Pokémon Hunter, Haunted

[canisaries]

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA IT'S BEEN THREE MONTHS BUT HERE WE FINALLY ARE. chapter four. things happen in this one, you'll love it. rated mature again because language and violence. okay thank you for reading and enjoy

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CHAPTER FOUR
Life

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Dappled sunlight dances atop the forest scene.

The dirt, the moss, the needles, my body... they all bask in the scattered glow, taking in whatever warmth it has to offer.

The path before me winds and forks, leading astray the less familiar, but no hesitation plagues my steps. I know the way.

The trees sway gently in the breeze, filling the air with the scent of their sap. Every now and then, a local inhabitant rustles through the foliage - a pidgey, a sentret, what have you.

The sun, the path and the trees - my spotlight, my red carpet and my crowd. They're all here to cheer me on, the star of the show, and guide me to the stage, wherever it may be. I have to keep a sharp eye out for it, lest it find me first. And that's not how the playwright wants it.

The sign of the stage, the mark to confirm its discovery, is fortunately unmistakable: pale pink hair. Yes, the location of my stage is wherever my antagonist --

"Fuck you!"

Oh fuck, she found me, what do I do --

No, no, wait, that wasn’t Michi’s voice. And turning around confirms she’s not there. Instead…

"Fuck you!" chirps the pidgey perched in a nearby rowan. Its beady black eyes radiate innocence, starkly contrasting its words. Why would…

Oh, I think I get why. Some young kid, maybe with a friend or two, had learned that some birds like to mimic speech, and taught this one to say this hilarious catchphrase. They must have encouraged it with treats, and now it wants me to reward its performance.

Well, I have nothing for it. "Shoo," I hiss with a flick of my hand.

"Shoo," it repeats. Oh, great.

I step towards the bird, but still it keeps its perch. What's wrong with this thing? Doesn't it know to be scared? Don't tell me even the birds in this town have become domesticated…

"Seriously, leave," I growl, now waving my whole arm. I don't want it picking up anything incriminating once I start my show.

The pidgey studies the extended limb with curious eyes, and... flits onto it.

I can't even move. It's too absurd. This thing weighs no more than the gloves I'm wearing, and yet it shows no second thoughts about jumping right onto a predator's body.

At least I'm lucky to have those gloves. Wouldn't want to catch any parasites from this puffball.

"Shoo," it repeats again, hopping closer along my forearm.

That's it. This is insulting. Am I not a predator to be feared? Am I not a danger to be escaped? Am I just a walking feeding station to you? What insolence. This pidgey needs to go.

I raise my other hand, take aim, imagine the collision with the creature’s fragile body…

...no. It wouldn’t be right.

It wouldn’t be right to break those feathers, bend them funny, ruin that perfect array of quills. Possibly even snap one of its hollow, delicate bones whose light frame allow it its flight.

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

With a sigh, I lower the hand and bring down to the pidgey. The bird hops onto my palm and sits down almost immediately. I give its belly a gentle scratch with my thumb. The pidgey leans in, narrowing its eyes in enjoyment. Even through the glove, I can feel its softness and warmth.

These woods are their own ecosystem. I’ll leave it to the local predators to teach this bird to fear if needed.

“Jo-to-to!”

Another birdcall from afar. Sounded like a pidgeotto. It catches the pidgey's attention, for sure - it raises its head and erects its little crest.

This may be my chance to slip away. “Come on,” I say, nudging the bird with my fingers, “go see your… mom, or whoever it is.”

The pidgey chirps - at least it still knows how to chirp - and flies off to the direction of the call. Yes, great. Now I can get back to hunting my own prey.

I continue along the path to the cabin, eyes and ears sharp as a noctowl’s, ready to latch onto anything that sticks out. Each step I take is as silent as can be. Even my heart pounds louder. I hope this rush of blood in my ears doesn’t mask any important noises…

On instinct, my fingers brush against my thigh. As they fail to find the scabbard, a lance of dread pierces my heart - but it withdraws just as quickly as I remember my knife is in my backpack. I’ll get to reclaim it once the first scene is over. For now, though, it must remain hidden. I can’t come in with my fangs bared.

Rustling. I freeze in place. That wasn’t caused by me or the wind. So either it was a mon, or…

Pink. Among the bushes further ahead. Its position, its motion… it must be her.

My lips draw into a smirk. And so the curtain rises.

I reset my face, then sprinkle on a little ignorance. Voice painted with innocence, I call out. “Hello?”

The pink darts up at the noise. Just like a nidoran, so alert...

“Yeah, you,” I add, casually approaching. “I need to talk to you.”

As the vegetation thins out, I see her face, her eyes. Shocked, yet unquestionably defiant. She plants her feet more firmly on the ground, slips her hand into her pocket and -- yes, the knife! Her dull little incisors. Not made to gnaw through flesh, but ready to try - only in self-defense, of course, but no less painfully.

“Where is your aura?” she asks. Oh, good. The seal works, then.

I stop, tilting my head. “What?”

“Your aura. It’s...” she begins, but as her eyes wander on my mask of confusion, she decides I know no more than her. “Whatever. What do you want?”

I force a sigh. "Listen. I'm sorry about how I acted before. I'm not… good with people."

Her stare is unrelenting. No sympathy for just that, huh.

"Okay, I'll get to the point," I say, taking off my backpack. "The yamask you were with… I knew her. Her name was Joanna. Has she told you that?"

Michi raises her brow. After a pause, she asks, "How did you know her, then?"

"Neighbor," I say, kneeling on the ground and placing the backpack in front of me. "Her apartment in Viridian was next to mine. I know it doesn't sound like a lot, but --"

"Sure doesn't."

I refrain from glaring at the brat and continue. "I know, but we did talk. Friendly chatter, though I… I would've liked it to be more. She was really nice, you know, and pretty…"

"Get to the point, lover boy."

Sheesh, this nidoran's not shy with her quills. She's not seeing through my facade, is she?

"Anyway," I stress, "I came here because I think I can help her. I can remind her of her old life. If she remembers that, she might remember what caused her to disappear and..." I keep the rest in my mouth and pretend it tastes bitter. "S-so… will you let me see her?"

Her eyes stay cold. "Can you prove any of this?"

I drag a veil of dejection over my face and look away. “Uhh… I mean, I don’t really know how I’d prove it. I was hoping you could just trust me on this...”

“You’re not very bright, are you.”

Well, neither are you, if you know who you’re dealing with...

I suppress a scowl, instead fiddling with my fingers, pretending not to know what to do. Well, half-pretending. I didn’t expect her to be this stubborn - she looked like the naive type, but I guess I was wrong.

“Listen,” I say with some rediscovered confidence and meet her eyes again. “Can you at least let me give you something? It’s a scarf of hers. She wore it a lot before she accidentally dropped it on the street. I took it, and I was gonna give it back, but I was kinda shy about it...”

”So you stole from her, too?”

I ignore her and begin digging through my bag. She’s gonna regret all this lip once I get the upper hand.

There is indeed a scarf in the bag. It’s rather plain - no interesting pattern or colors, just solid black - but it’s warm. And being my mother’s, it has a woman’s scent, if someone was capable of telling that. In any case, it’s a believable enough prop.

But I’m not going for it, not yet. Instead, there’s a vial underneath it, along with a rag. As silently as I can, I pop open the plastic cap and pour some of the vial’s contents onto the rag. I close it and drop it, hanging on only to the rag, and raise my hands out of the bag with the scarf covering them.

As I stand up, I see some intrigue in Michi’s eyes. Beginning to believe me, is she? Good.

She makes no motions to leave as I walk towards her, but keeps her knife out and ready.

I stop and sigh. “Please, just take it. It’s the least you can do.”

She stays still. Until… yes.

She approaches with cautious steps, keeping her knife before her. Her eyes flick back and forth between the scarf and my face. I keep my expression somewhere between hope and resignation.

I can't quite tell if each step makes her more at ease or less, but it makes little difference as long as the gap between us is closing. Finally, she arrives at an arm's length and reaches out.

My lack of motion calms her. She grabs onto the scarf and pulls it towards herself --

I grab her knife with my left hand still covered by the scarf and shove the rag onto her face with my right. The force knocks her backwards, and I drop with her, pinning her down where she lands.

Shock widens her eyes. Her free arm claws at my face, but I push it down with a knee and keep it there. Both her arms immobilized, all she can do is scream and flail her legs. The rag keeps her muffled and her knee strikes - while determined - only manage to bruise.

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

This is it. This is what it’s all about, what I’m meant to do! Stalk, strike and entrap! Feel the victim squirm in vain, overpowered by my superior strength! Oh, her useless struggle is so amusingly pathetic. It's like playing with an ant - no, an ant can bite. She can't do even that!

And with every second, her motions get lazier. The spores - my venom - they’re wearing her down. Her screams lose their volume, her motions their vigor, until she gets sufficiently limp to no longer be a threat.

I peel the knife out of her hand and pocket it, then leave her to fetch my backpack. Some noises leave her mouth while I dig out the duct tape and scissors, but they’re hardly louder than a mewl of a meowth.

Wasting no time, I crawl back to her, cut off a piece of tape and glue it onto her mouth. Ignoring her now nasal whines, I flip her over and bind her wrists behind her back.

Alright! That’s the first phase over with. I can catch my breath a little, fix my hair, retrieve my knife from the bag and reattach the scabbard to my belt. Gods, it feels good to have that back.

A sharp spike in troubled breathing clues me in on the girl having noticed the weapon. I meet her stare with a smile.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not gonna hurt you.” I pause to drop the smile. “As long as you behave.”

I zip the bag shut and hoist it onto my back, and then it’s time for the other cargo. I flip the girl belly-up again and edge my arms underneath her body. She's not the lightest weight to lift - but I manage without trouble, because of course I do. I am a Helixian.

“Alright, kid,” I say, “let’s go see your friend.”

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

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

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

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

I chuckle, withdrawing. “I’m just kidding! I’m not that weird.”

I find my way back to the path and continue on the way to the cabin. Michi doesn't do much to stop me. She probably knows well that she can't - or that she shouldn’t, her captor having the means and will to hurt her quite badly.

The woods around us stay rather silent. There’s no noise outside the occasional gusts and the constant hum of faraway traffic, which one can easily imagine as just more wind if technology pisses them off. It sure does in my case. I prefer things natural, be they transport or the laws of life.

I breathe the air in through my nostrils, enjoying its crisp coolness and aroma of pinewood. How tranquil, and yet the situation is so dire. The poor, helpless child in the clutches of a monster. And soon she'll have to trade her friend's life for hers. Simply hair-raising. Excitement, drama! This is what I’ve been missing.

Although… this walk is taking a while. It feels a bit awkward just to stay silent like this.

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" I speak. I pause for a reply, fully revelling in the fact that I know she can't give one.

"Beautiful forest, too. You picked a good place to hang out," I continue. "And that shack… well, it seems like a place I would've loved to hide away at as a boy. Even if it would get cold at night and the walls likely have mold in them…"

I frown. "I guess that's a lot rarer nowadays, kids playing in the woods. They've got their prescribed playgrounds and - ugh, smartphones…"

I return my gaze to her face. "I guess I gotta hand it to you, then, for being different. Still having that wildness in you."

She only shows reserved suspicion, as strongly as she can with the spores clouding her brain.

"Go ahead, take the compliment," I say, smirking. "They're rare to get from me."

No change. Those bright blue eyes stay alarmed.

I shrug. "Well, it's alright. It's not like you'll remember any of this afterwards, anyway."

After a couple more turns, we finally reach the clearing with the shack. I scan the windows for any sign of the ghost, but find nothing. Hopefully she’s there anyway.

“Here comes your part...” I whisper, lowering Michi onto her feet. I reach for my knife --

Fuck! My shin, she -- she kicked it? And now she’s --

I leap after her, easily catching up to her tottering attempt at a run. As soon as she’s within arm’s reach, I grab firmly onto the hood of her jacket and pull her back, drawing a whimper from her throat. Desperate, she struggles - until she spots the glistening blade held up to her neck.

“Maybe I wasn’t clear enough before,” I growl. “You either behave, or you get hurt. Got it?”

She gives a cautious nod.

“Good. Now, walk with me.”

I turn her around and bring her closer to the cabin, about two meters from the door. I still can’t spot Joanna, but with Michi at my disposal, I hope that will soon change.

“Yamask!” I call out as well as I can while still keeping my volume on the lower side. "I have your friend. If you don’t want her to get hurt, come outside. Now. And do it slowly! If you make any sudden motions, my hand might just slip!”

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

“I'm holding a knife, if you didn't know,” I continue.

Still nothing. Man. She’d better answer soon, or this is gonna get complicated.

Hm. Maybe if...

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

My left hand latches onto Michi’s neck, drawing out a whine. She’s like a squeaky toy, fun.

“...I’m gonna slit her fucking throat. Alright? Alright. Starting now.”

I loosen my grip on the girl’s neck, but only to draw her closer by her chest.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven…”

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

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

“Four!”

“Maah!”

I stop. That’s her. Oh, thank fuck, I won’t have to improvise. I exhale in relief. So does Michi.

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

The cabin’s door cracks open, and something slides out. A floating, ink-black shadow - and grasped in her hands, the familiar golden face. Deep red fluid leaks from the creature’s eyes. Through them shines misery.

Finally. A faint smile crosses my face. “Hi, Joanna.”

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

“Do you remember me?” I ask, walking towards her, Michi shuffling along. Joanna stays put. She knows I can't hurt her.

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

She hugs her mask.

“Well, whether you remember or not, I suppose I can tell you. It’s not like either of you will be able to spread it around once we’re done here. But first...”

I throw a glance at the door. “I’d like for us to take this inside.”

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

Dragging Michi along, I follow Joanna in, not once taking my eyes off the ghost. She watches me with equal vigilance.

But once the door has closed, I’m free to study the interior of the building. To the left is a door to another room hardly the third of this one. Ahead, a brick hearth and a cracked, full-length mirror. To the right, a pile of blankets and mattresses in the corner, and a wooden table flanked by benches against the wall.

Above the fireplace hangs a picture frame, but its contents are long gone, lost to time. It holds nothing but a ragged, black mess now. On the table flickers the light of a rusty oil lamp. Its smudgy glass blurs the outlines of the flame within, but the fire still burns bright and warm.

“An oil lamp, huh?” I turn to Michi, whose only response is a nervous glance. “You really are resourceful.”

I nudge her toward the bench. “Anyway, sit here, won’t you.” She obeys, and I put down my backpack beside her, my knife still at her throat. I dig out the duct tape and bind her shins, using my teeth in place of my knife hand.

“There,” I say as I sit next to her. “Now you can’t go running off.”

I wrap my knife-arm around her shoulder. It’s the most comfortable posture to take while still tightly holding the girl’s life in my hands. Definitely not comfortable for her, though, but that only makes it better.

“So,” I start, locking eyes with Joanna, “what happened? Well, you’re dead. You might have guessed that by now. Something you might also have guessed is that it wasn’t a natural death, that someone killed you. And that someone?”

I tap my chest, smiling. Joanna winces.

“But why did I kill you, then?” I raise an eyebrow. “What was my motive? Was I maybe a boyfriend that caught you fucking another man?” I shake my head. “No, nothing quite so trivial.”

I lean back. "The truth is that there was nothing personal about it. You just happened to fit the criteria my lord has for HIS offerings. Young, female, healthy… and, for the sake of my own security, you had few close contacts. So I took you. I took you and gave you to HIM. And HE was pleased."

Joanna glances around, fidgeting with her mask.

I frown. "Right, I guess you don't know who HE is. Well, HE… HE is magnificent. HE is terrifying. HIS nature is beyond mortal comprehension - all we can do is stare in awe as our pathetic brains try to scramble together some explanation. HE was there before the world, before time. Far before we humans came to be.

“Us humans, though, were of interest to HIM. That’s why HE recruited some followers, followers that would go on to conquer an entire kingdom. Under HIS rule, that kingdom flourished. It was a glorious era.

"Sadly, that kingdom only stood for a few hundred years. HE foresaw its end well in time, however, and had himself hidden to await a better time. Millennia later, I found HIM - and now, I will be the one to restore HIS kingdom. The Helixian Kingdom. Where the strong thrive and feed on the weak, as it should be. No more prey ruling the predators, no more laws to suppress us. True freedom."

Such words leave a good taste in my mouth. It’s a shame I can never speak like this outside meetings with HIM - or talking by myself, but that just feels sad.

I don’t even get to tell my victims this. I have to keep them unconscious until the beginning of the ritual, and after that, it all has to go according to the script. No time for chit-chat. I love it all the same, but sometimes it feels like my head will burst if I have to keep all these thoughts behind sealed lips.

I should probably cut this here, though. The longer I talk, the more likely it is for someone to overhear, even if the chance stays relatively low.

“Alright, that’s enough about me. Let's get to the point.”

I extend a hand to Joanna. “I'm gonna need you to give me that mask.”

“...Maa?”

“Are you questioning me?”

I grab Michi’s chin and push it up high, fully exposing her throat. Her neck resists the motion with pitifully insufficient strength, and realizing that helplessness, her breathing becomes even quicker than before.

“Did you forget where you are? Do you want to see her throat slit?” I growl. I know I’d want to. I'm breathing faster, too.

“Mah… m-mah…!”

The fluid from the ghost’s eyes spurts out like blood from a bad cut as her face contorts in agony, but the red vaporizes the moment it hits the floor. Her fingers, furiously trembling, grasp the rim of the mask like a cliff she was hanging by.

“It's just a mask,” I whisper, feigning concern with a furrowed brow. “It’s not worth an innocent child’s life.”

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

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

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

“Maah! Mah!” she howls. She takes one of her hands off the mask, shakingly offering the golden object forward with the other. There we go.

Calmly, I grab the mask - shuddering at its surprising coldness - and draw it to myself.

“I'm glad you chose this way, Joanna,” I say, turning the mask in my hand. Its gleaming surface reflects back a stretched, distorted version of my face. “Not only is it beneficial for me, but most would consider it morally correct. You’re living your second life, the girl her first. It's just common sense.”

The mask's still cold… but eh, what can you do. It’s not like it’ll be comfortable to wear anyway, not with a woman’s face and this jawline. Wait. It's not gonna change my face to hers or some karmic shit like that, is it? No, no it won't, there would’ve been something about it in the book if it would. Just put it on already, get it over with.

I bring the mask to my face and press it on. The chill burns - I grit my teeth to help bear it. At least it fits well, surprisingly enough. Really well...

Wait. It's sticking to my face. Is it that cold, cold enough to freeze onto my skin? I better get this off and warm it first so it doesn't sting so damn bad...

...hey. Hey, get off. Get off! It -- It's not coming off! It won't -- oh Gods, I can't breathe, I --

The other hand! I need the -- gotta sheathe the knife, fuck, but it’ll be fine, Michi can't get away while she's… not important now! I hook my nails under the rim and pull. Fuck! That hurts! But I have to, I need to get it off, to breathe again…

It's -- it's warming up? Getting sticky? The rim… the rim is gone! But the mask's still there, has to be since my mouth is covered, my nostrils, my lungs try to draw in air but get nothing, how can I --

Knife, knife! Cut it open! I grab the knife, feel for the gap between the lips -- there it is --

Pop!

Air! Air, streaming into my lungs, pushed out, sucked in again, refreshing my blood. The darkness encircling my vision backs off, fades. I'm alive, I'm alive.

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

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

I squeeze the handle of my knife. I can hear its blade gleam. The wrist bends with grace as the arm raises the weapon. The metal is an extension of me. The sneasel’s claw, the scyther’s scythe.

Joanna’s so clear now, now in this split second before her demise. Her black is the deepest black, her red the most vivid of reds… like blood. More. More of it, now. She will bleed.

Slash.

Yes, she’s full of it - the warm, sticky, salty, wonderful red fluid. And flesh. She has flesh. She’s corporeal. She feels pain. She’s dying.

Again!

The black smoke enveloping those guts tears like wrapping paper. That’s what it is. A present. A gift for me for being this way. Strong. Agile. Bloodthirsty. A hunter.

Stab! This time it’s a stab! The blade slides into her body, through it, into the wooden wall behind and stopping. Look at her, pain in her eyes, slipping away from this world to the void. Where she belongs. There should only be one life. I only have one life. No one else deserves more.

The smoke melts. It ignites with a white, white fire. It spreads to her whole body, eats at its edges. I can’t take my eyes off her terrified expression. She knows she’s dying. She knows I’m killing her. I am ending her. The flames grip her by the temples. One last look, and she’s swallowed by the blaze.

Gone.

The light is gone. Joanna is gone.

No more.

It has been done.

---​

 

[Equitial]

The sun, the path and the trees - my spotlight, my red carpet, my crowd. They're all here to cheer me on, the star of the show, and guide me to the stage, wherever it may be. I have to keep a sharp eye out for it, lest it find me first. And that's not how the playwright wants it.

I’ve noticed throughout the fic that you do a great job describing mundane areas – a grocery store, a therapist’s office, this forest – through Red’s POV to manipulate the mood. Your skill with this kind of scene-setting really sticks out.

Oh fuck, she found me, I can’t make a controlled entrance anymore! Quick, remember your plan --

In isolation I like the Pidgey to call back to the fact that this is a horror and comedy fic, but it reminds me of the murkrow in the alternate prologue. I dunno, just this kind of repetition makes me look for callbacks when I don’t think there are supposed to be any here.

The pink darts up at the noise. Just like a nidoran, so alert...

I just like this line. If there were original fic and Michi were a rabbit, it would be kind of cliché. But since this is Pokémon there’s different context and idk. Randomly struck my fancy.

I like Red being all theatrical in his head, btw.

Shock widens her eyes. Her free arm claws at my face, but I push it down with a knee and keep it there. Both her arms immobilized, all she can do is scream and flail her legs, but the rag keeps her muffled and her knee strikes - while determined - only manage to lightly bruise whatever they hit.

So, I have a thing about child characters where sometimes I get really protective of them. Michi hits the buttons necessary for that. Oh god, I was squirming so hard this chapter because I'm so worried for this girl. Like, here:

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

I want Red to be hurt very very badly.

This is the most stressed I have ever been in a Redfic. Please let the child be okay and hopefully let her kick Red in the dick.

(This is why I like villain protags.)

Lifting her up truly tests my muscles - but I pass that test with flying colors, because of course I do. I am a Helixian.

Small nitpick: I have a sister about the age and size of Michi (thirteen and scrawny?). I wouldn’t be able to carry her a ways like Red does Michi, but I can lift her, and I'm a lot smaller than Red and have complete noodle arms. (Ignore this if is Red is supposed to overplaying his strength, but I think he’s supposed to be muscular.)

I frown. "I guess that's a lot rarer nowadays, kids playing in the woods. They've got their prescribed playgrounds and - ugh, smartphones…"

Is is better or worse that Michi is being tormented by a twenty-year-old boomer.

My left hand latches onto Michi’s neck. A whine comes out. She’s like a squeaky toy, fun.

absolute rage

Red’s using Michi to get Joanna is nicely evil, and his internal and external dialogue really increases the drama. Having a POV character who’s a villain and revels in it is quite entertaining. I also like the moments where he has awkward thoughts not matching the super-villain he views himself as. Red’s panicking at what he would do if Joanna didn’t give herself was jarringly amusing. This bit made me chuckle:

Such words leave a good taste in my mouth. It’s a shame I can never speak like this outside meetings with HIM - or talking by myself, but that just feels sad.

I like the description of Red killing yamask!Joanna.

Yes, she’s full of it - the warm, sticky, salty, wonderful red fluid. And flesh. She has flesh. She’s corporeal. She feels pain. She’s dying.

What physically happens when a corporeal ghost is stabbed: nice and brutal. And of course everything is rendered exultant through Red’s POV.

Joanna’s so clear now, now in this split second before her demise. Her black is the deepest black, her red the most vivid of reds… like blood. More. More of it, now. She will bleed.

Of course, since the fic is not over yet I somehow doubt Joanna’s really gone. Honestly, when Red put on the mask I was like, “wtf are you doing dumbass.” Then I checked back to last chapter and:

Oh, there appears to be another way of handling things. It involves taking the creature’s mask and wearing it, which will cause one to be possessed.

which will cause one to be possessed.

…

Lol. Looking forward to see what happens in the next chapters ;)

 

[Pen]

You promised action and you delivered! I really enjoyed the way you structured this in Red's mind as a play he's written. Him, the predator, fangs hidden; Michi, the smol but defiant nidoran. It underscores the artificiality of Red's actions and his performative streak.

It's always a queasy pleasure watching Red act out his lies. Michi's not impressed, but he doesn't need her to be--just needs her to get close enough for his plan to work. I think you toed a nice balance between not making things go completely smoothly, but also keeping to reality--Michi's not going to be overpowering Red in any world.

The scene with Joanna was pretty heart-breaking. We don't know how much she understands, but we can see that she's suffering. Red can play off her protective feelings and compassion because she has them. She didn't deserve to die the first time, and she certainly doesn't deserve it the second time.

Red's won this round, but I can't imagine the aftermath is going to go well. He put on the creepy ghost mask, and that's gotta have side effects. And just what does he plan to do with Michi?

Specks of sunlight dance atop the forest scene.

Hm, "atop" is striking me as off here.

The dirt, the moss, the needles, my body - all basking in the scattered glow, taking in whatever warmth it has to offer.

All the dashes in the opening feel a little disjointed. Maybe, "The dirt, the moss, the needles, my body all bask in the scattered glow, taking in whatever warmth it has to offer." Dirt and needles are dead, though. How much is the warmth doing for them?

The sun, the path and the trees - my spotlight, my red carpet, my crowd.

Oh, I love this.

The sign of the stage, the mark to confirm its discovery, is fortunately unmistakable. Strands of pink.

This read a little confusingly. The idea of finding the stage--perhaps more emphasis on the pink being the signal that starts the play?

"Fuck you!" chirps the pidgey perched in a nearby rowan. Its beady black eyes radiate innocence, starkly contrasting its words. Why would…

Cute

The pidgey studies the extended limb with curious eyes, and... flits onto it.

I can't even move. It's too absurd. This thing weighs no more than the gloves I'm wearing, and yet it shows no second thoughts about jumping right onto a predator's body.

At least I'm lucky to have those gloves. Wouldn't want to catch any parasites from this puffball.

The mental image is killing me, lol. Have you ever drawn this scene? Imagining Red's bemused and disgusted expression.

That's it. This is insulting. Am I not a predator to be feared? Am I not a danger to be escaped? Am I just a walking feeding station to you? What insolence. This pidgey needs to go.

The predator 👏 demands 👏 respect!

I raise my other hand, angle it for the prime position for a smack, imagine the collision with the creature’s fragile body…

...no. It wouldn’t be right.

It wouldn’t be right to break those feathers, bend them funny, ruin that perfect array of quills. Possibly even snap one of its hollow, delicate bones whose light frame allow it its flight.

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

Hm, I'm not quite sure how the pidgey differs from humans, such that Red feels the need to respect it? I mean, he's just making excuses, but I don't even see how the excuse fits. Are human bodies not elegant? Is it that it would be too easy, or?

I gently scratch the pidgey’s plumage with my thumb. The bird leans in, its eyes narrowing in enjoyment. Even through the glove, I can feel its warmth and softness.

These woods are their own ecosystem. I’ll leave it to the local predators teach this bird to fear if needed.

Wholesome apex predator moment.

On instinct, my fingers brush against my thigh. The touch of only denim pierces my heart - but the lance withdraws just as quickly as I remember my knife is in my backpack. I’ll get to reclaim it once the first scene is over. For now, though, it must remain hidden. I can’t come in with my fangs bared.

I like how how you structured this metaphor with the lance--I can feel the craft that went into it, and it reads very smoothly.

As the vegetation between us obscures less and less, I see her face, her eyes.

Perhaps, "As the vegetation thins out . . ."

She plants her feet more firmly on the ground, slips her hand into her pocket and -- yes, the knife! Her dull little incisors.

I appreciate how committed Red is to his knives are teeth, she is smol nidoran metaphor.

I abstain from a glare at the brat

I think you may want "refrain" here--I refrain from glaring at the brat.

I keep the rest in my mouth and pretend to taste bitter.

Didn't follow what this means.

"S-so… will you let me see her?"

Was Plan A just convincing her to take him to the hut and then gaging her?

As silently as I can, I pop open the plastic cap and pour some of the vial’s contents onto the rag. I close it and drop it, hanging on only to the rag, and raise my hands out of the bag with the scarf covering them.

Is the venom time-limited such that he couldn't pre-douse it? Seems risky to have to secretly pour out venom in the moment?

Her eyes flick back and forth between the scarf and my face, whose expression I keep somewhere between hope and resignation.

face can't really be modified that way. Maybe a new sentence, "Her eyes flick back and forth between the scarf and my face. I keep my expression somewhere between hope and resignation."

My lack of motion calms her as she grabs onto the scarf. She pulls it towards herself --

Maybe, "My lack of motion calms her. The tension leaves her shoulders as she grabs onto the scar and pulls it towards herself--"

I grab her knife with my left hand, fabric still covering it, and shove the rag onto her face with the other. The force knocks her backwards, and I drop with her, pinning her down right as she's met the ground.

What's the fabric here that's covering the knife? And what's the significance of that?

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

This is it. This is what it’s all about, what I’m meant to do! Stalk, strike and entrap! Feel the victim squirm in vain, overpowered by my superior strength! Oh, her useless struggle is so amusingly pathetic. It's like playing with an ant - no, an ant can bite. She can't do even that!

Chloroforming little girls--Red has really entered the big leagues now.

Her screams lose volume, her motions their vigor, until she gets sufficiently limp to no longer be a threat.

For parallelism, "Her screams lose their volume, her motions their vigor, . . ."

I can catch my breath a little, fix my hair, retrieve my knife from the bag and reattach the scabbard to my belt.

Omg, he is actually taking a moment to fix his hair. Feeling cute, might murder a ghost for the second time.

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

Is this the sentence you were work-shopping on discord? I like the direction you took it! I can definitely picture her expression. Much rage, much droop.

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

I chuckle, withdrawing. “I’m just kidding! I’m not that weird.”

hah. hahaha. Wow Red is so funny.

She probably knows well that she can't - or that she shouldn’t, her captor having the means to hurt her quite badly and lacking the social inhibition.

This sentence is incomplete grammatically--'and lacking the social inhibitions to refrain from doing so' would probably fill out the thought, but is definitely clunky. Maybe go with a positive, "her captor having the means and the will to hurt her quite badly."

"And that shack… well, it seems like a place I would've loved to hide away at as a boy. Even if it would get cold at nights and the walls likely have mold in them…"

I frown. "I guess that's a lot rarer nowadays, kids playing in the woods. They've got their prescribed playgrounds and - ugh, smartphones…"

I return my gaze to her face. "I guess I gotta hand it to you, then, for being different. Still having that wildness in you."

The really weird thing is that Red may be more fond of Michi than pretty much any other human in this story so far?

A whine comes out. She’s like a squeaky toy, fun.

Okay this gives me the image of Red as a really over-eager growlithe or something. For that bodyswap au, or whatever.

Dragging Michi along, I follow Joanna in, not once taking my eyes off the ghost. The action is shared.

I think by "The action is shared" you mean that the ghost similarly doesn't take her eyes off him? But it reads jarringly.

To the left is a door to a another room hardly the third of this one.

extra a in there

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

“It's just a mask,” I whisper, feigning concern with a furrowed brow. “It’s not worth an innocent child’s life.”

Oof.

“Not only is it beneficial for me, but most would consider it morally correct. You’re living your second life, the girl her first. It's just common sense.”

Look at her, pain in her eyes, slipping away from this world to the void. Where she belongs. There should only be one life. I only have one life. No one else deserves more.

Fascinated by this pseudo-moral stance Red is taken, which he seems to partly believe, considering that everything he's doing is to give HIM another life. As always, love the many shades of irony and hypocrisy embedded in Red's actions and reasoning.

 

[canisaries]

The mental image is killing me, lol. Have you ever drawn this scene? Imagining Red's bemused and disgusted expression.

I have not, but that is a good idea. I used to be afraid of drawing humans and unfamiliar poses, but I may have the courage to tackle it nowadays.

Hm, I'm not quite sure how the pidgey differs from humans, such that Red feels the need to respect it? I mean, he's just making excuses, but I don't even see how the excuse fits. Are human bodies not elegant? Is it that it would be too easy, or?

The quote "it doesn’t break beautifully" is the core of his argument. He thinks birds are more beautiful intact than broken, since they've got complex but fragile feathers covering their bodies. Humans, on the other hand, have nothing like that covering their skin. Idk, it makes sense to me but it's hard to explain.

Didn't follow what this means.

He's feigning the sentence being too emotionally taxing to finish. "Tasting bitter" would be him contorting his face according to the emotion. I've now changed the sentence it to "I keep the rest in my mouth and pretend it tastes bitter", which may be clearer.

Was Plan A just convincing her to take him to the hut and then gaging her?

I, uhh... I actually don't remember, heh. I guess he would have repeated the same scarf-trick over there, yeah.

Is the venom time-limited such that he couldn't pre-douse it? Seems risky to have to secretly pour out venom in the moment?

Well, it seems messy to have a spore-soaked rag freely in your backpack... but you do have a point.

What's the fabric here that's covering the knife? And what's the significance of that?

The end of the scarf still in his hand. It's there to somewhat shield his hand from the blade of Michi's knife.

Omg, he is actually taking a moment to fix his hair. Feeling cute, might murder a ghost for the second time.

yes!! himbo moment

The really weird thing is that Red may be more fond of Michi than pretty much any other human in this story so far?

Right on the money.

Thanks for the review - I've implemented most of the line edits. Stay tuned for chapter 5, the last chapter of this act. After that, the real spooks begin...!

 

[IFBench]

I read this a bit over a week ago and really enjoyed it, and now I'm here to start reviewing it! I'll try to review the rest at some point, but for now I'll just be reviewing the Alternate Prologue.

I love how much of a magnificent bastard Red is. You paint him as a smug asshole that is so much fun to hate.

The part where Red is ranting to the Murkrow is funny, though it does feel a bit odd. It feels like a sudden exposition dump out of nowhere, disjointed from the rest of the chapter. I might suggest adding a bit more description in there to integrate it, perhaps relaxing his grip on the wheelbarrow as Red rambles, or the Murkrow moving its wings, or other little actions like that to keep things smooth.

The ritual is a very interesting way to show that Red's ranting was not unfounded. Things actually lighting up after the drop of blood falls in was rather surprising, and the Murkrow's tail being partially obliterated was a good way to show just how powerful the forces Red is messing with are.

Something tells me that that Murkrow is going to come back later in the story.

Red's insistence and obsession with keeping his body in a perfect state for HIM is very interesting!

The fourth to last paragraph was excellent in showing just how deranged Red is. Very effective imagery.

The second to final line was a satisfying way to end off the prologue, but the last one takes me out of it a bit. Maybe you could rework it a bit to still have the name drop but refrain from repeating "_ is dead twice"? I personally suggest something along the lines of "I smirk. Nah. Joanna's dead." I feel like that nicely combines the two lines together.

Overall, a very good prologue that serves as an excellent hook to draw the reader in for the rest of the fic.

I look forward to reading more once more is uploaded!

 

[canisaries]

it's only been one month this time! we're slowly getting better. anyway, here we go with the last chapter of the first roughly defined act. very excited, not just because of the content of this chapter, but because we'll be getting to the real good stuff after this...

the revision ended up adding about a thousand words instead of condensing the chapter as i'd expected so feedback regarding what could be condensed (if it needs condensing) is appreciated. but so is all other kinds of feedback as it always as been!

rated mature for violence against a minor, blood, strong language.

---

CHAPTER FIVE
Death

---​

It's quiet.

No wind, nothing. Only my own breath and the pounding in my chest. 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… dreamlike. If killing her is not the way back, then what…

...is my face… drying?

It feels… crusty, ugh. And cool. Cold. A layer of something is forming onto it. Solidifying. Is it...

Oh Gods. I gotta open my mouth before --

“Mmphh!”

It's too late! My mouth, my nostrils - they're sealed shut!

Nails! Fuck, no, nails don't do anything! Only screeches, screeches from the scraping. And the air, the air in my lungs, losing its oxygen, turning sour, toxic...

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

Crack!

I gasp. Air. It's back. My face feels warm, normal. The world’s still a blur, 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 to my knees from both exhaustion and relief. The knife drops from my hand, landing next to me on the cool wooden planks. I inhale, exhale, shakily repeat. Blood rushes to my brain and eyes. I'm coming back to life.

Something gleams 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, only fitting that...

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.

My ears catch the sound of something shifting behind me. I turn my head. 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 two tries miss, I guess because I’m still a bit out of it. But on the third try, my palm catches the silky hilt, and I’m reunited with my dear partner.

I get up, and -- whoa, whoa, I’m light. I mean, I can feel the weight of each limb, but they’re light as feathers to move. Have I always been this strong?

I catch my reflection in the mirror and study it further. I’m tall. My shoulders, wide, while my waist is narrow… a silhouette so masculine, yet so graceful. And look at that pretty face, pretty hair! By the Gods, I’m beautiful! No wonder HE chose me! I’m perfect!

I take off my gloves and 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 guess now I should get the spores and put her under 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, and 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 return 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 god. Your bloodthirst still unquenched. 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, and she answers the gaze with uncertainty and fear. Young child, girl, pink hair. Come on, now, she's a personification of innocence. And you? You kill people. You serve the Lord of Predators. 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. Masculine. I really hit the jackpot with this set of genes! “You know how I said I wouldn't hurt you?”

She recoils.

“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 say, grabbing the wool-lined hood of her coat, and prompt her to stand up with my knife. I escort her outside and continue.

“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 the duct tape covers her mouth, 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.”

I clear my throat. “Alright. 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 of that in her. May it fuel her and guide her way in these dense woods.

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

“Get ready, Michi.”

She tenses up beneath my hand. I tense up, 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 fur breathe. I wait for her to slip between the spruces at the edge of the opening. Then I begin.

Gravel flies at the cabin wall as I kick myself into motion. With a mere few strides, I’m already so fast. I dive into the woods, her 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 streamlined 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.

But I am no bird, no bovine. I am a houndoom. Horns crown my head, pointed teeth line my jaws, scalding steam escapes my throat with every exhalation. I am a killing machine. While my 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 pursuit 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 rushes 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. Dodge rock. Three meters. She can tell I’m right behind. Two meters. One meter. Pounce.

She screams.

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 warm touch of her skin.

Beneath me lies Michi, motionless. Did I…

Hand shaking, I bring two fingers to her neck.

Thump, thump. Okay, she's not dead. She's just unconscious. Unconscious from… strangulation. By me.

But I… wasn't supposed to do that. I wasn't supposed to strangle her. And certainly not to death, as I just seemed to be doing. I was supposed to drug her and carve the seal… wait. Drug...

I left my bag back at the cabin. I wouldn’t have 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.

But the red marks on her neck won't stop staring at me.

Those won't disappear in just a few minutes, will they? No, they'll become worse if anything. Bruises. Bruises that perfectly fit my hands. Could they even have my fingerprints?

Well, that won’t even matter if they won’t stop until they catch the perp, and since this is a child, they won’t. They’ll sniff at any and every clue they’ve got to get their justice. Even if I were to drag this corpse to that stream we crossed a while back and washed her neck clean of any skin cells I might have shed on it, even if I took my knife and carved off that skin entirely --

Saliva floods my mouth at the image. No, no! Am I still so thirsty for blood? Did that strangling do nothing for me? Can I not be satisfied by anything less than a proper kill?

What prevents me from having one now?

No, no, no. I couldn't do that here. Way too messy. But couldn't all traces be wiped by a disintegration circle? No, I can't count on that - blood might seep deeper into the earth, for one, and the stench of her insides would stick to me… not that a circle would even fit here, either. Too many trees. But I will have to make one anyway - I can't let her live, not with those marks on her neck. I have to dispose of her body. I just… have to find some spot open enough for the circle to fit, first. And I better make sure she doesn't wake up in the meantime and needlessly complicate things…

I take out my knife and - after fending off the urge to gut her right there and then - cut a piece of duct tape from the bind around her ankles. I glue it onto her nostrils as best as I can, lift her up the same way as before and try my best not to topple over. Sturdily enough on my two feet, I bring her back the way I came, eyes constantly scanning for an opening near the path.

Through my rapid breaths, I pick up a strange aroma. It's sweet, like pechas. Is it coming from Michi? Why… why would she smell this sweet? Is it perfume? No, I never smelled it earlier! But I can't help my curiosity - if this is how she smells, how would she t-

An opening! There! Finally. I sprint to reach it and drop the girl in the middle. She lands roughly, but she's as good as dead already, it doesn't matter. Her head turns to the side, exposing her neck again, and my teeth, my teeth want to bite into it…

No, remember, way too messy. You can't do it. You can't…

But what if just a little? Just a little taste? If her scent is so sweet, her blood, her blood must be even sweeter. Just a little taste. Make sure no blood hits the earth. That's possible. That's quick. Just a little taste.

I pull back the sleeve of her left arm. Her wrist is so thin, her arm so dainty, her skin so pure… but force of habit makes me swipe it a few times anyway.

I take my knife and - this is it. I place its tip between the flexor tendons and press.

As the blade sinks in, red nectar surfaces. The smell surges. Yes, more. I drag the tip downward, cleaving the skin further. More blood. It’s so vibrant. It almost glows. It begins to drip --

No, I can’t let it drop off. It’d be incriminating - and I don’t want a droplet of it to go to waste…

I lean in, brushing the skin with my lips, gathering the blood. As soon as it spreads to my taste buds, my inhibitions vanish. 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, as it usually does for humans, but HE changed that. There’s no nausea, no gag reflexes when it comes to this substance. What replaced it was an overwhelming urge to touch it, feel it, consume it.

I close my eyes and jut my tongue deeper into the incision, feeling the forms of the tendons. 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 the houndoom’s thirst.

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, a fire in the night, the rising moon, the spring morning. But most importantly, it’s…

HIM.

The divinity is unmistakable. HE is in this hunt, HE is in this feast. HE is right beside me, approving, advocating. This is HIS bidding I am doing. I am HIS vessel, embodiment. I am the gorge through which HIS river flows, the fuel with which HE burns...

Red.

I freeze.

Did I imagine that? Or did HE really…

No, that’s impossible. HIS vessel is all the way back at the basement, and that’s where HIS spirit is tethered to. Last time I asked, HIS powers could only properly reach five meters away --

But this is not last time.

My breath halts.

My lord… is that really YOU?

Yes, my priest. It is I.

My breath breaks free from its restraints and gallops like a runaway rapidash. HIM… here. Several kilometers from home. The only way HE could have gained so much power in that little time is if --

Yes.

Everything has quieted. The wind, the distant traffic, all of it. All I hear are HIS words.

Ascension is here.

Ascension.

The merging of man and god.

The beginning of a new era. The return of the Helixian kingdom. The rising of the houndoom above the mareep.

Now?

Now.

I… I don’t know how to react. I mean…

Simply open your eyes and witness.

Open my eyes…

I wish that was as easily done as said. Just parting my eyelids, what’s the problem? Well, it’s the earthshaking terror that, when I do open those eyes, I see nothing. I see the woods and Michi’s body and myself on the ground and nothing else. That this’ll have been some kind of waking dream and nothing more. Another… another delusion like the one that left me strangling that girl against all my intentions. More proof that I’m not stable anymore. Not sane anymore. That I won’t make it until the real ascension, whenever that would come. If it would even come...

Red.

I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to doubt YOU! But is it really YOU? I guess asking that’s also doubting, but, my lord, I’d hate to worship a false image, a-and I just don’t think I can be sure --

Red, open your eyes. I promise I will be there.

I pause to catch my breath before either lack or excess of oxygen scrambles my brain even further.

HE promises to be there. HE has never lied to me before. But whether this is an illusion… only by facing it fully can I know for sure.

Trembling, I force my eyelids apart.

I see Michi’s hand still in my grasp. I see dead needles and gravel on the ground beneath my knees.

Nothing unusual yet, but I am just staring at the ground.

I withdraw my tongue from the girl's wound and swallow whatever blood is left in my mouth. I put her arm down gently. More blood emerges from the flesh, threatening to overflow in a matter of seconds - but confirming this ascension's authenticity will only take a glance.

I place my hands on the ground for stability and look up.

A tall, bearded man of white robes and bronze skin stares back, a gentle welcome in his golden eyes.

It's real.

I wheeze in elated relief, throwing myself on the ground before him so fast I almost hit my head.

"There is no longer need for that," the man says, his voice as deep as always. "WE shall soon be as equals."

WE. The word is pure ecstasy. HIM and I, as one and the same. HIS soul and mine, sharing my flesh.

"Arise, my priest."

I needn't be told twice. I get up and nearly dust myself off before remembering there's no longer any need. Dirt, clothes... a god has no need to worry about any such trivialities.

The man - in other words, HE in the form of the first Helixian king, Kohath - steps to me. One would expect an aura of intimidation from a frame like his, but instead, he radiates benevolence. Like a loving father. Or how I'd imagine one to feel, anyway.

He extends a hand and places it onto my cheek. The warmth of his palm melts away all tension in my body. I lean into his caress. He strokes my skin softly with his thumb, and I find myself so relaxed I can barely keep my eyes open.

"You have served me well," he murmurs, his voice pouring over me like molten caramel. "And now, you have even surpassed yourself - offering to me such a young, fragile specimen."

What does he mean? Michi? I guess I killed her… yeah, I guess I killed a child… it wasn't for HIM, but HE can certainly have her if HE so wishes.

"To butcher a child means to embody the ruthlessness of a true predator," Kohath continues. "One more than qualified to remake the Helixian Kingdom."

His hand slides down my cheek onto my neck and travels along my arm. Having reached my hand, he takes it into his own, fingers interlocked. His other hand he slips into my hair at the back of my head. His warmth draws me onto him like a magnet - and while I flinch at my loss of control, he makes no motions to reject me. I can hear the beating of his heart, and it’s perfectly calm. The exact opposite of the drumroll in my own chest.

"Now,” he whispers - his breath like wind rustling autumn leaves - “the moment has come to meld US into one."

The space between his hand and mine lights up, glowing a soft white. It’s hot, but it doesn’t hurt - in fact, it’s somewhat pleasurable. The glow spreads across his hand, following the veins as if flowing through them.

I wince as a sudden pain slashes across my palm, but Kohath’s embrace stays gentle. A warmth enters my hand through the wound I suppose has formed, and it too begins to seep up my veins - with that same glow. Meanwhile, his hand… begins to dissolve, depleting as the light spreads further.

He really is flowing into me. He really is merging his body with mine. I’m going to… have HIM inside me, fully. HE will conquer every blood vessel, every cell’s cytoplasm. HE will… saturate me. I will become one with HIM. I will inherit HIS power. HIS control over everything. Anything material and anything immaterial. Existence. My existence. I can become what I want. I can think and feel how I want. I can banish any pain, any dread, any sorrow. I can feel euphoria unimaginable by any mortal. And… and I will never have to die.

The light continues its spread. It crawls up my arm, digging into the muscles and pumping them full of strength unprecedented anywhere in the animal kingdom, unmatched by the strongest of man and mon. This is what just a little part of HIM feels like. HIS full, unfiltered power would surely fry my mortal brain, pop it like a lightbulb burning out - but fortunately that light will soon reach my head, my very consciousness, and elevate my existence to an entirely new level.

The only thing I'll miss - no, I won't miss anything after I've ascended. What I hate to give up now, while corporeal sensations still matter, is this moment.

The light of divinity tingling in my veins. The warmth of Kohath’s embrace, his hand still in my hair. But most important of all is the knowledge that it’s all over. All worry, all strife. No more sleepless nights, no more empty days. No need to hide my true self, no need to fear getting caught. I’m free, free and safe. Safe from the police, witnesses, shrinks, judges, prison, death.

Happiness is no longer embedded in stone, needing to be clawed out with fingers bleeding. Instead, everything, every single thing... is finally alright.

I close my eyes and cradle my head on Kohath’s shoulder. I can let each of my muscles relax. HE has rewarded me not only with my deepest wish, but my unspoken desire - simply to be --

He yanks my head back by the hair. I open my eyes to find some answer on his face --

There is no face. There are only eyes, predator’s eyes gleaming yellow, and pitch black flames where his body used to be.

His glare drills into my soul.

AS IF YOU WOULD EVER BE ENOUGH.

He shoves me down. I expect to meet his chest, but go right through - there's nothing but air where he used to stand. I break my fall with my palms, sharp little stones in the gravel digging into my skin.

I look up, I look to my sides, I look behind me - but he's nowhere to be seen.

Only pines, spruces, needles, gravel, Michi's motionless body and myself.

"My lo-"

I don't even need to finish the sentence to realize I'm talking by myself.

I…

I don't get it. Why would HE come all the way here just to…

Oh. No. I understand now. It wasn't real. None of it was.

So in… in reality I'm… I'm still mortal. HE… hasn't expressed HIS readiness to ascend yet. HE still needs to wait for HIS powers to gather. I still need to wait…

...wait, wait, wait. I always have to wait. Just a little more, I tell myself, but a day goes by, a week goes by, a month, a year --

Grains of sand prick me under my fingernails as I form a fist around the gravel. I clench it tighter and tighter, driving the stones deeper into my palms. Hot tears squeeze their way out of my ducts and slip into the thousand creases formed by my agonized face.

I don't wanna go back. I don't wanna go back. I don't wanna go back to the fear. I don't wanna go back to the fear of all this being for nothing, that I've been tricked or that I'm insane, that I remember HIS words wrong, that there is no salvation and all I've done is throw away so much time from what precious little life I have --

No, don't even think it. If you think it, it might be real. You might make it real. You might see that there is no way out of this prison, this lifelong death row, the void that awaits when the brain dies and your thoughts die and you have no way left to make sense of the --

Why? Why was this done? Why were we created? Why give us souls? Why put spirit into these machines, why -- are you proud, Third Being? Are you proud of it? This dance you make everyone do -- does it amuse you? Why does a god need to --

I roll onto my side and hug my shins. Like a child. I wish I was still a child. I didn't think as much back then. I was…

I look at Michi over my shoulder. Yeah, I was like her. I sought adventure, experiences, mysteries… and every day I would learn something new. Each dawn had promise, and the world was full of possibilities.

But now I'm an adult and I know that what I am and what the world is don't mesh. I can't go to school, I can't get a job - I learned that years ago, and what happened at the supermarket today undeniably only highlights that. So all I can do is wait. Spend each day sitting at home, slowly drowning in the lack of things to do.

That's my life.

Wait, shit!

I scramble up to my feet and glance around. Luckily, no one’s there, but -- how could I forget? How could it slip my mind that I need to get rid of -- no, don’t even waste time ruminating on that, get to work!

A branch, I need a branch… there’s one, that’ll do. I leap back to Michi and begin to draw the circle, fetching the details of the patterns from my memory and scratching them into the ground, checking them, double checking them… I think it’s finished. All it needs now is activation.

I pull out my knife and prick the tip of my little finger. A droplet of blood emerges slowly, like a reptile slithering out into the spring morning after a long hibernation, and I flick it down into the little circle at the edge of the ring. As soon as the grooves light up with a matching red glow, pang of regret seizes my heart.

It doesn’t want Michi erased. It wants to keep her. She was extraordinary, she should be preserved. But I can’t. I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t keep her around for a second longer - each second is a second closer to getting caught. She needs to go. I can’t even take a part of her, too bloody. Even her clothes would be suspicious. But why not --

I lunge at her and grab a lock of her pink hair. As soon as I’ve cut it free, I leap back out of the circle and take a few extra steps just to be sure. The light has spread halfway through the ring. I still had time to spare, but simply knowing what would’ve happened had I gotten caught within makes my heart pound.

In deafening silence, the light completes its journey around the circle and brightens. A membrane of that same washes over the contents of the circle - little Michi’s lifeless body. I take care to burn the image of her into my mind, diligently staring up until the --

Flash.

It hurts my eyes and forces them shut, but at least I can rest assured I fully caught her final moments.

Now she’s gone, and only the pattern remains. A pattern I’ll also have to erase…

No better tool readily available, I kick the ground with my shoes until the pattern has vanished completely. Only then can I catch my breath, sit back down and let my muscles go limp.

I close my eyes for some semblance of rest, but it’s not long before my mind returns exactly where it left off. That void is still there, staring at me, waiting for the moment my life comes to an end so it can swallow me whole. The bottomless pit under this bridge I’m trying to cross, a little tumbledown rope bridge that goes on and on, and all I can do is keep walking in the hopes that somewhere beyond the fog there’s solid ground, my salvation, but just as well it could end in nothing but two endless wooden poles keeping it up, and so I find I was bound to go down no matter what...

No, this is stupid. Nothing’s really changed, has it? Nothing between the start of that… hallucination and the end of it had an effect on my life. So why should I be freaking out? Couldn’t I just go on living like I did before?

But can I? If a simple trip to the store almost ended in a bloodbath today, what about tomorrow? Will my urges get the better of me and drive me to make whatever fantasy slithers into my mind into a reality, completely blind to the consequences? Then they’ll shoot me dead or lock me up somewhere until death comes… and permanently ruin any chances I have of ascension.

Maybe I should…

No. I can’t bring this up with HIM. I’ve been stretching HIS patience too much already. HIM taking over in the last sacrifice was a good sign, sure, but I know HE still expects me to cast the omanyte out of my heart, and the progress on that has been little to none. Were I to come to HIM with yet another problem with my mind, HE might… HE might revoke my status as Bringer. HE might even consider me unfit to be any kind of predator, and then… I’d be slaughtered like all the other mareep.

Even if HE brushed off my doubts and pain as just side effects 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’d practically be no better off than in the other scenario.

I sigh. So I’m on my own. It’s not like there’s anyone other than HIM I can talk to about this. And it’s not like they’d understand even if I did. They’d just call me crazy and tell me to get some mental help --

The psychiatrist. Could she possibly...

No, no, no! You can’t let anyone know. Are you honestly naive enough to believe them when they say what’s discussed is confidential? If you told that psychologist how much you want to cut people open and play with their organs, you’d be dragged over to the nuthouse before nightfall. In what world would a society of caterpie willingly keep a spearow around?

Faced with another dead end, I open my eyes and let the features of the sky take over my mind for a change. The pleasant blue, the tufts of white, the invisible wind they drift around on…

It’s strange how calm they make me.

Why, if I had the ability to fly to the clouds in the blink of an eye and look down upon the world, breathing the thin, freezing air without harm, my problems with rage would vanish. Seeing humans for the ants they really are… why would I care about anything they have to say?

Wait. What’s stopping me now?

I am a human. An intelligent creature. Perhaps previously in a more primal stage emotions were necessary to guide us into better survival strategies, but now we can understand the world around us. We can make decisions based on logic, not raw emotions.

It's precisely what HE teaches as well. Primitive social instincts have outlived their usefulness. What used to help keep tribesmembers alive and offspring cared for has been made obsolete by rational thought. Now all it can do is stay in our way. It prevents us from letting the inferior die. It prevents us from consuming each other's flesh when starving. It stifles our progress in service of made up moralities, rules that no god truly enforces.

But I happen to be one of the lucky few to have been born as the next stage of human evolution. A being that can see through these illusory rules and act without care for them. An efficient being. A free being. And if I have the freedom to choose how I think, why couldn’t I choose to drop the emotions that harm me and keep the emotions that give me strength? Peace, joy, relief… an existence knowing only these feelings can't be that bad to live.

Then again... if it were that easy, I would have done it ages ago. In reality, my lack of control was bad enough to make me give up on school and, by extension, any kind of normal future. I had to leave before I did something that would’ve made things even more difficult for myself...

Leave. Give up. That’s what I did. I ran away from the problem. And have I ever faced it head-on since? No. Ever since I left school, I’ve only avoided social interaction to the best of my abilities.

No wonder I only seem to have gotten worse. I’ve had no practice. No exposure to strengthen my immune system, so to speak. As much as I hate to admit it, getting out there might just be what I need. Socializing. Disguising myself as simply another human. It is a trait a predator must have, lest he be torn apart by the herd he is infiltrating.

Yeah. I need to get myself into situations I’ve shied away from and learn to maintain a calm exterior no matter how fiercely I want to rip them all apart. Handle things as a gentleman would, even. Convince the others I’m a stand-up guy. It could help to dispel suspicion, too! And, hell - if nothing else, it’ll be something to do. Beats sitting bored at home.

Though, ironically enough… I think home is the place I’d most like to be right now. It’s been one hell of a day, and I could really use some rest after this whole… thing. And some food, actually. Blood isn’t exactly filling.

I get up. The wind in the trees enters my consciousness again, and it drives me to draw a deep breath of the fresh air around me. I feel my lungs expand, then deflate. Again. A serene rhythm of back and forth, like waves on a shore. All while the heart beats with a pace of its own, pumping that wondrous, hot blood throughout the body.

I guess this corporeal form is one thing I can be happy about. Not only did I luck out on my genes, I’ve brought out their full potential with diligent training. I’m quite close to the best a meager human can be. Once I add a few enhancements post-ascension, I’ll be perfect.

That’s right. I will ascend. Maybe it will end up taking another week, another month, another year - but I will persevere, only honing myself further during the wait.

I step forth as if facing the entire world, head held high and pride burning in my chest. Within my mind, I shout from the mountaintop:

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

---​

 

[WildBoots]

Hey canis! Here for the prologue (original flavor) and Chapter 1! I think I've managed to sample a little bit of all things Red Akai--the 3 one shots, a chapter of Seiren--except actual HH. Go figure. Guess I'm overdue.

I'm just gonna jump in with line comments this time and I'll loop back for overall thoughts and reflections.

Spoiler: Line Reactions

wet hair on neck, gross

Blood? Lol whatever. Sweat? EW GROSS.

As one could have guessed, they’re parts of her.

Interesting that he's referring to her like a person here. I feel like I remember him switching to calling his victim an it. Maybe in Whelp?

Many of them, though, have lost large chunks of themselves, the lungs especially.

The passive construction was weird for me here. Suggestion: Many of them, though, are missing chunks ...

It looks sad in a way, as if they were crying.

🙃 at the almost-empathy here. He can't relate to other humans, but he can ascribe human emotions to dead flesh.

It's like something died in here. Oh, wait!

🙃 intensifies.

Sure, having a tarp set up in advance for the whole ritual would make cleaning easier, but I'm just not a fan of how it looks. Brings down the atmosphere.

How can he get into the mood without his candles!?

And if the Helixians didn't need tarps all those millennia ago, neither do I.

Lol at conveniently overlooking, like, modern laws.

Her teeth look healthy,

🙃

Or for work, to earn the bread to eat, to give a share to the government for all the nice services they provide.

Huh. When he starts railing against the machine of capitalism, there's almost something Kafka-esque about it. Except instead of turning into a giant insect, he's transformed into a straight-up monster.

The ascension is right behind the corner.

*Around

Not going would be avoiding them, and avoiding is a sign of cowardice. I need to face them, face my weakness.

I love that this implies that he is, in fact, a little bit afraid.

I slip a mental hand inside my ribcage and squeeze my heart.

Given how much Red is dealing with literal ribcages and hearts, this didn't quite work for me, even with the addition of "mental." Like, it's too corporeal for what's actual a super cerebral thing for him.

An animal, a pile of flesh and organs.

Red's is the sad tale of a boy made of meat who aspires to be both more and less than meat.

Not to mention, giving a good performance will get me listed in the system as a completely normal and non-dangerous human being.

Red is often so clinical and methodical in how he names and organizes the world around him. I wondered if there was a more technical legalese word for non-dangerous that might fit there instead.

my old backpack from its corner in the living room,

Oof, filled with lots of happy memories, I'm sure. Love the uneasy juxtaposition of the innocent trainer's journey and Red's, uh, new hobbies here.

and my trusty knife from my room upstairs. Well, I guess I don’t need the knife, this town being the idyllic little paradise it is

Phone, wallet, keys ... knife.

But here I walk under a sheet of hazy clouds too thin to bring rain, but too thick to let the warmth of the sun through. What a leech. What a disgrace.

I thought the descriptions of the clouds were effective. Not sure about "what a leech" though. That was a hard left turn.

It reminds the listener that yes, humans really are just ants scaled up,

Ha, this really sums up Red's world view doesn't it.

Should I pick the bad brand? Would that be a good way to show I don’t care about the mon? No - wouldn’t that mean I do care, if I care enough to pick the wrong one on purpose? But if I pick the good brand, I’d feel like I did it because I didn’t have the heart to pick the bad one, that I was weak. But is it really weakness? It’s what I’m used to doing, it’s normal. And it’s not like the good brand even costs any more than the bad one.

EVERYTHING IS FINE. I'M NOT SHORT-CIRCUITING OVER WHICH BRAND TO BUY.

I shove can into the basket and head for the checkouts.

*the can
I also thought it was a little odd that it was canned! I've only ever seen shrimp frozen then I can think of, and it seems like Palette should have something higher grade than canned available given its proximity to the ocean.

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

I love that he can't even recognize it as a human sound.

Humans used to struggle for survival, and now these overgrown infants take it on a silver platter. They’re domesticated. Inbred by good times to be harmless, lazy and stupid!

Lol, yeah, cooperation clearly has no value for social species, SMH.

Paint the rainbow red.

I wasn't totally sure what "the rainbow" referred to at first here--I was thinking of Ho-oh until I realized maybe you meant the products on the shelves.

This also reminds me of a Skittles ad, lol. "Murder the rainbow. Taste the rainbow."

After inputting the code - 2778 - and submitting,

I sort of wanted some kind of significance to this number--either a complain about the randomness and emptiness of inputting a code, so like the meaninglessness of smalltalk, or a mini rant about what these numbers do mean to him. Otherwise I think "inputting the code" is plenty.

What's on it freezes me.

Maybe "The image printed on it freezes me." (So it's clear it's not, like, a coffee stain.)

He sounds like a combusken learning to crow.

Hm, this sounded triumphant to me. Were you going for hoarse and strangled?

I almost ask why they're looking here and not in Viridian where she lived, but remember swiftly that I don't want to go to jail.

🙃 Good job, Red.

Finally, shelter… from both weather and people.

Mood.

Eh, you know what, I'm not in a hurry, and I could use the improvement to my mood

This one landed a little stiffly for me, both rhythmically and story-wise. This is a deviation from his path, right? And, conveniently, it leads him to the trigger point of the story. It would be a nice to get a little more about why he thinks it would improve his mood here or maybe even what he fears he'll do if he can't improve his mood.

dead, like everyone else will end up being.

Everyone except me.

The most specialest, bloodiest snowflake.

I only got a glimpse, but what I saw was… golden?

My first guess is a meowth, but it doesn't seem to fit. The shape and size of the golden object was wrong. What else could it be… oh! A golden magnemite? That'd be a sight! Hell, anything would be a sight after these weeks of nothing...

His rationalization is really effective here.

Welp. Red's gonna do what Red's gonna do. I do appreciate how, despite Red being so deadly (literally) serious, you squeeze a lot of humor out of his utter inability to see how dramatic and self-contradictory he is. Quite a feat.

It's clear here that he's ... not doing well. He's insisting full volume that the thing he wants, the thing that will drive off the gnawing fear of death, is approaching ... but it doesn't seem to be helping him feel better, and not just because of his anxiety that it might not be imminent after all. Actually, he's kinda dead on his feet, isn't he? He'd rather not be here, whether it's the escape of sleep or of his god literally taking over his body. Nothing in the waking world has meaning, and the fear of the void underlies every action he takes.

For all his rational methodology, he struggles to recognize himself. He wants to be freed from bodily weaknesses like death and disease, but the only thing he values is the body in terms both cooly practical and ecstatically animal. He celebrates detaching his mind from his flesh, yet he's so very cerebral in the way he analyzes the world and himself.

I'll be interested to see how you handle the ghost antics! Ghosts are weird and therefore super fun and interesting. And, of course, how much does she remember of her human life?

Cheers!

 

[canisaries]

Interesting that he's referring to her like a person here. I feel like I remember him switching to calling his victim an it. Maybe in Whelp?

I went back and that does sort of happen in Whelp, though Red's since managed to get over the thought of killing another intelligent being and doesn't need to mask it for himself anymore.

Huh. When he starts railing against the machine of capitalism, there's almost something Kafka-esque about it. Except instead of turning into a giant insect, he's transformed into a straight-up monster.

*pops champagne because hunter haunted has now been called kafkaesque*

Red's is the sad tale of a boy made of meat who aspires to be both more and less than meat.

super meat boy: the untold story

Oof, filled with lots of happy memories, I'm sure. Love the uneasy juxtaposition of the innocent trainer's journey and Red's, uh, new hobbies here.

Happy... yes...

I thought the descriptions of the clouds were effective. Not sure about "what a leech" though. That was a hard left turn.

This was pointed out by someone before and I changed the words a bit and now it's pointed out again. I guess this metaphor just isn't meant to be. (Idea was that the cloud leeched off the warmth of the sunlight.)

I also thought it was a little odd that it was canned! I've only ever seen shrimp frozen then I can think of, and it seems like Palette should have something higher grade than canned available given its proximity to the ocean.

It was only now that I realized I've never actually seen canned shrimp in stores and I never made sure it even existed.

Hm, this sounded triumphant to me. Were you going for hoarse and strangled?

Oh, it just occurs to me now that there could be a language barrier. It's a figure of speech in Finnish to say that boys whose voice is in that awkward state between properly broken and prepubescent are "crowing" (as in, how a rooster crows), and voice breaking would remind me of that.

This one landed a little stiffly for me, both rhythmically and story-wise. This is a deviation from his path, right? And, conveniently, it leads him to the trigger point of the story. It would be a nice to get a little more about why he thinks it would improve his mood here or maybe even what he fears he'll do if he can't improve his mood.

It's not so much a deviation from his path as he goes past that spot normally and the bench is right next to the path. It does come pretty fast on the way to the store though ("Past the high school, library, hospital, graveyard, each at a glacial pace…").

I'll be interested to see how you handle the ghost antics! Ghosts are weird and therefore super fun and interesting. And, of course, how much does she remember of her human life?

The ghost hijinks are definitely something I really enjoy in this fic, so I hope you will too.

Thanks for reading!

 

[WildBoots]

Hello, hello, I'm back for Chapter 2.

So, right off the bat, I like Michi. Part of it's probably just that I like tough girls with pink hair, but it's also such a breath of fresh air to see someone stepping up to Red. And she's so kind to the ghosts! I also appreciate that he's Red and she's Pink--sort of parallels the way he almost empathizes with her and fails to.

Too bad she's run afoul of Red. :c

Spoiler: Line-by-lines

Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m hallucinating. Or dreaming.

He's so willing to accept there's something wrong with him if it's somehow a betrayal of his body, but it can't possibly be a problem with his lifestyle.

Its way of moving is strange - graciously yet uncannily, it bobs slightly as it hovers onward.

*Gracefully?

The mask is moving. Stay focused.

I wanted the "Stay focused" to be italicized because it feels like his thoughts verbatim, unlike the rest of the paragraph.

This could be one of them - an illusory prank by some gastly or so.

*Or something?

Who was that? It doesn’t seem to be whatever’s controlling the mask, given that thing flinched at the voice as well. Now the mask hides behind a tree of its own.

The timing here was a little weird. I feel like the flinch should come first, then the realization that, nope, it's not that thing talking. Getting the explanation first makes the flinch feel delayed. I also hadn't remembered that Red was hiding behind a tree, and that gave me pause in the last sentence, too. Maybe we could get some physical cues, fingers digging into the bark as he leans forward, straining to see?

Two eyes, like large, maroon plates,

I don't think you need the commas after eyes and plates.

Joanna needs to fade away just like all my previous victims - the fewer questions people ask, the safer I am.

I love how worried he is about people finding evidence of her ... but was hype to put her name on a jar. I guess it's the difference between a trophy in his hidden basement room and her face floating around in the world.

"No, no, it's okay," says the girl. "I couldn't hurt you even if I wanted to. Anything I tried would go right through."

Bad news, Red.

The ghost pauses in thought, but doesn't respond.

I don't think you need this comma either unless you splice in the word it after but. (Right now, both verbs in this sentence go with one subject, no independent clauses, so you don't have a compound sentence yet.)

Wait, those wails have meaning? And she can understand them?

My thoughts exactly.

It's always better to stay as low profile as one can.

Flash back to half an hour ago when Red very close to playing out a slasher movie at the grocery store. So very low profile.

As they get further, I begin to follow, careful not to rustle the vegetation too much.

Not rustling the vegetation "too much" weirdly puts emphasis on it for me. Maybe instead "trying to make as little noise as possible."

I analyze the girl's appearance further.

Computer, ENHANCE.

With the ghost's backstory apparently not having much to ask about it -

This was hard to parse. Suggestion: It seemed the ghost didn't have much to say about itself--[Red gloats]--so Michi told her own story.

the girl chooses to share her own. I ready myself for mental notes in case anything relevant is revealed, but not much is. She's just some orphan from Viridian that likes to screw around in nature. Used to live closer to these woods but was moved due to her orphanage getting too full. No human friends, but many ghost ones thanks to her rare ability to communicate with them.

I wished we'd gotten this in her own words, since it does seem like she's going to be a reoccurring character and hearing her tell this story in character would make her more lively.

A bit predictable, honestly. I could've deduced this myself.

Ha!

I can see the opening from here while the razz bushes still keep me hidden.

My first thought was how thorny real raspberry bushes are. Have fun with that, Red.

Stalking a little girl. Doesn't sound very good when I put it like that, does it.

No, no it doesn't, Red. Again, he almost feels bad about this? But not quite--just about how it sounds. Weird, though, that stalking a college-age woman didn't give him pause at all, but this does.

Traumas sure are wonderful.

This felt a little on-the-nose and maybe too self-aware for him? Maybe instead we get a mini flashback of one or two sentences that give some specific, tangible details--but, no, he wasn't going to think about that now. Not ever again.

The library it is, then. Not only will it describe this species to me,

A little funky here--the library isn't going to describe this stuff for him, right? It's a book at the library.

it’ll likely tell me how to kill it, too - and that’s something I can’t expect the girl to explain.

Probably true, lol.

But… ugh, I still have these groceries to deal with, don’t I.

! I hadn't realized. That really puts a different spin on things. Probably makes it harder to sneak around, too! I wish The grocery bag had more physical presence in the chapter.

Yes, a home visit is imperative.

I wasn't sure if he meant a visit to his own home (and if so, a visit home sound more natural) or a visit to her home.

okay, that's not so nice, not a fan of spiders…

LOL big bad predator is afraid of spiders.

“I’m just passing by,” I say and continue walking - but she follows me.

“No, you’re not,” she says. “You were following us.”

Oh man, it's both very satisfying seeing someone hold Red to account ... and oh no, run, Michi.

I stop and narrow my eyes. She's persistent. "Shouldn't you be at school or something?"

"Shouldn't you?"

Welp.
Wait, should he? Isn't he eighteen already?

Think about what you're doing. If you take out your knife, she'll see what you're capable of, physically and mentally.

"Physically and mentally" felt unnecessary.

I'm rather sure that the psychic nullification seal will make me invisible to that sense of hers,

The what? Since when.

HIM I shouldn't bother in vain.

Funky word order here. I shouldn't bother HIM in vain reads more naturally to me.

After carving the psychic nullifier into my wrist and patching up the wounds,

Oh good. That'll look good going into his psych appointment. Also, this is interesting given that Helix seems to prefer Red keep his body "unblemished." I wonder if this heals magically orrrrr?

Something tells me that before all's said and done, Red's gonna be giving Michi a bad tattoo she didn't ask for.

 

[canisaries]

I also appreciate that he's Red and she's Pink--sort of parallels the way he almost empathizes with her and fails to.

Something I totally planned because I am a genius yes.

I wanted the "Stay focused" to be italicized because it feels like his thoughts verbatim, unlike the rest of the paragraph.

Well, the reason I stay away from italics for thoughts in this story for the most part is that the line is so blurred. Drawing it in one place would make me have to draw it everywhere else and I'd end up debating myself forever on whether some line should technically be italicized or not.

I wished we'd gotten this in her own words, since it does seem like she's going to be a reoccurring character and hearing her tell this story in character would make her more lively.

Hm, I suppose. I think the reason I chose to go for a fast-forward was because I was worried of either ending up with floating heads syndrome or repetitive description in trying to avoid floating heads syndrome.

The what? Since when.

since the plot needed it now leave me alone

Oh good. That'll look good going into his psych appointment. Also, this is interesting given that Helix seems to prefer Red keep his body "unblemished." I wonder if this heals magically orrrrr?

He makes sure to keep these seal carvings light to avoid leaving behind too much evidence. He's also allowed to make them if he has a good reason for them.

Thanks for the line edits. Some of those lines are... really weird, and I don't know how they got past the revision. I'll get to them sometime soon... I hope. Anyway, thanks for the read and review!

 

[Sinderella]

Hi hi! Here for Catnip!

I'm glad I was finally able to get around to reading this, it's been on my list, because this sort of thing is right up my alley. I love a good horror/gore fest and you really delivered! It's more of a treat because this is Red we're talking about here...this might be the most interesting characterization I've seen of him, by an absolute landslide. I completely despise him...and I love that.

I'm kind of in the same predicament here as I was when I watched "You" on Netflix (in similar fashion, it is written in the POV of a serial killer stalker if you haven't seen it!). I'm stuck between rooting for the protagonist and his goals like one would normally do for a non-villain character, and knowing damn well he's a terrible person and needs to be kicked in the balls, and so much worse. Like, cool, Red wants to be an eldritch terror, live your best life bro, but...man I want to ring his neck. Poor Joanna, I really hope she gets her revenge.

I was only planning to read the prologue and chapter 1, but ended up reading through to chapter 4. I want to get this review in before I leave for my Valentines day plans today, so I am going to review only those two for Catnip, then review alternate prologue and 2-5 once I finish 5!

Overall, great story story so far. I see why this is your magnum opus. I will have to get around to reading Seiran and Metanoia, so I can make better sense of some of the things happening. Please bear with me if I comment on something that would "click" if I had started with those two, but I'll try my best to keep my comments tailored solely to this piece alone!

Spoiler: Original Prologue Line By Lines

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

Air, warm. Soft. Sweet. Fills lungs, squeezes out. Kind of hurts, breathing this fast, but have to, have to or choke...

So hot. Hot and wet, sticky skin. Sweaty. Heart pounds in ears, in chest, right above stomach, stomach is heavy, full, satisfied… too much? Bloated? Not sure, maybe if I move…

Ah, sharp, hard, something on back… move, move to floor, oh, tired, tired arms and legs, body sticky and bare -- red? Red smears? Blood! Am I hurt?

...No, nothing hurts. Only smears. Can move rest of way. Ugh, sweat glues to floor, wet hair on neck, gross. Foot uncomfortable, move --

Hot! Take foot away! What's so hot there? It glows, bright. Orange, crackles - fire. Above it, shining - metal. Bubbling. Water inside? Why…? Where am I?

It's blurry. Can't tell. Just grays, browns, blacks outside that big light and other lights, smaller, scattered around.

Depth. Sharpen. See shapes. Recognize. Room of basement, the hidden room. My room, should be safe.

But it’s not clean. White floor has stains, red and orange. And there are shreds, lumps of something...

Human! Human shape to the left! Who?

...Not moving. Not a threat?

Lots of red on it. Glistening middle. Blotches of color. Matches the lumps, kind of. Behind the human, there’s a board. Wooden. Belts. I made that. I… put her on that.

Her. I remember. I brought her here, unconscious. Strapped her to the board. Lit the candles - the little lights are candles. Set up the fire and water bowl - big light and metal - like I always do. Always do when I… bring an offering for...

HIM.

Spoiler: Original Prologue Line By Lines

So you really waste no time in putting us on edge, do ya? I don't even know what's going on until the last three paragraphs or so, but I'm already so shook up before I get there. I'm wondering "what the hell is going on?" this whole time--it almost feels like Red's being rebirthed or something like that, in the way he rapidly tries to take in his surroundings, but still seems like he doesn't know what's going on...really hope that makes sense lol.

Also who TF is HIM? He possessed Red? You got me, I'm hooked.

Oh, what a sight she is.

Red, pink, yellow, gray, purple, dark green. A flesh-tinted rainbow nested in her ventral cavity. Her organs - the ones that still remain - glisten in the fires’ light, eager to show off their beauty after two decades of darkness. Many of them, though, have lost large chunks of themselves, the lungs especially. They still leak blood and other fluids. It looks sad in a way, as if they were crying. But they're at rest now, just like all the others. Enslaved no more by the brain.

The digestive tract, though, took little to no damage. With the greater omentum mostly torn off, I can see the loops of the intestines, their surfaces smooth and unscathed. HE probably avoided them because of the smell. For that, I'm grateful.

The middle of the small intestine, though, seems oddly parted. Looking closer, there seems to be something pooled on the mesentery, something viscous… oh.

Moving on. I decide to inspect the intact parts of her for a change. Her skin is quite pale, understandably, though small, red crescents encircle the sections torn off, becoming sparser the further away they get. I check my fingernails to find bloody gunk underneath them. Matches up. Though I can't imagine these weak simian nails doing that much damage by themselves… HE must have brought some of HIS own strength along. That explains the missing anterior of the ribcage, too. I suppose HE just… ripped it off. Gods. Did HE even use the knife? Where is the knife, anyway?

So I know you told me you're an anatomy fiend and...that really shows here. This is a violently descriptive examination of the carnage and I am here for it. I was gagging (in a good way). Though...what was pooled in the part in the small intestine? I feel like I know but...I'm unsure.

Also, bolded typo!

Did HE not… cook the flesh?

?????????????????????????????????? What.

I want to know what the significance is of cooking the flesh. I feel like an eldritch level monster would just...go balls to the wall on the bowels, but apparently HE is too good for that? Very interesting. I want so much more insight into HIM.

Ngh, what do I do now? Is this a hazard? I know eating flesh raw is something HE discourages, but is it something HE would want me to try and empty my entire stomach for? I know the offering's blood was clean, thanks to HIS pre-ritual check, but does that translate to the flesh? Ugh, I really don't want to have to vomit, it burns my throat and leaves an awful taste in there for the whole day, but...

...you know what, it's probably fine if I don't. It wouldn't make sense for HIM to eat something HE considered a risk. HE just confirmed this body is the one HE wants. HE wouldn't go and spoil it now. HE must have checked the flesh was good to eat or made it good by force. If HE can enhance the human genome, I'm sure HE can take care of a few microbes. And if HE didn't… well, they're unlikely to cause severe harm if I seek help in time. I'll probably just feel shitty for a few days and then go back to normal. Right now, I should only worry about this mess…

Kind of going into my last point...so HE DISCOURAGES eating raw flesh. Even more interesting. But WHY? I'm dying to see the instructions for this ritual. I have so many questions. I'm sure that's what you were going for, it feels like you want the reader to be like "What the actual fuck is happening here?" and I really like that lmfao. We (or at least I, being I'm going in blind) don't know who HE is, so I'm just...stunned in my disgustingly awestruck silence.

Sure, having a tarp set up in advance for the whole ritual would make cleaning easier, but I'm just not a fan of how it looks. Brings down the atmosphere. And if the Helixians didn't need tarps all those millennia ago, neither do I.

Helixians? I get "Ancient Alien Nation" from his. Big Lovecraftian horror vibes. I feel like Cthulhu would know the Helixians.

I know they have something to do with Red's Omanyte, Helix, right? Red like, reveres it as a god if I recall. I'm collecting pieces and slolwy putting them together!

Also it's lines like these that make me love villain-POV stories. Homeboy just sacrificed this poor girl in cold blood to some horrific being, and he's concerned about a tarp bringing down the atmosphere of the cult space? Red's a man who has his priorities straight, I guess.

Alright. I think I'll chop the head off first. I fetch my trusted axe from the wall it leans against, along with a plank of wood. I slip the plank under her neck to make sure I won’t accidentally shatter the floor and begin to hack away. Eventually, I cleave through the spine. I sever the remaining skin with the sharper knife, and so her head comes free. I grab it by the hair and, to humor myself, lift it up high like a Kalosian revolutionary.

Her face now level with mine, I stare deep into her eyes. No life gazes back from the darkness. They resemble my own, really. Uncannily much. I choose to move on to the rest of her face.

Ignoring the missing flesh around the mouth, she's rather good-looking. Symmetrical, aesthetically pleasing proportions rather typical for a Tohjoan female. Smoothly curved bridge of nose, deep-set eyes, widow’s peak. Pure and healthy skin, although discolored now by loss of blood. Thin, neatly shaped eyebrows. They feel silky to the touch. As much as I can tell with gloves on, anyway.

Man, I love how you're describing the features of this girl...as Red fucking holds up her decapitated head. The image in my mind is so downright grotesque, and it's so good. So fucked up. Even as he tries to make light of it with his "Kalosian revolutionary" thought, the madlad.

However, I did have a question. Tohjoan? Is that a race of people from a region I'm unaware of? Please excuse my stupidity.

I separate the corpse’s jaws. To my disappointment, the tongue is missing.

But I also didn’t come across it on the floor…?

The realization disturbs my gut. Oh, it’s in there then. Unwashed tongue, that’s a little disgusting… though I suppose regular people exchange spit voluntarily all the time. Would this count as first base, then?

????????????????????????????????? WHERE IS THE TONGUE AND WHY IS SOMEBODY LIKE RED DISTURBED BY WHERE THE TONGUE IS????????? DID HE EAT IT IN HIS POSSESSION???

Also that "Would this count as first base" made me wheeze because I'm a horrible person, and Red is also a horrible person. What the hell, man.

Overall, this was very very good! I had a hard time picking it apart--my only critique was that there were so many unanswered things, but I'm 95% sure that was your intention. I also had some outside questions, but I feel like I can clear them up by reading on, or reading one of the prelude works. Maybe once I indulge in those I can come back and more adequately critique, but for now...nice job!

Spoiler: Chapter 1 Line by Lines

I sigh and stare at the digits of the alarm. 9:00. The prime time to rise and shine. To get out of bed, do your morning chores and then set off for school to learn about all the wonders of the world. Or for work, to earn the bread to eat, to give a share to the government for all the nice services they provide.

But I don’t do either. I can’t do either. Because to do those human things, you'd have to be human.

Instead, I spend my days at home, trying my best to pass the time. Exercising. Watching TV. Doing crosswords. Going on walks. Cooking. Hunting. I like the last one best, but it's also the most difficult and illegal, so it's more of a rare treat.

Spoiler: Chapter 1 Line by Lines

So Red's just kind of a shut in, it seems. Makes sense considering what he does in his spare time. Does he live alone? If not, what the hell do his folks think he's doing nowadays?

Anyway... it's alright, actually, all of this. Because it's all temporary. Everything will change once HE is ready, and that time will be soon. The ascension is right behind the corner. HIS taking me over proves that. HE just needs to… wait a little longer, to gather HIS strength. I just need to wait a little longer.

Once again, I'm left with questions. Red's ascending to be an eldritch terror too? HE has to ready HIMSELF?

Also since I haven't mentioned it, I love the use of the capitalized HE, HIM, HIS, HIMSELF. It really adds to the mystery of who HE is exactly, and really shows us how Red holds HIM in such high regard.

Should I even go upstairs? Should I challenge myself to spend all day in the basement instead? Could be fun, in some kind of way. I could use that time to work more on that Helixian textbook. Even if I know it's completely useless, as I can't show it to anyone pre-ascension, and post-ascension I'd be able to just will the information into the brains of anyone I wanted…

Lmfao I laughed, serial killer lives in the basement...makes sense. But...Helixian textbook? Kinda dying to see what's in this textbook.

and lastly, I don't want to come to HIM while I still don't have that… one thing under control.

Oh?? What thing??

Speaking of… the two mon are probably up by now, getting ready for school and work. I should go upstairs and see them. Not going would be avoiding them, and avoiding is a sign of cowardice. I need to face them, face my weakness. It's the only way to overcome it.

Ah, we're getting there. I guess he doesn't want to...show affection to his mon?

As expected, the omanyte lies in his arms. Big bright eyes, little tentacles. Patiently waiting as the nidoking gathers all the things needed for His day at school.

No, its!

Oh Gods, another mistake. I thought of Him as a Him again. It!

I slip a mental hand inside my ribcage and squeeze my heart. No feeling. No feeling of joy or affection or anything of the sort. You’re not allowed to see Him -- it in that light anymore. As far as you’re concerned, the omanyte is just an omanyte. An animal, a pile of flesh and organs. Not your lord, not your master. That role belongs only to HIM.

Ah, I was right!

Wow, this was an extremely interesting part. I love how Red wrestles with the idea of dehumanizing his Omanyte by making himself refer to it as "it." It really gives him an little speckle of humanity, when the rest of his character is so deplorable. He's really trying hard here, almost too hard it seems.

Having gathered his and the omanyte’s bags, Fonz heads for the door. Almost over, thank the Gods. He looks over here and so does… the omanyte, and they wave and say goodbye. With the strength of a mindless reflex, I manage to raise my hand back. And then - they’re gone.

So, in this world, Pokemon get up and go to school and work like humans do? That's the gist I got but I wasn't sure when I read this. It clicked when I read about the talking Slaking in the third chapter, but up until that point I was just a LITTLE confused. I would suggest maybe finding a way to make it somewhat more obvious? Maybe like, a really awkward and strained dialogue between Fonz and Red?

A door opens. Abe comes out of the bathroom. I straighten my back as I don’t want him to start saying anything. Though now he’s looking straight at me. Is he gonna bring it up?

“Oh, Red!” he says, raising a finger. “I wanted to remind you earlier, but I forgot...”

Remind… huh?

“Today’s your psych appointment.”

...Oh.

“Remember?” he continues. “The one we reserved two weeks --”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“I’m gonna come pick you up with a taxi at ten to three. Be at home and ready then, okay?”

Aw, Abe seems like a caring brother...I hope Red doesn't kill him. I know their mother and father were mentioned, where are they?

Abe’s eyes adopt a rare sternness. “Do you promise? You have to go.”

Oh? I wonder if this is out of concern for Red's well being or concern for the human population's well being...

He nods with a smile and hoists up his backpack, becoming the striking image of a bipedal bulbasaur. He opens the front door. “Ten to three, alright? Be here then.”

So, was Red kind of making fun of Abe looking like a bulbasaur, or is Abe actually a bulbasaur? I was so confused by the possible thought that Pokemon were active working members of society like humans, so I wasn't sure here either, which is why I think some earlier clarification on the point about Fonz leaving for work would be helpful! (Then again I might just also be stupid)

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

Should I pick the bad brand? Would that be a good way to show I don’t care about the mon? No - wouldn’t that mean I do care, if I care enough to pick the wrong one on purpose? But if I pick the good brand, I’d feel like I did it because I didn’t have the heart to pick the bad one, that I was weak. But is it really weakness? It’s what I’m used to doing, it’s normal. And it’s not like the good brand even costs any more than the bad one.

No, it is weakness. If I make the omanyte happy, I’ll just want to make it happy again and again. I’ll lapse back to my old ways and fail to do as HE ordered, and then...

Okay, I reeeeaaaallllyyyy liked this. Because once again, Red is trying way too damn hard to show he hates his Omanyte. I feel bad for him but at the same time...fuck this guy.

What worthlessness! What thanklessness towards their ancestors! The ones that built their own shelters, hunted their own food, made their own rules, all for these meek mareep to take it for granted and worry about the utterly pointless instead! Humans used to struggle for survival, and now these overgrown infants take it on a silver platter. They’re domesticated. Inbred by good times to be harmless, lazy and stupid!

You really have the holier-than-thou serial killer mentality down packed with this one.

Gods, just… how could I lose all my rational thought like that? How did I not play that scenario to the end? Obviously I would've been shot, put down like a rabid animal, and then I would've been dead! Dead, dead, life over. No body for my soul, no brain to think with. Only the void. What is the void like? No one knows. Not even HE knows. Perhaps not even the creator. Terrifying. And that's why it's important I don't let that happen to myself, why I should become the Bringer and ascend to divinity. Don't forget that.

Kind of alarming how he has to like...catch himself from flying off the handle and committing a mass murder. It's really unsettling.

Laughter. Two men next to one of the cars. They’re smiling, they’re talking about their families. They’re doing great. Yeah, I bet they’re doing great. Doing great is so easy for everyone else, so easy when you’re just like everyone else. Gods. I force my eyes onto the automatic doors and don’t let myself blink until I’ve slipped through.

The boldened sentence here, I think this is a typo. The double sentence here just seems incorrect.

 

[canisaries]

it almost feels like Red's being rebirthed

*grabs your mask and pulls it off, revealing dr sigmund freud* aHA it was YOU all along

Though...what was pooled in the part in the small intestine? I feel like I know but...I'm unsure.

Oh you know :)

Also, bolded typo!

Actually, it isn't (unless I reread it wrong 10 times as I just made sure): the greater omentum is a curtain-like anatomical structure that hangs in front of the intestines, covering them. You may have been thinking of momentum, but that word's completely unrelated.

I want to know what the significance is of cooking the flesh. I feel like an eldritch level monster would just...go balls to the wall on the bowels, but apparently HE is too good for that? Very interesting. I want so much more insight into HIM.

Kind of going into my last point...so HE DISCOURAGES eating raw flesh. Even more interesting. But WHY? I'm dying to see the instructions for this ritual. I have so many questions. I'm sure that's what you were going for, it feels like you want the reader to be like "What the actual fuck is happening here?" and I really like that lmfao. We (or at least I, being I'm going in blind) don't know who HE is, so I'm just...stunned in my disgustingly awestruck silence.

I do want to raise questions and create intrigue, but this is something I didn't mean to be obscure, so I'll explain it briefly: the ritual itself does not involve the performer (here, Red) getting possessed, and HELIX possessing Red now was a deviation from the formula that Red was not forewarned about. HELIX, having gathered enough power, decided to test out possessing Red during the ritual - or, more accurately, HE interrupted the ritual and proceeded with the murder in his own way. This meant leaving out certain actions that would be part of a regular ritual, such as cooking the flesh before consumption to make it safer to consume, and that's why Red's surprised to have been made eat raw flesh.

However, I did have a question. Tohjoan? Is that a race of people from a region I'm unaware of? Please excuse my stupidity.

Oh, Tohjoan is just the word I use to combine Kanto + Johto. Tohjoan thus means "from Kanto or Johto", and as an ethnicity it corresponds to our Japanese.

????????????????????????????????? WHERE IS THE TONGUE AND WHY IS SOMEBODY LIKE RED DISTURBED BY WHERE THE TONGUE IS????????? DID HE EAT IT IN HIS POSSESSION???

Oh you know :)

Lmfao I laughed, serial killer lives in the basement...makes sense. But...Helixian textbook? Kinda dying to see what's in this textbook.

Red doesn't live in the basement per se, but you pointing this out made me realize the risk of confusion. You see, I live in a house that has its shower in the basement, and I borrowed that into Red's house, but thinking about it now, I don't actually think having a basement shower is that common.

As for the textbook, I plan to get into it! ...in the sequel story that's been in the planning stage for two years now. :/

So, in this world, Pokemon get up and go to school and work like humans do? That's the gist I got but I wasn't sure when I read this. It clicked when I read about the talking Slaking in the third chapter, but up until that point I was just a LITTLE confused. I would suggest maybe finding a way to make it somewhat more obvious? Maybe like, a really awkward and strained dialogue between Fonz and Red?

Yeah, this is one of the elements that are kind of awkwardly just there and the story expects you to accept them... I wasn't sure how to establish the setting (that spans multiple stories) without derailing the story, but some dialogue might be what I need. The full explanation as to how pokémon work in this world is pretty lengthy, but to summarize the main points:

- Pokémon can be animalistic or human-like in behavior and intelligence depending on how they're raised.
- Pokémon that are intelligent can apply for citizenship and become (mostly) human in the eyes of the law.
- Citizenship gives the pokémon (and their guardians) both rights and duties.
- One of those rights is the right to work and make their own income, so there are pokémon in the workforce.
- One duty, on the other hand, is to learn to read and write some language and do basic math, and this is what pokémon school is for. Further education is voluntary but, just as with humans, gets you more easily hired and qualifies you for certain positions you couldn't otherwise get to.

Aw, Abe seems like a caring brother...I hope Red doesn't kill him. I know their mother and father were mentioned, where are they?

They're biologically unrelated, but it doesn't stop Abe from wanting to have some brotherly bonding. As for where their parents are, the unfortunate answer is "not in this fic" :P . I do have planned where they are, though, it's just another thing I wouldn't know how to get in the story without feeling irrelevant.

So, was Red kind of making fun of Abe looking like a bulbasaur, or is Abe actually a bulbasaur? I was so confused by the possible thought that Pokemon were active working members of society like humans, so I wasn't sure here either, which is why I think some earlier clarification on the point about Fonz leaving for work would be helpful! (Then again I might just also be stupid)

Just saying he looks like a bulbasaur! Although I suppose that's a fair mistake to make with this new unconventional take being shoved into readers' faces.

The boldened sentence here, I think this is a typo. The double sentence here just seems incorrect.

I did that intentionally to emphasize Red's bitterness, but I'll take your reaction into consideration.

Alright, thank you very much for the read and review! I'm beyond thrilled to see you enjoy this story so much, and I can't wait for you to see what's in store. See you around!

 

[Umbramatic]

Here for Catnip! You know like nya. Now for Chapter 1.

This chapter is important to me, in that it established that Red is simultaneously A. a vengeful, wrathful, murtderous cultist (well this is more re-=established after THAT PROLOUGE but still) and 1. a complete fucking dingus. A clown. A laughable lad. And it's fucking delicious (pun on Red being a cannibal entirely intentional)

You do a good job with dark comedy - the grocery store fantasy scene had me in stitches. Also the shrimp. Red twisting himself in logic knots over shrimp was funny.

And then there's the ending, with a familiar face! It's definitely not Johnna. If it is Johnna I will eat a shoe. Two shoes.

This story is fun; I hope to get a chance to revisit it soon!

 

[canisaries]

two months this time, huh. well, i shift part of the blame on the oneshot contest. and most of it on my mental health that seems to have had the stability of a house of cards lately.

anyway! first chapter of act 2. we have reached the fun zone. and another milestone: in this chapter we meet samson, which means that hopping over to and reading the rest of the story in the previous version is now possible. i do hope that you'll wait for this revision to complete instead, though, even if it might take a while. i think i still have improvements to make in the remaining chapters.

rated mature for gore, body horror, strong language and sexual references, including a passing one to assault. enjoy.

---

CHAPTER SIX
Rebirth

---​

The air I breathe in is strangely heavy, like water. But I’m not drowning.

It’s dark blue all around, like water. But I’m not drowning.

I float in place, the air supporting my weight, like water. But I’m not drowning.

I guess I must have gills.

I have gills, and I can’t feel my limbs. Am I a fish?

I curve my spine - it’s become much longer - to see my body beneath me. A scaly tail, flattened to function as a paddle, and two amber gems embedded in its flesh.

I’m much better than a fish. I’m a dragonair. A deepsea dragonair.

I try to fold what used to be my ears, and they’re indeed now fins. I lick my teeth. Sharp, conical. I glance around the dark blue around me and realize that human eyes would never see anything but black.

So this is what it’s like. Color me jealous! I can feel the raw power in this body, the form and musculature that allows a lightning-fast lunge at unsuspecting prey, the aura in my jewels… ugh, phrasing. Either way, this is a killing machine. Perhaps the brain isn’t as sophisticated, but what need for complex thought is there when my purpose is clear and unobstructed? Speaking of...

I sniff the air. Water. There’s a scent that’s very familiar on the right, very appetizing. Invited to hunt by the trail of blood, I follow it, slithering through the abyss - oh, how wonderful the water feels, flowing past my scales. This is nature celebrating its design.

The scent grows stronger - the wounded prey is nearby. In just moments, I see it. A magikarp. A fateful gash in its tail. It has no idea I’m here. Better strike before it does.

I whip my tail against the waters, springing forth. I open my mouth and bite down hard the moment I feel scales against my tongue.

An explosion of blood. Overwhelming to my sense of taste and smell. The magikarp flails in vain - my teeth have hooked deep into its flesh. I feel its muscles repeatedly flex and relax. The panic of a dying animal. Finally, it stops moving.

Some remaining streak of human thought ponders how I’ll fillet this without hands and cook it underwater, but my instincts soon override it, prompting me to swallow and only chew if I choke. I wince, expecting the scales and fins to rasp my throat bleeding, but all I feel are harmless scratches. A dragonair’s throat must be made of stronger stuff than a human’s.

With that first meal, as counterintuitive as it seems, awakens more hunger. This body is much larger than a human’s, after all, and all these muscles need plenty of energy. One small fry won’t fill my belly. I need the entire shoal.

Guided by my nose, I find more prey to lunge at and devour. 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 scents of fish. There’s 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 little 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. I can’t wait…

Oh, it’s coming from the bottom. From that rock, the little cave within it. Soon I’ll feel that creature’s 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.

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

A predator like… me.

So I should...

I should. I have no reason not to. I should --

Yes. 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?

I, well, I mean...

Are you saying that there’s something stopping you? That’s not how the Bringer, the Bringer, the Bringer, the Bringer. The Bringer cannot --

Something yanks me back. It’s loud, so loud. Around, around, dizzy, there’s a deep, deep darkness in the middle. A whirlpool? The current grabs me and drags me into the abyss --

I gasp. Light. Light blue. Sky. Grass, chairs, people, wind, hands, legs. I’m a human. What?

Oh, I woke up. That was a dream. Okay. So... where am I?

I’m sitting among a crowd, it seems - a crowd of people in black suits seated on an array of lawn chairs. Some guy is standing at a wooden podium before us, speaking. He’s in black as well. Looks old, sad. Everyone looks sad, actually. What is this, a funeral?

...Actually, yeah. I think it is a funeral.

But no one I know has died. I don’t recognize these people…

Oh, don’t tell me... Mom dragged me here, didn’t she? Yeah, some distant relative I’d never even met kicked the bucket and still she made me come.

So where is she, then? The seat next to me is empty. Did she ditch me? Ugh, that bitch. Well, guess what? I’m eighteen. I’m a grown man and I get to decide where I go and what I do, and what I’m gonna do now is get the hell outta here.

Stealthily, I get up, lucky to have the second seat in the row. 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…

Wait. Tombstones? Western tombstones, placed so far apart that there must be entire bodies buried underneath? I guess this must be a Western-style graveyard. I didn’t know I had Western relatives…

Well, anyway… it looks like the metal fencing around the around the area is rather high 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 just can’t seem to find one…

“And now, a speech from one of her close friends, Ichiro 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.

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. A lot of pale folk. This really is a Western funeral. 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!

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 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, that’s not how that 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 thing I can think of at the moment is 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! Wh-what did I do wrong? “Oh Gods, I didn’t mean that she slept around or --”

One word keeps popping up. ‘Pocket’.

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

The crowd stares at me with wide eyes, 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, slimy 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 any case? 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.”

Who said that? It made everyone stand up. And now they’re approaching. 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 blood for blood! 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 taller than me -- it’s a coffin, standing upright. I try to move past it, but something’s got me by the arm. Something with a 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. They grab me. The mob has caught up. A sea of black suits.

“Th-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. They’re animals. Animals trampling me.

They tighten their hold and pull me back. For what? A pummeling? A public execution?

The coffin before me creaks, its cover slowly opening. 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 lines the coffin’s interior. How royal. But that’s not what we’re looking for. Something glimmers 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. I scream that at them, but the crowd pushes me forward, 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 any movement left possible 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, don’t --

He slams the lid onto me.

Every needle, each and every one, 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 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!

Golden light rips a hole in the darkness -- it’s coming for me!

“Red?”

Red…? 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.

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

“Are you okay?” 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.

“It’s okay,” I reply. “Just had a bad dream.”

“...You sure?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

Maybe washing my face and a quick walk around will calm me down, convince my brain the danger is gone. I pry myself out of my bed. Ugh, my underwear’s glued to my skin. Maybe I should just sleep in the nude for the rest of the night.

I make my way to the bathroom and turn on the lights. The brightness smacks me in the face, stripping away most of my drowsiness. My steps are sticky on the tiles beneath my feet, but soon I reach 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. You know, I never did believe those people that say you couldn’t feel pain in your dreams. I guess they just get off easy and can’t comprehend other people going through something worse. Assholes.

I take off my underwear and toss it into the laundry basket. After 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 disembodied heart that still pulsates, but now without blood. The torn edges of the thick blood vessels that leave it - aorta, superior vena cava, pulmonary artery, so on - are a sad sight. Vessels as diligent as these deserve clean cuts.

Well, whatever. Since it’s certainly not going to stick to my insides anymore, I leave it in the sink. I head back to my own room and climb back in my bed, hoping to sleep off the dream.

---​

I’m sorry, what?

I already knew before that the dream was bizarre, but now it's really dawning on me. A coffin coming to life and killing me… I guess my mind took some inspiration from that evolved form of yamask, cof… cofagrigus, I think. Hmh. And then the dream progressed to a fake wakeup...

Hold on. I don’t have my underwear on. But I took them off inside the dream, not outside it. Did they slide off somehow?

After a brief search of my bed, it seems they didn’t. So maybe some of the dream was real and I was sleepwalking? Eh, must have been something like that. Can’t have all been real, given I’m still alive and not bloody all over.

At least there was that other dream before the funeral, the one where I was a dragonair. It felt so good to get to kill things again. Makes me hungry for some fish, actually. But then it had to go and transition to the funeral… how did that happen again? I was tracking something new and then I found…

Fuck. No. It was… dammit. So much for fond memories of that dream.

But it's alright - it was precisely a dream and nothing else. In real life, I would've…

In real life I wouldn't end up in such a situation to begin with. HE wouldn't have me kill the omanyte, that's directly against HIS interests. My job is to protect the omanyte as it's a valuable asset. Not killing it in my dream was only wise! It needs to stay alive…

Oh, screw thinking about this. It's pointless. I should get my day started instead. It's a big day, too. First day of exposure therapy. I can get a fresh look at my problems and begin to systematically work them out. Yes, this is the day I really turn my course for the better. It's gonna be tough, but rewarding. When I get home at the end of the day, I'll feel like my lounging around is really earned. That things are how they should be.

That synthetic excitement injected into my veins, I march off to my morning chores. They transpire the same way as usual with perhaps a little more care put into washing my hair - but as I approach my cupboard, I realize I must diverge from the known path.

‘Clothes make the man’ is what many people say, and to an extent even the Helixians agreed. It’s clear from the visions HE gave me that Kohath dressed like the king he was, which was admittedly more modest back in the Bronze Age, but still involved more impressive clothing than the everyman.

I recall being described as ‘looking like a rapist’ back in my high school days in some overheard girl talk, so it would probably be smart to dress a little nicer if I am to go out and socialize without getting the cops called on me. But that brings up a problem…

I dig through my wardrobe and my suspicion is confirmed. All the fancier clothes I can find are too small for me. Makes sense as my mother stopped forcing me to shop for clothes with her years ago, and the ones I’ve bought since have all prioritized comfort. So will I actually have to go shopping for clothes today? Or maybe…

I’m surprised that I’ve never gone through my mother’s drawers before looking for clothes that could have belonged to my father, but I suppose there’s no time like the present. If he had a frame like mine, they might just fit.

I make my way downstairs and head for the main bedroom. Crossing the floor to the cupboards, I keep an eye out for any quills Fonz may have shed. I restrain myself from looking at the omanyte’s aquarium. I’m too busy for those thoughts.

Finding men’s clothes turns out to be easy - not because there’s many of them, but because there aren’t that many clothes in the first place. I suppose it makes sense for my mother to have taken most of the clothes she uses to where she actually lives. How she’s managed to fit them all in that apartment is beyond me.

Either way, this confirms that she lived together with my father for some amount of time, which in turn means she knows his identity and how he exited the picture but just refuses to tell me. The presence of these clothes would primarily suggest his death, but it’s also possible for the breakup to have been so stormy that he decided going back for his clothes wasn’t worth it. But then she would have also had a reason to keep them. Maybe she wanted to sell them and never got around to it or guessed correctly that I would grow into them.

Let’s not kid ourselves, though. He’s probably dead, a box of ashes and bones in the ground. Which is a shame - I would’ve liked to know which of my traits I inherited from him. There’s a possibility he was a predator, too, a very clever one at that to be able to manipulate my mother into a relationship and having a child with him. I haven’t felt that need to spread my genes myself, but I hear it’s very common, and it only makes sense when thinking from a biological standpoint.

But no matter how great he could have been, he’s the reason I’m here. That alone makes me want to deck the fucker.

I shake those thoughts and try on one button-up shirt. To my surprise, it fits like a glove. Guess my old man worked out, too. Bet my mom liked that.

I move to the bathroom and check myself out in the mirror. Damn, looking good -- well, the hair’s still a mess. I rinse my fingers and 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.

I grab a hairbrush from the mirror cabinet. It’s covered in loose brown hair - practically every tooth has a strand wrapped around it. Does Abe use this on his hair or a tangela? Ugh. I find a comb instead and run it through my hair until I run out of tangles. Finally, I comb my bangs to the sides and close the cabinet to see my reflection again.

Wow. Now that’s a metamorphosis. The man in the mirror has transformed from an under-bridge raticate to a street-strutting, show-stopping ninetales. No one would guess that this stand-up citizen killed women, took their tongues and stored them in jars in his basement.

Of course, there’s something still missing - the thing that everyone says is the most important. It’s never been that natural to me, but if I am to become a social butterfree, it’s something I have to master.

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

There it is. Peak deception.

---​

“Morning, Abe.”

In the split second after he had turned to me, I saw fear in his eyes - the very primal fear we feel after witnessing something we consider impossible. Then, as his brain came up with multiple scenarios that could indeed lead to an event like this, the fear was replaced by curiosity, but it waited just long enough to let him smile and greet me back before he had to spit out the question burning in his throat.

“What are you all dressed up for?”

“Well, nothing in particular,” I hum as I make my way to the kitchen table where he sits. “Just decided to try it out. What do you think?”

“You look great.”

Damn straight I do. “Thanks,” I answer as etiquette demands, then head for the door. “I’m going out. Might still be out by the time you get back from school, so don’t be surprised.”

“Alright,” Abe says, “have fun.”

“Bye,” I shout and exit - but right after I've closed the door, I freeze in realization.

I took my knife with me. I didn't even think twice about it. It felt so natural, so right, but having a weapon like that on my hip… won't it scare people away? Shouldn't I leave it at home?

It sounds like the smart thing to do, but the thought of walking around without anything to defend me sends shivers all around my body. What if I accidentally piss off someone bigger and stronger than me? A group of people? Someone with a weapon of his own? I could end up dead. Or get seriously injured in a way that disqualifies me from the position of Bringer. I can't let that happen! Everyone else will just have to learn to deal with my blade. I'm allowed to carry it, dammit. I'm allowed to protect myself. The knife stays and that's that.

That settled, I step down to the front yard and take in the weather. It's sunny and warm with only a few puffy clouds in the vivid blue sky - but a refreshing wind makes sure no traveller gets too hot. Wonderful weather for a walk. If the water wasn't still cold, it'd be a fantastic day to go out to the beach.

Actually… maybe a few people have decided to go out and test the waters. There might be a considerable crowd over there, which means plenty of opportunities to strike up conversations.

That's where I'll head, then! It's been quite a while since I went to the beach, anyway. Maybe I'll spot some wildlife while I'm there, too. Something I'm actually interested in.

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. Soon enough, the building and trees make way for the big blue and sandy brown.

Nobody’s there. The beach is empty. This, of course, makes sense very quickly as I remember that it’s the morning of a weekday.

Well, whatever. I can still hang out for a while. It’s nice here.

I step off the road and make my way past the grass and onto the wooden walkways, not wanting to drag my pant legs through the sand. Each step makes a nice clack. I look around to focus on the people that are there - yes, there are some people, it’s just that there was basically no one at first glance. Like that woman in a blue uniform over there.

Wait. Blue uniform. 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 is actually the perfect opportunity for me. 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 leaning against the wooden railing. Next to her sits a large pile of cream-colored fuzz - an RK9 unit. As I approach, it’s the one to pick me up first, perking up its ears and then turning to me with a reserved look. The human, having noticed her partner’s motion, faces me as well. I study her Unovan features, gray-green eyes and auburn ponytail and imprint them onto my memory. Now that I’m being social, I’ll have to get good at remembering faces.

“Good day, officers,” I greet, hands out of pockets and relaxed at my sides even if the right one keeps wanting to touch the scabbard.

“Good day to you too,” says the woman, smiling, adjusting her cap. The arcanine gives a brief wag of its tail.

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

“No, they’ve got life guards for that,” she chuckles. “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 fluff engulfing her entire hand. “Ain’t that right, Wendy?”

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

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

“Is it busy over at your station right now?” Better than nothing.

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

Oh? Now this is interesting. “Once, yes.”

“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.” I place my hands onto the railing, one clasping the other. “What do you think happened to her?”

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

“Oh. Sorry.”

I suppose that’s as far as I can follow that path. I better ask about something broader that she can yap her gums off about, then.

“So, there’s something I’ve been wondering...” I begin. “There’s that show on TV, Celadon Police. You’ve probably seen it. How much of that would you say accurately depicts what it’s like to be part of a police force?”

She throws her head back with a groan, and that’s how I know I’ve struck gold. “Ugh, that show -- I hope you’re not too much of a fan, because I hate that show. Well, it’s not like I hate hate it - I don’t wake up each morning and shake my fist at the gods for it existing - but...”

Her rant continues from there, and by the amount of tangents, it seems that it won’t be ending anytime soon. I smile and throw generic remarks every now and then to keep her going while my real focus lies elsewhere.

Shining hair. Clear skin. Elegant shape of skull. Her looks and her profession contrast as much as her red locks and the teal sea. How does one keep their appearance that pleasing to the eye while chasing down and wrestling criminals each day? Did I merely catch her at a fortunate moment in time?

Though it’s not as if there aren’t details bridging the gap between white and blue collar. I can tell through her uniform that her arms are firm, and a healing scar runs across the back of her right hand.

I get the feeling that she knows I’m eyeing her up. She likely thinks that I’m checking her out. It would fit a narrative, sure - why else would a random person come up to a police officer on their break to simply chat? Little does she know, what I’m wondering is how it’d feel like to grab her by the jaw, unsheathe my knife, drive it through her suit and skin, cleave open her abdominal cavity and rip out her intestines like the stuffing of a teddi plush.

But I won’t do that. I have the weapon and I have the element of surprise and by the Gods I have the will, but I won’t do it. I know it’d doom my future and probably present as the arcanine would burn me to a crisp. I’ll just keep standing on the edge of this bottomless chasm, smiling at the pit and receiving a smile in return. So go on, honey, keep talking. I can’t get enough of this feeling of control...

“Ronnie?”

Oh fuck, what was that?

I find the source of the voice near the road - some guy, also Unovan, coming here. Blond, bulky, pretty tall. Another cop, but off duty and out of uniform? Wait. That necklace. Is that...

The woman gasps. “Samson!” She nearly frolics to him, but the man beats her to it. As he approaches, I see the golden pendant hanging from his neck more clearly, and yes, it’s the Wheel of Arceus.

A fucking Arcean.

“So it is you!” he says, reaching the walkway and hopping on the planks. Some sand flings onto my shoes, and I quickly kick it off - but it doesn’t seem like the man noticed. Fine, I guess I won’t bring it up, since I’m supposed to be all sociable and shit.

“And is this Wendy?” he asks the arcanine, who nods, leisurely wagging her tail. “Oh my goodness, you’ve grown so much!”

“A hundred and fifty kilos of fluff and fury,” says Ronnie, ruffling Wendy’s fur again, now more aggressively.

“You were just a growlithe when I last saw you, weren’t you?” said Samson, scratching behind the arcanine’s ear. “When was that, anyway? Shaymin’s Grove?”

“Shaymin’s Grove, yeah! We were assistants there.”

“Right!”

I ponder whether I should chime in to remind them of my presence, but fortunately that proves needless.

"Oh, sorry," says Samson, directing his gray-blue eyes at me. "Who's your friend?"

Ronnie waves her hand. "Oh, just a stranger that came up for a chat. I don't know him any more than that."

“Oh, sorry to have interrupted you.” His tone is enragingly earnest. This guy’s a real people pleaser. A mareep among mareep. What every mother would want their son to act like. I hate him, hate him, hate him.

“It’s fine,” I say anyway. He can still redeem himself by fucking off.

But, of course, Ronnie doesn’t allow him that choice. “So, I heard you’ve become a full-fledged priest, is that right?”

He nods excitedly, and I nearly gag. Not just an Arcean, but an Arcean priest. Not just a believer of nonsense, but a preacher of it.

“That’s so cool!” Ronnie says. “You know, I’ve been meaning to catch a sermon of yours, but, eh… I never remember it when I’m free. My cousin says they’re great, though!”

Samson chuckles and waves a hand. “Give your cousin my thanks, and don’t sweat it. You’re always welcome, though!”

I suppress a sigh and gaze off at the sea instead. It’s alright. This guy’s got to realize his rudeness soon and piss off. I’ll just wait until then --

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Oh, you motherfucker.

Ronnie digs out her phone and turns off the alarm. “Sorry,” she says, “break’s ending. But it was great to see you! Oh, and, um...” She glances at me. “Nice talking to you, too.”

I nod with a forced smile, and she goes back to Samson. “I’ll make it a point to come to a sermon of yours, and we can talk after, okay?”

“I’ll come too,” says Wendy. I guess I wasn’t alone in being ignored, at least.

“Sounds good! See you then.”

“Yeah, see ya!”

They wave each other goodbye, and the police duo head back to their car further down the road. Samson steps up to the railing, taking Ronnie’s spot, a wide smile on his face. As he leans on the railing, I get off it.

“Sorry again for cutting you off like that,” he says. “You know how it is with seeing old friends, though.”

No, I don’t. “Sure,” I mutter.

He leans his other arm on the railing as well. "So, not to get all missionary, but are you acquainted with Arceism?"

No. No, no way. I am not letting this guy preach his fairy tales to me. That's where I draw the line.

I look him right in the eye, unflinching. "I don't want to hear a word about your hokey religion, pony boy."

Stupefied. That’s his face right now. He just could not expect that I’d say such a thing. Oh, poor man. Reality hit him hard.

What will he do now? Will he get mad? He has to get mad. I insulted his entire world view, trivialized it to animal worship. Go on. Get mad. Escalate this. Show me how your rage overtakes your senses. Show me the evil within that you deny --

He sighs. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

Oh my Gods. Oh my Gods. He really just pulled the ‘bigger man’ shit. I hate him. I hate him so much. Kill. Kill him. Knife. The hilt is cool to the touch.

Stop!

I freeze. I pull my hand away from the hilt and tuck it in my pocket instead.

I breathe in and breathe out. Time seems to stand still between us, at least. I can take a few seconds to choose my next move.

It ends up being rather unimpressive.

"Whatever," I mutter and turn away. Walking off, I worry he might still yell something, something that could threaten my self-control again.

After hearing nothing for fifteen seconds, though, I conclude that the situation has come to an end. I breathe a little more easily.

I don't quite dare look over my shoulder to see if he's left, so I keep my course until I'm off the beach entirely. Only then can I stop at a roadside bench, sit down and fully process what just happened.

Okay. That could’ve gone better. I mean, I did just fine with the cop, which is the part that I consciously got into, but I still shouldn’t have almost shanked that Samson guy. Maybe bringing along the knife was a mistake after all. I should have realized my volatility… it’s like I’d forgotten all about the supermarket incident yesterday.

Well, what’s done is done. I should just avoid the beach for a while now in case that guy likes to frequent the place. I don’t think I should face him again before I’ve practiced with more people and gotten my hatred under control. Though I don’t even know how I’d want myself to handle things if he bumped into me again. Really only two ways about it - what I ended up doing this time or apologizing. And I do not want to apologize to an Arcean. If anything, they should apologize to me. For what, I’m not sure, but they should.

Alright. I guess I should just get right back on the rapidash despite getting singed. Just… stick to less aggravating types of people. Find a giratinist, maybe. We might have something in common.

With a sigh, I force myself to stand up and continue walking.

---​

 

[WildBoots]

Hey Canis,

A merry catnip to you. Here for Chapter 3!

So, Red is off to therapy. I suspect it's not going to help him any time soon--it's really hard to heal if you're actively resisting it, lol--but it sure is making his life more complicated! I like how unprepared he is for her to know actual things about him. From what I oops accidentally overhear from my therapist roommate, I think her questioning could probably be a little gentler, especially since this is their first meeting, but I'll be interested to see how he manages to tangle himself more and more deeply.

Poor apex predator is afraid of spiders. The juxaposition of the macho and this super mundane fear is great. I do think there's a missed opportunity here for either the sound of him smacking the table to startled someone and set them off or for the act of killing the spider itself to upset someone. I feel like you could have a lot of fun with that.

Something else I'm thinking about is how he essentially casts Michi as Lassie in the movie in his head ... but I doubt she's as harmless or fangless as he's choosing to paint her. Ditto Joanna. She might've been his victim in life, but now she's got elemental powers! Either I'm misunderstanding how they work in this setting, or Red is gleefully biting off more than he can chew.

I also want to congratulate that library for locating funding to redo their entire interior space. That doesn't happen every day!

Spoiler: Line Reactions

Instead, the building is a soulless, washed-beige block of concrete with featureless windows.

I suspect he'd find a reason to complain no matter what.

But he knew a slaking would, and what do you know, his friend happened to know one.

Wow, so he literally had to be forced by physical means.

it wouldn't help me much if my brother was convinced I was too dangerous to reason with.

I'm surprised he acknowledges Abe as "brother" in his own mind.

the hall is void of people.

*Devoid, maybe?

I can tell exactly what he’s thinking. What’s the matter with this one? Nothing.

Yeah, nothing at all, obvee.

“Sir, is that a knife?"

🙃

I make sure to keep my eyes pinned to his. Once his gaze strays to meet mine,

I had a hiccup over this. The first sentence makes it sound like they've already locked eyes.

Am I sure Celebi didn't just throw me back fifteen seconds?

My pondering of false gods fades quickly as the room comes fully to view.

Huh. This gave me pause. I'm having trouble sorting out if there's a contradiction here, and I'm not sure if it's because I'm stupid-tired as I write this or if it's because I don't have enough information about your setting. Is he throwing shade onto whether or not Celebi is a god at all (if he can even joke about Celebi time traveling, he must know that's not true) or just whether it's a legitimate god? Even if it's just the second one, it kinda makes me question the role of cults and monotheism in this setting. I can see by the Arceus sticker and the nod to Giratina (which should be capitalized, BTW, if you're using it as the name of a faith, just like Christian) that you're going to be unpacking it more here, but ... It's really hard to make a solid case against trying to curry favor from a god that can time-travel, TBH. Or a case against courting multiple gods. Red even invokes gods, plural, in his frustration.

One is a skinny, bony man fidgeting with his watch and twitching his leg all the while.

Skinny and bony are redundant.

I can smell the crazy off them.

*Coming off them

Abe even gave me the necessary cash for a ticket.

You can cut "necessary."

Well, that’s not very nice!

Haha.

Calm down your pounding heart.

I'd either say calm down or calm your pounding heart.

I'm a predator, apex no less, and this spider will know it.

Yeah, Red, show the tiny arthropod who's boss.

And I'd tell them to fuck off because I already have a cult.

This is oddly self-aware.

Do you recognize that in yourself?"

This felt a little accusatory. Maybe instead "Would you agree with that?"

couldn't I just have filled out some form?

I think this warrants a new sentence and could be capitalized.

“Helix, right? An omanyte?”

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

The line breaks here made it hard to tell which of them was speaking for a moment.

Suggestion:

“Helix, right? An omanyte?” The name sounds so wrong coming from her mouth.

“How do you know all these things?”

I pry them open.

Nice verb choice.

There’s plenty, too - I suppose in case of the price being more than anticipated.

A little clunky in the second clause here.

It's like a rabid rattata had busted into the kitchen and knocked over everything on the spice rack! This isn't mellow and relaxing, this is an assault on the senses!

Tense error here. Since you're writing in present tense, you want "It's like a rabid rattata has busted into the kitchen and knocked over everything on the spice rack!"

The comma after relaxing also should be an em dash to fix the comma splice.

I can lament the state of our society some other time.

I'm sure you will.

Are yamask gone over in this book?

The passive voice was weird here.

Suggestion: Does this book even go over yamask?

What if I can't find the information on my own? I'll have to ask somebody, and that'll leave a trace, a big stinking one at that. I can't have that… but the alternative is to try and search the internet, and I… I can't…

As a library employee, I'm happy to inform Red that a patron's checkout record is always confidential. Library staff can't even look up what you've checked out in the past once its returned!

Yamask, specifically the Unovan variant, are ghost-type pokémon with shadow-like bodies and large red eyes that seem to drip a viscous liquid. With their arms or prehensile tail, they carry a golden mask that resembles a human face . . . Okay, all of that I already knew. Skipping a bit further…

We already know this too. You could summarize past this.

And if they require actual faith to work, they definitely won’t be my thing. Were I not serving a god I’ve witnessed with my own two eyes, I’d dismiss religion entirely.

I think the idea of already serving a god and the idea of not being into religion are separate and could use a little more space to be considered separately.

It involves taking the creature’s mask and wearing it, which will cause one to be possessed.

This was a little stuff and clunky.

Suggestion: Anyone who takes the creature's mask and wears it can be possessed--meaning [copy-paste the thing about meeting them on their own plane.]

It'd be foolish not to have a back-up plan. Back to the shelf it is…

The ellipsis here made this parse weirdly for me and didn't make for the definitive end of the scene that it should be. Something about the trailing off, or maybe the "it" in "it is"--I was trying to parse "it" as back-up plan at first.

Suggestion: "I'd better keep searching the shelves, then."
Or even "Back to the shelves." with a period would help.

I breathe my lungs full of it.

Maybe instead "I fill my lungs with it."

One final thought for the road: Red is so influenced by nature! (Seasonal affective disorder?) His mood really hinges on a rogue breeze.

 

[canisaries]

From what I oops accidentally overhear from my therapist roommate, I think her questioning could probably be a little gentler, especially since this is their first meeting, but I'll be interested to see how he manages to tangle himself more and more deeply.

Therapist, certainly, but Dr Marsh is a psychiatrist who's more interested in diagnoses than consoling patients. Granted, her behavior is still somewhat unprofessional, but I'd like to think Dr Marsh isn't like that with everyone and knows more than she lets on in this case. Furthermore, she was actually a psychologist in the previous versions, which further distanced her from the required gentleness of a therapist. This was because I was first brought to a psychologist (well, after a general doctor) when I was getting help for my depression (and the building here is actually inspired by the place I went to), and only then a psychiatrist, and only then a therapist. Nowadays, though, I've found out that people can just go directly to psychiatrists so I decided to simplify things. My (previous) psychiatrist and therapist were certainly on different levels of silk gloves, though. (Funny story: I initially thought that psychiatrist was being rude to my face when she wanted to talk about my "demandingness", but turns out she was talking about showing signs of obsessive-compulsive personality disorder which in Finnish is named "demanding personality disorder", and my "demandingness" was demanding too much of myself.)

Something else I'm thinking about is how he essentially casts Michi as Lassie in the movie in his head ... but I doubt she's as harmless or fangless as he's choosing to paint her. Ditto Joanna. She might've been his victim in life, but now she's got elemental powers! Either I'm misunderstanding how they work in this setting, or Red is gleefully biting off more than he can chew.

He's absolutely doing the latter. His brain can't accept the fact that he could be bested by a little girl and the woman he already killed once.

I'm surprised he acknowledges Abe as "brother" in his own mind.

It's faster than "son of my mother's husband" or "boy who lives with me because of family reasons". Abe has also made plenty of attempts to get Red to view him as a brother, which Red didn't care about but the terminology rubbed off on him.

Huh. This gave me pause. I'm having trouble sorting out if there's a contradiction here, and I'm not sure if it's because I'm stupid-tired as I write this or if it's because I don't have enough information about your setting. Is he throwing shade onto whether or not Celebi is a god at all (if he can even joke about Celebi time traveling, he must know that's not true) or just whether it's a legitimate god? Even if it's just the second one, it kinda makes me question the role of cults and monotheism in this setting. I can see by the Arceus sticker and the nod to Giratina (which should be capitalized, BTW, if you're using it as the name of a faith, just like Christian) that you're going to be unpacking it more here, but ... It's really hard to make a solid case against trying to curry favor from a god that can time-travel, TBH. Or a case against courting multiple gods. Red even invokes gods, plural, in his frustration.

Well, he's joking about Celebi in the form someone would perhaps joke about Poseidon causing a storm while they're out on the sea, except if Poseidon was actually thought of as a god that has power over the events of the world and deserves worship (well, maybe someone thinks so, but it's not done enough to have a cultural impact). Celebi is perhaps not a "god" god though, but more of a kami or force of nature in the worship that concerns them (shrines and offerings, mostly), but I can't really think of how to convey Red's dismissal of the beliefs surrounding Celebi with a quick phrase other than "false gods". And I used a plural because... it sounded better. Like, for example, if you were thinking about a chair too hard and then decided "that's enough thinking about chairs". Idk, have I picked up this phrase wrong?

The fact that giratinist isn't capitalized is because Giratina is often pointed out as having similarities to Lucifer / Satan / the devil, and the notion largely extends to this universe. From what I've seen, "satanism" or "satanist" is rarely capitalized even though Satan is a proper noun, so "giratinist" sort of follows that pattern. Similar to satanism, giratinism is thought of more as a counter-culture movement rather than a legitimate religion. Which makes less sense when Arceism is a minority religion, but it wouldn't be the first time people dig up something in some old culture to use as their symbol. Could just be that the majority religions didn't have a concentrated "evil personified" so they had to go borrow it from elsewhere.

This is oddly self-aware.

Red's very aware that his religion would be considered a cult, and occasionally he has fun with the idea. It's not like the word "cultist" would upset him any more than "murderer" or "psycho". In fact, he'd like to be called that, the melodramatic bastard he is.

I think the idea of already serving a god and the idea of not being into religion are separate and could use a little more space to be considered separately.

Hmm, I mean, it depends on one's definition of "god". In this context, it refers to a being with powers so great that they can be considered a god (omnipotence definitely counts). But then again, in the Celebi example I said the total opposite, so maybe you're onto something.

Anyway, thanks for the review!

 

[WildBoots]

Therapist vs. psychiatrist--that's fair! And, hey, if you're drawing on your own experiences, more power to ya.

Well, he's joking about Celebi in the form someone would perhaps joke about Poseidon causing a storm while they're out on the sea, except if Poseidon was actually thought of as a god that has power over the events of the world and deserves worship (well, maybe someone thinks so, but it's not done enough to have a cultural impact). Celebi is perhaps not a "god" god though, but more of a kami or force of nature in the worship that concerns them (shrines and offerings, mostly), but I can't really think of how to convey Red's dismissal of the beliefs surrounding Celebi with a quick phrase other than "false gods". And I used a plural because... it sounded better. Like, for example, if you were thinking about a chair too hard and then decided "that's enough thinking about chairs". Idk, have I picked up this phrase wrong?

The fact that giratinist isn't capitalized is because Giratina is often pointed out as having similarities to Lucifer / Satan / the devil, and the notion largely extends to this universe. From what I've seen, "satanism" or "satanist" is rarely capitalized even though Satan is a proper noun, so "giratinist" sort of follows that pattern. Similar to satanism, giratinism is thought of more as a counter-culture movement rather than a legitimate religion. Which makes less sense when Arceism is a minority religion, but it wouldn't be the first time people dig up something in some old culture to use as their symbol. Could just be that the majority religions didn't have a concentrated "evil personified" so they had to go borrow it from elsewhere.

I'm not sure! There could be a lot of correct answers, and I don't think I know enough yet about where you're taking the other threads to comment more. I might change my mind as I continue reading, or I might have better suggestions. I just wanted to flag it for consideration. Like, the Poseidon idea ... maybe? I think most people alive today wouldn't unless they're already really into Greek myths and literature is the thing.

I have no gripe with gods plural in a pokemon setting--I think the push for Arceus as the Judeo-Christian God is much weirder and harder to support--I'm just poking at Red implicitly acknowledging other gods. I definitely invoke omg oh my god a lot and I'm deeply unreligious, so it could be that ... but because Red *is* involved with gods, it jumped out at me.

I'd totally capitalize Satanism, because it's a real spiritual practice (and not just about worshiping an anti-God), but I guess that's easy for me to say since it doesn't conflict with a faith I believe in. If Red dismisses everything that isn't Helixian worship, I'd think they'd all rank about the same in his mind. Like, how is worshipping Areceus less stupid than worshipping Giratina to him?

🤷‍♀️

 

[Pen]

Chapter Five

Lot going on in this one, even though we haven't even left the woods. Red's control seems to be slipping away from him--first the houndoom hallucination, then the accession one. Both were very vivid. I felt placed in the moment, along for the roller coaster ride of Red's emotions, exhilaration crumbling into defeat. In the Konath vision I felt Red's uncertainties from the opening chapters coming back, his deep-rooted fear that he won't be judged worthy in the world he wants to bring about.

Michi's gone, then. Seems like Red's bizarre fondness for her is actually what doomed her. In some twisted way, he enjoyed her company, and didn't want that to stop--thus the chase through the woods, and all that followed. Taking the lock of hair is definitely not going to come back to bite him, hm?

I wasn't sure what to make of Red's How To Win Friends and Influence People resolution. This story is post-Seiren, right? Red in Seiren doesn't like people, but he seemed pretty confident in his ability to handle them if he had to. And I've seen Red take pride in his ability to wear his mareep skin before. So it seemed a little strange for him to act like he doesn't have that skill--it seems more like he just gets so fed up after a little socialization that he needs to get away. He needs to build up socialization tolerance, I suppose.

I was struck by Red's list of things he wants to escape: police, witnesses, shrinks, judges, prison, death. For his supposed desire to escape to a world that properly prioritizes violence and predation, the things he fears are the instruments of state violence. Maybe what he really fears is the power of the community to overpower the individual. That society makes mareep stronger than houndoom.

Spoiler: Line-by-lines

Frantic, but second by second slowing down to a calmer, if still fast, rhythm.

This feels like an overly wordy way to say something like "Frantic, but slowing by the second."

The knife drops from my hand, landing next to me on the cool wooden planks.

It's odd to me that where the knife falls is specified. Might read better as just, "The knife drops from my hand."

But her startled eyes tell me being spotted has stopped that for now.

This sentence reads a bit clunky. Maybe something like, "But when my gaze lands on her, she goes still."

And look at that pretty face, pretty hair! By the Gods, I’m beautiful! No wonder HE chose me! I’m perfect!

People who don't have self-esteem issues in this fic: Red

I study Michi with my eyes

How else would he study her?

Like a day-old girafarig, she stumbles into a trot, then a gallop.

Nice simile, I can picture it.

but as speedy and streamlined as those of a dodrio.

Not sure streamlined is the word you want here. Surefooted?

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.

This sequence is really well done. I like how we lose Red as a subject, up until a detail breaks his fantasy.

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, a fire in the night, the rising moon, the spring morning. But most importantly, it’s…

HIM.

The divinity is unmistakable. HE is in this hunt, HE is in this feast. HE is right beside me, approving, advocating. This is HIS bidding I am doing. I am HIS vessel, embodiment. I am the gorge through which HIS river flows, the fuel with which HE burns...

Red.

I like the imagery you picked here. It's over-the-top, but appropriate, in that it's more primal and nature oriented. Gorge/river has a nice archaic feel.

A tall, bearded man of white robes and bronze skin stares back,

You want "with" not "of" here.

I wheeze in elated relief,

I love that you went with wheeze as your verb in the moment Red thinks he's ascending. Not the most dignified verb.

I can hear the beating of his heart, and it’s perfectly calm.

The phrasing tripped me up here. Maybe, "I can hear his heart beating, perfectly calm."

But most important of all is the knowledge that it’s all over. All worry, all strife. No more sleepless nights, no more empty days. No need to hide my true self, no need to fear getting caught. I’m free, free and safe. Safe from the police, witnesses, shrinks, judges, prison, death.

This passage felt very revealing. Red's desire for accession is more about escaping the society he's in than it is about Helixan society, whatever he tells himself. It's about fear.

Why? Why was this done? Why were we created? Why give us souls? Why put spirit into these machines, why -- are you proud, Third Being? Are you proud of it? This dance you make everyone do -- does it amuse you? Why does a god need to --

I roll onto my side and hug my shins. Like a child. I wish I was still a child. I didn't think as much back then. I was…

Pitiful, poignant moment.

A droplet of blood emerges slowly, like a reptile slithering out into the spring morning after a long hibernation, and I flick it down into the little circle at the edge of the ring.

Ooh, a surprising simile, but an effective one. I always enjoy the new ways you come up with to describe your gore.

 

[Pen]

Chapter Six: Rebirth

Really enjoyed this one. You write great dream sequences--Red's anxieties stirred up and mixed in with surrealism and frightful imagery. We start out with his anxiety over his inability to distance himself emotionally from Helix, the paradox of being predator and caretaker. Then his fear of public exposure, of being seen for what he is and overpowered. Do I detect some deeply buried guilt over Michi, too? I had fun with the device of dream layered over dream. It never felt cheap or like a fake-out, because there was always enough of a thread of wrongness for me to know it was still a dream.

The latter half of the chapter gets back into more of the black humor vibe of Seiren. It was refreshing, after the more intense gore, murder, and out-of-body experiences to read such feats as 'Red tries out brushing his hair!' and 'Red talks to someone for more than a minute without trying to kill them!' I hope Red and Samson eventually talk theology and morality. That sounds like a good time (for me. Not for Red.)

Line-by-lines:

The air I breathe in is strangely heavy, like water. But I’m not drowning.

It’s dark blue all around, like water. But I’m not drowning.

I float in place, the air supporting my weight, like water. But I’m not drowning.

I guess I must have gills.

I have gills, and I can’t feel my limbs. Am I a fish?

Nice flow on this opening sequence. I like how you blend surrealism and logic in Red's thought process during these dreams.

A deepsea dragonair.

Very cool.

A magikarp. A fateful gash in its tail. It has no idea I’m here. Better strike before it does.

When I think of preying on magikarp I just think of that episode where they try to eat a magikarp and it doesn't go well.

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

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

A predator like… me.

So I should...

I should. I have no reason not to. I should --

Yes. Go right ahead, Red. Eat.

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

Don't eat your son, Red.

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

What? I’m not… I am?

Such a fun twist on the classic dream where you're wearing no pants.

I try to remember some real life example that I’d witnessed while stalking her, but the only thing I can think of at the moment is her lying on the floor eating cheese snacks while watching some weird, weird anime on her TV.

Honestly kind of poignant. People don't need to be beautiful saints to be worth remembering.

A lock of hair. Covered in sticky, slimy 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 any case? 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?

Red asking the real questions.

“Th-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. They’re animals. Animals trampling me.

Ah the irony of Red screaming that at a mob.

Since it’s certainly not going to stick to my insides anymore, I leave it in the sink. I head back to my own room and climb back in my bed, hoping to sleep off the dream.

What an image.

They transpire the same way as usual with perhaps a little more care put into washing my hair - but as I approach my cupboard, I realize I must diverge from the known path.

Transpire feels a little odd here. It's kind of subtle, but I don't think things transpire in a particular way. Things transpire at a time or place.

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

Wow so witty.

The man in the mirror has transformed from an under-bridge raticate to a street-strutting, show-stopping ninetales. No one would guess that this stand-up citizen killed women, took their tongues and stored them in jars in his basement.

Someone is in a good mood today.

Peak deception.

Is that a pun?

In the split second after he had turned to me, I saw fear in his eyes - the very primal fear we feel after witnessing something we consider impossible.

Chucked here.

Then, as his brain came up with multiple scenarios that could indeed lead to an event like this, the fear was replaced by curiosity, but it waited just long enough to let him smile and greet me back before he had to spit out the question burning in his throat.

This sentence goes on too long and trips over itself.

A large amount of the mon, however, aren't held back by the sea’s low temperature, as proven by their splashing about and chasing of wild krabby. As one could guess, the water and ice types seem to be getting the most out of it, while the fire types are forced to keep their distance from the fun.

"as proven" construction is clunky, especially with your next sentence also starting with as.

Now that I’m being social, I’ll have to get good at remember faces.

* at remembering

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

Red could write a book, "How to Lose Friends and Alienate People."

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.

Excellent comedic delivery here.

Shining hair. Clear skin. Elegant shape of skull.

I like how the first two are normal and then he starts talking about her skull shape.

The woman gasps. “Samson!” She nearly frolics to her, but the man beats her to it.

Typo? frolics towards him?

He can still redeem himself by fucking off.

Lol

I look him right in the eye, unflinching. "I don't want to hear a word about your hokey religion, pony boy."

Hah! Red asserting boundaries.

And I do not want to apologize to an Arcean. If anything, they should apologize to me. For what, I’m not sure, but they should.

Chuckled here too.

 

[Panoramic_Vacuum]

Catnip, sweet catnip, has landed canis-fic in my lap. So here we go!

I've seen and heard some things about murderous sexy man cultist Red in the Discord, so I came into this knowing the barest sliver of what to expect, and yet I don't think I was quite prepared (in a good way). I read both prologues out of curiosity, and I'm glad I did. I know you mentioned in your author's note that they may have some overlap, but they felt distinctly different to me and both worthwhile to read before diving into chapter 1. It's hard for me to pick a "favorite" of the two, because I think they both excel at what they set out to do.

Prologue 1 comes at you hard and fast, delivering a visceral, bloody slap to the face right out of the gate. There's a pervasive and almost perverse sense of detachment both from the scene unfolding before us, and also Red's involvement in all this. This disassociation where he's responsible yet not responsible for everything that happened to poor Joanna feels real to life for those who commit such acts. They are clearly premeditated, but are they really all there during the events? Does a person's mind have to hide from reality in order to go through with such violence? Is it as simple as that, or are actual supernatural forces in play? It's a fun ambiguity that's hard to tell because we're living this through Red's eyes, not an omniscient narrator. It's also a treat to jump from this highly disturbing opening to the mundane of Red's everyday life; the contrast works well to open the fic.

Prologue 2 is a much calmer opening, almost hauntingly so. Instead of this semi-manic state in which we meet Red in Prologue 1, this is a much later after the fact Red who has come down from his Helix-possessed blood frenzy high, and now is back to regular old serial-killer Red and is dealing with the evidence as one in his position should. The quiet normalcy of this blends right into Red's daily life in chapter 1, and even though we're on high alert that yes, Red does murder people in his spare time, no one is wise to his game. It's this wonderful "wolf in sheep's clothing" as he goes about his business with the right levels of paranoia and satisfaction. This is also the first glimpse we get at the pokemon's role in this fic, with murkrow doing murkrow things and wanting to pick at the carcass. Unfortunately this is also the first bit of confusion for me in this fic, and I'll elaborate next.

I think the only real downfall of this fic (from Prologues to Chapter 1, since that's as far as I've read at this time) is the role pokemon play in this world. Several times they're portrayed as wild animals, the murkrow in the opening, and then Red's graveyard escapade. It seems as if there aren't really any trainers, and people and pokemon coexist just like we do with animals in the real world. But then it's shown that Red is cohabitating with pokemon, specifically a nidoking and an omanyte. Which, okay, perhaps they're pets? But Fonz is on his way to school, which means pokemon aren't just wild animals or pets, they have human-like agency. But, then we don't see them anywhere else during Red's daily chores. If there were some in the grocery store with him, doing shopping or traveling with other humans as companions or equals, it'd establish that dual role a bit better. As it stands, I'm left unsure as to where pokemon stand in society in this fic, and while it doesn't impact the main plot with Red and his knifey-murdery tendencies, it does make it hard to visualize the everyday setting Red's shenanigans take place in.

That being said though, Red's characterization is the real star of the show and driver of the fic. At first I was puzzled at how he describes all the mundane shit he's dealing with, the grocery store, the process of waiting in line, the crying child-- and then it happens. He snaps. The blood frenzy boils to the surface and it's so clear that no, it's not all about the cult, it's not just some fanatical devotion to Helix; Red enjoys killing without the cult. It's just quite convenient he has a higher cause he can put his favorite pass-time toward. The way he narrates how he'll go on his spree in the grocery store was a magical sequence that truly sold me on his character. The inner turmoil of him genuinely enjoying the hunting and killing with him feeling like he cannot derive pleasure from it because of his devotion to Helix is an interesting struggle, and one I find the most compelling besides his obvious skill at murdering and getting away with it.

I am left with a few other questions like, if he's performing cannibalistic murder ceremonies in which he enters a possessed-like state and paints the basement in blood and viscera, how has no one he lives with noticed yet? Unless he's got a separate place where the gruesome acts take place. Either that or he's got the best soundproof construction in all of Kanto. And the human and pokemon he lives with, what sort of relationship does he have with them other than "that one roommate who lives in the basement and is quiet, but nice". I imagine these are just "chapter 1 questions" and will be answered with time.

At this point, I'm going to leave the subject of Joanna out of this review simply because I think there will be more to say once I get into chapter 2 and get to that juicy reveal that yes, that ghost in the graveyard is her (since I can guess past the cliffhanger ending of chapter 1 thanks to the handy-dandy fic summary) It's a good spot to end chapter 1 though, because I get the sense that this is the real beginning of this fic's conflict. Chapter 1 and the prologues set up Red for new readers, and now Things Are Happening™️ beyond what Chapter 1 Red has come to expect, and given this is a first person narrative, I fully expect the bus to begin hurtling down the hill at a rapid pace, followed by it catching on fire and then the wheels falling off as it careens toward a cliff.

What I'm trying to say is, this is a firecracker of a start to this fic and works well as a jumping off point into things far outside our serial killer's control. Because when you're escalating from this, well, it's bound to be entertaining.