Now another young woman would die this night, and the world would again be less beautiful.
Chapter 1: The Vulture
The creature was loud. Its footsteps were thunder to my hearing. Its low, arrogant growls were the revving of an engine. Its breathing and heartbeat were a steady drum following a rhythm. Perhaps, in its mind, it believed itself to be some sort of master of subterfuge. A stealth hunter. An ambush predator. Hiding within the green shrubbery of the forest, its matching green fur would no doubt mask it from detection.
Three heavy strides and it lunged out into the open. Two mumbled words, and it collapsed dead unto the ground. “[Diamond Bullet].”
A supersonic crack of displaced air. A hole, tearing itself through the creature’s skull. Dropping unto the earth like a trader delivering a bag of rice.
[Chameleon Panther x1 Killed]
[1400 Experience Points Gained]
[The title {Genocidal} has come into effect for the species {Chameleon Panther}]
[25 Genocide Points Earned]
Stretching out, and I pretended to yawn. Skeletons could not sleep nor did they feel fatigued or tired. To some extent, it was a blessing, however, the lack of ability to sleep meant one could not dream. Ironic, I noted. Nightmares could not dream.
With neither eyelids to close nor eyeballs to see, sleep was an impossibility even if I tried. The hollow sockets lacking eyeballs deprived me of the ability to stop seeing and left me with only one other option.
Meditation. Entering a trance. A tranquil state. Spine resting against a tree for support, tail placed to the side, skull against the bark, and gaze skyward. There were no lungs to breathe, so there was no way to know if at that moment, my breathing was relaxed. I believed it was. Positioned in this manner to trance made it easier. Being one and at ease with the planet made the tiniest of sounds thunderous.
[Sixth Sense – Danger Detected]
“[Diamond Bullet].”
[Chameleon Panther x1 Killed]
[1400 Experience Points Gained]
[50 Genocide Points Earned]
The wildlife of Alamir was annoyingly persistent. The second green panther attempting to lunge from the top of the tree crashed into the earth, bones cracking upon impact. I was pleased it didn’t fall into my campfire and snuff it.
Looking up, the night sky was littered with a million stars. Splashes of white and blue across an ocean of inky darkness. Shattered pearls on pitch-black cardboard. From the perspective of a worm, the sky had been incomprehensible. A fraction of it was only ever visible during that time, and now, from the perspective of a bipedal skeleton, the perspective of man, the sky was vaster, as only a slightly larger fraction was available. Nine celestial bodies hung in the sky, curved in the manner of a crescent. Moons. Alamir has nine moons.
The crackling of wood came from the campfire. Wisps of flame hovered above burnt logs, dancing in the air, serpents to a charmer’s flute. A skewered rabbit lay in between the flames. Flesh sizzling, fat juices dripping down the stick and into the flames, the aroma of meat being exposed to fire wafted through the dense forest. Roasting meat over an open flame was the catalyst inviting predators to attack me as the scent was divine.
My skeletal hand extended into the flames. The sensation was cold. After dying by Zlosta’s fire hundreds upon hundreds of times, [Lesser Fire Resistance] became [Fire Immunity]. The campfire was chilly. No matter how long my hand remained in the flames, it never went beyond feeling like a gentle winter breeze.
Snagging the cooked rabbit from the heat, sharp teeth sunk into it. The sensation of soft, tender meat came without a tongue to translate taste. There was no mouth to generate sensory feedback. There was no throat to swallow. No stomach to digest.
The rabbit ground between my teeth nonetheless. Pretending I could taste it, imagination filled in the blanks: the tenderness, the juiciness and fat, the rich umami and balance of flavors. A nice glass of wine came along with it, red, to complement the taste of the meat, or perhaps white, if only to recall father’s puffed face at my apathy for a wine connoisseur’s arbitrary rules.
The remnants of my imagination were not pretty. Thoroughly chewed meat dropped back to the soil. The imagination continued and morphed into memory. Father sneering his nose for the wasting of food, brother doing his best to hide his glee at my scolding. Father’s sermon reminding me he was not born with a platinum spoon in his mouth and an exotic Arabian butler to hold it. The sermon continuing with how he clawed his way to wealth and power by making use of the talents of people who were too untalented to effectively use it themselves. There’d be the scathing comparison that’d conclude the sermon, he was unlike me, fortunate enough to be born into a family that lacked nothing.
Except perhaps affection. Though that was up for debate. Father believed affection could be bought, all that needed to buy it was not money, but the things money could provide.
Searching the trees around me, with [Thermal Sense] it didn’t take long to find something close to what I needed. An odd dark-red feathered vulture maintaining its distance a fair pace away. Its large beady eyes were homed in my direction, but it did not approach.
With [Earth Control] a clay bowl molded itself into being. Dried and hardened, my hands scraped the chewed rabbit into it. Next, a clay tray with small wheels. A light push and the tray rolled toward the direction of the vulture. Manipulating the wheels with, it accelerated like a toy car into the creature’s domain, navigating past sticks and branches.
The tray came to a stop at the tree the bird sat upon. The creature’s head spun around, freakishly, in the manner that reminisced of
