AN: This is complete and utter absolute crap. Religious monologues and personal views on stupid stuff ahead.

Read at your own peril.

Also (im)mature language ahead.

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I've died.

'Death huh…?'

It's not scary, nor is it painful. There was no bright light, nor great darkness. There were no icy hands reaching for my soul, nor a fiery embrace to purify my sins.

Rather it was numb. An all encompassing numbness prevailed, like being submerged in a weightless sea. It did not weigh or restrict, but it "muffled" so to speak.

In many ways, that could be seen as even more frightening to outsiders, but not to me.

Not to the "me" of right now.

'Not that death is affected by time or anything.'

As it stands, alongside the encompassing numbness, I only feel an overwhelming sense of nostalgia.

This is the most familiar thing I have ever done…

'So I've died before then.' It was not a question but a statement.

My "body" moved on it's own, traversing ethereal halls with ease. "Feet" carrying me to a predestined location.

Were there others beside me? I do not know. It was a state of flux, my location, my body, my surroundings, all were changing, yet consistently ethereal.

I can not see, smell, touch, hear or taste in the conventional way.

I was dead after all.

'It was rather boring.' As I continued, through school corridors and back alleys, I thought thus.

And thus I changed.

I had hands. And a body. And a dick.

The form of my latest iteration. Perhaps one could call it my latest reincarnation.

I could see now, but nothing else. It was simply my... Spirit? Soul...? -Whatever I once was had taken a form. The form of the one who had just died.

'Less boring.'

I continued walking for a bit. Now with proper feet and all.

Then I got bored again.

What? It was a long walk, and an even longer wait once I get there y'know? Human reproduction rates are scary y'know~

'Feh.'

So I created a phone.

Because of course I would.

Well actually I did a lot more stuff prior to getting to that, messing with my body and such.

As a spirit, the form was just an illusion. I could play with it as much as I wanted.

Then I got to making stuff, things like dildos and whips.

And eventually I worked myself up to the touch-screen phone!

'I'm skipping out a lot of stuff by the way.'

Not sure what phone it was, that stuff never bothered me in life, and it bothers me even less in death.

But anyway, I had a phone. So I started playing.

I was no longer bored.

So engrossed in my game that I was, I missed out on some vital information.

Apparently, the dead have lanes... streets if you will. I was also quite a young soul, having kept my head down on all my previous walks "back", and had thusly never realised this fact.

Only ever obeying my instincts, and dutifully walking back without deviation. Never once exploring or questioning.

Yet the instinctive need for procrastination in the modern day teen is not to be underestimated.

"I" for the first time in all my deaths, had deviated from the trodden path.

I had walked of the street, I had left the pavement behind, said goodbye to normality and sought adventure!

All while playing on my phone.

With my head down I continued to walk.

And was promptly hit by a truck.

I, a spectre, travelling to the next life whilst playing on a (spectral) phone, walked of a (metaphysical) street, into an (ethereal) road, whereupon a (phantom) truck came around a (shadowy) corner, and hit the (already dead) me playing on his (unearthly) phone.

'... It would seem the rule look both ways before you cross applies no matter when…'

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And that's how I got here.

"Well, that wasn't on time, but it looks like we're all here now. Welcome to Special Organisation Chaldea. I am the Director, Olga Marie Animusphere."

Yeahhhh.

But I guess you'd want to know what happened in the meantime right?

I'd say it was pretty boring, but it was actually kinda interesting… Or maybe not, but it was fairly important…

So here ya go.

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My first word was "Leroy", the second, following shortly after, was "Jenkins."

Unfortunately due to my underdeveloped vocal cords, they came out more of a: "WAAAAAA WAWAAAAAAA!" Type sound.

And so years passed… Well, three years passed anyway.

'It's always three isn't it? Golden ratio and all that.'

It was then that I realised my super special protagonist powers. The night was dark and stormy, my bedmates and I huddling together for warmth and comfort as the heavens raged and earth trembled and hearts quailed and-

'I'll stop now.'

But was a thundering night.

'Not that that had anything to do with it.'

I… well I burped.

I then I realised my special super special protagonist power.

… With a burp.

'At least it wasn't a fart.'

Craft Essence.

Is what I've decided to name it. It just so happened that I was playing FGO when I was hit by Truck-kun.

More specifically, I was going through the CE section of the Spirit Origin archive. A collection of all the CE's I had obtained in life, those that I had painstakingly levelled and those I had miraculously Limit Broken.

A true testament to iron will and free time that could have been spent much more wisely.

I now possess them.

Not only that, but I also have some sort of knock-off Gamer system load out…

But at least it simplified things.

...

Five Star

[Empty]

Four Star

[Empty] [Empty]

Three Star

[Empty] [Empty] [Empty]

Two Star

[Empty] [Empty] [Empty] [Empty]

One Star

[Empty] [Empty] [Empty] [Empty] [Empty]

...

… Is how it went.

It was all inside my head, I could see the grey screen even if I were to close my eyes, but it was certainly there.

When I zoomed in on an "[Empty]" It would bring up the multitude of Craft Essences I possess.

All of those I had in life.

It was no coincidence, this was too structured, though it may have been my mind trying to impose logic on whatever power (anomaly) I had gained upon dying while dead, my instincts spoke otherwise.

This was clearly the work of someone else, they said. Someone had done this for me, and If I were to ever meet them… I'd fuck their brains out.

This, from the perspective of my old life, is completely absurd. This is, should be, fictional. It beggars belief, and is an affront to sanity on all lines…

Yet it is not to me. To me this is not fiction, this is real. This is very, very real. This is my life. And until death I intend to live it.

This being, whoever they may be, has gifted me something extraordinary. I am thankful, I am grateful, I am moved beyond words.

I do not know the intention behind such a boon, perhaps it was meant a a prank, perhaps it was benign or perhaps it was a whim, but regardless I am indebted.

If I were to describe my feeling, it was that of "not wanting to look down."

'If you look down you'll fall, so don't look down.'

I am not a coyote, I will not look down.

Nay.

I will only look forward.

And perhaps one day I will look back. Looking behind to see the faces of comrades.

'Perhaps.'

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I am an orphan.

Maybe I should have said that earlier?

Jeez, it's just one thing after another with me aint it…

I recall birth, or the triumphant shout of victory I howled out upon the event anyway, so I know I have (had?) a mother. I have a belly button too. But the earliest memory after that palava, was that of the matron peering down at me.

The matron, being the matron of this here orphanage. This here orphanage being a church.

Honestly, not my first choice.

I mean, I'm not all that religious in the first place. Although spotty and deteriorating with time, I still possess a few memories of life after death… There were no Gods or gods or even God.

None that did anything anyway. Perhaps they were there, using faith as fuel to do whatever they do. But there was no Angels or Valkyries to greet me.

'Only a long walk.'

But even before that.

My rearing in the most recent life prior to the most recent death was very multicultural.

Y'see; my mother's family hail from all around Iran, with one grandparent coming from Egypt, and my father's family all originate from India.

Two places, close yet distant. Two cultures, similar yet apart. Two religions, alike in many ways, yet vastly different in others.

With those two as my parents I grew up with three different religions heavily influencing my growth. Islam from my mother, Hinduism from my father, and Christianity from my schooling.

As A result of lots of early exposure from three different religions, I came to my own conclusions rather early on.

To me, Religion was merely a set of morals.

And scrapping out all the "worship only me, I giv u cookies" stuff, they taught pretty much the same damn stuff.

As such, there is absolutely no fuckin' need to fight over it.

Period.

There is only one religion and that is called morality.

Well that's my own perspective anyhow. I'm not looking to start a religions debate.

I mean, I am just talking to myself in the end, how would I even do that?

But back to the main topic, even if I see no real differences in the core principles of religion, I do have my bias as to how they teach them.

'I could go into that, but I won't. It's a load of shit that belongs in the toilet or gutter that is my mind.'

Basically, when you get down to the core of my petty complaints, you would find it is nothing about the women raising us themselves, but simply it irks me when they make us kneel and pray.

It would irk me to kneel to anyone (or anything), I'm rather arrogant like that, but due to my bias and upbringing, I would prefer to kneel and pray in a Mosque or Temple rather than Church.

Or better yet, just let me meditate in a Monastery someplace, during my later (last) life I was rather taken with Buddhism.

And that's basically it.

That is all of my complains of my orphan years summed up.

… Yeah!

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AN: Told you it was shit. Just a plot bunny that crapped on my phone whilst I was grinding the latest event. Exp fuck yeah.

I am also mildly interested on what other people might choose as their craft essence, I mean the one's for the story are already decided (I just haven't shown them yet) but I am a bit curious.

Just a bit though.

Other stories are coming along. You'll just have to wait for them all to finish.

Also I have a Lord of the Rings fiction brewing in my head, just wondering how many would be interested in that. Or should I really just crack on with the ones I've got going yeah?

Especially Under Dim Lighting. People really like that for some reason...