With a loud sniff and a subtle lean toward his own armpit, Tarni made a face. “We should hit up my place on the way out of town,” he said, giving Zane a sideways glance. “We stink. And your clothes look… well, they look like you’ve been fighting goblins and nearly died in them, to be frank.”

  Zane looked down at himself and groaned. His shirt was torn in more than one place, smeared with dried mud and what might’ve been goblin blood. The knees of his jeans were scuffed raw, and one of his boots was still slightly damp from where it had been half-submerged in the creek during their earlier ambush.

  “Yeah, good idea,” Zane muttered. “You still got those clothes from when I threw up all over myself and had to drive home the next morning in just my underwear and boots?”

  Tarni barked a laugh. “Mate, I told you not to mix beer and J?germeister. You’d think by now you’d listen when I warn you about something.”

  Zane rolled his eyes and leaned back in the seat. “Bloody herbal liqueur,” he mumbled bitterly.

  Tarni smirked. “I think I still have that shirt and those pants in my laundry cupboard. Never had the heart to throw them out. Too much sentimental value.”

  “You mean blackmail material.”

  “Potato, potahto.”

  They shared a tired chuckle, the kind that bubbles up when exhaustion and friendship meet halfway. Despite the danger, despite the insanity of the past two days, this moment felt familiar—two mates trading jabs, dirty and wrecked, but alive.

  Zane looked out the window as the Ute turned down a quiet street lined with gum trees and the occasional lorikeet screeching in protest at some kids walking near their tree.

  “Let’s clean up, change, hit the road and then figure out our next move,” he said.

  “Agreed. But shower first, strategy later,” Tarni replied. “No one thinks clearly when they smell like a wet dog wrestled a goblin in a landfill.”

  Zane smirked. “Poetic, as always.”

  A quick shower and change of clothes later, they hit the road towards Sydney. The Ute rumbled steadily along the highway, windows cracked just enough to let in the afternoon breeze. Tarni reached forward and turned down the volume on the stereo as they cleared the last of the town limits.

  “So,” he said, breaking the silence, “what’s the actual plan once we hit Sydney?”

  Zane kept his eyes on the road but replied without hesitation. “First stop—the hospital. I want to see Bell. I’m hoping there’s some way we can get her into the system. If she’s part of it, we might be able to give her the potion. I’m not risking it if she’s not linked. The last thing I want is to pour magic juice down her throat and make things worse.”

  Tarni gave a slow nod. “Makes sense. We don’t know how the system reacts to people not registered in it. Could do nothing... could melt her insides.”

  Zane winced. “Yeah, thanks for that comforting image.”

  “Just sayin’. Gotta be realistic.”

  Tarni reached back for another sandwich after finishing the Doritos, only to find that the back seat was now barren. No sandwiches. No Coke. Just the lonely case of beer sat there like it was waiting for its moment.

  "Wow, we went through all that food pretty quickly, Zane. I don't even feel full yet," Tarni said, scratching at his stubble.

  Zane glanced at him, brows knitting. "You think it has something to do with the System? Like, with faster healing and stronger muscles, we need more food to fuel it all?"

  "Yeah, 'cause I'm still hungry too."

  "We should stop and grab some fast food. How are you feeling for driving?"

  "I'm good all the way to Sydney, mate," replied Zane.

  "Well, in that case, I'm going to have a beer," said Tarni, already reaching over the seat into the back.

  He grabbed two stubbies from the box and twisted in his seat to adjust his belt.

  "Two?" Zane asked, giving him a sideways scowl.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  "One to drink and one to chase it down with," Tarni said sincerely.

  Zane just shook his head and kept his eyes on the road. Tarni cracked open the first bottle and took a hearty swig. As he got a few mouthfuls into it, his face suddenly twisted.

  "What the fu—" he blurted, sending droplets of beer spraying toward the dash.

  Zane instinctively tightened his grip on the steering wheel but didn’t brake. He knew the look on Tarni's face. This wasn’t road danger. It was one of those moments.

  "What? What’s wrong?" Zane asked.

  Tarni just stared at the bottle like it had betrayed him. "Gimme a sec, I need to test something." He slammed back the rest of the first beer, then cracked open the second and downed it like he was back in a uni boat race.

  Ten seconds after finishing, he slumped in his seat dramatically, arms dangling.

  "Well, shit," Tarni declared with a huge, manic grin. "I guess I’ve got some good news. We don’t need to be near your house for our skills to work."

  Zane blinked. "Ok, Tarn. What’s going on? I don’t follow."

  Still grinning, Tarni threw his arms in the air. "Alcohol is a poison!"

  Zane raised an eyebrow. "And?"

  Tarni smacked the roof of the cab for emphasis. "My skill cleanses poison from my body! It removes the alcohol as fast as I can drink it!"

  Zane stared at him, then let out a belly laugh that echoed around the cabin. "It’s not funny!" Tarni snapped.

  "Ok, ok, you're right. But it is good to know that any skills we get work away from my place. Also, maybe you just need stronger alcohol. Your skill's only Minor Poison Resistance, isn’t it?"

  Tarni straightened up a little, a flicker of hope lighting his face. "No. It's Medium Resistance."

  Zane snorted again. "Well, there you go. Looks like spirits might still work. Maybe try tequila next time."

  Tarni looked thoughtful for a second. "Tequila is more of a spiritual drink."

  Zane groaned.

  After the shock of discovering that his Minor Poison Resistance skill was cleansing alcohol from his system faster than he could drink it, Tarni had slumped back in his seat like a disappointed child after being told the Easter Bunny wasn’t real.

  Zane, still chuckling, kept his eyes on the road as they cruised down the highway.

  Tarni broke the silence with a defeated sigh. “Mate, I’m starting to feel a little ripped off. What’s the point of having poison resistance if it just ruins all the fun?”

  Zane smirked. “Look on the bright side—if the goblins ever try to spike your drink, you’ll just get a free detox instead.”

  “Great,” Tarni muttered. “Next time I get attacked, I’ll tell them to use beers instead of spears.”

  The cab filled with light laughter, but soon both men’s stomachs reminded them that while they'd ploughed through enough food to feed a footy team, they still felt like they hadn’t eaten at all.

  “We need to stop again,” Tarni said, rubbing his gut. “I swear the hunger’s getting worse.

  Tarni nodded. “Maccas?”

  Zane gave him a thumbs up. “Can’t go wrong with a cheeseburger. Let’s hit the next one we see.”

  They pulled off the freeway not long after, spotting the familiar golden arches glowing in the afternoon haze. The car park was mostly empty, A teenage worker was sweeping near the door but barely looked up as they walked in.

  The smell hit Tarni first—grease, salt, that distinct fast-food perfume of fries and sugary drinks.

  “Oh yeah,” he whispered, stepping up to the counter like a pilgrim reaching the gates of heaven. “I’m gonna destroy a Double Quarter Pounder with cheese.”

  They both ordered: burgers, nuggets, fries, soft drinks, and a couple of McFlurries for good measure.

  Tray in hand, they sat down by the window. Tarni took one massive bite of his burger and groaned in satisfaction. “Now this is what I’m talking ab—”

  He paused. His face went pale.

  Zane raised an eyebrow. “You alright?”

  Tarni looked down at his food like it had personally betrayed him. “It just triggered a system notification.”

  Zane blinked. “What?”

  “Yeah.” Tarni squinted at the glowing blue box hovering just in his vision.

  WARNING: Ingested substance contains multiple classified toxins.

  Skill Activated: Minor Poison Resistance.

  Detoxifying...

  “Mate,” Tarni said slowly, “the system just told me Maccas is full of toxins.”

  Zane nearly spat out his Coke. “Wait, you’re telling me your body just classified a Quarter Pounder as poison?”

  “Apparently. The fries too. And don’t even get me started on the McFlurrie.” Tarni pushed his tray back slightly. “I mean, it’s not stopping me, but my skill is actively fighting it.”

  Zane wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. “Mate. The goblins didn’t take you down. The J?ger didn’t take you down. But a bloody Happy Meal just triggered your emergency detox system?”

  Tarni grumbled. “Laugh it up. I should’ve brought a salad.”

  Still grinning, Zane leaned back in the booth. “So, lessons learned today: System skills work away from the house, you can’t get drunk anymore, and McDonald’s is apparently the culinary equivalent of drinking drain cleaner.”

  Tarni raised a fry, eyeing it with suspicion. “And yet... I still want it.”

  “Same,” Zane said, already halfway through his own burger.

  They ate in silence for a few more minutes—well, mostly silence punctuated by the occasional grunt from Tarni every time a new bite triggered his resistance skill. Eventually, Zane leaned forward, wiping his hands on a napkin.

  “Alright, plan time. Once we get to Sydney, we head straight for the hospital and check on Bell.”

  Tarni nodded. “Yeah. If she’s stable, maybe we can figure out how to get her into the system too. That potion might still help—if she’s registered.”

  “And if not, we figure out what it’ll take to get her registered,” Zane said firmly.

  Tarni’s eyes lit up again. “While you're doing that, I’m going shopping.”

  Zane raised a brow. “For what?”

  “Motorbike armour,” Tarni said, cracking his knuckles. “You’ve seen what the goblins can do. I want protection—something light, tough, and that I can swing a machete in.”

  “You have a machete?”

  “Not yet,” Tarni grinned. “That’s next on the list.”

  Zane smirked. “Tactical Tarn, I like it.”

  “Mate, if these green bastards are gonna keep showing up, I’m not fighting ‘em in jeans and a flanny again. I want kevlar and something sharp and painful in both hands.”

  They both chuckled, but there was a quiet tension under their laughter—neither of them knew how deep this rabbit hole went, only that it had already changed everything.

  The fight wasn’t over. Not even close.