillar’s tongue shot out a barrage of webs that slammed into Cal, sticking him to the bumper. A pinball came rolling down the playfield, rolling directly toward where Cal was stuck to the bumper. He’d be crushed!

Daphne coughed out a firehose of water that shoved the ball off course and it went crashing down to the flippers, which caught the ball and set it racing back up the board. The other ball rolled through Cal’s illusion, breaking the spell, before it too found another flipper and went bouncing around the playfield above.

Helga let out a roar. “Enough tarry and enough talk! If this bloody business is to be done, I’ll do it myself!”

She fired at their boss atop the worm. Direct hit. Weavelord’s head snapped back. However, one of Weavelord’s eyeglasses—the tortoiseshell glasses— flashed. The bullet ricocheted off in a whine.

Then Helga got her battle goat going, racing toward the Spidercrat.

Weavelord’s human arms threw burning, gooey, clumps of silk at the barbarian and her goat. The silken grenades struck the board, sticky and burning and smoking. A few hit bumpers, which then stank like melting plastic.

Hurricane dodged them well, except one web bomb struck the back of Daphne’s sink. She extinguished the flames in a big gush of water.

Cal might be stuck to a bumper, but he wasn’t useless. He cast another Rather Good Simulation spell, duplicating the strange conglomeration of halfling, a goat, and a sink.

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Weavelord wasn’t fooled though. Glasses flashing, he could tell which was which. Who knew the Spidercrat had magic glasses?

Helga activated two of her abilities—Battle Rage and Destructive Charge. Her face twisted into a mask of complete rage. She’d sheathed her musket and pulled her two-handed crowbar. She and Hurricanes hit that white caterpillar going a thousand miles per hour. She broke through the thing’s fangs, smashed off the tube tongue, and then went right out the side of the monster. Helga was covered in gore.

However, they were missing Daphne. The sink was still inside the caterpillar! And the caterpillar was still alive. It rolled onto its side, thrashing about.

Weavelord leapt off the wounded worm. Webby parachutes burst from his back, slowing his fall. Eyeglasses flashing, he landed in front of Helga and Hurricane.

Helga bellowed out her Intimidating Roar.

A perfume filled the air, kind of sweet and kind of musky. The source had to be from Weavelord himself. The Spidercrat’s grin was evil. How could something that smelled so good, look so diabolic? Cal found himself seeing Weavelord in a whole new light. Yeah, he was a short-stack drider, with a terrible taste in outfits, and yet he was still terrifying.

The elven accountant then noticed the pendant dangling off his neck. That was definitely new. The Spidercrat was not a jewelry type of guy. Could that be the source of the perfume?

Weavelord opened his mouth and sprayed Hurricane right in the face with his venom. The battle goat screamed, blinded. Bleating in agony, the goat went down, hard, but Helga was agile enough to leap clear of the goat crash.

She was up, swinging her crowbar. Weavelord ducked away, and then slashed back at the halfling, barely missing her with his talons, wet with venom.

Helga swung again, and this time, Weavelord’s red tie deflected the crowbar, allowing Weavelord to slash at Helga. Her magical armor peeled away under Weavelord’s claws. Had they pierced her flesh? That venom seemed deadly.

Helga attacked again, and this time, the Spidercrat shifted to the side, magically displaced. Weavelord did that again and again, evading the halfling’s rage-fueled attacks. What ability was that?

Weavelord spit more venom, but Helga dodged the attack and was swinging her crowbar once more, only to be blocked by the tie. Both were small, and well-matched, and they continued to dance their deadly dance.

Hurricane laid on his side, silent and unmoving.

Cal wanted to help Helga, somehow, but then he had other problems. The caterpillar was missing teeth, tongueless, and had a huge hole in its side. And yet it was still alive, coming toward Cal. Inching up and down, bleeding across the burning playfield.

Cal’s problems didn’t end there. Flaming spiders landed all around him. They crept toward him, twelve of the things hissing and smoking. Cal was stuck.

This was a nightmare of worms and spiders. Why had he become a dungeon accountant? To simply die on a giant pinball inner sanctum burned to death by giant spiders or gnawed to death by a giant caterpillar? What was this madness?

The worm shrieked in triumph above him. The spiders were close enough to make his skin blister.

Something whistled down from above. One whistle. Two whistles. Three whistles.

The first of the frozen pepperoni pockets bombs hit behind the line of spiders. The next struck closer. The third was a direct hit. The pepperoni shrapnel took out the whole collection of spiders, flinging tomato sauce and uncooked crust against Cal’s face.

Shrimpie and Karl had saved him!

The shrimp blimp’s antennae cannons came to live, cutting into other giant flaming spiders that scurried toward them.

Cal was grateful, but where were Kronke and Gwen? Who was going to save Cal from the giant white caterpillar?

The two pinballs were rolling back down the board, and for a second, Cal was sure they’d slam into the caterpillar. That wasn’t the case. They rolled past. One went down into the hole, and there was clanking and clanging underneath. The other ball hit a flipper and went rushing back up.

Helga tried to push Weavelord in front of the pinball, but the Spidercrat was the master of the board. He leapt onto the ball, flipped off it, and then came back down, attacking the halfling barbarian once more.

The caterpillar went to eat Cal, but then Cal was drenched in water, salty water, and for a several long seconds, he couldn’t breathe.

Then he remembered that Daphne, that brave sink, had fallen off Hurricane when they’d gone into the worm.

When the gushing water stopped, Cal sucked in a breath, and looked up to see the caterpillar had turned into a fountain. Water was rushing out of every orifice. But Daphne must’ve turned on the waterwork full blast. Because there was no way that skin was going to keep all the water inside.

A second later, there was an explosion of destroyed worm and water.

Daphne went clattering across the playfield.

The water swept through the remaining spiders, knocking them abdomen over teakettle and putting out their flames. When they rose up to fight more, Kronke flew down and sliced through the survivors. Still in his Reaper Knight form, he rode on a sweet wind filled with the aroma of a cherry pie, baked to perfection.

Gwen landed next to Cal, an actual knife in her hands, rather than a fork or a spoon. She cut him loose. “Sorry we’re late to the party. I had to free Kronke. We don’t have much time. Those dweeby driders are on their way.” Gwen then took to the air again.

The Dweebers let out a chorus of nerdy yells as they scurried down the playfield. Their swords were drawn, and their eyeglasses gleamed. Karl kept them at bay by dropping the last of his pizza pocket bombs, which had them diving for the protection of bumpers.

Still, there sure were a lot of them. Weavelord was a lot more powerful than Cal ever would’ve thought. Why was Dave behind a desk? He could’ve been out protecting the Tree of Souls. But his days of accounting seemed to be over.

With another dose of Battle Rage, Helga smashed the Spidercrat in the head. Neither his tie nor his tortoiseshell glasses nor his dodge ability could protect him. He went down, and he lifted a hand, weakly. Still, he’d not said a word. And Weavelord was a talker. Something wasn’t right.

Helga turned and raced down the board, going for the core gem floating over bumper pedestal. She was going to crack his core, which would kill Weavelord and possibly destroy the Celestial Node.

What was she thinking?

Weavelord tried to get up, but his guardian form was still dazed.

Pink cloak fluttering, Kronke landed down next to Hurricane and touched the goat while whispering a prayer. Both glowed with a warm, buttery light as the smell of delicious golden rolls filled the air.

Gwen raced toward Helga.

“Helga! Stop! We have to talk to him!”

Weavelord was hissing and making all kinds of noises. There just weren’t any words connected to the sounds.

Helga reached the pedestal, turned, and spoke grimly, “Nay, Gwenivere. He might’ve killed Hurricane. He would’ve killed us all. He’s gone bloody rogue and needs to die!” Her knuckles whitened on her crowbar.

Gwen landed in front of her. “Please. I know he’s butthead, but don’t kill my dad.” Her voice was ragged, and yet, there were no tears in her eyes. There was a long history between her and her dungeon-core father.

At the same time, Helga had a history of her own.

She went to crack the little Spidercrat’s core.

Kronke appeared over her, suddenly, catching hold of the crowbar. “No. Helga. Kronke help. Kronke have new power.”

More than ever, the air smelled like dinner rolls. Not just any kind of dinner rolls, those soft and gooey potato rolls, complete with a buttery crust and a soft inside that basically melted in your mouth. The smell drifted over to where Cal stood near Weavelord’s guardian form.

The elf couldn’t stop salivating. What was going on?

Weavelord continued to hiss.

Kronke frowned. “Should be working. Smell of Freedom power. What not right?”

“The pendant!” Cal called out. “That pendant is new!”

Helga had stepped back, tears leaking down her cheeks. She seemed defeated somehow.

Cal sped over and ripped the pendant off the Spidercrat’s neck. It went clattering across the ground, where it exploded in a potpourri of lavender, vanilla, and some musky spice.

The Spidercrat laid on his side. He had all of his eyes closed while his nostrils twitched. Then he smiled. “Hey. That smells good. That smells delicious! Are those dinner rolls? How can dinner rolls smell so good?”

That’s when the pinball rolled over Weavelord, flattening him, with a great deal of crunching.

Not the good kind of crunching.

It was the bad kill-you-dead kind of crunching.