05/04/2026: Fallout

“Fall out” would definitely describe what is happening. The truck is falling out of the sky of Malbolge.

That detail is important. There is no dramatic pause, no moment of collective realization — the truck simply is in freefall, forty feet above the tavern roof, because this is where Kiki’s spell has placed it. The mapach has the wheel. Vali rides shotgun. Whatever conversation they were having before this moment is now entirely irrelevant.

Below, where Kiki cannot see, the rest of the party is scattered mid-action across the tavern floor. Borark and Thunk are moving toward the exit, Bayleaf tucked in Thunk’s arms like an extremely large baby. Reklaw stands with the Solar amid the wreckage of the horned devil it has just dismantled. Arman, still in ‘Lawrence’ appearance, emerges from the ruins of the restroom, leaving behind him the second nightmare shepherd in a similar state of ruin. 

None of them looks up until the tremendous crashing sounds.

⚔

It is not comforting math. But the math, while devastating, could have been so much worse. The Hag’s Arm building absorbs ninety percent of the force of the falling truck. The ceiling, predictably, does what ceilings do when trucks fall through them. It collapses.

The damage distributes itself among the living based on proximity to the impact of the large, armored and heavily armed vehicle. Mostly, the party survives unscathed, or lightly scathed. Several enemies do not. All things considered, it is a far more reasonable outcome for the comrades than anyone could have asked for.

Reklaw snatches a heavy chunk of roofing out of the air as it attempts to fall through the space his head had only recently occupied. He flings it at the pair of grievously injured horned devils, hoping to take at least one of them out. Instead, the devil farthest from the monk snags the block of concrete and grins evilly.

Reklaw prepares himself as the horned devil winds up to hurl the shard back.

And whiffs.

The deadly chunk of stone departs the devil’s large, clawed hand, released. It flies end over end, strikes the heavy brow of the other horned devil, and bounces back to strike the thrower. Two pairs of orange, slit-pupiled eyes roll upward, and the devils each collapse into their own lifeless pile.

Having been struck by a falling timber himself, Borark commits what can only be called an act of selflessness. The barbarian hurls himself across Thunk and Bayleaf, shielding them from the heavy, sharp debris raining down. The bugbear and the elf are safe. For now.

⚔

The Solar ends its Blade Barrier spell as Thunk, still holding Bayleaf, races to the truck to check on the baby griffon in one of the back seats.

A roar of anguish rises from the bugbear, who holds the slashed, limp body of the tiny creature to his furry chest. Tears flow freely. In his other massive paw, a clearly uncomfortable Bayleaf seems to not know where to look.

The dust has settled. The spinning blades, now dismissed, have done what spinning blades do. Those within the truck are slashed and bleeding freely, and Thunk’s baby griffon is dead.

The Solar surveys the wreckage and makes a decision. It strides across the ruined floor, littered with the bodies of devils, and puts its lips to its closed fist. A golden stream of Resurrection magic suffuses the tiny body.

The baby griffon opens its eyes.

Bayleaf is set down, and the griffon is cuddled and bathed in Thunk’s tears of gratitude.

The Solar’s eyes narrow as Lula climbs from the truck.

The radiant light shed by the Solar reveals just how much worse for wear Lula is from his time in the Nine Hells. He is gaunt, pale, his wings burned to nubs. He stands before the Solar, eyes cast downward. Without looking up, his voice rasps through cracked lips, “Hello, Zazriel.”

“You,” spits the celestial. Righteous indignation radiates from it. “Thief of the Soul Anchor. Betrayer of angels and consigner of the Multiverse to the opening of the Nine Hells.” It glowers at Lula, who seems to shrink beneath the Solar’s Judgment.

“It wasn’t I who stole the Soul Anchor,” says Lula, miserably. “It was Jaquila.” His companions vouch for him. And Solars, as all must know, can never, ever be lied to. They just know.

“Lula the Exile — return the Soul Anchor to the Heavens and you shall be restored. I can remain here no longer. My kind, with very few exceptions, do not meddle in the affairs of the Material Plane.” Zazriel pauses and looks down at Reklaw. “Do not summon me again.”

Zazriel the Solar vanishes in a flash of light and what might be a crack of thunder.

Or perhaps the sound comes from outside what remains of the Hag’s Arm. It is hard to tell, and the temptation of the spoils distracts all who might care.

⚔

The looting proceeds with professional efficiency. Borark sweeps the fallen with his magic-detecting cloak like a man who has done this before, which he has. The haul is respectable: a Force Shield Ring goes to the very pleased Arman; a Ring of Evasion to Thunk; a leather bag containing Horseshoes of the Zephyr is found by Kiki, who pauses to affix them to her truck’s flattened tires. Reklaw collects gloves that offer a modest boost to his reactions. Fork is rather more secretive about whatever his find is. Vali plucks a fabled Bottle of Endless Coffee from a dead caster — prized among students and night owls, the vessel dispenses a warm and stimulating stream of hot coffee to whoever is attuned to it.

A wondrous blade with a permanent Pass Without Trace aura briefly belongs to Borark before he gives it away, because that is simply the kind of person he has only recently become. And ‘sneaky’ is really not in his wheelhouse. In its place, he claims a charm he affixes to his Drunkard’s Cudgel. This located, it wiIl produce a splash of oil beneath any target struck — and even if Borark’s opponent somehow avoids becoming inebriated by a club to the skull, the creature risks slipping on the slick surface and tumbling prone.

Each party member also receives 2,000 gold pieces, a gem worth 100 gold, and a small assortment of objects — idols, rings, trinkets — worth 20 gold pieces in all.

An imp bangs the door open and calls in: “Big fissure headed this way! Don’t think the Hag’s Arm is gonna survive this one! Leave if you can!”

Very few within the already half-destroyed Hag’s Arm are able, in fact, to leave. Shrugging, the imp accepts Vali’s invitation to go with them in their truck. Kiki throws it into gear, stomps down, and the truck — slowly, painfully — spins its flattened wheels in their new horseshoes.

The truck levitates exactly four inches above the wreckage.

Timbers, plaster, and roofing tiles spill free as the doors fly open and the heroes scramble inside. A goggling imp flutters in after them. Unsurprisingly, it has never seen a flying truck. The doors slam shut, and Kiki spins out, punching through the rear wall of the Hag’s Arm.

An enormous crack from outside the tavern is suddenly inside it. The fissure grows wider, revealing a slowly bubbling river of lava streaming in to fill the available space. As it fills, the slowly eddying molten rock rises.

The truck departs at speed.

⚔

The road ahead leads to a maze that will take them ever deeper into the next level of Hell: Maladomini. Behind them, the lava lake that has swallowed the only public house in all of Malbolge is not forgotten. Only  the fingers of the Hag’s Arm are visible, sinking beneath its glowing surface of magma behind them.

From somewhere, the distant sound of three voices screaming in rage flits through the cabin.

The passengers can see the three hags materialize on the last ridge of solid ground, watching as their livelihood sinks beneath the magma. The middle sister, Morda, screeches a threat as the truck blasts by: “We’ll see you in your dreams!” They vanish again, retreating back into the ethereal plane.

And hags, being hags, ensure that those dreams are not restful. Vali and Borark sleep poorly, fitfully. Nightmares haunt them, and Thunk moves between them in their twitching, restless doze, trying to offer comfort.

Hours later, each wakes with bruise-colored circles beneath their eyes, no more rested than when they closed them.

They are, however, still alive. The truck is more or less intact. The griffon is breathing.

But rest is essential.

This may be a problem.