I stormed into the room as if I was twice my size before remembering that the Shoemaker was a very tall man. Whatever. Didn't matter. I had a grappling hook and a frickin' sword.

  We were in what looked like a garbage disposal room. The room smelled earthy, like bins of compost, a perfect complement to the beads of water that hung in the moist air. Within the earthy smell, I picked up yucky scents coming from the corner of the room, some sort of foul-smelling waste, like baby poop and a rotting corpse had decided to take a nap together.

  "Shoemaker!" I growled.

  For a split second I wondered what would happen if I said it in a silly voice, as if I had inhaled helium. Shoemaker, I would squeak. I couldn't stop the laugh in my head from spilling out of my mouth. I hoped it made me look creepy and sinister.

  "Vanquisher," he replied in an even tone, narrowing his eyes at me.

  I knew he would be good with the iron poker, but I wondered what else I needed to watch for. Probably his shoes, right?

  I readied my sword and ARM.

  I fired the grappling hook at him first, running an electric current through it. Rather than attempting to block it, he let it strike him in his work apron. When the two collided, the apron glowed with a warm red light, absorbing the impact. It dissipated the electrical current as well.

  So, he had electromagnetic shielding on his apron.

  Fine. I could still take his head off or hit him from behind. At least I learned about the armor so that I didn't waste any of my projectile missiles. The apron would pull them into its electromagnetic field and protect him, unless I could get close enough for a kill shot.

  I charged at him.

  He fired a shotgun blast from a band on his right arm.

  I pulled up my energy shield, catching the core of his blast and protecting my face, but I felt the impact of pellets embedding in my thigh and a dull deep pain strike my leg. Little sparks flew through my field of vision, followed by the thumping of tiny bursting pellets against my chest, pounding me like a fist, as the energy shield mostly destroyed them.

  He fired again.

  I doubted it would hold more than a few emergency shots, and it wasn't as powerful or wide in its range as a true shotgun, but it scared me all the same, and I was already wounded.

  I dove to the floor with the energy shield extended in front of me. The second blast missed, only a few pellets exploding against my shield.

  I fired my grappling hook again, only this time beyond the Shoemaker to a bin behind him.

  I had been trying to anchor into the wall to jerk myself forward. Instead, I was left in front of the Shoemaker while he readied another blast from his wrist.

  Luckily, I was able to fling the bin toward us as I pulled back the grappling hook.

  The bin of compost struck him from behind, sending him flying toward me, accompanied by dirt and bits of decomposing food.

  He extended the rod out in front of him, holding the top and bottom with each hand, as if to keep me away or ram it sideways into my jaw.

  I was already low to the ground, so I angled the sword at him, hoping to run him through, letting his own momentum do the job for me.

  But the apron shield was too strong. My sword didn't penetrate. Instead, I nearly dropped my sword, and the Shoemaker catapulted over me.

  I spun and readied myself for another attack, but the iron rod was already on its way. He cracked me in the side of the head, knocking me to the ground.

  As I staggered to my feet, I fired five missiles at him simultaneously. His apron lit up. I was still too far away for any of them to make it through the electromagnetic field. But it was a pleasant distraction, like a swarm of exploding bees in his face.

  I used the opportunity to grip my sword and lunge at him.

  He deflected my thrust to the left, and then punched me with his off hand, right in the eye.

  I fell again. Stupid slippery stone floors. They were even slicker now that they were covered in compost.

  He brought the iron pole down across my back.

  I yowled.

  He was going to beat me where I laid.

  I let go of my sword and reached out for one of the Shoemaker's legs. He raised his foot away from my hand, showing me an excellent view of a yellow and green clog with blue swirly patterns. The workmanship was truly amazing. Who would have thought you can fight in clogs?

  He stomped down on my right hand with his heel, causing me to scream again, but as soon as he lifted his foot off to get better footing, I crawled closer.

  I got a grip and pulled myself forward as he brought the iron rod down again, smashing it into my lower back.

  I told myself to ignore the pain, to keep pulling on his leg.

  It worked.

  I bought myself just enough time to reach my other arm forward, under him, to fire five more projectiles. I didn't have the time to get a good shot off, but it saved my life. I was far enough past his apron that I could finally wound him.

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  Three of the missiles flew off and hit the walls, the fourth clipped his leg, causing him to lose his balance, and the fifth circled around, partially caught in the electromagnetic field of his apron, only to hit him in his left arm. The explosion burned him and broke his upper arm.

  Now we had a fair fight again.

  I rose to meet feet just as he did. He had his iron pole. I had my sword.

  He struck at me first, but I deflected it easily. Then he jabbed at me, but I slid to my left, avoiding it. I punched him in the face with the hilt of my sword, making a satisfying phump, busting his nose.

  He stepped back away, then summoned his energy and came at me again. He swung at me with a barrage of quick attacks, but I defended myself, knocking them to the side. After his final attack, I chopped down.

  I would have cut his hand off, but my blow struck the clasp of his wrist shotgun, sending sparks into the air. Even so, he was unable to hold onto the iron rod. It clamored to the floor, out of his reach.

  The Shoemaker cursed, backing away. He grabbed the closest bin and spilled its contents onto the floor between us. Then he started to run on his limp leg.

  My right leg ached and wanted to collapse beneath me from the shotgun pellets, but I followed after him.

  He was smart. He rotated his apron so it laid across his back to protect himself from my grappling hook.

  "Motherfucker." I yelled after him.

  It was the slowest chase imaginable.

  He limped forward down a tunneled-out hallway, groaning. I did the same, trying to gain on him, but my leg wouldn't cooperate.

  I decided to make chitchat instead. Maybe I could bore him to death.

  "Let's take a break. Get some tea," I hollered. "We can talk about feet. I've learned a lot in the last 24 hours about toenail polish. Do you make clogs that are like sandals? You know, so people can show off their toenails?"

  He looked back at me angrily.

  "Oh, that's right. You hate sandals. Now I know what to get you for your birthday."

  I stepped and slid my foot forward, grabbing my right leg with my hands to pull it along. Step and slide, step and slide. We headed down a flight of stairs to the depths below the storefront.

  "How did you get into shoemaking?" I called out.

  He kept staggering on.

  "Do you have any siblings? A girlfriend? Does she approve of your foot fetish?"

  The Shoemaker turned to his right, through a doorway.

  I scrambled after him.

  When I turned the corner, a shoe hit my square in the nose.

  "Motherfucker!"

  My eyes teared up. He threw another shoe, but I was able to lift my energy shield in front of me and it bounced off.

  We were in what looked like his private workshop. I recognized some of the machines from the showroom at the back entrance. Stacks of wood were arranged nicely on a shelf along the side. He had a large desk next to the door with a few pairs of unfinished clogs, waiting for him to detail them, add personal touches.

  The Shoemaker had grabbed another iron pole, but it was resting next to him. Instead, he was pulling clog after clog from the rack of shoes behind him.

  "Seriously!" I screamed at him, more annoyed than anything.

  My hand still ached from where he crushed it. The grip on my sword was less than firm, but it would have to do. I charged slowly at him, while he peppered me with more shoes.

  He threw a final shoe, tossing it in an arc at me, then grabbed his new iron rod, using the shoe as a distraction to assault me.

  He should have used a laser pointer with a red dot. I would have chased that for sure. But I didn't care about the shoe.

  I ducked, putting my weight on my good leg. I raised my sword and blocked his attack. Then I yelled in pain, forcing myself to kick with my right leg. I flicked my aching leg out to catch him behind the knee of his good leg. My blow landed and force him to lean on the leg I had punctured with a missile.

  He stumbled backwards.

  I went after him, closing the distance just enough to slash with my sword.

  I caught him across the tip of his nose, sending a small splash of blood out. He kept staggering backwards.

  He jabbed at me again. This time I grabbed the iron pole with my left hand, and I pulled him toward me.

  "Where is she?" I growled in a wolfish voice.

  I punched him in the face with the hilt of my sword again.

  "Where is she?" I growled again. I screamed and kicked him in the chest. The blow sent a sharp pain running down my injured leg.

  He fell backwards. Between the force of my kick and his wounded leg, he should have hit the ground.

  Instead, the back of the Shoemaker's head impacted one of the long metal extensions from a clog-making machine. His eyes went wide. He hung there, his body going limp, his weight supported only by the metal arm that had impaled his head.

  "Where is my friend?" I asked, out of breath. I walked carefully closer, wondering if he had any more surprises for me.

  He couldn't talk. Spit formed in the corners of his mouth. He gagged at me.

  "Is she alive?"

  I walked to his side, inspecting where the rod met his head. Sure enough, it had pushed right through. The Shoemaker would die for sure.

  "Is she alive?" I asked again. I grabbed his jaw. "Tell me."

  He gagged and sputtered something brief and unintelligible.

  This was pointless. Even if the Shoemaker would have told me anything about @zerogstar, which he probably wouldn't, he was in no condition to do so now.

  "Die you asshole," I commanded him. Then I hit the switch on the machine, hopping back away from him on my good leg to watch.

  The clog-making device shook and spun its metal arm, carving out a perfect foot-shaped hole in the back of the Shoemaker's head. He let out a hopeless quiet scream, while bits of bone and bloody mush spewed out, dripping down his back, off the machine, and making a mess on the floor.

  I grabbed a polishing cloth that was draped over his desk chair. Then I found another. I tied the two together and wrapped them around my injured leg. I pinged the area again, sonar and radar. I couldn't give up my search, even if it meant I had to fight every soldier in his subterranean lair.

  I headed out again, wondering how long it would take for a Shoemaker clone to reanimate.

  Two tunnels later, anxiety was setting in. I found no soldiers in this part of the lair. It was too quiet. And I felt like this was hopeless. I was sad, and I was pissed off. I had fought my way through, defeated the Shoemaker, and I felt no closer to finding @zerogstar. I wasn't worried about getting lost in the tunnels, but the more I explored, the more despondent I felt.

  I considered calling out, but if I attracted the attention of more than a few soldiers, I didn't think I would have a chance.

  I heard a noise ahead of me in the musty darkness, as I limped down another tunnel, one that looked like it connected to a T intersection. I slowed slightly, readying my sword for a strike.

  A slender form sprang around the corner, coming at me from the shadows.

  I slung my sword forward, carving an arc in front of me. Then I recognized her, catching the outline of long braided hair flowing through the air. I redirected my sword to the side, and I missed her, but she didn't miss me.

  She punched me in the throat, and I dropped to the ground, gagging. My sword clanked to the ground on the stone floor.

  "Oh, it's you!" @zerogstar called out. She kneeled down to check on me.

  "I'm here to rescue you," I squeaked, holding my throat as I tried to sit up.

  "I got this," she said, "but thanks."

  She grabbed my hand, anchoring herself with one foot against the wall, and pulled me up. He looked me over, a quick check of my bloody nose and wounded leg.

  I had only shook her hand before, polite and professional. I was so happy to see her alive. My spirit eased at the sight of her. It wasn't about her dying and being reanimated. It was more about letting her down, letting her be tortured to death. But she was safe!

  I pulled her in and gave her a solid hug. "I'm so glad you're all right."

  @zerogstar laughed and hugged me back.

  "Let's get out of here," she said.