Three different kinds of stars shone over Midnight Island that night. The first were the ones scattered across the sky, democratically sharing their splendor with the worshippers who crowded the streets. The second were the neon lights crowning the magnificent façade of the Tragedy-Miraval Théâtre Métropolitain, where the classical symmetry of its Neo-Shurapatri design intertwined with the emancipated curves of modernity. And lastly, there were the stars walking upon a blue carpet stretching from the road to the main entrance, but, unlike the others, their light was not a product of their bodies, but of the relentless flashes of the paparazzi’s cameras.
“Marquise Rougedior, would you care to reward your loyal subjects with a brief interview?” S-Class ’Dust Symphonist’ Marquise Ælfgifu III Rougedior—entirely clad in troll fur—decided to play the benevolent sovereign and answered the paparazzo with a radiant smile. “May I ask the identity of your knights for tonight?” He uttered after noticing the three young men standing behind her, each twice her height.
“This is BB-Class ’Starslayer’ Bjørnketill Síðasta, Scion of Sternergård.” The blond Knight’s sharp features betrayed not even the faintest trace of emotion. “This is A-Class ’Nowhere Wanderer’ Alenço Gonçalo Traição, nephew to a more than just famous Admiral of the Armada Dorata.” Gonçalo looked uncomfortable in his tight suit, his beast-like muscles threatening to tear it apart at any moment. “And lastly, this is CCC-Class ’Bulldog’ Zyden Tsvetan, Captain of Zavagrad’s Crows and last year’s winner of the Miraval Bowl.” He was the largest and tallest of the three, yet, by far, the one who seemed most at ease among nobility.
“All three have pledged loyalty to my righteous cause, patriots who have swayed their fathers to commit men and resources to defend my homeland, as well as to support the social rehabilitation of the fallen hero, Verdan Anhogi.” Ælfgifu explained, her smirk widening. “After doing so much to achieve the greater good, I have decided to reward such valiant souls with the privilege of escorting me to this magnificent performance. Don’t be shy—tell the young Knights of the Empire why they should follow your noble example.” The three young men jostled to decide who would speak first, hitting and pushing each other until they got an embarrassing amount of attention. ”Ahem…” Ælfgifu turned around and the duts within her three scars flared orange, instantly stiffening their spines and making all three bow their heads like beaten dogs.
“And remember, the first audition for the war bonds will be held next week. I fully expect contributions from all my subjects if we are to save our beloved March from the Korinthian war machine.” She paused, posing for the camera. “Oh, I nearly forgot—I am going to be very grateful to my most patriotic contributors.” She winked as the flash immortalized her beauty.
The ’Dust Symphonist’ was not the only target of the paparazzi that night. The elite of Miraval City—Essentias and wealthy Soulfuls alike—were fighting one another along the blue carpet, engaged in a silent yet brutal war whose victor would be decided by whose face appeared most frequently in the tabloids the following morning.
It was a cruel contest, one that had financially ruined more than a few insecure souls, yet it still obeyed a strict code of chivalry where only one couple at a time was allowed to step onto the blue carpet, granting each a brief opportunity to monopolize attention. That being said, the order of arrival had been decided in advance, and the later a couple appeared, the less they ranked in the social hierarchy—such was an inherent characteristic of any society ruled by a noble class. And so, after all the members of the Miraval Family, the most renowned Scions currently studying at the Miraval Academy, and the other highly important guests left on the island before the siege had already made their appearances, only a handful of photographers still possessed the professionalism—or just the stamina—to turn their cameras toward the now-arriving carriage, one drawn by a yellow horse and driven by a masked coachman, aiming at the blue carpet as the newly arrived couple stepped onto it.
“What…a Goddess…” D-Class ’God Eye’ Théophile Duchétte was a relatively young yet renowned photographer, best known for documenting the Fall of Bloodmarch in a way that set him apart from his peers. While others focused on destruction or acts of heroism, he chose instead to capture the beauty that blossomed in hell—refugee cities rising in Oldmarch, flowers growing among ruins flattened by bombs years before, the joy in the eyes of soldiers reunited with families they had believed lost forever, and countless other legendary moments. The prizes he had won were too numerous to count, even if he borrowed the fingers of every one of his colleagues present that night. And yet, that very fame had destroyed his love for the art.
Théo was plagued by the insects drawn to the scent of celebrity permanently plastered onto him, selling his soul for cheap money and becoming a toy for the egos of the wealthy and the elites. And that was exactly why he was there today, as his job was to immortalize the splendor of his masters, forging idols to be adored by the masses and to shame rival deities. However, the ’God Eye’ had a good eye, and he couldn’t help but notice how fragile and hollow it all was—an artificial beauty, painstakingly forged with the immolation of a countless hours and money, only to forge a poor approximation of the perfection they aimed at.
After so much time spent in that environment, Théo could see nothing but their flaws. And yet, he had a dream. After so many years of captivity, he longed to witness something real—to finally immortalize with his camera the true concept of beauty.
*Flash!*
It didn’t take long for the other photographers to forget their patrons and shift their attention to the unknown lady walking side by side with Senator Dreux. However, only the ’God Eye’ managed hold the chaos in his guts to get a single shot of her mysterious beauty before the couple vanished into the theater, and thanks to his [Portfolio], he could see a preview before developing the roll.
Théo froze the moment his eyes fell upon his [Window], utterly mesmerized. Why? Because that night his dream had been fulfilled.
“Ticket, please.” A towering guard stopped the approaching couple, but after a single glance at the lady, his breath got stuck in his throat and his eyes sank deep into his sockets. He instinctively stepped aside, forgetting to perform his duty to admire that woman.
Disgusting.
Carmen thought as her heart began to shake, casting the guard a pitiful glance, one that, alone, toppled that tower. “Let’s go, Jacques.” She dragged him deeper into the theater, unable to contain the hatred building inside her heart. Yet, once inside, she again felt the pressure of innumerable eyes upon her.
I could be your daughter—pathetically disgusting.
She thought as a group of elderly gentlemen abruptly ditched their refined discussion of geopolitics to admire the real casus belli behind all wars in history.
You’re are all married—utterly Disgusting!
Old, middle-aged, and young, it didn’t matter. The Knights crowding the room forgot their beloved ladies to lust after the goddess passing before them.
All men are pigs…
She clenched her teeth, struggling to hold back the rising tsunami within her heart. Sensing the turmoil, her Knight took her hand and offered her a gentle smile, one that calmed the stormy waters.
Except…
“Good evening, Senator Dreux. I’m pleased to see you’ve accepted my invitation,” greeted an elegant man as he stopped the couple. He wore a top hat, a monocle, and carried a walking stick, the living stereotype of a gentleman from a bygone era. However, instead of a classic suit, he wore only a blazer and a shirt, paired with shoes that, despite being leather, looked more like slippers—in short, he made himself noticeable. “And I see you’re in very good company—I’m almost jealous.”
For the first time that night, Carmen felt comfortable around a man other than Jacques, allowing him to kiss her hand. “How could I refuse your invitation, Mayor Miraval? And I see your wife is even more beautiful than I imagined.” Jacques reciprocated by kissing the hand of a lady far younger than her Knight.
“I must correct you, Senator Dreux. Virska is indeed a special person, but she is not unlucky enough to be my wife.” Mayor Miraval pointed his cane toward a group of reporters as Virska chuckled. “Perhaps you don’t follow gossip magazines, but I’ve recently divorced…she betrayed me with one of her young employees.” He revealed before dramatically throwing his head back.
“Really? I’m truly sorry to hear that, but it seems you’ve recovered quite well from the tragedy.” Both men chuckled before shaking hands.
“It has been a pleasure speaking with you, but duty calls—our dear actors are even more hysterical than my ex-wife.” He finished with an elegant bow. “See you later, Senator Dreux. For business, my door is always open.”
The two couples headed in opposite directions, but the mayor’s sweet companion glanced back one last time. “A Senator this young?” She asked, perplexed.
“Virska, my love, you should know that the Emperor and his Scion have the right to appoint a particular specimen of senator at will—His Holiness Most Sacred Souls, they’re called. That being said, a Prince actually using this privilege is extremely rare, as all Rolandssons are actively discouraged during their education from handing out wealth or positions to their friends, not to stain their family name with accusations of nepotism. However, in this specific case, the situation is a little different.
”After his father addressed the nation following the Marquise’s alleged kidnapping, Chad Rolandson’s first public action was to appoint Mr. Dreux—a Class F and the son of a prostitute—as the youngest senator in the Empire’s history, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, my dear, that it was a bold move, one that enraged many conservatives at the Pigpen but also displayed the political acumen of our future Emperor.” Mayor Miraval pleasantly smiled as Virska processed the whole thing.
Oh, ’Imperfect Eclipser,’ I plead you to let this old man live long enough to see Chaos return to its rightful throne.
*Bump!*
On the other side of the room, Jacques violently crashed into another guest and fell hard onto the floor.
I’m having a Deja Vu.
The ’Javelinst’ thought after landing on his butt.
”You, Again!” He had no doubt who that suave voice belonged to.
”My Queen, what a surprise…ahah…”
Oh, c’mon, not this glowing whore on my special day with Carmen.
“It’s both a surprise and a pleasure to find you here…ahah…it certainly reassures me about the show’s quality.”
“Why the hell do they allow a filthy plebeian like you in here?!” SS-Class ’Shining Star’ Astary Von Sternenstaub’s sweet expression left no doubt about her intent to beat him ass. Sadly, the eyes of Miraval City’s elite were fixed upon her, and assaulting an ’HRE’ Senator meant capital punishment, even for such a noble lady like her.
Astary was, as always, the center of attention, wearing a one-piece masterpiece of tailoring that left one shoulder and part of her back bare, claiming her deserved attention. However, as the nightgown flowed down to her feet, it concealed the curves of her slender body, enough not to spoil the taste of such a fine wine with cheap sweetness for the eyes—the Stardust Mirage, a midnight-blue garment that gave the illusion of a living galaxy across its surface with constellations appearing and vanishing as the velvet waved with her movements.
“Ahem…good evening, Senator Dreux—do you need a hand?” SS-Class ’Nostalgic Reactionary’ Anicet Cosmaterm extended his hand, yanking the Javelinist back to his feet.
Like all the knights present that evening, he wore the standard tuxedo—an act of chivalry, as the night was meant to be the women’s time to shine. Yet, on him, it looked even blander, as the darkness emanating from his body withered the few colors.
“Thanks, Anic…I mean, Mr. Cosmatern…” Both felt a hint of embarrassment as they shook hands, but the Scion of the Evernightmare Kingdom also felt a faint twinge of nostalgia, one he couldn’t quite explain.
“What’s going on between you two?!” The ’Shining Star’ snapped, directing her Inquisition at the ’Nostalgic Reactionary’ while blinding Jacques with her light like a police lamp during an interrogation. “Why are you being so friendly with this stalker?!”
“Ahem…Senator Dreux is a Knight of the Holy Rolandish Empire—he deserves respect.” The longer her shining yet merciless sight lingered on him, the sharper the pain in his heart became.
Finally, some respect in this shithole of a city.
Jacques could scarcely believe his old buddy's words. “Anyway, if you’re both here, this mea—ACK!” The ’Javelinist’ stopped mid-sentence, feeling something latch around his neck like a snake.
“Jacques—here?! Am I dreaming?!” SSS-Class ’Hero’ Chad Rolandsson exclaimed as excitement made his arms tighten more and more around Jacques’ throat, teaching him that the weak should fear the strong.
“L-E-A-V-E—M-E—A-L-O-N-E!” The Javelinist pleaded with the last sacks of air in his lungs, and after realizing his mistake, the ’Hero’ finally released the villain from the harsh yet fair arms of justice.
“Sorry, Jacques, but it’s just wonderful to see you again after the siege and everything that happened.” He chuckled while his friend collapsed to the floor, gasping to inhale his life back. “Anyway, what are you doing here?” Beside the HRE Prince stood SS-Class ’Time Samurai’ Tsuki Hakka, clad in a stunning Mandala Kimono—famous for taking years for monks to sew the wonderful depictions over its silk, only to self-destruct after a single use. Hence, the Moon Princess of Joseong was stealing a fair share of attention from the Starfolk lady, although her eyes were suspiciously fixed on the ’Javelinist.’
Looks like Tsuki won this round. Good for Anicet, I guess.
“I was rewarded by Mayor Miraval for my contributions during the reconstruction,” Jacques replied, showing the Prince the tickets. Chad beamed with delight, while Astary flared red—in both senses of the word.
“SOMEONE AS FILTHY AS YOU WILL NEVER SIT NEXT TO ME IN THE STALLS!” The ’Shining Star’ screamed, utterly unconcerned with the quarrel she was causing.
“Ahem…may I remind you, my Queen, that during the reign of the Twilight Queen, servants always sat beside her in the first line to satisfy her caprices, while the rest of the elite sat behi—ACK!” That scream was an instinctive reaction of Jacques watching her light rising in its intensity. However, the ’Hero’ rushed to save the day before a photographer could immortalize his girlfriend frying a Senator alive.
”Thank you, Astary, for jeopardizing your reputation in front of so many people to introduce an argument I was too fearful to raise before my subjects.” A single glance silenced any further act of idiocy from the Starfolk lady, although her eyes still betrayed her honest opinion of the situation. Then, the Prince turned to face the crowd. ”Jacques is a Most Sacred Soul to my heart, and it doesn’t matter if he is a fatherless son of a whore, it doesn’t matter if he dresses like shit, and he is thousands of Marini in debts—-he is my friend, and I will never be ashamed to stand at his side.” Chad embraced the ‘Javelinist,’ striking a pose for the cameras’ flashes as a standing ovation celebrated the first public declaration of the future Emperor. Throughout it all, Jacques could only smile, awkwardly.
“Eheh…thanks, Chad, for the kind words.”
You motherfucker.
Jacques thought, and after the people’s interest in them calemd down, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a lady who had remained silent the entire time—too afraid to speak.“Oh, right. I don’t think you know my lady for tonight—she is Carmen, my classmate.”
“H-hello, H-his H-holiness…I’m FF-Class 'Ego Witch' Carmen Asturias…it’s a pleasure to meet you in person.” The Suzerain girl played with her fingers before finally finding the courage to look her future Emperor in the eyes. But then, something unexpected happened.
“Jacques, where the hell have you been hiding such a wonderful piece of art.” His diamond eyes devoured Carmen. Then, Chad bowed, took her hand, and gently kissed it. “Miss Asturias, a name that I will surely remember.”
Carmen rapidly blinked.“You’re too kind, His Holiness…but I’m just the daughter of a fisherman from the Port of Suarez—nothing worthy of your attention.” Her nervous laughter only seemed to inflame the Scion’s interest.
“Please, just call me Chad—any friend of Jacques is a friend of mine.” He declared, moving his fingers in the air. “So, how about we exchange our [Email.Addresses]?”
While both Jacques and Astary cringed, coped, and seethed at the sight of the two exchanging a private means of communication beyond their oversight, the ‘Time Samurai’ paid no attention to the Emperor at all. Instead, she slowly closed the distance between herself and the ‘Javelinist’ and smashed her elbow into his ribs
‘AKC! Are you mad?’ He cried out.
”How did you know I had cancer?” Tsuki whispered into his ear. ”My private doctor—the best in his field—told me there was no way to detect the tumor from a blood test alone.’”
What the fuck was she talking about?
“Ahem…you fool. Imagine, unironically, believing that piece of shit. Let me guess, the proper and official way to diagnose it involved weeks in a hospital and thousands of Marini spent on dozens of examinations, right? Stop trusting people you are never allowed to question.” The Moon Princess was not satisfied with the answer, but she relented, moving to the next topic.
“I’ve met you only a few times, yet your face, your voice, and your look, everything about you, makes me sick.” Her sweet words made him frown. “And yet here you are, standing beside my future husband. I must agree with that spoiled girl—you have no right to breathe our same air.” She pressed a long nail against his neck, its polish glowing purple. “You’ve just been poisoned with the deadliest venom known to mankind. Hence, you have two choices—never appear before my husband and me again, or reveal what you’re hiding and give me a reason to tolerate your wretched existence. You have one day left to take the antidote—choose wisely.”
And with that, the ’Time Samurai’ departed as calmly as she had approached.
What a fucking bitch—her mother was way cuter.
The ’Javelinist’ thought as he casually ate a candy that Thirty-Six had crafted from the feces of his Hakka Scorpion.
Anyway, I need to find a nice excuse for that whore before she sends her Ninjas to follow me even when I shit.
*Ding-ding-ding!*
The bell announcing the start of the show shattered the moment. “Sadly, the time has come. We’ll talk after the performance. I’ll be eagerly awaiting both of you at a friendly dinner sometime.” The ’Hero’ stayed just long enough to bid farewell to a blushing ’Ego Witch,’ then offered a thumbs-up and a smirk to a perplexed ’Javelinist’ before heading toward his stalls alongside Tsuki and Astary. Jacques and Carmen followed into the same exclusive section, but they entered last, exactly as hierarchy mandated.
***
The Tragédie-Miraval was a vast complex with a long history. Founded by Hero Alfredo over two thousand years ago, it was originally an open-air structure, similar to those of the Ancient Shurapatri, but, as time passed and tastes evolved, the demands of good acoustics and warmer places to enjoy the spectacle grew more and more. Hence, a new enclosed structure was built alongside the original—now reserved for summer performances—and with every revolution in the visual arts, new sections were added, each reflecting the aesthetic trends of its era.
The final result ended up being a strange hybrid, one whose apparent chaos was cleverly masked by the hilly landscape of Midnight Island, which spread across multiple altitudes, mirroring the city of Korinth itself—the classical theater stood atop the sliced tip of the hill, while the modern temple of consumerism welcomed sinners at street level.
That evening, guests were invited to celebrate the first time the theater had opened since the beginning of the Marvelous Siege. But the war was not yet over, and the people longed for something to soothe their troubled spirits, such as the classic stories they had grown up with, allowing the motherly embrace of nostalgia to wash away their nightmares. Thus, Director Miraval chose to stage the first colossal of ever written by Chaotians after the fall of the Shurapatri Triumvirate—The Darknova.
The story took place during the First Galactic Showdown, more precisely after S-Class ’Black Moon’ Edward Bloodmane—Ēadvarðr Blóðmǫn, in a now-extinct ancestor of the Starfolk language—successfully ambushed the Imperial Fleet and trapped the Emperor deep within the frozen islands of the Constellation Archipelago. There, reduced to eating penguins to survive, His Holiness could only helplessly watch as the Starship Commando, with no obstacles left in its path, advanced on the Capital, sieging the city in what historians would later describe as the strangest battle in recorded history.
Some even speculate that Edward never truly intended to conquer the city in the first place, but the result is the only thing historians will never be able to change, and the City of Roland fell into the hands of the ’Black Moon’ with its citizens crushed under his yoke. Among them, was the Empress herself—BBB-Class ’Darknova’ Tähtia Von Sternenstaub.
That was where the first scene of the opera began, with Edward shattering the gates of the Twilight Madness and claiming his war spoils, including Tähtia, who, out of loyalty to her husband, chose to endure Edward’s sins in order to buy the Emperor time to prepare his counterattack. The rest of the story follows a simplistic plot structure—perfectly understandable for the era—where each act is divided into three main part—Edward committing a war crime against the Capital’s inhabitants in order to break the ‘Darknova’, her reactions as her righteous morale is eroded by the lives ruined by her refusal to give up her husband, and lasty the Emperor receiving vague news of what has occurred in his City, followed by his monologues about his heart being devoured by the worst doubt a man could ever conceive.
In the end, after countless tragedies that broke the ’Darknova’ in all but love, her sacrifice was not in vain. And after seven dreadful months of occupation, Edward and his army of rebels were forced to abandon the City of Roland and sail to meet the Emperor in open battle on the Starling Sea, where the ‘Black Moon’ would finally be cut down by the many Barbarian axes of the Sinclair Tribe. However, that only marked the end of three-quarters of the tale.
The opera’s most famous act was the final one, devoted entirely to the aftermath—Tähtia’s horrific and surreal introspections upon discovering that she was pregnant with the child of a man to whom she had never sworn eternal love before Adam.
Convinced that her beloved Emperor could never love her as he once had, the Queen resolved, at the very least, to protect her husband’s honor by seizing her blade—the Dreamslicer, a knife said to have been forged from stone fallen from the Romantic Moon—and stabbing herself 3,737 times—one for each of her [HP], and one to play the final note of her Leitmotif.
Tragedy concluded with the Emperor’s triumphant return to the Twilight Madness, only for his euphoria to be drained away the moment he entered the throne room, greeted by the corpse of his beloved wife. After one of the most grotesque monologues ever written in fiction, the Tricar of Adam on Earth seized the very blade that had extinguished the light of his life and stabbed himself in the heart, choosing to gamble on a different kind of happily ever after—the end.
Fairness demands that I add one final footnote to the story. Some historians have speculated that the Emperor himself murdered his wife in a burst of rage after learning of her pregnancy. Thankfully, the politicians of the Pigpen had enacted a law making it legal to burn alive these fucking Heretics. After all, cynicism must be constructive. Otherwise, it’s just vandalism.
“Chad, if someone did such unspeakable things to me, would you still want to marry me?” Astary sobbed as she self-inserted with her ancestor, her shimmering tears creating a new constellation across her nightgown.
However, the ’Hero’ grimaced. “Meh, if you’re going to give me a morality test, at least make it a difficult one,” Chad casually replied, scratching his chin. “What about you being kidnapped for thirty-seven years? In that case, the effects of such a long separation might—I’m not fully sure, but there is a possibility—erode my feelings for you enough for my heart to be shrouded by doub—”
The ’Shining Star’ silenced him mid-sentence by resting her head on his shoulder, warmly smiling as she kept her radiant golden light at bay, unwilling to disturb the other spectators despite her feelings. Seeing this, Tsuki followed suit, leaning against his other shoulder—sometimes, it was good to be the future Emperor of the Holy Rolandish Empire.
Needless to say, the ‘Nostalgic Reactionary’ seated next to them felt a sharp surge of bitterness in his chest, although he couldn’t quite understand why.
“Even though I’ve seen this scene a thousand times, it’s still heartbreaking.” Carmen was deeply moved by the actress’s extraordinary performance, which made her feel as if the stage itself were a mirror to the past, as if the real ‘Darknova’ were alive once more. Of course, due to obvious time constraints, the stabbings had been reduced to just thirty-seven, each punctuated by powerful lines about the struggles women had to endure in their lives—empowering additions that had clearly not existed in the original version.
”You could do far better than her—or anyone else—because none of these fraud actors could ever imitate even a fraction of what you achieved on that ship, Miss Di Mario.” The ‘Ego Witch’ blushed and lowered her gaze, which moved a few rows below, toward the Prince and his two Princesses.
”You must be envious of Chad, aren’t you? Having such gorgeous women at his side must be a dream for any man.” She asked, tone soft—almost a whisper.
”You’d be very wrong.” Jacques seized the moment, forcing Carmen to look at him. ”They’re both mid compared to you. If anything, Chad is the one who should be jealous as hell. Why? Because the most beautiful girl in the entire world is sitting right next to me.”
You damn liar!
Despite his gentle words, a bitter expression shrouded the ’Ego Witch’s’ face as her gaze drifted to the [Window] floating beside the ’Javelinist.’
Infinitesimal…what a difficult word…
After reuniting with her teammate, Carmen had asked Katrina what it meant, although she had barely understood her friend’s explanation at the time.
”How many numbers are there between zero and one? Infinitely many. Divide 1 in half and you get 1/2. Divide it again and you get 1/4. Again—1/8. You can keep dividing forever, and the number will always remain between zero and one, even as it becomes so small that it’s impossible to distinguish from zero. For example, imagine trying to guess the correct atom among all the atoms in the universe, even though the probability is enormous compared to something infinitesimal.”
Carmen had never forgotten Katrina’s words.
If the collapse of reality is more likely than him loving me, why has he done so much for me? If he doesn’t want to devour my flesh like the other pigs…why is he here with me now?
These thoughts echoed in her mind until she finally found the answer.
I know why…because he is…
“Jacques!” Carmen beamed as she recalled his attention. ”You’re the nicest guy I’ve ever met!”
However, the ’Javelinist’s’ reaction was not what she expected. He simply stood up abruptly, turning his back on her.
“Jacques, where are you going?” She asked, confused.
To kill myself.
“Ahem…t-the b-bathroom…”
***
*Psssssshhhhh!*
“It’s fine…fineeeeeeeee…f-f-f-i-i-i-n-n-n-e-e-e!” Jacques muttered aloud as he relieved himself—of more than just liquids—at the rightmost of the urinals lining the narrow and corridor-like bathroom.
I should stop being paranoid. She didn’t mean that by that, but that for sure…just three more weeks, and Carmen won’t be able to resist my charm…I guess.
After a deep sigh, his eyes wandered in search of stars, moving toward the glass door at the far end of the room, which opened onto a balcony used as the smoking area.
*Cling!*
The ‘Javelinist’ was too absorbed in his thoughts to hear the door open or the footsteps slowly approaching. Although every urinal but one was free, the new actor on that moistened stage chose the one beside Jacques, who twitched the moment the annoying neighbor entered the corner of his vision.
“Oh, Jacques. You too in the bathroom? It seems destiny keeps bringing us together,” the ‘Hero’ greeted, trying to sneak a peek, but the ‘Javelinist’ quickly turned his back at him to cover himself.
“Oh, Chad…haha…what a surprise.” Embarassed and sensing something was odd, he hurriedly adjusted his pants. “Sadly, I have to go now. You know, I don’t want to miss the best part of the show—see you later.” Jacques tried to leave, but Chad’s hand closed firmly on his shoulder.
“Oh, c’mon, why the rush? Why should one of the Most Sacred Souls to my heart have no time for me?” Chad smirked, gesturing toward the outside, and, resigned, Jacques followed.
The air of that night was cold, polluted with the stench of tobacco from dozens of cigarettes lingering on the balcony. ”Disgusting!” Chad snapped, sweeping his arm and sending the ashtrays over the railing. ”There is only one fitting smoking area for smokers—their graves.”
”Ahem…sure dude.” Jacques actually agreed, but he would never have chosen such direct words to express his honest opinion.
That’s why he is the Emperor.
Then both leaned over the balcony to admire the panorama, which was divided into three distinct layers—the green of the forested hills that covered most of the lake’s islands, the red of the city roofs crowding the coasts while carving thin veins throughout those hills, and the blue-green shimmer of the magnificent Mother Korinna’s Dome, which vanquished the darkness and placed the cherry on top of that marvelous cake.
Yet, something was odd because, in the sky, a miracle had happened—373,736 antimagic particles ensured that none of the three moons was visible above Jacques and Chad’s heads, granting the two main characters of this story the privacy they needed for such a pivotal moment.
*Tweet!*
“Truly a wonderful view,” the ’Hero’ admitted, his tone growing softer as his face shimmered, kissed by the Dome’s light. “Miraval City blends tradition and innovation into a strange mixture that, somehow, works so beautifully.” He fixed his surreal diamond eyes on Jacques’ brown contact lenses, and the ’Javelinist’ noticed a strange flicker within them—dim, yet ready to erupt into an inferno at any moment. “Do you think the two can coexist, or must one be destroyed for the sake of the other?” However, he didn’t wait for an answer. ”Jacques, today marks one month since we first met. Do you remember how you trembled over Astary, and how I gave you that strange little test? It’s incredible how quickly time passes, isn’t it?”
*Tweet!*
Just a month had passed? Three more weeks like this and I’m going to drop out.
“Yes, and I also remember a special project of yours that was supposed to involve me. But I haven’t received any updates.” Chad chuckled and turned around, letting his back rest against the cold balcony railing.
*Tweet!*
”Congratulations, that’s exactly why I called you here. However, this must remain a private conversation, and to ensure that, we first need to be certain no one is listening, don’t we?” His gaze shifted to the majestic clock crowning the building—only twelve minutes till midnight.
*Tweet!*
Jacques looked around. “Ahem…I don’t know if a Stasi agent is hiding in the bushes, but I don’t see anyo—” He was cut off mid-sentence by a sudden and violent gust of wind. He turned around, witnessing the Scion of the Holy Rolandish Empire as he hung from the clock tower, gripping the hour hand with his right arm, while in his left hand was—a little blue bird.
*TWEET!* *TWEET!* *TWE—!*
The Bluegale was smashed to the ground by a swift throw from Chad. There, on the stone floor, the wounded bird gathered what little strength it had left, flapping its tiny wings and dragging itself forward, desperately trying to reach the edge of the balcony.
*SPLAAASH!*
Instead, all it managed to leave behind was a shimmering bluish streak beneath Chad’s massive feet.
“Ahem…my Emperor, you know I am no Dubitātor…but did you just kill the last member of an endangered species?” Jacques mumbled while recoiling from the horrific sight.
“Oh, I fucking wish,” Chad flatly replied. “But sadly, this bastard always comes back to hunt us.” Chad returned to leaning over the balcony, and after casting one last glance at the marvelous city, he was ready to begin the requiem for the first act of this story.
“Yeah…hemming and hawing won’t help me. Jacques, I’m going to tell you a secret. It may seem unbelievable at first, but I beg you to trust me, and if you truly are one of my Most Sacred Souls—you will.” The ’Javelinist’ was pierced by a look that left no room for doubt. So, he nodded because his instinct told him that any other response would have led to his death. “Well, you remember how my ancestor, Hero Roland, had the highest [Static.Stats] in history? Well, I think I’ve surpassed him—at least in one.”
“What do you mean?”
"I’ve reached the maximum achievable value in one [Stat]. Can you believe it, Jacques?
"I have [LUK = 999]."
Silence followed, and for a brief moment, Chad feared he had made the wrong choice yet again. However, when he lifted his diamond eyes, he found neither disbelief nor shock on his friend’s face—only an awkward attempt to mask an everlasting amount of rage.
“Sure, dude…ahah…I totally believe you,” Jacques muttered, doing his best to keep the Gates of Hell from springing open in his throat.
It was you fucking son of bitch! It was you who stole my points! It was you who had ruined my new life by turning me into the weakest Essentia in history!
“You’re not just Roland’s heir, but his first reincarnation in two thousand years—the man of miracles spoken of in the prophecy. How could I ever doubt your divine word?”
Now I know for sure— the ’Twilight Queen’ did nothing wrong!
The Scion of the Holy Rolandish Empire felt reassured to have a friend like him. “Thanks, Jacques. You can’t even imagine how much this means to me—you’re a true friend.” The ’Javelinist’ blushed, mumbling something incomprehensible as such different feelings clashed within his heart. ”However, I must warn you, if others were to learn about this, people would start treating me like an actual god, and my normal life would end far sooner than I’d planned. It’s pointless to ask at this point, but would you keep this secret for me?” Jacques extended his fist, and Chad bumped it without hesitation. “If you can trust me so spontaneously, then I have no right to keep you in the dark about my plan.” He pulled a book from his [Inventory]. “What do you think about the Dark Century?”
“Obviously, it can’t compete with the golden age of the Shurapatri Triumvirate or the glorious battles of the Great Civil War, but holy shit, I get hard reading about it.” Jacques, in turn, extracted from his [Inventory] his signed copy of The Roots of Chaos: An Unbiased Investigation into the Underlying Causes of the Dark Century by Xoàn Al Córdoba.
“Same, bro. Although I’m more fascinated by the social transformations of that era.” Chad admitted. “As our professor explained in his book, the Dark Century was the primordial soup of our civilization. It reshaped Chaotia after a millennium of sheer stagnation—an amputation that saved us from gangrene.”
“Also, are we sure it was truly that bad?” Jacques posed a question that would have set the entire Academia on fire. “Just eight years ago, hundreds of thousands of people were gassed to death by the Korinthians. Moreover, as much as I love the Shurapatri, I have to admit they committed some of the most deranged atrocities I’ve ever read about against both prisoners and the citizens of the cities they sacked. So why are those eras called enlightened, while the Dark Century is remembered as the age of shadows?” The question was rhetorical, since the ’Javelinist’ opened the book to the page that already contained the answer. “As our dear professor thoroughly explains here, the demonization didn’t arise from the scale of the violence, but from its basis.”
“In just a handful of years, an entire political landscape—shaped by millennia of laws, traditions, and social norms—vanished." Chad answered. "Never in history had such chaos ruled Chaotia. Never had we come so close to the pure concept of freedom. Never had the existence of the Holy Rolandish Empire itself been so endangered. The law exists to protect the system, not its citizens, and that’s why there is no greater crime than proposing an alternative to it.”
Jacques grimaced. “The future Emperor advocating the destruction of his own Empire? Wild.”
“Has either the Dark Century or the Great Civil War ever delivered the final blow to our Unholy Rotten Confederation?” Jacques raised his palms, conceding the point. “What both actually did was change the machine’s engine. The Dark Century resolved the Rank Struggle among Essentias, stabilizing succession by shifting it from the strongest son to the eldest. But, sadly, it ended prematurely, cut short by treaties signed in fear, which spared part of the cancer, which, during the Middle Centuries, evolved into something even stronger. Take the tragedy of the Emerald Empress, for example—the direct result of the obscene privileges granted to the Vovoides under the various Enlightenment Treaties to achieve peace.”
“Then, the Great Scramble came as abruptly as an earthquake, uprooting everything that the Dark Century hadn't, allowing Emperor Mandrake and Emperor Mario—and, to a lesser extent, Emperor Manfred and Emperor Maximillian—to excise that tumor. And although the war dragged on for twenty-four years after their deaths, the victor of the Great Civil War inherited a fertile plain, cleansed of pests, ready to become the backbone of the Second Magical–Industrial Revolution.” Jacques looked straight at Chad. “So is that your goal? To manufacture another crisis in order to purge our Unholy Rotten Confederation of its diseases?” Chad sneered, now utterly convinced he had made the right choice. “Then, you’re a fucking retard if you think I’d ever help you slaughter a third of your future subjects.”
Jacques turned to walk away, but stopped when he heard a chuckle. “Oh, you are right, I am going to kill people to realize my dream. But don’t worry, not the monstrous numbers you’re imagining.”
“Killing millions instead of billions doesn’t exactly make you a ’Hero’ eith—ACK!” Chad seized Jacques by the neck and slammed him against the balcony railing.
”Neither millions nor billions. To achieve my plan, only two people need to die.” He leaned in, pointing first to himself then to Jacques. ”Me and you!”
*Kaaaaaa-BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!*
A crushing detonation blasted from Port Island. However, Jacques couldn’t turn his head—Chad’s grip on his neck was too tight—so he watched the reflection of the massive explosion bloom and fracture from the ’Hero’s’ diamond eyes.
*Dong!* *Dong!* *Dong!* *Dong!* *Dong!* *Dong!* *Dong!* *Dong!* *Dong!* *Dong!*
*Dong!* *Dong!* *Dong!* *Dong!* *Dong!* *Dong!* *Dong!* *Dong!* *Dong!* *Dong!*
*Dong!* *Dong!* *Dong!* *Dong!* *Dong!* *Dong!* *Dong!* *Dong!* *Dong!* *Dong!*
*Dong!* *Dong!* *Dong!* *Dong!* *Dong!* *Dong!* *Dong!*
“Midnight has come, and the Imperfect Winter has officially begun. Less than four years until the year 2000, a new war with the heirs of Heroine Korinna, and me becoming the first reincarnation of Hero Roland. Isn’t that the perfect premise for a great story?” Chad’s grip tightened, inflicting Jacques [Malus.Hypoxia.Phase One].
“I’m destined to be its protagonist, but that’s not enough—it will never be enough. Even if I’m doomed to win, what I lose or gain along the way won’t be mine to decide—unacceptable.” [Malus.Hypoxia.Phase Two].
“And so, I have chosen to be neither the ’Hero’ nor the ’Villain’ of this story, but its 'Author.' Jacques, what you see in front of you isn’t me, but SSS-Class 'Hero' Chad Rolandsson, a fictional character I created as a self-insert for the writer—my true self.” [Malus.Hypoxia.Phase Three].
“I’ve written my protagonist, but what’s the point without a perfect antagonist? That’s why I’m writing the most suitable one imaginable—you, Jacques.” The Prince released him, throwing the ’Javelinist’ to the ground.
“As the ’Hero’ and ’Villain’ of this story, we will split the 'HRE'…no, the entire world into two perfect halves, squeezing all parasites out of their holes and forcing them to pick a side. And because we’ll be secretly cooperating, we won’t need pointless slaughter or meaningless destruction to exterminate them.” He knelt before the ’Javelinist,' caressing his face---expression almost angelic. ”Jacques, do you perhaps know about the lost chapter of Romance of the Three Chrysanthemums?”
”It’s…just…a legend…” The ’Javelinist’ mumbled as he breathed as much air as possible.
“I’m a Mario fan, and I’ve always hated impersonating Mandrake, but history has always had a taste for irony.” He extended his hand. “So, Jacques, I’m going to make you the same offer the ’Antihero’ made to the ’Man’ in that chapter most scholars dismiss as a forgery—let’s write this story together!” Jacques took his hand, and Chad pulled him back to his feet. “Be my ’Villain.’ Be my ’World’s End Messiah.’ Be my…
“FFF-Class ‘Unlucky Antagonist.’"
THE END
BOOK TWO: EEE-CLASS 'GOD SLAYER'
READY WHEN READY