My Evil System

Outside of the house, Dementia's muffled groans were resounding in the quaint forest.

"Is he going to be our dad?" Troll 1 asked.

Troll 2 picked a worm on the side and slurped it in one gulp. "Maybe. Mother likes him."

Troll 3 picked his nose and flung a giant booger to the side. "I like him. I like his mask."

"Does that mean we can't eat him?" Troll 1 asked with a finger over its thick lips.

"I don't think so. Least you want mother to scold you," Troll 2 said.

"Even just a little piece?" Troll 1 bargained.

Troll 3 scratched his head. "I don't think so. Ma said to leave him alone 'cause we'll die if we don't."

The three looked at each other before they laughed and resumed hunting for animals in the forest.

----

All my life, I thought about what it would be like to get rid of this annoying virginity status off me. I never knew that it felt like marshmallows inside there. Fluffy, warm, juicy marshmallows.

It's quite addicting, in fact, and it easily tops my favorites from here onwards.

However, as much as I enjoyed the euphoria and climax, I had to cut my pleasure short. There were so many things that I must do.

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I was about to get up, but the fingers sprawling over my chest prevented me from getting out of bed. Looking to my side, an ethereal woman with greyish luminous skin with beads of black hair falling to the side of her face was looking at me with her imploring, mesmerizing pair of eyes. Her soft skin was like porcelain, reflecting the soft light. Her red lips were full, and a sheen of sweat coated her naked form.

"Where are you going in such a hurry?" she slurred.

I grabbed her hand away and stood to my feet while I picked up my clothes and wore them piece by piece. She just laid on the bed, staring at me up and down while licking her lips as her eyes rested on my crotch.

"I got to say that I enjoyed this thirty minutes . . . immensely." She giggled.

[Your relationship level with Dementia increased!]

She got up from the bed, and the blanket fell onto the floor, revealing her naked form. Her breasts were enormous but full and proud, while her hips were wide, swaying as she went to me and helped me dress.

"I have to go. I have things to do," I told her and stopped when she tiptoed, and her face was just inches from mine. Her hot breath fanned my lips, and her breasts pressed against my chest. But my focus was on her pair of mesmerizing black eyes that swirled with greenish hues.

"Is that so?" she mewed, biting her lips.

I couldn't resist and kiss her. I slip my tongue inside her mouth and love how she sucked it readily. Her groan enticed me to stay for another thirty minutes, but I had to leave.

Athena and the others are waiting for my return.

And then something clicked in my head. Maybe I could stay at Dementia's house until the Blood Rain passed? In that way, I didn't have to make all that trouble in Roselake. I could have a shortcut to my problem.

I stopped kissing her and grabbed her shoulders before looking at her straight in the eyes. "Can I stay here with you?"

She laughed, eyes twinkling. "You can stay here even for hours."

She misunderstood me, and I explained further, "Like for days."

". . ."

Her smile dropped together with my hope when she paused.

She took a step back and escaped from my hold. "I'm afraid you can't."

I didn't understand that logic. I could come in here and stay for hours but not sleep overnight.

She explained when she saw the frown on my face. "A player couldn't sleep in my house since this world prevented a player from sleeping in any inhabitants' house. Unless it's an inn, if it's your house, or if a player belonged to a territory, then he can sleep anywhere in that territory."

System, is that true?

<Yes, Host. This is to ensure that a player would either ally himself with a territory or create his own>

But she's my minion. What belongs to her belonged to me.

<It doesn't work that way>

I grumbled under my breath and took a deep breath.

I guess I still have to massacre a bunch of players for that Tokens, then.

Then I remembered something. That side quest about a girl. It wouldn't hurt to ask since the girl might be a victim of Dementia.

"Is there a girl here named . . . Eunice?" I had to look at the quest to check if I had the name right.

Dementia's sultry smile dropped, and it just might be me, but her face darkened a little. "Eunice?" she said, voice laced with threat.

"I have this quest to give this letter to her. Maybe she's one of your victims?"

Dementia's tight face relaxed, and the knot on her brows loosened.

"I see." She beamed, and her face went back to being amiable. "Follow me then."

She picked up her robe and simply put it on while I watched her struggle to place her breasts and hips in the confines of her dress. I got to say . . . I could look at her for days doing just that.

She then swayed towards the basement while I followed her from behind.

Inside her basement was the typical lab of a witch that I saw in picture books. There was a cauldron on one side, a magical crystals orb on the altar, jars, and potions containing unidentified objects stocked on the shelves, and all kinds of herbs, plants, and fleshy parts hanging on the wooden ceiling and beams.

The odd thing was . . . it didn't smell. No rotten flesh or nauseating smell of blood or ammonia like in prisons and hospitals.

It just smells . . . odorless.

"You can ask them if the girl you're looking for is here. But . . ." Dementia looked at me, eyes threatening.

"They already belong to me," she said before she opened a large vault.

I knew what she meant and I was not going to steal her prisoners.

Inside the large vault were inhabitants and humans alike kept in cells. Some were missing a limb, and most were chained with their stomach opened and their innards spilt. I didn't know if Dementia did something, but the players and inhabitants were still alive and hadn't burst into pixels.

Looking at the grotesque scene, I was more surprised to find that the basement was larger than the actual house.

"Is someone in here named Eunice?" I asked.

But I was only reciprocated with their growls of anger or cries of plea and help.

I asked again, "Is someone here named Eunice? I'm here because Edna wanted me to give you something."

There was no reply but the usual cries and curses.

I looked at Dementia, and she just gave me an elegant half-shrug.

I was about to turn around and forget the whole thing when I heard the gurgle, low voice of a woman drowning in the sea of cries and curses.

"M-me . . ."

I searched for the voice and found a girl with no hair, fingers, or toes. She was about twenty or so and looked so tired, dried with no ounce of water left on her skin, and on the brink of death.