The Grand Final is upon me.

And I am officially unprepared for everything.

Vince tells me I have nothing to worry about. He says I'm "born for greatness," or at least "born for something moderately impressive." He keeps repeating this while suggesting my victory speech should include a line about my secret love of pickles. I'm not sure why he's so obsessed with pickles, but I don't have the energy to argue anymore.

The Big Showdown is between me and Thornax the Undissolvable, who, as I've mentioned before, is not the kind of opponent one should face if they've just come off an emotional breakdown, an oil bath, and a dinner of emotionally charged noodles. My confidence is somewhere around the level of a houseplant, and I'm running on fumes and bad decisions.

The arena is set, and the crowd - which is a mixture of chanting monks, confused tourists, and a flaming dog (don't ask) - is gathering. My "arena outfit," which consists of mismatched armor pieces and one of my own socks (don't ask), looks like I raided the local trash heap for my wardrobe. I'm feeling quite spectacular.

Thornax steps forward.

And by "steps forward," I mean he glides because I'm pretty sure he's secretly some kind of haunted suit of armor that floats above the ground. His metal body creaks in a way that sounds like someone dragging a coffin across a gravel driveway. And that, of course, is when I realize - I'm probably going to die.

But I'm trying to stay positive.

Trying.

Vince is in my ear again:

"You've got this, Klem. Just pretend you're stabbing a pillow? or a very aggressive loaf of bread."

Honestly, I was already halfway through imagining what it would feel like to stab a loaf of bread when the announcer yelled, "Begin!"

I rushed forward with my sword, which was made of what I can only assume is half-cooked iron (I didn't pick it, but someone told me it was mysterious). I swung it at Thornax's shin, because that's where his weakness is supposed to be - but alas, my swing went straight through him. The sword didn't even make contact. It was like trying to hit a ghost with a wet noodle.

Thornax stared at me, almost bored.

Then he yawned.

That's when I realized I had made a terrible mistake.

In my panic, I lunged again.

This time, I had an idea.

I would use my elbow!

The elbow that's been bothering me for days. The one that's been glowing and itching and occasionally humming. Surely, this was the secret weapon I had been overlooking all along.

I raised my elbow with the dignity of a knight about to reveal his greatest move. I jabbed it forward with all the might my itchy elbow could muster.

And nothing happened.

It did, however, get stuck inside Thornax's chest plate.

I... I don't know what went wrong. My elbow is now literally welded to his metal torso. It's a mess. I'm screaming. He's yawning again. The crowd is laughing, and for a brief moment, I considered embracing my new life as the first knight to become one with his opponent.

But then, to my horror, Thornax started walking backward, dragging me along like a human-sized backpack that smelled faintly of regret. I couldn't move. I couldn't pull my elbow out. I could only flail in place, desperately trying to untangle myself from my own disastrous decisions.

Vince, of course, was no help. He's currently running a mental ad campaign to sell "Victory Elbow Salves." Apparently, he's already made a deal with the announcer to sponsor the event.

It wasn't until Thornax was about to slam me into the "Wall of Almost Absolute Crushing" (a wall specifically designed for dramatic effect) that I realized: I had two choices:

1. Scream dramatically, accepting my fate, and hope that at least my final words are witty enough to be quoted in taverns for generations. | 2. Bite Thornax's toe.

I chose to bite.

After a solid moment of hesitation, I sank my teeth into the metal toe. To my surprise, it worked! Thornax froze in shock, giving me just enough time to dislocate my elbow from his chest plate (at the cost of possibly breaking the sound barrier with my screams).

Victory.

Not a clean victory.

But victory.

The crowd erupted into confused applause. I'm not sure if it was for me or because they've never seen someone bite a toe with that much intensity before.

I'm now a "Champion of the Festival of Misery."

Which, if I'm being honest, sounds like an accidental participation ribbon.

But I'm alive.

My elbow is still glowing.

And Vince is already planning my victory parade. It's going to be "very themed," apparently.

Next stop? The "Aftermath Feast." But considering the current state of my life, I think I'll skip the emotional noodles this time.