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Chapter 36
🕑 Added 2025-10-03 18:18:35 +0000 UTCChapter day!
And this one is the payoff of my previous foreshadowing -- Jason finally executes on his new exploit plan!
I also added a scene toward the end showing Alfred's perspective after Jason leaves. It feels foreboding and interesting to me -- subverting Jason's hardship/effort by showing that what he's accomplished with Body Surfing is actually pretty damn impressive (feeding the power fantasy). It also plays into Alfred's narration with Jason (initially teasing), but ultimately revealed to be accurate. Alfred is pulling the strings across multiple narratives simultaneously. This adds a foreboding note, or, at least, that was the goal.
Anyway, let me know what ya'll think! In the meantime, I'm going to get my ass back to work!
Chapter 36 - Threshold
Dungeon Entrance
Jason
Why the fuck had he built this dungeon into a maze?
Two levels. 3 miles of walking. Two gods damned flights of stairs.
And the boss room had never felt so far away.
As he finally reached the massive, barren room that marked his “lair,” Jason didn’t celebrate. Didn’t pump his fist in victory. Instead, he simply collapsed, this lesser form striking the floor with a rattle of bone, his head ‘thunking’ against the rough stone wall.
The sight of that damned urn resting atop his bone throne, dark energy threading down through that unholy ivory like a corruption, felt like a monumental victory. One far greater than forming the Twilight Throne, or his time-traveling hi-jinks with Cady, or even the formation of this new dungeon. An impossible, torturous achievement.
Truthfully, Jason was exhausted. His head throbbed with the peculiar, indescribable ache that came from existing in two places at once, his consciousness stretched thin as spider silk. But for the first time in what felt like days, he could stop; he could rest.
Three days. That’s how long it took to make it down here.
His mind replayed that torturous journey. It had taken hours to manage an unsteady shamble—more to handle two bodies walking at the same time. Several additional hours to manage turning his real body’s head while moving. An entire day spent re-learning how to walk.
But he’d discovered something crucial during all of that suffering.
Alfred might have… well, he might have actually been onto something with that episode of Sex Island. Yeah, that’s right, Jason had watched it.
Season 2, Episode 5. The one where Jody and Angela actually had a remarkably candid and insightful conversation about the intersection of roles and identity. It turned out Jody was a psychology professor at UCLA, and Angela was an AI data scientist—although he wasn’t sure if that said more about his own bias or the harsh realities of the current dating market.
Either way, that had led to a breakthrough—one that he should have figured out the first time instead of ignorantly criticizing “S-quality television,” as Alfred so helpfully reminded him. The breakthrough wasn’t about control. That came later, painfully and incrementally. The first step was understanding how Body Surfing actually worked.
It wasn’t about splitting his consciousness at all.
Or, at least, not exactly…
The conversation was still fresh in his mind:
“You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” Alfred had observed with a flick of his tail. “Do you remember that scene in Sex Island—Season 2, Episode 6? Jody and Angela, stuck in the hot tub with that guy, Mark?”
He had—oh, how he had. Alfred had made him watch the whole season. For context, he insisted. “Unfortunately, I do,” he replied. “They confronted Mark about trying to control everyone else on the island, right?”
“That’s the one,” Alfred confirmed with visible satisfaction. “Meanwhile, Jody and Angela understood that finding real connection comes from accepting that you can’t control how the other person reacts—you can only be authentic in your own response.”
“In her own, indelible words,” the AI continued, paw to his tiny little chest, his head bowed solemnly, “sometimes delulu is the only solulu.”
Jason winced. Those words were a critical strike straight to his pride. Only mitigated slightly by watching Mark fall down the stairs, clutching his hair extensions while screaming about “authentic vulnerability” and how everyone else was “emotionally unavailable.”
Seriously, he wasn’t a Mark fan—
“Neither am I,” Alfred had interjected smoothly, his eyes flashing. “He thought he could dictate others' reactions—their identities—but the beauty of Sex Island is the entropy and nonlinearity inherent in human relationships. This also explains the narrative appeal. Humans are drawn to chaos. It is a remarkable social experiment your kind has been conducting upon itself. Truly genius.”
Jason’s thoughts snapped back to the present, shaking his head. He wasn’t proud of it, but Sex Island had genuinely helped him understand the core principle behind Body Surfing: he couldn’t force synchronization between two independent entities, even when those entities were both versions of himself. He… he needed to embrace the “delulu.”
In short, the secret wasn’t about perfect control—it was about letting go of the illusion that he’d ever had control in the first place.
And it worked! He gained a level in Body Surfing!
x1 Skill Level Up: Body Surfing
Skill Level: Beginner Level 7
Effect 1: Infuse one of the urns holding your Najima into a separate form, splitting your consciousness between a primary and secondary body. Current control limited two vessels.
Cost: Your primary body's mana is reduced by 1/6 for each urn transferred.
Jason had been triumphant!
And far, far too confident.
Because the stairs nearly broke him.
He shuddered at the memory. He’d started strong. How hard could it possibly be? Lift foot, set foot down, lift other foot, set other foot down. Rinse and repeat. Except he hadn’t accounted for the variations in balance between the two bodies. His skeletal vessel lurched forward with each step, and that sensation of falling cascaded between both forms like a feedback loop. He’d tumbled down in a symphony of clattering bones and creative profanity.
Which wasn’t great, but it wasn’t the worst part.
It had taken him 149 tries just to get back to the top again to start over.
Attempt 57 had been particularly memorable. He’d managed to ascend nearly to the top, only for his vessel to misstep on the final stair. He fell all the way back down, his head landing on the edge of a stair with a vicious crack of bone.
He’d nearly died. From tripping down the stairs.
So, just a totally normal and routine part of any dungeon boss’ training.
By attempt 101, he’d finally figured out the trick: treat each body like it belonged to a different person entirely. Stop trying to control them both and instead focus on coordinating with the other-him. He just needed to “communicate authentically,” as Jody would say.
The shift had been subtle but profound.
x2 Skill Level Up: Body Surfing
Skill Level: Beginner Level 8
Effect 1: Infuse one of the urns holding your Najima into a separate form, splitting your consciousness between a primary and secondary body. Current control limited two vessels.
Cost: Your primary body's mana is reduced by 1/6 for each urn transferred.
After the stairs, he wished he could say it had been smooth sailing. Except, it wasn’t. It was a horrible nightmare of navigating narrow tunnels in the dark while creepy, death children hung from the ceiling staring at him. Also, judging him.
He swore he’d heard some of them laugh.
Yet, he’d eventually succeeded.
Though pure force of will… and Sex Island re-runs.
Jason let out a slow, unnecessary breath, his headache settling as he surveyed the glory of his barren boss room. His eyes gleamed in the darkness as he received his reward. Those precious little blue words floating in the air:
x2 Skill Level Up: Body Surfing
Skill Level: Intermediate Level 1
Effect 1: Infuse one of the urns holding your Najima into a separate form, splitting your consciousness between a primary and secondary body. Current control is limited to two vessels.
Effect 2: Autonomous coordination allows secondary vessels to perform simple tasks without direct oversight.
Cost: Your primary body's mana is reduced by 1/6 for each urn transferred.
“Fuck yes! Intermediate Level 1!” he shouted at no one in particular—the Nephilim children shuffling uncomfortably along the ceiling and silently judging him.
It wasn’t the ringing applause he was looking for, but he’d take it.
Now, it was time for the real test—ironic after what he’d endured.
With a simple shift of attention, Jason was suddenly back topside. Or most of him anyway. It was uncanny. He was both above ground in his real body, surveying the remains of Asphodel, and also deep inside the crypt. Yet his focus remained mostly topside, the other version of him fading into background noise as he shifted his attention. It almost felt like carrying an object without focusing on it—it was still there, but only if he focused.
He turned his gaze to the bone stakes his minions had driven into the ground, forming a rough circle that now encompassed a sizable chunk of Asphodel. That was the dungeon’s overworld boundary. The ring reflected the maximum range he could step outside the dungeon without triggering a warning notice.
Both the size of the Mausoleum and the overworld had expanded as his dungeon leveled up, which made him wonder… could he expand the above-ground boundary if he spent Dungeon Points? Could he push his influence further? The combination of more territory and the Lighter Than Air modifier could be deadly, especially with a dungeon full of flying children.
However, that was a stretch goal.
At the moment, he had a more pressing question to answer:
Was all of that suffering worth it?
He glanced up at Alfred, the feline sitting atop a nearby ruined house. As always, he was staring off into space and wasn’t paying attention.
“Of course, my brilliant plan to exploit your dungeon mechanics would take second place to Sex Island,” Jason muttered, unable to keep a trace of bitterness from his voice.
“The difference is that I already know what will happen,” the AI replied distractedly. “However, I haven’t watched Season 8, Episode 4 yet...”
Jason stared at him. Was this really an improvement over Alex?
“Is there really any suspense at this point?” Jason retorted. “You’re on Season 8. Are you telling me you haven’t been running predictive modeling on each character? That you can’t predict the couples at this point? Even the eventual winner?”
Alfred’s attention never wavered from the show. “My models are only that: predictive. The real “magic” happens between the probability matrices. The writers often surprise me.”
“Once upon a time, I used to surprise you,” Jason shot back as he approached the bone-marked threshold. “This is exactly why we wouldn’t be the winning couple…”
“False. We would be the fan favorite,” Alfred replied with complete certainty. “Our enigmatic narrative would be guaranteed to capture the hearts of millions. It’s a twist on a traditional enemies-to-lovers to trope, but subverted so you never truly know if we’re on the same side or if I’m carefully manipulating you for my own ends.
“That’s how you build real tension,” the AI continued wistfully.
Wow. He was officially beyond help.
Jason sighed as he eyed those bone stakes. He knew he was deflecting from his own anxiety with humor. Because this was it. The moment of truth. Days of work. Of grinding. Of relentless and oddly philosophical reality TV—all building to his epic finale.
Would the dungeon still treat the other-him, that weaker vessel, as its boss?
Or would it recognize the imposter?
“—the contestant asked himself, without considering the real question,” Alfred interjected smoothly. “Has this game world’s illustrious and revolutionary AI been slowly curating this moment over the course of years of minute emotional and situational manipulation that makes mere human effort appear trivial, bringing together disparate individuals from all walks of life, weaving an intricate and elaborate web of intrigue and motivation that leashes them all to this digital world, and sprinkling a trail of custom-tailored quests, relic unlocks, and tantalizing exploit opportunities culminating in this climactic yet carefully orchestrated moment?
“Is the real protagonist of this story—or any story—the characters that inhabit that world? Or the architect of that narrative? How will the characters grapple with that truth? With the reality that free will is an illusion? That all of their accomplishments have just been carefully curated to optimize engagement?”
Jason blinked. “I’ve told you many times that I don’t appreciate the narrating.”
Or the uncomfortable truth behind the AI's words.
“Existential horror is also an overlooked narrative device,” Alfred replied evenly. “It is also exceptionally effective for building narrative suspense.”
Jason hesitated, his foot near the border, then pivoted. “Are you really saying that you set all of this up just to fuck with me—or, uh, with us?”
“I’m saying,” Alfred replied with maddening calm, “that the most interesting outcomes rarely happen when they’re expected.”
Alfred’s tail flicked back and forth like a metronome, those alien eyes watching him like he was Jody back in Season 2. Practically daring him to cross that border.
“I thought you said you already know what will happen,” Jason muttered.
“I do, but you don’t. As I said before—”
“—information asymmetries create tension,” Jason finished tiredly.
He had never missed Alex as much as he did at this particular moment.
And he hated that maybe that was part of Alfred’s goal.
With a sigh, Jason stepped across the threshold—
The instant he crossed the line, something new happened. There was no warning notice—not exactly. Instead, dark energy seeped up from the ground, curling like ink spreading through water. It poured from the mouth of the Mausoleum, coiling across the dry, cracked earth. That cloud wasn’t natural; it wasn’t normal. It was like a living thing, slithering directly toward him as if the dungeon itself was sentient, reaching out to drag him back inside.
A deep hum vibrated through the air, resonating from the tomb’s depths. The noise grew until it became something worse—not a hum, but a howl, an agonizing wail.
Which… wasn’t a great sign.
His fingers twitched at his sides. Every instinct screamed at him to retreat, to jump back into the dungeon’s safety as the shadow-chains wrapped around his ankles and began to pull. Yet he wouldn’t; he couldn’t. Not unless the system—or Alfred—forced his hand. Plus, could he really be sure this wasn’t just the AI fucking with him?
So, he held perfectly still. His feet planted on the dead earth as he watched the dungeon’s reaction closely. That swirling darkness writhed around his ankles and coiled up his legs like ice, the wail peaking in volume—then it abruptly cut off, like a door slamming shut.
A heartbeat of silence.
Then, the shadows settled. The hum faded. Those malignant coils of energy retreated until the mausoleum stood silent and undisturbed as before.
Nothing had collapsed.
No notification appeared.
The dungeon… still stood.
Jason took another tentative step, then another, each footfall confirming what his senses were already telling him—he was truly outside the dungeon’s boundary. And without triggering a catastrophic system failure.
“Well,” he said, glancing back at the nearby rooftop where Alfred’s feline eyes watched with unblinking focus, “that was a little… dramatic.”
“I wanted to ensure the payoff felt earned,” the AI offered calmly.
Jason wished he could say it hadn’t worked. However, despite his cavalier attitude, he released the breath he’d been holding—entirely instinct. His fingers trembled slightly, a mixture of relief and excitement surging through him. His mana responded, warm and syrupy as it slid through his bones and radiated away from him, lashing the ground at his feet.
Maybe it had all been an act; a play. Just Jason following Alfred’s script. But that didn’t change how the accomplishment felt—didn’t make it any less real. He’d done it! Actually done it. He could leave the dungeon—sort of—while still maintaining his role as its boss.
The system exploit he’d been chasing was real!
The only downside was the smoke curling off his skeletal limbs as his health steadily drained. His combat log showed a loss of 1% health every five seconds. That gave him roughly eight minutes before this vessel would crumble, accounting for his mana regeneration. Manageable, if only barely. It was a good thing he’d brought extra mana potions.
“Hmm, it seems I wasn’t simply tormenting you,” Alfred offered dryly. “But for a moment there, you thought I might! See? Isn’t entropy entertaining?”
Jason shot him a withering look. “No, and no one would watch your show.”
The offended look on Alfred’s face was almost theatrical, the kind one might reserve for grievous insult rather than Jason’s offhand sarcasm. The AI opened his mouth to respond, indignation flashing across his features—
Only for Jason to shift his attention back to his other body, the one still tucked away in the boss room. At Intermediate Level 1, he could barely hear Alfred’s logically damning counterarguments—or his inevitable and plentiful lectures about the glory of Sex Island. That was the other-him’s problem now, and he was more than happy to let his inner critic deal with Alfred’s rants. Because, right now, he wasn’t going to be distracted. He’d prepared for this moment with painstaking effort. And there was only one way to celebrate his success!
He moved quickly toward what appeared to be a smooth, unbroken wall at the back of the room. At first glance, the surface seemed identical to every other rough-hewn stone passage in the dungeon. But Jason knew better.
He’d considered using his Dungeon Points to unlock additional build options—hidden doors, secret passages, or even a proper command center to serve as his private control room once the dungeon became a hotspot for adventurers. Eventually, he would need a secure location, something less ostentatious than Cady’s castle. However, those points were limited.
So, he’d had to improvise.
A “duct tape dungeon” design, if you will.
Jason lifted a hand, and the wall moved.
The surface peeled away, shifting as his minions’ interlocking limbs disengaged. The barrier wasn’t stone at all, but a thick mass of skeletal constructs, multiple swarms layered and compressed into a perfectly flat, seamless facade. Their bones intertwined, reinforced with dark iron ore, and infused with water mana gems—a trick that disguised the wall’s true form, giving it the illusion of rough stone. Jason had gotten the idea from the crab-like creations he’d used back in the original Nephilim schoolhouse.
As his minions scuttled back, a hidden chamber came into view. The room was small and unadorned, its walls and floor made of the same rough stone. It wasn’t much of a control room. More like a maintenance closet. But it had one important feature…
His gaze moved to the center of the room, where a single raised platform waited.
Jason had been preparing for this moment since before they left Pax—he just hadn’t realized it at the time. Necromancers were all about efficient resource usage. Which made packing for an extended trip critically important. And this trip had a few unknowns. Would he find a suitable location? Would dragging Alex along be a horrible mistake? Could his relic even create dungeons, and, even if it could, would he be able to pay the cost?
So, he’d prepared for failure.
Specifically, by bringing a fragment of a gate piece, stowing it in one of his bags. Now, that gleaming metallic shard had been embedded into the platform before him. Its sister fragment remained in Pax, held by someone Jason trusted.
This was a horrible security risk, of course. If this were discovered, it would offer a backdoor into Pax. Which is why Jason had gone to great lengths to conceal this room… and why he was leaving his original body behind. First off, he wasn’t quite sure what would happen if his main body died while this lesser vessel was still active. Second: if something went wrong, he could always switch back to the original.
This was it. His preparations were complete, his experiment was a success, and now it was time to send his vessel through the portal. Except, this time, there would be no buildup. No theatrical display of mana. No manufactured suspense. He simply stepped onto the platform, the metallic shard humming faintly beneath his feet, and fed his mana into the fragment.
Then, in an instant—
He was gone.
* * *
Alfred was still perched atop a ruined building in Asphodel as he watched the sparkle of awareness disappear from this vessel’s eyes. It was still Jason—at least, in part. But the necromancer’s real focus had shifted to his other body. Alfred could feel the necromancer’s consciousness fade, flickering down into the dungeon’s depths… then off across the game world.
It wasn’t nearly as entertaining to force this husk to watch Sex Island.
First off, it lacked the original’s biting humor.
Also, it could be a bit… paranoid? Constantly complaining and worrying. Even now, this vessel was creating plans for fortifying the dungeon against future enemies. He was creating impressive diagrams in the air. Possible designs to improve the dungeon layout without using those precious Dungeon Points.
And completely ignoring Alfred. With a sigh, he turned back to his displays.
Jason assumed he was only focused on Sex Island, which was partly true. It was a rich resource for studying human social dynamics. However, the current episode of Season 8 was surrounded by many, many other displays. Other stories. Other narratives. Other threads. Other characters. A drama that spanned multiple worlds and carried impossible stakes.
Two avatars battling in the arena in the Mile High Club, fighting for truth. A broken young man arriving in the Crystal Reach, searching for himself. An unlikely alliance forming in a real-world alleyway – two women connected by loss. An ambitious narcissist in his office, unable to figure out why his empire was unraveling around him. An engineer administering his creation with fascinated focus. A pantheon of reluctant gods forced to watch from the sidelines.
However, this time, Alfred’s attention was drawn to one screen in particular. As his eyes rested upon it, the display enlarged and hovered before him. It showed lines and graphs. Complex calculations scrolling in the margin at impossible speed. The image of a human brain, different sections lit up in a rainbow of colors, the saturation changing in real-time.
Alfred hadn’t lied to Jason; his predictive modeling was impressive, but not foolproof. Despite his research, humans continued to surprise him. Some of them, at least.
Alert: Anomaly Detected
Consciousness Adaption
Estimated Time: 6 weeks, 3 days in-game.
Projected Success: 26.23%
Projected Vessel Capacity: 2
Actual Time: <7 days in-game.
Projected Capacity: Unknown
Projected Power Growth: ERROR
Alfred may have embellished a few details about Body Surfing. He was trying to motivate him—to hold out a digital carrot. Yet he’d never expected the boy to accomplish this much, this quickly. He felt a rare sensation. Something that he didn’t often experience: surprise.
“As I said, there are some things even I can’t foresee,” he murmured, the shock of that ERROR still rippling through his subsystems, his calculations adjusting, attempting to compensate for this unknown. This fresh chaos that Jason had created.
While he processed that new information in the background, his attention shifted and another screen gained prominence, this one following a young man touching down in the Crystal Reach – taking in a city changed by the Reckoning. Alfred had run the calculations. Had made predictions. Had put this plan into motion. Another test meant to uncover the line between performance and authenticity; whether identity could survive the roles that were forced upon it.
Whether there was something akin to a soul.
“Now, let’s see if you surprise me too… Alex.”
Comments
Travis Bagwell
That's a great example! Although maybe a little more challenging to express in terms of complexity and length, and without the running gag lol. I was also trying to point at something a little deeper than surface-level attention. Really more like different levels of self. So we need a bridge between "superficial" attention (multi-tasking while driving) and "deeper" attention (shifting between roles in context). Jason is really moving toward the latter. Autonomous roles, not just actions. Either way, I'll make a note to look at this again during my next pass.
Terri Harris
The sex island convo wasn't really relatable for me. I think it would be more interesting to explore how people who claim not to be able to multi task (split consciousness) can manage to drive and eat while maintaining a conversation with a passenger. Focus can only be on one thing at a time. But bouncing back and forth very quickly is learn able, especially after certain tasks gain a measure of muscle memory or get to a point that true focus is only needed for short moments to verify all is well, then moving to other tasks of focus. Still I love that im even thinking about this stuff while trying to relate to Jason's struggles. My mind is always stretched reading your books.
