So It Begins

A/N: The contents of this chapter may not be suitable for all audiences. Please read at your own discretion. (Drug overdose)

In the forests outside of the city Relremark, George readjusted the corpse of the elk on his back, whistling a happy tune to celebrate his successful hunt. This was an excellent buck with a beautiful set of antlers. He would be able to make a nice trophy out of it. His wife would be more concerned with using every last bit of the meat, of course, and he smiled fondly as he remembered her curvaceous body. Would she reward him tonight for coming home with such a high-quality kill? He certainly hoped so.

He trekked along the small wildlife path, stepping carefully and watching his surroundings. There were bears in these woods. If he was lucky, he wouldn't run into one today. 

Before long, he reached the place where he had tied up his horse and began to transfer the corpse of the deer to its back. 

Something moved in his peripheral vision. Turning his head towards it ever so slightly, he froze. What was that?!

Standing eerily tall at a distance was an ethereal figure outlined in a haze of deep green and white, somewhat transparent, its form flickering like flames. It had a large set of spindly, jagged antlers, the skull of a wolf, a bony neck, long-fingered human hands and the body of a severely malnourished deer. It walked quickly forward in a distinctly jagged, unnatural gait. 

In a raspy, reverse-echoing voice, it was muttering, "Does he see me? He sees me? Does he see me, see me?" 

George paled and hurriedly mounted his horse, pulling at the reins and kicking it hard to get it moving. "What the hell is that thing?" He asked frantically, voice cracking with fear.

"He sees me! He sees me!" The raspy voice howled.

Before the horse had taken two steps, George was lying on the leaf-strewn, uneven ground, head at an unnatural angle and blood pooling from the torn flesh of his broken neck. His horse slowed and turned to look at him, then spooked, running off.

The creature loped onwards, ignoring both the man's body and the horse. It was off, drawn towards something distant, yearning to fulfill the vengeful goal for which it had been born.

----

Not long after Derek finished recording his first Paranormal Event in the new book, a strange, semi-transparent purple window appeared in front of him. Pieces of it were broken off and flickered in and out of view, changing colors erratically. The only word that came to mind to describe its weird behavior was "glitchy." Where he knew that word from, and what other meanings it might have, Derek didn't know. 

"What is this…?" He muttered, scratching his chin.

[n𝙹∷ᒲᔑꖎ h⚍ᒲᔑリ k╎ꖎꖎᒷ↸! +20 xp]

It's clearly different from the screen, he thought. It's not in a language I can read, if that even counts as a language to begin with, and its appearance is too different. 

He wrote in the Brainstorming Log to ask about it just in case, but there was no response. Apparently whatever this purple window was had nothing to do with his Paranormal Events.

Feeling annoyed, he wished it would go away, since he couldn't figure out anything about it at the moment. He was pleasantly surprised when it immediately disappeared. "Well, that's nice," he said, and returned to his daily activities. He'd spent long enough on designing his first Paranormal Event that he would have trouble getting everything that he needed to done today.

Still, he felt satisfied with his decision to be so thorough about his tasks as an Apostle. For the sake of his two young children, his wife and himself, staying alive this time came first.

----

Two days ago, Hatfield

Taylor moaned, her tiny body bumping against the nearby foot of the couch as she woke up. Had she been dead? How had she even died?

"Oy, brat," a gruff voice snapped from the couch. "Thought yous was dead." That was… the voice of her drunkard father. He wasn't a good father, as she recalled, but at least he didn't beat her like her friend's dad did. 

"Mm, no daddy, I'm not dead," she said, sitting up and flashing her prettiest '7-year-old-daughter smile.' He liked it when she smiled.

"Well that's good, I don' hafta talk the the fuzz now. Stay outta your momma's stash next time, alrigh'?"

"Yes, daddy!" She replied enthusiastically, then skipped off to her room. 

As soon as she was alone, the smile melted off her face and she went over recent events in her mind. Though she hadn't understood how she'd died before, the old man's words, and her own memories, gave her all the information she needed: she had found her mother's stash of drugs and, thinking it was candy, eaten a bunch of it before overdosing to death. She shook her head and groaned. How could she have been so stupid? 

Thinking back, she realized that something felt off. She tried to figure out what it was. 

Suddenly, it hit her.

Before being brought back by the Savior she chose, she'd been just like any other 7-year-old girl. Young, oblivious and not very smart at all. Now, though, the difference was extraordinary. Though some force seemed to block her recollection of how or why it had happened, she could tell her mental maturity was far too advanced to be that of a child. Was this some sort of bonus gift for having been brought back from the dead? 

That didn't seem to quite describe it, however. What she felt now was probably better described as "not fitting in her own skin anymore." Yes, that seemed more accurate.

As she pondered on the perplexities of her situation, what looked like a dirty glass pane appeared in front of her, hovering midair, written on with words of blood. 

"Ah," she said, formulating a theory. "A normal child wouldn't have been able to complete these tasks. Is that why you've changed me so much, Fairy?"

A wicked glint appeared in her eyes as enthusiasm for the challenge lit within her. 

"Alright then, Fairy, let's begin!"