My moments of enjoying life is cutting it close with the Lady's patience. I will not deny that I do not appreciate being rushed, particularly when I am doing these for my brother and for the Stars' entertainment!

"Grrrrr," I growl cutely.

I stumble off my wrathful and whimsical spinning into a shortcut through the labyrinthine alleys of tall, steel buildings, my arms pinwheeling as I try to find my balance and avoid the alley walls that the rune-makers have packed far too close together. They’d rather choke out the walking spaces with their structures than deign to trade profit for the ease of the poor traveling the area.

Toxic silver smog billows out of the windows of the industrial rune-maker buildings, enshrouding me and the rest of the denizens shouldering by me. The warm gases puff into my face, an acrid tang burning my nose and mouth as I hold my breath with an adorable pout.

Metallic sludge is pumped into the alleyways by the pipes belonging to the factories, jutting out of random doors and windows. It is the rare few pipes that actually come out of built-in outlets. Those typically come from the rich companies that can afford to blatantly ignore regulations.

A man molds the toxic waste product into an glue-like product for a temporary shelter.

I hereby nickname you Termite Beggar! In good company with Pervy Beggar 1-69, Racist Beggar 1-26, Spider Beggar, Banshee Beggar, Alligator Man Beggar, and Tickle Beggar.

Pale pink blotches dot his body; burns seared into him by undirected Will radiating off the building materials he uses. The silvery, used reagents in the sludge store the dangerous undirected Will of a Mage that had radiated off the spells used to carve the runed products of whatever this factory is set to construct.

At first blush, I normally would not have given him a second glance. His body language is neither aggressive nor manic.

Nonetheless, a rush of air hisses through my clenched jaw.

Two simple wooden rectangles.

A dark, rich mahogany wood.

Interlocked with each other in a horrid symbol.

At right angles.

Within his hands...

Is a simple wooden cross.

I jump over the hazardous liquid around his structure with a hop-and-a-skip, my checkered dress flaring up behind me with the loud sounds of fabric whipping around in the wake of my haste.

“May God protect me from the dangers of this poison,” he mutters in prayer, unknowing - NO. UNCARING - that I am here!

My fluffy ears flick back under the illusion, a minor gesture for the rage consuming me. My skin flushes a bright mahogany brown with a hint of pink, on both my stone-grey skin and on the illusion above it, and I release my control over the muscles of my face. My mask of a smile breaks down into a brittle grimace beset by rapid twitching around my eyes and mouth. The whites in my eyes widen.

I crouch in front of the nervously working Mage, a ragged PEASANT of a man.

Though the Rogues of Luke’s Pizzeria are likely already following me, they are well aware of my hatred of God. Though I will admit I find it surprising that they are escaping my remarkable prowess in senses. I didn't realize my new sensory organs were that weak to basic Rogues.

They died prior to the Phantasm Poisoned trait.

Earlier notifications:

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 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.

Memory wiped by Mind Control of the Self (1). Set in a perpetual loop until you make yourself pay attention to it. Conveying the words of the deity of the System of the Torments, the Goddess Diarrhea says "You, Magic System, fail to produce antibodies against this new strain I have provided gene transferal to."

It would be out of character for this LOATHSOME show of that religion to go unpunished.

“Hey!” I bark out right into his face.

The man trembles as his face, scrunched in terror, raises until it lays wide brown eyes upon my furious visage.

My one remaining hand, gloved, reaches out to grab him by the chin forcefully.

I must keep the pretense... unfortunately... that I believe I am human enough and that I had not simply been tricking them in the interrogation room.

The Lady is watching.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no...

I should not be relying on outside observance to keep from killing someone.

NO, NO, NO!!

But... but... argh.

But she'd be fine if I kill this man.

A growl rumbles in my throat as I fight the urge to rid the world of a blighted existence.

My stark blue eyes narrow into black crescents. How dare he use such a foul symbol in front of me? The source of so much of my pain and misery?

It was the origin of the very first Tormented Zone I suffered through, the Miasma imprinting on the venomous poison the two Crusaders for Righteousness preached to their child. It was the filth that poisoned my parents’ mind, emblazoning upon their minds that I was subhuman, sinful dirt on the heels of their shoes. It was the source of the curse of my life.

I can't separate the two. I should be able to. But. But I can't bring myself to see the difference between a reasonable show of faith to God that is simply for solace in a cruel world versus those whose life is a perpetual war against so many groups, all done with the aim of beating them down in the name of God. There is too much hate in my heart.

I never said I was a nice person.

My head cracks viciously to the left, my lips receding back until my button nose disappears.

Revealed from this nightmarish deconstruction of the lower half of my face is a glistening pink and white maw of impossibly many, impossibly long teeth and gums. A abyssally blue tunnel yawns gorgeously behind the macabre beauty of conical rows upon rows of bone-white teeth, each oxymoronically lit by the indigo darkness behind it.

The grinning snarl rips up all the way up to my furry blue ears; a delightfully disgusting sound that could be likened to wet cloth tearing at the seams. My teeth grind together, the vibrations traveling up my bones like the squeak of StygianFoam.

I tremble with disgusting and repulsing anger, leaning forward until my teeth are nearly touching the PEASANT’S nose.

The blue irises of the illusion disappeared for a moment, making my true eyes visible to the petrified faithful for a split second. My purple irises constrict into tiny pinpricks, erratically flickering around in a constrained pattern.

The trembling madness gave me the feeling of a faintly burning sensation in the back of my eyes.

I must kill him.

I should not kill him.

Like a caged rat, the mind of the God worshipper desperately scrabbles at the edges of the whites of his eyes and the skin of his body. He can’t help but try to escape, but his fear fails to boost the hand the System dealt him.

Mind Control of the Self (1) has been induced by the System of the Torments for your sake. This sacrilegious entity must die, for he is a slight upon your existence. Enforce your right as future monarch to control the faith within your domain.

A raging melody blasts in my ears, hundreds of music notes flying onto the music sheet of my mind. It sustains a deep pitch, raging and hoarse screams gutturally filling the air. My ears fold back against my head, blood dripping from them and soaking the fur and hair.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

The world blurs around me, a grey and black fade of a background, as I move forward to his grimy face; innocent eyes stare back.

My jaws yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwnnnn open.

And then close in a perfect grin.

The brows and cheekbones that dissolved beneath my ebony tongue, the tender flesh that turned to ashes beneath my plague-ridden teeth, the eyes that popped like pustules in my throat... they were of no consequence, failing to stop my inevitable return to a smile.

I wiped off the deliciously savory dust, ignoring the notifications of the System of the Torments.

I cutely yawn, my face resetting back to normal, before stretching out my back as if I did nothing.

I leap back, horror written clear on my face.

Did I actually kill him? Did I... eat him?...

I backpedal from the glazed stare of the man.

He... he’s still alive...

I should just leave him alone! And... and then.

“Yeah,” I reassure myself, the sound of my entrancing voice calming myself.

My mouth resets to normal.

For real this time.

Then he’ll be fine. He won’t die like that sacrificial test subject given to me back at the IRS.

Just avoid helping him and all will be good. He should be fine.

I race out of the alley into the red-light district, leaving the drooling man frightened into unconsciousness. From a distance, the Rat-Eaters - chihuahua-sized, fuzzy jumping spiders - skitter into the alley. Their dark black eyes focus on me and the man, before rushing to him. Welp! He looks like he's going to die!

I can't help but be viciously satisfied and peaceful. A sense of shame and guilt ties it all together like a neat little bow. Like a child in The Nightmare Before Christmas, I am scared by my present. The emotions I find wrapped under my paper-mâché of happiness are terrors straight from Halloween.

________________

I cross through the elaborately constructed entertainment town of the neighborhood, each building a work of art. They are either created into a symbol of the House that resides there or really emphasize the sexual shapes. For the former, that would be like a deck of cards or something and for the latter they are very vulgarly shaped, if you get my drift.

*waggles eyebrows*

On my left is a disgusting-looking building in the shape of an oversized boner ten stories tall. Bleck! “Blood vessels” pulsate along the building, horny individuals doing Stars know what in those fetish-filled “veins.” Let your imaginations come up with the wildest kinks you could think of, brought to life in those "veins." Stars know that you are vastly underestimating just how depraved the fantasies that go on are in there.

The see-through plastic that makes up the “vessels” is perfect for all of those exhibitionists.

My eye twitches.

Why are so many exhibitionists looking at me?! Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew! But I like it, but I like it, but I like it, but I like it, but I like it! They are praising me with their eyes upon me as they commit unspeakable acts!

To my right, is a mansion in the shape of an androgynously pretty and drooling face, with blush painted onto the innocent cheeks of the long-haired model of a building. Transparent soap, much like saliva in consistency, flowed down its mouth.

”Our establishment Drool. Grab some now for a couple bucks and have a blast jerking off to the System-enhanced sexiness of our building.”

Each and every one of these fantasy fulfillments throughout the entertainment district are boosted by Skills and Meshes of the System, making the prostitutes capable of fulfilling the most twisted of "favors." Though on the plus side, thanks to the System, the prostitutes find enjoyment and fulfillment in their job, no matter how messed up that shit is. They stay Magical in thought-process, rather than leaning to Miasmic.

For the most part.

None of the institutions here could be supported without the skills of Builders though. They are, most certainly, a cornerstone of all countries with how property damage is more common than sliced bread.

Essentially System-empowered craftsmen, they employ Will to improve their construction in addition to the high Strength, Speed, and Dexterity they need. The successful Builders got the big payouts of making the structures in this town, while small-time Builders reapplied and operated the Magical effects of the buildings here. The Drool creation of Luke’s Pizzeria’s prostitution array comes from a very complex array, operated by small-time Builders.

I remember a blood-bonded sibling of mine, someone who forged an oath outside of the System to be my sibling, built solely on trust with me. He was a Building-obsessed man, who dabbled in rune-making as well. We went through thick and thin together. I was his social crutch, as he was utterly incapable of interacting with others. No one could understand nor was willing to craft the mask necessary to interact with him. They thought that their honesty would enable them to get along with him, and failed every time. He would shriek and get emotional at things that appeared completely illogical to the average Joe.

Incapable of understanding certain emotional cues, while becoming suicidal or aggressive depending on others, he was a danger to those around him and himself.

I became the perfect puzzle piece for him, improving his life drastically for a couple years. I would calm him down by switching between multiple exaggerated expressions, and when we talked, I would emulate the responses he would have instead of him actually doing them. Pout, smile, sneer, gasp, snarl, cry...

He would feel a sympathetic connection with me and then I could teach him in the peculiar way he needed. In return, I managed to improve the life of someone who would normally get a strait-jacket and thrown away into the bins of the asylums around here, and occasionally he would build something for me. While I need reagents from the various gangs passing through the area to keep the things he built working, I still treasure them. One such thing was the runed surgical tools I employed to great use.

He was... a great learning experience. This what he was.

As always, he died sooner than later. Kicked the bucket, though it feels like I am the one who stubbed the toe when he kicked it.

And get this! He died to some random ableist on the streets, of all things. He had so much potential, it makes me want to gnash my teeth at the loss! The prototypes he built; the levels he reached...

His last creation, a huge apartment heavily trapped with runes, is in fact right over there...

My musings are interrupted as I halt.

I’m sorry... What was that?

I turn around in shock, my eyes widening at what had been decidedly not been there last time I had walked by it.

What.

The.

Fuck.

Yes, yes. I know. Such an eloquent expression of surprise. Nonetheless, I think it is rather apt for this situation.

A veritable pillar of steam gushes up behind a crater wall about a house or two in height of the broken slabs of numerous pastel-colored housing apartments. Macerated asphalt and concrete mound up around the area, rivaling some landfills. The small slum of huge apartment complexes that had sprouted up on top of the free parking lot is nothing but a thick ring of rubble.

I stumble over to the rubble, panicking as I climb through the treacherous terrain. It can't be...

I fall flat on my face on a mound of glass, which ineffectually try to cut my face. Shoot! I forgot I’m missing an arm.

Just kidding. I never forgot! I just wanted to see what it would be like if I made a major mistake like that! Pretty fun.

Where is all that steam coming from? Is there a geyser or some other thermal activity somehow producing an entire pillar of rushing steam in this seismically stable area?

A bit of light peeks through an opening in the rubble that rivals the bramble forest of Sleeping Beauty. I stick my face through, a piece of metal trying and failing to scratch through my Vitality-infused skin.

My large eyes widen further more than they already are. Though no one would realize it no matter how good they are at cold reading, the smile within my mind, reflecting my face’s smile, turns into a brittle ‘o’ of surprise. A weary sigh overtakes my body, and I sit back exhaustedly on my bottom, resting frustratedly in the shadow.

A boiled-pink garden of curled, bulbous flesh. Glistening plump leaves of liver-like vegetation composed the garden, growing atop writhing thighs that split into pale white, mycelium roots. It sprouts from a plug of pale beige flesh, with white marbling much like pork bacon. The plug, the mass of still flesh, filled up an enormous crater.

Bulbous fleshy valves of varying shapes and... similarities to real-life equivalents... pulse outward, releasing steam in spurts amongst the entire domain.

A Tormented Zone. Another one.

But of course! Why not rebel against all sense of probability and plop down another Tormented Zone in the same state on the same day? I cannot even blame God for this, because as much as He is a stars-awful buggart, he has nothing to do with Miasma.

More friends dead.

My pet python Jerry lived in that apartment. One of my most treasured gifts from Elisa, he was my comforting Demon of Sloth, defending the building from any strangers. I point at a spot completely indistinguishable from any other in the fleshy nightmare to remind myself where it had been. The sweet dear resembled a python with the head of a faceless man and a big, soft mane of floppy feathers. All he needed was a random corpse dragged off the street and he would give me all of the snuggles I could ask me for.

His monthly mating display eyeballs even gave me the inspiration for my helmet and his snuggles kept me company while I created music videos for online.

He was so PRECIOUS! I miss him already. Spontaneously, I reach out to hug a piece of rubble.

Ouch.

Pokey.

Don't mind me! Just scrounging for some teeny bit of comfort in these crumbled remains!

I took a big, shuddering inhale. Then a cold, crystalline surface arches up against my legs, rubbing against them like a cat. From out of nowhere, Facet came to comfort me. I bend down to pet the eccentrically straying creature.

“Thanks for the comfort, Facet. I appreciate the gesture,” I say amusedly.

The irony... wonderful! My eyes flare wider with an unidentifiable emotion. I traded one pet for another when I left the Tormented Zone of The King.

I yearn to march straight in there in recover what I can. Perhaps I would even find Jerry, though he would be in an unrecoverable state of Sloth.

I am certain that using my new skills and boosts will enable me to get along with the Torment and Anathema in the anti-magic zone. It would be a struggle. What Tormented Zones aren’t? But I’m certain that I could traverse the area and retrieve the remains of my friends and my pets to bury them. I could even do it free of the anti-magic's corruption.

But I can’t.

GAAAAH!

If it wasn't for one important fact, I'd be able to do it, but the evidence is in front of me, waggling its tongue: there are no spatial shenanigans that I can sense, a sign of a low-level Tormented Zone that D&T could handle herself. Which means she would just yoink me out of there, and then I won't be able to do ANYTHING!

Damnit! I bite my thumb in frustration. I feel like I still have not escaped the tyranny of The King. This bitch simply has a new leash, collar, and a new master! At least The King never killed me, however much the threat of it hung over me.

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! HOHOHOHOHOHO!!!

Teehee.

It is absurd! That I can even have this complaint and call it a benefit... Isn’t it a scoff-worthy "achievement"?

And yet.

The guilt grows. I refuse to thank the kind memory of The King for letting me keep my colorless, vain life.