Isekai'd, My Posterior!
Who else has played "Once in a Lifetime" by Caribdis? You know, the one with humor, quirky characters, a Honey Select engine, too many hot babes to count and an extremely arousing H-scene gallery? I think I'm hooked on Adult Visual Novels because of him.
Check out his stuff for free download on the site: itch-dot-io. I guarantee you'll leave satisfied.
For those that have played it, comment with your favorite girl from the game. Mine was Lauren for… obvious reasons. Ahem.
Have you ever taken a dump, wiped your cheeks and sniffed the air only to recoil in shock that you just fired off a bijudama that smelt like Satan's bellybutton? Or how about walked past a deceased cat laying on the pavement with too many flies overflowing from its mouth, and a stomach rapidly swelling with so many maggots that it appeared pregnant? Or imagine, just for a moment, that you were looking down into the abused, cream-filled muff of a sixty-year-old hooker's blue-waffled snatch? The sight would be mortifying, as would the skin-quivering sensation of seeing the many unspeakable atrocities exiting such an overused opening. But the smell? It would be so abhorrent that your nose would melt off. Like the hair-crinkling aroma of someone puking into the rotten expanses of a worm-infested wound colored with gangrene.
Which narrowed William's crooked point: the Depths stank like shit.
In the rare moments that he wasn't being sarcastic, ironic, narcissistic, melodramatic or overly obnoxious – specifically in that order – the coincidental pun wasn't intended. Nor the rate at which he had emptied his stomach onto his boots upon opening the rusty iron bolt attached to the only entrance of Lordran's sewer system.
Now, while the blame of not mentally and physically preparing himself for such an unveiling rested awkwardly on his deflated shoulders (as did the crippling musk of thousand-year-old waste groping his body like a Viagra addicted millionaire in his eighties), the silver-haired Thief had to argue that he really didn't expect the smell to be that rank.
Logically, Lordran would obviously have been the stinking snatch of corpses, congealed blood and rot, as described by Miyazaki's colorful outlook on dystopian worlds, serving as a rivalling reverse enigma of the Studio Ghibli franchise. And if one were to look at it at face value, the Chosen Undead of legend would most certainly need a strong will, as well as a stronger set of bowels, in order to overcome the many horrors of this thoroughly upchucked land – the biggest enemy being staircases and a medley of coma-inducing scents.
However, despite that knowledge and much more swirling around in the perverted vortex known as William's head, he had chosen door number four: the way of the dumbshit. He just couldn't deal with the fact that he even possessed a sense of smell when he was undead. Really, would it have killed at least one flavor text writer in the FromSoft team to write up lore about the unorthodox biology of undead curse bearers?
His bitching aside, William was compressed between a pair of rotten barrels comprised of what he hoped was just stagnant water. The guide Griggs had offered, which came with a complimentary border of sorcery for protection, had lasted about as long as the average flip-flapper tenderizing his meat with a blackjack against the glare of a tv screen at naughty hour on the Midnight Channel. And though the prick's company had been anything but enjoyable, what with the constant berating regarding his swindling in a populated hollow township and the laughter directed at his lack of magical potential, William had found out that the Depths housed more than just a ginger flamethrower for his troubles.
According to the sorcerer, the supposed black market operating within Lordran had incurred a minor, but significant snag in daily trafficking as of late. An undead runner in charge of peddling goods across the kingdom had apparently come into unfortunate contact with the head honcho's curiously still maintaining the Lower Burg's unused sewage channels. In a what the mage said his broker had described to him, after hearing it from an informant, who had heard it from a low-ranking subordinate on too much blood-red moss, who had ostensibly gained the info from a taking crows nest on a snowy crag, a chest containing a rather superb number of riches had been taken from the runner's now fleshless corpse – after whoever had attacked him first had the decency to eat everything on him besides his face.
The chest in question, was of great importance to the big influential's that conducted the black market and had even placed a quest out for any able undead willing to risk life and limb to recover said chest. William could only look at his spell-weaving acquaintance in great intrigue. Whatever was hidden in that chest must have been expensive. Better yet, perhaps it was a tool William could use to his advantage regarding Oscar and his evolution to Chosen Undead?
With that being the case, the undead had gone to work as soon as he had entered the vast undergrowth of burst pipes, mutated rats, bastardized basilisks and unsmotherable maggot feed. And what was it the great Thief had done upon descending the stairs of the Depths, one might ask? Well it was simple: he raced to the nearest corner, crouched down as if he was taking a dump in a long-drop and sucked his thumb like a little child retreating into his happy place as a torrent of hollows pulling undead hounds on a leash passed by and scared him shitless. Again, no pun intended.
Whether it was fate's plan for those mangey mutts not to notice his scent amidst the palpable toxic fumes wafting around them, he had no idea. What he did comprehend for certain was that the place was crawling with too many foes than he had been expecting.
From the game, he had assumed an average of a dozen hollows and the usual pair of rabid rottweilers stationed near that asexual butcher with the meaty arms. To his deceit, there were three times as many.
The fault didn't rest on his shoulders for a change. Instead, it was the error of pure chance and timing. You see, the entrance of the Depths housed three levels upon entry. The first was a miniature storeroom for crates and barrels supposedly containing dry rations and non-perishables, as well as essential sewer tools in case there was a maintenance issue – Lordran was still quite an advanced civilization despite being in the Middle Ages.
The second, was comprised of a sheltered corridor, which led to a spacious expanse of long tables and short chairs, which then led down to a wall bracket chimney that stored against it a few cauldrons and a chopping board. With those items and areas listed and explained, it wasn't difficult to put five and nine together to get twenty-six to understand that what William had evidently walked into was a hollow mess hall.
Incidentally, in terms of his earlier statement about time, he had walked into the area just as those bulbous butcher's had begun serving the monstrous equivalent of grotesque afternoon tea.
Which led everyone to the current predicament, he was trapped behind two splintered kegs of slimy soup until these skeletal vegetables finished munching down on a hearty concoction of rat's tail boiled in a starchy mix of butt floss and wrinkled ligament bisque for added flavor.
Although the silver-haired Thief was annoyed by the prospect, he had to admit that these butchers knew how to make some good grub. Even he found the dish potentially appetizing.
Shaking his head and preferring to come up with a strategy in the meantime, William settled on creeping toward Laurentius unseen. As he was, he would fall over and die after killing the first three hollows due to his shitty stamina if he even attempted to fight them single-handedly; thus, the most inviting option was to do it Bond style.
William grinned as he peeked over the banister he was using for cover and formulated a decent plan. Operating Pyro Pussy was underway.
He was situated on the furthest end of the corridor immediately after the stairway leading into the second floor of the Depths. It had been a good thing that he hadn't made for the next set of stairs when he had come down, as he was now pressed up against the back wall, which dictated a simple route to that storehouse of empty barrels his soon-to-be-sensei was no doubt trapped in – even if he couldn't hear the wimp's pathetic cries of mercy.
All he needed now was a clear path to move through in order to reach said storehouse. Now if only these dining douchebags could finish up on their nauseating meal…
As if the divinity that brought him here was in the mood of granting wishes, William saw one of the two butcher's whack a ladle against a particularly dirty serving pot before his chest rumbled with incoherent grunts and jeers. Instantly, the hollows seated at the tables dropped the spoons in their hands, picked up their broken weaponry, and travelled toward the door leading to the lower levels of the Depths in single file.
William blinked. Their bureaucratic mindset before he rolled his shoulders and stood up.
From what he could see, the general make-up of this room was the same as its digital original. That said, it meant the wooden boards hammered into the wall above where the second butcher usually stood was still there. The undead allowed another smile to fill his face. It looked like he could pass by unnoticed after all. He just needed to reach the struts before him.
As he climbed up the window carved out from the corridor and steadied his balance, he reached the first hole in his seamless plan of espionage.
The wooden walkway he was set to climb to was too far away to reach.
A shuffling caught his eye and he looked down, saw the other butcher stomping toward the crack in the wall below him with a stack of plates in its hands and paused – holding his breath as an extra measure to avoid notice.
He heard feet moving in water, evidence of the butcher leading away from him and released the air in his lungs, before looking forward again.
The distance from him to the ledge was just under two meters in length, a jump from his platform would ensure he was within hairs breadth of his destination. The real task would be the grip in his fingers.
Feeling confident, William looked down at his hands and balled them into fists. Years of pleasuring himself with both hands had ensured his forearms and grip strength had exceeded in leaps and bounds over the course of his human life. Now that he was undead and had gained flawless abs in the process, that original strength would have more or less doubled.
William exhaled a second time.
He could do this. A simple vault toward the struts, a simple grabbing of the boards with his hands. He wasn't Ezio Auditore, and this wasn't Assassin's Creed, but he trusted in his body's ability not to let him down.
Tensing the muscles in his thighs, William crouched again before springing forward with a burst of speed. The four-foot fall below passed his vision before the sight of one of the wooden beams. He flung his arms out.
The splinters on the side bit into his hands but the gloves he wore protected him from the damage as his fingers wrapped around the beam and tightened to the point he thought they would break. His lower body swung forward like a pendulum, increasing the weight pulling him down by gravity and he clenched his teeth, increasing his squeeze on the hand hold.
When the swaying stopped, and he was sure a small breath wouldn't cause him to let go of the beam, he sighed out softly. That had gone quite well. No, scratch that, it had gone better than anticipated. He had made the jump!
He looked up, analyzing his next move as the muscles in his arms sang from the exertion. He wasn't far from Laurentius, but that didn't mean he could just drop down. The sound caused by his landing would echo, alerting unliving thing to his location. The only option now was the pull himself up, travel over the other beams and drop down through the gap at the far end of the corridor. He could do that much since the ceiling declined to an acceptable space that wouldn't garner much noise.
Nodding his head and kicking his legs up like an infant, William pulled up with his arms. Why had he been so spooked in the first place? This was a piece of-
CRACK!
"Huh?" William frowned as the beam formed a thick crack in the space between his hands. His blood froze in his veins as a torrent of sand and dust began leaking from that crack before it suddenly snapped.
"Oh shi-"
Thump.
"Oooh…" William groaned as a cloud of dust erupted from his landing, forcing him to cough and moan at the pain of exerting his bruised lungs.
"I hope nobody noticed that." He said hopefully, only for a shadow to fall over his form. The undead sighed out before turning his head toward the owner of the shadow and saw the same butcher with more plates piled up in its hands.
"Hnngh?" the bulky airhead cocked its head to him in confusion. A sheepish smiled graced William's features in reply.
"Ah-heh-heh, I come in peace?"
His question was met with a dirty plate shattering over his head before he passed out.