I woke to the sound of soft purring and the warmth of sunlight on my skeletal face.

  Wait. Sunlight?

  My eyes snapped open. The safe room's blue glow was gone, replaced by actual, honest to god daylight streaming through a window.

  Through a window?

  I sat up quickly, disturbing Kitten Cowboy, who had been sleeping on my ribcage. The tiny kitten mewed in protest, one paw instinctively reaching for the revolver at its hip.

  "Easy," I said, looking around in confusion. "Where are we?"

  The safe room was different. The white stone walls were still there, but now there was an actual window. And through that window, I could see something impossible.

  "Is that a city?" Mira said, flying over to the window.

  The hare hopped up beside her. "THAT'S DEFINITELY A CITY."

  I stood up, my bones creaking slightly despite the healing, and joined them at the window.

  Beyond the glass was an impossible vista. We were high up, maybe four or five stories, looking out over what could only be described as the entrance to Floor Two.

  Except it wasn't a dungeon floor. It was a city.

  "Okay," I said slowly. "That's new."

  A notification appeared:

  [FLOOR TWO: Hollow Kingdom]

  [Prepare for departure]

  [Warning: Safe room will transport party in 60 seconds]

  "Transport?" Mira said, looking alarmed. "To where?"

  "I'M GUESSING TO THAT CITY," the hare said, pressing its nose against the window.

  Kitten Cowboy stood up on its hind legs, tiny paws against the glass, staring out at the city with wide golden eyes. "Pew?" it said uncertainly.

  "Everyone ready?" I asked, checking my equipment. The groin guard was secure (unfortunately). The glasses were still on my face. My pink sash was barely holding together. My boots were still destroyed, leaving me barefoot.

  "As ready as we'll ever be," Mira said.

  The countdown reached zero.

  The world lurched.

  Blue light exploded around us, bright, blinding, overwhelming. I felt the sensation of being pulled in every direction at once, like reality was stretching me thin.

  Then it stopped.

  The light faded.

  I blinked, trying to clear my vision.

  We were outside.

  The air hit me first. Actual air. Real wind carrying scents of smoke, food, and too many people crowded together.

  I looked down at my feet. We were standing on a slanted roof made of old tiles, some cracked, some missing entirely. The surface was uneven and precarious.

  "WHERE ARE WE?" the hare said, looking around frantically.

  "On a roof," I said, stating the obvious while my brain tried to catch up.

  Kitten Cowboy had already moved to the edge of the roof, peering down at the drop below. The kitten's tail swished nervously.

  I carefully made my way to the edge and looked out.

  My jaw would have dropped if I still had one.

  The city spread out before us in every direction, vast and impossible and alive. It stretched to the horizon, or what passed for a horizon in this place. Buildings packed together in chaotic density, their architecture a bewildering mix of styles that shouldn't exist together but somehow did.

  Medieval half-timbered houses with their overhanging upper floors sat next to structures made of smooth concrete and glass. Gothic spires rose above flat-roofed modern buildings. Market stalls with colorful awnings clustered around what looked like a sleek transit station made of steel and blue light.

  The streets below were narrow and winding, cobblestoned in some places, paved with something that looked like asphalt in others. Bridges connected buildings at various heights. Staircases spiraled up between structures. Walkways crisscrossed overhead, creating layers upon layers of pathways.

  And the people.

  The streets were crowded with beings of every description. From our vantage point, I could see them moving through the city like a living river of diversity.

  Elves with their pointed ears, dressed in everything from flowing robes to what looked like leather jackets. Dwarves arguing loudly with a merchant at a stall. A group of what appeared to be cat people (were they related to Kitten Cowboy somehow?) lounging on a corner, their tails swishing lazily.

  I saw someone with the head of a wolf walking upright in fine clothing, carrying a briefcase. A small figure that might have been a goblin darted between larger pedestrians. Two beings that looked like walking trees conversed near a fountain, their bark-like skin catching the light.

  Overhead, I spotted winged figures. Some angelic with white feathers, others bat-like with leathery wings, flying between the upper levels of buildings.

  "This is insane," Mira whispered, hovering next to me. "This is an entire civilization."

  "IT'S SO BIG," the hare said, sounding overwhelmed. "SO MANY PEOPLE."

  "This is probably the city I told you about," Mira said thoughtfully. "But I didn't know it was Floor Two. I thought it would be lower."

  The architecture seemed to shift between styles with no rhyme or reason. One block would be purely medieval: stone buildings with wooden shutters, shop signs hanging on iron brackets. The next block would be inexplicably modern: glass storefronts, neon signs what looked like holographic displays.

  In the distance, I could see what might have been a castle or fortress, its towers rising above the cityscape. In another direction, a structure that looked disturbingly like a skyscraper, except its surface seemed to be made of interwoven branches and living wood.

  The lighting was strange. There was no visible sun, but the sky, if it could be called that, glowed with a soft, ambient light that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. It created the impression of late afternoon, golden and warm.

  Street lamps were already lit despite the ambient brightness, adding to the city's layered, chaotic beauty.

  A noise from below made us all freeze.

  A door was opening. The building we were standing on (I could now see it was some kind of shop, three stories tall with a faded sign I couldn't quite read) was occupied.

  Footsteps echoed from below. Heavy footsteps.

  Then a voice, deep, annoyed, and very loud:

  "OI! GET OFF ME ROOF!"

  I looked down over the edge.

  Standing in the narrow alley beside the building was a figure staring up at us with extreme irritation.

  He was massive, easily seven feet tall, with shoulders like a barn door. His skin was a deep gray color, his features rough and craggy. Tusks protruded from his lower jaw. His hair was pulled back in a practical ponytail.

  An orc. I was looking at an actual orc.

  He wore what looked like a blacksmith's apron over sturdy work clothes, and he was holding a very large hammer in one hand.

  "YOU DEAF, MATE?" the orc bellowed up at us. "I SAID GET OFF ME BLEEDIN' ROOF!"

  "Sorry!" I called down, my voice cracking slightly. "We didn't mean to. We were just..."

  "I DON'T CARE WOT YOU MEANT TO DO!" the orc interrupted. "GET! DOWN! NOW!"

  Kitten Cowboy's paw moved to its revolver.

  "No," I said quickly, putting a hand on the kitten's tiny shoulder. "We're not shooting the property owner. We're the trespassers here."

  "Pew," Kitten Cowboy said reluctantly, removing its paw from the gun.

  "There's a ladder," Mira said, pointing to the side of the building where a rickety wooden ladder was attached to the wall.

  "THAT'S RIGHT, THERE'S A LADDER, AIN'T THERE!" the orc shouted. "USE IT!"

  I picked up Kitten Cowboy, tucked the tiny kitten-gunslinger into the crook of my arm, and carefully made my way across the slanted roof to the ladder.

  The hare hopped along behind me. "THIS IS EMBARRASSING."

  I agreed.

  The ladder was old and creaky, but it held my weight. Barely. I climbed down slowly, trying not to think about the drop below. Mira flew down alongside us, while the hare somehow managed to hop down the ladder rungs with surprising agility.

  When my bare feet finally touched cobblestones, I turned to face the orc.

  Up close, he was even more intimidating. His eyes were a dark amber color, currently narrowed in annoyance. The hammer in his hand was definitely a weapon as much as a tool.

  "Sorry about the roof," I said, trying to sound apologetic and non-threatening. "We didn't choose to land there. We were just… teleported."

  The orc's expression shifted from angry to suspicious. He looked us over: a skeleton in a pink sash and ridiculous groin guard, wearing glasses and holding a kitten with a gun. A floating imp. A hare with wrapped paws.

  "Teleported," he repeated, his voice still loud but less shouting now. "You're newcomers, ain't ya?"

  "Is it that obvious?" Mira asked.

  The orc gestured at us with his hammer. "You're dressed like right lunatics, and you 'ave that look. The 'where am I and wot's 'appenin'' look. Yeah, it's bleedin' obvious, innit?"

  "So… this happens often?" I asked. "People just appearing on roofs?"

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  The orc's face darkened. "Not on my roof, it don't. First time some git's appeared up there. And it better be the last time, or I'm puttin' spikes up there."

  He lowered the hammer slightly, his posture relaxing from 'about to attack' to merely 'very annoyed.'

  "You got papers?" he asked.

  "Papers?" I said blankly.

  "Identification. Anyfink that proves you're not 'ere to cause trouble."

  "We literally just arrived," Mira said. "We don't have papers."

  "Yeah."

  The orc shifted uncomfortably, glancing between us and the doorway behind him. His massive hand tightened on the doorframe.

  "Look," he said, his voice dropping to something more serious. "I can't just let you walk out of 'ere like this. Not after wot you've told me. I got duties. Responsibilities. I'm supposed to report unusual activity to the guards, ain't I?"

  He crossed his arms, and I could see the internal conflict playing out on his face—the struggle between wanting to help us and his sense of civic obligation.

  "I'm a good citizen," he continued, almost apologetically. "I pay me taxes. I follow the rules. I report fings when they need reportin'. That's 'ow society functions. That's 'ow we maintain order in 'Ell." He paused, looking genuinely troubled. "And you three showin' up 'ere, talkin' about wot you've been through—that's somefink the guards need to know about, innit?"

  "Please," I said quietly. "Just hear us out first."

  The orc hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Alright. Tell me wot 'appened. All of it. Then I'll decide wot to do."

  So I told him everything.

  I told him about waking up in Hell, confused and alone. About the Lurker in the darkness and barely escaping with my life. About finding the imp in the forgotten tutorial room after ten thousand years of isolation. About meeting the Anxiety Hare on the Red Margin, terrified of everything but loyal to the end.

  I told him about the Conclave of Embers—about being singled out as the Last One, about the trials, about piloting a giant skeleton through a battlefield of chaos. About opening paths for thousands of other participants, only to have them all disqualified because of my actions.

  I told him about the choice Pyralis gave me. Power and glory for myself, or a chance for everyone else. About choosing to withdraw, to give up everything I could have had, because it was the right thing to do.

  I told him about fighting Titans, about viewer counts climbing into the hundreds of millions, about being hated and then grudgingly respected and then hated again.

  And I told him about the Curator of Ruin. About nearly dying. About Pocket Sand saving my life one more ridiculous time. About Kitten Cowboy's ultimate ability turning the tide when everything seemed lost.

  The orc listened to all of it. Didn't interrupt once. Just stood there, arms crossed, his expression growing more and more complicated with each detail.

  When I finished, silence filled the room.

  The orc let out a long, heavy breath.

  "Right then," the orc said finally, rubbing his massive hand across his face. "You lot are in a proper mess, ain't ya?"

  "That's one way to put it," I said.

  The orc looked at us again, his expression softening slightly. "Look, I ain't gonna report you. You've been through enough, and it sounds like you did right by people when you didn't 'ave to. That counts for somefink."

  "Thank you," Mira said, relief evident in her voice.

  "But," the orc continued, holding up a finger the size of a sausage, "you need to get papers. Proper identification. You can't just walk around 'Ell wivout documentation. The guards'll pick you up faster than you can say 'bureaucracy.'"

  "Where do we get papers?" I asked.

  "Registration Office. Big building in the Government Quarter. Can't miss it—looks like someone built a castle and a prison and then couldn't decide which one to finish." He gestured vaguely toward what I assumed was north. "Go there, tell 'em you're newcomers, they'll sort you out."

  "WILL IT TAKE LONG?" the hare asked nervously.

  "Depends on the queue, don't it? Could be an hour, could be a day. Bring a book." The orc paused, then added more seriously, "And when you get there, don't mention you met me. Don't mention this conversation. Just say you arrived on here and came straight to register. Understand?"

  "We won't say anything," I promised.

  "Good. Now get out of me alley before someone sees you."

  We didn't need to be told twice.

  The streets of Hell's second floor were overwhelming.

  As we emerged from the alley onto what appeared to be a main thoroughfare, the sheer density of it all hit me like a physical force. The noise, the smells, the movement—it was sensory overload after the isolation of Floor One.

  I tried to walk normally, to blend in, but that was immediately impossible. A walking skeleton in a pink sash, carrying a kitten with a gun, accompanied by a floating imp and an anxious hare? We were about as inconspicuous as a parade.

  People stared. Everyone stared.

  I found myself staring back, unable to help it. The variety of beings was staggering.

  A group of what looked like lizard-people walked past, their scales gleaming in the ambient light, speaking in a language of hisses and clicks. A dwarf woman with an impressive beard argued loudly with a merchant over the price of what appeared to be glowing mushrooms. Three elves in matching black leather outfits stood on a corner, looking effortlessly cool and slightly dangerous.

  A creature that was essentially a floating jellyfish drifted overhead, its translucent body pulsing with bioluminescent patterns.

  "THIS IS CRAZY," the hare whispered, pressed close to my leg as we walked. "THERE'S SO MANY PEOPLE. WHAT IF THEY'RE DANGEROUS? WHAT IF THEY'RE ALL DANGEROUS?"

  "They're just going about their day," Mira said, though she was hovering closer to me than usual. "We're fine. Probably."

  I tried to keep my gaze forward, to not gawk at everyone we passed. But it was hard. Every few steps brought some new impossible sight.

  Then I saw her.

  A woman—or mostly a woman—with blue-tinted skin and small horns curling from her forehead. She wore a flowing dress that seemed to shift colors as she moved, and her eyes were a striking violet.

  I stared. I couldn't help it. She was beautiful in an otherworldly way that my undead brain struggled to process.

  I stared for too long.

  The woman noticed. Her violet eyes locked onto my empty eye sockets, and her expression shifted from neutral to distinctly uncomfortable.

  "BRAKTHOR!" she called out, her voice sharp with alarm.

  Oh no.

  From a nearby shop, a figure emerged. A large figure.

  The man—if he could be called that—was at least eight feet tall, with shoulders that seemed to require their own postal code. His skin was a deep, angry red, and massive curved horns sprouted from his head. His eyes glowed like hot coals.

  A demon. An actual, literal demon. And he looked furious.

  "You got a problem, bonebag?" the demon growled, his voice like gravel in a blender.

  "No! No problem!" I said quickly, taking a step back. "I was just—"

  "Just WHAT? Starin' at my wife like some kinda CREEP?"

  "I didn't mean to—"

  "DIDN'T MEAN TO?" Brakthor took a step forward, cracking his knuckles. Each knuckle-crack sounded like a small explosion. "You think I'm gonna let some pervert skeleton ogle my woman?"

  "I'm sorry!" I said, backing up faster. "Really, really sorry! It won't happen again!"

  "You're RIGHT it won't happen again!" Brakthor roared, and he began striding toward me, each step making the cobblestones shake slightly.

  "RUN!" Mira shrieked.

  I ran.

  Kitten Cowboy bounced in my arms, its tiny paw going to its revolver. "Pew?" it asked hopefully.

  "NO SHOOTING THE DEMON!" I shouted as I sprinted down the street.

  Behind me, I could hear Brakthor's thundering footsteps and his bellowing voice: "GET BACK HERE, YOU SKELETAL DEVIANT!"

  "WE'RE GONNA DIE!" the hare wailed, bounding alongside me with surprising speed. "THIS IS IT! THIS IS HOW WE DIE!"

  We careened around a corner, nearly colliding with a startled group of cat-people, who hissed and scattered. I kept running, my bones clattering with each step.

  "He's still coming!" Mira reported, flying above me. "He's really fast for someone that big!"

  "I'M GONNA RIP YOUR ARMS OFF AND BEAT YOU WITH 'EM!" Brakthor's voice echoed behind us.

  I turned another corner, my bare feet slapping against the cobblestones, and nearly ran face-first into a building.

  I skidded to a halt, panting (despite having no lungs), and looked up.

  Above the entrance, a flickering neon sign blazed in garish pink letters: FAT BITCHES

  Below the main sign, smaller text read: Bar & Grill - All Species Welcome (except skeletons)

  Through the grimy windows, I could see the interior: a dimly lit establishment with what looked like a bar running along one wall, tables scattered throughout, and a mix of patrons that would have made the cantina scene from Star Wars look tame.

  "Should we hide in there?" Mira asked.

  "I DON'T THINK THAT'S A GOOD HIDING SPOT!" the hare said.

  Behind us, Brakthor's roar echoed again: "WHERE'D YOU GO, BONE BOY?"

  "In here!" I hissed, and we dove through the entrance of Fat Bitches.

  The interior was dimly lit and smelled of smoke, grease, and something vaguely sulfurous. A dozen heads turned to look at us as we stumbled inside. But we were in, and Brakthor's thundering footsteps were fading outside.

  I leaned against the wall, my bones rattling with relief. "I think... we lost him."

  "THAT WAS HORRIBLE," the hare moaned from beside my feet.

  Then a massive shadow fell over me.

  I looked up slowly.

  Standing before me was a creature that made Brakthor look almost reasonable. He was enormous—easily nine feet tall, with the body of a massively muscled man and the head of a bull. His horns were thick and curved, his nostrils flaring with each breath. A minotaur. An actual, honest-to-god minotaur.

  He was also wearing an apron that read "SECURITY" in faded letters.

  "Oh no," Mira whispered.

  The minotaur reached down with one massive hand and grabbed me by the shoulder—or rather, by my entire upper body—and lifted me off the ground like I weighed nothing. Which, to be fair, I probably didn't weigh much.

  "Hey! Wait! I can explain—" I started.

  The minotaur turned me around with one hand and used his other hand to point at the sign above the door. The one I'd seen from outside but hadn't properly registered in my panic.

  Bar & Grill - All Species Welcome (except skeletons)

  "Right," I said weakly. "I see that now."

  The minotaur snorted—an impressively loud sound—and carried me toward the door like a bouncer removing an unruly drunk.

  "WAIT FOR US!" the hare cried, hopping frantically after us.

  Mira zipped ahead. "Sir, please, we didn't mean any trouble—"

  The minotaur ignored her, pushed open the door with his shoulder, and tossed me out onto the street.

  I landed in an undignified heap of clattering bones, somehow managing to keep Kitten Cowboy from being crushed. The kitten mewed indignantly and reached for its revolver again.

  "No shooting!" I said quickly, scrambling to my feet.

  The minotaur stood in the doorway, arms crossed, glaring at me with dark, unreadable eyes. Then he grunted once—a sound that clearly meant and stay out—and closed the door with a decisive slam.

  The hare hopped out a second later, looking traumatized. "I DON'T LIKE THIS FLOOR."

  "You and me both," I muttered, brushing dust off my pink sash.

  But then, from somewhere behind us, I heard a familiar, terrifying roar.

  "THERE YOU ARE!"

  I spun around. There, at the far end of the street, was Brakthor. His red skin seemed to glow with fury, his horns catching the light as he pointed directly at us.

  "YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD RUN FROM ME?" he bellowed, and started charging toward us like an angry freight train.

  "Not again!" I yelped.

  "RUN!" Mira shrieked.

  We bolted. Again. My feet slapping against the cobblestones, Kitten Cowboy bouncing in my arms, the hare bounding frantically beside me.

  "I'M GONNA PULVERIZE YOU!" Brakthor roared behind us, his footsteps shaking the ground.

  People scattered out of our way as we tore through the Government Quarter, leaving a trail of chaos in our wake.

  "LEAVE US ALONE!" I shouted over my shoulder as I ran. "LEAVE US ALONE! I SAID I WAS SORRY!"

  "SORRY AIN'T GONNA CUT IT, BONE BOY!"

  "THIS IS A NIGHTMARE!" the hare wailed.

  We rounded another corner, nearly crashed into a cart full of what looked like fruits, and kept running. The Registration Office loomed ahead, getting closer with each desperate stride.

  "LEAVE! US! ALONE!" I screamed again, my voice cracking with panic.

  Brakthor's response was an incoherent roar of rage.

  We burst through the doors of the Registration Office just as Brakthor's massive hand swiped at where my skull had been a second before.

  I collapsed against a wall, my bones actually rattling from the exertion.

  Inside the Registration Office, the normal civilian occupants let out a collective gasp of shock. A few people stumbled backward, others clutched their belongings protectively. The sudden intrusion of a fleeing skeleton and an enraged demon had turned their mundane morning into chaos.

  But Brakthor couldn't follow us in. He skidded to a halt just outside the entrance, his massive frame filling the doorway.

  Because standing guard at the door were two gargoyle guards—and they were even bigger than Brakthor.

  The gargoyles were living stone, their bodies carved from what looked like granite, with wings folded against their backs and claws that could probably tear through metal. They stood motionless, blocking the entrance like twin mountains, their eyes glowing with an ancient, implacable authority.

  Brakthor glared at them, then glared past them at me.

  I pressed myself against the far wall, still panting, clutching Kitten Cowboy protectively.

  Brakthor raised both of his massive hands and pointed two fingers at his own glowing eyes. Then he pointed those same fingers directly at me.

  I'm watching you.

  "We'll see each other again, bone boy," he rumbled, his voice carrying easily across the office. "Real soon."

  Then he turned and stalked away, his footsteps echoing ominously down the street.

  I sagged against the wall in relief.

  Mira landed on my shoulder, her tiny chest heaving. "We need to be more careful."

  "Agreed," I said, looking around the Registration Office nervously. Everyone was still staring at us.

  I took a deep breath—well, metaphorically—and stepped forward into the center of the room.

  "I... I'm sorry," I called out, my voice echoing slightly in the now-quiet office. "Really sorry. I didn't mean to cause a scene."

  A few of the occupants shifted uncomfortably. Some exchanged glances.

  And then, as my eye sockets adjusted to the indoor lighting, I noticed something I should have seen immediately.

  Everyone here was a skeleton.

  "Oh," I said stupidly, looking around. "You're all... skeletons."

  A skeletal woman near the front of the line, wearing what looked like a mage's robe, turned to look at me. Her eye sockets glowed with a faint blue light.

  "Don’t know what to do?" she asked, her voice surprisingly warm despite coming from a jawbone.

  "I... yes?" I said, still trying to process what I was seeing.

  She gestured around the room with one bony hand. "Everyone who comes down from the First Floor arrives as a skeleton. This is the Registration Office and we're all waiting to choose our race."

  "Choose our race?" I repeated dumbly.

  "Yeah," said another skeleton, this one male, leaning against a wall. "You pick what you want to be. Human, elf, dwarf, demon, whatever. They've got a whole catalog. Takes a while though—there's always a line."

  I looked around the room again, seeing it with new eyes. There had to be at least thirty skeletons here, all waiting patiently. Some were sitting on benches, others standing in loose groups, chatting quietly. A few were reading pamphlets.

  "So everyone here..." I started.

  Mira whispered in my ear, "That explains why everyone kept staring at you outside. You're supposed to come here first."

  "Oh," I said, feeling incredibly stupid. "So I was supposed to—"

  "Get in line," the male skeleton said with what might have been a grin—it was hard to tell without facial muscles. "Welcome to Hell's bureaucracy, friend."