I think we lost him, guy. Leaning against the wall, I look back around the corner. I don’t see him anymore and I certainly don’t hear the scampering of any more little feet. Haha. Oof. Awkward. I think we had a real misunderstanding there, I really should learn to articulate myself better. But sometimes, I just say things that are too condensed without expanding on them, because I expect people to just know what I mean. But I guess they don’t and then that doesn’t work out, huh? Yeah. Oh well.

Straightening myself upright, I swing my arm out to let my cape billow behind myself as I turn in a dramatic fashion.

My hand grabs nothing but empty air and I turn around to look at the emptiness between my fingers. Oh. Right.

Right.

Turning back forward, I press on further all on my own. I’ll just have to do it without a cape. Capes are for heroes. I’m just me. Just little old me. Just little old me, myself and eye. Eye? I. I eye. Eye I? Aye.

Haha!

I look down at my breastplate, expecting something, expecting another laugh. But nothing comes. Huh? Rubbing my head, I stare at myself. Why was I expecting my chest to laugh? That’s pretty weird.

I mean, unless you’re a mimic. Then it’s normal. But I’m not, so it isn’t.

I sigh. I’m so lonely. Anyways, where am I? We really should put up some signs here to tell us what floor we’re on. I have no idea anymore. Then again, it’s not like any of the other trash-mobs can use the stairs or ever leave their floors to begin with, so maybe signs are redundant. Ah, see? I’m doing it again. I’m the worst. Sorry other trash-mobs, I wasn’t thinking about you. I’m such a jerk. Of course the dungeon-master would have put up signs if it made sense to do that.

There is a loud clamber at my feet as I accidentally kick something that was laying on the ground. I watch as an empty metal helmet flies off towards the distance. I stare at the familiar thing as its rattling comes to an abrupt end, as it strikes against the adjacent wall. Huh. This looks like it was part of a trash-mob, this doesn’t look like a normal human helmet. Walking over, I bend down and pick up the strange thing, turning it around in my hands.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The empty purple helmet faces up my way and I stare down at it, half-expectantly. Do I know you, stranger? I hold the helmet up, examining it closely. I think this belongs to a hollow-armor. Hmm. Staring around, I look for any that are left alive. But there is nothing here except pulverized scraps of metal and broken rock. A dozen busted up suits of armor, similar to my own, lay all around the corridor. I guess these guys got janked up by the hero-party. Good work today, friends. Don’t worry, we’ll get them tomorrow!

The pile of metal corpses doesn’t respond and at this point, I’m not sure if I had expected it to or not.

Turning my head, I look back at the hollow helmet in my hands. Who are you, stranger? You seem familiar, are you sure that we haven’t met before? Why are you asleep?

The helmet doesn’t respond.

Did you die? Shouldn’t you be working? There’s so much work for us all to get done and the day is shorter than ever! How can you have free time to die?

The helmet doesn’t respond.

Hmm. Well, okay. You know what? I guess I’ll let you off the hook for today, it looks like you guys had a hard day as is, I’m just being a jerk. Don’t mind me, it looks like -

It looks like…

like…

Why are my hands shaking?

I gaze down at the helmet in my grasp, watching as my hands shiver with a deathly cold. No, with a fire. A rage. A hatred. It’s in the helmet. It’s in the helmet. My fingers crush down against my own will, pressing against the metal of the helmet, squeezing it tightly as a foreign anger flows into my body from it. It seeps into me. It befouls me. Why aren’t you dead, stranger? Why are you so angry? It’s not good for you, you can’t live your life like that. It’ll consume everything in you, you know? You’ll burn right up!

The helmet shakes in my hands. It’s angrier than ever now from my lecture. The spirit inside of it is so raging, so furious, so alight with such spiritual fire and such hatred that it’s literally too angry to die, despite its hollow-armor body being shattered and broken, despite its connection to the dungeon-magic having been severed. Look at you, friend! Wow! What an inspiration, I really like you! Now that’s some real CON-

The helmet sets on fire and I drop it in surprise, yelping a little more like a small child than I am comfortable talking about openly. I hope the dungeon-master wasn’t watching just now, I’d be so embarrassed. I step forward, holding my hands out, trying to calm the raging spirit down. Fire rises from it, licking my fingers as it explodes all around the dead man. Easy there, friend, slow down! We’ll get em tomorrow, okay? There’s no need to rus-

IAH!

I yelp again, this time more openly as a hand shoots out from the side, grabbing my wrist. Standing on one leg, the other still raised into the air from my jump, I look down at the shaking body of the broken hollow-armor at my feet that is barely sustaining itself, not from dungeon-magic, but simply out of pure, unbridled anger. The broken armor gives everything it has to firmly squeeze my wrist. Ow! That hurts, stranger, don’t squeeze me so tight! I bruise easily! He squeezes tighter, the fire grows brighter as he gets angrier and angrier, with who? With me? What did I do? I’m just -

I am yanked down with a jolt. All I hear is a loud, sickening crack, as its metal fist smashes straight into my face, shattering my skull from the front.

Fire wraps itself around my body as the burning hollow-armor shoulder tackles me, sending us both to the ground as it raises its fist to strike me again. I lift my hand and catch his fist. “What’s your problem, you jerk?!” I yell at the hollow-armor. “We’re on the same side!”

He screams and punches me again with his other hand before I can catch it. I turn my head over to the burning helmet that lays on the ground next to me, its eyes glowing with a crimson fire as it glares my way. “SHUT. UP. MIIIIIKAAAAAAAAA!” yells the flaming helmet, as the fist lowers to punch me a third time. Fire explodes out in all directions.