MATURE: Hunter, Haunted

[Ghostsoul]

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.

A general statement. Not positive or negative.

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.

Oh, that sentence was more a joke
Whoops.

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?

It's really, just how I would have personally written it. If your focus is how 'out of the blue' you want everything to seem, it's mostly your choice.

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?

Again, the god comment was a joke.
The 'sweet time' thing, however, wasn't.

Is my fic too much shock, just the right amount of shock, or not shock enough in your opinion? I seriously cannot tell.

Not enough interesting shock. There is generally, a good amount of shock, but some of it is a bit typical or bland, for my taste anyway.

..Setting? Likable?

By setting I meant general atmosphere and tone. Right now the audience doesn't have much to root for and therefore not too much of a reason to read.

Where are you getting this? You do know me and my character are separate, right?

Oh, totally. It was just the feeling I got that some aspects may have tied to either a kind of wish fulfillment or sense of catharsis you get from writing this out. Which is totally fine but can sometimes lead itself to some bad writing when done poorly. You seem to be getting some things write in this aspect at least in this regard.

Thank you for calling my fic pointless shock, very encouraging.

Perhaps because I'm unclear with the (sub)genre you are going for? Splatter/Shock horror was just the genre I assumed you were going for. There may be aspects of other genres within the fic (like psychological, cosmic or thriller) but they aren't all that clear from what I've read myself so far.

The author ends up feeling pretty discouraged.

I agree with you that this review was kind of mean. I apologize for that.

 

[canisaries]

Not enough interesting shock. There is generally, a good amount of shock, but some of it is a bit typical or bland, for my taste anyway.

I'm very curious as to what this "interesting shock" you talk about is, because the phrase, to me, sounds like an oxymoron. Shock is the opposite of deep. It's supposed to take advantage of primal fears and disgusts humans have had for thousands of years. By extension, if shock is "bland", that means it wasn't shock, because you cannot be shocked by something you find bland - shock is surprising by definition. Maybe you're looking for some other word here?

By setting I meant general atmosphere and tone. Right now the audience doesn't have much to root for and therefore not too much of a reason to read.

I still don't really know how you can say this when you've only read two rather similar chapters. Your pool of reference is simply too small to make judgements like this.

Oh, totally. It was just the feeling I got that some aspects may have tied to either a kind of wish fulfillment or sense of catharsis you get from writing this out. Which is totally fine but can sometimes lead itself to some bad writing when done poorly. You seem to be getting some things write in this aspect at least in this regard.

I suppose I could take it as a compliment: I write my character's wish fulfillment so believably that you mistake it as being mine?

Also, "at least". Another phrase that really should not show up when trying to be positive.

Perhaps because I'm unclear with the (sub)genre you are going for? Splatter/Shock horror was just the genre I assumed you were going for. There may be aspects of other genres within the fic (like psychological, cosmic or thriller) but they aren't all that clear from what I've read myself so far.

You again make the mistake of assuming that this is all there is to this fic, it feels a bit dismissive.

 

[Ghostsoul]

I'm very curious as to what this "interesting shock" you talk about is, because the phrase, to me, sounds like an oxymoron.

Unique then. Unique is what I mean.

I still don't really know how you can say this when you've only read two rather similar chapters. Your pool of reference is simply too small to make judgements like this.

Hence why I said 'Right now' and yes, my pool of reference is only two chapters, so I guess, take what I say with a grain of salt.

You again make the mistake of assuming that this is all there is to this fic, it feels a bit dismissive.

Shock Horror is it's own genre. It's not dismissive so much as just, from what I know so far, feel where it fits. What sub-genres would you say feature in the fic as a whole? I'm guessing they are more prevalent in other chapters.

 

[canisaries]

Unique then. Unique is what I mean.

If you didn't despise this fic, you'd love what's to come.

Shock Horror is it's own genre. It's not dismissive so much as just, from what I know so far, feel where it fits. What sub-genres would you say feature in the fic as a whole? I'm guessing they are more prevalent in other chapters.

This fic is absolutely not supposed to just stand merely on the gory parts. That would essentially mean there was about as much value to this as there is to common smut - just replace the sex with shock.

It's difficult for me to give this fic a genre other than general drama. There are horror elements, sure, but on the base level, it's just about a guy - his fears and his joys. I suppose I'd call this fic psychological if I wasn't afraid that I'd need to read 10,000 pages of Russian literature and become a psychology major before I have the social right to do so.

But yeah, you happened to read about the only two chapters so far where the protagonist is having a good time.

 

[Ghostsoul]

If you didn't despise this fic, you'd love what's to come.

I never said I despised it!

But yeah, you happened to read about the only two chapters so far where the protagonist is having a good time.

Hm. Would you like me to re-review it for the awards? It's quite likely I'll change my opinion.

 

[canisaries]

Hm. Would you like me to re-review it for the awards? It's quite likely I'll change my opinion.

Well, that depends solely if you want to or not. If you're not quite sure yourself, you can always read a chapter or two from the start to see if you change your mind, then either continue or drop the fic based on your stance. Seems like a good compromise to me, at least. In any case, I'm definitely not going to force anyone to sit through my fic unless they want to.

 

[canisaries]

EDIT: This chapter has been revised as of 26 Dec 2018. (Happy Boxing Day!)

good mordayvening i come and give you the story now
this time red uses a lot of metaphors and thats really all that i can say without spoiling stuff i guess
enjoy love you bye

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CHAPTER 5
Death

---​

It's quiet.

No wind, nothing… only my own breath and the pounding in my chest. Percussion without a song. Frantic, but second by second slowing down to a calmer - if still fast - rhythm.

But… I killed her. Shouldn't I be back? Looking around, everything is still muted, hazy… this isn't reality. If killing her is not the way back, then what…

...is my face… drying?

It feels… crusty, ugh. And cool. Cold. Something is forming onto it. Solidifying. Is it...

Oh Gods. Quick, open your mouth before --

“Mmphh!”

It's too late! My mouth, my nostrils, my eyes - all have been sealed shut!

Nails! Fuck, no, nails don't do anything! Only screeches… screeches from the scraping. And I can already feel the air in my lungs depleting!

What is this? Joanna's last attempt at vengeance? Some sort of automatic curse? This is already the second time today this mask has tried to suffocate me, but at least last time --

Crack!

I gasp. Air. It's back. My face feels warm, normal. My vision's still blurry, but the colors… richer colors… blink. Blink blink blink. Getting clearer. The cabin. Normal colors. Am I back? I can hear something… the wind! I'm back. Gods, thank the Gods.

I collapse, not from exhaustion but relief. The cold planks of the floor meet my palms and the knife I’ve dropped next to me. I inhale, exhale, shakily repeat. Blood rushes to my brain and eyes. I'm coming back to life.

Something glints on the floor. Shards. Golden. Of the mask? Must be. It broke on my face. That was that impact I felt. What caused that? What caused this whole thing? Was this… was this just transition to reality? I… I guess. I mean, the shift to the spiritual plane or whatever it was also had me nearly suffocating.

A sizzle. The shards. They've caught fire. White fire, the same that took Joanna. Does that mean it's ending? Truly ending this time? Yes. Yes! Burn!

“H…hah...hahaha…”

Why that laughter is leaving my body, I don’t know, but it feels appropriate.

The fire consumes the shards and, like smoke, dissipates in the air. The floor below isn't even charred.

It really is over now.

I hear something shift behind me. I turn my head, still on all fours. It’s Michi, on the bench. She’s trying to get away. But her startled eyes tell me being spotted has stopped that for now.

Right, I still have her to deal with…

I grab my knife, or try to - the first three tries miss, I guess because I’m still a bit out of it. With the fourth try, though, my palm catches the silky hilt and I’m reunited with my dear partner.

I get up, and -- whoa, I’m light. I mean, I can feel the weights of my body parts, but I can move them as effortlessly as feathers. Have I always been this strong?

Something tells me to look at the mirror, and I do. I’m tall. My proportions are perfect. My face, my hair, they’re pretty as hell! Look how wide those shoulders are! No wonder HE picked me! I’m perfect!

I take off my gloves and shove them into my pockets. I inspect my hands. Such nice hands. I want to feel this reality with them, no fabric in the way.

I turn to Michi. She’s so small. Afraid. And I'm so not that. The contrast is almost tangible.

But, yeah… I need to get the spores from my bag next to her and put her down so I can carve the memory erasing seal onto her skin. She’ll have a weird scar and maybe wonder what that is, but nothing should tie it to me. No one will remember Joanna's ghost, save for a few people that may have caught a glimpse. I'll get away with this just like I've gotten away with all the other murders. Man, it's so easy. Killing people is so easy!

I walk over to the bag, about to zip it open, but stop. After I've drugged her and carved the seal… this'll all be over. I'll just go home and - well, I will perform that exorcism just in case, but besides that… nothing more. I'll get back to my boring life and be right where I started. Nothing gained from this adventure, only a danger patched up.

But just take a look at what you have here. A scared little girl tied up and you feeling like a demigod. You still plagued with underlying bloodthirst that almost makes you massacre a supermarket full of people. You need to get that out of your system. Killing a ghost didn't do it. But how about… a chase?

I study Michi with my eyes, her staring back with uncertainty and fear stemming from the former. Young child, girl, pink hair. Come on, now, she's a personification of innocence. And you? You kill people. You serve the god of chaos. You’re the ideal evil - a concept that doesn't exist to you, but does for a narrative. You like being the bad guy. You love it. You always saw the Big Bad Houndoom as something to admire. That's what you wanted to be. Powerful and feared. And now you're in the woods, in grandma's cabin. Do you need it spelled out for you?

“Hey, Michi…” I start. My voice is deep. Intimidating. I won the lottery with this set of genes! “You know how I said I wouldn't kill or hurt you?”

She shivers.

“No, don't worry, that still stands. I just want to… play a little before we say goodbye.”

With my knife, I saw through the tape binding her shins together. I half expect a kick, but none comes. That's a good girl.

“This is actually great for you, you know,” I continue, grabbing the wool-lined hood of her coat and using my knife to get her up. I walk her out of the cabin and into the dawning night. “What I'm gonna do is let you go. You're going to run, and after a while, I'll come after you. If I catch you, I'll do what I was planning to do and wipe your memory of this whole incident. But if you get away… you get away. And you can tell the world all about what happened here today. Avenge Joanna, if you want to think of it like that. Doesn't that sound great?”

I smile at her, and while her mouth is covered by duct tape, I'm pretty sure she doesn't smile back.

I pat her shoulder. “You're a pretty impressive kid, Michi. I trust you to give me a good chase.”

Feeling generous, I sever the tape around her wrists as well. She doesn't dare do much with their newfound freedom yet.

“Alright, Michi. When I say ‘go’ and take my hand off your shoulder, you have my permission - and order - to run like hell. Do you understand?”

She nods, and for the first time in a while, a spark of hope ignites in her eyes. So she still has some in her. May that fuel her speed and light her way in the darkening woods.

I draw in a deep breath. The night air is cool, fresh. Still and calm. Before the storm. And now, it’s time.

“Get ready, Michi.”

She does. I do too.

“Three. Two. One...”

The volume of my voice lowers with each word, making the final one barely more than a whisper.

“Go.”

Like a day-old girafarig, she stumbles into a trot, then a gallop. I stretch my neck and back. Shed the mareep skin, let the bristly houndoom fur breathe. I wait for her to slip between the spruces at the edge of the opening. Then I begin.

Gravel is flung at the red cabin wall as I kick myself into motion. With a mere few strides, I’m already so fast. I dive into the woods, Michi’s trademark pink hair in my sights.

The forest terrain is lumpy and scattered with rocks and roots, but does it slow me down? No. Every step is as stable and secure as a tauros’, but as speedy and streamline as those of a dodrio. They’re flightless, but still flying - this is not running, this is gliding. Splitting the air and pushing through it like any mon of the skies would.

The blackness tries to hide the coming obstacles, but it fights against its own child. A dark type has nothing to fear from the shadows. Its horns cut through the fog, its paws propel it onward, their shackles broken with the absence of day. A true houndoom, drawn from its den by the scent of prey.

Prey. Little feet, little body, so frail. A sparkless pichu, its usually rosy cheeks pale with fear. Too light to even make audible noise as its tiny paws tap the ground, when the houndoom’s thumps can be felt to the bone.

Step, step, step, jump, step, hop, leap, step, step, duck, step. The houndoom knows only three things - the woods, the pichu and him. Nothing else matters, nothing else exists.

The gauntlet goes on and on, but the houndoom gets ever closer to the pichu. The pichu wheezes. She weakens already. The houndoom’s fiery breath speaks as it dashes in and out of his lungs. Keep running. Don't you want to live?

Eight meters between the predator and his prey. Seven meters. A stream! She barely makes the jump. Five meters. Four meters. Evade rock. Three meters. She can tell I’m right behind. Two meters. One meter. Pounce.

She screams.

Giant teeth clamp around her neck with the force of a tyranitar. The predator flips her over, then seizes her throat again. She gags. Her limbs flail. In vain. The grip gets tighter. Her blue eyes lose focus. Consciousness is leaving her. The last thing she will feel is pain as the houndoom drains her life to fuel his own.

But houndoom don’t have hands, do they?

They don’t. Then why are there hands? Wasn’t it supposed to be teeth around her neck, not hands? Wasn’t she supposed to be a fuzzy little pichu?

She’s not. She’s human. I’m human.

Wait --

The hands relax. I pull them back. The palms feel cool after the touch of her skin.

That’s not… what I was supposed to do.

I look around. Trees. Starry sky. Beneath me, Michi. Limp. Is she…

I touch her neck. Thump, thump. She’s not dead. She must be unconscious. Unconscious from… strangulation. By me.

But I wasn’t supposed to strangle her. And certainly not fatally, as I just seemed to be doing. I was supposed to just drug her and carve the seal. Wait.

Drug… I left my bag back at the cabin. I wouldn’t even been able to drug her. Did I totally forget? Was I thinking… at all?

Well, I… I guess she’s passed out now anyway, so I should just make the seal. I unsheathe my knife and grab Michi’s right wrist, pulling back the sleeve of her coat.

Hmm.

You know, the strangling from before will probably give her a nasty bruising on the neck.

People get really upset about child abuse.

A strange carving might pass off as self-inflicted, but a neck marked with purple blotches will get people questioning.

I say that there’s nothing tying me to Joanna’s death, but do I want to take that gamble? Have another uncertainty keep me up at nights? Possibly throw away my coming immortality?

I don’t. It’s my life. The thing most precious to me. I shouldn’t risk it. I should erase everything I can.

I sit back, Michi’s immobile body cushioning me. Her eyes are still blank. She may have gotten brain damage, you know. It wouldn’t feel right to take a completely fine, even commendable, specimen and leave it broken. I don’t want to have that mark on the world. I’ll just remove it entirely.

Hmm, there isn’t that much space around us. I think I have to move her to a clearing before I can draw the disintegration circle. But she might wake up while dragged, and that’d be a sorry sight. I guess I’ll kill her in advance. That’s how it usually goes, anyway.

I don’t feel like strangling her any more. There’s no fun in that now that she’s no longer present. And as much as I’d like to, I can’t slit her throat, she’d bleed all over the forest floor and that’d arouse suspicion. I think I’ll just… yeah.

I rip off a piece of duct tape from what’s left of her severed bindings and cover her nostrils with it. Its sticking ability seems to have worsened by its first use. I place the child’s left hand over it to make sure it stays.

How long do I need to wait? A few minutes or so? I guess I’ll wait a while and then begin checking if her pulse is still there. In the meantime… I think I know what I want to do.

Chasing her didn’t sate the urge. Strangling her didn’t sate the urge. But I know what will.

I pull the sleeve of her left arm further back. Her wrist is so thin, her arm so dainty. Her skin appears pure. I swipe it a couple of times to make sure it truly is clean.

I take my knife and place its tip between the flexor tendons. I press and cleave the skin. The incision is so pretty. Red nectar rises out, begins to drip. I won’t allow it to hit the ground. It’s incriminating, and so precious as well. I must have it all.

I lean in, brushing the skin with my lips, gathering the blood. As soon as it spreads to my taste buds, I lose my inhibitions. I cover the wound with my mouth entirely.

The taste of blood... the salty taste of life, of pain, of death… there was a time it sickened me, just as it does for others, but HE changed that. There’s no nausea, no gag reflexes when it comes to this substance. Instead, I feel an overwhelming urge to touch it, feel it, consume it.

I jut my tongue deeper into the incision, feeling the forms of the tendons. Oh, the warmth of this flesh... it ignites a flame in my heart. It drills my nails deeper into her skin. It gets me draining, sucking out the sacred fluid, quenching my most primitive urge.

Hot. Vivid in color. Rich in flavor. The beauty of this blood, this moment, can’t be explained in any logical way - it’s a rose, an embrace, a fire in the night, the rising moon, the spring morning. But most importantly, it’s... HIM.

I can’t deny this feeling of familiarity. It’s the one that’s always there when I speak to HIM. During the rituals, during other interactions. HE is present.

HE is in this hunt, HE is in this feast. I don’t understand how, but HE is right beside me. Approving. Advocating. I am doing HIS bidding - I am HIS vessel, embodiment. I am the gorge through which HIS river flows, the fuel with which HE burns.

HE moves. I don’t know where, where to or where from specifically, but HE is approaching. Something deep within my brain tells me to close my eyes, and I do.

Light. Not the black of eyelids, not the black of the outside world, but instead a sort of glowing aura I appear to have been given the ability to sense.

Frightened by that stimulus so foreign, my eyes reflexively open, but I still see it. Whiteness before me - bright, but softly so, illuminating everything but bringing no pain to the eyes. Whiteness that gazes back without eyes, without a face, but somehow still with benevolence.

I’ve seen HIM in many forms. All bizarre, and at times, even incomprehensible. This form… this appears the kindest of them all.

HE speaks. HE speaks my name, and I am reminded of who I am.

I throw myself onto the ground, pushing my face in the dirt. “My lord,” I wheeze, heart pounding, fearing consequences from my insolence.

But HE says it’s alright. HE offers a… hand, tendril, fin…? I can’t tell even after looking, but without hesitation, I give my own hand.

The touch is divine. HE isn’t warm or cold, but something utterly beyond that spectrum. Not even my sense of touch can clue me in on what kind of form HE is holding out. It’s silky and gentle, yet stable as rock.

What is the meaning of this? Why is HE here now? What has HE come to tell me?

HE hears. Naturally HE does. My mind has always been an open book to HIM. So HE responds.

It’s alright? What’s alright?

More limbs, extremities, whatever they may be, extend from the light. They touch my body in different places. I flinch - despite my wishes and respect for HIM - but HE instructs me not to be afraid. The hands grab onto me tighter and slowly lift me up, as carefully as a mother handling her newborn.

The light solidifies, manifesting into a vaguely humanoid shape less than a meter from me. HIS tall form requires me to look upwards at HIS face, one HE still does not physically have, but one I can sense.

HE says HE meant everything, that everything was alright. Still, I fail to understand, but something's changing - I'm starting to not care. Doubt is diminishing, instead replaced by trust.

The sky, the ground, everything surrounding me lights up in a flash, replacing the dark trees with pearlescent clouds. The humanoid raises HIS hands, HIS human hands this time, and places them on the sides of my face. Now HE is warm. My body welcomes the touch, all primal fear gone. I begin to feel heavy, tired, and I thank HIM for holding me up.

HIS hands slide down onto my neck. Instead of wincing, I expose it to HIM further. I want HIM to touch me. I want to be vulnerable to HIM to make up for my precious doubt. I now know whatever HE does can only be good. I finally understand what this all means.

It’s over. All worry, all strife. No more struggling to fall asleep, no more waking up to crushing reality. No need to hide my true self, no need to fear getting caught. This godless society has come to an end. I’m free, free and safe. Safe from the police, witnesses, shrinks, judges, snitches, prison, death.

Happiness is no longer embedded in stone, needing to be clawed out with fingers bleeding. It’s all around me. It’s in HIM. And WE are one.

HIS limbs are melting, seeping into my body. The gleaming substance enters my bloodstream and spreads, lighting up my skin to be like HIS. It’s so warm. It melts away all tension.

It hits me that yes, this is really happening. After countless days of training and suffering, the moment is here. My eyes moisten, squeeze out hot tears. Everything is finally alright.

HE brightens. It all brightens. I can tell complete unity is only seconds away. Ascension to a higher form of existence. One without pain.

HE calls my name again. Yes, my lord? What is YOUR last request as a separate entity?

The humanoid leans closer, slightly down, HIS face touching mine. I feel human features on my skin. A nose, a chin, lips. Brushing against mine.

This is YOUR wish? I'm surprised… I'm surprised it's the same as mine.

I close my eyes, feeling the divine energy creep up my spine, soon to reach the brain. With the little primal nature still left in me, my heartbeat and breathing accelerate.

One final lean, and our lips --

Don't touch.

Instead, HE whispers two words.

Just

kidding.

HIS touch fades. Gravity returns me to the ground.

No. No!

I lunge forward for HIS body, but my arms meet nothing. Like smoke, HIS presence, HIS light, HIS everything, vanishes into the air.

The dark of the night time forest returns. Stars ignite above me. I rediscover a mass lying behind me - an unmoving body of a child. I’ve returned to exactly where I left from.

Why would HE… why would HE come to me, meet me, take me with HIM, only to…

…

No, no, I’m stupid. That wasn’t really HIM. It was just a dream or something of the like. The real HIM isn’t here right now, HE is all the way back at home, in the basement, behind a locked door, bound to HIS fossil. HE isn't powerful enough to leave yet. HE couldn’t do all those things I saw and felt. I still have to wait for HIS powers to grow. When HE is ready, HE will let me know. Like said, I just need to wait… and wait… wait, wait, wait, always wait. I always need to wait just a little more, when I've waited so long already! I've sat at home, waiting for time to pass, slowly drowning in the lack of things to do. And I can't fix it. I can't go to school, I can't get a job, now I can't even be around Him! I can't wait any longer! I feel like my skin just won't hold me anymore!

I form a fist and plunge it to the ground. Fuck, that hurt! But at least I'm fucking feeling something!

Face twisted in a grimace, I grab my forehead with both hands. Tears drip down from my chin. Tears originally created by joy. Oh, how bitter. For a while, I just listen to my pained breathing.

“Are you fucking happy?” I quietly ask, as if the Third God was listening. “Are you proud of your creation?" Oh, of course not. He shoved the credit to his scrawny pony disciple exactly because he was too much of a bitch to take responsibility for his actions.

I sigh and hug my shins. I feel like a child. I wish I was one. I didn't think as much back then. Each dawn still had promise. The world was full of possibilities.

I turn around and look at Michi. I don't even need to test her pulse to know she's dead.

Child murderer. I guess I'm one of those now.

I can't really feel bad about it. Well, I don't ‘feel bad’ about anything in that way, but I actually feel like I kind of… did something good. What would have awaited her if I hadn't killed her? The same disappointment I ended up with. It was probably better for me to end her life while it was still good.

A drop lands on my hand. It's got a faint red tint to it. I guess I made a mess on my face while drinking the blood. Great. I'll have to wash that off in some cold stream. I think I crossed one during the chase, actually.

But what's the point? It’s just going to be all the same again. I bet my urges will get worse, too, and this time, I’ll actually go through with whatever fantasy worms itself into my mind next in a public space. Then they’ll shoot me dead or lock me up until death comes naturally or through a shanking. There really is no place for someone like me in this society.

The only way my pain will go away is through death - the number one thing I’ve been trying to get away from all this time - or through some big, fundamental change in my life.

But what can I do? Like said before, I’m a high school dropout. One too easily agitated to be around people and too scarred to use technology. I tried fixing the last one of those before - didn’t work, and now I’m probably worse off than I started out as. What else could I do besides mooching off everyone else?

Maybe I should… no, I can’t bring this up with HIM. HE would see it as a sign of weakness for sure, and HE wouldn’t even be wrong. But I need to be HIS chosen vessel. There are other predators HE will bless, too, but if I’m not good enough to be the Bringer when there isn’t much to choose from, there’s no way I’ll be good enough to be a predator. I’d be… I’d be slaughtered like every other mareep.

Even if HE brushed my doubts and pain off as just a side effect to being a predator in this world for prey, HE would likely ask for another sacrifice. I’d fail to get one properly in my current state, and then I wouldn’t be any better off than in the other option.

I can’t change society. I can’t change HIM. The only thing I have influence over is myself. But do I even have that? I’ve been trying to distance myself from H- the omanyte, but that’s going poorly. How am I supposed to suddenly just transform myself to the friendliest, most social person alive? All on my own, too. I don’t know anyone who’d actually have enough experience in dealing with mindsets this alien to the average citizen.

Or…

No. Admitting my problem to the psychologist is not an option. If people knew I had nothing but my own personal gain keeping me from ending their lives, they’d strip me of my freedom in an instant. They say that what’s discussed in therapy and the like is confidential, but come the fuck on, there’s no way that’s true. If I told that psychologist that I like cutting people up and have done so eight times already, I’d be dragged over to the nuthouse before morning. Why would a society of caterpie willingly keep a spearow around?

Having run out of thoughts for the moment, I lie on my back and stare at the sky above.

It’s so deep. Makes sense, space is big… but look at all those stars. Have there always been so many? The longer I look, the more appear, even. And I know stars are far apart. How far am I exactly looking? If the stars are already so far, then how far is the deepest darkness?

I can’t even wrap my head around that. Humans really have a long way to go.

The bristly black arrows circling this window to the sky, or the treetops in human tongue, sway peacefully with the wind. There isn’t even any wind in space. It’s just still and empty and if you wander into it without a proper suit, you die. All of us - humans, mon, animals, plants - are confined to this tiny, tiny island of life in an incomprehensibly vast ocean of death.

If I had the ability to travel to the moon in the blink of an eye and look down upon Earth, breathing the nonexistent air without harm, my problems with rage would vanish. If I could distance myself like that, see just how meaningless whatever those ants crawling on that blot of blue and green do…

But what's stopping me now? What makes me care so much? I'm no better than any other ant if I do. My problems… aren't most of them just in my head?

Yeah, that's right! I’m not sick, I’m not crippled, I’m not a wild mon. Any urges I have… they don’t move my arms and legs, I do. I have the power to decide what I do, how I act, how I feel. Any annoyance, rage I feel, why would I need to feel it? Everything and everyone around me are just objects, mere machines. Unless they can physically harm me or stand in the way of my plans, there’s no reason to care about them.

This does mean that beauty, too, is an illusion, but it’s a nice illusion. Joy is beneficial. Why not focus on that and simply ignore the negatives?

Being happy is a choice. All I ever need to do is choose it. Simple as that. Away with the self pity! I need to stop focusing on all my so-called problems. It's a wonderful, colorful world I can explore. My body is in great health! Among all possible vessels my soul could inhabit, this is one of the best. I'm a human. The greatest sentient being on Earth. The one that invented practically all technology. The one that was always meant to rule the world with its never-fading potential for sapience, not like mon that simply turn feral without stimulation! HE knows it as well - the Bringer was always meant to be a human!

And look at me specifically! I was dead right before. I'm an extraordinary specimen. I've killed eight, no, nine people without a trace! Hell, I destroyed the career of a super-celebrity without any repercussions! That’s pretty damn impressive!

A wheezing laugh leaves my body. My body, the masterpiece of bone, muscle and membrane, expanding with the breathing lungs and quaking with the beat of the body’s own queen, the heart. Yes, this is a vessel well fit for the coming king of reality.

I get up. You know what, it’s not so bad being mortal. I wouldn’t do it for the rest of my life, but I can certainly manage with this until the ascension.

I suppose I’ve spent more than enough time in these woods now. I’ve had a long day, and I sure could use some sleep… or something to eat. Blood isn’t exactly filling.

I turn to Michi. Yep, still dead. So dead now that an ant has climbed onto her face, perplexed by the oddly shaped mountain it’s found itself on. It would be wise of it to get off her before I make her disappear. But if it doesn’t, I can’t blame it. Not even a human could predict the spells I have up my sleeve.

Oh, that Michi. What a scamp. It was the chase she provided that ultimately brought me to this conclusion, this newfound confidence. Shame I can’t preserve her. Or…

I crouch to touch the corpse’s hair, run my fingers through it. The rosy strands are coarse, just as I’d expect from a wanderer. I sever them with my knife and stuff the clump of hair in my pocket. I can put it in Joanna’s jar. That way I’ll remember both her and Michi without having to remember her face. I’d much rather forget it after the trouble it’s caused me.

I stretch my arms, breathing deeply. A yawn almost comes. That’s alright - I only have to get rid of the kid, wash my face and retrieve my backpack before I can go home and curl up in my bed. I can do the exorcism tomorrow for the final sense of closure, even if it’s practically here already.

Yes. Today marks a turning point for me. I’m no longer Red Akai, no longer an animal, no longer a slave to my instincts. From this point on, I am the High Priest. The one chosen by the god of chaos HIMSELF as the man who will bring about Judgment Day.

I am the Bringer, and I will let nothing stand in my way.

---

 

[diamondpearl876]

hello yes it is me again i am here for this thing called the Review League

It's quiet. No wind. Only my own breath and the beat of my heart.

Hmm, you're missing some potential detail here, I think. Is Red's heartbeat fast? Was fast and is calming down now? Something big just happened, after all. The quiet's a nice touch, but Red being the only one around making sounds could be accentuated a tad more.

I stabbed her several times. This is how it worked in the story.

I think you're referring to the story from the library here, but I'm not entirely sure. Either way, it does a good job showing how Red's thinking works. In his mind, everything should go as expected, even though what's happening in this story is clearly proving that that is almost never the case.

My lips feel sticky, they’re hard to separate.

Should be a period, not comma, so that these are two separate sentences. They're both independent clauses.

“Aww…” I stroke her cheek, frowning. “Did you feel like you should stick around, or else you’d be turning your back on the situation?” I kneel in front of her, lowering myself, like a loving father with his child. Gently, I pinch her cheek. “Or were you just too stupid to realize the opportunity?”

Red's words contrasting with his actions works really well here to add to the creepiness of this scene.

“It’s a pretty day today...” I inhale, exhale. The cool air feels so pure. I feel ready. I’m ready to play.

The tension here is perfectly worded. "Play" in particular takes on a whole new meaning when you consider that Red's about to murder a, well, child.

“The last time I tried that, the subject still happened to remember something. It was only my name, but… even if I could trust this memory-erasing method to work fully each time…”

Nice homage to AGAPE there, heh.

My right hand returns my knife to its scabbard, then latches onto the girl’s neck. The left hand pairs up with it. The beat of the carotid is absorbed by my palms, delivered through the bones of my arm and shot up my cervical vertebrae, right at my brain.

The level of detail here also works well in your favor to set the tone of the scene. Him knowing body parts by name and thinking of this all in such a visual, intense way is both engaging and fascinating to read. I can't say I ever paid attention to anatomy classes to know if this is realistic/correct, but...

I can see why despite their lack of wings they're considered flying - this is not running, this is gliding. Splitting the air and pushing through it like any mon of the skies would.

I like this homage to game mechanics, lol. It also serves to show just how into the chase Red is.

Also, it was pretty obvious Red would catch up, but part of me wishes Michi had gotten away. I can't imagine Red would've reacted well to that.

“Michi, Michi, you're so adorable when you squeak! Do it more, do it more!”

Flip her over. Her big eyes are so cute! She's so small! Touch her throat, she's defenseless!

“You're gonna die, Michi! Your life is literally going to end right now! Isn't that funny?”

Squeeze! She gags! Like a squeaky toy, but she has a pulse, the suffering is real! Harder!

“You woke up this morning thinking it was going to be like any other day, but then you actually ended up dying! Fucking hilarious!”

Even harder, so that her last memory is pain!

I'm more a fan of the dialogue here than the narration. The narration is basically just what's happening in real time without any semblance of Red's hysterical narration that I'm used to. You get his hysterical thoughts in the dialogue, sure, but the narration just breaks the flow for me.

The incision is so pretty. Red nectar rises out, begins to drip. I won’t allow it to hit the ground. It’s too precious. I must have it all.

That's one way to show obsession...

For real, though, you always take Red one step further from the relatable, "normal" reaction and show in-depth just what kind of person he is. I love it.

Hot. Vivid in color. Rich in flavor. The beauty of this blood, this moment, can’t be explained in any logical way - it’s a rose, an embrace, a fire in the night, the rising moon, the spring morning. But most importantly, it’s... HIM.

This is pretty beautifully written, to be honest. Borderline purple prose, but you stopped it just in time to drop the ultimate bomb, so to speak. It serves as a solid transition into the whole introspection about HIM, at any rate.

HE touches my neck, my throat. I expose it for HIM completely. Any pain or pleasure HE wills to bring is welcome. My body belongs to HIM, and so does my mind.

He says this, but the conflict is very clear. I like your first person writing because of how unreliable and intimate the narration is; you definitely wouldn't get the same impression in third or even second person writing.

No, no, I’m stupid. Of course it wasn’t HIM. The real HIM isn’t here right now, HE is all the way back at home, in the basement, behind a locked door… and HE can’t do these things yet, HE isn’t powerful enough, I still have to wait… wait... wait, wait, wait, always wait. I’ve waited so long already.

Yeah, this is what I mean. There's a very clear, dramatic switch that would only be plausible and not jarring in the first person, I think. Red's not as non-human as he likes to think, is he? You show that very well here. To him, this isn't just about killing Michi, and he's even forgotten about the blood at this point. This goes far deeper than anything he'd care to admit to.

It’s starting to really, really get to me, it makes my urges worse, it makes me impatient, thoughtless… how am I supposed to wait any longer? Especially after this? I can’t be expected to taste heaven and then just return to my shitty, shitty life like nothing had happened… being a predator but still mortal, I don’t -- I don’t want to do it anymore, just being in my skin is torture, why does existence have to hurt, why…!

Combining Red's frantic thoughts into one sentence - while not grammatically correct - adds to the tension here. There's a lot of relatable parts here, too, and again you can see Red's vulnerability no matter how much he wants to hide it.

No. Admitting my problem to the psychologist is not an option. If people knew I had nothing but my own personal gain keeping me from ending their lives, they’d strip me of my freedom in an instant. Why would a society of caterpie willingly keep a spearow around?

Damn, that caterpie/spearow reference. It makes sense Red wouldn't trust a psychologist, though, or anyone, really. It seems the only one he'd confide in is lord helix, and in this chapter, you see he doesn't even trust HIM fully, either, for complicated reasons.

Maybe it’s not so bad being mortal. I wouldn’t do it for the rest of my life, but I can certainly manage with this until the ascension.

Didn't expect a confession about this. There's definitely a difference, though, from being mortal in the sense that he can die and being mortal in the sense that he's as emotionally vulnerable as anyone else. I believe he's referring to the former, because the latter is guiding him down a very dark path in this chapter, it seems.

Being happy is a choice. All I ever need to do is choose it. Simple as that. So, now that that’s settled...

I've heard this argument before, and I'm not sure I buy it. I believe people can actively take steps to be happier, but sitting there and willing oneself out of a depressive state isn't quite as realistic.

Anyway, I know Red's thought process isn't all that logical, haha. I just think it's very clear from this that he'll be having more complicated feelings and thoughts down the line.

I’m no longer Red, no longer an animal, no longer a slave to my instincts. I’m the High Priest and no one else. The man who will bring about Judgment Day and let nothing stand in his way.

Hmm... for someone who thinks so highly of himself, he seems to be desperate to change many things about himself. I notice this trend in a lot of people with low self-esteem. Although it tends to be a subtle thing in real life and it's not quite so subtle here, it works because this is first person - which is naturally intimate - and adds a nice layer of depth to Red's character.

This wasn't a huge problem in this chapter, but I would watch for parts where it's easy to cram a bunch of adjectives into one sentence to add detail. When adjectives are overused, it can bog down the detail and slow down the actual story. It's a tricky balance, but I think you've got a solid grasp on Red's narration voice and detail now that it's not really a totally distracting thing.

As a side note, I would have to ask that you provide content warnings when asking for a review from the Review League. I know you've got warnings in the first post (it could probably actually be updated now to include specifics, since you're quite a few chapters in now), but this chapter's far more graphic than the library chapter I read. I was kind of surprised by the contrast in the two chapters when reading. That's not really a complaint from me as a reader, since I'd claimed this review of my own accord, anyway, and have read some of your past work of my own accord as well. But warnings will help me decide in the future which mods I can go to to ensure that the whole team's doing their part. It's not my intention to ask them to read anything potentially uncomfortable.

If you have any questions about what I said, let me know! It was mostly a character-focused chapter, so that's what my comments were geared toward.

 

[canisaries]

Thousand thanks for the review! It's always really nice to see someone get into your story and seeing that your choices have worked, and of course get feedback on the ones that didn't for future improvement. Keeps a writer going.

Nice homage to AGAPE there, heh.

Yeah - felt like it was good for continuity to establish that the whole memory-wiping thing, while potentially very useful, isn't really a strong option to lean on in situations where it may seem like a quick, handy way out of stuff.

As a side note, I would have to ask that you provide content warnings when asking for a review from the Review League. I know you've got warnings in the first post (it could probably actually be updated now to include specifics, since you're quite a few chapters in now), but this chapter's far more graphic than the library chapter I read. I was kind of surprised by the contrast in the two chapters when reading. That's not really a complaint from me as a reader, since I'd claimed this review of my own accord, anyway, and have read some of your past work of my own accord as well. But warnings will help me decide in the future which mods I can go to to ensure that the whole team's doing their part. It's not my intention to ask them to read anything potentially uncomfortable.

I can get that, I'll keep that in mind.

 

[canisaries]

EDIT: Revised as of 5th January 2019.

you know, when i was starting this fic i thought to myself "haha imagine if i didn't finish this before 2018". and now here we are on 20th of december, a bit more than halfway through.

well, i guess ｔｈａｔ＇ｓ　ｊｕｓｔ　ｈｏｗ　ｉｔ　ｉｓ　ｏｎ　ｔｈｉｓ　ｂｉｔｃｈ　ｏｆ　ａｎ　ｅａｒｔｈ

anyway enjoy ch 6. warning for some graphic stuff (and language i suppose) in this chapter but don't worry there's also a floofer woofer

---

CHAPTER 6
Rebirth

---​

I’m floating.

Gravity is there, but so is another force. It’s all around me and combatting gravity. The air is slow and heavy... wait, it’s not air. This is water.

I look up. A sparkling blue light gazes back at me. Yep, I’m underwater. But I can breathe just fine. This is odd, but… I can’t deny how calming this feels.

My relaxation is made even more bizarre by the fact that I can’t feel my limbs. I don’t think they’re there at all. But my body extends past my hips. That’s a tail. What am I?

I curve my spine, surprised by how much longer it’s become, but soon receive an explanation to that. I see my body. It’s long and dark blue with a paler underbelly. The tip of my tail runs through two red, spherical jewels. I bring it to the side of my face and with it, bend my ear to view. Feathers. I’m a dragonair. One of those deep-sea kind.

I roll over in the blue abyss. So this is what it’s like. I’m jealous! I can feel so much power in my horn, my serpentine body, my jewels… eugh, phrasing. Either way… what did dragonair do again? Just float around?

No, what am I saying? They hunt! That’s what wild mon do. Their food doesn’t come from the store, they have to go out and get it for themselves. Well, that’s perfect for me!

I sniff the air -- I mean water, hoping the instincts of my new body will take care of the recognition and locating, and they do. I sense something living and juicy some way ahead. Can't wait to sink my teeth into some fresh sushi!

I slither my way through the water, enjoying its stroking of my scales. I've never swum anywhere near this fast as a human. This is wonderful! I wish I could stay as a dragonair, but then I don't. I don't want to be caught by some snot-nosed little shit and dragged around the region. Couldn’t even eat the bastard for retribution, they'd have me put to sleep.

But never mind that, my dinner has arrived. I'm close enough to see my dull-eyed prey now. It's a magikarp, I see. The usual orange with a few white spots. And completely unsuspecting. Perfect for me to… strike!

A powerful whip of my tail launches me at the plump fish and my teeth make contact. Thick, red smoke leaks into the water as I pierce the scale-coated skin. The magikarp flails, but not for long, as I bite down harder and shake my head around vigorously. My vision is clouded by the blood now all around me. I hope it doesn't attract competition.

I rip off a piece of the fish's flesh and gulp it down. Delicious! But now, now I’m realizing just how hungry I really am. How much will I need to eat to will up this new belly? It must be much longer with this body.

I gobble down the rest of the fish, even the bones and fins - it seems that a dragonair's throat is much more durable and less sensitive - and swim out of the cloud of blood. I'm still hungry. I won't stop hunting until I'm satisfied.

Guided by my nose, I pin down more prey, lunge at them and devour them. A remoraid, a goldeen, another magikarp. A qwilfish I avoided, for obvious reasons. But I’m still hungry. And honestly, I could use something other than fish now. Maybe a shellder. Though will I be able to break the shell? Maybe I’d be better off finding a staryu.

I smell my surroundings once again, this time ignoring the fishy scents. I spot a faint aroma unlike any of the ones before. That’s it, that’s what I want. I chase the odd but alluring fragrance through the waters, scattering a few schools of tiny non-mon fish in my path.

Oh, if HE could see me now, HE would be so proud. A beautiful, deadly predator hunting to sate his hunger, an image so ancient yet always so elegant. I’m doing my part in the ecosystem, culling the weak to keep the species healthy. Removing the inadequate and fueling myself in the process. Destroying life to perpetuate mine.

The scent grows stronger. My target is close. What’s it going to be? A shining staryu? A diving psyduck? A chubby seel cub separated from its mother? Whatever it is, my teeth will tear it apart. With a smell like this, it must taste amazing. My mouth drips with saliva.

Oh, it’s coming from the bottom. From that rock, the little cave within it. Soon I’ll feel its soft flesh between my jaws, its useless struggles for survival. I slither closer and closer, all the way to the entrance. I’m ready to strike. I plunge my head in, teeth bared. What will I be eating?

Eyes wide as plates stare back. Eyes I know. Framed by blue arms and a spiral shell.

Wh-what’s He doing here? It’s not safe out here. If any predator found Him, He’d stand no chance.

Because He’s… weak.

And the weak should die.

...Yes. And I… I’m supposed to kill them. So I should… I have no reason I shouldn’t. So go..

Go right ahead, Red. Eat.

I… I’m gonna. Just in a second, I’m gonna, I’m just… just getting ready.

Haven’t you been ready your whole life?

N-no.

Are you saying something is stopping you? That’s not how the Bringer, the Bringer, the Bringer, the Bringer. The Bringer doesn’t --

Something grabs my tail and yanks me back. Everything is loud. I can’t see. Around, around, dizzy, there’s a darkness in the middle and I’m pulled towards it. A whirlpool? The current grabs me and draws me in the dark.

I gasp. Light. Light blue, green. This is land. I’m a human. Oh, I woke up, I understand. Where am I again?

There are people with black suits sitting in chairs around me. I’m in a chair too. This is some sort of event. I must have dozed off.

There’s a guy talking over there. He’s in black as well. Looks old, sad. Everyone looks sad. What is this, a funeral? Wait... I think this actually is a funeral.

But no one I know has died. I don’t recognize these people… oh, don’t tell me. Mom dragged me to another family thing. I bet the deceased is something like the second cousin of my grandfather.

Where is she, anyway? Did she ditch me? The seat next to me is empty. What a bitch. Well, guess what? I’m eighteen. I’m getting the fuck outta here.

Stealthily, I get up, lucky to have an edge seat. I let the crowd keep their attention on the current speaker while I scan my surroundings for an exit. This is a rather nice-looking graveyard, fancier than the one I live near, with less moss on the tombstones and walkways and robust deciduous trees in place of common evergreens. Unfortunately, the metal fencing around the around the area is also higher and equipped with a spiked tips, making it between extremely difficult and impossible to climb over. I don’t want to accidentally neuter myself, so I keep looking for a gate, but don’t seem to be finding one at the moment…

“And now, a speech from one of her close friends, Red Akai.”

...I’m sorry, what did the old guy just say?

I turn around. Everyone’s eyes are on me. He really did just say my name.

Now… normally, I wouldn’t have any issue with being rude to a bunch of whoevers, but something about these people’s faces is telling me that bailing right in front of them is going to lead to consequences. Of the angry mob kind. And with no easy escape in sight, that would not be pleasant to deal with.

“Mr Akai?” asks the old man quietly.

I guess I should just give the speech. It can’t be that hard if I just stay vague and overwhelmingly positive. That should satisfy the crowd enough.

I nod to the man, and we exchange positions. I can see more people’s faces now. Oddly many Unovans here. I didn’t know I had Unovan blood. Or… wait.

That young Tohjoan guy in the front row, with the long face and short black hair, isn’t that… oh Gods.

This isn’t any relative’s funeral. This is Joanna’s funeral.

Okay. Shit, uhh. How do you start a speech? I need to make it good, or at least believable. If Joanna really is the deceased and all of her family is here, I can’t have even a single one get the idea that I wasn’t on terms that great with her, as that would make me a suspect in the case of her disappearance. Although it’s not like I can do that now, can I, having told her brother over there that I didn’t know her at all. Fuck! Where did they even get the idea we were close? Did someone spot me stalking? No, enough thinking! I need to start the speech!

“So, uhh...” Not like that, dumbass! You’re not holding a presentation in front of your classmates, you’re calming a herd of angry tauros pawing at the ground!

Wait, I may be able to turn that around. I sniffle a bit. “I-I’m sorry, I’m just still so devastated...” I hang my head. “But we all are, aren’t we? She was such a sweet woman, kind to all, and so beautiful, too...”

I hear a whisper from the crowd. “Why’s he wearing white?”

What? I’m not… I am?

Yes, this suit is just like all those of all the other men, except for the color. Pure white. White coat, white shirt, white tie. Even the shoes are white. Shit. Do you think I could pretend to be colorblind? No, wait, that’s not how it works. Oh Gods. Well, alright, this is a thing. But I can’t let it distract me. I need to make up for this with my speech.

“She was a bright young woman, independent, supportive of her friends and family…” I try to remember some real life example that I’d witnessed while stalking her, but the only memory arising right now is of her lying on the floor eating cheese snacks while watching some weird, weird anime on her TV. Uhh.

“She was a girl who knew how to have a good time.”

Whispers. Agitated ones. A commotion has arisen! Wh-what did I do wrong? “Oh Gods, I didn’t mean that she slept around or --”

By chance, I pick up a single word from the murmurs. ‘Pocket’.

I look down, and the left pocket of my pants - it’s stained red. Blood red.

The crowd is confused and disturbed, staring at me with wide eyes and expecting an explanation, but I’m just as lost as them. I haven’t hurt myself. I haven’t put anything in there. I can only reach my fingers in and pull out…

A lock of hair. Covered in sticky, salty blood, but its original color can still somewhat be seen.

Pink. Michi’s hair.

But why would it bleed? No, why would it be there in the first place? Why would I bring evidence of a murder to a funeral? No, why would I be at the funeral of the woman I killed in the first place?

“Get him.”

Someone just said those two words in the crowd. Now everyone stood up. I’m fucked.

They approach. Oh Gods, I gotta get out of here. No, doesn’t running incriminate me further? They still don’t have anything to actually prove I killed Joanna. Do they? They shouldn’t, but they walk like they do and the wild, furious gleam in their eyes sure says they want an eye for an eye! I need to run! I turn around and --

Smack right into a surface of some kind. Dark, wooden, hollow. That wasn’t there before. It’s a little bigger than me - that’s the coffin. I move past it but -- no I don’t, something’s got me by the arm. Something cold. Chilling touch. I struggle, but it holds me in place. Look back. It’s a shadow, a hand. A ghost mon’s hand. Why is it this strong? It’s basically cutting off my circulation!

“Let… let go,” I growl, but it falls on deaf ears. If it has ears.

More touches - warm ones, human ones - grab me. The mob has caught up. A sea of black suits.

“This isn’t legal!” I shout as a last, desperate attempt to sway their minds. Trouble from the cops - it’s what keeps me from killing blindly. But not for these people, it seems. Animals. Animals trampling me.

They tighten their hold and pull me back. To what? Pummeling? A public execution?

The coffin before me creaks, its cover slowly opening now that it has the space. The crowd watches, still. What’s in there? It can’t be Joanna’s body. There’s nothing left of that. And if there was, they certainly wouldn’t show it.

Crimson velvet lining. How royal. But that’s not what we’re looking for. Something’s glimmering on the inside of the cover. Metal. Sharp. And then the cover opens fully and I see it clear as day.

Needles. Thousands of thin, long needles sticking out.

No. No, they can’t do this. “You can’t do this!” I scream. But the crowd pushes me onward. Right towards the velvet lining. I wriggle, flail, resist as strongly as this body can allow, but they’ve got hold of so many places that the possible movement left is absolutely pathetic.

I’m shoved. Velvet on my face, palms. Yet they’ve let go. Can I still run? I turn around to leap out, but the ghostly hand awaits me, slamming its freezing palm right at my heart and pushing me back. Wrists, ankles, frozen too, held to the back of the coffin. The crowd, all of them smile. In the front, Joanna’s brother. He grabs the edge of the cover. No. No, you can’t --

The lid is slammed onto me.

Every needle, each and every one, they puncture my skin, eyes, teeth, rip through the flesh and crush the bone as instinct tears one final, ear-splitting scream from my bleeding lungs.

Pain. Purest pain I’ve ever felt. Every nerve blaring at the brain of the hell brought upon to the body, unobstructed by any other signals as I go blind and deaf.

No pain.

No pain now. Only black, empty, silent, cold, wet. Any darkness from before - nothing compared to this.

Am I… dead? Is this the afterlife?

Will it be like this forever?

Thump, thump, thump, thump --

No, this isn’t nothingness, something’s coming!

A hole is ripped in the darkness, golden light shines in, it’s coming for me!

“Red?”

That’s human speech…? There’s a human figure in that light...

And where I am, it’s not empty. Something’s beneath me. Soft. It warms my hands. And my heart beats. If I have a heartbeat, I live. I have my body. So where am I?

Oh.

Quickly, I hide my left arm behind me. Abe can’t see the bandage.

“What happened?” Abe asks, shaggy hair hanging in front of his eyes. The absence of his glasses, as always, makes his eyes seem weirdly small.

I take a moment to catch my breath. My lungs are intact and well. Thank the Gods.

“Just a nightmare,” I respond. “Nothing more.”

“...You sure?”

“Yeah.”

The boy in the frame backs away, though hesitant, and closes the door. “Goodnight...” he still says from outside before leaving for his own room with quiet steps.

I pull my left arm away from hiding and sigh. As the exhaled air hits my bare chest, I realize how wet from cold sweat I am. My heart still beats at record pace. Otherwise, though, I seem to be fine.

Oh Gods. What a dream. Why can’t Joanna just leave my mind in peace? I’ve resolved the issue. There’s nothing to be afraid of anymore.

Maybe washing my face and walking around a bit will calm me down, convince my brain the danger is gone. I pry myself out of my bed. Ugh, my boxers have stuck to my skin with the sweat, it seems. Maybe I should just sleep in the nude for the rest of the night.

I make my way to the bathroom, turning on the lights. My eyes wince at the sudden brightness.

My steps are sticky on the tiles beneath my feet, but soon I the warmer, softer carpet in front of the sink. I turn on the tap and splash some lukewarm water to my face, neck and chest. Feels good. Well, pretty average, but after that dream, I’m just glad not to be in pain anymore.

What’s up with that, anyway? Lots of people say that you’re not able to feel pain in your dreams. Hence the whole pinching test. Were they wrong, or… hm, maybe I really wasn’t feeling pain. Maybe I just thought I was feeling pain. I mean, it’d make sense for me to think that while thinking I was being skewered by thousands of needles.

Still, that thought was powerful enough to make me scream in pain. And apparently even in reality, since Abe came running. Wasn’t a pretty scream, either… nothing like the dramatic, satisfying ones the movies use or even the real ones I hear. It was more of a screech - no, a yawp. It was the yawp of a mangy, old ursaring stomped to death by the hooves of a stantler he himself had attacked. Ugly, diseased, repulsive, pathetic.

But I really shouldn’t dwell on that. Or any part of that dream. It was just my subconscious gone wild, constructing impossible scenarios to train me for something that will never be tested. Dreams are odd by nature. You shouldn’t take them so seriously.

I take off my underwear and toss it into the laundry basket. After a cleaning away the worst of the sweat, I close the tap and grab a towel, the pecha-colored one. I dry myself off - oh, it’s warm, fuzzy, dry… sticky… red?

That’s... blood. That’s blood on the towel. Where did it...

I glance at the mirror above the sink to see my body, but my body - it’s… red too. Bloody. Full of holes. So many small, deep, black holes. Puncture wounds. No skin is left. Only torn muscle, shattered teeth, deflated eyes, dripping vitreous humour, blood, that’s really bad, that’s really fucking bad, I’m gonna go blind, what will I do without my sight, I’ll be helpless, useless -- but wait a second now, wait a second, how am I seeing all this if my eyes are…

...oh, oh, I’m still dreaming. That’s obvious. The jagged mess of teeth of the reflection twists into a smile. This isn’t real. I must've fallen asleep again after Abe left. Haha. It’s just… it’s just my mind again.

I look down at my chest, the sight matching the man in the mirror. Gods, I’m so fucked up right now. I hope that goes away soon, I don’t want to have to clean this blood.

I reach my mangled hand into my chest cavity underneath my ribs, grabbing the thing that beats and pulling it out with little resistance. I hold out the organ, the disembodied heart which still pulsates, but now without blood. The torn off edges of the thick blood vessels that leave it - aorta, superior vena cava, pulmonary artery, so on - are a sad sight, as clean cuts are more beautiful. Well, what a shame. I leave it in the sink. It’s certainly not going to stick to my insides anymore, so why bother trying to cram it in.

I leave the bathroom, head to my own room and climb back to my bed, hoping to sleep off the dream.

---

I’m sorry, what the fuck was that?

I already knew before that the dream was bizarre, but now it's really dawning on me. A coffin come to life and killing me. First time that’s ever happened. I guess my mind took some inspiration from that evolved form of yamask. Cof… cofagrigus, I think. Hmh. Then it kept going, tricking me into thinking I was fully awake, and showed the aftermath of that coffin.

Hold on… I’m nude, though, aren’t I? I undressed in that dream. So some of it was real. Was I sleepwalking? Eh, must have been something like that. Can’t have all been real, given I’m still alive and not bloody all over.

Man, what a night. I guess it makes sense for such a wild day to cause odd dreams.

Dreams, plural… there was another dream before the funeral one, wasn't there? Yeah, the one where I was a dragonair. Swimming around, hunting other mon and then…

Right. I met the omanyte and I couldn’t kill it.

But that was a dream. Dreams aren't like reality, they're much more unpredictable and work in illogical ways. In reality, I’m sure I would’ve…

But in reality, I don’t have to kill it. I’m not allowed to kill it. I need to keep it alive. But it can’t go further than that. Isn’t that doable? It certainly is.

And speaking about that change, it’s time to start my first day of being better.

I leave the shining, bright window of my colorless bedroom to dress up and do the rest of my morning chores. Having brushed my teeth, I stick around in front of the sink, staring at my reflection.

From this point on, I will no longer be weak. I will become a new man. A better man.

I’ve said that a lot of times, haven’t I? Yet I still haven’t changed, clearly, if I have to say it again. My face is the same, my body is the same, even if the count of scars has risen and muscle mass fluctuated a little.

This time, I really need to stick to my promise. I can’t allow myself to relapse, not even gradually. No situation is an exception. But I can’t be overly strict, either. I’ll stick to my rules, but I won’t make onix out of weedle. I’ll be logical, cool-headed, civil, but no less cruel than before. I will be in control.

But to avoid these remaining as only words, I need to make concrete choices as well. Visible changes in my life. Though they should mostly be visible to me alone, lest it arouse suspicion or questions.

Though, on the other hand, just a while ago I straight up stopped talking to the omanyte I couldn’t stay away from for years. If anything’s going to be weird, it’s that - it’s possible that opening up communication will ultimately calm any worries, even if it’ll still likely stir things up momentarily. So, I suppose my first concrete promise would be to stop being a coward and confronting the omanyte face to face. Fonz, too. I’d say Abe as well, but to be honest, I don’t think the amount of attention I’ve given him has even changed at any point.

Now for the other promises...

I’ve skipped training a couple of times lately. I can’t keep doing that. I should return to my routine today and then stick to it. It’ll feel extra heavy at first, but if I keep it up, it’ll return to being just another normal morning chore in no time.

Two promises so far. I should come up with more. Well, I can try going outside more often, improve my tolerance of people, but that’s really just an extension of promise one.

Promise three, I can probably settle for three for now, so what will I change…

My eyes wander back to my reflection, his face, his features. The angular eyebrows, the smooth skin, the narrow, distant eyes, the strong jaw. Obviously, I can’t change my face on a whim - if I could, hunting would be a lot easier. But the coarse black hair, the bang that always hangs between my eyes, that could do with a makeover, even if a minimal one.

I open the tap just briefly enough to rinse my fingers, then swipe back my hair. My widow’s peak is exposed. More like widowmaker’s peak… is what I would say, had I ever killed married men.

From the mirror cabinet, I dig out the hairbrush. It’s covered in loose, chocolate brown hair - practically every tooth has a strand wrapped around it. Does Abe use this on his hair or a tangela? Ugh.

Having dried my hands, picked out the clumps of hair and dropped them in the trash, I draw my slightly wet bangs back again and brush them to keep them in place. Occasional tangles provide noticeable resistance for the strokes. Should really start using more than just my hands for combing, oh well…

By the time all of my bristly mane has been smoothly brushed back, the man in the mirror has morphed from an under-bridge raticate to a street-strutting, show-stopping ninetales. It’s so odd… I guess my mother had a point after all. I would look more approachable if I just groomed myself a little.

Of course, approachable was the opposite of what I wanted, so that old style worked well in the past, but now… well, this is perfect. Now all I need is some fitting clothes, and a…

I give the mirror my most amiable, benevolent, tame smile.

There it is. Peak deception.

---

“Good morning, Abe.”

The boy looks up from his breakfast cereal and the open newspaper on the kitchen table. He appears surprised, even startled. Then a reserved smile forms on his lips.

“Good morning, Red.”

“Where is...”

I don’t think I should say the actual name yet. Too drastic. I’ll circumvent it.

“Fonz?”

“Taking Helix to school.”

“They left already, did they?”

“Did you have something to say to them?”

“No, just wondering.”

I step aside to the kitchen counter to prepare breakfast. Abe watches me for a while, then returns to his own business.

Today, I choose to make a good, big breakfast. I’ll need a lot of energy for the workout I’ve planned.

“Are you going somewhere today?” asks Abe suddenly, his usual timidity overridden by his curiosity, it seems.

“You could say that.”

“Where?”

“Outside.”

“Well… yes, but where outside?”

“Don’t know. Haven’t decided yet.”

“Oh. Well, have fun.”

“I will.”

Soon after, he finishes his cereal, puts away the dishes and heads off for school. As I’m left alone, an urge to switch out of my new clothing instantly arises, but I suppress it. The button shirt stays on - well, until the workout - but in any case, hoodies or t-shirts stay off.

There’s no “true self” to return to anymore. This is my true self, and today hasn’t even begun.

---

After the breakfast, the workout and a quick shower, I almost left the house already, but then remembered something important - the exorcism. I retrieved the napkin on which I’d written the instructions, to my luck still finding them legible, and followed the steps to a T. Nothing out of ordinary happened, meaning that Joanna really was gone like I thought or that whatever remained of her died very silently. A little grain of doubt still remained in my mind, the ‘what if I did it wrong’ grain, but after performing the ritual two more times and once with a slightly different interpretation of the instructions, my logical side finally regained control. I realized I was just whispering to the walls of my room over and over again and allowed myself to move on.

Now I’m finally ready to depart. Dapper clothes on, head held high, scabbard on hip, I exit the house. The weather’s even warmer than yesterday. The sky is bluer. Clouds puffier. I feel like what Giovanni must have felt like - you know, before he got his ass handed to him by a literal twelve-year-old. If those organ traders saw me now, they’d think their boss came for a surprise visit.

Now, where to go? Somewhere with lots of people, definitely. Somewhere nice… the beach? Route 21 it is.

I navigate my way to the southward shore with the help of familiar knowledge and street signs, making sure to maintain perfect posture on every street, regardless of the amount of onlookers. The scent of the sea fills the air, then the sight of it appears in the horizon.

Numerous beach chairs, parasols and towels lie scattered on the pale sand, in use of people and mon alike. Most of the humans seem to be casually dressed and chatting or playing volleyball. Only a few brave ones are trying their luck with the still quite chilly water, shivering in their swimsuits. A lot of the mon, however, aren't held back by the sea’s low temperature, as proven by their playing and excited noises. The water and ice types seem to be getting the most out of it, splashing each other and chasing wild krabby. The fire types, on the other hand, prefer to keep as far away as the grassy areas beyond the sand, watching the leaves of the surrounding birches flutter, waiting for their owners to run out of fun and return.

I step onto the wooden walkway that extends to a pier farther on, not wanting to drag my pant legs through the sand. A few clacks of my shoes against the planks later, the sight of a small, navy blue uniform at the other end of the shore stops me.

A policewoman. What’s one doing here? Maybe she’s looking for me? But I left no evidence…!

Yes, that's right! I left no evidence. That means she can’t be here for me. Or if she is, she can't do anything.

This right here - this actually a perfect opportunity. What better way to prove my calm than by confronting my worst threat face to face?

I set my course for the woman in blue and the big pile of cream-colored fuzz sitting next to her, most likely an RK9 unit. As I arrive behind them, my guess is confirmed.

The arcanine picks me up first. Its reddish ears perk up, it raises its snout in the air to sniff the new, foreign scent, then turns to me with a curious, if reserved, look. The human, having noticed her partner’s motion, faces me as well. Her young eyes are a grayish green. Her long, auburn hair is bound in a ponyta’s tail.

“Good day, officers,” I greet, hands out of pockets and relaxed at my sides. Feels strange doing nothing with them. The right one keeps wanting to touch the scabbard.

“Good day to you too,” says the woman, smiling, adjusting her cap. The arcanine wags its tail a little to show its agreement.

“Making sure the beach is safe?” I ask her, walking over to the railing and leaning on it.

“No, no, they’ve got life guards for that,” she laughs. “We’re just spending our break here.”

I nod, then look the arcanine in its deep brown, alert eyes. Its black nostrils quiver. What are you smelling there, sweetheart? Nothing but wool? Thought so...

“Brave of a fire type to venture so close to the sea,” I remark. Its expression loses a bit of kindness.

“If she wasn’t brave, she wouldn’t be a cop,” responds the woman, ruffling her partner’s neck fur, the hairs of which are long enough to cover her entire hand and more. “Ain’t that right, Wendy?”

“Yeah,” the mon mumbles. I guess it was offended somehow? Whatever.

A second of silence passes. Another. I should say something.

“Is it busy over at your station right now?” I nearly add a question about whether they’ve had any specific mystery cases, but that would’ve been too suspicious. It’s probably also something cops shouldn’t discuss with civilians.

“A bit, yeah.” The woman looks at the teal sea. “Have you bumped into those people walking around showing a picture of their missing relative?”

“Once, yes.” She’s bringing it up herself? Alright.

“We keep telling them we’re doing everything we can, but I guess it’s hard for them to just stand around and wait. Can’t blame them for trying, even if it’s very unlikely they’ll get any kind of clue so late...”

“I hope they do.” Because I’m a person who loves happy endings. I wish no one would ever have to suffer or die. The thinking process of a sadist absolutely eludes me.

“Either that, or that they accept defeat. It sounds cruel, but keeping alive false hope isn’t good for the mind.”

“I can get that.”

False hope. I bet Joanna would hate for that to happen to her relatives. She’d want them to move on. She obviously isn’t here anymore, so it doesn’t really matter what she’d think. But I’m here.

“So… what do you think happened to her?”

“I’m afraid I’m not allowed to go into that much detail.”

“Oh.” Aw, denied.

The cop gazes at the sea once more. For someone in such a rough and tough position, she’s surprisingly beautiful. Elegantly shaped skull, skin free of wrinkles and impurities. Honestly, such a great-looking specimen shouldn't be out on the field where Gods know what could happen to her. She should be kept safe, preserved. But nothing lasts forever. She would grow old and this beauty would wither away. She should be utilized to her full potential. That skin should only be incised by the sharpest, cleanest of scalpels. That flesh should be consumed only by an individual of equal or greater quality. Someone like me. But the clock is ticking. If I don’t get her, someone else might, someone less deserving. Someone would kill her improperly. She would go to waste. I need to --

No, no. Red, stop. Now is not the time. This is not an opportunity. You have to slow down that pounding heartbeat, take deep breaths and understand that what you’re looking at is something that you can’t have.

“Well, be seeing you. Have a nice break,” I say, drawing their attention back to me.

“Thank you! We will!” answers the woman, grinning. The arcanine mumbles something similar, disinterested. With a wave and a nod, I leave.

Whew! What an experience. Standing on the edge of a bottomless chasm, smiling at the pit, receiving a smile in return. Humans are so easy to manipulate. Is this all those politicians do? While living on our tax money? Gods, I hate society.

Nevertheless! My first test is now behind me, and I passed with flying colors. I may have wanted to slit her throat and drink straight from her neck, but I didn’t show it. And it’ll only be easier from this point on as I gain more and more experience. I’ll keep succeeding, have some fun, and before I even know it, I’ll have merged with my lord and destroyed the entire city block.

Life is great!

---

 

[lucarioknight56]

High time I made another review! And this time, it's for the Review Game!

Plot/Story:
Things have taken an interesting twist, what with Joanna haunting Red's dreams and him deciding to be somewhat socially acceptable. I wonder how all of this will turn out? I mean, the Yamask was obviously killed, but maybe it just turned out to be a leeway to her haunting him?

Either way, you've done a great job on this front. How many people can create a story that focuses on a murderer like Red that makes you like him and hate him at the same time--all the while having a compelling plot? I’ve yet to see another do it, so, so far, you’ve taken the prize!

Grammar/Structure:
Nothing wrong here really; the short structure for the sentences still does well for personifying Red.

Characters:
Red is still an...interesting character. I was going to say 'admirable'. but if you think about it, one wouldn't want to admire a half-insane murderer. Still, he's about as compelling and realistic as you can get in terms of characters like him.

There is a rather odd part I noticed in the midst of his second dream:

Oh… oh, oh, I’m still dreaming. That’s obvious. The jagged mess...hoping to sleep off the dream.

This section just struck me as odd. I know that he may be used to seeing this sort of thing from his...previous experiences, but he just had a nightmare where he suffered at the coffin of a Cofagrigus. I'd think there'd be a little more...fear, or something of the sort, before he realizes it’s a dream, and even then, I'd think he'd still be slightly shaken. His normal personality shows through at this point, and while it isn't bad, it just comes off as off considering what he had just been through.

Setting:
Overall not too much on this front, but I think its enough considering that most of the settings were mentioned before, and the beach description was satisfying to tell the tale.

Style:
Overall good, even if I feel we could do with a little more description of the mundane parts of Red's life, but it’s not a big issue.

Overall:
Good as ever, just an odd hiccup and a lack of description in certain areas. Keep up the good work!

 

[canisaries]

EDIT: This chapter has been revised as of 9 Feb 2019. Note that this chapter now incorporates both chapters 8 and 9 from the old version.

fellas and fellettes and everyone else, a christmas miracle has taken place as i got this chapter finished and betaread in record time. so prepare yourselves to experience chapter numero ocho siete of this horror(?) drama(?) psychological(???) fic. it's a bit shorter than usual but eh

content warning for gory/disturbing imagery which is pretty much routine for this fic by now

enjoy

---

CHAPTER 7
The Houndoom

---​

It feels good to be home again. Not that I couldn’t keep socializing for hours on end. But walking around aimlessly, occasionally striking up a conversation with a random person, leaving and then repeating starts feeling very pointless very fast.

I turn the key in the lock and enter the house. “I’m home,” I call to find out who’s present.

Three greetings. Abe, Fonz and the omanyte. Flinched a bit with that last one. But that’ll wane out once I put my first promise into practice.

“How was your... outside?” asks Abe from the kitchen table as I proceed to the living room. His eyes are mostly on his homework, but I spot glances towards me. They’re still somewhat confused. I guess it really has been a while since I put on something fancier.

“Very pleasant, thank you,” I respond and turn to the couch, but it appears he’s not done yet.

“Oh, by the way, I forgot to mention it yesterday, but the psychologist called,” he says. He frowns. “Says you felt sick and needed a rescheduling, so I made an appointment for Friday, same time. But did you really feel sick?”

Makes sense for him to doubt it, he knows me well enough. But with this newfound confidence, I have no reason to avoid evaluation anymore. “I actually did, Abe. I knew bailing would just postpone it, so I had no reason to fake it.” Little does he know, I needed it postponed. “I honestly promise that I’ll do it properly on Friday. Friday was the day, right?”

“Yeah,” he mutters and hunches back over his notes. I take that as the green light to resume my own activity.

I turn back to the couch and find Fonz staring at me. He too seems puzzled by my getup.

“So what’s that outside he mentioned?” the nidoking asks. “Is that what you're all dressed up for?”

“Well, I just felt like putting on something nicer, since I planned to walk on the streets and all that and not just wander about in the woods. And that I did.”

“Oh! Okay,” Fonz replies, with some of that doubt Abe had before. I know, it's odd. But imagine how much more shocked you’d be if I told you I actually sought people out and talked to them. Yes, me! The antisocial guy! Truly, this is a metamorphosis.

And just like in a metamorphosis, I'll have to dissolve my old self within this external shell so that the seed of the new self can grow into its glorious full form. To become the tyranitar I was always meant to be… I have to take the leap and confront the omanyte.

I circle the couch. As expected, the omanyte lies Fonz’s lap. The little mon has its phone out. Back in the winter, it made me so distraught… that whole Shirlee event sure was an adventure. But that’s a thing of the past. I don’t want to care about the omanyte anymore. But I still want to appear like I care. To prove I can lie to them.

“You don’t mind if I sit next to you, do you?” I ask Fonz, who seems somewhat confused by my continued presence.

“Oh, no, go ahead,” he says, straightening his tail along the couch and freeing me a spot beside him.

I gladly take the spot, then fix my eyes on the omanyte. It’s still busy with its device, but I see no headphones, so it has to be aware of my presence.

“So, my lord,” I start, leaning into Fonz’s shoulder. The tentacled mon grasps its phone tighter as it turns to me, startled. “How have you been?”

“I've… been alright,” it quietly replies, glancing away. So distant. I guess that's a consequence of ignoring it for so long.

Something in the air changes. It's that feeling, trying to take away my control again. But this time, I’m prepared. The feeling tells me this is wrong, but I know that's not the truth. This is exactly how things should be. I shouldn't have an attachment to the mon. It's just a mon, just like any wild thing in the woods. It has no real power. It's useless to me.

Wriggle. Something wriggled in my chest. But you can't fool me. I'll just go in deeper.

“Made any friends at school?” I ask.

“W-well, I guess there's this one treecko who's been cool…”

The purple arms around the omanyte draw a little closer. Does Fonz think I’m going to… do something?

Wriggle! Something about that protective grasp, suspicious look, it makes the wriggling worse. It's gained a texture. Itchy. Like hairy caterpillars squirming within my veins.

No. This can’t happen. I can’t be feeling bad. Predators don’t feel bad.

I cross my arms and push them against my chest. There is no pain.

“...You alright, Red?” asks Fonz. He stares at me. The omanyte stares at me. No, I’m normal, completely normal. This doesn’t affect me in any way.

“Yeah, keep going,” I say, smiling. Speaking is hard. No it’s not. It’s just like it’s always been.

“S-so that treecko...” the omanyte continues, “his name is Travis and he’s the teacher’s son...”

I nod along because I care. No, no I don’t. I pretend to care, just like I do with everyone else. And inside, I feel nothing. Yeah, nothing is crawling, nothing is nibbling on the walls of my arteries like they were leaves. My heart isn’t throbbing in distress, and the gushing of blood in my ears isn’t drowning out the words of the omanyte.

Or, or, you know, maybe there is something, but it has nothing to do with this. There may be a bit of an infestation going on, but it’s not tied to the omanyte, and I can do something unrelated to dispose of it. I can -- well, I can’t dig my fingers into my chest and scoop out the larvae because my skin and bones are in the way, but maybe with a knife I can get through. And my knife is right here on my belt. I just need to pull it out and…

Fonz flinches, having spotted my hand on the hilt. The omanyte stops in response.

Hmm. Okay.

Let’s think about this.

It seems that if I stay here, I will do something irreversible.

“...Good to hear you have friends,” I manage to get out, gaze on the knife. “But, excuse me as I...”

Do what? You need a reason, don’t you?

“...I have to go check something,” I say fast and get up. The hand is off the hilt. I move to the kitchen, where Abe gives me a questioning look. I pause for two seconds. Then I open the fridge.

“Should we get groceries?” I ask.

“What?” says Abe. “You just got groceries yesterday, shouldn’t we have everything?”

He’s right. The fridge is pretty much full.

“Maybe for… for normal eating, but what if… I wanted to… make a pie?”

“A pie?” Abe tilts his head. “Have you ever made a pie before?”

“Well... in class, we did,” I respond, beginning to feel a little confidence in this plan. “And it can’t be that hard, right?”

“I guess not...”

“Great, I’ll check a recipe.” I close the fridge and walk mechanically to the living room, studying the books of the shelves. Fiction, fiction, history, dictionaries, art, wine...? Must be mom’s. Fits her drinking, though then again it doesn’t, as she’s not exactly doing it for the flavor as far as I know.

There, 100 Recipes for Baking, delicious-looking pastries on the cover. That ought to do it. Search up pie, pie, pecha pie, why not. Ingredients: sugar, flour, butter, salt, milk, oil, pecha berries. I think we have all of those, shit. I really don’t feel like baking right now. I want to get out of the house.

Maybe we don’t have enough pechas. They’re rather small, too. I should get bigger pechas, fresh ones. Or fresh enough I can find in a supermarket.

Back to the kitchen, I check each ingredient. Some do seem to be a bit on the shorter side. Good enough.

“Yeah, we need more stuff, I’ll go get it,” I say and begin writing the needed items down on a list.

Abe and the others have watched me for this whole time. Please go back to what you were doing. You’re not making me feel any better by gawking. At least I get to be out of here soon. I’m going out right now. I have the list and my wallet’s already in my pocket. Get the backpack, I get the backpack. I’m putting my shoes on, I’m tying the laces. I am ready. I am ready, and I’m out.

“Bye!” I call as I slip through the door, then shut it without waiting for any responses.

I sigh. Boy, that sure got out of hand. How did that even happen? Did I just… not try hard enough? I know I had to do something to defuse the situation after my hand went to the knife… but didn’t I move my hand? Am I not responsible for it in the first place?

Ugh, I don’t wanna think about this. Let’s just say I fucked up somehow and that I’ll do better in the future. The walk to the supermarket will be a long one if I start ruminating on all my choices.

I step down from the porch and begin the journey. In just a few minutes, I pass the high school. I see myself reflected in its windows and realize that my old tawny backpack doesn’t really go together with my otherwise sophisticated getup. Neither does my scabbard, I suppose, but at least these two match each other.

I keep walking, more familiar buildings scrolling by. I’m not sightseeing, though, so may as well let my eyes rest on the monotonous sidewalk. My gaze rolls along the asphalt smoothly, lazily scanning for any items I’d need to watch out for, until a crossing forces me to raise my head again.

But it’s heavy. It feels hard to keep my head up, eyelids apart. Am I tired? But why would I be tired? I work out every morning without trouble, just walking around shouldn’t make me this dazed. Is it because of last night? Is the nightmare catching up with me? I’ve had nightmares before, and I don’t think…

Oh, hold on. I think I get it. I haven’t really eaten anything big today since breakfast. I’m just lightheaded because I’m hungry. Yeah, there definitely is a gouging feeling inside my abdomen. Well, it’ll have to wait until I’ve bought the stuff I need and gotten back home. I know there’s no shortage of food there.

I take a deep breath to restore my focus, then look left and right for any vehicles. As none can be seen, I cross the street and keep moving.

Library, hospital, graveyard, the market’s sign peeking above the spruces… the sunny, warm mush of a view changes so slowly, but I guess progress is being made. Just gotta go past these trees... and the parking lot has been reached, we are very close now.

Hm, some people have gathered in front of the store. Who are they? They have photos with them… ah, Joanna’s relatives. Man, they’re resilient. Sorry to say it won’t be rewarded. They should just move on, honestly.

As I arrive at the mass of people, I try my best to slip through unnoticed, but as luck would have it, someone touches my arm right before I reach the doors.

“Excuse me, sir, have you seen...”

It seems that we both recognized each other upon my turning around, given our raised eyebrows. It’s Mr Dopey Face himself, Joanna’s brother. Can’t tell if he looks more desperate this time or if he’s always been like this. Certainly different from the guy who slammed a needle-covered coffin lid onto me last night. Some primeape part of my brain itches for revenge. Because it’s definitely this guy’s fault he killed me in my dream.

“Oh, it’s you,” he says, then pauses to consider his options. I sort of forget to think about mine and keep staring at his face. There’s something a bit weird about it. Something’s definitely going on underneath his skin. Like… long worms, almost. But branching. They emerge from underneath the man’s collar, travel across his neck and face, then dive underneath into his eye sockets and scalp.

Oh, they’re blood vessels, of course. We all have those. But are they usually that visible? These veins and arteries, they throb pretty strongly. I think I can even hear them. Dun, dun, dun, dun, dun, dun… yes, that’s them. The blood coursing through must be under so much pressure... if only one of those vessels was pricked with something, the fluid could escape.

I think this guy is talking to me now. His mouth is moving and sounds are coming out and he’s holding up the photo of Joanna, but nothing really registers. It’s just… not as important as that phenomenon on his face. You know, all that pulsating has to come from somewhere, and I know exactly where - deep inside that chest, there’s a small, beautiful, colorful organ that works day and night to keep that blood flowing. Such a nice, dutiful organ. Yet this man gives it no thanks. Instead, he traps it inside himself, keeps it inside a bony cage and makes it work overtime with unnecessary stress. And he’s the good guy?

“Are you okay, sir?”

I look back at the man’s eyes. Wrinkles above the eyebrows. Slightly ajar mouth. Confused. At my behavior.

“...Yes, I’m okay,” I respond with lazy lips, and he goes back to his speech.

But am I okay? I kind of feel like that, if I stay here, I may end up lunging forwards and biting into one of those juicy, juicy arteries. I mean, I’m really beginning to realize just how strong this hunger is. My stomach is practically twisting itself to a knot. And those things on his face, they look like candy! I wanna chomp down on those tubes, deflate them and drink their warmth. And I want to give my respects to that little guy trapped in this chest, too. I want to bend its oppressor’s ribcage right open and liberate that heart, cuddle that squishy little thing! Oh, I could scoop out the lungs and other organs, leaving only the ribs - it’ll look like a beautiful butterfree spreading its wings. I can use some pieces of membrane and skin to decorate it. Just like arts and crafts!

Oh my Gods. Based on those thoughts, I should definitely leave.

“Sorry, I gotta go, I’ll let you know if I see anything,” I mumble, interrupting him. He gives me another confused, slightly offended look. Well, I don’t care. With my heavy, clumsy legs, I tow myself away and enter the store through the automatic doors.

Whew, I’m glad I’m gone from there… but now I have to survive the shopping itself. And there are so many people here. And I need to talk to some at the end. And pay. And take myself home. But I’m so tired and so hungry… couldn’t I sleep for just a minute somewhere? No, no… gotta soldier on.

Life turns into a lazy rollercoaster ride with rather boring sights to see. Gates to the store, baskets - don’t forget yours, shelves… an intersection - where to head? The answer lies in the shopping list. I draw the list from my pocket, check the items… well, I suppose the berries are first, they’re right next to me...

One by one, I collect the items on the list. I dodge every person that gets close. Really don’t want to bother with any right now. Men, women, kids, hate ‘em all. Someone really should do what I almost ended up doing last time. But while I’m away, of course.

At last, it’s time for the final item. Salt. Sssssalt. Let’s find the salt. Should be wherever the seasoning is, and there’s the sign for it. I have located the salt. And so I arrive at the aisle and claim a nice and cheap enough seeming package of salt and add it to my basket. This basket sure is heavy… I think I’ll put it down for a bit. Whoa, letting go makes my arm feel like it’s just lifting itself. There it goes…

Hey, hold on. There’s something red on the floor over there, in that other aisle. I think it’s… no, there’s no reason for there to be blood on the floor of a supermarket. It must be something else, like ketchup. Someone sure has made a mess. How do you manage to be that clumsy? I’m curious enough now, I think I’ll take a closer look.

I abandon my basket for a moment to check out the aisle. As I circle the shelf, I see something more than just blood. An elderly man in a black coat, face first on the red-stained ground. He’s not moving. Is he dead? Did he have a heart attack and drop something he held? But this smell… it definitely smells like blood here. Well… okay, maybe he just…

Wait, what’s that behind the shelf? A leg? Someone else is down too? This is weird… is something going on?

I sneak closer, and… that is a leg, yes. But it’s just a leg. And its owner is a few meters away. Motionless. Puddles and smears of red between the two. And further away, even more bodies on the floor. More blood. These people are dead.

Wh-who did this? What did this? Did a rabid wild mon barge in? A scyther, by all this blood? Why didn’t I hear anything? A-am I in danger?

Something moved.

Something’s standing over there, far away. Looks human. Has human hands, with blood on them. Was it him? He kinda looks like me. Did he think like me? Is he here to kill everyone? Am I not alone in this town? He’s only standing there right now. He’s frozen like me. I don’t want to move, afraid I’ll trigger an attack, but I have to get my knife. I need to defend myself.

I grab the hilt --

Blood.

Blood on my hands. They’re all red. Trembling.

And so are his.

That’s a mirror.

No. No, I couldn’t have. Nothing like that has happened. I’ve been shopping, just like anyone else. When could I have done this? It’s impossible! Yet the blood, the blood is there, and my knife… I slide it out. The blade is red.

Oh shit. I need to get out of here before someone sees me.

I dash back the aisles, retracing my route and returning to my basket. I’m about to grab it, but I stop. I can’t get the blood on its handle. Actually, I can’t have any blood anywhere, handle or hands. I need to clean them somehow. On my jacket? No, not on my jacket, everyone will see it! It needs to be underneath the jacket, on my shirt. I zip open the jacket using the very tips of my nails, then jam my hands inside and rub them onto the fabric. The sticky red doesn’t want to get off. Come on… wait, why am I doing this? I don’t need the basket! This is a life-or-death situation! I need to get out --

“Hold it!”

A man in a dark green shirt has appeared at the other end of the aisle. Oh fuck.

“Let me see your hands,” he commands. Looking down at myself, I realize why. I look like I’m shoplifting.

But what do I do? I can’t show the blood - even if he hasn’t reached the crime scene yet, he’ll know I was the perpetrator the moment he does. He’ll be able to identify me.

But I can’t not show my hands, he’ll keep thinking I’m stealing and get security. And security is even worse.

“I said let me see your hands,” he repeats, taking steps closer.

Should I kill him? It’s not like it’ll get me in any more trouble than I’m already in. But I’d have to be fast and get no blood on myself --

No, I’ve got it! I’ll pretend to be a victim! Genius!

“Thank the Gods you’re here! There’s a --”

I’ve extended my arms, to present the blood on my palms and my shirt. Only there isn’t any.

“A what?” the clerk asks.

I glance at the aisle where the old man’s body was. It’s gone.

“I’m going to have to search your pockets, sir,” he says.

I allow him to inspect me. Having found nothing, he leaves with an apology.

For a minute, I ponder whether I should go back and check if the blood really is all gone, but decide against it. I shouldn’t try my luck.

I grab the basket and begin making my way to the checkouts, heart still pounding in my ears.

---

Okay. Okay. Just a couple more steps. Dig out your key. Walk up to the door, one, two, three. Push key to lock, twist, it clicks open. Finally, finally. I’m home. I’m safe.

“Hi, Red!” rings Abe’s greeting from the kitchen. Shit, he’s probably expecting me to make the pie. But I really don’t think I should. I need rest because I’m sick. I must be sick, clearly. Explains the tiredness and low appetite despite the hunger. I don’t know if I’ve ever been so sick that I start hallucinating, but there’s a first time for everything.

I take off my backpack and stumble onward in the hall, peeling my jacket off and throwing it on the floor. I turn my face to Abe, who’s sitting at the kitchen table. He looks a bit worried.

“I’m not… I’m not feeling too well. Can you unpack for me?” I ask. My words are quite slurred.

“O-oh, sure,” he says, jolting up, like he’d just spotted a frail old woman about to take a tumble. I leave him to deal with the groceries and try to move along, but a blotch of blue interrupts all my thoughts and actions.

My l- the omanyte has made Himse- itself comfortable in the armchair. It’s lying on its side on the soft surface, surrounded by a blanket. Its teal tentacles are touching the bottom of its shell. Its big eyes are closed in peaceful slumber. It’s like baby mon curled up in its nest.

Oh Gods, no. I can’t deal with this contrast. I can’t deal with the promise being whispered to me, that everything would be fine if I just took it onto my lap and hugged it. That it’d be the only way to really make me feel safe and well. It’s a dirty lie. The spirit of the mareep telling me to give in to my weakness, the thing that shouldn’t exist.

I have to keep moving. I can’t get any food, not even a glass of water. I can’t stay here or I’ll ultimately die.

I turn my head and pull myself onward. Sixteen stairs and what feels like an hour later, I bust through my room’s door and flop onto my bed. The lights aren’t on, but the window provides more than enough of it. Despite that, only few seconds pass before I feel myself sink into my subconscious and leave reality behind.

---

Where is it? All I can see are trees. Of course there are trees, it’s a forest, but there should be something else, too.

Trees... evergreen trees, their branches spreading above me and swaying in the wind that howls with a houndour’s voice. They almost seem like they’re reaching for me, wiggling their dull green needles like spider legs, eager to get their claws on me to do who knows what.

Up in the sky, in the few spots where the fuzzy blanket of the branches doesn’t cover it, the black of night peeks through. In a few of those breaches, tiny stars twinkle. In this scarce light, I can barely see three meters ahead until the surroundings are swallowed up by the unending darkness. Why didn’t I do this during the day? I guess I just need to follow this path of bare ground and growlithe-orange dead needles until I eventually bump into it.

Wait, what's ‘it’ again? What am I looking for?

Clank, clank, clank. What's that noise? Sounds metallic. It's coming closer, too. It doesn't seem good. I should get out of its way.

I jump off the path and instantly regret it as the moss I land on gives in far more than I expected. With a nearly comical shlorp, my shoes sink into the wet green mush. I didn't know there were parts this swampy in these woods. Either way, I should get back to the path, as this clearly won't be fast enough. The clanking is approaching, so I better hurry.

The suction is strong, but I manage to lift my foot and lower it closer to the solid ground. That's one step, I'll likely need two more. Come on… yes, shlorp, we get it. Hurry it up, the noise is getting louder. I don't wanna get in the way of a crazed tyranitar or whatever that is! The ground's already shaking with each clanking step! Sh-should I try to hide instead? I don’t know if I can outrun it even if I make it to the path. There’s a tree right on the edge over there, I’ll use that. Final step... yes, solid ground! Run to the tree, there we go, now hide behind it, yes, oh Gods, I made it in time.

I try my best to lower the volume of my troubled breathing and fit my silhouette behind the orange-barked pillar. Curse my wide, masculine shoulders… but I should be safe now. As safe as I can be.

The clanking is close, only a few meters away. It must be out of the shadows by now. But I can’t look. It’d see me.

The rhythm isn’t changing as it nears my hiding spot. It hasn’t noticed me, it seems. As the clanks, loud as hell, move past the tree, I tiptoe to circle it. Like straight out of a cartoon, but miraculously, it works.

Past the tree, I catch parts of the monster I’m avoiding. Numerous big, golden limbs carry its heavy body. Like a giant mechanical ariados. I haven’t seen its face yet, and plan never to do so.

Something seems to be on its back, though. Something with muted colors, making it harder to distinguish in the dark.

It’s passed by now. I can sigh in relief. Glad I avoided that.

“Thought we missed you, huh?”

What? That voice?

With a cluster of clanks, the monster turns around and dashes at me, faster than I can hide again. Fuck! It definitely saw me!

“Hit him with the string!” the voice shouts, a little girl’s voice, the fuck is she doing here?

The monster leaps around the tree, shoots something white at my feet, and before I can even tell what I’m looking at, I’m yanked onto my back. String? It caught me with a string shot, of course!

I stumble up to a sitting position, dead needles pricking my palms, and finally get my first proper look at whatever’s captured me.

It’s got the mask as its face. That mask. Joanna. But its eyes aren’t holes and there are four of them. Black, gleaming. And then, on its back, it’s the owner of the voice. Michi.

“You’re dead!” I shout. “You shouldn’t be here!”

“Weird greeting, but okay,” she says, leaning onto the monster’s head. She even has her own saddle. What the hell is this?

“Let’s get to the point,” Michi says and pats the monster with her little hand. It lifts and slams its forelimbs onto my sides. Very, very quickly. Had those targeted my body, I would’ve been skewered. I shift my hands closer to myself.

The girl gives me a stern stare. “You need to confess.”

“What?” What does she mean, ‘confess’?

“Go to the cops and admit all your crimes,” she continues. “Or we’ll kill you.”

...Oh fuck. She would want that, wouldn’t she. But I can’t.

The monster’s soulless glare is unnerving, but I manage to speak. “I can’t do that.”

“Yes you can, and you will!”

The monster hisses, enhancing Michi’s words.

Oh Gods. This can’t be happening. I can’t be caught. I can’t be killed. I have to ascend. I’ve worked so hard. I have to get the peace I deserve.

I have one weapon left. The one I’ve been honing all day. It needs to count.

I adopt a miserable face. “Please,” I crow, “you can’t do this to me. I need to keep going.”

Michi’s sneer twists a blade in my chest. Yeah, it was too hopeful of me to think pity was that powerful.

“Really? You want us to feel sorry for you? The child murderer?”

“Well,” I mumble, “if you’re alive, I never did kill you, and so I never actually murdered a child...”

“You’re disgusting,” she spits. She pats her steed once again. “He’s made his choice. Get him.”

The mask on the monster splits by the mouth, opening a much bigger maw and exposing curved, sharp fangs. An infernal screech comes out and echoes around the woods. Shit, it’s gonna attack!

I try to get up, but the web on my shins has glued them together, making the usual method impossible. I squirm onto my knees and somehow manage to bounce up onto my feet. But I wobble. I can’t hop like this, I’ll fall on my face again right away. But I have to get away, or the spider will --

A limb knocks me back onto the ground, then pins me down. “No, don’t --”

Fuck! Oh, Gods! That stings, stings! Screaming pain in my left forearm, it took its fangs and sunk them right in! Right between the bones!

I see the monster withdraw, but the pain persists. It’s so bad. It’s so bad I can’t think of anything but my dissolving flesh. Dissolving, it really is dissolving, the skin is caving in by gravity alone. Blood pours out of the puncture wounds. Blood and other matter. I hear sizzling. The pain spreads to my torso. My lungs are bubbling. I can’t breathe. The venom creeps up my neck. Oh Gods, I’m really gonna die. My brain is going to melt. It’s already doing so. Patches in my vision are missing. The voids only get bigger. But my skin, my skin is still intact, it seems, if limp with no structures beneath. Oh Gods, there it comes, I can feel it. My thoughts shattering.

Death.

Wait. It’s gone.

...Oh, great, I get it now. It was just another nightmare. Just a dream, and now I’m awake. In my own bed, at night. Safe. Though I’m not a fan of the cold sweat. Especially with my day clothes still on. Ugh, looks like I’ll have to change for tomorrow.

“Do you understand now?”

Oh fuck! Who -- her? How is she…

“You will confess, or it’ll get even worse,” Michi says. What is she doing in my room? How did she get in? Wait, if this is reality, shouldn’t she be dead?

“It’s not a hard choice,” she continues, glaring at me from the opposite side of the room. “Jail isn’t even as bad as you deserve. I’m letting you off easy.”

Reality. She wouldn’t come in like this. She’s not stupid enough to taunt a killer like me. The real Michi was resourceful, bright. This is a dream. A creation of my own mind.

Her expression wavers. “Is there really no convincing you?”

“No,” I breathe. “No, there is not.”

I get up and remove my sweat-soaked shirt. I want to be comfortable. Comfortable now that I’ll have my revenge on whatever cluster of neurons is playing her part.

“What are you doing?” she asks, taking a step away. “I can scream, you know. And then everyone will see us. I’ll tell them what you did.”

Some steps come, and the door swings open. Light floods in. Abe is there, shouting something about what I’m doing. But I’m not fooled.

I concentrate on the boy and imagine him turning into red dust. With little to no delay, it happens. The lights flicker out, and the door closes on the pile of powder.

Michi looks at the door, then at me. Stupefied.

“It was a nice try,” I say, walking closer, “but I figured it out.”

She backs up, bumping into the wall. “What do you mean?”

“You had your fun, but now this dream...”

I study the wallpaper behind Michi. Then, in an instant, it shreds to wrap around the girl. A startled gasp leaves her poor little lungs.

“...is a lucid dream.” I smile. This is perfect. They’re so rare, yet this is the best time for one to happen.

I’m going to get everything I can out of it.

I grin, raising my right hand and bringing before the girl. She eyes it, expression quite alarmed. “And that means...”

Shnk!

Blood surfaces at the tips of my fingers, brought forth by the sharp, black talons that have shot out through the skin.

“We’re going to have my kind of dream.”

I snap my new claws, and with the reverberation of the loud click, cracks form in the surrounding walls and ceiling. Dust and small debris begin to rain down as a rumble of its own arises around us.

“Don’t mind me, just getting the stage ready for the act,” I purr, turning around and flicking my hand. With the motion, all the furniture of the room reduce to ash. “We’re going to need lots of space...”

Another flick of my hand, this time directed above, finally shatters the ceiling and walls, flinging their pieces into the exposed darkness around us. A wind picks up to remove whatever remains, catching the piles of powder that once formed my dull, gray bedroom. All but the straps of wallpaper still coiled around Michi, rendering the poor girl immobile.

The blackness lights up to a deep blue adorned by thousands of sparkling stars. It reveals a familiar setting around us, that being the forest. It’s a pretty forest, and it certainly will fit the scene about to unfold. All it’s missing now is a full moon, let’s add it… plink! There.

“Beautiful,” I whisper, admiring the scene I’ve managed to craft through willpower alone. “Now, Michi...”

I clasp her face in my hands. She struggles - in vain, naturally. Boy, this makes me smile.

“Your image of me is definitely inaccurate if you think I’m going to give up killing just because of a few nightmares, so let’s set the record straight. Once and for all.”

I begin to change things inside of my body. Lengthening bones, strengthening muscles. My skin stretches to cover the expanding forms underneath, reaching its limits rapidly, and I say let it. It’d only get in the way and keep all that delicious blood of mine hidden beneath. Same goes for the clothes. A beast has no need for those.

Rip, snap, rip. The limit was reached and broken. The futile cloth and tissue tear and peel off in bloody patches, exposing the beauty within. Fibers, tendons, ligaments, fasciae, glistening with the fluids of my body! And it so terrifies the girl!

Somewhere deep inside my neck, rows of sharp, conical teeth pierce the flesh. I cough out a bit of blood onto my lips. The taste makes my mouth water.

“It's time you see me for what I really am,” I rasp. She whimpers as she spots the new set of pearly whites peeking from my throat, forming into a predator’s jaws.

A drastic reshaping in my skull severs the nerves to my eyes, blinding me - but only momentarily. New eyes have been created for me, true eyes. Right now, they see mostly darkness, but there’s also light somewhere ahead.

The new head that nests those new eyes and new teeth pushes up against the light, but it can’t quite fit through the old one’s mouth. Yet, but allow me to change that.

I let my left hand sprout its own claws as well, then take both to my human jaws. I shove the talons in and pull.

With a rich eruption of blood, the jaws are popped apart, illuminating the vision of my new head. Now Michi can see it, too. By her face, it’s a success. My lipless, torn up mouth pulls its corners into a toothy grin.

My eyes, glowing yellow with tiny black specks for pupils, stare right into the girl’s innocent blues. What, are you worried about their lack of lids? I’m the king of this reality, sweetie. I don’t need to blink.

Michi’s nerves have given out. She begins squirming, screaming like a zubat in a blender, desperate for someone to hear and come save her. But no one’s here but us. The tiny girl and the wide-eyed walking corpse, its fluid-coated crimson surface shimmering in the moonlight.

Oh, I still need a little something. I’m the Houndoom, after all, I need to look like it. I mold the back of my skull to extend with two milky-white horns, elegantly curved. I travel down along my spine with my mind’s touch until I reach the tailbone, then reform it to be the first of many caudal vertebrae I create one after another. With a long enough tail on my hands, I finish it off with the signature triangle tip. Edges sharp as razors, naturally.

I study my new form with a proud eye. Satisfied, I stomp a bloody foot down onto the ground and halt the girl’s wails through pure intimidation. “Well!” I roar. “Do you see now? Do you see what I really am?”

“Yes! Yes!” she screams. “Whatever you say, you freak! Just let me go!”

I allow the wallpaper to turn limp. As it's been drenched by the many sprays of my blood, it tears apart from the smallest motions of the girl. She stares at her freed self, puzzled by my sudden compliance.

“Well, go ahead,” I say. “Run. Maybe you can get away this time.”

I step back and hunch over, preparing another wave of changes within my body. Michi blinks, then remembers her survival instinct and takes the chance I've provided her. Her pathetic little run is adorable to watch. It's like she only learned how to walk yesterday.

Now… to really live up to the first descriptor of Big and Bad.

I slam my claws onto the gravel, the leaking blood dyeing it crimson. Whipping my tail and letting the fiercest of snarls pour out between my teeth, I expand my form even further. Bones change shape. Muscle fibers duplicate. My heels rise off the ground for hind legs better built for running. My muzzle extends, allowing the accommodation of even more grisly teeth. I have tripled my size. This should allow for the end I’ve planned for her. Let us now make that happen.

With my omniscience of the stage I’ve created, I locate a root running across Michi’s trajectory with my mind’s eye and raise it. As expected, it knocks onto her shin and sends her face first onto the ground.

I gallop to her, earth-quaking thumps heralding my rapid approach, and reach her just as she’s gotten back onto her feet. Like a meowth playing with a ball of yarn, I topple her over with a shove of my paw. She rolls onto her back and freezes in horror as she sees how much I've grown.

“Looks like you didn’t get away...” I sneer. “Now, you know what the Houndoom likes to do, don’t you?”

A flame ignites within me, right at the bottom left of my ribcage. Yes, you’ve got that right. I’m going to fill that hollow.

My hands grasp her tiny, delicate shoulders, careful not to puncture anything with my talons. I can feel her shivers against my palms. My words and the saliva dripping from my mouth have gotten my message across.

I open my jaws wide and shove her legs in. She screams and claws against my fleshy muzzle, but I barely feel her touch any more than a beetle’s. A taste of pecha spreads onto my tongue. She truly is a sweetie, who could have guessed!

“Let me go, let me go, let me go!” she squeals as my talons only stuff her deeper into the thumping abyss, ignoring any scratches or flails. It’s starting to hurt my jaws to keep them this wide apart, but my hunger is a thousand times louder than any pain.

Michi’s voice is all but gone from the constant shouting. “What is wrong with you?” she still tries, but the only answer she gets is a powerful, final shove from my hand pushing her in entirely. The legs in my throat trigger the reflex of the hour, and with a function most primitive, she's swallowed.

Silence reigns as an oversized lump makes its painful way through my neck and chest. I feel as if my esophagus is only seconds away from bursting. My pulse is deafening. Still, the thrill very much overpowers the discomfort. The thrill of predation.

Finally, as the lump reaches the abdomen, the swelling eases. I gasp for air. A faint ache passes over my brain, a response to the lack of breathing for a while, I’m sure.

I notice my breath is through a human mouth. A blurry glance around confirms I’ve returned to my room and my real body. I suppose all good things have their end.

I remove my pants, which still appear to be sweaty, and crawl back into bed. Now I’ll get to have a proper rest. A relieved smile forms onto my lips.

No more nightmares.

---

 

[diamondpearl876]

Right-o, here I am for the rest of this fic. I said I'd come back, damnit, so here I am.

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 good. I switch to breathe through my nose. An explosion of sweet aromas hits my nasal cavity. It’s wonderful. But I have to switch back. I need more air.

This easily could've gotten repetitive, but I like the way you switch up the breathing description here. You immediately get the sense you're reading from the POV of someone who's very in tune with their surroundings, and the description slowly and effectively works to transition in the next part of the prologue where you cover the other senses.

I’m scared. But I’m happy, too. This all feels nice, but I want to know what’s going on.

This is pretty simply worded, but it sums up everything that's happened so far pretty well, lol, and also is an effective transition to the next part.

At some point, I become a person. A man. A being interacting with his surroundings, not a mere slave to them.

I like this line a lot. Really fits well with what I know of Red.

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.

The capitalization when talking about lord helix makes this all the more creepier...

I know I promised I wouldn’t kill for my own profit anymore, but… technically speaking, I didn’t kill her for profit. I brought it to HIM, and HE left me with this. HE has no further use for this woman.

That's one way for people to be an organ donor, I guess - just give themselves to Red after death!

Nah, but having caught up now, this does seem pretty telling for Red for the rest of the story. He struggles internally to justify his actions based on what lord helix would think and generally goes on to do things he knows he shouldn't because he can't control himself. You can really feel the struggle in this particularly part, but also throughout the fic.

I feel like a dragon type shedding its old hide.

I kinda forgot this was a pokemon fic until this part, RIP. Not a complaint, but you probably could pass this fic off as original, really, even with all the yamask references, lmao.

At times I wonder if I ever would have started killing had it not been for HIM. The answer tends to always end up being “yes, but I’d be worse at it”. There’s no fighting fate. I am what I am.

Hmm, except Red keeps on fighting himself throughout the fic... Unreliable narrator much? Not a complaint - again, I think he's fascinating to read about. This part is rather amusing, at any rate.

Maybe if I let the sun in, this room wouldn’t feel so cold in the morning. But now that I’ve tasted the joy of sleeping in, there’s no celestial body in existence that would make me give this new habit up.

I feel this on a deep, personal level.

And look at that light. It’s not even the good sunlight. I can tell from the color that it’s another one of those days with a cloudy semi-translucent blanket between me and the sun. All the warmth the sun could offer is soaked up by that grayish rag, all the colors are muted. What a sad excuse for a late spring day.

Mm, Red's voice really shines through well here.

I know it doesn’t befit a high priest to be avoiding his lord, but I have to take precautions to assure nothing will come between HIM and me in the future. I don’t claim to know better than HIM. I’m just worried about screwing up things myself. I’m considering the risks. I’m being rational. HE probably wouldn’t even want anything yet. I have no reason to worry.

Red has a surprising amount of self-control most of the time, all things considered.

I suppose I should get up. I don’t have anything to do, but a man needs to have rhythm in his life.

Also relatable. I feel like it'd be difficult to make a character like Red relatable in any way, but... well, it's easier, I suppose, when you have him going about day to day life trying to appear as normal as he can muster.

“Good morning, Red,” it says suddenly, waving its tiny tentacle, looking at me with its big round eyes. My heart begins to flutter. Quickly, I turn my head elsewhere, before it manages to complete its metamorphosis into a full-fledged butterfree.

Spot on pokemon references, as usual. Since they don't have much of a real effect on your stories in general (from what I've read, anyway), incorporating them in this way is really effective.

Maybe with time, it’ll erode away. It’ll wither slowly, then die, like a thirsty oddish in Orre.

Yep, you're killing me with these references. So well written. Bah!

The omanyte will be done with His- its school soon. It’ll be mature, a full grown specimen. Meaning it’ll spend its days home again. Just a few months ago, I couldn’t wait for that day… but I was a fool, and I’m better off this way. I’ll just have to figure out a hobby or something that’ll keep me out of the house. The less I see Him- it, the better.

This is certainly a change from Red's thought process in AGAPE... Having caught up now, I know how fallible Red's state of mind is, though.

I grunt. Why is it so important to them? I clearly haven’t had any Twitch-related problems since it went away. Nightmares, maybe, but every host gets them. Abe has them too.

I want to know more about the "Twitch" - I don't remember it being mentioned as a well known illness from anything else I've read of yours - but the amount of detail put here in sufficient to move the scene along.

I suppose my only complaint is that you never delve into after this why Abe wants Red to see a psychologist. The answer is, uh, fairly obvious (lol, understatement), but it could help you provide more introspective insight on Red's part and also Red's relationship with Abe/others at home (unless they're just not important to the story in the long run - I imagine at least lord helix is).

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

It. It. It!

The change of pronouns is effective here.

Also, leave it to Red to turn a task as mundane as grocery shopping into an existential crisis. : ' )

This screeching. Straight from a victreebel’s gullet. How can the mother herself bear this? If this was my child, I wouldn’t be able to…

I can't really imagine Red ever wanting a kid, to be honest...

But how could I do that? How could I let this go? This baby, these people. Wastes of space, wastes of life. Here they stand, in their shelter, safe and squeaky-clean. So far from the wilderness they once dwelled in, struggling to survive. They feel entitled to survival, no matter how weak they really are. Domesticated mankey they are, bred by good times to be cuddly and harmless. They should be taught to fear again.

See, even the hatred here is slightly relatable... It seems to delve a lot deeper for Red than for others, but yeah, especially when it comes to revenge, people want others to feel pain just like their own.

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?

The future tense here makes all the difference, I think. It cements the fact that Red has no qualms doing what he's daydreaming about - at least in the moment he's thinking about them.

The man soon pulls himself together. “She’s my sister,” he says. “She’s been missing for a f-few months 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 slightly peeved by the fact that the investigation will partly take place in my hometown, but he doesn't know that.

jfc lol this guy

I have a reason to keep going. I can reach immortality, eternal bliss. They can’t - or they could, but they don’t think they can. But even then, they’re 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 Arceus for creating this stage of never-ending anguish.

If life is such pain… why are they happy?

Sorry to break it to you, Red, but no one's really happy, it seems. Some people are just better at faking it than others.

Let's see. What could this be? A message from someone who knows what I did? Some ghost who's stolen some arts and crafts project?

I lol'd.

The parallelism between "everyone will die" and the "oh shit did joanna come back to life" is a nice touch.

Joanna or not, I refuse to be defeated by my own trophy.

"Trophy" by itself says so much.

Pichu. She reminds me of a pichu. Small, lively, inexperienced, but has a little spark to her. Rosy cheeks. Cute little nose. I can almost see it twitching.

I like the comparison, as usual. It's even better when you bring it back to the narration in the middle of her death scene.

“Well, I hope we never see again,” I shout. “Don't follow me anymore.”

Think you're missing a word somewhere in there. Overall, I don't see any typos, though.

But did the cab have to be a cigarette-stenched, untidy hunk of junk like this? I’m pretty sure we can afford better. Abe doesn’t have to be this careful with spending. Putting in a few extra dollars is worth avoiding lung cancer and HIV.

Specific details about how Red feels about money and how judgmental he is really shine through here as well.

“You could’ve used Saiyan or Angel,” I mutter, imagining how much less awful a ride on the back of a zapdos would’ve been.

“Well, uhh… The neighbors don’t really want them flying around. They say they bring bad weather.”

I bet these ‘neighbors’ were probably just some old superstitious coot and his wife too meek to argue against his husband’s brain-dead ranting. Of course Abe would be too polite to tell them to go suck off a ninetales or anything else those weedles would actually deserve to hear.

I lol'd. If that makes me a terrible person, so be it.

A large block of the beige building protrudes forward above it of it for maybe three meters and is held up by a few cuboid pillars under its far edge.

Added it too many words - getting rid of "of it" would suffice.

The spider’s limbs stop moving. They've curled up in the middle again. This time, for good.

This part was probably a bit dragged out, IMO. I think it does do a good job showing what state of mind Red is in before his appointment, though, considering the big change of heart about lord helix at the end of the chapter.

The anger growing within me unlocks my voice box. I’m free to say whatever I want. But now I don’t know what to say anymore.

Pretty realistic for a therapy session, heh. And relatable.

Giving the impression that I have an issue with something is bad, but moving on will make this be over faster.

“Okay. Let’s move on.”

This transition, however, felt a bit jarring. I know the woman's trying to move on quickly, but I think there was a missed opportunity to show how she's reacting to Red through her body language and the like.

. And when I'm done with that, I can get back to what's really important. Him.

I mean, HIM.

Yeah, interesting switch back. I wasn't really sure what the appointment would do for Red - I thought it'd happen, then that'd be the end of it, because Abe doesn't appear to be an important character in the story overall - but I see now it's a catalyst for what's to come, heh.

The building collapsed in a puff of dust - that’s how I saw it, but to the humans it was earthshaking, earsplitting chaos.

Normally, I'd say this doesn't work in first person, but Red's been/is human, too, so he'd know.

Kill! Knife! Pull out knife! Shnk. Grab her, she's tangible now, she feels like a cloud, wall! Shove to wall! Extend the claw! Stab! Thunk! It goes through her, hits the wood! But she bleeds! Bleeds the same fluid she cries! Again!

Hmm... I'm not sure how to feel about this part. It's mostly just action, with not a lot of Red's voice in here like I'm used to.

Overall, I maintain that your writing's improved massively in such a short time, and I'll be interested to see what happens from here.

To the question of what I should bake, I’ll likely find the answer in a cookbook. We have cookbooks, right? I get up from the living room couch to rummage through the surrounding bookcases. Fiction, fiction, history, dictionaries, art, wine…? These must be from before the merge.

There's a fine balance between Red seeming too human and too inhuman, and you manage to never break that balance. It's impressive.

Also curious to know why these are before the merge. What does that mean, exactly?

“You made...” Fonz’s eyes focus on my face and narrow. “Why?”

“What, can’t a man just bake a pie every once in a while?”

I lol'd. Fonz has got a real right to be suspicious, and that's such an understatement. XD

The nidoking glances at my clothes, the corners of his teeth-hugging lips tight. “Are you doing… some kind of character?”

Is he asking if Red's trying to imitate someone in particular? Not enturely sure what the implication is here.

I don’t want to think like that. It’s a mon. A pile of cells. Some form made of some material. It’s no different from a rock or a tree or a dead maggot-eaten corpse of a rattata.

Interesting that Red still wants to change by thinking lowly of Helix but still thinks inhuman thoughts in the process... lol. I really don't think this self-transformation he's trying to do will end well at all.

“Hmm,” responds the nidoking. The sound is strangely forced. I don’t get it. It’s not that weird. He’s the one being weird now.

For someone who wants to think through plans like baking pies from every angle, he sure misses a lot of social cues when it comes time to the part of the plan that has him interacting with others.

Good night. If I end up dreaming about pies, I’m going to stab my pillow until it looks like a flaaffy’s shearings.

I kinda wish he had dreamed about pies now...

It’s hard to try to appear well-meaning now. I can just feel my teeth lengthening, coarse black hair poking out of my skin, bony horns emerging from the back of my head. My grin isn’t friendly, it just showcases the pointed canines and disorderly incisors of a houndoom. It leaks the drool my gums drip, eager to feel the neck of the little girl, the taste of the kill. Long whiskers stick out of my upper lip, swiping across my field of vision with my quivering snarl, joined by a jet black mane’s strands hanging down from above.

Mm, the animalistic traits here are great. You really use pokemon to your advantage with stuff like this. I feel like I've said that a million times now, but I'm a sucker for this stuff.

“Come over here, I’ll give you a hug,” I try, but my voice has become an inhuman growl. Every word is drenched in the bloodlust I so desperately want to conceal. It’s no use. I’m a beast and everyone can see it. There’s only one thing left a beast can do.

Good grief. I'd say there's parts in this fic I've felt for Red and have wanted to give him a hug, but you know, I'm gonna retract that statement after reading this part, haha.[/quote]

Anddddd now gonna go out of order and give this to you today as well! I would've done it sooner but I intended to read the fic in full anyway today and didn't wanna rip you off of more points.

CHAPTER 7 - REVIEW LEAGUE REQUEST

They almost seem like they’re reaching for me, wiggling their dull green needles like spider legs, eager to get their claws on me to do who knows what.

You do a good job taking mundane everyday objects like trees and putting a spin on them from Red's point of view. It makes sense to me that someone with Red's personality would allow the stress he feels to generate paranoia like this.

Up in the sky, in the few spots where the fuzzy blanket of the branches doesn’t cover it, the black of night peeks through. In a few of those breaches, tiny stars twinkle. In this scarce light, I can barely see three meters ahead until the surroundings are swallowed up by the unending darkness.

There's a bit of repetitive sentence structure in this chapter and in the quoted paragraph in particular. All three sentences start with prepositional phrases and move on to description. And the description's nice, but the repetition comes in when you use the same sense all three times: sight.

Even though the still, silent darkness awaiting beyond the entrance is unsettling, I gather my courage and enter. My steps become louder, the terrain beneath them having changed from thump-smothering dirt to clean rock. The echoes caused by the enclosed space factor in the volume, too.

I continue on, the light of the outside - what little there was - growing more and more distant. Soon, it disappears completely. Actually, I’ve… walked quite far and come across nothing, so maybe I should --

See, you make better use of most other senses here in particular - namely touch, sound, and sight.

The sudden, faraway noise reverberates around the hall as the earth lightly quakes from its force. My back is struck with chills comparable to a brush of an articuno’s tail feather. What kind of man or mon would make that noise? It sounded more like a machine...

The "brush of an articuno's tail feather" sounds nice, but I'm not sure it fits here. The other descriptors are far sharper. The feeling of needles or bugs crawling or something scratching at Red's back would fit better here, I think (or anything that's not quite as "light" as a feather, really - just giving examples).

Should I go on? Should I run for my life? Where even is the exit? Does it exist anymore? I look around, twirling to keep an eye on every direction. No light, no light to be seen… wait, there!

I'd be careful with how many questions you use in a row; they can slow down the pace of your work immensely if overused. At any rate, Red's fight or flight response is portrayed really well here and usually is in general. It seems like a response he's feeling a lot in this fic. : ' )

Only black, empty, silent, cold, wet. Any darkness from before - nothing compared to this. Am I… dead? Is this the afterlife?

Will it be like this forever?

I think you made better use of Red asking himself questions here. You putting the last one on its own line really made an impact and made me sympathize with Red. No matter who you are, no one deserves to have their torment last forever.

I reach my mangled hand into my chest cavity underneath my ribs, grabbing the thing that beats and pulling it out with little resistance. I hold out the organ, the disembodied heart which still pulsates, but now without blood. The torn off edges of the thick blood vessels that leave it - aorta, superior vena cava, pulmonary artery, so on - are a sad sight, as clean cuts are more beautiful. Well, what a shame. I leave it in the sink. It’s certainly not going to stick to my insides anymore, so why bother trying to cram it in.

Well, all right then. Here's some anatomy and literal heart ripping. Again, I think it's fitting that Red thinks in such formal terms, and him taking advantage (for lack of a better term) of his dream like this is really... disturbing. In the good kind of way from a reader standpoint. In a not so good way for him as a person.

How stupid. I hope I have that dream again so that I can get even. After all, it's my dream, my mind. I have total control.

Interesting response on his part... Is there a way he knows how to induce lucid dreams? Because generally, people don't have control of their dreams. I'd say this is just him talking himself down, but I do see him exercising control later on.

I’ve said that a lot of times, haven’t I? Yet I still haven’t changed, clearly, if I have to say it again. My face is the same, my body is the same, even if the count of scars has risen and muscle mass fluctuated a little.

Ah, and now we have some self-awareness on his part. It's realistic, how you have him lose sight of reality in the moment but come back later to reflections like this. Really, some people find it hard to reflect even after the fact of things. So it adds to Red's character that he's able to do this and quite frankly makes for a more interesting read.

Promise three, I can probably settle for three for now, so what will I change…

"Promise" is a strong word, and I'm surprised he's making promises. What's his plan for if he breaks them? He doesn't go into that, and he usually plans these things out from what I've gathered.

More like widowmaker’s peak… is what I would say, had I ever killed married men.

That's a sick sense of humor Red has, my friend. I've got nothing constructive here; I just wanted to say that anyway. Though now that I think about it, humor does break up any potential monotony of him going in circles about how terrible of a person he is.

Does Abe use this on his hair or a tangela? Ugh.

Red's quips about Abe are always amusing... I kinda wish we saw more of them together, though I assume there's more of that in other fics I haven't read yet.

I give the mirror my most amiable, benevolent, tame smile.

There it is. Peak deception.

This is a perfect way to end this scene. The mirror scene was overall well written. It's hard, finding an excuse in first person to get your character to describe themselves and/or to have them scrutinize themselves in a mirror, but you nailed it.

There’s no “true self” to return to anymore. This is my true self, and today hasn’t even yet begun.

I feel like Red's in for a rude awakening. : ' )

I nod, then look the arcanine in its deep brown, alert eyes. Its black nostrils quiver. What are you smelling there, sweetheart? Nothing but wool? Thought so.

IIRC, this is the first Pokemon Red's interacted with outside of Yamask in this fic, and it's interesting that he reacts to them mostly the same as with humans. He really doesn't think highly of anyone except Helix, huh?

I think that's all I've got for now since you wanted a general review. ^^ Let me know if there's anything I can clarify or expand on (even outside the Review League chapter).

EDITING THIS DISCLAIMER IN BEFORE POSTING LOL: You just updated, so I haven't read chapter 9 yet. I'll be back for it. Sorry!

 

[canisaries]

Right-o, here I am for the rest of this fic. I said I'd come back, damnit, so here I am.

shkjhlkshskskj talk about a christmas miracle A full read out of nowhere, hot dawg!

I kinda forgot this was a pokemon fic until this part, RIP. Not a complaint, but you probably could pass this fic off as original, really, even with all the yamask references, lmao.

Yeah, I do kind of think sometimes that I've come pretty far from both TPP and general pokemon... but then again, there's so many cool scenarios that come from a fantasy world like this (exhibit A: this ghost fic).

Also relatable. I feel like it'd be difficult to make a character like Red relatable in any way, but... well, it's easier, I suppose, when you have him going about day to day life trying to appear as normal as he can muster.

Well, serial killers can't be serial killers 24/7. It's kind of why I take a bit of issue with a lot of "cool, distant and edgy" characters. They can't keep up their shtick every waking moment.

I want to know more about the "Twitch" - I don't remember it being mentioned as a well known illness from anything else I've read of yours - but the amount of detail put here in sufficient to move the scene along.

I suppose my only complaint is that you never delve into after this why Abe wants Red to see a psychologist. The answer is, uh, fairly obvious (lol, understatement), but it could help you provide more introspective insight on Red's part and also Red's relationship with Abe/others at home (unless they're just not important to the story in the long run - I imagine at least lord helix is).

The Twitch comes from TPP, naturally, which is why it's pretty downplayed - soooo many fics and comics have already covered all the twists and turns of having thousands of voices in your head guide you through a Pokemon journey. I'd kind of just feel like regurgitating them if I delved very deeply into it.

That said, considering the outsider audience, I guess I could go into stuff a little more.

I lol'd. If that makes me a terrible person, so be it.

I hope that doesn't make you a terrible person - that would make my own status pretty damn worrying, considering I genuinely laughed at a woman getting shot in the face in another fic. When it wasn't supposed to be funny. Oops?

This part was probably a bit dragged out, IMO. I think it does do a good job showing what state of mind Red is in before his appointment, though, considering the big change of heart about lord helix at the end of the chapter.

I'm not at all surprised if there are some pacing issues... Hunter, Haunted has been my longest, most detailed and most ambitious fic so far, and a lot of elements were thought of after already being a few chapters in.

This scene will actually have more relevance quite soon, but it is a very big leap duration-wise. This is exactly because I thought this fic would be a lot shorter and have less material in it, which would have made this scene and the upcoming one be far closer to each other.

But all in all, it could use a little trimming, yes.

Also curious to know why these are before the merge. What does that mean, exactly?

Another TPP thing, which you might have guessed already. Or more specifically, it has to do with TPP timelines. (Which are a mess, I never should have tried to make sense of it.)

There isn't really room in this fic for massive exposition on what the merge actually is. So I'll just put it shortly: it means the merge of the timelines of Original Red (the game played on the stream, the first one of them all) and Anniversary Red (a special modified version of the game played one year later). Red is from the Original timeline, Abe from the Anniversary timeline, and this is why they live in the same house and their childhood memories are very obscure.

...oh, I guess it that wasn't all that short after all. Sorry, heh.

Is he asking if Red's trying to imitate someone in particular? Not enturely sure what the implication is here.

Patrick Bateman Yoshikage Kira WelI, I was under the impression that "doing a character" was just any kind of impression of a stereotype or, literally, a character. Now I can't really say for certain if that is the proper usage of the phrase.

The "brush of an articuno's tail feather" sounds nice, but I'm not sure it fits here. The other descriptors are far sharper. The feeling of needles or bugs crawling or something scratching at Red's back would fit better here, I think (or anything that's not quite as "light" as a feather, really - just giving examples).

I suppose I'm guilty of trying to sneak that word monster in somewhere, hehe... It could be simpler, yeah.

Well, all right then. Here's some anatomy and literal heart ripping. Again, I think it's fitting that Red thinks in such formal terms, and him taking advantage (for lack of a better term) of his dream like this is really... disturbing. In the good kind of way from a reader standpoint. In a not so good way for him as a person.

Fun fact, this is the scene that one of my friends said almost literally made him puke. So, go me, I guess.

Red's quips about Abe are always amusing... I kinda wish we saw more of them together, though I assume there's more of that in other fics I haven't read yet.

Well... I do have my miscellaneous short stories (link in sig, plug plug plug plug), but right off the bat I can't name one that would specifically focus on the relationship between Abe and Red.

I do have the trilogy of stories that lead from AGÁPE to this one and Puppy Eyes, but I can't remember if Abe was in more than just one of the stories in that trilogy, and the latter doesn't have Red himself appear. If you're otherwise interested in what things are like through Abe's eyes, I'd say Puppy Eyes is worth checking out. If you find the time and have the will, that is.

IIRC, this is the first Pokemon Red's interacted with outside of Yamask in this fic, and it's interesting that he reacts to them mostly the same as with humans. He really doesn't think highly of anyone except Helix, huh?

There is Fonz, which is one of the few mon Red speaks about with a "he" pronoun. I'd like to think this might come from all those years ago with the Twitch, as the Voices (= the chat) always tended to speak about the team members with human pronouns.

Anyway, thank you so so much for this review! Can't wait for you to read chapter 9 and regret it lol.

 

[canisaries]

EDIT: This chapter has been revised as of 16 March 2019.

another new chapter. enjoy.

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CHAPTER 8
Illness

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​

There was no doubt about it - I’d become sick.

The first thing I noticed after waking up was pain. As my eyes recognized the daylight from my window, the pain became more specific. It was a dull, pressurized pain, restricted to my abdomen. My mind, as it sharpened, soon gained the ability to describe it even better.

It was as if all the organs around the area had detached from their ligaments, letting them shift around freely. On top of this, they all had dried, shrunk and been filled to the brim with small, cold stones. And on top of that, their muscles were still inexplicably contracting, causing the organs to constantly squirm on top of and beneath each other and hug the freezing lumps inside them.

Basically, I’d become a sub-zero theme park ride with arms, legs and a head.

This naturally made life very difficult for me. As the fatigue that had struck me yesterday had only strengthened, I found myself almost completely unable to walk. My limbs simply wouldn’t stay straight beneath me.

Luckily, I could still crawl around. I could use the bathroom and drink from the tap, though when I finally wanted to go downstairs for some food, I had to face the hell that was the staircase. I wanted nothing more than to silence my screaming hunger, but I didn’t want to crack my skull due to a less-than-optimal move, so progress was very slow. And had anyone been at home at that time, humiliating. But at least I now know what it’s like to be a slug.

When I finally got to the kitchen, I ate and I ate a lot. It felt so good to eat and so bad to stop. Eventually, though, the worst hunger was sated and I could stop myself from shoving any more food in my face, as I knew I may have ended up only throwing it back up later. I also didn't know how long this illness would last and so decided to spare the rest for the future.

I would've loved to just collapse on the floor there and sleep, but I knew I'd have to answer Abe's questions if I stayed there. That and the irritation coming from the outside light drew me back upstairs - after another date with the steps of pure evil - to close the curtains of my room and sink back to sleep.

I woke up again some hours later and repeated the whole process. I had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last time, and I was right.

I had hopes of the illness loosening its grip overnight, but unfortunately the next morning was barely different from the one before. I tried to remember any dream I would have had, but always drew a blank. I guess it was a victory in a way - no more nightmares, just as I’d said - but honestly, I could have gone for at least one, just to have something else on my mind than whatever basic need I was trying to fulfil at the moment and the freezing pain still ravaging my guts.

Later in the day, however, something new did happen. A strange, short humanoid with the head of a tangela showed up at my door. I hissed at it to get it to shut the door leaking in that horrid, toxic light, but it just came closer and began speaking in an alien tongue. As I stared at its curious eyes and its fine, brown vines, I realized it was in fact my brother asking me if I was fine.

“No, bring me food and close the door, please,” I attempted to say, but what came out was more like the mating call of a stantler buck.

Luckily Abe, the sweetheart he is, did think ahead and bring me a sandwich later on. That's one aspect I do like about mareep like him. Sometimes they do nice stuff for me without asking for anything in return. It makes no sense, but I'm not above reaping the benefits.

The rest of the day went pretty similarly to the previous one. A fear crept into my mind - that this was something a lot more serious, something my immune system wouldn’t be able to fix by itself.

However, this morning I felt oddly better.

When I woke up, my innards were still. Still, empty and warm. No turning, no twisting, no stones inside. Pretty much normal, if a bit weak.

As I got out of bed, I was elated to find out that my legs could carry me with little strain, making me able to walk around as naturally as any biped. I took the opportunity to wash myself in a hot shower, untangling all the greasy strands of my neglected hair and removing the suffocating odor of sweat from my skin.

After that, I felt fresh enough to get dressed in actual daytime clothing - the snappy kind, too, even if I didn’t expect to be going anywhere. In the mirror, I saw the charming, friendly young man I was disguising myself as before the illness struck. Just with a little gray underneath the eyes.

I wouldn’t yet go ahead and call myself completely healthy, but I’m definitely recovering.

I take another bite of my oran sandwich. It tastes like the best sandwich I’ve ever had now that I have the focus to savor it again. Not that I take much time for that, though, as my hunger still seems to be at a level higher than normal.

“Oh, hungry like a houndoom, huh,” I hear from ahead. It’s Abe, backpack hung over his shoulder, eyes alert, probably about to head for school. “So, you feeling better?”

I nod, mouth still busy with chewing.

“That’s good,” he sighs, leaning onto the back of a chair across me. “But... should I still cancel your appointment for today?”

I gulp to clear my mouth. “Appointment?” Oh, the psychologist. “Right, that appointment.”

“I mean, if you go out now, you might just end up getting worse or at least not healing as quickly...”

Hmm. I’d hate to postpone it again - I’d rather just get it over with. And I’m in a pretty good mood due to this recovery… a good mood means patience and composure, both of which I’ll need if I’m to convince the psych I’m all well and good and a danger to nobody.

“I think I’ll go,” I say. “I have a good feeling about today.”

“I dunno… what if you suddenly get really bad, though?”

“I’m sure the people at the clinic will know what to do. And in the bus on the way back, too. I’ll yell at people to call an ambulance if I have to, and then I’ll be in better care than anywhere else.”

“Hmmh… well, if you say so...”

“Abe, what time is the appointment?”

“Uhh… same as last time, 15.20 --”

“So it’s still hours away. Listen, Abe,” I say, leaning forward. “How about you hold off on canceling that appointment until you come back from school? If I’ve gotten worse during your time away, you’re free to call them and tell them I’m not coming.”

Abe sighs, examining the ground. “Well, that does sound like a sensible suggestion...”

I smile. Oh, Abe, you’re so easy.

“Do we have a deal?”

“...Sure.”

“Perfect! Come get me with a cab like last time. Now, were you leaving for school, or...”

Abe’s glance at the microwave clock, horrified expression and dash away from me answer the question.

“Have a nice day at school,” I call after him, feeling amiable after my success.

I’ll be frank with the shrink, find out what her issue with me was and fix it. I’ll be out of there in no time. But for now, I should focus on sating myself. Hunger is only going to make planning harder.

---

The taxi is far better this time. Instead of a smoke-bathed hunk of junk with a fat beardo at the wheel, the vehicle I’m currently in is actually serviceable - not fantastic, but not actively repellent. It’s nearly odorless. Its windows are clear. Its driver is much younger, clean-shaven and, dare I say, even sort of handsome. Compared to the primeape last time, he’s a dragonair.

Having arrived at the clinic’s blocky entrance, we get out of the car and Abe pays the driver. The driver smiles after receiving his payment, then drives off.

I draw in the pure spring air. It’s still like the most wonderful drug.

“That was a nice guy, wasn’t he?” Abe says, and I can’t say I disagree. I nod.

We move on beneath the red-stemmed, green-leaved vines of the entrance’s roof. Abe opens the front door for me despite the obvious strain it brings his bony little arms. I thank him, much to his surprise.

“You’re oddly cheerful today, you know,” he remarks as he follows in to the lobby. “Is there a reason?”

“Just glad to be healthy again.”

I begin heading for the stairs on the right, but Abe hurriedly grasps my shoulder.

“I know where the room is this time,” I explain.

“But you gotta give up your knife first,” he whispers.

Right.

I sigh quietly as we walk up to the glass box of the receptionist. The guy sitting there is the same as before. Unfortunately.

“I’m here to deposit my knife,” I exhale, detaching my scabbard from my belt and placing it on the desk.

“Thank you for your cooperation, sir,” the man says, taking the scabbard and storing it in the drawer. He smiles. I silently wish for an accident to befall him later in the day.

I turn to Abe. “You can leave now. I’ve wasted enough of your time.”

“O-oh, no, it’s nothing, as long as you get help.”

Wait… help?

Abe realizes his slip and quickly begins to back away.

“Yeah, I’ll go ahead and leave now, hope it goes well, bye!”

He skitters to the exit. I dare not look behind me to see the receptionist’s face, as it’s probably something I couldn’t resist punching. I start making my way to the waiting room.

Help? Why would Abe think I need help? I know my transformation was dramatic, but it wasn’t that dramatic. But maybe it isn’t about the change. Maybe this has been going on for longer. But for how long?

I’ve tried my best to appear normal. I’ve kept my crimes secret. I haven’t said anything too troubling. The flareon incident was ages ago.

Maybe he saw the bandage? Maybe he thinks I slit my wrists. But I’ve done far worse on my torso and he knows that… it just doesn’t make sense.

Having reached the third floor, I walk out of the staircase and through the waiting room with the four sofas. No one’s there. I arrive at hallway E and spot the familiar five chairs and table against the wall. I sit down on the one furthest away from the table this time, making sure no spiders are around.

Well, here we are. I think I have a minute or two before I should be called in. Alright.

So… my plan. It’s still to be normal. But not too normal. No one’s perfectly normal. I’ll be honest for just as long as my answers aren’t weird, then I’ll switch. This isn’t really different from the plan last time, but this time I also have to ask her questions. I won’t get anywhere if I don’t.

I rub my hands. Alright. Normal. I’ve got this.

The door opens. “Red Akai?”

“Normal.” Fuck! “I mean, here.”

Dr Jordan Marsh nods. I suppress a sigh as I get up and enter her room. Off to a great start.

“So, how are you?” she asks as we seat ourselves in the armchairs.

Oh, we’re doing this again? “Fine, thank you.”

“No migraine this time?”

“I believe so. I feel pretty good.”

“That’s good...” She writes something in her notes. I don’t understand her priorities.

She straightens her gray wool sweater, then looks back at me. “Alright, as we got the basic questions out the way last time, I’d like to move on to more personal ones already. Is that okay?”

Why are you asking me like I have a choice in the matter? “Yes.”

“Good to hear. So... last time you mentioned not having many friends or spending a lot of time with people. Would you say you are a loner?”

Kind of a loaded word, but I shouldn’t stray too far from the truth. She might catch me lying again if I do, and that’s very bad for appearing normal. “Maybe so, yeah.”

“Do you enjoy the company of others?”

“If I like the people I’m with, yes.” Kind of an obvious answer.

“You seem to have very few people you like. Are you happy with that?”

Yes, but should I say that? I think I should - if I’m not happy with something, there’s a problem, and she’s looking for problems. “Yes.”

“Out of those people, who would you say is closest to you?”

“Oh, I’m not one to pick favorites.” A genuine smile creeps onto my face. Such a wholesome answer.

Dr Marsh adds something to her notes. I guess that answered something she had in mind. I hope in the correct way.

I realize my legs are and arms are crossed. Should they remain this way? Would a normal person sit like this? It can appear hostile. But it also shows defensiveness. Are more people comfortable or uncomfortable in a situation like this? Should I untangle my limbs only later on to give the illusion that I’ve warmed up to her?

Ugh, people are so much harder when their guard is up. Maybe I shouldn’t overthink this. Maybe that in itself will make me seem unnatural.

Dr Marsh returns to her questions. “Are you impulsive?” “Are you irritated easily?” “Have you ever stolen anything?” Not really, I wouldn’t say so, no.

Are all of these questions going to be this easy? Is she going to keep straight up asking me if I’m dangerous or not, just phrasing it differently each time?

She goes on. “Do you consider yourself better than others?” “Have you had destructive thoughts lately?” Lady, wow, you’re just going to spell it out for me? Are you even trying?

But hold on now. These can’t be things that just anyone is asked. If she’s bringing up points such as these, she must be doubting me. How do I erase that doubt?

“You know,” I say before she has the opportunity to quiz me again, “I’m noticing a kind of… troubling theme with these questions. Why are you asking me these things?”

“I just want to form a complete profile of you,” she answers with an encouraging smile. She flips a page. I don’t feel encouraged.

One the fringe of my vision, something moves. My breathing ceases mid-exhale.

In the upper corner of the room, where the white walls and ceiling meet in a black dent. There truly is movement there. Quick, patchy movement. Oh, no, is that…

The moving object sticks long, pointy limbs out of the hole. Yep. A spider.

Ugh, not again. Is this building somehow especially alluring to them? Whatever. As long as it stays all the way over there, it’s of no importance.

“Alright, Mr Akai,” starts the woman, drawing my attention back to her pale face framed by red glasses and shiny dark hair. “I must be frank. I do not believe you are being honest.”

“What?” What? How can she tell? Were my answers too unnatural? Did she read some subconscious visual cues from my expressions and body language or something?

“You exhibit signs of lying, and what you’re saying doesn’t all add up. You said you wouldn’t pick favorites out of the people you like, but last time you claimed to have a very strong bond with your omanyte, whom you consider your god.”

The omanyte. Dammit! I forgot about it. But it’s not like it’s a person. From either current me or past me’s perspective. I see it as a mon now, something worthless and irrelevant, and past me saw it as something completely above mortals.

“W-well, He’s not really a person, per se...” Idiot! Why are you stuttering? That’s weak, that’s suspicious!

And… where is that spider right now? I can’t shake it off my mind. It better not have advanced.

I give the corner a glance. A chill tickles my back. The spider has left its hole and made its way roughly halfway down the wall. In the wall, two new legs peek out. They look larger than the previous one’s. Just how many spiders is this place housing? I bet it’s the vines outside that lure them in. They think this is just a weirdly shaped forest and make their foul little nests in here.

“Mr Akai?”

Shit, I just stopped talking right in the middle of my sentence! What’s she going to think of that?

Dr Marsh is staring into my eyes. Dark irides meet dark irides. The good faces down the evil. You’d love to expose me, wouldn’t you? That’s why you became a shrink, so you could weed out the bad guys, huh? Purify the world of the rotten-minded so that your golden society may bloom with unmarred, perfect petals?

“Are you afraid of being diagnosed with something?”

Because I’d then be under a magnifying glass, putting my secrets in danger of being discovered? Yes. Because people would think I was crazy? No. I know full well that people would call someone like me insane. It doesn’t matter that they think that, because I know it’s not true. I don’t think one plus one is three. I don’t think water is dry. I don’t think anything that doesn’t make sense.

But to answer your question… “Well, yes. I wouldn’t want you to get any wrong ideas about me.”

“I am a trained psychologist, Mr Akai. You can trust my judgment.”

Can I? You’re with society. I don’t trust society’s judgment.

Something flickers atop the woman’s left shoulder. I focus on it. It’s black and many-legged. Of course it is. I check on the corner. It’s empty. No spiders. Is that one of the spiders? Are they advancing? Where’s the other one? Could it be near me? My muscles tense up.

“And, Mr Akai, a diagnosis is nothing to be afraid of. On the contrary, it’s better to be diagnosed with something than not be aware of it at all. Then you can understand yourself better and others can understand you better.”

I already know everything I need to know about myself. HE knows the rest and unless HE tells me, it’s unnecessary and none of my business. As for others… I tried once to make someone understand. She now wishes she’d never given birth to me.

The spider on Dr Marsh’s shoulder starts moving. It crawls its way off the grey wool and onto the woman’s pale neck. My nails scrape the green leather of my chair. It keeps moving. Across her jaw, onto her face. Why isn’t she reacting? She must be able to feel it.

She’s going to notice it any moment now, scream and flail. She’s got to.

“It’s apparent from your behavior that you have antisocial tendencies. And you already know you’re different from others, don’t you?”

The spider climbs in front of her nostril, scrapes the rims of it with its legs and, after a moment of pondering, shoves itself in.

Still no reaction from her. Maybe these spiders are too light to be noticed… and if that’s the case, one could be on me and I wouldn’t even know. Oh fuck, I bet there’s one on me. Or even more. I slap my palm onto my face. Ugh, sweaty. But I have to do this, they need to come off. I swipe across my face multiple times, exhaling forcefully through my nostrils. I can’t seem to touch anything. Maybe I was clean. I definitely am now. Or am I?

“Mr Akai, it’s better if you admit it. That way we can help you.”

Help? Help? What the fuck are you going to do? Brainwash me? Lobotomize me? You can’t erase an arcanine’s stripes without skinning it alive!

Oh shit. The spiders could be in my hair. Crawling all over it, hiding between the strands, laying their eggs onto my scalp. I stuff my fingers in there and shake them all over. That’ll show them. But they’ll just come back. I can’t stay in this room. I shoot up, still scratching all around my head.

“Mr Akai, is there something wrong?”

From between my fingers, I can see a black spot exit her right nostril.

“Yes, something’s fucking wrong, this place is a spider hive!” I snap. Oh Gods. I’m not being normal, am I. That’s very troubling.

“What?”

I should fix this. Can I even fix this? But to fix this, I should stay here, and the spiders are still here. They won’t leave. If I stay, they’re just going to get closer a-and touch me and...

“Spiders!” I shout, unable to stop the word from bursting out. “Spiders i-in the ceiling, on the walls, on your face, everywhere!”

She’s staring at me with hoothoot-eyes, grasping her notebook. Oh, great. Real great. I look like a total lunatic. Can I justify any of these actions? Isn’t it worth a try?

A discomforted chuckle leaves me. “Sorry, I just really, really don’t like spiders and they’re stressing me out, especially since they’re making it so hard for me to act normal which I need to do because in actuality, I’m --”

No. No, what did you just say?

“You’re what?” Dr Marsh asks. Her face may be shocked, but her pen hand is almost shaking in triumph. Oh Gods, she heard me. She knows I’m not normal. This was the final straw. This is unsalvageable. The only thing I can do now is make sure it doesn’t get any worse!

I sprint for the door, the sudden motion startling the shrink.

I’m about to grab the handle, but stop to first eye the general area around in case of any more spiders. None are found, so I wrench the door open and dash out.

“Mr Akai, please come back and sit --”

“No!”

I kick the door shut behind me and speed toward the end of the hallway. My heartbeat is bombarding my eardrums. My fingers return to my hair, ruffling it again to get rid of all real and imaginary arachnids. Violent shudders run through my entire body. I’m like a mightyena shaking its fur dry after a swim. Only instead of water, it’s spiders. So many spiders.

I turn the corner, run, turn another corner another, then I stop. There are nothing but hallways here. Nothing but white, no windows, no doors. I really should have bumped into something familiar by now if I was going the right way… should I go back to where I started and try again?

I’m almost hyperventilating. This is a disaster in so many ways. This situation just needs to end. I need to get out of here as soon as possible, before anything else goes wr-

Oh Gods no.

---

 

[diamondpearl876]

Finally here for chapters 9 and 10, woop woop

So, in other words: get out of bed and stop being a little bitch.

Lol, of course Red's scolding himself again, but I'm getting the impression he's slowly coming to accept his own faults in this chapter. Maybe. Or he's fooling himself into thinking he is?

Oh, how the wind must whistle between their feathers… no, I can’t do this. I’m too tired to pretend the clear skies outside are in any way reflective of my mood. And I should conserve my energy. I’ll need it to fuel a fake smile for the entirety of the day.

I like this bit. It feels relatable. A lot of pressure seems to be on people for them to be up and chipper in the daylight, even if they feel anything but.

Like an ekans peeking out of its burrow, my tongue slips out between my lips. I quickly draw it back and wipe my mouth on my sleeve. What the fuck was that? I hope no one saw.

I shouldn't find his plight funny, but I do find the imagery amusing here. The continued ekans analogy works well, too.

This is what it’s like to be prey.

Short and simple sentence, but effective. Red would know best on this, after all.

She begins screaming like a zubat in a blender, desperate for someone to hear and come save her.

I was going to ask how Red knows what this sounds like, but... maybe I don't want to know, lol

So was my hunger. It seemed that the body had accepted that no food was coming any time soon and shut down its complaint mechanism.

True, though not eating could've made him sicker. Not that he's the epitome of doing things sensically, but eating some bland stuff would've helped him. D: Poor guy.

“Besides,” I add, “I’m sure I’ll be able to clear up whatever the problem was the first time, and then I don’t have to go there anymore.”

“But --”

“It would also bring me some direly needed variety after staying in my bedroom for so long.”

“But what if you suddenly get worse?”

Interesting that Red's insisting on going this time around... He's really determined to appear "normal" and impress others, eh? Even with the obstacles getting in his way.

“By the way, I liked your pie,” Abe shouts before the door opens and closes.

Oh. Well, no surprise, it was a good pie.

Omggg, lol. I wonder if the pie made him sick. And if so, won't Abe and them get sick, too? Unless Abe and them just threw out the pie and are lying. Hmm... I'm probably overthinking this.

“Thank you for your cooperation, sir,” the man says, taking the scabbard and storing it in the drawer. He smiles. I silently wish for an accident to befall him later in the day.

lol. Red's internal monologue certainly hasn't changed, but it's definitely a difference from an outsider's perspective. He's tryin'.

I place my palm on my upper abdomen in an attempt to calm the commotion. I can feel the movement clearly. Far too clearly. This goes beyond normal nausea. There is something physical in there.

I'm surprised it takes Red as long as it does to notice it's Michi poking around in there... I'll be interested to see if he can keep up his facade with the therapist face-to-face. The waiting room seems to be a disaster area for him, less so the actual therapy sessions. Heh.

 

[canisaries]

EDIT: This chapter has been revised as of 16 March 2019.

thank you very very much @diamondpearl876 for your comments, they always brighten up my day, i really appreciate them.

now for a new chapter! content includes: strong language, body horror, existential horror and horror in general. expect some metal af imagery.

---

CHAPTER 9
The Mareep

---​

“No! No more of you!”

I plunge the ball of my shoe onto the black speck on the floor and twist it, making sure it tears the bastard apart. No more spiders. No more of them, please. Let this be the last one.

I move away my foot and look at the remains. Bits of black on a yellowish-brown smear. Okay, it’s dead. Just as it’s supposed to be. Do not come back to life, you hear me? Stay dead.

Thank the Gods, it seems to be listening. I’m not seeing any motion. It really is dead.

I exhale. I still need to find my way out of here. Gotta get back to the shrink’s door. I look up from the floor.

I turn to stone.

The walls and ceiling ahead of me, previously snow white, have now been totally obscured by black. Swarming, crawling black.

Millions of spiders are walking across each other, dangling by strands of web, digging in and out of the mass.

I can hear them. Quiet crackling, rustling. Brushing of chitinous limbs against another.

And there’s no end to them. No white at the end of the tunnel. Just all-encompassing, all-consuming spider sludge.

And it’s coming towards me.

Without any further hesitation, I twist around and bolt for the other end of the hall. The hallways on my left and my right look identical - of course they do. I just pick the left. Keep running. Look back. The spiders have just turned the same corner. I have to run faster, even though the acid is already swelling up in my legs and the air is starting to feel prickly.

I take another turn -- fuck. My feet tap to an ungraceful halt. A dead end. A tiny stub of a hallway with no door or windows - only a sad, blank rectangle of a wall at the end.

I spin around to face the spider sea. It slows down, probably to savor my horror as I would of my own prey.

Okay. No. This situation should not be happening. It’s too much. But it’s real, isn’t it? It’s really…

Actually, you know what? It’s not real. Calm yourself, High Priest, and let me explain.

Spiders are lone hunters. Not pack animals. The chances of so many coming together, of the same kind, no less, are microscopic. Less than that. And why would they come after me? Spiders hunt flies. And these ones probably aren’t even capable of piercing my skin with their tiny fangs. And they’re certainly not able to feel anger at the murder of one of their kind. Hell, don’t they cannibalize?

Logic speaks against this situation. It isn’t real. It’s just the disease again. It was always the disease. It tricked you.

You know, High Priest, you made a promise a few days ago. You promised that you wouldn't let your emotions control you anymore. That you'd leave behind your human faults and weaknesses and live your life as a machine until the soul of your god would inhabit you. You would only allow joy to exist. Joy or nothing, your only emotions.

Fear is not allowed, especially not at false danger. So close your eyes.

I do. The rustling grows stronger. It surrounds me. I flinch as I feel motion on my pant legs. Then there’s an itch on my ankles. A violent convulsion comes over me. But no, I won't touch it. I won't move a muscle. Because it's not real - and even if it were real.

The itch moves up my shins, lingers behind the knees. My legs quake as I resist my reflexes. I am in control. I will succeed.

The spiders engulf my legs and sneak up along my torso. My obliques instinctively squeeze, wishing to harden into a shell that may protect me from the plague dancing atop it. But it’s okay, it’s not real. They’re not real and they can’t hurt me. They’re only fake signals of my imperfect vessel, creations of a momentarily crippled brain. Momentarily. This will pass. You only have to hold on, High Priest, and soon --

“Gaaaaaahhhhh!”

My eyes are open, I’m on the floor, my fingers are scratching everywhere. My spine is twisting, neck crackling. My shoulder blades are kneading the skin and muscles of my back. All around, my body is bending, convulsing, slithering.

But there are no spiders anywhere. Just white. Just silence. Just my clothes touching my skin.

Did… did I...

No. No, it wasn’t me. I never gave in. I never lost balance, someone else pushed me off the tightrope!

But… who else could it have been? No one else is around. No one else could have been influencing me. So it… it was me.

I let my grasp loosen. I gave my animal instincts control. I failed in my mission. I failed…

I… failed.

I drag my shaking hands off my body to stop their scratching. I put them onto my face, horrified breathing echoing back from the palms.

This… this slip-up, this mistake… it proves I really am… w-weak. Weak as in…

Not fit for HIM.

My face is searing hot. Scalding fluid escapes my unblinking eyes. This can’t be true. But it is. I just proved it. I gave in. And not even at the hardest part. The spiders had barely reached my navel, and I already fell. Weak. So incredibly weak.

I take my hands to my tired arms, grasp them, feel the warmth. My trembling calms down a little.

So… what now? What is there left? I have no goal. The light I’ve been chasing has disappeared. What is there to do in the darkness? Just exist until death comes?

Death. No, no. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to cease. I don’t want to see what lies beyond life, sentience, existence.

But what’s the point of existence? It’s just being. Feeling hunger. Feeling pain. Feeling worry. Any joy, only temporary, incomparable to the amount of effort done to reach it. Every day a struggle to survive until the next, then just repeating.

My body becomes limp. No more twitching, no more shaking.

This is what it’ll be like forever.

“Uh… hey!”

A man is speaking. Yelling. I think at me.

“You on the floor, are you okay?”

There’s no point in answering.

But… eh. May as well, I guess.

“Yeah.” My answer is dull, lifeless. An oran falling down from a tree in some forest. Just a thump. No people around.

There’s no point in getting up, either - but may as well.

Using my limbs, I propel myself up. A skeleton frosted with muscle and skin. Organs here and there. Hair and clothes on top. Who cares.

“You don’t look okay,” says the man. Green clothes, dark skin. Pretty normal looking. What’s he doing in this nuthouse? Is he an employee?

“No really, I’m fine,” I mumble.

“You… sure?”

“...Yeah.” I smile. I don’t know how.

“Well… okay, then,” the man says and turns around to walk away.

“Wait.”

He stops and faces me again.

“How do you...”

I feel stupid asking this. There’s no way I’ll get a good answer, so why am I bothering?

I swallow, throat dry. “How do you live? How can you live without… screaming at the Gods?”

“Well… I’m an atheist…?”

“Screaming into the void, then.”

“I... don’t feel the need to.”

Of course you wouldn’t. Mareep.

Still, I keep trying. “Even though your short time here is filled with pain and fear for its inevitable end?”

“It’s not that bad,” he simply says. “There’s all kinds of nice things, too. And death… it’s just part of life.”

Straight from a fortune cookie. I shouldn’t have asked.

“Forget it,” I sigh. “Just go.”

“You sure you’re gonna be alright?”

I nod. I can’t exactly get worse than rock bottom.

“Alright...”

Finally, he leaves. His steps on the floor clack like hooves.

I begin walking, not really sure why or where, just taking turns at random. They’ve got to lead somewhere eventually.

Oh, look at that. An emergency exit sign above a glass door that leads to a staircase. Exploration truly is wondrous.

I enter through the door and descend the stairs, ignoring any floors I pass until the steps run out underneath me. Looking ahead, I can see the outside shining through another glass door. Birch branches swaying in the wind, casting spotted shadows on the grass and gravel beneath them. Looks pretty nice.

I pass through the door like a ghost, feeling little to nothing in my fingertips as I operate the handle. Outside, it’s not as quiet as in the building, but still rather quiet. Only the gentle wind and its effect on the leaves can be heard. Though I guess there’s traffic, too.

Speaking of traffic, I suppose I’ll head to the bus stop. I have no reason to be anywhere, but I feel like I should go home.

I circle around the building until I come across the familiar glass box. It's empty. I sit on its bench, waiting, blankly staring at the dark grey road. I don't look up until I hear the bus arriving.

I get up and wave for it to stop. As it does, I enter and pay the driver without speaking too much. I search for seats, but having found none free, settle for grabbing a pole and standing. The bus nudges into motion. Clouds, trees and buildings scroll by as the motor hums, occasionally interrupted by a stop and the sounds of new people getting on.

People of all ages, sizes, colors, levels of affluence. Each of them different from one another, unique, yet they all walk the same, talk the same, act the same. Truly mareep.

They come close to me, squeeze against me as the bus gets more crowded. To them I’m just another member of the herd, another puff of wool. Nothing to watch out for or to avoid.

This was my intent, my masterful deception. But looking at these dull-faced ruminants… it's not like it takes a lot to fool them, anyway. They don't particularly seem to care.

The bus reaches the high school. I unboard as the doors open, along with a few other people, none of which look especially odd. The door shuts behind me, and the bus swooshes away.

The glass wall of the school stares back at me. My reflection’s clothes are the same as the last time I saw them, but his hair is far messier. Ruined. As are the eyes, the skin surrounding them reddened and salt-stained.

I was never a houndoom in mareep’s clothing. I’m a mareep like everyone else, only one born with black wool and chipped, sharp teeth and the thought that it meant something.

I’m not a predator. Just defective prey.

Well, I guess that’s it, then. I’m going to rot and die like everyone else in this pointless world. Be forgotten about the moment the casket is shut, provided I even get a funeral.

Throat constricted by a bitter grip, I turn around and start walking homeward.

A shadow slides over me and my surroundings. I look up. The sky is grey, the sun is gone. Something wet taps my shoulder. Awesome, it’s going to rain. I pick up my pace.

More drops come down, painting black spots onto the asphalt I tread. I raise my jacket’s hood, not that it's going to help much. I watch more and more specks appear. The drops seem weirdly… colored, sticky. They look a bit like...

I raise my hand, palm up. A splat of vivid red dyes the surface.

I look up. The skies have turned the same color. Save for the tapping of the rain, all has gone silent.

Another hallucination? Blood rain? Blood rain seems familiar, where have I…

Oh no.

On the hour of HIS arrival
all life will be given these signs.
Prey and predators alike shall witness this.
The sun shall cower.
The sky shall cry blood,
the earth shall roar​

A rumble rushes through the ground. A deep crack splits the road right between my shoes. I immediately jump to the side for firmer ground.

No no no no no. This cannot be happening. This is the worst thing that could possibly happen. The probability of something going this wrong is zero.

and the trees shall bow to HIM.​

Rustle, rustle, snap, snap. The trees of the wooded areas shake independently of the earth. Convulsing. The birches’ bright green leaves dim into crumpled taupe as their branches droop to touch the ground.

The prey shall fear, the predators rejoice.​

I’m not rejoicing. I’m not rejoicing! I’m terrified! This is not how this was supposed to go!

From the body of HIS Bringer
HE shall rise.
HE shall free HIS children,
complete their imperfect vessels.
Chaos shall never see end
from the day of HIS coming,
the Day of Judgment.​

Prophecies 23. Varenich’s vision.

The earthquake strengthens abruptly, throwing me onto the bloodstained ground. From somewhere beyond the buildings, trees and bloody fog, a gargantuan figure arises, accompanied by a discordant screech the likes of which no mon could replicate - not a legend, not a ditto. My very organs wince at the noise. Several other screams follow, but they're human. Prey.

The quake relaxes. I scramble up to run for cover in the nearby bunch of mangled trees. I can't allow myself to be seen. While more shrieks ring out in the distance, I peek at the giant through between the trees’ naked branches.

Black as coal, easily over thirty meters tall. The red mist makes it difficult to make sense of its silhouette, but it at least appears to have a humanoid torso and arms. The talons on it hands, gleaming gold, busy themselves with picking up wriggling little bug-like humans, raising them up high and dropping them onto its unknown, obscured face. The caught humans’ pleas turn to screams - if they weren’t those already - as they plummet and fall silent only moments after.

I crouch and bury my face in my hands, not caring about the blood they stain it with. Sooner or later, I’m going to see the same fate as those people. Hiding won't help. HE won't leave a single mareep unbutchered.

But maybe… maybe if I can bring HIM the scrolls, HIS old stone home… m-maybe HE will spare me! I’ve been so useful, HE will surely s-spare me…

This is desperate, this is pathetic, but it's the only way I may be able to survive, so I have to give it a shot. I have to get home. Without HIM spotting me on the way there.

Another gut-shaking screech echoes throughout the city as I get on my feet and begin to creep onwards. Just keep going, just keep going. There’s not that much left to go.

The pounding rain of blood and screams of the giant’s victims are the only sounds I get to hear as I make my way closer and closer to my home street. The once comfy views have been twisted into nightmarish reflections of their past selves. The earth is riddled with cracks and fissures due to the quakes, the grass is wilted and even the houses look like they’ve all been abandoned fifty years ago.

This really is the apocalypse. This is what I wished for that whole time. This was the ultimate reward.

And here I am, absolutely terrified. Shaking like a pichu. Scuttling about like a sewer rattata. I’ve never, never felt this… helpless.

Lungs burning and now entirely drenched in blood, I arrive at my home street. I hate how open it has to be. I’ll need to slip in my house as fast as I can. Then I’ll go straight for the basement. Then I’ll… figure something out.

I keep moving, staying on the right side of the street, using the houses to block the giant’s view of me. I shuffle past all gaps more quickly. Finally, my house comes to view.

Okay. I’ve done great so far. The giant hasn’t spotted me. I can do this.

A smell also seems to be strengthening as I approach my the house. It’s like smoke. At first, it was just strange, but now it’s getting uncomfortably thick… I can’t see any origin point in the area, though. Must just be another symptom of the apocalypse.

I cross another gap, eyes on the monster as usual, but... this time it wasn’t there. Did I lose it? Did it maybe just crouch? Well, it’s no use stopping to wonder about it. I have limited time, so I have to hurry before --

“HIGH PRIEST.”

Oh Gods. Oh Gods, oh Gods, oh Gods.

HE hasn’t spoken in a real voice to me in years. HE has never used one like this. But I know it must be HIM.

Invisible hands grasp my brain, forcing me to stumble to a halt. The steps are slippery from the sheer abundance of blood on the road.

They try to turn me next. It hurts to resist, but I just can’t turn around. I can’t look at HIS face. HE is enraged, and when HE is, HIS gaze just b-burns so much...

“TURN TO ME.”

The booming, monstrous voice reverberates inside my skull. Its vibrations reach the very marrow of my bones.

Unable to resist any longer, my body gives into HIS order. I try to squeeze my eyes shut, but they’re frozen open. They’re forced to meet HIS.

Searing red eyeballs in sockets blacker than any void. Piercing yellow irides. In their middles, black pinpricks to stare directly to my brain.

It doesn’t hurt, for which I’m thankful - but all things considered, it’s not like it lessens the terror of the situation much.

But beside that terror stands also shock. HIS face took me by surprise. Such strong surprise that only two seconds later did the rage arrive.

Golden mask, nested in a mane of tentacles, clean and shining despite the constant rain. It’s got big pointed teeth and a beast-like look to it, but I still see her - Joanna.

Why? And how? She’s dead! She’s been dead for so long already! She turned into a ghost, yes, but I killed that ghost, and a ghost can’t be the Bringer, anyway!

My eyes thaw out and I can finally take in HIS body in detail. HIS torso, as previously seen, is that of a male human’s, only its texture, color and naturally size wrong. A golden marking coils around it in a spiral. Below the torso are no legs, but two tentacles supporting HIS weight from the front. In the back, the body stretches into one resembling that of some odd sea invertebrate - perhaps a nudibranch. At its very end, a tail-like extremity rises up, its stalk sprouting whip-like tendrils that coil in the air. Those are probably for catching even more prey.

“AS YOU CAN SEE, I HAVE FOUND A SUPERIOR HOST TO BRING ME.”

I flinch as the voice snaps me out of my thoughts. HIS jaws don’t move as HE speaks. I suppose that befits a god.

“SHE IS MUCH CRUELER. MUCH THIRSTIER FOR VENGEANCE AGAINST MANKIND. WHILE YOU…”

HIS face adopts a scowl, the metal screeching as it twists. HE lifts HIS hand to point a golden claw at me.

“ALL THIS TIME, YOU HAVE BEEN WEAK. YOU HAVE FEARED AND YOU HAVE LOVED THINGS OTHER THAN YOUR GOD.”

All this time? “But Y-YOU told me YOU would choose me!” Hard not to stutter when talking to a thirty-meter monster. “YOU even possessed me!”

“A PREDATOR SHOULD RECOGNIZE A LIE.”

Lie. HE lied to me? HE… never intended to make me the Bringer?

HE laughs. Each vocalization is like a cannonball to my heart. “YOU EXPECT TO BE REWARDED? PUNISHMENT IS WHAT YOU NEED.”

Oh Gods no. No, I don’t want punishment. I can’t even imagine how painful it would be to be punished by the god of cruelty HIMSELF.

Eyes wide, I throw myself onto the bloody street. “No, my lord, please!” I bow my head all the way to the ground. “Please forgive me! I-I regret everything! Please, accept me as a predator!”

HE slams the hand onto the ground with a deafening crush, startling me upright into a sitting position.

“YOU DO NOT DESERVE TO FEAST ALONGSIDE ME AND MY CHILDREN!”

HE roars at me, maw finally opening. HIS gums are riddled with bloodstained spears, torn human bodies still skewered by some of them. HIS throat isn’t much better. The entirety of it seems to be encircled by thousands and thousands of needle-like teeth. Not because HE would need them, but just so that the death of the prey is even more excruciating.

“YOU SHALL BE DEVOURED, JUST LIKE ALL OTHER PREY.”

“No, please...” I fall to my hands. My voice is a whine, a sob. But I know it won’t affect HIM. Predators don’t know pity, less does their god. “I trained my body for YOU! My skills, my cruelty! YOU know I’d be an excellent --”

“YOUR BODY? THE CUT-UP CARCASS?”

My scars ache. But I cut them for HIS sake…

HE raises HIS head. “I HAVE SPOKEN ENOUGH. NOW, THE TIME HAS COME FOR YOU TO PERISH.”

I wind my feeble, hopeless, blood-soaked body upright. “S-so now what? You’re just going to kill me?” I shout. I shouldn’t shout. But HE will kill me either way.

HE chuckles. “I SHALL NOT KILL YOU, HIGH PRIEST.”

Smaller figures, slightly bigger than humans, appear from the fog at HIS feet. Shit, what’s going on now?

“INSTEAD, I SHALL LET YOUR FORMER BROTHERS BE THE ONES TO TEAR YOU APART.”

The figures bare their teeth to snarl. Their faces become clear. They’re like those of burn victims - if burn victims had hungry, yellow eyes and more teeth than would ever be necessary. I think I recognize one… as being the receptionist from the clinic. Something is hanging by his hip. He reaches into it and pulls out a knife. My knife. From my scabbard. I feel my flank and realize that it is indeed missing.

Shit. I forgot to get it back from the clinic. And now he has it.

“HOWEVER,” the monster speaks, “ALLOW ME TO MAKE ONE LAST ADJUSTMENT.”

Oh Gods. Now what? What is HE planning on doing? Will it hurt? How much? And wh- ow ow ow ow, feet, ow! They’re… it’s like they’re being mangled!

I can’t resist the pain any longer and fall down on the ground to ease the pressure on my feet. They’re growing, changing shape… and itching? I feel fewer and fewer toes. The shoes around them resist the expansion, hurting my poor feet even more by squeezing - but then they disintegrate, disappear. So do my socks, it seems. The new ends of my legs are revealed.

Mareep hooves. Black-wooled.

Something coils around me too fast to resist. Black, shining, a hint of wetness. It’s one of HIS tendrils. It yanks my trembling body upright, then slowly lets go as I figure out how to balance atop my new feet. They’re like stilts. There’s so much more strain on my legs now.

I try to cry out one last time for HIM to spare me, but what actually comes out... is of course a bleat.

“THERE,” HE says, withdrawing the tendril, deaf to my pleas. HE locks eyes with me again - surging the already overflowing fear. HIS face morphs into a wild grin.

“NOW RUN, MAREEP! RUN!”

Oh shit!

I turn around and fling myself to a stumbling run. With deafening barks, the figures at HIS feet leap forward. A brief glance back confirms that a tidal wave of teeth and claws is rolling towards me. Saliva drips from their maws. They really want to sink their fangs into my flesh. They want my blood. Gods, so this is how it feels. This is how prey feels.

No, don’t dwell on that, just run, run! Run for what, though? The house? Sure, whatever, fuck it! It definitely won’t shelter me from beasts as strong as these, but it’s not like I’ll be able to reach anything else before they catch up to me.

Getting closer to the house! I’m going a lot faster than I expected. Maybe it’s the newfound spring in my step. Maybe HE gave it to me to make the chase more interesting. Just like I gave Michi a head start. What goes around, comes around, huh.

Front yard! I almost slip on a pool of red as I change trajectory, thank the Gods I didn’t. I shove my hand in my pocket and dig out the key. As fast as I’m going, I practically slam onto the door as I reach it. Come on, get in, get in!

Barks nearing and nearing, I fumblingly unlock the door, slip in and slam it shut. I dash towards the basement stairs. They’re already thumping at the door, oh Gods --

“Whoa, what’s got you so worked up?”

I look to the living room. Abe’s sitting on the armchair, a book on his lap, as if nothing was wrong.

“Have you looked outside?” I scream. No, don’t bother! Focus on your own safety!

He recoils, face innocent. “It’s a beautiful spring day?”

“You are so fucking den-”

My mutter is cut short as I spot the view through the window.

Bright golden sunlight illuminates lively leaves bursting with green. The street is dry, intact, empty of any monsters. The sky is a beautiful azure, cloudless.

No twisted trunks of dying trees. No sticky, hot rain. No fog. No rumbling or barking or thumping - only faint birdsong and wind.

I look down. No mareep feet. Heels on the ground, shoes on. The rest of my clothes are clean, too… save for some dust at the knees.

“What’s wrong?” asks Abe. “Did your appointment not go well?”

I shiver in place, trying to decide the correct emotional response.

Is HE tricking me? Giving me a false sense of security before the door busts open and a pack of demon-men pounce right onto me and tear me to bloody shreds?

Or is this actual reality?

I take a deep but shaking breath.

I think… it’s reality.

Justified fury begins to well up inside me.

What I saw was just another hallucination. A lie told by the illness. It wasn’t enough for it to humiliate me with my illogical fear of spiders. It had to plunge its grubby little hands right into the core of my very reason to exist and disfigure it. Is there no limit to these illusions?

Hold on.

Say that word again.

Illusions.

Illusions.

I… I think I understand it now.

Everything adds up.

...I know what I have to do.

I reach for my scabbard, but remember again I still don’t have it. I’ll need something else.

I walk into the kitchen and open a drawer. I seek out the shining kitchen knife, sharp as ever, and lift it out.

“Red… what are you doing?” asks Abe, slowly approaching.

I slam the drawer shut and turn to him. I raise the knife. Abe’s expression switches from worry to horror. I chuckle and grin.

“I’m gonna cure myself.”

---

 

[diamondpearl876]

Look at me, actually reviewing only a short time after an update for once

“So, you’re probably wondering why I wanted to see you a second time.”

My eyebrows rise. She was quicker than me. “Yes, I am, actually.”

Hmm, I think this is actually a strange thing for her to open with. It's safe to assume in any case that a therapist would want to see their client twice, and usually, even more than twice.

Ugh, “loner”... that word has such a negative tone to it. Shows how ridiculously valued socialization is in this society...

Lol, actually have to side with Red here. Extroverts seem to have an advantage in society while introverts are looked at like weirdos. : ' )

Ugh, people are so much harder when their guard is up. Maybe I shouldn’t overthink this. Maybe that in itself will make me seem unnatural.

I knew this wasn't gonna end up well... The tension starts small here, but it blows up in his face so badly later. You build up said tension at a really good pace.

She goes on. “Do you consider yourself better than others?” “Have you had destructive thoughts lately?” Lady, wow, you’re just going to spell it out for me? Are you even trying?

Lol, yeah, this is... one downside to personality tests. Sometimes they can be a bit too transparent and easily to manipulate, but seems this lady's got a good grasp on who's lying and who's not. Sucks for Red.

“And, Mr Akai, a diagnosis is nothing to be afraid of. On the contrary, it’s better to be diagnosed with something than not be aware of it at all. Then you can understand yourself better and others can understand you better.”

Probably my only other complaint about this scene is that it's strange for a therapist to focus on a diagnosis. I was always kinda under the impression diagnoses were reserved for psychiatrists who are prescribing medication and whatnot, while therapists aren't suppoesd to focus on those at all and just, you know, do the therapy stuff. But. It might differ depending on location.

“Hey there, buddy,” I grin, crouching like a heavyset flower-gowned madame greeting her little smoochy woochy snubbull pooch. I continue with the same tone. “Aren’t you ugly and disgusting! If I had the power, I’d wipe your kind off the face of the earth! Yes I would, yes I would!”

This... would be adorable, if it wasn't Red. Instead, it's creepy and worrying, lmfao.

I stand up straight and lift my foot. “But for now I’ve got to settle for just you,” I mutter, then plunge the ball of my shoe down onto the spider and twist it, making sure it tears the bastard apart.

Ayy, quick tone shift there. It works well.

I’ve run like this so many times now. Away from some terror which, in the end, really is harmless. Pumped my thighs full of acid. Drawn prickly air into my lungs and squeezed it out with the rhythm of a pidgey’s wingbeat. It's getting rather old.

The description in this chapter is fuckin' top notch, I have to say.

This… this slip-up, this mistake… it proves I truly am… w-weak. Weak as in…

Not fit for HIM.

Stuttering in the narration? This is new, I think, or it's so infrequent this strikes me as Red really breaking down. Illusions aside, you can tell he's tearing himself apart over this whole ordeal with Michi, HIM, and everything else.

Using my limbs, I propel myself up. A skeleton frosted with muscle and skin. Organs here and there. Hair and clothes on top. Who cares.

Again, the description is great. Here, you're describing such a mundane action as standing up, but it's clearly so painful for him.

This was my intent, my masterful deception. But looking at these dull-faced ruminants… it's not like it takes a lot to fool them, anyway. They don't particularly seem to care.

Red's not learned yet that most people seem jaded about their surroundings and other people. The guy who asked if things are okay is pretty rare, I think. Then again, Red probably looked about to collapse and die from an outsider's perspective, which is pretty impossible to ignore...

I grab the snout and cram it back into myself, along with its muffled howl. With dozens of tears and burning swallows, it finally recedes, but it's too late.

Interesting that his immediate response seems to be shoving things back in. That seems like the kinda think he'd know to be damaging in the long run, but he's not exactly in the greatest state of mind, here.

“I’m going to cure myself.”

Welp. Next chapter, shit's getting real, I see.

A lot happened this chapter, but that's not quite a complaint. The pacing was spot on and it was clear that things were going to escalate to an uncontrollable level early on. Reading it all in one go allowed me to go through the rollercoaster emotions and struggles at the same time as Red.

 

[canisaries]

Thank you very much for the comments, @diamondpearl876 ~

Stuttering in the narration? This is new, I think, or it's so infrequent this strikes me as Red really breaking down.

It's new. I'd never used stuttering in narration before because I didn't know how it would make logical sense, but then this seemed like a great situation to try it out.

Lol, actually have to side with Red here. Extroverts seem to have an advantage in society while introverts are looked at like weirdos. : ' )

Spoiler: relatedimage.png

Lol, yeah, this is... one downside to personality tests. Sometimes they can be a bit too transparent and easily to manipulate, but seems this lady's got a good grasp on who's lying and who's not. Sucks for Red.

I tried a pretty official looking empathy quotient test the other day for fun, and one of the questions literally asked if I enjoyed cutting up worms as a kid to see what would happen. Very subtle. (Though I did end up getting 36/80 as my score when I expected something much higher.)

Probably my only other complaint about this scene is that it's strange for a therapist to focus on a diagnosis. I was always kinda under the impression diagnoses were reserved for psychiatrists who are prescribing medication and whatnot, while therapists aren't suppoesd to focus on those at all and just, you know, do the therapy stuff. But. It might differ depending on location.

Actually, Dr Marsh isn't a therapist but a psychologist. Now it is true that I wasn't actually 100% sure if psychologists could give diagnoses or if that was just psychiatrists, but according to this site they do.

In any case, Red has to go to the psychologist because all Twitch sufferers are required to get a yearly psychological evaluation done on them. He'd skipped out on it too many times and now had to finally show up. I think this was explained all the way back in chapter 1, so it's understandable to forget a detail like that.

 

[diamondpearl876]

Actually, Dr Marsh isn't a therapist but a psychologist. Now it is true that I wasn't actually 100% sure if psychologists could give diagnoses or if that was just psychiatrists, but according to this site they do.

In any case, Red has to go to the psychologist because all Twitch sufferers are required to get a yearly psychological evaluation done on them. He'd skipped out on it too many times and now had to finally show up. I think this was explained all the way back in chapter 1, so it's understandable to forget a detail like that.

Whoops, bad wording on my part. I meant I was always under the impression psychologists don't focus on diagnoses, but rather solely the therapy aspects. The diagnosis part tends to just be a requirement to report to insurance companies so they're not paying for this stuff all willy nilly. At least, this is what I've been told by my therapists in the States, haha. They might've just been trying to make me feel less anxious about things... Awks.

Also, now that I'm caught up, I'd update your content warnings in the first post (particularly for a rape TW, even if it's not necessarily NC-17 explicit). ^^

Anddd finally, that new banner is amazing. See ya for da next chapter