Old thread
>>30152

I stood there, one second stretching out into eternity. The memory of my previous days flashed before my eyes—so much had happened, just to lead up to this point. Being chased by fairies across a lake, breaking into a manor on the edge of space and time, eating lunch with a vampire...though my life had never been dull, this week ranked pretty damned high on the strangeness scale. And after all that bullshit? I stood with my own two feet upon the surface of the moon, trying to carry out one of the most audacious heists that I have ever tried.

Now, I just had to get of the pesky fairy in front of me. The annoying bint was grinning at me with fireballs in her hands, just daring me to try something. Anything.

I needed something strong, something that packed a punch, something powerful enough to whack this youkai wannabe out of the air and get me out of the door safely. As my thoughts sped, just to the side I could still feel the steady magical pulses of the drum, emanating from underneath the rubble. Like the flirtatious winks of a coy maiden.

Horrible metaphor, but the whimsical imagery somehow made up my mind. I leapt, barely managing to dodge two bolts of energy fired my way, and landed hard onto the rubble. My knee raked against a ripped wooden beam, and I sucked in air through my teeth as I felt a thousand splinters imbed themselves into my thigh. Ow. I swallowed the pain as I started to scramble forwards like a lizard, keeping my profile low to avoid the fairy's potshots. It was like advancing forwards in some demented fairytale version of ‘Nam. I winced as the multicolored bullets whizzed above me, each one of them closer than the last.

And finally, my luck ran out. A bullet crashed into my arm, and I could feel my protective charms whine in protest-- right before I was flipped over bodily by the force of the blow. Something sharp pierced through my sleeves and into my arm, but I bit down on the scream and looked to my goal with watering eyes.

It was close. So close. Gritting my teeth, I lunged forwards for the last time, my hand finally la

You were newly remade at the time. After this body has decided to become Yukari's shikigami, you, Ran Yakumo, had been made, pledging to serve her in all things for the good of Gensokyo. Speaking of which, Gensokyo was also newly remade at the time, having been separated from the outside world mere weeks before your remaking. While the timing was largely accidental, you appreciated the symbolism. Two tragedies, one slow, one sudden, but both turning into the creation of something new, something that would actually provide a future... in containment, admittedly, but a future nonetheless.

Another connection you had with this land? There were teething issues.

"And how are you this morning, Ran?" Yukari asked, gapping into the room.

"I am well, Lady Yukari," you replied, standing up from your bed. "This body is settling down; the emotional surges have become both fewer in number and less intense."

"And did you sleep well?"

"Better than previous evenings."

Using her gap as a flying carpet, Yukari floated over to your bed, brushing her hand over your pillow and the damp spot it contained. "So I see."

She floated over to you and you stood at attention as she inspected you. Despite having just woken up mere minutes ago, you were mostly presentable. You'd had time to change into a fresh dress and tabard, for your eyes to dry and your cheeks to return to their usual pale tone. You'd been in the middle of brushing out your tails when Yukari had arrived. You'd been hoping to finish before her morning check-in, both to look as you should and because-

"Here, let me." Yukari held out her hand.

"Lady Yukari, I can-"

"Ran," she gently insisted, and you put the brush into her hand, defeated.

Yukari dragged the brush through your tails with the ease of long practice, going with the grain of the fur and smoothing out tangles with each pass. It felt heavenly, like receiving a caress and scratching an itch all at once. This made it no less difficult to bear. Both because it was an inversion of your role, your master serving you, and because it stirred up th

So basically I will be posting the updates post-significant-divergence from AO3 onto here, as the story has reached a state where I feel like it needs to come back to its homeland for voting as many elements have changed. I will continue to update the AO3 copy along with updates here, but the voting options will only be on THP.

---

Replacing >>29707, and onwards

You split with Kagerou at the village gate. She walks away without saying anything at first, before turning around and giving you a reluctant wave. You wave back, not quite sharing her animosity.

You think for a bit as to whether she’s right to hold a grudge, before dismissing the thought. It’s time to get back to work.

---

Time: 10:40 AM

This story is written as part of THP's Nanowrimo 2022.

Spoilers for Unconnected Marketeers and 100th Black Market abound, for those who care.

---

It was the dream of gods. The unformed time.

The myriad of unformed divine spirits stirred and whirred in the wild places, the cold and distant emptiness. They swarmed in the darkness, without memory; solely driven by hope and lust for the one thing a would-be deity craves—belief.

Gods came into being, grew and flourished because they were believed in. Belief itself is the food of the gods. There probably had been millions of kami back when mankind lived in small primitive tribes. Over time, beliefs coalesced into a select number of divinities—local gods of rain and harvest, for example, tended to run together like rivers as the small primitive tribes joined up and became huge, sprawling towns. Any god could join. Any god could start small. Any god could grow in stature as faith in it increased... And dwindle to nothing as it waned.

The god stirred.

[x ] I’ll trade your story for what I’ve got so far. Secrets shared are friendships made.

You recite your vision, your shattered and reassembled memories that were jolted to the surface. You spare no detail in describing the beginning of your desires from killing ants and insects, and your gradual progression up the food chain until you were feeding off other humans, and finally the destruction your soul was subjected to at the hands of the professor, whose name and features are but a blur, but their words and actions remain.

Throughout the tale, Reisen reacts first with some mild shock, then a sort of understanding frown, before finally smiling as you describe how you were torn apart and reassembled.

“And that’s how the old Wu Zhenguo died.” You finish, “Probably for the better.”

Reisen’s ear twitches as she re-examines you with the lenses, “Looks consistent, your chest cavity is indeed partially destroyed. But, how?” She asks as she pokes you in the chest, obviously not feeling the hole, “What sort of entity with this amount of power will bother to disguise as a commoner and target a virtual nobody?”

You shrug, “I have some ideas, retired Greek gods being the first and foremost given the river invocations, but I’ll worry about that when I ask Conner about any strange professors we might remember if I can sneak back to the village. You know what? It might actually be him, now that I think about it. But it’s your turn, my dear rabbit.”

You flinch as Reisen, without a word, reaches out and caresses your neck...for a moment. Your eyes then lock with hers, and then your senses are no longer your own.

Foreign brain waves invade your own, a peculiar insanity.

==========
Mt. Takao, Hachioji - 29th of March 15:19
==========

“Scrap that, Renko.” I tell her, pocketing my phone. “You’re gonna come with me to a job.”

She raises her head from the ground. “A job?” She asks, perplexed.

“Yes. I do work.” I tell her. “I can’t spend all day everyday working this majestic body.”

She rolls her eyes in response, apparently not finding my sarcasm fun. “I mean, what do you do for work?”

“I fix holes in a giant invisible wall, essentially.” I tell her. “Then I also take care of the monsters that made that hole by forcing them back through it.” Which is oversimplifying it grossly.

She sits up. “And how am I supposed to help?”

~~~~~~~~~~~CRAVE~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Most people live out their days on an isle of vapid ignorance, shying away from the dark and hungry waters that surround it,” said the goddess. “But not you, child. You crave for more. I see it plain in your eyes.”

The child looked behind, where the lights of her hometown glowed dimly in the dark, just far enough for her to walk back. Back where her parents slept soundly at home, still unaware of her elopement. Back where an easy, uneventful life of prosaic toiling awaited her; where she saw herself laboring the fields from sun to sun, getting married off to some man from the neighboring village, siring children and working the kitchen until her skin withered and her bones were ground to dust. Mundanity was not the life for her. The child felt, no, knew, she was destined for something greater.

“I will bond you as my apprentice and my follower,” the goddess declared. “I will teach you everything I know. I will teach you every spell I have. You will become more powerful than any other person in the world, in history.”

The child’s dusty face lit up, greedy and covetous.

“But power and knowledge demand sacrifice, child. To seek magic is to brave the tides, but one who does should not expect to see those shores again,” continued the goddess, gravely. “Cast aside your old life, your old acquaintances, your old name. Only then I shall accept your plea.”

The child took one deep breath, then another. She did not need to ponder for long. That decision had already been made the moment she sneaked out of her room in the midst of dark.

“Very well,” the goddess smiled, brighter than the moon and stars above. “Eternity lies ahead, and behind. Will you drink your fill?”

She paced the edge of it, ruddy-red waves lapping gently over her ankles, painting the soil in full, dark wine: a crater-lake of blood, its heady scent filling her core with the gnawing hunger of centuries. Above her spun the stars of a sky of always night, the Moon, perhaps, crowning them high overhead.

Or perhaps it hung somewhere off the coast of Brazil. She couldn’t tell: there was no light from it, after all, not without the Sun to illuminate it. But it was one or it was the other, because it was high tide on the lake, which meant the greatest extent of freedom allowed to her by the terms of her sealing, if only by a few feet of damp backshore.

She paced it nonetheless.

[ ] Savouring it, for all that it was worth.
[ ] Hating every moment of it.

Previous thread: >>31609

---

There are only a few patrons in the pub, mostly sitting at the bar and making light conversation among themselves. An old man, the owner, nods at you as you come in and Komachi picks a small table towards the back of the place. She orders right away, reclining in her chair as you wait for drinks.

“Been a long day, hasn’t it?” she asks.

“Has it?” you reply, “it feels as if most of the time you were napping, eating or sitting around.”

“Keeping an eye on you is pretty tiring, trust me,” she ripostes, none too bothered. The sake is quick to arrive, brought by a young girl who asks if you’d want something to eat as well. You tell her that you’ll think about it and Komachi agrees. “Cheers,” she raises her glass, “to work.”

“To work,” you echo, somewhat more seriously. Sake is nice and all, and you drink it gladly, but you also take the opportunity to write down more thoughts in the notebook. It’s not quick-going since the shinigami keeps talking to you throughout but over the next hour—while enjoying a few more drinks and some finger food—you manage to build up a satisfactory record of the day and what was going on in your mind. You close the notebook with a satisfying thump and finally put it down.

It is fortuitous that you decided to do at least that much as Komachi’s freewheeling drinking session comes to an abrupt end. She was in the middle of a story about putting a celestial in her place. In an instant an ample smile and ruddy cheeks morph into a reserved stare and ashen face. Your back is to the door but you turn to follow her eyes and see the source of her sudden transformation: Lady Shiki has come into the establishment.

The dead man accepts judgment with unusual aplomb. Whereas others might squirm at having their sins read out or—as had been the case earlier—attempt to interrupt the session with hasty interjections and justifications, he seems almost indifferent to what the Yama has to say. If the judge is surprised by this unusual man, she hides it well, being as meticulous in presenting the facts of the case as with every other preceding soul that day. His quiet poise still makes an impression on the others watching and they pay careful attention to the build up to the sentencing.

Being sentenced to hell seemed like the obvious outcome; the lot of most sinners is an opportunity for repentance followed by punishment. So you're surprised when he is instead sent to the Netherworld. The man offers a bows to the judge once the proceedings are concluded. Then he is escorted away from the court, his fate to be advanced by a shinigami acting as bailiff. This proves to be the last act of the court for the day.

The presiding yama thanks the clerks of the court for their hard work and ends their long shift. She puts away her hand mirror into a protective bag and then rises from her seat. Before retiring to her chambers, however, she looks over at you and beckons you to come with a nod. That’s a very exciting development for you, as you’ve never been in the private chambers of a judge before. Truth be told, you have no idea what to expect. Your first courtroom experience today has already made your head swim more than once.

It appears that the Yama does not have very extravagant tastes. The room is an austere space with a few chairs, a simple shelf with some scrolls and a large desk with a stack of documents. She takes a seat and invites you to do the same. “How was your first day at court?” she asks, allowing a slight smile to form on her lips for the first time in the day.

“It was fascinating, Enma,” you answer. “Hearing about what goes on and actually seeing it with my own eyes is like night and day. I am not certain I am ready.”

“Modesty is good, Candidate,” she says, using the official term endorsed by the ministry, �