/jp/ - Otaku Culture

>>46420209
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Don't think.

Just don't think about it.

Truly a hardship when your mouth and nose exude blood as if a continental fracture; your upper jaw feels slightly disconnected and a drying layer—almost clot-like—of blood forms on the back of your mouth. But none of that matters; I must not think.

If I think about that, Sekai, who towers above me wearing Meiling's face, distinguishable only by eyes of nebula, will know and will react.

Slowly and quite labored, I get off the ground, hacking coughs draining my strength, arms limp and weak, lungs burning even though no surmountable physical effort was made—back to the library rat bodily status, afflictions like the Tower of Pisa, edging me between consciousness and the dream world. A look upwards, where an impossible-to-follow battle occurs, fills me with the determination to push through; body trembling, haemolacria settling as blood vessels I hadn't even noticed had popped started to drown my retinas in red. “You should rest, Mother Patchouli. That one punch has caused considerable damage.” Sekai casually approaches, the sadness on her face barely visible through the blood. “… I wish I could do something about your body. It kills me to know your fate.”

I can't resist a cynical snort. Ow… “My gullible child, I've lived a hundred years of qualms—what's a hundred more?”

Don't think. Just don't think.

Coughs are like spikes trying to burst out of my chest and blood is an abundant spring field.

“Death; that's what a hundred years from now will be.” She's now standing in front of me, confident in my inability to attack or hers to dodge…? Both, likely. Her words confuse anyway. “You, Mother Patchouli, know better than anyone nothing lasts forever—in sixty years, your body will be unable to sustain itself alone as your magical powers deteriorate and your diseases multiply like fungi. You'll fight—you always do, Mother. I wish to grow up to be strong like you…—You'll fight for many years, and progress will rear its head sometimes, though ultimately you'll be only buying yourself time to slowly rot. First bound to a wheelchair, unable to draw strength to fly, then to a bed… And then a grave.”

I shut my eyes; I shouldn't have: A picture is there and with it comes a surge of terrible thoughts. One year of freedom, of never worrying about a decaying body… To know what awaits me outside…

“W-What's… your goal?” Despite the terror and dread, one thing never escapes me: good magical practices. “These words—how do they translate t-to further… further your interests?”

Never stop casting your spell when you start it.

Don't think.

“They don't, but do I need an excuse to worry about my mother?” Suddenly, it’s not Meiling anymore… but another me.

Sekai’s smile persists… What's she feeling? What's behind that face that looks like mine and eyes of nebula—an infinite collection of stars and worlds, each with a story? “I guess… love.”

“Love.” I say, deadpan; a bubble of blood explodes in my busted right nostril. Sekai giggles like a little girl.

… ‘Like’, huh…?

“Everything to get to the bottom of it—nothing is out of question', that's you, isn't it, Mother Patchouli?” Such a weird kid…

… But kids will be kids, and when I reach a hand forward, quivered and bloodied, Sekai lets me touch her cheek, her eyes closed with a soft smile as she leans on my palm—she’s at ease.

And kids, sometimes, are a little too trusting.

“Lótus.” I mundanely said, drawing a considerable chunk of what remained of my magical well to create a sprawling magical lotus of purple and black; Sekai locking eyes with me for a fraction of a second…

Her smile didn't falter.

The lotus chomps the entire upper half of my mirrored body, the bloodied knees trembling before falling over on the ground without much ceremony; a bit of bubbling happened inside the lotus, and I mused a tad, knowing of the inspiration to such an unorthodox spell… Explanation comes as the lotus blossoms, rotted flesh and blood oozing out in outrageous fashion.

But it doesn't matter: I didn't think of the spell and still conducted it flawlessly; how many can say the same? A sigh leaves me, my body weak as adrenaline threatens to disperse and make me feel each individual internal wound and spilled droplet of blood.

With a huff, knees tense, sigils of gold sprouting all around, tomes of nearly infinite words expanding, eyes expertly following the progress—almost all of it is cracked and deciphered; only a tiny bit more of work and I'll have a key to vanquish that barrier…

Your plans still elude me, brat, but know one thing: You're absolutely right about this mother of yours…

My hair flutters as the ground cracks with ethereal saturation, varicolored fractals brimming to life, magical well erupting. One hand vibrating with magical energy cleans my eyes, perfect vision of Meiling surrounded by copies—

… She's not going to stop fighting.

—A kaleidoscope of magic, in beautiful unison, is shot to the skies.

The copies burn.