《Cassino's Ex-Machina》


 Prelude

    From the depths of a dungeon, a young girl screamed in panic as she faced her fate. Her tearful eyes, trembling with their blue hues, resembled jewels set against the white tone of her sclera.


    In front of her, the claws of a giant scorpion, shaped like a pair of scythes, slashed through the air toward her. Razor-sharp, they whistled through the wind with a speed and weight capable of unleashing great misfortune.


    The girl, with medium-length black hair as dark as a moonless night and skin as delicate as that of nobility, reminiscent of the sweet and gentle light of the moon, awaited her inevitable death. Her staff lay far away, and the claws drew ever closer, descending in a deadly diagonal motion.


    She closed her eyes, expecting her inevitable doom in mere milliseconds. But nothing came. Instead, the sound of clashing metal echoed.


    In front of her stood a knight wielding a glaive beautifully adorned with magical crystals and a plume attached to its lower end. He fought the creature with an elegance that seemed almost celestial, like a prince straight out of a fairy tale. Each of his movements produced bursts of light that highlighted his superiority over the monster, his face betraying no effort.


    "¡¸Luck Exchange¡¹"


    the knight shouted at the monster, his voice hoarse, as if it had been long since he last drank water.


    The blue crystals of his glaive shimmered like stars, and from its tip, two energies appeared to exchange places as the blade touched the creature''s claws. A murky glow seemed to seep into the scorpion''s body, while a golden elixir flowed out of it, traveling along the glaive and growing brighter as it entered the knight''s hands.


    Suddenly, with a critical thrust, the glaive''s tip ceased blocking the creature''s claws. Using the creature''s own kinetic force, the knight leaped, propelling himself like an arrow. He drove the weapon''s blade deep into the creature''s mouth, so deeply that three-quarters of the glaive vanished within the carapace. Dust erupted as the massive exoskeleton crashed onto the ancient bricks of the ruin.


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    In the girl''s frightened eyes, the knight exuded the aura of a cold, focused leader¡ªyet one that felt warm and reassuring.


    As the knight approached, his glaive, gleaming with the blue of the skies, remained lodged in the monster behind him. The glow reflected on his leather armor, reinforced with lightweight metal plates in strategic places. Yet, rather than the mere presence of a gallant savior, he seemed like a being drenched in divine power.


    Looking at his face, she noticed he wore a mask. It was crafted from the skull of a massive bird of prey, covering his features entirely. The beak and bones were sharply refined and polished with wax, giving the mask a noble and powerful air.


    Raising his arms, the girl realized her doom was approaching.


    Oh, great knight. I surrender myself before you.


    She repeated these words in her mind, her thoughts swirling amidst the cascade of emotions the knight evoked within her.


    The young girl both feared her savior and felt the purest passion for him. Like a fallen archangel, he embodied both her destruction and salvation from the hell she had entered.


    With the sound of cold metal, his steps were so light they could easily be mistaken for the wind. Yet, his gaze never left the noble girl.


    Until the wind stopped.


    Before her stood a grand soldier. Perhaps he had trained for decades. Perhaps he was even the prince of a ruined kingdom.


    The mystery gnawed at her curiosity.


    Her savior stood before her, yet he did not speak. He did not ask if she was all right. Instead, he remained still, staring.


    That''s it! I know what he''s waiting for¡­ Oh, what an ingenious knight.


    Approaching the masked face, the young girl rose onto her tiptoes. Before her, the darkness behind the mask exuded a sense of danger that thrilled her.


    This was the moment she had always dreamed of¡ªthe moment she would be saved by an unstoppable force, a perfect knight with steps as soft as cotton, someone who could truly understand her. And so, she would surrender herself to him, offering him her first kiss.


    Her hand reached out to touch the mask, its surface so smooth and polished that it sent chills down her spine just to look at it. Slowly, her hands slid to the strap behind his ears, feeling the well-cared-for texture of skin that was treated daily.


    But as she removed the mask, her greatest desire became her worst nightmare.


    "N-no! What are you doing here? Cassino, you damned bastar¡ª"


    The knight pulled her into his arms, holding her in a light yet distant embrace.


    Cassino held her tightly, a wicked grin stretching across his face, his malevolent eyes shadowed by dark circles.


    And then, the world blurred.


    Suddenly, the air turned colder¡ªlike a blizzard on a summer day. A strange warmth stirred in the girl''s stomach, a feeling she could only describe as love. It was warm and comforting, emanating from the innermost part of her soul, from the very core of her being. Or so she believed.


    The reality was much colder than that.


    Cassino''s arm pierced through the girl''s abdomen, emerging on the other side like a crossbow bolt. Even so, he held her close as their blood mingled with the scorpion''s still staining his arm.


    Finally, his mouth moved, freed from the restraints he had imposed on himself, as he retrieved a tiny trinket from her pocket¡ªa small dove delicately crafted from white wood and fiber. Now bloodied.


    "I swore I''d kill you with my own hands."

 Chapter 1 - Desire

    Desire


    In some irrelevant place, in a cradle made out of nothing, a creature is born, and in its mind, there is only one thing: Desire.


    Desire is a powerful concept, one that can shape a person''s actions and even the world around them. It is often defined in psychological terms, but it transcends these basic interpretations. For some, desire represents the longing for something unattainable, something just out of reach, whether it is a goal, an object, or an experience. It is the feeling that fuels ambition, motivates actions, and can lead one to great achievements¡ªor bitter disappointments. In this context, desire is not merely a fleeting emotion but a driving force that pushes individuals to strive for more, to aim higher, to constantly improve.


    The being born from nothing did not react by crying about its fate in a void filled with solitude. On the contrary, it fought for what it desired since its birth.


    From the moment of its creation, this being did not wallow in its circumstances. It was not overwhelmed by the vast emptiness surrounding it or the overwhelming solitude that filled its existence. Instead, it instinctively understood that to survive, it must act. It must desire, and it must work toward achieving that desire. This early, almost primal understanding of the world made it different from any other being that would be born in the universe.


    Then, from the void, its hands created planets. From its mind, the rules of nature and magic were produced, and from its desire, came the energy to continue.


    With nothing but sheer will and a powerful desire to create, this being began to shape its environment. It crafted entire worlds from the nothingness, and as it did, it imposed the very laws that governed these creations. Laws of nature, physics, and magic¡ªthe elements that would come to define the existence of every entity within these worlds. And from its very essence, the energy to sustain all of this emerged, a force that powered the ongoing creation and evolution of the universe. Desire was not just a thought or wish¡ªit was the fuel that kept everything in motion.


    I firmly believe that desire is not something as simple as a part of behavioral psychology. It is purer, more independent. It is its own form of matter in the universe.


    Desire cannot be fully explained by the simple paradigms of behavioral psychology, which typically reduces it to a mere response to stimuli or a reflection of unmet needs. In reality, desire is far more complex and profound. It is not confined to the rules of behavior or the expectations of society. It exists as a force of nature in its own right, independent of external influence, transcending the material world and taking on a spiritual and almost metaphysical quality. It is a form of matter that exists in the universe just as stars, planets, and gravity do.


    So¡­ As I prepare a few things, I was trying to explain this to a friend, so that maybe I wouldn''t be the only person who understands desire. Instead, I received a harsh and cold judgment.


    In a world where few understand the true nature of desire, it can be difficult to communicate its depth. The man sought to explain his belief in desire''s power to a friend, hoping to find a kindred spirit who shared his understanding. But instead of a thoughtful conversation or agreement, he was met with judgment and mockery. This reaction reinforced the isolation he often felt¡ªa sense of being misunderstood by those around him, even those he considered allies.


    In a room full of monitors on every wall, a young boy with black hair and drooping eyes sits in an ergonomic chair, with an exaggeratedly disgusted look on his face, staring at one of his monitors where an online group chat is open.


    His room is an extension of his personality¡ªan environment designed for deep focus, but also a reflection of his inner world. The monitors are not just tools for gaming and entertainment; they are windows into a world he can control, a world where he is the master of his own fate. But even here, within his self-created space, he struggles with loneliness, finding it difficult to truly connect with others who share his perspective on life.


    ¡­


    Touchless [Assassin] ¨C "You''re traveling today, strategist. You''d better sleep before you leak something private in the chat. It can''t be healthy to stay awake for 2 days."


    Jinxed [Mage] ¨C "You know I won''t sleep until I finish the entire plan against the Warriors guild. I''m the only strategist... Besides, I''m not saying anything meaningless. Desire is a powerful weapon."


    Touchless [Assassin] ¨C "And what can you do with desires? Maybe with enough desires, you could summon a giant dragon that answers to one of them?"Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Jinxed [Mage] ¨C "With enough desires, a person can get anything."


    Jinxed [Mage] ¨C "I wish I could live in a more fun world."


    Touchless [Assassin] ¨C "You, who loves hard things, complaining that life is complicated? With this economy, we''re really doomed."


    Jinxed [Mage] ¨C "No. It''s too easy."


    Touchless [Assassin] ¨C "Ah, now I''m sure you''ve lost your mind."


    Jinxed [Mage] ¨C "The world is just a social game full of casual players and those who didn''t level up their characters in the beginning and now complain about the meta."


    Touchless [Assassin] ¨C "It''s easy to talk, Jin. The world isn''t that simple."


    Jinxed [Mage] ¨C "It''s not simple at all, but if you''re shameless enough, it becomes pretty easy to control."


    Jinxed [Mage] ¨C "Create a character ¡ú Since childhood, study for a well-paying job and make sure to build social connections ¡ú Use everything from the previous step to get what you want. If something out of your control happens, use the people who care about you and play the victim."


    Touchless [Assassin] ¨C "Ah, how come I never thought of that before..."


    Jinxed [Mage] ¨C "You''ll never understand, Touch."


    Touchless [Assassin] ¨C "I don''t need to understand anything, you''re our strategist. I''m sure even if I ended up in prison, you''d have a plan in mind."


    Jinxed [Mage] ¨C "Maybe..."


    Touchless [Assassin] ¨C "You really are a hopeless neurotic -_-"


    ¡­


    As Jinxed listened to his friend''s dismissive tone, he couldn''t help but feel frustrated. Touchless, despite being an ally and fellow player, could never fully grasp the extent of Jinxed''s thoughts. He didn''t understand the significance of desire, nor did he appreciate the power it could wield. To him, it was all just a game¡ªa way to pass the time. But for Jinxed, it was much more. His strategic mind saw patterns, connections, and deeper meanings that others often overlooked. He was simply better.


    His stomach growled like a buffalo calling his group.


    God¡­ Right when the chair was so warm and comfortable.


    Feeling the texture of the floor with his feet, he walked to one side of the room where his mini-fridge was, like a zombie after brains. Moving, various different colors clashed with the skin of his face, coming from the monitors displaying all kinds of games, not just that, but also real-time statistics, videos on sociological psychology, and even dark-vision cameras showing the outside of his house. The room was also decorated with student books and novels.


    The overwhelming stimulus of colors and information from the monitors was both distracting and invigorating. It was as though the room itself was alive with energy, each screen pulsing with data and images. But despite the technological overload, Jinxed was unfazed. His mind was always sharp, always calculating, always focused on his goals. He was used to navigating the chaos around him.


    He stopped in front of the mini-fridge and opened its door, quickly picking up a microwave burger package with two fingers.


    Hunched like Quasimodo himself, he turned and closed the fridge door with his foot, heading straight to the microwave. The room was like a small kitchen, designed so that he didn''t need to leave unless he preferred to. The shelves had basic spices and stocks of noodles, rice, and a variety of sweets, composing forty percent of everything stored there.


    Right next to the microwave, there were a few games, like a physical chessboard, a tablet with an unfinished shogi match, and a nearby monitor with an open naval battle game.


    His setup was an oasis of convenience. Every item was placed with intention, so that he never had to leave his domain. The microwave, the fridge, and the games were all within arm''s reach, making his daily life more efficient. But there was something deeper at play here as well. Each game, each strategy, was a reflection of his mindset¡ªhe was always calculating, always looking for the next move, even when it came to his meals.


    He took out his wireless earbuds as he waited for his lunch to heat up.


    Staring at the monitor, he wondered what the right move would be.


    An inexperienced player would avoid placing their ships on the edges at all costs, fearing being cornered, which is a good strategy, since it''s simply necessary to map more squares when a piece is closer to the center, making it harder to hit. In contrast, experienced players try everything to make the worst moves, after all, you would never expect that from a great champion.


    "Attack E10. Attack D10. Attack F10..."


    With each of his words, a part of a ship was destroyed, with no shots missing. His enemy must have been fuming, since with his first move, all the ships had been destroyed.


    What''s the point of playing something? For him, it was certain. Probabilities.


    He could be good at any game he played, but there was something that, even if almost negligible, could make him lose. Every game had its way of providing a chance for a sure loss now that all games had evolved to offer a personalized and new experience every time. And betting simply fascinated him.


    Picking his lunch from the microwave, he smiled as he passed several monitors with roulette games, but instead of a huge margin of gain, they only showed the red, but warm color of a lost game.


    Gambling games were terrible for him; after all, he was a hole in probability itself. Therefore, ''luck'' was not something existing in his life. On the contrary, he was an utterly improbable calculation, an unlucky one of the worst category. But still, he played out of addiction.


    Even a strategist could fall into the trap when dealing with chances...


    Suddenly, someone knocked on his door with considerable but not aggressive force. His eyes turned directly toward the sound, his black hair and long strands falling in front of his face with the sudden movement.


    A peaceful and sad male voice came from outside. The mannerism seemed to come from someone totally submissive, with no unique purpose in life.


    "Takashi¡­ I need to talk to you."


    The voice of that man disgusted him, but he remained his father. Even being a loser now, he had to give the minimum amount of dignity to respond to him.


    He approached the door, staring at a partially torn poster on it of a V-tuber in a suggestive pose.


    Miss Mou-Mou, calm me from my vile thoughts.


    After making his prayer to the sacred poster, he placed his hand on the cold metal of the doorknob, opening the door, which creaked and released a strong, rotten odor to the outside.


    In front of him stood the useless bastard he hated seeing the face of. Even just encountering him reminded him of therapy sessions to reduce his excessive anger. His face was droopy and always sad, his eyes always looking down, and his hair was always neatly cut in a standard cut. A bastard who did everything he was told, both at home and at work.


    A loud, disgusted voice seemed to rise in front of the middle-aged man.


    "Tohou, what do you want?"


    He looked his son in the eyes for the first time in many years through his glasses, staring long enough to make Takashi wonder if it was really the same person.


    "My company announced bankruptcy, Takashi."

 Ruin

    He looked his son in the eyes for the first time in many years through his glasses, staring long enough to make Takashi wonder if it was really the same person.


    "The company I worked for just announced bankruptcy, Takashi."


    "And what does that have to do with me? Loser."


    Touhou finally looked down, his spirit seemed more broken than usual, as if his life had been destroyed.


    "...And your mother just left me. Her lawyer just handed me some papers, asking us to give up the house in exchange for us to keep the rest."


    The coldness in my stomach was only less intense than my breath at that moment. An interesting fact about when something traumatic happens is that your hands and feet become completely cold. That''s what was happening to me. From the deepest part of my being, there was a choice in my consciousness: attack or defense. But one of the choices was obvious. After all, I was never the one to blame for anything.


    "What do you mean she asked us to leave the house? You''re the useless loser, the one who listened to everything mother told you to buy and do, not to mention your job that never evolved to a higher position because you were always too shy to give orders. God, I''m even sure you knew mother was cheating on you but did nothing about it¡ª"


    Takashi grabbed the black suit his father was wearing, crumpling the collar, causing one of the buttons to fly off and land inside his room, the sound muffled by a discarded tissue on the floor.


    "¡ªYou disgusting dog, did you even try to fight for your things? I''m sure you just accepted everything mother asked you to do."


    He punched his father in the face, breaking the glasses that had been on his face in one motion, sending them flying a good distance ahead, making him hit his head on a piece of furniture right behind.


    The loud sound of the desk materials falling was deafening, but the thud of what he had just done was much worse.


    "No, wait, Dad, I didn''t mean to do that, please, I''m sorry¡ª"


    A large man suddenly punched Takashi, throwing him into the wall. It was his uncle. The outline of his rings was perfectly drawn on the boy''s face on the floor, who was trying to get up quickly.


    "Uncle? Wait a minute, I swear¡ª"


    The muscular man grabbed him by the throat, applying a military-style chokehold to suppress aggressive individuals, holding his arms behind his back to the point of almost breaking them.


    "Enough! You don''t have a shred of humanity left in your heart, you ungrateful bastard. Do you know what your father did for you all these years?"


    His uncle pulled Takashi toward the front door, throwing him into the rain, scraping his knees.


    "¡ªAll this time you stayed in this house because your father fought with your mother for one more chance for you. Bastard, you don''t even have a job in your entire history, you''re over thirty years old and still a damn leech! I came here to help your father with the move and offer you a job for the first time in your life, but I guess I was wrong to think that. I should have treated you like the disgusting man you are. Get out of here, you''re no longer welcome in our family. The next time I see you, your ribs will puncture your lungs."


    Takashi tried to explain himself, stammering with everything that was happening, but the words just wouldn''t come out. It was as if his throat was blocking everything, as if he had lost the ability to speak at that moment.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    Then a kick to his back activated his instinct to run. If he didn''t get out of there, his uncle would surely kill him. The realization made him slide through the grass in front of the house, ruining and tearing his feet as he tried to gain some traction. Until he managed to, running out of breath as fast as he could, not looking back, afraid of what he might see.


    He ran toward his fate in the middle of the street, his vision blurry and off-balance, his lungs burning like flames from hell. He didn''t know what to do, and all that was in his heart was anguish and anger.


    Those two bastards didn''t have the right to do this to him. To ruin his life.


    Now, he was walking, his legs had given up long ago, and he didn''t know what else to do. Going back home was no longer an option, and the family wouldn''t accept him, especially after what he had done.


    He needed to drink water, his throat ached, giving a iron taste to his saliva.


    Amidst the lights of the neighborhood and the reflections of the puddles of water, he searched for something he could use as protection from the rain. He saw an open gas station, with a convenience store that seemed to still be open.


    Looking at the avenue in front of him, sheltered from the rain, he thought aimlessly.


    I wish I were better. Not born wrong, not raised broken. But now it was too late, what had been done didn''t have any kind of reset button or a way to play again.


    Takashi looked around, seeing the people passing by, some with happy children, others together with friends. He had never witnessed both in his life.


    But that''s not my fault, he started it all! The punch was an accident, he should know better, he''s the adult, he''s the older one.


    What is the meaning of my life, if the primary meaning of a human living in society was something he didn''t do, quite the opposite. If he didn''t act like a human, could he really be considered one?


    I''m a demon¡­


    But suddenly, in front of him, something different from the distant happiness he had seen earlier appeared. Now, it was something much closer and more familiar, an unnecessary aggressiveness showed itself.


    A gang of motorcycles seemed to be surrounding a small pickup truck that had stopped due to the heavy rain.


    It wasn''t his problem, but something told him he might do something. Before he could realize it, his steps were getting closer to the motorcycles, now running, expelling all the breath he had just gotten back.


    "Hey, you useless young people for society!"


    There were six men. Now close enough to notice, they were holding pipes and pieces of wood in their hands, and inside the truck, an old farmer with graying hair and drooping eyes seemed to be trying to protect himself with words.


    The old man looked a lot like my father if he didn''t dye his hair. This struck me, maybe that''s why I did what I did next. His eyes always looked down, never meeting the faces of the delinquents, his body was hunched, aiming for submission, and he seemed to work harder than he should.


    When shouting, the young men looked at him quickly, as if expecting something worrying.


    "You piece of shit! I thought you were a cop or something more concerning. It''s just a scrawny guy out of breath speaking like my uncle."


    Said the man who had been holding the old man''s shirt, now letting him go, focusing his attention on the new threat that had appeared.


    Drat, they''re all wearing helmets¡­ this is a problem. But maybe I can beat their leader, then they might scatter.


    The men got off the motorcycles, walking toward Takashi in an aggressive manner, their weapons a little tighter in their hands for a firmer grip, as if they were preparing for a good beating.


    But suddenly, something unprecedented happened.


    In front of him, the old man suddenly closed the door of his car and stepped on the gas, running off from the scene and even running over one of the motorcycles they had left behind. The motorcycle was thrown, completely crushed and scratched in front of him and the gang members, spilling gasoline all over the place. The old man had a frightened face and stared into Takashi''s eyes, as if he wanted to apologize for leaving him behind, but didn''t.


    "Fuck, my bike! Look what you''ve done, you bastard!"


    Takashi thought maybe he could talk it out, after all, thieves always wanted something. But before he could reason with the remaining sanity of the bikers, a piece of wood connected with his stomach, making him lose his breath and the strength in his legs, falling straight to the ground.


    Dialogue might be something certainly used in social games like MMOs to avoid a fight, but the real world was much crueler and drier.


    On the ground, he vomited while trying to fill his lungs, which were completely incapacitated.


    "Look at this guy, it must be the first time someone''s ever hit him."


    I''m going to die! I''m definitely going to die here. They''re soul-less killers, I don''t want to die!


    He wanted to apologize, but he didn''t even have enough air to blow a strand of hair, so he did everything he could in that moment.


    Crawling away, he tried to cross the avenue, his eyes could no longer comprehend the surroundings, the lack of air created an almost astral feeling as if the gates of hell were calling him on his last breath of life.


    That''s when the worst happened.


    A blinding light, a deafening honking sound. People screamed senseless phrases and the ground was cold, wet, and painful.


    After that, he couldn''t tell what was the ground and what was the sky. A huge impact on his body, producing a pain he had never known, but so sudden that he didn''t even feel it.


    A truck threw flesh into the air, bloodied and lifeless. Takashi had been run over.


    In the last moment of his vision, he saw the light, he felt everything turning into nothing. Then, his eyes closed like curtains of an opera, intensifying his fate in the celestial doors of heaven or the eternal damnation of hell.


    Or that''s what was supposed to happen.


    Instead, from the light, came his cry of agony, higher, louder, and more hateful than usual. But his ears were severely changed to differ.


    It was then that he heard voices and a warm embrace that made his skin burn with love. In front of his eyes, he saw people staring at him, and even worse, their chubby, fragile baby arms. He had been reincarnated.