The final day of the opening ceremony was dedicated to a single, glorious concept: Fear. The "Chamber of Terror" was one of the most popular events in the Dungeon League, the one where every Core would show off its most powerful, most terrifying boss monster.

My team and I watched the other competitors' runs on our private Scry-Screen, and with each one completing, FaeLina's aura grew dimmer with dread.

We watched the champion Challengers fight for their lives in the Obsidian Forge against the "Magma Golem," a roaring monster of molten rock that turned the very floor to lava. then we watched them navigate the Sylvanheart Maze's "Corrupted Elder Treant," a giant, walking tree that whispered their deepest fears to them while trying to crush them with its thorny vines.

And then we watched them face off against the Blood Pit's boss. It was a "Flesh Amalgamation," a writhing, pulsating mound of mismatched limbs and screaming faces that was pure, undiluted nightmare fuel. The Challengers won, but they emerged from the portal looking pale, shaken, and genuinely traumatized.

Then finally, it was our turn.

"And now, for our final competitor!" the commentator's voice boomed. "The dungeon that won a speed race by not moving an inch and placed third in a lethality contest with only a 'sock'! Let's see what kind of terrifying boss the Infuriatingly Fortunate dungeon, 'The Comfy Corner', has prepared for us!"

(The Comfy Corner)

In my dungeon, FaeLina was giving a frantic, last-minute pep-talk to our one and only boss.

"Okay, Sir Crumplebuns, this is it!" she said, her voice trembling as she remembered the image of the Flesh Amalgamation. "You have to be scary! As scary as you can possibly be! Did you see that last thing? It had, like, fifty screaming faces! Can you... can you try to make that kind of scary face?"

Hearing this, Sir Crumplebuns puffed out his plush chest and drew his Spoonblade. "I SHALL BE THE MOST VALIANT AND HEROIC BOSS IN THE HISTORY OF THIS NOBLE TOURNAMENT!" he declared with a cheerful, booming voice.

FaeLina sighed. "We're doomed."

Finally, the golden portal of our dungeon swirled open, The five Challenger adventurers, still looking haunted from their battle with the flesh monster, stepped through into the room I had prepared for the event.

And they stopped dead in their tracks.

The "boss room" was not like the dark throne room or a fiery hellscape they expected. It was a perfect, life-sized replica of a cozy, warm, child's bedroom. A soft rug covered the floor, a gentle fire crackled in a small hearth, and in the center of the room was a single and very inviting-looking bed.

The Challengers, still on high alert, were deeply confused. The rogue instantly started checking the toy box for mimics. The sorceress was scanning the rocking chair for curses. besically they were expecting for a trap.

After some time, from behind the toy box, our champion emerged. Sir Crumplebuns stood tall, his Spoonblade held at the ready. He did not roar. He only struck a heroic pose.

Brutus, the lead Challenger, sighed, the sigh of a man who was too tired for this nonsense. "Alright, lads. Let's just... get this over with."

So, the "battle" began. It was, without a doubt, the most ridiculous fight in the history of the Dungeon League. Their mighty, enchanted swords, still stained with the ichor of the last undead boss, sank harmlessly into Sir Crumplebuns's soft, quilted armor with a muffled fwump. His own "attacks" were gentle, swishing taps with his spoon that made a soft bonk sound against their steel helmets.

The crowd in the stadium seeing the scene, roared with laughter. The commentator was trying to analyze the fight and do his job. "A very... low-impact boss battle, folks. The plush knight seems to be absorbing all damage with its... uh... advanced fluff-based defences."

After a few minutes of this silly display, the real "attack" began.

From a hidden spot, Clank began to play a soft, gentle lullaby on his internal music box. The enchanted lights in the room dimmed. The fire in the hearth crackled with a warm, sleepy sound.

Sir Crumplebuns suddenly stopped "fighting." He walked over to the bed, carefully pulled back the covers, and gave the pillow a final, expert fluff. Then, he turned and looked expectantly at the five, very confused, heavily armed adventurers.

He was waiting.

'He's waiting for you,' I projected, a simple, helpful thought directly into the mind of the lead Challenger, Brutus.

Brutus was a warrior. He was trained to face down dragons, to fight demons, to die with a sword in his hand. His training manual had absolutely no section on how to handle a plush knight who wanted to tuck him in for a nap.

He had just been in a "sword fight" where his opponent was a giant teddy bear and the only weapon used against him was a lullaby. Now, that same teddy bear was patiently holding the covers open for him.

He looked at the waiting bed. He looked at the plush knight. He looked at his giant, useless sword. He had fought monsters of unimaginable terror and had never backed down.

But this? This overwhelming, weaponized pleasantness? This he could not fight. This was a battle his warrior's soul was simply not equipped to win. The great warrior finally broke.

He let out a deep groan, the sound of a man who had been completely and utterly defeated by the forces of coziness. With a loud clank, he sheathed his giant sword.

"Alright," he said to his team, his voice filled with a weary resignation. "You heard the Core. It's bedtime."

He walked over to the bed, sat down, and awkwardly swung his armored legs under the covers. The other four Challengers, seeing their leader surrender to the inevitable, let out a collective sigh of defeat. They began clumsily removing their helmets and gauntlets, piling them on the floor before climbing into the magically expanding bed alongside him.

Sir Crumplebuns smiled, a happy expression stitched onto his face. He pulled a storybook from the bedside table, cleared his throat, and began to read "The Adventures of Sir Pokington" in a soft, booming voice.

The last thing the entire kingdom saw on their Scry-Screens before the feed cut out was the sight of five of the world's most elite, battle-hardened champions being read a bedtime story and tucked in by a giant, friendly teddy bear.

​For a long moment, the entire stadium was utterly silent, trapped in a state of pure, world-breaking shock. Then, the silence was broken by a single, loud clap from the Royal Box, where King Caspian was on his feet, giving a standing ovation.

​The commentator's voice returned, weak and trembling with disbelief.

​"Folks... I... I have been commentating on the Dungeon League for more than thirty years. I have seen liches, dragons, and krakens. but I have never," he paused, his voice cracking, "ever, seen a boss battle end with a bedtime story."

He then looked over at the judges' table, where the panel was in complete disarray. Maestro Valerius was openly weeping with joy at the sheer theatricality of it all. Archmage Tiberius was pale, muttering to himself about "a flagrant misuse of soporific enchantments." And Inspector Barnaby was already flipping through his rulebook, a look of deep resignation on his face, as if he knew the paperwork for this was about to get very, very complicated.

High in the Royal Box, King Caspian was on his feet, giving a standing ovation. Beside him, High Adjudicator Thistlewick's face was completely blank, his mind clearly unable to process what he had just witnessed.

"The judges," the commentator announced, "will... apparently need some time to deliberate on this one. How do you give a 'Terror' score to a boss that gives you a good night's sleep?"

The giant Scry-Screen flashed with a familiar message: [JUDGES' DELIBERATION IN PROGRESS...]

_____

Author note:

And there you have it. The Comfy Corner's official boss battle is a mandatory bedtime. Sir Crumplebuns's ultimate attack is a perfectly fluffed pillow and a good story.

I think we officially broke the Challengers. Brutus just completely gave up. He's been through too much at this point and knows that in this dungeon, it's easier to just go with the flow.

The judges now have to give a "Terror" score to a boss that tucks you in. This is going to be the hardest deliberation of their entire careers. Thanks for reading!

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