Exchange an Orange for information. Sounds easy, doesn’t it? My mind would go in and out of consciousness as I strolled through the village. I nearly forgot my mission so I decided to carve it into a wood block. That was problematic as well. When I tried to write I heard my mother screaming out in madness inside my head.

“Is everything alright, sir?” asks a young man behind a produce counter.

“Not afraid?” I ask, turning to the source of the sound.

“I’d be unable to bring the most exotic fruits to my shop if I had even a sliver of fear. I couldn’t help but notice that orange fruit in your hand. What is it?”

“Not sure.” I spin the sphere in my hand.

So, it’s orange.

“They say eating fruit from another world doubles your lifetime. There’s no proof of that of course, but it sure does help with sales.” He grins. “How about we make an exchange?”

“Fruit for information?”

“Yes! That way we can both be happy.”

I nod.

“Fruitastic! What would you like to know?”

Was there anything specific? I can’t remember!

I grab my head as my body goes into a frenzy.

The young man holds up a Mellown as a shield, having it get sliced in half. “That’s a really impressive blade you got there!”

I bow repeatedly. “I didn’t mean to kill you.”

“Well I’m alive so no worries. You’re an assassin, right?”

I put my tendril over my face.

“Oh, my apologies. It’s supposed to be a secret. Well, making a living isn’t easy. Running this fruit stand isn’t enough to provide for my wife so I’ve become a quest broker as well.” He hands me a Coconaught. “Break it open when you’re alone.”

I hand him the fruit. “Thanks, sir.”

“The people call me the Fruit Man; Isekai has a different name for me though.” He tosses a Melowon up and cuts it open with a hidden blade. “The Produce Pirate.”

My body folds in on itself to make an applause sound.

“Such a friendly RiftRipper. Be careful out there. Just because you are immortal, doesn’t mean you can’t suffer. It’s a dangerous world. But the most dangerous locations often hide the greatest of treasures.”

I bow repeatedly to my new friend as I back up.

After slinking into the shadows, I open up the Coconaught.

Inside is a drawing of a young man with the words “KILL” on it.

I open my cloak and absorb the quest poster. The image of the target is absorbed into me.

Where to find the target?

For weeks I slinked through the shadows, always avoiding discovery as I scanned the village for the target. I actually ran into him while at an inn outside the village. He took a seat next to me, fully unaware that I had been tasked with killing him.

“Are you a litch? There are so many crazy creatures in this place!” he exclaims, exuding positive emotions.

“You seem nice. Why would someone want to kill you?” My body bends around him, searching him for flaws.

“You must have the wrong guy. I’m just a normal person. Never made an enemy in my life!” He tries to squeeze out of my hold.

“Not sure why you’re the target. Doesn’t matter. You’re going to die. What you tell me is up to you.” His arms snap under my constriction.

He starts screaming.

A crowd gathers but they do nothing to help him. They simply watch with a feeling of surrender.

“I just wanted to be free! I’m not strong enough to be a hero so I ran away.” He looks out at the crowd. “Please save me!”

“A hero who quits is nobody. No need to grieve if nobody dies,” says an elder man.

Assassins are nobodies too. Do our lives not matter?

I look out at the crowd as my bones break and my neck snaps.

Screams echo in my head. My body pulses with agony and lashes around. My consciousness jumps from villager to villager until it returns to me.

I feel damp.

My cloak is wet with their blood. I succeeded in killing my target, but was unable to stop slicing.

The room was silent. I was the only one there.

My cloak expanded and grew teeth, devouring the bodies and sucking up the blood in a vacuum.

I left the inn, looking cleaner than it had when I had entered it.

I return to the Produce Pirate and open my cloak.

He examines the head and then nods. “That’s the guy. Well done.”

“Why did you want him dead?”

“I don’t even know the guy and I don’t hate anyone. If I harbor hate in me, that could spread to the fruit and that’s just irresponsible. Anyone can make a quest request, but assassinations aren’t usually on the board. If they were, then the target would find out and flee. Don’t worry though, assassin requests have to be approved by the village elder. The boy must have done something truly reprehensible.”

Old Dude. He killed the hero for fleeing. Is that how he keeps them in line, through fear?

The Produce Pirate puts my fruit on a cutting board and cuts in half. “Let’s celebrate your first successful mission with Orange!”

“I…can’t taste.” I point to my face.

“Then I guess we’ll be enjoying a memory together instead.” He hands me the slice and we eat together.

I examine the fruit before chomping on it.

This memory tastes warm.

“All these little juicy cocoons come together to create something vital. Kind of like ISEKAI, isn’t it?” he asks, eating his Orange piece by piece.

Will all of ISEKAI need to be destroyed, or can just the core be cut out? I still know so little.

The next ten years come in blurry flashes. As a RiftRipper, my consciousness fades in and out. There are times where my mind is lucid, but it never lasts. Even important information I try to keep often breaks out my mind cage and flies away. Sometimes I sink into the shadows and lose my sense of self. I just stay there as a meaningless spot until my mind jumpstarts itself. Other times another part of me, a buried consciousness from those I killed, surfaces and I live as them for a few days. I wouldn’t even know what happened if not for the villagers telling me of my bizarre behavior. One time my inner BladEagle took root and I boarded myself in the library. The village elder himself had to break me out. There of course were some eventful missions that float around as more than flashes in my mind. Some bandits raided the village. The elven bandits took some villagers hostage. The hero was among the hostages too, so it was my responsibility to rescue him.

I snuck into the Angel Temple where the hostages were held. The sacred structure was heavy with dark emotions, which for a RiftRipper meant it was easy to move about in.

I focused my mind on the targets specifically. My body dispersed into small bug like fragments that crawled up to my targets. We all bit their necks together and though the elven bandits tried to pull us off, they only caused themselves more pain as their essence was drained.

As they died my consciousness jumped to their perspective. I felt more than their fear and pain. With their last moments came a higher sense of clarity. Their mission was revealed to me. They took hostages so that they could exchange them for the freedom of their own people.

All my victims acted with purpose, which made my meaningless slaughter of them feel even more empty.

Their thoughts of rage and agony took hold of me and my body jutted out as spikes.

I just can’t seem to enter a room without killing everyone in it.

Word of my slaughter quickly spread through the town. The villagers I had spent years protecting turned against me. Unauthorized to exile me, they instead decided to ignore me. The Village of Doomed’s news man rang his bell that morning, decreeing me as the Broad-Spectrum Assassin. By the next day, the lively village I called home was now like a ghost town. I felt like a being trapped in a separate dimension, unable to reach those I cared for despite them being right before me.

I had killed villagers before and even those who knew accepted it. A young boy at his father’s funeral bowed to me, knowing I was doing my part and stood for something greater than any single person. It was the fact that this mistake cost the life of a hero that made them despise me. It wasn’t that they were even fond of the hero himself. Simply put, heroes were a symbol of hope and had snuffed out that hope.

When word of my failure reached the village chief, I was ordered to meet with him. I waited at the meeting place but there was nothing there.

Space distorts and stretches until the chief’s hut appears.

Could be my last chance to kill him. He may try to end me. I must act quick.

The wooden hut opens automatically and inside is a garden of tall flowers. Old Dude is nowhere to be seen.

“I heard about the temple massacre.” His voice comes from all angles.

I turn and scan the area, searching for his presence.

All of it. The entire hut is him.

“I try to stay calm. I try so hard. But I lose control so easily. Focus is an ordeal.” I feel dizziness overcome me and my body spins with my mind.

“I’m not blaming you, but not even the word of the village chief can change the way the villagers see you now. Not to worry though, a proper RiftRipper can harness the energy from his failures. Ironically it’s because of your pathetic feeling that you’re now able to take the next step.”

“Did you send me into that hostage situation just so I would fail? So they would hate me? Hate! Hate! Hate!”

My mind burns as a fiery emotion ignites it. My tendrils thrash around, slicing the hut.

Old Dude distorts space, reducing my attack range to less than a few centimeters. He then emerges from the ground. “A failed RiftRipper can be turned into a weapon, but this is no failure you can’t overcome. The time has come for you to go to the world bereft of consequence. Despite the world having no real purpose, there is a very important mission that awaits you. With the loss of our local hero, we’re going to need someone to replace them. You’re going to journey to Maya and kill a hero for us. Discretion is of absolute importance. If the people of Maya catch sight of you, it could have disastrous consequences for our world.”

“I failed. Failed! Failed! Failed! I’ll only fail again and again and again and again.”

“Silence! Wear your negativity as a cloak but don’t let it cloud your mind. Negative emotions should be stored like ammunition. We mustn’t waste time. No doubt the other villages seek the same heroes. Create a portal.”

“I can’t make a portal to a place I’ve never been.”

Old Dude whacks me with his cane. “Make a portal as far from here as you can.”

There was that time I went to a swamp on another island entirely to preemptively kill a squad of CatBoys. Yes. I’ll try that.

I focus my thoughts on that place.

Old Dude places his hand on my tendril. “Good. Now pierce it with your despair. Harness your desire to escape this world. There’s no shame in having regrets; you’d be useless without them.”

This is the place I lost everything. If I can leave it, maybe my misfortune will stay behind as well. I want to go away! I have to leave! This place is poison! I hate it! I hate it!

“Good. Keep focused on that feeling. Interdimensional portals aren’t easy to form. They take time and dedication.” Old Dude distorts the portal, stretching it and twisting it. “If something breaks, then it creates an opening.”

He bends the portal while I fill it with my negativity. The sun abandons us five times before a wretched sound fills the room.

The portal finally breaks and spawns a vortex.

My body juts out, trying to keep itself from being swallowed up by the space-bending vortex.

Old Dude stands his ground. “Hurry on in. Oh, did I mention that staying in Maya for too long will end you?”

“I thought RiftRippers were invincible.”

“Yeah, so did I before we lost one. Just hurry on back and you’ll be fine.”

“How will I make the portal to return?”

“The rift will be open on the other side! Just hop in and don’t let anyone find out about it.”

“Why did you wait till now to tell me all this!?”

“Fear jogs the memory. Without emotion behind them, memories and information sink in a RiftRipper’s mind. Okay…honestly I’m just getting old.” Old Dude’s positive energy is sucked into the rift. “Go on! Find the hero and bring him back.”

As I’m swallowed up in the vortex a single thought occurs to me.

I have no target and no clue where they could be.