Steve had a lot of questions.
Why him? Why the goat? Why did his class ability include immunity to tutorials but not to being dragged face-first through a magical mudslide by a demon with abandonment issues?
Stefon MyKraken, alleged chaos-bringer and ex-dungeon consultant to several angry gods, walked confidently ahead, chains clinking like musical foreshadowing.
Gary the goat followed at his own pace, occasionally stopping to sneeze glitter on wildlife. One unlucky squirrel now had antlers and a taste for blood.
"Where exactly are we going?" Steve asked, stepping over a log that had the audacity to purr.
"To a hideout," Stefon replied. "An old... friend might have stashed supplies nearby. Weapons, armor, cursed socks—whatever we can get our hands on before the divine clean-up crew arrives."
Steve froze. "The what?"
"The gods don't like when mortals pick up System glitches. Especially this one."
Steve narrowed his eyes. "Define 'clean-up crew.'"
Stefon grinned. "Imagine a celestial tax auditor fused with a hydra. Now give it daddy issues."
---
They found the entrance to the hideout hidden behind a waterfall shaped like a middle finger.
Because of course they did.
Steve wiped water from his eyes and stared at the moss-covered stone door. It had no handle, no keyhole—just a single glowing rune in the center.
"I don't suppose you remember the password?"
Stefon squinted. "I think it was something noble. Like 'Open, Sesame.' Or possibly 'All Hail Me.'"
Gary snorted, then walked up and licked the rune.
The door exploded.
Steve coughed soot and glared at the goat. "Stop doing things!"
Gary bleated and wagged his tail.
---
Inside the hideout was what Steve could only describe as "a medieval gamer's dream apartment." Enchanted torches lit up shelves full of scrolls, potions, forbidden snack foods, and a glowing beanbag throne.
There were murals on the wall—mostly of Stefon striking dramatic poses while throwing gods into lava or stealing their underwear. One particularly detailed scene showed him insulting a pantheon's fashion sense.
"Wow," Steve muttered. "You were really committed to being everyone's problem."
"Still am," Stefon said proudly, cracking his neck. "Let's gear up."
---
While Steve found boots that whispered unsettling compliments and a dagger named Backstabby, Stefon strapped on what looked like ceremonial armor made from celestial bones.
"What exactly were you before this?" Steve asked.
Stefon gave him a wink. "I was chaos with a budget."
Gary had wandered into a room labeled Definitely Not A Mini-Dungeon and was chewing on a glowing crystal.
Suddenly the lights flickered, a deep growl echoed through the walls, and the floor rumbled.
Steve and Stefon rushed in to find Gary staring at a pit full of angry eyeballs and tentacles.
"What did you do!?" Steve shouted.
Gary sneezed. The tentacles burst into song.
---
They ran.
Behind them, the mini-dungeon sang an off-key version of a sea shanty about unpaid cosmic taxes.
"Is it always like this?" Steve gasped as they sprinted through a hall of sentient weapons arguing over union dues.
"With you? Apparently yes," Stefon replied. "I'm beginning to regret not letting that goat eat me."
"You helped me!"
"I thought you were someone else!"
A floating eye passed them and muttered, "You two are a disgrace to chaos."
Gary kicked it into a wall.
---
Eventually, they found a portal—jagged, unstable, and glowing red like it had anger management issues.
Steve looked at Stefon. "This safe?"
"No. But it'll confuse the gods."
Steve sighed. "Fine. But if I end up fused with a duck, I'm blaming you."
"Fair."
They jumped through.
---
The world twisted.
They landed in the middle of a village square. A bard screamed. A gnome exploded. A god's statue melted into butter.
A giant glowing message hovered in the sky:
[NEW QUEST RECEIVED: SURVIVE.]
Steve groaned. "Of course."
Gary climbed onto the melted statue and headbutted a passing chicken into another dimension.
Stefon dusted off his coat. "Welcome to Level Two, Steve."