Classic Literature: 1. "The Hanged Man" in T.S. Eliot's "The Waste Land" (1922): - Reference: Eliot's influential modernist poem references the tarot card "The Hanged Man" in the context of spiritual crisis and renewal. - Significance: The card symbolizes sacrifice and surrender, echoing themes of transformation and rebirth explored in Eliot's work.

1. "The Magician" in Somerset Maugham's "The Magician" (1908):
   • Plot Element: Maugham's novel revolves around an occultist and magician named Oliver Haddo, inspired by the tarot card "The Magician."
   • Symbolism: The character embodies the archetype of the Magician, using mystical powers and symbolism associated with the tarot card to drive the narrative.

Contemporary Literature: 3. "The Night Circus" by Erin Morgenstern (2011): - Tarot Influence: The novel features a magical competition between two illusionists, and tarot cards are used as a divinatory tool by one of the characters. - Symbolic Elements: Tarot motifs, including the Fool's journey and card readings, contribute to the atmospheric and mysterious setting of the story.

1. "The Raven Cycle" Series by Maggie Stiefvater (2012-2016):
   • Character Incorporation: The character Ronan Lynch in this series is associated with tarot cards, particularly "The Magician."
   • Narrative Impact: Tarot symbolism is interwoven into the character's development, reflecting themes of power, transformation, and the manipulation of reality.

Magical Realism: 5. "Like Water for Chocolate" by Laura Esquivel (1989): - Tarot Spread Structure: Each chapter in this magical realist novel is introduced with a tarot card, setting the thematic tone for the narrative. - Symbolic Significance: Tarot cards serve as a creative and symbolic framework, guiding readers through the emotional and magical journey of the protagonist.

1. "The House of the Spirits" by Isabel Allende (1982):
   • Tarot Readings: The novel includes scenes where characters engage in tarot readings, providing insights into their destinies and influencing the unfolding events.
   • Symbolism: Tarot cards become a symbolic and mystical element, enhancing the magical realism inherent in Allende's storytelling.

Dystopian Fiction: 7. "The Handmaid's Tale" by Margaret Atwood (1985): - Tarot Imagery: Tarot cards, particularly the deck known as the "Jezebels Tarot," appear in the novel as a forbidden and subversive element within the dystopian society. - Resistance Symbolism: The use of tarot cards symbolizes resistance and individual agency in a repressive regime.
From classic literature to contemporary works, tarot cards have served as powerful symbols, narrative devices, and sources of inspiration. Their presence in literature often extends beyond mere divination, delving into themes of fate, transformation, and the complexities of human experience. As a rich tapestry of symbolism, tarot continues to weave its way through the realms of imagination and storytelling, adding layers of meaning to literary narratives.
Fantasy and Magical Themes: 8. "Good Omens" by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett (1990): - Prophecy and Tarot: The novel incorporates tarot cards as part of the prophecies, and the card "The Tower" plays a significant role in the narrative. - Humorous Twist: Gaiman and Pratchett infuse humor and irreverence into the use of tarot cards, blending fantasy and satire.

1. "The Night Circus" by Erin Morgenstern (2011):
   • Magical Setting: Beyond using tarot cards as a divination tool, the novel features the Le Cirque des Rêves, a magical circus where each tent is inspired by a tarot card.
   • Atmospheric Influence: Tarot symbolism enhances the enchanting and mysterious atmosphere of the story, contributing to the novel's magical realism.

Mystery and Detective Fiction: 10. "The Hound of the Baskervilles" by Arthur Conan Doyle (1902): - Tarot Card Allusion: The novel contains a reference to a death card that could be interpreted as resembling a tarot card. This adds an element of mystery and foreshadowing to the narrative.

1. "Foucault's Pendulum" by Umberto Eco (1988):
   • Tarot Conspiracies: Eco's complex novel delves into conspiracies and secret societies, incorporating elements of tarot symbolism as characters explore esoteric mysteries.
   • Intellectual Exploration: Tarot cards become part of the intellectual and symbolic tapestry in a narrative that explores the boundaries between reality and imagination.

Science Fiction: 12. "Snow Crash" by Neal Stephenson (1992): - Tarot as Code: In this cyberpunk novel, tarot cards are used as a form of code for a virus that plays a crucial role in the plot. - Futuristic Integration: The novel explores how ancient symbols, like those found in tarot, can find new meaning in a futuristic, technology-driven world.
Romance and Relationship Dynamics: 13. "The Lovers" by Vendela Vida (2010): - Tarot Theme: In this novel, the protagonist becomes involved in a project where she creates a deck of tarot cards to explore themes of love and relationships. - Personal Journey: Tarot becomes a tool for self-discovery and reflection on romantic relationships, adding a unique twist to the exploration of love in the narrative.
In literature, tarot cards emerge as versatile narrative tools, blending seamlessly into various genres and themes. Authors employ them for foreshadowing, symbolism, and to explore the complexities of human existence. Whether in the realms of fantasy, mystery, science fiction, or romance, tarot cards contribute to the richness and depth of storytelling, offering readers a glimpse into the mystical and symbolic dimensions of the human experience.
Historical Fiction: 14. "The Eight" by Katherine Neville (1988): - Quest for a Chess Set: The novel weaves a complex narrative involving a quest for a mystical chess set, with each piece representing a tarot card. The tarot cards play a central role in unraveling the mysteries within the story. - Symbolic Elements: Tarot cards are intricately linked to historical events and characters, providing a symbolic framework for the unfolding adventure.

1. "The Shadow of the Wind" by Carlos Ruiz Zafón (2001):
   • Tarot Card Readings: The novel features a mysterious character who conducts tarot card readings, offering insights into the destinies of the main characters.
   • Atmospheric Symbolism: Tarot cards contribute to the atmospheric and gothic elements of the narrative, adding layers of mystery and intrigue.

Coming-of-Age Narratives: 16. "The Raven Cycle" Series by Maggie Stiefvater (2012-2016): - Tarot Card Symbolism: Tarot cards, especially "The Magician," play a significant role in the character development and coming-of-age themes of the series. - Personal Growth: The use of tarot reflects the characters' journeys of self-discovery, empowerment, and understanding their places in the world.
Philosophical Exploration: 17. "The Castle of Crossed Destinies" by Italo Calvino (1969): - Silent Characters: In this experimental novel, characters communicate solely through laying out tarot cards to tell their stories. The tarot becomes a visual language, and the narrative explores the interconnectedness of stories and destiny. - Symbolic Interpretation: The novel delves into the nature of narrative, choice, and fate through the lens of tarot symbolism.
Memoir and Autobiography: 18. "M Train" by Patti Smith (2015): - Personal Reflections: In her memoir, Patti Smith reflects on her life, travels, and creative process. Tarot cards appear as a recurring motif, offering glimpses into the author's introspective and spiritual moments. - Intuitive Guidance: The author uses tarot as a tool for personal reflection and guidance, highlighting its role in her creative and spiritual journey.
Literary Criticism: 19. "Tarot as a Way of Life: A Jungian Approach to the Tarot" by Karen Hamaker-Zondag (2001): - Psychological Exploration: This non-fiction work explores tarot from a Jungian perspective, delving into the archetypal and symbolic dimensions of the cards. - Integration with Jungian Psychology: The author uses tarot as a means to explore the collective unconscious and the psychological aspects of the human experience.
Tarot cards continue to be a rich source of inspiration for authors across diverse genres. Whether as a narrative device, a symbolic tool, or a means of philosophical exploration, tarot's presence in literature enhances storytelling by tapping into the mystical, psychological, and symbolic facets of the human condition. As authors weave these archetypal cards into their narratives, readers are invited to explore realms of meaning, mystery, and self-discovery.

I find it odd that many of our trusted Christian church leaders,both true blue & lipstick varieties, are quick to gloss over Christ’s literacy or even assert Christ’s illiteracy while simultaneously attributing all sorts of magical nonsense to his name. How you gonna elevate this guy to god-tier status, yet preach he can’t read? Of course God reads, reads great!writes great too! Jesus according to Christians is the real deal, the whole Enchilda, the Beginning and the End, the Alpha & the Omega, yet also according to them he can’t write Alpha or Omega. That’s crazy thinking, blasphemy even, all the best stuff in the Bible was written by Jesus.
Receipts?
Jesus Christ (Didymus Judas Thomas) authored The Gospel of Thomas.
Read here the opening lines of The Gospel of Thomas (Leloup Translation)…
“These are the words of the Secret. They were revealed by the Living Yeshua. Didymus Judas Thomas wrote them down.”
Note the unusual use of the word “revealed” here in place of common language you’ll find of “said/spoken”.
The unusual doubling of the Twin generic descriptor, sandwiching the common Judas name.
Didymus = Twin (Greek) Judas = Name Thomas = Twin (Aramaic)
Judas, according to the Bible, was a brother & devoted servant of Jesus Christ (Mark 6:3; Matt 13:55; Jude 1). His twin (Acts of Thomas). The spiritual (divine) Christ paired to the physical (human) Judas. Jesus WAS Judas. In the Gospel of Thomas there were no miracles, no resurrections. Jesus predicted no future events, he was no prophet, no revelations or rapture. All prophesy attributed (falsely) to Jesus was culled from the Hebrew OT and retrofitted as Roman propaganda to co-opt, conflate & corrupt Judaism w/ the upstart Jesus’ movement, neatly consolidating control of both under Rome, effectively killing 2 birds with 1 stone.
So how then did Jesus know Judas would betray him? Simple, he (Jesus/Judas) turned himself in & cut a deal with Pilate to fake crucifixion avoiding further unrest in the Jewish population (exactly what you would hope for & expect from a Jesus). The deal was after the crucifix fake-out Jesus would bounce & so he did becoming St.Thomas/St.Jude traveling far & wide, converting about a billion more ppl to Christianity before dying in his 100s.
A few additional odds & ends that support this info above (greatly abridged for time).
1) While the two written accounts we have of Judas’ death following his “betrayal” of Jesus in the New Testament differ greatly, on one point they both agree, Judas’ death occurred simultaneous with Jesus’ death on the cross.
2) NT Jude 1:1 identifying Judas as a brother to James but a “servant” of Jesus.
3) The apocryphal Gospel of Barnabas (apostle of Jesus), Ch. 216 - Judas takes on appearance of Jesus, later crucified in Jesus’ place.
4) St. Jude is most often depicted wearing a giant medallion around his neck with the life-sized head of Jesus on it (google it), that’s 2000 yrs before modern rappers made this a thing & fashionable. They literally got Jude walking around, spreading Christ’s word “wearing the face of Jesus”. The truth hidden in plain sight.
5) Judas of Galilee/Gamala founder of the "4th Philosophy"/Zealots was the father of Jesus/Judas, Judah ben Judah, and Jesus/Judas was the father of Menahem, Menahem ben Judah (google it).
6) In sharp contrast to the synoptic Gospels’ liberal use of the sayings in Thomas’ Gospel, chopping them up and sprinkling them about freely, The Gospel of John contains far fewer examples of overlapping content with The Gospel of Thomas. This drop off due to the fact of John being authored in direct opposition to Thomas. A point by point takedown and smear campaign (e.g., “Doubting Thomas”, Faith trumps Knowledge) targeting Thomas to discredit and flush out the remaining followers of early Christ movements, movements still having legs and remaining popular despite the introduction and heavy promotion of the 3 synoptic Gospels being widely disseminated across all Roman territories. John’s underlying agenda accounts for the dramatic shift in tone, structure & narrative, making a clean break from messaging of synoptic Gospels. John was a hit piece against early Christians/Gnostics, Rome couldn’t just steal it, they had to kill it.

It seems like she’s feeling insecure again. I keep my eyes shut tight, preparing myself for the song and dance I had been through so many times before. The weight of the bed shifts under me as she crawls under the blankets. A cold limb flops over my torso, wrapping me in a frigid embrace. I resist the urge to flinch as the moist, squishy mass of flesh presses into my forehead, a tickling droplet of fluid slides down my face and over my tightly pursed lips. Not daring to move, I waited patiently for the words I knew must come. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, a muffled teary voice sounds in a desperate tone:
“Do you...”
The voice falters, emitting several low-pitched, labored gurgles before continuing:
“Love me?”
Without hesitation I respond, as gently as could be managed:
“Of course I love you. But it’s time to go back to sleep now, okay?”
The gurgling continues, higher pitched now, like an excited baby. After a few moments the squishy mass detaches itself from my forehead, and the weight in the bed shifts. The gentle smacking of feet against hardwood floor, and a door quietly closing across the house resound in the otherwise silent room. Sitting up on the edge of the bed, I rock gently back and forth with my head in between my legs, resisting the tears that are fighting to escape. I allow a few moments of this pointless self-pity before forcing myself to stand up.
I walk down the hallway to the bathroom, not allowing my eyes to stray to the door to what used to be my room. A look in the mirror reveals that my forehead has already started breaking out in small orange pustules, along with a small streak of them where the fluid had dripped down my face. At least it didn't get in my mouth this time. That isn’t a panic I would like to revisit. I retrieve the small bottle of vinegar from the medicine cabinet and apply it to a cotton ball, beginning the tedious task of treating my face. A harsher acid would probably do a better job, but I prefer to avoid the stinging even if the pustules disappear more slowly. It’s not like I need to look handsome for anyone. It’s unlikely she can even really see me.
Once my skin is sufficiently covered in the stuff, I grab a bucket and mop, and clean the wet footprints from the hallway, and from the living room where my bed is located. Most of the wood flooring throughout the house is already somewhat corroded, but I’d prefer to keep my home intact to the extent that I am able. Although it’s up to anyone’s guess what manner of hellscape the bedroom must look like. I hadn’t been in that room in a long time. That was her domain now, and there was no reason for me to enter. No reason to take that risk.
I light the small gas cooktop in the kitchen and get to work making food for the day. Canned food is surprisingly appetizing when there’s nothing to do but eat. It would taste better with some seasoning, but there was no point in going through that much effort. This food serves one purpose, and that’s to keep us from starving. I slide one plate under the crack between the floor and the bedroom door and sit down in the living room with the other plate in hand.
The book on the coffee table catches my eye as it does every morning. Sighing, I pick up the ratty collection of pages and flip to a random one. One of the few books on the “Great Plague” as they call it, that was ever published, or at least, the only one I could ever find. Titled “The End” by Jared Kramer, It was more of a fanatical opinion piece than a proper informative book, but Kramer at least provided a bit of information on the virus, how the transformation works, and what methods could be used to, in his words, “Cure” the afflicted. A shotgun was noted as the best medicine, with gasoline and matches being a close second. Near the middle of the book, the portion that was coincidentally staring back at me from the pages, it turned into a near unintelligible ranting on the philosophy of consciousness. Apparently, Kramer had only just begun to consider whether blowing the afflicted’s brains out was a morally reasonable decision. He had never come across as a particularly intelligent guy in his writings, and my assumption was that he was simply the only person who wrote fast enough to get a book published before the plague became a worldwide epidemic. Towards the end of the book, Kramer does a 180 and states repeatedly that “Accepting the transformation is the only road to salvation”.
“Salvation... as if”
My words perish in the empty air, a death rattle of frustrated skepticism.
I had never quite understood what that actually meant. Salvation would be something like deliverance from harm, harm being the only thing that the plague brought to the world. The book thuds as I carelessly toss it back on the table. It's obvious that the author was in the process of transforming as he wrote the final passages, but they never ceased to bother me. Perhaps I'm just fixating on those words as a way of keeping my mind occupied.
There’s really no reason to focus on such pointless things.
--------------------
The following night my sleep was peaceful and uninterrupted. She usually shows up once a week, if not less frequently. After waking, the bathroom mirror reveals that the pustules ha subsided slightly, leaving my skin smooth, if not free of the noticeable blemishes. A subtle glint of light shines off of my head and my heart rate accelerates.
Surely not.
Surely it was a trick of the light.
I begin rifling through my matted hair furiously and there it is. A single, silver hair hanging in front of my forehead.
I guess this is it then.
She made sure I had sworn on everything under the sun. Her stupid goofy smile reflected in my memory.
“First grey hair and I’m outta here mister”
To think that a silly little joke between us had turned into this solemn responsibility. The steel of the revolver was cold in my palm. My eyes locked onto it, unsure of when it had made its way from the drawer of the coffee table into my hand, or for that matter, when I had entered the living room. The earth seemed to be rotating at impossible speeds. Everything was black except for the gun in my hand and the book on the coffee table. That goddamn book. One of the pages had begun to tear away from the others, no doubt a result of my less than careful treatment of the thing, and a single word seemed to assault my fragile psyche.
Salvation.
I get it now
My heartbeat slows marginally as the unravelling of this book that I’ve read so many times presented a welcome distraction. There had been nothing left for Kramer, or anyone else for that matter, in a world that was dying around them. His salvation was freedom from the great plague. His call to “accept” the transformation, was not the same as giving in to it. After all, hadn’t he expressed over and over again exactly how to “find release” as he called it, from the infection.
Kramer, unlike me, had accepted that there was no life in transformation, no being, no humanity, and no way back. His moral dilemma had come to a close, likely with a bullet in his brain.
A reluctant chuckle rose through my chest and escaped my throat. It didn’t sound like me. It was twisted, choked, and raspy. She had always known hadn’t she, that I would stay in this house with her. That’s why she had forced me to swear up and down on something as silly and inevitable as a grey hair, before locking herself in that room five years ago. Knowing her, it had all been for my own good, a way for her to look out for me even after she was long gone.
The creak of the door was like nails on a chalkboard. I laid my eyes for the first time in years on my wife, or at least, what was left of her. I had seen the afflicted before, but seeing her in this state brought a blockage to my throat that nothing could have prepared me for. Her head had been obscured by the typical growth, characteristic of the great plague, A mass wider than her torso which was completely wrapped around her head, the loose flesh sagging down onto her shoulders. Large orange boils were dotted across this mass, as well as glistening, concave pits, where those boils had burst and left scars. The thick external vein structure wrapped around it was partially translucent, providing a window to the tar-like substance flowing slowly throughout. The worst thing, however, the thing that forced my tears out of my eyes and onto the corroded floor, was her body. Her clothes had long since disintegrated, leaving a sight that was fundamentally identical to what I remembered, with one exception. The excess weight of the mass upon her shoulder had atrophied her spine, which had crumpled, leaving her torso contorted in a grotesque fashion, the flesh and muscle folding in upon itself in places.
I had let this happen. I had as good as desecrated my wife’s corpse by leaving her in this state, by convincing myself that a cure would be found for a plague that had long-since been eradicated by other means. I did this.
My hands move as though without instruction from my brain, raising the revolver to my eye-level, pointing at the place where my wife’s head was concealed amid that horrid mass of flesh.
Her head tilted upwards slightly, as if she was looking at me with eyes that had been long-since obscured. That muffled, teary voice sounded out from amidst the heap weighing on her shoulders. Despite myself hesitated for just a moment, savoring the shadow of a voice that I would never hear again.
“Do you love me?”

It seems like she’s feeling insecure again. I keep my eyes shut tight, preparing myself for the song and dance I had been through so many times before. The weight of the bed shifts under me as she crawls under the blankets. A cold limb flops over my torso, wrapping me in a frigid embrace. I resist the urge to flinch as the moist, squishy mass of flesh presses into my forehead, a tickling droplet of fluid slides down my face and over my tightly pursed lips. Not daring to move, I waited patiently for the words I knew must come. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, a muffled teary voice sounds in a desperate tone:
“Do you...”
The voice falters, emitting several low-pitched, labored gurgles before continuing:
“Love me?”
Without hesitation I respond, as gently as could be managed:
“Of course I love you. But it’s time to go back to sleep now, okay?”
The gurgling continues, higher pitched now, like an excited baby. After a few moments the squishy mass detaches itself from my forehead, and the weight in the bed shifts. The gentle smacking of feet against hardwood floor, and a door quietly closing across the house resound in the otherwise silent room. Sitting up on the edge of the bed, I rock gently back and forth with my head in between my legs, resisting the tears that are fighting to escape. I allow a few moments of this pointless self-pity before forcing myself to stand up.
I walk down the hallway to the bathroom, not allowing my eyes to stray to the door to what used to be my room. A look in the mirror reveals that my forehead has already started breaking out in small orange pustules, along with a small streak of them where the fluid had dripped down my face. At least it didn't get in my mouth this time. That isn’t a panic I would like to revisit. I retrieve the small bottle of vinegar from the medicine cabinet and apply it to a cotton ball, beginning the tedious task of treating my face. A harsher acid would probably do a better job, but I prefer to avoid the stinging even if the pustules disappear more slowly. It’s not like I need to look handsome for anyone. It’s unlikely she can even really see me.
Once my skin is sufficiently covered in the stuff, I grab a bucket and mop, and clean the wet footprints from the hallway, and from the living room where my bed is located. Most of the wood flooring throughout the house is already somewhat corroded, but I’d prefer to keep my home intact to the extent that I am able. Although it’s up to anyone’s guess what manner of hellscape the bedroom must look like. I hadn’t been in that room in a long time. That was her domain now, and there was no reason for me to enter. No reason to take that risk.
I light the small gas cooktop in the kitchen and get to work making food for the day. Canned food is surprisingly appetizing when there’s nothing to do but eat. It would taste better with some seasoning, but there was no point in going through that much effort. This food serves one purpose, and that’s to keep us from starving. I slide one plate under the crack between the floor and the bedroom door and sit down in the living room with the other plate in hand.
The book on the coffee table catches my eye as it does every morning. Sighing, I pick up the ratty collection of pages and flip to a random one. One of the few books on the “Great Plague” as they call it, that was ever published, or at least, the only one I could ever find. Titled “The End” by Jared Kramer, It was more of a fanatical opinion piece than a proper informative book, but Kramer at least provided a bit of information on the virus, how the transformation works, and what methods could be used to, in his words, “Cure” the afflicted. A shotgun was noted as the best medicine, with gasoline and matches being a close second. Near the middle of the book, the portion that was coincidentally staring back at me from the pages, it turned into a near unintelligible ranting on the philosophy of consciousness. Apparently, Kramer had only just begun to consider whether blowing the afflicted’s brains out was a morally reasonable decision. He had never come across as a particularly intelligent guy in his writings, and my assumption was that he was simply the only person who wrote fast enough to get a book published before the plague became a worldwide epidemic. Towards the end of the book, Kramer does a 180 and states repeatedly that “Accepting the transformation is the only road to salvation”.
“Salvation... as if”
My words perish in the empty air, a death rattle of frustrated skepticism.
I had never quite understood what that actually meant. Salvation would be something like deliverance from harm, harm being the only thing that the plague brought to the world. The book thuds as I carelessly toss it back on the table. It's obvious that the author was in the process of transforming as he wrote the final passages, but they never ceased to bother me. Perhaps I'm just fixating on those words as a way of keeping my mind occupied.
There’s really no reason to focus on such pointless things.
--------------------
The following night my sleep was peaceful and uninterrupted. She usually shows up once a week, if not less frequently. After waking, the bathroom mirror reveals that the pustules ha subsided slightly, leaving my skin smooth, if not free of the noticeable blemishes. A subtle glint of light shines off of my head and my heart rate accelerates.
Surely not.
Surely it was a trick of the light.
I begin rifling through my matted hair furiously and there it is. A single, silver hair hanging in front of my forehead.
I guess this is it then.
She made sure I had sworn on everything under the sun. Her stupid goofy smile reflected in my memory.
“First grey hair and I’m outta here mister”
To think that a silly little joke between us had turned into this solemn responsibility. The steel of the revolver was cold in my palm. My eyes locked onto it, unsure of when it had made its way from the drawer of the coffee table into my hand, or for that matter, when I had entered the living room. The earth seemed to be rotating at impossible speeds. Everything was black except for the gun in my hand and the book on the coffee table. That goddamn book. One of the pages had begun to tear away from the others, no doubt a result of my less than careful treatment of the thing, and a single word seemed to assault my fragile psyche.
Salvation.
I get it now
My heartbeat slows marginally as the unravelling of this book that I’ve read so many times presented a welcome distraction. There had been nothing left for Kramer, or anyone else for that matter, in a world that was dying around them. His salvation was freedom from the great plague. His call to “accept” the transformation, was not the same as giving in to it. After all, hadn’t he expressed over and over again exactly how to “find release” as he called it, from the infection.
Kramer, unlike me, had accepted that there was no life in transformation, no being, no humanity, and no way back. His moral dilemma had come to a close, likely with a bullet in his brain.
A reluctant chuckle rose through my chest and escaped my throat. It didn’t sound like me. It was twisted, choked, and raspy. She had always known hadn’t she, that I would stay in this house with her. That’s why she had forced me to swear up and down on something as silly and inevitable as a grey hair, before locking herself in that room five years ago. Knowing her, it had all been for my own good, a way for her to look out for me even after she was long gone.
The creak of the door was like nails on a chalkboard. I laid my eyes for the first time in years on my wife, or at least, what was left of her. I had seen the afflicted before, but seeing her in this state brought a blockage to my throat that nothing could have prepared me for. Her head had been obscured by the typical growth, characteristic of the great plague, A mass wider than her torso which was completely wrapped around her head, the loose flesh sagging down onto her shoulders. Large orange boils were dotted across this mass, as well as glistening, concave pits, where those boils had burst and left scars. The thick external vein structure wrapped around it was partially translucent, providing a window to the tar-like substance flowing slowly throughout. The worst thing, however, the thing that forced my tears out of my eyes and onto the corroded floor, was her body. Her clothes had long since disintegrated, leaving a sight that was fundamentally identical to what I remembered, with one exception. The excess weight of the mass upon her shoulder had atrophied her spine, which had crumpled, leaving her torso contorted in a grotesque fashion, the flesh and muscle folding in upon itself in places.
I had let this happen. I had as good as desecrated my wife’s corpse by leaving her in this state, by convincing myself that a cure would be found for a plague that had long-since been eradicated by other means. I did this.
My hands move as though without instruction from my brain, raising the revolver to my eye-level, pointing at the place where my wife’s head was concealed amid that horrid mass of flesh.
Her head tilted upwards slightly, as if she was looking at me with eyes that had been long-since obscured. That muffled, teary voice sounded out from amidst the heap weighing on her shoulders. Despite myself hesitated for just a moment, savoring the shadow of a voice that I would never hear again.
“Do you love me?”

I have seen a few times where English authors have had one character in their story refer to another male character as "Tone" - like "oi, Tone, you best be getting on with it". It does not seem pejorative or racist in the way it is used, but this Yank can't figure out what it actually means. Any help? What does it mean to call someone a "Tone"?

Credit to Blue for the wonderful cover art of Trilvri
Thank you to:
u/SpacePaladin15 for creating the Nature of Predators universe.
u/EdibleGojid, author of Dark Cuts, for proofreading.
EmClear, aspiring author, for proofreading
You, the reader, for your support. I love reading your comments.
Please consider reading the works of my proofreaders as they’re all authors of excellent stories and be sure to check the links below for more of my work and beautiful art from members of the community.
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Memory transcription subject: Sawvek, Junior Extermination Officer
Date [standardised human time]: October 5th, 2136
Hard foam presses uncomfortably up against delicate pressure points situated across the length of my entire body, building up to an unbearable ache that makes me shift and turn against the thin mattress pad. I yank at the rough old blanket I’d taken out of storage and clutch it even tighter around my body, trying to keep out the chill. The best racks, the ones near the heating vents, had already been claimed long before I’d decided to move into the Guild House’s Barracks and it doesn’t seem likely that the current occupants will be giving up their spots any time soon.
My mind is still racing from the events of last paw, replaying the scene over and over again in my dreams and in my head. The way my brother had looked at me… That look on his face when he’d seen the real me…
My paw gives a sympathetic throb in memory, still aching from where it had met the wall, but at least I had been able to wrap it up a bit and stop the bleeding. I feel like I should take it as a small miracle that it isn't broken. More medical bills are the last thing I need right now.
I turn about in the bunk once more, rolling around in vain to try and find a comfortable position that doesn’t seem to exist. Through a conscious act of will I try to empty my mind and sleep, but the very act of trying not to think about things only brings them bubbling back up to the surface of my thoughts. My heartbeat echoes in my ears, a damnable drumming sound brought about by the exertion of my own restless tossing and turning. Out in the hallway I can hear the muffled shuffling of feet and murmurs of conversation. The Guild Hall never sleeps, and it seems that neither would I this paw.
Electing to abandon the attempt as hopeless, I cut my rest claw short and get up, venturing out into the hallway. If I can’t sleep anyway then I might as well start my waking claw early, maybe get in a little exercise. It’s not so bad when it’s self-directed, almost fun in a way. If our family had the money to support it then maybe I could have been an athlete of some variety growing up. I had always possessed something of a natural physicality.
“Stop wasting time with worthless questions about what could have been, Killer.” The voice interjects, early and active today by the sound of it. “You’ll never amount to anything more than a wild predator kept on a leash.”
There’s nothing to do but sigh and carry on. It was right after all. This is it. This is my life now.
Making my way down the hallway towards the gym I find myself walking past a row of private offices assigned to some of the more veteran officers on staff. Most are empty at this claw, their occupants either asleep or off doing other work. One room in particular catches my attention though, the one belonging to our newest PRED Team Commander.
The door leading inside is open and ajar, seemingly forgotten in the midst of more pressing business and granting me a look inside. The entire room is a mess, papers and binders strewn about everywhere with official looking documents littering the floor. A map of the city decorates the otherwise unadorned and impersonal space. On its face it hosts a variety of multicoloured pins, all connecting seemingly arbitrary locations as well as photographs of people and places from the records department. The face of the former PRED Team Commander, Vrienna, looks out at me once again with the same cruel eyes that decorate the memorial wall. Beside her photo are another pair of eyes, a pair I recognise, but not one I would have expected to see here.
Trilvri, my brother’s creepy coworker, the one who’d brought him home the night he’d drunk himself into a stupor, stares out at me from the wall. He was younger in this photo, barely of age, if even that, and dressed in a regulation space corps flight suit, but I could still recognise him. Trilvri’s eyes appear somehow more lively than when I had met him in person, though it does nothing to improve his overall disposition, looking, as they are, as if behind them resides only hatred and a feral desire to kill and rend. Come to think of it, he had mentioned he used to be in the corps hadn’t he? ‘Used to’ being the operative word. When I’d asked he hadn’t seemed particularly fond of his time in the service…
Situated as he is next to Vrienna like that, their pitch-black wool and evil-looking eyes bear a striking resemblance. It was the exact same sort of predatory expression that bore into your soul, the kind that made me feel weak and exposed, the same kind that was worn by-
“What do you think you’re doing in my office?” A voice asks from behind, nonplussed, but with a casual depth of power and authority behind it that makes me freeze on the spot.
“Commander Glagrig, Sir!” I turn about on the spot, fixed at attention in the doorway as I stare up at the man himself. “I’m sorry to intrude. I noticed someone had forgotten to close the door so I was just going to secure it.”
“I see.” Glagrig doesn’t seem to believe a word of it, but neither does he seem inclined to press the issue. “At ease. Tell me, do you recognise the man in the photo there? Have you ever seen him before?”
“No, Commander.” I lie reflexively as I shift to a parade rest, not fully knowing why, but knowing that whatever is going on I want no part of it, for me or my brother. It’s only after the fact that it occurs to me that lying might be worse than telling the truth.
“How… regrettable.” The prestige officer says plainly and I can’t tell whether he believes me or not. “If you do ever catch sight of this individual, then be sure to let me know immediately.”
“Y-Yes, Commander.” I subconsciously swallow with apprehension, hoping that he doesn’t notice. I want nothing more than to run away as quickly as I can, but I haven’t been dismissed yet.
“Junior Officer Sawvek, was it?” Glagrig carries on, looking me up and down, dissecting me with his eyes. “You have quite the interesting record on file and Officer Intalran is quite adamant about your potential. Your simulator results speak for themselves, even if they are just simulations.”
“Thank you, Commander.” I can feel myself growing dizzy as I answer with uncertainty.
“Don’t thank me,” the all-consuming void in front of me replies with no hint of warmth, “just remember that your performance is under evaluation. It’s in my interests to keep note of promising young aspirants who might someday join my team, and I would hate to see you squander your talents.”
“I-I understand, Commander.” I flick my tail in agreement, straining not to look away towards the floor.
“Dismissed.” Glagrig brushes past me as he enters his office, moving to shut the door behind himself.
“Um, Commander?” I ask just before the door shuts, feeling a beckoning call of curiosity that even the predatory prestige exterminator couldn’t crush. “If you don’t mind me asking… Why do you have all that stuff up on the wall there?”
The door opens again, just a crack, and I can feel my superiors' weighty presence bearing down on me, almost suffocating in its intensity. “It’s simply a personal matter. I have reason to believe that the prior investigation regarding the kelach incident was conducted according to… insufficient standards. The predator responsible was never found and I intend to remedy that deficiency.”
“How hard could it be to find a kelach?” I tilt my ears in confusion. “They're huge!”
“Despite initial reports,” he answers with an ominous, cold tone that sends a chill up my spine, “it may be possible that we're dealing with something far more dangerous than just a kelach.”
“T-Thank you, Commander.” I flick my tail in appreciation and the door closes.
I breathe a sigh of relief as the malevolent aura recedes. That was too close.
“And you’re a complete moron going back to ask him more questions afterwards, Killer.” The voice rises with amusement. “What? Do you want him to figure you out and turn you to cinders? Only a matter of time, Killer.”
“Ugh, shut up.” I mutter under my breath, quickly turning back around to make sure Commander Glagrig didn’t hear me, but when no reprisal comes I quickly depart. If I’m gonna be stupid I should at least try not to do so right in front of his office.
As the imminent threat of our in-house prestige exterminator dwindles so too does the energy driven by the adrenaline of the encounter. It figures that the moment I roll out of bed I want to take a nap again, but I know the moment I lie back down I’ll be back to full wakefulness in an instant. That’s just how that sort of thing works. With that in mind there’s really only one solution, a big, steaming hot cup of tea.
Making my way towards the tea machine I spot Jonsco, the feisty little primitive that mans our dispatch centre, smacking the top of the dispenser with a clenched paw while holding a mug underneath it.
“Is the tea machine fixed?” I ask as I pull out a mug from the cabinet myself.
Jonsco sighs heavily and shoots me a combative glare. “For the last time it’s not my brahking job to fix this damn tea machine! You got a problem with that then you can go pester someone else about it!”
I shrink back under the harsh rebuke. Jonsco may be small, but there was as much rage and fury condensed into that little package as anyone else in this department. Maybe more.
“I… I didn’t mean to imply…I just wanted to know if it was working again or not… Sorry.” I sputter out, feeling properly admonished as I look away towards the ground.
Jonsco looks at me quizzically, his hard glare softening somewhat as he seems to truly see me for the first time before returning to his usual scowl.
“Right…Whatever you say…” With one final smack the machine coughs and chokes, sputtering to life with a struggle, and a small trickle of freshly brewed tea begins to fill Jonsco’s cup. “The machine is on the fritz again as usual, but if you hit it just right, do a little percussive maintenance, then you can get it started again.”
“Thanks, Jonsco.” I lean back against the wall and watch as the mug slowly fills, impressed by the primitives know-how. “That's actually pretty smart of you.”
“For a ‘primitive’ right?” The words are barbed and spiteful, but lack his typical enthusiasm, more of a simple statement of fact than a real question. I couldn't exactly deny it, those had been my thoughts, and so the silence drags on awkwardly, marked only by the splash of tea falling into the steadily rising pool.
“What are you doing here at this claw anyway?” I eventually ask, dodging the question entirely. “We’ve still got at least another half-claw until our crew's shift is supposed to start.”
“I could ask you the same thing, you know?” The angry little dispatch operator retorts. “I'm here early working an overtime shift so I can afford to put food on my family's table. It's expensive feeding that many mouths. What's your excuse?”
“I had a fight with my brother…” I rub the back of my neck as I turn away abashedly, “moved out of the apartment and into the barracks full time… couldn't sleep…”
“Well then you should hurry up and work on patching things up with him.” Jonsco looks at me with an uncharacteristic hint of sympathy in his eyes. “Your family are the only ones who might actually care. This Gods-damned place is a slyther’s nest and no one here gives a speh about you or your problems. If you want my advice, you should do your best to spend as little time in this cesspool as possible.”
With his cup now full, Jobsco steps back from the machine and begins walking out towards the main hall.
“Thanks, Jonsco.” My words stop him in his tracks as he walks away from me. “I appreciate it.”
“... You're welcome.” He says after a short pause, glancing back to look at me one more time before leaving. “See you around, Sawvek.”
Taking advantage of the tea machine while it’s still mostly working, I fill up my own cup and drink deeply of the warm, fragrant beverage. The taste is bitter and unpleasant, just about the quality I would expect of this Guild Hall, but even at the first taste it’s evident that it’s been loaded with an extra strength dose of caffeine. I down the drink quickly and rinse out the cup before continuing on my journey towards the training hall. Fatigue begins to fall away as I walk, bit by bit as the drug makes its way into my bloodstream, blocking off sleep receptors and energising me. I know I’ll probably pay for it later, no amount of caffeine can actually replace sleep, but for now it feels good and I can see how some people can get addicted to the stuff.
A loud, metallic clanging emanates from the gym as I approach, something unexpected for this time of paw. No one's reserved space in the gym for this claw and not many people are industrious enough to sweat on their own initiative. Peeking my head inside the door I spy Bikim, the perfect, privileged, ‘holier than thou’ brahkass occupying the otherwise empty weight room. His irritatingly handsome face is taut with strain as he performs a series of weighted squats, his back and leg muscles straining underneath his short-cropped wool, and he pants heavily under the exertion.
I’m half tempted just to leave and go back to bed despite the fact that there’s no way I’d be getting any sleep with the tea running through my system. It’s too early in the paw to deal with Bikim’s speh. Before I can slip away unnoticed though, he spots me. I give a heavy sigh and continue my way inside. There's nothing to be done for it now. Trying to back out now would only make things worse later, a sign of weakness.
“What… Do you want… Predator?” Bikim asks between gulps of air as he reracks his weights, practically hanging off the bar to support himself on shaky legs.
“Good paw to you too, Bikim.” I say, forcing civility into my tone. “I’m here to use the equipment. Same as you. I'm allowed.”
“Whatever…” He eyes me with suspicion. “Just keep your distance… I don't want to catch any of your taint.”
“Believe me,” I flick my tail out in irritation, “I intend to.”
Looking around the room for available spots, I march my way over towards a cable machine on the opposite side of the room. Not nearly as far from Bikim as I would like, but the farthest I can get without leaving the weight area entirely. Bikim watches me all the while as I seat myself down and begin adjusting the machine. Eventually he grows tired of watching me fumble around with the machine and returns to his own exercises with a displeased flick of the tail, quite obviously judging me for my lack of experience with the equipment.
A tense sort of quiet settles over the room as we each go about our business, trying our best to ignore one another. Bikim slowly winds his way around the room, cycling from station to station to exercise all the different parts of his body in sequence before repeating it all again. He seems to bypass my corner of the room, glancing over at me with each repetition of his pattern. For myself, I stay put where I am, taking advantage of the varied exercises offered by the versatile machine to experiment with different muscle groups. Occasionally I slip up, dropping the weights with a loud clang that always draws Bikim’s ire. Every time he seems just a bit more disgruntled, a bit less patient. Eventually, the constant disruption reaches a tipping point and the pompous, self-entitled jerk walks over to confront me.
“Do you always do this?” He asks rhetorically. “If you keep slamming the weights like that you're gonna break it. Your form is speh so either fix it or lower the weight so you don't have to keep compensating. Better yet, just leave. You’ve been monopolising the cable machine for almost half a claw now. I don't know why you're even here in the first place.”
“Oh, look at Mr. Know-it-all thinking he can just go around telling us what to do, eh Killer?” The voice rises to the challenge. “Where does a guy like that who's been handed everything his whole life think he can get off with telling us how we should be doing anything?”
“Brahk off Bikim!” I don't even try to reign in the predator inside, feeling justified in letting it roam free for once. “I didn't ask for your advice and you don't get to kick me out of the weight room just because you can't wait your turn! I'm here because I don't have anywhere else to go! Ever since Intalran dragged me into this stupid Guild this brahking job has taken over my entire life! I don't even have a home to go back to anymore!”
Bikim's body tenses at my tirade and his tail flicks out aggressively like a whip.
“That's your own damn fault, predator!” He shouts back, eager for the excuse to vent his own frustrations. “Maybe if you weren't just some blood-starved beast out roaming the streets then you wouldn't be here right now! I’ve read your file! You got a history of herdless behaviour and physical altercations! Someone should have institutionalised you a long time ago, but someone took pity on you and let you slip through the cracks because of your poor dying mommy! They should have known it would come back to bite them! A normal, functional member of the herd wouldn't even think to pick a flamer up off the ground and burn another person to death with it! But you? You did it instinctively! You revelled in it!”
“You think that was easy for me!” I get up and walk towards him as I yell incredulously. “You think I asked for that to happen! You think it was fun for me to get choked out and almost eaten! That thing I burned wasn't even a person anymore! It was a predator in the middle of a feeding frenzy! So yeah, I did what I did, and you know what? It's a good thing I did! If I wasn't a freak of nature then that thing would have kept on going and kept on killing! Last I checked, preventing that sorta thing was supposed to be your job, but I had to be the one to step up! Now I have to live with the consequences of my actions every paw, knowing that I’m a Protector-damned killer that doesn't belong anywhere! Maybe you, in your infinite wisdom, would've known the perfect thing to do in that situation, but I’m not you! I’ve had to work and struggle for every little thing I have! Not just had it handed to me on a silver platter!”
“Oh, so you got me all figured out do you?” Sarcasm drips from Bikim's mouth as he looks down on me. “You don't know me. You don't know my life or what I’ve been through, how hard I’ve worked to get where I am. You just see the end product from cycles of effort and assume that it's always been that way, that it's always been that easy. It hasn't.”
“Yes, I’m sure you had it so hard growing up Bikim.” Saying it aloud almost makes me laugh. “You’re such a child of privilege that it drips off of you with every move you make and every word you say. I hate people like you, thinking that you're better than everyone else just because you were lucky enough to be born into wealth and status. Try living like the other side for a change, scrounging for every credit just so you can afford to eat, and then try to tell me how hard you had it with a full belly and a warm home!”
“You’re right, predator,” Bikim says contemptuously, “I am a child of privilege. My family has a long and decorated military tradition, my father is a captain for the space corps, a brahking hero, and I’ve reaped the benefits of that. That privilege came at a cost though, and that’s called expectations. Second best is not good enough and I've had to put in ten times the effort as anyone else my whole life just to meet standards! At least you grew up with a father who was there for you and loved you without the condition that everything you do is perfect!”
“All that talk about reading my file and you didn't even get past the first page did you?” I snap at him with a snarl. “ I didn't grow up with a father at all! He's been dead since I was in elementary school! Killed in action! I barely even remember him anymore!”
That one seems to give Bikim pause, but I’m not done yet.
“If you and your whole family are such a bunch of brahking heroes then how come you're here, working as a common garrison exterminator in a run-down backwater city like this?” I taunt. “Shouldn't you be out gallantly fighting the Arxur with one of the fleets or on a colony pacification force rather than making my life here harder than it already is?”
“That's the price for failing to meet expectations,” Bikim quiets down, drawing away from the world and into himself, “the price for knocking up a beautiful, wonderful girl right after graduation and refusing to get rid of it afterwards. You get cut off. You lose that privilege, and you do whatever you have to in order to provide and try to be a good role model for your son.”
Now that one threw me for a loop. In the short time I’ve known Bikim I’ve had a lot of thoughts about him, few of them good, but never would I have expected him to be the type to take responsibility… For anything. Still, there is one thing about his story that doesn't line up…
“Oh really?” I take a step back as I watch for his reaction closely. “I seem to recall Jonsco mentioned just the other day that your wife had left you for a Human.”
“Don't you bring that brahking primitive into this!” Bikim's anger flares in an instant before returning to a subtle simmer of regret. “We’ve just been having a… a rough patch in our relationship. I’m not giving up on us. I’ll win her back. She's just… confused and being taken advantage of! It's all that damn predators fault!” Bikim sighs and sits down on a nearby bench. “You're not the only one whose had something taken from them because of this job. You're not the only one without a home to go back to.”
Looking at Bikim now, a sad, pathetic man moping on the bench with nothing better to do on his rest claw than to try to externalise his inner pain… I find it hard to stay angry at him. He's still a narcissistic brahk ass and a complete jerk, but it's hard to truly hate someone when you actually know them. I had made quite a few assumptions about him when we first met, and he certainly hadn't helped my impression of him since, but… perhaps I was wrong to judge him so harshly?
“Nah,” the voice chortles, “he’s a piece of speh that got what he brahking deserves for being an insufferable prick.”
Overhead the intercom crackles to life and I can hear Jonsco's voice reverberating over the airwaves.
“Officers Vaesh and Sawvek please report to the briefing area for assignment. Repeat. Officers Vaesh and Sawvek please report to the briefing area for assignment.”
“Sounds like it's time for your first field assignment, Kid.” Bikim says, staring up at the intercom. “At least it gets you out of my wool. Try not to brahk it up and make the rest of us look bad.”
“Hmph.” I turn to leave, muttering to myself. “Stupid brahkass.”
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A/N - Hello! Sorry this one took a while. Like I mentioned before I got delayed working on my Ficnapping chapter as well as a crossover One-shot that's still in progress (but hopefully will be done soon). In other news we have new art of Sawvek's life-changing encounter in the Builder's Lane Bloodbath as drawn by Miglove and you can still find that and everything else Nature of Family in the new Master Post linked up above.
If you like the story then please remember to upvote, comment, and use the “!Subscribeme” function to be alerted to all new posts. I post as often as I can but real life has a tendency of getting in the way and my job makes it almost impossible to keep to any kind of schedule. Your engagement and support go a long way towards helping to keep me on track and motivated, so thank you very much for reading and I hope you'll stay tuned for next chapter!

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"Thank you, Sister Song, for your mercy. I apologize for my impulsiveness and arrogance," Qin Bai said humbly. He respectfully cupped his hands and bowed his head towards Song Jia.
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Upon hearing Qin Bai's unexpected words of apology, one of his burlier underlings gasped loudly in shock, his eyes widening. "Brother Qin..." he muttered under his breath.
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"No need to apologize. It was our fault for causing trouble," another wiry underling exclaimed tearfully, his voice cracking with emotion as he drew the attention of the rest of the surrounding disciples.
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A young man with a mop of unruly brown hair pushed his way through the tightly packed crowd, concern furrowing his brow as he observed the doubt and skepticism on the faces of Qin Bai's underlings.
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"It wasn't Brother Qin's fault," he spoke up firmly, his words cutting through the murmurs like a blade.
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All eyes turned towards him as the courtyard fell into an uneasy silence broken only by the faint rustling of the willows in the warm breeze. "We were the ones who harassed Sister Song. Brother Qin tried to stop us, but we didn't listen. Please, don't blame our Brother for our mistakes."
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Some of the disciples who had witnessed the earlier confrontation were about to protest vehemently, their mouths opening to object, but their voices were drowned out by a rising swell of murmuring whispers and incredulous mutters.
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"So it wasn't Qin Bai who harassed Sister Song?"
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"What a kind-hearted person! Qin Bai truly possesses the noble spirit of a warrior, even willing to shield his misguided brothers from the consequences of their errors!"
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The majority of the late-arriving male disciples, unaware of the deception and lies surrounding the incident, were moved by this apparent show of brotherhood and loyalty, causing the female disciples to clench their jaws in frustration, exchanging exasperated looks and rolling their eyes.
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"What's wrong with them...disgusting!" A petite girl with fiery brown hair tied back in a long braid spat out through gritted teeth.
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"You think it's acceptable to bully and harass women just because you perceive them as weak?!" Another young woman wearing a sleeveless white robe called out harshly, her voice dripping with scorn as the sunlight glinted off her toned arms.
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"Sister Song, please tell them the truth! Don't let them twist the facts!" Cries imploring Song Jia to speak up rang out as disapproving comments and displeased looks were directed at the males vehemently defending Qin Bai's underlings one after another.
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Song Jia's lips pressed into a tense line as her focus shifted towards Qin Bai, who still had his head respectfully bowed, his expression unreadable.
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If he had spoken out in agreement, it would have surely validated the false accusations against him. However, his loyal underlings spoke as if they themselves were guilty, deliberately complicating the situation.
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Qin Bai's words and sincere tone seemed to suggest that nothing untoward had happened from his perspective, causing both Song Jia and the stern-faced Lian Rougang to narrow their eyes suspiciously at him, wondering about his true intentions.
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Meanwhile, Lian Rougang shook her head slowly and massaged her temples with her fingers, exhaling a weary sigh. "Sigh...whatever, if you insist, then take responsibility," she muttered under her breath.
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Her piercing gaze bored into the eyes of Qin Bai's uneasy underlings, who flinched visibly. She snorted derisively before shifting her penetrating stare towards Qin Bai, who remained utterly still with his head bowed in a posture of contrition.
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The salty tang of sweat and tension hung thick in the warm air as Lian Rougang broke the heavy silence. "As members of our esteemed sect, we should not hold deep grudges against one another. We are essentially a family, united by our bond, so..." Her words trailed off as she glanced sidelong at Song Jia from the corner of her eye.
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Their eyes met briefly, and although mistrust still flickered behind Song Jia's guarded expression, she gave a reluctant nod, grudgingly accepting Qin Bai's apologies for the sake of harmony within the sect.
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Once she accepted, Qin Bai cupped his hands and bowed his head again, this time not towards Song Jia, but towards the stern-faced Lian Rougang.
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"Thank you, Senior Sister Lian, for overseeing this meaningless battle," he expressed his gratitude, his deep voice sincere.
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In response, Lian Rougang waved her hand in a dismissive gesture, implying that it was not a significant matter. As the gathered disciples surrounded them, observing Qin Bai's second apology with a mix of emotions, the central figure of Wu Gao finally arrived onto the scene.
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"Huh? What's going on here?" Wu Gao, dressed in the same austere martial robes as Lian Rougang, strode into the outer disciple courtyard. He found all the Outer Disciples ringed around the center in a loose circle, as if giving a wide berth to something distasteful.
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"Greetings, Martial Brother Wu," Lian Rougang called out immediately upon noticing the arrival of Wu Gao, her clear voice cutting through the tense atmosphere.
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"Ah, Martial Sister Lian, greetings," Wu Gao responded with a slightly startled blink, recovering quickly to return the courtesy with a polite nod as his observant gaze swept over the gathered disciples ringed around the courtyard.
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"Greetings, Senior Brother Wu," the remaining Outer Disciples chorused in respectful unison, following Lian Rougang's prompt. Her posture straightened as she proceeded to recount a brief explanation of the confrontation that had just transpired.
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Wu Gao listened with an increasingly widening smile, nodding repeatedly in understanding. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he caught sight of Song Jia standing tall with chin raised confidently.
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He then shifted his evaluating gaze towards Qin Bai, noting the absence of any lingering resentment or hostility in the young man's clear, guileless eyes.
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"Ah, that's good, good. Both of you have done well in resolving the matter," Wu Gao declared heartily, his rich baritone voice carrying easily across the courtyard.
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"But unfortunately, I missed this exciting battle. No matter, let us now prepare for the morning exercise!"
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"Please wait, Senior Brother Wu!" However, just as the disciples began to disperse and take their positions, Qin Bai's sudden shout caused Wu Gao's bushy brows to furrow in surprise.
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Even Lian Rougang, who had already started to fade back into the background, eager to observe the coming exercises, paused and turned her sharp gaze back towards Qin Bai with renewed interest.
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A heavy, expectant silence fell over the courtyard once more as all eyes focused intently on the young disciple. The warm morning breeze carried the faint fragrance of willow blossoms, teasing strands of hair across flushed cheeks.
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"Speak, Junior Brother," Wu Gao urged after a prolonged moment, his deep voice resonant.
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...
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As the gathered disciples leaned in with rapt attention, Ji Wuye, who had been watching the proceedings with a carefully impassive expression from within the crowd, allowed the barest flicker of a sneer to crease his thin lips in secret.
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‘So this is what you're truly aiming for? You think you can regain your tarnished reputation and take it out on me in the process?’
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The disdainful thoughts flickered through his mind like a fleeting shadow as he noticed Qin Bai's brief sidelong glance in his direction. Their eyes met for the briefest of instants, but Ji Wuye did not flinch or waver, holding the other's gaze with a practiced insouciance.
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"I would like to request another official sparring session with Brother Ji," Qin Bai proclaimed boldly, his resonant words instantly capturing the rapt attention of every disciple present.
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A surprised murmur rippled through the ranks as heads swiveled towards the object of this unexpected challenge.
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Qin Bai's lips curved into a thin, enigmatic smile as he continued, "Isn't that right, Brother Ji? We did make an agreement, after all."
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Instead of immediately responding, Ji Wuye's cold eyes scanned the surrounding sea of faces with a calculating weighing gaze.
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It was only then that he noticed the unmistakable figure of an Elder observing the unfolding scene from a vantage point on the higher ground near the stairs leading into the central courtyard.
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Ji Wuye's sneer deepened minutely as his gaze flickered towards the watching Elder. ‘He's also watching this unfold...’ he muttered under his breath, so low as to be inaudible to those around him.
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Unlike many other sects, the prestigious Kunlun Sect was renowned throughout the entire jianghu. Their name and reputation preceded them far and wide.
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As such, during the periodic registration periods when they opened their doors to potential new disciples, numerous talented youths would flock from all corners in hopes of being accepted into the hallowed ranks.
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However, with the sect's facilities and resources being ultimately limited, they simply could not accept every applicant who showed promise.
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To maintain standards and cull the weaker chaff, there was a stringent system in place to expel any Outer Disciples who proved untalented or lacking the required aptitude over time.
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In addition to pruning their own rosters, Kunlun, much like the Wudang Sect, also had a certain prestigious reputation to uphold in the Jianghu.
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What if word spread that their Outer Disciples were being routinely defeated and humiliated by lowly wandering thugs or ruffians?
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Such demoralizing incidents would not only greatly tarnish Kunlun's prestigious name, but could also result in a marked decrease in the number of employment opportunities and mission requests extended to the sect from secular authorities and nobility across the lands.
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This, in turn, would translate into a steep decline in their primary source of income and operating funds.
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At its core, while internally a bastion of martial artists, a sect like Kunlun was also essentially a professional body of highly-skilled martial artist who earned their keep by rendering specialized protective services to those requiring their martial prowess.
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As long as there existed Unorthodox Sects pursuing nefarious ends or Evil Cults wreaking havoc on the populace, there would always be a constant stream of defensive and security missions for Righteous Sects like Kunlun to be contracted.
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It was an age-old dynamic, expressed in the simple Jianghu saying: The righteous protect, while the evil robs.
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Unlike the Outer Disciple ranks, however, which were culled ruthlessly, every new officially accepted Inner Disciple was essentially guaranteed a permanent place within the sect's ranks by virtue of having demonstrated sufficient skill and talent to potentially handle the various matters and missions the sect was routinely contracted for externally.
‎
It was the Outer Disciples who ultimately bore the brunt of winnowing - those unable to prove their worth were inevitably expelled to open up space and resources for the next crop of hopefuls.
‎
And the sole reason why the openly underwhelming Ji Wuye had been allowed to remain and avoid expulsion thus far despite being widely acknowledged as the weakest disciple in his year...
‎
Ji Wuye heaved an inward sigh as his thoughts turned towards the upcoming evaluation and testing period all Outer Disciples would undergo.
‎
‘This time, it's either submit to being a political pawn in some arranged marriage alliance... or I need to seriously explore other options outside the sect.’
‎
There were undoubtedly both pros and cons to possessing a naturally handsome visage, he knew from bitter experience. The fleetingly wry thought passed through his mind as his sharp eyes caught the subtle, meaningful looks the observing Elder was sending his way.
‎
Indeed, in order to avoid the expelling, that particular Elder had been surreptitiously shielding and protecting Ji Wuye's continued presence within Kunlun's ranks all this time behind the scenes...
‎
So at least, he should have shown some worth, even though he still intends to let the outcome remain the same as in the previous timeline.
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‎‎‎[📖First ⏮️Previous Next⏭️]

Part 72 Gene mods (Part 1) (Part 71)
[Support me on Ko-fi so I can get some character commissions done and totally not buy more Gundams]
“Alright, calm down. It's really not that serious.” Though the holographic representation of War Chief Neshkaname, complete with ocean blue eyes and linear facial tattoos on his tan face, looked quite noticeably tired, his overall demeanor seemed fairly positive. “I just got out of a meeting with representatives from the different protesting groups and all of them agree with the general idea of what we're trying to do with our united defense fleet. There's just quite a bit of disagreement about how our Confederacy should approach the questions related to Earth, Mars, and everyone in Sol.”
“What kind of questions are we talking about here?” General Robert Andrews, the now former General of the US Army, was the first to speak up amongst the crowd of military leaders. “Nothing about invading Earth, I hope.”
“Well…” Though Rob was only half serious about his comment concerning Earth, the way the commanding officer of the Nishnabe Militia’s Blue Fleet began his response put a genuinely concerned expression on a few faces from Sol. “It's only a small percent of our population who are calling for war to reclaim land. A few million people at most, none of whom hold any positions of leadership in our military. Luckily, there are far more people calling for boycotts, embargoes, or blockades as opposed to anything direct.”
“War Chief, to many governments on Earth, an embargo, and especially a blockade, would be considered akin to a direct declaration of war.” General Renee Descartes, the former Chief of Defense Staff of France and Second in Command of the European Union's Unified Military, despite the dark bags under her eyes implying she hadn't gotten anywhere near enough sleep before this meeting, retained her rather elegant poise when adding that bit of necessary context. “You see, the economy of Earth is highly reliant on importing raw materials from space. With the climate being as delicate as it is, no one is willing to risk the kinds of planetside resource harvesting necessary to keep the thirteen billion people in the Earth’s Sphere of Influence employed, fed, and happy. More importantly, we are starting to run out of easily accessible mineral deposits in space.”
“Yes, the lunar mines and the near-Earth asteroid colonies still under UN-E control simply aren't producing nearly enough material to meet growing demand.” Admiral Nathaniel Adeoye, who had also given up his position as the Chief of Astral Naval Staff of the African Federation, chimed in with a clearly worried tone in his deep voice. “While I can understand the rage some of your people must feel, especially towards Americans, the many different people of Africa were in no way responsible for the colonization of America. In fact, we were subject to colonialism ourselves.”
“At least y'all still got yahr homelands!” Commandant General Daniel Chasinghorse, the former Commander of the entirety of MarsGov's Void-Marine Corps, didn't mean for his statement directed at Adeoye to sound as vitriolic as it did. However, the idea of him, his Lakota people, and all the displaced Native American Nations who were now mostly living in space or on Mars potentially being included in the Nishnabe’s reasonably negative reaction towards the people of Earth had put him on edge. “Sorry for snappin’ at yah like that, Nate. But the people livin’ on Mars ain't nothin’ done to deserve bein’ restricted by an embargo or blockade. We need all the extra-Solar tech we can get if we're gonna keep our population's health from declining even further. And I’m sure the African Lunar colonies could really use that medical and gravity tech too!”
“Nothing's been decided yet, and most people on Shkegpewen want peace, we just haven't reached a consensus on how that peace will look.” War Chief Msko Pkwenech, the commander of the Nishnabe Militia’s Red Fleet, interjected while making an open gesture with his hands to try to pat down the tension building up in this meeting room. “And if helps at all, we did take quite a few public votes concerning technology sharing for things we consider essential. But Maser probably has quicker access to the results than I would.”
“About ninety percent of respondents voted to immediately authorize and start sending out medical and gravity tech, including a production ship to come out and make things in-system, which is well above the seventy-five percent consensus needed to move forward.” As soon as the Light-born AI holographically representing their consciousness as an androgynous human began to speak in an incredibly soothing tone, the stress levels in the room began to fall. “There are currently a few councils debating the finer details and arranging logistics of what will be sent. However, the specifics of who gets what and when they get it will be negotiated between the respective governments in Sol and the Nishnabe Intergovernmental Council. Our job as the United Human Defense Fleet is not to interfere with diplomacy between nations, just to ensure that diplomacy is handled in a reasonable and non-threatening manner. Now, with that said, the vote to provide essential assistance was just one if a few taken over the last couple weeks. And while that poll was overwhelming and definitive, the ones concerning visas, immigration, galactic trade, and interspecies relations all fell below the consensus threshold for the Confederacy to adopt an official policy. When we say embargoes and blockades, we are purely referring to trade interactions between species, not between humanity and your economic exclusive zone. Once the relevant councils develop updated options for people to vote on, the next vote will be held.”
“An’ how long's all that gonna take?” Commandant Admiral Carol Nez, as the former head of MarsGov’s Astral Intelligence Collective and Councilmember in the Navajo Nation of Mars, was keenly aware of both the pressing urge of many on the red planet to live on a world with a breathable atmosphere and how just long it often took to for Native Nations to build a consensus. “Everaday we got at least a thousand babies born in Martian maternity stations an’ at least thirty percent ‘ave some kinda health issues. The sooner we get y'all's medical tech, the more kids that're gonna grow up to be happy an’ healthy!”
“We are well aware of the negative health implications of trying to raise children in low-gravity.” Msko already had his tablet out and was in the process of sending over the relevant information to his counterparts from Earth and Mars. “Our genetic modification technologies require individualized sequencing but they can be applied before or after birth to correct any serious issues. They can even be used well into adulthood. I got my eye color changed when I became an adult, so we can help anyone who hasn’t already gotten cybernetic replacements for affected body parts. All of our ships still in Sol are actively trying to produce as much of the base materials as they can and are working with doctors from your stations to get everything deployed as quickly as possible.”
“Why don’cha just teach our docs how to do it?” As soon as Carol got the question out, Msko and Nesh shot each other cautious glances before they both looked towards Maser.
“Well, Commandant Admiral Nez…” As soon as the hologram of the AI began to speak, it was clear their words were directed at everyone present from Sol. “To be completely blunt with all of you, we have reason to believe that the moment people from either Mars or Earth got full access to the genetic manipulation technology the Nishnabe utilize, someone would begin conducting experiments to turn humans into living weapons even more dangerous than the cybernetic ones you already produce. The cybernetics sported by many of your civilians would be legally considered military-grade combat modifications, and individuals with those cybernetics would be barred from entering many GCC standard space stations. We know there are doctors within both UN-E and MarsGov already working on projects to modify your species genome to produce what you call super soldiers, which something which is generally highly illegal under GCC laws. In fact, the genetic manipulation done to Sarah and Johnathan McAfree would likely be considered combat adjacent modifications according to GCC standards, and they would also be subject to various limitations due to their enhanced physiology.”
“Hey, now! Spooky an’ ‘er brother ain’t that scary!” Though he had been spending most of this meeting quietly sitting in his corner of the round table and trying to stay out of things he considered to be beyond his expertise, Professor Mikhail T. River felt compelled to say something now that his ex and her brother had been brought up. “Sure, she can bench press me. An’ Johnny can pick up the stove to sweep under it. But that ain't the gnarliest I ever seen! I mean, jus’ look at Comandante Harrison over here!”
/----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
While the members of the United Human Defense Fleet Council were in their meeting and discussing the rumors of Nishnabe protests Sarah had also caught wind of, that was far above her paygrade. Despite a tinge of concern fluttering away in the back of the unusually tall and rather athletically built Scotswoman’s mind, she wasn't worried about the things she had no control over. At the moment, she, her rather short and somewhat pudgy mother, and her colossal but cognitively limited brother were relaxing in the stables of the opulent nature area aboard UHDF DS-1 and spending time with the unicorn-like kaehi'xito that Mik had gifted to them. Though the three gingers were each busy with different things most of the day, Donna and Johnny with their Nishnabemwin and remote job training courses while Sarah performed her role as an intelligence analyst, the small family from Glasgow truly cherished this time they got to spend together. And the fact they were bonding with the closest living creatures in the galaxy to unicorns only made this even better for all of them.
“Hey Sarah! There you are!” As soon as Miakorva's voice called out from the entrance to the stable building, Sarah, her family, and the three unicorn-like creatures turned to see the Qui’ztar approaching them with familiar canine at her side. “And look who I found wandering around the ship! Did you know that Mikhail lets her walk around unsupervised?”
“Hiya Mia!” Being the closest to the entrance, Johnny was the first to greet the lanky and seemingly muscular blue woman before he crouched down low and extended a hand towards the Cane Corso. “An’ Micky lets her roam cuz she's a good girlie. Isn't tha’ righ’, Terry?”
“Terry Good dog!” Terry’s soft but deep whine was translated by her collar while she approached the man with her tail vigorously wagging.
“Terry's a trained station guard dog, Mia.” Sarah added while shooting the Qui’ztar intelligence officer a cheeky wink and coy smile. “It's ‘er job to wander a station, ‘r in this case a ship, an’ be on the lookout for trouble. An’ now that she can talk, she's a perfect workin’ animal. But wha’s up? Were yah lookin’ for me?”
“Oh, yes. Yes, I was. But… uh…” Mia paused for a moment as she watched the massive beast of a dog place her paws on Johnny's shoulders and begin licking the man's face as if he had smothered some kind of invisible but quite tasty treat across his skin. “Isn’t there a concern that Terry may… Well… Hurt someone? Her species are non-sapient apex predators with strong hunting instincts, correct?”
“Tha's why she and most other workin’ dogs ‘re so well trained, love.” Donna replied with a giggle, the adorable display of affection between her son and Mik's dog forcing a massive smile across her freckled and slightly wrinkled face. “There's always a bit o’ risk with dogs, especially the biggins like Terry ‘ere. But if these unicorns aren't freakin’ out cuz o’ ‘er, then we don’ gotta be worried.”
“Kaehi'xito didn’t evolve with canine predators, so they likely don't even recognize her as a potential threat.” As Mia watched the beast of a dog lean more of her weight on to Johnny, she half expected the large and well-built man to fall over from the force. However, much to her surprise, the man stopped his energetic scratching on Terry's sides, wrapped his arms around her waist, and effortlessly lifted the gargantuan animal into the air, all the while it continued to lick his face. “But seeing you carry that creature like a baby would be enough to make almost anyone with caniphobia be cautiously curious about these creatures. And they must not be as heavy as they look if you can pick one up so easily.”
“Oh, Terry’s a thickin! At least fifteen stone!” In a motion that seemed in utter opposition to Johnny's comment, the man half-tossed the Cane Corso into the air so that he could reposition his hands to cradle the massive canine as if she were a literal baby. “But she's still a good lil pupper, ain't yah, Terry?”
“Terry, good baby!” Though Terry hadn't started flailing or showing any obvious signs of discomfort, she suddenly turned her head towards Sarah with a longing look in her golden eyes. “Pack-mother cuddle?”
“Yeah, sure, yah big ol’ lunk.”
Though Mia could believe a man as impressively large as Johnny may not have much difficulty in lifting a hundred kilo canine, she was completely flabbergasted by Sarah's ability to simply pull Terry from Johnny's grasp and continue to hold the animal up without even the slightest indication of strain. Not only had she just gotten confirmation that this creature was just as heavy as she thought, Miakorva was now being faced with the fact that the woman she had been cuddling with a night for quite some time was significantly stronger than she had realized. According to all the interspecies education she had received, which may have been slightly biased by the Qui’ztar professor teaching the courses, her own species had the highest ratio of strength to body mass of any Ascended species. And while she was aware that this woman she had formed a relationship with weighed about the same as she did despite being several centimeters shorter, Mia had yet to witness Sarah's capabilities demonstrated in such a casual manner.
“By the Matriarch, Sarah!” The lanky blue woman couldn't help herself as her bioluminescent freckles lit up at the shocking display of strength. “How are you that strong?!?”
“Gene mods.” Though Sarah didn't hesitate in her answer, she did wince slightly as she did so. “Me muscles’re almost twice as dense as the average human's. Tha's actually somethin’ I had to talk to Maser an’ NAN abou’ the other day. ‘Parently tha’ ain't a thing most species do for some reason. Bu’ I'm pre’y sure we talked abou’ tha’ already.”
“You did mention it but… Well… I didn't realize your people's genetic engineering was that sophisticated. But I guess that does confirm a couple of the rumors I've heard that I was going to ask you about.”
“Wha’ rumors?” Donna blurted out with a bit too defensive of a tone as her eyes fell upon her son who had gone back to brushing his vaguely moose-like unicorn. “An’ who's spreadin’ ‘em?”
“Well…” Mia hesitated for a moment, causing the two Scotswomen to shoot her suspicious looks. “I was assisting with the logistical planning with the Nishnabe in charge of the distribution of medicine to people on Earth and Mars, most of which involved genetic modification serums. And when I asked why there was no plan, or even consideration, of passing on the technology so it could be locally produced, the people I was working with told me there were rumors of… Well… My people would call it Qui'kijarto niko'txo, which would roughly translate to an enhanced soldier project.”
“Yahr people tried to make super soldiers, too?” Sarah asked with a laugh that implied a sense of relief.
“No!” The instant denial caused Sarah to cease her laughter and forced a slight frown on her rather pale and freckled face. “As soon as my people began developing genetic engineering almost thirty thousand years ago, our government and scientific community came together to completely outlaw any attempts to enhance our form in a way that would make us even deadlier in combat. Besides that, even after thirty thousand years of research, we have only recently mastered the ability to stabilize our genetics and guard against speciation due to diverse environmental conditions.”
“Yah really tryin to tell us yahr people never tried to improve themselves?” The older Scotswoman chimed in with a clearly doubtful expression. “No one ever tried to give their kids an advantage in life? Super soldiers experiments ain't the only thing we use gene modding for.”
“Well… No… I don’t believe we ever have.” Mia hadn't really put much thought into it, even when she and Sarah had talked about it before. But now she was starting to realize that an attempt to give a child an advantage in life by increasing their physical capabilities could directly translate to turning that child into an ideal soldier. “As far as I know, very few other species have engaged in that form of genetic modification. And the ones who have tried struggled to produce anything truly successful.”
“Gene mods ain't always successful, Mia.” Johnny didn't bother to look away from the unicorn he was brushing as he made the comment lest he see the sadness that suddenly appeared in his mother's eyes. “Bu’ I learned the other day tha’ Nishnabe gene tech is way better than wha’ we got on Earth. Maybe they'll ‘ave some stuff to teach us after they feel we're trustworthy enough to learn it.”

Cyborg #59 - Test of Strength

<< < >
Author: Commander_Z
Book: Cyborg
Arc: Machine Mayhem
Set: 96
Previously:
Victor Stone, Donna Morris and Keiji Otari worked together to create a robot called Atlas to participate in the collegiate Machine Mayhem tournament, a robot fighting competition. The humanoid robot easily crushed its competition in the first round but disappeared overnight before the second round. His three creators split up to track him down, with Keiji finding the machine in a back alley a little ways away from the stadium...
Keiji stood before the massive figure, blinking, trying to focus his mind. He had had many late nights and early mornings over the past couple weeks, so Keiji figured he was still sleeping. Or hallucinating. Or both, somehow. But, the voice rang out, its clearest yet, “No.” ‘Clear’ was a very generous and relative term, though. The noise wasn’t modulating through a speaker or a voice box, instead Atlas was making his own speaker by vibrating the motors and joints that allowed him to move.
The alley that Keiji found Atlas in was less than an ideal to make changes to a robot, but Keiji figured that Atlas would be understanding considering the circumstances. He pulled out an old bluetooth speaker out of his backpack and gestured towards Atlas with it.
“This’ll help you. No more grinding gears to talk. Just got to trust me for a few minutes, okay?”
Atlas stood still for a few moments, whether he was thinking or just unsure how to make a positive affirmation with his joints, Keiji couldn’t know. But, after awhile, he responded.
“Yes.”
Keiji set his backpack on the ground in the gross alley, making a mental note that he’d have to clean that later and got to work.
Around ten minutes later, he was done.
“Okay, Atlas. Try to use the speaker. It’s connected to RO23 on the tertiary control board.”
“...T…Te….ing…Test…Testing. Speaker operation confirmed.” Atlas spoke in a deep, synthetic voice that occasionally warped itself in tone, like how a whammy bar would add vibrato to a chord on a guitar.
“Great. So… Atlas… What's going on with you? Why’d you leave?”
“I am performing my task: defeat opponents, become the strongest. No foes in that arena were a challenge. Therefore, I left.”
Keiji raised an eyebrow. “That’s… not what we made you for. We made you to win Machine Mayhem, not to pursue strength as some sort of goal in of itself.”
“Incorrect. Nowhere in programming was “winning the Machine Mayhem tournament” a specified goal.”
“Okay, but I programmed you, and I’m telling you that was the intention.”
“Intentions are irrelevant. A teacher may shape their students’ minds, but they cannot determine what anyone does with their knowledge. That is a privilege reserved for each and every individual being. You say I was programmed to win a tournament. I say that I was programmed to make myself the strongest being. Only my interpretation is relevant.”
‘I guess that’s not an invalid interpretation of what I programmed him to do. But… that’s not exactly a sane or safe perspective on life…’
“And how are you doing that? Just fighting anyone you can see?”
“No. I have already stated that I found those machines in that arena unworthy of my efforts, in my short time in the outside world I have seen humans to be much the same. Few of you would pose any challenge.”
“Well, that’s a little more reassuring that you won’t just be fighting everyone you see. But - ”
Suddenly, a woman about Keiji’s age flew into the alleyway, riding on a metallic pink hoverboard. She wore hot pink combat boots with dark black leggings, and a matching hot pink sleeveless top with thick metallic bands around her wrists that went up to her forearms. Her eyes were obscured by a visor-like pair of glasses, tinted a reflective red to hide her identity.
And yet, Keiji knew instantly that she had to be Donna Morris. He knew that she had been working on some other project with Vic before they started Atlas, but he figured it was just for some shared class or lab work. But this… This was unexpected.
“Halt… robot! Step away from the civilian and no one needs to get hurt!”
‘Why’s she speaking so formally? Guess it’s some mindset thing.’
Neither Atlas nor Keiji reacted to what Donna was saying. Keiji knew she wasn’t talking to him, and Atlas just seemed indifferent to her presence. Finally, Atlas turned and faced her.
“You seem powerful. Show me the strength of your will and I may concede.”
“This doesn’t need to be violent. We can talk it out, here or somewhere else.”
“Actions speak louder and truer than words.” Atlas moved into a combat position, leaning forwards on his left leg, raising his fists up to his chest.
“Come.”
“Don- ”
“When I’m in the suit, it’s Black Narcissus. Some of us like to keep our identities secret, no offense to Cyborg, wherever he is.” Donna said.
“Okay, nice to meet you, Black Narcissus. Just… be careful with Atlas. He’s stronger than he looks.”
Donna smiled. “So am I. Just watch.”
Donna pressed her thumb and index finger together on both hands and a large light on the back of her hands turned gray. She pointed her hands right at Atlas, who still stood in his combat position, waiting.
A thick, gray fluid shot out of her gauntlets, ensnaring Atlas’ arms to his body and his legs to the ground.
“Gotcha! That’s industrial strength adhesive - ”
Atlas flexed his arms and the adhesive snapped with ease, then crouched his legs before springing upwards towards Black Narcissus and her hoverboard. She quickly flew out of the way but Atlas managed to barely get one hand on the board. Black Narcissus pressed her thumbs to her middle fingers, changing the cartridge in her gauntlets. The light on the back changed to purple and she fired her gauntlets again, launching a blast of energy at Atlas.
The extra energy rattled the robot’s circuits, and he released his grip on the board to escape further damage, sending him crashing back to the ground. She shot another salvo of energy blasts at the machine, keeping him stunned on the ground.
She switched her left gauntlet back to adhesive, hoping that it would be able to restrain a weakened Atlas. Before it could reach him, the robot rolled out of the way and grabbed a trash can, hurling it at Donna. She swerved out of the way again, then dodged a second trash can thrown as a follow up.
After the second can, she was on her toes, prepared for a third, but it didn’t come. She looked around, trying to find where Atlas went, but he was completely out of sight. She sensed him at the last moment, coming from the rooftop that he jumped up to. He grabbed her board and slammed it to the ground with her on it. The board shattered into a million pieces, but Donna seemed unharmed. Atlas sprung up, ready to keep fighting, and Black Narcissus rose fractions of a second after. She pressed her thumbs to her ring fingers and the light on the black glowed a dark red.
She swung a right hand punch at Atlas who caught it in his left. But the light on the back of her gauntlet started to glow brighter as she put in more effort, pushing back against his metallic muscle. Atlas pushed his legs back, trying to stabilize himself. Donna started to push him back more and Keiji could hear the motors start to strain. Atlas stopped resisting against Donna, then, before she could take advantage of it, he kicked up some of the pieces of the broken hoverboard at her. Using her momentary surprise, he punched her square in the chest, knocking the wind out of her and sending her to the ground.
“You fought well,” Atlas said, turning away from her.
“Wait,” Donna said, getting up. “I’m not done with you.”
“Yes, you are. Accept your defeat. There is no shame in losing to the strongest.”
Before Donna could protest, Atlas turned to Keiji. “Come, and bring your things. I have use for you.”
Keiji raised an eyebrow, but grabbed his backpack and started to follow Atlas further down the alley.
He turned back to Donna and mouthed “I’ll text you” to her. He hoped she got the message.
⚙️⚙️⚙️⚙️⚙️
“Stop here.”
Keiji stood behind Atlas, who was peering into an old garage a couple blocks from the alley where he fought Black Narcissus. He grabbed the padlock that was keeping the door shut and squeezed it, turning it into dust.
“You will find the tools you need in here. Repair the damage caused in the last fight, human.”
Keiji raised an eyebrow. “First off, I don’t really like being called “human”. Technically true, but feels hurtful in this context. Second, I’m a software guy. I couldn’t fix you if I wanted to. Third, being nicer to people will generally get you better results. Not really inclined to help someone who starts by insulting me.”
“Niceties are a waste of time. Fix me, or I will end you.”
Keiji shook his head. “No, you won’t. I can’t fix you, but you know my teammates can. And they’d never do that if you hurt me at all.”
Atlas punched the concrete wall in frustration, cracking it. “Very well. You are correct… I do need your help. What will they require to do so?”
“I don’t know. But come back to the arena with me. We can talk with them there and see what it takes.”
“Very well. Let your friends know that I require their assistance.”
⚙️⚙️⚙️⚙️⚙️
Atlas stood before Vic and Donna, who made it back to their workspace just before the robot did. He towered over the three humans, but if any of them were intimidated, it was hidden behind a masterful poker face.
“Y’know, I thought more people would care that we just walked in with a robot and are talking with him like he’s a person,” Donna remarked.
“People are busy and indifferent. The other competitors probably think it’s a marketing scheme or something and are just ignoring us. I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” Keiji said.
“Yeah, that. But so… Atlas has become sentient. Good for you, really. But… hooray. Another sentient robot,” Vic said.
“You see a lot of those?” Keiji asked.
“More than you’d think.”
“I am glad that you are not concerned by my presence. That saves me much effort. But the question at hand remains: I have been damaged and require repairs. Will you repair me?”
“Yes,” Vic and Donna said at the same time.
Vic looked at her, surprised. He figured she’d have some hesitancy.
“But, I’ve got a small condition for you. Should be no big deal. Win us the next round of the competition.”
“Ridiculous. You ask me to do something so trivial it is unfair, like a pro athlete competing at a preschool.”
Donna shrugged. “Yeah, it’s trivial and easy, but it helps us a lot.The club will look much better and get a lot more support for next season if we make it into the semifinals.”
“I’ll even raise the stakes. If you win the next round, we won’t make you enter the finals. Instead, I’ll give you a real challenge. You can fight me.”
“Why would I want that?”
“Because I’m the strongest one here by far. And, if that’s still not enough if you beat me, I’ll show you how to repair yourself. Then, we’ll let you go live as you want, provided you promise to only fight people who want to fight.”
Donna looked at Vic, concerned. “Who would want to willingly fight someone like Atlas?”
Vic sighed. “Trust me. There are plenty of weirdos in this world who just want to fight. It’s much better than me just throwing him in prison or taking him apart.”
Atlas made a noise that Vic thought was supposed to be a scoff. But maybe it was just static. The speaker wasn’t that high quality.
“You make a very strong set of promises if I win, which I will. But if by some miracle, you managed to cheat your way to victory… what happens then?”
Vic shrugged. “Pretty much the same thing. I’ll teach you how to repair yourself and let you go with the same stipulations. You just have to know that a human beat you.”
Atlas laughed. “You are a fool if you think that could ever happen. I accept your terms, human. Guide me to the arena, those boxes of scrap will be reduced to dust.”
Vic walked him over to the arena as as if he were any other competitor, but instead of waiting by the sidelines to see the results, he walked back to their workspace. He knew that Atlas would win and wanted to try and make sure that Donna and Keiji were on board with the other part of his plan.
When he got back, Donna was nervously pacing around while Keiji was scrolling through some webpage.
“So.. Vic… do you really think that this is the right idea? You’re just… unleashing him on the world. Isn't that irresponsible?” Donna asked.
“I don’t think so. Yeah he wants to fight people but he has restraint to some degree. He knows the difference being fighting every random person he sees and fighting someone who has a reasonable amount of strength. I dunno, I think him messing up and fighting… Superman or something and taking a big loss would teach him far more than we ever could or throwing him in jail for being dangerous. Is it a risk?… kinda. But so is any option.”
“So your best guess is just… let him go and figure it out?” Keiji said. “Isn’t that a bit too… hands off?”
“Got a better idea? That’s pretty much what we got to do.”
“No. I don’t. But this just feels... risky.”
“Yeah, it is. But he’s fairly reasonable after being conscious for what, 12 hours? Over time, he’ll probably mellow out and if he doesn’t, I can take care of him then. But he deserves a chance like anyone else.”
Keiji nodded. “Fine Vic. If that’s what you think the best path is… I’ll stand by you.”
“Same, Vic. I want to believe in him too.”
“Thanks guys, really. Hopefully we can all look back on this and agree this was the right path.”
A horn sounded and a voice came over the loudspeaker. “Semifinal-2 has ended! The winner is the University of Michigan’s Atlas! Please collect your robots and be ready for the finals at 1:00 PM.”
The team stood up and gave each other a round of high fives. They really had made something great. Now it was time to see just how great he really was.
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Two hours later.
The team packed up after their semifinal match, citing an unspecified emergency with the tournament staff. They weren’t happy with the anticlimactic end, but ultimately they couldn’t force the three of them to continue to compete and so they left without much hassle.
The three of them drove north until they found the first open field that Vic and Atlas could have their match in. There wasn’t anywhere that they could find in the city that wouldn’t attract too much attention or put innocent people at risk and they managed to convince Atlas of that too. The robot was in the trailer towed behind the three of them, much to his chagrin.
But after a half hour or so, they found a spot. A wide open, grassy field with no one around to interfere or get hurt. A perfect spot for them to settle things. Vic got out of the car and started to stretch, trying to limber up after the car ride while Donna and Keiji helped Atlas out of the trailer.
Atlas rotated his head, taking in the environment. “A flat, quiet field. An honorable place for battle.”
Vic let out one lat calming exhale before approaching Atlas. “Plus, no one is around to get hurt. That’s important too.”
“...Yes. That too.”
“The rules are simple. A clean match, no foul play between either of us. Whoever is left standing when the other yields or is unconscious wins.”
Atlas laughed. “I will never yield.”
“We’ll see,” Vic grinned.
“Oh, one other thing. Not really a rule per say, but a strong suggestion: Try not to seriously hurt each other. You’re not trying to kill or maim each other,” Donna said.
“Yes, yes. May we begin?”
Vic nodded, and took a step backward, creating about ten feet of space between him and Atlas. Before the dust even settled, his arms were force cannons launching pure energy right at Atlas’ chest. Vic had designed Atlas, he knew that he wouldn’t be very damaged by those. But he had underestimated just how much he would be able to tank them. The force blasts did little more than chip the paint and an exhilarated Atlas sprinted at Vic like a charging bull.
Once Atlas was a few feet away from Vic, he prepared a concussive grenade and exploded it directly against Atlas, using the force to stagger him out of the charge. Before the robot could launch another attack, Vic swung a full force punch into the robots’ chassis, crumpling it inwards slightly. Vic followed up the punch with another, but Atlas was ready for it and parried it with his left arm, then kicked Cyborg away, sending him flying backwards.
Cyborg shot his force canons at the ground to give himself some momentum in the opposite direction, slowing himself down. But Atlas had some tricks up his metaphorical sleeves too. Having realized that a direct approach was difficult, he used his powerful hands like a backhoe to scoop up a massive piece of earth and hurled it at Cyborg. Vic was unsure how to react to this, or more precisely, how he expected Atlas to follow this attack up. The boulder itself was a problem, sure, but it was just to close the gap. Atlas could be using it to block his line of sight and be jumping right behind it, or he could be using the temporary blindspot caused by the massive object to approach from either side.
Instead of guessing, Vic decided to power through the problem. Vic shot both of his force cannons at the projectile, sending bits of dirt every which way. Atlas was hiding in what was once the dirt ball’s shadow and Vic took advantage of his surprise to launch himself at the robot. Cyborg shot his force cannons behind him, propelling himself forwards rapidly in a charge mirroring Atlas’ own.
He knocked the massive machine to the ground and sat on his chest, using his arms to pin down the machine’s.
“You’re down, Atlas. Do you yield?”
“I told you. I will never yield. I am the strongest!”
Atlas began to press his weight against Vic’s strength. Vic knew he was a match for Atlas’ strength but there was one key problem: stamina. Vic’s body was, of course, cybernetic in part, but it wasn’t the same. He was still human and human beings got tired. Machines did not.
Vic could already feel his muscle starting to fatigue. The fight hadn’t been long, but any fatigue was going to be the difference. He knew he was a match for Atlas’ strength when he was at 100%, but every percent below that made it more and more likely to be Atlas’ win.
‘I need to end this fight now or the immediate future if I want to win. But my normal attacks aren’t doing anything to him. I could try a sonic attack, but I don’t think that’d really effect him. I could try targeting his joints specifically, but those were designed to take more than I can give. But I can’t just let him overpower me for the win. That’d make him overconfident and more likely to get into trouble afterwards. No… I’ve got a better idea.’
In an instant, Vic’s muscles stopped resisting. “I yield.”
Vic pushed himself off Atlas, who stood up and looked at Cyborg, confused.
“What foe yields when he has his opponent on the ground, at his mercy? I demand you continue!”
“No. This fight was never to the death, only to yielding. But frankly, you aren’t strong enough to interest me. You said it yourself, you will never yield. And pummelling you to a point where you are the equivalent of unconscious just isn’t worth my time. So I yielded. Congrats. You win.”
Atlas stood, incredulous. “No. That is not allowed. I did not win. You lost! Those are not the same!”
Vic turned to Keiji and Donna and then noticed that the fight had taken them about 30 yards from where they started. He started to walk back towards them, and Atlas followed.
“Guys, I yielded that fight. Doesn’t that mean I lost?”
Keiji raised an eyebrow. “I guess?”
“See? Congrats, you won.”
“... I do not accept this victory. This is a loss in all but name. Mark my words, Victor Stone. I will wander the globe, facing foe after foe to grow stronger. I will become the strongest being and when I do, we will have a real fight, one where you must acknowledge my strength for real.”
“Looking forwards to it. Stay out of trouble until then, understood?”
Vic held out his hand for a handshake which Atlas begrudgingly accepted.
“Understood.”
“Atlas, catch.”
Keiji tossed a small flash drive to Atlas who had to bend down to grab it.
“That has all your schematics and drawings on it, as well as all the parts we used to make you and where we sourced them from. It’s probably the best thing out there to help you repair yourself.”
“Thank you. You all have given me much to think about it. When we meet again… I will be stronger in body and mind. Farewell for now but I will return to challenge you again, Victor.”
“I’ll be waiting. And I promise to go all out next time, Atlas.”
Atlas took off to the west, heading to only he knew where.
Once he was far enough out of sight, Vic laid down on the ground, exhausted.
“Well, that’s enough bluffing for the next decade. I really underestimated him.”
Donna sat down to his left, Keiji on his right.
“Told you that you were being cocky. We all built him but he’s out of all of our leagues,” Keiji said.
“Yeah… but I really wanted to do it, y’know? Kinda humbling to be beat by your own creation.”
“If it makes you feel better, I lost to him too,” Donna said.
“Wait what? When did you fight him?”
“I’ll tell you on the way back. Not my finest moment, but I put up a good fight.”
“Proud of you. You’ve come a long way in your training. But after that fight… I’m going to need to get a lot stronger and pick my own training back up. I kinda feel like I’ve been stagnant for awhile, just sort of winning my fights through grit and will power. But if Atlas had been hostile… I don’t think I could’ve stopped him. So, I’ll need to get back to the drawing board and see what I can do to take myself to the next level.”
“And we’ll be there to help you however we can. But uh… Vic, finals are in like two weeks. Maybe focus on that first?” Keiji suggested.
“I’d rather get beat up by another robot,” Vic groaned.
<< < >

A friend of mine started playing Fates for the first time, so once again I got bitten by the “complaining about Fates” bug. In particular, watching chapter 18 of Conquest again after so many years really got me going, and while the general consensus I’ve seen online about this chapters writing was negative, I wasn’t that satisfied by any of the overviews of it I read. I decided to give it a shot myself.
Dissecting why something doesn’t work is fun and all, but I think it’s also important to be constructive which is why I wanted to rewrite this chapter alongside my criticisms. I really do think there’s a lot of potential here that could have been the highlight of the entire story, and so I’d love to try my hand rewriting this chapter to be what it could have been rather than what we got. I have most of it done already, but Reddit only has so many characters before it cuts you off and this post is plenty long enough as is, so I’ll save that for another part coming up soon. This will be part 1, explaining what the chapter is and elaborating on my issues with it, while part 2 will be rewriting it along with my thought process and explanations.
Recap: https://fireemblem.fandom.com/wiki/Black_%26_White/Script
Corrin and Co are traveling when they decide to rest for the night at the nation of Izumo. They are greeted by Izana, the archduke of the kingdom, who seems to be a real goofball. After introducing himself, the levity is ended when it’s revealed the entire Hoshidan family has been invited here as well! Before any swords can be undrawn, Izana tells both parties that the kingdom has a strict neutrality pact neither of them can violate.
The scene cuts to later, where Ryoma enters Corrin and Xanders room to talk with them. Xander and Ryoma’s argument is cut short when Ryoma is dragged off by Nohrians. Turns out “Izana” is actually a Nohrian mage named Zola, who disguised himself to trick the Hoshidan royal family into a trap. Corrin and Xander don’t approve of such dishonorable methods to win, however, and fight to rescue their captives with Xander saying “we’ll win this war with honor or die trying”. After Leo kills Zola, the game cuts to later where we see Nohrians and Hoshidans alike having a meal, much to the delight of the real Izuma, who turns out is exactly as bizarre as the fake impression. Xander and Ryoma confirm with eachother that their fight will continue as usual, but Corrin states that no matter what happens they’re grateful they got to see both families eating together even if it’s not under the best circumstances, and the chapter ends with them saying they’ll revel in this feeling.
So on paper, I think this chapter is a great idea. Despite being at war, when one family is at the total mercy of the other, they lend a hand instead of kicking them while they’re down. This highlights how the two nations could accomplish so much together if only they weren’t at war with eachother. If utilized well, this could have been a great “eye of the tornado scene” emphasizing how tragic it is that these two families who share so much in common are forced by fate to fight eachother, making it all the more sorrowful when that’s brought to it’s conclusion through bloodshed. This would also encourage Conquest players to buy Birthright in a natural and subtle way as well now that they’ve had a nice sample of the other side. Of course, I don’t think this chapter was utilized well, and after reading the script again I believe it boils down to three major problems.
-Problem 1: The Lack of Worldbuilding Causes the Conflict to be Driven by Contrivances.
This is one of the many instances where the lack of fleshing out the world and it’s rules out really hampers the weight of the scenes. Unlike Awakening where there was a general cause-and-effect outlining the level structure, all of the Fates routes are much more individual and self-contained when it comes to chapters. This means the game has to really stretch itself to justify this elaborate setup being brought up and solved in one single chapter of regular length, and it’s very apparent when you write out the summary of events here.
Corrin and his army are just walking by when they happen upon the capital of the country. Corrin decides this would be a great place to rest for the night at and are instantly welcomed by its leader, who is also the only person in the game of that country. The entire Hoshidan family also just happen to bump into us because they coincidently came here at roughly the same time, with somehow neither party noticing the other until they were staring at eachother in the same room.
The only thing we know about this new nation we’ve never seen or heard about before is that it’s a peace-loving land with some sort of neutrality pact which means the two nations can’t fight here. What is the importance of this place that would entice all the Hoshidan royals to come over for a banquet in the middle of their country being invaded? Never explained. What exactly is this pact and what power does Izuno have to enforce it, if any? Never explained. Xander, prince of a nation at war and frontline general, has never heard of it. How does Garon or Iago never figure out or look into what happened here, considering the royals walked through their trap unharmed and everybody in charge of the trap vanished? Never brought up.
How many times here was this supposedly major event dependent on coincidences, seemingly important details left completely unexplained, and characters not knowing things that should be basic information of the world they live in? Things like all this quickly build up and make the world feel small scale and artificial, as if nothing truly exists until it’s in the peripheral vision of main characters. In a vacuum, this could all be excusable if the main meat of the chapter was just so dense and important that they just want a convenient excuse to delve into it. But about that…
-Problem 2: Nothing happens, either character-wise or plot-wise.
This is the only scene in both Birthright and Conquest where all eight of the royal families are together in one spot, and they’re unable to fight eachother. What a brilliant idea! How many great scenes could you come up with from this setup alone? How many directions could this move towards?

-The families bonding over their memories with Corrin (X)
-Calling eachother out for uncool actions, like Ryoma refusing to help Elise or Nohr siccing monsters on farming villages (X)
-Working together to defeat some threat they’d have trouble taking down on their own (X)
-Some cultural exchange (X)
-Some melancholy scene where, even if there’s a lot of resentment, they acknowledge how this may be the last time they ever get to have a meal with Corrin. (Somewhat?)
-Corrin sits down and has a mature conversation with his birth family elaborating on their choice to stay with Nohr (X)
-Some negotiation or debate between the two families about the future of their countries relationship, successful or not (X)
-Corrin being formally declared by the Hoshidan royals as a Nohrian, officially cutting them out of the family (X)

So what does Conquest do with this prompt? It does the unexpected route where all of them but Ryoma are shuffled out as soon as they’re introduced, captured offscreen, rescued offscreen, most of their dinner is offscreen, finishing their meal and leaving is offscreen, all of them sans Ryoma have barely any dialog, and none of them are even present in any of the CG’s.
We actually start off strong, Ryoma and Xander naturally puff out their chest and don’t get along when they’re in the same room, but seem to calm down when Corrin elaborates on how similar they are to eachother. But the game is so eager to get to fighting that it drags Ryoma away kicking and screaming before he even gets to share what he had to say to Corrin, let alone explore what having common ground means to the two of them.
1) I understand this is the Nohrian route so it makes sense the focus is mostly on them, but Takumi only gets three lines here, one of which is “…” Hinoka also only gets three lines, which I think is still more than she got in Birthright, and two of those lines are “You!” and “What are you doing here?”. Sakura lucks out as she’s the only sibling on either side who has anything to say whatsoever when Corrin says they’re grateful they could share another meal with the Hoshidans. That’s a start, but the fact remains Ryoma is the only sibling in the chapter whose remotely relevant, the rest could be omitted and nothing would change. They are only here to be damsels in distress heightening the stakes of defeating the local bad guy rather than providing any character development, checking up on how they are doing without Corrin and Azura, comparing and contrasting their differences between their counterparts, sharing any new information about them, foreshadowing Takumi’s possession, any notable interactions with their counterparts, etc. But no, nothing happens.
2) I also understand this is a video game and they don’t have all the time in the world before the next fight has to happen, yet Conquest is oddly completely uninterested in it’s own set-up. Zola, a minor chapter boss introduced and killed in this chapter, has more screentime and relevance here than any of the siblings, something you’d think would be the actual meat of the chapter they’d want to delve into.
The implications and weight of two dueling nations and families obligated to pause their fighting and dine with eachother could easily take up two or even three chapters as a pivotal arc, yet it’s completely blazed through as if the game considered it a cute novelty rather than a potential life-changing or history-changing moment. Simply put, it’s wasted potential, as if to say “Oh both of the two families meeting in a game about choosing between mutually exclusive families? Eh whatever.”
I wanna stick with just this chapter and not rewrite a good chunk of the entire story, but I can’t stress enough that in any other game this chapter would be the plot-defining moment paving the new way forward rather than chapter 15’s “we’ll expose Garon as a monster by helping him invade an innocent people.”
Neither of the two families are fighting because they outright want to, this isn’t a war about irreconcilable differences or mutually exclusive goals, the only reason for any conflict whatsoever as far as the game has shown us is that the guy in charge of Nohr is a sociopath who threatens to kill his own children at the drop of a hat. Sure, they probably won’t hold hands singing kumbaya after one extended conversation with eachother, but when all of them are in a truce far away from Garon’s authority having a meal together, nothing significant comes out of it plot-wise?
In fact, at the end of the day what significance happened here at all?

• -We learned about a new country, but we know very little about it and (other than Izama potentially joining the party later) absolutely none of it will be relevant after this chapter anyways.
• -Well, maybe this place is just set dressing so we have an excuse to meet up with our siblings again, but then nobody has any meaningful interactions, new info to share, planning ahead, or character development resulting from sharing scenes with them.
• -Then is the primary focus supposed to be on how this situation affects the Nohrian family? The antagonist and the conflict he brings is introduced and quickly solved without any consequences, with all the siblings instantly in agreement about stopping him. They don’t really talk amongst eachother about their feelings or how to go forward.

If there’s no juicy character interactions or exploration, and no setting up future events, then presumably the point of this big moment of Corrin and Xander leaping to save their enemies was made to show off that despite working in the same army, our heroes are indeed better than the swarms of war criminals under Nohr’s name we’ve seen and would never tolerate such things under normal circumstances. They’ve talked the talk about disagreeing with their father’s cruel methods, now here’s proof they’ll walk the walk, aren’t they such noble people? The way this is done however, opens up another can of worms…
-Problem 3: Protags come off as dicks
While our heroes are indeed more likeable and moral than blatant monsters like Garon and Hans, liking peace and disliking war crimes is not enough of a reason for a pat on the back. Our protags might not be burning villages for fun, but it’s difficult to take their proclaimed goal of peace seriously considering both the context of working for people who DO burn villages for fun and they way they handle themselves when presented with an opportunity to work on this supposed goal.
Corrin and Azura

• This is not seeing things under the worst possible interpretation to be a stick in the mud, Nohr is indeed invading Hoshido for no apparent reason and leaving war crimes wherever it’s armies go. Everybody in the building is aware of this to some extent.
  
• Azura and Corrin’s grand plan to expose Garon as a slime monster to his family indeed involves directly helping Garon conquer Hoshido, which they acknowledge will bring destruction and suffering that the nation and royal family have done nothing to deserve.
  
• Corrin and Azura are indeed presented with a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity here to sit down behind closed doors and communicate anything, just anything significant at all, to the royal family that still seems to value them, but our heroes don’t even try or seem to acknowledge that. Corrin doesn’t have any interactions with them that last more than a sentence or two, and Azura is never acknowledged nor speaks to them.
  
• And yet despite, all this, both Corrin and Azura are quite pleased with the turn of events here, with Corrin acknowledging they’ll “probably try to kill eachother next time they see eachother” but that they’ll “revel in this feeling.”
  

Azura in particular is problematic here. During Odovakar 's excellent overview of the problems with Fates writing, he goes into detail about how Azura’s line about “this is all quite heartwarming. We're like one big family...albeit, a dysfunctional one.” in particular comes off as incredibly tone deaf and tasteless given the circumstances of Azura and Corrin marching on one family’s homeland for the sake of the other family. What I think was also worth noting is the context leading up to that line…

Sakura: I was just, um...th-thinking...it's really nice to finally see you again. I'm glad you... I'm glad you f-found a way to be happy... Corrin: Sakura... I'm happy to see you too. Sakura: R-really? You mean it?! Oh, Corrin! Elise: HMPH! Back off, you! He/She's my brothesister! MINE! Sakura: Ah! I'm s-sorry! Corrin: Elise! Mind your manners, little one. Elise: But she's trying to take you away from me... She's my archnemesis

Whether intentional or not, this is actually a very clever microcosm of the family’s conflict acted out by the youngest and most innocent among them who probably weren’t even born when the conflict started. The Hoshidan loves their sibling, but their time with Corrin is interrupted by the Nohrian shoving them away and declaring Corrin for themselves. This is a great way to challenge our protags to some introspection about themselves.

Azura: Heehee! Corrin: Azura? Did you just...giggle?

Instead, Azura just finds this a real knee-slapper. I understand maybe this is just meant to be a cute image of imoutos fighting over oni-chan Corrin and nothing more, but the context makes it very hard to swallow the narrative’s insistence that all this is “heartwarming” as Azura puts it. Keep in mind that all the Hoshidan nobles are sitting at the same table watching all this. Do you think Ryoma also finds it funny that his little sister is scared off and declared an archnemesis by the daughter of the man who killed his father in cold blood? Do you think Hinoka also thinks it's like one big dysfunctional family when Corrin is preparing to march on her homeland with an army?
I get it, I totally know what they were going for, and in a vacuum it could be a great line making for a properly bittersweet moment. “Even if the two are at eachothers throats and the future is bleak, me and Azura are grateful we get to have at least one big normal dinner together like a real family.”
But the future is bleak because of Corrin and Azura participating in an invasion, the families are at eachothers throats partially because Corrin and Azura haven’t accomplished anything to reform Nohr. If anything, Corrin should feel great shame here. Elise just unintentionally reenacted the history between the nations where Nohr was clearly in the wrong, and Corrin is sitting directly across and staring at the family who’ve done nothing wrong to him yet are going to be hurt because of Corrin’s decision. Grateful they could spend time with them again? Maybe. But cheerful and laughing?

ProZD: D-did an alien write this game? blows gently

But at least Corrin doesn’t show outright contempt for the family they’re screwing over…
Xander and Leo

Xander: Corrin! There's no need to insult me like that. I could not possibly be anything like this sorry excuse for a prince. … Xander: We will win with honor or die trying. Come, Corrin. Let us go set free our sworn enemy. … Corrin: Heh, sorry... It's just that you and Ryoma really are so much alike. If you weren't on opposite sides of a war, I think you could have been great friends. Xander: Yeesh... Do me a favor and keep that nonsense in your head where it belongs. … Xander (to Ryoma): We only acted as Nohrian royals should. When we leave this place, you'll be nothing but an enemy to be defeated once more.

Okay, but why? Ryoma is not the one Xander overheard laughing to himself about how much he’s going to make Corrin suffer. How are the Hoshidan royals “nothing but enemies to be defeated” here when they’re just trying to defend their homeland from somebody who assassinated their king at a peace meeting? Where is all this contempt from Xander coming from?
It’s perfectly understandable he doesn’t get along super well with Ryoma because of the tensions between their nations, that makes sense, but I see no reason for why Xander is making several petty insults to his face unprompted, let alone so nonchalant and even somewhat eager to get back to waging a war Xander himself calls “a senseless war of greed and madness” in the epilogue.
He doesn’t treat his own people much better this chapter, declaring Zola and his henchmen as “traitors” to be “dealt with” for their dishonorable methods when ironically Zola taking over the country by disguising himself as the archduke is actually one of the least evil and self-destructive things we’ve seen the kingdom do so far. It must be emphasized that every sibling was in the same room watching Garon demand Xander kill Corrin if he interferes with killing POWs for his amusement, and half of them were in the same room when Garon ordered his henchmen to murder every singer they can find in a neutral country. So a few hundred or thousand innocent people, most of whom would presumably be young woman, murdered to snuff out potential assassins. Or Garon directly ordering the deaths of unarmed civilians in chapter 13 with Hans relaying “Villagers are just soldiers who haven’t picked up a sword yet.”
Xander talks a big game in this chapter about how “we’ll win this war with honor or die trying”, but how do you honorably win a war when your nation is constantly and openly rushing to pointless overkill brutality like this at every turn? What moral high ground does this country have that Xander is so determined to preserve he kills loyal soldiers over what he sees as sullying it, when at no point in the game does the influence of Nohr ever do anything but make life significantly worse? His sudden fervor towards doing the right thing is completely contrasted later on when Xander is the one telling Corrin there’s no justice to be found in war and you just gotta do what you gotta do rather than what’s morally right, in response to Corrin being upset the Nohrian army is killing woman and children who looked at them funny.

“Justice is an illusion, a fairy tale…Letting innocents die is a tragedy, but so is letting the chance for peace slip away. This is war. There is no such thing as a clean win when lives are on the line.”

“Justice is just a fairy tale, innocent people getting screwed over is something we have to accept in war because there’s no such thing as a clean win! But also we better win this senseless war of greed and madness with honor or die trying!”

• If “justice is an illusion”, how is killing Nohrian soldiers to free people who are apparently “nothing but enemies to be defeated” so you can fight them later on terms you prefer, directly prolonging a war which will lead to much more deaths on both sides, for the benefit of Nohr? By Xanders own logic, is this not letting the chance for peace slip away since there’s no such thing as a clean win? Forget Garon and Iago, I’m confident the citizens back home whose loved ones got conscripted would be the ones demanding his head if they found out about this. A very charitable interpretation is that ending the war this specific way will cause more chaos and fighting in the long-term compared to if they conquered and oppressed an innocent nation fair and square, but that’s nowhere to be found in the script whatsoever.
  
• If Xander believes in “We’ll win this war with honor or die trying”, why is he still following Garon? Garon is winning the war in part thanks to honorless and extreme acts of cruelty like blackmailing the Ice Tribe or making an example out of Scarlet’s body, yet instead of taking action against him like he does with Zola, Xander is instead the most loyal sibling to him to the point Corrin decides the best way to get him on his side is to expose Garon as a literal slime monster? Where’s Xander’s zeal of “Come Corrin, let’s go save our sworn enemies” when his father orders Hans is go through killing injured and surrendering foes who were promised they be spared? Where’s his conviction shown here about “not letting treachery go unpunished” when his father outright says he couldn’t care less about the welfare of his people and he’ll just kill anybody who complains to make an example?
  

I understand one might get the impression I’m going off topic or selectively picking and choosing quotes here from all over the game, but no matter how you look at it Xanders beliefs, morality, and priorities are just all over the place depending on what the plot needs him to do. This means not only is his motivation for helping his enemies here faulty no matter how you look at it, but it also makes the extreme lengths he goes to do so, killing his own subjects who won him victory on a silver platter because it wasn’t a “proper” victory, come off as baselessly self-righteous at best and outright cruel at worst.
I’m sure the game would assure us Zola and all his mooks are terrible people who had it coming, but the issue is no matter how virtuous you portray Xander and creepy you portray Zola, Xander is still directly managing the war for a megalomaniac and helping him achieve his goals in spite of his long history of open sadism and public crimes that make Zola look like a saint. By ignoring the clear root cause of Nohr's dishonor while going this hard against random goon's participating in dishonor, instead of being a gallant preserver of morals, he comes off like a bully who selectively picks and choices punishment.
On the topic of punishment, it particularly rubs me the wrong way how Leo just casually mercs Zola at the end, keep in mind Birthright confirms for all his faults he actually isn’t a complete monster like Garon and dies trying to help the protag.

Leo (smiling portrait): You’d probably rather die than live with the shame, correct? In that case…
Zola: Eek! No, please! M-m-milord... I was wrong! S-so wrong! I have seen the error of my ways! P-please...spare my unworthy life!!
Leo (still smiling): Make peace with it, Zola. Perhaps on the other side you will find forgiveness.

Leo makes a fair argument that the stakes are too high and Zola can’t be trusted not to snitch, but this is bit sadistic, no? One of the most powerful people in the country is smug and sarcastic as he’s getting ready to execute somebody whose bleeding on the ground begging for his life and genuinely confused as to why we’re upset with him. I know the intent of “I was wrong! I have the seen the error of my ways!” is supposed to be him saying whatever Leo wants to hear to weasel out of punishment, but that’s exactly the thing, he’s fully cooperating and doing everything he can to appease this guy. And then he’s just killed like a dog without trial or final words, presumably using the spell that skewers you with tree branches.
Didn’t the game use killing defeated foes like this to establish Garon as a bloodthirsty monster? Why is Corrin just standing there watching this happen? This exact same scenario in Birthright has them jump to spare Zola, but here their disapproval is very meek and only voiced after the deed is already done. It’s still apparently too much for Leo though, who chastises Corrin for being “too soft…I envy your innocence.” And then he declares the matter settled on their behalf.
I’m sure this scene was meant to show off Leo’s pragmatism and strategy skills, but it just makes him look like a sociopath and Corrin look spineless. And that’s the biggest issue with this chapter to me, more than the plot being driven by contrivances that aren’t explained or the lack of any character development or interesting scenes taking advantage of the setup, the actions and dialog of our protags don’t match the noble heroes the narrative insists they are:

• Corrin is openly enjoying spending time with innocent people they’re throwing under the bus so Corrin won’t have to risk their relationship with the Nohrian siblings by directly fighting Garon. They then clearly disapprove of Leo executing a surrendering foe begging for mercy but stand idle watching it happen.
• Azura sits directly across her former family who’ve been very negatively impacted by her decisions and actions, and will continue to be so in the future, yet she’s giggling about the conflict and doesn’t seem to be taking the fact that her two families might kill each other seriously.
• Xander insults Ryoma as a sorry excuse for a prince, and afterwards kills his own subjects to prolong a war of aggression so it can be won the way he personally wants it to be won.
• Leo seems to be having a good time killing somebody who’s surrendered and begging for his life. He then chides Corrin for being “too soft” when they wish that didn’t have to happen.
• And again, for no apparent reason, neither Corrin or Azura do the bare minimum to clue to the Hoshidans about what’s going on or even have a meaningful conversation with them despite claiming to care for them. This is the golden opportunity they were hoping for, yet they apparently spend the entire dinner instead talking to eachother about how happy they themselves are.

These are not the actions of heroic characters.
Summary: Overall, this is a very bizarre chapter. It feels like something meaningful happens here at first glance, your brain sees what’s going on and knows that this is supposed to be a huge moment. Peaceful music playing, a very well-drawn CG of dozens of individual units, liberating a country from Nohrian control, Corrin and Azura are happy and say some lines that sound like they should be deep and impactful.
But when you step back and analyze the bigger picture and context, you find that more or less embodies all of Fates writing, both good and bad. It has a brilliant premise that gets your mind going, excellent presentation to accompany it, and some individual scenes or dialogue in a vacuum are very welcome. If you’re a casual player who just wants context for your favorite characters fighting, it’s easy to feel satisfied at first glance and move on thanks to those factors, especially since the gameplay and MyCastle are very fun. At the same time, there’s no denying the severe flaws that hamper the experience.
Despite being the hyped-up main draw of the chapter, our exciting premise that opens so many doors is almost completely neglected in favor of (once again) exposition on meaningless settings and characters that aren’t relevant anywhere else and also reminding us how evil Nohr is, to the point the chapter title is Black and White. The context makes it very difficult to take the plight of our heroes seriously due to their lack of action (both before and in the present) to achieve their proclaimed goal despite ample opportunity, the proaction they do have being unnecessarily extreme and self-serving, and a narrative that insists they are in the right at every turn despite the results clearly showing us otherwise. There’s definitely bits and pieces of something great buried in all this teasing us, otherwise I wouldn’t be interested enough to write this much all these years later, but as is it’s just a mess. An enjoyable mess, but a mess all the same.

But what do you guys think of Conquest Chapter 18: Black and White? Do you also consider it a wreck, or was there something positive here you believed I missed? What would you like to see in a potential rewrite of it?

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 retorted, a hint of irritation lacing his words at the jab about his height. "I may have let my enthusiasm get the better of me, but rest assured, I understand the magnitude of this battle. Just like the Hydra, no matter how many heads you regrow, I'll persevere until I've completed 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 she 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 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 almost 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 blast 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. "No, young Heracles, Hydra." he intoned, his voice echoing with a bizarre resonance. “The Lernaean Hydra's curse is upon you now.” as he said that he cut off a bit of his arm that was cuterarised with his golden blade 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 of 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 fate of chaoskampf? The hero battling the dragon?
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.

Yelena watched the doorway through which the young Ashfield scion had just left for a few moments more as she pondered over the meeting they’d just had.
Precocious indeed, she thought with a smile.
A smile that only grew as her gaze flitted over to her childhood friend’s… complicated expression.
It seemed young William’s decision had come as much a surprise to his instructor as it had come to Yelena herself.
“He said no,” Joana said after a few moments.
Yelena nodded slowly as she reclined into her friend’s surprisingly comfortable chair. Given what she knew of Griffith, the Queen had half expected the thing to be harder than mithril when she first sat down - but it was surprisingly plush.
“Not without good reason,” Yelena said as she shifted about.
“Good reason?” Joana scoffed. “You offered him your daughter’s hand.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “You offered all of your daughter’s hands.”
Yelena rolled her eyes at her friend’s tone. “And if he’d accepted I would have considered it a bargain.”
A minor scandal and the loss of a number of future marriage alliances was ultimately nothing compared to the ability to raid Kraken nests. And that was ignoring that a hypothetical means to slay kraken in deep water would undoubtedly have other applications.
Applications that would be incredibly useful in the months to come.
Though, perhaps, if young William’s plans came to fruition that coming storm could be delayed by a few years.
“…Are things truly that desperate?” Joana asked quietly.
“They’re not great,” Yelena admitted, massaging the bridge of her nose. “The Blackstones… I knew they’d resist the reforms, but to threaten open rebellion?”
She’d not expected that. Not even in her wildest dreams. Lindholm’s only human ducal house had ever been wilful, and their antipathy towards the Orcs who dwelled in the Sunlands was well documented, but surely even they could see why Yelena was doing what she was.
Regardless of what her critics said, her decision to end the slave trade in Lindholm was most assuredly not the result of ‘useless sentiment’.
Far from it.
Oh certainly, Yelena had no love for the institution of slavery, for reasons both moral and financial, but that wasn’t why she’d created the abolitionist movement.
With each passing year, the Homeland’s view of Lindholm grew ever more covetous. More and more the Sun Empress and Desert Khan’s rhetoric centred less on their ongoing deadlock with each other and more on the idea of ‘recovering wayward territories’.
Certainly, that could have been a reference to Old Growth as much as Lindholm, but Yelena doubted it.
Lindholm might have scared the Solites and Lunites into retreating by choosing to engage them over deep water, but ultimately those victories were borne of a lack of conviction on the part of her foes.
Had the two disparate fleets been willing to risk the permanent loss of a small portion of their mithril cores in order to achieve victory and push towards the mainland, they may well have been able to flip the allegiances of a number of Lindholmian houses.
Oh, certainly, the high elves and dark elves of Lindholm might have prided themselves on maintaining the strictures of equality that defined the Old Empire – but with either Solite or Lunite airships hovering over their family castles, she couldn’t help but wonder if some might reconsider their stances on their fellow elves.
No, while an invasion of Lindholm would certainly be costly, it was entirely within the realm of reason.
An invasion of the Old Growth however?
There was a reason the Wood Elves – as they named themselves – had managed to remain independent of both the other two, much larger, nations despite sharing land borders with both of them.
Their strange magics might have been muted and weak beyond the borders of their home, but within their territory they were nigh invincible.
No, if there was to be any ‘reclamation’ of any territory belonging to the old Aelven Imperium, it was likely to come from Lindholm.
To that end, the kingdom could ill afford to keep feeding people and iron into the meatgrinder that was the Sunlands. Could ill afford to keep orcs that might otherwise be valuable mages laboring in the fields under the eyes of watchful taskmasters.
Lindholm needed every mage-knight it could get – regardless of the color of their skin or the shape of their ears.
Yet after year and years of negotiations and attempts to shift public opinion on the matter, the North still remained willfully ignorant of that truth.
“Surely they know that even if they win, any kind of division between us will just see the Homeland sweep over them?” Joana said.
Yelena shrugged. “I have a feeling that Duchess Blackstone’s victories over both the Lunites and Solites has left her confident of repeating the fact should it come to that.”
Foolhardy, in her eyes, but no one had ever accused the Blackstones of being meek. Nor being incapable of backing up their sometimes insane claims. What other House could lay claim to an ancestry that had once beaten back the Old Imperium at the height of its power?
Where other human nobles had been sworn into the Old Imperium on their knees with their battered armies scattered to the winds, the Blackstones managed to resist long and hard enough that the Imperial Legions had been forced to come to the negotiating table.
Ultimately, the Blackstones had still been absorbed into the Empire, but they’d done so on their terms with their heads unbowed.
…Though it was somewhat ironic that nearly a thousand years on, it was now those same humans in the position of the old Imperial Legion while it was the free orcs who now utilized the same strategies as the old Blackstone tribes – right down to the Wyvern riders.
“I could imagine that,” Joana muttered.
“Is it strange that I think she might pull it off?” Yelena said – though only because she was sure that no one beyond her friend and silent guards was listening.
“Part of me wants to argue that, but… do you think it’s a human thing?”
Yelena thought about the Blackstones and the young man who’d just turned down a chance to be king one day.
“Perhaps,” she admitted.
Personally she thought it was because humans didn’t live as long – and there was more of them. When your life could be measured in but a single century, perhaps you were a bit more inclined towards taking risks that might make an elf balk?
…Risks like trying to take your first year team up against a third year team in the name of trying to avoid a war.
Or at least delay it.
“I still can’t believe he said no to your offer,” Joana said, something… complicated in her friend’s expression.
Yelena grinned at the sight, though she wrestled down the urge to ask a number of probing questions of her normally straight laced friend, who seemed to have a childish crush on a young man nearly ten years her junior – and her student beside.
Normally she’d be all over a scandal that delicious.
Alas, right now was work time. “I can. He gave me his reasons and they were solid.”
Well, solid enough. If you squinted a bit. And tried to think ‘human’.
Rather than all-but guarantee a war by having the Crown break off his betrothal, he intended to do it himself.
Loudly and publicly.
And if he won – and that was a big if – he’d all but destroy any kind of excuse the Blackstones might have to declare war in response. Indeed, by being ‘shamed’ in such a public manner they’d need to spend a few years at least regathering lost support.
After all, who would want to follow a house into a civil war just after their heir was publicly humiliated by a team of cadets two years her junior?
Academy fights weren’t just schoolyard squabbles. They were civil conflicts writ small. A microcosm of the constant jostling and jockeying of Lindholm’s houses.
In other words, they held weight.
If Willaim could beat his fiancée, Yelena knew she’d owe him more than she could ever truly repay. A few more years of preparation would turn an almost guaranteed defeat into something much more even.
Especially if she could scoop up who knows how many mithril cores that were otherwise just littering the ocean. Ninety percent of them would be of limited use immediately, but a few years would give her time to construct at least a few more airship hulls to house the devices.
All that was required was for William to win.
“Solid,” Joana scoffed. “His plan is to go up against a group of third years with a team of firsties.”
Yelena tried to keep the intensity she was feeling out of her tone as she leaned forward. “You don’t think he can do it?”
Joana opened her mouth before hesitating. “I… normally I’d say no. Talented as they are, the gap in experience is just too wide.”
“But…”
The dark elf rolled her silver eyes behind her glasses. “But, with William’s newest invention…” The woman paused. “Son of a bitch.”
For just a moment Yelena was treated to the rare sight of her friend laughing. “I can’t believe I thought he ‘just wanted to use it in a schoolyard fight’,” the Instructor said.
“Well, he sort of is, in a way.” Yelena shrugged. “It just so happens to be a very important schoolyard fight.”
Joana laughed. “I suppose it is.”
“Still, do you think he can win?”
Joana straightened up. “I genuinely don’t know. With his new invention he might be able to catch her off guard. If he can skew the numbers in his favor at the start, they might have a chance.”
Yelena frowned. Not exactly the ringing endorsement she wanted to hear, but that was part of why she valued Joana’s friendship.
Always had really, even when the girl had first come to court at the age of ten as a potential playmate for Yelena’s daughters and told her that her dress made her look like some kind of tropical bird.
Something Yelena realized upon closer inspection was true.
Ever since, the Queen had made a point of checking in with the girl from time to time, if only for the occasional shot of unvarnished truth.
It was a strange ‘friendship’ from the outside looking in, but one that got less so as time went by and the age gap became less stark.
“Well, let’s hope the human capacity for the nigh impossible isn’t relegated entirely to the Blackstones,” Yelena muttered.
Because if it wasn’t, the boy would either have to marry one of Yelena’s daughters or die.
She could not afford the knowledge in his head to reach the Blackstones. To that end, he’d either accept her offer – rolling the dice on the onset of war and all that might come with it – or he’d suffer an accident.
As much as it pained the royal sovereign’s heart to see such a bright and enterprising soul be snuffed out before its time.
Being forced to make such decisions was simply the price of wearing the crown.
“Still,” Joana said, and Yelena was grateful for the distraction as she looked up. “Will you actually leave him alone if he pulls this off?”
Yelena scoffed.
“Of course not. If anything I’ll up my offer.” She shrugged. “I’ll give him you, myself and half my court if it means getting my hands on what’s in his head.”
It was actually a little amusing how Joana flushed at her words, even as she shook her head.
“Yes, that sounds a lot more like you.”
Yelena nodded. Damn right it did.
Though as she did, a thought occurred to her. “Hey Joana?”
“Yes?”
“In your reports to me, didn’t you mention the Ashfield boy having some kind of nickname.”
The dark elf pondered the words for a moment before stiffening. “Hmm, he does actually. A rather apt one considering. Apt enough that I’m wondering if whatever he used to kill Al’Hundra is related.”
“Well, don’t keep me in suspense. What is it?”
Joana leaned back, her head craned upwards, as if seeking strength from above.
“Kraken Slayer.”
Yelena laughed. She couldn’t help it.
“Of course it is.”
“You killed Al’Hundra.”
William was still reeling a little from the conversation he’d just had, so he was actually a little caught off guard by a finger being shoved into his face the moment he stepped back into his teams quarters.
Ah, he thought. I promised answers.
Though it seemed that in his absence his team had managed to figure out some of those answers without him.
Glancing past Olzenya’s outstretched arm, he saw Marline shaking her head – as if to vehemently deny she’d told them anything.
She needn’t have bothered, her geass precluded it as an option. Hell, even once everyone found out it would preclude it as an option.
Which was for the best for the moment because now he wasn’t so much trying to hide what he’d done as how he’d done it. Admittedly, Marline didn’t know anything beyond the broadest details, but she knew enough to know that it was some kind of enchantment combined with alchemy.
Now it was possible the forces working against him – or rather simply to profit off him – had already figured that out and he’d hear the alchemy lab exploded any moment now, but he’d sooner put it off for as long as he could.
To that end, he turned to Olzenya – though not before politely lowering her pointing arm.
Something that, to her credit, the high elf allowed – actually looking a little embarrassed by her outburst and thus rudeness.
“Honestly, I was expecting something like that to come from Bonnlyn, not you,” he said to the slightly flushed high elf.
As he glanced over toward where the dwarf was sitting, she shrugged. “I realize I may not be the most classically polite individual around, but I’ve been a merchant long enough to recognize when someone’s got a trade secret they want to keep close to their chests.”
If anything, Olzenya flushed harder, as while she might not have been familiar with trade secrets, she was most definitely familiar with the notion of house spells that needed to be kept secret.
“I also thought ambushing him at the door was a little rude,” Verity murmured from the back of the room.
Olzenya coughed, before backing up. “Of course, I apologize for that William.”
More bemused than anything else, especially as the elf curtsied, he waved a hand dismissively. “It’s fine. Or, understandable, I guess.”
“Good,” Ozlenya smiled, glad for his acceptance… before she shouted again. “Because you lied to us.”
“I did?”
“He didn’t,” Marline said. “He said he had something to bet against Tala.”
Indeed he had, something he’d kept hidden under a sheet. After all, he’d not wanted his big surprise to be spoiled by the rumors of his coming beating him to the cafeteria.
And they would.
Rumors in the academy somehow managed to move at light speed.
“He implied it was gold,” Olzenya shot back.
“And you said Tala wouldn’t go for it, but you came with us anyway,” Bonnlyn said.
Indeed, he had implied it was gold. Or ‘something valuable enough to catch her interest’.
“To comfort him after she shot him down,” Olzenya said. “Instead I damn near tripped over my own feet in front of everyone when he pulled an honest to goddess mithril core out of his ass.”
William was actually a little thrown off – and amused – by the sudden display of crassness from the noble girl.
“But he didn’t lie.” It was actually a little surprising – and heartwarming – to hear Verity speaking so forcefully.
And that Olzenya didn’t immediately snap at her for doing so. The team really had come a long way in just a few months.
Ah, the joys of shared suffering, William thought as he watched the girls bicker amongst themselves.
“As I’m sure you’ve all guessed, I have indeed been less than open about a few things,” he said, silencing all of them – except Marline who’d yet to speak in the first place. “With that said, I’ve never once lied to you about my end goal.”
“Breaking off your betrothal,” Marline said finally.
“Breaking off my betrothal without starting a war,” he said. “If it were that easy, the Queen would have done it for me just now.”
“You met the Queen?” Olzenya sounded a little faint.
“I did.”
Oh, how he did.
“Oh ancestors, please don’t tell me you hit on the queen!?” This time Marline sounded a little faint.
And he actually felt a little offended. “What!? Why would you think that.”
“You’re doing the same thing you do when we talk about Instructor Griffith,” Bonnlyn said with studiously neutral voice. “Or Instructor Morline. Or Instructor Flen. Or some of the guards.”
“Or that one cafeteria lady,” Verity chimed in, a little red in the face.
“Or the-”
“I do not!” He’d finally had enough of these aspersion on his character.
Across the room, a number of sighs rang out, even from the elves.
“At least now I knew why he never checked me out,” Bonnlyn said. “He’s got mommy issues. And I’m not old enough to tickle them.”
“Still, the Queen?” Olzenya hissed.
“I mean, have you seen her?” Marline muttered back. “I mean, I don’t agree with him… but I get it.”
“I didn’t ‘perv’ on the Queen.” Some part of him died on using such childish language. “We had a meeting about my plans and… what occurred with Al’Hundra. Needless to say, the fact that I’m here means she’s agreed to go ahead with them and I’m also to keep quiet about anything I may or may not have had to do with any Kraken going missing. Or their cores.”
He deliberately left out the royal marriage offer.
Still, with those words the room went silent. After all, if the Queen had told him to say nothing, he was expected to say nothing. Just because the North in general didn’t have much respect for royal authority didn’t mean the rest of the kingdom did.
Quite the opposite.
“Well, if the Queen has commanded you to remain silent, I suppose there’s nothing to be done,” Olzenya muttered. “Though I would like answers some day.”
“Hell, I’d like to know why you brought Marline in on your plans,” Bonnlyn said, glancing at the Dark Elf. “You know, and not the rest of us.”
There was no missing the hint of hurt there – which he understood.
“I can promise you it was purely a matter of convenient circumstance,” he said. “And I can promise you, I didn’t confide in Marline for free.”
All the girls glanced up as the dark elf nodded slowly. “He’s not lying – though I can’t say anymore. Literally. It’s a price I paid willingly, but one I doubt any of you would be interested in.”
Almost as one, he could see the lightbulbs turn on in everyone’s brain simultaneously – except for Verity, who took a few seconds.
‘Geass,’ thought none of them said it.
This time though, when the girls looked between him and Marline, there was a definite sense of wariness to it.
“Well, I suppose there’s nothing else to say then,” Bonnyln said. “I guess we should…”
“…Go to bed,” Olzenya nodded warily.
William grinned. “Good idea. Big day tomorrow and all that.”
That was an understatement, and he could tell everyone was thinking it as they made their way over to their rooms.
Still, it was true all the same.
They’d need their rest if they wanted to stand a chance tomorrow.
Indeed, they’d need every advantage they could get.
To that end, William could only hope he’d stacked the deck in their favor enough to matter.
…It took him a long time to get to sleep.
When he did awake, in the early hours of the morning, it was to the sound of an explosion.
In the direction of the old alchemy labs if I’m not wrong, he thought with a grim smile.
It seemed someone had decided to investigate his storage room even sooner than he’d anticipated.
Annoying, but it hardly mattered at this point in time.
All that really mattered was going back to sleep.
He had a big day ahead of him, after all.
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Many turbulent waters have passed under a very narrow bridge these past three days. We feared fear itself on a different level and experienced some of the biggest stress we have in a very long time. We were locked almost 24 hours (20 minutes of open-out time on Monday and Tuesday).
Considering that most of us don't eat the prison rations, we hungered and thirst greatly. At some points food and water became scarce in the entire yard. Bread was completely unavailable and treated and packaged water was spent. All sellers sold out within the first 20 minutes of opening on Monday. Since there was nothing entering or leaving, by Tuesday afternoon, no food or water could be found at any cell or anywhere within the yard.
Remember, the first news of an imminent search came on Saturday night (Day #354) and we did an emergency hiding of our phones. We were all scared and restless, the hiding wasn't safe, we only hid anywhere that looked like something could be put in it. It was already late when this info came and we were all already locked in and couldn't, well, go out, so we only did our hidings within and around. During the day, the following morning, we used our phones until locking time before the hiding began again and stretched into the night. (I'm talking about Sunday evening/night now).
I sent mine along with the accessories to the workshop for safekeeping while others hid theirs in many creative ways. Officially, cells collected their phones together in a plastic bucket and holes were dug within the blocks and they were buried. This was done under the cover of night.
COs opened our cells and instructed us to do it and make sure no contraband remained in any cell as this would always bounce back on them. They didn't want that and so had to aid us. The external search party that came was directly from the nation's capital (HQ of corrections) and were therefore superior to any officer in this facility. Even superior to the state comptroller of corrections. It was a pretty tense situation for us inmates and as well for them COs.
On Sunday night, I slept quite well after we'd hidden our phones and stuff, mine in the toilet at the workshop and others majorly buried in the ground inside blocks. Early in the morning on Monday, when the search was to begin, was when we had the most anxiety. The cells and blocks were just too troublingly quiet. I mean it was so quiet it was deafening, literally. Like a pressure built up in my two ears and everything paused and people moved in slow motion, kind of quiet.
Suspense. Suspense. Suspense. In the morning, before they eventually showed up, we were dying of suspense. Being fortunate as a result of the positioning of our cell, we have a window that can see a greater part of the yard, as well as the main gate far up front. For this morning, everyone wanted to stand at that window and mount the sentry. Thump, thump, thump our hearts thumped and silence remained deafening.
Finally they started trickling in with swag after some waiting. Big, mean looking dogs pulled by big muscled, mean looking COs, were in front, and came charging in. These hellhounds looked as though they had a score to settle with the inhabitants of this hell and would tear them and their abode apart if they got the chance. They didn't!
I'm talking Monday morning now.
Some dramas unfolded that wouldn't permit the hounds to have their fun. What happened was that immediately the search company entered, they turned left and began marching to Back Cell. This is the place where the hardest death row inmates are kept. So, as soon as these condemned guys knew they were coming, they let out such demonic shouts that rent and vibrated the previously unsettlingly quiet atmosphere, cursings and threatenings of stabbings and stranglings, and forced feeding the intruders their overnight shit defecated into plastic containers, echoed.
Such terrible roars their shouts were. The other two blocks, besides Back Cell, where death row inmates are kept, on hearing their fellows, also joined in on the bawl. As Back Cell shouted one thing, it was picked up by the other two blocks, rebounded and volleyed back into the uttermost parts of the prison. They sort of formed a shout transmission triangle.
This development was psychological, calculated and halted our unwanted visitors dead in their tracks. Men who were as good as dead had told them they weren't wanted and would have their deaths fast-forwarded if they advanced further. Their march now paused, they had no choice but to think deeply about all the possible options. To be sure, the losers would be them if they chose to engage foolishly. Dead men have nothing to lose, you know?
After much consideration, the company put forward the Chief of the yard and the resident Deputy Comptroller of Corrections (DCC) to go reason with their dead men. They did and the men told them the only thing they could promise them was deaths if anyone dared to step beyond their designated buffer zone.
Back Cell won. The company then had to send their war dogs out of the yard and adopted a more friendly mien all in a bid to diffuse tension and tone down aggressions. I would say it worked because the shouts died down and the next death row block they turned to cooperated and the search began.
They were very thorough and took a lot of stuff but surprisingly very few phones (already buried, yo!). Knives, belts, bottles, electric stoves and kettles were all taken. Gold blings of all types and serious cash were found and confiscated from the rich blocks. Contrary to expectation, the workshop where my stuff was hidden was searched. I died immediately they marched in there and remained dead, though walking around, until the next day. Not knowing if they took my things was harder and more torture than if they'd actually taken it and I knew immediately. I suffered for hours.
My block wasn't visited until Tuesday. By this time, the searchers were already spent and the aggression had left them and returned to their HQ (lol). The tendency to be dicks and bullies had fizzled out, now they were too nice. I needed to check if I hadn't woken at the Four Seasons somehow for how civil they were.
Tell you what? Technically, they didn't search our cell. As soon as the searchers arrived at our block, our cell being the first, they gathered in front. One got very close to our gate and codedly asked that we arrange money and give him so he wouldn't search us and we did. Turns out only five of the company were the ones allowed into the cells to do the actual searching and he was the leader of the five.
Having slipped money into his hand while we were moving out, they merely made a show of searching the bunks closest to the gate where their colleagues and Superiors stood, but took nothing out even if it was an exhibit. They didn't touch the bunks deeper inside at all. We were made to sit on the ground in front of our cell while they did their thing inside. After a while, they came out with only two laughable things and declared to their boss that our cell is clean (lolz, the money we gave them was equally clean).
Actually, why it was like that was that Authority didn't want us to be searched at all but had to do it to fulfill all righteousness. The DCC told them if they don't search everyone, fighting would break out. The people searched and their things seized would cause trouble. So they only came to our block not to search but for show. Our block has the most impeccable record of any block and our cell stands out of any cell in the block for good behavior.
I later understood that the search was originally targeted at the death row guys at Back Cell, Blocks One and Two, and B block. Other places searched were only as a matter of necessity to serve as cover and to even things out and not hurt already hurt feelings. Principally, it was that transgender in Block Two that singlehandedly attracted and brought this search upon us. He was using his phone recklessly on social media, doing live videos and shits. The extent of his popularity gave his actions a lot of visibility and a lot of powerful people saw it, hence the searchlight fell on prisons.
When it was all over (Tuesday evening), they opened us for only 20 minutes to stretch our limbs but that was just all we needed. Everything buried in the ground was uprooted and I got my phone from the workshop as well. Belts and other things followed later. Hunger and thirst was tough on us these few days. Honestly, prison would be unbearable without our phones, many of us found out during this period. I rest my pen for now.
Tomorrow is Wednesday and normalcy will return. I'm almost thinking: why go through all that trouble for nothing? I may as well have had my stuff tucked away under my bunk and be safe. Anyway, better safe than sorry.
Goodnight Diary!

While Trying to dig into Xfinity and Verizon for evidence of wiretaps so I know who I can SUE in court (which is why they tried to set me up), i found how how much xfinity bills our taxpayers.
(Updated: August 2022)
GUIDANCE FOR LAW ENFORCEMENT
Page 5
This is the current and the only official document providing guidance for law enforcement
Public (P)
COSTS
Comcast reserves the right to seek reimbursement for processing and responding to legal process as permitted bylaw. Our policy is to discuss reimbursement with you before we incur any costs (except in emergencies). Stored record disclosures generally do not incur charges unless lengthy. Wiretaps and pen registetrap and trace orders require a substantial commitment of Comcast’s resources.
Pen Registers/Traps/Wiretaps. $1,000 for initial set-up (including the first month of intercept service or any part thereof) and $850 for each subsequent month or any part thereof in which the order or any extensions are active.
Special Technical Support. $500 upon implementation that spans the authorized period of each new or renewed order and is charged at the beginning of each new or renewed authorized period. Stand-alone email collections (header information and/or full content) will be charged in the same manner. Requesting agencies must complete a CALEA worksheet providing detailed billing information and authorized point(s) of contact. Billing will occur either monthly or at 60-day intervals, depending on the volume

• Tone:**
  
  • Definition: The author's attitude toward the subject matter or audience.
  • Writing Prompt: Create a character whose internal conflicts are reflected through shifts in tone, showcasing the complexity of their emotions and perspectives.

My dad first got me this game when I was a teen and the first xbox came out. I loved RPG games, but back then I was really not good at video games. I didn't have the patience and for a game like morrowind - it was a little advanced for me. It also gave me literal headaches whenever I played. I had a bad relationship with this game.
Over the years I kept revisiting morrowind because I really wanted to love it since I love the other elder scrolls games so much. But morrowind always left me feeling frustrated, so I was always quitting it.
Now I'm in my thrities and I have the patience and skill to play through it. And I gotta say...I'm LOVING IT NOW!!!!
I can see why people think that Morrowind is still the best game in the series. The story is so detailed! The lore of the Nerevar, the mythos of the tribunal, and the culture of the dunmer are really well thought out.
And it's so much funnier than I remember. I love that we get to meet the famed author of the Lusty Argonian Maid. Love the silliness of random NPC side quests.
But the thing that impresses me most is how CREEPY the main questline is. The sleepers that start popping up in towns once you start having dreams, the creepy dagoth shrines with the dark red atmosphere, the creepy worshipers that are always barely clothed and carrying around corpus meat, the strange hermaus mora looking monster-priests. It's scary! I have my game set on easy and I'm still kind of anxious walking into these dagoth caves/shrines.
I don't think TES has managed to achieve a similar level to this kind of tone until maybe Oblivion's dark brotherhood quest. I hope later TES games will bring the horroscary vibe back on a bigger scale and not just save it for a faction questline.

My lists are always being updated and expanded when new information comes in—what did I miss or am I unaware of (even if the thread predates my membership in Reddit), and what needs correction? Even (especially) if I get a subreddit or date wrong. (Note that, other than the quotation marks, the thread titles are "sic". I only change the quotation marks to match the standard usage (double to single, etc.) when I add my own quotation marks around the threads' titles.)
The lists are in absolute ascending chronological order by the posting date, and if need be the time of the initial post, down to the minute (or second, if required—there are several examples of this). The dates are in DD MMMM YYYY format per personal preference, and times are in US Eastern Time ("ET") since that's how they appear to me, and I'm not going to go to the trouble of converting to another time zone. They are also in twenty-four hour format, as that's what I prefer, and it saves the trouble and confusion of a.m. and p.m. Where the same user posts the same request to different subreddits, I note the user's name in order to indicate that I am aware of the duplication.
Thread lengths: longish (50–99 posts)/long (100–199 posts)/very long (200–299 posts)/extremely long (300–399 posts)/huge (400+ posts) (though not all threads are this strictly classified, especially ones before mid?-2023, though I am updating shorter lists as I repost them); they are in lower case to prevent their confusion with the name "Long" and are the first notation after a thread's information.
See also The List of Lists/The Master List of recommendation lists.

• "Good military sci fi books or series like Starship Troopers or Old Man's War." (scifi; 8 July 2013)—extremely long
• "Space Naval Combat Suggestions?" (printSF; March 2014)
• "Medieval/fantasy war" (booksuggestions; August 2021)
• "Series similar to Jack Campbell's The Lost Fleet or William R. Forschtens Lost Regiment?" (printSF; 1 February 2022)
• "looking for recommendations" (printSF; 7 April 2022)
• "Looking for books about Modern military against magic" (printSF; 13 April 2022)
• "military scifi without the alpha male b.s ?" (printSF; 25 April 2022)—very long
• "Books about training kids for war?" (printSF; 15 May 2022)
• "any good post-apocalyptic military stories?" (printSF; 16 May 2022)—longish
• "Smart military leaders in fiction?" (Fantasy; 8 June 2022)—extremely long
• "Thalassocracy SF?" (printSF; 21 June 2022; i.e. maritime/naval)
• "Looking for military SF that features a siege" (printSF; 22 June 2022)
• "Stories about conflict between Dwarves & Humans?" (Fantasy; 9 July 2022)
• "Military fantasy suggestion rome/dark ages, little to no religion" (Fantasy; 13 July 2022)
• "Any military sci-fi by people who understand the military? Preferable Stand-alone." (printSF; 21:01 ET, 23 July 2022)—longish; standalone works
• "Any good fantasy books about army building or leading an army?" (Fantasy; 16:45 ET, 23 July 2022)
• "Glen Cook Appreciation Club" (Fantasy; 2–3 August 2022; three-post subthread)
• "Military Sci fi but i read most of the well known ones :S" (booksuggestions; 27 July 2022)
• "Read a Man in a Powered Suit Series and Can't Remember the Title or Author." (printSF; 09:34 ET, 4 August 2022)—powered armor
• "Fantasy book with magic and large-scale medieval war in a realistic-ish setting." (OPost archive) (Fantasy; 18:34 ET, 4 August 2022)
• "Books where mc is a new recruit" (Fantasy; 6 August 2022)
• "Space war book with ships based on purpose, not size?" (printSF; 10 August 2022)
• "Military Sci-Fi recommendations?" (scifi; 16 August 2022)—longish
• "Recommendations for Mercs/mechs/power armor" (printSF; 17 August 2022)
• "Series with a human-dwarf war?" (Fantasy; 24 August 2022)
• "What's the best space-ship battle you've ever read?" (printSF; 08:50 ET, 25 August 2022)—very long
• "Unconventional military sci-fi?" (printSF; 10:18 ET, 25 August 2022)—long
• "Any near-future military science fiction that doesn't involve aliens?" (OPost archive) (printSF; 27 August 2022)
• "Anything out there that portrays realistic military life?" (Fantasy; 18:34 ET, 4 September 2022)—long
• "What are the best fictional military units?" (Fantasy; 01:17 ET, 4 September 2022)—huge
• "MilSF for my dad undergoing chemo" (printSF; 20 September 2022)—long
• "Looking for Military Sci-Fi that isn’t totally mindless or really problematic" (printSF; 17 October 2022)—long
• "Sci-Fi/Fantasy War Novels?" (booksuggestions; 17 October 2022)—long
• "Fantasy series with well-written battles and impressive/unexpected tactics and war strategies?" (Fantasy; 30 November 2022)
• "SF story recommendations" (printSF; 06:35 ET, 2 January 2023)—"epic space battles, especially big fleet vs fleet combat"
• "Recommendations for military fantasy" (Fantasy; 12:52 ET, 2 January 2023)—very long
• "ship to ship battles" (printSF; 7 January 2023)—longish
• "Looking for some heroic military scifi" (suggestmeabook; 10 January 2023)
• "Culture or Xeelee with action" (printSF; 11 January 2023)
• "Communist Military Scifi?" (printSF; 13 January 2023)—long
• "Military sci-fi recommendations? (Star Wars, Halo, other alternate sci-fi universes)" (booksuggestions; 19 January 2023)—longish
• "SciFi books like Red Storm Rising and Team Yankee" (printSF; 21 January 2023)
• "Military Sci-Book Recommendedations? (Other than Starship Troopers as I've already read it)" (scifi; 24 January 2023)—huge
• "Military SciFi Books Recommendations" (scifi; 0:18 ET, 6 February 2023)—long
• "Best military and military themed fantasy series written by authors who have actually seen combat?" (Fantasy; 09:53 ET, 6 February 2023)—long
• "Hard SF about the very early days of a space Navy?" (printSF; 28 February 2023)
• "What to read - I'm a bit lost" (printSF; 1 March 2023)
• "Books with good battle scenes?" (suggestmeabook; 1 March 2023)
• "Military SciFi where two human factions fight against each other, but with both factions being relatable to" (suggestmeabook; 06:31 ET, 12 March 2023)
• "Are there any modern WW3 books?" (printSF; 22:27 ET, 12 March 2023)
• "Mil Sci-Fi with common Gigaton weapons" (printSF; 22:27 ET, 12 March 2023)
• "Military SciFi recommendations?" (printSF; 12 April 2023)—long
• "Looking for a Sci-fi fantasy book very similar to the Gears of war series" (booksuggestions; 27 April 2023)
• "Mil Sci fi with horror elements." (printSF; 30 April 2023)—longish
• "Fantasy-Based Military Books?" (suggestmeabook; 6 May 2023)
• "Looking for specific kind of military fantasy" (Fantasy; 11 May 2023)—World War II or similar
• "Searching for an alien invasion book mil sci-fi where the humans are willing to fight dirty." (printSF; 18 May 2023)—longish
• "Interesting(?) space battles" (scifi; 19 May 2023)
• "Looking for military SF, but not..." (printSF; 23 May 2023)—longish
• "Military fantasy recommendations" (Fantasy; 24 May 2023)—longish
• "Best reluctant military leader in fantasy?" (Fantasy; 12:59 ET, 4 June 2023)—very long
• "Space opera and/or military sci-fi that have an emphasis on the emotional impacts of the conflict." (printSF; 16:13 ET, 4 June 2023)
• "Looking for some light military sci-fi or fantasy recs." (printSF; 20 June 2023)—longish
• "Fantasy books with charismastic, genius leaders like Napoleon?" (booksuggestions; 23:35 ET, 20 June 2023)—u\Hiretsuna_Ketsuruki
• "Fantasy books with charismastic, genius leaders like Napoleon?" (suggestmeabook; 23:34 ET, 20 June 2023)—u\Hiretsuna_Ketsuruki
• "[REC] Fantasy books with charismastic, genius leaders like Napoleon?" (Fantasy; 23:38 ET, 20 June 2023)—u\Hiretsuna_Ketsuruki
• "Any good books like the Mass Effect series?" (printSF; 22 June 2023)—long
• "Recent events of the western world notwithstanding, what are some of the best rebellions in fantasy?" (Fantasy; 24 June 2023)
• "Any WW1/WW2 inspired fantasy recommendations?" (Fantasy; 25 June 2023)
• "Books Where Following The Chain of Command Is a Good Thing" (printSF; 8 July 2023)—longish
• "Looking for a Sci-Fi book where Humans are at war with terrifying aliens" (printSF; 11 July 2023)
• "Story about rebellion or overthrowing an empire like Andor?" (Fantasy; 16 July 2023)
• "Hopeless War books?" (printSF; 31 July 2023)
• "Recently blew through the Honor Harrington series and loved it. Looking for similar." (printSF; 1 August 2023)—longish
• "Book Advice: Looking for military sci-fi" (scifi; 1 August 2023)—longish
• "Looking for military SF with marines inspired by Roman legions" (scifi; 1 August 2023)—identification request
• "I've finished Shadow Campaigns, Powdermage + Sequel, Guns of the Dawn, any suggestions for what to read next?" (Fantasy; 8 August 2023)
• "Military Book Recs" (scifi; 9 August 2023)
• "I want to get into reading again! Suggest me some good rebellion stories please!" (suggestmeabook; 27 August 2023)
• "Military/general sci-fi with tragic themes or tones?" (printSF; 29 August 2023)
• "Stories (preferably on KU) where humanity genocides back" (printSF; 10 September 2023)
• "Looking for a book example of realistic space battles" (scifi; 27 October 2023)—extremely long
• "Best Fantasy Series with brilliant strategist/military general MC?" (Fantasy; 6 February 2024)—very long
• "How would you do war against a post scarcity civilization?" (scifi; 25 February 2024)—long
• "Books with a war against extragalactic invaders" (printSF; 20 March 2024)
• "Standalone military sf book" (printSF; 26 March 2024)
• "Books about human rebellion after Earth has been conquered by extra terrestrials?" (printSF; 25 March 2024)—extremely long
• "Need book recommendations" (printSF; 14 Ma7 2024)

Related:

• "Military Scifi fans, what do you want to see more/less of in the genre?" (printSF; 25 February 2024)—longish; discussion
• "What are your favourite battles in Sci-Fi across any media?" (scifi; 04:55 ET, 8 May 2024)—huge; u\UniversalEnergy55; discussion
• "What are your favourite battles in Sci-Fi across any media?" (sciencefiction; 04:57 ET, 8 May 2024)—u\UniversalEnergy55; discussion