“Get up. You’re getting out of here.” A random soldier stands at attention to my bleary eyes. Their armor is incredibly low-quality compared to the rest I have seen in the facility. It is built using human craftmanship and sourced materials from non-magical metal instead of the high-level demonic chitin forged by dwarven hands that the rest wear.

They aren't even wearing a helmet.

I lean back on my cot, glaring at the weak lout who clearly drew the short straw.

Ah. And it looks like Facet disappeared once again. Their comfortable weight is gone, leaving me to deal with this person.

“How do I know you won’t bring me back there? And then... and then I’ll try to kill myself. I don't want to die," I query frantically.

A dead look overtakes my eyes as I start to “panic,” a wheezing gasp rattling my throat, before I transition into a high-pitched whine. My pitiable posture bears much resemblance to a beaten dog.

“What’s the point? I know the government never lets people like me go, regardless of whether it’s a mistake. I might as well die now,” flip-flopping from my earlier anxiety to a venomous, cynical drawl.

Not literally venomous of course. Not yet anyway.

My flawless face does its level best to place a wicked snarl upon my lips, though the illusions that The King gave me belied that. Still, even without my abyssal fish maw thing going on, I still tremble and give a great manic grin.

The soldier rushes over to physically drag me out of bed in a moment of furious haste. Their fingers stop just a foot away from my hand as they are about to touch my bare arm.

“Yeah. That would have been stupid,” I say blithely.

I don’t need yet another corpse to my name. The list is getting long.

“Just....”

“Just get out of bed, kid,” he finishes saying exasperatedly.

Interesting.

I can automatically determine what the gender is from my Charisma. I could easily determine his sex, but being able to determine one’s gender is a delightful side benefit. Very convenient! It almost makes me want to hop up and down and clap my hands spastically!!!

*sigh*

Unfortunately I must restrain my passion for knowledge so I can give him the act he expects and deserves.

Still though, I wasn’t aware that Charisma could do that. Perhaps I'll learn more about the usage of the Stat at the Academy.

Oooohhhh~, I am looking forward to it!

He taps his steel-toed boots against the concrete floors impatiently, the epitome of the underpaid guard. His mouth - well, look, I’ll just come out and say it. His face cannot compete against mine - puckered up, his veins pulsing on his neck.

No, no, no. I should feel terrible for this poor person, who has to deal with filth, absolute trash, like me. Not insult looks. It is the inside that counts and you are a pox, literally and emotionally, on the inside.

"Alright, alright. I'm coming. No need to raise your blood pressure," I say amusedly.

And hmmm, speaking of... blood pressure... I mentally snorted. I have the looks to really flaunt it now.

A trickster’s light enters my eyes.

I shake my head in tiredness, faking my exhaustion in order to make my hair flutter just right.

If you are careful, you can mimic the unnaturally beautiful hair movements of TV. Most people rely on stats and Meshes to do that in their roles, but long before I got a ridiculous boost to my Charisma, I was already capable of appearing unknowingly beautiful.

My long lashes flutter over eyes colored an illusionary blue and I stretch out my back, accentuating my chest at the perfect angle.

My dress fit me flawlessly, already wrinkled in an alluring manner.

The Charisma funnels through my body with ease, my motions and intent easily releasing it without the use of a skill.

“Alright,” I heave out a sigh.

The bald man stands antsy. His body language clearly shows that I have succeeded in eliciting his attraction.

Bring on the HORNY!

“You’re so adorable,” I whisper cheerfully, grinning big, a slight bit of maliciousness tugging at the corners of my lips. Without even realizing, Miasma weaves threads through my vocal cords, whispering its intent to my ears. A cacophony of the anti-magic makes a ruckus of The Happy Bard, while a blaze of irresistibility shines through my eyes.

You have boosted your seductive appeal using Bard’s Voice.

Your Crystal Frosted Eyes have entranced.

Your expert use of hair dynamics and your Alluring Royal Hair accentuate your impossible beauty.

Congratulations! You have utterly crushed the Will, as well as personality, of Sal Khan and progressed along the truth of The Charismatic Star and of The Happy Bard.

You deserve a reward!

Congratulations! You have been rewarded with a corollary ability of Crystal Frosted Eyes, colored by the Achievement: A Following in the Underworld: A Pupil of Stars-The longer you are able to stare into a person’s eyes by using your Charisma to hold them hostage, the more likely a star-shaped pupil will grow within your eyes and make the person brain-dead.

Ahhh... it’s quite enjoyable to be praised so. His praise is so kind to see. That I could make him so happy with my lies...

He is so enamored with my body, as he should be. It is the truest form of love, no?

I am such an inhuman slut. *giggles*

*sigh*

I miss Masua and Enterion.

Wait.

Argh. No.

No, I don’t.

NO, I DON’T! Just a foolish child, am I?! Aaaarrrgghhh!!! My hands curl tensely into the sheets, the muscles in my face tensing as I recall...

Heheheheh...hahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!! I can ignore the memories. I am the one in control. Others' whims can control everything but myself because I SAY SO.

I get up from the bed stiffly, my motions followed by the gaze of the poor man I had entranced. So many emotions run through my head as he follows me, entranced like Elisa when she smells a CEO's soul. All direction he had held is completely erased, ruined by my various abilities. They work so well together that they make me the center of his universe.

Is that... drool going down his face? I mean, that’s rhetorical. I can see that there is drool dribbling down his chin.

HATRED! You have improved the Major Mesh of Friend Making. Level Torment. Tier remains 3.

A burning pressure, much like a migraine, but in my throat, builds up until I whimper in horror.

I run over to the stranger, all the while keeping my composure. In other words, an ugly expression of shock is pasted on my face, as if I don't know how to handle it. There are probably runic LSLs, or Lux ad Sonus ad Lux, everywhere. Watching this.

“Oh stars no. Wake up. Please,” I beg. You know... it’s almost worst that I don’t know them. Because of that, I can think of how similar it could be to my brother once he- er, I mean if! Definitely if!- turns into a creature puppeteered by his own cancer.

I don’t want that to happen to this stranger. All I can see is my brother’s face.

“No, no, no,” I grasp him by the face. “Please, wake up.”

He just looks down at my face with awe, as if an angel was grasping his cheeks helplessly rather than the abomination that held onto him.

His face contorts grotesquely with impossibly intense attraction, adulterated by inspiration borne of my beauty.

The innocent man, hair a sandy-brown and eyes an electric blue, shrivels within my hands. The valleys and peaks of the wrinkles so extreme that it feels like a nest of gray frilly coral grew beneath my palms.

It rasps against my fingers, breaking against their touch as if they were dead leaves instead of the flesh they once were.

I feall down on my bottom aghast, the unsuspecting man’s decapitated body landing on top of my lap.

My body shakes like a petrified cat.

“Hmph.”

“Heh,” I breath out, more an exhalation than any laughter.

I smild in utter horror, the corners of my mouth nearly reaching the corners of my eyes. There is a humorous delay between the fall of his body and the fall of his head.

Long after his body fell across my lap... the grey flakes of his head finally sprinkle over myself like crushed up pastry, but riddled with soul plague.

My care only caused more harm to someone else... that’s a new experience for me. I have never had that happen.

My care for myself has hurt me, certainly. And my care for others harms myself plenty. And that is as it should be. But.

I have never hurt... someone with my care in all my 17 years of life.

““Never. Never. Never. Never...” My lower lip trembles and my blue eyes fill with the opaque sludge of disbelief, mirroring the narrowing of my sight. All I can see is the neck of an innocent man cauterized by agonizing mummification. The rest of my vision is blurred out in my peripheral vision, none of my extra eyes helping. They are all tightly shut with emotional pain.

I doubt there was even fluid or soul left in his upper chest. Black crawls hungrily across the edges of my vision, a need to breath clawing at my chest futilely...

My large ears twitch.

“See? She’s going to need supervision and tailor-made equipment to prevent herself from killing the other students in the Academy for Magics, Demonics and Altogether Eldritch Vessels,” says a woman smugly from outside my narrowing focus.

*sigh* ”I suppose you’re right. It’s just such an expense. You know D&T won’t appreciate we’re using more funds for this side venture. And yes, yes. I know. You don’t need to repeat why it’s important to make use of her,” snaps an enby angrily.

“Oh my gosh, you look so unbearably smug,” they add to their complaints, with little actual heat to it.

“Now. Get up,” ordered the woman to me, ignoring the chatter of the enby.

I start to get up quickly despite my shrinking vision. The threat of impending violence is imminent.

People touch me with hazard protection, measuring and examining my body.

A couple more die before they settle on the right protection, the rush of consuming other's ectoplasm eliciting ecstasy.

I'm itchy now, greasy chunks and flakes of pastry-like flesh sprinkled over my neck and hair.

Perhaps they are tailors? I cannot be bothered to care. The soft rasp of gloves trails tightly over my hands, replacing the opera gloves I had discarded a while back. Someone, with complex metalwork protecting their hands, places the peculiar clothing articles on my exposed skin.

I can feel metal wires running underneath the itchy fabric of what I presumed to be the protection equipment. I can’t help but feel an incessant need to scratch at my arms in a panicked tic. And yet, I cannot bring out my hands out from under the man who met his demise in my hopeless grasp. That would move my sleeping brother - I mean, move my accidental victim.

It is a crude mockery of a pet owner having their hands tied up by their pet sleeping sweetly on them, each enjoying the other's company.

Ugh.

My emotions flatten down back to normal, so quickly that I wonder: were those emotions real?

Internally, my nose wrinkles in thought. I don’t believe so. An apocalypse, which is indeed what Torments are, cannot feel sorry for the one it devours. I was manufacturing my emotions earlier, just like how I am posting these expressions now to match the situation. Just me participating improv to make a better theater play of life, to make a better direction for all of the actors and me.

I am just pushing out synthesized emotions into the world that don’t belong to me. Cannot stop now or they might note down my capabilities for messing with my emotions.

I stare sardonically at the random stranger dead on my lap.

*Click*

*kerchunk*

*tat*

*tat*

*tat*

With each click of the equipment, my awareness of my soul grows.

Ah will quit mah whining 'n' attention-grabbing sissy feelings 'cause no son of his should be so girly...

So... that I can focus on the soul instead of the corpse, erasing the discordant notes on today's music piece of memory. I can feel a vapor-like soul lick the edges of the few blank spaces left, a sensation of phantasmal proprioception flickering and sputtering more like living flame than a simple soul. It compresses against the restraining magic, restraining against the metal weave like water straining against a thumb placed against the opening of a hose.

It is almost calming, in the way that sticking one's hands under pooled-up dishwater has a fun, compressing feeling.

“Grab my hand, kid,” says someone.

I stand all too easily with the help of whoever’s supporting gesture is used to lift me up. My eyebrows raise in surprise as my stats giving me the strength and liquid grace to easily stand up above, completely ignoring the weight of the corpse.

Honestly, it feels rather sacrilegious to easily let the corpse fall.

My vision clears up as the panic attack recedes, my eyes alighting on the woman pulling me along. I put on an expression of awe and terror at holding the hand of someone who is stupidly rich and insanely powerful.

"The L-l-l-lady of D-d-d-d-death an-n-n-n-n-n-nd Taxes... It's-s-s-s-s-s-s a p-p-p-p-p-pleasure to meet y-y-y-y-y-you," I stutter out, my face blanching on command. I am shocked, for sure, but my surprise is only showing on my face because I want it to.

So that's what the guards meant when they mentioned D&T and her annoyance with the cost of putting me through school.

Internally, I grimace in frustration.

OF ALL THE PLACES THE KING COULD SEND ME, HE SENDS ME TO THE INTERNAL REVENUE SERVICE?!?!?!

Oh my fucking Stars. I don't know whether to burst into laughter or into tears.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! *internal screaming*

The IRS is strong enough to ensure taxes happen for the entirety of the USA. Enough power rests in the iron fist of its leader to take the dough from most of the old monsters within the States.

"Yes. The Lady of Death and Taxes, i.e. ME, is putting you through the Academy for Magics, Demonics, and Altogether Eldritch Entities. It is because you are connected to the abominations that have been popping up all over the neighborhood in Indiana. You are using MY TAXES, so you better do well, tiny creature... or your disgustingly foul soul will be eaten by my aspect of Death," the lady in question said matter-of-factly.

Hidden under the illusion, my ears fold back against my skull. The symphony of her Magic, of screaming souls and clattering coin, is excruciatingly loud. Papercuts pepper my ears, my sensitive organs harmed by nonexistent, conceptual dollar bills.

When my gang boss Luke had been filing his taxes, I had overheard him ranting to the unfortunate mobster that me and friends convinced to bring in the tax forms.

Hey.

Don't judge us for siccing that on the poor kid...

You wouldn't want to bring a werewolf tax forms either when none can get citizen status in the States. Makes taxes a wee bit problematic for them.

Anyway, according to him, she may be on the verge of ascending into the essence.

More specifically, I heard him yell "-That Yue-damned miser. Needs to get her bony ass. Out of my Yue-damned business! You are going to fill out the forms for that prick on the vergin' on Divine or you're gettin' none of grandpapa's pizza tonight-" in his characteristic Irish brogue.

Serious threats, that.

I snap back from fond memories right back to the present. She is nowhere close to ascension to merging with the Essence, but she certainly is merged with the concepts of Death and of Taxes close enough to kick ass for most on this level of reality. This being in contrast to those up and fully merged into the Essence, which are on a different level of reality.

“Just pick her up. It’ll go faster. You probably won’t die. I want to get back to my money and not babysit you weaklings,” she callously demanded of another Warrior.

"Wait! I-I-I want a promi-i-i-ise. I-I-I-I-I need to check i-i-i-in with my aquainta-a-a-a-a-ances before I go to thi-i-i-i-i-i-i-is school."

"Fine. But I am not waiting for your stumbling, stuttering self, nor any of these weaklings, when I could be collecting taxes," she said standoffishly. With a smooth wave of her hand, she makes me gasp.

No, not like that, you slutty Lust fiends. You're all pervs and you know it!

Like a clattering of maracas, bones rattle behind my back as an impossibly sharp scythe draws up to my throat.

"I have to kill you to use my teleportation. Don't worry. I'll bring you back to life. You're low enough level for that."

Before I can even act out the absolute terror I feel in that moment...

I am looking at my headless body, hoisted up just in the corner of my vision by the Lady's hands grasping onto to my slender forearms.

...

...

...

That's my headless body?

My irises bulge out of my recently displaced head, in a way I am pretty sure they aren't supposed to, as I strain to look around me. Looming next to me is the cold face of the Lady of Death and Taxes as if she regularly kills people for Uber transportation. The broken-up fragments of a giant's skull, glued together by oversized, almost comical, gold coins, form a grimacing helmet devoid of emotion around her head. Glowing gold bones make up the rest of her unique avatar. And just like that, we start gliding at impossible speeds, her cloak fluttering ominously and slowly despite the blurring of the world around us.

Now's the time, baby!

With an agonized grin, I mouth... "To be or not to be, that is the question," my chin lightly bumps into her palm as I speak it.

This is the perfect moment to play such a role to exactitude. I highly doubt that I will be decapitated ever again (and remain conscious anyway), and my Veteran Pain Resistance skill is keeping me cognizant in spite of this utter extremis of agony. So why not play the skull's part from Hamlet; the one that belonged to the dead jester of the court, Yorick.

And hey! What da ya know? I'm just a dead head and I'm a jester! Now's the perfect time. No need to focus on that trifling pain.

Technically the skull of Yorick was silent and Hamlet was the one talking to the silent bones, but ahhh... technicalities.

"Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath borne me on his back a thousand times, and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. —Where be your gibes now? Your gambols? Your songs? Your flashes of merriment that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now to mock your own grinning? Quite chapfallen? Now get you to my lady’s chamber and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favor she must come. Make her laugh at that.—Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing," I mutter dramatically to myself, though no air escapes my dead, blue lips.

On the plus side, I just need to remember unlike Yorrick, I still have lips. They haven't rotten away like his did in the Shakespearian tale. And unlike my brother Dennis, I can still move my lips, however dead they are. So don't worry brother, I am still enjoying life for you.

I'm having the time of my life as we travel!!! Really!!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! THE PAIN! OHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!! It is - if I could, I would wheeze with laughter. Unfortunately, my vocal cords can only shift below my neck into the open air - IT IS EXCRUCIATING!!!

A phantom sensation of my body teases my spazzing mind. Now I know what it is like for all those war veterans, though perhaps... just a bit more extreme. The phantom limb - errr, body - hangs from my head like a overripe fruit, jittering and bouncing as if it is filled with thrashing maggots. My brain can not even compute missing so much of me, instead replacing my mind with all-consuming white-hot pain. It feels like my entire body, despite the... quite important fact that it is no longer attached, is contorting in impossible movements.

I try to scream, try to cry, try to laugh. Miasma pierces through my soul like a glass spindle, while a golden skeletal hand grips the ectoplasmic construct in question, keeping it forcefully attached to my head. The sweet touch of Death cracks me in all the cruelest ways, forcing me to live the part of a prop in a desperate attempt to retain my sanity.

Bubbling beneath my Miasmic skin, in both my head and my suspended body, is my Truths. They truly resonate with my plight.

The pain... will I go insane? Is this where I truly break? Shatter until I am not even a Broken Mirror, but instead useless, BORING dust? Will I no longer be able to amuse the Stars, the watchers of my life?

The illusionary makeup starts to melt off my face like wax from the sheer boiling potential of my Miasma. The anti-magic grows and condenses in strength and now I stand on the edge of a precipice.

HATRED! Veteran Pain Resistance Level 34 levels up!

HATRED! Veteran Pain Resistance Level 35 levels up!

HATRED! Veteran Pain Resistance Level 36 levels up!

HATRED! Veteran Pain Resistance Level 37 levels up!

HATRED! Veteran Pain Resistance Level 38 levels up!

HATRED! Veteran Pain Resistance Level 39 levels up!

HATRED! Veteran Pain Resistance Level 40 levels up!

HATRED! Veteran Pain Resistance Level 41 levels up!

...

Oh dear. WHOO! I am falling down the cliff of these crazy concepts now! I would clutch my head and seize up if I could.

The Broken Mirror and The Forsaken Jester whisper to me a feeling of solace, taking on my pain. All that is left is enjoyment of this agony for the purpose of playing the fool of the court. I can deal with this now. I can't tell whether the Truths are messing up my mind or keeping it intact. Could be both, but all I know is that the pain is but a distant memory already, a bird that has already fled the nest of my mind.

This is fun!

I sigh as the juggernaut called the Lady of Death and Taxes remedies my unalive problem. Her palm lobs my head up in the air, leaking brain and blood all the while, before batting my head onto my body much like smacking a magnet against a fridge door. A pulse of ominous, very classically Death, black magic blinds me for a second, somehow fixing my Torment body with ease. This role has been unique.

I take a deep breath to steady myself, focusing on my notifications from both Systems as a centering point...

And fall down on my ass because holyyyy shish kebab! That is a rush! The Lady really knows how to make one weak in the knees.

"I have someone I need to kill for tax evasion. Call my name and I'll be back," she states, collapsing into a tiny black point in reality, before that too collapses with a pop.

She's lying. I can see it. I just know it. I have absolutely zero idea where she is at right now, but if I could hazard a guess, she is probably watching from a high vantage point, tapping her foot against the skyscraper's impatiently. And she is probably rhetorically thinking "Why do I have to watch this child when I could be getting taxes?"

I have her personality down to a science! Internally, I commit to an evil anime rich person laugh while pressing the Fae Heart skill to resurrect the illusion on my face. It comes oddly easily, so perhaps that makeup The King gave me 'taught me' how to use that aspect of Fae Heart? These are all hypotheticals though, and I cannot be sure.

Fae Heart: Charisma is boosted by a multiplier of 10. Your body will be emblematic of unearthly beauty. You cannot break promises. You must tell the truth. You can mimic your prior appearance. Explore your connection with the Fae and this will grow in strength.

In my mind, a simple and anatomical heart sketch sketches out, beating and releasing sparkles onto a hunched-over stick figure with a potato-shaped head. They become a normal basic stick figure, so I would presume that it works. A quick verification by vision assures me of that too. Thankfully, the Lady hadn't been surprised by the view of my strange, real form though.

My mind has recovered already! While reading my notifications, in the middle of the random street she plopped me in earlier, I get up and starting busting out some moves just for shits and giggles.

"Right here, right now! For your viewing pleasure! My fine ass moving around in fine! Fine! Fine! Fashion!" I speak to myself in a vintage ad announcer voice, my various limbs and head moving in robotic dance to match with my artificial tone. A man walking by gave me a side eye, looking simultaneously concerned for my wellbeing and deeply amused by my antics.

He walks off, his day made a little brighter by my cringe, but well-done, spectacle. I take a deep breath in, though it eventually turned into a jaw-splitting yawn despite the time of day. I feel better now. Making someone happier that day, or cringe in almost physical pain at my acting, eases the soul.

...

HATRED! Veteran Pain Resistance Level 209 levels up!

HATRED! Veteran Pain Resistance Level 210 levels up!

HATRED! Veteran Pain Resistance Level 211 levels up! Tier 3. Up from Total Level 384 to Total Level 561.

CONGRATULATIONS! The cracks of Death riddle your mind and soul evermore. There will be no turning back from the Truth of The Broken Mirror. The splintered edges of your mind have been honed by pain. You have gained a skill borne of this Truth. It worms its way into the Magic System through its connection to the Major Mesh of Pain Resistance.

CONGRATULATIONS! You have become a Jester even in death, and while playing a fool, you played the fool of everyone. You have gained a subset of Miasma built off taking this Truth to the next level of entertainment. Requires Ritual Experience and Runes Knowledge Meshes to operate, as well as the environmental component of your bone: a Magic-dense skull from the creature that your Miasmic Truths grew from. A reward will be given from the System of the Torments itself if Magical, rather than Miasmic, Meshes are used to accomplish this. In addition, the Divine Torment will improve the infection within your soul.

HATRED! You have improved your Major Mesh of Pain Resistance drastically.

HATRED! You have improved your Major Mesh of Pain Resistance drastically.

HATRED! You have improved your Major Mesh of Pain Resistance drastically.

HATRED! You have evolved your Major Mesh of Pain Resistance into Proficient Mesh of Pain Resistance Tier 4. Having also grown numerous branches in the Proficient Mesh of Pain Resistance, it is has grown into the Major Mesh of Pain, going back down a Tier. A class is now available based on this Mesh, untainted by the heinous, disgusting Miasma you have introduced into the Magic. Check your available classes (only take the ones that are untainted).

I squint at this, before looking back up to the purple notifications, before looking back again. The purple boxes, the Miasmic System, very clearly say that Pain Resistance is essentially a back door for a Torment skill to appear in the Magic System. So... the Magic System is not omnipotent?

My brow knits in worry and frustration. I am lacking knowledge on something fundamental to mine and others' existence, and find that I don't much appreciate that.

"Hmmh." I pout.

And not only that, I consider myself to be far more well-informed on the limits of the System than others. For example, I know that the "glitches" that appear in the System when Eldritch creatures are present is simply a warning that 'these fuckers are bad news. Your puny mind can't handle this shit.'

With enough force of Will, you can get the System to take off what are essentially the safety wheels it puts in place. Though there are plenty of Mages who did that far too soon, and the System gave exactly the information those fools were asking for.

Each of those Mages received the Darwin's Award in case you were wondering.

At least I have a more official name for the Miasmic System than "purple boxes" or, well, Miasmic System. It goes by System of the Torments. It may not necessarily be important, but having a name to something is just... reassuring?

I switch my attention back from stewing in my concern to looking through my curtain of azure blue hair to check out the rest of the fascinating notifications while standing on my hands. Don't mind me! Just doing some simple popping and locking improv dance.

HATRED! You are eligible for the class Apprentice Pain Mage Tier 1 Class. Carve and cut up your Will to mold the sensation of suffering, be it yours or others, like putty to your mind.

HATRED! You are eligible for the class Apprentice Torturer of Pain Tier 1 Class. You became built to increase suffering due to the suffering you have experienced. All traits related to torture are boosted by Aura Will skills, ready to increase every aspect of pain that they cause.

HATRED! You are eligible for Tutored by Suffering Tier 1. As bona fide royalty and a prodigal genius in social work as all Princesses should be, your pain has taught you much. Shaping your body and personality both through lessons you took to heart and lessons damaged into your head and soul, you have been an eager, if unwitting, pupil to Suffering. Now get some real-world applications for your learning. Time to try out your new abilities as you figure out how you shall reign as Queen.

My stats allow my body to move like herky-jerky clockwork into a close-to-perfect right angle position between everything above and everything below my torso. After that, I pop into splits in a dynamic skewing, twisting my body in a way that would make it appear as if I am a clock from an diagonal point of view. All the while, wiggling my body behind the "hands of the clock" or rather my legs, like an undulating worm at an angle requiring incredible core strength.

Well, I think that all the choices look positively smashing! I leap up and clap my hands together in eagerness, a grin filling my face like hot ginger peach tea filling up a cup, though my eyes are the ice cubes in this analogy.

Despite the joy of gaining more power, and thus freedom, in this world, a cold glint in my eyes burns in my eyes. Charisma pours out of my expression, creating an oppressive aura of utter fury that eats through the 1000 points I have in the Stat rapidly. Everyone on the street freezes like deer under a frost giant's breath.

The Lady of Death and Taxes literally killed me, decapitating me, without so much a thought to my wellbeing. If I wasn't - well, let's be honest - if I wasn't me. And I had been literally anyone else without Pain, Torture, and Interrogation Resistance (and the incredibly high levels I have in them) I would be a gibbering mess.

My teeth grit together. She did not have a right to do that to me all for the sake of expediency.

She killed me... so she could save time. Perhaps one could 'say all's well that ends well,' but I say that if I succeed in ascending, she will be near the top of the smiting list.

"Ohhhohohohoho..." the callousness is strong with this one. She will pay for hurting my body in such a way. She is not the only one that earns my ire though. I gaze at my blessing askance.

It Just Will Not Die: The Stars wish to keep watching you. You are entertaining. Their desire to keep observing you accidentally turned into a blessing which enables you to escape situations within reason.

I did die! Apparently that does not count as a situation within reason... and I suppose one could argue that I came back from said death! But I couldn't care less! She committed ctrl+alt+delete on my life! I don't care whether she fished me out of the metaphorical/digital trashcan files!!! The bragging rights are insane, and I will rub it in to literally everyone in the gang, but that was not fun!

I suppose the curse from capital-G God won in this case.

"I choose Tutored by Suffering."

HATRED! You have unlocked the Class Tutored by Suffering Tier 1.

You have unlocked the Skills:

-The Student Becomes The Teacher: Choose any moment of pain you have been dealt in your life, and deal it thrice-fold to your enemy

-Pain Magic Level 0 Tier 1 (Boosted by Detested Prodigy): A prodigy in the workings of pain, you have an understanding in how to cause others pain far beyond most your age in the surrounding society. Learn how to work Magic in general, and how to inflict and use the concept of Pain with your Will, to level. Using to achieve goals will level ability.

-Despair-Stained Hands Level 0 Tier 1: Weaponize the ghostly blood that runs through your veins with a flex of Will. Kill or mind-break to level.

-Rapier of Broken Reflection Level 0 Tier 2: Choose an emotion to make snap off for the time of battle and wield a shard of The Broken Mirror, causing others to feel your Pain. Improve in sword-fighting Skill and slice open flesh and mind alike to increase in level. You can only feel variations of that emotion during the battle. Try to survive its use. Don't try to survive its use.

-Increase Pain Level 0: Overlaying your Will onto anything will increase the pain that thing deals depending on the amount of Will you use.

There is really no other choice, if I still want to carve my path in the world like I desire to. This may be the one infected by Miasma, but that means it draws power from far more of my experiences.

Others much nicer than me, *cough* Betsie *cough*, would totally avoid letting the enemy of all Magic-kind hack into the Magic System. They would probably be stronger and better off choosing the other options anyway, just due to their life experience and personality. But I need the power it will give me. Being a monster in the "eyes" of the Essence means doubling down the worst filth within my mind will push me head and shoulders over a kinder option.

But she's not in this position. I am.

Now that the notifications are out of the way, I start skipping in the direction that I know brother's hospital is. The warm, eagerly bright sun lightly graces my skin, curiously gazing upon me as I jauntily travel down the road to the two members of my small family. I jubilantly switch to running and jumping in equal measure to get to Elisa and Dennis faster.