Reinhardt opened his eyes with a jolt.

  He frowned. He was looking across the tables of the Grand Hall in the Castle of the Dungeon

  This is where he died. He could have sworn that he had died.

  He had watched the sword coming. Felt the lack of body, felt the air rushing past his face as his head fell.

  Obviously not, as he was still alive. At least, his eyes were open and he was breathing. Was he breathing? He realised he hadn’t taken a breath yet. He sucked in a deep, steadying breath. It rattled and echoed horribly, and did little to steady him. What was with that noise? He couldn’t even begin to identify it. It was like he was breathing underwater in an irrigation pipe - burbling and echo-y. Something was definitely wrong. It occurred to him that he still couldn’t feel his… anything. He tried to move his hands, to get up, anything. His body did not respond. He then realised he did not need to get up. He was looking at the tables from his standing eyeline.

  “.”

  He was standing against the wall on one side of the Grand Hall. He looked across at an Animated Armour positioned against the wall opposite him. It had its zweihander point down, resting its gauntlets on the cross guards. They seemed to be about the same height, which Reinhardt was sure was not the case. The Armours in the Grand Hall were the same height as Otto, if not taller. Reinhardt frowned again. Where were the others? He must not have been killed, only knocked out, and the others had dragged him out somehow. He tried to turn his head. He couldn’t. Only his eyes seemed to respond. That was odd, surely the knowledge he was dreaming and the shock of paralysis would jolt him awake? Obviously not. He worked his jaw and found he could move his mouth and jaw. That meant he could talk, right? He drew in another breath. It rattled and burbled in his chest, although he couldn’t feel it, only hear it.

  “Otto!”

  It came out as a guttural, hoarse whisper.

  “Magdi!”

  He yelled as loud as he could, but it only came out as a hoarse, croaky whisper. That felt so real, his throat hurt as if he had yelled. But still not enough to shake him from this dream.

  The Grand Hall, his last known memory, was immaculate. He looked up at the ceiling. He could make out the gold inlay on the wood. He must have imprinted all these tiny details, more than he thought possible - he barely took notice before. It was like he was still there. A very strange dream to have, to dream about where he died. He did die, didn’t he? He definitely did. Was this the afterlife? None he’d ever heard of. Or maybe it’s because he died in the DungeonEssence, floating about the DungeonDungeon. DungeonsEssence ghosts floating about. But he wasn’t dead. He wasn’t. He was thinking and feeling and blinking and breathing. Well, he was breathing when he made himself breathe. He frowned again. He really needed to figure out if he was dreaming or dead. He felt at this stage he could rule out dead, as he was thinking about whether or not he was dead. There was a famous PhilosageI exist, since I can think.” So, that left dreaming.

  But this was the worst dream ever. Standing immobile in the place where he died, staring at an Animated Armour with a Zweihander, the same enemy that killed him. All over a Shield. A Dungeon

  This was no dream, it was a nightmare. Standing here, immobile, staring at the silverware. Staring at an Animated Armour, standing at attention with its massive sword. Was that the Armour that had killed him? No. No, the Armour that had beheaded him had been beheaded by Magdi almost immediately. He knew that to be true. He had watched the helmet fall. Magdi had to have gained a Essence from another one, he was certain, so he was sure Magdi had got his

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  He nodded to himself, without being able to move his head. He looked across at the Animated Armour opposite him. He remembered how it had moved, how it had slid from one stance to the next, whipping the zweihander around in sweeping arcs, repositioning and twisting to get the blade moving faster than he could blink. He remembered watching the light run up one side of the blade, hit the tip and shift due to the different angle of the bevel. A Mid- , armour quality equal to Magdi’s hammer. Could Hapthor have made armour to the same standard? Maybe. He didn’t know if Hapthor could forge armour. He assumed he could, he was a Dwarf trained by Dwarves. He had forged a

  It was a strange thing - his memory told him he had definitely been killed, but by the very nature of being able to remember it meant he was alive - right? That was good, he was glad he was able to figure that out, since his recollections all told him he was dead. He was sure his math of Magdi’s

  He willed himself to suck in a lungful of air. He breathed as deeply as he could. He realised after a few seconds that his lungs didn’t seem to fill. A few seconds later, listening to the horrible, rattling, sucking noise of his breath, he came to the conclusion his lungs would never fill. This action also confirmed he was dreaming. That was one of those weird things that to be part of a dream. So strange that he was lying wherever he was, dreaming about thinking about not being dead while remembering getting killed. The mind was funny sometimes. He should open his eyes, the blackness was reminding him too much of when he died. He remembered the tunnelling of the vision, looking into the visor of the helm of the Animated Armour that had killed him, and he remembered the flashing Innate. The same that had led them into the Castle, and had tempted them to go for that Magic Shield. He wondered idly what the Enchantment on the was. He bet it was good. Shields sometimes had better Enchantments than armour, or even weapons. Some are so good that it was better to use the shield as a weapon, and get another shield to use as a shield. Seems funny, but then some people had Essence, the - surely it was affected by your intentions. Actually, the block splitter was a tool, not a weapon, it was just being as a weapon - and it counted. So it definitely went by your intent. Unless, Magdi was running around this entire time and not benefitting from his . After he woke up, he’d ask. Otto too, he had to have read something - this had to have come up before.

  During that swirling miasma of thought, he drifted off into a stupor. He wasn’t aware his thoughts were drifting, because he was shocked back to reality by the sound of marching feet. “Shunk, Shunk, Shunk,” the distinctive sound of the Animated Armour’s footfalls passed by the door. His eyes popped open and he spun to face the door. Or at least, he intended to. He remained immobile, staring at the fixtures in the Grand Hall. That was bad. It was bad, since he knew now that he was awake, that he couldn’t have been asleep. So that meant he was not dreaming. He wasn’t dead either, so he had to be alive, or at least alive enough to be awake and aware - just floating here, six feet above the floor, unable to move. Well now, he couldn’t be alive, not only because his death kept replaying in his mind, but also because the Animated Armours in the Grand Hall were not reacting to his presence. That, more than any other thought, brought him up short. He was killed, he remembered that clearly, and the Dungeon

  All evidence pointed to him being dead.

  He remembered being killed.

  He was dead.

  It was a relief to finally figure it out.

  But he was dead, and Magdi and Otto were dead as well.

  Reinhardt wept.