What the hell is going on?!

Bill knew he needed to do something to resist the winged and robed creature that was currently straddling him like a horny wizard, but knowing was a lot easier than doing. It felt pathetic to admit, but he was too weak to put up much of a struggle. His loaner body was withering away, a festering cesspool of infected blood and STD's—his hip a mutinous wreck—and the purple robes-turned-straightjacket fastened around his arms and torso seemed to be getting more insistent by the second. Doing his best to ignore the warm mud pressing into the back of his head, he sucked in a shuddering breath and looked up at his captor with distrust and revulsion evident on his features.

“You… Who are you? And what do you mean you want my diseases?!“ Bill asked with a grimace, noting that the glittering orange orbs that were peering down at him seemed to be filled with unmistakable passion. It was distressing, but he was admittedly intrigued by the offer, curious if such a thing as disease transference was possible and what the side effects would be. Surely there had to be a catch. An answer never came.

For all he knew, this humanoid-bat thing was talking about sucking the diseases right out of his warm corpse. What was the use in talking to food? Shit man… I could really use some help here! Where's Nero? I can't let this thing kill me!! The way she controlled Slavin' Dave… no way, man. You can have Wild Bill’s dickrot, but I refuse to be your puppet.

The features of his captor were veiled in a deep pool of unnatural darkness, hidden within the depths of a pointed purple hood that seemed to hinder his perception. All he could see were those captivating eyes. And wow… They were majestic to behold. Butterflies fluttered in the pit of his stomach. His heart quivered like the strings on a harp. Those eyes were quite possibly the most wondrous sight he'd ever witnessed, like two glistening pools of warm honey luring him in for a sensual and stimulating snack.

He was suddenly famished.

Oblivious to the notification, Bill sighed as small hands brushed against his cheeks, the soft touch sending electric shocks down his spine as they lightly caressed his earlobes with skin that felt supple and smooth like silk, and was so pale it was almost transparent. There was a glaring lack of veins in those narrow, bony wrists, but such was the powerful longing in his chest that he never even thought to flinch away from the obviously inhuman attention.

He should have been terrified. The notifications should have been alarming. But for a reason he couldn't explain, deep down, he was excited. Bill wanted this to happen. Needed it more than oxygen. Eerily content with a complete and total surrender, he let out the breath he'd been holding and felt his entire body relax. I'm all yours. Damn the consequences. Sara… I hope you can understand…

Bill felt his head being lifted, his thoughts going blank as his face was drawn towards an imposing void encased in violet folds. Two amber beacons twinkled like stars on the horizon, urging him forward to join them for a dance in the darkness. The last thing he experienced before nothingness consumed him was a minor prick of pain on his neck and an orgasmic rush of euphoria.

******

Nero awoke standing upright in the darkness, covered from head to toe in sweat with a blinding migraine driving spikes of agony through his eyeballs and into his brain. He had no idea where he was, or even why he was wherever he was, but it was sweltering hot in there, and he could feel warm bodies pressing against him from all sides. The foul stench of cheese breath and unwashed flesh assaulted his senses. I need water…

On top of the bottomless thirst, a wall of yellow squares was also awaiting his attention. It took a second for him to understand what he was looking at. The System…

The faint glow the screens emitted was playing hell on his eyes, but somehow did nothing to illuminate his surroundings. Face hidden behind his hands, peeking through the cracks between his fingers to lessen the pounding in his skull, Nero began skimming through the floating words with the belief that they were his best chance to figure out what was going on.

He was wrong.

(R) [Despot's Fist] Lvl 1 - This Active Skill allows the user to channel their indignation into a devastating punch, capable of penetrating an opponent's defenses or shattering them entirely. Potency is amplified when the user senses a challenge to their authority. Effects escalate drastically with Skill Level. Cooldown and cost decrease with Skill Level.

• Cost: Moderate Stamina.

• Duration: Channeled.

• Cooldown: 30 minutes.

(NOTE: Caution. Use responsibly, as the consequences can be lethal.)>

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“A Rare Skill?!” Nero gasped and dropped his hand, gasping again when the yellow glare delivered a brutally accurate punch that somehow managed to hit him directly in both eyeballs at the same time. Mr. Bill said those were… well… Rare? Huh, Momma always did say I was lucky… But what’s a Despot? Or indignation? As Nero was discovering, he could read the words easily enough, but oddly, some of them were proving difficult to understand.

Unveiled Maven’s Insight- +1 all stats. Costs and cooldown times of all Active Skills reduced by 10%.>

Debuff? Maven's insight? Clueless as to what he was looking at, Nero waved the glowing yellow screens away and tensed up when the world turned black. He blinked his eyes in hope they would adjust, returning some semblance of sight, but it was a dreadfully slow process, one that was made worse by the fact it seriously hurt to open his eyes at all. “H… Hello? Mr. Bill? Where are we?”

Where am I?

The ragged sound of uneven breathing was the only response he received. Awash in a flood of painful memories, reliving snippets of a lifetime spent in a hot barn, shoulder to haunches with musky animals and their endless, wretched farting, Nero felt his self control beginning to slip. It was becoming hard to breathe, as if the air had been sucked out of the atmosphere.

His mouth was so dry that he would've considered drinking his own piss if only he'd needed to go.

Claustrophobia was setting in at an alarming pace, causing his thoughts to become erratic and untrustworthy. Unable to remain still for another second, Nero mumbled an apology to whomever he was about to offend and started shouldering his way through the crowd, closely monitoring his every movement as he guided what had to be close to ten unresponsive persons out of his way, doing his best not to exert too much strength in the process. I don't understand these Stats at all… How could a punch do… that? He was having a hard enough time coming to terms with becoming a murderer twice over. Accidently snapping some strangers in half was the last thing he wanted to do.

His wounded conscience wouldn't be able to take it.

After several infuriating minutes of fumbling around in the darkness, running his hands along dusty wooden panels in search of a door latch and instead knocking down an oil lamp and smashing his shins against at least three different upturned chairs, Nero finally found what he was looking for. His first thought was to find some kind of a weapon. The sheath at his hip was empty, and he wasn't feeling overly confident about the entire situation. Who knew what was out there?

And then he remembered the disturbing feeling of his fist rupturing flesh and bone like the casing of a soft fruit. Accidently killing The Blacksmith hadn't even stung his knuckles. At that moment, he hadn't felt… anything at all. His only thought had been to keep that knife from sinking into Mr. Bill. Then everything became fuzzy.

Once Nero realized his hands were actually far more threatening than any chair-turned-club or shard of glass could ever hope to be, he considered placing his ear up against the door to get an idea of what might've been waiting out there. On second thought, it seemed a little pointless considering no one had come bursting in despite all the noise he'd already made.

Nero took a deep breath and tugged the door open.

Whoa… A sky full of unrecognizable constellations greeted him. Adorned with at least two too many moons–one of which seemed way too close–and undercut by a breeze that tasted like salty dust and blood, it was an unsettling combination that impressed upon him just how out of his depths he truly was.

Although the wind was stiflingly warm to the touch, a shiver raced down Nero’s spine as it cut through his–formerly Jupiter’s–dirty, sweat soaked shirt and trousers. He dropped his shoulders and sighed, taking what pleasure he could from the brief chill caused by the beads of sweat on body beginning to evaporate. He had a feeling his clothes would remain wet for a good long while. Seeking to gain his bearings, he descended the four stairs separating him from Fort Alamo's derelict road and glanced to his left and right, hoping to locate someone. It was too quiet.

Thanks to Massa Murdock's proclivities to travel after dark, mainly due to the dangerous nature of being a crooked sheriff that moonlighted as a bounty and Indian hunter, Nero was no stranger to Fort Alamo's non-existent nightlife. Business was far from booming in this backwater outpost but this was absurd. Not only were the majority of the oil lamps that always lit up the walkways cold and dark, there wasn't so much as a peep to be heard coming from the Starlight Saloon. That was unheard of.

Just as he became convinced that everyone in town was standing in the building behind him, a strange noise tickled at his ears, a nauseating sound that reminded him of tossing slop to a bunch of starving pigs pulling his gaze towards a mysterious, twitching lump in the middle of the road near the gate. A fog of glowing mist swirled around the unknown object like a swarm of dark red fireflies.

Simultaneously intrigued and unnerved, Nero took two steps forward and froze in his tracks, watching with abject horror as whatever it was he was looking at underwent a terrifying transformation. A pair of enormous bat wings opened up on either side of it, their impressive span wide enough to brush against the charred buildings on either side of the street. At the same time, two piercing orange eyes stared right at him, filling him with a dread the likes of which he'd never experienced.

“Dear sweet baby Jesus!” Nero cried out, tripping over his own feet and falling backwards into the mud. It might have been his imagination, but he could've sworn he heard a faint laugh echo across the distance. Before he could decide in which direction he planned to flee, an inhuman voice spoke right behind him, hissing and snapping, reminiscent of a summer storm gusting through a forest. “What do we have here?” it said, “You are not supposed to be awake yet.”

Nero looked at the winged creature and grimaced. It hadn't moved an inch. In fact, it wasn't even looking his way any longer. But… if it's still over there… then what’s… back… there…

Fearing the worst, Nero scrambled to his feet and spun on his heels, turning to face the unknown threat with muddy fists clenched tight and tucked to either side of his chin. “Who’s there!?” he demanded, heart thundering in his chest. As it turned out, nobody was there. The street was wholly devoid of life. It didn't make any sense.

I must be asleep… Please lord tell me this is all a dream! Trapped between a phantom and a giant bat-thing, he shifted his feet nervously, wracking his brain for a way to wake himself up.

Something tapped on his shoulder.