Path of Kill

The tall man standing at 6'2 withdrew a booklet from his vest pocket, his face fixed into an easy-on-the-eyes smile. An ominous aura seeped out of the cover of the book, intensifying even further as a baleful darkness flooded the area around the table.

"I believe this is a fine thing I can offer, especially since you'll be leaving this little hovel. The Wettened Woods are not safe, sir."

The skeleton sat there, seconds ticking away before it made its move. Then, using the Skeleton's Perforating Fingers, it drew a depression in the table.

One in the shape of a question mark.

"It seems the good sir cannot speak. Very well, I hope that the explanation I offer will benefit you."

The man ceased his lean and stood up ramrod straight, his elegant poise seeping through the sphere of flowing darkness surrounding them.

"This, dear sir, is one of the many links to the Book of the Dead. Participants like you and I have a duty to log our names into this book so that in the inevitable case of expiration, the Reapers will know where to place our bodies. Beneath the Clove's Throat is a Breather Crypt…may I know if you have knowledge of this service as well?"

The skeleton brought its arms up into an X, mindlessly confirming the thrall's inquiry. With an unbothered countenance, he continued, his voice washing over like the calm tide lapping against a frigid beach basking in the luminosity of the moon.

"This is more simple still. A Breather Crypt is a place of temporary rest for us Participants, where our preferred burial method is replicated through the wonders of the Deadman's Stigma. The Reapers will materialize the form of burial you have already undergone—the one that forms the inscribed pattern of your Stigma. They are always in an area beneath where you would expect, in order to properly ventilate our poor bodies. Normally, Breather Crypts require you to pay Deadman's Splendor after awakening once again, but we don't charge here in Swillberg. The mayor forbids it."

Sulla withdrew a contraption that looked like an inhaler, its metal chassis lined with a gothic design. He consumed the contents within, pressing down on the button atop it before continuing.

"So, sir. Knowing that there are no downsides, would you like to log your name within the Book of the Dead? You need not use your name. A simple question mark will suffice."

The skeleton tapped against its mask before drawing another question mark. A series of immaterial waves fluctuated within the confines of this marking, logging a question mark within the diminutive booklet.

The pages that looked to be composed of human flesh whirred, heat searing within a page nearing the middle of its entire content. Black particles danced as a single question mark appeared.

"I am grateful for your compliance. Now, I wish you luck."

....….

The skeleton quickly traversed the steps and passed through the Saltminer Downs. Various pairs of eyes looked at the small figure with heavy gazes, a morose vibe hanging about the topmost level of the town.

From the exterior corners of houses around the gate, Winona and Mark Dugraff stood in the shadows. Watching over the skeleton as it departed, they exchanged a glance.

Tatatata.

The skeleton ran back around and appeared right beneath their noses. Feeling its gaze from behind the mask that lacked eyeholes, the two undead jolted in tandem after viewing the change.

Shrrrrk.

The skeleton ground its digits into the wall, leaving a single question mark. Then, it carved the word 'Hello' before it, waving at the two as it ran off into the distance.

"He..ehehehe."

"Kuha…uahahahaha…"

The grizzly man clutched the sides of his abdomen as he chuckled away, and Winona flicked away opal droplets.

"He'll be fine, right?"

"It's Skelly. We can only hope…."

...….

The skeleton ran past the chalky white cobbled roads, its movements lightened by the streetlamps jutting out of the terrain. Almost as if they were placed to guide those who wanted to walk away from the beaten path.

A sea of finger-length and finger-shaped red grasses hugged the ground, small flowers resembling fingernails burgeoning upon some.

The air blew winds of clattering teeth and pushing waves of energy, yet the skeleton couldn't feel more at home.

It traversed through this place, straying from the path and forcing the arrow to its right its course every now and then when it went too far for it to simply turn around.

This was well and fine for Mara, who was currently chewing her finger while looking at the quest fixed on one of her many immaterial screens.

====•====

Quest: Slay the ants.

Grade: Passing

Giver: WantaDollah, ???

LV Recommendation: 01+

Description: CCW-Stemmer has found a rundown village of eyesores. When giving them a chance, he was angered by their disrespect. You, one who has also gained his ire, are to eradicate the pests to prove your worth.

If you aren't afraid of the consequences, we of the Cradle's Outer Rim remind you that there are fates worth than death.

Time Limit: 7 days

====•====

—Those puny fucking bastards. Since when have measly Participants been able to order around the people of Blendpunk Chthonim to their liking?

—Heya, Mara. You have to remember that this is a beginning area. Variant Inhabitants have yet to put the losers in their place.

—…Loki. You dare show your face here?

The "walls" of her mini dimension rippled with razor-sharp edges as she detected the entry of her fellow system.

Loki shrugged his eyes beneath the miasma mint-colored crescents.

—I just wanted to offer you a reminder. There are around 100 weak villagers in the area your boy is heading to. That's enough for Aspiring Butcher and Sadism to level up.

—I know, damnit. But what can I do!

—Nothing.

The two systems stood in the empty space, differing thoughts whirring through their heads. It was Loki that spoke up again.

—It isn't so bad, you know. Chthonim is a realm of chaos where those who can't kill are prey to be feasted on. Nothing more, nothing less.

—…

—So why are you dejected? Shouldn't you rejoice? The skeleton that would die thousands of times is steadily shaving away that number, becoming stronger.

—It isn't right. I wanted him to be happy first.

—It doesn't work that way. This world is one where the only option is to engage in bloodshed. I just wanted to remind you of that.

—You did what you want. Now if there's nothing else? Go.

Loki didn't bother to protest, allowing Mara to sulk and sag under the heavy burden resting on her shoulders. She couldn't tell why she wanted to mother that host of hers so much, and every single day was full of apprehension and worry…

But it was alone, disgraced and disgusted. In the solemn void, it saw hope and wonder in the skeleton's empty sockets. Even though it couldn't think, it made all these amusing and endearing gestures…

Mara looked at the screen broadcasting the skeleton's swift steps in a new light. A warm ray was slowly released from her gaze.

As if washing away the apprehension, rain poured down within the empty space. The subtle clattering of the droplets against the hexagonal grid of light far beneath where she was situated reminded her of the restlessness of her child's bones.

—Keep moving my child. Keep progressing. Like the rays of the sun, bring the day wherever you tread. Even if that day takes root in the shadows…