Path of Transcendence 1: Ultimatum of the Nameless God Read Online Free PDF Page A

leaves the room.
    Disgust and disdain, I can ignore, but pity burns a hole in my soul and enrages me. How dare that bitch pity me? Does she have the mental strength and fortitude of someone who has lived half his life as a disfigured freak? Would she have been able to build a core of personal strength that would allow her to look into the faces of the people who dared to mock her? Would those that tried to torment her quiver in fear, when they look into her eyes? I have lived with these scars since I was eleven. I am stronger than she could ever dream of being. She should be looking at me in awe, but she dares to pity me?
    I breathe shallowly to keep from coughing again. Being this weak disgusts me. I spent most of my life developing my strength and skill. When I was little there were kids that tried to bully me, but my father took me to Urehara-sensei's. I did not learn to defend myself. I learned to fight. I learned how to hurt people. I fought and hurt people. I did not relent, until the bullies turned into the cowards that they were in truth.
    After the accident where my parents died, there were the ones who tried to bully me again, while those in authority ignored  them. I was a scarred freak, who looked like the monster in a horror video. When I fought back, everyone ostracized me. People call that bullying. What kind of a wimp faggot does someone have to be to get bent out of shape and have nervous breakdown, because people do not talk to them? I never understood people who tortured themselves, trying to get in the good graces of people who disdained or hated them.
    I started playing MMORPGs not long after the accident. They were worlds where no one knew who I was, but the way people acted still disgusted me. It had all the same petty cliques, grudges, and backstabbing as real life. When I first started playing Taereun: Battleground of the Damned is when everything changed for me.
    Since I had no friends, I was not in any rush to get in and play with my friends. The character creation process fascinated me, so I went through the complete process, instead of opting out early to start playing. It had hundreds of tests and mini-games that seemed like they were designed to do test acquired physical skills and perform an extremely detailed psychological profile. Even though I was only fifteen, I still had an in-depth understanding of how psychological evaluations were performed. After all, I had been though nearly a hundred of them since the accident.
    I became Talon, a Half-Dvergar, a superhuman monster, and there were plenty of the worst kind of PvP trash to take my aggression out on. Just like real life, almost everyone wanted nothing to do with me, but I preferred it that way. I was old enough that in the real world that defending myself was already grounds for felony charges and being tried as an adult. Just because I was being trained by Urehara-sensei, I was on the FBI terror watch lists.
    In Taereun: Battleground of the Damned, there were no social cameras, no morals division police officers. Hell, they had city watches, but no real police at all. For me, the Battleground was a salvation. It was a place, where I could unleash all my frustrations. I was not playing to have fun. I was playing to keep from killing someone in real life.
    When I was not in school or playing the game, I still trained at Urehara-sensei's dojo. The skills and martial arts I learned from being Talon were like nothing that existed on Earth. What I was able to master in my real body worked and worked well. Taereun was helping me to become more skilled in real life, that was something I never expected to happen.
    After six years, the Great Fuck Over happened. The game became a struggle for survival, but I reveled in it. The constant challenge where my life was on the line was the greatest thrill I have I ever known, but it seems that was all just one big lie. What a cosmic fucking joke everything turned out to be.
    Multiple sets of footsteps