Before they even knew where they were headed, a strange, echoing call had summoned them all. In the midst of a quiet afternoon, each misfit had heard it—a booming, inexplicable shout of “HERO!”—just moments before they were whisked away to this absurd new world. Now, standing in a narrow, grimy alley near the castle, the weight of that grand promise pressed down on them like a ton of bricks.

  Max: (scoffing) “Remember when we all heard that ‘HERO!’ call? I thought we were about to be gifted fireballs and enchanted swords! Instead, we got… nada. The Gods really screwed us over this time!”

  Pitch: (bitterly) “Yeah, it’s like we got the deluxe version of nothing. I expected at least one flashy ability—maybe a secret talent to juggle flaming swords or something cool. Instead, all I’m juggling is my disappointment!”

  Silas: (wincing as he steadies himself against a crumbling wall) “And I still feel that sucker punch from Chapter One. That hit hit me like a freight train—I'm bruised, battered, and my face looks like it’s been through a demolition derby!”

  Their voices trembled with panic and a bitter humor, realizing that instead of being revered heroes, they were mere mortals with a bad case of empty-handedness. To add insult to injury, their bizarre, mismatched outfits—tattered cloaks, patchwork tunics, and ridiculous accessories—made them look like rejected carnival costumes.

  Max: (rolling his eyes) “Look at us! We might as well be extras in a low-budget costume drama. Who thought it was a good idea for us to wear this shit?”

  Pitch: (laughing despite himself) “Seriously, I look like I got dressed in the dark at a thrift store. And don’t even get me started on these ‘hero’ tags we got slapped with—more like ‘hapless zeroes’!”

  Around them, passersby chuckled and exchanged amused glances, as if watching a live comedy show of hapless heroes in a cosmic prank.

  Suddenly, a raucous commotion erupted near the castle gate. The boys craned their necks and saw an old, ragged wizard being roughly booted out by a group of surly guards. His once-regal robes were in tatters, his long beard clinging to his face in messy disarray, and his eyes blazed with fury as he hurled curses in a guttural, unfamiliar tongue.

  Guard (muttering with contempt): “Get off our streets, you ancient relic!”

  The wizard’s gaze swept across the bustling scene—and then landed on the boys. Not only did he take in their disheveled, laughable appearance, but he also noted their absurd, mismatched costumes. His eyes narrowed as if their bizarre garb held a secret he’d long suspected. In a low, musing tone he muttered, “So… you’re not quite ordinary…”

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  Before the boys could react, the wizard lunged forward with surprising force. Instead of a searing bolt of magic, he delivered a crushing punch—a brutal blow reminiscent of the one Silas had taken in Chapter One. With a resounding thud, Silas was sent hurtling through the air like a ragdoll. For a split second, Max and Pitch exchanged looks of pure, dark disbelief as Silas soared between them.

  Pitch: (shouting, half-panicked, half-amused) “Silas! Dude, did you just get launched like a human slingshot?”

  Max: (grimacing) “What kind of punch was that?! It was like the universe decided to play dodgeball with you!”

  The onlookers erupted in a mix of raucous laughter and sympathetic gasps, turning the alley into a chaotic spectacle of mockery and alarm. Amid the uproar, the boys’ panic deepened—they suddenly understood every word around them with startling clarity, as if the veil of confusion had been ripped away.

  Then, as if the absurdity couldn’t escalate any further, the wizard’s eyes locked onto Chillie. Despite the chaos, Chillie stood unflinching—enraged, defiant, and, notably, butt-ass naked. His skin glistened in the dim light, every inch of him on display, adding an extra layer of absurdity to his wild stance. In a voice that mixed fury with an odd sense of exhilaration, he roared:

  Chillie: “Let’s do this, you fucking old geezer! I’m tired of your crap—and I’m doing it my way, even if that means baring it all!”

  The wizard paused, his eyes widening in disbelief at the sight of this naked, battle-ready misfit. His weathered face contorted in confusion as he took in Chillie’s audacity and the peculiar gleam in his eyes—a mix of defiance and a twisted, perverse delight. After a long, silent moment of calculation, the wizard fumbled with his ancient staff, adjusting intricate runes as if recalibrating his magical energy. In one swift, decisive motion, he unleashed another burst of arcane power aimed at Pitch and Max. As the spell streaked toward them, their expressions darkened—a mix of terror, disbelief, and the bitter realization that their fate was now sealed by chaotic magic.

  Even as the spell hit, Pitch and Max exchanged a bewildered glance. Amid the chaos and the overwhelming threat, they couldn’t help but notice Chillie’s strange, almost masochistic grin—like he secretly enjoyed the pain, a reaction so outlandish it bordered on hilarious.

  Then, miraculously, as the magical energy surged through the air, the incomprehensible babble of the world snapped into clarity. Every shout, every snicker, every curse was now as clear as crystal. The newfound understanding washed over them, intensifying their shock and mingling it with a grudging, absurd hope.

  Before the air could settle, the wizard’s voice boomed over the chaos—louder, more determined, and laced with a wild, revelatory tone:

  Wizard: “AT LAST!”

  The cry reverberated off the castle walls, sending shockwaves through the crowd. For a heartbeat, everything froze—the guards, the onlookers, and the misfit boys—who now found themselves standing on the precipice of a strange, inexplicable new chapter.

  They were misfits, empty-handed and clad in ridiculous, mismatched costumes, thrown into a world that mocked them at every turn. Yet in that moment, with every word clear as day and every danger palpable, they realized that maybe—just maybe—this absurd new reality held secrets waiting to be unlocked.