We ran more tests after that, being extra careful not to deactivate the rune while a body part was through a portal. Good call, because at one point my head went through. And if my head gets severed? Pretty sure that's game over, even for me.
We tried everything—intent, line of sight, posture. After a lot of trial and error (and Julius making me repeat the same thing ten different ways so he could "collect data"), the results were in: it's completely random. One end of the portal appears on a random limb of mine, and the other end appears on any surface within fifteen feet. Total chaos.
Which is… bad. Not just unusable, but actively suicidal. What if I accidentally open the rune in my sleep and my leg vanishes into the floor? What if it's my head again, and the rune decides "whoops, portal closed"? Congratulations, I've invented self-guillotine magic.
Why does this happen? Well, it's my favorite excuse: no Nanteon. The spiders use intent through their Nanteon to control where the portals open. I can't. And since these runes are alive now—part of me—I can't exactly scrape it off with a kitchen knife either.
So how do we fix this? I don't know. Which is why I'm lying on a bed, arm covered with a special cloth so it doesn't trigger, eating faux-popcorn while Julius and Areva argue like divorced parents at a science fair.
"I'm telling you," Julius said, pacing, "we can just give him something that lets him interact with mana. We have prototypes!"
"And I'm telling you," Areva snapped, "even if you did, he wouldn't know what to do with it. He can't even conceptualize mana. It's like explaining the color red to someone who's been blind since birth. You can't!"
"Maybe we transplant a Nanteon into him?"
"The Nanteon is metaphysical, you lunatic! It can't be transplanted. People have tried before! And John's biology isn't even—look, he's a mess. It's not possible!"
Meanwhile, I'm reclining like a king, chewing loudly just to add to the ambiance. They've been at this for days. I've just been careful not to activate the portal rune by accident. The cloth they gave me is some kind of mana-non-conductive fabric, and I asked them for extra wraps for my legs too—because yeah, the rune already triggered in my sleep. Twice.
I'd been in Alimony—well, the outskirts of it—for weeks now. Longest I've stayed in one place in four years. Long enough that Branrick and the other truck drivers were already halfway back to their stations, and even sent me a message about their wellbeing. I said hi back, of course. Good guys. Salt of the earth.
Since I figured I'd be here for a while—and would probably have to come back more often—I hired a crew to renovate my old cabin in the woods. Not quite in the wildlands, but close enough. The one I hadn't set foot in for years.
"Delinger, sir. We just finished fixing up the place. Is everything to your satisfaction?" A middle-aged woman approached me, wrinkles lining her face but eyes sharp. Dinah, forewoman of the company I'd hired. They had a niche in non-magical work, which was rare. My cabin doesn't have a single rune or enchanted fixture.
"Oh, thanks, Dinah. Here's the other half of the payment." I handed her a heavy bag of coins.
She didn't even count it, just tucked it away—trusting my name. But she didn't leave either. She fidgeted, weighing something. I waited.
"Sir," she said finally, "if you don't mind me asking… why didn't you stay here more often?"
A curious question. Easy answer.
"I've been busy," I said with a smile. "You know me—wandering the continent, clearing dungeons one after another. The usual. Why'd you ask?"
She hesitated again. Breath caught. Then, softer:
"Uhmm. Well you see, sir. My father built this house for you, years ago. He was so excited by the request—'a cabin in the woods, no magic, no runes, all natural materials.' He loved it. Poured his heart into it." She smiled faintly. "I remember how proud he was when he showed it to you. I remember how happy you were."
Her expression wavered. "So when you never came back… when it just sat here, gathering dust… he was heartbroken. He never said it out loud, but I could tell. He died recently, and I—I couldn't hold back my curiosity anymore. Forgive me if I've overstepped."
I felt bad. "I'm sorry, Dinah. I didn't know Marvin was your father. I thought you looked familiar." My throat tightened. "And I'm sorry I left it unmaintained. But with the kind of work I do… I'm always moving. Always leaving."
She shook her head quickly. "No, please, don't apologize, sir. It was only curiosity. Thank you for answering." She hesitated again, bracing herself. "But… if you don't mind, one last question?"
"Shoot."
"Adventurers pass through Alimony all the time. It is the last city before the wildlands. My own brother is one. They roam the continent, disappear for months… but eventually, they come home. They rest. They have somewhere that is theirs. Somewhere they belong." Her eyes locked on mine, steady now. "But you, sir… you never seem to rest. Never seem at home anywhere. I'm just wondering… why?"
I smiled, even though it felt brittle. "I… am relaxing." The words came out thin. Even I didn't believe them.
"I see." She bowed her head. "Then I must have been mistaken. Thank you for your patience, sir Delinger. Please use our services again." She smiled politely, then left with her crew.
I stood watching them go, the echo of her question lingering. Inside, Julius and Areva's voices rose again—still arguing, still brainstorming.
I knew the real answer to Dinah's question. I just didn't want to face it. Not now. If I did… I might get comfortable. And comfort kills purpose.
"Julius. Areva." They both glanced at me.
"Find a solution. I need to leave soon."
Silence.
"I'm getting some air," I muttered, and stepped outside the cabin.
The place I've stayed the longest in this world isn't a town, or a cabin, or even a proper bed. It's the wildlands. Dangerous, yes. But out here, I feel the most at peace.
The wildlands never stop changing. Every time I step foot in them, the terrain is different, the dangers are different. I never know what I'm getting into. Sure, it doesn't spike my adrenaline the way it used to—I heal from nearly everything these days—but that's not the point. The point is that nothing here lasts. And that makes it comfortable.
I can sleep on bare stone and call it home, because I know that "home" will be gone tomorrow. And that's the crux of it, isn't it?
I don't want to feel at home. I don't want to get comfortable. Because if I do, if I let myself sink into that softness, one day I'll wake up and realize I've decided to stay. To settle. To rest.
And that terrifies me.
Because this world—despite all its madness and danger—is beautiful. More beautiful than Earth ever was. The air is clean. The people are kind. The world is fantastic, mysterious, dazzling in ways my old one never could be. Why wouldn't I want to stay here?! Why wouldn't I want to give in?!
Hell, it might even be the best thing for me. To just give in. But I know myself. Years down the line, when I'm old and weary, I'd regret it. Regret it so hard it would hollow me out from the inside. Regret not trying. Not fighting tooth and nail to go back.
Back to the one thing I left behind on Earth.
That's why I can't get comfortable. Why I can't settle. Why I avoid soft beds and steady lives, and why relationships feel like traps with velvet jaws. That's why I wake in the middle of the night drenched in panic, that I have let this soft bed engulf me, and I can't find the willpower to get up.
I've lived with enough regrets. I won't make the biggest one of all.
When I returned, the cabin was quiet. Areva was curled up on the couch, asleep with her tools still scattered around. Julius, of course, was awake, hunched over his notes with a mug of coffee that probably hadn't left his hand in hours. He looked up at me.
"Does it still hurt?"
"I'll get better." I let the night air fill my lungs. "So. How's solution-finding going?"
"Well…" He flipped a page, eyes never leaving the scribbles. "We've got several possible fixes for your little control problem. All of them dangerous."
"Hit me."
"Option one: Artificial Nanteon. Never been done, probably impossible. Wouldn't even know where to start. Purely theoretical. Almost guaranteed to kill you." He paused. "Honestly, I don't know why I wrote it down."
"Pass."
"Option two: hard-limit the rune. Lock it to one fixed location. It would only ever open in that one spot."
"Pros?"
"Safer. Easier to control."
"Cons?"
"Your rune would never grow. No cooperation with your other runes. Which means you'd never reach dimensional punching territory."
"Yeah, that's a definite pass."
"Option three: Mirror rune. I tattoo myself, tether it to yours. I become your Nanteon, you become the battery. Precedent exists, so it's doable."
"And the downside?"
"You'll be reliant on me. You'll also probably just drain me of my magic, and most importantly, it'll interfere with my research, so I won't go through with it anyway."
I clutched my chest, staggering in mock betrayal. "Wow. Can't believe you wouldn't sacrifice your precious lab time for my lifelong dream. My heart, Julius. It hurts."
He rolled his eyes. "Option four." He held up a sketch. A floating mass of flesh and eyes, with tentacles sprouting in every direction.
"Is that a beholder?"
"Yes, John. That is a beholder."
"I hate beholders."
"I know. But if you kill one, it might solve your problem."
"How's that?"
"Beholders have highly specialized ocular abilities. The little eyes fire off everything from lightning to curses to poison—there's no clear limit. But the central eye?" He tapped the drawing. "That's different. It doesn't attack. It commands. It sees beyond normal spectra, processes information at extraordinary speed, and most importantly—it coordinates the little eyeballs. Directs them, tells them where to shoot. A built-in targeting system, and that is the part you really need."
"Cons?" I asked.
"It's going to occupy a limited slot on your body," Julius said matter-of-factly, tapping his notes, "which means one less rune for spatial magic."
I leaned back. "How many would I really end up needing anyway?"
"We don't know. That's why you want to avoid wasting slots on these kinds of runes. Still…" He closed the folder with a decisive snap. "Out of all the options, this is the one I'd recommend."
I studied him for a moment, then shrugged. "You know best, Julius. I'll follow your recommendation."
A rare, thin smile flickered on Julius' face. "Good. The problem is, Beholders are nearly extinct these days. Hunted for parts, dissected for magic—worth their weight in kingdoms. You'd be lucky to see one in your lifetime. The only surefire way I know to track one would be crossing continents, and that'll take months. Maybe a year."
"…I know where to find one. Nearby. Easy access."
Areva stirred. "Where?"
I blinked. "You've been awake this whole time?"
"Well, yeah. You two aren't exactly whispering. So? Where can you find one? I've never even seen a Beholder. Infernus doesn't have them."
"…I don't have one myself. But I know someone who can get me one."
Julius' eyes narrowed, gears turning. Then the penny dropped.
"Is it Lambdo?"
"It's Lambdo," I said at the same time.
His frown deepened. "I'm not going with you."
"You don't need to. I'll handle it."
I smirked. "Wouldn't want to bite into your precious research time, after all."
"I'm coming with you," Areva said.
"Theiopolis isn't exactly the best place for me. And what about your shop?"
"My clients can wait. I go by reservation anyway. Why? Do they hate you there?"
"No." I sighed.
"They love John there. A lot," Julius said flatly.
I grinned at him. "They love you there too, Julius. You should come."
His scowl could've curdled milk.
Areva tilted her head, confused. "If they love you, why avoid it?"
I looked at her, deadpan. "Well, it's—"
The desert heat hit like a hammer the moment we stepped off the caravan. Sand, cacti, camels, the works. But the worst part was—
"JOHN! JOHN! JOHN!"
—the people.
"Oh my gods, it's the Delinger himself! John, please sign my watermelon!"
The market square was already overflowing, and I hadn't even taken ten steps past the gate. To be fair, my arrival is never subtle. My aura announces me before I even show my face, and once people confirm the scar and the hair, it's mob time.
"Are those statues of you?" Areva's voice cut through the noise.
"Yes," I muttered.
Dozens of them. Everywhere. Full-sized, bare as the day I was born, chiseled to "heroic proportions." Some with swords I never used. Some mid-roar. Someone even had me flexing. It was ridiculous.
"Laaaaadies and gentlemen!" A voice thundered from the tower overlooking the city. "The Undying! The Man Who Walked Out of Theia! The Immortal Challenger! The Strongest Man in the Woooorld—JOHN DELINGEEEER!"
Confetti exploded. The crowd howled. Food—actual food—rained from balconies.
I glanced up. Lambdo was on his perch, grinning like he'd been waiting for this moment his entire life.
Theiopolis itself was just as gaudy as I remembered. A city built like a colossal amphitheater that forgot to stop growing. The Grand Ocular sat at its heart, a colosseum so massive it could seat half the continent. Its matches—beast hunts, dungeon runs, mage duels—were projected across plazas and taverns. Although those just started sputtering out. Streets pulsed like a carnival. Roasting meat, gambling dens, merchants selling cheap "Delinger blades," kids wearing paper masks of my face.
It wasn't a city. It was a circus. And I was the main act, whether I liked it or not.
Areva was wide-eyed, taking it all in. The cheering, the statues, the announcer's booming voice.
"This is… this is…" Areva's whole body was practically vibrating.
I braced for horror. Maybe panic. Maybe even judgment.
"This is awesome! John! We have to come back here more often!"
Of course.
"Yeah, yeah. Let's go. I've got a private suite."
The crowd swarmed us like bees to honey, but now their attention wasn't just on me.
"Lady with the tattoo! Are you with John Delinger?"
"Why yes, I am!" Areva answered without hesitation, beaming like she was born for the stage. So much for the quiet, introvert research type.
"Are you in a relationship with him?!" Oh no. Please no.
"I am his tattoo artist!" She proudly yanked at my sleeve and pant leg, showing off her handiwork.
The square erupted like we'd just announced the second coming.
"JOHN DELINGER HAS A TATTOO!"
A kid wailed, "Mom! I want a tattoo!"
The mom smacked him on the head. "Timmy, no!" Then, after a beat: "I'm getting one first!" And off she went, Timmy running after her.
Meanwhile, Areva was passing out her contact information like she was at a business expo.
"Yes, yes, you can make reservations! Please look for Carl, my assistant! Visit us in Alimony!"
…Alimony. The town in the middle of nowhere. The poor bastard Carl was about to be buried under an avalanche of Theiopolis groupies.
By the time we reached my private suite—past the shouting, the confetti, the statues, and the godforsaken Delinger masks—I was ready to crawl under a bed and never come out.
At least the door shut behind us, blessedly muffling the crowd.
Of course, the quiet couldn't last.
"John Delinger!" Lambdo spread his arms like I was about to kneel and kiss his ring. "The Immortal himself graces my humble abode! You've come to fight again, yes? Oh, the crowds will scream for you! The coin will rain from the sky! The women will throw themselves at your feet!"
"I'm not even going to ask how you got in here." I collapsed onto the couch, already tired.
"And you, my infernal friend." He swept Areva's hand up and kissed it. "You must be the tattoo artist I've heard whispers of!"
"Why, I am!" Areva beamed, already handing him her card.
He whirled back to me, grinning like a predator. "It's a good thing you've returned, John. We'll set you up with the—"
"Lambdo."
"—best dates! Hellen! Cancel the 8th, the 9th, the 10th! Actually, just—"
"Lambdo, please."
"—cancel the next two weeks! Back-to-back Delinger days! The people will—"
"Lambdo. I'm not here for a fight."
He froze, lips still half-formed into another sales pitch. Then he pouted, like I'd just kicked his puppy. "Of course you are. They've already seen you. Do you know how disappointed they'd be if their shining star didn't give them blood?"
"Lambdo. I need a favor."
That perked him right back up.
"A beholder."
That actually shut him up. For half a second. Then he threw his head back and laughed. "A beholder! Of course! You always ask for the rarest, deadliest, most impossible things. Fine. I can get one—freshly made. But you know how this works. Nothing in Theiopolis is free."
"Name your price."
"Ten fights." He steepled his fingers. "Ten glorious bouts in the Grand Ocular! You will headline the season! The people will faint from joy!"
"Not happening."
"Eight."
"One."
"Seven."
"One."
"Six and—"
"One, Lambdo. Don't make me walk."
We locked eyes. He drummed his goblet. He sighed like I was stealing bread from his starving children.
"Fine. One fight. But it must be spectacular. No running, no holding back, no mercy. You fight who I put in front of you, and you give me blood, sweat, and glory."
"I'll give you a fight. No promises on the sweat."
His grin split ear to ear. "Then it's settled. One fight for a beholder."
And just like that, I sold myself back into the circus.
Lambdo vanished, already barking orders to his servants.
Areva turned to me, still curious. "When he said 'freshly made'… what did he mean?"
"It means exactly what it sounds like." I went to the minibar. "Whiskey?"
"On the rocks. And you didn't answer the question."
I poured her glass. "Did you know Theiopolis was built on top of a dungeon?"
Her eyes widened. "What? Why would anyone—how is that not a disaster waiting to happen?"
"Relax. Lambdo owns Theiopolis. Or more accurately, Lambdo is Theiopolis. Including everything underneath."
Her mind was processing. I continued. "Lambdo isn't a man. Lambdo is the dungeon. The only sentient one we know of. And he can make us a beholder."
Her mouth fell open. "How? Not the beholder part. The sentient dungeon part."
"We don't know. He never says. The only good news is, he doesn't murder people directly. He just built the biggest bloodsport empire on the continent… and feeds off the carnage."