Day after day, Walter sat down at his computer, and he escaped into video games. Sometimes he skipped sleeping and eating. He fixated on his hobby to unhealthy levels, and his virtual life inside the computer felt more vivid than his real one.

He hated his life. Most days, he felt like an extra in a movie, to complete the verisimilitude of someone else's story. As a child, he learned to care for himself. In high school, he learned to be invisible. Finally, as an adult, he stopped caring.

Even he described himself as a loser.

Until recently, his favorite genre was isekai. Now he despised it. The reality of being in a world with lethal creatures drained his mental health, not to mention the sanitation levels. Drinking the ale, his first alcoholic beverage, was a requirement, because the water was often contaminated. The countries lack borders because they were impossible to defend, and simply counted the walled cities they controlled. People died, frequently, and buried without a funeral.

The only upside was Elin. If he could take her home, he'd leave, and make her go with him. He'd go so far as to ignore her own opinion. All he could do to survive was run away or rely on her.

Upon self-reflection, he realized how insane it was to simply accept being here. "Magic is real," he stated, at the time, and vowed to learn it. He wanted power and to enjoy himself. He wanted to be noticed. He wanted people to desire him, to think he was significant, and to care for him.

She did, now, even if at the start she didn't want to.

He knew he wanted to be with Elin the moment he saw her. Admitting his first trespass against her was impossible, but he intentionally groped her breast when they first met. If she knew, then she would be irritated, but perhaps not mad. It was worth her throwing him across the room, though.

Then he realized how slanted the situation was. Fighting monsters was horrible. Of course, he buried it under self-deception, this was another world, and another world had different rules. To thrive, learn them, and study the system. He decided to go with the flow, so long as his mental endurance held up. Remarkably, it did.

Eventually, I should have gotten strong. What went wrong? I went wrong. Just because my entire world was different doesn't mean I was a different person.

"Now, kill again."

A skeleton stood in front of Walter with its arms outstretched by a pair of nosferatu. He crushed the skeleton's head with a club, and its bones detached and rattled on the ground.

The [17 XP Gained] system message bounced in his view. Then, like the numbers on a slot machine, they spun to [0 XP Gained].

"The same thing happened," he reported.

When he came to, he was being carried on a girl's shoulder. He recognized the healer that kidnapped him. She introduced herself as "Faux." He couldn't remember the alias she gave before. It was clear she possessed heroic strength, probably higher than Elin's, from the effortless way she carried him. Not once did her stamina diminish the entire trip to the Necropolis.

The undead horde approached her, and she cast [Heal]. She didn't even need to fight them, they turned to dust before they could get in reach. As she walked deeper into the derelict city, intelligent undead watched with sinister curiosity but did not approach. It was clear she could obliterate them, and, described with game terms, they failed their morale check.

His minimap displayed a circle of huddled red dots, monsters hovering to attack, but stalling because they feared Faux. If she left him behind, then he'd be mobbed.

They only stopped at the heart of the city, in front of a desecrated temple. Bundles of thorns filled the entry garden, as tall as Walter, and they lazily whipped about, as if to capture anyone unaware.

She ordered Nosferatu to do her bidding, to bring monster fodder for Walter to defeat.

It went wrong at the very beginning of the world, I'm sure. It started as a 'soft magic system,' and then transformed into a 'hard system' after the [Player Characters] were brought in. No, stolen is a better word. But it doesn't know how to do it right. The creation story about Aratron, The God of Magic, confirmed it to me.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

I was never going to be powerful. HP isn't something on its own, it's a percentage measurement of the body's systems. Levels are presumably similar. They're not potential, separate to themselves, but rather an overall standard of a person. They might include esoteric things, like a person's mood. How the hell do you measure a person, anyway? You can't, so it seems random. Toss in magical inheritances with mutations, and it's unfathomable.

"This doesn't make sense." Faux demanded, "Where are they going? Kill another. Are you lying to me? If you are, then I'll hurt you even worse."

"They're not going anywhere, they're deleting because they don't mean anything. I told you. What's the point of all this?" Walter's arms ached from overuse, and he wanted to stall.

Faux snatched his hair and craned his neck around. "You'll kill, and you'll keep killing until it works. Do you understand? You don't get to stop, you never get to stop. Ever, you murder-hobo piece of shit. Fuck, your kind deserves so much worse than this, but I like you, so I'm going to kill you in the entertaining way you wanted. God, I hate you."

The first time Walter looked at Faux, he knew she was a [Hero], and escape was impossible. The numbers of her status read [Level 100], and her HP in the 700s. None of his resistance mattered when she mauled him. He might as well be a ragdoll.

After rubbing her chest against his back, a casual shove sent him reeling, face first, into the ground. She giggled. "You should feel complimented that I even touched you."

"You're fucking crazy," Walter spit out blood.

"Well, that's your fault." She kicked him. "I'm crazy about you. If you don't like it, get stronger, and force me. Just like her." She giggled. "That's a solution your kind enjoys, too, right? Was she sweet? Did you make her cry?"

The impact shock prevented him from breathing for several seconds.

"I didn't force her," Walter said.

"She's clearly under some sort of [Geas]. Isn't that the definition of rape, making her do something when she can't say no?" Faux's tone of voice dropped, and she threatened, "I can tell you want to keep her. If you don't get up, I'm going to hunt that bitch down and impale her."

Walter shoved his forehead into the ground and lifted himself.

"That's good! See, we're having fun! It's a fun game!"

A third Nosferatu, a head taller than the other two, walked to them from the shadows. "I don't remember giving you permission to enter my garden."

Faux curtsied. "Greetings, Duke of the Rotting Garden. It seems you regenerated nicely from my unfortunate tantrum. Please excuse my unexpected visitation and accept my apology."

The Duke of the Rotting Garden returned a bow, "Yes, of course, as is proper for a noble. However, I should reply, 'One good turn deserves another.' You have broken protocol, and intruded without a gift. I'll be taking your prize, and you shall ransom for it."

Faux's face dropped dumbly, confused by the unexpected. "What?"

The Duke of the Rotting Garden's coat spilled over Walter like an eclipse. In another moment, his body spread out into an ethereal mist and floated away, rising over the temple. By the time Faux realized what the Duke had done, he and Walter were gone.

Faux screamed obscenities and threats, demanding Walter's return.

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When Elin awoke, she panicked and called out for Walter.

Walter was gone. She knew it the instant before her eyes opened because she couldn't feel his presence next to her. The 'Afterskin' effect, originating not from the [Scales of Love and Lust], but from someone else's magic, continued to crawl on her skin like ants. Someone has forced her to slumber. That's all the clues she needed to jump to the conclusion: someone kidnapped Walter.

She begged for help from the Wagoneer coach. No one moved fast enough or talked about organizing a search party. While they pondered what to do, a token conversation, Elin circled the entire area, a march bordering on a sprint.

"Miss, these things happen," the convoy leader said, "A guy gets tired of a girl and runs off."

She screamed at the convoy leader and even insulted his manhood.

That's impossible; we're bound, and even if he wanted to, he couldn't leave. He said he liked me, and he needs me. Right? Did we not accumulate enough affection? We just shared a bed!

"Walter, come back," she commanded.

Her face numbed because the scales failed to move. No sound issued forth from her statement. She was sure they would cease to be if Walter died, so she felt comforted, for the first time, by their presence. She told herself Walter would look at the problem logically, so she attempted the same.

He's too far away. So what could stop it? There must be a limit to the distance. I'll know he's close if I can get a weight to fall. I hope. But who took him? Why? It doesn't matter. When I find them, I'm going to annihilate them.

Is that Favie?

Favian Folcey, Elin's half-brother, hobbled down the road. Sweat covered his brow, from exertion and pain. Over his shoulder was a bulky bag. "Lil sis, Laira sent me. She said you'd need this."