Of course, he was not 'Terbanacle'. He was Peter, a mediocre man with an average life that would never go anywhere. He was Feather, a misunderstood little lizard taking his first step on the Random Road.

He was not the mighty 'Terbanacle', vanquisher of heroes, master of this dungeon because he had decided to be. He was Terbanacle - according to someone else.

How could a form an name granted by others ever be his own.

In the stalemate between himself and the warrior, Terbanacle suddenly realized why Besos had admonished him so. All of this, the road on which he had met eccentric Billy; the desert which he had walked with the majestic Artois; or this dungeon where Besos now oversaw him with great scrutiny, in all of these places the guide had imposed upon him the importance of names in particular.

While the rogue pricked away at his belly, scoring deep wounds burning like the fire that had once burned in his throat, Terbanacle understood why he could not push this warrior back.

The stalwart man was grinning from ear to ear, laughing as he held back Terbancle's enourmous form. This man surely had a name which he had taken himself; one that granted him the strength he currently possessed. The wizard as well. The murmurring of the old man continued to drone on, and Terbanacle knew the blow would come soon.

He would have to take a different name. Opening his mouth, Terbanacle was about to proclaim a name he could find strength in, but no word could escape his throat.

Above, the eyes of Basos finally opened again, and he spoke softly - so soft only Terbanacle could hear him, "You have accepted both the form and the name. You cannot change what has already been done. You must own what was done to you; change the nature of what was done to you."

Roaring with pain and desperation, Terbanacle intensified his efforts to push away the warrior, while holding fast in his head who he was, and imposing that understanding onto his form.

He was mediocre. He was ordinary. He was fearful and cowardly. He was nothing like the Terbanacle as imagined by the cherub.

"It is done," said the wizard, interrupting Terbanacle's focus when he extended his hands and unleashed a torrent of electricity.

The electric current hit him like a hammer, throwing him backwards. Terbanacle rolled around several times, suffered several fractures to his dragon bones, and finally scraped across the floor like a lifeless mouse.

In the end... maybe this is right for someone like me...

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Ahh to end things. To be done with this crazy nightmare. What joy that would be. If only he could stop being in this unhealthy and terrible place, and return to the void. Or maybe there was an afterlife... Who but the dead would know.

He would surely know soon.

I may be just another random idiot, trying to discover some meaning to it all... Terbanacle... What a foolish name. A foolish name for a foolish man.

Basos' soothing voice then flowed through him, like water in a gently stream - a deep ocean current, moving with the haste of eons, "If the road you walk is the wrong one, just return to the last juncture and try again."

Return? Could he return? He was certain he could not become Feather again, or Peter. Those forms were gone now, as were the names that followed. The only path he could take was the one that had led him to believe 'Terbanacle' to be powerful.

A itch in his throat began tickling him.

Terbanacle is a fool, as if the one who named him. I am a fool.

"Oh whoa, look. It's still moving." He heard the voice of the warrior, the one who had taunted him the most.

Terbanacle is a toy, but I am not. I am Terbanacle, therefore Terbanacle is not a toy.

The tickle grew into a scratch. He could feel something wanting to escape. "Kill it quickly, we have to move on... remember what that giant baby said? Get moving already."

So that is how it is...They are toys, just like Terbanacle. Just like Terbanacle was!

Strength returning, the scratch became a flicker, then a flame. Terbanacle opened his eyes and stood back up, facing the small figures. Now he truly looked at them, he saw how tiny they were. They were like toy soldiers, like figurines given shape and form by someone else. Given purpose by someone else.

The flame within grew, and Terbanacle opened his mouth to expel it.

"Haha, look! It's still trying."

"It's very cute... Still, get it over with."

Roaring, Terbanacle let out the flame. True flame, not like the fake flame the Cherub had fed him. It was a true flame because he believed it to be a true flame.

Scorching hot and orange, the flames escaped his maw with all the eagerness to burn. The adventurers opened their eyes wide, surprised. Not at the flame itself, but at the sudden danger they all felt in this moment.

The warrior set down his shield. The wizard created his illusory barrier. The rogue disappeared.

The flame hit the warrior first, burning away his axe in an instant. Screaming in pain, the warrior dropped the weapon and retreated with his hand burned to a crisp. The wizard faltered, his mumbling speed increasing. In the end, his barrier broke and the fire consumed him, burning away his precious beard. The rogue reappeared in the middle of the burning sea, black clothes aflame. Yelling, the rogue attempted to jump out of the flame, but there was nowhere to go.

In the end, Terbanacle took pity on the poor toys and released the flame. As it dissipated into nothingness, the poor figurines huddled together in the opposite end of the circular room, looking at him with fearful gazes.

"How...?" the warrior asked, shaking his blackened fist in front of him as if he was trying to wave away the reality in front of him.

"I am Terbanacle," he said, calmly and in control.

"Finally," Besos said, his voice now booming through the chamber, "You have returned onto the road. Where will you go now?"

The adventurers looked wide-eyed on, as the gigantic octopus appeared from the ceiling, plopping down on the ground and leveled its judgemental gaze onto Terbanac.

Raising his head, Terbanac looked at the ceiling which held him imprisoned here.

"Up," he answered.