It’s in the title. I did that. I will not apologize. Their gods are dead and I did not kill them. Someone else did that. Or maybe not? To be honest that whole debacle was way above my pay-grade and I did not want any part in it.
Where was I?
Oh right.
So I fell down the stairs and died, right?
Well normally when you die, you don’t expect to wake up unharmed in the middle of a big fuck-off desert.
Not only that, but the computer that I had just finished building is probably sitting in pieces at the bottom of that accursed stairwell. In fact, I’m pretty sure it was the 40-pound computer gently impacting my cranium that did me in. Worse than Caesar’s betrayal I tell you.
Some higher being that may or may not exist must have decided that I had it too easy and wanted to fuck with me. Well that – or someone summoned me and fucked it up. Or maybe I noclipped out of reality when my computer hit me? That sounds like a more reasonable explanation, but this is not a physics textbook. This is an autobiography but with only the interesting parts, plus the death of my poor computer. Or is it an autobiography? It’s not my whole life, so maybe not? Maybe more like a novel?
…
ANYWAY. Enough sidetracking. Desert. Hot. Thirsty. Survive.
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Deserts are a pain in the ass to navigate. Like what force of nature or god or whatever decided to have nothing but sand for literal miles. The logical side of me knew the answer but I was NOT having it. I’d have berated and attacked the sand but I was unfortunately more focused on not dying of thirst in the middle of the Sahara.
So off I went in a direction. Which one? Don’t fuckin’ ask me; I have no clue. But what I do know is that I eventually encountered civilization.
…
Nah I’m just kidding. I passed out because it turns out that your average 20-something year old comp sci major doesn’t have the navigational skills nor the equipment to traverse a desert.
Though as luck would have it, when I came to I found myself laying on a rather uncomfortable bed in what appeared to be a literal mudhut. Just great.
With a grunt of worldly dissatisfaction I made motion to sit up, eyes open, only to be met with an unfamiliar face, attached to an even more unfamiliar frame. Their face was relatively normal, save for a pair of ears that jutted out to the sides in a dare I say knife-like fashion. A nearly stark-white asymmetric shock of hair reached their left shoulder, guiding my eyes lower.
Their torso was built, though not to the level of a body builder. This person had clearly lived a laborious life in the sun. Jade-colored serpentine tattoos snaked across their exposed dark skin, making for quite an exotic overall persona.
Had I lingered on their upper half any longer, I would have also noticed hardened plates on their shoulders and face, but my gaze had been drawn further down to what appeared to be a scorpion’s tail. A scorpion’s tail that was indeed attached to what seemed to be a rather large scorpion.
But where was its head? Unfortunately I had already seen the head, for the front of this scorpion was attached at the waist to our dark-skinned compatriot. A clever cosplay indeed… is what I would have thought if I hadn’t seen the legs fucking MOVE.
My intelligent and gracefully verbose response to this revelation broke the admittedly awkward silence as I- “HOLY MOTHER OF GOD WHAT IN THE CHARLES ROBERT DARWIN ARE YOU!?” as I went from a sitting position to being pressed up against the wall in a pose not uncommon to be found utilized by someone with stage 5 arachnophobia.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
An awkward silence once again permeated the air as I stood still as a statue with a scorpion centaur thing across the room from me, regarding me with what a hypothetical onlooker would describe as a very unimpressed and mildly offended facial expression.
My mind was still trying to recover from the admittedly overly dramatic reaction that I chose to use over the more diplomatic option. Our arachnoid friend chose this moment to speak, arms crossed.
“I am a Girtablilu, and normally travelers thank us when we save them from death. So if you’re finished with your antics then we can try this again, perhaps with less screaming? My neighbor is sleeping and it would be wise for the both of us if we wish to avoid her ire. I am called Jasko, and it is mostly pleasant to make your acquaintance, loud traveler.”
They spoke what seemed to be English, though their accent was thick. At this I was relieved, and so I opted to respond as coherently as I could.
“Yeah uh well met… Jasko. I’m Max. But more importantly, where am I??”
Jasko regarded me with a look of what seemed to be pity, though that quickly devolved into confusion as they appeared to be having their own train of thought making rounds.
“You are in the village of Dilanja, near the Occlian border. I found you but a short distance south of here… your tracks seemed to indicate that you were heading in the direction of our village. Was this not your intention? You had not any food or water with you, nor equipment for travel.”
If you had been able to see into my mind in that moment, you’d have been witness to the worst housefire since the Great Fire of London. First the stairs, then my PC, then the desert, and now this?
With a quick chuckle, I responded.
“Haha so uhm any chance you’ve heard of the city of Detroit?”
Jasko closed their eyes in thought.
“No, there aren’t any cities nearby, and I have not heard of one called ‘Detroit’.”
My stomach sank at this. I responded with desperation lacing my voice as I slowly came to realize my situation.
“W-what about a country called America?”
“I am afraid I have never heard of a nation by that name either. Traveler Max, where are these places you speak of exactly?”
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This cannot possibly be real. I must be out cold at the bottom of that stairwell.
My conversation with Jasko had been a very confusing one. It had left me with more questions than answers, and unfortunately Jasko had errands to run, which resulted in me being left alone in his hut. To put it simply, I was currently in denial. A weird prank for internet points or something, it had to be. I had my doubts about that too though, considering the fact that Michigan is nowhere near a desert. I may have reacted poorly to Jasko initially, but after giving it some thought, I came to the conclusion that this very well may be real. The positively absurd idea that I had been isekai'd nearly broke my brain.
Alright Max. Keep calm. Take inventory. You got this.
...
Ooookay. So I've got my clothes from Earth, my jeans, a nice pink hoodie (probably only wear that at night), my phone, my wallet, a phillips screwdriver, and a microfiber cloth. I guess my phone could come in handy, assuming I can conserve the charge. That or maybe I could sell it if I really need the money... and I somehow doubt these guys will accept USD or Visa. This could be better, but I could also be dead so lets look at the silver lining here.
It was during my inventory-taking extravaganza that Jasko had returned, quietly scuttling through the hanging cloth that seemed to pass for a door.
"Are those your belongings?"
Had I not heard him enter, I'd have damn near jumped out of my skin. I sighed.
"Yeah, or at least what little I had on me when I ended up here..."
If this is some stupid isekai then it had better be worth it.
"I see. You have my sympathy, you must be very confused right now."
You got that right buddy.
My silence must have been confirmation enough, because he continued.
"I have spoken with the elder, and she seems to believe that you are what they call an Outworlder. Is that true? Are you not of this world?"
There's the million dollar question.
"Alright well I'm not about to beat around the bush here for some arbitrary reason. Yeah. I'd say that's probably accurate. I'm from Earth, and we definitely do not have Girtablilu on Earth."
Jasko cocked his head.
"Earth? Like dirt?"
"Well what do you all call your world then?"
"Halsa?"
"Damn that is a better name."
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After having my worldview thoroughly pulverized, Jasko offered to show me around the village and get a bite to eat. The village was almost what I had expected — the predominant type of building was similar to that of pueblo architecture back on Earth. Many buildings were seemingly carved right out of a cliff face that overlooked the rest of the desert, and they were clearly built with the Girtablilu morphology in mind, because I had a lot of trouble climbing to keep up with Jasko even with the occasional ladder. Eventually we came to a tavern or pub of sorts. He ushered me into the strange building and we stood at the bar counter with what looked to be a rudimentary kitchen behind it — there weren't any chairs, but Jasko seemed comfortable in his resting position.
"So how are you with casting?"
I turned to regard Jasko, somewhat confused for reasons that you can probably guess.
"...casting?"
As if in response to my query, he held up his hand and said something unintelligible. His hand almost immediately started glowing only to be enveloped in a weightless blob of water shortly after.
Oh... oh DAMN.