I try, and fail, to brush the extra remnants of my flesh and blood off my REALLY nice dress as I skip jovially through my home territory.
All my efforts amount to is spreading of the previous contents of my head further over the fine lace of my fashion statement like strawberry jam over bread.
Every single eye on my body starts spazzing angrily in their sockets as I only succeed in brushing the bigger chunks off my chest. The Orbs of Vanity strongly dislike the besmirching of my gorgeous image with such gorey material, though they still gaze obsessively over my body. In spite of their distaste, they still, nonsensically, only grow more obsessed with my blood-drenched form.
The striations of the golden orbs turn heart-shaped for a second, expressing their never-ending infatuation with my perfect self. Pink rust grows and shrinks over them like shifting weather over the surface of the earth, or a growing colony of lovely bacteria that soon die off.
As all should be.
I gaze around at everyone I pass by. They all walk by, only stopping for my precious beauty, their eyebrows raised as they look at me with a variety of intense feelings. Some are envious to a worrying degree.
Don't attack me.
Please.
For your safety, it is, I promise you, better to not attack out of Envy.
While others are completely failing to be discreet in admiring my body, and a few are cackling because they find my beauty to be so great that it turns around to humorous for the amiable individuals.
I snort. That man is drooling.
A realization sparks within my head, and I quickly start frowning hard.
As much I appreciate the admiration of my body, they should be far more concerned for their safety. Being confronted with the frightening vision of a child strewn over flesh, they should be steering around me with horrified expressions rather than enjoying my dancing nor appreciating my fine body.
I think on what could be preventing me from looking to all as if I had partied in one of the impromptu charnel houses of Señor Screaming Fingers.
*smack*
I drag my hand across my face in exasperation. Duh! The illusion of Fae Heart must be covering my “jam-covered” body up.
Stars.
Moments of stupidity like that are how you get killed here. Honestly, incredibly slow on the uptake right now. What if I had not been saved by the random-ass, OP skill I had been luckily granted in the Tormented Zone? I am completely undeserving/I am so deserving of such a skill. After all, this is outside of its parameters, so stretching to include the gore on my outfit is not something I can just expect to happen.
I could blame being decapitated, a rather reasonable excuse, I think. However, a star must uphold their smarts to a far greater standard, however much they must struggle against their lacking intelligence.
If I could anthropomorphize my skill, I would offer endless and effusive appreciations to the illusion of Fae Heart. My poor skill is much like an employee that can't refuse when people ask them for help: overworking and pulling over-time.
But UGH! It’s so stupid of me... how could I not realize it?
I hate having to rely on others and on idiotic wishes that the whims of the world will turn to my favor; on hope.
So how could I indirectly rely on hope; by falling to stupidity?
I spit off to the side at the thought, a piece of coagulated blood - or rather a congealed piece of phantasmal fluid, I suppose - that had been stuck in my teeth from the decapitation. Like too much ink in one spot on the page, grey spread across the black tarmac from my bloody saliva.
And who knows... my mistake could still cause me trouble. All it will take is for one passerby or guard of some form to have an illusion-piercing skill or trait. Those are some of the easiest and by far the some of the most widespread in the System. And there are plenty of skills and traits with a not-so-specific focus as illusion-piercing that could still get around the skill. For example, skills that stem from the stat Perception could get around it if the illusion-creating skill and my backing Charisma is not enough to fend them off.
___________________
My golden-black eyes observe the stains of grey contamination spreading from my despair-drenched clothes.
While looking through them, there is an odd disassociation between my... original? It is original, right?... personality and the one while looking through their inhuman, narcissistic perspectives.
They see a tainted dryad of small stature walking through this urban world, only instead of flowers sprouting in my footsteps, I carelessly litter my treaded path with a hunter's traps. Meltingly drab liquid creates expanding pit traps, though the only falling you shall do is in your mind, in an never-ending spiral of depression.
I grimace. I need to find somewhere to clean myself up... or a magic waste facility. I am a menace to society at the moment.
Scratch that.
Now if I revise it to "I am always a menace to society at the moment just by being me," it is far more accurate.
Much better like that!
Now, I can safely assume that the Lady of Death and Taxes won’t wish to wait long while I find the appropriate cleaning SO!
The corners of my mouth pull up in a smirk. I guess I must obtain her help with this incredibly important... cleansing.
She is going to be my cheap laundromat.
"Hey! IRS boss lady! If you want me to do my stuff faster, then whip up some Magic to help me! Otherwise you are going to be here a looong-"
I pause, blinking as the sensation of being clean hits me. She didn’t even let me finish my statement. How... *hmphs snootily*... how rude! I'm just. I'm just so offended. Right here, right now. Can you see this? I'm shaking my head in disappointment at the truly just stars-awful lack of manners she is showing.
Really though. My overdramatic antics aside, I am quite impressed with how quickly she managed to get rid of the mess with her Magic, not that I would have noticed if she did it the normal, slower way of cleaning. She’s just that fast. The perks of being an Immortal who has worked their ass off to achieve power. My guess is that she somehow managed to “kill” the mess with her Death concept, turning all of the flesh into ashes, which sprinkle the ground...
I watch with disbelief as exactly what I had been trying to avoid happens. My eyes dilate and constrict as I struggle to accept the consequences of the Lady's casual indifference to life.
Mass genocide.
Under the bright white sun and big blue sky, the stiff breeze runs through the streets, carrying the grey ashes of me. The gusts twist and twirl, dusting the many people on the street walking unknowingly with the monster in their midst: me.
It is much like the toxic fallout of America’s Immortal Poisoner testing out his skills as well as testing out how the advancements in runic tech amplify said skills right near a few inhabited atolls. The ashes dust these civilians like a miniature model of the unfortunate victims of those weapons testing. The civilians of this road stop to look at the greasy “snow” with various puzzled or lightly amused expressions.
The unfortunate souls are so unwary; so unprepared.
Their eyes squint uneasily when they see a faint discoloring of their skin. Perhaps they think it is a trick of light?
…
Then the entire road turns a slimy, opaque grey like someone used the 'fill' function on a drawing tablet, having chosen a particularly poor color choice. The hysterical screams, and worse, the bubbling laughter bursting into uncontrollable cackling, begin.
Innocent children and unsuspecting adults collapse to the ground all curled up, like adorable Rollie Pollies. They sob, turning grey like the bugs’ titular shell too. A mania overtakes them, their sobs and giggles freely waver and warble across the city block as my phantasmal blood turns them in writhing messes.
A business professional grabs his fingers, plucking them with complete abandon. I can hear the gunshot-like sounds as he puts his Strength to bear and rips apart his tendons, flesh, and bones so as to allow him to binge-eat his fingers.
Pop, pop. Pop, poppety-pop, pop. Pop, pop, pop. I amuse myself with imagining that the gunshot-like pops, instead, sound like the "pop" sound of smacking my lips together as a child.
A sweet child, barely in his teens, is more careful in how he eliminates his cursed existence. You know, the one I cursed with my own horrid blood. He efficiently find a long pole, balancing it on its flat base. The logical person monotonously tests a couple swings to make sure he has the right angle, before swinging his head RIGHT down on the pole.
My mind cringes.
His twitching green eyes, the sole spot of color on his body, bug wide open as the pole pierces STRAIGHT THROUGH to the back of his head.
A group of friends huddle together, hugging each other in a suicidal attempt to get some attempt at comfort. The emotional help they yearn for so strongly, the hugs they so helplessly give each other...
In a moment of shocking clarity, I realize I can tell what exactly goes through their minds at this time. Every contact they make hammers home the realization that the relationships they built with their "best friends" are so shallow... they become increasingly more crushed. One of them reaches out for a tentative, fleeting grasp, only to looked stunned, as if she took a baseball bat to the face. Another's trembling arms encircles his friend, until his legs start flailing like a pinned cockroach. He is so crushed that he does not know whether to stay or leave.
And they never realized it until now. They had simply been selfish actors trying, but in reality failing, to achieve peace.
What was the point of being kind and confiding in each other? All of it... had been pointless.
And yet they still fail to learn the truth of the lesson in the process, crushing each others' ribs in the infectious despair.
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Whether I am horrified or not, I'm not sure, but I make sure to plaster on a body language of paralysis from fright and disbelief. I turn away from the spectacle I caused. I am causing it by the gross negligence of allowing myself continued existence.
The Lady of Death and Taxes POV
The head of a low-life in an illusionary boy’s skin twitches so heavily to one side that its cheek slams into its shoulder hard enough to bruise. Its arms tremble, veins crawling up the muscles that now bulge up out of the originally slender figure. Its tiny, metallic hands clench hard enough to create sound that she, the head of the IRS of the entire US, could hear from miles away.
Her thought process took a digression as she thought about how her jurisdiction only covered the US. It was no matter though. She had plans to expand the agency out of its original parameters soon enough.
Hundreds of variables whirred within her head, used and discarded at a moments’ notice. Parallel minds computed an entire economy, measuring each and every move that the Internal Revenue Service makes to extract the revenue from all of the businesses.
One such parallel mind grimaced in disgust and... perhaps... overblown horror. Focused perpetually on the Skill Money-Counter of the Eons, it watched as numbers increased digit by digit.
You have lost 117,169 in your coinage system during the time watching this being.
The accursed thing she had to fund for school was taking far too long to recuperate emotionally.
She believed it was time to kill that creature for transport to the school, wipe her hands of this completely useless pursuit, and return to collecting money and killing tax fraud escapers. It would be safe to say that the foul creature was purposefully wasting her time like all lazy bestial imitations of humans.
She needed to be able to fund the ravenous military, or the corrupted animals that procreate around the various Dimensions will overrun the surrounding metropolises. She has those she needs to protect there. A few of her great, great, great, great grandchildren live in those danger-prone areas for profit, following the Money Sense Trait that runs in the family. She has no intention of stopping her large amounts of funding she was sending to those areas’ military and for bribing those politicians always trying to move around the military, so that she could protect her descendants.
Suddenly, as if the subhuman filth heard her thoughts, it about-faced, tapping a finger to its chin in thought. A stark contrast to the horror it showed on its face.
Disappointing. She now had no excuse of the monster having fallen into temporary insanity.
The POV of our adorable little trash bag: Sol
HATRED! You have driven twelve System-less children insane. Lourens Maikens, Natalie Jeanna, Lukas Wright, Roswell Anton, Tori Sprout, Pankas Kadri, Evelyn Jeffery, Joanna Tillie, Yesujin Tiên, Jake Miller, Maximillian Moore, and Carolann Taylor have all been crushed mentally by the trait Phantasm Poisoned. Experience added to class Tutored by Suffering.
HATRED! You have killed twelve System-less children. Lourens Maikens, Natalie Jeanna, Lukas Wright, Roswell Anton, Tori Wright, Pankas Kadri, Evelyn Jeffery, Joanna Tillie, Yesujin Tiên, Jake Miller, Maximillian Moore, and Carolann Taylor have all commited suicide or been killed by their close ones due to your trait Phantasm Poisoned. All experience going to your class Tutored by Suffering.
HATRED! You have driven a Werewolf classed with Barber and Teacher of Self-Defense insane. Emidio Santi has been crushed mentally by the trait Phantasm Poisoned.
HATRED! You have killed a Werewolf classed with Hunter of Information and Teacher of Self-Defense. Emilio Santi has committed suicide due to your trait Phantasm Poisoned. All experience going to your class Tutored by Suffering.
HATRED! You have driven a Human classed with Poor-Quality Merchant insane. Experience added to class Tutored by Suffering.
HATRED! You have killed a Human classed with Poor-Quality Merchant. Jojo Sage has committed suicide due to your trait Phantasm Poisoned. All experience going to your class Tutored by Suffering.
HATRED! You have driven a Human classed with Knife for Survival and Rogue for Survival insane. Emily Sprout has been crushed mentally by your trait Phantasm Poisoned. All experience going to your class Tutored by Suffering.
HATRED! You have killed a Human classed with Knife for Survival and Rogue for Survival. Emily Sprout has committed suicide due to your trait Phantasm Poisoned. All experience going to your class Tutored by Suffering.
HATRED! You have driven a Human classed with Knife for Survival and Illusion Mage Apprentice insane. Garnett Keirnon has been crushed mentally by your trait Phantasm Poisoned. All experience going to your class Tutored by Suffering.
HATRED! You have killed a Human classed with Knife for Survival and Illusion Mage Apprentice. Garnett Kiernon has committed suicide due to your trait Phantasm Poisoned. All experience going to your class Tutored by Suffering.
HATRED! You have driven a Human classed with Runic Industrial Builder and Laborer insane. Laura Preston has been crushed mentally by your trait Phantasm Poisoned. All experience going to your class Tutored by Suffering.
HATRED! You have killed a Human classed with Runic Industrial Builder and Part-Time Warrior insane. Laura Preston has committed suicide due to your trait Phantasm Poisoned. All experience going to your class Tutored by Suffering.
HATRED! Despair-Stained Hands Level 0 Tier 1 levels up!
HATRED! Despair-Stained Hands Level 1 Tier 1 levels up!
HATRED! Despair-Stained Hands Level 2 Tier 1 levels up!
HATRED! Despair-Stained Hands Level 3 Tier 1 levels up!
HATRED! Despair-Stained Hands Level 4 Tier 1 levels up!
HATRED! Despair-Stained Hands Level 5 Tier 1 levels up!
HATRED! Despair-Stained Hands Level 6 Tier 1 levels up!
HATRED! Despair-Stained Hands Level 7 Tier 1 levels up!
...
HATRED! Despair-Stained Hands Level 49 Tier 1 levels up to Level 50! Despair-Stained Hands requires a unique Magical action to evolve past Tier.
HATRED! Class Tutored by Suffering levels up to Level 32. You have committed your first massacre, honing your craft as Torturer and Mage.
Mind Control of the Self: the memories have been removed in a perpetual loop, preventing from you noticing the massacre. A delightful show of "turning a blind eye" turned to the perfect extreme. This skill has grown to the next stage. Your constant use of this skill-as a crutch to get by in mind-breaking circumstances, so you can break your mind in privacy, and multiple unique usages of the skill-is the reason for your advancement.
______
A memory niggles at the back of my head. I feel like I should be able to see the truth of the world in front of me, but instead a lie is presented for my safety. Perhaps I put the lie there? I am not sure.
I frown, my brow knitting together in thought.
No matter!
I should look away! My smile turns sunny once again!
As much as I want to depart directly for my apartment so I can call in Elisa and Dennis, I can’t let the gang get antsy. I haven’t paid the fee this month and they need to be warned that D&T is in the area.
How unfortunate! I must delay my reunion for the "greedy bastards." They are so inflexible; all about that guap, bones, moola, dough, wads, cheese, frogskins, lettuce...(HAHA! I love archaic phrases. They are just so fun!) The issues of being an adult in the neighborhood, am I right? Just forkin' over all your earnings day in and day out.
I suppose I should not judge them, even for a moment.
Also, I need to retract calling them "bastards." That may hit waaay too close to home for them. I offer a moment of mental apology.
Regardless, as political institutions go, they are many steps above. They are practically demonic saints!
Though... others may just view naming them after an epitome of sin, one of seven things in the entirety of existence that invokes genuine hatred from God as one of the lowest of insults (I'm not even halfway there, despite being cursed).... They don’t know what they are talking about! To me, being called a demonic saint is the highest praise I could offer. To receive dislike from Him, to any degree, is to push you to exalted in my mind. He is the force of evil in my life; the source of those cannot stand of me. He has committed gross negligence, claiming the title of Creator when he fails to take responsibility for those who walk under his name. His detestable nature incites enough wrath to rival even my supreme loathing of myself.
Regardless, it is in my favor to support them.
And not being foolish enough to lead D&T to them in a manner that will give her legal reason to eliminate them is part of the way I shall support them.
I smirk to myself. Poor Luke. Little does he know that the tiny medic he helped train is walking back to them with the continued existence of Luke’s Pizzeria in her hands.
No, no, no. His hands. Their. Its. His. NO. Her. Fuck!
Luke may just grow grey fur after this. Hopefully he doesn’t wear down his canines from grinding them together in stress.
I bring a gloved hand to my splitting-wide grin, my face cast in shadow while biting at my thumbnail.
Oh, the irony!
My detractors within the organization argue that System users should be found to replace me. After all, they suuurely could do a much better job than a mere non-System user. My expertise and self-study simply can't rival the skills of the System. I start nibbling at the flesh of my thumb a bit more aggressively. Ohhh~ the idiot thugs’ stupidity incites quite the wrath in me.
I wish that Elisa could be here right NOW, because then at least my girlfriend could get some delicious food, feeding on my Wrath. Someone's gotta have the benefits of our relationship. My precious little dragon... I miss you. Sorry for abandoning you. Maybe I could get D&T to pay for semesters for you too. We'll go together.
And guess what! Not only did the elite training I chose to receive in payment for my services as a medic pay off, I shall be the savior of all my friends, even those idiots! It’s enough to make me fall into fits of laughter. The one who holds the ENTIRE fate of the organization of Luke’s Pizzeria in their smol, bronze hands is this gal. I shall prevent the Lady from killing them all.
I think back to her aloof expression as she had carried my head. I had slid around in her slippery grasp helplessly, my sapphire hair trailing behind my emptying, paling face. Reflective eyes, with the scars of surgery around them, gazed uncaringly around her as she pulled off some form of travel that I could not identify. Normal brown hair hung down from her head, while thin lips pursed at some annoyance kilometers away.
Surprisingly enough (sarcasm intensifies), I do not think that even if a random person had been fully coherent in my position despite being decapitated, that they would have noticed the expressions. They were oddly faint, even to me. Regardless, I have a good enough grasp of her personality to understand that she would not care even if I killed hundreds in this neighborhood, maniacally laughing all the while.
On the other hand, direct and actionable evidence, obtained through legal means, of what is practically a popular, nascent government... well, that just won't stand.
One would think that killing hundreds would undermine the country as well, but according to the actions and prerogative of the government normally takes, you would be sadly mistaken.
After all, it matters not if the over-populated neighborhood decreases a bit, and the country gets a higher-leveled individual to boot. HAH! Even if someone eliminated an entire neighborhood, that could hardly compare to the death toll that rages ever higher from daily battles between the Torments and the Magical Guardians.
Nah!
What really matters to this whole world is the effective subjugation of System-users. The goal of every organization that lasts long enough is to ensure that most fail to ascend up the levels or kept down from rebelling with the threat of brute force, while the rest who do rise are either incorporated into the organization efficiently or that the wrath of the up-and-comers is directed elsewhere.
Countries were less brutal before the advent of the System and perhaps many today would have taken a different direction... but after the militaries supped on levels from the slaughter of vicious creatures, they set up their own government under the thin veneer of prior legal law. For example, when the introduction of potent levels of Essence halted the Revolutionary War of the United States early, the Constitution got turned into a figure piece of literature by the military, solely meant for propaganda.
The military is a right bastard like that! A bloated and cancerous limb that had long ago strangled the body it belonged to. They rule under martial law that never ended after the encroaching of the various Dimensions onto our reality, activating the Essence in our Dimension. And so we became the Land of the Free Humans.
And what do I find, to my eeendless delight? I am not only as far away as possible from my human origin, I am one of the most detested beings that exist!
Though the world is unknowing of these aggressive, perhaps overly bitter, thoughts of mine, I scream "-Isn't this delightful?!-" to the far-off rooftops of the soot-blackened buildings to let them know, all on a fit of whimsy to do something meaningless. I'm sure I make a odd sight, a feminine boy in strange fashion, tiptoeing around the beggars crippled by magical drugs. I spin around, showing my helpless amusement at this rage-inducing world.
Heh.
Skirt go spinny. Wheeeeeee.