You open your eyes and find yourself lying in the middle of a grand hall built from black marble. It’s dark and eerie despite light coming from countless chandeliers hung from the ceiling by entrails, tied together like a rope.

“Aargh!” You jump up and realize that you’re buck naked.

“Pardon for that—your clothes rotted away some time ago,” you hear a soft female voice.

That was all you needed to hear. Before even seeing the girl with the F-cup mammaries, covered by a disproportionally small bra, you know—you’ve been Isekai’d! So I did not survive that otaku stampede, huh?

“Allow me,” The minotaur monster girl snaps her fingers and robes materialize on your body. “We must hurry! Please, follow me.”

With a groan, you reluctantly follow the big-tittied monster girl through the dark hall to where-ever she’s guiding you. As you listen to her prattle on about Demon Lords, summonings, successors and kingdoms you feel the rising urge to gnaw your eyes out just to dull the pain of being at the very epicenter of cliché-galore.

You don’t even watch anime anymore! It's because of these very same clichés piled on top over each other and repeated ad nauseam that it became unbearable! The only reason you were even at that stupid convention was because you needed the money. And your extensive knowledge of otaku culture made it easier to design and sell merch. Why couldn’t you simply go to heaven to all the puppies and kitties like all the good little boys and girls do? Do you not deserve some rest?

“Come here, my child!” you hear a frail voice coming from a corpse lying on a bed of nails. You didn't even notice how you reached the room. And it's filled with guts!!

Alright,—you think—this is something you don’t see every day. Not that you’d want to touch that stinking thing!

But with a single command “Give me your hand!” the corpse forces you to move and place your hand on it’s rotting, sticky shoulder. You feel a surge of energy as the corpse does something with your body. You feel your very soul tainted by something you can never remove. The feeling of being smeared by somebody's boogers that you can never wash off. And then something happens that nearly makes you vomit in disgust. Fucking semi-translucent game-like tabs appear!

[Congratulations you have gained a class – Demon Lord]

[Level up!]

[Congratulations! You are now a level 2 Demon Lord!]

The minotaur girl kneels before you and exclaims “It is an honor, My Lo—”

“No!” You shout out, interrupting the blonde bimbo’s pandering lines. “Fuck this! I am not playing a stupid cliché game in a stupid cliché world, surrounded by pandering bitches! I’d rather kill myself!!”

And in an act of desperation that is exactly what you do. You arch your back and bend backward as far as you reasonably can. Taking one last look at the gut-smeared ceiling, you drive your head with all the power and speed at your disposal, face-first into the bed of nails that the corpse is laying on.

Spluhch! With a wet splatting sound, your eyeballs are pierced by the rusty nails. However, the force was not enough strong enough to fully pierce your skull. The only thing greater than the unimaginable anguish of driving your face into twenty rusty nails is your determination to escape this hellish world. So, you raise your head and again bash it into the nails with full force.

“What are you doing My Lord!?” The girl shouts in the room. “Stop it!”

You have to hurry before she comes to her senses from the shock and stops you. So, you bash your face into the nails again! And again! And again! Ah… that time might have worked—those were the last thoughts your brain produced before ceasing to function. Until—

[Congratulations you have gained a new passive skill – Restart].

You open your eyes and find yourself lying in the middle of a grand hall built from black marble...

“Pardon for that—your clothes rotted away some time ago,” you hear a soft female voice.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO—”