Clark sat in his computer chair, just as he always did. He'd gotten the diagnosis months ago, and though it wasn't fatal, totally ignoring his symptom management would make it so. He had read so many 'dungeon isekai' stories that he couldn't even keep their individual mechanics straight anymore. Then again, he didn't really try to.
What if some of the mechanics were real, and some weren't? Either way, when you isekai, you get to keep all your stuff. There was that guy with a cell phone, or a library book that he lost his grip on. But with a dungeon? Some of them let you recreate what you remembered, like that guy who humped his wolf mom and had the hots for a breeze. Or the guy that knew about manmade metal alloys and lasers and made those. Or the chick that could mind control bees.
Clark didn't know those kinds of information or have those powers. But he was confident he could become a dungeon too! He just needed to neglect his medical needs and concentrate on dungeon stories, kind of like that guy who watched the MMO he made die.
In order to prepare, he carefully spent money here and there on one thing or another. Since the day he got his diagnosis. The doctors couldn't force him to get treatment, and couldn't turn him away from getting medical update appointments. Once things looked really dire, that's when he considered it to be okay to spend all the rest of his money. Everything in all of his bank accounts.
He leaned back in his recliner, looking at his fingers and not his screen or even his keyboard.
On his left hand were some gaudy rings he got from a thrift store. Were they ever popular? They were so chunky. But that's not what was important- what was important, was that each of his rings had a string attached.
Literally.
The other end of the string, at least on his left ring finger, was connected to a duffel bag he had gotten at a military surplus store. Inside was a thermal sleeping bag, a mess kit, a collapsible shovel, a flashlight, machete, Swiss army knife, survival knife, and other military and Boy Scout gear and tools.
The fishing line attached to the plastic ring on his left index finger connected him to a military-grade aluminum-framed backpack, with a first aid kit, bottles of water, iodine pills, a laptop, pillow, graham crackers, sodas, mixed nuts, a .22 pistol, BB gun pistol, ammo, and shotgun shells.
The cotton thread attaching his left thumb ring to another backpack contained another set of goodies. Inside, there were plastic animals, plastic army men, and all sorts of other small toys most people would probably ignore. But there were also plastic child versions of digging tools and sports equipment.
The ring he wore on his right middle finger had a very long piece of upholstery thread, and was longer than any of the others. How could he help it? There was no way he'd be able to move much at all if he had tried to move what was attached to the thread. What was attached? Three full jerry cans full of gasoline and an electrical generator.
His right ring finger's ring was a black plastic ring with a spider on it, and its string was attached to a trash bag with drawstrings. Inside the bag, carefully placed so the bag didn't rip, were his books on roleplaying games and mythology and a couple animal plushies.
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His right pinkie ring was attached to a treasure chest. That one had to be custom-made from the Renaissance Faire, and the ringlets on the side were perfect for attaching a string to a small keyring to be worn as a ring. Inside the chest were the art supplies he had gathered. Various colors of clay and Playdough, plaster of Paris and a lead smelter, water balloons and a 128 color Crayola set. Many colors of ink pens and felt-tip markers, three types of glue and four kinds of tape, a package of colorful Post-it notes.
His final ring was looped through his necklace. The necklace itself was a simple leather cord with a cut piece of goldstone that he had purchased at a gem store. The ring was plastic costume jewelry, and the string was only a cotton thread. The knapsack-style backpack it was attached to though, was full of all sorts of things. A propane torch and a nailgun were attached to its sides, but inside contained what was even more interesting! A party blower and a kazoo, a small electronic keyboard, a taser and some candles, a lighter, a squirt gun, and a box of nails. Anything that Kevin McCallister or Gene Belcher would have wanted.
He was ready to become a dungeon.
He was so ready!
With access to magic, the healing items would be so much better! With the books he could make the things in them! With the art supplies, he could do so much with all those materials! All the pain he was going through made him second guess whether he should do what he was doing, but the payoff would be SO WORTH IT.
But Clark was really tired today. More so than usual. It was getting pretty bad, really. He was just going to lean back a bit and maybe take a nap. He might get to go by the end of the week. He was wearing his rings. Since you got to isekai with whatever you were wearing, his rings meant that he was technically wearing six containers full of treasure and resources. He'd be fine.
------------------ Armchair God's Masterpiece Theatre ---------------------
Clark woke up, finding himself sitting on a leather loveseat. It was actually more comfortable than the recliner he was just in. Wait, where is- oh wow, was this it? He looked around. He saw his assembled containers and tools, all with strings attached- connected to the rings he still had on his fingers.
He looked at the man sitting in the throne-like leather chair next to him.
"I did it! I did it! Ha!"
"You successfully died, yes."
"I'm ready. I'm ready to go!"
"You don't want to check the paperwork first?"
Clark looked confused.
"There is a clipboard on the table next to you. It has your next assignment."
"No, that's fine. I know where I'm going!"
"Wonderful, the last guy made this difficult on me."
"What a loser. Yeah, I'm ready! I've been waiting for this!"
Without even so much as a scene transition, Clark now found himself standing on a dirt pathway leading to a city gate made of sharpened wooden poles sticking upright. The gate was partially open.
The gate creaked, and a large, burly man rippling with both muscles and beer belly triumphantly emerged. "Welcome! The valkyries got you here quickly, eh?" The man was wearing a metal skullcap, but it didn't have horns. His golden beard was long and the sides were braided.
"Uh..."
"What's wrong, brother? There's no reason to restrain yourself! The time for that is over! Let us eat and drink and kill one another until the dusk of the gods! Unless you want to play with the warrior women? They're just like us and give everything their all, too!"
The man slapped Clark on his back, making him sprawl on the ground. Clark then noticed his hands. He didn't have any rings. He got up, and looked at what he was wearing. Nothing. He looked around. No gear. No equipment. No anything.
"No worries brother! We'll get you a new weapon!"
The einherjar led the severely disappointed weeb into Valhalla.