Chapter Two-hundred Forty: Varg Island Part Three

Chapter 240

Varg Island Part Three

The rotor wash flattened the tall sea grass as the helicopter descended toward the remote, jagged outcrop. Sand kicked up in a blinding, swirling shroud, obscuring the jagged coastline. With a final, controlled shudder, the skids settled onto the firm ground. The engine whined down to a steady hum, replaced by the rhythmic crashing of surf against the rocks. The pilot cut the power, and Helga stepped out, hoisting an unconscious Fabien over her shoulder.

~

Fabien’s eyes fluttered. His head was pounding, and every part of him ached. He clasped his hand over his eyes as he groggily rose. His eyes snapped open when he saw he wasn’t dreaming and wasn’t in his bedroom. He scanned the chamber.

Varg’s Retreat, as the runic inscription on the headboard declared, was an immersive tapestry of his life and loves, woven into the very architecture, and hand-carved dragon heads terminated the dark wood frame of the ship-bed. High on the primary wall, rendered in vibrant, whimsical paint, the weird-looking Viking himself, Varg, loomed. He was riding a cow over rolling, impossible green fields. Far below, standard wooden nightstands and intricate trunks were scattered like forgotten loot. The trunks, heavily etched with knotwork, were labeled, the largest bearing the name “OKHAM” on its lid and “VARG’S GEAR” on its base.

On the adjoining wall, the painted narrative took a surreal turn. Varg and his bovine steed were repeated, much smaller, on a winding trail leading directly toward a quaint, half-timbered “Pizza Hutch.”

A fireplace, built from rugged gray stones, crackled softly below the mural of the restaurant, its mantelpiece supporting a massive, stylized green shield emblazoned with a coiled dragon. This shield hung directly beneath the smaller painted Varg, grounding the epic-absurdist tale in physical space. On a nearby dresser, one of Varg’s feather swords sat in a carved stand. Leather armchairs flanked the rug, which was itself a massive woven image of the Great Serpent. The scene, bathed in the soft glow of stylized electric candlesticks on the wall and a central brass lantern, was a perfect, bizarre tribute to a life lived partly on the high seas.

Fabien: “What the fuck?!”

He rasped and drew the Varg the Viking curtains back to gape at the sandy beach, nothing in the far distance. His heart hammered against his ribs. He tried to open the window and gnashed his teeth as he pried it open. It’s fucking locked, he thought. He ran to the door and turned the knob, which was Varg’s big nose, and it wouldn’t turn. Fabien backed away and pressed his hands to his temples as he paced.

Fabien: “That little shit kidnapped me and took me here!”

He growled.

Fabien saw another door at the end of the room. He ran to it, tried the knob, and opened the door. Stepping into the bathroom felt less like entering a room and more like crossing the threshold into madness and into the massive feet of a hideous cartoon Viking.

The centerpiece was a mosaic integrated into the back wall displaying Varg the Viking in vivid, tiled color. Varg stood with his inane grin, his feather sword raised high, his colossal, comical feet grounded on rocky terrain that blended seamlessly into the shower floor. Etched into the glass partition was the silhouette of the dragon.

Scattered across the natural stone floor tiles were faint, dark, massive foot imprints to resemble Varg actually taking a shower. Fabien watched that stupid cartoon several times when high and knew Varg hated taking baths.

The walls were constructed of rough-hewn stone, punctuated by thick, dark timber beams that groaned with history. Towels of deep, forest green hung from racks capped with polished, curved horns.

To the side, a stone plaque carved with cryptic ancient runes rested against the wall. A hammered copper basin sat atop a heavy wooden vanity, its warm, metallic glow softened by the flickering light of wall sconces branching with decorative horn accents.

Fabien saw there was a razor, a toothbrush, and toothpaste—all Varg the Viking brand—on the vanity. He slid the shower door open to see “Varg the Viking” shower gel and soap, all of which was ironic, considering that in the show, Varg’s mother has to bathe him, even when clothed.

He heard it playing in the background. The skipping and upbeat folk melody plucked on lute strings seeped into the room. A flute weaved in between it like a pied piper leading you through a journey of madness, replete with throat singing about Varg stepping on villages. Fabien clicked his tongue.

Fabien: “Is this all that will play on this fuckass island?”

He muttered and planted his hands on his hips.

The doorknob turned. Fabien slammed his back against the wall, looking around for anything he could use as a weapon. He grabbed a fireplace poker and clutched it close to his chest.

He heard the heavy thud of footsteps, and his breathing hitched when he saw that hideous amazon of a woman step into the chamber, drinking him in, and brandishing a lecherous grin.

Helga: “Ohohohohoho, what have we here?!”

She marched in. Fabien lashed out with the poker, striking her arm, but he could only watch in shock as the sharp tip merely dented her flesh. With ease, Helga snatched the tool from his grip, twisting the metal as if it were a soft pretzel before discarding it. Fabien felt a lump form in his throat as his fear soared. Helga grabbed his shoulder and lifted him up over her shoulder.

Fabien: “HEY!! PUT ME DOWN!”

He screamed as he kicked his legs and pounded on her back. Helga slapped his ass so hard that the air was practically knocked from him.

Helga: “Pipe down, boy! Time for dinner!”

She gave a hearty laugh and squeezed his ass. Fabien gritted his teeth in both anger and pain.

Helga marched into a dining room where Noriko sat at a chabudai, a broad grin on her face. Helga sat him down across from her. Fabien winced in pain and glared when he saw Noriko.

Noriko: “Welcome to Valhalla, Fabien-kun!”

She spread her arms out.

Fabien: “Oh, for the love of fuck!”

He hissed.

Fabien: “What is this?! What the fuck is this?! Do you not know anything outside your little bubble of some hideous cartoon Viking?”

He snapped.

Fabien: “I did that shit for you because you make me laugh! I also did it so your daddy would give me a giant tip!”

He added in a scathing tone. Noriko’s bottom lip trembled.

Noriko: “N-No, you didn’t, F-Fabien-kun! You did it because you love Varg and you love me! TELL ME YOU’RE SORRY AND YOU LOVE MEEEEEEEEEE!!”

She slashed at his neck with her feather sword.

Fabien: “HahahahahaaAHAHAHHA!! STOP!”

He laughed and slapped her sword away.

Noriko dried her eyes.

Noriko: “Oh dear, he needs to see I am his ViQueen! SEND IN THE VARG ROBOTS!”

She screamed.

The floor began to vibrate beneath him without warning. Fabien pulled himself up, his breath catching as four Varg automatons, each measuring five-foot-seven, waddled into the dining area. Their massive metallic feet struck the floor with a rhythmic thud, sending tremors through the room with every heavy step. They locked their golf ball eyes on Fabien, grabbing him before he could leave.

Fabien: “HEY! HEY!! GET THE FUCK OFF ME!”

"Send in the Varg robots!" she shrieked.

The floor began to tremble beneath his feet. Fabien scrambled to his feet, his breath hitching as four Varg automatons, each five-foot-seven, waddled into the dining room. Their massive metal feet hit the ground with rhythmic thuds, sending vibrations through the floor with every heavy step. They fixed their golf-ball eyes on Fabien and seized him before he could make a move to escape.

Fabien: “HEY! HEY!! GET THE FUCK OFF ME!”

He bellowed as the robots undid his jeans, tugging them down past his hips along with his underwear, exposing his cock and balls. Fabien tried to lunge forward, but the machines held his arms firmly behind him. He panted with a mixture of fury and embarrassment. One of the robots raised its feather sword into the air with a robotic laugh.

Varg: “HA. HA. HA. I AM VARG THE VIKING. I WILL CONQUER YOUR MEMBER.”

It growled, dragging its feather sword across Fabien’s member. He gasped, his face twisting into unwilling, tortured mirth.

Fabien: “WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHA!!”

He wheezed, his head thrown back as his body coiled in agony and laughter.

Fabien: “WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

He bucked against their restraints, his face flushed a deep, strained red.

Noriko clapped, and the robots released him, dropping him to the ground. His breath was ragged, shaky gulps as he tried to regain his composure.

Noriko: “Naughty Varg!”

She taunted them and bit her bottom lip.

Noriko: “I saved you from the robots, Fabien-kun!”

She giggled. Fabien angrily shoved her down with great force, causing her to crash to the floor. Noriko wailed loudly as she hit the floor.

Noriko: “FABIEN-KUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUN!!”

She bawled.

Fabien ran out, pulling up his underwear and jeans, fastening them as he left the castle.

Noriko: “GET HIM!! DON’T LET HIM ESCAPE!”

She whined and stomped her feet.

~

The escape attempt was meant to be swift, a quiet exit under the shroud of the island's dense foliage. He was only a few strides away from the shoreline, his heart hammering against his ribs, when the ground shuddered behind him.

Before he could react, a massive hand clamped down on his shoulder like a vice. Helga, her expression set in a grimace of malicious satisfaction, effortlessly hoisted him off the ground.

Fabien: “HEY!! LET ME GO!!”

Despite his frantic struggles, she swung him over her shoulder. His frantic kicks and desperate reaches toward the sand were entirely futile.

She marched inland, ignoring his protests, until the trees thinned, revealing a dark, stagnant body of water. The surface of the lake was undisturbed, save for the telltale ripples that signaled the movement of leeches beneath the murky film. Fabien looked behind his shoulder and his eyes widened at the swamp.

Fabien: “Don’t you fucking dare!”

Leeches rippled beneath the murky film. Glancing over his shoulder, Fabien's eyes widened at the sight of the swamp.

Fabien: “Don’t you fucking dare!”

With a contemptuous heave, she flung him into the murky, swirling depths, causing Fabien to scream as he was tossed.

Gasping for air as he broke the surface, Fabien felt the sharp, persistent bites of leeches latching onto his skin.

Fabien: “Putain de bordel de merde!”

He attempted to scramble back toward the muddy bank, his hands slipping on the reeds and silt. He had barely secured a grip on the shoreline when Helga loomed above him, her expression a mix of mockery and intense focus.

Fabien: “Putain, dégage de là, connasse!”

He rasped. With her overwhelming, super-powered strength, she pressed her weight down against his chest, driving him back under the water. Every time he tried to pull his body out of the muck, her relentless power shoved him back down, forcing him to endure a continuous, painful cycle of bites.

As Fabien broke the surface, gasping for air, the leeches latched onto his skin, their bites sharp and persistent. He tried to scramble back toward the muddy bank, his hands slick with reeds and silt. He had barely secured a grip on the shoreline when Helga loomed over him, her expression a mix of mockery and intense focus.

Fabien: “Putain, tu vas lâcher l’affaire, espèce de grosse connasse?!”

He cried. With the same overwhelming power, she pressed her weight down against his chest, driving him back into the water. Every time he attempted to pull his body from the muck, her relentless, super-powered strength shoved him under, forcing him to endure the constant, painful cycle of bites.

Fabien: “Je te hais, gros tas de merde!”

He growled.

Helga watched Fabien struggle to find his footing in the shallow, mud-slicked periphery of the lake. As he reached for a protruding root, hoping to hoist his body free, her heavy loafer slammed into his shoulder, driving him back down with effortless, terrifying precision. He vanished beneath the dark, opaque surface, the water erupting in a violent splash before settling into a sickening, disturbed calm.

When Fabien finally breached the surface, gasping for air, the agony was instantaneous. He clawed at his skin, his movements frantic and uncoordinated, but he was no longer alone in the water. His face was entirely obscured by a writhing, dark mass of leeches that had latched onto his cheeks, forehead, and jawline, their engorged forms pulse-beating against his skin.

Fabien: “ENLÈVE-LES-MOI!!”

He cried.

Helga stood above him, arms crossed, as she relished the sight of his torment. She leaned down, her presence casting a long, dark shadow over the water, and waited for him to try again, ready to shove him back into the abyss the moment he showed the slightest sign of defiance.

Fabien’s fingers, numb and slick with mud, fumbled frantically against his chest. Amidst the swarming leeches clinging to his face, he found the pocket of his flannel shirt. His hand closed around a small canister of pepper spray, a final, desperate contingency he had managed to keep hidden.

As Helga leaned in closer, a smug, dominant sneer etched across her face, Fabien lunged upward. He jerked his hand from his pocket and pressed the nozzle toward her, releasing a concentrated, burning mist directly into her eyes.

Helga roared, her composure instantly shattering as she stumbled back from the bank, clutching her face with both hands. The immense, crushing pressure she had been exerting on Fabien vanished, leaving him to collapse onto the muddy shore. He lay there, heaving for breath, as the leeches slowly began to detach from his skin, the immediate threat of her suffocating strength momentarily neutralized by the sting of the spray.

Helga’s roar of fury shifted into a high-pitched, jagged shriek as the chemical irritant scorched her vision. Blinded and disoriented, she thrashed wildly, her powerful arms swinging through the air in wide, uncontrolled arcs that tore up chunks of the shoreline and sent plumes of mud flying.

He scrambled backward through the muck, his fingertips digging into the ground as he dragged himself away from the water’s edge. Every movement was agonizing as the last of the leeches fell away from his face, leaving behind raw, sensitive patches of skin.

He pushed himself to his feet, his knees trembling, and cast one final look at the thrashing, blinded amazon. With Helga still reeling and unable to focus on his location, Fabien turned toward the dense tree line. He broke into a limping run, his plaid shirt hanging open and soaked, disappearing into the shadows of the island’s interior before her sight could return to claim him again.

He bumped into something hard, and his breath caught in his throat when he saw those horrifying Varg robots glaring at him with those golf-ball eyes.

~

Fabien was returned to his room, where the door slammed shut, locking him in. He ran to it and pounded on it angrily.

Fabien: “YOU CAN’T KEEP ME HERE FOREVER, YOU CRAZY CUNT!”

He thundered and backed away, embracing himself. His clothes were soaking wet and smelled of a dirty swamp. He saw a green robe neatly folded on the bed. He brushed his flannel shirt off his shoulders and peeled it off. He pulled his t-shirt over his head and unsnapped his jeans, pulling them down with his underwear. He went into the bathroom.

The stream of warm water was welcoming as he washed the stink of the swamp, that big woman, and Noriko. He slid his back against the wall and sat down, hugging his knees as the water cascaded down his body. He buried his head into his knees and sobbed. Celeste, come find me, he thought.

~

That morning, Celeste was in excruciating pain as the dull ache arced through her midsection. She felt an uncomfortable dampness between her legs and groaned, knowing what that meant. She threw the sheets off herself to see blood stains between her thighs and on the bedsheets and mattress.

Celeste: “Oh, crap!”

She pouted and glanced over at the small pink packet of extra-thin “panty-liners” on the table beside her.

She rushed to the bathroom, where she pulled her panties down to see the heavy blood stain. She tore off her panty-liner, wrapped it in toilet paper, and disposed of it in the small sanitary bin by the door. She then hopped into the shower, washing herself off. The warm water relaxed her tense muscles.

After her shower, she opened the cabinet behind the mirror, got her tampons, and put on a clean pair of panties. She pulled a black tank top on and left the bedroom.

Celeste: “Fab?”

She called for his name. She knit her brows as a feeling of dread washed over her. Her heart hammered in her chest when she saw his flip-flops and work sneakers still at the door.

Celeste: “F-Fabien?”

She called out.

When she saw the front doorknob turn, she brightened, but her heart sank when she realized it was Jaxon. He wore a button-down shirt with a monochrome car print, black jeans, and Chelsea boots.

Jaxon: “Hey, babe, how do you feel?”

Celeste: “Go away!”

She looked away with hurt.

Jaxon: “Feel sick? Need some babe fuel?”

He offered her a candy bar. She slapped it out of his hand. Jaxon looked hurt.

Celeste: “I need you to go away and never come back!”

She said with hurt.

Jaxon knit his eyebrows.

Jaxon: “I just want to help you, Celeste! Let me heal you like… I used to do when you got your period.”

He said softly.

Celeste: “GO FUCK YOURSELF, JAX!”

She cried. Jaxon drew back, his bottom lip trembling.

Jaxon: “I am trying to make things right!”

Celeste shoved him back. Jaxon staggered back, almost losing his balance.

Celeste: “Then GO!”

She hissed.

Jaxon: “Well? Where is FABIEN during your time of need?!”

He fired back at her.

Celeste: “I don’t know!”

She snapped and doubled over as a sharp pain shot through her. Jaxon slowly approached her.

Jaxon: “Can you at least let me heal you?”

He asked softly. Celeste’s fist shot out at him, hitting him across the jaw. He crashed into the coffee table and raised his head, showing his jaw was dislocated. A red glow surrounded him as he healed himself and repositioned his jaw.

Celeste collapsed to the floor, clutching her stomach in pain. She wanted to cry from the pain, Jaxon reopening her emotional wounds, and not knowing where Fabien was.

The door opened, and Tristan and Deimos stepped in. Tristan wore a black double-breasted Italian-cut suit, a lilac pressed shirt, a purple tie, and black wingtip Oxfords. Deimos wore a Motorhead tank top, torn jeans, and cowboy boots. Tristan immediately knelt to Celeste.

Tristan: “Celeste, are you okay?!”

Celeste: “No! Get Jaxon out of here! I need to find Fab, Tristan!”

She cried.

Jaxon: “I tried to heal her while she’s on her period, and she won’t let me!”

He snapped.

Deimos peeked into the bedroom and made a face.

Deimos: “Ew, there’s blood on the bed and mattress!”

He groused.

Tristan: “Deimos, can you please not do this right now?!”

He chided him. Deimos shrank back.

Tristan: “Deimos, heal her, please.”

Jaxon: “I wanted to!”

He snapped.

Tristan: “Jaxon, she doesn’t want you to.”

He said firmly. Jaxon rolled his eyes and embraced himself. Deimos nodded and knelt to Celeste. He put his hand over her tummy, and a purple glow came out as his powers quelled her pain. Celeste breathed a sigh of relief as the pain left her body.

Tristan: “Celeste, what happened? We were going to see Jaxon, but Noah informed us he was here.”

He helped Celeste up.

Celeste: “I dunno where Fabien is, Tristan! His flip-flops are there and his sneakers!”

She whimpered. Tristan arched an eyebrow and cupped his chin.

Deimos: “Yeah, and his car is in the driveway.”

Celeste: “He bought tampons and painkillers for me and was cuddling me, and I woke up, and he’s gone!”

She murmured. Tristan twisted his mouth.

Tristan: “Yes, that is unusual.”

Jaxon looked away. What about me? He wondered.

Tristan: “Do you think Minerva kidnapped him?”

Deimos: “Well? Go call Golden Boy Jordi to find out.”

He huffed. Tristan drew a long breath.

Tristan: “Regardless, we’re going to have to inform Jordi.”

Jaxon: “Why? He’s an asshole! He hates me for no good reason!”

He threw his arms up in frustration.

Celeste: “Fuck you! You’re flirting with me while dating his sister!”

She flared. Jaxon drew back, as hurt flickered over his face.

Jaxon: “We’re not dating, babe.”

Tristan heaved a deep sigh.

Tristan: “This is a dire situation. We will have to have Francis put his paw on any last items he touched to find out where he is.”

He said coolly.

Tristan stepped out, and Ivy came running down the street. She wore a green qipao with a silver peacock cascading down the dress, a derby hat with a peacock feather, black opera gloves, criss-cross sandals, and carried a peacock fan.

Ivy: “Tài zāogāo le! Tài zāogāo le!”

She wrapped her arms around Tristan and sobbed on his chest. Tristan glared indignantly at her.

Tristan: “Get off me.”

He hissed.

Ivy: “Tristan, tài zāogāo le!”

She warbled.

Tristan: “You know I don’t speak Mandarin. Drop the show, Ivy. Your acting is trite.”

He spat. Ivy’s right eye twitched.

Ivy: “Is that any way to address someone who is trying to help you?!”

She caterwauled. Deimos rolled his eyes.

Deimos: “Yeah, hemorrhoids help people now.”

He said dryly. Ivy bared her teeth.

Ivy: “SHUT UP, DEIMOS! I AM SPEAKING WITH MY AIREN!”

She screamed.

Tristan: “Ivy, I’d love to sit and debate whatever nonsense you have in your head at another date, but this is a dire situation.”

Ivy: “If you let me speak, Tristan!”

She snapped.

Ivy: “Noriko took Fabien to her silly little Varg island!”

She flipped her hair. Celeste swung the door open.

Celeste: “SHE DID WHAT?!”

She bellowed. Jaxon looked away. She never reacted this way when Noriko kidnapped me, he thought glumly.

Ivy: “I took Samson to eat at Danny Donger’s since he loves their wings!”

Celeste: “Stop going on and on about your tubcat and get to where she kidnapped Fabien!”

She snapped and cracked her knuckles. Ivy pouted.

Ivy: “Fabien did stuff of that hideous Viking for her to troll her, and she was smitten with him. She hired the help of the Azure Dragon Pavilion to assist in kidnapping him. I overheard her.”

She explained. Celeste’s jaw dropped.

Celeste: “How the FUCK did she recruit those guys?! That gang was at Basilia’s throat for years, and that socially inept moron somehow got their help?!”

She said in a high-pitched squawk.

Ivy: “My father recruited Lan Longtou’s help.”

Tristan: “...Yes, but in exchange for something she wanted. What on Reona could Noriko give her?”

Ivy: “Her father is one of the richest men on Reona.”

She scoffed.

Tristan: “...Why are you telling us this, Ivy?”

Ivy turned to him with a smile.

Ivy: “Because you’re my airen, Tristan!”

Tristan eyed her skeptically. Something is not adding up, he thought. Celeste ran out dressed in a white tiger-striped tank top, a leather skirt, black thigh-high stockings, black ankle-strap boots, a leather jacket, and a spiked collar. She leaped into the air. Tristan gasped and put his hand out.

Tristan: “CELESTE! WAIT!”

He called out.

He hung his head.

Tristan: “...I wish she had waited.”

Jaxon: “She wasn’t like this when I was kidnapped.”

He muttered.

Deimos: “To be fair, you weren’t tentative to her as you were to Chelsea.”

He said bluntly.

Ivy: “He’s got you there, Jiro.”

She held her hand horizontally under her hand and laughed. Jaxon furrowed his eyebrows and clenched his fist.

~

They arrived at Jumbo Jones’ Grocer. Jordi arrived in his Ferrari 328 and stepped out wearing his black suit, a white pressed shirt, a black tie, and his black zip-up boots. Celeste landed before him. Tristan and Deimos approached him while Jaxon kept his distance.

Jordi: “Hey, guys, I came as fast as I could. I told Minerva Jaxon was kidnapped, so I am coming with you!”

He smiled.

Jaxon: “But I am NOT kidnapped!”

He flared hotly.

Jordi: “Next time you are, I won’t be rescuing you!”

He fired back.

Tristan: “Look, it doesn’t matter. Fabien is kidnapped.”

Celeste ran ahead of them.

Tristan: “Well, let’s go.”

They entered, and Celeste ran to Trevor, who had chocolate smeared on his face from eating a frozen chocolate pie from the box.

Celeste: “TREVOR! We need you to teleport us to Varg Island!”

She commanded. Trevor gaped at her. Tristan drew a short breath and handed him the coordinates.

Tristan: “I found these just in case this happened.”

Trevor: “Sorry, guys, I can’t teleport you anywhere.”

He drawled. Celeste growled and bared her fangs.

Celeste: “And why the fuck not?!”

She growled through clenched teeth.

Trevor: “Percy told me ‘no more teleporting to save Jiro’.”

He replied. Jaxon’s right eye twitched.

Jaxon: “I AM RIGHT HERE!”

He snapped.

Trevor: “Oh, well, why do you need me to teleport you?”

Celeste: “Because his dumb ex-fiancée took Fabien!”

Her voice rose.

Trevor: “Well, Jaxon can’t come.”

Tristan heaved an exasperated sigh.

Tristan: “Trevor, I understand Percy’s plight. I will explain everything to him when we return, and I will buy you any Locking Log set you want.”

Trevor: “I zoned out until you said Locking Logs.”

Tristan looked unimpressed.

Tristan: “Good to know.”

He said dryly.

Tristan: “So, will you please do this for us?”

He asked him. Trevor tossed the empty pie box on a cart Larry pulled behind him.

Trevor: “Okay, but if Percy is mad, you’re talking to him!”

Tristan: “Thank you, Trevor. I will de-escalate the situation as best as possible.”

He said coolly. Trevor held them close, and they teleported away.

~

On Varg Island, Fabien was in the bathroom after showering, wearing a green robe. He had finished shaving and started brushing his teeth. He saw someone in the corner of the mirror and furrowed his brow when Noriko’s stupid head peeked in.

He spat his toothpaste out and rinsed his mouth.

Fabien: “The fuck do you want?”

He huffed.

Noriko: “Brush your feet!”

She giggled.

Fabien: “Hahahaha, fuck you!”

Flipping her off with a wry comment, he watched Noriko grimace. She suddenly lunged and grabbed his ankles, nearly knocking him off balance.

Fabien shrieked, “HEY! GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF ME, BITCH!”

Ignoring his shouts, she swept her feather sword right across his feet, sending him crashing to the floor in a fit of hysterical laughter.

Fabien: “WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAP!!”

His entire body thrashed and convulsed in uncontrollable spasms as the bristles repeatedly brushed against his soft soles.

With a sharp kick, he struck Noriko square in the face, sending her smashing into the cabinet as she wept from her bleeding nose. Taking ragged, trembling breaths, Fabien scrambled to his feet and bolted toward the exit. He collided heavily with a solid barrier and fell backward onto the floor, the color draining completely from his face as he looked up to find Helga grinning down at him.

Helga: “Well, well, well, you’ve been a VERY naughty boy!”

She said gruffly. She grabbed him by his arms and lifted him off the floor with ease. Fabien kicked his legs and tried to writhe away.

Noriko staggered in.

Noriko: “Fabien-kun, if you don’t want her to hurt you, you’d better be a good boy!”

She snapped. Fabien glowered at her.

Fabien: “I was fucking with you at my job, idiot! I was doing my fucking job! I don’t love you!”

He rasped as he thrashed against Helga’s grip. He gnashed his teeth as she tightened her grip.

Noriko: “Take him to the Honeymoon Suite!”

She clapped her hands.

Fabien: “Wh-What?!”

He asked as his heart hammered in his chest, his fear soaring.

Helga hoisted him over her shoulder. She lifted up his robe to peek at his ballsack and butt. Fabien slashed his hand to cover himself.

Fabien: “Don’t!”

He kicked her chest. Helga squeezed his asscheek and trailed her hand over his testicles. Fabien clenched his teeth, feeling himself tense up. He hated this.

Helga opened the massive, iron-studded oak door and set Fabien down. He stopped dead, the breath hitching in his throat. The room was an assault on the senses, a chaotic shrine to Varg.

His eyes were immediately drawn to the bed, which dominated the space. It was a monstrous creation, carved from dark, heavy wood to resemble Varg the Viking, with his thick beard flowing down the headboard. But the most surreal element lay at the foot: oversized feet, complete with comically large toes, serving as the bed’s base. A plush, cream-colored sheepskin throw, adorned with intricate Celtic knotwork, was folded neatly over the duvet.

The walls were covered in a garish, floor-to-ceiling mural of Varg the Viking riding a cow who wore a crown of flowers and a wedding veil, with a wooden sign beside him reading “VARG & NORIKO.” To the right, above a roaring stone fireplace, another mural depicted Varg riding a cow and approaching a quaint, red-tiled building with a sign that declared “VARG & NORIKO’S PIZZA HONEYMOON HUTCH.” Smaller, hand-painted signs peppered the landscape: “Just Married” and “Mate,” each with an arrow pointing vaguely towards the bed.

Above, a chandelier crafted from actual antlers held bulbs that cast a warm, slightly erratic glow. Starlight seemed to be woven into the ceiling plaster.

On the floor lay a thick cowhide rug before the fireplace. To the left of the bed, a chest engraved with “VARG & NORIKO’S GEAR” sat heavily on the floor, while a smaller wooden chest nearby held leather boots and a shield embossed with a coiled dragon. On the nightstands, lamps with cowhide shades shed a soft, spotted light.

The dresser had Varg’s feather sword under a glass dome. The entire room was a masterclass in mismatched themes—cowhide, Vikings, knotwork, and a peculiar, giant foot—all converging in a surreal celebration of a wedding only a madwoman could dream of.

Fabien spread his arms out.

Fabien: “What the fuck is this bullshit?! Why is the cow wearing a wedding veil?!”

He laughed and pointed to the cow. He turned to Noriko.

Fabien: “Is the cow supposed to be you?”

He smirked. Helga covered her mouth and snorted. Noriko frowned and stomped her foot.

Noriko: “No, FABIEN-KUN! She is NOT me! She is Varg’s cow!”

She yelled.

Fabien: “Well, the signs say ‘Varg and Noriko’ and the cow is wearing a wedding veil, so you’re the cow?”

He cackled. Noriko glared at him and pointed her feather sword at him.

Noriko: “SILENCE or you will get more Viking torture!”

She hissed. Fabien threw his head back and gave a harsh bark of laughter.

Fabien: “Beats spending more time with you, cowbrains.”

He stuck his tongue out at her. Noriko’s fury rose.

Noriko: “SHUT UP! SHUT UUUUUUUUUPP!!!”

She slashed at his neck with her feather sword.

Fabien: “WAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

He yelped and drew back.

Without warning, gloved robotic hands seized Fabien, encumbering him within their mechanical tendrils. They hoisted him a few feet into the air, lifting his feet completely off the ground.

Fabien: “WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Struggling fiercely against his restraints, he thundered in protest. A mechanical hand reached down, untied his sash, and pulled it wide open, leaving him completely exposed. Fabien flushed a deep crimson as a wave of intense humiliation washed over him.

With her dark eyes wide with awe, Dr. Zola Quirk stepped inside.

Zola: “Well, well, if it isn’t the most recent fascinating subject?”

A smirk curled across her lips as she took Fabien in, while he felt a mix of humiliation and rage as the pint-sized pervert inspected him. When she ran her fingertip down his penis, it caused him to shudder and jolt.

Fabien: “Don’t fucking touch me!”

He rasped.

Pulling a tape measure from the pocket of her lab coat, she measured his member. Her eyes widened in surprise, and a tight smile formed on her lips.

Zola: “You certainly boast an impressive size, Mr. Bellegarde…”

She purred softly, tracing her finger over the tip. A hoarse shout escaped Fabien’s throat as a deep flush climbed his face. He curled his toes tightly. Baring his teeth, he glared at her, his eyes burning with absolute fury.

Zola’s gaze drifted from his cock up to his abdomen, a mischievous glint replacing her scientific curiosity.

Zola: “And let’s see how sensitive the rest of you is.”

She grinned, her small, deft fingers dancing toward his midsection. Before Fabien could brace himself, she began to rake her fingernails lightly across his skin, expertly finding the vulnerable, ticklish spots along his stomach and ribs. Fabien’s eyes widened, his protests dying in his throat as his body betrayed him, coiling and twisting against the robotic grip.

Fabien: “NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!! WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

He wheezed, his breath hitching as an involuntary, high-pitched giggle escaped him, followed by a torrent of helpless, tortured laughter that echoed through the room.

Noticing his toes still curled tightly, Zola’s eyes gleamed with renewed interest, and she shifted her focus downward. She began to dance her fingers across the arches and balls of his feet, digging into his sensitive soles with a playful, relentless rhythm.

Fabien: “WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!!”

Fabien’s laughter intensified into a deafening, frantic roar as he thrashed violently against the unyielding robotic grip, his body bucking in a desperate, futile attempt to escape the new wave of ticklish agony.

~

Trevor, Celeste, Tristan, Deimos, Jaxon, and Jordi all teleported onto the island. When they arrived, their ears were assaulted with the Varg theme song playing over the speakers. Jaxon rolled his eyes.

Jaxon: “Hey, I had to listen to this shit during our engagement.”

He drew a rough breath.

Trevor: “She made all this for Varg? That show sucks!”

He groused.

His eye darted toward a Voyage Burger food stall, and he made a beeline for it.

Trevor: “Hey, can I get four Ragnarok burgers, four Freyja fries, and a supersized Chocorock shake?”

He asked the server, a bored-looking teenager, then turned to the group.

Trevor: “You guys want anything?”

Celeste: “I want to know where Fab is!”

Server: “Sorry, ma’am, we don’t have that.”

He droned.

Tristan surveyed the island, noting the various rides, game stalls, and a museum. He cast a glance toward Jordi.

Jordi: “Well, are you going to tell us where Noriko is?”

He questioned the server.

Server: “She’s most likely over at the castle.”

The server shrugged. Deimos suddenly leaped and soared up into the sky.

Celeste: “DEIMOS! DON’T FORGET ABOUT ME!”

She flapped her hands wildly. Deimos swooped back down and landed right in front of them.

Deimos: “The castle is at the far end of the island.”

Tristan folded his arms across his chest.

Tristan: “You won’t be able to carry all of us over there.”

Deimos: “I have no intention to, my prince. Only you.”

He kissed Tristan’s hand, making Jordi draw a sharp breath.

Jordi: “Let’s check the surroundings just in case she isn’t there. It might be smart to explore the area.”

He advised.

Jaxon: “Yeah, great plan, big brother! Let’s just abandon Fabien and leave him with that Viking weirdo!”

He scoffed sarcastically. Jordi spun around to face him, absolutely furious.

Jordi: “That’s not what I implied! We have to cover all of our bases! Sorry, you can’t plan, Jaxon!”

He fired back. Jaxon clicked his tongue.

Jaxon: “Whatever, man, like I don’t know that weirdo. I was engaged to her for years. I think I know her better than you do.”

He spat.

Before Jordi could retort, Tristan got in between them.

Tristan: “Guys, I understand your animosity toward each other, but Fabien needs us right now. Let’s save the argument and go.”

He said firmly and led the way. Deimos looked up at the giant dragon rollercoaster.

Deimos: “She spent all this money on this bullshit and isn’t opening it to the public?”

Jaxon: “No, man, she wouldn’t do that. She would do it for herself and the men she kidnaps.”

He rolled his eyes.

Jordi caught sight of a cabin bearing a sign that read “The Varg and Noriko Museum.” He pointed to it.

Jordi: “Let’s go inside.”

He suggested. Tristan arched an eyebrow.

Tristan: “Why?”

Jordi: “Why not?”

Celeste: “JORDIIIIIIIII! Fabien is kidnapped! Can the museum wait?!”

She flapped her arms.

Jaxon: “It wouldn’t if that fat pig or Lena were kidnapped.”

He mumbled. Jordi turned to him in a rage.

Jordi: “Jaxon, I am warning you to keep your nasty comments to yourself!”

He hissed through clenched teeth.

Jaxon: “Fuck you, man! You just take your time with everyone else, but treat everything your fat girlfriend goes through as the worst thing ever! She was dealing with BLAIR!”

He growled. Jordi glowered at him as electric currents coursed through him. Jaxon braced his feet apart, ready for battle.

Tristan stepped between them.

Tristan: “We’ll go to the museum. It’s not that big.”

He said curtly. Jordi and Jaxon exchanged hateful glares as the group entered the museum.

Inside, the walls were lined with framed photographs that chronicled Noriko’s life, transforming the space into a bizarre, intimate shrine. One section displayed candid shots of Noriko as a giggling baby, with her mother, Ami, holding her, while Nobuyuki towered over them; another featured elegant portraits of her parents, Nobuyuki and Ami, beaming in their wedding photo. Ami wore a shiromuku and a tsunokakushi on her head while Nobuyuki wore a montsuki, haori, hakama pants, white tabi, and zori, and carried a sensu.

The final set of photos was undoubtedly the most disturbing: a series showing Noriko and Jaxon dressed as Vikings. In them, Jaxon sported a Viking helmet, chainmail, a fake red beard, and absurdly large boots. Alongside these were images from their teenage years, featuring the pair in their high school uniforms—navy blazers paired with white button-down shirts. Jaxon wore plaid pants, loafers, and a red necktie, looking completely lifeless on the inside. Conversely, Noriko wore a plaid skirt, knee socks, loafers, and a red bowtie, appearing ecstatic and giggling as she held tightly onto his arm.

Jaxon knit his brows, feeling humiliated and angry at the sight of these pictures. His eyes swung to the wedding picture of them when they were eighteen. He wore a montsuki, haori, and hakama pants, and white tabi and zori. She wore a shiromuku and a wataboshi.

Jaxon: “We had that taken before the wedding.”

He embraced himself.

Tristan: “But you never went through with it.”

Shaking his head, Jaxon caught sight of a photograph where a worried Chiyo stood in her kimono. Averting his gaze, he squeezed his eyes shut.

With a twist of his mouth, Tristan noticed a collection of photos arranged along a paved path lined with blooming sakura trees, capturing various guests dressed in suits and kimonos. Pictures of Hiroto and Mayumi were included in this assortment. Spotting an image of Noriko standing in her traditional wedding attire—complete with a shiromuku, wataboshi, tabi, and zori—he picked it up and adjusted his lenses.

Deimos questioned, “What is it, Tristan?”

Tristan spotted Ichiro in the distance, clad in a black suit, and he wasn’t alone. Grinning, he leaned toward an elderly man in a white suit who was whispering to him. Tristan’s eyes grew wide.

Tristan: “This is Borko!”

He exclaimed.

Celeste: “Huh?”

She raised an eyebrow. Tristan thrust the photograph into her hands. Deimos, Jordi, and Jaxon looked at it.

Jordi: “So Ichiro knew Borko!”

Tristan: “Not only did he know him, he definitely worked with him, and what was he doing at the wedding?”

He cupped his mouth.

Before he could utter another word, the ground shook beneath them. Tristan shoved the photograph into his suit jacket pocket. Celeste growled and stormed outside.

Tristan: “Celeste, wait!”

He called out, and they all followed her. Surrounding the museum were several Varg robots, their feather swords pointed at them.