“Now, open your eyes. And why did you ask me to erase your memory?” Mariana eventually said.

The canyon appeared as an unknown sight at first, and then the memories poured back into my head, making it ache similarly to Mariana’s first party request.

Neither the walls nor the floor seemed to have holes. No thumps were to be heard. When I, trembling and ready to roll like a bitch, turned, no coin-eyed motherfuckers rushed down to give me a whooping. And, to my surprise, my belts were back in one piece.

“¡Gracias, Barba, gracias!” I claimed to the heavens.

“So, will you answer or not?”

“I kept being attacked by the monster, even when you could not see it. It was a reference to one of Borges’ works, where he supposedly finds an encyclopedia that describes a city of a world with terminally idealistic morons populating it. Words more words less, in this world he describes, existence of things depends on them being kept in mind by people or animals. So, I guess, when I forgot them, it was lethal. “

“Them? Was there more than one?”

“Not initially, no. It’s hard to explain, read the damn short story when we go back home.”

“I am a dog,” she stated, matter-of-factly.

I shut up because I was now on lower argumentative ground, and one needs to know which hill to die on.

After a final bend in the walls, we found ourselves at the deeper end of the canyon. The only way out was the entrance… or through the cum and blood colored, hen-shaped door that lay there in the dead end.

I checked my mental quest compass. We had to cross the goddamn door.

“No, no, this cannot be what I think it will be,” I muttered.

Mariana went forward and inspected the thing. I expected her to urinate next to it, but I am never that lucky. “There is an inscription here. It says ‘To those with weapons that hold neither the sea nor the desert in them, turn back or face a terrible fate.’”

“I have you, Mar, I don’t think we will be in any danger. How do we open the door?”

“There is a million gold toll,” she said, no worry at all in her voice.

“Do you have money for both our fees?”

“Lemme check.” She hummed for a few seconds, and then turned her head to look at me. “How is a one followed by six hundred zeros called?”

“Centillion, if you are a decent person.”

She paid and the chicken’s eyes shone: one red, one white. One by one, its feathers made way for us with geological slowness. I sat on a rock and wonderer what could await us at the other side. Were barrabravas considered a subset of hobos? Did it depend on their role inside the barra? Would it be a normal river decorated with the colors of the football club?

No, I wasn’t that lucky. There had to be something ominous and hateful waiting for us beyond that hen. Something that made us pay more than two million gold as the price for immortality.

An hour later, the hen was finally open enough for us to walk into the cave. I sent Mariana in first, as a safety measure, and she froze after taking two steps into the place. She raised her hackles and started snarling.

“What’s it, girl?”

“I sense an abominable presence ahead.”

“Does it have to do with copulation and mirrors?” I asked, not thinking about it too much.

“What?” she said, dumbfounded

“What?”

“I have felt it before in this world, I think.” She sniffed the air. “This foul beast has to be male.”

“Good, maybe it attends to reason then.”

“What’s your problem, besides the obvious, with women?”

I shrugged.

“They get mad at me, and I find joy in that. Men generally just ignore or beat you.”

“In this world, you have enough power to be equally awful to both sexes, though.”

I patted Mariana on the lower back. She was finally giving useful advice (Even if I had started applying it since I grasped the very first iota of power).

We descended into the cave. There were no speleothems, and some parts of the rock presented rough edges, both characteristics unlikely for a natural cave. The monumental Libertadores cups serving as columns may have collaborated in cementing my suspicions, though.

“Who dares intrude my domain?” an unfriendly, echoing voice reached us.

We stopped in our tracks.

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“It’s me,” I answered, faking a tired voice.

“Oh, come in.”

My palm met my face as I contained a snicker. It always worked.

We advanced several meters, just before the curve, when it spoke again.

“Wait a second, I live alone!” It snarled.

“And you forgot your meds for schizophrenia.”

“Oh, right, right. Thanks brain.”

When we turned the corner, we could see him, sitting on a throne made of coins, counting the stripes on a drunk, white and red chicken. Orange light came from holes in the roof that were out of our sight, and it did no favor to his grotesque appearance. He wore a tattered football club uniform, which he did not need, because this aberration was covered in white, wool like hair. He donned more eyes than one can count spread all over his body, and a rat-like tail that ended on a cotton ball.

“You!” he said when he saw Mariana, and extended a quivering, deformed, venous paw.

“I told you they always come back,” she communicated via private telepathy.

“Did I suddenly become schizophrenic for real? Why would my tormentor be here? And I don’t remember being on any meds.”

“Worry not, sir—” I began.

“Del Poodlón, please,” he clarified with a soft tone, closing all of his eyes to look more formal and calm. His out of place and of number muscles didn’t help his image.

“Del Poodlón, we are just a random man and a random golden retriever— “

Then, Mariana happened.

“No, Walter, this is the poodle I banished to the dimension of eternal cosmetic trials a few weeks ago. Right, mister poodle?”

“Yes I got sent to terrible hells by you, lady. For a thousand, nine hundred, and one years I planned my return, and eventual vengeance. I walked dimensions endlessly, until I found the one with Argentina, and died by accidentally slipping off of the terrace of a tall building. Then I woke up here, I discovered I was sent back in time, and enclosed myself in this cave…”

“The short version, please,” she pleaded.

“My magic and passion for River Plate twisted me, and the world around my person. And the water from the manantial here reacted, too, offering immortality to anyone who dares drink from it.”

I raised my index…

“The English word for ‘manantial’ is ‘wellspring’,” …and corrected him like the snob I am.

“So, I suppose you come for the immortalizing water—”

Mariana tried to cast again and again Banish demon and/or lapdog, but it only gave loud error messages about Del Poodlón not being a valid target anymore.

“Stop that! It tickles!” He cleared his throat. “I propose you something, owner of my tormentor. We will have a footbattle: Half football match, half one on one fight. If you two win, I will show you where the wellspring surges from the earth, and you can take as much water as your heart desires. But if I were to win, she will become my sexy, blonde slave,” he said, and then licked his snout.

I looked at Mariana, she was wagging her fluffy tail.

“I can do that to her, but I won’t. Don’t you want us to fetch you something in exchange?”

“No, she is the one I want. I will make her suffer for each and every one of the days that passed since she sent me to that place.”

“I am almost okay with this arrangement,” said Mariana.

I slapped her in a vain hope of transferring her an aliquot of my common sense.

“Why do you hit me! It’s because it would pollute the bloodline, isn’t it?”

“He wants you as a sex slave!”

“Pretty much, yeah, it is what it is,” Del Poodlón granted.

Mariana cocked her head while looking at me.

“I already knew that, I thought it was obvious when I said the thing about the bloodline. My only problem is that I would get taken away from you, Walter.”

Del Poodlón fidgeted a bit with his horrid fingers. “We… we can arrange a visit schedule. Bring cards, Walter, I know how to play truco, burro and tute cabrero.”

“NO! take Walter as a manservant too if we lose.”

I picked her up, all thirty kilos of bitch, and shook her.

“Mariana, you will get raped by an ugly poodle. And on top of it, you are betting my ass.”

“My mommy and daddy learned to tolerate each other after a couple years, and they are siblings.”

It was useless, she was a purebred golden retriever. Perhaps some of her brothers and sisters already had a life like champion dogs, or puppy machines for some immoral breeders.

“Sometimes I forget you aren’t a human trapped in a dog. Sorry.” I lowered her back to the ground and gave her a hug.

“If I accept, can I remove the ‘me being your slave’ clause?”

“Nah, I could use a maid or butler,” he dismissed my petition while waving his hand.

“No deal. Mariana, we go back without the water: we will torture the seer bitch until she croaks.”

Coins from the throne flew in every direction as the poodle lunged across the air and positioned himself between us and the exit.

“I guess this means we will play!” said Mariana.

“Oh yes dear, we will play, and it will be—”

I muzzled the poodle with a reanimated belt.

“I have a dagger. Say ‘glorious’ and I am neutering you even if doing so kills me.”

I removed the belt and it jumped on my shoulder, as a gracile pet snake that believes to be a parrot.

“Remind me who is the villain here,” said the poodle.

“Walter,” answered Mariana in a casual tone.

“Yes, I am.”

Del Poodlón toppled me over with a well-placed and deserved punch to the face. I crossed my arms and scowled as I fell on my back. My health bar depleted almost by 5%. The stone of the floor was cold, hard and humid. I had been punched by a fucking lapdog AND a River Plate fan. Outrageous.

“Why didn’t you cover yourself or at least… fell on your hands?” he asked with a puzzled stare.

“Listen, some of us have day jobs, and right now mine is being absolutely indignant about your behavior, sir.”

“Excuse my owner, he bought a monkey .png.”

I commanded my belts to lift me like they would an Egyptian mummy. It was the only way to retain my grumpy look while doing so.

“How come you control a bunch of belts? There is no class that can do such thing.”

“Necromancer can. Belts are dead cows,” Mariana explained. A rare, non-ironical ‘Thanks, Mariana’ moment.

He hunched a bit to inspect me closely. I was tempted to break my act to grab the dagger and stab him in the eye. Depth perception could be an unfair advantage in football, if I were to become the only one who had it. Then again, I was sure taking out only one eye wouldn’t be enough, in his case.

“So you are a battle necromancer? You drain part of the stats from each belt to strengthen yourself?”

I quickly brought up my status window in my mind and picked battle necromancer as advanced class, immediately unlocking the spell the poodle was talking about.

“No, he used to save in Argentinian pesos.”

Thanks, Mariana.

“Woof, I thought the match could be funny for a second.” He touched my nose like it was a damn button. “Boop.”

“Listen, I am going to play by your rules…”

He did it again

“Boop.”

“... but if we win, I will take more than the water of immortals. I will cut your penis and use the baculum to fashion a dick-dagger out of it.”

“Why?” both dogs asked in unison.

“I don’t know, I wanted to sound cool,” I admitted without any pretense of class.

“Let’s not postergate this anym—“

“Postpone. Delay. Defer. Or retard, which is a word that suits everyone in this room.”

I got punched on the face again. It hurt, but I had to maintain the illusion of a hard man that spares no fucks. This time, the fall was cushioned by my belts acting as springs.

“Boing,” was my Mensa-level commentary about the situation.

“I am positively surprised, Walter, your aura of cynicism is so thick it almost shaves a bunch off my health bar. Follow me, and let our g…racious match begin!”