I’m knee-deep in the Swamp of Eternal Squishiness, and it’s officially the worst day of my life. Mud clings to my boots like it’s trying to drag me down to its slimy lair. The air is thick with mosquitoes that seem personally offended by my existence. And Bob is humming some made-up heroic tune like we’re on a fun little picnic.

“Bob,” I snap, swatting at a bug the size of my fist, “if you don’t stop that noise, I will personally feed you to the next swamp creature we see.”

He pauses mid-hum, his face all innocent confusion. “What noise?”

“That,” I say, waving my spear toward him like it’s a conductor’s baton. “The humming. It’s worse than the mosquitoes.”

“It’s a battle tune,” he says defensively. “Heroes need themes, Greg.”

“Heroes need common sense, Bob,” I counter, trudging forward. “And maybe a pair of boots that don’t smell like something died in them.”

Before he can argue, the ground beneath me shifts—and I fall forward. My arms spin as I try to keep my balance.

But it’s no use. I’m sinking. Fast.

“Quicksand!” Bob shouts. His voice is way too excited for someone who’s supposed to be helping.

“Yeah, I noticed!” I yell back, thrashing around. “Get me out of here!”

Bob scrambles toward me, slipping and sliding like a newborn deer. He reaches out, grabs my arm, and pulls with all his might.

To his credit, he does manage to drag me out. Unfortunately, he also manages to fall into the quicksand himself.

I stand there, covered in mud and glaring at him as he flails. “You’re kidding me.”

“Little help?” he gasps, his hand flopping toward me like a sad fish.

I sigh, grab his arm, and yank him free.

He collapses onto the bank, panting and dripping with swamp goo. “That was… intense,” he says between breaths.

“That was embarrassing,” I reply, wiping mud off my face. “For both of us.”

Bob grins up at me, his face streaked with dirt. “We make a great team.”

“Sure,” I say. “If by ‘team,’ you mean ‘a disaster waiting to happen.’”

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We walk on. The swamp grows darker and somehow even smellier. I’m about two seconds away from giving up and letting the mosquitoes carry me off when Bob suddenly stops.

“Look!” he whispers, pointing at something in the distance.

I squint through the haze and spot a small clearing. In the middle of it sits a pedestal, and on the pedestal is an amulet.

“There it is,” Bob says, his voice full of awe. “The Amulet of Slightly Above Average Power.”

I tilt my head, studying the thing. It’s not slightly above average. It’s aggressively overpowered. The amulet is huge, covered in sparkling gems that pulse with an unnatural light. It looks like it could shoot lasers, summon dragons, and maybe even bake a cake.

“Bob,” I say slowly, “are you sure that’s the right amulet?”

“Of course!” he says, running toward the pedestal. “It’s colorful. Things that are colorful are always important.”

“That’s not how logic works,” I say, following him reluctantly. “The oracle said it was slightly above average. That thing looks like it belongs in a museum titled ‘Artifacts That Will Absolutely Get You Killed.’”

He waves me off. “You’re overthinking it.”

Bob reaches for the amulet, but I grab his wrist before he can touch it. “Wait.”

“What now?” he asks.

I gesture toward the pedestal. “Did you not notice the spikes? The ones that pop out every five seconds like they’re just waiting for someone stupid enough to grab that thing?”

He squints at the pedestal. “Oh. I thought those were decorative.”

I stare at him. “Decorative spikes. Really, Bob?”

“Well, how do we get it, then?” he asks, crossing his arms.

I glance around, my eyes landing on a long stick lying nearby. I pick it up and poke the amulet. The spikes immediately shoot out, slicing the stick in half.

Bob whistles. “Okay, yeah. Those are not decorative.”

“No kidding,” I say, tossing the broken stick aside. “We need a plan.”

Bob’s face lights up. “I’ve got one!”

I groan. “If it involves destiny or hero instincts, I’m out.”

He ignores me, pulls his sword, and wedges it between two of the spikes. Then, with a surprising amount of skill, he pulls the amulet loose.

I blink at him. “That… actually worked.”

“See?” he says, holding up the amulet like it’s a trophy. “I told you I could do it.”

“So,” I say, crossing my arms. “You really think this is the Amulet of Slightly Above Average Power?”

“Yep,” he says, completely unbothered. “Looks slightly above average to me.”

I stare at him. “Bob, it’s glowing. Amulets that glow are never ‘slightly above average.’”

“It’s probably just… good craftsmanship,” he says, shrugging. “You know, polished gems, high-quality materials. Like those shoes you buy that are nice but not too flashy.”

I point to the swirling vortex forming in the center of the largest gem. “That gem has a literal storm inside it. I’m pretty sure it’s summoning a hurricane as we speak.”

Bob squints at the gem, then waves a dismissive hand. “It’s decorative. Adds flair.”

“And the inscription?” I ask, leaning in to point at the glowing words etched into the gold. “The one that literally says, ‘With this power, kingdoms shall fall and skies shall burn.’”

Bob squints at the text. “Eh, that’s just marketing. Makes it sound cooler than it is.”

I rub my temples, wondering how I ended up here. “Bob, this is not the amulet we were sent to find.”

“It’s fine,” he says, slipping it into his bag. “An amulet’s an amulet. Let’s just get out of here before something tries to kill us.”

For once, he has a point. As we make our way back through the swamp, I can’t shake the feeling that we’ve just made a huge mistake.

But Bob is skipping, humming his battle tune again and looking like he’s on top of the world.

I sigh. “Bob, if this thing gets us killed, I’m haunting you forever.”