The journey beyond the castles stretches a very long time - which, as this new and improved map tells us, is only to be expected. There's a single long straight line stretching through an otherwise empty section of the map, which represents this rolling grassland on which we're traveling. I'm not entirely sure what the scale on this map is, so who the hell knows how long this journey is going to last?

I feel like we've walked through seven days of night. If memory serves me correctly, Satan does that at some point in Paradise Lost. But don't take my word for it - my memory of that one's a bit spotty. I'm better with Bible verses, and even then I can't call on too many from my memory banks. Crane I'm not. I've been more of the brawn than the brains for Team Witness, historically. That is, if we're counting "Team Witness" as only Crane and myself. Which, frankly, I wouldn't. Not with people like Jenny, Joe, Captain Irving...hell, even Katrina before she completely lost her shit.

It's not a totally monotonous walk, though. Nikki livens things up by humming a song until Joe and I simultaneously identify it as that "Chandelier" song that took over the radio for a while before we died. I respond with "Sympathy For The Devil" - that one's been stuck in my head pretty much 24/7 for years - and Joe defeats us all with a song none of us can figure out.

"'Ain't No Rest For The Wicked?'" he asks, waving his arms like windmills. "Cage the Elephant?"

"Ohhhh..." Nikki says.

I shake my head. "Never heard of them."

"It's their best song!" Joe looks at me like I've got worms crawling out of my eyes. Wait...do I have worms crawling out of my eyes? For real? I actually feel them to make sure there aren't any. Thank God there aren't. Or, I guess, thank Corbin? Seriously, imagining God with Corbin's face, it's breaking my brain. Even more than the thought of worms crawling out of my eyes.

Worms do crawl, right? I'm not as well-versed in science as I am in history and magic.

Just another thing to think about on the long, long walk to the edge of the grassland.

And then we see the gateway on that edge.

A gateway with two giant snakes on either side of it, twining up a pair of columns that tower into bottomless darkness above us.

"Any of you speak Parseltongue?" Nikki asks.

Joe and I shush her, but it's too late. The snakes come to life, sliding down the columns and holding their heads up. Their tongues dart out, tasting the air.

"You think they can see us?" Now Nikki joins me in the shushing in response to Joe talking.

As it happens, I think the answer to his question is "no." Either that, or "yes, but they're going to shoot missile-like bolts of acid at us as a warning."

In case you're wondering, yes, they really do shoot acid, hissing the whole time as spots of the path in front of us sizzle from the impacts.

The two snakes rear their literal ugly heads. We have no choice but to rear ours back.

Nobody shushes me when I ask the most important question yet. "Any of you trained in gymnastics?" Without waiting for an answer, I crouch, then spring off my feet. My plan is to vault onto one snake's head and get the other one to spit at its companion, possibly killing it. I'm running on the idea that the only thing capable of well and truly defeating these snakes are the snakes themselves.

Unfortunately, I'm a little rusty. Okay, a lot rusty. So my vaulting skills, especially without a pole, leave a lot to be desired at the moment.

I'm surprised to find, however, that Corbin's map actually protects me. It doesn't look strong, but holding it up in what could easily be a piss-poor, automatic-at-best reflexive defense, it successfully blocks another acid shot, which does no damage to the paper. Other than staining it, but at least it's not on the printed side, so there's that.

I only spare a moment to look at Joe and Nikki in surprise before I run forward, holding the map in front of my face and chest. Acid hits the other side, splattering in ugly black marks. Flecks of that shit hit my fingers, among other assorted parts of me, leaving little burns that tingle, then prickle, then annoy me to no goddamn end.

Within seconds, I'm at a point where I can jump onto one snake's back. Which I do. Then I race up to its neck, but don't quite summit the head. All I do is stick my hand up long enough to wave a taunting middle finger at the other snake. (They understand that, right?)

That's when the snake fires.

Both of them.

They fire on each other.

The hell?

As this snake screeches and burns under the impact of the other's acid, I chance looking up and seeing the other with its mouth wide open, bubbling as acid melts a huge, bleeding hole in its tongue.

And Nikki's dancing on top of its skull.

Damn. I thought my idea was stupid, but she ran with it like it was a pair of scissors and turned it smart.

Joe runs up, drawing level with the snakes as Nikki and I ride their falling heads down to the ground. "Am I the only one here with self-preservation instincts?"

"One of these days," I tell him as I slide off my snake's head, "your Wendigo powers are gonna come in handy and overtake those instincts."

"Hope not."

Nikki dismounts from her snake as well, and together, we walk through the gate, unsure what's going to come next.