With Krampus dead, whatever magic had previously animated his Yule Tide Sack of Horrors was gone now. No more Elves crawled from the bag’s endless cloth mouth and the rest of the Jultomten had turned into puddles of slimy goop. Other than the rasp of our labored breathing, the Christmas kiosk was eerily silent.

  At least until Nikoli started laughing, a deep belly rumble that rolled over the snow and echoed off the trees.

  “Is easy to see why the Flayed Monarch fears you,” he said, surveying the battlefield.

  Over half of my Horrors were dead, but the others were all on their feet along with the rest of my team. Though Croc was nowhere to be seen, which I counted as a good thing.

  “You have my respect,” Nikoli said, dipping his head in a slight bow of acknowledgement. “And as a show of thanks, you can keep whatever Relics and Artifacts Krampus has. Is only right.” Then he grinned. “Besides, now that I have Soul Forge back, I can make whatever I need.”

  The way he said it didn’t offer much comfort.

  But I held my tongue—at least for now.

  Also, I wasn’t one to overlook free loot, so I dropped down beside Krampus’s corpse and accessed his Spatial Core, quickly sifting through the Relics before adding them to storage. He had four in total, all Rare-grade, all powerful.

  The first was a Stamina-based charge skill called Cloven Rush that I was certain would synergize with Jakob’s newly upgraded Bullrush Blitz. The second was an elemental attack called Minty Fresh Breath, which unleashed a billowing cloud of artic ice, that dealt frost damage, drastically slowed enemies, and came with a 25% chance of freezing them on the spot. Both fairly straight forward in the grand scheme of things. The last two were the most intriguing by a mile, however, and seemed to be designed to work together in tandem.

  The first was called Naughty List.

  Rare Relic – Level 1

  Range: 20 meters

  Cost: 30 Mana

  Duration: Passive Aura

  You better watch out, you better not lie, you better not pout, I’m telling you why—because the cruel gods of Yule are always watching and they know exactly what you did last summer. Or during that one company retreat in Reno. Or every time cheated on your diet, because your sense of self-control is about as strong as Porta-John two-ply.

  Naughty List is a passive aura that only affects enemies with unresolved guilt, buried secrets, or deep-seated shame they’d rather not confront. As long as they remain within range, the spell applies stacks Sinful Mark—tiny metaphysical tally marks scored across their spiritual ledger. Each stack makes them 10% more vulnerable to psychic attacks, mental compulsion, and fear-based magic. Once five stacks accumulate, they become prime targets for a little holiday reckoning.

  This Relic enables Mana usage.

  On its own, all the spell really did was lower physic resistance, but when paired with Chains of Christmas Past, it became a one-two knock out combo.

  Rare Relic – Level 1

  Range: 25 meters

  Cost: 50 Mana

  Duration: 1 minute

  Cooldown: 2 minutes

  They say you can’t outrun the past, and that’s especially true when it’s dragging you down with iron links forged from your own miserable memories.

  Chains of Christmas Past can target any enemy, but when cast on someone burdened with five stacks of Sinful Mark, the spell reveals its full, horrifying potential. The chains ensnare the target, binding them in place, and then the real torment begins.

  The victim is forced to relive their worst, most shameful memory in a torturous mental loop—every second of the experience rendered in high-def emotional clarity. An agonizing prison of their own making. While trapped, targets are incapacitated, unable to move or act, consumed by regret, fear, and mental anguish. Most break down. A few scream. None forget. The terrible, crushing weight of the past remains well after the effects of the spell finally fade.

  This Relic Enables Mana usage.

  This had to be what Krampus had used against me.

  It was like Existential Dread but worse because it didn’t just freeze you, it dredged up the personal, lingering traumas and amplified them a thousand-fold. Although Relics weren’t inherently evil, this one came pretty damned close.

  Even holding it made me feel gross on the inside. It was powerful, though. Certainly powerful enough to hang onto—though I wouldn’t be putting it up for sale anytime soon.

  There were also two Artifacts.

  The Sack of Jultomten was Fabled-grade, though it only had a single effect: it could summon one Yule Elf per level of the caster. Unfortunately, it was an attuned Artifact—something I hadn’t seen before—and it was soul-bound to Krampus, who was now very, very dead. Still, I tossed it into storage for later. Maybe there was something I could salvage from it.

  The second item was Krampus’s Heartfire Lash—the infamous cat-o’-nine-tails wreathed in spectral fire—which came with two particularly nasty effects that could trigger on contact.

  Phantom Pain had a 20% chance to procc, leaving behind searing psychic damage that lingered even after the physical wounds were healed. The second effect, Soulcinder, had a 75% chance to trigger when the lash’s victim died, making their body erupt in ghostly fire that torched anything nearby.

  It wasn’t really my style, but it would be worth a bagful of high-grade Loot Tokens on the store front.

  With the Relics and Artifacts taken care of, I tagged what was left of Krampus’s corpse and automatically sent it back to the store using Conveyor Logistics so I could process it for parts later. I’d lost a lot of Horrors during this raid, and I’d need to replenish my forces before facing off against the Franchisor in earnest.

  And speaking of my Horrors, with the threat gone for the time being, I banished all of them back to storage for later. There was no point in keeping them around and I doubted Nikoli would be included to let us into the forge if I brought an entire army with me.

  “Now that kiosk is cleared,” Nikoli asked as I stood and brushed my snow-covered hand against my bathrobe, “will you and your friends move on? Otdokhnem na tom svete, as my people say. I believe you American’s have similar saying—there is no rest for the wicked. Still, if you have time, we could head back to Kringlegard and celebrate properly.” He waggled his eyebrows at me. “I will make sure you have enough Vodka to forget even the Flayed Monarch for a little while.”

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  “I appreciate the offer,” I said, giving him a false smile, “but we spent too long here already, and we still have two more floors to clear before I can curb stomp the Franchisor.” I paused as though thinking, though I already knew exactly what I was going to ask next. “But before we go, I suppose we have a time for a quick tour of your Soul Forge. Just a peek,” I said, keeping my tone light. “You made it sound like something out of a legend, and I’d love to see the magic for myself.”

  Nikoli’s grin faltered. “Apologies, but it’s… private.”

  I didn’t blink and let the smile slip from my face. “So is my browser history,” I replied. “But if you want a partnership, I’m gonna need to see how the sausage is made.”

  There was a long pause and tension built in the air between us like a mounting storm front.

  “Some things, once seen, cannot be unseen,” he replied cryptically. “Maybe is best if you just enjoy sausages.”

  “I’ve already seen enough to know that looking away is never a good idea,” I said flatly. “So I’ll have to insist. I’ve learned that when building an alliance, transparency is key. How’s about this, you show me yours”—I raised a hand and summoned one of my Doorway Sentinels—“and I’ll show you mine. Seems like a fair trade?”

  With a slow nod, he turned. “Very well,” he said over one shoulder. “I will show you.” He paused and something dark flashed in his eyes. “But only because you asked so nicely.”

  Without another word, he trudged over to his sword and pulled it from the ground, then set off at a brisk pace across the slush and churned snow toward the soul forge.

  I waved for the others to follow, and we fell into line behind the burly man.

  “Dan,” Jakob asked, leaning forward to whisper into my ear. “Where is Croc?”

  I shot him and the others a warning glance. “Corpse patrol,” I said loudly enough for Nikoli to hear. “Croc’ll be fine. We’ll meet back up after we get a tour. Hopefully, it shouldn’t take too long.”

  The others looked confused by my answer, but didn’t ask any follow up questions—something I was deeply grateful for.

  Walking in a single file line, we trudged across the narrow bridge that carved between trenches and razor-toped berms, our boots crunching in the snow. Before long, we stood in front of an enormous set of iron doors, covered in sigils and slick with frost. Nikoli jammed his scar-covered hand against a palm reader and the doors opened with a clang.

  We followed Nikoli into a vast chamber, carved from stone and reinforced with iron beams, the interior lit with a golden ambient glow from runes etched into every surface. Along the walls were shelving units stacked high with Relics, Artifacts, alchemic ingredients, and fabrication components—all sorted by rarity and type.

  A huge forge for smelting iron and shaping metal took up a good chunk of one wall and Nikoli had countless wood-toped workstations and dozens of runscribed fabrication tables, humming with dormant energy. I spotted a fully furnished alchemical lab that was easily as large as the entirety of the store’s pharmacy, complete with stainless steel tables and more modern lab equipment: beakers and flasks, metal racks with scores of test tubes, centrifuges, Bunsen burners, and bulky microscopes.

  I could practically see Jakob’s mouth water at the find.

  But the wonder quickly curdled in my stomach the second I saw the workers.

  Twenty in total.

  The Delvers moved in jerky, mechanical unison—each of them gaunt, hollow-cheeked, and pale from lack of sunlight. Their eyes were vacant, their skin stretched tight over skeletal frames. I noticed that many were missing fingers or ears, and a few were even missing an eye. Some were literal children. They looked like POWs stuck in a labor camp and around each of their necks were spiked collar biting into raw, chafed flesh.

  Those collars looked identical to the ones I’d seen on Nikoli’s Grippledips—but sized down to human proportions.

  None of them spoke. But their eyes screamed. Pleaded for help. For relief.

  “What the hell is all this?” I asked, my voice low and dangerous.

  Nikoli beamed like a proud father. “My Soul Forge,” he said, his chest puffing up. “And these”—he swept his arms wide—“are my workers! The true heart of my operation. As you have seen firsthand, crafting Relics is time-consuming and expensive. Artifacts even more so, because they consume memories. But, with proper workforce, I can maintain output. Enough to supply all of Kringlegard. Efficient, no?”

  My good hand clenched into a fist.

  “Crafting enough to supply this store of yours could prove to be challenge,” Nikoli continued, rubbing at his beard thoughtfully, “but I’m sure you have a few dissidents that you could donate to the cause, da?”

  I immediately thought of Jackson and hated myself for doing it. He was a piece of shit, but not even Jackson deserved this.

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “This is royally fucked.”

  Nikoli frowned, his brow furrowing.

  “Come now,” he said. “Surely you of all people must see the necessity? Power comes at a price. It is way of things. The Backrooms are not for the weak. We do what we must to survive. You see this. You and I—we are kindred spirits. Survivors. Builders. Forging great things, even though it is costly. I have heard about this store of yours. I do not have Golems to do my bidding, so I make do with what I have. Is common sense.” He paused and canted his head thoughtfully to one side. “What is it you Americans say? Must break eggs to make omelet?”

  He stepped closer, voice lowering like a co-conspirator. “Is unpleasant reality. But such sacrifices must be made for the good of all. The people of Kringlegard have full bellies. Warm shelter. All they could ever need to survive. This”—he gestured at the slaves—“is small price to pay to keep order. And just imagine the good we could do together. Your shop, your spark, my forge—we could shake the very foundations of the Backrooms. Form an alliance that even Monarchs would fear.” He extended a hand. “What do you say? Shall we be partners?”

  For a second—just a second—I actually considered it.

  The tools here, the raw materials, Nikoli’s experience. He wasn’t wrong. Between the two of us, I might actually stand a chance against someone like the Flayed Monarch, especially if he was at war with the other Sovereigns and I managed to cut his logistical legs out from underneath him by securing the Kiosk Network.

  The Relics I could craft with the Forge would make me unstoppable.

  And all it would cost me was all the human decency I had left.

  I slapped his outstretched hand away, not bothering to mask the disgust I felt.

  “I’ve got a better deal,” I growled. “Let them go. All of them. Return them to their families. Then run—and make sure I never see your face again.”

  Nikoli’s smile faded.

  “I do not understand problem,” he said, sounding genuinely confused. “You are great capitalist, like me. You have already seen that commerce is the ultimate weapon. And you are American. You should understand this. What I do is no different than what your country has done for decades. You buy ten-dollar shirts at Walmart. Cheap iPhones built overseas. Why do you think these things are so affordable? In Shenzhen, they have suicide nets to keep workers from leaping to their deaths. Is ugly, true. But this is how business works.”

  He shrugged, completely unfazed.

  “And it is little better in your own country,” he continued. “The poor barely scrape by—just enough for food and rent. When you must toil away to survive, you are a slave just as much as these poor creatures in my Forge. Freedom is illusion. Your corporate masters give you just enough to feel comfortable. Force-feed you mindless entertainment so you do not see the collars, but they are there all the same. The only way to break free is to get others to do the work for you. That is what I have done. What you have done.”

  I mulled over his words and didn’t speak for a moment.

  Maybe he was telling the truth. But this wasn’t America—this was the Backrooms. Out there, in the real world, I was a nobody. A disabled vet and a contractor. I didn’t have the power to influence international trade policies or change corporate payout structures, even if they were fucked up. But this?

  I had the power to stop this.

  “No,” I growled.

  “Be reasonable,” Nikoli said, the words laced with clear threat.

  “He already is,” Harper replied, stepping up beside me, “by giving you a chance to walk away. That’s better than you deserve.”

  “I agree,” Temperance added, positioning herself on my other side. “Personally, I don’t think you deserve that much. If it were up to me, I’d cut your limbs off one by one, turn them into ground meat, then feed them to you raw.”

  “That is a little much,” Jakob said.

  “So you think we should just let this monster walk then?” Temperance asked.

  “What?” Jakob said, surprised. “No, not at all. But feeding him his own ground up limbs is a little morally gray, don’t you think, Kleiner Hase?”

  Nikoli sighed. “I was afraid you might say this.” Then he shrugged. “We could have done great things, you and I, but I knew this was possibility. By now,” he continued, “you must realize—walking away is not an option. Thankfully, you will all make fine editions to workforce.” He pulled his sword from the scabbard at his belt. “Now, do we do this easy way or the Russian way?”

  “And I thought you might say that,” I replied. “Which is why I had Croc replace your sword.”

  Nikoli’s eyes widened in shock as he glanced at the blade clutched in his hand.

  “Croc, now!” I bellowed.

  The sword swelled, huge teeth forming as the hilt of the sword snaked down over Nikoli’s fist and clamped down with a crunch. Everything below Nikoli’s elbow vanished in a spray of red as the mimic blade clattered to the ground and sprouted legs.

  Nikoli screamed, clutching his stump against his chest as he retreated for the far wall.

  “Sorry, but we don’t make friends with people who enslave other people,” Croc said as the mimic swelled in size, then gulped, swallowing Nikoli’s arm with a disgusting slurp.

  “Couldn’t agree more,” I growled, before barking the activation command for the Balloon Menagerie Spell Cards I’d slipped into Nikoli’s belt during our battle against Krampus.

  I dropped the Super Slammer of Shielding and shouted “Let’s Pog!” as a hoard of squeaky, brightly colored balloon animals billowed up and promptly exploded…