Isekai'd, My Posterior!
Toasting avocados on a George Foreman is a clear sign that you're a tastebud deprived lunatic. Whereas putting pineapple on your pizza makes one a King. Disagree? Well then, that's a crying shame.
Schools teach you a myriad of things when you're young. They make sure you start from an early age too, getting endlessly pumped full of information and knowledge that's debatable on whether it's actually information and knowledge. The funny part, however, is what educational institutes don't tell you.
Things like, oh he didn't know, don't follow a goddamn prophecy written up by an unseen and unloved lastborn god with daddy issues. Or, if someone tells you a house is haunted, don't let the dipshit in your group of delinquents convince you to go into it. And the best one that the undead could currently think of: if the Swamp gypsy you've been searching for screams and runs like a little bitch, you probably shouldn't act cocky and chase his ass down. The reason boils down to simple physics; that a hoe runs faster than the speed of light when in high heels in the event that the cops catch her pasty-ass scent. Because the tendency to move from order to disorder increases as time progresses. Or S = k LOG W, for short.
In his tenure as the unfortunate Chosen One, William had come to realize just how chaotic things could get, especially when you had a target on your back like a neon sign flickering, inviting anyone and everyone to shove their rusted swords through his backdoor.
Quite frankly, he had had just about enough of being the actual Chosen Undead somehow everyone knew he was trying to weasel his way out of. Whatever entity had brought him here was lucky he had decided to stay and teach Oscar the ropes, otherwise, he would have busted this joint long ago – sprinted for the nearest travelling caravan headed to Drangleic before it became a moth-eaten pit of shady backstabbers, walking juggernaut armor and a feeding ground for zombified pirates.
If not for the occasional – if not suspiciously – bodacious surprises in the form of sexy woman that wanted to shag him senseless, he wouldn't have even bothered to leave the Asylum! But fortunately, William became a man of class and dignity whenever sight of the opposite sex was involved.
Indeed, chivalry was positively dead in a ditch digging into doughnuts by now, however, for the sake of William's immoral code… he had gotten his shapely rear into gear. Besides, whoever was watching him would have just used their annoyingly precise authority to force him into action before shit hit the proverbial fan worse than it already had. If anything, William was the one doing this world a favor by even bothering to stand up. By anyone but Gwyn, he was a bloody hero! Bards should be singing his praises for centuries to come before his putrid soul became the OP Soul of Cinder. Then it would be he that went plink plink PLONK before the silent sycophant with the hot sightless Keeper in black.
But in order to recline in blissful reprieve with a Spider Waifu on each arm, he needed to get the shit out of this puddle of shit – all pun intended.
Groaning out, William rested his palms against the soaked pool underneath him and pushed his body up. Filth and murky water that reeked like unwashed pits rolled off his shoulders as the undead regained his bearings.
He recalled the failure of his chase regarding Laurentius. He also remembered the drunken state of his mind when he had reached the lower levels of the Depths – how he had blindly toppled into the main waterway only to come upon that oversized rat… and how he had drained its infected blind eye.
He looked down at his right hand briefly and saw the remnants of the rat's eye juice coating his arm from the shoulder down. Grumbling incoherently, he gave the limb a sniff, hacked out the remainder of his stomach acid into the sewage below and groggily moved his sopping wet hair out of his face.
The fact that this wasn't even his worst experience upset him more than the sludge he felt sloshing around in his trousers.
Despite the current scenario, however, he had managed to reach the center of the Depths without losing his life once. Another point of good news was that the intel about that supposed treasure chest was apparently located somewhere close to the main passageways of this water vein. If he followed it to the end, he could find himself pocketing some serious loot in addition to leaving with a resident Pyromancer. The only question was which to look for first.
Thinking with less than an ounce of common sense, searching for the ginger would be a better idea than snooping around for treasure with no current protection. As it was, he had lost his sword, the only proper form of defense he possessed. Simply digging into his bottomless box would also be futile, as the only weapons he possessed was his short bow, arrows, the Crimson Sealer Set and his broken sword hilt from the Asylum. Which reminded him, how was it possible that the giant blacksmith could even forge a legendary weapon from an upgraded steel handle? Did the soul create the blade when beaten against the armament before it bonded, or was this just one of those unexplained fantasy plot holes he had heard so much about?
Anyway, using his bow in this setting would be pointless. For one, he still needed Oscar to teach him how to even aim right with that thing, and two; the enemies down here were too lithe to be shot at point blank rage. If he wanted to acquire that treasure and the smithing ember back upstairs, he would need to find Laurentius first.
Now, if only William had a way to track that Swamp-dweller…
"AAAHHHHH!" A voice shrieked girlishly in the distance.
And just like that, William found his waypoint.
He took off running at a moderate pace, eye's peeled for any signs of hidden traps, sudden holes in the floor or the usual human-sized rodent scurrying about. He needed to be alert and ready. His pouches still harbored one or two firebombs, but that wouldn't be nearly enough to nerf a walking cable muncher on steroids. Besides, with the dampness the Depths possessed, it was more logical that flame-based attacks would be less effective, especially on the thick and rancid hide of a human-sized rodent. Really, the only thing William would achieve was aptly pissing a horde of them off.
The thudding of large footsteps alerted him to make a sharp turn, and the undead stealthily darted passed a pair of larger vermin standing sentry near the glowing corpse of a long dead hollow. His eyes focused on the dull lighting within the sewage channels long enough for him to make out shadows from actual people, so when he noticed the familiar outline of a rag wearing sissy moving quickly through the passageway leading to a deeper part of the tunnels, William bolted into a sprint – chasing the shadow as best he could as his ears zeroed in on the concussive stomps made by Laurentius' worn loafers.
"Laurentius!" William shouted, the echo carrying his voice through the winding passageway amidst the roar of dirty water charging along the floor and frothing around open grates.
"William?" Laurentius replied from somewhere close, before he emerged from the roaring tunnel to William's left. His face was as petrified as it always did when the ginger was in danger, and he smelled like rotten tuna deep fried in black cooking oil, but he seemed unharmed. The Thief sighed out. Finally, he had managed to obtain the 'Normal Ending' to this exhausting egg hunt under Central Lordran.
"You know anyone else this batshit crazy to go on a search and rescue for your procrastinating ass?" The undead huffed and scratched the back of his head. "Ya' know, you kind of remind me of somebody I know. He's a complete idiot, like you. But at least he doesn't scare easily."
"It'd be nice to meet 'im if we manage to escape this place." The Pyromancer added and William chuckled.
"Oh, I bet you would," William said, expression lacking its usual pomp, "then the two of you could cause my anxiety to skyrocket even higher regarding the sheer idiocy corrupting your mind's. Seriously, you wield literal fire in your hands. Don't you think that an unsmotherable power like flames from one's soul and determination would have the potential to char grill any potential foe is after you?"
"S' not as easy as it sounds, mate." Laurentius pouted like a little kid that lent his bike to a family member that didn't have any discretion of time. "You need the right focus to be able to conjure that level of power."
William's eyebrow twitched in annoyance. "Bitch please, your right hand is on fire right now."
The bearded undead snapped his head toward his hand currently ablaze like the Olympic Torch, and between his fingers lay the steadily heating hilt of William's katana.
"Ooh! You have my sword." the undead exclaimed and Laurentius happily gave it to him.
"Lucky find, it was. Snatched it up from a ledge whilst I was running fer me life." The Pyromancer chuckled, and William examined the state of the blade coated in a thick layer of dripping blood and viscera. "Oh, but I had to use it, of course. Got into some trouble but… I can usually manage, with a bit of care."
"Exactly what did you do to get it this messed up?" William urged him to answer and the Pyromancer replied with a shy scratch of his head.
"Well, I ran into a pack o' them rodents, yeah? 'ad to defend me-self when the biggest one jumped forward… just didn't stop slashin' away until all of 'em stopped twitching, ya' know?"
"And how many rats were there again?"
Laurentius turned evermore bashful as he softly replied, "Seven and a 'ollow."
William placed a gentle hand on the Pyromancer's shoulder. Laurentius looked at him curiously before the Thief offering him a proud smile.
"Well done, bruh."
"O-Oh," he noticed the blush on the ginger's face before he smiled back shyly, "Thanks, I guess…"
William only smiled wider. He was going to get along with this ditsy coward just fine.