Chapter 1 – Garlic Butter Noodles vs. Hungry Harpies
The problem with waking up in another world wasn't the dragons.
It wasn't the endless green hills or the glowing towers on the horizon.
The real problem, Riku Tanaka decided, was the pack of shrieking, half-human, half-bird creatures clawing at the sides of their food truck.
Harpies.
Not the glamorous kind from fantasy art. These were wild, ragged things—feathers molting, claws scraping metal, eyes bright with hunger. They hopped and flapped around the Rolling Hearth, wings battering the air, screeches stabbing into Riku's skull.
"…I'm dreaming. I have to be dreaming," he muttered, gripping the counter as the truck shuddered under their talons.
"Holy crap," Hiroshi breathed, face pressed to the window. His grin was far too wide for the situation. "Riku. Look at them! They're like seagulls. Giant, terrifying seagulls."
"Seagulls don't have claws the size of kitchen knives!"
The harpies trilled and shrieked, beaks snapping as they slammed against the serving hatch. One talon punched straight through the thin metal siding, making Riku yelp.
"We're screwed," he said flatly. "This is how it ends. Not with dignity, not with honor—picked apart like leftovers."
The truck lurched again, a heavy thud rattling the pots and pans inside. A talon scraped down the glass, leaving a jagged line.
Riku's heart hammered. "They're going to break through!"
Hiroshi ducked down, fumbling with the cooler. "We've got to distract them. Give them… food or something!"
"What part of shriek and claw looks like 'hungry customer' to you?!" Riku snapped.
Another screech ripped through the air. A harpy slammed against the serving window, its feathers ragged, beak snapping inches from Riku's face. He flinched back, fumbling for the nearest thing—an open tray of yakisoba.
"Fine! You want food? Here!" He shoved the noodles out the hatch.
The harpy lunged—then stopped. It sniffed, tilted its head, and gave the noodles a dismissive flap of its wings. The whole pack went still for half a second, eyes flicking from the food back to the humans inside.
Riku yanked open the warmer. "Okay—okay—we've got karaage, dumplings, fried rice, tonkatsu sandwiches—take your pick!"
"Doesn't matter what, just throw it!" Hiroshi barked.
Riku hurled a steaming bento out the hatch. A harpy swooped, snatched it midair—then instantly flung it to the ground with a screech, scattering rice and pickles into the dirt.
"They didn't eat it!" Riku gasped.
"Try the curry!" Hiroshi grabbed a half-filled tray and shoved it out with both hands. The nearest harpy shoved its face in, inhaled deep, then let out a furious shriek and upended the whole thing. Curry splattered across the truck's side in a yellow smear.
Riku's jaw dropped. "What kind of lunatic rejects curry?!"
"Not now!" Hiroshi yelped as claws raked across the window. "Try something else!"
Dumplings went flying. Harpies snapped them up, chewed twice, then spat them into the dirt. Tonkatsu sandwiches were torn to pieces and trampled under talons. A plate of yakisoba vanished in a flurry of wings, only for the noodles to rain back down like rejected confetti.
"Nothing's working!" Riku shouted, sweat running down his face. "It's like they hate everything we make!"
"Impossible. Our food is perfect." Hiroshi's voice cracked with panic. "I mean—mostly perfect."
Another slam rocked the truck. Talons scraped. Metal buckled. The flock was getting angrier.
Then, in the chaos, a single chicken leg rolled off the cutting board and clattered to the floor.
Both brothers froze.
The lead harpy froze too. Her golden eyes locked onto the raw meat through the hatch.
Riku slowly bent down, picked up the leg with trembling fingers, and held it up. "…No way."
The harpy shrieked once—sharp, hungry, eager.
Riku's stomach dropped. "…Oh my god. They don't eat noodles. They don't eat rice. They only—"
"Eat meat," Hiroshi finished.
The lead harpy slammed its beak against the hatch, wild and ravenous.
And suddenly, every single hungry eye outside turned red with frenzy.
Hiroshi slammed the freezer door shut with his back, clutching a slab of pork belly. "We can't just keep throwing raw meat at them. We'll run out in five minutes!"
Riku's eyes darted over the kitchen. Pots rattling. Knives clinking. Steam rising from the still-hot griddle. Then—an idea. "Wait. What if… we cook it?"
Hiroshi blinked. "Cook it?"
"Yeah! Distract them with smell, make it last longer. We've got spices, sauces, everything!" Riku grabbed a handful of garlic and slapped it onto the cutting board. "Maybe they'll go crazy for the scent before they even touch it."
A harpy slammed against the window again, beak punching a new dent into the frame. Riku didn't flinch this time. He grabbed a pan.
"Fine," Hiroshi said, rolling up his sleeves. "If this is how we die, we're dying chefs."
The stove roared to life.
Within seconds, sizzling garlic filled the air. Harpies screeched louder, wings buffeting the truck as they clawed to get closer. Riku tossed strips of chicken into the pan, the meat crackling violently. Hiroshi flung herbs in with a dramatic flourish.
"Rosemary!" he cried.
"Hit it with paprika!" Riku barked back.
"Don't you dare skimp on the soy sauce!"
The smell was intoxicating—even to the brothers, hearts hammering as they worked. But the harpies? They went feral. Talons raked the truck harder. Beaks slammed the hatch with metallic clangs.
"Okay, okay—now what?!" Hiroshi demanded, gripping the sizzling pan.
Riku threw open the serving hatch. The harpies shrieked, wings blurring, beaks gnashing.
"Order up," he muttered grimly, and flung the pan's contents into the swarm.
A feeding frenzy exploded outside. The harpies dove, clawing and snapping not at the truck but at each other, fighting over the herbed chicken like drunks at a festival yakitori stand.
"It's working!" Hiroshi shouted. "They love it!"
"No kidding!" Riku yelped, slapping down another pan. "Quick—get the skewers! Let's give them variety!"
Within minutes, the Rolling Hearth's tiny kitchen was in full swing, cooking like a Michelin-starred emergency shelter. Garlic butter skewers, cumin-scented strips, teriyaki-glazed drumsticks—they tossed it all out into the chaos.
The harpies stopped clawing at the truck. They were too busy tearing into seasoned meat, wings slick with sauce, shrieks turning into guttural croaks of satisfaction.
The clearing was quiet except for the wet sounds of chewing. A dozen harpies crouched in the grass, feathers greasy, beaks clicking as they devoured every last scrap the brothers had tossed.
Riku wiped his forehead with a towel, shoulders sagging. "Okay. Okay. Crisis averted."
Hiroshi, still hunched over the counter, gave a weak thumbs-up. "Told you seasoning was the key. We're basically… monster food critics now."
Then, one of the harpies looked up. Its eyes weren't wild anymore—just bright, almost curious. It cawed, low and deliberate, then flapped its wings in a strange, beckoning motion.
"…Uh," Riku said, watching.
The others joined in, croaking in unison. Then, with surprising order, they began circling the truck, talons drumming against the dirt in what looked uncomfortably like… an invitation.
Hiroshi squinted. "Are they… asking us to follow?"
The lead harpy tilted its head, shrieked once, then launched skyward. The rest took off as well, wheeling above the truck before heading toward the jagged cliffs in the distance.
The brothers froze.
"Nope," Riku said immediately. "Nope, nope, nope. Not following a murder flock into Murder Canyon."
But then the lead harpy swooped back down, landed on the hood with a thunk, and tapped its beak sharply against the windshield. It gave a screech that rattled their bones.
The harpy on the hood screeched again, wings beating the glass with a thunderous whump. Then, with a final rattling caw, it took off toward the jagged cliffs. The rest of the flock followed, circling like black storm clouds.
"…I think that was a signal," Hiroshi said.
"A signal for what?!" Riku demanded.
"To follow."
Riku slumped over the steering wheel. "Fantastic. We're taking orders from giant pigeons now."
"Hey," Hiroshi said, grinning too wide, "look on the bright side. At least they're not attacking anymore."
THUD.
Something slammed onto the roof. The truck shuddered.
Riku and Hiroshi froze.
A single claw—long, translucent, still twitching—dangled down past the windshield. The thing it was attached to was sprawled across the roof, skin slick and glistening like jellyfish flesh, its head studded with too many eyes.
"…What is that," Riku whispered.
"Protein?" Hiroshi guessed weakly.
Before Riku could respond, two more harpies swooped low over the treeline. One carried what looked like a reptile with the body of a goat, scales glittering like coins. The other clutched a massive bird whose feathers dripped sparks with every twitch. Both carcasses landed with bone-crunching weight on the truck's roof, adding to the grisly pile.
The windshield smeared with streaks of neon blood.
"WHY DO THEY KEEP DELIVERING CORPSES TO US?!" Riku cried.
"I—I think they're stocking us up!" Hiroshi's laugh was high-pitched, close to hysteria. "Like… like tribute!"
"Tribute?!" Riku slammed the steering wheel. "To WHO?! To WHAT?! I don't even know how to cook that thing!" He jabbed a finger at the still-glowing thunder-bird carcass, sparks flickering along its feathers.
Another shadow passed overhead. A harpy dropped something long and sinuous onto the roof. It hit with a wet slap, and coils of slick, purple-scaled body began sliding down the side of the truck. The head—a fanged serpent's, with feathery gills fluttering on its neck—thudded against the hood. Its eyes were still glowing faintly.
The brothers stared at it in silence.
"…Okay," Hiroshi said slowly. "I take it back. This is not tribute. This is intimidation."
"No," Riku muttered, watching blood and ichor drip down the windows, "this is… a catering order."
The harpies screamed overhead, clearing the path. No predators dared come close; even the trees seemed to hunch away from their passing. The Rolling Hearth rumbled along the mountain road, roof stacked high with a grotesque buffet of otherworldly creatures.
For the first time, Riku wasn't worried about survival.
The road ended in a sheer climb, a ragged path that scraped against the clouds.
And then, as the Rolling Hearth rattled into the high pass, Riku and Hiroshi saw it: the Court of the Harpy Queen.
It wasn't a castle. Castles were civilized. This was something older, more primal. The entire mountaintop had been claimed—twisted into a fortress of nests. Spires of bone and branches stabbed the sky, lattices of sinew and rope dangling broken shields, cracked helmets, entire wagons roped together into macabre banners. Every ledge was alive with movement—thousands of harpies crouched like gargoyles, feathers rustling, eyes glowing faintly in the stormlight.
The brothers stared up, necks craning until they hurt.
"Oh," Hiroshi said faintly. "It's… uh. Big."
"'Big'?" Riku's voice cracked. "That's your word for this?! It's a chicken coop the size of a stadium!"
The truck rolled into the central hollow: a vast amphitheater of stone, ringed with nests stacked higher than skyscrapers. At its heart, an enormous throne loomed, built from the ribcage of some long-dead titan beast. Feathers, hides, and bones fanned out behind it like a grotesque peacock tail.
And on that throne sat her.
The Harpy Queen was vast—wings draped like a funeral shroud, talons sharp enough to shear steel, eyes burning with cruel, unsettling intelligence. Her crown was nothing more than a tangle of antlers, bones, and feathers, yet it radiated authority that crushed the brothers to their knees. When she shifted, the entire court seemed to move with her, thousands of wings shivering in unison.
The Rolling Hearth's engine gave a nervous purr-purr-purr. The smell of oil and last night's ramen clung stubbornly inside the cab. For one insane moment, Riku took comfort in the fact that they still had gas in the tank—that the hum of a food truck engine was the only line between them and this cathedral of death.
Then the Queen leaned forward, her voice slicing through the storm like a blade.
"Mortals. You bring me offerings."