Chapter 4: The Queen and Her Rebel II

Rayna, Ava and the male lead were all unique existences in these fabricated worlds.

Rayna’s soul was the protagonist, Ava’s soul the villain, and the male lead’s soul the male lead, though his true name was unknown.

Both Ava and Rayna, however, were different to the male lead, for he was connected to the system, and received favour so large that it could penetrate the skies; never did he suffer through harsh winds nor storm, pampered to the max, the system’s baby darling.

Naturally, unlike Ava and Rayna, who usually had to suffer at each other’s hands, the male lead generally had a very prosperous position, playing his role of Prince Charming to a ‘T’.

…Though Rayna, his unwilling Sleeping Beauty or Cinderella, generally perceived his ‘affections’ as the unwanted and intolerable advances of a pervert or stalker.

Rayna was also very vocal about her personal views.

Such as right now.

Looking up from the torture rack, Rayna saw her beloved, Ava, embrace her, gently running a knife’s blade down her back, slitting the skin as though filleting a fish, the acute pain rolling off her skin in waves, burning as the blood dripped down her skin.

AH, dang, this HURTS —!

At her thoughts, the system in her head coaxed, [Darling dearest, if it hurts so much, why don’t you —]

— I want to jump you, my muse!

The system tried to fix Rayna’s brain to a more natural circuit, [Well, Rayna, if you, say, with the male lead…]

Rayna snorted. [What, kiss that shitman? No thank you. I’d rather experience ten times this pain, yeah?!]

The moment she said this to the system, Ava got up, turned to a nearby guard, and commanded them to bring her a serum that would increase sensitivity tenfold. Ava’s pale fingers didn’t hesitate when she injected the sparkling silver liquid into Rayna’s arm — but her suddenly different habits of movement revealed that it was the system who’d taken control of Ava’s body.

Apparently, Ava’s system had let her sexy mouth off though, for the girl glared at Rayna with a vengeance, growling, “You idiot…” as her body twisted like an elegant snake’s, power hidden in her curves and glinting narrowed eyes. With a whisper-like voice, Ava hissed, “You really want to do that…?”

Oops. I’ve triggered the system to trigger my muse.

But dang, Ava looked hot.

And sexy.

Rayna wanted to kiss her face, but as she was tied down to the torture rack, she could only settle for licking Ava’s fingers as the other girl reached out poke the wounds on her neck.

With a brief moment of hesitation, Ava’s fingers drew themselves backwards, the girl rapidly settling down into a sitting position on a stool. Crossing her long legs, resting her chin on her hand,  her fingertips pushed their way into her slightly opened mouth, nibbling on her licked fingers, the silver liquids sparkling in the dim, waning light, like the moon goddess had blessed the puny mortals to glimpse on her great divinity, savouring its taste with a leopard-like grace.

Rayna nearly swore at this provoking sight.

My muse! Let me remember this moment for eternity!

The system was speechless for quite the long while before remembering to persuade her, [Look, darling. That woman’s the one that’s hurting you; isn’t the male lead a much better match? Just agree to see him, and he’ll take you out of here immediately, why would you want to stay here with that bitch —]

Rayna suddenly snarled, the air’s temperature suddenly dropping as danger and murderous intent filled the room like a poisonous cloud. Hate, anger, and an overflowing desire to kill hardened into a gaze that felt like it could sear even the sun. [If you dare, dare call her that ever again, system…] Her eyes narrowed, a twisted laugh echoing out of her mouth, [I can do so much worse.]

The system shivered, for the last time Rayna made true on her threat, she’d temporarily broken free of the system’s grip to kill the male lead (though her soul suffered so much damage that she had to hibernate for a few decades to recover enough to enter the next world).

Watching the girl smile, giggle, snarl, growl, and look horrendously murderous while laughing madly out of nowhere made the guards present wonder if the young lady had finally lost it.

To be fair, Rayna had indeed lost it, but from her overly obsessive swooning of Ava’s beauty and grace.

Oh, Ava, my darling! Let me see you in a queen’s dress, my goddess! Wear a crown for me! I’m forever your humble slave!

The system didn’t know whether to laugh or cry; Rayna’s terrifying anger and murderous desire had evaporated with a single steamy look of amusement from the villain.

Though naturally, the duo’s silliness couldn’t continue for long.

Ava’s purpose — or rather, the system’s purpose — was to interrogate the ‘rebel leader’ for vital information and clues. Of course, this was absolutely useless, for Rayna knew literally nothing of the rebel’s secrets.

Here was, once again, an example of the different treatment between Ava and Rayna. 

Should Ava refuse to do something, the system would use force; should Rayna refuse to do something, the system would use softer methods such as coaxing or manipulation.

Such as now.

After all, it was her lover interrogating her! Whatever Rayna knew, why wouldn’t she tell Ava? Heck, even if Ava asked for step-by-step instructions on how to destroy Rayna’s life and all she loved, including to that, she would tell Ava how to avoid the police as a complimentary gift.

The system didn’t like using force against Rayna; thus, it could only refrain from informing Rayna of the rebel’s secrets, or only tell her once she was out of Ava’s grasp.

Naturally, the interrogation was unsuccessful.

Perhaps it was that the system had always payed more attention to Rayna, or perhaps it was that Ava was simply too skilled at picking out loopholes, but what appeared to be a bloody and horrific torture wasn’t actually too painful, in addition to the system wanting to preserve Rayna’s pretty face for the male lead.

When Ava was commanded to whip Rayna’s back, she would do so with the weakest force and the worst aim, yet always aiming for the buttocks whilst avoiding the spine.

When Ava was commanded to split Rayna’s skin with a knife, she would hug Rayna while doing so, letting the other grip and tear at her clothes while getting the cuts quickly over and done with.

When Ava was commanded to burn and sear Rayna’s skin with irons, she would squeeze the selected limbs bloodless first, and conveniently let a jug of water she carried spill its contents occasionally.

She worked really, really hard.

Once she finished, she left to rest in her grand bedroom.

The bedroom had floor-to-ceiling glass windows that overlooked the entire kingdom; it was the room at the top of the castle’s tallest tower, whilst the roof was a transparent dome that let one survey the incredible stars and galaxies painted across the skies. 

From each of the horizons in the North, South, East and the West, Ava could see the world in her palm, from the South’s burning fires, the East’s famines, the West’s wars, and the North’s monster battles, while the Central province, the one wherein the castle lay, was riddled with poverty and crime.

This once-prosperous kingdom was dying.

Smoke, death, horror, poverty, misery.

The system whispered, [It’s all your fault, Tyrant.]

Ava was the Queen of her kingdom, and a tyrant who must die.

Hah. She might as well sleep.

Burrowing into satin blankets and bedsheets, silken pillows and velvet duvets, Ava curled up in her sleep, a tiny ball hidden amongst the fabrics.

Around her was the emptiness of the room; above was the emptiness of the sky; inside her was the emptiness of her missing half.

Rayna, I miss you.

Deep in the prison, covered in blood and wounds, Rayna slid down the wall and collapsed in an exhausted heap, the pain of her wounds failing to rival the pain of her split heart.

Ava, I miss you.

The system that heard the two’s mumbles: [...]

Really? Really?

Seriously, why were these two still so inseparable? What was their problem? What was this unwanted PDA?

Seriously!

Upon waking at the crack of dawn — why the heck did this place not have blinds — Ava cleaned herself up and went down to the throne room. As she went out, she was surprised to see that the walls had indeed turned into the white of hospital rooms.

Much better.

As for a different topic, her character description was a rather familiar one. Ava’s character this time was a tyrant, and one that didn’t care for her kingdom; she was obsessed with pleasure, wine and debauchery.

Hilariously enough, Ava actually wasn’t allowed to be pleasured, drink wine or be debauched… She was actually commanded to pretend to do so, this was just…

Hah.

On her throne of silver brambles, she pushed a towering stack of papers and documents to the ground from a nearby table. This stack of papers were initially waiting for her approval, but from her officials’ much too practised motions of picking up the papers, the original body had been chucking them off to others to handle. 

Ava looked at the officials in front of her, and realised something rather interesting.

They all wore masks, white hospital gowns, and were utterly silent; they were like ghosts.

Who did this…?

The system answered, [You didn’t like their ugliness, so you had them dress up like so. You didn’t like their voices, so you ordered your servants to cut out their tongues and stitched up their mouths.]

Oh.

[Speaking of orders, your next task is: Paint your soul. The countdown is three hours. Punishment upon failure is: PAIN LEVEL 70 and +5 to DIFFICULTY.]

Ava flinched, and internally cussed out the system.

What was this?! Too harsh, okay!

Ava had, at some point, started differentiating between the system’s commands: regular speech, suggestions, script, and tasks.

Regular speech was that; it could be informative, mocking, or stupid. Suggestions were what her system suggested she do, such as during her meal with the flowers. Script was when she was told to say something, and should she mess up or fail, the system would directly take control of her body.

But tasks like these were different.

She’d be given a vague task description or name, a countdown, and a punishment. The countdown was straightforward, it was her time limit; pain levels were punishments delivered directly to her soul; during the punishment, she would be taken to a separate space whilst time in the world was frozen… or maybe it wasn’t, just that her time was different…

But what Ava hated seeing was the +5 next to DIFFICULTY. 

Difficulty referred to the difficulty of a task. When this level went up, it spelled all kinds of bad for Ava — once, with a +20, she’d gotten the task of ‘Centipede’.

That was it!

The whole instruction!

Please!

Be descriptive!

What, did it want her to kill centipedes or draw centipedes or burn centipedes or breed centipedes? Find a certain breed of centipede? Or a human centipede? Or kill a centipede alternating colours orange, red and yellow at exactly ten centimetres long with her left boot…?

Her system once failed her for killing a zombie with her left heel instead of her right hand, so all possibilities were in the air…

…In the end, she never knew what her actual task was, only spending her time fumbling around trying to find centipedes at the beach…

Hah.

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‘Paint your soul’?

Alright, let’s break this down.

‘Painting’ — this was dubious. But for now, Ava decided to take it literally until more evidence popped up.

‘Your soul’ — this could probably refer to either Ava’s soul or the original tyrant’s soul.

But seeing as how the system insisted that Ava be matched with bloodthirsty, murderous and sinful evils, this distinction probably didn’t matter.

Alright.

The castle’s servants were never seen, nor heard; it was as though only the butler was present. It was extremely unlikely for the estate to truly be free of servants, however; adding on how the walls had been repainted despite no one acknowledging her order, Ava made a gamble with her dignity and said to the wall, “I want ten litres of paint and a set of paintbrushes.”

She reclined back on the throne, waiting.

Not more than three minutes later, a trapdoor in the floor opened, revealing a slab of wood that slowly elevated to match the height Ava’s chest, toting five coloured tin pots of paint and roll of fabric.

Wow.

When Ava unrolled the fabric, a set of high-quality brushes of sable hairs was revealed. Randomly picking one of the flat-edged, medium-sized brushes, she tore open a can of star-blue paint and with quick strokes, decisively painted the words your soul on the wall.

The system: “...”

You really didn’t need to take it this literally, okay!

Ava tilted her head in worried contemplation at the lack of a ‘Success!’ ding.

Wrong colour?

She had no other method than systematic guess-and-check, so she carefully mixed out the prime colours and standard secondary colours, before anxiously noting that none of them had a change in the system.

If that was the case, then…

Ava decided that there were three main conditions she needed to fulfil.

Using the right material to paint, painting with the right colours, and painting the right images. Since these paint cans failed, then the ‘paint’ she was looking for clearly was one out of the norm. Just to be sure, Ava called for acrylic, oil, water and earth paints, her efforts without fruit.

She was starting to panic now; according to her calculations, she had less than two hours left.

Glancing at the timer on the system interface out the corner of her eye, she felt her heart stop.

The system had just taken thirty minutes off the timer. 

Ava wanted to cry herself into a miserable, cold puddle. This system was too inhumane! Just because it said that the countdown was three hours didn’t mean that it would stay three hours wuwuwuwuCrying onomatopoeia (chinese)…

There was no time!

Panic seized her by the throat; like she was slowly sinking in quicksand, she knew her fate was sealed if she struggled, screamed or moved, yet wished to run, sprint and flee from this threat. Her body grew numb, cold and apprehensive, terror clouding her vision whilst her heatbeats grew ever clearer in her deafened ears. Trembles and shivers of phantom pain skimmed over her nerves, Ava’s monstrous fear causing her to twitch and flinch as though eyes had been seared onto her skin.

She really, really didn’t want to feel that pain again.

Slamming the paints on the ground in her fear, her heels dragged themselves through the splatters colours, smearing lines across the carpet as she paced.

Gripping her head, she desperately tried to think, to make her failing brain wake up from its fear-addled daze.

What does the system want from me?

What does it expect from me?

What does it expect me to be?

What does it expect me to be…

Ava paused.

Slowly raising her head, she looked up at the lines on the wall, at the point where the ceiling and wall met. The white was starkly bright against the blackness of the ceiling; red light was cast against it by the light reflecting off her throne.

The red light seemed to drip off the walls to the ground, pooling into the red carpet like sparkling rubies.

Speaking to the air, she commanded, “Bring me a litre of blood.” With a pause, she added, “Fresh blood from the dungeons. Now.”

In ten minutes, it was brought.

With the ticking of seconds trickling away, she picked up the horrid, silver pail, and splashed it onto the wall.

Red dripped, slowly trickling down. It was thick, nothing like the clear run-offs from water; it ran stark and clear down the wall. It had a kind of morbid beauty, sparkly and shiny, with a crimson hue that was too appealing to Ava’s starved eyes.

Stepping forward as though possessed, she reached out with her thumb, and pressed on the wall through the blood twice, pushing out two watery blobs. With two flicks of her finger, she finger-painted a crowing bird.

Really, really pretty…

The timer seemed to beat in time with her heart; her eyes seemed to be fixed to her craft. Groping on the floor for the paintbrushes, ignoring the remnants of paint and blood, she began to paint with the red, dabbing out strange shapes and strange thoughts on the wall, watching the blood dry and stain her skin.

[Task: ‘Paint your soul’ is completed.]

Ava finally stopped herself.

Task completed.

Wake up.

Torture prisoners.

Eat dinner.

Paint. 

Bathe.

Sleep.

Repeat.

Her days spent as the villainess were repetitive, plain, and simple. Each morning, she slept in until ten, ate a meal, and threw her pile of documents at the foot of her throne. Then, she would go into the dungeons to interrogate the rebels, and collect their blood to later use as paint. 

Dinner was the meal that stood out the most to her; it was because she usually had some strange things in there, such as poisonous flowers, berries or plants, and exotic, cruel dishes. The steak from the first night was rather tame in comparison to the live monkey’s brains, lamb suckling, three squeaks, and live donkey.These are all real chinese dishes, and all involve the torture of live animals. The monkey, three squeaks (mice), and donkey are eaten alive; the lamb is roasted alive.

Ava found it disgusting, foul and cruel. She hated it.

She hated the system for making her eat such things.

It became a habit for her to walk into the dining room, note what animal was served that day, and search for ways to discreetly kill it. Most days, she got away with it, and was able to put off eating most of the various dishes, either by gorging herself on the other side dishes or by pushing the contents around her plate until meal time was over. Unfortunately, the system soon wisened up to her tactics, and deployed means to make her eat.

This constant stress and worry over little things, big things, and muddled things slowly began to weigh on her mind.

Perhaps her ever-degrading mental state is expressed through her ‘art’; over and over on the castle walls, she would dab out shapes, creatures, monsters, birds, and a beautiful, shining feminine face.

At first, the timer was the time she had to get her blood, and begin drawing; soon, the timer began showing the minimum time she must spend painting, stretching from three hours to five, from five to throughout the night.

Sometimes, the requirement for the painting event took on the amount of blood painted.

On that day she simply took a bucket of blood, and threw it against the wall, splashing the required hundred litres against her canvas.

But eventually, when it wasn’t enough, she crazedly pulled a servant over, took a knife, and skinned them alive before slamming their body onto the wall, like a vulgar painting sponge.

Was she, perhaps, abnormal?

Abnormal like her wall paintings?

This went on for nearly a month, when the Duke of the North arrived.

With a ding in her head, the system helpfully said, [The Duke of the North is this world’s male lead; he is also the main backer of the rebels, and is the person who’ll help the protagonist kill you.]

Ava ignored it.

[He’s a very strong man. Not only does he guide the protagonist’s knife-holding hand to your neck, he’s good in bed with the protagonist. Do you want to see —]

[No, system.] Her eyes flickered downwards. [Not at all. I don’t have voyeuristic tendencies like you.] Suddenly wondering aloud, she asked, [Hey, you don’t spy on me when I strip, right?]

The system was rather speechless.

Sitting down at the dining table, he cast scornful eyes at the table of soup turtle.Another dish, one that refers to taking a turtle, forcing it to drink soup, and killing it with slowly rising temperatures.

The Duke was a tall, slender man, with tight muscles and an elegant, refined face. His black hair and red eyes were much like Ava’s; if the two were said to be siblings or twins, it would not be difficult to believe. He wore a dark black suit, with a large fur-lined coat over his shoulders. He had a ruffled, rather messy two-block hairstyle,A men’s hairstyle. Google it. his bangs parting to reveal his pale forehead yet forming a mysterious curtain across his right eye. With a powerful, suppressive air, his double-lidded eyes holding irises like sparkling rubies, he cast his gaze downward on the slightly shorter Ava, his slanted posture lacking etiquette and respect. 

The Duke didn’t hide his disdain of Her Majesty, though he didn’t actively flaunt it.

He flicked his chopsticks at the turtle weakly struggling in the orange soup and said, “I’m taking the rebel leader away.”

Ava refused to look at him; instead, her gaze followed the turtle’s movements with ashen, dead eyes. “Why?”

“I like her. Therefore, I’m taking her away.” It was the kind of self-assured, arrogant voice, one full of confidence and conviction.

Ava said numbly, “No. I forbid it, Duke.” 

The Duke’s eyes narrowed dangerously. He asked, tone cold and harsh, “Surely you don’t believe that you can stop me?” His finger caressed the blade of the knife in his hand.

Ava replied calmly, “I can certainly try.”

Unresigned, the Duke continued to threaten and pressure her, using both soft and hard methods, freely giving her the carrot and stick treatment, though his efforts were ultimately in vain; Ava staunchly refused with a calmness and coolness not unlike that of ice.

Eventually, the Duke became so enraged that he broke the table in half with one strike of his fist, and left in a huff of fury.

Ava called out after him, “Remember to reimburse the table!”

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