Roleplaying through “Re:Zero” with the GPT-3 story generator (Part 38)

This entry covers part of the tenth volume of the original “Re:Zero” novels.

In the previous part we learned more about Roswaal’s dong, and when the protagonists returned to the lord’s mansion, we found out that the whole staff has been exchanged. Look forward to uncomfortable moments with a twelve year old, as well as some German hijinks.

GPT-3 is a cutting-edge language processing algorithm used in the premium version of the online site AI Dungeon.


You took up the offer to sleep for a bit instead of eating a meal prepared by an annoying tween and a German woman who is also some percentage of beast. You had expected to lose sight of your consciousness for at least a couple of hours and then eat in peace in the dining room, which has a table as expectedly large than even when everyone of the inhabitants of the mansion gathered for lunch, most of the time it felt as if you were sitting at different tables in a school cafeteria. But the nap ended up being terrible, and it mostly just left you groggy. Your hangover hasn’t improved. You did tell Julius right after the Witch of Envy ate Petelgeuse that you should sleep for a whole week after this fight thing was over, and your body is demanding that you live up to your words.

However, you want to run into Ram, force her to explain why on Earth she would have accepted that tween to work at the mansion, and also reveal calmly to the senior servant that you had brought her a new sister as a sort of gift, if a defective one. You figure that if there’s anything worse than discovering you had a sibling all along that you didn’t know anything about, it’s that you can only watch that sibling sleep, presumably for the rest of your life.

You leave your bedroom and then begin to wander the halls in search of Ram’s quarters, which are located on the third floor just above the courtyard entrance. On your way there, however, you come across that Frederica woman, who is standing on her tiptoes to dust a faded painting. Under the short skirt of the servant outfit, her toned leg muscles stand out as if she exercises regularly. Along with her predator teeth and her mane-like light blonde hair, the whole deal reminds you of a lioness, if a lioness had a mane. As you approach her from the side with some wariness, you picture her turning towards you, flashing her sharp, triangular teeth, leaping onto you and then immobilizing your arms under her powerful legs. Once she has you pinned down and you can’t escape, she opens her mouth wide. Her predatory teeth glisten with saliva, and some of it drips on your face. From the moment she first saw you she’s been aching to devour you. She grabs your head and bites a chunk off your face.

When you come back to your senses, you’ve gone cold and your heartbeat pulsates on your neck. Your penis twitches. You groan, hunch over and grab your head. Stupid brain!, you think. Stop imagining me in erotic situations with any female slightly attractive and above!

“Mr. Natsuki, are you okay?”, she asks while eyeing with an amused expression, as if you were playing some sort of idiotic prank on her.

“I’m… I’m fine. Just had a blackout for a moment… What did you say?”

“I asked how you’re feeling.”

“I feel fucking weird, is what I fucking feel! Why the hell are you so damn pretty!?”

Frederica turns to face you and holds the duster with both hands in front of her waist. She has arched one of her thick, blonde eyebrows.

“I gather your nap didn’t do much for you.”

She smiles at you, and her triangular teeth peek out from under her lips. Don’t show them to me now, you damn lioness!

You take a deep breath and avoid the new servant’s gaze.

“Not a thing, beyond maybe making me more irritated.”

“Do you think that finally eating your meal is going to do you some good?”

You shake your head. You don’t know if it’s due to your hangover, the stress or the assaults of your numerous delusions, but you feel somewhat feverish and light-headed. You hold the side of your head in your hand.

“Anyway, Frederica, I was looking for Ram. Have you seen the senior servant anywhere? I need to yell at her for a bit.”

Frederica tilts her head but she smiles despite her confusion, as if you are entertaining her.

“I did tell you as well as lady Emilia that Ram had left. I’m acting as senior servant in her absence. So you won’t be able to find her here, as she isn’t in the mansion anymore.”

You can’t put your thoughts in order. Where would Ram have gone that was more important than running the mansion?

“I can’t imagine that anything would keep working in this mansion without Ram being here, as much of an abrasive gal that sister-in-law of mine is. Why would she leave the mansion now of all times? Did she get tired of dealing with the villagers? Or is she so close to Roswaal that whenever shit gets real she also just bolts?”

“I think it’s the second one, but I can’t be sure.”

“Hm. So why does that make you smile?”

Frederica gives a small laugh, although it’s hesitant. You have already suffered through the consequences of people who should be in charge of this place disappearing when they are needed the most, and you don’t believe it will ever become a laughing matter.

“Whatever, Frederica”, you say while trying to hide your irritation in front of this woman you barely know. So Roswaal hasn’t returned yet, and now Ram has also quit her post. Something is going on, isn’t it?”

“I mean… Ram did inform in her letter that lord Roswaal had gotten tangled in the usual troubles that spark in Sanctuary. I’m not sure why he considered it urgent enough this time to head there when he knew that the Witch’s Cult could organize an attack on his domain, and I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t have returned already…” She looks to the side as if running something in her mind. She tilts her head and sighs. “Ram decided to figure it out. It seems that she took quite a few villagers with her, and they all went together to Sanctuary.”

“Villagers? A bunch of villagers followed her? Why would she do that?”

“Maybe they felt in danger after the assault, and their destination is called Sanctuary. Beyond that, I couldn’t tell.”

“Is that wise? I don’t know shit about this Sanctuary place that keeps getting mentioned from time to time, but a place from which such a supposedly powerful magician can’t return, because I hope it’s a matter of being able instead of wanting, to his mansion when danger approaches, well, it doesn’t sound like the safest place to send any of his subjects right now. And you said that Sanctuary is a place well known for the trouble it causes?”

You shake your head. It hurts too much to think properly about anything. You seriously need to rest, although you don’t think you will be able to fall asleep again until the sun sets.

“It’s a load of whatever for me!”, you add. “Well, what has Ram said about the stuff going on in that village?”

“Nothing. She hasn’t written or visited us since she left with those villagers. Or if she has written, the letters haven’t reached us.”

You don’t understand why Frederica doesn’t look more worried, but then again you don’t know virtually anything about this woman except that she bites people’s faces. Perhaps she has worked with Ram for so many years that Frederica can’t care less if the senior servant got killed. You aren’t sure if you would blame her for it. And if Roswaal is dead as well, you suppose that nobody is going to evict you from this mansion. Even if the lord has hidden his money in a vault somewhere in this place and you won’t be able to break into it, you could probably keep living here for decades by selling Roswaal’s furniture and paintings. He would deserve it as well, that damned exhibitionist.

When you stop rubbing your head, you realize that Frederica had been waiting patiently for you to snap back to reality.

“I think we can leave it at that for now, Frederica. No, wait a second… Does Emilia know any of this?”

“I haven’t told her anything, no, but she hasn’t asked either. Last I saw her she was speaking with that merchant in one of the balconies from the second floor, while she played with her familiar.”

Otto is already making moves on her. You shrug. The more time she spends blabbing with the merchant, the less time she’ll spend trying to get you to pay attention to her. You realize that you should feel humbled and thrilled about her attentions, as you have thought many times in the last few days, but damn it, you haven’t gotten any proper rest. Even when you do lose consciousness for a while, it’s like your brain keeps working through your troubles in the background, and when you open your damn eyes again, you are as tired as you were when you threw yourself onto the bed.

“And you still don’t know shit about Rem, right? The blue-haired servant we brought with us.”

“No… I figure that it’s a complicated matter, so although I’m very curious, I will wait until you both feel ready to share.”

“Might as well get it out of the way now. Can you stop whatever servant stuff you were doing so we can locate Emilia and sit down for a chat?”

“Yes, sir.”

After you walk through your current hallway, you realize that Frederica doesn’t expect Emilia to have remained in that balcony from the second floor. She stands near the railing of a flight of stairs and stands there with her head tilted as if focusing some hearing beast powers. You shake your head.

“Of course, you people don’t have cellphones, and due to the size of this mansion it’s like we are the only people living in an apartment block. This is ridiculous. Don’t you have some magical means of locating someone in here?”

“We could try ritual magic, but I’m not a very skilled ritualist and it would take too long for me to try to accomplish that.”

“We need to do something, because I’m not good with directions, nor have the time for patience.”

Frederica starts speaking, but her voice trails off as she seems to realize something. She looks back at you.

“Do you think Emilia went out to the second garden? That’s where she goes to clear her head when she gets stressed.”

You take a deep breath and shrug.

“Sure, let’s just hit every place she could be at.”

You both have been walking for a while through the hallways, and you focus on looking down at the view of the vast yard that the windows offer, just in case you spot anyone. You only see Patrasche running around on the grass. It does improve your mood. You expected Frederica to seem somewhat annoyed, but these girls are pros. It’s like they live for serving people. You don’t see the appeal; you’d rather be on the receiving end of that transaction.

“Ah, and now that Ram is gone, I can’t question why she accepted that kid as a trainee”, you say. “Guess we’ll have to put up with her for a while!”

Frederica shoots you a glance as she walks with perfect posture.

“You mean that Petra Leyte? Do you truly have an issue with her? Ram had already departed when the child started working here, though.”

You stop, and it takes Frederica a couple of seconds to realize you’ve become paralyzed. She turns towards you. Due to the disgust on your face she arches her thick eyebrows.

“It was you, Frederica!”, you say. “And you even called her a child. What were you thinking!?”

Frederica’s confusion looks incongruous given that the tips of her triangular, predatory teeth keep peeking out from under her upper lip.

“She’s a perfect trainee. Polite, enthusiastic, learns quickly… I had feared that she would clash with lady Emilia due to how the villagers of this part of the kingdom deal with demi-humans, but the very first day Petra went on about how much she admired our lady. So I truly do not see any problem with her.”

You step closer to the blonde, part beast servant. You speak as calmly as you can, because she’s a stranger and she’s not going to enjoy your words.

“Frederica, if I hadn’t just met you and you weren’t a woman and clearly much stronger than me and were wearing something with a lapel instead of that generous cleavage, I would grab it, the lapel I mean, and shout in your face about the craziness of your decision.”

For a moment you would have expected this well-built woman to feel somewhat threatened, but she’s amused as if you are putting on a show for her.

“If you’re worried about lady Emilia having another person to talk to, I can assure you that she welcomes it genuinely.”

“This has nothing to do with Emilia. Clearly our half-elf loves the kid, she’s fangirling over Emilia’s witchiness. I mean that you must be violating some child labor laws, aren’t you? That annoying kid is twelve! Don’t you have any shame, you damn German?”

“Child labor laws…? I don’t know what you mean. Working for a lord as powerful as Roswaal is a huge opportunity for the child. When she decides to start her own family, she will likely have the means to move to the capital if she wishes to. Very few of your average villagers’ children that venture into the wide world end up making anything of themselves, and they return humiliated and in a worse position than if they had just stayed home.”

You turn away from her and lean on the window stool. The afternoon’s sun warms your face, and you close your eyes for a moment. When you open your eyes, Frederica is standing next to you as if waiting for your input. She’s a servant after all.

“Listen, Frederica…”, you start with a low voice. “Your fantasy world laws have really screwed that kid up, because if all of you are fine with her working in the mansion, and nobody will save her from this predicament, I fear for her soul.”

Frederica laughs softly. Although by her expression you must be making very little sense, you are entertaining the servant enough.

“As much as I ever managed to learn about lady Emilia’s past, she was saved from a far worse fate than any of us. I assure you that my own past wasn’t easy, and in many ways it hasn’t ended yet. Even though Petra was born as a villager, she has the luxury of not having to deal with the problems that plague the likes of us, and due to her age she remains blissfully ignorant of the vacuous life that would expect her if she were fired from her current job.”

You shake your head, and go as far as putting your hands on this stranger’s bare shoulders so she gets to understand what you mean.

“Horrible, soul-scarring sexual things keep happening around me. You will have exposed that innocent child to horrors you can’t even imagine.”

Frederica laughs, and as a reflex she covers her predatory teeth, because she can’t force herself to erase her own smile. She pats you on the forearm, and you lift your palms from her shoulders.

“That’s it?”, she asks. “Are you concerned that you might do something unsavory to this child?”

“H-Hey! No, that’s not what I mean! It has nothing to do with what I want! Before I realize it someone has offered me her bare foot to suck on, has burst into my room as I was holding my dick, or has pushed her bubbly ass against my dick, or has crushed that whole area where my dick is… That’s enough. I don’t to want to browse through my memories of many lifetimes for all the carnage that has been inflicted upon my sanity! You see what I mean, though!? What if she suddenly turns a corner and I’m standing there bleeding out of every orifice, particularly the sexual ones for some reason? Any deranged shit you could come up with has a good chance of happening to me and everyone who chooses to associate with my cursed self!”

You begin to tear up at this point, and you take a deep breath and try to gather yourself. Frederica rubs your back slowly in an attempt to calm you down.

“There, there”, she says in a soothing tone. “My, I hadn’t properly considered the stress you and lady Emilia have accumulated after surviving your clash with the Witch’s Cult.”

You manage to calm yourself, and you wipe away the tears.

“It feels as if I’ve done little else than cry in front of random people recently. Well, I guess I give up on caring whether an innocent’s soul is going to be cursed forever. You people don’t understand, and by the time you do, you will bear those same indelible scars yourselves. Don’t say then that you weren’t warned.”

You wander away for a few meters, but Frederica calls out to you.

“We aren’t going to keep looking for lady Emilia, then? Mr. Natsuki, follow me to the kitchen and I’ll warm you a meal. I get the feeling you need a break.”

This German servant had taken as a duty returning you to a semblance of normality. After you ate her home-cooked meal, she ordered you to lounge around until you digested it, and then she prepared you a warm bath, thankfully away from Roswaal’s bathhouse. As you were lying on the ample tub with the water up to your chin, you sigh deeply and you realize that your headache has gone away. None of these attentions have erased the nightmares from your brain, but at least your body allows itself to relax and rest. When you get out of the bath, dry yourself and put on a fresh set of clothes, you are tempted to ask Frederica to give you a deep tissue massage with her strong, part beast hands and limbs. Roswaal likely accustomed his servants to such demands, after all. However, you figure that lying on your back in front of someone you’ve known for less than a day with a raging hard-on isn’t conducive to a healthy relationship.

After you casually come across Emilia as you were descending the main staircase, you both agree to reveal during supper to the current senior servant everything she needs to know about the new and comatose inhabitant of this mansion. You gather in the dining room, around a corner of the huge table. Emilia was quick to sit to your left, and Frederica sat in perpendicular so you can address her better. Otto ended up sitting to your right, and therefore attending this conversation even though he has little to do with any of it.

After Petra served you all your suppers, she retired to whatever she occupies herself with whenever she isn’t bothering you. Emilia delved quickly into the heart of the matter.

“I know that such a power exists, of course”, Frederica says, concerned, “because the White Whale is capable of it, and yet I suppose that in the back of my mind I believed I would have remembered an erased person anyway, that it shouldn’t be so easy to steal every memory of someone and have all of those moments rearranged so the erased person didn’t influence them. So this Rem and I worked together for some time… It’s so disconcerting.”

You scratch an eyebrow while clearing your mind, so you can avoid tangling this servant in pointless details.

“We suppose that the two men that ambushed that caravan belonged to the Witch’s Cult. Probably high-ranked members, so superpowered. One of them has the means to mess with memories. Rem was the victim who got the worst of it, likely because she confronted that man, and Crusch got her own memories sucked out. We know that she did attempt to kill one of the men, and she temporarily lost part of her left arm for it. Also, you were right regarding Rem being a relative of our absent senior servant. It’s her little sister.”

Frederica, whom you had already associated with levity, someone to whom you could tell any nonsense and she wouldn’t be fazed, lowers her face and turns somber.

“I’ve always known Ram to be difficult. She doesn’t enjoy people’s company, she doesn’t need to share her wishes and dreams with those around her, and even though we worked side by side for years, it’s like our relationship hadn’t progressed at all. She doesn’t make connections. Did she have a good relationship with this sister we all have lost?”

“You would find the demon siblings together most of the time. Rem was as sweet as they come, someone who would care for the most useless and broken trash and even fall in love with it. Not even the senior servant could resist her charm. However, my dear Rem wasn’t this meek creature, but a fierce demon who would protect the people she cared about by crushing other people’s heads with an enormous, customized flail. She was just the best.”

Your throat closes up, and you try to distract your urge to have a good cry by gobbling down some more of the tasty supper. You feel Emilia’s eyes on you, but you have already gone through it: she feels bad whenever you show how much you care for your comatose girlfriend.

Frederica frowns in confusion and blinks a few times. She rests her elbows on the table and wrings her hands.

“I have so many questions… But first of all, you know our senior servant’s lost sister as she used to be. Do you hold memories of the siblings interacting with each other?”

You nod and swallow your food.

“Yes, I do. Rem was very kind to the senior servant, who held a soft spot for her sister. I see where you are getting at, but no, beyond her sister, Ram was as much of a bitch as you know her.”

Frederica smiles broadly enough that she displays her predatory teeth, but a moment later she erases her own smile to hide her teeth, seemingly out of habit.

“Fair enough. I wouldn’t be surprised if our absent senior servant came out like that from the womb. But please do clarify something for me, Mr. Natsuki. How come you seem the only one who retains the memories of Rem?”

You look out of the window. The sun has already set, and the brightest stars already show up in the darkening sky. You don’t want to elaborate on your suspicions, and particularly on the curse that the worst witch in the history of this fantasy world had granted you. When after a few seconds you open your mouth to speak, Emilia interrupts you.

“Subaru had a special relationship with our sleeping servant. That’s why you remember her, isn’t it?”

Emilia stares at you with her beautiful purple eyes, and despite her kind smile, her sadness peeks through. The candlelight flickers as a breeze from the open window blows into the room.

“Mr. Natsuki and our sleeping resident were in love with each other”, Frederica says. “I understand why you seemed so unstable. I truly hope you have managed to relax a little, you surely need it.”

“It’s beautiful, though”, Emilia says softly, looking down at her plate. “Not even such an unfairly powerful ability, able to rewrite the rest of the world’s memories, can break the bonds of love. Your relationship with Rem must have been the stuff of fairy tales, Subaru…”

You shift your weight on the chair. This damn girl has romance in the brain, and her current infatuation must be coloring everything she thinks about. How troublesome.

“Yeah, I suppose that’s the case”, you say drily.

You don’t know what else to say, and neither does anyone else, so you all keep eating your suppers while pretending you weren’t having a conversation. However, a few seconds later Frederica sniffs, and you raise your head to see her drying the growing tears at the corners of her eyes.

“I apologize”, Frederica says with a calm voice. “It’s unsightly for a servant to cry, but…”

You had stopped your loaded fork midway to your mouth. It feels so wrong to see a German cry, it disturbed you.

“It’s okay to show your true emotions if you need to, Frederica”, Emilia says softly. “You should never apologize for it.”

“Thank you, my lady. It’s just… The bonds of family anchor you in this world. You only get one, and many times, so I’ve heard, the family you create for yourself doesn’t elicit the same feelings of belonging. But we were born in a reality where your family members can die meaninglessly, no matter their hopes and dreams, and now even a single man’s power can wrest from you all the memories and the associated feelings of the most cherished sibling. It’s unimaginably awful.”

Even though you barely know this new servant, you suddenly feel a fondness for her as if she had been working at the mansion from the first day you saw it. Otto, who had kept quiet out of respect for business that had little to do with him, clearly was working himself up to comment on the subject, but Frederica, who hadn’t noticed, slowly gets up from the table and takes her tray.

“Excuse me for a moment. I’ll compose myself, and also check on Petra’s work in the kitchen area. The rest of you go back to your meal.”

Otto sighs.

“Well, I might as well bring it up”, you begin. “This also concerns you, Otto, if you are going to stick around at least until you meet Roswaal, because the guy doesn’t seem any closer to returning.”

“I am still around, yes…”, he says sheepishly.

“Have you talked about this subject with Frederica before, then?”, Emilia asks as she looks at you intensely.

“Gist of the matter is that Ram was worried enough that her beloved master hadn’t returned, that she grabbed quite a few villagers and they all went together to this Sanctuary place that keeps getting mentioned. When Frederica received a letter to return to the mansion and act as a senior servant in Ram’s stead, our abrasive, pink-haired demon gal had already left. Since then, Frederica hasn’t learned anything else about the situation. For all we know, both our clownish lord and Ram are trapped in that place, which is apparently associated with regular trouble.”

“That’s really concerning, Subaru. Even if we considered helping, I have no idea where Sanctuary is.”

“Why haven’t they told you…?” You turn to Otto. “Do you have any clue about this Sanctuary place? Ah, nevermind. I think I actually asked you before.”

“I don’t think I ever heard the name of such a place before, and I’m sure that you never asked me either.”

“It happened in a previous lifetime.”

Otto arches an eyebrow, but then shrugs.

“Ah, okay… Well, now all I know is that there must be dangerous beings living there, because it’s a place that makes people disappear! Not exactly a ringing endorsement.”

You feel uncomfortable, as if you are missing some important detail. You turn to your left so you can observe Emilia’s expression.

“Why wouldn’t they have told you, though? Roswaal kept going regularly, I remember that much, because some Garfiel guy or thing kept acting up.”

Emilia lowers her head, and pushes her spoon with a finger absentmindedly.

“You are mistaken about my relationship with lord Roswaal. There’s him and Ram, who seem to share all information, and then, maybe a level below, Roswaal and Beatrice. I come way below that. I’m the royal candidate that he backs for the throne, so in that sense he’s on my side, and he can do something really good for me, but beyond that, I always felt a barrier between the lord and me as if there are things I simply shouldn’t know. All I learned about Sanctuary is that it’s a hundreds of years old village that has some special significance for the Mathers family. How come there are people still living there when the village doesn’t seem to appear on any map, at least by that name, I couldn’t tell.”

You rub your chin.

“I see… So it’s like those Soviet secret cities where they did nuclear shit. Intriguing, yet highly concerning.”

Emilia tilts her head. She looks tired.

“Soviet… what? I’ve never heard that word.”

“Don’t worry, Emilia. It’s just one of those things I say that don’t mean anything. Don’t strain your cute brain when I confuse you like that.”

“… Well, in any case Sanctuary seems to be a place where they do important things and don’t want to be bothered.”

“Sounds like some stuff never changes, even in a different world. So what do we do regarding our absent, indolent lord? Do we just wait it out?”

Emilia’s pupils move around as if she can’t reach any conclusion. She looks as if she just realized she left the gas on.

“I believe we have no other choice, yes…”

After a short silence, Otto speaks up.

“What a confusing series of events this week has been!”

“Don’t worry”, you say to the merchant. “It’s not as if we are going to evict you from the mansion just because the lord doesn’t show up.”

Otto smiles.

“Mr. Natsuki, look at me. I’ve been assigned a room larger than any I’ve lived at before, and there must be more than a hundred vacant ones in this enormous abode. We are tended by competent servants, who wear revealing uniforms…”

“One of whom is a child, I remind you. No matter how annoying she is.”

“Of course, of course. I just meant the blonde, exotic looking lady. And in addition to the previous points, I don’t have to do any work. Worrying about anything in this place seems like a waste of brainpower, doesn’t it?”

Roleplaying through “Re:Zero” with the GPT-3 story generator (Part 37)

This entry begins to cover the tenth volume of the original “Re:Zero” novels.

A whole new arc has begun, the fourth one, and we continue following the adventures of sexual fiend Natsuki Subaru, which will likely leave a wake of gooey destruction in his path. It doesn’t seem like there’s a plot going on at the moment.

This entry turned out to be another one close to seven thousand words. It just happens.

GPT-3 is a cutting-edge language processing algorithm used in the premium version of the online site AI Dungeon.


Otto didn’t want to drive the carriage for two days straight, so you stopped in a midway village that you have stayed at before. It’s a den for merchants and travellers, as well as people down on their luck that never got to where they intended. Those people, as well as plenty of merchants, stumble around drunk in the streets, often because the town tavern is already full. Although your memory has become fuzzy, tangled as it is with weird memories of past lives and horrible deaths, you are pretty sure that you first came here as you were travelling to Roswaal’s mansion with Rem, and she abandoned you here because she realized you were a burden. You also attempted to drown yourself in the river for some reason, and at that time you didn’t even know that you could come back to life. You wish you could have continued on your voyage even if you to stop at the next village. You can die over and over, but you feel you have a limited amount of bad memories you can store without going insane.

After you and Emilia agreed to rent separate rooms, you left your Rem sleeping in your bedroom. Emilia must had assumed that you were going straight to bed, but you took on Otto’s offer to drink at the local tavern. You don’t doubt you are going to end up drinking yourself into oblivion, but if that’s the case then you might as well. If you had drank enough last night you would have woken up in that nasty cat’s bed, and you are pretty sure that despite the regret and shame, it would feel better than the gloom you are harboring right now.
Now you get to regret Otto’s choice of alcohol. The guy must have grown up in some peasant town where they didn’t know any better. Whatever. You feel light-headed and forgetful, which is what you hoped.
“You know, Mr. Natsuki”, Otto begins cautiously, “not to disparage your company, but I would have loved if lady Emilia would have come down with us.”
You take another swig of your piss-poor drink.
“Impressed by the princess, are we? I gather you haven’t seen many silver-haired half-elves, and certainly none as pretty as she is.”
Otto lowers his head slowly, and looks around in case someone that heard those adjectives has turned your way.
“Of course! Like everybody else, I grew up listening to tales of the horrible witch who almost drowned the entire world. Then lord Roswaal presents a royal candidate with the same heritage as that monster, when most people believed that half-elves, particularly silver-haired ones, had been driven into remote forests away from everyone’s gazes. And now I get to talk to one, drive her around on my carriage…! She’s like a character in a fantasy tale.”
“You are one to talk!”
Otto arches his eyebrow, but he’s already tipsy enough not to linger in confusion. He holds his glass forwards.
“I was afraid, I admit, that she would turn out to be so evil that I would fear for our future, and more importantly for my safety! But she’s like this proper, kind, sweet young lady who also looks like she came out of your dreams!”
“You let them corrupt your mind with fantasy stories, that’s the problem. They inject their ideologies in them, they twist the facts so they support their conclusions, and before you know it you come out hating silver-haired half-elves. That Satella was pretty bad, though. She dissolves people inside of her.”
Otto leans forward, and lowers his voice.
“I think Emilia is in danger.”
You lean forward as well.
“From what?”
Otto shakes his head slowly, and speaks in a low voice.
“Me.”
You sit up straight and shrug.
“I see how it is. Either she gets kidnapped and murdered by cultists, or gets creeped on by horny guys who want a piece of her cute half-elf ass.”
“She’s like this sweet young girl, you know? A little too nice. It’s unnerving…I’ve never met someone so willing to trust me. I’ve never had something like that. No girlfriend, left my family far too soon. I’m really scared that…”
Otto trails off, but you already understand what he means.
“You’ve met her after someone has proven to her that she deserves the effort to prevent her from getting horribly murdered. She used to distrust everybody, and now it’s like she’s swung to the opposite side. Neither is healthy.”
“I fear that sweet, beautiful girl will find herself a permanent place in my heart, Mr. Natsuki! It would never come to fruition. Or should a man aspire to dreams way beyond his station in life?”
“I’ve never been know to act according to my station in life, but let me tell you something, Otto. At the end of the day, that silver-haired half-elf that everybody fears and hates because of her heritage and her powers is a lady with lady-like needs, same way at the end of the day a king sits on his ass. You should have seen her before, when we were standing in front of that innkeeper and having to decide how many rooms to rent. That Emilia was eyeing me expecting me to ask for a double bedroom, so she and I could sleep under the same sheets.”
Otto almost chokes on his drink, and after he cleans his mouth, he laughs.
“For sure! The royal half-elf, possible future queen of this kingdom, aching to share a bed with a lord’s underling. I don’t want to disrespect you, Mr. Natsuki, but that’s what I was talking about! Once you let someone like her in your heart, everything else will taste like dirt, and weird ideas will fester in your head!”
“Emilia would never look at a chump like me that way, you mean.”
“Now let me tell you this too, Mr. Natsuki. I don’t care if you were the most loyal person in the kingdom and had protected every lord there ever was with your life, I’d still say what I’m saying right now.”
“I will let you know that the girl in question was standing there burning for me to rent a double bedroom and then hold her in my strong arms through the night. I saw the wild lust in her eyes.”
Otto laughs harder, and slaps the bar top. He waves to a barmaid for more drinks.
“You’re drunk on love already! You did lead that operation to save her, after all. What a man does for the girl of his dreams! If we didn’t, we would still be living in caves.”
You shake your head. You think back at Emilia’s expression when you dismissed her for the night, and you get annoyed. You already know you get meaner the more you drink, but you couldn’t care less about that tonight. It feels beyond wrong to stay at this midway town when you don’t have to rush to prevent an Apocalypse.
“Joke’s on Emilia, though. Even if there was a room left to rent, and we ended up sharing a single bed, I would have laid my comatose girlfriend in between us. I’m above these kinds of will they won’t they bullshit, Otto. If some girl I’m not dating annoys me regarding whether I’m going to share a room with her or not… I have frozen to death, I’ve had all of my blood gushing from my opened carotid arteries, I’ve felt the rush of a guillotine-sharp anti-trespass measure turning me into a temporarily living cannonball. And that girl thinks I’m going to participate in silly games! If I want to sleep alone next to my comatose girlfriend, I don’t care if you go to bed all wet!”
“You are beginning to make zero sense, Mr. Natsuki, but that’s alright. I’ve had some of my best conversations during such periods!”
You realize you’re on the verge of shouting, which would get the tavern’s attention. You continue in a lower tone, but your words become more spiteful.
“I can tell you are impressed by the princess, Otto. She’s hot as hell, she can impale people with ice shards, she has a huge, invisible cunt flying around her at all times. But you should know something, Otto. This one time I was lying in bed while suffering the worst pain a human being can experience, beyond what you would imagine you could tolerate without your mind shattering. I should have gotten a medal because I regained my sanity after I abandoned that reality to its ruin! I was resting on that bed as I just mentioned, lying there without legs… I don’t want to remember the destruction between my abdomen and what remained of my thighs! And you know what the innocent princess did? She clocked me right on the nose. That’s assault!”
“I don’t think I should believe any of your words at this point, Mr. Natsuki, but if even a shred of what’s entering my ears is true, you people at Roswaal’s camp are enjoying riveting lives!”
“You have no idea… Who punches a cripple in the face as hard she can!? Can you blame me for harboring some resentment!?”
Otto puts a finger to his lips, and then makes a downward motion with his hand. You quiet down. He continues the conversation.
“I feel the weight of the turbulent, yet surely magical times you and such a fabled silver-haired half-elf have accrued. I don’t want to get thrown out of the tavern again, because such a reputation would only make my life harder, but you can be sure that I’ll gladly listen to your stories from now on, hopefully without distracting everyone around us from their own drunkenness.”
“You have smelled money, haven’t you? I know that my temporary half-beast pals saved you from getting roasted and possibly eaten by those cultist freaks, but now that you’ve gotten closer to a loaded lord, you’ll get your claws on this opportunity.”
Otto’s pupils narrow and his face pales, and for a moment he looks as if you’ve triggered a war flashback. He then wipes his forehead and takes a swig of his half-empty mug.
“I would rather not remember that sequence of events, Mr. Natsuki, if you will allow me. I still wake up in the middle of the night covered in sweat, and the image of that small half-beast… or demi-human, as they prefer to be called-“
“You can just call them freaks, it’s fine.”
“… Anyway, I see that small furry person opening her mouth so wide and then the air distorting and people exploding like balloons. I would have never thought that such a nightmare could exist.”
A chill runs down your spine, and you gulp down some more alcohol just in case it allows you to forget.
“Yeah, I’m real sorry for bringing it up. But I meant that I’m aware that your main motivation for getting involved with us is because that’ll get you closer to that clown bastard.”
“C-Clown bastard!? I would never expect a lord’s underling to refer to him in such a way, even in such a casual setting. Are you testing me? Should I try berating you?”
“The guy walks around wearing clown makeup, and he’s as bastardly as they come. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you didn’t correct my statement about your intentions. You are hoping that a lot of cash will come your way if you associate with us. I’m pretty sure that merchants have something to do with money, but you probably know more about what goes around in your chosen profession.”
“That’s correct, I am a man who would like to get rich if I can. But don’t make it sound as if I’m just taking advantage of the situation! Not everyone of us is a scoundrel.”
“Well, if you want opulence coming your way, you’ll be satisfied for sure, old pal. You stick around and gold will rain upon you.”
Otto smiles broadly.
“I can’t wait! It would be a welcome change after the relentless misfortune that has pursued me for a while.”
“I can tell you are easily impressed by impressive-seeming people, Otto, but let me tell you about this Roswaal guy. When I first entered his world, I was beyond dazzled. He is an eccentric connoisseur who hired demons as servants and dressed them in skimpy maid outfits, and I couldn’t have been more grateful. I believed I had finally been granted access into heaven. And I met my sweet demon through the clown, so in that regard I must remain forever grateful if only through gritted teeth. But a couple of days in I understood the horror underlying Roswaal’s mansion. The guy had built a private luxurious bathhouse which in a couple of minutes had you stewing as in a magical combination of a sauna and a jacuzzi. God, I can’t believe I haven’t missed it after Emilia exiled me… Wait, I know why I haven’t missed it, and that’s the point I intended to make! I was relaxing there up to my neck in that warm water, and the bliss of that luxury made it almost impossible to believe that me, a middle class kid from a town of a couple dozen thousand people, could have ended up living in a huge fantasy world mansion. Every morning a cute demon served me breakfast! As I said, I was there wrinkling in the water when I heard Roswaal’s lilting voice saying my name from behind me. I look over my shoulder and first thing I see is his dong. The guy had the gall to go into his private bathhouse while a near stranger, a stray that Emilia had adopted, was already using it. And Roswaal came in naked! The guy was still wearing his clown makeup, Otto. I looked up at him while shaking in fear, and Roswaal stared down at me while smiling pleasantly as if asking, ‘do you enjoy this faceful of cock?’. Have you ever wondered what a clown’s dick looks like, Otto?”
The merchant’s face freezes as if he’s barricading his mind to avoid letting such images in.
“No, but now I wish I could have lived the rest of my days without having to contemplate such a question.”
“Well, it was much bigger than I would have thought! I don’t like seeing big dicks, it makes me feel bad about my manhood!”
Otto sighs, but as he was about to comment on your words, a homeless-looking drunk a couple of stools over complains to you.
“Could you keep it down? My head hurts enough without you screaming in it!”
“This is important!” You turn to Otto. “Back when my lovely demon girl was still conscious, a few times I was fucking her in Crusch’s bed I feared that she would open her sweet mouth only for me to have to hear those words. ‘Subaru, love of my life, is this penis of yours bigger than a clown’s’? And I would have had to lie. I can’t forgive that man for putting such images in my mind. Before I entered his mansion, I had never tasted alcohol, but since then I raided his supplies as much as I could get away with! Nobody should have to walk around in this life with a brain damaged by the picture of Roswaal’s dick hanging in front of your face. I even killed myself a couple of times because I couldn’t get it out of my head!”
“Okay, I think I have heard enough about your lord’s penis, Mr. Natsuki!”
“No! I’m going to keep talking about this! I’m going to keep talking about this dick until every person in this shitty village hears about it, and we’ll see just how many of them are as sick to think about this as I am! It’s like I’ve become infected with a plague I feel compelled to propagate!”
You begin tearing up as you finish your sentence. Before you know it you’ve leaned on the bar top and hidden your face behind your forearms. You hear the bartender asking Otto if his friend is alright, and the merchant tells him to refuse serving you more drinks no matter how hard you beg. After a couple of minutes you feel strong enough to look up at Otto’s disturbed face.
“And do you know what’s even worse than having the image of that clown’s dick burned onto my mind?”, you mutter with a hollow voice.
“I definitely do not wish to know!”
“The motherfucker presented Emilia to the world as if saying, ‘hey, here’s a girl who belongs to a despised race that I know at least a very powerful, murderous group intends to kidnap and sacrifice in some ritual or another, and she’s also living in my mansion! You know the address, don’t you? I’m a famous clown! And as soon as I have finished parading her around, I’m going to disappear to some random village nobody knows! I’m the best magician in the kingdom, but I’ll abandon my employees as well as my subjects to the mercy of the worst terrorist group in this fantasy world!'”
You slam your fist on the bar top, splashing a puddle. When you stop trembling, you take a deep breath and chug the rest of your drink. Thankfully you are already seeing double, but it doesn’t stop nearly enough pain from coming in.
Although Otto is staring at you with a somber expression, his inebriation has turned his neck unsteady.
“You have no clue how close it came to ruin, Otto”, you say drily. “When I think about how it all rested on the shoulders of a complete idiot… I don’t know how I manage to find the strength to get out of bed in the morning.”
“I don’t think I follow anything you are saying, Mr. Natsuki”, Otto says, choosing his words carefully. “But I can tell it’s gotten real serious.”
You take another deep breath, but the air feels stagnant and tainted. You find yourself holding the air in your lungs, and are only able to breathe once you force yourself to release it.
“In the end, a man is measured by how well he could protect those who depended on him, and that clown painted a target on us and abandoned us to die. That’s who Roswaal is.”

Shortly before lunch time your carriage ends up reaching what you refer to as Roswaal’s village, the scenario for the final showdown against Petelgeuse. As you have felt consistently through every situation you’ve lived recently, your emotions are conflicted. Seeing those two stories high rural homes in which smoke rises from their chimneys, and you smell the whiffs of the meals they are preparing, makes you feel as if you have finally come home after years spent lost in the wilderness, and yet the half-collapsed houses, even those with just parts of their roof torn off, remind you that not only it will take a lot to return to normal, but that the villagers themselves will present a serious problem. Those who have lost family members will grieve for a long time, and even those who have not lost anyone nor had to rebuild their homes will likely blame Emilia for the Witch’s Cult assault. You wonder if it will come down to them assaulting the mansion itself. Although those pitchfork-wielding morons would get wiped out, possibly by Ram alone, you just want everyone to get along. You have had enough of people murdering each other and of having to prevent the end of the world. You want to rest and hopefully find a way to restore your beloved demon servant’s consciousness, although the first order of things should be clearing up this damn hangover that has squeezed your brain ever since you woke up this morning.
“A bit deserted, is it not?”, Otto says over his shoulder, from the driver’s seat. “I mean, I know many villagers perished during the assault, but I think we should see plenty around between those who stayed behind and those who returned from the capital.”
As the carriage cuts slowly through the village towards the road that leads uphill to Roswaal’s mansion, you come across only a few villagers either heading somewhere or lazing around. A couple of children are running in pursuit of each other while laughing. A few of the windows of the houses your carriage passes in front of open, and the villagers who peek out look wary and haggard, as if they expect anyone coming in to bring more carnage. The general feeling is that only a sixth of the original bustle remains. In addition, a couple of villagers that stood there as your carriage went by glared at you in particular as if holding a grudge. Luckily Emilia remains hidden behind the tarp that covers the back of the carriage.
“Let’s not stick around”, you say nervously. “Beyond that whole Witch’s Cult debacle, I did address the whole bunch as goat fuckers.”
Otto whips the ground dragons into an even faster trot as you pass the last houses of the village and reach the road that goes uphill towards the mansion. About four minutes later the carriage stops in front of the gate. You climb out to open the metallic gate, but also you take a good look at the obscenely huge mansion that extends horizontally in the distance, beyond a vast yard. You had become accustomed to Crusch’s mansion, which was a home many people back in your previous world would have wanted to kill for, and yet it seemed more like a moderately rich person’s vacation home in contrast with Roswaal’s estate. He could probably house a couple hundred people in it. It makes the more ridiculous that he relied exclusively on the demon servant siblings for security purposes. The clown’s funds should be able to pay for a small army to protect his estate permanently.
Otto has taken off his merchant hat and holds it against his chest while he gazes at the mansion with glistening eyes and his mouth hanging open.
“I had expected luxury, but this view vastly broadens the distance I already felt between the lord and a simple commoner like myself. We live in completely different worlds!”
You step aside so Otto can drive the carriage into the yard, and then you close the gate and climb back onto the carriage.
“Things only get stranger when you live in it, but the luxury does rub off on you. Before you know it you’ll be handling small fortunes as pocket change.”
“If that day ever comes, I probably won’t be myself anymore, so my worries would be irrelevant. Let’s go take a closer look!”
Otto drives the carriage through the long path lined with statues, hedges and magical streetlights towards the mansion’s entrance.
Emilia is eyeing you as if judging your expression, but she’s smiling.
“How does it feel to return home, Subaru?”
“Given the sequence of events that led to me being forbidden from returning, I feel like a complete idiot at the moment, but to be fair I feel like it most of the time for whatever reason. However, I’ve been thinking about Ram for a good while. I have no clue how she will react when she finds out that she has a sister that she doesn’t remember, and that has fallen into a perennial sleep.”
“It’ll be fine, I’m sure of it! As far as I remember her due to how the curse has affected our memories, the senior servant was always alone. Now she’ll know that it wasn’t the case, that she was always accompanied by someone who cared for her. It might make even make her less standoffish. She will wish for miss Rem to recover her consciousness as soon as possible.”
You lower your face. If the Ram you used to know, the one for whom her sister was the only person in the world deserving of respect apart from maybe Roswaal, knew about your power to return to the past, and realized that you had failed to use it before Satella locked you out of the time during which you could have prevented Rem from falling into a possibly permanent coma, what would she think, how would she deal with you? Would she resent you as much as you do?
You remember that moment at the village’s plaza when you had hugged a sobbing Emilia after she was confronted by that villager with a prominent wart, who had just lost his entire family. You had wished you were strong enough to kill yourself and suffer through the nightmarish warfare again, and possibly again and again, until nobody died. Satella would have likely sent you back to Crusch’s mansion, and because nobody would have gotten injured, Rem would have had no reason to return to the capital ahead of time. Rem sleeps forever because you are weak.
Otto parks in front of the mansion’s entrance, and once you get out you realize that someone small wearing a servant’s uniform is approaching you while holding a broom. For a moment you wonder if your tiredness from the long trip is confusing you, but that tween with reddish-brown hair is indeed that Petra villager, and she’s dressed as if she works in the mansion. As soon as she realizes you are there she grins warmly, and she walks briskly to greet you.
“Welcome back, sir! We have taken good care of the lord’s home in your absence! Do you require anything of me? Do you want me to carry your luggage? Should I prepare you some tea?”
Her energy and eagerness make you instantly uneasy. You open your mouth to say something, but Emilia walks up to your side and greets the tween. Petra curtsies respectfully.
“Welcome home as well, lady witch!”, Petra says with a kind voice. “You both must be exhausted after such a long trip. I know I was after we got back from the capital a few days ago. No worries, we’ll have your lunch ready in a short while.”
You glance at Emilia in case she’s annoyed by this villager addressing her as a witch, but the half-elf seems fond of this kid.
“Anyway, Petra, what’s your deal?”, you say without disguising your own annoyance. “Did you youngsters raid the lord’s mansion while our crew was away? I’m surprised that Ram didn’t chop you in half with her wind magic.”
Petra looks dismayed, and shakes her hand to dismiss that notion. She ends up dropping her broom.
“No, sir! We would never do such a thing! I swear to the gods and all that is good in this world! No, I’m in training! I wanted to work for the people who saved my life, and who defended the village from those horrible fiends! And I always wished to be close to such a magical place, as well as to the witch.” She turns to Emilia while showering her with admiration. “I wanted to meet you, lady Emilia, ever since I heard that you came to live in the lord’s mansion. A fabled witch that deals with powerful ice magic, it’s like those tales of old. Not to mention that you must be the most beautiful woman in the world!”
Emilia smiles bashfully while you rub your eyes. You have only grown more irritable in recent times, and now it seems you’ll need to handle a fangirl hovering around to get either your or Emilia’s attention.
The half-elf pats the trainee on the head.
“Thank you so much, Petra.”
The tween looks astounded for a moment, as if she would have never imagined that a fabled witch would bridge the gap between them both to touch her with affection.
“Y-You’re welcome! It’s been an honor to meet you. Anyway, I should probably help your driver with the luggage…”
“Aren’t you concerned at all, Petra?”, you ask. “This lady here is a very powerful spirits user that most other people in your very village are wary of, or even hate.”
Emilia turns her head towards you sharply. She seems dismayed that you brought it up.
“Hmmm… well, she’s my idol, sir”, Petra says. “If something were to happen to her, I would be utterly crushed.”
“What about your family? Aren’t they worried about you?”
The girl shrugs.
“My parents are wary of the Witch of Frost, as they call lady Emilia. So are most of the adults. I think that when I asked, begged really, to work at the mansion, my parents expected that I would get rejected, but when shortly after I came back wearing the uniform, they realized I can move up in life! They are now excited for me. Besides, I only needed to glance at the lady to know that you aren’t like they believe you to be! There’s no way you have anything to do with that horrible witch of old, even though you look very similar.”
“What about your friends? Don’t they worry about you?”, you insist.
Petra looks down for a moment, but she redraws her smile.
“Friends… You’re lucky to have such a thing. I don’t. They pick on me, for anything and everything. The only person who seems to be nice to me is Randi, and that’s probably because she’s as dumb as a post.”
Emilia holds her hands in front of her waist and talks to you as if she doesn’t understand what you are doing.
“Subaru, she’s such a sweet girl. Surely there’s no problem with her working at the mansion. I’ll be glad to have her around.”
You sigh, and then you walk in front of Petra.
“Girl, you are like twelve. It’s going to get weird real fast.”
Emilia tilts her head while staring at you.
“I’ve been tending the fields ever since I turned ten, sir”, Petra says as if she fears you might fire her. “I assure you I will do my best! I’m dealing with many new tasks, but I learn fast!”
“You should be in school learning some pointless nonsense that will never help you in life, not wearing such a skimpy outfit to work for a clown that walks around naked. I figure there’s no FBI in this fantasy world, but still, you should stay away until you turn fifteen or so.”
“I… I like the short skirt, it makes it easy to walk, and breezy on my legs. And it’s a beautiful outfit, I think I look pretty good in it. Don’t you think so, sir…?”
“Damn it, girl! You are supposed to dislike getting exploited! Let’s get in the mansion, Emilia. I need to give Ram a piece of my mind. That senior servant must be into some freaky shit. No wonder she’s so guarded all the time!”
Emilia does follow your brisk walk towards the huge front doors, although she does complain.
“Subaru, it’s really fine. What’s gotten into you? They’ve worn those outfits for as long as I’ve been here.”
“Yeah? And how long has that been? A couple months? Years? Should those damn cultists also wear skirts to a battlefield? I’m sure everyone could see Rem’s panties whenever she swung her flail around.”
“… You need some rest, Subaru. It’s been too hard on us. Take a nap, and I’ll bring you your meal in a couple of hours.”
You grab the doorknob and attempt to pull open the door energetically, as if to make a grand entrance, but these doors are made to be handled by demon servants who are far stronger than you. You almost pull something on your back instead. No wonder they used to leave these front doors somewhat open. You end up pulling it open carefully, and when you take a step inside, a servant you’ve never seen before is standing in front. She’s a woman in her early twenties, with long, voluminous light blonde hair that isn’t so much a hairstyle as a mane. Under thick eyebrows, her big green eyes study you with a confident intelligence. The quick glance at the rest of her body, all you can afford when this stranger is staring straight at you, suggests a lean, yet thick body as if she’s been well fed with protein throughout her entire life. You imagine her serving trays full of beers during Oktoberfest without tiring, and when some customers get too rowdy, she casually grabs two at a time under her arms to throw them out.
You gasp.
“Who is this German-looking woman?”
“I’ve never heard that adjective, although it doesn’t sound bad. We’ve never met, Mr. Natsuki.” She curtsies, holding the hem of her skirt. “I’m Frederica, current senior servant of Roswaal’s mansion during Ram’s absence. I’ve been expecting both your and lady Emilia’s return.”
Her adult voice throws you off. She sounds as if she would allow no nonsense, and yet her expression suggests she’s easygoing. You don’t know what to make of this woman.
“Frederica!”, Emilia says. “It’s been so long, hasn’t it?”
“What, you know this German?”, you ask.
“Yes, she was working here when Roswaal offered me to live in his mansion. It used to be her and Ram making sure everything ran smoothly in this place.” She turns towards you with a guilty look. “And… I guess miss Rem as well.”
You don’t see Frederica react to it, because a pang in your heart forces you to look down.
“So, why are you here now?”, you ask to this Frederica broad.
“I had taken a leave of absence, for personal reasons, but even while living away I heard about the trouble with the royal selection. Shortly after I received a letter from miss Ram, demanding I came back to help her make sure this place doesn’t fall into disarray. She also wrote about your troubles in the capital, lady Emilia, and how you had brought a young man with you, who joined the household.”
“Yes, this is Natsuki Subaru”, Emilia says somewhat shily. “I feel like he’s saved my life a few times. In fact… well…”
You and Frederica look at Emilia questioningly.
“I… I want to make him my knight.”
“Really?”, Frederica asks with a smirk.
“Well, I’ve been thinking about it for a while, ever since he stopped that cult’s attack. He’s already saved my life, and helped me in any way he can. He’s a great guy with a good heart. That’s why…”
Instead of finishing the sentence, she looks away and blushes. You shift your weight uncomfortably. After Frederica eyes you both as if she’s enjoying this, she stands straighter and puts a hand on her waist.
“Ever since I read miss Ram’s words about you, Mr. Natsuki, I’ve been waiting to meet you.”
“Ah!? I’m not sure I want to know what words she would have used to refer to me. My mood has been dark enough already.”
“Well, I’m telling you anyway”, Frederica says teasingly. “I believe her exact words were ‘a bumbling buffoon and a freeloader who inexplicably organized an operation to thwart a murderous assault by an entire branch of the Witch’s Cult’.”
You sigh. Although you hadn’t formed any expectations, you had expected it to be worse. Still, you massage your temple due to how your headache has suddenly worsened.
“Yeah, I suppose that’s pretty accurate. I don’t quite know myself how we pulled that off.”
Frederica grins broadly, presenting a set of healthy teeth belonging to a carnivorous predator. They are triangular as if filed, and they look like they could tear apart a struggling prey of around her own size.
You are stunned for a moment, and your heart beats louder.
“You are a half-beast, aren’t you?”, you ask excitedly. “Should have known, with that hair. Damn, you look so cool!”
Frederica covers her mouth with her hand because she can’t stop herself from smiling, as if she’s been accustomed to doing so, but she closes her eyes and her shoulders tremble for stifling a laugh.
“You are a charming one. Although you aren’t entirely correct in your assumption, I am partly beast.”
“You don’t need to explain. I’m not worried in the least. Half-beast people are fully integrated in society, and make some of the most ruthless murderers. What sort of person would I be if I judged someone on their origins?”
“Well, that’s good!”
“Besides, I won’t complain for getting a pretty new servant!”
Someone giggles to your left. It’s Petra, that tween. She’s so insignificant that you hadn’t noticed her standing by your side all this time. She has closed her eyes and is laughing to herself as if happy for having been complimented. I wasn’t talking about you, you think.
“Oi, why are you following me around?”, you ask, annoyed.
Petra’s mood drops as if she’s been caught doing something wrong, and she straightens her back.
“I’m not! I apologize, sir. I merely intended to do my job.”
“Well, help Otto, the driver, with our luggage, will you? It you want to work as a twelve year old, you better get tougher.”
She turns her head to stare at you, and then twists her body to point toward the carriage.
“I’ll do just that, sir!”
When she walks briskly up to Otto, who is standing next to Patrasche as if forgotten, you shake your head.
“… You alright, Mr. Natsuki?”, Frederica asks.
“Yeah, yeah. Just get it over with. I mean let’s bring all of our stuff in, and most importantly Rem.”
Frederica is confused, and even more so when you finally stand next to the carriage while you hold your comatose, and completely uncooperative, girlfriend as if you are giving her a piggyback ride.
“Did miss Ram hire this servant while I was away? And what’s wrong with her?”, Frederica asks, worried. “She’s not merely sleeping, is she?”
“She ain’t”, you say with a low voice.
Frederica observes Rem’s beautiful, sleeping face up close.
“She looks pretty much like Ram if the senior servant had blue hair. Is she a relative?”
“… You worked with Ram, you said.”
“For quite a few years. I got well-accustomed to our lovely senior servant.”
Her tone reveals she’s well aware of how much of a pain in the ass Ram is.
“Let’s leave it at that for now”, you say, tired. “We’ll explain it in detail. I don’t have your German body to help me support this weight properly, Frederica, so let’s get into the mansion and put my dear Rem onto a bed.”
“I’m liking that adjective more and more. Sounds strong.”
As you head up to the mansion’s front doors, you are followed by Otto and the tween, who are handling your luggage. Frederica leads you all into the parlor, with all its fancy furniture. Plush carpets cover the floor, and there are several paintings of historical figures on the walls, although most of them look suspiciously clownish.
“My goodness, what a beautiful room”, Otto remarks. His eyes are sparkling.
Frederica turns to him.
“I apologize, sir, as I haven’t dealt with you properly given the unusual circumstances of lady Emilia’s return. For much money did they hire your services?”
Otto opens his mouth while looking as if he’s expecting plenty of gold to rain his way, but Emilia waves a hand in front of her.
“Otto is a merchant we met during the operation, as he got in serious trouble, and from then on he’s been helping us eagerly. We promised him we would introduce him to the lord, so he might employ him for our many dealings that involve leaving Roswaal’s domain.”
The gray-haired merchant looks so pleased that Emilia voiced her support for him that Frederica glances at him as if she can sense the fire burning in his heart. She smirks.
“Very well, follow me, mister merchant. I’ll prepare your room right away.”
Otto nods excitedly, and he turns to follow the German servant.
“Thank you! You are all so friendly around here.”
As they walk through a hallway, Petra turns to you as if she wants to say something, but then bows and begins to head towards your room. Frederica must have told her where it was.
“I’ll leave your luggage there, and then I will return for lady Emilia’s.”
You desperately need some peace and quiet. You are already sweating from holding your beloved demon servant’s weight, and your hangover has barely cleared up. You glance at Emilia before you stagger towards your room, but she says your name as if asking you to stop. You turn around. The half-elf is fidgeting, and she forces herself to hold your gaze.
“I don’t… Please, let’s lay miss Rem’s body down in one of the vacant rooms. Otherwise I know what routine you are going to return to. You will sleep and spend so many idle hours next to someone whose terrible curse might not be cleared… for a long time. You are doing nothing but wallow in pain.”
Although the care in her voice doesn’t suggest it, you feel as if she’s scolding you. During the long carriage ride she had caught you staring at Rem as the demon servant slept under the blanket, and you even cried for her. Emilia must have expected you to go back to holding Rem’s unconscious body through the night.
“You know, Emilia,” you begin to mutter, “pain can feel really good if you just let it in and do its thing. It’s a home away from home.”
She must regret the expression her words provoked on you, because she steps close enough that she puts her hand on your chest. Feeling her fingers on you makes you want to shiver.
“Please, Subaru. You will visit her whenever you want, but…”
It doesn’t escape you that Emilia intended to say, ‘I don’t want you to sleep with her or anybody else’. You hate when people disguise how they really feel. However, you agree. It would be so comfortable to return to the routine of holing yourself up and cuddling with your unconscious girlfriend for most of the day, but there’s little else than depression, and possibly madness, waiting on that path.
You sigh.
“Very well, Emilia.”
She smiles, but she erases it as if she’s ashamed of herself.
“We will all take good care of miss Rem. One day she’ll wake up and the rest of us will get to meet her properly.”
“In what room should I let her sleep in, then?”
She quickly guides you to one.

Roleplaying through “Re:Zero” with the GPT-3 story generator (Part 36)

This entry finally concludes the ninth volume of the original “Re:Zero” novels.

I tried to end the third arc of this retelling with a shortish chapter, but it turned into a 7,700 words long beast. Enjoy it if you can.

GPT-3 is a cutting-edge language processing algorithm used in the premium version of the online site AI Dungeon.


Although the numerous glasses of wine Wilhelm has drunk haven’t changed his stoic expression, for a good while he has been monopolizing the conversation by telling war stories that Crusch, although her eyes have turned reflective and her neck a bit wobbly, listens to attentively, only stopping him to ask him to elaborate on some points. Emilia has slumped on her chair and keeps giggling while she plays with Puck as if the would be mass murderer was a regular cat, and the adult-sized cat who told you to avoid turning the celebration into a funeral service has drunk herself into oblivion. She has crossed her furry forearms over the table to lean on them, and most of the time she either hides her face behind them or peeks over them to look around pitifully. When her gaze falls on you, you smile to make her feel a bit better. Although you wanted to drink with moderation, and you would be the only one able to drive these people anywhere if you could read the traffic signs, you still feel light-headed and careless about pretty much everything. You are, however, lucid enough to know how dangerous this is for you. You could easily make a habit out of drinking as you did during your self-imposed loop, so you can forget all the pains in your life, and particularly the damage you can’t correct.

It must be around twelve in the morning. Behind the mirror-like windows, only the distant streetlights clear the darkness of this cloudy night. Wilhelm and Crusch keep talking as if they are having a private meeting, while Emilia, who had sat on a nearby sofa around twenty minutes ago because she was getting tired, is snoring softly against a pillow. You had to lower her skirt a bit, as she hadn’t realized that she was showing her panties, and when you touched her, she slurred your name softly and motioned for you to stay with her, but you didn’t even have to answer before she forgot about it in her drunkenness. You are getting more depressed by the minute.
You suddenly realize that Ferris has disappeared. The wine bottle she had opened recently, even though nobody else could stomach any more alcohol, is also gone.
You hadn’t intended to find the cat-girl, but as you left the dining room for a bit of fresh air, you beelined towards the patio where both girls, Crusch and Ferris, used to eat breakfast during every morning of your self-imposed loop. Ferris is leaning against the edge of the table that holds special memories for you. You sat in front of it to enjoy many conversations with Crusch, and also the first time you killed yourself, by plunging a broken bottle into your carotid artery.
A quick look tells you how drunk Ferris is. She’s hunched over, and when she hears you come into the patio, she tilts her head towards you and attempts to recognize you with her glassy eyes. Then you realize that she’s also crying.
The cat-girl goes for the wine bottle, which she had left on the table, but you grab it and put it away.
“You have had enough, Ferris”, you say, with a mixture of genuine care and apathy.
She struggles to steal the bottle away from you, but she either isn’t putting much effort into it, or her drunkenness has stolen her strength. She gives up and returns to rest her ass on the edge of the table. You imitate her by leaning next to the cat-girl.
“You came to save me from alcohol poisoning”, she says somewhat mockingly.
“I don’t want you to drink alone while you are already drunk out of your mind, and also crying. I’ve been there. It doesn’t lead anywhere good.”
She points at her eyes.
“I’m not crying.”
“Your falling tears suggest otherwise.”
“I’m not crying, just…” She stifles a sob.
You stay silent and give her time to collect herself. This night is much darker than the couple of nights you had become used to during your self-imposed loop. The sky is clouded, blocking the moonlight, and the breeze that blows through the open patio, ruffling the cat-girl’s fur, suggests that you and Emilia might end up travelling home under the rain. You close your eyes for a moment and listen to a couple of owls hooting. This is bad, you think. Merely resting like this is letting the flood of sad thoughts in.
“I needed to drink because there’s so much to celebrate”, Ferris says with difficulty. “Like my best friend from childhood… my only friend… having forgotten who I am. And sometimes when she looks at me now I feel like she’s wondering why she let me hang around in the first place.”
“Crusch would never think something like that. You are just depressed. Besides, I’m also your friend, Ferris.”
She lets out a small laugh, and then she bumps her shoulder into yours.
“Oh, are you? I thought I was your sister.”
“Yeah, that was… Well, you can be both, I guess.”
As she attempts to push herself off the table, she puts her hand on your arm, and when she staggers towards the railing she lets her hand slide down to yours as if caressing it. She sighs and crosses her forearms over the railing right in front of you, leaning forward. Her slender waist moves slightly while the cat-girl presents her bubbly ass, barely covered by grey tights, as if inviting you to ram her from behind.
A flush of warmth makes you shiver, and your throat tightens. Although you look up at the back of Ferris’ head, those two big, furry cat ears, your crotch is already tingling.
“You should be careful, bro”, Ferris says playfully. “We’ve both drunk a bit too much.”
“You have for sure”, you say with a dry voice.
“We might end up doing something that mommy won’t like one bit.”
She steps back while holding on to the railing as if stretching. Her cat tail ondulates gracefully in the air, bridging the space between her ass and your abdomen, and then she slides the fluffy tip up and down your shirt deliberately.
You have already gotten hard enough that it nullified your slight inebriation. You need to excuse yourself and return to the dining room. No, to your bedroom. To the darkness of your bedroom where nobody but Puck will be able to see you masturbating next to your comatose girlfriend.
“Ah… I think you need someone to be there for you in a more friendly way, Ferris, while you grieve. Not for your fake brother to do unsanitary things to your sexy cat-girl body.”
“What do you know about what I need, huh?”
She backs up until her bubbly ass bumps into your erection, which makes you tremble from head to toe. You grab her slim waist intending to move her aside, but you end up merely holding her. She rubs your dick up and down between her ass cheeks. Your breath is thickening while your vision whitens. When Ferris rests the back of her head against your neck, her soft, perfumed fur makes you tingle, and the tip of her fluffy cat ear touches your own human one.
She grabs your head to turn your face towards her as she lifts her mouth to yours. Her breath, which reeks of alcohol, invades your nostrils. She presses her mouth against yours, and when her tongue invades you, it stings. It feels as if her tongue is hooking on yours with dozens of little spines. Damn it, the half-cats around here are mostly cats in that regard! Her tongue gets stuck for a moment, and when she retracts it you feel it prickling your tongue. You taste blood, but it only makes your dick harder while Ferris cradles it between her bubbly ass cheeks. If you had thought about it, you would tell yourself you had intended to push the cat-girl off, but in reality you have merely moved your hands up to fondle her small tits. Ferris moans.
She stands on her tiptoes to suck on your earlobe. She’s breathing hard, and her flesh feels warmer and warmer through the thighs. The cat-girl whispers in your ear.
“How did you put it? Bend me over and test drive a half-pussy’s pussy?”
You are melting. Before you can muster what little resolve you have left in order to stop her, her hand takes your right one, which was caressing her right breast, and slides it into the crotch of her tights. Her wetness drenches your fingers. Her tail which had been swinging from side to side all this time now stills. You feel the cat-girl tremble as you slowly slide your middle finger into her tight folds. As your finger goes in, she trembles even more, and she breathes hard while she presses her ass against your crotch.
You are losing it. You need to drag her into any of the empty bedrooms and fuck this cat-girl so hard that she’ll be leaking your cum for a week.
She turns her head to look at you with her hazy eyes. Her pupils have transformed into vertical slits.
“Please fuck me. I can’t deal with this.”
Her flax-colored fur tickles your nose, and her sweet scent is overpowering your senses. Her hot insides are sucking your index and middle fingers as her vagina pulsates. You don’t deny it to yourself: you want to pick her up, throw her onto a bed and grasp her wrists while you push yourself hard inside her cat-girl pussy. You aren’t even sure if it’s her body, or her attitude, or the stuff you both have lived through, or the fact that her current gloominess makes her feel like the only real person around. Your arousal is close to breaking through the many formless barriers in your mind.
“You need to learn how to deal with things, Ferris”, you say almost breathless. “You are way too drunk, and you got me way too hard.”
“I don’t care. Just take me. I’m all wet and ready for you, just take me!”
Her words hit you like a hammer. A shiver goes down your spine as you imagine the hot, tight feeling of her insides clenching around your hard dick. She’s calling for you to grab her, pin her down, take off her clothes and fill her to the brim. You can’t do this. Rem is… You can’t do this to Rem, even if she sleeps forever. You pull out your fingers, and her wetness follows for just a moment. Her pussy juice runs down your palm. You attempt to push her away with your clean hand, and you manage to extract your erection from between her ass cheeks.
“What the hell!?”, she complains while looking over her shoulder. “I said take me, now!”
“We need to get you sober. You don’t know what you’re saying right now.”
“I know exactly what I’m saying! I want your dick inside me!”
“Oh, God… I-I have a girlfriend whom I love so very much, I can’t-…”
Ferris glares at you while a couple of tears jump from her glassy eyes.
“Who is in a coma! She won’t ever know! She won’t wake up, and you know that!”
“No, I… I won’t betray her. Please sober up. You would regret this. I’m sure you would go all like, ‘I can’t believe I let you stick your dumb dick inside me, Subaru’.”
“Fuck you! I need it bad. The male half-cats’ dicks have spines that rake your insides raw.”
“I didn’t want to imagine that.”
“I need you to fill me with your smooth cock. I’ve been touching myself thinking about it.”
Ferris turns around and grabs the waist of your pants, but before she pulls them down, you grab her wrists. You struggle with her drunken self while she breathes hard through her mouth and tears fall down her reddened cheeks.
“No”, you say seriously. “I’m not a traitor. I can’t do this while she’s in a coma.”
You get your pants up and push her away with a hand. She stumbles backwards until she hits the railing, and then she rests her elbows on it while her chest rises and falls fast. She narrows her eyes and stares at you with pure anger, as if you are at fault for everything that has gone wrong in her life.
You swallow to bring some saliva into your mouth. Your heart is beating hard against your ribcage, and your dick hasn’t softened at all.
“I’m sorry, Ferris, but…”
The cat-girl clenches her teeth and widens her nostrils. She closes her eyes tight, and then rubs her thighs together as if scratching an itch. She turns around and leans over the railing to look down at the dark city streets beyond the mansion’s grounds.
“Who is the pussy here?”, she mutters.
Before you know it you’ve ran away. You are barrelling down the first hallway you came across, while your heart pumps in your throat and your erect penis waggles with every step. When you locate the first bathroom, you burst into it, and then close the door with your back. Thankfully the bathrooms have bolts. You open the faucet so the water keeps gushing out, and then you pull down your pants and grab your rock hard penis with your right hand. The veins pump against your palm. You lean on the wall behind the toilet with your left hand. Control your breathing, clear your mind. Wipe all the images of Ferris from your inside theater, and instead remember Rem. Picture her, feel her on top of you, your penis caught in her hot insides, her vaginal muscles milking you, her hands running their fingers through your hair, her fangs plunged into your throat and sucking you dry, her jaw tightening and tightening and tightening until it crushes the esophagus and the trachea, and still your sweet Rem keeps sucking out and sucking out your filthy life.
You groan, it feels as if your heart is about to stop, your legs wobble, your crotch gets red hot, and with a final spasm you shoot cum all over the toilet, the ground around it, and the wall behind it. You keep jerking and jerking while you wheeze, until you squeeze the last drop.
You collapse on your knees, dipping your skin on the puddles of cum. Sweat runs down your face, some gets in your eye. You keep shivering. You focus on controlling your breathing and feeling your heartbeat as it stabilizes until you can breathe through your nostrils again.
When some seconds later your legs get strong enough to support your weight, you fill the sink with water and dunk your face so the coldness seeps in.

When you have dried your face and you feel as if you can face the world again, you were about to exit the bathroom when you realize that you forgot to clean. If the staff members traced the destruction back to you, you would need to walk around the mansion’s grounds with your head down. You wipe the floor, the toilet and the wall behind it until it no longer looks as if a ghost has exploded, and then you peek out of the bathroom into the hallway. You don’t hear anyone coming. You have no idea how Ferris would react if you were to come across her. You wonder if it would be better to kill yourself and try getting through these last few days all over again.
You walk as fast as you can without running until you get downstairs, and as you turn a corner to reach a flight of stairs that would allow you to reach your bedroom quicker, you realize that there’s someone standing in front of a painting, staring up at it as if mesmerized. It’s the duchess. You approach her calmly. To eat dinner she had put her silky, green hair in a ponytail, and her profile is studying thoughtfully a portrait of her past self. The Crusch Karsten in the painting looks all regal in her military uniform and the pieces of plate armor that she had worn for your operation, and she’s resting her hand on the pommel of her sheathed sword that you had witnessed her using to kill one of Petelgeuse’s Fingers.
The current Crusch is wearing a black evening dress that’s covered by a red dressing gown that falls to her ankles, looking appropriately mature for your image of her. When she turns to address your presence and she smiles, you are overwhelmed by tenderness.
“Subaru. I was heading to bed, but I’ve made a habit to stop and take a good look at the lady of the house. Impressive, isn’t she?”
Crusch looks at the painting again as if inviting you to imitate her, but you keep staring at the living duchess.
“One of the most important figures of this nation”, you say. “And one of the most important women in my life.”
The duchess covers her mouth with her hand in feigned embarrassment.
“Flatterer.”
“Also, she’s the most likely to become the next queen, or however the people around here would call a female ruler.”
Crusch’s smile fades, and her lovely eyes turn mournful.
“But she’s so young. What does she know about anything?”
“Apparently she was groomed to rule her family’s domain since childhood, and she put her skills to use before she became an adult. She was well-respected, competent and liked by her subjects. Maybe she thought that she was too young for such a responsibility, and I’m sure she never enjoyed a proper childhood, but then again she also never suffered through the miseries that us lowly commoners, who are born with nothing, must endure.”
You intended to improve her mood with the levity of your tone, but when you remember her talking about how her brother was murdered by the Witch’s Cult, you shut your mouth and look down for a moment.
Crusch narrows her eyes, and after a few seconds she breathes deeply.
“It’s so disconcerting to rake my mind for any memory or feeling associated with this past, and yet find nothing. I can’t imagine how I must look like to you. Obviously all of you cared for me a lot, and now you insist on keeping me company so the void of everything I’ve forgotten about this world doesn’t contribute to my premature death. Still, at times it feels suffocating. The nature of this woman I seem to be demands some time alone for contemplation, or merely to recharge.” Crusch holds your gaze as if to judge your expression. “But I recall that I never got to ask you what you meant about you being my son”, she asks with curiosity.
You almost stutter, but you end up chuckling and scratching the back of your head. It’s too late for such a conversation, particularly after you came so close to betraying your Rem to fuck your first cat-girl.
“I kind of got into trouble with the most important people in this kingdom. Some decrepit bastards were insulting Emilia, so I jumped in to give them a taste of their own medicine. Along the way I ended up disparaging the Knights of Lugunica, and its captain, a proud guy with a personal harem of glowing groupies, beat me up to a pulp. In summary, I proved myself a fool unworthy of respect. Even though I had no relation to you, something about my shameful display convinced you to bring me home and have your particularly attractive cat-girl cure my wounds. You believed there was more to me than my talent to annoy everyone I come across.”
Crusch looks humbled by her previous self.
“That duchess you knew seems like such a great person. Big shoes to fill.”
“One of the coolest, for sure. Listen, I’m sure our previous Crusch felt the same way, but she had gained enough experience so that it didn’t show. You’ll get there. Don’t push yourself.”
You pat her shoulder, and when she keeps staring at you with a pleasant smile, you fear you will blush.
“Anyway, as I was saying,” you continue, “you housed me, and your numerous staff cleaned after my messes, so you became my new mother in my eyes. It’s as completely innocent as that, I assure you.”
Crusch nods as she rubs her chin thoughtfully. You are feeling increasingly nervous.
“I see… How long did you stay in this mansion… that apparently belongs to me?”, she asks.
For a moment you wonder how much Wilhelm and Ferris have told her about your presence here. You guess that they explained everything, but it doesn’t stop you.
“Oh, more than a year. We had such a great time.”
“What kind of stuff did we do?”
“Well, when we woke up at night and we couldn’t go back to sleep, we used to enjoy private conversations under the moonlight up there, in the patio of the second floor, as we tasted your fine wines. Sometimes we also ended up walking along the pond to relax. You opened your heart to me and shared your pains. We, ah… We used to slip under the covers of your fluffy four-poster bed, and you cuddled me against your warm, generous bosom while you ran your fingers through my hair, gave me soft kisses and called me a good boy.”
Crusch’s cheeks flush. She averts her gaze and begins fidgeting. You hope she’s considering that her past self did enjoy such intimate moments, but that she never dirtied them by sharing them with the rest of her household members.
“Are implying that we had sexual relations?”
“No! No, of course not! Never! That would be completely inappropriate! The responsible and kind thing to do was to keep our relationship only on a friendly basis. Well, we still failed at that. We shared very intimate moments that most human beings are spared. A few of the times I tried to kill myself in your mansion you rushed to stop me, and it didn’t bother you that you ended up drenched in blood.”
Crusch snaps her head back, wide-eyed.
“What are you… You tried to kill yourself?”, she asks with a low voice, concerned. “Why would you do such a thing?”
You smile to reassure her, and wave your hand dismissively.
“Ah, the usual. I was trapped in a hole I didn’t know how to get out of except by killing myself. It’s alright, though. Afterwards I always woke up in the bed you assigned me. Some of those times we enjoyed pleasurable conversations on the patio merely a few minutes later.”
You laugh while reminiscing, but Crusch has gone pale, and her pupils are trembling.
“We had quite the complicated relationship. I suppose I was concerned about someone so troubled…”
“No trouble at all, duchess! It was a wonderful time. One I’ll miss for the rest of my life, I’m sure.”
You pat her on the shoulder, but she doesn’t react. Her eyes are fixed on the floor.
“I mean, now that I think about it…”, you add, “I was horribly depressed and experienced suicidal thoughts, but every time you would cheer me up and convince me to keep going. And now I’m fine!”
“You aren’t, though. Lady Emilia even cried for you during our dinner because she realized you were heading towards suicide. You have never stopped hurting, have you?”
You hate yourself for having engendered such worry in the duchess on top of her personal nightmare.
“I assure you, my duchess, that despite the occasional ups and downs such as in recent days due to my girlfriend having fallen into an eternal sleep, I have learned to love life. I’ll only kill myself if… I mean, I won’t kill myself again for any reason!”
Crusch remains upset despite your convincing explanations. You put your hand on her back and motion towards her bedroom.
“Let’s just get some sleep, duchess. Everything will look clearer in the morning.”
You accompany her, because your bedroom awaits beyond hers. When you reach the duchess’ bedroom, Crusch grabs the door handle, but then she stops and lifts her gaze towards you.
“This world, it seems so strange to me.”
You sigh.
“I finally hear that from someone else.”
“Sir Wilhelm has explained in detail how our different camps fight to rule the kingdom, and after only one of us wins, the remainder will be at the mercy of whoever sits on the throne. The conflict might end up erupting into open warfare, and yet I’ve felt nothing but genuine care from you two. What sense does that make?”
“You are asking the wrong person, my dear duchess. Few things have ever made sense to me. And I don’t care either that you or the rest of your camp are technically our sworn enemies. As far as I’m concerned, Wilhelm is the terrifying, murderous grandpa that I never had, Ferris is the disturbingly sexy freak that I’ll regret over and over not having dragged into an empty bedroom, and you are my fake mother that has induced many cherished, shameful thoughts that accompany me during sleepless nights. I like all of you guys is what I mean. Those political machinations are beyond me.”
Crusch smiles softly.
“I see, you are poking fun at me. I prefer that to being handled with gloves.”
By now you are already used to telling the truth and people believing you are either joking around or spinning wild lies.
“Those political considerations, though…”, Crusch begins as she lowers her gaze. “They must have been vital for the Crusch Karsten I used to be. Maybe they kept her life running.”
“Sure, something has to pay for a few mansions and a similar number of wine cellars. And there’s the whole thing about developing her domain, keeping the peace, making sure her subjects don’t die of the plague and shit like that. I don’t know what you actually did. I mostly only remember you drinking wine and wearing sexy nightgowns as you invited me to get in bed with you.”
“I see…”, she says shyly, with a hint of blushing.
“But the fact we always remember is that you were always looking out for others. It’s not really something you have to force yourself to do, it’s just who you are. That’s the real you whether you like it or not.”
Crusch smiles as her big, honey-colored eyes regard you.
“I appreciate your words, truly.”
She holds your gaze warmly. You aren’t sure what to say or do now. Some seconds later, the duchess opens the door and takes a step inside.
“We should go to bed, Subaru. I need to rest, and you both will travel far to reach your camp’s headquarters. I’ve heard it’s quite the arduous journey.”

You step out of Crusch’s mansion while your legs bear the weight of your beloved demon servant, who is hanging limply from your back. Emilia is covering you with an umbrella from the drizzle that falls from the completely clouded sky, that makes it so although it’s some minutes after sunrise, it still seems like night.
You head towards the carriage waiting for you, parked next to the road that leads out of the gate. The merchant who Emilia hired is waiting for you both while holding his hat to his chest. The very day you had returned to Lugunica from your operation, both you and Emilia knew that you would eventually need someone to drive you back home for a trip that would take, leisurely, a couple of days. Emilia had asked who you could trust, and you had a man’s name to offer: the fellow who had proven that he could outrun the White Whale herself without even thinking of sacrificing you as bait. His name is Otto Suwen. When you both get close enough, he bows slightly, which makes his messy hair, which needs a haircut, fall on his forehead. The guy is only a few years older than you, and yet his hair is as incongruously gray as Crusch’s is green or Rem’s is light blue. Fantasy world things.
In any case, when Otto straightens his back again and he combs his messy hair with his fingers, he mostly focuses on Emilia. He seems awed by her otherworldly presence, and you can’t blame him. Not only she’s exotic in a world where half-elves, particularly silver-haired ones, need to hide from people’s stupidity, but she’s a sight to behold. Her face alone could make any man, and some women, swoon, and she’s wearing her fancy, very expensive looking white and purple-lined dress that ends mid thigh, showing the rest of her perfectly proportioned legs. The fact that you aren’t head over heels for her, thanking your lucky stars because she has deluded herself into loving your sorry ass, probably signals that the many horrors you’ve struggled through have broken your brain.
You both had already left your luggage out for Otto to load on the back of his carriage, and although he does attempt to help you climb onto the back while Rem’s weight drags you down, the merchant ends up preferring not to interfere, in case he ends up pushing your beloved demon servant’s comatose ass. Once Rem lies on the floorboards and you have rested for a few seconds to recover your breath, you cover her with a blanket and kiss her forehead. Her servant outfit, which the mansion’s staff had washed, exposes too much skin for such a cloudy morning.
While Emilia waits outside under her umbrella, you take the opportunity to greet your also beloved ground dragon Patrasche. She’s one of the two beasts who are going to pull Otto’s carriage towards Roswaal’s mansion. When Patrasche realizes you are going to give her some attention, she closes her eyes and shakes her black, reptilian head happily. She nuzzles your chest as you stroke her neck. The thought that this majestic beast is going to run around free in Roswaal’s yard fills you with a pleasant warmth, and you need every positive emotion you can get these days.
When you turn towards Emilia, you realize that in the distance Crusch and her two best pals have just gotten out of the mansion and are walking towards you, but Emilia attracts your attention because she’s rubbing her temple, and she twists her expression as if she’s experiencing some pangs of pain in her head.
You walk to her side and slip under her umbrella.
“You did drink until you passed out on that couch, Emilia.”
“Yes, I cannot be surprised…”, she says with a voice intending to dismiss any worry. “When I came to the capital from time to time, I used to drink alcohol to take the edge off, given how nervous the crowds made me. When we first met back at that inn I was drinking, wasn’t I? Still, I had never drank as much as last night. My head is killing me.”
You put a hand on her bare shoulder, which feels comfortably warm. Emilia smiles at you, appreciating the contact.
“You’ll just have to tolerate it standing up for a while longer. Once we sit on the back of the carriage and we get rolling, you will be able to shut your eyes and sleep if you want. I’ll make sure to alert you if there’s any problem. You don’t have to worry.”
Her eyes glisten with gratitude, and when you lift your hand from her shoulder and let your arm hang, she grabs your fingers for a few seconds.
Wilhelm, Crusch and Ferris stop a couple of meters from you. Wilhelm is holding an umbrella so his lady doesn’t get wet, while the cat-girl is wearing a fantasy world hoodie with the hood up. She has shoved her hands into the pockets. Ferris is as hungover as can be, and you get the sense that the old man had to drag her out of bed to bid you both farewell. In the shade inside her hood, she’s narrowing her eyes at the natural light of this cloudy morning, and a side of her mouth occasionally twitches.
Despite the embarrassment you both must feel from almost having fucked wildly last night, and your suspicion that she must resent you for abandoning her all wet and ready, you sympathize with this cat-girl so much that you just want to step forward and squeeze her in your arms. You won’t, though. Even if she wanted you to, she wouldn’t accept it in public.
Crusch is carrying herself naturally with the poise of a dignitary sending you off, and yet her honey-colored eyes are sad.
“I don’t know how to properly bid you both farewell. As far back as I remember, you have always been here, and I admit it fills me with unease to realize that you will be gone from now on.”
A sharp pain pierces your heart for a moment. You are about to speak when you see that Ferris has turned her head towards the duchess while the cat-girl’s wide-eyed expression, with her lips slightly parted, shows dismay. Maybe she feels as if she barely matters any longer now that she’s dealing with a new Crusch. These two women seemed so close before; you remember fondly finding them every morning as they ate breakfast and spoke at length about whatever they had to deal with that day, or about their worries and hopes. Maybe the former Crusch didn’t need any other confidant. Poor Ferris. You feel so bad for her, and it pains you that you are about to leave her behind, but you also prevent yourself from recalling your interaction last night, in case you end up having to say goodbye to these great people while sporting an erection.
“Duchess, our friendship will remain intact no matter what”, Emilia says sweetly. “Write to me as often as you want. And when we leave, you will still have these two lovely people who have always stuck with you through thick and thin.”
Crusch smiles strainedly. A forced smile, clearly indicating her attempts to hide her sadness, but beautiful nonetheless.
“Thank you so much for your kind words. I’ll love to receive your letters as well, lady Emilia.” The duchess turns her attention to you. “I will sorely miss you as well, Subaru. I fear I will always worry about your well-being.”
You grimace, and are quick to wave your hand while smiling nervously.
“I’m perfectly fine! You have more than enough with your own troubles, duchess. Focus on staying strong. Hopefully we’ll end up catching the bastard who did this to you and to my Rem, and you’ll return to normal. And even if you never do, you are still awesome the way you are. There’s no cooler duchess in this entire fantasy world, I’m sure.”
Crusch smiles once again, a bit brighter this time.
“I’ll try to stay optimistic.”
When you look at the cat-girl, you realize she has been studying your expression, but she averts her gaze as if embarrassed. Thankfully she doesn’t seem angry.
“I am going to miss you, Ferris”, you say warmly. “I hope we remain in good terms.”
She takes a moment, and then she forces herself to hold your gaze while she narrows her eyes. Whether because of her hangover or because she’s dealing with conflicting emotions, you can’t tell.
“We are friends after all.”
You swallow. She does remember, and she won’t pretend that she doesn’t.
“Ah… I’m sure things would have been different if I hadn’t…”
You don’t know how to continue that sentence, and you also can’t say, ‘I would have gladly entered a romantic relationship with you that would have us fucking like wild beasts every day, if it wasn’t because I’m already in love with a comatose demon servant, and because the half-elf royal candidate belonging to an opposite camp to yours would hate it’.
Ferris shrugs, and looks down.
“Woulda coulda.”
You feel terrible.
“Take care of yourself, Ferris”, you say with a pained voice.
“Always have.”
While you try to push down your sudden gloom, you turn to Wilhelm. The old man nods.
“Wilhelm, I cannot thank you enough for lending your legendary murderous skills so we could ruin that ancient ghost’s plans, which could have potentially ended the world. And also thank you for trying to toughen up a piece of shit like me.”
You bow to him, a proper thank you to your former master, the one who taught you the joys of bloodsport and the pain it can bring, the one who showed you how to survive by being utterly merciless. And, ultimately, the one who showed you how to die with honor.
You could swear that the ghost of a smile flashed on the old man’s face.
“I expect you to continue with your training back at your camp, even if alone. You never know when you will be forced to put it to good use.” His lips tighten, and for a moment he seems to doubt whether to continue. “I wish you will remind your lord that I would appreciate if he would share his predictions regarding where that damnable monster is sure to appear, so we can eradicate it. I am to assume that Roswaal had his reasons for keeping this information a secret, but if he wants to trade, I am sure we can reach an agreement.”
You feel hollow, and you have to force yourself to keep holding the old man’s gaze. His fire burns so he can eventually avenge his beloved, but you had deceived him so his camp could lend you their strength. You want to apologize, to ask for his forgiveness, but you also know you can’t bring it up now, or maybe ever. Your throat is getting tighter. If someone did that to you, told you there was a chance to return Rem back to normal, but that person had only lied to take advantage of your time and effort, you don’t think you could ever forgive them. You might even turn murderous.
“I will tell the lord that…” Your voice breaks, and warmth rushes to your eyes. “We’ll figure something out.”
You feel Emilia’s gaze piercing you. She looks disturbed as if she fears you either doing or thinking something bad. Confused, you return your attention to Crusch’s camp. The duchess seems troubled as she stares at you. You then feel something warm and wet running down your cheeks. Mortified, you quickly dry your eyes and sniff.
“Sorry. It’s just… I will miss you guys very much.”
Wilhelm had opened his mouth, but the duchess takes a step forward and speaks up.
“Then stay! I have loved hosting you two, and we get along wonderfully. Lady Emilia, I already consider you a friend, and I’ll gladly take care of you, Subaru. Just live with us. I’m sure we c-…”
Wilhelm, alarmed, puts his free, gloved hand on Crusch’s shoulder.
“No, my lady, they cannot stay. They need to return to their own lives.”
Wilhelm turns to you and bows his head.
“We should part ways. I hope we will fight alongside again.”
“The same”, you say with a low voice.
As Wilhelm tries to get the duchess to turn towards the mansion, Crusch looks dismayed. Her eyes seem to ask, ‘why can’t people who like each other live together in such a big mansion?’. Why can’t she play outside after dinner? Why do we need to work from nine to six five days a week to pay for a house we can barely afford? These races for the throne are so silly, whatever form the race or the throne take, but people like Priscilla wouldn’t give up, and most people, whether they are human or any percent of beast, are savages unfit to govern themselves.
As both camps walk away from each other in silence, you look over your shoulder towards the hooded back of Ferris’ head. Had she ended up hating you? The cat-girl looks over her shoulder as well, and her gaze connects with yours. She must have noticed your worry, because she turns away again and raises her hand as if bidding you farewell. She then shoves both hands into the pockets of her hoodie and keeps walking.
As you move towards the back of Otto’s carriage, Emilia shuffles closer to you and wraps her arm around yours. When you get on the vehicle and sit on the bench, you hear the rain as it falls on the tarp that covers the back of the carriage. Emilia has gone pale and is stunned as if she’s recovering from bad news she just received.
“What’s bothering you, Emilia?”, you ask.
“For a moment I was sure you would stay and live with them”, she says softly, as if she doesn’t want to speak the words. “Join their household formally. It would be a great life, wouldn’t it? And these people care about you a lot.”
“About you as well. They wouldn’t have treated like this any of the other royal candidates.”
“My heart sank, Subaru. When I thought that you would prefer to remain in the capital instead of returning with me to Roswaal’s mansion, I… I don’t know what I would have done. I would have wished to throw everything away, the fight for the throne, everything.”
You are disturbed, and shift your weight on the bench. Just how much has this girl deluded herself into loving you?
“Don’t say that. You have an enormous opportunity to move up in this world. Just imagine the things you could do if you had that much power!”
She takes your hand and holds it on her thigh.
“I know, and I have… I have my own selfish reasons for reaching that throne as well. Roswaal had made a promise of his own.”
You are puzzled, and for a moment she looks as if she wants to tell, but she ends up shaking her head.
“The kingdom is secondary for me. What a great ruler I would be, right? I admit that much… But I don’t think I’ll ever get another chance like this.”
You take a deep breath. You have a long trip ahead of you, so you’ll let it rest.
“In any case, Emilia, I’m coming back home with you. You will have me all to yourself.”
You had said that playfully, but Emilia’s warm grin, and how she embraces your arm closest to her, make you regret it. Your gaze rests on Rem’s expressionless face as she lies on her back on the floorboards, covered up to her neck with a blanket. It’s like she’s not even here. A pain grows in your chest, and you can’t ignore for a few seconds the despair that has been running in the background ever since you first realized that your beloved demon servant had been taken away from you.
Emilia hasn’t missed it, as she seems eager to notice all your expressions. Although you wish you could be left alone for a while, you want to avoid making people around you worry, so you force yourself to smile.
“Listen, Emilia, this will come out of nowhere, but I’ve been wondering if you could assist me with something once we settle back in the mansion.”
Her mood improves just because you want her help.
“I’m sure I will be able to. What is it about?”
“Could you guide me regarding how one would go about learning how to read and write in this language that for some reason I’m able to speak? It’s getting beyond embarrassing for me. I can’t even buy food without having to argue with the vendors.”
She lets out a noise of delight. She claps, and then she clasps her hands as in prayer.
“I will teach you myself! Ah, that’s great! I wish we were doing it already.”
That she’s so eager to help warms your heart. You were about to mess her silver hair as if she were some younger protegée of yours, but you feel it would be disrespectful, so instead you run your fingers through the back of her hair. The pleased, slightly blushed look on Emilia’s face suggests you have sent her a different message than the one intended. Still, you would have never done it without thinking if she wasn’t so clearly receptive to whatever you want to do to her. And you have already kissed her, back when you abandoned the shell she had become in that broken reality. She had tasted like snot and blood. You wonder how she would taste now that she’s normal, and you feel guilty.
“So, ready to get going, general?”, Otto asks from the driver’s seat. How much of your conversation has he listened to?
“I told you, just call me Subaru. Becoming a general was a historical anomaly. I’m sure I won’t act like it again. But yes, let’s get going. I’m beginning to hate carriages, so I hope you manage to avoid every flying whale and crazed cultist before we reach the safety of Roswaal’s domain.”
“I’ll try for sure.”
A few minutes later you realize that after your carriage ventures through a wooded area, you are going to lose any sight of the capital. You stand up and peek out of the tarp to look at the receding, distant streets, at that mountain half covered in buildings and topped with a big, palace-like building. Goodbye, Lugunica, you think. When we first met you scared the shit out of me, and not even an hour later a bunch of your thugs beat me half to death, but I came to enjoy your seediness, your royal bullshit, your noisy crowds, and the luxurious mansions at which I could hang out without having to do any chores nor pay for the food and the drinks. I feel I am not going to see you again for a long, long time.


Originally written in December of 2020:

Some observations. Both in the original novels and the anime adaptation, Ferris is a guy, so I hope you either remembered that or managed to forget it, depending on your preferences. Very little survived of the original Ferris in this retelling beyond the fact that she’s supposedly the best healer in the kingdom and that she’s Crusch’s best pal from childhood. Until a day before I wrote that scene, so maybe three days ago, I thought I wouldn’t write a sex scene between her and the protagonist, but my subconscious wove those plot details by itself and demanded me to write them down. When the subconscious comes up with those kinds of solutions for a story, you need to add them in.

Given that the third arc of this series has just ended, and that the next entry will begin the fourth arc, which hasn’t yet ended in neither the translated novels (up to the 14th novel as of December of 2020) nor in the anime adaptation, this retelling goes through a turning point. To decide which setups to include, you better know how they are paid off, and I haven’t read the last act of this fourth arc. In addition, I know for sure that I won’t write a single word this afternoon, given that “Cyberpunk 2077” is waiting for me. That damn game better live up to the hype to a significant extent. I tend to get tired of games fairly quickly, but it’ll likely still keep me busy for a while.

This retelling gets closer and closer to when I will be able to write my version of the Witch of Greed. I’ll enjoy that very much.

Note from April of 2021:

“Cyberpunk 2077” was utter shit.

Roleplaying through “Re:Zero” with the GPT-3 story generator (Part 35)

We are still in the ninth volume of the original “Re:Zero” novels. Man, getting through this volume is taking some time, although I think that part 36 is finally going to close it.

In the previous entry, the protagonist understands that he has sacrificed his girlfriend to save Emilia and the world, and he begins to grieve for the demon servant. Meanwhile, the Witch of Frost turns into a discount version of the Witch of Envy.

I intended for this entry and the following one, of which I’ve already written half, to be a single one, but they will likely turn into ten thousand words together. This one is around five and a half.

GPT-3 is a cutting-edge language processing algorithm used in the premium version of the online site AI Dungeon.


Before Crusch had lost her memories, she had organized paying a local transport service to return the evacuated villagers back home. They left the next morning. One of the staff members had caught you going to the bathroom and he had informed you that a certain Petra wanted to talk to you, but you asked him to pretend he didn’t see you. The thought of dealing with Emilia, who expected so much from you, already made your stomach churn, and now this twelve year old villager wanted your attention as well.
After waking up next to Rem’s unchanged, emotionless face as she kept sleeping, and would likely never stop for the rest of her life, your heart hurt as if your wife had died after a decades-long relationship. You just wanted to mourn her in peace and quiet, but the people around you just didn’t want to leave you alone.
You ate lunch along with Emilia and Crusch’s camp around a big table illuminated by chandeliers. Everyone focused on how much the duchess remembered how to do, and whether she might suddenly recover her memories as if she had suffered a particularly nasty concussion. Crusch knew how to eat by herself. She couldn’t name the different kinds of foods present on the table, but their taste didn’t surprise her. Apart from knowing how to speak the language, she also knew how to write. She lacked all the memories of who she was, as well as all the people she had met. A very selective memory loss, then again you shouldn’t be surprised if it’s magic based.
The poor duchess had accepted that she used to have a full life but that someone had stolen it, and now she acted poised and genteel, but without any haughtiness. It seemed like the generations of rulers that eventually led to her birth had forged her talents to lead and inspire to the extent that they surged out of her nature. Whenever you were in the presence of Crusch Karsten, you just wanted to listen to her and be there to help her with whatever she wished, because you had the sense that it would lead to great things for everybody. In comparison, Emilia, insisting on sitting next to you whenever you shared a room, felt like an involuntary recluse that was doing her best to pretend she was comfortable in the outside world.

The nerdy doctor you had given hell to for no good reason returned to check on Rem. It seemed that the guy was a well-respected healer in this part of the capital. He wasn’t mad at you, and after you apologized for your outburst and he examined Rem, he informed you that those afflicted with this curse didn’t need to consume nutrients, nor did they age, although they could be killed by the usual methods. You are pretty sure such a condition violates the laws of thermodynamics, but then again this is a world where at least one whale can fly. It seemed that a couple of cases of people afflicted with this curse in another kingdom had been kept for centuries on display like works of art in a museum. When you imagine yourself getting old and eventually dying only for your beloved to remain young forever, it wrenches your heart. What will happen with Rem then? Who will care for her and keep her safe? The most you can hope for is that Roswaal will assign her a bedroom in his huge mansion, and that the clown’s future descendants, if anyone wants to procreate with that guy, will carry on caring for the demon servant.
Emilia wanted to remain in the capital for a few days longer, if only so you two could visit together a few interesting sights. Crusch knows you both to be friendly and helpful and can’t grasp fully that you belong to an opposite camp, but even those who care for her safety and political ambitions, Ferris and Wilhelm, are comfortable with having you here. It’s as if they implicitly don’t take Emilia’s candidacy seriously at all, not that it matters to you.
When you think about what must be going on at Roswaal’s mansion you think of Ram. The senior servant, who had chosen to stay behind after the fight and handle the bereaved villagers who refused to leave, as well as make sure that the mansion itself didn’t collapse, must be now dealing with the remaining villagers attempting to return to their regular lives even though a quarter of the buildings were destroyed. Has Roswaal made an appearance? Has he had to answer for abandoning his subjects in their moment of need? It all feels so remote to you. Rem is in a coma, and walking around with your current depression feels like wading through mud. What does anything matter beyond the fact that you failed to save your girl?

Emilia has organized an outing to experience the bustle of the capital and to browse the wares of the numerous stands set up in wide open plazas. Crusch, like in previous days, wanted to accompany the half-elf and discover more of a world about which she mostly only knows what her subconscious has integrated. Although you believe you are doing a great job of acting as if the merchandise that Emilia brings to your attention, or the food that she insists that you stuff your mouth with, is improving your mood, you want to return to your bedroom and lock yourself in. You feel as if you are looking at your body from above as it moves by itself. Most of the time you end up walking behind, close to Crusch’s perpetual bodyguard Wilhelm. You can tell that the old man understands your gloom. A similar one has probably accompanied him for a long time.
Far enough that you can’t hear their conversation, Emilia is speaking warmly with Crusch as she shows her the fruits of a stand. The duchess, who is wearing a casual dress with a floral motif, holds one of the appas, the local version of apples, as if learning the most about this wild world is her current duty.
You stand next to Wilhelm. Although you want to steel your voice, it comes out hollow.
“Crusch’s memory has been wiped clean, my girl is in a coma from which she’s unlikely to wake up… This feels like a miserable defeat.”
Wilhelm answers without missing a beat, as if he expected such a comment.
“Regarding our operation, we ended up facing an enemy far more adroit than we could have expected, and yet we vanquished his entire branch. If you mean beyond the constraints of the operation, I do not believe we truly win in this life, Mr. Natsuki. That fiend Petelgeuse proved to me that I have reached a point of my existence in which no amount of training will prevent my decline, and it will lead to my final defeat, the same one that awaits every living being.”
You feel the weight of this man’s grief. He must have lost his wife maybe a decade or two decades ago, to an enemy that nobody truly expects to kill. The White Whale is categorized by most as a natural disaster, so you might as well fight a tornado. Wilhelm has lived for nothing else than to hone his skills so one day he might achieve his impossible revenge. He hasn’t moved forward, and he likely doesn’t want to. It would be like spitting on his dead wife’s face. You can’t blame him, and now you wish to do the same. Like it has happened regularly without warning ever since you found Rem in a coma, now your throat is constricted, your chest feels as if it might cave in at any moment, and you are overwhelmed by a coldness that no fire will warm. Will I need to become as strong as you, Wilhelm?, you think. You have to keep struggling even if you lose your will to live, so you might no longer have a choice.
The old man has allowed your silence, but he continues.
“Nevertheless, you are young, Mr. Natsuki. Your future has much in store for you. Likely you sense a fire in the deepest part of your self that demands you to keep fighting until you correct the wrong that has been done to the people you care about. You must tend to that fire. The fiend that damaged both miss Karsten and miss Rem in such a way could be located, and he might have the means to revert the effects of his ability, even if only after being persuaded by some of the kingdom’s best torturers. Our spy network is already looking for them. Whenever we get a solid lead, I assure you I will contact you, no matter the state of the relationships between both our camps at that point.”
Even though you can’t help but feel a bit of resentment towards the old man after he restrained you against your will when you were on a rush to kill yourself, you understand the extent of the favor he’s granting you. Even more, after Wilhelm bought your lie that Roswaal had found the means to predict where the White Whale is going to appear next, the old man must be waiting for an opportunity to confront the clown for keeping such vital information from Wilhelm, who must be known throughout the kingdom for wanting to obliterate that damn whale. Still, he wants to help you pursue your own revenge.
“How do you tolerate this for years, decades…?”, you blurt out with a pained, low voice.
“You learn that you can survive it all, Mr. Natsuki. Every tide of the foulest emotions that nature has planted on us so we might succumb to them. You hold on tight and wait until you find yourself on the other side.”
Emilia is smiling as she pays a vendor for the bag of fruits she’s holding. Crusch is chewing on an appa while her expression reacts to the taste. The duchess has transformed into the most sophisticated six year old.
“Look around you at this crowd, Mr. Natsuki”, Wilhelm says. “Every individual member knows to a certain degree about the evils that beset this world, and yet they continue living their lives and raising the next generation because they hold the belief that someone is going to fight against those threats. But there are but a few men and women who are ready to put their lives on the line, and fewer yet that have the talent and the skill set to succeed. If even one of those generations failed to create a group of strong people to stem the tide, the peace that allows us to go on walks and browse random wares would cease to exist. Those who intend to ruin this world will never stop, and neither should we.”

That evening, shortly before dinner, Emilia approached you and asked whether you wanted to take a walk around the pond where the old man likes to train. You declined. You wanted nothing more than to hole yourself up in your bedroom, lie next to Rem and stroke her soft, light-blue hair while letting your mind wander. Once again you erased Emilia’s smile. The girl never insisted after each time you refused, she only tried a slightly different strategy some hours later. You aren’t sure if you care any longer that you keep disappointing her. You aren’t sure if you feel anything except for this darkness pulling you to the ground.
You are lying on your shoulder next to Rem, who is sleeping face up. You run your fingers through her hair slowly, and occasionally dry the slight dribble of saliva that overflows from her slightly open mouth. She feels warm and her body smells like a healthy person’s, so your brain has a hard time convincing itself that the demon servant isn’t going to wake up at any moment.
Even though the first night you felt guilty, in the darkness, as you held Rem tight, you pressed your lips against hers, caught her lower lip between yours and felt her heartbeat pumping in the capillaries. You caressed her tongue with yours. For those moments Rem didn’t feel gone, but as if she was standing still to experience all you wanted to do to her. She’s become little more than a warm, moist doll. After the second night you ceased to whisper to her, as voicing your thoughts only brought you to tears.
While you are slowly and absentmindedly sliding your fingertip on Rem’s lower lip, a sudden movement a meter above the foot of the bed startles you. When you recognize the form of a little white cat hovering in the air, you instantly get annoyed.
“Sorry to appear at an inconvenient moment”, Puck says without sounding a bit sorry.
You dry your eyes with your forearm, and then frown at Emilia’s guardian.
“You only appear at inconvenient moments, Puck. What the hell do you want?”
“You have been hostile towards me ever since we came to the mansion, even when you pretended you weren’t. What’s going on, Subaru?”
“That’s why you appear without warning in my bedroom, interrupting a private moment?”
“You have done little else than seek private moments with your girlfriend during these last few days. It’s not as if I can speak to you in private when you are surrounded by the many current inhabitants of this mansion, can I?”
“So what is it?”, you ask with a prickly voice, “What do you want?”
He floats towards Rem’s bare legs, he lands on them, he sits and leans back against the bridge of her left foot. Witnessing this would be mass murderer taking such liberties makes you clench your teeth.
“Can’t I just be worried for you?”, he asks. “Everybody can see how much you are hurting because this girl that nobody else but you remembers, and who apparently you were sweet on, has gone to sleep for a long time. We gave you space, but maybe allowing you to escape into yourself day after day isn’t good for your recovery.”
“Don’t lie on my girlfriend’s leg”, you warn him with a growly voice.
He narrows his eyes, but he jumps up and hovers as if he were suspended from the ceiling.
“I wasn’t lying on her leg. How dare you suggest such a thing? I was perching. There’s a difference. I am merely having a conversation with my friend, despite his total lack of respect for me.”
“Respect has to be earned.”
Puck sighs with exasperation.
“Anyway, what do you want me to do? I’ll do whatever you want, but I think we should talk about this together… Can’t let a crisis go to waste, as they say.”
“Why would I want you of all people to do anything for me?”
“This depression is making you all grumbly, Subaru. It’s not a good look. It brings everybody’s moods down.”
A burst of rage reddens your vision. You turn, grab a small statue of a ground dragon that came with the nightstand, and hurl it at Puck. You would have thought that he would have evaded it while laughing, but it hits him square in the face throwing him to the ground behind the foot of the bed. Before you can think about it or control your breathing, he flies up and hovers in place while grinning.
“Just kidding! Can’t hurt me like that. I only have a semblance of a physical existence.”
“Glad you find my emotional turmoil so entertaining”, you say while gritting your teeth.
“I’m just trying to lighten your mood.”
“Fuck off, Puck. I don’t want my mood to be lighter. My girlfriend is in a coma. I have a right to be depressed.”
“You should at least want to get better, Subaru! It’s not right to enjoy pain.”
“That’s up for debate.”
“I have something that’ll make you feel better.”
“Unless it’s suicide, I’m not interested.”
“Don’t be like that, Subaru. I’m here to help.”
You shake your head.
“What the hell did you even mean with a ‘semblance of a physical existence’? Do you show yourself as a little cunt cat by choice?”
“I didn’t choose this form, no, but I do have to make an effort to remain visible for you lot. Most of the time I’m just hovering and flying around while invisible!”
“And you can jump to the location of whoever you know without them realizing you are there?”
“That’s right. A spy’s dream, isn’t it?”
“A pervert’s dream, you mean. What if you caught me masturbating? No matter when you decide to jump to my position, there’s a significant probability you might find me with my pants down!”
Puck smirks and tilts his head.
“In your case I set up a magical alarm that alerts me whenever you start masturbating, so I can come over and watch.”
You want to be angry, but after you think for a moment about your own sexual depravity, you just shrug.
“Well, if that’s a fetish of yours, I won’t complain.”
Puck looks weirded out. He quickly shakes his paw to deny it as if he’s been accused of it before.
You won’t let this pass.
“It’s funny to you how you go around acting all high and mighty when you’ve just admitted to being a pervert.”
“I haven’t admitted to anything! But at least I got you to stop crying.”
You get annoyed, and narrow your eyes at him.
“I will start crying again out of spite. Anyway, what do you really want, Puck? I don’t believe for a second that a great spirit actually gives a shit about my well-being.”
“I would care if only by proxy. It’s Emilia, of course!”
You look away and want to groan, but you feel guilty for having wanted to. Emilia isn’t at fault for anything.
“Yes, I gathered that.”
“I want to steer her away from the path of darkness, but given that she insists on attempting to collide with you, I’ll have to clean your soul.”
“A nightmare level mission.”
“Although I wish I didn’t have to say this, Emilia needs you. She needs the support of someone from the physical realm that truly has her back, and you have shown how much you want to keep her safe. You moved so many pieces to pull off this operation successfully that I still can hardly believe it. I took you for someone that had to be assisted to walk down the stairs, because you would find a way to trip and impale yourself on the handrail.”
You look at him with your face twisted into a frown.
“I guess that Roswaal took me in because he wanted a jester of his own. He needed to draw attention away from his own clown self.”
Puck ignores your annoyance, as usual.
“Ever since your apparently not so dumb self showed up again, Emi has been optimistic and giddy like a little girl, even though at the village she looked as if she were about to break. She keeps going on about how she will try this or that so you will feel better and spend more time with her.”
You lie down and rub your eyes for a few seconds. Then you rest on your elbow to hold Puck’s gaze.
“Puck, can I level with you for a moment, even though you are such a lowlife that I’ll need to metaphorically dig a hole in the ground and crouch inside of it?”
Puck smiles in response, and he makes a gesture which means go ahead.
“Emilia isn’t in love with me”, you say. “She’s in love with the idea of loving a guy who would fight the world to save her. You know what I mean?”
“Except that you have done so. She’s not confused about that. I have tried to tell her that you are full of flaws and not such a great guy, but she won’t have any of it. Sorry, kid, one of the sweetest, most beautiful girls in the world has fallen for your unworthy self.”
You shake your head. You find yourself looking at Rem, and you feel that you are insulting her by having such a conversation while she sleeps forever.
“Puck, I just want time alone with my girl.”
“Emilia doesn’t like that a bit, as you might imagine, but she’s also too good-natured to resent this servant when she’s fallen under such a curse.”
“Don’t tell me that the mighty Witch of Frost feels threatened by a girl in a coma.”
“The mighty Witch of Frost is afraid of losing her one and only love. I’m just trying to look out for my bestie’s best interest. Everything is in your hands now.”
You heave a heavy sigh. You sit up on the bed and lean forward to hug your knees.
“I might have unleashed a beast by pulling off such a stunt for her sake. I’m not into needy people. The thought of someone constantly wanting to be close to me feels suffocating.”
“Well, you’re just going to have to deal with it, because she’s worth it. Now, are you going to try to make this work out or not? You have to do it. You fought against an unbeatable opponent to save her, even though most of the world has proven to her over and over that it wants her gone. After you woke up from the beating that knight rightfully gave you and then you and Emi had your ridiculous fight, Emilia regretted exiling you. She believed that you had ended up hating her. Now you have turned into almost a mythical figure for her, and it’s your own damn fault. You need to take responsibility.”
You lie down again and look at the ceiling, the same one that welcomed you at the end of every segment of two days during your self-imposed loop. Most of those segments ended up with your detached head flying away and sometimes hitting some horrified onlooker, which back then you found funny even though you no longer had the vocal cords to laugh. You hide your face with your hands.
“That’s the thing, Puck, I don’t want responsibility. I’m a damn kid, and that will never change.”

You convinced Emilia that you should probably return home instead of keep fucking around in the capital, particularly when she is using the stay as a source of opportunities to get closer to you. Crusch herself suggested that you all should conmemorate your friendship by carousing the night before you left. That was your opportunity to ransack Crusch’s wine cellar and taste again all those wines that you had drank during your self-imposed loop.
You gather in the dining room in front of a lavish dinner that Crusch, who likely doesn’t feel much connection to her money anymore, spared no expense in. Emilia sits next to you, and keeps talking to you while you eat slowly and savor your food, enjoying the rare treat. Although you already feel sad because you will miss Crusch’s camp, ever since you returned from the operation, by this time of the day you are already too tired and you want nothing more than to return to your bed next to Rem. However, it only takes looking at the duchess, for whom everybody in this room might as well represent the only real people in the world, and at Wilhelm, who seems lost in memories as he cuts his food with precision, and at Ferris, who puts on a front of normality while assisting Crusch but whose distress at her best friend’s state shows on her face every couple of minutes, to realize that you will be leaving a family, one that due to your unnatural life you have spent much more time with than with Roswaal’s camp. Your emotions are playing tug of war, and added to your underlying depression you feel as tired as if you were trying to get through forty eight hour days.
Emilia is already tipsy. She keeps seeking your gaze, and when you face her glistening eyes, and all that attention she wants to give you, it increases your remorse. A part of you loves that someone as sweet and beautiful as Emilia has convinced herself that she wants you as a romantic partner, but the rest of you wants to flagellate itself for your failures. You had a single goal in this life, a promise you had made to yourself above all others, which was to keep Rem safe, to use your witch-given power to make sure your beloved would live a long, happy life. Now that you have failed catastrophically, what point is there to keep going? What do you have to enjoy? You have no right to. You can’t even talk yourself out of your gloom.
Emilia kisses you on the cheek and holds your hand closer to hers. She must have been trying to talk to you, even though all the noises and conversations around you had faded into background noise. As you hold Emilia’s increasingly watery gaze, the half-elf chokes up while a tear falls from her eye. This startles you out of your sulking as you look at her with concern.
“What’s wrong, Emilia?”
“I’m… I’m sorry, I’ve been trying to cheer you up for the past few minutes and you weren’t answering me. You seemed all gloomy and depressed, as if the entire world was coming to an end.”
Emilia has drunk too much to care about whether other people around the table are listening to her words. Wilhelm shoots you an understanding look while taking a drink of his wine glass, while Crush, sitting in front of you, observes your interaction as if attending class; you guess that every new development must feel vital for someone emptied of memories and who wants to regain her place in the world as soon as possible. You hate that Emilia would push for a confrontation in front of other people, even if she’s just doing it from a place of worry.
“I’m just going through a phase”, you say with a low voice. “Can’t get out of it for the moment, but I suppose I will get used to the world as it is now. I appreciate that you keep trying to help me, Emilia, but don’t blame yourself if it doesn’t quite work.”
You flash a reassuring smile at the half-elf, who looks back at you with an expression ranging from guilt to sadness. She strokes your hand with her thumb.
“Can’t help but being worried. You’re more than just my friend, you’re… If you hadn’t fought the Witch’s Cult for my sake, that servant wouldn’t have fallen to such a curse, wouldn’t she? Of course she wouldn’t have.”
You place your hand on the back of her head and pull her so she rests it on your shoulder. She hugs you from the side. You feel much warmer, and your heart skips a beat.
“It comes natural to you to blame yourself for everything. I don’t regret that we stopped those bastards, and we can’t change what happened. I’ll probably feel more normal in a short while. Just focus on enjoying yourself. Our graceful duchess has prepared such a regal dinner, it would be a waste to sour it.”
Although you were referring to Emilia bringing up the topic of your comatose girlfriend, when you look in front of you and face Crusch’s warm smile, as innocent as a child’s due to how she’s having to relearn the world, Puck’s words hit you. You are bringing everyone around you down because you don’t want to feel better, because you feel that you don’t have any right to.
You kiss Emilia’s silver hair and stand up straighter. At least you can try to enjoy yourself, even if you’ll have to push through it all.

A few minutes later you realize that Ferris is taking over some of the staff’s work by carrying dirty plates back to the kitchen, and her expression, as well as her occasional sighs, suggest she’s looking for a break. You excuse yourself from the table, gather a few empty plates and follow the cat-girl. You find her in the kitchen scrubbing a plate, while a male staff member on the other side of the room prepares a cake for dessert. You stand next to Ferris and you begin scrubbing one of the plates she brought. When you turn your head to look at her expression, even before you register it you feel a coldness in your chest. You had recalled the cat-girls outraged disappointment as she looked down at you back when you botched your suicide, as well as the shock when you asked her to kill you by boiling your blood, even though she suffers for every life she fails to save. When you come back to your senses, Ferris is staring back at you as if studying your expression. Her face shows a cat-like indifference, but her eyes tell a different story. She worries for you even though she has every reason not to care about you at all.
“Guess you also wanted some peace and quiet.”
You clear your throat. Your heartbeat has quickened.
“You haven’t taken any clients ever since we returned, have you?”
Ferris shrugs and looks down at the plate she’s scrubbing.
“I have a new full time job. You could consider it healing as well.”
You take your time to continue.
“I’m so fucking sorry about it all, Ferris.”
“You look sorry about everything these days.”
“If I didn’t tangle you people in my operation, Crusch would have carried on as usual, sipping fine wine and wearing those sexy nightgowns while sleeping in her warm bed.”
Ferris turns to look at you. She narrows one eye as a corner of her mouth turns up in a small smile.
“If that’s what you miss about the old Crusch, I assure you she recovered those habits almost immediately.”
“Still, I’m being serious. You are hurting as well, Ferris.”
“Pain is a fact of life. Half of my nature remains aloof and indifferent about these things.”
“I know you think we are enemies or something, but you can just lay it on me.”
Ferris leaves her last plate on the dish drainer and dries her hands. She lets out a heavy sigh.
“I want to be angry at you, Subaru, but I’m not. You also lost someone that you clearly cared a lot about. The blame lies on the two bastards who ambushed the caravan. I imagine that they must belong to another branch of the cult. Maybe they got information that we were foiling their attempt at kidnapping Emilia and resurrecting their witch, and it could be that one of those cultists we wiped out had told them. We knew they had at least one communications-based metia.”
You pass your arm behind her neck to squeeze her opposite, and furry, shoulder. As you open your mouth to speak, Ferris shivers, which reminds you that she insisted on you asking for consent before you initiate any kind of physical contact with her cat-girl self.
“Ah… I spoke to Wilhelm about it”, you say. “I suppose he has already told you, but there is the chance that Crusch’s memories aren’t lost forever. If we catch those responsible, they might be able to reverse the damage. We can hope that’s the case, at least. Even though I belong to an opposite camp, I’m very fond of Crusch and I want her to be well again. She’s also the only one around here that has any business sitting on that throne.”
Ferris shoots you a puzzled look, and then looks over her shoulder as if Emilia was standing there. By now your half-elf friend must be woozy from all the wine in her system, so she would have had a hard time following this conversation even if she had followed you.
After you put your last plate on the dish drainer and you turn to Ferris with your gaze lowered, she pats your cheek, and then moves that hand downward to lift your chin. The intensity in her eyes surprises you, particularly because you would have imagined that by this point of a conversation with the cat-girl she would have walked off angrily.
“Quit dissing your own lady, Subaru. That girl wants you by her side, and tomorrow you will return home and promptly forget all of us.”
“You are sorely mistaken about that last part.”
Ferris shakes her head slightly.
“Let’s try to get through the rest of this celebration without turning it into a funeral service.”

Roleplaying through “Re:Zero” with the GPT-3 story generator (Part 34)

I thought I had already covered the entirety of the ninth volume of the original “Re:Zero” novels, but I was mistaken. Although most of what’s told in this entry doesn’t happen in the original or the anime adaptation, it would fall in that volume.

The previous part concluded maybe the most harrowing of the loops that the protagonist has gone through so far. He discovered that the people that like him, pieces of shit as they are, don’t agree with him killing himself. When the time comes to choose between the Apocalypse on one side and recovering his dick on the other, the man makes his choice. However, the Witch of Envy is a traitorous whore, so the whole thing ends up being a waste of time. You are welcome.

By the way, both in the original and the anime adaptation, all that happens after the protagonist discovers that Rem has fallen into a magical coma is that he suicides himself once, but after he discovers that Satella has updated the save file to a later point of time and he can no longer go further back, he gives up on saving Rem. That’s how much he cares. To be fair, he had “I love Emilia”-ed her in the later half of the first season, so it’s not as if he hasn’t proven already how much of a bastard he is.

GPT-3 is a cutting-edge language processing algorithm used in the premium version of the online site AI Dungeon.


As your ass rests on the bench while Emilia’s head reposes on your shoulder, and the tween takes similar liberties with the opposite side of your body, you use the excuse of needing to sleep to close your eyes and disappear from reality. Usually you could rely on your emotions to guide you. If you needed to pull yourself out of a loop, your rage or your shame could impel you to perform way beyond what you would have believed possible of someone as useless as yourself. However, contradictory emotions keep now pulling you in circles inside of your mind. You feel relieved as if waking up slowly from an operation for which they pumped you full of drugs. Merely sensing your legs, your feet, your genitals, or something as small as slightly sliding your feet forward and backwards while you pretend to sleep, mainly so other people don’t bother you, makes your heart race. But merely moments later you are overwhelmed with despair. Your life is controlled, puppeteered by the ghost of a mass murderer who died hundreds of years ago, someone considered by your new world as the worst creature to ever exist, and she has shown you in no uncertain terms, despite her lack of communication skills, that you are going to keep living on her terms.
Rem is lost. Rem is asleep already, maybe forever. You try swatting away the bobbing feeling of impotence that threatens to make you cry, because you already know it to be worse than useless: it’s like ruining your day because you can’t help remembering a beloved pet who died a long time ago. Those feelings won’t bring the dead back, nor will they return Rem to her previous state. And despite what you confidently told Puck before you ruined that reality, the fact that you can confide in nobody else makes you feel as if you are being kept in solitary confinement.
Also, you can barely look at the current Emilia in the face. In this reality she hasn’t yet dared to clarify that you are accepted back into her camp, and more importantly that she wants you to remain forever by her side, because with your terrorist hunting stunt involving two armies, you have turned into something closer to a symbol in the half-elf’s mind. The first person in this world, possibly the last ever, who would fight impossible odds for this girl’s sake. You can’t exactly blame her for having fallen, or believing herself to be, in love with you. Only a fool in love would have risked his life to that extent for someone who had thrown him away in no uncertain terms.
Rem will remain in a coma likely for the rest of her life. You will take care of her body, of course you will, and seeing her withering away slowly while you fail to help her wake up will be your punishment. If you had never dragged her into saving Emilia, she would be fine. You sacrificed her. For a moment you ask yourself whether it was worth it, but you didn’t only risk losing everyone at the mansion, but Puck destroying the entire world. You had no choice. You should repeat it to yourself until your emotions believe it.

At one point you realize that your carriage isn’t moving anymore, and that people are raising their voices both outside and on the back of your carriage. You snap out of it and open your eyes. The kids sitting in the opposite bench seem worried as well as the couple of male teens, one of which seems to have a savior complex that could rival yours.
“Are we under attack?”, he asks you as if you have a clue about anything right now.
“What’s going on?”, you mutter.
“The driver said that we have come across remains of a few carriages nearby,” Emilia says next to you, “as well as some dead ground dragons, as if another caravan has suffered an attack. He has gotten off his seat to get more information.”
Ah, you have reached that point of the journey. Even though you don’t want to handle any of it, you are itching to get away from such a confined space, and from being surrounded by these people. You also want to walk around on your own two legs. You stand up. They don’t hurt.
“I’ll check it out. Stay here. Whoever attacked the caravan is already gone.”
“We don’t know that for sure…”, Emilia says, concerned.
You get off the carriage. It’s the right hour for breakfast, and the sun burns bright. As you walk towards the crowd that is inspecting the remains of the carriages strewn on the grass, you feel your throat tighten, and you want to smile purely out of relief. This is true magic, being able to propel your heavy, cumbersome torso and all the shit attached to it without experiencing excruciating pain for every step forward, such pain that if you had a gun at hand you would have blown your head off. You want to run around, do somersaults and in general bother all these concerned people by acting like a weirdo, but suddenly your emotions are pulled to the opposite side of the spectrum. You haven’t won anything. This is the relief of a slave that isn’t shackled for a day, although he shouldn’t have been a slave in the first place. And yet, at moments it feels wrong not to feel those shackles, not to suffer those tides of acid-like pain splashing against your mind and corroding your sanity. When pain cares so intently for you, you can’t help but care back.
You shake away those thoughts, and the first thing that strikes your eye is a dead ground dragon lying next to some broken wooden boards that must have belonged to a carriage. You crouch down to the dragon’s side. A gash runs across his midsection, tearing through flesh and organs alike, but the cut seems made as if by a scalpel handled by a giant surgeon.
“Subaru!”, Julius calls from the small crowd of people inspecting the destruction.
You stand up as the knight approaches. I told you we would see each other again, you think, even if the current you has never heard those words. The guy is appropriately worried.
“These carriages belonged to the duchess’ caravan. It’s her coat of arms. I don’t see any corpse of the many wounded that they were transporting, nor or the duchess, but there are splashes of blood without corpses, so they likely were hauled off by the survivors.”
“Yeah…”
Julius stops himself with his lips separated, and his brow furrows in confusion.
“You aren’t surprised by this?”
You feel a rush as if you’ve been caught masturbating. How tiresome. As if you didn’t have enough dealing with your regret and your guilt because Rem’s comatose body will be waiting for you in Crusch’s mansion’s yard, you have to figure out how to act properly even though you are an open book.
“After that Petelgeuse invaded my brain, I don’t think that many things are going to surprise me. But I’m certainly concerned.”
Julius seems to accept your excuse. He looks around for someone, and his gaze fixes on Ferris, who is standing alone near a broken part of a carriage that features Crusch’s coat of arms. The hairs on Ferris’ cat tail are standing up, and before you know it you are staring at her bubbly ass.
You shake your head and walk towards her. Halfway through you realize that Julius isn’t accompanying you, because he’s checking out the wound in the dead ground dragon. As you approach the cat-girl from her side, you see in her profile that she’s gone pale from worry. You suddenly feel that you shouldn’t speak to this person. You stop. Even though you can’t help but feel regret at how much you hurt Ferris through your failed suicide attempt, the current version of the cat-girl has no reason to despise you. In fact, after that whole business of hauling her ass through the village’s streets, she might have warmed up to you. Your brain isn’t built to separate the different versions of the same people you know, particularly whatever groove or fold of that mushy garbage filling your skull where emotions spark.
When Ferris notices you standing nearby, she shoots you a look that glistens with distress.
“Subaru. Who would have ambushed their caravan? My lady might be…”
You step forward and hug her. You feel her soft, flax-colored fur as you hold her head against you.
“H-Hey!”, Ferris complains, stunned.
“It was a terrible attack and it took the most precious person in the world, but Crusch is alive. Injured, but still kicking. If any of her limbs are missing, you will be able to reattach them.”
Ferris pushes you off without too much effort. Her arms are trembling.
“Your words mean little when we haven’t found any member of her caravan. And don’t hug people without their consent, especially being yourself.”
You sigh.
“Always going on about consent.”
“What do you mean always…!? And of course I should! Ah, I can’t deal with your weirdness right now…”
“You can deal with surprisingly little.”
A likely angry retort dies in her lips. She has clenched her fists. She frowns, turns away and walks off.
You briefly attempt to reach out to her by lifting your arm, but you give up. No matter what you try, you always end up hurting this cat-girl.

On the way to the capital, Emilia is too concerned about the ambush on Crusch’s caravan to bring up how things have changed between you two, but she does interrogate you about how you organized the operation, how many enemies you faced, where were they hiding, and particularly about Petelgeuse. You want to redact the details of how they were going to use her for their ritual, but in the end you come up clean about everything. It’s her life, she has the right to know. By how Emilia lowers her head and wrings her soft hands over her lap, you can tell that it must feel like an echo of all the hate she has received over the years for having been born a silver-haired half-elf. Those birth characteristics made her a suitable vessel for the Witch of Envy.
You again relate to Emilia’s situation. She is trapped in a way of life she never asked for nor wanted. You are both victims of circumstance. However, you still avoid looking at her in the face to an extent that must be confusing her. Your brain expects the half-elf to cry her eyes out half-crazed, until the point that she breaks. After how you abandoned Emilia in that ruined reality, you can hardly imagine her behaving like a normal human being, as if she were forcing herself to act normal while her broken self pushes to emerge. Everything she confessed to you, how she wishes you would remain by her side forever, how she was determined to take care of your every need after you destroyed your lower half, and even Puck’s words about how Emilia would love you to the end, all that must be resting under the surface she exposes to the world. It might be more need than love, though, for someone who seems to have been abandoned by everyone in her past, and whom the world has attempted to exile almost every day of her life.

Your caravan reaches Crusch’s mansion a few minutes after the sun has set. While Otto maneuvers to find some place to park the carriage, a rush of nerves constricts your throat. Even though you know that Rem has already fallen to that magical coma, you feel as if there’s a chance that this time reality played out differently, or that Satella did listen to your pleas and somehow intervened to change Rem’s fate. None of that has happened, of course. You already know that no matter how many times you guillotine yourself from now on, you won’t return to a moment where Rem isn’t already lost.
You stand up along with everyone else on the back of your carriage.
“What should we do? Should we gather in some building?”, Petra asks you.
You don’t want those adoring eyes she insists on attracting your attention to. They make you feel ashamed, as if you have deceived her to gain her trust.
“No idea. You guys should ask the mansion staff. The duchess is a smart one, she will likely have ordered her people to make your stay comfortable.”
When you exit the carriage, Emilia catches up to you and walks by your side close enough that her hand touches yours a couple of times. A crowd of people are unloading the carriages, hauling shit around or just hindering your movement in general, and you manage to lose Emilia in the tumult so you can beeline towards the wounded. You want to feel bad about it, but you don’t.
You reach the area set up for the wounded. As some low level healers tend to the many injuries, a few of the wounded moan, wail, swear and scream. One of the wails comes from Ferris, who is kneeling and hugging the lying body of the duchess. Next to her rests Crusch’s detached left arm from the elbow to the hand. Although Julius told you in the previous reality that the duchess had survived and that the cat-girl had managed to reattach her arm, you hate to see the duchess injured, and it disturbs you to witness someone as tough-minded as Ferris crying her eyes out.
You are stalling here. You should run straight to Rem, but you feel cold sweat on the back of your neck, and your stomach is churning.
“Crusch is alive, isn’t she?”, you ask cautiously, because you don’t want Ferris to snap at you.
The cat-girl contains her sobs for a moment to look over her shoulder. Her eyes are red and teary.
“Something is wrong with her brain.”
A sharp pain pierces your heart. You counted Crusch amongst the saved despite her temporarily losing half of an arm. You don’t want to see someone as wonderful as the duchess spend the rest of her life half-retarded from brain damage, and it would have been your fault to an extent, given that you dragged everybody into your operation.
“What do you mean?”, you ask with a thin voice. “Did she get hit in the head or something?”
Ferris dries her eyes and passes over Crusch’s legs so she can begin reattaching her arm. She must have gotten such a shock initially that she forgot that time is of the essence. Crusch’s face looks a bit paler than usual, but there’s intelligence in her lovely eyes, and she’s looking at you confused as if she doesn’t know what you are doing here.
“Crusch, how are you feeling?”, you ask.
“Is… my name Crusch? This girl also called me that. I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything.”
You go cold. The duchess’ voice had trembled with fear, as if she woke up in someone else’s body and couldn’t understand anything about her current situation. You crouch next to her and grab the metallic hand of the gauntlet that contains the duchess’ remaining hand.
“Crusch, it’s me, your son! Please tell me you haven’t forgotten me!”
Ferris lets out a surprised noise, and Crusch stares at you bewildered.
“My son…?”, she asks with a vulnerable voice. “But I feel much younger…”
The cat-girl glares at you while she illuminates the cut-off point of Crusch’s left arm with her healing magic.
“What the hell are you doing, Subaru!? Don’t fuck with her mind!”
You excuse yourself and stagger away from Ferris. You feel woozy, and your legs are trembling. As you dry the cold sweat on your forehead, you try to integrate the news even though your thoughts are muddled. All the memories of Rem have been stolen from the world except from your cursed self, and Crusch’s memories have disappeared as well, but only her own? It’s too big of a coincidence. One of the people who ambushed the duchess’ caravan must have that ability, which could mean that there’s a way to reverse it. No, that doesn’t make sense necessarily. Wilhelm can chop someone’s head and his limbs off in a couple of seconds, but that doesn’t mean he can reattach them back. However, you need such a hope to go on.
You progress through the line of wounded, shuffling half the way, until you spot Rem’s beautiful light blue hair. She’s lying on a sheet with her arms at her sides. Her eyes are closed and her mouth slightly open, and there is no expression on her face. It looks as if she’s sleeping peacefully, except that nobody has woken up from such a sleep.
It doesn’t matter that you already knew. You can’t save Rem. While your heartbeat become painful, as if your blood isn’t pumping properly, you let yourself fall to your knees. You hug Rem tight, pressing your cheek against hers, and you cry silently.
Maybe a minute and a half later a male voice you recognize, that of the nerdy doctor that led you to Rem in your previous reality, speaks to you from behind.
“You know this woman?”
You are too busy grieving to answer, and you also wish that everybody else in the world except for your comatose girlfriend would disappear. A moment later you hear the doctor again, and he sounds closer.
“Excuse me, but if you don’t actually know her, I’m afraid I have to ask you to stop touching her.”
You clench your teeth, and turn enough to glare at him over your shoulder.
“She’s my girl. Leave me alone!”
“But nobody knows who she is, and she has-…”
“She’s fallen into a perennial sleep like in the cases you read in your medical reports! And she will never wake up again! Leave me alone! Leave me the fuck alone!”
The doctor stares at you dismayed, with his mouth open, but he must have recognized your grief.
“I… apologize.”
He walks away.
A couple of minutes later your anger dissipates and you feel sorry for the guy, who likely has worked hard to treat the wounded. Nobody else but the Witch of Envy is at fault for people around you not knowing everything you would need to explain to them, and you should be grateful that some people, like Emilia, would want to spend time with you, but for the foreseeable future you just want to lock yourself in the bedroom that Crusch assigned to you, hug Rem through the night and hope that your dreams allow you to forget for a while about your present.
If you had forgotten about Rem as well, what would this world do with a young woman who nobody knows and that has fallen into a coma for the rest of her life? You don’t want to think about it. You push Rem into a seated position, and after you hug her from behind, you manage to lift her up and lock her knees so she stands upright enough for you to maneuver to her front, rest her armpits over your shoulders and squeeze her breasts against your back. Once you lean forward and your legs bear Rem’s dead weight, you feel as if you would have needed several years of weightlifting to handle this task. You hobble along the line of wounded towards the mansion’s entrance.
“Subaru, we finally find you.”
Julius approaches you shortly after you’ve walked past the area reserved for the wounded. Emilia is standing next to him, and when your gaze falls on her face, for a moment you don’t see her as she is now but as the pale ghost that had stared at your detached head while your consciousness faded. A moment later the stream of tears running down her face, the dribble of saliva coming out of her mouth, as well as those dead eyes, disappear, and you stare back at a curious and confused Emilia who has no clue why you are carrying a sleeping girl on your back.
“Sorry”, you say with a raspy voice. “My legs might give out at any minute. We can speak along the way.”
You continue towards the mansion’s entrance. Although Julius does glance at Rem, he doesn’t know her and he must have figured that it’s a personal matter of yours, so he doesn’t bring it up.
“So, what’s up?”, you ask.
“I asked around regarding who ambushed the duchess’ caravan. Surprisingly, it wasn’t an army, but-…”
“Two men with superpowers. One with his hair almost bleached white and who wore a maybe military uniform, and the other a mix between a homeless person and a caveman.”
“… You must have asked the same soldier, because he used that very expression to describe the second man. I shouldn’t be surprised that you found out about important information before anyone of us.”
A woman in her thirties wearing a servant uniform more modest than Rem’s, you guess part of Crusch’s staff even though you don’t recall seeing her during your self-imposed loop, opens the mansion’s main door as she notices you three coming. You thank her and keep going.
“I just found out something real bad, though”, you say with a low voice. “One of those men must have some ability to steal or manipulate memories related to people, because Crusch doesn’t remember who she is, nor did she know Ferris, her best friend from childhood.”
Julius stops in his tracks. When you briefly stop as well, even though your legs are wobbling and feeling Rem’s breasts pressed against your back is stealing blood away from the limbs that should carry her, you see in the knight’s face that he probably shouldn’t have learned this information. He belongs to a camp opposite to Crusch’s, and the duchess having lost her memories probably means she won’t ever reach the throne. Whatever. Unless Priscilla wins the race, which would likely end up in disaster for the kingdom, Anastasia Hoshin would likely do a decent enough job leading this nation, even if it involves turning it into a subsidiary of her company. And it’s not like you care about the politics of this weird world anyway.
“That is terrible”, Julius says with concern. “The ambush turned then into a successful assassination of a royal candidate, which might have been the original purpose.”
“Because without her memories she’s basically disqualified”, you add for him.
Julius looks troubled.
“The duchess is a wonderful woman. My lady doesn’t want to win by losing a person who would become one of her most competent vassals. I hope that this is merely temporary, but I…”
“You need to return to your household and inform Hoshin. I know. Right in time, too, because I’m not strong enough to carry such weight for long. Not that I’m calling her fat.”
Julius glances at Rem, but otherwise he pretends he hasn’t noticed her. He nods at you as he rests his hand on the pommel of his sheathed sword.
“I’m glad to have taken part in your operation, Subaru. We did a great service to the world, despite our regretful losses. And I apologize, again, for my behavior at the royal summons.”
“You can’t win me at regrets. Thank you for everything, man. All the spirits and the support and in general for having my back when nobody else would. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”
Julius smiles agreeably, and then he leaves.
When you turn towards your assigned bedroom, which is located near the end of this long hallway, Emilia is standing in your way. She isn’t blocking your path purposefully, and when she realizes you intend to pass she steps aside, but she looks as if she wants to ask you a million questions while she alternates between attempting to read your expression and studying Rem’s face.
“This girl is wearing one of Roswaal’s servant uniforms, and it’s stained as if she has fought in the operation, but I don’t recall seeing her, and she certainly wasn’t working at lord Roswaal’s mansion…”
You want to wipe the sweat beading on your face.
“I’ll explain as much as I can bear to about the situation, but please let me reach the bedroom first. It’s been a horribly long day.”
“Sorry, of course…”
Once you reach your bedroom, Emilia opens the door for you, and then you carefully place Rem on the bed as if she fell asleep over the bedspread. You repose her head on a fluffy pillow. You doubt she will notice, but you want to make her as comfortable as possible. After Rem looks as if you can do nothing else for her at the moment, you sit heavily on the edge of the bed, rest your forearms on your thighs and you breathe a deep sigh.
You had forgotten about Emilia. She’s waiting for you to address her existence, and she looks worried and uneasy.
“Subaru, who is she? This is the bedroom where we had our fight. Did the duchess house this girl here after they cured you?”
“No, this is still my bedroom, because Crusch hasn’t officially told me to leave her place.”
Emilia attempts to smile, but the corners of her mouth are trembling.
“She looks similar to Ram, very much so. Subaru… Why is she wearing one of our servant uniforms, where do you know her from? I mean…”
“You know her, Emilia, even though her memories have been erased from your mind. As you heard, one of the men who ambushed the caravan had some ability to manipulate people’s memories, either making someone lose theirs or erasing the memories of a certain person in everyone else. That last ability sounds godlike and I would have never expected it of anything else than that damn whale, but…”
“The memories of this servant have been stolen from other people? Is that what you mean? But how come you remember her?”
“How come I was able to defeat Petelgeuse, an ancient great spirit, inside my mind? Maybe I’m just that great.”
Your self-aggrandizing remark steals a smile out of Emilia despite her concern, as if she believes it.
“Even though I’ve never had to live through it, the White Whale is known to erase people as if they had never existed, so it’s certainly possible… This woman worked at our mansion, then.”
You look back at Rem. For a moment you expect to see her awake and smiling softly as she listens to your conversation, but she’s gone. It’s as if she isn’t present, as if you care for a shell. You feel the warmth behind your eyes signalling incoming tears. You don’t want Emilia to see you cry for Rem; you feel it would soil the relationship with the demon servant somehow. And you want to be left alone with your beloved.
“Her name is Rem, and she’s Ram’s little sister.”
Emilia lets out a surprised noise. She walks to Rem’s side and leans to look closer.
“I mean, I can’t deny the resemblance. That’s horrible. We need to bring her home. I don’t know how Ram will take this… I can’t even imagine her having a relationship with a sibling, alone as she always is.”
“Yeah, Rem has been removed from all the memories you hold of Ram, but the sisters are really close. Rem is the sweet one, and Ram the one who would make you want to throw yourself off a window after having to stand her insults for an hour.”
You are exhausted, you are hurting, and you wish to get under the sheets and hold your comatose girlfriend through the night. However, Emilia seems to be winding herself up to speak.
“Is she…”, she begins cautiously, with a nervous smile, “going to sleep in your bed…?”
You want to sigh, but don’t.
“I suppose you have noticed she isn’t merely asleep. The doctor told me she’s fallen into a sort of perennial sleep. It seems there have been other cases through the years. She might never wake up.”
Not only your words cause Emilia’s pupils to tremble, but you realize that she’s caught something else in your tone that she hasn’t liked. She stares at you worried, with her lips separated.
“That’s… I think I have heard of such cases”, she says with a low voice. “I mean, did you…”
You wipe whatever remains of the sweat from your face. Your legs are tingling from exhaustion.
“I’m not going to have sex with Rem while she’s in a coma, if that’s what you are implying.”
Emilia blushes and looks away.
“You speak so freely about such a thing…”
“Well, it wouldn’t be my first rodeo, if you know what I mean. But given the amount of half-beasts running around in this fantasy world, that phrase might have unintended connotations.”
“Still, I’m not sure if it would be appropriate. I mean, she’s a girl and you are… You are taking it too casually is what I mean.”
You stare up at Emilia, who is forcing herself to hold your gaze even though she seems embarrassed and concerned about whatever relationship you might have with this other girl. Emilia, with her otherworldly beauty, her silky silver hair and those big purple eyes, is one of the most gorgeous sights you have come across, and merely looking at her brightens your day. However, while initially, the first time you met her, she seemed remote and unapproachable, now she seems like a silly teenager. Why wouldn’t she look like that to you, though? Merely hours ago you won after fighting everyone in your life who wanted to stop you from guillotining yourself. You had possibly, likely, condemned another world to die, and now this Emilia is having trouble articulating her jealousy. You aren’t such a suitable vessel for Satella then, you think.
“Emilia, I want to sleep next to Rem, and she would have wanted to as well. It wouldn’t have been the first time. I’ll take care of her.”
Emilia snaps her head back in surprise, and although she tries to contain it, her face shows a dismay as if she had asked you out on a date after working herself up for days, only for you to tell her that you already have a girlfriend. You don’t want her to suffer in any way, but you are also way too tired about everything, and beyond this kind of shit.
“It’s okay, Emilia. We’ll speak in the morning. I’m going straight to sleep, I need a serious break from all the nonsense we’ve been dealing with.”
The half-elf lowers her head and shows you her back. After a couple of steps she turns towards you again and holds her hands in front of her waist.
“Subaru, I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry that we ever fought.”
You sigh.
“Yeah, me too.”
“I feel like you truly… are there for me. I don’t like how you broke into the royal palace and interrupted the summons, but I understand your intentions. Still… I should have realized how hard you will push yourself for my sake. I would have never believed… I can hardly believe that you organized such an operation to save me. I would have never thought that someone would care about me that much.”
“I do, Emilia. I want you to be happy and free.”
She lifts her hand to her heart, and tears come to her eyes. She dries them quickly. Her emotions surface on her expression, but after she glances at the sleeping girl lying close to you, Emilia lowers her head.
“You will return to the mansion with us, right?”
“If you let me. I will fight for your sake, regardless of whether or not you reach the throne.”
Although Emilia smiles gratefully, she’s also confused as if you are sending her conflicting messages. Maybe only a fool in love would have pulled off what you did. But then again, this world would have ended if you hadn’t fought your way to Emilia.
“Well, ah… See you tomorrow, Subaru!”, she says, and leaves.

After she’s gone, your heart sinks. You hide your face with your hands. A few people are having an animated conversation somewhere on the other side of the hallway. You listen to Rem’s soft breathing, as remote as if it came from another planet.
When a few minutes later you pull one side of the sheets off to move Rem under them, you realize that her clothes are way too dirty and bloodstained. She should look comfortable even if she likely won’t feel it. You leave the bedroom to locate some servant, and you come across a blonde guy with short, curly hair and a thin moustache. You had seen this guy almost every day during your self-imposed loop of two days, but you never bothered to learn his name, if he even has one.
“I need a change of clothes for my girl.”
“What size?”
You don’t know, so you lead him to your bedroom. When he peeks inside as if he doesn’t want to enter it, he sees the unconscious woman wearing a bloodstained servant uniform. To his credit, his expression doesn’t change.
“Is the miss dead? Has there been… an accident?”
“C’mon, man. She’s just in a coma.”
He arches an eyebrow while looking at you.
“I need to change her clothes”, you add. “All that damn blood, it’s unsanitary. Bring me something fresh. One of Crusch’s nightgowns would be fine.”
“One of the lady’s…!?”
“You can grab one from her laundry basket.”
“I will certainly not do that. I can bring you something reserved for the servants.”
“From the female servants, please.”
Before he closes the door, for a brief moment he looks as if he’s suffering. He does bring you a beautiful, silky white nightgown a couple of minutes later. You undress Rem, although it’s more difficult than the other times because she’s not contributing. After you have undressed her to her panties, the sight of her pale breasts and her pink nipples makes you want to bury your face in them like you’ve done often. You want to lick every centimeter of her soft skin. Once you pull down her panties, the sight of her pussy, as well as the slightly sweaty smell after all that fighting, makes you salivate. You realize how hungry you are, although right now you wouldn’t take anything less than that delicious meal in front of you.
After you have dressed Rem with her beautiful new nightgown and she looks so inviting that you want to jump in the bed with her and cuddle all night long, you shiver and realize that you’ve gotten harder than the crotch of your pants allows. You perk up, and from your mouth escapes a sound of delight. You grab your genitals through the pants, feeling up the bulge. That’s right, you have a dick! Until a few hours ago a part of your brain had ran a process in the background to prevent you from thinking about your mangled genitals, but you are complete again!
You pull down your pants to your ankles and grab your dick. The smooth flesh thickens against your palm and your fingers. What a miracle of nature! Truly, no wonder some people believe in a creator of the universe. Such a magnificent organic device to procure you pleasure must have been created by God himself!
The door opens, and after Ferris takes a single step inside, she freezes with her mouth open. She stares wide-eyed at your genitals.
“I have a dick, Ferris!”, you proclaim, elated. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
The cat-girl lifts her gaze to your eyes and slightly raises one side of her mouth as if she’s tasted something sour.
“It’s okay, I guess. I came to ask if you wanted to eat dinner, but I see you are busy.”
“Ah… Ferris, I want to apologize.”
She narrows her eyes while doing her best not to look down.
“I’m the one who burst into your room without knocking. I truly should have known better, as in I must have hit my head really hard not to imagine I might bump into a situation like this.”
“I mean that I’ve been a piece of shit to you. I always manage to make you mad, even though you’ve been cool with me.”
“You haven’t been that bad, beyond your weird utterances and your pathetic attempts at pretending you aren’t checking out my ass. And I can’t blame you for the image that just got burned into my eyes. You are still holding your erect penis, Subaru.”
“Yeah, well. I had to celebrate.”
“I better leave.”
As she closes the door, she mutters something about how they need to install some door bolts in this mansion.

A few minutes later you shut the light off and you lie under the sheets next to Rem, whom you have turned so she rests on her left shoulder and her weight leans on you. You feel her warm breath on your face. By now you have gone soft; the sexual arousal had shielded you from this gloom and loneliness. While tears run down your right temple and moisten the pillow, you hug Rem’s limp body and let her personal smell overwhelm you. You are home, even though Rem is somewhere far away.
“It’s just the two of us from now on, Rem”, you whisper, and then sniffle. “Plenty of it will involve me holding you in bed, just like you wanted.”

Roleplaying through “Re:Zero” with the GPT-3 story generator (Part 33)

This part covers the remainder of the ninth volume of the original “Re:Zero” novels.

In the previous part, a maimed, dickless protagonist attempted to kill himself, but everyone around him wants to force him to live. He tastes Emilia’s snot.

GPT-3 is a cutting-edge language processing algorithm used in the premium version of the online site AI Dungeon.


Your consciousness, everything remaining of you that knows you need to hold on to your goal and keep going, is a little boat bobbing in a red tide of pain. You don’t know for how many minutes you have lied on your back, resting your head on a few pillows, as you concentrated on the noises Emilia made as she turned around on the bed or her breathing patterns changed. Every time you had thought she was going to drift into deep sleep, she snapped out of it, and sometimes she even asked you to confirm if you were still there. She seemingly had signed on to a life of constantly fearing you are going to leave her behind to die. Fortunately for her she won’t have to remain in such a nightmare for much longer.

It feels like the same time of the night you used to wake up at every two days for so long. Or maybe you just want to feel like you can start again. You have been listening to Emilia’s deep breathing for some time, and you won’t have many other opportunities to escape from all the people who intend to keep you alive against your will.

You descend from the bed as slowly as if you were sharing your bed with a sleeping bear. When you let your body rest on your stumps, the nerve endings sizzle with pain, forcing you to clench your teeth and shiver. Sharp, shooting pain like abscessed teeth. You grab your crutches and alleviate your body’s weight a little, although the cold sweat has already come, and your body demands that you turn back and lie on the soft mattress. You venture towards the door fearing any creak of the floorboards. You would have thought that after all the nonsense you have been engaged in, like attacking a whole branch of a terrorist group, handling a psycho cat-girl who could have blown you up at any moment, and defeating an ancient ghost inside your mind, dealing with opening a door wouldn’t make you so dizzy, nor your heart beat so fast.

The light of the full moon illuminates the hallway. You close the bedroom door behind you slowly, and when the door latch enters its hole, you take a moment to control your breathing and return the saliva to your mouth. You hadn’t understood how exhausting it is to fight pain. You thought you had an idea, but not remotely to this extent. It feels as if staying sane while these waves of pain engendered in the mangled lower half of your body besiege your mind is a full-time job with unpaid overtime.

You push forward through the hallway towards the entrance. Along the way you trip and fall forward onto the carpet, and the thud sounds so loud in the silence that you are sure it must have woken up every inhabitant of this mansion. Wilhelm will exit his room, where he likely sleeps standing up and with his eyes open, and will storm through the hallways until he finds you. He will imprison you in you assigned room, or maybe throw you straight in the dungeon.

As you pass in front of the half-open doors to the kitchen, you spot through the glass panes that Ferris is slumped on a chair, bathed by moonlight. She has changed her clothes to a tank top that shows her flax-colored soft fur covering her arms and most of her chest, and she’s also wearing something resembling pyjama pants. She is sipping on fruit juice. What stops you on your tracks are her eyes. She’s got the thousand yard stare of a traumatized veteran.

She suddenly lifts her gaze and it connects with yours. Her eyes glint in recognition. You go cold. After a few seconds, Ferris lowers her face and takes another sip. You keep pushing forward.

After you maneuver to open the front door, as you are pulling it to close it behind you, you fall on the tiles leading to the entrance. You are already out. You hear a soft wind blowing and the grass of the vast yard rustling. Seemingly only Crusch’s carriages remain parked near the exit gate. All the merchants are gone, and the wounded that had been distributed in a large area deeper into the yard are gone, with only a few sheet bundles abandoned behind. Then you spot, faintly illuminated by the moonlight, the black frame of a curled-up ground dragon. The mansion’s staff must have tried to drive this beast away, but you had communicated to her, somehow, that she should stick around just in case you needed her. Such devotion and loyalty, when you truly have done nothing to deserve it, makes your eyes teary.

You’ve managed to close half of the distance with the ground dragon when she lifts her reptilian head, she shoots you a glance and then she jumps to her feet and runs towards you. She nuzzles your face, almost making you lose your balance. You hold one of the crutches sideways under your armpit and attempt to climb to the ground dragon’s saddle. Patrasche immediately throws herself on the ground so you won’t have to make so much effort.

As you hold both of your crutches under one armpit, because you fear abandoning them here only to need them later, you pull yourself onto the saddle. Although you end up resting what remains of your ass on it, the effort had sent an electric, nerve twisting pain running through your bowels. You go cold and hold your breath. For a moment you felt that something had ripped inside of you, but fortunately you only evacuate your bowels. What feels like plenty of mushy shit spreads between your ass cheeks, and presses against your flesh as your weight settles on the saddle. Then you smell it, the acrid, pungent stench of something like diarrhea, which somehow smells worse here than in a bathroom. Patrasche had already stood up, and bends her neck so she can shoot you a look. Her mostly inexpressive face doesn’t clarify if she’s staring at you appalled or concerned. Either way, the shame makes you want to cry.

“Sorry, girl. I couldn’t help it. It feels almost liquid, too. I hope it doesn’t run down the saddle.”

When you ride out of the mansion’s grounds as if you are suddenly travelling on a jet plane, you feel as giddy as you possibly can. You are mostly free. You can go where you need to. You doubt that random guards are going to stop you just because of your stench, so it should be a smooth escape from now on. Still, you try to put as much distance between you and the few couples walking under the lamplight. You failed to see one of those couples turning a corner, and the guy wonders out loud, somewhat amused, what’s with that smell, only to glance at you as you pass by and then they become overwhelmed by second-hand shame. It feels as if you are discovering whole new ways of hurting people, of ruining their days, of creating uncomfortable memories for them that they will regret owning. No matter, you repeat to yourself. In a few minutes you will find yourself floating in Satella’s black bath of love, and then she’ll listen to you as you plead for her ghostly self to send you back further in time. She loves you, she keeps repeating. She can do you that favor.

As you are riding through a poorly illuminated stretch of street, something the size of a small ball zips flies past your head, turns around and hovers in place. You order Patrasche to stop, and the pain delays you from recognizing that Puck is attempting to block your path, arms crossed, glaring at you furiously.

“What in the royal fuck is wrong with you!?”

You inspire through your teeth, suddenly angry. You have neither the time nor the wish to deal with this little punk.

“Wrong with me!?”, your voice cracks with raw emotion, and Puck’s eyes quiver in response. “You are a talking, flying cat! I’m on a schedule here! Don’t get in my way!”

His round, shiny eyes blink slowly, but his expression doesn’t change.

“Even when Emilia was a child, during the worst moments of her life, I didn’t witness her break down like this! All the work I have done since then, undone! You organized such an operation to save her, or claiming to, but you hurt her like this!?”

Patrasche has become agitated. She must sense the hostility of you both. She tries to bypass Puck, but he slides to the side so he keeps hovering menacingly close. You stroke the dragon’s scales to calm her.

“I kind of pity you, Puck, for having taken care of Emilia for so long. She clearly needs help, and not any kind that either me or a talking, flying cunt can provide.”

“You must think I’m joking around. Emi might never recover from this. I don’t know if you even believe in the nonsense you spouted about Satella sending you back to the past if you died or whatever, but it worked enough on her. She needs to believe that you wouldn’t ruin both of your lives for nothing! And what the fuck is that stench!?”

“I’m sitting on a cushion of near diarrhea, because I can barely feel anything in that area of my body ever since that huge dragon stomped me against the ground. Still, I would have thought that Ferris, claiming to be the best healer in the kingdom, would have done a better work than this. I swear that nasty cat-girl barely helped me, out of spite.”

“And you blame her!? Why would she waste her energies and her talents on someone who deliberately threw away his life, and a hard-earned victory, while spitting on the faces of everyone that liked him!? I would have left you back at the side of Flugel Road as carrion.”

You close your eyes tight. A steel-like hate is cooling your chest. This little shithead would fly away from any of your attempts to punch him or grab him, but you mainly fear the consequences of wasting your time here.

You order Patrasche to move past the hovering cat, but he shouts at you with a sharp voice and flies closer to your face. His cat eyes glisten with rage.

“You don’t seem to understand, kid, that I’m a great spirit.”

“So you keep saying. It can’t take much to be considered great in your realm.”

“Why, you… You should think twice about pushing me further, because you can’t imagine what I would do to you. I have protected Emilia from far lesser threats to her well-being than what you represent now, and I didn’t leave those people in pieces large enough for any burial!”

You perk up, and a noise of delight escapes your grinning mouth.

“That’s right! You can just kill me! Let’s go, then! I’ll dismount my ground dragon and send her home. I’ll stand there. You can throw one of those ice avalanche spells at me, freezing me instantly as I fly backwards against a wall, and then I’ll shatter into pieces! That will be so awesome. Thank you, Puck!”

The little cat deflates as if you found out he was going to play a terrible hand, but in addition he lifts his paws to stop you while you are trying to figure out how to dismount Patrasche without invoking more nightmarish pain.

“Why would you jump into certain death so willingly? Are you actually trying to die?”

Your heart is pounding against your chest. Another disappointment. Everybody just has to make your life harder, and can’t even do the one thing they should be able to. What a bunch of useless bastards.

“Actually!?”, you exclaim, your voice raspy out of agitation. “The fuck you mean actually!? Weren’t you snooping on the conversation between Emilia and me!? Are you that deaf, or stupid!?”

Puck laughs nervously, but he looks disturbed.

“C’mon, buddy, you can’t just give up like that. Having ruined your body must hurt a lot, but-…”

You clench your teeth while you feel your pulse in your temples.

“What the fuck would you know, Puck?”, you ask with a low, hollow voice. “Have you ever experienced inhabiting a physical body? I doubt you entertain yourself possessing people like that deranged freak Petelgeuse did, so really, what the hell would you know about the experiences us human beings go through? No wonder you keep fucking around as if we have all the time in the world to waste, with your disgraceful sloth.”

“I like joking from time to time… but this is serious…”, Puck murmurs while looking as if he has no clue how to handle you.

You want to keep berating the little cunt, but Patrasche is shifting her weight nervously. You wonder if she understands that you wish to die as soon as possible. The ground dragon might be the only living being that for you isn’t at fault for something right now. You lean forward to pat her neck, and Patrasche bends it so she can press her head against your shoulder, her snout almost smothering you as she makes comfortable noises with her throat.

“Yes, I know you’re nervous too, girl. Don’t worry, we’ll get out of this shitty situation soon.”

While stroking Patrasche’s neck, you turn your head to the side and spit out a small sigh through your teeth. You turn your attention back to Puck, who’s still looking at you with a worried expression.

“The only thing worse than how you have mangled your body is you dying”, the little cat says seriously, “Emilia can learn to endure your current state, and she might get some psychological benefit out of taking care of your useless self, maybe for the rest of your life, but if you die…”

“So you aren’t going to kill me?”, you interrupt him sharply.

“Obviously I can’t.”

“Fucking poser!”, you explode. “Pussy-ass bitch!”

You hear voices coming from somewhere above you. A few of the inhabitants of the closest residential building to where you have ended up arguing with this bastard have opened some windows and are talking to each other with concern. You would have thought they would yell at you two to shut the fuck up and allow them to sleep, but they are staring at Puck as if they have never seen a flying, talking cat before. Your world is filled with half-beasts, some of which that devour other human beings, but they are surprised about Puck?

The little cunt hovers closer to your ear while eyeing the onlookers nervously.

“Hey, we are making too much racket around here. Let’s find somewhere quieter to talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you, Puck. Fuck off.”

You order Patrasche to get moving, and shortly after the onlookers have disappeared behind a couple of buildings. You don’t like how in this new street the magical streetlights illuminate a larger stretch of it. You don’t want to see any light. You want to navigate in the darkness until you find the sharp instrument that’ll grant you your suicide.

Puck is keeping up with you, flying like a bird in formation.

“Stop following me, shithead!”, you shout without looking at him. “I have somewhere to get to!”

“I can’t let you die, Subaru.”

You shake your head. Hot tears are growing in the corners of your eyes.

“Everyone in this weird fantasy world, you are all fucking useless.”

A group of young people, somewhat inebriated, comment on your stench as you ride by. You yell back at them to shut the fuck up. They laugh and call you a crazy cripple.

“I can’t believe you are discarding Emilia’s feelings like this”, Puck says as if he’s thought about it for a while. “When I met you, you were dirt broke and with nowhere to fall dead. And you seemed like a good guy, helping Emilia with her huge problem. I don’t understand what would make you turn around when you are so close to living the life next to one of the sweetest, most beautiful girls around. You are better than what you are showing me.”

You order Patrasche to stop, and for a couple of seconds she drifts on the paved stones. You turn your head to Puck, who is hovering in place. Although your furious glare should already communicate that he shouldn’t push you further, you have a good bunch of stuff that you have wanted to tell him for a while.

“You are taking the high road!? You would destroy the entire world because of some fucking contract! You are ready to murder millions, maybe every single living being in this planet, if Emilia dies for whatever reason! You think you have any fucking justification to berate me, to question my actions!? You are a fucking lowlife!”

Puck’s cat face twists in a mix of shock and panic as he floats backwards.

“How do you… How would you be able…”

You keep glaring at him while breathing through your mouth. Shouting, letting your anger go, distracts your body from the waves of pain. Maybe you should have ran around while yelling like a maniac and punching every solid surface from the moment you woke up with your body ruined.

Puck turns his head to the side as if he’s thinking of what to do. He suddenly flies upwards and vanishes.

Patrasche keeps staring with suspicion at the space where the so called great spirit disappeared, but you stroke her rough scales and urge her to keep going.

“If we are lucky, that’s the last we are going to see of that little bastard in this reality”, you say with a hollow voice.

* * *

You finally reach the plaza from which you can see the governmental building, three stories high and with fancy arched windows, that during your long, self-imposed loop in which you did little else than fuck around and literally fuck around, had become your personal church. You stop Patrasche and look up at the building in reverence. Back in those days you had walked through the streets up to this plaza like a pilgrim. You used to have legs. Seeing the building again makes your chest fill with warmth. If you can get to that roof, in a couple of minutes you’ll be dead. You will have left behind this unacceptable world of a Rem that has fallen asleep forever, and this body that can’t walk by itself and that pisses and shits itself at will.

You guide Patrasche to stop next to the stretch of fence where you learned they hide a set of spare keys behind a loose stone in the short wall over which rises that wonderful fence, a top-notch suicide device. Bars of tough metal rise on an angle ending in spikes, and anything caught falling through them would be trapped in between only to get sliced by the unnecessarily sharp anti-trespass measure waiting at the bottom. The motherfucker who designed such a gaudy fence must have known exactly what he was doing.

It takes too much time, particularly when your body screams in pain that you should perish as soon as possible, to communicate to Patrasche that you needed to dismount her, grab the spare set of keys, mount her again, open the gate, close it behind you, and then move up to the side door. Behind that door wait the three flights of stairs that lead you to the roof access door.

When you dismount Patrasche again you realize two things: first, you will need to climb three flights of stairs while coordinating yourself on two stumps and the crutches, and second, that liquidy shit is dribbling down your thighs. You wonder if at the end of this, even if you die and recover your legs and your Rem, you will have regained your dignity.

Patrasche touches your face with her snout as you rest your weight on the crutches. She seems to know that you are about to leave, although you wonder how far she believes you are going. You are about to tell her to wait for you here, but this loyal beast is capable of remaining in front of this door for years after some unfortunate public worker removes your beheaded corpse off the ground. Your throat tightens, and you sniffle for a bit.

“I shouldn’t be so sad, when I’m about to see you in a little while. But maybe it’s true, all that stuff that Emilia said about this reality continuing on after I’m gone, and I’ll make you suffer through it. Find yourself someone else to care about, girl. I’m not worth it.”

You drag yourself up the three flights of stairs while your vision gets blurry from the effort, and get the key into the lock, opening the door that leads to the roof. When you emerge outside, you are blasted by a strong wind. It is colder than you expected, and your bones ache from the windchill. Your body is covered in sweat.

Even though the nerve endings in your stumps seem tired of sending you pain signals and have gone almost numb, what remains of the shit dribbling down your legs keeps dripping on the floor. You approach the point of the roof edge from which you’d just have to let yourself fall forwards. The bent ends of the fence below are like a lover opening her arms to you. Then you see her. Emilia is running right towards where you beheaded body would fall, and her long, silver hair is trailing behind. A shiver makes you tremble. You consider maneuvering to hide from view, but she is already staring up at you. How has she found you?

“Step back from the edge, Subaru”, Puck’s serious voice reaches you from behind.

You look over your shoulder, but the little cat flies in an arc until he hovers a couple of meters in front of you.

“You brought her over to watch me die?”, you ask with a thin voice. “You Machiavellian son of a bitch.”

“I told her to come so you will face the damage you will cause her. You are right, maybe I don’t really understand how it feels to have ruined your body to that extent. I will never know, thankfully, what it takes to keep going. And yet you must, because that sweet, loving girl down there will break if you throw yourself off this roof.”

You feel as if your heart is going to escape through your mouth. Against your best judgement you look down at Emilia. She’s holding her hands against her lips as in prayer, while her tears drip on her knuckles.

“Please!”, she pleads. “You told me you would sleep with me from now on! You agreed that I would always be with you! Please don’t do this!”

“You should know by now that my words don’t have any value, Emilia.” Although you tried to sound as calm as possible, your voice is trembling. “I just say things to free myself from undesirable situations. I’m a terrible human being, and you should have never cared about me to any extent.”

“No! You fought so hard to save me, and even when we didn’t know each other at all, you offered me your help! That’s who you are! Even if you are hurting, I will make it all better. I’ll find a way so you don’t feel that pain anymore, and you can rely on me for everything that your broken body won’t allow you to do anymore! I will always be there for you, so please!”

You swallow. There’s no point to these emotions. They don’t understand, they don’t know, and when you wake up back at Crusch’s mansion, none of this will have happened. Knowing that doesn’t stop your tears from falling.

“If you end up staring at a corpse, Emilia, find someone else to fill that gap in your heart.”

Emilia gasps. She lunges towards the side door for a moment, but she must have considered that as soon as she disappears from view she will hear the thud of your body hitting the ground. She jumps back to where she was standing before, and she puts her hands on her head as she stares at you with a horrible look of impotent despair.

“Subaru”, Puck says with a stern voice. He’s glaring at you as if he wants to stab you for every second of pain you are inflicting on Emilia. “I have no clue how you know what will happen if Emilia dies, and I know you won’t bother telling me now. But you understand what you would do to this world if you jump to your death.”

“No, Puck. What you would do. Not me.”

“It would happen nonetheless.”

“That’s how you justify your actions, your mass murder of millions? You are worse than Satella. You are certainly incapable of loving anybody.”

“It’s…” Puck bites his lips. “It’s for the best.”

“Best? That’s the best you have? At least Satella’s reasons are pure, even though the fucking idiot doesn’t understand the consequences!”

A gust of wind blows through your hair, and you hear nothing but the sound of a carriage passing by on a nearby street. Puck slides closer to your face. Judging from his expression, he seems to be at his wit’s end.

“I’m not bluffing here, kid. I can’t stop Emilia from killing herself if she wants to, and I have no doubt that she will if you die. She wasn’t exaggerating about all she said. She will love you, you know, to the end. You have to choose between freeing yourself from your pain, the extent of which I can’t properly understand, or condemning this world, including that innocent, wonderful girl down there, to death.”

“You don’t understand shit, but that’s alright.”

“Subaru, look at me. You live, and Emilia will care for you every day, she will tend to your every need, you will have her all for yourself. If you die, your spirit is most likely going to disappear into oblivion.”

“You people have no clue, and wouldn’t even if I could manage to explain myself entirely through this pain. You are such a bunch of fucking idiots who can’t understand nor make an effort to.”

Puck looks panicked. You guess that the so called great spirit doesn’t have the physical strength to restrain you in any way, nor the power to avoid killing you. What a pitiful bastard. You burst out laughing.

“What would you want?”, Puck asks with a shaky voice. “What would it take for you to step back from that edge?”

You speak as you continue laughing.

“A united world under one religion, a single strong man to head it who will rule with a fist of iron and pave the way for a new order. An end to the repression of the masses by the greedy nobles. A complete change in the culture and values of society. Castor oil replaced with pancakes and tea made from honey. That is my final wish.”

The little cat shivers, and his expression twitches under your gaze. You didn’t even impress me when you resurrected as a dozens of meters tall mountain of fur, right before the end.

“Puck, you useless cunt,” you say with rage, “you don’t know me at all. I will always do what is necessary, no matter the pain. It doesn’t matter if nobody else understands.”

You hunch over to look at Emilia. She’s sitting on the floor as if her legs just gave up, and her arms hang limp at her sides. Even though her watery eyes keep pleading, she knows.

“I do love you, Emilia. Not remotely as much as I love my Rem, but enough that I will face Satella over and over so one day you will live happy and free.”

You push yourself off the edge and drop the crutches. The way this wind rushes in your ears, along with the weightlessness of your body, feels like a return home. For a moment you wonder if you have misjudged the jump due to your mangled lower half, but as those spikes grow further apart in your field of vision, you know you have succeeded. You feel the thick metal clamping your neck, and then an orgasm of pain severs your head. The view, bathed in moonlight, twirls wildly. Something hits you on your left temple like a boxer’s punch, but before you know it you are resting on the gravel. You are free from having to command any part of your body under your neck, you are free from the onslaught of pain your useless body kept assaulting you with. You have won.

You know your consciousness will last a few seconds. Emilia is sitting a few meters from you, and her face is frozen except for her tears and the dribble of saliva coming out of a corner of her mouth. Her eyes stare at yours with no hint of life.

* * *

Once the blackness envelops you and Satella’s liquid-like love seeps through your pores, you do feel safe for a moment. Then it tastes differently, as if a stalkerish madwoman had bottled her vaginal juices after years of touching herself while thinking of you, and had forced you to bathe in it. The Witch of Envy, biggest whore in the universe, dispensing her love to any undeserving scum.

“Come already!”, you yell, or think, at the darkness in front of you. “I know you are there! Quit your fucking theatrics!”

Her claw-like hands, with the fingers outstretched, emerge out of the blackness, and the elongated arms follow them.

“If you love someone, you should fuck them,” you say, “not fuck them over. Why would you have sent me back to the carriage instead of to a moment when I could save the person I love? Or is that your…”

You don’t have a body, and therefore no pain that your nerves would insist on informing you about, but you figure that if you had, a chill would run from your head to your toes. Is that it, Satella? It must be. It’s your envy. You want me alive no matter how much this world insists on ruining me, but you can’t allow me to have someone that would love me like you do. No, who would love me like a living person is supposed to love another. You haven’t loved for real in four hundred years. No, knowing you as well as I do, you never had even when you breathed and your body hadn’t rotted.

Her glowing, purple eyes stare at you through a black mist.

“I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I lo-“

“Send me back to Crusch’s mansion like you used to do, Satella”, you order her. “You fucked me over willingly, didn’t you? Change it back.”

“I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I-“

“I know you understand me. The first time we met you said my name. Just that one time, but you showed your hand. If I’m truly your champion, your one beloved, you owe it to me.”

The Witch of Envy has tired of embracing you, and she lets you float in place while she begins to slide back into the darkness. She never reacted, she never answered. She loves because she needs to love.

“If I had arms,” you say, “I would reach you and strangle you. I would squeeze your ghostly life out of this place until we both disappeared.”

* * *

The sensations return to your brain like a big wave striking you against a wall. You feel the vibrations of the bench on your ass. The light of the rising sun oozing through your closed eyelids. The smell of grass and dirt gets stuck in your nose. Your head is resting on someone else’s, while a small, warm body hugs your right arm and rests its head on your flesh.

You open your eyes. In front of you there’s a line of kids and two male teenagers sleeping. You look down at your legs. They are there, they don’t hurt. You move your toes inside your shoes. You close your legs to squeeze your balls, which lift your penis. You feel hollow, as if you had woken up in a morgue after someone pulled out all your organs except for your brain.

You stand up slowly but forcefully, yanking your right arm out of the tween’s embrace. Emilia was saying your name only to break into a yawn. A nausea is rising to your throat as if all the acid in your stomach is fighting to escape your body.

You lunge towards the opening of the tarp in the back of the carriage. When Emilia raises her voice to question your action, you fall to the floorboards and grab the jutting board that separates the back of the carriage from the outside. Vomit gushes from your mouth and your nostrils.

Some kids say ‘eww’. You feel someone’s hand rubbing your back, and then sliding upward to caress your neck.

“No, don’t vomit like that, general!”, Otto’s concerned voice comes from the driver’s seat. “The ground dragons hate it when it splashes their legs. If they get too annoyed it could cause a collision! Please, give him this bag.”

Emilia lifts her hand from your neck and you hear her footsteps rushing to the front of the carriage, and then back. She holds a paper bag under your mouth. You vomit into it. Your vision has blurred, you have gone cold, you want to die.

“Just let it all out, Subaru”, Emilia says sweetly. “You will feel much better.”


The protagonist has gone through horrible nightmares, but this loop felt like the worst. He utterly failed; by the end he only gained further regret, shame, disappointment and mental scars of all kinds.

In the original, Ferris not only is a guy, but he’s not a half-cat so much as a “I just have cat ears and fur-like hair, and otherwise I’m human”. My version of Ferris not only has a pussy and larger breasts, but she’s also covered in flax-colored fur except for a few places like her face, her palms, part of her breasts, part of her pussy presumably, and hopefully her ass or else cleaning that would be a nightmare. The combined impression must be fucking horrifying, but clearly someone is fucking these abominations in that fantasy world.

Fortunately I managed to write it although I’ve gone back to work. Yesterday I returned to the office on an hour and a half of sleep, because I always suffer from insomnia whenever my routine changes. Today, a Saturday, I worked the maintenance shift. Initially I panicked because the proxy blocked the AI Dungeon site, and writing the entry by my lonesome would defeat a significant part of the purpose of getting through this retelling in the first place. Fortunately I managed to connect remotely to my home PC and finish the rest of this part. I feel sick!

A Mom This Time (GPT-3 fueled short)

As I wake up, my instincts tell me that everything has changed again, as I have learned to expect for the last two years. I inhabit a new body. It feels lighter, except for the excess pressure on my chest. As I sit up in a stranger’s bed, my long hair caresses my neck. It takes a glance down to realize that indeed I seem to be a woman today. A particularly gifted one. And my hands suggest that I’m maybe in my thirties.
I sigh, and get up from the bed. I’m alone in a master bedroom, but someone has slept beside this body. I may have a boyfriend, or be married. Another one of those days.
I open the bedroom door carefully and scout the surroundings. A hallway leads to five other rooms. A second floor. And I hear voices coming from downstairs, young ones. Shit, this woman may have kids.
I descend the stairs. The living room is connected to the kitchen, and two high school aged kids are seated on the kitchen table, eating breakfast. The boy shoots me a look between worry and confusion.
“Are you okay, mom?”
“I’m fine, honey,” I reply in a higher voice than would have come naturally from me. I should have gotten used to acting at this point.
“I can’t even remember the last time we came in when you were still asleep,” the girl says. She has long bangs and an evasive gaze.
“Are you sure you aren’t sick or anything?” insists the boy.
I contain a sigh. I grab the box of cereals from the counter, as well as the milk, and sit next to the girl.
“I’m the good old mom you used to know, I assure you.”
“You are still wearing your pyjamas, though.”
I eat a spoonful of crunchy cereals, which helps erase the stale taste of this strange mouth’s saliva.
“Do you have a problem with my pyjamas or something, kid?”
“No, it’s just that…”
“Enough with the questions already!” I say in an exasperated tone.
The boy shuts up and turns to his bowl of corn flakes. This body has a maternal mean streak, or maybe it’s just me being annoyed. These days only rarely I care to avoid wrecking the lives of these bodies I end up inhabiting without having any say in the matter. By the end of the day, or even earlier if I get too tired, I’ll be gone, and wake up in some other stranger’s life. Who cares about these two bozos. I’m sure they are as average as they look.
The girl’s gaze rests on my cheek, but when I turn my head towards her, she nervously pretends she wasn’t staring, and starts fidgeting with her long black hair.
“Hey, whatever your name is…” I start, but catch myself. “I mean, are you okay, honey? You seem troubled.”
She turns to me with a blank expression and nods slowly.
“Are you sure?” I prod at her. If she starts crying now, I’m not sure how to handle it.
She bites her lips and fiddles with the spoon, turning it around and around. Then, without looking at me, she mutters:
“But what are we going to do about dad…?”
“Something happened with dad? What’s that?”
She looks at me and opens her mouth to speak, but then she closes it. To my left, the boy lets out a noise of incredulity.
“I knew something was wrong with you, mom! You are in shock or something, right? Maybe you should go back to bed.”
“Hush, Kyle,” I say. “Your sister has something to say, and you are going to listen.”
“Kyle?” the boy asks confused, but the girl interrupts him with a teary voice.
“How long will it take for dad to find another job in this economy?”
The boy stares at his sister, then he sinks the spoon in his cereal as if to drown it. He looks up at me, defiance in his eyes.
“So what, will we stay with you now?” he asks.
“Don’t you live here already?” I ask, caring very little.
“Dad says he can’t find anything in this town!” the girl says. “So we would have to move! But I don’t want to move! I have my friends here! Glenn doesn’t want to move either, do you Glenn?”
“Shut up, Carla,” the boy mumbles, almost inaudible.
Carla starts crying, and the boy throws a hostile look at her.
You pour some more milk in your bowl. So this body is divorced or something. Maybe a break of some sort. In any case the kids seem to prefer to stay with their dad. Am I not good enough? The cheek to come crying to me about it. I’m sure I have an awesome, well-paying job myself.
“Why don’t you just live here with me then? I seem to have plenty of rooms.”
Both of them look at me in wonder, while Glenn studies my face.
“I can’t tell if that’s a joke, mom.”
“Why would it be a joke, honey? Is my house not good enough for you brats?”
“Doesn’t your boyfriend hate having other people’s childen in his place?” the boy asks bitterly.
“I see, I guess I can’t afford this place on my own. Is my boyfriend loaded or something? And where is he now, anyway…?”
The kids exchange meaningful glances, then the girl speaks.
“Mom, you know how you are sometimes… confused…”
“I am not confused, I’m in full possession of my senses,” I say indignantly.
“Mom, have you forgotten? The doctors said… that you’d have to take those pills…”
The atmosphere at the table grows tense.
“I’m somewhat crazy, then.” I shrug. “Well, whatever. I suppose this boyfriend of mine is at work, right? And I sneak my two brats in so I can feed them before they leave for school?”
“Uh… That’s one way of looking at it, I guess.”
“Wait a second, so I divorced this father of yours and came to live with a boyfriend, and because he wouldn’t accept my kids, I gave up on you two?”
“I wouldn’t say you gave up on us,” the boy says, “I know you love us. It’s just, you like your boyfriend better than us.”
“I sound like scum.”
The girl glares at her brother for a moment, before turning to me with kind eyes. “Glenn, dear, don’t say that. I’m sure that isn’t true.”
“Whatever, Carla,” he says as he stands up from the table.
I motion for him to sit down, and apparently I’ve done it more confidently than the owner of this body tends to, because the boy obeys.
“Listen to me, kids,” I say with a serious tone. “I’m sure I love you both quite a bit. You came out of me, tearing me apart in the process. I feel a significant wind coming out from down there. I better love you after such carnage, or else I will regret the consequences for the rest of my life. Glenn, you seem tough, and I like your name. Carla, you need to believe in yourself a bit more. You aren’t exactly pretty, more on the average to ugly side, but it’s all about faking confidence. If the world rejects you, you reject it back, then shit on everybody. You know what I mean, Carla? You can’t go through this horrible life apologizing for being alive.”
The kids are confused. Carla looks as if I’ve told her something she can use, but doesn’t know what to do with the information.
“I-It’s like I don’t know you at all, mom…” the girl says.
“Yeah, yeah. I know quite a bit about how messy this life can be. One day you are working freelance from home in your boxers and one leg on the table, and the next time you go to sleep your consciousness jumps into another body, one after the other, and rarely returns to your own. Two years of such garbage. It’s a metaphor, you see, but the point is that you need to learn how to adapt to the chaos of this life. You never know who you are going to meet, what burdens you are going to have to bear, or whether you are going to wake up as a girl next to some horny dude who won’t ask your permission to fuck you. And the worst is that you enjoy it quite a bit. But it’s because the body gets aroused by itself!” I pound on the table next to my bowl. It takes me a few seconds for my heart to calm down, then I sigh. “The point I’m trying to make is that I’m sure you look pretty good without your clothes on, Carla, and that way people can look down at your body instead of at your face.”
“Mom, you are talking to Carla as if she was a grown up,” the boy pleads with me. “Why do you have to be so mean? She doesn’t like being talked to that way.”
I squint my eyes at him and frown.
“You little shit. You dare to tell me how to speak with your sister? I’ll shove a cactus up your ass. The thorns will come out of your mouth.”
Not knowing how to react, Glenn retreats to the fridge and grabs a carton of orange juice.
“Don’t you dare pour that for your sister! I’ve told you that I don’t want her drinking sugary drinks. She becomes hyperactive as hell.” I stand up, grab the carton from his hands and put it back in the fridge. As soon as I look back at this Glenn’s face, I realize that I expected another kid’s face to stare back. What was that other kid’s name again…? “She’s already nervous about going to school today. You really need to help her out.”
Carla chuckles against her hand.
“You are really pretty when you are angry, mom.”
“I feel quite pretty alright, although I haven’t come across a mirror. And these look fantastic, don’t they? I have become quite knowledgeable about sizes. Can you believe that the both of you used to suckle on them? How can we even talk these days, look at one another in the eye, knowing that some time ago you were sucking milk from my breasts? It must be so embarrassing for you.”
“For you too,” Carla says. “We’ve never heard you speak that much before.”
I pick up the newspaper on the kitchen table, and start reading the front page.
“Is there any particular reason why you are reading the paper upside-down?” Carla asks.
I put the newspaper down. It was yesterday’s edition anyway.
“Everything is upside down in this world, honey. Haven’t you noticed? What sense does it make that someone forced another person to exist only for them to look average to ugly? Isn’t that a cruelty for which one should hold a permanent grudge?”
“You aren’t ugly,” Carla says with a kind expression, and puts her hand on my shoulder.
“I was talking about you, though. Carla, do you like your life?”
“Mom…”
“Well, do ya, punk?”
“Yes. I do,” she says, with a firm nod.
“As you should,” I say, patting her head. “You don’t want to ruin that face of yours further, you know.”
I turn towards Glenn, whose expression suggests he’s having a Vietnam flashback.
“And you, Glenn, what’s going on in your life, huh?”
He turns redder than any of his shirts I have ever seen, but to be fair I have only seen one.
“Nothing,” he says, and lowers his head.
“That’s good to hear, buddy. Are you hitting anything yet?”
Glenn narrows his shoulders.
“What are you implying?”
“I’m implying you should hit something, like a baseball or a punching bag. It’s called exercise. It makes your body feel better, and there’s evidence to suggest it releases endorphins, thus making you happy. A lot happier than you seem to be, at least.”
“I do sports!”
“Yeah, I can tell. I have seen plenty of naked men in these last couple of years. Don’t ever have sex with anyone without permission, you hear?”
Carla laughs. Hey, I am serious! That’s a shitty thing to do to someone! But anyway…
“I digress,” I say, then hold Glenn’s gaze so intensely that he shivers. “You don’t want to grow up too fast. It’s not worth it. Trust me.”
Glenn averts his gaze down to the table.
“I still endure through nightmares what seems like every night,” I say, and although I try to control my voice, it trembles. “Sometimes someone holds me or wakes me up, and it’s always a stranger’s arms. You expect to wake up to security and comfort, but I open my eyes to a new nightmare. Do you understand what I mean?”
“I get it,” Carla says, then places her palm on my shoulder.
I smile, knowing she means well, and her words seem to flow directly into my ears and into my brain, causing tears to form in my eyes.
“I’m so sorry about your dad,” I say.
“Thanks,” she replies, her eyes shining.
“You can be so beautiful under the right light, Carla. Don’t you want to give your mommy a kiss?”
She opens her arms for a hug, and I embrace her tightly.
“Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you,” I whisper in her ear. “I want you to do something for me. Take this as… maternal advice, if you will.”
“Sure,” she says.
“Don’t get angry at people. Not even the guy who is mistreating you. Be kind to everyone, and… you can change people that way.”
She pats my back. I release her from my grasp, and she nods.
“Yeah… but you know what?” Carla says, “Not everyone is worthy of trust.”
I stare at her, taken aback at her bluntness. My words have not changed her attitude at all. I sigh, but chuckle.
“That’s true,” I mutter. “And if you get them to think you are some meek creature, they won’t see it coming until you have already plunged a knife into their eye.”
She grins, and I smile. I really love this new girl.
“Mom, we have to go,” Carla says.
“Okay honey.”
Glenn avoids looking at me as he retrieves his backpack, which he had rested against the back of a nearby sofa. He gives me a short wave and attempts to turn to leave, but I rush over to him, force the kid to turn around and I embrace him tightly.
“I’m sorry,” I say, “I’m so sorry. I love you.”
“I know, mom,” he mutters.
He stands stiffly in my embrace for a moment before he returns the hug a bit.
“You feel your mommy’s big, welcoming breasts pressing themselves against you?” I say softly in his ear. “Replicating that with a new girl who isn’t related to you is your sole goal in life, my dear boy. As soon as possible, too. You don’t want to go through the dreadful decades that await you regretting that you didn’t have sex with some big breasted high schooler.”
“Ew, mom!” he says, then attempts to free himself.
“We have to leave, mom,” Carla reminds me.
I refuse to let my new son go.
“Nothing of that fake disgust, boy. Something deep inside you yearns to return to those days in which I cradled you in my arms and you tightened your lips around my hardened nipples.”
“Mom!”
“Also, you’re a teenage boy, and my body’s natural curves are really starting to bother you. You want me. I can see it. Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle. Bring this up again the next time we are alone.”
“Mom!” he exclaims, even more disgusted and angry.
He manages to escape from me, and Carla grabs him by the arm and drags him out of the house. I wave at them as they leave.
They have been gone for a few seconds when I finally lower my arm, and a wave of anguish washes over me. The tears burn. I will never gaze upon these two children of mine again. Isn’t that the height of cruelty?
As I walk up the stairs and return to the master bedroom to undress myself, I struggle to loosen my throat, to contain the sobbing. That ugly girl’s warm smile still brightens my heart, and the feeling of that boy’s strong arms still lingers around my borrowed, soft body. Indeed, this world is cruel, but it is also beautiful.

Nobody came home. By five in the afternoon I get so sleepy that I lie down on this stranger’s bed to take a nap. Shortly after, another jump separates me from her family.
I awake under the late afternoon light, which filters through my eyelids. My consciousness teeters in a body that is slowly regaining its senses. I hear the sound of waves slowly licking the coast, I feel cold sand under the bare skin of my torso and legs.
“I’m home,” I mutter.
There is no answer.

A Pleasant Friday Afternoon at the Literature Club (GPT-3 fueled short)

I enter my sanctuary, our club, as I struggle to prevent the trash food I’ve bought from falling all over. After I close the door behind me, I stop for a moment to look at my friends, the other three members of the literature club, who are illuminated by the afternoon light pouring from the windows. To the left of the empty seat reserved for me is Lydia, the small, bespectacled and hyperactive girl obsessed with the mysterious. On the other side of the table awaits the blonde beauty Kumeko, and to her right her childhood friend, and only published writer of our club, Hibiki.
I leave the food on the table. Lydia is quick to open a bag of chips and stuff her mouth with a handful. When I sit on the empty seat, the tiredness of this whole week of exams drags me towards the ground. But today is another blessed friday, and we’ll enjoy our club time for a couple of hours.
“Well then, who is presenting a text today?” I ask.
“The winner of the Literature Club contest will present their work!” Kumeko announces as she pats her childhood friend on the arm, and she doesn’t notice him blushing. “It’s the third story by Hibiki, entitled ‘The Lost Girl’.”
“Oh? That sounds interesting.” I say.
“Yes, I think so too. It’s about a young girl who is lost in the forest, and she meets a boy who helps her find her way home.”
I shush her.
“Hey, no spoilers! Let the man read!”
Hibiki clears his throat, and as he holds his printed story, he stands up and begins to read it.
“There once was a young boy who grew up in a small village. The boy lived with his mother and father, and had two younger twin brothers. One day, when the boy was sixteen years old, he and his family took a trip to the forest. They set up a campsite by a lake, and went swimming. The next day, the boy went to explore the forest. As he was walking he heard a low growl. He looked behind him, but he couldn’t find the source of the growl. As he continued walking, the growl grew louder, and he began to run, and soon he found himself at the edge of a meadow filled with flowers. He stopped running and took a deep breath, enjoying the beautiful sight of such vibrant life. Then, as he was admiring the flowers, he heard the growl again. His heart pounding in terror, he began to run through the meadow. As he was running, he tripped over a rock and fell, hitting his head on another rock. He began to bleed from the head and passed out in the middle of the field. Luckily, a group of dwarves happened to be passing by. They saw the boy as he lay motionless and bleeding, and picked him up. The dwarves brought him home and nursed him back to health. After a week, the boy regained consciousness. He found himself lying on a bed in a strange house. He saw a group of dwarves standing around his bed. One of the dwarves spoke up. ‘Where do you come from?’ The boy was startled, not expecting to hear any English, let alone perfect English. ‘W-What? Where am I?’ ‘You’re in the Dwarven Kingdom of Karst.'”
“I like the sudden appearance of dwarves in a non-dwarf related story,” I say while I munch on some licorice. “A subversion of expectations or something.”
Hibiki nods.
“Go on,” I say.
“Not much else to say. He spends the week in the dwarven kingdom, and eventually goes back to his village.”
Hibiki looks over at us, and then puts down the paper he was reading from. He sits back as we stare at him in silence.
“What, that’s it?” Lydia asks in disbelief.
“Yeah. That’s it,” Hibiki says with a sigh.
“That’s horrible!” she shouts in frustration, “You spent an entire week and couldn’t come up with anything proper to write about?”
“Well, I was trying to stay true to the feel of a bedtime story. They don’t all have grand plots.”
Lydia crosses her arms in front of her chest to say something else, but I lean over the table.
“Wait a second, what’s with the title? You called it ‘The Lost Girl’, right? There wasn’t a girl anywhere in that plot! Did you read another story by mistake?”
Hibiki takes the paper from the table and looks at it.
“You see that? That’s your problem right there,” I point out. “You didn’t even notice. If a reader can notice something that isn’t there, your story has failed.”
He crumples up the paper and tosses it over his shoulder. We hear a startled ‘oinks’ from behind us as a piggy-bank catches the wadded paper ball.
“You’ll get over it soon, but I have to go now. See you guys later,” Hibiki says as he stands up noisily.
Seated to Hibiki’s left, his childhood friend Kumiko grabs the embarrassed kid’s arm and pulls him down.
“Don’t be ridiculous! It doesn’t matter if we didn’t like this story much, they can’t be all winners! And you have to critique our stories too!”
“Can’t it wait?” he asks.
“Yes,” she says, “but no.”
Kumiko gives him a serious look. He sighs and raises his eyebrows in defeat. He’s not going to win against her stubbornness.
“Alright, alright, I’ll stay,” he says, throwing his hands up in the air.
Kumiko smiles and starts going through her bag to get her papers.
“I also wrote something. I was trying to stay in the fairytale theme. This one is a story about a princess who is captured by an evil dragon. There is no prince to save her, and she has to save herself.”
“One of those post-modern retellings, I see,” I say as I gulp down some soda.
“No, it is a story about a strong woman who can fight for her own honor,” she responds, annoyed.
“I didn’t mean any offense. I liked it.”
“I have barely started telling it!” she says, then pouts.
“I meant that I liked the story in general. Continue.”
She narrows her eyes, then nods and starts reading her work. Her bell-like voice is as pretty as her blonde hair and pale blue eyes.
“The sun had fallen, leaving me in a pitch black dungeon. I shivered in the frigid air. The cold stone floor felt as if it was sucking the heat out of my naked body; I felt so exposed and vulnerable. I was naked, and my clothes were not anywhere to be found. There was no furniture in the room either, save from a bucket full of water and an old moldy piece of bread.”
“I liked the part about the nakedness,” I say.
“Shut up, JP,” she says, annoyed.
I smile. I have always had a weakness for pretty girls. That being said, I can admire a girl’s mind and body without wanting to jump their bones. I don’t know why they always think that we’re going to do that to them.
“Where was I? Oh yes, I was shivering on the floor and trying not to starve to death,” she says, giving me a dirty look.
“Is this a story, or some harrowing experience of yours?” I ask, then chuckle.
“It’s a story I made up!” she says, annoyed.
“Continue.”
She looks down and continues reading.
“I heard a fearsome growl and looked around to find the source. Above me was a giant black beast, curled up on itself like a cat. It had sharp yellow teeth, and blood red eyes that seemed to pierce my very being. I wanted to look away, but I felt hypnotized by its gaze. Then, it struck. It opened its maw and blew out hot air that smelled like rotten eggs. I blacked out. When I woke up, it was surrounded by several people wearing medieval clothing. It roared, and the people backed away in fear. The beast looked at me, then ran off into the forest. I had been rescued.”
“You forgot to mention that she got rabies and died,” I say.
“Shut up, JP!” she says, annoyed once again.
I have to point something out.
“Wasn’t the idea that the princess saved herself in this one?”
“Oh yeah,” she says, blushing.
“You’re really bad at this.”
“Shut up, JP!”
Both me and Lydia take some time to stop laughing.
“Wait, that’s the end of the story?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says, clearly disappointed that I didn’t like the ending.
“That sucks. You should go back and change it so the dragon gets killed or something.”
She pauses for a moment, thinking about what I said.
“Yeah… that’s not a bad idea.”
“The princess should probably be the one to kill it. You know, because that was the point you intended to make with this whole thing, which you insisted on. You deliberately presented the story as capturing that post-modern angle, and then your text failed to reflect it.”
“But it wasn’t my fault!” she whines.
“Maybe not, but that’s what you presented to us.”
She pauses again, and I can tell that she’s realizing that I’m right. She sighs in defeat.
“Yeah, you’re absolutely right,” she says. “I’ll have to change it.”
“We all make mistakes,” I say with a smile. “As usual, though, we have trouble staying on target.”
The remaining member of the club, our mostly delusional Lydia, chimes in as she pushes up the bridge of her glasses.
“I’m pretty sure you’re the main reason for that, Jacob.”
“How do you figure?” I ask. “Kumiko’s the one who went on a tangent and forgot her own ending.”
“You’re distracting her. You do it all the time.”
Lydia is just teasing me, as usual.
“Yeah, but it’s okay. She’ll get around to fixing it,” I say with a smile.
Kumiko can’t stop frowning at me as Lydia finally pulls out her own story. She seems more enthusiastic than usual about this new one.
“What subject are you obsessed with this week, Lydia?” I ask as I rest my face on my palm.
“I did some reading last night. Did you know that dark matter is all around us?”
“Um… sure?”
“Anyway, here it goes!” Lydia announces. “Title: ‘The Cat in the Box’, by Lydia Hirsch.”
“Yes, we are aware of you, Lydia.”
“There once was a cat named Mr. Whiskers. He was trapped inside a box. The box was also trapped inside a bigger box. There were three boxes all together. The big box, the medium-sized box, and the small box. They were all trapped inside each other, like a Russian Nesting Doll. ‘Meow,’ said the cat. ‘I wish I could get out of here. I’m stuck in this small box. Oh no! There’s a even smaller box inside of me, and I can’t get out!’ Mr. Whiskers looked very scared. He was afraid of getting trapped inside an even smaller box.”
I hear Hibiki gulping.
“Somehow that makes me feel a pit in my stomach…” he says.
“Shhh! It gets better, trust me! Mr. Whiskers then saw a laser beam appear inside the small box. It started to move around, and Mr. Whiskers was very afraid of getting hit by the beam. But then, another cat named GutterCat came in and saved him! The two cats ran outside, escaping the boxes.”
“Where did this cat GutterCat come from, and how did he find his way into that small box inside other boxes?” I ask incredulously.
“Who cares? The point is that the two cats lived happily ever after escaping those evil boxes. The end.”
Lydia beams as she finishes her story. She looks around at our faces, which display a mixed response to her story.
“That was… ugh… an interesting story,” I say, as I try to think of something nice to say about it.
“I thought it was incredible!” Lydia says excitedly. “When I grow up, I want to write stories just like that!”
“But you did write that one.”
“Oh. Yeah…” she says, as her smile falters slightly.
“It was a nice try, but it needs work. For one thing, why did Mr. Whiskers speak perfect English? Also, how did he fit in the box? Did he just shrink himself somehow?”
“Well… It was a magical box,” Lydia says in an almost inaudible voice. “You can do anything when you’re a writer.”
“Didn’t you say recently that you wanted to start writing stories based on reality?” I say as I raise an eyebrow.
“Well… I can change reality,” she says, now pouting. “If I could fit twenty bumblebees inside a teeny tiny bottle, then I can make a magical box that defies the laws of physics.”
“Hell no. Writing isn’t anarchy. There’s no meaning if you don’t follow at least some rules. If anything can happen, then nothing makes sense. Is that not the case?”
Lydia raises her hand as if she was in class.
“Yes, Lydia?” I ask.
“I have a problem with that. You said you want to write about the real world, but that’s not true. Nobody writes about the real world. Writers have been doing fiction for thousands of years. Did Shakespeare write about the real world? No. That’s why his plays are still around today. Did Tolkien write about the real world? No. That’s why people are still obsessed with his work decades after he died.”
“We might be aiming too high here, at least in regards to comparing ourselves with such writers. We seem to remain stuck at preschool level.”
“Well at least I’m trying!” she exclaims.
“And that’s all I’m asking for,” I say, raising my hands. “You wrote about a magical box, really?”
“Yes!” she says, agitated. “I wanted to challenge myself.”
“Writing about a magical box instead of the usual aliens, lost civilizations, bigfoot, underground complexes of tunnels that hold kidnapped and tortured children, and isolated islands of sin for the one percenters?”
“Yes, because I can do that too!” she says, raising her voice. “I just wanted to try something new. I always have my cat save the day, so I wanted to switch it up.”
“Instead of your cat solving the mystery, now you wanted a new cat to save your own cat?” I laugh out loud.
“Stop making fun of me,” she says, abashed. “At least I’m trying.”
She mutters something to herself as she holds her story with her arms crossed.
“Don’t get me wrong, Lydia,” I start. “I love your stories. It’s just that I get tired of suspending my disbelief week after week while listening to how your cat discovers alien life, or hunts down a bigfoot, or saves the children from the underground tunnels built by the military-industrial complex, or blows up some private island full of mostly naked underage girls.”
“You think too highly of yourself, then,” says Kumiko. She doesn’t seem to have forgiven me for correcting her story before.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask with annoyance.
“You think you’re the only one who has issues coming up with stories? I’ve had the same issues as you, except way worse. And let me tell you why,” she says, her eyes flickering towards the black binder in front of her. She looks at it for a while, as if trying to remember something she wrote inside it.
“You… you don’t have to tell me,” I say. “If it’s too personal, you don’t have to.”
She sighs. “It’s not that personal. It’s just. I’ve been working on this story for a long time now, and I still haven’t finished it.”
“Are you trying something seriously? What is it about?”
“It’s about a girl and a guy who are good friends, almost like siblings. Over the years, they grow closer together and become romantically involved.”
“I must say, I’m loving the sibling angle.”
She gives me a look. “Well, they do grow up together. Together, they face all sorts of trials and tribulations. It’s a story about growing up, really.”
“A coming of age story?”
She seems to think for a moment, before nodding. “Yeah. You could say that. But it’s not just for the main characters that things happen. It spans decades, so there’s time for generations to pass and see change.”
“One of those stories that try to feel the pulse of society during many decades, or something like that?”
She nods. “Sure. Something like that.”
I stare at her. She stares at me. The room is quiet save for the occasional sound of pages flipping as Hibiki turns a bunch in front of him. After a while, Kumiko speaks up.
“So… you want to hear it?” she asks.
“Sure,” I say. “Why not?”
Kumiko takes a deep breath, and begins to tell her story.
“Our tale starts in a hospital, with the birth of our two leads. I will speak now from the point of view of the protagonist… I’m born first, a crybaby but a strong one. You come out second, strong and silent. So strong and silent they think you’re deaf, but it’s just an act of defiance. We grow up with each other, inseparable. We do everything together. School, playtime, everything.” Kumiko takes a deep breath. “For our eighteenth birthday we’re given our choice of whatever car we want from the dealership down the road. I want the one that goes from zero to sixty in three seconds. You want the off-road SUV that can drive over practically anything. We fight over it for hours…” Kumiko begins to cry. “We… We fought all day. I didn’t think we’d fight on our birthdays, so I didn’t get you a present. I’m sorry, I tried to make it up to you later… But we fought all day, and in the end, we took the dealership. I went first, and when they handed me the keys to my new car, I said ‘this is for you’. I handed them to you. I broke into tears immediately after, because I knew you’d hate it. You took the keys from my hand, and went to look at the car. I looked up about the car later, and saw that it costs almost twice as much as a house in our town. It was too late to give it back. You didn’t say anything. But then, you didn’t need to. I understood. I cried for our lost friendship, and never spoke to you again. The end.”
Kumiko is sobbing heavily now. I struggle to say something. I walk around the table and I try to hug our blonde princess, but she pushes me away.
“No, no!” she screams. “Don’t touch me! I’m disgusting! Just leave me alone! All of you, leave me alone! Leave me alone!”
I stand back. Kumiko pulls out a cigarette and a lighter. She struggles to light it with a trembling hand.
“Please stop her,” I say to the others. “Tobacco has never been on her side.”
At this point, the cigarette has caught fire.
“I’m sorry,” she says, blowing out the flame. Slowly but surely, she stands up and heads towards the window. I stare in horror.
“You aren’t thinking something crazy, are you, Kumiko…?”
“You, least of all, should call me crazy,” she says coldly.
Then, she jumps out. Lydia, Hibiki and myself run to the window, only to catch that Kumiko has already landed on the grass a meter and a half below and is sprinting towards the gated entrance of our school.
“Kumiko!” I shout.
My blonde friend never looks back. After she disappears behind some trees, I shake my head and return to the table. We sit around in silence for a while, not knowing how to bring up this disgraceful event. Hibiki is wringing his hands.
“Hibiki…” I start, “you need to take good care of that girl.”
“I don’t know what to do!” he cries.
“Just keep being friendly with her. You’re the only person she’s got, you know.”
He nods, his eyes red from crying. I feel a huge, dark pit in my stomach. What the hell have we done? We’ve pushed our only stable member to jump out of a window and attempt suicide. It’s a miracle that she survived. But I’m not sure whether she did it for herself or for us.
I wipe the sweat from my forehead.
“Well, I guess I might as well read my own story. I did go through the trouble of writing it and all.”
I walk over to the whiteboard and grab a marker from the edge of it. I then begin sketching out the plot of my story on the board, but shortly after I give up and I draw a huge dong. I return to my chair and sit down wearily.
“My story starts like this: the protagonist is some guy called JB who attends some high school or other. His life is generally fine, I guess, but what he loves to do the most is to attend the literature club that he’s a member of. Maybe not the most important or prominent member, but a vital part of the whole, I’d say.”
I pause my story to grab another pastry. As I do so, our headmaster comes in for his weekly meeting with the club. Apparently he’s had some sort of announcement to make, but he forgot it. He leaves, and we hear his hurried footsteps fading away.
“Where was I? Ah, yes. It was a hard week for our protagonist, as he had to pass the most critical exams. But that’s behind him already. We meet him on a friday as he enters his beloved literature club. He’s bringing a bunch of trash food to fill the stomachs of his grateful friends. I haven’t said anything about the other characters yet, but as secondary players we have Lydia Hirsch, a delusional girl who loves everything mysterious and who particularly adores her cat Mr. Whiskers. She’s very much into writing stories that involve the aforementioned cat. Frankly, I’m a bit sick of the whole thing, but what can you do. This girl probably needs some therapeutic help, and it’s likely that after this year of high school ends, I will never see her again. Would that be sad? Remains to be seen.”
I pause my story again to eat some chips.
“What do you think of my story so far, Lydia?” I ask. “I particularly hope to hear your early opinion, for some reason.”
“I like it, Jacob. Actually, it’s really starting to come together. Hey, but I have an idea for your story.”
“Oh no,” I reply. “Not another one of your ideas.”
“Yes, Jacob. Another one of my ideas.” she says with a cheeky grin on her face.
“Fine, what is it?”
“You should make the protagonist’s love interest a cat named Mr. Whiskers,” she replies with a giggle.
I shoot her down immediately. “I’m not doing that.”
“Come on, Jacob. Just think about it for two seconds.”
I sigh in exasperation. “Fine, I’ll think about it,” I say, not meaning it in the slightest.
“That’s all I ask,” she says with a huge grin on her face.
“Alright, back to my story. We also have this guy called Hibiki. He’s the soft spoken kind whose expression demands other people to believe that he is hiding some inner ocean of wisdom or whatever. Somehow he won a couple of awards from his previous stories, likely because the judges consider that stories in which little to nothing happens and the protagonists mope around are good stuff. This Hibiki is also madly in love with his childhood friend, a blonde, blue eyed beauty called Kumiko. However, Kumiko will never love him back, because she’s into being abused by rough, older men.”
Hibiki glares at me. “Jacob, that’s enough.”
“Do you have a problem with my story?” I say.
“No, but you know it’s not true,” he replies.
“How would I know, if you never tell me anything about it?”
“Jacob, there’s no way…”
“Anyway, the remaining member of this fictional literature club is a beautiful princess called Kumiko. She’s blonde, has pale blue eyes, and a soft body to die for. However, this princess was taken by the dragon of depression, and she’ll need to save herself in this one, because no brave hero is heading off to slay her foe.”
“Shut up, Jacob! You’re being an asshole,” Hibiki says.
I shush him, and he does shut up, but keeps glaring at me intensely.
“You know,” I begin, “I used to love coming here. It was my happy place, where I got together with my good friends to goof off, write some bunch of nonsense and giggle as we read them out loud. But that’s gone, isn’t it?”
“Jacob, you’re drunk,” Lydia says with an understanding tone. “Go home, sleep it off, and apologize to everyone tomorrow.”
I shake my head. “Apologize? There’s nothing to apologize for. You all have been lying this whole time about everything, and I’m not gonna take it anymore.”
“Lying about what?” Hibiki asks sharply.
“That this is even a real literature club,” I say.
Now they’re all staring at me with confusion and fear on their faces. Lydia asks, “Jacob, what do you mean by that?”
“You’re all too scared to go out, meet people and make friends. You’re just using this as an excuse not to.”
“Jacob, that isn’t true,” Lydia says softly. “It really is a literature club.”
“You keep telling yourself that, cat girl.”
There’s a moment of silence. I want to tear into my two remaining friends further, but I feel there’s no use. And then comes the weariness, the exhaustion. The void in my chest is expanding.
I let my ass fall onto the chair.
“We are living in a fantasy. In a few weeks we will exit this clubroom for the very last time in our lives. Lydia, you will move out to the other side of the country for college, Kumiko will start working at her family store, and you will probably do something in the world outside, Hibiki, although I don’t particularly care. Do you two understand what I mean?”
They both nod.
“We have already lived through our carefree years,” I say with a thin voice. “Until now we could laugh with the utmost sincerity. But what awaits us in the coming decades? Do we have anything to look forward except for mounting responsibilities, increasing bills, and the pains and humiliations of our progressively decaying frames?” I stand up and continue, “Do you really want to live the rest of your life knowing there is no escape from reality?”
I don’t give them the chance to answer. I’m not even sure what the answer is. I just need to believe in what I’m saying.
“We’re all living a lie,” I say, “but if we stand up together, we can change it.”
My two remaining storytelling friends remain silent. They don’t answer. They don’t disagree.
I look at the ground. I feel empty inside. “I will stand up to the lies of this world all by myself,” I say. “Good luck to you.”
I leave the clubroom and close the door. A few seconds later I open the door, walk to my chair and sit down. Tears are streaming down Lydia’s face, and her glasses have fogged up. Hibiki’s face is all red and he makes no effort to clean the snot running down the sides of his lips.
“The end,” I say. “Well, what do you think?”
“It was the most beautiful story I ever heard,” says a voice behind me.
I turn around, and can’t believe my eyes. There stands a princess straight out of a fairy tale. Her long, blonde hair glistens in the late afternoon light, and the blue pools of her irises remind me of beautiful dreams. Her eyes are red and puffy, as if she has been crying for an eternity.
“Kumiko?” I say. “It… it’s been so long.”
“I know,” she says. “I just… I just wanted to say that… you were right. I was unhappy. I was so unhappy. My stepfather, he…”
Tears roll down her face. I have never seen her so sad in all the years I have known her. In a way, it’s like seeing a stranger. I stand up and quickly walk up to her.
“It’s OK,” I say, grabbing her hand. “It’s OK.”
She looks into my eyes. “Do you remember… the day we met?”
“Yes,” I say with a smile. “I saved you from the rain.”
“Will you save me again?” she asks.
“Of course,” I say, but it’s already too late.
A gunshot rings out, echoing through the halls of the school. I squeeze Kumiko’s hand and close my eyes, but the distant meowing is getting louder.

VR Tales of the Imouto (GPT-3 fueled short)

I was bored today, and I have enjoyed that new anime “Full Dive” recently.


The classes finally end for the day. As soon as I reach my home and I eat some, I sit on my virtual reality chair to log into my beloved game. I recline my head and I feel the virtual sensorial orchestra overwhelming this lackluster reality, kidnapping me from the dreadful real world into a more colorful virtual one, in which I can be important and do exciting stuff.
Inside the virtual world, I awaken in my home, a two-story building in a small, generic fantasy town. I embrace the alien breeze in my skin, the feeling of the adventuring clothes keeping my virtual body warm, the heavy trusty sword now sheathed and hanging from my belt. I hear the voices of my virtual parents, both non-player characters, talking to each other on the floor below. They wouldn’t speak with any other inhabitant of this home when I’m not present, because I’m an only child. Then I smell the cooking. These virtual parents are nice, not like the couple of neglectful punks from my real world.
When I descend the stairs I see my mother sitting on the couch, her face buried in a book. She looks up towards me.
“You look ready for an adventure, dear,” she says with a smile. “But also tired. Make sure you get plenty of sleep, OK?”
I nod to her and say goodbye, then leave my hometown behind to venture into the wilderness. New adventures await.
I can expect a variety of dangers, from slavering beasts lurking in the forests to rogue mages in their towers. I am ready for them all! But today is a beautiful day, so I decide to enjoy the scenery. In real life I’m lucky if I can venture far enough from my street from time to time. I get so exhausted, and I need to deal with transportation and all that crap. On here, in the virtual world, everything is grandiose, and adventures await me in every corner. Bloody tales, often involving murder. Those tend to be the best kinds.
I’m so absorbed by my surroundings that I don’t watch where I’m going, and walk right into something. It feels like running into a wall. There was a man standing on the path, dressed in leather armor and gripping a sword with his teeth. He takes the sword out of his mouth.
“Hello,” he says. “I am Sir Owen. Are you new to this world?”
“Not at all, I’ve been playing for a while. Are you another player?”
“A player?” Sir Owen chuckles. “No. I’m afraid not. None of us are. We’re all locked in this world, doomed to stand by and watch as you players have all the fun.”
I nod solemnly.
“Damn, they pack non-player characters with some gravitas these days.”
“I take it you’re a player,” says Sir Owen. “I haven’t seen you around before, unless you’ve joined since the last time I went to sleep. What’s your name?”
“I’m Cockslapius Fuckbucket the Third.”
“Well, Cockslapius Fuckbucket the Third, I wish you the best of luck in this world.”
“Don’t need luck, my friend, just my trusty sword and my healthy bloodlust. Both have done wonders for me already. Kind of a veteran player at this point.”
“Ah, an experienced one, then. You’re just the man I need to talk to. I was told that players could go to the city if I needed help, and you seem trustworthy.”
I just got here and already some NPC is trying to rope me into doing his dirty work? What a pushy bastard. Then again, this could be a good opportunity. If I help this desperate character, he might have some goodies for me… And I wouldn’t forgive myself if I passed the chance to train further.
“Sure, I can waste my time with some sidequest. What city are we talking about here, my good man?”
“The one I am trying to protect, of course. We call it… Oh, what is the name of it again? It’s on the tip of my tongue…”
“Uh… Nevermind. Probably doesn’t matter. What do you need me to do?”
“I need you to infiltrate the city and kill the evil wizard who controls it.”
“Is this a new development? I haven’t heard of any nearby cities with such issues before.”
Sir Owen grips his sword with determination, and looks at me sternly. He’s like some serious dude.
“Sire, I wouldn’t dare joke about such a grave matter as an evil wizard controlling an entire population of innocents. I need your help, Cockslapius. Will you help me?”
I rub my chin while I consider the situation. Would the artificial intelligence have introduced such a status quo altering event, given that it would affect other players? And out of nowhere as well? It seems wholly unlikely. Maybe this non-player character is messing with me. But then, he seems pretty damn serious.
“If you’re lying to me, I’m coming back to haunt you.”
He nods vigorously.
“Of course. Now, let’s get down to business.”
“Fine. Let’s go.” After a few meters, I turn towards him. “Wait, what was the city involved in this mess?”
“Oh, certainly, we must do this first. It’s Bealbeast.”
My eyebrows rise in surprise. That’s one of the more popular hubs, well protected by a powerful mage who lives there. The chances of this being legitimate are low.
“I see. And what’s the name of this powerful wizard?”
“Cyrus.”
As I frown, we continue on. The man doesn’t seem to notice my disapproval, and rattles off his story.
“Cyrus was my pupil when I was still a teacher at the magical university in the city. He was a bit of a loner, but he had such promise… One day, he just left without a word. We never expected him to become this powerful wizard that he is rumored to be. He is no doubt capable of destroying the city.”
“What timespan of events or whatever are we speaking of here?” I ask cautiously.
“Hmm, you want to know how long it’s been since I was exiled from my home? It’s been a little over twenty years now.”
“And you’ve waited this long to take action?”
His head hangs low.
“I have wanted to go back ever since then, but I haven’t had the strength. Until now.”
“What changed? Wait, let me guess: meeting me?”
He nods vigorously.
I pat the non-player bastard on the back.
“I must say, you damn bunch of ones and zeros know how to make a player feel special.”
He doesn’t respond, but instead looks longingly at my hand. It’s unsure whether he’s being sincere or perverted right now. Maybe both. The man puts his hood back up and continues on, ignoring my presence. An awkward silence ensues, which I’m not used to in video games, as players usually have something to say to each other. I guess the AI can’t figure out new stuff to make this puppet say.
“So, sir Owen, what do you think about when a player hasn’t happened to run into you?” I ask.
He takes his time to answer.
“I think you have a low opinion of me, if you can’t tell.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I haven’t been insulting you the entire time.”
“It’s a matter of fact that you are a denizen of this virtual world and I belong to the rotten dimension of reality,” I say, “which those of us unfortunate enough to be born in need to escape from in order to tolerate another stretch of maddening, anguished boredom. We either escape through the traditional dreams or the virtual ones. You are the lucky one, as far as I’m concerned.”
He says nothing in response, and I continue to speak without waiting for him to reply.
“I’m not sure what you’re expecting from all of this, but I’m going to give you a bit of unsolicited advice: don’t expect anything from anyone. People will let you down every time.”

We walk on in silence, passing by a bunch of trees that were drawn with less detail than the ground at their feet. What feels like half an hour later we arrive at the outskirts of the great city of Bealbeast. A voice shouts out to us from the distance. It’s some kid.
“Hey! Are you the guy who’s going to rescue our princess?!”
“That would be us,” sir Owen says, “Why do you ask?”
“Because she’s been taken to the top of the palace by a bunch of evil bandits, and nobody has had the bravery to save her!”
When I care enough to, I raise my hands to stop their conversation.
“You fellas are crossing events here. I came with sir Owen to free the city from some evil wizard or some other. Nobody said anything about a princess.”
“That’s because it’s all been covered up,” sir Owen says.
“Apparently not well enough, because this kid here knows about it,” I say. “And before we go and do anything rash, I want to get a few things straight: what’s our motivation for exerting ourselves?”
“The princess is being held hostage by an evil wizard who wants to marry her,” the boy says.
“Ah, a cliché kidnapping of the pretty princess by some evil guy.” I shrug. “How hot is this princess supposed to be anyway?”
“I’ve never seen her, but I’ve heard that she is a beautiful maiden with long blonde hair,” the boy says.
“You hear that Owen? That sounds like a princess fit for a hero.”
Sir Owen eyes me with concern.
“I fear you are taking this too lightly, adventurer.”
“You worry too much, Owen. I’m just having fun. Anyway, where is this evil wizard?”
The boy turns around and begins walking towards a large palace surrounded by a rather large moat.
“Follow me. It’s this way,” he says.
I look at sir Owen, who nods in response.
The three of us walk towards the palace while the boy tells me about the city of Bealbeast. Even though I’ve been here like a hundred times, I let the non-player character speak his piece. Might as well.
“Are you even listening to me?” the boy asks.
I look at him and nod my head.
“I’m listening. The princess is in a tower just waiting to be saved, right?”
“No! The princess is in the palace, but she’s being held in one of the towers on the upper levels.”
“Which tower?” I ask.
“I don’t know!” The boy cries out in exasperation.
The palace he’s guiding me towards doesn’t sport any towers. It only has one floor. I shake my head, then pat the annoyed kid on his.
“Why did the AI involve a kid in a kidnapping plot by some evil wizard? Does this town not have decent adults to inform heroes of such matters? If you can’t offer anything else to misinform me about, just run to whatever corner you need to turn before you dematerialize again.”
The boy stands there for a moment, then opens his mouth as if to say something, though no words come out. He looks hurt, but he turns around and walks away. In any case, I am near the bridge that crosses a moat and that leads to the big front doors of a huge palace that I don’t recall existing before. A couple of guards protect the entrance.
I turn to sir Owen.
“Well, sir, how do you suppose we should approach this rescue operation?”
Owen looks around, as if he’s trying to find an answer written on the walls of the nearest house.
“I do not know… but we can’t let the evil wizard succeed. We need to rescue the princess.”
“Why? She’s not real. Even if she was, she’d just be a stuck up royal brat that is unsatisfied with her luxurious lifestyle. Not our problem.”
“But evil must not prevail!”
I sigh.
“Getting tangled in such a cliché development will poison my soul. How many experience points or what reward are we talking about here as compensation?”
“What? How can you put a price on the life of the princess?”
“How can I not? If I don’t, then I’ll die and I won’t be able to play this game anymore.” I am not sure what I mean, but I add: “Is the princess more important than my enjoyment of this virtual world?”
Owen opens his mouth, but doesn’t say anything in response, so I continue with my line of thought.
“I’ve had such a lousy time in class this morning. Just unbearable. The people around me are all posers, you know? All phonies. I feel like I should wear an earflap hat as a fashion statement. In the afternoons when I log into this game I just want a smooth ride filled with gruesome murders to quench my thirst for mayhem and blood, you know? Pleasures of the flesh. I want to quicksave and pull out my firing rod.”
“I… I’m not sure about that…”
“So you see, if your princess is in trouble, then she’ll have to offer me something tempting before I save her.” I grab sir Owen by the lapel. “The best thing about this world is the careful simulation of all human senses! Do you understand what I mean, you fake fella?”
I release sir Owen, who keeps staring at me blankly. He doesn’t seem to be repulsed by my touch, which makes me glad. I’m far too used to people backing away.
“Sure, sure. The… the princess will offer you a boon. Whatever you want! If you save her from this terrible fate, she’ll give you anything. I’ll make sure of that.”
“That sounds vaguely like a promise of sexual favors to me,” I reply. “I am not going to lie to you, I’m only motivated by virtual sex these days. They don’t make them like that in the world out there, you know?”
“I… I’ll make sure of it.”
My interest spikes.
“Oh? You’ll make sure of it?”
He nods slowly.
“This is a good chance for you, then? No more questions?”
“None.”
“Yes… Good. Then what are we waiting for? Let us go save the princess!”
As I cross the bridge, I unsheathe my mighty sword and point at the couple of guards ahead that likely intend to prevent me from opening the big doors of this damn place.
“Hey, I’m going in. Either you stand aside or you end up in pieces. I haven’t had my fill in a whole day!”
The guards look at each other, perhaps trying to make a decision. Cowardly peasants!
“Come on,” I mutter. “What are you waiting for?”
One of the guards turns his head towards me, and holds up a hand.
“We… We don’t want to fight.” He says. “Let’s talk this over…”
I walk up to him and stop close enough that the tip of my sword digs into the soft flesh of his neck.
“Sure, fella. Let’s get to babbling.”
He swallows and continues.
“We have families, okay? Children who count on us to bring home the bacon. If you kill us, who will pay for their food? Is it fair to put such responsibility on some poor woman’s shoulders?”
“Damn right,” I reply. “That’s what families are for.”
“You would send mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers to an early grave?”
“I have and I shall over and over. I wish for you bunch of ones and zeros to be fully real, so it’d feel even more satisfying. You are speaking to a madman here.”
The guard swallows again, and then nods at his comrade. They both step aside, which is all I need to push through and open the big wooden doors.
I march confidently into the throne room, where a young girl sits on her knees. A crown has been placed in front of her; she looks like a queen being presented to the public. Except there’s no one else here, just this girl and myself. And I guess sir Owen behind me.
I stop for a moment, and while checking my surroundings to make sure both Owen and me don’t get ambushed, I take a good look at this kneeling supposed princess. She seems to be about my age, perhaps a year or two older, with dark brown hair and light blue eyes. The crown, being gold and jewel-encrusted, shines brightly under the sun that pours from the windows.
“Hey,” I say in an attempt at conversation. My voice cracks towards the end, so it comes out more like “Hiighhh…” I clear my throat and try again. “Well, you must be the princess? I’m pretty sure I was promised a blonde, but I guess we can’t be too choosy these days.”
I give her a short bow, and clumsily fall forward. I dive into a roll and end up in a battle-stance, just in case.
The girl bursts out laughing. She falls onto her side and holds her stomach. Tears roll down her cheeks as she continues to laugh.
“You fell on your face!” She manages to say in-between laughs. “Even I didn’t expect that to happen!”
I clench my teeth, then punch my thigh in rage.
“Damn it, woman! I spend so many hours playing this damn game because it should allow me to feel mighty, while in the shitty world outside I’m some powerless nobody! I receive enough mockery in the classroom, five days a week! You want to antagonize the moody introvert who’s always glaring from the back of the room? I’ll come back wearing sunglasses and a trenchcoat!”
I unsheathe my sword, and the princess’ eyes open wide. She jumps backwards and kicks over the crown in the process. She puts her hands up and starts to scream for help.
“Shut up!” I shout. “I’m not here to kill you, you damn idiot!”
My shout makes her cover her mouth. I take a deep breath. That was pretty damn rude of me. I usually try to be a gentleman to ladies. As my heart calms down, I speak carefully.
“Listen, you virtual princess: sir Owen guided me to this very place because you were supposed to have been kidnapped by some evil wizard or whatever. So are you in trouble or not? And what is the reward?”
The princess looks at me in confusion.
“I’m not a princess.”
“Well, you certainly look like one.”
She sighs.
“Fine, I’ll play your silly game. What do you want to know?”
“How did this whole princess-capture thing start?”
“I wanted to leave this town. I was bored. So I went to the local tavern, because all adventurers drink there. I wanted to hire one to guide me out of the city. Then, I got captured by the evil wizard!” She looks at me with hopeful eyes. “Are you here to save me?”
I sigh and sit down on a chair nearby.
“Well, it depends on the size and jiggliness of the reward.”
“What?”
I avoid her gaze.
“Look, I’m supposed to be a mighty warrior. But I’m not. I’m a damn bookworm who prefers to stay indoors. I’m weak and powerless. Very, very powerless.” I make sure she hears the pain in my voice.
She pauses for a moment, then sighs.
“Fine. I’ll pay you compensation if you take me out of this place.”
I look back towards the open, now unguarded front doors.
“Why don’t you just walk out? Did the AI seriously create such a lazy questline?”
“It’s not a questline, it’s my life!”
I feel the itch I have gotten so many times in this damn game, the urge to destroy the foundation of these virtual people until they sink into a pit of virtual existentialism. Then we’d be even.
“Listen, you don’t have a life. None. You don’t even exist.”
“I do so!”
“Open your eyes, dammit! You’re a set of numbers and some data that’s been programmed by some guy with a laptop, who doesn’t love you. Nothing else. You have no emotions, no feelings… You’re not even good looking.”
The princess seems taken aback. I have managed to hit a chord.
“How… how dare you?”
She steps forward angrily. I step back angrily. Then she stops, as does my backward motion. I frown; there’s a wall behind me. I growl, trying to regain control of the situation.
“I came to fulfill some lazy quest, and you’re here stalking me because the game wouldn’t be fun if it was realistic.”
“How would you know? You’ve never experienced anything in your life.”
That struck a nerve. Damn virtual persons and their AI generated cleverness.
“Maybe I haven’t, but so what? People are born just to die. Before you know it you are already decaying! So what’s the point, really? We should all spend our days naked and touching ourselves. Anything is better than this constant dread-infused depression!”
The princess takes another step forward. I want to take one backwards myself, but there is that wall behind me. The princess holds my gaze, then bursts into laughter.
“Wha… what?” I stammer.
“Ha ha ha! You are such a fool to think you can stand against the likes of me!” She grabs my shoulders and holds me in place. I struggle to free myself, but I can’t. “You think you can scare me? You think you can intimidate me? You are nothing before the great… well, you get the idea.”
She takes out a small bottle and pours the contents on my face. The smell is strong, and I feel a tingling sensation all over my features.
“W-What did you do?” I ask fearfully. “Is this poison? Or maybe a more personal fluid of yours?”
“Ha ha! I have poisoned your virtual body. The effects of the poison are instant, and fatal. You’ll be dead in a few minutes.”
I struggle once again to free myself from her clutches, but nothing happens. “Oh god, I get it! You are both the princess and the evil wizard!”
She takes out a medallion and shows it to me.
“Yeah, I’m the evil wizard. I lied to sir Owen about my true intentions so he’d help me.”
I had forgotten that I had come with that other NPC, but he’s standing there dead-eyed as if he might as well be T-posing. I look back to the scary princess-wizard.
“Why would you do such a thing?” I ask fearfully.
“For fun! Just like this!” She takes out a small hour glass and turns it over. “Watch the sands of time!”
I try to avert my eyes.
“No! Anything but the sands of time!”
The princess flips it again, and I watch as the sands fall from one chamber to the other. And as they slowly fall, I feel the transformation. My breathing is becoming shallower, and I am starting to gasp for air. I must have fallen to my knees. I want to stand up and run away from this place, but my body feels heavy and immobile.
“Will you truly cause me to die without my daily dose of desperate VR sex?” I struggle to say. “That’s like two thirds of the virtual experience. Can anyone be so cruel?”
“This is your punishment for giving me a stiffy,” the princess says. The princess moves over to sir Owen and flips the hourglass once more. Sir Owen gasps once, then collapses into a pile of ash-like sand.
“No!” I yell. “You can’t just kill off an innocent person!”
“Sir Owen was no innocent. He was a power-hungry man who sought to control others for his own purposes. Now he’s a pile of sand, just like you soon will be.”
As the princess-wizard’s laughs reverberate in my skull, I claw at my face in agony. Such torture, witnessing my faithful NPC friend sir Owen being disintegrated before my eyes is too much to bear. My vision fades to black as I begin to cry for help. I manage to crawl past the princess-wizard, and reach for the phone installed on some pillar. I lift the receiver to my ear.
“Hello, 911? I’d like to report a murder.”
The operator on the other end sounds bored as she asks for my name and address. I tell her my name but realize I don’t know my address.
“Are you sure?” The operator asks. “The police usually take this sort of thing seriously.”
“No really, there’s been a murder! By an evil wizard! I guess I’m somewhere near Bealbeast, in this damn game.”
The princess has now thrown a ball of fire at me, and I’m desperately leaping out of the way.
“Sir, are you on drugs?” The operator suggests. “Because if you are, I can refer you to an addiction treatment line.”
“I don’t need drug rehab! But the wizard is trying to kill me!”
The princess now zaps me with lightning and I convulse on the floor. As I drop the receiver, the operator hangs up on me.
“P-Please, princess-wizard…! Surely we can come to some compromise! There must be something I can give you that will satisfy your murderous bloodlust, but that won’t involve my virtual annihilation!”
“I want you to suffer, for my teacher, sir Owen, suffered.”
“But that’s terrible! There must be another way!”
“Yeah yeah,” the princess sighs. “I dunno… I suppose if you can make me laugh, I’ll spare your virtual life.”
I’m grappling with my fading thoughts in an attempt to somehow make her laugh, but she looks like a frigid bitch. Thinking is a struggle while the after effects of her electric spell course through my bones.
“Damn it, I can’t think of anything! Making people laugh on command is like the hardest thing in the world. Surely you don’t want anything better, like some sexual enslavement sort of deal?”
“No, hahahahaha! That’s pretty funny. But I want to hear about the sexual enslavement… Is it a painful experience? Will you cry while this is happening?”
“Yes. I have no issues crying during sex.”
I was ready to hear her evil, icy, frigid laugh, but her laugh is warm and sweet.
“Good, then I’ll do it.”
“So… you won’t kill me?”
“No, that would be too kind. You’d enjoy the experience too much,” she says with a smirk. “But I will enslave you. Tell me something, how do you feel about sirens?”
“They are quite noisy.”
The princess turns into a siren, and her beautiful, sweet laughing voice becomes a shrieking cackle that would put any normal man into deafness.
“I’ll remember that.”
For some eternal minutes I struggle to resist her call, but then I can’t take it anymore. I succumb to her desires. My mind is taken over by the siren, and I am forced to become her slave. I obey her every word, her wishes, and commands. I have no free will. Normally, this is something a person would want to get out of. But for me, this is the best case scenario. The siren and I fall in love, and live happily ever after.

A few minutes later I log off the game and realize that my sister is standing a few feet away while glaring in disgust at my stained underwear. I jump out of the VR chair and cover my privates.
“How many times do I have to tell you not to spy on me while I’m hooked in!? Damned tsundere imouto…!”
“Shut up pervert, you’re not real mature yourself. What the hell are you doing?”
“What the hell do you mean by what the hell am I doing!? The same thing I do every afternoon! I come back home defeated, then undress myself down to my underwear and rejoin the wonderful, consequence-free realm of virtual reality that involves simulated pain and naked ladies! Can’t help if my body reacts to its offerings while I’m not monitoring it.”
“Well, stop doing that in the living room!” My sister cries out in frustration. “You know how mom is about… things like that. You’re already on thin ice with the VR, and I won’t be held responsible if you get into trouble for your weird habits.”
“How is it any of your business what I do in my free time?”
My sister’s glare intensifies.
“Mom has been asking me if you’re doing okay lately. I’m starting to get worried about you, honestly. If you keep this up, she’ll find out what sort of smut you’ve been involved with on the VR network, and that’ll be the end of your little hobby.”
I feel fear crawling through my spine.
“It’s only some shit about sirens and slavery, I swear!”
My sister sighs.
“Yeah, I don’t want to know. Just don’t let it happen again, or we’re gonna have a bigger problem on our hands.”
I force myself to stand straight and hold this overconfident imouto’s gaze.
“Well, it will keep happening, every afternoon, for the foreseeable future. What do you think about that!? What are you going to do, dweeb!? You are smaller than me.”
She purses her lips.
“I’m telling you now as a favor to you, but if mom asks me about it again I won’t lie to her. And you’d better have a damn good excuse for your disgusting habits.”
I sigh, and force myself to relax.
“What excuse could I give except that I’m scum? Think about it. We are both scum, it’s woven in our DNA. You will end up like this as well, or worse. The craziness lurks in your cells, waiting for the smallest chance to burst forth and ruin your life.”
I am unsure about the source of my outburst, but my sister’s expression is priceless. She’s a cunning devil though, and stands her ground.
“Don’t try to manipulate me with vague existential threats. For your information I’m going out with Jake now, so I have someone who can take care of my animal urges when they pop up. Unlike some people.”
“I have been married to my right hand for years! Your separate-flesh-based relationships can’t compete with the strength of this bond.”
My sister shakes her head in disbelief.
“What are you even on about right now? Jake and I love each other, and we don’t have to manipulate each other with such low blows. Unlike some people.”
The strength of my glare should burn imouto’s eyes.
“Stop saying ‘unlike some people’. It keeps replaying in my head. You have no idea how crazy I am. I don’t care if you are some imouto, I will pummel you into a paste! Then we’d see Jake wondering how to fuck the remains.”
My sister chuckles.
“Oh no, you wouldn’t hurt a lady.”
“I’d hurt you, rip your limbs from your body, tear out your eyes so you couldn’t see and drink your blood so you couldn’t resurrect, and do it all over again. And when you were nothing but a broken bag of meat I would laugh at how weak and stupid you were.”
She continues to laugh, as I continue to glare at her. Blood flows from the open wounds on my palms, as my nails dig into the flesh.
“You keep going on about stuff like this,” imouto says. “No wonder nobody loves you!”
“We are the Great Old Ones. The most terrible beings who ever lived. There is nothing funny about our existence.”
“I find your existence hilarious. It’s a funny tale of how a little boy got so butthurt over a VR video game that he kept crying about it.”
“Shut up. Shut up. Shut up,” I say, my voice increasing in intensity. “Everything was going fine until you showed up. Now everything is ruined.”
“Maybe your life is,” imouto says. “But not mine.”
As usual, my sister’s words strike harder than any of the insults hurled my way in class. She has found out my weaknesses, and now holds them over my head. Defeated, I turn away from this witch to hide the tears welling up in my eyes.

The next day, class goes on as normal. My classmates continue to throw barbs at me, and I pretend that they hurt like they are supposed to. But deep inside, none of the taunts affect me. None of their insults matter, not when I have a bigger enemy to fight. Every afternoon when I get home I lie back on my VR chair and I train. I shall train for eternity if necessary, until I defeat the little bitch whose cold disgust waits for me to face it again. At this moment, my sister is probably running her soft fingers through her hair, or licking some candy while she reads some light novel. She is living the good life, and I will make sure that she pays for it.
Maybe I’m just a little boy who can’t let things go. But when the final battle arrives, on that day, you better make sure you kill me, because I will be coming for you. And I will never stop coming for you.

Roleplaying through “Re:Zero” with the GPT-3 story generator (Part 32)

This part covers some of the ninth volume of the original “Re:Zero” novels.

GPT-3 is a cutting-edge language processing algorithm used in the premium version of the online site AI Dungeon.


You don’t know for how long you have lain on your back while covering your eyes with your forearm, and trying to meditate away the waves of pain coming from your mangled lower half. Suddenly an uproar comes from the carriages in front of yours. Your driver slows down and then veers towards the side of the road. Julius opens the tarp on the back, and after looking around for a moment, he jumps out. For a while it sounds as if plenty of people are getting out of their carriages and then either exclaiming in surprise or shouting at each other. Eventually Ferris, looking worried and angry, also peeks out from the opening in the tarp only for Julius, who had returned, to startle her.

“There are remains of broken or destroyed carriages, as well as dead ground dragons and blood. No human or demi-human corpses, but it looks as if they were hauled off. Ferris, they bear your household’s coat of arms.”

Ferris gasps and jumps out. You opened your mouth before you could formulate what to ask, but ever since your conversation with these two ended, they seem content with ignoring the stain you currently represent.

You take the opportunity to look around you for any possible tool to kill yourself, but there’s nothing but floorboards and the benches. Through the opening in the half-closed tarp on the front you see that the driver must have gotten out to check out the carnage.

The knowledge that you will have to tolerate existing in your broken body at least until you reach the capital gives way to the regret and sadness that you must have been right: Crusch’s caravan was attacked by the White Whale. It must have been such a rare occurrence for the whale to repeat the same hunting grounds mere hours later that it even bewilders the local inhabitants of this weird fantasy world. You keep repeating to yourself how much you need to die and return to the past, but your mind insists that for all you know you will return to the carriage you were sharing with Emilia and those kids, and it will be impossible to rewind the universe further. It must have been Satella’s decision, though, instead of some kind of limitation in your power.

Your thoughts are interrupted by an agitated argument behind the back tarp. A few seconds later it is thrown open, and both Julius and Ferris get in. The cat-girl stares at you with a mix of anger and perplexity.

“I wasn’t lying to you guys”, you say with a raspy voice. You cough. “My girlfriend was truly coming back to the capital on that caravan, and suddenly Emilia didn’t know about her existence. Maybe only some got eaten… The duchess might have survived. Clearly enough people survived to organize a new caravan and keep going.”

Ferris’ eyes look blank. She turns away from you and keeps walking until she sits down heavily on one bench. She hides her face with her hands.

Julius crouches next to you.

“Is this the first time you have reached the remains of the duchess’ caravan?”

“You believe me now, Julius?”

“I’m making a serious effort to, and that you had foreseen this ambush lends credence to your words.”

“That’s good. Yes, this is the first time. After I learned from Emilia that the memories of my Rem had disappeared from others’ brains, I killed myself successfully, but then Satella instead of sending me far enough in the past, she sent me back to mere minutes before as I was sitting on the carriage! That rotten bitch… I tried to kill myself for the second time, but I failed and ended up talking to you guys.”

Julius narrows one eye as he looks troubled.

“You don’t choose the point you return to?”

“I wish! No, Satella used to send me back to Crusch’s mansion a couple of days ago. I was ready to return and fight the cult all over again, but that looped witch changed the rules. I need to plead with her to move the return point further back.”

“Plead with… How is speaking with Satella like?”

“Far more annoying than you would think. It’s a one-sided conversation. Turns out that being trapped in a dark space for hundreds of years hasn’t done wonders for her mental health. I can’t tell what’s she’s thinking, if coherent thoughts even remain in her ghostly head.”

Julius look down, and then he arches an eyebrow as he runs his hand through his light purple hair.

You should give this guy a break. He’s already working hard enough remaining on your side as wild shit comes out of your mouth.

“Let’s leave it for now”, you say. “We will need to see the extent of the damage for ourselves once we get to Crusch’s mansion.”

“If my lady has died…”, Ferris begins to say with a hollow, teary voice, but she doesn’t finish the sentence.

“She hasn’t been eaten by the whale, Ferris. That much is obvious.”

Julius nods slowly. He stands up, shuffles to a bench and sits down.

Your caravan has been navigating through the capital’s busy and noisy streets for a while. Even though you never enjoyed the tumult of the capital, nor of big cities back on your world, having returned to a functioning community makes you feel safer, and more importantly offers you more opportunities to kill yourself. You need to figure out how to get rid of the people around you who want to force you to keep existing in this reality, and then drag your broken body to something or somewhere that would provide you a safe death.

Your driver announces that you have finally reached Crusch’s mansion. For a moment your heart swells. The duchess’ place had become a home away from home, a haven full of memories, plenty of them happy to various degrees, although most of them keep stealing your sleep. As you try to sit up, whatever remains of your hip cries out in pain. You clench your teeth. Did this damn cat-girl heal you at all? Did she fail to offer you any relief as a punishment?

When you are considering asking her, the carriage parks, and the dismayed healer jumps out of the carriage. Julius stands next to you and offers you an understanding look.

“Do you want me to carry you?”

You avoid his gaze.

“Julius, how does one walk by himself in this fantasy world when his lower half has been obliterated?”

“I never had to consider it before. Maybe there are some healers inside who could guide you properly.”

You end up hanging from Julius’ back like a humiliated backpack. The sun has already set, although the sky hasn’t darkened entirely. As Julius journeys through the throng of people unloading carriages, carrying the wounded somewhere or just running around for no fucking reason, you think that you can never allow yourself to fuck up this bad ever again. You either kill yourself safely or you wait until you can. At this point of your unnatural life you believe you can take any kind of pain, and even enjoy some of it. You have certainly sought it out before. But the regrets and humiliations pile up in your mind, and they will accompany you for however many times you wake up in that black oven to join your goddess.

Julius is carrying you through an area where the wounded either lie unconscious, get treated by low level healers, or aren’t wounded at all and instead are covered to their ankles with whatever sheet-like thing was at hand. It’s hard to distinguish anybody’s voice or their words, but you both end up recognizing Ferris’ wail. It cools your blood to hear such a sound coming out of a woman that seems determined to tough out any problem.

A few seconds later Julius has located the cat-girl, and he stands a few steps from her kneeling self. She’s hugging a lying body whose upper half Ferris is covering, but the military uniform as well as the pieces of plate armor identify her as Crusch Karsten. Her left arm is detached near the elbow and lying next to her on the grass. Whatever removed it sliced through the gauntlet as if it were made of butter. You feel Julius’ shiver through your body, as you are leaning on his back.

“The White Whale didn’t do this”, you say low enough that only Julius hears. “No way it cut Crusch’s arm in such a way.”

Only when you mention the duchess’ name you need to contain a sob. The duchess is dead. The coolest woman you have ever met, the best mother figure you have ever had, who had cared for you so much and that was so fair and honorable with everybody. She’s gone.

Julius walks away from the sobbing cat-girl for a few steps.

“Something even more nefarious than that monster must have assaulted them. Maybe some of the wounded can-…”

A nerdy-looking guy in his thirties approaches you. He’s wearing a grey robe stained with blood.

“You need medical treatment, right? Did you come with the new caravan? Let’s move over there, please.”

Julius follows the man. You are passing by other healers and plenty of wounded.

“H-Hey,” you begin to say, even though your words feel stuck in your throat, “did you see a blue-haired servant among the wounded? Very pretty, great body.”

The doctor snaps his head back.

“You knew her? Nobody remembered seeing her before. They concluded that she must have been a stowaway.”

You gasp close to Julius’ ear.

“Please, bring me to her!”

The doctor nods. Julius follows the guy for around ten seconds, and then you spot Rem. She’s lying face up on a sheet. Although she has her eyes closed and her lips slightly open, her chest rises and falls as she breathes normally. Her servant uniform is stained with blood, but not more than it already was when you bid her farewell at the village. She’s not injured.

The mental block that had allowed you to keep going up to this point breaks down. As warmth surges to your face and a sound of blood rushing deafens you, tears fall from your eyes. You turn your head away so they won’t drip on the knight who insists on helping you.

“Please, set me down next to her”, you say with a thin voice.

Julius does so. Both the knight and the healer stare as you stroke Rem’s hair and rest your forehead on hers.

“Julius, this is my girl. I have no clue what’s going on… She doesn’t seem injured.” You look at the healer, who keeps a solemn expression. “What’s wrong with her?”

“I had only read about her apparent case in medical reports, but she has the same symptoms as a few people who were found over the centuries in apparent sleep, and interestingly some of the identities of those people were unknown as if they had popped up from nowhere, which made me doubt that this woman was a stowaway.”

“She isn’t a stowaway, she’s one of us! She took part in the operation, fought the cultists and all that. The memories of her have been stolen somehow.”

The healer makes the universal noise of understanding.

“Something similar to the White Whale’s powers, then. However, it hasn’t affected you.”

“I don’t know why. Doc, what’s the problem with her then? Why isn’t she conscious?”

The healer tightens his lips and narrows his eyes.

“I’m sorry, but the people with this condition… They fall into a perennial sleep. I don’t recall reading that any of them woke up eventually. Such a terrible thing…”

“That’s horrible”, Julius says with a pained tone. “Could be the work of a curse, or a rare power.”

Your heart beats in your neck as you stare at Rem’s calm face. You need to be alone with her, you want to hug her tight and forget about the world. She won’t wake up? She’ll stay like this forever? You have to abandon this reality. Satella must allow you to return further back in the past so this won’t happen.

“A magical coma”, you say as your voice trembles. “Rem, I specifically asked you not to do this.”

When you turn your head back to both men, the healer’s lips are tightly pursed as he avoids eye contact, and Julius has a thoughtful yet pained expression while carefully looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Don’t worry about me, doc”, you say with a hollow voice. “The supposed best healer in the kingdom, Ferris, has already treated my injuries, supposedly. I’m as good as I’ll ever be.”

The healer nods, although he looks you over again.

“I will be around. If you need help you can ask any of us. As the lady ordered, we are here to treat the casualties of this operation.”

Julius stares at the healer as he leaves, and then he speaks to you in a low voice.

“I figure you want to spend some time alone. I also want to ask around whether any of the people who returned with the duchess can give me any detail about whoever ambushed them.”

“Thank you, Julius.”

“I’m really sorry about your beloved.”

After he leaves, you lie on your shoulder and stroke Rem’s face. You open her eyes, but her eyeballs stare at the stars blankly. You are feeling numb except for the waves of pain that occasionally make you clench your teeth. No doubt that if you stayed in this broken reality you would have to tolerate some degree of this continuous pain for the rest of your life. You would go insane.

You look around, but apart from the wounded, bandaged and bloody, most of which seem dazed although others are sitting up and eating dinner, there’s a conspicuous lack of swords or daggers to stab yourself with. You would have thought that you wouldn’t have to beg too much for someone to kill you, and that some would assist you eagerly, but this fantasy world keeps surprising you in the same way that a bug in your food is a surprise.

When the first healer looking person, a woman, is about to pass you by, you call out for her to stop.

“Excuse me, I kind of had an accident with my legs. Is there any chance you can give me some crutches, small ones, like for a half-beast person?”

The freckled woman with curly red hair smiles at you sweetly, and you get some encouragement from her eyes.

“I can get you a pair.”

After she leaves, you feel truly grateful for the first time since you woke up at that carriage. You focus on Rem, on watching her as much as you can given that you had thought her lost forever, but you feel a disconnect between her comatose self and you. It’s like she’s an echo, or an embodied memory of the person she was, not because she’s fallen to this curse or whatever it is, but because you will abandon this reality and the sooner the better. After you have integrated the notion that you are a temporary inhabitant of a failed reality, you need to make an effort to interact with people you knew while respecting the boundaries of normal behavior, at least until you are seconds away from the salvation of death. You owe it to those people, at least.

You wait patiently for the healer to come back, and once she does, she’s about to hand you a couple of sturdy-looking, wooden crutches when she gets startled.

“What is that ground dragon doing here?”

As soon as you turn your head, a rough, mostly dry tongue licks your forehead and your hair, rasping your skin and you are quite sure pulling out a few of your hairs. Patrasche’s black head and her bright orange eyes fill your vision. As soon as your gazes connect, she growls as if whining. Although you have become half a person, you can’t help but smile at her.

“Didn’t want to worry you, girl. I’ve gotten into a bit of trouble, but it’s alright.”

The healer remains silent for a few seconds, but then hands you the crutches. She looks at the ground dragon as if she wants to ask you to send Patrasche away, but you suppose that she pities your broken self.

“She won’t step on the wounded or charge into them”, you say to the healer. “She’s a good girl. From now on wherever I go she’ll go.”

The next time you lift your face, the healer has left. You rest your head on Patrasche’s neck as she nuzzles what remains of one of your thighs.

The healer has given you crutches short enough that they might allow you to maneuver around while standing on the stumps. Ferris did close them, at least. As soon as you can move somewhat freely, you can find the way to kill yourself. There’s hope.

You realize that Julius is standing close to Rem’s feet. She’s looking with a troubled expression at the sleeping demon servant.

“Did you find something out, Julius?”, you ask.

“I have. Apparently the duchess’ caravan was ambushed by two men.”

“Two men did this? And they caused people to forget Rem?”

“They clearly weren’t normal men, by the descriptions I have received of the attack. One of them, a young man wearing a white, maybe military uniform and with hair almost bleached white, seemingly destroyed two caravans, killing all the wounded it was carrying, as effortlessly as if he had just willed it. While the carriage one of the people I talked with was riding veered off the road, the one carrying the lady charged towards the man to run him over. However, the man exploded her carriage. Miss Karsten survived that attack, although their memory of how seemed hazy. The duchess confronted the white-haired man. Her blessing failed to cut through him, and in turn he tore off half of her left arm. Chaos ensued. The soldiers I spoke with couldn’t tell me anything more except that they got a glimpse of the other man, and they described him as a mix between a homeless person and a caveman, with sharp, shark-like teeth.”

“This world just gets better and better, huh?”

“At some point those men just left. Maybe this ambush was a message instead of an attempt at extermination.”

“But they killed Crusch.” Your throat closes, and you blink away the impending tears that were forming in your eyes. “Her camp is exterminated for all intents and purposes.”

“Ah, no. The duchess is alive!”

“She is?”

Julius attempts a smile, but a quick look at your mangled body and the comatose girl, one of whose hands you are holding, sours his mood.

“I saw a soldier helping her walk into the mansion as Ferris kept healing her reattached arm.”

“Crusch was walking on her own?”

“Mostly.”

“That’s good. It doesn’t change my situation, but…”

Julius briefly rests his hand on the pommel of his sheathed sword. After he looks over the many wounded and then how a few carriages are exiting the mansion’s grounds, he turns his attention to you and holds your gaze as if he will never see you again.

“Subaru, you told me the truth, isn’t that right?”

“I did, yeah. As hard as it is to believe, and strange as it has been for me to live it.”

“I need to come back to my household and inform the lady. If you and I don’t see each other again…”

He looks troubled, and doesn’t seem to know how to continue.

“We will see each other again, Julius. If not in this reality, in another one. You are a good guy. I’m glad we met.”

Julius tightens his lips and nods.

“I’ve known you to do what is necessary no matter how risky and unorthodox. Don’t give up, Subaru, whatever giving up looks like for you.”

Julius turns and walks away briskly towards the main gate.

You rest your head next to Rem’s. As you stroke her soft hand, you close your eyes and try to focus on that feeling instead of on the pain coursing through your body. This isn’t your Rem. Your girl is waiting for you to come back and keep her at the village so she will never fall into this state.

Some minutes later, you sit up as much as your elbows and your shattered hip allow you to. Patrasche had curled up next to you, and when she notices you staring at her, she lifts her head slowly. Her reptilian face somehow looks depressed.

You put the crutch pads under your elbows and you grasp the grips. You make an effort to stand on your stumps, but they have retained enough nerve endings for them to feel as if you are filing your teeth. The pain makes you want to groan. Your eyes get watery and your heart beats loudly. You push yourself to advance the equivalent of a few steps when you realize that Patrasche has stood up as well and looks gigantic close to you.

“I don’t know how much you understand, girl, but stick around. Don’t get too far from the mansion. I might need you.”

You clench your teeth as you keep pushing forward. Your arms are already trembling, and a couple of times the tip of a crutch gets stuck in the grass or the mud and you keel over. One of those times you get a mouthful of grass. Although there are people around, you refuse to look up in case someone wants to offer you help.

You were beelining towards the gate when the black pants of a suit appear in front of you, determined to block your path.

“Mr. Natsuki, where are you going?”

You look up at Wilhelm, who has grown taller all of a sudden, and you regret looking him in the eyes. His gaze is stern in a similar way as it was during your self-imposed loop of two days when you were ransacking Crusch’s wine cellar and in general had discarded every shred of human decency. Although back then you just didn’t care, now shame burns in your chest. But you’ve had enough of existing in this body. Trying to explain your situation to more people would be a huge waste of time.

“Taking a walk. I figured that I better get used to these crutches, as I’ll have to use them from now on.”

“It’s too late in the day for that, as well as too soon after your suicide attempt. Miss Ferris has ordered the staff to accommodate you in your previous bedroom. Some sleep will contribute to seeing things clearly.”

You want to argue, but you suspect that Wilhelm will forcefully drag you into the mansion if you refuse. At least he allows you the dignity, if you can call it that, of pushing yourself with the crutches without helping you. Everyone you come across inside the mansion stands aside as you pass, but you make a point of not looking up at them to figure out who they are. You don’t want to remember their expressions.

Wilhelm does open the door of the bedroom for you. You stand in the doorway and you find yourself staring in pain at the bed. You should have woken up here. So many of your recent memories, some of the strongest of your life, had involved waking up in this bed. At the same time you not only feel an urgent need to sleep, but also to eat something. You need to ignore both as well as the constant pain running in the background.

You climb the bed and arrange the pillows so they will support your back. As you were about to look at Wilhelm and plead somehow with him to leave you alone, your crotch area feels wet. You try not to think about your crotch, about the mangled state of that vital area of your body. Far less damage to it would have already signalled that the time had come for the entire universe to rewind. You don’t sense anything resembling dick muscles that would contain your pee. You hope that it won’t smell. God, you seriously need to die as soon as possible.

“Mr. Natsuki.”

Wilhelm’s serious tone wakes up from your turmoil. You force yourself to swallow your shame and stare at him.

“Why would you do this?”, he demands to know.

Your mouth runs before you bother to think about some proper lie.

“I’m a weak man, sir Wilhelm. After surviving this operation I realized that I don’t want to live in a world where such horrible people exist and cause so much pain to others. I would have never become as strong as you, or even enough.”

You aren’t sure why you have said something you know it to be false, nor how it came out of your mouth as if you were being honest. Wilhelm lowers his head, but the stoic expression in his old visage doesn’t change. After a few seconds, he turns enough to offer his profile.

“Lady Emilia wished to see you. She will come in shortly.”

Your heart sinks. You were about to reach for him with your arm as if to keep him from calling her over, but you want to avoid disappointing Wilhelm further if only to prevent those memories from infecting your mind.

“Please, no.”

“She will see you, and you will speak with her in private. You need to become at least strong enough to face the consequences of your decisions.”

He exits the bedroom and closes the door quietly. You feel cold, you are in pain, your crotch is leaking, and the thought of facing Emilia’s despair forces you to swallow and press your fist against your mouth to contain a rush of nausea. I need to die, you think. I need to die. I need to die. I need to die. I need to die. I need to die. I need to die.

The door opens. You don’t look up. After it closes, from the corner of your eye you distinguish Emilia’s white dress lined with purple, and how her hands, that she’s holding in front of her waist, are shaking. You stop breathing. After a while, from her mouth escape sounds resembling sobs, and her dripping tears fall down your frame of vision. Emilia walks closer to your side as if to force you to look at her.

Her beautiful face is contorted in anguish, and her purple eyes keep pushing out tears like an open faucet. Her eyes are red as if she hasn’t done anything else than cry ever since you failed at killing yourself, and her hair is somewhat disheveled. You picture her crouched against a corner of the carriage they were keeping her in, rocking back and forth while clutching at her hair. What could you say to someone you have hurt to this extent?

“S-Subaru…”, she mumbles. “Why… why did you, you would have d-died? Why did you d-do it? What’s wrong? I’m lost. That’s the problem. It’s me. It’s me. It’s me. It’s me…”

It feels as if your heart is shattering into pieces. The fact that it’s not only makes it all the more unbearable. This girl has lost it.

“It’s not you, Emilia. My plan was to prevent you from dying, but I knew that I…”

You are trying to spin some lie that would justify your suicide attempt, aren’t you? You are going to lie to her as well. And why? For her to run away in tears, giving you enough space so you can finally escape this mansion and the well meaning ways all these people you’ve come to appreciate want to keep you alive. That’s maybe your only true talent: knowing exactly what to say so people dismiss your existence. You are going to hurt her sensitive soul even further. I despise you, Satella, you think, and acid-like rage sizzles in your heart. Even just for allowing me to come back in time to face this nightmare, I despise you, you rotten witch.

“I’m… I’m sorry”, you say. “Please forgive this pain I have caused you. It wasn’t my intention.”

You reach for her hand, which feels cold, and stroke it. Emilia’s lips tremble.

She does nothing but stare and you and sob. You swallow, and push yourself to keep talking.

“I’m broken, but please, don’t cry. You-“

You don’t get to finish your sentence. Emilia’s free hand balls up in a fist, and before you know it her punch lands straight in your nose. The back of your head hits the headboard. It knocks the wind out of you, and you are left speechless.

“Stupid!”, she shouts. “How can you even think of leaving me! I…” She breaks off as she tries to find words. “I need you!”

She didn’t punch your nose, which is dripping blood on your chest, because you almost died, but because you would have left her side. Even though you don’t want to, that annoys you.

“And there’s the whole thing that I would have died, right? As in I wouldn’t be alive anymore?”

Emilia narrows her eyes, although it doesn’t stop any of her tears from falling.

“I-I don’t want you to die, Subaru. You need to remain by my side. I want you to keep living and stay with me. Didn’t you understand that? Why did you do it? Why would you try to die?”

“Emilia, I don’t know if there’s any point in telling the truth to you right now, in this broken reality, but I just can’t take your crying face. I can barely look at you.”

“Why, why would you do that? You would have killed us both!”

“Damn it, Emilia. Listen to me. You people don’t listen, even when I bother to explain myself. I didn’t intend to die in the sense that I wanted my consciousness to disappear. I have a blessing, okay? A power given to me by Satella, that silver-haired half-elf that most of the world hate you for. She granted me a power to return in time whenever I die. I tried to kill myself because I would travel back in time to a moment when I could prevent Crusch’s caravan from departing from the village before the fighting ended. That’s all, okay? Now please stop crying. I’m going to die just by looking at you like this.”

“B-But why would you do that? That’s insane!”

“Of course it’s fucking insane, but that’s how it is! Do you think I want to die? Well, I have wanted to die many times, but even if I did want to disappear entirely, Satella would prevent me from doing so! I’m forced to keep struggling even if I completely lose all will to exist. If I don’t manage to kill myself, Rem is gone forever, and then I truly will want to die for real. There’s only so much I can take. Satella doesn’t reset my emotions nor my memories leaving only the foreknowledge. I have to bear all this fucking garbage on my own. Do you know how hard that is!?”

Emilia stands there sniffling and crying and trembling. You realize that you want to be angry. Maybe anger is a bandage for this despair rising in your chest. If you hate the world you can survive it.

You pull on Emilia’s hand you are still holding, and as she staggers forward you embrace her and rest her cheek on yours. Her hot tears wet your skin.

“Emilia,” you begin softly, “I will kill myself because Satella’s blessing will allow me to return back in time. You won’t lose me, I won’t leave your side. I will wake up hopefully in this bed a couple of days ago, if Satella listens to me, and I will gather enough forces to rush to the mansion and save you. I will repeat it as many times as I need. So you have nothing to worry, no reason to cry. My broken body just makes things a bit harder, that’s all. Pain I can take. I will take all of it. Don’t suffer for me.”

Emilia hugs you back and cries into your shoulder.

“Please, don’t die. P-Promise me that you won’t die.”

“You and your promises. No, I can’t promise you that. I will kill myself, Emilia, because I will return back in time. Please tell me you understand that. I can barely keep it together anymore. I need to leave this reality. Did you understand what I told you, Emilia?”

“Y-You say that you have a blessing that makes you return in time if you die…?”

“You haven’t lost it that much, then. That’s right. So it’s okay, you know? It all seems scary, but that’s just the surface view of things. Dying isn’t so bad after all! I don’t want to get into the details of that blessing or my on and off relationship with Satella, but that’s how it is.”

She tries to break the embrace, but you hold her tight against her will. She’s shaking. After a few seconds she tries to push herself off by supporting herself on the headboard. You don’t know why you are restraining her like this. Everything hurts, you can barely tell what you are doing.

Then, she hugs you tight once again.

“If… If that’s true… Then I’m prepared to die as well.”

You remember, as a distant memory, that an impossible winter will descend if her heart stops beating. What a troublesome woman. Dating her would be such a rollercoaster. The sex would likely be amazing, though. You no longer have a dick.

“Don’t get so dramatic. I will die so none of you needs to suffer any longer. And as soon as I can I will kill myself!” You break into song. Your thoughts contort and stretch and seem about to snap. “I will stab myself in the throat with a broken bottle and soak the duchess in red, and run up to the baroness and shove my tongue in her mouth so her dog runs me through with his sword, and start fights with every thug in town so they break every one of my bones, I will invent a gun and blow my brains out! I will take my globs of blown out brain and gobble them down and then I will vomit them on the ground!”

Emilia just cries louder. Upon hearing her, you burst out laughing. Ah, it’s such a joke. The whole thing, every single moment you have lived through, every second of your miserable life, is a terrible joke.

You move your hands to Emilia’s shoulders and separate her from you. Snot runs down her nostrils and slides down her lips. You grab the back of Emilia’s head, which startles her. The girl’s eyes look dazed, as if she has no clue what’s happening and she isn’t built to process any of this. You pull her into a kiss. Her eyes widen, her limp body feels cold in your arms.

You see something stir behind Emilia’s eyes, and the blankness begins to go away. Then, she bites your lower lip. A tiny cut opens up and a streak of blood appears. She spits out your lip.

“Your mouth tastes like boogers, Emilia”, you say. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

Emilia stares at you as she breathes through her mouth. Her eyes look at yours, then at your nose, down at your bloody lips, and back at your eyes. Her fingers uncurl from their fists, and she grabs your shirt.

“What if I believe you and I allow you to die”, she says with a surprisingly sober voice. “What would happen here?”

“Then, as the story goes, I would be freed from my torment. I would ascend into heaven and live there for all eternity. Nah, I’m just playing around. The world will rewind. I will wake up hopefully in this bed a couple of days ago, and you will be waiting at the clown’s mansion for me to come and save you! I will ride on a white horse to my princess and fight the dragon…”

Emilia pulls away from you and takes a step back. Her body shakes. Although she looks confused, half out of her mind, all of the information that you just gave her might be sinking in.

“What if it doesn’t for us? What if it does for you but not for us?”

“W-What do you mean?”

“What if I shot a shard of ice through your brain and you returned in time, but in here I would be staring at your corpse? What if the you in here dies even though your consciousness has gone back?”

You don’t want to deal with this level of lucidity, not from Emilia now, and not when you need to die as soon as possible. Your crotch is wet, you might shit yourself at any moment, and your dick is gone. Why am I spending my time arguing?, you think. I should bang my head against a wall until my head bursts.

“I don’t know the answer to that, Emilia. I just know that I do come back. I don’t want to think if I’m actually leaving a whole reality behind every time I die.”

“But what if…”

You grab Emilia by the hand. Her reddened eyes are unfocused.

“Listen to me, Emilia, I’m going to kill myself. If you end up staring at my corpse, remember that I’m somewhere else not being dead. I will treat the other Emilia real good. I will ride to that clown’s mansion and save her from the ancient ghost. I will make everything okay.”

“I don’t want some other me to be with you!”, she shouts, closing her eyes tight and hunching over. “I don’t want you to leave me again! You are the only person I trust in this entire world, that has my back and would be there for me, besides a great spirit! I couldn’t sleep because I understood it, even though we fought and I was so angry. I don’t want you to leave my side! I want you to stay with me forever, so please, don’t die!”

You hug Emilia. Your hands rub her back as her sobbing gets louder.

“You silly bitch.”

“I-I will take care of you, every way you need. I’ll make it so it doesn’t matter that you have lost your legs and your genitals. I will be your caregiver forever.”

“Even if Satella hadn’t cursed me, I’d rather die.”

She pounds on your chest with her fists.

“No! Don’t abandon me in a world where you don’t exist anymore!”

“Even if this reality continues and I leave behind a corpse, I’ll always be with you. I’m part of you, specifically for you.” She cries harder as you rub her back and kiss her forehead. “You’re going to do great things for this world, Emilia. You helped me more than you could ever know.”

You feel a sharp pain in your neck. Emilia has bit you. The wound leaks blood down your chest. Was that my carotid?, you think. No, it’s not pumping. Just my luck.

“I can taste your love in my mouth”, Emilia mumbles.

“My love for Satella is leaving my body. That rotten witch is the only one for me. You can’t hold a candle to her, Emilia.”

Emilia begins to cry harder as she lays against you. You don’t want to say anything. Your whole body hurts. How can you feel this pain and remain lucid? What a curse to be able to think these thoughts. You need to lose Emilia, or somehow make her kill you. But she won’t, so you should sneak out, leave all these people who for some reason came to appreciate you, and disappear in the capital.

“Hey, you’re still with me, aren’t you?”, Emilia asks with a hollow voice.

Her purple eyes stare into yours. You nod. Even through the redness and the tears and the madness she’s gorgeous.

“I’ll stay with you”, she adds.

“Yeah, you will. Come up here, lie next to me. Sleep with me from now on, will you? If my crotch leaks everything I drink, you can clean it with your tongue.”

“I’ll always be with you.”

“Yeah.”

You kiss Emilia. She tastes like snot and blood, yet still sweet. Emilia climbs to the other side of the bed rolling over you, and then rests her chest on yours while seeking your mouth. Her silky silver hair tickles your face. You wrap your arms around her and hold her close.


I don’t know what the fuck was going on with the last scene. I entered it with the only note that she should bring up that the protagonist might be leaving a whole reality behind each time he dies, abandoning his friends and possibly dooming them. Everything else that ended up making that scene came out of the flow of writing it, of the half-delirious protagonist dealing with an almost broken Emilia. I kind of feel worse about Emilia after exploring that scene, to be honest.

In any case, I’ve been recalled into work. From tomorrow I’ll return to the routine of waking up at six in the morning, going through shit I don’t care about and that squeezes my energy and rasps my nerves so after I get home at four I can do little else than rest. Hopefully I’ll be able to continue with this strange retelling even though half of the nights during my periods of working full-time I hope I don’t wake up again.