♫: https://youtu.be/0rVqj8PGTXA
[オメガリズム - Omega Rhythm (UPLIFT SPICE)]
Lyrics: https://releska.com/2015/11/23/omega-rhythm/
Music Collection: https://mega.nz/#F!1BdBzIKZ!bhLzijfM3iyphpueDOKf0g

A tale of fools and lovers.

Note:
Open to critique, criticism, and praise. Mostly praise!
(I'm kidding, you can say whatever)
Comment kindly!

Histories of Yatsugatake, a Suika backstory short: >>>/shorts/2180
THREAD 1 >>65260 THREAD 2 >>65548
THREAD 3 >>65922 THREAD 4 >>66462

Picture: The idiot
Or more accurately, the Fool. 5 feet tall. Covered in a long overcoat to protect himself from winter showers and cold winds. Posture, slightly hunched over and furtive, as if he was trying to hide from something. Dark hair. Dark eyes. British-Italian ancestry. A forgettable face in the crowd. Eyes often glued to a book, out to nowhere, or onto his phone. Oliver Smith, born in around 1960, somewhere that didn’t matter, and to two working class parents.
A shy and furtive boy, he made few friends in school, often bullied by children with their native cruelty and lack of care. Joining a local university in 1980 managing to keep himself from being expelled after an unfortunate incidence involving a woman, several packets of pre-cooked pasta, a jar of peanut butter, a large stuffed bear, and the University’s residential plaque of its founder. Graduating in 1985 with a Bachelors in Business and Management, he joined the British civil service.
At first, he was hopeful for a change in his life; childhood was a bust, university was a failure, perhaps this would be the time when his fortunes changed, and he could gain the popularity and friendship he so wanted?
His hopes were dashed. His grades and achievements were low to begin with, and his shyness and inability to be prosocial crippled him. Slowly, his acquaintances and what tentative friendships he could make left him behind, either transferring to another department or promoted away. His inability to read the mood and properly gauge the exchange of favors and ideas meant that he lost out in office politics. His mediocre skills did him no favors, leaving him as the man in the background when others had time to shine. Attempts to fit in failed in awkward silences or anxiety, further driving him into isolation. He threw himself into other forms of entertainment. Books. Late night movies. Tv shows. Daydreams where he was the hero, with all he ever wanted. Fantasies. Tentative attempts to write down his own day dreams, hopes of being an author. And ignoring that his life had struck a rut, and younger coworkers were rapidly being promoted beyond him. His coworkers now viewed him as ‘that old man that’s always there’.
Hi

Main story threads: >>>/border/28011 >>>/border/28877 >>>/border/29707

Previous side story entries: >>>/border/29391 >>>/border/29511 >>>/border/29748
============================


Camp Fijr Dhwa
2330 Hours, 280620XX


You are Lieutenant Adin Sylla, officer in the Kenyan Army Infantry 9th Rifle Battalion and former head of security for Camp Abu Shok, a refugee camp, located in war-torn South Sudan. Over the past two days you have also managed to become a Director for a mysterious Asian multinational known as Clear Sky, and is currently working under the supervision of what you have confirmed to be a fox demon (with extraordinarily fluffy tails) from the Orient who goes by the name of Mae Indigo, and have engaged in the first real offensive operations in your entire life. You have also witnessed your boss literally tearing apart a janjaweed ambush with just tooth and claw, and have wiped out a government convoy just to steal their shipment of arms as a side job from escorting Red Cross employees to camps for their free labor.

As shady as Clear Sky's actions are, the employees themselves are even shadier. Aside from Indigo, many of the mercenaries you've met are monsters of one sort of another, and consume human flesh. According to what Indigo told you they are magical beings from a magical land, facts which are not exactly reassuring as witchcraft isn't something really wholesome in your country. Apparently the company's revenue source is also magic-reliant, so you are not exactly surprised at the sheer amount of supplies and material they have brought to the camps and towns under their control.

Right now however, y

Pichun~

You stare at the screen of your laptop blankly, watching as the 'Game Over' menu comes up. "...You've got to be kidding me," you mumble.

You had been 5 millimeters away from beating the Phantasm Stage of Perfect Cherry Blossom - 5 millimeters - and you had then, out of nowhere, been hit by a shot you were absolutely certain you had dodged.

You groan, running a hand over your face. "God dammit," you mutter, reaching out to your keyboard with the other and hitting Alt+F4.

Unfortunately, this leaves you staring at your desktop background, which for a while has been a decidedly smug picture of Yukari Yakumo.

Your eyebrow twitches, and you almost slam your laptop closed. That gap hag is not a face you want to see right now.

You'd always admired her as a character before, and been a rather big fan of her too, but seeing that smug smirk after actually trying to defeat her and failing just before you would have succeeded…

Well, you can understand why Reimu feels the way she does about Yukari now. And why 'goddammit Yukari' is such a huge meme, too.

You placed the lid back on the donation box before you slung the FN FAL onto your back. There were about 1,500 yen in donations, which was more than yesterday, but still not much.

Still, you suppose that you should be thankful. The shrine is so far away from the village that it’s any wonder that people would even bother to donate and pray.

You began to walk down the steps that stretched up to the shrine and down towards the soft sandy beach that bordered the entirety of Genso Isle. There was a long path along the beach that leads to the seaside town of Yume Village.

The day was still fresh and the sun was still high in the eastern side of the sky. On one side was the calm waves of the ocean. On the other was the thick foliage of the Forest of Magic. Travel along this pathway was long yet generally safe thanks to the series of talismans set along the fence that separated the beach from the forest.

It was part of your daily routine to make your way towards the village if nothing else but to keep close maintenance of this fence. Occasionally you would pass by fishermen stationed along the shore, safe in the knowledge that no youkai will sneak up from behind.

They were the main source of revenue and faith for the shrine, alongside hunters and a few village guards. A few of the fishermen waved at you and you saw more and more as you neared the village.

Finally, after a long trek, you reached your destination.

A massive stone wall laid before you. It was about ten meters tall and encircled the entire village. Along the side of the wall that faced the ocean was a large harbour that extended out into the waters.

You open your eyes again, but you don’t see the dark streets of the city, disgruntled passersby, or fellow drunkards. Instead, it’s the warm glow of a quiet kitchen — her kitchen. It was cozy, as was the rest of the house — distinctly upper-class, but not big enough for servants. That was her dowry, absurd as it was. When you discovered it had been the house she stayed in since she was a child, things made a lot more sense: it had never really been your home. It was the princess’s playhouse, where she could pretend.

Just like now. Washing dishes. She was good at that — cleaning. It’s no wonder why. She turns away from the running water with the most delicate smile you’ve ever seen. “Another late night?”

You lean on the wall, keeping the length of the room between the two of you. “Whatever keeps me away from you.”

Her hand on the wet plate stops for a moment, then resumes. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say you were an abusive husband.”

You weren’t abusive, but you weren’t the best. Long hours, late calls, and a lot of pent-up stress and anxiety dominated most of your relationship.

“Let’s pretend I was the perfect husband,” you say. “Would it have mattered at all?”

She looks back at the sink and grabs another plate. “What do you think?”

You’ve considered it, again and again and again. Where would you both be if you hadn’t become a detective? If you were at home with her more often? If you appreciated her more instead of using her as a reprieve from a hard day at work? Would you be speaking with her in reality, instead of this twisted dream? Would you still have your old life?

It’s funny to be realizing this now, but this is one of the most important decisions you’ve ever made in your life, if not the most important.

“Well, everything looks in order.” Kamishirasawa says, leafing through your paperwork while wearing a pair of spectacles. “I’ve gotten things sorted out on my end. Reimu’s been informed, as have the relevant village officials.”

“There’s only one more step.” Keine says, taking her glasses off and looking you in the eyes. “It’s also your last chance to reconsider. Are you certain that this commitment is what you want?”

You nod. There’s nothing more to say at this point.

She offers you a grateful smile, as warm as the first time you saw it decades ago. “Very well. We have one last form to fill out, then.”

Your former teacher slides the final sheet across her desk to you, the text on it printed with a precision you know most presses in the village can’t match.

A few lines that have already been filled in by Keine’s neat handwriting catch your eye.

---

♫: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lG4a4ittWVg
[紅の魂 ～ 赤より紅い夢 - 幻想少女大戦紅 オリジナルサウンドトラック (さんぼん堂)]

・－・・ －－－ ・・・－ ・

Music Collection: https://mega.nz/#F!1BdBzIKZ!bhLzijfM3iyphpueDOKf0g

Histories of Yatsugatake, a Suika backstory short: >>>/shorts/2180
THREAD 1 >>65260
THREAD 2 >>65548
THREAD 3 >>65922
THREAD 4 >>66462
THREAD 5 >>66845

1st thread: >>60957

You are a demon.

Your purpose is to answer the call of mortals who are in need of favours from beyond their realm. The craft of summoning interplanar beings such as yourself and binding them to contracts is known as diabolism and those who practice the craft are known as diabolists. As a demon, you are beholden to a particular set of rules, but like mortals, each demon will have their own sense of moral code. Some vehemently work against their masters outside of their contract; others go above and beyond the terms they were given. All demons must at the very least follow the word of their contracts, if not the spirit, and once you has been summoned into the human world, you are unable to leave until your master’s terms are complete or you perish in the process.

Your latest venture to the mortal realm has lead to a tangled web of interesting circumstances.

Your first contractor is Caesar, a young man who seems to have just stepped out of boyhood and leader of a group of supposedly skilled vampire hunters. His companions are Villy, a young girl with the ability to sense lifeforms; Deke, a strong and boisterous fighter; and Luna, a Japanese woman with strange knife-manipulation abilities. Caesar’s contract, detailed at the bottom of this post, has you bound to assist the group in “destroying a powerful adversary.”

The adversary in question is a vampire known as the Scarlet Devil, or Remilia Scarlet, though these names were never explicitly given in the contract. She is notable for her ability to manipulate the future to some degree. Caesar summoned you for this very reason; as you are a being from beyond this realm, Remilia’s hold over fate does not apply to you. After infiltrating her castle, a battle ensued and Caesar’s plans fell apart, so you elected to s

The trepidation of a speeding train coming through with no destination in sight. Anyone riding the abandoned line between reality and fantasy could feel the pervasive foreboding: something awaited at the end of the track, wherever and whenever the train would eventually stop. The eerie violet glow seeping through the windows, obscured by thick, embroidered curtains of velvety touch. Creak after creak of uncertainty. Flickering neon lights, a small rocking, the interior going dark for a fraction of a moment, alone with the things outside. Shadows flashed over the rusting handlebars and adverts for discontinued products. Old scratches and damp spots and shrivelled filling littered out of seats unkempt for decades. And the drone and hiccup of the wagons’ wheels rolling on unending rails, the smell of the incense which Yukari Yakumo had lit to get rid of the stench of mold.

The youkai of boundaries had always had a soft spot for what could only be conceivably called a rust bucket on rails. As long as it suited its purpose, there was no need to spend effort in restoring the train to its former glory, and she had other more convenient methods to travel to the Outside. The velvet curtains were the only concession Yukari had made to making the interior more hospitable, and it was only because, for the first time in years, the Purple Express was carrying a passenger other than her.

The clack of her heels echoed through the train as the youkai slowly made her way across the endless cars. In normal circumstances, there would have been no-one riding this train at all. After all, it had been out of commission for years when she took possession of it, left to rust at an abandoned station. The way Yukari saw it, nobody would miss it, and she was doing everyone a favour by giving the old machine a second life—and for years it had run without stops, across the endless expanse of the boundaries between worlds, until she commanded otherwise. But these were not normal circumstances, and even the Yakumo Express had to reach a station some time.

Eventually, Yukari reached the car where the first passenger of the Express sat by their lonesome:

[]A stout, aloof woman, exil