Chapter 5: 04 | rainfall; illogical introduction

[the downpour marks the beginning of tragedy]

——xxx——

The entire room was covered in the glorious luxury of billowing dresses, and carefully adjusted suits. During this ball, the Prince would find Cinderella, and the tale would pass its peak. 

There wouldn't be much time left after this, concluded Lucas, lurking in the shadows.

That masked man had left behind a carefully picked suit, a silent black cape draped over his shoulder like the sleeping night. He hated to admit it, but the man understood his tastes in attire, and the outfit had been crafted with special knowledge.

It radiated a delicate aloofness, painted over the straightened sleeves and silver that melded into the outfit, twisting in intricate designs across his shoulder. 

Raven hair had been combed back, yet still carried a rough temperament, brought by the irritated curve of his lip. A sword hung at his side.

He took a step into the light, half illuminating his face as he gazed from the balcony. 

There was no King or Queen in this castle—it seemed to only be him.

Behind where he stood, two victims were spread on the ground, knocked unconscious long ago.

"Damn annoying." complained Lucas, taking a glance back. The attacks wouldn't stop, ongoing persistent bothers that led to nothing.

The feeling of two eyes staring at him from within the room was still there.

He was almost certain that they belonged to that crazed youth he met the other time, somehow lurking within these walls, mingling with the crowd.

Watching.

Waiting.

The idea sent shivers up his spine, before he caught an abnormal movement in the corner of his eyes. Two people left to go outside—nothing strange, but Lucas' eyesight was good.

There was a glass slipper on the woman's foot.

He crept downstairs with nobody noticing, though on the way down he paused and caught a particular pair of blue eyes. The masked man, dressed in a similar attire with his hair left to its messy tangles, raised his glass in the air. 

The corner of his mouth quirked up.

However, he made no movement to move, and lowered the glass after a moment.

His eyes continued to observe Lucas for a second, before they trailed into the crowd, seeming to see something deeper than the surface chatter.

Lucas frowned, ignoring the greeting. There was something provoking about that man.

He slipped through the crowd, people subconsciously parting as he neared, striding through. Some of their movements were jerky and stiff, and when he glanced down, he unconsciously stiffened.

There was blood smeared all over the ground.

And although he couldn't tell at first, a few of the clicking shoes were clear, and he saw stubbed skin where the toes should've been. Their movements were clumsy as they helplessly continued to dance. 

Lucas furrowed his eyebrows in disgust. 

The ballroom was expansive, filled to the brim with hundreds. There was a buffet spread on one side, covered in refreshers and bite-sized food—which Lucas appreciated.

He was almost tempted to ignore what he saw and wander over to the food instead.

But, with great restraint (isn't he admirable?), he pushed open the door gently, just as the sound of tearing flesh filled the air and a blade drove through the woman's chest.

Her scream was soundless, dead before a sound could leave.

A pale face was laughing above her, grinning wildly while tears fell down his face. He scrambled like a ravaged dog for her feet, greedily yanking off the shoe with a sharp twist as the sound of snapping bones followed.

"Hahaha... I have a 35 now...! I'll make it in time!"

"Do you believe that?"

The next moment, somebody violently tugged the killer back, throwing him onto the ground as a sword pierced through his spread hand without warning. A glass slipper was forced into his mouth, cutting his wretched screams.

Lucas lowered his gaze, moving to look at the corpse. 

What if those NPCs were real, and they were the intruders, here destroying their lives? Was it so easy to kill a human for the sake of survival? His thoughts presented a solemn curiosity that soon moved back to the person underneath him.

Whatever the case, death would become something common soon.

"If you scream," begun Lucas, thinking carefully. "I think I'll torture you."

The man scoffed, and Lucas wriggled the sword, digging it back and forth in the tender flesh. Pain roared in the murderer's hand, and he quickly submitted, frantically nodding his head against the ground.

"Good. Spit out the shoe, come on. How can I talk to you like that?"

The man—who had the shoe stuffed into his mouth without warning and was now blamed—hurriedly followed his instructions. 

He twisted his head slightly before his eyes widened in horror. "You... you're the Mad Dog of the Aces!"

"....." Lucas truly never understood that nickname which followed him, more well-known than his actual name. He joined the gang with (violent) peaceful intentions of releasing some stress, involving himself in several larger fights where he let loose and beat everybody to the ground. It wasn't a big deal. "Keep your eyes on the ground."

"Please don't kill me." muttered the man as he obediently turned to face the ground. "My daughter... I need to make sure she's alive. I need to survive this... whatever... whatever this is."

"If you become a murderer, can you look at your daughter the same?"

"Of course... not. But what else am I supposed to do when the world's gone to hell?"

Somehow, the man had regained a sense of calm after the killing, reminded of his reason. Lucas had asked purely out of wonder, not because he thought murder was unforgivable. 

It was a conflicting topic, when one's morals had to be adjusted in order to survive.

"If you kill, you have to be prepared to take responsibility for it."

"Of course! Tch, youngster, I may look like a foolish old man, but I know what I've done. Really, funnily enough, without this craziness going on, I might not have a reason to see her. She may have forgotten her old man's face already."

A single desire pushed this man to continue living, even if he ended up sacrificing everything.

Lucas paused, then pulled the sword out, slicing a piece of his cloak. He wrapped it around the man's hand, applying firm pressure before he sat down lazily. In fact, the middle-aged man was dressed rather fancy, a pale blue suit tailored over his body and neatly groomed blonde hair.

"Old man, how many have you killed?"

The man blinked in surprise, staring at the bandaged hand before slowly pushing himself into a sitting position with a groan. 

"Well, not too many. I... I'm ashamed to admit this, but I killed a player. They had a lot of shoes in their possession. Tell me, boy, how many have you killed?"

Lucas stared at him, dragging the sword up to the moonlight, a trickle of blood trailing down. "Life is such an interesting thing, so precious and valuable." One clear eye peeked from behind the blade, devoid of colour. "But it can also be insignificant and worthless. I don't like to kill."

"Your reputation—"

"Is made of assumptions."

He was a man who knew how he felt. His morals, ideals; they were all carefully constructed and designed.

"I'm sorry, boy, but to not kill might be your end—"

"I can kill."

The words were spoken without hesitation, and Lucas placed down the sword. There was no fear in his eyes, only an eerie wave of calmness that came with a deep understanding of himself.

He was no saint, no heroic man—he was somebody who found murder to be trifling and unnecessary.

It was quite simple, really. 

He would kill if it was the best choice, and he would not kill if it was the better option. But Lucas remembered every face that died at his hands in those pointless street fights. They were few, but they truly existed.

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Regardless, there was another point to the conversation. "Do you know anybody who has filled the 50 shoes quota?"

"Not one." The man shook his head. "I've heard some players talking, but many are short by at least 10 glass slippers. The map has lost all colour—there's not many slippers left to collect."

Was the purpose of this Story a player-killing game? 

To pit people against people? Was that the only way to win? 

No, he remembered how these Stories worked. All the safe Stories, ones where nothing out of ordinary could kill anybody, were ones that always had a means of winning without any death. Even if it never ended that way.

"I...I have a suspicion for another purpose. But I can't risk my life to carry it out."

"What is it?"

"I'm a psychology professor. There's a game that I've done with my students, called 'Win as Much as You Can!' It's based on the Prisoner's Dilemma problem." The man's eyes seemed to brighten when speaking, before he collected himself.

He was truly passionate about the subject, and hesitantly wondered about the well-being of his students. Although they bothered him, and some never showed up for class, he hoped they would survive.

"Ahem, anyways, there is the simple task to win as much as you can. The students were divided into four groups, and the rules were that each group, privately, had to hold up either an X or a Y."

"Continue."

"Essentially, if everyone chose X, then everyone lost points. If they all chose Y, everybody scored points. However, if there are both X's and Y's, those that chose X won more points, while those who chose Y got fewer points. It was inevitable that most decided to choose X for their own self-interest."

Lucas was beginning to understand, and listened patiently. 

If the objective was to get as many glass slippers as possible, and the 'groups' of the experiment were each individual—were they playing into a ridiculous farce?

Although this was more simple, with only the aim of finding glass slippers existing, and without the rules of points that created conflict. Yet, it was true that Cinderella never stated that the way of winning was for each person to collect 50 shoes or more.

They were all played for fools.

"It is a possibility that the only thing we needed to do in this Story was collectively gather 100 shoes and more if possible. There is no winner or loser." 

The man tapped at the ring wrapped around his thumb, before noticing Lucas' gaze. "Ah, this was a gift from my daughter. It was far too large, so I always had to wear it around my thumb."

Lucas nodded, before falling into a deep silence. The issue was, he still felt like there was something missing. 

If that was truly the case, while many had died pointlessly, everybody still surviving would finish this Story.

Although this was supposed to be easy, and without death, there was no way Cinderella would make winning a definite.

He crossed his legs, knitting his eyebrows together. The players, or Characters had to obtain the shoes in order for them to own it. Currently, it was a blood-bath as humans murdered humans to gain enough shoes.

What if the glass slippers belonged to whoever took them first?

Then the shoes confiscated from all those killed wouldn't count, and it would truly live up to Cinderella's schemes. Lucas paled, gripping his knee. If that was the case...

"Maybe, we're all going to die."

The middle-aged man snapped his head, eyes bulging in horror. "Boy, you shouldn't say things like that so easily."

"They don't want us to survive. But they also gave us a way to live. The purpose of this Story isn't to kill, it's to collaborate. The ones that are dead have their shoes confiscated."

Cinderella said, 'The dead can't play!'

Find, steal, take. Never kill.

The man shook his head frantically, gasping as his words choked. "That's a joke, isn't it? Do you know how many have already died, how many shoes are left? We've walked into our own death, that's what it means! Does that even make sense? What was the entire point of all of this?"

"This is an introduction to the cruelty of humans. There's no reason, or purpose. Why are we in this Story, what is happening to the world? Isn't it just a big game with us in the center?"

"This is just a damn killing game, then! We're pigs waiting to be slaughtered!"

"You're right." Lucas nodded calmly, slowly standing up as he gazed at the dark skies beyond the edge. This was only the beginning. He knew how the story continued, the aimless slaughter, the destruction. "Perhaps this is our judgment."

He didn't understand the reason his story came to life, or what the destination was. But it wouldn't end simply, wouldn't end beautifully—it would only end with everybody dead, and the world burning.

What could be said at the moment was that they needed to alert everybody, warn them of the consequence of murder.

"Come on, old man—"

Bang—!

Crimson splattered onto his black clothes, spilling on the ground as the man, his hand stretched towards Lucas, fell back with wide eyes. A welling of tears, of a hope that never succeeded. 

His hand, the ring gleaming in the moonlight, drooped, collapsing at his dying side.

A small void marked the bullet in the center of his forehead.

Lucas watched, surprised before he turned his head to meet the crazed eyes of a certain youth, perched on the railing with one leg crossed and a gun outstretched. The youth grinned, two crescents peering at his victim.

"Hello~ we meet again, Ghost! Want me to predict the weather for you?"

Lucas narrowed his eyes, before calmly stepping into the small puddle of blood that started to spread, without mind for his clothes. He crouched down, ignoring the other, as he carefully slipped the ring off the man's fallen hand. 

It came off easily, coated in blood and loss.

He stared at it, wiped it briefly on his jacket, before slipping it over his own thumb. It was a little small, but that was the safest place for it.

When he grabbed it, a row of text appeared before his eyes.

[A dead man's desire (rare)

Description: An object that has been claimed by the world because of the strong lingerings of obsession. Let it lead the way to the path you desire by shouting, repeat, shouting, "Old man, show me the way!" One time use.

Additional: Isn't it a pity that the father's sole wish can never be fulfilled?]

Empty eyes gazed at the youth, corpse at his feet. "What..."

"Do you think you're doing?"

"Isn't that obvious? Killing!" exclaimed the blood-thirsty youth.

"Do you have a death wish?"

"Nope!"

Lucas nodded faintly, truly resembling a ghost in the moment as he raised his chin slightly, raising his sword in the air to point it ahead. There was only a swirl of cold in his stare, nothing more. 

"Good. I'll kill you, then."

There was no doubt that anybody would fall under the man's dominant blade, poised with no fear for life or death. A resolution to kill, if necessary.

The other laughed sharply, shaking their head before pointing at the room. 

He raised the gun in his hand, finger around the trigger excitedly. "There's a rule, haha. The story can't continue without its Characters. An apple seller's death means nothing, but what about Cinderella? The Fairy Godmother can always find her, to kill or save her."

Lucas' mind spun, both with a reminder of Nora, who was within the crowd, searching for answers to end this tale, and then the presence of Cinderella. He played the prince, so who played her?

Pale blue clothes, blonde hair that was almost golden. He looked down at the dead body on the ground.

"And if the main characters are killed," continued the youth happily.

The trigger was pressed, and glass shattered behind Lucas, flying through the air. Screams rung out, and a loud laugh erupted from the youth as he leaned forward dangerously.

"There's going to be a downpour, Ghost!" 

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