(Dylan)

Dylan watched as the masked figure darted along the wall toward White. They dipped low to scoop up a portrait, then vaulted high off the wall, their momentum carrying them forward. With the grace of a trained dancer, they tucked their arms in tight and spun, the speed of their twirl accelerating with each rotation.

At the height of their final spin, they flung the oversized throwing star. It sliced through the air, arcing to the side with a subtle curve before detonating just inches from White’s face. Prismatic light erupted at the point of impact, rippling across an invisible barrier—White’s protective shell still held firm. Moments later, the colorful hues vanished, leaving the air shimmering in their wake.

Defying gravity once again, the figure landed gracefully back on the wall. They grabbed another frame, and with a swift motion, smashed it across their knee. Splitting the slats in two, the figure quickly twisted the wire between them into a makeshift garotte, tightening the wire with a firm tug.

White reached down with his right arm, conjuring a softball-sized sphere of turbulent water just beyond his claws. Grunting with effort, he swiped upward. The sphere trailed his motion before whipping forward at supersonic speed, slamming into the wall where the figure had been moments earlier. The impact left a crater and deep, jagged cracks in the stonework. Meanwhile, the figure reappeared, now perched upside-down on the ceiling.

‘Elves, dragons, and now vampires?! What have I gotten myself into?’ The figure vanished before Dylan’s eyes. His gaze frantically swept the room, searching for them, but White’s grunts and gurgles soon grabbed his attention. The figure had reappeared—this time behind the ivory dragon.

The garotte tightened around White’s throat. His claws scrabbled desperately at the wire, but there wasn’t enough space to slip beneath it. Dylan could hear the figure straining as they arched their back, yanking hard on the slats to choke the dragon. Though the wire couldn’t slice through White’s scales, it was successfully cutting off his air.

Dylan wasn’t sure who to root for—the dragon sorcerer or the mysterious vampire ninja. Though, to be fair, he still wasn’t entirely convinced the guy was actually a vampire.

White’s entire body shimmered before shifting into a glossy, form-fitting layer of black stone. Obsidian cracks spider-webbed across his throat where the wire dug in. With a sharp movement, he leaned into the wire, lifting the figure off their feet and using their own weight as leverage.

White spun around with the figure clinging to his back and now faced Dylan. With a sudden burst of strength, he reached over his shoulder, grabbed the figure by their shirt, and hurled them through the air—straight toward Dylan.

“Shit.” Dylan scrambled to dodge the incoming projectile. He threw himself backward, landing hard on his tailbone with a painful thud. The figure barreled through the doorway, just barely avoiding a clean escape before a sickening snap echoed through the air—their ankle catching on the doorframe.

The figure cried out in agony. Up close, Dylan could finally confirm that this was, indeed, a guy. He was dressed in dark brown leathers—boots, a multitude of belts, a mask, and an orange cloak, similar to the dead woman’s. His well-fitted trousers, like most clothing here, had loads of pockets, and dark blue leather gloves covered his hands.

‘Is he an elf, too?’ Dylan wondered, though the man’s mask concealed his ears, making it impossible to tell.

Moments after the stranger crashed through, another torrent of water blasted into the wall beside the doorframe, doubling the size of the gap. Dylan barely had time to react before shards of rock pelted him across the face, neck, and down the left side of his torso—the side closest to the door. The sudden and overwhelming force sent his already panic-prone mind spiraling further into chaos.

‘I don’t want to die again!’ Dylan frantically scooted behind the wall, breaking White’s line of sight. With shaky hands, he dabbed at his cheeks, expecting to find them drenched in blood. Instead, they were caked with another layer of dirt, with only a faint smear of the red stuff.

Despite a few deep cuts and scrapes—and the stone slivers he’d have to dig out later—Dylan knew he’d live. The stranger, however, wasn’t so lucky; his foot sat at an unnatural angle.

‘How’s this guy not screaming in pain? I’d totally be screaming.’ A glint from the stranger’s boot caught Dylan’s eye. At first glance, they looked like ordinary leather boots, but then he noticed the small steel plate over the toes. ‘Actual steel-toed boots?’ he mused.

The stranger inhaled sharply through gritted teeth, his eyes darting down to assess the damage to his leg. With a low growl, he spat out a harsh, gravelly “Goddamnit.”

He jammed his hand into a pocket and pulled out a vial of dark liquid. After a quick glance at Dylan, he turned away, pulled down his mask, and tipped the vial back in one swift motion. Once the contents were gone, he stashed the empty vial, grunted, and leaned forward—preparing to stand, despite his clearly broken leg.

Dylan winced. “That’s not going to—” But before he could finish, the stranger grunted and stood, defying his broken leg as if pain and body mechanics didn’t apply to him. A series of sharp pops and cracks echoed as his ankle realigned, and he even stomped down to test the leg.

This was the most badass motherfucker Dylan had ever met.

“Stay hidden,” the stranger growled before vanishing once more.

“How?” Dylan muttered, scanning the room for any sign of where the stranger had gone. Staying out of sight seemed like a smart plan, given how devastating and frequent those stray shots had been. Something about the stranger nagged at the back of his mind, a familiarity he couldn’t quite place. But there were more pressing matters at hand—like not getting reset again.

Wincing from the pain in his ass, Dylan pushed himself to his feet. It hurt like hell, but he didn’t think it was broken. Inspired by something he’d seen in movies, he flipped the table on its side and crouched behind it. With a clank, the crystal ball rolled off its base and hit the floor.

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“Sorry,” Dylan apologized to the inanimate object, his auto-manners kicking in as usual. The crystal ball pulsed blue, as if acknowledging his apology.

Dylan eyed the wooden table with doubt. After seeing what White could do to a stone wall, it didn’t inspire much confidence. Grabbing the chair he’d been sitting on, he wedged it between himself and the table. It wasn’t much, but it was all he had. Heart pounding, he leaned to the side and cautiously peered around the corner as the sounds of the fight grew closer.

Staggering back into view, White looked worse for wear. Large patches of his obsidian shell were missing, exposing vulnerable skin beneath. A deep gash on his right side rhythmically pumped blue blood onto the floor.

White pressed a hand to his wound, but before he could react further, a loud snap of the fingers echoed through the room. Rusted iron chains materialized out of thin air, clanking and clinking as they swiftly coiled around him. Within seconds, they had wrapped him tightly, tightening further until they melded into his body and vanished from sight.

White pulled his hand away, expecting the wound to have healed. When the gash still bled, he spat a curse at the stranger. Bringing his palms together, he closed his eyes in concentration. A gray cloud formed overhead, raining down drops that ignited upon contact with his skin. Flames trickled from crest to toe, knitting his wounds closed as they spread across his body.

As White concentrated, a massive dark bubble formed around him. His eyes shot open when the fire abruptly extinguished, and his body floated half a foot off the ground. Though his magical wings might have been responsible, the way he clutched at his throat made Dylan suspect this was the stranger’s doing. White flailed desperately, all six limbs thrashing as if he were trapped in water, struggling to escape the suffocating bubble.

‘Jesus Christ, is this guy a vampire or a Dark Lord of the Sith?’ Dylan wondered, unable to look away from White’s plight.

Right on cue, the stranger stepped into view, holding up a single crescent-shaped hand at his opponent. White thrashed helplessly, flapping his wings and kicking out in a futile attempt to free himself. His desperate movements only seemed to drain his remaining air faster, doing nothing to change his fate.

In a final, desperate attempt to break free, White aimed his arms and legs at the floor. Four streams of water burst from his hands and feet, reminding Dylan of those hydro jet packs people used at the beach. The water quickly split into smaller, undulating spheres, surging toward the edges of the bubble until it overflowed, spilling out onto the floor.

The stranger held the spell a moment longer, even after White’s body had gone still. Then, with a final splash and a heavy thud, the water and White’s lifeless form crumpled to the ground. The stranger’s footsteps splashed through the water as he calmly re-entered the interrogation room.

“You need to trust me,” the stranger rasped, his gravelly voice cutting through the stillness as he turned to face Dylan.

Dylan’s immediate thought was, ‘No fucking way. You just showed up and killed someone.’ And Abs? He was still nowhere to be found, only adding to the growing suspicion in Dylan’s mind.

Dylan forced the lie from his mouth. “Okay.” His eyes darted to the crystal ball behind the stranger, which pulsed a menacing red. He swallowed hard, his heart pounding as he hoped the stranger wouldn’t notice.

The stranger extended his hand. Dylan hesitated, staring at it—the very hand that had just suffocated a goddamned dragon. A wave of unease washed over him, but not wanting to anger the wall-walking, dragon-slaying stranger, he reluctantly took his hand.

The stranger gave Dylan’s hand a firm squeeze before vanishing once again. Dylan stared at his empty hand, unsure of what he’d expected—maybe some other magical bullshit, but definitely something more than this. Now he was alone, left standing in a slightly flooded room with White’s corpse just outside.

With a sudden burst of realization, Dylan snapped his fingers. “Batman!” he exclaimed, the name slipping out as if it were obvious.

‘That’s what’s so familiar about the guy,’ he thought. ‘He talks like Christian Bales’ Batman.’ He was in the middle of working up the courage to take on the terror tube when the stranger reappeared next to him, as silently as he’d vanished.

“Alright. So, you don’t trust me…” the stranger said, his gaze drifting toward White’s lifeless body. “I get it.” He nodded to himself and began pacing, the water sloshing beneath his feet as he schemed. Before Dylan could react, the stranger paused. “I’ve got an idea,” he announced, and in the blink of an eye, he vanished again.

A flood of questions rushed through Dylan’s mind: ‘Why do you speak English? Why doesn’t anyone else? What language are they speaking? Can you really use the Force? How the hell do you walk on walls? Do you drink blood? Why’d you kill that guy?’ The list was endless.

Dylan wriggled his toes in the shallow water, his eyes scanning the room. The table lay on its side, and the chairs were scattered in disarray. He bent down to retrieve the crystal ball, relieved to find it undamaged despite its rough landing. Unfortunately, he didn’t have any pockets to carry it, but it was a useful little device. Dylan could see the appeal of an abundance of pocket space.

White had left his mark on the wall—a solid slab of continuous stone, about eight inches thick. The lack of bricks seemed improbable, maybe even impossible, but Dylan had seen stranger things since he’d arrived. He just shrugged and accepted it as part of his new reality.

Dylan splashed his feet in the water absentmindedly, marveling at how much White must have conjured to flood the room with several inches of standing water.

‘Is there a drain?’ Dylan glanced around, but the stagnant water suggested otherwise. It reminded him of his old high school chemistry class—where they avoided installing drains so spills wouldn’t contaminate the water supply. Curious, he stepped out into the hallway, carefully skirting around White’s lifeless body. The corridor was a wreck, debris scattered everywhere, evidence of the chaos that had unfolded.

Wrecked portrait frames floated by on the shallow waves as Dylan walked. One canvas, mostly intact, drifted alongside him. The oil paints had mixed poorly with the water, creating streaks that gave Lady Spock a dark, dramatic appearance. Smoky eyes stared out beneath a tiara, emerald streaks running across her face and pooling at her lips, darkening them. Dylan couldn’t help but find this version of Lady Spock strangely provocative—he was a sucker for goth chicks.

Farther down the hallway, Dylan spotted the lower half of a body lying in the doorway of another room. As he got closer, he recognized the shirtless figure—it was Abs, the elf who never returned from his sidequest. Dylan’s mind raced with questions. ‘What happened to him? Why is he lying in a shallow pool of water, half-way in a supply closet?’

The cause of death was clear. Green blood flowed in rivulets from the deep gash across Abs’ neck, the steel wire still embedded in the wound. Dylan turned away, nausea rising in his throat. His mind replayed the scene from earlier—the stranger attempting the same brutal maneuver on White.

Dylan wasn’t about to risk losing his lunch by poking around for whatever trinkets might hide in the closet. Instead, he stepped back, trying to focus on anything but the corpses. ‘Do I really want to stick around when Darkside Murder-Batman shows up again?’ he wondered uneasily.

The only way out was the terror tube waiting ominously at the end of the hallway. Dylan shuddered at the thought of using it again—maybe risking another encounter with the stranger wasn’t such a terrible option after all.

After wandering around for a bit, trying to calm his nerves, he returned to the interrogation room, righted his chair, and sank into it with a heavy sigh.