Nexus Awakened (An Isekai LitRPG Gender Bender Story)

“My sister will be coming for me.”

Raoul was certain of this and could not help but to utter it out loud.

Mild infuriation laced his words as he walked down a tunnel somewhere deep within Grandis. Black-stone walls colder than ice surrounded him and a bloody-yellow being that followed him like a shadow.

“The Electric Fang~? Oh how I’ve always wanted to meet your siblings, Mr. Wise Black Wolf~!” The figure’s voice was neither male nor female.

They were a fusion of both, like they possessed two voice boxes that were stitched together. Their body parts also didn’t match each other. One hand was feminine, the other masculine; one with wrinkles, and the other which seemed to come from a young adult.

Of course, these were all stolen from different bodies.

This was a Today’s Organized Me, although they often referred to themselves as this. The rest of Elysia called them Masques due to the colored play masks they wore, one that smiled (Comedy) and the other that frowned (Tragedy).

“Always quiet and silent~ I bet you wouldn’t do that if I were a proper Aspiring Star~!” The Masque rolled a hand against their forehead melodramatically, then shifted their gaze left and right onto the walls as though to check the reactions from an invisible audience.

Raoul continued to ignore them but allowed them to keep him company as they walked down the ominous passage.

The comedy-masked being wore a golden suit with trousers to match. Additionally, they had flippers attached to their backs and feet, which explained why they wobbled as they walked.

They moved with exaggerated movements; the kind that a silent comedian would make. Each step was accompanied by a small, guttural honk. It was caused by an unorganized piece of a lung they had yet to incorporate.

Masques were amalgamations of various species and walks of life, stitched up in a way that they themselves chose. It came at the cost of others, of course. They were just a step below the Aspiring Stars of the likes of the Bloody Herring, who was a fully formed humanoid fish of his own choosing.

One could therefore see Masques as incomplete, as they could still move parts around and exchange them as needed.

Masques were evidence of a powerful Heart and could operate even when their Hearts were destroyed. When this occurred, various body parts would begin to decompose, requiring them to frequently seek out replacements through cruel games.

There were two ways for one to become a Masque.

The first was through becoming an Unorganized – which were the organless bags of flesh – and accumulating mass that way. It did not matter if they originally came from a Heart or otherwise.

The second was to be a normal person that sought to become something else. One by one, that person would exchange their organs through bargains, games, or simply winning them as prizes.

In the end, the Masques were simply beings that yearned to be closer to what they considered to be their true selves, or had no choice but to steal organs to gain even a semblance of who and what they were – such as those who had everything taken away from them.

Even after gaining so much, they still wanted more.

As a result, they were the epitome of avarice.

“Ah, what I would give to be an Aspiring Star! That green-haired musician will be getting a shortcut to becoming such a wonderful Star! Bravo~!” They applauded as they entered a freezing chamber.

They entered a grand auditorium. Seven sets of seats were raised high above the frozen floor below in a ring-like manner. Standing atop where the seats would be were an audience of one thousand silent people. They varied from humans to Elves, to Demi-Humans to Insectids.

The only thing in common with them all was that they were frozen on a block of ice from the ankle down, and their mouths were gagged by a ring of ice to prevent them from singing. Necrotic skin could be seen forming on the rims of their mouths which was telling of just how long they had been kept here.

“Bzzt. Welcome to the Auditorium. Bzzt. Have you finished your business with the Electric Fang? Bzzt.” A figure stood in the center of the frozen theater. It was Beethoven, and he was placing Ara onto a golden, raised platform.

“She won’t be a problem.” Raoul simply said.

Holding the platform were many hands of people who were forced to perpetually hold it up. Gold was by no means a light material. Various fingers could be seen littering where the platform fell flush with the hole that they held it from.

“How nice it must be. Tap tap. Tap tap.” The Masque hummed, playfully tapping at the air just in front of Ara’s face.

They did not dare to touch Ara directly. Not under the scrutinizing gaze of Raoul, who for some reason was awfully protective of her.

“Hmhmhm~ To have a wish granted to change into a more fitting body. She looks soft. She’ll be softer when she becomes a Maestro~ Do you think she’ll betray us like the other one?”

Teeth shaped like construction nails could be seen behind their mask. Beethoven crouched before an unconscious Ara and began straightening her hair with her fingers like a comb.

“Bzzt. Though she is not exactly a blood relative of mine. Bzzt. I can assure you that she will be bound to us. Bzzt. Unlike my brother Haydn. Bzzt.”

Raoul calmly watched the Insectid. He did not question his claim to be the equivalent of her granduncle. However, his gaze showed disdain in the way he handled Ara.

“Bzzt. I implore you Wise Black Wolf. Bzzt. She will be in good hands. Bzzt.”

“How bound are we talking about?” Raoul wanted him to cut to the chase, maintaining his gaze until Beethoven finally removed his hands from Ara.

“Bzzt… Can I not even touch my own grandniece? Bzzt. She will be bound enough where she will be safe from forces like the Voice From Beyond the Void. Bzzt. And as promised, immune to the coming new age. Bzzt. Or new world, as they so claim. Bzzt. We cannot Corrupt. Bzzt.”

“Oooh~ Did you hear that, Mr. Wise Black Wolf? It’ll be enough where you will never have to worry about her~ Isn’t that what you want?”

“I want that for a lot of things.” Raoul spoke simplistically again, but the gravitas of his words chilled their bones more than the room ever could. “So long as she’s guaranteed to live a better life, then I’ll take it. And here.”

“Ooooh – that’s the –!”

“Bzzt. Silence. Bzzt. This is the Blue Dahlia’s…?”

“It is my mother’s memento.” Raoul handed over a blue-colored CognitO Filter to Beethoven. “The Memento Mori will use it as her phylactery.”

The Insectid carefully held the object into the pale-blue light above and marveled at it. Despite this, he had to ask Raoul a question.

“Bzzt. Even though you are aware that she may not return the way you are thinking right now? Bzzt.”

“All I want is for her to come back.” Raoul mournfully croaked as shadows emanated from his back.

“Be damned in what form or shape it is~” The Masque cheerfully hummed.

“Bzzt. So that is your wish. Bzzt.” Beethoven held the lens out with two fingers.

Suddenly, a floating music box arrived from the shadows. It was a pale, ornate box that one could expect to find in the room of a princess. It played a quiet melody as it opened and swallowed the lens.

“Better that the Infecta Rot handle it than one of these.” Raoul gestured at the Masque.

Indeed. The music box was a member of the Infecta Rot. They were living inanimate objects. One could easily mistake it for a Corrupted. Worse, anyone would believe that it was just a regular music box.

If one were to open it unassumingly, then they would instantly lose their upper body in the blink of an eye or would be driven mad by the song. It flicked through various common tavern songs, using their lyrics to communicate with them.

“Straight… Dirge for all… going somewhere… nowhere fast… completion coming… oh yeah yeah yeah yeah – yeah yeah…” The sounds became heavily distorted towards the end.

“Little guy needs a recharge of biomass. Without a soul, you don’t have much mana to keep you fueled up~” Although it sounded like the Masque was only joking, they sincerely meant to cause the music box to despair.

“You should sing… die to live again. Die. Die. Die.” The music box croaked as its cranks slowed.

It was on the verge of dying.

“Hey. Open that hatch up.” Raoul said.

A second later –

“HNGH. AGH… MY… MY ARM!?”

– A composed scream came from the Masque. Their arm was torn clean from its stiches. Then, Raoul threw it at the floating music box only for it to disappear before their eyes. All that was left behind was the spray of a red mist.

“Just get a new one.” Raoul growled. “Deliver that safely so the Memento Mori can get their Dirge right.”

The music box hovered up and down as though nodding at him. After seconds of silence, the music box departed without another word, disappearing into the shadows. All that was left was the muted cries of the Masque.

“Hurts… hurts so much…”

“Bzzt. Aren’t they quite the thing? Bzzt. They seek a place called Guf but don’t even know how to help themselves. Bzzt.”

Raoul dismissed him entirely. He walked up to Ara and began stroking her hair. Then, he looked down at his misaligned tie and closed his eyes.

“… Not many people can help themselves. That’s how things work. Did you and Ara ever get along? How… was she?”

“Bzzt. I do not have any memories of her. Her 'biological' mother sent her into S7. All according to the Scripts.”

The term ‘Scripts’ instantly caused Raoul to tug his tie to the side. He removed his gloves furiously before granting Ara a head pat.

However, he stopped just inches away from her.

It was a gesture he would have never done if she were awake, nor had he done to anyone for a long time…

… because the last person he patted ended up on a train full of criminals.

“And before that it was a friend that Act X executed on the spot for refusing to give the order of ‘drown your husband’ to a newly wed couple… and further back it was my sisters. My own mother…”

He traced the path of the head pats back to when he received them from his own father.

He was a man that Raoul did not wish to meet again.

“Tch. Ara. It’ll be confusing for you, but in time, you’ll know exactly why I had to do this.”

“Gh… How… Romantic… Mr… Wise Black Wolf has fallen in love… is that right?” The Masque grunted in agony.

“I’m done here. Beethoven. If there so happens to be a scratch on her body…”

A whirlpool of manifested despair materialized above Raoul’s body. It took the form of a giant, shadowy wolf that stared back at Beethoven with bloody eyes.

“Bzzt. I am aware. Bzzt. Are you leaving now? Bzzt.”

“I’ve overstayed my welcome. I will wait where my mother will be… right inside of the garden we’ve prepared.” Raoul finally began to depart.

“Wait… wait for me!” The Masque followed him.

Suddenly, Raoul froze as Beethoven asked him one last question.

“Bzzt. You will not visit the Brightest Star? Bzzt.”

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