《Humans Remain Wicked》 Prologue Sayre, to me, is the sea. She¡¯s cigarettes and red lipstick, and in the summer, large sunglasses pulling back her hair. She said that her favorite season is spring, and because she was fond of the feeling of mud beneath bare feet, the second aspect of this world I created was mud that reached the sea. This was before the sands, the meadows, and before she asked the question that I wish she never did: ¡°What do you think will happen if we cut the tether?¡± Demanding. Sharp. It wasn¡¯t a question of innocence, but of a challenger. I deflected it, and over time it became: ¡°Where do you expect to end up?¡± If I stayed in the world we were both born in instead of this one. ¡°You¡¯re not old enough yet, but you¡¯ll see eventually that it¡¯s nothing exciting.¡± To live and grow old in the world we were both born in. ¡°What reasons do you have for dismissing this realm?¡± Convinced that once I crossed the threshold of adulthood, I won¡¯t return here. And this last one¡­ This last one was the explosion. ¡°¡­ I don¡¯t know.¡± I was wary, because all of our interactions had become prodding, prickling, and my attempts at deflection. ¡°¡­ You don¡¯t know.¡± Sayre wasn¡¯t convinced. ¡°Yes, I don¡¯t know. Not everyone has a reason for everything.¡± Sayre¡¯s mouth twists into a bitter frown. ¡°Everyone has a reason, but not everyone is aware of what it is.¡± Like shrapnel, it seized me, and I seemed to have embodied a part of her spirit. I don¡¯t want to lose to another one of your arguments. But since when am I ever able to think of the rights words to say at the right time? I bowed out again, ¡°I guess.¡± But she kept pushing¡ª The south side where the sea was¡­ Now caving into an abyss. The rich sapphire of its body rushing backwards as though being pulled down a drain. The air seems to churn¡­ churning¡­ And out breaks the wind that whips around me, yanking my hair all over my face. It¡¯s a phenomenon not known to this realm. This is the realm you come to after drinking the water bought from the old lady at the witchcraft shop that no one frequents seriously. This is the realm that will obey your commands, your vision, and how you mold it.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. This is the realm too mysterious to understand, for Sayre who first arrived before me, and for me who accidentally breached it and became an owner too. But I know it is not a fluke of the realm itself, as though it grew a mind of its own. A wavering¡ª In the air¡ª Like a tiny sheen of a sound, high-pitched¡­ Yet it isn¡¯t a sound at all, and my ears hold nothing but the howling of the wind. Just the tingle of a feeling¡ª It¡¯s the feeling of¡ª I just know. I just know this is Sayre¡¯s doing. She just keeps pushing¡ª The wind strengthens, and I have to hunch over in effort against its weight. What are you doing, Sayre? What¡¯s going on? With the sun rising from the east, and the breadth of stars that follows it towards the west, our realm is like a flat earth on which only we exist. It¡¯s a second home, most of it risen by my hand because Sayre, though full of understanding of the theory, didn¡¯t, as she said, ¡°Have the imaginative capacity¡±. In this knowing, I can taste its destructive desire. Beyond it, I taste the pulse of my own fear. Sayre, are you tearing this place apart? Alarm shoots through me as I drive my attention beneath my feet, feeling for that current, readying the framing and deliverance¡ª ¡°It seems to come from the birth of thought,¡± Sayre says, looking out the window that carries nothing but the thick of fog. ¡°You know how thoughts are formed into words? It¡¯s the framing of something that can¡¯t be fully understood nor spoken into something tangible, and then delivered out into the space of physical existence¡­¡± There is a strange, floating sensation of being enveloped; a viscous, gel-like feeling and I¡¯m¡ª --- Mercredia: ¡°She¡¯s not a real Subpar, she just has an attitude problem.¡± I chuck another pebble into the sea. Cas chucks his right after. ¡°But if she seems like it, then isn¡¯t she one?¡± I glare at him. ¡°So we¡¯re judging people by appearances now? You know better than that.¡± ¡°Sorry¡­¡± He bends to pick up another, a fat one that fits his palm, hiding his face from view. ¡°I wanted to pass on what I heard¡­ You haven¡¯t been keeping up with the Red Cards lately¡­¡± ¡°You¡¯re not my Guardian.¡± I wrinkle my nose at him as he straightens. He doesn¡¯t notice. ¡°I¡¯ve been with her¡­ Trying to keep her in line¡­¡± I don¡¯t mention that it¡¯s been a failure so far. He studies the rhythm of patterns on the rock. ¡°It¡¯s nice you¡¯re free now¡­¡± The breeze messes the crop of his hair. You¡¯re going to have to comb that thoroughly before we leave this beach¡­ I can¡¯t help noting that he looks so much younger with his sleeves rolled up, top two buttons undone. He continues to weigh it in his palm. ¡°So what did you want to tell me?¡± His eyes widen a fraction, as though to say, so soon? --- Karma: I vowed to myself at some point that I wouldn¡¯t become a waste of life like that man. I thought that by doing so, I wouldn¡¯t suffer the fated future of my cursed existence. I don¡¯t even remember who he exactly was, but I believe he was simply saying that in his run-of-the-mill existence, he found no joy in chasing joy. We spend our lives on a treadmill, I think that¡¯s how he said it, chasing happiness but only to chase the next prize right after. What¡¯s the point then? I think that¡¯s what I thought. It might as well be that you never gained it in the first place. But then I grew older and I realized that society had a different definition. I was the ¡®waste of life¡¯. Maybe that¡¯s when it started, when I told myself I would attain what that man couldn¡¯t. People attained their prizes all the time and rejoiced; not everyone is like him. I wouldn¡¯t be on a treadmill, I would be fulfilled once I owned my sole prize¡­ I will defeat the limits of what I was born to be¡­ Right? It¡¯s hard to pinpoint the beginning, that root of the problem. Heroes have it so easy in stories; they know right away who is good and who is evil, who to fight and who to save. And they always make the situation better, with their powers and clarity of sight. If I framed myself as a hero¡­ Will I be free? --- What¡­ Was that? It felt like¡­ Holding this¡­ And I can¡¯t even explain it¡­ Like a colour. The way you understand it, can point it out, and declare its name, but you can¡¯t explain it beyond a name. It felt like this sort of awareness¡­ It felt like these were the thoughts of¡ª Sem, the person I invented out of conversation with Sayre about who would live in a forest of crystalline-leafed trees. Another girl, whose name I don¡¯t know, but I can sense Sayre¡¯s energy behind her. Sem, from the world we invented out of the fun of pretense¡ª This new girl, whose world must be of Sayre¡¯s latest creation. ¡°Do you think I¡¯m the villain, Amora?¡± In the hum of the cabin wall, as though my hand upon it is a telephone cord, the whisper traveled up my arm in a brush, became her voice in my skull. And I am submerged in that gel-like viscosity again. Part 1: No Relation; Ch1: Dreaming (i) Part 1: No Relation Ch1: Dreaming (i) Life as Always Sem: I have to pull my hair into a high ponytail; that¡¯s the standard if you keep your hair long. A check in the vanity mirror tells me my collar is upright and stiff, folded at the right angle and balanced on both sides. Buttons are closed all the way up to my collarbone, silver bumps of beads that bear the slender ¡®H¡¯ of the school. My satchel hangs off the back of the vanity chair, and I swing it over my right shoulder, assured from its lightness that I don¡¯t need to remove any textbooks. I glance over my face one more time. There are a few stray hairs that need to be plucked. I reach for the tweezers without looking, and in the mirror they glint silver¡ª I blink at them, glancing at my hand. Since when were they silver? No, they¡¯re not silver. They¡¯re the red they have always been. I start with the right eyebrow, my expression emotionless from the slight twinge of pain, then move onto the left. My mouth murmurs in the process, reviewing the lessons of yesterday: ¡°The oldest member of the Seven is the Honorable Liege, who joined in his thirties, becoming the youngest to ever serve the glorious nation of Mainland by seating in the primary body of government¡­ "The Trade Center in Merchants District was an idea first established by Biteirnen Gilleas Sennes~Aris¡­Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! "Essece powder has a ban and is only licensed to hunters and is part of the goods delivery to Mercredia¡­¡± I pause. Mercredia¡­ ¡°Moving on,¡± I say aloud, ¡°And today¡¯s lessons include¡­¡± I drop the tweezers back into its cylindrical holder, running through the topics and what I¡¯ve read ahead on the current Yerehis movement for Arts. ¡°¡­ The signature of the Yerehis movement in comparison to the Donnahis movement is that the focus is on pondering the joys of living as part of society, whereas the Donnahis movement is on the pondering of society in smaller, intimate groups¡­¡± I see the flag-bearer skimming by the window pane with the vivid red square of cotton out of the corner of my eye. Cotton is a material from the Fourth Otherworld, used by those humans as fabric for clothing and other cloth-made materials. And every morning I see it, I have to be reminded of her. It¡¯s the signal that it¡¯s time to leave, so I glance in the mirror one last time, give the end of my ponytail a small, sharp tug, and turn for the door. / [Nameless] : The sky is always a storm-grey to me, even when the day is clear blue, because that¡¯s the way I see it. Because these are the days I¡¯m always waking up to. It¡¯s a sluggish feeling, turning into a panic that jolts action through my limbs, but it is futile because I won¡¯t be able to move. The paralysis lasts for a while, and the worst thing is, if I don¡¯t keep trying to move, I¡¯ll just stay in this conscious agony for who knows how long. Like someone is suffocating you underwater, though you can breathe just fine, the air rushing in and out of your lungs. It would be nicer if this allowed me to be half-asleep, if I am not fully aware and fully in my body. At least then I wouldn¡¯t feel as though I am flailing for my life. What accompanies me as I will my arm to move, my leg to move, my eyes to blink as the dryness starts to sting¡ª Have I really done it this time? Has it manifested? And luckily¡ª Like a snap in my joints, I bolt upright, finally allowed to take control over my body. Not today then¡­ I¡¯m spared¡­ A glance at the clock tells me I¡¯m going to be late again. Why bother checking? You know it¡¯s always going to be the same when that stupid paralysis is going to say, ¡°Hello, rise and shine.¡± I just pull whatever out of my closet and wear it, grabbing the red cap with that anime character who I don¡¯t know, as always, and stuff all of my unbrushed hair into it after a quick twist. My feet are too loud as they pound down the stairs, skidding me into the toaster as I swing into the kitchen and grab two granolas from the cupboard. My eyes meet my grandmother¡¯s, who is reading a book of poetry; the breakfast table already cleared. My cheeks flame without my consent, I clench my teeth, and I run for the door before she can say anything. As it slams shut behind me, my hand finds my back pocket to check for the pack of gum. Ch1: Dreaming (ii) -Noon- Sem: I¡¯m one of the last ones to leave the classroom. I let the others who want to rush free do so first; I¡¯m not going to squeeze into the blockade and make it worse. A Model Character always does what is right. I swing my satchel over my shoulder as I walk past the ulfsenboard bearing the names of those who did the best during this morning¡¯s participation round. As per usual, my name comes first. Instructor Ambroiss even drew lines of lightning around it to highlight it above the rest. It gives me a satiety as I leave for the busy line of eating shoppes on Thoroughfare Evis. Elegia walks a slow pace with her two friends as they chatter; my ears catch their words and faltering as I hurry past¡ª ¡°Sem¡¯s going to get the medallion four times in a row at this rate¡ªthat¡¯s a record!¡± ¡°It¡¯s unfair how much they all favour her¡ª¡° ¡°I didn¡¯t think she would suddenly become quite the competitor¡ªO-oh, hi Sem!¡± Elegia¡¯s eyes widen a fraction. ¡°Hi!¡± I toss a wave and a smile over my shoulder, casual and easy, as I continue my speed. ¡°Are you going to Evis?¡± ¡°Yes! See you there!¡± I glance back to smile at her one more time as I reach the nearest carriage. ¡°Thoroughfare Evis, please. The Rie~Schumoto Bakery.¡± If they can¡¯t use my help today, then I can just head next door to the coffee shoppe. And if not, then across the street to the bistro stand, or the rest of the street too. You¡¯ll know you¡¯re on Thoroughfare Evis at first sight of the yellow, blue, and green flag hanging at the corner of the pub, the first building on the street. It¡¯s a road packed with luncheon offers, busiest from the hour before noon to the hour after. It¡¯s the best place closest to my lessons hall to collect Red Cards during lunch hour, and get a lunch. The Rie~Schumoto Bakery is familiar with me, as I¡¯ve aided them many times. In the summer, it¡¯s mainly the duties as an extra cashier, taking the orders, retrieving the bread or pastry, packing and completing the transaction. In the winter, it¡¯s mainly delivery duties, for no one wants to tramp through snow, wait in long lines, or be squeezed into such a crowded area in attempt to remove oneself from the cold. It can be said they¡¯ll reserve their Red Card spot for me¡­ Though this isn¡¯t really appropriate behaviour, it becomes natural to form some sort of unspoken partnership with those who¡¯ve been your Red Card filler many, many times. As I step down from the carriage two shoppes from the long line that¡¯s preventing anyone from stopping at the door, I see Elegia¡¯s walking stick poking out from the carriage a while behind with her two friends. Heading for the pub. There¡¯s always more room for a few more girls as ¡®conversation waitresses¡¯ for those who want a cooling midday vicsosin. Noon has officially started. It¡¯ll signal when I step inside and take an apron and my ponytail into a hairnet, my hands into gloves. When I choose a soft, potato and spice filled bun and eat a few bites every time I enter the back to replace the trays of freshly baked goods with dough. Either I will receive the honor of four Societal Savior Medallions in a row, or Elegia will regain her spot. / [Nameless] : With the ring of the bell, I¡¯m heading to the washroom. I¡¯m the first out the door. The awkward stench of it makes it difficult to summon an appetite, so I guess it serves its purpose well for me. I hunt out my second granola bar, the first one eaten sneakily during first period, and flick down the toilet seat cover with a loud bang. I check it for anything strangely dirty. Nope, nothing. My shoulders slump in relief. I swing my backpack from my shoulders, dumping it on the floor, and sink into my quiet seat. The granola¡¯s yogurt coating is little melted, the shape mushed from the textbooks, but what is the point of complaining? Like it can get any better than this. The walls are etched with crude drawings of genitals and giant smiles of those stick people doing exaggerated acts with them. Swear words litter amongst cheers of ¡®you can do it!¡¯, ¡®dream big!¡¯, ¡®you¡¯re not alone!¡¯. Hilarious. The washroom creaks open, and what sounds like a gaggle of girls walk in. I freeze, which is stupid, because I¡¯m hiding inside the stall and they can¡¯t see me. My eyes dart to check the lock is twisted shut. It is. Their voices sound unfamiliar. My heart rate slows. It¡¯s not them. It wouldn¡¯t make sense if it was them¡­ The cafeteria is downstairs, and there¡¯s a nice, big washroom down there. They wouldn¡¯t come up a flight of stairs to use this corner one. Unless they were looking for me to kick around, or to play the role of whatever latest scheme they think I can amuse them with¡­ I wish I could kick them onto their asses. If only¡­ If only I was allowed to¡­ When the girls leave, the aches brought by withholding from the oracles come to the forefront of my attention. I¡¯m not supposed to¡­ It¡¯ll be easier if I just didn¡¯t¡­ What the hell. If it was easier, it wouldn¡¯t become more painful the longer I have to wait for his even more painful treatments. I have to resist them. Remember what happens if you don¡¯t? The threshold limit is probably close by now¡­ I can¡¯t afford any more accumulations¡­ A drip of water plinks into the sink. I hear a group of boys in the hall, their conversation raucous with plans for the weekend. Everyone seems to be with someone. I take another bite. It hurts to move. I sit as still as I can. The thought of having to walk to class afterwards, then home after that¡­ Just one then¡­ Just for a little relief¡­ I shut my eyes, my arm slumps against my leg, and I think the granola slips out of my grasp as I let the nagging oracles drag me into a lulled state.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. / -Evening- Sem: Dinner is eaten alone, and I make it simple, quick. Tonight, it¡¯s soup again with bread, and I eat it tastelessly, my eyes on the lull of the street as the transition from work to nightlife begins. It¡¯s easier to collect Red Cards on the day off from lessons hall, which for this month will be in five days, but that also means it will be Resting Day for everyone else as well. Only those choosing to still work or to have other business and personal affairs sorted out will be posting Red Cards on their windows. The key is efficiency and speed. Help them sort out their problem fast and you¡¯ll be able to move on to collect another. How many will I be able to find and complete today? Will it be enough? I keep watch of the sky, which hasn¡¯t begun to darken extensively yet, so perhaps an average of five¡­ Assuming I¡¯m encountering both small jobs and bigger and longer ones¡­ I scrub the bowl and utensils in the basin, pulling on a thin outerwear for the upcoming chill of the night, then lug out the hefty bin of used water to dump into the rushing stream of irrigation around the back of the domicile. It splashes high as I heave it, wetting a chunk of my sleeve. ... Maybe I should ask to buy a smaller basin, since it¡¯ll probably be longer before s h- ¡­ Until our Guardian returns, which isn¡¯t likely anytime soon, perhaps I¡¯ll just have to take a trip to Crafters District to ask for permission... ¡­ Our? There isn¡¯t even such thing as ¡®our¡¯ anymore. I set the basin down too hard back inside the domicile, and not wanting to stay any longer, leave to search for Red Cards, the breeze of the evening like ice against my darkened left sleeve. / [Nameless] : The end of the day brings the most relief. I toss my backpack somewhere on the floor and sink into my chair as my stomach whines from the lack of food. How much Dias was accumulated because of my fuck up today? I let my eyelids slide shut, but I can¡¯t let myself sleep now and find the relief I need. I¡¯m supposed to be downstairs with everyone for dinner. If I don¡¯t, they¡¯ll suspect I¡¯m here fooling around with the oracles or karma bending. And what if, with that one small oracle about Carolina, I broke the threshold and will be waking to the Physical Manifestations? A fresh tremor of pain rolls down my back, and I muffle my groan into both hands. There are just too many oracles these days¡­ I have to resist¡­ God, I hate myself for failing again¡­ There¡¯s no hope for me. I keep failing. If I can¡¯t even succeed in something so small, how will I ever change my fate? I just want to sleep; then it¡¯ll leave me alone until tomorrow¡­ How much longer until dinner? I can sleep right after, as long as they don¡¯t hold me up with questioning¡­ But what¡¯s the point when morning just brings a new start to this Sisyphean emergence? There¡¯s homework, and I only have more on my plate since I left many assignments unfinished. I stare at my backpack, the orange strip of pattern, and surrender to defeat. ¡°Fuck it, I¡¯m just going to distract myself until then.¡± I retrieve my phone from the shelf above my desk. Something attention-grabbing, something mindless¡­ At least, it¡¯s not hard to find with the internet. I have luck, finally. Hilarious. I¡¯m opening up the app when I hear the shout¡ª ¡°Granny! Gramps! I¡¯m home!¡± Ugh. ¡°Glory, how was your day at school?¡± I stuff my earbuds into my ears and click the first video I see, blasting the volume to drown out her barrage of ¡®and this happened¡¯. She¡¯s going to talk about the tiny earthquake that stopped afternoon classes. How everyone had to leave and stand in the field until it was declared safe. I¡¯ll be sitting at the dining table and they¡¯ll hold off their verbal suspicions until afterwards¡­ It¡¯ll be: ¡°Did you view an oracle today?¡± ¡°No, I didn¡¯t.¡± Then they¡¯ll tell him. Who cares about hunger, I don¡¯t want to¡­ An eggplant-faced man with a five o¡¯clock shadow starts rapidly firing his enthusiasm. ¡°This is Matt Rugere, and on this episode of ¡®You saw Whaaa?¡¯ we¡¯ll be interviewing Simon Smith, witness to time travelers from the future¡ª¡± / Amora: It is as though I gasp awake, my vision greeted once again with the crystalline leaves whipped with wind, the sea being swallowed by fog and abyss. I can feel its leeching grasp pulling me back under, and I try to push against it through mental will¡ª No, it¡¯s useless¡ª / Sem: In the evening dusk, I ask the driver to stop, spying a Red Card on the ultrich¡¯s window. His wife must be hosting a society party again. It¡¯s probable she wants someone to quickly help polish all the armory and weaponry to be put on display. There are too many stairs, flat and wide, but I hold myself back from simply jogging up to the double doors. It would be unbecoming to behave with such graceless haste on the property of the ultrich. I¡¯m just reaching the top step when the left door flies open¡ª ¡°Come on in.¡± Their butler, suited in frills and maexwen, insists with urgency. Being caught off guard, I can¡¯t hold back the urge to hurry this time, stepping through the doorframe with a ¡®grand evening¡¯ about to leave my lips¡ª T??????h????????e????????d??????????o??????????o????????????r??????????????f???????????? r a m e Doorframe. The monster that is her face will always burn at the back of my mind. I¡¯ve seen this image before, this expression of hers, in the lessons hall textbooks about the Fourth Otherworld, the one where the only ingress known thus far exists on Mercredia. ¡°The Devil is the incarnate of evil to the humans there, though it is believed that its existence remains uncertain, as the humans both agree and disagree over this matter, and the matter relating to that of a supreme being that presides over everyone¡­¡± ¡°¡­ Turning to page sixty-five now, everyone, and you¡¯ll see one version of an illustration that proposes what the Devil is believed to appear as¡­¡± I keep yanking on her sleeve anyway, and here, my size doesn¡¯t matter. I am but a child. ¡°Wait, wait, what do you think you¡¯re doing?-¡± She¡¯s slimmer than me, like a ghost, and I am the stronger one between the two of us. ¡°Stop delaying me-¡± ¡°-You can¡¯t go!-¡± ¡°-I¡¯m giving you one last chance. Hands off or I¡¯ll make you regret it.¡± ¡°Aren¡¯t you ashamed?-¡± I yank her hard enough to send her off-balance; she¡¯s forced to plant one step back inside¡ª At first there is nothing, my vision filled with the floor, and then the pain flames. Raw flesh. Beacon red. The next second, my skull crashes into the drawers, pain shooting through. Down my shoulder blade, elbow, tailbone. I blink up at her in shock, my fingers automatically reaching up to touch my cheek, where it¡¯s hot from her backhand. And then you¡­ threw me to the ground? The way her shoulders are mountainous and with her fists clenched, she¡¯s a cornered beast. Did you really just... Do that to me? ¡°Why are you doing this?¡± I sound far too feeble. She quivers, like she wants to keep it to herself, but when she spits it, she rages. ¡°What would you know about freedom?¡± . . . ¡­ Freedom? My room is awash with morning sunlight, and I vaguely register the singing horns and cries of ¡®All glory to Mainland!¡¯ ¡­ What was that dream about? It felt like a marathon of a nightmare¡­ ¡®All glory to our victory against those Mercredian evils!¡¯ ¡­ All I remember is¡­ -Morning- I have to pull my hair into a high ponytail; that¡¯s the standard if you keep your hair long. A check in the vanity mirror tells me my collar is upright and stiff, folded at the right angle and balanced on both sides. Buttons are closed all the way up to my collarbone, silver bumps of beads that bear the slender ¡®H¡¯ of the school. My satchel hangs off the back of the vanity chair, and I swing it over my right shoulder, assured from its lightness that I don¡¯t need to remove any textbooks. I glance over my face on e m o r e t i m e. -Noon- I¡¯m one of the last ones to leave the classroom. I let the others who want to rush free do so first; I¡¯m not going to squeeze into the blockade and make it worse. A Model Character always does wh a t i s r i g h t. -Evening- Dinner is eaten alone, and I make it simple, quick. Tonight, it¡¯s soup again with bread, and I eat it tastelessly, my eyes on the lull of the street as the transition from work to nightlife begins. It¡¯s easier to collect Red Cards on the day off from lessons hall, which for this month will be in five days, but that also means it will be Resting Day for everyone else as well. Only those choosing to still work or to have other business and personal affairs sorted out will be posting Red Cards on their wi n d o w s. Just scenes from daily life¡­ The pressure from working for the medallion has invaded my sleep¡­ No, then afterwards¡­ Wasn¡¯t there something like a memory? What was that memory about¡­ ¡®All glory to the Seven for their charity to those Mercredian wretches!¡¯ A long, blaring note from the horns solidifies my wakefulness. Victory? Mercr¡ª My eyes snap open. It¡¯s today.