Glitch Slapped

Sam stood at the edge of the clearing, glaring at the chaos in front of him, already knowing deep down that the day was about to turn into a complete shitshow. The distant line of trees rustled as if the forest itself was holding its breath before spitting out whatever new horror it had in store for them.

Behind him, the Misfits—the party of fuck-ups and glitched-out rejects he somehow ended up with—were in their usual state of half-readiness. They were more like a frat party waiting to get going than a battle-ready team.

“You hear that?” Sam muttered, mostly to himself, gripping the hilt of his dagger. It flickered between being a sharp, deadly blade and some kind of rusty butter knife. Perfect, he thought, because why wouldn’t it glitch out now?

A deep, guttural roar echoed from the forest, shaking the ground beneath them.

“Bro, we’re gonna fucking RAGE!” Eli, the seven-foot-tall Brogre, bellowed from behind him. Sam didn’t need to turn around to know that Eli was bouncing on his toes like an over-enthusiastic football player about to tackle someone at a frat kegger. “We’re gonna smash these assholes into the dirt!” Eli slammed his fists together, activating his Bro-zerk Mode, which—of course—glitched immediately.

Instead of becoming the unstoppable juggernaut he was supposed to, Eli started hyping up… the enemies.

“Look at those fucking biceps, bro!” Eli shouted at the incoming wave of Trorcs. “Those dudes are JACKED!”

The first wave of Trorcs broke through the treeline like a glitchy tsunami of rage, tusks, and poorly-rendered muscles. Each one was about eight feet tall, with arms that seemed to phase in and out of existence. Some of them had multiple arms or legs, others flickered like a corrupt video game sprite, their bodies twisting between troll and orc in grotesque, buggy transitions. Weapons blinked in and out of reality, some too big, others too small, but all of them looked capable of smashing the Misfits into a fine red paste.

Sam’s grip tightened around his glitching dagger, his teeth clenched. “This is going to suck so hard.”

___________

The Trorcs hit their position like a stampede of glitchy, pissed-off meat, charging with the fury of a horde who’d just learned they were designed by drunk gods. Their guttural roars echoed across the field, so loud Sam could feel the ground trembling under his boots. He didn’t even have time to yell orders before they were on him, swinging their massive, pixelated weapons like a glitch-ridden nightmare come to life.

“Fucking perfect,” Sam muttered, rolling his eyes as he ducked the first swing. The Trorc’s weapon—a jagged club that flickered between a tree trunk and what looked like a giant spoon—swung wide, tearing through the air with all the grace of a drunk ox. Its entire body kept flickering and glitching, as if the fabric of reality couldn’t decide if it was made of flesh or faulty code.

Sam darted under the Trorc’s arm, the stink of its sweaty, glitching body hitting him like a brick to the face. His Butt of Shadows ability was supposed to let him slip into the shadows and reappear behind his enemy for a backstab. But as usual, things didn’t go as planned. His vision flickered, the shadows sputtering out just as he was about to activate the ability, leaving him wide open.

“Whoa!” he spat, ducking again, barely dodging the next swing of the Trorc’s jagged weapon. “Karen! Get your ass in gear! We need firepower, like, yesterday!”

“I’m working on it, Walker!” Karen barked back. Her hands glowed as she prepared to unleash Nitpick Needles. “Or do you want to come over here and bitch some more while I take care of this shit?”

She thrust her hands forward, and glowing, needle-like projectiles erupted from her fingertips—except instead of flying toward the Trorcs, they immediately veered off course and slammed straight into Eli’s broad back.

“Bro, what the hell.?!” Eli grunted, stumbling forward from the impact. The needles clattered off his huge Brogre shoulders as if they were paper clips. “Why are you always fucking me over, Karen?!”

“You can’t even dodge, you pixelated pile of shit!” one of the needles screeched, as if it had a mind of its own, as it lodged into Eli’s bicep, adding insult to injury. Literally.

Karen’s eye twitched. “Maybe if your giant, dumbass body didn’t take up half the battlefield, I wouldn’t hit you all the time!”

“Karen!” Sam shouted as he twisted to avoid another wild swing from the Trorc in front of him. He slashed at its side, leaving a jagged trail of broken code in its flesh, but the thing barely flinched. “Can you not kill our own team?”

“If this fucked-up world wasn’t glitching so hard, maybe I wouldn’t have to deal with you assholes!” Karen flipped him off mid-cast as she prepared another spell. “If you think you can do better, go ahead!”

Meanwhile, Lance, true to his Snobit self, was perched nearby, doing what he did best: complaining. His Pompous Analysis ability was supposed to highlight enemy weaknesses, making it easier for the Misfits to deal damage. But of course, the ability had other ideas.

“You call that a battle stance?” Lance scoffed, addressing one of the nearby Trorcs as if it were an underwhelming theater performance. He adjusted his tiny glasses, like some high-brow critic judging a play. “Honestly, who taught you how to fight? A toddler? Your form is atrocious.”

“Lance!” Sam growled, his patience wearing thin as another Trorc charged at him. “Focus on killing them, not critiquing their God Damned technique!”

Lance sniffed disdainfully. “I refuse to lower my standards for such poorly-rendered… things.”

“Elitist prick,” Sam muttered, just as another Trorc lunged at him. Its tusks gleamed in the flickering light, and its eyes glowed with a pixelated rage that only a broken reality could create.

He activated Butt of Shadows again, but instead of slipping into the shadows like a proper assassin, the glitch sent him straight into the Trorc’s ass. Literally.

One second, Sam was aiming for a slick backstab; the next, he was face-deep in the Trorc’s massive, sweaty rear end.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Sam yelled, trying to pull himself out of the worst position imaginable. The Trorc, equally confused, let out a low, glitchy grunt and began flailing its arms. Its weapon swung aimlessly in the air, nearly clipping Karen in the process.

Glitch practically exploded with laughter. “That’s a new low, even for you, Walker! You’ve got your head so far up its ass, you could probably smell what it ate for breakfast!”

Sam gritted his teeth. “Shut it, Glitch!” he snarled, his voice muffled by Trorc butt cheek. “This is not how I wanted this fight to go!”

The Trorc flailed again, causing Karen to narrowly dodge another wild swing. She shot a disgusted look at the scene in front of her.

“Are you trying to fuck that thing, or just getting a better view?” she called out, laughing even as she sidestepped the Trorc’s club.

“Do you think I’m doing this on purpose?!” Sam snapped, finally wrenching himself free from the horrifying embrace of Trorc butt. He rolled across the ground, popping back to his feet just as the Trorc swung again, barely missing his head by inches.

Without missing a beat, Sam activated his Back-Side-Stab ability, driving his dagger into the Trorc’s back. The creature let out a confused grunt, its massive form glitching and spasming before it exploded into a thousand pixelated fragments. Its death animation was so janky that it looked like it was twerking as it disintegrated.

Sam stood there, panting, wiping god-knows-what off his face. The battlefield was pure chaos—Trorcs were everywhere, roaring and charging, their glitchy forms attacking the Misfits from all sides. Eli was rampaging through them like a maniac, throwing haymakers at anything that moved, while Karen launched spell after spell, most of which missed entirely. Lance was still standing off to the side, critiquing everything.

“I must say,” Lance muttered, watching the Trorcs charge at them, “this whole encounter is deeply disappointing. The choreography is lackluster, the effects are subpar, and the enemies… well, don’t even get me started.”

Sam wiped a hand across his sweaty forehead, glaring at the Snobbit. “If you’re not going to help, at least shut the fuck up.”

Lance sniffed again, raising his nose slightly. “One must maintain standards, even in the face of such abysmal combat.”

Before Sam could throw a dagger at him, Trinket slid in from the side, her hands glowing with sultry energy as she prepared to cast her healing spell on Karen, who’d just taken a nasty hit from a Trorc’s club. Karen stumbled back, clutching her side and wincing in pain.

“Hold still, Karen,” Trinket purred, moving in with a flick of her wrist. Her Sizzling Caress ability lit up the air around them with a glowing, warm light. “Let me take care of that for you…”

Karen groaned. “Not this shit again.”

Trinket placed her hands just above Karen’s side, her voice dripping with forced seduction thanks to her class. “Oh, don’t worry, honey. I’ll stroke that deep, throbbing wound of yours, nice and slow…”

Karen’s eyes widened, her face contorting in pure disgust. “Excuse me, what the fuck did you just say? GET ME HER BOSS, NOW!”

Trinket sighed in exasperation. “I didn’t mean it like that! It’s this spell, okay? I don’t want to sound like some porn reject!” She blushed, flustered as her hands started to glow even brighter.

Karen scowled, but she wasn’t going to argue with healing. The warmth of the spell spread through her body, soothing the pain… until, of course, it glitched.

Instead of healing Karen’s injured side, the spell flickered and slid downward, caressing Karen’s leg in a way that made the entire situation even worse.

“Seriously?!” Karen yelled, slapping Trinket’s hands away. “Get your fucking pervy spell off me!”

“I’m trying to heal you, alright?!” Trinket screeched, her face bright red as the spell continued to glitch. “It’s not my fault the damn universe decided I’m the porn version of a healer! Just stand still!”

Karen smacked her hand again. “One more touch, and I’m going to fucking nitpick your ass to death!”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Trinket screeched back, her voice cracking with embarrassment. She tried to focus, muttering curses under her breath. “Shit stomred spell, can’t even cast one heal without sounding like I’m trying to seduce the damn battlefield…”

Behind them, Glitch was practically howling with laughter. “Oh, this is rich!” Glitch cackled, its voice filled with glee. “Maybe try healing with a side of foreplay next time! I’m sure Karen’s just begging for it!”

Karen whirled on Glitch. “You shut the fuck up, too! I don’t need a talking bag giving me sex advice!”

“I’m just sayin’,” Glitch chimed in. “Maybe a little romance would help the battlefield vibes, you know? Spice things up a bit. Bring everyone together…”

“Do you want to get stabbed, you little shit?!” Karen growled.

Sam groaned, shaking his head. “This is a disaster,” he muttered, turning just in time to block another Trorc swing.

The battlefield continued to spiral into chaos, with Trorcs charging, spells misfiring, and the Misfits doing what they did best: surviving through sheer incompetence and luck.

The ground shuddered beneath Sam's boots as the second wave of Trorcs emerged from the forest, their glitchy bodies phasing in and out of reality like they were stuck between this universe and some other badly-rendered hellhole. If the first batch of Trorcs had been a shitshow, this new horde was a full-on dumpster fire. They were bigger, uglier, and far more broken than their predecessors. One had a massive arm that stretched out twice its normal size before snapping back into place with a sickening crack. Another’s legs kept switching directions, causing it to charge backward while its head stared straight ahead like some freakish glitch-bugged chicken.

“Why!? Why do there have to be more?” Sam muttered, already feeling his adrenaline waning. He wiped a hand across his sweaty brow and took a deep breath, knowing there was no chance of avoiding another ass-kicking session.

Ted the ErrOrc, their heavy-metal-loving bard-barian, grinned maniacally as the Trorcs closed in. He slammed his guitar down, strumming a chaotic riff that echoed across the battlefield. “Time to melt some faces, baby!” he yelled, unleashing his Power Chord Slam. The sound blast shot forward, a wall of sonic fury meant to flatten the advancing Trorcs and send them flying like ragdolls.

Except, because this world was the universe’s personal joke, the blast didn’t hit the enemies at all.

Instead, the sound wave ricocheted off random objects in the environment—trees, rocks, and even what looked like a weirdly glitched-out cow. Pixelated debris flew everywhere as the forest was shredded by the sheer force of Ted’s attack. A rock the size of Sam’s head materialized out of nowhere, flew through the air, and smacked one of the incoming Trorcs right in its pixelated face.

The Trorc blinked in confusion, staggering under the impact of a fucking rock, of all things. “What the….?” Sam breathed, watching in disbelief as the beast wobbled on its feet.

“Fucking technical difficulties!” Ted roared in frustration, throwing his hands up as his guitar screeched and fizzled out. He slammed the instrument against the ground like a petulant toddler. “I swear this world is held together with fucking duct tape!”

Sam wasn’t done swearing yet, either. Another Trorc—a bigger one this time, its massive tusks drooling what looked like pixelated glitch-gunk—came barreling toward him. It roared, shaking the trees as it charged, its oversized arms glitching as they stretched longer than its body before snapping back into place.

“Great,” Sam growled, rolling his shoulders. He activated Butt of Shadows again, hoping—praying—this time it would actually work. He needed the shadows to help him dodge the oncoming blow, to move into position and slice the damn thing before it caved his skull in with its meat-hammer fists.

But of course, the glitch had other ideas.

Instead of slipping into the shadows like a sneaky assassin, the ability fizzled out again and sent Sam straight into the Trorc’s enormous, hairy ass.

Again.

Sam blinked, momentarily stunned as he found himself face-to-cheek with yet another Trorc's massive rear end. He could feel the coarse hair bristling against his skin, the stench so overpowering it almost knocked him out cold. How the fuck did this keep happening?!

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!” Sam screamed, his voice muffled by the Trorc’s ass as he scrambled to free himself. The creature let out a confused grunt, clearly unsure why a fully grown man had just thrown himself headfirst into its backside.

“Is this a thing now, Sam?” Glitch chimed in, howling with laughter. “You got a butt fetish or something? ‘Cause, bro, this is getting kinda weird. You’ve been face-deep in more Trorc ass today than I care to count!”

“Shut the fuck up, Glitch!” Sam roared, twisting and wriggling in an effort to pry himself out of the creature’s hairy crack. The Trorc swayed back and forth, its arms flailing as it tried to reach behind itself to swat him away. Its movements only made things worse as Sam found himself pressed further into the monster’s colossal backside.

The beast swung blindly, its confusion mounting as it tried to shake him off. Sam finally wrenched himself free with a nauseating squelch, rolling across the ground in a desperate bid to put some distance between himself and the foul beast. “I swear to god, I’m about to lose my shit!”

Still laughing hysterically, Glitch’s voice echoed from his belt. “Dude, next time, at least buy the Trorc dinner first! Can’t go sticking your face up there without at least trying to seduce it first!”

Sam wanted to punt Glitch into the sun, but before he could respond, the Trorc turned on him with a snarl. Wiping god-knows-what off his face, Sam leapt to his feet and drove his dagger into the beast’s back with a furious, satisfying Back-Side-Stab. The creature let out a gurgling roar, its body spasming violently before it exploded into a shower of broken pixels. Its death animation glitched so hard that it ended up twerking as it disintegrated into a pile of pixelated goo.

Sam stood there, panting, trying to wipe away the last remnants of Trorc stench from his face. “Next time,” he muttered to himself, “I’m not aiming for anything with a fucking ass.”

The ground shook again as more Trorcs poured from the forest, their glitchy forms towering over the battlefield. These ones were even worse—larger, more chaotic, their bodies phasing in and out like they didn’t belong in this world. One of them had three arms, all glitching at different intervals. Another’s head was floating three feet above its body, its mouth snapping open and shut like some fucked-up Pez dispenser.

“Of course,” Sam groaned. “There’s more.”

Ted was still having a meltdown nearby, hammering on his guitar like it was somehow the instrument’s fault that his ability had glitched out. “Stupid fucking world!” he yelled, stomping on his effects pedals and sending out another blast of distorted sound waves that managed to completely miss the Trorcs and instead obliterated a patch of trees in the distance.

Sam barely had time to process the situation before another Trorc—this one even larger than the last—came thundering toward him, its massive, glitching arms stretching unnaturally as it raised its jagged club for a killing blow.

“Fuck this!” Sam growled, dodging to the side just as the club crashed into the ground, sending dirt and rocks flying everywhere. He activated Butt of Shadows once more, hoping against hope that this time, it wouldn’t betray him.

The world flickered, and instead of the smooth shadow-step he was aiming for, Sam ended up smack dab in front of the Trorc’s crotch.

“Are you fucking serious right now?!” Sam yelled, looking up at the monstrosity looming over him. The Trorc let out a bellowing laugh, its breath so rank that Sam gagged as he stumbled backward. His hands scrambled to activate Back-Side-Stab again, but the glitch delayed the move by a few crucial seconds.

Just as the Trorc swung its massive club down toward him, Eli came barreling out of nowhere, shoulder-checking the Trorc with all the force of a runaway freight train.

“Get fucking rekt, bro!” Eli shouted, laughing as the Trorc was sent flying through the air, its oversized limbs flailing as it tumbled into the forest.

Sam let out a shaky breath, still staring in disbelief at the spot where the Trorc had been standing. “I’m going to have nightmares about this,” he muttered, wiping his brow.

Eli grinned, flexing his biceps as he surveyed the battlefield. “Dude, that was fucking epic! Did you see how far that thing flew? Fucking Broger-Zerk mode, baby!”

Before Sam could respond, another Trorc charged out of the trees, this one with legs so long and glitchy it looked like it was running on stilts. Sam and Eli barely had time to react before it was upon them.

“Switching targets!” Sam shouted, lunging forward as he activated Butt of Shadows one more time, hoping this time he wouldn’t end up in yet another compromising position. He disappeared into the flickering shadows and reappeared behind the Trorc, his dagger poised for a strike.

The blade sunk into the creature’s back, and with a final, glitchy scream, it disintegrated into a cascade of broken pixels, its limbs spasming as it vanished into the ether.

Sam exhaled sharply, staring at the pile of glowing fragments. “I swear, this world is going to give me a fucking aneurysm.”

“Bro, that was awesome!” Eli yelled, still riding the high from sending the previous Trorc flying. “Let’s smash some more of these fuckers!”

Sam shook his head, glancing at the incoming wave of even more broken Trorcs. “Yeah,” he muttered, exhaustion starting to creep into his voice. “Sure. Let’s fucking smash them.”

________

Eli was in full Bro-zerk Mode, his face twisted in a gleeful grin that only a certified meathead could wear while bashing skulls. His massive arms bulged as he hefted not one, but two full kegs over his head—where the hell he’d found them in the middle of a Trorc-ravaged battlefield, no one knew, but Eli was nothing if not resourceful when it came to alcohol and chaos.

With a wild, guttural roar, Eli smashed the kegs together, sending an explosion of frothy beer and glitchy booze cascading across the battlefield like a tsunami of drunken debauchery. Keg Smash in all its glory—except, of course, because nothing in this universe worked as it should, the ability glitched out in the most horrific way possible. The wave of alcohol was supposed to only hit the Trorcs, sending them flying backward, disoriented and easy pickings for the Misfits. But instead, the booze sprayed in all directions, drenching not only the enemies but the entire party.

Sam felt the world tilt beneath him. One second, he was steady on his feet, dodging Trorc attacks like a pro. The next, the ground was doing the cha-cha, and he was stumbling like a dude who’d just spent twelve hours at an open bar. He reached out to steady himself, but his hand missed the hilt of his dagger by a good foot, like he was moving underwater.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!…” Sam groaned, blinking as the horizon wobbled in front of him. It felt like someone had poured a barrel of rum directly into his bloodstream. The Trorcs weren’t the only ones affected—everyone was staggering around like they were in the world’s shittiest frat party.

“Bro, I can’t feel my legs!” Eli slurred, staggering across the battlefield like a frat boy fresh off a keg stand. His eyes were glazed over, half-lidded, and his punches were flailing wildly at anything that moved—friend, foe, tree, rock, anything. The man was a walking tornado of drunken destruction.

Sam swayed to the side as the ground shifted under him, narrowly avoiding one of Eli’s wild swings. “Eli, I swear to god, if you puke on me—”

Too late.

The sound of retching filled the air, and Sam could only watch in horror as Eli’s stomach churned and a wave of vomit spewed from his mouth like a goddamn fire hose. The spray was everywhere, drenching everything within a ten-foot radius in a sticky, foul-smelling rain. Trorcs and Misfits alike were caught in the deluge, slipping and sliding on the slick ground as Eli’s vomit covered the battlefield like a Jackson Pollock painting from hell.

Sam wiped the mess from his face, his expression a mixture of horror and disgust. “You God Daaaaamned meathead!”

Eli, eyes still glazed, grinned like a dumb golden retriever, oblivious to the chaos he’d just unleashed. “Dude,” he slurred, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “That was rad!”

“Rad?! You just fucking puked on the entire battlefield, you jackass!” Sam yelled, trying to scrape the vomit off his armor.

Before Sam could continue chewing out Eli for his latest fuck-up, a group of Trorcs, now just as drunk and uncoordinated as the Misfits, came stumbling forward. One of them tripped over a rock, crashing into its fellow Trorc like a sloppy drunk at a bar fight. It staggered to its feet, glaring at Sam with bleary eyes, before it took a wild swing at him—except its swing went in the completely opposite direction, the glitch making its arm twist backward in a ridiculous corkscrew motion.

Sam ducked, stumbling out of the way just as the Trorc punched its own comrade in the face. “This universe was designed by a sadistic asshole with a vendetta against physics.” Sam muttered.

Pixel zigzagged across the battlefield in a blur of pixelated light. The small creature was glitching in and out of visibility, its body flickering with rapid-fire distortions. At first glance, Pixel looked like a blocky, neon fox—except, like everything else in Sam’s life, it was fucked up beyond belief.

It zoomed in between the Trorcs’ legs, tripping them up as it skidded across the vomit-covered ground. One Trorc flailed, its leg jerking out of control as it tried to kick Pixel, only for its foot to glitch through the ground. “Hah!” Sam barked out a laugh as the Trorc struggled to pull its leg free, its foot stuck halfway into the earth. “Suck it, you glitchy piece of shit!”

Pixel, meanwhile, seemed to be having the time of its life. The little creature darted back and forth, spinning in circles around the Trorcs and leaving trails of pixelated light in its wake. It looked more like a rave than a fight, but Sam wasn’t complaining—it was the only thing in this battle that seemed to be working in their favor.

Trinket wasn’t so lucky. She had just finished dealing with Karen’s less-than-enthusiastic response to her sultry healing, and now she was struggling to stay upright, swaying like a drunk at closing time. “Oh great, now I’m buzzed too,” she muttered, her voice slipping into that seductive tone her class forced on her. “Anyone else need some special attention? I can stroke more than just your wounds…”

One of the nearby Trorcs blinked at her, its tusked mouth hanging open in confusion, like it couldn’t decide if it was supposed to be scared or turned on. Trinket’s hands glowed with a seductive aura as she sauntered closer to it, her hips swaying more than usual thanks to Eli’s booze-fueled spell. “How about I rub that tension out of your shoulders, big boy?”

Sam turned, just in time to see Trinket’s magic hands caressing the air sensually, heading straight for the Trorc’s face.

“Trinket, for fuck’s sake—no,” Sam shouted, his voice heavy with exasperation.

But it was too late. The Trorc, clearly not understanding what the hell was happening, let out a low, rumbling growl and took a step back, shaking its head violently. Then, as if the universe decided it hadn’t humiliated enough people today, Trinket’s spell glitched. The sultry magic meant to soothe the enemy’s wounds instead exploded in a wave of literal fireworks, sending sparks and hearts flying out of the Trorc’s ears.

The beast blinked, dumbstruck, before falling over like a sack of glitchy potatoes. It lay there, twitching slightly, pink hearts still floating above its head.

Trinket stared down at the unconscious Trorc, a look of bewilderment on her face. “I, uh… that wasn’t supposed to happen,” she murmured, glancing over at Sam, her cheeks flushed from embarrassment and booze. “Though I did make him fall for me, technically.”

Sam just shook his head, barely dodging another sloppy punch from a drunken Trorc. “You know what, I’m not even surprised anymore. This whole thing is a fucking circus.”

Behind them, Eli was still wreaking havoc, stumbling around the battlefield like a wrecking ball with no regard for what he hit. Another wave of vomit spewed from his mouth, catching two more Trorcs in the spray. The creatures staggered, slipping on the slick ground, before collapsing into a heap of tangled limbs and nauseated groans.

“Bro!” Eli shouted, pumping his fists in the air as he staggered toward the nearest Trorc. “I’m gonna punch this fucker into the sun!”

Sam watched in horror as Eli charged, his fists flailing wildly. The Trorc, still swaying drunkenly from Eli’s Keg Smash, blinked in confusion as the Brogre crashed into it full-force. There was a sickening crunch as Eli’s massive body collided with the beast, sending both of them tumbling through the air.

Eli landed hard, sprawled out on the ground, his body half-covered in vomit and dirt. He looked up at Sam, his eyes glassy and unfocused. “Dude… did I just punch him into space?”

Sam groaned, rubbing his temples as he stumbled over to where Eli lay in the mud. “No, you fucking idiot. You just body-slammed yourself into the ground.”

Eli blinked up at him, a dopey grin spreading across his face. “Sick.”

Sam looked down at his vomit-covered armor, then over at the battlefield, where half the Trorcs were either unconscious, puking, or tripping over their own feet thanks to Eli’s booze rampage. He let out a long, exhausted sigh. “I need a real drink.”

Pixel zipped by, flashing a cheeky pixelated grin, before darting off again to trip up another confused Trorc.

Sam watched it go, shaking his head. “Two drinks.”

_____

The battlefield was already a mess of vomit, booze, and pixelated glitch carnage when S the Smelf finally lost his shit. The sight of another wave of Trorcs pouring out of the glitch-ridden forest was the last fucking straw. Sam glanced over just as S’s body began to twitch and shift, his frustration bubbling over into full-on Swearwolf mode.

His transformation wasn’t pretty. It never was. Bones cracked, fur sprouted, and a string of profanity spewed from his mouth, turning the air around him thick with curses. His once-lean elven frame expanded into the hulking, snarling wolf-man that only emerged when S was well and truly done with the universe’s bullshit.

“Let’s fuck shit up!” S roared, his voice like gravel wrapped in barbed wire, each curse fueling his transformation. His claws extended into sharp, deadly weapons that glinted in the flickering light of the battlefield. The nearest Trorc barely had time to react before S lunged forward, tearing through it with brutal efficiency. Claws shredded flesh, sending a spray of glitchy gore across the field. The Trorc let out a garbled scream as it disintegrated into a shower of corrupted pixels.

But, as usual, the universe couldn’t just let things be. As S howled his Howl of Expletives, intending to confuse the enemies and turn the tide of battle, the ability glitched. Instead of targeting just the Trorcs, the blast of swear-laden fury hit everyone on the battlefield.

Chaos. Absolute fucking chaos.

The Misfits, the Trorcs—hell, even the rocks and trees—suddenly found themselves under the influence of S’s glitchy curse. Sam ducked just in time to avoid one of Eli’s wild swings, his Brogre muscles powered by drunken rage and now, thanks to S’s curse, blind confusion.

“Let’s go, bro!” Eli cheered, his voice slurred and gleeful as he swung at anything that moved. Unfortunately for Sam, Eli wasn’t paying attention to who—or what—he was swinging at.

“Great,” Sam muttered under his breath as he dodged yet another errant punch from Eli. “We’re all gonna die, and it’s because of a glitchy fucking swearwolf.”

All around them, Trorcs and Misfits alike were swinging, stumbling, and cursing, unsure of who the enemy was anymore. A Trorc lumbered toward Sam, eyes glazed over in confusion, its massive fists swinging wide. Sam ducked under the blow, using Butt of Shadows to try and get behind it, but of course, the ability fizzled out just as he activated it. He barely avoided getting flattened by the Trorc’s wild swing, tumbling across the battlefield in a messy roll.

Pixel, who had been darting around tripping up Trorcs, suddenly glitched, zipping in and out of visibility as the curse hit it too. The little pixelated fox let out a series of beeps and digital screeches, flickering wildly as it darted under Sam’s legs, nearly tripping him in the process.

“Fucking hell, Pixel!” Sam yelled, stumbling as he tried to regain his balance. “Get your shit together!”

Meanwhile, Trinket was standing in the middle of the battlefield, swaying her hips in a way that was clearly not meant for combat. Her glowing hands were raised, her sultry voice cutting through the confusion as she readied her next spell. “Who’s ready for a little hands-on healing, boys?” she purred, winking at a nearby Trorc. The poor bastard froze, its tusked mouth hanging open in utter confusion, not sure whether to attack or start blushing.

Sam groaned. “Trinket, for fuck’s sake, this is not the time—”

But it was too late. Trinket had fully embraced her class’s absurdity, her hands glowing with seductive energy as she activated her Glitchy Grapple ability. Her form shimmered and shifted, turning into a holographic succubus that looked like it had been ripped straight out of someone’s worst fanfiction fantasy. Her eyes glowed with a sultry light, her hips swaying with every step as she strutted across the battlefield, her charm ability washing over everything in range.

The effect was immediate.

Every single Trorc within sight froze, their weapons dropping to the ground as their eyes glazed over. They stared, slack-jawed, at Trinket’s seductive form, completely and utterly enthralled. Even the ones who had been mid-swing with their weapons suddenly found themselves lowering their arms, captivated by her glitchy allure.

“Take it all, boys. Or if you want - I can take it all…..” Trinket muttered under her breath, clearly embarrassed by the whole thing. She was trying to keep up the sultry act, but Sam could see the twitch in her eye as she internally screamed at the absurdity of her situation. “I’ll be gentle… unless you want it rough.”

Glitch, still hanging from Sam’s belt, burst into another fit of hysterical laughter. “Hell ya! Can you believe this shit? I swear, if we get out of this alive, I’m going to tell this story for centuries! Seducing Trorcs—who would’ve thought?!”

Sam slapped Glitch, trying to shut the sentient bag up. “Not helping, Glitch!”

Glitch continued to cackle, the bag’s voice vibrating with mirth. “Oh, come on, Sam. You’ve gotta admit, this is hilarious! What’s next? Is she gonna start giving them a lap dance?”

Sam glared at the bag. “One more word, and I’m turning you into a fucking coin purse.”

The distraction, though, had worked. The Trorcs were so thoroughly mesmerized by Trinket’s glitchy succubus form that they had completely stopped fighting. The battlefield, which had been a clusterfuck of wild swings and confusion, suddenly went eerily still as every Trorc stared at her like they were hypnotized.

Trinket looked around, a mix of satisfaction and shame on her face. “Well, at least they’re not killing us now,” she muttered, the holographic wings on her back twitching awkwardly as she stood there, glowing like a neon sign advertising some shady nightclub.

“Good job, Trinket,” Sam said, trying to sound appreciative, but mostly just tired. “You’ve successfully turned a battle into a fucking strip club.”

Trinket shot him a glare, crossing her arms under her holographic chest. “Like I wanted to do this! This stupid universe makes everything I do sound like I’m auditioning for porn!”

“I don’t know,” Glitch chimed in, still laughing. “It seems to be working pretty damn well.”

“Shut up, Glitch!” both Sam and Trinket yelled in unison.

With the Trorcs now completely captivated by Trinket’s charm, the Misfits had a brief moment to regroup. Sam took a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he wiped more dirt—and probably Trorc vomit—off his face. He glanced over at Eli, who was still swaying slightly, his eyes half-lidded and his grin goofy as ever.

“I feel like I’m at a frat party,” Eli said, blinking at the scene in front of him. “Like, that one time I chugged an entire keg and woke up with a traffic cone on my head, except this is way cooler.”

“Eli,” Sam said, his voice flat, “if you puke again, I will personally fucking end you.”

Eli held up his hands in mock surrender, still grinning. “No promises, bro. This booze smash shit is wild.”

S the Smelf, still in full Swearwolf mode, was pacing at the edge of the battlefield, his eyes glowing red as he tried to shake off the effects of his glitched howl. “Stupid universe,” he muttered, his claws flexing as he glared at the remaining Trorcs. “I’m gonna rip every one of these fuckers apart, glitch or no glitch.”

Sam sighed. “Look, we need to focus. Trinket’s got them distracted, but we’ve got to figure out what the hell we’re going to do next before this whole situation gets even worse.”

“I’ve got a suggestion,” Glitch piped up from his belt. “How about we just, you know, not die? That sound good to everyone?”

Sam ignored the bag, his mind racing as he tried to formulate a plan. The battlefield was still littered with the remains of the first wave of Trorcs, and now the second wave was completely under Trinket’s spell, but that wouldn’t last forever. He knew it. As soon as the spell wore off, they’d be right back in the shitstorm.

“We need a way to finish this,” Sam said, glancing around at the Misfits. “Something big. Something that’ll take them all out at once.”

Trinket, still holding her seductive pose, sighed. “Yeah, well, you guys better hurry up. My charms don’t last forever, and I really don’t want to find out what happens when they snap out of it.”

Sam grinned, his eyes narrowing as an idea began to form in his head. “Don’t worry, Trinket. I think I’ve got just the thing.”

Sam’s grin was anything but comforting to the rest of the Misfits. His mind was racing, and in a world as broken as this one, racing thoughts usually led to incredibly stupid ideas. The battlefield was a hot mess of mesmerized Trorcs, vomiting Brogres, and sultry spells, but Sam figured that if there was ever a time for a wild, barely-formed plan to succeed, it was now.

He wiped the sweat, dirt, and possibly Trorc vomit off his brow, looking around at his half-wrecked team. Trinket was still standing in the middle of the battlefield, hips cocked, arms crossed, and glowing with that neon-porn-shop-succubus aura, keeping the Trorcs under her spell. Eli was swaying slightly but still functional in his Bro-zerk state. S was pacing like a caged animal, claws twitching, ready to rip into something. Ted the ErrOrc was off in the distance, shredding a riff on his guitar, oblivious to the chaos as he continued to miss the timing on his spells.

And then there was Pixel, who zipped by his feet, flickering and glitching like some kind of glitchy rave mascot.

“Alright,” Sam muttered, rubbing his temples. “We need to finish this before things go to hell again.” His eyes flicked to Eli, who was still grinning like a frat bro on spring break, and then back to Trinket. “Here’s the plan. Trinket, I need you to ramp up the charm spell. Get them even more distracted.”

Trinket’s eyes widened. “Ramp it up? Sam, these Trorcs are already one panty-drop away from offering me a dowry! You want me to—what? Start grinding on them?”

Sam winced. “Jesus, no. Just… you know, seduce them harder.”

Trinket narrowed her eyes, glaring at him. “You are lucky we’re about to die, Sam.”

“Trust me,” Sam said, holding up his hands in surrender. “It’s necessary. Meanwhile, S, you’re going to flank them. Wait until I give the signal. Then… well, you’re going to rip them apart. Go nuts.”

“Finally,” S growled, his claws extending even further. His eyes glowed with a mix of rage and anticipation, his wolfish grin revealing far too many sharp teeth. “I’ve been waiting to rip these fuckers in half.”

“I’m in,” S snarled, cracking his neck.

Sam’s gaze flicked over to Ted, who was still shredding away on his guitar. “Ted, stop fucking around and get ready to drop something big. I need one of your Power Chord Slams, but not until I give you the signal.”

Ted threw a thumbs-up without missing a beat on his guitar. “Hell yeah! Time to turn this shit up to eleven!”

“Good,” Sam said, cracking his knuckles. “Here’s the kicker—we’re going to turn their own stupidity against them.”

Sam looked down at Pixel, the small fox bouncing around his feet in a blur of pixelated light. The little creature paused, flickering in and out of visibility, its beady eyes looking up at Sam expectantly.

“Pixel,” Sam said, grinning, “I’m going to need you to glitch out harder than you ever have before.”

Pixel let out a series of high-pitched, digital beeps that sounded suspiciously like it was laughing. The little fox spun around in a blur, leaving a trail of pixelated light in its wake.

“Alright, here’s what we’re going to do,” Sam said, lowering his voice. “We’re going to use Trinket’s distraction to lure the Trorcs into a single spot. Once they’re all in one place, Eli’s going to throw everything he’s got at them. While they’re disoriented, S and I will finish them off. And Ted… well, you’re going to make sure they never get up again.”

Trinket crossed her arms, still glowing with sultry magic. “And what happens if this plan fails and they all snap out of it at once?”

Sam grinned, his eyes flashing with mischief. “Then we’re so fucked, it won’t even matter.”

“Comforting,” Trinket muttered under her breath, but she rolled her shoulders, readying herself to ramp up the charm.

Sam turned to face the battlefield, where the remaining Trorcs were still standing around, slack-jawed, completely mesmerized by Trinket’s succubus form. “Alright,” Sam said, taking a deep breath. “Let’s do this.”

Trinket straightened up, her holographic wings glowing even brighter as she swayed her hips in an exaggerated motion that made Sam want to dig a hole and crawl into it out of secondhand embarrassment. She turned toward the group of Trorcs, her voice dropping into a sultry, sexy tone that was somehow both mortifying and terrifyingly effective.

“Come on, boys,” she cooed, blowing a kiss at the nearest Trorc. “Don’t you want to come closer? I promise I’ll take real good care of you…”

The Trorcs, completely under her spell, shuffled forward like lovesick puppies. Their weapons clattered to the ground as they moved toward her, eyes glazed over with lust and confusion. One of them tripped over a fallen tree, crashing face-first into the dirt, but immediately scrambled to its feet, eager to be near Trinket’s holographic form.

“I feel dirty just watching this,” Sam muttered, rubbing his face.

Glitch, hanging from his belt, piped up with a snicker. “Don’t act like you’re not enjoying the show, Sam. She’s got these dumbasses wrapped around her finger.”

The Trorcs continued to shuffle forward, gathering in a tight circle around Trinket. Their massive forms towered over her, but none of them made a move to attack. They were completely enraptured by her charms, drooling and slack-jawed as they closed in.

“Alright, now, Eli!” Sam shouted.

Eli, who had been leaning against a tree looking like he was two steps away from passing out, suddenly perked up. “Bro, it’s go time!” He stumbled forward, hefting a massive barrel over his shoulder.

With a wild yell, Eli charged toward the group of Trorcs, hurling the barrel straight into the center of the pack. The impact was immediate. The barrel exploded in a massive burst of booze and fire, drenching the Trorcs in a wave of alcohol and flame. They staggered, roaring in confusion, their bodies catching fire as the explosion rocked the battlefield.

“Now, S!” Sam shouted.

S the Swearwolf didn’t need to be told twice. With a guttural growl, he leapt into the fray, his claws extended, tearing into the nearest Trorc with savage fury. His curses filled the air as he ripped through flesh and bone, sending sprays of glitchy gore flying in every direction.

“Here comes the SHIT storm!” S snarled, his attacks fueled by pure, unadulterated rage. His claws shredded through the Trorcs like they were made of paper, each strike leaving a trail of carnage in his wake.

Sam didn’t hesitate. He activated Butt of Shadows, slipping into the shadows behind one of the disoriented Trorcs. In a fluid motion, he drove his dagger into its back, activating Back-Side-Stab and sending the creature collapsing to the ground in a heap of pixels.

“Ted, now!” Sam shouted, looking over at the bard-barian.

Ted grinned wildly, his fingers flying across his guitar strings as he unleashed a massive Power Chord Slam. The soundwave ripped through the air, slamming into the remaining Trorcs with the force of a fucking freight train. The creatures were thrown back, crashing into each other as the ground beneath them shook from the impact.

Pixel zipped across the battlefield, weaving between the fallen Trorcs, its pixelated form leaving streaks of light in its wake. With a final, glitchy burst of speed, it darted through the legs of one of the largest Trorcs, tripping it up and sending it crashing to the ground.

The battlefield was a mess of burning Trorcs, glitchy explosions, and drunken chaos. But somehow, miraculously, Sam’s plan had worked. The Trorcs lay scattered and defeated, their bodies twitching and glitching as they disintegrated into pixels.

Sam stood in the center of it all, panting heavily as he surveyed the carnage. “Well… that was fucking insane.”

Trinket, still glowing with sultry magic, crossed her arms and gave him a pointed look. “You owe me so much for this, Sam.”

“What do you have in mind?” Sam said, with a huge grin on his face., wiping the sweat from his face. “Just kidding, Trinket. Thank you. I’ll buy you a drink later..”

“Make it three, and I’ll consider not stabbing you in your sleep,” Trinket replied, her eyes flashing with amusement.

Glitch, still laughing from Sam’s belt, chimed in. “That was the most beautiful mess I’ve ever seen. You guys should be proud.”

Before Sam could respond, a familiar ding echoed in his ears, followed by a transparent notification window flashing in front of his face.

Quest Complete: "Small Invasion Outside Drunken Misfit"

Tallying results...

Sam blinked.

Glitch burst into uncontrollable laughter. “‘Small Invasion,’ my left nut! That was a fucking disaster!”

“I don’t even know how we survived,” Sam muttered, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. We lived. What’s next?”

Another chime echoed in the air, and then, suddenly, Sam felt a strange jolt ripple through his body. His muscles tensed, and a surge of energy washed over him, leaving him feeling sharper, faster, stronger.

Level up!

Sam blinked, barely registering the notification before another wave hit him. The sensation of leveling up was familiar—but it wasn’t supposed to happen this quickly, especially not without any visible loot or XP counters.

Level up!

Level up!

Level up!