John took a brisk stroll through the Thorn Woods, his hands in his pockets, his silver-gray curls bouncing with each casual step. The trees were thick here, their branches woven together like a cage, but John didn't seem to be in any hurry. He whistled a tune, something he'd heard in the goblin village, and kicked a pebble down the path.
The system's translucent form floated beside him, his white hair ruffling in the breeze, his small arms crossed over his chest. His black and light blue tuxedo was immaculate, even in the mud and thorns, and his semi-see-through skin glowed faintly in the dappled light.
Are you seriously not going to chase after him?
The system's voice was sharp, annoyed.
He's getting away. He could be miles from here by now.
"Nah," John said, not breaking stride. "I'll catch up eventually. Let him run. Let him think he's escaping. It'll make the catch more satisfying."
That's the laziest thing I've ever heard.
"I prefer to call it strategic patience."
I prefer to call it bullshit.
John ignored him and kept walking. The forest opened up slightly, and he noticed movement in the underbrush. Small shapes, low to the ground, with fur the color of rust and ash. Coyotes. But not like any coyotes he'd seen before. These ones had strange glands on their faces, open pores that seemed to weep a dark, oily fluid. They looked like those weird deer from his old world, the muntjac deer, with their scent glands that looked like open wounds.
John squatted down, intrigued. One of the coyotes, a young one with bright yellow eyes, froze and stared at him. John stared back. He reached out a hand, slow and gentle, the way you might approach a stray cat.
"It's okay," John murmured. "I'm not gonna hurt you."
The coyote's nose twitched. Its glands pulsed, releasing a drop of dark fluid. Then it skittered backward, turned, and vanished into the bushes. The others followed, disappearing like shadows at dawn.
John sighed and stood up. "Guess I'm not the animal whisperer I thought I was."
You're not the whisperer of anything. Now can you please focus?
The system appeared in front of him, blocking his path, his small hands on his hips.
"Stop whining," John said, brushing past him.
He raised his hands, and threads shot from his fingertips, thin as spider silk, strong as steel. They arced through the air, wrapping around a tree trunk a hundred yards ahead, and John pulled. His body launched forward, feet leaving the ground, and he swung through the forest like a pendulum. The wind rushed past his face, cool and sharp, and John laughed out loud.
"WOOOHOOO!"
He released the first thread and fired another, swinging higher, faster, weaving between the trees like he'd been doing this his whole life. The threads glinted in the moonlight, and John realized he'd been calling them strings and webs and silk, but they were threads. Always had been. He was basically Spider-Man, but with more drip and less dead uncles.
"I got this!"
A giant tree loomed in the distance, its trunk wider than a house, its branches reaching for the sky. John was heading straight for it, too fast to stop, too fast to change direction. He grinned and fired a thread at the trunk, not to swing, but to cut. The silk sliced through the wood like a hot knife through butter, and a massive section of the trunk detached, falling sideways. John dove through the gap, spinning mid-air, and came out the other side with a shower of sawdust and leaves.
"HOLY HELL!" John whooped. "I didn't even know I could do something like that! Nice!"
You're insane.
"Maybe. But I'm also fast."
He spotted the river below, a silver ribbon winding through the trees. And there, kneeling at the water's edge, was Zedrik.
John angled his descent, releasing his threads at the last second, and landed on the riverbank in a crouch. He was still in his goblin body, green skin and silver curls, but he let the form melt away as he stood, replacing it with his chud avatar. Five-foot-eight. Soft belly. Taped glasses. Overlord clothes hanging off him like a tent.
He clapped his hands together slowly, the sound echoing across the clearing.
"Zedrik, Zedrik, Zedrik." John shook his head, grinning. "You managed to survive the third layer. Even while cheating and running away. I'm impressed. Really. I didn't think you had it in you."
Zedrik's head snapped up. Her red hair was matted with mud and blood, her face was covered in scratches, and her torn suit hung off her body in tatters. Her massive breasts were heaving, and her eyes were wide with fear. She looked like a wild animal, cornered and desperate.
But then something shifted in her expression. Her fear didn't disappear, but it changed. It became something else. Something calculating.
She was a woman now. And women, she realized, were amazing at flirting. She had seen it a thousand times. The way the noblewomen at court could wrap men around their fingers with a smile and a touch. The way the serving girls could get whatever they wanted with a flash of cleavage and a batting of eyelashes.
She could do that. She had to do that. All she needed was to get close to John, to make him trust her, to make him want her. And then, when he was asleep, she would kill him. She would find a knife, or a rock, or her bare hands, and she would end him. And then she would run.
Zedrik pushed herself to her feet, swaying slightly, and smoothed down her ruined suit. She tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear and looked up at John through her lashes.
"You caught me," she said, her voice soft, almost breathy. "I suppose I should be grateful. I was so lost. So scared." She took a step toward him, her hips swaying. "I don't even know where I am. I don't know how to get home. I don't know anything anymore."
John raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh…"
Zedrik stepped closer, close enough that John could smell the blood and sweat on her skin, close enough that he could see the pulse beating in her throat. She reached out and placed a hand on his chest, right over his heart.
"You're so strong," she whispered. "So powerful. I've never met anyone like you. When you... when you punished me, I was angry. But now I understand. You were teaching me. Weren't you? Teaching me to be better."
John's mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.
Zedrik smiled, slow and sultry. She had him. She could see it in his eyes, the way they widened, the way his breath hitched. He was just a man, under all that power. Just a man with a big ego and a soft spot for pretty women.
"I've been thinking," she continued, her fingers tracing circles on his chest. "About what you said. About me getting a taste of my own medicine. And I realized... you're right. I was terrible. I did terrible things. And I want to make amends. I want to be better."
She stepped even closer, pressing her body against his. Her massive breasts squished against his chest, soft and warm, and she let out a soft, breathy sigh.
"But I don't want to go through the other layers," she said, pouting. "They're so... painful. And I've already learned my lesson. I promise I have." She looked up at him, her green eyes wide and pleading. "Can't we just... skip to the end? I'll do anything you want. Anything at all."
She let her hand drift lower, brushing against his stomach, his hip.
"You can have me," she whispered. "Right here. Right now. I'll be so good for you. I'll do things you've only dreamed of. Just... please. No more torture. No more pain. Just... this."
She pressed her lips to his ear, her breath hot and wet. "Fuck me instead," she murmured. "Fuck me until I can't walk. Until I forget my own name. And then, when you're done, you can let me go. And I'll never bother you again. I swear."
John's face went red. His eyes widened. His mouth opened and closed like a fish.
"You... you really mean that?" His voice cracked. "You'd... you'd do that? For me?"
Zedrik's heart soared. He was so stupid. So pathetically, laughably stupid. She had him wrapped around her finger. She could feel it.
"Of course," she cooed, nuzzling his neck. "I'd do anything for you. You're so strong. So powerful. I've never met anyone like you."
John swallowed hard. "I... I've never... I mean, I'm not very experienced. I'm kind of... I'm kind of a virgin. Still. Sort of. I mean, I've done stuff, but not... not with someone like you. Someone so beautiful."
Zedrik almost laughed out loud. A virgin. This god-like creature who could summon monsters and teleport across continents was a blushing virgin. This was too easy.
"I'll be gentle," she promised, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "I'll teach you everything. Just... let me. Please."
John's face was bright red now, his glasses fogging up. "You... you'll really forgive me? For all the... the torture and stuff? You won't try to escape?"
"I forgive you," Zedrik lied. "I just want to be with you. That's all. Just you and me."
John took a deep breath, held it, and then let it out in a shaky exhale. "Okay," he said. "Okay. I'll... I'll forgive you. We can skip the other layers. Just... just be gentle with me, okay? I'm... I'm sensitive."
Zedrik's smile widened. "Of course, darling. I'll be so gentle. So soft. You won't feel a thing."
She leaned in, her lips parting, ready to kiss him, ready to seal the deal.
And then John grinned.
"NAHHHHHHHHH," he said.
Threads lashed out from his fingertips, thin and sharp, wrapping around Zedrik's throat before she could blink. She barely had time to gasp before the silk tightened, sliced through flesh and bone, and her head tumbled from her shoulders. It hit the ground with a wet thud, rolled once, and came to rest face-up, her green eyes still wide with shock, her lips still parted in that fake, seductive smile.
Her body swayed for a moment, blood fountaining from the stump of her neck, and then it crumpled, landing in a heap at John's feet.
John looked down at the corpse, then at the head, then back at the corpse. He shrugged.
"Nice try, though."