Enter new worlds.
Amass power.
Go home.

If that doesn't have a sweet ring to it, I don't know what does. Sure, I had been abducted against my will to this trip to begin with...but there was a way out. There was hope. And more than that, there was opportunity. It even sounded tantalizing to me, enough to make my worries disappear, however temporarily. ‘Divine Spark’. That's the kind of thing reserved for the likes of a chosen one in one of those old fantasy novels, you know? I can't deny that the temptation was there - visions of a luxurious home and a collection of myriad superpowers to show off to my friends, wealth beyond my wildest dreams...those images dance and tease at the corners of my mind, wondering what strange new abilities I'll gain next.

But Nicholas' warnings echoed in my mind. ‘Do not make mischief or reveal the true nature of your fantastic abilities, for it will invite the Great Darkness into your life. And once it is there, it will not leave.’ There was such a chilling, Faustian air around those words that my excitement is found alongside worry and anxiety. Doubt. Fear is the mind-killer, after all. But what do I have to fear? Though Dark Souls was glum and grim, it was far behind me. No power I gained would tempt me to such folly. Goodness, invisibility just turned into a good way to misdirect in a battle for my own life.

So naturally, my next ability was power over Death itself.

And I soon find my optimism was short-lived.

Jump 03: Tsukihime
Origin: Ordinary High School Student
Age: 17
Perks:
Magic Circuits - 20.
Origin - Wandering.
Model Student
Even Tonight, The Moon Is Beautiful
Mystic Eyes of Death Perception [200]
Instinct [0]
Nanaya [100]
I Am Not A Killer [0]

Items:
Sealing Artifact
Mystic Eye Killers
Nanatsu Yoru [0]

Companions:
The Killer In Me
Canon Companion [100] - Arcueid Brunestud
A Faithful Hand+Upgrade - Twins, they were.

Drawbacks:
This Chair [100]
My Word Is My Bond [200]
Trails of Blood [400]
Dying Dream [300]

Imagine knowing, to your very core, that everything and everyone will die one day. I mean, it's a given fact, but it's not really something you think about until you suffer some sort of great tragedy. Everything has an expiration date. Friendships, rivalries, vendettas, wars, countries...everything. Something I took away from when I studied Buddhism back in school, something of a personal project, is the idea that nothing in the world is permanent. All things fade with time, and will be replaced sooner or later by something similar yet different. The phrase ‘history repeats’ always rang true with me, with that in mind. We all want to extend our lives and legacies in any way possible, because that's how we're wired, and no one ever wants to believe the idea it was all either a waste or something was done before. And that's fine. I'm not any different, after all.

So let's say you can inflict that certainty, that oblivion on someone. Sure, on the surface level you're probably thinking, ‘wow that is a cool power’. But taking a life, whether as a soldier or just someone trying to defend themselves, should never be a trivial thing. It shouldn't be something you do as easily and with as little thought as picking what to make for breakfast that day. That was what I was thinking of as I first saw the red lines as my tired eyes opened to see the ceiling of the hospital, the little cracks in the decaying building around me.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Before that, I dreamt a dream.

I was in my bed, only a little bit sore and wondering what on Earth I just finished dreaming about. Wandering across worlds and getting exposition from a guy who looked uncannily similar to Santa Claus? It was too far-fetched for me to deal with. So I'd wake up, get on the computer, and start my day. You want to know how I realized I was dreaming? It wasn't that I was suddenly ‘home’ in a Japanese City. It wasn't that my name was suddenly in Japanese. It wasn't even that most of my household was empty except for me.

It was that my pictures folder was almost completely empty. At that point, I knew things weren't real.

I would come to this realization each morning into the loop, but I had no idea what to do from that point on. I would try to visit friends who now conveniently lived closer to me but aside from feeling nostalgia at what used to be my home, it didn't really do much of any good. I'd wander about aimlessly but that would only lead to me getting sore feet and a 20% coupon for a breakfast at Denny's. It wasn't until I started chasing rumors about a serial killer that I began to make some kind of headway. It was completely out of character for me and I guess the dream knew that...because then things got weird. I'd wander into an alleyway next to a crime scene, within walking distance of where I lived. There was someone holding a knife at the ready there, a cold look in their eyes.

They were wearing my face, of course.

I drew a knife from my own pocket. I grabbed at his neck. He plunged the knife into my belly. I plunged mine into his eye. Blood splattered onto the concrete walls as we struggled into a tumble before the both of us bled out in the alley. It didn't really matter who won the struggle, because in the end, they were the killer. I woke up the next morning as if nothing had happened. So I tried again. It still didn't matter. I tried again. Still didn't matter. I tried again, and again, and again. I think around the seventh time, the killer laughed at me, asking me if a fight to the death was really something I craved. I told him to shut his stupid face and get a fucking haircut, that albino motherfucker. So we killed each other again in the dream and then I woke up in my bed again. The knife was still bloody.

The days went on and at one point I turned into a cat. Not sure what that was about.

There was a third anomaly.

One day, when I was at the library - there was a door I didn't recognize that no one else acknowledged. So I opened it to be greeted with lakes of literal fire. I saw the hollow corpses of giants and seas of blood and flame, with the sky covered with the wings of reptilian beasts that spat fi-dragons. It's just dragons. I stared at this for a good, long minute before slamming the door shut. I tried again the next day, and instead found someone standing on the cliffside overlooking the hellish scene. They turned to face me and spoke in a language I didn't understand...but somehow, I know what they were saying.

>“Please.”

Then, the door vanished and never came back.

After that, I confronted the killer again. He drew his knife. I drew a cup of coffee and offered it to him. “You wanna sit down and talk, man?” I asked. He stared at me with a quizzical tilt of his head, that frozen smile of his still on his face.

>"This stupid store-brand Starbucks shit is way too expensive for what it gives you, you know?" He asked as he gulped down the coffee. We sat down and talked things out on the bench. Turns out we had a lot in common.
“I hear you. Still, guilty pleasures and all that.”
>"If you're spending four extra bucks for some shitty coffee, isn't that more of an addiction?"
“Eh, an addiction is self-inflicted problems that always catch up to you. A guilty pleasure is something you have no obligation for and do anyways.”
>"Isn't that just an addiction with a more dumbass description?"
“Hey, fuck you.”
>"No, fuck you."
We both laughed and continued to talk bullshit for what felt like an hour.

“You're me.”
>"And I'm you."
“Didn't think I was a crazy axe murderer deep down.”
>"Everyone is, to some extent. Some guys wanna shoot their co-workers. Others actually go through with it. Others still just pick up a rifle and go hunting like their ancestors did."
“Never really had it in me to hurt someone.”
>"But you -wanted- to."
“A little.”
>"See, that little part of your reptile brain - it never goes away. You just either use it or you don't. And unlike most civilized people, you're in a pretty dangerous situation, so it's been getting a workout."
“Understatement.”
>"Right. But you don't wanna be a killer, either. You're the kind of guy who unironically thinks Superman is good civilization in your adult years."
“Hey, don't diss Supes.”
>"So, you've got me. The place for those urges to sit and do something -useful-. To cushion your weary little head when that knife of yours finally runs red with blood."
“So this dream was just you trying to get me to accept you...?”
>"Like it or not, buddy, if you don't, you're not going to be able to deal with whatever comes next. You can feel it, can'tcha? Someone else is kicking around in your head. There was a passenger in that little light in your soul. And let me tell you - that karma ain't pretty. Not one bit."
“...the Thirteen sounded like bad news.”
>"Oh, yeah. No doubt about that. You know what else you noticed?"
“What?”
>"Nicholas never said The Thirteen themselves were dead."

Then, I woke up from my Dying Dream. I'd like to remind you, that was the first month.

There were two sets of memories in my mind. I was a high school student, adopted into a foster home in my youth after I was orphaned under strange circumstances. My family wasn't rich, but had inherited an old estate located deep within the city several generations ago, and it was under their ownership ever since. Now, both parents had died of sickness and accident respectively, I was set to inherit the property as I finished high school. This raised a lot of questions I initially wasn't too concerned about, because I mostly just wanted to go home and see if I could dig up an SNES and actually relax for a little while. I was in such a haze I simply had forgotten why this ‘me’ was in the hospital to begin with, let alone comatose for an entire month. I felt just fine now.

...? Someone's in the kitchen...but I should be the only one living here. A silhouette is in the window. I put my hand on the doorknob, and its locked. I turn the key and let myself in. The source of the activity was a girl, just an inch taller than me. She turned her head to look at me with confusion, before it changed into a soft smile. It was very subtle, but I could see her eyes light up with joy upon seeing me. Food still cooking on the pan, she turned around and faced me before bowing to me.

>“Welcome home. I've prepared supper. I hope you're hungry!” She said with a smile.

Her name was Ayumi. She was my maid, someone who had been hired fairly recently, and had been expecting my return. I had been injured in a traffic accident and she was ready to go pick me up, but I had managed to arrive on my own in the meantime. She had been taking care of the house in my absence. Her hair was a short and soft gold, with a perky and feminine figure that was hidden behind a conservative maid's dress. She was gentle, almost motherly, and quickly asked over me. How I was feeling. If I was still sore anywhere. If I wanted anything in particular from her. This was an adolescent fantasy and a half come true.

There's just one problem.

My family never hired a maid.