Isekai'd, My Posterior!
I feel as though I haven't posted anything in quite a while. Do you think I haven't posted anything in quite a while? You do? Good. Because I have not. And so, here's a chapter – from me. Please enjoy.
Also, I apologize. I've just been crazy busy.
Also, for Kingdom Come followers… I've just posted Chapters 31 and 32. Hurrah.
"I'm sorry?" the fat heretic swathed in dubious hypocrisy dared to ask before an excited William in an unusually insulting mood.
"You're forgiven." The undead waved him off, earning himself another confused frown. That made William smile. Of course, he couldn't openly smile. Doing so would only express the pleasure he found in mocking the Way of White dipshit to his face. So he smiled on the inside instead.
He had been anticipating this moment for a long time since he had arrived. Dreaded it too – but not the reasons one might have assumed.
You see, William hated Petrus with a passion. From his build, to his obnoxious voice actor, to every strand of dull blonde hair on the bastard's head. Seriously, the color was so utterly diluted that it was yellow. William hated yellow. It made him grow uneasy, angry, temperamental and bizarrely violent.
He had been able to stomach the Astorian's rich locks due to his bloodline being fairly pure, with only hints of degeneration; thus, the vibrant gold that glowed in the sunlight atop Oscar's head was manageable at best. But Petrus was a different matter. He was a virus. A stain on the already filthy landmark of Lordran. And due to his addition to the mess, William felt an innate urge to cleanse him – wash away his sins like any good believer in the gods of this world (which he was obviously not).
That being said, he could not just simply ask the bob-cut bitch to take a walk with him before shivving him in the anus with a rusty dagger and turning the handle anti-clockwise. And that was due to the other three Thorolund undead, stationed near the cacophony of empty pots to the right.
Again, William's smile threatened to split his cheeks and pop his teeth out of his gums. He wouldn't have asked for a more convenient setting with all four of them positioned like they were, and after he had raided the Catacombs of the item these novices sought after.
"Now, now, William. Try not to be uncultured before our guests. They do possess royalty with them." Oscar scolded, and William took a moment to think about which one of them couldn't control the acrid stench of their nether's before the awkward cough of Vince knocked him back into reality.
"Hm? Oh, right. Yes, well… I'll just go ahead and pay my respects then."
"That's the spirit." The Astorian cheered with joy, pointing him in the direction of a kneeling woman in an ensemble that lacked all sense of trend, color or sleekness for that matter. Yep, that was Rhea, all right. Seems she hadn't changed a smidge. Not that he cared. He still didn't like her – the pompous prick. Who was she to call him uncouth when he was rocking the head of an armored boar as a helmet?
He was about to take a step forward, when the bulging leather of a particular swine stepped into his line of sight, gluttonous fingers pressed against his chest as if to ward him off. William simply sighed and turned his head to stare at the stern, piss-drunk face of Petrus, the pussyfoot.
"What is it, you cunt face?"
Petrus frowned. "What did you just call me?"
"I said: what is it, you can't face?"
The traitorous undeads wrinkles rolled over his wrinkles, making him look like an expired tampon, as his pea-brain attempted to comprehend simple wordplay when Oscar stepped in, hands raised in placation.
"Please, Petrus. William is a dear friend to me and my trusted comrade. He wouldn't dream of bringing harm to the Young Maiden. Allow him passage."
Oh, yes he would. Tons of harm. Mountains of harm. Enormous bloody echoing caverns of harm. He could see it now, that annoying twit of a pre-pubescent teenage hollow bent over his lap, her slap-me voice screeching at him to let her go back to uttering her absurd holier-than-thou-prattle whilst her petit derriere lay upright like a sprouted flower – poised and ready to receive copious amounts of his left-handed five-finger discipline until one of her cheeks turned into an actual tomato.
William felt his mouth tug into a creepy grin at the thought of such reconditioning that would surely have him smiling from ear-to-ear for the remainder of the undead quest. He twisted his face and curled his lip to subvert it – raising a hand to slap himself across the face just in case.
"I say, what is the matter with you?" Petrus said, giving him a look that showed both his confusion and utter resentment.
"Being blue-balled by a buxom beauty with bouncy balloons bigger than Beyoncé's," he blurted out unashamed and the git took half a step back whilst eyeing him as if he were the one with a dozen or so little boys crammed into his private abode.
"But let's not sweat the details. There is a plethora of other twin peaks smaller than Quelaag's, like the sad tennis balls on innocent Rhea, for example, so let's not make this parting visit any sadder than it needs to be." William flicked his head towards his companion. "Shall we, Oscar?"
"Wait, was that about tennis ba-"
"And so we shall!" the undead cheered and cut off the slow Astorian before moving on to stand directly into front of one of the noble's personal guards.
" 'Ello govner."
The Thorolund knight merely blinked at him owlishly. "No, sorry. My name is Vince."
The undead patted him on the pauldron with a smile. "And here I was thinking it was Dick."
"Uhm, wha-"
"So, what exactly brings a young maiden, two knights fresh out of the academy, and a sour prune to this lovely neighborhood of oozing misery?"
Vince blinked at the question, took a moment to process it in his mind, and finally nodded in understanding before looking back at him. William had to hold back the scoff building up at the back of his throat. No wonder this dimwit dies early in the game. His skills at basic comprehension would be a negative integer if one appraised them. At least Nico did the smart thing but shutting up and not saying a word – giving off a fleeting thought that he may actually be keener than his oblivious face led people to believe.
Still though, it was nice to know that both Tweddle's were more or less exactly how he had anticipated their personalities to be. It simply wouldn't do for either of them to be marginally bright – that would just ruin the stereotype of the classic blockheaded bodyguards Rhea moved around with.
An unpleasant thing to note was that the Tweddle's hometown did not resemble the United Kingdom in any shape or manner.
It was a shame, since both Tweddle's and Rhea's accents sounded deceptively British. He enjoyed the company of British people. The way they seemed to turn dicey scenarios into mundane topics to quarrel about at the local bar was something he certainly enjoyed.
"Well, if elder Petrus hasn't already told you, Nico and I are here to aid Mi'lady on her quest for the Rite of Kindling." William smiled from ear-to-ear as elder Petrus swung his head round to point a glare at the talkative idiot's way, making the boy gulp and shrink back into his armor like a disappointed pecker of a grossed out teen that accidentally clicked on a granny porn site.
"U-Uh... you… weren't supposed to know that part, however." Nico sputtered with a sheepish look on his face. William's smile just grew wider. He gave the kid props for at least trying to fix his irredeemable mistake. Petrus would probably make him die first when he eventually made a deal with that double-crossing parody of Saitama with the wedged nose, down in the Giant Tombs. "Would you perhaps be willing to kindly forget about such a slip of the tongue?"
The silver-haired undead raised a pale eyebrow in amusement. The scrub was actually beginning to grow on him. Just a little bit though.
"As entertaining as that idea sounds, do you really think I'd pass up the opportunity to mess with Mary Poppin's over there?" he nodded his head at Petrus and received a stern-faced glare that made him chuckle. When the goat finally turned his head back to face an apologetic Oscar, William placed a hand on Nico's broad shoulder and flashed him one of his best 'lets-make-an-unfair-deal' faces. After all, it wouldn't be right for him to keep the word mum when there wasn't any incentive on his part for him to guarantee his silence – it was just good business.
"However, perhaps you can persuade me to remain ignorant to such scandalous news."
The young scrub exhaled loudly in relief. "Oh, thank you greatly, kind sir. If you will just hold on a moment," he shoved his mace into the mantle on his belt and riffled through a pouch before lifting a handful of coins in front of William's face.
The undead titled his head. "I don't know how long you've been undead, boy… but we don't use human currency here."
Nico faltered. "Then what else can I pay you with?"
"We trade for souls here." William replied in his best impression of the Undead Merchant. He couldn't help it. That was one of the best lines in the game. Which reminded him, they needed to give the weasel a visit – and hopefully haggle his wares down to an acceptable price. Seriously, one-thousand-five-hundred souls for a cheap short bow and some barely lethal arrow heads was daylight robbery.
"B-But I don't have any souls," the scrub said, tears percolating on his lower lids.
William frowned. "You don't?"
"No, sir."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't know to acquire any-"
"Haven't you killed a hollow yet?"
Nico hesitated and looked to the side. The undeads shoulders dropped before he facepalmed himself. Two newly turned undead fresh out of the Thorolund Academy of Knighthood or some such other ridiculous title, and they couldn't even fight a limping skeleton with a sword hilt – let alone kill one. Now it made sense why Petrus hated the lot of them. They were utterly useless. Merely good enough for bait and late-night romp-rutting.
"Welp, I guess you'll just have to pay with your body." William said with a sigh and he was certain the sharp stab of ammonia in the air was due to the scrub pissing himself as he paled. "But, lucky for you, I'm only into women."
Nico let out a deep sigh.
"So, move aside. Your young maiden will do."
And then Nico's sigh suddenly became a choke, followed by a rattled wheeze. William forced down a peal of laughter. Messing with these guys was just so entertaining.
"Calm yourself Nico." A soft voice spoke, breaking the young cleric from his moment of hyperventilation before the sight of a slender body rose from behind him. "it is worthless to amuse the philistine with reason."
The undead rose another intrigued eyebrow. Now, now, now… he didn't expect Rhea to be this banal in her religious nattering. Who would have guessed he'd be dining with a self-centered serf today?
"So you're the one every half-hollow undead is talking about?"
"The uncouth tend to whisper in the presence of beings more divine than they." She replied smoothly before turning around.
If her god complex hadn't irked him, the sight of her round face and sharp eyes exuding uncontained spite from her sparkling green pools, certainly impressed him. He was liking the new upgrade. She possessed more bite than her original self.
"What is the purpose of your visit, aside from attempting to con my bodyguard into giving up his charge into..." she gave his form a once over with a disappointed frown. "lascivious hands?"
"Hmph, don't flatter yourself, honey. I may have spooked ya' boy here, but there's no way I'd be ready to lay with someone that can't provide decent upper support."
He saw her eye twitch and grinned widely. Button number one was officially uncovered. He wondered how many more he could find before their conversation was over.
"Anyways, I'm only paying my respects because Oscar asked me to." He said and poked a thumb at the Astorian's sweating face. He seemed utterly nervous for someone who couldn't identify they had a body odor condition.
Rhea flicked her gaze at the knight. "all these warriors and you chose this knave to accompany you, Chosen Undead?"
"W-Well actually, it was William that ended up saving my life in the end…" Oscar stuttered before looking away quickly. Why was he suddenly so anxious around a pleb like Rhea? Wait.
William turned and gave his companion a pointed stare. The knight caught his gaze before the silver-haired undead cocked his head toward the maiden and winked, only to receive a blush followed by a cough in return.
Oh. He saw how it was now.
"I sympathize with you, then." Rhea said, eyes softening as the Astorian. She turned her head to look at William, and instantly, that mass of self-entitled douchy-ness returned to square one. "I don't imagine a petty thief could aide you in achieving much."
"Actually, William has been quite helpful!" the knight suddenly blurted out, earning him another one of the woman's curious stares.
"How so?"
"A-A-Ah, well he…"
"Come on," William's thoughts screamed at the idiotic dolt that was his most trusted companion, "we've been together for more than enough time. At least try to make me look good before the hoity pleb you have a crush on!"
The Astorian wracked his brain. It was both visible and unappealing. He looked like Patrick from SpongeBob that needed to shit before he had a good idea. William paused. He hoped Oscar was not like Patrick in that regard – even if most of him was directly the same.
"Oh! Yes, I had almost forgotten." The knight said happily.
Finally! He knew his companion would actually recall the numerous times he had stuck his neck out for the greater-
"There was that time William had saved me from the giant raven excreting on me!"
-good.
William deadpanned at Oscar as he felt the stare of Rhea, along with her mirth-filled chuckle echoing into his ears – hell, even Petrus was laughing. Petrus.
It had actually happened after William had restored his humanity. That goddamn bird the size of a Boeing-737 had tried to drown them in white slime again, prompting William to shove the Astorian out of the way and receive a second helping of fresh avian seed. Needless to say, he had promised never to try that hard to save an ungrateful undead ever again.
"Although, he had been covered in the gunk himself. It had reeked like the grave… hadn't it, William?"
"Oh, yes…" William replied, his face struggling to form a serene smile as his fingers twitched for the hilt of his sword. " that encounter. I remember it like it was yesterday."
What was he thinking? Oscar was useless when it came to backing him up. A complete buffoon that made his cohorts look like dumbstruck cheerleaders before a ten-inch schnauzer the width of a bloody water bottle.
Hmph! Well, that was just fine. Good luck to the knight when he needed advice with regard to wooing one cheeky, overly presumptuous and FLAT noblewoman.
"Yes…" Rhea remarked and wiped a tear from the corner of her judgmental eyes. "I can see him being useful as a human shield. How rude of me to assume he was good for anything else."
A tick mark formed on William's forehead. "I am a thief, you know. Don't you think such skills would be warranted in a land that requires an ample amount of dexterity and finesse?"
"In any normal circumstances, perhaps, but when there aren't any homes to rob and not an awful lot of intelligent foes to swindle, what good does the act of thievery offer, compared to the skill of a swordsman?"
He hated to admit it, but that made complete sense.
"Additionally, I don't presume you to possess any of the qualities you've listed prior."
"Oh, yeah? Why's that?" he asked, peeved beyond belief.
Rhea smirked like she was about to ride a scared ten-year-old cowgirl-style, "oh, please. Just look at the lack of definition in your arms and legs. How could they possibly afford you the ability to climb little more than a low wall?"
William frowned and gazed at his chest. He had plenty of strength to scour walls. He had even done just that in Izalith's Ruins, for Pete's sake, did this broad even know what she was talking about?!
"But alas, I'm afraid I've wasted enough time entertaining your clownish advances." She said abruptly and scanned the tips of her manicured nails. He had half the mind to take a step forward and bend those thin, labor lacking little twigs backward.
"Petrus!" she said in a shrill, commandeering tone that made the plump pig wince before making his annoyed face shift into a shit-eating grin.
"Yes, my Lady?"
"Lead us to the Catacombs. It is time we depart from this waste of life."
William had half the mind to choke her right then and there but remembered that Oscar was watching. He had to keep things age appropriate around the kid. Besides, this was probably the aryan's first ever crush on someone besides the flatulent hand maiden that dressed him in the mornings during his academy days.
Rhea was a looker though; he couldn't hide that fact. She was also regal. Immeasurably so, even if he wanted to deny it.
He turned to watch her shapely rear exit the grassy outcrop with her entourage in tow. She shot him a look from the corner of her eye, a smirk on her features. William furrowed his brow. Perhaps it was time he flipped up his trap card.
"Why are you even gunning for this supposed Rite in the first place?" Rhea stopped to look at him. Her guards and a glowering Petrus stood close by.
"Why the sudden interest in our noble cause?" she voiced and narrowed her gaze at him. "simple minds should keep their long noses out of the business of clerics."
"William," Oscar nagged and he shrugged him off. Now wasn't the time for the Knight's unwanted pestering.
"Whilst you may think it's a closely guarded secret, almost every undead already knows about the harnessing of Estus your Covenant supposedly created as an undead ritual, thus the reason all undead can utilize the flasks – including certain hollows." He levelled a stare at Petrus and the prick looked away quickly. "My question is why you chose to be greedy when you can already harness so much revitalizing liquid in a flask."
It had perplexed him, even when he had just begun playing the game. The Clerical Mission, being a ruse to simply dispose of turned undead, possessed no logical merit when you looked at it anyway. Sure, grave robbing was fun when you found cool shit, and having more sips to spare in your flask was a useful thing to have on hand. But then why make a ritual of it? Because the undead clerics earned some experience in the crusty hole of Lordran's ass? The appeal didn't make much sense.
"I wouldn't expect someone without a purpose to understand," the maiden spoke, taking a step toward him in defiance. He held back a laugh. Considering he was the one running away from his purpose, he was inclined to disagree. "the Rite is an ancient passage of ascension for Thorolund's undead. Venturing into the Catacombs validates our will to be tested." she took another step forward.
"Braving the Undead Lord's miscreants proves our strength as a unit." She stepped into William's personal bubble.
"And acquiring the legendary relic enables one to truly be called one of the chosen few of our magnificent Covenant." She finished, breath fanning against his chin as she glared at him.
He was impressed, she had enough balls to drown her three escorts in baby batter if she pleased. Her speech inspired macho into the hearts of the listeners nearby, added to her soft face and cold eyes, it was total knock-out to convert most passers-by.
However, she was still flawed in one specific area.
"That was a highly bolstering dialog to one's mental strength." William remarked and she grinned at him, neat, white teeth sparkling at him.
"Why, thank y-"
"But it's cheap talk coming from the only member of your party that isn't contributing shit to your survival."
"…!" he watched her face morph into a wide-eyed stare, a pleasing scribble of red covering her cheeks like a wax pastel.
"William!" Oscar shouted and grabbed his shoulder as the undead proudly placed his hands on his hips. "that isn't a nice thing to say to a lady."
"A lady that can barely carry a buckler." He corrected his teammate.
"For Gwyn's sake!"
"What? I can't be the only one here not pissed off by some goading rich girl that can scarcely cast a healing miracle under duress!"
"That doesn't make it right for you to point out someone's flaws!" the Astorian yelled.
"Why not? Pecker Face over there does it all the time, don' cha, King Pedo?!"
Petrus looked at him funny whilst Rhea buried her face in her hands, obvious shame on her face as William tore off her prideful walls like needy teenagers hastily stripping in the shabby confinement of a dirty men's cubicle.
"Apologize." The knight demanded with a harsh glare. The undead looked surprisingly serious for a change, it almost made William get a warm feeling in his chest. His idiotic stand-in as Chosen Undead was finally growing up.
"Shouldn't those that speak the truth be praised for their straightforwardness?" he tried to argue.
"Apologize!"
"Alright fine, just point your toxic mouth odor elsewhere!" William relented with a sigh, shoving Oscar's head to the side and peering down at an embarrassed and suddenly shy Rhea. She seemed dejected from her previous god complex – he would too if he realized he added bugger all to his team's dynamic as a whole – and to be honest, he kind of liked her better when she wasn't a cocky incel.
"Please forgive me for belittling you and tell you the trut-"
" William!"
"Fine, fine! I'm sorry for upsetting you, geez." He grumbled and scratched his head. Who knew the annoying knight could suddenly grow a brain when it was in front of the girl of his fancy?
"I-It's okay." he heard her voice crack and looked down to see her looking up at him through teary eyes. Seems like he had hit the target dead-center with this one. Was her god complex just a ruse to make her feel better about delegating her friends to their doom, then?
"Whilst y-your words pierced like thorns… they held amble m-merit to them." She wiped her face with the back of her hand before sniffing. "I am quite useless in terms of fighting strength. I do my best to support Nico and Vince with what Miracles I possess, but even so, I comprehend that my skills are ultimately lacking to do any good."
William made a face. She wasn't shy about pointing out her own faults when those narcissistic walls of hers were dropped. He swiveled his gaze to rest on said Tweddle's who could barely look him or each other in the eye – clearly unable to deny any of what their friend had spoken – whilst Petrus just stood there as if his ward's meltdown was wasting his time.
And whilst William hated to agree with anything the rotund reprobate said, he did concur… it was about time he finished fooling around with the Way of White – it was delaying his time to reach a certain trap and his sexy dragon niece for happy hour.
"Yes well, you're not the only useless undead around town." He replied, making the woman look up him in confusion. The undead merely pointed to his companion "Take this idiot, for example. First day I met him, he threw a corpse on top of my head."
Rhea turned to Oscar, who immediately grew shy of the attention.
"O-O-Oh, well I… I… uh…" the knight sputtered in embarrassment before looking to the floor.
"And then I had to save his ass after he had allowed a boulder to crunch his bones to sawdust."
"T-That had been during a moment of distraction!" Oscar defended.
"How do you get distracted from a hollow shoving a giant's butt-plug at you from the top of the stairs?" William deadpanned. Rhea merely stared intently.
"A-Ah, well you see… it happened to be when I w-was… uhm… err… sh-shouldn't we be departing now?" he change the topic and pointed to the stairway behind him. "as you told me prior to leaving Blighttown, our main priority is still to ring the next Bell of Awakening."
William grinned maliciously. Oh, he was going to have fun teasing the knight when they departed the cleric noobs.
"Fine, fine. Let us depart." William acquiesced with his hands raised in defeat. "Wouldn't want to keep Jack, the stripper over there waiting any longer than we need to." He nodded his head at Petrus who grumbled darkly under his breath.
The silver-haired undead smiled in reply before turning to Rhea and sticking out his hand.
"Truce?"
She eyed the pale limb for a moment, contemplating whether to forgive him, before finally giving in and grasping his slender fingers with her own.
"Truce."
William smiled and placed his other hand on the one he was currently shaking. "Glad we could see eye to eye. Fare thee well on your travels Mi' Lady."
"Likewise," the maiden replied with a small smile before frowning and looking at their hands. "may I say that you grip is rather… warm."
William smiled wider. "Is it now?" whether she could subconsciously feel the heat of the Lord Souls in his inventory or not, he didn't know. But he was intrigued by her choice of words.
"Yes… incredibly so." She breathed before she retracted her hand, looked at her palm and gasped.
William swiftly placed his other hand on her shoulder to stop any words she might expel at that moment. "Be a doll and use that when the time is right. I have no doubt you'll catch on when the event occurs." He said before letting her go and smiling serenely.
"Well then," Petrus grunted. "If you are all quite finished, we have an Undead Mission to see through." He turned to Rhea. "My Lady?"
"Y-yes," the woman said softly with her brows furrowed. "let us be off." She turned back to William and Oscar before bowing gracefully.
"Vereor Nox."
"May the Flames guide thee." Oscar said exuberantly and they left, clinking armor and weapons growing faint as they descended into the Catacombs.
William smirked as if he had won the lottery before turning to Oscar only to receive an awkward throat cough in reply.
"So now… the ironing board's got you smitten."
"Ugh- Ahem!" the Astorian cleared his throat and pulled his helm over his head. "Let us be off as well, we have a bell to ring." he said and made a move to waltz up the stairs.
"Hey, Oscar?"
"W-What is it now, William?"
"Cresty said the lift system doesn't work."
The knight froze. William smiled wider.
"I-I knew that!" he yelled and turned, thumping down the stairs and brushing passed his comrade. The silver-haired undead offered him another trademark smirk. Things were certainly getting more interesting with his foolish Chosen Undead candidate. First things first, though, he had to teach the boy proper hygiene. Rhea certainly wouldn't find a man with palpable dick sweat appealing unless she was a thot with a thirst for screwing people who were unwashed.
"Say, William…" the knight asked tentatively as the Thief adjusted the gloves on his hands. "what was it you gave Lady Rhea before her departure?"
"Hm? Oh. That. It was a mass of souls."
Oscar tilted his head to the side. "Souls? Why ever would you gift her something like that?"
The undead shrugged. "Spur of the moment decision. I figured she needed the hush money."
"Hush mone-"
"Don't worry, squirt, I'm not trying to steal your crush. Those itty-bitty titties don't juggle my giblets, to be honest."
"H-Hey now, her… bosom" the Astorian paused for a moment. "are fine just the way they are. Perfect even!"
The silver-haired Thief guffawed before slapping his companion on the pauldron. "And here I was thinking you were gay." He flicked his hair over his shoulder and walked on, a jogging Oscar following close behind. "if you'd like, I could give you some pointers about the female population."
"You would really do that? For me?"
"As fun as it would be to watch you make a fool of yourself, I'm not one for slow-burns. I'll teach how to get her randy for you before you even ask her to be yours."
"Can that really be done?" the knight asked, that serious tone seeping into his voice once again. William merely chuckled.
"I forgot to tell you what happened after you left me and Quelana in the sanctuary."
The knight gasped. "You didn't!"
"Pfft! Not yet. I'm leaving the Milf until I tease her so well, she creams as the sight of me. Who I'm really talking about this time is Quelaag."
William went on to explain his make-out session with the boisterous beauty and then the mysterious methods of women wooing – a wide-eyed Oscar kept in rapt attention as they slaughtered the five hollows near the water channel and entered the Undead Burg.
Needless to say, it had been the Astorian's first explanation of the Birds and the Bees. Unfortunately, from the lips of a certain crass and unfiltered undead, the knight would take his first step out of the obliviousness of his innocence… and perhaps adapt to his sensei.
Whether that in an of itself was good or bad thing… was soon to be determined.
Some time later, under the fake brightness of the Land of Ancients Dicks; Petrus limped forward like one of the most mutilated middle-aged pork swords in the history of the porn industry, as he led a weary Nico, Vince, and a focused Rhea down into the Tomb of Giants.
The murdering cleric wasn't much of a complainer. In fact, if he was being honest with himself – a rare time of introspection now that he thought about it – he normally possessed a high tolerance for bullshit and the occasion onion that decided to roll past his crap-stained foot.
And when it came to his favorite pass time – sending green-nosed undead clerics that knew nothing of battle to their untimely demise – he was stellar in the act of patience.
However, in the last few hours of traversing the underground passageways he had been familiar with for a few decades, he had been forced to weather the brunt of the environments atrocities and traps, from being skewered by a motion-triggered statue of a nude voluptuous woman, to being ambushed by trios of reassembling skeletons that refused to fall to Heel Cracker, his beloved morning star.
And as if the feeling of having your good arm mangled by the jaws of some hound-like amalgamation of human and animal bones wasn't bad enough, he had lost his talisman – his most treasured artifact, given to him by his lovely wife before he had choked her to death after drinking too much nearly a century ago.
By all right, he could have asked his three studious companions to aide him in healing himself. However, as it turned out, none of them knew the first Healing Scripture taught by the Holy Church, save for Rhea, but that prickly little bitch could barely manage to support her own guards due to her mind caving in from the shocking cold of the underworld.
Really, he had killed hundreds of undead in his time – sent thousands falling to their deaths and going hollow before they even formed an iota of logic to comprehend that the so-called 'Undead Mission' was a sham from the very beginning. But now, here he was, parading around with this useless lot only to get himself hurt in the end of it all.
They finally emerged into the desired destination he had hoped they would come through to stop at a dark expanse of rock their fiery torches couldn't help to illuminate. Petrus glared as his dull eyes scoured around for a familiar eagle-shield and leather armor. That blasted bald hyena had better be here like they had agreed upon. He wasn't paying him ten-thousand souls to just smile like the useless fool he was and stare into the void.
"Elder Petrus!" the undead groaned as he resisted the urge to rip his hair from his head. What was it that those hapless insolents needed from him now? Did they not see that he was trying to find his accomplice so that he could commit multiple homicide?!
"We've found someone near the base of this rock." Rhea said in that nauseatingly sweet voice of hers that made him want to stuff her mouth with something that would make her sharp tongue useful for once.
"Oi! It ain't nice to nab a man whilst 'es having a jolly old forty-winks, now is it, chap?" another infuriating voice hissed like venom and Petrus let out a quiet sigh.
"Pardon me," Vince said with a grimace, "but could you please mind your language. You're in the presence of Mi'lady, after all."
"That so?" Patches asked, his usual slits for eyes opening a fraction to look at the knight. "She a cleric or something?"
"Yes, actually, I am." Rhea said with a smile.
Patches clicked his tongue. "shame that, with a mug as pretty as yours, I assumed you'd hail from Carim at least."
The maiden giggled behind her sleeve and Petrus rolled his eyes. They needed to hurry up and toss this lot overboard. The last thing he needed was for the lying snake to fancy Rhea as his concubine – then again, she could look the part if you just ignored that spiteful face of hers.
"And who are you supposed to be?" Vince asked as he came in between the two of them, making Patches deadpan.
"Name's Patches, ya' sod."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Well then, consider my pardon happily given!" he chirped and waltzed toward Petrus, a shocked look suddenly overcoming his features, although the elder cleric could clearly see the mirth in his eyes, the bastard.
"Well, well, what shanked you in the arse and coughed out your sorry form via a queef?"
"Oh, dear, yes. Elder Petrus protected us from harm from the time we entered the Catacombs. Unfortunately, we ran out of Estus, and our miracles aren't suited for healing." Rhea said, her hands clasped together in prayer. Petrus merely scoffed to himself, now he knew what that long-haired Thief had been talking about. In fact, he was spot on when it came to this stuck-up zealot.
"Could you please help us?" her voice asked, dripping in honey.
"Well, of course!" Patches cheered, a sly grin filling his face before he motioned for Petrus and the rest to follow him. "I know just the thing for him. A nice little pick-me-up for an undead of his enormous size."
The con-artist was pushing it, but if he got the job done, then he wasn't complaining.
Finally, after months of unrest with this motley crew of filthy piss-ants, he could take that long awaited rest back in Firelink. Now then, how best to spend his ti-
Patches grabbed Petrus suddenly and gave him a mighty shove, sending him stumbling forward on his worn legs until his feet tipped over the edge of a tall cliff.
"Behind fall number one, the drop of over a hundred feet before the spikey stalagmites!" the bald undead grinned.
"Wh-Wh-Whaaat! Patches!" the wounded undead screeched as he fell. How could this be? Decades of business with that hyena, only to be betrayed?! Why was this happening? What had he done wrong? When had Patches changed his mi-
SQUELCH
"Oooh!" the undead grimaced as he shone a lantern down at the clerics pierced remains. "sorry mate, but the lady o' here was offerin' way more souls than you could ever afford to pay me in a century. Couldn't turn me eye to cash that copious, it'd be bad business, it would!"
"I'm… largely confused." Vince frowned. Nico merely grunted.
"Eh, well. My job here is done. See ya' on the flip side, my cherry pie! Ha-ha-ha-hee-ha!" the clerics watched as the bald undead flung down three Homeward Bones before turning on his heel and disappearing into the darkness beyond.
"Now that that's over, shall we head home?" Rhea asked, a broad smile on her face.
"But… what about the Rite of Kindling?" Nico questioned, suddenly talkative. "Wasn't that why we had come here in the first place?"
"But we already possess the Rite, my dear friend." She countered sweetly, holing out her palm to produce a vibrantly burning flame of crimson.
Vince's eyes bugged out of their sockets. "What? How? When?!"
"William gave it to me." Rhea said softly.
"You mean to say that the Thief had it this entire time?!"
"Indeed."
"Then why did we even come down here?" Vince exclaimed. "and why the need to kill elder Petrus, not that I'm complaining, mind you. Right Nico?"
Nico nodded. "He was a cunt, he was."
Rhea merely grinned back at the two of them. Honestly, she didn't think she would have the strength to go through with it, but after William had shook her hand and sneakily funneled a million souls onto her Darksign along with the Rite and a note with specific details – she could only agree to follow them to the tee.
The shock that Petrus was planning on killing them had almost made her lose her cool and break down into tears, but then she remembered the trust he seemed to exude when they departed along with Oscar's, and her hope was renewed ten-fold.
It was most astonishing that William would simply just hand over the Rite when it was obviously such a boon to all undead. Then again, those last few words in his letter had expressed why he had so easily given it up anyway – honestly, it made her want to laugh out loud.
"…what use is some flickering flame the size of my deflated dick, when I've got deez roaring muscles on my side? Might as well hand it over to some bickering bitch that enjoys collecting shit for the act of sentimentality. Yours insincerely, Willie-ham 69."
Rhea chuckled at the memory. He and Oscar were such funny undead.
Yeah, I knew this one would be garbage. Seriously, boys (and any girls that happen to be reading this fic), I had bloody writer's block trying to figure out how Petrus should die. One whole bloody month, just to write about how some douchebag bites the dust. Freaking ridiculous.
I was contemplating making Rhea simp for William, originally, however then that would make this one of those terrible fanfictions where every goddamn chick falls in love with the dumbass protagonist. And although most of the female cast of Dark Souls does fall for the stupidity that is William, I wanted to exclude a select few from the headache that is a global harem. Excuse my hypocrisy just this once.
So, please, do me a solid and flame me for this chapter. I seriously need to be told where I went wrong so that I can't kick my own ass and start writing up the gold I began with.
Bloody Petrus. You deserved so much more than a death by spiked rocks.