Hero Part: Nine
“PEACE IN CHAOTIA!”
The four men raised their glasses, sealing with a cheer the birth of a new era of peace and prosperity—for them, at least.
As crystal kissed crystal, four glasses tilted, and the same white liquid spilled across the table, the Potion of Life that had allowed mammals to impose their dominion over the many Children of Adam—Milk.
Standard cow’s milk for Jacques, spicy dolphin milk for Jeb, wildish seal milk for Alfie, and sweet Unicorn milk for Xander. Each drank what had made him a man, wiping away the white mustache left after a satisfied sigh.
“Although I’m starting to enjoy your company, it would be best, for all of us, if we never see one another again for the rest of our lives.” They all nodded at the proposal of the Black Lion. “Adío, dirty Reactionary pieces of sh—” He stopped mid-insult. As he rose from his chair, Xander finally took the time to admire the painting towering over the table, fixing his gaze on the lady in a wheelchair it portrayed. “My lady…” The Black Lion removed his hat, put it over his chest, and bowed, lowering his head until his mane nearly brushed the table to ensure not a single strand of hair rose higher than her painted feet.
“Ahem…do you know the woman in that portrait?” Jacques asked, genuinely curious, and neither Starfolk had expected such reverent respect from that crypto-atheist.
“An old friend…one I greatly disappointed. But that expression…” His bittersweet smile tried to mirror the painting’s enigmatic one. “That one was never meant for me…” And with that, he headed toward the door, steps short, shoulders heavy, and eyes glued to the floor.
*Trrring—jangle!*
The doorbell rang, and the beaten-dog expression vanished the instant his emerald eyes locked onto the jewel that had just entered the Blue Bird Experience—the most precious one in the entire universe.
Miss Sinclair?! What is she doing here?!
Jacques nearly flinched as the red-haired woman crossed the threshold and, without hesitation, embraced the Black Lion, pressing her fair cheek against the Antimagic Reactor in his chest, relishing the hum of existence itself.
No…she is not her—that Doppelganger is on an entirely different league.
Aoife Sinclair, the ’Everlasting Spring,’ was renowned as the fairest maiden of the Holy Rolandish Empire. And yet, if one gazed upon her long enough for the flame in his heart to be quenched, he would begin to notice a few, although still minimal, defects. However, with this woman, that rule did not apply. And as Jacques scanned her gorgeous body and wonderful face millimeter by millimeter, he found no crack on that living work of art.
She is…perfect…
By denying the Infinitesimal Axion, he had committed heresy, but c’mon—who wouldn’t?
“You liar…you dirty liar…you promised me you’d never leave my sid—” The woman’s accusation was drowned in a storm of passion, Xander’s tongue crashing against hers until every red rose of her majestic dress burst into flame.
“Sena…” he sweetly whispered between frantic breaths as the fire scorched his skin. “I am a sinful man, one who has tasted every apple of that crooked tree without ever once feeling shame before the mirror…” Another kiss followed, then another, each more ferocious and hotter—in both senses—than the last, a deeply uncomfortable spectacle for the three men still seated at the table, who grimaced at the couple and withdrew into an awkward silence. “And yet, all my pride dissolved the moment I lost you because neither power nor money will ever compare to even one of your smiles.” Sena answered him in the only way she could. The storm returned, again and again, till his lion’s mane took fire, shifting from black to shining red.
“Holy fucking shit. Get a room, you two, before you torch this place to the ground!” Jacques barked.
“I already did. I found a small but comfortable place on Prison Island, quiet and secluded just the two of us—what do you think?” Her eager eyes were an answer enough. Thus, laughing through the pain of burning alive, he yanked Sena off her feet and swept her into his arms. “See you later, virgins—I’m going to enjoy my honeymoon in this marvelous city.” He sealed the declaration with one final kiss, just to make the ’Javelinist’ seethe, before the flaming couple stormed out of the place.
“Well, that was pretty awkward. Who the fuck invites his woman on a business trip?” Jeb chuckled, although his tablemates clearly didn’t share the sense of humor. “Anyway, Alfie, do you really believe him? You always told me never to trust a deal that seems too good—if they don’t want your money, they probably want your ass.”
“Not a single word he says,” the bespectacled man replied with a dry giggle. “Nevertheless, he signed the contract, and the Collective Consciousness will relentlessly monitor his compliance with every clause. Which means that if he’s found a way to screw us, we’ll never know, and we’ll never be able to counter it anyway.” Alfie returned to his paperwork. “So, refill our popcorn and let’s just enjoy the show.”
*Trrring—jangle!*
As Jacques grimaced at the lingering aftertaste of the man’s lies, the door of the Blue Bird Experience swung open once more
“Daaaaaaaaaad!” There wasn’t even time to process the absurdity of the previous scene that Casimir and young Euralian went back into the café. “My new best friend and I have something to ask you!
Jeb immediately inspected the ‘Scarecrow,’ nodding approvingly at the tremendous mass of his muscles. “Alright, he can join our fleet. But no favoritism, your friend starts as a powder monkey like anyone else—do you understand?” His index finger twitched toward his son, who instinctively scratched his neck.
“Well, Dad…it’s technically the opposite.” Jeb frowned. “I’m going to join the Miraval Academy and live in this city with my friend Kaz!” Casimir backed his new friend’s declaration with a cheerful thumb-up, while the stunned parent stared back in disbelief.
“The fuck are you talking about? You ain’t a Mainlander!” The father slapped his son. “I’m sick of your bullshit. First, it was becoming the Pirate King. Then it was destroying the Hivemind from the inside. And now this?!” He snarled, tone inflating more and more. “I hate to agree with this piece of shit right here, but it’s time for you to grow up!”
“Fuck you, Dad!” He shoved his parent aside. “My new friend Casimir has completely changed my worldview. For my whole life, I believed real strength came from raw power alone, and yet a Class F just defeated me.” He clenched his fist. “If I want to become stronger, I have to diversify my experiences and learn what I’ve been blind to until now. And the best way to do that is from behind the enemy lines.” He glanced at Casimir with reverence. “Thanks, Kaz. You’re truly the wisest person I’ve ever met—the man who changed my life.”
The ‘Scarecrow’ flushed red. “Uh…now that I think about it, what’s your name?” Casimir awkwardly asked.
“S-Class ‘Heart Crusher’ Jä…ahem…Jack Af…ahem……Alfred Bl…ahem…Bronx…yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Jack Alfred Bronx, but just call me Jack.” The two big guys shook hands.
“Do you really want to join the Academy, Mr. Bronx?” Alfie asked, and the ’Heart Crusher’ enthusiastically nodded. “It’s obvious this news would cause massive chaos if I ever leaked it. Nevertheless—” The man beamed, flashing his perfect white teeth. “We are its children.”
“Shut up and don’t encourage my son’s bullshits!” Jeb shouted. “This can’t be legal—he’s an Euralian!”
“Well…” Jacques joined the discussion. “What about a marriage? Let’s hypothetically assume your son belongs to an ancient Starfolk noble family, one that can trace its origins back to the reign of the ’Twilight Queen.’ Then, according to the Stjernelov, a future husband and wife have the inalienable right to spend as much time together as possible before the marriage, in order to determine whether their lights resonate at harmonious frequencies. Hence, if your son were to become engaged to a Starfolk lady of the same noble lineag—” The ’Javelinist’ quickly shut his damn mouth withboth hands, but it was already too late—Alfie’s golden eyes were already shining.
“Congratulations, kid—you’ve just found yourself a wife.”
Jack shook his hand excitedly. “Is she big?”
“Not in body,” Alfie replied with a smirk. “But she has the biggest ego this world has ever seen.”
Anicet bros…IT’S OVERSERK!
***
“What do you mean you’ve never worn makeup, Shira?” Katrina exclaimed, stunned by her friend’s confession. “We ought not to fairly compete against men!”
“I never learn…learned how do that…” Oshira admitted, astonishing her friends even more.
“Your mother never taught you?” Carmen Asturias naïvely asked, and her answer was just a sad gaze. “Shira…I’m sorry,” Carmen whispered, cursing herself in her mind.
“You know what?” Katrina suddenly announced, grabbing both Oshira’s and Carmen’s hands, excitement sparkling in her eyes. “Today we’re going shopping—and then Cammy and I will teach you everything you need to know to be a confident woman!” Oshira tried to escape the icy snake’s grip but failed, eventually allowing herself to be swallowed by Katrina’s embrace—warm, despite being cold to the touch.
While the girls discussed how to spend the rest of the day, the five boys sat at the same desk, facing one another so they could stealthily peek at them without drawing Katrina’s fury.
“So, who do you think is the best girl in Class F?” Jacques asked his classmates, his gaze softening every time it moved toward his sweet chrysanthemum.
“Well, they’re all beautiful. I can’t answer that so easily…hehe…” The ’Scarecrow’ began to whistle. “But if I really had to choose—and it’s not like I’m serious or anything—I’d say Katrina!” Casimir’s loyalty to his lady was unquestionable. “And you, bro?” Casimir’s massive hand snapped Derserk back to reality.
“Leave me alone…it’s not a good day for me,” the ‘Gravedigger’ muttered, tone as dreadful as a graveyard. After what had happened the night before, he felt like an ostrich, wanting to dig a hole for himself and disappear into it.
“C’mon, bro, there are plenty of fish in the sea,” the ‘Javelinist’ chimed in, although he never once took his eyes off the most precious gem of Chaotia.
"Ahhhhh…” Derserk sighed. “If I really have to choose, I guess Oshira. I kinda like her mysterious side.”
Plan A failed, and you’re already moving on to Plan B? Oh, wait, if I remember correctly, that little black cat was Plan A, wasn’t she?
As always, Himself knew exactly how to cut deeply and painfully.
“I’m going for Katrina—she’s the alpha girl.” Sahel’s confident choice was met with nothing but grimaces.
“For the last time, Sahel, you are no longer in Naturia, and here it doesn’t matter if a woman is stronger than a man—we men are the stronger sex, and we rule,” Connor scolded him. “Now, it’s my turn. But on my honor as a knight, I cannot answer that question, for my heart will be forever chained to Nellie.” The Highlander knight declared this before crushing his fist against his chest. “That being said, if, purely hypothetically, my answer could avert a greater threat, then—in that extremely unlikely situation that will never happen—I would also choose Katrina.” Casimir grimaced.
“A woman’s beauty is a powerful fuel for passion, but sooner or later every flame fades,” Connor continued, his tone solemn. “Manners, intelligence, and charisma are what you should seek in a wife because a woman’s class—the unique blend of her true qualities—is a bewitching fragrance that captivates the mind, a seed that slowly grows into a perpetual obsession. To raze New Oasis to the ground, to cut out the eyes, scalps, and thumbs of its men, and to enslave all their women and children, such barbarity would not weigh on my conscience if the reward were but one of your wonderful smiles.” The ‘Clown’ was reciting a well-known quote by SS-Class ’Afromentioned Divergence’ Alasdair O’Shaun, the de facto leader of the Rogue Grenadiers, from A Game of Whispers—a line that perfectly highlighted the cultural divide between the Highlanders and the rest of the Empire.
In the High Kingdom of the Highlands, that sentence was considered the most romantic thing a young knight could ever say to his lady. However, to a modern audience—such as Connor’s classmates—it was significantly harder to digest.
”Sure, dude. Jude, it’s your turn now.” Jacques passed the ball to the other Jacques.
“Ahem…I don’t even know if it’s legal for me to answer,” The ’Mafioso’ whispered to the ’Javelinist.’
“Would you mind reminding me what the two-digit number on your ID is?”
The ‘Mafioso’ shrugged. “Oshira. She looks…I don’t know…pretty calm and thoughtful. You know, the kind of woman you can avoid most petty discussions with.” Unlike the other classmates, Sahel giggled. “Alright, it’s your turn, Jacques.”
The ‘Javelinist’ glanced at his favorite, admiring her as intensely as his cousin Valentino stared at his crystals at midnight in his basement, and every time she smiled, his heart violently thumped.
“She is the best girl in Class F…no, she’s the best girl in the entire school…no, she is…” Jacques paused as, for a fleeting moment, multiple images crossed his mind—Miss Sinclair’s doppelgänger, the Joseong Empress he had kidnapped during the Thirty-Seven-Hours Crisis, and the Conformist spy sent by the Hivemind to seduce him during his holiday in Anarchia Aurea last year. Yet, despite all their beauty, his doubts lasted only a few seconds. “No…She is the best girl in the world—Miss Carmen Asturias.” He sank back into his chair, eyes enchanted, while his classmates exchanged perplexed glances.
“She’s cute, but calling her the most beautiful might be a little too much, don’t you think?” Casimir pointed out, carefully.
“The Moon Princess, the Queen, and even Elf-GF—none of them stands a chance against Carmen,” Jacques answered, his tone as zealous as that of a cult leader. “Her crystalline voice immerses me in pure bliss, her fragrance brought summer back into the Imperfect Winter that once shrouded my life, and her sweatbeam is the mathematical proof that angels exist.” At first, the words sounded insane, but the more his classmates thought about Carmen, the more they began, somehow, to make sense.
“You idiot, If you like her so much, just make a move—are you a coward?” Jude challenged him, but his chuckling abruptly stopped when the ‘Javelinist’ rose to his feet.
“You know what? For the first goddamn time in your life—you’re absolutely right.” Jacques declared before casually walking toward the girls’ desk. The boys closed ranks behind him, silently reciting prayers while their bodies trembled at the sight of their comrade marching alone toward what could only be his inevitable death.
“Ahem…hello, girls,” the ‘Javelinist’ greeted, leaning over the desk while deliberately turning his back to Katrina and locking eyes with the ’Ego Witch.’ “Carmen, may I ask you to talk with me in private?”
“For you—always.” Carmen smiled and began to rise from her chair. However, the Suzerain lady was immediately stopped by Katrina’s hand.
“She has no secrets from her friends,” the ‘Data Analyst’ snorted. “Senator Dreux, if you intend to corrupt her pure heart with one of your many tricks, you’ll have to go over my body first.”
“And mine!” Oshira hastily joined in, stepping forward and shielding with her arms the visibly embarrassed ‘Ego Witch.’
“Sure, dudettes.” Jacques took a step back, and extended an envelope toward Carmen. “This is for you.”
Under Katrina’s strict supervision, Carmen opened it, and two tickets slid into her trembling hands. “VIP seats…for the opening night at the Tragédie-Miraval?!” Katrina snatched the tickets, using her [Spectroscopy] to check their authenticity, but failed to find any flaw in their Encrypted Spectrum.
“Remember our little conversation during the siege?” She eagerly nodded. “If I promised you a show, why not bring you to the best one?” Jacques tried to maintain a poker face, but it was difficult while gazing into Carmen’s enraptured eyes and cheerful smile—the more she smiled, the happier he became.
“How did you get better seats than mine?” Katrina seethed, biting into her bluish lips.
“I’m a Senator of the Holy Rolandish Empire, and you of all people should know how politics works.” His lips curved just enough to twist the knife. “I traded favors for favors.”
“Jacques…” Suddenly, the warmth drained from the ‘Ego Witch’s’ expression. “No words can describe my gratitude, but…I’m no noble. The elite of Miraval City will all be gathered in one place, dressed in their finest garments, while I…” She swallowed, eyes fixed on the floor. “You’re a ’HRE’ senator, you ought not to be seen next to such an unfashionable girl like me…”
Jacques scratched his chin, pretending to ponder the matter. “So, you’re telling me you don’t have a dress suitable for the show?” She mumbled something before nodding, and before Katrina could even open her mouth to offer one of her own, the ‘Javelinist’ reached into his [Inventory] and pulled out a living dream.
“Yesterday, I was visiting Showcase Island, and I saw something I thought would suit you perfectly—would you like to try it?” In his hands wasa peculiar nightgown in which two shades of blue intertwined—one like a star-scattered sky, the other like a moonlit ocean, blending together as they did on the horizon. “At first glance, its design looks simple, but the longer you look at it, the more you notice its beauty—it reminded me of you, Carmen.” The ‘Ego Witch’ blinked several times, as if afraid she might wake from a dream too perfect to be real.
“This is a Marcher Philippe—HOW?!” Katrina grabbed Jacques by the collar and shook him. “Even if you sold all your rotten organs to the Marians at Port Island, you still couldn’t afford this!”
“I’m already hundreds of thousands of marini in debt,” Jacques calmly shrugged. “A couple thousand more won’t change anything.”
Katrina immediately changed targets, yanking Carmen down by the shoulders and forcing her head under the desk. “Listen to me carefully, Cammy. Jacques is replaceable, there are thousands of better men out there, but that dress is not. So just for tonight, laugh at his worst jokes, smile at him while enjoying the opera, and tomorrow you can throw him off a cliff—do it for the Marcher Philippe!”
The ‘Ego Witch’ nodded at the ’Data Analyst.’ Then, after an awkward exchange of glances with the ’Javelinist,’ she finally took the dress into her arms. “Thank you for the dress, Jacques. And yes, I’ll be happy to join you at the show tonight.”
Her beam was so bright it charred his wretched soul. “Well, I’ll pick you up at ten p.m.—see you there.” The ’Javelinist’ immediately turned away, his heart pounding at a rate that could have given a dinosaur a heart attack. And as he strode for the door, his body bounced left and right like a flag flying in the wind.
“Wait for us, Jacques!” After nodding at each other, Casimir and Derserk rushed to their team-mate, each taking one of his arms to keep him from embarrassing himself with a fall as they led him out of the classroom. Outside, after a full minute of awkward silence, Jacques suddenly wrapped his arms around both their necks, and being shorter than either of them, he was promptly lifted off the ground, dangling happily like a child on a swing.
“Guys, I’m the luckiest man alive,” he declared, grinning like an idiot. ”Be ready for tonight—I’m going to tell you the prelude to the greatest love story ever told.”
“It’s wonderful, Jacques. I can’t wait.” Casimir was greatly reassured by the fact that his friend was not aiming at his beloved lady.
“Sorry, Jacques, but I probably won’t be going home tonight,” Derserk whispered.
“Wait, weren’t you two free tonight because Mr. Fritz has to repair the wall?” Jacques pointed out, and Kaz nodded in support.
“Ahem…no, at least not me.”
***
“HELP!” A scream echoed through the dim streets of the southern edge of Port Island. Between that jungle of rusted steel and bombed debris, a beautiful woman in a crimson dress ran with all the strength left in her body, but the seductive gown and her broken stiletto heels were never meant to run away. Her frantic pace, ragged breathing, and the raw terror carved into her face painted a scene so convincing it almost made one believe a Korinthian Sphinx was still out there, still carrying out its duties despite the end of the Marvelous Siege. Almost because aside from her screams and the slap of heels against wet asphalt, no other sound could be heard, and no monster was revealed beneath the cast-iron streetlamp.
“GO AWAY!” Although Port Island was renowned as the perfect destination for naïve tourists who loved having their organs sold on the black market, most of its streets were in fact heavily patrolled by both the police and the Mafia, ensuring stability and a feeling of safety for the many workers and their families. In short, there were unwritten rules about where one could and could not go. And yet, instead of veering toward the crowded avenues alive with music and celebration on such an important night, the woman fled deeper into isolation and darkness, descending into districts abandoned long before the Marvelous Siege had destroyed them.
She ran for nearly half an hour—an astonishing feat for a Soulful—and the moment she crossed the threshold, her sweat-soaked dress was plastered on her like a second skin while her legs finally gave up, sending her knees crashing onto the dusty concrete floor. “What…what am I doing here?” She whispered, blinking rapidly as if waking from a nightmare. “Why am I even here?…I was preparing for the opera…and the—AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” An unimaginable surge of pain detonated throughout her exhausted body. It lasted only a few seconds, and then—despite being fully conscious—she couldn’t move a single muscle.
“Why are you here?” A static voice rippled throughout the cold warehouse, its words warped as if dragged from the void itself. “To become part of my art—be grateful.” The woman tried to scream, but no sound left her throat, and from the shadows a man materialized, his demonic claws curling around her smooth neck before he flipped the switch. “You are the final sacrifice to bring her back—the most beautiful is the last to be served.”
*fzzzzzzt—CLICK!*
Despite their age, the reflectors flared to life, releasing a bluish light that illuminated the gigantic piece of amber at the center of the empty warehouse, or rather, the thirty-six women sealed within it—each lifeless body sported a different pose, arranged to form something that remembered an ancient coronation painting. However, the throne was empty.
“…It’s beautiful,” the woman whispered. Her eyes glowed violet as terror drained from her face, replaced by rapture, desire, and devotion. “May I join them? They all look so happy…” It was the result of the nails driven deeply into their faces, but from that distance, she could never have known.
“You will, My Queen.” His claws traced her throat. “The wretched journalists named me the ’Doll Unmaker’ after some of my early failures were discovered. I despise that name because I am no toymaker, but an artist who has spent his entire life trying to recreate the supreme masterpiece the world has lost forever.” His claws tightened, preparing for the last brush. “You’re trading such a pathetic existence for eternal life as the most beautiful entity the world has ever seen. Be pro—”
*CLAAAAANK!*
The shadow’s claws shattered into hundreds of pieces, freeing the woman as the man instinctively retreated to seek protection within the warehouse’s many pockets of darkness.
“You wanted to bring my sister back to life?” The voice came from a man cloaked in a Darkness-Ambered Suit—a perpetual black cloud enveloping his body, engineered to conceal the wearer’s identity. Over that pitch-black mass, only one thing was visible—two crimson eyes, glowing like embers in the dark. “You are the dumbest motherfucker I’ve ever met.”
”Who do you think you are to ruin my decade-long efforts?” The cracked static echoed from every direction, followed by hundreds of unrepeatable insults raining down at once. Why? The ’Doll Unmaker’ could teleport freely through shadows, shifting position countless times in a matter of seconds. “How do you plan to fight me if you can’t even figure out where I am?”
“By aiming at the heart you forgot in the light—[Falsifiability].” A half-moon-shaped scythe materialized in his hand, and in less than the blink of an eye, he was already lunging at the amber.
Witnessing twenty years of his life about to be destroyed before his eyes, the 'Doll Unmaker' burst from the shadows, placing himself between the intruder and his treasure.
“Checkmate.” The man shrouded in darkness executed a swift pirouette with his scythe, rotating the weapon so its right tip could cleanly hit into the exposed blood vessel at his enemy’s neck. One single hit—that was all it took to slay the monster. “What are twenty, or even a hundred, years of wasted effort?” The dark figure taunted, his tone cold as he gazed upon that lifeless body. “Gods have all of eternity to try again. Instead, you are valuing your past more than either the present or the future, and in doing so, you betray your mortality.”
*Kaaaaaa-BOOOOOOOOOOOM!*
The next act of the requiem was the swing of the scythe that ended the ’Doll Unmaker’s’ legacy. The black blade struck the amber and the masterpiece exploded into a massive column of fire, obliterating what remained of the warehouse.
Freed from his yoke, the woman regained control over her mind, and the first thing she saw was the light of a starry night. ”Who…are you?” she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of amazement and confusion, gazing at him as if he were a god.
”The Imperfectionist!”
