Why Did You Cross Over?
Someone once said that revenge is a hollow thing.
Well, I don't see it that way.
That's just the kind of thing people say when they're already sitting pretty at the top. They don't want to watch the ones they've been exploiting tear each other apart and go down in flames—especially since there's a decent chance those flames would come for them next.
As for me? I think revenge is, at its core, the bare minimum of self-defense.
Even in the wild, the creatures that lie down and get eaten sit at the bottom of the food chain. At the very least you have to run if you want any real shot at surviving. And if you actually want to be safe, you turn on your predator—drive a horn into them, flash your teeth, unsheathe your claws.
It's a kind of mutually assured destruction. If you come after me, this is what I'm capable of. You make sure everyone else knows it, too. Respect, after all, is born from fear.
That's why I tend to encourage revenge, so long as there's a legitimate reason for it. There's the catharsis of a long-suppressed emotion finally bursting free. And then there's that look on a successful avenger's face—relief and emptiness mixed together—as they stare into empty air and let out a long breath. I like that, too.
Honestly, revenge stories are just incredibly stimulating material. You can't help but be entertained every time. Happy stories tend to follow a formula. Tragic people, though? Each one has a story all their own. And they really do.
That's why I make a habit of seeking out unjust deaths. Even the kindest soul can turn vicious given the right push. That's just how humans are. And if it's someone whose beloved family was murdered? How deliciously gripping would that story become?
So I press a sliver of power into the hands of those dying girls. I give their backs the lightest little shove with a whisper. And then they become a burning wheel, roaring down the slope in a blaze of fire.
Why girls? Pretty is better, isn't it?
A bad hobby? Well, maybe.
But once you've crossed over into another world, bodiless, and spent a very long time just existing, it doesn't much matter where you are or what entertainment you find. Most of it stops moving you. Still, watching other humans live their passionate lives feels a little like watching a drama or a movie in my previous life—a vicarious taste of someone else's existence.
Ah—and if you factor in that I can intervene a little, maybe it's closer to a game. I might stretch out a thought-form and stop a bullet. Or if an assassin comes in the night, I trip them so my girl has time to prepare. Sure, it would be easier if I just beat everyone down myself. But cheat codes make games boring.
Thanks to that, my current Beloved Human was able to finish a revenge ten years in the making. A crack shot who lost her parents to bandits on a carriage ride, then hunted those men down with nothing but a single pistol and wiped them all out.
And a blonde, large-breasted beauty! That's the most important part.
After spending that entire ten-year journey at her side, of course I grew attached. The gunfire that had filled the night cut off just as the morning sun began to rise, and my latest heroine sat dazed in the middle of a field of corpses she had made herself. Blood had splattered her cheeks and stained her shirt, and still her beauty didn't fade in the slightest. That's when I really thought: I picked the right story protagonist this time.
Blood on gold hair... Bloody Gold, maybe? Looking at that desolate, exquisite figure, I couldn't help thinking I'd done the right thing by saving that dying child. Spare someone dying an unjust death, and they really will show you a fascinating story.
Of course, that satisfaction only went so far. Now that her revenge was finished, she would leave to live out the rest of her life. She'd gotten a little close with an innkeeper—maybe she'd take a job as a waitress there and fall for some man? Or wander as a bounty hunter? Or maybe she'd find a child in the same situation she'd been in, and raise a successor.
Clichéd endings, all of them—but the kind that warm the heart. Whichever way it went, the ending of a story where a child with a wretched past grows up and finds happiness always leaves a person feeling warm inside.
Well. I'm not a person, and I don't even have a body, let alone a heart!
Anyway. It's like finishing a game, sitting with the ending for a while, and then moving on to the next one. It was time for me to take my hands off the girl.
"Ahhh. This heroine was delicious, too."
Now, what kind of human would give me a wonderful story next? Ah, maybe I should go find that kid who was abandoned in the back alley last time? Mmm, no. That was already fifty years ago. She'd be old enough to have grandchildren by now...
Sometimes memories are better left as memories.
Then maybe a little village swallowed by the flames of war? There'd be at least one dying brat there. Or a child about to be killed by parents drowning in debt? Ah—a child being sold off for debt might work, too.
I was about to leave the girl who had grown into a proper young lady, ready now to live a happy future—when my latest heroine suddenly pressed a pistol to her own head.
"Huh? No!!! Don't!!!"
My will convulsed the air into form, and the thought-form I stretched out took shape as writhing black tentacles. But pulling a trigger only takes the twitch of an index finger.
"Aigoo, you were supposed to live happily ever after! Why would you kill yourself?!"
All my tentacles managed to do was catch my heroine as she crumpled.
...Don't tell me she pulled the trigger because I startled her with the tentacles?
Look, I have principles. I'd sworn I would never interfere with the choices of the protagonists I'd decided to watch over. But maybe this time it could count as an accident. She might have been startled by the sight of me, after all.
Out of that sliver of responsibility, and the wish that this child would get her happy ending, I sent the blood streaming out of her back into her head and restored that beautiful body—still lovely even in death—to the way it had been. Before her soul could leave the flesh.
But that doesn't mean a body that's already died comes back to life. Even if you start the heart again, even if you send the blood back into the brain—the laws of this world do not permit a dead life to return.
Ah, there is necromancy, the art of raising corpses. But that's just forcibly pinning a soul to a dead body. I will not tolerate my heroine coming back like that. And I couldn't exactly collapse the laws of the world and gamble on a butterfly effect that might tear the whole place apart.
But what about another world?
Breaking the laws of life and death always comes with backlash. Cross into another world, though, and that backlash ceases to exist. Just like how I died in a traffic accident and now wander around this world just fine. Her death happened in this world. It didn't happen in another one.
If she opened her eyes in a different world, the way I did, she'd probably think she'd been reincarnated and start a new life. The way of living might be a little different, sure. But wouldn't a second life be more interesting than this?
So I tore open a rift between dimensions, intending to throw the girl through it...
"You... me..."
Oh, damn. A vengeful spirit who had spent ten straight years burning herself on hatred had a will that solid. I hadn't expected her to come to the instant I restored her head and grab hold of me. And of all times, it was when I had taken physical form to open a passage between the two worlds—and as the girl was being sucked through to the other side.
"...Is that the whole story? Your reason for crossing over to this world—any purpose you might have had—there's nothing else?"
Hmm. I thought I'd summarized it pretty well. The man sitting across from me didn't look like he trusted me much, though. A black suit, sunglasses he wouldn't take off even indoors. He looked like he belonged to some kind of state secret organization.
That, plus the state I was in, made it easy enough to understand that I was under suspicion. The moment I came through with my heroine, they'd slapped cuffs on me without so much as a hello. Crossing dimensions is bound to look suspicious. Think of it as a house instead of a dimension and it's simple. If someone smashes through the wall without knocking, it'd be weirder not to be on guard.
Still, being suspected isn't exactly a pleasant feeling. Honestly, I could dissolve this form and slip away right now if I wanted. But the language coming from that man was my mother tongue from my previous life. Whether I'd fallen here by chance, or whether some unconscious homesickness had drawn me this way, I couldn't say. Either way, I didn't particularly feel like causing trouble.
"That's all there is. Look, the lie detector isn't even reacting. Helena's in the next room, you can ask her... wait. Yeah, never mind. Heh."
I tried to plead my innocence a little, but it didn't look like it would be easy. Helena, my heroine, had only learned I existed today. Had she even noticed I'd been helping her all along? I'd never actually shown myself, after all.
"More than anything else, I don't even know why I look like this human woman. I'm already having enough trouble managing this body—could you take these off? It's been so long since I had a physical form. I think I need to move around a lot to get used to it."
Anyway, wearing handcuffs was more unsettling than anything else, so I held out my two slender tentacles... no, hands... toward the man. I had no idea what my face looked like. But even without looking down, I could see the large chest, and the rather revealing clerical outfit that looked perfectly suited to bewitching people. You'd think that might tempt him.
The man just swallowed once, let out a long sigh, and answered.
"I apologize, but the quantity of mana we detect from you is so vast that we simply cannot leave you unbound. Once we confirm that you are rational and capable of adapting peacefully to our world, we will remove the mana restraints. Please bear with us a little longer. Even a small release of your mana could be fatal to an ordinary person."
I understood, more or less. I knew that when my thought-form took shape, people could find it threatening. Some of them had fallen into terror. Some had started calling for their gods. Living things fear the power of a typhoon even when they know it won't hit them.
So I offered a truly excellent analogy to show that I understood what the man was saying.
"Ahh, if that's the case, I can understand. It's like how a human and a fierce dog can coexist only if the dog wears a leash to show it's been tamed, so people can feel at ease?"
"Uh... the analogy is a little unfortunate, but yes. That's the idea. Thank you for understanding. If you need anything, please press the call button beside the bed at any time."
No need to mention that a fierce dog can always tear the leash off and go about its business. That way, they'd stay calm.
I'd been this cooperative. Surely I could go see my heroine now?
"Then may I speak with Helena? Crossing into another world must have her terribly confused."
"Uh... once we've finished the basic communication, we'll let you see her right away."
So that's a no.
Well. There's always a way.