[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/k6ISKjx.png[/img]
[hider=𖦭]STR [b][2][/b] | DEX [b][3][/b] | MAG [b][1][/b] | DEF [b][1][/b] | RES [b][1][/b] | AGI [b][3][/b] | LCK [b][4][/b]

[b]《 Luck of the Devil 》[/b]
[i]Fortune favours the foul. +3 LCK.[/i][/hider][sub][@Zeroth][@TheMushroomLord][@PKMNB0Y][/sub][/center]
It looked as if it would fall apart if he pushed against the wall. Or maybe, it wouldn’t fall apart at all, but rather end up with a new, hand-sized hole through the rotted wood. It was warm though, not hot, and he laid there for a heartbeat longer, the phantom sensation of vertigo still trying to pull his blood down past the dirt in which he laid.

The world around him was more vibrant, but only in the most unpleasant way possible. The sun seared against his skin, the fetid smell of sweat and shit struck him harder than a music festival’s port-a-potty, and as for the noise, well, there was certainly someone who was making a racket, stringing together sounds that resembled words and yet appeared entirely incomprehensible. They were excited though. Excited in the sort of way that seemed at odds with the intonations of those further beyond the shack, and perhaps, as he cycled through his own memories, that excitement was warranted.

They had died, and yet, still lived.

He rubbed his face, felt the strange smoothness, the contours where there had once been fat. Cool flesh, longer ears, and hair that felt as light as the cobwebs clinging to his mind. He lost his face then, his body too. The one crying over something being real looked to be a normal human though. Highschool-aged with a shock of blue hair that made him think of 100-sub Youtubers. And the other one crawled out through underneath a tarp, a creature that resembled the yolk of an egg, dyed a similar blue to the ‘influencer’.

Felt like egg yolk too, when his slender, improbably-manicured fingers closed over its top, pulling it up off the ground as its body stretched further and further and further…before his other hand cupped the strange entity’s bottom as well, lifting it entirely off the ground before one could become two. Its fluid flesh rippled curiously over the palm of his hand, but whatever strength it possessed seemed negligible at best.

[b]“You.”[/b]

He blinked. The word was recognizable but the voice was alien, the expelling of breath somehow possessing the same qualities of wind off sheer peaks. Like the Alps, seen through aerial shots. Like wind chimes, rendered by a foley artist. He scrunched his face up slightly, then continued.

[b]“Were you human too? Give a proper sign.”[/b]

What was a proper sign though, from an individual with no mouth, no face, no organs, no bones, when they once had all such things? When they were nothing but pulsating fluid-flesh, a runny egg with a human mind? He could live with a body that wasn't his, and the 'influencer' was undoubtedly happy over his own reincarnation, but this? This amoeba?

Proof that there were fates worse than death.