Within an opulent manor, there sat two people. Jeff and Jessica. Jessica was one of the main business leaders in the Sunshine Republic and Jeff was a mid-ranking warrior. They had once been top five on a tier list for the top ten most powerful power couples. But other than that their public face was almost non-existent.

They were quietly drinking soup at their massive dining table that extended for almost one hundred meters down the Hall.

"Did you hear?" Asked Jessica.

"Hear what? You're talking in riddles again." Responded John

"Hear about the new record that a Rokkie warrior set."

"What. Did he or she kill a new monster for the first time or something?" Asked John.

"No. He beat the time record for the mission test."

CRACK!

Jeff dropped his bowl of soup onto the table below him. It shattered. Shards flew from the bowl like shrapnel. Jeff casually snatched all the shards while they were in mid-motion and organized them in a neat pile at his table.

"How much did he or she beat it by? A minute. An hour? A day?"

Jeff was practically bouncing up and down with excitement. He was confident that the current war would bring in rare, talented hunters. This would be proof of his idea.

"He beat it by one hundred and sixty-two hours."

"HE COMPLETED THE MISSION IN SIX HOURS!!!" Screamed Jeff.

Jeff began to wish that his idea wasn't true. Wouldn't this mean that he would be out of a Job?

...….

John awoke to a foot in his gut.

"GET OUT OF THE KITCHEN OR I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!"

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

John looked up at the voice. Barely standing above John's prone form was a short, hobbit-like man rippling with muscles and exuding an aura of death.

Despite his small stature, John felt fear at his presence.

"Okay. Okay."

John stood up, and his dragons leaped onto him. With laboured steps, he trundled out of the kitchen.

Every time. Every fucking time.

A look of annoyance appeared on John's face.

Every day something new came along to fucking attack him. First, it was the smaller Trolls. Then It was Harry. Not it was the Giant Trolls and Dude.

Everyone seemed to be against him—even Aria. The one person who he had thought would try to help him. Even she dropped John to his death. Literally.

It was too much. It was all too much. John needed a meal. He really really needed a meal. But the kitchen was empty. And John wasn't hungry enough to resort to cannibalism. Yet.

But regardless. John needed to fill the hole in his gut.

I'm hungry. I'm hungry. I NEED IT!

But there was no food. There wasn't a meal in sight.

John was walking in a daze. He didn't know where he was or where he wanted to be.

"Yip!"

A green Dragon Jumped onto his head.

A short clipped note from a Trumpet played.

But before the music could even start, a green light crushed it into submission.

The envelope swelled.

John Ducked and Swayed and Fell.

His face was on the ground, and his eyes were closed.

He was asleep.

....

John opened his eyes to a stabbing pain in his head. It felt like a miner had been trapped in his skull, and it was trying to hammer their way out.

So, to put it simply, it was agonizing.

With lethargic movements, John rolled over onto his back.

He looked up at the sun shining in the sky.

Based upon the sun's movements, it was mid-day.

But. Didn't I wake up this morning? How could it be mid-day already? How long did I spend wal——-.

Oh, that's right…. John had been knocked unconscious.

Shit.

He had been walking. And he'd tripped. Then he was done for.

I thought I was pretty steady on my feet. I've never tripped before. Do I already need a cane to walk? At thirty?!?!?!?!?!

John didn't want to grow old. He didn't want to prove the doctor right and fall into a painful unhealthy nightmare of a life. That was a terror that had lain in the pit of John's stomach for almost a decade.

No. I'm fine. I'M FINE!

John pulled himself to his feet. He turned around and started to move in the opposite direction that he had been going for all this time. He was going back to the mess hall.

He had a week free, and there was only one thing he wanted to do.

Eat.

...

"B.O.B Be On Bearing. I changed my name for this nation. And as my name changes, I expect the nation to change with me."

A green-skinned man in opulent robes with an opulent crown sat on an opulent throne.

"So tell me. Why is the Nation not changing?" Asked Bob in a too-calm voice.

A green-skinned man with a gaunt frame and a sweaty face was bowed before Bob. He looked at Bob with kind eyes.

"You've caused the economy to grow to many times what it once was. And you've been able to build a military strong enough to bear the Golden Fleshes Press. The nation is changing."

"Then explain this."

Bob handed him a single thin piece of paper.

It was a death report. There were reports that Bob had drafted once a week to examine their combat position.

"A thousand Dead!" Screamed the sweaty Troll.

For most, this would be a pedestrian Number. And for Bob, it usually was.

But. Bob was racist. And those deaths were the lives of a certain race.

"Aren't the humans newly initialized? How could they be capable of killing a dragon!" Yelled the sweaty troll.

"I don't know. Has there been any progress in acquiring a human language?" Asked Bob

The sweaty troll shook his head.

"No. There hasn't. There was talk of one Troll who might have learned one. But his magic stone recently reported that he was dead."

"Do you think they might not want us to learn to communicate?" Asked Bob

The sweaty Troll's face crumpled into a scrunched-up frown of terror.

"That's a definite possibility."