"When the wolves leave you alone, sometimes it’s because something worse is coming." — The Tao of Idleness, Book 5, Verse 9.

With that not-at-all ominous warning, Scar’s crew began fading back into the trees, moving quickly and without making much eye contact with me. They were not exactly running for the hills - if you get me - but clearly not choosing to heroically stand at my side, come what may, either. As he made his own way into the woods, Scar gave me a grimace that was rather more apologetic than I would have liked.

“We’ve seen this all before,” he said. “Rebels don’t come in soft. They’ll send someone to fuck you up before you can get properly established. Doubly so as you are on an Accumulation Pool. Look, we’ve fought for too many causes who weren’t worth the spilt blood to stand with you right now. If you’re still with us after, we’ll keep helping you build. But none of us are going to die for you. Not until you prove you’re actually worth the sacrifice.”

“Right,’ I blinked as my new allies retreated faster than the French at the first sign of a baguette shortage." so . . . what, you’re just going to leave me to it?”

Scar’s lips twisted, the old wound on his face pulling tight. “Not leaving as such. Just . . . waiting. We’ll see how you play your hand. We’ve been burned too many times before to waste more lives on yet another ‘saviour’.”

I thought that was pretty fucking harsh. I hadn’t positioned myself as any sort of ‘saviour’. He was the one who rocked up at my door and asked to be able to join my village. I’d hardly petitioned for his bloody support! I opened my mouth to berate him, but nothing came out, and before inspiration hit me for something really cutting, Scar’s group had melted into the background like shadows, disappearing into the treeline. The clearing suddenly felt wider and emptier than it had before. It was just me and the nearly complete Village Hut, the Storage Shed, and my game little Pixel Workers, who didn’t seem to care that a literal army was about to roll in. Good for them. Glad at least someone had my back.

And then the Rebels arrived.

At first, it was just the sound. A wet, squelching noise, like someone dragging a sack of rotten meat down a gravel path. My gut twisted, and I instinctively reached for a non-existent weapon. The memory of a nicely sharp knife I’d left next to a washbasin in Eldhaven was an unwelcome one at this stage of proceedings. I’d even have taken my trusty stick at this stage.

Then the squelching noise intensified, and what emerged from the shadows was worse than I could’ve imagined. The Rebels appeared at the edge of my clearing, riding low to the ground on strange, insect-like creatures, their segmented legs skittering over the dirt. Their riders were ragged, with patchwork armour and hollow eyes, faces smudged with grime. None of them looked like they were going to ask to braid my hair. But that wasn’t the worst part.

No, that was the massively fat fuck leading them.

No. ‘Fat’ doesn’t do this guy justice. ‘Fat’ suggests the arrival of Father Christmas. Maybe a jolly, Hagrid-style fellow taking a bite from a chicken leg as he sauntered in. This dude, though, was something else entirely. He rode at the front of the Rebels, a hulking mass of flesh that defied all logic of biology and physics. He—or at least I assumed it was a “he”—was the size of several men combined but joined together in all the wrong places. His body seemed to sag under layers of podge rolling over each other like mountains of jelly released to roam. His armour barely held itself together, leather straps digging into pillowy folds of flesh, while his legs were spread obscenely wide on his mount to accommodate his grotesque belly. The sight was so appalling, so unnerving, that I somehow couldn’t look away. It was like some kind of twisted carnival of body horror, with the features of his face obscured by waves of sagging, bloated skin.

I’m going to be honest; I didn’t take to him.

This giant porker heaved himself down from the unfortunate thing he was squashing under his bulk, his feet hitting the ground with a sickening thud. Just that motion clearly exhausted him, his breath coming in huge gulps, and his eyes gleaming with something that looked far too close to hunger for comfort.

“Well, well, well,” he burbled. “The Rogue of Eldhaven.”

“So they tell me. And who are you? The guy who ate his entire chain of command?”

The grotesque figure grinned, his lips parting to reveal blackened teeth. “I’m Berker. And you seem to be squatting on one of the Rebellion’s Accumulation Pools.” Berker’s voice was like a fuckton of grain being stuffed down the throat of a goose. There was a strange delight in it, like he was savouring the moment before tearing into me. I half-expected him to just order my execution, but instead, his fat fingers disappeared into a sagging fold of his body and pulled something out.

It was a rolled-up scroll. But not like the one Wanker had given me. This one flickered, shifting between its solid form and glowing, glitching pixels. As if this reality couldn’t quite decide what it wanted to be. "Rules of engagement, my lovely," he said. "First up, we play a little game."

With no further ado, Berker tossed the scroll at my feet, for it to immediately unfurl all on its own, transforming into a big hexagonal grid that superimposed itself on the ground between us. At the same time, a pile of black and white stones materialised in neat stacks beside each of us—black by Berker, white by me. They pulsed faintly as if they were, in some way, alive. In the middle of the game board that had sprung up, a smaller version of my Well of Ascension sat: a small, circular depression seemingly carved deep into the game space. But this wasn’t just a decorative feature—I felt its percussive pull, like a heartbeat drawing me in.

Puzzle Challenge: Defend the Well.

The words appeared in my vision, glowing bright neon above the hexagonal board, and then faded away. Defend the Well? Sure. I’ll get right on that. Don’t worry with, you know, explaining the fucking rules to me. That would make everything too easy, wouldn’t it? I cast my eyes over the board. Okay. Something like Checkers, maybe? Or Go? I’d played enough games like this to, for once in this second life, feel like I wasn’t totally out of my depth. Games are all about patterns, aren’t they? To defend the Well, you’d need to control the position of the stones, right. Take things calm. Be patient. Wait the other guy out. Fine. I could do that. Especially as – and I freely admit I’m being a touch fatphobic here – Berker didn't strike me as the sort of chap who had a tight grasp on his impulses.

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The fat fuck’s yellowed fingers hovered over his pile of black stones. “Nice and simple. You win, you get to squat here for a bit longer. I win, ownership of the Well passes to me and you become surplus to requirements. You get me?” he asked, his ugly smirk wide.

I shrugged. “Mate, with the size of your arse, you could just sit on the fucking Well and win by default.”

Berker chuckled, then he placed his first black stone near the Well, just a few spaces off-centre. In response, the Well pulsed as if reacting to the stone’s presence. I felt a ripple—not just in the air, but in the fabric of reality itself. Whoa. Cool your jets, Jimmy. Friends don’t let friends use phrases like ‘fabric of reality itself’. Don’t let yourself get carried away just because you’re stressed. Well, whatever. It looked to me that Berker’s move had made the Well . . . more inclined to him?

I weighed a white stone in my hand. Berker was obviously going to load up at the centre—it seemed like the Well would change allegiance based on… what? The number of stones near it? Or would different configurations be more attractive to it? It didn’t make sense that the game would just be about who plonked down as many stones in the middle as possible; games like this weren’t always won by brute force. There was more to it, and – somehow - I could feel that balance was key. Yeah, look at me. Taking on board the Great Slacker’s teachings and everything. But it was true, wasn’t it? Just because Berker was going for Control of the centre didn’t mean that guaranteed victory. This wasn’t a game of Noughts and Crosses, was it?

Playing a hunch, I placed my first stone far from the Well, near the very edge of the board. In response, there was a subtle shift in the power pulsing from the Well, the balance tugging slightly in my direction. Okay, so that seemed to work as I’d hoped. No point fighting for the centre of the board yet. Not if I could manage to surround him.

Berker snorted, planting another stone close to his first. “Running away already, Rogue? How typical of your Class.” Yeah, loading up, on the middle of the board was his plan. Reinforcing his control of the centre, spreading his influence directly around the Well. Made sense. Then the Well pulsed again, brighter now, like it was drawing energy from all the stones. Hmmm – was the Well more white than black? Interesting. After all, I wasn’t trying to fight his position directly, I was looking to outmanoeuvre him. I didn’t think this game was about what positions you took on the board—it was about what you made your opponent give up. I placed another white stone, this time toward the opposite edge of the board.

Berker’s eyes flicked to my move, and for a split second, I saw the doubt – especially as the Well responded and glowed even brighter white. His brow furrowed. Then he threw down another stone, again closer to the Well, trying to consolidate his position. But I was sure I was right here. His focus on the centre was narrow, and I was widening the field. If I’d tried to directly oppose him in the middle, I’d be screwed. He went first and would always have one more go than me. However, as my stones were spread further out, building a framework around the edge of the board, I had loads more options to lay with. I wasn’t looking to capture the Well directly. I was looking to own the whole fucking board.

Berker’s grin faltered as we continued to drop stones until, after only a few minutes, I was near to cutting off his central cluster and the well was whiter than mayo on bread, He finally a black stone on the outer edge in direct challenge, but I could see his focus shift. He was realising his mistake—too late. His moves became frantic, trying to block my pieces now, but every time he reinforced his position, he left more of his own stones vulnerable. I placed stone after stone, gradually locking his pieces in, while mine were able to expanded freely. The Well kept pulsing whiter and whiter.

And then we were at the endgame, Berker slammed a stone down near the Well; he now had control of the whole of the middle of the board, for sure, but his stones were completely boxed in by mine. With one final stone, I completed the arc of white around his cluster. The Well pulsed once more, then all of his stones dimmed entirely. Berker’s black stones were trapped, locked in a tiny fortress at the centre of the board. But the rest of the field? That was mine.

“A dishonourable way to play,” he said, scattering the stones off the board with a swipe. “Only a Rogue would skulk like that!”

“Winner winner chicken dinner,” I said, standing up.

Well Defences Activated: Barrier Initiated.

Berker’s twisted face faltered for a moment, his eyes narrowing to little pinprcks of hate. The puzzle grid blinked out of existence, and the clearing returned to normal, with the Well now surrounded by a shimmering barrier of light—apparently one that I’d just activated through winning the game. Go me.

Berker took a step back, his massive form wobbling as he tried to regain his composure. The shock quickly turned to anger, his fleshy face twisting into a snarl. “You got lucky, Rogue,” he spat, his voice dripping with venom. “This isn’t over. You might’ve activated the Well’s defences, but you’re still sitting on a pile of rubble. We’ll be back—and next time, no games we’ll bring the real storm.” He took a lumbering step toward me, his eyes narrowing to slits. “We’ll crush you and your little village into dust. No puzzle will save you from what’s coming.”

I held his gaze, the adrenaline still pulsing through my veins. “No bother. Be here anytime you want a rematch. Send some advanced warning, though, next time. I can make sure we have some chips and dips in. We can make a night of it.”

Berker’s eyes flicked toward the shimmering barrier around the Well, then back at me. With a disgusted snarl, he turned and heaved himself back onto his insect-like mount, the creature skittering under his weight. “We’ll meet again, Rogue of Eldhaven,” he growled, his voice thick with malice. “And when we do, I’ll make sure your death is slow.” The rest of the outriders turned their mounts, following their bloated leader into the forest. The squelching sound of their departure was almost as revolting as the sight of Berker himself.

I let out a long breath, watching them disappear into the trees. The moment they were out of sight, I nearly collapsed from the strain of keeping my shit together. My hands were shaking, the aftermath of the puzzle still buzzing in my brain. I’d won, but only just.

Well Defences: Active for 24 hours.

I stared at the notification, feeling a strange mix of relief and dread. I’d managed to hold the Rebels off, but the reality of my situation was becoming clearer by the minute. My problems weren’t going to stop. Berker would be back, and next time, it wouldn’t be a puzzle challenge. And Wanker’s countdown was still running.

As soon as the Rebels were out of sight, Scar and his crew emerged from the trees, their expressions unreadable. They hadn’t helped, but they hadn’t fucked off either. Scar approached, his eyes scanning the Well’s defences, the shimmering barrier casting strange reflections on his face.

“Well,” he said slowly, “I wasn’t sure you had it in you.”

I wiped a hand across my forehead, still catching my breath. “What? You thought I was just going to let them stomp all over me?”

Scar gave a small shrug. “We’ve seen people fold for less. The fact you stood your ground... that’s something.” His eyes flicked to the Well again. “We’re not fighters anymore. But then again, maybe... maybe we won’t need to be.”

It wasn’t exactly the ringing, Braveheart endorsement of ‘Freedom!’ I was hoping for, but it was better than a slap in the face with a wet fish. I glanced around the clearing, the Well’s barrier shimmering in the afternoon light. For now, we were safe. But the clock was ticking, and I knew I had to get this village further along its development before Berker made good on his promise to return.

Rebellion Threat Level: High.Time until next attack: 24 hours.

I exhaled and rubbed my temples. Winning the game and activating the Well’s defences had bought me some time, but the rebels were coming back. Lia was still out for the count in the Medical Hut, Scar’s people were still watching from the sidelines, and now I had another fucking countdown until disaster was running.

Another day in Lazytown.