Every self has a different way of making a Form. A room containing a set of tapestries which thrum with the life of their crafter. A forest overgrown with Eldritch abominations that only exist within a twisted mind. A flawless sky, overladen with the white-gold light of the sun.

Now wipe it all away. Wipe it away and picture a void. A black void, endlessly expanding in all directions.

Litter this void with stars, stars of every conceivable size and color, myriad to the point where merely trying to understand their impossibility of quantity could break your mind and shatter your soul.

This is the inside of the devil's die.

You stand in the center of this void, an empty husk.

Set.

-Initiate.

[u]The starting penalty is three.[/u]

[b]Death by madness. Death by happiness. Death by love.[/b]

To begin, understand that the world is an illusion. Understand that you are a sleepwalker, blind. Understand that the web of interactions you believe to have constructed with other selves is a mere falsehood created by a monster dangling a reflective surface before your nonexistent eyes and that the second you close your eyes to escape the monstrosity you have created for the most transient instant when you reopen then to see your good work you find that [u]it has all been wiped away.[/u]

You are the [i]Other[/i]. You are the [i]world[/i]. You are the [i]demon[/i] of Laplace who creates the illusion.

You must understand this. You must, because soon it will begin. Soon the damned event of your own devising shall begin and it will all come shattering apart.

You created something. Thus, [u]the intermediate penalty is five.[/u]

[b]Death by electrocution. Death by suffocation. Death by burning. Death by stabbing. Death by dehydration.[/b]

Do not curse your world, for to curse it is to curse yourself. Do not curse yourself, for then this game will all be for naught.

Have you understood yet? I hope so.

[i]For if the world is an illusion.

If the man is an illusion.

If the knife is an illusion.[/i]

There is nothing wrong with it. There is nothing wrong with [b]nothing killing nothing.[/b]

So then, go forth. Go forth and explore the depths of depravity you sought to create. Nobody will blame you but yourself.

The end has not yet been given.

The starting penalty was for understanding. The intermediate penalty was for creating.

-But you created something greater than your mind could comprehend.

Thus, [u]the true penalty is one.[/u]

[b]The final penalty is a hapless suicide which you yourself will perform in the evanescent dance to the end of eternity.[/b]

---

"What sort of drivel is this?"

A dissatisfied sigh emanated from the existence known as Shuugen Naijou as he closed the book in his hands, standing up to return it to the library shelves.

"Last time I take any advice on reading from anyone involved with the Maniae. First Faulkner and now this..."

Sitting back down, Shuugen crossed his arms behind his head and loosed a second sigh, closing his eyes and attempting to get some enjoyment out of the library's relative silence. However, unlike the majority of the Contractors at this academy, Shuugen's "partner" so to speak was not present. The reason for this was obvious to anyone who knew what sort of being he had contracted with.

Genocidal and misanthropic monstrosities made of metal weren't the best conversation partners, put simply.

Such was life.