MATURE: - Complete Hunter, Haunted

[canisaries]

IMPORTANT - PLEASE READ:

The version of Hunter, Haunted posted here is now outdated. For the up-to-date version, find it here on Thousand Roads. This thread will not be updated with the new versions of the chapters. Thank you for your attention.

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Spoiler: Update Log

NOTE (15 June 2019): We did it, Reddit. Hunter, Haunted has now been completely revised, beginning to end. It's been wonderful revisiting this story and being able to draw out more of its potential. Of course it's still not perfect, as no story is, but I believe it has definitely been improved and significantly so. This revision also gave me a good opportunity to introduce this story to Serebii Forums, where it has been received well, and I'd like to thank the people over there for their feedback that's helped me better this story even further.

I'm not quite done with this story yet, however! There is a brand new extra to the story I'm working on and hope to post - and of course, I'll still continue to be open to feedback and improvement suggestions in the future. This story is my favorite of all I've written and I want only the best for it. Thank you for your support, and stay tuned for the extra. EDIT: Extra is up!

NOTE (25 Feb 2019): Both prologues are now in spoiler tags. Choose one based on what you're willing to handle content-wise.

NOTE (28 Jan 2019): An alternate prologue has been added to this post! That is, an alternate prologue has replaced the original while the original has been put into a spoiler tag. This is due to the original having pretty intense content, possibly the most intense of the entire fic, and me realizing it may be costing me readers who aren't quite ready to have a gore explosion in their face from the get-go. However, even if the prologue is a bit of a black sheep, I still think it's very good in terms of quality, so I'm not going to just throw it in the trash. And as it still ties very strongly to the story, it'd feel odd to separate it into its own oneshot, so it stays in a spoiler tag.

As for what an "alternate" prologue means: This new prologue can be read instead of the original, and it's not intended for both to be read. However, both can be read because well, it's a free country, but more importantly, they're both canon and in the same timeline. There's just repetition of some information between the two, and so there's narratively no need to read both. Capisce? Great. Back to you, past update Canis.

NOTE (15 Sep 2018): I would like to announce that Hunter, Haunted is currently being revised! Due to this, older chapters may temporarily not add up with newer ones, as I'm advancing through this story one chapter at a time. Scenes of the non-revised chapters can change location, be extended, stubbed or removed entirely. With this revisal I hope to implement criticism I've received and generally update the prose. You can still go ahead and read the non-revised chapters, though, it's possible there are things I haven't thought of to try and better. Thank you! Now back to you, past Canis.

Spoiler: Old Covers

Spoiler: Awards

Serebii Fanfiction Awards 2018
Best Writing Style (1st-2nd place)
Best Description (2nd place)
Most Original Overall (3rd place)

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Hi! It's me, the (wo)man, the meme, Canisaries, back again with a new multiparter. It's a bit refreshing after so many oneparters, but also somewhat scary and restrictive, but also exciting.

Like my other fics, this is a Twitch Plays Pokémon fanfic, but don't worry - I've gotten lots of critique about how to make my stories accessible to a more wide audience, and I'm trying to implement that. So in other words, knowledge of Twitch Plays Pokémon isn't required to read this. All you really need to know is that the whole Lord Helix concept exists (and that my interpretation of Red probably isn't what you'd expect it to be) and you're set. And I just now told you about it. Neat!

More stories with this protagonist, all of which share the same continuity as this and take place before it chronologically:

Seiren (multiparter)
Metanoia (oneparter, on Thousand Roads)

Rating of the overall story is mature for graphic violence and otherwise disturbing imagery, although a few chapters drop to teen. The protagonist, while not actually sexually after his victims, does also get pretty rape-y seeming at times. Strong language is present with at most a few F-word-tier curses per chapter, but no slurs are present. Lastly, there are themes of suicide in places.

Enjoy!

Spoiler: Index

PROLOGUE (alternate & original)
(you're here)

CHAPTER 1
A Normal Day

CHAPTER 2
The Forest

CHAPTER 3
Analysis

CHAPTER 4
Life

CHAPTER 5
Death

CHAPTER 6
Rebirth

CHAPTER 7
The Houndoom

CHAPTER 8
Illness

CHAPTER 9
The Mareep

CHAPTER 10
Searching

CHAPTER 11
Got You Now

CHAPTER 12
The Skin

CHAPTER 13
It's Over

CHAPTER 14
Black Wool

EXTRA
The Woodsman

​

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H U N T E R , H A U N T E D

Synopsis:
Red, after a successful sacrifice, is shocked to find his victim reincarnated as a yamask. He must kill her again before she can expose him - but can ghosts even be killed?

Genre:
Drama, Horror

Started:
18 Sep 2017

Status:
Initially finished (17 April 2018)
Revision finished (15 June 2019)

Length:
82 000~ words with both prologues and extra included
(measured 8 July 2019)

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PROLOGUE

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There are two different Prologues - Original and Alternate.

These two differ from each other by featuring a different scenario with different levels of graphic/disturbing content, but they fulfil the same narrative purposes. Either one can be read, as the events of both are canon. Reading both is permitted, but do not be surprised to see information repeated between the two.

The recommended version is Original, but Alternate is for those who'd prefer a less gruesome entry to the story.
​

Spoiler: Alternate Prologue (TEEN)

A gentle breeze blows through the streets of the neighborhood.

The trees and bushes sway gently in this wind, showing off their emerging leaves or the needles that braved through the winter. Simple little houses flank the asphalt roads, their pastel walls near blinding in the strong sunlight. Only by a few puffy clouds here and there obscure the wide, azure sky. A faraway pidgey twitters - judging by its familiar song, a yellow-breasted one.

No people seem to be out at this hour. No humans, no mon. They’re all at work or school or indoors for some other reason. There’s no one out here in this sunny April morning but me.

Gods, getting away with murder is so easy.

I hoist the garbage bag onto my back again. It’s heavy, but the strength gained from that quick breather I took helps alleviate the strain somewhat - and the knowledge that I’m basically halfway to my destination already. It stinks, too, but the surrounding air is luckily fresh and well circulating this fine day.

I turn around and follow the path into the woods, replacing the houses and hedges of my neighborhood with pines and spruces. I can let my senses relax a little now that the risk of bumping into someone is much lower.

Of course, I do have an explanation if someone gets nosy. Green waste. Just dumping it in the woods, returning it to nature. Don’t want to pile it all on the yard to be an eyesore and bug hive. For the good of the neighborhood, you know? The community. My fellow men. And mon. I’m socially conscious, you see.

And if they still disagree, I’ll just make them socially unconscious. Haha. No, that wasn’t funny.

I clear my throat, even if I didn’t say a word aloud, and proceed further. A few more bird mon’s tweets enter the soundscape. The bag’s starting to hurt my shoulders again. Luckily, the spot’s pretty close by now. Just a little more, and I’ll be ready to eradicate the evidence.

“Kraw!”

Oh, not a murkrow.

Black feathers shuffle against each other, and so the murkrow has flitted down before me. It stands still, staring at the bag with hungry eyes.

Yes, yes, I know you can smell it and it’s probably a fantastic fragrance for a scavenger like you. I wouldn’t mind giving you a piece on an idea level, but in practice, that’d mean opening up this stinky thing and exposing myself to all kinds of risks. What if a little civilized growlithe was roaming around in these woods and drawn to the stench? Then I’d have even more to worry about. I probably wouldn’t even be able to kill it, being a fragile, flammable human. Then I’d be caught because of a little puppy. A little puppy would be the one to cancel Judgment Day. I’m not letting that happen.

“Kraw!”

Oh, what’s Judgment Day, you ask? Well, when a god likes a man very much, HE picks him as HIS earthly vessel and descends upon this earth to reshape the world to its rightful state. It’s a very lovely experience for the man, giving him infinite power and immortality among other things, and that’s why I really don’t want to miss out on that. So get the hell out of the way, I’m coming through.

The murkrow hops off the path to avoid my approaching feet, but keeps following me after I’ve passed by. “Kraw!”

“Shut up,” I grumble, keeping my eye on the path to avoid tripping on anything. “You’re not getting anything.”

I hear it take flight towards me and hurriedly turn my head, seeing it perch on the bag. The bag rustles as it begins to peck and tug at the thin, black plastic.

“Hey!” I snap, shaking the bag and scaring the bird off. For now. “Piss off! Not yours!”

Knowing it's just going to try again the moment I turn away, I pick up my pace. I just need to get to the opening, then I can throw this thing on the ground and make it vanish within two minutes. It won't matter if the murkrow gets its talons on it then. It can't do that much damage in that time.

As expected, the feathered fuck keeps attacking the bag, though my rougher gait hinders his attempts at misdeeds. At least there's only one of them. Although it's possible a flockmate might hear us and come to its comrade's help.

But, at last, I see the opening! I shake the bag one last time, then run the rest of the way, finally arriving at the small gravelly field among the evergreens.

I heave the bag in the middle, its contents causing a thump. Hungrily, the murkrow dashes to pick at the already weakened plastic.

Wasting no time, I search the surroundings for a broken off branch of fitting size and quickly locate one. Good, no need to get the hilt of my knife dirty. As the murkrow continues to drive its beak in the bag, I drag the tip of the branch across the ground, drawing a sizeable ring around the pile of waste.

I hear a pop from the middle, and rush to add the details. Line there, curve there, circle there. I stand up straight, studying the pattern I've created. I think I remembered everything.

I circle to the front and unsheathe my knife. The murkrow pulls its head out of the bag to give a quick, suspicious glance. No, it's not for you. You'll see.

I take the blade to my little finger and run it across the tip, just strongly enough to pierce the skin and reach a blood vessel. The sting is there, but barely any stronger than a mosquito bite. Vivid, red fluid rises to the surface, gathers into a droplet and finally falls off, landing on a circle at the edge of the ring.

The tiny stain formed in the gravel glitters, then glows. Its red light begins to expand.

I back a safe distance away from the ring, smiling as things progress as intended. The glow continues to spread, keeping within the grooves of the carving. The murkrow throws perplexed glances at the sudden lights encircling it. Is it going to flee? If it knew what this meant, it would, but I don’t know if it’s smart enough to understand something’s amiss. Or maybe it's greedy enough to ignore it.

Just before the advancing lights come together at the other end of the circle, something finally clicks in its brain. It flaps its wings frantically, stumbling into flight, racing for the edge. A membrane of glow envelops the bag. The murkrow too gains a creeping coating. The color brightens.

Flash.

The lights have disappeared. The bag is gone. The ring in the gravel has returned to a mere drawing. There’s nothing in the opening but me.

And a murkrow staring at the new trim its tail feathers have gained.

“Looks like you made it just in time,” I say, stepping closer and drawing its eyes to me. “Still, I wouldn’t try it again if I were you.”

“Kraw!” it snaps at me and takes to the air again. It heads for the woods, its flight somewhat wobbly, and soon disappears between the trees.

Great, now I have an enemy. If only it would’ve been a second late and disintegrated with the bag… I wouldn’t have to worry about getting caught by its pals. I’m not so good with those kinds of murders.

Oh well, at least I’m basically done with this now. Just need to erase the circle, and then I can go.

I begin pushing gravel around with my feet to cover the grooves in the ground. The task is monotonous, but the birdsong of the background makes it almost rather nice. Whistles, chirps, trills… I’m in not a bird expert, but I think it’s safe to assume these aren’t all just different types of pidgey. Maybe one of those is a starly.

After all the marks have been removed, I kick the most dust off my shoes I can. I scan the ground. Looks shuffled around, but no one can tell why. They’d probably just guess that some children were playing. I guess I technically am a child… no, wait, I’m eighteen now, that’s right. Well, I’m still someone’s child.

The bag’s scent seems to have completely disappeared. That was the last of her. The last evidence of my deed. Now only HIM and I could ever bring the truth to light, and I know neither will - until the ascension, when all lies shall become unnecessary.

No more sneaking around searching for sacrifices, no more blood samples to make sure they’re clean, no more need to prove to HIM I truly am worthy. No risk of rejection, no need to worry I’ll be doomed to spend the rest of my life in a world I just don’t belong in. And then die. After years of frustration and misery. What a pitiful existence.

No, don’t focus on that, focus on the ascension so close at hand. HE took over your body this time, remember? Sure, it made you have to vomit afterwards when you realized what HE ate wasn’t cooked, but it means HE has almost all of the power HE needs by now.

I close my eyes and breathe deeply. In any case, yet another case is over. Closure. I can forget her name, her face, her address, all the details…

Except that I can’t, remember?

My eyes open. Oh, yeah. I don’t usually erase everything. I keep a memento, a trophy for every case. But this time I couldn’t. There was nothing to keep - HE had eaten it. So I had to keep something else, and I chose something immaterial. A memory. Her face, her name. Address and rest could go, at least. But I promised myself I’d remember her face. And I do remember it.

Dark eyes. Black and bristly hair, like mine, but longer. Smoothly curved bridge of nose, almond-shaped eyes, widow’s peak. Pure, healthy skin. Eyebrows stylized to a moderate extent. They were silky.

Then there was her name. It was a nice name. But did I ever speak it aloud? I knew I wanted to. Maybe I mentioned it to HIM at the start of the ritual? I like to do that, it always makes them freak out when a stranger knows their name. But the whole possession bit this time made those memories somewhat fuzzy.

Well, it won’t matter if I say it now regardless. Because I simply want to. I’ll taste its sounds as they form in my mouth. I’ll feel it reverberate. I'll claim it, just like I claimed her life, and consume it.

“Joanna.”

Spoiler: Original Prologue (MATURE)

Breath in, breath out, breath in, breath out, breath in, breath out…

My lungs drag the soft air in, squeeze it out. Repeat. Repeat. The air tastes so good. I switch to breathing through my nose. An explosion of sweet aromas hits my nasal cavity, yes, it’s wonderful, wonderful… but I have to switch back. I need more air.

I’m so warm. My skin is hot, throbbing to the rhythm of my rapid heartbeat. Beneath the heart, a full, heavy stomach. Satisfied.

Blur… black at the top, brown in the middle, orange at the bottom… all I see. These colors, they pulse with every contraction of the pump at my core… or… do they flicker on their own, too? They do.

Popping, crackling. It’s not quiet here, there’s something beside my own heart and breathing. It’s like fire. Is it fire? Yeah, it is. Something’s hissing, too. I can’t tell what it is.

The heat is stronger at my left leg. It’s so hot it almost burns. Whatever the reason, it should stop. I try to draw the leg away, but a swarm of aches pull on it with more force. The leg is tired. I force it to move. It hurts. Why does it?

My back isn’t the best, either. The higher part of it, along with my head, is leaning onto something uncomfortable, strangely shaped, hard-edged. The lower part is supported by ceramic tiles. I can recognize the texture by the way my sweat glues me to it. Ugh… sweat. Sweat, everywhere on my body. I’m not clothed. Am I safe?

With shaking eyelids, I blink. The sweat gets in my eyes. I blink to squeeze it out. Doesn’t get it all. I need my hand.

I try to curl my fingers. Twitching, they obey. I contract my arm. It aches, but it works. I raise it to my face. Something red enters my vision. My fingers. Too much blood on them. I wipe them on my cheek, on the other, then they can be used.

Rubbing the irritation away from my eyes, I bend forwards to sit upright. I take the hand away and see that my sight has improved. Still simply colors, but now they have shape. Oh, oh, I feel gravity. It’s strong. I have to support my head with my arms, bury my face in my palms. Eyes closed, I wait for my thoughts to clear, senses to sharpen.

At some point, I become a person. A man. A being interacting with his surroundings, not a mere slave to them. I finally dare to remove my hands, open my eyes, enter reality.

It’s a room. My room, my secret room. To my right, a fire has been lit, a bowl of water placed upon it. It’s boiling. There are also candles, a whole lot of candles around the space. Their orange glow illuminates the gray walls, the taupe bookcases, the floor… the floor has many colors, strange colors.

Wait! What's that? Beige-red shadow, human-shaped figure, doesn't move, over there. The feet don't touch the ground, something keeps her up. Her?

Her, yeah. I know her.

I jumped on her, drugged her, transported her here, came home and stripped her, washed her, fastened her to the board. I set up the candles, the bowl, the knife, everything, everything was ready. I waited for her to wake up, and she did, and then… then I looked at HIM.

HE came and showed HIS acceptance and I felt… so happy. HE liked what I'd brought HIM. HE liked me. I was warm and at peace and I thanked HIM so much. Everything was good, everything was right. Then I… I… can't remember.

From that moment to this wake-up… everything is blank. I couldn't have fallen asleep, I couldn't have fainted, those things just don't happen to me. So maybe HE…

...yes. Yes, yes HE did! HE finally did it!

The corners of my mouth, in spite of how exhausted they feel, drag themselves towards my ears. I’ve never had a grin this wide on my face before.

HE took over me! HE can do it, HE is now strong enough to do it! And -- and HE chose to do it! With me! My body! HE accepts it, which means, it means I am the Bringer! It's official now!

I laugh, despite the action hurting. I have to laugh, I'm so happy. If I don't let it out, I'm gonna burst.

I'm gonna merge with a god! I'm gonna live forever, doing whatever I want! Feeling how I want! This is… great doesn't even begin to describe it!

I spend ten breaths in and out just letting the fact sink in. On the eleventh, I remember my job isn't quite done yet.

Right. HE still needs time. I have to keep living a mortal's life until HE is fully ready.

I look at the stone above the altar. The spiral on the triangular rock base remains just a spiral, a mere shape. HE has left for now, as I pretty much expected.

Okay. Back to real life. Ascension's not here yet, so I should act like it. Be an organism in an environment. So let's see what we have here…

I turn my attention to the human figure from before. She's...

...absolutely ripped up. Thoroughly ravaged. I still can't see quite right, but those big, shiny blotches of color don't lie. Red, pink, yellow, gray, purple, dark green. Only her feet, hands and the upper half of her face still seem to be intact. Pretty pale, though… for understandable reasons.

That is magnificent. I have to take a closer look.

My joints bend sluggishly as I wriggle to a position from which it’s easier to get up. As I rise, knees trembling under my weight, I catch glimpses of my naked body. Covered in blood. Just like my fingers. HE certainly wasn't shy.

With every step I take, a loud slap rings out from the foot hitting the floor. I survey the ground, wary of anything to trip on, and notice it’s rather crowded. On the white tiles, there lie large lumps and shreds of various tissue types from muscle to fat to even bone. It’s almost as colorful as the corpse. Hell of a mess to clean up, but I can’t lie, most rituals do end up requiring a session with the mop afterwards.

By the time I reach the body, I’m ready to collapse - whatever HE did, it really took the juice out of me - but my curiosity overpowers it. I grab the board for support and finally survey the woman fastened to it up close.

She’s dead, alright. The entire front of her torso, neck and lower face is basically torn off, showcasing the organs, muscles and fat that didn’t end up on the floor or... inside me, I guess. The anterior side of the ribcage is absent. Big chunks of the lungs and heart are missing, and what remains looks deflated. It still leaks blood and other fluids. It looks sad, in a way.

The abdomen is in a slightly better shape, if you’re even able to say that in this context. The greater omentum and liver may be completely gone, but the digestive tract is intact, even if it has a few scratches here and there. Maybe HE avoided it because of the smell. For that, I thank HIM, as I can’t say I’m a fan, either.

There seems to be something odd in between the pink, glassy loops of the small intestine, though. It’s dripping, viscous, lemme get a better look… oh.

Okay, moving on.

On proceeding to the limbs, I unfortunately have to acknowledge that the straps normally holding down the arms and legs by their bases have been broken, as well as the strap for the neck. I’ll have to replace them. It’s not the only damage done to the board, but the rest is luckily restricted to superficial scratches on the wood. The straps for the ankles and wrists are perfectly fine. That’s good.

The damage to the actual limbs lessens the farther down it goes. The wounds go as deep as the bone at the shoulder, but by the elbow, only a few tiny, red crescents can be seen. I check my fingers. Bloody gunk is situated beneath the nails. Matches up. Not sure why HE would use the pitiful natural weapons of the human body for even a moment, but maybe HE liked the primal feel of it.

Speaking of weapons, where’s my knife? It’s not on the floor. Is it on the… yep, it’s on the table. Just where I left it. Clean. What?

But that can’t be right. Did HE use some other weapon? I glance over the board, but nothing looks out of place. I really doubt HE would be the type to clean all equipment and put it neatly back where it came. Did HE only use…

I lick my teeth. There are fibers of flesh stuck between them. I glance at the bowl on the fire further away. Just like the knife’s blade, it’s spotless. The boiling water within is colorless.

HE ate the flesh raw.

The realization disturbs my previously peaceful gut. I hope HIS powers protect against disease as well. Or should I just try to vomit? I think that’s my best bet. I can’t risk harm to this body if I want to keep being the Bringer.

Ughh, it still hurts to move… but I have to. I guess I should start wrapping this whole thing up, anyway. After I get my stomach emptied, I’ll take a shower and put some clothes on. The blood on my skin’s starting to dry up and get kinda itchy.

As I stumble to the door, I scan the floor with a sorrowful eye. There were probably some organs there I still could’ve sold if I was fast to freeze them and offered a discount. Gods, they’re not gonna be happy that I gave them that blood to test but no organs in return. I’ll deal with that then, though - for now I have my health to worry about.

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Oh Gods, did it smell this bad in this room the whole time? It's like something died in here. Oh, right.

Now with shoes covering my feet and rubber gloves on my hands, I bring the garbage bag to the mess on the floor. My raincoat crinkles as I crouch to pick up the clumps of flesh and stray organs. I hum a quiet, directionless tune to ease the monotony.

I still taste a bit of acid at the back of my mouth, regardless of drinking water and eating a sandwich to fill up the upset stomach even a little. Can't wait until raw flesh becomes as safe as cooked when I reach godhood.

With the floor cleared of tissue chunks, I pick up the small bowl normally meant to be eaten out of and scoop a bit of the boiling water out of the far larger bowl. I chuck the liquid at the fire and repeat the process a few times until all the flames have been eradicated. Sorry, fellas, you didn’t get to cook anything this time. Much like I didn't get to do the killing. Of course I'm way gladder about the advancement of my life plan than I'm sad about missing out, but… I was looking forward to performing the ritual. All of it, not just the start and the cleanup after.

No, it's fine, it's fine. Like I've said, all that matters is the ascension.

I decide to leave the emptying of the water bowl for later, when it will have cooled down, and move on to the body. While I was showering, I had time to ponder the lack of instruments used. Looking at the ribs now, I’d call my hypothesis confirmed - by the ends of their remnants, it seems they've simply been bent off.

HE didn't only take over my body. HE brought some of HIS own strength with HIM. That explains how HE managed to do so much damage with my nails and teeth alone. A god is a terrifying thing.

Oh, right, I should…

I separate the corpse's jaws. The tongue, too, has been ripped away. I sigh. Well, I guess it fits - HE is the one who killed her, not me. HE gets the trophy. Even if HE probably just threw it on the floor or ate it.

I still want to keep count, though, so I'll just put an empty jar in with the rest. I think this one’s the eighth. Eighth sacrifice I've hunted down, and I still haven't been caught. Is it merely because of the spells and tutoring HE has provided me, or am I a natural? It can't be said.

Occasionally I wonder what my life would’ve been like if the Twitch never came. I wouldn't have met Him and, by extension, HIM. Would I still be free and killing? Caught? Dead? Happy? Psh, good one.

Knowing the smell will only get worse if I keep waiting, I open the straps holding down the body’s ankles, then the left wrist. She begins slipping, and upon freeing the right wrist, collapses onto the floor tiles. I dodge back before the impact, not wanting blood on top of my shoes.

Alright. Think I’ll cut off the head first. Won’t have to bear her staring at me for too long that way.

I fetch the bone saw and a wooden plank from their wall. I grab the woman’s hair to lift up her head and place the plank beneath her half-eaten neck to guard the tiles. The hair’s black and bristly, like mine, but a bit longer. Not unusual for a Tohjoan, and neither are her dark eyes.

As I saw away at her neck, hand on her forehead to keep the head still, my gaze lingers on her face. Aside from the missing flesh of the lower half, it’s rather pretty. Symmetrical, aesthetically pleasing proportions... smoothly curved bridge of nose, deep-set eyes, widow’s peak. Pure, healthy skin, although without the majority of its original beige color as a result of fear and blood loss. Stylized dark eyebrows, but not too stylized - she knew what qualities of her natural state worked and preserved them, but fixed the imperfections. I stroke the eyebrows. Silky. As much as I can tell with gloves on, anyway.

Weird how she lived alone and seemed to have no friends. No one would assume that based on her beautiful face and energetic walk. Well, it was all the better for me - smaller chance of getting caught, bigger chance of HIM finding her pleasing.

What was her name again? It was on the tip of my tongue. If I couldn’t have her tongue or be the one to kill her, I should at least have a name to go with her face. Was it… no, it wasn’t Maria, that was the one before her. It was… ah, now I remember.

Joanna.

---​

 

[Ghostsoul]

I feel… amazing.

But why?

Kind of childish opening line, doesn't really hold much of an impact and certainly doesn't brace the reader for what is to come.

The soft air rushing into my lungs, escaping them when squeezed out, that’s not it. The sweet mixture of aromas embedded in that air flowing through my nasal cavity...

This gets a bit repetitive here, it might work in a poetic structure but this story is very much more prose focused. I think you can describe the character's observation of their surroundings.

It’s not the glimmer of the rapidash hooves which lay a few feet away in the corner where they were pushed after being used to ignite the fire.

Very repetitive, it's getting tiring to read.

It’s not the candles whose tiny lights adorn the murky blur that surrounds me. It’s not the gray walls or the taupe bookcases that sharpen out of the haze.

Extremely repetitive.
If you really want to keep this in, it's better if you edit it with perhaps a slightly more varied sentence structure or slice it between other parts of the prose or do away with it all together.

Still, I don’t know what’s happened exactly. I should retrace my steps to find out.

Yet he seems to remember everything in pretty good detail?
Perhaps this sentence needs rephrasing.

HE took over me. HE inhabited my body, the vessel I’ve sculpted to perfection, and HE used it to satisfy HIMSELF. No wonder I feel so ecstatic.

I would personally like to know more about the character's physical internal state rather than the external state, especially since i seems to be a little more plot relevant.

A hurricane of ferocity has struck her, indeed. Her abdominal and thoracic cavities have both been opened to full view. The entire anterior half of the ribcage has been removed, showing the lungs and heart. Both cut and torn all around, bleeding and leaking other fluids. There's no way she was still alive by the time HE moved on from one of those organs to another. Especially after what had happened to her abdomen.

Her greater omentum, along with a few supportive structures, has been removed almost entirely, exposing her intestines in all their lumpy, loopy glory. The gleaming violet bumps of the colon have been left undamaged, as well as most of the paler small intestine. I’m grateful for this, as the smell of their contents is far from pleasant.

This is a much better description than the one you used to describe the surroundings before.

I feel a bit nauseous. I hope HIS powers protect against disease as well.

Not sure if we need this single line here.

A god is a terrifying thing.

Shouldn't 'God' be capitalized?

I tell them that the patient whose blood I gave them a sample of a while ago has suffered an... unfortunate death.

This line makes the character seem a bit immature and cocky. Especially with the ellipses with 'unfortunate death' being emphasized.

By society’s standards, she was quite an attractive woman.

The other descriptions you used for her has already established this to the audience, therefore this line specifically is not needed.

Stylized dark eyebrows, but not too stylized - she knew what qualities of her natural state worked and preserved them, but fixed the imperfections.

The description is okay, although I think you could show instead of tell in a few times.

But I suppose people aren’t all over me, either, even if I’m well built and a have strong yet graceful face and figure.

The character has no reason to gloat here.

I think the prologue is good at establishing the thriller and horror elements of the story, although perhaps the scene itself is a bit cliche, or rather I just think you could include a few more interesting points in it, possibly world-building details, or the feeling of being possessed by an evil God, as of now it serves it's purpose but could still be something more.

The description is a mixed bag, very good in places, but repetitive and dry in others. I think it depends on how much you vary your sentence structure. You can create some really good description but you need to be able to deliver it in an interesting way too.

 

[canisaries]

First off, thanks for the review. Was worried it would take weeks before I got any comments, like it usually turns out. That said, I'm somewhat confused or even disagree on certain points you've made.

Kind of childish opening line, doesn't really hold much of an impact and certainly doesn't brace the reader for what is to come.

I don't really see what makes it "childish"? Simplistic, maybe. I kept the start of the story simplistic, because it takes a while for the protagonist to come to his senses fully and think more complex thoughts. Plus, the whole "less is more" thing.

The bigger question I have, however, is what would have braced the audience for what's to come, or made more of an impact, because I can't think of much.

I would personally like to know more about the character's physical internal state rather than the external state, especially since i seems to be a little more plot relevant.

I actually didn't understand what you meant by this. Can you elaborate?

Not sure if we need this single line here.

Dunno... when a guy has no problem eating cooked human flesh, it isn't that big of a leap to be okay with raw human flesh. In normal people's eyes, anyway.

Shouldn't 'God' be capitalized?

Well... no? It's just a god, not the God. As far as I know, only the word for the Christian God is capitalized.

In the story's universe, several different gods do exist, it's just a matter of who you align with.

The other descriptions you used for her has already established this to the audience, therefore this line specifically is not needed.

This one, looking back, on, I kind of agree with now. Removed.

You also mentioned the protagonist sounding cocky and immature, but... well, that's kind of his character. He's a pretentious jackass. Just like me!

...All in all, I do have to admit that I had my doubts about making this the prologue. It's a bit detached from the rest of the story, whose tone will be sort of different. The reason I stuck with my decision is because otherwise there wouldn't be a good way of establishing the god's and the protagonist's relationship and why the hell he's dicking around with an actual god of chaos when it sounds like the worst idea after a raincoat for a fish.

 

[Ghostsoul]

I don't really see what makes it "childish"? Simplistic, maybe. I kept the start of the story simplistic, because it takes a while for the protagonist to come to his senses fully and think more complex thoughts. Plus, the whole "less is more" thing.

Perhaps it's the ellipses that do it?
Try and get rid of the ellipses but keep the single sentence in place, make it a comma instead.

I actually didn't understand what you meant by this. Can you elaborate?

Describe how the character feels on the inside. Does their head burn? Do they feel as if they are choking? Did it feel warm? Do they feel disconnected from the world. Just describe how in tune the character is with their body and how they might feeling being in their own body at this time.

Dunno... when a guy has no problem eating cooked human flesh, it isn't that big of a leap to be okay with raw human flesh. In normal people's eyes, anyway.

It's mostly that it just seemed thrown in their and a bit jarring when it came to reading it. Perhaps if you expanded how the character felt sick instead of just stating that they did.

Well... no? It's just a god, not the God. As far as I know, only the word for the Christian God is capitalized.

In the story's universe, several different gods do exist, it's just a matter of who you align with.

Ah, right. Forgot this is TPP and not the main series Pokemon (where the one 'God' would be Arceus in most cases) my mistake.

 

[canisaries]

EDIT: Chapter has been revised as of 23 Sep 2018.

it took a million years, but here is the first true chapter. enjoy!

---

CHAPTER 1
A Normal Day

---​

Oh, great. I get to wake up to another miserable day.

I sit up. The blanket slides off me, exposing my chest to the cool air of my bedroom. With sleepy eyes, I watch the airborne dust of the room dance, framed by the black strands of my hair.

The sun shines in under the edges of the curtain. Maybe if I let more light in, this room wouldn’t feel so cold in the mornings. But it’d also wake me up earlier, which would mean more time I’d need to find some way to kill.

I look at my hands. Good, strong hands, those of a young man in his prime. Unbeknownst to the public, also those of a killer. They've knocked out targets with the help of a spore-soaked rag, they've cut into skin pale from terror with knives carefully sharpened, they've felt the fiery embrace of fresh crimson blood… but lately, they've done a whole lot of nothing.

The sacrifice was a few weeks ago. I haven't been to that hidden room since then. Maybe HE would want me to get another sacrifice for HIM, but I’m not exactly thrilled with the idea of stalking, testing and capturing a new victim only for her to be killed by someone else, leaving me to vomit my guts out and clean up afterwards.

I know, I know, I’m HIS servant, HIS high priest, and I shouldn't be avoiding HIM. But I do need a break for another reason as well - lying low. If I kill too many too fast, someone might find a pattern and, by extension, me. So I'm only playing it safe. I'm not doing anything wrong. Got that? I'm not doubting HIM, I'm doubting my own ability to be stealthy enough. I'm being rational.

Okay, with that out of the way, I suppose it's time for me to get up. I need to at least get my morning exercise over with. This body has to be maintained.

---

Exercise done, shower done. Now to get breakfast to complete the trifecta, and then that's really all I have to do for the morning. Then there’s only the day of waiting for time to pass, occasionally eating, until I go to sleep and wake up to do it all over again.

Pathetic. Waste of time. But there's nothing else I can do. I can't go crawling back to high school, I'd just have to leave again in a matter of weeks when the classmates prove unbearable and my temper uncontrollable. I can't get a job. No one will hire a guy who hasn't finished high school - no job that won't pose a risk to my body, require social interaction or use of technology, at least. My fear of tech would prevent returning to school, too, if I miraculously learned to withstand the human garbage that walks the halls of Pallet Town High School for Humans. So, thanks for fucking me up, Twitch.

Hair dried, clothes on and knife in the scabbard on my belt, I climb up the stairs to the ground floor. As I’m about to touch the handle of the door at the end, I hear noises from the other side. My hand curls up into a fist.

Yes. It wasn’t enough to render me unable to use computers due to painful flashbacks. It had to give me something impossible for me to have with any other living being - an attachment.

I can hear Fonz roaming around, getting things ready for Him. It. I can’t think of Him that way anymore. It. The omanyte.

The omanyte has been doing well lately. In school, in general. The mortal vessel whose life and well-being happens to help my lord regain HIS power is alive and healthy. That’s all it needs to be for HIM. And it shouldn’t be any more to me, but it is, as much as I hate it.

Should I even come out? Should I just wait until they’ve left for school? No, I shouldn’t. If I can’t trust myself to stay cold near the omanyte, I’m only accepting the problem, not working to solve it.

I force myself to open the door and step out.

The view I’m met with is familiar. A nidoking with trimmed quills and a black leather jacket on carries a backpack over his armored shoulder. He turns around, and in his claws is... the omanyte.

“Hi, Red!” it greets, waving its tiny tentacle. Don’t talk to me!

I nail my gaze to the floorboards. My heart bounces around my ribcage like an out of control igglybuff. Dammit! This shouldn’t happen.

“Morning,” I manage to say, blocking out all images of the mon in my mind. I still need to be polite. I can’t show too drastic of a change, that would attract suspicion.

“Hi,” say not only Fonz but also Abe, who’s in the kitchen. Short, glasses, shaggy brown hair, olive skin… a phenotype so different from mine that I can barely believe we share a mother. The boy’s in the middle of constructing a sandwich to eat before school, backpack already on his back and packed to the brim. He looks like a bipedal bulbasaur with that thing.

“Oh, right,” Abe says, looking up from the counter again, eyes on me. “We need groceries. List’s on the table.”

Groceries? Sure. Something to actually do. I give a ‘mhm’.

The front door opens. Fonz squeezes out of it sideways with the omanyte and backpack.

“Bye,” the nidoking shouts with his baritone yet friendly voice, prompting a much higher-pitched ‘bye’ as a response from Abe. The purplish mon closes the door behind him, and the room falls silent, save for the fumblings of my brother in the kitchen.

The omanyte will be done with His -- its school soon, meaning it’ll spend its days home again. Just a few months ago, I couldn’t wait for that day… but I was an idiot. Since then, HE has made me realize that what I felt was wrong and incompatible with my future plans. And now the day the omanyte will complete its basic required education as a free mon terrifies me.

Long gone are the days of admiration. I now know what I had was only insanity. Remnants of a broken mind. The Twitch. It was the Voices that made this connection, forced it deep in my mind. They made me to cling to a mon with marginal importance to my true god. The need to keep it around is practically a technicality.

“Oh, also,” Abe begins, interrupting my thoughts. “I’ll come pick you up with a taxi at ten to three.”

“...Why?”

“The psychologist’s appointment. Remember?”

Ughhhh. That appointment.

“You have to go this time,” Abe continues. “I have to see personally that you do. Otherwise the Foundation guys are gonna come and drag you there, kicking and screaming.”

I try to say something in protest, but he’s anticipated it.

“No, you can’t talk me out of this,” he says. “You've skipped it too many times. I'm gonna come home at ten to three, so you better be there.”

He picks up his sandwich and scuttles to the door. “And don't forget the groceries,” he adds right before exiting. “Bye!” The door closes.

Right. The groceries. I'd already forgotten about them.

I sigh through my nose and look up at the ceiling. Boring, plain white stares back.

Some seconds - maybe minutes, I don’t know - later, I pull myself together. I fetch my backpack, my wallet and the grocery list on the table, put on my jacket and head out.

To me, days of late spring have always felt the prettiest. The sunshine is warm, but the air is still cool. Nature finally shakes its grogginess from March and April, fully awakening to blossom. It’s a celebration of life in all its forms - plants, animals, wild mon.

Unfortunately, not all days are like that. Such as today. The sky is blanketed by a gray layer of cloud too thin to bring rain, but too thick to let the warmth of the sun through. It bathes the whole place in cold, weak light that makes everything seem dull and lifeless.

I hate these days.

A gust of wind dashes down my collar, crashing its cold air onto my chest. Shuddering, I pull the zipper of my jacket the remaining few centimeters up and shove my hands back in my pockets. Looks like these days hate me, too.

Familiar sights scroll by. High school, library, hospital, graveyard. Watching them inch along makes my speed feel even more glacial. I'm starting to wish I'd stayed home. At least it's warm there, and… I don’t know. Something about that colorless, featureless sky just really pisses me off.

Eventually, the yellow corner of the supermarket’s tall sign peeks over the pines. I sprint a bit to ease the irritation of not already being there, and I’m rewarded by reaching the edge of the parking lot. Not much more now. Then it’s over. Until I have to come outside again. Ughh.

I’m simply a ray of sunshine today, aren’t I? I’d say I woke up on the wrong foot, but I’m rather convinced that I have no correct one to begin with.

At long last, I reach the main entrance and step in. A rainbow of artificial color awaits me on the other side. Rows and rows of shelves stand behind the frontline of crowded checkouts. Every notch of the shelves is packed to the brim with cans, cartons, packages and various other products. Dozens of voices, beeps, shuffles and taps echo around the spacious pale hall. The air is warm and still.

Let’s get this over with. I walk through the gates, grab a basket and begin to hunt down the items of the grocery list. By now I know where to find them all, but the sections I don’t visit are still a mystery to me. They can remain as such. I don’t really care.

The basket slowly fills up, becoming heavier with every addition, until there’s only one item left. It’s written in a much shakier, scrawlier way. Given that and what it says, I know who wrote it.

It’s a request from m- the omanyte. He -- it would like some shrimp. I walk to the aquatic aisle, the shelf stacked with cans of the product in question. There’s the brand He -- it, it likes. Then there’s the brand it hates.

Should… should I pick the bad brand? Would that be a good way to show I don’t care about the mon? No, wouldn’t that mean I do care, if I care enough to pick the wrong one on purpose? But if I pick the good brand, I’d feel like I did it because I didn’t have the heart to pick the bad one, that I was weak.

But is it really weakness? It’s what you’re used to doing, it’s normal. And it’s not like the good brand even costs any more than the bad one.

It is weakness. If I make the omanyte happy, I’ll just want to make it happy again and again. And then when at some point it disagrees with HIS will, I’ll end up choosing nearsightedly, angering HIM and ruining my future.

But imagine it. Imagine His disappointment, heartbreak, when the can’s pulled out of the bag and He --

It. It. It!

How many times do you need to be reminded? When will you understand it?

The Bringer cannot love.

Shut up! I’ve had enough of this. I don’t want to waste time thinking about anything related to that mon anymore. I’ll take a third, new brand. It costs more, but fuck it. It’s only money. I grab the can, shove it into the basket and head for the checkouts.

I analyze all the available lines of other customers I could join. As they all seem to be just as long with about four or five people, I settle for the closest one. The person in front of me, a tired, graying woman, seems to have a full cart. Great.

At a snorlax’s pace, the line slouches onward. Various objects are dumped on the conveyor belt, picked up by the cashier, passed to the bar code reader, it beeps, she places the item on the other side, grabs the next, so on, yawn…

A wailing noise pierces the air. What? What is that, a siren? No - a few checkouts over, there’s a baby. And it is loud. Gods, my ears!

I glance at the other people around me. They, too, wince every time the screaming surges in volume. But nothing more. They merely stand and take it. And it just keeps going! I really can’t stress enough how horrible this is. This screech is something straight out of a victreebel’s gullet, one that’s being electrocuted and simultaneously stung by a horde of beedrill.

Isn’t the mother doing anything? No, she isn’t. How can she bear this? If this was my kid, I’d have chucked it out the window long ago.

No, it’s okay. My turn is coming up. I can already start placing my items onto the conveyor. Look, I’m doing so right now. I have to wait a few seconds every now and then so that there’s enough room to fit my items in, but I’m advancing. Time is passing. And now the woman in front of me is already paying. She leaves to pack, it’s my turn. See, everything’s okay. All I have to do now is to wait for my items to scroll past…

But how could I? How could I let this go? This baby, these people, these humans and mon… wastes of space, wastes of life. Here they stand, in their shelter, safe and squeaky clean, so far from the unforgiving wilderness they once dwelled in. They used to struggle for survival, now it’s being handed to them on a silver platter. They feel entitled to it. They’re domesticated! Inbred by good times to be harmless, lazy and stupid. They should be taught to fear again. And I should be the one to teach them. I should be the predator to rid the ecosystem of these pathetic slobs. The fearow to dive into this swarm of fat rattata and impale them with its beak and talons.

Oh, my fingers already dance on the smooth, wooden hilt of my excellent knife. They might all think it’s just for self-defense against wild mon and muggers, but oh, no, no, no. This is my fang, my claw, and it’s itching for flesh to wrap around its blade.

This is what I’ll do - I’ll pluck out my knife in the blink of an eye, and before the others can even react, I’ve already slit several peoples’ throats. A few drops of hot blood have hit my face, marked me as the danger. And from danger they run. They’ll scream. Some, in blind panic, will flee deeper into the store and doom themselves merely by shortsightedness. Those will become my prey. Prey I’ll chase into the aisles, catch and consume. Inhale their fear, taste their agony as my claw makes outsides of their insides. Their blood will soak me, splash onto the shelves. Paint the rainbow red. Brilliant, authentic red to break up the phony, lifeless hues of the labels. Warmth for this cold day.

I have to do it. I have to do it. It’s what I was meant do. I was meant to cease these maggots’ lives, turn their mundane into massacre, strike when they thought they were safe. I’ll kill and keep killing until only two remain. That accursed infant and its mother. I’ll trap them into a corner. The woman will cry, scream, clutch her child and beg for mercy. ‘Please! At least spare my baby!’ She’ll pray for me to feel pity. I’ll only smile, approaching. Tears and snot will stream down her distorted, bawling face. Oh, Gods, why? she thinks. Why did it have to be me, today, in a supermarket, in such a gruesome, terrifying way? Why did my child have to be with me? How does something as awful as this happen? The only thing I’ll be wondering is if an infant’s viscera will differ from those of an adult in any other way than size.

“Sir?”

The cashier, blonde, in greenish teal. Looking at me. How will I kill her? I don’t have the element of surprise anymore. Will I just go for it with my knife? Pull it out in a flash, stab her in the throat?

“Is there a problem?”

…

“No. How much was it?”

“$117.49.”

I draw out my wallet and give her enough bills to cover the price. In a while, she hands me the change and a receipt. I nod and move on to load the items in my backpack one by one.

The baby's wailing is gone. It probably stopped a while ago. All that remains is the normal background noise of the store. It's like nothing had ever been there at all.

Items packed, I zip the bag and turn my back to the checkout. I finally allow my brain to process what just happened.

That was way, way too close. I was millimeters away from making that fantasy real. Had it not been for that miraculous moment of sensibility, I would've thrown away my entire future, just to satisfy my bloodlust and transmute my anger into joy. Both of those fleeting, temporary. If it wasn't theologically incorrect, I'd say HE was looking out for me...

Not only would my future have been ruined, my life would've likely been over very fast. People would’ve called the cops, who would've put me down like the rabid animal I was. And then I would've been dead. And after that…

Nothing. Existence over. No joy, no pain, no gods. Just the book’s back cover - the story has ended, there’s nothing more to see.

And what a shitty story at that. Every arc, every theme, every emotion wiped away by a single bad decision. No happy ending, no tragic ending. Only an ending, and that's that.

I sigh, trying to force the stress out of my body along with the air. I don't find much success.

I head for the exit, but halt as I notice how crowded the main entrance seems to have become. The people are running around with pieces of paper… no, only three are, the rest are only looking at the pictures with none of their own. The three are showing the papers to passersby, only to receive shakes of heads.

Ugh, I bet they're activists or something. I don't want to risk snapping again, so I guess I should take the secondary exit. It looks empty enough. Can’t see any people with papers over there, at least.

I walk across the store to the exit and slide out. A quick analysis of my surroundings confirms what I had hoped - no activists in sight. No one looks like they'd want to engage me in something. Neat. I can just be on my w-

“Excuse me, sir!”

Fuck! He came out of nowhere - or, well, from behind that pillar, to be exact. Still, I didn't see even a glimpse of him before. It's like he was teleported in by an abra. Maybe he was?

Either way, it's a young man with short black hair, a long face, a trench coat and overall a dopey feel to him. In his hand is a piece of paper. He's with the others, it seems. Great.

“Hm?” I respond, trying to fake hurry. Or I suppose it's real. I’m in a hurry to get away from people.

“Have you seen this woman?” he asks, raising the piece of paper and revealing it to be a photograph.

I’m about to say no - because what woman would a shut-in like me recognize - but my lips quickly seal themselves shut. This I did not expect. I did not expect her.

“What's her story?” I ask.

“O-oh, she --”

He clearly didn't expect that. But I need to know.

The man pulls himself together. “She’s my sister. She’s been missing for a f-few weeks now.” His voice breaks, just a little. “She moved to Pewter some time ago, for her studies, but… we already looked there, so…”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say. I mean it in the way that I’m peeved that the investigation will partly take place in my hometown, but he doesn't know that.

“Yeah… we thought she might have come back, and… yeah,” he mumbles. “S-so have you seen her?”

“No.”

Something breaks deep in the man's eyes. I'd say he looked miserable, but that sort of appears to be the default for his face.

“Contact us if you do,” he says, all soul now gone.

I nod, smiling reassuringly, and walk off.

Man… I can’t lie, that was kinda funny. Does thinking that make me a bad person? Oh, right. I crossed the line between good and bad long ago.

Any amusement gained soon fades away, however, as the freezing winds return to pester me. Upon reaching the spruce-encircled graveyard, my feet to stop all on their own. They know my body’s dying for shelter.

I take the moment to bathe in the gentle air. Sure, my home is even warmer and getting there is only going to take longer if I start loitering, but I feel like a break is what I need right now. I sit down on the old, dark bench beside the graveyard’s fence.

Graveyards are nice. They’re quiet and beautiful, and this one is no different. Gray, black and brown stone slabs stand in rows and columns - some worn and rough, some shiny enough to be mirrors. Soft moss and short, prickly grass surround the tombs and cobblestone paths. A few flowers here and there add spots of bright white, yellow, red and purple to the primarily earthy tones around them. Yet, underneath the serene surface, there lie dozens of boxes with rotting cadavers.

This is where they all end up. Well, not in this particular graveyard, but dead nonetheless. They'll all perish - maybe of old age, maybe of disease, maybe in an accident, maybe in the hands of someone like me.

They won't make a difference, and even if they do, they'll still die. And what matters to the person after that? Nothing. They're dead, like everyone else will end up being.

Everyone except me.

I have a reason to keep going. I can reach immortality, endless bliss. They can’t - or they could, but they’re not aware of that option.

Either way, they’re still okay with it. How? Is it ignorance? Apathy? Surely they can’t have actually realized it? I know them, they wouldn't be strong enough to feign peace of mind in face of inevitable doom. Yet I’ve never seen anyone on the street break down into tears, cry at the heavens, curse their gods for creating this stage of never-ending anguish.

If life is such pain… why are they happy?

Some leaves rustle behind me. A wild mon? I turn around, but all I get is a mere glimpse of the creature before it disappears into a bush at the edge of the graveyard. What I saw looked… golden?

Maybe it's a meowth? But the golden part looked pretty big… wait, maybe it's a shiny magnemite! That I have to see.

I make sure no one's around, then get up and hop over the graveyard fence. I creep closer to the bush where I last saw the creature. My steps become slower the closer I get, stopping entirely one meter away.

Meowth or magnemite, it may attack if I startle it. Given that, I should be careful and prepared to defend myself.

I unsheathe my knife and hold it horizontally before myself. I breathe deeply and circle around the bush…

Oh. There's nothing here. That's anticlimactic. None of the branches are even bent. It's like nothing had been there at all… but that can't have been so. If there hadn't been anything, I wouldn't have come here.

There! No, it's gone again… but it was there, by that pine tree in the woods beyond, before it hid behind it.

I do know now that it can't be a meowth. Sneaky as they are, even meowth make noise when they move, and that amount of gold was definitely too much for just a coin.

As silently as I can, I cross the border of the yard and the forest and sneak behind a tree. After a few eventless seconds have passed, I switch to another tree closer to the creature's presumed hiding spot. Motionless, I wait, eyeing the area for anything golden. Or really anything moving independent of the wind.

Something. Something's emerging.

A golden edge peeks out from behind the pine’s trunk. Come on, come out. More floats out. Wait… that's not a sphere. That's more like an oval. A concave one. A mask from behind?

It floats in midair, supported by no limbs or wings. Its motions appear conscious, but also directionless. I'm getting the feeling that it's confused. That makes two of us.

Just what is it? It looks surreal. Unnatural. Where does a mask like that come from? What kind of face does it have? I can't see from this angle. It's not turning around on its own, so maybe it needs some encouragement...

I crouch to pick up a piece of gravel and chuck it away, behind the mask. The tiny rock collides with a few more of its kind on the forest floor, causing a small click. The mask quickly rotates, and…

...no.

There's no way.

---

 

[lucarioknight56]

For the review game:

Grammar/Structure:
Overall, pretty good, but it does get rather strange with your use of ellipses. Sometimes you capitalize the words afterward, sometimes you don't, and so it can throw off people a bit.

On another note, the short sentence makes sense for the thought flow of your character, and it proves to be smooth and easy to read.

Characters:
Red is an...interesting character, to say the least. Certainly not what one would expect for the main protagonist of a Pokemon game. Regardless, his impatient and immature nature make him appealing to read about in a morbid way, particularly with the way he talks about this dark god. While I can't say I support his actions, it makes for an interesting story.

Setting:
You describe the setting in a very impatient and uncaring manner, which fits Red's personality very well. The mundanity of the market, graveyard, even the sky are well personified by this dark protagonist, right down to the colors. At times it can be over-the-top, but it's not much of a concern thanks to the personality and first-person description. No qu

Style:
The short, fluid style of the sentences make this easy to read, and the descriptions -- if a bit longwinded at times -- don't break character, and his thoughts seem perfectly translated to text. I myself don't care for coarse language, but that's just something personal for me; others don't necessarily feel the same.

Overall:
Hunter, Haunted is so far a well thought-out story, and will probably be one of the few Mature stories I'll follow. Keep up the great work!

 

[canisaries]

Thanks so much for the review and feedback, @lucarioknight56 !

I do try to keep a pattern with the ellipses - when a sentence continues, I use a lowercase letter, when a new one begins I capitalize. But I can totally see how that can throw some readers off, since some cases are kind of gray even for me.

I do need to ask though, what were you going to say here? It just kind of... stops.

At times it can be over-the-top, but it's not much of a concern thanks to the personality and first-person description. No qu

 

[lucarioknight56]

Oh, that must have cut off when I copy-pasted from word. It's supposed to say 'No qualms here.' Not much of a comment, huh? Anyways, thanks!

 

[canisaries]

EDIT: Chapter has been revised as of 16 Oct 2018.

woo update! this time red dicks around in a forest. doesn't that sound riveting
enjoy!

---

CHAPTER 2
The Forest

---​

Smoothly curved bridge of nose, deep-set eyes and everything else. It’s Joanna. That’s Joanna’s face on that golden mask.

Why? How? Of all possible faces, why hers? She wasn’t anyone special. This mask wasn’t coming after me, either. Maybe its face depends on the observer? Something they fear? I don't fear Joanna, though seeing what might be her spirit is unsettling. If it truly is her, then someone else could find the mask, realize what happened, discover my secrets…

Or is this even real? Could it be a dream? Some kind of trick? A hallucination? This feels real, but so can all those things when you don’t know better, right?

Well… whatever the case may be, I should keep an eye on this thing to learn more. Preferably while hidden. And if I get the chance, I’ll destroy it. Just to be sure.

The mask is making its way to where I threw the little rock, wary of its surroundings. Its way of moving is fascinating - gracefully yet uncannily, it bobs forward, stops, then repeats. It's like dancing.

Steps. I can hear steps among the wind, light thumps against the forest floor. It seems like the mask heard them too, as it quickly zooms behind another tree.

Accompanying the noise, glimpses of a brown-toned figure begin to flash between the trunks in the distance. Now and then, a sliver of pale pink slips in. The figure moves like a human, but it’s considerably shorter.

“Hello?” it asks, the word slightly echoing. Young, feeble… it’s a child’s voice. Of course, explains the height.

Finally, the child steps into a clearing, allowing me to see it in more detail. It’s a girl, and she looks around... twelve years of age? I’m not great at estimating that stuff, usually I just avoid kids as much as I can.

Hoodie, loose jeans, beanie, all in shades of gray and brown and made even browner by the dirt on them. This kid’s no princess, but I wouldn’t call her a street rattata, either. Her jeans have no holes in the fabric, even if the dye’s dimmed around the knees from long-term use. In contrast to her dull attire, her chin-length hair is a soft pink and eyes a lively blue.

Yeah, that’s nice and all, but who are you, exactly? Why are you in the woods by yourself, and why near a graveyard of all places? Most importantly, who are you helloing to?

“Hello?” she repeats, approaching the trees the mask and I are hiding behind. “It’s okay, you can come out.”

The mask moves slightly, but doesn’t yet leave the safety of its hiding spot. Is the mask who she wants? What does she know about it?

The girl jerks her head in my direction, freezing all my movement down to breathing. She doesn’t see me, does she? I may have distance and a few fuzzy spruce branches on my side, but I’m not invisible. As much as I’d like to crouch further down, I can’t risk her catching the motion. I just have to stay perfectly still and wait for her to look away. Okay. Come on. Do it. Now, please. Starting to run out of oxygen here.

She turns her head. I exhale, though still in a controlled motion. It doesn’t make much sense for an adult man to be hiding from a little girl, but I’d like to keep the element of surprise for any possible need for it. That, and I don’t know what the mask-thing seeing me might cause.

“I can tell you’re there behind that tree,” she says. “Just come on out. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The creature begins to wobble, pondering whether to expose itself or not. Eventually, it gathers its courage and flings itself into view, emitting a very faint, strange whimper upon doing so.

“Hi,” says the girl, smiling sweetly. “You're new here, aren't you?”

The mask bobs up and down, imitating a nod.

“You can turn yourself visible now,” the girl encourages. “Just… imagine your body becoming stone, that's how the others tell me you should do it.”

The mask freezes in concentration. Moments later, something begins to form over it. The air darkens, becoming murky and more opaque. It materializes into an odd body - a disc-like head with two protruding arms and a tail, the curling end of which is holding on to the mask. Two red eyes, wide like plates, light up at the sides of its head. They look like they're dripping something. It’s maroon and viscous. All its drops evaporate into nothing midway through their fall to the ground. Yep, that’s definitely a ghost type.

The girl lets out a brief, excited laugh, her pearly teeth exposed. “This is cool. I’ve never met a real yamask before.”

She attempts to approach the creature - yamask, as she called it - but stops as it jerks back, startled, becoming a bit see-through again.

“No, no, it's okay. I couldn't even hurt you if I wanted to. Anything I tried would just go right through.”

The yamask looks down at its mask and grabs it with its shadowy hands. “Maaaa…” it wails quietly as it raises the golden object.

“Well... yeah, I guess that part I could touch,” the girl admits, “but, I don’t want to?” She laughs. “I mean, I wouldn’t wanna harm it. I… guess you can only take my word for that. Sorry.” She smiles, though now with less confidence.

“Ma...” The ghost becomes a bit more solid again.

“So, my name’s Michi,” the girl says with cheer. Michi, huh. “What’s yours?”

The ghost hugs its mask and stares at the ground.

“...That’s okay. Not everybody has one.”

It seems like the ghost doesn’t know that much, either. That’s a relief.

“Say, it’s kind of cold out here,” Michi starts, grasping her arms as a means of emphasis. “I know a cabin close by. It’s not the best, but it’s shelter. Do you wanna come?”

Hesitantly, the nameless yamask floats towards the girl.

“Okay, cool! Let’s go!”

Michi takes some steps back towards where she came from, then glances behind to see if the ghost is following, which it is. They continue on, soon disappearing from sight. I should get a move on, too.

I zigzag between the orange-brown pine trunks and short spruces and arrive at a small, slithering forest path - formed from years of treading, I assume. Further ahead, I can still hear the girl’s steps. This is the right way to go. I begin my trailing.

So, yamask. I’ll take a wild guess and assume the latter part of the name means that this individual isn’t unique in carrying a mask around. Never heard of this mon, though. Must be from outside the Tohjo area. I hope that girl - Michi - spills some more information for me to overhear… the ghost didn’t know how to solidify, so it’ll likely receive some more briefing.

For now, I can only speculate. It’s a ghost, no mystery there, but is it dual-typed? Steel? Dark? Something less obvious, like poison? Those red tears didn’t look like something I’d want to go ahead and touch.

“So, I didn't bump into you on total accident,” starts Michi further ahead, snapping me out of my speculation. “My friends actually told me they'd seen someone new floating around lately.”

Friends? Are they ghosts too? Will they be a problem?

“Maa, aaa…”

“Oh, that must've been Gabby! She's a gastly. She can be a bit mean and creepy to new people… but she's a good girl once you get to know her.”

“M-mmaa…?”

“No, no, you don't have to meet them all right off the bat. They're used to leaving the new ones alone with me until they're comfortable.”

Phew, that's good to hear.

“...Ma.”

“That's the spirit,” Michi says, then snorts. “Heh, spirit. So anyway --”

A knock and a thump ring out, followed by a startled wail. I stop.

“I'm okay!” says Michi, clambering back up and brushing dirt and needles off her clothes. “Sorry, I'm with ghosts so much that I sometimes forget to watch my feet.”

I glance down. A few small roots wedge into the path. I should be careful too.

Oh, hey, there’s rawstberry growing under these path-framing bushes. An invasive species, but a pretty and tasty one. Would've expected it to bloom by now, though… I guess the weather has been cold.

Can't hear any pidgey chirping, either. Really a depressing day. Sky's still colorless, the trees look droopy, some branches dead and wrapped in spiderweb… ugh. Glad I'm trailing, means all possible threads are caught by the people ahead. Except not all, as the girl’s clearly shorter than me. Nghh.

Shit, right, the girl. I can't fall too far behind. I jog a bit forward and resume my previous pace, always staying at least one curve behind the two. The girl's voice fades back in. Damn, I didn't miss anything important, did I?

“...all the way in Pewter, but I used to live in Viridian. I liked it cause it was closer to this place and the air was fresh, but then they moved me to Pewter cause the orphanage was getting full and they wanted to make room for the younger ones… I get it, but I wish I could've stayed…”

Okay, good, she seems to just be talking about herself for now. So she's an orphan? She does fit the look, I guess.

“Anyway, I come back here a lot and stay at the cabin if the nights are warm enough. My friends would probably understand if I didn't come here anymore, but I couldn't leave them. They’re kinda like orphans in their own way… no parents, lonely and scared, people usually don't want much to do with them…”

“M-ma…?”

“Oh, no, sorry, I mean… you're gonna be fine, that's what we're here for.”

“Ma…”

The two fall silent. I get somewhat nervous about whether it makes my steps more likely to be heard. I try my best to sync them up with the girl's, but the plan falls apart pretty quickly due to the difference in our height.

The light pouring in through the trunks ahead seems to brighten. Is there a clearing ahead?

“We're here,” says the girl. Ah, good.

I creep closer and cautiously peek behind the curve in the path. I can see the girl and the ghost, their backs to me, staring at something beyond the vegetation. I squint my eyes and piece together the small glimpses I see.

It's an abandoned wooden shack, its once-red paint mostly peeled off. Splotches of mint-green lichen cover the dull, dark planks. Miraculously, though, its windows still seem to be intact.

“Come on, let's go in.”

The two cross the opening and enter the cabin. The front door squeaks as it’s opened and closed. I walk the rest of the path and circle behind the shack, keeping an eye out for any movement in the dusty, dark blue windows pointed my way.

“Yeah, as I said, it’s not much,” says Michi - stretching, based on the strain in her voice. “Still, it’s cozy when you get used to it. Those blankets in the corner help.”

“...Mma?”

“I -- well, places. People throw old stuff out. Even though it’s good. Like this cabin. Whoever lived in it has left it long ago, but I still think it’s neat.”

Huh. I can’t lie, resourcefulness like that is something I respect. Being able to do so much yourself… she’s more capable than most of the humans around here, already at… whatever age she is.

Too bad she’s standing in my way, though. That loses her way more points than she’s gained.

“This mirror, too”, Michi continues. “Just because it’s cracked doesn’t mean it’s worthless. You can still see yourself just fine.”

“Haah...”

“...Do you know her?”

I lean forwards. What’s she implying?

“...Maa.”

“Oh... well, maybe with time.”

Time… time is of the essence, then, if the ghost’s supposed to remember something Joanna-related.

“Anyway, I’m gonna go gather some firewood. I’m gonna be back soon, just stay here. And make yourself at home.”

The front door creaks open again. I draw myself deeper into hiding.

I still don’t know much about the creature, but it doesn’t know much, either. My best bet is probably to head for the library to get some more info on these ‘yamask’. I should also look through the scriptures for anything on ghosts in case there’s some knowledge there lost to time.

Sticking around here won’t really accomplish anything - I can’t understand a word the ghost says… or wails, and even with the girl around it’s unlikely that the way to get rid of the creature will just happen to be mentioned.

Library it is, then. Oh, but first I should drop off the groceries. The straps of the backpack are starting to chafe, and the milk and such are probably getting warm. So home first. And I better keep the pace quick - those two might find out something new while I’m gone.

Oh, dammit, the girl’s heading this way. I better hurry.

I waddle backwards until I figure it’s safe enough to stand up and start making my way back to the original path. A lot of off-roading is required. I watch my feet carefully in fear of tripping or twisting my ankles on the little mossy hills and valleys. Eyes so occupied with the ground, I fail to notice a loose spiderweb and stumble right in. I claw at my face like a bad-tempered meowth. Get off, get off. Ugh. I hate spiders.

After a bit of wobbly walking, I reach the familiar path and trail it back. I spot a bright blue crack in the cloud layer above. Oh, neat! Maybe this day won’t be the worst after a-

“Who are you?”

Shit. Well, there goes that.

I turn around. Michi is standing on the path. I didn’t hear her. Or did I just not pay attention?

“Who are you?” she repeats with a slightly sterner tone. Her icy stare mirrors her voice, but her posture shows a hint of hesitation.

“I’m just passing by,” I mumble, turn my head and continue walking - but she follows me.

“No you’re not,” she says. “You’ve been following us for a while now.”

“How do you figure that?” No, you spoke without thinking first! You don't know who ‘they’ are.

“Your aura.”

“Aura?”

Hm. I guess if she can communicate with ghosts, being able to see auras isn't too surprising.

Well, good thing I have a means of hiding my own. And I can prepare it when I get home. Might as well check the scriptures there too, then, if I’m going to have a longer stay anyway.

“I thought that maybe some ursaring had gotten a thorn stuck in its paw,” Michi says, still trailing behind, forced to take steps much faster to keep up. “But you definitely weren’t there to get help. So, what do you want?”

“Well, you know, yamask are rare. Wanted to look at it.”

“Why’d you keep out of sight for most of the time, then?”

I speed up. “Sorry, but I’m not looking for constructive criticism on my ghostwatching. Now leave me alone. People are gonna get the wrong idea if they see an adult like me with a little girl.”

“You will stop, or I’ll get my friends on you.”

I stop and sigh. I glare the girl right in her big, blue eyes. I detect a hint of unease.

“Shouldn’t you be at school or something?” I ask.

“Shouldn’t you?”

...I didn’t think that one through.

“Tell me what you want from us,” she demands.

“I already told you. I just wanted to look at the yamask for a bit. Now I have. Can you just let me lea-”

“Quit tellin’ me that bullshit!” She steps closer, dropping the distance between us down to a meter. Her eyebrows get angrier by the second.

“Language,” I mutter.

“You’re not my mom.”

“Yeah, cause I’m alive.”

Michi’s face turns pinker. I can’t help but smirk. Now we’re even.

“Yeah, anyway, great talk,” I say, “but I gotta go. Tell your yamask friend it looks neat.”

“She.”

“She?”

“She’s not an object. She’s a person. And again, stop lying.”

I sigh. This conversation should just end already.

“Listen, girl,” I start with an intimidating voice. “There doesn't need to be a problem here. Don't turn this into one.”

“Or what?” snorts the girl. “You're not gonna do anything. You wouldn't hit a girl.”

Before she can react, a palm collides with her cheek, leaving a faint red impression. She recoils some steps.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she yells, eyes furious and voice cracking.

“Feminism, clearly.”

“Ugh, forget it! Just stay away from us!”

Fists clenched, the girl stomps back the way she came.

Well, that happened, for better or for worse. I guess a bit better, as I now know the ghost is a she - that’s more information than what I had before this, even if it still doesn’t tell me anything about the mask’s nature for sure. Also worse, though, as now the girl knows to keep an eye out for me. I suppose I just have to count on her to rely on her aura sensing too much.

Now, then… I hope I still remember the way back to the graveyard.

---

I open the door leading out of the room. The groove running across the door loses its connection with the similar groove on the wall, breaking the silencer circuit. The buzzing of the basement hallway lamp returns to the soundscape.

As fresher, cooler air pours into the room, I exit it and draw the key out of my pocket. I close the door, lock it and step back to push the bookcase back onto the wall. The door is hidden. Just as it needs to be.

I return the key to its spot in the bookcase - inside a hollowed out blue book - and make my way back upstairs. I peek under the sleeve of my hoodie’s left arm. The bandage around my wrist stares back.

Alright. Groceries: unpacked. Seal: created. Scriptures: gone though, nothing relevant found. I’m all set to leave for the library. I should hurry up with that, too, since these things ended up taking longer than I initially expected. The clock of the kitchen’s microwave tells me it’s ten to three already.

Ten… to… three.

Ah, shit!

The front door opens, and in steps Abe. “Red! Are you ready to go?”

---

 

[AetherX]

As requested, here's your review from the Review League. Unfortunately, I read this before you updated the prologue. I gave it another skim through though, and I don't think it changes my feedback at all.

Atmosphere

Atmosphere is a tricky thing to comment on. It requires a lot of assumptions being made about what the intended atmosphere is supposed to be. A majority of this fic gives me the impression that the atmosphere is supposed to be dark, creepy, psychological horror sort of thing. If that's not the case, then hopefully you can still pick some useful information from my feedback.

I'm not usually a huge fan of present tense unless you're being intentionally pretentious, but this is one of those cases where it really helps the atmosphere. First person present tense is very intimate and can even be a bit off-putting (in a good way, for the atmosphere you seem to be going for), since it's a little bit different than what the average reader is used to. It lends itself to a sense of mystery because we don't know where this is going. A first person past tense story probably won't end up with the narrator dead, since they at least survived long enough to tell the story, but there is no implied safety like that with present tense. Which is marvelously unsettling.

Right away in the prologue the tone is set pretty hard. We're introduced to the sociopathic narrator and all the wonderfully fucked up stuff that he gets up to. Early on it's established that the narrator (and by extension, the story) does not shy from violence and gore. The fact that he finds cannibalism a little weird, but also kinda takes it in stride is very telling. Atmospherically, this is all very well done.

Then we change scene to "real life" where Red is more out of his element. The narration does a good job of portraying someone who's not entirely comfortable with things like having a roommate, but tries to put on a front of normalcy. Then we hit the more direct TPP references. Now, I'm sure you're used to people saying they're not super familiar with the fandom, and you've done a good job of writing a story where I can follow along just fine. However, as someone who has yet to become acclimated to certain concepts in the fandom (like PMD fics where "dungeons" randomize themselves every night, or journey fics where ten-year olds are a threat to international terrorist organizations), there are some things that threw me for a loop. Case in point:

A nidoking with a leather jacket stomping around the house

As an image, this is hilarious. That's fine in a quirky, lighthearted story, but here it's an abrupt shift in tone. I mean, I get it. TPP, 'AAAAAAA', the Fonz, leather jacket. As a meme, it's funny. In a story where we just saw the aftermath of a cannibalistic human sacrifice, a story about ghosts and haunting and vengeance, a story where very few funny things are happening... It's still funny. And that ruins the illusion, hurting the atmosphere.

This isn't the only place where this problem occurs. Outside of TPP stuff, a similar tonal shift happens at the end of Chapter 2:

Wait. Ten to two… Isn’t that when --

The front door opens.

“Red! Are you ready to go?”

To Red, this is an awful wrench in his plans. In terms of plot, it's a twist that keeps our protagonist from his goal. Standard fiction plotting stuff. But as a normal human being, this is a super, super ordinary thing to happen. Someone who forgot what time their doctor's appointment was is a twist that seems more at home in a sit-com than an edgy horror story. To Red, this is frustrating and unfortunate. As far as his emotional response goes, it is not out of place in the story. As a regular person though, it seems far too comedic for what you're going for. The line-by-line suspenseful build up doesn't help. I can almost hear an over dramatic 'DUN-DUN DUUUNNNNNNN' wailing in the background.

I mean if "Ha ha! Silly sociopath!" is the response you're going for, then a-ok, but I think your atmosphere is supposed to be a little more gritty than that. So what can you do about it? Maybe show through internal monologue why this is an unfortunate turn of events. I mean, we already kinda know, but if the chapter ended on something sinister like "The ghost would have to wait," it wouldn't feel so comedically melodramatic. I guess that exact line would still be pretty melodramatic, but at least then the reader would finish the chapter with an impression that more accurately fits the atmosphere.

Characterization (of Red)

First person narration is fun because it allows us to constantly observe how the narrator character sees the world. A weird bit of description could actually be a clever insight into their character. Or it could just be a weird bit of description. This came up a lot in this story. Red is pretty weird, so I tried to assume that most weird wording/description is from him, but maybe it's not.

Eventually, however, I do make it to the main entrance, where several people in coats of varying color are exiting and entering.

This is just an example of the kind of thing I'm talking about. Saying "coats of varying color" is an odd description. Is this supposed to say something about Red? He notices everyone has a coat and the coats are a variety of colors. Most people would just notice that everyone is bundled up due to the wind. The coats being varying in color (and style) would generally be implied. It would be more noteworthy if they were matching.

If this was my child, I wouldn’t be able to…

This from the guy who is moved to practically orgasmic glee by the concept of making a cute lil omanyte happy. This paints Red as a very self-involved person. Like I said, sociopath. Well implied. Good job on this even before he fantasizes about a murderous rampage.

I’ll unsheathe my blade.

That's a really overdramatic way of saying "I'll pull out my knife." At first I thought it was weird, but now I kinda like it. He's romanticizing murder and violence, so the unnecessary eloquence says a lot.

Alone. What a sweet word.

It's interesting that he isn't concerned or threatened by the fact that this girl has some kind of ghost-whispering ability that could potentially be pretty scary. I was about ready for the girl to sic an angry gengar on him or something. Yet Red's bloodlust seems to be clouding his judgement a bit.

well built

Am I in that bad a shape? I’ve only skipped training a few times. Or maybe a lot. Eh…

This is a major pet peeve of mine. It's not inherently wrong, but this kind of thing really bugs me. You can't have both. You don't get to be lazy and out of shape and also have a hot bod. I can't stand the "My character doesn't work out much, but has a sexy six pack" cliche. Not much better is "My character works out just enough to have a sexy six pack" but the concept of them actually going to the gym now and again is never even referenced or is at all apparent in their personality. No "on the way home from the gym, plot attacks!" or "hotProtag complains about plot getting in the way of him squeezing a run in" or "hotProtag knows sideCharacter because they played football together in high school" or "regular exercise has taught hotProtag the value of doing some things that he might find unpleasant or hard" or anything like that. ANYWAY. I hope that this is just supposed to be a reflection of Red's ego.

“I thought some ursaring had gotten a thorn stuck in its paw and was looking for help,”

I really really want this to be super deep character insight/foreshadowing, but I might be reading too much into it. If not... GOOD SHIT.

In general, Red is not likable, but he is at least consistent and interesting. The things that make him weird are exactly what the narrator needs to fit the atmosphere.

Style/Technical stuff

I'll start with typos:

Though the names of faces of the women are sure to escape me.

"and" is what I think you meant.

spruce-encircles graveyard

Even though you're using present tense, it's still "encircled"

“Well, I hope we never see again,”

Missing word(s)? Or just a very strange way of saying goodbye.

On to the more subjective...

Same disclaimer I made in the above section applies here. Wording and style can be tough to comment on in situations like this where there's a rather odd first-person narrator, so what would otherwise be more objective wording errors could actually be purposeful stylistic choices. As a reviewer it can sometimes be hard to tell the difference, so bear with me here.

But, unlike after me, the bone is exposed all around.

The wording here confused me at first. I had to re-read it a couple times before I realized that he meant that normally he doesn't leave the bone exposed all around. I get that Red is kinda insane, but commenting so casually on the state of a mutilated body as "after me" is something I find hard to follow. You could say something like "But, unlike after my usual work..." or "But the bone is exposed all around. Not something I usually go for/can pull off". Just to be a bit more specific.

I lick my teeth. They don't taste like cooked meat.

Not sure what this is trying to say. If you're going for the double negative you could accentuate it a bit more with something like "They certainly don't taste like cooked meat." Or you could just straight up say "They taste like raw meat." Currently the sentence is essentially meaningless. His teeth also don't taste like marshmallows, I'd imagine, but what does that tell us?

Tasting their terror with my lolling out tongue.

This is worded really awkwardly. "lolling" is already kind of a mouthful as a verb, but to use "lolling out" as an adjective sounds weird.

Overall

The way you've written the narration really helps build Red's character and establish a strong atmosphere, with the occasional hiccup. I really like the plot so far and I'm very interested to see where it goes. I also have to point out this line:

Nothing. Existence over. No joy, no pain, no gods. Just the book’s back cover - the story has ended, there’s nothing more to see.

I love when characters in a story refer to their lives with story metaphors without being cheesy or breaking the fourth wall. It can be kinda tough to do right, but this line is perfect.

If you have any questions or want clarifications then let me know.

 

[canisaries]

Thank you very much for the review, @AetherX ! I've been dying for more overarching critique. Thank you also for focusing on both aspects I gave as options.

you've done a good job of writing a story where I can follow along just fine.

This is great to hear. TPP has very convoluted lore - loads of characters, events, different interpretations - so simplifying it to an everyday situation is pretty difficult when you want the outsiders to not be confused but don't want to explain familiar things to death for the insiders. Add to this my own lore's quirks and you've got quite a challenge.

That's a really overdramatic way of saying "I'll pull out my knife." At first I thought it was weird, but now I kinda like it. He's romanticizing murder and violence, so the unnecessary eloquence says a lot.

Most of my readers would agree that how Red speaks is indeed pretty pretentious. It's totally intentional (or more accurately, intentionally not left out or "fixed", as pretentious melodramatic stuff comes from me very naturally). Red reads a lot of religious scriptures, and I like to think he's kind of absorbed the way of describing things from there. And given his religion has a lot to do with brutality, he idolizes it, fueled a lot by his own bloodlust.

This is just an example of the kind of thing I'm talking about. Saying "coats of varying color" is an odd description. Is this supposed to say something about Red? He notices everyone has a coat and the coats are a variety of colors. Most people would just notice that everyone is bundled up due to the wind. The coats being varying in color (and style) would generally be implied. It would be more noteworthy if they were matching.

To be honest, I'm not sure how I should respond to this, as coat colors just is what I personally would pay attention to. Thought it was normal. *shrugs*

I love when characters in a story refer to their lives with story metaphors without being cheesy or breaking the fourth wall. It can be kinda tough to do right, but this line is perfect.

The funniest thing here is that I didn't even get the meta element when I wrote that, only dawned on me when you pointed it out. For me, it was just natural to think about death like the end of a story. If there is no afterlife, we're little different from characters in a book. Just like characters, we stop acting, thinking, being when the book ends, and the book itself has no opinion of it whatsoever. And since this is what a real human like me would think, it would make sense for a fictional character (unaware of being fictional) to think so too.

Regarding typos: I've fixed ones you've mentioned, good that you pointed those out. Strangely, I've had many betareaders for these, yet none of them seem to have noticed them.

As for the rest of the critique, I'm definitely gonna think about it. May implement changes to these chapters if I figure out good enough ways to do so.

Once again, thank you, and I hope you enjoy what's to come!

 

[canisaries]

EDIT: Chapter has been revised as of 21 Oct 2018. Note that this chapter now incorporates both chapters 3 and 4 from the old version.

everyone's favorite edgelord returns in a new chapter of that fic that's either okay or terrible but no one dares to point it out because they likely know how it'll shatter the author's fragile self esteem completely. haha jk i have no self esteem to begin with. now we shall do the read okay thanks

---

CHAPTER 3
Analysis

---​

The mental health clinic towers over me.

One would think that a place focused on aiding the mentally troubled would try to appear as welcoming and unintimidating as possible, but clearly the architect didn't agree. Instead, the building is a soulless, washed-beige block of concrete with featureless windows.

However, that's nothing compared to the entrance, which has a low, protruding roof held up by cuboid pillars that seem far too few and slim to support the thick mass above. The comforting fact that it's a modern building keeping up to modern standards is hard to internalize with the red-green vines spiraling up the pillars and hanging from the ceiling. It almost looks overgrown, abandoned.

I can't believe I'm doing this. I'm not crazy, I'm not insane. I shouldn't be here. This is a waste of time, and important time at that, given my current situation.

Behind me, Abe pays the taxi driver - a thirty-plus bearded man who clearly smokes too much, given the suffocating air of his vehicle - who then drives off, leaving the two of us alone. Abe walks to my side and looks up at me, eyes like those of a growlithe pup as always.

He smiles reassuringly. “Okay, let's go.”

It’s difficult to feel assured, however, when you’ve been dragged to a foreign building in an unfamiliar part of town to be asked invasive questions about your life and thoughts - all while you’re very likely racing against the clock, trying to stop a ghost from spouting all your incriminating secrets. Now, I would have simply refused to come and fended off any pathetic attempts Abe could have tried to physically restrain me, but he’d thought ahead. Strong as I may be, I was no match for his little friend Alice’s much bigger friend, that being the two-meter-tall mass of muscle and fat known as Stalin the slaking. I would’ve loved to simply stab the musky giant, but that really would’ve only made things worse. In summary, I had no choice but to obey.

I merely sigh and follow Abe through the front doors of the clinic.

The hall of the building is tall and wide, a dramatic change from the crevice before. The ceiling and ground are off-white. The walls are viridian, as is the glass-encased reception desk right ahead. Save for the receptionist, me and Abe, the hall is void of people.

Abe walks up to the desk and the man behind it, who has been eyeing me since I came in. I traipse after my brother, in no hurry to catch up.

“Hi,” begins Abe quietly, resting his fingers on the counter. “My brother has an appointment.”

“Name?” asks the receptionist, his eyes locked on mine as I stop in front of the desk. I can tell exactly what he’s thinking. What’s the matter with this one? Nothing. But I bet that’s what they all say.

Abe saves me the trouble of answering. “Red Akai.”

“Alright. Let me see...” The man swivels his chair to face his computer and begins to click and type. His eyes, however, flick back to me once amidst his search.

“15.20, Dr Jordan Marsh?”

“Yes.”

“Third floor, hallway E. You can wait there.”

“Thanks,” says Abe, nodding, and leaves. I begin to follow, but a comment from the man freezes me.

“Sir, you’ll have to give up your knife.”

I turn around slowly, glaring at him. I walk back to the desk. I unstrap the sheath from my belt and place it onto the counter, knife inside. The man drags the blade encased in decorated leather to himself through the small opening in the glass. My eyes pinned to his, moving only my lips, I utter three commanding words.

“Don't lose it.”

He glances away and puts the weapon in a drawer. The second the drawer is clamped shut, I turn and walk back to Abe, who silently watches me approach.

“Third floor, hallway E?” I ask. Abe nods, and we head to the staircase.

The staircase is wide and curves to hug an elevator shaft. After ascending the staircase to the third floor, we reach a room with four blue sofas encircling a clearing in the middle. Three people are seated. One is a young man with glasses fidgeting with his wristwatch, another a stout middle-aged man with heavy eyes and slouching posture, and lastly there’s a girl so motionless and inconspicuously dressed that her presence is barely distinguishable. Of them, only the older man reacts to our arrival, and merely with a brief glance.

I can smell the crazy off them.

Several white signs with black letters and arrows on them hang from the ceiling, each one pointing to their own hallway. I spot hallway E from across the room, as does Abe, and we proceed. After a quick turn, hallway E boasts a long wall full of doors. Some way ahead are five seats and a table against the opposing wall. Abe escorts me to sit down, then remains standing, looking unsure.

“You can just leave,” I say, leaning back and crossing my legs. “I’m not going to run off without my knife.”

Abe sighs, his expression becoming stronger.

“Just go. Your job is done,” I say, this time with eye contact.

“...Okay then,” he exhales and turns around to walk off. “Remember, bus 20,” he adds over his shoulder.

“Yeah.”

Bus 20, Abe told me, would bring me back to the high school. He handed me the necessary cash on the ride here. I could’ve told him I already had enough on me, but I’m not gonna say no to free money and exact change at that.

I watch Abe disappear behind the corner, then sigh and take a lengthy blink. My arms cross themselves and my finger begins to tap.

The shrink better call me in soon. Who knows what Michi and the mask are doing right now. Who knows what kind of conversation they’re having. Oh, what’s that, my yamask friend? You just remembered how the woman whose face you’re carrying died? Oh, she was murdered? Torn apart in an occult ritual? And it was done by that black-haired man that was following us earlier? Well, that’s not very nice! We should go and tell the nice men at the police station right away!

Oh Gods, what if that’s actually what’s happening? What if they already told the police? What if they’re coming for me right now?

No, no, think about this logically. Calm down your pounding heart. They don’t have any proof. And in this country, you’re innocent until proven guilty, right? They can’t get me arrested. They can only put me under suspicion. And the cops can’t just go ahead and ransack my place based on something a ghost and a little girl said, can they? As long as no one finds out about my secret room, I’m safe. And Joanna never even knew where the room was.

The worst they can do right now is get the police to question me. And really, that’s not too different from what I’m about to go through here, anyway. So, with all that considered, I should just get this over with as quickly as possible and then rush for the library. Yeah. That’s the best solution. I’ll appear normal, which will undermine the credibility of any accusations Michi and the mask may throw. But I’ll still keep my schedule tight and eliminate the threat so that I can sleep my nights in peace.

Alright, that’s settled. Now back to waiting impatiently. I let my eyes wander around my boring surroundings and what the hell is that?

On the table. Black smudge with legs. That's a spider. Where did it come from? Are there others nearby? No, don't move!

My body squeezes itself against the far armrest. Stop walking this way, you bastard! I don't want anything to do with you, you disgusting, unpredictable stain of a creature. You don't even look alive. You're a machine, created only to crawl into places you shouldn't be in and repulse anyone who spots your ugly silhouette.

How does it do it? How does a tiny, harmless critter set off a blaring alarm in my brain, when its cousin ariados are perfectly fine for me to look at?

That's it. I'm sick of this. I’m sounding like common prey here. I'm a predator, apex no less, and this spider will know it. No matter how repugnant you are, you're fifty steps below me in the food chain. Die.

My hand is raised, ready to squish, but it only trembles in place. I really, really don't want to feel its shell or innards on my skin. Should I use my shoe instead? It'd be far easier on my heart…

No, this is ridiculous. Red, aren't you the Bringer? Isn't it your fate to merge with the god of chaos and usher forth a new age?

You've killed eight human beings in a slow and painful way. You've drunk their blood and eaten their flesh. And now suddenly killing a spider by hand is off limits because the touch of one is a bit icky?

It's almost like you weren't suitable to be the Bringer after all…

Slam!

Th-there. It's done. It's dead. It's dead, right? I don't think it's moving. I just feel its broken body, its gross body. It's done, so now I can get it off. Quickly, in case it isn't dead after all.

I yank the hand off the table and swipe the palm on the knee of my jeans. Spider corpse on jeans, okay, get off, I flick it off and it drops to the floor. I'm safe. Not that I wasn't ever safe. I can just be at ease now.

“Red Akai?”

I flinch. Who said that? Ah, yeah, must be the psych.

“Yes,” I answer quickly, looking at the speaker. It's… a woman, huh. I expected a man, because of the name, I think. What was the name?

“I'm Dr Jordan Marsh. Please, come in,” the woman says, gesturing to her open door. Jordan… well, it is a unisex name.

I get up and walk to the door, then glance at the dead spider on the floor one more time. Still there. It really is dead.

I enter the room and survey it. In the right corner, there's a pale wooden desk with a computer and orderly stacks of paper on it. To my left are two dark green, comfy looking leather armchairs with a white table in between. On the table, there's a clock, a vase of flowers - plastic - and… a tissue box. Seriously?

The psychologist closes the door behind me. “Please, have a seat,” she says, and I choose the far chair. It's soft enough, living up to its looks. The woman sits down on the other chair.

As she searches for a blank page in the notebook in her hands, I take in her look. Red thick-rimmed glasses, dark bowl cut, mascara, black-and-white clothing… is this one of those goths I've heard about? Is she gonna try to sell me Giratina? Sorry, lady. Already have a cult.

“So,” she begins, finally forcing my eyes to her face, “how are you?”

“...Right now?”

“Right now.”

“Fine, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I know.” Look, can you hurry it up? I may have some time, but I don’t have forever.

“Alright, then...” She scribbles something in her notebook. Was… was that important?

“So, we are here today to evaluate you,” she continues. “Your brother tells me you’ve been skipping out on your previous evaluations. Is that correct?”

“I just don’t think they're necessary.”

“So you’d consider yourself a mentally healthy person?”

“Yes.” Probably more than most.

“Have you had any previous diagnoses?”

“None besides the Twitch.”

“Alright...” She writes more. “And speaking of, how would you say the Twitch has affected you?”

Well, I get nightmares, can't use computers without terrifying flashbacks, and somehow gained an emotional connection to another person despite the fact that it should be impossible - and that connection is currently the number one obstacle between me and my ascension. But let’s go with the nightmares, they sound normal enough.

“Well, I get some nightmares now and then, about my time on my journey… but otherwise, not really.”

She writes something in her notebook again, then returns to her questions. She asks me about how well I've slept, if I'm on any medication, whether or not I use any substances… couldn't I just have filled out some form? This is taking annoyingly long. My finger starts to tap again, but I stop it.

She also asks whether the merge affected my life. It did, I gained a brother and a secret room and lost a bunch of memories and possibly a father if he was there to begin with. Funny thing, that merge. Some people had their lives shuffled by the two timelines becoming one. Scientists were thrilled to have a whole new area to explore. Then there were the people who say the merge never happened - not surprising, given how little actually changed in the end.

For me, there’s really no use in pondering it. There’s no way to affect phenomena like these, and HE tells me there won’t be another for at least a thousand years. Even if I was able to hop between timelines, it wouldn’t change the fact that I’m mortal and only a sad, powerless human.

“Alright then, moving on. Tell me, how is school for you?” the psychologist asks, eyes on her notes.

“It’s okay. I don’t get the highest grades, but I don’t need them.”

“That’s funny...”

Wait, what does that mean? “Why’s that?”

Her eyes meet mine. “Because I know you quit high school two years ago.”

My shoulders tense. Shit, I got caught lying. How does she know I quit?

“Why did you quit?” she asks, leaning back in her chair. She has a more… relaxed air to her now. It’s like she was waiting for me to slip up.

Okay, why did I quit, why did I quit. Quitting isn’t normal. What’s normal for quitters? What’s normal for a person in my situation? I quit because the people pissed me off way too much and I needed time to hunt down sacrifices for HIM. And take care of the omanyte, but... that’s history now. But could that work as a reason here? If I let her know I cared for someone - and from others’ perspective, still do - she’s less likely to consider me a potential danger to society.

“I needed time off to care for my elderly mon… friend.” I guess that’s the best word to use here, since ‘master’ and ‘lord’ are definitely out of the question.

“Helix, right?”

The name sounds so wrong coming from her mouth. “How do you know all these things?”

“Your brother told me, as background information,” she says. Of course. “And while we’re on the subject… he told me you were Helixian. That’s a pretty small religion, isn’t it?”

I clench my teeth as stealthily as I can. Those ‘worshippers’ are a joke. They don’t know anything about HIM, they just saw a cool stone with a neat symbol and tacked some generic message of love and peace onto it. Disgusting. “Yes.”

“How does this affect your life?”

“It doesn’t that much. I simply take care of Him as best as I can.”

“Him?”

“My lord. The omanyte. Or omastar.” Don’t make me say the name. Just let some things stay sacred.

“Alright… can you further describe your relationship with the omanyte?”

Sensations spring to my mind. The timid eyes of a newly-hatched omanyte, the touch of its cautiously reaching arm. An older omanyte playfully swimming in loops and circles. The sound of its ‘good morning’ as my feet descend the stairs. The pattern of its shell, the hypnotic spiral. The slit pupils of perceptive, yellow eyes and the coiling of tentacles upon tentacles. The deep blue blood on Mt Silver’s snow. The pain in His voice. The pain in my chest. I feel the same pain now. My heart wrapped in coarse rope, the loops chafing the organ and getting tighter. It hurts, but it shouldn’t hurt, there shouldn't be any kind of reaction. You can’t care… no - you don’t care. You got that? You keep the omanyte safe from anyone who might want to harm HIM with H- it, but you don’t talk to it, touch it or even look at it any more than you have to, alright?

That’s how you’ll move on. By realizing it’s just an… object, a tool. A lowly organism whose breath and beating heart just happen to allow HIS powers to grow much faster. It’s not HIM. It doesn’t even know about HIM. Aside from its spirit link, it’s worthless. A distraction. And if you want to be the Bringer, you can’t let anything hold you back. HE told you so. Sever that attachment, or you have no chance - HE was very, very clear about that. Either that connection dies… or you do.

“Are you alright?”

I'm in the room again. It's weirdly quiet. Was it always this quiet?

“Yeah, just got lost in thought,” I answer, fixing my sight on my hands to keep any more images from surfacing. They’ve curled into fists. I pry them open.

Oh Gods, I just want to get out of here and get on with my plans. This isn’t worth it anymore. How could I cut this short, but do so politely and normally…? Ah, I've got it! Why didn't I think of this before?

“Actually, though…” I interrupt the psych's writing. “I'm sorta getting a pretty bad headache right now.”

“Oh.” She lowers her pen. “Can you not go on?”

“I don't think I can, no… I'm sorry.” I rub my forehead, as if to alleviate a pain. “I get migraines from time to time, and this feels like one…”

“How bad is it? Do you need help?”

“Nah, no, I… I think I should just go home and sleep it off. That usually does it.”

I get up and she makes no motions to stop me. I take that as a sign of success.

“Shall we reschedule?” she asks. Ah, damn, she isn't done with me yet.

“Yeah, we should… I don't have a phone right now, so please call my brother.” I wobble to the door. “Thanks… goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” she replies, and I exit.

Phew. Won't have to worry about that for a while. Hopefully not before I manage to get rid of the mask.

I backtrack the route I walked with Abe, though nearly get lost in the way, as some hallways are pretty much identical. The blueprints of this place must have been just an elaborate squiggle. Nevertheless, I arrive at the main hall and resume feigning a headache, just in case. After waiting through a short line at the reception desk, I ask for my knife back and receive it. I swear I could’ve seen a hint of malicious joy in the receptionist’s eyes. Should that kind of person really be in such a social profession? I’d never put myself in a job like that.

I exit the building and walk to the glass-walled bus stop, which turns out to be rather close to the clinic. I suppose that’s neat. The glass may be smeared and dirty, but it shields me from the cold wind sufficiently enough. I sit down on the bench, though not before making sure my seat is clean.

Now to wait for bus 20. It’ll take me to the high school, and that's right next to the library. I'll be there before I know it.

I watch the maples across the street nod in the wind and keep my ears perked for the sound of any oncoming vehicles. A few come, but all are either normal cars or buses of the wrong number. A few pedestrians have passed by as well, but no one has initiated conversation, only kept walking in silence. Just as they should.

Here comes another one. A bit odd-looking. It's a tall, bulky guy of Unovan descent with blond hair and mostly white clothing. His posture and gait are valiant, yet somehow still… humble?

In his hands, he carries some kinds of cards. Something sparkling hangs from his neck. Golden. Ring-like? Oh no, I think I know what he is. Yep, he's close enough for me to be sure now - he's an Arcean. Weirdly muscular for one… but either way, it's fine as long as he doesn't come here aaand he's coming here.

“Good afternoon, young man!” he greets, smiling warmly. The guy's got a voice like a radio host. Up close, he looks at least a decade older than me. He's been doing this for a while, hasn't he?

He continues with the famous line of his kind. “Have you heard the wonderful word of Arceus, our creator?”

I'm feeling pretty tired of today's bullshit already, so I guess I'll just be an asshole to shoo him off. Could help me get out a bit of aggression. Maybe even a laugh, who knows.

“Go back to Sinnoh, pony boy.”

His widened eyes show that the intended offense was taken, but annoyingly enough, he doesn't leave.

“Hey. Show a bit more respect,” he scolds, like a parent.

“Fuck off,” I spit, chin raised. Take the hint!

The Arcean steps forward with a threatening stance. What, what's he gonna do? Arceans’ whole thing is non-violence. His size and muscles mean nothing if they won't be utilized. I guess he doesn't realize that… fine, I'll spell it out for him, then.

I grab the hilt of my knife and pull the blade out. The man recoils.

“Off you go.” I waggle the knife.

Indignant, the man moves on - but something about the man's sour face says that he'll remember this. He may as well. I've got nothing to fear about him.

I sigh through my nose and slip the knife back in its scabbard. That wasn't as satisfying as I was hoping it to be. Maybe I'm just not feeling it today.

Among the fading steps of the man, I hear a vehicle approach and look. It’s a bus, and it's bus 20. I jump off the bench to signal it to stop just in time. Whew, would've sucked to miss that.

I climb aboard, pay for a ticket and take a seat. The bus nudges into motion, headed for the high school.

---

The library is an octagonal building with white outer walls and a black roof. Small, wide windows form a dull band around the upper rim of the walls.

From the outside, it may look desolate and soulless, but I know the inside is way different. It’s a wonderful, peaceful place. It smells like paper and wood and freshly baked buns thanks to the café inside, separated from the actual book section with glass walls to shield the library from noise. And that lack of noise, the silence - bar the occasional swish of a turned page - that’s the single greatest quality of the whole place.

I have fond memories of this library. During the one year I spent in high school, it was my asylum. When the other kids simply got too much to bear, I could escape here and get the space and privacy I needed. I hid deep within the maze of shelves, and oh, what shelves they were - beneath their glossy layer of lacquer, there ran beautiful curves of dark and light, like waves on a beach. Their liveliness reached full bloom with the books they carried - vivid, colorful, like flowers. It was a garden without any of the bugs, thorns or neighbors loudly mowing their lawn just beyond the hedges.

Even after quitting school, I came here from time to time to relax. But… I guess at some point, I started visiting less and less until I dropped the habit completely. I’ve forgotten the last time I was here. What’s up with that? Either I forgot this place, or I just didn’t feel like coming anymore. I have had lapses in motivation before. Especially as of late.

Eh, never mind. I should go in already, both to hurry up and to experience the lovely atmosphere because Gods know I could use it with all that’s happened today.

I step up to the doors and pull one open to slip inside. It’s warm like always, and… wait, what?

Where are the wooden shelves? Where is the café? And what is that smell? It’s like if a feral rattata had skittered into a spice rack and knocked just about everything down into a boiling pot of soup. It seems to be coming from what’s replaced the café - some kind of exotic deli. But then there are also the stenches of new paint and rubber...

Instead of comfy and welcoming furniture in warm hues, the book section looks colorless and cold, now matching the exterior. This is not the library I know. Is this really the right building?

It must be. I can see shelves and shelves of books ahead. But the shelves are different. They’re all… modern. I think it’s metal painted with black and white? Whatever it is, it’s matte and lifeless, making the books lose their color as well. Underneath the bookshelves lie black carpets. Everything else is white, which it how it used to be, but… now it feels so cold.

Who would do this? Why? What makes a person decide to do something like this? There’s nothing to gain. Everyone loses. There’s no way someone would find joy in taking a nice little place and just… vomiting grayscale all over it.

I sigh. I guess everything dies eventually. Except me - and if I wanna keep it that way, I should get down to business.

I navigate to the Fact section, then to Biology, Pokémon, Ghost. It all takes a while with the new layout and new types of signs. I remember reading so much about human anatomy in the old Biology section, learning what’s underneath my skin and how it all works… how it compares to what I’ve seen during the rituals.

No, I've got to concentrate now. I look for a title with ‘yamask', and when one doesn't surface, pick out what looks like the next best thing - The Complete Guide to Ghost Pokémon - and haul myself over to a chair to read.

A bunch of the book’s contents are already familiar to me, as I expected. Type effectiveness, ability to pass through walls and objects - save for the group of ghosts possessing or holding physical things, which I'm guessing yamask falls under due to the mask. Some ghosts can form illusions, some can possess other lifeforms. However, it doesn't seem like yamask are mentioned anywhere here… I check the glossary, and indeed, the Y block lacks a mention.

To hell with this book, then. I return it to the shelf and pick out another.

No yamask there, either. Huh. Guess they really are rare. Is there really no book specifically on yamask? I go through the spines of the books again, and… wait. There's one with its spine facing away from me. I drag it out. Black covers, golden letters, Yamask: Shadows from the Past. This has to be what I’m looking for.

I part the covers. So tell me, book, what is a yamask?

A shadow-like ghost type pokémon. Carries a mask of its former… se…

Fuck. So it is Joanna herself, back from beyond the grave. Or no grave, as I just disintegrated her corpse and her family is still looking for her. Either way, this means it - she, as Michi said - may indeed know things about me that really shouldn’t see the light of day.

Hmm… thinking back to the encounter, Joanna didn't remember her name, and Michi said the yamask had been around for a while… your own name feels like one of the first things you'd remember, given how important and prevalent it is during your life. With that in mind, I'd estimate her remembering rate to be pretty slow. That's a comforting fact.

Reading on, the book tells me yamask are an Unovan species, most common in the Relic Castle buried in the Desert Resort. They can appear all over the world, but tend to be drawn to the castle, possibly in search of answers. Yamask can also evolve. They can, now?

I flip the page. Grotesque red eyes stare back from the darkness lurking inside a blue-and-gold coffin in an illustration of what the evolved form, cofagrigus, looks like. Better not let Joanna evolve into that. Seems a lot harder to get rid of.

Speaking of, let's get to the main reason we're here. With the help of the table of contents, I find the information on a yamask's death.

Like most ghosts, yamask can't die of age, hunger, thirst or disease, or at least no cases have been observed. Also like most ghosts, exorcisms can be performed on them to either remove them from a host or from this world entirely depending on whether a fatal or non-fatal exorcism is used. Exorcisms tend to be pretty complicated, though…

Oh, there appears to be another way. It involves taking the creature’s mask and wearing it, which will cause one to be possessed. This will make the ghost tangible within the host’s reality, allowing the human to land a deadly strike to destroy the yamask once and for all. However, this technique only tends to work with new ghosts and with the element of surprise at hand as the ghost can easily escape from reach soon after the possession's beginning.

Well, aren't I lucky to be dealing with a first-time ghost, then! Sounds like all I have to do is be quick and cunning, and that's what HE has trained me to be. This'll be a piece of cake. Still, I should look into that exorcism business. It'd be foolish not to have a back-up plan. Back to the shelf it is…

---

I fold the napkin and tuck it in my pocket. I really should’ve brought my notebook along.

I stop to stare at the ballpoint pen I’d borrowed to scribble down the instructions to one exorcism I found. Should I return it, or accept it as compensation for the horrible renovation of this place? Eh, I guess I’ll return it. I have enough enemies as is.

I walk up to the librarian and return the pen with a smile and a thank you - just to see if I was still capable of performing such actions, I suppose. I exit the library and squint my eyes. The sun is setting? How long was I in there? Well, at least the clouds have finally parted. Looks like it’ll be a starry night.

I can’t help but crack a smile. What a lovely stage for the upcoming performance. Tragedy for them, comedy for me.

What’s this feeling? I felt it back in the supermarket, too, now that I think about it. It’s a kind of… warmth, a sense of purpose, a sense of power. Is this… yes, this is the same feeling. The same feeling I get when I kill.

It has been a while since I truly got to end something with my own hands. This must be what I’ve been missing, this has to be why I’ve felt so empty lately. I never received the satisfaction of cutting Joanna open. I was removed from that scene, and while the afterglow was still there for me to enjoy, it didn’t fully sate me. But, tonight - tonight, I’ll claim the reward I deserve.

Tonight, the predator is on the hunt.

---

 

[lucarioknight56]

For the review game:

Plot/Story:
As before, I like the intriguing story you have set for us, especially considering that this Red is the very protagonist of the first games...right? Either way, I quite like what you've done with interactions, adding mystery in at opportune points, all the while with Red's rather impulsive actions setting those around him at edge.

Grammar/Structure:
No real issues here. Punctuation and spelling are all good and nothing's all that hard to read. It gets a bit choppy at times with the short sentences, but it could be a whole lot worse.

Characters:
The challenge for the month is character interaction, and while I haven't done much reviewing of that, I'll go ahead and give it a shot, in particular with Red's interaction with Doctor Jordan.

She irks him, particularly by the fact that he's obligated to answer the questions she presents, and also...certain other factors. Anyways. she has probably had experience in dealing with shut-in cases like Red, and given the fact that Red prefers to keep his beliefs private, it makes it all the harder to avoid the questions. Red doesn't flare up, which is good, and shows a level of self-control that he certainly didn't have with the spider. This lets us perfectly see Red's personality in a rather mundane environment, similar to the instance at the grocery store.

Setting:
When you do go into detail, Red's personality really shines. I like reading about his perspective of the settings, especially with the description of the entrance to the clinic. Because of your choice of perspective, the lack of detailed descriptions of settings is forgivable. In fact, the description is probably more than what a standard person would care to think about, so props to that.

Style:
I will admit, I do miss seeing some detailed descriptions from an omniscient view. Those help us see the entire picture, unfiltered by the eyes of a brooding protagonist. The short sentences do nicely for showing personality, but it unfortunately can be lacking for us to see the environment. It works in a first-person perspective, don't get me wrong; it's just a stylistic preference is all.

Overall:
I like what you're doing here. No issues with anything except the short sentences, but as said before, that's more of personal preference. It works well within a flow of thought. I'll make sure to keep reading!

 

[diamondpearl876]

Okay, hi, what's up? Here I am, for the requested chapter 4 review. Since you didn't request for anyone to look over anything specific, this'll just be a general review of, well, whatever thoughts I had! If you have any questions or want further comments on something, just let me know.

Would the bus just come already? It’s cold and I feel like the clinic behind is staring at me.

I forgot how grumpy Red can be, lmao. Dis guy.

I think you're missing a word in there after "behind," but I think the word missing is "me" and the repetition would sound a tad jarring for an opening sentence, so I guess my suggestion would be to reword it. In general, constant repetitions of "I" and "me" and "we" are tough to avoid in first person - believe me, I know - but your writing will flow so much better and feel a lot more intimate if readers aren't being pulled out by awkward wordings like that.

The other suggestion I'd have is to add some description here of the bus station before having grumpy!Red be grumpy, or at least let the reader know what his destination is. That was a question in the back of my head the entire time until he actually arrived there (although, it could've been made clear in chapter 3 already, of course). This was probably the main part of the chapter lacking in description when I found plenty of nice stuff in that department later on, so! Even though this isn't chapter 1, I still maintain that you don't have long to hook your reader in.

That all being said, I pointed this opening sentence out particularly as an example, but I think these are things to remember and work on in first person writing and for more stream-of-consciousness writing. Overall, I can find very little to critique about your style anymore (improvements as fabulous to see, yay!) so that's my two cents as a devoted first person writer.

The schedules are somewhere online, I bet, but I have no phone to look them up with, let alone will or knowhow to do so.

I'd say someone referring to their own willpower isn't generally realistic in first person unless they're in a massive state of apathy or are frozen in spot because of danger. I know Red has a knack of thinking... differently, for lack of a better term, but this still had me raising my eyebrow skeptically.

I sigh, closing my eyes. I wonder what Michi and the mask are doing right now. Hopefully just playing house or whatever kids and their ghost friends do.

I'm a tad confused about the ghost-type worldbuilding from what I saw of it in this chapter. Ghost-types seem central to the story's plot, but there's a few times in this chapter they're not depicted as terrifying or anything that trainers/children/whoever would want to avoid. No doubt I didn't get all the details from this one chapter, but the gist I get is that most ghost-types are pretty harmless and that Red's just run into a particularly nasty, suspicious one and wants to get rid of it for reasons I'm sure were established but weren't present in this chapter.

This is less a critique and more me being kind of confused 'cause I'm jumping in at chapter 4, but on the off chance that's not what you were going for, I'll leave it.

I did want to learn why Red so bent on learning about the yamask species. Even if the ghost he wants to get rid of doesn't fit Unova's lore, why is it such a threat? The scene with Red flipping through books and finding information was a tad too exposition-y for what I usually see of Red's narration style from you. I had expected to see his irrational thought process on why he wants to get rid of the ghost and imagining terrible/violent/gory ways of getting rid of it, but there was none of that, only exposition. Which I get, and you had a pretty good pace going with Red skimming past what he didn't really need to know and already knew, but once he hit upon the Unova's lore... Well, I felt like there was something lacking there, and something tells me I'd feel that way even if I'd read from chapter 1.

Her way of walking is strange. It’s like she had a burning need to urinate. She turns her head from side to side, like she was looking for the nearest bathroom.

See, this is the kind of narration I'd expect from Red.

There's a random tense change here with the "had." It should be "has" to maintain the present tense.

Suddenly, she looks at me, come up to me.

"come" should be "comes" - just a typo that snuck its way in there. Happens.

She just keeps this dumbass look on her face, like that of a spoiled snubbull begging for treats.

I guess I should be professional or something because this is a prize review, but can I just say I love the snubbull imagery in this line? So adorable. Then Red just compares the woman to a dog. So typically demeaning of him, that. : ' )

Shove my knife into her gut. Have her squeal like the overgrown swinub she is. Pull it out and strike again. Again and again. Butcher her. My stabbing hand’s thumb scrapes against the rest of the fingers. The urge is strong. I have to satisfy myself.

Another pokemon reference! I like them a lot, you weave them into the narration so naturally.

This little bit reminded me a lot of a conversation I overheard in real life. The conversation involved my boss asking a co-worker of mine if they ever thought about starting fistfights with people they had just met. My boss said there was no particular reasoning behind the wanting to fight people she just met, but you know what? Her and the co-worker totally bonded over it. Apparently it's more common that one would think...?

At any rate, that was me trying to say I appreciate the portrayal of the darker side of humanity, I suppose. You do it pretty damn well. Red might be closer to the sociopathic side, sure - I think you told me 100% as much - but we can all have those tendencies, so.

The interior of the bus doesn’t smell good, but at least it’s warm. I pay the bus driver, obtain a ticket and search for empty window seats as I proceed along the bus. The vehicle jerks into motion, nearly flinging my unprepared body onto the stairs ahead. Luckily I manage to grab the pole, pull myself up and keep going.

Another downside to first person - you can't really get away with some wording that technically fits. Maybe I should turn over to the dark side and write third person?

Nah, but I did think the words "obtain" and "proceed along" don't fit here, nor did the "my unprepared body" flow that well when I read it. I really am down to nitpicks on your style, aren't I? Moving on, then.

Just imagining getting into trouble and not having my claw by my side gives me chills.

Pretty apt metaphor, I think. Referring to the knife as a "claw" implies that it's an extension of Red's body, which... fits his personality and how he talks about himself, really. Nicely done.

From the outside, the library looks desolate and soulless, but I know the inside is far different. It’s a wonderful, peaceful place. It smells like paper and wood and freshly baked buns thanks to the café inside, separated from the actual book section with glass walls to trap any noise. But just like the faint steps and the swooshing of turning pages in the air, the smells are nowhere near overwhelming.

And the wooden shelves - they’re so smooth. Beneath a glossy layer of lacquer, there run beautiful curves of dark and light, like waves on a beach. Their liveliness reaches full bloom with the books they carry - vivid, colorful, like flowers. It’s a garden, but without the bugs.

See, this is the kind of description I was looking for at the beginning. I'm pretty sure my first review to you ever said there was no description almost ever, but you've managed to weave it into your narration pretty well already in such a short time. The description here is simple, fits with the first person perspective just fine (as in, Red's not describing anything he shouldn't realistically be seeing), and Red's personality is all over the goddamn place despite most people thinking renovations would be a good thing.

Well. This may be a kick in the shin, but nothing near crippling. The books in here are still the same, it make no difference for me or my plan if they’re surrounded by grayscale vomit.

I lol'd. Dis guy has some strong opinions, and as a writer, ya gotta know the right words to express said opinions. You pretty much always have the right words.

The Complete Guide to Ghost Pokémon. No pictures on the cover. Says it’s “complete”. Can’t go wrong with this one.

I don't know if this was meant to be sarcasm on Red's part, but that sounds like a pretty generic false advertising kind of title to me.

No, no yamask here. Not here, not here… Wait.

Well, I suppose here's one suggestion I can make on the description front. I'd suggest intertwining the aforementioned details of the library Red hated so much here. Like I said before, the pace in this is nicely done, but it won't be broken by any means if you add in some despair from Red about, say, how he's so goddamn sick of the new paint smell of the shelves because he's standing so close to them while he browses the books or something.

Still, I can’t be sure. I need to find out more to flesh out my plan.

There is a rather repetitive sequence to this, but I only realized it by the end so it's not that big a deal. Red finds some info that looks helpful like three times but at the end of each time literally thinks he has to flesh out his plan more. I think it'd be pretty fitting if he started envisioning putting a plan in motion, even if it's totally not what he's going to do in reality.

I... think that's all I have. I can't say the content of your work is always up my alley, but I am a fan of your style and your portrayal of Red because you get a lot of dark/edgy/tragic characters around here but no one quite as blunt as him. Again, if you need any clarification on anything I put or have questions, etc etc, let me know! Keep on writin'!

 

[canisaries]

Yay! Review! I'm glad you've finally gotten to read a bit of this fic of mine, I've come a long way in writing since your last review. I'm liking first person a lot better than third, even if it comes with its challenges.

I'm a bit saddened by the fact that this chapter had to be your first contact with this fic, given that it is definitely the weakest chapter so far. Like you said, it gets pretty exposition-y. I tried my hardest to still make it entertaining despite the fact it mostly exists to establish stuff out of the way, and I'm glad that the description at least was successful. That's the part I had the most fun with, and those parts usually tend to be the best as the writer has their heart in it.

I'd say someone referring to their own willpower isn't generally realistic in first person unless they're in a massive state of apathy or are frozen in spot because of danger. I know Red has a knack of thinking... differently, for lack of a better term, but this still had me raising my eyebrow skeptically.

Yeah, I'm beginning to sort of regret the whole technology-phobia for Red I imported from TPP lore (you know, PC not good PC very bad) as it's pretty strange for any (non-Amish) person to be avoiding massively important and popular forms of communication in the 2010s (or whatever the corresponding era would be for Poké-world). I do kind of have an idea on how to make it a bit more understandable, though it probably won't make it yet into this fic. But you do have to admit that going to a library for information is a lot more interesting than a homebound Google sesh ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I'm a tad confused about the ghost-type worldbuilding from what I saw of it in this chapter. Ghost-types seem central to the story's plot, but there's a few times in this chapter they're not depicted as terrifying or anything that trainers/children/whoever would want to avoid. No doubt I didn't get all the details from this one chapter, but the gist I get is that most ghost-types are pretty harmless and that Red's just run into a particularly nasty, suspicious one and wants to get rid of it for reasons I'm sure were established but weren't present in this chapter.

This is less a critique and more me being kind of confused 'cause I'm jumping in at chapter 4, but on the off chance that's not what you were going for, I'll leave it.

You're pretty much on the right track, I'd say. I kind of envision ghost types as being like real-life snakes. They can be dangerous, but they don't have to be, and you can own them or be friends with them if you treat them right. So in the end, pretty commonplace. Yamask just happen to be a rare and peculiar breed.

I did want to learn why Red so bent on learning about the yamask species. Even if the ghost he wants to get rid of doesn't fit Unova's lore, why is it such a threat? The scene with Red flipping through books and finding information was a tad too exposition-y for what I usually see of Red's narration style from you. I had expected to see his irrational thought process on why he wants to get rid of the ghost and imagining terrible/violent/gory ways of getting rid of it, but there was none of that, only exposition. Which I get, and you had a pretty good pace going with Red skimming past what he didn't really need to know and already knew, but once he hit upon the Unova's lore... Well, I felt like there was something lacking there, and something tells me I'd feel that way even if I'd read from chapter 1.

Not sure what you mean with Unova's lore. When Red first met the ghost, he didn't know what it was and only learned it was a Yamask by eavesdropping. It did however have the face of his latest victim, so he needed to find out what that meant and how he would get rid of it in case it was an actual reincarnation, and even if it wasn't, because a face of a woman you killed floating around isn't something you just wanna let happen in any case. If you want to read it from the source material itself, most of this happens in chapter 2.

"come" should be "comes" - just a typo that snuck its way in there. Happens.

Fixed this and the other stuff you pointed out and even some stuff I by myself. I wasn't able to get this chapter properly beta-read, so that might be the reason why this chapter ended up with more small errors than the others.

This little bit reminded me a lot of a conversation I overheard in real life. The conversation involved my boss asking a co-worker of mine if they ever thought about starting fistfights with people they had just met. My boss said there was no particular reasoning behind the wanting to fight people she just met, but you know what? Her and the co-worker totally bonded over it. Apparently it's more common that one would think...?

Oh, I think I know what this is about: l'appel du vide ("call of the void"). The same phenomenon that's responsible for the small part of your brain telling you to throw your DS into the water while you're playing on a lakeside bench, or the part that tells you to wrench the steering wheel violently to the side while on a bridge. In 99.9999% of the cases, you end up not doing it because the rest of your brain overpowers it. I remember hearing that scientist hypothesize that this happens because those ill-thought-out acts are the strongest choices you can make in those situations. But this phenomenon isn't limited to only wrecking material possessions or harming yourself physically somehow, it also happens in social situations. You know you have the power to ruin a relationship in seconds, and that's a very strong choice, so your brain can suddenly suggest, I don't know, screaming your lungs out for no reason.

It's probably stronger for others and fainter for others, so if you don't recognize yourself from this at all, that's understandable. If you want to learn more, here's a vid on the same subject from Youtube vlogger danisnotonfire whom I used to watch.

At any rate, that was me trying to say I appreciate the portrayal of the darker side of humanity, I suppose. You do it pretty damn well. Red might be closer to the sociopathic side, sure - I think you told me 100% as much - but we can all have those tendencies, so.

Been thinking about the whole psychology aspect a lot since Agápe. I am writing Red with ASPD in mind, but I'm still definitely not writing these fics with portraying a sociopath 100% psychologically correctly as my main goal. But whether he's a sociopath vaguely or clearly, his affinity for violence is certain and if by some miracle he would actually feel guilty about his crimes some time, he would still love bloodshed with all his heart.

Pretty apt metaphor, I think. Referring to the knife as a "claw" implies that it's an extension of Red's body, which... fits his personality and how he talks about himself, really. Nicely done.

Exactly what I was going for, nice to see it work.

I can't say the content of your work is always up my alley, but I am a fan of your style and your portrayal of Red because you get a lot of dark/edgy/tragic characters around here but no one quite as blunt as him.

It does irk me if a writer make a real show about someone being less than goody-two-shoes. I mean, that character wouldn't think so, unless they were some really insecure 14-year-old who just wanted everyone to respect his epic edgy persona. For the character, they're the good guy, or just any guy, really, but not the bad guy. What they do is their norm and they live each day with it. No use in announcing it every time you walk out the door.

Anyway, thanks so much for the review, hopefully you'll check out more of this. Especially since the next chapter will be pretty intense.

 

[diamondpearl876]

Yay! Review! I'm glad you've finally gotten to read a bit of this fic of mine, I've come a long way in writing since your last review. I'm liking first person a lot better than third, even if it comes with its challenges.

I'm a bit saddened by the fact that this chapter had to be your first contact with this fic, given that it is definitely the weakest chapter so far. Like you said, it gets pretty exposition-y. I tried my hardest to still make it entertaining despite the fact it mostly exists to establish stuff out of the way, and I'm glad that the description at least was successful. That's the part I had the most fun with, and those parts usually tend to be the best as the writer has their heart in it.

I can definitely tell you've come a long way! And no worries, this chapter is hardly scaring me away from the fic.

Not sure what you mean with Unova's lore. When Red first met the ghost, he didn't know what it was and only learned it was a Yamask by eavesdropping. It did however have the face of his latest victim, so he needed to find out what that meant and how he would get rid of it in case it was an actual reincarnation, and even if it wasn't, because a face of a woman you killed floating around isn't something you just wanna let happen in any case. If you want to read it from the source material itself, most of this happens in chapter 2.

I'm referring to this part, and in hindsight, Unova's lore ain't really the right phrase:

Deep beneath the sand of Unova’s Desert Resort, in the halls of the mysterious Relic Castle, it seems empty at first glance. Nothing but pillars and bricks for… Yeah, I’m just going to skip ahead…

Yamask is a shadow-like ghost type pokémon. It has a main body, two arms and a tail with which it carries a golden mask. Its large red eyes appear to leak a fluid of the same color, but strangely, the liquid disappears upon touching the ground. Because of this, the contents and nature of the fluid are yet unknown. Yamask seem to have human-level intelligence, but unlike most other ghosts, they’re unable to speak. They can learn and understand human language, but they can physically only emit wails and screeches. That does match what I’ve seen. But what are they?

My question fortunately seems to be answered right in the very next paragraph. Finally.

Yamask are believed to be incarnated spirits of the people who lived in ancient Unova. Each carries the face of their former self on their mask. Most appear to have memories of their past life.

Aw, fuck. Incarnation. Memories. In other words, the worst case scenario. It truly is Joanna, back beyond the grave - that is, if she had a grave. Michi must be expecting Joanna to remember something, even if it was just her name.

But why was she reincarnated? She’s not an ancient Unovan, she was only a bit older than me. Her relatives live right here in Pallet. She was ethnically Tojhoan. There was nothing specifically Unovan about her apartment. It doesn’t make sense - she should be dead for good, like all the others.

Basically, even though this yamask that Red knows isn't the spirit of someone who lived in ancient Unova and isn't Unovan in ethnicity and it appears Red wants the ghost gone, I don't quite get the strong vibe that his narration that I'd expect from him. Though obviously my knowledge of previous chapters is lacking, so!

Oh, I think I know what this is about: l'appel du vide ("call of the void"). The same phenomenon that's responsible for the small part of your brain telling you to throw your DS into the water while you're playing on a lakeside bench, or the part that tells you to wrench the steering wheel violently to the side while on a bridge. In 99.9999% of the cases, you end up not doing it because the rest of your brain overpowers it. I remember hearing that scientist hypothesize that this happens because those ill-thought-out acts are the strongest choices you can make in those situations. But this phenomenon isn't limited to only wrecking material possessions or harming yourself physically somehow, it also happens in social situations. You know you have the power to ruin a relationship in seconds, and that's a very strong choice, so your brain can suddenly suggest, I don't know, screaming your lungs out for no reason.

Interesting. I suppose I experience it on occasion, but not as often as this description makes it seem! I learned something today.

Anyway, thanks so much for the review, hopefully you'll check out more of this. Especially since the next chapter will be pretty intense.

I'm sure I will! Life is busy and all, you know how it goes.

 

[canisaries]

Basically, even though this yamask that Red knows isn't the spirit of someone who lived in ancient Unova and isn't Unovan in ethnicity and it appears Red wants the ghost gone, I don't quite get the strong vibe that his narration that I'd expect from him. Though obviously my knowledge of previous chapters is lacking, so!

Ahhh, may now get what you mean. If it's a eureka-moment that's missing, I can definitely confess that I could not write that. Every thought I had of it seemed extremely cheesy. Didn't know how to pull of a big revelation or anything even if this information is very important for Red.

 

[canisaries]

EDIT: This chapter has been revised as of 6th December 2018. (Happy Finnish Independence day!)

in a strange twist of fate i'm already done with chapter 5 4? alright i'll take it

enjoy

---

CHAPTER 4
Life

---
​

The horizon blazes gold and amber, still pushing up against the descending blue darkness, desperate for a few more moments to shine. I estimate it to last an hour more before collapsing. Fine by me - an hour’s plenty of time for me to complete the task at hand. Even after that, the twilight will remain to light my way, and the rod cells of my eyes will patch up any holes it leaves.

How fitting for the sun to be setting as I finish what this past day has thrown at me. As the light leaves this land, so will Joanna - although her I certainly don’t wish to return by dawn. This day will be self-contained. After the ghost is gone, it’s back to my… back to my normal life.

I groan to myself. Why’d I have to go and phrase it like that? Whether I like it or not, at least today’s had things happen. Unlike every other day.

No, not now, Red. Calm down. This is supposed to be a joyous occasion. You’re getting rid of the problem, and you’ll get to sleep in peace tonight.

I breathe in the cool, fresh air. Smells like pine. Alright. Let’s go.

I end my sunset-watching by the graveyard’s edge and enter the forest. After some scrambling around, I locate the path from earlier today and follow along it. Every once in a while, I absentmindedly reach for my right thigh only to feel the touch of denim. Feels so weird not having the scabbard and knife there… but I need to have them hidden in my backpack. I should look unarmed for the best impression.

I do hope the kid’s still here. If she isn’t, I’ll have to move this to tomorrow. I’m rather sure she's stuck around, though, as she seemed like someone who’d be there for a new, scared ghost for as long she could.

“Pi-pi-pi-pi-pi!”

A wild pidgey’s call? Isn't it a bit late for that?

I look around, and indeed, there's a small, brown bird sitting on the top of a nearby young pine. It stares back at me with its beady eyes, curious.

Hrmh, as cute as you are, you should fly away. You may be in an early enough state to still be raised to sentience by someone, and in that case, you could become a witness.

I try to walk past its perch, but it only flits closer, hopping from branch to branch. Its eyes are still pinned onto me. What does it want? Treats? Even the wild mon in this town are domesticated…

I stop and face the bird. “Shoo.”

“Shoo,” it repeats with a slightly higher pitch. Ah, great, already mimicking.

“Come on, get outta here,” I hiss, flicking my hand.

The pidgey responds by leaping onto it. It sits down, fluffy feathers spreading over my glove, and looks at me with its cheeks puffed, as if its was smiling. Gods, what am I, a cartoon princess? This bird needs to go.

I raise my other hand, preparing to smack the critter off… but no, I couldn’t bring myself to do that. I’d break feathers, bend them funny, and ruin its perfect array of quills. Perhaps snap one of its hollow, delicate bones whose light frame allow the creature to be one with the air.

There’s no satisfaction in destroying something like this. It doesn’t break beautifully. It’s only elegant if intact.

I sigh and lower the raised hand. I rotate the one holding the pidgey to be palm up, the bird taking little steps to follow, and gently scratch its plumage with my thumb. The bird leans in, its eyes narrowing in enjoyment. I can feel its warmth even through the glove’s wool. Good thing I have gloves, anyway. Sweet as this mon is, it’s wild and could have diseases or parasites.

“Jo-to-to!”

Another birdcall from behind. The pidgey takes notice, the small crest on its head rising.

A pidgeotto has appeared on the branches of the trees I've passed. “Pi-jo-to-to,” it warbles.

I nudge the pidgey with my thumb. ”Think your mom wants you.”

The mon is reluctant, but eventually takes flight and follows its red-crested elder out of sight. That takes care of that.

I continue along the path to the cabin. Some way in, I hear rustling and steps. Another traveller. I slow down to a creep and scan the area ahead, looking for anything - and there it is, a figure. Pink at the top. It’s her.

I take some time to observe her. She appears to be alone, gathering firewood or something of the sort. So far she’s unaware of my presence, or perhaps she’s just ignoring me. I doubt she’d be so calm if she saw my real aura and recognized me. Proof of the seal working as intended. Always worth the scars.

I breathe deeply. Alright. I take off my backpack to check one last time that all of the equipment is there - and it is. The knife is still there in its scabbard too. I feel the back pocket of my jeans. The napkin is present, the instructions to the exorcism and the memory-erasing seal both written on it. I’m all set.

The first act can now begin.

I step out of hiding and head right for the pink-haired girl. She finally stands up straight, having heard my approach, and faces my direction. She flinches.

“Hi,” I greet, expressionless. “Michi, was it?”

“Where is your aura?” she responds with no delay. She’s tense like a stantler in the headlights. Looks like I caught her off guard.

“Aura?” I feign confusion. “I wouldn’t know, can’t see ‘em.”

She stays silent for a while, then changes her posture quite drastically. Her feet root themselves firmly to the ground. Her hands curl up into fists. “Well, whatever. What do you want?” she barks, though her voice is unsure.

“Listen, I’m sorry about the way I acted yesterday. I’m not good with people.”

No response, no change in body language.

“But I think I can help Joanna.”

The wrinkles by her brows smoothen just a bit.

“That’s her name,” I add. “Has she told you that yet?”

“How do you know her name?”

“I knew her.”

The wrinkles disappear completely for a brief moment, then doubt brings them back. “How so?”

“Well...” I look elsewhere. “I knew her, I don’t think she knew me. It was complicated. You see...”

I crouch. She takes a step closer. I suppress a smile.

“She moved to Pewter some time ago,” I continue, “near my apartment. I saw her go by every morning.”

“You were neighbors?” Michi asks, rather dismissively.

“There’s more to it than that, just keep listening.”

She crosses her arms, but does as requested.

“Well, the thing is… you can probably tell by her face that she was really pretty. But you haven’t overheard her talk with her friends and family. She wasn’t only beautiful on the outside.”

That phrasing brings memories of poking around her corpse. Haha, yeah.

“She was friendly, caring, witty, funny. I kind of… got a crush on her. But as I’ve said, I’m not good with people. I was too awkward to talk to her. So I just settled on watching her go by and eavesdropping on her calls...”

“That sounds pretty creepy,” Michi interrupts.

“Yeah, I’m weird, I get it. But I know something pretty important.”

“What’s that?”

“A few weeks before she disappeared, she started talking about something creepy. That she felt like she was being followed. She thought she had a stalker.”

“Was it you?”

“No, I thought so too at the start, but this guy wasn’t harmless like me. He was dangerous. He’d given her letters. They’d said some pretty uncomfortable, harassing stuff.”

“...Like what?”

“I really shouldn’t tell a kid like you.”

I sit down fully on the forest floor, having gotten tired of crouching. She comes a few steps closer again.

“Every few days, she’d get another letter, until one time she got a note on her kitchen table. It was too much for her. She was going to tell the police, but when she left her house, the stalker attacked her. I saw it happen. He drugged her and took her away.”

“So why didn’t you call the cops?”

“I panicked. I was sure they were going to think it was me. Some time later, her relatives showed up to ask around about her, since she hadn’t called in a while. I told them I hadn’t seen anything because… I just didn’t know what to say. Of course I felt terrible about it later on, and… I feel even worse now, knowing she died...”

What a shame I can’t really cry on cue. It’d really sell this.

“But now that she’s been reincarnated,” I continue with a brighter expression, “her kidnapper can be caught and brought to justice. She only needs to remember, and I think I can help with that.”

I get up and approach. Michi raises her palm at me.

“No, no, no. Stay where you are,” she commands.

As told, I stop in my tracks, but I still keep speaking. “If I tell her about her old self, the phone calls she made, the names of her relatives and friends... it could jog her memory. Then she could help locate the kidnapper and testify.”

“Why should I believe you at all?” she asks. “You could have made this all up for all I know.”

I form a saddened expression and stare at the ground.

“I… can't really give any proof,” I respond. “You just have to trust me.”

“I’m not gonna do that,” she says, stern.

I sigh, then take off my backpack. “Fair enough… but if you won’t let me see her, then you should at least let me give you something.”

“What’s that?” she asks as I unzip the bag.

“She carried it with her at all times. She dropped it when attacked. If any item will remind her of her old life, it’s this.” While I speak, I quietly open the vial and pour just a bit of its contents onto the rag. The moment is near.

She takes the last few cautious steps toward me to peek inside the bag. She does not see a scarf or any accessory of the like, but --

I pounce at the girl, shoving the rag onto her face. My free arm locks around her as we fall on the ground with a thump. She screeches, wriggles, but it does no good with the cloth muffling her sounds and my limbs pinning hers down. She's a pichu, and the arbok has got her.

I can’t hide my smile, not that I would even try.

Oh, how it invigorates me, catching and trapping people like this! She squirms and squirms, but I'm just too strong, only amused by her useless attempts. It's like playing with an ant - no, even an ant can bite. She can't do even that!

Little by little, her motions become lazier and lazier. The spores are taking effect. When she's sufficiently limp, I let go and fetch my backpack.

“Smart of you to doubt me,” I say as I kneel before her. “But not that smart to get so close.”

I unzip the bag and pull out scissors and a roll of duct tape. Having cut off a piece, I glue it onto her mouth and stroke it a couple of times to make sure it sticks. She lets out a weak whine.

“Oh, don’t worry. I just need you still and silent for the next phase.”

I flip her body over and bring her little wrists together behind her. With the tape, I wrap them up firmly, and then repeat the process for her ankles. She won’t be able to walk with me to the cabin, but I’m a big guy. I can carry her just fine.

“There we go.“ I get up and brush off the spruce needles and mold that have stuck to my clothes. I return the equipment to my bag, retrieve my scabbard from it and reattach it onto my belt. Feels good to have that there again.

I look down at the bound girl’s face, which is discomforted, the strongest emotion one can really feel when drugged up like this. “You know, it’s a shame you didn’t ask me why I came to Pallet,” I say. “I had a whole story planned for that. Well, anyway...”

I zip the bag shut and hoist it onto my back, then crouch by Michi to flip her belly-up once more and edge my arms beneath her body. She flails, but only with the power of a magikarp on land just about to run out of oxygen.

“Come on, kiddo, let’s go see your friend.” I lift her up. She’s lighter than any of the women, of course, but she’s still basically a bag of water and therefore has some weight to her.

“Mhhh…!” That was probably an attempt at a scream.

“Oh, please, you deal with ghosts,” I purr and lean close to her face. “Surely I can’t be that scary?”

To her credit, what she’s giving me right now is the angriest droopy-eyed stare I’ve seen.

Because I like being an asshole, I lean even closer, right next to her ear. Nose to her temple, I take a deep sniff. She growls. I chuckle.

“I’m just kidding!” I straighten myself and begin to walk. “I’m not that weird.”

I find my way back to the path, eyes well adjusted to the darkness by now. She doesn't do much to stop me. She probably knows well that she can't.

The pidgey gone, the forest is silent, save for the distant wind and traffic. It's rather tranquil. I can almost hear Michi’s heartbeat.

I eye the now-sunless horizon, though keep glancing at the ground every once in a while. The sky’s edge is a lovely shade of crimson, broken up by dark stripes formed by the tree trunks in the way.

“What a pretty forest this is,” I sigh. “I’m lucky to live near it… and I gotta admit, that cabin you have there looks pretty neat. It’s got a real nice atmosphere to it. You’ve got some spirit, taming that to your own use.”

I shift her slightly in my hold to look at her better. Her face is a bit more alert. She’s slowly recovering, and using that energy for more versatile emoting - fury has gained two partners, confusion and fear. She’s probably wondering what the hell is going right now, why someone who’s apparently kidnapping her is making smalltalk. Rather one-sided smalltalk.

“Since guts like yours are rare to come by these days, I’ll ease your worries,” I continue. “Let it be known that I’m not going to kill you or even harm you. You know, provided your friend cooperates. If she gets difficult,” I whisper, “I’ll be difficult.”

I stare into her eyes for a moment, my walk seized, to make my point. Her wide blues tell me I got it across. Satisfied, I continue on.

In just a couple of turns, the old building emerges from between the bushes. Its exterior is darkened by night, but its windows shine a faint light. Someone’s there.

“Your time to shine, little friend...” I crouch to retrieve my knife from its scabbard and bring it to Michi’s ankles. She tenses up. Aw, baby’s scared of the pointy object.

As soon as the tape is sawed through, however, she jerks back her legs and launches a powerful kick in my direction. Thankfully, having recoiled in time, the blow doesn’t strike me. It did catch me off guard, though… it seems that she may have been saving up her energy for that. This creature’s got a brain. However, I’ve got a knife.

I lean back in and take the blade to her neck. She freezes with a whimper, almost as an apology.

“That ‘difficult’ thing?” I growl. “Goes for you, too. Now, just play nice and let me do what I’m here to do.”

I prompt her to get back up. Defeated, she complies, and we march to the center of the opening. Alright. Now, it's negotiating time.

“Hey, Joanna!” I shout at the building, apparently startling Michi with the sudden noise, given her minor flinch. “I have your little friend here. If you don't want her to get hurt, you should come out right now. And do it slowly. If you do any sudden motions, my hand might just slip!”

I scan the area for any motion, but none comes. No new sounds arise, either. Just the noises of the environment and the tense breathing of me and my hostage.

“The hand's holding a knife, if you weren't yet aware,” I continue.

It doesn't seem to have any effect.

“Come on, now, Joanna! I know you're somewhere around here. The light's on, for Gods’ sake. You think I'm stupid?”

Still silent. Man, she’d better answer soon, or this is gonna get complicated.

“Tell you what,” I shout. “I’m gonna count down from ten, and if by then you haven’t shown up...”

My left hand latches onto Michi’s neck, prompting a panicked screech from her voicebox. She’s just like a squeaky toy. Fun.

“...I’m gonna slit her fucking throat. Alright? Alright. Starting now.” I loosen my grip of the girl’s neck, but only to draw her closer by the torso.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven…”

Joanna’s really taking her time. She’s not gonna leave the girl for dead, is she? That’s not the woman I stalked. But could she be overwhelmed by her fear? Her sense of self-preservation?

“Six, five...” I shout louder. Are you not hearing this, Joanna? Michi’s trembling. Even I’m unsettled.

“Four!”

“Maah!” a wail sounds out.

I stop. That’s her. Oh, thank fuck. I won’t have to improvise. Both Michi and I exhale from relief.

“I can’t understand that,” I shout at the cabin. I’m pretty sure the voice came from there. “Come out. Slowly.”

Something peeks out of the cabin’s door. Then it thrusts itself into view. A black shadow carrying a golden, familiar face. The creature's leaky, maroon eyes look miserable.

I smile. “Hi, Joanna.”

Her ghostly fingers grab the edge of her mask a bit more firmly.

“Do you remember me?” I ask, walking towards her, Michi shuffling along. Joanna stays put. She's learned she's intangible.

Having received no response, I continue. “I have good reason to believe you do, or that you will, given enough time. But even if that's not the case… I can't have you floating out and about, flaunting that face. Someone might end up finding out the truth. Do you know what that truth is, Joanna? Do you remember?”

She hugs her mask.

“Well, whether you do or not, let me say it anyway so little Michi here can also know. It’s not like she’ll remember it after I’m done - I’ve got a special seal I know to take care of that. But first...”

I look at the cracked cabin door. I look back at the ghost.

“I’d like for us to take this inside.”

Four seconds pass before Joanna actually realizes I’m asking her to lead us in and opens the door. Maybe dying does something to your wits.

Dragging Michi along, I follow Joanna in, not once taking my eyes off the ghost. The action is shared. But as the door closes, I can allow myself to study the interior of the building.

It seems that this shack is only two rooms big, the one we inhabit being the bigger one and the smaller being behind a door. Here, there's a fireplace made of bricks, a table surrounded by two old benches carved from wood, a full-body mirror with a crack in the glass and some mattresses and blankets in the corner. The walls are made of dry yellow-brown planks with shreds of white paint on them here and there. Above the fireplace hangs a picture frame, but whatever that frame held has been lost to time long ago. Now, nothing but a ripped, black mess can be seen.

The light source of the shack is a rusty oil lamp on the bench-flanked table. The flame’s outlines are completely blurred by the smudgy, dusty glass around it, but its glow is still strong and lively.

“An oil lamp, huh… must have been lit by you,” I say to Michi, who only gives a nervous glance in response. “You really are resourceful, learning and using older technologies when newer ones aren’t available.”

I nudge her toward the bench. “Anyway, sit here, won’t you.” She does, and I lower my backpack next to her, trying my best to still keep the knife close to her throat while doing so. Neither her or Joanna try anything, so I must be doing a sufficiently good job.

Keeping that up, I dig out the roll of duct tape and, using my teeth as a second hand, tie her shins together. I put the duct tape back away.

“A bit weird for me to tie your legs twice during the same session, I know,” I mumble. “But I wanted you to walk with me during that previous part. I needed the extra hand for the knife, you know. But I didn’t want you kicking me during the carry before.”

I sit next to Michi and wrap my knife-arm around her shoulder. It’s the most comfortable posture to take while still tightly holding the girl’s life in my hands. Definitely not comfortable for her, though, but that’s half the fun.

“So, who am I? What happened?” I start. “Well, I'm Red Akai. The man who killed you, Joanna. That part you may have already guessed. But I assure you, this wasn't any passing hit-and-run or street stabbing. No, this was premeditated, cold-blooded murder.”

Now, I know the whole ‘gloating about your crimes’ thing never ends well for the bad guy in movies, but cut me some slack. I never get to gloat - well, I did once, but that was a while ago and it wasn't with someone I'd actually killed. Anyway… I have to keep my victims unconscious until the beginning of the ritual, and after that, there's really no room for improvisation. It's a lovely experience, don't get me wrong, but I don't have free rein to do what I want. So now that the opportunity has presented itself, you're damn right I'm gonna take it.

“But why? Well, it wasn't personal, really. It could have been any other healthy, beautiful young woman. HE doesn't discriminate within that group. Who is HE? The god of chaos HIMSELF, of course. HE whom I worship, for whom I seek out women like you to sacrifice to. Strap them down, cut them open, drink their blood and eat their flesh. This all to please HIM - and myself - so one day, HE may merge with me and bring about a new era, ending this rotten, spoiled, imperfect one. No more laws but the one of the jungle. No more of the prey ruling the predators. Paradise for me and my kind. Not so great for you weaker beings…”

Okay, babbling a bit now. They probably get it. I should move on before I overdo it any more. I mean, it’s only gonna get darker from here, and that lantern may start running out of fuel.

“Alright, I'd say I've sufficiently introduced myself. Let's get back to the reason why we're here.”

I extend my hand to Joanna, palm up. “I'm gonna need you to give me that mask.”

“...Maa?”

“Are you questioning me?”

Without warning, I grab Michi’s chin with my free hand and raise it high. Her throat is fully exposed. Her breathing gets a lot more distressed.

“Did you forget the situation you're in? Do you want to see this severed? Because I will make that happen,” I growl, own breathing strengthening as well. I know that I myself would love to see that severed.

“Mah… m-mah…!”

The fluid from the ghost’s eyes spurts out like blood from a bad cut as her face contorts to an agonized, terrified expression, but the red vaporizes the moment it hits the floor. Her fingers, grasping the rim of the mask like a cliff she was hanging by, tremble furiously.

“It's just a mask,” I whisper with a worried expression - feigned, naturally. “It's not worth an innocent child's life.”

I extend my hand again. Chin freed, Michi shrinks like a squirtle withdrawing into its shell.

Joanna keeps shivering, but makes no other motions. Not giving it, huh?

“Alright, I guess I'll have to do this again…” I sigh. “Ten. Nine.”

“Maah! Mah!” she howls, urging me to stop, it seems. She takes one of her hands off the mask, shakingly offering the golden object forward with the other.

It's one of those moments where I know for sure I'm supposed to feel bad, but I just don't.

Calmly, I grab the mask - involuntarily shuddering at its surprisingly cold touch - and draw it to myself.

“I'm glad you chose this way, Joanna…” I breathe deeply. Almost over. “Not only is it beneficial for me, but most would consider it morally correct. You're living your second life, the girl her first. It's just common sense.”

The mask doesn't seem to be getting any warmer… well, what can you do. Has to go on the face, no matter how uncomfortable. Not like a woman's face is gonna fit well on mine with this jawline, anyway. Oh shit. It's not gonna change my face to hers or some karmic shit like that, right? No, no it won't, they definitely would've said it in the book. Just put it on.

With a discomforted grunt, I place the mask onto my face. The chill singes, but I've gone through worse. But what's odd is that… this fits really well. Like a second skin. Oh my Gods, it better not have actually… I'm gonna take it off real quick to --

Hey.

Hey, get off...

What the hell, did you freeze onto me or something? Get -- it won't… Oh Gods, it won't -- I can't breathe, I --

The other hand! I need the -- gotta sheathe the knife, fuck, but it’ll be fine, Michi can't get away, I just need…

I hook my nails under the mask's rim. Pull. Fuck, that hurts! But I have to! I need to breathe! It's… it's sticky now, warmer? Where's the rim? It's gone, but my face is covered! Lips, get the lips apart! I did, but there’s something, a membrane…? Nails, nails --

Pop, it popped, air, air, gasp, I'm breathing, I'm breathing again, breathing, oh Gods yes, yes. Just breathe now. You need air. Breath in, breath out, lungs refreshing, I'm alive, I'm alive.

Gods. Okay. I'm on the floor. Wheezing. What was I doing again? Joanna! I need to kill Joanna! Where is she?

I stumble upright. It's so blurry. Everything's blurry, but there’s brown and gray but no black or red or -- something's appearing. That's her. That’s her! Strike!

The hilt of my knife already rests in my palm. I can hear the blade gleam as it’s yanked out. The wrist bends with grace as the arm raises the weapon. The metal is an extension of me. The sneasel’s claw, the scyther’s scythe.

Joanna’s so clear now, now in this split second before her demise. Her black is the deepest black, her red the most vivid of reds… like blood. More. More of it, now. She will bleed.

Slash.

Yes, she’s full of it. The warm, sticky, salty, wonderful red fluid. And flesh. She has flesh. She’s corporeal. She feels pain. She’s dying.

Again!

The black smoke enveloping those guts is torn like wrapping paper. That’s what it is. A present. A gift for me for being this way. Strong. Agile. Bloodthirsty. A hunter.

Stab! This time it’s a stab! The blade slides into her body, through it, into the wooden wall behind and stopping. Look at her, pain in her eyes, slipping away from this world to the void. Where she belongs. There should only be one life. I only have one life. No one else deserves more.

The smoke melts. It flashes to a white glow. Fire, white fire. It spreads to her whole body. Eats at its edges. I can’t take my eyes off her terrified expression. She knows she’s dying. She knows I’m killing her. I am ending her. The flames grip her by the temples. One last look, and she’s swallowed by the blaze.

Gone.

The light is gone. Joanna is gone.

No more.

It has been done.

---

 

[Ghostsoul]

I may have been cold, pissed off and about three millimeters away from kicking the small growlithe walking past

From what I can tell about this guy, I'm utterly surprised he didn't.

I didn’t have to be my height or my shape - I didn’t have to be in this limited form. I knew I had become so much more. I’d ascended.

THEN BECOME A GOD!

Then, in a fraction of a second, I became massive. Claws erupted out of my fingertips, rows of teeth emerged from my gums, spines broke through my back.

That's what I'm talking about!
Okay, although it was a dream I still think that you should have gone into this more? It seems strange how quick, smooth and painless the transformation seems.

I slammed my gargantuan hands right into the heart of the crowd, crushing dozens of humans underneath. My talons broke through the asphalt, cracking the surrounding ground. Hot blood stained my palms. I rose my right one to lick it clean with my long, broad tongue. Same fantastic taste as always.

Hm. I also think this could do with more detail, it might just be the voice of the protagonist but a lot of this sounds like it should be rather dramatic but it's simply dismissed.

It was a shame that it had to end so soon, but such a delight to have happen in the first place.

The protagonist here is very grating, I could even call them an 'edgy tryhard' although their voice is somewhat strong, their limited obsessions (that being blood, violence, death etc.) make them frustrating and uninteresting. They are a bit of a cliche, an overly dramatic villain with a single mindset that is 'to do evil'. I think you state somewhere that part of his motivation is religion? Make that motive seem stronger, it'll make them and the fic itself a lot better.

“That sounds pretty creepy,”

General tone of the story, thanks.

now seem like some magical forest from a fairy tale. Maybe I really am the Big Bad Houndoom, heading for grandma’s cabin.

I'll admit, a lot of the similes/metaphors you pick are rather creative. I'm especially fond of this one.

That phrasing brings memories of poking around her corpse. Ha, certainly wasn’t.

Another thing you seem to have an issue with is the side characters too. You know these characters are likely to suffer a horrible gory death so a lot of their dialogue between them and the protagonist feel, meaningless because you can't find yourself to bother about them. Especially since the protagonist has an awful lot of power in the first place and is well, torturing ghosts.

This fic suffers, from my impressions, from what is called 'darkness induced audience apathy' although that is somewhat your intent, and in shock horror that is one reason why people might want to see the material but here, either the shocks need to be more thrilling, unexpected or fantastical to keep the interest there, it is quite good for now, but you really have to go all out with this and get it exactly right if you want to take this route. The other option is to just make the setting a tiny bit more likable. I'm not even sure if I can consider this 'shock horror' because sometimes, it feels like a very strange violent/revenge author fantasy which makes it even harder to read. The main reason why someone would want to read this is a sense of morbid curiosity, and not much else.

Sorry for being rather harsh, I do have some positive things to say too. The writing itself is mostly good, the character voice, although a little cliche is very solid and consistent. The dialogue was mostly believable. Most importantly though, the story was indeed shocking and dramatic. So in this case, your aim was achieved.

 

[canisaries]

@Ghostsoul

I appreciate that you took the time to read this, but your post raised a lot of questions.

From what I can tell about this guy, I'm utterly surprised he didn't.

Is this criticism on the characterization? A compliment on it? Just a toneless remark? I can't tell what you're trying to say with this. Keep in mind that this literally begins your entire post, so I have nothing to compare this with.

THEN BECOME A GOD!

You were frustrated by something enough to all-caps your comment, as if you were shouting at a movie screen from the middle of the theater? Chill, my man.

That's what I'm talking about!
Okay, although it was a dream I still think that you should have gone into this more? It seems strange how quick, smooth and painless the transformation seems.

Why would someone in a semi-lucid dream waste time in a transformation sequence - and add pain, which is typically pretty undesirable - when they know they can do it much faster and strike completely out of the blue to the horror of everyone? A transition from man to giant monster isn't very divine if it takes time and appears possible through other means. Would Genesis of the Bible have really appeared that impressive if God had created the world in millennia instead of mere days?

Hm. I also think this could do with more detail, it might just be the voice of the protagonist but a lot of this sounds like it should be rather dramatic but it's simply dismissed.

I'm very confused. Before, you tell him to hurry up and become a god, now you want him to take his sweet time with the mayhem?

The protagonist here is very grating, I could even call them an 'edgy tryhard' although their voice is somewhat strong, their limited obsessions (that being blood, violence, death etc.) make them frustrating and uninteresting. They are a bit of a cliche, an overly dramatic villain with a single mindset that is 'to do evil'. I think you state somewhere that part of his motivation is religion? Make that motive seem stronger, it'll make them and the fic itself a lot better.

Would call him and edgy tryhard? Bro, he is an edgy tryhard. Why would an antisocial sociopath with no regard for what value others keep him in not be a complete edgelord? Who's judgement would he be afraid of, other than his just-as-edgy god? I'm sorry he's grating to you, but this is the character he is.

You've only read the prologue and this chapter, both of which are the most gory and pretentious chapters so far, but these aren't the entire fic. You can't use only these two to profile the entire thing, there's a lot more to this fic than that.

General tone of the story, thanks.

Most importantly though, the story was indeed shocking and dramatic. So in this case, your aim was achieved.

This fic suffers, from my impressions, from what is called 'darkness induced audience apathy' although that is somewhat your intent, and in shock horror that is one reason why people might want to see the material but here, either the shocks need to be more thrilling, unexpected or fantastical to keep the interest there, it is quite good for now, but you really have to go all out with this and get it exactly right if you want to take this route.

Is my fic too much shock, just the right amount of shock, or not shock enough in your opinion? I seriously cannot tell.

The main reason why someone would want to read this is a sense of morbid curiosity, and not much else.

Thank you for calling my fic pointless shock, very encouraging.

The other option is to just make the setting a tiny bit more likable.

...Setting? Likable?

How do I give a forest a lovable personality?

I'm not even sure if I can consider this 'shock horror' because sometimes, it feels like a very strange violent/revenge author fantasy which makes it even harder to read.

Where are you getting this? You do know me and my character are separate, right?

Then a word on the positives - not from an author's perspective, but from the perspective of a fellow reviewer.

Expressions like "I'll admit", "mostly" and "although a little cliché" are a very effective way of nullifying any positive intent. Instead of positive, they just sound backhanded, and when the positives aren't positive, nothing really is. The author ends up feeling pretty discouraged.

If you want to give a negative review, then give a negative review and state you will do so in the start so that the author knows what they're in for. It actually feels worse when a reviewer clearly has to try extremely hard to come up with anything positive to say than when they say nothing positive at all.

Hope you can reply soon.