Aiden remembered again the anime and manga he consumed, specifically the isekai genre. The premise was always simple: by some stroke of luck, an ordinary boy gets transported to another world for a divine reason. Their existence is important enough to change everything. Sooner or later, they stumble upon some grand event that grants them overwhelming power. Aiden couldn’t help but lament his own fate.

  ‘If there’s some deity out there pulling the strings, why the hell did they send me here!? This country’s name is literally SHIT! I am living in a world of SHIT!?’

  Then, he remembered Selveria’s warning—she could feel his emotions through a spell. He wanted to test if she was bluffing. Maybe she had just guessed he was frustrated back in the library. Keeping his expression as neutral as possible, he casually asked, “Did you know what I just felt just now?”

  Selveria glanced at him, unimpressed. “Oh, you mean that moment when you were completely distraught? Yes, I felt it. Let me guess—you were wondering how god-like beings transported you here, and you were comparing yourself to the protagonists in your stories.”

  Aiden stiffened. This was getting suspicious. Could she actually read his thoughts? He had assumed she could only sense emotions, but what if she’d been downplaying her abilities? What if she was inside his head this whole time?

  Suddenly, his rebellious thoughts screeched to a halt. If she could actually hear him thinking all this, wasn’t he basically begging to be executed for being too rude? Aiden doesn’t have evidence yet and perhaps he is just getting to paranoid, for now he will just completely halt any negative feelings he had for her.

  Aiden wants to ask more questions, searching for the right words, his voice quieter but more resolute. “I do have a few more… practical questions. For instance, you mentioned that the seal on my neck would burn if I disobeyed you. Is that something that happens right away, or…?” His words trailed off as he attempted to gauge her reaction without sounding too rebellious.

  Selveria’s eyes glittered with mischief as she leaned in slightly. “Oh, it burns immediately. It is my little reminder that while you may question and even jest, your fate is inexorably tied to mine. But worry not—it burns only when you stray into the realm of disobedience. Consider it a polite nudge, rather than a death knell.” She let out a soft, teasing laugh. “Though, I must admit, I do enjoy seeing you squirm every now and then.”

  Aiden could only lament at his fate. He exhaled slowly, the tension in his chest easing ever so slightly. “Alright, I—I suppose that makes sense. It’s just that… all of this is so overwhelming. One moment I was… well, not exactly alive in any conventional sense, and now I’m here, caught up in demonic politics and ancient wars. It’s a lot to process.”

  The demoness tilted her head, her expression softening into something that might be mistaken for empathy. “I understand, Aiden. You’ve been thrust into a narrative far grander—and far stranger—than any you’ve known.”

  Aiden managed a small, reluctant smile. “How do you expect someone like me—someone who’s used to ordinary life—to adjust to all this? I mean, I’m not exactly… heroic material.”

  Selveria’s eyes danced with amusement as she placed a delicate hand on his shoulder, her touch both comforting and insistent. “Heroic material is overrated, dear Aiden. Just because you couldn’t change your fate doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun along the way. In Hell, adaptation isn’t about slaying monsters or donning capes—it’s about embracing the absurdity of our existence. That is how we demons managed to adapt to this tumultuous world—aside from the gifts we received from Hell. Alas, you appear to have been left empty-handed... for now.”

  Aiden grimaced ‘Who even gives advice like this? Have a little fun along the way? I'm in Hell! Literally!’

  Selveria noticed Aiden’s distress and said softly, “How about we go on a date? It might help ease your worries.”

  Aiden hesitated, then asked, “Where exactly would we go?”

  Smiling, Selveria replied, “Let’s start with a meal. I know plenty of restaurants around here, but I can only choose the best one for us.”

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  Aiden felt the ground shake beneath him. He turned around and looked up—way up—to see a massive figure towering over him. It had the face of an orc, a pig-like nose, and two thick tusks protruding from its mouth. Its skin was caked with makeup, long eyelashes fluttered dramatically, and red lipstick was smeared across its face like more of a clown than a maiden with powdered makeup.

  Perched on its head was a ridiculous oversized wig, stacked high with ornaments and decorations. It was so absurdly thick and heavy that no ordinary human could possibly hold it up.

  The creature’s body was pure mass—a mountain of fat so immense that Aiden was genuinely amazed it could still walk. It looked as if it had been storing fat for endless winters, preparing for a famine that would never come.

  It was draped in a heavily decorated Victorian-era dress, but no amount of fabric or frills could contain the overflowing bulk. If the dress had a mouth, it would be screaming for agony. She wore all of a maiden’s clothes as if a mockery towards feminism.

  Aiden squinted in suspicion. Was this really a woman, or just a beast wrapped in lace, disguising itself to lure unsuspecting demons into making contact with it?

  This beast is looking at Aiden’s direction. Aiden look at Selveria too see that she is also witnessing this beast, yet Selveria only smiled and remained still without a hint of movement.

  The Orc simply ignored Aiden as if he didn’t exist and came close to Selveria’s presence. Likewise, Aiden closed his eyes and stood still believing he couldn’t be seen if he remained still. He heard it in a movie once, dinosaurs has a vision based on movement.

  The massive orc arrived at Selveria. She bowed deeply before Selveria, her large frame moving with surprising grace. With a voice as rich as aged whiskey, she announced her presence:

  “I am Grendolyn Swinebelle Tuskendale du Lardassia the Fairest Blossom of the Trade Winds, Guildmistress of the Gilded Maw Trade Consortium greets a good day to the Selveria, the true heir to the Maltrix family.”

  Grendolyn straightened her already overly elaborate dress and gave a toothy, dignified smile. "Ah, Lady Selveria, your ever-insightful inquiries pierce to the very heart of commerce itself! Since the divine moment of your ascension as the city's rightful steward, the gilded wheels of trade have turned with unparalleled grace. Prosperity has become the lifeblood of this great domain, an era of splendor birthed solely from your unparalleled governance!"

  Selveria greeted her back saying "Oh its you Lady Grendolyn, how's the business coming along? I heard rumors you're not doing so great yourself." Selveria raised an eyebrow.

  She let out a deep, dramatic sigh. "Alas, while the symphony of progress plays its glorious tune, certain misguided souls attempt to introduce discord into this grand orchestration. There are those, most vexingly vocal, who prattle on about 'freeing the slaves,' yet any astute mind can see their true desire is merely for ‘free’ slaves—without so much as a single coin to pay for their rightful acquisition! The audacity, the ungrateful rabble!"

  Selveria rolled her eyes. "If they’re causing trouble, just make it expensive for them to complain. If they want freedom, sell them 'freedom permits' at an outrageous price and make the process so tedious they'll give up before finishing the paperwork."

  Grendolyn gasped, clasping her pudgy hands together. "Oh, Lady Selveria! Your intellect is a radiant beacon in a fog of mediocrity! Truly, your wisdom surpasses that of mere mortals, weaving genius into the very fabric of governance! If any of your lesser siblings had been granted such authority, this city would have long crumbled under their ineptitude, reduced to an unsightly heap of bureaucratic decay! Why, your very presence alone blesses these lands with boundless fortune, as if the cosmos itself kneels before your command! The markets flourish under your gaze, the people whisper your name in reverence, and even the wind itself—"

  "Alright, alright, enough," Selveria cut her off, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I'm not in the mood to get swindled by flattery for an hour."

  Grendolyn gave a knowing chuckle but bowed her head respectfully. "Perish the thought, my lady! I but speak the truth that lesser tongues dare not utter."

  Selveria waved her hand. "Whatever. Just tell me if there’s any decent place to eat around here."

  Grendolyn’s face lit up. "Ah, but of course! The finest delicacies, the most succulent of feasts, the grandest of meals—all reside within the hallowed grounds of the Coliseum, as always. No place rivals its culinary delights, its flavors are akin to ambrosia gifted by the gods themselves! Why, one bite of their roasted abyssal beast will—"

  Selveria had already started walking away. "Yeah, yeah, I got it." Grendolyn merely gave a respectable bow before moving. Aiden opened his eyes and followed Selveria like a chick following the mother hen. Aiden gave a sigh of relief before a curiosity sparked within him and took a peak behind him.

  Curiosity killed the cat.

  Behind Grendolyn are twelve men of bulging muscles and their bodies drenched in sweat, crawled upon all fours. Their forms, bare and exposed, each sinew and muscle shifting with every graceful movement. They are like untamed stallions. Between their firm, chiseled thighs, their virility hung in full splendor—a spectacle both awe-inspiring and obscene. Long, pendulous, and swaying like the noble banners of fallen kings. The tips of the phallus are dripping like nectar awaiting the lips of a thirsting god. Their testicles, round and heavy as ripened fruit at the peak of summer, trembling under the weight of their burdens. Veins, thick and defiant, coiled around their lengths, pulsating as though the God of wrath itself had sculpted them in a moment of divine fury. There lays the wrinkled, gaping sunflowers—tender, yearning, exposed to the world as if to beckon the wandering touch of fate’s ever-curious fingers. A silent invitation, a whisper of vulnerability amidst their overwhelming power. Bound in chains of gilded leather, their collars gleamed in the light. At the helm of this procession stood the Grand Dame of the Gilded Maw, the Fairest Blossom of the Trade Winds. With a smirk and a flick of her leash, she led her prized stallions forth—a parade of submission.

  Puke. Vomit. Throw up. Retch. Cough up. Bring up. Regurgitate. Heave. Gag. Chunder. Chuck up. Hurl. Spew. Keck. Honk. Sick up. Boke. Spit up. Barf. Upchuck. Nauseated. Disgorge. Gasp. Pant. Sicken. Spew. Strain. Struggle. Giddy. Lightheaded. Faint. Weak. Weak at the knees. Unsteady. Shaky. Wobbly. Off-balance. Reeling. Staggering. Tottering. Teetering. Woozy. With legs like jelly. With rubbery legs. Vertiginous. Dazed. Confused. Muddled. Befuddled. Bewildered. Disoriented. Disorientated. Stupefied. Groggy. Muzzy. Dopey. Woolly. Woolly-headed. Not with it. Discombobulated. Sick Ill. Unwell. Poorly. Ailing. Indisposed. Laid up. Bad. Out of sorts. Not oneself. Off. Off colour. Under the weather. On the sick list. Crook. Knocked out. Insensible. Senseless. Insentient. Insensate. Passed out. Comatose. In a coma. Inert. Stunned. Dazed. Stupefied. Torpid. Befuddled. Benumbed. Numb. Collapsed. Keeled over. Motionless. Immobile. Prostrate. Out cold. Out for the count. Blacked out. KO'd. Kayoed. Out like a light. Laid out. Flaked out. Out. Dead to the world. Spark out. Soporose. Soporous.

  I want Aiden to completely abandon the morality he learned in Earth.

  If you have any ideas how to destroy the protagonist's sanity in the most funniest way possible, try to comment it.