The walk home was a forty-minute trek through the biting San Francisco wind that did nothing to cool the simmering resentment in my gut. My day hadn't gotten any better, the snarky comments from my female coworkers only continuing as the day went on. By the time I left the building, I was seething with how little they respected me, how they misunderstood me.

  Every time a car splashed through a puddle near me or a group of laughing normies pushed past me on the sidewalk, I felt the weight of Asuka in my backpack and gripped it tighter, trying to protect her. They had no idea - none of them. They lived in their beige world of credit scores, TV dramas, and water-cooler gossip while I was only minutes away from my home, the place where I was a king.

  I stopped at the corner store, grabbing my nightly fuel; two cups of spicy miso ramen and a six-pack of white Monster Energy drinks. The guy behind the counter didn't even look up as I paid, watching a news story on the shop's television and waving me through. I was invisible to him, a glitch in the background of his shift.

  As I glanced at the television, I saw it was a human interest story. A small college somewhere upstate had their girl's volleyball team traveling in a bus on the way to a game when it wrecked, flipping upside down and catching fire. A handsome, athletic man in his thirties had been driving nearby and ran to help them, rescuing all the girls before they could barely take a scratch. He looked like he'd suffered some nasty burns, but the newscaster was trying to keep a straight face as they interviewed the girls.

  One of them was quite vocal about promising to give him the best night of his life - and several other girls agreed. The newscaster tried to laugh it off, cutting the video and moving on, but I felt a surge of jealousy - and shame. Why couldn't I be the girls' hero? I could pull them from a burning van, right? I deserved a night of passion with such beauties, right? Then I sighed, reality's harsh intrusion reminding me that I was a nobody.

  But the moment I stepped into my studio apartment, the Kenji Watanabe who worked at the Pacific Community Bank was put into a box, not to be touched again until Monday.

  I kicked off my scuffed shoes and peeled away the charcoal slacks, tossing them into the corner of the apartment like a discarded skin. I stripped down to my boxers, my pale, soft body finally free of the over-starched prison of my button-down shirt. I sat in my SecretLabs gaming chair and unlocked my computer, using a custom-built biometric interface to read my fingerprints as well as my password. It was impossible to be too careful - I didn't want just anyone to get access to my data. As I settled in, I glanced down, still wearing my Miko socks, and grinned at her face, twisted in the rapture of ahegao.

  The triple monitors bloomed to life, casting a violet glow over my room, reflecting off the glass eyes of dozens of figurines watching me from the shelves. I had a robust collection of figurines from my favorite anime and hentai titles, reflecting the tens of thousands of dollars I spent on my hobbies. I waved to the girls, then refocused on my computer as I logged into the Shadow Palace Discord server.

  > [Kenji_V_Max]: Hey all, I'm back. The outside world tried to break me today - got told my desk-waifu wasn't allowed anymore, then almost got busted wearing my Miko socks.

  > [FriskyFi]: Those poor blind souls. They punish what they don't understand.

  > [ManOfCulture69]: Fuck the normies, K. They wouldn't know culture if it slapped them in the face.

  > [Kenji_V_Max]: My boss is such a bully, almost made the cute new girl cry.

  > [FriskyFri]: Did you stand up to him? I'll bet she'd love a handsome senpai like yourself saving the day. Girls love to reward a hero.

  Frowning, tried to come up with a good response - not wanting to confront the reality of the situation.

  > [Kenji_V_Max]: It wasn't the right time, but never fear - I'll knock my boss down a few steps and shine for her some day soon.

  We chatted for a few more minutes as I slurped down my first ramen, sipping the white Monster, feeling the caffeine start to boost my energy as I settled in for a night of gaming, videos, and fun. Then FriskyFi sent me a message on the side.

  > [FriskyFi]: I got access to something private if you want. Something totally off the books. You interested?

  > [Kenji_V_Max]: Yeah - what is it?

  > [FriskyFi]: My friend hacked into a Japanese gamedev, stole their work-in-progress. It's a VR/haptic game. The working title was Tentacle Sovereign. You get to be the monster. Did you ever finish that bootleg neural link you were working on?

  > [Kenji_V_Max]: Fuck yes. I'm in.

  My pulse quickened, excitement building quickly. I'd spent the last six months building a custom neural-interface based on bootleg schematics I'd found on a hacker forum. Allegedly, it was hacked out of some government research database - and it had been scrubbed quickly. But I'd kept a copy - and then spent a ton of money buying the parts to complete it. I'd even needed to have one of my cousins in Akihabara send me a few parts that I couldn't source in the United States. This wasn't some consumer-grade haptic suit; it was a series of medical-grade electrode pads connected to a modified signal amplifier. It was designed to bypass the skin and talk directly to my nervous system, transmitting and receiving instructions.

  I clicked the link that FriskyFi sent me, watching as my computer started downloading the file. It was large, almost 100 gigabytes, and so I finished my second ramen and another Monster while I rewatched Rakuen Shinshoku: Island of the Dead. It was one of my favorites, filled with spectacular animation quality and pure tentacle depravity. I could feel my cock hardening in my boxers as I watched the tentacles ravage Aria again and again as she was wedged in a wine barrel, pumping their seed into her gaping holes.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  As I was debating if I should masturbate or not, my computer beeped - letting me know the download was finished. I started installing the app, trusting FriskyFi that it wasn't a virus, and started to get ready. I settled into my chair, peeling the backing off the sticky electrode pads with practiced precision. I placed two on my temples, one at the base of my skull, and several along my spine and inner thighs, stripping my boxers off in the process. I smeared a thick, cold dollop of conductive gel over each sensor, the chill making me shiver.

  "Direct neural feedback," I whispered, the words nearly a prayer as I picked up my VR headset. "I can feel everything." I cracked another Monster - the crisp, citrus scent filling my nose- and took a swig, setting it on the desk next to my keyboard. Then I lowered the VR goggles over my eyes.

  The world vanished.

  I wasn't sitting in the cramped studio apartment anymore. I was on the rooftop of a Japanese high school at twilight, the sky a bruised purple overhead, filled with angry storm clouds. But I didn't just see it. I felt the humidity, the impending storm. I looked down and saw thick, undulating midnight-blue tentacles attached to a muscular frame, each one covered in suction cups that pulsed with a faint, rhythmic bioluminescence. When I thought flex, they writhed. When I thought grasp, they curled - the suction cups puckering with a wet, tactile thwip sound.

  Then, the targets materialized in front of me. Maki Zenin from Jujutsu Kaisen was the first to move, her spear leveled at me. I didn't give her the chance. I lashed out with four massive limbs, coiling them around her wrists and ankles. The neural link fired, sending the sensation of her frantic, muscular struggle directly into my brain as I somehow felt her through these phantom limbs. I felt the heat of her skin and the sheer power in her legs as I pulled her taut, spread-eagle in mid-air. Another pair of tentacles ripped her clothing apart, suction cups latching onto the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. The feedback was so real it made my head swim.

  Uta from One Piece tried to sing, but I silenced her with a slick, rubbery appendage that coiled around her throat and forced itself deep into her mouth. I felt the wet heat of her breath and the texture of her tongue against my tentacle and it felt so good. I wrapped another limb around her waist, binding her arms to her side and squeezing her small body until I felt her rib cage vibrate with a muffled sob.

  Finally, there was Fern from Frieren. She stood on the far side of the roof, stoic. Her staff was raised, ready to fight, but her violet eyes were wide with a terror that made my cock - a massive, prehensile tentacle at the center of my mass - throb with pleasure. I lunged, my limbs shredding her white robes. I coiled a thick mass of tentacles around her waist and hoisted her into the air.

  The haptic feedback through the neural link was staggering. I felt the softness of her breasts as a tentacle crushed against them, the suction cups dragging against her nipples as they pebbled and grew hard. I slid another limb between her legs, the writhing tentacle forcing its way past her panties and shredding the lacy fabric. I felt the immediate, staggering heat as I breached her - the simulation translating the tight, wet resistance of her digital virginity with terrifying accuracy. I was the King. I was the Tentacle Sovereign.

  I was deep in the conquest, my brain flooded with a tidal wave of artificial dopamine. I wanted more. I was saving Fern for last, waiting to take her virginity, while I ravaged Uta and Maki again, my tentacles coating them in cum, the sheer volume of liquid forcing itself through their nubile bodies and out their gaping mouths. It wasn't anatomically possible, but who cared? I reached out into the air, summoning the floating HUD and grasping the "Sensory Output" slider.

  "Let's see how far we can take this," I growled to the girls as I cranked the slider to the maximum, teetering on the edge of my own orgasm as the sensations from the tentacles obliterated my brain. As I shuddered, fighting my own release, my hand flailed just a little too widely and I clipped a different button.

  [WARNING: POV SWAP ENGAGED. CHANGING CHARACTER.]

  The world spun wildly, my vision blurring and then resolving. Suddenly, I wasn't the Tentacle Sovereign. I was Fern.

  I was pinned against the cold iron of the rooftop railing, my white robes in tatters. The midnight-blue tentacles weren't my tools anymore - they were invaders, terrifying and violent in their savage attacks of me. Abject horror coursed through my body.

  The bootleg neural link, having no safety limiters, didn't just simulate the touch of the tentacles; it translated the violation as the simulation finally took Fern's - took my - virginity. I felt the cold, rubbery mass that I had just been controlling now force its way inside of me. The invasive pressure was absolute and I felt my hymen tear and I wailed in pain. My thighs were forced apart, the suction cups dragging against my most sensitive flesh.

  The electrodes at the base of my spine fired with a white-hot intensity, forcing a high, sharp, feminine gasp out of my real-world throat. My body arched in the chair, my nerves screaming as the simulation forced the sensation of being utterly filled, stretched, and dominated by the beast. It was a hurricane of pleasure and terror - and then it shoved a tentacle down my throat.

  I tried to cry in horror, but my brain was insisting a tentacle was down my throat and I couldn't possibly speak, so muffled gagging noises came out instead. Wait! Stop! No!

  I panicked, my real-world hands flailing wildly as I tried to find the kill switch on the system. I had to disconnect this, to turn it off. My right hand struck the open can of Monster. The liquid erupted from the can, splashing directly into the unshielded, home-built circuitry and nest of high-voltage power strips at my feet.

  *CRACK-BOOM*

  A blinding arc of sapphire electricity, visible even through the VR headset, through the neural link, jumped from the floor, traveling up the unshielded electrode wires and directly into my temples. The surge bridged the gap between the digital girl being violently raped and my physical brain. My vision shattered into a million white pixels as I felt my body arching in violent seizure. My neural pathways were obliterated by electricity.

  In the final microsecond, before everything went black, the rooftop vanished. Instead, I saw a rain-slick Kyoto alleyway at midnight. Standing there was a woman who looked like she had stepped out of a SSS-tier limited-edition scroll.

  She wore a Hikizuri, the heavy, midnight-black silk of the kimono trailing behind her on the wet stones. The silver Obi was tied tight around her waist, emphasizing a pair of breasts so improbably large they threatened to spill from her collar. Her hair was a river of obsidian with a single, sharp streak of neon pink, framing a face dominated by wide, shimmering pink eyes that glowed with ancient, predatory amusement.

  "You've been a spectator for too long, Kenji," the woman whispered, her voice vibrating directly against my brain. She leaned down, the scent of lilies and ozone filling my senses, a cruel smirk playing on her lips.

  "You told your little friends that you'd shine for her soon, didn't you? You want to be the hero the world watches? Fine. Let's see if you can handle the electricity of the stage. This is your chance to live up to your words - be the Super that you so desire. Let's see you rise to the occasion."

  The power grid in the apartment surged, then blew. My heart stopped and my body slumped to the floor.