Someone stood outside the hero's door and knocked repeatedly. First a small tippy-tap that ended with a 17 foot mace breaking the door apart and an angry inn-keeper screaming at the hero.

“WILL YA STOP SHAGGING YA FAWKING DEGENERA... ow...”

The hero was vast asleep, his pelvis still thrusting into the air which made the bed creak. The inn-keeper was uncertain on what to do now. She hadn't ever met such a sex-depraved hero before. The hero's thrusts were now so fast that he left an after-image of himself, making it look like the hero had anal coitus with himself if a casual onlooker unfocussed his or her eyes for long enough. Some of the other patrons peered inside, froze for a moment and left again with parts of their meal rising up fast. The innkeeper tried to order her thoughts and left a few minutes later, the scene scorched inside her mind for the rest of her life. She ripped two doors of nearby rooms and barricaded the hero's bedroom. She then joined the rest of the patrons in silent prayer to cleanse their minds and souls from the hero's debauchery. Gripping their prayerbeads, they held on till morning when the hero stepped out of his room with a large smile on his face.

“How's everyone doing? I feel absolutely great. Best sleep I've had in a while. Don't know why but I feel like I could do some serious stabbing right now.”

His pelvis thrust violently from one direction to another and scared back those that crouched near him. The inn-keeper swallowed and got to her feet. Her eyes went level with the hero, as did her fists.

“Ya keep that infernal thing away from us, ya hear. There's a demon inside ya. Yer gonna need an old and a young priest for that.”

The hero had a vague and unintelligent look on his face. As if every question he'd ever been asked had trained him for this precise moment.

“Why an old priest?”

And still the hero failed miserably.

“No, no, look, hear me out. Why the hell would you need an old priest? I get that we're referencing a movie that doesn't exist in this world, but wouldn't the older guy die too quickly? Wouldn't you want like six or seven younger priests with proper body armour and a silver cross the size of a standing clock?”

Silver only works on werewolves.

“Not if you make it really fucking big.”

So the hero's plan for dealing with sexual deviancy is to beat people with his giant, silver(and aptly named) sexual innuendo. Perhaps the hero is compensating for something?

“Yes, an empty bank account.”

Suddenly time stopped. The hero could still think, as could his narrator. But when he tried to move his body, it wouldn't respond. From outside came the noise of two hands clapping. Slow and with a surprising sense of melodic expertise. In walked a figure clad in black. His face invisible much like every other part of his body. The man walked up to the hero and gave a small bow.

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“Pleasure to meet the saviour of our world.”

When no response came, the black figure tapped the front of his head with his knuckles.

“How silly of me, I forgot you can't answer.”

A snap of his fingers and the hero could move his very thin lips again.

“Look, I know I said some bad things about priests touching kids but I didn't mean you specifically.”

“I am not... a priest.”

“Look, I know I also said something bad about old people in general. How much they smell of piss even after their third bath of the day due to Alzheimer's. But I didn't...”

“Neither am I old.”

“Well then I don't know why you're doing all of this. Were you one of the kids that got abused?”

“I was NOT abused. Nobody has ever abused me.”

The dark figure looked at the hero with anger in his eyes and a history of sexual abuse on his mind.

“What the hell is wrong with the both of you? Why is everything narrowed down to child abuse?”

“Force of habit?”

It would explain the emo goth clothes.

“I'll have you know that this is latest century black royal velvet design. Not that people with an intellect of zero would ever understand.”

“That sounds rather ableist. It's like you don't have respect for the common people.”

The narrator agreed.

“An intellect of zero is far from common. It's a miracle and a half you're even able to breathe automatically.”

“In, out, in out, in out. What? Was just practising for when I meet your mom.”

“She is already dead. And if you don't stop your nonsense, so will you.”

“Why would you kill your mom?”

“What? No. I didn't kill her. It was late stage alcohol abuse. Nothing we could do to help her.”

“You drove that poor woman to drink? Jesus man, what is wrong with you?”

“I DID NOT. I WAS A GOOD BOY. A GOOD, GOOD BOY!”

“Does this good boy want a biscuit? There's one in my pocket.”

“That is hardly a biscuit, you fiend. I meant no, I don't want your food. I came here to warn you, you daft baboon.”

“I'm more of a daft punk kinda guy. Never heard of daft baboon but I'm willing to give it a listen. It's important to be open-minded about art. Otherwise we might get another German chancellor with blond hair and blue eyes.”

The dark figure finally understood the narrator's misery and proposed a double murder-suicide to salvage the sanity of this world. But he was rejected. Much like when he asked his mother to stop drinking.

The figure's jaw clenched shut and with his fists balled up punched the hero in the face. Hard. Only eighty-nine punches of a similar strength remaining to finish the quest. The hero gave a quizzical but sanguine infused look at the invisible narrator.

“Stop making him angry you asshole. I'm the one here taking the punches.”

Having missed that last part, the narrator flashed back the dark figure's past in front of his eyes. Focussing on the parts where an older priest took advantage of him and dressed him up like a little girl.

“THAT NEVER HAPPENED. STOP IT! LOOK... LOOK... I'm just here to tell you that a new evil has arisen. And you, the hero, need to go and kill it. Alright? Alright. Now I'm off again.”

Time unfroze and the inn-keeper and her patrons fainted from holding their breath for so long. It was good exercise if they ever wanted to swim for clams at the bottom of a lake without a breathing apparatus that didn't exist yet. But the figure himself, was gone.