To recapitulate, the cuckolding book teleported me, marking it the second dimensional travel of my whole life. All in less than an hour. Remarkable, really. Still, I give the book a little nod of approval for at least not turning me into molecular dust. One has to appreciate the little things, I suppose.

As I look around, I realize I’m on top of a tiny hill—or more of a depressed slope, if you ask me. As I look at the ground, I see some medieval city with lush greenery all around. There are a bunch of plantations by the main road, and—doesn’t everything look a bit too clean, like, almost fake? Mh.

Have I landed in a land of cannibals? That would be very fitting for my journey, wouldn’t it now?

And what is all this sun in my eyes, anyway?! What the hell?! Shouldn’t these dimensional jumps bring me somewhere dangerous in the middle of the night? I was expecting to be dumped in the land of the dead, with zombies, skeletons, and mad necromancers all around! I mean, I can understand the creepy treasure hoard, but this?

I stare at some very far people lined up in a long queue that reaches the gate as I scratch my chin and squint my eyes. Something feels distinctly wrong about them, but I can’t put my finger on it.

There’s even a little bird that lands near me and starts chirping. The little fellow does an acrobatic somersault and what looks like a cartwheel before landing on my shoulder as if I were Joey White.

“Well,” I say with a shrug, “I hope you don’t eat Human flesh, buddy.”

The little bird that looks like a puffy blue sparrow lands on top of the tome and chirps cheerfully again, clearly happy to see me. That is, obviously, until the book disintegrates the poor creature to oblivion.

I look at the single scorched feather swaying in the air before my eyes and nod.

“Well, that’s more like it,” I pat the book, agreeing with the tone we should give to my life’s tale. “Definitely more fitting.”

No chirping birds in my apocalyptic adventure, thank-you-very-much. Putting the book under my armpit, I start making my way to the city’s gate. As I get closer, I finally take a better look at the people walking on this road.

Something definitely feels out of place. I’m tall—like, very tall. A little under 6’5. And these people are all extremely tall as well, with most of the males being almost, if not even taller than me.

I look at the people intensely until I get some side-eye, and I’m forced to look away before some of these people beat me up. They are all dressed as if this was some kind of Reinassance fair. Which makes you wonder where the beer stand is, really.

I look back at the city, trying to figure out what feels off.

Surreptitiously, I stare again at the people in the queue while scratching my chin and squinting my eyes. Something feels so damn wrong, but I can’t quite understand what.

I sigh. Honestly, it’d be nice if I could try and make a call with my phone. Or even snap a picture of all those weird tall crops all around us. But sadly, there’s really not much I can do without a phone—

Suddenly, a lightbulb goes off on top of my head. I look in horror at the people queueing in front of me, and I see what initially gave me the feeling that something was out of place.

They are not Humans.

Oh, okay, they are not Humans.

HOLY SHIT.

HO-LY. SHIT.

OH, NO.

OH, NO. PLEASE. NONONONO.

THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING.

As one of these tall people passes beside me, I see something that leaves me choking. God has forsaken me. Hell, cannibals? I would take cannibals over this any day of the week!

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These are the vilest and most spiteful creatures that one goddamn British writer came up with!

They are Elves!

“Oh. My. God,” I make a U-turn and start walking away from those wretched things when I hear them shouting at me, as expected for a suspicious running Human in a city full of Elves. I haven't even reached halfway through the crop-surrounded road when I turn back and see two huge guards running after me.

Huh.

I don’t know if you have ever been stopped by the police while doing something untoward, like urinating in public, speeding at a red light, or telling a woman that she’s the spitting image of your mom. But, there’s one very specific kind of shout that you get.

“HEY! YOU!”

Those two words are pronounced with the same distinctive cadence in both worlds—Earth and whatever this world is. It’s the shout of the righteous ready to come down on your ass—really hard too. And just as I turn back, I briefly tell myself.

"Well, time to leave!"

I sprint for the small hill I came from. Sadly, my fitness is not great, and soon I hear the rapid steps of the two Elves getting closer to me.

Look, I would have accepted a body-built lizard and a talking ant as the welcome committee to this new world, but Elves... Nope.

But something even louder than the shouts pierces the air and makes me dizzy. It's a... whistling sound, but now I’m not running anymore. I’m... wobbling.

Here we go. What’s worse than Elves, you might ask? Well, besides eating last Sunday's cold meatloaf on a Friday night, only Elven Police, I guess.

Believe it or not, I'm not an athlete. While the spurious thought of picking up physical activity has indeed crossed my mind before, it has never planted roots in me. Not even after watering it with the thought of women's gym wear.

"Come on, stupid book; do something," I poke the book's cover as I run toward the hill I came from. Who knows, with a bit of luck, I might fall face-first into the bosom of the generously-shaped Dragon Lady.

But as I am bolting away, I can feel a hand reaching for my shoulder and hear the words, '[Restraining Touch].’ And as I hear the words, they come to me with square brackets?

“Antoninus, I got him!"

"The usual luck," I say as I feel my body seize up and give up on running away.

I'm paralyzed from the neck down. And the Elf is still holding me, probably to prevent me from faceplanting to the ground.

The book is still clutched between my arms as a gigantic Elf, probably 7'5, runs up to a slightly shorter and slenderer one and bends over, with both hands on his knees, wheezing.

"For all rotten roots, Lucillus," the man is panting after the short sprint. "Couldn't we just shoot him in the leg?"

"Sure, why not," I say while my body is still paralyzed, but my mouth is as agile as ever, "why don't you also violate the Geneva Conventions while you’re at it."

"Who's Geneva?" The massive Elf squeezes out between more wheezes again.

"Shut up, Antoninus. Have you seen other suspects while running? He might be with someone else – this Human might have accomplices, for all we know."

"Suspects? Accomplices? Excuse me, isn't this racial – well, species profiling? Also, I'm alone."

Honestly, running away with guards stationed so closely was a mightily stupid idea. Even back home, it wouldn't have done me any good.

But can you really blame me?

Elves?

What's next? Flying sharks?

Who wouldn't have run away from this writing nightmare that has plagued fantasy literature for the better part of the last 100 years? What are they going to do? Bring me into their communal living space and introduce me to the joys of a plant-based diet? I don't live in California for a reason, friends. If I had wanted to live in the taller, pointy-eared version of San Francisco, I would have just gone there in the first place.

And trust me, I'd take meth-addled, kidney-stabbing homeless San Franciscans over Elves any day of the week.

"Come on, Lucillus. Use the skill on the Human already. I want to go back to the gates," the behemoth spoke. "My ass is all sweaty after this run."

They have completely ignored my protests, acting as if I wasn't even there. Also, nasty.

"True Elven elegance and poise; I commend you, friend," I say to the brute. "Why am I being abducted anyway? And what have I done to deserve this? I just changed my mind and wanted to walk away from here."

"We'll find out now," the Elf that is apparently called Lucillus says. "[Appraisal: Criminal Activity]."

We stay put for a few seconds as I observe what they are doing and ask, "Is this it?"

"He's clear," Lucillus sighs and releases his grip on me, with all my mobility coming back at once. I stumble forward but, thank God, I avoid smashing my face into the ground.

"You'll still have to come and register at the Watch if you are new to Amorium. Are you a [Merchant]? A [Mage], maybe?" Lucillus says the last bit while pointing at the book in my arms.

"Why would he be a [Mage]?" Antoninus asks.

"Wait a second; can't I just go to the closest Human settlement? I kind of ended up here by mistake. Just point me in the right direction, and I'll take a hike, I promise."

The pair looks at me like I’m an idiot.

The nearest Human city is probably on another continent or something like that, isn’t it?

“The nearest Human city is on another continent, Human.”

Isn’t that lovely?

“And we are at war with them,” Antoninus says as both rest a hand on the elaborate hilt of their swords.

Well, I hope that Elven prisons look good. As long as they don’t force me to eat a vegetarian diet, I’m good with doing some time before I figure out the rest. But knowing my relationship with Lady Luck, I'm in for a hell of a lot of broccoli, aren’t I?