Humans, by nature, often immediately regret wishes they made.

Or, as common meme-farmers often say — ‘the risk I took was calculated, but, man, I'm bad at maths.’

Among those regretful moaners was Yuri Ushakov. The young Russian shut-in with bare-bones expectation for the mundane life on Earth got his wish granted by the almighty monkey’s paw. The wish? To change the boring world he inhabited into something more ‘exciting’.

Well, wish granted, Yuri. Planet Earth had been grafted to a cosmic realm of Phantasia. Here, all species of fantasy breathed and lived. They got Elves, Beastkins, Merfolks, Demons and even Divine-races (aka the gods). Modern day Earth finally found its cosmic neighbors. Children everywhere could finally see that flying carpet and cool magic technology.

But, by nature of the monkey’s paw, there was a hefty price for the wish.

The catch was the fact some neighbors could be an asshole. The dickery was in full swing here in Phantasia. Denizens of the fantasy land respected only one thing — Strength. Mystical might and superhuman power ruled Phantasian nations and societies. Sure, Earth got nukes, but in Phantasia, a superhuman one-man-army was a wee-bit more effective than modern weaponry. What could the mystically deficient Earth do when the invading nation’s average foot-soldiers were comparable to a tank, while elites made nuclear weapons look like pea-shooters?

Yuri tiredly looked over the mountain and saw two moons in the sky. It was the reflection of this bizarre, unpleasant reality facing him.

Within the first few months of the assimilation to this new reality, Earth officially got its crotch kicked. Small nations immediately collapsed. South-East Asia, South America and Africa got hit the worst from the Demon's invasion. China went completely isolationist. Korea got taken over by the Beastkin, and Japan got a ‘protection’ from, of all places, Asgard. India was lucky some gods helped it out. Yuri’s home — Russia — and America faced the worst refugee crisis of the known memory. Meanwhile, the EU was rumored to be taken over by a foreign faction. The entire world would have fallen if the Phantasian version of the UN, and Mt. Olympus hadn't arrived to deter more escalation.

Yuri sighed. Who knew fantasy worlds had a turf war?

Like any multicultural world that reached a certain stage of stability, Phantasia had factions. However, just to make life difficult for your local physicist, the surface of Phantasia was twelve-fold of Earth itself. With such area, size and power were a given.

No one knew why the gravity of such humongous landmass wasn’t crushing everyone to death. Physicist were too busily puzzling themselves with the existence of Mana to comprehend the trans-dimensional nature of Phantasia. Yuri knew some places in Phantasia had three suns, some — like his current accommodation — had two moons, while others were exactly like his good old home. Reality seemed to work differently around here.

But while reality may take a break, the selfish nature of life found itself right at home.

Phantasian factions were a bundle of self-interest in perpetual conflict with each other. The most egregious about their hostility was the Demonic Continent in the south-hemisphere of Phantasia. They were the land of Demons, fully responsible for the collapses of many countries. The Continent was a military state, infamous for its mercenary nature and led by the ancient Aztellic Clan of the Demon.

Then there was the saving grace of Earth, the Seven Continental Alliance (SCA). An alliance of seven Phantasian powers meant to maintain the geopolitical status quo. The reason they saved the Earth remained unknown, but their rampant interference on the planet suggested anything but charity. The seven groups composing the SCA were: the Northland of the Elves, the Grand Empire, the Desert Commerce Nation of Elypt, Zen Archipelago, Tri-Coalition of Tengen Continent, the Noble of Aurorin, and, the Monument of Phantasia, Balperia.

Proving no fantasy world was completed without the religious nut, the Holy Grace Church of Majestopia existed as both permanent suspect for the takeover of Europe and the eternal warmonger against the vampire. The increase in concentration of its churches and inquisitors in Germany, France, and Poland wasn’t happening in a vacuum. Yuri might feel bitter about this group, but even he admitted they had a point to insist the vampire was a race of Eugenic obsess slavers and rapists dressed in suits.

Yuri worked as a porter for more than half a year and the vampire casualties were both brutal, disturbing, and gruesome. Screwed Twilight, Vampire were rabid bloodthirsty animals, not a sex symbol.

Then there was the smart-ass. The Isle of Knowledge (IK), a technological-hoarding corporatocracy that had more in common to a war-profiteering company than a country, led by a singular Director and his gaggle of Managers.

And after the smart-ass, there was the prideful. Enma Clan was the huge family of Divine Beastkins whose ancestor could be traced back to the gods. Governments claimed the Demonic Continent destroyed those countries, but smarter sources insisted Enma Clan held the Demon’s leash. As a major creditor of the Demonic Continent, the Enma’s influence was subtle but horrifying.

Last but not least, the strongest overlords of all Phantasian, the Divine-race. Their agents — the Divine Fist — founded by Odin, were forcefully conscripted from the most talented among Phantasian to maintain their iron-grip on power. They were directly mismanaging the SCA, limiting widespread magical lore to prevent mere mortals from upsetting the status quo, and breathing down on all life as self-centered overlords. They were the faction which fully crushed Earth’s will to resist and made the joke of the conventional military.

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However, even the Divine-races weren’t safe from threats from beyond. They had many names — the World Enemy, the Fiend, but most called them the Reverse Beast (RB). RB were monsters beyond the realm of reality, born to turn creation into a primordial soup. Mass casualties were expected anytime they landed on Phantasia, and even after millennia of fighting them, not even those gods knew what they were.

In the middle of going over how his short-lives went so wrong, Yuri heard a rustle behind him.

“There you are, meatbag!” a Beastkin, a Tiger-man, yelled from the woods beyond. Yuri didn’t even try to resist when the two-meters tall lump of muscle lifted him by the neck like a sack of potatoes. “A mere human from a back-water world like you think of running away?” the Tiger-man roared. “You should be grateful we are taking you in.”

Yuri sighed as the Tiger-man carried him back to hell. The merge of Earth and Phantasia wasn’t perfect. Some people, like Yuri, were scattered around Phantasia. He didn’t know what cosmic reason grouped him with those chosen few, but he wasn’t optimistic. This past year as a humble porter from the ‘new-meat’ land didn’t provide too much optimism.

Yuri Ushakov looked upon the starry skies decorated with two moons. The image was surreal and beautiful. Sadly, like poisonous plants, the display of cosmic colors and stars came with lethal poison. Phantasia was a cruel place. For the last year, Yuri heard countless prayers of hope that met a tragic end. Hope never existed in this beautiful hell. Only cruelties and torments thrived here.

Heroes didn’t exist in this fairy tale. No one would come to save him, much less save his planet. No Superman will fly in to save the day.

The Tiger-man took Yuri to a campsite. A small clearing dotted with piles of rocks that once were buildings. Yuri knew this might be the end. For all he knew, he was a sacrifice to summon an elder god.

Then Yuri saw her.

A beautiful young woman in a black maid uniform and thigh-high stockings was waiting for them. Her hair was flaming orange, tied into a twin-tail. Her accessories gleamed yellow like the sun, and her complexion was softly glowing with light. Rosy red-lips and the amber eyes blew his heart away at the first glance.

“I have him, Milady,” the Tiger-man bowed to the maid. “The boy from Earth, as you requested.”

“Thank you,” the maid replied. “Mistress Enma will be pleased.”

Yuri knew the situation wasn’t looking good. The rapid beating of his heart was worrying.

…

Yuri was right. The situation was bad. He was inside a tent decorated with red velvet and gold in what could be called a death sentence.

How else would he treat being confronted by a member of the Clan who gave his planet the black-eye?

“Waiter,” the black hair woman with a wolf's ears and a bushy, well-groomed tail said to her personal butler. “Please leave, I need some personal time with our guest.” The female Beastkins turned to the maid. “You too, Charon.”

The aging butler with a mushroom mustache as white as his hair politely bowed his thin, tall body and left. The maid — Charon — quickly followed his example.

Yuri knew his death had arrived. Tomorrow, he will forever vanish. He finally pissed the wrong person. Even among the porters, this woman was infamous for driving her subordinate into early retirement. She was also one of the most talented spellcasters of this generation.

Her name was Shyme Enma — member of the Enma Clan and a goddess in her own right.

Pedigree, beauty, and power, Shyme Enma possessed it all. She dressed in a modified, knee-length, blue kimono with white sashes. A four-hundred pages book titled Ancient Anthology of Fire Codex sat on the table as her light reading material. As a woman, Shyme put all her points into grace. Her face was flawless, like a marvelous sculpture, cold and proud as pristine snows. Yuri would call her chest flat, but that was a calculative decision by nature to draw eyes to her thighs. Her black hair draped down like a flowing stream.

Personally, Yuri preferred Charon’s sunnier surreal beauty, but he certainly understood why Shyme was so highly priced in the market.

“Hello,” the young mistress of the clan who trashed the Earth greeted Yuri.

“Hi,” Yuri wanted to bolt. Shyme was beautiful as the Black Widow.

“You must be Yuri,” Shyme continued. “Do you know why you are here?”

“No,” Yuri answered. He didn’t even bother running away.

“First, I want to have you be a porter for my team,” Shyme said. “Second,” she leaned closer, “can you tell me what is so special about your planet?”

“You mean Earth?” Yuri asked in confusion.

“Yes, Earth,” Shyme was dead serious. “I know it never experienced of Mana until its assimilation a year ago, but I want to hear your opinion about what makes it special.”

Yuri didn’t have a clue to dissect Shyme’s gripes with Earth or why she asked the question. The only thing he could tell was her frustration, anger, and a hint of longing. Somehow, his backwater planet had something the all-powerful girl in front of him couldn’t handle.

“Look, Lady—”

“Just call me Shyme,” the Wolf-girl interrupted. “I don’t want to hear you call me Lady every single time during this expedition.”

“Okay, Shyme,” Yuri said. “I am not the person to answer your question. You said so yourself that Earth is a backwater planet. Do you think an average Joe like me knows something you don’t?”

Shyme made a bitter face, “I should have expected this.” The mistress of Enma Clan lowered her guard. “Hey, Yuri,” Shyme blushed, “what type of woman does a man from Earth like?”

Yuri stared. This couldn’t be happening. Did the law of physics break? The surviving nations of Earth would likely explode at this discovery. Was this the planet’s salvation?

Was it possible the young lady, and heiress, of their conqueror had a crush on a guy from Earth? Who? Who did it? What alpha of mankind performed the miracle that might save their entire planet? And where exactly could Yuri worship this modern day Hercules?

“You have a crush on an Earthling?” Yuri needed to confirm what could be his planet’s final defiance.

“I don’t call it a crush,” Shyme argued. Her face was redder than a sport-car. “I owe him a lot, and I admire him.” She went docile. “I’m not even sure he is from Earth. I only met him once. Maybe twice.”

“Maybe?” Yuri asked, confused.

“I don’t know for sure they are the same person,” Shyme looked at the floor, drowning in memories. “He was wearing a helmet then, but I cannot forget that back.” The girl said in a squeaky voice, which utterly betrayed her initial projection of confidence. “Later, I talked to a man who smelled similar. The image of those two just slides together. I believe they must be the same person.” Shyme, in a fit of embarrassment, buried her face in both palms. “I am so stupid. I should have asked for his contact. But by the time I returned to check, he was gone.” Shyme buried her head on the table. “The only thing I know is the fact he is like you — a drop-out from Earth.”

Yuri stared.

Their conqueror had an obvious crush on a mere human? Unreal. Should he be expecting Superman to come and save him tomorrow?

…

Yuri was wrong about many things, but he was right about two subjects.

Shyme, the goddess among the Phantasian, had a crush on an Earthling.

And ‘Superman’ was in a position to save him. Well, maybe not exactly Kal-El of Krypton, but the next best thing.

The hero — the ‘Superhero’ — was staring at the false sky. His figure stood tall.

Upon the back of his trench coat was a symbol of a sun rising upon the flaw worlds, bringing the dream from the stars.