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I was supposed to be a hero, SO WHY IS MY HERO ARMOR A THONG?!
I thought it would be Cliche, I was wrong.

I thought it would be Cliche, I was wrong.

Hey guys, this is my first attempt at making a novel, I don't have much time to update it more than once a week. I would like your feedback, especially grammar issues.

Enjoy

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"There is no other way but to defeat them; so I, in my wisdom have deemed it worthy to summon future great knights to my world to protect my great kingdom. You should all feel grateful to be summoned from your pitiful lower realm to our higher plane."  Boasts the arrogant prick who summmoned us.

"We have had to relinquish the ownership of hundreds historical treasures to you as the Items you find in your soul have been bound to you, to support the solution of items assimilated to create your bodies, to stabilize your body with the divinity they have obtained through worship. Such an act pains me, to have to summon outsiders, with this old kings treasures, how will you repay me for such gifts?" Said the old bastard.

The others couldn't see it, but I could, the greedy grin on his face as he imagines the wealth our power will bring him as we grow. His eyes narrowed and shining like a scammers as his buffoon signs away his kidney for 8000 pesos instead of 8000 dollars, his lips curved in joy for his soon to be acquired wealth, only to quickly erase it and take a look of anguish so profound it could make demons cry in heartbreak. This guy would win Oscars just in daily life, for the amount of bullshit he has been spewing at us, gripping 9/12 of those in the summoning pentagram with sympathy and fervor to start a new life with all his promises.

[That's right it’s one of those bullshit cliche situations I loathe so much, yet I can't stop reading them] I thought to myself, I had wanted to say something but none of those who had been summoned could utter a sound, they simply flapped their mouths in silence. The king then asked for all of us to summon our equipment by beseeching our soul quietly to grant us the divinity of the equipment used to bind us to this realm, and that some equipment can never to taken off, however weapons can always be returned to our soul.

I looked deep within myself as I was told to, past my skin, my flesh, and my bones, arriving at a transparent membrane behind my left nipple. Why is my soul underneath my nipple?! Question for later, as I focus on it I see a color a bright sickening neon pink, a dark ominous grey, and an area of what I could only call a complete absence of light. I beseech my soul, finding it awkward to ask permission from myself, and see three objects fly out, vaguely making out a short robe and a scythe, and something shaped like a V.

I feel terror as my nipple begins to burn like hell as I feel it "channeling" something. What the actual fuck. The right side of my shirt is blown apart by the power, while no one else is having this freak issue. Slowly materializing in my hands is the scythe, ominous yet simple in its design with a wooden shaft shaped perfectly round, with a design like swinging a wooden cross with a scythe blade at the end.

I stare at it in wonder, it feels so tempting all of a sudden to simply gaze into its abyss black blade and lose myself in it. I hadn’t noticed the hooded robe black like it had been cut from the night sky as a cloth, and that it only barely went to my knees. Nor had I noticed that all of my old clothing had suddenly vanished.

I crouched down to look at it more privately before we are asked to present our equipment. I had not however realized the open mouthed awe of the people behind the one-way glass windows in the summoning chamber showed as I was in a squatting position. I began to hear murmurs from around, the other summoned are looking at me with jaws dropped. I looked down between my legs and received the shock of my life.

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I, Artemis Moore, have found myself in one of those hateful cliché situation. That’s what I wanted to say, but why god why is this part of my power as a hero. I can feel it, it’s one of those un-removable equipment. Why in the ever-loving fuck did I have to be bound body and soul to a Bedazzled G-string thong, as the thick body haired beer bellied man that I am.

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The narrator in the sky had taken notice of an out of the norm situation as he did his duty to irritate the pantheons of the gods with anything it thought interesting; unceasingly, for eternity; just like it was made to by its creator it addressed as "father". Unfortunately for its "father"; the Norse god Loki; and the rest of the pantheons of gods, its curiosity and urge to narrate had grown disgustingly to the point where if it no longer had anything interesting in its sights it would resort to simply narrating the decay of an interesting piece of fecal matter or mundane things such as inter-species wars between mold over the territory of an unwashed women’s thong.

Such a thong was exactly what he had been narrating, until it had led to the current situation. Once worn by an attendant of the goddess of chastity Artemis, who had continued to wear the underwear without washing it to deter the lustful thoughts of men whom she met. It turned out there was a special kind of pervert out there that found her stink just right. Said special kind of pervert was the ancestors man currently on projection boasting of his summoning. 60 generations ago the perverted ancestors of the king had paid handsomely two urchin boys to flip the nun over and yank off her thong for money.

Said thong had been passed from father to son, for countless generations, as an object of worship. They kept from their wives and sisters in the dark for over a thousand years, until the current kings queen had found the shrine in the dungeon. It was actually the grandest part of the castle. She threatened her husband telling him she would throw it away, leaving his pallor grayer than a corpse, until she noticed the divinity radiating off it. She gave into his pleading and made a compromise, stating they would add it into the pile of divine artifacts that were going to be used to summon the heroes, and that if a hero were to manifest it, there is a chance it may continue to exist against all odds.

And so the king hoped with all his might to find the one with the thong, and take it back from them. Only to find what looked like a delinquent with a scythe squatting down with his legs spread with the divine artifact bulging with his mass. The heretics appearance left him in awe, not because of the absurdity, but because the overwhelming aura of charisma he radiated while in that position. He knew he had lost, such a man with such charisma looking like that, could only be a being to be bowed down too. And so, he bowed.

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The entire pantheon of gods had been tuning out the narrator who had hijacked control over the world system long ago leaving it too powerful to even silence, until they saw such a scene. With shock in their hearts, and joy in their soul, they had finally found something interesting for the narrator to focus on. No more will their soul die a little every moment with its incessant talking, no more will they be subject to eons of depression! They had found the key to their freedom, as Loki had set the chance of the Off Buttons activation item chance of spawning in a century to a million to 1. They had found the owner of the Thong of Destiny.

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