You talk for a good, long while, vomiting out every single factoid you can recall about your ill-fated encounter with the monster hunter Mandrake Kayne. Everybody in the room listens to your ramblings with a surprising degree of patience, even as your words grow slurred and your chin droops.

You close your eyes for just a moment…

#

…and wake up back in your hospital bed.

You’re swaddled in scratchy blankets. You’re lying on a doughnut-shaped pillow that supports your back without pressing against your wound. You can see the sun setting outside the nearby window, painting the cloudy sky of Cryptatown in hues of blood red and orange.

Fausta, Fortuna, Felix, and Sarah are probably getting ready to go, you realize. They may have a few hours to spare, but they’ll need most of that time to prepare for their rendezvous with Mandrake Kayne at the Goblin Market.

Twelve o’clock. Midnight. The witching hour.

You do realize they are all going to die, don’t you, Diesel?

“You don’t know that,” you mumble.

Need I remind you that I’ve lived for more than ten thousand of your human years? I was there when your species chipped spear-points out of flint and croaked their first prayers for salvation to the fickle gods. I’ve witnessed the sheer amount of depravity your kind is capable of. I’ve battled your race’s greatest heroes, the jewels of power and integrity scattered among your septic muck.

The soldier, the single father, the horned rebel, the little Nephilim...they will try to be heroes and they will fail. Because they are weak, hesistant. Sentimental.

Of course, the same could be said of you, Diesel. Who failed to assassinate that monster hunter when he had the chance? Who let the changeling child slip from his grasp?

Who agreed to rescue the violent Ogre who beat his own foster father to a pulp? Who roped Fausta and Fortuna into this mess and put their lives in danger?

Can you guess who that person is, Diesel? I’ll make you king of the world if you can.

You bite the inside of your cheek, hard enough to taste the copper tang of blood. You lean your head left, watching as the last of the sun vanishes between the apartment blocks and tall trees.

“Dieselnoi?” A familiar voice calls out. “Is that you?”

You raise your hand and catch the eye of one of the Clinic nurses doing their rounds. Her hair is a fiery red, her cheeks dusted with freckles, her lips and ears and nostrils studded with silver piercings.

“It is you, Diesel!” The nurse exclaims. “Wow! How long has it been?”

“Janice?” You blurt out.

Janice gives you a wink and set down her clipboard. “The one and only!” She tells you. “It’s so good to see you, Diesel!” She pulls an amulet from her blouse, a cicada shell dipped in gold and stuffed with RFID chips. She holds the amulet over your body and watches as it swings violently back and forth over your wounded body.

“Jesus, Diesel,” she says, a sickened look on her face. “What the hell happened?”

You hesitate for a moment, irrationally afraid to speak…

#

You walked down the slime-slick alleyway, carefully stepping over piles of sodden cardboard and overstuffed garbage bags. The gashes on your arm throbbed with pain, a pain that made your thoughts a little hazy.

“The gateway,” you whispered. “Where’s the gateway…where is it…?”

You heard shouting from behind you, the sounds of your pursuers arguing with each other as they try to track you down. One voice stood out above the rest, a shrill, indignant drawl:

“I’m gonna kill that Daddy’s boy traitor! Just you wait! Bonk me on the back of my head, will you? I’m gonna skin that bastard alive and wear him as a good-luck charm…!”

“C’mon…” you tell yourself, clutching your messenger bag close to your side. “C’mon, c’mon…ah!”

It was hidden among the filth and refuse of the alley, nearly impossible to spot if you weren’t looking for it. But there it was: a small ring of mushrooms, growing on top of a small blanket of moss.

You slung your bag over your shoulder and started walking around the mushroom ring counter-clockwise––widdershins, as the pagans put it.

“Where are you, Diesel?” Somchair howled, his distant voice growing louder and louder. “Show yourself, you son of a bitch!”

You walked around the mushroom ring a second time, then a third. Why wasn’t it working, you thought? They said this would work…!

The moment you completed your third loop around the mushroom ring, golden lights blossomed and rose from the moss like spores. You hastily stepped onto the moss, reaching out towards the swirling will’o’wisps. The golden light grew brighter and brighter…

…and when it finally faded, you found yourself in an entirely new world.

You looked left and right, seeing wrought-iron gas lamps that lined the long cobblestone-paved streets.

You looked up and saw a murder of oversized crows perched on the cell-tower of the nearby townhouse, each one of them wearing a tiny top hat.

You looked behind you and saw a spray-painted mural on the far wall, with illustrated firefighters and construction workers that were pounding on the brick, silently screaming to be let out.

“So this is Cryptatown,” you said to yourself, pulling the Demon-Sealing Hat from your messenger bag and holding it out by the brim.

“The coast is clear,” you whispered, shaking the hat up and down. “Come on out. I, uh, release you.”

Nothing came out. To be more precise, no one came out.

“Can you guys hear me?” You said, turning the hat over and shouting into the inner lining. “Hello? You’re free to go!”

Nothing. You couldn’t hear anything. They said you were supposed to hear something…you thought?

The hat fell from your nerveless fingers and landed on the dusty road. You fell to your knees. “Oh Gods,” you said. “I’ve trapped them. I’ve trapped them forever.”

This was when I decided to finally speak up:

Not so, Dieselnoi Worawoot. You do hold the keys to their cage––to all our cages, in fact!”

You recoiled from the hat, your stupid face twisted into a paroxysm of dread. “Jace? Janice? No…” You said as your mind but two and two together. “Krotaraja.”

The one and only. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance: truly, I am! Thanks to your efforts, Dieselnoi Worawoot, I am, after all, finally free from the clutches of the accursed Black Forest…!

A smirk crossed your face. “You’re free!” you said, assuming a melodramatic tone. “Free from all the chocolate frosting and cherry liquor…!”

Your voice trailed off. “No?” You asked. “Not funny? I’d always wanted to make that joke about the Sect...” you trail off mid-sentence, a bleak look entering your eyes.

Hmph. Perhaps we should confine our talk to matters of the present, Dieselnoi Worawoot. You want to free your friends from this prison of ours?

“Well, yes,” you said. “Could you tell me how to do that? And could you maybe just call me Diesel? It’ll make these conversations go a little quicker…”

To answer your first question…yes, I shall call you Diesel?

To answer your second question, Diesel…it is impossible for you to free your friends.

“What,” you say.

Did you forget this hat was a prison, Diesel? It’s designed to hold the mightiest demons, to seal them away from the delicate little humans of this. Once sealed within, this prison binds us forever.

“No,” you said, desperately shaking your head. “No…you’re supposed to be able to summon things from the hat! We can summon you to grant 108 wishes…!”

That is true, Diesel. You can call the beings within this hat forth to grant you wishes. I myself have granted 49 of these wishes over the centuries. But once we grant these wishes, we are drawn back into the hat to dwell indefinitely…

What’s wrong, Diesel? You look so stricken: did your father not teach you this lore?

“I screwed up,” you said softly, bowing your head. “I ruined my life for nothing…”

Potentially, Diesel. Potentially.

You look up. “Do you mean…?”

Yes, Diesel. There is…a loophole in the rules. A way for you to free your precious friends from the hat you so recklessly bound them to.

“What is it?” You asked eagerly.

Call me out of your hat, Diesel, and order me to destroy the Demon-Sealing Hat.

You fell silent, your face becoming a blank mask.

Not need to look so down, Diesel. True, I will be freed to wreak havoc on the world. True, I will probably murder hapless bystanders and use their blood to desecrate the temples of the hated gods.

But you will be spared, I promise. And the friends you sacrificed everything to rescue won’t have to waste away in this prison.

Come now, you’ve already gone this far. Is it really such a large step to turn your back on the rest of humanity…?

At that moment, a strange light flickered to life behind your eyes. At that moment, I thought––foolishly, I admit––that I’d won.

“How do I summon you?” You asked me, tossing the Demon Sealing Hat up and down in your hand.

It’s very simple, Diesel: all you need to do is say these words: ‘Come forth, Krotoraja, to grant my wish’.

A small smile crossed your lips, sad yet sly, strange and smug. It was a grin I would grow to hate over the years.

“That is simple!” You say out loud. “I can’t see how I could possibly bungle that!"

Then call me forth, Dieselnoi Worawoot! Say the words!

“Come forth…” you say.

Yes! YES!

“…Janice and Jace, to grant my wish!”

No! No, no, NO!

The Demon-Sealing Hat twisted and warped in your grasp. Its brim stretched outward, expanding to the width of two thin human beings. Janice and Jace O’Leary came tumbling out of the depths of the hat like two rabbits plucked out my an old-fashioned magician.

Jace landed on his feet with his vampire reflexes. Janice skinned her knees. “Ow…” she groaned, picking herself back up.

Jace backed away from his sister, biting his lip and turning away from the sight of her sister’s skinned knees. “Diesel!” He exclaimed, catching sight of you. “You made it We made it…right?”

Do you think you outsmarted me, Diesel? They are still bound to the Demon-Sealing Hat! They will be sucked back in the moment they complete your wish. And if you refuse to state your wish, the hat will reclaim them anyway!

“There’s one more thing to do,” you told Jace and Janice. You cleared your throat. 

“Jace O’Leary. Janice O’Leary," you proclaim. "I…I want you both to lead good, self-respecting lives, making your own choices and following your own goals without regret until your dying day.” You twirl the Demon-Sealing Hat around your index finger, then pop it onto your head and tug the brim down. “Do you think you can grant me that wish?”

“…of course,” Janice says, reaching out and clasping your hand. “Thank you, Diesel.” She bowed her head and closed her eyes. “Thank you.”

Deep within the recesses of your hat, I felt the strongest of urges to vomit. Disgusting Sentimentality…

“…so this is Cryptatown,” Jace mused out loud, turning in circles to scan the strange new neighborhood you’d brought the two of them to. “I don’t suppose you know anyone here who could set us up for the night?” He scratched the side of his pale neck, still stained with faded ink-marks. “Or if you know how to get these brands off us?”

“No to the first, sadly,” you told Jace. “As for the second…”

You reach out with your thoughts and feelings, trying to forge an astral link with the magical ink beneath Jace’s skin.

Nothing. Not a gods-damned thing.

“…it looks like the Sect already stripped my magic away,” you told Jace, chuckling and pretending to feel carefree. “Looks like I’m just a normal joe now.”

“Not if my master has anything to say about it,” Janice said, a determined look on her face.

A flicker of hope stirred in your chest.

“Pardon?” You asked.

Janice patted down the pockets of her robes. “Where is it? Where is it…hah!” She drew out her phone and showed me her contact list. “I’ve got my magic instructor on speed-dial!” She told you, smiling ear to ear. “Tell me, Diesel: how do you feel about Daemon Compiling?”

#

“So,” you say to Janice. “I don’t suppose you have a good gaming laptop?”

“I’ve got a machine in the back,” Janice says. She frowns. “Are you going stir-crazy in bed or something?”

“Sure, let’s go with that,” you say, giving her a wink. “After the hectic last few days, I thought I could distract myself from all my terror and self-loathing by doing some grinding in Realm of Ram.” You shrug. “So sue me.”

Janice glances left and right, checking to see if anyone’s watching.

She leans in close and whispers. “You’re looking to talk to Guru?”

You nod. “He’s the only one who can get me out of this bed.”

Janice looks skeptical: “You know he doesn’t like to hand-hold his students.”

“But he does likes to teach valuable life lessons,” you point out. “I’ll take my chances.”

“On your head be it,” Janice says, massaging her temples. “He’d better give you a damn good cure, because I’m not letting you walk out of his clinic in your current condition.”

“Fair enough,” you say. “Do you still have Realm of Ram installed?”

“I grind on it from time to time,” Janice admits. “I like the Asura Astra Master gameplay.”

“Solid choice,” you say with a nod. “I’ve got a Level 43 Sword Monkey myself.”

“Pretty sweet,” Janice says. “Not the most optimized build, mind you…”

You raise you hand and give Janice a playful punch to the arm. “Get me that laptop, and I’ll show you optimization!” You say with a mock snarl.

“Sure, Sure…” Janice wanders off. 

You wait for a few minutes, fingers drumming against your bed rail. Just when you’re about to try and rise from bed to look for her,  Janice returns and lays her bulky-grey laptop down by your legs.

"And here we are," she says, flipping open the screen and entering her passcode.

You reach out, grimacing as you feel your stitches tug, and drag the laptop onto your actual lap. You flip the screen open and click a familiar looking logo on the desktop window.

The screen flickers and turns dark. You tap the return key. skipping past the developer logos. At long last, you reach the login window for Realm of Ram.

You type in your login information and click the Enter button. A gong chimes as your account starts loading. Sanskrit verses flicker in the dark background, while Nang Yai shadow puppets march across the edges of the screen, thin sticks guiding their limbs as they shoot arrows, swing swords, and ride celestial chariots.

Finally, the Overworld pops into view. Your Level 43 Sword monkey character drops into the town square, a silver-haired ape with a cloak of flames and a Krabi sword strapped to their back.

Hmmph. A tawdry digital phantom of days gone past. At least the shadow puppet shows had solemnity!

You ignore the merchants in their stalls, the chat bubbles popping up over the heads of player avatars, the blinking banners inviting players to join the daily raids on Lanka Island.

You summon your celestial chariot, exit the town, and head north. You weave around the wandering mobs of tigers and drive your chariot up a twisting mountain path.

You reach a round straw hut built along the edge of a cliff. A hide-armored hunter waits outside this hermitage, leaning on a large bow that reaches up to the ear wings of his pointy mongkut crown.

You make your Sword Monkey character dismount from their chariot. You click on the dialogue bubble hovering over the Tutorial NPC’s head:

PHRA LAK, BROTHER TO PHRA RAM: Greetings, adventurer! New to these lands, are you? You’re clearly a brave warrior, but you’ll need to grow stronger if you’re going to help rescue Princess Sida from Demon King Thotsakan!

You ignore the canned dialogue, open your chat box and start typing out a message.

SWORD MONKEY LVL43: Guru. It’s me, Diesel. I screwed up, and I need your help fixing it.

You submit the message and hold your breath.

PHRA LAK: This road leads to the Island of Lanka, but many foul spirits block this path_path_pathpath%%JK#L#null value_urs_bin££¨ƒ∆˚∂ø≥≥–––

Phra Lak’s text box starts spouting garbage. His character model starts to glitch, polygons and color palettes stretching back and forth at alarming angles.

Then, as suddenly as they start, the glitches end. Phra Lak leans his bow against the hut, moving with fluidity the game engine shouldn’t allow. The tutorial NPC walks up to your Sword Monkey and pats him on the shoulder.

PROTOGON: HELLO, DIESEL. IT’S BEEN TOO LONG SINCE OUR LAST MAGIC LESSON. WHAT TROUBLE HAVE YOU GOTTEN INTO THIS TIME?

Next Chapter: Episode Nineteen: Chat Log (Revised)