Chapter 1
My wife was live-streaming herself eating grilled bugs when she took a bite and accidentally swallowed the Grand Witch's century-old Hex-Bug King.
The Grand Witch came storming to our house, demanding a person as compensation for the debt.
My mother-in-law was the first to step forward.
I thought she was going to have my back.
"Take him, take him!" she said. "Hey, if I throw in two cartons of cigarettes, will you take him off our hands any faster?"
The day I was dragged into the Shadowmire Village, the Grand Witch unleashed a venomous curse-bug to cripple me.
The insect took one look at me.
Then it bowed down, and collapsed.
*****
My name is Nick Forrest. I've been the Sweetwell family's live-in son-in-law for three years.
In those three years, I've washed dishes every single day for 1,095 days straight, worn out seven mops, and been scolded by my mother-in-law, Florence Sweetwell about 2,600 times.
That's an average of 2.4 times a day.
The record was one Saturday when she chewed me out seventeen times—from the eggs at breakfast being too hard to my snoring at night being too loud, she didn't let up for a second.
I thought the worst thing that could ever happen to me was marrying into this family.
That was until today at 3:30 PM, when my wife, Tina Sweetwell, was live-streaming and tossed a black bug onto the grill.
"Hey, everyone, check this out! This is a super rare bamboo worm I picked up while traveling in Willow Springs!"
She flashed a heart at the camera.
"Apparently, the locals use these as bar snacks—supposed to be super tasty!"
The chat exploded.
[That bug looks weird.]
[Tina, you're crazy!]
[Is it just me, or is that thing glowing?]
I was in the kitchen peeling garlic, barely paying attention.
That was when the door suddenly got kicked open.
BANG—!
This wasn't your average kick.
It was the kind of kick that made the whole doorframe tremble.
The garlic slipped right out of my hand.
A woman stood in the doorway.
She looked to be in her early forties, draped in a deep red robe, a silver hairpin gleaming in her hair, and her lips painted such a blinding red they made the warning letters on our building's overdue bills look faded.
But the real showstopper was the two hulking men flanking her.
Each of them was at least 6'3".
Their arms were thicker than my legs.
They had strange black patterns drawn all over their faces.
The whole living room went dead silent.
My father-in-law, Stanley Sweetwell, was lounging on the couch, scrolling through his phone. When he saw what was happening, his phone slipped and smacked him right in the face.
Florence Sweetwell poked her head out of the kitchen, half a cucumber still hanging from her mouth.
My brother-in-law, Sammy Sweetwell, was sitting in the corner, glued to his game, not even bothering to look up.
"Who is it?" Florence Sweetwell asked, pulling the cucumber out of her mouth.
The woman swept her gaze around the living room, and finally, her eyes landed on Tina Sweetwell, who was still live-streaming.
To be precise, her eyes zeroed in on the skewer in Tina's hand.
There was a bug skewered on it.
Or at least, it used to be a bug.
Now, it was nothing but a blackened, burnt chunk.
Her pupils contracted, eyes wide with shock.
"That's" Her voice was so soft it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. "My Hex-Bug King?"
Tina was still munching on the bug. Hearing that, she paused mid-bite and looked up at the woman.
There were still bits of bug stuck to the corner of her mouth.
"Huh?"
"The thing you're chewing on," the woman said, her words icy and deliberate, "is the hundred-year Hex-Bug King I spent 130 years raising."
The living room went dead silent for three seconds.
Tina froze, then gulped hard—her throat making an audible sound.
And just like that, she swallowed it.
I stood there in the kitchen doorway, clutching the half-peeled garlic, and there was only one thought running through my head.
We're screwed.