Various strange symbols written in fluorescent reds and yellows, pinks, and greens illuminated the walls. Hastily sketched eyeballs, skulls, and toothy maws leered at them from all sides. The markings looked like they'd been spray-painted on, but there were also alien words and unintelligible symbols scattered here and there. The latter were actually carved into the walls and filled with paint.
Whenever Pete looked at any of the carved words, he felt a distracting itching sensation at the base of his neck, and his stomach began to churn. He looked away several times and then back again at the carved markings, confirming the same nausea and uneasy itching each time.
"What the hell is this now?" Sam asked, looking left and right.
"A tunnel," Coop replied dryly.
"Tunnel with freaky-ass walls," Pete said, blinking and shaking his head. "You guys get a weird feeling whenever you look at that writing?"
Sam snorted. "I've had a weird feeling since I woke up yesterday morning and found out aliens had invaded and the human race was screwed."
Pete shook his head. "No, I mean specifically the writing there. Those weird symbols that have been carved into the rock."
She turned to look in the direction he was pointing, then shook her head. "Just looks like alien writing to me, but no weirder than anything else down here."
Pete turned to Coop, who shook her ferret head. "I'm not getting anything strange either."
He looked back at the goblins, who were all staring out of the open door of the RV.
"Looks like it's written in Snarc," Grizzle said, squinting. "But it's a very old version, and it's difficult to translate."
"Snarc?" Pete asked.
"Goblin speak," Craig answered. "The most common goblin tongue used throughout the Dominion. It's our oldest root language as well. Most of us use a modern version of it. That's what I'm speaking right now; it's just that your Translation Matrix is turning it into a language you can understand."
Pete nodded, watching as Grizzle stared out of the door, trying to decipher the words that were whizzing past.
"Something to do with time and danger," she said. "Or perhaps darkness. As I said, this is an archaic version of the language, so it's very difficult to translate accurately."
Pete turned back, looking down at the race map.
"Looks like this tunnel runs in a straight line right up to the Novice Arena or close to it."
Sam shook her head. "Why the hell would an obstacle provide a shortcut to the end of the race? Doesn't make any sense."
"Maybe it was a bluff?" Coop suggested. "They spent the first few obstacles softening us up and then making this one seem like it's going to be the worst one yet, but it's just a bluff. Whoever is brave enough to face the hardest challenge gets a fast path to the end."
Pete screwed up his face. "Can't be, can it, Nero?"
[Nero] It is extremely unlikely. Shortcuts typically have to be earned by more than simply bravery. Most require a good deal of coin and have to be purchased.
"Then what the hell is this?" Sam asked.
>> WARNING: ENTERING TEMPORAL SLOW ZONE
The area up ahead has been intentionally slowed in relation to regular Dominion Ultrimax Contest time. All race conditions and penalties will be suspended for the duration of your time within this final obstacle.
"Okay," Pete said, scratching his chin. "That's even weirder."
The RV started to slow as a series of large, strong bollards came into view, blocking the tunnel up ahead. Sam brought the RV right up to the line of short columns, and the Winnebago stopped.
She turned to Pete. "Any ideas?"
Before he could answer, a neon message appeared above the bollards, hovering in the air in bright pink writing.
>> WELCOME TO THE TONGSLY BELCH SHADOWFANG UNDERCROFT GALLERY
You will be required to continue on foot. Your vehicle will be picked up and deposited at the end of the gallery. Please refrain from taking pictures or using recording devices of any kind to record images or footage of the artwork. Failure to adhere to this request will result in immediate death by disintegration.
"A gallery?" Coop mused. "Right in the middle of a race?"
"Any ideas, Nero?" Pete asked.
[Nero] I am not familiar with this gallery, no. I would suggest, however, that the name Tongsly Belch has been used here out of respect rather than designating any legitimate ownership of the enterprise. It is common for NPCs who are responsible for building contest challenges to name them after our benefactor.
"But you've never heard of this gallery before?" Pete pressed.
[Nero] I have not.
Pete turned to face the goblins. "What about you guys?"
They shook their heads.
"Guess we have to leave the car then," Sam mused as bright green arrows were illuminated on the road up ahead, leading through the bollards and into the darkness beyond."
"Guess so," Pete agreed.
They all stepped out of the RV and made their way up to the holographic greeting.
>> Please proceed and follow the arrows to the sorting area where you will be divided into tour groups and allowed to explore the museum.
Pete shook his head as they walked forward. "This is a joke, right? It has to be. Fuck! My mom is up there somewhere, dangling over that fucking acid pool, and they want us to go sight-seeing in a fucking gallery?"
He checked his display and noted a small version of the race map in the top right corner of his HUD. It suggested that everything was as it had been, except that the green square indicating the other driver in the race was sitting dead still and the square that indicated the RV was completely missing.
[Nero] I can confirm, Pete, that you have entered a temporal pocket wherein time moves at an entirely different pace compared to the outside world. Hours may pass in this place while only a single second passes above. Your mother is in precisely the same location she was in when you first entered this tunnel. She has not yet fallen to touch the acid.
Pete nodded, forcing his fists to unclench. "Okay, thanks, Nero. I appreciate it."
They walked together past the stone bollards and toward a raised circular section of the tunnel that looked a little like an old-fashioned well. Instead of being hollow at the center, however, the circular stone block had a shallow, perfectly even depression, and there were three oversized playing cards placed face down at its center.
The tunnel ended in a curved section of wall that ran around the rear side of the open chamber, reaching an apparent dead end. Pete turned back, catching sight of the RV and wondering how the designers of this particular encounter were going to get the vehicle all the way to the Novice Arena. He shook his head as he recognized the stupidity of that question. They were smack bang in the middle of an intergalactic death contest run by money-crazed goblins from across the other side of the universe and beyond. Shifting a beat-up RV from one place to another hardly seemed like a big ask.
As they moved closer, the dimensions of the cards on the circular plinth seemed to increase. At first, Pete had thought they were around half a foot in length, but as he drew up to the stone plinth, he saw that each of the cards was at least twice that size.
The back of the cards displayed an image of a grinning goblin that Pete assumed was Tongsly Belch. The grinning face was capped by the broad hat the baron was typically portrayed in, and his face was festooned with gems and jewelry of all kinds. The image was printed in red ink, drawn in a line art style that reminded Pete of classic playing card designs.
>> Please flip the cards over to reveal your tour groups. Once groups have been decided, you must pair off and follow the relevant arrow that indicates your tour path. The color of this arrow will be the same as your card.
The group stood staring down at the cards, with Coop sitting on Pete's shoulder. There was a palpable sense of distrust in the air. Pete expected poison darts to come shooting out from the walls or a giant axe to swing down the moment he turned over one of the cards, and he could tell that the others were just as suspicious.
Craig and his goblin companions looked like they'd been through a war, and Pete's clothes were badly stained and torn. Only Sam seemed relatively unscathed by the events that had transpired thus far. She still wore her trucker's cap, the beak split by a golden Belch Buck that was wedged in place on its left side.
Despite the fact that they were in some kind of time pocket, Pete was still eager to get back to the top and rescue his mother. He leaned forward and picked up the leftmost card.
"Wait!" Sam said, looking left and right.
She whispered some strange words, and the smell of old eggs suddenly filled the area. A moment later, Wolfy appeared, swirling crimson eyes looking up at his mistress with obvious delight.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
"Just in case," Sam said.
Craig pulled out his rifle, while Grizzle held her holy book out in front like a shield. Torgo seemed content simply to stand with one finger up his left nostril, furiously digging away as though the most profound questions of the cosmos could be answered if only he dug far enough.
"Alright, here goes," Pete said, turning the card over.
An image was sketched in green, showing Sam, her newly summoned wolf, and Grizzle in a heroic pose. Pete stepped back, looking around the tunnel. Nothing stirred in the darkness around them, but a green arrow appeared to the left side, pointing down on the wall. There was a scraping sound as part of the wall slid downward to reveal an arched opening. The group watched as the dark stone continued to fall, revealing a corridor that was lit from below by green strip lighting.
Pete moved to the second card and picked it up. He turned it over, revealing a line-art drawing of Torgo and Coop standing back-to-back and surrounded by swirling lines of magic. Immediately after the card was turned, a second corridor opened up on the opposite wall with a neon blue arrow pointing at it from above.
Without hesitation, Coop scurried down from Pete's shoulder and padded over to Torgo.
"Looks like it's you and me, fire boy," the ferret said. "We'll get along just fine as long as you don't go pointing those flames my way."
Torgo grinned, nodding.
Sam shot Pete a worried look.
[Sam-Private-Pete] I'm guessing we're going to have to do some fighting during whatever the hell this is. You think those two will be okay?
[Pete-Private-Sam] Coop's a pretty solid tank, and Torgo can do some damage. They're definitely the two wildcards of the group, but I think they can handle themselves.
She nodded as Pete moved to the final card. The truth was, he wasn't at all confident that Coop and Torgo would make a good pair. The goblin was a half-crazed firebug that didn't speak, and while Coop had proven herself remarkably adept in a fight, she'd primarily fought alongside Pete, and he'd been able to take care of the damage dealing. It wasn't as if he could do anything about the situation, though, and there was no telling that Sam and Grizzle or he and Craig wouldn't have their own problems to deal with. There was also nothing about this obstacle so far that hinted at what kind of danger they would be facing.
He flipped the card over, revealing an image in crimson of Pete and Craig standing together with drawn weapons. The wall behind the stone circle opened up, revealing the third and final corridor with a bright red arrow pointing down above it.
>> Please proceed to your designated tour entry point. Once you have reached the gallery proper, an individual tour guide will be assigned to each group. Those of you who survive the exhibit will meet at the end of the gallery and can then reenter the surface and rejoin the race.
"Well, that's menacing," Sam said. "Those of us who survive?"
Pete nodded. "We should stay in touch. Keep comms open. Maybe, if one of our groups makes it to the end, we could double back and help the others?"
Sam and Grizzle nodded, though the look on their faces suggested a clear lack of confidence in his suggestion. Group by group, they made their way to their respective corridor entrances, each turning to face the others before stepping inside.
Pete and Craig walked beneath the red arrow and into a thin corridor that led in a straight line to a chamber up ahead, which was illuminated with soft crimson light.
"You've got some heals, right?" Pete asked.
The little goblin nodded. "Of a sort. I can lend you some of my own health. I lose fifteen percent and you gain ten percent. Like back in the RV."
"Shit! Fifteen percent. Okay, so that's a last resort. I've got my Red Ledger Settle the Books heal, but that will only work for me, and I can't use it yet because it's got a twenty-four-hour cooldown."
Craig nodded. "I also have a passive buff whenever we are within range of one another. You'll get +5% attack power and +5% lifesteal for every attack."
"Lifesteal. Okay, that's good. We've both got a medkit each in case we really get into the shit as well."
They continued on through the corridor as the light from the chamber up ahead grew steadily brighter.
>> NEW TOUR GROUP CREATED
+| Pete Harrison
+| [Craig] Cragmire Gaul
>> A tour guide has been assigned and is waiting in the gallery antechamber.
Pete pulled the machete from his inventory, reasoning that trying to use the bow in such cramped quarters wouldn't be a good idea. Then again, the size of the machete made it quite unwieldy as well. Craig pulled out a dagger and crouched low as they moved on.
A dagger. That was a much better idea, but he'd been fighting with the oversized machete for a while now and had grown comfortable with its weight and length. His increased strength and high agility also made the weapon much easier to use than it had been when he'd first acquired it.
[Pete] Just checking in. How is everyone doing?
No reply was forthcoming.
[Pete] Guys? Can anyone hear this?
Again, there was no reply.
"It seems we are cut off from one another," Craig said. "I could hear, of course, but we are technically still in a party together."
Pete brought up the party controls on his display and saw that the party had indeed shifted to just include Craig and him.
[Pete-Private-Sam] You there, Sam?
She didn't reply.
"Fuck! Okay, so we're all on our own then."
"Seems so, yes."
"Nero, can you give us any more info?" Pete asked. "Nero?"
Craig shook his head, the worried expression on his face taking on demonic features as the faint crimson light lit him from below.
"As you say, Pete, we are on our own."
Pete wasn't convinced that Nero had been particularly helpful thus far anyway, but there was something comforting about having the AI around. It provided a sense of stability to the contest experience, a sense that there was always something to hold onto, some logical voice that could be relied upon to provide detailed, if largely unhelpful, information.
Walking through the tunnel with no AI tutor and cut off from their fellow players, Pete felt half blind. At least he wasn't completely alone, though. Craig walked warily behind him, scanning the darkness up ahead, eyes half-lidded as he held the knife out to one side. The little goblin looked like he knew how to use that blade, but Pete ignored his impulse to ask. This wasn't the time for a casual chat, and the hair on the back of his neck suggested that danger lay up ahead.
"Come, come, little pets!" a voice chirped from the crimson chamber.
The high-pitched voice caught Pete by surprise, and both he and Craig stopped, staring at one another in confusion.
"There is much to see, and my services are not cheap, I'll have you know."
Slowly, the pair continued making their way to the chamber as the high-pitched speaker continued.
"Fifty thousand Belch Bucks per hour, on top of my attendance fee, and it's a bargain at that price, believe me. Being dragged away from the glories of Opulon to take part in this barbaric contest... If it weren't for the fact that Spanksie determined these grubby walls worthy of his art, I'd never have come. Even if they'd offered three times the price."
As Pete stepped into the circular chamber, he and Craig were cloaked in crimson light rising from hundreds of glowing stones that were embedded in the floor of the chamber and covered over by a transparent, glass-like substance. A small goblin figure sat on a director's chair on the right side of the room, his legs dangling down and barely reaching halfway to the floor.
Pete turned to the figure, frowning in an effort to comprehend what he was looking at. The goblin was dressed in a tight-fitting white suit with golden pinstripes running down and a bird symbol of some sort picked out in pearlescent white and gold on both lapels. He wore what must have been a wig, boasting luscious golden curls that sprouted from the top of his green head and flowed like a waterfall down his shoulders and back. Instead of brash jewels and rings, the figure wore no adornments on his face and had only a single earring in his left ear, which looked identical to the bird icon on his lapels.
The strange figure also held a walking stick with a glossy white shaft and golden birds circling its length. He grinned as he caught sight of Pete and Craig, stretching his hands out wide to reveal that he was wearing a long jacket over the top of a waistcoat, shirt, trousers, and golden suspenders.
"At last! The Vault Breaker himself, and his stalwart companion." The figure stared at Craig, clearly not knowing his name.
"Craig," Pete offered.
"But of course," the white-clad figure said with a broad smile. "More importantly, my name is Silkfeather. It is no exaggeration to inform you that I am the most distinguished art critic in the Dominion."
The little goblin gracefully slid down out of his chair, glossy white boots hitting the floor as he held the walking stick in his right hand.
"I offer this information so that you may understand the significance of this occasion and afford me the basic kindness of keeping up as we make our way through the gallery."
>> NON PLAYER CAPITALIST: Silkfeather
TYPE: Humanoid (goblin)
ROLE: Master Art Critic, Cultural Authority
ALIGNMENT: Capitalist (Dominion-Registered)
>> DESCRIPTION
Silkfeather is the most revered and feared art critic in the Dominion. Named after the legendary silkfeather bird of his distant homeworld, a creature of immaculate white plumage that glides the upper atmosphere and touches the ground only once every decade to breed, he has adopted its symbolism as his personal brand: aloof, elegant, and unapproachable.
Boasting a unique head of silky golden hair (transplanted and fixed in place hair by hair at excessive expense), Silkfeather moves with a practiced grace that suggests weightlessness. His voice is soft, but every word lands with lethal precision. Merchants, creators, collectors, and nobles alike court his approval; a single positive review can make a fortune, while a negative one can financially ruin an entire guild.
>> PASSIVE ABILITIES
+| Aura of Prestige (Passive):
All nearby players and NPCs experience a +20% increase to Social Anxiety and a -15% decrease to Bargaining Efficiency unless they possess the Artisan, Collector, or Wealthborn traits.
+| Eye of Perfect Form (Passive):
Automatically identifies object authenticity, restoration attempts, forgeries, and hidden signatures within a 30-foot radius.
>> ACTIVE ABILITIES
+| Critique of Ruin (Active):
Target item or artwork suffers a Market Value decrease of up to 80% for 72 hours. Affected sellers receive a Reputation Debuff: "Publicly Embarrassed by Silkfeather."
+| Subtle Endorsement (Active):
Bestows a Market Value increase of 150% to a chosen item for 24 hours. Collectors swarm the item's owner, generating bidding wars and potential quests.
Silkfeather was already walking toward an archway that had opened on one side of the chamber. Unlike the dull crimson light that filled the circular room, the corridor was filled with bright light, revealing plain stone walls sitting around six feet apart as the hall stretched off into the distance.
Unsure what to do other than follow, Pete and Craig strode after the little figure. Pete turned, motioning to his own hair as he looked down at Craig. The other goblin shrugged.
[Craig-Private-Pete] I've never seen anything like that in my life! We goblins don't have hair. Not on the top of our heads anyway. It's...weird.
[Pete-Private-Craig] This whole fucking thing is weird. Just keep your eyes open. There has to be more to this than a stupid gallery.
The passage widened out after a little while into a broader, rectangular, gallery-style room with various large paintings laid out on the walls. Rather than being painted on canvas, the art pieces were held on various slabs of rock and concrete that looked like they'd been carved out of their original location and had been placed in the gallery.
There were huge stone slabs that looked like slates of some kind, a marble block, and even one section of a large concrete tube, which had been cut in half. Each painting featured gruesome-looking creatures portrayed in the thick of battle and marked out with vibrant, fluorescent paint. The low light in the chamber only served to emphasize the vibrant colors in each painting, making them seem like they could come to life at any moment.
"Here now, we have a selection of Spanksie's early work," Silkfeather said, grinning as he twirled around and took in the six pieces of artwork that lined the walls. "Each was painted in situ, at various locations throughout the Dominion, in those cities that were dealing with rebellions and civil unrest."
Pete walked over to the closest painting and examined the vast portrait. It showed a large, multi-headed beast with bright green tentacles whipping about and lashing out at enemy soldiers dressed in drab gray uniforms and firing guns. Explosions filled the background of the painting, along with hundreds of dead bodies littering the ground, while individual gunfights took place to the left and right.
The scene appeared to take place at a dock of some kind, with shimmering green water in the near distance. Water dripped off the vast sea beast as it lashed its tentacles about, bulbous eyes gazing down at the enemy forces with kraken hatred. A small cluster of what Pete took to be rebel fighters stood in front of the vast creature, protected lovingly by its coiled tentacles.
"Seven Scenes of Monstrous Vengeance," Silkfeather went on as he walked up beside Pete and Craig. "That's what this particular series is called. There are, of course, more than two dozen images in the series, so the Seven is misleading, but Spanksie was fond of such contradictions."
"It's...beautiful," Craig said, eyes wide as he drank in the painting. "I've never seen anything like it."
Silkfeather nodded, a grin spreading across his face. "Unsurprising. All of these particular pieces have been deemed heretical. Displaying the works in public would ordinarily be a criminal offense."
"Why are we looking at them now, then?" Pete asked.
The little goblin turned to Pete, smirking up while he stood with both hands on the top of his walking stick, luscious locks of blond hair reflecting the meager light in the chamber.
"Because you, my pet. All of this is because of you."