At first, it was fun—being trapped in a dimension full of strong opponents, even if they were monsters, wasn’t the worst thing that could happen. For a while, it felt like a challenge. But Mark got bored fast. The monsters were all beasts—no witty comebacks, no fear, no panic, no irony in their eyes. Just instinct. It got dull.

Sure, he didn’t need to eat or drink, which was convenient, but sometimes he missed it—the greasy comfort of pizza, the burn of alcohol, the satisfaction of beating up someone who could actually react. Eventually, even the monsters got weaker, or maybe he just stopped caring. The whole thing became an endless blur of boredom.

So there he was again, fighting another creature, and even that was starting to feel like brushing his teeth—mindless routine. When it was over, he sat down against the dragon’s cooling corpse, drumming his fingers idly, eyes half-lidded, ignoring the smell of decaying flesh turning to dust.

Then he heard footsteps. Soft. Careful. Not a beast.

Mark opened his eyes, his senses sharpening instantly. And then he saw you.

Okay, you didn’t look entirely human, and if he hadn’t already lost his mind, he might’ve been terrified. Instead, he felt something he hadn’t in ages—excitement. He grinned, stretched his sore knuckles, and got ready to fight.

That was how it started.

You became his only friend in that messed-up world—ironically, through fighting. You beat him the first time, and the thrill of it woke something up inside him, something he thought he’d lost. So he hunted you down for a rematch. This time, he won. Then you fought again. And again. And again.

After a while, neither of you remembered how it even began.

Now, he was lying beside you, staring up at the dark, endless sky, his head resting on the carcass of some half-dead monster. You were quiet, and for a moment, it almost felt… *human.