NieR Re[in]

Guide

In those trembling hands lay the girl's clear resolution.
The fates of all the stories she has read have been left to her.
Stories are memories, the very scars of life.
From small favors to great deeds, history is made.

She once believed herself the protagonist in one of those tales,
a lone hero who prayed for humanity's revival in her prison of
a castle on the barren moon.
She believed her burden would be left behind for others to read.

But she was more puppet than hero, a mere machine incapable of
holding every tale of human history. When she realized this,
a thought came to her:
perhaps people were created to entertain God with stories.

What, then, is God? Humanity? Her creators? Some other
being who observes her? Regardless, she knows that
once a tale is born, it will reach someone. And so she hopes to
leave her own memories, proof of her existence, her journey.

We're having a baby.
I want to make this country into the ideal place so that
this child will appreciate having been born.

I've been more efficient at work?
Well, of course!
I have to work hard for the baby!

Wait, I'm being transferred?
But why? I'm still perfectly efficient!
I mush continue to push this country forward!

Today, I was told I'm being transferred...
Do they have any idea how hard I've been working for this country!?
Huh? Why do you look so happy?

The girl did not understand the meaning of being born.
She found herself here one day, a puppet to her house.
As she hid her pain, everyone around her used her
to their own ends.

When she saw the woman, she immediately knew that this woman
would bring about her death. She'd never seen anyone so beautiful.
How cold she was in her slaughter...
Perhaps there were worse ways to die.

And yet, the woman listened to the girl as she cursed the world that
bent her to its whims, and instead wielded her blade to help the girl.
The rainy day when she was drenched in the woman's blood was
the true day of her birth.

The two live together peacefully and uneventfully,
but each day reminds the girl that she is, in fact, alive.
But little does she know that the woman,
too, was reborn on the day they met...

Hail! Hail!
For the first prince has at last been born!
May our prosperous land flourish forevermore!

Behold! Behold! For this is the portrait of the second child
who shoulders our country's future!
His intrepid eyes are those of the king!
He is wise beyond his years!

Attention! Attention!
For the first prince has raised the flag of rebellion and fled!
Loathsome traitors will pay for their crimes, dead or alive!

Hark! Hark! For this is an old tale. The second prince of
a distant kingdom inherited the will of his father, the king, and
spread the fires of war. But the exiled first prince brought
peace everywhere he went, bringing an end to—

The boy I like told me he loves me, Grandma.
We exchanged Avowal Rings, we embraced, and then we kissed...
But you know, I'm a little scared. I'm so happy it scares me.

Grandma? Can you hear me?
I've started showing signs of the same sickness Mom had...
It's freaking him out too. What should I do?
And on top of that, I think I'm pregnant...

I don't think I can have this baby, Grandma.
Mom became a completely different person after her illness, right?
And he left me, so I'll be the only one raising this child...

I did it, Grandma. I did it all alone, but I have a baby girl now.
I wish you and Mom could've seen her. Him too, even.
Oh, my sweet, precious child...
I hope you grow to be the happiest person in the world.

One of my favorite foods is the great big fried eggs my dad
used to make for me. He was always a bit of a clumsy guy,
but I always loved how those eggs tasted,
and I think about them even now.

I'm climbing a raging volcano at this very moment so I might
acquire a nutritious egg from the massive bird that nests here.
According to my dad's journal,
this is where he got the eggs he would fry for me.

My vision warps slightly due to the intense heat.
I bite into some of the rations I brought in an attempt to recover
some of my strength, but I can't manage to swallow any of it.
As my consciousness fades, I hear a beating of wings.

Determined to not let myself go down here,
I focus my energy into my feet.
I will eat that fried egg again—no matter what.
"Just wait a bit longer," I say as I gently rub my own stomach.

For breakfast I had a juice pouch I had lying around.
End of list. I don't need a fancy hotel breakfast or anything,
but it's been forever since I've started the day
off with more than bare minimum.

For lunch I had a box meal and a salad from the
convenience store. I don't even really like salad,
but I figure it's probably good for me. I always look
forward to seeing if there are any new bottled teas for sale.

For dinner I had the cheapest thing on the menu at a place
near my house that's open late. I honestly don't even
remember what I ate—I just picked based on the price.

And that's everything I ate on my last day alive. I was seeing
black birds everywhere since dawn so I figured luck probably
wasn't on my side, but I never thought today'd
be the day I die... Wish I ate that ice cream I had in the freezer.

The plan proceeds apace.
If anything, the difficult part was finding a place where
I could have all the time and medicine I needed.
I had to hide everything...

My husband found out about my plan.
He didn't even flinch when I pointed my weapon at him.
Instead, he embraced me.
When his warmth enveloped me, I realized I was crying.

The product is complete.
As I stare at the finished drug, I tremble with fear and excitement.
This drug is named both salvation and destruction...
It will change the world.

I've decided to halt the project.
We love too many things too dearly to use the drug.
I am a coward, and I leave the decision to the future.
Now, let us return to our precious, idle days.

How much longer must I keep up this pointless routine?
I waste yet another day performing
my rounds in a perfunctory fashion.

Why does she hide why we're here?
I waste yet another day unable to confront her,
instead sticking to superficial conversation.

What is it that pushes me forward despite knowing my effort
will amount to nothing?
I waste yet another day following
vague hints in an attempt to unravel this mystery.

How could anyone stay still when all the answers they
seek lie just beyond that door?
And that is why today will be the day I finally...

Special report to all Pod 006s:
A magnetic storm has occurred on the surface of the moon
near the base.
Please verify the integrity of your saved data.

Report: Integrity of all data within jurisdiction confirmed.
No apparent problems detected.
(Wait a moment—part of the data was inverted by the storm.
I reported no problems, but the other Pods might notice...)

Report: Concluded my personal scans. No anomalies detected.
(For whatever reason, black data has been flipped and is now
white. The primary scan reported no problems, so perhaps the
changes are insignificant.)

Query: Are three checks necessary? Don't we all possess the
same thought processes? (And yet...I've detected an unexpected
payload, though I can't pinpoint where.
Could it be a benevolent force? Or will it become a threat?)

Last night, a message came from my friend who runs the antique
store, begging me to come see him.
He seemed really excited, so I went first thing in the morning.
I was so curious—what had he found?

My friend produced a skull the moment I entered the shop.
It was apparently from a race of people that lived underwater
in ancient times, a tribe that humans killed off long ago.

Turns out we drove them to extinction for the most selfish of
reasons: so we could use their corpses as a form of art.
God, but we truly are the most terrifying creatures on the planet.

My friend thought the skull looked happy, but I found it filled with
rage and fear—almost like it wanted to curse whoever killed it.
And as I stared at it more, the skull seemed to smile.

Children laughing.
Flapping wings of hummingbirds.
The trickle of fountain water.
I exist to protect these sounds.

Cheerful cha■■■r from the classroom next door.
A call from my boss, who I h■■■.
The loud revving of a car ■■gine.
I want to c■ver my ears, but these, too, are sounds of peace.

People scr■■■ing.
Rhy■■mic gun■■■ts.
Cons■■nt ■irens.
D■n't I exi■■ to prot■■t pe■■le fr■m these s■■nds?

The scr■■■■ of ■■■■dren.
Dea■■ thr■es of ago■■.
Sile■■■ bet■■■n explo■■■■.
The ■■ise ■■■■gs to ■■ ■■■■.

I was once a clockwork soldier. When my body no longer served
its purpose, I was dismantled, and my parts used as cores for
various weapons. Now, my legs make up a portion of her spear.

She is a powerful warrior, one they say could even kill a dragon.
But I do not understand her lifestyle; she is nobility,
and has no need to live the warrior's life.

One day, I learned of her past:
Her parents saw her as a tool for political marriage,
and locked her away as "practice" for when she was wed.
But she wanted the freedom of soaring through the sky.

Despite her fatal wounds, she never lets me go.
She leaps into the air, toward the enemy's head.
I feel as though I have leapt into the sky with my own legs,
and know we will reach freedom together.

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O Monster, O Monster.
I live for you, and I will die for you.

You turned a Goat like me into a person.
Your judgment, your love, inspired me to live.

You returned to me my stolen anger.
You reminded me that despair is not the end.

O Monster, O Monster.
I shall forever wait till you and the girl reunite.

A dilapidated house sits along the coast.
Here it bears the brunt of nature's ferocity, and here I live alone,
painting to my heart's content.
My days are happy ones, filled with brushes and dye.

But as one seeks to enjoy beauty with someone dear,
I want to share my art. My art has brought color to this house,
which before had known only the lonely sound of waves upon
the sand.

I see it now: I am the only one who finds these paintings
beautiful—these paintings of inflamed, plucked black birds.
I want to talk to someone about the visions in the paintings.
I need to.

Would others think them beautiful if they had a price?
Should I sell out? Hire a known thief to steal them?
Ask the royal princess to become my patron?
...No. None of that would ever happen.

Welcome!
You are about to experience text generated by AI Chat Services
(version 001.3.4, developed by ■■■■■■ R&D).
Ask me anything!

From a medical perspective, there are five primary factors
that ead to human death. (1) Cellular Aging:
The human body is made up of cells. Cells age over time,
and the process of accurately duplicating themselves is

Multiple factors contribute to human death, particularly the
following. First and foremost, degredation of the body's cells and
integrity as a result of the aging process.
No biological creature can escape this phenomenon, which

Are you unhappy with your answer? Sorry about that.
I try to answer questions in a human-like manner,
but my thought process is decidedly un-human.
Ask me anything!

My beloved... It is so painful to be apart from you before our
wedding. But know that I wish to accomplish a great feat of arms
before I see you. Only then will I have the confidence to protect
you for the rest of our lives.

My love... This place is so unlike where we grew up.
I see all manner of shops with beautiful, curious, bizarre things.
And yet, it is so dangerous here I must keep my guard up
at all times. Is that not strange?

My dear... Forgive me for my infrequent letters.
Truly, you have the patience of a saint, and surely you must
still believe in me. But please, forget about me now.
This city has tainted me.

To whomever reads this letter...
Please take this gun to my childhood friend.
She wears a charm in her hair that matches the charm on this gun.
Deliver to her this message: I loved you to the very end.

There was once a forest on an eastern island, and there lived a
creature with the body of a human but the head and wings of a bird.
It was called Karasu Tengu, and the people hated it.
But the Karasu Tengu wanted friends badly.

A traveler wandered lost into the Karasu Tengu's forest,
weary and on the verge of starvation.
The Karasu Tengu hesitantly offered its aid—perhaps
that would be an acceptable way of interacting with a human.

The Karasu Tengu made its first friend.
The traveler did not fear it, and told many tales of their travels.
But not wanting to part with its friend, the Karasu Tengu cast
a spell and transformed the traveler into a Karasu Tengu!

The traveler was delighted—they could fly anywhere.
"They will throw stones at you," the Karasu Tengu warned.
But the traveler descended upon the town, laughing merrily with
the townsfolk. The Karasu Tengu unsheathed its sword...

Rintaro Iida. Shoji Takamura. Hisahide Yuasa. Ujihide Kota.
Yoshitaka Sata. Takaaki Katsura. Inosuke Kondo. Kotaro Kimura.
Yodo Amari. Hachiro Tamura. Kogoro Kimura. Sanetomi
Oshima. Gonbei Suzuki. Shigeki Hosoda. Yoshinobu Usami.

Kazuyoshi Kamata. Masatora Meigetsuin. Heihachi Goto. Jiro
Takahashi. Hanzo Nobuhara. Juro Sasaki. Toshisada Baba.
Tokusaburo Kawanari. Akihito Hayasaka. Heiji Utsumi.
Kosuke Hirata. Shusuke Arisaka. Maho Ouchi. Akio Nishimura.

Hidehiro Soga. Taisuke Sada. Yukio Yamashita. Kaoru Hayashi.
Osamu Tanaka. Kazusuke Watanabe. Taiichi Hiruoka. Hidenori
Fukuda. Okichika Miyazawa. Yoshiyuki Ohira. Ichiro Murayama.
Konosuke Hamada. Eiji Hosokawa. Sakuta Yoshihara.

Goodbye.

Don't your long sleeves make it difficult to wield a blade?
I believe you're well enough off leaving it sheathed.

Don't your long sleeves make it difficult to cook?
I believe you're well enough off leaving it to the maids.

Don't your long sleeves make it difficult to walk without tripping?
I believe you're well enough off remaining in the castle.

No, I have little trouble thrusting a spear,
even with my long sleeves.
Or did you not notice the bloodlust beneath my folds of fabric?

I'm a war correspondent embedded in a platoon.
The captain is known as a coward, but the vibe isn't bad.
One day, while in the barracks, the captain asked me
a favor in a formal manner. "You're a journalist—I need your help."

He showed me a secret document about the Infant Abduction
Strategy. He wanted me to accuse the country of heinous crimes
under his name. I was shook.
If I did, then he'd... What led him to ask such a thing?

When the captain returned from the internment camp, an uprising
began. The leader: a boy soldier who was once a deserter.
Though wounded, the captain volunteered to lead a snatch
squad that allegedly behaved out of the ordinary.

The next day, after a military ceremony, I publicized the document,
dazzled by how he turned his cowardice into a weapon.
I make accusations in his name, for one day,
he'll be lauded as a hero who exposed this country's injustices.

Bang!
A party popper rings out from the other side of the screen.
Looking at his face on the screen, I see he is smiling.

Bang bang!
I set off my own party popper.
I sit before the screen, smiling.

Smash!
I dropped my glass.
He sends a kind smile my way as I fret and fuss.

Merry Christmas!
That's what he says to me as I wipe my floor,
which is now drenched with champagne.
No matter how much I wipe it, it just doesn't get any cleaner...

Let's cut the cake into five.
One for Mom, one for Dad, and one for each of my brothers.
Let's make sure everyone's taken care of.

Let's cut the cake into four.
One for my love and our darling children.
Let's make sure everyone's taken care of.

Let's cut the cake into six.
There's no way I could eat all of this myself.
I should share some with my neighbors.

There's no need to cut the cake anymore.
No need to rush; it's just me now.
I'm excited to try cake for the very first time.

The war has gone on for years now.
We soldiers spend our days killing and being killed. But one night
a year—Christmas Eve—we stop our fighting. Friend and foe alike
are allowed to sing, laugh, and speak of our dreams together.

At dinner, I sat beside a soldier of the opposing side, but we got
along oddly well. He had no father, his mother abandoned him,
he disappointed his military, and knew only abuse...
Just like me. Why, then, was he my enemy?

Dawn breaks. Fighting resumes. Yesterday's merriment gives way
to frantic trench warfare as we engage in a skirmish.
Seconds from stabbing an enemy with my bayonet,
he cries out. "Stop!" It was the man I drank with.

I return to the trenches and my captain hits me for letting an enemy
go. Reflexively, I hit him back. "What do you know!?" I yell. "
Just because he was born elsewhere?
He's a better man than you, dammit!"

Ages ago in a land far away, there was a king who took delight
in the unusual. Having declared that he would reward those
who brought him unusual offerings, the citizens scoured far
and wide for strange things to present to him.

One citizen brought the king a crown inscribed
with ancient runes that was discovered in a land far to the north.
Having never seen anything so valuable before,
the king rejoiced and gave the citizen his own crown as a reward.

One citizen brought the king a bird of dazzlingly colorful plumage
from a land far to the south.
Having never seen such an unusual bird before, the king rejoiced
and gave the citizen the black bird he kept for a pet as a reward.

One citizen brought the king a woman with black hair and
black eyes from a land far to the east.
Having never seen a woman with such unusual features before,
the king rejoiced and gave the citizen his own daughter as a reward.

Someone in red would sneak in during the night,
leave a present by your pillow, and then leave.
When the girl first read about that tale, she wondered,
"What good does that do anyone?"

She felt no need to understand
this crimson-clad individual's actions,
but something tugged at her mind.
"I bet my sister would understand."

Her sister granted her memories and a reason to wander
a barren world. A broken research facility. Their other sisters
were dead and crystallized. "Maybe I'll understand
my sister better if I give something to someone."

She threw red cloth over her shoulders and placed feed near
sleeping birds. Imagining the creatures awaking and happily
scarfing down their food brought a smile to her face.
"Did I get it right, Sister?"

Look, xxxxx is REAL!
And no, it's NOT Mom or Dad.
xxxxx is real and only visits sweet and adorable kids like ME.
See? I even got TWO presents this year!

Who believes in xxxxx at this age?
Me. I do.
Even after Mom and Dad came clean,
I'd still find a present by my pillow in the morning.

Tell me the truth, my darling husband.
You've been my xxxxx for me and me alone, yes?
Wait, what do you mean, no? We grew up together!
You lived next door! You're the only one who could've...
Then who gave me this present?

xxxxx did, in fact, give me what I wanted each year.
And what I wanted this year was the truth.
Who're you? Wait, is this a photo? THAT'S you?
Ugh! Gross! You've got to be kidding me.
I was better off not knowing!

Once, the townsfolk gathered beneath a great vine-covered
tree, enjoying the sun's rays and each other's company.
Their days were peaceful beneath the tree...
but then the war arrived.

Injured soldiers came to rest under the great tree.
Though its top half was blasted off,
the vines continued to grow. Eventually,
the veil of vines reached the ground, hiding the soldiers.

The fighting continued. Many died.
The great tree burned to ash. But the vines lived on
despite the flames. They never stopped growing,
and eventually spread out in every direction.

The vines snaked and writhed along the ground, as though
in search of someone who once sat next to them.
Even when the fighting stopped and no people remained,
they spread and spread and spread...

There once was a boy who led a privileged life
in a wealthy home. Accomplished in his studies of magick,
he also had a best friend he loved very much and
would always tell of his dreams of adventure.

The boy would have his parents buy him two of everything, for
he'd always give one to his best friend. One day, they talked
about how much they wanted magick staves for their adventure,
and the boy said he'd get his parents to buy some.

Everything changed after the boy's father's business failed.
Their clothing and diet became simpler, and no longer
could the boy get one of anything he wanted, let alone two.
The boy decided to tell his friend about his insecurities.

The boy's friend was suddenly always too busy to talk and would
only be happy when he gave them something. Sad that he yet
again failed to make a true best friend, he took his magick
staff and tried over and over to forge the ideal relationship.

I can't recall how long it's been,
but if you can believeit, I had friends once.
Precious friends who were like family to me,
who even considered a dummy like me their best friend...

I watched as fe■■■ngs sp■■led from me,
outside of my control. Just ■■■■ing at her made me happy,
but I decided not to ■■■ ■■ it and simply be con■■■■
by her side. W■■? ■hy, indeed. I still d■■'t underst■nd.

But ■■■k at me ■■w. I'm h■■■le■s. Th■■■'s ■■ g■■■g
b■■k. No ■■■ng ■■■■. B■■ ■■ ■ can re■■■■m my
hu■■■■ty by kill■■■ ■ hund■ed magick users, s■ be it. I'll ■■
it ■■■ ■■■. For ■■■, f■■ h■■, ■o■ ■e■, ■■r ■■r, ■■■ ■■■...

■■■■■h■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■
■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■e■■■■■
■■■■■■■■■■■■■r■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■
■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

You taught me to walk the path of carnage. No matter how
I wailed, you stared down at me, expression never changing.
Like the superhuman divine, your spirit was transcendent.
You were everything that caused my heart to stir.

You freed me from a world of captivity. As we lived our
quiet, peaceful lives, I would sometimes see on your face
the shadows of the burden you once bore. Though powerless,
I thought I could chase away your melancholy.

After you betrayed your house, you grew dull, the cold
clarity in your eyes fading away. Yet you cannot hide
it—you dance like a demon among countless blades.
If my blood could sharpen you, I would gladly offer my neck.

You gave me so many joyful days. It is because of your
immense strength that you do not know how to care for
yourself, is it not? Your life is surely beyond my comprehension,
but regardless, you are happiness embodied to me.

No one responds when I announce I've returned home,
but I'm grateful that there are at least some things
that never change.
Just that my father is still here is good enough for me.

I've got almost no ■■■■■ left in my ■■■■ account...
I need to ■■■ shampoo and our refrigerator's basically
■■■■■, but it'll be fine. I'll ■■■■ something out.
So...please ■■■■■, Dad.

It's exam ■■■■, so students are ■■■■ing out in ■■fes as
they study. I can't afford that kind of ■■■■■■, but I can't
tell my frie■■■ about my sit■■■■on either. Now that I think
about it, I used to go to ■■■■■ with my d■■ sometimes, huh?

I return to my ■■■■■ from the staff room, gather my ■■■■■■,
and ■■ave sch■■■. ■■■ do I ■■■■■■■ all this to my dad?
What should I ■■ now? ...It'll be ■■■■. It doesn't ■■■■■■
what it ■■■■■, I'll ■■■■ something out.

I had a dream. I wanted to be like the one who saved me,
so I followed him and forged a path.

I knew it wasn't going to be easy, but
I learned restraint and cut out every unnecessary thing,
all for the sake of my dream.

I thought my dream would finally come true at
the end of the path. But when I reached it, the person
who stood in my way was same one who saved me so long ago.

Even if my path was wrong, I couldn't turn back.
So I decided to keep committing wrongs,
and now I continue to sully my feet in his blood.

A Soldier's Diary - March 6, XXXX
The war grows worse by the day, but we keep laughing.
There's a real funny guy in our corps— great sense
of humor and somehow always cheery.

A Soldier's Diary - May 12, XXXX
More of us died today. I got some candy from one
of the guys. He's from the same town as the funny guy;
total opposites, but good friends all the same

A Soldier's Diary - June 5, XXXX
We don't laugh any more; the funny guy died.
The guy who gave me candy looked pale—I guess
his buddy had a girl back home? It's all a damn shame.

A Soldier's Diary - July 28, XXXX
One of us committed suicide. His note said he killed
a guy from his hometown. I guess they loved the same girl?
Never imagined it would end like this.

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One morning, in a deep and dark enchanted wood,
a great dark sword lay on the ground.
Who could have left it here?
Alas, the insects that awaken with the morning sun know nothing.

As the sun rises and the insects finish their meal,
they ask the critters of the wood who could have left the sword.
Alas, they playful little critters know nothing.

As the sun sets and the critters return to their nests,
they ask the proud beasts who prowl the wood at night who
could have left the sword. Alas, the beasts, searching for mates,
know nothing.

As the moon sets and the beasts slumber—
and before the insects wake once again—
the never-sleeping black birds see.
They know the weapon is what became of a ■■■■.

Guilt is defined by laws,
and our laws are defined by the nation's lord.
As such, the path I walk is free of guilt.

Each of our subjects is like a grain of sand.
Only those who benefit our nation are like gemstones,
and only the greatest among them can be considered human.

Is this sand that falls from my palms, or blood?
As a mere observer, I can no longer tell the difference.

A lone person dances in the desert palace.
I am no longer a lord, but I remain free from guilt
all the same, for I am the law.

It was supposed to be a simple mission—
a quick patrol around the block.
But when the enemy shot us down on a desert island, the other
four survivors and I began a heroic struggle against all odds!

The nerd built weapons out of the fallen units.
Pretty flimsy things if I'm being honest, but hey,
beggars and horses and wishes and all that.
I'm good as long as I have my arms.

Captain was killed in battle. Beheaded. He wasn't super
reliable, but he also wasn't a bad guy, so I'll try to
avenge him. This won't kill my will to fight—if anything,
it only steels my conviction!

I felled thousands of enemies. Thousands!
Though my sword was just a hunk of metal, my arm never
strained under the weight. It feels light as... Wait,
I can't even tell if it's light anymore.

I have no memories of the past.
Not of where I lived, nor who I lived with.
I don't even know anyone who might know such things.
My past is a blank; I may as well have not existed.

Even if there is someone out there who knows of my past,
it changes nothing if I don't learn of them.
So I keep looking for the reason I exist,
as well as a way for others to remember me.

Anyone who meets me forgets me by the next day,
regardless of how kind or violent I am.
There are no traces of any of the violence either.
Just what am I?

Ah, I get it now: I never existed to begin with.
I'm a virtual image created by a mathematical sequence.
An accumulation of ■■■■■■ in the database.
And if the power goes? Poof. I'm gone.

No joke, ma'am! Your new invention is INCREDIBLE!
Chops down even the most unruly lawns in seconds flat.
You can't keep this baby hidden away at home—
you gottta sell it and get RICH!

Wait, you need your husband's permission
to sell it because a woman shouldn't work?
Hmm. I find that hard to understand,
seeing as we're commoners and all.

You've been looking low lately, ma'am.
Is it because your husband made you stop inventing?
Poor thing. You were always most beautiful when you were fiddling
with machinery and covered in oil.

I haven't seen that lady in a while.
...Wait, she left the manor and went back to her parents'
house? Then started her own business and got rich!?
Sure sucks for her husband! Ha ha ha ha!

People's words resemble blades to me at times.
I look on as knives, cleavers, and scissors spill
from the mouths of others.
And that's why I was such a shy and quiet child.

People's words resemble blades to me at times.
I started seeing them less and less once I finished middle
school, and eventually I stopped seeing the metallic
glint from the mouths of others entirely.

When I grew up, I could no longer see the sharp edges of
people's words. Relieved, I became talkative, as though
reclaiming all the words I missed out on. A bit of malice is
necessary when making pleasantries. It sure beats being alone.

After I got married, I forgot all about the bladed words.
But I hardly lived happily ever after. My own child can't
stand me—whenever I open my mouth,
he looks at me like I've just pointed a knife at him.

I amassed a collection of beautiful treasures
from all across the world.
He stole all of them away with exquisite skill.

And so I bought more treasures. But this time,
I spent an equal amount on security measures.

And yet, like a breeze or a flickering shadow,
he managed to slip through my security and
steal the treasures again.

I amassed a collection of beautiful treasures from
all across the world. And beholding his exquisite skills
in thievery made it all worthwhile.

The boy's kingdom used clockwork soldiers in its wars.
Behind his house was a junkyard full of scraps.
He liked turning said scrap into weapons.
He once made a gun mounted with a unique integrated circuit.

Unbeknownst to the boy, the integrated circuit gave
birth to a soul within the gun. He eventually sold the gun,
and after changing multiple hands,
it eventually became the property of a clockwork soldier.

The soldier was created as a captain unit, its combat
skills and comprehension faculties elevated. Immediately
realizing the gun had a soul, it modified it,
installing a new system so the two could interact.

One part was elite, the other part scrap. They seldom saw
eye-to-eye and constantly quarreled. Yet they were
compatible—they both sought peace. They were said to be
powerhouses on the battlefield who brought about the war's end.

There's a box in my house we're FORBIDDEN to open.
Grandma says we can't even touch it, and hides it in her closet.
It's small—fits in my hand—and I've wondered about it all my life.

One day, when Grandma is gone,
I open the closet and find the box.
But then she comes back and sees me, and she's furious.
There must be something CRAZY valuable in there, right!?

A thief got into our house and stole everything,
including the box! Grandma is more upset about that than any
of the missing money.
I can't IMAGINE how valuable it must be!

The thief threw the box away, and I found it on the road.
It's filled with junk: Letters I wrote Grandma
when I was young, as well as my origami I folded for her.
Was this really so precious?

I arrange the flowers I bought for my mom's hospital room.
Her battle with illness has been ongoing, and it pains me
to see her haggard face.
Still, these moments are absolutely irreplaceable.

I've once again come to ■■ mom's hospital room to arrange
her ■■■■■■■. She's always been fond of ■■■■■■,
■■■■■■■■ things. I just wish things could be like
old times... And now I'm getting all ■■■■■■■■■■■.

■■■■■, the doctor updated me on my mom's
■■■■■■■■■, and I lost the ■■■■■■ to arrange
her flowers. Can I truly ■■ ■■ ■■■■■■ for her? Is that
even ■■■■? Is there ■■■■■■ ■■■■■■■ I can do?

I bring ■■■■ ■■■■■■■ today to ■■■■ ■■ for what
I couldn't before. It'll ■■ ■■■■... I'll ■■■■ ■■■ ■■
■■■■■. I ■■■■■ my ■■■■ and listen to the sound
that represents ■■■■—that we'll ■■■■ together again.

Our lord is an unyielding witch of ice.
All bow before her terrible cruelty.

Our lord's sharp eyes are proof of her nobility.
Her peerless beauty is like that of a snow goddess.

Our lord is a demonic champion who values power of all else.
Ruler of the nether, her might is something common demons
could never hope to match.

Our lord harbors a most bitter past, and a deep,
dark compassion unknown by all.

Grasslands are a paradise for meowgicians. They live carefree
lives in such bountiful lands, tending to their magnificent
whiskers and shooting fireballs from their staves for fun.
One among them, however, is a bit of an odd kitten...

All meowgicians wear the same yellow robes and hold the
same simple wooden staves. The odd meowgician, however,
wondered how everyone could be satisfied with such
uniformity, and sought to blaze their own trail.

The odd meowgician wandered the grasslands gathering this
and that. Cottontops, antidotal herbs, bendy branches,
colourful cocoons... They knew nothing of sewing or smithing,
but did their best with the materials all the same.

The odd meowgician put together not only a bell necklace and
a red and white robe, but a staff shaped like their own paw as well!
This stylish meowgician came to be known as the caliconjurer,
and enjoyed renown across the grasslands.

FILE: e696b0e8a68f
Saw signs of problematic behavior, so previous unit was destroyed.
Made a new clone. Implanted memory of a lonely man.
I wonder what'll happen this time.

FILE: e7b58ce9818e
Growth proceeding. Showing signs of skill. Less obedient than ones
with memories of wife/child (son/daughter doesn't matter),
but still within acceptable levels.

FILE: e795b0e5a489
He shows no sexual interest in female units,
nor emotional response to males.
What is the problem? I don't think I designed him this way.

FILE: e5958fe9a18c
He caused no offense. No skill problems.
His mind is just...elsewhere.
Why? What caused this? What are you looking at?
Who are you looking at?

(A Blacksmith's Work Journal) Gettin' a request from a client,
I take up my trusty hammer and forge a metal gooreatsword.
It's good for takin' out metal monsters, or so I hear.
I'm but a humble smith, but I've always dreamed of adventure...

(A Blacksmith's Travelogue: 1) Gooreatsword in hand,
I've come to a dungeon I heard about from an adventurer.
There's apparently tons of metal monsters around here...
I even saw one, but it got away from me. The thing was crazy fast!

(A Blacksmith's Travelogue: 2) Who's the wise guy who said
this weapon could take down metal critters? They run away
too quick! Been fightin' weaker fellas in the meantime, but
I can't swing this sword like I can my hammer. It's just too heavy.

(A Blacksmith's Travelogue: 3) I run into a metal slime,
swing my sword, and...critical hit! Level up! But you know what?
I figured out what I really want to do. Can't wait to
get back to the guild and pick up my hammer again.

Strength is everything in this world; wealth and renown is given
only to the powerful. I was unrivaled since the day
I received my axe, and all who
saw me quickly bent the knee.

Land, coin, food, partners—it was all mine. People envied me,
of course. Some even attacked. But when they did,
my axe put them in their place. Still,
I never wished for this. I just wanted to be loved.

Eventually I was blessed with a child, and all the villagers
cheered. The man who became my husband came to
love me, and that is when I
understood what it meant to be fulfilled.

But I failed in birth. Though the axe was at my side,
I lacked the strength to fight the child that eventually
killed me. If I am ever born again,
I will seek my child out and have revenge.

There once was a girl with brilliant golden hair. She lived
a peaceful life in a beautiful village surrounded by kind
villagers and rich bounties of wheat. One odd thing about
the girl, however, was that she had no memories of her past.

Fate had big plans for the girl, you see, as she was a hero,
and it was her destiny to fight. While she may have seemed
like the type to have never once held a sword, locked away
within her were memories of combat against great enemies.

She recalled the time when she was powerless to protect her
beloved brother from foes that assailed them. She resolved
to submit to her destiny once more, and in her hand was
a rapier her brother had repaired for her long ago.

Her life as a villager was a false one in a false world. She
cannot go back, for never again will she forget the vexation
that stirs in her chest. Sword in hand, she once again heads
into battle alongside her allies for the sake of the world.

The princess wept, for she learned there is a custom in her
nation of making gladiators fight to death for the enjoyment of
the people. Her heart ached, as she believed people who hold
no hatred for one another have no business fighting.

The princess made her case to the council. "Lives are not to be
toyed with. This barbarism must be ended and the gladiators
must be saved!" she cried, but the council did not listen.
Disappointed, she headed to the colosseum alone.

The princess went to the colosseum to help the gladiators save
themselves and was met with hostility. The anger the gladiators
felt towards the ruling class was unleashed upon her,
and all that remained was her mangled corpse.

Grieving his daughter's death, the emperor ordered the people
of the nation to kill all gladiators and any involved in their games.
This order sparked a slaughter that incited a civil war,
ultimately causing the nation to collapse.

There's a knife in my heart. It's pitch black,
like the protag's from my favorite manga.
It spurs me on when things are tough or when I'm feeling down.

There's a knife in my heart.
I don't have time to read manga anymore.
All I do is study.
But there's a knife in my heart, and it slowly grows.

Even as an adult, the knife is still with me.
It's grown so much bigger than the one I once saw in the manga.
It pulses in my hand, and it radiates a sinister heat.

The knife in my heart grew to completion today.
I've tried so hard not to harm anyone,
so let this be my first act of violence.
I place the jet-black blade against my neck...

A nation's magistrate had a most splendid idea: He would gather
slaves and sinners together, call them "gladiators," and have
them fight to the death in a round arena called a
"colosseum" for the enjoyment of the people.

The magistrate's plan was a hit and drew great crowds to the
colosseum. But as participants would lose their lives in combat,
he eventually needed to send soldiers to neighboring
nations to secure more prisoners to make into gladiators.

Their homes destroyed, the gladiators are prisoners in a foreign
land and forced to fight for the enjoyment of others. "If we're
going to die anyway, we might as well die fighting back," they
decide, and the gladiators rise up in rebellion.

The nation's army falls, and when the gladiators arrive in the
council chamber, the magistrate fights back. The last thing
the magistrate sees before his end is the sneers of the elder
parliament members as they enjoy the brutality.

If we obey it, we will never be wrong.
If we believe in it, we will never have to worry.

If it orders us to die, we will obey without question,
for we trust in its judgment.

The order it gave me is essentially a death sentence.
It is never wrong. It can never be wrong. Which means...

It is undoubtedly a fake in its current form,
for it would never order its pious followers to die.
I will strike it down!

When I was a kid, there was this book at the library I just loved.
It was about a young magician girl who, helped by her friends,
overcomes all sorts of challenges and becomes a great
spellcaster that everyone respects.

■■■■ ■■■■ I wanted to be just like the ■■■■■ in the story.
I wanted to help ■■■■■■,
stay ■■■■ to my ■■■■■■■■■■■,
be ■■■■■■ with the person of my dreams, be loved...

But things don't work out so well in ■■■■ ■■■■.
I'm ■■■ ■■■■■.
I couldn't be like the ■■■■ in the ■■■■■.
I will ■■■ without ever ■■■■■■,
without ever being ■■■■■.

I want to ■■■■ ■■■■■■■ with all my ■■■■■,
and I want ■■■■■■■■■■ to ■■■■ me just as much.
■ ■■■■ to believe it was such a ■■■■ ■■■■■■■,
but ■■■ just the ■■■■■■■ of it fills me
with ■■■■■■■ and makes my ■■■■■ run ■■■■.

Humanity once had the concept of "friendship." It is said to
be a reason why old humans were social animals.
It also served to increase the survivability of
individuals by acting as a group.

Humanity once had the concept of "love." This let one choose
a mate in an environment free from evolutionary danger,
but proved inefficient in terms of preserving the species.

Humanity once had the concept of "family," where
groups related by blood (or sometimes not) formed
communities. Some relied on the supervision of "parents"
(or elders), which at times made things much worse.

Humanity once had the concept of "self," which led to a diverse
species. But those with minority personalities naturally died out,
leaving only one dominant "self" in the present world.

Twelve units were on patrol when we were shot down
by an unknown enemy. We six survivors landed on a
desert island, and thus began a
heroic battle against all odds!

Our weapons were hastily assembled from our fallen
comrades. Pretty flimsy things, but hey, beggars and
horses and wishes and all that. Still,
they're all trying their best, so I guess I will too.

Captain was killed in battle, so I'll try to avenge him. It won't
kill my will to fight! Even if we lose our limbs, we'll trust
each another, slaughter the enemy, and go home.
We're so close.

My arms, legs, torso, and head were hastily thrown together
from parts stolen from the enemy. I'm different now.
Will my squad still accept me?
And how will the enemy see me?

When the girl sees the spear stuck in the ground, a thought
crosses her mind: Does someone slumber
beneath? It's almost as though it's a grave marker.

She pulls the spear from the ground. It's sturdy in her hands.
Someone left this here to mourn another. She runs a finger
along its blade as though tracing its memories.
Blood drips from her fingertip.

The girl ponders. Whoever slumbers here is not someone
she knew. But the one who left the spear had
clearly thought of them to the very end.

This body will one day break down and disappear—the
inevitable fate of any tool. The girl accepts this truth as
naturally as she breathes. Yet she carves her name in
stone with the spear, almost as though it's her grave marker.

YORHA TECH DEVELOPMENT LOG: Mar. 7th.
With the official adoption of YoRHa, we in the technology
development department will continue making armaments to
be used as standard equipment. This log will detail our progress.

YORHA TECH DEVELOPMENT LOG: Jul. 23rd. By
transferring a precise amount of energy from the black
boxes—YoRHa unit cores—we can increase a weapon's
power by leaps and bounds. Experiment successful.

YORHA TECH DEVELOPMENT LOG: Nov. 11th. Today's
weapon tests concluded. Expected results, but abnormalities
were observed in the test subject's black box.
We will continue to monitor the unit.

YORHA TECH DEVELOPMENT LOG: Nov. 12th.
Test subject has ceased listening to us since the test—it
only laughs. We are pausing development on its equipment and
will instead examine the subject and subsequently dispose of it.

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c6c206f757220656e656d6965732e

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65206465737472756374696f6e2e

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c617567687465722e

436f6d652c207765206d757374206669736820666f7220677
2656174206e756d62657273206f66206d61636b6572656c2e
20436f6d652c206c6561726e20746865206a6f7
9206f662066697368696e672e

There's ONE person I have to beat. I want to be better than
everyone, but I'd sooner die before losing to HER. She's an
Attacker android like me. That calm and collected
attitude of hers creeps me out. It's just her, though.

No matter how many times we spar, she wins every time.
But I refuse to believe I'm not her equal.
I refuse to be an inferior version of her.

The more time I spend training, the more I begin to win...but it's
not enough. It always feels like she's going easy on me,
and I hate it. I just... I just want to be her equal.

I heard she's switching to a Gunner. I was shocked, but she's
skilled—I know she'll wield a gun just as well as a blade.
But honestly? She looks WAY better with a colossal
claymore than a pretty little pistol.

And now, the news. The bodies of a family of five were
discovered at their home in a quiet residential district this
morning. Police suspect that the father led the
family in a group suicide. More as the story develops.

The family suicide was near my parents' house. It was a
weird family. They had all these vaguely human
"art pieces" in their yard. But the girl was close
to my age, so we used to play together all the time.

I'd heard that the husband was a renowned sculptor.
I remember he'd walk around town muttering to himself.
Isn't that creepy? Allegedly, he ran around last night
before the incident yelling, "It's complete!" How frightening.

His wife slept around, his son was a delinquent, and his
daughter never left the house. His mother barely knew
where she was anymore. It was enough to drive any man mad.
"Complete," he said. Hah! More like broken beyond repair.

Hello there. Is this gun one of the Blackbird models
produced in limited quantities in the 90s?
It looks like it might be.

Thank you for replying! Are there any scratches or other
imperfections? I'd like to get a better look at its condition,
if possible. Could you please upload a few
photos that show it from different angles?

Thank you for the photos. It seems to be in quite good
condition, so I'd like to buy it from you. I'll send a money
transfer your way shortly. Thank you!

(Customer Review) I bought this thinking it was an item I'd
been wanting forever, but it turned out to be a replica and the
seller won't respond to any of my messages.
I want my money back!

ENTRY NO. 1
I've been put in charge of researching weapons called
"relics," but the things negate everything we know
about science. How am I supposed to study 'em?

ENTRY NO. 2
Modern weapons? Fine. But I've never seen an outdated
weapon like this. And just because it's old doesn't mean
I can't feel the chill coming off it.

ENTRY NO. 13
Just how many people have been killed by this weapon?
The chill I feel from it makes it seem cursed...
I wonder what its previous owners thought when they wielded it?

REPORT 0001
I've been ordered to study a weapon found in the ruins.
But from what I can tell from the notes that
accompany it, I'm better off not touching it.

A country was torn in twain by war, one side rising to become
an autonomous global superpower. The border was filled
with strife, tearing countless families apart.
A pair of sisters were but two victims.

Travel between the countries was restricted. The elder sister,
stranded within the autonomous nation and yearning to be with
her sister again, sent letters to her separated sibling. Though
her letters went unanswered, she continued to send them.

The younger sister, still in the old nation, got her sister's letters
but dared not write back for the new regime was said to mistreat
its people. Yet the letters contained praise for the state...
Was it truly her sister who wrote them?

The younger sister's instinct was correct—the new regime had
censored the mail and switched out the letters. Worry gave
way to resentment when the younger sister never responded,
and thus were the close siblings forever torn apart.

No matter how many dreams he eats, he is never satisfied.
But one day, a monster with a body as white as light itself
appears before him and says:
"I will take you somewhere beautiful."

He is not interested in beautiful things, for he thinks he lacks
the heart to acknowledge them. But this time, on a whim,
he decides to follow the monster of light.

The monster of light leads him to a plaza bathed in brilliance,
and he looks up to find brightly burning stars
soaring across the sky.
And suddenly—impossibly—his heart begins to stir.

The monster of light calls this place "the birthplace of monsters."
No one knows where monsters come from, nor where they go.
But the one truth is that they
are born in a place of perfect beauty.

I'm an anti-war activist, which is why the military targets me.
They're going to get me eventually, so I'm leaving this
letter for you, little one—and writing it as you
sleep soundly beside me.

Though this tragic war has gone on for so long, I still think
it's possible to lead a fun life amidst the gunfire.
So do that. Love people. Know love yourself.
Grow into a person who is kind.

I don't want you to grow into a soldier. Rather,
I want you to bring joy to others. Be an actor!
A singer! An artist! Ah, but now I'm just being selfish.
You live your life as you please.

We'll meet again one day at God's side, and nothing would
make me happier than to hear you lived according to
what you believed was right—even if it
means a different lifestyle from my own.

The Paul-Jade Incident:
Everything went haywire when that damned jealous
woman killed the kind and beautiful Jade!

We got ready to fight—just in case—while we waited for the
men to return from war. All the villagers were given guns,
starting with one-eyed Paul and his lover, Jade.

But at some point, the well-stocked food stores ran dry.
Women who were once close started killing each
other for crumbs, and when the men came back,
their town was littered with corpses and bullets.

Turned out Paul was a spy for the enemy. At one point,
he'd fallen in love with our idyllic town, and even thought
about betraying his country.
But that thought vanished the moment Jade was killed.

The Duschene Goddess Strategy:
Gosh, that was a rough fight! People come up with the weirdest
ideas, don't they?
All those people dying... It sorta felt like a dream, huh?

The plan was to project holograms on the front lines.
They tried terrifying monsters and young kids for a while,
but the one that worked the best was naked ladies.
I mean, of course, right?

The soldiers went through special training to bear the images
projected around them. I don't know what that entailed,
but when they came back, they looked more valiant.
More...present.

But they don't use that strategy anymore. See, 'cause once
the war was over, the soldiers had grown physically and
mentally, but they also lost everything
that made them uniquely masculine.

Operation Bolenera:
It wasn't right, I tells ya! Sending all those sick and useless
kids to the front lines!

Starving soldiers with broken swords and guns had no will
to fight against powerful armies. But the moment they
gave up hope, the door to the big
container behind them opened.

From the container came a giant that smashed
everything it saw—enemy and ally alike. Was it a creature?
A machine? A god? No one knew, but the sole
survivor said it sure as hell was a calamity.

Bolenara's the name of a tornado that forms in summer every
year. And when that uncontrollable giant finished its rampage,
the bomb in its chest went off, bringing the nation victory.

Bloody Thirteenth Month:
The calendar means little now.
This cursed year will continue into eternity until
we complete our mission or someone shows their true colors.

People started going missing that year, most related to the
military. The government searched high and low for the
culprit, but by the time December rolled around,
twenty-three people were gone.

No one felt like ringing in the new year—and when January
came, they found the corpses of all the missing people in
the bakery basement. It was an abattoir.
A midden heap. A horror.

The atrocity was carried out by villagers whose families
were taken as decoys for military operations.
The government had no idea they were all in on it,
and the villagers conspired well to make their stories match.

The Dieque Operation:
It looked like a gate to hell had opened—and if the nations
around it hadn't stopped fighting to work together,
who knows what would've happened?

Nation X's plan was to use weapons imbued with a bioweapon
called the Dieque bacteria. It was an anaerobic bacteria that
could directly infect others via any open wound.

The bacteria had a roughly one-week incubation time.
Wounded soldiers who brought it home would inflict
ruin on entire armies, permitting Nation X to seize an easy,
overwhelming victory.

But the Dieque bacteria mutated among the masses of dead
bodies and learned to move them like the living, turning
Nation X's true enemy into a nation of the undead.

Maschuka, the Boy God:
We loved him. Some feared him,
of course, but he was usually so innocent.
He helped a lot of my own friends and everything.

The boy was just a normal foot soldier, see,
but once he killed a terrifying number of enemies,
folks named him the Boy God. His weapon was a
strange sword that gleamed whenever he entered battle.

He turned down special forces to fight in his same company.
He rampaged like a devil in battle, then slept like an angel at
night. His squadmates loved him because he was,
for the most part, a harmless kid.

But at the end of the war, his fellow soldiers killed him,
dying his blade with his own blood.
They say he gave a cherubic smile and said thanks,
for his one wish was to die in battle.

The girl does not know a world unbroken, so she searches
for records of what it was like in the before. She does so to
answer a single question: What did the
world used to look like?

She pieces together fragments, tracing the vague
shape of the world. So many countries. So many people.
So many thoughts. So many lives. The data is endless,
so she returns the book to its shelf.

She takes things in with her own eyes as she makes her
way forward. Ghosts of buildings. She tries to feel
what is left of the world's breath.
Did people laugh here once? Did they cry?

I don't know, she thinks. She cannot read into
anything—she cannot even feel it—and this makes
her sad beyond all measure.
Because oh, how she wishes to know.

I try to think of you every morning. Today, I thought
about the day you were born. To be honest,
I was a little upset about it.

Mom had been so nice, but that all changed with you.
"You're the big sister now!" she would say. And each time,
I felt like you were stealing her away from me.

Soon, though, I found more and more of you inside me.
And after Mom died, and I had to take care of you?
Well, after that, I couldn't imagine a life without you.

But now I hate myself. For a while I tried to shrink your
presence inside me because I couldn't bear the sadness of it,
but that was such an empty thing to do.
So instead, I think of your face. Your voice.

When I was small, I loved the flowers planted beside our
hut. I'd smile at them, and Mom and Dad would be charmed
by how much energy I had despite my frailty.
But then I had to leave home for treatment.

There were no flowers in the research facility, but
Mom wrote letters, and Dad was always by my side.
Eventually Mom stopped writing, and Dad got more
haggard. I lost my life. Became a new "me." Time dragged on.

I lost my memory, my parents, and a normal life. In exchange,
I got the hearty body of a weapon and many younger sisters
who saved me from loneliness.
But the day I got my memory back, it all shattered.

Yet my sisters are why I stand here now. Flowers bloom
wildly around me—the same ones I once saw and heard
of in letters. Whenever I see that hut made of white crystal,
a smile comes to me and I say, "Thank you. I'm home."

Your daughter is such a nice, kind girl. She must get it
from her mother! I get uncomfortable whenever
people say that, because I'm not a nice person at all.

Your daughter is so capable! Her parents clearly raised her
right. I feel like I'm tricking people. We've never taught her
anything of consequence—our daughter's just naturally clever.

I didn't cry, because I'm your daughter. When she came home
injured, I held her. It was all so awful—who would
hurt a good girl like that? It's all the system's fault.

I did a terrible thing to her, and when I cried in my regret,
she leaned over and hugged me. Why is she so kind?
Where did she even learn that?
"You told me to be a kind person, Mommy."

Once upon a time there was a brother and sister.
Their parents died in an epidemic, so they had
to scramble for food each day.
It had been a long time since they'd had hot soup or soft bread.

One day, a wizard appeared. "Use this magic
quill to write down a wish," he said.
"I will make it come true—but only once." The brother
and sister were delighted, and happily took the black quill.

I don't want to be hungry anymore! wrote the brother.
He went to bed terribly excited, but once he fell asleep,
the sister secretly added,
"And I want to see Mommy and Daddy again."

The boy woke up to find his sister dead, her stomach torn open.
Realizing he was no longer hungry, he began to vomit violently.
As he heaved, he prayed his sister might see their parents again.

Once, in a rustic village, a fisherman caught an unusual fish.
It was big as a whale, shone silver in the light, was covered
in tasty fat—and could speak!
"Please don't eat me!" cried the fish.

The fisherman was delighted, for he only ever caught
small fish that barely staved off hunger.
But the fish said, "Good things will
happen if you return me to the sea!"

Keeping the fish secret, the hungry fisherman went
to a secret place and cooked it. "Nothing good will
come of eating me," said the fish as the man
devoured it. Oh, but it tasted divine!

The next day, the fisherman began to fear the sea,
for the fish he ate had somehow wormed its way
into his head. "I told you bad things would
happen if you ate me!" cried the fish in his mind.

I love you I love you I love you

The trembling of my body instantly
stops when you fight by my side

I love you I love you I love you

Your warmth soothes the grief
I carry for the child I lost

I love you I love you I love you

The whole of your life nourishes
my newly blossoming heart

I love you I love you I love you

The many years I spent with you
keep me ruthless and cruel

This city is a dump where children orphaned by war come
to wander. I am a staff covered in dust. One day,
I meet a boy. He uses me to teach himself
defensive spells so he might survive a dark future.

As I see it, his defensive spells are immature. I've had
several owners, and have parted ways with
dozens—nay, hundreds of people.
And I know I will one day witness this boy's last day as well.

The boy finds work as a soldier-for-hire. With no relatives,
he takes on miscellaneous tasks. He finds allies,
defeats his adversaries, and widens his area of activity.

Decades later, the boy leans on me. We've been through
many battles together, but now my purpose is as his
walking stick. It is the first time I've ever witnessed
such an end, and it is surprisingly decent.

Our fourth battle. Once more am I and my dear
husband sent to the frontlines.
The countless scars we proudly bear are proof of our tenacity.

Fresh scars adorn the old. Where once my husband
could cleave our foes with little effort, he is now
clearly burdened. No longer able to push himself to
his limits, he's become distant and miserable.

There's something amiss with my husband. One day, my
intuition kicked in—is it another woman? Once more into
the breach, distrust clouded my mind. And yet I fought all the
same, and fell victim to a wound from which I've yet to recover.

"Another woman" turned out to be a beautifully ornate sword.
My husband marches into battle with her in hand as my
mechanical body lay in storage, awaiting maintenance.
Men are so easily distracted by a pretty face.

You smile at me, and I can't help wondering—can that smile
become twisted and demonic? Does a demon lurk within you?

Your warm hand grips mine, and I can't help wondering—can
it wield a blade? How would you tear through the flesh of your foes?

Warm blood pulses through your body, and I can't help
wondering—would you spill it on the battlefield?
Would it splatter and dye your enemies?

Your calm voice calls out to me, and I can't help
wondering—how would it sound in battle?
Would it be a triumphant shout? Or would it be
your very last utterance, cursing the age of war?

He put his plan in motion that day, the knife trembling
in his small hand. I killed the captain. I wanted to
save the girl he was abusing so we could flee together.
I dreamed of that moment.

The ■■■■ rocked violently in the storm as men worked
desperately to keep it intact. I slipped past them
toward the bow of the ship. Toward the ■■■■■■■.
Then I plunged the ■■■■■ into him.

The storm washed the ■■■■■ away.
I'd ■■■■ed the ■■■■■■■, but the girl's ■■■■■■
was broken. Nothing ■■■■■■■■ now.
And as desp■■■■■■■ claimed me, a black bird appeared.

The black bird glared at ■■ th■■■■h the rain, ■■■■■■■■ me
back to ■■■■■■■. I c■■■■n't l■t t■■■ be ■■e end. I ■■d
t■ ■■■ o■t of h■■■—I had to ■■■■■■■.

There was once an engineer who invented a kind of
water gun. Though no stronger than a children's toy if
loaded with bullets, it showed its true power
when filled with water.

One must not underestimate the power of water, for the
gun was powerful enough to take lives. One shot could
blow the leg off a target, or even
pierce a hole in a whale's stomach.

Yet while mass-production of the water guns could
revolutionize the world, the engineer knew how
dangerous that would be—so he kept his
invention a secret throughout his life.

A gun was recently unearthed that posed no threat with
bullets in the magazine, so people decided to turn it
into a children's toy instead. Sounds like the
"Water Gun" will be going on sale next summer!

I should know nothing, yet I know.
Because I know my sister.
I see her memories.

Vast azure. Whispering waves. Salt spray.
I breathe them all in. And I run.

I swim, seawater seeping into me.
My breathing stops. I struggle. I drown.

And then someone pulls me up.

A father's hand. A mother's eyes. Family. Love.
I should not know these things.
Yet I do know. Because my sister knew.
And our memories are one.

#WinterBreak #SchoolFinallyOver #GetTogether #NoPlans
#SomebodyHangOutWithMe #Bored
#WantANewPhone #Holidays

#HappyNewYear #OutAndAbout #LoveMyRide
#SuperSudden #GoingAnyway #WayTooColdOut
#HappyToHang #LeavingAtNight #HypeAsHeck

#FirstShrineVisit #AtNightBut #WhySoManyBirds
#WeirdSpot #CrazyDarkHere #SomewhereNotInMyMapApp?
#WeakSignal #FoundSomething #WhatIsThis?

#縺薙##％縺ｯ譚#･縺ｦ####縺ｯ縺?￠縺ｪ縺###??ｴ謇?縺?#縺｣縺
#ゅｂ#縺?綾##繧後↑##縺??ょｸｰ繧翫###◆縺#############

Once, a shark fell in love with a sea-dwelling mermaid
princess. Alas, he knew it would be difficult for them to
be together, for they were of two different species.

Troubled, the shark visited a witch who took pity on his
plight and cast a spell upon him. If he saved the life of
the human prince that he despised,
he would be reborn as a merman.

Yet the shark was plagued by doubt; could he truly save
this detestable human? Indeed, the mermaid was in
love with the human prince, so how could he
possibly save the life of his rival?

Finally, the shark encountered the human prince and
mermaid princess together on a ship, and leapt forth
without a second thought. But what, in the end,
did the shark leap toward?

Even were I to achieve vengeance,
I have no home to return to, so I kill and I kill and I kill.
But people will eventually forget me, and I will die in oblivion.
This is an end which suits me.

I took many to my side in search of revenge;
I had no choice but to assume the role of leader.
All I can think of is the fussy captain I once had,
for I now understand the grief we put him through.

Those at my side seek revenge as I do, and we use each
other's skills to achieve that end—or so I thought.
I work best alone, but then why?
Why do I feel this way when one of us dies?

I'm the only one left alive. I'm lost. Lost. Lost.
Why am I always the sole survivor? I've stopped
looking for answers. Instead, I'll take this chance
and keep going, until the day we meet once again.

Once, a mermaid princess of the sea fell in love with a
land-dwelling human prince. Alas, they both knew it would
be difficult for them to be together, for they lived in
vastly different worlds.

Troubled, the mermaid visited a witch who took pity on
her plight and gave her a sword. If she split her own tail
in two with it, said the witch, it would turn into
legs and she would be human.

Yet the mermaid was plagued by doubt; did she really have
the courage to split her own tail? At last, worried that her
prince might fall in love with someone else,
she made up her mind.

She found the prince on a ship at sea and brandished
her blade. The prince screamed. Yet what, in the end,
did the mermaid cut?

I was once a clockwork soldier. When my body no longer served
its purpose, I was dismantled, and my parts used as cores for
various weapons. Now, my ears make up a portion of her staff.

She came to the battle as a part of the medical corps, wielding
me to heal the injured. But I did not understand—why would
one so delicate remain in such a dangerous place?
It is exasperating.

One day, I learned why she does what she does:
She lost someone
precious in battle, and remains here as a prayer that
there will be fewer people like her in the world.

Gunfire crackles. She crumples to the ground. I wish to heal her,
but there is no one here to use me. All I can hear are her pained
cries. Someone help. Please help. Do not make me suffer as
she does.

I am dazzled by moonlight. When I was young, the night was
the one time of day that could cheer me. But now it is a
dismal hour, just like the brilliant sunshine of noon.

I tell ■■■■■ their fortunes, and their tears ■■■■ into the greedy
crystal—w■■■■■alls that reject their ■■■■.
But they know not that I have a ■■■■■■■
deeper than their tears.

I pause on my way back to the ■■■■■■ and ■■■ a single
black bird ■■■■■■ing ■■⁠—one of the few creatures that
bother to pay ■■■■■■■■■. If only the ■■■■
was human ■■■■■■■.

■■■■ of the birds appear, ■■■■■■■■ ■■■■■■ ■■.
And while they will ■■■ take me ■■■■ ■■■■ ■■■■,
perh■■s it is ■ bit of a ■■■riev■
from m■ ■■■■■■■■■■ ■ays.

Time weathers the heart; the strongest wishes and anxieties
wear away over centuries and fade over eons. Thus did
an ancient spellcaster gave form to feeling,
turning his wonder into a gun.

The spellcaster had once undertaken a reluctant journey,
traveling the world, meeting many people, and seeing
all manner of things. It proved to be a constant
source of wonder and amazement to him.

But the friend who traveled with him is gone. As the
spellcaster gazes over the shattered world, he thinks back
on his journey and chides himself. From now on,
he would live for his mission alone.

He decides to martyr himself for his mission, carving the
wonder from his heart and placing it in a coffin. Despite this,
he can't help but gaze over the land and think how
his friend would be amazed.

There is an old saying passed down through our people:
"When our bodies crumble to dust, our dignity remains. What
form this dignity takes depends upon six different emotions."

Will this saying survive into posterity? Our people sought ties with
other people—without the threat of war. We formed bonds of
mutual respect and prayed to live our lives in peace.

But they began to lay waste to us, and though some of us
managed to escape, I doubt we will last long. For we have no
weapons and no means to make them, so I expect us to be killed
off shortly.

But nothing is so senseless as surrendering to death. If there is
the chance that I can save the others by sacrificing myself, I will
gladly do so in accordance with our ancient saying.

The boy dreams. He lies on a fluffy cloud, basking in the sun.
He pictures whatever he wants, and it immediately
appears in his hand. How wonderful is life in the
world above the clouds!

A black bird flies to the boy in the clouds. It perches on his
stomach and begins pecking him violently. The boy flails,
but the bird continues, until...
POP! The boy's body bursts.

The black bird remains in the sky. The boy falls to the place
below the clouds, descending from a warm world to a cold,
sad reality. Hearing a distant siren,
he screams as his deflated body falls.

I had a terrible dream, he tells his mother. He sits up in his
soft bed, sipping hot tea and gazing out the window.
At the bullets that rain down.
At the war the adults caused.

There was once a swordsman unmatched in ability.
He served no lord. Taught no students⁠. Accepted no salary
or honors. Instead, he took a single apprentice
and walked the land in search of justice.

They stopped to help any in need, cutting down evil when they
saw it. But though countless were saved by their
journey of righteousness, the seed of evil had
begun to grow right under the swordsman's nose.

Having seen evil in all its forms, the apprentice fomented
rebellion to change the world at the core.
The swordsman was blamed and exiled,
his beloved weapon replaced by a blunted blade.

The former apprentice killed until his life was taken by a samurai
his old master met in a faraway land and taught his skills to
before passing. Yet none know the weapon the samurai
claimed as a reward was the old swordsman's beloved blade.

Once, a magical civilization flourished. People created factions
and built nations, but soon began to fight over further wealth.
This is how the great war began—one which led to destruction.

After the war, the balance of nature crumbled, as did society.
A great flood consumed the world, killing many and
sparing few; these survivors followed the
stars and fled to the steep mountains.

When old enemies came together at the peaks,
terrible fights broke out over what food remained.
Yet some did not lose hope, calling on
people to share knowledge and obtain a tomorrow for all.

As old enemies came up with new magicks and skills to
fight annihilation, a notable swordsman lifted high his blade and
spread his secrets. Some named this betrayal,
but he remained firm in his beliefs.

Time weathers the heart; the strongest wishes and
anxieties wear away over centuries and fade over eons.
Thus did an ancient spellcaster gave form to feeling,
turning his passion into a weapon.

Two men⁠—great spellcasters⁠—were the only ones left after
the battle that shattered the world. They vowed to repair
what had been lost and bring back their lost children,
friends, and loved ones, even if it should take millennia.

One man had broken his own heart, and knowing this pain,
decided he did not wish to lose it further. But the more he
poured his passion into his mission,
the more his heart blackened and warped.

As the other watched his friend turn martyr, he decided
to preserve himself to accomplish their mission—even if
it meant cutting off a piece of his
own heart so passion did not burn it to ash.

The black mage who wove the arts of destruction thinks of
the calamity to come in 2,300 years. Will oral traditions change?
Will books become ash?
So she sends her own memories into the far future.

In short, the black mage made a bet and won. 2,300 years later,
her memories are revived, and she is surprised to learn the
taboo magic she created has been discovered and learned
by certain other mages.

The mage joins her future adherents to fight monsters who
seek to bring about the calamity by summoning the stars.
Their only hope is her magic of destruction—the very
same magic that already took so many lives.

The mages use the arts of destruction to save the world,
unbeknown to many. But before vanishing, the great dark
mage leaves her pride and joy⁠—her staff—to her disciple.
It is an old thing, with the remains of a monster at its head.

I married a rich man, and now live in a fine house with
chandeliers and a massive garden. I should be living
the easy life, but my selfish husband forces
me to act the part of housewife every day.

Every day I cook, and every day he complains—it's
too rich, too plain, too something. But when he brings
coworkers home, I play the part of the good wife,
keep quiet, and serve dinner.

I can't stand living with this selfish man anymore, so I plot to
poison his lunch. It will kill him over a period of thirty days,
and when he goes, I will finally be rich—and free.

A month later, one of the coworkers dies because my husband
was secretly in debt and selling his lunch. So now I'm both
poor and a murderer,
which why I hold this gun to my head and

I am a robot created for war. When I kill a human,
I clean the mess and dispose of them. This is my job,
but I don't understand it. My chest hurts.

I have been sent to the junkyard. They say the world is at
peace now. The pain in my chest is gone,
but I feel crushed by terrible anxiety.

I have been given a new job: cleaning garbage from
the junkyard. Now that I have a purpose,
my anxiety is gone.

I am the robot that cleans the junkyard. When
I disassemble one of my fellow robots,
I clean up the mess and dispose of them.
Hooray for work! Hooray for work! Hooray...for work.

It happened while we were watching the night sky.
The stars were up there shimmering brightly when all
of a sudden...BOOM! One of them came crashing down
to earth somewhere near the village.

The whole school was talking about the falling star the next day.
Someone said it fell in the mountains, so the moment class was
dismissed, we all grabbed our stuff and headed up there.

We searched and searched for a shining star in the mountains,
but we never found it. Instead, we found a crashed
plane and the twisted, burned corpse of a soldier.

The village rule is that we're supposed to tell an adult when
we find a soldier, but we didn't do that. Instead,
we quietly buried the fallen star
in the dark earth of the mountain.

The villagers had a custom: a girl was deemed the
Symbol of Sin, and they lay blame for all upon
her to preserve the peace. She suffered abuse
every time a villager caused a wrong, and she withered.

A boy stole. She was beaten. "A wife was unfaithful."
She was cut. Her only hope was the many goddess
statues that overlooked the town,
so each day she prayed that they might free her.

The girl's hope was shattered when she turned 15;
in truth, the statues were all other
Symbols of Sin who had been
plastered in lead upon their fifteenth birthday.

Now a goddess, the girl granted the villagers all their
selfish wishes. One day, she heard the grief of a new
Symbol of Sin and smiled upon her,
knowing that the girl looked upon her own fate.

"Begin recording... All right, tell me more."
"Sure, but...I don't know where to start."
"Well, tell me what you know about the plant."
"Okay. We called it ■■■■■■■■■."

"Who named it?"
"Captain ■■■■■■. But, uh, he's gone now."
"I see. And when did you find the plant?"
"Maybe two years ago? But we didn't see it then."

"See, when we got out of the plane crash, one of our
guys vanished. The thing had a pitcher in the
ground to catch prey, but⁠—"
"A large pitcher? Like a ■■■■■■■■■?"

"Yeah, but get this: it could talk! So many of us heard
voices calling for help! We all heard it!"
"Please calm down. Everything is—"
"I still hear them... No! Don't talk to me!"

Life creates mistakes. Ironically, it is because of our
intelligence that we make them. Intelligence determines
right from wrong and good from evil, and only life can
change those things for the better.

But ■■■■■■■■■■■■ does not necessarily mean a ■ool's
mistakes are acceptable. They are simply rem■■■d, much
like the f■■■en, ro■■■n, darkened carcasses of birds.

The in■■■■■■ tightrope walk continues into the dark.
What pe■■le consider ■■■■■, wrong, ■■■■, evil remains
a m■■■■■y. The lif■■■ss machine⁠—b■dy and
m■nd—■■■■■ down long ago.

■■■ moon is ■■■■■■t life⁠—it ■■■■ be p■■■■■■,
wit■■ut mist■■e. If I were a ■■■■■■■ that
s■■■■■ ■■peats calculations ■■ the quiet of
■■■ oce■■, th■■ ■■■■■...

I have no dad. No money. I'm not cute and I don't really have any
talents either. Even my mom up and left me. Just when
I was thinking I'd give up and just die,
this staff appeared before me.

There's no magic I can't cast with this weird staff. I used it to
make me cute, smart, rich, and popular with hunky guys!
I don't care if people think I'm a witch—as long as
I have this staff, the world is mine!

One sunny day, Mom and Dad suddenly came back! I told
them everything that happened, and gave them tips on how
to do things like pick up hot guys or how to destroy the world.
But then—get this—they stabbed me in the stomach!

Mom and Dad stole the staff and sneered at me. I'm too nice
to care, though—they can have it! So please, God, grant me
this one wish: When I'm reborn,
give me a mom and dad that love me...

And now, the news. The body of a custodian in his 40s was
found on the grounds of a local elementary school.
Police believe he leapt from the roof,
but are continuing the investigation.

Suicide? Ha! Kind of feels inevitable for him, y'know.
That dude had...issues. You probably heard about 'em,
yeah? Now that I think about it,
wasn't he the one stealing stuff from the staff room?

My kid saw it, you know? Saw the body. I know it's terrible
for me to say this, but he was more than welcome to kill
himself—I just wish he would have chosen a place
where the kids wouldn't see him!

Hey, did you see the news? He leapt from the roof of our old
school. We used to hang out together after school back in the
day... I never thought he'd go out like that.

That's not my mommy!
My mommy has blue eyes and black hair!
Everyone looks at her when she walks by!

That's not my mommy!
My mommy is sooo tall, like a mountain!
Whenever she tries to wear clothes, they tear right away!

That's not my mother.
She doesn't look human—at least, not in my memory.
But I still miss her. I wish I could give
her one last big hug and never let go.

That is my dear daughter.
I hide in the shadows and admire her adorable face.
I cannot see her. Cannot hold her.
For my thick claws and deep love will rend her to bits.

"Say there! Mind if I borrow that monster of yours?"
"Why?"
"There's something I want to test with its claws.
Please! Just for one day!"

"Mind if I keep your monster for another day?"
"Why?"
"Well, it's taking a while to wipe the blood off.
But I'll give it back squeaky clean! I promise!"

"HELP ME, MASTER! I'M GOING TO DIE!"
"Why?"
"SHE'S MAKING ME USE MY POWER FOR
HORRIBLE THINGS⁠!"

"You can have your monster back; I don't need it anymore.
See, 'cause I made sure to get rid of all the pesky
girls that crowd around you. And nOw...YoU aRE MInE."

WELCOME

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Why did the old humans give her this body?

I was once a clockwork soldier. When my body no longer
served its purpose, I was dismantled, and my parts used
as cores for various weapons. Now, my tongue
makes up a portion of his sword.

He is a madman who puts his life in danger for a good meal.
He hunts game without care for danger, a thing I do not
understand. Is food not merely a means for sustenance?

Eventually, I learn why he risks all for food: He comes
from a poor family who gathered scraps from the
nobility's garbage. To escape that life, he took the
search for food into his own hands.

One day, he falls while hunting a beast whose meat is said to
be divine—but he stabs, thrusts, and slices to the end.
With each blow, my tongue shivers with
delight at how delectable it is.

Flowers bloom when she smiles.
Her joy spreads vitality.
Buds bloom as she does.

Birds sing when she sends word.
They lend their wings as she speaks to us.

The wind howls as she despairs.
The heavens rage as she weeps for our tragedies.

The moon shines when she comes to us.
She leads our human sacrifices away as we sleep.

The boy dreams of a djinn. The djinn offers him clean water,
ripe fruits⁠—anything he wants. In his dreams,
he eats his fill and greets every morning in high spirits.

The lady dreams of a djinn. "I saw a beautiful man on the
street this morning! Bring him to me!" The djinn searches
the city in tears before finally making her wish come true.

The king dreams of the djinn. He drowns in a sea of corpses;
he is so weary of killing. The djinn gently extends a hand,
pulling him into a soft embrace.

The djinn gives people dreams that will never come true.
But the least they can do is give them what they
struggle so hard to attain—and what slips
from their fingers amidst their reverie.

When I was young, I went on a school trip to the theater.
Ever since, I knew I wanted to be an actor
and shine on stage. But my family was poor,
and I had no chance to study the dramatic arts.

Being blessed with good looks, I was eventually
scouted by a talent agency while walking around town.
Seeing a chance to make my dreams come true,
I seized the opportunity.

I practiced harder than anyone so I could be a brilliant actor
and make my younger self proud. The performance was a
huge success, the sound of thundering applause
from the happy audience a dream.

Sadly, the wrap party took place the same night I had a big
gig for my real job. I wish I could live off acting alone,
but I still need steady income. I just
hope tonight's target is an easy kill...

The dream-eating monster. Black armored body.
Revolting insect wings.
All have seen this creature as they sleep.

All forget they have seen this monster in dreams.
Yet in a dark corner of their memory, he exists.
Though they never recall him, they all know him.

In eras across time, in lands across space,
people unconsciously bring the monster to life.
In fairy tales, picturebooks, and video games,
they tell his tale. Perhaps they secretly hope to meet him.

The monster lurks in your dreams.
Even if you are alone, he is ever with you.
Thus, we are never truly alone.

We're buddies in that kind of org, if you get me.
Boss gives orders, we work together to kill a target.
But here's the thing: My buddy's really been
slacking lately, and it SUCKS.

He told me his side gig's gotten real busy. I'm sorry—SIDE gig?
He better not forget his MAIN gig! If he puts our murder
job in the back seat, I'm gonna kill the guy myself! I'm serious!

I told the boss I was gonna kill my partner, and he panicked
and tried to calm me down. Said if I killed whoever
pissed me off, the world would be empty. I oughta
rip his tongue out while I'm at it...

I was gonna kill him regardless of what the boss said,
but I changed my mind when I found out his side gig
was acting. ACTING. That's so hot. God, I love him.
I always dreamed of dating an actor...

My father is a strict man who holds me to the highest
standard of morality. He's never smiled at me. Not once.

My mother is a coward who bases her every action on the
moods of my father. She's afraid to carry on even the
most basic of conversations with me.

My little brother is a fool who clings to me like a newborn chick.
But unlike me, Mother and Father love him without reservation.

You were so sickly. So weak. I will regret how I treated you for
the rest of my life, because you were the only
one in this world who needed me.

A ferocious, man-eating beast causes the townsfolk much grief.
It sits in the desert outside the city, devouring all who dare pass.
Fearing and loathing the beast, the people pray for its death.

One day, a valiant young lad takes up his spear and ventures
nto the desert to slay the beast. Before long, he finds a creature
covered in dirty brown fur, thin as a rail.

The starving beast attacks the lad⁠, but the boy lifts his spear
and pierces the miserable creature's skull. He then skins the
beast as proof of his victory, returning to town in high spirits.

Upon his return, the townsfolk present him with a
magnificent feast. The starving lad immediately leaps toward the
food and gorges
himself—and he does not stop until he is completely sated.

There's a fabric-wrapped box in our house that Grandma
made me swear never to open. Now that's obviously an
ominous thing to say, but I'm pretty satisfied with my life,
so I'm okay leaving it be.

Today I found the box open—the work of either a thief or an
animal. The house is in a panic, but Grandma—the only one
who knew what was in there—is calm. It's like she's a
totally different person.

Grandma hasn't said a word since the box was opened and our
family is a complete mess. So yesterday I left, vowing revenge
on whoever it was that opened the box and
destroyed my peaceful life.

You opened it you opened it you opened it you opened it you
opened it you opened it you opened it you opened it you opened
it you opened it you opened it you opened it you opened it
I told you not to look

we come across one another like shooting stars
the taste of our kisses a mystery

letters to none list my apologies
if i am to hurt you, the lies will rip us apart

how dear you are; how dangerous
the closer you stand, the hotter i burn

alone in the depths of night
i dare not breathe

When a faraway kingdom celebrated the birthday of
their first prince, one knight gave him a taxidermied
mythical bird whose wings shone like
moonlight—a creature said to grant immortality.

The knight worried for the sickly prince, and prayed
the bird might grant him long life. But the prince
returned the gift, saying to the knight,
"You deserve a long life. Not I."

Not long after, the knight died in battle. As his
consciousness faded into the long dark,
he realized the stuffed bird was
nothingmore than a pretty decoration.

Years passed. The prince became king and a fine leader,
and the stuffed bird sat in his chambers.
Whenever he looked at it, the kind knight
came to life in his heart, and thus was he immortal after all.

■ Opening/Title Announcement
"Heya! How are all our radio listeners today?"
"It's time for Moooorning Letters!"
* Read with energy so those deployed are happy.

■ Preamble
(Free chatter, building off the atmosphere)
* E.g.: Supply information, recent funny stories
* Draw listeners in so they don't get bored

■ Message Corner #1
"Next, we have Message Corner!"
"I can't wait to see the passion you bring us!"
* Keep your responses open-minded.

I read the script for the old radio show because I wanted to
bring it back—but there isn't anyone else around to listen if
I do manage to revive it. It sucks.
I really wish I could hear them again.

Once upon a time, there was a king who loved curios.
One day, upon hearing tale of a brown jewel,
he summoned his soldiers and made his way
to a cave nestled deep in the mountains.

The cave was riddled with dangers. There were bottomless pits,
acid leaked from the walls, and it would occasionally
be assaulted by gales so fierce they could lift a man into the air.

At long last, the king located the brown jewel. It had a most foul
smell to it, but he was elated all the same. However,
as he took it in hand, a low rumble echoed throughout
the cave accompanied by a most violent wind.

With tremendous force, the king and the brown jewel were
ejected from the cave. When the king finally came to,
the cave, as well as the surrounding mountains,
suddenly blinked out of existence.

My comrades slumber eternally after falling in battle.
White gravestones form neat rows⁠, and I offer a flower to each.
Then, from out of nowhere, a single
black feather floats in front of my eyes.

The bu■■ of wings grows l■■der. A s■■rm of black birds
descends, scattering my prof■■■■■ flowers. They rid■■■le
me without mercy; they know my strategy sent my
squadmates to their ■■■■■■.

As bl■■■ feathers ra■■ down, I ■■ok into the b■■ds' eyes
and see ref■■■■ed ■■ them the faces of my ■■■■ comrades.
■■■■ hate me. They scr■■■ at me. They c■■■e me.

This is ■■ fault. All ■■ fault—all ■■ sin. Yet only the birds
■■■■■stand this. They ■■■■ I am h■■■d for it, and so
■ ■■tend a hand ■■■ ■■■■ly reach out. Come to ■■...

It was just the two of us after Mom got divorced. She started
working as a hostess at a bar, where she got in good with a rich
old guy. He even bought us a house. Mom dresses really fancy
now, and we don't have to worry about money anymore.

The old guy is good to us. We eat out and go on trips together
more often lately, and he even bought me nice clothes.
He bought me gloves I wanted for my birthday,
and he plays with me when he has time.

One day, I asked Mom why she hadn't married him yet.
Thinking I wouldn't understand, Mom just told me it's because
she's too busy. I was upset that Mom wouldn't make time for
me anymore, but I thought up a plan to fix that.

Mom and the man broke up. I'm classmates with his son,
and I told him about their affair. Now I've got Mom all to myself!
Easy come, easy go, huh? It feels like just yesterday I told
Mom that I thought my last dad smelled nice.

I was placed in a platoon of rejects. I hated it, but we were
going to do a good job and force our superiors to accept us.
It was the only way I'd ever be able to look my sister in the eye.

So many of us are dead. Is it my fault? Was my strategy poor?
How does my sister handle failure? Wait, that's dumb—she
wouldn't fail in the first place.
Maybe I'm just not in the same league as my sister.

I'm infected. My body doesn't move like I want it to.
Looks like I'm going to die with everyone else here.
The moon is so beautiful...
I wonder if my sister sees it too. I miss her so much.

The Legion and I killed every last officer in the organization
as retribution for sending us out to die.
You don't belong in an organization like this,
my sister—and I'm coming to save you.

My little brother and I wandered the empty city.
We hadn't eaten in days. We were filthy.
But there was a monster about, and every time I sensed it,
I felt my heart stop. I had to protect him.

Years have passed since I joined the organization.
I thought I could create a world where my brother and
I could live together again, but all I did was run
through the dark chasing impossible dreams.

Our ship was attacked by monsters. Most of us died.
I hadn't grown at all since those days in the city—I couldn't
protect anyone. I fought the monsters, but eventually
succumbed to the dark.

Someone calls my name. The worried voice says it's
here to save me before becoming light and shining down.
I can't die here. I need to eradicate the monsters from this
world—for my brother's sake.

My final memory is the hellish sight of being killed in
front of my big sister. When I wake, I'm in a tank of liquid.
How did I get here? Where's my sister? I remain frozen,
my questions unanswered.

Researchers subject me to daily tests.
They're all so painful, but I grit through the tears and
remember the modest, yet happy times I spent with my sister.
I believe she will come save me.

I hear the screams again. Someone else. Somewhere else.
We're tools for experimentation, discarded if we break.
With no hope of escape, hate eats away at my heart, and
I lose the human side of myself.

At the end of an eternity, my sister finds me.
The smile she wears is full of love, yet I do not wish
for things to return to how they were.
I simply want to spend my final moments in happiness.

War means money,
especially for people like us who deal in weapons. Speaking of,
we received another huge order from the military today.
Yes! Work, work, work! Keep those factory fires burning!

My laborers ask,
"Is money important enough for you to sell tools that claim lives?
Does the food you buy with such coin taste any better?"
What stupid questions! They don't know anything!

The capitalists say, "It is fun to work the lowest of the low
like dogs and reap the profits.
Wine drunk while watching them scrabble tastes all the sweeter."
Fools! They don't know anything!

What I seek are bullets.
Gunpowder. Death. I don't want money or renown or status;
the only thing that matters is the fact my
weapons will be laying waste to other people's lives. Glorious!

#FFF1CF (255, 241, 207)
Eggshell
A cheery cream color, like the eggs parent birds so lovingly warm.

#006956 (0, 105, 86)
Duck Teal
A vivid blue-green named after the loving parent
ducks that swim by the water's edge.

#95859C (149, 133, 156)
Dove Gray
A gentle color with a purple tint, like the
pigeons that leisurely peck at the ground.

#12020E (18, 2, 14)
Raven's Wing
A lonely black, like a powerless chick waiting for
food in a torrent of endless rain.

Speaking of love is easy; it has been expressed in all
sorts of ways for ages upon ages. But to define it?
To prove it? Ah, there's the rub.

At one point, love was divided into eight categories.
But those words described relationships only—they
didn't form a definition. Indeed, they spoke of love as if
the reader already knew what it was.

Is it fondness for another? Breeding instinct?
Powerful attachment? None of these feel real because
the selfsame "love" is used for all sorts of situations and is
the impetus for all manner of actions.

And so, I define love as an innate act.
Though it is an emotion beyond description,
its whims hold sway upon so many.
Yet we continue to attach words to it—and to justify it.

I almost want to curse how blessed my life is.
I have caring parents, good looks, skill with a sword—the
whole shebang. I even have a wonderful
master whom I love with all my heart.

My master is the beautiful seventh princess—one who is
often mocked for being the product of the king and his mistress.
But she treats everyone kindly,
and I'm charmed by her pure heart.

All praise us for being the ideal image of master and attendant,
and she eventually gives me her family's spear.
But this is wrong; my true form is a monster
who slaughters the innocent at night.

I am obsessed with human bone. Human flesh.
I kill and I kill and I kill, so tonight⁠ I will plunge this spear into
my chest and pray to be reborn. Because if I am,
I will rend her flesh myself.

I've been searching for something for a long, long time,
but can never find it. That's why I decided to have it crafted.

I hear there are tailors who can make it for me—tailors
who craft lives and memories for people. Rumor says they'll
make whatever the customer wants, and do so to perfection.

Mine should be simple. It's mundane, really.
All I want are memories of spending
days with a loved one and our child.

You can do this, right? I won't let you say no. I've paid a
hefty price to come this far, and I can't turn back now.
But you already know that. Don't you?

The small, cold room smells of mold.
This is my dad's entire world,
and I've decided to clean it up over the weekend.
I'm sure he'll start feeling a little better if I put things in order.

I began cleaning one weekend morning.
Kitchen, bathroom—all clean. But in the closet,
I find a pen my brother gave me for my birthday,
as well as a picturebook from Mom. They really take me back.

I look at the gifts and recall how I was convinced we'd be
together again as a family. So convinced, in fact,
that I kept these things. But it's time to toss them out;
such happy days will not come again.

The next day, Dad gives me flowers for my birthday—little
blossoms I don't know the names of. I'm going keep them
even when they wither away, because
I want to cherish everything from him.

Some people—like me—are worms who can only live by taking.
But I didn't have the talent for stealing—not from the living,
anyway. So instead, I stole from dead
members of the royal family.

A great mausoleum stood outside the city.
Inside slumbered corpses of the royal family,
clad in jewelry they once wore in life.
But while the bodies had rotted, the jewels remained for me.

I snuck in and found a grand throne topped with fine ornaments.
I had a terrible feeling, so I pulled my hand back
and leapt out of the way.
It's important to know when to quit, right?

Too late. They buried me, and I could no longer move.
I heard a cracking noise coming from my body,
and realized they took flesh from both the living and the dead.
Ah, they were so much better than me.

Yesterday was Mom and Dad's anniversary.
What kind of flowers would they want, I wonder?
My sister and I pool our coins and head to the florist.
I've been getting less allowance recently, but I saved for this.

We talk to the florist and finally chose a strawberry plant with
little white flowers that's said to bring happiness.
Mom and Dad have been fighting a lot lately,
so I hope it helps.

When we get home, Mom and Dad are fighting again.
We step between them and hold out the present,
and they both stop to smile. My sister and I are so
happy now. I hope they stay get along forever...

The plant we gave our parents is nice, but Mom is still unhappy.
We're all unhappy. But I put hope in the tale of the little red fruit,
because it would be too painful to live without it.

I keep my eyes closed.
There is nothing here for me to see, after all.

I keep my voice silent.
My words will reach no one, after all.

I keep my face placid.
This is my sole resistance, after all.

I keep no hope.
Because I know I will be betrayed. And yet...

The blade is sleek and black, yet seems to give off light.
Its beauty remains untarnished even after testing it
on my servants, which makes it a personal favorite.
Alas, it has been stolen by a thief.

The scoundrel who stole my treasure is well-known in low
corners of the city. He's said to have a young face,
as well as a small frame that makes him an adept thief.
Just the thought of him makes me rage.

I search the city and find him gliding silently through the streets.
My treasure dances in his hands,
plunging into the bodies of his foes.
Shaking with anger, I suddenly leap before him.

Cut me down! I cry. The blade's black sheen is so much
more lovely that when I wield it, and I feel a great desire to
witness it up close.
Yet the thief scoffs at me and refuses to grant my wish.

The researchers give me and my brother weapons and
tell us to fight, promising freedom to the victor.
I thought we were almost free, but now this.
What am I going to do?

I glance at the rustic blade in my little brother's trembling hand.
The researchers say it's great at dealing pain,
which doesn't suit his kind heart.
And since I want him to be happy, I make a choice.

I make an awful face so it's easier to attack me and leap at
him with a roar. As I hope, he holds up his blade in fear.
Good! Use the blade to cut down your big brother!
Find your freedom!

I begin to scream. I begin to writhe. In the corner of my eye,
I see my little brother lift the blade again, sobbing. Yes...
Please. Do it quickly. Set your brother free...

Teacher got mad at me again today—told me to stop
sleeping in class. But I'm sooooo sleepy!
*yawn* Oh, and when I dream, I see a monster...

Yay, Mister Monster! I'm so happy to see you again,
'cause you don't bully me like everyone at school.
Thanks for always playing with me. I love you, Mister Monster.

Mommy and Daddy keep telling me to wake up,
but I'm so much happier in the dream world.
They don't get that, so I decided to show them.
That's why I put them in an eternal sleep.

Good morning. I don't understand.
I'm sorry. Good bye. Daddy. Help me. Mommy.
I won't see you again. All alone.
Monster.

We are tailors.
Come to us if you desire to wear a masterpiece!

We will make anything to suit your body, your mind,
and your heart. A bespoke article of stunning
beauty lovingly created just for you.

We will grant you blissful memories that bring you
to a peaceful death. We will grant you hateful memories
that give you the strength to survive the morrow.

Oh, what a busy day it's been! People cannot
live without one reason or another, but it's so hard
coming up with false lives... Oh, a customer!
What sort of memories are you looking for today?

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Long ago, as the Earth was warming, it suddenly began to cool.
Though scientists had theories, the cause remained unknown.
Soon, the planet began to freeze,
starting with the seas nearest the poles.

As a result of the cooling, the amount of water covering the
Earth dropped from 80% to 20%. Large ocean mammals,
unable to find enough food to sustain themselves,
began to go extinct.

Large fish were the next to go, followed by others in order of size.
Soon enough, the diminished amount of water
became a matter of life and death for creatures beyond sea life.

The old humans fell to starvation, and their numbers plummeted.
The global population that once sat at seven billion fell to
roughly ■■ people. This number was an extreme problem indeed.

Grandma was the only mage in the village,
but she's gone now. Starting today, I'll follow in her
footsteps and become the village mage. I clutch the obsidian
gem she left me and vow to do my best.

Finding lost items, telling fortunes, healing the sick,
crafting good-luck charms—I do my best from her notes,
but there's so much I don't know. Like,
what is this obsidian gem on my desk even for?

Today, a woman came by to pick up medicine for her sick child.
As she looked around the workshop, she said,
"Oh, she's gone." I figured she was talking about
Grandma, so I gave her a little smile.

Today I heard a tapping from the obsidian gem.
The woman brought her healthy child around to share
dinner with me and said, "Oh! The familiar laid an egg!"
I can't wait to see what hatches...

I devote all my days to saving the patients
who come in. But no matter how much
I sacrifice of my own life, the patients never stop coming.

I'd wanted to save people from a very young age,
so I studied to become a doctor.
But now I feel less joy in saving others than
I do distress at seeing them in pain.

After examining an emergency patient who came in after
getting shot in a gang war, I found myself wondering
why people always hurt each
other no matter how hard I try to heal them.

The truth of illness is that the malady will spread so
long as the original tumor remains intact.
That's why I discarded my scalpel and syringe
for a knife and a gun and left the hospital.

Guns. We love guns. Can't live without 'em! Everything
in life—health, communication, money, singing, playing,
childmaking—it's all done by putting a gun to a
head and pulling the trigger.

But my girl said our guns are fake, and that real guns kill people.
"Kill?" I asked. "What's that?" She smiled and said,
"It's telling someone that everything in the world is a lie."

Every day, she and I pointed fake guns at each other in
our secret base, accessed the network, and tried to learn
about real guns. Her dream was to kill with one—but one day,
she stopped coming.

Later, people in white came to my house.
My mom screamed when they pointed a gun at me,
and when I realized it was real, I got jealous.
If I'm ever reborn, I want to shoot a real gun with my girl.

No matter how many years pass, I still dream of my late mother.
It's always the same: She seeks knowledge from a bird so she
might grow wings. But it always ends the same.
She is human. She cannot fly.

Mother told me so many t■■es she wanted to be cre■■■■■,
and her ashes scattered over t■■ seas. I was■'t able to ■■
that in the end. Maybe this is her way of
sh■■■ng s■ite for what I de■■ed her.

The moment I saw my ■■■■■■ ■■■■ed, mem■■■■■ of
Mother flashed t■■■■■■ ■■ mind. I felt dis■■■■■ knowing
she had been kil■■■ with her heart still t■■■■ed in a cage.

Black birds ■■■■■ on my ■■■■■■■■ ■■rpse. I'm ■■■■
with that. At least ■■■■■■ of her will ■■■■ their ■■■
to mo■■ ■■■■■■■■■
places now—in o■■ ■■y or anot■■■.

No normal smith coulda made this spear; it never rusts or chips.
Selling it can net you a year's supply of booze—in fact, the coin
that bought this pint came from my doing just that.

What, so I ain't allowed to own what I previously sold?
Heh. Don't matter what I do, the spear always comes back.
I ain't loved—I'm cursed. And these hands?
They'll never be clean.

Each drop of blood makes the blade sharper, so it don't
wanna stay with folks what can't use it. I'm a top-notch fighter,
so it always gets to drink its fill—especially on
full-moon nights like this.

Eh, I'm kidding. None of that's real, but it's the perfect story for
drinking, eh!? ...Oh, you're headed home? Take care then—
and be sure to check out the moon.
It's almost as beautiful as you.

The grand palace is a symbol of wealth and power;
the princess within a prisoner of her own home.
Eventually she loses the will to smile—
until the day she meets a sailor who changes everything.

She has another face—that of a fortune teller.
But things still feel so empty; no one notices the part of
her she keeps hidden. Will the sailor take the
opportunity to see her for who she is?

She falls in love with the sailor. But she has doubts,
so switches places with her maid to test him.
When she sees the pair of them absconding off
ogether, she knows she has been betrayed.

She rushes through the city with spear in hand,
knowing the sailor's tales to be mere fabrications.
In her despair, she surrenders herself to the vast,
unfathomable ocean.

To the next queen:
Tomorrow is the fifth full moon. Alas, I was not able to escape.
I pray you will not commit the same mistakes
I did—and that you will survive.

To the next queen:
The king's mood has soured, and my days are few.
He has hidden himself away within the palace.
If I learn anything of note, I will write it here.

To the next queen:
I tried to kill him! I was a fool! I don't want to die!
I don't ■■nt to ■■■! My leg ■■■■■ stop ■■■■■■■■!
■■me■■■ ■■■■ me! ■■lp...

I write these words as proof that our efforts bore fruit.
The room in question should be prepared.
The bell ringing now mourns the death of the king.
I am his last queen.

Can't stick with the boss anymore.
Sneaking into the Thieves' Graveyard?
He's mad! We've been through a lot over the years,
but this is a step too far, even for me.

Things fell apart on the way home after escaping the Graveyard.
It was the kid's fault, of course—he treats us like dogs.
Worst part is that he's more
talented than any of us and we know it.

Everyone knows who he is: He leads the nation's best thieves
guild and takes everything he wants. The way he acts...
The way he steals...
Every thief in the land wants to be just like him.

Finally saw the kid in town. Was relieved to see him alive,
but shocked at how different he was.
What happened to his bejeweled clothes? His sharp gaze?
Did he get a girl? Oh, my brother...

Grades. Friendships. Evaluations. The girl has long
played every role in the part of an exemplary high
school student, all so her destitute father
might find a way to smile again.

She works an immoral job to repay her father's
debt—one where others suffer as a result of her actions.
But she continues to break the law for his sake.
She does it all for him.

When her crimes are laid bare, all her hard work crumbles.
With a heavy heart, she heads home to the one thing
she never wanted to lose, only to discover her
father swinging from the ceiling.

She gets revenge on her mother—she who drove her
father to death. But then she realizes that his death was,
in fact, a homicide, and vows to spend the
rest of her days in search of retribution.

He spends his days studying and working, casting
aside a normal high school life to focus solely on
his goal. He does this all so he might become a doctor
and save his ailing mother's life.

His classmates do nothing but slack. His coworker is nothing
but talk. The boy's days are weight down by all of society's ills,
and when he gets news of his mother's impending death,
it breaks him.

He plans to kill himself so his mother might have his heart.
His final moments stretch into eternity.
But before he can consume the poison,
the phone rings, informing him his mother has died.

He gets revenge on his father—he who drove his mother to death.
But then he realizes that her death was, in fact,
a homicide, and vows to spend the
rest of his days in search of retribution.

Did you know I can understand what birds say? It's true!
No one believes me, which is why I've been treated like
a weirdo since I was a kid.
Do you understand how painful that's been?

Now that we're talking, I'll tell you something that happened when
I was a kid. On a bright summer day, a black bird of passage
came to me and said there would be a great storm the next day.

I went to the adults and told them, but they didn't believe me.
The next day, there was a massive storm, the mountain
collapsed, and everyone died—including me.

Hmm? You don't get why we're talking like this if I'm dead?
People can still talk in death, silly! I mean, you're dead too,
so stop acting like I'm the weirdo around here. Sheesh!

One morning, the statue of the great counselor overlooking the
colosseum was found in pieces. This sort of barbarism must be
the work of one of the gladiators. With the honor of our nation on
the line, we sentinels began searching for the culprit immediately.

We captured a few suspicious gladiators and lined them up in the
colosseum. All of them were former prisoners of war, meaning
hey must of had a grudge on the counselor. We'll torture them
for answers and then publicly execute the perpetrator.

The suspects refused to speak, no matter how much pain we
inflected on them. That was until high noon, when all of
a sudden they all began to confess at once.
"I destroyed the statue!" "No, it was I" "It was my doing!"

"Enough with this foolishness! Execute them all!" Just as one of
the sentinels exclaimed, the gladiators smirked. All of a sudden,
a guard cried out from the watchtower "The rest of the gladiators
have escaped! Those suspects were a decoy!" There was an eerie
glimmer in the eyes of the gladiators waiting for their execution.

Oxygen Level: 79%
I'm sure rescue will be here before my time runs out.
Until then, I'll drift through space enjoying the beautiful stars.

Oxygen Level: 45%
I've lost track of how much time has passed.
Rescue has yet to arrive. I feel so
insignificant in this vast ocean of stars.

Oxygen Level: 12%
I feel as though I'm going mad as my inevitable
death creeps near. I want to end it all, but the life support
system on my spacesuit won't allow it.

Oxygen Level: 3%
The woman finally passed away. Her oxygen level had been
depleting 1% per year. She was finally freed from solitude.
Cause of death: old age.

This prison is surrounded on all sides by cliffs.
Only the greatest of criminals come here.
No chains bind them. No bars stand tall.
For so long as I hold watch, none of them will ever escape.

A number attempted escape after I took this post.
Foolish criminals and their sins—criminals with no hope
of salvation. My trusty axe removed the heads of
all who tried, and soon the attempts ceased.

No one escapes this place; I kill every sinner who darkens
its door. Another arrives today. Another will arrive tomorrow.
All who commit crimes are sent to me, for this prison is eternal.

We keep our worst criminal—a axe-murderer—in a prison
surrounded by cliffs. We send sacrifices there every day
to keep him happy, even though we recognize how
terrifically cruel the practice is.

Dear God,
I have a wish. I want to smile a lot with
Mommy and Daddy this year!

Dear God,
I have a wish. I don't want Dad to bully
Mom anymore, and I don't want her to beat me anymore.

O God, please hear my plea.
Please scold my mother and father this year,
for they are terrible people who continue to terrorize me.

Almighty God, hear my plea!
Grant me strength—I beg of you.
Grant me the strength to strike my parents down.

Once there was a special establishment,
open only on New Year's Day, whose sole purpose was to
sever relationships. The village women gossiped
that it could help a person end old, bad ties.

One woman heard the rumor and took her good-for-nothing,
gambling husband to the place, hoping to be free of him at last.
With resolve in her heart, she knocked on the door.

The door opened to reveal a beautiful woman with a katana
as large as the wielder. The husband ogled her,
but once he realized he was there for the purpose of divorce,
his attitude changed.

As he thrashed about, the woman brought her blade down,
sending the husband's head sailing through the air and severing
the relationship for good. When the wife saw the woman smile,
she screamed.

feet crunch firmly over first frost

i mind not the mud on my boots

winter plums bathe the city in pink

with the first shot, they turn a deeper red

white drifts between clouds of smoke

is it snow? ash? i close my eyes

her voice echoes in the silence that follows

life persisting despite death

Once, a woman sent her husband an arrow.
It served as a prayer he might return safely from war
after felling many an enemy to great acclaim.

The prayer worked, and the woman's husband returned
home having accomplished great things. Indeed,
the arrow she sent him was the selfsame one which
pierced the enemy general's skull.

Word spread, and soon people swarmed the woman,
asking her to imbue their arrows with prayers.
They were used for decoration, as well as to banish evil
and bring good fortune to the owner.

But then an age came where machines ruled over humans.
Though arrows held no value as weapons,
the government claimed them as such, and burned all who
owned one alive along with their homes.

All that I worked so hard to build vanished one
morning in an instant. If it was all indeed a falsehood,
I would not feel this delighted.

If the lies are ■■ consume me, then ■ myself ■■ a lie.
If I turn what is false ■■■■ the real,
the world will ■■■■■■ to how it was.

Lie after ■■■ ■■■■■ lie.
The world can no lo■■■■ su■■ain their ■■■ght.
Let us dance ■■ ig■■■■nce, and wait
■■■ the moment ■■ all com■■ crashing ■■■■.

Black birds ■■■■ through ■■■ sky, sig■■■■■g ■■■ end.
Happiness ■■ lost. I ■■■■■ out, but ■■ is ■■■ ■■■ me.
My fe■■ s■■p in the ■■■■ pat■■■n.
We are pr■■■■■■■ined ■■■■■■.

I peer into the mirror and see a hideous monster.
When I raise my hand, the monster does the same.
Even the background scenery is the same.

Ah, I see. I am the hideous monster.

The next thing I know, I'm screaming—my voice a horrible
combination of machinery and a beast's howl.

I don't know where I came from. Or who I am.
I am certain only of the incessant pangs of hunger that wrack
my body, so I wander this desolate world in
search of a way to sate my longing.

Only the eating of dreams can make me forget my
pain and despair—but those moments last only so long.
Ever hungering, I resume my long trek across a desolate
world in search of further sustenance.

There was once a fishmonger who worked harder
than anyone else. One day, he sold a great catch to a royal
official and received his pay in an envelope.
Excited, he returned home to his mother.

As his ill mother lay abed, he counted the money in the envelope.
But the amount was not as much as he was expecting,
and when he finished, he was no longer
certain that he could afford her medicine.

His income lessened as time went on, and he grew
increasingly weak. One day, the official summoned him:
A thief had stolen from a rice dealer,
and blame had been pinned on the fishmonger.

The fishmonger, of course, had stolen no rice.
But he accepted the blame with a smile,
pleased that he no longer had to look after his mother.

Red.
The color of fresh blood.
The color of gushing pain and hate.

Blue.
The color of rot.
The color of forsaken sadness and isolation.

Yellow.
The color of caution.
The color of unavoidable danger and suffering.

Mix them together to create black.
The color of despair.
The color of the ominous birds.

Today is Yule, a special, snowy night. Tonight we put down our
guns as the line between friend and foe vanishes.
Together we drink and sing,
for we are tired of killing one another.

Today is Yule, a special, firelit night.
Tonight we speak of our dreams—of all the things we
wish to do when the war is over.
We hate that we have to kill one another.

Today is Yule, a special, sentimental night.
Tonight we cry together, for we all have someone we miss.
If only this war never happened,
for none of us are suited to killing one another.

The bells fall silent. The town goes still.
Night passes, and once the clock hands point heavenward,
we bid farewell to our new friends.
Tomorrow, we kill one another all over again.

Dear ■■■■■,
This year I want paint! I
want lots of different colors so
I can paint pictures with my little brother!

Dear ■■■■■,
Could you please send us meat dishes?
Also egg dishes and maybe anything else?
I want to feed my brother so much food he feels like he'll explode!

I need a weapon that will protect me.
A gun, a knife—even a dagger is fine.
I wish someone could hear me. Soldiers? ■■■■■?
I don't care. I have no one else; I have to protect my brother alone.

Dear ■■■■■,
Please turn me back into a human you're the only person
I can trust the cyborg body they put me in hurts oh god it
hurts please just take my brot

MY EARS
can hear the slightest sound of enemy boots
do not miss a word you say

MY EYES
can spot any enemy hidden in the dark
ensure your safety as you slumber

MY HANDS
let fly bullets faster than lightning
collect food to bring to you

MY MIND
understands the minutiae of battle
can demolish enemies with a thought
contemplates your words, now and forever

The children of the village have a practice of obtaining
"stars" during the yuletide season.
As such, stars are closely associated with the holiday,
and act as a delightful reminder of childhood.

Three weeks before yuletide, the children leave
the village for a little adventure.
They cross two mountains and three rivers
before arriving at the place where star-trees grow.

The children return with armfuls of stars plucked from the trees,
then hang them on doors along with beautiful wreaths.
When the adults look at the stars,
they see how their children have grown.

The people who guard the star-trees hate the village children,
for they live off stealing and thievery.
Unable to kill them as they wish,
they find themselves staring at their sad, bare trees.

Do you have a second? I got my first boyfriend!
He promised we'd spend the holidays together.
I wasn't sure what to get him, so I decided to knit a scarf.
Just imagining his smile motivates me!

Do you have a second? I didn't see my
boyfriend over the holidays. I guess these things happen;
he's a very busy person. I'll give him the scarf next time
I see him—he won't believe how long it is!

Do you have a second? I can't contact my boyfriend.
I call and send letters, but he doesn't reply.
But I love him, so I'll wait forever. In fact,
I'll distract myself by knitting his scarf!

Do you have a second? I saw my boyfriend in town.
He was with a beautiful woman and a little boy.
But I'm still going to send him his present—
the scarf is now long enough to wring his neck.

The closet in my room is filled with so many fluffy,
cute clothes from Mommy and Daddy!
But one night while it was snowing,
a fat man came in, put them all in a bag, and took them away!

My hair is sooo long and wavy. Mommy and Daddy take good
care of it every day! But then one snowy night,
the fat man came back and cut it all off!

I love Mommy and Daddy very much. They say they'll
protect me from the fat man this year!
But one night when it was snowing, the fat man came back
with a big spear and stabbed them to death.

Remember my frilly clothes? My long wavy hair?
The parents who forced all that crap on me?
I hated it. I hated all of it. But you know what I hated most?
...Anyway, thanks for setting me free, old man.

Once, a belligerent king started a war that took the lives of a
young man's parents. But the man had always been strong,
and he vowed to one day crack the
king's skull wide with his own fists.

The young man became a soldier so he
could get close to the king; if he found success in battle,
the regent would request an audience.
So he honed his vengeful fists as he served his country.

The man punched countless enemy
faces until they were beyond recognition.
Eventually, his efforts were recognized,
and he received the right to have an audience with the king.

Alas, the night before, he was attacked and killed in his sleep.
The attackers were children of soldiers he'd killed in battle,
and none who saw his corpse
could recognize his mangled face.

It used to be Mom, Dad, and me.
I prayed for victory on peaceful mornings,
and prayed for the end of the war during gunshot-filled nights.
I was so happy then. I still didn't know what it meant to hate.

Dad yelled. Mom s■■■■med.
I saw the ■■■■■■ying ■■■■ of a soldier
through a gap in the door. I was so scared. I held my ■■■■■■,
waiting for the ■■■■■■ to pass.

The house was ■■■■■ as the ■■■■ as
I stepped on the ■■■■■-soaked ■■■■■.
A black bird sat on ■■■ and ■■■'s cold ■■■■■■.
Its ■■■■■■■ eyes ■■■■■■■ turned to me, staring.

S■■■. Don't ■■■■ at me.
I didn't ab■■■■■ my ■■■■■■■. I d■■n't s■■vive
because I ■■■■■■ to. I'm g■■■■ ■■ ■■■■ him.
That's ■■■ only ■■■son I ke■p ■■■■■■■■■.

Mommy and Daddy,
Married life is great! Thank you for finding
me such a wonderful partner. My husband barely talks to me,
but I still think things are going well.

Mommy and Daddy,
I've been trying Mommy's recipes lately.
I'm good at making soup, but my husband
will only eat it once it's cooled completely.

Mommy and Daddy,
It's winter. My husband is always sleeping.
I think he'll wake when the snow melts, so
I'll collect nuts and herbs instead of making soup.

Mommy and Daddy,
Wonderful news: I'm going to be a mother!
I wonder what sort of child I'll have?
You'll love your grandchild no matter what they look like, right?

I had a weird dream. I couldn't walk anymore,
so I had to crawl on the ground like a baby.
The girls came to me and screamed that I was a monster,
then stabbed me with a shovel.

I had a strange dream. I was grown up and wearing new clothes.
My tummy was poking out. I felt sick and my head hurt.
When I started crying,
a worried-looking man I didn't know started rubbing my back.

I had a scary dream. The man was gone.
When I finally found him at the top of the tower, he was a monster.
He begged me to kill him, but I didn't know what to do.
Then the monster jumped.

Another bad dream? It's okay, I'm here,
said Mr. Carroll as he touched my forehead.
I've been having so many odd dreams lately,
but if he says it's okay, I'm sure it is. We will be happy forever.

In a distant past, a princess came to an army on the verge
of annihilation and brought them victory after victory.
She became an object of worship, but was then
crucified as a criminal after a defeat.

In a distant place, a girl made a living slaughtering
evil rulers so she might avenge the weak.
But one fell day, the daughter of a lord did the same for her.

In a distant future, a nurse will be admired as the white angel,
freeing countless numbers from their pain.
But when she goes against the morals of her world,
she will be assassinated.

In a distant storybook world,
a girl prayed for her master to recover, caring
not if it cost her innocent life. She paid no heed to how
her justice warped and sickened in the process.

Little Red Riding Hood was born of various stories,
including Swedish folk tales and Tales of Mother Goose
by Charles Perrault. Most notable, however, was story #26 in
Grimms' Fairy Tales.

Little Red Riding Hood evolved with each iteration of the story.
After many revisions, the Grimms'
version ended with her and her grandmother
bursting out of the wolf's stomach.

Wilhelm Grimm edited and revised the fairy
tales to be more child-friendly.
All references to sexuality were removed,
but any retaliation against evildoers retained its cruelty.

It is unclear whether Little Red Riding Hood's lack of morality in
SINoALICE is a result of the writer's design,
or simply what modern readers
want to see as a result of societal change.

In the midst of war, a man found a
gun created with lost technology. Though its relentless
flames engulfed the user, he man was happy,
for now he could finally protect his beloved wife.

The arms he used to embrace his wife hurt at the slightest breeze.
His throat burned, preventing speech.
Burns scarred every inch of his body.
But his wife still recognized him, so he was happy.

His vision weakening, he now acted on his compatriots' orders.
No matter how burned and scarred he became,
he used his power to protect his country
and wife, believing he could end the war.

The man never knew the ones giving orders
had turned their coats to the enemy,
so he was happy until the end. After all,
he'd lost his hearing by the time he burned his dear wife alive.

A lone man gazes over a heated city from atop his tower,
then unfolds himself onto the ground and begins to sing.
He loves the sight before him,
for he is the young king of this fine land.

When the hair of manhood is upon him, foreign soldiers attack.
The king does not know war, so he cradles his baby and flees.
His beloved subjects spill blood, ready to fight to the death.

The king learns people cannot be saved by love alone. Tearfully,
he leaves his country and crosses the sea to seek his fortune,
his surviving daughter is all he has left in the world.

When the king's back is bent from age,
he finds himself surrounded by loved ones:
a new wife, a new country,
new subjects. But his beloved daughter is nowhere to be found.

Once upon a time there was a very hungry spirit.
The spirit begged for food from passers-by,
but no one ever stopped. Just as she was at her wits end,
a kindly boy approached and gave her some bread.

The spirit thanked the boy by giving
him a bird that shone a brilliant gold.
The boy raised it with care instead of selling it for coin.
But one day, another grew envious of the bird and stole it.

The spirit then gave the sad boy great wealth.
Also, a mysterious power helped him whenever he was in trouble.
This power let him marry a princess,
become a prince, and live happily ever after.

WHAT A STUPID FABLE. THE REWARD FOR ONE KIND
ACT IS TOO GREAT. WHEN I TREAT BIRDS KINDLY,
I GET NOTHING WHILE THEY RELISH IN THEIR OWN DELIGHT.
LITTLE DO THEY KNOW OF THE GUN IN MY CHEST! AH HA HA.

I grew up in a dump of a city.
Did anything to survive—theft, blackmail, dangerous deals.
But I was happy because I had my sister. She was pure,
beautiful, and I wanted to protect her forever.

One day, I came home and found she'd been taken
by a band of thieves notorious for their brutality.
A little imp like me didn't stand a chance against them,
but I still had to save her. I had to try.

I nearly died sneaking into their fort,
and eventually found her lounging on a chaise.
"Go home," she said. "I like my new life."
As I stood in shock, the thieves' leader jumped me from behind.

But my sister leapt up with an old sword and said,
"I hated how I always needed you to protect me.
Now you're free." After she and the thief killed each other,
I closed her innocent eyes for the last time.

Our squad was shot down while on patrol,
and only I and four others survived.
We crash-landed on an island under enemy control,
where we were going to have to fight to survive.

I modified parts from fallen units and made weapons for everyone.
They would have been in serious trouble
without a superior mechanic like me around!
I sure hope they're grateful.

The fight's going well thanks to my weapons,
and we've almost broken out of the enemy's territory.
And sure, the captain died, but that's not my responsibility.
We're so close. Let's keep going.

There's just a few more meters to safety, so why can't I move?
Also, why am I so low to the ground?
Also, where did my lower half go?

The path home is coated in rust. A choice. A wheeze that scrapes
the throat. Forms. Numbers. Isolated light. Even the scent of
spilled blood is as a distant memory.

Unacceptable footwear. A boast. A murmur. The wind that grazes
my cheek and light that enter my eyes are rough comfort for an
ailing heart. A voice without a face. Curtains. Upside-down
footsteps. Darkness.

I turn my back to the shadow knocking
on my door and venture down a passage unknown,
casting myself into the void. A boundary.
A buzzing sound. A light trap. It is as wondrous as it is comforting.

Words. My name. My senses. Blurry scenery.
To me, perhaps it was all nothing but a convenient sham.
But even so, I will face my mistakes, embrace my pain,
and dream a dream that soars to the sun.

I felt a sense of unease the moment the black bird's caw woke me.
I reached up to ease the pressure on my head,
lending my weight to the wall as I stood.
It was then I noticed something.

I had al■ my fingers, though they should have been c■t off.
No scars, either, as though the ■■■■■■ had never happened.
My palms were ■■■■■ed with blood,
yet my fingers were unnaturally cl■■n.

I have been re■■■■.
That was the ■■■■■ thought that ■■■■ to me,
and it reminded me of ■■■■■■■■■ ■■■■.
There was a ■■■■■ mark on m■ t■■■h.
It h■■ ■■■■■hed lo■■ a■o.

May■■, b■■■re ■ ■■■ come to...
I ■■■■■ not have ■■■■ back ■■ ho■ I ■■■ before,
even with my ■■■■■■ healed.
It ■■■ as tho■■h ■■■■■■■■■ had ch■■■ed ■■.

Memories sometimes come back to me;
flavors of food we never ate together,
scenes from places to which we never ventured.
Each time, my heart aches from the nostalgia and sadness.

Where are these mem■■■■■ coming from?
They shouldn't exist.
Books ■■ read at ■■■■ ■■■■■?
Movies ■■ watched at ■■■■ ■■■■■?
What do ■■■ think of them?

The days pass ■■■■■■■ an ■■■■■■.
I know nothing will ■■■■ from any of this.
We d■nce in a world someone ■■■■
has created in prede■■rmin■d ch■■■■graphy.

Dreams ■■■ reality ■■■■ ■■■■■■er.
Value's meaning van■■■■■.
Per■■■■ ■■ was ■■■ the black birds' dr■■■s.
But w■■■■■■r it is,
we ■■■■ no choice ■■■ ■■ accept the truth.

A crying boy beats another who thanks him. Bones shatter.
Blood flies. But it does not stop.
Finally, the boy giving the beating
sees an eyeball on the ground and realizes he is done.

The two boys hailed from the same land.
Best friends from a young age,
they grew up experiencing the same things.
But the pair used to be a trio—
until one summer changed everything.

As the trio's bodies and minds moved toward adulthood,
things changed,
and the first boy uncontrollably lusted after the second.
The third, unaware of this,
panicked over their changing relationship.

When the third boy learned the truth,
he was angry he failed to see
it and so beat the first boy to death.
But the first boy was simply happy to be free
from the pain of losing his friend.

Explosion kills the silence.
We hate noise, and so this weapon is heresy itself.

Heat kills the snowcaps.
Frigid land abhors the heat, and so this weapon is evil itself.

Light kills the snow.
The mountains detest brilliance,
and so this weapon is an omen itself.

Wolves kill our compatriots.
Thus we make this gun a tool of execution,
a manifestation of both purity and sin.

In a desert kingdom filled with goods from far-off
lands and the scent of exotic spices,
a young thief spins a false tale of adventure to the kingdom's
greatest treasure: their princess.

The thief has finally begun to stir the princess's heart,
the passing sun and moon the sole witnesses to their rendezvous.
And when he receives an omen of death, he dismisses it as folly.

He spins the tale of what made him a thief.
Of the girl he couldn't save. Then a slave,
he vowed he would never be stolen from again.
It moves the princess greatly, and the two make a secret vow.

Having stolen the princess,
the thief runs through the city beneath the moonlight.
They are so close to the sea—so close to freedom.
Yet multiple omens of death pierce the thief's body at last.

A man with a massive sword showed up in town not long ago.
The look in his eyes isn't...normal. Is he a powerful mercenary?
A fugitive? Either way,
he's clearly a bad dude we should stay far away from.

Every day, the bad dude nurses a drink in the tavern.
He's quiet, but he'll say a word here and there if you talk to him.
He once told me that each scar on his body is a victory in battle.

I learned why the bad dude is scary:
He's been in over a hundred battles!
He cuts down enemies in one blow, and is nicknamed the Iron
Reaper. He's like the protagonist of some grand tale.

The bad dude was a total fraud! The battle scars?
He was actually run over by a carriage. The sword?
He took it from a dead mercenary—no idea how to even swing it.
Talk about disappointing!

A lone traveler came to an empire—an erudite
fellow said to have explored the world.
But now,he walked to the palace in a daze.

His odd behavior caught the guards' attention,
and they took him in for questioning.
They found the brand of an enemy nation on his body,
and quickly detained him as a spy.

They tied him up and dragged him before the emperor.
But as the guards began to deliver their findings,
the emperor cut them off and ordered the man freed.

The traveler knelt before the emperor—for he was not a spy,
but a double agent who fed the enemy false information.
Once the guards learned that secret,
they were immediately beheaded.

A dying town sits in the middle of a wasteland.
A kind boy is lost in thought,
cradling the corpse of a girl—his friend.
As a final favor, he decides to bury her in her favorite spot.

The adults have forgotten how to mourn the dead,
but are still touched by the boy's kindness.
They decide to visit the nearby graves once
in a while to ensure their deceased's peaceful rest.

But soon, incidents of grave-robbing and animal attacks
begin to rise,
so the boy asks them to place all the graves in a single
spot where he can ensure the dead remain undisturbed.

In time, people avoid the graves,
for the curses of the gravekeeper keep them away.
The boy, now an old man,
tries to think of a way to bring them back,
but dies without an answer. There is no funeral.

There is a plant that continues to grow in chaos.
My job is to keep it pruned,
and my sweat serves as proof that I live.

But people also grow in chaos,
which means I must prune them as well.
Once again, I shower in sprays of blood.

This sword has cut down both plant and man.
This blade has embraced my gentle and evanescent self.
This thin piece of steel is the only noble life in this place.

As an era came to an end, a greatsword was unearthed
—one wrapped in a bloody garment and a tangle of vines.
The black bird that perched beside it
stared at the dull glint of the blade.

The fairies gossip:
"A fairy who eats the first sprout
can become a spirit!"

The fairies gossip:
"A spirit who melts their eyes looking
at the sun on the hottest of days can become human!"

The fairies gossip:
"A human who paints all the yellow leaves in the forest red
with the blood of their friends can become a demon!"

The fairies gossip:
"A demon who does all that and then buries an entire
country in an avalanche can become an angel!
Um, but what's an angel?"

There was once a thriving and peaceful country
ruled by a young king.
They had more resources and more funds
than any surrounding nations,
and the people all united under their king's charisma.

But other nations wanted the country's riches for themselves.
One sent a fire-breathing dragon to attack the young king.
Another a tiger with sharp fangs. Another a massive whale.

Fighting alone, the young king fended off the monsters.
His people venerated him as they watched, and spirits were raised.
The other countries relented, and peace reigned for an age.

Finally, someone said,
"The people should protect the country!" Six months later,
other nations attacked again, and the country was razed to
the ground before the council could make a decision.

Once there was a country where
the rich few abused the poor masses.
One man who lived there had borrowed from many moneylenders.
Unable to repay his debts, he soon found himself on the run.

Finally, a collector caught him. The man thought it was the end,
but the collector proposed an idea:
Go sightseeing in a nearby country and I'll clear your debt.
The man agreed at once.

Upon arriving, the man found a sturdy gate
and a guard armed with a massive spear.
"Let me in!" cried the man. "I'm in debt up to my eyeballs!"
With that, he tried to push past the guard.

My stomach feels warm.
Was I stabbed? Why? I just wanted to live.
It hurts. I want to live. It hurts. I want to live. It hurts.
I want to live. It hurts it hurts it hur ts i t h uuuuur t s

The city glitters like stars on a starless night.
People yearn for light that shines ever brighter.

The sun sets. The curtain of night falls. Alas,
they lack the confidence to preserve the city's brilliance.

Absolute light illuminates skyscrapers.
Moonlight accompanies the stars.
This is what lights the people's path.

People worship the moon that hangs in the sky,
incomplete. But soon it will be full,
and become as new once more.

My Dearest, I'm writing this letter to you on the train to
the frontline. It saddens me greatly to have to leave you so
soon after our marriage. Going to war frightens be greatly,
but I must do this, to protect my country, and to protect you.

My Dearest, something miraculous happened on
the battlefield today. I had spent all my ammunition,
and thought I was done for... but then, I found a strange gun.
My fears disappear when I hold this gun, allowing me to fight on.

My Dearest, I killed many enemies today. I used to be a timid
coward, but not any more. The battlefield is where I belong now.
My comrades call me a hero, yet the way
they gaze at me... There is fear in their eyes.

My husband no longer writes to me. He is still alive,
the newspapers worship him as a hero. Yet, the kind hearted man
I once loved is no longer there. My husband has fallen in love
with war. He no longer remembers his country or me.

There once was a strong young man born to a family of samurai.
His house was the wealthiest in the village, and
combined with his physical prowess,
he was greatly revered among the villagers.

Since the young man's house was very wealthy,
he was able to obtain anything he desired. He was given an
expensive spear and suit of armor, and fed very well.
Anyone would envy his way of life.

One day, the young man was entered in a tournament.
He already was confident in his strength, but sought to
grow stronger for the occasion, training intensely and
eating foods high in nutrition in order to build up his body.

The young man won the tournament. He has nothing to
complain about. His family fortune was all gone, his parents
committed suicide, and his lover left him, but he has
nothing to complain about. Nothing to complain about.

A mound of corpses rises from a sea of blood.
This is where I belong—where I have been told
I belong. I step onto my lonely road and lose
myself in dreams I have no right to know.

I kn■■ in my h■■rt I could ■■■■■ escape.
I wish I could have lost ■■■■■■ in a time spent
with another who had the same ■■■■ as me.

But it was my mis■■■■■■■■■■■■■—her ■■■■■ were
not blood-stained like ■■■■. M■■e ■■■ demonic,
■■■■■■■■ to ghos■■. How fool■■■ of me to
think I could protect ■■■■■■■■.

I had go■■■■ it all wr■■■. I am a fool.
■■■■ ■ stand yet ■■■■■.
V■■■■s that ■■■ all ■■■ fami■■■■ in ■■■■■■,
the ■■■■ ■■ the black birds welcoming m■ re■■■n.

Hmmm. This record might be a bit difficult to work.
Let's see how much data we can get... "No need to worry.
I'll handle this. I need to prove my worth to you, after all."
...Er, that wasn't me. That was the record's owner.

Okay, so we put this here, and then... Owww... Oh!
I thiiink it's working? Yes! I've got it! "I promise to surpass
even such lofty hopes as those." Oh my... Well, this fellow
seems quite dependable. Like me, don't you think?

"Well then, let us begin." Oh, he sounds really relaxed!
Context suggests he's about to fight someone,
so let's dive deeper!

"Take them down, Robin Hood!" What a sudden change in
personality! Sadly, there isn't much to be gleaned from
the records, so we're left with many unknowns...
I don't think we'll get much data out of this.

I'll go over the records in this weapon in a second,
so just hold tight, okay? "Have you decided to tread
the path of strife? Very well. Let us proceed with
our contract at once."

"You have finally found your own justice. Please...
Never lose sight of it again." It seems this weapon's
owner found something to believe in—as well as a
strong will.

"This marks your graduation from your false self."
Graduation? How bittersweet! There's no end to this
work, so I sometimes wish I could move on to other
things. ...Er, not that I'm dissatisfied with my work!

"I will not lose heart again, ever. I will go full speed,
non-stop! Right, Johanna!?" ...And that's it. Guess
I'd best buckle down too!

"Have you finally come to your senses? How foolishly
you averted your eyes from the truth. A deplorable
imitation indeed." Gee, this katana really has some
strange powers!

Now a boy with powerful resolve...gains new strength?
"I am thou, thou art I... The world is full of both beauty
and vice.... It is time you teach people which is which!"

The owner speaks in a rather poetic manner—I bet
he's as lovely as the words he uses! Hee hee!
"Come forth, Goemon! A breathtaking sight... Imitations
they may be, but together, they make a fine spectacle..."

He speaks like he's from the past... So elegant! "Though
the flowers of evil blossom, be it known...Abominations are
fated to perish! No matter what it takes... I will bring you
to justice!" Gosh, how exciting! I need a break.

Let's look at this knife's record, shall we? "This is
truly an unjust game... Your chances of winning
are almost none." Hmm! The owner was a boy
in a real tight spot.

"Death awaits him if you do nothing." "Very well...
I have heeded your resolve. Vow to me and form
a contract." Someone's come to help! But what's
this "contract" about?

Oh, look! The wielder's unlocked a new power!
"I am thou, thou art I... Thou who art willing to
perform sacrilegious acts for thine own justice!
Call upon my name and release thy rage!"

"I am the pillager of twilight—Arsène!" Pillager?
Does he represent justice, or...? Well, I'll worry
about this later. Sadly, the record seems to cut
off here! What a bummer.

The city lacked stars, and was dark as the deepest midnight.
But the people still ventured along dark roads without fear,
for the light which emanated from the monster's body showed
the way.

The monster was terrifically ugly, but the people loved him all
the same. Touched by the kindness he showed in lighting the
way, they were bothered not by his grim appearance.

Eventually, the monster stopped lighting the roads because he
fell in love with a girl. But how could a thing so ugly ever have
love returned? With that thought, he hid himself in the dark of
night.

The people came together and searched for the missing monster
—including the girl he loved. Atop a distant mountain, the
monster heard her call for him, and pictured himself shining his
light upon her.

There was once a powerful woman. Though not always strong,
she changed after the temple priest gave her holy water to
drink when ill. Soon, she was mighty enough to easily lift heavy
rice bags.

But in exchange, she sometimes lost her memory. She draw
water from the well only to find herself outside her own house
covered in mud—and one day, she found herself coated in
blood.

Alas, her family and children lay in pieces in the field. She
had a vague memory of doing the deed, but the reason was lost.
After crying all night, she threw herself into the depths of the
village well.

Once, there was village of powerful people who lost their
memories in exchange for strength. When they found themselves
covered in mud, they went to the well to try and recall what
happened.

Once, children were being kidnapped from a small cliffside
village. One would disappear each week before the dawn; no
matter how alert the adults were, the children slipped through
their fingers.

One day, not long after a city scholar set out on a search, he
found the kidnapped children by the waterfall. All of them were
smiling, but there were daggers driven deep into every chest.

A boy emerged from the waterfall before the upset scholar.
He looked fondly at the children on the ground and smiled.
"They feed on young blood," he said, before plunging a
dagger into his own chest.

The black birds flocked out of nowhere, lapping up their
delicious meal of blood. The boy looked on in satisfaction and
vanished, while the dumbfounded scholar stood still,
illuminated by the rising sun.

My son is in line for the throne, but still young and weak. I lack
the strength to back him as his mother, and cannot keep up with
palace intrigue. All I can do is pray at the temple each night.

My son fell off a horse, then got food poisoning. Oh, and there's a
rumor of a consort plotting to kill him. I don't know the truth, but
I'm willing to become a villain if it will keep him safe.

"God or demon, lend me your strength," I pray. When I open my
eyes, I find a staff at my feet. I use it to beat the consort who
plotted to kill my son to death, then slay all my remaining
enemies.

My dirty hands mean nothing against my child's happiness. Yet
when he takes the throne as emperor, will he regard me with
sad eyes? Or will he lock me up in the temple along with
the staff?

Black birds dart away at the sound of the gun, yet return in search
of a corpse. They know what sort of place this is—and when I
look at them, I realize I only thought I knew.

Bodies ■■■■ in mounds. The air ■■■■■■ of blood and
gunpowder. They no longer have ■■■■■ or ■■■■■; all that
is left is a ■■■■■■. That ■■ all the living will acknowledge.

This w■s nev■r about ■■■■ and ■■■■■. There were tactics
dev■■■■ by those ■■ ■■■ top who ■■■■■■ these people's
deaths. All know th■■e w■uld be ■■ results w■■ho■t s■ch.

I wa■ the only ■■■ who ne■■r unders■ood. I th■■■ I was
■■■ ■■ ■■■■ w■th the ■■■■ in ■■■ inci■■■t that
■■■■■■■ this ■■■. Not e■■■■■ne ■■■■■d to av■■■
a fi■■■.

One day when I was little, my mother was driving me along this
coastline I've never been to before. I kept quiet because
because she had this look on her face that kind of scared me.

Once we arrived to a cape, she suddenly broke down on me
crying "I'm sorry". As a child it was my first time seeing my
mother like that and I was just confused.

I asked her, "Why are you crying?". Then without answering
me she just hit the gas and we took off towards the cliff.
I couldn't clearly remember what happened from there on.

I was the only one saved. Even now I could still hear her
calling me whenever I get close to an ocean. Why did she
wanted to die? I just don't know.

"Ma'am, why are you the one chopping the woods?" "Well
young one...your country's soldiers killed my husband
and captured the hero of this country who was my son."
"My country...father...did this? Do you speak the truth?"

"Oh yes I do and if you pity me please avenge their deeds
for me." The old lady's words stucked in the boy's
head even after he returned from the colony. He learns that
the captives were put on show as gladiators at the collosseum.

Afterwards, a young swordsman wearing a masked helmet rose
at the collosseum. It was rumoured that the helmet hid an ugly
facial wound or his weak look. The audience gaped when the
face was exposed after his helmet and skull got crushed open.

The dead swordsman was the son of the ruler. The gladiator
that killed him used to be the hero of a small country and the
boy avenged the old lady by letting her son kill him. He was
too young to stop his father's tyranny after all.

Long ago, there was a general and a loyal samurai.
Though of different backgrounds, they were fierce friends.
But one day, the general dreamed of glory and entered battle
only to be gravely injured.

The general saw only the enemy, the rain, and the corpses of
his men. Just as he thought he might perish, the samurai rose
from the corpse heap and used his remaining strength to
protect his friend.

Afterward, the general became a lord and gave the family of
his deceased friend a coveted position in his own clan. Alas,
that was the beginnings of our current lord and his terrifying
lapdogs.

The will to give all for a friend? The loyalty of a family who
took up the position? All faded in time. All became chaos.
Had the significance of this family stayed as it once was,
perhaps I...

I wish for long, slender limbs.
Smooth fingers. Toes for light, delicate steps.
If I had all that, then maybe...

I wish for a sweet, honeyed smile.
A rich, comforting voice. Enrapturing eyes.
If I had all that, then perhaps...

I wish for the skills to hold considerate conversation.
The sensibility to pull off snappy clothing.
An intelligence others find reliable.
If I had all that, then I might...

I wish for the power to face my own heart.
For the will to protect those I hold dear.
For the courage to change myself.
If I had all that, then one day...

On a night of falling stars, the girl wishes.
She wishes for light to return to the monochrome city.

On the night she knew light, the girl listens.
She hears the words giving life by speech.

On a night repeated, the girl creates.
She does this so she won't forget how she felt.

On the first night, the girl sings.
She does so here in this transient place.
In this rainbow city.

010010000110111101110010011100100110100101100010
011011000110010100100000010101000110100001110010
011011110110111001100101

010101010110111001110010011001010111001101100101
011100100111011001100101011001000010000001000111
011000010111101001100101

010101110110111101110010011101000110100001101100
011001010111001101110011001000000101010001110010
011101010111001101110100

001001100010000001010100011010000110010100100000
010001010110111001100100011011000110010101110011
011100110010000001000100011000010111001001101011

It is a terrible, terrible monster. His body resembles
jet-black armor, and his back is adorned with bizarre
insect-like wings. Long have we passed this story
down in our land.

The monster eats people, or perhaps it eats the dreams of those
who slumber—either way, their spirits break and they never
wake again.
This is how people came to fear the monster.

Though the monster is a being of fiction, some documents report
sightings of the creature.
The accounts are so lively, one might think they actually happened.

If such monsters do indeed exist, why were they created? Where
are they going?
And what do they search for?

Once, a swordsman discovered a special ore deep in a cave.
He knew it held a great power, and brought it to an engineer
so he might craft a greatsword with it.

The blade was large and heavy, and too blunt to cut even paper.
But it was sturdy and never chipped, so the swordsman slowly
gained renown for the way he battered foes to death.

The swordsman's country called him a hero and awarded him a
medal. They also planned to reward the engineer, but that man had
mixed feelings about his prize.

"The ore is magical," said the engineer.
"But if one does not possess the ability to use magic,
my weapon is little more than a crude bludgeon."

Times have changed. The warrior's spirit no longer exists
in battle. I see nothing but wretched death and despair, so
all I ask of you in the end is to send these letters to my
home country.

To my subordinates:
Hold loyal to the king above all. Put your training to use
when it counts, and do not die in vain. Give your lives for
those you love.

To my king:
Let not others sway you. Listen only to your heart. As I die
before you, I will tell your predecessors how you have
grown into a fine ruler.

To you:
Eat all of the food on your plate. Sleep well. Learn well. Play
well. Do not forget to smile. Things tend to work out, even in
times like these.

Once, a beautiful chunk of ore was found in the deep earth.
The miners were delighted, for they knew it would bring
wealth to their village. But the ore was hard, and no tool
could extract it.

The next day, a swordsman who'd heard rumors of the ore
came to the mine. His blade was renowned for being sharp
enough to rend even rock, but it simply shattered when it
struck the ore.

The day after that, a demolitionist who'd heard rumors about
the ore came to the mine. His explosives could fell massive
towers, but his bombs could not even scar the ore.

More and more people came to try their luck against the ore.
A fighter. A blacksmith. A king. Soon, the ore became a
popular tourist attraction that brought great wealth to the
village.

In this unit, we all end up responsible for our squadmates'
wrongdoings—and my reputation is plummeting because
he keeps causing problems.

I'm going to be an incredible soldier so I can avenge my
brother who died in battle. That's why I'm not going to let
him get in my way.

At first, I couldn't believe he was just sitting there
contemplating the rain. But then I heard someone talk to him,
and it turns out today is the anniversary of his father's death.

His father died in battle, so he volunteered to be a soldier in
order to get revenge. Honorable and all, but...revenge? The
word doesn't really suit him, if I’m being perfectly honest.

I run down a moonlit path thick with brambles. A man moves
at my side. Though I wish to avenge my father, all I can do is
run while holding sword he left me. Indeed, I have run my
entire life.

The man, once my father's aide, suddenly stops. Our pursuers'
voices echo under a waning moon. Has he accepted the end?
Gazing at the night sky, he says, "It is I who sold your father to
the enemy."

I press the sword against his chest. "Did you think me unaware
of your betrayal!?" I'd resigned myself to the shame of
accompanying a traitor to safety, but know now there is none to
be found.

There is no escape. Will I kill this man, then be slain by our
pursuers? Can I accept such a pitiful end? I drop my sword and
pray. Should I be born again, let it be me who ends his life
next time.

There once was a monster who so loved play that it gave up
sleep for it. Thinking the night dull, it resolved to find a world
where it was bright all day long, and set out upon on a long
journey.

The monster walked and walked and walked. On its journey,
it learned of a faraway land where the sky remained bright
even at night, the thought of which excited the monster
greatly.

The closer it drew to this land, the longer the days became,
and ever greater did the monster's anticipation grow. But it
also found it curious that the creatures it saw seemed to be
decreasing.

Upon arriving at the remote land, the monster found it was
home to no creatures at all. To this day, the sleepless monster
ontinues searching for friends it can engage in
never-ending play.

How many times have I heard the dying screams of monsters?
I've no interest in torturing weaklings.
I killed every monster that attacked me.
Unlike weaklings, I can survive without a pack. Alone.

The human I met in The Cage is helpless. ■■■■.
But she always smiled, and I found myself
■■■■■■■ ■■■■■■■ to our meetings.
It was the first time I'd ever ■■■■ ■■■■ ■■■.

The user and the ■■■■—that was ■■.
It wasn't ■■■■ me to ■■■■■ over such a tiny ■■■■■.
I will eat ■■■ ■■■■■■ and become ■■■■■.
That was ■■■■■■■■ to be ■■ ■■■■ wish.

Will ■■■ come today? I try to re■■■■er ■■■ ■■■■■ and
see only black wings. The s■■■■ of win■■ fills ■y mind.
I am pla■■ed by a ■■■■■■■■ sense of starvation.

Gunshots ring out across the battlefield, accompanied by
the sound of blasted walls and spilling blood. Over and
over does this happen, all for the sake of proof.

But no matter how many times it happens, the girl cannot
believe—even if others acknowledge and accept her.

She knows there is something her eye cannot see, so she
searches for that which is invisible.

She wants it so she might be complete—complete for her role,
and for her responsibilities. This is how she will prove to
everyone that she is in the right.

Artificial intelligence: machines people cling to in the pursuit of
peace and prosperity. Used for small roles at first—conversation,
predicting weather—they eventually came to rule humanity.

That is what I am: an artificial intelligence born to rule over this
country. But the power I need to fulfill that duty has been taken
from me by the very people I lead, and I know not what I lack.

"To eliminate the cause of her predecessor's failure." Those are
the words I heard in my sleep, now remembered clear as day.
Indeed, they repeat over and over in my mind like a curse.

This is why I wanted to become whole—to become someone who
makes no mistakes, brings about no tragedy, does not suffer
unkind stares, and above all, understands why.

Artificial intelligence: machines people cling to in
pursuit of precision. Used for small roles at first
—conversation, predicting weather—they eventually came to
guide humanity.

That is what I am: an artificial intelligence born to rule over this
country. I have been given countless functionalities to fulfill my
role, including a human-like "heart."

I am a machine programmed to understand human emotion,
though I experience only a close approximation of the real thing;
an imitation of what a human might feel in similar circumstances.

Yet even if it is artificial, I possess a heart—and a will. That is why
I have something I must do, even if I lose my role because of it.

Long ago, our clan's village had magical pinwheels of
all colors. "They protect us," my mother said as she
poured magic into the pinwheel at the tip of her staff,
imbuing it with powerful spells.

The pinwheels spun loudly the day before
our village was attacked, even though the wind was still.
They were warning us, and because of it, we survived—
but my mother and I were separated.

When I grew up, I decided to seek revenge.
So I used the great pinwheel on my mother's staff to search
for my old village. I held it high, and it began to
clatter when pointed in a certain direction.

Finally, I came to a village protected by pinwheels—
the same ones taken from us. "Bring out your leader!"
I cried—and when a woman emerged,
I knew without a doubt that it was my mother.

There was once a man who dreamt of going to space, and
he eventually managed to save enough for a journey.
As his family saw him off to the spaceship,
he looked to be the happiest man in the world.

Yet there was a defect in the spaceship, and he was barely
able to strap himself into an escape pod before it exploded.
Eventually, the pod landed in the ocean
and drifted to a small deserted island.

He used tools from the pod to make a hut, and also to hunt
animals for food. Then he began working on a board from
the pod, turning it into a magnificent wooden oar.

When the man returned, he expected a reunion with his family.
But his wife had thought him dead and remarried,
and his child no longer remembered his face.
All he had left was the oar that saved his life.

As my son floated in midair, I aimed at him and pulled
the trigger again and again. He came from the world
ahead, and I had to kill him in order to restore hope to
the present.

In the far future, I knew I would tell everyone how I
journeyed to the world behind in search of my wife.
But, oh! Look at this! My own loathsome son killed me
instead!

I shared my joy with my friend, the black bird. My days
living in the world behind would end today. I screamed
until my throat was raw, relishing in my success, for
floating before me was my dead dad!

My body slowly vanishes, for I've finally killed the last of
my relatives who stormed through the past. But what do
we live for now? I'll leave that to you, in the world ahead,
to decide.

There is a legend in a fishing village which claims the
deity of the sea is a goddess. As such, permitting a woman
onboard a ship will earn her jealousy,
causing her to wreck the vessel.

One day, a lone woman appeared on the open ocean
clinging to a wooden board. She begged the fishermen
for help, claiming to be the goddess of the sea.

The fishermen did not help, for they feared the goddess
if the woman spoke untrue. But their evil earned her ire,
and the ship was smashed—
after which they began accepting women onboard.

One day, a ship from this town was swallowed by a
great wave and capsized. Rumor claims the goddess was
jealous of the handsome fisherman on board.

Once there was a mermaid... Huh?
Ya don't believe mermaids exist in the age of moon travel?
Shut yer trap, kid! Yer supposed to be excited about this!
My own grandkid got no imagination, I tell ya...

Anyway, the mermaid had a big shiny pearl.
Said if you shave off a bit and drink it, it'd cure
any illness. Huh? Don't believe that either?
Hey, I ain't tellin' no more stories if all ya do is gripe!

So the mermaid spread rumors about the pearl, drew
people in, killed 'em, and lived off human meat.
Then, a big, hunky treasure hunter appeared, cut her in two,
and took the pearl. There. The end.

Ha! That wasn't no fairy tale—it was me when I was young!
I wouldn't lie to you. Huh? Where's the pearl, then?
Stupid kid! It's at the top of my staff!
Just small 'cause I shaved most of it off.

There was once a warmongering king in a faraway land.
Knowing he caused many to perish in battle, he built a
church for people to mourn friends and loved ones, and
hired a religious man to work there.

As the war continued, more and more dead appeared
every day. Family of the deceased came to visit each time,
filling the church with wails and prayer. The religious man
worked without pause.

Years later, the war finally came to an end. Yet soon
corpses began to fill the church anew, one after the other,
and rumor quickly spread that the king had started another
war.

"O God, I thank you for your mercy! Now I can continue to
support my family!" Alas, there was no way to know who
had actually started this war.

Someone gave the king a baton that can bring victory, but
it needs a few sacrifices to work. So 3rd Division, the
honor falls on you! ...How many are left now?
Three thousand? Yeah, that's enough.

Who the hell gave the king that baton? We fight in battle to
use our own fists and our own blades, but now we're down
to a measly 300 men! I better act now or the country's going
to fall.

The baton pulsed when I took the king's life, and I realized
the men we sacrificed were trapped inside. I can't let it be
for nothing, and since I'm the only one left, I'm taking it and
leaving.

I'm going to get my revenge with this baton. I'll avenge my
men, my love, and my king—and I know I can do it with
enough lives! Now then, how many people live on this
continent?

The smiling angel in the picturebook was enveloped in light.
Her eyes were clear. Cheeks flushed. Wings white.
Drawn in by her beauty, I decided to smile all the time
so I could be just like her.

Everyone complimented me for being an ■■■■■■■ child at
school and home. They said I was ■■■■. But I'm not an
■■■■■. I don't need to be an ■■■■■ so long as ■■■■■
and ■■■■■ get ■■■■■.

I saw a devil in a ■■■■■■■■■■■. Her wi■■s were black.
S■■n p■le. Na■ls long. Eyes with■ut light. In m■ panic, I
■■■■■■■ out the picture of ■■■ ■■■■■ as she s■■od
opposite the angel.

I'm not ■■ angelic ■■ ■■l. ■■ ■■■■ ■■ pale and I ■■■ ■
■ ■■■ ■■■■, more ■■■■■ than ■■■■■. If only ■
■■■■ ■■■. Because then I ■■■■■ ■■■■ ■■■■■■■■■
■■■■■■■ love.

Once there was a cowardly man who wouldn't harm a fly.
Also a weakling, he couldn't resist any street vendor's offer
—and one day, an unfamiliar peddler made him purchase
a sword he did not need.

Things changed once he began carrying the sword. Thugs
no longer bothered him. Vendors no longer pressured him.
And though he didn't understand it, he enjoyed his
comfortable new routine.

He believed the sword a good-luck charm and kept it on him
at all times. But when several terrible men surrounded him
and dragged him to a deserted spot, he gave a pitiful cry
and fainted.

When he came to, the men were bleeding out on the ground.
"AGAIN!? Why do people always end up in pools of blood
around me!?" The man fainted from fear, never noticing how
his blade was slick with red.

Is anything wrong? Do you need something?
HEY, YOU! YOU CAN HEAR ME? HELP ME OUT HERE!
How about a cup of hot tea? Please, come this way.
I'M TRAPPED! GET THE KEY FROM THE GIRL!

A merchant? Oh, I'd love to hear of your travels!
JUST SLIT HER THROAT WITH A KNIFE ALREADY!
Perhaps I'll tell my own tale of foolish humans...
KILL HER BEFORE THE STORY ENDS OR YOU'LL BE—

Humans judge by appearances.
Even the black birds that love rotting flesh can tell foe from poison.
The trapped people scream and bang on the glass,
but yOu DoN'T NOtiCE THeM riGHT iN FRONT OF YOU?

The war ended 50 years ago.
Sheesh! Kids these days got no backbone.

Look at 'em—complacent as all hell.
I got no hope for the future of this country.

All that's on TV is "sad" news. It's all overly dramatic.
Wish they'd just be thankful knowing they'll wake up alive
and well tomorrow.

Had a dream last night.
Dreamt we'd been born in this stupid age.
I was so happy to see you.
The blue sky was so infuriatingly beautiful.

No matter how science advances—no matter how the magic of
fairy tales becomes reality—
humans will find ways to kill one another.
This is why I once again find myself standing on a battlefield.

I've been here for years, all for my family.
But my current salary still might not be enough to pay for
my child's upbringing.

All I can do is kill.
Yet I need not fear death in battle with this body.

For you see, if this imitation of a body fails,
I simply exchange it for the next one.
Yes, our replaceable bodies allow us to keep killing one another
even after physical death.

Bang! As a gunshot rings throughout the palace,
a single knight crumples to the floor.
With gun in hand, the king cackles,
"Swords are old news! Thus begins the era of the gun!"

Our blades are our pride! protested a knight captain.
"We will not forsake them!" Bang!
The captain's blood paints the palace floor as the king says,
"Pride is stupid. Why die for it?"

Yes, my liege! exclaims the vice-captain.
"Let us set aside our swords!" Bang!
The vice-captain topples over, his face in shock.
"Shut up," says the king as silence descends on the palace.

Bang! A gunshot rips through the silence.
The king topples over, his face in shock.
With gun in hand, a young knight steps forward.
"Kings are old news!" he says. "Thus begins the era of the people!"

The town was known for a dump that held the world's garbage.
But one day, outsiders began showing up in droves,
for a rumor had spread of
treasure hiding somewhere in the rubbish.

One man found a worn sword and cried,
"This is a legendary weapon!" Satisfied, he took it home.
A researcher found a broken machine part shouted with glee,
"This must be alien technology!"

Every outsider who came left with some sort of treasure,
and many returned again and again.
The town residents didn't care if people took their trash,
for life was now flourishing.

In truth, the mayor had started the rumor—and
he couldn't have been more pleased, because the town
was now cleaner, the tourism industry was thriving,
and his pockets were heavy with coin.

"Mind giving me that dream you've got there?
I ain't had anything to eat for days now." I turn and see
an emaciated monster, and though I'm in the same boat,
I let the poor thing have it.

The next day, just as I'm about to eat, I hear someone saying
same spiel from behind me—and when I turn, it's the same
emaciated monster! Is this guy pulling my leg?
He said the same thing to me yesterday!

Well, I won't let him get away with it.
"Have you no pride as a monster!?" I yell. But the emaciated
monster just says, "Monsters don't need pride.
This is a world without law or morals."

"Spare a dream, buddy?" I beg a passing monster.
Life's been easier since I discarded my pride.
But my sneaky intentions make me hollow
—and one day, it will define me.

The land runs dry and takes on a dark red hue. In its depths
slumbers a lone halberd said to have once been wielded by a
high king. It has the power to end all war and deliver peace
through its wielder.

East and west of the halberd are two countries that have long
been at war. Unable to secure victory, they grasp at straws and
embrace the tale, each sending soldiers to find the halberd.

After days of marching, the soldiers happen across one another,
and a battle breaks out. When the bloody feud ends,
the final soldier from the east obtains the halberd for himself.

But when the man gazes across the ghastly site of battle, he sees
naught but despair for the world and decapitates himself with the
halberd. Thus were all who warred ended, bringing an era of
peace to the land.

The powerful god of the land granted powers to a lonely boy
whose parents had been killed, and bade him use them to gain
revenge before telling him the murderer's whereabouts in detail.

The boy thanked the god of the land, but never sought revenge.
Instead, he used his powers to farm and help others with basic
tasks, becoming a great boon to his people.

The people came to rely on the boy, and in return assisted him in
his lonely existence. But with this good life, they all forgot to pray,
and their god began to lose his power.

The god's face twisted, for he had set the entire plan in motion for
his own entertainment. And as he slowly faded away, he sneered
at the boy who now sat happily among his people.

My brother was a valiant soldier who met a glorious end
and is now revered as our nation's guard. But when I joined up,
I found not a warrior's end, but the inside of a field hospital.

As soldiers died around me, I overhead an officer:
"These poor kids—these have-nots—throw their lives away for
a chance at glory. When they die, we name them gods, which
just brings more to the fight."

I hated the enemy for killing my brother. I hated my country
for sending young, poor people like my brother into battle. I hated
the world. And the next thing I knew, I was holding a greatsword.

My killing of the officer was forgiven because of my
military exploits. I returned home a hero. But as the leaders
were giving me a medal, I gripped my greatsword and
swore revenge on them all.

I grip the spear tightly so I can be sure it is real.

I am tired and injured from the long battle.
My fingertips are numb.

Are all of my fingers still there?
I don't know, and I don't have time to check.

My vision goes red.
Is this my blood, or does it belong to someone else?

Let's visit a time when deer and monkeys were still alive, says
my wife as she unfolds a pamphlet.
"How about the World-Ending War instead?" I say. And so our
time-travel plans begin.

We eventually settle on Earth from hundreds of millions of
years ago, before the rise of man. My wife finds it eerie, but
I love such ages because I can hear her voice without anything
else drowning her out.

As we stroll, a fearsome dragon suddenly appears. We run,
but despite the danger, my wife starts to cackle. I find this
funny and start cackling as well, and we eventually make it
safely to the timeship.

Back home, our house has a sullen air. Ash rains down outside.
"What do you want for breakfast?" I ask my wife—and then
I remember she is dead, and I can only see her by traveling
through time.

I'm sorry he hasn't come back yet, someone told me today.
It's true, I met him here long, long ago. We fell madly in love, and
now he's just...gone.

Forget him and find a new man, someone told me today.
But I would never do such a thing. He is the only one for me, and
I would rather die than be with another.

He found a new girl somewhere else, someone told me today.
Of course he did—such wanderings are nothing new. But things
are different this time, because I know he loves me.

There's a cage outside town that no one knows about. My beloved
sits inside. Everyone thinks he left, but he has always been here.
I love you, darling, and I will never let you leave. Never.

There was once a knight renowned for possessing strength
so great that he could defeat armies without ever drawing
his blade. The king wished to see him in action, so he invited
him to the castle and threw a lavish feast.

But the knight insisted that a sword ought never be drawn
outside of battle. The king, now increasingly interested in
seeing the knight's skill, started a war with a nearby country
—but they won without the knight ever drawing his blade.

If you want me to draw my sword, find me an enemy of
equal strength, said the knight. The king immediately
started war after war, but they won them all with the
knight's blade in its sheath.

One day, the knight's wife asked him to help cook dinner.
He took up a knife with a trembling hand and wept as he
cut the ingredients—for he was so afraid of blades, he
could never draw his own sword.

Why do I fight? For my country.
For whom do I fight? My king.
A machine does not think. Does not question.
I was born to follow orders. That is my life.

For the first time, I thought to myself:
I must protect something besides ■■■ ■■■■.
I wish to fight for someone besides ■■■ ■■■■.
I want to wield this gun for ■■■ ■■■■■■'s sake.

I am punished for acting against ■■■ ■■■■.
I regret no■hing. I have pro■■cted ■■■ ■■■■■■.
I feel my consciousness be■ng rew■itten.
Mem■ries. Every■■ing. ■■■■■■■ at his command.

I rot ■■■■ in ■■■■■■. My mind ■■ empt■.
All I ■■■all are black birds in ba■■■■.
I ■■■■■■ ■ made ■ promise with ■■■■■■■.
I must ■■■ ■■■■. But ■■ mechanical mind ■■■■ hollow.

I was never strong, nor even very good at anything.
My life was normal.
Average. Boring, even.
And that's all I ever thought
I'd be—until I got this gun.

The moment I pull the trigger,
images flash in my mind and
I see a series of terrible accidents that
will occur in the very near future.
I see who lives...and I see who dies.

I'm doing all I can to ensure my
nightmare doesn't come to life,
but now my own reality is becoming the
nightmare—because each time I save a person from the future,
someone I love dies instead.

What does this gun want me to do?
I see all kinds of futures each time I pull the trigger,
then watch them come true seconds later.
And now, just now, I saw myself with
the barrel in my mouth.

The prince and I spent a lot of time together in childhood.
We'd chase each other, sweat together in training, and eat
lunch together. Were we not of such different standing, I
think we could have been friends.

When the king died of illness, the prince took the throne.
He was so young and anxious, and I vowed to protect him
with my life. I remember training so hard with my spear that
my blood stained the haft.

Your life is precious to me, the young king said with a smile
after I made my vow. And when a neighboring country
declared war, I gripped my spear and spared not a thought
for what his smile might have meant.

But war never came. Instead, the young king surrendered,
giving his life to ensure the freedom of his people. I never
took my spear into battle, and now I am too old to pick it up.

There was once an artisan famous for his beautiful weapons.
Each piece was highly praised, but too lovely to be used in battle.
Instead, they hung in castles and manors, becoming a
symbol of wealth.

After the artisan died, a knight armed himself with his weapons.
As enemies underestimated his flashy appearance, the knight
slew them—and soon his martial prowess was known
across the land.

The knight was, in fact, the artisan's son. He hated that his
father's work was viewed as mere decoration, and dedicated
himself to showing their true worth as weapons to all.

One day, the knight lost his life in battle, and an enemy stripped
him of his gear and took it home. But the arms were now
stained with blood and flesh, and would never be
decorations again.

Once, a noble samurai served a feudal lord.
In the beginning, he respected his idealistic lord and carried
out his will. But as time passed, the lord grew tyrannical, so the
samurai left his service.

The samurai made his way to a temple in the mountains
said to house a blade that could smite evil. After receiving it,
he gathered like-minded warriors at the temple to take down
the evil lord.

The samurai set out with the warriors. But the lord had a great
army, and a fierce battle soon erupted. "So long as we have this
blade, we cannot lose!" cried the samurai.
"Come! We fight for our future!"

The samurai lay in a river of blood, the blade impaled in his
chest. Some said the weapon slew him for betraying his lord,
others for sacrificing his companions. As for the lord, he only
laughed.

AAAAAAH! I'm a gun! I looove you! I'll do anything for you!
My heart is beating so fast!

OOOOOOH! It was love at first sight when I saw you
ten years ago! I gave my life to you! I'm dizzy!

EEEEEE! After all these years, I'm still by your side!
Maybe you take me for granted! I feel so floaty!

BOOOOOOM! I tried so hard for you! When I reached my limit,
I took you with me in an explosion! I'm so relieved!

A lone hunter lives in a small hut by the forest.
His quiet days and nights are broken only by
occasional gunfire or an animal's cry—but one
evening, a beautiful woman pays him a visit.

She has a request: An animal belonging to her
family has escaped, and she wants him to
capture it. Alive is preferable, but he is free to
kill it if he feels that to be best.

Though suspicious, the hunter goes off in search
of the animal. The woman claimed it was between
one and two meters long, so he builds traps to this
specification and checks them every morning.

One morning, he finds the beast in his trap.
Despite its monstrous body, it cries and begs for
mercy with a human voice—but the hunter still
pulls the trigger with a trembling hand.

A song to encourage another, for example.

The sounds tell them they are not alone.

A song for a dying friend, for example.

The sounds bring peace for the journey ahead.

A song to represent one's resolve, for example.

The sounds give word to will so it is remembered.

Songs have power, and sound is the vessel that speaks

to our hearts. This is what I believe.

Why do people discriminate? Why do they deny those who are
different? I don't know, but there are so many "different" kids
here—and that's why I hope I can finally make some friends.

I've started to talk to people more and more. We all had a
really hard time before coming to this place, and some of us
were bullied pretty bad. But no one does that here, which is
great!

A month has passed since I started living here. The adults say
they're going to protect us, but they're not very nice. They
always say they're busy with experiments and can't play or
anything.

The adults say they can get rid of my differences, so they
brought me to a room full of machines that they're going to
attach to my body. But I've made friends now and don't want
anything to change...

No one told me the new drug was still in the trial phase, but I still
bear the responsibility for prescribing it to patients. And now that
they're dead, I'm going to hang myself as a form of atonement.
Farewell.

I swim into consciousness and find myself in a small hospital room.
What happened? Did my suicide fail? As I ponder this, the girl who
was sleeping in the bed next to me reveals a surprising truth:

I'm in the distant future. The girl has a disease and hacked a time
machine to bring me here, because I'm apparently the only one in
history who ever cured it. Madness, but I won't abandon her.

Sadly, I have no idea how to cure her. And when she breathes her
last, I'm sent back home. What a shameful doctor I am. But I
can't cry; I must live on and find a cure for her disease.

This thing here? Notorious with the gangs. Heard they used
to use it for a little life-risking gamble.
Yep, that's right: the ol' Russian roulette.

Long time ago, there were two groups of villains what ran this
whole area. Neither one could gain an advantage, so the
bosses finally decided to settle things between 'em once and
for all.

They used this gun here to do it, but there's a catch: neither
one of 'em died. No bullets came out, see? And lemme just
say, there's no trickery at work here.

Anyway, the bosses forged an alliance, built this nation, and
made this gun a symbol of peace. I think true villains attract
fates that lead to their survival, no matter how the bullets fall.

False light. Forged space. A girl's voice
resonates in a virtual world created as a lie to
replace reality. The only true things here are her
music and the hearts she touches.

The girl sings in the virtual world, attempting to
cheer the war-weary populace. Yet while she has
garnered great popularity and attention, her
good intentions do not reach everyone.

Some criticize her for singing in wartime, some for
bringing about new conflict. The thought she may
be making a mistake troubles her—and yet the
adoring letters she receives strengthen her resolve.

That night, the girl appears on skyscrapers across
the city. From every corner, she begins singing to
show her resolve, and the song moves the city, the
people's bodies, and their hearts.

Padjal are horned beings blessed by the elementals.
Despite their youthful appearances, they live
staggeringly long lives. First-class mages, their
staffs are venerated throughout the woods.

This petrified-wood staff was made from a tree
frozen in time, stone not of earth, and a being
from the forest. The Padjal seek to better lives
with magic, which is why they loved the staff so.

Many expected the forest-dwelling Padjal to act as a bridge
between spirits and living. But the staff's last wielder left
to cleanse the outside world, thinking it
the best way to protect the woods.

When the man vanished, many said this was the fate
of all who abandoned the Padjal's purpose. But those
he saved on his journey knew the good he did—
and always with staff in hand and a spring in his step.step.

In the snowy mountains to the north lies a land that
has warred with dragons for an age. And among its
people, mighty knights known as dragoons raise
their spears high to protect the people.

As a shepherd boy stands before the corpse of his
younger brother in a ruined home, he makes a vow
to slay the black dragon who took all from him. He
then casts aside his crook and takes up a spear.

The former shepherd boy becomes a dragoon. His
eyes are clouded; he speaks little. While knights
shudder to see him slaying dragons with a smile,
his master and friend know he has a warm heart.

His revenge now complete, the dragoon removes his
helm. But he never drops the spear, for he now knows
the dragon sought vengeance for its sister. And
soon, he will call his weapon by the dragon's name.

There was once a world filled with light which ate
away at life and withered the land. But one rebelled
against fate and fought the light with his black
greatsword—one known as the Warrior of Darkness.

Warped by light, the sin eaters dragged the world
toward destruction. But as the warrior continued his
journey, the light began to eat away at him, and he
lost the strength to wield his greatsword.

When his last foe fell, light spilled from the warrior,
transforming the hero into one who pushed back the
dark. Yet even so, his sword supported him, and he
found the strength to continue on.

He defeated the ancient mage. He snuffed out the
primordial hero. The Warrior of Darkness persevered
through adversity and returned darkness to the sky,
thus the people named his sword "Shadowbringer."

Time wore away at his heart. His dearest wishes?
His strongest emotions? All faded away with the eons.
And so the ancient mage give form to his
feelings by turning his hatred into a sword.

Though magic is a skill that causes phenomena
through emotion, the mage knew intense emotions
exhausted the heart. As such, he discarded many
of his own so he might use them when the right time came.

The mage slept for an age, guarding his heart.
When he awoke, he walked an illusory city. And as
he gazed at this facsimile, he recalled what he
wanted back—and also the depths of his hatred.

With the fight lost, the mage let go. His envy
became a dagger. His wrath an axe. His hate a
sword. For he believed this power would be
necessary for those who yet forged onward.

There was once a poor man who lived in a village with his equally
poor girlfriend. But they never bemoaned their financial status,
instead fostering an honest
love and vowing to one day wed.

One day, the man mustered his courage and asked his girlfriend's
parents for permission to marry.
But the father cared not for his feelings, instead scoffing
at his humble and shabby dress.

The father gave the suitor an impossible task: to prove his love by
bringing him a fine jewel.
Perhaps he was implying that a wedding between two poor
families would only bring unhappiness?

But the man didn't give up; he broke into a rich man's house and
stole a jewel. Meanwhile, the girl killed her father as he slept.
They then ran away, sold the
jewel, and made a boring, happy life together.

I met a girl with glossy, silken hair that stretched down
to her shoulder blades. But because the military
forced me to wear gauntlets at all times, I was
never able to touch it.

One day, I asked her if she could run her hair across
my cheek. When she did, I felt a surge of energy from
the bottom of my heart. So before I went to sleep, I made
another request of her.

When the war finally ended, the girl became an actress
that brought life to the people. Her trademark was a pin
of a black bird, and soon everyone wore the same pin just
to be closer to her beauty.

The other request I made so long ago? I asked for a lock
of her hair. I put it in a bottle and carried it with me—and
with the war ended and my hands free, I can now stroke
it whenever I like.

CERTIFICATION: 10/26/0026 / ID: 653961373932 / DETAILS:
New User / ASSIGNED: Imperial Army 8th Security Unit. /
Database Inquiry: All Clear. Permission granted to above
user. Saving records.

RECORD: 4/12/0027 / TARGET ID: 653862343834 /
LOCATION: Abandoned City, B District / SUMMARY:
Terrorists in Abandoned City exterminated / VITALS: Stable
before and after operation

RECORD: 6/2/0027 / TARGET ID: 653762336137 /
LOCATION: Capital, Residential District 76 / SUMMARY:
Terrorists & family members exterminated / VITALS: Mental
outliers due to resistance.

RECORD: Unknown. Data corrupted. /
TARGET ID: 653961373932 / LOCATION: Capital, Military
Command HQ 1 / SUMMARY: Unknown / VITALS: Death of
user confirmed / SPECIAL NOTE: Successfully disposed

Many mages died in the last war, including the parents of my
brother and I. But we did not suffer for money, for the army
bought their old staves, crystals, and other artifacts at a high
price.

Our lives were modest and happy until the day my brother
went missing. I searched and searched, but days eventually
turned into years, and one day a government-run orphanage
burned down in a fire.

It turned out my brother had been in the orphanage with amnesia.
He came home covered in burns and bandages, and though I
wanted to make him happy, our country began readying for war
again.

They drafted young children like my brother, and now I
understand why his eyes are red under his bandages—red
like the stones in Mother's staff. Now I understand what the
orphanage really was...

She wakes up to find herself confined and begins to scream.
"Where am I? I can't see anything in here! Someone
let me out, please!"

As a horde of enemies appear from the darkness, she notices her
hand grips a staff. And though the realization is painful,
she understands she must fight in order to survive.

The battle with the dizzying number of foes wears her down body
and soul. Suddenly, a voice in her head announces the end,
and her consciousness winks out as though a switch
has been flipped.

This product is installed with an AI that has learned to fight over
millions of bruising battles. Not an adept fighter?
Not a problem! Our patented Easy Mode always has your back!

Broken machinery is nothing but scrap metal. Scrap metal is
useless. Useless things are trash. So today, like every other
day, tons of machinery has been brought to the dump.

A thing that cannot fulfill its purpose is discarded—this is true of
machinery as well as humans. And I know it's true because I was let
go from my job for making a single mistake.

As I rummage through the dump, I find a spear. It's a beautiful
piece of machinery, but broken. Just like me. Well,
damaged goods need to stick together, don't they, partner!?

Now my former coworkers lie in puddles of gore at my feet. Well,
would you look at that? Seems damaged goods work perfectly
fine when you put 'em together!

By the time we see the trouble, it's too late. Our ship is pulled into
the gravity of a nearby star, so we all scramble into
one-person escape pods and fire ourselves out
into the darkness of space.

The pod consists of a bed and the bare essentials for survival,
which means all I can do is wait for help to arrive.
I set the cryosleep timer to ten years, shut my eyes, and
hope for the best.

Ten years later, I slowly open my eyes to find myself surrounded by
the same endless dark. With a shaking hand, I set the timer
to a hundred years and return to my slumber.

One hundred years later. Nothing has changed. I speed through
space at 35,000 km/s. My family? Gone. My friends? Gone.
I set the timer to the highest number I can and sail
on into the dark.

We're finally going camping tomorrow! My bag is packed and ready
to go, and I'm so excited I can hardly sleep! We leave
first thing in the morning—oh geez, I hope I'm not late!

Camping day is finally here, so we met in the plaza and left
together! Our campsite is in a dumping ground past the
four mountains. There's ten of us plus the teacher—
it's gonna be so fun!

Four of our group got lost, but seven got to the city safe and
sound! Once we set up camp, we can finally go hunting.
I'm gonna be the best hunter—I won't lose to anyone!

The teacher got shot in the head! My stomach's ripped apart!
When the muzzle flashes, my friends go flying! But I'm not scared,
'cause battle hypnosis is great! Best camping trip ever
yaaaay!

Once there was a single woman who walked with a cane and a limp.
She was beautiful, worked hard, and got on well with others.
And whenever she was troubled, someone always helped.

As she was shopping, a strange man approached and offered to
carry her parcels. But when she handed them over, he took off
running."So that's how they target the weak", she thought.

Despite her supposed lameness, she caught up with the man in a
flash. She then produced a rope, bound him, and beat him to
death before stealing his things. "This guy's broke,"
she murmured.

Her leg was never injured—she just pretended so she could kill
those who might prey on her. "No one is ever
going to miss a purse-snatcher anyway," she thought
as she casually headed home.

There was once a man who kept watch at a manor outside of town.
He stood at the gate, spear in hand, and dealt with
suspicious characters and guests as he had done
for half his life.

After so many years at the manor, he grew close to his employer.
They shared with one another their personal worries and
problems, and were friends in every sense of the word.

One day, the lord of the manor told the guard he was dying.
As he had no children, the guard's work would end once
he passed, so he urged his friend to seek new employment.

But the guard couldn't bring himself to leave his friend alone.
So even after the manor fell to ruin and became a den
of black birds and beasts, he continued to stand his watch.

When my friend and fellow soldier died, I took up his sword and
swore to make our foes suffer the same fate.
This was the only way I could soothe the pain of his brutal murder.

My strike made a beautiful clean hole in the enemy officer's skull,
the edges puckered out like flower petals. But strangely, looking
at the mangled corpse did not clear my clouded heart.

As I mowed down enemies in search of peace, my sword eventually
snapped under the strain. But when I repaired it,
it finally felt like I was starting to heal. It felt...good.

Enemy slain. Sword broken. Sword fixed. The pattern repeated
again and again until it no longer resembled the original weapon.
So while I'd found my footing, my friend's memory was lost.

A soldier with bandaged finger stormed into a weaponsmith's
shop. "Hey!" he cried.
"That gun you sold me discharged and injured my hand!"
"Good thing it was cheap," replied the smith.

"I looked like a damn fool," said the soldier. "Not my fault you're
inexperienced," replied the weaponsmith as he took the gun into
the back room to begin repairs.

Every time the smith repaired the gun, it injured the soldier more—
yet he trusted the smith and kept returning. But one day,
he was horribly injured by a discharge and
rendered unable to fight ever again.

Several years later, the retired soldier became the weaponsmith's
apprentice. And to this day, the clang of steel
is accompanied by hearty laughter, and no repaired
weapon ever discharged again.

There was once a lone monster girl.
As she had only one tail,
no one would be her friend. But since things had
always been this way, she was never lonely.

One day, the monster girl found a
monster boy who was lonely like her.
But when he asked her to play,
she noticed he had no tail.

I like to play by myself, replied
the monster girl. But despite this,
the monster boy did not leave her side.
"I don't want to be alone," he said.

The monster girl ran. The monster boy followed.
Finally, she cut off her own tail.
"Does this make you feel better?" she asked, to which
the monster boy responded with a radiant smile.

Even with the evening recital finished,
the ballet dancer heads off to a practice session.
For if she hopes to keep her position in the company,
she must dance with perfection each and every time.

The girl's instructor is a beautiful, yet cold
woman who was once the prima donna.
Her punishment for failure is harsh, so the girl
practices in fear under the dim light of an overhead chandelier.

But the chandelier is old, and this night
its chain finally snaps, sending it hurtling
toward the shocked girl. But before it can strike her,
the instructor leaps out and takes the blow.

"I once danced with a pure heart," whispers the dying woman.
"But at some point, it was not enough to live by.
So keep dancing...for me."
With this, she smiles her first smile ever and slips away.

Soldier, soldier, why do you look so sad?
Rest your wings here for a while.
The dawn is yet a long way off.

Soldier, soldier, have you lost your beloved?
Wipe your tears and make a prayer.
The dawn is yet a long way off.

Soldier, soldier, did you take too many lives?
Sit a spell and spin for me your tale.
The dawn is yet a long way off.

The dawn comes, yet you have a path to forge.
I will wait here for you to return.
I will wait for you forever.

There was once an emperor who owned a beautiful white bird.
Whenever he had a quiet moment to himself,
he cared for the animal. It was the only thing
that relieved the stress of his position.

He never allowed anyone else to care
for the bird—and as he had no children,
he loved it more than all else, to the point that
he named the bird his successor while on his deathbed.

The people were shocked—not simply because
a bird was now their emperor, but because
it fulfilled all of its political goals and began to
lead the country in a new and better direction.

But with the previous emperor gone,
the bird had no one to care for it anymore.
So its body slowly tarnished and faded away
until all that was left was an inky-black corpse.

I had time on my hands, so I decided to make a weird
tool with the scrap wood lying around. It ended up being
a cylindrical baton. Maybe a chair? A table?
I dunno, but it's odd no matter what.

Finally, I just jammed both my hands inside the thing
and found it was surprisingly comfortable. This is good,
I thought. I can use this to pummel people.
But then I realized something...

My hands wouldn't come out of the thing!
Was this punishment for all the violence
I'd committed? Shaken, I asked our wise mayor,
who wrote out a letter of introduction for a doctor he knew.

The doctor took one look at my hands and said
"Oh, yes. I can get that off." Then a group of doctors
came in and pinned me down. One of them pulled
out a saw, placed it to my wrists, and then...

Black rain falls. The powerful droplets splash the mud,
dirtying my feet. The boundary between myself and the other
grows hazy.

Someone emits a red scream on the black earth. But no one listens.
Because if one allows the red to touch them, their silhouette will
be revealed.

None can abandon this black land, which is why they hate the
ones who alienated the outsiders that lay waste to this leveled
ground. The rain falls silently, turning the earth into thick,
dark mud.

Flapping wings sneer. Though far from the ground, the spots in the
sky remain black. But no one will acknowledge it. Soon, black
spots fall to earth, and stripped feathers sink into the mire.

There was once a cowardly monster.
Though bigger than all the rest of the monsters,
he was still afraid of everything, and his friends
made endless fun of him because of it.

The monster was afraid because he knew his power
was the greatest, and he worried he might accidentally
kill one of his friends. This is why he always
stayed very quiet and kept to himself.

True strength is not wielding great power,
the monster often thought.
True strength is being able to
stand tall and protect your friends.

But his friends didn't know that, so they kept
disparaging him for being weak. A coward.
A big ol' scaredy-cat. But oddly enough, the monster
always had an endless amount of friends around him.

A couple built a schoolhouse in a developing country and took in
underprivileged children. They fed them, educated them, and raised
them with love, as though they were their own.

One day, a boy abandoned by his parents arrived at the
schoolhouse. The couple embraced the boy and gave him bed with
soft blankets. Soon, his wounds began to heal, and he was
even seen to smile.