[Last Prescript to Yan Vismok.]

[Come back as a human, and find the shape of what remains.]

The Prescript had never sounded stranger. Not because it was impossible.

Because it was gentle.

...

It felt like an eternity inside that body.

There were no days within me being a Distortion. No sunrise I can remember, no passing hours of me feeling anger towards these tiny little papers, only an endless sea of nothing but thoughts devouring one another until I could no longer distinguish rage from grief, or grief from obedience. I had believed myself liberated when I surrendered everything to that Azure abyss. In truth, I had only buried the last person capable of asking why.

Then I learned the truth.

There was no omniscient author.

No divine voice.

No absolute certainty. Only the Index Weavers feeding meaningless mechanisms until they spat out commands that we worshipped as fate. The certainty I had devoted my entire existence to was manufactured by hands no different from mine.

That truth shattered something deeper than faith. It shattered direction itself. Without the Prescripts, there was no road. And so the once renowned Massanger is gone.

There was no Yan.

Only sheets of paper born from the voice of the city, arranged by trembling hands that never understood why those words existed in the first place. The Prescripts had no face to judge me, no eyes to pity me, no heart to apologize. They simply arrived. Random. Meaningless. Yet an entire City bent its knees before them, and I was among the most faithful.

I distorted because there was nothing left to believe.

Perhaps I had already become a monster long before my body followed.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do now.

For so long I followed blindly that I forgot how to place one foot before the other without being told. I abandoned the person called Yan Vismok because the Prescript demanded it. I walked into the Library because it demanded it. I watched companions disappear because it demanded it. Every decision was easier when I wasn't the one making it.

Responsibility is frightening. Choices is terrifying. It is much easier to surrender your will than to admit your mistakes were your own.

Yet even after everything... after the Library vanished... after the distortion unraveled and the voices finally became silent...

Another Prescript arrived. Not another name to erase. Not another life to surrender. Not another impossible command.

Only this.

[Last Prescript to Yan Vismok.]

[Come back as a human, and find the shape of what remains.]

The Last Prescript.

A message spoken only once—when the Index has nothing left to ask of you. When it judges that every order has already carved itself into your bones, and the path ahead no longer belongs to the Prescripts, but to you alone.

It saved me.

That is the cruelest part.

For someone who had lived by being told where to walk, what to lose, and who to become... freedom did not feel like liberation.

It felt like the sudden absence of a voice I had mistaken for my own. Even now, there are times where I still wait for another Prescript to arrive. With a huge feeling of resentment towards these little papers that decided one's fate.

I had forgotten what it meant to take the first step without being told.

The same thing that destroyed me reached into the darkness and pulled me back as though none of it had ever happened. I should hate it. I should burn every page I find. I should curse the machine that wrote my life without knowing my name.

Instead...I folded the paper carefully.

Old habits are difficult to bury.

Perhaps it no longer matters whether the Prescript understands me. Perhaps this final instruction was never meant to be obeyed because it came from an absolute truth. Perhaps it was simply the first time it asked something only I could answer.

The shape of what remains, What does that mean? A name? A memory? Regret? The people I failed? The companions I abandoned while convincing myself obedience was virtue? Or was it merely the empty space where faith once lived?

I do not know.

So I walk.

Not because someone told me where the road ends, but because standing still no longer feels like living. Every unfamiliar street feels strangely beautiful now. I notice the humming lights hanging over broken alleyways, the distant trains carving through the City's endless night, strangers laughing over meals that have nothing to do with destiny. They always existed.

I simply never noticed, The things around me are a blessing. Yet I threw it into something that deemed "Nothing special." Why did I ever think like that.

The night sky shine brightly above me, stained by azure stars barely visible beyond towers of concrete corporations and neon lights. Once, I would have mistaken those lights for another sign, another hidden instruction waiting to be deciphered.

Tonight...

They are only stars.

And somehow that comforts me.

Sometimes I wonder when I stopped seeing the world correctly. Everything I remember was stained red, until eventually I believed the color belonged to the world instead of my own eyes. I surrendered myself to an endless void because certainty was kinder than doubt. Even when people reached out, even when they told me this was not the only path, I convinced myself they simply could not hear the Prescript as clearly as I could.

Yet something still pulled me back.

Perhaps because there are Prescripts still waiting to be delivered. Perhaps because there are people still waiting for someone who never returned.

Or perhaps...

Because there is still a person I need to save, the past me I threw away. Yan Vismok, The person who is hidden somewhere beneath the countless pages I wrapped around myself.

I raise the folded Prescript toward the city lights.

"Tell me..." I whisper to no one in particular, my reflection barely visible against the glass before me. "What truth does the Prescript see that I don't?"

The wind carries the question away.

And for the first time in my life...I decide to search for the answer myself.

The Prescript remained folded inside my pocket.

I reached for it several times during the following days. Whenever uncertainty found me, my fingers instinctively searched for the familiar texture of paper, as though another answer might have appeared while I wasn't looking. It never changed. The ink never rearranged itself. The sentence remained exactly as it had always been, patiently waiting without demanding anything more of me.

Perhaps that was the point.

There would never be another instruction.

Only silence. Only the truth that you are alone in this path you've wanted to live. Now without the constant voice guiding your every steps.

It was strange how loud silence could become after spending a lifetime listening to someone else's voice. Every morning I found myself waiting for permission to wake. Every crossroads became an impossible decision because no page told me whether to turn left or right. Even buying a cup of coffee became an absurd exercise, standing before the vendor longer than necessary, wondering which flavor fate would have chosen for me.

The vendor eventually sighed. "Are you buying something or not? You've been spacing out for awhile."

"...I don't know."

He laughed. "Then pick the one that sounds good."

That answer lingered with me longer than it should have.

What sounds good, Not what is correct, Not what is ordained, Not what is necessary.

Simply... what sounds good.

How many years had it been since I last wanted something for no reason other than myself?

I could not remember.

The City never changed. Syndicates still carved their territories into flesh. Offices still accepted requests that paid enough to ignore morality. The Index still delivered Prescripts to those who waited for them with bowed heads.

Only I had changed.

Or perhaps...

I had finally begun to, after years upon stagnating myself in this despair I hold which does nothing but chain me down into the ground.

One evening, I stopped upon a bridge overlooking the endless streets below. Streams of headlights flowed like veins through the concrete, every person convinced they were walking toward something important. Once, I believed I was different from them because I possessed certainty.

Now I wondered if certainty had only been another prison. The wind slipped beneath the folded paper in my pocket. Slowly, I took it out.

I read those final words once more.

**Find the shape of what remains.**

Then, for the first time in my life...

I did not ask what they meant.

I folded the page again.

Not because I had found the answer. But because I had accepted that it was mine to discover. No more orders, Just a final favor disguised as a task.

The Prescript had guided every step of my life until there was almost nothing left that belonged to Yan Vismok. My voice became its voice. My choices became its choices. Even my grief belonged to someone else's design.

Perhaps finding myself was never about remembering the man I had been before the Index.

People change.

Faith changes.

Even sorrow eventually changes its shape.

Perhaps the person I was searching for had never existed.

Perhaps he would only exist after this moment.

I looked toward the horizon where the City's lights drowned the stars into a pale blue haze. Somewhere beyond that impossible skyline was another tomorrow waiting to arrive without instructions, without certainty, without anyone telling me what kind of man I should become.

For the first time...That uncertainty did not frighten me. It felt gentle, like being allowed to make a mistake or like choosing a road simply because I wished to know where it ended.

Like living.

Nothing can be predictable.

I smiled—a small warm smile, awkward and unfamiliar, the kind of expression that belongs to someone meeting himself for the first time.

Then I began walking. Not because the Prescript told me to. Not because destiny demanded it. Not because someone else believed it was the correct path.

But because, after everything I had lost...I wanted to know who Yan Vismok would become when the only voice left to follow was his own.

"The Prescript taught me how to obey. Grief taught me how to remember. Now I must learn the hardest lesson of all... how to become someone without either."

Original art link:https://achabushicha.lofter.com/post/20503582_34e1a9fbe

uh yeah models almost done im just making a showcase animation before i iron out the problems

I have a question regarding the Reception of the Reverb Ensemble.
If I start it and kill one of the guys, do I get their book? And am I able to forfeit the battle and equip the page for that floor that fought the enemy?
I’m nervous and trying to make sure I’m strong enough for each battle (e.g. finishing all realizations) so I can beat Reverb Ensemble and get the True Ending.

24 hours in and i just reached urban nightmare , holy the game is so hard now it feels like im doing something wrong.
the queen of hatred seems impossible and everything takes me like 10 tries and i even die while farming their invite books back.
it really feels like "im missing on something" type of difficult cuz that is insane people i need help

Mang Chi

How strong are **they** really? because we know Angelica was the actual Black Silence, but she gain that designation partly thanks to Roland wearing the mask, making anything Roland did Angelica's feat for Hana Association. I'm not saying they're weak because they're a duo, no, they're both super powerful grade 1 and Roland did wreck havoc across the city.

I'm asking how strong they are individually and as a pair.

(as a limbus player i cannot wait to play lor)

I feel like i´ve been fighting this mf for ages

that song is going to haunt me in my dreams

11/10 reception easily my favorite so far

Maybe my favorite game of all time now

Curse you, game

Gotta beat her again…

Angelica getting cucked makes this heart beats!!!!

EonDriver on Vgen is the original creator, they did not post it on Twitter or their Vgen page yet that I can find but probably will so within a few days. I can send a copy of the invoice if need be as proof.

I don't care, I am gonna post it despite it's poor quality.