The Atrocious Phorid Fly Slaughterer

The bathroom.

It had been a while since my surroundings turned into a scene of horrific slaughter. Five phorid flies in all, counting the very first casualty, lay split in half and strewn about every corner of the room. Shock and bug-horror. May you rest in peace.

I tore off a wad of toilet paper and gave the 'things that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠used to be phorid flies' a proper water burial. Glug-glug-glug-glug. With the rush of the flush, the corpses of the phorid flies were gone from this world for good.

I knew, of course. Knew that for all this, those wretched flies would come swarming back in a few days regardless. But thanks to it all, I seemed to have learned at least a little about this body, so I'd take it as a win.

For now, one thing was certain: this body, apparently, packed devastating lethality—against living things, at least.

Sure, my test subjects had been nothing but phorid flies. Even so, I had never once heard of anyone reaching the level of cleaving a bug apart with a swing of the bare hand.

Should I ask on the gallery, just in case? Of course, "just in case" was nothing but an excuse; in practice, this was simply me posting a shitpost.

"...Hyung? Why are you showing up in a place like that?"

The reaction to the post I'd tossed up as a thoughtless little prank was explosive. The cause: the very first comment had been graced by the fixed nickname 'The Man Who Will One Day Become the Sword Saint Kim Seonghyeon'.

Normally a shitpost like that dies unnoticed. It's not like I'm the gallery's only shitposter. But of all people, an active-duty A-rank hunter—one of Korea's most prominent—had to wander in first. Thanks to him, the views, the comments, the upvotes and the downvotes were climbing at a ludicrous pace with every refresh.

And then the post suddenly vanished.

"Ah!"

I'd been robbed! The post drawing the most attention of my entire life had been wiped away in a heartbeat! I hadn't posted a single weird meme, and I'd followed every rule, so it couldn't have been a mod or the head admin pulling it, either. Which left exactly one ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠answer: someone had hijacked my password and deleted my post! And my fatal blunder had been setting that password to 1111, because memorizing anything more complicated was too much hassle.

It was just one shitpost, deleted. Yet somehow my chest ached. I wasn't crying. I said I wasn't crying.

"That's just too mean..."

Someone once said that the mind follows the body. Only at this very moment did I learn how true that was. Rationally, I knew perfectly well it was nothing—but maybe this younger, opposite-sex body had come with heightened emotional sensitivity bundled in, because something this trivial had my eyes brimming with tears.

I turned the tap and washed my face with cold water, again and again, until I finally settled down a little. Clearly, I would have to make sure my posts never got deleted again.

There was nothing for it, then... I'd just have to dig myself a fixed nickname. Once you became a registered user with a fixed handle, unless you went around posting sketchy images, your posts almost never got wiped by someone else's hand.

I chewed over what the nickname should be. Best, I figured, to just go with whatever drifted into my head first.

And so my gallery handle became Dagger Hound. A ridiculous nickname, but my heart felt full.

Anyway. Judging by Kim Seonghyeon's reaction—and the man was widely acknowledged as Korea's greatest swordsman—cutting things with your bare hand, the realm of the Invisible Sword, was apparently something even he hadn't achieved. And this body of mine could do it. Only to phorid flies, sure, but still. Better yet, it didn't seem to be a skill at all!

Of the skills I had, the most I'd have predicted could pull off something like that was Assassination, at best. But what I'd done back there was, by anyone's definition, not an assassination. It was a massacre! So the right takeaway was that this much was simply what this body could do by default.

While I was at it, I found myself wanting ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to try out the other skills too. How did one go about it, though? Did I need to chant something? In that case, why not try the spell I'd always wanted to shout at least once in my life?

When I was little... yikes, not right now. I meant the kid I used to be, before I'd turned into... this. Back before the Great Inundation. The magic spell of a dashing thief, from a book series that came out one volume a month—sold back then even at the corner stationery stores.

I recited the spell with both arms flung straight out to either side.

Nothing happened.

Right, that's enough fooling around. This was a problem. Ever since my body became this, I kept catching myself doing strange things without meaning to.

"...Stealth."

The moment I called the skill in a meek voice, my body turned transparent. The pink-haired girl in the mirror was gone, vanished without a trace.

Now how did I release it? The worry lasted only a moment—releasing it turned out to be even easier. A mere thought undid the Stealth, and the pink-haired girl reappeared in the glass. For some reason, that pink-haired girl was beaming ear to ear, thrilled about who knows what.

Then... next up, Detection?

"Detec— actually, no. Maybe later."

I'd been about to call out the skill's name, but an unpleasant premonition made me mumble the word into nothing instead. Even without doing anything, I could already sense the tiny bugs flitting around over by my room. If my senses were this sharp with the skill unactivated, what would happen if I went and blindly shouted "Detection"? I had no idea what sort of mess that would stir up.

...Detection could wait.

Which left only Assassination and Rapid Action. And by a genuine stroke of luck, Rapid Action was a skill I'd seen on the gallery before. Its owner was none other than Kim Seonghyeon—the man who, just moments ago, had left a comment on my all-time career peak: 'How strong do you have to be to cut things with a knife-hand?'

Back then, for the crime of daring to brag within the sacred gallery, Kim Seonghyeon had been made to hand out ten chickens to the board. I ate some too. That chicken. It was delicious. Maybe because somebody else was buying. Yes. That had to be it.

That was the very Rapid Action in question. The skill said to have dropped from the skill book won by barely managing to subjugate the Disaster-class boss monster Bulgasari—and I, an SSS-rank assassin, had it as standard equipment! I doubted I'd ever wield it as masterfully as the man who calls himself The Man Who Will One Day Become the Sword Saint. But the mere fact that I owned the same skill as that guy kept setting off fits of idiotic giggles.

So the only thing genuinely left was Assassination. But how on earth was I supposed to test that one? I couldn't even work up the nerve to try. And yet some curious instinct kept pouring baseless confidence into me. It'll be fine.

...Right. No helping it, then.

Phorid flies. I may have been the bloodless, tearless, utterly merciless Phorid Fly Extermination Brigade, but this once, they looked a little pitiable to me. Still, it couldn't be helped. You'll have to make the sacrifice again, my friends.

I left the bathroom and went looking for the phorid fly prowling about my room. This time, truly as lightly as I could—I let the strength drain from my arm and swished my hand down like a mosquito net settling. A faintly disgusting tickling sensation lingered in my palm.

Success. And now, to the little fellow caught in my hand, I spoke:

"Assassination."

"Aha."

The moment that bold status-window lettering appeared, the answer clicked. So that was how one triggered Assassination.

I gently relaxed my grip. The phorid fly wobbled off as though fleeing me, drifting back toward the bathroom. I watched it quietly, and once I confirmed its presence had settled motionless against the bathroom wall, I activated Stealth.

I walked toward it, slow and even. Without the slightest effort to hush my steps or my breath, my body produced no sound, no presence—nothing at all. Like that, I made it all the way into the bathroom. The phorid fly still clung to the wall, utterly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠still.

I drew the toothbrush from the cup where it stood. Its bristles were splayed to frayed tufts anyway—a brush headed for the trash soon enough, so no harm repurposing it. Not the bristles, though; I aimed the opposite end at the fly. Apparently the System didn't count a toothbrush as part of my body, because in the mirror it simply hung floating in midair. But the phorid fly still had no notion of what was about to happen. And it never would.

"Assassination."

Tap—

The instant the tip of the toothbrush's handle kissed the wall, my Awakener-sharpened eyes saw it with perfect clarity: the phorid fly's body bursting apart the very moment it met the toothbrush. So this was right, then. The activation condition of the Assassination skill was that the target must not have detected my presence. And with that, I'd more or less finished taking inventory of my skills...

And yet, somehow...

"...I feel kind of pathetic."

How, exactly, was the test subject for an SSS-rank assassin's skills a phorid fly? I knew there was no other choice! I knew that! And I still couldn't help the little sting of humiliation.

That was when it happened. A status window that should never have appeared bloomed suddenly before my eyes.

Oh.

Oh no.

...Less than a single day since my awakening, and by official System decree, I had become the Atrocious Phorid Fly Slaughterer.