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Lucifel's Ideal World, v.2
—The world is ugly, he once declared.
Chaos is inevitable in this world. Pure good can’t be achieved, and pure evil breaks down. And these two extremes are always incompatible with each other. There is still some evil in a good world. That is how the world is, and it is what continues to create ugly things. Evil sneers at good, and good rages over evil. But, in a world where good and evil oppose each other, there is a group that is far more numerous that always appears.
That is ‘grey’. Neither good nor evil. A group that drifts through life haphazardly and merely exists. They don’t believe in goodness and are simply proud that they aren’t evil. Even though they affirm evil acts, they deny evil intentions. They happily say that ‘I am not evil, I am a good person’ and pardon all forms of cruelty.
They kill people while sneering. They kill people out of contempt. They kill people as part of a game. They use the excuse that they can’t restrain their desires—That’s how humans are. That’s how the world is.
Yes—this world is extremely ugly. Neither dyed by good nor fallen into evil. Unable to decide on a color, the wills of people continue to waver. As long as such evil intentions and such foul-smelling corpses aren’t destroyed.
The world will surely continue to rot eternally.
While wrapped within a curse-like fog in darkness frozen to its core.
He thus concluded.
Powers are off.
Corruptions are off.
Carry-on Weapons are not available.
Other carry-on items are available.
Re: 『Heaven's Grass』
[Oh. The flowers seem to be doing just fine. K still feels he owes them a degree of professional courtesy, so this is good.
[Onward and upward.]
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The mud seems to correlate with the flowers that presided this area—not white flowers, but red. Spider lilies, all of them—or perhaps not. The very border of the divide between red and white flower seems to be moving, white flowers overtaking the red as you can see the lily petals fold in on themselves, only to reopen as white roses. ]
[ At the epicenter of the red flowers, at the zenith of this hill, the source of bright light is more clearly visible now: it comes from a strangely, almost completely spherical rock—it's huge, big enough to be a second story building. Though it certainly looks like it's made of rock, there's a distinct feeling that it's quite alive: it does not have any cracks to speak of, save for the cave-like opening in the front, but with each layer of rock is a little bit of light that peeks out, the layers themselves shaped like dozens and dozens of wings that have folded on top of each other and fossilized, just like that. ]
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[Saints, right? Expect... saintliness, he guesses. K is familiar enough with his Bible to be aware that the presence of the divine is renowned for being extremely fucking unsettling, actually which is why they always start off with the do-not-be-afraids, so this would all appear to scan. At least there aren't any wheels covered in eyes and nobody here has four different heads yet.
[He leaves the bike at the edge of the mud and carefully picks his way toward the rock.]
Hello?
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At the very center of the opening sits Lucifel—? His hair is black and his skin is lighter; his eyes are closed, breathing seeming even and steady. You can see that he, too, has begun fuse with this organic stone, his legs and feet already no longer distinguishable from the rest of the rock. ]
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[He doesn't know what the fuck he's supposed to be doing, so he bows his head and he crosses himself.]
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is this happening for real ]
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[What else are you supposed to do?]
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soon enough his eyes open, and he looks to k— ]
. . . Ah.
[ with a smile, though perhaps it's a little pained ]
Hello, there.
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[This seems so irreverent as to border on sacrilege.
[What the actual fuck is he supposed to say? Hi, so I know you're on this shitty game show with me and you do maid cafe lives and you lose your mind every so often and you really love guys with tats and I've probably literally killed you a whole bunch of times, but are you--]
... what do I call you?
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What do you know to call me?
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[He breaks off.
[He never has known how to be subtle.]
You're Amakusa, right? Amakusa Shirou. She said it's not what you go by but it's your name, isn't it?
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[ spoken softly at first, but with a clear voice, growing bolder with each line: he doesn't shout but his voice projects anyway, the mark of an experienced public speaker, a leader. ]
. . . I am the son of Masuda Jinbei, the prophecised fourth child of Amakusa.
I led the rebellion against the Tokugawa in Shimabara.
Yes—I am Amakusa Shirou Tokisada.
Re: 『Heaven's Grass』
[How do you react to that? It's second only to asking, say... some guy on Bad End, are you literally Jesus, and whoever-it-is going 'yes, actually I am'.]
You... know you're basically a saint, right? I - I mean the Church say it's not official, but... you know, it's like - we don't - it's not like... it doesn't matter?
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So I've heard.
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I don't remember much. But I guess they covered it in Sunday School or something.
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. . . That's right. In ordinary textbooks, they don't give us more than a paragraph at best—but indeed, if you learned it in a church, they'd naturally speak more of it.
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But I'm a Catholic, so...
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Please, speak your mind. Amakusa Shirou that I may be, am I not still a fellow amnesiac—an idol, just like you? And before that, am I not human, just like you?
Be comfortable, please. I'm still "Lucifel", you know?
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The flowers.
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How many people died in the Shimabara Rebellion?
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[He doesn't even have to think of it. It's just there. Like Francis Xavier and the Twenty-Six Martyrs and reading Silence round the class.]
Was it here?
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