"The secret to victory isn’t cleverness—it’s patience. Most doors, even the stubborn ones, open eventually if you lean on them long enough." —The Te of Slacking, Book 3, Verse 12

The base of the Tower of Perdition was like an especially grim exclamation mark against a tortured essay of a sky. Wow. This place is getting to me. Where did that description come from?

Its dark stone blocks jittered in and out of existence as if the laws of reality were having a spirited debate about whether this architectural nightmare should exist at all. One moment, I felt like Roland preparing to climb; the next, I was back on a childhood holiday to Pisa, awkwardly pretending to prop up the leaning tower while Dad snapped a million blurry photos with his discount camera.

The doorway, though? Now, that was a masterpiece of menace: a towering arch of what looked like petrified oak, its surface crawling with swirling runes that wouldn’t hold still no matter how long I stared at them. The effect was not so much "majestic craftsmanship" but more "eldritch graffiti artist with a grudge," which was… delightful.

The pièce de resistance, though, was the knocker.

And by “knocker,” I mean the horribly explicit fusion of a wrought-iron ring and a warped, perpetually shifting face. Its too-wide eyes swirled with a flickering, oily light, like something alive and angry had been trapped behind them and really wanted out. The mouth, an unsmiling slash of oozing edges, occasionally twitching into a sneer as if it had just thought of something cutting to say but couldn’t be bothered to speak.

Metallic tendrils jutted out from its sides, wrapping around the doorframe in a death grip—though whether they were keeping something locked in or holding the door itself in place was, at this moment in time, not something I was all that excited to explore.

Nothing really screams "welcome to hell" quite like a decorative piece of door ornamentation that looks like it moonlights as a chaos spawn.

As I stepped closer, the knocker's mug twisted, its wound of a mouth creaking open to reveal a bottomless void. That mouth wasn’t just empty. It had taken time out of its busy schedule of devouring souls to loathe me specifically.

"You are not welcome here, mortal" it intoned, its voice an unholy blend of grinding stone, distant screams, and the subtle undertone of someone gargling broken glass. It had clearly missed its calling as a customer service representative. "Turn back or be destroyed."

Charming. Well, here goes nothing.

I approached the door, the Essence of Despair cradled in my hands like the world’s least welcome fruitcake. The jar was just pure malevolence; its luminous surface made me concerned I was taking in enough gamma radiation to hulk out at any second.

Although, that might not be a terrible idea . . .

The knocker, in all its eldritch splendour, turned its attention to me the moment I stepped into range. Its sneer deepened, the void of its mouth rippling with what I could only assume was displeasure.

“You dare approach the Tower?” it growled like a broken theremin.

“Yep,” I said, hoisting the jar for it to see. “And I brought a gift. You know, to break the ice.”

The knocker’s shifting eyes narrowed on the jar. “That… is not meant for the hands of mortals,” it hissed, its metal tendrils curling tighter around the doorframe.

“Yeah, well, you try telling that to the System,” I said. “It flagged this little beauty as a Quest Item, so here we are. Do you want it or not?”

For a moment, the knocker didn’t respond, its sneer frozen in place. Then its mouth twitched. “Present it.”

I stepped closer, holding the jar out cautiously.

I wasn’t absolutely sure how I was supposed to hand over a jar of evil to something without any hands. However, that issue went away quite quickly as the knocker leaned forward—or maybe it just extended its face slightly—and one of its tendrils reached out to brush the jar.

The contact sent a shiver up my arm. Then the knocker made a sound that could have been a snarl or a chuckle and retracted its tendril and settled back into its frame.

“You were able to bring this here?” it said

“Figured it belonged to you,” I said. “It’s got the same ‘murder-me vibes’ as this whole place.”

Apparently, this act of unintentional competence triggered some kind of initiation ritual. The runes on the door flared to life, the Essence of Despair disappeared in a puff of acrid smoke, and the knocker suddenly became very chatty.

Which is how I found myself answering riddles.

***

“Answer my riddles three,” the knocker said, “and perhaps you shall be deemed worthy to enter. Fail, and—”

“I’m guessing free ice-cream for life?”

“Fail, and you will be ejected into a dimensional vortex where your body will be devoured, your mind fragmented, and your soul—”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. There are stakes. And they are high. Just before we start, can I just check I’ve got the right place? I’m here to get back the Dark Wren. Short girl. Giant sword. Massive tits. Rumour has it she’s at the top of this tower. That so?”

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“I can neither confirm nor deny that.”

“Is that because you don’t know?”

“I know everything. I am the Knocker of Doom.”

“Really? That’s the name you’re going with? The Knocker of Doom? That doesn’t scream eldritch terror; it screams budget horror flick.”

The knocker’s tendrils twitched indignantly, and its eyes flared. “Do not mock me, mortal! My title is steeped in ages of power and prophecy.”

“Oh, sure it is,” I said. “Carry on Apocalypse over here, just waiting to show us its ‘forbidden mysteries.’ Honestly, mate, your PR needs work.”

There was a pause whilst the knocker clearly tried to work out how to respond to me. I’m pretty used to that sort of silence. Eventually, it appeared to shake it off and get back on script. “Very well. Here is your first riddle.”

The runes on the door pulsed, and a low hum filled the air as the knocker’s voice rang out:

"I speak without a mouth and hear without ears. I have no body, but I come alive with the wind. What am I?"

A notification popped up:

Game Player Skill Activated: Riddle Mastery Buff Applied (+25%).

Passive Skill Triggered: Opportunistic Luck (+15% to random guesses).

I opened my mouth to answer, but another notification interrupted:

Hint Unlocked: “It’s not a fart.”

Fuck. That my go-to. “A shadow?” I hazarded.

The runes on the door throbbed, and the air vibrated as if the Tower itself was drawing a breath. The knocker’s mouth widened into an abyss of shifting shadows, and its voice rang out with a resonance that could’ve knocked over a cathedral:

"Incorrect! You have one further guess before I devour your soul!"

Its tone was insufferable, like a smug trivia host who knew they’d finally stumped their audience. "For ten points and the chance to ascend the Tower!"

“You know, if you’re trying to be ominous, the whole ‘I am the Question Master’ might not be the vibe you’re going for. I had more imposing Primary School teachers.”

The knocker bristled—or at least, I think it did. I wasn’t yet au fait with iron horror body language. "Answer, mortal, or be consumed by the Tower’s wrath!"

“Alright, chill. It’s an echo, isn’t it?” I paused, gesturing at the Tower. “But hey, big points for presentation.”

“Lucky guess,” it spat. “The second riddle.”

The runes on the door burned brighter, and then the knocker’s mouth opened again.

"I am seen in the water, but I never get wet. What am I?"

Fuck knows. This time, I had absolutely no idea. I once again thought that ‘fart’ might be the way forward, but then there was another flurry of notifications.

Buff Stack Applied: Riddle Prodigy (+10% Insight).

Passive Skill Triggered: Lazy Aura (Knocker of Doom’s Impatience Decreases).

Water but not wet?

My brain served up a delightful buffet of completely useless answers: clouds, fish, umbrellas. Umbrellas? Really, brain? These buffs were clearly not shit.

Then, like a light flickering on in a dark room—or, more accurately, like my Game Player Skill taking pity on me—the answer landed in my mind with a smug little ta-da!

“A reflection,” I said. I may have said it smugly.

The knocker froze. Its metal tendrils twitched, and for a moment, I swore the face twisted into something resembling disbelief.

Then it snarled, the sound grating like nails on steel. If looks could kill, I’d have been a smear on the Tower steps.

“Well,” I said, brushing imaginary dust off my shoulders, “I’m enjoying being a riddling genius. When we’re done here, I may well take to a life of crime and battling an orphan with a fixation on flying rats. You know, for the street cred.”

“The final riddle will—”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s hear it.”

The runes flared brighter, and the voice became a growl. "The more you take, the more you leave behind. What am I?"

Warning: Answer carefully. System confidence level: 90%.

New Buff Activated: I Got This (+5% to Smugness).

“Footsteps,” I said.

There was a long, agonising pause. The knocker’s eyes dimmed, and for a moment, I thought I’d broken it.

Achievement Unlocked: Smooth Operator.

Bonus XP Awarded: +50 for Impressing Eldritch Entity.

The knocker hissed, its tendrils recoiling as if disgusted by its own capitulation. “You may pass,” it said finally.

The door shuddered, then groaned open.

“But do not think for a moment that your cleverness will save you inside,” the knocker spat.

“Noted,” I said, stepping forward. “Thanks for the warm welcome. Hospitality’s top-notch. I’ll be sure to leave a positive review of Airbnb.”

As soon as I crossed the threshold, the door slammed shut behind me with a deafening clang. The sound echoed down the corridor, making the air tremble.

I glanced back at the door. No knocker. No going back.

Game Player Skill Level Up!

Game Player: Level 10 Achieved.

Skill Evolution Unlocked: Grand Strategist (Rank 1).

Flavour text unfurled in a gilded notification window, the System clearly in a celebratory mood:

Grand Strategist: Your knack for bending the rules of the game has reached new heights. You no longer just play—you orchestrate. Gain an additional +20% insight into puzzles, combat strategies, and quest mechanics. Enemies may now underestimate you at their peril.

Passive Buff: Increased probability of uncovering hidden quest lines and alternate outcomes.

Looks like I’ve officially levelled up from cheater to Grandmaster Bullshit Artist.

Ahead of me, the corridor glowed—not with light but with some indefinable energy that made the air feel heavier with every step.

The imagery painted along the walls writhed faster, more erratically, as though sensing fresh prey. A cold breeze swept through, carrying with it the scent of decay and something metallic. Blood, maybe? Or just the Tower’s idea of ambience.

Behind me, the knocker let out one final gleeful hiss. “Do enjoy your stay. Give our regards to the Dark Wren. Should you ever reach her,” it crooned, its voice fading as the heavy door sealed with a resounding thud.