Frail (4)

Severing the space to hide the book I had written, along with that crown floating in the air of unknown origin, had been a half-impulsive act — but given how long Bloody and I had spent together, the thought struck me that she might already have noticed what I had done in the several seconds of silence that had already passed.

"So, did you sleep well?"

It was her usual feminine voice, only slightly roughened — not quite an echo, yet carrying a certain resonance all the same.

"Yeah."

That was why.

When she suddenly swept her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠gaze around the room and then looked me up and down, I flinched before I could stop myself.

"Orly."

I knew it by instinct.

I must not answer that.

"Answer me, Orly."

"It's a refreshing day today. I'm in a good mood, too."

I turned my creaking body as naturally as I could manage and walked toward the kitchen.

"Halt. Do you truly wish to see me angered?"

"......."

I wanted nothing more than to throw my pride aside and obediently do as she said.

But even as the thread of emotion stretched on without end, my reason held fast to its calm.

"What's wrong with you."

"From now on, I shall sleep by your side as well."

No.

Anything but that. Absolutely not.

Absolutely not.

My meager pride, still convinced it had not been found out, ordered my voice to answer as evenly as possible.

"I don't want to."

My will was a straight line.

I could not let her see me like this.

How ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠could I show the one being who stayed by my side — my only one — the sight of my limbs crushed and my blood drained dry, my heart collapsing and regenerating again as I thrashed in agony until the pain became familiar? How could I show her the way the fragrance of life slowly left me?

Spirits were strong and composed beings, but the feelings that would seize her if she ever saw me sunk in a pool of blood were something even I could not begin to measure.

"Do not think you can hide it from me forever."

"For a spirit who can't fight off sleep the moment night falls, you sure talk a lot."

"Orly."

Had she found out? No — not yet. She might only have caught a whiff of something.

She was nothing more than a small bead with two pairs of white eyes and no visible mouth, but the black cloak wrapped around her was trembling; she seemed agitated.

"The subspace you go into when you sleep is much warmer. This house is cold — the living room, the walls, the floor."

I had known that for quite some time.

Fortunately — for reasons I did not understand — this spirit, who was slowly gathering her strength, was overcome by heavy drowsiness every night.

"So keep sleeping in there."

Being able to sleep comfortably was a truly good thing.

It really was.

"It is not comfortable. Do you know how worried I am for you?"

"Listen to me."

"Just you wait. Someday you will heed my words."

How terrifying.

If this was what an angry spirit felt like, the way the air around us warped was almost cute, in its own way.

"Let's go out. I need blood again today."

"......I shall go first."

If we — you and I — had fallen into what people called the "normal" category.

"I'll put on some more clothes before I go. It's cold."

If we had been the kind of beings who could simply be startled and flustered by the pure fact of a body turned female.

"......Come slowly."

In a slightly brighter world, I might have been able to be honest with you.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

But I knew full well that would never happen.

"P-please····. Spare me····. I'll do anything····."

Convenient.

What was convenient about it?

That this body, which looked like a pitiful young girl, made such excellent prey for Awakened whose brains had been pickled in nothing but instinct.

And that, on the other hand, it was a face that could approach ordinary, well-meaning people without raising suspicion.

Tearing their limbs apart and dyeing their entire bodies in pleasure — driving them until they were no longer human — had become far too easy.

This made two.

"Heh-heh····. Hh····."

Watching her clutch at her body on pure instinct, trying to stop the bleeding — was it all right that I felt such rapture at the sight? Was it normal that I felt relief knowing a body with its carotid sliced deep by a blade would not last much longer?

"Spare····."

I approached the woman whose breathing had stopped with her final breath and drove the knife through the area around her heart.

I opened my small palm, gathered the surging blood into one place, and condensed it into a crimson cube.

I took out a glass vial.

— Clink.

My mood improved.

"Heehee····."

"......Let us go."

I dragged the corpse into a secluded alley and tossed it into a heap of refuse.

The investigation unit would have quite a time finding it.

I lightened my body and slipped quickly out of the alley. It was pitch-black dawn, but a few streetlamps made it a little brighter.

Something I had noticed over the past few days of activity: security seemed to have grown a touch tighter.

The Association could not have that many people. Were they filling the gaps with ordinary agents first?

Once a day — or once every two days, when my patience held — I had been operating little by little. There would be agents looking for me as well.

My psychology was a little different, but there were plenty of Awakened who committed murder in a fit of rage.

Personnel would have been needed to investigate them, too.

It almost looked as though they had increased their numbers gradually so as not to reveal that more eyes were watching.

The capital region must have been a complete mess — and yet they had already stretched their reach this far.

They could not have noticed me.

Surely not.

One glance and I looked like a child.

The Association President.

Ah — the Association President might know.

In that case, what a waste. In this form, there had been quite a few Awakened who charged at me without the slightest fear.

If this girl's appearance became branded as "Orly," it would be a problem.

I would not be able to do this so freely.

I would not be able to swing so easily a knife soaked red and dripping with blood.

I would not be able to lessen even a fraction of the guilt I felt while trampling the fates of those who could offer no resistance, who could not even moan.

"Haa····. Haa····."

I could not want that.

I wanted the remnants of people who, the moment they faced me, would tremble violently — whose breath, screams, and bodies would thrash in search of life alone, even as their eyes went cold.

"Ugh, pwaah!"

I wanted people who could blast away in a single breath the hot liquids pooling in my mouth right now.

Only the fear they would muster, only the terror they would pour out at me — only those things could satisfy the desire that set my entire body boiling.

"Hh, hhk····."

Reason. Should I hold on to reason?

Was there any need?

I lowered my gaze.

Blood sprayed from the abdomen of a man cut open by a bright-red scythe.

I had killed again.

I had killed a person.

I no longer knew.

It was quiet.

Everything around me was quiet to a degree that made my skin crawl.

The pleasure spiked to its extreme, then plummeted as if cursed.

"Ah, ah."

The same repetition again. The same day, over and over.

I killed someone, then brainwashed myself into believing I was still human.

I repeated that I was different from the past me who had gone mad and slaughtered people by the hundreds.

"......."

Why.

Why aren't you saying anything, Bloody?

Sigh the way you always do, as if there is nothing to be done about it.

Scold me. Condemn me.

Hard enough that my whole body shatters — hard enough that my mind breaks and I can finally die.

When had I even gotten home?

When I came to my senses, it was dawn.

Not content with jamming the apparatus into my arm, I crushed the blood-condensed cubes and orbs directly and soaked my entire body in the hot liquid.

And still, I could hear the sound of the clock hands.

As if they had been waiting for me.

A clock only I could see. A noise only I could hear.

Hour hand, minute hand, second hand.

— Tick.

I was clearly mentally ill.

No — I had been mentally ill from the moment I first killed someone.

Crunch.

Was this the punishment for it?

My heart bursting and regenerating again.

My nerves screaming, my blood surging.

Was this punishing me for failing to overcome the urge to slaughter?

"Hahhk."

But it was all right now.

I had brought the blood you wanted so badly.

So hand over the Crown. That Crown from before.

Hurry. Give it to me — that beautiful Crown that will let me escape this wretched cycle.

The Crown from the final page that will lead me to death.

— Creak, thuk, thud-thud, thuk, drrrkk.

What are you doing?

Give it to me already.

I went and got it, didn't I? Can't you see this? Can't you see this scarlet sea sloshing in a little ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠glass vial?

Shut up about those damn clock hands and hand it over. Hurry. Hurry. Hurry.

"Ugh—"

I barely forced back what tried to rise from inside me. Clutching my heaving chest, I lifted my face.

That disgusting clock was still the same. Suspended in midair, floating motionless as if it were peeping at me.

"Why····."

Why won't you give it to me?

I did exactly what you wanted — I gave up on being human and knelt before desire.

It's been years since I started enduring with my arms wrapped around the pain of my heart bursting.

I even accepted living on as one of the vampire race after losing my sense of self.

What more do you want? What else do you want from someone who has already lost everything?

Or was I nothing but a plaything all along?

"Just kill me instead."

Shatter this body so thoroughly that it can never regenerate again — abandon this silence so chilling it makes my skin crawl.

Please.

I'm begging you.

Only after my heart had burst in that state, only after I had vomited blood countless times with blistered lips, did the clock produce a short, mocking burst of static.

Then it turned once more and lifted into the air the blue book that had been lying on the floor all this time.

Only then, seized by a hollow emptiness, did I bite down hard on my lip and sweep my hand through the air.

A tremor thick with rage stirred the red pool that soaked the living room floor.

Even at the sight of me like that, the clock paid no mind. It staggered and exhaled currents of air —

and light began to leak from the blue book. Blood that seemed almost to possess a will of its own gathered toward a single point.

The gathered blood condensed and transformed into a single gemstone.

The moment it was set into the center of a vast Crown that rose with lofty dignity on the smoke curling up from the floor, it blazed with a luminous light.

And at once —

— Flutter-flutter.

The blue book flipped through page after page, turning toward its final chapter.

To sever the murders that were the terminus of desire. To smash this frail body that kept revisiting its pain.

And to meet a sticky, wretched end.

The blue book I had spent years writing.

Yes — the final chapter I had never managed to complete.

Concerning death.

— Tick.

Once more, the noise rang out.

Even as my heart still throbbed and pleaded in pain, mana that seemed to carry my very wish was drawn forth from the clock hands.

My blood, scattered thick across the floor, was pulled together like a waterspout.

It sucked the countless characters from within the book into the clock.

They tangled and knotted together, as if searching for the source of my power — as if answering my question —

and characters steeped and overflowing with red liquid, as if laden with mana, formed themselves in midair.

───Flash.

"····Ha."

Really.

If I just do this —

you'll set me free, right?

You'll help me escape the eternal ring of pain and end my own life, right?

Whether this damned clock was giving me orders or simply toying with someone cursed by a twisted fate no longer mattered.

What filled my brain completely were the characters floating before my eyes.

So it really was setting me free.

I know.

I know that a pureblood vampire is a truly frail being.

Frail enough to have only one life.

Frail enough to lose its breath if its heart is pierced.

Frail enough that my wish to die can finally be fulfilled.

"Heeheeheehee····. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes."

As if answering the moans overflowing with my joy and rapture —

— Tick.

"Shut up."

Only then, strength returning to me, did I swing a fist thick and sticky with blood and smash it down onto the clock.

"I don't need you anymore."

— Kyaaak, kyaaaak!

That disgusting spirit, twitching and writhing as it shrieked like some self-aware beast, could not hold its form under the successive violence of someone who had reached the terminus of slaughter — and shattered.

And only then, as if that had been correct all along, the characters pouring from the book finished their sentences and blazed with light, dazzling my eyes.