Vape Shop Isekai: A Retail Manager’s Guide to a Stolen World

“Fuck!” Mark’s frail fingers weakly gripped the jagged edge of the rocky precipice. Below him was pure, terrifying blackness. “Help! I’m getting really unlucky with my Dexterity saves right now!”

A pale hand reached down from the darkness. He grabbed it desperately. Raven pulled him up over the ledge with her 22 Strength, requiring absolutely zero fanfare, and looked around. “I don’t see anyone else yet.”

“Fine, thank you,” Mark answered his own unasked question as he brushed the dirt off his robes. “Where are we?”

“In a very bad place,” Raven’s voice was uncharacteristically shaky. “I think I know this sector.”

Mark looked around. There was nothing but a massive hole leading further down, and another tunnel leading up. Only one path had carved stone steps. “Where are we?”

“Just above Gristleheim,” Raven said, pointing down the stairs. “If we can just make it through the city to Cave City, Kentucky, we can get the next rooster transport up to Sunnydale.”

Mark sighed heavily, the lore dropping into his brain. “The Boorgir aren’t going to just let us walk through.”

“I know,” she said.

The silence stretched until Mark knew she had no tactical answer, either.

“Sara!” Mark yelled into the abyss. “Simone! Cody!”

His calls echoed uselessly off the damp cavern walls, but no sounds came back. Raven gestured silently to the only path they could take. “Let’s go.”

They began down a stretch of narrow, but easily navigable path that descended into the distant, glowing darkness. They walked for a few minutes in heavy silence before Mark finally broke it.

“That fucking spear… Raven, my guy, that fucking spear.”

Raven shrugged, her Drow eyes easily piercing the gloom as she led the way. “It was nothing.”

“I know,” he said, his voice full of awe. “But Alvis damn, that was brutal!”

“You believe in Alvis?” Raven raised a pale eyebrow, glancing back at him. “Didn’t we do a whole thing earlier about religion?”

“I believe in Alvis more than the dominant religion’s actual god from Earth,” he confirmed.

“So, you do believe in a god?” Raven pressed.

Mark scoffed. “No. I’m anti-theist.”

Raven kept moving, her boots quiet on the stone. “You are against people who simply believe in a god?”

“I mean… in a way,” Mark started, trying to articulate his Earth-based cynicism. “But more so, I am against the concept of organized religion as a control structure.”

“I think I get that,” Raven pressed on, her voice tightening. “Like, Lolth decides all. Lolth gets to set the standard of who is good, and who is evil, and who needs fucking, and who needs killing. If I like someone, and then find out they are one of these forbidden people, then I have to kill them. I mean, why can’t I decide that for myself? Why do I have to fucking kill my friend just for liking me?”

Mark paused as she kept walking. The raw, genuine pain of her Plunderdark trauma hit him like a physical truck. He pressed on and caught up to her. “I’m sorry, Raven.” He thought of adding more philosophical debate, but wisely left it as is.

She was silent for a hundred yards or more before she finally spoke again. “I’m sorry about that outburst. Anytime I’m back underground… I miss her.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he offered gently.

She stopped and turned, halting their trek. He could see the unshed tears and puffy redness around her eyes. “No.” She turned back and continued walking. “We are almost there. I hope Sara is alright.”

“You know she is,” Mark said confidently. “That’s why I gave her the store… and the game. Because I have never known another person like her. She has gotten through some of the most fucked-up shit on Earth, somehow completely unscathed, and lived to tell the tale. Lived to tell me the tale, of all people.”

A heavy pause hung on the humid cavern air before Raven answered. “Yeah. I know she is. That’s what we love about her. Her resilience.”

“Her spirit,” Mark added softly.

“Her calm,” Raven said.

“Calm?” Mark questioned, cocking his head. “How did you get that read? She panics.”

“I don’t know,” Raven said, a small smile playing on her lips. “She’s always so calm underneath it. Even under pressure, she holds it together for us.”

Mark considered her words. “I see that. She’s been that way since school.”

“Did you like her back then, too?” Raven asked casually, not breaking her stride.

“What?” Mark was instantly speechless.

“I mean, you clearly love her,” she responded, glancing back with a knowing look. “Have you always?”

Mark’s brain broke. Things just got incredibly awkward. “I… but… I don’t… yeah. Always. You could tell?”

“It’s really obvious,” Raven said dryly.

The air in the tunnel changed almost abruptly. A heavy, suffocating scent of rancid hamburgers and deep-fryer oil filled his nostrils.

“I… don’t know what to say,” Mark stammered.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Raven replied.

Mark hung his head in silence as they progressed ever further into the vat-smell. He hadn’t really thought of Sara romantically in a long time. They had just fallen into an easy friendship years ago, and Mark never had the Charisma or the Courage to ask for more. It never happened, so he kind of just gave up. “That’s partly why I came here.”

“Oh?” Raven asked. “What do you mean?”

Mark gnawed the inside of his lip, deciding to just be honest. “Honestly… I think I’m in love with her. And… that could never happen on Earth. So I came here. I think I was half-expecting her to see me more as a hero here, but now… she has you.”

It was a long moment before the Drow answered. “She doesn’t have me. Not yet. We’re both going through a lot of transitional stuff right now, and it's good just like it is. We do have some dates planned, but that’s it. There’s just hardly been time to actually get to know her. I’m sorry if that makes things awkward for our party dynamic.”

Mark thought about it as a massive, sickly yellow light began to illuminate the tunnel from below. The thought of Sara with someone else back home was just another Tuesday, but for some reason, this one hurt a little differently. “It doesn’t make it awkward. I just want her to be happy. And if that’s with you… then good.”

The small trail finally opened up into a massive, sweltering cavern. A sprawling city sat at the absolute lowest point of the rocky basin.

Gristleheim. The walls and buildings were all made of cooled, hardened, grayish-brown grease. They had to be actively maintained by laborers pouring fresh, hot grease onto the structures daily. The cavern floor was completely covered in a slick, shimmering sheen of runoff from the homes and meat-processing businesses, and the primary method of rapid transportation in Gristleheim was literal belly slides.

“We need to be ready for anything,” Raven warned, pulling her hood up. “The Boorgir are nesting.”

“How can you tell that from here?” Mark wondered.

“See that massive, thick slab of gristle standing out in the middle of the town square?”

Mark looked at the large, veiny, pulsating structure that climbed twice as high as the highest grease-hut. The rhythmic way it throbbed actively forced his lunch up the back of his throat. He swallowed it back down with a grimace. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“It's normally dormant,” she said. She paused and scanned the city, now that they were close enough to make out the grotesque details. “The throbbing releases pheromones that make them horny. So be incredibly careful of your wenis.”

“Excuse me, my what, now?” Mark was instantly shocked, stopping in his tracks. “Did you mean penis?”

“No,” Raven held her arm up and pinched her elbow. “You see this extra fleshy bit of skin you can stretch out right here? This is your wenis. And it is very, very important that you protect your wenis here.”

Mark couldn’t move. He was in sheer biological shock. “How… how do they… umm…”

“If one of them walks up and shakes your hand,” Raven grabbed his hand, immediately placing her other hand warmly on the back of his upper arm. “This isn’t an uncommon greeting, right? A normal shake with a friendly pat or slight grab on the arm.” She slowly, deliberately lowered her hand down to Mark’s elbow skin. “But then, while they’re talking to you, they slide their fingers down, and you don’t even notice until they pinch.”

A violent shiver ran down Mark’s spine. “Oh, I think I am fully fucking aware of my wenis now. Thank you for the warning.”

As they descended the last bit of the rocky trail, Mark slipped, his boots losing traction on the grease that respirated from the throbbing gristle-monolith, leaving a slick sheen on every single surface in the cavern. “Fuck, I’m gonna die of a broken neck before we even get inside.”

“Look,” Raven pointed at the lone guard stationed at the front gate. “He’s sleeping.”

The guard was small and completely bulbous with fat. His skin was pulled tight, an uncomfortably doughy color, and covered with thick pancake makeup. He was actively sweating Ham-Boorgir grease—a natural byproduct of a species subsisting entirely on hamburgers and gristly meats. His armor was painted pitch black and covered in edgy, mall-goth metal spikes.

Raven approached the guard carefully. “Hey! We need to pass through the city.”

The guard snorted, farted loudly in his sleep, and burped himself awake. “Buuuuurrrwhaaaat?”

Oh god. The smell was worse up close. It smelled like the grease he inevitably sharted was totally rancid. Mark slapped a hand over his nose and mouth, deeply regretting his life choices as a Dungeon Master.

“We just want to get through to Cave City,” Raven said, folding her arms tightly over her chest, intentionally capping her wenises with her hands.

The guard yawned sleepily. He stood up slowly and reached deep into his spiked pocket, pulling out what appeared to be an unwrapped, warm stick of solid butter. “Gotta see Dimmu McGristle for a pass. He's this way.”

The guard rubbed the stick of butter vigorously across his already greasy, spiked chest plate. Then, he unhinged his jaw entirely and swallowed the remaining stick whole. He took a single, lazy step for momentum, then flopped face-first onto the ground, belly-sliding down the sloped entrance into the town with incredible, frictionless speed.

Panic and instinct kicked in. Mark tried to quickly follow the guard down the slope on foot, but his traction failed completely. His feet somehow flew above his head, and he crashed onto his back, sliding down the hill uncontrollably. By the time he hit the bottom, he realized he was now completely soaked from head to toe with the greasy respiration of the city.

Raven walked down the slope carefully, reaching a hand out to him at the bottom. “Want me to just wing you over there since you’re already down?”

Mark rolled his eyes, sighing in absolute disgust at his ruined robes. “Why not?”

He raised his hand. Raven grabbed it, and suddenly he was sliding along the slick, greasy surface of the main street at breakneck speed. Shit. Her 22 Strength had just rolled a natural twenty. He moved so fast he could actually feel the heavy grease in the air coating his flapping jowls.

He rapidly approached a very large, important-looking Boorgir surrounded by other, greasier-looking goth men. Within a second, a heavy iron boot came down hard on Mark's shoulder, painfully halting his forward movement.

Mark looked up from the slick floor at the gothest-looking hamburger-dwarf he had seen yet. Four more heavily armed guards immediately surrounded him. A beat later, Raven casually slid into the circle beside him. She reached out to help him up.

With a flat, thoroughly defeated expression, Mark reached up, took her hand, and got to his feet. He was absolutely saturated with grease. “Hi. I’m Mark, and I’m absolutely done with this dungeon. Can you please just tell us how to pass through your city?”

Mark adjusted his grease-smeared glasses and squinted. The entity before him looked exactly like a sentient, quadruple-stacked hamburger wearing platform, knee-high buckle boots. It flapped its meaty jowls. “Did you bring an offering for passage?”

Mark smiled tightly with just his lips. “We didn’t. We actually were running away from the King's guard and kind of just fell in here by accident.”

The Dimmu opened its massive mouth, yawning. Mark could see a thick glob of white substance—what he desperately assumed was mayonnaise—drip from its upper sinuses down into its throat, sending the creature into a wet, rattling cough.

“You must either purchase fifty gold worth of goods from our Premier Nations Initiative vendors,” the Dimmu croaked, “or fight Sphinktor the Undulating in the pit.”

“Where are the vendors?” Mark said without a second of hesitation.

“Sara has all the money,” Raven reminded him quietly.

“Fuck my entire life,” Mark sighed. What the fuck was Sphinktor the Undulating? “This way.” The goth guards surrounded them and escorted them roughly to a massive, greasy, pit-style arena in the center of town.

A handful of Boorgir immediately gathered at the rim of the pit, and more belly-slid in from afar to watch the execution. On the other side of the heavy iron gate in the pit was a massive, dark magical portal that swelled and pulsed with anticipation.

Mark and Raven were pushed roughly into the sunken pit, the heavy wooden fence doors closing and locking behind them.

Raven rolled her neck, popped it loudly, and cracked her knuckles. “I’m getting back to Sara, Mark. I hope you can keep up.”

Mark took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and pushed his glasses up. “How bad can it be?”

The dark portal shook violently as it spat out Sphinktor the Undulating. It landed on the greasy ground with a squeaking, wet, ripping fart.

A ten-foot-tall mass of rippling, fleshy anus bounced high into the air, immediately locking onto them, not giving them time to think. It went straight for Raven.

Mark took a moment of sheer horror to examine exactly what he had created. It was literally just a big, tight ring of puckered flesh on the front and back, with the deep wrinkles continuing entirely around its spherical body.

Raven pushed off the ground, tactically sliding gracefully through the grease on her boots, and grabbed Mark's collar, pulling him to the absolute edge of the arena with her.

The monster landed where they had just been standing with a terrible, deep shart, spraying a foul, liquid brown substance all over the wall where they had just been.

Mark stifled a violent retch and frantically waved his fingers, casting Prestidigitation to magically clean the stench off their clothes.

Sphinktor bounced again, but not as high, landing heavily halfway across the arena. A loud, ripping sound reverberated through Mark’s skull as a giant, muscular, frog-like tongue whipped out of the center of the giant anus. It slammed into Raven, wrapping tightly around her waist and violently pulling her toward the puckered maw.

The thick grease coating her boots made it impossible for her to get a physical grip to resist the pull.

Mark had to think fast. Would she just go through the other side of the hole? He had no time to find out. His mind went blank with panic. He cast the first defensive spell that popped into his head.

“Leomund’s Tiny Igloo!”

And just like that, a perfectly formed, magically hardened tiny ice igloo materialized out of thin air right between the giant anus and Raven. It gave her back a solid surface to brace against, stopping her momentum as she desperately fought the powerful tongue trying to pull her in.

Raven planted her boots against the ice and brutally punched the thick tongue repeatedly until the monster shrieked, let her go, and retreated the appendage back into the anus. The igloo shattered into pieces, falling to the greasy ground as it was destroyed by the recoil.

Raven looked up toward the rim of the pit. “Mark! They never intended for us to pay! Look!”

Mark chanced a glance over his shoulder. Standing next to the Dimmu, looking down into the pit with his arms folded over his chest, was an Owlbear wearing a custom Vape Much, My Friend? T-shirt.

Fuck. Did he just get betrayed by his own creations? Mark lost it. How dare they turn him in to fucking Craig, of all people.

“Run,” Mark said, looking Raven dead in the eyes. “Now.”

Mark waved his hands in a complex somatic pattern, then pressed them hard to his own chest. “Polymorph!”

Suddenly, he felt the immense, crushing weight of heavy metal replace his fragile limbs. He looked down and saw he was indeed transformed into a towering, solid Steel Golem.

Raven’s pale eyes went wide with realization as she saw the words coming off Mark’s metallic lips just as the giant tongue flew straight for him again. She understood the tactical physics instantly. She dove, wrapping her arms tightly around his massive steel waist and squeezing tight.

“Fireball!” Mark bellowed in a metallic echo.

He dropped a point-blank Fireball directly at his own steel feet. The magical flame instantly ignited the highly combustible grease in the air and on the floor of the pit.

A massive, concussive explosion rocked the cavern. As a Golem, Mark was entirely immune to the fire. He acted as a perfect, impenetrable blast shield for Raven, absorbing the heat while the sheer kinetic force of the explosion threw his heavy metal body—and the Drow clinging to it—high into the air, far outside the arena and over the city walls.

CLANG! Mark felt no pain as his heavy body ricocheted off a rocky cavern wall far outside the city limits. He hit the ground hard. He looked down and opened his massive steel arms.

Raven was unconscious, but alive.

He laid her gently on the stone, instantly ended the Polymorph spell, and knelt beside her in his frail Changeling body. “Raven.” He smacked her pale cheek gently. She didn’t respond.

Fuck. He reached out, his trembling fingers tapping her shoulder. “Sheet!”

“Fuck,” he gasped as he looked down at the glowing HP Box on the UI. There it was. -1. “Fuck!”

He stared at the paper in horror as it updated. -2.

Fuck, she wasn’t naturally stabilizing. Her high Constitution had failed the roll. He was a Wizard; he didn’t even have the Heal skill trained, so he would effectively have to roll a natural seventeen or higher with his -2 Wisdom modifier just to stop the bleeding.

He placed his shaking hands on her chest, desperately trying to apply pressure to her wounds. “Heal!” he commanded the system, making the check.

-3.

Shit. He failed the roll. The bleeding worsened. Hopefully he didn’t fail again, but he had to try. “Heal!”

-4.

He panicked, the math screaming in his 22-Intelligence brain. He was going to watch her die because he wasn't a Cleric. He tried to think of anything else in his spellbook he could do.

He slapped his hands against his own chest. “Owl’s Wisdom!”

He felt the magical surge of divine intuition flood his mind, temporarily boosting his Wisdom stat out of the negatives, granting him the crucial modifier bonus he needed for the medical check.

He placed his hands back on her wounds, feeling the pulse fading. “Heal!”

A tense second passed.

Raven coughed weakly, sputtering blood from her lips, but her chest rose steadily. He looked at the glowing sheet.

1 Hit Point. Stable.

Mark collapsed back onto the stone, gasping for air. “We need to go. Now.”

[SYSTEM ALERT: Encounter Cleared.]

[SYSTEM ALERT: Originality Bonus.]

[XP Awarded: 24,000]

[Level Up Available! Unspent Attribute Points: 10]

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