Mythos Of Narcissus: Reborn As An NPC In A Horror VRMMO

The tension that had loomed over us began to wane as Eve's spirals slowed to a tranquil sway. Her floating hands, which had once been tense with malice and anticipation, hovered near her as if unsure of their purpose. The ichor that had streaked her cheeks was gone, replaced by a pure white clarity in her eyes.

I loosened my hold, stepping back slightly as I gazed at her face—not the deranged grin of the Holy Witch but something softer, tinged with an emotion I couldn't name. A gentle and mature smile danced on her lips, faint but undeniably human.

"I want to hear your story," I said softly, extending my hand toward hers.

One of her floating hands drifted closer, its dark, spectral fingers hesitating before intertwining gently with mine. Despite the eldritch texture, it felt warm, almost comforting, like the soft press of night air.

Eve looked down at our entwined fingers, her smile deepening. "A story, then," she murmured. Her tone was quieter now, touched with a fragile sanity that felt as though it might shatter at any moment. "But not here."

Before I could respond, Eve bent down and, with a surprising gentleness, lifted me into her arms. It was a princess carry, one that felt both unexpected and oddly protective.

"W-what are you doing?" I stammered, though I didn't resist.

Her smile turned mischievous, though there was no malice behind it. "Carrying you into a world that no longer exists," she said simply. "I will craft a reality from what remains of a memory—of a person who no longer walks among mortals."

Right, I forgot that she was essentially a semi-omniscient entity that was so powerful, Carcosa banished her from its lands.

As the words left her lips, the room around us began to shift. The gothic opulence of Kuzunoha's mansion dissolved into shimmering motes of light, the air rippling like water disturbed by a pebble. Colors blurred and reformed, morphing into a scene that felt like stepping into a fairytale.

The floor beneath us transformed into a soft expanse of grass, vibrant green and dotted with delicate flowers that glowed faintly in the twilight. Trees with golden leaves stretched toward a painted sky, their branches swaying in a breeze that carried the faint scent of blossoms. In the distance, a grand castle loomed, its towers reflecting the prismatic hues of an eternal sunset.

Eve lowered me gently onto the grass before taking a step back. She gestured to the world she had created, her floating hands mirroring the elegance of her movements. "This was once the beginning of everything."

I sat cross-legged on the grass, my gaze locked on her as she began her tale.

"A long time ago," Eve began, her voice soft yet resonant, "in a time and place devoured by the insatiable beast of entropy, there lived a gentle person."

As she spoke, the world shifted around us. The golden trees gave way to a barren plain, its cracked earth stretching endlessly beneath a dark sky. In the center of this desolation stood a lone figure—a childlike silhouette, small and fragile against the vast emptiness.

"She was born in solitude," Eve continued, her tone detached as though recounting a story that belonged to someone else. "She had no parents, no siblings, no bonds to ground her. Her birth is nothing but a miracle yet cruel occurrence, one that naturally happens but has nothing guiding her foundation.

"The concept of loneliness was alien to her because she had never known its opposite."

The figure wandered aimlessly, her bare feet kicking up dust as she moved. Her expression was unreadable, her eyes wide and uncomprehending as she surveyed the world around her.

Time went on, and as ages passed by, this childlike figure appeared unchanging as she retained her youthful appearance.

She ventured the world far and wide, giving her the experience needed to make a reference of what mortals appeared and act.

She walked through villages where houses stood as skeletal remains, their wooden frames blackened from old fires. In the stillness, she could almost hear the echoes of laughter that once filled the air, now replaced by the soft rustle of wind carrying the ash of forgotten lives.

"Shattered villages and silent ruins."

Along a winding dirt path, she passed a group of children sitting in the shade of a withered tree. Their eyes were dull, reflecting no spark of innocence, only hunger and weariness far beyond their years. A younger child cradled a broken doll, its porcelain face cracked, mirroring her own despair.

"Children with empty eyes."

Across a battlefield littered with rusting swords and shattered shields, survivors huddled around a fire. Their faces were gaunt and hollow, their words few and bitter. The conflict had ended, but the scars it left—on their lands, their bodies, and their souls—remained open wounds.

"Conflict without resolution."

In a grand city built on the backs of its poorest citizens, she watched as nobles feasted in opulent towers while the downtrodden toiled in shadows below. The poor wore chains, not of iron but of unrelenting servitude and despair. Their cries for dignity were drowned out by the revelry above.

"Unyielding castes and chains."

In the heart of a bustling marketplace, she saw a man trip and fall, scattering his meager belongings. Rather than rushing to his aid, the crowd surged forward, trampling his few possessions underfoot in their haste. A child nearby tugged at her mother's sleeve, wanting to help, but the mother shook her head and hurried away.

"Kindness lost in chaos."

In a forgotten corner of a dilapidated temple, murals of breathtaking beauty lay half-erased, their vibrant colors faded and marred by the encroaching damp. Nearby, a wandering poet sang to herself, her voice trembling with sadness, her words unheard by passersby too consumed by their burdens to pause.

"Fading arts and lost appreciation."

On the edge of a drought-stricken field, she saw an elderly farmer knelt, his hands raw from working the cracked earth. His gaze was fixed on the cloudless sky, his silent prayer unanswered. Beside him, his grandson offered a waterskin, but its contents were too meager to revive the parched crops.

"The futility of effort."

In a quiet forest glade, she stumbled upon a scene of senseless cruelty. A group of villagers had cornered a demi-human—a woman with fox-like features—and drove her away with stones and hateful cries. The woman's wide, tear-filled eyes met Eve's for a brief moment before she disappeared into the shadows.

"Hatred without cause."

In a distant town, she found a small library where a caretaker once tended the books with love. Now, the shelves were in disarray, the pages crumbling to dust. The caretaker sat slumped in a corner, his once-bright eyes clouded, muttering to himself about how no one came to read anymore.

"Hope diminished into apathy."

Deep in a mountain cavern, she met a hermit who had withdrawn from the world entirely. His voice cracked as he spoke of betrayal, of friends who had turned against him and of trust that had been broken. His words carried bitterness, but his tear-streaked face betrayed the longing for connection he had given up on.

"Desperation and isolation."

She appeared to be saddened by the state of the world she was in.

"One day," Eve said, her voice taking on a wistful note, "A foreign god appeared before her."

The barren plain dissolved, replaced by a lush, hidden garden. Flowers of every color bloomed in impossible patterns, their petals shimmering like jewels. In the center of this paradise stood a tree with golden bark and branches that reached toward the heavens.

Its fruit—a single, slender orb of golden hue with a prismatic stem—gleamed with an otherworldly light.

The childlike figure approached the tree, her steps hesitant but curious. At its base stood a being of radiant light, its form indistinct and its presence overwhelming.

"The god spoke," Eve narrated, her voice low. "'Eat, little one. Take the fruit, and you will be gifted with the power to shape this world.'"

The figure hesitated for only a moment before reaching out, her small hands trembling as they grasped the fruit. She brought it to her lips and took a bite.

The garden trembled, its vibrant colors intensifying as the child's form began to change. She grew taller, her limbs elongating and her posture straightening. Her eyes burned with newfound clarity, and a golden crown materialized on her head.

"And so," Eve said, a faint bitterness creeping into her tone, "She became the Holy Saint."

The scene shifted again, this time to a bustling cityscape. The Holy Saint stood at its center, her presence commanding yet gentle as she extended a hand toward the gathered mortals. They knelt before her, their faces alight with hope and reverence.

"With her new power," Eve explained, "The Holy Saint brought reason to a chaotic world. She taught mortals logic tempered with empathy, urging them to make the world kinder and more just, no matter how small their action, no matter how small their intention."

The city thrived under her guidance. Streets that had once been filled with despair and suffering were now alive with commerce and camaraderie. Mortals of all forms and iterations—beings of fur, scales, and feathers—worked side by side, united by a shared vision of peace.

"She was loved, revered," Eve continued, her voice hollow. "They hailed her as the savior of Carcosa, the beacon of hope in a fractured world. And for a time, it seemed her dream had come true…"

"What happened…?" I bitterly asked.

"But the gods were not amused."

The city darkened, its vibrant streets dimming as shadowy figures appeared in the sky. Their forms were indistinct, their voices a cacophony of laughter and whispers.

"In a world devoid of chaos, there is no entertainment for gods," Eve said, her tone laced with disdain. "They schemed against her, disguising their intentions as support."

The shadowy gods descended, surrounding the Holy Saint with false smiles and honeyed words. They bestowed her with blessings, knowledge, and power, each gift adding to her already immense strength.

"For millennia, they built her up," Eve said. "They gave her everything she needed to achieve her goals, all while ensuring that her power grew unstable, that her existence became fragile."

The Holy Saint, oblivious to their deceit, continued her work, her golden crown glowing brighter with each passing year. But cracks began to form—small at first, barely noticeable, but steadily growing.

"And then," Eve said, her voice a whisper, "She collapsed."
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The city crumbled, its once-thriving streets reduced to rubble as the Holy Saint fell to her knees, her golden crown shattering into fragments. The gods watched from above, their laughter echoing across the desolation.

All while calamities and many unimaginable entropy of the mind began to spread as soon as everyone was detached from the only source of gentleness in this world.

Then an explosion of light erupted, far blinding and bigger than anything that the world has ever seen.

"She was banished," Eve said. "Carcosa rejected her, casting her into the void to protect itself from the instability the gods had created. She could only watch as the world she had built, the mortals she had guided, descended into chaos without her."

The Holy Saint's form darkened, her luminous presence dimming as she was consumed by shadows. Her golden hair turned white, and her tears became as black as the void itself. When she emerged at her new home, her golden crown had been replaced by a jagged black lump of entropy that immediately scattered into dust, her gentle expression twisted into an understanding bitter smile.

"And no matter how powerful she became afterward, her entrance to Carcosa will always be denied, as if it's the normal thing. However, while she is unable to return, she can still see the event transpiring inside the world that she loved and cared for the most.

"She has been rebranded as the Holy Witch," Eve said, her voice trembling. "Her name defiled, her legacy forgotten. And for the first time, she understood the depth of her loneliness.

"The Holy Witch realized that from the start and until the end, she has always been alone. Even if she made the world a kinder place and had her mind and ideology encompass the mortals of Carcosa, not a single one of them had ever tried to understand her or even truly care for her for what she is.

"She always has, and will be, alone."

The story ended, and the fairytale world dissolved around us, leaving only Eve and me in the soft glow of twilight. She knelt before me, her expression unguarded, her voice steady yet filled with emotion.

"The hug you gave me," she said quietly, "Was the first genuine act of affection I have ever known. For that... thank you, so much, for reminding me of what I have been striving to acquire from the very occurrence of my existence…"

I reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You're not alone anymore," I said firmly. "Not while I'm here."

Eve's bittersweet smile returned, her spirals slowing to a gentle sway. "Then perhaps," she murmured, "There is still something worth hoping for…"