[Ronette's side]
"I'm not a lumberjack!" Ronette pleaded, flinging his arms up in desperation. "I'm a skele— I mean, human!"
That… did not help.
The argument froze mid-yell.
Several flower-heads tilted in perfect, judgmental unison.
A squirrel blinked slowly.
The beetle arched one chitinous brow behind his monocle, disdain thick as moss.
"Oh, sure," the beetle sneered, pushing up his tiny spectacles with a click that felt heavier than it should. "And next you'll say you're plant-based."
From atop a mossy stone, the mushroom cleared its nonexistent throat.
Prim. Ominous.
And recited with the gravity of a bard doomed to compost:
"There once was a man made of bone,
Who crushed us and left us to moan,
He said with a grin,
'I meant no such sin!'
Then trampled our toadstool zone!"
"HE DID!" a toad shrieked, pointing dramatically with a twig like it had trained for this moment all its life.
The garden detonated into chaos.
Flowers wailed in operatic despair.
Squirrels brandished acorns like primed grenades.
A daisy fainted on cue, caught mid-swoon by a caterpillar in a velvet cravat.
Ronette stood frozen, arms half-raised, halfway between "don't shoot" and "please end me now."
"…Where even am I?" he whispered hoarsely, voice frayed thin as dandelion fluff.
Somewhere nearby, a fern hissed, voice dripping chlorophyll disdain:
"In trouble, that's where."
Ronette tried, clinging to logic like a shipwrecked sailor clings to driftwood.
"I'm not a skeleton! I have skin. I moisturize!"
The garden's reply, a chorus of unimpressed plant noises.
In the back, a cabbage slowly, dramatically rolled its eyes.
The beetle, clearly the court's judge, prosecutor, and executioner, raised a tiny twig gavel. Monocle glinting.
"Then how do you explain this?" he demanded, jabbing a limb at Ronette's elbow. "That joint is suspiciously… bony."
"It's called anatomy!" Ronette yelped, voice cracking. "Haven't any of you taken a biology class?!"
"Lies," muttered a fern.
"Gaslighting," accused a dandelion.
"Colonizer behavior," sniffed a very woke sunflower.
Before Ronette could retort, the mushroom cleared its nonexistent throat again, dramatically flipping through a moldy notebook.
"Let the record show, the defendant has displayed signs of typical human behavior—confusion, evasion, and moderate bone structure."
"I've literally done nothing but breathe and panic!" Ronette protested, voice hoarse from futility.
"Textbook guilty," the beetle intoned, slamming the twig gavel onto mossy stone. "Court will now proceed to the punishment phase."
Ronette backed up until his heel caught on a root, panic pounding like a funeral drum in his ears.
"Okay, wait—hold on. Can we maybe talk this out? Tea? Hug it out? No?"
The garden council leaned in.
Predator-silent. Petal-judgmental.
Ronette gulped.
Then—
CRASH.
A bird slammed into the clearing like a feathery meteor, wings flaring, voice sharp as a rusty bell.
"INCOMING FROM THE NORTH!"
The chaos froze.
"Is it the abomination again?" asked the beetle, voice small, suddenly brittle.
"Worse," croaked the bird, feathers trembling.
"Worse?" Ronette whispered, the word like a curse in his mouth.
The bird turned haunted eyes to him.
"A human named Louis."
Ronette's eye twitched. His voice fell flat, deadpan as a broken clock.
"I have no idea who that is."
Then, muttering under breath too low for leaves to catch:
"Besides, I doubt any self-respecting skeleton would hang out with a human."
The beetle narrowed his eyes.
The mushroom scribbled furiously.
The sunflower gasped—petals fluttering in scandalized horror.
Ronette exhaled.
"Yeah, that probably didn't help either."
[Louis's side]
The creature emerged from the vines with the chilling calm of something that didn't need to rush—because it already owned your fate.
A horse, black as oil-soaked midnight, steam coiling from flared nostrils like captive storms.
On its back, a rider clad in tarnished, pitted armor.
Broad shoulders. Posture stiff as a gravestone.
But no head.
No helm.
No face.
Nothing.
Just that impossible emptiness where life should be.
"…Oui," I muttered, eye twitching. "It's headless. How can it even see?"
And then, bright and cheery as a pop-up ad for doom, came the voice:
[Congratulations! You've met the garden boss!]
I blinked. "Garden boss?"
[Wow! You've not only triggered the trap but met the garden boss. Phew! Your luck is worse than rotten.]
I clenched my fists, yelling at empty air. "You don't need to repeat that, you glitch!"
"Oh, great! What is it?" I perked up, eyes sparkling. Maybe—maybe—this was actually helpful.
A chiming window flickered into view, blood-red letters against black:
DULLAHAN – GARDEN BOSS
HP: ∞
ATK: MAX
DEF: MAX
SPD: MAX
INT: MAX
WIS: MAX
LUCK: MAX
Weakness: HEAD (???)
"…"
"..."
I screamed internally, then externally.
"What kind of busted, overpowered nonsense is this?! There's no way to beat that thing!"
I jabbed a finger at the window, veins buzzing with adrenaline and betrayal.
"Maxed out stats across the board?! And its only weakness is the head? THE HEAD IT DOESN'T EVEN HAVE?!"
I spun, pointing directly at the towering figure.
"Helloooo?! WHERE IS THE HEAD?! Am I supposed to summon it with interpretive dance?!"
I huffed and puffed like a boiling kettle, pacing in circles while the Dullahan stood there ominously, completely unmoved.
And the voice?
It just snickered.
[Anyways, good luck~!]
I flung my arms to the sky with a shriek of primal betrayal. "I SWEAR, IF I EVER FIND YOU—I'M SENDING YOU TO HELL MYSELF!"
A distant thunder rolled. Or maybe that was just my pulse.
The Dullahan moved.
Not walked—glided.
Like the world bent to its will and the horse's hooves just pretended to touch the ground out of pity.
I didn't wait for pleasantries.
I grabbed the nearest object—a stick? No. A rake? Better. I grabbed a rake that was casually lying on the ground, minding its own business.
"Alright, spooky boss man," I growled, brandishing it like divine vengeance. "Let's see how you like a bit of manual landscaping!"
The Dullahan lifted one gauntlet.
The horse reared. Black mist curled from hooves, fire without light.
"GAHHH!" I shrieked, flinging the rake.
It bounced off his chest with a pitiful clink.
The Dullahan didn't even flinch.
"…Okay," I said, backing up slowly. "Plan B."
Plan B was running.
Didn't get far. The horse didn't gallop—it blinked across space like a possessed chess piece.
One second, twenty feet away.
Next, right in my face, exhaling brimstone breath.
I screamed, dropped into a combat roll (read: panicked tumble), launching behind a rose bush.
The roses hissed.
One slapped me.
"I'M ON YOUR SIDE!" I roared, chucking a flowerpot at the Dullahan.
Nothing.
No reaction. Just slow, inevitable doom galloping toward me like a final exam with hooves.
"WHY DO YOU EVEN NEED A HORSE?!" I cried. "YOU DON'T HAVE A HEAD! WHO ARE YOU EVEN LOOKING AT?!"
Then he spoke.
Not a voice.
A sound—like soil pouring into an open grave.
"RETURN… THE HEAD…"
"What head?! I don't have it!" I shrieked. "Do I look like someone who collects heads?!"
The sword raised.
It was huge. Like, overcompensating-for-no-head huge.
I ducked—blade slicing air inches above.
The blade carved clean through the rose bush.
A rose screamed. (Probably.)
'Okay. Time to fight dirty.'
I hurled a bucket of compost.
SPLAT.
It exploded in a glorious arc of banana peels, soil, and what might've been an angry worm.
The Dullahan paused.
Just long enough for hope to twitch.
"…Did I just stagger him?"
Then the sword caught fire.
"NOPE. NEVER MIND."
I bolted, slipped on mud, tripped over another rake, flipped midair like a cursed gymnast—
—and landed face-first in a wheelbarrow.
"WHY IS IT ALWAYS THE WHEELBARROW?!"
The Dullahan advanced.
The wheelbarrow rolled.
Downhill.
"AAAAAAAAHHHHHH!"
I screamed, bounced, crashed through a clothesline that whipped my wig clean off.
Midair—I caught it.
Because dignity is optional.
Fabulousness is eternal.
Then I hit a log, flipped into a chicken coop, and exploded out the other side in a flurry of feathers and curses.
Atop the hill, the Dullahan watched, sword aflame, horse steaming.
Unmoving.
Unbothered.
I collapsed against a tree, lungs on fire, bones rattling.
"Looks like he gave up," I wheezed, defiance flickering. "Mess with me, and you mess with a legend!"
Then the blue screen popped.
Damage Dealt: 0
I blinked.
Damage Dealt: 0
"..."
Damage Dealt: 0
"…Okay, rude."
Damage Dealt: 0
Damage Dealt: 0
Damage Dealt: 0
Damage Dealt: 0
Damage Dealt: 0
Damage Dealt:0
Ding. Ding. Ding—
The messages kept spawning, flooding the air like some twisted game notification from hell. Each ding pierced my brain like a spoon through jelly.
"Keep those messages to yourself!" I shrieked, flailing at them like angry mosquitoes. "I'm going deaf! Is this how I die? Death by failure alerts?!"
I flailed wildly at the screen, trying to swat the pop-ups away like mosquitos with judgmental fonts.
They didn't stop.
They multiplied. Dingdingdingding—
Somewhere, the horse huffed. Smug.
"I didn't subscribe to this boss fight! And even if I did, I'm not paying for it!" I yelled at the heavens.
The sky offered no reply.
But the Dullahan clearly took offense.
The horse blinked.
One moment, hilltop.
Next, right in front of me.
Hand reaching.
Like a medieval tax collector comes for my soul.
"OH, COME ON!" I spun, raw panic surging. "This is just plain ridiculous!"