Printable millimeter ruler

I have been looking for objective markers I can print. Now I am confused. By my math, an objective marker should be 116.2 millimeters in diameter—3 inches 76.2 millimeters plus 40 millimeters for the base. The printed ones I have found are bigger. Am I right? Are there printable objective markers? Not 3D printed.

"Aw, what's wrong?"
Malika cackled as the god thrashed about inside her spell's grip, trapped and unable to free itself. It looked positively pathetic. She relished the moment with a glee that was downright villainous – albeit entirely deserved.
"You were boasting soooooo much just a few seconds ago." Her tone was a mixture of brutal, cutting sharpness and mockery fit for a theater performance. "Now look at you. Where did all that vaunted power disappear to?"
In truth, she knew precisely where. Her sky-high Sense Mana had noticed what was happening the instant that Kismet started draining his allies. It wasn't actually this specific god's fault that its leader wasn't up to the task of fighting Rob alone.
Malika was still going to taunt the creature over its ill fortune, though. Turnabout was fair play – and the gods were every bit the annoying bastards she had anticipated they would be.
"What did you say your name was? Iram?" The young Archmage tilted her head with an exaggerated motion. "A word of advice, Iram. Pointless squirming does not befit a deity. I think it would be best if you preserve your energy instead. You'll need it for – stop right there!"
She whirled around, pointing her hands at a second god that had zipped past the corner of her peripheral vision, rushing to ambush Keira from behind. Malika halted the creature in its tracks, imprisoning it in another cage of mana. Sweat began dripping down her brow from the strain of maintaining two mana prisons at once.
It was well worth the effort. For all her insults over the gods' supposed weakness, Malika knew that the rest of Riardin's Rangers – Rob excluded – were struggling far more than she was. Unlike them, she was uniquely suited to this situation, endowed with unique advantages that her friends lacked.
If she didn't do everything in her power to help them attain victory, then she would be a disgrace of a Party member and of an Archmage.
Malika took a moment to glance around the divine realms. Everyone else was caught up in their own isolated battles, either fighting in single combat or with just one ally by their side. All of them were wholly focused on the opponent in front of them; assessing the broader situation was a luxury afforded only to her, a spellcaster capable of snaring her enemies like rats in a trap.
Could I push for a third? After giving the thought due consideration, Malika shook her head with a regretful air. Can't. Imprisoning two gods is the limit of what I can muster.
She let out an aggrieved sigh. I'll just have to be satisfied with that. It \is* already a feat that would turn the heads of other mages.*
Although she estimated that a high-Level Mage Circle could accomplish the same. The gods' inherent nature was a double-edged sword. They were creatures of living mana that had not taken physical shape, similar to some monsters back in the mortal realms. Those types of creatures would appear on occasion, materializing as formless masses of energy rather than animals or beasts.
They were exceedingly rare – and liable to cause trouble whenever they appeared. Beings of unshaped mana were inordinately difficult to kill with physical attacks. Hitting one with a sword was like smacking a rock against water and expecting the latter to dry up.
While physical attacks empowered by Skills fared slightly better, in general, it was simplest to fight mana with mana. Offensive spells were much more effective at inflicting damage, meaning that mages performed to greater success than their weapon-wielding counterparts.
Malika could have let loose the fury of her magic on these two imprisoned gods. Other mages certainly wouldn't have hesitated to do so. It was standard protocol for slaying formless mana-creatures. And yet, that would be...
Inefficient. The gods were not the everyday monsters of Elatra. Even after being sapped by Kismet, they possessed mana on a scale that boggled the mind. Malika could exhaust all of her MP ten times over and come no closer to extinguishing their loathsome existences.
They knew it, too. She could tell by how the gods seemed annoyed, as opposed to worried. Both of them assumed that her MP would soon run out – upon which their cages would dissipate, leaving them free to take vengeance on the unsightly mortal that had caused such a grievous offense.
You should have wondered how I single-handedly made those cages to begin with. The gods' struggling paused as Malika sent them a glare of profound scorn. Did these fools earnestly believe this was the limit of her expertise? That she was some rudimentary spellcaster with only mana-prisons and offensive magic to her name?
No. Among mages, she was an artist. A visionary. A master. A ruler. Mana was her domain, and she reigned over it like no other could.
On this stage, even gods were no more than unruly subjects who had committed treason against their queen.
"What are you–"
The gods went from talking to screaming in the same sentence. Unfamiliar agony wracked their bodies, resembling the confused sound that a Dragon with Heat Immunity made when she was burnt to death. They could not put this pain into words, and thus, they shrieked like newborn babes experiencing pain for the very first time.
Offensive spells? How trite. How quaint. Malika was an Awakened Class user, and she demanded a higher class of magecraft. Her Sense Mana was the highest in the world – it let her discern the gods' individual tapestries with uncanny detail. She could see the threads of mana that made up their essence...
And which strings to tug to make it all unravel.
The process was still taxing. It would still take time. But the gods would perish – and with MP to spare. Then she would move on to the others, disabling and unmaking the lesser gods, freeing up Riardin's Rangers to overwhelm Kismet with one concerted assault.
"You shouldn't have crossed me!" Malika let her laughter rise above the gods' piteous wailing. "Me, who shall use magic to change the world like never before! Me, who will one day be the greatest spellcaster who ever lived!"
...
...Wait...wasn't she already the greatest? There were some Leader mages throughout history with more general experience than her, but in terms of Levels...
Aw. For some reason, the notion felt oddly disappointing.
Revised goal, then! Being the greatest mage so far was for layabouts. Instead, she needed to set such a high standard that no one could ever hope to meet it. Future mage generations should gaze upon her achievements and despair, for they would have no choice but to weep and worship at her feet, extolling triumphs beyond their wildest imagination. Archmage Malika – The Untouchable Legend.
Much better. A pleased grin settled onto her face. I'll etch the first notch of my legacy by slaying–
CRACK.
Malika yelped as a reality-defying, mid-air rift tore open several feet beside her.
Only morbid fascination kept her from scurrying away as fast as she could. Its aura of mana was repugnant, like milk festering under a hot sun for weeks.
Rob's battle with Kismet was causing these – mostly his constant forward charges while Purge Corruption emanated from his body. It was anathema to the divine realms as a whole. If her unraveling of the gods was like tugging at strings, then his Purge was like setting the support beams of a building aflame.
Ordinarily, Malika wouldn't have cared. Let the gods' house burn to cinders. Seeing as she was currently inside the divine realms, however...
Pushing her focus to its maximum, she gingerly reached out towards the rift with a tendril of mana. There was no time to plan, so Malika acted on instinct, trusting Sense Mana to guide her eyes. Carefully, as if handling centuries-old cloth, she sharpened her tendril, then used it to sew the opening and close it tight.
Steady. Gently. This level of damage would have normally recovered on its own, but with Rob exhibiting no signs of slowing his unrelenting pursuit, it was only going to get worse. Just imagine you're fixing a stitch. Even though you were always lousy at handicrafts. Okay, imagine you're watching someone \competent* fix a stitch. There we go. Almost–*
Malika exhaled with relief as the rift abruptly vanished, its accompanying sensation of repugnance disappearing as well. The Archmage indulged in a brief moment of triumph – before detecting two new rifts that had appeared in the time it took her to fix the first. She immediately moved on to the next, sewing it shut as quickly as was safe.
Thankfully, fixing them felt easier now that she'd gotten some experience. She should be able to stay ahead of the damage Rob was inflicting on the divine realms. It was unfortunate that she had to pause her tender ministrations on the two imprisoned gods, but ensuring that reality didn't collapse was more important, and it affected everyone here. If the gods were smart, they'd let her work in peace.
And if Malika was less preoccupied, perhaps she would have paid closer scrutiny to trusting an immortal being's sense of self-preservation.
The gods were not idle as she went from rift to rift, mending tears in the fabric of divinity. They never stopped rebelling against their confines. Rattling the bars of cages that had been left unattended.
Malika only noticed when she turned around from fixing another rift – to find a vengeful reaper flying straight towards her.
In that instant, she realized four things. A god had broken free. She was too surprised to cast a spell in time. Her Dexterity wasn't remotely high enough to dodge.
She was going to die.
"Get. Back."
Announced with two ice-cold words, a massive hailstorm of arrows descended upon the god. It was a truly breathtaking amount of projectiles, as if they had been fired by twenty high-Level Rangers firing in unison. Arrow after arrow, Skill after Skill, all riddling the god's body with holes and turning it into a perforated patchwork of mana.
The creature wasn't anywhere near dead – just momentarily stunned. Malika seized her opportunity like the lifeline that it was, imprisoning the god once more before it could respond. She strengthened its confines, then reinforced the other god's cage as well. No reason to take chances.
I...I was careless. Shivers began creeping up and down her body. It had been weeks since she last came that close to death. They were–
The shivers stilled as a comforting hand rested on her shoulder. "I'll cover you," Orn'tol said, nodding. "Continue what you were doing. I can tell it was important."
"R-right." Malika breathed deep, forcing a smile onto her face. "Thank you."
He snorted. "You incapacitated my opponent with a gesture. If I can't do at least this much, then I'm hardly pulling my weight, am I?"
A small laugh bubbled up from inside Malika's chest. Her smile softened, becoming more genuine. "I'll just be happy to have keen eyes guarding my blind spots. I need that, it seems."
She sped towards the next rift, her steps light. Funny – even though she'd been a hairsbreadth away from death just seconds earlier, it felt as if it never happened at all.
--
Orn'tol's grin faded as Malika looked away from him. He turned to face the imprisoned gods, his head whipping around so quickly he nearly gave himself whiplash. The young Ranger gazed at them a vicious glare more piercing than every arrow he had just shot forth.
I don't care if a bow isn't suited to harming gods, or how many Skills it takes, or how much mana I have to pour into my attacks. If you try that again, mark my words – I will fucking kill you.
He mouthed the threat rather than speak it aloud. Didn't want Malika to hear and potentially dampen her renewed spirits. By how the gods flinched, they understood his intent regardless.
Satisfied, Orn'tol angled his posture so that he could watch over the gods and Malika at the same time. Pride swelled within him as he watched her seal the rifts endangering the divine realms. While he wasn't an expert on magecraft, he'd learned enough to recognize that she was accomplishing something incredible. Other mages would have needed to study the rifts in detail, confer with their colleagues, test numerous theories, and then slowly develop a restoration spell over an extended period of trial-and-error.
Malika created one from instinct during a high-stress combat situation.
Orn'tol hoped she knew how intensely proud of her that he was. He would make sure to remind her when she wasn't in need of her full concentration. This feat was just the latest in a long line of Malika's wondrous achievements. She could be a headache at times – it was a Prerequisite for little sisters – but few people were as dedicated to forging their own path. When she boldly claimed that she would change the world, he believed her.
Her willful nature, combined with the abilities of a Level 99 Archmage...she'll shake the mage community to its foundations. Orn'tol smirked, almost pitying those poor sods who were unaware of the diminutive storm brewing in the distance.
Level 99. His thoughts hitched on that detail. I suppose I've risen to that height as well.
The notion still didn't feel real to him. Riardin's Rangers had spent months theorizing whether Rob would eventually attain Level 99, and what might happen when he did. For the Human to show up one day and suddenly bring them to Level 99 was...not the most absurd thing he'd done, relative to his other exploits, but shocking nonetheless.
Orn'tol faintly shook his head as he recalled the attacks he'd launched just a minute prior. A flurry of arrows with power sufficient to give a god pause – and it had somehow come from him.
Could I change the world too, if I so desired? Revolutionize the way of Rangers? Be enshrined in the annals of history?
After a few seconds of deliberation, he decided that it didn't really matter. Changing the world was never his goal. Since the moment he'd witnessed rays of light falling from the sky eight years ago, erasing his family and his home, dreams of glory had been the furthest thing from his mind.
Orn'tol fought only to ensure that nothing would be taken from him or Malika ever again.
Now, at long last, he had reached that point. Riardin's Rangers were all Level 99 or higher. Once the gods perished, nothing would be left that could threaten their way of life. And while others in his position may have been tempted to conquer lands, or ascend to a title of prominence, Orn'tol was more than happy to savor the peace and stability he had craved since first picking up a bow.
With this power, he could finally walk through life free of fear.
--
Sylpeiros was an ant crawling beneath titans.
Ragged breaths churned his lungs as he fought just to stay upright. His legs felt weak as limp noodles, forcing him to use his spear as a makeshift walking stick. Each passing second drained energy from his body, as if the divine realms were rejecting his presence on a fundamental level.
This was a domain for gods, and he was trespassing where mortals were never meant to tread.
Not that Riardin's Rangers seemed to care. His lamentable state was a far cry from theirs. Whereas he had expended most of his Stamina merely to dodge errant attacks that weren't even aimed at him, they were holding strong against the eight gods – Weren't there supposed to be six? – and in some cases, managing to gain an advantage despite overwhelming odds. If there was but one more ally fighting by their side, victory might very well be assured.
Sylpeiros wished he could be that ally.
He'd realized his mistake the instant he followed Riardin's Rangers through the Fiend mages' portal. The divine realms were toxic to mortals, as if the air itself was poisoned by abnormal mana. Without Rob's shared Skill buffs, none here would be able to challenge the gods...and there was only room in a Party for eight people.
I was the leftover. A bitter laugh wormed its way out of his throat. No – I was never even in consideration. By some astounding means, the Human had casually raised his friends' Levels all to 99. It took just one moment for Sylpeiros to go from the third-highest-Level fighter in the world, to the ninth-highest.
Intentional or otherwise, Rob's message had been clear: 'This is our fight.'
Sylpeiros purposefully ignored it – and was now paying the price for his hubris. The Leader of Elven territory had been reduced to a bystander. Worse, a liability, one left praying that Riardin's Rangers would achieve a swift victory before his Stamina ran dry.
...He was fairly certain that half of them had either forgotten he was here, or hadn't noticed to begin with. Maybe more than half.
Although if Sylpeiros was being honest with himself, he wasn't sure how much he could have contributed even if his body was in good condition. The difference between Level 82 and Level 99 – especially Level 99s empowered with the Human's shared combat buffs – was the difference between a lake and an ocean. He was the weakest link among their allies by a wide margin.
If anything, the gods would single him out, essentially using him as a hostage against Riardin's Rangers. Standing aside was the best he could do to help right now.
What a farce I've written. It had taken him days to accept that the gods were Elatra's enemy. Days further to rally enough courage to be willing to strike at the ascendant creators of his world. When the moment finally arrived, he had expunged his worries and doubts, determined to do what he thought was right.
And it was all for naught.
Why did I come here?
"Why did you come here?"
Sylpeiros jolted with surprise as an orb of mana materialized directly in front of his face. He automatically assumed a combat stance, raised his spear – then nearly tripped without the leverage of his 'walking stick' to aid him.
"I can see why you slipped under our awareness," the orb continued. Its voice was significantly less imposing than what Sylpeiros had heard of the other gods, sounding like a fragment of a fragment. "You are feeble. No true threat."
"To hell with you." Vigor flowed through him, as if spite and frustration were overpowering his fatigue. "If you've come to mock me, then at least make your barbs interesting – something that I don't already know."
"We would like to propose an accord."
For several long seconds, only the sounds of distant battle could be heard.
Sylpeiros narrowed his gaze. "Accord?"
"You are the Elven Seneschal, correct?" The orb flashed with a spark of mana. "I speak here as the voice of gods – they who possess authority over the divine realms. What I declare now is immutable fact. Any deals struck will and must be upheld."
Riardin's Rangers told me that the gods are incapable of lying. "What deal were you contemplating?" Sylpeiros ventured, unsure of which direction this conversation was heading.
"Above all else, what you strive for is the Elves' survival. We shall grant that desire. When Elatra's mana is consumed, Elven territory and its people will be left untouched. We also offer blanket immunity from our influence until the heat death of the universe. There are no loopholes contained within these statements. We will leave your world, and the Elves will live on, the same as before, with identical quality of life, in perpetuity...albeit constrained to just one territory."
The orb inched closer. "In exchange – betray the other mortals."
Sylpeiros' grip on his spear tightened.
"Make use of your frailty." The orb glowed with palpable malice. "Approach one of Riardin's Rangers. Beg assistance. Then, when they are distracted, plunge your spear into their heart. If any single member of their Party falls, the rest will succumb soon enough, too emotionally distraught by the loss of an ally to defend themselves properly. Such is the fatal flaw of bonded mortals."
Silence.
The orb seemed to tilt its nonexistent head. "If you fail to kill one of them, then no matter. The distraction alone should suffice. Their Party only persists because of the Human's relentless assault." It spat the word with hatred. "Kismet will be able to eliminate them all if given the chance. He just needs a single opportunity. And whether you succeed or not, we shall consider it a bargain fulfilled. Merely by attempting, you guarantee the survival of Elven territory."
"That's...I..."
"You are hesitating." The orb shone with a kaleidoscope of colors. "Why? We offer you what you want. I repeat – there are no loopholes. If you accept, the future will play out exactly as you imagine it will."
Sylpeiros' face had gone entirely pale. He averted his gaze, but the orb shifted with it.
"More boons can be added. We will grant you power. Raise you to Level 99. Improve Elven territory. Strike down your enemies. Anything within reason may be requested."
The orb was millimeters away now, its eyeless gaze feeling like a dagger stabbing through Sylpeiros' heart. "What is it that you desire?"
I don't know.
Accepting the gods' accord was his duty. Even this momentary hesitation was a betrayal of the highest order. As Leader, he was honor-bound to walk down any path that would result in Elven territory's survival.
Just as he had done so in the past.
Eight years ago, someone had told him that he must make one of two choices. The first choice: suppress his wrath like quenching a burning flame. In doing so, he would also put all of his people in jeopardy. It was possible that everyone in Elven territory would be exterminated as a consequence of his folly.
The second choice: give into his wrath, like spreading wildfire across the lands. His people's survival would be assured. As a bonus, he would get to satiate the built-up animosity that lay within his heart.
He chose the second. Or, more accurately, he surrendered to Ragnavi's threats – and to his own weakness. Thus began the onset of the Scouring.
The Cataclysm followed not long after.
Sylpeiros let out a short, hushed gasp. All at once, a sense of clarity had begun illuminating his mind. It was as if scorching rays were dispelling the fog of uncertainty clouding his thoughts.
Revealing the shame and regret that lay beneath.
"Before..." Sylpeiros' body trembled, and it wasn't because of his fatigue. "Before, you asked me why I'd come here. Just now, you asked me what it is that I desire."
He forced out the words, refusing to let them go unsaid. "I think those questions are one and the same."
The orb glimmered with something resembling curiosity. "What do you mean?"
"An infuriating man once told me that there is no such thing as atonement – only a future that can still be altered. I believe I hoped to prove him wrong. Here, I was meant to find...I'm not exactly sure. An answer that would somehow wash away the past, perhaps."
Slowly, Sylpeiros' trembling subsided. "But he was right. The past is the past. That regret is earned, deserved, and I cannot wipe it clean."
"Then seize your desires. Accept our–"
His spear lashed out. It was a feeble strike, no stronger than a common arrow, yet it sent the orb fleeing backwards out of sheer surprise. "What–"
Sylpeiros interrupted it by slamming the end of his spear on the ground. Exhaustion sought to pull him down, yet his legs remained steady. "The mistakes of the past must not be repeated. That is my true duty. As Leader, I will protect all Elatrans from those who seek to do them harm. And if my life must be given in exchange, then I consider it squaring away one fraction of a debt that can never be fully repaid."
Mana coalesced around him. "Listen well, vile abomination of the divine realms. You wish to know what it is that I desire? To know why I've come here today? My answer is simple–"
Thunder sparked, and the aura of a Skill glowed around his spear. For a Combat Class user, there was no greater statement of intent.
"Because if I hadn't come here, I would have regretted it for the rest of my life."
He lunged.
​
--
​
Thanks for reading!
--
Next Chapter

tl;dr I've traced my feet multiple times and get different measurements each time. a) What am I doing wrong and how do I fix it? b) Does a width measurement at the "single widest point" accommodate feet where the widest left and right points are not directly across from each other? (See last paragraph and this image for explanation.)
I originally came here to ask for shoe brand recs, but then realized I should provide my foot measurements. I found size and width charts in past posts and followed the instructions to trace my foot on a piece of paper, then measure the traced image with a ruler. I've now tried this three times and gotten three different results per foot.
Here's my problem...pencils are wider than the lead inside them. Which is to say, if I hold the pencil exactly perpendicular to the floor, then at any given point, the line I'm tracing around my foot is one pencil radius wider than my actual foot. I realize this sounds insanely pedantic, but given that shoe sizes and widths are incremented in millimeters, the width of a pencil makes a real difference!
I've tried angling the pencil to get a line that exactly adheres to the shape of my foot, but since I have to move my body to move the pencil around my foot, my perspective changes as I go. (I think the shape of my foot relative to the floor changes as well.) I can't just blindly trace by putting the pencil point directly next to my skin, because some of my foot is high enough above my sole/the floor to make that inaccurate. (I also have super high arches, so I heartily welcome any suggestions for how to accurately trace those on a piece of paper 2-3 inches below them.)
I know I'm prone to overthinking things, so I tried to just do a "good enough" job, but I can't even tell what that would be here. Depending on which traced image I use, I'm either size 7.5, 8, or 8.5 and a medium, wide, or extra wide width. (Under no circumstances am I actually a medium width - I've worn pinky toe holes in every pair of sneakers I've ever had, and can't even get my foot inside most women's sandals.)
Lastly: all of the instructions say to measure foot width across the "single widest point", but I think this assumes that the widest points on either side of the foot are directly across from each other. Mine are not. The width from the widest point on the left to the widest point on the right is noticeably wider than any single "straight across" measurement. Is using the widest "straight across" measurement still best practice for a foot with this kind of irregularity? I feel like a shoe of that width wouldn't actually be wide enough to accommodate my whole foot. But if I'm right that I need to measure between my two individually widest points instead of the "single widest point", how on earth can I do that accurately??? (If that didn't make sense, please consult this visual reference. The pictures alone should probably do it, but there's explainer text if not.)
THANK YOU for even reading this far, and extra super mega thank you to anyone who has actual advice for what feels like a really ridiculous conundrum. I deeply appreciate and commiserate with everyone in this sub!!!

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Here is a model of the iFixit kit case that should have measurements (I have not checked that they are correct yet, if required I can measure my case with a ruler): https://www.printables.com/model/716483-ifixit-magnetic-toolkit-case-small
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Hi,
Would someone be able to make this work the iFixit Mako kit? I can provide measurements if needed.
here is the model i want changed: https://www.printables.com/model/462265-ltt-store-driver-ifixit-manta-rugged-case/files
Here is a model of the iFixit kit case that should have measurements (I have not checked that they are correct yet, if required I can measure my case with a ruler): https://www.printables.com/model/716483-ifixit-magnetic-toolkit-case-small
I can pay £5
PM me if you need anything and have a happy Easter!

How can I create a procedural texture in Gimp for a ruler that contains the metric scale with the smallest unit being millimeters? It should be transparent so I can apply it to a blender model.

The dragoness and the queen faced each other for less than a moment, before both exploded into movement. Seramis lunged, crossing the distance between the pair with exceptional speed. Cassandra didn’t have much time, as she reached into her cloak. The cloak itself was a magical item, a space able to hold quite the large number of small objects and recall them at a thought. Such a simple thing, but its basic magic allowed her easy access to any components she might need at a thought. A good thing too, given the dragon claw aiming for her chest probably wouldn’t give her time to sort through a satchel.
“Patthar.”
“Tvacha.”
“Pratirodh.”
The spell flashed across her skin a moment before Sera’s talons hit her in the chest. Cassandra went flying, crashing into the wall of the cavern. She got to her feet, and grinned despite the wind being blow from her lungs. The spell had taken effect, leaving her skin every bit as durable as the stones sounding them. She made the signs “stone, repel, spike” with her left hand, and took up components with her right. Then she brought her foot down.
A spike of stone tore its way out of the ground below Seramis, aiming to impale the young dragoness. Her wings tore at the air, and she rolled out of the way. Cassandra made the signs again, and stomped. Again, and again, and again. The walls, ceiling, and floor of the cavern erupted in great stone daggers driving at the dragoness. Still, her primal instincts and sharpened senses allowed Seramis to slip away from blow after blow. There were always glancing hits, but glancing hits were hardly enough to pierce dragonscale.
“Patthar”
“Jabada.”
“Gir jaana.”
She cast a spell by stone, by a fossil, by donkey’s bone, and by a bit of a broken statue. Then she reached down to the floor with one hand, and to the wall besides her with another. The cave began to shake as cracks opened in the floor and ceiling. The magician brought her hands together, and the floor and ceiling snapped together like a great set of jaws. She heard something guttural issue from Seramis’s throat, and the collapsing jaws explosed into dust. For a moment Cassandra thought she had simply crushed her own attack with its force. Then she saw Seramis bound out of the dust cloud.
“Deevaar-”
“Deevaar-”
“Deevaar!”
Cassandra barked out a spell with the speed born of desperation, throwing up a wall of earth between her and the charging dragon. Even with her reinforced skin, if she allowed Seramis to close the distance, sooner or later the dragon would break through her defenses or simply strangle her. She formed the signs for “Stone, Repulse. Fist.”, and struck the wall in front of her. A fist sized chunk shot off like a bullet, hitting Seramis in the chest and giving her pause. Cassandra hammered the wall with a flurry of blows, sending a barrage of stones out at the dragoness. Seramis leapt into the air to evade it, and Cassandra bent low. She brushed her fingers along the base of the wall, then tore upwards rapidly. Her wall shattered, flying upwards as a storm of improvised buckshot at Seramis.
Then Cassandra heard that guttural snarling sound. She listened carefully, and recognized a pattern. Three repeating layers of sound. The stone flying at Seramis gathered together at her palm, forming a solid sphere of stone. Cassandra felt a tug at her chest, then flew into the air towards it. She realized swiftly what had happened. Dragons are creatures of magic, and using magic is part of their instinct. What Seramis had done was the oldest form of magic, a primal casting. Such things were essentially never used due to being massively inefficient and prone to going wrong, but it was all she could operate using pure instinct.
Not that it particularly mattered. Cassandra’s casting was a bit like a human using a crossbow. It was a complex method that required more training and preparation, but the result produced great outputs for relatively little energy input. Sera’s primal casting was a bit more like picking up a rock and throwing it at someone. The problem was that a dragon could pick up a very large rock.
Or, as the case might be, create a spell that attracted loose stones together into a rock. One that happened to also take advantage of a spell to give one’s skin the durability of stone. Cassandra realized this as she went flying into the oncoming boulder, and it didn’t do her much good. The impact stole the breath from her lungs, and left her eye to eye with the bloodshot gaze of the dragoness. Seramis held on to the rock, and used it to smash Cassandra into the wall of the cave. The two dove down, dragging the magician along with her.
Cassandra grit her teeth in spite of it. As much as the blow might keep her off balance, her spell was working. The greatest danger she was in from this attack would be from being suffocated, a process that thankfully took some time. Still, if Seramis decided to wield her fire breath, that could be a problem, especially since this spell made it impossible for Cassandra to maintain distance. She recognized what she had to do, and executed it.
She delivered a blow to the stone pinning her, continuing to maintain the same repulsion spell from before. The rock shattered, and the force briefly caused her to slip free from Sera’s magnetic pull. Then she aimed at the wall, and punched again, propelling herself away from the dragoness. As she felt the pull start to take hold again and arrest her momentum, she dropped the spell of stone skin. She landed into a roll across the cavern floor, and came up with her hands and arms scraped, but nothing broken.
Seramis saw this, and turned with a snap. She hurled the half-reformed sphere of stone, and it shattered from the force. A cone of stone debris scattered over Cassandra, and the magician brought her arms up to protect her face. She winced as the stones struck, bruising and tearing, but they didn’t have either the mass or the force to inflict serious damage. She pushed her arms aside to clear her field of view, when she heard a sound like the crack of a whip and froze.
Seramis had followed her throw up by chasing the projectile. She moved in under its cover, closing with her prey as the attack blinded her. Her tail coiled in on itself, then lashed out. She coiled again to form a loop as it moved, which accelerated the bladed tip of her tail even faster. This was the same mechanic that allowed a viper to strike with such speed, and for the end of a whip to break the sound barrier. By combining these two principles, the six inches of reinforced bone at the end of her tail would move with enough speed and force to move at supersonic speeds. The combination of speed, sharpness, and mass would be enough to slash Cassandra’s head from her shoulders in a single instant.
She would die.
Seramis’s eyes widened as she came to her senses and lunged. There was a crack like a whip, and the smell of blood filled the air. Cassandra lowered her arms, as she felt the wind lashing at her as Sera’s tail fell short. She looked up to see the clear-eyed dragoness, mouth filled with blood, biting down on her own tail to stop the attack. Sera didn’t know what in Cassandra’s blood was making her act this way, but she knew it started with the scent. So she filled her nostrils and bathed her tongue in the smell and taste of her own fiery blood, so that she would not smell Cassandra’s and lose control once more.
She was the princess of Achaea. She was not a wild animal. She was not a murderer.
She was also very much regretting biting her own tail. That had hurt, quite a bit. She was trying not to throw up from the taste of her own blood, and felt exhausted. Primal magic might be simple, but it had drained her substantially. She didn’t have much left in the tank for even a properly cast spell. She wasn’t entirely certain how much she had in the tank period. She’d never been in a real fight before, and Cassandra was making this a real fight.
Still, hopefully this might show her that they really didn’t need to- never mind she was already casting again.
“Vajrapaat!”
“Pratikaar!”
“Gola!”
A roaring sound filled the air, and Seramis felt something like a slap across her entire body. She crashed into the ground again, thrown several feet back. Her ears rang as she tried to get to her feet. There was another one, another crash that sent her flying again. Again, and again, and again she felt herself being thrown back. She could barely hear, her vision was turning red. She could feel blood running from her ears and nose, and a mouth full of blood. Cassandra was hammering her with enough sound and force to rupture soft tissues throughout her body. She couldn’t burn her or break through her scales, so instead she bypassed them to try and crush her with internal injuries.
She needed to find a way in, to close the distance and take advantage of her superior physical strength. But the speed of Cassandra’s casting and the attacks themselves made it nearly impossible. It took the sorceress about three seconds to cast a spell, and the spell itself was weaponized sound. The attack was invisible, moved faster than any living creature could, and even if Sera could somehow react to it, it filled the entire cave. She needed to close the distance in those three seconds, but there simply wasn’t enough time.
So, she’d make more time. Sera grabbed at the dust of the cave around her, scorched a portion of it to glass, and added the heartbeats pounding painfully behind her eyes. Then she cast, and bent time itself to her will.
“Daj mi poveḱe vreme!”
“Daj mi poveḱe vreme!”
“Daj mi poveḱe vreme!”
Cassandra snarled under her breath as she watched time bend around the dragoness. It was so obvious she was an amateur. The only thing she could do was fight on instinct, and when she ceased to rely on that, she was so slow as to be basically helpless. Her magic was the work of a hobbyist, a ritualist working with slow, carefully considered magic, and sloppy when forced to apply itself quickly. The difference in their technique was night and day. Cassandra expended the minimal possible energy in the least amount of time. Seramis poured out her power like a bucket turned upside down. The problem was, Seramis had so much raw power that it was like a lake falling through that bucket.
A vision came to the young queen’s mind of a man fighting a panicking elephant. The man was well trained, the best in class, clad in steel armor and holding a spear of masterwork quality. The elephant, by contrast, was half-mad with terror, lashing out wildly. But the elephant was much, much bigger than the man. Cassandra was leagues above Seramis in terms of skill, and was trained her entire life to be a weapon equal to the dragons. She could kill a dragon. But her training had not rendered it simple, only feasible. Because the elephant was still very large, and dragons were quite simply unfair to fight.
Sera had no time to think about this, as she was concerned primarily with how to keep Cassandra from killing her. She was secondarily concerned with the increasing effort it took to not run away screaming. Instead, she charged the sorceress head on, stretching those three seconds out to six, to nine, to twelve, all to close in and prevent her from casting.
Cassandra saw the dragon closing, raised her hand, and detonated the spell early. Both magicians were caught in the blast, giving them both space. Cassanda leapt back with her strike, spitting out blood and shaking the ringing from her ears. This was getting bad, and fast. Cassandra understood that necessity was the mother of invention, or more accurately, conflict was the mother of evolution. When pushed into a corner, life strove, for given the choice between rapid advancement and death, most creatures would fight for a way out. The sheer durability of a dragon allowed them more opportunities to grow mid-battle than most. If this became a prolonged fight, she couldn’t win.
Then, someone hit her from the side. Leon tackled the sorceress, pushing her to the ground and pinning her hands. “Sera! She can cast with signs and -ack!” The prince’s warning was cut off by Cassandra’s boot hitting between his legs. The prince wheezed, and Cassandra twisted to get a hand free. Another blast of sound threw the prince off of her. She rolled to her feet, only to lose her balance again as Sera went for her cloak, tearing it away with a claw. Another talon reached to cover the queen’s mouth, but Cassandra ducked. She palmed water condensing on the ground, some dust thrown up by the fight, then spat into her palm.
“Nirjaleekaran”
“Nirjaleekaran!”
“Nirjaleekaran!”
Leon’s instincts saved him, and he leapt back as the air suddenly became violently dry. Seramis, not as attuned, was caught in it, and suddenly rasped through a drying throat as the water was torn out of her body. Her wings beat her back out of the way, as the water torn from her created a spray in the air. Sera coughed repeatedly, trying to get her feet under her as Cassandra charged, stooping to pick up her cloak.
Seramis lashed at her with the flat of her tail, but Cassandra dove over it, casting as she went. The queen didn’t hit the floor, but instead hovered. She pushed herself up over the air, moving to just above and behind the dragoness. Cassandra had analyzed Sera’s movements, and understood that while dragons were dangerous from nearly any angle, their wings created a blind spot just above and behind them. From there, she reached into her cloak and cast again.
“Churaana.”
“Vaayu.”
“Neeche.”
Winds whipped around Sera, and she began to cough again from her still-dry throat. Then she began to heave, and gasp, coughing all the more. The winds were whipping in a cyclone around her, tearing precious air away from her. Combined with the difficulty breathing from such a dehydrated throat, she couldn’t get enough. She felt her lungs burning as she tried to gasp. It felt like she was drowning on dry land, suffocating with nothing smothering her. She tried to beat her wings to escape but there wasn’t enough air for them to grasp onto. There wasn’t even enough air for her to use her fire. She coughed until she felt like she was going to throw up, and then exacerbated it. She ignited her bile as she threw up, sending a stinking, sticky flame into the air, still blue-hot and laced with the power to unravel magic. Cassandra dropped her spell, but the flames still licked through the air around her, unraveling her flight.
Cassandra hit the ground and rolled. It hadn’t been the first time one of her flying spells had failed on her, and she knew how to take a fall. She came up, hands ready to begin casting when Sera’s tail lashed out. There was a sharp crack of scale meeting skin as the prehensile tail hit Cassandra in the wrists and pulled her off her feet. Sera turned, keeping the magician restrained and off the ground as she brought her about. The very tired and at this stage very irritated dragonness once again reached out to cover her mouth and keep her from casting.
Rather than allowing this, Cassandra brought her heel down against the calf of her opposite leg with enough force to draw blood. Then she kicked her leg back into her cloak and back out with components scattering.
“Aag!”
“Saans!”
“Pratikaar!”
With the last line, her breath took on the aspect of a dragon. Seramis was slightly flattered to see the queen using fire breath against her, but also annoyed. The flames had no effect, aside from making her scales bulge, and providing enough pressure to push her talon back. Sooner than later though, Cassandra would run out of breath. Cassandra knew this as well though, so shouted and with breath of flame to cast again.
“Khoon!”
“Nokadaar cheez!”
“Svatantrata!”
Seramis suddenly felt a sharp pain in her tail, bitter as when she’d bit it herself. Reflexively, she dropped the source of it, namely the queen. She saw the young woman’s wrists and hands had become covered in blood, and that blood had become a forest of spines not unlike a porcupines. Shards of that hardened blood remained stuck in Sera’s tail, and she shook them out before they could dissolve.
As she did this, Cassandra took the opportunity to slip past Sera’s guard and dive for the pool of water created by her earlier dehydration spell. She rolled through it, casting as she went. She came up on one knee with components in one hand, and the other a clenched fist with a single finger pointed at Seramis’s head.
“Paanee.”
“Dabaav.”
“Teer!”
The water surrounding and covering the young queen rushed together at the tip of her finger. Six gallons of water, mostly torn out of Seramis, rushed together into a point not much larger than the tip of a pen. Then, it fired off with tremendous force. Even braced as she was, Cassandra’s arm snapped to the side and she had to twist to disperse the force into the ground to avoid the force of the spell from dislocating or breaking anything.
Sera snapped her head to the side at the last instant, avoiding the attack, but felt a sharp pain as the bullet of water tore through her wing. The hyper-pressurized bullet of water pierced the ceiling and then came apart. The force of so much water in so little space tore stone apart like a child pulling apart a piece of bread. The collapsing ceiling and water landed on Seramis like a load of bricks, pinning the dragoness.
Cassandra prepared her next spell to finish the fight, when Leon suddenly intervened. Cassandra reacted more quickly as the prince moved to grapple her, backpedaling to create distance. He kept the pressure on, but she continued to slip just out of his grasp, giving time and distance for space. He kept going exclusively to grab her, moving carefully and without sufficient aggression. Cassandra smirked at that. “It’s a shame you really meant it when you said nobody who’d hit a woman was a man.” A spell finished in her hand, and she ripped it forwards, the earth opened under Leon, and swallowed him like a lion’s maw. She slammed her hands together with a sound like a judge’s gavel before the condemned.
The jaws of the earth shut on Leon, but he was quick and strong. He braced himself, and held the stones back from crushing him for a few moments. But he was trapped, he couldn’t give so much as a millimeter to try and push himself up and out of the hole he was in. He’d need to leap out in a single motion. If he wasn’t fast enough, or couldn’t make the full jump from a standing position, he’d be crushed. If he wasn’t perfect, the jaws of the earth would break his legs into pieces, leaving him crippled even if Cassandra decided to spare him. Still, it was the only way out. He braced himself-
“Don’t try it.” Cassandra warned, and the pressure slackened. He looked up to see a young woman with her teeth grit against the pain of her wounds and what she was doing. “Just stay down, damn you. You should have just stayed down. Don’t make me do this.” Her body was trembling, for all her cruel teasing before. “Why won’t you stay down? You cannot defeat me! You have no hope!”
“I can’t just let you murder my friend.” Leon replied. “But I don’t want to fight you either. Please, stop this, you don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do. This is all I am, all I have left.” Cassandra snarled, anger bitterly, but thinly covering over a sob.
“I’m still here Cass.” Leon replied, and Cassandra trembled. For a moment, the stones stopped. “We are warriors both, but we both can be more.”
That was exactly the wrong thing to say in this situation, as Cassandra’s heart became covered with bitter resolve. “You are a warrior, Prince of Marathon. I am not. I am a weapon.” The ground began to move again with terrible resolve. Leon braced himself to leap, when he was interrupted again.
“Kamen do kal!”
“Kamen do kal!”
“Kamen do kal!”
The stone trying to crush Leon suddenly became very soft, and very slick. The water sank into it, and it became as mud. Cassandra suddenly felt the ground give out under her, rushing up as she sank in up to her shoulders. There was an eruption along with a roar as Seramis flung the rocks turned to mud off of her, and beat her wings to hover proudly over the mire she created. “This ends now Cassandra.” Seramis growled through a dry throat. Cassandra spit the mud from her mouth and cast again.
“Khoon.”
“Rassee.”
“koda.”
A red, viscous vine lashed its way out of the mud and pulled Cassandra free by her bleeding calf. It retracted back into her as it pulled, coagulated blood melting and returning to the veins from which it came. The technique was efficient, but appeared utterly revolting. It froze Seramis in place for a moment, as Cassandra’s hands moved in a blur. The metaphorical freeze was then replaced with a literal one, as winter leapt into the cavern out of season. Seramis instinctively leapt back, swelling the fire in her breast. Dragons were technically still reptiles, though with wide wings for thermal windows, and fire in their breasts, they could control their temperature well enough. That said, the instinct to shrink from the cold had never faded. Leon likewise shrank from it as much as he could manage, trapped up to his neck in the newly solid mud.
Cassandra landed in a crouch, both hands weaving disparate signs. Seramis realized what she was doing and moved to close the distance as quickly as she could. Cassandra was casting three spells at once, one using the signs from her left hand, one using the signs from her right, and one with her voice.
“Pashupatastra.”
“Apraakrtik sanlayan.”
“Sv-vikarshak oorja.”
Two immensely powerful electromagnetic spheres tore themselves into being in Cassandra’s hands. Her metal rings bent and distorted, as if the metal was a living thing trying to escape the force of what had been conjured. The spheres were highly charged, identical in polarity, and possessed contagious polarity. Everything they touched became charged with the same electromagnetic force, and alike forces repel. It was an inverted magnetism, turned to maximize repulsion of everything rather than its attraction. The forces conjured covered Cassandra’s hands with bruises as her blood was repulsed away from her palms with destructive force. Her hair and clothing were caught up as if in a wind, but there was no wind. Then, she pressed the spheres together, only amplifying their effect and rage as the unnatural forces were combined into an unnatural union.
It was the dark queen’s trump card, an absolute destructive force and mirror to herself. It was a spell that repulsed itself as it repulsed everything around it. It was a barely contained chaos held together by nothing but sheer willpower. It prevented anything from drawing near, and punished anything that tried with complete, undiscriminating aggression. It was the soul of an abused girl, manifested with the destructive power of the mightiest Olympian.
Cassandra unleashed death upon Seramis, and Sera was too close to dodge.
The stones of the cavern were flung away and torn apart, leaving a trench in the ground for the brief meter before the spell impacted Seramis. Then it hit her, and the dragon did not have time to scream. She went flying, as the air itself became charged and pushed against her. It was like she was being dragged behind a wild horse, except the very air around her was solid. At the same time, her own particles became violently charged. Her cells began attempting to push each other apart, organelles within them threatened to come undone. If this continued for much longer, this would tear her apart molecule by molecule, and paint the walls of the cave with her constituent atoms.
One second passed. Seramis felt herself coming apart in complete detail as time continued to flow more slowly around her. She had no idea how to undo the spell, how to counteract the damage it was inflicting. Quite frankly, she wasn’t sure it was possible. This was a spell composed of three spells, a spell of spells, utterly beyond her understanding of magic. She wasn’t certain if this technique had ever even been written down before. It was probably a fairly notable thing to be killed by an entirely new form of magic, but she really could do without that kind of fame.
Two seconds passed. Seramis’s mind raced, the pain was becoming lesser, but she knew the spell wasn’t ending. It was simply destroying her ability to feel it. She hadn’t quite realized that she was dying yet, but it struck her now. Her life began to flash before her eyes. She had time for it, she was going to feel the exact millisecond her life ended, and it wasn’t that long a life to flash back through. Her time in this very lair, her first flight, moving to the capital, lessons on magic with her mother-
Wait, that was it.
She didn’t have much time, but she did have components. Her flesh, blood, scales, and tears.
“Požar!”
“Požar!”
“Požar!”
Seramis called fire, with everything she had left, she called fire. She was diluvian, and fire was her inheritance by Mardok. Conjuring it was simplicity itself. Fire, fire to light the dark, fire to warm the cold. Fire to undo magic, and fire to devour the gods. Seramis vanished in a brilliant pillar of blue flame. The wind whipped into the space as the flames devoured it. They spiraled into a tornado that lit the cavern as it raced back away from Cassandra. It tore the spell apart with pure, purifying flame, and tore its constituent magic into delectable morsels. The tornado stopped, and bent inwards. Seramis faced the avatar of Cassandra’s sorrows, and devoured it. She hit the ground, wings flaring to brake her momentum, and raised her head. The brilliant blue light of judgement’s flames gleamed through her eyes, holy wrath incarnate and realized in midnight scales.
Cassandra cursed as she watched the dragon get back up. She’d hit her with the best shot she had, and it hadn’t been enough. That attack should have torn her apart on a molecular level, an entire body composed of charged particles repelling one another. Fine. She couldn’t kill Seramis in a single move with brute force. She couldn’t do it by attacking her need to breathe, or by tearing the water from her blood. Her body was simply too tough to destroy faster than Sera could find a solution to whatever was killing her. So fine, she’d simply destroy the dragon’s mind and body at the same time. She prepared a cruel spell.
“Bijalee.”
“Peeda.”
“Janjeer.”
Lightning ripped from the queen’s fingertips and slammed into Seramis before the dragon could get to her feet. This spell wasn’t meant specifically to inflict too much damage, the voltage wasn’t high enough. It was meant to be kept up for a long period of time, and hurt as much as possible. The spell worked, and Seramis screamed, writhing on the ground as she tried to get away from it. Cassandra knew the lightning couldn’t burn Seramis, but she did know that with enough time this would make the dragoness tear open her throat with her screams and drown in her own blood.
Then the scream of pain turned into a roar of anger. Sera’s eyes narrowed again, that glassy, dead-eyed shark stare taking control. She brought a talon down, and the stone split. She came to her feet, fire on her breath. Then, she drew herself back again, and took a step forwards, then another. Cassandra turned up the voltage, but still the dragon approached, until the two were nearly eye to eye. Sera spoke, fire on her breath, but still controlled, however barely.
“I am not your enemy.”
Something in that clicked for Cassandra, and she realized the dragonness meant it. At this range, Sera could burn her to ashes in an instant. Before, she could have decapitated her, but held herself back. This entire battle, Sera hadn’t simply been fighting to stop her. She’d been fighting to hold herself back to avoid hurting the queen any more than necessary. She was not her enemy. She was still not her enemy even after enduring so many of Cassandra’s blows.
The lightning faded, and Cassandra fell to her knees. Her eyes were wide, bloodshot, and horrified. They were the eyes of someone who had forgotten how to cry. Her mind felt frayed, stretched to the breaking point with a bowling ball dropped on top of it for good measure. She was so tired.
“I… I don’t understand. What is your angle? What do you gain from this?”
“Cass,” Sera breathed heavily, still moving unsteadily from her own injuries. “I hate that it took you this long to learn this, but not everyone does things just to get something. Sometimes we just do the right thing because it’s the right thing.”
“Perhaps dragons do, but humans? Humans are selfish. Everything is for themselves, or for their own nation and people, not for a stranger, not for an enemy.”
“I’m right here too you know.” Leon replied from where he remained stuck in the ground. “I’m trying to help to, just a bit indisposed at the moment.”
“I decided I was going to help you the moment I heard you speaking with Leon. You didn’t come here to trick or sway, but simply because you needed help. Malphus might have made you pay for that, but I am not Malphus. I am Seramis of Achaea, and on that name, not that of Malphus, I am going to help you win back your throne and save your people.”
“This… the kings of Achaea and Marathon have no idea what you’re doing, do they?” Cassandra chuckled. “You… you set all of this in motion as nothing more than a joke, or a game?”
“Well, mostly because I didn’t want to get married.” Sera admitted. “Things have all, well, spiraled well and truly out of hand. I admit, this did all start because I was selfish. But I’m trying not to be, or at least to be less so.”
“Hah. Well, even dragons can still have the trouble of queens it seems then.” Cassandra chuckled. “But why still? I am your enemy.”
“I have no enemies.” Sera replied. “Because I choose to have no enemies. You can choose to treat me as your enemy, but not even your power can force me to make you mine. This world has enough headaches already without choosing to make enemies. I’d rather have friends.”
“You are so… piteously naïve.” Cassandra laughed, as water fell from her face to the ground. “Do you think it will be so simple? That the world works that way?”
“We are rulers and magi. We are the ones who set the balance of the world. If that’s not how the world works, then I will change the world so that it does work that way. I am free, and if the world itself will deny me that freedom, then I will bend the world until it allows it.” Sera replied, voice filled with the strength that had allowed her to achieve victory without blood. “If the world won’t allow for goodness, won’t allow for me to say I have no enemies, then we can break the world until it does. That is the meaning of freedom, that is what it is for me to wear my crown.”
“Freedom, such a wonderful myth. Though you do indeed have the power to allow for it. Such is the privilege of the mighty.”
“Freedom is ever there for anyone with eyes to see it, and ears to hear its call. It always has a cost, but I will sooner pay it than submit to a world that demands that I be a murderer, and kill the undeserving because they were born on the other side of a line in the dirt. I admit, I’ve been blessed to be strong enough that you can’t kill me. But that strength isn’t going to make me so weak that I’m forced to kill you. I refuse to be shackled by this world, or by the crown I never asked for. I will not be conformed to this world. But I will transform this world into something kinder than it would allow.” Seramis replied, and for the first time, Leon saw she was indeed the rightful future Queen of Achaea, a true monarch’s soul blazing behind her amber eyes.
“You are free, daughter of eve. What even is the point of a crown that has no freedom, or freedom not used to do the right thing?”
“I have never been free. Freedom is never something I was allowed. I had to be what my people needed, what the crown demanded.” Cassandra replied, looking down at hands covered in blood. “I am their weapon, their savior, their monster, the sacrificed heart of Philopolis.”
“That is what you are told to be. You were commanded to sacrifice your heart, Queen of the Macedonians, but I tell you, set your heart ablaze. Embrace it, what do you truly desire? If you could be free, what would you wish for?” Sera furthered, stern, but not unkind.
“I…” Cassandra looked down, as water fell, and began washing streaks through her bloody hands. For a moment, she dared to dream, and there was something like a dam cracking. She flinched from it, but then felt Leon rest his hand on her shoulder.
“It’s okay.” He promised. She let the dam fall.
“I want to help my people. I want to use my powers to protect them. I want to make things right, to see justice done. I want to see them safe, prosperous, happy.” Cassandra wept, and tears ran canals through the bloodied face and hands. “I want to be a good queen. But I have never been able to do anything. I have failed, everyone. Myself, my people, my kingdom. Over and over and over again, all my power is worthless because I cannot do anything good. I want to be a good queen. I have never been able to even be a good person.”
“You are not going to have to do it on your own anymore.” Seramis replied, gently covering the weeping queen with a wing. “Weep as long as you need, and rage all that you must, until it is spent. Then, we will get up, and together, we will do exactly that, and set your people free. Then we can start on all the rest, to make the choices you never had a chance to.”
Cassandra wept for a long while. It was hardly a surprise, there were many years of unshed tears to be spent.

Does anyone know what are the distances between bed screws on a Sidewinder X2 or a Sidewinder X1? And are the screws M4 screws?
If you also have a technical drawing, please post it as well!
Update: I just had a chance to take the bed off and roughly measure what I wanted. - the screw holes are roughly 200 millimeters apart, I don't have calipers big enough to measure such distances and had to eyeball it with a ruler, - the bed screws are M5 screws.

so like you know how a ruler has millimeters marked on it, how do they know that the mark is exactly on a millimeter and what do they base it off