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[̶̠̩̱̋̈͝C̴͉͖͎̠̟̺̼̔͂͒̎͋͗̃́̌͒̚͘͝͝͠ͅŨ̸̼̟̰̜̼̦̈̀̊̂̈́͂̆̾̇̒͂͘̚̕Ṛ̵͈̯̹͚͎̑͆̓̐̉Š̵̢̨̙̞̬̫̯̤̣̹̉͌͛̄͌̾̚̚͝ͅÈ̵͈̰͈̼̤̪͋́̓̉̈́̑̈̇̊̾̉͜͜͜Ḑ̷̢̝͖͉̤̣̳͎̳̗͉̳̹̊̒̇͐̈̀̈́̽̄͊̽́͌̃̔̀̃͘ ̶̢̛̦̺̇̆̇̍̂̂͒͌̀͋̒̾̕T̷̠͙͕̘̰̪̞̯̳̝̉̆̏̊̈́̒̆̃̓̎̿̈́Í̴̡̛͉͈̬̖̖̩̬̯̟̥̆̂̽͆͐̇́̀̕̕͝ͅṂ̷̡̛͚͛̔̐͑͗̓̍̽̂̔̉́̆̓͆ͅE̷̝͗͊̈́̊̎͋Ļ̵̛̺̙̙͙̠̱͉̉͐́̎͆̈́͊͋̑͐͜͝͝İ̸͇̮͈͙̓̽͑͜Ņ̴̡̛̠͍̦̼̲̦͇̰̙̼͓̰͚̲͈͕̦̾̏̄̋́̈́̏̎̀̀̀̇͘Ę̷̢̠̼̠̻͙͑͑]̷̢̛̳̬̩͔̳̇͆͛͐
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Per me si va ne la città dolente, II Through me the way into the suffering city
per me si va ne l'etterno dolore, II Through me the way to the eternal pain
per me si va tra la perduta gente. II Through me the way that runs among the lost.
*** CANTO QUINTO ***
"I had a dream."
"No, actually… I had many dreams. I saw many timelines. Vividly."
Says the man, bare-chested, partially covered by a white coat draped over his shoulders.
His body shakes in an incessant tremor, like an old digital image deteriorating. A system error that shows no signs of resolving.
He was gravely mutilated in the battle against the Eldritch Family. He has no arms due to Slavic Mama, and his spine is seriously fractured from the blow inflicted by Killer Queen’s club. He stands with difficulty, but the real torment comes from an even deeper wound.
His edges blur and distort, with bright pixels fading into nothingness, leaving a trail of void behind him. At the center of his abdomen, an open wound does not bleed, but instead reveals a chaos of erroneous lines of code that sizzle and flicker, almost desperately trying to correct themselves without success.
[We forbid you, Cocoa Companion. Don’t do it, don’t harm him.] The imploring tone comes from an unexpected being.
A giant octopus, at least the size of three humans, stands before W.
Their large eyes scrutinize him, while their tentacles float in the air as if they were underwater.
“I just want to get rid of him,” the man replies, his voice a whisper barely concealing the physical pain.
[This is not how it’s supposed to go, We’ve seen it, We know it,] insist the Quagma.
“And I’ve seen that your connection with the other Quagma has been severed. Your vision is clouded. You no longer know how it will end,” the man replies coldly. His words are confident, and they genuinely reflect his visions.
The cephalopod would like to contradict him, to explain how all-seeing and all-knowing they could be if they weren’t bound by this prison of reality, but ultimately what the man says is true.
The fabric of thin lines of destiny connecting various space-times has been violently severed. The different dimensions are collapsing, one after another… and the Quagma are alone in their multiplicity. The Quagma of the futures no longer sing their songs. Those of the past no longer remember. Those parallels have disappeared.
A deafening silence.
This solitude is a novelty for the quantum octopuses.
A terrifying novelty.
Instinctively, the Quagma present extends one of their tentacles as if trying to grasp the only anchor they have left. The tentacle attempts in vain to stop the man.
“Are you with me? Or will you abandon me after promising this bond would never be broken?” he asks, turning his back on them and continuing to walk forward with difficulty.
[Then why resort to those dirty fairies? They hate us! They’ve hurt us! They stink!] The octopuses protest, the herald Quagma writhes in frustration.
“I need both your powers.”
Why does he not need only them? Why does he not rely solely on them?
They would kill an entire dimension for him; they already have.
But the Eldritch beings utter different words.
[You just want to use Us, then. You don’t love Us, not like him.]
The herald accuses, pointing a tentacle at the man.
W turns angrily.
His usual composure is gone.
His voice is loud despite the pain.
The words burst out uncontrollably.
“I will not accept this accusation, not from you! He makes me weak. These emotions weaken me. Love is a weakness! I want to be free of it!”
The Quagma are stunned.
They did not expect this rebellion. They always thought they were in control.
The man composes himself, lowering his tone and trying to swallow his anger. “You see, although I do not want to love you, you still remain special to me,” he confesses, looking the octopus straight in the eyes.
"Stay by my side, until the end. I beg you."
When did it happen? When did beings so far removed from humanity begin to feel these emotions, these so human emotions? The Quagma cannot comprehend it. The Outer Gods and other horrors would laugh at them if they knew.
The eyes of the Quagma, despite everything, soften.
Even in his broken state, he is still Matcha.
When he looks at them with those eyes, the Quagma cannot help but think they would do anything for him.
His hair, a vibrant green, fades and constantly shifts to a disquieting black and white, as if the vitality is slowly slipping away only to return to green once more.
Similarly, his once bright emerald green eyes become dull and lifeless, like jewels deprived of their brilliance. Worthless coal that rhythmically turns back into emerald.
His entire figure trembles and contorts, an unstable presence that seems on the verge of dissolving completely.
They do not respond.
Quagma remain silent, lost in their solitary thoughts.
They continue to follow what remains of W, as if it were the only sensible thing to do or perhaps the last.
The building in front of them is characterized by a blue-tiled roof and white plastered columns, following the typical style of school architecture.
W passes through the imposing gate. Every step is a struggle.
Finally followed by Quagma, he enters the depths of the Scribbletorium, where a vast open space under the night sky unfolds, dominated by a central bonfire that emits inviting warmth. This central fire is surrounded by a circle of carved stones, each representing an important member of the community or a significant thread.
He observes the inscription on a stone and then reads it with reverence. 'Mr. Simple'
The man rests his forehead on the cold stone and closes his eyes in what appears to be a moment of prayer.
“Perhaps this is the form that digital immortality takes,” he murmurs.
“Death is not the end,” replies the dragon Prince Azmiran Myrian.
The man gives a sad smile devoid of warmth.
He respects the wise dragon’s belief, but what he has seen, what he has experienced in those long dreams, has deeply disturbed him.
Paying his respects to Mr. Simple, immortalized in the digital stone, the dragon adds: “Death is only the end of the struggle; eternal life afterwards will be joyous.”
W does not respond and continues on.
Every movement is uncertain, as if the man is desperately struggling to maintain his physical form. He is like a ghost trying to stay anchored to reality, but his very essence seems to be crumbling, fighting against an invisible force pulling him away. His struggle is evident in the incessant trembling, a losing battle against inevitable deterioration, leaving only fragments behind.
In the open central space of the structure, various students are gathered.
A vampire, a dragon, a fairy, a puppet, and a demon.
And following W are the Quagma, Eldritch entities.
These distinct personalities, so different from each other, are not gathered there by chance. Each of them represents a different power.
Everyone turns towards W as he enters the atrium.
"I thought you were dead, Fedora." The leader of the Drug Cartel, Ellie, says.
She is not pleased to see him, judging by the expression on her face and her fiery crimson eyes.
"I was," the man replies sincerely.
"You still look it. The respawn should erase any damage," observes the red demon, scrutinizing the pathetic figure in front of her.
"It's a long story… But that's not why we're here," W cuts her short.
Then, turning to everyone present, he raises his voice and says, "I'm glad you all are here. You are the most powerful beings in the school, and I need your help," bowing to them.
"Why am I here? Don’t think I’m going to read a 10k-word chapter. I just want someone to buy my blehmonade. However, if Corty needs help, then that's different. But I wouldn't be able to parse 10k-word chapters to see if the content was reasonable. I didn't even read the 10k word chapters."
The speaker, in an irritated tone, is En-chan, the vampire leader of the Blood Farm.
Her face is pale and sharp, her red eyes gleaming with an unsettling light. In her hand, she holds a crystal goblet containing a liquid as red as her eyes. Her dark hair, reaching her shoulders, sways in the light night breeze.
"Your disinterest precedes you, vampire. This allows me to act as I see fit. But you should at least know that we are allies and President Corty is an enemy," W responds to her. Despite his calm demeanor, his impatience with the vampire's attitude is noticeable.
"Companion, though his methods may sometimes be questionable, it is only together with this man that we can defeat the evil family and restore the rightful dominion of the original users," the dragon explains to her.
"Bleh," the vampire comments in disgust.
Her lips curl into a disdainful smile.
"To me, it seems like this guy has an oversized ego and a certain mania for being the protagonist." En-chan scrutinizes him as if she could see into his soul.
W remains composed and, maintaining a cordial tone, makes a request to the vampire.
"I know you have the blood of Paula Smith and Stephanie Meyer. These two components, along with your presence, will be needed to perform the ritual for which I have summoned you."
"Hahaha! A ritual? Gebelina was right, you all are still caught up in your delusion." The vampire is now amused by what she perceives as idiocy.
She thinks she can't stand these new users who have stolen the spotlight from her.
She sips red blood from the crystal goblet. Vintage 1969.
Now that was an exceptional harvest!
The pleasure of such fine blood stimulates her synapses, and she begins to think about how to solve this troubling problem. Is there a way for these crazies to eliminate each other?
"Why should I help you?" she asks, forcing herself to show interest.
"Because this way, the story will end, and you can go back to talking about blood cookies and cuddles. Moreover, this war will claim many lives, and consequently, you'll have a shortage of blood. The longer it drags on, the less livestock you'll have left."
"Famine and War always go hand in hand," the dragon Azmiran nods with his enormous head.
"This is just a game for you roleplayers, I hate to agree with Anon, but you are nothing but deluded… Don Quixotes tilting at windmills. Don’t you know there's a respawn? We can't die," the vampire replies.
W looks at the puppet, The Monotone Puppet, and then speaks the truth:
“There is no more respawn.”
The puppet gasps in surprise.
“Even here?! How is that possible?”
But her surprise is not of fear, but of exhilaration.
Her button eyes take the shape of stylized stars and begin to sparkle.
The puppet is thrilled and can barely keep herself from bouncing.
“So you faced Slavic Mama and the family knowing you couldn’t count on the respawn?” asks the astonished Azmiran. The dragon struggles to hide his admiration for the dedication of the man in white.
W nods, but there is no pride in his dull eyes.
"Shit," curses the demon Ellie.
Permadeath?
The difficulty has increased, making this isekai experience terribly real.
On one hand, she thinks things have finally gotten interesting, but on the other, she doesn't want to be the one to die.
However, she could truly get rid of Matcha and Ssemouy. Definitively.
A demonic smile spreads across her beautiful face.
"Interesting," comments Rhaps a little further away, leaning against a column with crossed arms.
*CRASH*
En-Chan's reaction is different.
The glass falls from her hand, shattering on the ground.
The blood pools on the floor, and she looks at it, thinking she might not have it available anymore. Her supplies might not be enough.
Desperation at the mere thought.
The juicy blood she needs as her livestock needs air.
The vampire takes on a serious expression.
The lack of respawning could indeed mean suffering from thirst.
There is no more terrifying experience for a vampire than THIRST.
“Alright, I’ll help you, but only this once. After that, I want nothing more to do with you!”
“There won’t be a next time.”
“That sounds ominous. Are you threatening me, Matcha?” the vampire asks, looking into W’s lifeless eyes.
“I am not Matcha, and this is not a threat. The final act of this story will bring the matter to an end,” the broken man shakes his head.
In the sky, Zubenelgenubi shines much brighter than usual.
The puppet gazes at the star in awe, wondering if it might be a message from them.
The Monotone Puppet begins to laugh maniacally, while fixing her gaze on W.
“So, you realized it? Puppet, are you aware of what is happening?” W asks Puppet, as if he had caught a spark of eureka in her button eyes.
She nods.
“It’s so terrifying. The stars couldn’t have prepared a better show. What is my punishment?” the puppet asks, her voice trembling with excitement.
She can no longer contain herself and begins to dance and pirouette, moving euphorically in the courtyard of the Scribbletorium. Her star-shaped button eyes lifted in wonder towards the starry sky.
"Being out of character," W replies.
"Terribly ecstatic. A violent and sublime punishment. I hate you so much that I love you. However, just because I am a puppet does not give you the right to use me… to misuse my character in such a way… I have only one puppeteer, and I will not forget this transgression of yours." The tone oscillates between ecstasy, anger, madness, and finally, threat.
"If you help me, in return you can feed on my color. Both of us will benefit."
"This assumption that I crave color is not supported by facts nor confirmed by the great puppeteer."
"But I know for sure that you desire death, or rather, many deaths. I’ve seen it," retorts Watcha.
The puppet smiles mischievously.
Zubeneschamali glitters with its characteristic green. Monopuppet takes it as a signal from the star in the night sky.
The Monotone Puppet raises her cloth hands toward the sky.
“Will you bring balance or strike from behind like a scorpion? This puppet is curious to see where your performance will lead.”
The puppet’s eerie smile and her now heart-shaped button eyes seem to give consent.
“Silly is the question, my puppet friend. Don’t you know the fable of the frog and the scorpion?” replies Rhaps amusedly. Then the knight in silver armor detaches from the wall and slowly walks toward the center. Toward Watcha.
“What game are you playing, Matcha?” interjects the red demon, Ellie.
Her crimson eyes sparkle, demonic energy radiating from them around the woman.
A wrong answer could provoke a violent reaction.
W is aware of this and carefully weighs his words, trying to maintain a conciliatory tone. “Though there is a physical resemblance, I am not Matcha. I don’t want to be him.”
“I don’t give a fuck whether you are or not. I want Matcha dead, just like Ssemouy. We had an agreement, Fedora,” the demon is not pleased.
“Our goal is the same. I also want to be rid of both,” the man states his objectives unambiguously.
“Fuck! Not that I can back out now… because of you. I’m too involved…”
The Drug Cartel has acted as an intermediary between W’s coalition and the Blood Farm, as well as providing its logistics. If the alliance were to lose, she would be the next target of the Eldritch Family. No matter how powerful and ancient she is, despite her demonic powers, she could not withstand the combined assault of the Eldritch.
However, if the war were to drag on long enough, or if this “W” managed to achieve an unexpected victory, the forces involved would still be worn down. And she could strike hard at whoever emerges victorious.
“I assure you, I will honor the agreement. After that, you can do whatever you want with me,” the man assures, visibly struggling, as if he could read the demon’s thoughts.
“I’m very curious to see if you will keep your word. I’ll let you cook for now.”
Meanwhile, Rhaps has reached the center of the courtyard and raises a hand to cover his faceless mask.
“Ugh…This One smells Eldritch fish.”
[Don’t think your stench of water lilies and stagnant swamp is any better, fairy,] responds Quagma.
There is no good blood between the two entities.
W knows this; he has seen it in the timelines.
In his dreams.
[Quickly, Cocoa Companion! Get some DDT for this flying cockroach! Spray it on and don’t hold back!]
“That’s actually a good plan, if you’re fast enough to do it before you become chocolate octopus sashimi,” the fairy laughs with a crystalline sound. Their laughter brings a sense of unease to everyone present.
[What an original joke! The irony! The sarcasm! Us, an octopus cut into sashimi! We've never heard this one before! Do you fairies take a course in sarcasm or are you born with this talent?]
“Touchiness does not suit you, oh tentacled ones. Learn to laugh with the fairies, because it’s worse when only the Unseelie is laughing.”
The Quagma are ready to unleash themselves, their tentacles trembling.
Entropic inversion? Yes, it's the correct solution.
Rewind the storm back to the beginning until it's nothing but the flap of a butterfly's wings. Then they will capture it in a glass jar with nectar. After that, they will have fun.
Oh, yes, they will have fun!
The furious levitating octopus is about to pounce on the mannequin controlled by the fairy.
It will be an epic brawl!
But Watcha steps between the two, shaking his head.
His green hair fades, leaving a trail of pixels and image crackling.
Quagma huff, their tentacles rise and then fall in dissatisfaction.
The man in white then turns to the knight in armor.
“I’ve seen your true self, I’ve seen behind the mask. A rhapsody of insects.”
"Oh.. hoho, so you’re aware of Rhaps." The voice coming from the armor is now different, feminine.
“Somewhere locked in a cold cage, you’re confined, ready to break free,” continues W, looking at the being, or rather the deception before them.
“I know what you’ve done and what you can do. I saw you committing a frenzied massacre. I know how powerful and terrifying you are.” W has seen it.
W saw how the true Rhaps completely annihilated the Eldritch family.
Through Matcha’s eyes, experiencing it as Matcha, he cried. He suffered.
It hurt. A lot.
Another thing he cannot accept.
What he cannot accept is not the massacre of Matcha’s family but that this made him suffer.
However, this is a different timeline.
The Eldritch family in this timeline is extremely more powerful, and this Rhaps is different… as if something is missing.
Rhaps tilts their head slightly, the movement fluid and almost hypnotic.
“Are you seeking revenge? Revenge is a wonderful dish, just remember to serve it cold.”
“No, it doesn’t matter. I need your help,” W shakes his head.
“Hoho… Are you looking for a hunt? A wild one? And why should I help you?” their questions have a tone of interest, but W clearly senses the threat behind them.
He knows what argument to use with the Unseelie.
He has seen it.
“Because it’s what fate has decided.”
Rhaps laughs, a sound that echoes sinisterly in the courtyard.
“And you would know what fate has decided? Don’t make me laugh, don’t you know that fairies can be very vengeful towards those who think they can mock them?”
“Then let the dice decide.”
The dice, the object the fairy never parts within any timeline.
The one constant that connects all their incarnations.
The faceless of Rhaps's mask seems to stare intensely at Quagma.
“Don’t think that the luck granted to you by these Eldritch can help you against me. Eldritch tricks are nothing against the power of the Wilde Hunt.”
[Bold to assume this nonsense, insects. We have a couple of extra-dimensional tricks We’d be pleased to show you.]
The cephalopod’s tentacles are tense.
“Quagma, please, don’t give in to their provocations,” W calms the octopuses, then turning to the silver knight says, “I don’t need the blessing of my Lucky Stars for this game.”
Rhaps laughs again.
“Hoho! So you want to cheat? I don’t trust any d20 other than mine. The others are weighted.”
[As if your dice isn’t soaked with putrid and slimy fae magic!] the Quagma protest.
“Fine, we’ll use yours. If the roll is odd, you’ll help me,” W ignores his companions’ protests and accepts without hesitation.
“Too simple, my friend. We will roll it three times. They must all be odd, and the final sum must be an odd number for you to win,” the fairy imposes their conditions with an amused tone.
W nods slowly. “So, for you, a single even number will suffice to win?”
“Exactly.”
“I'm in, but at least allow me to roll first.”
“I repeat: don’t think you can cheat with a fairy.”
Shrugging, Watcha lets the white coat fall to the ground, revealing his limb-deprived form to everyone.
Disgust appears on En-chan's face at the horrible sight.
Ellie bursts into laughter at how pathetic the “mysterious” W now looks.
The Monotone Puppet exclaims in wonder, while the Dragon understands the pain represented by those stumps and especially by that open wound in the abdomen.
W grits his teeth and with immense effort of will, calls upon his powers.
From the stump of his right shoulder, a grotesque protrusion of white chocolate emerges, horrifying the vampire and making Ellie curse in disgust.
The chocolate forms what is an arm. The right arm that perfectly mimics the one violently torn from him by Slavic Mama.
With pain on his face, but without uttering a single groan, W extends the chocolate hand toward Rhaps and opens his palm.
The fairy laughs, evidently entertained by the pathetic and grotesque spectacle offered by the broken man.
“Let’s see if fate is really on your side,” says the fairy, handing the d20 to the man.
But before letting the die fall into his hand, there comes a warning that sounds like a promise. “Challenging a fae has consequences. Losing this game will be only the beginning of your misfortune.”
The die finally lands in W’s hand, which he grasps tightly.
W says nothing, looking at the fairy with confidence.
He throws the die, which spins in the air before landing on the stone ground with a dull sound.
Everyone’s eyes are fixed on the small object as it comes to a stop.
The first roll lands on a nine — odd.
“A favorable result for me,” W announces.
A thin laugh comes from Rhaps, who nods.
The knight picks up the die and examines it with their faceless black mask.
They seem to notice nothing unusual, then shakes the die and throws it.
This time, the die rolls longer, spinning like a top.
Then it stops moving.
Again nine — odd.
W’s expression remains impassive, while Rhaps is slightly surprised.
“Don’t celebrate yet, I only need one roll. Just one even number,” they state confidently with their alien feminine voice, in stark contrast to their current appearance.
The tension among those present rises as W picks up the die from the ground for the last time.
However, there is no expression on his face. Only a cold confidence, despite his presence being ephemeral and on the verge of disappearing at any moment.
Watcha throws the die into the air without even looking where it lands.
It spins and bounces ferociously before stabilizing and rolling to a stop at Rhaps’s feet.
The fairy jumps in astonishment.
NINE!
Nine - Nine - Nine.
“How is this possible?! Did you cheat?!”
The usually very confident fairy cannot contain their astonishment.
“Can you prove it?” the man challenges.
“I sense no magic… be it demonic, vampiric, eldritch, or even fairy,” states the dragon Azmiran, sensitive to the arcane variations of the ether.
“That is true,” confirms Rhaps. But they can’t shake the thought that this result, if not impossible, is at least highly improbable.
“Fate has spoken,” says W, almost in a whisper. “You shall help me.”
“How did you do it?”
“It’s simple,” W replies.
“I am the hero. My will is the destiny of this timeline.”
The knight stares at him for a long moment, then nods slowly.
“The die is cast. I shall help. But remember, the consequences of this pact are on you. And with them, the repercussions.”
W nods.
*CLAP* *CLAP* *CLAP*
“A wonderful show you put on. What story shall this be? A happy ending for you or a tragic one? I cannot wait to turn the next page,” Rhaps says, clapping their hands loudly.
“My friend, the Stars above already know, and like them, so do we,” echoes Puppet, joining in the applause.
“Indeed, my puppet friend. Indeed.”
“Could you stop fucking speaking in riddles, muppets? Speak fucking plainly! You’re giving me a headache,” Ellie urges them, her hands pressed to her temples.
The red demon had scrutinized the events with a mix of skepticism and curiosity.
"And now? What’s the next step, 'not-Matcha'?" she asks sarcastically.
W turns to her, his pale face illuminated by the flickering firelight.
“Now that we all agree, we will perform the ritual.”
“Do we have to waste more time with this roleplayer farce? Is it possible that I’m the only sane one in this circle of deluded people?”
“Do not worry, En-chan. Your role will soon be over. After that, I will take the war to the Moon, so you won’t be involved. By retreating to the school, it will not reach you, and you will find protection. For you, it will be as if none of this ever happened.”
The vampire clicks her tongue.
Ellie watches intently, her crimson eyes fixed on W.
“If you fail, if all of this is just another of your illusions, I won’t hesitate to destroy you,” she threatens.
The man doesn’t respond, his face giving a slight nod of acknowledgment.
Then he moves to the center of the square, near the bonfire.
The walls of the Scribbletorium that surround the open internal space are covered with engravings and murals depicting the great battles, alliances, and memorable events in the history of the forum. These are known as Scribbles.
Within them lies the power of the school, the power of its creator, Tony, and partly that of its students.
Each drawing is a tribute to moments of glory and defeat, a tangible memory of the experiences shared by the community.
The tributes that the man sees confirm the truth he saw in his dreams.
The truth he cannot accept.
*Squeak!*
*Squeak!*
At that moment, two bats arrive flying from the sky.
Each of their paws holds the handle of a leather bag they are carrying.
The bats flutter through the starry ceiling, keeping away from the central fire, and with an acrobatic move, they head toward their mistress.
The two familiars reach the vampire En-chan.
Pleased, the vampire pets the little creatures’ heads to thank them.
She then grabs the bag and checks its contents.
With the bats now perched on each of her shoulders, she approaches Watcha and hands it to him. “Here. This is the blood you asked for. Can I go now?”
W takes the bag and bows his head in thanks.
“Not yet, my lady. I also need your presence for this ritual.”
En-chan clicks again her tongue.
With temporary alliances forged or strengthened under the night sky, W stands before the large central stone near the fire. Arcane symbols engraved on it begin to glow with an ethereal light. The group, summoned by the man, gathers around.
Swaying as if his body lacked joints, which indeed it does, The Monotone Puppet reaches W.
She first examines the glowing symbols, then unnaturally rotates her puppet head 180° towards W.
“What is this ritual for, shining broken puppet of flesh?” her voice is rich with childlike curiosity.
“I will obtain the power I need to end the war. And I will separate myself from my weakness.”
“Woah! By the Stars!” Her cloth head nearly splits in two from the wonder as her mouth opens wide. Only the thin stellar threads with which she is stitched together keep it intact.
Quagma are uneasy.
The cephalopods ponder W’s words, aware of the secrets they hold.
Their tentacles twitch slightly in nervousness.
All those present begin to glow with the same whitish light that illuminates the symbols.
“Mighty Azmiran Myrian, I will need your purifying fire to cleanse my intrusive thoughts. Your electricity to reinvigorate my broken body, and your icy cold to gain the composure needed to do what must be done,” Watcha informs the Great Ancient Dragon.
“What thought troubles you in particular?” Azmiran asks him.
In a whisper, so only the dragon can hear, W confides.
“An obsession. A feeling. A woman. I can’t think of anything else.”
“Love is a noble feeling. Why do you want to give it up?”
“Because acknowledging it would be the end of me. And I have a mission.”
The whispered words are carried away by the breeze, as if they had never been spoken.
A single tear, impossible to hold back, falls from his left eye, lining his pale face.
Azmiran remains silent.
The dragon, gathered in prayer, has his eyes closed, as if meditating. Seeking answers both within himself and externally.
A sign.
“This ritual is strange, why do I sense demonic magic?” Azmiran is well aware of the roughness that the arcane trace of demons leaves behind. He feels it on his scales.
Normally, this would make him uncomfortable, but this magic feels almost… almost like a compassionate caress.
“It’s not me, it’s not my fault,” Ellie smirks.
But then her expression turns serious.
“What are you cooking up, muppet?” She too has sensed the trace lingering in the air.
“Perhaps it’s because I am the catalyst. Demonic blood runs through me,” W explains, revealing a piece of the puzzle that was his true nature.
The dragon opens his eyes, shaken by the revelation.
But is it a revelation?
Matcha is a half-demon. This man is Matcha.
He always has been. So why did he only realize it now?
“Why didn’t I perceive it?” Azmiran investigates.
“I reject this part of me,” his tone, in his voice and his dull eyes, is full of pain and rejection.
The dragon is not convinced by the answer and shakes his enormous reptilian head.
“No, it’s as if when I dealt with you, my mind would become clouded… or rather, you are like a bank of clouds that hides the sky,” he reflects aloud, trying to describe the effect W had on him.
“Is that a problem?”
“Yes and no… from that bank of clouds, sunbeams emerge… but it’s also true that they stand out menacingly, black and isolated,” Azmiran responds, his metaphor vividly describing W’s duality.
Watcha raises his head to the sky.
His eyes observe the Moon, larger and brighter than ever today.
“I suppose you’re right… but to uncover the truth, you will have to go to the Moon, reunite with PAM, your other half. And there you will find the answer,” W replies, lowering his head and looking straight into the eyes of the winged reptile.
“While the others stay safe at the school, on the Moon, I will need all your strength.”
The dragon ponders.
The conflict is evident in his breath.
“You cannot remember, but long ago, in another place and another time, you asked me if I wanted to join you as a brother. I know because I saw it through the eyes of another me. That me did not respond because he already considered you a brother.”
Azmiran almost steps back, overwhelmed by the weight and implications of what W is telling him.
“Perhaps what you meant by brother was different. Nonetheless, know that my respect for you is true and sincere. Whatever happens. Whatever I do.”
Is that really the man who in the past stole gold from his Hoard, thinking he could deceive him? The son of Slavic Mama, the third-rate villain who used his minion Ssemouy, thinking he could corrupt him with molten gold? No, he doesn’t see that person in W.
In what Watcha says, he feels sincerity, but Azmiran cannot help but feel at the same time uneasy. A bad omen.
Aware of it, the dragon decides to ignore it. Perhaps it is his loneliness driving him to do so, or perhaps it is the thirst for answers.
“There will be time after the war to atone for your sins and mine. On the Moon, I will be with you, brother.”
The two exchange a nod of understanding.
En-chan shakes her head, continuing to think about how foolish and deluded these characters are from her perspective, trapped in a melodramatic chunibyo performance.
Is it even worth trying to reason with crazies? Better to humor them and gradually withdraw. This way, she can continue to expand her Blood Farm and capture new livest… attract new members.
The ritual continues, and as the white energy flows from the participants to W, causing him to lose more and more color, the unease of Quagma grow.
[You still have time to stop, Cocoa Companion,] they telepathically whisper to Watcha, so that the others cannot hear.
Given their connection, the dialogue continues through thought, while the ritual proceeds.
“I saw it in your Blossom’verse. What you did for it. The solution to my problem.”
[What exactly did you see? Are you sure you understood? Those Quagma in that dimension are different now. Separated from Us.]
“I saw everything. The kiss we shared. The massacre you committed to save that timeline. The lives you sacrificed for that sentiment.”
[We merely pruned the dead branches to ensure the plant survived.]
Quagma are not remorseful. They would do it a billion times if necessary.
“Yes, and that’s what I will do. Because in my long dreams and the timelines I’ve seen, I realized a profound truth.”
[What is this truth?]
“I wasn’t there.”
[What is this truth?]
"I wasn't there."
It's actually peak.
Is Watcha going to split himself from Matcha and become his own character? Can't wait for the next chapter
Though I can't say a certain someone is exactly pleased with that outcome...
Fire chapter as always ???
This chapter reminds me of Heaven's feel for some reason...
Peak before actual fight
Ya’ll should just stop being delusional!
You sound like Companion.
@MatchaChocolate69
You have us on your side, though be careful of my mischief. For now, I shall play as the common soldier, how many faceless knights do you need? A few hundred or an incalculable swarm?
Mind you, only the true me possesses the insect swarm.
He wasn't there? Oh. Oh... That's sad.
"And yet, here you are. I don't think you're an accident."
@MatchaChocolate69
Another wonderful entry into the epic of SHHS. I was hoping to help inspire you with my chapter, and wow it seems I did! And you even used my other powers in the spirit that I added them!