Opening Cinematic
In a darkened room, neon lights cut through the shadows, painting the walls in vibrant streaks of blue, pink, yellow, green and purple. A young man—no older than twenty, with tousled hair and round glasses—sat hunched in a black leather chair, his eyes darting between two curved monitors on a cluttered desk. The whirr of the computer fan hummed in the background, occasionally interrupted by his murmured responses to a barely moving chat box on one of the screens. If not for the soft clicks of a wireless controller in his hand, the near-silence would have been deafening.
A furious blush crept across his cheeks as he glanced at his stream's chat, reading a message urging him to 'talk more' and not just 'sit there and play'. Heat crawled down his neck, spreading to his ears, and he fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat.
"S-sorry," he said, adjusting his glasses while his tongue darted out to wet his lips. "A b-bit new to this, y'know? I'll get better, I promise."
His voice wavered, a squeak betraying his nerves as the blush deepened. Before his words could fade, however, another message appeared, one that made him want to find a hole and curl up in it forever.
Miss Sugar: Play? He's been on that CC screen for the last hour lol. If his face wasn't so pretty I swear there'd be NO viewers at all
Oh god. He wanted to die.
He didn't have time to respond before the chat box filled with more comments.
DancingStar: lol leave our silent pretty boy alone
FemBoisRTruLuv: eyecandy eyecandy eyecandy
"I-I'm so sorry!" he stammered, his fingers fumbling with the controls, sending the view of his female character into a wild, flailing spin. "I just—I didn't—I—"
Miss Sugar: cute u should blush more
A choking sound escaped his lips, and he could practically feel his insides squirm. "L-let me just finish with the nose and lips… a-and m-maybe a few more minutes to the jawline."
The Character Creation screen overwhelmed him with choices—sliders to adjust every aspect of his avatar. He felt like he was drowning in options. How could people be so casual about this process?
"Promise," he murmured, trying to steady his shaking fingers and suppress the embarrassment. "Almost done. Then I can, uhm, I can start playing?"
As he finished speaking, the chat box exploded.
Miss Sugar: omg so cute
Sinner6969: hey don't stress cutie
He didn't mean to, but a quiet groan slipped out.
FemBoisRTruLuv: lol you make cute noises too
DancingStar: lmao true
"Okay," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else, though the heat on his face was now an inferno. "Okay. Uhm, let me just tweak this… a bit here… and this… and I can start. Yeah. St-start the game. Right. Yup."
A nervous chuckle escaped him, and he kept his eyes on the main monitor, avoiding the chat box like a plague. He needed something, anything, to say.
"So, uhm, yeah, I've never played this game before… but, umm, it looks pretty fun? Popular too? I think." His tongue darted out again, wetting his lips. "Oh, uh, some people are probably wondering why I chose a female character. W-well, you see, the thing is, uhhh, the, umm, the hitboxes are smaller so you're less likely to be hit. And, umm, well, I'd also like something nice to look at. It's kind of hard to explain, but, umm, yeah. Hope that's not too weird?"
He laughed weakly, tweaking his avatar for another ten minutes before finally revealing a slim, pale girl with long white hair, bright blue eyes, and full lips. She looked like a doll. He smiled softly, spinning her around and zooming in to show off the details.
"Okay," he said finally. "Looks good. I mean, she looks good…" He chewed his lip while selecting a voice and inputting the name he'd chosen—Seraph—before flicking through the options one last time. "I guess, uhm, we're good to go? Yeah. Okay. Let's see…"
A quick peek back at the chat box revealed that his viewers just wanted him to 'finally start playing'.
"Err, b-before I start," he mumbled, ignoring the comments. "Let me go over a few things… I know this game's been out for a bit, but, uhh, well, it's still new to me. So please no spoilers! Umm, what else, what else? Oh! Yeah, and, umm, please don't be upset if I suck? Or, well, not too much, anyway? Haha. I'll try my hardest to get better, I promise!"
And with that, he started the game.
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♫♫♪♪
You might not notice them at first,
Just another face in the crowd,
But they're the Player Character,
And they're destined to stand out.
Whether it's a noble quest,
Or an enemy to defeat,
They'll rise to every challenge,
And will always find their feet.
There's a fire within their spirit,
A touch of something bold,
With every Level that they gain,
A new story starts to unfold.
You might meet them in the marketplace,
Where merchants hawk their wares,
Or deep within a city's depths,
Where danger lies in layers.
When the Player Character appears,
The plot begins to twist,
They'll break the rules, they'll change the game,
With a force you can't resist.
The narrative, once written down,
Now changes course and bends.
The Player's here to weave the tale,
And make it theirs to end.
They're on a path to greatness,
A journey yet to chart,
Each Skill they learn, each weapon won,
Is crafted from their heart.
So welcome to the story,
Don't hesitate or stall,
Because the Player Character's here,
And they can do it all.
♪♪♫♫
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[CHAPTER ONE]
「Greg Veder」
Greg Veder swore he wasn't a creep. Or a stalker. Nor anything that would land him in cuffs, enrage his parents, or—worst of all—deepen the loathing from everyone at Winslow. But what was he supposed to do when a stunningly hot—very hot, he couldn't stress this enough—half-naked girl paraded down the street, acting as if it were normal? For Scion's sake, she was probably a Cape too if her very-much-unnatural hair colour was any indication! Gathering intel was just a public service, really, especially since he planned to report about her on PHO later.
And it wasn't like he was the only one gawking—no, observing the petite woman.
Since he first saw her while innocently walking to his favourite hobby shop, Greg had been tracking her through the city streets. He noticed plenty of people—both men and women—staring at the girl. Some even stopped whatever they were doing to blatantly gape. So, really, he wasn't the odd one out; he was just doing his civic duty as an upstanding member of the community.
Still, Greg was very careful: he kept his head down, avoided eye contact, and made sure his glances were fleeting, never lingering. As much as he wanted to openly stare at the girl—she was just so exotic, with her snowy hair, unblemished pale skin, and bombshell body—he dared not risk attracting her attention. He doubted someone like her would give a second thought to the average-looking, pimply teen, but still. One never knew, and there was no point in risking it. Capes were sometimes crazy, and this one was probably new. Who knew what she was capable of?
He just wished that the girl didn't move around quite so fast. While the leisurely pace allowed him to keep his distance without arousing suspicion, sometimes she would randomly sprint, forcing him to scramble after her looking like a fool. Her abrupt halts to inspect the most mundane things—street lamps, signs, a pigeon, even an overflowing rubbish bin—made her haphazard, directionless wandering a nightmare to track. Several times, he lost her trail completely, stumbling upon her again through sheer luck or by following the small crowds inevitably drawn to her.
More than once Greg cursed his lack of fitness as he followed after the woman. His breath came in short gasps, legs burning with each hurried step.
It wasn't that he was obese, but hours hunched over his desk and computer, coupled with a lack of physical exercise, had taken their toll. His mother's hearty cooking didn't help either. He had a slight pudge and was a bit winded after a short sprint. Okay—a lot winded. But the worship he would get online once he posted all the juicy information and pictures he had gathered would be more than enough to compensate for the exhaustion and the burning pain in his lungs.
He could already see it: people finally singing his praises, maybe even start believing his other theories.
Truly, it would be… glorious. Greg giggled, imagining his name becoming a legend in the forums, Cape fangirls begging him to reveal more. The giggle quickly turned into a cough, and he had to stop for a moment, the stitch in his side and the need for air leaving him gasping like a fish out of water.
Luckily, the silver-haired beauty stopped at a park, allowing Greg to catch his breath. And the fact that there were benches was a bonus, giving him an excuse to sit down. Sweat trickled down his forehead, and he was feeling hot; from exertion or the heat, he wasn't sure, and right then he didn't care. He needed a drink, something cold to cool him down. Thankfully, the girl still showed no sign of having noticed him.
Was he better at this than he thought?
Nearby, a bunch of little kids were crowding around a tall tree, pointing and arguing amongst themselves. The girl seemed to take interest in them, and slowly walked closer, her gaze focused on something in the canopy.
His brain screeched to a halt.
Oh god, the girl in just a chest wrap and panties was getting closer to the children! Greg felt a wave of nausea as he realised the possible ramifications. Quickly, he reached for his pocket, his thumb already hovering over the call button on his phone, ready to report the potential pervert.
Only to pause.
Wait—
After speaking with the kids, the girl started climbing the tree, moving swiftly and stopping only when she perched on a branch near the top. Reaching out, she strained towards something hidden among the leaves.
Greg relaxed, letting his hand fall back to his side. Okay, false alarm. No need to call the police.
A faint blush spread across his cheeks, joining the flush he already had from his exertions. How embarrassing! Good thing he hadn't pressed the call button, otherwise, he would have looked like an utter moron. It was obvious now, really.
He muttered a curse, berating himself for being an idiot. But could he really be blamed for worrying? Given his first impression of the girl, it seemed reasonable. After all, when he saw her initially, Greg thought she was crazy!
What else could explain someone rolling around in the streets, hopping up and down randomly, leaping forward instead of walking, endlessly crouching and standing, or throwing—admittedly very professional-looking—punches and kicks at the air?
Madness.
Only his dedication as an intrepid investigator kept him pursuing the seemingly deranged woman instead of fleeing. And he was glad he did. From a potential lunatic to an exhibitionist, perhaps a performance artist, and now obviously a Cape… if he had run away initially, he would have missed out on one hell of a story.
Sure, he may have been a bit quick on the draw, but the girl was undeniably strange, and his caution was definitely justified.
Personally, Greg suspected she might be a human-like Case-53; it explained all the weird behaviour. Who else would mimic what he would do when trying to figure out the controls when playing a game? Clearly she was just figuring out how her body worked.
Though, if she was a Case-53, he wondered where the tell-tale symbol was. Given he'd seen a lot of the girl's creamy white skin, it would have been difficult to miss, yet it wasn't present. Maybe it was somewhere he hadn't seen yet?
Greg blushed, his cheeks warming as his thoughts wandered, only to have a sudden noise snap him back to the present.
The girl finally managed to grab what she had been reaching for: a red frisbee. She held it high, prompting a chorus of cheers and applause from the kids below, before leaping down the tree. Greg winced at the sight of her bare feet hitting the ground from such a height. The audible thump suggested pain, yet she landed flawlessly, without a scratch.
That confirmed it. A Brute?
The kids ran up to the woman, clamouring around her slender frame, and after a brief exchange, she hurled the frisbee, the group excitedly chasing after it. When she looked over his way though, Greg flinched and averted his eyes, worried that he had somehow given himself away.
A full minute passed and nothing happened. He hazarded another glance and found the girl throwing the disc once more.
He released a relieved breath, swallowing down the lump that had formed in his throat. The dryness of his mouth reminded him of his thirst, and he went to stand to get something to drink, only to groan, as his vision swam and the world tilted. His shaky, weak legs buckled, sending him toppling back onto the bench.
"Shit," he cursed, the back of his thighs and calves feeling as if someone had taken a blowtorch to them. He wasn't used to running so much.
After a few attempts, Greg rose from the bench on trembling legs, leaning heavily against the seat, and took a moment to calm his breathing. He felt sticky and gross, his clothes damp with sweat. Grimacing, he wiped his forehead with his shirt. Then stopped, noticing the lightness of his pants. Patting his pockets, he realised his wallet was missing. The rush to keep the girl in sight had left him absent-minded.
His stomach dropped, a hollow feeling making him nauseous.
Had he lost it? Where did he drop it? Or—even worse—had it been stolen? He frantically patted his clothes, trying to remember the last time he'd felt the familiar bulge of his wallet. Did he have it when he left home?
Greg's mind raced as he retraced his steps, trying to pinpoint where he might have dropped it. He'd been so focused on tracking the girl, so intent on not losing sight of her, that he hadn't noticed anything else. The bustling crowds, the hurried pace, the countless distractions—they all blurred together. But now, standing there, his legs aching and his breath finally steadying, he realised how careless he had been.
"Fuck," he muttered, slumping back down, his face a picture of misery. His mother was going to kill him, and his father would just add this to his list of failures. His allowance, gone.
Greg's eyes burned, and his nose prickled, tears threatening to escape. He was always so clumsy. And stupid.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
"Damn it."
Sweat stung his eyes, and he rubbed at them, hoping they weren't as red as they felt. Looking like a mess was bad enough; crying would have pushed him over the edge. He scanned the park for a water fountain, desperate to soothe his parched throat. Maybe then he could backtrack and search for his wallet. But knowing Brockton Bay, it was probably already in someone else's hands.
Just his luck.
Greg cast one last glance at the girl, watching as she played with the children. He sighed.
"Well, it was fun while it lasted," he murmured, pushing off the bench and trudging away, head bowed. There was no point in staying any longer. With the way his day was going, he'd probably just get mugged next.
His vision blurred, his breath hitched, and his throat tightened.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid," he whispered, voice cracking.
Body heavy with exhaustion, Greg plodded through the park, his mind a foggy haze. He stumbled into a trash can, almost knocking it over, and swore under his breath, kicking it in a burst of frustration. By the time he found the water fountain, his throat was bone dry, tongue feeling like sandpaper. It was hard to swallow.
Leaning in close to the metallic faucet, he gulped down the cool, clear water, the refreshing liquid chasing away the bitter taste in his mouth. When the ache in his throat dulled, he paused for breath before drinking more, not stopping until his belly felt full and water dripped down his chin. Then, he rose, letting out a deep, shuddering sigh, and caught his reflection on the metal surface, a look of disgust twisting his lips.
Step by step, Greg made his way out of the park, his movements slow and heavy. He noticed the girl had vanished, the children back to their games and laughter, some parents now joining them. Where had they been all this time?
He shrugged, dismissing the thought. A part of him felt a pang at her disappearance, but his earlier enthusiasm for the girl had dimmed—he had more pressing matters to worry about.
And so, he shambled along the pavement, pace unhurried, his mood growing darker with each step.
It would be a lie to say Greg wasn't hoping for a miracle: finding his wallet or realising he had it on him the entire time. He'd patted himself down plenty, but his pockets refused to produce his missing belongings. The longer he wandered, the less likely it seemed, and after half an hour, the weight on his shoulders grew heavier, pulling him down, his gait all but dragging.
His throat itched, his nose felt stuffy, and his eyes burned, but he refused to let his tears fall, not wanting to make a bigger spectacle of himself. He blinked and swallowed, breathing deeply, trying to ignore the knot in his throat and the hitch in his breath. The burning, tightening wetness; the racing heart and blurry eyes; the shaking hands and lurching stomach; the trembling knees and clenched chest; the locked jaw and whirling mind—all of it made it hard to breathe.
"Goddamnit," Greg swore, his voice a harsh, bitter whisper.
With a sinking heart, he came to a stop near some shops. He pulled out his phone, fingers scrolling through his contacts, thumb hovering over his mum's number. He typed a quick message, asking if he had left his wallet at home. His stomach twisted in knots as the seconds ticked by after he sent it. If it wasn't there, he typed another message: asking her to pick him up because his wallet was missing, he couldn't take the bus, and he was sorry.
Trudging forward again, Greg waited for his mother to reply, his feet sluggishly taking him somewhere he could wait—hopefully—without bothering anyone. People wrinkled their noses as they passed him, shooting annoyed looks that made him feel worse, his cheeks warming.
By chance, he stumbled upon the mysterious girl again. Under any other circumstance, he would have felt overjoyed at finding her, but now, with the way he was feeling, she only got a blank stare.
The woman was climbing up a building using the fire escape across the street. Greg stopped, watching her, eyes unblinking. A few others too were looking, drawn by the sight, though they moved on quickly. For him, the girl was an unexpected distraction, and so, despite his mood, he watched, his expression a mask.
Floor by floor, she scaled the building. The structure wasn't a skyscraper by any means, but it wasn't short either, the brick edifice rising up five or six stories. It was one of those older apartment blocks, the type his mother called 'character-rich', the kind that were common in the Eastern Docks.
A buzzing from his pocket snapped Greg out of his daze. He grabbed his phone and opened the message: "Where are you? I'll pick you up."
His heart sank. There went his last hope for his wallet.
Quickly, Greg texted back his location, adding that he would wait in place, and shoved his phone back into his pocket. And when he looked back up, he found the girl on the roof, her lithe form visible on the edge of the concrete.
The murmurs around him caught his attention. He wasn't the only one who saw her; others pointed and talked.
"What's she doing?"
"Is she gonna jump?!"
"What the fuck?"
It all happened so fast. One moment, she was standing on the edge, looking around, and the next, she jumped, a blur falling. The crowd around Greg gasped, some screamed, and he froze, watching in morbid fascination as the girl plummeted towards the ground.
Down. Down. Down.
She fell, almost in slow motion, the air rushing past her, sending her hair flying. Greg could only watch, his heart pounding, mouth wide open, throat dry, and the sound of blood rushing in his ears.
He would never forget what happened next.
She hit the ground, and he swore felt it. It was a thump, a wet smack; limbs, bone and flesh striking the cold hard concrete with the force of a speeding car. People were shouting. Greg heard it, and he knew it, yet it felt distant, like someone else's nightmare. She bounced, her body limp, the angles of her bones unnatural. Blood splattered the pavement, the dark crimson fluid pooling under her.
Someone vomited. He thought he would, too.
The world around him moved slowly. Sounds were muffled, vision hazy, and Greg struggled to focus, the images and noises warped, the world surreal. He could barely breathe, the air caught in his lungs.
But even though it was all so bizarre, he could still see her, his eyes fixed upon her crumpled form.
She was still, so very still. What was going on? Why did she do that? Her body was twisted in a grotesque manner, and blood seeped out of the corners of her mouth, dripping down the side of her face. That snow white hair, matted and stained with crimson, was spread around her head like a halo.
A woman screamed, her piercing shriek cutting through the abrupt silence. Then another cry rose up, and another, and another, a wave of terrified voices that swelled and crashed, drowning out everything else.
Greg couldn't move; he stared, wide-eyed, lips parted.
"W-what?" his breath hitched, chest feeling tight.
He couldn't believe his eyes. One moment she was there, solid and real, and the next, she was dissolving into nothingness. The girl—no, the Cape—seemingly faded out of existence, black motes of ash or smoke swirling and dissipating into the air, carried by the wind.
Greg blinked. People were still screaming and yelling, their cries echoing through the streets. He glanced around and spotted some of the bystanders staring at the empty space where the girl had been. Their eyes were wide, their faces pale and shocked, and they were talking, though the words were too jumbled to make sense.
His heart thundered in his ears, the sound beating with the rhythm of his pulse. "What?" Greg repeated to himself.
A few moments later, one of the only things remaining was a smear of red, the pool of blood spreading, oozing into the cracks in the concrete. And in the distance, sirens blared, while what looked to be a kitchen knife and a wallet, now soaked with blood, rested on the ground where the girl had landed.
In his mind, all he could see was the image of the girl's body, crumpled and twisted, bleeding and broken. The wet splat! of her impact replayed again and again in his thoughts, the sound sickening and surreal.
***
[STATUS SCREEN]
BASIC INFORMATION
[NAME]: Seraph
[LEVEL]: 1
[SKILL POINTS]: 1
[HEALTH]: 100%
[FP]: 100%
[STAMINA]: 100%
ATTRIBUTE SCORES
[CON]: 10
[STR]: 10
[DEX]: 10
[INT]: 10
[WIS]: 10
[CHA]: 10
TALENTS (+)
This list is currently empty.
SKILLS (+)
This list is currently empty.
ADVANCED INFORMATION
[PHYSICAL DAMAGE]: 1-10
[ATTACK SPEED]: 110
[MOVEMENT SPEED]: 30
[ARMOUR]: 0
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone