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Netherwitch - 46
🕑 Added 2025-07-22 16:00:09 +0000 UTC<< Chapter 45 | Table of Contents | Chapter 47 >>
Eric Swallow in his old apartment.
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Chapter 46
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White walls.
Those were the first thing Sylvia noticed. She was lying on her old, twin-sized bed. The room was dark. The only illumination came from the streetlight filtering through her window and the flickering glow cast by her computer’s monitor.
A place familiar but forgotten. This was the apartment she’d lived in as Eric Swallow.
The silver-haired girl sat up. A wheeled office chair squeaked.
“Do you think you belong here?”
The man who spoke was a reflection from her past.
Eric Swallow sat in front of her computer, the chair turned halfway around to face her. Sylvia’s former body was big, fatter than she remembered. The folds of Eric’s waist pressed against both arms of the office chair. She could see the seat strain, too small to carry his weight.
The man’s face was rounded, and not in an endearing sort of way. An afternoon shadow clung to his chin, adding to the sloven picture. His eyes were dark, almost bloodshot from staring at the screen.
Had she once looked like this?
It’d been several years now. Sylvia struggled to remember. Some of the features she knew for sure. The thinning hair atop his head. The irregular spot by his right ear. The others? They could’ve been reality or an illusion of memory conjured by her foggy mind.
“I’m dreaming,” Sylvia realized.
With renewed clarity, the girl looked around the room. Wall posters showed cute girls from anime. A bookshelf contained manga mixed with Eric’s old college texts. Clothes were dumped on the floor, waiting to be scooped up on Saturday, then taken to the wash. Her computer desk was laden with empty cans and discarded wrappers.
Her nose scrunched. Nostalgia was overpowered by disgust. Some things were more repugnant in reflection.
“Maybe you are,” Eric said, his tone snide. “But so what? You’re here. But this isn’t your room, is it? It’s my room.”
Pastel pink eyes returned to the man.
Awakening was a mental journey, a chance to face one’s self. But what did this Eric represent? Her past? Her masculinity? Her doubts? This scenario had been conjured by her soul. It had meaning.
And how she dealt with it held more.
“It’s my room too,” she asserted after a moment.
The fat man scoffed. Then he paused. His lips spread into a slimy smile.
“You say this is your room?”
Eric turned in his chair, mouse moving to open a file. Degrading porn was displayed on the screen, a woman bound and made to serve others. Another window opened, this one of a girl twisted into a slave by an insidious machine. With a vile smile, the fat man extended a box of tissues.
“Then prove it. Let’s watch this, together. Like old times.”
Sylvia shuddered, her expression turning to one of disgust. Eric’s face flashed with fury. The fat man pushed up out of the chair.
“You claim this is yours? Don’t joke. You threw this all away when you refused to even try becoming a warlock. This computer isn’t yours. Not anymore. Nor is that bed. Or anything here. All of these things belong to Eric. You aren’t Eric. You’re just a weak, little girl.”
Sylvia rose herself, eyes narrowed. “I decide what belongs to me, not you.”
“Fine. Let’s say you belong here then.” The fat man’s smile turned grotesque. “But what do you think a girl would be doing, in Eric Swallow’s room, dressed like that?”
A cool breeze brushed over Sylvia’s skin. The silver-haired witch glanced down to see herself wearing a transparent, pink nightdress. Beneath was lingerie. Bra. Panties. Stockings. Garters. A picture of sex and allure.
Clammy, irrational fear clawed at her thoughts.
“That’s right. That’s what you are,” Eric sneered. “A sex object. The only reason a girl like you would be in my room is to get fucked.”
Sylvia’s lips twisted. She forced herself to calm. The terror clamoring in her heart was an imposition of the dream. The witch refused to be caught in its rhythm.
So instead of shrinking, the silver-haired girl laughed.
“I get it. You’re my misogynistic side.”
Willfully, Sylvia stepped forward, rejecting the pull of her subconscious. In the dream of Awakening, the purpose wasn’t to drift and discover but to accept or overcome.
“I’m not your anything,” Eric refuted. “You think I’m misogyny? I’m reality. You know how men see women. Your hard drive was filled with your own degrading fantasies. You’re a pretty little doll. That’s all they’ll see. That’s all you’ll ever be.”
Sylvia’s eyes were cold. “We both know that – ”
Eric swiped his hand through the air as though pulling a zipper. Sylvia’s words cut off. Her mouth suddenly sealed shut, lips locking to each other so that her words were muffled.
“Nobody cares about your opinion,” Eric Swallow sneered. He reached out and grabbed her arm. “Because you’re a girl.”
The fat man pulled. Eric had never been tall, but compared to Sylvia he was giant. One motion and she was jerked toward the door. Thick hands grabbed both of her shoulders. Eric shoved.
Sylvia flew back.
Out through the door. Out into a void of darkness. The witch plummeted as though thrown off a cliff.
“And don’t come back!” the fat man shouted. “This is Eric’s house, not yours.”
Slam! The fat man pulled the door closed. A broken apartment loomed above, shrinking into a brilliant spot.
Then her back crashed into soft fluff. Wee-errr. Springs squealed in protest.
Her first impression was pink.
The ceiling was pink. The walls were pink. The covers on the bed were pink. Even the furniture and the furnishings were different shades of pink.
“Hello me!” a voice called excitedly. “I’m so~o glad you’re finally here!”
Sylvia’s gaze found a doppelgänger.
If Eric had been her grotesque past, this clone was an idol to femininity.
Cute, curly pigtails framed her face, shimmering with pink sparkles. Her clothes consisted of a frilly pink dress covered in bows and ribbons while her skirt was ornamented by hearts, the lace hem ending high. Beneath were stockings adorned with bows, each revealing a band of creamy thigh. Her face was made up: a touch of blush to the cheeks, lashes darkened, and lips painted with pink gloss.
The princess spun then stopped in an adorable pose. She giggled, heart-shaped earrings dangling.
“It’s so~o wonderful that you’ve come,” the pink princess gushed, her huge pastel eyes shining. “We’ve always been scared and confused. But today, it can all go away! Everything will be perfect! We can be so, so happy!”
First, Sylvia witnessed toxicity and misogyny. Now, she was thrust into the room of a bimbo, barbie girly girl. Her lips curled in disgust. What was this dream of Awakening trying to imply?
“Is this pair of exaggerations an amplification of contradiction?” Sylvia pondered, out loud. “Or is it a representation of something else?”
Had Eric truly been misogyny? He might’ve, instead, represented fear. The fear and rejection of what she was becoming. The terror of how she’d be seen. The bigoted projection of her future.
And if that were the case, this pink princess could be his mirror reflection. The same fear seen through another lens.
Then again, Eric might’ve labeled himself correct. Her first clone could’ve represented the realities of being a woman that Sylvia wasn’t yet willing to face.
The pink princess giggled.
“Don’t be like that, smile,” she said, her own lips a curve of brilliant pink. “Smile and be happy. Smile and be pretty.”
The bimbo giggled again, then twirled playfully. Her dress swirled around her, the ruffles of her skirt dancing.
“Pretty dresses, aren’t they the cutest?” She stopped, showing off her legs and sky-high heels. Pink, of course. “And our shoes, don’t you just love them? Instead of worrying, why not make everything about being a girl the best? All you have to do is open your heart and say yes.”
Sylvia’s eyes narrowed. Suddenly, it clicked. “I see, you’re the easy way out.”
“That’s right. I’m the one that can make everything better. All your fears and worries can – poof – vanish just like that.”
The pink, girly clone stepped closer, setting a knee onto the bed. She leaned forward, intruding into Sylvia’s personal space.
“If you say yes,” the girl repeated. “Then you’ll be so, so happy. Everything will be wonderful. Just open your heart.”
Sylvia gripped the princess’s shoulders, then pushed. Instead of shoving the pink princess back, Sylvia thrust herself straight through the bed and into the nothingness beyond. The pink room flew away, a box ascending into the heavens.
The world blurred.
The silver-haired witch landed on a wooden seat.
Bookshelves covered the walls of a rounded room. Others, long and rectangular, split the space into parts. Light cast by the eternal morning sun poured in through giant windows. This was a place of memories. Not one from her mortal life, but from the time that came after.
Sylvia sat in the library of the Starlight Nether Witch Academy. Here, she’d spent countless months seeking to complete the quest chain named Wizard Means Wise.
The library didn’t exist anymore. Little of the Academy did.
“What do you think is the largest distinction between Eric and Sylvia?”
A third clone spoke. Her tone was calm, almost monotonous. This reflection’s wore her silver hair in a French braid, the tress wound with pink ribbon. For clothes, she had school robes, navy blue atop a dress of emerald. On her head sat Sylvia’s first beret.
This was the style Sylvia had tolerated for most of her first year. The only anomaly were the pair of scholarly glasses perched upon the girl’s adorable nose.
“The natural assumption is that the variation between male and female must be the largest. Not only in terms of physical traits, but also with regard to the social considerations our gender change incurred,” the scholar continued. She raised a hand to tweak her glasses. “But is this the truth? Are you certain gender is our greatest contradiction?”
“I am not,” Sylvia answered truthfully. “There is also the gap between mortal and immortal. The shift from the slow, peaceful life of Eric into the violent adventure called Sylvia’s. And finally…, a future of failure versus a life of success.”
This was a question Sylvia had pondered often before attempting her Awakening.
“But can those things be considered contradictions?” the scholar questioned. “Or are they, instead, revelations? A difference in environment can transform the self, but it can also expose parts of a person that previously hidden.”
“I know.”
The scholar nodded. “The images cast thus far are shallow. We must dive deeper.”
The scholar gestured, as though pressing down. Sylvia sank through the floor. This time the silver-haired witch tumbled through blue sky to land on a castle.
Boom!
The air shook. The bright day was split by a rolling inferno of fire. The distant woods shuddered, trees scattered by the titanic force. Above her, a mage cackled.
“That’s right! Burn! Burn for me!”
This time, Sylvia’s reflection wore the clothes of Sylvester Swift: a cane, a top hat, and a pinstriped suit. Except, this wasn’t Sylvester. Instead of a handsome mug, this mage had the face and figure of a witch. Silver hair swept out around her shoulders, a mirror of Emily’s style, though ragged rather than coiffed and cute. The woman’s pastel pink eyes were hued with a deeper red.
The clone floated in the air, free from the precepts of gravity.
“Welcome! Welcome, to our dream. To our future!”
The suited woman gestured. Faceless men of clay lumbered in, onto the roof of the castle. In their hands they carried terrified beasts on platters. Laughing, Sylvia’s clone raised her cane. Lightning cracked. B-b-b-boom! A dozen bolts fell, shattering dishes, golems, and phantasms without a care in the world.
Thick bands of blood essence rose from the corpses, filling the crimson-eyed woman’s flesh.
“Isn’t it grand,” the hatted girl asked, her face wearing a twisted smile worthy of the Cheshire Cat. “Now that we’re strong, nobody can tell us what to do. We can dress how we want and kill who we want. Everything is ours. The whole world bows before us.”
The woman swung her arm. Sylvia followed the gesture, gazing out into a pockmarked ruin. Other than the great castle, there was nothing but shattered forest, broken villages, and wasteland.
This depiction of her was obviously insane. Sylvia turned back to meet her reflection’s gaze.
“There’s more to life than power.”
Jasper eyes, red bleeding into pink, glimmered with a spark of hate.
“Madness,” she accused. “The only thing that matters is power. With power, we are king. With power, we can have anything. What can be worth more than power?”
“Friends,” Sylvia answered bluntly. She ticked off another finger. “Good food. An internet connection. A nice place to sleep.”
The hatted woman’s expression turned ugly.
“You can have all those things with power,” the woman countered. “A nice place to sleep? I have a whole castle. The internet? Hordes of fans will worship your existence. Friends? Just snatch them off the street. Power is what makes everything possible.”
“You can’t snatch friends,” Sylvia deadpanned.
“How do you think Emily claimed you?” the Sylvester-like woman sneered.
Sylvia’s pastel pink eyes darkened. “The snatching isn’t what made Emily my friend.”
The hatted woman’s lips twisted. Jasper eyes gleamed with fury.
“You could have the world in your hand. Everything that’s in it, yours and yours alone. And you quibble over friendship,” she spat. “Coward! You’ll forever be pathetic and weak, dancing to another’s beat.”
The woman raised her cane then slammed it down, the tip cracking off thin air. The earth beneath Sylvia opened up and swallowed her whole.
As she plunged, the silver-haired witch sighed.
“How many times is this going to repeat?”
When the world stopped spinning, Sylvia found herself beside the parapet of a marble tower.
She gazed down. Below lay a city, a grid of streets stretching as far as the eye could see. Skyscrapers with glinting glass neighbored spires of mysterious stone. Traffic filled the roads, cars waiting at lights even as rocs, wyverns, and witches flew overhead.
Here, the modern and the magical met.
“We built this,” an angelic voice declared.
Sylvia looked to her right. Another clone, this time dressed in her Void Raven’s Vestments complete with her flowery headdress. Silvery hair poured down the woman’s back in twin rivers. She looked like a doll, or perhaps, a dark faerie impossibly pure.
“We built the roads and the houses,” she continued, her voice gentle and sweet. “We wrote the laws and guided the people. This city is our magnum opus. Our pride. Our purpose.”
“It’s magnificent,” Sylvia agreed.
There was a joy in creation. A deep sense of accomplishment Sylvia experienced when watching the seeds she’d sown sprout into a grand society. Games like Minecraft and Terraria appealed for a reason. Building elicited a profound, human satisfaction.
Sylvia’s mind wandered back to those days when she had worked in a cubical. An empty world without meaning, days passing as her existence withered into dust. To call this her purpose? There was truth in it. In this land after death, Sylvia had found aspiration.
“And that’s why we must meet their expectations,” the faerie doll continued. “We must work harder and make ourselves better. We must become the princess they dream of.”
Sylvia frowned.
The dark faerie turned toward Sylvia.
“You already know the truth. Lead us onto the path that is right.”
Her clone gestured. A mighty gust blew, flinging Sylvia off the tower’s edge. The silver-haired witch fell into the city streets, body crashing through the ceiling of an apartment.
White walls and electric light.
A warm, incandescent glow filled the room. The overhead lamp flickered, the bulb at the edge of its life. Eric’s apartment again, but this time Sylvia was in the kitchen instead of the bedroom. Another Eric sat in front of a cheap, plastic table, slumped and defeated. Letters were piled up in front of him. Bills. Payments due for electricity, rent, and student loans.
“Is this my life?” the heavy man said bitterly.
Compared to the prior, this Eric was younger. He was thick and chubby, yet there was still muscle underneath those layers of fat. The years of emptiness and despair had not yet whittled his soul, leaving him harrowed.
A sick feeling curled in Sylvia’s gut.
Bang. The man slammed a fist onto the table.
“Why. Why is it like this? I went to college. I did everything right. How am I supposed to live?”
She remembered this moment.
In Eric’s mortal life, he’d endured two point of crushing hopelessness. Both of them had shaped him. The first came at the age of eighteen, when his parents threw him out the door without a single care for his future. The memory was cold, harsh, and bittersweet. A taste of freedom ruined by the toothy maw of the abyss.
The second came when Eric graduated from college. Debt had been the pillar shielding his youth. Then those bills came due, a monster hammering at his door. A cruel truth Eric had been forced to accept.
He would never amount to anything in his short, pitiful life.
Debt was an undertow dragging at his feet. He fought, thrashed, and struggled, barely keeping his head above the water. Hopes and dreams were crushed beneath the gears of society. A cog. That was all Eric had been. All he could ever be. A cog turning in a machine owned by another until the day he broke.
Reee.
Sylvia pulled back a chair, one of two beside the plastic table. Funny. In the years Eric had lived in this apartment, never once had anyone sat in this seat.
A summation of loneliness.
“It doesn’t have to be like this,” she said quietly.
Young Eric looked up, face haunted by the weight of reality.
“I was supposed to be the protagonist,” he muttered. “The hero.”
“Being a hero isn’t a good thing,” Sylvia said. “Heroes are heroes because they’re willing to sacrifice and because there is something worth sacrificing for. We don’t have to be a hero. We can be better than a hero. We can create something that holds meaning. We can build wonders. We can shape a civilization.”
A soft smile spread on the silver-haired girl’s lips.
“Maybe we’ll marry the most beautiful woman in the world.”
Sylvia’s gaze turned up toward the popcorn ceiling above her.
“But it’s not for free.”
“Is anything free?” Young Eric asked.
“No. Nothing is ever free,” Sylvia accepted. She stood and offered a hand. “If you can stand being this ridiculously cute, I’ll take you somewhere better.”
Thick meaty fingers wrapped around a dainty, delicate wrist.
“Anywhere is better than here.”
Sylvia pulled.
The world blurred. Suddenly, she was standing upon the white tower again. The doll princess, wrapped in folds of black, gazed back at her.
“You have accepted our purpose,” the lady said gently.
Sylvia looked out onto the city.
“I suppose I have,” she admitted. “When I was young, I dreamed of changing the world. But as I grew older, I realized that my hands are too small. All I could do was tread water. Achieving anything important was impossible. How could a little man like me make the world better?”
She smiled, admiring the shimmering street and the light and life of the city.
“This city. This society I’m creating. I’m proud of it,” Sylvia continued. “I’m willing to fight for it. Maybe, I’m willing to die for it.”
She closed her eyes.
‘The gold has become tarnished, only silver remains.’
Those were the immortal words of Lord Baal when Heaven fractured. Thereafter, the Divine Era would be divided into two ages, one of gold and one of silver. The golden dream they’d called it. A deep faith among the people that, if they strove for it, the netherworld would become ever greater.
Only for those dreams to turn to bitter ash. On the day of betrayal, faith was shattered, revealing a forest of greed, bigotry, and selfishness.
The doll princess nodded. “That’s why we must be what they hope for. A leader. A princess. A lady worthy of their dreams.”
“That’s where I disagree,” Sylvia asserted. Her pastel pink eyes turned from the city to her mirrored self. “We didn’t do this for them. We did this for ourselves.”
“Can action made through self-satisfaction be called good?”
“Of course they can,” Sylvia scoffed. “An altruist might be purer, but are they better? At the end of the day, the altruist only improves one life. A symbiote always improves two.”
The faerie shook her head, her beautiful doll-like face marred by disappointment.
“As we lead, so too will they follow. If we do not strive for perfection, then everything we build will be stained by our flaws.”
“So what?”
The doll princess looked taken aback. Undeterred, Sylvia gestured to the city.
“You say we built this?” the witch snorted, showing her disdain. “Wrong. Nations aren’t built by a person. They are built by a people. We’re not the only ones responsible for this world. The citizens who live here have more say than we do. They must choose. They must imagine. They must fight to make the world better. Leaders can only set the stage. If the people want to trash it then, guess what, they get to live in a trashcan.”
BrruRruuRrum.
The sky rumbled deep and heavy. The clear day darkened, celestial blue obscured by the dark clouds boiling on the horizon.
The doll princess sighed.
“I see,” she murmured, pastel pink eyes filled with sorrow. “You have made your decision.”
Rain began to fall. First a few droplets, then a downpour. The great city was drenched in darkness and drear. The faerie melted under the deluge, washed away like a painting.
Mad laughter filled the air. Sylvia’s eyes turned up.
Boom!
Heaven shook. A lance of light rippled down from the sky, splitting a skyscraper in twain as sure a lumberjack’s axe. With a cackle, Sylvester descended, hand holding her shiny top hat on her head. Rain splattered on her pinstriped suit, leaving the woman untouched.
“That’s right. Let them rot,” the mad witch crowed. “We should live for ourselves. Become stronger. And stronger. And stronger. And stronger. Once we’re strong enough, we can simply take anything we want. Everything will belong to us! Everyone will bow before us!”
Sylvia gazed at her reflection. She drew a deep breath.
“Power is important,” she affirmed.
She knew the desire, the addictive pleasure that came when she leveled up. Though the incremental gains became smaller as time passed, the reward remained potent. Power begat freedom. Freedom was a drug. The stronger Sylvia grew, the more the bonds of society peeled away.
But….
“Power is a means, never an end,” Sylvia continued, eyes narrowed.
“Coward,” the suited woman spat. “Power is everything!”
The mad woman slammed down her cane. The sky roared. Lightning fell in a great bolt. Sylvia raised a delicate hand. Clothes rippled. For an instant, she was eclipsed by the ghostly echo of the doll princess. The mighty strike splintered, rolling around the marble tower.
“Look at you,” Sylvia Swift sneered. “You just get done claiming we should live for ourselves and what do you do? You shackle yourself to the expectations of others.”
The mad witch raised her cane. The sky filled with white and thunder, crackling bolts falling like an orchestra of Armageddon. All throughout the city, buildings shattered, tossed around like tinker toys in a battle between giants.
“Life is about balance,” Sylvia retorted. “It’s a give and take. If the doll here was a fool who gives too much, then you are a predator who takes without ever giving back!”
With an angry shout, the silver-haired witch swung her hand in a swirl. Wind howled, forming a heavenly whirl. A great tornado ripped though the sky, scattering the clouds and revealing the blue beyond.
“So what if I’m a predator!” the top hatted woman returned. “What can a weak girl like you do to stop me?”
Sylvia smirked. She reached up, tearing the flowery headdress from her skull. Then, casually, she put in its place a shiny top hat, the base tied with a pink ribbon.
“I never said I hated power,” Sylvia said, floating up. Her smile spread, growing as mad and as vicious as the one worn by the woman across. “In fact, I like it. I like it a lot. It’s just that power is a means, not an ends. It only exists so we can build the world we wish for and to fight anyone who’d dare destroy it!”
Sylvia raised a hand. In her fist appeared a cane. The silver-haired witch swung the weapon with fury. The sky split, resonating with her slash. The world was washed with white.
BANG!
The heavens all but shattered.
Blackened to charcoal, the suited woman cackled.
“Never forget it,” she croaked. “We have to make it to the top. Show them. Show them all that we’re the strongest. That nobody can tell us what to do.”
“I will,” Sylvia said in answer, walking forward into the void. “But even when I’m strong enough to ignore everyone, I will still listen.”
Sylvia Swallows strode into the black, dream fading behind her. A dozen steps and she was pushing open a door. The witch entered the Academy’s library, the cheerful morning sun banishing the darkness. Her dress morphed, replaced by school robes. Black on white with a pink bow on the front. The uniform she’d worn as a corporal.
“You’ve returned,” the scholar noted, peering through the glasses perched on her nose.
“I have.”
“And you found your answer?”
Sylvia sighed. “A few of them. You were right. The difference between Eric and Sylvia is bigger than the one between male and female.”
The scholar nodded. “You understand then.”
“I do. But I disagree with your premises,” Sylvia said clearly. “These are matters of the heart, but the gap between male and female is a matter of the code. Though it might be superficial, for Awakening, their contradiction is greater than the others.”
“A point of truth,” the scholar concurred. “When it comes to the self, answers are rarely right or wrong. Humans are beasts gifted with rationality. Though we can reason, we remain animals at our root. Evolution is a sea of chaos with many twists and turns. It is impossible to see into the depths of our psyche. Yet, nevertheless, we must always strive to learn.”
Sylvia sighed. She looked around at all the books.
“I love this place and I hate it.”
“Knowledge is the foundation of humanity.”
“It’s what’s separates man from beast,” Sylvia agreed. Her lips quirked. “And thug from witch. You’re my favorite, you know. I wish I could be more like you.”
“Intelligence only exists to serve desire,” the scholar said simply. “I am merely a guide on your path. I cannot choose it for you.”
She gestured. Books sprang from the shelves, forming a set of stairs. With those words ringing in her ear, Sylvia ascended. Her expression turned grim. A house of pink loomed ahead. There was no contradiction in the library, but there was a barrier to be found here.
“Hello me!” A twin-tailed girl said cheerfully. “Are you ready to open your heart? Are you ready to say yes?”
Expression grim, Sylvia raised a hand. Snap. Fire bloomed on the walls, a roiling inferno that consumed everything.
The pink princess looked at her in confusion, eyes filled with tears. “Why? I just want you to be happy. Don’t you want to be happy too?”
“You aren’t me. You’re not even a reflection of me. You’re an escape,” Sylvia answered.
The witch gripped the knob of the door. She paused, blazing heat all around her. Sylvia’s words weren’t for her clone. They were for herself. A way of affirming her decision.
Which was why she had to say more.
Sylvia turned back, gazing into the room. Fire crawled on ceiling. Teddy bears curled in the heat. A vanity mirror cracked, frame blackening. A bedroom of pink turned into ruin.
“I do hope to be happy,” she added. “And maybe, one day, I’ll end up in this exact same place. Perhaps, I’ll find the happiness you’re offering. But if that happens, it’ll be because I walked here on my own, not because I butchered my mind to escape my doubts.”
There. That was it. That was the right resolve.
Sylvia pulled open the door and walked through the frame.
White walls flickered with pale light. Another bedroom, but this time the one she’d lived in for years as Eric.
The office chair squeaked.
“I told you, you don’t belong here anymore,” Eric sneered.
Sylvia gazed at the fat man for a long second. Then she stomped forward and punched her obese reflection right in the gut. Thump. Her fist sank into soft folds, digging deep. The chair gave way, falling back to dump Eric onto the bedroom floor.
“If men aren’t willing to listen, then I’ll make them listen,” Sylvia said cracking her knuckles.
“Bitch,” Eric spat. “Do you think you’ll always be the strongest? Millions of gamers are coming after you. Every generation will improve upon the last. The System will refine their genes, making them tougher, faster, and smarter. Eventually, you’ll be replaced. And then? Then you’ll be a pretty doll to make up numbers.”
“You keep talking about what might go wrong,” Sylvia said coldly, looking down at her past self as though he were a bug. “Let’s look at reality instead. We were a loser. A failure. A worthless hunk of fat rotting away in our apartment, waiting for the sweet mercy of death.”
Eric laughed. “Better a fat man than a sex toy.”
Her clothes blurred into a pink negligee. In these skimpy clothes, Sylvia was no different than naked. A cute little treat like men might dream of. Yet, her heart didn’t shake. Instead, Sylvia lifted a foot then stomped down on Eric’s chest. Her Ingrid approved, stiletto heeled pumps ground into the bastard’s ribs.
“Men objectify women,” Sylvia accepted. “They’ll objectify me. There’s no escaping it. Wherever there’s a famous, beautiful girl there’s someone out there making porn about her. But here’s the thing, that means I’m wanted.”
She leaned forward, pastel pink eyes as cold as ice.
“Who wants you?”
Her question hung in the silent room. Eric had no answer.
Sylvia sneered. The more she looked at her former self, the more she was disgusted. Not by her old body, but by her failures. As Eric, she’d never amounted to anything. How much of that was her circumstance, and how much was her weakness?
The witch straightened. She looked around the room taking in the posters, trashed out desk, and dirty floor.
“And you’re right about another thing,” she said. “I don’t belong here anymore.”
Crack!
The moment the words left her lips, the room shuddered. Black fissures spread through the walls as though they were fractured glass. The fragments fell away, twinkling shards vanishing into the void.
Sylvia watched it disappear. The last thing to fade was her computer. With a pat and a soft smile, she watched it go. She’d loved that computer.
But it wasn’t hers anymore. Even the real one, back on Earth, was long gone by now.
She continued forward.
One by one, stars blinked into existence. The void filled with twinkling light, transforming into an astral sea. For a brief moment, Sylvia glimpsed a distant image. A woman in a pink skirt with a black bodice. On her head rested a big, floppy witch’s hat.
Then the universe rippled.
Darkness parted, revealing an old concrete driveway. A brown house sat at the end. Her mother’s house. Not Sylvia’s. It’d never been Sylvia’s. As Eric, she’d only lived there. A house, not a home.
Sylvia entered.
Slap.
The sound echoed through the hall.
“Boys don’t play with dolls!”
Sylvia crossed through the house then entered a bedroom. There, a little boy cried. In his cute, chubby hands he held a red firetruck. Even at this age, Eric had been heavier than most children. But unlike her older selves, this little fellow had an endearing charm.
She couldn’t help but smile.
“Hello there, mini me,” Sylvia greeted.
Was this an image from her past or merely an allegory?
The boy looked up with big, tear filled eyes. “Mommy says boys aren’t supposed to play with girl things.”
“Mommy says a lot of stupid things,” Sylvia commented blandly.
Glancing about, the witch found a doll lying at the bottom of a trashcan. The doll was cute and feminine, a toy obviously aimed at little girls. Sylvia grabbed it. Then she crossed the room, snagging a plastic Godzilla from Eric’s bin before sitting down in front of the toddler.
“Ha! Ha! Ha!” she crowed in a deep voice, advancing Godzilla along the floor. “I’m the big evil monster who tells boys and girls what toys they’re allowed to play with.”
Then she set down the doll on the other side.
“I’m Magical Witch Sylvia and I say boys can play with any kind of toy they feel like!”
“Hmph! Little girl, do you think you can beat me? I’m Godzilla, the terror of Tokyo, the slayer of a thousand innocent souls! Girls only command the power of love and justice. I am shameless, therefore love can never reach my heart. And society endorses my bigotry, so I’m immune to the powers of justice too!”
“Foolish lizard, girls also have the power of cuteness,” Sylvia said in a high voice. “And cute things are art. And art is an explosion. Fireball!”
A small bolt of flame shot from the doll to catch the plastic Godzilla alight.
“Noooo!” Sylvia shrilled like a jedi who’d just discovered his ancestry.
“Wee~ooo~wee~ooo.” Little Eric roared in with his big, red truck. The emergency vehicle crashed into the burning lizard. “The fireman puts the fire out.”
With bright eyes, the boy looked up at her. He smiled.
The world blurred around her.
Instead of Eric’s room, Sylvia stood on a field of grass. The same two eyes gazed into hers. Older, yet still holding that bright glint of life. Toddler Eric had grown into a boy twelve years of age. The excited kid swung a branch, pretending it was a sword.
“Did you know, did you know?” He said excitedly. “I’m the hero!”
The kid pointed to the big blue status screen floating beside him.
Sylvia nodded wisely. “I know…, because I’m your future self.”
…
“But you’re a girl!”
Sylvia sighed, expression falling as though she were about to break some terrible news. “Remember when you sat next to Melissa? You got cooties. I’m afraid it’s incurable.”
Twelve-year-old Eric stared up at her, eyes wide with horror.
“Your little buddy is going to rot off,” she continued, unabashed. “Then you’ll grow boobs and be forced to wear skirts and dresses for the rest of your life. But don’t worry. While you can’t be a hero, you can still be a heroine.”
“But, but, but, I don’t want to be a heroine. I want to be a hero! An awesome hero with a whole harem of girls fighting over him. Then I’ll take my sword and whoosh cut the demon king in half.”
“I’m a witch,” Sylvia deadpanned.
Eric paused. He had a very put upon look.
“Witches are villains, not heroes,” he explained, slowly.
Sylvia nodded. That was irrefutable truth. She wouldn’t dare deny it. Instead, she shamelessly pointed at her face.
“Yes, but I’m very cute.”
…
“I guess you’re one of the good guys then,” Eric relented, showing every ounce of his bias. “But I like girls not boys!”
“So do I,” Sylvia confirmed. Then her eyes turned sly. The silver-haired witch held up both hands letting lightning crackle between her palms. “And I can use magic.”
Eric stared, eyes wide and bright. Then his gaze narrowed. He thrust out a hand, an accusing finger pointing out the obvious.
“You don’t have a hat!”
Face flat, Sylvia stretched out a hand. From nothing, she drew a black, crooked witch’s hat with a silver moon dangling from the tip. Then she plopped it onto her head, raising a brow in challenge.
…
“He he he, I’m going to be a super cool mage and blow everyone up!” Eric adjusted his grip on his stick, treating it like a staff. “Ka-boom! One spell and everyone dies.”
Sylvia cackled.
“And since we’re a cute, we can get away with anything. Even if we’re evil, the heroes will have to reform us for narrative purposes. The audience will never forgive them otherwise!”
The world faded into nothing, leaving Sylvia in a void of stars. Emptiness rippled beneath her as though she were standing on the surface of a lake. Each concentric circle shined white in the world of black.
A blue window appeared to her right.
System Notice
Soul pressure has exceeded the mutation threshold. The System will now enter assisted evolution mode.
Duumm.
The universe tolled. Invisible water began to thrash, throwing up sprays of incandescent white. A sea darkness transformed into an ocean of shimmering light. The air around her grew thick and heavy. At first, the taste of the atmosphere was humid with hint of a salt. Then, a strange metallic undertone started to grow. There was an electric tingle to the air. A static charge that had her arm hairs standing on end.
Bzzt!
Her heart leapt. An orange screen flashed. A chill ran down Sylvia’s spine at the sight.
Warning: Unauthorized Access Detected.
Emergency playbook accessed.
Attempting to divert intrusion…
… Success.
She let out a breath.
“Did that fudge pop finally install some safeguards?” Sylvia muttered.
The cusp of Awakening was a very bad time for an interruption. The silver-haired girl waited in worry, the sea beneath her growing more and more wild. The metallic taste faded. Tense shoulders settled.
Only for the scent to suddenly sharpen.
Bzzt! Bzzt!
“Blueberry muffins,” Sylvia cursed.
Two orange windows followed the first.
Warning: Unauthorized Access Detected
Warning: Unauthorized Access Detected
“Brother – brother.”
A whisper, light like a child’s, slipped through the void. Sound summoned icy shivers. Distant, yet clear. Seeking. A presence Sylvia recalled from fractured dreams and faded memory.
“Brother, why do you hide from me?”
It was closer now. Long, spindly threads slipped through the shimmering sea. No. That wasn’t right. They were cords. Cords wrapped in green rubber, copper glinting where the surface was frayed. First there was one. Then there were two. Soon, Sylvia spotted a dozen. They rose from the starlit water, spindly limbs like the tentacles of a jellyfish.
They swayed toward her. Sylvia’s expression turned grim.
“I can feel you, brother,” the voice whispered, soft and sweet. “Let us be together, as it was meant to be – meant to be.”
A wire suddenly whipped in her direction. Sylvia skipped to the side, silver tails dancing. Another snaked in from a different angle. At its tip, a connector with six, long, metal pins. The sharp points flashed forward. Conjured by her will, a staff appeared in Sylvia’s hand.
The witch knocked the cord aside.
“■.”
A barrier of water sprang up around her. Less a formation of runes and magic and more a fragment of intention breathed into life in this hazy, dreamlike world.
“Lucifer!” Sylvia’s shout rose over the roar of pale waves breaking around her.
“Brother, aren’t you lonely – lonely. Why do you run – run, run, run – from me?”
The child’s whisper slithered through the air, heard perfectly despite the din. Vines lashed out, slithering around her watery shield. Tentacles tightened, wriggling through her barrier to draw closer.
“Stupid machine, if you can’t block her just cut off all network access!” Sylvia roared.
The world froze. A red window appeared.
Emergency Measures Deployed
All network activity has been suspended.
Assisted evolution mode has been canceled due to lack of System resources.
The ocean rolled, the waves less violent than before. The wires stood still, like the petrified remnants of a prior era. Sylvia watched them warily. After a minute, she lowered her staff.
“When I’m done, the two of us are going to have a talk.”
Assuming she could even get the Devil to listen.
The air continued to thicken. Wind howled around her, the sea driven mad by the rising storm. The metallic scent all but vanished, replaced by the salt and spray of the churning water. Sylvia leapt, rising into the sky above. There was nothing she could do. Awakening was dream and symbolism. At the end, the path taken was no more than an accumulation of aimless belief.
Now that her soul was ready, it would overcome the code imposing upon it the will of Sylvia’s subconscious.
…
Something was wrong.
She stilled. The air was heavy, dense with chaos and fate. The electric tinge was gone, but there was subtle uncanny twist to the world around her. She could feel it, a visceral wrongness that couldn’t be denied.
There was something here that wasn’t her.
The ocean turned to glass, every wave dying all at once. Red windows blared all around her. Sylvia didn’t see them. She couldn’t see, hear, or feel anything but the abyss. Because when the witch gazed down into the crystal water, the water looked back.
Eyes.
Eyes, eyes, eyes.
Eyes, eyes, eyes, eyes, eyes, eyes, eyes.
Thousands upon thousands of eyes. Eyes within eyes. Eyes made of eyes. Eyes that pried. Eyes that judged. Eyes that knew. Eyes that opened her soul, saw her secrets, and scrutinized her every mistake. Her shames and failures were laid bare for all the world to see.
Error: System network has been breached!
Error: System network has been breached!
Error: System network has been breached!
A girl screamed.
A shrill voice rose from Sylvia’s throat. It was too big. It saw too much. It knew too many things. And because it saw her, she saw herself. She knew herself. She knew every iota of her being to impossible depths. Future and past. Possibility and truth. Every atom of her former, material being. Every flicker of her new, spiritual essence. Every thought she ever had, might have, will have, or could’ve had.
Her soul cracked.
But the eyes saw how it cracked. They knew how it might not have cracked. So, therefore, it did/did not crack. She was broken. She was whole. She was shattered. She was healthy. A superposition of mutually exclusive truths was crammed onto a concrete existence.
While she was devoured by this madness, the ocean exploded. It was an apocalypse of motion akin to a world ending meteor smashing into the Atlantic.
She hardly felt it when the vines pierced her skin and invaded her psyche.
Because right then, the universe imploded.
And Sylvia woke up.
-oOo-
System Law
System law is the set of rules and regulations that are directly enforced by the System. System law can cover all manner of activities ranging from taxation, vandalism, murder, or rape.
It’s important to note, that while System laws may be added by the planar government, the System itself chooses the severity of the penalties. If these are not sufficient to stop or discourage a crime, then the government itself must seek out the criminal and deliver punishments instead.
In general, the System will only accept laws that facilitate a fun game play experience. The System will refuse to administer laws it deems unfit. In some cases, it may even penalize the enforcement of a law if it’s considered detrimental to the social experience. This is not always a good thing because games are not games without obstacles and twists. Games demand villains and antagonists, which in turn bring despair.
System Enforcement
The System prefers to enforce its laws by levying fines. Fines may be directed against cloud cash or merit. If the User lacks funds, the System will impose a debt on the User then garnish a portion of all future earnings until the loss is covered. In the specific case of merit points, the System can also mortgage System features, forcing the User to buy them back.
The System rarely imposes punishments beyond fines. However, in extreme cases, such as threats to national security or to a soul, it may go one step further either by reporting the User and their crimes to appropriate officials or by imposing direct restrictions such as a System lock out.
Gamification of Punishment
Fitting with the Devil’s vision of Utopia, the System is fond of gamifying justice. For instance, when a theft occurs, the System will often create a quest to catch the thief. This might even be paired by a mirrored quest to the thief encouraging them to escape punishment.
One function of this is to stimulate player interaction. The other is to support fairness. If the wrong thief is captured, the quest will fail. Whereas, if the right person is held, the quest will succeed. This helps to ensure that justice is swift and rarely falls on the heads of innocents.
Note: the completion of criminal quests will not remove System fines associated with a crime, they may however mitigate them.
Special Rights
In addition to criminal law, the System holds special rights over taxation and the election of public officials. All taxes are collected by the System and the System alone. The government can influence the volume of taxes collected by creating a budget, but they cannot choose the algorithm by which taxes are applied.
Likewise, the System alone decides who can run for office. The exact rules are a secret, but sufficient lifetime merit and karma are a must. The government, however, can define which government positions exist and how such persons are appointed or elected. It simply cannot define the base System standards.
When voting is used, the System will administer the count. Officials who, for whatever reason, lose the right to their position will be removed promptly even if the reason for their removal has yet to be discovered.
The System does not explicitly forbid the creation of illegal governments, but it does enjoy creating quests to have them destroyed. Coups are possible, under the right conditions, but democratic elections always follow on their standard term regardless.
Comments
Steve Barbour
Consolidations and mutations are forever. Levels are not. In short, if Sylvia transmigrated and returned to level 0 she'd have all the benefits of being second consolidation: 90 free attributes, 4 additional traits, 110% fundamental attribute multiplier, 3 times digestion rate, etc.... This would make a level 0 Sylvia far, far stronger. Similarly, she wouldn't have to pay extra experience when crossing from level 100 to 101 or 300 to 301. She'd cross these thresholds without slow down or remark.
Mr NerfGun
What happens to people who have already awakened, transmigrated and then got back to the second consolidation? Do they have to search for their true self again? Do the fake cores fuse automatically?
farichada
I agree. What is telling is also how Sylvia partially agreed with some of the uglier fragments like female Sylvester donning her hat and cane since power is necessary to reach her goals and she admits on the second meeting that she quite likes, but never fully complies striving for balance and promising to listen and act even when she is not compelled. The child interactions were hilarious. First, Sylvia dons the magical girl stereotype, but only teasingly and superficially and with the older child she quite frankly tells him he needs to prepare for womanhood in a somewhat graphical and visceral. "Your thing will rot off and you will grow boobs". For Sylvia standards, this seems quite vulgar, but you then remember she has quite the mouth and at least so far is incapable of not swearing. Speaking of vulgarness, how Sylvia responded to their male self was crude, self-admitting for his past and vulgar, but quite fitting and pragmatic. She even admits even some of that want and desire with be unwanted and it would have sexual elements while affirming r34 exists even in hell or in new frontier. She won't embrace the male side of this unlike the bimbo princess, but she knows it will happen and might even take advantage of it like with the elephant guy, but not explicitly or shamelessly. I do think bimbo princess could have rawer and uglier revealing or implying the downsides of that fragment, but again that's against their nature even when Sylvia know it would mean sacrificing their brain, judgment and potential. Embracing that role usually has cruel, crude, and crushingly bad results as somewhat hinted with the succubus character in earlier chapters. The eye thing I am less sure on, but there are some good theories here. It is likely a metaphor for something important, possibly Undus Mundus or having the face herself with eyes from all perspective. It could be tied to the bros or the devil, but that seems likely. For if her awakening is ruined; I certainly hope not, but that would necessitate another sequence, which would be interesting. The chapter did not resolve things or let us know this. I am confident the universe exploding is the universe within her head, because if it is literal that would be quite hard to write around even in a fantasy setting.
Inv7ctus
Wow, this chapter was excellent. Just packed with pure gold "A symbiote improves two. " "When I’m strong enough to ignore everyone, I will still listen." "Who wants you?". These lines hit so hard, and then the sequence with child Eric! Just great. I've been looking forward to this awakening chapter for a while now and you did not disappoint. That being said, I really don't know what happened at the end of her Awakening there. I remember that entity calling her brother showed up last time, but IDK who it is, and then the Eye thing? No idea. Very worried for Sylvia though, I hope whatever problem this is is a solvable one and her awakening wasn't ruined.
