“Shit, I slept too much earlier,” Ryouta says, staring up at the swishing ceiling fan.

He told Serra that he was going to sleep a while ago, yet he’s been unable to fall asleep.

“Nothing like staring at the ceiling to pass the time,” he says with a groan before rolling onto his side. If he can’t sleep on his back, what about on his side?

The result is the same. No sleep. He’s wide awake and all he can think about is playing more of the game. He could just study more sign language, but his brain is already overloaded with the most basics of basics of it. He needs a break from it. Whatever time after waking earlier that wasn’t spent replying to Serra’s immediate messages was spent watching old video lessons on sign language.

“Guess I’ll see if there’s anything on,” he says, reluctantly getting out of bed to walk into the living room so that he can plop down on the couch. “Penguin, on.”

The television turns on and shows the same cartoon channel that Ryouta left it on. Unfortunately, none of the shows that he enjoys are on.

He flips through the channels. What he stops on is a talk show rerunning its latest episode that he’s heard about. One of the top actresses in America is discussing her latest husband with the show’s host.

“So that makes, what now, two wives and three husbands?” the host asks her.

The actress looks fairly pleased with herself as if having so many spouses is a badge of honor. That’s how most people treat polyamorous relationships in this day and age.

“He was just too cute to pass up! And just look at this ring he got me,” the actress holds out her hand to show off the latest oversized diamond sitting above all the others on her wedding finger.

“Isn’t it wonderful that you can marry as many lovers as you wish now? To think that such a thing was still frowned on when we were kids!” the host exclaims.

The actress smiles and laughs. “I know, I know. It was such an archaic system back then.”

“What do you think about the people who criticize polygamy still?”

“There isn’t much to think about; they are stuck in outdated mindsets. We are a free society that celebrates love, not shames it. Why is it any of their business if somebody has enough love to share with more than one partner? Critics will say that people like us are shallow and not truly able to love more than one person, but doesn’t that just mean they have less love than us to give? They’re not even able to consider the possibility of having enough love to share!” the actress explains. The audience bursts into clapping and cheering.

Ryouta enjoys conversations like this. He may not have any interest in the hundred and one romantic comedies that the actress is in, but he always enjoys listening to others’ opinions on social matters. The whole rise of polygamy is an especially interesting topic.

His dad always told him that such open relationships were only for sexual deviants, and he loved to blame the rise of polygamy on the widespread acceptance of fetishes such as cuckolding. He also blamed the demise of religion for it, saying that marriage is no longer a sacred thing because of everybody separating it from its historical purpose. Ryouta’s mother was much more accepting of polygamous relationships, saying that she found the concept of it romantic despite only ever having feelings for her husband.

It was always fun listening to them bicker over what real romance is.

“Aaannnndddd now I’m sad. Great,” Ryouta grumbles. “Penguin, off.”

The television turns off.

“Guess I’ll just go screw around in-game. I’m sure I can find something to do that might not get me killed or progress too far ahead of the others.”

After lying down on his bed once more, this time with his virtual reality headset, he immerses himself back into Fantasy Tales Online.

He is immediately met with a sight that he is not prepared for. Neither his mind nor heart is ready for what he sees, and now it makes sense why Serra asked him to let her log in first the next time they play together.

In order to properly fit into the small den with him and Bonekraka, she has cuddled herself in next to Fenrir. Her face is directly in front of his own and only inches away, and he can feel her smaller body pressing up against him.

As soon as the first perverse thought enters his mind, he carefully—but hurriedly—slides his way out of the cave. Serra rolls over and plops face-down against Bonekraka’s chest as soon as he’s no longer there for her to lean against. The sight makes him jealous, but it’s for his own good. And hers.

“Alright, what to do,” Fenrir says, trying to take his mind off of how close he just was to Serra.

Rock shakes in his pocket.

“I knew I was forgetting something. I wanted to look up why you might be shaking so much, but I forgot. I’d probably just forget about it next time I immersed anyways,” Fenrir says, giving the rock a pat on the half of it sticking out from his pocket.

His stomach grumbles.

“Let’s see if I can’t find some water to fish in. Wait, why don’t I just…” Fenrir switches over to his thoughts, “Saya, can you tell me why Rock is shaking like this?”

“Nope, Onii-chan!” Saya replies.

He figured as much would happen.

With a defeated slouch, he walks away from the cave deeper into the forest. The morning sun is rising and giving just enough light to illuminate his path through the forest. Calls of nocturnal predators go quiet as they are replaced with the morning songs of birds. Part of Fenrir just wants to stand around and enjoy the scenery, and he most likely would if it weren’t for his stomach growing increasingly hungry. He might have to grab food for the others as well. If he’s getting hungry, Serra and Bonekraka are most likely going to be starving by the time they immerse next.

Fortunately, Fenrir finds a gentle stream not too far away from the cave. The first thing he does is scoop up some water to drink since he realizes that he’s parched when he sees it. The next thing he does is craft another stone-tipped spear. He is tempted to try and just “spear” fish with his sword, but he would rather not dull his blade in case he needs to defend himself.

The stone-tipped spear comes out even better than it did the first time. Not only is the spearhead sharper, but the whole construction is sturdier and feels better to wield. Alas, that feeling of learning something doesn’t hit him. “Going to need to craft more or better stuff if I want to get better, is that it?” he says to himself.

Fenrir walks over to the stream that he found and prepares his spear. The first fish he sees is a long, bass-like fish with grey scales and a particularly long dorsal fin. The fin looks like it belongs on a shark instead of a freshwater wannabe-bass!

“Let me show you how it’s done, Rock,” he says, setting Rock down on a nearby tree stump. He doesn’t want it to fall out of his pocket while he’s trying to fish and get carried downstream. Then again, it is a pretty heavy rock.

But losing Rock isn’t worth the risk.

Readying his spear, Fenrir’s eyes lock onto the circling fish to try and predict its movements. Now the feeling of learning something hits him. It’s the same feeling that he got earlier when he first tried tracking fish with his eyes. The fish’s movements are clearer now, and he finds it easier to predict where it is next going to be.

Breathe in, breathe out. The enemy is right there and completely unaware of the hunter’s presence.

One must wait for the perfect moment to strike to maximize their chances of success. The target isn’t going to escape.

Now!

The spear thrusts directly into its mark, impaling its victim on it.

Fenrir drops his spear and grabs onto the one now sticking out through the front of his abdomen. This spear actually has a proper metal head unlike his own, but the pole itself is still wooden.

“Got you, you bastard! Too bad you’re too far from home to call for help,” a voice taunts Fenrir from behind, but it isn’t one that he recognizes. It’s feminine, but also deep in a sort of raspy, tomboyish way.

This isn’t good. The darkness that was overtaking his eyesight after being stabbed earlier was finally gone. Now it’s back in even more force than before. He feels like even a slightly rough poke is going to knock him out.

“I think,” Fenrir pauses to let out a pained grunt, “you’ve got the wrong guy!” he shouts at her, drawing his sword and bringing it down against the wooden shaft of her spear! The spearhead gets severed off and falls to the ground.

“You bastard! I spent all my money on this!” she shouts, pulling the headless spear out of him.

Fenrir lurches forward without the spear holding him up in place.

“Shit, I really don’t want to die here,” he thinks to himself. Most of his body feels numb. He may not get paralyzed by pain as somebody with maximum pain allowed would, but the numbing effect that takes its place is just as dangerous. “Why can’t I just fish in peace?” he asks, turning around and falling to one knee.

“Haah? Fish? Shouldn’t you be busy trying to trick more girls into being some dumb toy for you like the rest of your guild does?” she asks, using her spear-now-staff to swipe his only standing leg out from underneath him. He’s forced to his knees.

“I told you that you’ve got the wrong guy,” Fenrir struggles to say, barely able to see through the black now. It doesn’t stop him from trying to thrust his sword forward.

She smacks it out of his hands.

“Yeah, right, you just so happen to be wearing armor with that guild’s logo on it just because you feel like it. Am I supposed to believe that?” she replies, smacking the tip of her staff against his right shoulder.

He looks down at where she just smacked. It’s hard to see, but she’s right. There is a damned stinking garlic sitting on his shoulder which looks the same as it did on the ship’s flag.

There probably isn’t any chance of talking his way out of this. “I promise you that you’ve got the wrong—”

She thrusts her staff into his gut, knocking him onto his back.

He can't move. He tries to form fists, but he can’t. He tries to wiggle his toes, but can’t. He can’t even lift his head to properly look at her.

“Saya, what’s happening?” He can still think at least.

“Sorry, Onii-chan, but when you’re defeated you won’t be able to move. You’re at the mercy of whoever defeats you. As long as the last attack isn’t a fatal blow, you’ll just be incapacitated and unable to move so that your enemy can do whatever they want with you. You don’t have traumatic content enabled though, so nothing too bad can happen to you,” Saya explains.

What she added on about nothing too bad happening doesn’t make him feel any better about this.

The woman stands behind him now, holding her staff up above his head and preparing to smash it right down into his face. “Any last words, bastard?” she asks. A sadistic grin is on her face. She looks as satisfied as the character of a movie whom is about to avenge the death of their father by a man with six fingers on his right hand.

“I can see up your skirt,” Fenrir says, making it very clear that he’s looking up underneath it. “Black? How risqué.” Might as well piss her off even more if she’s just going to kill him anyway.

And oh does it work.

With burning red cheeks and a glare that could kill, she thrusts her staff down toward his face!

Fenrir instinctively closes his eyes.

“The hell is this thing, you bastard?!” she shouts. He hears more fighting. “Damn ankle biter! Where were you hiding?!” she shouts some more. It sounds like she’s smacking her staff against rock. Whatever it is she’s attacking, it has to be hard enough for her staff to break against it since a splinter of the wooden shaft lands on his chest.

Fenrir uses all of his strength just to turn his head so that he can see what’s happening.

A small, canid creature that looks to be made of stone is sinking its fangs into her ankles. It isn’t large enough to reach any higher.

“Ow! That fucking hurts!” she shouts, kicking it with the foot it isn’t biting onto. It turns out that kicking something seemingly made out of stone isn’t a good idea. “How the fuck am I supposed to beat you!” she shouts at it, swinging around the foot that it’s latched onto.

She inevitably throws it off of her foot. It lands right next to Fenrir’s head, giving him a better view of it. It’s the size of a small dog and looks like a dog that was carved out of stone, yet it’s surprisingly nimble. Its “tail” even has a slight wag to it.

Furthermore, it’s the exact same brown color that Rock is. It has the occasional spots of grey and white, too.

The stone pup snarls at the woman as it takes on an aggressive stance.

It can’t be… right?

“Rock?” Fenrir asks.

The pup – Rock, turn its head back to look at Fenrir. A pair of silvery eyes sits within its eye sockets that look to be the only non-stone part of it. Even its short fangs are made of jagged rock, and its tongue is the same way.

Rock looks back at the woman and barks.

“Don’t you fucking dare hurt Rock,” Fenrir says, glaring at the woman.

The look in his eyes is enough to send shivers down her spine. Even though she knows he can’t fight back anymore, his voice and eyes still scare her.