Chapter 1: The Gathering Storm
The towering, somewhat dilapidated hotel stood in the neutral Swiss Alps like a confused relic of the 1970s, its once-pristine exterior now plagued by the occasional crack in the wall and a decidedly un-chic sign that read “Hotel Quirkworth: You May Not Want To Ask.” It was perfect. Absolutely perfect.
Inside, a frantic human event planner named Rachel was pacing back and forth, clutching a clipboard so tightly her knuckles were white. She was on the verge of a breakdown, though you wouldn’t be able to tell from the radiant smile plastered on her face. It was the smile of someone who was desperately trying not to scream into the void.
The Summit of Shared Existence was supposed to be a grand occasion. A once-in-a-lifetime gathering of supernatural beings, all coming together to promote interspecies understanding. Or at least, that’s what the brochure said.
“Right, right,” Rachel muttered to herself. “Everything is fine. The buffet is set, the guest list is… mostly sorted, and no one will notice if the bathroom signs are slightly off-center. Mostly.”
At that exact moment, the Jinn appeared with a puff of smoke that smelled suspiciously like burnt toast. He was lounging casually, legs crossed, as though he’d just popped out for a casual snack. “Ah, Rachel, my dear! You’re looking ever so… frazzled,” he said with a mischievous grin, using his hands to make air quotes around the word ‘frazzled.’
“Jinn, we’ve been over this,” Rachel said through clenched teeth, still trying to keep it together. “You were supposed to send the invitations precisely as I wrote them, with no… misunderstandings.”
The Jinn waved a hand dismissively. “Misunderstandings? Pfft. What’s the harm in a little fun? Who knew a few miscast spells would turn the guest list into such colorful chaos? It was… unintentional, of course.” He threw Rachel a wink. “But hey, everyone’s here, right?”
Rachel flipped through her clipboard, her eyes twitching. “Jinn, I distinctly remember asking you not to invite the entire supernatural world. You invited everyone.” Her eyes narrowed as she checked off some names on the list. “A Mokele-Mbembe? Really? Who invited that swamp monster? And the Trolls… The Trolls?!”
The Jinn shrugged, clearly unbothered. “Some mix-ups are… destiny, darling. They’ll add flavor to the event. Besides, have you met the Mokele-Mbembe yet? He’s great at pool games.”
At that moment, the unmistakable sound of a banshee’s wail echoed through the hotel lobby, causing several guests to jump and spill their drinks.
Rachel sighed heavily. “And there’s the Banshee.”
A ghostly figure floated into the lobby, her wails of distress making the room feel like it was echoing in a grand opera house. The Banshee had a permanent scowl on her face, and every time she opened her mouth, it was as though a thousand miserable souls were screaming in unison.
“I cannot abide these acoustics!” she shrieked, her ethereal form flitting to and fro in a frenzy. “These walls! They’re so flat! Where is the reverberation? This place sounds like a coffin!”
Rachel placed a hand over her face. “Not now, Banshee. Please. Can you just… not wail about the hotel acoustics?”
The Banshee blinked at her, then sighed dramatically. “Fine. But mark my words, the sound of this place will haunt you for the rest of your life.” She swirled off to a corner, still muttering about sound design.
“Ah, classic Banshee,” the Jinn remarked, his tone almost fond. “Every event needs a diva.”
Before Rachel could respond, the Kitsune wandered in, trying and failing to blend in. She was, as usual, half-human, half-fox, and completely out of place in the hotel ballroom, where her tails kept popping out from behind her coat. She tried to discreetly shove them back in, but they had a mind of their own, flicking in and out like errant antennas.
“Gah, why do I always forget to check my tails before leaving?” she muttered to herself, watching as her fluffy appendages curled behind her like a very conspicuous hazard. She smiled awkwardly at Rachel. “Hey, I’m here! Just, uh, blending in… as a human… mostly.”
Rachel squinted at her. “Kitsune, you’re literally glowing with magic. And your tails—”
“Are not mine!” the Kitsune interjected, throwing her hands in the air. “They’re… uh… my friend’s. They’re just visiting.” She gave an awkward thumbs-up to the tails, which flipped her off in response.
Rachel groaned. “If you could just—never mind, just don’t knock anything over.”
Meanwhile, the Chaneques were already running riot, swapping name tags on everyone’s table and accidentally messing with the hotel’s Wi-Fi, turning all the conference room slides into pictures of rubber chickens. They giggled from behind a pillar as a flustered hotel staff member tried to fix it, his face a deep shade of crimson.
“Boys, what did I say about causing trouble?” Rachel gritted her teeth, her eyes twitching as she stared at the little pranksters.
“They’re having fun,” the Jinn said, still looking unfazed. “It’s charming.”
Just then, a massive figure crashed through the doors of the ballroom, causing the entire room to shake. It was Mokele-Mbembe, the oversized, amphibious dinosaur-like creature, who appeared to have gotten very confused about the location of the swimming pool.
“Help! I’m… I’m stuck in the pool!” Mokele-Mbembe called out, his giant form awkwardly trying to navigate the hotel’s narrow hallways, water sloshing everywhere. “I can’t turn around—send help!”
Rachel’s jaw dropped. “What part of ‘no swimming in the indoor pool’ did you misunderstand, Mokele-Mbembe?”
“I thought it was a spa!” he wailed.
Rachel sighed. “Of course you did.”
Meanwhile, the Wendigo entered the room, looking a bit… underfed. His hair was wild, eyes bloodshot, and he had a nervous twitch every time he spotted anyone remotely edible-looking. He was immediately greeted by the hotel’s therapist, a very confused man who had just been told he’d be facilitating group therapy for a cannibalistic, shapeshifting monster.
“So… how are we feeling today, Wendigo?” the therapist asked, his voice shaking.
“Ravenous,” the Wendigo replied, licking his lips and eyeing the buffet.
Rachel winced. “That’s gonna go… well.”
And, just like that, the Summit of Shared Existence was officially underway.
Chapter 2: The Summit Descends into Chaos
The sun had barely begun to dip behind the mountain range, but inside the Hotel Quirkworth, all semblance of order had long since evaporated, replaced by the kind of chaos that could only be described as “supernaturally catastrophic.”
Rachel stood at the front of the ballroom, still clutching her clipboard as though it were a life raft in the midst of a storm. She had, by now, learned not to question the strange events unfolding around her. After all, when you’re dealing with this many supernatural beings, normal is just a myth.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” she muttered, watching a group of Chaneques dart under tables, swapping name tags and causing a complete collapse of the seating arrangement. The entire ballroom was in utter disarray, with people—no, things—gathering in the most inappropriate places.
One of the Chaneques appeared out of nowhere and placed a sticker on Rachel’s back that read, “Ask me about my invisible dragon.” She spun around, but they were already gone, giggling manically from the shadows.
“This is fine. This is totally fine,” Rachel said, her voice a little higher-pitched than usual.
Nearby, the Jinn appeared, lounging lazily on a floating cushion, his face displaying that trademark smugness that only an ancient being of limitless power could possess.
“You know, Rachel,” he said with a gleam in his eye, “I’ve been thinking. What this event really needs is a little—extra flair.” He snapped his fingers, and the entire hotel lobby suddenly transformed into a giant, inflatable bouncy castle.
“Wait, what?!” Rachel screamed, grabbing onto a nearby table that had begun to float. “What did you do?!”
The Jinn grinned like a child at a candy store. “Oh, just a little enhancement spell. You know, to lighten the mood.” He bounced on a nearby inflatable pillar for emphasis. “See? Now it’s a party.”
There was a collective scream from the guests as furniture, chandeliers, and even a few bemused looking Valkyries bounced off the walls. The Banshee let out an exasperated wail, one of pure disbelief.
“I cannot… I will not be subjected to this bouncy nonsense!” she cried, flailing as she tried to hover in the air, but the buoyant atmosphere kept pushing her down into the soft, vinyl floor. “The acoustics are horrendous in here now! I demand to speak to the manager!”
Rachel’s eye twitched. “The manager’s in another dimension thanks to you!” she snapped at the Jinn.
“Well, Rachel, you know what they say: you can’t get good help these days.” The Jinn shrugged with exaggerated innocence.
Meanwhile, the Dragons were having their own little rivalry across the room. The Eastern and Western factions, dressed in their ceremonial finery, were eyeing each other with open contempt.
The Eastern Dragon, a long and sinuous creature covered in shimmering, jade-like scales, hissed, “Your fire-breathing technique is primitive at best. I’ve seen houseplants with more control.”
The Western Dragon, all bulging muscles and fiery red scales, snorted. “Oh please, you can’t even maintain a consistent flame. At least I don’t need to meditate for a week before blowing fire. Show me what you’ve got, ‘Zen Master.’”
Rachel, who had no time to deal with this, just covered her face with her hands. But then… something clicked in the minds of the two dragons.
“You know what?” The Eastern Dragon gave a sly grin. “Let’s settle this once and for all. A fire-breathing contest.”
“I like your fire, little dragon,” the Western Dragon replied with a smug grin. “Prepare to be burned.”
The two dragons stepped into the center of the ballroom, and a battle began that could only be described as mostly harmless, but definitely disastrous.
The Western Dragon breathed a stream of flame so hot that it singed the entire buffet table (which, admittedly, had already been knocked over in the bouncy castle madness), sending rubber chickens flying into the air.
“See? That’s how you do it,” the Western Dragon crowed.
The Eastern Dragon, not to be outdone, unleashed an enormous wave of blue fire that not only created an inferno but also set off the fire alarm and left the hotel temporarily submerged in smoke.
Rachel stared at the flaming wreckage of her event. “Great. Just great.”
Elsewhere, the Wendigo was having an entirely different crisis. After a particularly tense group therapy session, during which the therapist tried to convince him that “deep breathing” would help with his cannibalistic urges, the Wendigo was getting visibly twitchy.
“I can’t breathe,” he growled through clenched teeth, his gaze flickering toward a rather well-dressed buffet staff member who had accidentally wandered too close. “I just… I just need to eat something. It’s not healthy to hold all this in, you know?”
Rachel rushed over, waving her arms frantically. “Wendigo, no! Don’t eat the staff! He’s been through enough today!”
“I’m hungry, Rachel,” the Wendigo growled, stepping closer to the terrified waiter. “You don’t understand the pressure.”
“Can someone get him a sandwich or something?!” Rachel screamed at the nearest staff member, who promptly ran off in fear.
Elsewhere in the hotel, the Nuckelavee had wandered into the stables, completely uninvited, and was being mistaken for a particularly strange-looking horse. The poor stable hand, who had absolutely no clue what he was dealing with, was trying to brush its skinless, horse-body hybrid form, which only made the creature more agitated.
“I’m telling you, this isn’t a horse,” the stable hand said, looking confused as he tried to get the Nuckelavee to calm down. “It’s got no skin and—Oh god, it’s staring at me with no eyes!”
Meanwhile, a Manticore, who had been forced to wear a muzzle due to previous behavior at an event, was busy making eyes at the Valkyries, who seemed utterly uninterested.
“Hey there, ladies,” the Manticore purred. “What’s a gorgeous warrior like you doing in a place like this?”
The Valkyries simply rolled their eyes in unison and walked away, their armor clinking as they ignored the Manticore’s advances. “We have important business to attend to,” one of them muttered.
Rachel, now officially beyond the point of caring, was in full-on panic mode when a loud bang sounded from the ballroom doors.
“Oh no,” she whispered.
It was too late.
A massive explosion—whether magical or accidental, no one was sure—ripped through the ballroom, sending magic sparks flying in every direction. Tables overturned, windows shattered, and suddenly there were too many beings vying for the attention of very few, and very human witnesses in the hotel lobby.
The supernatural world had almost been exposed.
Chapter 3: Damage Control
The ballroom was gone. The glittering chandeliers lay in ruins, the elegant buffet had been reduced to a scattered mess of rubber chickens and flaming hors d’oeuvres, and the floor was—well, it was currently more of a bouncy house than anything resembling an actual floor.
Rachel stood, hands on her hips, staring at the utter devastation. “I cannot believe I thought this was going to be a smooth event,” she muttered under her breath.
The Jinn, looking as if he were on vacation, hovered nearby, sipping from a crystal goblet of something suspiciously purple. “Ah, come on, Rachel, it’s not that bad. Sure, the hotel’s destroyed, but look at it! The vibe is fun.” He stretched lazily and waved at the wreckage as though he were a tourist at a theme park. “Everyone’s having a blast!”
“We are not having a blast, Jinn!” Rachel snapped. “We almost exposed the supernatural world to humans!”
“Oh, relax,” the Jinn waved dismissively. “It’s fine. We’ve all been in worse situations. You should’ve seen what happened last time I organized a ‘fire and ice’ dinner party. The Yeti was so mad when he didn’t get dessert. Ice cream, my friend, ice cream is a delicate art.”
Rachel’s eye twitched.
Nearby, the Wendigo was trying to eat the rubber chickens. Every time he bit one, it squeaked in protest. “This is not what I had in mind for dinner,” he grumbled, but was quickly distracted by a large chunk of chicken-shaped confetti floating by.
“Stop trying to eat everything!” Rachel shouted. “This is already a mess, we don’t need you turning the buffet into a disaster too!”
“I’m trying to be civilized!” the Wendigo whined, clutching a rubber chicken like a small child clutches a security blanket.
As if things weren’t already chaotic enough, a loud splash rang through the hotel. The Mokele-Mbembe had wandered back to the indoor pool, or rather, what was left of it after his previous “pool mishap.” But this time, the pool had been transformed into a giant ball pit thanks to the Jinn’s earlier enthusiastic magic.
“Ugh, not again…” Rachel groaned. “Why are you even in there?!”
The Mokele-Mbembe, struggling to free himself from the colorful plastic balls, looked up at her with apologetic eyes. “I thought it was a relaxing spa retreat…?”
“We’ve been through this,” Rachel said, rubbing her temples. “You can’t just wade into every liquid-filled space and call it a spa!”
“Oh, don’t mind him,” said the Kitsune, her tails poking out from behind her, still somehow trying to look inconspicuous. “He’s the best at pool games. You should see his cannonball.”
Rachel opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, there was another loud crash—this time from the direction of the stables. The Nuckelavee, who had, in a tragic turn of events, been mistaken for a horse, had completely destroyed the hayloft, scattering large piles of hay across the floor.
The stable hand, now in a state of hysterical panic, dashed by, crying, “It’s a demon! It’s not a horse!”
“Well, that’s just rude,” the Nuckelavee said, utterly unfazed, poking his head out from behind a pile of hay, his skinless body glistening in the dim hotel lighting. “I did say I was allergic to stables.”
Before Rachel could deal with that particular disaster, the fire alarms started again.
This time, it wasn’t the dragons’ fire-breathing contest causing the mayhem. The Thunderbird had sneezed.
“Bless you,” Rachel muttered dryly as the lights flickered. A few of the electrical outlets sparked, and the hotel’s very old wiring groaned under the pressure.
“Sorry!” the Thunderbird called down from the ceiling, hovering awkwardly. “It’s a… condition. The sneezing thing, I mean.” He flapped his wings sheepishly, sending a small gust of wind that knocked over several tables.
“Great,” Rachel said, her voice dangerously close to a shout. “Everyone, stop whatever you’re doing and get control of this situation. NOW!”
“Sounds like you could use a hand, darling.”
Rachel whirled to see the Valkyries stepping into the room, looking decidedly unimpressed by the chaos. One of them gave a quick salute before pulling out a clipboard of her own.
“Alright, Rachel,” said the lead Valkyrie, rolling her eyes at the wreckage, “let’s get this together.” She handed her clipboard to Rachel. “I’ve got a list of supernatural beings who owe us favors. Time to cash in.”
The Manticore, who had been sulking in the corner, perked up. “Did you say favors? I could help. I’m very resourceful in cleaning up.” He grinned, showing off his teeth.
Rachel’s face went white. “I will never ask you for help again.”
While the Manticore sulked, the Chaneques—true to form—had somehow managed to double the number of pranks by swapping the hotel’s emergency signs with the wrong directions. They’d also managed to tamper with the hotel’s Wi-Fi again, sending out spam emails to every supernatural being in attendance.
“Oh, wonderful,” Rachel sighed. “Now the hotel is officially the least welcoming place in the universe.”
“We’ll fix it,” the Kitsune offered, trying to push the Wi-Fi router back in place. “Mostly.” Her tails flicked nervously as her eyes darted around the room.
And so, with begrudging cooperation, everyone pitched in to somehow contain the wreckage. The Chaneques cleverly rewired the hotel’s electrical system (accidentally turning the lights into a strobe effect), while the Nuckelavee helped clear the hay by scooping it up with his bare hands (don’t ask how, it was horrifying).
The Wendigo, meanwhile, offered moral support by sitting in the corner, making everyone extremely uncomfortable.
“I’m… not hungry right now. Don’t worry,” he muttered, his eyes darting suspiciously around the room.
By the time the hotel manager—looking like he’d been through a severe emotional trauma—came to inspect the scene, the damage had been (mostly) contained. The place still looked like a tornado had passed through, but at least no one had been eaten. Or exposed. Barely.
“Well, I think it’s safe to say, this was a successful event!” Rachel said, her voice hoarse from the day’s stress.
“I don’t know about that,” the manager said, rubbing his temples. “But I can’t be legally responsible for any more property damage. I’ll need you all to sign waivers…”
The Jinn, who had somehow found a new seat on top of a pile of rubble, raised his hand. “I’m afraid I can’t sign anything. Legal documents don’t really apply to someone of my… status.”
Rachel shot him a glare. “Jinn, you are banned from sending invitations ever again.”
“Understood!” He beamed. “Until next time!” And with a snap of his fingers, he vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving behind the unmistakable scent of burnt toast.
The final supernatural beings began to filter out of the hotel, ready to go home—or to wherever they called home. There were some nods of recognition, some grudging respect, and in the case of the Manticore, several flirtatious winks exchanged with the Valkyries (which they thoroughly ignored).
Rachel stood in the wreckage, feeling like a lifetime of stress had aged her by decades. “I’m never organizing another supernatural event ever again. Never.”
She pulled out her phone, desperately trying to order a drink from the hotel bar—only to find that, unsurprisingly, the Wi-Fi was still down.
Meanwhile, on the evening news, a vague and heavily censored story ran across the screen: “Freak weather event causes massive property damage in local hotel. Authorities are unsure of the exact cause, but sources report… strange phenomena and a gas leak.”
The camera panned to the hotel manager, who was softly sobbing in the background, clutching his clipboard.
“I think I’m gonna need a very long vacation,” he muttered.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the Summit of Shared Existence.
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