I'm not sure if my hair is 1A or 1B (it has a tiny bit of texture when I let it air dry, but won't hold a curl for hell or high water), but either way it's very fine and very straight, and for lack of a better word just looks boring unless I waste a bunch of time/money on styling products. I prefer shorter styles since it ends up flat and straggly if I grow it out past shoulder length, but I'm so tired of searching "haircuts for fine straight hair" online and getting told the only style which would suit me is a blunt bob. I have a round baby face and bob cuts makes me look like a child 😅 Can someone please reassure me there are options out there other than shaving my entire head...?

Hi all,
I have a v1 tyro79 running a MAtekf411 FC and most recent BF and Configurator.
I pulled this off the shelf after a motor wire came loose, and since have had alot of trouble getting it back into the air. I tried the original DSM receiver that i had, but seemed bricked, so I picked up a NewBeedroneV2 Frsky receiver. I am able to get it bound (shown on transmitter) but cant get any input movement in BetaFlight.
I've tried pretty much all the solutions I could find on Youtube or other forums, including;
Inverting SBUS in CLI and on receiver, checking soldered connections, changing UARTs in tab and physically, making sure and changing which UART has "serialrx" enabled, having a battery plugged in and not, downgrading BF config down to 10.8 and coming back up with up to date firmware, checking that the transmitter channels are set up correctly. If its on the first page of results, i've probably tried it.
I'm starting to get at a lost of where to go next. New Stack?
Any suggestions would be great, thanks!

Author’s Note:
If you enjoy the story so far, please consider upvoting and commenting! These go a long way in helping the story reach a larger audience. (Also, reddit removes all my formatting for some reason so if you want a fully formatted read, check out my story on RoyalRoad)
READ 2 WEEKS AHEAD: Season Finale Chapter 17 is now available for Tier 2 Manifest Fantasy Patrons and higher!
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First
Three, two, one... execute.
Ron peeked around the corner, his M4E1 Carl Gustaf already loaded with standard HEAT rounds. The rest of Alpha Team stacked up behind him or behind Ryan, who was on the other side of the doorway. Through the opening, they could see a nightmarish tangle of webs and egg sacs, with the skittering shapes of Spiranids lurking in the shadows in the far corners of the room.
The Queen was positioned in the center of the room, completely exposed by a cluster of eggs. Henry watched as Ron leveled his Gustaf, taking aim at the Queen while they stayed along the wall to ensure Ron’s backblast was clear. It should have been an easy kill, but a flicker of movement caught Henry’s eye.
A blob of white flew across his vision, smacking into Ron just as he fired his weapon. The thick strands of webbing bypassed Kelmithus’ shielding and wrapped around him, sending him flying back a couple of meters. He landed on his back, his body and launcher completely stuck to the floor by the condensed silk.
Around the same time, the Gustaf’s projectile struck the Queen’s abdomen section. The resulting blast tore through its exoskeleton but was far from a fatal blow. The Queen shrieked, a sound far deeper than Henry expected.
“Fuck!” Ron shouted, struggling to break free from the webbing.
Henry exhaled. They were a man down, but helping him had to wait; the not-dead Queen and its minions took precedence. It would be great if he had another launcher in his own Holding Bag, but that was something he’d have to bring up to Chief Cole later. Henry tossed his grenades into the room, the pops mingling with the screeches of injured Spiranids. Ryan struck simultaneously, throwing his own collection into the mix. Like firecrackers, the explosives were violent but short-lived.
As the chaos subsided, Henry pushed in. Raising his shotgun, he tore through a Spiranid that pounced at him, its carcass smoldering from the white phosphorous. Beside him, Isaac, Ryan, and Dr. Anderson’s shots rang out, tearing through their own sectors of fire.
Almost immediately upon their entry, the Queen surged forward with terrifying speed. It reared its head back like it was about to vomit, mandibles covered in a sick, yellowish color. Henry recognized immediately what it was trying to do. “Acid, move!”
Henry dove away from his previous position, taking a shot at another Spiranid that had taken the opportunity to jump at him while its master was preparing to attack. He narrowly escaped the lethal spray as it jetted toward him. The acid splattered on the ground where they had stood not even a second before, sizzling fiercely as it corroded the thick webbing sprawled across the floor. He noticed as he ran that, rather curiously, the acid was simply puddling on the floor. There was no damage to the floor itself, but if it could tear apart high-quality monster silk just like that, he didn’t want to find out what it could do to an envirosuit.
Henry glanced back after blasting apart his third Spiranid. His teammates were fine – Ryan helping him keep the Queen’s attention, Sera already on her way to Ron, and the others taking care of the smaller Spiranids. He tried to get a quick headcount of how many Spiranids they’d already eliminated. Between their guns, Kelmithus’ magic, and the grenades, he estimated they had killed at least a dozen so far. Solid progress, but the fact that they weren’t able to take out the Queen with their first strike was an issue.
Henry rolled to his left as the Queen pounced on his previous position. It was fucking fast, like a Goliath birdeater but scaled up – and with nasty abilities that really shouldn’t belong on a creature like this. He recovered quickly and took aim, firing point-blank into its thorax. The white phosphorous pellets hissed as they burned into its exoskeleton, forcing it back.
Beside him, Ryan’s shotgun boomed. He struck the Queen’s legs, which seemed to be more fragile than the thick exoskeleton surrounding the head and thorax. The pellets bit into the chitin, likely striking a nerve as evidenced by the leg’s subsequent buckling and collapse. It was a lucky shot – one that he doubted they could repeat four or five more times.
“Sera, use my knife! Here, right here!” Ron called out.
Sera’s sword must’ve been too large to effectively cut through the webbing. They had to hurry up. He and Ryan had been dodging the Queen’s attacks, but mostly by a hair’s breadth. All it took was one lucky hit from the Queen to put them out of commission, possibly for good. “Sera, status on Ron?”
“One minute!” she responded.
Damn. That was one minute later than he’d hoped. Reacting instinctively, Henry noted the Queen raising one of its legs – a sure sign of it preparing for another attack. The Queen struck again, this time cleaving the air with the leg, aiming to corral him into a predictable escape route. As its leg swept through the air, Henry caught sight of the Queen rearing its head back in a grotesque mimicry of a snake about to strike – another acid attack.
Anticipating the monster’s strategy, Henry feinted to the right, a move he hoped would mislead it about his true intentions. As the Queen’s head followed his feint, Henry twisted sharply, scraping against the rough ground. With a powerful push from his legs, he launched backward just as the Queen unleashed its attack.
Acid spewed forth in a wide arc, splattering where he had just been. The corrosive globs almost instantly melted the webbing on the floor, collecting into pools. And there was the second issue. The longer this fight dragged on, the less room they’d have to maneuver.
Henry unloaded into the creature’s compound eyes before tossing a flashbang near its legs. The creature staggered backward, blinded in both its eyes and its sensory hairs. Henry used the precious few seconds he bought to reload his weapon and check up on his team. “Yen, sitrep?”
“Stragglers neutralized; we’re moving to you now.”
Automatic gunfire erupted as Isaac and Dr. Anderson joined the fight against the Queen, dumping their mags on the creature’s head. The 6.8mm seemed to penetrate well, but he could say the same if they fought an elephant; the Spiranid Queen was simply too large for the relatively small caliber rounds to have any effect besides pissing it off.
The Queen lunged again, its legs surrounding him from all sides. There was only one way out, and it was through the belly of the beast. Henry rushed forward, ducking under the Queen’s mandibles as he slid underneath its abdomen. He fired his shotgun as quickly as he could, unloading pellets into the beast’s underbelly. The white phosphorous scorched the softer flesh, drawing a shriek of pain from the massive creature.
As the Queen writhed under the relentless assault, Ryan and the others seized the moment to reload their weapons and reposition. They poured everything they had into the creature’s cephalothorax, bluish ichor oozing from the hundreds of new wounds that they opened up. Yet, it was like chipping away at a mountain – it simply wasn’t enough. The creature thrashed around violently in response; Henry knew it was only a matter of time before it landed a hit on someone.
And land a hit it did. With a terrifying swiftness, one of its massive legs slammed into Henry’s chest, launching him backward. The shield Kelmithus cast on him flickered as it absorbed the brunt of the impact. He crashed into an egg sac by the entrance – its membrane ruptured on impact, drenching him in a sticky, corrosive slime. The sac provided little cushion, and he hit the ground hard, the breath knocked out of him.
Pain flared across Henry’s chest where the Queen’s leg had struck him. Gasping for breath and battling the encroaching blackness in his vision, he instinctively checked his envirosuit. He started with the areas he could see, glancing down at his chest. It was visibly deformed, dented but not quite a gash.
Still intact, thank goodness. No breach, but another hit like that would be disastrous. He breathed a sigh of relief, his chest hurting like hell as he did so. He checked his sides and back. Parts of his suit were covered in slime from the egg sac. It didn’t seem as corrosive as the Queen’s acid, but it was still a hazard. Quickly, he swiped at it, removing as much as possible with his gloved hands to prevent further damage.
He forced himself up, grabbing his shotgun from the floor. The Queen was already barreling toward him, the damn monster not letting up. He didn’t have time to make a run for it; he needed to jump to one side or the other, and the timing needed to be perfect. Just as the Queen’s shadow engulfed him, the air turned icy cold, frost creeping up on his visor.
Ice formed from thin air, spearing up from the ground and piercing through the Queen’s legs. The spikes rooted the beast in place. Not one to waste an opportunity, Henry dashed away from the entrance, firing at the immobilized giant spider as he linked up with the others.
“Sera?” Henry asked again.
Sera’s voice came in strained. “Almost…” Then, with a triumphant shout, she announced the word Henry had been desperate to hear. “Done!”
“Owens!” Henry said, risking a glance back.
Ron had already grabbed his Gustaf and was in the process of loading another HEAT round. “On it!”
Henry grinned. It was a relief, to be sure. With Ron free and back in the fight, the odds had just tipped heavily in their favor. The Queen was tough, but it wasn’t invincible; they just needed an opening.
Given the damage the Queen sustained to its body, Henry couldn’t imagine it being in peak fighting condition. Even in its weakened state, though, it still had the capability to dodge Ron’s attack, and it seemed to be saving its web ability for that very inevitability.
“Take out the legs!” Henry ordered.
They combined their fire on the left legs, since Ryan managed to break one of them earlier. He heard a crack that might’ve been the chitin giving way or the leg snapping, but it was hard to tell. He was just about to chalk it up to the prevailing gunfire around them, but then he saw it: a brief stumble. The Queen recovered quickly, but it was clear to Henry that it wouldn’t be able to manage any more damage to its legs.
Then, he noticed a blur in his peripheral vision to his right, moving so fast his eyes could barely keep up. Shit, he was certain he kept track of the Queen’s movements. With the existing damage to his envirosuit, he’d be completely fucked. He braced himself for another impact, but it never came.
As he focused harder on the blur, he caught a glimpse of a flash of light that could only be one thing – Sera’s sword, And, just like a flash of lightning, she had already cleared the vicinity of the Queen. The Queen’s foreleg seemed to simply vanish, severed so cleanly that it took a moment for the beast to realize what had happened. When it did, it let out a screech of pain, its balance faltering as it tried to adapt to the sudden change.
While Henry focused on taking out another leg from the left side, Sera had already shifted to her next target. Their assault was brutal: white phosphorus pellets and hard-hitting 6.8mm on one side, ice magic and skilled swordsmanship on the other. And to think, they managed to inflict all this damage by the time Ron completed his reload.
“Clear the way!” Ron called out, his Gustaf aimed right at the Queen’s head.
Henry jumped back, watching as Kelmithus conjured another set of ice spikes to root the beast again, in case the five obliterated legs weren’t enough to keep it down. The Queen thrashed against the icy bonds, its remaining legs slashing through the air in a frenzied bid for freedom. It spat acid – a tactic that would’ve worked effectively on most other materials, but instead simply got diluted with the melting ice. Even as the acid reacted with the ice, the spikes held firm, anchoring the beast in place like steel cables.
Henry’s heart pounded in his ears. Come on, Owens, he urged silently. Take the shot.
As if on cue, Ron pulled the trigger. The Gustaf bucked in his hands as the HEAT round streaked towards its target. Henry barely had time to brace himself before the explosion hit, the shockwave slamming into him and nearly toppling him over. He staggered back, gazing into the settling dust.
When the smoke cleared, the Queen’s head was obliterated – replaced by a gory mess of shattered chitin and pulverized flesh. Blood sprayed from the gaping hole, covering the ground in a pale blue hue. The creature’s body convulsed, its remaining legs scrabbling weakly at their surroundings.
A surge of triumph washed over Henry, but it was fleeting. From the corner of his eye, he locked on to a glimpse of movement. One of the Queen’s legs continued to spasmodically jerk around and spray the ground with blue ichor. He raised his shotgun in a nonchalant motion and blasted the errant limb, watching as it shuddered and went still.
Sera stepped up, her sword barely catching the light as she jammed it into what was left of the Queen’s thorax. A sharp twist, and it was over. She then yanked the blade from the carcass, her grip shifting subtly along the hilt. As she flicked the sword, frost swiftly coated the ichor clinging to the metal. The frozen debris was flung off, hitting the ground and shattering like glass.
He glanced down at his Holding Bag. Damn, the fight took out most of his shells. Swapping out his shotgun for his M7, he turned to his team and took stock of their condition. It seemed everyone had mostly gone unscathed, only debris and dirt scarring their envirosuits. Well, except for himself and Ron. “Think we’re gonna have to start calling you pinata now,” Henry said, clapping his friend on the shoulder.
Ron scoffed. “Yeah? Says the runner-up,” he said, tapping the dent on Henry’s envirosuit. “Better ‘pinata’ than ‘roadkill’, though. But seriously, what’s next? Don’t even know where to start.”
The room was empty, save for the debris strewn about and the singular obelisk standing in the center of the room. He didn’t notice it earlier, but as he got closer, he realized that the obelisk emitted a faint light that barely escaped the canopy of webs. He looked it up and down before turning to the others. “Only one place to start. Let’s clear out the webs, see what’s hiding below.”
“Doc, Kel, clear out the eggs. Hayes, Sera, see if the Queen’s got anything useful. Everyone else focus on the webs,” Henry ordered.
Ron drew his knife and started slicing through the dense cobwebs. “Hey, what y’all think the Queen’s Tier is?”
Isaac paused to consider. “Eh, Tier 8, probably. Minotaur boss and Rillifane boss were both Tier 8, so I’d say the spider’s around the same level.”
“Well, the resilience of the specimen isn’t a definitive measure of the Tier,” Dr. Anderson pointed out. “It’s quite possible that we merely had the most suitable tools at hand in this particular encounter.”
“The scholar speaks truly,” Sera agreed. “There is nary a defining criterion; defense is but one of many that are considered by the Guild. Were it so simple, Kelmithus and I would have attained Tier 9 ere now.”
“So, what do you think the Queen is, then? Tier 7 maybe?” Ron asked.
Henry shook his head. Tier 7 didn’t seem accurate. Using his knife to scrape some of the webbing off his glove, he voiced, “Spiranids are weak in general, but are classified as Tier 5 or higher because of their traps, ambush tactics, numbers, and abilities. Archers can use Wind Snipe and mages can use wide-area spellcasting, but they can’t reliably penetrate the exoskeleton’s armor. If anything, this is probably on the lower end of Tier 9.”
“Tier 9, huh?” Isaac muttered.
Sera smiled as she stood back. She stuffed a frost-covered gland into her holding bag and paused from her work as she chimed in, “Hmm… how keen. I expected nothing less from the first Tier 6 entrants in Eldralore’s history! It shows plain why the Guild did so swiftly raise you.”
“Hah,” Henry chuckled. It was an amusing thought, but… “Say, ya think we can get to Tier 7 after this?”
Sera’s eyebrows shot up. “Tier 7? A mark of no slight merit. What have you achieved since attaining Tier 6?”
Henry reached to scratch his chin, then cursed softly as his glove thudded against his visor. “Well, we took down a Rillifane pack, a Sentinel Lindwyrm, and now this primal Spiranid Queen. That’s not too shabby, eh?”
“Firm victories,” Sera admitted, “but advancement weighs more than battle alone. The Guild also considers quest difficulty, knowledge gained therefrom, and impact – in other words, glory.”
“The Baranthurian Ruins,” Dr. Anderson blurted, taking the words out of Henry’s mouth. He turned to Kelmithus, who approached them after confirming that the eggs had been cleared out. “Surely, working with the Sanctum Arcanum must be quite the honour. The Guild holds their quests with high esteem, wouldn’t you say?”
Kelmithus nodded, burning a clump of disposed webs on the ground. “True as that may be, advancement oft hinges upon the cumulative experience of dozens of quests.”
“Well, ain’t no small feats for us lately,” Ryan remarked. “The quest to the Baranthurian ruins, what was it, Tier 8? Yeah, that was Tier 8. Sentinel Lindwyrm? Hell, Tier Nine. That there beast?” Ryan pointed his gun at the carcass of the Spiranid Queen. “Tier 9 as well.”
Ron interjected, “Plus we’ve been helping out along the way, like those villagers, and taking on quests others won’t touch. Honestly, the Hardale quest should be pretty weighty too, considering the Nobian shenanigans.”
Sera hummed, mulling over Alpha Team’s experiences. The fact that most of their quests at Tier 6 had essentially been Tier 7 quests or higher in difficulty was probably unheard of in the Guild. Not only that, but they’d been able to complete these difficult quests successfully. Hell, with flying colors, even. That had to count for something.
Henry looked over at Sera, stepping back as he allowed Kelmithus to dispose of the webs that he had cleared out. “So, whaddya think? Based on what we’ve done, you think we got a shot at Tier 7?”
Sera looked up at the ceiling as she weighed her response. “Ehh, you’ve a strong case. Alas, it’s Taldren’s call to make. His favor seems yours, though; I wager he’ll agree.”
Henry grinned. Moving up meant they could have access to more quests. Naturally, that also meant better rewards and in turn, access to some truly magical equipment. “Good to hear. Guess we’ll see to it once we get back to Eldralore. Now, we should probably –”
A soft glow of light gradually lit up the room, interrupting Henry mid-sentence. He squinted, readying his weapon. The light came from the walls and ceiling, illuminating the once-dark chamber. The obelisk, now free of webs, now hummed… healthily? It wasn’t like he had a manual to tell him if this was a good or bad development, but judging from the facility’s reaction, it must’ve worked.
Henry glanced at his HUD. The temperature readings were rising, too. The icy chill from Kelmithus’ magic rapidly dissipated as the environmental controls kicked in. “Well, looks like we’ve done all we can here. Let’s head back to the containment cell room and see if we can find anything else of interest.”
– – –
Outskirts of GB-2, Grenden Forest
Carvus Alnect Virelius narrowed his gaze toward the brightening sky, his eyes cutting through the retreating mist that had long veiled the forest’s canopy. This unprecedented clarity above the ruins was strange. After centuries cloaked in an impenetrable fog, why did the skies clear now?
The Umber Vicearch’s mind worked like a whetstone, sharpening the fragments of reports from his scouts, cryptic as they were. The recent skirmish, occurring concurrently with the lifting fog, could not be mere happenstance. Regardless of the answer, the unexpected fold presented a welcome complexity to test his mettle.
He set his thoughts aside as the sound of footsteps approached.
“Leuarch Eldreyn reporting, milord,” one of his men said. “We’ve word from Serarch Trelian.”
Carvus gave him a nod to continue.
Eldreyn relayed the news. “The scouts espy traces of battle: a fallen Sentinel Lindwyrm and two carriages left abandoned near the cave’s entrance. The land bears scars from some form of magic, strewn with strange metal tubes and other objects unknown to us. Save for the Lindwyrm, no other bodies are to be found. What are your commands, milord?”
Carvus took a deep breath. No other bodies? Two carriages? That such a formidable creature was felled with no apparent casualties among their ranks suggested a small but extraordinarily capable force. Each member was no doubt Tier 7 at the least. The limited number of carriages implied a party not larger than ten. But… what could the metal objects mean?
Powerful though they might be, could such a small group withstand his numbers? Carvus entertained the thought briefly. No, direct confrontation would be unwise. The site bore secrets too vital to squander on rash gambles. Better to maneuver them into a position where the only viable option would be to comply with his demands.
“Hold our position, Lornus,” Carvus commanded. While he preferred the safety of their hidden vantage in the forest, the intrigue of Trelian’s findings – the slain Lindwyrm – was too compelling to ignore. “The contents of Trelian’s report compel our own investigation. Lead us, that we might see for ourselves.”
“As you command, milord.”
It was a short walk to the clearing. As they reached the treeline, Carvus held up a hand, signaling his men to halt – they should go no further than the cover of the forest. The aftermath of the battle lay evident before them. The massive form of the Sentinel Lindwyrm sprawled near the far side of the clearing, its outline murky at a distance.
Carvus squinted, adjusting his position slightly for a better view. He felt his jaw drop, a lapse in composure that surprised even him. Yet, who could fault him? The beast lay nearly torn asunder, its massive body riddled with gaping, jagged wounds that no sword or arrow could inflict. Indeed, not even traditional siege weapons or combat spells could inflict such damage.
The destructive capability of fyric powder was well-known to him – he had seen its use in adamantite mines. The wounds on the Lindwyrm, however, spoke of a force of another Tier entirely. Where fyric powder might clear a path through a stubborn boulder, the agent used against the Sentinel Lindwyrm seemed capable of obliterating several boulders at once, perhaps even an entire cliffside.
Turning his attention from the ravaged beast, he scanned the battlefield. Among the chaos, his eyes caught the glint of metal – strange tubes scattered about, all some lighter shade of bronze. The craters were blackened and littered with debris: shards of metal mixed with wires. This was clearly no ordinary skirmish.
He moved closer to the tree line, cautiously examining the unfamiliar objects. The metal tubes bore no resemblance to any weapons known to Nobian forces. However, their presence here implied that somehow, these objects were related to the catastrophic wounds on the Lindwyrm.
Near the cave’s entrance, two metal carriages lay abandoned. Their exteriors were marred by dirt and marked with an array of dents that appeared to be from the Lindwyrm’s armored tail. The carriages, in style and make, aligned with reports of American machines observed by their Umbercari in distant Eldralore. Mounted atop each was a long cylinder. As foreign as they were, he could tell they were weapons – ones capable of unleashing formidable destruction.
Adventurers throughout the ages had ventured here, all repelled by the formidable Lindwyrm that long guarded these grounds. Had it been folly to devote their resources to the conquest of their neighbors, rather than to mastering and exploiting this site? Such questions surpassed his station, yet irrespective of the answers, the Emperor would surely take no pleasure in learning that he had allowed Americans to plunder the Gatebuilder’s secrets.
Carvus turned to Lornus. “Bid our scouts to investigate the cave.” As Leuarch Eldreyn departed to carry out the orders, he beckoned to one of his serarchs. “Bring me one of those metal tubes. I wish to examine it.”
He sat on a rock, watching the light bend around the man’s form until he vanished from sight. The serarch then adjusted the temperature around his body, matching it to that of the forest. Were it not for the subtle shifts in the man’s mana as he held the spells, Carvus would have surely lost track of him.
The serarch made his way forth, passing through the trees and into the clearing beyond. With haste, he seized upon one of the tubes that lay scattered about, and then, as quick as he had come, he turned and made his way back to the forest’s edge. When at last he returned, Carvus stood up and held out his hand.
The tube, lighter than its solidity might have portended, was chill to the touch and was marked by a patina that showed clear signs of bending. He tried to bend it with his fingers, but the metal resisted. Even when he used magic to strengthen himself, it yielded naught but scant impression. What could have possibly moved the metal?
Looking closely, he noticed that the metal wasn’t bronze, as he had first thought. Though bearing a hue akin to bronze, it was of a kind unfamiliar to him. The surface was engraved with American script – characters and sequences that held little meaning to him. Yet, to deem the letters ‘engraved’ would be to err; it was as if they were imprinted with a craftsmanship nary a smith could rival.
He turned it over in his hands, his eyes drawn to a circular groove near the base. Examining both ends, Carvus noted the open end was distorted as if a great force had expelled something from within – an insight into his previous question. The other end was sealed, marked by a small, precise indentation. He held it up, aligning it with a similarly sized hole in a nearby tree.
This was no common weapon. As a trebuchet releases its load, so too must this tube have hurled its own projectile. It gave him an idea. What if one were to use an adamantite tube with fyric powder, place a keen arrowhead atop, and ignite the mixture below? Would it rival a standard Wind Snipe combined with physical enhancement magic?
Carvus’ thoughts were interrupted by someone calling out to him. “Milord.”
“Hm?” He looked up, finding the face of Leuarch Franus. “What is it, Martano?”
He hesitated, as if second-guessing his words. “The… The Lindwyrm… The men grow restless, milord. They wish to claim the spoils of this battle – the Sentinel Lindwyrm’s materials are prized in many a lore. And these carriages, would it not profit us to salvage what we can? They may hold more secrets – or riches.”
He turned the leuarch’s words over in his mind as he would a well-worn coin. In truth, the idea held merit. Even the smallest measure of a Lindwyrm’s blood was a treasure beyond compare – to say nothing of the other materials, sought after by alchemists and smiths alike. That the Americans had forgone harvest was a curious thing indeed. Could it be that they were ignorant of the creature’s true worth? Or perhaps, had they found something more valuable?
And then there were the carriages, gleaming in the sun like ripe fruit waiting to be plucked. If they could but glean some understanding of how the Americans had so deftly slain a beast of the Lindwyrm’s standing, it would surely prove a boon to the Empire’s own martial pursuits. Perhaps, armed with such knowledge, they might at last gain the upper hand against the accursed Sonarans.
Carvus cast his gaze once more upon the clearing, then turned to face Martano. “Aye,” he said. “Let it be so.”
Yet, as he made to step forth, a low, droning sound beckoned his attention – a buzzing hum that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. The unfamiliar noise compelled him to halt. He raised his hand, stopping his men as he searched for the noise. He tilted his head skyward, squinting as he beheld a strange sight: a winged thing hanging in the air above the clearing, like an animal circling its prey. As the sunlight reflected off its surface, it became evident to him that this was no creature of flesh, but a machine – much like the metal carriages.
“Hold,” Carvus ordered. “We dare not venture forth.”
Martano stepped forward, doubt and confusion etched across his face. “But, milord, if we shroud ourselves in invisibility, surely they cannot see us.”
Carvus shook his head. “Nay; recall the umbercari we sent to infiltrate the Duke’s mansion. They, too, thought themselves hidden, yet were somehow discovered. We know not what sorcery that flying machine might possess, and we cannot risk exposing ourselves.”
Before Martano could respond or venture any further protest, the scouts returned, led by Serarch Trelian. The search bowed his head before providing his report, “Milord, the cave lies empty, and the Lindwyrm’s nest remains untouched. We discovered footprints leading to a great sealed door, which we believe to be the entrance to the ruins.”
Carvus nodded. The Americans had ventured forth and left the loot behind for a reason. He thought back to a fortress that the Empire once sacrificed to encircle the forces of the now-conquered Kingdom of Durenelle. “So be it. Let us abandon these lesser spoils. As our adversaries have forgone these spoils in pursuit of greater gains, so must we sacrifice Straltus.”
Next

I’m not at my desktop but I’ll be able to provide any pictures of army comps or settlements. VH/VH, turn 70.
Anyway, I’m tearing my hair out. I’ve been blissfully building tall in my canon territory to get the pyramids set for long victory. I have six armies, nine heroes, 50k in the bank and more jars than there are skeletons.
The lizards are here. I just finished securing my northern and eastern borders with NAPs and trades. Dwarves, elves and other scattered races don’t mind me. The silly 2 settlement orange lizards two my south have two armies getting ready to invade soon. In turn 70, my world flips.
Itza, tiktactoe and the skink dude all declare war on me at the same time. They’re in the FoW so I can’t even bribe them with my riches, they scout and instantly declare on me. Itza has 5 stacks in the ocean. Skink dude has two, they both hijack the south and join the Orange lizards so that’s 4. Tic has three stacks to my west through military access. I come into this turn with 5 settlements under siege.
Not one of them is under level 30. Every op unit and regiment you can think of. The toad, sun cannon, the works. Invaded on 3 fronts.
I’m power rank 3. They’re 1, 2 and 4 respectively. Oh and they’re in an alliance.
Is this the end?

edit: let's try this again I messed up the title on the first try sorry for the confusion!
70's Alt Rock -King Crimson-Lark's Tongue In Aspic
80's Alt Rock - Talking Heads-Remain In Light
90's Alt Rock- Nirvana- Never mind
2000's Alt Rock-The Strokes-Is This It
2010's Alt Rock Tame Impala-Lonerism
Alt Country -Wilco-Summerteeth
Alt Hip Hop-MF Doom- Mad villainy
Art Rock-Dark Side Of The Moon-Pink Floyd
Brit Rock- The Clash- London Calling
College Rock-REM-Murmur
Emo Rock-My Chemical Romance-Welcome To The Black Parade
Experimental Rock-Swans-To Be Kind
Goth-The Cure Disintegration
Grunge- Soundgarden-Superunknown
Hardcore Punk- Black Flag- Damaged
Heavy Metal-Black Sabbath-Paranoid
60's Hard Rock-Led Zeppelin I
70's Hard rock-Led Zeppelin-Physical Graffiti
80's Hard Rock- AC/DC-Back In Black
90's Hard Rock-Nirvana-In Utero
2000's Hard Rock-Queens Of The Stone Age-Songs For The Deaf
2010's ˙Hard Rock- Tool-Fear Inoculum
Indie Rock-Joy Division-Unknown Pleasures
Indie Folk-Big Thief-Dragon New Warm Mountain I Believe In You
Lo-Fi-Neutral Milk Hotel-In The Aeroplane Over The Sea
New Wave-Elvis Costello-This Year's Model
Progressive Rock- Tool- Lateralus
Punk- Ramones-Rocket To Russia
pop punk-Green Day-Dookie
Post Punk- Wire- Pink Flag
Shoegaze-My Bloody Valentine-Loveless
Blues-Nina Simone-Sings The Blues
Blues Rock-The Rolling Stones-Sticky Fingers
Avant Garde- Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band-Trout Mask Replica
Baroque Pop-The Beach Boys-Pet Sounds
Symphonic Rock-Moody Blues-Days Of Future Past
Comedy/Novelty album-Adam Sandler-They're All Gonna Laugh At You
Stand Up Comedy-George Carlin-Back In Town
Americana-The Band-The Band
Bakersfield Sound-Buck Owens-Best Of Buck Owens
Bluegrass-Old & In The Way-That High Lonesome Sound
Outlaw Country-Willie Nelson-Redheaded Stranger
Classic Country-Johnny Cash-Live At Folsom Prison
Country Rock- The Flying Burrito Brothers-The Gilded Palace Of Sin
Dance/Club-LCD Soundsystem- This Is Happening
Christmas /Holiday Album-Vince Gauralidi-A Charlie Brown Christmas
EMD/Techno-Burial-Untrue
Ambient-Brian Eno-Music For Airports
Electronic Rock-Radiohead-Kid A
Space Rock- Spiritualized- Ladies And Gentlemen We Are Floating In Space
Synthpop-Depeche Mode-Violator
Synthrock- New Order-Power, Corruption and Lies
Industrial-Nine Inch Nails-The Downward Spiral
Krautrock- Can-Tago Mago
Folk-Bob Dylan-The Freewillin' Bob Dylan
Folk Rock-Bob Dylan-Blood On The Tracks
Southern Rock-The Allman Brothers Band-At Fillmore East
80's Hip Hop-The Beastie Boys-Paul's Boutique
90's- Hip Hop Wu-Tang Clan-Enter The Wu-Tang (36 Chambers)
2000's Hip Hop-Outkast- Stankonia
2010's Hip Hop-Kendrick Lamar-To Pimp A Butterfly
2020's Hip Hop-Run The Jewels-RTJ 4
East Coast Hip Hop- Nas- Illmatic
West Coast Hip Hop-NWA-Straight Outta Compton
Southern Hip Hop-Outkast -Aquemini
Midwest Album-Kanye West-My Dark Twisted Fantasy
Trap-Travis Sott-Rodeo
Instrumental Hip Hop- DJ Shadow- Endtroducing....
Indie Pop-Belle And Sebastian-If You're Feeling Sinister
Noise Rock-Sonic Youth-Daydream Nation
Post-rock- Godspeed! You Black Emperor-Lift Your Skinny Fist Like Antennas To Heaven
Acid Jazz- Medeski ,Martin, and Wood -Shack-Man
Trip Hop -Portishead- Dummy
Gospel -Aretha Franklin-Amazing Grace
Christian- Sufjan Stevens -Illnoise
Jazz-Miles Davis-Kind Of Blue
Avant Garde Jazz-Ornette Coleman-Shape To Jazz To Come
Swing/Bebop-Art Blakey & The Jazz Messengers-Art Blakey's Jazz Messengers w/Thelonious Monk
Jazz/Fusion-Miles Davis-In A Silent Way
Jazz Rock-Miles Davis-Bitches Brew
Jazz/Funk-Herbie Hancock-Head Hunters
Jazz/Rap-A tribe Called Quest-The Low End Theory
Latin- Los Lobos-Kiko
Speed Metal/Thrash- Metallica- Master Of Puppets
Black/Death Metal-Deafheaven-Sunbather
Symphonic Metal-Haken-The Mountain
Glam Rock -T.Rex-Electric Warrior
Hair Metal-Guns N Roses-Appetite For Destruction
New Wave Of British Heavy Metal-Iron Maiden- Number Of The Beast
Sludge-Electric Wizard- Dopethron
Nu Metal-Korn-Korn
New Age-Popol Vuh - Hosianna Mantra
Pop-Prince-Sign O' The Times
60's Pop- The Beatles-Revolver
70's Pop- Carole King-Tapestry
80's Pop- Peter Gabriel-So
90's Pop-Madonna-Ray Of Light
2000's Pop-Madonna-Confessions On A Dance Floor
2010's pop-Robyn-Body Talk
2020's Pop- Perfume Genius-Set My Heart On Fire
Adult Contemporary- Billy Joel-The Stranger
Europop- ABBA- Arrival
Latin Pop-Ruben Y Seis Del Solar-Buscando America
Dance Pop-Dee-Lite-World Clique
Dream Pop- Mazzy Star-So Tonight I Might See
Power Pop- Weezer-Blue Album
R&B- Marvin Gaye-What's Going On
60's R&B-Aretha Franklin-I Never Loved A Man The Way I Loved You
70's R&B- Stevie Wonder- Songs In The Key Of Life
80's R&B- Janet Jackson- Control
90's R&B Album- Lauryn Hill-The Miseducation Of Lauryn Hill
2000's R&B- D'Angelo-Voodoo
2010's-R&B-Beyonce-Lemonade
2020's R&B- SZA-SOS
Disco-Donna Summers-Bad Girls
Doo Wop- The Chantels- We Are The Chantels
Funk-Funkadelic-Maggot Brain
Motown- Marvin Gaye-Let's Get It On
Neo-Soul-Erykah Badu-Baduizm
Psychedelic Soul- Curtis Mayfield-Curtis
Soul-Aretha Franklin-Lady Soul
Reggae-Bob Marley- Exodus
Ska-The Specials-The Specials
Swing Revival-Big Bad Voodoo Daddy-Big Bad Voodoo Daddy
Rock N Roll-The Rolling Stones-Exile On Main Street
Acid Rock- Jimi Hendrix- Are You Experienced
Arena Rock-Boston-Boston
Cock Rock-Van Halen I
Math Rock-Slint-Spiderland
Stoner Rock-Kyuss-Welcome To Sky Valley
Jam Band- Grateful Dead-American Beauty
SingeSongwriter- Neil Young-Harvest
Surf Rock-The Beach Boys-Shut Down Vol II
Soft Rock/Yacht Rock-Steely Dan-Aja
Movie Soundtrack-Singles

The Cenacle 124 April 2024 29^th Anniversary Issue
https://scriptorpress.com/cenacle/124
[Size = 13.6 MB]
Hello everyone,
Here comes the just-released Cenacle 124 April 2024. Returning to the desired quarterly issue cadence that has been missing for the past couple of years. It was hard doing this issue without the usual many years’ involvement of my dear poet friend, the late Judih Weinstein Haggai, but her poetry features in this issue nonetheless, & will remain so in each issue ever on.
Thus far, 2024 for the human world has been a fairly dark one. The global Pandemic has not ended, though millions risk sickness & death for themselves & others by choosing to join in a kind of mass amnesia about the crisis. Meanwhile, the climate crisis continues to get the same kind of hostile indifference. The genocide in Gaza goes on unabated by any of the many powerful & supposedly democratic nations of the world. And a likely felon has jazzed the US electoral process, its weaknesses & flaws among its many strengths, to be within reach of again taking over &, as he has vowed, taking revenge.
I can’t tell you that this literary journal operates toe to toe on the global scale to oppose these various human catastrophes, but I can say that if we don’t seek Beauty, & Nature, & look beyond the petty fuckeries of the current day, we are much more likely to be lost than if we find a way to do this.
This fine anniversary issue features new poetry by Tamara Miles, Martina Reisz Newberry, Colin James, Sam Knot, Jimmy Heffernan, Judih Weinstein Haggai, & myself.
Also new fiction by Timothy Vilgiate, Algernon Beagle, & myself. And classic fiction from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
And new prose pieces by Nathan D. Horowitz, Charlie Beyer, & myself.
There is also new graphic artwork by AbandonView, Epi Rogan, Louis Staeble, Kassandra Soulard, Sam Knot, Tamara Miles, & Nathan D. Horowitz.
Contents of this new issue include:
From Soulard’s Notebooks [Excerpt]
I find myself leaning back often into 3 questions that I believe most influence human psychology & human culture:
1) Why are we here?
2) Where are we from?
3) What are we supposed to be doing?
* * * * * *
Feedback on Cenacle 123 [Excerpt]
I made it to the first poem by Judih Weinstein Haggai, sank into it, breathed it, needed it, and couldn’t go further into the issue yet. But it’s beautiful. And Kassandra Soulard’s cover photo: wow.
(Tamara Miles)
* * * * * *
From the ElectroLounge Forums:
Selections from Unknot 24, Part 1[Excerpt]
A project that I expect to work on for the rest of my life and never finish is a kind of art project playing with meaning making and the first few layers of knots, so this is all part of that really. I suppose it is a way to give a kind of focus or even kind of “abstract grounding” to some other kind of activity which isn’t necessarily even directly related to or about it.
(Sam Knot)
* * * * * *
Haiku from a Silent Retreat (7/31/2021) [Excerpt]
by Judih Weinstein Haggai
Everybody!
Are you everybody?
I’m not either
* * * * * *
Notes from New England:
Dream Raps, Volume Thirteen [Excerpt]
by Raymond Soulard, Jr.
Now that my friends are gone, the very shy Creatures who sometimes visit my hovel begin to come out, sniffing friendly their hellos. Accept my offer to cluster with me under the blankets, them being cold as ever when outside of the White Woods. White Bunny, Hedgedyhog, Peppermint Bears, Kittees & their Friend Fish. Alvinarah Poesy, & his dear friend Naria Narwhal. Even that cackling little Imp is under there somewhere. They never stay long, but I love them passing through. They’re excited about the Rutabaga Festival & Fleastock in the White Woods, I’m guessing.
* * * * * *
Becoming Archaeology: A Eulogy for Living Moor. (Part Two) [Excerpt]
by Sam Knot
It moves me more than any painting
or poem, seems to encode more meaning,
personal & planetary, than any other art,
this simple offering. This intricate gift.
* * * * * *
Notes Toward Many Musics [Excerpt]
by Raymond Soulard, Jr.
I believe a Narrative should always lead with the best it has, its most potent moment or image or the like. And let this lead set its standard. When I think of the Narrative options for these poems, I come back every time to starting from the start. These poems build on years & years of the work it took to get the six Brother-Heroes reunited rightly, after telling their unique stories as rightly as possible too. I did the best thinking & writing that I could.
* * * * * *
Poetry by Martina Newberry [Excerpt]
Tall on the dirty stage,
from my notebook I conferred
my poems. No time limit,
no faces, noises of shifting
dust and cars out there somewhere,
I read for many minutes,
emoting here and there,
hands rising and falling,
singing through some.
* * * * * *
Rivers of the Mind (A Novel) [Excerpt]
by Timothy Vilgiate
I could not help but fear that he’d attack me as I laid there; I lost count of how many times I got up to check my locks or to peek underneath the bed. I turned over and over, rocking the mattress like an unsteady boat, straining to keep my eyes shut. It was no use. Midnight came, and I was still awake; my hair matted over my irritated face, my blanket clutched in between my hands over my mouth as I tried to stop myself from sobbing. But I couldn’t let it see me cry. I couldn’t let it even see me blink.
* * * * * *
Poetry by Tamara Miles [Excerpt]
A lion’s music—a carnival of sound, beyond the roar of reserve, park, zoo, circus, and
safari, the wild kingdom beyond the definition of safe and unsafe, cruel or kind, in
sub-Saharan Africa, or in India, Gir forest, where the heart beat and drum beat and
incense are heavy.
* * * * * *
The Lagoon of the Air Goblins (Travel Journal) [Excerpt]
by Nathan D. Horowitz
I’m dehydrated from the sun today. I haven’t rehydrated. My hydration’s out of wack. It seems an eternity, maybe two, since I ordered a glass of papaya juice. Inside the café, mysterious café things may be happening, involving blenders and workforce and fruit and power. Time’s ticking by and it sounds like trees falling into a river. I glance at the red and white checkered tablecloth and remember I’ve always hated red and white checkered patterns. Serafín the educator said he would meet me here to tell me about the Secoya cosmovision, and he isn’t showing up.
* * * * * *
Poetry by Colin James [Excerpt]
Episodically craved by adolescents,
Prometheus displays his tats
behind The Dollar Store in Bonita.
The one with the plastic pillars.
* * * * * *
Mad Jack (Prose) [Excerpt]
by Charlie Beyer
We were longhaired teenage criminals. I looked like Jesus and my best buddy had flaming red shoulder-length hair, the devil to rival my divine look. Scott the Red. We were all hair, except Mad Jack (or Bob, as I knew him), who was as shaved as a plastic bag. We all sat in the car outside the 7-11 in the night rain. Blue smoke trickled out of the cracked window. Inside was a haze of marijuana smoke tainted with opium. We were high and crazed.
* * * * * *
Poetry by Jimmy Heffernan [Excerpt]
The moment to which we have access
So Nature can “see” through time
And what is this but awareness?
A tunneling from the immediate future
Back into the present
* * * * * *
Bags End Book #21: What is the Creature Carnival? Part 3 (Fiction) [Excerpt]
by Algernon Beagle
It makes me remember how our teacher Mister Owl in Bags End teached how different places have their different ways of thinking & telling. So if you’re gonna watch a Creature production, whether it’s the Carnival, or a Grand Production, or this time both, you’re gonna be in 4or a good crazy ride.
* * * * * *
The Hound of the Baskervilles (Classic Fiction) [Excerpt]
by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who was usually very late in the mornings, save upon those not infrequent occasions when he was up all night, was seated at the breakfast table. I stood upon the hearth-rug and picked up the stick which our visitor had left behind him the night before. It was a fine, thick piece of wood, bulbous-headed, of the sort which is known as a “Penang lawyer.” Just under the head was a broad silver band nearly an inch across. “To James Mortimer, M.R.C.S., from his friends of the C.C.H.,” was engraved upon it, with the date “1884.” It was just such a stick as the oldfashioned family practitioner used to carry—dignified, solid, and reassuring.
* * * * * *
Labyrinthine [A New Fixtion] [Excerpt]
by Raymond Soulard, Jr.
I’m distracted just as this strange fellow appears on stage with some kind of tool in his hand. He is very fancily dressed, some kind of home-made tuxedo? Or one sewn from many scraps? And he starts to recite a poem, I think, in a tongue I don’t know, when something distracts me.
Peace,
Raymond Soulard, Jr.
Scriptor Press New England
scriptorpress.com
[editor@scriptorpress.com](mailto:editor@scriptorpress.com)

Part 14.3

Heracles VS Lernaean Hydra

Author Note: I was thinking about it and I really wish that GT9 used more draconic symbolism throughout the story when (or if) I revisit Team Crowley VS Rosencreutz I'll have symbolism of Aleister (TheBeast666), Aiwass (Codename: DRAGON) and Coronzon (The Dragon of the Abyss) all have symbology of them being Dragons preying on a God/Hero like CRC and the reversed conflict of Chaos VS Order you see in mythology, I also wanted to achieve something similar with Kakine Teitoku as he can represent the Fallen Angel and the Seraphim but for now I'll try adding draconian symbolism into Gunha VS CRC.
True Expert Christian Rosencreutz, with his golden rosy cross sword, clashed relentlessly against the indomitable force of the Strongest Gemstone, Sogiita Gunha. With each clash of their powers, the air crackled and compressed, and the pavement trembled beneath.
CRC, observed Sogiita with a mixture of intrigue and disdain. "You fight like the legendary Heracles," he remarked, his voice carrying over the din of battle. "But know this, I am the Lernaean Hydra, and no matter how many heads you sever, I shall always rise again!" Rosencreutz roared to slice the #7’s midsection.
Sogiita, his entire body wreathed in unknowable energy, met CRC's blade unyielding. "Bring it on, old man!" he retorted, his voice brimming with confidence. "I'll knock you down as many times as it takes! I won't stop till you come to your senses and remember your roots, like the roses you love so much, Rosencreutz!!"
Their clash intensified, that old man’s higher dimensional sword colliding with the raw power of that boy’s fists and kicks as they pushed each other to their limits with each sword swing, punch, kick and flash.
Sogiita unleashed a barrage of punches, each strike carrying the force of a meteor, while that silver young man countered: he wielded his sword in his right hand and released impacts followed by white light that was enough to previously take down all of The Bridge Builders Cabal.
As the battle raged on, the very fabric of reality seemed to warp and shift around them, bearing witness to the titanic struggle between two unparalleled forces.
The founder of Rosicrucianism who intimidated reality itself to obey his will and that Gemstone with an unstable personal reality that could change on a whim.
The atmosphere crackled with electrifying distortion.
Sogiita's fists tore through the air with the ferocity of meteors, their velocity enhanced by his ability to adapt and accelerate, surpassing even CRC's speed. As each blow was released, the friction with the surrounding air molecules ignited a scorching heat, intensifying the impact.
The rapid movement of molecules generated an escalating thermal energy, causing the air to seethe with increasing temperature. It was akin to a tempest of incandescent projectiles hurtling towards CRC, their speed surpassing the limits of human perception.
It was like a storm of brilliant fiery arrows was fired at Rosencreutz.
These blazing arrows of force were reminiscent of the elusive strikes employed by the Rose & Cross Leader, ignoring distance with deceptive agility.
With each thunderous punch, that bandana boy sought to overpower his adversary through sheer kinetic force, his unwavering resolve palpable in every motion.
But that wasn't enough for this superhuman.
CRC, wielding his cross sword with precision and skill, deflected each and every one Sogiita's flaming arrows with calculated strikes of his own. Each impact unleashed a burst of blinding white light, sending shockwaves rippling through the chaotic city.
"You think brute strength alone will defeat me?" the silver man taunted, his voice cutting through the chaos of battle. "You may be strong, but strength without strategy is nothing but raw power wasted."
Sogiita grinned, his confidence unshaken. "Strategies for cowards who can't handle a real fight," he retorted, his voice ringing with defiance. "I'll K.O. you with my fists and guts alone!!!!"
Rosencreutz's eyes narrowed as he parried another of Sogiita's punches. "Your arrogance will be your downfall," he warned, his tone tinged with certainty. "I may not match your overall speed, but I have something you lack: intellect and precision.”
Christian Rosencreutz then plunged his cross sword into the ground.
"This is what harmed Kamijou Touma," he declared, grinning and unleashing a torrent of lethal invisible attacks from his outstretched palms.
However, the #7 countered with a relentless barrage of flaming arrows from the thermal aftershock of his punches.
Each strike akin to a particle accelerator in its intensity and speed. That Gemstone was the particles being fired on the right and that True Expert was the particles fired on the left.
As the attacks clashed, the battlefield became a spectacle of raw power and precision.
“Roar!” CRC held his open palm to his mouth and blew gently on the tip of the middle finger.
That was all it took for a blaze easily outdoing a flamethrower to rush out. And this was not just any fire. It fed on the power of a ley line and stole vitality from space itself. This overwhelming mass of light and heat was wielded for no other purpose than to take lives. Anyone who tried to survive it using simple composite armor or special fibers would dry up and burn away in less than a second.
But that wouldn't kill another superhuman would it?
Of course not.
“Aaaaarghhhh!!!!” screamed the #7.
Some assaults bypassed the fray entirely, slipping through the chaos like elusive particles in a collider.
A smokescreen.
Those brilliant fireworks from hell weren't meant to take Sogiita’s life. They were meant to disrupt the Gemstone's senses and sight so he couldn't counter all of that old man’s deadly attacks.
Invisible strikes found their mark on that Gemstone, and the searing arrows of the arrows scorched Rosencreutz.
CRC was wounded but he rejected to make any whimpers. Instead with a sudden burst of velocity, the young silver man picked up his cross sword from the ground and launched a flurry of strikes, cutting at the #7’s body with pinpoint accuracy.
His arms, his head, his face, his stomach, his legs, his midsection, his back.
Each blow landed with devastating force, causing Sogiita to stagger back under the onslaught.
If that bandana boy hadn't had his defenses and general stats raised by the #5 he’d be cut to pieces.
The #7 fell on his back.
"There's a fire," Sogiita declared, his voice ringing out amidst the chaos of battle.
With each attempt to break his spirit, Sogiita's resolve only grew stronger, fueling the flames of his determination. "Every time someone tries to make me give up, it's like wind feeding my flames, making them burn even brighter just like my punches," he explained, his words carrying the weight of his unwavering determination.
He refused to stay down.
With a roar of defiance, Sogiita surged forward once more, his movements blurring with speed as he disappeared from view. In the blink of an eye, he reappeared behind Christian Rosencreutz, catching the magician off guard.
"Hey, old man," Sogiita taunted, his voice filled with confidence as he seized Rosencreutz from behind.
Christian Rosencreutz's eyes widened in surprise as he realized he had been outmaneuvered.
As Sogiita Gunha faced off against Christian Rosencreutz in their airborne duel, he felt the flames of determination burning within him, driving him forward with unstoppable force.
Before he could react, the boy lifted him effortlessly and slammed him onto the pavement below with a resounding thud.
"I'm not just a kick-boxer!!" Sogiita sang.
As the impact reverberated through the air, the young silver man let out a pained cry. The force of the collision compressed the surrounding air, heating it up until it crackled with energy. Christian Rosencreutz's head struck the ground with a velocity equivalent to mach 20, igniting his body in flames upon impact.
This move is called a suplex.
Struggling to regain his bearings, Rosencreutz muttered in a daze, "The House of the Holy Spirit...the seven walls..."
"You said it yourself, didn't you?" the gutsy boy retorted, cocky. "My power and my guts can break through your impenetrable walls. And I can spread those same guts to the world around me."
With a grimace, Christian Rosencreutz acknowledged the truth of the boy's words. "Your uncontrolled AIM field grants you the ability to imbue non-organic objects with the properties of your virus," he observed, his voice tinged with begrudging admiration. "Allowing them to bypass even the defenses of the seven-walled tomb.”
"A virus? Don't be so gutless, CRC," the #7 retorted, his voice filled with defiance. "This battleground ruled by wills is a two-way road between you and me."
Christian Rosencreutz raised an eyebrow at the boy's words. "Hey Gemstone, you could've killed me if I weren't a superhuman with an idealized body that accomplished The Great Work and crossed the Ungrund, what then short-stack?" he questioned while fitting an insult against his height.
Even without the seven-walled tomb or sheets of diamonds Rosencreutz was cartoonishly durable.
"Sorry, old man," Sogiita replied, his tone tinged with annoyance. "I might've gotten carried away, but I know it'll take more than that to kill you. No matter how many heads you regrow, like Hydra, I will not give up until I've completed all my labors."
"Mhm, so you do know your mythology," CRC remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice. "The Lernaean Hydra, or simply Hydra, is a serpentine lake monster in Greek and Roman mythology. Its lair was the lake of Lerna in the Argolid, known as an entrance to the Underworld. In the canonical myth, the monster is slain by Heracles as part of his Twelve Labors."
"Yeah, I know," Sogiita replied confidently. "I studied the tales of great gutsy heroes in school.”
"So, short-stack," Christian Rosencreutz began, his voice carrying a hint of scholarly interest. “Have you ever considered the parallels between our battle and ancient Near Eastern religions?”
Sogiita listened intently. "Are you saying you see yourself as a god of war or a hunter?" he inquired.
CRC chuckled softly. "In a sense, indeed. We are both assuming roles in this grand theater, are we not? I, the Hydra, and you, Heracles."
He continued, "Consider the Second Labor of Heracles. Eurystheus, the king of Tiryns, sent Heracles to slay the Hydra, which Hera had raised specifically to defeat him. Heracles approached the swamp near Lake Lerna, where the Hydra dwelled. To protect himself from the poisonous fumes, he covered his mouth and nose with a cloth and shot flaming arrows into the Hydra's lair, causing it to emerge and terrorize the surrounding villages."
CRC paused, drawing a comparison. “In our own clash, the flaming arrows that Heracles hurled at the Hydra find their echo in your lightning-fast fists, generating shockwaves that ignite the air with their speed and force. It's as though each strike of yours is akin to shooting a flaming arrow, much like Heracles did.”
“Huh? Are you suggesting we're caught in a time loop? That some enigmatic group, like the Bridge Builders Cabal, manipulated events to resurrect you, pitting us against each other in a timeless struggle? I've never met them, and I'm certainly no child of Zeus. Are you implying that our battle will be distorted into a Greek legend by a meddling time traveler?!” frantically asked the boy.
“No, no, you simpleton. This world contains synchronicities. In Sumerian, Babylonian, and Assyrian mythology, the war and hunting god Ninurta was celebrated for his deeds. The Angim credited him with slaying eleven monsters during an expedition to the mountains, including a seven-headed serpent, possibly identical to the Mushmahhu, and Bashmu, whose constellation was later associated with the Hydra by the Greeks. In Babylonian contexts, the Hydra's constellation is also linked to Marduk's dragon, the Mushhushshu.”
“Uhhh….” That shounen boy was dumbfounded.
"Hhm, I suppose calling it a time loop isn't technically wrong," Christian Rosencreutz began, his tone measured. "I'll break it down from history class and reconstruct it through the lens of the occult. Historic recurrence, young Gemstone, is the phenomenon of events echoing throughout time. Whether it's the rise and fall of empires or the repetitive cycles within a single society, it's all part of this grand plan that was decided when Adam ate the forbidden fruit."
The #7 with his guard up but curious listened: "So, history just keeps repeating itself? Just a series of coincidences?"
Christian Rosencreutz shook his head sagely. "There is no such thing as coincidences. Take, for instance, the Doctrine of Eternal Recurrence, pondered upon by thinkers like Heinrich Heine and Friedrich Nietzsche. While it's said that 'history repeats itself,' it's not quite that simple. Rather, these recurrences stem from identifiable circumstances and chains of causality."
He continued, his voice carrying the weight of centuries of philosophical debate. "Consider the phenomenon of multiple independent discoveries in science or the reproducible findings in natural and social sciences. These recurrences, whether in the form of rigorous experimentation or comparative research, are vital to our understanding of the world."
Christian Rosencreutz paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in. "G.W. Trompf, in his seminal work, The Idea of Historical Recurrence in Western Thought, illustrates the recurring patterns of political thought and behavior since ancient times. Through these patterns, history offers us invaluable lessons, often leading to a sense of resonance or déjà vu."
Their words reverberated like a challenge to destiny itself, a testament to their unyielding determination in the face of adversity.
That Gemstone didn't surrender his characteristic fervor. "History echoing through time, huh? It's like the universe itself is stuck on repeat, and we're just caught in the cycle. But you know what? If history's gonna keep looping, then let's break the pattern! Let's smash through those chains of causality and forge our own path. Who cares about déjà vu? We'll create something entirely new, something that'll shake the very foundations of this world and we’ll do it with guts!!!" He defied that silver monster.
But Rosencreutz wasn't finished. He pulled out his Crystal World Map.
The supposedly old man listened intently to that boy's impassioned response, his expression inscrutable behind his clairvoyant card. After a moment of contemplation, he spoke.
“Gemstone, you speak of breaking free from the chains of repetition, of forging a new destiny against the backdrop of eternal return. It is a noble aspiration, indeed. However, consider this: eternal return is not merely a philosophical concept or a whimsical notion of fate. It is the very fabric of existence, woven into the nature of time itself.” He pressed his finger on the Miniature Garden and a 3D holographic projection flew out—
“In ancient times, the Stoics grappled with the idea, seeing in it both a sense of cosmic order and a challenge to individual agency. Augustine and others recoiled from its implications, fearing it as a negation of free will and salvation. And yet, Nietzsche, in his brilliance, dared to confront the concept anew, exploring its depths in the crucible of human consciousness.”
Didn't Aleister Crowley say that he had to shatter every single phase in order to eliminate the concept of fate?
“I will shatter every last phase and put an end to all mysticism. It can be helped and we need not restrain our tears and bite our lip when faced with tragedy. I will bring back the pure world in which everyone can feel anger like normal and question it all like normal!!”
And didn't Coronzon appear to break down all the phases including the Pure World?
Partial destruction would be meaningless. If anything remains and an eternal distortion is born from that, then it will all happen again. I will eliminate the ten spheres, the twenty-two pathways, and the hidden eleventh symbol. Collisions between phases? Sparks and spray? You cannot save anyone if you only treat those symptoms. All of the fundamental clogs must be removed. All so we can pass the baton to whoever comes next.”
“Sparks and Sprays…” Rosencreutz muttered.
“Eh?” The #7 didn't quite hear him.
"Beside time stands fate, cruelty's steadfast herald. In the silent chambers of the soul, whispers the most profound wisdom. Humanity, in its folly, neglected to exalt life's splendor, its radiance, its grandeur. Truly, it is a rare gift to comprehend the forces that shape our existence.” That magician spoke in despair.
“From the moment man ate the fruit of knowledge, he guaranteed your species’ failure... Entrusting his future to the whims of fate, man clutches to a flickering hope. Yet, within the Miniature Garden lies the key to all revelation. Beyond the well-trodden path lies the ultimate terminus. It matters not who you are; Death is the sole certainty awaiting all.” he finished with scorn.
Shokuhou Misaki was currently linked to Sogiita Gunha so was overhearing the entire conversation.
“Are you okay, Leader?” asked Kamijou back at the hospital.
“Yeah…” she responded.
“Really?” Mikoto breathed a white sigh. “It wasn’t the shock of seeing their school destroyed. Nor was it the fear of having those rioters attack. …They’re afraid of their own power. And after learning how exactly to use that power to survive, they’re not sure they can just switch it off and return to their normal lives. So their gears have ground to a halt.” Tokiwadai Middle School was a prestigious esper development school.
The young ladies registered there were Level 3 at the lowest and Level 5 at the highest.
Almost all of the students had a power that surpassed that of a blade or handgun if used properly, but something had become twisted.
Yes.
“A lot of them weren’t really sure why they were training their powers.”
Shokuhou breathed a white breath, wrapped her own arms around herself, and rubbed her thighs together.
Why are you studying?
How many people could give a proper answer to that question? Because my parents told me to, because my teachers taught me to, because that’s how the world works. Those would be most people’s answers. Even the students with a clear vision of their future would only have something vague like “for the entrance exams” or “for my future”.
Only a small handful would have specific puzzle pieces in mind, such as “I need to learn how to use this equation so I can build a rocket”.
The young ladies of Tokiwadai Middle School were the same.
What if the very gears that humans have…their actions, reactions, inactions were all the result of some transcendental entity hovering above.
Like God or The Devil watching over humanity’s reality sphere and ordering around his system like everyone was a pre-programmed NPC that had specific events occur to them to get them to develop in the way that they did and determined their genetic bloodline that composed their psyche?
Is there truly a free will?
It was said that in order for you to break out of the system of society that the working class was stuck in you had to climb to the top where the corrupt elites resided.
Imagine Breaker negated sparks, Aleister Crowley could see through the veil thanks to Holy Guardian Angel Aiwass, Great Demon Coronzon could always see the cogs.
Christian Rosencreutz could view the entire world through his Miniature Garden.
The rest of humanity was at the mercy of their own destinies.
A Guardian Angel wouldn't arrive to save a parent’s child from fate every single time.
"Okay, nice poetry, can we get back to fighting already?" asked the #7 impatiently.
"Seems I got carried away," the old man conceded with a nod. "The synchronicities of this world, akin to the astral configurations in astrology, serve as an example of synchronicity, according to Jung. It describes circumstances that appear meaningfully related yet lack a causal connection, much like the parallel relationship between celestial and terrestrial phenomena. Synchronicity experiences entail subjective encounters where coincidences between events in one's mind and the external world may lack a clear causal link but still harbor an unknown connection.”
"Ah," Sogiita chimed in, recalling his philosophy class discussions. "We talked about synchronicity back then. Jung thought it was a good thing for the mind, but said it could get dicey in psychosis. He cooked up this theory as a kind of mental link between those meaningful coincidences, calling it a noncausal principle. This term came about in the late 1920s, and then he teamed up with physicist Wolfgang Pauli to dive deeper. Their work, The Interpretation of Nature and the Psyche, dropped in 1952. They were big on this idea that these connections, even the ones that don't seem to have a cause, could still teach us a lot about how our minds and the world work."
“Mhm, you know more than you lead on, Gemstone.” pondered CRC.
“Oh this? My teachers say I'm not good at remembering speeches hahaha…” The #7 looked slightly nervous. “You know, analytical psychologists really push for folks to get what these experiences mean to boost their awareness instead of just feeding into superstitions. But funny thing is, when clients spill about their synchronicity experiences, they often feel like no one's really hearing them out, or getting where they're coming from. And hey, having a bunch of these meaningful coincidences flying around can sometimes ring the schizo bell. Delusions aren't healthy.”
Where was this conversation going?
"Delusion! Hah! That's a good one coming from you," CRC fired back.
"The real delusion is thinking humanity isn't worth a damn," Sogiita shot back, pulling out some info from Johansen and Osman. "Some scientists think coincidences are just random flukes, but counselors and psychoanalysts reckon there's more to it, like some deep-down stuff needing to come out.”
"Delusion! Hah! That's a good one coming from you," CRC fired back.
"The real delusion is thinking humanity isn't worth a darn," Sogiita shot back, pulling out some info from Johansen and Osman. "Some scientists think coincidences are just random flukes, but counselors and psychoanalysts reckon there's more to it, like some deep-down stuff needing to come out. Unconscious material to be expressed."
Rosencreutz interjected, his expression reflecting a mix of confusion and concern. "Aleister Crowley's actions have left a lasting scar on this world and this city," he began, his voice weighted with solemnity. “The vacuum-like dichotomy between magic and science created by the use of that colossal psychotronic weapon, has damaged this world's memory irreparably.”
Psychotronic weapon?
The Archetype Controller?
He paused, his gaze piercing as he continued, "Jung's exploration of synchronicity as evidence of the paranormal paved the way for further inquiry, notably by Koestler and the subsequent embrace of these ideas by the New Age movement.”
Sogiita shrugged, "Some folks say synchronicity is impossible to test or prove, so it gets labeled as pseudoscience. Jung even acknowledged that these synchronicity events are basically just coincidences, statistically speaking. But hey, who's to say what's really going on without some solid scientific studies, right?"
"Dubious as his experiments may have been," CRC interrupted, "Jung believed in a connection between synchronicity and the paranormal, drawing parallels to the uncertainty principle and works by parapsychologist Joseph B. Rhine.” CRC posed a thought-provoking question, "How are we to recognize acausal combinations of events, since it is obviously impossible to examine all chance happenings for their causality? The answer lies in the fact that acausal events are most readily expected where a causal connection appears inconceivable upon closer reflection. It's impossible, with our current resources, to explain ESP or meaningful coincidences as mere phenomena of energy. This challenges the very notion of cause and effect, as these events occur simultaneously rather than in a linear cause-and-effect manner. Hence, I have coined the term 'synchronicity' to describe this phenomenon, placing it on equal footing with causality as a principle of explanation."
Getting closer to that Gemstone, CRC emphasized, "Esper abilities cannot be fully understood with science alone. They defy traditional cause-and-effect explanations, instead representing a convergence of factors that create a quantum phenomenon affecting both the micro and macro. Why were there the naturally gifted and the naturally ungifted?”
Why did some students get praised for their abilities while others needed to work harder?
Others among them would have worked every hour of their free time and not progressed anywhere in this city’s leveling curriculum.
Why did this city present such an unfair and unpredictable status quo of potential?
Why did hard work barely matter in a city of empirical evidence to record any possible progress?
Sogiita Gunha wasn't a normal Level 5 but he wasn't always this powerful. He went through the curriculum same as everyone but if the outside conditions for his Gemstone ability to manifest didn't form in the exact way that it did, in such an acausal form then would he even be here to challenge Christian Rosencreutz right now?
Everything just happened to fall right into place.
All those puzzle pieces that would lead to this moment here and now.
Was it all just talent? God picking a fool as his champion?
The #7 leaned back, absorbing CRC's words with a thoughtful expression. "So, what you're saying is, there's this whole other layer to reality that we can't quite wrap our heads around," he summarized, nodding slowly. "I mean, it's like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands—slippery and elusive."
He chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "Historic recurrence, synchronicities, all these things—they're like pieces of a puzzle scattered across this substantial reality. And sometimes, they just... click into place, right? It's like the universe has its own plan, and we're just along for the ride."
That bandana wearing boy's gaze drifted, lost in thought. "You know, CRC, it's funny," he remarked, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Here we are, with all our powers and potential, but at the end of the day, we're still grappling with the same questions as everyone else. Talent, destiny, divine intervention—maybe they're all just different sides of the same coin."
He shrugged, the weight of the philosophical musings settling over the broken city. "Who knows? Maybe God does have a sense of humor, after all.” that boy chuckled.
There was a deep silence between them.
Rosencreutz’ response was swift and resolute, his tone filled with certainty. "All this ‘universe has a plan’ banter is just a distraction from the inevitable," he declared, his eyes narrowing. "We can debate the nature of us being all-powerful yet struggling with mortal issues until the sun burns out, but it won't change the fact that our fate was sealed upon the knowledge Adam learned."
“To think so many trivialities have developed while this old man wasn’t watching. Heh heh. Then I should assume the thread of fate has again begun to weave its strange connections between myself and some unknown human.”
He rose forward, his movements purposeful. "It's time to put an end to this dance of platitudes," CRC continued, his voice cold and unwavering. "We'll settle this the only way that somewhat matters—through objective action in this grand play."
“Silence, preserved doll. Illusionists are meant to remain silent. That is all we magicians are: wielders of substanceless illusions. Opening your mouth serves only to break the illusion.”
With a flicker of resolve in his eyes, he locked gazes with the #7. "I am Hydra, Gemstone," he said, his voice carrying a hint of challenge. "Our battle ends now.” CRC opened both his palms and began shooting at their surroundings, the buildings, the pavement, the apartments, the rubble.
It probably wasn't random as it seemed to create a pattern.
“Huh are you getting senile old man?” asked the young Gemstone.
“What fun. I never imagined someone would bother diligently polishing their skills this far while knowing it is all essentially an illusion. Didn’t you ever feel silly going to the effort?”
Rosencreutz dropped to all fours, his rosy cross sword gripped tightly in his right hand.
He moved—
“Arrgh!” Sogiita yelled amidst the relentless and precise and precise strikes from that golden cross. “Old man?” he asked.
That magician didn't say anything.
That silver man’s movements became more beastly.
Faster.
Stronger.
Fiercer.
Something new was beginning to manifest.
With each strike of his higher dimensional blade that old man’s blows seemed infused with an otherworldly energy.
The wounds inflicted by his weapon burned with a venomous intensity, sending searing pain coursing through Sogiita's body.
That boy grimaced as the poison from that silver man’s strikes surged through his being, each wound feeling like it was ablaze with venomous fire.
"Damn... That burns…like a killer hornet’s sting," he muttered through clenched teeth, his voice strained with effort. Gritting, he fought to maintain his focus, despite the agony threatening to overwhelm him.
Was this another application of The Four Stages? Citrinitas? No, there was nothing yellow here, it was more like a dirty purple.
But it wasn't just the physical damage that posed a threat.
As the Rosy Cross leader leaped on all fours his movements took on an almost erratic quality, he was bouncing from one building to another with an animalistic agility.
With each jump, a shockwave rippled through the air, carrying with it a palpable sense of dread.
Something was spreading.
The air around them seemed to thicken with a toxic miasma. The #7 struggled to breathe, the noxious fumes clouding his senses.
Like a chaotic monster’s venomous poison breath.
The once-clear air now felt thick and suffocating.
Gasping for breath, the bandana boy struggled to maintain his focus amidst the swirling chaos.
His vision blurred, his movements sluggish as he fought against the oppressive atmosphere.
Blinded that heroic boy could only fire a flame arrow without his sight.
His fists striking out with all the strength he could muster. Igniting in that poisonous compressed air.
It seemed to be flammable like a dragon’s breath.
???
At the hospital, Shokuhou's voice carried a mix of surprise and relief. “He caused real damage.” she exclaimed.
Kamijou turned his attention to her, intrigued. “What happened?”
“It's hard to see clearly, but it looks like the #7 managed to rip off CRC's left arm,” she explained. “Though, I'd say it was more of a lucky shot. I can read he acted on pure instinct.”
Kamijou nodded, a hint of melancholy in his tone. “Yeah... the psychic link and all.”
Had the #7 Level 5 given up on the old man?
Back on the battlefield, Sogiita cursed under his breath. “Dammit... Sorry, old man,” he muttered. “I was aiming to hit your whole body to maximize the surface area, maybe break a few bones as a casualty. We can probably get your arm reattached at the hospital. Heaven Canceller has enough guts to even fix me.”
It was clear—he hadn't given up.
It was an accidental strike of his arm.
“As each ghastly head was severed from its serpentine form, dreadfully, two more writhed forth from the abyss.” a cryptic voice amidst the chaos spoke.
Wasn't it said that the Hydra’s lair was the lake of Lerna in the Argolid.
Lerna was reputed to be an entrance to the Underworld.
The abyss.
The Ungrund.
There is no limit to the depth of the Alcyonian Lake, and I know of nobody who by any contrivance has been able to reach the bottom of it since not even Nero, who had ropes made several stades long and fastened them together, tying lead to them, and omitting nothing that might help his experiment, was able to discover any limit to its depth. This, too, I heard. The water of the lake is, to all appearance, calm and quiet but, although it is such to look at, every swimmer who ventures to cross it is dragged down, sucked into the depths, and swept away.
The keeper of the gate to the Underworld that lay in the waters of Lerna was the Hydra.
The serpentine Lake Monster.
“Rosencreutz……?” The #7 muttered.
That magician chuckled ominously. "Indeed, young Heracles," he intoned, his voice echoing with a bizarre resonance. “The Lernaean Hydra's curse is upon you now.” as he said that he ripped off a bit of his arm that was cuterarised and it began bleeding.
Anna Sprengel’s blood was said to create unknown miracles when spilled.
Christian Rosencreutz’ blood was so virulent that even its scent was deadly.
As Sogiita Gunha glanced at his severed arm lying on the ground, a creeping sense of horror enveloped him. "All fate is a curse and that curse," he murmured, his words barely audible over the din of battle, "extends even to my severed limb.”
Christian Rosencreutz’ left arm grew back.
No.
Two new arms grew in its place.
The arm was fully functioning with no defects.
Although one of the arms appeared somewhat scaly and lanky like a serpent.
It had human anatomy but something was abnormal here.
He almost looked like a spider as he emerged from the poisonous fog as he remained on all fours.
“So short-stack. Are you ready to complete your final labor: Crossing the abyss!!!” He challenged that boy with his cross sword facing him.
"Boss, what's up? You look kinda stuck," Kamijou asked, his tone concerned.
Two students were sitting together in the waiting room at a hospital.
"—abyss, Hydra, curse, synchronicities, Historic recurrence." she replied, her words carrying a weight of unease.
"Huh? What? Can you give me the lowdown?" Kamijou prodded, his urgency evident.
"Can't quite wrap my head around it. But what I can tell you is that after CRC started talking about these esoteric concepts, he leveled up his power ability, managed to seriously hurt the #7 despite me cranking up all his stats for the win condition," the honey-blonde girl explained, frustration creeping into her voice.
"Can you beam all that stuff into my head, like a memory download? You're a psychological esper, right? My right hand won't mess with it, and we've done the telepathy thing before," Kamijou suggested.
"Memory download's not quite it, but I can send you a recording," she clarified.
"Got it," Kamijou muttered as he absorbed the info.
"You got any ideas to help the #7’s situation ability, Kamijou-san? We're kinda desperate here," she asked.
"I wish Index was still here, dammit.” he lamented, “But you know about magic, right?" he queried.
"Yeah, people converting their delusions into reality right?," she admitted.
"Well, magic's not just about delusions; it can be tied up to the whole world. Not sure if it's relevant, but based on Idol Theory, Rosencreutz might be pulling in 'energy’ from the Greek 'phase’ of Heracles for an edge," Kamijou theorized.
"Like a chessboard flip?" Shokuhou Misaki inquired, her brow furrowed with concern.
"No, more like... imagine you're playing checkers with a buddy, and you're totally crushing it because you're a checkers pro. Then suddenly, your buddy switches it up and challenges you to an arm wrestling match, and you lose because, well, arm wrestling isn't your forte," Kamijou Touma explained, trying to paint a vivid picture.
"So, by taking on the role of the Hydra from Greek myth, he's essentially forcing the #7 into the role of Heracles? But didn't Heracles defeat the Hydra?" Shokuhou sought clarification.
"Yeah, but..." Kamijou recalled the tale from the movies he'd seen. "Lichas gave Heracles a shirt soaked in the Hydra's poisonous blood from his arrows, which ends up killing him by tearing his flesh down to the bone," he elaborated.
"It was actually Nessus seeking vengeance and tricking Deianira into giving it to Heracles as a gift, delivered by Lichas without disclosing the tunic's lethal bloodstained secret from the Lernaean Hydra, but you're right," Shokuhou corrected gently. "So, Rosencreutz is harnessing the power of that legend to slowly poison the #7?"
"Not literal. I mean the poison is real but his slashes do significant harm now so it's more like shifting the paradigm in his favor…shifting his position.” The spiky-haired boy wasn't in the mood to explain Phases, “Earlier, he mentioned Sogiita spreading his 'virus' throughout the world. A virus isn't a poison in the traditional sense, but the Rosicrucians originally sought to create a universal cure for all illnesses. Now, CRC is spreading a literal poison, positioning himself as the ultimate predator and his opponents as prey rather than his savior role, the paradigm has been shifted." Kamijou concluded, his voice tinged with gravity.
“So he’s changed the environment to get the win condition? The #7’s durability doesn't matter in the face of the world being forced to go about a certain way because of Rosencreutz stage play?” The girl asked.
“Yeah…if things keep going this way…Sogiita will….goddamnit….” The spiky haired boy swore. “I can't let someone else die after all that's happened but I feel like if I go out there I really will kill him…” he muttered that last bit while clenching his right fist that began shaking uncontrollably.
The girl’s eyes seemed confused. “What did you say?” The honey blonde middle schooler asked.
“Nothing, just mumbling to myself.” he spat out.
That boy and girl could never come to the right conclusion on their own without the aid of former Magic God Othinus by their side.
“Did you think I had challenged you with no hope of succeeding, you cesspool? The magic born on earth is bound by the directions based on the earth’s magnetic field and by the density and composition of the air which is determined by air pressure which is in turn influenced by gravity. That is inevitable when you are focused on the cardinal directions of north, south, east, and west or on the basic elements of fire, water, wind, and earth. But what you will find upon leaving the atmosphere is an unknown. Coronzon, are you sure there will be no malfunction in the magic giving you control of Avatar Lola? And before, my power was bound by the puny speck named earth which failed to become a black hole or even a sun, but once we enter outer space, just how far do you think that power will be released? I do not mind at all that I will lose the support of Academy City.”
Well the boy was half right.
“Let us test it out, you cuspidor. On one side, we have you using the planet and bound to an avatar. On the other, we have me exposed and freed from the planet. Now, who will be the star of this show?”
Christian Rosencreutz did not shoot at his surroundings for no reason.
The battlefield transformed into Rosencreutz's canvas, resembling the legendary battleground of Lerna where Heracles once clashed with the Hydra.
Yes.
He didn't unleash his powers randomly; every action was deliberate.
In the magical side of Idol Theory, mimicking an object, event, or person allowed one to tap into a fraction of its power.
And that even applied to locations that essentially worked as stage plays.
Idol Theory was so absolute that even the basic cross held a portion of the son of God’s power.
As Above, So Below.
As Below, So Above.
Macro to micro.
Micro to macro.
And the macrocosm and the microcosm are always linked.

PART ONE THOUSAND AND TWELVE
[Previous Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2]
Sunday
Lucas stretched and yawned in bed, taking a moment to enjoy the complete lack of needing to rise before his hand stretched out in search of Boyd.
And once again, that side of the bed was empty.
Biting back a whine of dismay, Lucas rolled until he was face down on Boyd’s pillow, breathing in the cologne they both now wore. The detective in him quickly deduced that Boyd had been gone a while based on the chill in the sheets. He curled his hands around the pillow and hugged it tight, wishing it was the big mountain of a man himself instead of this weak substitute.
As thrilled as he was about Boyd finding a new career that he was so passionately driven about, he was equally happy that his fiancé took his responsibility to his clients seriously. Still, would it have killed him to sleep in just one morning instead of abandoning their wrecked bed the morning after their engagement party?
After several minutes of wallowing, he finally accepted the inevitable that no amount of wishful thinking was going to make Boyd appear and climbed out of bed. He removed his snore rings and took a quick shower.
Once he was dressed, he felt a little better.
The next thing he had to do was strip down the bed and remake it. They’d been very busy last night, which was why he’d only just woken up at—his gaze fell upon the clock— DAMN! It’s nearly lunchtime!
“I’m gonna kill him for letting me sleep in so long,” he muttered under his breath, carrying the linen through the apartment and into the kitchen, which doubled as a laundry on their end. After nine years of living in this layout, he didn’t need to see over the pile in his arms to know precisely where he was, and with the load balanced on one arm, he turned at the right moment, opened the massive frontloading washing machine and stuffed it all in.
“Hey, Unca Luke!” Maddy’s shrill voice had him leaping into the air, slamming the door shut and swivelling around in front of it to hide the evidence. “Didja pee the bed?”
His brother and his niece were sitting at the island, Maddy with her breakfast of honey-and-cream-covered waffles, which were only half-eaten, and Levi patiently waited for her to finish since the plate in front of him was empty. The latter was grinning at him as only a brother could.
He’d forgotten all about them staying over.
It took a hot second for what Maddy asked to register with him, and when it did, his mouth dropped, and he glanced at his brother, who was twisting himself into a pretzel to avoid laughing out loud. Asshole. “No, Peaches,” he said, glaring daggers at Levi for not even trying to help him out. “Boyd and I like clean sheets every day, and it’s not fair to make somebody else wash them for us, is it?”
Bright red ringlets of hair swayed as the little girl shook her head. “Daddy makes me fix stuff too.”
Lucas moved the three feet between the washing machine to his brother sitting in Mason’s seat at the corner. “That’s because Daddies always know what’s best.” He wrapped an arm around his brother’s neck in a loose chokehold and gave him a noisy morning kiss on the cheek. “Ain’t that right, Daddy?” He said that last word in a sultry purr the way Robbie would, and the reaction from Levi was priceless.
“Fuck off with that shit, you prick!” his brother swore, shoving Lucas away with all his might.
“DADDY!” Maddy squealed in horror, and Lucas clapped his hands together once behind Maddy’s chair and raised his clenched fists in victory. He’d been angling for one swear word, maybe two to distract young Maddy from his not-so-discreet linen run. Three was a veritable home run.
Snickering quietly to himself, he went back to the washing machine, loaded it up with soap and softener and turned it on. Then, he walked over to the wooden box under the window. ‘Just think what you want,’ Charlie had told him at the party. ‘It’s a Nascerdios box that Robbie fills up throughout the night.’
He stared hard at the box while he considered his options, settling on a plate of breakfast tacos with seasoned mince, fried eggs, tomatillos, shredded lettuce, and cheese wrapped in soft tortillas buttered with a thin spread of mashed avocado.
After the last month, it didn’t surprise him in the least when he opened the lid and found that exact meal sitting there, waiting for him. Maybe the quantity, since they were piled three high, but not the meal itself.
The same could not be said for Levi when Lucas turned around with the plate in his hand. “Robbie had that ready for you too?” he asked, as Lucas grabbed a glass from the cupboard and placed it and the plate in his regular sitting place adjacent to his brother before sliding into his seat. He knew Levi wasn’t questioning Viola since the box itself was made and gifted by someone with the last name Nascerdios.
The veil was an ass.
“I told you; he did most of the catering yesterday, too,” Lucas said, reaching for the jug of juice. He was curious what it would be today. Yesterday, it had been orange and mango juice, with apple the day before.
A quick sniff made it most likely grapefruit.
He tightened the roll on the first taco and lifted it to his lips, enjoying the flavours that exploded in his mouth. Because Levi had finished whatever had been on his plate, he was watching him eat as if he’d never seen it before. It finally clicked why. “You want to try one?” Lucas asked, nudging his plate towards his brother. “There’s plenty here if you want one. Too many, if anything.”
Levi didn’t need to be told twice and reached over, using his fingers just as Lucas had. “How did he learn to cook so well?” Levi demanded, almost fitting the whole thing in his mouth.
“He’s always cooked,” Lucas answered, fudging things slightly. “When he was growing up, cooking was his chore while his mom was at work. He only stopped because Mom refused to let him help in the kitchen.”
“I would’ve fought that a lot harder if I’d have known he could produce this.”
“Yeah, you and me both, bro. Even when we were upstairs, he was forever watching the cooking channels for new ideas.” Lucas didn’t want to mention that these days, Robbie only did so to critique the so-called experts. “Have you seen Boyd?”
Levi shook his head. “I was assuming he was still in with you. If I’d known you were in there alone, I’d have sicc’d Maddy onto you.”
“I can wake Daddy and Unca’ Austin good!” Maddy said proudly. “I gets me a dolla’.”
“Ssshhh, Peaches. That’s out secr—wait. Does Uncle Austin pay you, too?”
Maddy was adorable the way she looked at Lucas like he would intervene for her. “Sorry, baby girl,” he laughed, eating another taco. “You’re on your own.”
The two brothers bantered as Lucas ate, with Levi stealing another taco, bringing Lucas’ total number down to five. Maddy told them both about wanting to be a vet, and Lucas knew precisely who to blame for that. Still, it was better than her previous choice of ‘stripping’ the way Robbie and Angelo used to. Levi’s meltdown over that revelation had been priceless, even if he, too, was firmly in the ‘fuck that noise’ camp.
When he polished them and half the juice off, he poured the last into Maddy’s cup and put his things and the jug in the dishwasher. “You can hang out here if you want,” Lucas said. “The guys and I are heading out this afternoon to play some ball over at Angus’ place, but if you call Austin and find out Pepper’s roommate is still with him, the TV over there has…”
“Every cable channel imaginable, I know. Charlotte—”
“Charlie.”
“Charlie told us last night.” Levi sat back in his seat and stared at his brother. “What do you make of Larry, Luke? Does he have kids?”
“Why?”
“He watched Maddy for me last night while I was having a shower, and Maddy loves him. You know how picky she is about people she doesn’t know.”
“I know he’s married to a career soldier and was one too before being assigned to us. I’m not sure about his past, but he’s a good guy and ridiculously protective of those either in his charge or that he happens to care about.”
Levi grunted. “Charl*—lie* said so too. He certainly knows his Spongebob.”
Lucas squinted. “Why all the questions?”
“Just thinking out loud. If he’s going to be here all the time with Robbie, and Austin and I get called into the house together, it’s always been a struggle figuring out where we can leave Maddy on short notice. We don’t exactly have time to drive all the way over to Queens to drop her off at either Mav’s or Mom and Dad’s. I mean, so far, we haven’t needed to, but it’s a constant concern.”
Lucas frowned at him. “We’ve been here for years. Why didn’t you ask before now?”
Levi seemed suddenly uncomfortable. “You know…” he said, gesturing to the ceiling without finishing that sentence.
And just like that, Lucas did understand.
Six men, all sharing one shoebox-sized apartment with two of them being sex workers, was not where anyone would want to drop off a little girl. Even if Lucas did vouch for all of them and swore they’d all be protective as hell over little Maddy. “Look, I can’t speak for them specifically, but Charlie’s here under house arrest for the next ten months, and Boyd now works out of his studio, so technically, someone will be here all the time. There’s not a chance in hell we’ll turn you away.”
“I’ll ask her and Miss W before we go.”
Lucas looked at what the two of them were wearing. “You know, I could duck out and grab you and Maddy some clothes just as soon as I check in with Boyd, if you like.”
He watched Levi look down at the shirt and boxers that were a little big on him width-wise and across at Maddy, who still wore Charlie’s favourite Giants’ shirt.
“That’d be good, thanks,” he admitted.
“I’ll get extras, and that way, she can have a few changes of clothes here. Actually, do you want me to grab you some spare stuff too?”
Levi stiffened in his seat. “I don’t need you to buy me clothes.”
Lucas wanted to slap him in the back of the head (and would’ve if Maddy wasn’t there). “Stop,” he commanded instead. “I’m already going to a clothes shop. It’s not going to be anything fancy, and if you hate it, you can swap it out with your own stuff later.”
Knowing his brother was still uncomfortable, Lucas waved his hand at the kitchen. “Seriously, Levi, look around. Look at how I’m living, and I’m not paying a dime in rent. Llyr won’t let me since we’ve been looking out for Sam for years. Let me do this for you, so you’ll always know you and Maddy have somewhere safe to go.”
Levi glanced around, his lips tightening before he finally nodded, unwilling to say the words out loud, and Lucas clapped him on the shoulder. “We’re family, dumb-ar—dumb,” he amended, with little ears sitting on the other side of his brother. “Dumb-dumb. I meant Dumb-dumb.”
Levi chuckled and patted his brother’s hand. “I appreciate it, bro. We’ll chill here until you get back. Don’t rush … apparently, you have a gazillion cable channels to choose from, and Maddy doesn’t want to leave until she’s seen them all.”
“I don’t think you’ll live that long,” Lucas laughed and headed back to his room to grab his gear since he was now leaving the apartment. As he clipped and slid everything from sunglasses to his wallet, keys, phone, badge bifold, and ankle-holstered BUG, he almost envied women with carryall handbags that could be grabbed on their way out the door.
Almost.
* * *
((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))
I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here
For more of my work, including WPs: Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.
FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!

Hey all. Long post. Sorry.
I naturally have type 1 hair, but it’s looked a little poofy and frizzy since my mid teens. I live in a pretty humid climate (tropics), so that could be playing a part in the frizz, although I really doubt that because I’ve lived here my whole life and this is the only time my hair has gone rogue. We use clean filtered water so I don’t think that’s it, either. The two indisputable culprits are: the heat treatments which I’d been getting since my mid teens and which I’ve only stopped doing recently, and my diet. The treatments weren’t frequent- I got maybe 1-2 a year, also during this time I still went in for my regular trim, even grew my hair past the shoulders but the frizziness never went away. As for the diet, I had an ED when I was 14 (I’m in my late teens now) and ate less than 500 calories a day for a pretty long time- I’ve recovered, but I now eat considerably less than I used to. As irrational as this may sound I fear I somehow irreversibly fucked my vitamin levels up or hormones or whatever, and the fact that I eat really little these days I fear could be playing a part in my less than desirable hair health.
I’ve combed through my entire past (pun intended) and tried to find possible answers as to where it all went wrong. I’ve tried pretty much everything- oral supplements, at-home heat-free treatments, special formulas for “fixing” damaged hair. I no longer apply any artificial heat (flat iron, blow dryer, etc). I have a carefully curated haircare routine, no harsh or daily shampooing, I mostly just use a conditioner and natural oils. Silk pillow casings. Wooden anti-static hairbrushes. I usually let my hair dry in front of the fan without touching it. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that bad- in some ways my hair looks better than it used to months ago when I still did heat treatments and flat ironing. But it has more frizz and flyaways than it used to, especially the topmost layers (the deeper bottom layers still have that old shine, thankfully). I just want my old hair back. If there’s anything I deeply regret, it’s my silly adolescent self giving in to the parlor stylists and letting them treat my hair without fully understanding the long-term consequences. And not appreciating my hair enough probably…I used to get a lot of compliments on it. Like, a REAL lot. Not anymore.
I got a bob cut and I’m just wondering- can I fix this by just growing it out and getting regular trims? Just be patient and let time and the human body do their magic? Or did I irreversibly damage my hair the moment I got my first treatment and should I just stop hoping I’ll ever get my “virgin” hair back? Should I go see a doctor and have my vitamins checked? Any advice? Any stories to cheer me up? I’m just so tired lmao

Hey all. I naturally have type 1 hair, but it’s looked a little poofy and frizzy since my mid teens. I live in a pretty humid climate (tropics), so that could be playing a part in the frizz, although I really doubt that because I’ve lived here my whole life and this is the only time my hair has gone rogue. We use clean filtered water so I don’t think that’s it, either. The two indisputable culprits are: the heat treatments which I’d been getting since my mid teens and which I’ve only stopped doing recently, and my diet. The treatments weren’t frequent- I got maybe 1-2 a year, also during this time I still went in for my regular trim, even grew my hair past the shoulders but the frizziness never went away. As for the diet, I had an ED when I was 14 (I’m in my late teens now) and ate less than 500 calories a day for a pretty long time- I’ve recovered, but I now eat considerably less than I used to. As irrational as this may sound I fear I somehow irreversibly fucked my vitamin levels up or hormones or whatever, and the fact that I eat really little these days I fear could be playing a part in my less than desirable hair health.
I’ve combed through my entire past (pun intended) and tried to find possible answers as to where it all went wrong. I’ve tried pretty much everything- oral supplements, at-home heat-free treatments, special formulas for “fixing” damaged hair. I no longer apply any artificial heat (flat iron, blow dryer, etc). I have a carefully curated haircare routine, no harsh or daily shampooing, I mostly just use a conditioner and natural oils. Silk pillow casings. Wooden anti-static hairbrushes. I usually let my hair dry in front of the fan without touching it. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that bad- in some ways my hair looks better than it used to months ago when I still did heat treatments and flat ironing. But it has more frizz and flyaways than it used to, especially the topmost layers (the deeper bottom layers still have that old shine, thankfully). I just want my old hair back. If there’s anything I deeply regret, it’s my silly adolescent self giving in to the parlor stylists and letting them treat my hair without fully understanding the long-term consequences. And not appreciating my hair enough probably…I used to get a lot of compliments on it. Like, a REAL lot. Not anymore.
I got a bob cut and I’m just wondering- can I fix this by just growing it out and getting regular trims? Just be patient and let time and the human body do their magic? Or did I irreversibly damage my hair the moment I got my first treatment and should I just stop hoping I’ll ever get my “virgin” hair back? Should I go see a doctor and have my vitamins checked? Any advice? Any stories to cheer me up? I’m just so tired lmao

Stray Cat Wound
I've been feeding a neighborhood stray off and on for about 6 months. He's very friendly, so I even let him stay in the utility room quite a few times this past winter. (He's in the utility room because he's scared of my 2 dogs). He's a Tom that prefers to be outside where the action is, especially at night. On Saturday he came looking for food as I was getting in the car to leave for most of the day. I hurried back into the house and got him some food, then noticed that he had a huge lump on his cheek. I gave it a squeeze and puss came oozing out. I cleaned it some but had to be somewhere. When I got home at about 2 am I called for him but he didn't show up until Sunday night. I made him come inside and I cleaned the crusted sore, applied an warm rag and got more of the infection out. I was able to trim some of the hair around the wound but he wasn't real cooperative, by then he started meowing to go out. I decided I wasn't going to let him out until the wound was a little better. Yesterday it still looked bad so I went and bought some iodine. I cleaned it and flushed out the hole with a syringe. I was able to trim some more hair around the sore. Today it seemed a little better but he's freaking out! He wants outside! I was able to wrap him in a towel and use some trimmers to shave some of the hair away then clean it some more. He's been very vocal, wanting out. I returned from the store just as he had pushed the screen out of a partially open window and escaped (I had 2 child gates stacked to block entry to the room). I caught him, brought him back inside and reminded him of where the litter box that I set up last winter. He used it to pee, then took a huge shit in the corner on the carpet. I was ready to go ahead and let him out. I then noticed that he had removed the little bit of skin that was covering the sore and it was now a huge, oozing hole in his cheek. I've cleaned it with diluted iodine a few times today but it still looks bad. I tried covering it with gauze and tape but he quickly removed it. He has need meowing for hours, putting his nose to the crack at the bottom of the door, and he's checked a few windows. He wants out pretty bad. I even called the vet, but they want more money than I have. He's not my cat, but I have grown found of him. I'd hate to see him injured more than he is. But honestly, if he continues to shit on my floor, I'd prefer him to be outside as well. What I'm wondering is if anyone knows of a way that I could cover his wound so it won't come off when I let him back outside, or if it will some how heal on it's own? He'll likely be back for food in 1-2 days and I can check it then. I'm imagining this gaping hole, larger than a quarter, full of dirt and weeds when he returns, but maybe he'll try to keep it protected some how. Sorry this is so long, but I've always been more of a dog person, so caring for cats is new to me. Any advice would be appreciated! Thanks!

I've been feeding a neighborhood stray off and on for about 6 months. He's very friendly, so I even let him stay in the utility room quite a few times this past winter. (He's in the utility room because he's scared of my 2 dogs). He's a Tom that prefers to be outside where the action is, especially at night. On Saturday he came looking for food as I was getting in the car to leave for most of the day. I hurried back into the house and got him some food, then noticed that he had a huge lump on his cheek. I gave it a squeeze and puss came oozing out. I cleaned it some but had to be somewhere. When I got home at about 2 am I called for him but he didn't show up until Sunday night. I made him come inside and I cleaned the crusted sore, applied an warm rag and got more of the infection out. I was able to trim some of the hair around the wound but he wasn't real cooperative, by then he started meowing to go out. I decided I wasn't going to let him out until the wound was a little better. Yesterday it still looked bad so I went and bought some iodine. I cleaned it and flushed out the hole with a syringe. I was able to trim some more hair around the sore. Today it seemed a little better but he's freaking out! He wants outside! I was able to wrap him in a towel and use some trimmers to shave some of the hair away then clean it some more. He's been very vocal, wanting out. I returned from the store just as he had pushed the screen out of a partially open window and escaped (I had 2 child gates stacked to block entry to the room). I caught him, brought him back inside and reminded him of where the litter box that I set up last winter. He used it to pee, then took a huge shit in the corner on the carpet. I was ready to go ahead and let him out. I then noticed that he had removed the little bit of skin that was covering the sore and it was now a huge, oozing hole in his cheek. I've cleaned it with diluted iodine a few times today but it still looks bad. I tried covering it with gauze and tape but he quickly removed it. He has need meowing for hours, putting his nose to the crack at the bottom of the door, and he's checked a few windows. He wants out pretty bad. I even called the vet, but they want more money than I have. He's not my cat, but I have grown found of him. I'd hate to see him injured more than he is. But honestly, if he continues to shit on my floor, I'd prefer him to be outside as well. What I'm wondering is if anyone knows of a way that I could cover his wound so it won't come off when I let him back outside, or if it will some how heal on it's own? He'll likely be back for food in 1-2 days and I can check it then. I'm imagining this gaping hole, larger than a quarter, full of dirt and weeds when he returns, but maybe he'll try to keep it protected some how. Sorry this is so long, but I've always been more of a dog person, so caring for cats is new to me. Any advice would be appreciated! Thanks!

It was late November 2015. I was 51 and one year past my divorce (which was not related to cheating) when I became so disgusted with myself that I knew I had to pick myself up. I was alone for the long holiday, and although I wasn't really sad or lonely, I felt empty. However, I had some extra time to consider how does one picks oneself up.
I made a list of potential New Year resolutions that were individually realistic. Some were really easy and stupid like “have your chipped front tooth fixed” and “take & post a selfie”. These smaller tasks fueled my confidence and provided the energy boosts needed to tackle the more challenging resolutions, like starting a weight loss challenge at work.
Skip ahead to March 4th 2016. I had a Friday lunch date with a married client that I met two weeks prior. Of course, it was not a real date, as I wouldn't impose myself on a married woman, nor would I risk my career or my ego, especially if the signals she seemed to be sending were just a product of my wishful thinking, stimulated by checking off some boxes on the list on the fridge dated 1/1/16.
The following is my thank you note to her for a great date as well as for helping me check a lot of boxes over the past few weeks. I sent her a link to it as it is in the form of my first ever online post (one more check box, YAY!).
************************************** We were only 1 minute in the hotel room; her jeans in a ball on the floor. She sat at the foot of the king sized bed and backed her way into the stack of oversized pillows lining the headboard. I followed as If attached by a leash. I landed somewhat awkwardly on my elbows between her legs finding myself squarely face to face with the tattoo. This tattoo, that she so shamelessly revealed just a week ago, the same tattoo that has been scorching my thoughts and the same tattoo that she promised me complete and unlimited access.
It’s been a long time since I have been here or anywhere near as nice as here, between the legs of a beautiful woman 20 years younger and far out of my league....even when I was her age. I took a second to drink in my fortunate situation. I admired her panties. All day I was so hoping she would wear those same panties as before. She didn’t. These were different but similar enough. The delicate lace and silk perfectly framed the tattoo on her hip. She did not disappoint. There is a fruity jasmine scent, intoxicatingly pleasant, and oh so subtle. It is not here. I’ll need to find its source. I want more of that. (I remember being thoroughly impressed and thinking to myself “This girl is good”.)
I briefly forgot that there was someone else here besides myself and the tattoo. How long have I been down here perving out on her? I wondered. I hesitated, and then apologetically looked up half expecting a well-deserved snarky glare. What I found instead was an ear to ear compassionate smile followed by a tilt of her head and an arch of her eyebrow that said “I like that you like that, carry on”.
With confidence restored that we were still in sync, I adjusted myself so that I was in a good position to thoroughly enjoy what I came to do. I kissed the tattoo hard and gave it a good lick. The challenge for today was “Taste the Tattoo” and I won. I did a small celebration gesture that she rolled her eyes to. I continued to kiss and taste all around until every freckle got some personal attention. As I got to the upper most reaches of her inner thighs, I looked up to check in as I was about to cross a new line. For the first time she was not looking back at me but had laid her head back deep into the pillows, her eyes closed. I took that as a yes!
I marveled at the softness of her inner thighs on my cheeks as I gently placed kisses up one and down the other. As I kissed her through her panties, her hips responded by arching her up in anticipation of each next kiss. Before long, those wonderful panties were just getting in the way. I stopped and pondered whether to just slide them aside or remove them or to risk interrupting the mood and attempt a complete wardrobe removal as we were both still fully dressed except for her jeans.
I didn’t have to ponder long as she knew what she wanted and it was not any of the options I was considering. Still lying back with her head semi submerged within the pillows, she held out her arms as if gesturing for a hug. I moved up her body and when I got close enough she pulled me in for a kiss.
Unbelievably, this was our first kiss. I found it odd that we had not kissed yet and was grateful she thought to stop for a moment to have a kiss. We kissed some and then I settled in to thoroughly enjoy it. However, the kiss to come was not the kiss I was expecting or a kiss I was ready for. It was a kiss that could ruin everything.
Technically, there was one kiss before. It was an awkward kiss 5-10 minutes earlier just after we entered the room. All in about the time it took for the hotel door to close behind us, she tossed her bag on the sofa, had her jewelry off and set on the nightstand while I emptied my pockets and silenced my phone.
We approached each other, and as we met I was looking at the place where the tattoo would be under her shirt and behind her jeans. They were higher cut and could not be pulled down that far to get to the tattoo. They would have to come off. To just reach in and do that would be an uncharacteristically bold move for me. But I did have unquestionable permission to have the tattoo in any way that I desired. I reached down with both hands and took hold of the waistband on each side of the button. I didn’t see her simultaneous move in at me at first. Just as I felt the metal of the button, I felt her reaching her arms around my neck and realized that she was tip toeing up for a kiss. It caught me unexpectedly and I think it showed on my face that it did. I tried to recover and moved back in to accept her lips on to mine but it turned into an awkward peck.
I scolded myself for the selfish moment and just as I was trying to formulate a recovery gesture, she, without missing a beat, gently dismissed my fumble and gracefully restored the momentum. “Oh” she said with surprise in her tone, while looking down at my fingers ready to release her button. Then, in a more playfully quizzical tone, she followed with “I guess you want to get right to THAT then” and she stepped back away from me where I lost grip of her jeans. She replaced my fingers on the button with hers, paused, maybe waiting for me to look up to her eyes, which I finally did, then flashed me a devilishly naughty smile and pulled her jeans down to the top of her boots. She then proudly announced, mostly to herself, “You really are going to let me have fun with you, aren’t you!” seemingly shedding any doubts in her mind that I would go through with this. She then sat at the foot of the all white linen king sized bed, removed her boots and jeans and backed her way into the stack of oversized pillows lining the headboard.
Back to our kiss. The kiss that from now on I will reflect on as our first kiss
Responding to her hug gesture, I moved up her body and when I got close enough she pulled me in for a kiss. I didn’t flub it this time, but again, I didn’t know it was coming, and prolly I should have. It took only ten seconds to adjust and synchronize to each other’s kissing form. It was warm and succulent and sweet and was wonderful. I really was surprised at how nice this felt. I don’t recall married kissing being this enjoyable. I remember saying to myself “Damn, this girl can kiss”.
I was on top, in a position that wasn’t going to be comfortable for as long as I wanted this to last, so I backed away to reposition but she held tight indicating she didn’t want me to move. I gestured at the space next to her and she relented. We then settled in facing one another side by side; her smile confirming that this was a nice place. We were hugging and kissing, pulling each other closer and looking into each other’s eyes. Our legs intertwined and our hands were roaming, but not really in a sexual way, more like trying to make as much body contact as possible. I couldn’t get over how I felt so much more familiarity than there was. What I did not recognize at the time was that this was the physical intimacy catching up to match the virtual intimacy we have been sharing online.
Soon the intensity escalated and it was getting very hot very quickly. The intensity and passion that was building was not something I ever expected or planned for. This was the rare kind of making out where accidental hickeys happen and inadvertent “Oh god I love you’s” slip out. Not that either of those was going to happen but my safe, non-committal no emotional strings encounter was getting too hot to not risk introducing emotions into the situation. And that could happen.
At some point I was no longer kissing her lips and mouth but was kissing her.
I broke contact to catch a breath and maybe get some control of the fire. We stopped for a moment to breathe and cool off. She slid herself on top and I rolled over on to my back to accommodate her. She looked at me with eyes that appeared to agree that it was a good time to slow it down. She closed her eyes and she seemed to enjoy that I was rubbing her back with both hands that I slipped up under her shirt. She presented her lips for me to kiss and then her cheek for the same, then neck and ear and lips again. Her long hair had fallen down around us, surrounding our faces like a vail creating a tiny private and even more intimate space. Inside here it was darker and the temperature and humidity rose quickly. We were breathing each other’s breath between kisses. All of a sudden I noticed that Jasmine was back. Not subtle this time, but deep and fulfilling. I loved it.
This fragrance stuff really works. The next morning just after waking up, I caught an unexpected subtle whiff on my skin under my watch and my heart jumped by 20 beats. Who’d a thunk it possible?
The passion was building again but since I was aware and cautious now, I wanted to enjoy and go with it. I thought I could keep it measured and I did for a while as it does take two. The kissing slowed to half and so did the passion. However, the rest of our bodies started to make up for it and the touching evolved into the sexual. She was still on top of me and my hands were exploring and squeezing on her panty covered butt, then under and in those panties. Her body contact became more targeted as she was now very deliberately mashing her fun stuff all over my fun stuff. The kissing subsided but replaced with the audible accompaniment of her squeaks, moans and quicker breathing timed with her mashing I was no longer in control. The passion was under control but being replaced with something intimately erotic.
I abruptly escaped by gently rolling her over on to her back then getting up and knelling between her legs. I took a moment to catch my breath and wanted to say “That is getting WAY too intimate. Can we get naked and have sex now?” However, I tugged at her panties and said something dorky like “can we take these off now?” Yes, we were still both fully dressed except for her jeans
Since I am the kind of guy who doesn’t kiss and tell, (well, only tells about the kisses) and this is not the forum for it, I am not going to talk about the sexy part over the next 30 minutes. I will tell you that we did finally each get ourselves unceremoniously naked and then the sexy part finishes where it started, with me finishing all over that beautiful tattoo. Of course I did a small celebration gesture that she rolled her eyes to.
*************************************************
Cuddle time. Our snapchats leading up to this encounter were heavy on the anticipation and buildup but didn’t contain a lot of detail about or define what stuff would happen during our “fun” time together.
Me: “Ok then, tomorrow lunchtime, I’m in.”
Her: “OMG Are you saying that you are REALLY going to come here and let me have fun with you?
Me: “I’m REALLY going to come there. I am REALLY going to fully inspect that tattoo, as well as the neighborhood where the tattoo lives.
Her: “I so can’t wait to get my hands on you.”
Me: “WOW….Now that this is real and going to happen, my heart is beating so hard that I am afraid that people can see it through my shirt.”
Her: “You have to tell me, are you being SERIOUS right now? You can’t say this and not show up. It’s OK if you are teasing, but you have to say so that you are now….not tomorrow!!!”
Me: “I am SERIOUS and I PROMISE I will be there. You have gotten to me, BAD. All week with the way we have been talking..err..I mean snapchatting; I can’t get you out of my head. Then today with those tattoo snaps you sent; I can’t get up from my desk. LOL…..NOT kidding NOT teasing.”
Her: “I am BAD, and I like having FUN. I am going to have so much fun with you!!!”
************************************************
The only specific things I recall us acknowledging we would do with our “fun” was tattoo inspection and cuddle time. So as soon as cleanup from sexy time was done we both knew what time it was. For me, as good as the inspection was the cuddle was better. Just as during the sexy time we changed things up and we got to cuddle many ways. We started face to face full contact hugging just like our kissing time with some but less kissing and more being in the moment.
We were still hot (temperature hot now) and sweaty so that didn’t last long. She turned over and we spooned some. I was still craving full body contact but it was still so hot that we had to separate a bit. No contact spooning if you will, with just my one hand caressing her exposed shoulder and arm and hip with an occasional butt cheek squeeze.
It was about that time that we had our first ever personal conversation. On the project there were lots of flirty banter and some personal stories but almost always as part of a group. We had many phone calls and a few project meetings with just us two but never did the conversation get personal. Until now the only personal talks (Chats) we have had have been via Snapchat. I don’t recall who asked the first question of the other, but it was like a dam broke and we started filling in the details of our lives, our feelings and all the things we chatted about.
There was a lot to tell and we were giddy like children (child) best friends re-meeting on the first day of school catching each other up on our summer vacations. At one point she had something compelling to say and faster than a fish out of water she flipped back to facing me so she could gesture with her hand and punctuate through her expression. She landed close. Closer that I think she meant to at first and just a bit awkward I felt. But I was wrong. She didn’t back up an inch. I really couldn’t see her hand but I could feel that she was using it in the 2 to 4 inches of space between our chests. Her face was right into mine. She would lean back or up just an inch when she wanted me to see her eyes or smile or frown for emphasis, then settle back into the pillows with our foreheads or noses or cheeks touching. It was the farthest thing in the world from awkward.
If there was a recurring theme for the day it would be HOT; in every sense and synonym of the word. Again, it was getting too sweaty to remain that close. This time she broke contact to catch a breath and escape the heat. We stopped talking for a moment to breathe and cool off. She sat up, crawled to, and grabbed the (sexy time) clean-up towel that was at the far foot of the bed. She turned around so that she was kneeling facing me as she brought the towel up to her chest to absorb the beads and drips of sweat that had accumulated. As I watched, I again thought of my great fortune to be right here right now feeing what I feel and seeing the beauty before me. She pushed the towel down across her belly button and it fell into her lap.
I observed the soft sunlight reflecting off the white sheets, the white towel, and the white pillows bathed her in perfect light creating just a hint of subtle shadows in all of the right places on her angelic white skin. I started consciously taking photos with my mind. I wanted to capture every nuance and note every detail. I don’t know if I will ever be here again.
I don't recall if my next realization was comprehended in a split second, or if it took ten seconds to develop, but a terrible fear washed over me that for the first time in forever, she was beyond my touch and her next action might be to look for her panties or go jump in the shower. We were after all, deep into the second hour of her hour long lunch.
As I was preparing myself for the pain soon to come, I couldn't understand where it was coming from. I had the BEST DAY EVER, but I felt like an exhausted child who just watched the Disney fireworks finally and knows what that means.
What the hell? What is happening in my head? I don't even know this girl, let alone have feelings for her beyond she made my dick feel good at lunchtime.....and, I guess my ego is healthier since I met her. I have not cheated on my diet since she turned on the flattery the week before. I was sure it had to be somehow manipulative, but I hoped that if only a 5% chance it wasn't AND she liked me AND her mom was single, made it easy to keep my snacking to peas & carrots.
My self esteem has been skyrocketing too, as I have been checking a lot of boxes on my refrigerator. LOL, so many in fact, that I have been adding things to the list after they happened that I didn't dare put on it as they seemed pretty unobtainable just two months before. "Get sent a nude selfie, check. Have the confidence to send one back, check. Take a hottie 32 year old client out to lunch and fuck her brains out, check.
Did I just discover that I like girls who make my self esteem feel good more than I like girls who make my dick feel good?
Shit, that wasn't even on my top ten list. Smart, funny, pretty, Kind, whatever is the opposite of bitchy, fun in bed, boobs and/or an age appropriate figure is always nice, curious, someone you can trust to see you at your worst. Before today, "genuinely being a boost & support of my self esteem" was 10th.
Then BAM. I was hit in the face with the towel. Damn girl, I hope you can handle a spanking because I was just on the verge of making an interpersonal discovery of some importance over here, I thought to myself. I noticed the slightest or possibly mock look of concern on her face as she asks "you're not having any regrets or second thoughts over there are you?". I reflexively replied "Oh god no". Then with some emphasys, I continued "today was incredible. I REALLY needed this and you were PERFECT, thank you".
Again she did not disappoint. She crawled to the top of the bed on the far side and then to me over the pillows and laid down at a 90 angle to me on her stomach parallel to the headboard with her head nearly right on top of mine. She propped herself up a bit on her elbows and we kissed deeply. It was nice.
I made a few attempts to shake my internal drama, get out of my head and get back to my goal of picking my self up after my divorce. Oops, I mean back to pleasing a beautiful woman who clearly was not yet done having her fun with me. The emotional rollercoaster ride over the last hours, days & weeks completely blew out my brains ability to generate or absorb endorphins or whatever happens in a situation like this. Shortly after we had joked around while showering together, kissing goodbye (just like when I kissed my endorphin killing ex wife) and going on back to our separate lives.
I drove the hour or so home, brought my dog to the park and had healthiest and happiest cry I ever had. I don't know what I was feeling or why, but I was feeling again and it brought me much relief and contentedness.
We texted a bit that evening confirming that we each enjoyed our time together and agreeing that we should do that again sometime. The next day, Saturday, her husband took their 5 & 8 year old sons somewhere for the day. We checked in with each other again over text and chatted some about our lunch but the spark or excitement we usually had was not the same.
I reached out again that evening and asked if she was in a place that we could talk on the phone. She resisted but did call me (our first personal phone call). It took her 24 hours to let her cry bubble up. It turns out that our emotional experiences were remarkably similar, albeit from different perspectives.
She much later reveals that she felt emotionally dead for her hubby. She evolved to a bad place where she wanted fuck anyone but her hubby but still fucked him twice a week and had to appear happy to do it, killing her brain chemistry.
We rode the best and worst roller coaster in the world for 6 or 8 months....until the the Cocaine eventually wore off or the unobtainable became obtainable and it wasn't the the same rush for either of us any longer. She was the closest thing to a drug addiction that I ever felt. I never wanted anyone or anything like I wanted her.
My hope is that this story helps one person answer the question "Why the hell would he/she risk giving up their wonderful & loving family for an hour with a douchebag or a skank?"

Hi,
I'm an artist and writer, and I need help making a character based on with a goth subculture.
Violet Campbell, is 16 year old girl, who like science and tinkering,(making tech with random bits and bobs). She lives with her Mum, her twin Azura and her little brother Charlie and their Dachshund, Cupcake. Violet's Mum is a psychiatrist. Violet's BFF, is Michelle, a cheerful, energetic, anime-loving girl.
Violet, is a smart girl but she is chill, and a little laid-back. At first she can seem a little mean, but as you get to know her she is surprisingly sweet. Violet is innovative and has a little robot called,(no name yet)
Violet, has a violet short and fluffy hair. She has blue eyes with square-framed glasses.
Her main attire is a black one shoulder top, with the devil star. Leather pants, with a chain with a Kumomi keyring (gifted by Michelle). She wears knee high shoes with thick heels. (I have a feeling I'm leaning more into grunge but if I am can people give me casual ideas, no skirts)
So what do you think? Please be honest, I really want to make a character outside of the stereotypes.
Also I really want to listen to some Goth music, any ideas on where to start? I have taste for rock. (Måneskin ect).

“What do you mean it’s wrong?” said Tamara, becoming frustrated with Samuel.
“I'm trying to tell you that plants do not eat earth. They just absorb nutrients from it,” Samuel replied, equally annoyed as this was the fourth time he had explained it. “Look, just take my word for it, OK,” he added.
“Fine, but you will have to explain it again,” Tamara retorted.
Samuel and Tamara were partners in a scientific study of their forest home. It was genuinely idyllic in every sense of the word; the trees stretched high into the sky, and everyone was covered in succulent leaves, a deep and gorgeous shade of green. Around their trunks were rings of flowers gathered from every continent, and a thick carpet of grass lay on the ground.
The two sat underneath a chestnut tree, writing up their findings for the day. It had focused mainly on tree sizes and growth rates, and they had continued this study for, on and off, almost a year.
Samuel turned to look at his assistant and found that she was just as remarkable as the day they had first met: golden locks, like living sunlight, tied neatly in a bun. Her eyes were an emerald green, and all in all, she was gorgeous. However, it was when you came to her waist that things became truly incredible because rather than a pair of legs, there was a long and wide snake’s tail.
It was huge, at least seven metres long and as wide as her torso. The scales were the same beautiful colour as her hair and reflected the sunlight in such a way that she appeared to glow. She was wearing an ultramarine tunic with a black diamond in the centre. She was like this not because of a plague, a curse or some mutation; Tamara was a Lamia; it was how she was born.
Samuel, on the other hand, looked far less impressive. He was around five foot ten, with dull brown hair and equally dull eyes. His stomach stuck out from the rest of him. No amount of exercise was able to get rid of it.
He was by every description a ‘dull as dishwater’ human. His clothes, however, were slightly more interesting. He wore a navy blue tunic with a thick leather belt wrapped around his waist. On his feet was a pair of excellent leather boots, able to withstand whatever the world threw at them and on his forearms and shins, he wore something Tamara had never seen or even heard of before: a pair of vambraces and greaves, Samuel called it armour.
Three strips of rugged leather layered on top of one another made up each piece, and between each layer was a collection of tiny metal beads. When Tamara asked what they were for, Samuel said they were for protection.
All of this would have been inconceivable to Samuel two years ago, but he had become used to it in time. Samuel was not born into this world; he had arrived. How? He did not know, but he remembered it all vividly; his senses had been overloaded, and at first, he believed he had died.
“What’s wrong?” Tamara asked Samuel, who had been silent for over a minute.
Samuel snapped out of his daydream and said: “nothing, just thinking about that day again.”
Tamara nodded and said nothing else; she knew exactly what was wrong.
Samuel went straight back to writing. When Samuel first showed up, there had been no paper or pens, but what was even stranger than the lack of these apparent necessities was that Samuel had had to invent both of these items.
Tamara and those like her did not possess a written language; they relied entirely on their memories, and until Samuel had shown up, Tamara had not even conceived of the notion, but she had picked it up astonishingly quickly.
“It still sounds like eating to me,” said Tamara, bringing the conversation back to the original topic.
“Well, it isn’t; eating requires a mouth and stomach,” Samuel replied.
“Says who?” Tamara asked defiantly.
“Says me,” Samuel answered.
Samuel jotted down the last of his notes and left the pages to dry in the sun. Samuel then turned to his right and looked at a large book, the size of a chair’s seat, bound in yellow leather and knotted by animal tendons. He picked it up and began to leaf through the pages.
His eyes glanced over paragraphs about oak trees and orchid flowers until he finally reached the section he sought; the page was titled Silver Birch (Betula Pendula).
“Have you finished the drawing on Silver Birch yet?” Samuel asked without looking.
Tamara was currently focused on a drawing of sunflowers, but she understood his request and, without looking up or saying a word, handed him the picture he wanted.
Samuel took the drawing and took several moments admiring it. Like all her work, the picture was astounding; not only did it look like an actual Silver Birch, but it also seemed to be alive, as though it would start blowing in the breeze.
Samuel punched four holes along the sheet's left side, undid the tendon strings and then attached the drawing behind the title page. He added eight more pages to his book, four of text and four illustrations.
Their work was now done; there was no more writing or drawing today, and he placed their work into a knapsack Tamara had brought with her. Samuel turned to his partner and asked: “so what do you want to do now?”
Tamara looked up through the canopy and could make out the silhouettes of several birds and finally said: “I’d quite like to fly.”
Samuel smiled, chuckled and said, “Yes, so would I, but that would require every member of the village working together for decades.”
Tamara looked Samuel in the eye and said: “are you making fun of me?”
Samuel did not reply; he just looked Tamara dead in the eye. She observed every minute twitch on Samuel's face and concluded he was not.
“How could a person fly?” She asked, suddenly intrigued.
“I don’t know, I’m not an engineer,” Samuel answered, “So apart from flying, what else do you want to do?”
Tamara let out a sigh and said: “I guess we will just have to walk.”
These were the moments Samuel lived for, just a quiet afternoon with his best friend enjoying a stroll; he was utterly content.
“You seem chipper,” Tamara said, noticing the growing smile on Samuel’s face.
“That’s because I feel chipper” he replied
They passed through the trees, heading towards their favourite spot, a beach by the side of a lake so large you could not see the other side.
“So, how is everyone?” Samuel said, trying to spark a conversation.
“You mean every single one because that could take a while?” Tamara replied.
“Let’s start with your mother” he clarified.
Tamara’s mother, Pancha, was more or less just a larger version of her daughter, just as brash and headstrong.
“She’s fine; she has finally stopped asking me what happened every time I come to meet you,” she said.
“Really, and it only took her two and a half years,” said Samuel with a smirk.
Yes, that first year here, had been a real trial. Samuel had never felt so scared, isolated and persecuted in his life. When he thought about it, he could still feel the fear and the hopelessness.
A gust of air slammed into Samuel’s face, bringing him back to the present, and what a wonderful time it was. The water was crystal clear, the beach was covered in sparkling white sand, and the distinct aroma of water wafted through the air. Samuel breathed it all in as Tamara spread herself over the beach.
The cooling breeze that Samuel found so enjoyable, Tamara found far less agreeable. Tamara was ectothermic or cold-blooded. She could not maintain her body temperature; she needed to absorb it from her environment, and the wind was slowly draining her.
“Comfortable down there?” Samuel asked.
Tamara turned her head, looked up at him and said: “Actually, yes, not as good as my bed, but still fine.”
Samuel left Tamara to her thermoregulation and strolled down to the water’s edge, “stay where I can see you!” Tamara called.
“Yes, MOM,” Samuel answered sarcastically, though he knew it was more for Tamara’s sake than his; she had a problem with open spaces.
Samuel closed his eyes, stretched his arms above his head, feeling his muscles strain against the tension, and yawned. Small tears formed in his eyes and wiped them away. He had only been up for a few hours but was ready for bed.
“Too much thinking, that was the problem,” Samuel mumbled to himself.
The sunlight sparkled on the water’s surface. It seemed as though millions of diamonds were suddenly brought into existence, danced for a few moments, and then vanished as quickly as they came. It was beautiful, just like everything else here.
He climbed up a rock that jutted from that sand and sat down, his legs dangling over the edge. As he kicked his legs, a ray of sun caught his greaves, and although the leather was rather dull, it still dazzled him.
Samuel heard a sound reminiscent of sandpaper brushing against wood, and he knew at once what it was. He waited four more seconds and said, without moving an inch, “Don’t even think about it!”
“How did you know?” Tamara asked, feeling simultaneously impressed, confused and disappointed.
Samuel looked her in the eye and replied: “who do you think you’re dealing with?”
Tamara had not clambered up the rock like Samuel; she had simply raised herself on her tail so she stood over two metres high.
“Are you feeling better?” he asked.
Tamara smiled and answered, “yes, thanks for asking.”
Tamara moved behind Samuel and then began to coil around the boulder, and if he had not experienced it all before, it would have been unnerving. Tamara was only twelve and a half, yet she was already far stronger than him. Samuel was sure if Tamara really wanted to, she could crush a bison to death. After the graceful dance around the stone, she sat down beside Samuel.
The pair was silent for a few minutes, except for a quick coughing fit by Samuel; they took in the unnatural beauty of their surroundings.
“Hey, I have a question,” said Tamara, coming back to her senses.
“What is it?” Samuel replied.
“You still haven’t told me why we are studying the forest?” She asked.
In an instant, Samuel became deeply confused. To him, it seemed all too obvious why they were doing it.
“There is no practical reason for doing it. We do it so that we know,” Samuel answered.
Tamara became silent. Samuel realised that she was deep in thought and decided to give her all the time she needed until she finally said: “Is this one of those human things?”
Samuel, upon hearing this, gave a small chuckle and answered: “yes, if you like.”
Suddenly, something caught Samuel’s eye. It was a crab, no bigger than a golf ball. Its back was powder blue, and it held its arms upright, its claws pointing down. The tiny creature would walk forward, scoop some sand into its mouth, and then leave a small pellet behind.
“Look at that!” said Samuel, nudging Tamara’s shoulder and pointing at the tiny crustacean. Tamara turned her head and looked directly at where he was pointing; she strained her eyes at what she thought was a pebble; she was about to climb down and collect it when it suddenly moved, and she squealed.
Tamara dragged the bottom end of her tail up from the beach and timidly said, “What’s that?”
Samuel remembered that tone of voice all too well, and it brought with it some unpleasant memories, but he pushed them to the back of his mind and said: “it’s a crab.”
Samuel was certain he had seen this type of crab before but could not put a name to the image. Samuel was sure he had read about them, watched a documentary, or attended a lecture, but he could not remember. Ultimately, he decided to drop it for now and see if the answer would come to him.
Tamara kept staring at it as though she believed it would pounce if she took her eyes off it for one second.
“Is it dangerous?” she asked, her voice hushed to ensure the creature did not notice her.
Samuel sighed and answered: “it’s a crab, Tamara, unless you happen to be a nematode then…”
Samuel paused mid-sentence as his brain finally connected the dots and asked, “Wait, you have never seen a crab before?”
This perplexed Samuel for a moment until he remembered that Tamara did not have a television, a car, and she could not fly a plane, so it was not unexpected that she would not know what a crab was.
Tamara shook her head in response to his question, and Samuel added: “you know what a woodlouse is, right?”
Tamara nodded and said, “I like woodlice.”
“Well, a crab is just a type of woodlouse that lives near water,” Samuel concluded.
However, he could tell from her face that she was unconvinced, so he got off the rock, walked over to the tiny creature, wary of its pincers, and picked it up by its backside.
“What are you doing?” Tamara called in alarm.
Samuel held the animal, its legs flailing wildly in an attempt to escape, and said, “showing you there is nothing to be worried about.”
Taking care not to crush it, Samuel clambered back up the rock and presented the animal to her. Tamara stared at it for some as the crab bobbed its eye up and down and tried in vain to find a part of Samuel it could nip.
“It’s actually kind of… cute,” Tamara said after two minutes of silence.
She relaxed her tail and let it rest on the beach once more. “Can it hold it?” She asked Samuel, fear being replaced by interest.
“Of course, you can. Just make sure you hold it by its back and be careful of the pincers; if they get you, it will hurt.”
Samuel handed the crab over to her and watched as Tamara began to inspect the animal from every angle. The crab had a white underbelly and purple joints.
“You think you could draw it from memory?” Samuel asked.
“Hmm?” Tamara replied. Samuel let out a sigh and repeated. After three more attempts, Tamara finally took notice and said, “Yes.”
Five minutes later, Samuel said, “we should probably put him back now.”
Tamara moaned about it, but Samuel said: “he has his own life, Tamara; you can’t keep him!”
She conceded, grumbling under her breath, and gently placed the animal back on the sand. As the crab dashed away, the two noticed that while they had been fixated on that single crab, thousands more had emerged on the beach.
Upon seeing the swarm of animals make their way across the beach, Tamara let out a squeal and once again pulled her tail up off the beach. The army of crabs marched along the shore. The collective walking produced a sound loud enough to hear from fifty metres away, and at last, Samuel remembered what they were and said, with no small amount of satisfaction in his voice, “they’re soldier crabs.”
“What are they going to do?” Tamara asked, concerned by the sudden appearance of so many creatures.
Samuel kept staring at the gathering, but he heard her question and replied, “They’re just feeding,” and added quickly, “But we are far too big for them.”
“That's odd,” Samuel said under his breath.
“I know there are so many of them,” Tamara said, deeply unnerved by the sheer vastness of the swarm.
“No,” Samuel said, “There should be this many of them; it’s where they are that is strange.”
Tamara momentarily took her eyes off the army and asked, “So where should they be.” There was a slight flicker of fear in her voice at the prospect of being invaded; rats and mice where bad enough. They did not need another pest.
“By the sea, not a freshwater lake,” he answered.
“The Sea?” Tamara almost yelled. Samuel was a little surprised by this enthusiasm and turned to face her.
“Yes,” he said.
“Have you ever been to the sea,” she asked.
“Yes, many times,” Samuel said, uncertain where this was going.
“I bet it’s wonderful,” Tamara added with a smile.
Samuel was silent as his brain connected a few dots and asked: “how can you know about the sea if you don’t know about crabs?”
She smiled; Tamara enjoyed it when she knew something that he did not, “there is a story that my mom told me that before we came to this forest, we were a different people that lived by the sea.” Tamara paused for a breath.
“But then humans came and drove us from the water, and we fled inland. Our people split into two. One half went to the mountains, and the other settled in the forest.”
Tamara finished and waited for his reply. Samuel, however, just kept looking at her. Tamara was concerned that she had upset him; he did not like it when humans were labelled as the enemy, yet his face and posture were not those of one who was sad or angry.
“You people blame us for everything, don’t you?” Samuel said with a chuckle.
“If there is a fire, it’s a human’s fault. If there is an earthquake, it’s a human’s fault. If a little Boreray boy drinks all their apple juice in one gulp, it’s a human’s fault.”
“So, getting back on topic, where did these “Soldier crabs” come from anyway? We have visited this lake for over two years and never seen even a glimpse?” Tamara asked. Samuel looked back to the slowly advancing army, and several ideas flashed through his head.
“Maybe they have been dormant up until now; perhaps they make a large circle around the lake shore, and it’s simply luck that we were here on the day they passed by, or maybe the migrated here from somewhere else.”
They watched the crabs' ceaseless march until Tamara said, “These things are still giving me the creeps. Can we go now?” Samuel could not argue that there was something eerie about all of these animals appearing, seemingly, from nowhere; however, there was still one thing he had to be certain of.
“You think you could draw one from memory?” he asked.
Tamara’s face contorted in a scowl. Samuel, for all his good points, could become far too focused on his research, which often caused him to become ignorant of other people.
Yet she knew sitting here yelling at him would accomplish nothing, so she told him the truth: “Yes, can we go now!” Samuel nodded and then slid off the rock. Tamara copied him, and they both slinked back to the cover of the trees.
Now that she was beneath the canopy, Tamara let out an enormous sigh of relief as the anxiety slowly left, and the close air warmed her body. On the other hand, Samuel began to chafe at the stagnant air while his head began to bead with sweat, but it was nothing he had not experienced before, so he gritted his teeth and bared with it.
With their plans now ruined, Tamara and Samuel wandered aimlessly through the woods, chatting about what they could do to fill the rest of the day. Several ideas arose, including visiting a nearby waterfall and a set of monument stones, but none truly appealed to them.
In the end, Tamara said, “how about we just call it a day?”
Samuel was happy about this. Tamara was his only form of human contact, yet he could not deny the pointlessness of wandering around the woods, so he said, “Ok, but let’s take the long way.”
Samuel heard a sound above him and saw a red squirrel scampering through the trees.
“Is it difficult?” Tamara asked.
Samuel looked at Tamara and replied, “Well, it can give me a crick in my neck sometimes.”
Tamara let out a short laugh and clarified, “No, I mean, is it difficult being so inquisitive? It looks exhausting.”
He was not entirely sure what she meant by that. To Samuel, Tamara was every bit as curious as him, so he stated: “you tell me, you went out looking for me just because you wanted to know.”
“True,” answered Tamara, “and everyone has always said that I am always asking questions, but you’re like a boar that just ate sugar beat.”
“I have no idea what that means,” Samuel said, shaking his head. “But I do know that people always told me, when I was a boy, that humans are, by their nature, infinitely curious, but personally, I think that it’s just how I was born.” there was a pause, and he quickly added, “just like you.”
Tamara’s fingers started to numb as she brushed them against the bark of passing trees. She took a good look at the trees around her. Tamara had lived her entire life sheltered by these trees. This place was her home, her family’s home and her friend’s home, and she loved it, a perfect example of the innate beauty of nature.
Samuel, however, was of a different opinion this forest disturbed him, though this feeling had diminished with time. The trees all grew in perfect symmetry, four and a half strides form each other.
From Tamara’s perspective, there was nothing strange about this, yet Samuel often said that this should not be possible, that the wood should be a mess and that the trees should grow in an unorganised fashion. Yet to Tamara, the idea of messy forests was just as impossible as a structured one was to him.
Noon came and went, and Samuel’s stomach began to rumble. His breakfast was becoming a distant memory; he thought he might be able to bear it for another hour or so, but as they travelled closer to the village, Tamara started to become irritated by Samuel’s constant growling.
“We need to find you something to eat before that sound drives me nuts!” Tamara stated bluntly.
“That’s all well and good, my dear, so long as you can materialise food out of the aether,” answered Samuel, with just a hint of condescension in his voice.
Tamara did not know what the aether was, but it did not matter. “No, but I do know a nearby tree with some great fruit in it,” she replied.
Samuel found this strange for two reasons. Firstly, he found it very difficult to believe there was a source of food in this forest that either he had not found, or Tamara had not told him about yet.
Secondly that, Tamara would know much about something she could not eat. Tamara was strictly carnivorous; she ate nothing but meat.
He wanted answers fast and asked: “So why haven’t you told me about this before?”
“Because I can’t stand the smell, that’s why, and I didn’t want you stinking up the place,” she explained.
“If it smells disgusting, what makes you think I will eat it?” he asked.
“Because the Boreray can’t get enough of it, some of them say that they taste like all the best parts of every fruit and vegetable we grow, which is a shame because they smell like all the worst,” she added.
He asked no more questions. He was too busy thinking; this fruit sounded so familiar, but he could not remember. The need to survive day in day out had pushed most of his standard learning, from school and university to the back of his mind, not forgotten mind you just buried.
I'm back with Tamara and Samuel latest adventure. If you like what you've read so far and want to know where it's going you can find the complete story by following the links below.
e-book(US/UK/CA/AU/DE)
Physical(US/UK/CA/DE)
If you do decide to read ahead please leave a review or rating, every single one helps immensely, and helps me keep doing what I'm doing.
Also the e-book will be at a reduced price until the last chapter it published on reddit.

I use to work with a team of 10-12 other girls and we all pretty much got along with each other.
You had this one girl, let’s just call her “Susan”. Well Susan was one of those girls that wore “orange” fondation, bleached her hair blonde - white, wore low riding jeans so you could see her string riding up her back…
Susan and I worked “well” together, despite the fact that I didn’t like her too much bcuz I always try to remain professional at work no matter who I’m working with on my shift, but it’s hard to do this when Susan likes to make fun of you..
I was the chubbiest girl out of us all but it had never bothered me before and as mentioned, we all pretty much got along with each other.
it was the early 2000s, I had purchased my FIRST low riding jeans: pure white. But as I am artistically talented I jazzed up those jeans with song lyrics, ripped knees, added some spikes and other bling… I did a pretty good job for a DIY project and so they became my favourite pair of pants. I wore them ALL the time.
One day, I was wearing my fav jeans, it was a shift rotation so we had like 6 or 7 people all hanging around about to log on/log off) when Susan out of nowhere just decided to blurt out to me in front of of the girls “you know, it’s so funny how we all mostly have the same haircut” (she was the only one who bleached her hair and had hers cut in a short Bob, while the rest of us had long hair coloured between brown to black) “and yet, the best way to tell each other apart from the back is you’ve got the biggest ass here” and she tried to laugh and make it seem like it was nothing, but nobody else laughed and just kinda fell awkwardly quiet.
All her rude comments to me, always side eyeing me and making fun of me… I couldn’t hold back so I replied “yeah? That’s cool. At least when I insult someone I can look at them straight in the eyes”.
She never bothered me again 😎👉👉

My sister went to live in a small town in the Pacific Northwest about a year ago. Contact with her ceased 10 hours after she had left town. Her phone would go straight to voicemail and I couldn’t file her as missing, as I hadn’t even gone there to make sure she was okay myself. But when I entered that small sleepy village, I didn’t think I was going to be leaving.
The fact is she hadn’t told me specifically what town, but modern technology prevails and before she moved she had forgotten to stop sharing her location with me. At least the location was active for the 10 hours after she had left our shared apartment. The location was a road coursing through the dense pine forests, and the closest town was only a few miles North. It was a start so after a few days of ruminating, worrying and telling myself that she’s fine, she’s an adult, she doesn’t need me to baby her anymore, I caved to the worry and packed my bags.
The long drive from our hometown of ***** in Idaho was adding to my stress, if only speed limits were not a thing. I drove into the town of ******** as night was falling and the dense forests around me began to feel as if they were closing in on me. The town was quiet, and to be honest I couldn’t see anyone. A few signs flashed on and off which presumably meant that despite the deserted streets, people were most likely dwelling inside the diners and bars that were sporadically placed.
I pulled into the diner which had the most cars parked in the lot, stepping out of my car and briskly walking to it as it begun raining. The smell of pancakes, cigarettes and coffee hit me as I walked inside the door, along with the warmth that flooded over my cold limbs. The customers sat in their plaid shirts, sipping on their beverages, and looked at me in somewhat disdain. Outsiders I guess. I sat on the corner booth, and the waitress came over to me; a much less disapproving expression on her face thankfully. I ordered a diet coke and a stack of pancakes as after that drive my belly was louder than the chatter in the place. Whispers now, as if I had walked in on some secret group meeting that fronted as a family diner.
I tried ringing my sister again, hoping that perhaps it may ring this time. But it didn’t. I ate my pancakes, as I felt eyes on me with each bite. Once I had finished, I paid and left them, hearing the chatter intensify as the door shut behind me. It was 9pm and I had pre-booked a BnB about five minutes up the road. It was a quaint little colonial, with inviting amber light emanating from inside. From the empty parking lot I assumed I was to be the only guest that night, and I pulled my suitcase from my trunk, dragging it across the gravel courtyard.
As I got to the top of the stairs I realised there was no BnB sign or anything really that indicated that it was a BnB. No vacancy sign, no usual indications of it being a professional establishment. I twisted the doorknob and entered the ‘lobby’ which seemed to lack a reception desk, and very much looked as if I had simply walked into somebodies home. Silence. At this point I was certain I had inputted the wrong address, and seeing as it was a small town the fact that the door was unlocked was not so out of the ordinary. I turned and left, dragging my relatively heavy suitcase down the porch steps and back to my car. Before I managed to open my trunk, an elderly woman's voice came from behind me.
“Why you leaving dear, come on inside. I have just baked a fresh batch of Snicker doodles.”
I turned to see the lady, who looked very much like a stereotypical grandmother with her coifed hair and flowery apron.
I followed her as she escorted me back through the front door. At this point I was ready to collapse on a soft bed, my eyes were sore and my fingers felt as if they were about to snap from the cold air outside.
“I will take you to your room after you’ve tried one of my snickerdoodles,” the lady said as she gestured for me to follow her to the kitchen.
“This is the ***** BnB Isn’t it?” I asked as I sat on one of the chairs around the little round table she had in the middle of the kitchen.
“Yes of course. Would you like milk with your cookies dear?”
I ate the complementary cookies as she watched each bite that went into my mouth, before she asked the question that ultimately would lead to the cascade of events that made me never, ever want to visit a small town ever again.
“Where’s your invitation?” she asked as she tapped her fingers against the table.
“Invitation?” I asked. “You mean my booking number?”
“No dear, your invitation to this town. No one comes here without one.”
“I don’t have one, I only have the booking number for this hotel.”
When I said this the woman’s homely demeanour soon changed. She looked irritated, angry, and went to the phone that was hanging on the wall.
“Who are you calling?”
She turned back to me with wide eyes, and as I swallowed it felt as if one of those delicious cookies was lodged in my throat.
“I don’t know about an invitation, I have my booking number, I paid for the room.”
The lady didn’t look back to me when I said this and stood with the phone against her ear.
“There is a young lady here without an invitation,” the woman said. “Yes, no invitation.”
The woman started tapping her foot on the floor as she grew impatient with whoever was on the other end of the phone. At this point I got up, and backed into the hallway where my suitcase was still sitting by the front door.
“She’s leaving! What do you want me to do! I cant run after her, I had a damn hip replacement!”
I at this point, as anyone would do, ran to the front door, and picked my suitcase up as I heard her yelling intelligible things at the phone.
I ran to my car, shoved the suitcase on the passenger seat, and reversed out of there, as my heart was nearly bursting through my ribcage.
I drove back the way the diner was, not knowing what I was going to do. I couldn’t just leave here, my sister was somewhere and if this was how the locals were, I sure as hell was going to find her and take her back home.
But at this point I had nowhere to sleep, and it wasn’t like I could just drive to the next town over, which was hours away. I was sure to have crashed the car in my state of panic and sheer exhaustion.
I composed myself as my shaky hands held onto the wheel, and decided that f it. I would have to drive to the nearest town, whatever was going on here, whether I was just paranoid or what, felt very off.
But as I came to the road that led out of town, I noticed the orange lights of a roadblock, warping in the rain that started to pelt down harder.
I stopped my car and got out to speak to the people standing in front of it, placing cones and signs.
“I need to leave, is there another way out?” I yelled through the almost deafening sound of the rain.
“No Miss. you’ll have to get a hotel tonight.”
“Why is it blocked?”
“Something on the road. There’s a BnB up the road.”
I ran back to my car, wiping the rain out of my eyes. What on earth was going on, and one way out? They had to be lying or something. I turned my phone on and of course because of the rain, and impending storm, no signal, no maps.
I did a U turn, the road had to come out somewhere else up north. The town could not just be a one way in, dead end out.
I drove past the BnB, up the main road as my wipers were struggling to keep up with the pouring rain.
And thats when I realised that the main road at least was one way in. The road stopped randomly, blocked by pines that lead into a forest. I didn’t want to stop there, to I turned down a road to the right, just praying please please please get me out of here, I’ll come back in the daylight but please tonight just get me out of here.
The road began to get bumpy. In the distance I could see lights and through the intermittent vision I had of the road, I could see a church. I parked and got out of the car, hoping that the church might offer me some sort of shelter. I ran through the rain as the wind worked against me. I rapped on the old wooden door, yelling for someone to open it, all while looking back at the black void behind my car from where I had come.
After a few minutes, I heard the clinking of a lock and stepped back. A friendly face of a woman peered through a gap and she looked up at me.
“How can I help. Its 10Pm.”
“I have nowhere to stay, and that BnB down the road was not very inviting.”
“Invitation Hm?”
“Yes, you know about that?”
The lady opened the door and gestured for me to enter. The wind howled through the church even when she had shut the door, and there was candles placed throughout.
“Is the woman ok in that BnB?” I asked the lady.
“The woman. Miss, you came to the wrong place, and I’m not sure what I can do to help you.”
“The wrong place?” I asked as I felt completely as if I was about to break down and cry from the fear of what on earth was going on.
“You can stay here, and I will help you however I can. But it’s me and a few of my friends against that town. I cant promise anything.”

i want to have an icy blonde balayage bob for my wavy hair with a bit of root shadow so it doesnt grow out clunky. WHO CAN I TRUST? money is no object