* * * * *
It just so happened that on the same day that the Happiest Man program was being launched, this man was being reunited with the children, now adults, who he had saved all those years ago. The teary-eyed crowed proclaimed the gratitude for the man whose actions granted them the lives they now led. The briney pheromone haze of the commemoration gently caressed the defenses that this humble public servant had spent a lifetime building. Emotionally dull? No, merely emotionally out-of-practice. But no practice could prepare him for the release of emotion that welled within him, as the flood gates crumbled and AI Subunit: Personnel (or Super, for short) measured that this gardener hero was objectively the Happiest Man on Earth.
I am hungry. Dinner is late. I pace back and forth across the kitchen floor while you sit at the table, your eyes shifting back and forth reading something that your neural interface was projecting before you, invisible to me.
I receive a notification from Super. Dinner is here.
I slide open the slot to our apartment’s delivery compartment. The hum of a million drones flying around the city bleeds into our apartment. I grab the package, close the compartment, and silence returns. I bring the thin fibrous bamboo box to the kitchen, steam rising to my nostrils and taunting my impatient appetite.
“This guy attached himself to an express megalift at the furthest level underground, rode it to peak velocity, separated before it started to slow, pushed off of it, and flew right through the Central Escape Hatch, disrupting the flight path of thousands of drones, and then parachuted to safety above ground.”
I pause and close my eyes, barely able to process this information in my hunger. “That's why our food is late?”
“Yeah, and get this,” you continue, excitement building, “upon landing, Super announced that this fucker was the latest happiest man on Earth.”
“The bastard. Do they really publish what all the winners were doing? Shouldn’t there be loads of perverts?” I sit at the table and place the box down, opening it to reveal two smaller boxes: chana masala for you, and bug burger for me.
“Well,” you respond. “Super isn't putting details out beyond the names of winners. The media must have gathered this all themselves.”
“And has the media been reporting loads of perverts?”
Your eyes go out of focus for a moment, showing that you're looking something up. You refocus and look down, your mouth working into a coquettish grin: “Yes, there have been some perverts. But I'm not seeing a lot about them.”
You are still too distracted to begin eating, but I am starving, and so I open mine, only to see that it is not the bug burger I expect, but instead, deep fried lasagna fritters.
“Oh that's lovely. They got my order wrong.”
“Actually I ordered that for you.”
“Why? I said I wanted bug burger.”
“Well this is better. Plus you’ve been saying how you want to gain weight so something fattier makes sense.” You smile at me, my assent assumed.
“I’ve never said I wanted to gain weight!” Where do you come up with these things, I wonder to myself.
You shrug and start on your chana masala.
We ate quietly. After eating I threw the waste down the garbage chute under the sink, where AI-controlled air streams would sort out the recycling.
“That’s interesting.” you say, absentmindedly washing your hands while looking straight ahead, still reading. “Even though they have information on some of the winners, nobody actually knows how Super is measuring happiness.”
I consider this. “I suppose if the metrics were too simple, one would simply need to inject a high enough dose of the right chemicals, whichever ones Super measured, and then you’d win.” I say as I move to the couch in the living room. It’s a grey love seat—far too cushiony for my tastes, but it was a gift from your aunt and free suits me fine.
You sit down next to me. “And the winners aren't very frequent, maybe one a day. You must need to win by a certain margin, otherwise there would be a new winner every few minutes.”
“Here’s something: an article titled 'Has the Happiest Man Contest Been Taken Over by Sex Addicts?'. It looks like we found our perverts.”
“Oh,” you say, slumping down and leaning against me. “It looks like there's been loads of winners using VR.”
“I thought you liked VR. Didn’t you spend the entirety of last wet season recreating a bunch of fantasy novels in VR? Except you’re always a sorcerer who Conan or Fafhrd or Kvothe has to answer to.”
“Men have their power fantasies and I have mine.” You pinch me. Ow!
“Why’ve you done that. Fuck.” Why do you love teasing me so much?
You giggle as if it’s all the justification you need. I rub my arm. “Well, what’s your issue with VR?” I ask, trying to get back on subject.
“I mean it’s cool, but not happiest person ever cool. It's just never as good as the real thing.”
I go back to reading, trying to find more information elsewhere. “I’m seeing some suggestions that some kind of illegal VR scenario is the culprit for the recent string of VR winners, but people are being vague about it.” You perk up a bit at this, but I can see you’re still disappointed. I am too. Just throw on a VR scenario and win? That’s not very exciting. Where’s the challenge?
And then, like all our great commitments, this one too started ironically when you said, “imagine if we tried it though.”
* * * * *
I come home the next evening and place a thumbdrive on the coffee table by the couch where you are reading. “What is it?” you ask, barely diverting your attention.
“It’s a VR scenario. I bought it from Timbuktu.” Your eyes shoot up.
“You know how to—. “
“No,” I interrupt, “a coworker got it for me.”
“Who,” you begin to ask, but it dawns on you, “don’t tell me you asked—.”
“It doesn’t matter who I got it from. It’s the genuine thing.” My lips curl in a sinister smile. You can’t help yourself, and now you’re smiling too.
“Alright, what's so special about this scenario? Does it have all the sexiest celebrities of the last three centuries at your beck and call. Ooh are they all tied up in your dungeon, pleading and ready to do anything to earn their freedom.” You have such a strange sense of humor.
“Well, it isn’t really a scenario, actually. It’s an AI called Satisfaction Guaranteed. Apparently it can create any scenario you want.” I take out a baggie of little metallic balls and place them on the table next to the thumbdrive. “This is the secret. Nanos loaded with dopamine, adrenaline, and a bunch of other hormonal regulators. And uh—psilocin, a hallucinogen. Satisfaction Guaranteed controls the release of the drugs while we’re in-scenario. Between that and the neural interface, it’s like you’re actually there.” As I’m talking, I sit on the couch next to you and take my phone out of my ear. I plug in the thumbdrive and transfer the files for the VR scenario.
“And we can do it together?” You snuggle up to me on the couch, rubbing my shoulder and chest.
“Yeah, you’ll be able to join my room. But I’m not completely sure about this. VR from Timbuktu? What if it’s a sick prank, or unsafe somehow?”
“Well let’s just try it. What’s the worst that can happen?”
I’m a little caught off by your eagerness. “I think this may be a mistake. The worst that can happen? Some sick fuck set this up as some crazy torture scenario, we end up as the bound and desperate prisoners, we lose touch with reality, we lose our minds, it fries our brains--”
“It’s okay, breathe. You said a bunch of people have been using it, right? If we don’t like it, we just leave.”
I exhale deeply. “Alright, but you come up with the details of the scenario, you’re better at that.” You don’t even react to this. The gears were turning in your mind the moment I described how the AI worked.
“Okay, I think I got something, let me talk to Satisfaction Guaranteed.”
“Satisfaction Guaranteed, are you there?”
“Yes master.”
I instruct Satisfaction Guaranteed to do as you say.
You begin, “I’m thinking high fantasy. He is a well-endowed prince, heir to a powerful warrior kingdom, and I am an ancient ageless sorceress. We have just vanquished an evil army after joining forces and we are returning to my sorcerous abode to recuperate.” You are giggling and squeezing my forearm. You freak. “We haven’t had a moment to rest since the fighting started, but now irresistible attraction grips us. Of course, there is aphrodisiac sex magic at work—my specialty—and we become possessed by pure desire. He needs an heir to secure his lineage, and I have been waiting decades for a man in possession of worthy seed.”
* * * * *
We are transported to a staircase up in the sky, leading to walls and a gate made of clouds.
I pull up my phone’s menu and start looking through things. I can see a picture-in-picture view of our living room through the view of my real eyes. No notifications of sudden bank-withdrawals, no spam messages being sent out to all my contacts, everything seems to be functioning normally, and I let myself breathe.
I look around at the sprawling cloudscape surrounding our staircase in the sky. It’s cool, but it seems like a standard VR scenario thus far. Some textures don’t look quite right, the sensation of placing my foot on the ground and walking is a little too smooth to feel real, and there’s always that small, nearly imperceptible lag between decision and action. I see in your face that you’re having similar thoughts. But we’re here, so we might as well give it a chance.
You are wearing a flowing white dress. It is smoothly waving even though there is no wind. You carry yourself, as always, with grace—but it’s somehow accentuated. There is a radiant glow beneath the skin of your perfectly smooth face. VR queerness or not, I want to take you now.
I reach out and grab your hand, and that is when it hits me. I am holding your hand, stroking the tip of your index finger with my thumb. I can feel every groove of your finger. It is as if, for that instant of time, I am not a man but instead just a thumb, and the ridges of your fingerprint are the entirety of my existence. Satisfaction Guaranteed must have calibrated its dosing because I snap out of my trance. Before I fully regain control, I realize that I am falling backwards off of the staircase, into the fluffy abyss.
But suddenly I am still and suspended. You are reaching out towards me; it seems you have ensorcelled me in thick blanket of air.
“This is amazing,” you say, watching me suspended before you. “It almost feels real.” A look of true wonder rests on your face.
“Would you mind,” I ask, just about shitting.
You extend your index finger and “come-hither” me back to the staircase. I do not shit my pants for I am a brave hero.
As the panic subsides, I realize that I am exhausted. There is a profound weariness in me. I try to remember what caused that, and I am met with flashes of steel, the smell of iron, glimpses of battle, vanquishing foes beneath my blade, and certain knowledge that I have danced on the precipice of death. My nervous system is shot and I need to recover. A look of worry crosses your face, but I take your slender hand once again and lead on. We are giddy, wondering what Satisfaction Guaranteed has in store for us.
The gates of your sorcerous sky fortress open up, revealing a pathway lined with phallic hedges. We walk down the short pathway and, somehow up here in the sky, a gentle wave from an ocean rolls over a beach, where a row of meaty conches are on display, now dripping wet. I dip my toe in the pleasantly warm water. I walk in deeper and the salty hot water penetrates my weary muscles and I relax completely. There is a shuffling sound behind us and we both turn to see a hedge bustling. Two rabbits dart onto the pathway, one giving chase to the other. They do a few circles, and then run back to the hedge, working together to pull out a silver tray. They bring the tray over, presenting it to me. On it are ripe grapefruits and peaches. I take a grapefruit. It pulsates with my touch, bursting and shimmying out of its peel of its own volition. Its naked flesh lays before me in my hand. I insert a finger into the grapefruit and open it up, sticky juices running down my hand, getting caught against the ridges of veins protruding from my arm. I take a slice of the grapefruit and see light dancing in crystals layering the surface; it's pre-sugared. I eat it. Delicious.
You kneel down by the water and take my hand in both of yours, bring it to your face and sucking the juices off my fingers. I drop the halves of grapefruit from my other hand and bring both hands to your face to pull you in. The grapefruit splashes in the ocean water. It begins to bubble and roil, emanating a sweet aroma.
You get into the water with me. Your white dress becomes translucent as it clings to your skin. I breathe deeply and feel a tingling in my lungs as the steamy air fills me. There's something different about the air now and each breathe is inflating my desire. The thought flashes in my mind that Satisfaction Guaranteed must be dosing us with something at this moment, but the thought—and any concern it carried with it—are gone as quickly as they arose.
You are you, but you are also the wizard I have fought alongside, whom I have admired deeply and longed for, only to be denied by the necessities of an unabating battle for survival. Now the tingling becomes electric. Our eyes have been locked, and now we are being sucked into the tunnel between our gazes. I grab your soft face in my calloused warrior's hands and pull you in closer. I brush your smooth cheek with the back of my hand. I feel as though I am corrupting something pure with my roughness, but you push your face harder into my hands. Your face is so close. I am breathing you in with every inhale. I become possessed by my need and I pull you in the rest of the way and kiss you. The pool is getting hotter, and the bubbling more intense, but it does not burn us. A steady jet erupts from beneath us, and we are propelled into the air. It is firm and steady as it propels us further. I barely notice, preoccupied with seizing you, as if I could pull you into me. The jet subsides and a bubble—only just formed around us—carries us to our final destination. We are carried through an open window and placed in a bed on the upper floor of a manor on the beach. The bed is appropriately fluffy for a cloud fortress, and being placed in it feels like we are being wrapped up in cotton candy. I pull down the sheets around me, and take a moment to swallow and catch my breath. I have no idea how much time has passed since you sat in the pool by my side. The room has a pleasant aroma on account of a bed of roses: thick, swelling, dripping with dew, and opening up. Many lit candles warm the room, but a gentle salty breeze flows in through the window. You jump me, and we are back at it.
The walls expand and contract, breathing with us. The sheets soften further and mold themselves around our bodies. I have no more sense of space, I merely feel myself floating in nothingness with perfect ease. I don't know where I end and you begin. My pleasure becomes one with yours. Finally there is release. The sheets quiver around us, the roses bloom, the room creaks.
* * * * *
We are both transported to our living room, looking up at the ceiling, still trapped in the throes of pleasure. This eventually subsides and is replaced with mere heavy gasping.
You are the first to break the silence. “That petite mort wasn’t so petite.”
I drop my head to my hands and massage my face and eyeballs, trying to mentally reset. I open my eyes and see that my pants are dripping wet, and everything underneath us is drenched in our fluids. Your aunt's poor couch.
I check my messages. “No new winner announced.” I note the time. “And it's only been 10 minutes.” I say, bewildered.
You get up and begin pacing. “We need tension—a lot more tension. It’s one thing to have a few planted memories, but another thing to actually experience it. Leave it to me.”
You go off to the shower, and I get started on cleaning the couch. The experience is like a dream and the more I try to hold onto it, the more it slips away. I remember how the final moment felt though. That, I think I will never forget.
* * * * *
You were working on something the next morning as I got ready and left for work. You were also working on it when I got home. I asked you what you were writing, but you wouldn't tell me other than to say that it was for our next attempt with Satisfaction Guaranteed. I tried to give you a back rub at one point and read over your shoulder, but you snapped. I was just curious, geez, but if you want it to be a surprise then so be it.
After I got home from work on Friday, you were ready.
“Are you finally going to tell me about your new scenario?”
“Do you trust me?”
“Of course, but—” You kiss me to shut me up.
“Join my room.”
“Your room?” I ask.
“Yes, I made my own copy of Satisfaction Guaranteed so I could make sure we were on the same page.”
I notice you’ve lined the couches with plastic. You’re so thorough. I am afraid at what you have in store for me, but I put on a brave face and play along. I sit down, enable VR, and join your room.
“Satisfaction Guaranteed.” You call.
“Yes master.”
“One more note before we start. We want to win the contest, no matter what it takes.”
“Yes master.”
* * * * *
There’s a hot desert sun blasting me with heat. Where are you? I try to open my phone menu, but it’s not responsive.
“Satisfaction Guaranteed.” I call out.
There is no reply.
How can I contact you? Can I even leave? Something is wrong, but I give up on figuring that out for now and survey my surroundings. I am standing in hot sand. In all directions, it is without end. At least the scenario gave me sandals. I pick a direction and begin walking.
The heat has penetrated me to my core. I’ve never felt so hot on the inside in my life. There’s an energy bouncing around inside me. It feels like I’m jumped up on an adrenaline spike and I am perpetually on the verge of doing something, but I don’t know what it is and the feeling never subsides. I see a dune, and I figure I can get over the crest and see what’s on the other side.
In one direction, the land gets progressively more hilly leading up to a mountain. I see greenery growing in the shadow of the mountain, so I head that way.
I feel relief upon entering the shade, but there is still a stirring inside me. I ascend the slope of the mountain, hoping to find better vantage. The climb is mostly easy, especially with the cool shade.
I am suddenly made aware of a bright shaft of light, about one foot in diameter, crossing my vision ahead. I follow the beam with my eyes up to where I can see it passing through a perfectly carved tunnel through the mountain. The other end of it strikes the ground near the edge of a cliff nearby. I walk over and find a sword embedded in the stone. There is a ribbon tied around the hilt of the sword, and I notice something peeking out from under it. I undo the ribbon to reveal an engraving in the hilt.
“Without which, the chasm between cause and effect may never be bridged. Advent. The first moment resides in you.”
Above the text is a sigil: the sun peering up over a horizon. The hilt shoots out to either side like bursts of sunlight. There is a hint of a warm yellowish reflection off silver blade. I don’t know what it is but something inside me tells me that it would be wise to keep it wrapped, so I wrap the ribbon around the hilt once again.
I grab the sword, pull, and feel it slide easily out of the stone. As I do so, the beam of light begins to shrink. There is a creaking sound above and I look up to see the tunnel through the mountain filling in on itself.
The sword feels light in my hand. I don't know if it is just my being in awe at this moment, but somehow the air feels thicker, my gaze lingers where it lays, and I feel slightly sluggish. I realize I have a leather scabbard on my back and I am able to place the sword inside of it after a few attempts. I don't know what might happen that would require a weapon, but it seems clear that I am meant to have it. Thinking about what I was supposed to do would not get me anywhere, so I just keep climbing.
After ascending further up the mountain, I find a ridge that leads to a plateau. It’s been a while since I’ve had a clear view out of the surrounding foliage, but it seems like this will be a good vantage point. With some effort, made greater by the awkwardness of climbing with a longsword on my back, I begin climbing the ridge. As I peek my head over the top, I notice that there is a woman nearby. She is kneeling, looking away, and poking something on the ground with a stick.
Some rocks in the side of the ridge give, and my foot slips. She quickly snaps around at the sound, her pleated armor shifting to accommodate her movements. In a fluid motion, she rises to her feet and unsheathes a sword. She has a fierce expression and her eyes are locked on mine. It’s quite convincing.
I am relieved to have finally found anything at all in this world, so I waste no time in asking, “Do you know where I am supposed to go?”
She squints at me for a moment before answering, “I am caught off by your bizarre question, stranger.”
I guess that would have been too easy. I’m going to have to treat this like it’s real if I want to get through. Is this your design? Is Satisfaction Guaranteed fucking with me? Or was there some kind of catastrophic bug?
“Well, help me up then.”
She seems to hesitate a moment longer but then decides to help me, offering one hand. Still, she does not sheathe her sword or ease up.
“You spoke as if you thought you thought I was someone else. Are there others with you?” She begins to look side to side, then over the edge that I just climbed from.
“No, I was just confused. It must have been dehydration getting to me.” It’s not a perfect explanation by a long shot.
She tosses me something. A waterskin. I drank greedily; I really was thirsty. I took a moment to close my eyes and breathe before handing the waterskin back.
“What is your name, stranger?” She shook the waterskin, noting that it was now empty.
“I—I don’t remember who I am.” This time she gives no reaction to my poor answer. She’s just a simulation, but I still feel guilt over my answers. It is becoming clear that she is going to let me suffer in the awkward silence I created. I cave and break it myself, “Would you tell me who you are?”
“I am the Champion of Nafpalia. I am here to slay Ibex.”
“Ibex? Like, goats?” While I am asking this, I am edging further on the plateau to get a good view of the area. I didn’t realize how high I was. I’m not sure if I climbed all this way, or if there was some kind of trick played by Satisfaction Guaranteed. I can see for miles in all directions. There is nothing in sight. If I am to find anything in this world, it seems this woman is my only hope.
“Ibex. The horned devil that torments Nafpalia, eating livestock, obliterating carriages on the roads for sport, and gobbling up children who wander too far on their own.”
Some kind of monster, I figure. “How can you be sure he is near?” I move away from the edge to return to more comfortable footing, and in doing so, slip on something and fall backwards right on my ass. There is a clang as my sword slides out of its sheathe. Before I even notice her move, she is kneeling over and examining the sword.
“That's an interesting blade. Where did you get it?” Her eyes are fixed on the blade as she asks me this. She begins to finger the ribbon. I awkwardly roll and tumble over to snatch it out of her hands.
“I found it, that's all.”
“Very well stranger, hold on to your secrets.” She pointed down at my foot, “And that's how I know Ibex is near.” I looked down to see shit clinging to the bottom of my sandal. Lovely.
“Come, there is a stream nearby.”
I follow her lead. We ascend further and the air becomes misty. There is yet quite a distance to the peak of the mountain, where I can see ice caps. It’s still warm at our elevation. We make our way to the stream. It is more of a trickle, making its way down the steep rocky slope. Close to the stream, there is grass. I take my sandals off and enjoy the sensation of cool grass brushing against my feet. She follows suit. It seems we’re both glad for the reprieve from weary mountain traveling.
The gentle mist turns to a drizzle with a smattering of larger droplets.
“The Hippodrome rains. He always returns to the mountains at this time of year. The smell of wet doe carries far. This is our only reprieve from Ibex, but when the rains end he will come back to torment us once more. And with the added bravado of a male who has just conquered as many mates as he pleases.”
I feel as though I am finally cooling down. Still though, there is a weird heat inside me, at the pit of my stomach. I see moisture beading and rolling down the neck of the Champion, unconsciously I swallow and lick my lips as the weird heat shifts inside me. The discomfort of my parched throat breaks me out of my trance. bend over the stream to gather water and I’m caught by my reflection. I am an altered version of myself, as expected. I am still muscular, with the body of a warrior, but I'm different from the dense brick of muscle from the first scenario. There is a femininity to my visage. I can’t help but admire what appears to be great strength belied by gentle repose. I drink and rinse my face. Then I look up and catch the Champion eyeing me as she fills her waterskin. She looks away.
There’s a yell. It sounds like a belligerent man shouting at us from uphill. I look, and see that it is not a man. It is the horned devil, Ibex. It’s strange to see such a hulking mass deftly pass from rock to rock down the steep decline in effortless leaps. He does so with pride and regality. He knows he is king here.
It lands before us and lets out another of its odd yells. It has brown fur with black features, including its messy straw-like hair which lies in a middle-part. It also has a long beard and a stupid look on its face.
The Champion makes a run for her sword and shield, which are lying by the stream. Ibex immediately lowers its head and charges her, as if it has the intelligence to comprehend the threat. He makes a scooping headbutt attack, but she is able to dodge and roll, picking up her equipment in the same motion. Earth, rock and grass fly from where Ibex’s massive horns have scraped at the ground.
Now it is the Champion’s turn. She makes quick lunging attacks, going for the eyes of the monster, but it is lightning fast in its reflexes and easily parries each strike with its horns. He rears on his hind legs and stomps her, but she dodges and deflects the blow with her shield. The might of the attack knocks the shield out of her grip and sends her off balance. He continues the onslaught, but deft footwork has her just out of reach of each stomp and bite. The fight becomes more mobile as each realizes that they are at a stalemate in short attacks.
I realize I am standing in awe of the battle unfolding before my eyes. I remind myself that it’s merely a simulation and that there is no danger in my taking part. Besides, I need to make sure she survives if I am to proceed in this world.
I unsheathe my sword. Advent. I look up again at the battle and see the two combatants moving in slow motion. I can see the droplets of rain slowly falling too. Now the sensation I felt when I first picked up the sword made sense. This ought to be fun.
I rush Ibex from behind. My movements are slowed too, but not as much as theirs. I make a large sweeping attack for a rear leg, hoping to render that limb useless. One of the creature’s ears swivels back at me, and I can see it beginning to lift a rear leg in defense. I want to stop my attack, to evade and make a better move, but it seems I have over-committed. Before my blade can land, the kick connects with my chest and sends me flying.
I scramble up and see that my attack was enough of a distraction to allow the Champion to slip the monster’s defenses. She pulls a dagger out of somewhere and sinks it into his thickly muscled neck. She uses this purchase to climb the beast and mount its back. He bucks wildly but the grip of her supple thighs deny his attempts to shed her.
By now I am on my feet. I go for a quick attack. Again Ibex’s unworldly reactions perfectly counter my blow, but this time I am able to use the powers of Advent to alter the course of my lighter attack and score a strike into the beast’s hide. Another blow like that will surely immobilize the creature. I make ready to strike again, but he is already half turned and rearing to stomp me.
With a grip on the dagger still in his neck, the Champion swings under his jaw and makes a deep incision with her short sword. Blood immediately gushes and sprays out of the wound. The wave of blood crashes over me and knocks me over. Ibex begins to stumble, still with the belief that it is about to stomp me, but something inside the mighty king snuffs out and he falls over limp.
I am a disgusting mess. I clean my hands on the wet grass and rub the blood out of my eyes. My nostrils and lungs are filled with the thick smell of iron, along with a hint of something else.
The Champion is dismounting the creature in slow motion. I sense greater power in the sword, but I do not seek it. I wipe my sword on the dead creature’s hair, then sheathe it. Time returns to normal. I attempt to stand, but I slip in the blood and fall onto my side. The blood. There's something horribly wrong with the blood. It crawls on my skin. It’s inside the air, inside my nose, inside my lungs, infusing with my blood. I scramble and fail again to rise.
“Breathe, you are fine.” I hear her say, but I am still scrambling. She grabs me by the arm and pulls me out of the puddle of blood. I stand, but immediately double over. I try to find stillness and breathe. In doing so, I only feel more of the blood-infused air enter me. I can feel it working it's way through my body and reaching my gut. The strange heat from before seems to dance as the vitality of the slain beast seeps into me. There is an interplay between the two that causes a feeling in me that I have never quite felt before: violent passion.
The Champion places her hands on my face and lifts it to reach hers. There's a spark as soon she touches me. I am shaking, staring her in the eyes, and I can see she felt it too. She inhales deeply as the energy of the Ibex passes from me to her, becoming shared between us. I can feel her breath deepening; I can sense her heart racing just as mine is. Her wild gaze is locked right on me. I take her by the shoulders and press her down in our bloodied battlefield, following her down and kissing her as if we were also sharing oxygen. Now we’re both filthy, rolling in the blood of the slain beast and becoming lost in the erotic fugue that enshrines us. Clothes fly away and bodies draw together and as we completely give in to the moment. Language is replaced by panting, grunts, and moans, thought replaced by need, and the passing of time only felt in the shifting of our bodies. She pulls me in tight, wraps her legs around my midsection and twirls me over onto my back.
In a moment of lucidity I am aware of how sudden the shift in the mood was. Surely Satisfaction Guaranteed was at work here, heavily dosing me with something. Even though I can see the manipulation I see no other choice but to accept my part in her devilish play, so I continue on.
I can’t believe I’m still going; I feel like a stallion. Like the Ibex. And she mounts me as she mounted him. The heat builds inside my body. I feel it contract and press up, trying to blast off and escape. I have been lost in her pleasure but I am coming out of it realizing that I have been sitting on the edge of bursting for far too long. I am in horrible agony. I am a bomb with a lit fuse. The flame, just about to reach the end of the wick and detonate, but the penultimate moment is drawn out into infinity. I keep burning hotter, willing the flame onward but the fuse keeps getting longer, denying the climactic moment. I am dying and my face must show it, for I realize she has been shaking me and trying to rouse my attention. I scramble to my feet, rush to the stream, and jump in to the shallow water.
It takes some time before the stream finally cools me enough to regain a modicum of control. I was still throbbing with pain, but it no longer felt as though it might burst. The Champion was standing, arms crossed, watching me impassively.
“This has never happened to me before.” I plead with her, still cleaning more blood off me.
“Is that thing going to be alright?” She gazed down at my still-swollen member.
“Really I have no idea what happened, I just—”
“I know who you are.” Her lips curled into a smile. I got most of the blood off of me, but it had dried in every little nook. I was using my thumb to scrape it from the edges of my fingernails. “Is that right?”
“Do you truly not remember?”
“Truly.”
“You are the exiled prince of Thessalon. Cursed by the court witch to never find satisfaction. Perhaps cursed in memory as well.”
Could that be right? Was that part of the game? The only way out was to have the curse lifted? Was that your idea or a twist added by Satisfaction Guaranteed? It was outright cruel, it couldn't have been your idea. “I must find my wife.”
“Oh? And what can she do for you that I have not?”
“It’s just—I think she is the key to lifting the curse. Do you know who she is?”
“I do not recall any wife to the Prince of Thessalon.” Her reply was sharp and icy. I was disheartened. I needed a lead to find you and I was hoping you had set us up as husband and wife.
“Are you returning to Nafpalia?” I venture.
“Yes, now that Ibex is slain.”
“Might I accompany you?” She tilts her head, weighing the idea for a moment before a bright smile grew on her face.
“You will be welcomed as honored guest. Besides, perhaps we will have another go at cracking that curse ourselves.” She slapped my naked ass and walked on. The discomfort was returning.
* * * * *
The Champion set a hard pace for our journey. There were many times where I discreetly grabbed the hilt of my sword to slow time and follow the leaps from rock to rock that she made. The discomfort in my loins never fully receded. My libidinous curse was spurred on by the faintest whiff of her hair in the wind or the soft grunts of effort she made while gracefully descending the mountain. The physical challenge was a welcome distraction. We were able to spot Nafpalia before nightfall. We continued walking through the night, letting the moonlight and distant dim torchlight from the town guide our way. It was pleasant to feel the grass brushing against the sides of my feet in my sandals. We made it to the outskirts of Nafpalia deep into the night.
It seemed the final leg of our journey through dark thick silence was through an apple orchard just outside town. We were ushered in by the sounds of crisp leaves rustling under our feet. Despite her heavy armor, the Champion seemed to make half as much noise as me. We reached the town, where watchers greeted the Champion. They were jubilant with her news of the death of Ibex, and one of the excited watchers ran off to wake the others. News of her return spread quickly. In no time, hundreds of villagers were surrounding us and cheering, piercing the languid nighttime miasma. Even I got caught up in the celebration. The procession made its way to a central building with large double-doors, leading to an open courtyard, where a food and drink were brought out.
I eagerly await a serving man who is bringing over bread, cheese, and wine. It seems some of them are preparing a fire for the main course. The rest of the townspeople are breaking out into a song about the Champion's successful hunt, led by a fat man with a banjo.
The song quiets down a bit once the main course is served, but more wine is brought out and it picks back up again. I see a few people passing me curious glances and exchanging whispers, perhaps speculating on my role here, but the focus of all was on celebrating the Champion. All except one.
That one is a large muscled viking-looking man who is now staring me down and approaching my table. I try not to shrink down into my chair, and continue eating to hide my unease. Only once he makes it to the table does he break eye-contact with me and look to the woman sitting beside me.
“Champion.” He bows. “You have my congratulations. I never doubted that you would fell that retched beast. Although I don't know why you didn't accept the help of an able hunter such as myself.”
I noticed that the din around us quietened, as onlookers were now listening in, clearly detecting a tension that I am missing.
“Thank you, Chanchu Thunderbane.” She pauses and looks around to take in the audience that is now intently listening. She stands. “Alas, I did accept help. Who is to say if I could have slain the beast without the help of this man.” She motions to me with an open palm and the eyes of the crowd follow from her hand to my face, frozen in bewilderment with my glass to my lips, looking between the Champion, the audience, and the viking.
“In fact,” she clangs a fork to her wineglass. “I would like to announce that I will be taking this man as husband, effective immediately.”
I spit out my wine in a fine purple mist. The crowd cheers merrily at the news. The viking, on the other hand, is fuming. He lunges over the table, upsetting the dishes, spilling wine, and crushing my loaf of bread. Splayed out over the table, he grabs me by the scruff. “I don’t care what you did in the mountains, you are not one of us and have no right!” A glass rolls off the table and shatters as the large man tries to scooch to sit up on the table without letting go of his grip on me. He manages to get his feet under him and he rises to standing, still holding my collar and dangling me in the air.
I feel a sudden sense of release as adrenaline hits and blood is shunted away from non-critical organs, providing me with unexpected relief. “Look Chaz Thunderbone, the Champion has spoken.” We both look to the Champion, who gives us a plain smile as if completely unconcerned.
Rage turns to calm as something flashes across the man's face—a thought, I think. “I challenge you to single combat,” he eventually says. He then throws me back to my chair, which crumples under my falling body. I get back up to my feet. The room is now completely silent, everyone waiting on my reply.
“Sure guy. I drank a lot though, let me relieve myself.” I make my way out of the courtyard as people behind me start clearing tables and making space for the duel. I open the double-doors of the building and wince as I am assaulted by a thin line of light peeking over the horizon. It seems the celebrations have taken us into the next day. I wonder how much time has passed in real life.
I walk onto the main dirt road of the town, round the corner of the building, and find a suitable place to relieve myself. I’m sure there are bathrooms somewhere, but I’ll be fucked if I’m going to treat this place with respect.
As I’m finishing up, I hear the sound of horses nickering around the back of the building. I walk over to find a woman loading up a horse-drawn cart with crates of apples.
“Excuse me ma’am.”
“Oh, you gave me a start.” But then recognition shows on her face. “Ah, young lord. Congratulations on your engagement.” She goes back to loading the crates.
“You saw the Champion claim me, did you? And did you see the part where her beefcake admirer threatened to kill me?”
“No, I must have left before that,” she lets out a small snort. “It does not surprise me though. You will not be the first of the Champion’s concubines to be killed by a jealous courtier.”
“Concubine?” I ask disgusted.
She pauses in her task to give me a level look. A wry smile grows on her face—one of amusement but with just a tinge of pity—dimpling her cheeks. She has a genuine face and kind eyes. She returns to her crates, moving with confident efficiency, stacking them neatly.
“Are you leaving as soon as you finish loading up?”
“Aye that’s the plan.”
“Please, take me with you.”
“And make an enemy of the Champion of Nafpalia by stealing her concubine? Why should I do this?”
“I’m a great swordsman, I can protect you from the dangers of the world.” I indicate the sword on my back.
“If that is so, then why not slay the beefcake?”
“I could. Well at least I think I could. But I need to get out of here regardless. There’s something I must do and it can’t be done here. Everyone is at the hall, and we will leave unseen.”
She tilts her head and sigh, looking at me almost disappointedly.
I am opening my mouth to squeeze in one final argument, but she lifts her hand to stop me. “Very well,” she says. I somehow feel as though I am taking advantage of her kindness. I rush over to the crates and see there aren’t many left. I begin the rest loading three at a time.
She casually unties the horses from a nearby fence, walks to the front of the caravan, and bids the horses forwards. I rush to the other side of the front seat and hop on, lowering my head in my hands to avoid detection.
We make it through the front gate without encountering a soul. As I suspected, everyone in the small town was at the celebration. I can’t help but look over my shoulder every few moments until the town is out of sight. I open my mouth to thank the apple merchant for saving me, but with the adrenaline finally wearing off, I find myself quickly falling out of conscious and into a deep restful sleep.
“That’s alright, you just rest.” I hear before fading.
* * * * *
My nose awakes me, pulling me forward out of sleep and into a bowl of hot beef stew being offered to me by the apple merchant.
“H-how did you heat this?” I ask, stretching and taking in the afternoon sun.
“Fire.” She offered simply.
I see no heating implements but decide not to ask further and instead begin wolfing down the stew. I wonder what Satisfaction Guaranteed was doing to my body to mimic the sensation of being filled up. It troubles me—not as much as it should—to realize how little I have questioned the nature of this virtual reality.
“My you look skinny, here, have another helping, and some cheese.” She fills up my bowl and breaks off a chunk of cheese. She begins cutting an apple, depositing the slices on the edge of the plate resting under my bowl. What is wrong with this lady? Maybe she hasn’t seen anyone with such visible muscles before. Still, I am perplexed at how anyone in this world could see me as skinny.
It seems we have found ourselves in the sand dune climate that I started in. The heat is not nearly so bad as before with the overhead shade provided by the cart.
“So, young lord, now that you have rested and eaten, might I ask why you sought passage on my apple cart when you could have simply ran out of town?”
“Well, I know I must go to Thessalon, but I don’t know how to get there. I was hoping to get directions from you. Can you take me there?”
“No my lord, tis quite a ways away. But I can take you to Thiva. From as large city as Thiva I think you will not have trouble finding your way. What business do you have in Thessalon?”
“I seek the royal family.” I thought it best not to say more, not that I knew what else I could even say.
“The royal family?” She asks, exaggerated astonishment in her voice. “Well, you won’t be headed to Thessalon then. The Thessalonian family is in Tambora, commemorating the anniversary of their peace. Tambora isn’t so far from Thiva.”
“Oh thank goodness.” I let out a relieved sigh. At least now I have a destination and a route. I lowered my skull to my hands and massaged the bridge of my nose. The situation was still vexing.
“How is one who has business with the royal family so unfamiliar with the region?”
“How am I unfamiliar with the region?” I didn’t intend to raise my voice. It wasn’t her fault, but the question grated me. “I don’t know where I am, or who you people are, or what I am supposed to do. I am lost and confused and I feel as though I’ve been sent on an impossible quest.”
I look at my companion, trying to see past her human appearance to the master behind her. I hope for some kind of response straight from the Satisfaction Guaranteed, but it is just the merchant that responds. “Do not think that because you are having troubles that you may take them out on me.”
“I didn’t mean—” I try to apologize but she cuts me off.
“The people of Thiva want apples, and yet none are willing to cross the desert and so I must. Do I tell them they are fools for wanting apples? Do I tell them they are cowards to not cross the desert themselves? Do I complain that my task perhaps does not make sense and that the journey is not worth it for a mere cart-full of apples? And if a young lord finds himself being made concubine to the Champion of Nafpalia—my partner in trade—do I take out the frustrations of my questionable quest on him, and tell him that he may fend for himself?”
“No, and I do appreciate—”.
“I'm sure you do. Just as I am sure that the people of Thiva will be grateful for my cart full of apples.” She smiles contentedly, as if that settled it.
“Well I hope somebody appreciates my job, if only I knew what it was. It just feels like—" I stop, finding myself unable to complete the thought.
“Like you are lost at sea, your sails caught in a headwind, and you shout to the wind to ask it where it is taking you, but the wind listens to no one.”
“Yeah. Yeah that’s exactly it.”
Keeping one on hand on the reins, she placed her free hand on my arm, and gave me a comforting look with that gentle face of hers. There is something in her eyes that I haven't felt in a long time. There is a tristful sympathy, as if she truly understood my plight. But there is also a warmth behind her eyes that said everything would be okay. Her eyes held the promise of a new day. They told me that I could trust her. I could find comfort in those eyes. I could take shelter in those eyes. I cannot tear my gaze away.
We traveled on, eventually making camp for the night. We did not speak much, but our gazes kept lingering, affirming the new-formed connection between us. It occurred to me that I was treating another of Satisfaction Guaranteed’s creations as a real human. I told myself that it was because I was being practical and maximizing my odds of escaping by playing along. I don’t think that is true. She felt too real I couldn’t bring myself to treat her the way I wanted to treat Satisfaction Guaranteed. Perhaps this was my weakness. And if, in my weakness, I allowed myself to believe that this time was different—that I had never felt this way before, that everything was going to work as it should, to believe that my curse would realize its mistake and politely depart—and in doing so shared in the comforts of intimacy with this simulated woman, then I was truly a fool, and I deserved all that was happening to me.
* * * * *
The next day we set out on the road again. The sand regularly rises to cut against my exposed flesh. The pain is a welcome distraction from my inflammation situation. It's hot and dry and miserable, but the merchant says we should make it today, so I keep from complaining. There's a new tension between the merchant and myself and I don't know how to address it, so I leave it and sit back and let the time pass.
I'm just about drifting off when the wind surges and throws sand into my face. Sand cuts into the backs of my hands as I lift them to defend myself. The wind intensifies and with it the slicing sand. I lift my shirt over my face and peer through the thin linen fabric, still holding my hands in front to block as much as I can. The merchant remains composed as she reaches into a compartment behind her and retrieves a scarf which she wraps around her face. I notice that the sand is not merely blowing past us, but it is wrapping around behind us and spinning into a rising spiral vortex above. The vortex is so thick that I can no longer see anything past it. The cutting of flying grains is dying down and the flowing sand is morphing into something.
“Oh bother,” says the merchant.
Before us, the upper body of a man, 50 feet tall, made of ever-shifting sand, looks down at us.
“Oh great Pisek, we are a simple a merchant wagon carrying mere apples to the desert people of Thiva. We are of no interest to you.”
“All who wish to travel upon me are of my concern. What do you offer Pisek?”
“Oh great Pisek. Pisek who swallows the armies of despotic conquerors as a man might swallow a handful of grapes. Pisek who quenched the endless inferno of the horrible demon Fogol, blessing our world the great crystal ocean of Fogmor.”
I eye my travel companion with wonder as she lists off the deeds of this strange creature. I didn’t like this. Why should Satisfaction Guaranteed craft such an intricate backstory for this world?
The merchant continued, “Pisek, who freed the world of 1000 years of tyranny by weathering away the stone titan Quemal. I return to you all that is yours.”
She takes a silver necklace off and throws it into the sand. She removes rings and earrings and likewise throws them into the sand. She takes a pouch from her waistband, jingling with metal, and tosses it as well.
Pisek remains unmoved, staring down at us, the merchant looking at me expectantly.
“The sword.” His powerful voices bellows.
I cannot give up my sword. With it, I am superhuman. Without it, I am a muscular but uncoordinated, rather ordinary man, and I am at the whims of anyone with a whit of combat skill in this world.
“I cannot give up my sword.” I shout back at the creature. The merchant ribs me.
“Give him the sword you fool.”
“You must,” says Pisek.
At this point, my frustration is reaching its limit. I refuse to give up the only thing of value that I have been able to get my hands on in this entire simulation thus far.
“Listen Mr. Sand. You're nobody to me and I owe you nothing. Now kindly move aside so we can continue on our way.”
At that, Pisek immediately releases his hold on his form, which collapses into a pile of sand in front of us. I give the merchant a satisfied grin, finding it impossible not to be smug in this victory.
But that doesn’t last, as the floor falls out from beneath us, and we are pulled into a tunnel of sand.
I feel something catch us and slow our fall just enough so that we are not killed as we crash into a hard surface. I hear the wood of the cart splintering, and my rump gets a nice bruise from the impact.
We are somewhere underground but a massive bright light is blinding me, as if Pisek has his own little sun buried away. I rub my eyes and slowly test squinting.
“Oh now you've done it,” the merchant says with cool insouciance.
I am now able to open my eyes enough to observe my surroundings. We are in a great hall, lined by massive braziers. Suspended above the centre of the hall is a thick, murky, glass bauble. This is the source of the blinding light, for held within it is a massive sentient firestorm. Through squinting eyes I can see it raging and yelling and blowing off powerful streams of magma. The heat melts the glass and convection cells carry the heat through to the surface, creating spurts of molten glass. The glass from these spurts dissipates across the surface and quickly cools, solidifying once again.
I can now see that the light from this creature is reflecting back from far throughout this massive cavern. There are several large glittering piles of metallic objects. Steel tools, weapons, and armor. Iron gates, shackles, and chains. Precious metal coins, and busts of presumed rulers. Smithy tools, farmers' tools, cannons, and siege weapons. Spears, sickles, claymores, and hoes. A great golden rectangular plaque with a battle scene embossed in low relief. It occurs to me that I haven't seen much metal in this world outside of the Champion's armor and weapons. Even the axle and all the components of the merchant's wagon were wood. I'm not sure if I had seen anyone other than the merchant wearing jewelry.
A stream of sand shoots down from the ceiling and Pisek forms before us once again. This time he is smaller, more solidified, choosing to show himself as a 10 foot tall man. I quickly reach for my sword, my only hope of defeating him, but a thin tendril of sand pushes itself between my hand and hilt, and easily pries the blade from my grasp. The tendril carries it to Pisek, who examines it, first inspecting it along the length of the blade, and then eyeing the hilt as the sword rotates in space in front of him. The ribbon begins unwrapping.
The blade stops rotating, freezing in space, and something resembling recognition carves itself into Pisek's stolid face. “Aye I know the sigil well. Your ancestors have done a favor for me long ago. I will not take from their kin, not even that which is mine.”
And with that, the sword was thrown back at me and a pillar of earth rises beneath us with incredible speed. We are carried up and out of the cavern, through the ceiling—which parts just before smooshing us—and back onto the surface of the desert. The cart was wrecked, the apples were spilled everywhere. On the bright side, the fright of being thrown through the ground has diverted my blood once again, providing me with sorely needed relief.
On landing, I immediately turn my back to the merchant and re-wrap my sword.
The merchant is up and whirling around to face me with greater agility than I would have thought her capable. “What is it about your sword? I must see it.” She is trying to keep cool but there's a desperate edge to her voice. She reaches out for the sword.
“It's just a sword. I found it and it is mine.” I stammer defensively while stepping back.
“'Just a sword' does not command the great Pisek.”
“What is it to you? It is my sword, and it shall remain my sword.” She offers no response except for an icy glare. I sheathe my sword.
“I'm sorry about your apples.” I finally say.
She exhales deeply. “Yes well we better be on our way then.” She begins walking toward the path. I follow.
Something changed between us after that point and I found myself unable to get anything out of her beyond canned generic responses. She didn't seem to still be upset, instead it was like the person inside her had disappeared. I was glad to finally part ways later that day when we arrived in Thiva.
* * * * *
In Thiva there was a new test waiting for me. Another temptress with whom my story became entangled. And like the last two tests, I failed. And so it went. I traveled from town to town on the road to Tambora and at each juncture another of Satisfaction Guaranteed's trials awaited me. The plump wife of an innkeeper, a countess on the run from murderous traitors at court, a simple baker with warm soft hands and heavenly loaves. There were others too, but I dare not remember, for each time I failed the test. Each time I allowed myself to believe that this time would somehow be different. And as much as I ached and longed for it, each time I was left without satisfaction. Nevertheless, I kept moving until I finally found myself in Tambora, the city where I was told I would find my estranged family.
I awake to the sound of the ruckus of the common room and I find the baker still in my arms. We had found a cheap inn near the centre of the city, which the baker was kind enough to pay for. I had a strange feeling that she wouldn't be there when I awoke. She has been the only one who didn't become cold and put-off after learning of my curse. It was nice to hold her and sleep despite the discomfort she aroused.
Now that I was in Tambora I knew I had to find the witch, but I wanted to prolong this peaceful moment. It felt like I could finally recover from the hangover resulting from the frenzied bipolar dalliances that Satisfaction Guaranteed had strung me along with.
I hear loud boots plodding past my door, as two other patrons pass by. I am wrapping my pillow around my head to smother out the noise, when I hear one of them say something about “the Witch of Thessalon” in a suppressed but excited voice. My eyes shoot open, I run out of bed and I open the door. I cast a furtive glance at my companion, splayed out and peacefully sleeping, but the two fellows who mentioned the witch are headed right for the exit. I have to follow. I run and catch them outside after they exit the inn. I clasp my hand on one of their shoulders and they turn to face me.
“Goodness man!” He jumps back.
“I'm sorry, I just had to ask you something. Did you mention the Witch of Thessalon?” I can't help but feel excitement at the prospect of finally reaching the conclusion of this hellish torturous play. I have to shift my weight from leg to leg and adjust my pants.
The man's gaze travels down. “Are you okay sir? I'm sorry but you look rather like a sorry sack. Am I right in assuming you just came into town?”
I know realize I neglected to put on a shirt as I chased after these men, and I did look rather disheveled. “Well, yeah, actually. But can you just answer my question? What were you saying about the witch?”
“Only that she's about to begin her peace ritual. Right over there, matter of fact”. The jolly simpleton points over to a stage, around which hundreds are gathering. The stage is currently empty, but it is abutted by a large tent.
“Get a good look at the ol’ powder keg then?”
“What's that?” I have to tear my eyes away from the stage to return to the fat man.
“Mount Tambora my man. The volcano.”
“That was a volcano? I guess I saw it on the way in. What about it?”
“Well my dumb bastard friend wagers it’ll go off soon. Been dormant since before there were any settlers here, but he figures now is the time. You feel any funny vibrations on the trip over?”
“No, it just looked like any mountain to me.”
His friend interjects, “It’s just with those Thessalonians in town. Something fishy’s always up when they're 'round here is all I says. I thought I saw it vibrate and the like.”
“Aye, but it’s been dormant very long. It is no threat.” replied the fat man. I kept glancing at the stage, uninterested in the two buffoons.
“Where is the witch?” I must have mumbled, because they continue to talk over me.
“I'm telling you you bastard ol' faithful is as stable as ever. She ain't gonna blow.”
I need this yokel idiot to shut up and answer my question. I grab his collar and pull him in. “Where is the witch?” I repeat, clearly this time, through gritted teeth.
He punches me in the stomach. I double over and ball up on the ground. He gives me another kick to the side for good measure. “You keep your hands to yourself, you hear me you dirty cretin?” He spits on me. “Anyway the witch'll be out any minute.” I can hear the sound of him and his friend walking away.
After recuperating, I amble up to my feet. The hairs on my back rise as I sense a shift in the atmosphere around me. The crowd quietens. I turn and see a cloaked figure exit the tent and make their way to centre stage. I feel myself walking through the crowd towards them. I try to see her face under the hood, but I cannot.
The shrouded figure does not speak. She does not address the crowd. She raises an arm to the air. From the tip of her fingers, a grey mist begins to from. She draws a circle creating a dirty bubble, suspended in the air. She reaches a hand into it pulls out not one but two massive pythons. They slam into the surface of the stage, each weighing hundreds or perhaps more than a thousand pounds. They slither along the stage, intertwining with one another and forming a complex knot. They both open their mouths, expanding their mandibles to an enormous width, and slide over the other's tail. They keep progressing forward in their slow smooth pace. They travel the twists and turns of the knot of their bodies quite impossibly, until there are just two bulging heads. There's a pause before they open their mouths further, envelop one another and then disappear out of existence.
None in the crowd cheer. Nor do they leave. The witch, having completed her bizarre ceremony, returns to the tent. The crowd remains silent, in awe of the demonstration. But not I. I keep focused on the task I came here to accomplish. I jump onto the stage and run in after her. There are no guards; the tent is empty save for the witch, whose back is turned to me.
“Turn around witch, it's time for this to end!”
She turns, lowers her hood and the face staring back at me is you! “It's you! You're the witch!” I yell. “Why the hell are you the witch?”
“You didn't bring that sword with you? Too bad, I was curious to finally see what was so special about it.” Panic sets in as I realize she is right. In my haste, I left it behind in my room in the inn. Vines sprout up from the floor and wrap themselves around me.
“What are you doing? Let me go.” She only laughs malevolently in response. I struggle against the vines, but they are strong and getting tighter. I am helpless. I try to regain calm and make sense of it. Was this another of Satisfaction Guaranteed's tricks? But she seems so much like you. “If you are the witch, what have you been doing this whole time?”
“You do not know? Truly?” She said in an intonation resembling that of the Champion of Nafpalia.
“No, it can’t be.”
She laughs. “I wasn't not only the witch. I’m also the Champion and the merchant. I was every woman who seduced you, and so easily.”
“All of them? Even the countess fleeing those thugs? Even the kind baker? ”I was completely humiliated.
“What baker? I was never a baker.”
“It doesn't matter now. I hate you. I can't believe you would do this.”
“Don’t say that. I did it for you.” She cocked her head to one side and smiled that devilish grin again. “And for that face you make when you think you've disappointed a woman.”
“You’ve taken this too far. I just want to go home.”
“And yet you know for that to happen you need me to lift the curse.” She was teasing me as if this was all still just a game.
“So? Lift the curse.”
“I think you know how that has to happen.” She was right. I did know. I knew all along. She undid a knot on a band around her waist and the robe fell around her. Underneath she wore but a tight corset of vines and leaves that swathed around her voluptuous body. I squirmed involuntarily. Consciously I refused her, but somewhere inside was a very small and weak man who wanted nothing more than to give in.
“I refuse. I would rather be trapped here for eternity than fulfill your vile fantasy.”
“You say that, but I think your bulge disagrees.” The vines tightened around my waist.
The tent flap flung open and the baker walked in, carrying my sword: Advent. “I think you forgot this in our room.” She throws the blade to me and winks. The sword lands perfectly in my hand. Time slows and I angle it just so it slides through the bindings around my upper body. This frees up my arms enough that I can cut the vine on my opposite hand. It is trying to re-grow and restrain my once again, but I can see it working and move deftly to avoid its snare. You are staring at the baker, mouth agape, clearly caught completely off-guard by this betrayal by Satisfaction Guaranteed.
The ribbons fall away from the hilt, revealing the sigil, aglow with radiant light. I free myself from the rest of my binds and advance on you.
“If an orgasm can be called le petite mort, does that make death the big cum? I guess you'll have to let me know.” I press the tip of the sword to your chest and shove.
Time dilates further. My existence is stretched out two-fold, no, ten-fold—one-hundred-fold! I cannot hear. I cannot see. Every instant is strewn out before me, like frames in a film. The frames are wrapped around me forming a tunnel. My breathing chops and echoes. The sword slides further in. I can feel the curse breaking. There’s a flood rushing from behind me. It catches me and thrusts me forward with exhilarating force.
The sword is impaled into your heart. I rend your flesh and strip you apart. I unzip your body and reach into your soul. It’s over as soon as it begins. You are annihilated. The world shakes, Mount Tambora erupts. This imagined world melts away.
* * * * *
There’s a message from Super. A new winner was announced.
Peanut Gallery