“E-excuse me, ma’am?” the butler timidly addresses me as I walk past him into the ballroom. “Is something wrong?” I ask, impatiently. “Well, not exactly, it’s just, I need to make sure you’re on the guest list.” “Hah!” I laugh with false bravado, “You’d accuse me, of all people, of being a party crasher? Do you know who I am?” “I do not, ma’am,” he says, “It wouldn’t be much of a masquerade ball if I did.” I laugh too loudly. “Right you are! But it’d hardly be much of a masquerade ball if I weren’t on the guest list.” “I don’t doubt you for a second, milady,” the butler says, “But I must do as I’m bid. So if you’d please cooperate…” “Yes, of course!” I say, “I hope I didn’t trouble you unduly. And I must commend your obedience. Would that my own servants were as well-mannered as you!” “You are too kind, milady,” he says, as he flips through some documents, occasionally glancing up at my face. He eventually settles on a page and squints at my mask for a few seconds. I know I have nothing to fear. The mask I had forged was so convincing, I couldn’t tell it apart from the real one with a magnifying glass. For all I knew, it was the forgery I had returned, and the genuine article I was now wearing. “It appears you are on the list,” the butler finally says, “House Aethis extends its warmest welcomes. And I apologize for any inconvenience.” “It was no trouble!” I assure him, before making my way into the ballroom.
I hope the mask on my face hides my disgust at my surroundings. Nobles spent enough money to feed a village for months, maybe even years, all for a single night of lavish overindulgence. Every mask and every dress, every goblet of wine and every plate of cheese here was purchased with the life of a peasant starved by poverty. And for what? A big game of dress-up? I suppose that these fools think that with their masks, they can buy an escape from the consequences of their actions. Tonight, they are not who they were yesterday, and they are not who they will be tomorrow. They are their masks, beings who were born tonight, will die tomorrow morning, and intend to make the most of their short time on Earth. But these are the beliefs of a child, a babe who thinks their mother vanished because she hid her face. No amount of money frees you from the chains that bind cause to effect.
I’ve heard rumors of a “Noble Assassin,” a clever moniker for one of noble intentions who assassinates the nobility. They are said to fight for the downtrodden, targeting corrupt politicians, oppressive lords, and greedy merchants who profit off of the misery of others. They take none of the wealth for themselves, and the story goes that they mean for it to be shared among the victims of their greed. If such a person existed, perhaps they would slit the throat under every masked face in this ballroom. Such a bloodbath could only be called unjust for being too lenient. A hundred murders, no matter how gruesome and torturous, would be a miniscule fraction of a suffering they and their ilk have inflicted over generations. But no such person exists; I will confess to the murder of nobles, but I must plead innocence to the charges of noble intentions. All I have done, I have done for vengeance. There is no room in my heart for compassion for others who have suffered as I have at the hands of these monsters. There is only hatred. I wield my blade for none but myself, and all those who were taken from me.
It doesn’t take long for me to find him. He’s wearing a mask, but everything about him – his eyes, his hair, his posture, everything – is seared into my memory. For the first time, my mask starts to crack, and I let my anger show, just for a moment. My fingers clench around the hilt of my dagger. I could plunge it through his heart right now. It would be so easy. And then it would all finally be over. But I’m not going to let him off that easy. After ordering two glasses of the fanciest-sounding wine available at the bar, I stealthily slip a few drops of poison into one of them. As much as I’d love to kill him with my own hands, to slash and stab and cut every last drop of blood from his body, I’ve been assured that if anything can bring him the suffering he deserves, it’s this poison. I return to him, and effect the flirtiest voice I can muster, “My, it seems the bar misheard my order and gave me two glasses of wine! If only I there were a dashing gentleman for me to share it with!” “I suppose I wouldn’t mind indulging in some fine wine and even finer company,” he says, probably thinking he’s smooth. “Free wine? Score!” Before I could hand him the glass, some woman snatches the glass from my hand and downs it in one gulp. I’m too shocked to speak. I don’t doubt that someone as rich as her deserves the headsman’s axe, but only one man in existence is evil enough to deserve the fate that she just accidentally brought on herself. She belches loudly. “DAMN!” she slurs, “I didn’t know they were serving the good shit here. Why, I would even go so far as to say that this wine is to die for!” My entire body tenses up. Who is this woman? Did she know the wine was poisoned? Why would she drink it anyway? “I beg your pardon?” The man asks. “Oh, you’ll be begging for a lot more than that when I’m through with you!” She says, unnecessarily loudly. “Who dares say such vulgar things to me?” He demands, standing up angrily. “Sssshhhhhh! It’s a secret!” She whispers, loudly, “We’re playing mystery dress-up pretend games, remember? It’s against the rules to say who you are!” “You have besmirched the very dignity of the masquerade with your actions!” He shouts, “Its rules will not protect you. Now remove your mask, or I will remove it for you!” “Buddy, I’m doing you a favor by keeping it on,” she says, “I’m so hot that if I took my mask off, you’d get a boner so big it’d shoot through your brain and kill you instantly. And as hilarious as that would be-“ She is cut off by him reaching for her mask. She effortlessly grabs his hand and holds him in place. “I won’t tell you who I am, but I’ll give you a hint,” she says, her tipsy cheerfulness replaced with a chilling malice, “Behind this mask is the last face you want to see right now. I trust you know exactly what that means?” He nods timidly as the color drains from his face. “Y-yes, of course. I apologize for the trouble.” “You’d better,” she spits, “Well, it’s about time for me to fuck off. Do let me know if anything fun happens.” She then leaves, followed by every pair of eyes in the room. She’d made quite the scene.
“A-anyway,” I say, trying to regain control of the situation, “I’ve already drank from this glass, but I could go get another for you if you wish.” “That’s quite alright,” he says, “I think I’ve had enough wine for tonight. I wouldn’t want to end up like that blasted drunkard from before.” I force a laugh. More work went into obtaining that potion than this bastard had ever done in his life. And it was all for nothing. But that doesn’t matter. I can still kill him. I can still end this.
“Do you have some other business with me?” He asks, “My mood has rather soured.” “Well, even if you’re not in the mood for wine, you can still enjoy some fine company with-“ “Can we hurry up and drop the charade?” he asks, “I’m getting embarrassed for you.” “Whatever do you mean?” I ask. “I know who you are, and I know why you’ve come here,” he says, “Do you really think you’re the first whelp to try to kill me? Or even the second, or the third? I’ve made enough enemies to warrant assassins who would put the pathetic ‘noble assassin’ before me to shame. Yet I am still alive. I will not die to an assassin too stupid to realize that a masquerade ball was too perfect an opportunity to be anything other than a trap.” “I see the bait,” I say, “But where’s the trap? Unless you have something that can stop me from stabbing through your heart right now, all you’ve given me is a free meal.” “Hah!” he scoffs, “I invite you to try!”
My blade crackles with electricity as I move to strike him with the speed of lightning. Unexpectedly, someone manages to block my attack. He smirks. “My men are the best money can buy. They’ll have no trouble-“ he is cut off by an aftershock of thunder, a loud blast powerful enough to knock him back several feet onto the ground. But the sword that blocked my attack remains steady. How?
“Wha- You! Who are you!? What is the meaning of this!” The man’s questions mirror my own. The person who guarded my attack is none other than the boisterous lady from before. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she quips. “Bah! It matters not! Neither of you will leave here alive! Guards, kill them!” No one answered his call. “I mean, you’re probably not wrong, but you’re a dumbass if you think those guards of yours are killing either of us,” she says. “Wh-where are they? What’s happening?” He asks. “Oh, the guards? They’re dead,” she says, nonchalantly. “Wh-what? How?” He asks. “I mean, it was kind of implied that I’d killed them, but I guess you need me to spell it out,” she says, “And for the record, my girl here was absolutely spot-on. Those boys would have barely slowed her down. At least, I certainly hope so, or this is all a huge waste of my time.” “I suppose that means you’re here for me, then?” I ask. “Yes!” the mysterious woman exclaimed, clasping her hands together in delight, “At least someone around here doesn’t need everything spelled out for them!” I sigh. “I’m kind of busy right now, but if you just get out of my way, I promise I’ll kill whoever you want, free of charge.” “Oh, honey, no!” she cries out in dismay, “Don’t do me like that! And after I just vouched for you! Did I not just vouch for her?” She turns to The Man. “I… wha- huh?” “And then what does she go and do? She needs everything spelled out for her! The nerve! I guess this is what I get for trusting people…” I tire of her nonsense. With a flash of lightning, I jump to a wall behind me, then up to the ceiling, then to my target, all in a fraction of a second. So quick a death is far better than he deserves, but I cannot stand to see him draw one more breath.
Huh? My blade stops just short of his breast. A shield of dark energy surrounds him. I strike with my dagger several more times, to no avail. I realize this is probably that woman’s doing, but I can deal with her once I’ve finished my job. I hold my hand out in front of me, and imagine a tall, proud oak tree. I imagine it felled by a flash of lightning, reduced to mere ash and splinters in a matter of moments by the fury of the storm. A figure rises from the rubble, obscured by a swirling vortex of smoke. The seal is weakened.
My right arm begins to change; a cloudy, greenish grey spreads down from my hand as my fingertips sharpen into claws. Electricity crackles in my hand, aching to be unleashed. The white-hot plasma illuminates a look of absolute terror on his face. I can’t help but smile. But before I can finish him, something knocks me off balance. I lose control of the lightning and it shoots at the wall, leaving a scorch mark where it strikes. I turn to the source of the attack and am unsurprised to find the same woman who stopped me before. “Ah, ah, ah!” she tuts, “You can’t have your desert before you have your dinner!” “I am going to kill this man tonight,” I growl, my voice rumbling with thunder, “And if you stand in my way, I’ll kill you, too.” “Then go ahead and try!” she says, “I-“ I’d heard all I needed to hear. I imagine a small clearing of trees, buffeted by howling winds, battered by rain and hail until they were uprooted and torn asunder. The figure comes into view more clearly. The seal is weakened further.
My left arm transforms just as my right did. The air around me stirs restlessly, eager for the chaos of the storm. With the swiftness of the wind, I charge at my opponent and strike with my blade, again and again, my blows coming down like rain. She manages to parry all of my attacks with her rapier, but my overwhelming assault leaves no room for counterattack. I begin to lose control of my body. My right hand moves on its own, wildly slashing and stabbing with no rhyme or reason, while my left hand balls up into a fist and hardens into a hailstone. While my opponent blocks an attack from my dagger, I punch her in the gut, causing her to double over, then I punch her in the face with my right hand, sending her mask flying off and knocking her to the ground. She scrambles to put her mask back on, and puts up a magical barrier just in time to block my next attack. But I don’t let up; I continue punching until her shield shatters. I throw my fist at her with the full fury of the storm: wind, and lightning, and rain, and hail all coalesce into one attack. The fight is over.
Huh? I feel a sharp pain in my abdomen. I look down and see the point of her sword sticking out from my stomach. I look at her in disbelief. How did she stab me in the back? Is this really the end? A scythe blade of sharpened bone extends from her sword. “You fought admirably,” she says, “But I’m afraid it wasn’t enough. Now die.” With a snap of her gloved hand, the scythe is pulled towards, moments from slicing me in half-!
No. So long as that man lives, I will not die. I refuse. I grab the blade. The ice on my hand protects me, but I can feel it start to dig into my flesh. I imagine a vast, sprawling forest, teeming with life. Within it are trees old enough to have seen mankind’s first steps. But they will not live to see mankind’s dying breath; the storm is coming. Lightning ignites an inferno that burns despite the pouring torrent of rain. Hail batters the flora and fauna, large enough to crush the skull of a deer with a single stone. A tornado uproots the trees and tosses them around like toothpicks. Even when the entire forest is razed to the ground, the storm only grows in fury. At the center of it all, in the eye of the storm, stands a figure, much clearer than before. This time, the figure is me. The demon is free.
My mask falls to the ground and shatters, for there is no longer a face for it to hide. The blade slices through me, but I feel no pain. I no longer have a body to cut. All that remains of me is wind and clouds, rain and lightning. And fury. “Hah! Finally decided to fight for real, eh?” She says, “I guess I should do the same-“ The wind tears the breath from her lungs. I blast her with a stream of air that could carry away a fully grown man, but she braces herself and manages to stand firm against it. “Heh, you’re pretty strong. But you’ll have to do better than that to-” I do better than that. That was just a warmup, a test of my power. For the first time, I bring the full fury of the storm to bear: Wind and rain and hail blast her against the wall, pinning her under the pressure of a hundred atmospheres. My mind grows as cloudy as my body. I can scarcely remember who is bearing the brunt of the storm before me. My purpose wavers, but the storm only grows in intensity. The minutes tick by; the storm has raged for far longer than any human can endure, but I find myself incapable of stopping it. I fear that I may lose myself entirely to the storm. But what is there to fear? What do I have to lose by giving myself to the storm’s embrace? I can no longer remember. The storm is no longer content to focus its fury on one target. When it relents, little more than a skeleton remains of the woman. It looks to expand, to find more to obliterate and destroy. It finds a man who reminds me of who I am. Why I brought this storm in the first place. The storm howls for his destruction, to tear him asunder in an instant, but my inner storm howls louder. I will see him suffer. I meet the demon within me head on, and bring it to heel. Before, I was merely a vessel for the storm’s fury, but now, it is a vessel for mine.
“Incredible!” I turn to see the skeleton of the woman standing on its own two feet. “Oh, this?” she says, nonchalantly, gesturing at her body, “I’ve been a skeleton this whole time. You just blew off my clothes, basically. Not that I’m complaining, heh.” “Who are you?” I demand, “Who could possibly bear the full fury of the storm and walk away unscathed?” “Unscathed?” she says, “Hardly. This is the most scathed I’ve been in a long time. Hell, that probably would have killed me, if I knew how to die.” “I’d be more than happy to teach you,” I say, menacingly. “But do you know how to yourself?” She asks. Her question catches me off-guard. “Surely you’ve realized by now,” she says, “Or at least suspected. You’re not human. Not anymore. Whatever you are, it isn’t something that dies. Not peacefully, at least.” “I don’t care!” I snap, “None of that matters. All that matters is-“ “You’ll have an eternity to care,” she says, grimly, “An eternity to regret choosing petty revenge over your own precious mortality.” “My revenge isn’t petty!” I shout, with a roar of thunder, “You know nothing of the suffering I’ve endured!” “And you know nothing of mine,” she says, defiantly, “But you will soon enough. And it will be all the worse for knowing that you chose it. So when you’re at the mercy of eternity, begging for release, don’t come crying to me!” “I-!” I decide it isn’t worth talking to her anymore.
I turn towards Him. It’ll all be over once he’s dead. Won’t it? But how should I kill him? How could I possibly make him suffer enough? There are too many options, but none of them seem right. I wish I still had the poison. “I’m sorry,” the skeleton speaks up. “Good,” I say, annoyed, “you should be.” “If it helps, I-“ “It doesn’t.” I say no more. She deserves no more. This isn’t about her. It’s about me, and Him.
“Do you fear me?” The question I pose is as quiet as a breeze, but dangerous as a hurricane. “I always feared you,” I say, “When I was young and foolish, I thought for sure that you must be a demon or a devil, a being of supernatural evil. The kind of villain that legends are written about. But now I understand that you are nothing so grand. You are but a man, an animal who fancies himself something greater. You think that your wealth, and your power, and the respect and fear that you have earned set you apart from a common man or beast, but you are wrong. Worms feast on the rich and poor alike. If you are remembered at all, it will not be as a ruthless criminal who struck fear into the hearts of men. You will not be known as a wealthy magistrate to whom even the king answered. You will be remembered as a fool who created the monster that destroyed you.”
“Are you enjoying this?” he asks. “Utterly destroying any who would show me even the merest iota of disrespect… that was always my favorite part of the job. How ironic that your hatred for me would turn you into the very monster you despise.” “You dare compare yourself to me?” I howl. He laughs an arrogant laugh. “You have done nothing that I would not, were I in your position. You are every bit the monster I am.” “I am a monster far greater than your comprehension!” I roar, shattering the shield between us and smashing him into the wall with a powerful blast of wind. “We may be monsters, but to compare yourself to me is to compare a slime to The Omniwyrm.” He smiles an arrogant smile, even as blood drips down from the back of his head. “You even let me think I had won. That was always my favorite way to put someone in their place. It’s so much more satisfying to take everything from someone after you give them something to lose.”
I imagine a forest. A tree is already ablaze with the fires of Hell; red tongues of flame lick its branches clean of leaves and devour its trunk in mere seconds; even ashes are burnt until nothing remains but a plume of black, acrid smoke. An ordinary flame would be snuffed out with nothing left to burn, but the flame persists, sustained by hatred alone. It begins to spread, destroying everything in its path. In the midst of the hellscape, a shadowy figure rises.
A single raindrop falls from an overcast sky, instantly sizzling away in the heat of the flames. It is followed by another. And another. Just as quickly as the flame grew into an inferno, the drizzle grows into a tempest. The flames rage against the storm, burning all the brighter to spite it, but the storm responds in kind. Puddles become lakes and lakes become seas as the downpour grows more violent than any natural storm. The flames are defiant to the last, but the storm does not relent until they and the shadowy figure among them are drowned.
He hacks and gasps for air, coughing up rainwater as the embers in his eyes die out. “You…” he sputters, “What have you done?” “I won,” I say, triumphantly. “I-it seems that you have,” he says. For the first time, he is afraid. But still not nearly enough. “I don’t intend to give you the satisfaction of begging for mercy,” he says, “But I guess they never do, do they? But I always broke them, in the end. Let us see how well I have taught you.”
I don’t break him, in the end. By the time I break him, I am only just beginning. If he begged for mercy, his pleas were drowned out by the howling wind. By the time I relent and prepare to finish him, he is hardly in a state to breathe, let alone speak. And yet the look in his eyes remains defiant. Hatred wells up within me, crackling through my body as electrical energy. I can wait no longer. All of my feelings coalesce into a final bolt of lightning that kills him instantly.
In a flash, he is gone. Had the bolt vaporized him? No, that couldn’t be possible. I don’t know what happened, but I know who is responsible. “YOU!” I fly in a rage towards the skeleton, but before I can reach her, bones burst from the floor beneath me and erect a skeletal cage around me. Though my gaseous form should easily slipped between the cage’s bars, something holds me in place. Her left eye glows with a pale blue flame more terrifying than all of His hellfire. In that mere flicker, I can see illuminated every corner of The Void, the final nothingness that awaits all things. But I’m not going to let that stop me.
“I have your poison!” she blurts out before I can break out of her restraints. “I know where he is, and I want to help you! And, uh, sorry about the cage, I just needed a chance to say that before you obliterated me.” The flame in her eye vanishes, and with it, the cage collapses around me. “Why didn’t you say that sooner?” I demand. “I’m sorry!” she says, “It’s just, I could tell you’d put a lot of time into preparing that monologue and I didn’t want to ruin your big, dramatic moment!” “W-what? I didn’t… Anyway, none of that matters anymore! Where is he? And where’s the poison?” I ask. “Oh, he’s back at the Titty Crypt,” she says, nonchalantly. “The what?” “Oh, that’s, uh, what I call the place that I ‘live’,” she says, finger quoting the word “live.” “’cuz, y’know, I’m not really alive,” she explains, “Anyway, I think this is the first time I’ve ever actually said it out loud so I’m only just now realizing that it sounds dumb as Hell, but I refuse to change it.” “And just where is this… Titty Crypt?” I ask. “Ugh, gross, don’t say it like that!” She exclaims, “The Titty Crypt is cool and exciting, like titties and crypts. The way you say it makes it sound like a morgue for titties so ugly not even a pervert could love them.” “Why are you doing this?” I demand, accusingly. “What ever do you mean?” she asks, coyly. “Any of this!” I snap, “Why would you ruin my plans and then say you’re going to help me just to mock me? What is wrong with you!?”
“Hah.” She lets out a sad, broken laugh. “I’m afraid we don’t have enough time for me to explain fully. Your guy would probably die of old age before I finished!” She winces at her own words. “No. Sorry. I… that is exactly what’s wrong with me.” “What are you trying to say?” I ask, “This better not be another one of your stupid jokes!” “It’s not!” She says, “That’s why… it’s so hard for me. But I want you to know… I really do want to help you.” “Then why haven’t you?” I ask, venomously. “I… I tried to, I just… I don’t know how.” “JUST STOP!” I shout, “That’s it! All you have to do to help me is stop trying! I don’t need you!” “But you need something!” “The only thing I need is the life of that bastard!” I howl. “And what about after that?” She asks, “What will you live for when you’ve had your revenge?” The question catches me off guard for a moment. “What did you live for before you lived to kill? Who were you before you became a demon?” “I don’t owe you any answers!” I shout. “But you owe them to yourself,” she says, “Do you even remember?” “Of course I-” I was cut off by the realization that I didn’t. I try to remember, but my mind can think only of The Storm. I see a planet darkened by thunderheads, continents sundered by gales fierce enough to shake the very foundations of the Earth itself. Yet, amidst the debris, not a single remnant of who I was. Where I look for my love, my passion, my hopes, my soul, I find only my hate, my fury, my despair, my storm. Had I been consumed by the demon without even realizing? No… this has to be another one of her stupid tricks!
“It’s OK if you don’t remember,” she says, “Your past doesn’t have to determine your future.” “SHUT UP!” I explode, “WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT ANYTHING? HOW COULD YOU POSSIBLY HELP ME?” “I… you’re right,” she admits, meekly, “I should just go away.” “NO, REALLY!” I insist, “SAY IT. TELL ME WHAT YOU’RE BIG PLAN WAS!” “W-well, I thought, maybe instead of both of us being alone for eternity we could be… like… together.” “HAH!” I laugh a cruel, mirthless laugh. “That’s the first funny joke you’ve told all night! Here’s another one: I would rather drink that poison you stole from me! I would rather spend an eternity alone than even one more second with you! And it’s funny because it’s true!” She begins crying.
Julia. Her sobs pierce a hole through the overcast skies in my mind. The sun’s rays peek through just enough to illuminate a single name. Julia. The name isn’t mine, but it’s far more important to me. I remember how much Julia cried, and how hard I tried to cheer her up. I remember telling Julia that one day we would be happy, and safe, and that I would always protect her. I remember every lie I told her. I remember how she was the final straw. But the storm won’t bring her back. It’s too late for Julia. But it isn’t too late for the big sister she loved.
Her memory shone brighter than the sun, silencing the howling wind and roaring thunder in an instant. I hear only the rain that had been drowned out by the storm. I feel only the grief I had hidden with my rage.
I wipe away my tears by reflex, an instinct to never show that I was hurting. As I feel the warmth of my cheek against my hand, I realize that I was no longer a vessel of the storm. For the first time in far, far too long, I feel human. So I cry. I cry, and I sob, and I wail, and I grieve. I cry every last tear I’ve saved for over a decade, and the storm pours rain until the clouds themselves fell to the earth. Though the land the sun shone down on was razed flat, I was certain that new life would bloom.
“Uh, are you OK?” The skeleton pokes me with her scythe, jolting me upright from my fetal position on the ground. “What? I…” I suddenly remember where I am, and who just witnessed my emotional breakdown. I’m too embarrassed to speak. “You OK?” she asks. She sounds genuinely concerned. “I… I don’t know,” I say, “Maybe. More OK than I was, at least. Thanks.” “Huh? Oh, uh, you’re welcome,” she says, flustered, “For the thing I did for you, obviously, and the very intentional way in which I did it.” I chuckle. “I’m sorry I said all that,” I say, “I wasn’t angry at you, I was angry at…” my words falter. “Backstory stuff? It’s OK,” she assures me, “We all have it. You don’t have to get into it if you don’t want to… but, to be fair, it was a pretty solid own. Game recognize game.” “I… what?” I ask. “Well, just, like… the joke that you made at my expense, while very hurtful, was still pretty funny,” she explains, awkwardly. “Oh.” It was all I could say. “Anyway, speaking of backstory stuff,” she begins, “I don’t remember if I had the chance to squeeze this in, but I’ve basically never talked to anyone as an actual peer or ever really treated anyone as anything other than a toy to be played with and discarded once I get bored with them, so this is pretty much my first time, and like… how am I doing? Am I nailing it? Because it feels like I’m nailing it.” I laugh. “You really have a lot to learn if this what you think being helpful is,” I say, “Maybe this time I’ll have time to teach you…” “This time?” she asks. “Oh, nevermind, it’s just…” I trail off. “Backstory stuff?” she offers. “Yeah.”
“Alright, so are we going to fucking murder that guy or what?” she asks, after several seconds of silence. “Just a few minutes ago, I would’ve said yes,” I say, “But I just realized that all of my anger towards him was just a lie I told myself to mask my own sadness. Because if I’m angry, I can take it out on someone. I can equip myself with knives, and poisons, and demonic magic, and see them destroyed. Anger gives me purpose. But sadness does not. You can’t take it out on anyone.” “Can’t you?” she asks, “Isn’t that basically just like… finding someone and talking about why you’re sad with them?” “I…” “Sorry,” she says, “I don’t know what I’m talking about, that was probably stupid.” “No, you’re right,” I say, “Surprisingly right. That… probably would have been easier than becoming an eternal murder demon.” I chuckle self-deprecatingly. “Well, I’m much better at fucking murdering guys than I am at listening to backstory stuff, but if you think that would help, I can give it a shot.” She says. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that,” I say, “But there’s something else that I realized. Despite all that… I still really want to fucking murder that guy.” “Oh Hell yeah, baby,” she says, producing the phial of poison, and raising it in a toast, “To fucking murdering that guy.”