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Cora’s radio and internet bots detected the traffic check miles ahead. Cops, even post-apocalyptic ones, remained cops, searching for donut reviews online or chatting on the radio station. Stepping on the gas, Rowan increased the speed, reaching a hundred and fifty miles per hour just a few hundred yards in front of the roadblock. Hearing the infernal noise of the tuned car, the cops started firing their guns blindly in the night a second later.

Joint Trip: Warp activated. 3/10 stacks remaining.

His new perk—which Rowan had trained with assiduity, finding new ways to use it—transformed the world around in a gray painting. The car glided effortlessly over the road and desert, doubling its speed. Twenty-five seconds later, Rowan exited the in-between, the car reappearing a few miles farther, on an empty highway. He slowed down and knocked on Cora’s head with his knuckles. Gentler ways had proved useless, she slept like a log.

“Mhmmm…” she growled.

“You told me to wake you up twenty miles before Las Vegas.”

“Mhmmm….” Cora grunted again, nodded, and stretched like a cat. “Go slower, I need to feel the moment…”

Two miles later, she grabbed his arm. “Stop! We’ve entered the Dungeon. This is the rendezvous point they e-mailed me about.”

Fortunately, there was no traffic, and he hit the brakes hard, stopping on the emergency lane. Rowan turned his eyes toward her, thinking that maybe she was still sleepy. There was nothing around resembling a Dungeon, no notification, nothing. Only arid rocks, sparse withered greenery in dire need of therapy, and some lights in the distance, a gas station.

“You’re sure?”

Shrugging, Cora showed him a large compass she held in hand. “Pretty much. Estimated distance to the Lair: twenty-five miles. Estimated number of floors: twenty. Level: one hundred.”

“But you said you can’t detect dungeons.”

“From the outside, but I can map them once in. The whole city must be a dungeon.”

“Oh… Do you detect any monsters around?”

“No, but this is an entertainment dungeon. My guess is they expanded this much to make it indistinguishable from the real world, sacrificing the Mana field’s density. Anyway, keep your eyes open. Both we and them swore a System Oath to not harm each other, but you saw how that went with the Knyaz.”

"Don't worry, they attack us, they're dead." Rowan showed her a jackknife hidden in his boot.

"You're going to fight Vampires with a jackknife?" Cora snorted.

“Trust me, I have my ways. I'd use rebars, but had to make some space in my invent— We have company.”

Ahead, the blue and red lights of a police motorcycle approached fast. Riding it, a policewoman dressed in a tight leather suit. She slowed, turned, and raised her visor, showing the face of the blonde, tall Vampire whom Rowan had already met twice.

The woman beckoned them to follow her and opened the way. For a while, there was no traffic to speak of, and then the lights of the city appeared in the distance, and with it, vehicles going in or leaving. The motorcycle started its siren and lights at full power and cars got away from their path. In the city, everything looked normal, as far as Rowan could tell. He had visited it only once, with a friend having a bachelor party, the same friend he had visited in Louisville the day before. Cora, on another hand, was wow-ing in awe every other second.

Five minutes after reaching the town’s center, their escort turned toward a humongous Casino, built like a Disney Castle, but as big as a skyscraper. That one, Rowan could swear, was a novelty. Entering through a side access, they descended into a subterranean garage. The Vampire showed them where to park, left her motorcycle behind the car, and walked ahead, straight at a concrete wall. At a flicker of her hand, the wall opened, letting them through.

The next room was huge. Red lights, red velvet, gold cushions, low gambling or drinking tables, lascivious maids walking around and taking orders. An old-style Victorian place of spiritual and bodily ruin, if any.

“Come, we don’t have much time.” The blonde pulled Rowan by the arm toward a carved wooden door in the back of the room, and showed them inside a lounge, taking a guarding position near the entrance.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

You have been invited to the Dungeon Boss’s Lair: Guest status.

On a large armchair, casually resting, was a man in his late forties. Tall, elegant, wearing sunglasses and an embroidered vest, looking like the poster child of Buffalo Bill, if the Wild West icon had Dorian Gray as his grandfather. He didn’t rise to meet them but sketched a reverence, then gestured toward a couch.

“Welcome to my abode, Count Allinder. Please, take a seat. I’m Viscardi Blackswarm.”

“We know,” Rowan said, letting himself sing in the comfort of the luxurious sofa.

“Drinks?”

“I’m OK,” Cora said.

“And I’m driving,” Rowan added. “Not that the cops could catch me, but just keeping the good habits.”

“Then I’ll get to the point, time is precious. In ten minutes, the System will expel you outside the dungeon. Non-combat is frowned upon.”

“Isn’t this an entertainment dungeon?”

“Combat takes many forms. To enter the Lair on your own, you have to bring on a million dollars and enter a high-stakes poker game.”

“No thanks. I’m not the gambling type.”

“A wise choice. My story is this. For the wrong reasons—but tell that to an AI judge—I and my family were sentenced to fifty Galactic Standard years of indentured service on the Traipenent. Do you know what dungeons truly are?”

“Err…”

“Multi-layered pocket universes. Some appear spontaneously, some are built, and others are in between. We spent a few years on the Traipenent, then a few months ago—”

“You organized a dungeon break,” Cora sneered, crossing her arms.

“I did not. A group of mercenaries tried to capture me because their boss, The Smuggler, believed that I had stolen something from her, when she visited the dungeon, a few months ago. Now, what person sane of mind would have pickpocketed the most notorious mobster in the quadrant?”

“You, Father,” the blonde Vampire said.

“No, darling. No,” the man sulked. “You were supposed to say: no sane person would have done that. Then, my come back would have been: But when was I ever considered sane?”

“Don’t give up your day job, standup comedy is not your thing.” Rowan was beginning to feel annoyed by the chasing around the tail.

“See, Victoria? That was funny…” Viscardi clapped. “Thank you for your feedback. I’ll keep practicing. In the end, you’ll see, I’ll perform in Vegas.”

“That was not bad,” Rowan nodded. “I mean… it didn’t suck.”

“Ahahahah… I get it… Vampire, suck… nice. Back to the story. The idiots didn’t break only my dungeon, they broke the Warlord’s too, and that’s… there’s no word to describe it.”

“Stupid.”

“Yes. That’s a good word. Then, the Warlord’s minions proceed to slaughter everybody and the Captain activates the emergency procedure and ejects everything before the ship crashes. Fortunately, I found myself in control of my core, so I took it and ran as far as possible. Then I meet my true love. Vegas. I and Vegas equal heart emojis.”

“Mother might disagree,” Victoria frowned.

“But dearest, your mother is more than love to me. She’s my fate, my Darth Vader, my—"

“Can we steer toward our business?” Cora demanded.

“Sure, sure. Miss Shemeows, please remind us how many dungeon cores were on the Traipenent.”

“A hundred. Half were real dungeons and half were mini-dungeons. Six mini-dungeons were claimed and turned into Town Cores, as far as we know. One is ours, then Rome, Vladivostok, Donghae, in Korea, Hagi, in Japan, and another one I couldn’t identify or pinpoint the location and doesn’t answer my pings.”

“Add to that four cores that were absorbed for energy—”

“By who?” Cora rushed to ask.

“By me. I found them on our way here. And the rest are unaccounted for.”

“Some could be accounted for but we don’t know yet,” Rowan said. “There was a mini-dungeon cleared around Rome, but those who claimed it were not able to use Artifacts, and they sold it to our friend Lepastrina, who’s safekeeping it for now.”

“You know more than I do, it seems. Let’s talk about true dungeon cores for a second. The prisons. Two were breached, mine and the Warlord’s, and the rest should be in Sleep Mode.”

“About that guy, the Warlord. I heard he's dangerous. Any idea what he wants?”

“It can be anything. Conquering Earth? Getting a ride out of here? He has yet to make his move.”

“What do you need from us?” Cora asked.

“You of all people, haven’t figured it out?” the Vampire Lord laughed.

“Figure up what?” she snapped back.

“What’s the only thing I, a Dungeon Boss and Master, can’t do?”

Cora shrugged, puckering her lips, annoyed.

“I can’t beat myself and transform my dungeon into a Town’s Core. I want you or him,” Viscardi pointed at Rowan, “to do it for me.”

Rowan’s jaw dropped.

“An Awakened Town is the safest place to be around here. That’s why we tried to get into yours, and then to build one for ourselves. I’m sorry if we caused you inconvenience, but it was nothing personal. You looked too fresh, and inexperienced, but in the end, you proved to be strong, and us wrong. The deal is simple. Level up, and then we’ll have a battle, I’ll make sure you win, and then you’ll claim my dungeon’s core, but spare my life, and transform Vegas into an Awakened Town, allowing me to keep it as your vassal. You’ll find in me a good ally. We’ll feed our towns as many cores as possible because that makes them stronger. Meaning we have to search for them actively.”

Rowan took a look at his watch. The time was almost up. He nodded and offered the vampire a handshake. “We’ll think about it and let you know. Maybe next time we meet we’ll go out for a drink. Bourbon or B-positive?”

“Ahahahaha… Alas, the time passes too fast. Take this. It’s part of your payment, in advance. If you accept the deal, use it, if not, send it back through the interdimensional email.”

Lord Viscardi Blackswarm is trying to transfer an Unknown Item to your inventory. Accept transfer, Y/N

Barely a moment after accepting, Rowan and Cora found themselves twenty miles to the east, in the desert.

“Fuck… the car stayed back there…” he facepalmed.

“Don’t worry,” Cora said, summoning her combat suit from the spatial storage, picking Rowan in a princess carry and taking flight. There was a forcefield around, he noted, as the wind didn’t disturb him in the least.

“You can fly?”

“Aye, Captain Obvious.”

“Why didn’t you do it before?”

“It uses Manafuel, and the tank can only carry so much, so I kept it for emergencies. A tank should take us home, though. Grab my neck… just for safety.”