Next thing I know, I'm in a waiting room-type of room, which is definitively made of room, due to the walls and such. Walls made of wood, which makes me think I'm still in the huge hollowed-out tree trunk. A few benches litter the room, most facing a wall where a big magic monitor displays what's happening on the floating platform. Every pair of eyes—which, need I remind you, is still on average less than one—are glued to the screen as the room itself shakes from the thunderous applause from the outside.

Well, not every pair. Two beautiful hazel eyes meet mine, and in that moment, everything else might've disappeared for all I care.

Hayden.

"Babe!" I yell as I jog towards him. "Did you see that? I'm not a murderer! I'm only an attempted-murderer!"

"I saw that, my love," he whispers, which, were I not the protagonist, I wouldn't have listened otherwise. His arms are open wide, ready to hold me tight.

And hold me he does. Tight. He gently lifts me by the waist and pecks at my face as if he were a seagull, and I'm a jumbo fry combo in a beach's trash can. Still, for as tight as he holds me, I feel something between us, dividing us. Maybe it has been the lack of communication we've been having all season. Maybe it's our honeymoon phase finally fizzling out, and the real test of love will begin...

"Babe, is there a bottle in your pocket, or did you grow a few dozen inches girthier?" asks Hayden as he puts me down softly.

...Or maybe it's the litleral thing I'm holding close to my chest like a newborn calf that's standing between us. What the shit? It's a bottle. A bulbous one at that. I mean it, it's thicc with two c's. It must be filled with jelly 'cuz jam don't jiggle like that. Come to think of it, bottles are not supposed to jiggle at all. And yet, this one does. Slightly, as if it was moving in both slow and fast motion at the same time. Inside is a swirling liquid, like a galaxy expanding, glittering, shiny. Specks of matter flow up and down and back again, stuck on a loop.

"I dunno. Some funky magical booze?" I ask. Where did it come from? How did I get it? Why do I wanna slap it and see it jiggle? Many questions, no answers to be found. Also, and this is very important: I don't care.

"I'm not sure about that, babe," says Hayden, taking the bottle from my hands. "I've studied liquor, and this doesn't look like something FDA approved. I doubt any drinkable alcohol has sediments floating all around."

The drinkability of the bottle seems to be a moot point as it is quickly snatched away from Hayden by a pair of grubby little soft boy hands with oversized rings and not a callus to be seen. Of course, it can only come from one person.

"dope, you got some homemade goldschlager," says Brayden, shaking the bottle and making the sediment go crazy.

For those of you not familiar with this drink, Goldschlager is a cinnamon schnapps liquor that, content with not being preppy enough by having the flavor profile of one of those red hard candies stuck on the bottom of every grandmother's handbag, also ups the ante by having gold flakes swimming around in it, thus making it the drink of choice of twinks, daddy's little girls and 16 year-old queen bee's all around. You can guess which one is Brayden.

Spoiler alert: he's all of them.

"I don't think you should drink that," adds Hayden.

Brayden blows him a raspberry while attempting to open the bottle. "i'm old enough to drink, arigato very mucho."

"It's not about that," I say. "It's just that I don't think that's-"

Gripping the cork with his sweater, Brayden opens the bottle with a *POP*. And then, he's gone.

Not gone, like, walks away, drinking straight from the bottle while flipping us the bird. He's gone, like, erased from the world. He was here one second, and gone the next. As if God highlighted him, punched Ctrl+X, and plucked him from whatever hellish app this universe is supposed to be.

Simply put, Brayden is no more.

"-booze," I finish saying. Yep, his disappearance happened between two words in a sentence. "Huh, weird."

What would you say if a friend simply no-clipped from existence? I doubt "Huh, weird" would be far from the most uncommon thing to say. Of course, nothing compares to the most common thing anybody would say when a friend gets a one-way ticket to the backrooms, and that would be...

"What in the titty fucking shit just happened?" asks Hayden, always the eager volunteer to prove a point. "Seriously, the fuck?"

"Maybe he was punished by the universe for being the fan-favorite character?" I ask.

"Babe, be serious, please."

"But, babe, I don't know what the shit happened, either!" I plea.

"You gave him the magic thingamajig! You should know something about it."

"In theory, you took it from my hands," I point out. And also point at his chest with my index finger for emphasis. I like to get my point across as clearly as possible. I don't know why I'm using the word "point" so much, either, "and he took it from your hands. Ergo, you handed him the magic thingamajig."

Hayden crosses his arms, which makes me step back a few steps, lest I'm crushed by his hammy biceps. "If we are being anal about it, I didn't hand it to him. He took it."

"So, do we agree it was all his fault?"

He takes a few seconds to think things over, mulling over my olive branch. "Well, you did try to stop him."

"His fault, then," I surmise.

"Agreed," says Hayden. Glad we can get past this sudden hurdle. Hayden bites his thumbnail while looking all around. "Still doesn't change the fact that he disappeared. Who the hell knows what was inside that bottle? Perhaps some antimatter? Whatever the case, we just lost yet another club member. At this rate, winning the club battle royale will be impossible."

Ah, yes, that. Kinda forgot about it. I gotta be honest with you, dear reader, I don't have any energy left for another battle royale this season. But if that's what Hayden wants, I would be a dick boyfriend to go against it.

A tower of light inundated the room, and for a moment, I thought it was Brayde coming back with some obnoxious Youtuber revealing this whole shtick was some kind of prank, bro. But no, it's the Vamwolf.

"God, dammit!" he yells, falling knee first to the ground, tears streaming down his eyes. The pixie, the half-beast, and even the furry approach him, patting him on the back as snot and hiccups take turns bubbling out of the hybrid. "I did my best. I... I did my best!"

"Bulsion knows," says Bulsion, petting him hard, like a cat, or a hyperactive pug. "Bulsion is proud of you."

"Don't talk to me about pride! I'm no longer an Alpha. I'm a filthy beta, or worse an Omega. I'm gonna get ass-pregnant!"

"Want me to put a spell on you? Make it less painful when he rams you with his spiky, lipstick penis?" says the racist pixie, Pestonya.

"Can I have some of that?" says the blue furry. "No, wait. I like the pain."

...You know what? Not my cliche, not my problem. He can use his butthole as a candelabra for all I care. Still don't know, nor care about mpreg Alpha/Beta/Omega relationships. That's a bridge too far and a dark side of Wattpad I don't wanna cross.

Suddenly, just as he disappeared, Brayden appears once again, with the bottle now closed.

"Jesus Christ," exclaims Hayden, seeing he blinks into existence next to him.

"not jesus, just daddy," says Brayden.

"Where were you?" I ask. "You disappeared just now."

Brayden tilts his head in a cute way, totally contrasting the very un-cute expression of his scrunched-up face looking at me as if my favorite pastime is trying to knock a plane out of the air by throwing popcorn at it. "waddayamean, i disappeared? i'm right here, ya dingus."

"No, he's right," says Hayden. "You just re-appeared after poofing just a minute ago."

"y'all bitches be getting sleep deprived," says Brayden, once again grabbing the bottle by the cork. "don't worry, uncle brayden is gonna give you a nightcap, but don't tell nobody about it, okay?"

"Brayden, don't-!"

Too late. With another pop from the cork, Brayden gets spirited away to who knows where. Or who knows when. I have a theory of what it is, but I'm not sure.

"Well, there he goes again," says Hayden. "At least we know he's gonna come back, eventually, maybe. What the hell is in that bottle?"

"I think it's whatever Jayden stole from Farfallah," I say, twirling a stray hair in thought. It just helps me, okay? I totally don't have a mania of plucking my hair when I'm stressed or something. No sir. I don't have a bald patch on the back of my hair or anything.

Author's Note: Writing is stressful. Sue me. Or buy me a fidget spinner.

A dragonoid in robes comes solemnly into the room, hands hidden inside his sleeves. "The tournament is over. Please follow me to the closing ceremony."

For some reason, everyone turns to face the Vamwolf, still on the floor, sobbing. When he realizes all eyes in the room are on him, he stands up, takes a deep breath, and puffs his chest. I hold my breath, and I see Hayden beside me doing the same. Somehow, I have the feeling that the ball is in his court. Will he accept the results and take it like a champ? Or will he fight tooth and nail and burn everything to the ground?

"Well," he says, wiping away some tears from his bat nose, "what are we waiting for? We must rally behind the new protector."

The tension dissipates. Seems like we averted something big, for some reason.

"the protector is gonna rally behind you real soon, if you know what i mean," says the sudden and very annoying voice of Brayden next to us. Thankfully, the Vamwolf doesn't seem to have heard him.

"Stop doing that!" yells Hayden.

"do what? hot boy shit?" says Brayden, trying to open the bottle for a third time. "too late, muchacho. i'm hot as fuck, and only some hot boy drink can calm me down."

I snatch the bottle before he can do anything. Luckily, I'm taller than this ankle-bitter and can put it out of his reach.

"hey! gimme!" he squeals.

"I'll keep this for now," says Hayden, putting the bottle in his mysterious back-pocket space. He looks only slightly thicker.

"good. warm schnapps. my fav. yay."

We don't have much time to hear him huff and puff as the room is emptied of people in no time, with us at the back of the line. No Jayden in sight, though. I think I did send him to Brazil. Who I do see is Trevor the Man-Man leading the charge, chest puffed, ready to face the music. I don't feel pride from him, but bravery, the one a man who knows will be hung in the gallows has. The pride of someone who made peace with whatever is going to happen.

The crowd goes wild with a mixture of cheers—for us—and boos—for Trevor the Man-Man—as we step out into the arena. The platform slowly descends in a spiral as magic fireworks and confetti rain from the sky. Different angles of Okayden's face are shown in the magic jumbotron, alongside big, bold letters stating: HABEMUS PROTECTORE. Seven Nations Army is playing in the background. Somehow, I don't think they paid Jack White the royalties to use it.

Okayden seems unmuted by the whole deal, not blinking even once. Is he in shock? Thinking? Wants to get this over with? I still don't know what's happening in that little head of his.

"Ladies and gentlemen, everyone in between and beyond!" says the Dragnpa to thunderous applause. "You have in front of you our new protector. Long live Okayden McHuman, protector of the tri-state forest!"

Flowers, braziers, molted skin, and even a particularly expensive custom pair of Crocs are tossed at his feet in adoration and respect. Our group also joins in clapping and cheering, albeit with less enthusiasm. It must be hard to come this far, but not far enough. Especially for the Vamwolf.

"Now, please, remain silent, as our new protector, Okayden McHuman, chooses his new mate, as dictated by tradition, to strengthen the bonds between neighbors in the spirit of unity and fraternity, and breed new, powerful warriors for the service of the forest! Those who wish to postulate, those with strength to bear the children of the future, and to lead the forest,come forward!"

I'm sorry, his what now?

"His what?" says Hayden.

"what?" says Okayden. "is scooby gonna get some tail?"

Oh, no. This sounds like a bad boy trap. Nobody said anything about no mate. Well, only the Vamwolf, but that seems to be-

Out of nowhere, the Vamwolf walks toward Okayden and kneels in front of him. "My lord, I, Vampyr von Woof, offer you my bussy, and my soul, to be your fated mate."

Okay... then. This is an interesting turn of events. I don't know enough about werewolf tropes to judge here, but maybe if you don't want to get dicked on, don't try to sit on a dick, maybe?

Author's Note: Oh, sweet child who has never read an MMM mpreg werewolf omegaverse fic. Dick always finds a way.

This author thing is officially out of hand. Is anybody else seeing this? Am I crazy? This is my story, not written by anybody else, alright? Processing everything as if it was a book is my trauma coping mechanism for being fetishized and sexually programmed by a bunch of randos. Out of my head, demon!

It seems that, as I was fighting against my own mental health, a room materialized in the middle of the tree trunk, right in front of Okayden. The beige-puke walls, the empty shelves, and Reagan-era posters, it all comes together in a picture of misery and failed education. This is the school library, white hole and all, and Leigh-Leigh the vampire is just inside, ankle monitor showing just from beneath his robes, kneeling in front of Okayden.

"My lord, please choose me, Leigh-Leigh, as your Luna and queen," says the crazy-ass vampiress. "I can be your angle, or your devil. Together, we shall rule this forest with an iron fist and birth a dynasty of warriors that will conquer the lands beyond for eternity!"

To my surprise, even the racist pixie joins the fray.

"Idiot, it's not like I like you or anything," she says, kneeling, I think. She's really small, and it's not that dramatic a height change. "But if you take me, we will make the forest great again. I'm totally not going to poison you."

Bulsion, my half-and-half compatriot, smashes his chest while kneeling in an epic pose. "My liege, Bulsion's horns and cloaca are you to use as you wish."

"I don't know what's happening," says the blue furry, sitting like a dog with a crinkling of used diapers, "but I smell a jiff-pile, and I want in."

Again, not my fetish, not my problem. But, ew.

The crowd goes wild, shouting at Okayden to pick a particular name, with the Vamwolf at the forefront. He has a spread of weirdos to choose from. I wonder if he's gonna ask them to take out their shoes and smell their feet like that one prince from Cinderella. What? You know the guy had a feet fetish. Ain't no reason he went around the kingdom personally manhandling random feet for no reason than to get his rocks on.

Okayden raises his hands, and the stadium goes quiet. Well, except for a few hooligans tossing beer around and being a nuisance. The collective breath of the stadium is suspended in expectation of whatever he will do next. Who will he pick? Will he pick anybody? There must be some kind of way out of here for him.

And he does. He points as his choice, and the stadium gasps in confusion.

After all, he doesn't point at the omega, or the vampiress, or the half-beast, or furry, or racist pixie. He points at the magic red-haired fuck.

"M-m-me?" says Trevor the Man-man as he finds himself at the business end of Okayden's dirty nail.

Okayden beckons him, inviting him onto the stage with him. There must be a catch here. Nobody in their right mind would choose a red-haired Pilsbury dough man as a mate. This smells like he found a way out.

He raises his hand yet again once Trevor the Man-man reaches him, making the stadium quiet in anticipation. He takes a piece of paper out of his pocket, handing it to Trevor.

"I'm not good with words,

But I prepared some to read,

Please, Trevor, read them."

Oh, okay. I thought they were gonna be a thing for a second. All he wants is for him to read something. The thought of a red haired werewolf gives me a primal fear not known before to mankind or beastkind.

Trevor the Man-man takes the piece of paper with confusion, chanting a quick spell to magnify his voice as everyone directed confused looks at him.

"Is a beast not entitled to the sweat of his brow?" he starts to read. Flashbacks of lighthouses and big drills flash through my mind for a second. "Is a beast not entitled to forge his own path? Is a beast not entitled to happiness, whatever the cost? Master Okayden, what is-"

Okayden gives him a look that says: keep reading, or else.

With a gulp, he continues reading. "We hold these truths to be self-evident, but not self-fulfilling. We have hidden ourselves in the veil of tradition to hide our fears and insecurities, all for the illusion of safety. In a world where laissez-faire is the rule, we have shunned globalism, choosing to become socially inbred as we embrace a culture of fear of the outside. Our economy is stagnant, and so is our culture. We are the children of a lost generation that clings to outdated ideas, like a central governing force, which has made us rot. There are no external threats anymore. The need for an archaic figure like a protector is getting in the way of progress, of a free market of ideas, of innovation and capitalism."

Oh, great. We're fucking reading a libertarian manifesto. I swear to sweet baby Jesus, if he starts to quote Ayn Rand or Jordan Peterson...

"But no more! No more shall we hide behind the veneer of fear and tradition. No more shall we push back against progress. No more shall we be slaves to the past. As my first and last act as the protector of the Tri-state forest, I hereby remove the blockade put upon us by our ancestors and abolish the figure of protector!"

Needless to say, there is quite a stir, and shouts, and little razzle-dazzle for shits and giggles. The older generation looks pissed, while the young-looking ones seem potentially excited.

"Master Okayden!" says the dragnpa, pulling hairs out of his beard, "we've had a protector looking over the forest for centuries!"

"And yet, we had none,

Before that, didn't we? We were,

Free before the wars."

"I mean... yes, I suppose," says the dragnpa, "but-"

"I have been outside,

The world has changed, and so,

Must we, or perish."

"The world as we know it has evolved. People have changed. They accept us for who we are without being scared. I have found three beautiful human friends who love me for who I am and are with me through thick and thin. They don't try to kill me, or judge me, but embrace my uniqueness. I feel safe with them. They are my home. And I want you all to experience that as well. I want you all to feel loved and safe for who you are."

...Dammit, Okayden. You're gonna make me cry. I love you, boo.

"And so, we will open our borders to humans, and mingle with them once again. We shall allow foreign businesses to enter and revitalize our economy, and usher in a new era of free market without the intervention of a government telling us what to do and what not to do!"

And we are back again on the libertarian bullshit.

"Of course, we will need advocates to make sure we are not taken advantage of, and that's why I propose a commerce council headed by Trevor the Man-Man, with the participation of the head of every clan, to negotiate proper economic integration...? Master Okayden, are you sure-"

Okayden raises a palm once again, shutting him up.

"You are very crafty,

And I trust you can lead us,

Towards a new dawn."

An olive branch. There's no other way to see this. I think that, no matter how, it was Okayden's plan to implement this, whether his mom's letter had been forged or not. Come to think of it, this might as well be the kick in the butt she wanted for Trevor. To seek his own destiny away from the shadow of the protector.

Okayden is both smart and benevolent. A bigger man than me.

"Master Okayden," says Trevor the Man-man, starting to kneel, but stopping at the last second. "No, Okayden, my friend. I will make sure I don't disappoint you. I will fight for what's best for the forest. That, I swear."

Seeming content with his answer, Okayden turns to the rest of the finalists, all still kneeling.

"I do pray this move,

Makes you all happy, and free,

Without marrying me."

Masterful, just masterful. In one swift move, not only is Okayden changing the culture of his people and dragging the forest to the XXI century, but also saving the Vamwolf's virginity and giving all of his finalists a piece of the proverbial pie with power and fame in the council.

The Vamwolf stands up and shakes Okayden's hand vigorously. "I am more than happy with this outcome, and me and my tribe will support you."

"As Bulsion will as well," says Bulsion, standing up proud.

"I suppose I can live with this," says Pentonya.

"So, no jiffing?" says the furry.

"Then, it is done now,

We shall open our borders,

A new era begins!"

The stadium breaks in thunderous applause and screams of joy. Somehow, I think this was a long time coming. I shudder to think what will happen now, but it will be alright. Maybe. I hope!

The only loser tonight seems to be Leigh-Leigh, who is frozen in silence, her dreams of ruling with an iron fist like a fierce queen shattered.

"I'll leave it to you," says Okayden to Trevor the Man-man before turning towards us. "Well? We have a thing to win,

Shall we get going?"

Hayden gives him a toothy smile, eyes red from crying just now over his beautiful words, and puts his arms around his shoulders. Eh, I'll allow it.

"We shall, my friend. We shall."

"hey, you're kinda baller," says Brayden, grabbing Okayden by the hips. "since you're opening up the economy to new ventures, maybe we can hash out a deal? maybe over dinner? my treat."

Is Brayden flirting with Okayden, or is it just greed? I don't know how to feel about it, but I know I do wanna hug him, somehow. I content myself with scratching his ear as the good boy he is.

"Well, we better get back," I say.

"Let me help you there," says Trevor the Man-man. He whispers something in a weird language while his staff/cane glows white with magic. I feel as if I'm getting dipped into a vat of carbonated milk, which is as appetizing as it feels. "I will make sure to make your mother proud with me, Okayden. I'm not a werewolf like her, but I will be as fierce as one during negotiations!"

As we are spirited away from the forest, a thought crosses my mind. He said Okayden's mother was a werewolf, right?

Now that he says it out loud, isn't it...strange?

Didn't Brayden call Okayden a son of a bitch a few chapters back? If I don't bad recall, Okayden told us he wasn't, because it was his dad who was a werewolf.

Yes, I'm sure. He said it was his dad.

Is there a continuity error in reality? And what the hell was all that about Author's notes and shit?

Something smells rotten, and I'm sure as hell it ain't the vat of carbonated milk.

I have a bad feeling about this. Or not. Maybe I'm just finally sliding into early-onset schizophrenia.

Either way, can't do shit about it.