Isekai'd, My Posterior!
Ever regret a moment in time so badly that you wanted to chop your own pecker off with a rusty Stanley knife? Or seethe in anger at the fact that your toast fell on the damn buttered side for the fifty-thousandth time in a row? How about wanting to dip your nether regions in honey, stand in front of an ant hill and shave coconut because you felt like the biggest idiot in the history of idiots? No? Well, then, William felt like the largest fool that had ever existed since Coke had released a freaking garlic flavor to its inventory. Seriously, which desperate dipshit drank that atrocity?
But this time, it had not been William who had flopped, rather his ability to anticipate the thoughts and actions of those around him, the Gravelord being his number one topic of discussion. For all his careful (not really) planning and precise (more like inaccurate) assumptions that would have led to a great setting of the stage for his nimrod of a companion, why in the hell did Bone Daddy have to thwart everything so that his house of cards fell like a hippo's turd on burning concrete?
Oh. He knew why. That lethargic sack of boners hadn't deemed Oscar fit to become the Chosen Undead. Well guess what Nito, neither had he! That was why the Thief was wasting his precious time better spent sweet talking the presently tongue-less Anastasia, just to train, educate and prep the Astorian for D-Day!
Did it even mater what he, the actual Chosen Undead thought about this sudden decision to just… give away Lord Souls like bloody super-sized condoms?! William supposed not, otherwise Nito would have consulted him first, and they would talk – like normal crazy individuals – over some good grub and some smashing drinks (at least… William would be happy to munch down).
But instead, the Gravelord had done as he pleased. The undead scoffed. The Lord of Death probably always did whatever he wanted anyway. After all, when you discovered that you could manipulate death, you did gain that particular stick up your non-existent ass called cockiness.
Nevertheless, he supposed he should be grateful. Although his plans had been derailed slightly, there were still a trio of upsides to mull over.
The first was that he was still alive, liked by Nito, and the fact that he could still be Oscar's 'sensei', of sorts with regard to 'saving' the world. Okay, that was more than one point, but you get the point.
The second was that he actually possessed one of the four required pieces to the Kiln. Usually, nobody would be able to acquire said souls, save for the Four Kings on account of Gwyn sealing up the other three spots with the last of his power. Therefore, this was really an achievement for William (and Oscar via association). Also, he never truly wanted Nito dead so this would be another thing that went his way for once.
The final merit was personal. Meaning that William had gained a valuable nugget of wisdom to chew on whilst testing out his other theories and ploys that could potentially make exchanges a whole lot easier in future.
The fact that he had managed to speak with Nito on a platonic level without all the hacking and slashing meant that persuasion was a fine tool to use in this real Dark Souls. Even if the Gravelord had only availed him audience for what he was and where he had come from, the fact remained that he could use other means to acquire what he needed, and strengthen Oscar in the process – no fees attached!
It was really the icing on the cake. He already knew that Oscar would learn and adapt quickly in each environment, allowing his warrior instinct to take over where his logical mind would fail, causing the Astorian to possess enough experience and muscle memory to call himself the true Chosen Undead. Additionally, it would push William further and further away from reaching that peak, which was exactly what he wanted.
Nito hadn't understood why he had chosen to make Oblivious Oscar the main protagonist of this sad story that only ended in tragedy. That had been a grave mistake – all pun intended. Essentially, Oscar was a blank slate. Sure he had possessed a plotline but that was only in the alpha version of the game. His point had already been proven in the many other stories about the guy on fiction sites, but to put it simply, Oscar was the prime specimen for doing the unpredictable. A real Naruto Uzumaki, except without any cool and heartfelt lines to go with his badass orange jumpsuit. No, instead, Oscar had his groin stink – because there was only one true Naruto to go around.
Speaking of stink, they were in Blighttown now, sniping buzzing bugs with shortbows like they were Legolas from the Wooden Realm. The initial Musketeers in Lizard suits and Fat – or MILF for short – had been a relative breeze considering that all William had done was shoot one of them in back, scream like an enraged orangutan and dart back to the entrance of the cave; only for Oscar to pop up out of nowhere and hack them to itty-bitty pieces like he was Bear Grylls on the hunt for Lordrian delicacies. That being said, it was quite comedic that all one got for taking the awfully long time to cave that much fat from an obese blubber butt was a mere pound of fresh, steaming dung that repelled flies instead of attracting them.
The sight made William laugh a little as he passed them by. Those cocky lizards got so surprised that they shat themselves from the shock of death before bursting into a million and one white lights. As if their existence wasn't ironical enough.
At first, it had been an issue telling Oscar to deviate from the original path set out by old Cresty in Firelink. It had also caused the Thief's sword arm to twitch when the dumb blonde didn't want to leave Petrus' side all because he wanted to 'talk with a fellow Worshiper of White about the doctrines of the Order'. William had ground his teeth and forced a smile, but their nonsensical 'talk' more filled with garbled lies and useless religious phrases had ended quickly – allowing William the opportunity to hold back from shivving the round Cleric in the spine right then and there.
He also hated the bipolar bitch with a bob-cut for leaving three innocent and brainless undead in the Catacombs to die but at the same time, William also disliked Rhea for being such a pompous prick the first time he had met her in-game. Even so… he had to admit that killing Petrus was something he wanted to do with urgency. He supposed it was something akin to a personal vendetta. After all, the first time William had ever played Dark Souls, he had been a fool and listened the bulbous idiot's words, joining his covenant and handing over all the souls he possess only to go on and die many terrible and unprepared deaths whilst still cussing the fact that he had chosen to play the game as a Deprived on his first run-through.
Getting back on topic, they were still traversing through the rickety floorboards and splintered ladders of the back entrance of Blighttown. He would have loved to take a trip down memory lane and traverse this cesspool the uniform way but he also wasn't in the business of coming into contact with a sewer dragon that looked like Gwynevere's hairy, yeast infected vagina after Seath went a full week smacking that ass.
The layout of Blighttown wasn't exactly how he had imagined it to be, and they had to descend over many more poorly made floors of wooden scaffolding before they finally came across the thick tree roots leading to the chest that held the Crimson Robe Set. Additionally, the road toward the stray Firekeeper soul possessed no dogs on the ground floor, just a few more dart-mouth Lizardmen who's darts… actually didn't penetrate or poison them at all. In fact, if the undead had to be specific, the 'darts' that were actually being shot at them were no less than pieces of human vertebrae.
It was all very, very disappointing but he didn't complain or open his mouth to laugh. Doing so would have just jinxed his luck and caused whichever being was watching him right now to purposefully make matters worse.
"I don't understand." Oscar said once they had crossed over to the rotating lift of rope pulleys, wooden planks and primitive engineering. "How could these mindless beasts even think to construct machines as advanced as this?"
William watched his companion drop onto one of the gangplanks before descending, slowly reaching the landing zone below. The undead waited until his armored friend reached the drop point before hopping onto his own rickety square, wobbling slightly as he shielded his head from the falling splinters and termites raining down on him.
He could have explained to Oscar the existence of an actual city here before it had all done to hell, but thinking about how he would have to make up a lie to explain how to knew the history of this place made his head whine like a needy cat in heat. He sighed out. It wasn't worth the trouble to jeopardize his good standing with the Astorian.
So, instead, he answered the usual dumbass way.
"Because somebody had to clean the plumbing every now and then. And unfortunately, Mario ain't home today."
They both reached the platform leading down toward the ground floor of Blighttown. It was almost the same as the game's depiction, accurate even. Thinking back, he didn't blame the previous versions for lagging this area so badly. The game was probably just trying to emphasize the point of this crafted sty: a bog filled with centuries of Lordran's sewage and rot, all rolled up, deep fried, dunked in soy sauce and left to steam so badly it became a thick, toxic, soggy wetland of shit. Plain. Putrid. Shit. Ergo: Blighttown.
"Man, this sucks." William groaned. He had thought that if he ignored it, he would be able to forget that he had to run through waist-high excrement and gunk just to reach some Spider Waifu's without shirts on. Now that he was right in front of it, with his body soaked in sweat from the arid heat and the stench of fresh and old muck mixing together to form a blend of atrocious taste bud-killer's… perhaps it was a better idea to let Queelan live in mise-
No! He was not backing down now. They had spent more than two whole hours getting here only to land up in literal Shit Creek. He was not going to return until his efforts paid off. He was going to see some red-haired bustiness coupled with a flaming spider ass and his laziness wouldn't stop him. Furthermore…
He looked at Oscar, who was currently using his sword to peel off some mud from his boot. This would be a perfect area for the Astorian to train, feel some pain, and gain experience. It was also an area with one of the two Bells of Awakening. They couldn't possibly turn back when it was right in front of them.
Again, William groaned, slapping his face as he slipped the Rusted Iron Ring over his index finger. Might as well carry on, now that his hypocritical self-righteousness had come into play.
Taking a proud step forward, William prepared himself for the toxins that would seep through his thick boots and infect his skin with rotten crap. He knew this was going to hurt but if it was the required payment to gawk as some Izalith sisters, then he was game. At least his effort wouldn't be in vain.
The only problem with that statement was that he wouldn't be exerting himself exactly. And that because his fears had been unfounded. The moment he plopped a foot in the waist-high sea of gravy, to be precise.
"The hell?"
William frowned before planting his other foot into the muck. Something was off here, and it wasn't the stale scent of a hollow man's dry turd absently floating in the water before him.
He took a step forward through the 'thick' slime only for his legs to swish through the muggy water as if he were in a stream. William's frown deepened and he stared at the ring on his finger. Was the strange texture of the bog because of how the ring was affecting his sense of stability? If so, then why wasn't he being poisoned?
He slid the ring off his finger and waited a few moments. Nothing happened. He put the ring back on. Again, nothing happened. William strode forward once again before taking off the old ring. For the third bloody time, nothing bloody happened.
"Is everything alright, William?"
The undead turned back and stared blankly at his comrade, clad in heavy armor, walking through the shitty water toward him without stumbling or being weighed down by the thickness of the liquid they were both standing in.
Well this had just made him look like an idiot. The freaking surface of Blighttown was smoother than a damn chocolate mousse. Additionally, the freaking ring on his finger didn't do shit, because the freaking ring on his finger wasn't bloody magic. Just perfect. He had walked into waist-high lizard crap for absolutely nothing.
William looked up and glared into nothingness.
"Oh, screw you. Could this day get any worse?"
And that was when Mildred appeared.
Oscar drew his sword and climbed out of the muck as William titled his head her way, his right eye twitching in annoyance as the Maneater stood from her crouch; knife, knickers and knapsack glowing dark red with tints of deep black before her gaze found his.
"Really? You couldn't have come at a better time, could you? Freaking sitcom scenarios are pissing me off!"