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480 No. 480
So, I’m on a two-week vacation from my main story, as I’ve been stuck trying to write the next update. To give myself some time to rest, and hopefully get some new perspective, I’ve decided to write a few related short stories. So, I hope you enjoy them!
>> No. 481
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481
This first story is about Wallace’s encounter with the vampire hunter in Paris.



It’s been a long, hard night. You’ve been working at this store for about two weeks, now, and you’ve had to deal with irritating customers before.

But it’s never been like this. Tonight, it seems as though every single magic user with the clichéd, stereotypical magic user personality has come to this shop, sought you out, and… and…

It’s though there was a knob with ten notches, and they turned up the annoying factor to eleven.

… No, that doesn’t make sense.

While your brain searches for an appropriate metaphor, you take the money of the customer in front of you (a blond witch who, very surprisingly, has been nothing but polite and understanding), and hand her the magic thread and doll parts she selected. She thanks you and leaves.

…Ugh, you need some blood. You haven’t fed for OWCH!

As you take a few deep breaths and wait for the pain in your toe to subside (who decided to put that shelf there, anyways?), your eyes wander to the nearby clock. Just forty-five minutes until the end of your shift.

“Excuse me,” says a voice from behind you, dripping with self-importance.

Maybe it’s because you’ve had a long night. Maybe it’s because you haven’t fed in four days. Or maybe it’s because of the stupid tone of his stupid voice. Whatever the reason, you’ve had enough. You whirl around, wings extended, and with every ounce of vampiric superiority you can muster. “WHAT?

The man in front of you is ruggedly handsome, with stubble and a heavy scar across his face. He’s dressed in a lot of leather, with a long whip coiled at his side, a bandolier of knives that look to be made of pure silver (probably blessed), and a pouch that’s very likely filled with a lot of holy substances.

But most telling of all is the nauseating scent of dead ashes that surrounds him.

Luckily for you, the very obvious vampire hunter looks to be completely stunned, giving you enough time to plan a course of action. You wind up your leg, call forth all of your physical strength, and kick him in the shin.

As he falls to the floor, cursing, you spin around and make a mad dash for your quarters. Adrenaline pumping through you, you reach your room, fire a large bolt of magic at the window, and dive under your bed. Not half a minute later, you see the leather boots of the hunter stomp into your room. Just as quickly, he leaves.

You stay where you are for about ten minutes, and then crawl out. The shop owner is there, looking supremely confused. “Mr. Scarlet, just what in the blazes is going on?”

“Vampire hunter. I can’t stay in Paris anymore— it’s too risky. Thank you for your kindness, Marcel,” you say, and hand him a small handful of coins. “Here’s some money for the window.”

The man shakes his head. “No, keep it. You’ve been a great help. I wish I could repay you, but it looks like that will have to wait.”

“Maybe I’ll come back in a few years, and claim my pay,” you reply as you pack your things. “You’ll probably still be here, right?”

“Most likely. I’ve been running this shop for nearly two hundred years— I see no reason to stop anytime soon.”

“Heh. Well, I’m off. Thanks again.”

You make your way to the back entrance, cast a minor cloaking spell, and slink off. The sewers should be a good place to hide, you think.


About three hours later, you put down the book you were reading, deciding to head out. As you put away the tome, you hear footsteps behind you. You turn around.

It’s the hunter. And his face is twisted in an ugly expression of rage and hatred.

He leaps at you with an unintelligible snarl, and you press yourself against the wall, narrowly avoiding him. As he passes you, you fire a bolt of magic at his head, causing him to fall into the sewage.

Got to get out of here. You grab your pack, and run as fast as you can for the exit. As you get closer, you can hear the hunter gaining on you. But the exit is there, and you jump onto the ladder and scramble up. The moment you hit fresh air, you cast a flight spell (you can’t use your wings, as they’d be covered by your pack), and soar into the night.

That was the plan, anyways. Before you can get high enough, something catches your ankle. You have just enough time to realize that the hunter’s whip was a lot longer than you thought it was before you’re slammed into the ground. To your dismay, you hear various crunching and tearing sounds coming from your pack upon impact. Damn it, some of that stuff in there was expensive.

But you doubt that the very angry man stalking towards you will be willing to reimburse you. Looks like you’ll have to fight this one out. Sighing internally, you disengage yourself from your pack… and then dive to the side, just in time to avoid the knife that was aimed at your head. Summoning Tyrfing to your hand, you get up. As you do, you scan your surroundings. Noticing a very solid-looking brick wall, a plan forms in your mind.


Five minutes later, you have your back against the wall. The hunter charges, at which point you step to the side and set the probability of him tripping to 100%. He does, and smashes into the structure. You then abandon any pretense of grace and good sportsmanship, and proceed to grab his head and slam it into the brick until he’s unconscious.

Wow, that was ugly. You stand there for a moment until a trio of ideas hit you. You kneel besides the hunter, and plunge your fangs into his neck. Despite the heavy scent of ashes, your meal is one of the most delicious things you’ve had in a long time (although the hunger might be influencing your opinion). Then you search him for a moment until you locate a small sack with what feels and sounds like money. Once you’re finished, you turn to the wall and use your magic to carve “Bite Me” into the wall. Satisfied, you turn around and start moving towards your pack.

And then you fall flat on your face.

Undeterred, you get up. Not even the side effects of your ability can damper your now good mood. As you pick up your belongings, you start to plan your next course of action. France is too dangerous to stay in. For that matter, most of Europe probably is as well. You need to go somewhere away from the reaches of the Church.

… Maybe you’ll head to America…
>> No. 482
Very nice. It will be interesting to see some of Wallace's past like this. Do you know how many (or at least, what times of his life) you plan to do?

Also, something I've been meaning to ask in the main story threads, but will work just as well here. I know that Wallace's probability power has the side effect of suffering some sort of mishap related to what he inflicted on someone else. What happens if he gives someone else good luck of some sort? Will he still get something negative, or will he end up with a boon in response?
>> No. 484
>>482
Well, these stories won't just be about Wallace. There are three ideas I have in my head at the moment; a story about Patchy and her father, a short piece about Reimu, and the reunion of the Scarlet siblings from Remilia's point of view. As for stories about our intrepid protagonist, possibly one about his time in the magic library beneath Rome.

As for the issue with Wallace's power, he'll still experience the related bad luck.
>> No. 504
>>484
>and the reunion of the Scarlet siblings from Remilia's point of view.

Yes.
>> No. 514
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514
This one is about Wallace’s return to his family, done from Remilia’s perspective.



It’s nearly morning. You’ve had a rather routine day. You got up, bathed, ate breakfast, bothered Patchy, ate lunch, read your novel, played with Flan, and ate dinner. As you head to your room to go to sleep, you find yourself in the portrait hall, in front of a nostalgic painting.

Looking up at picture of you and your siblings, you focus on your brother. As you do, you start to get irritated.

‘Where are you, Wallachia? Are you still alive? And if you are, do you even care?’

“Mistress? Are you all right?”

You shake your head to clear it, and turn to your maid. “I’m fine, Sakuya. I was just… reminiscing.”

“About your brother?”

“Yes. We had trouble seeing eye-to-eye about nearly everything. The last time I saw him, it was after a duel between us. I won, of course— but he packed his things and left, telling us he’d only be gone for a few months.” You sigh. “…I miss him.”

After a moment, a hand pats you on the head.

Without looking at your confidante, you allow a corner of your mouth to turn upward. “You’re lucky no one is around to see this.”

“I know, Remilia.”


The next morning (or rather, afternoon), you’re reading a book in your room after your bath, when someone knocks on the door.

“Yes?”

“It’s me, mistress.” Says Sakuya.

You frown. Something in her voice sounds strange. “Come in.”

Your maid enters.

“What’s going on, Sakuya?”

She takes an uncharacteristic deep breath. “Your brother is in the foyer.”

“…Pardon me?” You’re not sure you heard her right.

“Wallachia Scarlet is in the foyer.”

“…WHAT?!

Sakuya winces. “Not so loud, please.”

“S-sorry. Are you sure it’s him?”

“I’m almost postive. He matches the portrait, although he looks to be a few years older.”

“…This isn’t a joke, is it? No, you wouldn’t lie about something like this.”

“…Should I bring him here?”

“Of course!” At that, she vanishes, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

It’s been nearly two-and-a-half centuries! Why did he take so long to come home? Did he forget about you and Flan?

… That settles it. You don’t care what he thinks about you, but he had absolutely no right to forget about Flandre.

As you finalize your thoughts, you hear footsteps. Deciding on a course of action, you face the door as it opens.

“Hello, Remili—“ As the unmistakable voice of your brother says your name, you bury your fist in his midsection, flooring him.

“Wallachia Émilien Scarlet, just where the hell have you been?! Two hundred and fifty years with only five letters? What do you have to say for yourself?!”

“…I’m sorry?” he chokes out, and you see scarlet for a moment.

“Sorry? Sorry?! You worry Flan and me nearly to death, and all you can say is ’sorry’?! I should drive a silver nail straight through your heart, you worthless fool of a brother!”

“It’s… nice to see you too, Remi.”

You’re about to rip into him for calling you that, when you notice something.

He’s smiling. Even though he’s in obvious pain, he’s genuinely smiling as if…

…As if he’s happy to see you.

You deflate. “Don’t call me that.”

“Sorry. But I’m here now, so you don’t have to worry anymore.” He stands, wincing a bit. “You’ve grown more charming since we parted, dear sister.”

For a brief second, you’re reminded of your father, and you smirk. “And you appear to have grown scrawnier, dear brother.”

He looks a bit taken aback for a moment, and then starts laughing. You can’t help it either, and soon you start as well. After a few seconds, you step forward and hug him, making sure to apply a bit of pressure to his stomach.

While you can feel him shudder in pain, he doesn’t say anything, and instead returns the embrace.

“Welcome home, Wallachia.”

“It’s nice to be back.”

‘So he did care.’ You think.

After a minute or two, you separate. “Well, enough of that! You have stories to tell, brother! Sakuya!”

The maid walks through the door. “Yes?”

“Prepare breakfast for three. And bring Flan to the dining hall— today’s a special occasion.”

Sakuya nods. “As you wish, mistress.” With a smile, she vanishes.

You grab your brother’s hand. “Let’s go, Wallachia!”

“It’s ‘Wallace’. And let me go!”


The trip to the dining hall is silent, as your brother gave up on trying to get you to let go rather soon. When you enter, Flan is sitting at the table. She looks at you, confused, and then at Wallachia.

And as her face lights up, a warm feeling spreads through your body.

You’re a family again.
>> No. 515
>>514
Why is this so short? Are you torturing us, you selfish bastard?
>> No. 516
>>515
Uh... it's a story on the Short Stories board. That's sort of the point.
>> No. 517
>>516
There's short as "nice short", and short as "TOO SHORT". Your short is "TOO SHORT".
I request moar.
>> No. 518
>>517

It's about as long as his last short. Stop complaining, it isn't your story.
>> No. 519
>>518
Stop defending him, you're not him.
>> No. 520
All of you, stop it.
>> No. 521
>>520
I'll put this back on track for you.

It was good, I really enjoyed it! Are you thinking of writing a Flan POV too?

I would not mind a Patchy POV of the first meeting.
>> No. 525
By the way, have any of you noticed anything about the shop customer in the first story?
>> No. 527
>>525
He looked like a vampire hunter?
>> No. 529
>>525
He looked like a Belmont?
>> No. 530
>>525
It was a horrible night to have a curse?
>> No. 533
>>527
>>529
>>530
No, the first one. A witch with blonde hair, asking for magic thread and doll parts. It's Alice.
>> No. 534
>>533
I wonder how She left Gensokyo as I don't think Alice's ever been outside of it

But it'd bring up an interesting point. Do you have any more shorts? Or are you going to return to your story?
>> No. 537
>>534
Well, she's from Bucharest in my head.

Also, give me another week, and I'll get back to the main story.
>> No. 538
>>537
That means you're going to update in a month.
>> No. 539
>>538
No,seriously, I'm going to push myself.
>> No. 540
>>539
So three weeks, then.
>> No. 541
>>540
As it turns out, nope! I'll have a main story update in the next three days.
>> No. 554
>>541
Dawn of FINAL DAY.
You have 24 hours remaining.
>> No. 556
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556
>>554
>> No. 557
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557
>>556
>> No. 559
>>557
That's NSFW.
>> No. 560
>>554
I know. It's almost done.
>> No. 561
>>559
If it was rammed in with a dick, it would be NSFW.
>> No. 562
>>557
It'd be better if it was a Patchy ass picture.
>> No. 563
>>561
Say that to your boss.
>> No. 565
By the way, I've updated the main story.


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