ERADICATING THE CHAINS OF IGNORANCE

It has been years since I've held a girl's hands so tightly. Her touch is unfamiliar, yet oddly reassuring. A paradoxical warmth exudes from her, though her porcelain-like fingers feel impossibly cool.

And how fortunate for me that she is pleasant to behold.

Her head is crowned by snow-white hair styled in a Hime cut, cascading like silken threads to her waist. Her skin, glossy and black like polished obsidian, seems to drink the dim light of the desecrated alleyway. In place of eyes, she bears twin crimson Xs, sharp and enigmatic, a gaze that pierces without seeing. Her nose is a dainty button, her plump lips perfectly shaped, the allure of her presence undeniable.

She is clad in a school uniform: a crisp white dress shirt beneath a red blazer, complemented by a black pleated skirt. Even her outdoor shoes match the striking hue of her umbrella—a blood red umbrella, indistinguishable from her right arm. Its underside reveals a translucent lattice that hums with latent energy, a blend of elegance and menace.

It's exhilarating to witness something I once designed on a computer now moving like a living (False), breathing (False) being. As her weight settles against me, something stirs within, a primal surge of emotion. A deep, raw yearning to coddle her, to admire her, to keep her close.

(Oh how I want to fondle her.)

(How I want to coddle her.)

(How I want to admire her.)

(Ah, If only.)

(If only.)

If only that grotesque mockery of a man weren't standing mere steps away.

The thing with pale, corpse-like skin stretched taut over its bones, its crimson eyes like coals lit by hellfire, and a mouth armed with predatory fangs. A creature that recoils from sunlight yet feasts on the lifeblood of the living. Others might see a rough but mildly handsome delinquent. But not me.

My eyes see the same as theirs, but my soul—my very essence—rejects its existence.

(Seriously what the hell is this?) I think bitterly.

(I've just barely accepted the existence of the [DOLLS] I've created and now I'm just supposed to accept that [VAMPIRES] are a thing too?)

No. Never.

Such abominations are beyond my capacity to endure.

"Seeing as you're unwilling to initiate conversation," the thing says with a voice as smooth as venom, "I'll take the honor."

I remain silent, unwilling to dignify it with a response. Yet it persists.

"Ezo Yamaguchi," it begins. "That's the name I go by in this country. A good number of [HULDUFÓLK] have been murdered in this city, and I suspect the cause to be an amateur [WITCH] whose [WITCHCRAFT] has gone awry. You see, I have an eye for such things—"

"Excuse me?"

I interrupt, raising a hand to cover my face in exasperation. Shame colors my tone as I prepare to end this farce of a conversation.

"I don't know what kind of live-action roleplay you're engaged in, but we're just a cameraman and a cosplayer."

The creature freezes, a perplexed look marring its features. Then it laughs—a sound as grating as nails on glass.

"KEKE KE KE KEKE!!!"

It cackles, shoving its hands into its pockets.

BOOM!!!

Before I can process its movement, something strikes like a bolt of lightning. A leg. More specifically, a kick aimed straight at me.

[Regnhlífarstelpa] leaps into action, opening her umbrella to shield us. The impact sends us both hurtling into a dumpster, the force reverberating through my bones. Pain lances through my body, but I dismiss it—I have no time for weakness.

(If I had known she would be present at such a moment, I'd have designed her more practically…)

(No.)

No. That thought is unworthy. Despite my initial denial of her existence, she has protected me without hesitation. Her actions, born of loyalty rather than logic, compel me to silence any doubts about her creation.

"OI!! YOU THINK I WAS BORN YESTERDAY?! YOU THINK I CAN'T SEE THIS IS ONE OF THOSE [DOLLS] KILLING [HULDUFÓLK]?!"

The thing roars, its rage palpable.

[Regnhlífarstelpa] raises her umbrella arm, intent clear in her posture.

"Hætta".

I command. To my surprise, she obeys, lowering her weapon. There are questions that must be answered before this spirals further into violence.

"My apologies,"

I say, addressing the vampire with deliberate calm.

"As you've surmised, I'm a novice in the ways of [WITCHES] and [WITCHCRAFT]. Before awakening to these abilities, I knew nothing of [HULDUFÓLK] or their customs. I assumed discretion was common, even among the inhuman."

The thing's fury wanes, replaced by a calculating expression. It strokes its chin thoughtfully.

"I see."

It says at last.

"Given your ignorance, you're not a [COVEN] [WITCH], are you?"

I shake my head.

"I am not."

A smirk stretches across its face, predatory and lecherous.

"A newborn [SOLITARY] [WITCH], then? First, I strike gold at the pachinko parlor, and now this? Lady Luck must really love me today."

It produces a cigarette from its pocket, lighting it with practiced ease. The glow of the ember casts sinister shadows across its face. With a puff of smoke, it continues,

"Listen closely, you ignoramus. [WITCHES] are savants. Human prodigies whose compulsions transcend the mundane, and bleed into the supernatural."

"I see."

I murmur. The revelation resonates uncomfortably. I cannot recall when my compulsive designs of the [DOLLS] began, but the implications are clear. Talent or skill, I wonder—which of these is my curse?

"Your [WITCHCRAFT] involves creating [DOLLS], doesn't it?"

It sneers.

"That makes you a [BYRJUN] [WITCH], one whose compulsion is creation. If you favored destruction, you'd be an [ENDA] [WITCH]. You're also quite lucky—if you were the latter, I'd have to kill you here and now."

For some reason the thing seems pleased with itself.

So pleased in fact that I have to question why.

"Is a [BYRJUN] [WITCH] really such a fortunate thing?"

The thing snorts.

"Tch, ignorant bastard. Of course it is. If you were an [ENDA][WITCH] I would have to kill you. Those things have the potential to rival WMDs and having one is like making an enemy out of all other [HULDUFÓLK]."

The disdain in its voice ignites something within me.

"Tell me,"

I ask, barely restraining my contempt.

"What exactly is the relationship between [WITCHES] and [HULDUFÓLK] ?"

The thing snorts.

"Tools. [WITCHES] are tools that exist to further the ambitions of [HULDUFÓLK], those who stand above humanity***.*** Any [HULDUFÓLK] worth their salt has a [WITCH] or two under their belt."

Red. All I see is Red. The hatred that burns in my chest is reflected in my eyes, no longer a dead black but aflame with unyielding defiance. My voice, raw with fury, erupts like a golden flame.

"HOW CONCEITED! HOW CONCEITED OF YOU, YOU FILTHY BLOOD SUCKING PARASITE!!!"

I pull out a metallic chain dyed in red and sporting two heavy padlocks. It's similar in size, shape, and weight to the one used by Klono. All three members of [SIX EYES] have one—in black, white, and red—a twisted symbol of childish camaraderie. This chain is called [THE DEFINITION OF IGNORANCE].

Why?

Because it's common to see me chaining myself to an opponent to engage in a slugfest. However, with the nature of my opponent, that isn't possible.

Instead, I pull [Regnhlífarstelpa] closer to myself and chain her to me. She hangs off me like a baby kangaroo in their mother's pouch. I do this, assuming her build will prevent her from handling recoil properly.

[Regnhlífarstelpa] points her umbrella arm at the thing.

"Skjóta!"

A stream of high-pressured water bursts from the umbrella's tip but goes flying all over the place.

(I see. She doesn't exactly have any experience with her gun. It appears that my [DOLLS] aren't perfectly efficient killing machines. The fault is on me for denying their existence so I'll have to compensate for her aim.)

The thing whistles.

"Phew, you scared me there. I though you were about to do something stupid. I'm willing to consider this just you wanting to show your [OWNER] what you're capable of."

This thing.

I seize [Regnhlífarstelpa]'s arm, guiding her aim. The metal sings in tension, and I roar like a beast:

"You can take your consideration and shove it up your ass! Skjóta!"

The thing anticipates the strike, but a portion of the previous stream turns to spikes that impale its feet. Another stream bursts out, this time cutting through its waist. A grotesque shearing sound follows as I charge forward.

"Loka!"

[Regnhlífarstelpa] snaps her umbrella shut, its silhouette twisting into a brutal war club. Her movements carry the elegance of a dancer, unshackled by humanity's limitations.

"Högg!"

Her swing is a hymn of annihilation. The top half of the thing is flung from its lower portion like garbage, its severed body landing with a wet thud.

"Skjóta!"

The next stream widens the gap between the two halves. I grab the writhing lower torso, dragging it to a dumpster where I dispose of it, along with my wallet, keys, and phone await.

An abandoned knife set gleams nearby, and I take the two largest blades. I stalk the upper half as [Regnhlífarstelpa] trains her weapon on its chest. Yet I hold back the command to fire.

Not yet.

Spite is a poison I refuse to dilute.

"How strange parasite, you don't seem to be standing above humanity at the moment."

My voice drips with malice, a twisted satisfaction in watching its hubris crumble. I step closer, savoring its helpless rage.

"Tell me, bloodsucker, do fairy tales hold any truths? Are you and your ilk undone by crosses, garlic, and sunlight?"

It spits at me—a savage gesture. Without hesitation, [Regnhlífarstelpa] snaps her umbrella open, shielding us.

"You think I was born yesterday? I know you've never kill—"

"Skjóta."

Her shot is surgical, a perfect hole burned through the creature's chest.

"Confidence is such a peculiar thing,"

I muse aloud.

"Cain murdered Abel without precedent. So tell me, parasite, what delusion fuels your arrogance?"

[Regnhlífarstelpa] tilts her head, her silence as empty as a vacuum. Her lack of wit is charming yet irritating. But teaching her banter will come later.

Thump

(Steel yourself of heart of mine.)

(Wallow in ignorance for just a little longer.)

Then it speaks.

"Platzen."

The word crawls into my ear like an insect, cold and malevolent.

Blood explodes from the creature's waist, a crimson flood erupting with the force of a fire hydrant. The wave slams us into a wall, stealing the air from my lungs. By the time I wipe my vision clear, the creature stands again.

Its lower half is no longer flesh, but a grotesque construct of blood, solidified and pulsing with unholy vitality.

"DO YOU THINK WE [VAMPIRES] WERE BORN YESTERDAY?!" it bellows, its voice a jagged symphony of rage. "AFTER SONGS, BOOKS, FILMS—DO YOU THINK WE WOULD LEAVE OUR HEARTS WHERE YOU EXPECT THEM?!"

I pause.

It makes sense, annoyingly enough.

"Well,"

I snarl,

"I GUESS I'LL JUST HAVE TO REDUCE YOU TO A STAIN ON THE PAVEMENT THEN!!!"

My roar matches its own, but before I can act, I glance at [Regnhlífarstelpa]. The sight ruins me.

Her arm—crushed. Her chest—caved in. Water seeps from her eyes, her form broken beyond repair.

Ah…

She's dead.

Much like the others. The [DOLLS] I denied, who never saw my face, now another joins them. I kneel, unbinding the chains that tether us. Gently, I lay her down.

"I'm sorry,"

I whisper.

"If not for my incompetence we would have had more time."

I rise, my vision narrowing. The thing screeches, swinging wildly as I lunge forward. I dodge by a thread, chain myself to its back and constrict it's waist with my legs.

Its claws reach for the chains.

"HOW NAIVE, PARASITE!!"

I howl, sinking my teeth into its neck. My bite is feral, tearing flesh with no regard for dignity.

It thrashes, but I do not waver.

It reaches for me—

"ANOTHER BAD MOVE, BLOODSUCKER!!"

I grab firmly onto the two knives and relentlessly stab the thing's torso.

Violently like a monsoon.

My actions followed by a flood of pain.

And so I bite.

I stab.

I pull.

I scalp.

I gorge.

I constrict.

Surely, it is in reach.

That which causes this thing to tick.

"HOW SHAMEFUL, VAMPIRE!! STANDING ABOVE HUMANITY?! IN WHAT WORLD?! IF DRACULA COULD SEE YOU NOW HE WOULD BE ROLLING IN HIS GRAVE!! YOU'RE A DISGRACE!! COMMIT SEPPUKU AND ROT!!"

The thing falters, its movements stuttering as I carve deeper. I don't know whether I've finally gotten it's heart or whether it's been utterly demoralized.

Then it speaks again.

"Blutklinge."

Another menacing word spills out of the thing's lips like bile.

Blood erupts from its wounds, in greater volumes than before, forging a sword of crimson steel—a Luftwaffe blade, glinting with malevolence.

"Ah,"

I sigh.

"I just had to run my mouth."

The blade impales us both.

Pain blooms, sharp and absolute. The heat of life drains from me, leaving only regret.

Contrary to media, the embrace of death is all but gentle.

It hurts.

Getting stabbed hurts.

I can't even scream or howl.

This pain can't be expressed with just that.

I can feel the strength, the heat leaving my body as I sink into the void.

"It's my loss then."

…

"It'S NoT OvER… NoT Y3t… tHerE's… ONE MORE!"

A voice rings out from a place I least expect it.

Fragile like a ripple across a still pond.

And yet it carried the weight of the universe.

I look to [Regnhlífarstelpa], broken yet radiant as she points to the sky.

No, to the infinite sea of stars.

"Ah, would you look at that."

Today I vowed to no longer deny the existence of the [DOLLS].

So too should I no longer deny [HER] existence.

[Regnhlífarstelpa] smiles, her first so far, as the embers of life leave her body.

Those embers reignite the flames of my own life.

The strength of my grip returns.

I grab onto the thing's hair, pulling it, forcing it to look upwards.

"LOOK TO THE SKY AND WEEP VAMPIRE!

TO THE ONE WHOSE SKIN IS PORCLEIN PALE!

TO THE ONE WHOSE HAIR IS BLACK AS TAR!

TO THE ONE WITH EYES OF MOLTEN GOLD!

WITH LIPS CURLED IN THE MOST HATEFUL EXPRESSION!

LOOK TO THE ONE BANISHED TO THE INFINITE SEA OF STARS!

LOOK UPON [MEGIDO ARC] AND HER GREAT KILLING MAGIC!

[THE WASTED DEAD HEAT OF MALICE]!!!"

A beam of black light falls from the furthest reaches of space and envelops the thing and I.

The thing is burnt up by the malicious heat.

While I am emboldened by it.

And then I see the thing's [HEART].

About to be completely eradicated from this world.

But my pride, my ego, the voracious engine of spite in my chest compels me.

I grab the [HEART] in my hands and crush it before we are both swallowed in the brilliance of [MEGIDO ARC]'s [MAGIC].**

...

I come to, some seven minutes later.

I am naked.

Though I myself am exempt from [MEGIDO ARC]'s malice, the same cannot be said for my clothes, my armaments or my weapons.

I made the right call earlier to dump the thing's and my belongings earlier.

I look to what can hardly be called the remains of the thing and gloat.

"DID YOU SEE THAT YOU BLOOD SUCKING PARASITE?! STANDING OVER WHAT CAN HARDLY BE DESCRIBED AS YOUR CORPSE IS A [WITCH]!"

"THE [WITCH] : OF [DOLLS]!!!"

"ZE HA HA HA HA!!!"

I can't help but laugh maniacally.

I can't believe I was so averse to what was merely the next stage of my being.

Right now I feel like I can take on the world.

"Wait… Wait…, I CAN'T! I REALLY CAN'T!"

And yet such an obvious display of power has probably been made known to all sorts of [HULDUFÓLK].

"SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! IT WAS TOO FLASHY!! [MEGIDO ARC]!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Last Chapter Next Chapter