I Became A Ghost In A Horror Game-Chapter 90: End of the Pinocchio ArChapter

The villagers, for the most part, had never wielded a weapon beyond, at most, a kitchen knife.

No matter how good the weapon in their hands was, it wouldn’t change the fact that they couldn’t wield it properly.

And the stronger a weapon is, the more easily it harms its user.

If they were dolls, it might have been different, but as people, I couldn’t allow them to bear that kind of risk.

That’s why I made them the most basic weapons.

Swords, axes, and spears.

The clever village chief had set up barricades to keep the creatures of the deep at bay, but no matter how I looked at it, I doubted they’d last more than two nights.

So this is why the player had to sell weapons in this village?

Looking back, there had been strange details that seemed like Easter eggs.

The sudden blackout of all communication networks, making it impossible to call for help.

The inexplicable stench of blood that kept people from sleeping.

I had ignored these signs and failed to prepare in advance.

What should I do?

Right now, the only thing I could do was forge weapons.

A serrated staff that could shred enemies apart.

A flamethrower designed specifically to burn the creatures of the deep.

But these were all dangerous weapons—if used incorrectly, they would devour their own users instead.

As I hesitated, the third barricade collapsed, and a grotesque, multi-eyed octopus monster slithered inside.

There was no turning back.

I handed over the strongest weapons I had at the moment.

The flamethrower roared with fire.

The serrated blades spun, cutting down the repulsive creatures.

The villagers' morale rose little by little.

Feeling momentarily relieved, I turned my attention to their condition.

They were exhausted.

Though they fought well by keeping their tension high, their stress and physical exertion had already reached their limits.

I stretched my hand toward the outside.

But an invisible wall blocked me. I couldn't go any further.

Even as the villagers fought, I was unable to help them from here.

No matter how powerful the weapons were, the ones wielding them were human.

At this rate, they would all die.

"AAAAAARGH!!"

Austin!

The very thing I had feared happened.

He dropped the serrated staff, and as a result, his foot was severed.

Austin was then impaled through the stomach by a monster.

He screamed, but soon after, his head was crushed, and he died.

I had only met him twice, but I remembered our warm conversations.

Why was a human life so fragile?

If his body had been made of iron, he wouldn’t have died.

If I had foreseen this catastrophe, Austin wouldn’t have died.

"Kyaaaaa—!"

Fram...

Fram was devoured by a monster.

Like a crop being harvested, she was greedily consumed. Her agonized screams were her final words.

I had never liked Fram.

She was foolish and reckless.

Despite the men's protests, she had bravely stepped onto the battlefield.

Even as her delicate arms twisted and the scene turned horrific, she still lifted her weapon.

But in the end, her death was far too cruel.

If there truly was a god, they couldn't just stand by and watch this.

One by one, those who had been holding back the monsters began to fall.

There was nowhere left to retreat.

Behind them was the shelter where the weaker villagers—children and the elderly—hid.

"...?"

Someone was running from the distance.

A small boy.

Tom.

"Hey! Give me a real weapon! Not this wooden sword!"

As soon as Tom saw my face, he shouted.

What a foolish statement.

A child's body was useless in battle.

The pinnacle of inefficiency.

Unless I took his tiny arms and replaced them with prosthetics, that is.

Naturally, I snapped at him.

"Stop saying stupid things and just run away!"

"If you're not going to give me a weapon, I'll fight with this wooden sword!"

"Wait! Stop!"

Ignoring me, Tom rushed straight toward the monsters.

That wasn’t courage—it was reckless foolishness.

At the very least, I couldn't let him die a meaningless death.

Surprisingly, despite wielding only a light wooden sword, Tom managed to be an effective distraction.

But regardless of his efforts, the version of me inside the screen was slamming my fists against the transparent wall.

Bang!!

"Just run away, damn it!"

I shouted as I punched the invisible wall.

The me in the video looked desperate, pounding the wall so hard that my hands bled.

"Goddamn it! Run! You can’t hold on any longer!"

"Stop whining! If not us, then what happens to the kids?!"

"The chief is right! Stop talking like a—"

Crunch.

Before Tom could finish berating me, a massive tentacle smashed him into the ground, shattering him.

"Tom!!"

The chief screamed.

But even that was a luxury, as an even greater threat loomed.

Destroying the bakery, the largest monster I had ever seen appeared.

The villagers were crushed in an instant, unable to resist.

Some were squeezed like fruit, their bodies bursting.

Others, in despair, took their own lives using the weapons I had made.

Where was the one who would save them?

If angels or gods truly existed, they should be rescuing these innocent lambs.

Why wasn't anyone coming to help?

Even a demon would be fine.

Someone, anyone—save them.

...I'm an idiot. A goddamn idiot.

I, who never cared for religion, am only now looking for a god?

Perhaps no god exists.

But one thing was certain—I was completely useless here.

The ones who should have crumbled were not them, but me.

And yet, I was the only one left standing.

I wanted to get out.

I wanted to get out. I wanted to get out. I wanted to get out. I wanted to get out.

If I had to die, I’d rather be among them.

"..."

The village chief was looking at me.

A moment before he was crushed underfoot by the approaching monster, he glanced at me and gave the faintest, resigned smile.

"A hole in my chest... It would’ve been nice if this village had filled it, even a little... I'm sorry."

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

"Don’t say that."

I had to get out.

I had to get out, goddamn it.

A passage... I needed to find a passage.

Even the smallest hole would do.

"..."

On the screen, the version of me in the video frantically darted my eyes around, scanning my surroundings—until I stopped at one spot.

I found it.

A hole.

A trash chute used for disposing of defective equipment and leftover materials.

Maybe... maybe I could get out through there?

No—I could get out through there.

I could, goddamn it.

I shoved my head into the hole.

It didn’t fit.

Of course, it didn’t.

This hole wasn’t meant for people.

It was a place for lifeless, cold, inanimate objects.

This wasn’t a system designed as an exit in the first place.

"...I am a machine. The people at the factory called me that."

When people are mentally cornered, they sometimes resort to denial to escape the creeping horror.

One of those ways is lying.

Just like how Pinocchio’s... no, his father had lied when he reached the end of his life.

Pinocchio muttered again and again.

"I am a machine. I am a tool. I am a puppet."

The lesson learned from factory work—how to empty one’s mind.

He applied it fully, and his heart grew colder and colder.

He erased every tear he could have shed for the dead.

Erased any future joy he might have felt.

Descending deeper into the hollow void forming inside his soul.

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"Look at me now. In the end, I couldn’t save anyone. Not my father, not the chief, not Tom, not the other villagers—no one. In the end, I was completely useless."

—So, are you just going to stay like that?

A voice.

It was a voice I had heard somewhere before...

"...I don’t know."

—If you’re useless, then just become useful.

The voice was sweet, like a devil’s whisper.

It guided the wandering Pinocchio from deep within his fractured mind.

And what it showed him... were the factory’s machines.

"That’s right. Machines and tools were always useful. So all I have to do... is become one too."

Pinocchio finally discarded his heart.

His soul slowly seeped into the hole.

In that pitch-black space, where nothing could be seen—

A black seed sprouted.

Pinocchio’s body was remade anew.

By lying to himself, lying to reality itself—he succeeded in denying his humanity.

"..."

Reality warped.

Pinocchio stepped out of the workshop, now an incomplete transcendental being.

The moment the monsters saw him, they sensed something was terribly wrong.

As one, they lunged at him, determined to stop him.

Pinocchio walked forward slowly.

One by one, he butchered the creatures before him, stepping over pools of blood with his cold, metallic feet.

With each monster that died, he became more complete.

And finally, when he slew the last one—

Standing atop a mountain of corpses, he observed the village.

"They’re all dead."

At his feet, there were nothing but corpses.

Monsters and humans alike.

Among them was the body of an old ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) man.

If he recalled correctly, his name had been Geppetto.

"..."

He felt nothing.

That man should have been precious to him.

But now that he was a creature of steel and wood, he didn’t know what kind of expression to make.

Why had he even wanted to protect this person in the first place?

"Hmmm..."

Ah, that’s right.

He must have wanted to protect him because they were both human.

But now, he no longer understood his past self’s actions.

If he had really wanted to protect them, he could have modified some of them into living weapons.

Perhaps they would have lasted longer that way.

He should have known how inefficient soft human flesh was.

"Waaahh!"

A child’s wailing reached his ears.

The crying girl among the corpses...

Cashy.

He had cared for that child.

That was why she still caught his attention.

But why was she crying so sorrowfully?

Ah. It was natural.

The death of one’s own kind was an instinctual terror for living beings.

She must be afraid that she would be next.

There was no guarantee that this was the last of the monsters.

The world was likely teeming with far worse abominations.

Don’t cry, Cashy.

I’ll be going on a journey and will return soon.

I’ll modify you.

You are special, so I will make sure you never die—by giving you an unbreakable body!

Ah, that’s right.

While I’m at it, I’ll modify the rest of the survivors too.

No, not just them—let’s modify all of humanity.

Let’s turn them into beings capable of fighting these monsters.

How splendid.

I am such a useful machine!

Beep.

Abruptly, the video froze.

Someone had paused it.

The immersion shattered, and I realized—I was sitting in a movie theater.

"Do you really think that way?"

"Alice."

Alice sat beside me, looking at me with a sorrowful expression.

For some reason, as she watched the video, it seemed as though she saw herself in it.

She continued speaking.

"If you only pursue your goal through logic, without feeling anything in your heart—there will be nothing waiting for you at the end. Even if you use the Machine God's power to modify everyone, they still won’t be able to feel happiness."

She spoke as if everything I had done was meaningless.

As if she already knew the answer.

So I asked her.

"Then... what should I do? To be honest, my heart still feels cold. And I don’t see why I should just follow what you say."

"The answer is right here."

Alice held something out to me.

It was a seed, glowing with iridescent colors.

"I created this using the power of anomalies related to emotions. It’s... a little crude, though. I was never good at making things. The tiny amount I implanted in you during our first fight came from this."

"Hmmm..."

"I’d like you to take it. Some anomalies didn’t want to lend me their power, so I had to forcefully take it from them. Thanks to that, they’re sulking and won’t even talk to me anymore."

"I don’t let myself get swept up in atmospheres. I don’t know what you’ve done to this seed, and honestly, it doesn’t sound appealing to me. So—"

"Not getting swept up is fine. It’s entirely your decision. So? Are you not going to take it?"

Alice continued to hold the seed out, urging me to choose.

If I doubted it, I didn’t have to accept it.

I could just take it and throw it away later.

"I..."

Why was I hesitating?

I was a machine. I had seen it in that video.

How useless I had been when I still had emotions.

How utterly pointless I had been as a human.

I had saved no one.

And if I went back, the same thing would just happen all over again.

"Pinocchio. The ‘you’ in that video—the human ‘you’—was wearing a mask. But it was a mask only you could see. You threw away your emotions, so you can’t read expressions anymore. Aren’t you curious what kind of face you made in front of that mountain of corpses?"

"......"

I didn’t want to feel curious.

That wasn’t the same as saying I wasn’t curious.

Something inside me—something I didn’t understand—rose in rejection.

It must have been because of the fragment of the seed Alice had planted in me.

"Like the ghost story about corpses buried beneath cherry blossom trees—stare directly at the horror hidden beneath the beauty. Face your fear and reclaim your will. Don't hesitate over past failures. As long as we keep trying... we are bound to get lost at times."

"Regaining emotions is nothing but a downgrade for me."

As Pinocchio said those words, the Pinocchio in the video—who should have been silent—suddenly spoke.

"But sometimes, instead of recklessly wielding a powerful weapon, it's better to use a weaker one that suits you."

Pinocchio refuted.

"Maybe we don’t have a choice. If we're truly cornered, we’ll have to bring out the strongest weapon."

"We can think about that when the time comes. We’re not just blacksmiths who forge weapons."

"Making tools for daily life won’t help in a battle."

The two exchanged words like a debate.

Seeing myself argue with myself, I realized once again—finding the truth through conversation was a long and arduous path.

"But it will help in understanding and connecting with people."

"...I have to protect them."

"Yes, you must. You have to arm them with weapons, and you must protect them as well. Tools have many uses. One day, you may still choose to kill your emotions and pick up a weapon. But understanding and connecting with them is necessary too."

"And just who does it help if I have emotions?"

When Pinocchio said that, the Pinocchio in the video fell silent.

Had the argument been settled?

But instead of answering, the Pinocchio in the video subtly shifted, revealing what had been hidden behind him—a mountain of corpses and a crying Cashy.

"...Cashy is crying."

This time, the other side went silent.

—"Waaaah! Where did everyone go?!"

Pinocchio's hands trembled.

Alice gently took his wooden hand.

She extended the seed toward him once more.

Pinocchio picked it up.

"A disaster too great has occurred. We may not be able to comfort it. But... we can cry together."

—"I miss you..."

Pinocchio embedded the seed within himself.

And as if it had been waiting all this time, a sprout bloomed.

—"Sister..."

At that moment, the mask of both the Pinocchio in the video and the Pinocchio outside of it shattered simultaneously.

Pinocchio's wooden face crumbled, revealing a human one beneath it.

Her expression was one of anger and sorrow.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, falling to the ground.

"Ah... I wanted to protect them. I couldn’t even save Father, but this time... this time, I wanted to save them!"

"They’re all dead! Because of my naive thinking! Because I was too weak!"

She shouted, then lowered her head and sobbed uncontrollably.

This space was a reflection of her mind.

If she wanted to fill it with tears, she could do so easily.

And those tears would nourish the sprout in Pinocchio's heart.

"You created weapons—tools—to protect people. But when faced with an overwhelming calamity, you discarded your heart and chose to become a tool yourself. Because you abandoned your emotions, all that remained was your purpose to ‘protect,’ twisting into a warped conclusion. I hope that now, even a little, you can walk a better path."

"..."

"You’ll need some more time."

Leaving Pinocchio behind, still weeping, I stepped out of the theater and headed toward the far end of the still-dark space.

How much time passed?

Eventually, the tightly concealed gears revealed themselves.

"Now that the plan has gone awry, isn’t it time for you to show yourself again?"

[...]

"You damn pile of scrap metal."

I spat out the words bitterly, and from a section of the gears, the Machine God's head emerged.

What a ridiculous sight.

[So, in the end, you just had to ruin everything.]

"Pinocchio is a machine you can’t control. So you planned to consume her entirely and steal her power?"

Even cockroaches weren’t this persistent.

But this time, it was truly over.

Previously, its main body and its fragments had been separate.

But now, thanks to Pinocchio paying a heavy price, all the fragments had been compressed and sealed into these gears.

[I merely turned a crisis into an opportunity.]

"I see. Then this really is the end."

[Yes. The end. But... I suppose I can say I enjoyed it.]

I let out a scoffing laugh.

"Hah! After all that grandiose talk, all you have to say is that it was fun? Was it really that enjoyable—crushing people, grinding them down, making them suffer?"

"Yeah, I bet it was. Fear is always thrilling, isn’t it?"

"But entertainment should never come at the cost of human lives."

Inside my head, the Queen of Hearts screamed.

Off with its head.

I slowly closed my fingers around the small, palm-sized gear.

And then, I began to squeeze.

[Entertainment, you say...? This world is filled with dangerous malice. Do you really think such a thing is possible?]

"Of course."

I crushed the gear completely.

CRACK—!

As the fragments scattered, I instinctively knew—I had just shattered something that had held immense influence over this world.

I stared at the broken pieces and muttered to myself.

"Because I will make it so."

Alice.

First Dominator defeated.