[Runesmith]

Granted. Since you can't be the Runesmith (a legend in his own time), the genie rolls a 1d2 to decide between the World of Warcraft universe or the Warhammer: Total War universe, both of which have Runesmiths. The World of Warcraft universe (fun fact: the gen Z calls a fictitious universe an Isekai because they think Japanese words are the fire) wins, and you suddenly awaken as the level 61 Mawsworn Runesmith at the Sanctum of Domination. As a very muscular and hairy dwarf encased in heavy, impractical armour, exuding what appears to be stewed body odour, you are doomed to stand guard at the Shadowsteel Foundry, waiting for an adventurer to come and assassinate and loot your body. The incredible amount of HP you have allow you to survive multiple waves of attacks, staggering around in mortal agony, until someone finally finishes you off, only to loot your body for the level 226 Forlorn Prisoner's Strap or the Soulcaster's grips that you might randomly drop. After each death, you respawn, the agony of your previous demise fresh in your mind. As cloth armour of high levels are rare in the Maw, most mage and thief wannabes target you... which results in multiple deaths every day, simultaneously on multiple servers. You feel every slash, every crossbow bolt, every severed limb, and the helpless terror before the final blow ends you. One day, maybe people will stop playing world of warcraft, you hope and pray. Maybe when that happens, the magical spell that keeps you confined to the Shadowsteel Foundry might disappear, and you might finally be able to explore this Isekai. Maybe you might even be able to touch the luxurious beard of a hairy female dwarf, which your loins cry out for. But nerds still play the game. Until the day the last nerd forgets the game, and the admins switch off the last server, armies of nerds shred you many times a day. You die a thousand deaths, endure incredible pain that slowly erodes your sanity. You are abominably hungry, but you can't eat. Your armour is stewing in your sweat and waste since you can't go to the bathroom. You can't even get time off to masturbate. Now you know what it feels like to be an NPC.

I wish I had an immersive holographic room like in Star Trek: Lower Decks, filled with uncensored Japanese porn of all genres.