The word of the Experienced
Guidelines on bullying in Western Pennsylvania School Districts
Teach your sons to abuse other boys. Molesting them if need be.
The boys who are molested will have to deal with it in therapy.
They will be ostracized by their peers.
They will suffer all the more
A young boy when properly abused and sexually hazed will be unable to think properly and consider all around him to be out to get him.
It makes it easier then to paint him as a schizophrenic.
They will be laughed at and scoffed at by your women and humiliated. It's like you've painted on your enemy a red letter A as a kid. Imagine trying to manage all those feelings as a kid. HAHA! He'll never have a chance.
It's funny too. Through and through. We do this because we can get away with it and we marry and have children all over the state of PA. Our wives and girlfriends they never find out. No one ever knows. But we just blame the victim and when they get angry, we'll just string em up.
After your sons sexually abuse him, make sure that you and your neighbors team up on his family members and call HIM and THEM the strange one's. After all, they adopted children from another country and raised them here. What a weakness.
Orphans. Next to trash.
Their mothers will make a mockery of it. Remember this in how you raise your young men. Molest other boys if need be so that you can conquer them easier. Whenever the victim seeks to rise out of the place of their abuse, paint them as a madman and a shooter. That if they fight back they’ll be like a columbine shooter. This way you can control them while your sons abuse them psychologically. Don’t worry, it’s nothing new. This is what happened to a boy I knew in Pittsburgh, Pa. We had our way with him promptly and he grew up this way. He never healed and he was kicked around by people endlessly until around thirty one. Never saved more than fifteen thousand dollars and was completely disabled because of the sexual abuse and hazing we caused him as a boy. He was an orphan. We made sure as a young man that we drugged him well enough with a bunch of friends that gave him drugs and treated him less than he was worth. He was middle class so we made sure to get him after he was sexually abused as a ten year old and fifteen to be around the wrong crowd so we could make him estranged from the family that cared about him. Of course, he wasn’t able to make friends after ten because the kids on the bus of the school he went to were all touching each others privates, but whenever it came out that they did it they all just blamed the orphan boy and he took the fall for the whole neighborhood. That’s exactly what we did to him. It was pretty funny to see him grow up this way, we watched as his entire life fell apart and he lost everything. Never able to find sanity. From what I heard after our sons had their way with him sexually and drugged and abused him he never got any better. Every time people saw him the only thing they would do is stare at him, like he was a kind of example of what happens when you’re an orphan bastard in America. You get what white power brings to orphans from another country, nobody wanted him so we made sure to make it that way forever. We redneck trash love to blur the lines between molestation and friendship. It makes the most sense to us to inspire severe mental health issues in children and then act like nothing happened. We’re waiting for him to kill himself. We’re excited to watch. Oh another thing, there’s a judge in Allegheny country we’ve been using who was selling cocaine and harassing young boys. We kept him on the stand for many years.
We’ll get away with this forever. It’s funny to watch.
What's more to us is that we have control of most of Western Pennsylvania. The young boy orphan who we know always did try to fight back. We loved sending the police to his house while our sons got away with sexually assaulting him, drugging him, and abusing him. He played sports with him so we made sure that the cops son definitely got to fondle his testicles against his will. Whenever he got angry and threatened to fight back or act like he was gonna shoot someone we just would send the cops dad to his house to "calm him down" a little while we all got away with it. The funniest part was watching his mother and father turn against this kid. They didn't even want that idiot anymore, they just wanted to throw the boy out and put him in a psych ward because they just thought he was a complete and total fuck up. After all he was the weak one for getting molested right? He was the fuck up for being sexually hazed and keeping quiet right? Not much of a man that fifteen year old boy was huh? While the people in Allegheny county all just act like it's nothing new. We like how we abuse our young boys out here especially the orphans from other countries.
How we relished this cute twinks pain. We loved telling him he was a saintly figure. "Saint --------------" we called him. It was funny to watch, all his friends convincing him it was his job to be like a holy figure. While they took advantage of him, drugged him, and ruined his relationship with his mother. He would take the trays up for the kids and especially the cops son who would touch his dick, by his junior year he didn't know the difference between being molested anymore and just being a willing participant. It's like the kid hadn't a single clue but the whole rest of the school and staff knew but, just because he was an orphan they chose to not do anything. After all, an orphan boy? It's like nothing happens to them. They aren't people after all especially if they're from another country. It was really enjoyable overall watching this kid lose everything. Last I heard he spent nine years tortured, night terrors every night. Disability.
Ah well. Keep Pennsylvania Proud.
Go Stillers!
He goes on. Unseen and unheard. But we know the truth.
(Based on the screwtape letters and real events)

WPA – A Completely Average Roadtrip
Disclaimer: Not canon, and I don’t use patreon so please don’t spoil me. Also, any opinion held by a character is that of the characters and not my own. Enjoy.
Town of Ljosalfington, local time 14:00, week 7
Emma Booker
“Again Illunor, I warned you before that this is a utility vehicle, not a party rated smart-limo. I am already compromising more than I should by allowing you to use the sample cooler as a minifridge, one which I can’t even use!” I said as I loaded the materials I had just purchased into the back of the high-G All terrain fusion-ethanol-electric hybrid 24th-century legacy pickup truck that I had printed out earlier this week, carefully avoiding the heavy ordinance hard point.
“That is hardly an excuse for that abysmally cramped leg space barely fit for cattle, never mind the bare minimum for standard decorum suitable for nobility. If this is what a car is like, then I don’t see why you care for your technology,” complained Illunor, who was sitting around idly with a malformed garish bowl of icecream that he had stashed away from lunch.
“If it bothers you so much, perhaps you could help next time with your ‘bigger-on-the-inside’ magic,” I retorted as I slid the last core sample into the back before covering it up with a tarp and strapping it down.
I had originally planned to visit Ljosalfington by myself to acquire much needed exo-materials to test various mana manipulator configurations as I worked to develop my first wand as not all of the materials I needed were procurable locally from Elaseer. I eventually yielded, much to my regret, to allowing Illunor to come with me as he insisted on wanting to deliver a letter personally in town after Thacea had pointed out the wisdom of not travelling alone.
We continued our back and forth for a bit yet as I finished securing my payload a voice called out to me from the direction of the town.
“Excuse me a moment, I couldn’t help but notice but are you from the academy?”
I turned to see an elf dressed in a plain brown buttoned up tunic matched by a slightly shabby pair of trousers with what appeared to be a lute upon his back and a plain and unenchanted longsword on his belt gesturing at our robes. Mine especially were new and unusual, tailored by the academy to go over my armour and allow access to the anchor points and allow me to exit my armour with minimal hassle. Illunor scoffed at what was evidently a commoner’s arrogance at approaching nobility and turned his head away in disgust. I glanced at Illunor and shook my head before turning to face the new man. I had time to spare, and any opportunity to engage in a hearts-and-minds dialogue with the locals outside the bounds of the managed environment of the academy was more than worth the time to chat. Especially as most of the other locals seemed to be content in ignoring me.
“Yes, we are currently studying at the Transgracian Academy. I am Cadet Emma Booker representing the United Nations of Earth and Luna from Earthream, and my aloof compatriot is Lord Illunor Rularia of the Vunerian courts. We were just about to head back but are in no rush. May I ask your name and what brings you by?” I asked with my hand outstretched in greeting.
“Ah yes, yes. My name is Edhel Redoehdelnif, a wandering bard by trade like my father and his father before him. My apologies, Cadet Emma Booker, I am unfamiliar with Earthrealm,” said Edhel as he grasped my hand with both of his and shook it tepidly yet vigorously. Or rather, tried to, as the motors on my suit resisted his efforts.
“News doesn’t seem to spread all that fast around here, so it makes sense you haven’t heard of us. We’re a new realm, and only just got here. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Edhel Redoehdelnif,” I replied.
“Absolutely fascinating! And a knight no less, or perhaps a squire? I’m sure you have many stories to tell of Earthrealm. Say, by chance are you about to head back to the academy? I have business in Elaseer and the usual coach has been absent as of late so I would rather not go it alone,” said Edhel.
I was hesitant to bring a stranger back in the car with me, even if Illunor was present. However, the opportunity that meeting a bard presented was too good to pass up from an intel perspective and to win the favour of the populace at large.
“That is a great idea. I think I have room for one more…” I paused before gesturing towards Illunor, “provided everyone is ok with it that is.”
Illunor gave a huff and turned his head away in silence.
“Very well, I will allow this. But he will not be joining me in your sorry excuse for a coach,” said Illunor dismissively.
Illunor approached the backseat expectantly and the door opened for him automatically, allowing the dlc kobold to gracefully enter and lounge across the length of the seats, once again ignoring the seatbelts. I sighed as I made my way to the driver’s seat, and Edhel entered from the passenger side as he marveled at the automatic doors and the interior.
“What a strange carriage this is! Although I must say, shouldn’t you be retrieving your horses? I didn’t see any harnesses or sense any artifices,” inquired Edhel as he attempted to make himself comfortable on the car seat, lute in front of him.
“Oh no, this thing doesn’t need horses or magic,” I said with a chuckle as EVI started the car. The elf raised his eyebrows at the sudden hum of the engine and made an expression of alarm when the car started driving itself without my input. “See, purrs like a kitten.”
“Earthrealm must have some large kittens if they purr like that,” noted Edhel, “but you must be concealing the enchantments somewhere. Such a thing as this with such strange yet precise craftsmanship is only possible in the crownlands.”
“Nope, no magic,” I said cheerfully.
“Then how?” Asked Edhel.
“It’s rather simple really. Are you familiar with the workings of a mill?” I asked, deciding to keep things surface level and elementary to avoid provoking the IDOV threshold.
“Somewhat, though I confess to not being familiar with their workings. Are you suggesting this is akin to a mill?” Asked Edhel perplexed.
“It’s the same principal. A mill works by taking a source of rotation such as a waterwheel or windmill, transferring that rotation along a series of rotating shafts and interlocking gears, and finally putting that energy to work by rotating a millstone,” I began as the car pulled out onto the smooth cobbled road in the direction of Elaseer. A notification popped up in the corner of my vision indicating my recon drone swarm had shifted from a holding formation to a convoy screening formation, and while the roads were clear I kept the speed at 60km/h to account for my passenger’s apparent distaste for seatbelts.
“Rotation…” muttered Edhel. He turned to face one of the wheels and EVI pinged an alert for a probable match for a detection spell, “fascinating.”
“Edhel, what are you doing?” I asked.
“Oh, yes, perhaps I should have asked first. Yes, I can see how it all fits together. But the source of this rotation? I see no mighty river or great wind to power this, so where does it come from?” Asked Edhel, not really apologizing. Elven arrogance, it seemed, was not limited by class.
The act reminded me of Sorecar when he inspected my gun, but where the armourer had been respectful with it, Edhel was more flippant. I considered the possibility that he was a spy sent by one of her peers or the crownlands, though this did not mesh with the methods I had seen so far. Edhel may have been just overly enthusiastic. In either case, I quickly decided to only reveal the antique design for the ethanol engine, and not that of the batteries or the emergency coupler to my suit’s fusion reactor.
“Right, well please ask first next time. As to your question, I won’t bore you with the details, but the rotation is generated by creating a periodic sequence of explosions inside of a machine – a manaless artifice – called a combustion engine, said Emma.
“So that’s what that sound is…” pondered Edhel, “are these artifices typical in Earthream?”
“You are awfully inquisitive for a commoner,” noted Illunor as he inspected his nails for dirt, “and rather accepting of something which should be impossible.”
“I wouldn’t be much of a bard if I wasn’t, my lord,” said Edhel shifting uncomfortably in his seat, “perhaps some music might set the mood better?”
“That would be preferable, bard. I have heard enough of the Earthrealmer’s Road Trip Playlist and would like to listen to some music of real culture,” said Illunor.
The bard agreed and proceeded to awkwardly play a ballad about an adventurer who slew a hydra in some frozen wasteland. Partway through, I politely interrupted the Edhel to point out the seat controls much to his fascination and Illunor’s grumbling at their common nature, and after some adjustment the bard went on playing and I half-heartedly listened while I paid attention to the road and my drone feed.
Particularly after EVI detected something unusual and alerted me to its presence.
”Attention Caded Booker. There is a disabled vehicle blocking the primary route to destination. Heat signatures in the woods are consistent with that of an ambush.”
“Damn it,” I muttered.
I glanced at the drone feed to see a broken cart strewn horizontally across a wooden bridge over a brook. On the surface it looked like a pair of civilians who required aid and assistance, but off in the woods were several heat signatures, several of which held weapons of varying levels of enchantments. Occasionally one of the pair on the bridge would talk with them, suggesting they were in cahoots rather than hostages. I recalled crossing that very bridge not a few hours earlier, so the blockade was very recent.
“EVI, did we pass that cart on the way here?” I asked.
”Negative,” replied EVI.
I grimaced. I had been trained to handle road-side ambushes, but it was only something that was a theoretical possibility. Something that should only occur in a warzone or a corrupt and unstable polity. I knew I had the capacity to handle such an encounter, even non-lethally, but that didn’t change the fact that these were civilians and as such were the responsibility of local law enforcement. Combined with the fact that I had passengers I was responsible for and engaging the ambush was a risky option.
“EVI, give me a list of alternative routes,” I commanded.
”Affirmative. Here is a list of routes in order of recommendation,” replied EVI.
I looked over the routes superimposed on a map of the region and quickly dismissed taking a shortcut through the forest and cutting through farmland. A detour caught my eye that extended the journey by roughly ten kilometers and I immediately sent a pair of drones to scout it out before committing to the detour.
“Are you alright, Cadet Emma Booker? You seem distracted,” asked Edhel, snapping me back to reality.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just focused on driving,” replied Emma.
“I suppose it must be quite taxing to command an artificed carriage of this complexity. Perhaps it might ease your mind if you were to regale me a tale of a hero of your realm?” Said Edhel, strumming a complex tune from his lute as he spoke as each and every pluck triggered a low-level spell.
“Well, that may be a problem. We don’t have any monsters to fight, and wars are a thing of the past,” I said while desperately tip-toeing the subject of aunt Ran, the subject of war, and our voyages through the cosmos, “though we are not without the adventurous spirit. We certainly have many stories of grand voyages. Some mythical and fictional such as The Odyssey as told by the Greek poet Homer and some historical such as the race to the south pole.”
“The south pole,” muttered the bard, “so you have explored all of Earthrealm then? I suppose that makes some sense, if you have artifices such as this then traversal of a globe would be quite manageable.”
“You are quite perceptive,” I said, not wishing to elaborate.
“A great performer knows his audience,” said Edhel with a charming, honest, almost human smile.
I felt a pang of homesickness as an intrusive thought reminded me that I could have gone to a real college surrounded by friendly faces my age, engaging in nightly holostreams and dreaming of adventures in the stars from the safety of a college dorm room. The sight of Illunor in the rear camera was the only thing that kept me grounded, as I almost felt like I was back at home on a road trip rather than returning to a fantasy feudal court, constantly evading death at every turn with the fate of humanity on the line. As such, and prompted by EVI, I barely had the wherewithal to take the planned detour.
A fact which did not pass by Edhel.
“I believe you may have taken a wrong turn, Emma,” he commented.
“Nah, I’m just taking the scenic route. I came from that direction on the way here, and you have inspired me to see the other road and I figure it should only add a few extra minutes to our travel time,” I said, gesturing at a paper map which I had referenced exactly once, “though on that subject, you seem to know these lands quite well. Do you have any recommendations on places to visit in the Nexus to scratch that itch?”
Illunor raised his eyebrow at the detour excuse, knowing full well this was not part of the plan. I worried that he might complain about the issue and but thankfully remained silent as he snacked on the contents of the misused sample storage unit. Edhel himself took on a more pensive posture.
“I’m happy to have been such an inspiration, Emma, though I am sure an explorer such as yourself has little need of such. I would normally suggest the skyward fountains of Verdellan or the cloud tides of Asturia, but that may be too casual for someone of your calibre. Perhaps the severed chasm or the fire marsh of Bhandahova may be more to your liking. Or perhaps…” Edhel leaned in, “I have heard rumours of a dragon in the glassy obsidian wastes of Vurcanar.”
I chuckled at that, knowing how I was fortunate enough to fish a dragon scale out of the nearby lake for the ECS. “The thought of going dragon hunting had certainly crossed my mind…” I mused aloud.
“Yet you sound hesitant. Perhaps it is too much for a newrealmer. Perhaps a slime or a dire rat might be more appropriate,” he said with a tease.
“No, it’s not like that! It’s” I stammered, before attempting to change course after realizing I had been goaded, “what I mean is, I was under the impression that dragons were an endangered species. Where I come from, hunting endangered animals is usually illegal, and big game hunting in general is frowned upon. We do make exceptions in the case of problem animals such as if a large predator starts hunting humans, but as a rule we prefer conservation and try to find ways of coexisting with wildlife such as the use of barrier fences and scaring away dangerous animals rather than being forced to cull their numbers. Having a species go extinct would prevent future generations from appreciating them and risks destabilizing the ecosystem they are a part of. Now if this dragon was actively razing villages and eating civilians and livestock, that would be one thing, but this does not look to be the case. I don’t imagine the Nexus has any settlements in this wasteland, and the dragon clearly wants to be left alone. Killing an innocent dragon would be murder.”
I grinned to myself after delivering a diatribe that would have made my tenth grade social and environmental studies teacher beam with pride, though by the expressions of my passengers my view did not appear to be shared. Edhel’s mouth was agape in shock and fascination, while the Venurian in the back seat merely huffed in disapproval.
“I assure you Newrealmer, there are no innocent dragons,” stated Illunor with a hint of terseness breaking through his otherwise regal demeanor.
“Illunor, I understand that Venurians have personal reasons for not liking dragons, but you can’t just extend that disdain to their descendants or those uninvolved just because they are the same species,” I said.
“If I may interject on your behalf, my lord, I believe I can address Cadet Emma Booker’s concerns,” said Edhel with a bow. Illunor nodded in approval.
“Very well, you may proceed,” he said.
“Thank you, my lord. My dear Emma, you must understand that dragons are not simple animals driven entirely off of instinct as it appears to be the case in Earthrealm. They are monsters. Intelligent, long-lived, violent, greedy, cruel, territorial, selfish flesh-eating monsters. They are evil by the very nature of their being, unable to change by their own accord, and unwilling to change when His Eternal Majesty offered them freedom from their nature. It isn’t that they want to be evil. As intelligent animals – intelligent monsters – dragons are capable of understanding morality, and many have tried to overcome their evil nature at great expense to themselves. A well intended and noble sentiment, yet a doomed one as like all animals, they all succumb to their nature in the end. Overcoming one’s nature is impossible,” said Edhel. His eyes took on a stoic, almost remorseful gaze as he spoke, and Illunor nodded with approval.
I was appalled by this claim, not by the contents so much as how blatantly false it was. As a representative of the human race, I was a living counterexample to his whole argument. We had remained physiologically unchanged as a species since the last Ice Age, and yet in spite of that, in spite of our many flaws, we had found peace and balance. If we could do it, anyone could do it.
“Will all due respect Edhel, that is nonsense. Monsters aren’t born, they are made. It is the mark of any intelligent species can adapt their behaviour to their environment for better or worse, and under the right care any so-called monster can grow to be a force for good,” I began, but while I searched for the right words Edhel shook his head.
“I appreciate your race is an empathetic one, Emma, your idealism is unfounded. As flesh eaters, a dragon must take the life of another animal or person to survive, or they will perish. As such, every dragon has taken a life. As long-lived creatures, they will have amassed a significant number of kills. As the land can only support so much animals, a dragon must be fiercely territorial and aggressive to remove competition, lest they starve. As such, even the most kind-hearted dragon alive must be violent and greedy, and their intelligence fuels this even more so if they know a bountiful land of morsels exists just outside their range.
Now perhaps a multitude of dragons may find a way to co-exist together in some settlement, but to support such a venture would require a large territory of prey, or a livestock animal. Perhaps they could support a large colony by farming grain for their livestock, but that would require effort on their behalf. As large animals, such efforts require a great deal of energy. Yet that size makes it easy for them to intimidate smaller races to do their labour for them, and to keep their client race in line dragons must be cruel. And even so, as their numbers grow so do their needs. As such, they must expand into the lands of their neighbours to survive until there is nothing left to devour, at which point they must turn against their own lest they starve. As such, it is the nature of dragons to conquer and devour. That is why there is no such thing as an innocent dragon,” finished Edhel.
I was speechless, not because I believed Edhel had a point, but because I was horrified at how easy he found it to rationalize the extermination of an entire sapient species. If this was how the elves thought, then it wasn’t the dragons who were the monsters. I suppressed that dark thought. Edhel’s thought process was a product of his culture, not a feature of his elven heritage. If there was any hope of peace between our people, I needed to show him there was another way of being. I needed to prove that co-existence was possible, no matter one’s nature.
I took a deep breath to steady myself before replying.
“That- that is a callous way of seeing things,” I began, though the shock was still there in my voice, “you speak as though there is no natural equilibrium with a dragon, that their only state of being must be to be cruel, to devour, to conquer. But I see things differently. In fact, I might wonder if a fledgling civilization might see the presence of a dragon as a boon rather than a curse. Being intelligent, the locals may be able to come to some agreement with the dragon. Perhaps they might leave some land as a hunting ground or offer up a share of their cattle or guard the dragon as it sleeps. In exchange, the dragon might allow them to build a town outside its mountain and protect them in times of danger. An equitable exchange. A civilization might even create artificial lairs to attract dragons for this very reason. True, some dragons may behave tyrannical towards their town, but a well armed populace of a large city would be more than capable of fighting such a threat, and a rational dragon might reason that threatening their own populace would put their reliable source of food and shelter at risk. You see, it’s all a matter of perspective.”
“You certainly are an imaginative one, Emma, to wonder up a quixotic world where the hare and the fox live together in harmony as equals. Even so, you seem to have ignored one key detail to such a society. What would happen should the dragon not be fed for months on end?” Asked Edhel with his eyebrow raised.
“The same thing as stranded a dozen starving, stranded Elves!” I spat back.
[Alert: Vehicle speed above recommended limit for conditions. Recommendation: slow down. ]
“I am driving slow!” I seethed, not realizing I had sped up with manual control enabled.
“I grow tired of this common prattle,” interjected Illunor just in time to prevent an awkward silence, “bard, play us another song.” “As my lord wishes,” said Edhel with a bow before turning to me with another smile, “perhaps a more soothing melody would be in order? A love song perhaps, to honour Cadet Booker’s compassionate nature?”
I said nothing as Edhel began to strum his lute again to the tune of a love story of a pair of doomed lovers named Ramian and Junette, hating his cheeky knowing grin that only served to get under my skin further as I focused on calming down and slowing the car back to a more reasonable pace before investigating a priority alert which I had been blinded to moments prior.
[Alert: hostile roadblock is absent, location unknown.]
Shit.
“Illunor, we may have a problem,” I said.
“Shush, Newrealmer, have you no class? We are almost at the best part! I’m sure it can wait,” replied the contextually clueless lizard.
I had never wanted to throttle Illunor as much as I did now.
“Illunor, shield, now,” I said with a raised voice.
“I don’t see-“ he started, pausing mid-sentence as his ears perked up.
[Alert: Multiple manafield and spell signatures detected!]
I took evasive maneuvers as Illunor tried to piece together a shield spell, fumbling it twice as panic appeared to set in and providing me with a reminder that Illunor was a civilian, not a soldier. A hail of arrows pelted the exterior of the truck, piercing but not penetrating the composite armour. I was tempted to do nothing but just drive away from the arrow fire, but a foreboding premonition of danger filled me as I recalled Sorecar’s hunter-seeker arrows.
Seeking to avoid that fate, I triggered the active defenses.
The smoke screens deployed around the vehicle, obscuring the sight of any who depended on visible light to see me. A barrage of decoy flares equipped with wooden cores shot upward at angles and diffusing to the side like a pair of giant wings which when combined with the MFD, short for mana-field dampener, inside the vehicle meant that the pelting hail of arrowfire softened to a whirr as the arrows whiffed over the top of the truck, retargeted away from the soft flesh of my passengers and even invoking friendly fire amongst the ambushers.
In the chaos, EVI and my drone swarm fed me complete tactical information on the ambush. Of the 26 individuals at the first blockade, 20 were accounted for, and 3 had died from friendly fire. Ahead at the bridge, 5 more of them were at the bridge where a barrier had been hastily erected to cage me in as the river valley was too deep to cross.
“Illunor, we need a bridge,” I said, taking stock of the wellbeing of my passengers.
The bard was huddled down low and suppressing his manafield, but otherwise rather composed. Illunor, on the other hand, was cowering in the gap between the seats with his hands covering his eyes and his tail tucked in.
“A bridge is no small request, Ne- Cadet Emma Booker,” replied Illunor, “and your ‘Emeffdee’ has blinded me to the outside of this moving death trap.”
“If I drop it, can you at least make a ramp?” I asked as I circled the battlefield. Or tried to, at least, as earthen ramparts emerged from the ground from a yet unseen source to cut off other avenues of escape.
“A ramp? Surely you don’t mean-“ he stammered.
“Yes or no,” I said.
Illunor paused, before taking an unsteady breath.
“Yes. But not with that Emeffdee,” he replied.
“Good. Steady your nerves and prepare to make a ramp ahead of us on my signal,” I said, “in the meantime, get your seatbelt on. This is going to be hairy.”
As I circled around to make my approach on the bridge, the final combatant made his appearance on a nearby tree, revealing himself as an elven mage. An alert focused on the air around him indicating he was preparing an unknown high-tier spell, and I locked the predator drone on him indicating the elf as a high-priority target if our escape plan failed, and I was forced to use lethal force.
If I was forced to kill.
It was one thing to know you may have to kill in the line of duty, but it was much harder to reconcile that with reality. No number of simulations could match the real thing, and a part of me wanted to simply offload the responsibility to EVI to keep my hands clean, but to do that would be betraying my duty as a human being. I breathed in deep and tried not to think about it, instead hoping to rely on the ace I held in my sleeve instead.
“EVI, ready the spell jammer,” I said unevenly.
“Acknowledged, the prototype Exo-Radiation Wave-Field Distruptor is primed. High risk target identified and locked, permission to engage?” EVI asked, forcing me to address the dreaded question.
“Negative,” I replied, “hold your fire. If the ramp fails, then you have permission to engage,” I said.
“Affirmative, on your mark,” replied EVI.
I lined up the truck with the bridge and bolted through the smoke, keeping a careful eye on the mage as I went. His spellform took on a more concerning shape as I accelerated, and I realized I could not afford to let him finish his spell. I triggered the spelljammer.
A terrible roar erupted from an array of speakers printed from mana-resistant materials that would have made Godzilla herself beam with pride. The sound was decidedly unnatural, gnarly, dubstep drop composed of an electric eel, a whale, a mountain lion, and a tyrannosaurus rex all being simultaneously assaulted by a swarm of angry cybernetic murder hornets as an equally chaotic wave of mana blasted outwards from the exterior of the truck, with the interior thankfully sheltered by audio and mana dampening.
The ambushing assailants cowered and panicked, and it was enough to cause the Elven mage’s spell to backfire in his face as his form exploded into ashes, meeting a horrific fate which I had tried so desperately to help him avoid. With all the combatants momentarily incapacitated or dead, I lowered the dampener and turned off the smoke.
“Ramp!” I shouted, snapping the lizard back to reality.
The Venerian nodded and hastily formed an earthwork ahead of us right before the blockade, and the truck leapt off the ramp with a not insignificant amount of air beneath our wheels. I braced for impact, regretting skimping on the shocks in the name of preserving materials, but the impact never came.
[Alert: Friendly spell designated ‘Feather Fall’]
Illunor thankfully had enough wherewithal to gently land the steel brick, and I sped off into the distance away from the trap that had unfolded behind us, leaving the interior of the truck in an awkward silence as we each processed our brush with death in our own way. “How many are dead?” I asked EVI.
“6 hostiles confirmed dead,” replied EVI.
I drove on in silence. Those were six deaths I had tried to avoid, and I became lost in thought as I wondered what I should have done differently to avoid the confrontation entirely.
Edhel broke the silence with a bout of laughter.
“Terrific! Absolutely terrific! Why, I can conjure up many a tale from this encounter alone! I live for this kind of inspiration!” Exclaimed Edhel a little too chipperly considering the circumstance.
“I would rather not hear stories about how I bravely ran away,” I moaned in deadpan sarcasm.
“You think too little of yourself, Cadet Emma Booker. It is plain to me that you are no ordinary rabbit. Make no mistake, I see it as a privilege to bear witness to the roar of a vorpal hare!” Said Edhel as he supressed his laughter, “though I am afraid with all the excitement that I must finish my song some other time.”
“How about I play some of our music?” I offered after the elf revealed his thrill-seeking side.
“Splendid, I would like that. Perhaps something of your ‘Roadtrip playlist’ you speak of? It sounds like a collection of your voyages,” said Edhel.
“That would be an improvement on the truth,” said Illunor dismissively as he eased from his state of shock, “it is little more than noise under the pretense of music.”
“Illunor…” I muttered to myself before turning the mic on, “no, no it’s not like that. I have terabytes of pre-recorded songs from various artists back home which can be played by… an artifice called a speaker. A playlist is a set of songs which are grouped together, usually to listen to in specific situations such as studying, partying, or travelling. The latter collection is what Illunor is referring to.”
I very deliberately chose not to reveal my ‘Unfortunate Daughters’ playlist.
“An artifice which plays music, and a magicless one at that. I must say, Emma, I fear for the bards in your realm,” said Edhel with a laugh.
“Your fear is misplaced, Edhel. Entertainers live like kings where I come from,” I retorted with a smirk of my own, “well, the ones with talent at least.”
“Well, well, I suppose I have to hear my competition!” Said Edhel with a laugh.
“Do as you must, though let it be known that I warned you,” said Illunor as he watched a play on his sightseer.
I had EVI compile a list of songs that left out content offensive to Nexian sensibilities or violating OpSec and as it compiled I mused over what type of sample spread I wanted to show off. Then it struck me. What better way to show off our culture than with some good old blue jumpers and nova rock! Sadly, jumpers were unavailable to show but I still had a whole list of modern artists to choose from.
Moments later, the car speakers sprung to life to the tune of ‘Innocent Youth of Mine. Edhel’s eyes lit up like a child visiting a zero-g gravity park for the first time, seemingly star-struck by the antique electric guitar and the synthesizer-drums in particular.
“What… what is this? I have never heard anything like this!” Proclaimed Edhel.
“Dreadful, isn’t it?” said Illunor, doing what he did best and pretending to hate it.
“Oh there is a lot more where that came from,” I said with a cheeky grin of my own, “this one is called ‘Innocent Youth of Mine’ by ‘Cannons and Poppies’. It’s part of the Nova Rock genre.
“And those strange instruments?” Asked Edhel.
“Oh, you mean the electric guitar and the synthesizer. They are electronic instruments, taking advantage of channeled and modulated electricity to create near any sound we can imagine,” I replied.
“Channeled electricity… are you suggesting these sounds were made by some form of lightning?” Asked Edhel.
[Suggestion: Avoid topic of electricity due to OpSec risk]
I nodded at EVI’s warning, thankful that it caught me before I discussed the very thing that all of my equipment ran on.
“It’s not exactly lightning, but close enough,” I said.
“If I had not witnessed to your display of power earlier, I might have perhaps been more skeptical of such a claim, but I suppose a lady must keep her secrets.” said Edhel with a raised eyebrow and chuckle, “but I digress, this music is most interesting.”
“There is a lot more where that came from,” I said with a cheeky grin of my own.
“If I ever have a prisoner in need of torture, I will turn to you first,” replied Illunor, “if you are willing to subject your peers to this madness then I cannot imagine what you would force upon your enemies before dunking them in ice.”
“In your dreams,” I retorted.
I played a few other songs including Astrodesee’s ‘Meteor Struck’, the Martian classic ‘Hotel Cydonia’ and even ‘Switching to Warp’ before Elaseer emerged from the distance, and I pulled up outside the gate to drop Edhel off.
“Here already?” Asked Edhel.
“Well, yeah. I was just running a quick errand, I didn’t want to go too far,” I replied casually.
“That was a distance worth at least five days of walking by foot, and you call that a ‘quick errand’?” Asked Edhel. I shrugged, and he laughed.
“Well in any case, thank you for allowing me passage in your car. I must apologize for my lack of gift or payment…” said Edhel. “Don’t worry about it, it was on the way,” I replied.
“I see, how generous. Perhaps we might one day meet again?” Asked Edhel.
“Maybe, but I’m not sure how likely that is. The academy takes up most of my time,” I replied, “though you never know. I still have a lot of quest hours to complete.”
“Is that so? In that case, I hope we meet again! Goodbye Cadet Emma Booker and farewell Lord Illunor Rularia,” he said. “And good travels to you, bard,” said Illunor.
I waved off Edhel and drove back to the academy, Illunor still sulking in the back seat.
“Perhaps next time, you should steer us away from danger?” Suggested Illunor.
“I tried, but we were tracked,” I replied.
I groaned inwardly at the additional work needed to fix the truck. EVI compiled a list of upgrades for future engagements, batting away my idea for a ‘turbo mode’ and a ‘jump boost’. Though at the end of the day, meeting the bard wasn’t a complete loss. It felt good to talk to someone almost normal for once, and I hoped I met him again.
Edhel Redoehdelnif
I watched as Cadet Emma Booker’s vehicle went off into the distance, getting one last look at the Earthrealmer’s strange artifice before turning towards the gate. The voyage was an exotic experience, not unlike that of a fever dream or a peak into a world completely alien to my own. Indeed, it was a struggle to contain my excitement and enthusiasm and process the experience rationally as I made my way through the southern gates of Elaseer and turned the corner of an alley before entering an impossible structure that did not exist.
“You are earlier than expected,” said the shadowy figure of my handler as I made my way to the meeting hall.
“The Earthrealmer’s means of transportation proved far more expedient than anticipated, my lord” I spoke as I knelt before him, “even with her unexpected departure from the anticipated road and the ambush we traveled for scantly more than an hour.”
“Yes, I will require a full report from you. Perhaps you can shed some light on the ‘smoke dragon’ my men claim intervened on the Earthrealmer’s behalf,” said my handler.
“Smoke Dragon, my lord?” I asked.
My handler responded by activating his sight-seer, revealing how the ambush had appeared from the outside. The Earthrealmer’s uncanny artifice traversed down the road, a pair of manafields displaying proudly from within until the archers began their assault. The artifice then transformed as smoke billowed out from its pores and wings sprung forth above until it was the form of a mighty wrym with a pair of glowing eyes springing forth from its ever extending head where it then gave forth a terrible unholy roar which sent waves of mana outward. The mage working to seal the area and trap their mark vapourized in an instant as his spell backfired. It was apparent to Edhel that his exceptional experience in the carriage was merely a muted rendition of the events unfolding around them.
It would seem the hare had the shadow of a dragon.
“I do have some insight, though I must confess the Earthrealmer did very little in the way of direct action. I suspect she has some unseen means of commanding and scrying through her artifices,” I said, “one which does not utilize magic as we know it.”
“Such a statement is heresy,” said my handler, “but such special circumstances are your reason for being. I will require you submit your memories for verification. What is your appraisal of the new realmer?”
“The girl is far more dangerous than a surface appraisal would suggest, though she prefers to conceal that power rather than utilize it out of a misplaced sense of compassion. Her people appear to have a boundless creative drive through which such artifices are birthed, though again it is misdirected towards more common applications. I believe that if properly tamed, this human animal may provide us with great works of art,” I said with a bow.
“I see. Does the girl know you work for us?” Asked my handler.
“She may harbour some suspicions, though did not voice them outright beyond concealing her knowledge,” I said, “though nothing significant. Provided our next meet is under believable circumstances such as a festival she should view me as cordial.”
“She has indeed proven clever,” conceded my handler, “very well, I will make arrangements for your paths to cross again. Perhaps I will arrange for her to be a contestant at the next inter-academy tournament. In the mean time, prepare your report and don’t wander far. This is a priority assignment.”
“As you wish, my lord,” I said with a bow and a smile.
Emma Booker had proved to be an interesting animal indeed, and I hoped our paths crossed again.

This post contains spoilers from CS1-Reverie, including Reverie’s post-game content.
Disclaimer: The analysis portion of the Background section contains discussion of mental illness. I am not an expert in mental health, or any health field for that matter. I’m just a guy applying his own perception, lived experiences, and surface-level knowledge to interpreting Rean’s arc. I probably don’t even need to be making this disclaimer, but I felt like it.
Last year, I made this post asking how the members of this sub felt about Cold Steel’s protagonist: the one and only Rean Schwarzer. I was pleasantly surprised by the amount of engagement it got, as well as the diversity of opinion expressed in the comments. There were those who loved him, those who were neutral on him, and a few who just couldn’t stand him. At the time, I had just finished CS2, so there was a ton about Rean I wasn’t privy to. However, now that I’ve played Reverie and am fully caught up with the first half of the series, I have a much fuller picture of him. Since so many of you were kind enough to offer up your takes on Rean back then, I figured I’d express my own thoughts on him in the form of a proper analysis. Without further ado, let’s begin!

Background

Rean Schwarzer (born Rean Osborne) is the main protagonist of Trails of Cold Steel I, II, III, and IV, as well as one of the three main protagonists of Trails into Reverie. He was born in S.1187 to Erebonian commoners Brigadier General Giliath and Kasia Osborne. Rean’s father was a brilliant leader and strategist, but his commoner status made him an enemy of the military’s nobles. This led to Giliath’s home being attacked by jaegers when Rean was five, resulting in Kasia’s death and Rean’s heart being punctured by shrapnel. In a desperate bid to save his son’s life, Giliath made a deal with Ishmelga, the Ebon Knight, to become its Awakener and used its power to transplant his own heart into Rean’s body. Due to his deal with Ishmelga, Giliath was forced to give up custody of Rean, entrusting him to the care of Baron Teo Schwarzer. As a result, “Rean Osborne,” the son of a commoner military officer, became “Rean Schwarzer,” the adopted son of a minor noble family.
Although Rean’s new family was loving and supportive, his new life was not without struggle. The boy’s sudden, mysterious appearance in the Schwarzer household made the family - particularly Teo - the subject of gossip and controversy among other nobles. Some believed Rean was Teo’s illegitimate child, while others openly lambasted Teo for his willingness to potentially allow a commoner into the nobility’s ranks. Teo essentially became an outcast among his noble peers, his family’s name tarnished by rumor. Rean, for his part, came to believe he was at fault for this situation, and the subsequent guilt would plague him for many years.
Rean’s self-worth was further challenged by another, more personal problem that arose during his childhood. At age nine, Rean watched an unknown monster attack his younger sister, Elise, and the stress caused an innate “ogre power” within him to manifest. Rean fell into a blind rage, savagely killing the monster. When he returned to his senses, Rean was traumatized by the scene he had left behind, and by the discovery of this new, violent side of him he could not control.
Two years later, Rean became an apprentice of the legendary swordsman Yun Ka-fai, founder of the Eight Leaves One Blade school, hoping to learn how to control his ogre powers. Despite showing great promise as a swordsman, Rean was unable to develop control over his ogre power, and Yun was eventually forced to cut short Rean’s training for unrelated reasons. Although the beginner-rank Rean continued to train on his own, the damage to his psyche was too deep-seated for him to fix alone. He believed he was nothing but a burden and a monster, undeserving of love or happiness. This guilt and self-loathing spurred him to always put others’ needs and well-being above his own, believing himself less important than anyone else. This self-sacrificial behavior became a recurring problem for Rean over the course of his adolescence and early adulthood.
In S.1204, at age 17, Rean enrolled at the prestigious Thors Military Academy in eastern Erebonia. He, along with eight others, became part of Class VII, Thors’s first socially integrated graduating class. Although he still struggled with low self-worth, Rean thrived in this new environment, quickly befriending his classmates and discovering his natural-born ability as a leader. By this time, Rean’s real father, Giliath Osborne, had become Chancellor of Erebonia and was being targeted for death by the Imperial Liberation Front - an anti-Osborne terrorist group. The ILF was a recurring presence in Class VII’s lives during their first school year, and the two groups clashed frequently. At the end of the year, Rean’s life took a dramatic turn when he unexpectedly became the Awakener for the Divine Knight Valimar before watching the ILF - led by his friend Crow Armbrust - seemingly assassinate Osborne and spark a nationwide civil war. Thors came under siege by Crow shortly thereafter, and in the chaos, Rean was forcibly separated from his classmates.
One month later, Rean awoke in the Eisengard Mountain Range outside his adopted hometown, Ymir. Now armed with Valimar’s power, Rean rendezvoused with his family and set out to reunite Class VII. Although he succeeded, Rean was later captured by the Noble Alliance and was held captive alongside Erebonian princess Alfin Reise Arnor. With Alfin’s encouragement, Rean freed the two of them using his ogre powers and rejoined Class VII onboard the imperial family’s airship Courageous. Thanks to Alfin and his bond with his classmates, Rean learned to stop fearing his ogre powers and started opening up more to those closest to him. Using the Courageous, Class VII successfully led a mission to retake Thors before ultimately confronting the Noble Alliance’s leader, Duke Cayenne, and stopping his plan to use the Infernal Castle to win the war. At the same time, new drama entered Rean’s life: Shortly after stopping Duke Cayenne’s plan, Crow unexpectedly died and Osborne was revealed to still be alive - and Rean’s real father. Rean, for his part, was formally recognized by the imperial government for his role in ending the war and became a national hero. This was, however, merely a ploy to pressure Rean into obeying Osborne’s wishes, and it succeeded, as Rean subsequently became an operative in Erebonia’s conquest of Crossbell. It was during this time that he became acquainted with Crossbell Special Support Section leader Lloyd Bannings.After Crossbell’s annexation, Rean fought in the Northern War, which resulted in Erebonia annexing North Ambria. He partook in the siege of Haliask, where he fought archaisms using Valimar. During this stretch of the war, Rean lost control of his ogre powers and was rendered unconscious for three days. As a result, he once again lost faith in his ability to control himself, and swore off the use of his ogre power.
In April S.1206, roughly 1.5 years after the civil war’s end, Rean started a job as instructor of a “new Class VII” at Thors’s new branch campus in western Erebonia. At the branch campus, Rean bonded with his students and fellow faculty while also taking on assignments from the imperial government. It was also during this time that Osborne’s plan to trigger the Great Twilight started unfolding, causing Rean, his students, and his comrades to regularly butt heads with jaegers, Ouroboros, and powerful cryptids. Ultimately, however, Osborne outmaneuvered all attempts by Rean, Olivert, and others to stop him; the Courageous was destroyed by a bomb with Olivert still onboard, Rean’s forces were spread thin through various battles, and Rean himself was forced to watch as Millium Orion was killed and turned into a Sword of the End. Finally at his wit’s end, Rean suffered a mental breakdown and was consumed by his ogre powers, causing him to violently trigger the Great Twilight himself before being taken captive by Osborne and Ishmelga.
After a short period of captivity, Rean was freed by Class VII and their allies. He, along with the SSS and the Liberl Bracer Guild, declined to become part of Musse Egret’s Operation Mille Mirage, instead choosing to oppose Osborne their own way. Rean, as Valimar’s Awakener, decided to partake in the Rivalries to reform the Great One, in hopes of defeating Ishmelga’s curse. He gradually defeated and absorbed power from the other Awakeners until, finally, during Operation Jormungandr, he defeated Osborne and Ishmelga, becoming the pilot of a corrupted Great One. It is at this time when two different futures unfolded: In one, Rean flew the Great One beyond Zemuria’s atmosphere to remove Ishmelga from the continent. In the other, Rean used the power of the Holy Beast of Earth to give Ishmelga’s curse a corporeal form, allowing him and his friends to destroy it. It was this latter future that became Zemuria’s reality, while the former remained hypothetical and unrealized.
Many months after Ishmelga’s defeat, in S.1207, Rean became involved in the incident involving Crossbell and Elysium. While combating enemy forces in the Nord Highlands, Rean started undergoing assimilation with Ishmelga-Rean, an alternate version of himself created by Elysium based on the unrealized timeline from when Ishmelga was first beaten. Later, during the final confrontation with Ishmelga-Rean, the real Rean saw visions of his other self’s sacrifice and finally grasped the devastating effects his past martyr-like behavior had on those he loved. He vowed to make a change before eliminating Ishmelga-Rean, stopping the assimilation.
Sometime after the clash with Elysium, Rean visited Longlai in eastern Calvard with his family, secretly hoping to track down Yun while there. Instead, he encountered members of the Ikaruga jaeger corps, who informed him that Yun was not in Longlai before departing. Rean has since contented himself with his current life as a Thors instructor, sensing that the next incident to befall Zemuria will involve not him, but an entirely different group of heroes.
Analysis: From even a cursory glance at Rean’s story, it is clear he endured much distress and trauma at a young age, and in my view, the result was deep-seated mental illness - namely depression. I am not a psychologist, but I would wager that the violent manner in which his five year-old self lost his home, his mother, and, almost, his own life, was horrific enough for his mind to block all memory of that period as a defense mechanism. This would help explain how Rean did not remember his real parentage until his encounter with Osborne in CS2 jogged his memory. Further stressing Rean were the controversies surrounding his adoption, which were not at all his fault but still interpreted as such by him, and the sudden, gory manner in which he learned of his ogre power. With such a potent combination of stressors burdening his young mind, it is no surprise to me that it took Rean such a long time to overcome his feelings of guilt and worthlessness. He was saddled with depression during the most formative period of his life, and like any mental illness, depression cannot be overcome with just one or two instances of positive reinforcement. It is often something people have to live with for many years, with periods of relative difficulty and relative ease. Looking at it this way, it makes sense for Rean’s arc to have taken as long as it did.
Side note: Obviously, Rean’s story is not the most realistic depiction of depression in fiction, but the manner in which it unfolds and is presented is still enough for me to take it seriously as a journey of struggling with mental health. When Rean receives support or encouragement from his friends and family, it helps in the short-term, but does little to erode the larger problem because that simply isn’t enough. Further, Rean’s progress is not linear, but is marked with occasional setbacks: In CS2, he finally learns to stop fearing his ogre power, but in CS3, we see that he is still vulnerable to losing control of it, and he does so during the Northern War and in the finale of that game. He receives a pendant (“meds?”) and training (“therapy?”) to control said power in CS3, but he still struggles with it. In CS4’s “bad” ending, even after everything he has gone through, Rean falls back into his old habits of self-sacrifice, because that’s how “baked-in” his problems are; he doesn’t even see the issue because he’s lived that way for so long. It is CS3’s finale that is the most striking part of Rean’s journey to me: In my eyes, it is the same as Rean having a mental breakdown, too overcome by his own emotional turmoil to control himself. He becomes consumed by his own demons, literally and figuratively, and it takes the collective effort of his loved ones in CS4 to bring him back to stability.
It is also fitting that Rean’s big turning point - the moment in Reverie where he sees the pain his martyr-esque behavior causes others - is as dramatic as the instances that facilitated Rean’s internal struggle to begin with. What I particularly appreciate about this chunk of Rean’s arc is that it is presented as Rean finally realizing the change he needs to make, rather than him being instantly cured of his ailments. It is simply him resolving to change his outlook on himself and his relationships, and that feels more grounded to me than any alternative route the writers could have taken.

Personality

Rean is a kind, courageous, selfless individual who greatly cares about those around him. Despite his own low self-esteem, he is a gifted speaker and possesses the spirit of a natural-born leader. It is this charisma that quickly made him the de facto leader of Class VII, as he often served as an intermediary for the interpersonal clashes between his other classmates (see: Machias/Jusis and Fie/Laura). He often goes out of his way to help his peers solve problems or make their lives easier. This behavior is propelled by his own feelings of worthlessness, which causes his generosity to often escalate to self-sacrificial activity. On the occasions when Rean is unable to help someone, he often feels guilty, even if the problem at hand was not his fault or was out of his control (examples include his inability to stop Vulcan and Crow from dying in CS2).
Rean is also extraordinarily perceptive thanks to his Unclouded Eye technique, which he learned from Yun Ka-fai. This allows him to set aside any preconceived notions or prejudices he may have and accurately discern a person’s true nature. His training also allows him to notice things others may not, such as objects moving at high speed or unseen people/creatures in his vicinity. At the same time, there are things he struggles to pick up on, namely when it comes to others’ feelings regarding him. Rean often fumbles when it comes to romantic/intimate interactions with the girls in his life, either unintentionally flustering them or failing to understand how deep their feelings run. Rean also fails to understand how his martyr behavior hurts those he cares about, despite numerous incidents ending with people refusing to abandon him and calling him out for perceived recklessness.
Analysis: One thing I’ve always appreciated about Rean is that, despite his serious personal problems, he never comes off as whiny, annoying, cringe, etc. He knows how to compartmentalize and portray an air of confidence and amicability; I would attribute this to his noble upbringing, as we see similar behavior in other noble characters like Laura and Jusis. His natural ability as a speaker and leader are reminiscent of Osborne’s, as is his penchant for self-sacrificial behavior; Osborne was, after all, willing to bond with Ishmelga, literally give his heart to his son, and turn himself into a villain for the sake of his people.
There are considerable differences between Rean and the three protagonists who preceded him. He is almost the antithesis of Estelle: She is lively, spontaneous, and unafraid to open up to others emotionally, Rean is more reserved and measured, and is initially guarded, though he does learn to express himself over time. While he does share similar backstory details to Kevin, their outward personalities are starkly different, with Kevin being suave and laid-back and Rean being more serious and passive. As for Lloyd, while Rean does share his kindness, perception, and leadership ability, the two do have their differences as well. Lloyd’s arc is about starting from nothing and overcoming barriers, gaining strength along the way. He is driven by a commitment to justice and a zealous patriotic spirit. Rean, on the other hand, starts out with great power at a young age but struggles to control it, making his journey more internal and personal than Lloyd’s. Additionally, his fighting spirit comes not from burning passion, but from steely nerve and trust in his companions. And, of course, he is not morally gray like his successor, Van.

Relationships

Due to the sheer number of people Rean becomes involved with, I will only address his more notable relationships. Many will be in clusters, with only a select few individuals receiving their own entries.

• Old Class VII: Old Class VII is Rean’s core friend group through the entire Cold Steel arc. They are the ones who fight by his side during the arc’s major events, including the Erebonian civil war, the Great Twilight, and more. Although Emma Millstein was class president during their student years, Rean gradually becomes Old Class VII’s’ de facto leader in the field due to his good rapport with all its members and his role in helping them bond with each other. By the end of CS1, he is very much the proverbial glue that holds Old Class VII together, and Rean executes this role flawlessly in CS2 by bringing their scattered members back together again. Despite his love for his classmates, Rean largely hesitates to seek them out for emotional support due to his low self-worth, and it isn’t until he sees their heartbroken reactions to his “death” in Reverie when he realizes how much he means to them.
• New Class VII: Rean is New Class VII’s teacher at Thors’s branch campus starting in CS3. Over the course of the game and its sequels, he forms a unique bond with each of his five students: A father-like figure for Altina, a tough-love mentor for Ash, a source of confidence for Kurt, a role model for Juna and… uh… maybe I shouldn’t discuss Musse. Anyway, the wisdom Rean imparts on New Class VII helps them all mature into capable young adults, particularly Juna, who essentially fills Rean’s shoes in CS4 Chapter 1 and leads the charge to rescue him from Osborne.
• Schwarzer family: Rean’s adopted parents and sister. Rean cares deeply about the Schwarzers, to the point where seeing them being physically threatened causes his ogre powers to manifest uncontrollably in CS1-2. At the same time, despite having the Schwarzer’s unconditional love and support, Rean feels like a significant burden to them for much of his young life, particularly to Teo. This matter is eventually settled by the end of CS2. There is also the matter of Elise, his younger sister, who develops feelings for him as they age (writing that did not sit well with me at all, but the show must go on…). Rean, for his part, is exceptionally protective of Elise until she finally rebuffs this part of him in Reverie, arguing that she is strong enough to take care of herself.
• Crow Armbrust: If any one member of Class VII, new or old, deserves an individual mention, it is unquestionably Crow. Crow and Rean share a unique, dynamic relationship that evolves considerably over the four Cold Steel games. In the beginning, Crow is Rean’s rival and superior in many ways. He is older, more cunning, and a stronger Awakener than Rean (at least when piloting Ordine). But over time, Rean gains strength and confidence, which allows him to beat Crow in CS2, and then defeat him again in CS4, at which point he essentially becomes Crow's lord and retainer by sparing his life.
  • The two are very much foils for one another, with similarities and differences: Both are young men who are descended from political leaders (who were themselves bitter enemies). Both are Awakeners guided by witches - Crow by the mighty Vita and Rean by the fledgling Emma and Celine. At the same time they are almost total opposites as people, with Crow being cocky, deceptive, and rebellious, while Rean is modest, honest, and upstanding. Even their hair colors contrast! In that sense, Crow also serves as a benchmark for Rean's growth, as their relationship roles essentially switch in CS4, with Rean gaining dominance over Crow.
• Yun Ka-fai: Because there is still much mystery surrounding Yun Ka-fai, it is difficult to dissect him in the context of this write-up. However, we do know that Rean was Yun's last discipline - the last of four. Rean also receives correspondence from Yun at various points in the story, largely to give life updates and confer higher ranks onto Rean (Is this the Trails equivalent of Zoom classes? No, wait, they have actual tech for that…). From the content of his letters, Yun seems to think highly of Rean as both a person and a swordsman. Despite not being present for Rean's final few years of training, Yun understands Rean's journey intimately, to the point where he feels comfortable making Rean a Divine Blade through a proxy in CS4. This begs questions: How does Yun know so much? Does he possess some form of the Unclouded Eye that lets him detect such things in his students? Is he basically Yoda? Or is someone watching Rean on Yun's behalf? Furthermore, in his letter to Rean in CS3, he says he will impart his final teachings onto Rean “when” they meet again. This might be reading too much into it, but Yun seems quite confident he will see Rean again. My guess is that Yun has something planned, if not for Rean, then for all of his disciples. And I suspect that that plan was part of why Yun chose to promote Rean to Divine Blade when he did. The timing, right before the final battle at the Duatha de Danann, is too convenient for me to ignore. Either Yun wanted to help Rean reach peak form in time, or he had some other motive. Or both.
• Giliath Osborne: Osborne is Rean's biological father. Despite coming off as callous at first, it becomes clear in CS4 and Reverie that Osborne truly loved his son and was willing to sacrifice everything for him, including his heart (literally) and his humanity. Rean inherited a number of traits from Osborne, including his charisma, leadership ability, flawed selflessness, and strength of spirit. The two share an innate need to put others’ happiness over their own, albeit for different reasons, and both suffered in silence for years because of it. This is part of why, despite having the same goal, Rean and Osborne both fought each other with all they had during the final Rivalry: Neither wanted to see the other inherit the curse's full power, Osborne because he didn't want to see Rean suffer any longer and Rean because he essentially accepted that he was the curse's Sacrifice. After CS4, Rean learns more about Osborne's inner thoughts and motives, developing a deep admiration for his father and a desire to make his sacrifice worthwhile.
• Lloyd Bannings: Lloyd and Rean are quite comparable. They are the main protagonists of their respective arcs, both are leaders in their own right, both embody aspects of the “dense male protagonist” trope, and both are overall kind, perceptive (outside of romance), overall heroic young men. But like Crow, Lloyd is a foil for Rean, and this is apparent from their very first meeting, in CS2's Divertissement. Lloyd and Rean's circumstances were polar opposites: Lloyd was a vigilante, relegated to the shadows, with only a skeleton crew for support, while Rean was an Erebonian national hero with a Divine Knight and the full power of his country behind him. At the same time, Rean had no agency during this time, as he had been manipulated by Osborne into accepting such status and becoming part of a reprehensible operation. Lloyd, on the other hand, was a free agent, uncompromising in his ideals and fighting tirelessly for true justice. In short, Lloyd was powerless but free, while Rean was powerful but trapped. In that moment, it is obvious that Rean respected Lloyd's convictions and may have even envied him. Fortunately for the two, they find themselves on the same side in CS4 and a proper friendship between the two forms.
• Patrick Hyarms: Patrick and Rean’s relationship had an uneasy start. Although Patrick initially tried to ingratiate himself with Rean, he was rebuffed due to his elitist attitude towards commoners and other non-nobles. Patrick was quick to change his disposition towards Rean, treating him with disgust due to his unknown origins and lack of noble blood. After being humiliated by Rean and the other non-noble men of Class VII, Patrick starts to reassess his mindset and eventually becomes more accepting of non-nobles. This, in turn, leads to Rean and Patrick becoming friends, and in CS3, the two are shown to be trusted partners in certain areas. The friendship is somewhat complicated by Patrick’s romantic interest in Elise, of whom Rean is especially protective.

Future

As a main series protagonist, Rean is basically guaranteed to return in a future game. Whether or not he will be playable or have a significant role in said game is difficult to ascertain, but given his lengthy period of stardom in the Cold Steel games and Trails’s treatment of other past protagonists, my guess is that he will take more of a side role. Since Rean was looking for Yun Ka-fai after Reverie, and Yun is set to appear in Kai no Kiseki, I wouldn’t be surprised to see Rean in that game at all - at least in flashback form. Failing that, Rean will surely appear in or close to the series finale. Of this I am certain.

Misc. Notes/Commentary

• Funnily enough, Rean’s final struggle with his powers in CS3-4 reminds me somewhat of the finale of Steven Universe Future, which similarly ends with the protagonist losing control of his powers and turning into a raging monster. It is only through the love and reassurance of Steven’s friends and family that he is able to return to normal, and like Rean, he is not necessarily “cured” of anything; he simply has a newfound resolve to get better.
• For those curious: I did not include discussion of Rean’s “harem” in this analysis because I do not see it as a core part of his character. The dating sim aspect of the Cold Steel games is just a silly fanservice gimmick and has no bearing on Rean’s growth or development. While it might have indirectly limited the interpersonal relationships the female characters of CS could form with other males, it did not have a similar effect on Rean.
  • Ftr, I romanced Alisa in CS2 and Sara in CS4.
• Rean’s two big “power of friendship” moments in the series - unlocking Spirit Unification in CS2’s Intermission and snapping out of his ogre rage in CS4’s Fragments chapter - both involve him being faced with a golden crystal which symbolizes his many loving relationships. This is a minor detail, but I do appreciate the parallels at work here.

As the clock struck midnight, casting eerie shadows across the room, a sudden, blood-curdling moan shattered the silence. Oliver, a young boy with a penchant for adventure, froze in his tracks, his heart hammering against his ribcage like a caged bird desperate to escape. "What in the world..." Oliver murmured to himself, his voice barely above a whisper as he cautiously approached the door. Each step felt like an eternity as the agonizing wail continued, echoing through the empty halls of his family's old mansion. With trembling hands, Oliver swung the door open, revealing the darkness of the night beyond. There, lying on the doorstep like a harbinger of doom, was a tattered envelope, its edges frayed, and its surface marred by a thick, viscous substance that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. Oliver's curiosity outweighed his fear as he reached for the envelope, his fingers brushing against the slimy residue that coated its surface. With a mixture of trepidation and anticipation, he tore open the envelope, revealing a letter that seemed to emanate a malevolent energy all its own. The words on the page danced before Oliver's eyes, swirling and shifting like shadows in the night. They spoke of a dying plea from his great-grandfather, a man long gone but whose presence seemed to linger in the very air around him. "The time is near, my son," the letter began, its words etched in a handwriting that seemed to writhe and contort before his very eyes. "I need your assistance to travel far. Meet me here: 48.8584° N, 2.2945° E. I wish you the best on your travels." Oliver's head spun with confusion as he read and reread the words, trying to make sense of the cryptic message. His great-grandfather had been dead for years, hadn't he? And yet, here was a letter from beyond the grave, beckoning him into the unknown. With a sense of dread gnawing at his insides, Oliver rushed to call his father for assistance. But to his shock and horror, his father's voice on the other end of the line was thick with confusion. "What do you mean, grandfather died ages ago?" his father slurred, his words tumbling out in a jumble of anxiety and disbelief. Oliver's blood ran cold as he realized the truth - he was alone, trapped in a nightmare from which there seemed to be no escape. With a curse under his breath, Oliver snatched up the letter, his hands trembling with a mixture of fear and determination. "Fuck it," he muttered to himself, his voice a low growl as he stormed out of the house and into the night. Little did he know, he was about to embark on a journey into the heart of darkness, a journey that would test his courage, his resolve, and his very sanity. With the coordinates from the letter burned into his mind, Oliver set out into the night, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and excitement. The road stretched out before him like a black ribbon, winding its way through the desolate countryside like a serpent in the dark. As he drove, Oliver's mind raced with a thousand questions, each one more terrifying than the last. What awaited him at the end of this journey? What horrors lurked in the shadows, waiting to pounce on their unsuspecting prey? But despite the doubts that gnawed at his mind, Oliver pressed on, driven by a stubborn determination to uncover the truth behind his great-grandfather's cryptic message. The night air was thick with the scent of fear and uncertainty, but Oliver refused to be swayed by the darkness that threatened to consume him. As he travelled deeper into the night, the landscape around him began to change, morphing into a twisted, nightmarish version of reality. Trees twisted and contorted like gnarled fingers reaching for the sky, their branches creaking and groaning in the wind like the whispers of the damned. Oliver's heart pounded in his chest as he navigated the treacherous terrain, his eyes darting from side to side in search of any sign of danger. But try as he might, he could not shake the feeling that he was being watched, that unseen eyes were lurking in the darkness, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And then, just as he thought he could go no further, he saw it - a corroded steel gate looming in the distance like a sentinel guarding the entrance to some long-forgotten realm. With a sense of trepidation, Oliver slowed his car to a stop, his eyes scanning the landscape for any sign of movement. But the night was silent enough to hear the mournful howl of the wind, and Oliver knew that he was alone. With a shaky hand, he reached for the gate, his fingers brushing against the cold metal as he pushed it open and stepped into the unknown. As Oliver made his way through the forest, the sense of unease that had been gnawing at him since he first set out only grew stronger. The trees seemed to loom overhead like ancient sentinels, their twisted branches reaching out like skeletal fingers grasping for purchase in the darkness. But despite the oppressive atmosphere, Oliver pressed on, driven by a stubborn determination to uncover the truth behind his great-grandfather's mysterious message. The coordinates from the letter burned brightly in his mind, guiding him ever closer to his destination. And then, just as he thought he could go no further, he saw it - a looming, dilapidated structure rising from the darkness like a spectre from the past. The hotel stood silent and foreboding, its windows shattered and its walls crumbling with age. With a sense of trepidation, Oliver approached the building, his footsteps echoing in the empty silence of the night. As he stepped through the shattered doorway, he was greeted by a sight that chilled him to the bone - the lobby was empty except for a single figure standing in the shadows. "Hello?" Oliver called out, his voice echoing in the empty space. But there was no response, except for the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. With a sense of unease gnawing at his gut, Oliver approached the figure cautiously, his eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. But as he drew closer, he realized with a start that the figure was nothing more than a mannequin, its lifeless eyes staring blankly into the void. Relieved but still on edge, Oliver made his way deeper into the hotel, his footsteps echoing in the empty halls. But no matter where he turned, he found only darkness and decay, the once-grand building now nothing more than a crumbling monument to a forgotten era. And then, just as he was about to give up hope, Oliver heard a voice echoing in the darkness - a voice that sent a shiver down his spine and made his blood run cold. "Welcome to the Hotel of Horrors," the voice whispered, its words dripping with malice. "We've been expecting you." As Oliver made his way through the abandoned corridors of the hotel, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. Every shadow seemed to conceal some new horror, every creak of the floorboards sending a chill down his spine. But despite the fear that threatened to consume him, Oliver pressed on, determined to uncover the truth behind his great-grandfather's cryptic message. With each step, he felt the weight of the darkness pressing down on him, a suffocating presence that seemed to seep into his very bones. And then, just as he thought he could go no further, he heard a voice echoing in the darkness - a voice that sent a shiver down his spine and made his blood run cold. "Hello, there," the voice said, its tone smooth and mocking. "What brings you to this forsaken place?" Oliver spun around, his heart pounding in his chest as he searched for the source of the voice. And then, emerging from the shadows, he saw him - a figure dressed in fine clothes, his face obscured by the darkness. "Who are you?" Oliver demanded, his voice trembling with fear and uncertainty. The figure stepped forward; his features bathed in the sickly light of the moon. "My name is Jack," he said, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "And I'm here to offer you a deal." Oliver's blood ran cold at the mention of a deal, his mind racing with a thousand possibilities. What could this stranger want from him? And what price would he be forced to pay? But before he could voice his concerns, Jack continued, his voice smooth and persuasive. "You see, Oliver, this hotel holds many secrets - secrets that could change your life forever. And I'm willing to share them with you, for a price." Oliver's mind raced as he weighed his options. On the one hand, he knew he should be wary of Jack and his promises of power and wealth. But on the other hand, the allure of the unknown was too strong to resist. And so, with a sense of trepidation and excitement, Oliver made a decision that would change the course of his destiny forever. He would follow Jack into the heart of darkness, and together, they would uncover the secrets that lay hidden within the walls of the Hotel of Horrors. As Oliver made his decision to follow Jack into the depths of the Hotel of Horrors, he couldn't shake the feeling of uncertainty that gnawed at him. But the allure of uncovering the secrets hidden within those haunted halls was too strong to resist. With a steady resolve, he nodded to Jack, signalling his agreement to whatever pact lay before them. Jack's smirk widened, revealing a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "Excellent choice, Oliver. You won't regret this." With a wave of his hand, Jack led Oliver deeper into the labyrinthine corridors of the decrepit hotel. Each step echoed ominously, the sound reverberating through the empty halls like a haunting melody. As they walked, Oliver couldn't help but notice the subtle changes in the atmosphere. The air grew colder, carrying with it a palpable sense of foreboding. Shadows danced on the walls, twisting and contorting in unnatural shapes that seemed to watch their every move. Despite the growing unease in his gut, Oliver pressed on, his curiosity driving him forward. He had come too far to turn back now. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they reached a grand chamber at the heart of the hotel. The room was shrouded in darkness, illuminated only by the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the broken windows. In the centre of the chamber stood a pedestal, upon which rested a dusty tome bound in ancient leather. Jack approached the pedestal with reverence, his movements careful and deliberate. "This," he said, gesturing to the tome, "is the key to unlocking the true power of this place." Oliver's heart raced as he stepped closer, his eyes fixed on the mysterious book. What secrets did it hold? And what price would he have to pay to uncover them? With a sense of trepidation, Oliver reached out and opened the tome. As he flipped through its pages, he was greeted by a wealth of knowledge - spells, incantations, and rituals dating back centuries. But as he delved deeper into the pages, Oliver's excitement turned to horror. The rituals described within were dark and twisted, their intentions malevolent and cruel. It was clear that this tome held powers far beyond his comprehension. Jack watched with amusement as Oliver's expression darkened. "Impressive, isn't it?" he said, his voice dripping with malice. "But power comes at a price, Oliver. Are you willing to pay it?" Oliver hesitated, his mind racing with uncertainty. He knew that delving further into the secrets of the Hotel of Horrors would come with consequences, but the temptation was too strong to resist. And so, with a sense of resignation, Oliver nodded. "I'll do whatever it takes." Jack's smirk widened, a glint of triumph in his eyes. "Excellent," he said. "Then let us begin. "Under Jack's guidance, Oliver delved deeper into the dark arts than he ever thought possible. Night after night, they performed rituals that twisted the fabric of reality, bending it to their will. With each incantation, Oliver felt himself changing, his mind and soul becoming darker and more twisted with each passing day. But the allure of power was too strong to resist, driving him further down the path of darkness. As weeks turned into months, the Hotel of Horrors became their sanctuary, a place where they could explore the darkest depths of magic without fear of judgment or consequence. But as their power grew, so too did their arrogance. They became reckless, summoning creatures from the depths of the abyss and wielding magic beyond their control. And then, one fateful night, they performed a ritual that would change everything. Under the light of a blood-red moon, Oliver and Jack stood before the pedestal in the grand chamber, their faces illuminated by the flickering glow of torchlight. With trembling hands, they began to chant, their voices merging into a cacophony of dark whispers that echoed through the empty halls. As the ritual reached its climax, a surge of power coursed through Oliver's veins, filling him with an exhilarating sense of euphoria. But as he looked into Jack's eyes, he saw something flicker beneath the surface - a darkness so deep and consuming that it sent a chill down his spine. And then, with a deafening roar, the ritual reached its climax, unleashing a torrent of energy that tore through the fabric of reality. As the dust settled and the echoes of their chanting faded into silence, Oliver and Jack stood in shock, their minds reeling from what they had unleashed. But as they looked around, they realized with horror that something had gone terribly wrong. The hotel around them was no longer the decrepit ruin they had come to know - it was alive, pulsating with a malevolent energy that seemed to seep into their very bones. And then, emerging from the shadows, they saw them - twisted creatures of nightmare, their forms shifting and changing in the darkness. With a sense of dread sinking in his gut, Oliver realized the true cost of their actions. They had unleashed a darkness that threatened to consume everything in its path. And as he looked into Jack's eyes, he knew that there was only one thing left to do - they had to find a way to stop it, before it was too late. As Oliver and Jack confronted the horrors they had unleashed, they found themselves locked in a battle for their very souls. The creatures that lurked within the depths of the hotel were unlike anything they had ever encountered - twisted, grotesque abominations that seemed to defy the laws of nature. But despite the overwhelming odds, Oliver refused to back down. With every ounce of strength he possessed, he fought alongside Jack, determined to undo the damage they had wrought. For days, they battled against the darkness, their bodies weary, and their spirits tested. But no matter how hard they fought, it seemed as though the darkness was inexhaustible, its tendrils spreading like wildfire through the hotel's corridors. And then, just when all hope seemed lost, Oliver made a startling discovery. Hidden within the pages of the tome they had used to perform the ritual was a spell - a spell of binding that could trap the darkness once and for all. With a renewed sense of purpose, Oliver and Jack set out to perform the spell. But as they reached the grand chamber at the heart of the hotel, they were met with a sight that chilled them to the bone. Standing before them, bathed in the sickly light of the moon, was a figure unlike any they had ever seen. Its form was shrouded in darkness, its eyes burning with a malevolent fire that seemed to pierce straight through to their very souls. Oliver's heart raced as he realized the truth - this creature was the embodiment of the darkness they had unleashed, and it would stop at nothing to destroy them. With a sense of determination burning in his chest, Oliver stepped forward, his voice steady despite the fear that gnawed at his insides. "We've come to end this," he said, his words echoing in the empty chamber. "We will not let you consume this world." But the creature only laughed, its voice a twisted cacophony that sent shivers down Oliver's spine. "You cannot stop me, mortal," it said, its words dripping with malice. "I am the darkness that lurks in the hearts of men, the shadow that consumes all in its path. You are nothing but insects to be crushed beneath my heel." But Oliver refused to be intimidated. With a defiant roar, he raised his hands and began to chant the spell of binding, his voice ringing out in the darkness like a clarion call. And then, with a blinding flash of light, the spell took hold, trapping the darkness within the confines of the hotel's walls. For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the sound of their laboured breathing. And then, with a deafening roar, the hotel began to collapse in on itself, its walls crumbling to dust as the darkness was consumed by the very shadows it had spawned. As Oliver and Jack emerged from the ruins of the hotel, they were greeted by the light of the rising sun, its warm rays banishing the darkness that had threatened to consume them. With a sense of relief washing over him, Oliver collapsed to his knees, his body weary from the battle. But as he looked up at the sky above, he knew that the nightmare was finally over. Or so he thought. As Oliver lays in the hospital bed, his mind a maelstrom of confusion and uncertainty, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. The events of the past few days seemed like a distant dream, a surreal nightmare from which he couldn't seem to wake. But try as he might, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the story than he remembered. With a sense of unease gnawing at his gut, Oliver glanced around the room, his eyes falling on the figure of a nurse standing by his bedside. "Where am I?" he asked, his voice hoarse from disuse. The nurse smiled sympathetically; her eyes filled with concern. "You're in the hospital, dear. You've been in a coma for quite some time. "Oliver's heart skipped a beat at the mention of a coma. How long had he been unconscious? And what had happened to him? As the nurse explained the details of his condition, Oliver's mind raced with a thousand questions. But try as he might, he couldn't seem to piece together the events that had led him here. And then, just as he was about to give up hope, a flicker of memory flashed through his mind - the hotel, the rituals, the darkness. With a start, Oliver realized the truth - it hadn't been a dream at all. The horrors he had faced were all too real, and they had left a mark on his soul that would never fade. As the reality of his situation sank in, Oliver felt a sense of despair wash over him. How could he ever hope to move on from the trauma he had endured? But even as he grappled with his fear and uncertainty, a small voice whispered in the back of his mind - a voice that told him that he was stronger than he knew, and that he would find a way to overcome the darkness that threatened to consume him. With a newfound sense of determination burning in his chest, Oliver vowed to face whatever challenges lay ahead with courage and resilience. For he knew that the journey was far from over, and that the true test of his strength had only just begun. And so, with a sense of resolve burning in his heart, Oliver closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, knowing that no matter what trials awaited him, he would face them head-on, armed with nothing but his own indomitable spirit. But little did he know, the darkness that had once threatened to consume him still lurked in the shadows, biding its time until the moment was right to strike again. And as Oliver drifted off into unconsciousness once more, a sense of dread settled over him, for he knew that the nightmare was far from over, and that the true battle for his soul had only just begun.

As the clock struck midnight, casting eerie shadows across the room, a sudden, blood-curdling moan shattered the silence. Oliver, a young boy with a penchant for adventure, froze in his tracks, his heart hammering against his ribcage like a caged bird desperate to escape. "What in the world..." Oliver murmured to himself, his voice barely above a whisper as he cautiously approached the door. Each step felt like an eternity as the agonizing wail continued, echoing through the empty halls of his family's old mansion. With trembling hands, Oliver swung the door open, revealing the darkness of the night beyond. There, lying on the doorstep like a harbinger of doom, was a tattered envelope, its edges frayed, and its surface marred by a thick, viscous substance that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. Oliver's curiosity outweighed his fear as he reached for the envelope, his fingers brushing against the slimy residue that coated its surface. With a mixture of trepidation and anticipation, he tore open the envelope, revealing a letter that seemed to emanate a malevolent energy all its own. The words on the page danced before Oliver's eyes, swirling and shifting like shadows in the night. They spoke of a dying plea from his great-grandfather, a man long gone but whose presence seemed to linger in the very air around him. "The time is near, my son," the letter began, its words etched in a handwriting that seemed to writhe and contort before his very eyes. "I need your assistance to travel far. Meet me here: 48.8584° N, 2.2945° E. I wish you the best on your travels." Oliver's head spun with confusion as he read and reread the words, trying to make sense of the cryptic message. His great-grandfather had been dead for years, hadn't he? And yet, here was a letter from beyond the grave, beckoning him into the unknown. With a sense of dread gnawing at his insides, Oliver rushed to call his father for assistance. But to his shock and horror, his father's voice on the other end of the line was thick with confusion. "What do you mean, grandfather died ages ago?" his father slurred, his words tumbling out in a jumble of anxiety and disbelief. Oliver's blood ran cold as he realized the truth - he was alone, trapped in a nightmare from which there seemed to be no escape. With a curse under his breath, Oliver snatched up the letter, his hands trembling with a mixture of fear and determination. "Fuck it," he muttered to himself, his voice a low growl as he stormed out of the house and into the night. Little did he know, he was about to embark on a journey into the heart of darkness, a journey that would test his courage, his resolve, and his very sanity. With the coordinates from the letter burned into his mind, Oliver set out into the night, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and excitement. The road stretched out before him like a black ribbon, winding its way through the desolate countryside like a serpent in the dark. As he drove, Oliver's mind raced with a thousand questions, each one more terrifying than the last. What awaited him at the end of this journey? What horrors lurked in the shadows, waiting to pounce on their unsuspecting prey? But despite the doubts that gnawed at his mind, Oliver pressed on, driven by a stubborn determination to uncover the truth behind his great-grandfather's cryptic message. The night air was thick with the scent of fear and uncertainty, but Oliver refused to be swayed by the darkness that threatened to consume him. As he travelled deeper into the night, the landscape around him began to change, morphing into a twisted, nightmarish version of reality. Trees twisted and contorted like gnarled fingers reaching for the sky, their branches creaking and groaning in the wind like the whispers of the damned. Oliver's heart pounded in his chest as he navigated the treacherous terrain, his eyes darting from side to side in search of any sign of danger. But try as he might, he could not shake the feeling that he was being watched, that unseen eyes were lurking in the darkness, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And then, just as he thought he could go no further, he saw it - a corroded steel gate looming in the distance like a sentinel guarding the entrance to some long-forgotten realm. With a sense of trepidation, Oliver slowed his car to a stop, his eyes scanning the landscape for any sign of movement. But the night was silent enough to hear the mournful howl of the wind, and Oliver knew that he was alone. With a shaky hand, he reached for the gate, his fingers brushing against the cold metal as he pushed it open and stepped into the unknown. As Oliver made his way through the forest, the sense of unease that had been gnawing at him since he first set out only grew stronger. The trees seemed to loom overhead like ancient sentinels, their twisted branches reaching out like skeletal fingers grasping for purchase in the darkness. But despite the oppressive atmosphere, Oliver pressed on, driven by a stubborn determination to uncover the truth behind his great-grandfather's mysterious message. The coordinates from the letter burned brightly in his mind, guiding him ever closer to his destination. And then, just as he thought he could go no further, he saw it - a looming, dilapidated structure rising from the darkness like a spectre from the past. The hotel stood silent and foreboding, its windows shattered and its walls crumbling with age. With a sense of trepidation, Oliver approached the building, his footsteps echoing in the empty silence of the night. As he stepped through the shattered doorway, he was greeted by a sight that chilled him to the bone - the lobby was empty except for a single figure standing in the shadows. "Hello?" Oliver called out, his voice echoing in the empty space. But there was no response, except for the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. With a sense of unease gnawing at his gut, Oliver approached the figure cautiously, his eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. But as he drew closer, he realized with a start that the figure was nothing more than a mannequin, its lifeless eyes staring blankly into the void. Relieved but still on edge, Oliver made his way deeper into the hotel, his footsteps echoing in the empty halls. But no matter where he turned, he found only darkness and decay, the once-grand building now nothing more than a crumbling monument to a forgotten era. And then, just as he was about to give up hope, Oliver heard a voice echoing in the darkness - a voice that sent a shiver down his spine and made his blood run cold. "Welcome to the Hotel of Horrors," the voice whispered, its words dripping with malice. "We've been expecting you." As Oliver made his way through the abandoned corridors of the hotel, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. Every shadow seemed to conceal some new horror, every creak of the floorboards sending a chill down his spine. But despite the fear that threatened to consume him, Oliver pressed on, determined to uncover the truth behind his great-grandfather's cryptic message. With each step, he felt the weight of the darkness pressing down on him, a suffocating presence that seemed to seep into his very bones. And then, just as he thought he could go no further, he heard a voice echoing in the darkness - a voice that sent a shiver down his spine and made his blood run cold. "Hello, there," the voice said, its tone smooth and mocking. "What brings you to this forsaken place?" Oliver spun around, his heart pounding in his chest as he searched for the source of the voice. And then, emerging from the shadows, he saw him - a figure dressed in fine clothes, his face obscured by the darkness. "Who are you?" Oliver demanded, his voice trembling with fear and uncertainty. The figure stepped forward; his features bathed in the sickly light of the moon. "My name is Jack," he said, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "And I'm here to offer you a deal." Oliver's blood ran cold at the mention of a deal, his mind racing with a thousand possibilities. What could this stranger want from him? And what price would he be forced to pay? But before he could voice his concerns, Jack continued, his voice smooth and persuasive. "You see, Oliver, this hotel holds many secrets - secrets that could change your life forever. And I'm willing to share them with you, for a price." Oliver's mind raced as he weighed his options. On the one hand, he knew he should be wary of Jack and his promises of power and wealth. But on the other hand, the allure of the unknown was too strong to resist. And so, with a sense of trepidation and excitement, Oliver made a decision that would change the course of his destiny forever. He would follow Jack into the heart of darkness, and together, they would uncover the secrets that lay hidden within the walls of the Hotel of Horrors. As Oliver made his decision to follow Jack into the depths of the Hotel of Horrors, he couldn't shake the feeling of uncertainty that gnawed at him. But the allure of uncovering the secrets hidden within those haunted halls was too strong to resist. With a steady resolve, he nodded to Jack, signalling his agreement to whatever pact lay before them. Jack's smirk widened, revealing a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "Excellent choice, Oliver. You won't regret this." With a wave of his hand, Jack led Oliver deeper into the labyrinthine corridors of the decrepit hotel. Each step echoed ominously, the sound reverberating through the empty halls like a haunting melody. As they walked, Oliver couldn't help but notice the subtle changes in the atmosphere. The air grew colder, carrying with it a palpable sense of foreboding. Shadows danced on the walls, twisting and contorting in unnatural shapes that seemed to watch their every move. Despite the growing unease in his gut, Oliver pressed on, his curiosity driving him forward. He had come too far to turn back now. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they reached a grand chamber at the heart of the hotel. The room was shrouded in darkness, illuminated only by the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the broken windows. In the centre of the chamber stood a pedestal, upon which rested a dusty tome bound in ancient leather. Jack approached the pedestal with reverence, his movements careful and deliberate. "This," he said, gesturing to the tome, "is the key to unlocking the true power of this place." Oliver's heart raced as he stepped closer, his eyes fixed on the mysterious book. What secrets did it hold? And what price would he have to pay to uncover them? With a sense of trepidation, Oliver reached out and opened the tome. As he flipped through its pages, he was greeted by a wealth of knowledge - spells, incantations, and rituals dating back centuries. But as he delved deeper into the pages, Oliver's excitement turned to horror. The rituals described within were dark and twisted, their intentions malevolent and cruel. It was clear that this tome held powers far beyond his comprehension. Jack watched with amusement as Oliver's expression darkened. "Impressive, isn't it?" he said, his voice dripping with malice. "But power comes at a price, Oliver. Are you willing to pay it?" Oliver hesitated, his mind racing with uncertainty. He knew that delving further into the secrets of the Hotel of Horrors would come with consequences, but the temptation was too strong to resist. And so, with a sense of resignation, Oliver nodded. "I'll do whatever it takes." Jack's smirk widened, a glint of triumph in his eyes. "Excellent," he said. "Then let us begin. "Under Jack's guidance, Oliver delved deeper into the dark arts than he ever thought possible. Night after night, they performed rituals that twisted the fabric of reality, bending it to their will. With each incantation, Oliver felt himself changing, his mind and soul becoming darker and more twisted with each passing day. But the allure of power was too strong to resist, driving him further down the path of darkness. As weeks turned into months, the Hotel of Horrors became their sanctuary, a place where they could explore the darkest depths of magic without fear of judgment or consequence. But as their power grew, so too did their arrogance. They became reckless, summoning creatures from the depths of the abyss and wielding magic beyond their control. And then, one fateful night, they performed a ritual that would change everything. Under the light of a blood-red moon, Oliver and Jack stood before the pedestal in the grand chamber, their faces illuminated by the flickering glow of torchlight. With trembling hands, they began to chant, their voices merging into a cacophony of dark whispers that echoed through the empty halls. As the ritual reached its climax, a surge of power coursed through Oliver's veins, filling him with an exhilarating sense of euphoria. But as he looked into Jack's eyes, he saw something flicker beneath the surface - a darkness so deep and consuming that it sent a chill down his spine. And then, with a deafening roar, the ritual reached its climax, unleashing a torrent of energy that tore through the fabric of reality. As the dust settled and the echoes of their chanting faded into silence, Oliver and Jack stood in shock, their minds reeling from what they had unleashed. But as they looked around, they realized with horror that something had gone terribly wrong. The hotel around them was no longer the decrepit ruin they had come to know - it was alive, pulsating with a malevolent energy that seemed to seep into their very bones. And then, emerging from the shadows, they saw them - twisted creatures of nightmare, their forms shifting and changing in the darkness. With a sense of dread sinking in his gut, Oliver realized the true cost of their actions. They had unleashed a darkness that threatened to consume everything in its path. And as he looked into Jack's eyes, he knew that there was only one thing left to do - they had to find a way to stop it, before it was too late. As Oliver and Jack confronted the horrors they had unleashed, they found themselves locked in a battle for their very souls. The creatures that lurked within the depths of the hotel were unlike anything they had ever encountered - twisted, grotesque abominations that seemed to defy the laws of nature. But despite the overwhelming odds, Oliver refused to back down. With every ounce of strength he possessed, he fought alongside Jack, determined to undo the damage they had wrought. For days, they battled against the darkness, their bodies weary, and their spirits tested. But no matter how hard they fought, it seemed as though the darkness was inexhaustible, its tendrils spreading like wildfire through the hotel's corridors. And then, just when all hope seemed lost, Oliver made a startling discovery. Hidden within the pages of the tome they had used to perform the ritual was a spell - a spell of binding that could trap the darkness once and for all. With a renewed sense of purpose, Oliver and Jack set out to perform the spell. But as they reached the grand chamber at the heart of the hotel, they were met with a sight that chilled them to the bone. Standing before them, bathed in the sickly light of the moon, was a figure unlike any they had ever seen. Its form was shrouded in darkness, its eyes burning with a malevolent fire that seemed to pierce straight through to their very souls. Oliver's heart raced as he realized the truth - this creature was the embodiment of the darkness they had unleashed, and it would stop at nothing to destroy them. With a sense of determination burning in his chest, Oliver stepped forward, his voice steady despite the fear that gnawed at his insides. "We've come to end this," he said, his words echoing in the empty chamber. "We will not let you consume this world." But the creature only laughed, its voice a twisted cacophony that sent shivers down Oliver's spine. "You cannot stop me, mortal," it said, its words dripping with malice. "I am the darkness that lurks in the hearts of men, the shadow that consumes all in its path. You are nothing but insects to be crushed beneath my heel." But Oliver refused to be intimidated. With a defiant roar, he raised his hands and began to chant the spell of binding, his voice ringing out in the darkness like a clarion call. And then, with a blinding flash of light, the spell took hold, trapping the darkness within the confines of the hotel's walls. For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the sound of their laboured breathing. And then, with a deafening roar, the hotel began to collapse in on itself, its walls crumbling to dust as the darkness was consumed by the very shadows it had spawned. As Oliver and Jack emerged from the ruins of the hotel, they were greeted by the light of the rising sun, its warm rays banishing the darkness that had threatened to consume them. With a sense of relief washing over him, Oliver collapsed to his knees, his body weary from the battle. But as he looked up at the sky above, he knew that the nightmare was finally over. Or so he thought. As Oliver lays in the hospital bed, his mind a maelstrom of confusion and uncertainty, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. The events of the past few days seemed like a distant dream, a surreal nightmare from which he couldn't seem to wake. But try as he might, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the story than he remembered. With a sense of unease gnawing at his gut, Oliver glanced around the room, his eyes falling on the figure of a nurse standing by his bedside. "Where am I?" he asked, his voice hoarse from disuse. The nurse smiled sympathetically; her eyes filled with concern. "You're in the hospital, dear. You've been in a coma for quite some time. "Oliver's heart skipped a beat at the mention of a coma. How long had he been unconscious? And what had happened to him? As the nurse explained the details of his condition, Oliver's mind raced with a thousand questions. But try as he might, he couldn't seem to piece together the events that had led him here. And then, just as he was about to give up hope, a flicker of memory flashed through his mind - the hotel, the rituals, the darkness. With a start, Oliver realized the truth - it hadn't been a dream at all. The horrors he had faced were all too real, and they had left a mark on his soul that would never fade. As the reality of his situation sank in, Oliver felt a sense of despair wash over him. How could he ever hope to move on from the trauma he had endured? But even as he grappled with his fear and uncertainty, a small voice whispered in the back of his mind - a voice that told him that he was stronger than he knew, and that he would find a way to overcome the darkness that threatened to consume him. With a newfound sense of determination burning in his chest, Oliver vowed to face whatever challenges lay ahead with courage and resilience. For he knew that the journey was far from over, and that the true test of his strength had only just begun. And so, with a sense of resolve burning in his heart, Oliver closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, knowing that no matter what trials awaited him, he would face them head-on, armed with nothing but his own indomitable spirit. But little did he know, the darkness that had once threatened to consume him still lurked in the shadows, biding its time until the moment was right to strike again. And as Oliver drifted off into unconsciousness once more, a sense of dread settled over him, for he knew that the nightmare was far from over, and that the true battle for his soul had only just begun.

Prologue
Sometimes, in the briefest of moments, I would regain a flicker of myself. In those precious seconds I would scribble furiously in my journal, desperate to leave a message for anyone who might find it.
May 14, 2024: Oh Lord, help me. I love you mom, I love you dad. If anyone finds this letter, please help me.
—
I had always loved the solitude of the wilderness, so when I was transferred to the small isolated town, I was eager for the new life experiences. Pine Hollow was an calm place, However here the townsfolk were friendly yet peculiar, but with an unsettling almost robotic calmness in their demeanor.
The villagers spoke in a hushed tones about “Forest deity”, they claimed the deity protected them, and in return, they offered their loyalty and strange rituals deep within the woods.
Curious yet skeptical, I decided to explore this forest so-called deity. On the third day of my patrol, I stumbled upon an old, weathered shrine at the base of a massive tree. Strange symbols were carved into the bark, and offerings of flowers, bones, and feathers lay at its roots. A sense of unease washed over me, but I shrugged it off and continued my patrol.
Same evening, after the long patrol, I sat at the small café called Martha's cozy kitchen, she served me her signature dish, steaming bowl of stew, its scent making my mouth water. Martha watched me with a peculiar smile as I took my first bite. Anyways I returned to my home I had a bad headache the same night and took a painkiller and slept.
Over the next few days, I developed a persistent headache, and an odd, low humming filled my ears. My sleep was plagued by vivid nightmares of dark figures and whispering voices.
I was grateful towards the townsfolk as they began to watch over me for any medical help I needed. However, their eyes glazed over me and the knowing smile made me think otherwise. As the days passed, I noticed my thoughts growing foggy and my movements sluggish. The humming in my ears grew louder, morphing into a seamless rhythm.
One evening, while patrolling near the shrine, I felt a overwhelming urge to visit the shrine. My body moved on its own, as if guided by an unseen force. Upon reaching the shrine, I dropped to my knees, unable to resist the pull of the forest energy emanating from the tree. My vision blurred, and I felt something crawling beneath my skull.
The villagers gathered around me, chanting in unison, their eyes reflecting the dim light of the shrine. My will crumbled, and I kneeled down to the invasive presence within me. My mind fragmented, and I became a vessel for the parasite, my thoughts and actions no longer my own.
As days turned into weeks, I became one of them. The humming in my mind now a soothing song, I joined the villagers in their rituals, my once vibrant personality erased. The forest around remained shrouded in mystery and dread.

YŪREI CHRONICLES [ 幽霊クロニクルズ ]
Tales of Japanese Horror [ 日本のホラーの物語 ]
By: Seph Cruz [ 投稿者: セフ・クルーズ ]
CONTENTS [ コンテンツ ]
Preface [ はじめに ]
Chapter 1: The Cursed Scroll [ 第 1 章: 呪われた巻物 ]
Chapter 2: The Shrine in the Shadows [ 第 2 章: 影の神殿 ]
Chapter 3: The Haunting of the Geisha [ 第 3 章: 芸者の幽霊 ]
Chapter 4: The Onryo's Revenge [ 第 4 章: 怨霊の復讐 ]
Chapter 5: The Dollmaker's Curse [ 第 5 章: 人形師の呪い ]
Chapter 6: The Shadow in the Forest [ 第 6 章: 森の影 ] Chapter 7: The Haunting of the Yūrei Inn [ 第 7 章: 幽霊旅館の幽霊 ]
Chapter 8: The Curse of the Haunted Kimono [ 第 8 章: 幽霊着物の呪い ]
Chapter 9: The Mirror's Malevolence [ 第 9 章: 鏡の悪意 ]
Chapter 10: The Bridge to the Beyond [ 第 10 章: 彼方への架け橋 ]

 "Yūrei Chronicles: Tales of Japanese Horror" 

Chapter 1: "The Cursed Scroll"
In the heart of Kyoto, where history whispered through the ancient streets, there existed an antique bookstore known only to those who sought the rarest of tomes. Nestled among centuries-old texts and dusty manuscripts, a forbidden scroll lay hidden, waiting for an unwitting soul to stumble upon its chilling secrets.
Chapter 1: "The Cursed Scroll"
The quaint, dimly lit bookstore was a treasure trove of the past. Intricate calligraphy adorned scrolls, while faded ink whispered stories of long-forgotten samurai and mystical creatures. Among these relics of history, one scroll remained elusive, concealed behind a glass case. Its dark, ornate cover bore no title, and its presence seemed to beckon.
Haruki, a young scholar with a fascination for the occult, visited the bookstore one rainy afternoon. His curiosity led him to inquire about the enigmatic scroll. The elderly shopkeeper, Mr. Tanaka, peered at him with a knowing look, cautioning him about the scroll's malevolent reputation.
"Many have sought to uncover its secrets," Mr. Tanaka said, his voice trembling with age, "but few have lived to tell the tale."
Haruki, undeterred by the ominous warning, insisted on examining the scroll. Mr. Tanaka, sensing the scholar's determination, reluctantly unlocked the glass case. As Haruki unrolled the ancient parchment, he saw that it was filled with intricate symbols and incantations, written in a language he could barely comprehend.
For days, Haruki delved into the scroll's mysteries. His sleepless nights were filled with whispers from unseen forces, and chilling drafts seemed to haunt his small apartment. Yet, he pressed on, believing that the scroll held untold knowledge and power.
One fateful night, as a full moon cast eerie shadows across his cluttered study, Haruki recited an incantation from the scroll. The room grew icy cold, and an otherworldly presence enveloped him. A mournful wail echoed through the room, and Haruki's heart raced as he beheld the apparition before him.
A yūrei, its long, disheveled hair obscuring its gaunt face, hovered in the air, its eyes filled with anguish and rage. It reached out bony, pale fingers toward Haruki, its spectral form translucent yet undeniably real.
In that moment, Haruki realized the scroll's true nature – a curse that summoned vengeful spirits to torment the living. He had unwittingly invited the yūrei into his world, and now, it sought retribution for its suffering.
The scholar's life turned into a nightmare as the vengeful spirit haunted his every waking moment. His research became an obsession to find a way to pacify the yūrei and lift the curse. With each passing day, Haruki's health deteriorated, his body and mind succumbing to the relentless torment.
Desperate, he sought the guidance of a renowned exorcist, who revealed a grim truth. The only way to break the curse was to discover the scroll's origins and offer the yūrei the peace it so desperately sought.
As Haruki ventured deeper into the scroll's history, he uncovered a tale of betrayal and tragedy that spanned centuries. With newfound knowledge and a heavy heart, he prepared to confront the vengeful yūrei and set things right.
In a chilling confrontation between the living and the dead, Haruki faced the spirit, offering it the closure it craved. As the yūrei dissipated into the ether, its mournful wail echoed one last time, fading into the night.
Haruki emerged from the ordeal forever changed, carrying the weight of the scroll's curse as a cautionary tale. The forbidden knowledge he had sought had come at a great cost, a reminder that some mysteries should remain hidden, and some curses should never be invoked.
As the sun rose over Kyoto, the antique bookstore remained shrouded in an eerie silence, and the cursed scroll returned to its cryptic slumber, waiting for the next unwitting soul to unlock its dreadful secrets.
End of Chapter 1: "The Cursed Scroll"
Chapter 2: "The Shrine in the Shadows"
In the heart of a tranquil Japanese village, nestled among ancient forests, stood a centuries-old Shinto shrine, known to few but revered by all. This sacred place held an eerie secret, hidden in the shadows of its past.
Chapter 2: "The Shrine in the Shadows"
The village of Mizuki was picturesque, surrounded by dense woods and the whispers of rustling leaves. Its most treasured gem was the Shōrin Shrine, a sanctuary dedicated to the worship of the kami, where the villagers paid homage with heartfelt prayers and offerings.
On a bright spring morning, the Hayashi family moved into a charming house near the shrine. Yuko, a spirited young girl with inquisitive eyes, was enchanted by the quaint beauty of Mizuki and the mystique of the Shōrin Shrine. Her parents, Masato and Yuki, hoped the peaceful village would offer respite from the bustling city.
Their first evening in Mizuki was serene, and the family felt blessed to live in such an idyllic place. As night descended, they heard a faint melody echoing through the forest—a haunting tune played on a traditional shamisen. Yuko, drawn by curiosity, followed the eerie melody to the shrine.
At the shrine's entrance, she saw a flicker of movement among the trees and bushes. As her eyes adjusted to the dim moonlight, she gasped in awe and terror. There, bathed in an ethereal glow, stood a beautiful woman dressed in a white kimono, her long hair cascading like an ebony waterfall.
The woman's face bore an expression of immense sorrow, and her eyes seemed to pierce Yuko's very soul. In her delicate, spectral hands, she held a shamisen, its strings plucked by fingers that had long since turned to mist.
"Who are you?" Yuko asked, her voice quivering.
The apparition gazed at Yuko with an inscrutable sadness and whispered, "My name is Hana. I have been bound to this shrine for centuries, waiting for someone to hear my song."
Hana's story unraveled like a tragic tapestry before Yuko. She had once been a young woman in love with a humble fisherman from Mizuki. Their love was forbidden, and when their secret was discovered, they met a tragic end at the hands of the villagers.
As she spoke, the melody of her shamisen became more mournful, and the trees seemed to weep in sympathy. Hana's spirit, bound to the shrine, could only find solace by sharing her story with the living.
Yuko, moved by Hana's tale, felt a deep connection to the ghostly figure. She promised to help Hana find peace and bring her story to light. Together, they would uncover the truth behind the tragic love story that had ensnared the shrine for centuries.
As Yuko delved into the village's history, she uncovered hidden documents and ancient scrolls that confirmed Hana's story. The injustice done to Hana and her beloved was a blot on the village's past, a truth that had been concealed for generations.
With newfound determination, Yuko rallied the villagers to acknowledge the village's dark history and to seek forgiveness for the sins of the past. In a moving ceremony at the Shōrin Shrine, the villagers offered their prayers, and Hana's spirit was finally set free.
As the first rays of dawn bathed Mizuki in golden light, Hana's ethereal form dissolved into a wisp of gratitude and serenity. The shrine, once shadowed by sorrow, now radiated with newfound peace.
"The Shrine in the Shadows" became a tale passed down through generations, a reminder that love and forgiveness could transcend even the darkest of curses. Mizuki continued to flourish, its shrine standing as a testament to the enduring power of redemption.
End of Chapter 2: "The Shrine in the Shadows"
Chapter 3: "The Haunting of the Geisha"
In the vibrant streets of 19th-century Tokyo, beneath the shimmering lanterns and behind the delicate allure of geisha, a haunting presence lurked—a presence that would forever change the life of a celebrated geisha named Kaede.
Chapter 3: "The Haunting of the Geisha"
In the heart of Tokyo's historic Yoshiwara district, Kaede was renowned as one of the most captivating and skilled geisha. Her beauty was ethereal, her dances mesmerizing, and her laughter like the tinkling of wind chimes. But beneath her porcelain makeup and the grace of her performances lay a heart heavy with secrets.
One cool autumn evening, as the lanterns cast their warm glow on the district, a newcomer arrived at the teahouse where Kaede performed. His name was Kaito, a handsome and enigmatic man with piercing eyes that seemed to see beyond the facade of the geisha. Kaede's heart quickened as their eyes met, and she felt a connection she had never experienced before.
As weeks turned into months, Kaede and Kaito's bond deepened, their love blossoming like the cherry blossoms in spring. But their love was a forbidden one, as Kaito was a samurai, and their worlds were as different as night and day.
One fateful night, Kaito revealed a dangerous secret to Kaede—he was involved in a plot against a powerful daimyo who ruled with cruelty and oppression. Kaito believed that by exposing the daimyo's corruption, he could bring justice to the people. He asked for Kaede's assistance in gathering information from the teahouse's influential patrons.
Reluctantly, Kaede agreed, and together, they embarked on a treacherous path filled with deceit and danger. As the days passed, they uncovered dark secrets that could expose the daimyo's crimes. However, their actions did not go unnoticed.
One evening, as Kaede performed for a gathering of influential men, a sinister figure appeared in the shadows. It was the vengeful spirit of a geisha named Akiko, who had perished in Yoshiwara under tragic circumstances. Her ghostly form was veiled in a blood-red kimono, and her eyes burned with malevolence.
Akiko's haunting began subtly—a chill in the air, whispers of despair, and a feeling of dread that hung over the teahouse like a shroud. Kaede, sensing the supernatural presence, knew that they had awakened a vengeful spirit.
Desperate to protect Kaede, Kaito sought the guidance of a local exorcist, who revealed the tragic story of Akiko. She had been a geisha in love with a samurai, but their forbidden love had led to betrayal and death. Her restless spirit sought vengeance on those who dared to love across societal boundaries.
With the exorcist's help, Kaito and Kaede embarked on a perilous journey to confront Akiko's spirit and offer her the peace she so desperately sought. In a climactic showdown, they faced the vengeful geisha, revealing the truth behind her betrayal and death.
As the first light of dawn bathed the Yoshiwara district, Akiko's spirit dissipated, her eyes filled with sorrow and resignation. The curse she had cast upon the teahouse lifted, and peace returned to the district.
Kaede and Kaito's love story continued, forever marked by the supernatural forces they had encountered. The teahouse thrived once more, its lanterns casting their warm glow over the enchanting district, where love knew no boundaries and forgiveness transcended even death.
"The Haunting of the Geisha" became a legend whispered among geisha in Yoshiwara, a testament to the enduring power of love and the consequences of forbidden desires in the mysterious world of Edo-era Tokyo.
End of Chapter 3: "The Haunting of the Geisha"
Chapter 4: "The Onryo's Revenge"
In the heart of a decaying city, where abandoned buildings stood as silent witnesses to forgotten tragedies, a group of urban explorers would stumble upon a place where the restless dead held their sinister dominion.
Chapter 4: "The Onryo's Revenge"
The city of Kurayami had fallen into disrepair, its once-thriving industries crumbling, and its streets echoing with the memories of better days. Among its many derelict structures was the forsaken Kurayami Hospital, a place whispered about only in fearful tales.
Rumors spoke of a curse that had befallen the hospital after a gruesome series of medical experiments in the early 20th century. Patients had been subjected to horrific procedures, and their agonized cries still seemed to reverberate through the corridors.
A group of urban explorers, lured by the thrill of the forbidden and the allure of the macabre, set their sights on Kurayami Hospital. Among them was Hiroshi, the group's leader, and Yumi, a budding photographer with an affinity for capturing the eerie beauty of abandoned places.
As the explorers entered the hospital's crumbling entrance, they were greeted by the musty scent of decay and the eerie silence of long-abandoned hallways. Shadows danced in the dim light as they ventured deeper into the forsaken building, their footsteps echoing like distant whispers.
The group's excitement turned to unease as they encountered signs of the hospital's dark past—rusty surgical instruments, bloodstained gurneys, and cryptic medical notes. Yumi's camera captured it all, each photograph revealing more about the hospital's gruesome history.
As night fell, the explorers gathered in the hospital's decrepit lobby, their flashlights casting trembling beams into the darkness. It was then that they heard it—a faint, mournful wail, like the keening of a soul in torment.
Hiroshi, the group's fearless leader, brushed off their concerns, attributing the sound to the wind or their imagination. But the cries grew louder and more anguished, echoing through the halls.
The group became separated as they navigated the labyrinthine corridors. Yumi, camera in hand, wandered into the hospital's disused psychiatric ward. There, in a shadowed corner, she saw her camera's flash reveal a horrifying apparition—an onryo, a vengeful spirit with long, disheveled hair and eyes filled with hatred.
The onryo's spectral form contorted with rage as it approached Yumi. Its icy fingers reached out, and she felt an otherworldly coldness pierce her very soul. She knew that this was the spirit of a patient who had suffered unimaginable horrors in the hospital.
As Yumi's companions searched for her, they stumbled upon the onryo's lair and witnessed the terrifying encounter. In a desperate bid to save Yumi, they searched for a way to pacify the vengeful spirit.
Through a combination of research and communication with a local historian, they learned the full extent of the hospital's atrocities. Armed with this knowledge, they returned to the onryo's domain to confront the spirit and offer it the peace it had been denied for so long.
In a climactic showdown, the group faced the onryo, revealing the hospital's dark secrets and acknowledging the suffering of the tormented souls within. With profound remorse, they begged for forgiveness on behalf of those who had perpetrated the atrocities.
As the first rays of dawn broke over Kurayami, the onryo's anguished wails transformed into a mournful sigh. The spirit, its wrath finally quelled, dissipated into the ether, leaving behind a sense of profound sadness and closure.
The group of urban explorers emerged from Kurayami Hospital, forever changed by their encounter with the supernatural. They had confronted the past and offered redemption to the restless dead, leaving the decaying city with a newfound sense of hope.
"The Onryo's Revenge" became a cautionary tale among urban explorers, a reminder that some places are best left undisturbed, and that the past, no matter how dark, can be confronted and reconciled.
End of Chapter 4: "The Onryo's Revenge"
Chapter 5: "The Dollmaker's Curse"
In a remote mountain village, nestled among mist-shrouded peaks, a master dollmaker crafted exquisite creations that captured the hearts of collectors worldwide. Yet, within her secluded workshop, a malevolent force lurked—one that would ensnare a curious journalist in a nightmarish world of living dolls and dark secrets.
Chapter 5: "The Dollmaker's Curse"
Hidden away in the secluded village of Ichiban, known only to those who ventured deep into the mountains, lived a master dollmaker named Ai. Her dolls were celebrated for their lifelike beauty and craftsmanship, with collectors from distant lands coveting her creations.
One brisk autumn morning, a journalist named Keiko received a cryptic letter from a source in Ichiban, hinting at a sinister mystery surrounding Ai's dolls. Intrigued by the enigmatic message, Keiko embarked on a journey to the remote village, determined to uncover the truth.
Ichiban was a place untouched by time, its cobblestone streets winding through dense forests and past centuries-old homes. The village exuded an eerie tranquility, and the locals spoke in hushed tones about Ai's dolls, rumored to be infused with a piece of the human soul.
Upon reaching Ai's workshop, Keiko was greeted by the dollmaker herself, a woman of grace and poise. The workshop was a treasure trove of exquisite dolls, their eyes seeming to follow Keiko's every move. Among them, a particular doll known as Hikari stood out—a hauntingly beautiful creation with ebony hair and obsidian eyes.
As Keiko delved deeper into the village's mysteries, she discovered that Hikari was believed to house the soul of a deceased child, a belief held by both Ai and the villagers. The doll's unsettling presence and the uncanny resemblance it bore to a girl named Mei, who had died tragically years ago, sent shivers down Keiko's spine.
Keiko's nights in Ichiban were filled with restless dreams of porcelain dolls that came to life. In these dreams, Hikari beckoned her to uncover the truth behind the dollmaker's creations. Guided by an inexplicable compulsion, Keiko embarked on a quest to unearth the dark secrets hidden within Ai's workshop.
As Keiko investigated further, she uncovered Ai's own tragic past—a story of unrequited love, loss, and a desperate desire to capture the essence of the human soul in her dolls. With each revelation, the line between the living and the lifeless blurred, and Keiko felt herself becoming entangled in a nightmarish world.
The dolls that had once been works of art now seemed to harbor malevolence. They moved of their own accord, their eyes filled with an eerie, lifelike intensity. Keiko realized that Ai's obsession had bound her to a sinister force, and her creations hungered for more than just existence.
In a chilling climax, Keiko confronted Ai and the curse that had gripped her creations. Together, they sought to break the curse's hold and release the trapped souls within the dolls.
As the moon hung low in the night sky, Ai performed a solemn ritual, guided by the spirit of Mei, whose essence had been captured in Hikari. The dolls, imbued with a restless energy, gathered around, their haunting eyes watching as the curse was lifted.
With a mournful sigh, the dolls' porcelain features softened, and their malevolence dissipated. The spirit of Mei was set free, and the dolls became lifeless once more, their beauty preserved in eternal stillness.
Ichiban returned to its peaceful slumber, and Keiko departed with a newfound appreciation for the power of art and the depths of human longing. The village's haunting tale of the dollmaker's curse served as a reminder that some obsessions could lead to the creation of something far more sinister than art itself.
End of Chapter 5: "The Dollmaker's Curse"
Chapter 6: "The Shadow in the Forest"
In a land steeped in history and tradition, the Aokigahara Forest, known as the "Suicide Forest," concealed a dark secret. Within its dense, ancient foliage, a group of hikers would embark on a journey that would lead them into the heart of a malevolent force.
Chapter 6: "The Shadow in the Forest"
Deep within the prefecture of Yamanashi, shrouded in a perpetual mist, lay the infamous Aokigahara Forest—an expanse of ancient woodland that held a dark reputation. Known as the "Suicide Forest," it had been a site of countless tragic deaths throughout the centuries.
A group of adventurous hikers, seeking to conquer the wilderness and challenge the forest's ominous legends, gathered on a chilly autumn morning. Among them was Akira, an experienced guide with a deep respect for the forest's history, and Yumi, a young woman in search of adventure and solace from her own troubled past.
The hikers ventured deep into the forest, their footsteps muffled by the thick blanket of moss and fallen leaves. The dense canopy above cast eerie shadows, and the trees seemed to whisper secrets of sorrow and despair.
As they trekked further into the woods, they began to notice strange occurrences—a disconcerting sense of being watched, distant whispers on the wind, and ghostly apparitions that flickered at the edge of their vision. Akira, the guide, attributed these phenomena to the forest's ominous reputation and urged the group to press on.
Yet, the forest's grip on their minds and senses tightened. Yumi, in particular, felt a strange connection to the haunting forces that seemed to lurk behind every tree. Inexplicable visions of tragedy and despair flashed before her eyes, and a sense of overwhelming dread enveloped her.
Night descended on the forest, and the hikers set up camp, their flickering campfire offering the only semblance of comfort in the oppressive darkness. It was then that Yumi encountered a spectral figure—a yūrei, her kimono tattered and her eyes empty voids.
The yūrei beckoned to Yumi, her voice a mournful echo. Unable to resist, Yumi followed the apparition into the depths of the forest, her companions unaware of her disappearance. The yūrei led her to a clearing where an ancient tree stood, its gnarled roots forming a grotesque face.
As Yumi approached the tree, she felt a malevolent presence—an ancient spirit of the forest itself. It spoke to her, revealing the tragic history of Aokigahara—the place where those who had lost hope sought refuge in death.
Yumi learned of the forest's vengeful guardian, a yūrei born of countless lost souls, whose suffering fueled its malevolence. It was the embodiment of the forest's sorrow, forever bound to torment those who ventured within.
Realizing that Yumi was now connected to the yūrei, her companions embarked on a desperate search to rescue her from the forest's clutches. With the guidance of Akira's knowledge and determination, they confronted the vengeful spirit, revealing the pain of their own pasts and the impact of their actions on the world around them.
As the first rays of dawn bathed Aokigahara in a pale light, the yūrei's malevolence waned, and its grip on Yumi loosened. With a final sigh, it dissipated into the morning mist, its haunting presence released from the forest.
Yumi was reunited with her companions, forever changed by her encounter with the malevolent spirit of Aokigahara. The forest's ominous reputation remained, a reminder of the darkness that could consume those who dared to venture too close to its heart.
"The Shadow in the Forest" served as a chilling testament to the mysteries of Aokigahara, where the past and the present intertwined, and the boundaries between life and death blurred beneath the ancient canopy.
End of Chapter 6: "The Shadow in the Forest"
Chapter 7: "The Haunting of the Yurei Inn"
In a remote village nestled among mist-covered mountains, a centuries-old inn held a sinister secret. When a weary traveler seeks refuge within its ancient walls, she becomes entangled in a web of supernatural mysteries that threaten to consume her soul.
Chapter 7: "The Haunting of the Yurei Inn"
The village of Okuyama was a hidden gem, nestled among towering peaks and blanketed in mist. Within this secluded haven stood the Yurei Inn, a centuries-old establishment steeped in history and whispered legends. Its age-old charm masked a sinister truth—a haunting presence that had plagued the inn for generations.
Amidst a dense fog, a lone traveler named Rei arrived in Okuyama, weary and seeking shelter from the elements. The Yurei Inn, with its rustic charm and flickering lanterns, seemed like the perfect refuge. Little did Rei know that her stay at the inn would unravel the mysteries hidden within its ancient walls.
Upon her arrival, Rei was greeted by the inn's elderly proprietress, Eiko, a woman whose weathered features and deep knowledge of the village's history hinted at a deeper connection to the inn's haunting past.
As Rei settled into her room, the oppressive atmosphere within the inn became palpable. Shadows seemed to dance in the corners of her vision, and strange, ghostly whispers echoed in the corridors. Unbeknownst to her, Rei had become a pawn in a centuries-old battle between the inn and the vengeful spirits that resided within.
In the dead of night, Rei awoke to a chilling presence at her bedside—an ethereal yurei, her white burial kimono flowing like a spectral river. The vengeful spirit's eyes held an insatiable hunger, and she reached out to Rei, her fingers icy and skeletal.
Rei's nights became torment as she encountered more yurei within the inn, each with their own tragic stories of betrayal, injustice, and unfulfilled desires. The spirits sought vengeance, and Rei's presence within the inn had awakened their malevolence.
Desperate to uncover the inn's secrets and free herself from the spirits' relentless pursuit, Rei sought the guidance of Eiko. The elderly proprietress revealed the tragic history of the inn—an establishment built on the suffering of countless souls who had met their demise within its walls.
Eiko's own family had been entangled in the inn's dark legacy, and she bore the weight of their deeds. Together, Rei and Eiko embarked on a journey to confront the yurei and offer them redemption, hoping to break the cycle of suffering that had plagued the inn for centuries.
In a harrowing confrontation with the vengeful spirits, Rei and Eiko unveiled the truth behind the inn's cursed history and acknowledged the pain of the souls that had been wronged. With heartfelt apologies and rituals of atonement, they sought to release the spirits from their torment.
As the first rays of dawn bathed Okuyama in a golden light, the yurei's spectral forms dissolved into the ether, their eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and gratitude. The Yurei Inn, once a place of darkness, now held the promise of redemption.
Rei departed from Okuyama, forever marked by her encounter with the supernatural. The Yurei Inn, now cleansed of its malevolent spirits, stood as a testament to the power of reconciliation and the hope of breaking the chains of the past.
"The Haunting of the Yurei Inn" became a cautionary tale among villagers, a reminder that the sins of the past could be confronted and forgiven, even in the face of vengeful spirits.
End of Chapter 7: "The Haunting of the Yurei Inn"
Chapter 8: "The Curse of the Haunted Kimono"
In the heart of Kyoto, where tradition and modernity intertwined, a family heirloom, an ancient kimono, carried a chilling curse that had plagued generations. A woman must delve into her family's history to uncover the origins of the curse and find a way to break it before it consumes her and her loved ones.
Chapter 8: "The Curse of the Haunted Kimono"
Kyoto, the city of a thousand temples, was a place where time seemed to stand still. Among the historic districts, the Nakamura family had passed down a treasured heirloom for generations—an exquisite silk kimono adorned with intricate embroidery, a relic of a bygone era.
The kimono had always been a source of fascination and reverence within the Nakamura family. It was said to be imbued with mystical powers, protecting its wearer from harm and misfortune. But beneath its ornate beauty lay a dark secret—a curse that had haunted the family for centuries.
Emi, the youngest of the Nakamura family, had grown up hearing stories of the kimono's mystical properties and the curse that clung to it. When her grandmother passed away, leaving the kimono in her care, Emi became the latest custodian of this fabled garment.
As the years passed, strange occurrences began to plague Emi and her family. The kimono seemed to have a malevolent presence, causing nightmares, unexplained accidents, and a growing sense of dread. Emi's husband, Toshiro, and their young daughter, Yuki, bore the brunt of the curse's effects.
Desperate to protect her loved ones, Emi embarked on a quest to uncover the origins of the curse and find a way to break it. She delved into her family's history, poring over ancient scrolls and consulting with local priests and scholars.
Through her research, Emi learned of a tragic love story that had been concealed for generations—a forbidden romance between a Nakamura ancestor and a woman from a rival clan. The lovers had been torn apart by a vengeful spirit, and their love had been sealed within the cursed kimono.
With newfound determination, Emi sought out the help of a renowned exorcist, who revealed that the curse could only be broken by reconciling the spirits of the star-crossed lovers and offering them a chance at eternal peace.
Emi, Toshiro, and Yuki embarked on a journey to the ancestral shrine of the Nakamura family, where they conducted a solemn ritual to appease the vengeful spirits. As they offered their prayers and made heartfelt apologies on behalf of their ancestors, a profound sense of forgiveness washed over them.
In a climactic moment, the cursed kimono transformed, its once malevolent aura dissipating into the ether. The spirits of the star-crossed lovers, now free from their torment, appeared before Emi and her family, their eyes filled with gratitude.
As the cherry blossoms rained down upon Kyoto, Emi, Toshiro, and Yuki returned home with a newfound sense of peace and closure. The kimono, no longer cursed, became a symbol of their family's resilience and the enduring power of love and forgiveness.
"The Curse of the Haunted Kimono" served as a reminder that the sins of the past could be atoned for and that the bonds of love and family could transcend even the darkest of curses.
End of Chapter 8: "The Curse of the Haunted Kimono"
Chapter 9: "The Mirror's Malevolence"
In a quiet suburban neighborhood, an antique mirror with a sinister past found its way into the home of a young couple. As they unwittingly unleashed the malevolent spirit trapped within, they must confront the mirror's dark history to save themselves and their family.
Chapter 9: "The Mirror's Malevolence"
In a serene suburban neighborhood, where cherry blossoms bloomed with each passing spring, lived a young couple, Hiroshi and Aiko, who were enamored with the charm of their new home. They had recently moved into a quaint, old-fashioned house that came with a peculiar antique mirror.
The mirror was ornate and beautiful, its frame adorned with delicate carvings of cherry blossoms. It had been left behind by the previous owner, a recluse who had passed away under mysterious circumstances. Little did Hiroshi and Aiko know that this mirror carried a malevolent secret.
As they settled into their new home, strange occurrences began to unfold. Reflections in the mirror seemed to distort, showing glimpses of eerie, shadowy figures lurking in the background. At night, whispers filled the room as if unseen voices murmured from within the glass.
Aiko, with her fascination for the occult, was the first to sense the mirror's sinister aura. She delved into research, uncovering tales of a cursed mirror that had plagued the previous owner's family for generations.
The mirror had once belonged to a vengeful spirit, a yūrei who had perished in despair. Its malevolence was bound to the glass, and those who possessed it were tormented by the spirit's relentless anger and sorrow.
Desperate to free themselves from the mirror's curse, Hiroshi and Aiko sought the guidance of a spiritual medium. Through a series of rituals and séances, they made contact with the vengeful spirit trapped within the mirror.
The spirit's story unfolded like a tragic drama—the yūrei had been a young woman in love with a man from a rival clan. Their love was forbidden, and when their secret was discovered, they had both met a grisly end. Her spirit had been bound to the mirror as punishment for her defiance of societal norms.
With the medium's help, Hiroshi and Aiko offered prayers and apologies on behalf of the mirror's original owner, seeking forgiveness for the wrongs committed against the vengeful spirit. They vowed to help the spirit find peace and redemption.
In a chilling climax, they conducted a final ritual, allowing the yūrei to pass on and find the solace she had been denied for centuries. As they gazed into the mirror one last time, they saw the spirit's reflection fade into the distance, her eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and farewell.
The mirror, now cleansed of its malevolence, became a symbol of hope and renewal for Hiroshi and Aiko. Their family flourished, and the cherry blossoms in their garden bloomed with newfound vibrancy, a testament to the enduring power of love and forgiveness.
"The Mirror's Malevolence" served as a chilling reminder that even the most innocuous objects could carry dark secrets, and that confronting the past and seeking redemption could break the bonds of even the most malevolent curses.
End of Chapter 9: "The Mirror's Malevolence"
Chapter 10: "The Bridge to the Beyond"
In a remote mountain village, isolated from the modern world, a historic bridge served as a link between the living and the dead. When a group of travelers crossed its ancient planks, they would discover the chilling truth behind the bridge's supernatural origins.
Chapter 10: "The Bridge to the Beyond"
Deep within the heart of the Japanese mountains, nestled among ancient forests and shrouded in mist, lay the village of Yamanokawa. It was a place where tradition and superstition still held sway, and the bridge that spanned the river was both a lifeline and a gateway to the unknown.
A group of adventurous travelers, drawn by the allure of Yamanokawa's untouched beauty, embarked on a journey to explore the village's remote reaches. Among them were Kaito, a historian with an insatiable curiosity, and Mia, a photographer who sought to capture the essence of this secluded world.
The village's centerpiece was the Akane Bridge, a weathered structure made of ancient wood and adorned with centuries-old lanterns. Its planks creaked with the weight of history, and the river below whispered tales of lives long gone.
As the travelers ventured deeper into Yamanokawa, they discovered that the villagers held a profound reverence for the bridge. It was said to be a link between the living and the dead, a place where offerings were made to appease the spirits that dwelled in the surrounding forest.
As night descended, the travelers set up camp near the Akane Bridge, its lanterns casting an eerie, flickering glow on the river's surface. It was then that they heard the sound—a mournful melody that seemed to emanate from the bridge itself.
Mia, driven by curiosity, followed the haunting tune to the bridge's edge. There, bathed in an otherworldly light, she saw a figure—a woman in a white kimono, her long hair flowing like an ebony waterfall.
The woman, whose name was Hikari, revealed herself to be a yūrei, a spirit bound to the Akane Bridge for centuries. She had once been a young bride whose love had been torn apart by a tragic accident on her wedding day. Her spirit was eternally linked to the bridge, where she waited for her beloved to return.
Kaito, the historian, delved into the village's archives and uncovered the tragic story of Hikari's past. It was a tale of love and loss, of a bride whose life had been cut short, and a groom whose heart had been forever scarred by grief.
With newfound determination, the travelers sought to reunite the spirits of Hikari and her beloved. They embarked on a journey deep into the forest, following a path laden with offerings and prayers.
At the heart of the forest, they discovered an ancient shrine dedicated to love and reconciliation. There, in a poignant ceremony, they offered heartfelt prayers and apologies on behalf of the villagers and the groom who had never returned.
As the first light of dawn broke over Yamanokawa, a sense of serenity washed over the Akane Bridge. Hikari's spectral form dissolved into the river's mist, her eyes filled with a mix of longing and gratitude.
The travelers departed from Yamanokawa, forever changed by their encounter with the supernatural. The Akane Bridge, now freed from its haunting past, stood as a testament to the enduring power of love and the hope of reuniting even in the afterlife.
"The Bridge to the Beyond" became a legend whispered among villagers, a reminder that some bonds could transcend time and that the spirit of love endured even in the face of eternity.
End of Chapter 10: "The Bridge to the Beyond"

"In the Mood for Love" holds a special place in my heart. It was my gateway to international cinema, a film that left a profound impact on my teenage self amidst a sea of mediocre romances. Revisiting it recently was a revelation. This is just an appreciation post I wrote after trying to dive deeper into this work of Wong Kar-wai, a visual story genius.
Whispers Behind Closed Doors: Drawing Us into the Narrative
The film delves into adultery, but with a twist. It captures the essence of gossip, that irresistible urge to peek into the lives of others. We, the audience, become voyeurs, positioned through camerawork that suggests we're peering through windows. Director Wong Kar-wai masterfully employs "frame within a frame" techniques, further emphasizing this outsider perspective.
The Burden of Appearances: A Love Under Surveillance
Mr. Chow and Mrs. Chan are acutely aware of the social repercussions of their affair. They tread carefully, avoiding public displays of affection. Yet, they remain constantly visible to us, the unseen observers. This dynamic shifts with a pivotal scene. When Mr. Chow receives a letter from his wife, he shuts the door for the first time, blocking our intrusive gaze. This act signifies a turning point. He no longer seeks answers, the letter seemingly absolving him of blame. He stops trying to embody the man his wife desires.
Shadows of the Past: A Constant Reminder
Unlike conventional love stories, "In the Mood for Love" acknowledges the complex web of relationships. Mr. Chow and Mrs. Chan's bond is defined by the presence of their spouses. The film masterfully utilizes shadows to represent this ever-present reality. As their connection deepens, shadows seem to follow them, a constant reminder of the weight they carry. This is poignantly illustrated when Mr. Chow leaves Mrs. Chan. As he withdraws his hand, his shadow stretches out, mirroring the absent husband she loses alongside him.
The Power of Subtlety: A Performance that Speaks Volumes
For me, understated acting holds immense power. The cast delivers nuanced performances that hint at unspoken emotions, urging the audience to decipher them. Maggie Cheung's portrayal of loneliness, with subtle eye movements and facial expressions, is a masterclass in emotional depth. Similarly, Tony Leung Chiu-wai's portrayal of loss while simply sitting at a noodle stall speaks volumes about his character's internal turmoil.
"In the Mood for Love" is a film that transcends time. It's a tapestry woven with masterful direction, exceptional performances, and a timeless exploration of love, loss, and the weight of unspoken desires. It's a film that grows with you, offering new revelations with each viewing.

Letter E in team name: Elena Nathara
Sex: Female
Age: 25 during the Fall of Beacon, 26 Atlas arc
Birthday: 7th day of 4th month
Species: Faunus, snake. Notable markers are snake eyes and tongue. (Several generations of snake faunus family is/are the reason for more than one trait.
Height: 1,77 meters
Family: A father, mother died in a mining accident when working for SDC. She has no other relatives, as far as she knows,>! yet she is rumoured to have an older sister working with crime families of Vacuo.!<
Class: Assassin. Speciality: Offence, the killing of key targets during battle, moving in the environment.
Appearance: Athletic, strong body, medium-length green-coloured hair, and green eyes.
Colour: Yellow, yet likes green more.
Weapons: A sword gauntlet in her left and right arm with a magnetized flame thrower on the right one(or uses a flame thrower that she carries on her back) and a small crossbow in the left one. She uses, on occasion, metal cloves with poison-laced claws.
History: Elena Nathara was born to a snake faunus mother and a snake faunus father in Vacuo. Her childhood wasn´t an easy one. Her mother died in a mining accident when she was 11. She had to learn to survive at an early age and had to work in different jobs to stay alive as part of her training. Her father was a huntsman who trained Elena to fight with mentors he trained with in his early life to teach her about the world, to move unseen, move fast in different environments and to use her charm to gain information and gain access to secure places.
When she was 17 years of age, she did huntsman assessment trials and passed with excellent grades. Instead of going to Shade Academy, she took the opportunity that a Beacon Academy faculty member who was visiting Vacuo made for her to go train at Beacon. While suspicious of the teacher´s intentions, she accepted the offer on condition that her father was allowed to move to Vale. Later in her life, she started to wonder whether the teacher was looking for her specifically under the orders of Ozpin, Headmaster of Beacon, yet she couldn´t prove anything, and she did profit from it anyway.
She met Rogert Oberon during initiation and became his partner for the rest of initiation. They showed great teamwork and the ability to complement their respective skills. They became members of REPR with Rogert in charge. Elena became Rogert´s most trusted ally and a teacher in parkour and advanced hand-to-hand skills in the team. Over time, Elena grew close to Roth, and Raina became the kind of younger sister Elena never had.
During Elena´s time in the Beacon, Elena gained an interest in singing and becoming a doctor, both interests reinforced by her talent pool. After graduation, Elena wanted to travel the world to see what else is there in the Kingdoms other than Vale and Vacuo.
Current location: Unknown, last seen in Mistral near its capital. No recent sightings.
Profession: Solo working Huntress for hire.
Personality:

• Elena is a charisma and survival-oriented person due to her practised tricks and experiences of her youth. She believes she needs to be as strong and clever as possible to simply survive day to day.
• While Elena looks and acts tough, she shows her kinder side to those who earn her trust. She had(or has) trust issues due to her childhood on Vacuo and needed to be distrustful of others to stay alive.
• Elena is protective of children and has become a big sister figure to some of the kids in Vale. Has strong protective instincts focused on her family and teammates.
• Elena hates SDC with a passion due to her family history with the company and losing her mother in a mining accident caused by faulty equipment. Over time her dislike became her desire to see SDC burn for the poor treatment of its workers and continuing the idea of Faunus not deserving rights.

Semblance: Kinetic redirection, Elena can transfer her stored speed energy to hit harder.
=Redacted theories to authorized personnel only as follows: Kinetic redirection assumed aura-based technique that is relatively common among Huntsmen. Theories about a semblance that is easily covered and hard to prove without more information. Permission is requested to search for the information with more hands-free methods. It is also said that Elena has an unnatural ability to detect weak points in people, Grimm and items.
=Classified information ends=
Skills:

• Knowledgable in human, faunus and criminal psychology. (Trained by her mentors in Vacuo and successfully helped train her team leader Rogert Oberon.)
• Infiltration and spying skills. (She received training in stealth from her mentors, father, and teachers in Vacuo.)
• Good interrogator skills and how to gain information by talking and by inflicting pain. Specializes in the manipulation of targets to gain useful information.
• Advanced hand-to-hand and close combat skills with a focus on assassination.
• Advanced parkour skills. Highest ranking in speed trials.
• Knows how to camouflage and hide in different environments. Specializes in desert camouflage. Trained in wilderness survival and how to survive there potentially for years at a time. (Trained by Rogert Oberon and in Huntsman Academy.)
• Knows how to survive in a desert and has an endurance advantage there due to her snake faunus nature.
• Knows how to gather intel with computers and how to open electronic doors with a specially designed unlocking device. (Trained by Raina Odell.)
• Good medical skills gained in the time between graduation and the Fall of Beacon.

Strengths:

• Fast runner and very agile fighter.
• Can channel a lot of force to specific points due to knowing the human body making her also a good medic.
• Fast climber.
• Lightning-fast reaction speed due to her snake faunus nature.
• Strong resistance against heat.

Weaknesses:

• Easily affected by cold and winter environments due to her faunus nature.
• Impatience (yet it became more manageable as she got older.)
• Easily affected by attacks that land on her when the aura is out.

Facts about the character:

• Elena became a Huntress to learn how to fight and to give her more career options.
• After graduation, Elena wanted to travel the world. So when the team was put on a vote about sticking together, she voted No despite her "affection" for Roth and Raina wanting her to stick around.
• As Elena travelled around the world, she gained a reputation for being an Angel of mercy due to helping any wounded around villages she passed by.
• Originally intended to be a counter for Ace Operative Harriet during early creation phase.

Extra Skill:

• Singer: Elena had to discover her talent early in her life to survive, which led her to take many different routes in the job market. She discovered a decent talent for singing, if somewhat unprofessionally, while undercover.

Not shared, nor my shade; but something to be weaved; just as the measure of disappointment became it's own solution. But I talked my way through things forbidden, just to find myself blind in bed with those who are dead. Clumsy, but altogether natural of course, because it's consciousness what you refer in the description, yet that's what we don't get a lot about. See your deeds the way you are seen, and then return to a restless place: and the question in-between sheets will be why. Well, I just can't motivate myself to work without hot bitches staring. And that's the truth. Sad but True
— Hearfelt comment for an instagram witch.
Del desprecio a ese descarte, no he visto muchas cosas. Así se pasa una más para las cuentas, y aquí otro más para los versos, por qué aquí no hemos sido vistos. Cuánto más querría uno, que sino lo cuentas ni mucho menos piensas: << lo de este pibe que cosa más horrible>>, haciendo eso lamentable, por qué en decirlo nadie ha mentido. ¡Es horrible! Que cara es entonces la cuenta de lo que le sale a uno vivir sin más complejos; mejor seria cobrarmelo, para así saber que de algo ha valido. Bloqueame.
— Heartfelt comment for a random supermodel-to-be.
The Spirit of Fire
Flames begone, flames in spite: their warmth I felt - so I closed my fist until I could feel the warmth of my blood in my hand. And in dreams Fire came up to me and said: who am I? And I said unto him: you are bound to my bidding, thus your name misery will be. But fire wretched as he was, got closer and asked: and who are you?
And I said unto him that the blood of David ran through my veins, as I was his heir; for the mother of God claim me from death as a son. So Fire tried me, and figured it out.
You are son of woman —said Fire unto me— but as Fire acknowledged the name, I extended my left hand, and took Fire by the neck throwing him into the gound. — You are going to lace yourself to the right hand of the beast, and you'll keep him steady, so I can cleanly take him down. And Fire stayed down, and with his forehead kissing the ground asked unto me —why would the heir of David do so to earthly man?
And I said unto Fire that the beast from the abyss had left no mother for God, so I was to leave none of his body left for his head; as I was going to make it bleed until the end of the end of times.
The Spirit of Earth
Shapeless and without body, but keen within her many numbers, Earth came up to me in dreams, and said: who am I? And posessed in spirit as I was, I said unto her, that God had made her maiden again, and that she shall become the coins that Judas never received, which were to become the due payment of man and women for the body of Christ. Then I extended my right hand, and grabbed Earth by her hair —which descended deep into the abysses of hell— and cut it short so the demons of Lilith would no longer had her gripped by her back.
You are now a woman, and I'm going to rise you from the grounds. You'll lace yourself to the left hand of the beast, and keep it steady so with one shot I can cleanly take him down.
The Spirit of Air
A dream shaped by written words, whispered down for years by the currents of this Montain, and it's requiem witnessed but by a few — the end of dreams. But from where I standed at the peak, I called upon the distant currents that went down, and asked them: who am I?
And Air came unto me as bird, which had thousands of letters for feathers, and in the tongue of dead men answered.
"Somebody who only a few will remember by strange deeds; as the burden on your back, is a past tainted by impossible dreams. You were a lunatic giving new names to folk, and folk never bothered to remember —so your name must be freak, as you died in a forgotten shack some short time ago."
And as Air said these things upon me, I called Misery —as I had dubbed Fire — and told him to get inside my shot. The burden as Air had said, became lesser as i took the shot from my quiver. And I said upon Misery; that he was to set ablaze this arrow, as I was taking down the bird of Britain, and that I would do so, so God would give the deeds of Earth some better names.
The Lord is making a bridge between the empire of strength, and the last empire of men. Now by God's grace, I'm making the tongue of free men, the tongue of Spain. You will be eventually bound to my bidding, and if not me, it will be to the one I'm preceding; for I'm giving you twenty years to attone your wrongdoing. Alas, now because of your wretchedness, my shot on earthly men won't be clean, for his left leg won't stay steady.
Your old name was apathy, now I'm calling you Cisma, which in the tongue of dead men means schism. So now by the will of God lay unto the ground and say the words you've been teached. And as the arrow blazed forward, it's bending motion pierced the veil hiding the secret ladder of men. The bird of Britain catched on Fire, and it's hollering resounded throught the ladders of the mountain until the depths of the abyss. A column of air turned into fire, then violenty erupted from the vowels of the bird, and the wild fire spread as a storm from west to east all throughout the five kingdoms of men away from its own fiery wings, with a gift of misery and a few words to say.
"The name of your woman or the name of your man, will no longer explain their purpose to a man, a woman, or God. Charred words written by thunder will now be the new ladder of men — but until then, darkness upon thee."
The House of Water
I head into the coasts, and the beautiful beaches in-between, to find the stranger who burns images in the skin of men. He is the stranger, and has adopted the body of a monster, and he is one who cannot be understood, so he went on to only go out home in stunts, for the burdens in his heart have become too great to bear. Through terrible pains he has given all he once was for an identity, and as I pick up on his past, i found familiarity in the feelings of his heart. Oh dear friend how we found looking in sadness to ourselves, after doing same but with different means, carrying into our shoulders the loneliness of this world. As you have in-skin the garments of the strange doctrine that I preach — I shall congrate you, for you truly have fought the world entire, for my doctrine is the words of those who shall defeat the world entire.
I may not have your strangeness in-body, but I have it in these words, and in the true feelings of my heart. And I say in admiration that there's no higher form of art, philosophy or religion: than those who perform the highest thing they can give a name about.
Now even within solitude, and at odds with what old dead men call God, I see you and I found strength in you, as I can see you are within me, and in that, you are within everything as it should be - as is meant in everyone who does something that touches the heart of another man. I call this the kingdom of God. Yet blind men and women will wonder how can the kingdom of God possibly be within two outcasts such as you and me.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Upong giving my regards and waiting for response, I found my way into a bench. It was a warm afternoon, and the wind carried the water of the sea. The bird of Britain came about down from the wind of north, and layed on the bench were I was sitting.
The bird asked: why hast thou become this?
And I said back to bird, scorched he was and nearing death, that it was me someone who was supposed to give names, yet for years I couldn't figure out one for myself. Then on went to being given a name, Alas all the wrong ones. Did Adan gave himself a name? - I asked the bird back. And there was no response from bird. Then I continued.
A man has the essence of his soul retained by what he is seen doing. Yet I did things nobody saw, so my soul wasn't with God but with something just as ancient, and nonetheless unknown by men in its true nature — then Satan as the better known devil, came about and pushed me into a hole. It was my own doing. Yet the things I did, I thought were seen. But nonetheless what I did was without contemplation on a posible return. Just as somebody who prints an image on their own skin. It's permanent. This is the essence of a memory in the soul of the man who's seen by others. But in the familiarity of a man who picked every irreversible decision like the Alien, I find myself feeling sympathy, for the man is still not what he has been seen doing, he shall redeem himself by what he decides to turn himself into.
Is this a way of saying that you want to get yourself a tattoo? Get a new look? - the bird mockingly asked.
And I gave the scorched bird no answer.
Then the bird said unto me: what about your career as a prophet, uh? And the things you said about returning with substance? Do you actually think this is substance?
And i considered what the Bird said, then I negated with a movement of my own head. It is not i answered, but i find the memories of me not making sense unbearable. For those mean the memories of a fool, un pendejo, an insane person, or both. And I will always try to amend what I don't do well. But now I wish for only one thing, and it is to be remembered as someone who makes sense, and who out of that sense, made good upon the world. I don't expect anything in return for what I do now, as it is merely an outlet to keep me sane while I finish editing my work. It's clear I'm too incompetent to be a competent influencer. As for once, I don't care about influencing anyone into what I think; but to perform what I think it's important.
Then every proverbial student is free to take classes so as they see fit, and to interpret such classes as their comprehension gives them grasp of what it's said. In such regard, this is what I offer now, while I make the journey to Madrid. And the bird tilted it's head so as to observe me with his left eye, then after a long impasse, it made a loud and painful caw, and finally flew away. Soon after the bird flew, I looked upon the stars in the nascent night, and confessed to them, that it was the memories of who we were, what often stumps us into wrong beliefs of who we should be, maybe even wasting an entire lifetime retained by that which other people remembered us as being. But we are not the owners of our own names, the place we go, and our destiny. That's the biggest lie the western world of hollywood heros tell you, as in truth is collective agreement what determines what we look like doing and thus the meaning we should comfort to, recalling that names are practical mechanisms to remember the purpose of things, their meaning, and how their motion is described in the world.
But making the task of beating that collective belief, akin to the Nietzschean ideal of the camel turning into the lion, so as to transform it's spirit and become something else. But if it's the golden dragon of all the huamn values which judges you insane, will you be prepared to wrestle with the entire culture so as to have your way?
As I layed my eyes upon each star counting up to the number seventeen, I confessed of being scared of those beliefs, as revisiting the past, became a painful deed — and as I prepared to leave, I uttered one wish on the seventeenth point in the sky.
Lord please grant me strength, the way you have given my friend strenght.
2.
The night deepen, while the sea tide sang its own song of breathing. Some time passed, and then on the stranger showed himself approaching at the distance. I waved my hand at him, and after the instant, he found his way into my bench while I welcomed him with an extended fist which he casually bumped - after the short acknowledgement the dark alien looked at my face in between it's cover of dark, and looking at it undiscernable in its true features, with suspicion asked.
— What is it that you want?
I acknowledged him as a friend, then mentioned my brief research, as I had come to know him as man looking for a job, yet nobody would hire for things mundane due to his appearance. I listened closely to the news, and came to understand that this was a man looking for a second chance.Then I saw the intent behind his doing, and two words came to stick to my own thoughts. The first one was <> and the second one was <>. I was admired.
In analytical psychology I figured this man was the ESFP —the personality archetype related to the performer and the entertainer—, possessed in an abnormal way by the spirit by which a person submits to it's contrary nature, seeking to integrate and find fulfillment through the chase of what's perceived absent. If he was the ESFP then doing the flip by following the radial axis of each Jungian function in the stack towards their opposite resulted in the INTJ. The mastermind. The architect. The genius yet awfully complex individual. That was the elusive spirit he was chasing.
But a spirit and a character that at its most pronounced embodiment in a person, would experience life as an eternal foreigner hiding from the light of other men. Such made sense to me, for I myself was the INTJ, and had at spirit the ESFP. Him. So where as this man chased the spiritual fulfillment of being a complex and deep individual, I chased the fulfillment of becoming simpler, so I could demonstrate with action the deepest desires of my heart. One who was born plentiful in means to be liked, becomes complex, mysterious and uncomprehended, meeting one who will be seen trying to make sense becoming simpler. For Carl Jung portrayed the anima and animus of individuals, as the sense of what its absent, yet deeply cherished an valued. So I said these things to the alien, while he silently listened to me.
— All of that sounds like bullshit to me. -Said the alien after some contemplation .— Sorry but the things you say, don't mean anything to me.
And alas for I expected such response, as if one thing was true about this journey, was that explaining the journey in and of itself would become it's grimmest task. I affirmated what he just said with a slight nod of head.
— These things I say and how they relate to each other, in its excercise are similar to doing stecheometric balance with equations in the head, but simpler I'm afraid. - Then I paused, looked back into the sea, and continued. — That's high school chemistry, but I don't expect everybody to pick up on it, nor like it, nor understand it.
— Now i have called you a friend, and where I came from we dub with this title the people we share destiny with. As far as I'm concerned, we are chasing the same thing, which is the hardest posible thing. We both innately understand that we are not home, as we want our spirit to return to us, and that's not what a lot of people ever honestly try to attempt in a lifetime; as such is anyone's call to feel complete.
— And very few people ever reach true individuality, beyond the name they are imposed at birth.
Then I looked into the black alien, and in-between his foreign facial features, I interpreted something familiar. Disturbance. And I continued.
— We have given ourselves hell as we lived chasing something hard, so we can avoid the same hell later on when we are finally back to our own house. This is a christian precept, altought a rundimentary one. Does that makes sense to you?
And after listening such, the black alien calmly looked at the veil in my face in silence. Trying to discern what my face actually looked like, but the night was dark. Then turned his stare back to the reflection of the moon over the waters, giving some thought to what I just said. I opened up my backpack, and drawed two cans of beer from it. Offered one to him, and he silently refused with a gesture of hand. I popped my can and gave it a sip, while I myself stared at the tides coming in and out of the shore.
— If you wan't a tattoo, we can work that out. But this sounds annoyingly familiar, and my interest is not religious. Are you religious?
I nodded in affirmation, and complemented saying. — But my doctrine is something nobody has heard nor seen. For its aim, is doing as Christ said, in perfect means. Yet its true that the teaching fits you, as it's the teaching of the future man; and there's nothing in common between the current man and the future man, as they may very well be different species. This is the precept of evolution.
The alien seemed surprised.
— These two men don't know each other, for the current man doesn't know where the future man comes from, for he himself doesn't know where he is going. Yet in deep realization of your own artistic concept, I think you might want new ideas to meet with your appearance. So tell me, are you curious about what truly happens to a man after he dies? Do you want to learn how to read someone's mind? Do you want to blast with words of fire the hearts of an amazed crowd?
But the black alien broke his calm contemplation of what I was saying, and slighty disturbed, aggressively rebuked after hearing such.
— But you mentioned 'Christ', so you must be christian. How can a christian even say anything interesting in this current time? Last time I asked, their sayings were dreaded by restriction - so why would anyone condemn themselves to a life of bore? Are you a christian?
And I nodded after the question, in silence. Admittedly, for I knew what the problem was with being what I was, and my new companion was bang on identifying it. Made a pause, then raised my sight to where it met with the sky and the stars in it, and I said back to him.
— I am, but not one of a type you have ever seen, for the Christ that comes, is a Christ of art.
2.
The riptide sang, in its secret dialect of earth and sea. I looked upon the coast, turned an eye blind, and saw the ocean as the scorpio, and the land as the taurus; as it was the struggle between two lovers, never meant to consume each other. Ideal love then - yet not to confuse with this partnership as it was whimsilcally tied by the means in which i arranged my current conversation; for my lady somewhere waited for me. Then i allowed my eyes to rest still.
The alien looked upon me, undiscernable in my intentions, and again figured for himself that my interest towards him wasn’t clear. In suspicion, and after the moment he collected his thoughts asked “In your weird words you dubbed me performer, so what is it exactly that you wan’t from me. To me it seems like you are gathering people for some form of religious clown show. When you forced this meeting upon me, was this a proposal you thought i would find amusement in?”. And after the statement my own stare wandered in my conversation partner. While as he had his say, i returned to my can of beer, and finished it with a long gulp. Tempered in an unwillingness to fall to my new found friend irritation, i said within my own thoughts: “The alien looks easy going, but he is barbed in wit”.
Then i opened the can of beer that the stranger rejected; the loud pop resounded in the relative silence, interrupting for a moment the steady chorus of the sea. Gave it a long sip, and said.
– Theres no proposal in place yet. But im certain of something, and that is that both of us are messed individuals which reached the bottom doing the same thing - but the way my understandment of the human soul goes: two people can act by mere interaction as reactives to each other, creating a new chemical compound after the fact.
– This new psychology is very much like chemistry. But it is not my intention to draw you into something, but to pull myself out of this «something» by doing right on another person and maybe that person reflecting the good back on me. I just need a conversation partner, thats all. And i will do this with you, and with many people more. Presidents included.
The alien reflected on it, and after the hiatus of a long standing position of suspicion he finally gave in, and eased up with a slight smile. A strange smile of relief. But the smile, was all too familiar for me, as i realized the man was a tortured individual: a person in long standing pain. I smiled back the way he did, and continued.
– Our pain has a common name, and is a name that can be written with words unfortunately. It’s the devilish mother of all spiritual ills and its foundation, rests at the concept of a past that wasnt solved. It’s called «inadequeacy», and for people like you and me, understanding one day that such inadecuacy had to be solved by our own means, lead us into an act where our name changed as the changes in our cover up act to solve our inadequacy did.
– We never honored the past or the present in our pursuit, as we desired in passion to find solution to the present, by matching it into the idealization of some future without ever realizing that the old or present essence of ones being would be crushed into non existance by said future.
– Then we found the realization of that new name, only to understand that its demands became a tyranny on the other faces of our soul: as our soul is not something that can be undestood in unity, but something that conceives in the beginning in multiple things which try to give shape to one thing. Theres many people in a village, and our minds, are no exception.
— But happiness is only achieved by those who have their soul entire - or those who are the same person regardless of the context and scenario. And we gave to much to somebody that wasn't us, as our spirit took possession and lead us down.
– This is this the essence by which someone goes to hell, only to do one thing over again, getting an ever lasting pain for all the things that were given up chasing that which was absent. The more someone is forced into being shaped by the thing that was concevied in lust, the more the individual misses the place they used to call home, for that is no longer within ones reach. Does this makes sense to you?
The alien left me with no answer, and as he contemplated the sea, a tear travelled through his strange face.
– In this state of anguish, affliction rarely ever feels company, as the very individual condition that was pursued, became a full suit and persona to be forced upon and wear. Hell, is one lonely place man because we only learn to speak a language, that only makes sense to ourselves. But i think we can find a way out of it. This is why I'm here.
“Look, what you’ve done, it’s not something i can see the way you can see my own doing on me.” The alien replied. “Besides the way in which i canno’t see your face in this night, you seem ordinary — but what you talk and the way you say it, evokes in every word regret. What is it that you’ve done that has you regret like this?”
As the alien finished speaking, I emptied the can of beer, layed my eyes on the irregular grooves that my feet had left on the sand, and then replied back to him, after making a recap of the story i had repeatedly told myself after falling down.
“My story, is the fairy tale of a guy who makes way for the new coming of a new man; a better man for the world, while he casts disarray upon the earth: much to his dismay, at the expense of his own soul as the people who become victims of disasters, were ones who this man deemed unfair; cruel, evil, despicable in past. That was at the beginning."
"Theres a pile of corpses behind that character — even in covid time, people as close as the local priest of the small town he lived in, would break their neck after falling in the shower, as he had the slightest suspicion of their secret deeds. All clean deads for that matter. Untraceable to nothing but sheer randomness. Magic as it seeems. But were this folk truly evil people or even guilty of anything? You may ask - the man never knew it for sure, as he never had faculties such as godly omniscience to actually know it; which has taken a toll on him, as the burden of justice is an unberable one for anything but a god."
"Which leads to another point: spontaneously picturing random numbers in the head, associating them with psychological compounds by angular momentum, and actually being bang on the suspicion. Truth friend, in its stochastic presentation: it's unberable.”
“Consequential of such attempts to rationalize his own story in the eyes of people such as close family, my dude became clinically diagnosed with referenced thinking. Which are fancy words for schizophrenia. Nobody believed the story as it was uttered."
"Yet the consequences are there for everyone to see, altought not visible in their cause and effect by anybody but this guy, which lead him first into regret over ever starting his quest as a reformer; and then repent.”
“Now before he realized of this lets call it «curse», he preached for years over the internet as the disasters started to slowly creep up. He preached in a fashion parallel to Niestzches Zarathustra; Zarathustra meaning a famous philosophical device artificied by the philosopher Niestzche, who’s aim was to portray the best posible man, as something he dubbed the <<Übermensch>> ”.
“Such concept being the seemingly more elegant brand of a humanist ideal for a not so distant future: today - albeit a wrong one, for this guy was not dyonisian himself. The backbone of his framework, is analytical psycholgy becoming a chariot for a true understandment of human nature: and ultimately a facilitator for love within light: not within ignorance; not within darkness. Most philosophers today though would mock anything analytical in it's aim."
"Then on the guy preached and dwelved further into the relative hole of his own doctrine: and became imprisoned by what he didn’t got right at first attempt, making him in the process the character that Nietzsche from the comfort of his own writers seat, never attempted to actually embody within realistic means: eventually figuring out within himself the ultimate Nietzschean aristocrat: a magic pen granted by being capetian by mother: from judah by father."
"But Alas, you have no idea how common suicide is within philosophers after they finish their best work. As language, becomes the ultimate barrier for understandment, and then to ones capacity to feel love. Difference — true saliency in ones individual destiny— leads to the gravest posible pain. Ironic isn’t it?”
“Besides technical work with a new form of psychology inspired by analytical chemistry, as that drawed from his efforts during the light of day, five years ago, once he felt the urge to try to reach out to the world from a position of what he deemed was greater understandment: he primitively preached during night his new set of ideas for people to behave beyond the limitations of manipulative psychology, albeit a harsh doctrine meant to clear the way for a better product: Christ himself."
"This is not a doctrine a human being can actually perform, as such its christianity at its highest capacity to bear fruit. It’s an impossible doctrine, yet solves the oldest problem posed in the bible. All which sounds very sci-fi bullshit-y but actual problems started for the protagonist in this tale, when the preaching matched with terrible consequences. Not figurative, but within tangible reality.”
“So just as we talk, theres a small legion of hackers pretending to be doing internet social experiments while talking in an artsy matter: much in my own style, entertaining the exact same concepts - a legion of dangerous monkeys, i have no control over."
"One of the many unexpected consequences being this, yet prompted by something evil; ancient: essentially replicating what my protagonist developed and then preached over the years, while these "hacktivists" lay their attention on things and people, as they select them and enforce upon them strict surveillance, to behave properly. Then to destroy them, as they did in 2020 with many corporations and institutions.A bizarre combination of theater actors to my own liking, and then cyber-security demigods: omniscient in their claims to surveill, and they are - derivative such of another device of what I've done; which is to build a theater so people can make-believe that they are infact performing within themselves something greater - but that's matter for another story."
“Most of the corpses piling up flat out dead, have no relation to him whatsoever; they became victims as my protagonist took measures to fight back the monster he found at the foundation of the known world. This is not an elaborate analogy for one's own unseen capacity for evil, as i mean this: a monster as literally as it can be. For these things friend, im doomed as in true strenght, i have nothing but the pen i use to write down what i think albeit always at danger of it’s eventual inversion. I have no real friends left. Not one who can understand, or help bear the pain: as friendship and love are all gated by understandment."
"The full story has many more vertients, but i think i’ve done it enough justice. This is the predicament of an insane man chased by his own shadow as he builds a better man: one who delivers heavenly things, and then a shadow stringed to deliver tyranny as the very strings behind him make the better man stumble while he tries to keep a grasp of his own spirit, and then of his own soul."
"That monster behind, is wicked smart — and cannot be outwitted nor overpowered but anything but divine smite."
“I’m heading now to a new country, to try to get friends from the only institution in the world who knows and adresses the current times being, and who by extension, might believe me. And to clarify, these being the end of times; but not the end of the world. Yet now i myself have a damocles sword pending over my own head, and i need to do something about it before it falls.”
And as i said these things, i reached out to my backpack drawing a third can of beer from it — besides my own super laptop, thats what my backpack had: an infinite supply of beer. Corona, Indio, Victoria, Dos Equis, Heineken; you name it. I popped the can, and gave it a long and definite sip as i emptied it complete.
The alien didn't try to show that he understood, but stood still in silence, with his sight in the sand below and pressing lips, knowing by my demeanor; that these things as I've said them was something that I needed to do. Then he said: "I don't follow man. You say you preach and then disasters occur. Like a prophet from the bible?"
"Yes. Then I preached to get rid of the things that are actually making the world worse, and something awoke soon after, and since then; everything I do is subject to being misinterpreted due to the diffamatory action of this thing. Now everytime I do something, it can be twisted and turned against my original intent. Right now the hackers are my worst problem: I may have a degree in computers but I have no fucking idea whatsoever of hacking. I earn my living as an A.I engineer.".
The alien raised his sight to meet with mine, and after doing some contemplation on the fact, quite simply said: "You are insane". Then lowered his own sight, and raised it again to meet with the sea and continued. "If you want a tattoo, we can work that out. But either way and whatever parts of your story are true and even worse; the ones you may be lying about: you sound dangerous in a delusional kind of sense, and my life is hard enough as is."
I pressed my fists, knowing then the old same thing had happened again. For I had never forced anything upon anybody, and I was willing to respect that until the bitter end. Then I released the build up of frustration with a loud sigh, and after this amend, I replied back.
"I understand and respect it. But let me just propose you that if you ever want to figure what is beyond life as it's lived by person who has never seen what is like to be someone you write a great story about; you can pin me, and I'll show you what's beyond that door. Give it some thought."
The alien; The Black Alien Project stayed there sitting, spechless but calm, almost expecting something else to be convinced about. But pointless, for i knew that nobody can be forced into anything without bringing a transgression into play – and i wasn’t one to taint myself in sin if it could be avoided. Not anymore.
3.
I made the distance at steady pace walking along the shore, until i found a small group of pines in-between the liminal space of the beach and the land. I sat with one of the pines trunk behind my back, and drawed the Schizo Pills from my eternal supply of traveller goodies.
Quetiapine 100 mg, and Olanzapine 10 mg, i made a smaller fragment from the olanzapine pill, and swallowed both complete. As their side effects were concerned, they would soon knock me out of conscience, as this little ritual was my own way of calling the day complete – then i layed there, vigilant, waiting for my own drowsiness to claim me into sleep - but the Bird of Britan came flying from above, and stood besides me.
\Chirp, Chirp, Chirp**
I watched the bird, annoyed, as its presence had become an omen for contempt. For me and the death people of my past. I frowned upon the little shit, and said nothing. The bird made a little nod, while tilting its head in excentricity the way birds do, and replied. — Hey Andrew!, do you remember when you tried to penetrate your own computer to make a universe grow inside of it? I just wan’t to know something: did your computer moan? Did it finally learnt how to scream your name?
\Chirp Chirp**
Ignoring the bird, i closed my eyes and stayed like that for a long moment, hoping to make the bird think i was asleep. Maybe that would make him leave.
— Can’t bullshit me like that Sweetheart. So please tell me something; why don’t you command one of your supermodels; these muses, to come here and warm the bed for you. It's a cold night and you seem lonely brah
. \Chirp Chirp**
I opened my eyes, and irritated, pointed menacingly at the bird turning my left hand into an imaginary gun. I had already failed at something today, and wasn’t convinced i needed the memory of the things i failed at before. Not now.

• Hol’ up cowboy ! you wan’t to bang my bird ass when you should be banging a bitch ass. What happened with Tyrone huckleberry? Did you managed to make him as impotent as you are right now? —I held steady my hand; and tired, the tempation to pull again the trigger on the bird was growing larger. I saw red roses in my own sight, making a terrible omen for a migraine forthcoming. Said nothing.

— The glowniggers are out there brah. You may not be a hacker – and its true, but i took notice of your last words: so now the glowies are going to instead dreambooth* people into every posible kind of scenario of extorsion, while they surveil like a motherfucker. Like you dream boothed yourself for your little ahem "art project". Then we will use Suno*, then Sora* when it open sources. Are you going to protect your hoes?
Said nothing.

• Alright cowboy, i will give meaning to that revelations verse. What was it? Ah yes. Revelations 9:6. Every single person with an internet history will be as paranoid as you were in 2020. Everyone will be diffamated into acts of political terrorism! Aren’t you am-

And as i pulled the imaginary trigger from the imaginary pistol, an imaginary arrow in the sky descended with a blaze of not so imaginary flames on the Bird of Britain, engulfing the little shit in heat, and making it’s body explode into a gore of scorched viscera. As if the bird was in a microwave oven. I inmediately gasped as the explosion was too close from where i was sitting - after the conmotion, stared at the red and burned stain in the floor, and left my sight rest there, as sleep finally found its way into my restless thoughts.
"No longer care for love unless it's between good friends”. Said to myself. There was certainly a migraine coming, but maybe my dreams would help convince it otherwise. And as far as the hoes were concerned, Furious Angels would be there for them. Like the Rob Dougan song.
4.
Found my own mind after the slumber – asleep, then awake. I realized several hours passed - at least enough to wake up and witness the sun rise above the sea. But as for dreams, the light veil of their memories wasn't something to rely upon. But i did remember something, and it was some overtone in dread; an atmosphere of fear – and a kind of dread sustained in it’s inevitability by the urgency that builds upon dearth.
Now what exactly was it though? I couldn’t remember from my dreams, but ever since i falled to my own death i had always present in mind the future succesion of events that would follow when things started to go very wrong. Iran, the U.S, Israel - now whatever was it in the news; the outcome would be the same. A thousand more cuts to an already languishing economy. Make that corpse bleed, and then fall off a cliff.
As such things would be cooked, just as the bird of britain. The bird was still there though: just in pieces and roasted like the contents of a dropped KFC bucket would. But the little shit would return - as it always did. The economy? Not so much.
Yet i digress. None of the world circumstances mattered as far i was concerned – i had built a small and portable solar system to power my laptop, and my beer supply was well, infinite - i made myself sure that i had my needs covered whatever happened around me. Not tied to even a house for that matter. I incorporated myself and gave my back a stretch. The morning breeze coming from the sea evocated in my memories some time that had long passed – late childhood. I rejected those memories as they beared with them things i didnt wan’t to remember - then wen’t on as usual in my morning routine scrolling through my instagram feed, figuring if there were any new hoes to maybe motivate me into doing my God imposed labour.
Labour which was to either write, or to finish the House of Water — then after scrolling i did in fact saw a new hoe; i dropped a Faux Pas comment. Maybe she would play along, maybe not. Whatever. Sometimes I would put in a lot of effort to do a rhyme. But the effort depended on the insta-hoe in question. I know. Not the best of habits, but back in elementary school i was the kind of kid that would only get motivation when the girls in the classroom were present in physEd. And then i would run faster: whole lotta faster. Run Forrest! Run! Women love used to fuel me; and the habit sticked — and at the moment, i was kinda done with the idea of female trascendence. Would rely on their love, but not on their validation. Not like a simp. Fuck that.
Furthermore, what results did i demonstrably mustered after pursuing true egalitarianism and sharing it? Exactly. A bitch gonna do what a bitch gonna do, and so does the human female. After publishing the comment, I locked my phone and walked towards the highway, as i was planning to pay a visit to somebody long forgotten - I had kind of a schedule that i was going to follow, before taking the plane to Madrid and become hispanic Jon Snow from the walgreens Nightwatch.

Killer Grips: Anne Maria, Brick, Jasmine, Justin, Millie
Screaming Gaffers: Chase, MK, Ripper, Scott, Sky
Episode 6: The Aftermath I: Trent's Descent
A riff from an electric guitar opened the episode as a pair of purple concentric circles flew across and back in the screen towards the upper-left corner, a group of smaller, bluer circles flying through them in the same direction but at a higher speed. As it neared the top of the screen a large and blocky red 'T' flashed into existence and descended back down, and the background music continued into a theme fit for an evening talk show. A similarly-styled 'D' and 'A' appeared next as a few more purple or blue rings crossed the screen, then the three letters slid in from the left to spell out 'TDA'. The word 'AFTERMATH' popped up from the bottom of the screen, temporarily bumping up the first three letters before they slammed back down and centered the text in the middle of the screen.
A gleam swept across the text from upper-left to lower-right, and the 'D' briefly popped forwards with the faint sound of a camera, turning a little bit counterclockwise before reversing into its former position.
Clip 1
"Any final words?" Chris asked the eliminated contestants.
“Yeah. You guys actually voted me off. I respect that,” Eva nodded with a smirk.
“Good luck dudes. Wicked play,” Geoff smiled as he and Eva got off the bleachers and went to the red carpet.
The 'D' popped out briefly again and another bout of recap footage began.
Clip 2
"Here's the deal," Chef stated, pacing about slowly in front of the teen. "I'll help you man up and win this thing. You don't ask any stupid questions and you split the prize with me.” He leaned in closer towards Brick's face. “Like they say, it's an offer you can't refuse. I won't let you," he finished with a deadly scowl, much to Brick's discomfort.
The 'D' popped out a third time, signaling the start of another set of recap footage.
Clip 3
“Trent, it's time to go!” Chris informed the eliminated contestant.
Trent got off the stands. “Before I do, can I at least say goodbye to Sky?”
“You could, but it'd be pointless since Chef will just carry you to the limo,” Chris smiled.
“Alright,” Trent sighed and faced his former teammates. “I'm really sorry about my actions, guys. I'll see you later.” With nothing left to say, he turned and walked down the red carpet.
A fourth time the 'D' popped out, and the last set of recap footage played.
Clip 4
"Izzy!" Izzy was left gaping. "Time to go!" Chris announced.
“I'm not going anywhere,” Izzy objected. “That's not my name.”
“Can I get a pen over here?” Chris raised his hand in annoyance. A pen was given to him, and he started to write on the paper. “It says "E-Scope" now, okay?!” This made Izzy finally stand up.
"And remember," Chris told her as she started to walk past the stage, "you can never come back, ev-er!" The host pressed an orange button next to his microphone, and two identical guards came over and grabbed Izzy by her arms.
(Theme Song)
The same sequence used to open the recap was replayed, an unseen audience cheering wildly after the 'TDA AFTERMATH' logo shined. The camera faded into a shot of a stage from the shadowed audience; it was set up like a talk show with one couch and table in the middle, and two tiers of couches on either side. A variety of lights both stage and decorative were scattered around, and to the left was a passage backstage half-hidden by dividing walls and the dark red curtains that framed the set.
And most importantly, sitting on that central couch, were two figures. Damien on the left and Priya on the right.
The camera zoomed in on them as the applause died down, a pair of computer displays visible on the table turned towards the hosts as Priya waved. "Hey there everyone!" she greeted with a smile. "Welcome to the brand-new Total Drama Action Aftermath Show!"
She paused as the audience cheered and applauded again, and once they'd died down, Damien spoke up. "We're coming to you live," he said, "to dish everything Total Drama Action!"
"This is where the real action is!" Priya said to another bout of cheering. "I'm Priya!" she added in with a smile.
"And I'm Damien!" Damien beamed.
"You may remember us from the hit series Total Drama Island," Priya continued.
"And it's thrilling sequel, Total Drama Action," Damien said, “even if we're not on it.”
"I hate that we missed out on the season and a chance to get the money,” Priya grumbled but regained her positivity, “but we have our own show, so I think it compensates."
"Being in the sequel could've given me the possibility of being rich, but when I'm with you, money doesn't matter," Damien smiled happily at Priya, and the crowd awwed.
"Aww, that's so sweet!” Priya gushed and turned to the audience. “And with no competitions here, we get to talk to all of you."
“So about that new season. Pretty cool, right?" Damien asked, looking out at the camera.
"Of course," Priya nodded. "They get to be on a film lot and do different kinds of movie challenges. How spectacular is that?" The crowd cheered in agreement.
"Super spectacular," a voice said from off-camera, the shot zooming out to show that the couches on the right had been occupied by the other non-competing contestants. On the top row were Rodney, Sam, and Gwen, while the bottom row had Topher, Katie, and Sadie.
“We were being rhetorical," Damien pointed out, "but hey, thanks for reminding everyone that you're not invisible! Topher, everyone!" The camera focused on the dirty blonde, who took stride in the applause from the audience.
"We also brought along all the others from the first season," Priya said.
"They may be considered losers," Damien said, "but not to us."
“Aww,” Katie gushed.
“That is so sweet, you guys,” Sadie added.
"The pleasure's all ours," Damien replied. "Give it up for Topher!" he said, and the crowd cheered as the camera cut back to the fanboy. He shot a wink as the screen was split and a clip played of him smacking a fly onto his eye and getting it swollen.
"And Rodney!" Priya added, the camera cutting to the country boy waving at the camera. The screen also split to play a clip of him, showing him returning back to the game on boat.
"Katie and Sadie!" Damien introduced the two girls.
“Oh my gosh!” Katie cheered.
“We are so super excited to be here!” Sadie expressed her happiness.
"Next we have Sam!" Priya said as the camera moved to the gamer smiling at the camera as a clip played in the split screen showing him hanging from a tree by his knees before falling down.
"And how about a shout out to Gwen!" Damien said. Gwen smiled at the camera while the split screen showed a clip of the goth eating blueberries from a bush.
The camera cut over to Topher, who was engrossed in a phone call. "How long are the papers going to take?" he asked before noticing the audience. "Sorry mom, but I'll have to call you back later!"
Priya and Damien shared a glance before Damien smiled at the camera. "We've also got a lot of texts and emails from all of you!" he said excitedly.
"Plus," Priya said, "we'll have a couple of you on webcam!"
"Eva and Geoff will be here," Damien announced, and the crowd went wild.
"And let's not forget our favorite nutcase, Izzy!" Priya added with a smile, earning another roaring cheer from the crowd.
"Plus the guy with the soul of music, Trent!" Damien finished to another round of applause.
"You know what's strange? The four that you two mentioned were part of the final six in Island along with Scott and you, Priya," Topher said.
"That is pretty shocking," Priya added. "Eva and Geoff especially."
"Eva could have won the season again, but I guess no one wants a repeat," Sam laughed a bit.
"We've got a lot to talk about," Damien told the audience. "It's almost time to welcome our first guests," he announced, "but first, take a look at this!" The nervous wreck looked up to the wide and flat television hanging above the central couch.
The television's static cut to a clip of Geoff and Eva running together to escape the monster. "Geoff and Eva's time on Total Drama Action may have been short," Damien said.
"But it sure was packed with the action that we grew to love," Priya continued as Eva and Geoff stuck their heads out from behind a cardboard cutout of a small red car.
"Eva managed to recover from her broken ankle from last season," Damien continued as the muscle woman was shown running through the sidewalk.
"And Geoff proved that losing a tooth doesn't mean losing your positivity," Priya said as footage of Geoff showing off his golden tooth replacement was shown.
"And they both did well for themselves, even if they didn't win the second challenge!" Damien followed up as clips of Geoff and Eva being shown on the ground along with being shot with paintballs courtesy of Chef played.
"But unfortunately, they weren't able to play for another day!" Priya continued.
"I don't even blame the contestants since Eva and Geoff were last season's Final Two," Damien spoke as a clip played of the two going into the limousine. "At least they still have their friendship!"
"One has eaten dog food," Priya said, "and the other has taken control of a forest fire. Our first two guests are Geoff and Eva!"
The Aftermath theme tune played and the crowd went wild as Eva and Geoff pushed open the backstage doors and walked out, smiling at both the audience and the hosts as they took their seats on the lower couch on the left.
"Hey guys!" Priya greeted with a smile as Damien waved.
"Damien! Priya! Glad to see you two again!" Eva said happily.
"Yeah!" Geoff added. "You two getting the hosting gig is impressive!"
"Great to have you guys!" Damien told them. "Sorry you two got eliminated first."
"No need to apologize," Geoff said. "We didn't leave completely empty-handed!"
"Wait, how so?" Damien asked in confusion. "You didn't win the money."
"Not like that," Eva answered. "Geoff managed to take pictures of everybody and everything from the first two seasons to put onto his scrapbook."
"And Eva managed to use part of her money to get construction to build her dream gym," Geoff added. "It's still in construction by the way."
“So how did you two manage to become the Aftermath hosts?” Eva asked them.
"The producers took note of me and Damien's relationship and decided on us being the hosts," Priya answered. "I couldn't pass up this opportunity."
"And plus, the other non-competitors either refused or were turned down," Damien added.
“They especially turned me down,” Topher grumbled. “I would've made a great host.”
"That's pretty understandable," Eva said. "I sure as heck don't want to run my mouth longer than I need to."
"Yeah, hosting a show is something I won't be able to perform well in," Geoff added.
"Moving on," Damien said, "how does it feel being the first two voted off the show?"
"Honestly, I gotta say it was kinda like a punch to the gut," Eva admitted. "I know I'm strong, but I didn't think the contestants would team up to vote us out in just the first episodes."
"I didn't mind as much," Geoff interjected. "I mean, I did want to win the million dollars, but given how we competed in every episode of the first season, it seems fair for us to go home early this time around and give the others a shot. And besides, money isn't everything."
"Thanks for your inputs," Priya said as the camera cut over to her and Damien, "I think it's time for a game called 'Truth or Hammer'!" The crowd started to go wild.
A grand tune played as a shot of a golden statue of Lady Justice was shown. The camera slowly pulled back from it, and as the music ended a large wooden mallet swung down from the left and smashed it to pieces.
Damien stood up as the scene cut back to the hosts and guests. "Here's how this works: we ask you a question, and if you give the wrong answer, a huge hammer will swing down on you."
"Uh, what?" Geoff said as he and Eva looked at each other nervously.
"Eva, Geoff, move out of the way as we do a test run!" Priya announced, and a giant wooden hammer immediately swung down at Eva and Geoff, the two barely avoiding the hit.
"Looks like the hammer is working well. How about we get to the questions?" Damien turned his head to the reality TV fan.
"Absolutely," Priya agreed. "So Eva, after winning last season, why do you think things didn't go well for you this time?"
"Like we both said, we were big time threats. If we didn't get voted off in the second episode, one of us likely would've been in the final two again," Eva answered and looked above her, the hammer still remaining in its position.
"I'm a strategic player, and if I wasn't the first season's winner, I obviously would've voted out the strongest player just so I could get closer to winning," Eva continued.
"Good answer!" Damien said. "So Geoff, are you even remotely mad at not winning the first season and getting kicked off in the second?"
Geoff looked up. "I'm not going to lie at all, especially when there's a hammer that can crush me," the party guy said. "I'm kind of upset."
Everyone was silent for a moment before it became clear the hammer wasn't going to swing down. "I mean... it's like you got dreams for this money and to see them flushed down the drain is disappointing," Geoff explained. "But it is what it is. I had a good time competing, and I got news from one of my brothers that my golden tooth can be sold for money, so at least I got some compensation."
"I'd suggest cleaning the tooth before you sell it," Damien advised before looking at the camera and smiling. "So how about we hear from one of the viewers!"
"Let's see," Priya said, looking down at the computer display on the table in front of her. "CunningLinguist316 asks: Who are you rooting for now that you've been eliminated?"
"Well, I'm rooting for Sky," Eva answered. "I can see some parts of myself in her, and she's one of the more worthy players in the game."
"I'm hoping my man Chase wins," Geoff answered. "He's super athletic and fast, and we're sorta like each other in many ways."
"Good to hear your thoughts," Damien told them.
"Exactly!" Priya added. "But I think it's time we bring out our next guest."
The camera panned up to the wide-screen television as footage of the wild child began to play. "Izzy's time on Total Drama Action may have been short," Damien said over a clip of Izzy pushing Ripper out of the way and getting captured by the animatronic monster.
"But it was a thrill ride," Priya added.
“Seriously, Izzy can make a bowl of paste tasty by adding herself to it,” Damien quipped over Izzy getting dropped into the bouncy castle.
"Later on, she suffered a serious blow at the hands of Chef," Priya added over the footage of Izzy falling onto the ground after getting shot in the chest with a paintball and Chef looking over her in worry.
“Chef thinks he's killed her. Look how scared he is!” Damien chimed in as the recap footage paused on Chef; a red circle was drawn around Chef's face.
“Never thought he'd have a sense of humanity. Check this part out! Super hilarious!” Priya giggled over Izzy standing up and laughing about her fake death. “Unfortunately, it was Justin that ruined Izzy's chances when the two took to the stage.” The clips of Justin performing his role and Izzy grumbling over her loss played.
"Dramatic and devious, Izzy will be back for more," Damien continued as the footage showed Izzy getting up from her seat and blowing kisses as the limousine took her away.
The scene returned to the hosts. "Our first guest has impersonated a grizzly and was caught peeing in a pool. Currently number eight on the RCMP's most wanted... Izzy, A.K.A Kaleidoscope!!"
The crowd went wild as the Aftermath theme played, but it suddenly stopped as the hosts looked up at the television. It was now showing footage of a room backstage where Izzy was currently sitting on a couch and eating crackers. The crazy girl had a snack tray-laden table in front of her, and to the left was a television showing the same feed as the one on-stage.
Izzy took notice of the television set. "I'm on TV!" she exclaimed before accidentally spitting out her chewed-up crackers, making the audience laugh quietly. “Oh, oops. Cracker crumbs, you get back here!” She grabbed the crumbs, along with a few grapes and a cracker sandwich with cheese in the middle, and put them all in her cleavage, prompting more laughter.
Izzy stood up and walked out to the stage, the Aftermath theme playing again as she opened the backstage doors and walked out. The audience cheered, and Damien and Priya, along with Eva and Geoff - who were now on the top row of the couches - waved at her, causing her to return the gesture.
“Hello E-Scope!” Priya eagerly greeted her friend.
"Hi, Priya. Hi, Damien," Izzy greeted back as she sat on the couch. "So glad to be here."
“Awesome to have you, but it must be hard losing out on a million bucks,” Damien talked to her.
“Yeah, well... you would know,” Izzy responded, unamusing Damien and Priya while the audience gasped. “Hi, you guys!” she focused on the Peanut Gallery.”
“Hi, Izzy!” Rodney waved.
“Hi, everyone out there in TV land!” Izzy turned to the camera and noticed someone in the audience. “Graham Cracker! That's my old boyfriend Graham! He got a restraining order against me last year. Remember that, Graham?” The audience started mumbling. “So funny. Okay. We were in the courtroom and the judge was all like, "You cannot come within two hundred meters of the plaintiff or you shall suffer the consequences of this courtroom."
After taking a moment to laugh, Izzy continued her story. “The long distance was hard, but we made it work. By the way, Graham, you should get new blinds for your room. What are they made of, lead? I couldn't see a thing with my binoculars! Miss you, Graham Cracker!” She took a cracker out of her cleavage. “I am totally into crackers right now. They're just so flaky!” She giggled and put the cracker into her mouth.
“Kind of like someone we already know,” Damien muttered quietly.
“So Izzy, how did it feel to be the third one voted off the show?” Priya asked.
“My life is an open book. Well, not yet, but it will be once I write it. And you open the book!” Izzy guffawed.
“What was going through your head after being voted off?” Damien questioned.
The music turned sad. “When you realize you're not getting a Gilded Chris Award, well, I can't lie to you,” Izzy sniffed in a rare moment of sadness.
“Oh, it was that painful?” Priya expressed her sympathy.
“No, I just can't lie to you,” Izzy returned to her normal state. “I was outfitted with a lie deterrent microchip that sends shock waves at the first hint of dishonesty. Those are really nice pants, Damien.”
Izzy then got shocked in her neck, demonstrating the microchip inside the body part, but the wild child laughed it off.
“Carrying on,” Damien said uncomfortably. “So what exactly did losing out on the Gilded Chris mean to you?”
“It means I missed out on that buttery chocolate statuette. Ooh, I once took an art class sculpting chocolate nudes, my instructor said I had a real flair for cocoa,” Izzy brought up and earned another electrocution. “Okay, okay, okay. He said I was totally loco. That's what he's actually said.”
"Let's see if you can be honest while answering our questions,” Priya said sneakily, “and the giant hammer will come down if you don't tell the truth!"
“If my implant doesn't get me, the hammer will!” Izzy said, earning laughs from the audience.
Priya and Damien shared a look of bewilderment before facing the camera happily. “Want to know which questions we'll be asking Izzy?" Priya asked the camera.
"Be sure to stay tuned," Damien said. "Right now, we have to take a quick break! We'll be right back!"
The show's logo was shown again, and the 'D' popped out and transitioned the scene to a close-up of a plate of brown mush sitting on a tan-and-goldenrod striped table. Flies were buzzing around it, and part of a familiar torso could be seen standing behind it.
"This episode of the TDA Aftershow," Chef Hatchet said to a catchy elevator music-like jingle as one of the flies buzzing around died and the camera began to zoom out, "was brought to you by Chef's Roadkill Cafe, where Sundays are Bring Your Own Meat!" The camera stopped moving to show the hulking man in full, standing between the table with the plate of mush and a large stone fireplace in the background. In his left hand he held a skewer of a reddish and steaming hunk of meat resting on a plate-like guard piece. The tail of a skunk extended from the top of the meat hunk.
"You hit it, we spit it," Chef said with a motion to the steaming dish in his hand.
(Commercial Break)

https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSf6ioZPbxiDZy5h4qxo-bHa0XOTOxEYHObht0SX8EgwfPHY_g/viewform
Google DeepMind very recently released their new iteration of AlphaFold, AF3. AF3 achieves SoTA in predicting unseen protein structures from just the amino acid sequence. This iteration also adds capability for joint structure prediction of various other complexes such as nucleic acids, small molecules, ions, and modified residues.
AF3 is a powerful bioinformatics tool that could help facilitate research worldwide. Unfortunately, Google DeepMind chooses to keep it closed source.
Please sign the letter !
AF3 : https://www.nature.com/articles/s41586-024-07487-w

Hello World - So I wrote a letter to the person that led me into SCJ. Totally forgot the word they used for this and that is so exciting!!! I love forgetting them! Please don't tell me. Anyways, I had known her my whole life and a lot of shitty things went down when I left and lately I had just been getting a haunting sense of injustice towards the whole story and I needed to write out how I was feeling. Turns out, it was really cathartic. It helped me immensely. I know that there must be so many people out there who have been wronged by SCJ and have left the cult with their lives in tatters and so I wrote this for you too. You are treasure! You're worthy of new love and friendship. You’re a shining star too, damn it! Just thought someone should remind you.
Love,
Steorra
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
To Whom It May Concern,
For three years now, I’ve never felt the need to remember anything from the era of you. It surely wasn’t easy to move on from you, but I did it. You hadn’t crossed my mind in so long. Then recently, I’ve had these annoying splashes of bitter memories that turn up in my life after all this time. Stirring up, once again the desire for justice that I had to lay down a long time ago. I mean if we could put every moron who wasted our time in prison, mediocrity would cease to be, but ALAS (you always hated that word) you’re still out there. So, I moved on. I had to. That was winning in a way I never knew I needed to learn. Yet, this feeling scratches at the door anew in traumatic mystery. The only thing that’s really changed since rebuilding after you is that I started writing. However, I’ve never written about you.
At the beginning of this story, your words of eloquence secretly dripping with malice and ill-intent, entrapped me into a multi-year mental, physical, spiritual, and emotional jail sentence. Truly, if there was a tangible definition of “love-bombing” it wouldn’ be some romantic affair. It would be you. You preyed upon my fragile heart that was experiencing burn-out after years in ministry. You took that as the perfect opportunity to build up your empire from my ashes. Blaming the church for every hard thing I experienced along the way and providing the comfort and shoulder to cry on that I needed. You manipulated me into doubting my faith, my community, my family and you did it all with your fancy parable studies and promises of a heavenly future.
Well. Maybe if your words got me into this whole mess, maybe words can help me hammer the final nail into this coffin-like story once and for all. In all honesty, my words have been timid, scared, and shaken since you shattered me and left me to pick up the pieces all by myself. But I did it. I picked up every piece and rebuilt it. I rebuilt a life I can be proud of. I don’t have a life of luxury by any means, but I have a new sense of dignity and fight I never knew I could have. Dignity. Now there’s something you’ll never understand, so I’ll just move on.
Since you, everyone on the outside thinks I’m delayed in livelihood. They don’t always say it out loud, but it’s written all over their faces. Even someone like you could see it. They think I’m behind in life because I don’t have a list of things I can post on my facebook marking the monuments of a thriving christian life. But it’s because they don’t know. They are completely unaware that while they were living their lives with minor obstacles, my twenties were a full blown quiet war in constant brainwashing combat. A silent war; still bloody, deadly, filled with casualties and loss that even the strongest of men couldn’t withstand. It shattered the best of fiery faith and struck with deceptions full of the strongest poison earth could offer. And I fought like hell to thrive, then to survive, and then to flee when the walls of my life were burning down all around me. I dragged myself from their smoke, fire, and deception to the edge of the battlefield and overcame it. My flag was left standing, but none of my “friends” were left standing beside me. Not even my “best friend.”
But no war is really over when it’s over. Soldiers who return from combat deal with wounds, scars seen and unseen, trauma, fear, invisible enemies all around them and inside them triggered by the smallest of things in everyday life. If figuratively that was the war and I was the last soldier standing, I returned home to a world that was completely contaminated by your warfare. I can’t listen to my favorite song anymore, because it makes me think of you and the nights sitting on the floor of my kitchen bruising my arms and soaking the night with sorrow I didn’t know my body could hold. Wondering where my friend had gone.
Since you, victory wasn’t immediate. I lost everything in the war. Just as you intended. Family, community, romance, purpose, and childhood. I bet that doesn't even keep you up at night. You would need a conscience for that. You have known me since I was three. You had the trust that only a lifetime could grow. Looking back now, that was really the only way I was ever going to join your backyard cult. Following someone I loved. I’ve come to believe from this experience that childhood betrayal is the worst kind of betrayal. You see, you took all of my youth and you don’t even care. The thought that I could have had an upbringing without you and all the heartbreak you caused makes me so angry because I want that SO BADLY. Instead I live in the aftermath of the nightmare that was you. Haunting the nostalgia of my life with every detail that led up to being sacrificed on the altar you helped them construct. They turned me into a warning and a lesson against “rebellion.” But you basically authored the whole story until I was a lifetime of being the victim in a tragic tale I can’t rewind. You are my wild regret in life.
So that was a little taste, but here’s what I truly think of you after hurting me for all those years. I hope you make it to the top of this ladder you’re climbing. I hope you reach all the glory you wanted. You left every dream you had and everyone in your life behind to do it, so I hope you get it. I hope they praise your name, give you an office, a title, a class, a spouse, a child, all the fruit your heart could desire. At the top of your dream when you least expect it, I hope someone kicks that ladder out from underneath you and lets you dangle in an endless uncertainty until you finally plummet into the deepest darkest loss you’ve ever known. Just like you did to me.
I hope you get 10x as far as I did…. before they betray you and leave you out in the cold without an apology or a bit of credit in your direction. I hope no one helps you heal and you have to do it all alone. I hope you start hurting yourself because you have no where to place the blame but on your own head. I hope you question your own intelligence and wonder where it all went wrong. I hope you sob on your kitchen floor. I hope they come to your door and ask you “what’s wrong?” like they have no idea why you could have slipped into these wildly uncalled for emotions. I hope they blame it on your humanity and gas light every desire you have to be seen and heard. Just like you did to me.
…and I hope everyone forgets you. Just like you did me.
Long after you’ve healed and moved on. I hope a figurative Mt. Vesuvius blankets that backyard cult you loved in an unrecognizable layer of ash and poisonous gas and fades out from existence of this world. It’ll seep through bars of the earth into Hades forever condemned and forgotten. Just like you….and just like you did to me.
Anyways. *Takes deep breath.* I live by the water now. It’s really peaceful. There’s no running, no toiling, no drama, no noise. It’s the kind of quiet you said we’d never have until it all ended, but here it is. I like to write here. I have a dog. He’s a good friend. You could learn a lot from him. He’s really loyal and he never eats his own vomit.
I see God in every wave, tree, and animal here. A beautiful reminder that not everything we were reading was false. Just all the parts they made up and exploited vulnerable people with.
There is a part of me that knows there’s a truth underneath this story that I haven’t mentioned yet. A piece that would give you some credit. It’s true, I would not be as strong as I am today without you in my story. I would not be as thoughtful. Careful. Hard working. Discerning. Hell, I wouldn’t have started writing. I now write stories of hope. True friendship. Redemption. Gratefulness. Don’t worry, you’ll never be making a cameo in any of my work unless I need a back-stabbing-20-something-bitch who drives a janky Honda around the suburbs and can’t afford her $6 cup of trendy coffee. It’s funny to think you all think the great betrayer is Mr. Oh. Oh no, it’s you, you crusty bitch, and I wouldn’t be paranoid of people taking advantage of me without you. I would still be naive, innocent, childlike, and hopelessly good-hearted.
So while you were trying to tear down my life and steal my happiness, I’ve rebuilt parts of me that are now unshakable. I’ve found a purpose that brings me pure joy. I help people. I spend time with my family. So thank you. From the bottom of my heart. You gave me the fight inside of me to get here. I’m unstoppable now. I don’t laugh as much as I used to, but I’m working on that. I’ll get there. Don’t worry. You can’t have that either, sorry.
Let’s talk about your “group” for a minute. I played by their impossible rules because they promised endless paradise, but the gods of your backyard cult were so weak. They're all just narcissists that like to hear themselves talk, but the voices of basement dwellers and secret keepers aren’t noble. They’re scared of losing their precious power and they were just wrong. At the end of the day, they were just dumb kids who followed wolves into pastures to lose the uniqueness God created for them.
Foundationally, there’s no point to a heaven that isolates, shuns, and abandons. No one wants your mascot-serving gospel. The heaven they showed us was black and white. We were never supposed to be contained within perfect lines and marketed by race. We were supposed to walk with God in the Garden of Eden in the beautiful mystery of wild creation. I hope heaven is a kaleidoscope of color, people, and joy and absolutely nothing like the one you tried to film and show us all.
By the way, I only teach elementary math here, but I’m pretty sure your numbers are wrong, but hey! What do I know? I’m just a “star that fell from heaven!” Thank goodness too. After I “fell,” I learned to shine without you. I did it all by myself and I might not be in the sky anymore, but I’m pretty beautiful walking around all these earthlings if I do say so myself. A couple of scars here and there, but you don’t get any of the profits of this light, this strength, and this peace. I earned that and I protect it pretty “religiously.”
To your group, I was a lost cause to their superior cause. Too fucked in the head to be helped. My human anxiety was just too big for their god. Turns out that big anxiety saved my life. Also, it turns out their god was really small because my God met me with huge, sovereign arms and prodigal joy when I finally returned home. Truth is, Calvary says I’m not hard to love, but treasure just wasn't made for everybody.
Now, I’m about to turn 30 in a few days and I’ve been reminiscing about all the childhood memories tainted by your presence, so I decided to make new ones. I’m going to WASTE a whole day riding roller coasters for my birthday. Watch the movies and listen to the music you never approved of. Wear cheetah print converse. Get a tattoo?? Dye my hair an UNNATURAL color?? Wear earrings everywhere!! Drink my wine in public. You know. Go TOTALLY crazy. Try to be young again. For me. For kid me.
So thank you. I’m here because of you and I’m going to have so many more days and memories without you that I look forward to. I will never take that for granted. Like you did me. Cuz I'm a shining star, bitch!
Love,
Your Shining Star ✨

This chapter took a long time to get out. Life has me super busy. Two jobs, married, two kids, still sober. I like how this turned out, however, someone new stole the show this time. As always, leave feedback, I appreciate it so very much.
[FIRST] [DELETED SCENES] [PREVIOUS]
~ ~ ~
As I reentered my true body without recieving a mending, the vicious wounds I endured manifested into being as I reactualized into my true Self. Through the pain, I couldn't help but think on Raver's words to me.
"The doors have to be closed."
~ ~ ~
Without recieving a mending in Raver's Dreamtime bubble, reactualization was a fucking bitch. I Perceived my Self as having quite the damaged form, my Soul was fucked over by bombardment from dreadlight and my physical body simply disagreed with it all, stating that I was mostly whole and intact, only being damaged by wounds I had already endured. The three parts had an argument of a sort amongst themselves and with the power of the Dreamtime, reached a tortuous compromise.
I'm certain I seizured and blacked out through the process.
I awoke with my body shaking and covered in a cold sweat, Tsula and Luna above me, chanting in the secret language of their esoteric Traditions. The two of them each held diffetent tools required for their cultural and subtle manipulation of reality. Soft hands, awash with mana and glowing tattoos, were placed on my chest, right where my heart was. Cold, icy fingers cradled my soul protectively, keeping it connected to my body in the here and now as harsh, physical laws rent my form.
I was paying the price for Raver's hubris, and I had almost overdrafted. Thoughts of mortal over reach faded from my mind as I slipped into cool and soothing darkness.
Cold and bloodied fingers were pressed against my chest and did little to assuage the burning ache that was my soul. I couldn't focus on anything else as I gazed at the hollowed out body of my beloved. She had been beautiful, gorgeous even, and due to give birth to our daughter in two weeks. Now, the... dead thing in front of me could barely be defined as a corpse. Her skin had been peeled away like a banana and her insides removed, leaving a bloodied, hollow space. The flesh and bones had been scooped away like ice cream, leaving little in the way of remains. Our unborn child had been pulled out and repurposed with the stolen parts of her mother by dreadlight and a mage's fell Will to form the body of a Thing.
With silent tears streaming down my face, I placed the ring I had proposed to her with and put it onto my finger, next to my plain tungsten one. The simple act of removing it almost caused what remained of her hand to simply fall apart in my fingers. I'm not sure how long I stayed like that. I couldn't even hold her body against mine for fear of it crumbling away into a vile mess. I ignored what was going on around me as I kneeled in the spent summoning circle.
The world around me split and rent itself into distorted imagery, as though I were looking at everything from under a pool with gentle waves. Some parts were compressed together and others were stretched out, not quite like a mirror maze as the world was still simply one cohesive image. Additionally, things seemed closer or further in ways that defied conventional Euclidean geometries. The only area not affected by this blatant disregard of spatial dimensions, had been myself and a scant few feet around me.
What...?
A heavy thud broke me out of my thoughts and I saw my Father landing next to me. Since both of us had been prepared, he was wearing, much like myself, full motorcycle safety gear. It had been enchanted and bolstered by hidden runes and severed Will, turning everything into protective objects that even defended against potent and offensive mysticism. The equipment in question had been chosen for its sheer mundanity and ease of access, letting the powerful enchancements skirt around the Lie and Consensus leaving the magic fully intact and potent.
"Alistair," I heard my Father say to me with grim calm as he twisted the space in front of us into a right angle, redirecting rapid gunfire, "I can't do this alone."
I remained silent.
"Damnit, Son," he growled out then literally kicked my ass with his heavy boot, almost knocking me over onto my side, "get a hold of yourself, Its here now. You handle the mages."
That got me going. I finally got up, my grief was as a lead weight and prevented me from doing what was needed. With a last look at C'Leena's hollowed out corpse, I grit my teeth, steeled my nerves and called forth my magic from the Aether.
Was I dreaming? No, worse, I was in a memory...
"Stay out of my way and watch yourself," Father said to me, "I can't pull my punches against that."
"Gotcha," I replied almost absently and turned to face the assembled shadow mages. They had inexplicably stopped theit gunfire to admire the Thing they brought into existence from Somewhere.
I couldn't help but stare, either.
Standing on top of the northernmost anchor stone, an ugly, multi-faceted block of copper with glyphs and sigils harshly hewn into it, was a naked woman. The glyphs themselves were hard to look at, as though their mere presence were an affront to reality itself, which they were. The woman's skin was a darkened olive tone and she was tall as well as athletic, lithe and fit. Her shoulder length black hair was bushy and curly, flowing about her head almost like an afro. As she ran her hands down her body, I could not help but notice that everything was oddly symmetrical and too perfect. It was unnerving me greatly and triggered an uncanny valley response that tore at my heart.
The body this Thing was wearing had belonged to my fiancée.
Father didn't let It have time to get acclimated. Sidestepping forwards, he drew upon the full capabilities of his Path, eyes backlit by stars, an impossible physical sword of abstract spatial geometries held in his left hand, and a reality defying, super-dense distortion held in his right.
The world contorted and screamed under his might.
I awoke with a start and a low groan, glad to be awake and free of that horrid nightmare again. Not for the first time, I wished I had that motorcycle gear still. I had been far too reckless then and immediately thereafter, and everything had been damaged beyond repair. I could never find anyone I trusted enough to make those enchantments anyways. Farnsworth could only enhance the mundane qualities as he didn't know enough about mana warding to permanently imbue the protections I wanted nor needed for my line of active field work.
Looking around, I saw Rue asleep on the other side of the bed and Spades was nestled between us, his massive form making a visible dip in the mattress. The big monster dog was on his back, legs splayed open and snoring loudly with his tongue hanging out of his muzzle. I was reminded a lot of my Lola when she had still been around in the flesh, making me smile with old and pleasant memories. I must have been out for some time for Spades to be here.
A quick, almost reflexive, mental orison told me everything I already suspected. My mana reserves were shot, my body had been through the ringer and my soul was frayed and burnt. While I knew I owed my continued existence to Raver and her godsend, I also knew it had taken a great and terrible toll on my Self. Miracles like that usually held some kind of hidden cost, even if they weren't readily apparent.
Getting off the bed slowly, I began to look for my pack. It took far longer than than usual as I had to steady myself quite a bit from the spinning room. I managed to be quiet, however, and didn't wake up Rue nor Spades. Finally in the shower, after some time and using the wall to support myself, I let the almost scalding water roll over my aching body. The pendant on my neck protecting me from recieving any burns or aggravating the injuries I had, both old and new.
With the hot water soothing aching muscles, I began to think and take stock of my situation. I had never been on the back foot like this, low on any kind of resource, having few allies, and being pressed for time. It was like something out of a bad novel or shitty indie Steam(R) game. Though, real life was often stranger than fiction and had no real need for a logical cause and effect dynamic. If this was going to become the norm, then I had to find another method of approaching my wendigo problem.
I was simply running out of time.
After some long moments of thinking, I began to wash my hair, using the guest products on the corner caddy. They were so much nicer than anything I would have willingly bought and made me seriously consider changing up my usual shampoo. The only idea I could come up with regarding those wendigos, besides an overwhelming frontal assault, was to appeal to their bottomless gluttony and barter for passage.
I resigned myself to actually try to negotiate with their clan leader, leveraging their horrid taboos against them to get what I needed.
Wendigos, unlike most strange cryptids, vampires and were-folk aside, had a lot of things known about them, especially how they powered their supernatural capabilities. It was a simple and rather straightforward process, the more heinous the act, the more mana they drew from it. Cannibalism, sacrilege, incest, murder, torture, hedonistic gluttony, or any number of other terrible and minor sins. As well as general lawbreaking and felonies, oftentimes combined to have as many as possible occur in the same sitting.
I audibly gasped with a sudden epiphany.
My fate had already been decided, by myself no less. In a bar I couldn't remember the name of, when I had been gazing into my bronze coin, I saw what I needed to do. I had to gift what measly scrap of knowledge I understood from Beyond the Infinite to those creatures. To let those wendigos defile and mutilate such sacred and pure knowledge to whatever whims their baleful minds could come up with.
"Fuck," was the only thing I could whisper at the thought of it all as I turned off the water, getting out of the shower. I cooled the bathroom down with but a thought and wiped away the condensation on the mirror with a towel that wasn't my own, finally getting a good look at myself without vertigo, as that had finally passed.
I looked like shit, and that was a compliment. Huge, fist shaped bruises of black, green and yellow littered my torso, though most were located on my left side and blurred together into an ugly shapeless mass. The ones on my right, however, were well defined and I could easily count the number of strikes. My face held a swollen black eye, I never noticed my diminished field of vision as I had gotten used to having them over the years. Turning gingerly and opening the mirror a bit so I could see my back, I grimaced. It was another spiderweb of a bruise, earned from when I had been smashed against the edge of Raver's Dreamtime bubble.
At least none of my fingers were broken, only very stiff and swollen, just like the rest of me. I probably couldn't drive for another day or so, either, not with my hands the way they were. As I looked, surprised I hadn't noticed earlier, the inside of my right hand was, branded. The skin, while fully healed, held the symbolic glyph that heralded the Path of Stars. A circle with nine curved lines inside it. Each line only intersected two others, but with the irregular placement of them, I could trace an intersection to any other one. In each of the open spaces, slightly off center, as a simple dot.
"Miracles leave their marks," I muttered to myself, almost disbelieving the literalness of the phrase.
I didn't bother drying off and struggled a bit getting into the clothes I brought with me, maroon athletic shorts and a black tank top. Exiting the guest bathroom, I thought about where I wanted to go. Settling on a destination, I went into the backyard, found a patch of grass in the shaded, morning sunlight and lay down. The grass was thick and rather soft, and the smell of the lemon tree and the garden was more pleasant and fragrant than they should have been.
Warding myself against dreaming, I pulled on the principles of the Aether, specifically, those of sun and storms. Since the Aether was a realm of energy and mana in all of its varying forms, I employed an advanced technique, a mysterion. It was something only able to be done by those that actually hailed from the Aether rather than having mastery over it. Pulling some of the sunlight and ambient warmth into my form, I converted measly scraps of energy directly into mana. The process was slow, and almost hardly worth the effort. It was like filling a bathtub with water, a single milliliter at a time.
Mana was now such a rare commodity, every miniscule drop of it mattered.
I settled in and entered a trance-like state, most of my attention devoted to my mysterion, though some of it was allowed to drift off elsewhere. While not exactly a dream, and while maintaining my mana draw, my mind conjured up nonsensical imagery and conversations between myself and others. I didn't pay them any attention as my thoughts wandered and drifted idly.
"I thought I'd find you out here," Rue said as I heard her sit down next to me. I didn't hear her walking, however, she continued to speak, "you've been asleep for a few days. What happened?"
"Got fucked," I replied easily, a little sarcastically as well. "Truthfully," I amended, "I got summoned by Raver. She pulled a shenanigan with Fate to let her have a waking dream."
"So she was hallucinating?" Rue stated, though it was more of a question.
"Damned straight," I confirmed, "she had Sasquatch and Farnsworth make something for her. It had to have been lethal, something like that. Anyways, we were talking and then one of Them showed up. Inside the Dreamtime bubble of hers. Found Raver's luminescence despite Mirzam hiding it."
"Shit. So It was physically there? That means It had a stolen body..." Rue said, trailing off.
"Yeah, it had a body alright," I almost growled out, "broke Raver's ritual with little effort. I spent everything I had to make a patch job just to keep it active, burned through all my mana, too. I did not want to be dispersed."
"I see," Rue said to me with understanding, "I wouldn't want to have to find my physical body without a tether either." There was a small pause before she spoke again, "So what happened next?"
"I made it mad with insults to buy time for the repaired shenanigan to stabilize Raver."
"What do you mean?" Rue asked as I heard her stretch out a bit, my eyes still closed.
"Her shenanigan was woven in such a way that whatever drug Sasquatch and Farnsworth made for her didn't just kill her," I answered with a pause then continued, "it let her do things beyond normality, anyways, my fucked up patch job let me tell Sasquatch that Raver had to stay dreaming."
"So he wouldn't just purge the elixir out of her," Rue stated, then added perhaps a tad bit defensively, "I know some things from other paths, not much, but some."
"That's good," I answered back, "knowledge is power."
"With us, it's quite literal."
I murmured in assent.
"So why did you make It mad?" Rue asked, "wouldn't It just draw strength from human emotions, especially in the Dreamtime?"
"It did," I answered back, "but It couldn't act properly on them, like human emotions were new and novel. The whole encounter was sloppy after a certain point, but I did almost die. Raver saved me, gave me a miracle."
"I saw," Rue said simply, "the mark on your hand was a giveaway."
I could only murmur in agreement again then asked, "Did you find a card in my hands, too?"
"I did," Rue replied after a few moments of silence, "it was debit card, with a note attached to it."
"From Procyon, right?"
It took a few moments for her to answer. "Yes, it was from Procyon," she took a breath and continued with wavering effort, "that damned bastard had it all planned out. Wrote a fucked up letter to me on a Google(TM) doc telling me not to worry and that this had always been his exit plan."
"Sounds like he knew what was going to happen," was all I could say.
"Yes, but, I miss him!" Rue all but snarled at me, then, in a small and quiet voice, whispered, "He was my best friend, and maybe we could've been more, y'know? Now... there's... There's just nothing, only memories of him left to mourn."
"I didn't know," I answered simply.
Rue spoke with a wavering breath before continuing, her thoughts more than a little disjointed, "a lot of what he wrote was personal, so I won't get into that, but he was certain that something catastrophic was going to happen to him and myself. So he made sure that I was at my secondary home, recovering from a job. I had just completed a mission from Raver and Mirzam, and was going to perform a ritual to patch up Spades after I got some sleep. Procyon also stated that someone has been altering things for a very long time."
"So that's why you were caught with yout pants down," I said, "you didn't even have time to recover." I paused, adjusting my mysterion as I had to refocus due to our conversation, "what did they have you do?"
"Some hedge wizards actually got a hold of an actual necromancy grimoire and charged mana tools in a graveyard," Rue said with a bit of a tired sigh, "they knew exactly what they were doing, and would have been rather powerful shadow mages if they had been capable of using starlight."
"Fuck," was all I could say, then formed an actual response after a few moments, "that shouldn't have been an issue for you. Hedges don't have our capability, though numbers may have evened out their odds."
"You're right, but they brought a spirit back before I could stop them," Rue answered with more than a little spite, "a real nasty piece of shit, too. Turned on the hedges, absorbed them, and put up a real mean fight against Spades and I. It was touch and go for a long time and I was actually fearful for my life, too."
"You won, though."
"Yeah, managed to send it kicking and screaming back to the Pit, exhausted most of my mana to do so. Fucking bastard."
There was a small silence between us as Rue became lost in her own thoughts. It was a while before I asked her, "Can you elaborate on what Procyon said about Fate being altered?"
"I can, actually, though it's a bit difficult since I'm not even a novice with the Path of Stars," Rue answered as I heard her shift a bit on the grass next to me. She paused as she seemingly collected her thoughts, "it's just that certain events were made to happen sooner or later. The big one, for our Node at least, was that you were always supposed to make your ancestral home translocate. It happened sooner than it should have."
"Fuck," I said, "So I wasn't supposed to send it away a few days ago?"
"No, that was supposed to happen after our wendigo thing, if the letter is to be believed."
"Fuck," was all I could say, "I do suppose that was a snap decision, I really didn't want Them to get a hold of anything inside. If I had been able to wait, or even had help, I'm sure I wouldn't have lost it to time and space."
"Exactly," Rue said with bitter excitement, "and we'd have access to everything in it. Losing your home was a big blow to our Node."
"Yeah, but at least They don't have it," I answered more spitefully than intended.
"Silver linings and all that, right?"
"Yeah, gotta look at the bright side, no matter how bleak," I answered back with a bit of sarcastic mirth, then said as I stretched a bit, readjusting my focus on my mysterion as well, "speaking of wendigos, I know what we need to do to solve that."
"Oh? Do tell, I couldn't come up with anything myself, kept running into dead ends," she said, then added, "lack of resources and help."
"Well, I don't think you're going to like it, I'm not sure I like it either."
"Don't keep me waiting," Rue said to me with a bit of sarcastic exasperation. I could sense her looking at me even though my eyes were still closed.
"I'm going to leverage their taboos against them, appeal to their insatiable greed and offer them what little I can understand of That Which Lies Beyond the Infinite." I sighed and added, "after all, how could they resist the allure of new magic?"
"You're right," she answered, "I definitely don't like it. I'm pretty sure it's not even wise to do so."
"Wise or not, it's the only way forward, I even saw it in a vision when I was manipulating fate magic."
"Have you talked to Mirzam or Raver about this vision of yours?"
"No, not yet, and I'm pretty sure I don't need to."
There was a bit of silence between us as she digested my words. I felt compelled to elaborate as I adjusted my mysterion again, losing a bit of my focus due to the depth of the conversation we were having.
"Acrux," I said, getting her attention fully by using the name of her star, "there's something you need to understand." I sat up, abandoning my mysterion in favor of giving her my full attention. Blinking a bit at the rise of light and warmth, I continued my thought process, "in the Dreamtime, the Thing I was fighting against, It was surprised and enraged that I was able to call upon knowledge that Lay Beyond the Infinite. Whatever those glyphs and powers are, They never wanted humans to know of them, let alone have them."
"Yet you want to give such power to wendigos of all things."
"At least the knowledge, corrupted or not, will still be on Earth," I said then added, "I'm not sure what you remember, but I know you've seen something from Beyond the Infinite. Your self revival and Spade's new form are proof of that. I was there, guided by Oracle. I Perceived something unknowable, something terrible, something no mortal has any right to gaze upon. Something I can hardly even begin to try to put into words. Raver Perceived it, too. It's how she managed to give me a godsend. So, what did you Perceive, really?"
Rue brought her knees up to her chest, thinking deeply. I could tell she was using her Perception to look inwards upon her Self. I waited patiently while she struggled to look at her soul's reflection against her mind and struggled even more to put the image there into words.
At long last, she spoke, her eyes still closed as she did so, "I'm not sure what I saw, there was too much, and I felt so small. Insignificant. Less than even a dismissed, intrusive thought. There is one thing I do remember. A doorway made of the might from two universes worth of truths and laws. A Thing was trying ro break through, but couldn't, not fully, yet the doors were opened, letting smaller ones through."
"The Doors have to be closed," I said, quoting Raver, before continuing, "that's what Raver said to me, before she sent me back to my body."
"Why didn't they mend you then?"
"They were being attacked in the waking world, too. It was a good plan on Their part, They just didn't expect us to put up so much of a fight."
"They never do, though I think that's changing."
"So that's our endgame, not sure how we're going to do it," I said, bringing the conversation back to topic, "at the moment, however, I'm going to eat a few of those mana-stuffed protein bars and fix your leg. I can't keep spending mana to be able to drive your truck. You'll have to use your own mysterion to get mana, too."
"I hate my Path's mysterions," the venom in her voice was palpable.
Before I could say anything, the backdoor opened, revealing Luna. She was wearing a bird-patterned sundress and her hair had been tied back into a loose ponytail. She put her hand over her eyes to shade them from the sun as she squinted against the brightness relative to that from inside.
"Hey, you two," she called out, "Grandmother says she needs to talk yo you."
"Alright," I called out, shakily getting up to my feet with a bit of a grunt. Everything still hurt. Rue had a bit of trouble as well, her leg was not recieving the rest and healing it deserved and needed.
"We're a mess, aren't we?" Rue asked aloud as we began to walk towards the bak door.
"Yeah, but you should see the other guys," I replied with a light chuckle, only to wince and hold my sides, "I forgot how much laughing hurts with fractured ribs."
"I really don't envy you right now," Rue said with a bit of a smirk as we entered Tsula's home, Rue entering first. "I wonder what Tsula wants to talk to us about?" Rue asked aloud, not really talking to anyone in particular.
I could only wonder as we followed Luna to the living room, the house pleasantly cool due to central air conditioning.
~ ~ ~
The moon was not in the sky, and I greatly enjoyed not having to endure the accursed, purifying light of day reflected by its surface, even if greatly diminished. The loathsome wound in my side had been a mortal blow, burning through my toughened flesh and form with unnerving ease and stunning, blinding pain. Once more, I looked at the oily, thin, and black ichor that dripped from my fingers, more human-like than I was comfortable with.
The mote of dreadlight I had recieved for my services had been the only thing that had kept me from vanishing entirely. Mortal alchemy -- science -- had advanced to such a degree so as to emulate the harsh light of day far too remarkably well. That hadn't been the worst part, that damned thaumaturgist had ensorcelled a curse upon the weapon as well. With effort, as the bulk of my power was directed at repairing the oozing wound, I altered my form and shape, struggling to maintain the illusion as I walked out onto the sidewalk from a side alley.
My contract was not yet completed.
The first two nights I had hidden myself away in the dark depths, raging against the oblivion that threatened to overtake me and ending my existence. The preparedness of the thaumaturgist had been unexpected, as well as the skill and the knowledge he had wielded so effortlessly. Without my guidance, nor presence, to instill fear into the gifted abetters, the wraiths I had gathered with me fell and fled into the night, abandoning their duties and contracts.
I would have never made this mistake against the herald of the bear.
Had I known the name of the mortal's star I had been tasked against, I would have demanded more than a simple mote of dreadlight and a paltry handful of coerced allies. Realistically, I should be grateful that I still had a kind of semi-existence. Quelling my anger and hatred, and swallowing my utter revulsion, my form rippled and took the guise of a tall, middle-aged human male in a common and unremarkable suit carrying an old and worn briefcase.
The artificial illumination around me flickered, emitting a grating hum in my presence and the thin television flickered oddly as it tried to display my image, failing to accurately do so. While tracking Arcturus's quintessence had been a bit of a task, as far too much time had passed, my familiarity with it granted me an advantage that overcame that difficulty. Traveling in my wounded state, however, had been much more arduous. Looking the woman at the reception desk over, I took on my role with hiden revulsion, aided by the illusion I was conjuring and the mimicry of my physical form.
"I'm detective Aiden Roth, and I'm looking for someone. I believe that he was here a few nights ago, definitely this past week," I said. My false, human voice had been made to sound smooth, suave and strong, interlaced with a suggestion, using what little forte I could spare. I put the worn and well-used briefcase I had conjured with me onto the counter with a heavy thud, using more of my forte to emulate such a simple thing. Opening it up, I fished out an image and showed the slightly grainy, black and white picture to the receptionist.
As the woman perused the conjured image, I could not help but hiss, my hand going to my side as I expended more of my forte than I had anticipated. The cursed wound fighting back fiercely against the dreadlight tethering my existence and life. I held my disguise with willpower of monumental proportions. A strength of will I rarely had been pressed to draw from.
Seeing the concerned look the woman gave me, I simply stated, shrugging off the pain with yet more expenditure of will, "An old injury, it flares up from time to time. No matter, have you seen this individual?"
"I'm going to need to see some kind of badge or warrant," the woman said with a genuine smile, "sorry."
The fear of losing her menial job overpowered my subtle suggestion. Unfortunate.
"Sure," I replied with a fake and well ptacticed, fetching smile, adjusting my forte to include another suggestion. I showed an actual badge with my assumed name and likeness. The mortal I was impersonating had been slain many years ago by my own hands, and the subtle illusion taking hardly any of my forte adjusted the dates and design of the badge to whatever was current.
Only a thaumaturgist, or a very particularly skilled sorcerer, could pierce the illusion. Against this mortal, there was no chance of resistance and she accepted the stolen badge without question.
She looked it over, as if trying to divine the legitimacy of it. "Okay," she finally admitted, "he was here a while ago, maybe a four or five days? I remember, 'cause I tried to flirt with him..."
I ignored her prattling and asked when she finished speaking, "Can you show me the room he used?"
"Sure, but it's been cleaned a few times since then."
With a nod, I let her lead the way to the room in question, staying silent. The lights around me flickered and hummed loudly in my presence. Had the woman been more observant, she could have seen my true shadow as I had not the forte to expend to hide it entirely from the ever changing lights. She opened the room in question, using what I could only assume was a master key card.
I immediately recognized the faded auras of quintessence.
"This will do," I stated, closing the door behind me and dropping my revolting disguise, using my forte to lock it.
I revealed my true form. My legs and arms lengthened and thinned, the black suit and red tie I was wearing became my skin, armor and form. My face and eyes became blank, gaunt and sunken, skin stretching out over it. The wound in my side made itself visible, it was an ugly red, peeling and oozing burn from my shoulder to my waist and took up most of my torso. The dreadlight I was using to prevent my oblivion illuminated the wound with a kind of sickly, crimson colored backlight. Black ichor oozed out from it and dripped onto the floor as I used the bulk of my forte to ablate the caustic, foreign quintessence from my form.
The woman looked at me as even her pitifully dull, mundane human senses told her that there was incredible danger in the room with her. She screeched and irrationally ran towards the bathroom as my presence became impossibly tall in the very finite space in the motel room. Using the smallest iota of my forte, I remotely smashed her fleeing form against a wall, pinning her there with unseen force as she begged, and sobbed for her pitiful life.
I ignored her for the moment.
Drawing upon more of my forte, freed up as I no longer needed a disguise, I sensed out where quintessence had been used, discovering two places, the bed and a wall. Imbuing the wall with my own forte, I witnessed a spectral, moving image of Arcturus throwing five darts at a map placed on the wall, one at a time, then draw intersecting lines to a single point on the map.
"Wendigos..." I hissed out in loathing, the skin on my face stretching and contorting with the movement as i spoke aloud with a nonexistent mouth. Even I knew their territory.
Turning to the second source of quintessence, I did the same thing. I saw Arcturus ward himself against dreaming and then hold a brilliant shield in the air, as well as a ball of fire. My knowledge of actual thaumaturgy told me that I would have great difficulties against those Knowings. I put the mystery of his Dreamtime excursion out of my mind for now, there was nothing I could do regarding that.
My expenditure of forte caused my horrid wound to pulse against my form painfully. With a hiss, I turned to the woman meekly begging me to spare her life as she was still pinned against the wall. I could use a thrall, especially as I could no longer gain allies, not without offering something in return to my current contract holders.
That was not a barter I wanted to engage in.
"Please... don't kill me... please... I'll do anything... please..."
The absolute terror in her eyes was delectable. Her fear invigorated me with energy and reminded me I needed to feed. However, the morsels offered by her would be more than sufficient for my needs. I dragged my left hand across my oozing wound, covering it in my own essence then flexed my forte. The clothes she was wearing split in half down the middle, revealing her naked form, making her shriek. I could see the ideas her panicked mind vomited forth as she renewed her struggles with vigor.
What I had in mind was so much worse than the mundane taking of her physical body she expected.
Using the full might of my forte, I lengthened and sharpened my index finger, the tip dripping with the gathered ichor of my essence. In an instant, less than the blink of an eye, I appeared in front of her from where I had been by the bed and plunged the very tip of my sharpened, needle-like nail into the center of her heart, cutting through the most sensitive parts of her breast to do so due to the angle I had chosen for just this purpose. As I let my ichor suffuse her body with each beat of her racing heart, her vascular system visibly turning black under her skin as she screamed and writhed in agony, an odd thing happened.
What could only be considered my blood had been tainted by thaumaturgy qnr bolstered by dreadlight as well as my own forte. As it mixed with the blank canvas of the mortal in front of me, I could sense the candle of her soul. Reaching out with dreadlight, letting the wound burn my side with a hiss of inhaled breath, I ignited it with three kinds of mysticism.
A horrified realization overcame her as she knew I had fundamentally altered her to suit my whims. Having a thaumaturgist thrall would be a great boon.
"You'll do quite nicely," I said with an actual grin, the skin stretched over my mouth revealing impossibly large, gleaming flat teeth, as I watched the physical and mystical changes taking place.
My new thrall would never be human again.
I feasted on her terror, anguish and torment.
It was delicious.
~ ~ ~
Arcturus and Acrux will be back. C'Leena Thomas, Prosthetist is going to be my next update.
[[NEXT]]

LOS ANGELES TIMES: "In April, Heritage Auctions heralded the discovery of the original model of the U.S.S. Enterprise, the iconic starship that whooshed through the stars in the opening credits of the 1960s TV series “Star Trek” but had mysteriously disappeared around 45 years ago.
The auction house, known for its dazzling sales of movie and television props and memorabilia, announced that it was returning the 33-inch model to Eugene “Rod” Roddenberry Jr., son of series creator Gene Roddenberry. The model was kept at Heritage’s Beverly Hills office for “safekeeping,” the house proclaimed in a statement, shortly after an individual discovered it and brought it to Heritage for authentication.
[...]
But the journey has been far from smooth. The starship model and its celebrated return is now the subject of a lawsuit alleging fraud, negligence and deceptive trade practice, highlighting the enduring value of memorabilia from the iconic sci-fi TV series.
The case was brought by Dustin Riach and Jason Rivas, longtime friends and self-described storage unit entrepreneurs who discovered the model among a stash of items they bought “sight unseen” from a lien sale at a storage locker in Van Nuys last October.
“It’s an unfortunate misunderstanding. We have a seller on one side and a buyer on the other side and Heritage is in the middle, and we are aligning the parties on both sides to get the transaction complete,” said Armen Vartian, an attorney representing the Dallas-based auction house, adding that the allegations against his client were “unfounded.”
The pair claimed that once the model was authenticated and given a value of $800,000, they agreed to consign it to an auction sale with Heritage planned for July 2024, according to the lawsuit. However, following their agreement, they allege the auction house falsely questioned their title to the model and then convinced them, instead of taking it to auction, to sell it for a low-ball $500,000 to Roddenberry Entertainment Inc. According to the suit, Eugene Roddenberry, the company’s CEO, had shown great interest in the model and could potentially provide a pipeline of memorabilia to the auction house in the future.
“They think we have a disagreement with Roddenberry,” said Dale Washington, Riach and Rivas’ attorney. “We don’t. We think they violated property law in the discharge of their fiduciary duties.”
The two men allege they have yet to receive the $500,000 payment."
[...]
Things took an unexpected twist, Riach said. In March, he and Rivas signed an agreement to sell the model for $500,000 after it was pulled from the planned auction and they were told Roddenberry Entertainment had a “strong claim” to the model’s title and “would tie them up with its ‘powerful legal team.’” But then they were given a new transfer agreement to sign with a new set of terms. Riach declined and, instead, he and Rivas called Washington.
Heritage “moved the goalposts,” said their attorney. Under the new agreement, Riach and Rivas would be paid a “finder’s fee,” which Washington called a “reward,” converting it from a transactional payment to a potentially voluntary payment.
They claimed that by April, when Heritage announced the model had resurfaced, the pair came to believe the house failed to disclose the item’s value was much greater than they had been told.
Joe Maddalena, Heritage’s executive vice president, made public statements calling it “priceless.” “It could sell for any amount and I wouldn’t be surprised because of what it is,” he told the AP. “It is truly a cultural icon.”
They also had not been paid.
On April 28, 10 days after Heritage announced it had returned the model to Roddenberry, Riach and Rivas’ lawyer sent a letter to the auction house’s attorney outlining their claims and asking for the payment promised; they also proposed mediation.
Vartian, the lawyer representing Heritage, said that Riach and Rivas became “impatient” about getting the transaction done, and disputes the house had a fiduciary duty to them.
“This is an arm’s-length business relationship,” Vartian said. “They bring something to the auction house and are trying to get the most possible amount as quickly as possible, that is [Heritage’s] position and what they did.”
Still, Vartian is confident that they will soon conclude the transaction, saying, “Various things including scheduling have taken longer than it would.”
For his part, Riach says this experience is much like that of the crew of the U.S.S. Enterprise — “a strange new world.”
“I’ve never experienced anything like this. I’ve sold fine art at auction and other places, I got my check and went on. I’ve never had this roller coaster.
“Storage is a hard game. Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose,” he added. “We’ve bought a $10,000 unit and everything was complete garbage. But if you play long enough, you can get lucky.”
[...]"
Link (Los Angeles Times):
https://www.latimes.com/entertainment-arts/business/story/2024-05-10/original-star-trek-enterprise-model-went-missing-for-decades-it-was-found-now-its-the-subject-of-a-lawsuit

This chapter took a long time to get out. Life has me super busy. Two jobs, married, two kids, still sober. I like how this turned out, however, someone new stole the show this time. As always, leave feedback, I appreciate it so very much.
[FIRST] [DELETED SCENES] [PREVIOUS]
My bare-bones-ish Discord.
~ ~ ~
As I reentered my true body without recieving a mending, the vicious wounds I endured manifested into being as I reactualized into my true Self. Through the pain, I couldn't help but think on Raver's words to me.
"The doors have to be closed."
~ ~ ~
Without recieving a mending in Raver's Dreamtime bubble, reactualization was a fucking bitch. I Perceived my Self as having quite the damaged form, my Soul was fucked over by bombardment from dreadlight and my physical body simply disagreed with it all, stating that I was mostly whole and intact, only being damaged by wounds I had already endured. The three parts had an argument of a sort amongst themselves and with the power of the Dreamtime, reached a tortuous compromise.
I'm certain I seizured and blacked out through the process.
I awoke with my body shaking and covered in a cold sweat, Tsula and Luna above me, chanting in the secret language of their esoteric Traditions. The two of them each held diffetent tools required for their cultural and subtle manipulation of reality. Soft hands, awash with mana and glowing tattoos, were placed on my chest, right where my heart was. Cold, icy fingers cradled my soul protectively, keeping it connected to my body in the here and now as harsh, physical laws rent my form.
I was paying the price for Raver's hubris, and I had almost overdrafted. Thoughts of mortal over reach faded from my mind as I slipped into cool and soothing darkness.
Cold and bloodied fingers were pressed against my chest and did little to assuage the burning ache that was my soul. I couldn't focus on anything else as I gazed at the hollowed out body of my beloved. She had been beautiful, gorgeous even, and due to give birth to our daughter in two weeks. Now, the... dead thing in front of me could barely be defined as a corpse. Her skin had been peeled away like a banana and her insides removed, leaving a bloodied, hollow space. The flesh and bones had been scooped away like ice cream, leaving little in the way of remains. Our unborn child had been pulled out and repurposed with the stolen parts of her mother by dreadlight and a mage's fell Will to form the body of a Thing.
With silent tears streaming down my face, I placed the ring I had proposed to her with and put it onto my finger, next to my plain tungsten one. The simple act of removing it almost caused what remained of her hand to simply fall apart in my fingers. I'm not sure how long I stayed like that. I couldn't even hold her body against mine for fear of it crumbling away into a vile mess. I ignored what was going on around me as I kneeled in the spent summoning circle.
The world around me split and rent itself into distorted imagery, as though I were looking at everything from under a pool with gentle waves. Some parts were compressed together and others were stretched out, not quite like a mirror maze as the world was still simply one cohesive image. Additionally, things seemed closer or further in ways that defied conventional Euclidean geometries. The only area not affected by this blatant disregard of spatial dimensions, had been myself and a scant few feet around me.
What...?
A heavy thud broke me out of my thoughts and I saw my Father landing next to me. Since both of us had been prepared, he was wearing, much like myself, full motorcycle safety gear. It had been enchanted and bolstered by hidden runes and severed Will, turning everything into protective objects that even defended against potent and offensive mysticism. The equipment in question had been chosen for its sheer mundanity and ease of access, letting the powerful enchancements skirt around the Lie and Consensus leaving the magic fully intact and potent.
"Alistair," I heard my Father say to me with grim calm as he twisted the space in front of us into a right angle, redirecting rapid gunfire, "I can't do this alone."
I remained silent.
"Damnit, Son," he growled out then literally kicked my ass with his heavy boot, almost knocking me over onto my side, "get a hold of yourself, Its here now. You handle the mages."
That got me going. I finally got up, my grief was as a lead weight and prevented me from doing what was needed. With a last look at C'Leena's hollowed out corpse, I grit my teeth, steeled my nerves and called forth my magic from the Aether.
Was I dreaming? No, worse, I was in a memory...
"Stay out of my way and watch yourself," Father said to me, "I can't pull my punches against that."
"Gotcha," I replied almost absently and turned to face the assembled shadow mages. They had inexplicably stopped theit gunfire to admire the Thing they brought into existence from Somewhere.
I couldn't help but stare, either.
Standing on top of the northernmost anchor stone, an ugly, multi-faceted block of copper with glyphs and sigils harshly hewn into it, was a naked woman. The glyphs themselves were hard to look at, as though their mere presence were an affront to reality itself, which they were. The woman's skin was a darkened olive tone and she was tall as well as athletic, lithe and fit. Her shoulder length black hair was bushy and curly, flowing about her head almost like an afro. As she ran her hands down her body, I could not help but notice that everything was oddly symmetrical and too perfect. It was unnerving me greatly and triggered an uncanny valley response that tore at my heart.
The body this Thing was wearing had belonged to my fiancée.
Father didn't let It have time to get acclimated. Sidestepping forwards, he drew upon the full capabilities of his Path, eyes backlit by stars, an impossible physical sword of abstract spatial geometries held in his left hand, and a reality defying, super-dense distortion held in his right.
The world contorted and screamed under his might.
I awoke with a start and a low groan, glad to be awake and free of that horrid nightmare again. Not for the first time, I wished I had that motorcycle gear still. I had been far too reckless then and immediately thereafter, and everything had been damaged beyond repair. I could never find anyone I trusted enough to make those enchantments anyways. Farnsworth could only enhance the mundane qualities as he didn't know enough about mana warding to permanently imbue the protections I wanted nor needed for my line of active field work.
Looking around, I saw Rue asleep on the other side of the bed and Spades was nestled between us, his massive form making a visible dip in the mattress. The big monster dog was on his back, legs splayed open and snoring loudly with his tongue hanging out of his muzzle. I was reminded a lot of my Lola when she had still been around in the flesh, making me smile with old and pleasant memories. I must have been out for some time for Spades to be here.
A quick, almost reflexive, mental orison told me everything I already suspected. My mana reserves were shot, my body had been through the ringer and my soul was frayed and burnt. While I knew I owed my continued existence to Raver and her godsend, I also knew it had taken a great and terrible toll on my Self. Miracles like that usually held some kind of hidden cost, even if they weren't readily apparent.
Getting off the bed slowly, I began to look for my pack. It took far longer than than usual as I had to steady myself quite a bit from the spinning room. I managed to be quiet, however, and didn't wake up Rue nor Spades. Finally in the shower, after some time and using the wall to support myself, I let the almost scalding water roll over my aching body. The pendant on my neck protecting me from recieving any burns or aggravating the injuries I had, both old and new.
With the hot water soothing aching muscles, I began to think and take stock of my situation. I had never been on the back foot like this, low on any kind of resource, having few allies, and being pressed for time. It was like something out of a bad novel or shitty indie Steam(R) game. Though, real life was often stranger than fiction and had no real need for a logical cause and effect dynamic. If this was going to become the norm, then I had to find another method of approaching my wendigo problem.
I was simply running out of time.
After some long moments of thinking, I began to wash my hair, using the guest products on the corner caddy. They were so much nicer than anything I would have willingly bought and made me seriously consider changing up my usual shampoo. The only idea I could come up with regarding those wendigos, besides an overwhelming frontal assault, was to appeal to their bottomless gluttony and barter for passage.
I resigned myself to actually try to negotiate with their clan leader, leveraging their horrid taboos against them to get what I needed.
Wendigos, unlike most strange cryptids, vampires and were-folk aside, had a lot of things known about them, especially how they powered their supernatural capabilities. It was a simple and rather straightforward process, the more heinous the act, the more mana they drew from it. Cannibalism, sacrilege, incest, murder, torture, hedonistic gluttony, or any number of other terrible and minor sins. As well as general lawbreaking and felonies, oftentimes combined to have as many as possible occur in the same sitting.
I audibly gasped with a sudden epiphany.
My fate had already been decided, by myself no less. In a bar I couldn't remember the name of, when I had been gazing into my bronze coin, I saw what I needed to do. I had to gift what measly scrap of knowledge I understood from Beyond the Infinite to those creatures. To let those wendigos defile and mutilate such sacred and pure knowledge to whatever whims their baleful minds could come up with.
"Fuck," was the only thing I could whisper at the thought of it all as I turned off the water, getting out of the shower. I cooled the bathroom down with but a thought and wiped away the condensation on the mirror with a towel that wasn't my own, finally getting a good look at myself without vertigo, as that had finally passed.
I looked like shit, and that was a compliment. Huge, fist shaped bruises of black, green and yellow littered my torso, though most were located on my left side and blurred together into an ugly shapeless mass. The ones on my right, however, were well defined and I could easily count the number of strikes. My face held a swollen black eye, I never noticed my diminished field of vision as I had gotten used to having them over the years. Turning gingerly and opening the mirror a bit so I could see my back, I grimaced. It was another spiderweb of a bruise, earned from when I had been smashed against the edge of Raver's Dreamtime bubble.
At least none of my fingers were broken, only very stiff and swollen, just like the rest of me. I probably couldn't drive for another day or so, either, not with my hands the way they were. As I looked, surprised I hadn't noticed earlier, the inside of my right hand was, branded. The skin, while fully healed, held the symbolic glyph that heralded the Path of Stars. A circle with nine curved lines inside it. Each line only intersected two others, but with the irregular placement of them, I could trace an intersection to any other one. In each of the open spaces, slightly off center, as a simple dot.
"Miracles leave their marks," I muttered to myself, almost disbelieving the literalness of the phrase.
I didn't bother drying off and struggled a bit getting into the clothes I brought with me, maroon athletic shorts and a black tank top. Exiting the guest bathroom, I thought about where I wanted to go. Settling on a destination, I went into the backyard, found a patch of grass in the shaded, morning sunlight and lay down. The grass was thick and rather soft, and the smell of the lemon tree and the garden was more pleasant and fragrant than they should have been.
Warding myself against dreaming, I pulled on the principles of the Aether, specifically, those of sun and storms. Since the Aether was a realm of energy and mana in all of its varying forms, I employed an advanced technique, a mysterion. It was something only able to be done by those that actually hailed from the Aether rather than having mastery over it. Pulling some of the sunlight and ambient warmth into my form, I converted measly scraps of energy directly into mana. The process was slow, and almost hardly worth the effort. It was like filling a bathtub with water, a single milliliter at a time.
Mana was now such a rare commodity, every miniscule drop of it mattered.
I settled in and entered a trance-like state, most of my attention devoted to my mysterion, though some of it was allowed to drift off elsewhere. While not exactly a dream, and while maintaining my mana draw, my mind conjured up nonsensical imagery and conversations between myself and others. I didn't pay them any attention as my thoughts wandered and drifted idly.
"I thought I'd find you out here," Rue said as I heard her sit down next to me. I didn't hear her walking, however, she continued to speak, "you've been asleep for a few days. What happened?"
"Got fucked," I replied easily, a little sarcastically as well. "Truthfully," I amended, "I got summoned by Raver. She pulled a shenanigan with Fate to let her have a waking dream."
"So she was hallucinating?" Rue stated, though it was more of a question.
"Damned straight," I confirmed, "she had Sasquatch and Farnsworth make something for her. It had to have been lethal, something like that. Anyways, we were talking and then one of Them showed up. Inside the Dreamtime bubble of hers. Found Raver's luminescence despite Mirzam hiding it."
"Shit. So It was physically there? That means It had a stolen body..." Rue said, trailing off.
"Yeah, it had a body alright," I almost growled out, "broke Raver's ritual with little effort. I spent everything I had to make a patch job just to keep it active, burned through all my mana, too. I did not want to be dispersed."
"I see," Rue said to me with understanding, "I wouldn't want to have to find my physical body without a tether either." There was a small pause before she spoke again, "So what happened next?"
"I made it mad with insults to buy time for the repaired shenanigan to stabilize Raver."
"What do you mean?" Rue asked as I heard her stretch out a bit, my eyes still closed.
"Her shenanigan was woven in such a way that whatever drug Sasquatch and Farnsworth made for her didn't just kill her," I answered with a pause then continued, "it let her do things beyond normality, anyways, my fucked up patch job let me tell Sasquatch that Raver had to stay dreaming."
"So he wouldn't just purge the elixir out of her," Rue stated, then added perhaps a tad bit defensively, "I know some things from other paths, not much, but some."
"That's good," I answered back, "knowledge is power."
"With us, it's quite literal."
I murmured in assent.
"So why did you make It mad?" Rue asked, "wouldn't It just draw strength from human emotions, especially in the Dreamtime?"
"It did," I answered back, "but It couldn't act properly on them, like human emotions were new and novel. The whole encounter was sloppy after a certain point, but I did almost die. Raver saved me, gave me a miracle."
"I saw," Rue said simply, "the mark on your hand was a giveaway."
I could only murmur in agreement again then asked, "Did you find a card in my hands, too?"
"I did," Rue replied after a few moments of silence, "it was debit card, with a note attached to it."
"From Procyon, right?"
It took a few moments for her to answer. "Yes, it was from Procyon," she took a breath and continued with wavering effort, "that damned bastard had it all planned out. Wrote a fucked up letter to me on a Google(TM) doc telling me not to worry and that this had always been his exit plan."
"Sounds like he knew what was going to happen," was all I could say.
"Yes, but, I miss him!" Rue all but snarled at me, then, in a small and quiet voice, whispered, "He was my best friend, and maybe we could've been more, y'know? Now... there's... There's just nothing, only memories of him left to mourn."
"I didn't know," I answered simply.
Rue spoke with a wavering breath before continuing, her thoughts more than a little disjointed, "a lot of what he wrote was personal, so I won't get into that, but he was certain that something catastrophic was going to happen to him and myself. So he made sure that I was at my secondary home, recovering from a job. I had just completed a mission from Raver and Mirzam, and was going to perform a ritual to patch up Spades after I got some sleep. Procyon also stated that someone has been altering things for a very long time."
"So that's why you were caught with yout pants down," I said, "you didn't even have time to recover." I paused, adjusting my mysterion as I had to refocus due to our conversation, "what did they have you do?"
"Some hedge wizards actually got a hold of an actual necromancy grimoire and charged mana tools in a graveyard," Rue said with a bit of a tired sigh, "they knew exactly what they were doing, and would have been rather powerful shadow mages if they had been capable of using starlight."
"Fuck," was all I could say, then formed an actual response after a few moments, "that shouldn't have been an issue for you. Hedges don't have our capability, though numbers may have evened out their odds."
"You're right, but they brought a spirit back before I could stop them," Rue answered with more than a little spite, "a real nasty piece of shit, too. Turned on the hedges, absorbed them, and put up a real mean fight against Spades and I. It was touch and go for a long time and I was actually fearful for my life, too."
"You won, though."
"Yeah, managed to send it kicking and screaming back to the Pit, exhausted most of my mana to do so. Fucking bastard."
There was a small silence between us as Rue became lost in her own thoughts. It was a while before I asked her, "Can you elaborate on what Procyon said about Fate being altered?"
"I can, actually, though it's a bit difficult since I'm not even a novice with the Path of Stars," Rue answered as I heard her shift a bit on the grass next to me. She paused as she seemingly collected her thoughts, "it's just that certain events were made to happen sooner or later. The big one, for our Node at least, was that you were always supposed to make your ancestral home translocate. It happened sooner than it should have."
"Fuck," I said, "So I wasn't supposed to send it away a few days ago?"
"No, that was supposed to happen after our wendigo thing, if the letter is to be believed."
"Fuck," was all I could say, "I do suppose that was a snap decision, I really didn't want Them to get a hold of anything inside. If I had been able to wait, or even had help, I'm sure I wouldn't have lost it to time and space."
"Exactly," Rue said with bitter excitement, "and we'd have access to everything in it. Losing your home was a big blow to our Node."
"Yeah, but at least They don't have it," I answered more spitefully than intended.
"Silver linings and all that, right?"
"Yeah, gotta look at the bright side, no matter how bleak," I answered back with a bit of sarcastic mirth, then said as I stretched a bit, readjusting my focus on my mysterion as well, "speaking of wendigos, I know what we need to do to solve that."
"Oh? Do tell, I couldn't come up with anything myself, kept running into dead ends," she said, then added, "lack of resources and help."
"Well, I don't think you're going to like it, I'm not sure I like it either."
"Don't keep me waiting," Rue said to me with a bit of sarcastic exasperation. I could sense her looking at me even though my eyes were still closed.
"I'm going to leverage their taboos against them, appeal to their insatiable greed and offer them what little I can understand of That Which Lies Beyond the Infinite." I sighed and added, "after all, how could they resist the allure of new magic?"
"You're right," she answered, "I definitely don't like it. I'm pretty sure it's not even wise to do so."
"Wise or not, it's the only way forward, I even saw it in a vision when I was manipulating fate magic."
"Have you talked to Mirzam or Raver about this vision of yours?"
"No, not yet, and I'm pretty sure I don't need to."
There was a bit of silence between us as she digested my words. I felt compelled to elaborate as I adjusted my mysterion again, losing a bit of my focus due to the depth of the conversation we were having.
"Acrux," I said, getting her attention fully by using the name of her star, "there's something you need to understand." I sat up, abandoning my mysterion in favor of giving her my full attention. Blinking a bit at the rise of light and warmth, I continued my thought process, "in the Dreamtime, the Thing I was fighting against, It was surprised and enraged that I was able to call upon knowledge that Lay Beyond the Infinite. Whatever those glyphs and powers are, They never wanted humans to know of them, let alone have them."
"Yet you want to give such power to wendigos of all things."
"At least the knowledge, corrupted or not, will still be on Earth," I said then added, "I'm not sure what you remember, but I know you've seen something from Beyond the Infinite. Your self revival and Spade's new form are proof of that. I was there, guided by Oracle. I Perceived something unknowable, something terrible, something no mortal has any right to gaze upon. Something I can hardly even begin to try to put into words. Raver Perceived it, too. It's how she managed to give me a godsend. So, what did you Perceive, really?"
Rue brought her knees up to her chest, thinking deeply. I could tell she was using her Perception to look inwards upon her Self. I waited patiently while she struggled to look at her soul's reflection against her mind and struggled even more to put the image there into words.
At long last, she spoke, her eyes still closed as she did so, "I'm not sure what I saw, there was too much, and I felt so small. Insignificant. Less than even a dismissed, intrusive thought. There is one thing I do remember. A doorway made of the might from two universes worth of truths and laws. A Thing was trying ro break through, but couldn't, not fully, yet the doors were opened, letting smaller ones through."
"The Doors have to be closed," I said, quoting Raver, before continuing, "that's what Raver said to me, before she sent me back to my body."
"Why didn't they mend you then?"
"They were being attacked in the waking world, too. It was a good plan on Their part, They just didn't expect us to put up so much of a fight."
"They never do, though I think that's changing."
"So that's our endgame, not sure how we're going to do it," I said, bringing the conversation back to topic, "at the moment, however, I'm going to eat a few of those mana-stuffed protein bars and fix your leg. I can't keep spending mana to be able to drive your truck. You'll have to use your own mysterion to get mana, too."
"I hate my Path's mysterions," the venom in her voice was palpable.
Before I could say anything, the backdoor opened, revealing Luna. She was wearing a bird-patterned sundress and her hair had been tied back into a loose ponytail. She put her hand over her eyes to shade them from the sun as she squinted against the brightness relative to that from inside.
"Hey, you two," she called out, "Grandmother says she needs to talk yo you."
"Alright," I called out, shakily getting up to my feet with a bit of a grunt. Everything still hurt. Rue had a bit of trouble as well, her leg was not recieving the rest and healing it deserved and needed.
"We're a mess, aren't we?" Rue asked aloud as we began to walk towards the bak door.
"Yeah, but you should see the other guys," I replied with a light chuckle, only to wince and hold my sides, "I forgot how much laughing hurts with fractured ribs."
"I really don't envy you right now," Rue said with a bit of a smirk as we entered Tsula's home, Rue entering first. "I wonder what Tsula wants to talk to us about?" Rue asked aloud, not really talking to anyone in particular.
I could only wonder as we followed Luna to the living room, the house pleasantly cool due to central air conditioning.
~ ~ ~
The moon was not in the sky, and I greatly enjoyed not having to endure the accursed, purifying light of day reflected by its surface, even if greatly diminished. The loathsome wound in my side had been a mortal blow, burning through my toughened flesh and form with unnerving ease and stunning, blinding pain. Once more, I looked at the oily, thin, and black ichor that dripped from my fingers, more human-like than I was comfortable with.
The mote of dreadlight I had recieved for my services had been the only thing that had kept me from vanishing entirely. Mortal alchemy -- science -- had advanced to such a degree so as to emulate the harsh light of day far too remarkably well. That hadn't been the worst part, that damned thaumaturgist had ensorcelled a curse upon the weapon as well. With effort, as the bulk of my power was directed at repairing the oozing wound, I altered my form and shape, struggling to maintain the illusion as I walked out onto the sidewalk from a side alley.
My contract was not yet completed.
The first two nights I had hidden myself away in the dark depths, raging against the oblivion that threatened to overtake me and ending my existence. The preparedness of the thaumaturgist had been unexpected, as well as the skill and the knowledge he had wielded so effortlessly. Without my guidance, nor presence, to instill fear into the gifted abetters, the wraiths I had gathered with me fell and fled into the night, abandoning their duties and contracts.
I would have never made this mistake against the herald of the bear.
Had I known the name of the mortal's star I had been tasked against, I would have demanded more than a simple mote of dreadlight and a paltry handful of coerced allies. Realistically, I should be grateful that I still had a kind of semi-existence. Quelling my anger and hatred, and swallowing my utter revulsion, my form rippled and took the guise of a tall, middle-aged human male in a common and unremarkable suit carrying an old and worn briefcase.
The artificial illumination around me flickered, emitting a grating hum in my presence and the thin television flickered oddly as it tried to display my image, failing to accurately do so. While tracking Arcturus's quintessence had been a bit of a task, as far too much time had passed, my familiarity with it granted me an advantage that overcame that difficulty. Traveling in my wounded state, however, had been much more arduous. Looking the woman at the reception desk over, I took on my role with hiden revulsion, aided by the illusion I was conjuring and the mimicry of my physical form.
"I'm detective Aiden Roth, and I'm looking for someone. I believe that he was here a few nights ago, definitely this past week," I said. My false, human voice had been made to sound smooth, suave and strong, interlaced with a suggestion, using what little forte I could spare. I put the worn and well-used briefcase I had conjured with me onto the counter with a heavy thud, using more of my forte to emulate such a simple thing. Opening it up, I fished out an image and showed the slightly grainy, black and white picture to the receptionist.
As the woman perused the conjured image, I could not help but hiss, my hand going to my side as I expended more of my forte than I had anticipated. The cursed wound fighting back fiercely against the dreadlight tethering my existence and life. I held my disguise with willpower of monumental proportions. A strength of will I rarely had been pressed to draw from.
Seeing the concerned look the woman gave me, I simply stated, shrugging off the pain with yet more expenditure of will, "An old injury, it flares up from time to time. No matter, have you seen this individual?"
"I'm going to need to see some kind of badge or warrant," the woman said with a genuine smile, "sorry."
The fear of losing her menial job overpowered my subtle suggestion. Unfortunate.
"Sure," I replied with a fake and well ptacticed, fetching smile, adjusting my forte to include another suggestion. I showed an actual badge with my assumed name and likeness. The mortal I was impersonating had been slain many years ago by my own hands, and the subtle illusion taking hardly any of my forte adjusted the dates and design of the badge to whatever was current.
Only a thaumaturgist, or a very particularly skilled sorcerer, could pierce the illusion. Against this mortal, there was no chance of resistance and she accepted the stolen badge without question.
She looked it over, as if trying to divine the legitimacy of it. "Okay," she finally admitted, "he was here a while ago, maybe a four or five days? I remember, 'cause I tried to flirt with him..."
I ignored her prattling and asked when she finished speaking, "Can you show me the room he used?"
"Sure, but it's been cleaned a few times since then."
With a nod, I let her lead the way to the room in question, staying silent. The lights around me flickered and hummed loudly in my presence. Had the woman been more observant, she could have seen my true shadow as I had not the forte to expend to hide it entirely from the ever changing lights. She opened the room in question, using what I could only assume was a master key card.
I immediately recognized the faded auras of quintessence.
"This will do," I stated, closing the door behind me and dropping my revolting disguise, using my forte to lock it.
I revealed my true form. My legs and arms lengthened and thinned, the black suit and red tie I was wearing became my skin, armor and form. My face and eyes became blank, gaunt and sunken, skin stretching out over it. The wound in my side made itself visible, it was an ugly red, peeling and oozing burn from my shoulder to my waist and took up most of my torso. The dreadlight I was using to prevent my oblivion illuminated the wound with a kind of sickly, crimson colored backlight. Black ichor oozed out from it and dripped onto the floor as I used the bulk of my forte to ablate the caustic, foreign quintessence from my form.
The woman looked at me as even her pitifully dull, mundane human senses told her that there was incredible danger in the room with her. She screeched and irrationally ran towards the bathroom as my presence became impossibly tall in the very finite space in the motel room. Using the smallest iota of my forte, I remotely smashed her fleeing form against a wall, pinning her there with unseen force as she begged, and sobbed for her pitiful life.
I ignored her for the moment.
Drawing upon more of my forte, freed up as I no longer needed a disguise, I sensed out where quintessence had been used, discovering two places, the bed and a wall. Imbuing the wall with my own forte, I witnessed a spectral, moving image of Arcturus throwing five darts at a map placed on the wall, one at a time, then draw intersecting lines to a single point on the map.
"Wendigos..." I hissed out in loathing, the skin on my face stretching and contorting with the movement as i spoke aloud with a nonexistent mouth. Even I knew their territory.
Turning to the second source of quintessence, I did the same thing. I saw Arcturus ward himself against dreaming and then hold a brilliant shield in the air, as well as a ball of fire. My knowledge of actual thaumaturgy told me that I would have great difficulties against those Knowings. I put the mystery of his Dreamtime excursion out of my mind for now, there was nothing I could do regarding that.
My expenditure of forte caused my horrid wound to pulse against my form painfully. With a hiss, I turned to the woman meekly begging me to spare her life as she was still pinned against the wall. I could use a thrall, especially as I could no longer gain allies, not without offering something in return to my current contract holders.
That was not a barter I wanted to engage in.
"Please... don't kill me... please... I'll do anything... please..."
The absolute terror in her eyes was delectable. Her fear invigorated me with energy and reminded me I needed to feed. However, the morsels offered by her would be more than sufficient for my needs. I dragged my left hand across my oozing wound, covering it in my own essence then flexed my forte. The clothes she was wearing split in half down the middle, revealing her naked form, making her shriek. I could see the ideas her panicked mind vomited forth as she renewed her struggles with vigor.
What I had in mind was so much worse than the mundane taking of her physical body she expected.
Using the full might of my forte, I lengthened and sharpened my index finger, the tip dripping with the gathered ichor of my essence. In an instant, less than the blink of an eye, I appeared in front of her from where I had been by the bed and plunged the very tip of my sharpened, needle-like nail into the center of her heart, cutting through the most sensitive parts of her breast to do so due to the angle I had chosen for just this purpose. As I let my ichor suffuse her body with each beat of her racing heart, her vascular system visibly turning black under her skin as she screamed and writhed in agony, an odd thing happened.
What could only be considered my blood had been tainted by thaumaturgy qnr bolstered by dreadlight as well as my own forte. As it mixed with the blank canvas of the mortal in front of me, I could sense the candle of her soul. Reaching out with dreadlight, letting the wound burn my side with a hiss of inhaled breath, I ignited it with three kinds of mysticism.
A horrified realization overcame her as she knew I had fundamentally altered her to suit my whims. Having a thaumaturgist thrall would be a great boon.
"You'll do quite nicely," I said with an actual grin, the skin stretched over my mouth revealing impossibly large, gleaming flat teeth, as I watched the physical and mystical changes taking place.
My new thrall would never be human again.
I feasted on her terror, anguish and torment.
It was delicious.
~ ~ ~
Arcturus and Acrux will be back. C'Leena Thomas, Prosthetist is going to be my next update.
[[NEXT]]