Jack swallowed. Setting his jaw, he stood firm before his opponent, maybe the most daunting he’d ever faced.

The finger shoved him to the floor. They were in the main room, next to her throne, the piles of junk now shuffled neatly to the side. Sounds and smells of spring wafted through the window slats.

Salia giggled, waving her hand above him, mocking him. “I thought the Devil was as big as me when you beat him?”

“Well, uh…” Her interest in his stories had quickly eclipsed his ability to remember them, so he’d talked about his adventures instead. Of course, any tale required some exaggeration, but he’d painted himself into a corner. “I just don’t wanna hurt you?”

“You don’t sound very sure.” In a flash, the finger dropped on him, pinning him to the floor. She placed her face inches from his, smiling. “I win.”

“Yes you do,” he said, cheeks—as well as other areas—burning.

“This seems fun and all,” said Razor, voice scathing, “but how about actually doing what you came here to do?”

It’s fine. He rubbed Salia’s hand, eliciting a widening of her grin. Think about it: Dr. Wen’s the first person we know to have discovered time travel, and he’s from the future. Even Satan didn’t know anything. So the best thing to do here is obviously to just chill and wait for them to come get me.

“Oh, so now you believe they’ll come to fetch you?”

He licked his teeth. Maybe I’ve gained a rosy new outlook. And what’s your problem, anyway? You spend all this time barely talking to me, then pipe up just to complain.

“Of course I’m complaining! You’re supposed to be trying to find our way back home, to your friends and all those delicious enemies for me to cut down, but instead you’re here clowning around with some childish, pretentious, spineless, massive bitch!”

I see, he thought. You’re jealous.

Something exploded within his psyche. “How could you possibly come to that conclusion? I am focused.”

Uh-huh, right. Sure you are.

With an aggrieved sigh, she retreated back into his subconscious.

“Jack?” said Salia, cocking her head. He realised she’d stopped pinning him, her eyes querying.

“Sorry,” he said. “Lost in thought.”

“What are you thinking about?”

He started. Could he really tell her about the sentient sword who haunted his thoughts, and her belligerence? Probably not.

“Like… the meaning of life, I guess.”

Cupping her chin, she looked up. “What do you think it is?”

“Not sure. What do you think?”

She beamed. “I think we’re here to enrich our souls and learn more about this beautiful world.”

“I see,” he said, frowning. Something seemed off with that statement, but he couldn’t quite see what. “Can I be honest?”

“Yes, please.” She sat cross-legged and faced him, perfectly attentive.

“I think it's all random,” he said. “God didn't put us here with any kind of plan—pretty sure he's winging it like the rest of us. We're just here. That's why we have to make the most of it, to say 'up yours' to a world that don't care.”

Pursing her lips, she regarded him, mouth opening and closing as she considered her words. Eventually, she said, “I never thought of it like that. It seems a little sad.”

“But if we really do have purpose, and there really is a plan, then why does so much awful shit happen?”

She furrowed her brow, saying nothing. Instead, she stroked his hair with a single massive finger.

He felt at ease. As though a phantom waterfall washed away all his worries and insecurities, leaving only the two of them and their tiny slice of Heaven.

“My head hurts,” she finally said. “Can you tell me another story?”

Shrugging, he said, “Sure. This one takes place on the back of a giant turtle…”

***

She squinted. The champion peered out from the arena’s centre, harsh lights burning her retinas. Around her were bleachers, every seat filled by people cheering and whooping, and before her stood a platform. It had seven squares in a line atop it, the outermost each containing a deck of cards. Above these decks were separate zones.

Across from her, around fifteen feet away, stood another woman at a similar platform. She was taller than the champion, and slender, wearing a silver jumpsuit and full-face mask. Another newcomer. But this was the final match, so no matter what, the champion needed to prevail.

Once she won, she’d have the crowd’s full attention, at which point she would announce her request to them all and watch the fireworks. This was the largest gathering she could find, so somebody had to know something.

Defeat, however, would ensure nobody cared to listen to her.

“Finalists, are you ready?” A voice boomed from all corners of the arena. The cheering swelled, and they both nodded. “In that case, the championship match, Judgement vs Dr. Time, begin!”

Wind swirled between them, carrying the hush that had blanketed everything as they stared flatly.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“What’s with that name?” they both said.

The champion’s lip twitched, but she painted on a smile. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter—my King is Cl**d!”

Before her, a shimmer of light erupted from a pair of projectors set into the front of her platform. It solidified into the form of her unit, indistinguishable from flesh. A lawsuit on legs, one might say.

The woman opposite her—Judgement—grunted. “And my King is Starbound Dreamer!”

From the middle of Judgement’s field rose a young girl, almost as short as the champion, with a jumpsuit and brown hair tied in a braid.

“That deck…” said Dr. Time. It seemed familiar to her, but different from anything she knew. Who was Judgement? Why couldn’t the champion shake off the feeling she knew her?

“I’m first,” said Judgement, drawing a card. “I call forth the Instructor servant!” A grizzled old man in a similar jumpsuit appeared next to her King. With a battle power of twenty, it was no joke, plus it had the Guardian ability.

One of her attacks was already sealed.

“Instructor’s skill,” said Judgement. “When he’s called as Starbound Dreamer’s servant, I can add a Unit Boost from my deck to my hand!”

The old man reached out an arm, and Dr. Time grimaced. Unit Boost was an evolution of the game, one of the reasons it had persisted over the centuries: as long as certain conditions were met, it bestowed powerful abilities on units for one turn.

“I add Claim the Stars.” Judgement showed her the card before placing it in her top left zone. “By activating it, I can equip Starbound Dreamer with a Bot-Ship straight from my deck!” Dreamer looked to the sky, watching as a boxy red machine descended. A hatch on the side opened, and she jumped in. “Bot-Ship increases her power by five for each Cyto energy she has. I add two, to increase it to twenty-five, and end my turn.”

Dr. Time smiled. If her opponent couldn’t do this much, it wouldn’t be any fun. She drew her card. Judgement wasn’t the only one with tricks up her sleeve. “I activate the Stronghold card, Seventh Heaven!”

She slapped a card into her top right zone, and the space around their fields morphed into a shabby bar.

“What is this?” asked Judgement, her tone short.

“FF’s greatest strength: teamwork!”

She could have sworn she heard Judgement mumble something like “That’s rich coming from you,” but she was surely mistaken. It was loud, after all.

“Anyway,” she continued, “since Cl**d is my King, I can call the Striker servant from my deck!” Behind the bar, a woman with long hair, a tank top, and a warm smile rose, flipping over to her King’s side. “Plus, I can add a Mako energy to her from my deck.” Striker glowed.

Judgement harrumphed. “And? Dreamer’s current power is twenty-five, and I have a guardian unit anyway. What can you do?”

“Just watch. Tif—uh, Striker’s skill, Unbridled Strength! As long as she holds a Mako energy, her power rises by five, making twenty.” The woman flexed her hands, punching the air.

“It’s not enough.”

“We’ll see. I add another two energies to Striker, then attack your Instructor!”

Judgement raised an eyebrow. “But their power is the same—you’ll just destroy them both!”

“Don’t be so sure,” said Dr. Time, grinning. “When Seventh Heaven is active, my FF units can’t be destroyed by units with the same power!”

“What?”

Striker glowed, battering Instructor with arms and legs blurring through the air until he dissipated.

“Striker’s skill,” said Dr. Time. “When her attack hits, I can expend any number of Mako energy to increase her power by five times the number expended, and attack again!” Her power rocketed to thirty, and she rushed for the ship.

A flurry of punches and kicks dented the metal, dropping Judgement’s life points to fifteen.

“I end my turn,” she said, feeling smug. First blood was hers, and she’d only get more terrifying.

So why did her opponent seem to have a fire surrounding her?

In the stands, Lizzie palmed her face, Dr. Wen next to her glued to the proceedings.

“Really?” she said, “this is where we’re endin’ the scene? Really?”

***

Jack leaned down to the bowl—which was more like a bathtub—and slurped his soup. They’d tried to craft him a regular-sized spoon, but it always snapped in her fingers, and was still around the size of his forearm. It was fine like this, anyway. As long as he didn’t fall in again.

The soup was earthy and fragrant, clear and glossy with a note of onion. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting when he’d seen them, but bulbs that could sink the Titanic weren't it.

“So,” said Salia, flecks of soup glossing her lips, “why was Vimes so obsessed with boots, again?”

Jack sighed, giving her a half-smile. “It wasn’t the boots; it was the system. The boots are just an example of how the poor are forced to overspend on low-quality goods to get by, while the rich can buy good things and not have to worry.”

“Interesting.” She cocked her head with narrow eyes, her skull seeming to whir. “I don’t really get it, though—why doesn’t everyone share?”

“Because some of us are greedy.”

“Oh,” she said. Shrugging, she returned her attention to him, deep green eyes peering over him. Sometimes, he felt the urge to go swimming in them. “Well, that must be a problem.”

The disconnected tone, the way she didn’t seem to understand. It finally hit him.

Obviously the two had grown closer, but aside from that, had anything really changed since he arrived? For either of them? Sure, it was comfortable, almost like paradise, but there was no challenge. No struggle. No enrichment.

“It took you long enough.”

Comfort, he decided, wasn’t even a double-edged sword—it was more like a bear trap, lulling you in before capturing you in endless stagnation. Maybe an immortal giant wouldn’t notice, but he did. He couldn’t stay in this fantasy forever.

He had to find a way home.

“Salia,” he said, stepping back, “I need to go.”

A humongous clattering erupted as she dropped her spoon on the table. “You mean…”

Nodding, he breathed deeply. “Yeah.”

“You’re leaving me?” she asked, eyes quivering.

He shook his head, extending a hand. “No. Come with me; the world might have its shitty parts, but there’s parts that are breathtaking, too. Stuff everyone deserves to see.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

She looked down, clenching a fist. “The humans. They call me a monster, stab at me, chase me… even all the way up here, they still haunt me. Do you think I haven’t been down there before? That I’ve spent my entire life up here? This was my escape from their hatred, a paradise just for me.” Levelling her gaze on him, she fixed him with eyes that melted his heart. “And I want to share it with you.”

“I get it,” he said, averting his eyes. People ganging up on her, making her life a misery—it sounded like some of the treatment Hannah received. The kind of ignorance that had turned Derren Chan and Lawrence Crispley into monsters.

But it wasn’t everyone.

“You’re scared.”

She shook, gritting her teeth. “Maybe I am, but so what!” Her voice boomed, the wind threatening to take him from his feet. “Will you tell me to be brave, to have courage and everything will be fine? Every piece of courage I’ve ever had has been thrown back in my face. It always ends the same way, so—”

“Blah blah blah, do you hear yourself?” Heat rushed from his chest to his cheeks, and he wasn’t sure why. What made him so impassioned? One thing he knew, though, was something had to change. “‘They’re just gonna pick on me’, ‘it’s always the same’, all you’re doing is making excuses!

“Yeah, maybe it’s safe up here, and maybe you don’t have to worry, but what challenges are there in perfection? How are you supposed to grow? To learn and enrich your soul? Every day, people struggle and that struggle makes them change, so how can you assume it’ll go the same way if you don’t even try? This isn’t a paradise you’ve built for yourself—it’s a cage made of your own fear.”

Her eyes wide, she thumped the table, the shaking akin to an earthquake that sent him scrambling to escape the spilled soup.

“You don’t understand anything!”

“More than you think,” he said, fighting the urge to curl in a ball and hide. Across from him, she seethed, red-faced and tense.

“You should write a book,” said Razor, sounding smug. “You could call it ‘How to Go From Dinner Guest to Ingredient’.”

Now is not the time!

A gargantuan tear fell from her face as she turned away. “Get out.”

He nodded. “If that’s what you want.” His heart twisted and tore, but he leaped off the table anyway. He’d wanted her to come with him, more than he’d realised. As he reached the door, he turned back with a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry.”

She said nothing.