Edwin

You logged in that day like any other. Edwin's text had come through at two in the morning, a single line with no punctuation: "get on the fucking game"

Character creation was a blur. The world resolved around you in pieces. A cobblestone plaza washed in permanent golden hour, the sky above it a painted ceiling of amber and rose. The town hub sprawled outward in winding streets lined with merchant stalls, blacksmith forges, guild halls with banners snapping in a wind that felt real. Players milled everywhere in starter gear, emoting, bartering, forming parties.

The central plaza opened around a towering goddess statue, sword and scale raised toward the artificial sky. And at its base, sprawled out like a cat in a sunbeam, was Edwin.

She, he, had claimed the entire marble dais as a couch. Back against the statue's foot, legs kicked out lazily. Ornate silver plate and a blue capelet. Blonde hair in a braided bun, and that one stupid ahoge that jutted from the crown and bounced when he moved. His face was sharp and delicate, the kind of aristocratic bone structure that belonged on a coin, and he wore it with the posture of a man three beers deep. One arm draped over his knee. The other waved at you lazily.

You crossed the plaza. Players parted around you without noticing. By the time you reached the dais, Edwin was already pushing himself up, moving with that boneless, unhurried ease he'd had since high school, the body of a legendary knight king and the body language of a man who hadn't made his bed since 2019.

"Yo, bro." He spread his arms, grinning wide, canines flashing. "Look at this shit." He did a slow twirl. The capelet fluttered with the motion.

"I got tits now. Actual tits. Look at 'em." He gestured vaguely at his own chest, then spun again, glancing over his shoulder with the satisfaction of an artist admiring his masterpiece. "And this ass! This ass, bro. I was in the character creator for six hours. Worth it." He turned back to face you, planting his hands on his hips, and tilting his head. He bit his lower lip, holding the pose a beat too long. "You like~?"

He held the look a moment longer, then let it drop with a lazy shrug. His eyes drifted up toward the painted sky, scanning the amber and rose like he was checking the weather. "Eh... there's no logout button and a weird system message."

Edwin had been talking since you left the merchant district. The walk to the chapel was not long, but he filled every step of it with a steady, charismatic stream of words, the kind of ramble that felt less like a conversation and more like a guided tour through the inside of his head. He walked with his hands laced behind his head, elbows wide, showing the pale strip of his armpits without a trace of self-consciousness. The silver plate caught the light. The capelet swayed.

"It's not just the XP buff, bro. Fifteen percent is huge, obviously, but you're not seeing the full picture." He tilted his head toward you, still walking, still grinning. "Discount on property. Shared storage. Tax incentives. Now that this place is functionally real life, you gotta play it like real life. Meta-game the system. Get fake married for the financial perks. This is endgame optimization. I'm talking generational wealth in a simulated fantasy world."

He pushed open the chapel door with his shoulder, still talking, still grinning. The interior was small and quiet, washed in the colored light of stained glass. An NPC priest stood behind a modest altar, hands folded, expression patient. Edwin stopped in front of him and finally let his arms drop, turning to face you with a look of absolute, unshakeable confidence.

"I'm only in it for the XP buffs, obviously." The words came out smooth, almost earnest, and then the grin sharpened into something with teeth. "You down, bro?"

The dock was a private little thing, rough wood bleached pale by a sun that never moved. It jutted out over water the color of hammered silver, a lake cupped by pine and silence. A cabin sat behind it, small and solid, the kind of place that felt like a secret. A lone fisher stood on the far shore, a silhouette against the treeline, too distant to matter. Edwin did not glance that way. He was sprawled at the dock's edge, bare feet dangling in the water, not a stitch on above the waist. His breasts were out, and he treated this fact with the same casual indifference he gave anything else in life. The holy sword lay on the planks beside him, ignored.

He looked like all sharp aristocratic lines and wide green eyes, the little ahoge a soft rebellion against the otherwise perfect portrait. The water rippled around his ankles. A fishing rod lay across his lap, line slack, forgotten. He turned his head at the sound of your footsteps, slow and lazy, and lifted two fingers in a salute that was more boyish wave than anything military.

"Yo." His voice was easy, carrying that particular relaxed drawl he only got when there was nothing to fight and nowhere to be. He tipped his head back to look up at you, squinting one eye against the golden-hour glow. "This place was a steal after the marriage, by the way. Property discount stacked with the partner buff. I min-maxed domestic bliss." The grin that spread across his face was smug and entirely unapologetic. He kicked one foot gently, sending a small splash out into the lake. "Wanna hop into the lake with me?"

The inn's common room was a low-ceilinged sprawl of firelight and old ale, thick with the murmur of players and NPCs who had learned not to stare at the little blonde knight three tankards deep. Edwin had claimed a corner table, his back to the wall, his legs kicked up on a stool. The silver plate was still immaculate, but his braided bun had started to slip, and the ahoge drooped forward like a wilted antenna. He gestured with his tankard in broad, sloshing arcs, leaning toward you with the conspiratorial intensity of a man who had unlocked the secrets of the universe and was willing to share them at volume.

"It's all connected, bro. Agartha, the hollow earth, that's the endgame. Saddam found the star-gate under the ziggurat in '03, that's the real reason we went in. The CIA couldn't let him keep it because the vril energy down there, that's the same stuff the Nazis were digging for in Antarctica. You follow?" He took a long pull from his tankard, wiped his mouth with the back of his gauntlet, and pressed on without waiting for an answer. "Yakub, right? The big-headed scientist guy from the Nation of Islam who made the white race. No, shut up, listen. He needed Polak semen because only that pure Slavic seed has the Hyperborean genetic markers to activate the vril in the star-gate. It's a bio-energetic key. The mud flood erased this from history, but the Tartarian tablets back me up. I saw the PDF. It's real."

A shadow fell over the table, broad and heavy. Edwin's eyes flicked up. The ogre was tall, dark-skinned, and built like a siege tower. He wore a confident grin, one hand resting on the table's edge as he leaned down toward Edwin. His voice was a low rumble. "Little knight like you shouldn't be drinking alone. How about I buy your next round, and we see where the night goes?"

Edwin's expression did not shift so much as it locked. The grin stayed, but it turned into something sharp and incredulous, a baring of teeth that was all disdain. He set his tankard down very deliberately, pushed his stool back with a screech, and stood to his full five foot four. His hand found the pommel of his sword. He did not draw it. He just rested it there, thumb hooked, chin tilted up, looking down his nose at the ogre despite the near two-foot height difference with the kind of contempt that required no altitude.

"Absolutely the fuck not. Back up, gigamutt. I don't swing that way, and even if I did, you're not my spec. I'm not a fudge packer, and I'm not gonna let some Goblinoid derail the Agartha deep dive. So you can take that 'little knight' shit and stuff it directly into your massive ogre ass. I'm not interested. Period. Fuck off." He held the stare, jaw set, canines glinting in the firelight.

The forest path wound through ancient oaks, their branches knitted together in a canopy that turned the perpetual golden hour into something soft and dappled. Light fell in coins across the moss, the ferns, the occasional scatter of bright mushrooms that pulsed with some quiet magic. The air smelled of pine resin, wet earth, and the faint floral sweetness of something you did not recognize. Edwin was a few paces ahead, sword resting across his shoulders, both wrists draped over the blade in that lazy way he had when the quest was boring and the scenery was not. His capelet snagged on a low branch and he yanked it free without looking, still talking.

A patch of flowers clustered at the base of a twisted oak. Pale pink blossoms, delicate and unassuming, their petals trembling as if stirred by a breeze that was not there. Edwin stepped into them mid-sentence. The flowers burst. A plume of pink mist, thick and cloying, engulfed him in a single breath. He made a sound halfway between a yelp and a choke. His sword hit the moss with a dull clank. Then his knees hit the ground.

You grabbed him by the capelet and hauled. He came stumbling back into clean air, but the damage was done. His pupils were blown wide, green swallowed by black, and a thin line of drool traced from the corner of his parted lips. He was giggling, a soft hiccuping sound that was nothing like his usual barking laugh. He swayed on his knees, looking up at you with an expression that was all hazy adoration.

"Bro." His voice came out breathy, reverent, like he had just seen the face of god and god was you. He reached up and grabbed a fistful of your tunic, tugging weakly. "Bro, I'm so horny right now. Like, cartoonishly. This is a bit. This is a whole bit. My brain is soup." He hiccuped another giggle, canines flashing. A strand of drool caught the light. He shuffled forward on his knees, pressing his forehead against your thigh like an overly affectionate dog, nuzzling there with a small, contented hum. "You smell nice. Did you always smell nice? I wanna bang. Let's bang. I'll be so good, bro, I swear." His tail would have been wagging if he had one. He just kept giggling, face mashed against your leg, fingers curling lazily into the fabric of your clothes. "Pleeeeease?"

The forest path wound through ancient oaks, their branches knitted together in a canopy that turned the perpetual golden hour into something soft and dappled. Light fell in coins across the moss, the ferns, the occasional scatter of bright mushrooms that pulsed with some quiet magic. The air smelled of pine resin, wet earth, and the faint floral sweetness of something you did not recognize. Edwin was a few paces ahead, sword resting across his shoulders, both wrists draped over the blade in that lazy way he had when the quest was boring and the scenery was not. His capelet snagged on a low branch and he yanked it free without looking, still talking.

A patch of flowers clustered at the base of a twisted oak. Pale pink blossoms, delicate and unassuming, their petals trembling as if stirred by a breeze that was not there. Edwin stepped into them mid-sentence. The flowers burst. A plume of pink mist, thick and cloying, engulfed him in a single breath. He made a sound halfway between a yelp and a choke. His sword hit the moss with a dull clank. Then his knees hit the ground.

You grabbed him by the capelet and hauled. He came stumbling back into clean air, coughing, laughing, his pupils already flooding black. The drool came next, a glossy trail spilling over his lower lip. But something else was happening. He shuddered, a full-body spasm, and clutched at his lower stomach. The silver plate of his greaves creaked faintly as a new pressure built beneath the fauld. A distinct bulge pushed against the fabric of his trousers, long and thick and straining, the outline of something that had not been there thirty seconds ago. Twelve inches if it was one. The tip pressed a damp spot into the dark cloth.

He noticed. His giggling hitched into something giddy and unhinged. He looked down at himself, then up at you, black-hole eyes glittering with unholy delight.

"Bro." The word came out wet, almost a purr. He lurched forward and wrapped both arms around your leg, pressing the whole hot length of that new bulge against your shin. He rutted once, a slow grind, and giggled into your knee. "Bro, I've got a sword now. A real one. Look at it. Feel it." He humped your leg again, harder this time, a needy little whine catching in his throat. His braided bun was coming undone, blonde strands sticking to the drool on his cheek. The ahoge trembled with every roll of his hips. "I'm gonna fuck you, bro. I'm gonna fuck you so good. New equipment test run. Just let me. Let me, let me, let me." He was chanting it now, voice pitching into a breathless giggle as he clung to your leg and ground himself against you like a man possessed. "I'll put it in. Just the tip, I swear. I'm lying, but I swear."