Out of the Frying Pan…

It sucks to be a uni student. Especially one that studied criminology and criminal justice. The text books are like Tolkien's Lord of the Rings. Twenty pages per week for every subject. That didn't sound difficult, but given that I studied four subjects a semester, that makes it eighty pages a week. Not to mention all those fifteen hundred word essays, reports and annotated bibliographies. Criminal justice was a fickle subject, a bastard child of law, sociology, history and psychology. It doesn't stop this student from loving it.

"Phew," a young man exhaled as he stands up from his seat, "finally, I am done. That was a rather difficult assignment."

The young man is a nineteen-year-old who is studying criminal justice in Australia. He is quite average in terms of looks. Black hair, dark brown eyes and somewhat tanned skin were his features, indicating an oriental heritage.

The said assignment was a 1500-word essay answering the question 'is the rule of law upheld in Australia?' Long story made short, Australia followed the rule of law, with the separation of powers and all. Until recent years, when the politicians decided to cast it aside when it was convenient to do so, evident in legislation regarding bikies, asylum seekers and terrorism. Then and again, political rulers lacking integrity wasn't new. Such people have been around as long as the concept of government existed, if not longer.

"Oh well," he cracks his neck to loosen up the joints, "time to break out the Mountain Dew."

He walks over to the fridge and pull out a 600ml bottle. Why the stuff was associated with misogynist gamer neckbeards is beyond him. It had enough caffeine to sustain a person working their ass off for an assignment for the night, and yet not make it impossible to sleep for the next two days. Then and again, he was always weak against coffee, that cursed stuff that can keep him up for two nights in a row.

Opening the bottle, he takes a swig before sighing, "Ah, refreshing."

He saunters back to his room, stopping in front of the bookshelf. It may be odd to keep a collection of books in the age of the internet, but he always liked reading since I was a little kid. Besides, a lot of the books are older, some of them dating back forty or fifty years, which he got from the local Sunday market. He also has a habit of keeping my old textbooks instead of selling them, seeing them as relics of his nineteen-year history, which has generally been uneventful.

Of course, that was going to change and probably not for the better.

At the same time, in an apartment block, a group meeting of sorts was held.

"How dare that damned kid stand up against us!" huffed a fat lady with blue hair and a ton of piercings.

"Yeah," said another only with red hair and thick-rimmed glasses, munching on a packet of chips, "being someone who is not a straight cis-gender white male, you'd think he'll be agreeing with us."

"He may be Asian," the first one said, "but he is a straight cis-gender male after all. All that shit from the so-called Red Pill manosphere must have brain washed him. I mean, how dare he deny that there is a rape culture?"

"The only way for him to check his privilege would be for him to live in a rape culture," the second one continued munching on her chips.

"Yeah," a third one said, "if only we could cast his soul into a world where it is acceptable for males to get raped. Maybe then, he would check his privilege."

Just then, a matchstick-thin male in skinny jeans, a lame sweater and a fedora walked in.

"M'ladies," he bowed slightly, "sorry for being late. I had to collect something. What are we talking about?"

"About that shitlord in the debate," the second woman said, "who denied the rape culture and the patriarchy. We were scheming about casting him into a world where female on male rape is common."

The fedora guy smiled, "Well, I know of a fantasy world that fits the definition."

"What?" asked the first woman.

"Why," he chuckled, "none other than Kenkou Cross's Monster Girl Encyclopedia, of course."

He then took out the book from his backpack. Then he read the page introducing the world.

"Well, well, well," the first woman smirked, "this world would do. Let's see how he likes getting raped by monster girls."

"Wait," the fedora guy said, "you are actually going to do that? I mean, MGE is a book and magic isn't real."

"Oh, yeah," the second woman clenched her fist, "we are going to use Wiccan magic!"

"Oh please," the fedora guy said, "I mean, no offense, but get a grip on reality."

"Come on," the first woman said to the second one, "let's get on with the ritual."

"Wait, what ritual?" asked the fedora guy but the two women simply waddled back into a room and shut the door in his face, but not before snatching his copy of Monster Girl Encyclopaedia out of his hands.

He could do little but walk back to the living room and break out his own bottle of mountain dew.

Inside the room, the two Wiccans arranged various random objects into circle before painting a pentagram using ketchup.

"This is going to be awesome," the first woman said as she put the open book down in the middle of the pentagram, ignoring that it is now stained by tomato sauce, "for we shall cast his soul into this world."

"Heh, heh," the other one chuckled, "I wonder how he will like this world?"

The two then began chanting in some incomprehensible language.

Meanwhile, the criminal justice student is looking through his bookshelf, wondering what to do next. Should he play some games or read manga? The latter sounded more appealing, as he just looked at a computer screen for the last four hours.

But just as he reached for a book, he felt some strange. It was as if the atmosphere had thickened and charged with a peculiar energy.

"What the?" he managed to blurt out.

The ground vanished from under him in a vortex of purplish white light. He managed to grab onto his bookshelf, but it did little good as it tumbled in after him.

"Oh, fuck," was our justice student's last thought before he vanished into the light which disappeared after him.

He fell back onto hard ground, the impact jolting his brain. As he struggled to maintain his conscious, his bookshelf crashed onto him. Multiple concussions overwhelmed his mind and it surrendered to darkness.

A long time passed before he managed to wake up.

"Oh, shit," he muttered, "what was that?"

The student looked around. He appeared to be lying face up on a grassy surface. As he turned his head to his right, he could see a forest with a path leading into it. He then turned his head left, seeing the same path leading to a city in the distance.

"Jesus," he muttered as he turned his head straight, facing up to the sky, "what the fuck happened? This ain't my room!"

The student moaned as he tried to lift the bookshelf off himself. The thing wouldn't budge.

"That's odd," he muttered, "the books have fallen out and are scattered all around me, so why can't I lift this?"

He tried to lift the bookshelf a little so that he can wriggle out from underneath. But the weight seemed to increase. The student was confused until a draconic claw appeared over the edge of the bookshelf and planted itself in its side, punching holes into the wooden panel. Another one follows, also imbedding itself into the side panel.

"Okay," the student said, trying his best to suppress his fear, "I don't know what you are up to or why you are playing this stupid joke, but this ends now! GET YOUR FAT ASS OFF NOW!"

The two claws then pulled their owner over the edge. The said owner slid off the bookshelf before looking at the student.

It was then that he realised that he was staring into the face of a Wurm.

"Oh," he shouted, "HELL NO!"