Superhumans of the Dome City

Chapter 1517: Chapter 6: United Federation Horror Story (Part 1)

Like most stories told from a first-person perspective, this is a matter of great significance to the person involved, but just a trivial matter in the eyes of a listener. Generally, such stories do not specifically mention "my" name, but considering most readers are unfamiliar with me, I believe it necessary to provide a brief self-introduction:

My name is Ada, and I am the fiancée of Ranger Vitt, one of Principal Onowell’s apprentices.

Compared to my overly energetic fiancé and teacher, I am clearly a more introverted, even gloomy person. This is partly due to my natural disposition and partly the result of the influence of my body modifications. Because of an accident in my childhood, over 90% of my body has been replaced with silvery prosthetics, making me even heavier than Ranger Vitt in terms of weight.

Dwelling in a cold, metallic body, it’s difficult for a person’s heart to become warm and genuine. Thus, the story I reminisce about isn’t lively, perhaps better described as "bizarre."

It was about six years ago. Vitt was still fretting over his C-level Ranger exams and occasionally couldn’t help his petty thievery. I had just passed my B-level Ranger exams and frequently sought advice from the elder Seviss for career development (only much later did I discover she was a significant figure). She suggested I leave the town, step onto the vast lands and embark on a pilgrimage journey.

"People can’t grow without traveling," she said with a smile filled with sharp teeth.

"But I’m a timid Spiritual Image Mage, not suited to go too far."

"True, everyone has their preferences!" Her idea changed in an instant, "But trust me, you’ll achieve nothing if you spend your whole life in a small town. Even a trip to the neighboring city is better than doing nothing. Do you want to find a job?"

After searching for a while, she handed me a crumpled flyer that seemed to have been tucked inside a vest for too long. The flyer depicted a circus-like white tent with the promotional slogan of the "Dust Troupe."

"I heard their leader is quite an impressive Spiritual Image Mage. Visiting them is surely eye-opening!"

·

Even though the flyer looked like a third-rate circus, I was still persuaded by Seviss and drove Ranger Vitt’s car 50 kilometers to Horror Town.

I knew a little about this place because Vitt enjoyed watching bad movies. He told me it used to be somewhat popular about a decade ago, with many slasher and B-movies filmed in the town. However, as special effects technology matured, directors no longer saw the need to shoot in such out-of-the-way and impoverished places, and the town soon fell into decline once more. All that remains is the hastily-changed name "Horror" as a mark of the era.

Everything in Horror Town matched my expectations perfectly: old municipal equipment long overdue for maintenance, a town newspaper that ceased publication over a year ago, indifferent people walking on the gray streets. The only anomaly in the town was the grand tent set up in the town center. It appeared over ten meters tall and took up the entire municipal square. A bizarre ink-painted sign stood beside it, advertising the night’s performance posters and a notice seeking actors.

If a good place is considered +10 on a coordinate axis, then this eerie tent is roughly at -100, or -300.

As I neared the entrance of the tent, the sense of eeriness drove me to turn and leave. However, I ultimately failed and crashed into a pale sheet.

"Nimble and clever young lady, living doll with iron arms and copper head~"

I couldn’t help but tremble. The voice came from above, as if invisible strings were entangled in my mind. I looked up blankly, realizing the sheet was actually a very long and thin robe, with a ghastly face perched on top, slender eyes resembling two little snakes.

He wore a tall crown, abstractly resembling Empire official attire, or perhaps the garb of a Zero Island Onmyoji. Smiling slightly, he gazed down at me, his tall crown tilting, like a God peering down from the heights of heaven.

The man in the tall hat shook his long sleeves and pointed to the tent, laughing: "Enter the tent, change costumes, and transform your appearance before stepping onto the stage!"

His words carried a dreadful allure, compelling me to obediently comply. After entering the tent, I remembered to speak.

"I—"

"A good puppet come from afar, do you intend to watch my play?"

"No..."

He clasped his hands together, calmly saying, "The members of this troupe are either actors or spectators. If puppets aren’t here to watch the play, aren’t they here to perform it?"

Dazed and confused, I felt that speaking before this person was pointless. Whenever you were about to speak, he already knew what you intended to say, and as soon as you uttered the first syllable, he had already comprehended thoughts even you couldn’t unravel.

When I came to, I was already standing on a simple wooden stage. Several strings hung down white performance costumes, dressing me like a doll.

"Everything’s ready, let the show begin!" he announced cheerfully.

I was clueless: "I haven’t rehearsed..."

"Why rehearse for life?" he retorted.

"What about a script?"

"Life has no script?"

He leisurely sat in the back row of the audience seats, pulling out a pen and notebook to write something. As he lifted the pen, several gray strings descended from nowhere and stabbed into my prosthetics.

I have confidence in the quality of my prosthetics, yet no matter how hard I tried, the expensive metals remained inert. As for the Spiritual Image Skill, I had no chance to use it.

I stood on stage, wooden and frozen.

Now I truly became a puppet.

Soon, more people arrived inside the tent. Several troupe members brought various crude props, and a younger green-haired girl was bustling around, seemingly doing odd jobs. She used heavy curtains to section me off, leaving me to curse Seviss’s bad idea and my own foolishness behind the lightless curtain.

I should have guessed that a powerful Impermanence Law Enforcer is always a lunatic, especially when he’s a Spiritual Image Mage. No hearts are crazier than ours.

Many would think Silent Phase is the most problematic, but that’s not true. Silent Phase Mages are the easiest to fathom, usually possessing only two mindsets: either destroy themselves or destroy the world. Spiritual Image Mages, on the other hand, are different. You never know what insane acts a Spiritual Image Mage might undertake to avoid their fears.

But this was the first time I’d seen someone drag others in as actors. Evidently, this person is nearly mad, and I suspect he might have gone malignant.

While I was lost in my thoughts, the curtain suddenly opened. I stood under the spotlight, with only a handful of people in the audience. Invisible strings moved, and I danced gracefully under the spotlight. I could feel it; my dance was as elegant as that of a leading lady at the Meteor City Opera House.

Shamefully, I was deeply absorbed in this compulsory performance, a dance I could never perform on my own.

As the dance concluded, the strings binding me were pulled away, and the audience gave a crude applause, unworthy of the performance. I mimicked a bow from a movie scene, and as I looked up, I met his half-smiling eyes.

·

"Good puppet, little actor, your gift is in your bones, your skills hid in your heart. A graceful dance earns you a full hall of applause!"

The tall, thin man—I imagined he must be the troupe leader—seemed to appreciate me, but I couldn’t agree.

"That was your manipulated performance, without any personal will involved. Anyone else could do just as I did."

The leader merely smiled, "Have you ever caused trouble unnecessarily?"

I was so angry I wanted to laugh, "Mr. Leader, I think you’re the one causing unnecessary trouble all along."

"You’re willing to accommodate my quirks, and that’s a rare talent. One must know there are many who stand out in this world, yet too few who are understanding of others!" The leader said with a sigh, then added, "Our troupe is too impoverished; to prevent any freeloading on credit, we settle wages daily."

He even wanted to compensate me, which surprised me a little. Luckily, I managed to keep a straight face, "Mr. Leader, I am also a Spiritual Image Mage. I came here to gain insights."

He glanced at me as I mustered the courage to say, "If you don’t mind, I would like to imitate your skills..."

The leader suddenly stood up, pressing his pale hand against his chest, his face full of pain, "Merciful Saint, do you truly wish to save the suffering on earth? All-powerful supreme God, does your Angel wish to bless us? If the answers to these questions are as certain as the scriptures say, why do you allow tragedies to happen to someone like me?

Look at my dark wooden body, my soft silver hair; my gelatinous tendons, my oil-like blood. Apart from a void, ethereal mind, I have no human shape. Am I truly a human favored by God? Am I truly a girl who survived a catastrophe?"

He leaned close to my ear and whispered, "Or am I a singing and talking corpse?"

I turned rigid all over, as if plunged into an ice cave. The fear I least wanted to face, hidden in my heart, was laid bare by his few words.

Yes, I want to know the answer to this question. Is life after full-body prosthetic transformation still human? Or just a machine?

My hometown doesn’t have powerful Spiritual Image Mages, and they cannot answer the mysteries of the mind. That’s why I want an official answer, to know the authoritative solution.

But the leader turned and walked away, his laughter floating like an illusion.

"The troupe is not a school. If you don’t listen to the play, then perform in the play."

·

"Not bad." The green-haired girl said to me, "Few can tolerate the leader’s way. You know, right, he’s like a monster."

"More like a ghost," I replied.

The green-haired girl burst into laughter, handing out tickets to familiar or unfamiliar passersby. She was indeed a general helper, responsible for ticket sales, procuring supplies, and such odd jobs. She said she wanted to be a lead actress, so she could pass off these boring tasks to new members.

I decided to stay a bit longer in the Dust Troupe because I felt I should at least learn something from the leader to make up for that time of free labor. However, the leader was as elusive as a ghost, disappearing after nighttime performances. I stayed for two weeks and instead became well acquainted with the rest of the troupe.

The accountant was a sickly man, coughing blood occasionally, with a gloomy face; the one painting signboards was a poor scholar dressed in black, holding a brush with an arrogant air; the cook was a long-haired, stylish man, staring at the sky all day, lost in thought; among this troupe full of oddballs, only the fat man selling groceries was approachable. He was good at dealing with people, always greeting everyone with a smile.

"Little Ada, still haven’t given up?" the fat man said cheerfully.

I responded half-defiantly, "I won’t leave until I’ve learned something."

The poor artist overheard and sneered, "Can’t even dance, what is there to learn!"

I retorted defiantly, "He won’t let me dance myself. How can I do anything if I don’t even get a chance to perform?"

"That’s not Situ’s fault, you know. You just lack a bit of skill." The fat man motioned with his mouth, "Look at the cook, why doesn’t the leader control him to cook?"

The cook stared blankly, lost in his own world.

"I don’t understand."

"Because he’s focused." The fat man said, "Look how concentrated he is when cutting vegetables! It takes him one or two hours to make a table full of dishes. These are dishes made with focus, and they taste better than those made absent-mindedly."

I highly doubted the truth of this statement, given that too much salt had been added to last night’s meal.

"Acting follows the same principle. You need to immerse yourself in the play! Genuine acting is key!" The fat man explained earnestly, "An actor who has immersed themselves in the role becomes indistinguishable from the character. No need for strings or costumes, just standing there becomes a play."

"Look at the leader, with just ragged sheets and a hat, performing everywhere. That’s the foundation of an old artist; he can immerse himself anytime, anywhere."

He patted my shoulder, speaking with earnest sincerity, "Just learn, there’s a lot of knowledge within."

The cook nodded, deeply agreeing, "Hmm."