The Quest Is Simply To NTR All The Heroes

Two minutes later, Roland was flat on the ground, wheezing like a busted bagpipe, clutching his chest after having it stomped on by a dog the size of a small horse.

Around him lay six dead dogs, each dispatched in the most gruesome ways imaginable. One had a cluster of steel darts embedded in its jaw, turning its face into a pin cushion of death.

Another had half its skull blown clean off, gray matter and gooey bits splattered like a bad Jackson Pollock painting—turns out, these mutts actually had brains after all, which was kind of a surprise.

One more unlucky dog had a sword clean through its neck, head dangling like a grotesque bobblehead, while another one was foaming at the mouth, body decaying like he'd just been dipped in a vat of instant death sauce.

The last poor bastard looked like he'd been hit with some magic that just fast-forwarded his body straight to rot city. It was absolute carnage, and honestly, kind of beautiful in a "let's make a horror movie" sort of way.

The whole thing had happened so fast, like someone hit the fast-forward button on a gory action flick.

One second Roland was charging forward like he had something to prove, and the next, dogs were dropping left and right—heads exploding, darts flying from god knows where, traps springing up from beneath the earth like the world's deadliest jack-in-the-box. It was a fucking mess, but somehow elegant.

But as impressive as all that chaos was, reality had a way of slapping the shit out of you.

No matter how many tricks Roland had hidden up his sleeve, there was one cold, hard truth: tricks can run out.

Strength, on the other hand? That doesn't run out unless you're panting like a dying fish. And Roland? Yeah, he was definitely at the dying fish stage.

The dogs, smart for once in their lives, had realized that fighting him one by one was the definition of stupidity. They decided, hey, let's all gang up on him, and what do you know?

Strength in numbers actually works. Roland's bag of tricks was just about empty, and now he was getting his ass handed to him, one paw at a time.

But here he was, fighting like an idiot because he wanted to prove something—maybe to himself, maybe to his wife, Rodalina. One more good stomp to his chest and he'd be a pancake on the floor.

"Forgive me… Rodalina…"

He muttered, his mind drifting to the woman who put up with his insufferable ass. Yeah, he loved her, but honestly, he was more insecure than a dog at a cat convention.

Rodalina was drop-dead gorgeous, and every time she so much as stepped out of their hut, men were practically breaking their necks trying to sneak a glance at her curves.

He hated it.

Sure, on the surface, he was happy she was a knockout, but come on—did she have to be that irresistible? It was like living with a walking wet dream that attracted too much attention for anyone's sanity.

He couldn't stand it. Not that he'd ever show it in public. Nah, Roland was too proud for that. Instead, he'd act all cool and stoic when some old geezer was blatantly ogling her, but on the inside?

Dude was losing his damn mind. Was it him? Did he look too much like the average Joe for people to take him seriously as her husband? He was supposed to be one of the great warriors, for crying out loud.

Yet here he was, watching men mentally undress his wife while he just stood there like a decorative plant.

Once they got home, though, all bets were off. Roland's jealousy went from zero to a hundred real quick.

He'd go into full meltdown mode, replaying every glance, every lingering stare she got that day.

And what did that say about him? Did they think he couldn't protect her? That he wasn't man enough? It was a spiral of self-pity that could fuel a soap opera for years.

Rodalina, bless her patient heart, noticed his insecurity, of course. She tried to talk him through it, being the understanding, level-headed woman she was.

But Roland? Nah, he was too deep into his own ego. Tunnel vision.

Everything was about him—how he felt inadequate, how he couldn't stand the thought of other men looking at her.

It got so bad that he even started suspecting her, like she was doing something wrong just by existing and being hot.

Roland, in his infinite wisdom, had found a new low in jealousy—he was jealous of his own kids. The actual children he fathered with Rodalina.

One of them had fur like his, sure, but the other? Oh no, that one looked too much like Rodalina, and in his twisted, insecure mind, that somehow became a reason to feel bitter.

The result? Neglect. Because clearly, the best way to handle jealousy over your own offspring is to ignore them, right? That brilliant move alone turned their home life into an emotional dumpster fire.

The village had its fair share of creeps, and Roland was convinced they were all gunning for his wife.

He once nearly threw hands with some slimy pervert who flirted with Rodalina right in front of him, only for her to brush it off with a laugh like it was nothing.

Nothing! As if that didn't send him spiraling into a jealous rage for the rest of the day.

Instead of confronting the dude, Roland picked a fight with her, because obviously, that made perfect sense.

That little scuffle led to bigger issues, and before long, Roland was practically a walking time bomb of paranoia.

In his genius solution, Roland decided the best way to keep his wife safe from all those bastards was to never let her leave the house without him.

Her once-bright personality dulled, her freedom suffocated, but hey, at least she wasn't being hit on by creeps anymore, right? Problem solved!

Except, well, not really. Roland didn't hit her very very often—no, he wasn't that type of asshole—but the words he threw at her were daggers, sharp enough to cut deeper than any fist.

His insecurities spilled out in the form of verbal poison, and it slowly, agonizingly, chipped away at Rodalina's spirit.

Roland's mind was a cocktail of insecurity, jealousy, and straight-up delusion.

The guy hadn't touched his wife in two years—like, no hugs, no kisses, not even an accidental brush in passing.

The man was so wrapped up in his own bullshit that he had convinced himself he wasn't even worthy of being close to her.

And now, after two years of emotional drought and his recent spectacular failure at keeping the village safe, he was pretty damn sure he was about to lose both his life and Rodalina.

Great. Just fucking fantastic.

Meanwhile, the dog who had stomped on his chest was busy adding insult to injury.

"Stupid motherfucker!"

The dog snarled, spitting on the ground like he had something better to do.

"You think you can pull a hero act here, huh? I'm already tired of that damn human—now you wanna play knight in shining fur too? Thuff!"

This bastard had just dodged one of Roland's sneaky traps—an explosion that almost turned his head into dog soup.

But no, the mangy mutt had slipped just far enough to avoid it, and now he was pissed. Roland's tricks weren't enough. Not this time.

And then there was him—the human.

Roland's brain immediately jumped to that tall, handsome bastard who had swaggered into his life like he owned the place.

The one who seemed to laugh in the face of danger, like he was on some sort of fucked-up vacation.

Roland had tried his best to ignore him, fend him off, and not let the guy get close to his wife.

But it was hard—especially when he saw something he hadn't seen in years: Rodalina smiling. Happy, even. How was that possible?

How could this random stranger come into town and make his wife happy when Roland had been busting his ass trying to hold things together?

And, to make matters worse, the guy wasn't just charming. He was...well, handsome. Really handsome.

And that's when the worst thought of all hit Roland like a freight train. Did Rodalina find him attractive? Was she secretly admiring this guy?

The thought crawled up his spine and burrowed into his already-fucked-up brain.

What if, while Roland was out here getting his chest stomped and wheezing for air, Rodalina was imagining some other dude sweeping her off her feet?

Roland shook his head, trying to shut the idea down before it spiraled out of control.

'Nah. There's no way. Rodalina was smarter than that. Right?'

He swallowed hard. Sure, their relationship was on life support, but come on, Rodalina loved him.

Didn't she? Would she move on just because some swaggering asshole with a hero complex showed up?

That human hadn't even touched her tail, let alone anything more... Surely. Right?

"I'll end this stupid fucker right now! And I'll feast on every single one of you!"

The dog barked, his paws hitting the ground with a menacing thud as he stalked forward.

Roland watched the scene unfold with a small, almost sad smile. This was it. The final act of his pathetic little drama.

No reconciliation with Rodalina, no heartwarming reunion with his kids. He hadn't fixed shit.

Hell, he'd even let that cocky human stay at his home if it meant Rodalina would smile again, even if it wasn't for him.

He had made a vow to stop doubting her, to let her live her life, free from his jealous paranoia. No matter what happened, she deserved to be happy.

'God, what a fool I was.'

He thought. Doubting her loyalty like that. Even on the edge of death, his mind couldn't help but spiral into the what-ifs. But it was too late now.

The dog's massive foot was just inches away from turning Roland into a pancake when—