586. The First Chapter of the Book of Wrath

586. The First Chapter of the Book of Wrath

It was a simple Corrupted. Nothing about it seemed dangerous at all, even as a Main Sequence Corrupted according to Nav. However, what irked her was that Nav did not know the name of the tale of the Wrath Affinity.

“The presence within the Floor of Ego is reacting again. They’re telling me that it is something that must be discovered rather than revealed. Strange. They know more than I do even though I am supposedly an advanced AI. Even the Archivist would not have known the answer.”

Questioning their identity was no use until the day their Floor opened. Still, Frost’s curiosity didn’t die out easily as she pondered on how they knew this answer.

… We’ll never know anything until we keep collecting Main Sequence Corrupted.

Frost patted Deiman’s head to clear her mind as she listened intently to voice of the Corrupted.

I hate how cryptic they can be. But this one… somehow sticks to me more than I’m willing to admit.

Suddenly, a shriek interrupted the sermon.

There was one person in the crowd that had managed to retain their mind. A young girl tried to make herself as small as possible within the crowd, hiding amongst their shoulders but was easily found out by the cultists.

“L-Let me – go –! Brother! Snap out of it!”

She had been travelling with her brother in these desolate lands for a chance of a better life. They made a promise that if either one of them was chosen by the Mad Slippers then they’d help each other out.

But they were foolish. There was no such thing as a ticket to heaven – only to hell.

Her mind was intact, and she thrashed in the hands of the cultists who dragged her to the front of the crowd.

“B-Brother! BROTHER! Open your eyes! Open… them…?”

“Sister! It’s chose you!” A pair of familiar hands clasped onto her cheeks, squeezing them as the crazed eyes of her most trusted person drilled into hers. “You’ve been chosen! Look! Can’t you hear it!? It was always meant to be!”

Despair sunk its claws into her heart. Everyone had lost their minds. Noses bled and eyes were peeled like their eyelids were snipped off. Suddenly, the hands that held her began to squeeze tightly. At the same time, the hands of the maddened crowd clawed at her in envy.

“Is it you that it’s calling!?

“Die… die! DIE!”

“If you’re the one that wears it… then doesn’t that mean you’re a murder?”

“Evil… I see it now. It suits you perfectly. You’re disgusting!”

Envy?

No. What Frost witnessed could not be envy.

It was wrath.

Insurmountable wrath because of something the girl was unwillingly given to wear as if it was always meant to be. Frost’s skin crawled as she bit her bottom lip, her eyes burning with a similar hatred.

Because this Corrupted tapped into something that had always haunted her since the very beginning.

The girl was eventually brought up to the podium, her arms held by the many arms of the cultist. Tears tumbled down her face as she regretted her foolish optimism that brough her and her brother to a place like this.

Without warning, a sharp pain ran through her spine before it turned to a dull throb. All sensation in her legs disappeared as blood now trickled down her legs.

“Such a strong resonance. It will be a problem if you can run away.” The head of the cultist poked a knee with a walking stick as she was lifted till her toes hovered above the ground. “A severed spine is a small price to pay for the gift of destiny. Think of it as a prophecy fulfilled. Can you hear their cries of praise?”

Her face was pressed against the stone, inches away from the toes of the Corrupted slippers. There, before her eyes were the hundreds of faces that cried soundlessly within their eternal prison.

“You traitor!”

“Whore!”

“Murderer!”

The names she called her were untrue. She had never committed any of these crimes. Yet being associated with the Corrupted caused them to unleash their fury towards her, and in turn, a flame ignited within the very depths of her heart.

Unwritten stories were plastered onto her regardless that she was just a normal girl seeking a chance to turn her life around. Fantasies of others, prejudices and lies became truths as her body began to crave the slippers, her mind slipping to its demands to wear them.

No. She was going to be worn by it.

That was when Frost realized why she too was rife with hatred.

Why her blood boiled to the point where she had no choice but to finally step in.

Vines suddenly emerged from the ground, devouring the cultists all save for the head.

“Gngh!? Who dares interrupt our sacred – NAAAAAAAAAH!?”

A needle, the brambles threaded through him.

Razor-sharp thorns gruesomely grated his innards into mince. Luckily for him he was pieced in areas that lacked vital organs, meaning his death would be a slow and agonizing one.

But he was not going to be killed off so quickly.

The girl was caught by the same brambles and pulled through the air. She fell into Frost’s arms with a heavy flop. And yet, her small frame did not budge despite her weight. Black particles of light cleansed the blood that stained her legs as sensation returned.

“Since when did the Corrupted have such a cruel sense of humor?” Frost’s indomitable voice silenced the zealous crowd as brambles wrapped them in unbreakable binds. “Deiman. Are you affected by its call?”

“No. I’m like them.” He pointed to the Shells. “I’m indifferent to the voice. Are you?”

Frost didn’t answer him as she placed the woman into his arms. Her eyes were locked onto the Unfair Tale, brimming with unrivalled hatred. Her footsteps left burning imprints into the ground with each step moments before a fiery aura consumed her.

“You… You…! Must be… the one –!”

His tongue was torn out as the brambles brought him close enough for Frost to begin dragging him by his face. Steam burst forth moments before strings connected his face to her fingers.

“They still blame me even to this day.” Frost recited, her face lacking emotion but deep down she yearned to destroy the object to shut it up for good.

But it was also because of this that she had chosen to speak to it.

“Cinder’s Prophecy. The one who will reduce this world to ashes. The Captured Star. The Light. A Star. Sinder.”

The reason why this resonated so strongly was because Frost understood the hatred that came from unwillingly bearing these names; wearing them so conveniently like they were slippers made just for her.

“All their names and stories are plastered onto me like I’m still them. Since the start they had already decided on who I was.”

The Unfair Tale emitted an aura in response to her presence. She reached out to it, and so did the object with its aura as the silent screams trapped within began to echo around her.

“I know what you represent now. Why you’re Wrath and not Desire….”

“Because if you were Desire, then you wouldn’t have taken the form of a glass slipper. My changes are all unwanted. Nowadays I’ve grown used to it. But back then… it was never my choice to wake up in this kind of body. Neither was it my choice to be the incarnation of Sinder.”

This Corrupted represented every tale and every story that ever existed about Frost.

How everything surrounding her fitted her so perfectly as if it was always meant to be. And how it had all transformed her like magical slippers, causing her to embody and become the very thing that they had accused her of.

Her hand grew nearer. Her wrath of how she had ended up playing in the palm of the Impuritas’ hands to become the same destroyer they foretold caused her hands to ignite.

And slowly, the slippers began to melt even before she could touch it.

“It never was my intention to be the center of this all. I just wanted to live a normal life. I was taken from my world and thrown here. From the moment I was born I had already worn slippers of my own. The proof…”

Frost finally touched the object, incinerating it as her will surpassed its temptations to wear it.

“… is this body… and who I’ve become. That’s why –!”

The countless roars of anguish disappeared all at once moments before the sound of something shattering snapped the Shells out of their trance momentarily. And with a roar that shattered the glass mosaics in the ceiling –

“– I WILL NOT BE TIED DOWN TO THOSE USELESS FAIRYTALES!”

– She eliminated the Unfair Tale, casting them away as she nearly crushed the head of the man still in her other hand. All that remained were embers, and, to her surprise, a crystal bullet.

“… This time… As Frost… As me. I plan to make my own story. They can think what they want about me. They make those tales fit me as conveniently as they wish. But in the end, it’ll all burn down and only mine will be left standing!”

Infinite Hatred

ORIGIN :

Object

AFFINITY : Wrath

TYPE : Tool

ATT : 500

It was not particularly spectacular since this was only a Monsoon Corrupted.

Furthermore, it was convenient that she gained a bullet when she finally possessed a firearm.

But what surprised Frost enough to quench her flames were the special effects.

Because if she read it properly, then these conditions needed to be met by two people. But which one was she?

The rightful owner, or the wrathful shooter? Or perhaps…

… Was she neither of them?

In any case, the Unfair Tale was a Corrupted Object that swallowed the egos of those it wore, like how wrath and the burdens of the slipper could swallow one till nothing was left of them.

“Tch. It’s still a fresh wound, you know? The fact that I still don’t know what the fuck I really am, and they have the gall to decide that for me… Disorder. So I’m not the only one that feels this way… how reassuring. Don’t we all just want to be who we decide to be?”

Frost sighed before lifting the man. She threw his body onto the podium, his head hanging loosely off the edge which was pulled down with her strings. Any further and his head would rip right off.

“Now then – it’s time to get my answers before we head off to the Capital. Think carefully. You can either answer truthfully or be given a painless death. Or I can walk through into the depths of hell and turn you into something you’ll never come back from.”

Suddenly, the brambles became thicker. Colorful flowers sprouted in place of the thorns as a giant, black dahlia blossomed behind the back of her head. It was like a giant hat, but if one looked closely, then they’d find rows of teeth hiding in wait behind those beautiful petals.

Her trousers were swiftly moved into her Dimensional Storage the moment they began to stretch, for her lower was replaced by dozens of thick, tendril-like roots. Like the many hands of the Greed Counter, she could feel and control every single one of them like fingers.

Suddenly, a blue flower appeared on the man’s head.

The blue represented lust.

After all, the colors of the petals were dyed by the sins of the flower’s victims.

All for the sake of blossoming into something beautiful.