#(its prolly more obvious in the second image)

[procrastinova]

what on EARTH is this guy doing

[dragimalsdaydreams]

[image ID: two images of Razor from the game Genshin Impact.

the first image is a screencap of Razor's in-game model from the back. he's wearing a dull grey/brown leather coat with a bunch of red/brown leather belts hanging down the length of it. his hood is up, but his long, messy grey hair is streaming out from a slit in the back of the hood. this hair is split down the middle, streaming to either side of his spine to show the Electro Vision centered on the lower back of the coat. the sleeves of the coat are torn off, showing his bare pale arms, and orange leather gloves. he's wearing poofy green pants, and black/grey leather boots.

the second image is a cartoony drawing of Razor from the back, standing more hunched and looking slightly over his shoulder. his hair has been cut short and no longer sticks out from the back of the hood. the extraneous leather belts have been removed from the coat, with more visible, geometric patterning in its place. a rope hangs across the lower back of the coat, below the Vision. a few small, dead animals (a rabbit, a couple ferrets) hang from this rope, with text reading, "small game gives the vague impression of a wolf tail". Razor's boots have been removed, leaving bare feet and lower legs messily wrapped in white wrappings, and covered in dirt. nearby text reads, " you cannot convince me they wrestled this boy into boots".

end ID]

back again with another redraw instead of a screencap edit! though I did honestly attempt the edit before I gave up (Razor's hair covers up too much, it woulda been annoying to redraw it all..)

also, it's just the back view b/c I don't have much problem with the front of his design. and since Razor is one of my faves and mains, I'm intimately familiar with the back of his design, considering how often I have to stare at it..

more design notes under the cut~

more than anything else, I just hate Razor's hair. usually I'm all for male characters with long hair, but Hoyo just fucked up Razor's so bad. which is insane cus' a wolf tail shape feels so obvious, for a kid literally raised by wolves. I would've even forgiven the stupid hood slit for that-- sure, Hoyo could've just put the hood down for Razor's hair, but I like the hood up, so whatever. but Hoyo just had to split the hair in half, ruining the potential tail shape. and it's clear that they split the hair so that the Vision on the coat is visible, but the obvious solution there should be to just... put the Vision somewhere fucking else. like, the Vision could have been literally anywhere else, good god

either way, I just decided to cut off the hair, cus' I had a better idea for a "faux tail" anyways. I know dead animals are prolly too morbid for Genshin designs, but it definitely fits my feral vision of Razor <3

finally, evidence that I did genuinely attempt the model edit, before I decided, "oh, fuck this"

[image ID: the same back-view screencap of Razor's in-game model from earlier, but centered on his torso region. much of his grey hair has been manually blocked out using the purple background color. the parts of his back/arms that the hair covered have been roughly drawn back in as a messy sketch. end ID]

[limmastyles]

Im no professional critic and all that but (olivia i hope this reaches to you)

First of the whole preparation of the trailer and movie is fucking messed up till they had to do screenings again and again.

Secondly, Olivia dumbass its is so fucking obvious how uncomfortable and unnatural Harry looks while kissing Flo what makes you think adding that on the trailer is gonna gain interest from people? You didnt even hire a choreographer for them as its Harry's first time being intimate with a person on screen. Its not even rocket science even a toddler could state the obvious. And lets not forget abt the add up of sex scenes on the trailer itself... istg you're even more dumber than I thought

Thirdly, you went out really spoiling the whole plot of the movie in the first trailer itself and now a second one? I dont even have to watch the movie to understand the story bcse its already obvious.

Fourthly, you wanna claim yourself as a director you act like it and give credit the main character who's prolly gonna lift the whole movie image up. They made an article with freaking your name and Harry but where's Florence when SHE IS THE MAIN ONE? You're a director right? So I bet its not hard for you or any one of your dumbass minions to send an email to the magazine blog or whatever article blog who published it. This proves that you're using Harry's name for clout, attention and money. Stupid Olivia real fucking stupid.

Lastly, its already so obvious to everyone with every stuffs you're doing including stunts. Seriously miss maam, museum pic and trailer right after? At this point everything you do is so pathetic and predictable.

I would say stop every shit before its too late but you fucking brought it too far and even if he agrees to stunt where did your brain go? Down the toilet bowl while you're taking a dump? You should be the bigger person but instead you're doing the opposite. You may be a good mother to your kids which I doubt with all the pathetic runaway you do to follow around byt just remember you're ruining a man's reputation slowly.

And remember one thing, at this point you're just a clown to everyone with whatever you're doing. Same goes for Harry. Open your eyes and look beyond what is happening instead of staying in your bubble that's never gonna pop filled with negative energy in all sorts of way.

[missremember]

Do you have any character headcanons for Hero of Another Story? (Sorry to randomly drop into your inbox, but I'm curious-)

Please don't apologize for dropping into my inbox stop by anytime pspspspspsps

Sorry this took so long to get to, HoAS is basically just a parade of my HCs loosely arranged in a narrative format, lol, so I was trying to think of ones that either wouldn't come up in the story or wouldn't be obvious.

But!!! Here are some!!

Jecra

Like most of the fandom, I think Jecra has a bit of a golden-retriever-esque personality, what with the high energy and inability to shut up.

In some ways, he's the most grounded one of the Trio, for he is the Resident Normal Guy.

His drive comes from the relationships he forms with others, and he forms MANY, because he develops a strong impression of people pretty much the second he meets them.

If he decides you're stuck with him, then you're stuck with him.

His accent gets harder to understand the more woiked- uh, worked up he gets.

Garlude

She comes from a really communal background, everyone regularly depended on each other's support and gave support in kind, so working as a team comes pretty naturally to her.

This is already kinda plainly demonstrated I think but she's also a natural-born marksman!

She's pretty no-nonsense, and has a pretty keen sense for when someone's trying to pull one over on her.

She can match pretty much anyone in a fight.

She has that heroic pitfall where she acts on instinct when someone's in danger...it'll prolly be fine.

Meta Knight

Made this question really hard to answer cuz half the HCs I have for MK are spoilers lmao.

He does NOT like to be dirty. Is it about his image? Feeling dirty feeling bad? Who knows?

Out of a lineup of any weapon ever made ever he will always, ALWAYS choose a sword.

He think it's the perfect weapon because its efficient use relies purely on skill, making any sword fight an equal playing field, and as everybody knows (...probably. he at least thinks that everybody knows this.) emerging victorious from such a fight proves your greatness.

He really, REALLY likes proving his greatness. Or lack thereof. In which case he will improve until he ACHIEVES greatness.

He's...he's a real big fan of winning.

But we all knew that.

Misc.

Assume that in any time that passes between chapters, Jecra and Garlude spend it gushing about their kids

Meta Knight only has a very loose grasp of what a kid is

MissRemember did not mean to make as many OCs for this story as she did on God it was just supposed to be the kids from Chapter 5 and a bunch of monsters what happened who's Ciraco how did she get here why do people care about the Poppy Bro Watch Captain-

[occasionaltouhou]

honestly? of the prompts i’ve done lately, i had the most fun writing this one

The young girl carefully drew the last section of the outermost circle with chalk, then once again checked the book next to her to confirm she was right.

This was difficult, because it was in a language she couldn’t read, so she had to go off what she’d been able to learn from her master and what the images in the book told her. But from what she could tell, everything was right. All the symbols were where they should be, and the herbs and stones scattered at the corners of the pengrams within the interlocking circles were all correct, down to the gram.

She placed a single lit candle at the corners of the largest pentagram, the one that dominated the centre of the summoning circle, and began to chant. It had taken her a month to learn how to pronounce some of these words, and she was worried that her master had begun to become suspicious about why she wanted to know them.

But her master was out right now, and wouldn’t be back for at least a week, so she’d taken the opportunity to sidestep her entirely. If her master wouldn’t tell her what she wanted to know, then she’d simply summon someone who would.

As she chanted, the firelight of the candles flickered and began to spread, carving the shape of the circle in the air, over and over again, until it were as if there were a pillar of flame before her. The blinding light and blazing heat almost made her bite her tongue, but she caught herself and continued slowly, steadily.

She spoke slowly, steadily, until the final syllable was uttered. The flickering flames suddenly shone a bright white, and they released a shockwave that threw her backwards and shattered the windows of the little home.

“--in the middle of something!” cried a woman’s voice in Japanese, from the centre of the circle. The girl blinked as the flames began to fade, and a humanoid shape appeared standing in the circle. She grinned, scrambling over to the edge of the circle and kneeling respectfully.

The figure looked around, her form still invisible through the smoke and the dying flames. “Where am I, anyway?”

“I have summoned you!” declared the girl, her squeaky voice sounding far too childish to her ears. “Lord of the Northwest, I have summoned you--”

“‘Lord of the Northwest’?” repeated the figure, waving her hand in the air to clear away the smoke. “Ain’t heard that one before.”

Then, to the girl’s shock, the figure leant right over the edge of the circle and looked down at her.

The figure was a tall woman in her late thirties, dressed in a knee-length black coat with dozens of pockets over a black skirt with a white apron. Messy blonde hair, some of it pulled back into a long ponytail, flowed out from beneath a large black witch’s hat and framed a sharp face with bright golden eyes.

She examined the terrified red-haired girl for a moment, glanced around the room, and then glanced down at the circle. She made an odd expression for a moment, and then laughed weakly. “Oh, man, I remember this.”

“H-h-how did you break through the circle?!” asked the girl desperately.

“Are you kidding?” replied the figure. “This thing’s riddled with mistakes. Just look… here, here, here, here, and here, there’s spelling errors,” she gestured vaguely around her, and then placed her foot on a segment of the circle right in front of the girl, “but it’s really here that’s your main issue.”

“Wh-what’s wrong with it…?” whispered the girl, eyes wide.

“Well, you got the names mixed up, didn’t ya?” said the figure, smirking. “Ya got the addresses right -- ‘here’ and ‘hell’ -- but you put King Paimon’s name in the recipient’s place, and ya put your own name in the addressee’s place!” She laughed to herself, a bit more confidently this time. “That said, can’t say it didn’t work, though.”

“H-huh…?” murmured the girl. “B-but… then…? Who are you s’posed to be, then?!”

“Ain’t that obvious?” The figure stepped fully out of the circle, and the red-haired girl scrambled backwards until she was up against the wall. “I’m you, ain’t I? Kirisame Marisa, in the flesh and everything.”

The younger Marisa began opening her mouth and closing it like a dying fish.

“That said…” The older Marisa glanced around the little building. “Man, can’t believe I used to live here. Ahh, I’m tryin’ to remember the stuff the older me said last time, but I can’t. Guess that means I can just say whatever, and it won’t matter, though?” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Or maybe it just means that I’m not gonna say anything important, anyway.”

“Y-you’re me…?”

“Sure am!”

“…Why’s your hair blonde?”

The older Marisa raised an eyebrow. “‘Cause I like it blonde. So do you, ya just don’t realise it yet. But trust me, red really ain’t your colour.”

The young girl was quiet for a moment. “S-so… how are you here…?”

“Oh, you summoned me from Hell,” remarked Marisa casually. “I was down there solvin’ an incident as a favour for Eiki, and suddenly felt myself gettin’ dragged away. Next thing I know, I’m up here.” She tapped the circle with her foot again. “Oh, yeah, your date’s out, too.”

“B-by how much?”

“That’s a secret~!” The older Marisa winked. “I can’t go tellin’ ya stuff about the future like that, y’know. I could be forty, or I could be four hundred. But I ain’t sayin’.”

“So… what can you tell me…?”

“Hm… maybe, don’t go trying to summon a King of Hell, for one thing!” The older Marisa threw her arms out. “I mean, look at this! What did you even think you’d get, aside from a one-way trip straight down? Surely, you couldn’t have thought you’d actually succeed?”

“I did succeed,” replied the younger Marisa stubbornly. “I summoned you! I just need to put more security in next time, and--”

“There’s no amount of security a human can put in place to repel someone like Paimon, y’know,” said the older Marisa, and the young Marisa sagged slightly. “Trust me, demons ain’t the way to go. You just gotta learn the hard way, by readin’ a whole buncha books until you know everything they say. It’s more satisfyin’ in the end, at least.”

“That’s what Lady Mima says, too,” she muttered.

“Oh, is she around?” asked the older Marisa brightly, and then thought to herself. “No, I did this when she wasn’t around, right.” She glanced at the shattered windows. “Well, I guess I’ll at least fix that up before I go.”

“You’re leaving so soon?!” asked the younger Marisa, almost throwing herself at her older self. “Please, there’s so much you can tell me!”

“Can, but ain’t gonna!” replied the older Marisa smugly. She took a small watch out of her pocket, made some adjustments, and then wound it backwards. The younger Marisa watched in awe as the shattered glass returned from where it had fallen outside and once more solidified into unbroken windows.

“You’ve got to teach me that one, at least!!”

“No way! D’you know how long it took me to learn how to do that?!”

“I don’t! I don’t know how long it took you!”

“Well, you’re gonna find out someday!” The older Marisa began rummaging through the kitchen’s meagre pantries, and after a few moments emerged with a slightly stale bread roll. “I’m gonna take this, alright? Not my first choice of food, but I’ll take what I can get. I ain’t paying for Hell’s overpriced fast food if I can help it.”

“B-b-but--”

“Just keep workin’ hard, and one day, you’ll get to be me!” The older Marisa took a wand from inside her coat and began tapping the ground. The chalk on the floor began to flow, changing its shapes as she carefully stepped over it to stand in its centre.

“But don’t you have anything to tell me?” pleaded the younger Marisa.

The circle began to shine, and the older Marisa considered for a second. “Actually, y’know, it prolly can’t hurt,” she mused, and grinned. “Alright, kid, so about your metal scraps--”

The circle flashed, and the older Marisa vanished unceremoniously. The chalk on the floor suddenly lifted itself into the air and condensed itself back into a small piece of solid chalk. Aside from the melted candles, there was no evidence that the ritual had ever been performed.

The younger Marisa stared at it for a moment blankly. It seemed that a lot had happened, and it seemed that not much had happened at all. But finally her gaze turned to the book at her side, still open to the page with the summoning circle on it. She carefully closed it, and placed it back on the bookshelf in her master’s room.

She took out another book. This one was simpler, and it was in a language she understood. There was still a week left until her master got back, and she’d at least have liked to have shown her something; some sign that she had grown, even a little bit.

Maybe it was the fact she knew how far she could go, now, that gave her that little bit of extra confidence.

She sat down at the little home’s table, and began to read.

[tigerdrop]

If you ever write Gordon getting dicked down by benrey, I can only image benrey just losing his mind and unable to form coherent sentences just going on and on and thanking Gordon for letting him do this. Just constantly saying how good gordon is to him and thank you over and over again.

bro do i have something for u. i was going off about this exact thing just last night

what if benrey humped gordons pillow.. you know..... like a. its a. its a petplay thing okay fuckin leave me alone. gordons prolly got more than one pillow right. what if......he had his face buried in the other one (or, you know, an other one, idk) while hes doing it b/c it......smells like......gordon......

like hes on his knees bent over, going completely crazy on one pillow, while perhaps hugging his face into the other and his whimpers and moans r muffled and oh god im rabid

rotating in my mind. maybe he wouldnt have been able to get off just from that ordinarily. it was just, like, warming up. he was gonna just jack it over the pillow later (you know, b/c hes fucking gross, and maybe hes entertaining wild fantasies of marking gordons stuff. you know). but its actually gordon saying a bunch of degrading comments (and then saying that if he was a good boy, he would finish what he started) to him that pushes him over the edge and makes him able to come for real

benrey's going absolutely ape bananas on the pillow, uncoordinated and desperate to come, with gordon breathing shit like "fuck the pillow like you'd fuck me" right in his ear. gordon's crazed on the power of being able to make benrey piston faster with just a little dirty talk

god. like. the fucking groan that would rip out of him at that b/c he wants to do just that so badly. not like he can deny that thats what he was thinking about the whole time, right

benrey just starts babbling nonsense on exactly how he wants to fuck him, if he'd let him

like. if hes wanted to do just that for so long, so badly, but hes never been able to prove that hes been good enough for gordon to let him (or at least, thats what hes convinced the issue is. if its up to me, its probably bound up in gordons weird internalized homophobia issues about bottoming.......but yknow thats not the way everybody characterizes him so LOL). and he really starts rutting into it good and hard trying to prove that hed be good for gordon, hed make it real fucking good for him, and maybe if he does it right, gordon will let him fuck him just like that

seeing benrey fuck the pillow as if its actually gordon makes him feel. some kinda way. and maybe he decides afterwards or sometime soon after, he actually DOES want benrey to fuck him like that. and when it happens, hes got benrey by the leash, tugging him and instructing him on what to do, telling him hes a good boy and UH HEY why are you reading this message are you fucking homosexual or somethi

okay. so. like. thinking about. gordon finally getting over himself enough to consider letting benrey top him. but if theyre gonna do this, hes gonna be the one in control, still. otherwise whats the whole fucking point of the bit theyre doing? so hes very strictly instructing benrey what to do, making him sit there and fold his goddamn hands behind his back and not touch, not move, just sit there and watch while gordon gets himself ready, because he dont trust like that. if benrey cant behave here, now, then gordon doesnt believe hell be able to behave when benreys got his dick in his ass. its like the apocryphal "green m&ms" story - if you cant obey the little rules, then theres no guarantee that you can obey the big rules, either

so benreys just watching, and hes fucking sweating, b/c he wants to be so fucking good right now. if he doesnt behave, hes not gonna get what hes wanted for so long, and gordon sure as shit wont let him do it again. so hes patient. he pants, open-mouthed, and his dick just twitches and bobs but he doesnt touch it b/c he wasnt told to. but man, is it hard when hes watching gordon get his fingers inside himself like that. watching his face turn red, watching him sweat, wanting it to be his fingers inside gordon so goddamn badly and just make him beg for more. but hes certain he cant get away with that, so he doesnt, and he just sits there and suffers

what if when gordon first takes benrey inside him, benrey notices a look of discomfort on gordons face that remains there for a hot minute. and slightly concerned, benrey speaks up, “yo you good? do we need to sto-“ and gordon is stubborn and insists he’s absolutely fine, hes completely cool, chill, all that. and hes got this.....! yknow, horny glare on his face, showing he means business and that hes so fucking into this, just as much as benrey is

gordon coming more and more undone as he fucks his own ass, his reprieved "control" on the situation slipping, benrey's listening the best he's ever listened and all of it's making gordon so goddamn hot. he tries to make it sound authoritative when he asks benrey to fuck him, it doesn't come out that way at all but benrey's so spellbound by the permission that he doesn't notice or care. just dives right in :)

then, finally, gordon feels like hes ready, and its really obvious how embarrassed he is even when hes trying to play at maintaining control over the situation. hes saying a lot of defensive shit like "dont say anything weird, dont make any weird fucking comments, just. look. if you wanna do this, then, uh. cmon." as he gets himself on his hands and knees and tugs benrey over to him by the collar and basically presents himself to be fucking mounted, because, you know, thats what theyre doing here. thats what their whole fucking game is

now. look. my benreys got a big dick. most benreys got a big dick. this benreys got a big fucking dick and gordon knows this real well by now, so hes insistent that benrey takes it as slow as possible. and it takes every goddamn ounce of his self-control to do as gordon asks, but its so worth it, because just that slow press inside of him for the first time is so, so good. gordons unbelievably tight, and hes making choked sounds and gasping and even though hes being super bossy, hes already gagging for it, practically. and like what you said: benreys fucking desperate to rail him into the ground, but hes also deeply invested in listening to exactly what gordon says and making it as good for him as he can

and he gets himself buried to the hilt, finally, after so long hes sure hed be going soft if it wasnt gordon, if he wasnt so deeply into being bossed around like this. and gordon breathlessly tells benrey to give him a moment, jesus, let him adjust. so he waits. and he waits. until gordon tugs at his leash, and tells him to move. but slowly, okay. so benrey does as hes told, and when he hits just the right pace, gordon does him the kindness of calling him a good boy and his fingers tighten instinctively on gordons hips

thats all he fuckin wants, bro. he wants gordon to call him a good boy and let benrey fuck him silly. (theyre getting to that second one.) slowly, gordon lets him pick up the pace, and hes trying to hard to maintain control but benreys dick is ruining him. gordons legs shake, his arms start to give way, and his back dips lower and lower while he raises his ass higher. and hes so fucking vocal. so much higher and louder than when hes topping. his mouths starting to run off, ordering benrey to fuck him harder while he gives that leash a sharp tug, and "good boy" spills from his lips with a greater frequency

and benreys just pressing him further and further into the mattress, legs braced around gordons in rut like a fucking mating press, and gordons really starting to lose control over the situation. benreys asking him shit like "yo......is it good bro? am i good?" because he just wants to hear it from gordon - yeah, hes good, hes doing so good, hes a good boy. hes gordons good boy. its some of the most effusive praise benreys gotten, and it goes straight to his head. and gordons pulling that leash so fucking tight, bending benrey over his back, while his orders for benrey not to stop begin to bleed into pleas and his babblings starting to get incoherent. and when hes like "please, oh god, im gonna come," benrey goes for the extra credit and reaches around to jerk him off and gordon just breaks

starts hardcore running his mouth and begging benrey to come in him, god, he can bite a little if he wants, its okay, just keep going, and gordon comes with the loudest wail benreys ever drawn out of him. and hes so overstimulated but he meant it when he said he wanted benrey to fuck him until he came, so hes mumbling about how good benrey is for him deliriously until benreys telling him thank you over and over again as he comes deep inside gordon. and then he pulls out and starts licking gordon and nuzzling his head into him and other gay shit while gordon pats his head and weakly reiterates that, yes, he was a good fucking dog and he did very fucking well, thank you

My Final Message. Good bye

[apriumjam]

Satsuriku no Tenshi Light Novel Volume 1 - B4 (Part 1)

Satsuriku no Tenshi - Until Death Do Them Part - B4 (Part 1)

Story by Makoto Sanada, written by Chiren Kina, illustrations by Negiyan, translations by me.

If you want to help out with translations, feel free to contact me!

Prologue | B7 | B6 | B5 | B4 (Part 1 / Part 2) | B3 (Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4) | Zack’s Memory || Index

“This place…is kinda cold.”

“Yeah.”

Getting off the elevator, they’re greeted by a plaque engraved in the wall, reading B4, and cold air that fogs up with each breath. It’s as if they’ve arrived in a world of winter. Inhaling results in the intake of a chemically scent so strong as to make Ray’s head spin.

Inside the room is a pool that has been split into two by a narrow path. Looking into the bluish-green waters, Ray can see a dark shape at the bottom. It seems strangely human-like in shape.

(I wonder what that is.)

The girl stares into the water in concentration. But the pools are unexpectedly deep, and with the low visibility, she can’t make out what it is clearly. Leaning down close enough to see her face reflected back at her leads to the unpleasant scent becoming even stronger. She’s reluctant to investigate further.

“Hey, what’re ya lookin’ at?” Zack stares at her in puzzlement as she crouches down.

“There’s something in the water…”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Hah? Ya don’t know. Then I don’t either. Anyway…aren’t ya cold in that flimsy jacket?” Zack poses his question as he stares at her exposed legs. The temperature is probably about ten degrees Celsius. Ray’s clothing happens to consist of a white jacket atop her shirt, and a pair of black shorts.

“I am cold, but it’s all right.” Her answer comes out in a quiet mutter. Saying she isn’t cold would be a lie. And she really is cold. But simply saying she’s cold won’t magically conjure up any other clothes she can wear, so it’s really pointless overall.

“Huh. Well, starin’ at that whatever it is ain’t gonna help ya. C’mon.”

“Yeah. I can kind of smell dirt from beyond those doors…” Staring across the short bridge, she can see that there is a sign near the door there. It says “Second Cemetery”.

“Gonna check it out?” Zack begins walking along the bridge.

“Yeah.” Ray follows after him.

▲▽

(Are we really inside a building…?)

The Second Cemetery is revealed to be a spacious, wide room. The old-looking walls are made of brick, and the dirt beneath their feet is damp.

“…Graves…”

And there are several tombstones, engraved with someone’s names.

“Makes no damn sense either. Tch, what’s the point of makin’ all these graves?” Sounding utterly disgusted, Zack looks around the room.

I hate the smell of dirt.

Whenever he breathes in that scent, unpleasant memories of his childhood flit through his mind.

“Wanna try diggin’ any of ‘em up?” Trying to shake off those images, he attempts to make a little joke.

“I don’t care.” Ray, however, answers him coldly as she explores the room. Her only obligation is to get out of this building with Zack. Anything else, the man can do as he pleases.

(Tch…what a boring brat.)

Feeling his mood spoiled by the girl’s response, he follows her further into the room.

(It really is cold…)

Ray’s eyebrows pull together as she feels the chill flowing against her skin. As she walks among the graves, she sees something conspicuously large among them. Coming nearer to it, she realises that it is not a tombstone, but a monument.

(There’s something written on it…)

Upon the stone is yet another set of mysterious writing.

“Here lie the graves of those impure.

“The pitiful ones, neither wanted by God or the angels.

“Covered by soil, beneath the dirt, they wait for purification.”

(Angels…)

“An angel, or a sacrifice?”

Ray is reminded of those words. They don’t seem to have any sort of deep meaning despite their prevalent re-occurrence. But she still doesn’t understand what they are meant to represent.

A little ways past the monument is a large pit – perhaps a dug-up grave. Peering into the hole, Ray sees something quietly crouched at the bottom.

“…” She stares intently at it.

“D’ya wanna get in it that badly?” Zack asks coolly, watching her as she stares into the grave without even twitching.

“No…looks like I can’t,” Ray mumbles quietly as she shakes her head. The thing that looks as if it’s crouching is, in fact, the dead body of a man. It seems as if he had been killed very recently. “This grave already has someone in it.”

(Another dead body…)

“Aah, all these bodies are makin’ me sick! Don’t you look over here!” Zack irritably snaps. He approaches the grave and shows absolutely no mercy for the body inside as he begins to stomp on it. It becomes so messy that it’s impossible to think that man might have been alive only a few days ago. Zack’s demeanour as he kicks the corpse – as if to even some sort of grudge – is odd, even compared to before.

“Ah…” Ray quickly turns her gaze away. Even though it has become nothing more than a lump of flesh, waiting to rot, the girl feels as if it made eye contact with her for a moment.

That is when she notices a door labelled “storage room”. Coming closer to it, she suddenly feels the air grow much colder against her skin. It seems to be coming from this room.

▲▽

The room denoted as “storage room” is as dark and quiet as night – or perhaps it would be better to say that it makes Ray think of the afterlife. Stepping inside reveals the room to be unbelievably cold.

(It’s like we’re in a freezer…)

Ray rubs her arms over her jacket.

Further inside is a pool smelling of chemicals, like the one in front of the elevator. At the bottom are human-like shapes. Ray can’t see them clearly, but it’s likely they’re corpses. The walls here seem brittle and cracked, perhaps because of the humidity.

“The walls are all crumbly…”

“It’s all damp’n’worn-out…this ain’t a good place t’ be.” Zack loiters around the room as he mutters to himself.

Within the storage room is an enormous refrigerator. Upon seeing it, Zack recalls how Ray’s “wish” had caused him to vomit all the snacks he had eaten earlier.

(What is she doin’, askin’ someone t’ kill her all of a sudden…I don’t get it at all. And ‘cause of her, I’m hungry.)

“Aah…is there anything in there?”

Sighing loudly, he thoughtlessly opens the fridge – and immediately loses his appetite.

“Whoa. A body…”

What was in the fridge was not anything edible, but rather, something that would make him expel the contents of his stomach again – the grotesque sight of a dead man’s body. It’s so destroyed it looks like simply touching it might cause its legs, arms, and head to fall off. The body is covered with a thin vinyl, and upon it is some sort of note.

Watkin Beckett (36)

Place of death – B3

Cause of death – Blood loss due to bullet wound

※ He sustained terrible injuries, so exercise caution when handling the body

“Was this person also…a sacrifice?” Ray asks, glancing at the body in the fridge.

“How should I know?” Zack’s response is utterly devoid of interest. He doesn’t want to touch the corpse, and if possible he doesn’t want to look at it, either. And he hates the stench of rotting bodies most of all.

“It says ‘B3’…we’re on B4, so we still have a way to go.”

“Huh, that so.” Zack gives a hearty yawn, like a cat.

“Do you know a lot about this place?” the girl asks, staring up at his listless expression.

“Dunno. I just came here ‘cause I was told that I could kill whoever I wanted to. I guess the other guys are the same? I dunno the details.” Dimly, he thinks back upon when he had been invited to this place. But he can’t recall how many years ago that’s been – he’s forgotten.

“…I see.” Ray murmurs.

“Could kill whoever I wanted to.”

Those words seem to catch at something in her chest. At the same time, she asks another question, as if to shake off old memories.

“Where were you before you came here?”

“I can tell ya, but what d’ya wanna know for?”

“Nothing…I just felt like asking.”

“What? Anyway, shouldn’t you be the one tryin’ t’ remember what you were doin’? Even if we get outta here, I’m not gonna take ya home.”

(Home…?)

If this were an anime, an enormous question mark would appear above Ray’s head right about now.

“…You said you’d kill me after we got out of here.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Zack speaks like someone who has just remembered something they had forgotten.

“…Please don’t forget.”

“I’m not going to!” Zack irritably tears his gaze away from her. He doesn’t have the desire to kill this doll-like girl, even though he’s made that sort of promise with her. Frankly, all he can think about is getting out of this building alive.

(Well, when we get outta here, those dead eyes’ll prolly be back t’ normal.)

“I’m freezin’, so I’m gettin’ out of here!”

“…Okay.” The girl nods, her expression gloomy. Even though she’s made that promise with him, she has no positive proof that he’ll keep it. If he winds up not killing her…she can no longer see any reason to want to leave this place.

There’s an uncomfortable silence between them now as they leave the storage room. This time, they go down a hallway. There, they find a door with a signboard that states “First Cemetery”.

▲▽

Ray’s blue eyes immediately alight upon a glittering new tombstone.

She comes closer to it, walking across the damp earth and between the other gravestones.

“…”

The grave, which gleams unnaturally in this room completely devoid of any presence of life, has tiny letters neatly engraved in it.

“Huh? What is it? Somethin’ written there?”

“…A name.” With a closed-off expression, she gazes at the letters lovingly carved into the stone.

“It’s a gravestone, so that’s obvious. What’re ya so surprised about?” the man asks carelessly, peering into her paling face.

“…It’s my name. My name is on it.” Ray doesn’t take her eyes off the tombstone despite feeling his gaze upon her. Her voice is strained. This glistening new grave has “Rachel Gardner” emblazoned upon it.

“…That so,” Zack mutters. He can’t read that name. He doesn’t even know her name in the first place. So even if he would have been able to read, he wouldn’t have known it to be Ray’s name.

“Then, is this one mine?”

In front of Ray’s tombstone is what looks like an enormous boulder, one that might have been used for carving. It’s as if someone had simply abandoned it there. It was probably prepared in a hurry as soon as Zack had been called a sacrifice. Having lived in this building for a while, he quickly understands that it’s the work of the master of this floor.

“…Damnit, I’m not even dead yet and he’s makin’ me a grave. That pisses me off. I wanna smash it.”

Zack glowers at the boulder, an enormous contrast to Ray’s immaculately carved gravestone. His dirty palm squeezes around the scythe slung over his shoulder.

(…Stop makin’ such disgusting things, damnit.)

“Your scythe will be the one to break first.” Despite warning him in that calm voice, she continues to stare at her gleaming grave.

“Shut up, I know that. Stop starin’ at that thing like an idiot.”

“I’m not staring.”

“Hmph, whatever. Sorry, unlike you, I don’t wanna die.” Zack progresses further into the room as he speaks. When he does, he notices an enormous crack in the brick wall, perhaps because it was brittle.

“Hey, hey…just how beat up is this place?”

In response to his voice, the girl turns toward the man and rushes up to him, peering into the crack with him. It feels like it’s trying to invite her inside.

(I wonder where it leads to…what’s inside?)

“It looks pretty deep…”

“Is it all right if I go in?” Ray suggests, thinking that Zack probably wouldn’t be able to fit.

“Hah? D’ya think you’ll run away’n’get out of here by yerself?” Zack’s voice is threatening, as if he doesn’t trust her.

“I won’t run away. …You haven’t killed me yet.” The girl unflinchingly meets his gaze.

(Did that bastard Danny drug her or something…?)

Zack instinctively turns his gaze away.

Certainly, on his floor, Ray’s reactions had seemed a bit weak in comparison to other sacrifice’s – but she’d still shown him a girlish despair and fear. She hadn’t been so calm or assertive. And Zack feels strangely uneasy about her abrupt change.

“You were…seriously creepy right now…”

(Creepy?)

Ray’s head tilts slightly at Zack’s unexpected reaction. She hadn’t had any intention to make him think she was creepy.

“…Well, whatever. It’s not like we can just stand here’n’do nothing. Go on and get back here.” Zack’s speech is half-hearted. He doesn’t want to think, he just wants to find a way out of this building as fast as possible.

“Okay.”

“And if ya die on the way there, make sure to tell me.”

(…Die on the way…?)

“…If I’m dead, I can’t tell you.” Though she’d thought for a short period of time before responding, she does so with her usual composed expression.

“…”

“…”

In the silence, Zack abruptly comes to realise just how illogical his statement had been.

“…Th-then at least make yerself useful before ya die!”

Reddening slightly beneath his bandages in embarrassment, he lightly smacks Ray on the rear.

Useful…

“…All right.”

Staggering slightly from the impact, she looks up into Zack’s face and firmly nods her head. But she hesitates stepping into the crevice. She feels like she wants to stare at that gravestone – with her name upon it – for a little longer.

“Hey, go already! I don’t got a lot of patience.” Unable to bear seeing her in such a state, Zack urges her forward with an irritated tone of voice.

“Okay. Also, I want you to look for something, like a card,” she suddenly requests. On B7, B6, and B5, she had needed a card to get to the elevator.

“Yeah, all right.”

“…And.”

“Hah?! There’s something else?!”

“If you could…please don’t destroy my grave.”

As she asks this, her face seems just a little bit sorrowful.

She doesn’t know who made that grave. But, the truth that her grave exists somewhere in this world…eases her heart. And it seems to beat just a little faster.

Without waiting for a reply, she squeezes her delicate body into the gap in the wall.

“…Who cares.”

Left alone among the graves, Zack mumbles to himself.

▲▽

Ray proceeds through the cramped space.

It’s gloomy, like a cave, and she can barely see. Dirt trickles from the ceiling down in front of her; the sensation is almost choking. Ray moves forth, trying not to breathe in the stale air – and suddenly the path in front of her opens up into a small, cramped room. It almost looks like a secret base of some kind. A lightbulb above bathes the room in a warm orange glow that seems to cut through the unpleasant chill she feels.

(A room for building graves…?)

In the centre of the room is a large work desk. On top of it are various items carelessly left there, such as a catalogue for gravestones and papers with tombstone designs drawn on them.

(…What’s this?)

There’s some kind of blue notebook lying open on the table.

(There’s probably something written in that.)

There might be something about the building in that notebook… With that thought in mind, Ray peers at the page the book has been left open on. The childish handwriting reveals a strange message.

I learned about her for the first time today.

I was curious about her for a long time. But I never really knew about her!

I want to meet her, but he’s in the way. She has a really pretty voice!

She’s definitely, definitely a wonderful girl. I have no doubts about it!

After all, I fell in love with her at first sight.

Ah, this is bad…I have to make special preparations for her!

Something I made for her, a special place only for her – a place where she can eternally slumber.

She reads the odd note with a dubious expression.

(Someone’s diary…? …Whose room is this?)

There’s another door further in the room. Approaching it slowly, she places her hand upon the knob and turns it. But it won’t open.

(It’s locked…how do I open it?)

Her gaze alights on the scattered grave blueprints.

(…There might be some clues in here…)

Just as this thought comes to mind, she hears a terrible racket coming from the place Zack waits for her – the First Cemetery.

(…So loud. What is he doing?)

▲▽

Having been left alone in the graveyard, the creepiness of the room only seems to grow. He feels as if he’s been abandoned for a different world entirely.

“Damnit, even if I look around, there’s only graves in here.”

(And these graves are seriously annoying.)

Zack tch’s quietly to himself as he stares at the roughly hewn stone, likely the grave meant for himself.

(I wanna break it…)

However, even he knows that Ray is right – if he tries smashing it, his scythe’s blade will what breaks first.

(Isn’t there anything else in here?)

As he looks around, his gaze abruptly alights upon a pickaxe left leaning against one of the tombstones. It was probably left by whoever was digging up the earth.

(A pickaxe…)

Zack smirks and picks it up. Since it isn’t his own weapon, he has no qualms about breaking it.

(This damn gravestone…)

“I’m gonna smash it!”

Having decided this, he begins to laugh. It isn’t that he’s having fun. He’s simply disgusted that his grave would exist here.

(I’m not plannin’ on dyin’ yet!)

A loud clang echoes through the chamber as he strikes the grave with the pickaxe. But it doesn’t crumble.

(It’s hard…)

It won’t break from such a strike. The blade of the pickaxe is a bit chipped now.

“Hah – don’t be so tough when yer such a shitty piece of work!”

He wonders why. There are – emotions he’s never felt before welling up deep inside his heart. He never felt like this when he was just the master of his floor, chasing after sacrifices. His voice grows harsh as if to convey his hatred for the one who had made this grave, and he strikes it again and again with the axe.

It’s like a switch has been flicked. He won’t stop. He can’t even stop himself. He slashes at the tombstone that had been crafted for him over and over again.

And at some point, it becomes merely a rubble of rocks scattered about the floor.

But the actual breaking of it feels even better to him than he had expected.

Not even a minute has passed, and it’s already lost all form.

(I did it!)

But for some reason, he still feels irritated. Zack glances around the room, clicking his tongue. Everywhere he looks, he sees only graves – which should be obvious, given that this room is called a cemetery. Beneath the graves are, of course, bodies. That’s nothing that brings joy to him.

(That’s right…I’ll break all of ‘em…!)

It’s damn creepy to be makin’ these things anyway. It’s pointless for these things to exist. No matter how much you pray, they’re dead; people don’t come back to life. Corpses are gross. I know that!

“Hyahahahahah!”

He doesn’t have an ounce of hesitation. As he thinks this to himself, mad laughter rushes up from his throat.

(Aah…I’ll smash every single last one of ‘em!)

Zack’s eyes gleam from the slits of the bandages wrapped around his face.

Raising the pickaxe high, he begins to slash at gravestone after gravestone, releasing his pent-up frustration and anger, transforming each grave into nothing more than rough piles of stones.

(Oh, that’s right, there were a bunch of graves over there, too – )

After demolishing the last grave in the First Cemetery, he rushes to the Second Cemetery as quickly as he can. He won’t be able to calm down until he destroys every single thing he can possibly break.

(‘Cause graves are useless!)

“Hyahahah!”

Laughing uncontrollably, Zack stares at the gravestones lined up in front of him, and begins to hit them with all his strength. Reigned by his instincts like this, he neither needs to think about nor remember anything. The only thing he abides by is the strange elation filling him up.

And in just a few minutes, he’s mercilessly ruined each and every one of the gravestones.

At some point, there had been the sound of a switch flipping, or perhaps something breaking, but Zack had not paid it any bit of mind.

(Is this all of ‘em?)

Feeling somehow satisfied and slowly regaining his composure, the man briskly returns to the First Cemetery.

Somewhat taken aback, he gazes at the destruction he’s caused, before his eyes land upon the monument with Ray’s name engraved upon it. It looks so very different from the other graves that he had forgotten to smash it.

“If you could…please don’t destroy my grave.”

But he remembers that request. Zack feels his strength leave his body, as if a button has suddenly been pressed.

(…She asked me not to break it…)

He doesn’t care about what she wants –

But for some reason he can’t bring himself to go against her. He feels like he shouldn’t break that grave.

“…”

Dropping the pickaxe to the ground, he sprawls out in front of Ray’s grave, as if exhausted.

What d’ya need a grave like this for…

▲▽

As that unpleasant sound rings out over and over again, Ray stares down at the grave blueprints. There’s some sort of strange equation written in them. It’s as if it points to the location of something, though it doesn’t state precisely what that thing is.

(Maybe…there’s a switch to open the door beneath one of the graves?)

Putting together the numbers in the formula and recalling the arrangement of the graves in the room, Ray becomes certain that this is true. But the moment she comes to this conclusion, she hears a beeping sound from the door.

(…?!)

Turning toward it, she comes nearer to the door. She gently holds the knob, and though she hasn’t done anything, it’s unlocked.

(It was definitely locked earlier… Did he open it? How…?)

Feeling somewhat suspicious, she opens the door and proceeds through it. On the other side is a large room. Perhaps it’s a reference room of some kind; the walls are lined with shelves so full of books that there is not a single space between any of them.

Ray selects one of the books and pulls it out. Maybe it’s because it’s been a while since she’s read one, but she feels strangely happy to be touching the pages. She has always enjoyed reading, ever since she was little. The words move her heart, and she reads again and again to remember each and every word.

That book was like that, too… Those words had seemed to become a part of her very being.

That book, the book she read that night, had held the word of God.

(But, that book isn’t here…)

As she recalls the contents of that particular text, she skims through the one in her hand to confirm its subject matter. It seems to be some sort of religious tome.

(…It’s not the God I know…)

With a cold gaze, she returns the book to its shelf. She has no interest in a fake God.

(What’s that?)

She sees some sort of large folder on one of the lower shelves. She carefully picks it up and opens it. It seems to be composed of a large number of resumes or profiles. The first page is about Watkin Beckett, age 36.

(Watkin Beckett…)

Ray remembers this name. This is the name she had read on the rotten body in the fridge.

There is a picture of Beckett on the file. It’s an image of the man on a plain black and white background, smiling.

The next page has a picture of a man who looks similar to the one Ray had seen in the open grave.

(Is this a list of people who have come here…?)

Thinking to herself, she turns through the pages with her ghostly pale hand that looks as if it knows no defilement. And finally stops at a particular page, heart jerking in her chest as her eyes go wide. There is something about her written here as well.

Rachel Gardner.

There is, of course, a picture of herself. She has a vague recollection that this is a picture Danny took of her when she first came in for counselling.

(…Oh…)

For a moment, Ray reads the profile as if it were written about someone else. When she had laid on that operating table, she had finally known about herself and her past better than anyone else. But she still can’t remember why she had come to this building.

(…Why was I taken here…?)

She sighs a little.

But it might be better that I can’t remember…it probably would have been better to not remember any of this…

Feeling rather despondent, she turns another page. At the final one, her hand comes to an involuntary stop.

(Is this…him…?)

Her gaze falls upon what is unmistakably a picture of Zack.

(He killed people at the institution he lived in? Then he was involved in other murders…and I guess he was killing people in here, too…)

Right now, he’s on the run…but I wonder how many he’s killed…?

She unconsciously reads the words on the resume one more time. It’s not that she wants to know about Zack’s past. She simply has an instinctual feeling that she must know about him.

“It seems he is extremely responsive to human emotion.”

(…Human emotion…)

“Don’t run around all happy like. …Whenever I see someone lookin’ too happy, I…just get the urge to kill ‘em.”

Those words surface within Ray’s mind.

(I…don’t look happy. I guess that’s why Zack can’t bring himself to kill me…)

Feeling rather melancholic, she closes the folder. And at that moment, a soft voice makes its way to her ears.

…Hey, I know your wish. That’s why I’m going to see you so I can grant it for you.

It’s an unsettling voice, accompanied by childish laughter.

“…Is someone here…?”

Ray looks around questioningly, trying to dispel her fear. But there’s no one there, and no one answers her.

(…A ghost?)

No. Feeling a bit frightened of such an unknown existence, she moves in the direction of the voice…further into the room. It continues on into a passageway that abruptly ends. For some reason, there appears to be some sort of circular indentation in the ground.

(What is this…?)

She steps into the cavity, but nothing happens.

Is there…some other mechanism?

(Anyway, I’ll take those profiles and go back for now.)

Turning back, she takes the files about herself and Zack and makes her way back to the First Cemetery.

▲▽

(…They’re all broken.)

The cemetery is quiet, and doesn’t look at all like it had previously.

“Um…”

Dubiously, she steps in front of her grave and peers down into Zack’s face. He lays upon the ground as if sulking.

“Ah? What are ya doin’?! Yer slow!” In reaction to her voice, the man stands up.

“…That’s what I want to say,” Ray mutters as she stares at the graves brought to ruin. But it’s easy for her to understand that he must have done this because she’d asked him to wait, and he’d lost patience.

But…he didn’t break mine.

(Did he leave it because I asked?)

“So, what did ya find?” Zack asks her, completely nonchalant about the state of the room.

“Um, I found some sort of reference room with a bunch of resumes.”

“Hah? Re-su-me?”

(What’s a resume…?)

“Yes. See, Rachel Gardner…this is a paper with things written about me.” She speaks disinterestedly – this is how she tells Zack her name for the first time – and holds out the paper to him.

(Ra…chel Gardner…?)

But he can’t remember that name. And even if he looks at that profile, he can’t read it.

(I can’t read this…)

The only thing he’s aware of is Ray’s picture. And the Ray in the picture just looks like a beautiful girl to him, a girl completely free of troubles. It looks like she has no reason to want to die.

“I dunno what this is, whether it’s a re-su-me or whatever the hell, but I can’t read it.” Zack speaks without hesitation. Even if he holds something with writing in his hand, he can’t make heads or tails of it. Every single thing just seems annoying and pointless.

“Right…”

(He can’t read…)

That makes Ray feel a little strange. Never before has she met an adult who can’t read. So she’s a little curious as to how he sees letters. Do they look like pictures to him?

“So you don’t need that?” she asks, recalling what was written on her profile.

“No, can’t do anything with it, anyway… And all it does is tell us stuff about you.” Zack’s words sound like a declaration as he drops the piece of paper to the ground.

“Yeah…”

(All it does…)

For some reason, those words stir Ray’s heart.

“So, what’s that one about?” Zack jerks his chin at the other paper Ray holds.

“This one…says something…about someone named Isaac. …Is that you?” Holding out the paper, the girl stares straight at him.

“…Yeah, that’s right. Isaac Foster is me.” Scowling slightly at her, Zack’s expression seems to become slightly more mature.

“So, what did ya think after readin’ that?”

(What did I think…?)

For an instant, she can’t answer.

What did I think? His past…doesn’t concern me. After all, I just want him to kill me…

After they get out, she’ll be able to get Zack to kill her. To Ray, that promise is everything.

“…Nothing. This is just a paper about you. Nothing more than that.” Ray answers coldly, staring at the profile.

Perhaps she had used Zack’s words on purpose, or perhaps she had simply unconsciously taken a liking to how he had put it.

But Zack strangely dislikes Ray’s wooden manner of speaking.

(‘Cause she didn’t think at all, just said what sounded right, yeah…?)

“Yer not scared of me?” Zack’s words are deliberately calm.

“…Scared? No, I’m not,” the girl replies to him nonchalantly. After remembering everything, she no longer feels frightened. It’s scarier to be alive right now.

“Huuuh…” With a keen gaze, Zack stares into her blue eyes. He has no idea what she’s thinking.

Not scared, huh…

“Oh, come to think of it, I once knew a woman who said the same stuff as you…” His hand tightens around his scythe. And, as if he’s overlapped Ray with that woman in his mind, he begins to tell her of a memory he doesn’t particularly want to recall.

▲▽

…I wonder how many years ago that was.

“You’re Isaac Foster? I’ve been a huge fan ever since I saw you in the news!”

The moment that woman saw my face, her eyes began to shine. It was the first time anyone had ever said anything like that to me.

“Ah…? A fan?”

I’d thought about killing her as soon as I caught her…but I guess I let my guard down a little.

“Yes! So, I’m not scared of you.” She smiled as she spoke.

Her confident attitude intrigued me, so I gave her five seconds to run instead of three. Her face grew pale and she began to struggle violently.

(Ah…what should I do…)

Should I let her go…?

For a moment, I thought of something stupid like that. So, to test her, I said –

“Yer my fan, right? Stop strugglin’ if yer not afraid.”

And –

“Are you stupid?! I’m not your fan! I just said that because I didn’t want you to kill me! You monster!”

She started to scream –

▲▽

“I…hate liars. So, I killed her.”

Zack speaks coldly, as if he can remember that moment vividly. He doesn’t know why, but the memories he wants to forget never seem to fade.

Nevertheless, he’s both disgusted and surprised with himself that he would start talking about such a thing simply out of a singleminded desire to scare Ray.

(I hate liars…)

“…Does that story have anything to do with how I can make you kill me?” After thinking a moment, Ray asks him this with an utterly straight face.

“…Ah?”

“If I take those steps, will you kill me? Oh, maybe I should be a fan of yours, too?”

(He gave me three seconds that time…)

“Hah…? What are ya talkin’ about?” Zack stares at her, open-mouthed, disappointed by her half-insane trail of thought. He’d made that promise with her, but he’s never met someone who would say such a silly thing when they might be in danger of being killed.

“…Am I wrong?” Ray’s eyebrows furrow together. She has absolutely no self-awareness that what she said was strange.

…Ah, that’s right…she wants me to kill her!

(Why did I tell her all that…)

I want you to kill me – as he remembers that completely ungirlish request, this whole debacle suddenly seems ridiculous to him. And trying to make someone who wants to die be afraid of him was his first mistake.

“…Whatever. Anyway, why aren’t ya scared of me?” he asks her somewhat exasperatedly. He regrets telling her that stupid old story.

“I don’t know anything about you.”

“Hah? You don’t know…ya read that thing, didn’t ya?”

“I did. But, I just met you, so…I don’t know much about you yet.”

Now that she says it, that’s true. It feels kinda weird ‘cause of that strange promise, but it’s true. We’ve only just met.

Despite her monotonous words, Zack finds himself agreeing with her.

“…That so. Then, was there anything else?” Feeling somehow defeated, he weakens his grip on his scythe as he asks his next question in an attempt to change the subject.

“Um, I heard a voice.”

“A voice?”

“Yes, a boy’s. He said he knew my wish…” She still clearly remembers that voice.

“Hah?! That’s creepy!”

“Yeah. But I didn’t see him. Also, I found a dead end. There was some kind of hollow in the floor. It must be a part of some sort of mechanism…”

Though Zack seems strangely surprised, Ray completely forgets to tell him that the voice had said he wanted to meet her to grant the wish, and continues on with her report.

“What kinda mechanism?”

“Probably a door will open somewhere. Since there’s nowhere else we can go.”

Nothing had happened when she had stepped in that indentation in the hallway. So Ray has come to the conclusion that there must be an additional one somewhere, and that the two work in unison.

“Yeah, probably.”

“Yeah. So I want to go look for it.”

She has a bit of a hunch. In front of the elevator, in that pool…she feels like that hadn’t been a dead body. Thinking carefully, nothing had been suspended in the water, so those shapes could not have been human.

“Aah, I get it. But first, I gotta do something.” Zack stares directly in front of him as he speaks. He sounds annoyed.

“What…?”

Zack is staring at Ray’s grave. She has a bad feeling. She has an uncomfortable idea of what he wants to do.

“This grave…” Mumbling to himself, Zack approaches the tombstone with Ray’s name. And, staring fixatedly at the grotesquely gleaming gravestone, he retrieves the pickaxe he’s discarded to the floor. Ray has the feeling her misgivings were correct.

“This grave pisses me off so much that I gotta destroy it…!” With a bold grin, he swings the pickaxe toward that glittering tombstone with all his might.

“…Wait!” Ray lets out a small cry that she isn’t even consciously aware of. But Zack can’t stop himself. He simply thinks of the person who had made that grave as he mercilessly crushes it into smithereens.

“…”

Ray stares at the tombstone dumbfoundedly. She’s unbelievably sad. She feels as if the place she belongs in has been razed from this world.

“Hey, yer grave ain’t here. Ya only get t’ die after I get out of here.” Zack declares this, seeing her look so despondent.

Ray twitches slightly, widening her eyes.

“…Yeah.” And, looking up at him, Ray nods, though somewhat dispirited.

Will Zack…really kill me…?

She still can’t truly believe those words. Zack might simply want to get out of here. But…when Zack had said he hated liars, his eyes had been frighteningly earnest.

(I want him to kill me already…)

She thinks that often. Maybe when she had first encountered Zack, she shouldn’t have run – then he would have just killed her. In her frozen heart, Ray thinks about that for a little bit.

▲▽

Shortly after, Ray leads Zack to the elevator with heavy footsteps. She has to ascertain whether or not that thing at the bottom of the pool is a part of the mechanism. The man, for his part, looks pleased.

Rushing to the water, Ray peers into the pool. As she expected, there’s a large switch of a similar type as in that hallway.

“Hey.”

“What?”

“Um, I’m not sure if that’s the mechanism, but I want you to go over there and stand on that switch.” Ray points at the switch in the pool.

“Ah?! Go in the water? Me?!” Zack’s eyebrows lift. Even if this wasn’t such a cold floor, he still wouldn’t want to get into that water. It smells gross, like chemicals.

“…If you don’t want to, you don’t need to.” Ray’s arm drops as she looks at Zack’s clearly unsettled expression.

“Hey, I didn’t say I didn’t want to!”

“But your face says you don’t want to.”

“Aah?! There’s nothin’ wrong with me makin’ a face like that! Just t’ let ya know, I ain’t plannin’ on dyin’ here, unlike you.”

“Then, I want us to cooperate…”

“Yeah, I get it, even if ya don’t tell me. I just gotta get in, right, right?!” Swearing angrily to himself, the man gets into the pool and wades to the area she’d pointed out to him. What he’s looking for is probably a metre in. The entire lower half of his body is submerged in water.

“Damnit, this pisses me off…’n it’s cold…” It’s even colder than he had expected; if he stays in there too long, he feels like his body might start to freeze over.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m not, but that doesn’t matter! I just gotta get on this, yeah?!” Mumbling complaints, he steps upon the swtich. It makes a small, pleasant noise.

“Yeah.”

As she nods deeply, she notices a small memo pad at her feet, as if someone had dropped it there.

(…What is this?)

She slowly picks it up. It feels as if someone had been touching it recently; it’s ever so slightly damp with water.

I’ll lend you a hand.

If you want to suffer, I’ll make you suffer. If you want it to be peaceful, I’ll be nice. I’ll let you choose what you want.

Tell me, how do you want to die?

The writing is childish, just like in the note she had read earlier. She doesn’t know who wrote it. But she’s certain that it is addressed to her.

(That notebook, too…)

A place where she can eternally slumber.

Recalling the note, she ponders a bit. Since the person isn’t Zack, she might be able to get them to kill her right away… Her heart stirs.

“Hey, what are ya doin’?”

For some reason, Zack stands straight in the cold water, staring directly at her.

“I found a note…it says ‘I can kill you’.” Despite her inexpressiveness, her face trembles slightly with the thought of someone else killing her. Zack’s face twitches in annoyance.

“Ah? Kill you?” For some reason, blood rushes to his head.

Don’t underestimate me.

“Give me that.” Stepping off from the switch, Zack approaches the side of the pool and forcibly yanks the paper from her hands. Then he tears it up into small pieces, dropping them in the water.

“Listen here. Don’t ya go thinkin’ about gettin’ someone else t’ kill ya! You’ll piss me off if I won’t be able to get out of here.”

“Right…but will you really be able to kill me? Since I’m boring…” Ray’s voice is so soft it seems like it might completely vanish. She’s concerned that he won’t kill her when they get out. She wants to disappear from this unhappy world as soon as possible.

But Zack is simply fed up by her trying words.

“If ya want t’ die, why don’t ya just kill yerself…?”

For some reason, the thought that she could be killed by someone else irritates him. But when he looks into her eyes, like a still lake – any desire to kill melts away.

“…Because suicide isn’t allowed.” After a long silence, Ray finally speaks, her words like scatters of rainfall.

“Aah? Why’s that?”

“….God…because God said so.” Ray’s eyes grow distant. She recalls the book she had read that moonlit night. But Zack ridicules her serious words.

“Heh…God, huh. Then put some effort into makin’ me want t’ kill ya.”

(Effort…?)

Ray can’t think of anything. After all, to this man, killing someone must be as easy as eating a piece of candy. That was how he had killed Doctor Danny. He’d cut through his body without an ounce of hesitation. But when Ray asks him to kill her, he won’t. And she can’t understand why that is.

“What should I…?”

“Huh? Be useful. And if ya want me t’ kill ya, stop makin’ that boring face. If you’re a human…you can get angry, and cry, and stuff like that, right?”

“Get angry, or cry…?” He probably doesn’t like expressionless faces. Thinking this, she tries to make some sort of face. And though she childishly tries to do so, her eyes remain utterly dead.

“Do ya even got face muscles…? Maybe yer already dead, or a ghost or somethin’.” Zack seems to come to a similar conclusion. Though a ghost likely wouldn’t wish someone to kill them.

(A ghost…)

Ray’s eyebrows lower slightly. It’s rather irritating for him to call her a ghost.

“…I’m alive, that’s why I want you to kill me.”

“Argh, I get it. C’mon, try smiling.” Despite her dark expression, the man continues to lightly give her orders.

(Smile.)

Perhaps that’s proof that she’s alive.

“…How is this?” The corners of her lips pull up in a faint curve. She tries with all her might to smile. But as Zack had pointed out, it seems like her facial muscles simply don’t respond.

“Yer eyes are totally dead.” From Zack’s point of view, that was by no means a smile.

“I see…so it’s no good,” Ray mumbles, feeling discouraged. But that emotion also doesn’t reach Zack’s ears.

(…I don’t even know if she’s even alive.)

“But…I’m not a ghost,” Ray continues, as if she had read Zack’s mind. She thinks she won’t be afraid no matter how scary a person she sees. But she absolutely can’t accept that she’s a ghost. She feels so uncomfortable at the thought that Zack might see her as one that she unthinkingly rejects it.

“Hah? What, I know that! Ghosts don’t exist, idiot!”

“Eh…? They don’t?” Ray looks utterly surprised. She recalls a horror program she had watched one night when she couldn’t sleep, in a pitch-black room. Even if it had only been a fake ghost – after seeing it, she’d been so unnerved at seeing the strange spirit on the screen that she had thought they might truly exist. Sometimes, it frightened her to the point she couldn’t sleep. She truly doesn’t like ghosts.

“‘Course they don’t! Yer weird, that’s why I called ya a ghost! If they really existed, they’d prolly be around here somewhere.” Zack is strangely serious in response to her speculative questions about ghosts.

(Oh…)

Certainly, it wouldn’t be odd for them to be in a building like this. But, since she hasn’t seen any, it might really be as Zack says…they might not exist…

(Does she seriously believe in ghosts…?)

“Anyway, how old are ya?” Zack asks, abruptly curious. He can tell she’s younger than him just by looking at her…but she’s smart, believes in ghosts, and wants to die – he has no idea exactly how old she is.

“I’m 13…” She answers honestly. There’s no particular need to lie. And Zack had said that he hates liars.

(13, huh. Still a brat.)

“And you are?”

“Ah? I’m an adult,” he replies. He likes saying that – it’s cooler to say he’s an adult than to say he’s 20.

“…An adult?”

(Maybe 20?)

At only 13, being 20 years old seems quite a bit older than her. But the Zack in front of her doesn’t feel older. Perhaps the only thing that makes him seem older is the fact that he’s taller than her.

“Ah, but that doesn’t matter. Do something with that mechanism or whatever it is and get back here.”

(We just wasted time on dumb crap…)

He can’t just stay in this water forever. He’s getting a little irritated at the cold.

“Yeah. I’ll go check out the floor in the crack.”

Zack had been the one to ask about her age first…so, feeling somewhat gloomy, she turns toward the door. They can’t afford to prolong their conversation.

“And hurry it up!”

“Okay.” Nodding, Ray leaves.

As she walks back to the First Cemetery, her heart whirls a little as she recalls the words on the memo – I can kill you.

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[syndianites]

The Consequences of Your Actions

Ship: Syndianite (Tom x S1 Dianite)

Summary: Vampire AU! Dianite has had many lovers over the years. Some were mere playthings, meant to pass the time. Others were passionate loves, a fire raging until their inevitable demise. Very few were of the immortal variety, most searching for a power grab, others enthralled by his image. One was different, one was special. And he’d be damned if he was going to let him slip away.

Chapter: 0/?

AN: I don’t know how long this will be, but it was dying to be written. I will commit to this, even when I have no time in my schedule for it. That’s how bad I need to write this. This chapter is basically angst, filled with some plot and setup, sprinkled with angst. There’s a little super obvious foreshadowing too.

Prologue

Tonight, there was something amiss in the city. As the residents slept, unaware of the feud taking place beyond their homes, beings of majesty that far outweighed their own were locked in battle. Meriden was ruled by chaos by night, and with each second passing, there was more to go around.

The Lord of the East had assembled his army very carefully. Each warrior had undergone tests, knowingly or not, to abide by certain standards. Their turning was meticulously planned to keep suspicion at bay. His soldiers held a slew of abilities, sorted both on those and their personality. The loyalty of his followers was made certain by the sire bond. His battalions far outnumbered that of the West Lord’s.

The Lord of the West had an army of considerable means. They had assembled of their own dedications, each loyal to him, under the sire bond, or through a will driven by what they saw from him. Despite their uptake as his soldiers, many lacked basic combat skills. Their first thought was not of war, but of being there for their Lord. Only those of higher class, or those of deeper connection, pushed themselves to be ready to protect him at any cost. Unfortunately, the cost was higher than they could have imagined.

It was no secret the Lords were at odds. Despite being brothers, their intents for each other were less than friendly. Though they were always at one another’s throats, itching to fight, seldom did they wage full wars against the other. Their battles never ended with a winner, the damage to both sides gave nothing in return to the Lords. And at the end of it all, they were one of the few who understood each other.

Dianite, the Eastern Lord, had not woken with the intention the starting such a battle. His growing army was not established to destroy his brother’s faction.  Such intentions had not been on his mind for many months now, his thoughts occupied by other events. The lurking threat edging into the city, the mysterious shadows, was but one of these worries. The other of his mortal lover, a human of which he had become rather attached to.

But as the sun fell, and the Lord went to discuss the matter with his brother, he failed to notice something was wrong. Lost in his worries, his keen senses were ignored, the signs bypassed. In the end, this was what let him fall into this trap. His dear brother, Mianite, the Western Lord, had been waiting with much different intentions for his visit. For before him, snarling and forced to his knees, was none other than Thomas Cassel, his beloved human.

Perhaps if he’d have taken a critical eye to the scene, he would have noticed the shadows in the background, how unnatural they were. He could have taken note of the dampened look in his brother’s eyes, how they appeared almost lifeless. Could he have changed the course of the evening with the insinuation this information had given him, what he knew these signs meant? Had it been any other being before the Lord, maybe he could have.

As it stands, he showed a considerable amount of strength keeping himself from launching forward, tearing his brother apart from so much as threatening his lover. He could feel the rage setting in, his body burning with it. Fire jumped from his fingertips, and he forced himself to stay rooted to where he stood.

“My brother,” Mianite called from across the alleyway, the meeting point they had settled upon centuries earlier, placed in neutral ground, “You seem a tad stressed. Have you been keeping up with your sleep schedule? I know when you take human,” he rolled the word distastefully in his mouth, “you prefer to give them the illusion of being one of them.” Tilting his head to the side in mock curiosity, the Lord asked, “Say, did you ever tell this lovely toy of yours what you are?”

Mianite’s hand was dug into the mortal’s bright blue hair, twisting the locks cruelly as he craned Tom’s neck back until he had a full view of his face. “Look at that pretty face,” he cooed, as the human snarled, trying to yank out of the awful grip that was keeping him in place. The Lord continued as though there was no resistance, bending down to brush his lips against Tom’s neck, “So feisty too. It’s no wonder your so fond of him. Though, I must say, I’m rather surprised that you let him keep the blue hair. Not quite your color. Were you considering giving him to me as a gift, painting him my color just for me?” He cut himself off with a soft chuckle, a glint of fangs poking into the open air, “He looks so captivating. I could take him right here. The feel of his skin giving way beneath my teeth, his gasps reaching my ears, his blood coursing down my throat.”

A growl ripped from Dianite’s throat, all his instincts screaming for retribution, to rip out the Lord’s jugular, to sever his head, pull his fangs from his jaw. But he knew one wrong move could cost his love hi life. Faintly, he could feel the concern of his fledglings, the unease. This sent his protective urges overboard, made his head spin. “If you don’t remove your hand from him, I will remove it for you,” Dianite seethed, the air between them charged, a heaviness covering the area. “My, my, I don’t believe you are in the place to make such remarks.” He straightened himself back up, letting his nails, slowly extending into claws, scrape against the mortal’s cheek. “I’d hate to ruin such beauty.”

The Eastern Lord knew his brother wanted something, but the object of his desires eluded him. He begrudgingly asked the wretched question, words dripping with malice, “What is it you want?” The Vampire Lord sighed, disappointed with the query. “How boring,” Mianite drawled with an accompanying eyeroll, “Surely you could do better than that? What could I possibly want? What could you offer me that I could not provide for myself? Your part of the city. For many centuries, we have cultivated this from a small, pathetic town, to a true village, to a sprawling city, now capable of being labeled a metropolis. And I want it all. Yours, Ianite’s. Everything.”

The only light shining on this bullshit was from the half moon, climbing towards midnight, and the dangerous glow in Dianite’s eyes. Clenching his hands into tight fists, the Lord grit out, “Give me back Tom, and you can fucking have it bastard.” Mianite’s eyebrows shot up, clearly not expecting the Lord to cave so fast. With a shrug, he pushed Tom into a standing position, before approaching the other Lord. Keeping his left hand curled around the mortal’s neck, he thrust his right hand out. “Let’s make this a true deal. Bound by magic. The only way to break it is to start a new one, or for one of us to kill the other. But” he paused, as Dianite reached his hand forward, “We have to wait at least 24 hours before we can go after each other.” Flashing his pearly whites in a mocking smile, he invitingly placed his hand within reach. Without hesitating, Dianite shook his hand. Tom was worth it.

However, both had a card up their sleeves. Dianite still had his army, full of loyal, trained fledglings, who might as well have been his children, and many allies with them. Mianite, on the other hand, was ready to enact a loophole. Taking his hand back, he shoved it through Tom’s gut in one fluid motion, a fatal blow that would give the two lovers mere minutes together. As the mortal fell towards the Lord, Dianite roared, rage and agony coursing through him. He lashed out at Mianite, but he was gone. “Kill him,” the Lord screeched, reaching out through the link he held with his fledglings, “Tear apart his army and destroy his home. Leave nothing left.” Resounding echoes of rage and war sounded in his head, but he was focused on the body collapsed in his arms.

“Tom, Tom focus,” Dianite struggled to stay calm. His rage burned, fire screaming to be released. He knew the next few moments would be the most important for Tom’s life. Whether he would still have one. “Beloved, do you want to live? Do you want to stay with me?” The human’s glazed over eyes struggled to find him in the gloom, centering on the orange glow emanating from them. He nodded, adding a faint, whispering croak, “Yes. I won’t leave you alone to suffer.” The Lord rest his forehead on Tom’s. “Even if you become a monster?” With the last of his energy, Tom forced out the word, “Yes.”

Biting his lips hard enough to draw blood, the Lord kissed his lover one final time for the night. In all his glory and might, he had only been able to save one of his followers at such a last-minute attempt. The blood flowing out of Tom would speed of the process, as much as it would close the window for the change. Time was of the essence, and it was slipping fast.

(AN: Im tired, i know its the oldest excuse in the book, otherwise id have written more. I left it there for suspence :) but prolly should have gone back and made a lot of few edits, but i think it looks pretty good. I had a weird phase of shifting from detail to actual story, so other than that, i think it flowed. That was mostly set up, but kinda not good set up. It just gives background for the next few chapters)

[thesinglesjukebox]

6LACK - NONCHALANT

[5.78]

6lack! 6ack on the Juke6ox!

Crystal Leww: 6LACK has been around since 2014 and released his album in 2016, but got a big industry push, via what feels like mostly streaming platform playlists, in 2017. His career choices since then are like perfectly curated by ~the industry~ from collaborators (e.g., Khalid, Future) to tours (e.g., he opened for The Weeknd) to songwriters. For example, Stwo produced "Nonchalant" -- the same Stwo who produced Drake's "Weston Road Flows" and who is signed to 40's publishing company. The music is like aggressively fine. If I imagined what ~the industry~ produced R&B music aimed at the market of trap R&B sounded like, it would sound exactly like "Nonchalant," and indeed, most of the rest of East Atlanta Love Letter. None of this is bad, but it's also devoid of any identifying features as well. [4]

Julian Axelrod: 6LACK has quietly become one of the most infuriating beneficiaries of the post-Drake fuckboy boom, and "Nonchalant" is his bargain bin "Marvin's Room": a faux-introspective bloodletting that's twice as petty as its predecessor with half the hooks. "Somehow I still find the time to care a little more about my rhymes," he drawls, before rattling off fifteen clunkers to disprove his point. The only line that rings true comes mere seconds before: "I'm so fucking tired." Same. [3]

Juana Giaimo: I generally dislike rappers bragging about how they are the best in the scene. However, 6LACK uses this topic to change it; rather than being aggressive and loud, he is the opposite. The slow beat and the atmospheric sounds fit his calm and deep voice. He has the ability to not be monotonous; instead, he looks for subtle changes -- as those lines where a second voice in higher register appears when he says "I knew that I would grow to be the boy/The boy then grew to be the man," making the melody more delicate and nostalgic. [7]

Jessica Doyle: "Nonchalant" isn't quite right; which is part of the charm. "Somewhere between humble and hell no": much better. I'm less impressed by 6LACK's spending seemingly half the song talking about how hard he works: at some point that starts to look like a shortcut. But the combination of the ominous backing and his refusal to do more than hint at a loss of control is worth a few listens. [5]

Ryo Miyauchi: The contemplative beat, the tumbling flow that resembles a stream of consciousness, the lyrical unpacking of a shady environment: "Nonchalant" has the makings of an alluring #based freestyle in more proper hands. While it gets downplayed by 6LACK's self-indulgence of his elementary punchlines, his wordplay sometimes bears the feel of an on-the-spot association game that further takes cues from the work of Lil B. [5]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: I'll avoid the obvious reference to the title here because that's what 6LACK's looking for here -- not just coolness but too-coolness, of tossing off free-associated rhymes carelessly. Yet the intricacy of his rhymes here belies that point -- he's revealed his hand as an eminently skilled technician, and a charming one at that, but one that is very much invested in his own song construction. But at this point, we have enough careless rappers on the charts, and "Nonchalant" is welcome even if it isn't that. [7]

Stephen Eisermann: 6LACK's flow and wordplay is impressive as his lyrics fall from his lips in a stream of consciousness style, still managing to feel thematically relevant even as he jumps from reference to reference. The beat serves as nothing more than a canvas for 6LACK to fill up with different images and call-outs, but that really is what the track calls for as 6LACK nonchalantly continues along, unbothered by what others in his field are doing. [7]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: 6LACK's East Atlanta Love Letter is an album that benefits greatly from purposeful sequencing and a tightly curated cast of producers. These aspects are so crucial to the album that they successfully obfuscate how little 6LACK has to offer on his own front. If anything, his greatest asset has always been an occasional ability to work in lockstep with a producer's intended goals, stretching the emotional landscape of the instrumentation out to widescreen. "Nonchalant" is one of the album's better standalone tracks because it finds him justifying his presence, one beyond an exchangeable placeholder that accompanies the exquisite production. Stwo, a producer who once made a mixtape inspired by Drake's Nothing Was The Same, provides a beat that invites nocturnal introspection. Assisting him is Melbourne-based Lucian Blomkamp, an artist who was surely responsible for the clattering percussion and subtle electronic accouterments here. 6LACK utilizes the song's expansive yet lonely atmosphere to brag as if he's in a similar position: "I give a piece of me to everybody I meet/Not because they want it, it's because it's prolly a need." Much is gained from small shifts in his delivery -- the disaffected cool of singing "add a little reverb, yeah"; the cooling off of "crack a beer when I'm feeling pissed"; the slight aggression to "squeezing until they crack a windpipe" -- and it all rolls off his tongue to justify the song's title. [6]

Will Rivitz: What The Weeknd wishes he sounded like. [8]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]