Charlemagne's head spun a bit from the sudden change in perspective as he reappeared in his desired destination: the cafeteria. Dozens of strange creatures, most of whom were similar in shape to humans, were seated in clumps around tables, eating and drinking a variety of foods. While none of the dishes appeared to be anything special, many of the beings themselves set off his Special Ability, Food for the Stomach and the Stomach for Food. Seeing an opportunity to grow his power through consumption, the rooster leapt toward the nearest delicious-looking creature and slammed his beak into what appeared to be a vulnerable spot.

  Unfortunately, the attack did nothing, and the Squiggles chastised him for his poor behavior.

  Undeterred by the warning, Charlemagne made a further attempt to commit violence. But, before he could once again close his beak around his intended victim, there was a flash of light. The rooster once again felt profound disorientation as he suddenly found himself in a dark room. The floor was covered with a sort of squishy, springy substance that felt strange underneath his claws. Extending his mana sense, Charlemagne felt that the walls and ceiling were also covered with this strange spongy material. There was no door at all: the rooster was trapped.

  The total darkness almost immediately took effect on the rooster’s nervous system, and he felt his aggression drain away despite his efforts to rouse his emotions. He even tried to activate Zenrage, but, for the first time, the Skill refused to answer his call. Charlemagne fought against his own biology, but it was a losing battle. But, the struggle was not entirely in vain, as, just before he once again fell asleep, the rooster leveled up his newest Skill.

  After an indeterminate amount of time, the lights slowly came back up, restoring the torpid avian to normal levels of activity. He was annoyed at the ill treatment, but Charlemagne’s increasingly complex brain was capable of supporting more complex thoughts than before. While he could continue fighting the rules, the penalties would likely escalate, and he had no wish to be further locked away. Besides, it didn’t seem as though whatever mighty power ruled this realm was going to allow him to eat his fellow competitors, so he might as well behave.

  “Bawk,” he admitted to the Squiggles.

  Once back in the cafeteria, Charlemagne looked around, trying to figure out the source of the food and drink that was being consumed. It didn’t take long for him to spot a number of boxes, each with its own queue of beings waiting to receive their allotment. Mindful that he needed to be on his best behavior, the rooster begrudgingly waited until it was his turn to use the box.

  “Bawk!” he yelled, having learned from those in front of him that the box responded to verbal commands.

  “Hey there, big guy!” the box burbled enthusiastically. “That particular item is not in my databanks. But don’t worry, I am the latest model of NutriMaterializer, capable of producing over six million different edible compounds. All I need is a simple brain scan and then we can get you sorted out.”

  “Bawk,” Charlemagne agreed.

  A blue light stabbed out from a hole in the box and slammed into the rooster’s forehead. The sensation it engendered felt like a thousand ants crawling all over his brain. But, just as Charlemagne had registered the unpleasant feeling and started to shake his head, the beam cut out.

  “Scan complete, and whew! Let me tell you, your brain is probably the weirdest one I’ve ever encountered. The things you’ve eaten are just…incredible. And all that new growth layered over the damaged sections? Just incredible. All right, I’ve got it all sorted out. Just a few seconds and I’ll have your meal synthesized. Enjoy Responsibly!”

  The strange boxy food-giving creature must have taken into account that Charlemagne did not have hands, as a bucket with a conveniently placed handle suddenly appeared before the rooster’s very eyes. The container was filled with a slurry that looked and smelled almost entirely unlike the food he had requested: corn.

  Remembering to move out of the way so that another, less worthy creature would communicate with the food-giver, the rooster carefully lowered the bucket to the ground and began consuming the sludgy substance.

  It was terrible. It was so bad that the rooster’s stomach threatened to turn itself inside out.

  Upending the bucket, the rooster bawked in frustration. The contents sloshed all over the floor before disappearing into thin air.

  Not wishing to go back to the dark room, the rooster bent to pick up his discarded bucket, but it vanished before he could reach it. Not knowing what else to do, he got back in line and once again waited for his turn.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “Hey, how’s it going! Did you enjoy your meal so much you want seconds?” The food-giving box asked when it was once again Charlemagne’s turn.

  “Baawk!” he screamed. “Bawk Bawwak!”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that, big guy. But I can assure you on my honor as a fully trained and licensed NutriMaterializer that the bucket of corn was created EXACTLY to the specifications that I pulled from your brain. There’s no chance that I made a mistake. But, since you appear to be a being of impeccable taste, I’m willing to give it another go. Can I get your permission to brain scan you again? I’m almost certain that it won’t harm you…permanently…especially since you seem to be more or less fine with the amount of brain damage you already have.”

  “Bawk,” Charlemagne consented.

  After a second scan that was even more uncomfortable than the first, the NutriMaterializer provided the rooster with a second bucket filled with a slop that was most assuredly neither corn nor corn-adjacent. This time, however, the rooster’s temper got the best of him, and he was sent to timeout shortly thereafter.

  Quite some time later, the persistent fowl stood in front of the food-providing box a third time, his ill humor radiating out in palpable waves. Several of the beings that had been waiting in line had suddenly found themselves no longer hungry, allowing Charlemagne to cut his way almost directly to the front. While he watched, a creature that seemed to be human but smelled very different calmly requisitioned a juicy cutlet of meat, starchy vegetables, and something that looked like bread but smelled even better. Then it moved away, smiling down at the delicious-looking repast.

  “Hey again buddy!” the box greeted the murderous bird with the same cheerful enthusiasm that it afforded all its customers.

  As Charlemagne once again readied himself to demand the machine provide him an ear of actual corn, he felt a familiar presence behind him. A friendly hand patted him once on the back, a strange gesture that the rooster only allowed because he could not peck off the offending limb.

  “Charlemagne,” Ndiogou said calmly, “why don’t you let me give this a shot. It seems like the machine doesn’t work properly for chickens.”

  He turned to the food box.

  “Machine, my friend here would like an ear of an Earth plant called corn. It is a starchy vegetable that is yellow in appearance and grows around a hard central core called a 'cob'. It tastes somewhat sweet, especially raw, but the flavor turns savory when the corn is roasted.”

  The human paused for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. Then, he glanced over at the rooster and grimaced.

  “I didn’t know that chickens could slobber like that,” he said.

  “Bawwwwwwk,” the rooster practically moaned.

  “Hiya friend, that’s a great story and all, but do you know how complex even a simple meal like a tovarkian wingbladder and chorz berries is? Don’t worry about it if you don’t, because that was a rhetorical question! I’m here to meet all your nutritional and taste needs without you having to worry about the chemical composition of your comestibles. Just sit back, relax, and think of this ‘corn’ and I’ll give you a friendly and gentle brain scan. It’s practically safe!”

  Before Ndiogou could complain, blue light once again flashed out from the NutriMaterializer. He yelped.

  Grimfalk sat uneasily in his phoenix-hide chair as the Special Session of GOD continued into its 8th hour. It seemed that everyone had something to say about the disappearance of the world’s most powerful Champions, but no one seemed to know what had happened. Formua Integralis had removed several deities from the Session, which was an almost unheard of event. Roger, the deity of American badgers, had to be forcibly escorted out.

  That is five demerits, Formua’s telepathic pronouncement cut through the din.

  “I DON’T CARE,” Roger yelled as several deities struggled to push him through one of the chamber’s many doors.

  Once the angry badger deity had been removed, the meeting calmed down somewhat. At least, until the deity of ocean sunfish, Molidae, got up to speak. She had never been very popular with the other members of GOD, and the fact that she had somehow managed to raise a real monster of a Champion didn’t help matters. As she took the podium, so many jeers and boos rose up from the assembly that it was unfeasible for Formua Integralis to punish every rule breaker, at least in that moment. Grimfalk knew, however, that demerits would eventually find their way to those who broke decorum.

  “WASTED SPACE!”

  “Why don’t you have a swim bladder?”

  “It’s a good thing you don’t on land, or people would tip you instead of cows!”

  “How are you still alive?!?”

  “Jellyfish murderer!”

  “YOUR EGGS GET EVERYWHERE!”

  “Worst. Multicellular. Organism. Ever.”

  The taunts slowly faded away as the enormous sunfish deity continued to speak in a low, monotone voice for some time. Grimfalk, whose ears had recently gotten much sharper due the influx of extra Attributes, could not make out a single word. Eventually, the members of GOD started getting restless again, but a stern look from Brett kept them from breaking out into absolute abuse of the erstwhile bony fish. The President allowed Molidae to speak for a while longer before gently interrupting her and asking if she had any particular measure she would like to introduce, or information as to what had happened to her Champion. The deity shook her head, seemingly happy to have had her turn to speak.

  “Okay then, let’s move to Grimfalk,” President Brett said.

  The enormous theropod suddenly found himself up at the podium. He reached to adjust the built in microphone, but quickly put his arm down as he realized that he couldn’t reach. He cleared his throat.

  “I uh, I am in the same boat as everyone else. I didn’t even realize that my Champions had disappeared until I went to check on their video feeds and got nothing. The System interface shows that they are still alive and in reasonably good health, so that’s a positive. All of my requests to the System for additional information have been denied, so something is clearly up. I think that…well that is…I suggest that we impose a tax on the deities who haven’t lost a Champion. It’s only fair.”

  Boos, hisses, and jeers met the theropod’s proposal.

  “Do I have a second for this proposal?” Brett asked the assembly.

  “Second!” cried the voice of Odob, the deity of walruses.

  “I move that we censure Grimfalk for being a greedy old tyrant who has lived long past his expiration!” shouted Phasco, the deity of koalas.

  “Second!” Odob once again chimed in.

  The first motion was voted down handily, while the second passed. Grimfalk was forced to spend the remainder of the session seated on the Stool of Penance. It was, all in all, not the worst Special Session he had ever attended.