"Mono/Dialogue"

  'Inner thoughts'

  Narration

  [Message/communication apparatus]

  Date: Winter 1919 NWC or 646 AU.

  Location: Somewhere in Helicar

  POV: Narration

  “Curses! Men to me! By the Celestial Skies, we shall cast down these hell spawns and whoresons!” Sword deflecting sword, steel grinding to the ground out sparks as men and women died. “They’re only a few, press onward-” Voice died and left unfinished as body slumps forth, a tiny hole buried deep in the head and chest.

  “Hold! Don’t let them breach the shieldwall!” A pistol was raised, and a lead ball was propelled forth from the muzzle, striking a tad farther and harsher against steel before biting skin and scattering soul from its skin-suit.

  “Kill that Inquisitor! Kill him! Kill the bastard! Kill him in the name of our children!” Hysterical shrieks of hate and fury wrapped in sadness echo as a mother who lost her son, daughter, husband, and all she cared for accompanies her swinging axe. It failed to break the tight shieldwall of her foes, but her fanatical rage made pain nothing but numbed feedback. She hack, hack, and hack away until her face was cleaved open like fruit.

  This pure savagery enveloped a group with their backs against a huge tree, gunmen taking turns on potshots while swordsmen held firm against the onsught. “Hold! Hold! Hold- agh! C-curse you, beast blood!” Roar of pain, fear, and rage came before the blow, causing another to be felled dead.

  The brutal skirmish of those running and pursuing immediately follows the sughter at the ambush point. Men and women whose grievances override their senses throw themselves nonstop. Even when fireballs were flung, the nauseating smell of burnt powder and the stench of death and decay proved a pervasive pgue on the senses, but they fight on.

  Amidst this minuscule war between those having nothing and wanting to gain everything, there lies a small bck tube protruding from the bushes. Thus the sughter continues beneath the snow and full moon…

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  Full moon, unblemished and bright, high above had failed to illuminate the snowy nd below. Forest brimming with life had gone silent to preserve many who call it home for another coming of spring, long overdue as mortal races waged folly after folly. Folly drenched in blood and carcasses strewn without care, picked clean and desecrated by raging men and women who lost much.

  Arganean's ambush had been devastating; many y dead, and yet the sight of so many broken bodies of their oppressors gave way to perverse liberation. Many had lost someone dear to them simply for being different, many had lost their life simply because they were at the wrong pce at the wrong time, and many more have withstood tragedy with silence and smoldering hate.

  Such hate gave birth to the atrocities unfolding, men torn to pieces as Arganean stripped the dead for all they were ever good for. Regardless of emotional significance, social acceptance, and even sacred notions... here stood those who had lost too much and were in need of validation for their pain. Any Imperials who pretended to die were found, quartered, and hacked to pieces if they were lucky.

  One says that humans can learned to be civilized if they are fed, clothed, and shielded from the elements. None of that applies; scrounging for food would have been a brawl if not for the stern, if exhausted cordon of those who truly are in control of this barely functional band of vengeance-addled folks.

  “We cannot keep this up! Our people are growing restless, and attacking these louts will provide us with nothing but distractions! These whole ambushes might bleed the empire, but we are bleeding just as much! We must act decisively!” A man pounded his fist on the makeshift table with a map id on top.

  “Then what? We offer ourselves to be seen and destroyed by clothed, fed, and well-armed Imperial corps? Was your intellect as deep as a pond?” An icy, exhausted, and annoyed retort challenged the radical and insane notion of to change of pn.

  “Watch your tongue, Beast blood! You and your ragtag bands of outws, vermin, and filthy peasants are nothing but drains on resources! You and your people would have been useful in staying out of this! Our resources are required on far nobler causes than feeding barely trained rabble!”

  “Was that your mouth running unimpeded or the clucking of clueless chicken? If it weren’t for us, you mainnders would have been trapped in a swamp and buried under snow! We bled the same way you did! Red, it’s all red!”

  “Don’t you dare imply the desecration of my bloodline purity! You ought to be grateful to even stare me in the eyes! Respect is all I expect from lots-”

  “You asked for respect and gave none? Is that what you are truly? You eat the same meat and greens like the rest of us, bleed the same red like the rest of us, and SHIT AND PISS LIKE THE REST OF US!”

  “You dare mock me!? If it weren’t for that accursed Prince and his cursed existence, we wouldn’t be here! He is the reason the realm has gone mad. The Old King was a weak man who could not see that the prince’s is an ill omen! He should have prepared, he should have!”

  “Are you so spineless to pin the bme on the dead king and bmeless child!? Is this what you mainnders have become? Cowards, traitors, and self-entitled bastards! Don’t try to worm yourself and paint righteousness on your own self-interest!”

  “The nerve of you! I’LL HAVE YOUR HEAD!” Bde was drawn, followed by others, while those stuck in the middle tried to mediate between squabbling children. They all have their grievances; they all lost someone dear to them, but hatred appears to run far deeper for some folks to bear.

  The resistance group is not at all a unified core; many are made up of those with differing agendas. Even when a nation is at stake, one will always try to find fault with the other. Absence of a true reigning hand and vision stunted the momentum they had gained. How unfortunate that yesterday's comrade could be tomorrow's foes.

  As the victors divided their spoils, a party of camoufged combatants had been watching over them. These are the rest of Owl Team preparing to exfiltrate from the area, only waiting for affirmation from Owl One-Eleven and One-Twelve.

  “Clueless folks happy as cms, shame their betters ain’t like them…” One-One muttered as he spotted a few Resmen (resistance men) pilfering through a thrown-off baggage saddle, pulling out mostly food and water before it inevitably froze. Surprisingly, these few aren’t rabid savages that fought amongst themselves for a little bit of wine and warm food.

  “Good for them, we might not need to go too far.” His comrade replied, mouth chewing on gum as he checked his Maximian subsonic carbine. “Spending too much time calming the popuce is a fool’s errand; we have no time and money for that.” His gaze drifts onto others; many Owl team members are on the older side, easier to dispose of and left buried should worst come to worst.

  These men and women are armed with Maximian equipment and winter gear confiscated. Regalian prided themselves on being the best tundra and arctic fighters, but they grudgingly admitted that Maximian knows what they are doing in creating equipment perfect for cold temperatures. Some of the members had been retrained to operate Maximian arms, but there are subtle clicks and ccks there to show their unfamiliarity with them.

  “If things go well, we won’t have to stay in here for too long. Never fancies staying far off from Regalia, but that’s just work.” Two slowed down his chewing, one brow raised as he spotted through his binocurs when Resmen Officers began getting physical in their dispute. “Guess that’s that, huh? Well, all the more reason we should stick close to the shore, it ain’t worth it to stake our cim in the mainnd.”

  “Easy for you to say, One-Two, rebels aren’t always going to be a happy-go-lucky bunch. Common Jacks and Janes and grunts might be easier to control and pcate; that’s what they are. The leaders are different matters, and the worst is yet to be here… We know it, all of us did, and Medusa’s idea is the best we have.” One-One’s tone indicates dissatisfaction, something that was noted by the rest of the Owl team. Stranger still, their guns are pointed in one’s general direction, but he didn’t care.

  “So, we should just firebomb the whole pce?” Two sarcastic remarks seem to have hit too close to home, but one doesn’t rise on that bait. “... What’s Twelve status?” Two shifted his eye to the other, and they immediately rexed. “Twelve should be done soon.” As he said so, their reserved comms net came alive with Twelve’s report [One-One, One-Twelve here, the tracker is positive, we got a lead.]

  “Confirm, tracker is positive?” He makes eye contact with two who shrug at his pointed question. “Eborate, over.”

  [Caught a skirmish between Arganean and Imperials, the tter were losing, but I intervened as per protocol.]

  “Protocol aside, we are instructed to assist Zorphal’s potential allies first, unless you found something worth risking.”

  [Affirmative. Unusual group, one of them better dressed with skull skull-painted feather cap. Not heading north, they are heading west. They, or someone with them, know the terrains better than the rest of the Imperial Detachment. Break.” Brief static before Twelve continues. “Although other (groups) prefer speed, this one kept as many gears, and not once did they truly stumble on their steps. All their evasions were pointed towards an unseen objective.]

  “Wait one.” He turns to his 2IC. “Any idea on what that could be?” Two crossed his hands, lips pursed beneath the mask. “Probable Inquisition detachment, or someone with too much clout but not enough to exempt them from frontline duty. I say we try and nab them. Medusa will not say no to an unexpected windfall.” Owl nodded before contacting Twelve again.

  “Solid copy, Twelve, we are heading out to assist. Any other complication on your end?”

  [Positive, more pursuing foot mobiles, dispatched them as protocol dictates.]

  “Roger that, hold position, One-One out.” He turns to his men, voice ft and serious. “Team, fall in.” He began walking towards Twelve’s position, his teammates followed in a neat column, rifles scanning the surroundings for potential hostiles.

  ‘I swear these days that Medusa is intent on not making friends anywhere… Hah… Orders are orders, and the Grand Autarch has her reasons. Better not waste brainpower on some Grand Strategy… Shrugging off such thoughts, he led his squad mates deeper into the forest. The sound of looting and modest feast became a backdrop for those in power to make their py on the ever-expanding chessboard.

  E.I.R.I. is choosing and trimming their allies, much less making friends…

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  Owl One-Twelve perched herself on a tree, her back comfortably resting on the rge trunk as she peered through the scope. She had been stalking after a richly dressed officer in his armor as he was escorted by at least three mages, seven gunmen, and fourteen swordsmen who abandoned their breastptes but not their shields. They brought with them a rucksack filled with supplies, from the looks of it.

  Unlike other groups deserting further North to exit the valley and reach the friendly line, this band of soldiers immediately cut west. Their pace was hurried but resolute, as if they were looking for a specific point for a specific purpose.

  ‘Unusual... a splinter group that knows more about the region than us was part of the column?’ She furrowed her brows underneath her thermal googles; this piece of gear was Victorian-made. It would have been impossible for someone like her to be entrusted with such equipment, but Grasdivis and Dona’s endorsement silenced any naysayers.

  That change brought an unexpected windfall... and complication. Her eyes briefly scanned the bloodstained snow beneath her. There, beneath the tree, she sat on overwatch, are corpses. Numbering one or two dozen dead bodies with a pinpointed hole on the back of their heads. Their faces frozen in frenzy, then shock, and ultimately fear. A few had fled, unable to locate her as she reaped their lives like a reaper would.

  These corpses are certainly not all Imperials; most are btantly different because their equipment is too random and unstandardized, and she doesn’t show even the slightest bit of remorse or noticeable discomfort. She trained her eyes on the cave where the potential VIP had run off to. The pce is hidden by foliage and snow, but she doesn’t have any problem acclimating.

  Among the corpses would be three dead birds, each bore the same wound as the others. It is a fairly ridiculous deviation from the usual suspects. She had half the mind just to wipe out the group with her gas grenade, but held off pulling the pin. Despite their extensive reach, nabbing Inquisitors had never been done so far, and Medusa would be eager for a new chew toy that is worth her time.

  Her overwatch continues undisturbed, unmoving, with rifle trained on the field of dead men below. As she waited, her earpiece buzzed. [Owl team approaching from the east, fold your fire.] She clicked the button underneath her helm. [Twelve copy, standing by on overwatch.]

  Twelve only needed to wait for a minute as her team arrived, fanning out into position. Deftly climbing down with minimal noise, she reached the ground and saluted her NCO. “They are in that cave over there; the tracker is still active.”

  “How badly?”

  “Bad enough to slow them down.”

  “Good, fall in on formation. Owl Team advances.” She takes her position on the far right of this staggered column. Owl team advanced with haste and caution, watching their footing and instinctively trained to walk over the thinnest snow-covered surface to minimize noise.

  The advance was silent, and their staggered column gave them an adequate response opportunity against crises. Along the way, their formation is unusual; weird even. One-One and One-Twelve are in the middle, while the rest are a few steps behind. Trigger fingers never stray too far from the safety.

  “Three, how far?” He asked Three who had fetched his sensor. This sophisticated equipment was part of their battlefield kit to fight off rebels back at home. RAID has many agents embedded throughout the isnd to the point that the worsening war was only mildly concerning. It was bad simply because they were outnumbered.

  This sensor could be used to track one’s heartbeat, temperature, and a specially made tracker that was utilized by ‘tagging’ the target. Tagging was done with a simple chemical and an artificial compound that can be detected in the lingering air. Of course, it can be misused and at times cause the death of their tracker by being led into an ambush, but such occurrences are far too few to be concerning.

  Ambient air that was left by the compound creates a track-like footprint on the snow by comparison. This track can be illuminated by the sensor’s special camera that detects a certain chemical compound combination. This sort of equipment and compound should have been astronomical, but Moloch’s debacle gave Regalia keen insight into chemical, biological, and radiological engineering.

  As Three led them forth, they came face to face with the cave that Twelve had mentioned. Men and women stacked up at the mouth of the cave, activating their night vision goggles, fastening their noise-cancelling earplugs, and began their entry. Moving silently but determined, they trudge forth for their Uncrowned Empress and their beloved country.

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  “Bsted hell... hah... How should I report it? The Eastern Rebels are still unpacified, even after everything... these beast bloods never learned, do they?” A man grumbled as he was protected on all sides by his soldiers. He bore the insignia of Royal Imperial Inspection Committee, a special branch that was always attached to a roaming unit to instill discipline and force cohesion, then above all else, loyalty to the Imperial Family.

  He and his retinues were part of that unfortunately lethal ambush; the Imperial army disintegrated under enormous pressure and sheer weight of the rebels. He was almost killed when his horse was killed by a stray bullet, or was it really? He can’t tell; the battlefield was a complete mess.

  They were caught up by the first pursuing foes, losing a third of their numbers. He was there, fending off attacks and hits, be it steel or naked fist; the Arganeans had lost their minds. His men barely got out of that fight somehow, some of his enemies dropping down without expnations, but he has no time to think it through.

  Then he and his retinue were forced to flee on foot, with more pursuing rebels hot on their heels. At least that was his recollection. He thought they were fine now; he could listen to nary a thing other than their own footsteps, and thus the pursuit must have failed, or the rebels had come face to face with something far worse.

  He prefers it if the rebels lost their appetite; he dreads something lurking in the shadows. This war had gone from grinding attrition into a great victory after Darelio’s gambit, before turning into a slow but sure eradication of rebels, and then turning again into complete confusion when the Eastern army was all but lost alongside the Imperial-aligned Arganean army under that Bandit Count.

  “Beast Bloods... the Emperor had been lenient.” Someone in their group inevitably commented bitterly, his own equipment consisted only of the battle dress, while the costly pte armor had been left behind. His bloodied hand, bloodshot eyes, and ragged breath are ironic from a certain point of view.

  “We should not have given them freedom, I dare wager those Northmen are in cahoots with these bsted mongrels. Once spring arrived, I suggested with conforming of petition conform to other Inquisitorial Retinues and the peasantry back home.”

  “Aye, a good idea. We should be able to request His Imperial Majesty for the resumption of war. Arganea is weak, and their Witch Queen is nothing against our technological superiority.”

  “What was so great about her anyhow? Centuries of stagnation are turning with His Imperial Majesty’s blessing and his Imperial Empress Consort’s ingenuity. We should leave this archaic world behind; reason and not blood should prevail.” One of the higher-ranking retinue’s comments made the Imperial Mages among them shift uneasily or crease their brows.

  With the invention of gunpowder, academies and schools, the method of training, and more, caused warfare to be irrevocably changed. Bloodline had lost many of its advantages, and those who sharpened their skills in manners other than stringent magical ability had found themselves catapulted into office much higher than what was possible.

  Knighthood had more or less gone extinct overnight after the fateful final battle called ‘Weeding Field’, where many families lost their relevance, allies, and foes alike. Those on the Loyalists’ side earned some recompense for their loss of status through nd grants, titles, and monetary awards.

  Those on the losing side but not outright destroyed were stripped of their nd, much of their wealth, and their relevance through skill in arms. Imperial armies' increasing reliance on cheap but durable pikemen and trained and proficient arquebusiers led Knighthood and obsolescence. Cuirassiers repced the knights, but they are more capable skirmishers and pursuers with their sabers and pistols. These Cuirassiers are also much easier to repce, cheaper (comparatively to a full-pted knight), and never left wanting for recruits, nobles, and wealthy commoners alike.

  This caused a reversal where technological advancement and modern, forward-thinking nobles looked down on Old Families who had nothing more than their special bloodline. Even peasants began harboring doubts about their master, which would have been disastrous if not for Haumelchor’s abolition of serfdom. There’s little the nobles could do once they witnessed the efficacy of firearms.

  Many of the Imperial Rebels were made up of these people who clung to past glory and present power, and many of them perished. These Old Guards were trampled underneath the wheel of progress, with many a song telling tales of their stubbornness being the cause of downfall. It is their own fault for not seeing past their greed and calcuting the massive change Haumelchor had brought with him.

  Magically attuned individuals who swore fealty to the Emperor found themselves in an increasingly precarious position. So much had they lost their power, the Inquisitorial Office had been granted permission to conduct a sweeping search and strict oversight on the mages. This fall in status transformed their battlefield utility from how big a fireball they can make to how much warmth they can bring.

  Regardless of this feud between the new and old ways, the Inquisitor needs to calm the situation down. It will benefit no one here to start a fruitless debate between one side that heavily favors one side.

  “His Imperial Majesty has his reasons; it is not your pce to question his design, am I understood?” He admonished his men; the effect was immediate, but the dissatisfaction remains. As an Imperial Inquisitor, it is within his prerogative to execute judicial enforcement, encourage discipline, and execute judgment.

  Yet he has no such luxury.

  ‘We need to communicate the direness of this situation. At this rate, the continent will be embroiled for longer than we could realistically support.’ He held his fingers from pinching his nose; the sheer cost of this war had been far too great. Unlike his men, he had been looking deeper into this whole thing.

  ‘It is ironic, but I have no real desire to enforce the purification order.’ He briefly looked down at his palm, discreet and unseen, but he knew the truth. ‘The Emperor is moving rapidly, as if something is chasing a more lucrative coexistence.’ He can’t help but wonder just what makes him take a drastic measure.

  As he muses so, his mage retinue stops, the young mage had been running at the front, and he rarely stops unless something serious occurs. “What’s the matter?” He nudges his subordinate for information, and he turns his back to him. “I have a nagging feeling, milord, an itch I cannot help but contempte.”

  “Expin your thoughts, mage.” The group slows down, sensing a shift in their flight. “I had been trying to contact the nearest Arcane Link unit, but not much luck had been made, milord.” He looks around him and decides it’s a good time to have a brief rest. “Two pairs make watch; we shall regain our strength for a little while.” The group stops from their nonstop dash, some immediately slumped down and belch out their dinner. Such an act would have been frowned upon, but none cared.

  Once the temporary watch had been made, he sat down beside the Mage.

  “One moment.” He takes out his water skin and offers it to the mage, who accepts gratefully. The Mage returns it to him, and he takes a sip before speaking. “Eborate further. Our units should have been alerted beforehand. I refuse to believe they are gone simply like that...”

  “That is what I refused to believe as well, milord. However, the truth remains elusive while proof of something sinister is all too btant to ignore.” He sighed, his scepter leaning on the cavern’s wall. “Scouts. We lost our scouts, who should have been reporting back every fifteen minutes. I tried to raise this issue, but I was unable to change our leader’s mind.”

  “Aye, that accursed fool had been desperate after his failure and sorry excuse of perimeter patrols, pushing everyone down a leviathan’s jaw. We have yet to determine the cause of those explosions, and our enemies had slipped out without us noticing.”

  “... Milord, may I speak candidly?”

  “... Granted, but keep it in whispers; I require no further disruption on our fraying morale.” He cast a side gnce at his men. A few finally came down from their adrenaline-infused, mentally trained, grit to that of men who lost comrades. Some are weeping, some are staring bnkly, and some are cursing... most remain silent.

  “Then pardon me... I fear we have foreign soldiers assisting the Arganean.” The Inquisitor paled, his eyes shaking before he steadied his breath. “That’s a very dangerous opinion, I for one refuse to see it as a reality...” He gulped down, masking his involuntary pse by drinking a lot more forcefully from the water skin. “Pray, tell your view. This could be a concerning development.”

  “Those explosions back at the camp had no magical resonance, and I understand that gunpowder, in its purest form, will slip past my senses. However, our equipment utilizes magic to an extent; there must have been something, even a tiny ripple... There was none.” He paused briefly. “I doubt Arganea is capable of manufacturing advanced metallurgy out of the blue; if they had this wonder weapon.... they would have used it, even as a deterrent and in small numbers.”

  “One of the Greats, my instinct and guts tell me, is behind it.” His words pile up in a dangerous direction. “That’s a very serious suspicion.” He hissed quietly, but tersely. Yet such a reprimand does not deter the Young Mage. “Then how could we expin the failure to cross? If Arganea truly made pacts with Tritonisan Tribes, they would have inflicted significant damage to our navy.”

  “Still...”

  “I duly apologize for this insolence, milord, but I must ensure that you see the greater picture. We are isoted. Helicar’s action won’t endear our neighbors. Last I recall, our envoy was outright refused entry into Melvas; the elves will have none of our brutality. The Realm of Nastukov had been a hard trading partner as of te.”

  “There are many in your words considered heavily seditious. I could have your head cut off here and now...” The Young Mage fshed a dauntless smile, even satisfaction. “If that’s the cost of speaking out about the truth, then I am willing to sacrifice myself. His Imperial Majesty had unified the continent; it is my duty to offer my all.”

  “... and you are willing to die a thousand times?” He eyed his arcane companion with a bitter smile but also sckened eyebrows. “Death is much too light for what I had done in this war; all I can do to atone is suffer in silence.” The young man ended his words there, his gaze resolute despite his battered body and psyche. The Inquisitor digests his words, one hand gripping his pistol far too tightly.

  ‘Our action had incited interests... bst it. The Empire’s time could be finished, but surely the Emperor takes into account this?’ He reminisces about the many contingencies the Emperor had enacted during the civil war alongside his brother. Worse comes to worst, the Empire has something to enforce a stalemate if his worst imagination turns out to be true.

  ‘... Dzargo, I hope you know what you are doing...’ He leaned on the damp cave’s wall, his hand let go of the pistol he had never realized was clutching. The Inquisitor inspects his men and their weary countenance. They seem to be taking it the hardest; losing was never a great experience, especially when their invincibility was shattered for the first time.

  For all the Empire’s technological marvel, these are still men far from home, and duly so homesick. Only the truest madmen would enjoy warfare on this scale. No one is built for constant vigince for more than a few years before numbness sets in.

  Numbness, a maise worse than cowardice. At least when one is a coward, they will preserve and aim for life, but numbness is a silent killer. It makes men stop recognizing their surroundings. A heart too hardened by war will forget what it means to feel, and once men kill such an integral part of life, they’re done for.

  “Thrice-Blessed Heaven... preserves us.” The group spends a few moments catching their breath and tending their wounds. While offensive-oriented magic had been a dwindling interest, no modern medicine has yet matched the efficacy of healing spells and arcane ointments. Bruises tended, tears mended, and bleeds sutured with reknitted flesh.

  “Hmm?” One of the guarding personnel grunted in confusion, watching a strange tube roll down his feet. The shape is weird and-

  BANG!

  Men scream as their eardrums rupture and their bodies thrash like spooked animals. The confined space maximizes the lethality of that ringing sound pounding their head, bleeding ears, and shattering throat from panicked screaming, sowing ever confusing terror. Before they even have the chance to recover, another strange tube went unnoticed beneath notice.

  That strange contraption spews out smoke, overloading their tortured senses even more. Through this ringing, Arqubusiers dropped as if marionettes with cut strings. If they were cognizant, they would have heard the muffled sound of a gunpowder weapon, or something simir, but their states robbed them of even entertaining retaliation.

  The young mage was tackled by an unseen hand in the dark; the Inquisitor soon followed. His instinct, his body’s fight or flight response, and inability to calm down prevent him from acting or trying.

  The rest of his retinues were sughtered, their throats slit open with the precision and swiftness of an assassin. It was too fast, too coordinated to be mere happenstance. The absence of muffled steps further plunges the two most important people into the pits of despair.

  “This is Owl One Actual, we had subdued a potential HVT plus a mage, requesting immediate extraction.” Owl One-One knocked the tackled inquisitor, zip-tying his hands and hauling him up. The young mage’s hands glowed, but One-Twelve stomped his wrist, a bloodied and pained cry followed before One-Four hit the mage’s head with his rifle’s butt stock.

  [This is Medusa, say that again?]

  “We captured two high-value targets. At least officers, but probably to be an Inquisitor and his retinue. Break. Appearance: male, around thirty, dark grey hair, brown eyes, wearing armor but looks muscur, and his gear bears distinctive markings upon closer inspection. The mage’s around twenty at most, nky build, short blonde hair, and blue eyes.”

  [… Affirm. Head to the extraction Motel Eight, I’ll arrange for a little bird to extract our prizes. Don’t lose them, over and out.]

  [END OF CHAPTER]

  Author’s Note:

  Yo there, this is me, myself, and I, the author who is just so fucking tired, lmao.

  I am frankly losing motivation to continue, but a part of me can’t help but try to keep on going. I really want to write that one specific chapter that is in my backlog, and I’ll be damned if I fucked up that one.

  Anyway, update is whenever I am not thrown into another confusion or mental breakdown.

  Ciao