As Isil roamed the streets of Suugant searching for a certain building, a single question pestered her. Why was it that no one remembered her? Though expecting every person to know her face was both unreasonable and unrealistic, she recognized a few people she had most certainly interacted with. She even bought a meat skewer from one of them, yet they did not treat her as anyone special.

It was infuriating. Never before had a reasonable answer dodged her mind like this. It was not in arrogance when she thought she should be remembered. No – she had a great impact on many of these lives here. In her frustration, she bit down hard on the meat skewer, causing the wooden stick to snap. In an impressive feat of dexterity, she snatched the tip of the skewer that fell out of her hand and swallowed the piece of meat threatening to fall off.

Isil knew for a fact that these people forgot her artificially. The meat skewer vendor seemed normal, inconspicuous. However, that was nothing but a facade. The man was the liaison for an esoteric organization known as the Cult of The Phoenix. It was a classic evil, unreasonably influential shadow organization. Unfortunately for them, they were nothing more than hollow threats and dying breaths. After Isil had gone on a lengthy quest to dismantle every important figure in the Cult, it had begun to collapse in on itself.

Alas, a dragon was more powerful than a wyrm, even with its wings clipped. It continued to exert its influence even still, puppets in the government still speaking the Cult’s will. Even so, Isil wasn’t worried about it. The Cult would fall soon, and it was too late to change anything.

One problem about the Cult was its lack of Reborn. The Reborn were the fighters of the Cult, the ones who had ‘taken in the ashes of the Phoenix’ and obtained extraordinarily power. The Reborn were simple-minded servants who held no desire other than following the Cult’s orders. Without a doubt, they would execute the Pope’s dying orders and hunt her to the ends of Kalixkto. But other than the meat skewer vendor, who actually lived and worked in Suugant, she did not catch a whiff of the Cult nor its Reborn.

Of course, she could understand that they would not want to tangle with her – after all, she had already eliminated the bigger threats in the Cult – but the complete lack of recognition in the meat skewer vendor or tails meant something was wrong. This unknown caused fear and frustration to arise in her heart. Any logical explanation she formulated was instantly met with a cacophony of flaws.

Goddammit! Isil once again bit the skewer with too much strength, causing the skewer half to once again be shattered. Thankfully, there was only one piece of meat left on it, which she already was eating. Just what the fuck is the reason behind this?! The Cult had some fucking strong bastards in it – some of which are still alive! They’re leagues stronger than the maids back at the tower, and yet they remember me! Why weren’t they affected?!

The more she tried to reason, the more anger she felt. It was only until she noticed the people around her were getting pale and walking unsteadily that she finally stopped. Her pent-up emotions had influenced her mana into becoming an oppressive aura, which naturally made the nearby pedestrians weaker. To calm herself she took deep breaths, placing a hand over her heart as an added measure.

I need to stay calm. Only then can I do what I need to. You can do it Ale- Isil. You can do it Isil. Just breathe.

Isil let out her last deep breath and removed her hand from her chest. As she approached the intersection of the road, she consulted her shoddy mental map of the city. Somehow, Endless Conquest had been constructed to the utmost realism. It was to such a point that the city could function without any irregularities without having changed from the game at all. The developers surely had a heart attack upon hearing the requirements for building the cities.

The only complaint Isil had about Suugant was the abrupt change from the middle-class area to the slums, in which she was currently standing. The slum streets was naturally exempt of the bustle and hubbub the market streets had, but had ten times the smell. Isil gagged and plugged her nose. The slum’s lack 0f concept of hygiene, and the inexplicable corpses were the main cause of the smell.

Isil steeled herself and walked deeper into slum territory. Though the smell progressively worsened the farther she walked, she didn’t waver. She stopped in front of a dilapidated shack and scrunched up her face. She took her hand away from her nose and used it to knock thrice quickly on the door, twice slowly, followed by two quick knocks. A previously unnoticed door slot slid open, revealing a pair of cloudy blue eyes.

“The Eight feast today, but on what?” A gravely voice questioned.

“The Ninth.” Isil replied quietly.

“Kilm’s wrath inflames the world.”

“Yet Daffir’s love washes away the pain.”

“Welcome.” The voice returned along with the sound of locks being released.

The opened without a sound, and Isil stepped in quickly. Inside was sparse furnishing, consisting of a small kitchen with a magic stove, a table and two chairs, and a couch. Isil took off her coat and draped it on the back of a chair. The person behind the door closed it and locked the locks. The person was a short, gaunt man who obviously had little to eat. His clothes were closer to sewn-together rags than actual garments. His black hair was unkempt and down to his shoulders. He looked just like any other slum dweller.

In reality, the man was a member of a local information service that operated out of the slums. It wasn’t anything special, but Isil could trust their information. Isil sat herself at the table, taking out a handful of gold coins. The man did not sit himself at the table, but instead went over to the kitchen and took out a kettle, which he placed on the stove and ignited its flame.

“Tea, please.” Isil stated without waiting for the man to ask.

The man simply nodded in reply.

“I’m looking for anything out of the ordinary relating to the Elytron Ruins.” Isil said, folding her hands and resting them on the table.

“I suspect you don’t mean the traps.” The man asked as though stating.

“No, that too. I want to make sure nothing’s changed.”

The man nodded, and stepped away from the kettle. He sat down on the couch and stuck his hand in between the dirty cushions. He jerked his arm upwards, as if pulling on something that refused to budge. Isil sensed a spark of magic as a camouflage spell was deactivated. A collection of wooden filing cabinets revealed themselves in an empty part of the room. The man walked over and retrieved a folder from one of the drawers and handed it over to Isil.

“Recent?” Isil queried.

“Compiled just yesterday.” The man answered.

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“Take your pay.”

The man scooped up the coins and put them in his pocket. Isil perused the files in the folder, searching for relevant clues. Unfortunately for her, most of what she read was simply explainable magic phenomena, not even divine in nature. Once again, she felt her anger and frustration building. This time, she managed to calm herself down before she started releasing oppressive mana again.

“Here’s your tea.” The man placed a cup in front of her.

“Thank you.” Isil said without looking up from the documents.

The sun was beginning to set as Isil finished the file. She returned the stray documents to the folder and set it down with a sigh. Other than some interesting tidbits about crazed adventurers, there was nothing helpful. She gritted her teeth in frustration.

“Did you find what you needed?” The man asked, sitting in the chair opposite her.

“No.” Isil replied.

“Then -”The man began to say.

“No.”

“I see.”

Isil grabbed her coat and left, her face dark. She didn’t bother waiting for the man to undo the locks, and simply waved her hand and using a bit of mana to cause them to unlock themselves. She strode out the door and was instantly greeted with the oppressive smell of the slums. Gagging, Isil quickly left in the direction of the ruins, opting to simply fly over the walls. It would be harder to see her during the night, so she would only need to use stealth when she jumped over instead of the entire way there.

There wasn’t anybody watching as Isil took to the air and swiftly crossed the city’s threshold. She landed on the dry soil just outside the wall, a pair of illusory wings coming into existence in the sky a short distance away. This was where the Elytron Ruins got their name. They were no angelic wings with white feathers, but rather clear, detailed insect wings. This was not to say they lack beauty – just that they were not what many expected.

Isil closed the distance between herself and the ruins with a Speed Boost spell. In the time it took to reach the ruins, she activated the pendant hidden under her clothes. Unfortunately, the clothes did not escape from the pendant and wrap around her body like she had imagined, but rather around her legs. She tumbled to the ground, desperately trying to kick away the garments before she hit the ground.

Isil was no physical combatant, however, and was unable to save her face from having an intimate meeting with the dirt. She pulled herself up from her painful position, and began moving. Naturally feeling uncomfortable with undressing without something hiding her, she decided to find a small room in the ruins before changing clothes. Thinking such, she returned her combat clothing to the storage pendant, but not before giving it a nasty glare for tripping her.

-_-_-

Isil stood before the ruins, taking a moment to admire the structure. As a place that held a divine avatar, it had been bathed in powerful energies, not all of them just magical. The scholars of Kalixkto understood divine energy as well as modern scientists understood dark energy – basically nothing. This meant that many mysterious phenomena could come about as a result of divine energy. A blatant example of this was the Elytron Ruins’ namesake, the giant wings that manifested above it at night.

Isil took a deep breath, unsure of just what would happen once she stepped inside. She knew nothing about the scale of her reality-changing incident, meaning it could have even erased her from the minds of the divines. Just how would it react once it saw her? Would she be vaporized with eye lasers upon entering? Would her spirit be wrenched from her mind and drift for an eternity in the void?

The questions that refused to leave her mind had only been bolstered by her vast knowledge of niche fantasy literature. Her experience worked against her here, fear mounting in her heart. Never before had she encountered such a real threat to her life. The possibilities were suffocating, so much so that her breathing became labored. She clutched at her chest like she had just finished a marathon.

Isil’s rationality begged her to calm down, dismissing her ideas as bogus and extremely implausible. But it wouldn’t stop. Even if the situations was impossible, she couldn’t banish the fear. She staggered and pressed herself up against a nearby pillar to remain standing. Her heart pounded in her ears. Weakness overcame her, and she collapsed into a kneeling position.

“Goddammit...” Isil started to cry softly.

Why was she so weak? Hadn’t she overcome her previous self’s weakness? Had she not evolved and adapted? What were those huge mental changes she made before? She accepted herself as a different person, and committed to becoming the person she acted as. She swallowed her weakness in the face of the death of others and became capable of killing. Had she not proven herself enough? Must she take another test of mental strength?

“Surely… Surely… I’m strong, right…?” She sobbed. “I don’t have to fear, right? Dammit, why?”

It was no easy thing to change.

Isil had it tough. She had a wealth of gender-bender fiction to consume and understand. She had played a full-dive VR game as a woman while her real body was male. She had experience in simulations, and a large amount at that. But when it came down to it, she was always consumed by her primal self. The self that relied on emotions to dictate actions. The self that felt bad because it made a slightly evil in a video game. The self that ignored reality.

Isil was weak.

She was too weak.

She couldn’t do it.

“Fuck… fucking hell...” Isil whispered, too weak for tears.

She thought she could do it. She had always believed she could do it. She had always thought she was strong.

No… He thought he was strong. Isil was strong, but he was not. Isil was a paragon, a powerful idol. Isil was a symbol of everything he couldn’t be. He knew why he didn’t switch over to a male character when he couldn’t fulfill his perverted desires. It was so that he wouldn’t feel like he lacked strength. When it was a woman who showed strength, he did not feel the need to compare. After all, they were different. Isil was not someone he could be, could imitate.

It was rather that he would always find himself comparing himself to the male characters he played. And he felt inferior. He couldn’t stand that. His self-hate reared its head just looking at his male character. So he ran. He ran away from himself. He hid from his weakness, masked it as a socially unacceptable, but relatable, desire. In the end, all he did was hide.

He was nothing…

“No… no, fuck this.”

“Have I not gone through more shit than the average person can imagine?”

“Have I not destroyed myself to get this far already?”

“I don’t need to act. I need to grow up.”

“Reality’s a bitch, and it demands I bend. Why the fuck should I bend?”

“I don’t give a damn about my power, my strength, my weaknesses. If there’s one thing I can say for certain, it’s that I will not bend knee just because I’m told to! No! I’m different! I’m not who I was before!”

“I! Am Isil von Caligo! I have slain Aeteurs and Daemons alike! I have risen beyond mortal limits! I have spat in the face of the divines and returned with my head on my shoulders! I am no coward!”

“And yet, I am. I am a coward. I have balked when confronted with obstacles so small any normal person would hardly consider them. I am weak, and I am feeble. I lie and hide. I fall and cry.”

“It’s damn time I stopped. I’m a fucking mess, but I will not stay this way. No, I am not irredeemable. I have my pride! For once, for once in my useless fucking life I will do something I should’ve done a long time ago! And I will not falter! Because I cannot!”

He shed his fears like heavy coat during the summer. His feet hit the ground with determination. He did not falter. Not because he could not, but because he would not. For once, for once. He was doing it. His foot stepped through the line he could not cross.

And he did not falter. Because he would not.