Limitless The Strongest Revenant

Chapter POV: Lilly Browning

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I pulled the trigger of the M60 machine gun in my hands. A feat of American engineering, this weapon was said to have done a lot for the Vietnam War. That meant this weapon was good at ending the lives of the user's enemies.

Originally, I didn't care much for guns. I found them inferior to blades. I mean, unlike most uncivilized people, the Browning family had a particularly noble school of thought.

'The weight of your sword determines the value of the life you take.'

The Brownings had their roots in the Knights of the Middle Ages. Their thinking and whole outlook was naturally influenced by chivalry.

The dogma essentially meant that only the weight of your sword determined who to kill and who to spare. And that you should think carefully before you draw your weapon.

I have struggled with this notion for as long as I can remember.

I said it was noble because it gave the impression that all lives were equal. In a picturesque world, that would be true. But reality was hardly that romantic.

Lives were not equal.

The life of a prince and the life of a beggar could not and would never be of the same worth.

Even though they were both human, everything was naturally determined by one's birth. Even one's abilities could be traced back to one's genes. Basically, all that mattered was who won the lottery in life.

I was born a pauper, not a princess. To a maid named Gladys Adams. Because of her lowly background, my mother wasted away waiting for her prince charming.

While she stared out the window in a daze, I would go hungry, starve, and freeze from the cold.

Children younger than me were dying by the dozens in the streets. I scavenged garbage cans, stole from adults, and ate whatever I could get my hands on. That was how I lived then.

Sometimes I would see pictures of a warm and happy family on TV screens. And I often wondered why I had to suffer and they did not.

My mother's wish came true only when I was about ten years old. Apparently, my father needed a new heir.

'I mean, I was all he had after his entire family was slaughtered.'

If they had survived, I probably would have died as a prostitute on the streets of Danforth.

Unfortunately, my mother was dead by the time he arrived. But if she had lived, I always wondered what my father would have done.

'Would David Thomas take her back as his wife? Would my mother get her fairy tale ending?'

Lives were never equal.

When the sons and daughters of my father's legal family died, the value of my life increased. That was all there was to it.

In an ironic twist of fate, the once-proud Brownings would lose their fortune and eventually create firearms for the world. To the family that championed the weight of life, they made a living by reducing it to size of a small pebble.

These weapons went against everything the family once stood for. They made millions off the death and destruction their firearms caused. As if to say that everyone else's life was worth less than their comfort.

'After all, no matter how heavy it was to carry a gun, the weight that determined a life it took was not the weight of the gun, but only the weight of the trigger.'

Yet as their new heir, the Brownings forced me to learn the old belief they had already abandoned. As if to say that someone had to remember.

In truth, the family itself was a hopeless case. They no longer cared about anything beyond amassing wealth.

Those who knew chivalry and justice no longer existed. Only the parasites and worms who had no honor to speak of remained.

Nothing could be more revolting.

Clinging to past glories they had neither contributed to nor earned.

It was all hypocrisy. I would be the one to understand this best. If lives were equal, I shouldn't have starved for food and love in my childhood.

My mother wasted away, unable to take care of her own child. All she would say were the words of promise my irresponsible father used to get her to open her heart.

Yet somehow, I found the dogma of the former Brownings comforting.

If there was no such truth in the world, I would make it so. So I found the heaviest greatsword I could and wielded it as a part of myself.

As the years passed, I grew in stature and prestige. Despite my humble background, my family and peers began to appreciate my efforts. For the first time in my life, I felt valuable.

But that all ended the moment I became a reaper.

Formless.

That single brand invalidated everything I had strived for. The Browning family cut off all support for me and began arranging one-night stands for my father instead.

I lost my status as their heir, even though my {Fate} was beyond my control.

Even my so-called peers began to ridicule me and shower me with nothing but scorn. Lives were never equal. The moment my nature as the Formless surfaced, my value disappeared.

But I persevered. For years I trained and gathered my strength. No longer bound by my status, I joined the White Guard and eventually became its commander.

With my background in shambles, I gained everything I had by merit instead.

If they thought I was worthless, then all I had to do was prove them wrong. My new dogma forced me to trample on the very ideals in which I once found solace.

I quickly found myself drowning in sin.

My new life began to take the lives of the innocent, all so that I could maintain my worth.

There was no honor. There was no chivalry. I became the very people I despised. All so that I would not lose my value. So that I would not become worthless again.

But at the Enlistment in July, I met the man who shattered my worldview. He fought for the Formless. Unlike me, who brainwashed people into forgetting that I was Formless, he took it all head on.

The man was John Smith. And unlike most reapers, he used guns. The same weapons I had mocked and ridiculed.

As I watched him, I began to notice something. My dearest had a strange way of determining worth. It was not based on merit or morality. He determined the value of a life only by his own arbitrary definition.

For those he loved, he would kill anyone and fight anything. He was neither in the dark nor in the light. He lived in the gray. He knew he was evil, but he didn't care. People called him a hero, but he never accepted such a title.

And that same man was now at a crossroads.

"2ND AMENDMENT! FORM UP! BRING EVERYTHING!"

When the armies of Hellsend arrived on the Siren server, none of us were happy. In fact, we were already considering anyone who arrived on borrowed time.

[AlbinoLadyboy: Strewth! Why do they all come here? They are all weak as shit! Without {Rewind}, they will all die! They will just make Possum sad.]

[PsychoticButcher: I know, right? Except for the Specters and dragons, none of them would be of any use to Darling. He probably knows it too.]

[Yggdrasil'sTitties: Shall we tell them to withdraw? There is nothing more pitiful than dying without purpose. Beloved may have earned their loyalty, but loyalty cannot win wars.]

[AssCheekNiggerette: They foolishly believe that a large gathering of weaklings will help them win. How stupid. Their deaths are all but guaranteed if they attempt to come here. We cannot protect them.]

[CrossEyedHipster: Not that I would want to, even if we could. There are a lot of useful people among them, but in the end they are all disposable. I say let them all die if they want to. Honey told them not to come in the first place].

[SamuraiFacial: It seems that only my people will be left when we rebuild. This is what happens when you go with your emotions. You become unreasonable. For all their bravery, none of them are able to see the big picture. We should train tacticians next time.]