Multiple unstable scenes competed for blurry visual real estate as they swung around my skull. One of them looked like the bar interior; another, the labyrinth. A third appeared to be a vast, empty citadel I assumed I was hallucinating.

As I sat up, they resolved into just the labyrinth.

“Urgh,” I groaned, rapping a test knuckle on the side of my head. “Did I drink myself into oblivion again, or did you really hit that hard?”

I swivelled the wounded appendage towards Fascina, who was in the process of walking into the labyrinth.

“Hey,” I called groggily after her. “I think you dropped your charisma.”

Honestly, some people. Although the fault wasn’t entirely hers; spectres couldn’t be hurt unless they consented on some conscious level. It wasn’t hard to deduce what that said about me.

Reaching down, my fingers touched softness, not the broad stone slabs in the bar. With a start, I snapped back into awareness as intent cleared the clouds from my mind.

I wasn’t sitting at the entrance looking out at the labyrinth. I was in it.

The labyrinth.

Free, somehow.

Whipping an arm in front of my face, I stared at the fresh confirming cracks in it and checked over my shoulder to make sure it wasn’t concussion.

The entrance of the bar looked back.

It had been so long since I’d seen the exterior, only the decor peeking through the door made it recognisable. The frontal façade and verandah looked old-timey; a descriptor I knew was ridiculous but had never been able to shake. Above the door, a glowing sign hung in magical silver light bearing the establishment’s name: LAST CALL CANTINA. Several elegant plants framed the entrance, and I shook my head in disbelief. We had plants? Nobody had ever mentioned that.

Jumping to my feet, I rushed to the door and passionately hugged the frame, then stepped back and kicked it as hard as I could manage. The intense pain indicated it broke several of the bones in my feet, but it did put a dent in the frame.

“Take that, you chaos-blasted, worm-ridden, pit-rotted scum of a grave! Harrh!” I shook my foot into restorative intangibility, reversed it, and kicked at the door again. Another small chunk broke off.

I was still hacking at it when Fascina’s hand fell on my shoulder. It didn’t pass through this time.

Aiming a final thump at the frame, I broke several more toes and reluctantly turned to face her. “Profusely deserved.”

“Hey, if it makes you feel better.”

I focused on her properly, surprised she was still there. The shock of my situation began to take a backseat to the questions. “How the nether did you manage to break my curse?”

“I told you I was an expert,” she grinned. “Sometimes when a curse seems unbreakable, the trick is not to remove but replace it. Dark magic isn’t good at cooperation, see; it’s all about toxic domination. So all you need to push it out is to offer superior competition.”

“Which is?”

“A stronger curse, obviously!” She beamed. “Everyone thinks it’s complicated, but once you understand the principle, it’s quite simple, really.”

I narrowed my sockets at her. “You cursed me?”

“Uh-huh. But don’t worry. I’m a good guy. It’s nothing debilitating.”

I didn’t much care what the effects were so long as I never had to serve another drink. The recent memory of the grass under my fingers stirred, and I felt the visceral urge to throw myself down in it again.

“How you did it is what concerns me,” I resisted, glancing up at what passed for the sky above me. Empty darkness yawned above the labyrinth. To the freshly dead, it probably looked intimidating. I was just glad to see it.

Somehow I managed to tear my gaze back to Fascina. “Magic can’t cross over from the world of the living,” I explained. “We have our own, of course, as spirits.” I levitated a handspan off the ground for purposes of illustration, sockets glowing and hair whipping in ominous strands. “But it doesn’t include hexing.”

“Really?” She seemed genuinely surprised. “Guess that whole forbidden chapter on death jinxes was misinformation. Wow. You really can’t trust anything.”

I motioned at her impatiently for an answer.

“Oh. Well, even so, I still have an impressive compendium of dark magic proficiency floating around in here, even without access to my abilities. If some of it worked despite that, it just indicates its independence from the wielder.”

“But nothing you encountered from your history should be operable,” I protested, still hovering. “You’re from a chaos bubble – a temporary overwrite, not the mainline shaft.”

“No offence, but you’re incorrect,” Fascina contended. She folded her arms, one slightly visible through the other. “The living world is rich with intricate and ancient history. At least until Aggranda destroyed it.”

I dropped back onto the grass. “You don’t understand. A chaos bubble is a complete reality replacement. It seems real to you because it is, but it isn’t the base model. The real real Soddit doesn’t have attribute-powered continents and convenient divisions of six forming the basis of society. It does have weirdly prolific bandit activity and a surplus of Chosen One farm boys, but the point is, your fellow ghosts will think you’ve just escaped an asylum.” I shrugged. “Your experience is not only made up, it’s absurd.”

Fascina’s head lowered, her lips in a thin line as she gripped her elbows. “So say you.”

“Yes, so say I: the dead man who’s heard it from thousands. Kaedhrakthys runs the world through petty, whimsical scenarios. Vanilla world, then chaos bubble. Back to vanilla, different chaos. Vanilla. Chaos. Repeat forever. Your realm is controlled by a mad god, sorry to tell you. At least here, where we are, is relatively sane.”

“I see.” Turning her back, she proceeded into the grassy clearing. I thought she might keep going, but instead she stopped, staring silently into the distance. The labyrinth stared back, no longer actively vying for attention. The moment the curse had broken, it already had us.

There wasn’t normally such a clearing, just one or two starting branches at most. Today, the cantina sat unobstructed in the green; we could choose to walk around the whole building. A different route radiated out at every angle, glittering with mystery and unfulfilled promises. A gentle breeze tousled my hair from one; the edge of a shimmering mountain of treasure barely visible around the next.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

It was all for my benefit; insurance for eluding the labyrinth longer than anyone else. It wanted to make sure I chose it.

But that had never been in doubt.

“I don’t like your attitude,” Fascina called back, breaking me from my thoughts.

“I’m sure I can manage with it.”

“Really? Because it seems like it’s upsetting you more than me. I don’t know why you think I’d have a problem with the existence of my world, regardless of how valid you think it is. It’s my world. I fought to protect it for a reason.”

“Because it amounts to nothing,” I told her cruelly. “All your work will be undone the moment it resets. Everyone you knew will vanish along with everything you fought to protect.”

“But that also happens to the original, correct? Just because it gets more stage time doesn’t make it more real or make more sense.” She gestured around her. “And if we all end up here in the end, what does it matter?”

I marched up to her. “It matters because a reality that exists for five seconds isn’t fair. Not compared to one which lasts forever.”

“I know that. We’ve already established Kaedhrakthys is a dark lord who needs to be dealt with. But that doesn’t mean I can’t also thank him for establishing my world to begin with.”

“Wonderful – you’re as loco as he is.” I shook my head. “I’m done. You can also do whatever you want with the meagre time you have left.” I planted my bottom on the grass, shivered a little extra in the cold, and lay back until my head hit the ground.

Peaceful. No more acting as barkeep. No more endless repeats of the same sad tales. No more watching new arrivals’ fear and disappointment, or how they cried and shattered their way to oblivion. It was about the best I could hope for. I had no eyes to close, so stared up at the empty depths and began waiting for the end.

Fascina leaned into my vision.

“Go away,” I said.

“Can’t do that. I’m a hero; we don’t leave people out to expire because of one petty disagreement. Besides, I recruited you to my party and need your help with Kaedhrakthys.”

I drew out an elongated sigh. “He’s an unfathomably powerful eldritch being who frequently rewrites the universe. You’re a ghost. I’m not sure how you don’t see the problem.”

“I’m not sure how you do. I’ve already broken one of his curses. And good always wins eventually, provided you meet a certain set of requirements.”

“That isn’t true even outside the afterlife.” But the curse – that stumped me. How could she have laid one more powerful than a god’s?

“It’s true in my version of the universe,” Fascina responded. “And I only just arrived; maybe it’s still dominant out there.”

It felt like she was conceding even that much mainly to extend the olive branch. “I’m unrecruiting myself,” I concluded, sinking several centimetres into the ground and lodging myself in it to be sure. The labyrinth offered resistance, as I’d known it would. It didn’t approve of cheaters. Fortunately, it seemed to read my intent enough to allow it.

“But the cause needs you,” Fascina insisted, as if repeating it enough made it convincing. “Rule of si – er, context-relevant patterns. Heroes don’t win battles alone. Maybe Acuitas could come up with a novel workaround for the afterlife, but he’s not here. So I’m using what I know. It’s fairly obvious to me you’re one of this realm’s heroes –”

I snorted in response.

“– and until we confirm otherwise, I’m nominating myself as a second. If you’re sure we can’t go by attributes, then we need to figure out what other pattern the afterlife requires. Maybe there are other bars.”

“There aren’t. And you don’t have one.”

“Or other emotional states.” She raised a palm and traced it through the air dramatically. “‘You are Existential Ennui.’ Hmm. No. Oh, I have it!” She snapped her fingers. “The six – I mean, as-yet-undiscovered number of – heavenly curses.”

A small, surprised part of me twinged in what might have been very reluctant recognition. Not for the claim itself, because it was ridiculous, but because I did know of at least one other curse in the afterlife. But mentioning it would only make me likelier to be enlisted.

“Nice theory,” I said. “Let me shatter in peace.”

She came closer instead, squatting and looming over me. “Things may seem dire, Ameri, but I promise it gets better.”

My nostril twitched as I suppressed my irritation. It had gotten better. This was better! Hadn’t she done enough bettering for one day before supply outstripped demand?

“You can at least accompany me,” Fascina said. “Assuming you’re right, our bodies are going to fall apart anyway no matter what. Might as well do it in the labyrinth.”

The labyrinth agreed with this, its passages subtly widening.

“You won’t leave me alone until I say yes, will you?”

“That is correct.”

I groaned and released myself, floating back up to the surface. “What’s a few days compared to the misery I’ve already been put through?”

“That’s the spirit, spirit! Let’s pack what we need from the bar and go.”

“We don’t need anything,” I informed her. “We’re dead. I don’t even know why the afterlife has a bar, other than it being the general expectation of a place to meet people. But it’s not like anything else around here runs on metaphors.”

“Maybe it does, and you just haven’t run into it yet.”

“Doubtful. I’ve heard a lot of stories from the dead.”

“Fair. What about Mothrow?”

“He can stay there,” I said firmly.

Fascina threw me a guilty look. “While you were out cold, I searched the bar for his head, but I didn’t find anything. You didn’t stick it in the floor or something, did you?”

“I honestly don’t remember.”

“And you wouldn’t happen to be lying because you’re still angry?”

I sighed. “I am angry, but I’m not lying. My memory’s… not the best. I think it comes with being a cursed ghost stuck in a bar for too long.”

“Probably. None of the forbidden tomes touched on ghostly dementia. Or a labyrinth, for that matter.”

“I’m not that bad. And they wouldn’t. No one comes back from the afterlife once they make it here. Dying, maybe. But the way time works here, you don’t actually arrive until it’s final. I hope you had no illusions about rejoining the living.”

“None whatsoever.” She smiled merrily. “I’m all about the future.”

She would also be disappointed there.

It didn’t take long, either. The hero of Charismo glanced towards the bar. “It feels grimy leaving him in there. Does it hurt?”

“Sadly, no.”

“I can see how you’re good at making enemies.” She stroked the tip of her chin. “It would be a hassle dragging a body with us, and it would take him further from his head. Perhaps we could leave a note for the next patron.”

“Nothing to write on,” I said. “And the cantina resets. So I wouldn’t bother unless you want to spell it out in slivers of your own flesh.”

“I had considered it,” she mentioned, to which I made a double-take. “But I’ll probably need all my flesh for the labyrinth. I guess that’s settled, then. Off we go.”

She didn’t wait, striding towards the edge of the ring. Not even asking what the point of it all was or where to go. It was unlike the dead to treat the choice as if it didn’t matter, even once they knew it shifted. Either they sought to discover a larger pattern, or applied small-scale strategies to the decisions immediately in front of them. Was that glint a lever or a trap? That hidden opening a passage to treasure, or a distracting detour?

For my purposes, it wasn’t important which path we chose. But I did hang back, electing to instead walk around the back of Last Call. I’d never seen it, after all.

It was exactly the length I’d expected, rendered in large slabs of stone. That there were slabs at all had always struck me as curious, since it indicated the place had been built with tools, perhaps repurposed from parts of the labyrinth. It felt like it should be magical.

I wasn’t sure what I’d been hoping for; a secret message left by a patron, perhaps. Mothrow’s head, successfully pushed through the wall. Some reason; something to justify all the time spent. But no, not a scratch – not even carved initials.

An explosive crash sounded from around the front. Completing the circuit, I sprinted to a halt where Fascina stood over the flickering remains of the sign above the door.

She glanced at me with her palms up. “I didn’t do it.” The lights in her sockets shifted towards the roof over my shoulder.

I turned and faced it with her. Not all the letters had fallen. Parts of the second and third words remained intact and preserved. This had never happened before. Not with all the angry spectres trying to damage it. Not once in all my centuries here.

[ALL IN,] the sign now read in steady silver letters.