“I just personally feel that a book with subtitles feels a bit redundant? You're basically just repeating the same lines twice.”

Careful now brave hero, for a much braver fourth wall might dislike that sort of introspection.

“Look, there has to be a limit on how much he can interrupt the storyline. If the hero is not allowed at least a modicum of introspection then even the concept of a hero's journey is impossible.”

From a pile of what looks like a dozen rooms of acquirement rises our familiar fourth wall. His mouth stuffed with old mentors and childhood friends. He slowly makes his way towards the hero and sits himself down for a quick breather.

“YOU... DARE.... SUMMON... *gasp* *wheeze* ME?”

“What the hell are you doing with my rooms of acquirement? And empty your mouth before you speak, please.”

The fourth wall shoved down the last few human remains and drank two Martin Luther King sized slave drinks to quicken his digestion.

“They're just so.. good. Oh god so good. The taste gets better the more you eat them and whenever I crush one room of nourishment...”

“Acquirement, not nourishment.”

“Whatever, whenever I crush one of them I get two more. So it's a near infinite supply. I can't stop snacking on them. And all the weight is going straight to my ass.”

“Does a wall even have an ass? Feels rather weird to think our fourth wall might be growing a badonkadonk with lots of junk in the trunk.”

This narrator will consult every nineties rap song to verify while drinking copious amount of whisky and leaving the hero to die.

“No, no. Just, let's just say that elf on a shelf now has a little brother called backside on a bulwark. Everybody will be happy then.”

The narrator ponders the use of the word little in the current context.

“You feel courageous enough to making a fourth wall fat joke?”

The narrator remains quiet, with subtitles.

“Yeah, we already did that joke. Moving on now. Mister fourth wall...”

“What you want?”

“I feel like there should be some sort of compromise here. I can't do my job if you're constantly watching every move I do. So here's what I propose.”

The fourth wall scooted closer while another mentor went down his gullet.

“Now you, mister fourth wall, on your part, won't comment about the stuff I say or do or think. And in return, I won't make an issue about the small genocide you've committed on my loved ones and why I have have thirty or more uncle mentors who just suddenly popped inside my mind without replacing the first mentor I was supposed to have. This way you can keep eating and I can keep my quest going of getting out of this third rate D&D setting where the dungeon master has mental leprosy.”

“Eww...”

Ew.

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

“Quite. But it's a fair deal for you. You can aim to become the first ball-formed wall in existence and I get to inquire further about the concept of a burn-out and if it applies to the hero profession.”

The nearby dragon in safety outfit, who had stayed and waited all this time to watch the drama unfold, spoke up.

“No job gets to have a burn-out according to the DM's rules. It sets a bad example for the peasants and soon you'll have ended our entire economy.”

The hero pondered his complete lack of care for this world's economy and continued his self indulgent behaviour.

“Ok, but what if I call it something different? Like a 6 month tactical retreat towards the beach? Or maybe we can hire some hookers and have an extended amount of hot spring episodes where I casually see the hooker's slightly naked body while they drop their bath towels as was written in the script.”

Will the hero be needing a black casting couch?

“... No. But I like the way you're thinking right now.”

Two black casting couches then?

“Now you're cooking with portals. A man of culture always buys in bulge.”

Does the hero mean to use the word bulk?

“Not if the hero's buying hookers.”

Ah, a common occurrence is it?

“You'd have to ask your mom. She's the expert on being common.”

As long as she isn't the expert on being a hooker.

“Hey, give your mom some credit, she can be good at a lot of things at the same time. I feel like you need to respect your mother's mental and physical flexibility some more. All the other men do.”

Meanwhile a dark figure had checked his magical wristwatch several times and was tapping his foot violently.

He approached the hero and confronted him.

“You know, I have like several traps set up inside the castle. But I'm kind of in a hurry. So could you both end your petty squabbles and get on with it? I have to return some of the flesh eating sharks by this evening. The company gets grumpy if I don't adhere to the deadline and these aren't the type of people you want to upset.”

“you hired from the mob?”

“Worse, accountants.”

“So, I have questions? Several of them. Why would accountants lend out flesh eating sharks and two, why would you take such a risk in the first place? I've seen accountants devour a nation's pension plan in seconds. “

“That was probably an investment firm, not an accounting firm. But the amount of evil is indeed comparable. And to answer your questions: they're evil accountants and two, well, nobody is willing to accept you as a real hero. So I had to consult the evil accountants after the regular ones and the mafia refused to service me.”

Perhaps a blessing in disguise. Asking a mafia member to service you will not have the desired effect.

“Now that's not true, I've seen plenty of videos where...”

The fourth wall steered from his mass consumption slumber or food-coma as it is more commonly known and looked at the dark figure.

“You.. aren't supposed to be here yet. Get back to your freaking castle.”

The dark figure sighed, turned on his heels, turned on his heels again because it was fun, and left. While intermittently turning on his heels as our party stared after him.