My dear sir, sooner or later, you will have need of us, myself most of all. I cannot fathom why you persist in pretending otherwise and lock us away.

— Val

The shopping mall overflowed with people, their bodies crammed into every available inch of the expansive structure. Al and James maneuvered through the bustling crowd, jostling with the masses. The constant buzz of chatter filled the air, making it nearly impossible for Al to hear his own thoughts. He paused amidst the sea of inconsequential numbskulls, surveying the hopeless lot. He almost felt a tinge of pity for them. Even James twitched his brows in discomfort.

Al shook his head in disbelief at the sight of grown adults parading around in costumes, turning the shopping mall into a living tableau from a children’s storybook. A medieval knight zoomed by on a scooter, chased by an astronaut wielding a glowing stick. A peculiar raccoon-dog-like creature struggled to ascend the escalator in the wrong direction, while a Power Puff Girl—she was more than one size too big to be dressed like that—stuffed her face with enough calories to feed a small village.

“Are you sure we are at the right place?” James asked, casting a doubtful glance around the bustling crowd.

Al nodded, double-checking the coordinates on his phone. Suddenly, a lanky teen in a straw hat bumped into him, knocking his phone from his hand. The young man looked as if he was about to apologize, but Al’s deathly glare sent him scurrying away, disappearing into the sea of imbeciles that populated the mall. Everywhere Al looked, people were dressed as fantasy characters. Al sighed, the minds of lesser men might indeed be more complicated than he originally thought.

One can study for a lifetime and still not discover the phenomena that drive them.

“Well,” Al said, “we should have expected as much, where else would something called the Sword of Omens be located?” Watching grown human beings dressed like cartoon characters was enough to induce a headache. Al cupped his head. He could feel his IQ depleting by just being here.

“Interesting costumes dudes,” a voice remarked. A man and woman stood eyeing Al and James. Both individuals wore black masks that covered half of their faces with two points sticking out at the top. Their black capes and dark attire seemed familiar. James and Al exchanged a knowing look.

Batboy and Batlady?

“So, what are you supposed to be?” Batboy asked.

“We are professors,” James said firmly. “We have no time to engage in frivolous activities that have no bearing or impact on reality.”

“Nice,” Batgirl said. “That’s exactly what a real professor would say.”

“We are real professors,” James said.

Batboy nodded. “Fully committed then, I like it. Stay in character, my friends.”

They turned to leave but Al stopped them, “Wait, Batboy and Batlady!”

The lanky teen’s eyes flashed with indignation. “It’s Batman,” he corrected sharply.

“And I am Batgirl,” the girl said.

Al and James exchanged another look. “If you are Batgirl, why is he not Batboy?” James asked.

The two bat-people paused, then looked at each other. “That’s just how it works,” the Batboy finally said.

“Okay, whatever,” Al said. “Do you have any idea what the Sword of Omens is?”

Batboy nodded respectfully with an annoying smirk on that incredibly punchable face of his.

“So, you too desire sight beyond sight,” Batboy said.

“What?” James asked.

Batboy exhaled slowly. “They are still in character, babe,” Batgirl said. “They are acting like they don’t know.”

“Well then,” Batboy said, his voice growing deeper. Al ignored the weirdness, realizing that trying to understand the aliens right now would prove counterproductive.

“The Sword of Omen,” Batboy continued in an unnaturally deep voice, “will be auctioned at the Tent of Reckoning in a few minutes.” Batboy scratched his beardless chin and swung his cape around in a wide, sweeping motion for no apparent reason.

Al sighed and again, he opted to ignore the weirdness.

“It will be a difficult quest,” Batboy said, “but I shall lend my Batarang. I will ascend into—”

“Which direction is the Tent of Reckoning?” James cut in, impatiently.

“That way,” Batboy said, his voice returning to normal.

“Much appreciated, Batboy,” James said.

After enduring a few more awkward conversations with two numbskulls who referred to themselves as “Shinobi of the Leaf,” whatever that means, and a self-identified “Flame Alchemist,” they located the Tent of Reckoning at the back of the mall. They elbowed their way through the auction tent, bodies pressing close on all sides, the air thick and stifling from the sheer mass of attendees.

Al sighed and shook his head when a person dressed as a werewolf passed by. “So,” Al said, “this is what undergrads do when they are not in class. No wonder they fail.”

James nodded.

A servant with horns hopped over to them, wearing shoes shaped like hooves. “Are you fine gentlemen here to bid thee on the Sword of Omens? The sword which is also a key,” the horned man asked with an awkward bow.

“A key to what?” Al asked, stepping up to the horned man.

The man stumbled backward awkwardly in his hoof-shaped shoes. “Thou shalt see,” he said. He handed them a number on a piece of cardboard shaped like one of those round spiky things ninjas throw around. They made their way toward the front of the tent. On the stage, near the centre of the tent, stood an oversized man, stripped to the waist with dragon wings attached to his back. Next to him, a white cloth covered a chest-high rectangular box.

The sword, Al thought. What type of games were these people playing? What could any of this have to do with Elizabeth’s blood? Al quieted his thoughts. He would find the answers, whatever they might be.

The man with the dragon wings gestured for a microphone and managed to hush the overly excited crowd. He went on and on about the history of the sword, spewing meaningless information about the stupid toy. The audience of dimwits cheered and roared as if he had just promised them forgiveness of sins and eternal life.

“The bidding will start at one hundred and fifty dollars,” the Dragon Man said; “do I hear one hundred and fifty?”

A hand rose at the front.

“One hundred and fifty, for the… gentleman with number four.”

Strange, Al thought, number four wasn’t wearing a costume. 

“Do I hear two hundred?” Dragon Man continued.

Another number went up. “Ah,” Dragon Man said, clearly excited, “two hundred for number sixteen. Do I hear two-fifty?”

This is taking too long, Al thought. “Five hundred,” he said, raising his number.

Dragon Man smiled. “Ah, five hundred for number nineteen, do I hear—”

“Six hundred!” the man at the front shouted.

“Six hundred from number four, well done,” the Dragon Man acknowledged, “do I hear six-fifty?”

“One thousand,” Al shouted.

The tent gasped, and a heavy silence descended. “Dedication... I love it,” the Dragon Man said, “do I hear eleven hundred?”

Number four spun, locking eyes with Al. James and Al gazed at each other in wonder.

“Wilfred?” James questioned.

James and Al waded through the crowd, making their way toward their friend.

“What are you two doing here?” Wilfred asked them, surprised.

“Why are you here?” Al demanded. “Don’t you have classes to teach?”

Wilfred hesitated, his gaze shifting between James and Al. “I am here to buy the sword…for my nephew.” Nephew? Al rolled his eyes in disbelief.

“It’s true,” Wilfred said. “He is really into these—”

“Going once,” Dragon Man called out, interrupting their conversation, “going twice...” He paused, his greedy gaze scanning the audience. After a few seconds, he continued, “Sold to number nineteen for one thousand dollars.”

Without wasting a moment, James and Al rushed to the stage. Ignoring formalities, Al waved the photographer away and ripped open the container. Disregarding the surprised gasps and murmurs from the crowd, they searched the sword for a QR code, or something that would lead to who was seeding these knights.

“Sir,” a horned servant said to Al. The young girl stood, offering a package. Her curly brown hair peeked out from around the horns, framing her face. The girl’s slender face bore a familiar resemblance, Al thought, as she offered Al a package.

“What is it?” Al inquired.

“This package comes with the sword as well.” The girl replied, smiling as she handed Al the package.

Al passed the package to James and continued searching the sword for any clue or evidence, something that would lead him on the right track.

 “Al,” James called out, holding the opened package. Inside, there was another bloodstained knight.