Kidnapped abruptly into an unknown world? Check. Tossed into an arena to survive an onslaught of monsters? Check. Given the ability to conjure magic at a whim? Somewhat check. Showered in rewards to make the progress a breeze? Uhh...

Asher had played quite a few horde survival games in his heyday, blowing up thousands of monsters with a variety of weapons, classes, and an endless array of abilities. It was easy to progress--after all, it was just a matter of going in, killing stuff to obtain currency, dying, rinse and repeat. But what would be of such game if he couldn't die? In fact, what of the game where rewards are scarce unless 'surviving the horde' becomes 'surviving the war'?

The Eagle host that is too much into Shakespeare, the blacksmith that is an emo girl who bursts into flames every time she gets embarrassed, and his goblin helper is actually a Divine Dragon cosplaying and secretly doing research for his smut book, 'Humans and their Orifices', and a fairy helper that is about as helpful as a fireplace on the sun and so racist Asher begins fearing her lips more than eldritch monstrosities that he has to kill... those are just a few of the things he faces in a desperate bid to just survive. Why?

"The hell do I know," he mumbles, entering a new stage, knowing full well that death lurks behind every corner... and yet in search of it he must go.