She chews her nails in obvious anxiety.
“Damn it all to heaven!” she mutters, shuffling around the room, biting her fingers with increased strength. “That damn slave-driver is here faster than expected—and she’s targeting Hajime-kun!”
Tugging her hair, she glares at her dusty journal of Hopes and Dreams.
“Let’s hope all my work is finally blossoming into something beautiful,” she whispers longingly.
She peers out the window.
“That sanctimonious Saint has mobilized her flock and is doing Adfare drills! And that damned cow Nocture-san has blocked every avenue of escape... now I have no choice but to bide my time.”
She eyes her stash of cup noodles and bottled water… she sighs deeply.
“Well… time to weather the coming storm like the good little hermit I strive to be.”
She looks out toward the portal construction and begins prepping her contingency plan—just in case all hell breaks loose.
Saintess POV:
“My people!!!” the Saintess bellows. “A holy oracle has descended this day!”
Gasps ripple through the city.
“The enemies of enlightenment are at our gates! They come to strip you of your new way of life! These monsters seek to reduce you to devolved consumers—cattle sacrificing their financial security to support unproductive and predatory content!”
The crowd hisses in outrage.
“Their ads are the spawn of evil! Nothing good comes from consorting with the Damned! We must boycott their filth and uplift useful consumerism! Praise be to productive monetization!”
She dramatically raises a holy relic.
“BEHOLD!!! The undergarments of the hero! A product of unimaginable power! Comfort is guaranteed!”
Gasps and squeals of admiration sweep across the masses.
“The hero’s blessing is ingrained in these stains! Support our savior—and enter the lottery for a chance to smell it!”
Cheers erupt from fans and degenerates alike.
The Saintess, basking in their fervor, commands, “Erect the walls! Fortify our spirits! The enemy approaches the gates!!!”
Citizens rush to build barricades. Children arm themselves with toy coupons. Admages conjure walls made of glittering banners and slogans. Warriors drill with military-industrial ads blasting motivational jingles in the background.
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Narrator-kun:
"In less than two hours, Adlantis transforms. Mage towers rise like RTS fortifications. Adchers line the walls. Knights guarding the gates are reinforced. Promotional lotion vats are readied like boiling oil. The Saintess, ever the veteran, barks commands and assigns her moderators as her subcommanders."
She marches to the wall and stares into the distance, the coming army is drawing ever closer.
And with it, the sounds of—
“Hit me harder, mommy!!!”
“HAHAHAHAAA! When’s my turn?!”
“Her legs are divine!”
“OINKKKK!!!”
These creatures, long since forsaking their humanity, must be purged our Saintess mussed.
“The portal’s is nearly complete,” she murmurs. “Now… we just need our hero!”
Nocture-san Approaches:
With heavy breathing. They squeals in perverse unison.
The invading paypigs are decorated in their traditional war paints—green colored dollar signs across their bloated bellies, they gloat their statuses with shameless pride. They pull with joy the siege equipment, tools forged from melted credit cards...
Nocture reclines in her gilded bathtub throne, her legs crossed with thot tier dignity. With a lazy flick of her foot, she directs the army’s movements.
“LEFT YOU SCUM!!” a mod yells. The army shuffles left. A few weaker pigs are trampled beneath the chaos.
Nocture, unfazed, flips through Demonkin Weekly, pleased to see her ranking still in the top 10.
A moderator interrupts her moment:
“M-Mistress… we’ve arrived. But…"he gulps" it’s kind of… erotic.”
Nocture lowers her magazine and demands at the moderator. “Spit it out you nincompoop.”
He hands her a spyglass. She gazes through it—then freezes in mounting rage.
A massive ad banner covers the outer wall of Adlantis. It features the Saintess, smiling sweetly in a holy bathtub, dripping with innocent allure. The banner reads:
"Join the Holy Bathtub Stream of Elnora-san—Weekly! Featuring Special Guest: Hero-kun!!"
Sparkles. Bubbles. Click here for salvation.
The spyglass shatters in Nocture’s hand.
“PIGSSSSSS!!! SIEGE THAT BITCH OUT OF HER TUB!!!”
The pigs cheer and squeal, building siege towers just outside ad-range.
Hajime-kun, Still in the Physical Exam:
Doctor-san taps his clipboard.
“Interesting results Hero-san. Now let’s check your hearing. Which jingle do you prefer?”
“We’re Always Wrong… Until We Ain’t!”
Static
Hajime stares. “Uh… the second one, Doc.”
“Hmm.” The doctor scribbles something down and switches audio.
“When You’re Here… You Can Catch a Feel!”
Static
Hajime contemplates. “Some part of my soul wants the first one… but I’ll go with the second again.”
More scribbling.
“Now, how do you feel when I say the following: . Promotion. Discount. Subscription.”
Hajime winces. “I don’t feel so good…”
“How about: Lingerie. Bathtub. Feet?”
Hajime growls. “I feel angry.”
A little foam dribbles from his mouth.
The doctor’s eyes widen. He writes furiously.
“…I’m sorry to tell you this, Hajime-kun,” he says gravely.
“Go ahead, Doc. I can take it.”
“You’ve been diagnosed with Generalized Ad Intolerance… and a severe case of Feetad-trophic Taste Disorder.”
Hajime nods solemnly. “Don’t worry, Doc. I’m coping well.”
“Would you like to browse treatments? We’ve got amazing ads for that.”
“Nah. I’m good.”
“…Just remember, we’re here to help when it’s too much.” The doctor sighs. “You may leave for the day, Hero. And thank you for your contribution.”
“You’re welcome…?” Hajime replies, confused.
He suits up—then realizes a terrible truth:
“These clothes are way too tight… and it freaking hurts to move from the waist down.”