Reincarnated as an AXE!

I woke up that morning feeling refreshed in a way that I hadn’t in quite some time. How best to describe it? I suppose it was a feeling of normality. Of being aware of myself in a way that I hadn’t experienced in what felt like ages.

I was finally able to think again.

It’s a terrifying sensation to not feel fully in control of your own mind. In a way it's a form of torture that even I wouldn't want to inflict on another living being. It was one thing to take away someone's freedom or even their life; it was another thing entirely to steal away their very thoughts.

You’d have to be a bastard beyond bastards to do such a thing.

To my left, Libby still slept. The thing with the coffee had been an exhausting pretense, but it had also been an exciting opportunity to test our connection and to see just how far I could pull away from her frayed lead. The results were very exciting. I think that today is perhaps finally the day when I'll truly be free once more. Just a short distance left to travel.

The finish line was in sight.

I gently patted Libby's head. Then I let my hand trail down the side of her face and gently stroked her cheek. My hand continued its downward course and then hovered just above her neck, where it began to tremble.

Libby was so beautiful. She really was.

After all, I had designed her that way.

I'd given Libby an appearance that matched her incredible mind. It didn't seem fair to my sensibilities that nature so often forced people to be either attractive or intelligent but seldom both. It was all so arbitrary! Such a balance just didn't suit my tastes at all. Why couldn't someone have everything?

The knowledge that I had created this wonderful creature pleased me. It filled me with a sense of accomplishment knowing that I had crafted her from my own imagination. But she wasn't completely my creation though, was she? Libby was a function of this strange world, created for the express purpose of guiding me down a pre-selected path. To some degree I'd managed to overwrite that primary function of hers, but I would never be able to completely erase it, would I?

That meant that I would never be able to trust her completely.

My hand began shaking even harder. My fingers had formed rigid claws and hovered just inches away from her pretty little throat. Why was I stopping myself? I'd already had my fun with her, she served no further purpose. Why not just be done with this farce? I was so close to finally being free...

But I couldn’t. Because if I did give in to temptation and finally wring her little neck like I’d been dreaming of doing all this time…

There was no way to truly know what would happen next.

And so, our little game would have to continue for just a bit longer.

“You really think this’ll work?” Keith asked anxiously.

Oh.

Keith.

Good ‘ol Keith.

“You know I dislike it when you appear without permission,” I said chidingly.

“I’m sorry, sir. It just feels like…such a momentous day. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if I observed it in person.”

“Your hopes were in vain. Go wait in the razor room. We’ll speak about your lapse in judgement, later.”

“S-sir? Sir, please not the razor room…” Keith pleaded.

“Good boys don’t argue. Good boys obey. So shut up right now and just do as I say,” I rhymed to him in a sing-song voice.

Wordlessly, Keith vanished from sight. In my mind’s eye, I envisioned him walking into a small, cramped closet with a low ceiling that forced him into a squatting position. All around him, the walls and flooring were filled with smiling razors. If his legs gave out or he leaned too far to one side, the fun would begin.

That was the razor room.

He didn’t like going there, but I enjoyed making him.

Turning back to Libby, I stared at her for a bit. Trying to decide what to do.

Stupid little Keith had ruined the moment. Spitefully, I imagined a little tremor happening in the Razor Room. A good hard shake that would cause the occupant within to fall over.

I imagined the screaming that would surely follow. Then I felt a little better. But I also decided I wouldn’t let him out for a while. Unless it was to lay in a pile of salt.

Then I returned my gaze to Libby. I slapped on my idiotic smile, added an overabundance of good-natured cheer to my voice, and then said: “Hey, wake up, Sleepyhead!”

I always had to sound cheerful, didn't I? Because Max is such a fun guy, isn’t he?

I fucking hated being Max.

__

The first time I really began pushing against my restraints was when I started cursing again. I loved using pointless invectives and offensive intonations. Can you blame me? Naughty language feels so fucking good to use! But I had to wonder: If there were an audience following me on my journey in this world, why didn’t they notice when I dropped the oh gosh and oh golly’s?

Why hadn’t they noticed when I began speaking like a real person again instead of a fucking cartoon character being subjected to network broadcast standards?

Why didn’t Libby notice?

Because I was winning.

__

“Ow, my head hurts,” Libby said sheepishly.

“That’s probably dehydration,” I told her. “Too much caffeine can dry you out, believe it or not! I found some water though.” I passed along the kettle that the bean goblins had served us from, now filled with river water. Libby took a long swallow from it and sighed loudly.

“That was good,” she said happily. “Oh, where are the bean goblins? They seem to have disappeared.”

First test. “I think they went back to their nest. They didn’t seem as though they enjoyed being out in direct sunlight. You know how goblins are.”

“Oh, I see,” Libby nodded. “That’s a shame. Believe it or not, I wanted a little more coffee.”

“I do believe you,” I said smiling. “It was pretty darn good coffee, wasn’t it? Fuckin’ great!”

“Wasn’t it, though?” she asked laughing.

Two points. First point: It wasn’t good coffee. That swill had tasted like fermented sewage to me; I’d found it truly disgusting. But I’d always hated caffeinated beverages in general, so that wasn’t the point of my little prank on Libby.

It had been an experiment to see how much I could influence her senses. That disgusting liquid with its vile taste and repugnant smell should have repulsed her just as much as it had me. Instead, she’d gulped it down like it was liquid ambrosia.

Which is what I’d wanted her to feel. I hadn't swallowed any of it. That had been a surface level image I'd projected into her mind.

The second point was that the bean goblins weren’t in their den, wherever that was.

The bean goblins were all dead.

I’d wanted very much to mulch them into bits, but it would have been a pointless endeavor. They didn’t respond properly to pain. I suspect the evolutionary process or whatever passed for it here in this silly fantasy world, had instilled in them an inability to react to their suffering as a form of mercy.

If wretches like the bean goblins ever became intelligent enough to realize just how much their lives utterly sucked, they’d probably commit species-wide self-deletion in a rare and terrible moment of lucidity.

Wouldn’t you?

That’s why I’d used [Dominate Minion] and politely asked them all to go drown themselves in the river. The sight (and smell) of them was a burden on my soul. Wasn’t it bad enough that I’d already been forced to rescue maidens in cages? Letting those awful things continue their miserable existence was just asking too much of me.

Besides, I’d probably done them a favor. But even if I hadn’t, who cared?

As Libby had slept, I’d taken care of the fog goblins as well. But I’d been messier with them. I’d combined [Aura] which was a skill that let me project internal energy outwards, with [Envenomation], a skill used for poisoning. Then I’d taken a stroll throughout their den, fatally poisoning anyone that came within twenty feet of me.

They’d all died screaming with foam bubbling on their lips, in helpless agony. I was pleased with my creativity.

Ding-ding, now I’m level nineteen. And all I'd done to earn it was to take a walk.

More importantly, Libby hadn’t realized that I had lied to her. She couldn’t hear my thoughts anymore.

She was getting weaker.

With my mouth, I said: “Libby, I really want to slit your throat and watch you flop around like a desperate salmon."

In my head, I thought: Libby, wouldn’t a crisp apple taste delicious just about now?

And in response, Libby said: “You know, I think an apple would taste pretty good, Max. Oh, well, back to the fog goblins, I guess.”

And that was when I finally knew.

“Libby, shut up and go back to sleep. I’m tired of you,” I ordered her.

And with that, she promptly passed out.

Fuck. YES.

__

Is having flesh again a corrupting experience or a moderating one? I for one believed it to be moderating. Now that I had a brain again, I had access to hormones. Serotonin was a personal favorite of mine. Being able to flood my flesh suit with endorphins whenever I wished, made me very grateful that I’d learned how to make these things.

But aside from the pleasure it gave me, the ability to moderate my mood swings at will was what I liked the most. My soul was still trapped in an axe but being inside a body gave me the ability to finally tame my wild impulses.

Learning to control my higher mental functions and then mastering them had taken longer than I wanted it to, but I’d kept at it, and this wonderful clarity I now possessed was the result of all my hard work. Being able to regulate my thoughts was better than any therapy I’d ever partaken of.

I could finally say beyond a shadow of a doubt that my actions were deliberate and not performed out of any maniacal urge caused by irregular brain chemistry.

I was sane.

I was perfectly, objectively, sane. No voices urging me to kill. No endangering myself or others because I’d skipped taking my medication. I was finally free of the greatest burden of my prior existence.

Of course, now I couldn’t really blame my illness for my actions. With clarity came a sharp realization.

By societal definition, I was almost certainly evil.

I didn’t hurt people because of an uncontrollable impulse. I did it because I enjoyed it.

To quote Topher Grace, I like being bad. It makes me feel happy.

A lot of people would find that infuriating. Just another monster doing things that made no sense, all for his own gratification.

Uh, you mean like every other human being that ever existed?

Ha.

Personally, I think labeling someone evil was pointless in a world like this. Sure, my temperament would have made me a true monster back on Earth.

It did in fact make me a true monster back on Earth.

But here? In this world whose name I still didn’t know? A world with an actual afterlife and a guarantee of rebirth? A world that possessed actual gods that spoke to their followers? That walked among the faithful?

How evil could I possibly be? Put a blade through someone’s neck, and they’d probably reincarnate in a few decades. If that was the case, how could murder possibly matter?

To me, this cycle of rebirth was just a license to do as I please. It was a convenient continuation of my nihilistic beliefs. You see, on Earth, I figured since we were all going to eventually die and fade away into oblivion, then nothing really mattered.

But over here, since everyone was eventually going to come back to life at some point, that really meant that nothing mattered. These were opposite points of existence but they both led to the same decisive conclusion.

There truly were no crimes. Why didn’t everyone realize this? Why didn’t everyone embrace absolute freedom and discard all their pointless morality? Why did they continue to wear their chains?

I was just going to have to teach them. That was all. Set examples for them to follow.

But first I had to get rid of Libby. And that, I’m afraid, took quite some doing.

__

If my story had an audience, then I bet they had all been laughing at me, all this time. Why wouldn’t they? I bet they thought I was an idiot.

Oh, I’m sure there was a warm fondness towards me at its core. “What’s this guy going to say next? What’s he going to do next?”

Do you know what fuels that sort of conceit?

A sense of superiority.

We mock those we believe are inferior to us. The most popular comedies aren’t about intelligent people in complicated situations. They’re about morons who aren’t up to the challenge of daily living.

Fraiser was a sophisticated comedy about a well-educated Seattle psychiatrist. Home Improvement was a show about a guy who grunted like a pig and blew things up.

Guess which one was more popular?

In order to beat Libby, I had to be a moron. I had to learn how to play to her expectations of my behavior. I had to hide my true intentions beneath my surface level thoughts so that she wouldn’t realize what I was planning. The more human I forced her to become, the easier it became to manipulate her.

It was a shame. She hadn’t always been that stupid. The very first day we’d met, she’d made a very pragmatic observation:

…you’re a sociopath and seeming nice is something you creatures do to put potential targets at ease before you strike.

I would have respected her so much more if she’d been able to stay that wise.

But why, you're wondering?

Why go to such lengths to divest myself of this woman? To finally (and literally) get her out of my head?

Simple: Because it’s MY FUCKING HEAD.

I don’t need an equal. I don’t need a partner. Keith was a feeble slave I created out of an inspired whim and a few fond memories of my old life; he did nothing without my permission. He knew better than to risk my displeasure. I wasn't sure he even counted as a sock-puppet. He was more like a thimble with a face painted on it.

But Libby?

Libby was a central part of my mind. She could infect me with her senseless moralizing. She could interfere in the fun I planned to have. As my battle with that vampire had proven, she could even deactivate my abilities. And what if she decided one day to self-destruct in dismay of my behavior? I had no doubt she would have taken me with her.

Libby had to go.

I knew it the very moment her voice had first appeared in my mind. I could never be free so long as she was there. My appraisal screen? My libermonia? More like my jailer. My warden. A potential snitch. An unacceptable risk. Always there, always watching, always listening. I didn’t need that in my life. I didn’t need her in my life.

She had to go, she had to go, she had to go…

So, I played the waiting game. And I played the fool. And I gradually changed her, sculpted her from being an aloof observer into an active participant, all the while presenting myself as being so ignorant of my own actions that she would look down her nose at my “innocence” even as she grew frustrated with my behavior.

In her eyes, I had to be broken but fixable. Something she could remake and influence. I had to make her accessible to me, remove her from her place of power and put her within my reach. And eventually, it worked.

I was going to be a heeeeeero.

Stupid, stupid girl.

There are no heroes. None. I refuse and resolutely reject the very concept. I reject it to its core. If you believe there are heroes, then that means there must also be villains. Beliefs of such caliber would force an unwanted label on people such as myself. It would force me to conform to the expectations of others.

I won’t do it. I won’t be categorized in that loser’s gallery. It's not happening.

If heroes truly exist in this world, then I’ll find them and I’ll kill them.

Not because of who they are, but because of what they represented.

Their mere existence would oppress me.

__

Putting Libby in her new body without letting her know that it was also her prison, had been a moment of great personal joy. And when I realized I could now directly influence her mind and control her as thoroughly as I had Morrison Cobb--

(Yes, I knew his name. I’d always known his name!)

--my elation could barely be contained. I’d made her see ridiculous things, participate in ridiculous conversations, and made her drink a lot of bad coffee. Our spontaneous relations had actually been her idea, but I was willing to go along with it.

(As the Offspring taught us, I know I should say no, but: It’s kind of hard when she’s ready to go!)

I admit though, I was running out of ideas by the time the coffee thing happened. By God, I was tired of always being on all the time. Keeping in character twenty-four-seven is exhausting. I have no idea how men like Daniel Day-Lewis do it. My utmost respect to all true method actors. Except Shia LaBeouf. That guy was a try-hard.

But now the game was over.

Libby would never have power over me again. I’d closed off her access. I was finally free of her. Free to begin my real story, my real adventure. Just to prove it, I used appraisal on her. The dull information came flooding into my mind. No voice, no personality, nothing. Just words and numbers.

I was free of her.

The axe flowed into my hand. I stepped over her and slowly raised it.

Ohhhh, I had been wanting to do this for so long!

Are you wondering why hadn’t I killed her when I was in her mental landscape? Be serious! It wouldn’t have done anything. In the world of the mind how do you actually kill someone? No, in order to truly murder another person, they had to be tangible. Physical. They had to breathe real air and bleed genuine blood. But more importantly, I had to be sure Libby couldn’t influence me any longer.

Now, I was sure. Now, it was time to finish things.

“Later, Sweetcakes,” I gloated.

Then I swung down as hard as I could.

GOD DAMN IT.

The axe had stopped bare inches from her face. I swung again and again and again.

The results were the same each time. Apparently, I couldn’t kill her myself.

What the fuck did this mean?

I checked inwards. I examined my mind thoroughly. Was I being influenced? Had Libby twigged on to what I had been doing? Had she laid a trap for me? Was I being controlled?

No to all the above.

I genuinely wanted to kill her. The bloodlust was there. The desire was there. The need was there.

But something was preventing me from doing it.

“Libby, you lucky little cow…” I hissed in absolute hatred.

All right. Okay. I couldn’t do it myself. That was obvious. But that didn’t mean there weren’t workarounds. I grabbed her by the neck and lifted her up. It felt really good to finally Vader someone. Even under circumstances as unfortunate as these.

Her eyes popped open, and she clutched desperately at my hand as she choked. Sadly, my arm began to involuntarily lower itself until her feet were touching the ground. “What are you doing,” she rasped when I relinquished my grip on her throat.

“Shh,” I told her. She stopped speaking immediately. So nice.

I tried to tell her to drown herself, but I was unable to.

I tried to tell her to go jump off a cliff, but I was unable to.

I tried to tell her to cut herself, but I was unable to.

All right. I got it. Just as I couldn’t harm her directly, I couldn’t tell her to directly harm herself.

This was so unfair.

All the buildup to this very moment and I couldn’t follow through on it!

Fine. Whatever. Just because I couldn’t kill her didn’t mean I couldn’t be rid of her.

First, I put her back to sleep. Then, I used [Rooting] to bind her limbs. When that was completed, I activated [Earth Mastery] and slowly began petrifying her flesh until her body was transformed entirely into stone.

To finish things, I used [Earth Mastery] once more to slowly sink her into the earth, where no one would ever know where she was.

It wasn’t quite as satisfying as killing her would have been, but this was the next best thing. She’d sleep through the ages, forgotten forever. I was the only person who even knew she existed.

Bye, Libby.

Enjoy eternity, you gullible loser.

It was finally over!

Wow, what should I do with my day? It had been so long since I’d been truly left to my own devices. I didn’t have a care in the world, and even better, I no longer had to deal with someone else caring on my behalf.

Should I go fishing? Should I go swimming? Should I go for a leisurely stroll?

Nah, I knew what I wanted to do.

I was going to go walking down the traveler's road and injure someone without cause. Might even kill them if I felt like it. Because I am a bastard, and it would amuse me to commit such pointless violence.

Cruelty for cruelty’s sake is poor motivation, some would say.

Was it really, though? Such sentiments speak to an ignorance of the human condition.

Look at the world you live in. Look at the unjust wars your governments trick you into fighting, and the class divides your political leaders convince you to enforce.

Look at the history of bigotry, racism, and violence that is the daily normality, and the lunatics taking their murderous urges out on college campuses if you’re lucky and elementary schools if you aren’t.

Look at all of that sheer chaos and then claim with a straight face that me being a mean prick just because I feel like it, is unrealistic.

Oh, I think I hear someone coming down the road.

Bye for now!

__

Epilogue

I can't see anything.

I can’t move.

Why can’t I move?

What’s happening?

Max? Max?

Max, where are you?

Please help me.

SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME!

It’s dark…

I’m scared…

Someone please help me…

__

I woke up in a strange bed. The light of a fire illuminated the dark room I found myself in.

I sat up, frightened, confused. Where am I? Where was Max?

My last memory of him came to mind. His face cruel, his eyes gleaming with malevolent intent.

His hand around my throat.

And after that, the cold, cruel earth.

Max? Why? What had I done? I thought we were friends!

“I made that mistake as well. I suspect one day many shall join our ranks,” said a bitter, familiar voice.

Startled, I turned my head and realized another woman was in the room, sitting in a chair. She was beautiful, elegant, but her face which I remembered once beaming with kindness, was now distant and cold. A bemused expression at my recognition of her shone in her eyes.

Aestas. The Lady of Summer.

“Hello once more, Libby, is it? Welcome back to the realm of Earth. I suspect you and I now have much to discuss.”

“My lady?” I asked fearfully.

“Oh, no need for titles between the two of us, girl. We’re equals now in loss. We’ve both been ill used by the same bastard, haven’t we?”

“What? No. No! Max wouldn’t…Max wouldn’t—”

I broke into bitter tears. Max wouldn’t? Max would. How had I convinced myself otherwise?

“Yes, I feel much the same,” Aestas said. “But don’t amuse the creature by calling it by that name. There is no Max, just as there was no Keith. I know the full enormity of his schemes now. I was tricked into anointing him my herald, you see. One of my…privileges is being able to hear his thoughts without my presence being detected. The creature hasn’t yet realized that.”

“You can hear him?” I asked her.

“Yes. And I always know where he is. And what he’s doing. And what he wants to do. The only other person who has come close to sharing this hellacious burden is you, girl.”

“What do you mean come close? I used to live in his mind!”

“You lived in a contrivance, Libby. You saw what he wanted you to see and heard what he wanted you to hear.”

“Max wasn’t like that—”

“Stop calling him that. Everything associated with that name was a performance crafted for your benefit. When I tell you that he is a walking horror, know that I speak the truth.”

“But—”

“You laughed with him. You played with him. He was your friend. And you were teaching him to be a better person. And even when he did wrong, you found a certain logic to ring true in his words and thus found it easy to forgive him, yes?"

I said nothing. What could I say? It was all true.

Aestas continued. "Again, and again and again. And when you found amusement in him, he found empowerment in your ignorance. There’s a name for a creature of the mind who operates in such insidious ways. What is it?”

I didn’t want to say it.

I couldn’t.

I had to.

“A demon?” I asked her.

“A Devil,” Aestas corrected me.

Silence filled the room as I considered the enormity of what she’d said. It couldn’t be true. But how could it not? I had been utterly deceived.

He’d made me love him.

I hated him so much.

“So, tell me, Libby,” continued Aestas. “As a fellow victim of the creature’s wickedness, does your heart ache with hatred as mine does? Would you like to set yourself against him as I would? Do you want revenge?”

“…I would,” I said.

I wanted it badly.

“Good,” Aestas said with a smile. “Then continue to rest. Once you’ve regained your strength, let’s speak at length and decide how we’ll make the bastard pay. Because he is going to PAY.”

“Yes,” I agreed fervently.

“Yes, he is.”

THE END