Elves, Orcs, and Other Problems

The ropes bit into their wrists, chafing like sandpaper.

Marcus stumbled over roots twice; the third time, he dragged Gus down with him, but a ranger shoved them upright again with the tip of a boot.

The air was damp, heavy with rot. Gnarled trunks rose all around, their canopies swallowing the light.

No path, only faint tracks where the elves glided ahead like shadows.

Marcus and Gus, in contrast, stumbled after them like two drunks on their way home at dawn.

“Mmmph!” Marcus grunted after a while.

“Mmmmmmph…” Gus muttered back, dead serious.

“…Mmph,” Marcus finally agreed.

The trail wound deeper into the woods until Caeriel raised her hand.

“We rest here.”

The rangers melted into position with silent precision as Marcus and Gus were shoved down onto a root, backs pressed to a trunk, still bound.

Sweat trickled down their temples, mouths dry, eyes weary.

Yet with one look, Gus could read Marcus’ thoughts:

Need… beer… and a smoke. Badly.

Caeriel studied the two of them as they squirmed and grimaced, muffled sounds leaking past their gags.

A sigh, an eye-roll, then an order:

“Take the gags off. Before they choke on them.”

A ranger yanked the cloth from Marcus’ mouth, another tore Gus’ out. Both coughed, spat, and sucked in air.

“Dude, what the hell’s wrong with you guys?” rasped Gus.

“Ugh,” Marcus added, “that rag straight up tasted like ass. I don’t even wanna know where that guy had it last…”

“And how the hell would you know what ass tastes like!?” Gus shot back.

They both cracked up, laughing for a second.

“One more word and you’ll have them right back!” Caeriel snapped, cutting their laughter in half. Her face flushed, such vulgar jokes were not part of her world.

Then a crash from the underbrush shattered the silence.

A guttural roar, the ground shook with heavy stomps.

Caeriel raised her bow and the rangers spread out, arrows nocked in a blink.

“What now?” muttered Gus.

The first orcs burst through the bushes: massive, mottled green hides, swords in hand, eyes burning red with bloodlust while the stench of iron and rot slammed into Marcus and Gus like a wave.

"What the..."

Then it all exploded at once.

Bowstrings sang, arrows flew and blades flashed.

A few moments later, the orcs lay dead on the ground, as they’d never stood a chance against Caeriel and her rangers.

One corpse had collapsed right at Gus’ feet, an arrow straight through its skull.

Dark blood seeped into the earth, a single drop splattering onto his shoe.

Caeriel flicked the blood from her blade. “That was only a vanguard. Where they come from, there are more. Cannon fodder of the Demon King…”

The elves regrouped, efficient, almost bored, just another incident for them.

But for Gus, it was the moment the grin slipped off his face.

He stared at the blood, blinked, raised his eyebrows.

“Wow. They’re even using fake blood. Really pulling out all the stops for this show.”

Marcus’ eyes bulged. “You still don’t get it, man?” His voice was hoarse, half whisper, half scream. “This is real! The monsters that attacked me, the elves, that orc lying in front of you, this isn’t a goddamn cosplay convention!”

Gus blinked, hair plastered to his forehead, mouth twisted.

“…You’re telling me we…”

Marcus nodded with a smug grin, chin high.

“Exactly! We’ve time-traveled!”

Silence.

“Time travel? Seriously? Name me one century that had elves and orcs, genius!”

Marcus rubbed his face awkwardly with his bound hands.

“The… ancient era!? I don’t know! Do I look like a damn historian?”

Gus let out a long, heavy sigh.

“Dude… there is only one logical explanation for this: We got isekai’d. This is a real fantasy world, the full package!”

Marcus blinked at him. “Isekai? What kind of isekai? The one where we die over and over again… or, you know, the one with the cute raccoon girl?”

Gus refused to dignify that with an answer.

A crack in the brush. 

Two scouts stepped out of the shadows, bows lowered, grim-faced.

“The demons and their minions grow restless, their attacks bolder,” said one. “We saw smoke over the hills of Aelthor. A village, burned to the ground. Tracks leading east.”

“Again?” Caeriel pressed her lips together.

“Their forces are gathering. Rumor has it a new general of the Demon King leads them.”

“And the humans?” Caeriel asked.

“Still no trace. As for decades now,” the scout replied.

Caeriel cast a sidelong glance at Marcus and Gus. “Except for these two...”

“And… there is something else,” added the older scout. “We found signs of something foreign. Nothing elven, that much is clear. A… vehicle. Made of iron and glass, stinking of smoke and oil. It stands in the northern meadows, but kobolds swarm it.”

“That’s gotta be your old Golf, Gus!” Marcus blurted.

His companion just looked at him, as if to say: Dude, seriously?

Caeriel turned sharply, arms crossed, eyes icy.

“Explain yourselves.”

The ropes creaked as Gus leaned toward Marcus, both whispered as low as they could.

“Okay,” hissed Gus, “we need something really convincing. Right now.”

Marcus nodded, Gus’ eyes lit up.

“We’ll pull the god shtick. Works every time!”

Marcus blinked. “Gods?”

“Yeah, man! Saw it in that movie once. They’ll fall for it instantly! We flash our phones, hit the Golf’s headlights, and BAM! We’re worshiped, showered in gold, wine and women. Piece of cake.”

Marcus’ eyes sparkled, then he broke into muffled laughter, which Gus instantly picked up.

Gus then cleared his throat, puffed out his chest and bellowed theatrically:

“Elves! Hear us! We are no ordinary men. We are… GODS!”

Silence.

A gasp rippled through the rangers, followed by frowns and murmurs.

Caeriel stared, stone-faced. Only the tiniest twitch at her mouth hinted she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or kill them.

Then she said, cold as steel: “Gag them. Again.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Both flailed their bound hands, voices cracking.

“Okay, not gods!” gasped Gus. “Definitely not! Just kidding!”

“But we’re also… uh… not normal humans! We’re… something else, not from this world!” Marcus added.

“Not from this world?” Caeriel raised a brow.

“Yes!” Gus nodded like mad. “We can prove it! You just need to take us back to our Golf, uh, our vehicle!”

The rangers traded grim looks.

Marcus jumped in: “Yeah, the mystical vehicle! Totally sacred! Uh… really dangerous if you don’t treat it with care!”

Caeriel stayed silent for a long time, arms crossed. Marcus and Gus grinned nervously, like kids caught stealing candy.

“Very well,” she said at last. “But if you’re lying… you’ll envy the dead their peace.”

They moved out again, deeper through the thicket, until the forest finally opened up.

Thin smoke hung over the meadow, acrid and biting, the wind carrying shrill monsters cackles.

Caeriel raised her hand and the squad halted. “There.”

Marcus and Gus craned their necks.

Through the tall grass, a familiar hunk of metal gleamed: the old Golf, half sunk into the earth.

The same monsters Marcus had fled from were still swarming it.

A dozen of them perched on the hood, yanking at the wipers, gnawing on the side mirror, banging stones against the windshield.

One squatted proudly on the roof, waving the antenna like a victory banner.

But worst of all:

Right on the car’s hood sat one, wearing black sunglasses, a crumpled bucket hat jammed on its skull, and Marcus’s vape clenched between its jagged teeth.

It took a slow drag, exhaled a thick cloud into the air, and cackled.

“NOOO! What have they done to my car!?” Gus howled.

Marcus was equally devastated:

“That little bastard got my vape!"