Tokyo bombing incident Nth time

Arkansas... a type of so-called mage.

Arkansas (time, fate), Mastygos (space, mind), Moros (matter, death), Euborimos (force field, source matter), Thersus (life, spirit) – each corresponds to two dominant mysteries and one subordinate mystery.

Arkansas is stronger than Time and Fate, but weaker than Force Field.

The monk walked down the street unseen by those around him, which was advantageous to his plan.

He still remembers the moment he woke up in a hotel, and everything around him seemed to possess an importance that it did not originally possess.

He pushed a door, so one guest's life was shortened by three minutes, while another guest's life was extended by... five minutes.

Both of these events will occur decades later.

He knew this would happen, because it wasn't something that hadn't occurred before.

The opening of the door altered the steps of the waitress passing through the room, changed the timing of her knock, slightly altered the guest's experience, affected the guest's mood, and subtly changed the guest's attitude—albeit only slightly—and in the years that followed, all of this continued without ever having a major impact, but it never disappeared either.

After countless subtle changes, the final, most intuitive conclusion is that one guest's (the writer's) life was shortened by three minutes, while another guest's (the driver's) life was extended by five minutes—the other things in between are incalculable in value and all seem to be balanced overall.

If you happen to turn the door to a 35-degree angle, those two numbers will become two minutes and six minutes respectively.

Even if that's not the case, or even if it is, of course you should push the door open, because five is bigger than three, six is ​​bigger than two—many things can be changed, but numbers are hard to change.

Perhaps numbers can also work.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Leaving the hotel and onto the street, the monk needed to reach the other side of the city within half an hour. The solution was to take the third taxi he saw—a task that would cost the driver dearly, as he would be in a car accident in half a month. Of course, if the monk jumped onto the roof of the car in the right way, he might not die.

The driver is the only one who might not die prematurely because of this. The other options all involve death—perhaps these deaths will be compensated for in the future and show their value. But unfortunately, the mage's observation ability cannot span eternity—in the future he can foresee, there is no gain that surpasses decades of life. Perhaps the little things add up, but how can one person's decades of life be compared to the meager happiness of a group of people?

This will happen because a spirit storm will follow, and those who have become involved with the sorcerer and established connections will encounter accidents within the spirit storm—and this storm should not be stopped.

Upon reaching the destination, the mage picked up the fine needle that had fallen to the ground—it was right there, but most people wouldn't notice its existence, and neither would the mage, until he truly needed to find a hidden weapon.

A man in a trench coat stood at the corner; he was a fugitive criminal, and at some point, he wouldn't notice what was behind him.

The sorcerer appeared at that moment, stabbed him twice in the neck, and disappeared without a trace as he began to run away while firing his gun.

If only one injection is given, the police officers who arrive later will be killed by a stray bullet—if three injections are given, the suspect will die prematurely, and the police will fail to catch him... A young and talented man loses the most important promotion opportunity of his life, and is instead hindered by the investigation of the suspect's accidental death.

It's still better than dying in an accident, but if he gets promoted, the city's crime rate could drop by one percent.

In other words, over the course of thirty years, along with other tragedies that followed... approximately tens of thousands of lives could have been wiped out if the sorcerer had just happened to insert those two needles.

This is what's going to happen; everything is in the plan.

Setting the needle aside and carrying it around would increase the mage's chances of failing in the next operation—after all, it's stained with human blood. This is avoidable, as it falls within the mage's own capabilities, not due to other complex factors… but why waste energy on such a thing? More effort means a lower chance of success, which doesn't even need to be calculated.

Next is another direction. This time we can go a little slower, but the timing of our arrival must be precise—arriving just as the vampire woman is about to have her throat slit by the night owl (a monster made of shadows), blocking the attack with our bodies and taking just the right amount of damage.

Then the other vampires arrive, and the female vampire will vouch for herself—the other vampires will disagree with letting the sorcerer join, but they will agree to let the sorcerer leave—so the sorcerer will establish a connection with the vampires.

What was her name again? I think it was Leah? Or maybe Amy? It doesn't matter, her name doesn't matter at all. As long as we remember it when we need to call her name, that's enough.

Everything is planned.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Placing a manhole cover upright can prevent a child from falling in. This child may not achieve great things in the future, but will still be a good person, which is still a positive outcome.

Clearing away the soil covering a stone, exposing its sharp edge, would cause an elderly woman to fall and break a bone, almost directly weakening her body and undoubtedly shortening her lifespan. However, it would also prevent her from being involved in a subsequent street robbery and dying—life is more important than death, even if it is a life of injury.

She doesn't necessarily have to go out at this time, but there's no reasonable way to prevent her from going out—it's been her habit for decades, and only a huge enough accident could prevent her from getting involved in an event at that time.

The mage cannot use magic to do this because the vampire [might] detect his actions. Every spell cast could be detected by the vampire's divination. Want to gamble?

The monk had taken the gamble, and he knew he would lose.

The street robbery had to happen, because only then would a bullet accidentally fly into a shop on the street and kill a sin-devourer—his resurrection was the most reliable way to expose him, enough to plunge his society into a crisis that forced him into darkness.

The ghosts will then begin to act, which will lead to a spiritual storm—a storm that will kill many people and drive them mad, but will also awaken two people. One of them will cleverly use their magic to develop a cure for cancer—while the other, the sorcerer must kill personally before she disrupts his grand plan for the sake of justice and a peaceful life.

Awakening, yet another place where even a mage could never reach.

Perhaps it's not impossible, but the monk tried, and the monk failed.

The Sin Eaters will then set out again to try to stop the spiritual storm—their attempt will fail without the help of the sorcerers—but the problem is, they will encounter the police in the process.

Then the good cop mentioned earlier might have taken things too seriously and gotten himself involved in this whole series of problems... and then died suddenly.

But if the mage then adjusts the mailbox's angle so that the letter delivered by the local werewolf gang falls out on its own, and at the right moment pushes over the vase next door so the careless messenger doesn't notice the letter falling—then a passing mystic scholar will discover the letter. He happens to be able to decipher werewolf language—which is understandable, since the mage deflated his tires, forcing him to walk to work, which is why he ended up here—and thus he obtains the hunting plan, which he then tells his friends.

His friend was a hunter.

The hunter will take the opportunity to fight the werewolves, diverting the police's attention, and a good person's life will be saved because he went to this side instead of the other.

Even better, he will learn about supernatural things and will become more careful from then on—the need for a mage to intervene will be greatly reduced.

In the beginning, the sorcerer would also calculate in detail the process of fulfilling each prophecy.

If a prophecy says that sawing off a table leg can prevent death, why is that? (The answer is that someone will accidentally overturn the table during a meal, scalding the person opposite them with boiling soup, and that person's girlfriend will visit him in the hospital—avoiding a burglar.)

If this method can prevent death, are there other ways to assist? For example, could a clerk call the police in advance? (The answer is yes, this is feasible, but the burglar would have died in a shootout with criminals two years later. Before dying, he would have had a legitimate reason to kill a cowardly young man—who, if he had survived, would have planned a subway bombing that would have resulted in hundreds of casualties.)

What if the monk tried to avoid this? (The answer is, it's still possible, but the monk has other things to do; the city is too big, and there are too few monks.)

Time and again, one prophecy after another, each one was correct. Gradually, the monk became accustomed to no longer dwelling on the minor prophecies.

Swapping the pots of white chrysanthemums and red roses in a florist's shop could have stopped a fire that had spread across half a block. The monk still doesn't know why this happened, but he did it anyway.

Is it really right to let a school bullying incident go unpunished, leading to the victim jumping off a building and attracting media attention? What most people discussing this don't realize is that media attention can scare away a drunkard who was planning to take revenge on society. He would have stormed the school with a knife, causing far more casualties than just one life—but instead, he was frightened away and committed suicide out of shame and anger.

Is this correct or incorrect? If the mage had simply cast a spell, he could certainly have stopped it all, but he didn't.

The number of lives is very easy to calculate, but the value of lives is very difficult to determine.

Two is greater than one, but is the gray two bigger than the gold one?

The monk decided not to waste time on these foolish moral dilemmas. He had plenty of things to do, so many things in the city that could be changed—even if the monk did his best, he couldn't save everyone—so why stop and engage in these debates?

Human life has a price, and choices are optional.

Perhaps there is no choice at all.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Finally, after a series of events, both big and small, more than a decade later, when the monk had fully completed every part of his plan.

Emilia will become the leader of the local vampires—she will trust the sorcerer very, very, very much—because the sorcerer will help her eliminate many of the vampires' enemies one by one—because the sorcerer will use the vampires to eliminate many supernatural beings and mortals who "deserve to die."

There are many good people among them, but letting them continue will have bad consequences, and the mage hates bad consequences.

Then, Emilia will hold a meeting where she will announce that the sorcerer will become an advisor to the local vampire community, but she will not actually have the opportunity to read the appointment aloud.

Before that, the sorcerer will reveal his true intentions. Fifteen minutes before the meeting begins, Emilia will be forced into a deep sleep, and the other arriving vampires will be slaughtered.

Since all other forces that could be eliminated with the help of vampires have already been eliminated, vampires are now of no value—and the blood debts they carry are no less than those of mages, and may even be more.

In the reckoning, they have no more value to postpone their own demise.

Emilia is not a bad person in the conventional sense. She has her own understanding of justice and will follow her own path. She will never listen to the wizard.

The monk tried it three times, and each time he only alerted the enemy.

So of course, there's no need to try again in this round.

Before everything is over, the mage will tell her his true intentions, and her response will be a desperate roar.

She would question whether the monk had ever truly supported her, and whether every word he said to her was a lie.

And the monk will tell her a second time, yes.

This lie could be used to put her at ease—the mage could easily end the threat as she was about to fall into a long slumber, but it wasn't necessary. At that point, whatever was left behind wouldn't change what was to come—so there was no need to go to extremes.

Perhaps she will be useful in the future.

Perhaps the monk's mind held more than just calculations.

Then, yes, go out and find the other vampires, and wipe them all out—they each have their own unique skills, but this time the mage is prepared.

The first part of the plan will now come to an end.

Even if successful, the monk will repeat the process twice more to confirm that everything is correct.

Then, there's more to come, more problems to solve, and the world, this enormous, endlessly running machine, still needs more lubrication.

The prophet is the gear of destiny; the mage will appear there anyway to do that thing, because he will do it anyway.

The wheel of time can be turned back, returning to a point in the past to re-execute the plan and ensure that the outcome is as expected.

The price must be paid.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

There are prophets of this kind and prophets of that kind. A major element of time and fate is that, when you don't change other conditions, the repeatability of things can be so high that it makes you panic.

And what about yourself?

—From "Time, Fate, and Determinism," an anonymous work.