Dark eyes gazed out over the sea of grass. The time was nigh. Stomach filled with apples, Blackthorne nodded his head once then set out to begin the hunt.

He shouted loudly and beat at the grass with his sword while further from the road. During the day the number of enemies should be fewer, but if he made enough noise he should be able to gather enough of them to make a decent wage for the day. His immediate goal was enough money to cover room and board for a week. That would grant him ample time to build funds, while continuing to live indoors.

His solo march toward financial solvency began around mid-morning, most of his simple wounds were healed completely by now, but there was still a fairly hideous bruise on his leg that caused his movements to be a bit stiff. He staggered or limped on occasion when a spike of pain would lance upward from the hateful reminder of his nightmare journey through the darkness not too long ago.

As fortune would have it, his first opponents appeared after roughly half an hour of beating the brush. Three small onions waddled out of the grass and hopped around expectantly. Blackthorne wasted no time. He rushed forward and struck out with his sword with all the power he could muster. His blade impacted the closest onion with enough force to tear a terrible gouge in its orange skin and bit deeply into its strangely sweet and aromatic flesh.

The poor creature suffered a hard kick to the bulb that launched it forward like a soccer ball, but its companions offered a return salvo that forced Blackthorne to dodge to the side. His stiff leg slowed his movements just enough that one of the onions narrowly missed him.

While the murderous onions tried to reorient themselves, their would-be slayer launched forward at a trot. He lashed out with a second swing of his blade to finish his initial prey. The little orange thing split neatly apart with a loud cry, just before one of its companions slammed into Blackthorne's lower back.

"Argh!" he screamed as he was driven forward by the blow. He received little damage due to his accessories, but he could feel pain from the wound. He'd clearly taken at least a slight injury in the exchange.

Blackthorne staggered to a stop after being forced forward a few steps and turned toward his attackers. He did so just in time to take a flying onion to the face! The monstrous burger accessory span in the air just before the strike and used its little onion feet kicked at him repeatedly, "On-yon-yon-yon-yon-yon-yon!" it cried loudly while attacking with swift and decisive blows that bloodied Blackthorne's nose slightly.

He slapped the kicking fiend away and then struck again instinctively. The second blow almost accidentally backhanded the other onion as it leapt toward him. A slight trickle of blood leaking down his nose, Blackthorne narrowed his eyes and lunged forward with a powerful overhand strike that rocketed down upon the hapless beast. The onion screeched for a split-second before it was cleaved in half by the power of the blow.

"It's the pot for you!" he snarled viciously. His head snapped sideways when he detected movement in his direction. He whipped out another back fist that caught the onion mid-leap. The little murderous thing was sent flying sideways with a large dent in its orange armor-like skin and obvious injuries underneath.

He wasted no time in going after the critter. It barely managed to stagger back to its precious little feet before Blackthorne skewered it from behind. The creature's tiny little mouth opened in an effort to scream but it was far too late. Death claimed it in that instant.

Panting slightly with the exertion, he nodded his head while attempting to smile in satisfaction. "Heh, the burgers won't sleep alone tonight..." he said in a fair imitation of a humorous one-line joke.

A quick check of his status revealed that he'd taken no serious injuries. He was in no danger, so he snatched up the bits of onion and a green vita stone before setting out once more.

His day continued onward in the same way. Over a dozen battles would pass between man and onion, before he took a needed rest. Cut and bruised in over a dozen places, Blackthorne could not help but smile. None of his injuries were severe. Given his ability to bolster his vigor through eating proper meals, he was sure that most of his injuries would be healed by the time that his more serious leg bruise healed. A large number of them would even be healed before he called it a day and went to his workplace on Earth.

"Improving my defense would help. The onions around here can barely hurt me unless I do something stupid, or they repeatedly hit the same spot..." mused Blackthorne before he took a drink of water.

It was an odd thing, the feeling that currently bubbled up within him. The idea of killing things for a living was not something that he relished, but the creatures of this world seemed intent on attacking first with lethal force. He was nothing more than meat to them. In turn, he was forced to see them similarly if he wished to survive here. In the end, the ability to take a beating while fighting monsters generated a strange sense of pride within him.

Pride was never something he'd seen in himself, at least not in large quantities. Yet, here he was in the middle of nowhere, covered in onion juice and his own blood, feeling like he was worth a damn for once.

Blackthorne pulled out an apple and bit into it. The sweet scent of the apple mixed with the gently flavor of its inner meat to grant him a momentary reprieve from the dryness of his mouth. He'd truly needed this break. Running after leaping onions was tiring work.

He pulled at a long strand of grass and looked at it for a moment. "Could make a hat, but would that count as jewelry?"

Great consideration was given to the idea of drying out a bundle of long grass and using it to weave a hat during down time in his room. "Hmm, well it would keep the sun off if nothing else I guess..."

A soft sigh escaped his lips not long after. "Man, it's nice here."

No deadlines, no boss, he could literally do anything he wanted as long as it was within the bounds of his personal means and morality. Everything that he needed could be earned by the might of his strong right arm and his will. A stark contrast to Earth and its generally high level of bullshit.

Intellectually he knew that his current thoughts were due to the fact that he was lacking in personal responsibilities in this world. He knew no one, and owed no one. His entire existence was predicated simply on the will to be in this world. It was not entirely fair to claim that this world set him free when he allowed Earth to shackle him with the needs of living in civilization.

In the dream world he was a homeless murder hobo killing random wildlife for profit. If he wanted that level of freedom on Earth all he needed to do was walk away from everything and live in the woods. There were enough fish and squirrels to make a go of things.

Emotion won out over intellect, however. "Earth blows sweaty donkey balls. Even sitting in the grass here is better than living in that place."

A soft sound whispered gently against his ear. Blackthorne whipped his head to the side but caught sight of no one. He heard the noise again, louder this time. It was a soft feminine giggle.

"Who's out here?" called Blackthorne loudly. His sword at the ready, and his eyes trained on the grass, he searched for answers and signs of danger.

The giggle grew louder, but the person it belonged to never appeared. Quite some time passed after the final giggle ended before he lowered his sword. Who, or what, gave birth to that silly giggle had either left or decided to remain silent.

"Seriously.... Are the voices leaving my head altogether now?" he asked, his eyes slightly widened but also tightly focused. It was a disturbing thought. His memories often spoke to him, and he'd occasionally break down and have entire conversations with people who were not even there. Yet, he knew that they weren't there. He was now hearing voices from outside his head, and that brought things to a whole new level of crazy.

Blackthorne slapped himself across the face twice then shook his head rapidly. "Get your shit together man. It was probably a slutty onion or something."

Briefly, the image of an onion wearing whorish makeup, a little black dress, and bright red 'come fuck me' pumps, popped into his head. He blinked twice then snorted. "Damn, man... I've got problems, but even I'm not that hard up..."

The giggle returned with a vengeance and Blackthorne spun in place. "You're still here?!"

When no answer came, he cried out, "Who are you, dammit!"

Suddenly a loud cracking sound echoed through the area. Blackthorne squealed in an almost girlish manner and hopped into the air.

"The hell!" he cried before reaching back to rub his aching rear end. He'd just been slapped on the ass by an invisible giggler!

"Tag! You're it!" cried a feminine voice before the sound of whipping grass echoed outward. Blackthorne looked to the sound and noticed the grass being rapidly parted but in a direction moving rapidly away from his own.

Brief hesitation gave way to a narrowing of his eyes and pure unadulterated determination. "Oh, someone wants to play a fun game, huh?" he asked with a low growl.

"Alright then..." he said slowly before putting his sword away. He closed his eyes tightly and lowered his head. He took several deep, but rapid, breaths as his adrenalin, and a decision, built inside of him. Did he leave the grassland now, or did he give chase to see if he could discover the source of this madness?

Suddenly, his head snapped up. His eyes opened wide before narrowing harshly. "Swiggity swooty, I'm coming for that booty!" he roared.

Any pretense of seriousness was ruined a split-second later by the sudden release of a ridiculous and slightly embarrassed sounding laugh. No one slapped a Southern boy on the ass and got away with it. His eyes ablaze with the desire for justice for his besmirched booty, he rushed off after the invisible figure that even now swiftly raced through the grass far ahead of him.

"Oh no! I'm in so much trouble!" called back the invisible girl, obvious teasing laughter in her tone.

Was it the wisest decision a man could make in this situation? No. Yet, why should he care about that? He loved this world already, even after such a short time. He could spend his life in misery back on earth, or he could play grab ass with the invisible woman while racing around a fantasy grassland. The choice for him was obvious.