SING CRIER I, The Dream Eater CH.10 - Sol Reiser A soft, thumping heartbeat... Sing holds my head close to her chest. I squeeze my eyes shut, and focus on breathing, whilst my spine contorts to an unworldly twisting pain. A deafening dullness across my ribs and limbs... Are my bones... broken? I'm not particularly familiar with the feeling, but it's the first thing that's coming to mind...

Am I dreaming? I feel so tired... Drowsy... Ah, no, I definitely can't though, right? I can't fall asleep before Sing... I absolutely can't. That's unforgivable... Freezing snow nibbles on my legs, but... it's not a bad feeling, it tickles; my adaptation...? Hm? Who's... this? Brown coat... Mask-face... Jing'ra? ...Ah, that's right, he was carrying us huh? Although... Sing is shouting at him now... It's no use, it's no use... he went to sleep, Sing. The kind of sleep you don't wake up from, you know? No matter how much you shout, he's not going to wake up. It's that kind of sleep- Crunch. Ha?! I... I can't think, this spinal tap is wracking my body and brain. Eldritch Fear, this... threat of demise... was it the crunching sound? Crunch. What is it? Make it stop. Stop the crunching. As if my body can't process the level of oncoming pain, I'm feeling phantom pain in body parts I don't have. I don't know how else to explain it... it's overflowing. Crunch. Aah... these... are footsteps?

The crunch... of footwear against snow? Someone... walking... I hear muffled shouting above me. It's Sing, she's still shouting at Jing'ra. But did I not just say that wouldn't wake him up? Sing, in desperation, bites into her own hand and splatters blood over Jing'ra. It's an attempt to revive him, drinking our blood... but, well... He has no mouth and only half a jaw... So... of course, it's hopeless. Still, she persists. My older sister even returns to screaming at him. So I reach up -- and touch her cheek. She looks at me, her face out of focus. And I shake my head. Stop it, Sing... I gently rub some grime off of her cheek with my thumb then let my hand fall back down to me. Don't make ugly faces, okay? I might be asking for a lot but... It'd be a crime to... leave this world with anything less... The last thing I want... is to die a stain on it... Haha... Even though, I'm having a hard time hearing, a hard time seeing, and feeling, I'm sure you still look cute, as you always have, Sing. Ah... It's cold now... Someone is blocking the forest's sunlight... Who is this stranger? Red hair? A bow? Long pointy ears? She's covered in streams of red... is she hurt? She looks hurt, Sing. What's that? She's the one that killed Jing'ra? I see... I see... that's too bad huh... Well, she's kind of pretty like this. Red is a nice colour for her... I hear suppressed voices off in the distance. Oh, that's right... we're surrounded by people who want to kill us... Adventurers? Mercenaries? Maybe it's more realistic if they're soldiers... Well, I think I'm not that interested in knowing in the first place. When you're bleeding out in the place where you know you're going to die, things like that just seem to not matter at all. Ha... My chest is tightening. Sing? Are you trying to cast skills now? But we don't have any mana- ... Well, it's fine, I won't stop you. Thank you for doing your best, sis. It makes me happy to know that even now, you're still trying, to save us... Haha... «Identify»...? Oh... Sing, look at that. You have one mana point... ...and -- it's gone... The world can play cruel tricks like that huh? How horrible... what an... absolutely awful thing... Such a merciless thing hope can be... Ah... I can't breathe... Ringing... confusion... Helplessness... and pain... The blurry red stranger starts to move. She extends her arms out to Sing, and clamps a grip on the sides of her head. There, she lifts her up, making her stand. Having Sing taken away from me, my upper body falls to the snow, and I begin accruing Frostbite. Still... I watch them. I'm compelled to watch. I have to watch. I can't look away. The world deafens to a silence. The stranger's intent movements... Sing's given-up state... I... I can't breathe? Sing...? Sis? Are... are you okay- C͠҉͜rack. 『 Aa-! 』 The blood pooling in my throat is coughed out. It gets in my eyes -- and stings. I shut one eye and force myself to watch Sing's body ragdolling to the ground. 『 Gh...! 』 I-It hurts. It hurts... My spine, my brain, my heart. The parts of me that aren't... Everything is screaming... My sister was... I can't think anymore... I drag my arm over my body, then one leg over the other. Somewhere along the way, I hear a pop and scraping. Gravity pulls me the rest of the way, and snow greets my chest with a harsh bite. A mere moment of contact is all it takes, for me to feel a sinking chill in my cheekbone. So, with my one good arm, I push the ground as if to push it away. But my muscles are too weak. I can only raise myself just enough to rest on my forearm, my forehead still presses against the blood-dyed snow. But it's enough. I cough, and hack, as if to throw out my lungs. Of course, only blood comes out instead. In the corner of my eye, a mass hits the ground. All I can make out is the blur of long red hair, but I can feel that this is a dead person. A dead stranger. This makes me want to throw up. But... instead, I feel tears. I cry. I whimper in pain. I aimlessly pray. I can't think. It's so cold I feel like my tears will crystallize over my eyes. Inside and out, I can't rest. There's no part of my body I can look at. All of me, everything, all that I am, is screaming at once in pain and fear. Fear -- not of the dying, but of death... The endless soaring blackness that envelops, and suffocates. It clouds my vision, like a black fog. Unpromising death... 『 Aa...! 』 The ascending glassy sounds of magic blindside my eardrums, scathing them. It persists until I hear more, from another direction. I clench my hand until my nails draw blood from my palm. More and more, the trumpeting magical sound of my execution serrates me from more angles, ringing, twisting my frame through my teeth. I grit through them... Until... It finally, begins... with a soft white glow... A blurry ivory spot, far away, in the corner of my eye, that slowly grows as more spots begin to appear all around me. They swell, and merge, until the entire surrounding crowd is enveloped in this blindingly bright light. It swallows the trees, the distant flowers patches, the treetops, foliage, and lacklustre sky... ...and in time, even the snow and dirt succumb. Everything is swallowed in light. And I am left with nothing but the ground on which I presently lay dying. Nothing, but the wintry ground. Nothing... but time... ̜͇͕ .̧̕.̀͝'̢̀̕͝ ...Please... ...I'm...so tired... ̞͓̙̠͙̰̗͕̻̘͈̱̣͙͖͐̈́͐͂̿̋̚͢͝ ̧̪̻̯͈̭̮̠̳́̾ͤ̄̽ͬ͒ͭ̾ͥ̍̓ ̴̶̲͉̼͕̘̠̫͖̺͙͆̋ͭ̉͋̇̀ͪ̾̄̃ͩ̆̿ͮ̃͂̚̕ ͯ̑̃̅ͯͩ͛ͭ̃̈́̀ͩ̑̃҉̴̛͖̭̪̞͞ͅ ͪ̎ͫ̄ͧ̍ͤ͂͂͛͑̀̍ͦ̓́̀͏̢̧̧̘͈̣̖̯̻̦̳̟͎͇͚̜̳͎̦̝͢ ̉̃̽͆̽́ͦ̎͂̌́͂̒̋͠҉̵̷͕̬̤̯͍̪̫̻̙͈̰̕ ̴̶̧͓̲͉͔̰͖̖̝̰̳̳̤͉̹̰̘͇̮̃ͩͯ̇̓̿ͤͨ͘͡ ̛̩̰̗̝̻͚̯̮̘̬͈̲̯͔͉͔̝̃ͮ̄̂̔͗ͫ̓ͨ̒͊̕ ̩̲̤̥̗̙͇͚͕͕ͯ͋̃̍͆̈́ͧ̈ͪͧ͊͗͟͞͡ ̨̡͖̝̜̹͍͓͔̣̜̥̞̂̽̂ͧ̿ͣ̐͊͌̋͛̄ͯͦ͐͒͛̎͆͘̕͠ ̷̡̧͈͇͈̜̝͇͔̜͇̼̲̘͕͎̝̯͌͗ͧ̀͐̈̆̄̊̋͑͂̽̈͆͊͜͜ͅ ̶ͪ̉̃͑̆ͫ̑̓͊̈́͐ͩ͐ͮ̑͏̶̴͚̹̝̜̞̳̺̦̯̫̩͜ ̧̲͎̠̙̰̤̳͔̙̱̦̹͓̞̗͓̤̫̼̃̊ͩ̑̀̅͆̈́ͦ̔̆͒ͦͥͤͫ͟ ̧͎͔̯̯͉͎̜͍̹̱̬̩͈̩͉͎͉͒̃͐̄ͬ̀ͬ͜͞͠ͅ ̋ͧͤ̽ͯͧ̃ͭ̚҉̸̯̩͇͉ ̵̢̤̙̯̖͖̦͖̖̉̇͊ͯ̒͗̍̀ͥ̋͋͟͠ ͖͚̝̞̤̫̰̺͙̳̺̘̓̔̆̏ͨ͂͢͢ͅ ̷̶̺̩̰̩̦̤̅͛̈̿̋̆̆͑ͩ́͡͠ ̅̒͌͛ͪ͑̍҉̤̜̲̭͇͎̲̝͠ͅ ͑ͩ͐̌̔́͂ͥ̎͒͂ͬͪ̚͜͝҉̧͕̬̱͇̠͉̻̯͖̩̗͇̤̟͔͍ ̽ͦ̅̏͊ͬ̇̃̏̍͑̄̃͂͋̄͒ͯ͏̰̻̗͉̻͕̜̜ͅ ̸̨͊͌̐ͨ̎͏̦͖̙͖̝͔͠ ̶̶̨̯͍̳̙̪̻͎̆ͥ̔̋ͭ͝ͅ ̵̗̳̗̼̞̭̬͎̩̺͉̞͇ͭ̍͐ͮ͐̈́͠ ͧͫ̾ͪ̅̌̇̌̋̿͑̚̕҉̴͉̦̰̱̼̣̥͓̬̮̫̀ͅͅ ̵̴̷̩̼͈̖̦͉̲̲̦̬̱̃̅ͨͦͩ̒ͯ̌́̑̽̒̒̒͌͘͠ ̑̊ͬ̍̓̑ͦ͂͛͋̓ͦ̀̽͠͏͏͈̠̼͎ͅ ̨̹̭͉̦̌̽̄́̽͑̓̿̃́̚ ̶̥̦̼̫̲̥̠̲͇̳̜́̌ͫ͆̽̊ͨͧ́͟ ̨̗̘̭͔̾ͪ̇̀͠ ̛͈͙̞̩͇̱̜͎̩̯͈̣̹̙͙̘̠̰ͨ́̑͊͟͝ ̷̙̪̲̦̖̣̲̓͋͛̌͐͐̑̃̒͞͡ ̴̷̰͎̳̝̦̘̞̬͓̺̪̮͔̳̰͈̑̽̿̄̄̾͗̔̋͐̒̽̓̾ͮͤ̀ ̷̶̵̴͖͕͉̦̹̙̰͔̠͍͉̘͎̙͉̜͚̽̎̇̔̈ͥͮ̉̃ͫ̃̇͑̈̀ͭ̅̚ͅ ̶̡̨̦̦͇̦̮̂̊̏͗̏̍͛̽̓̿̆͛́͟ ̸̵̪͓̼̝̺͔̬̥̳̰̣̬̬͎̼̓ͮ̃̍̈͗ͭ̔ͮͮ̉̐ͭͧ͐͟͟͞ ̶̣̹͙̥̭̯̺̫̔̈ͬ͑̅̉̉̄ͨ͌͊ͤ̓̀̀ͅ ̨̞͕̝̭̗̖͍̋̄ͪ̄͌̓̊̇ͣͪͭ͐͗̽̈͐̈́̍̏ ̙͎̭̰̬̬́͗ͣͪ͊̀̍̊̆̓ͯ́̕͘ ̨̛̹̟̘̪̟̙͉͚̱̠̱̖̘̩͍̼̙̖͓ͧ̆̑̍̌ͭ̚͜͝͞ ̶̯̭̺̥̖̪̳̻͇̹̞̱͖̝̀͐̋ͤ̂͆̃ͭͮ̔͂ͫ̿̚̚͟͞ ̧̛̹͍̫̘̰͖̮͇̠͔̲ͣ͂̂̋̈́̿̽ͦ̊̍ ̴̵̦̙͉̥͚̟̱̙̮̼̼̬̫͖͖̮̹ͥ͋͑͌̀͜͠ͅ ̮̺̥̺̼̘̜̮͈̦͖̫̤̦͙̭̠͙̘͐̿ͦͭͨ̐̆̀ͪ̚͟͝͡ ̘̻͓̦̟̥̙̱͍̇ͦ̄͗́͢ ̶̧̠̗̰̯̣̰̳̗̜̻̲̻̺̮̺͈̙͊̑̈̃̏͊̚͘͞ ̵̥̳̺̹͔̰̟̠̔̿̑ͪ̈́̆̓̎͂̓͢͝ ̡̫͕̖̺̩̱̻͙̦̺̱̙͍̬͊ͫ̐̑͟ ̢̛̗̳̱͈͙͉͙̯̳̖͍̫̣̙͓͙͖ͣͥ̍̽̂̒̇͊͗̆̅ͪͨͥ́̄̇̑̕ ̩̜͔̣̜̮̲͔̲̮̣͉̦̻ͣ̾͋̍̚̕ͅ ̴̶͍̳͚̳͎̭̺̔̉̒ͨ̎͑̊̆͗̒ͤ̊̐̊ͧ̂͘ͅ ̨̠̥̩͇͓̳̘̜̮̝̩̜̬ͥ̀̓͆͗̄͜ͅ ͥ͗͂̄ͬ͂͂̋͐ͩ҉̲̭͇͓̘̻̻̳̤̲̭͟͢͜͢ ̷̧̜̬͈̳͙̘̼̫̟̙̪͍̱̅̄̈́ͦ̆ͯ ̵͇͉̝̘̺ͯ͋̍̅̐ͯͨ̔̂̚͘͞͝ ̷̶̴͖̯͕̞̜̖̼̱͕̭̱̎̆ͭ̍̂̿̄́͢ͅ ̹̮̭̼̱̖̝͖̬͈̺͕̤̟̐̈̂͂ͣ̉͋̈́͛͂̒̚̚̕͡ͅ ̢̛̽͂̂͗̔͂͒͐ͦͦ̔̎̈̚͏̟̺͓̼̞̳͕ ̸̦̰͙̻̝͙̭̗̭̎ͩ͂̀ͪ͑͗̕ ̷̪̹̻͔̪͚̱̉ͤ̉̌̂ͩ̓͒̽̈́̂ͨͩ̽́ ̧̙͕͔͎͚̩͖͔͇̝̝̙̳̖̄́ͤͧ̐̉̋͐ͯ̃ͬ̎ͭ̑̃̍͆͡ͅ ̢̂̆ͣͩ̿̉ͫ͌̾ͦͬ̈́ͣ̽҉҉̧̣͉̲͇̩͚̘̬̭̖̮̭͖̠̮͙͕͟ ̵̰̮̩̮̜̜̻̜̞͓̫̺ͭ̀ͯ̾͑ͪ̑̅̔ͤ͐̓̄̌ͨͬͧ̋̚͜͝ ̢̱̭͎̻͓̤̠̰̫̓̿̑͆͋͌ͦ̀̇͒̋ͣͬ̊̀ͨ̚͟͞ ̡̛̥̺̖͕͈̙̳̖̘̱͈͔̮̙͎̥̤ͫ̃͂̀ ̷̘͉̞̂̊̄ͤ͒̑̓͆͊̀̕̕ͅ ͎͍̻̮̺͈͎̻̹̬̖̳̹͍̬̲͖̺ͧ̈ͭ̎͌̏̊̀̕ͅ ̴̫̼̲͎͍͙̲̤̼͈̖̠͓̥̽ͩ̊̾̊̆̐̓̽̍́̕̕ ̸̶̟̼̜͇̬̪͈ͤ̔ͣ̄̾͗̑ͧ͢͟͜ ̧͔͎͍͇̦̗̳ͩͧ́̋ͮ̈͑͜ͅ ̨̭̥̩̖͙̻̮̼̜̗̪̻͙̬̒͋ͥ̋ͭ̔̀̓͛͌ͮ̿͜͢ ̪̼̟̖͔̙͈̰̤͓̮̥̱̩͔̖ͯ͌̄͒̔̔̾̏͌̍͂͋́̓̓͊́̚ ̢̢̻͍̩̦͗͗̈́ͦ̏̓̈́̌ͨͦ̈́̌̎͌ͭ̕͠ ̵̷̛̳͉̪͓̹̗͙͎͇̱̳̱̓ͩͣ̌̋̇̎͒ͮͅ ̶̧͓͎̗̥̜̲̠̣̥̾̇̏̎̏̿̉́ ̶̨̲̺̭̞̩ͮͪ̾͑ͤ̍̌͆ͪ͗ͤ̏̉̒̉̏̆͋̕͠͞ ̵̵͎̯͖̤̳̹̠͙̟̜̼̗̩̇ͩͮ͛̐͑͘ ̧̦͍̳̳̠̼͚̞̬̳̣͇̣̺͉͆̽͆ͯͪͣ̈́̂͂̅͐ͫ̒͡͞ͅ ̢̩̜̤̠̪̙͔͖̱̟͖̋̃͑͒̂̍ͨ̃ͥͭͬ̎͗̿̿̃ͦ̒̕͟͞ ̨̠̪̗̦͇̯̝̲̽̍̄̅ͥ̇́͆ͯ̆ͬ̔͗ͧ͑ͫ̉ͤͯ̕ ̶͎̝͉̱͈͕̟̟̳̬̼̿ͦ̄ͤ̇̔͌ͣͨ̔ͭ̊͊͞ͅ ͧ̽̌̋̍͏̘͎̣̝̰̣͉̱̞͚ ͓͍̼͖̻̜̺͉͋̐̉̓ͤͣ͛̚͜͞ ̴̧͖͚̬̯̭̙͔̫͗̈́̅͐̃͟ ̶̧̅ͥͣ̍͗̿̐́̓͆̀̾́͏͉͈̝͕̮̭̙̣ ̶͖̫̖͉̱͖͇̺̱̱̙̹͕̝̰͚̙͙ͫ̓̀ͭ́̀͝ͅ ̷͙̮̞̝̦̖̊̋͗̈͆̿ͪ͑͞ ̥̮̠̩͈̭̬͕͍̣͙̜̖͚̼̪͓̪ͧ̅̑̑͛̓̍̓ͪ̓̐ͯͤ̀ ̧̳̣͇̩͎̣̠͔̙̟̹̩̙͙̬͔̙̤̠̋͋ͪ̐̋̓̆ͧ̿̅ͬͨ̆ͩͧ́͘͘͠ ̶͍̻̥͈̟̬͗̔̑͋ͦ͗͛ͮͦ̑ͤ̊̄ͯ̉͗ͬ̀͜ ̷̼̤̣̮̻͍̝̣̺͌͊ͣ̒͆̄̾̀̚͠͝ ̶̵̺̞̙̟̦̖̭̰̞̯̬̰̠̱̩̼̗̪̇ͪ͑̇̔̄͗͌ͭͮ̎͝ ̛̓ͬͬͦͣͨ͛̍̉ͨ̉̋ͮ͜͞͏̦̟͎̙̱͙͢ ̲͇̮̩̪̯̠̺͙̤̟̘̤̟̖̬ͩ̎̏̌ͪ̊ͦ̊̿̉͛̽͂́̀ͅ ͖̣̞̱̩̤ͩͩͣ̾́̓͟͝ ̢̡̻̦̤̞̟̯̰͉̤͔͚̠̘̝ͫ̏̿̍̊̅̏̓̋͘͜ ̶̶̡͎͙̮̫̒̈́̊́͠ ̢̢̞̳̮͈̘̗͚̩̼̤̝͒ͤ̾ͪ̃̐̓̈̚͘͘͢ ̧̱̪͓̮͈͙̓̉̋͛̀̄̾̽ͯ͐̊ ͐ͯ̅͒ͤͮͬ͗͏̳̪͇̤̟̙͕̝͖̟̣ ̧͖̹͈̜͍̝̝͚̤̯͙̳̹̰̟̤̭͛͌ͪ͂̀ ̶̶̨͉͚͓̥̩̝̹̹͉̖̘̻ͣͦ̍ͧͣ͊ͦ̽̑ͩ̓̄͌̏͂ͦ͊́͠ ̛̺͙̪͈̞̤͇͉̜̘̙͔̝̯̥̜̥͙̉͌̆͑ͥ͘ ̴ͤ̉̓̊̇͛͋ͯ͆͒̃ͧ̃͂͒̅̚҉̙̣͍͚̟̝͈̰͓̳̱̮͇̮̫́̀ ̴͓͙̫̹̫͚̬̭̲͙͕̭̥̖͇̼̊̑̉ͥ̅͛́ͯ̽͂̀͘͜͝ ̴̷͐̐̽͘҉̣̫̹̖̺̦̤̝̩̥̠͚̱̞ ̴͈̫̥̞̤̻̤͍̱͍͖͖̩͙̰̮̺̍ͪͯ͑̎͊͒ͭ̂̊̍̾̓̎ͯͫ̀̕ ̸̺̞͙̫̫̮̪̿͒̂ͨ͒ͧͪ̎̂͌͂ͫͦ̐ͤ͌ͦ̉̅͠ ̴̴̨̮̠̳̞͉̤̥̟̋ͭ͂ͮͭ̿̑ͩ̕͜ ̳͕̘̰̫̲̠͍̜̣̠̯ͯ̈́̔͊ͤ̂ͬ̑ͨ͑̒̂̚͘ͅ ̢̎ͨ͒̕͢͡҉̦̙ͅ ̝̳̜̺͍̹͔̳̦̮̥̿̃̊ͭͤ̀́ ̶̡͈̩̺͕̘̖̥̂̎̍̊ͬ̂̍̌̄̈̂̄̎̍̃̓͜ ̴̧͖͈̭̻̖̪̝̪͚̘̥͎͔͚̙̇ͫ͋̅̇̾̉͋ͫ̉̾͊̔̈̎ ̷̵̷̷̨̼̭̜̰̅̅͋͋̋̈́͌ͣ̍ͭ ̵̒ͧ̋̔̕҉͙̺͇͇̬͇̦̭͎̯̯̪͔͡ͅ ̵͇̤̞̬̗̗̘̼̻͈͑̍͂͒ͯ͒͢͢͢ͅ ̧̛̉̉ͮ̀ͦͯ̅͛̈ͥ͑ͦ͒̉͌̑҉̗̱̹̣͈̺͇̯̗ ̶̸̛̜̰̳̫͓̫̪̞̩͚͗̎ͩ͋ͮͫ̒̉̒̔̒̚ͅ ̡̨̯̹̪͎͆̔͑ͦ͑̉ͧ̆ͣ̍̔͊́̔͆ͥͥ͐́͢ ̶̢̹͈̯̞͔̦̑̒͛̉̾ͭͯ̃͑̆̐͛ͥ̌͐̊ͩ̀̀͝ͅ ̡͕͎̬͖̗̥ͮ̀ͧ̊̆̾̏͛̀̓̐̾ͬͩͩ̀ ̵̍̐̾ͣ̉͊̑̆̈͒ͧ̄͗͆͛̔҉̨͓͇͙̙̖͇͈̬͖͙̮̼͓̮̞̦́ ̨͈̼̼̘̤̤̩̼͆̉̽̆͒ͯ͛̇͒̋͋ͤ̿̽̏̔̋ͫ̀͡ ̴̢̨̦͖̬͈̩͉̟͓̥̰͍̦̗̻̫͕̠̹̐ͧͣ̀ͩ̾̉́͒̂ͨ́̒ ͮ̾ͪ͋҉̟̗̰̭͝ ̴͉̺̜̞̜ͮ͐̈́ͬ̋ͤ̽ͯͧͪͫͩͪ͋̐͝ ̧͎̰͚̦̖̰̞̫̹̣̼̓ͯ͋̓͋̕͟͢ ̧̡̙̻̘͓̳̪͖̜͖̗̭̻͕͉̳̅ͨͣ̈́̄̊̏̌̐ͪ͛͐ ̸̷͔̘̘̭̒̽ͯ́͆͛͐ͥ̾͑̎́̚͢ ̡̩͍̯͙̌ͮ͌̿̎̍ͪͮ̇ͩ̚͝͝ ̶̮̱̣̞̥̺̭ͬ̄̓̐ͩ̓̈ͭ͜͞ ͗ͨ̃̈́̈̍͛҉̜̲̯̬̼̣͔͍͈͈͠ ̷̢͉͇̺͔̣̆̽̔ͣ̚͘͡͡ ̸͓̣̻̩̺͒͐̀̍ͤ̃̍ͩ́̐̈́͗ͩ̔̒͟͠ ̨̻̹̙̱͖͕̼͍͔͓̩̞̱͕̥̼̙̫̲̽̌̂̎̌̓͂̏́̚͜͡ ͩ́͒͌̾ͯ́̔ͦ̌̆͛ͩ̐̎̕͏̶̜̟̬͉͎̱̗̻͎ ̶̨̮̤̜͙̙̝̹̮̲̺̳̥̙̥̹͂̅͗ͩ́ͤ̀ͧ̓ͤ̚͡͡ ̞͓̙̠͙̰̗͕̻̘͈̱̣͙͖͐̈́͐͂̿̋̚͢͝ ̧̪̻̯͈̭̮̠̳́̾ͤ̄̽ͬ͒ͭ̾ͥ̍̓ ̴̶̲͉̼͕̘̠̫͖̺͙͆̋ͭ̉͋̇̀ͪ̾̄̃ͩ̆̿ͮ̃͂̚̕ ͯ̑̃̅ͯͩ͛ͭ̃̈́̀ͩ̑̃҉̴̛͖̭̪̞͞ͅ ͪ̎ͫ̄ͧ̍ͤ͂͂͛͑̀̍ͦ̓́̀͏̢̧̧̘͈̣̖̯̻̦̳̟͎͇͚̜̳͎̦̝͢ ̉̃̽͆̽́ͦ̎͂̌́͂̒̋͠҉̵̷͕̬̤̯͍̪̫̻̙͈̰̕ ̴̶̧͓̲͉͔̰͖̖̝̰̳̳̤͉̹̰̘͇̮̃ͩͯ̇̓̿ͤͨ͘͡ ̛̩̰̗̝̻͚̯̮̘̬͈̲̯͔͉͔̝̃ͮ̄̂̔͗ͫ̓ͨ̒͊̕ ̩̲̤̥̗̙͇͚͕͕ͯ͋̃̍͆̈́ͧ̈ͪͧ͊͗͟͞͡ ̨̡͖̝̜̹͍͓͔̣̜̥̞̂̽̂ͧ̿ͣ̐͊͌̋͛̄ͯͦ͐͒͛̎͆͘̕͠ ̷̡̧͈͇͈̜̝͇͔̜͇̼̲̘͕͎̝̯͌͗ͧ̀͐̈̆̄̊̋͑͂̽̈͆͊͜͜ͅ ̶ͪ̉̃͑̆ͫ̑̓͊̈́͐ͩ͐ͮ̑͏̶̴͚̹̝̜̞̳̺̦̯̫̩͜ ̧̲͎̠̙̰̤̳͔̙̱̦̹͓̞̗͓̤̫̼̃̊ͩ̑̀̅͆̈́ͦ̔̆͒ͦͥͤͫ͟ ̧͎͔̯̯͉͎̜͍̹̱̬̩͈̩͉͎͉͒̃͐̄ͬ̀ͬ͜͞͠ͅ ̋ͧͤ̽ͯͧ̃ͭ̚҉̸̯̩͇͉ ̵̢̤̙̯̖͖̦͖̖̉̇͊ͯ̒͗̍̀ͥ̋͋͟͠ ͖͚̝̞̤̫̰̺͙̳̺̘̓̔̆̏ͨ͂͢͢ͅ ̷̶̺̩̰̩̦̤̅͛̈̿̋̆̆͑ͩ́͡͠ ̅̒͌͛ͪ͑̍҉̤̜̲̭͇͎̲̝͠ͅ ͑ͩ͐̌̔́͂ͥ̎͒͂ͬͪ̚͜͝҉̧͕̬̱͇̠͉̻̯͖̩̗͇̤̟͔͍ ̽ͦ̅̏͊ͬ̇̃̏̍͑̄̃͂͋̄͒ͯ͏̰̻̗͉̻͕̜̜ͅ ̸̨͊͌̐ͨ̎͏̦͖̙͖̝͔͠ ̶̶̨̯͍̳̙̪̻͎̆ͥ̔̋ͭ͝ͅ ̵̗̳̗̼̞̭̬͎̩̺͉̞͇ͭ̍͐ͮ͐̈́͠ ͧͫ̾ͪ̅̌̇̌̋̿͑̚̕҉̴͉̦̰̱̼̣̥͓̬̮̫̀ͅͅ ̵̴̷̩̼͈̖̦͉̲̲̦̬̱̃̅ͨͦͩ̒ͯ̌́̑̽̒̒̒͌͘͠ ̑̊ͬ̍̓̑ͦ͂͛͋̓ͦ̀̽͠͏͏͈̠̼͎ͅ ̨̹̭͉̦̌̽̄́̽͑̓̿̃́̚ ̶̥̦̼̫̲̥̠̲͇̳̜́̌ͫ͆̽̊ͨͧ́͟ ̨̗̘̭͔̾ͪ̇̀͠ ̛͈͙̞̩͇̱̜͎̩̯͈̣̹̙͙̘̠̰ͨ́̑͊͟͝ ̷̙̪̲̦̖̣̲̓͋͛̌͐͐̑̃̒͞͡ ̴̷̰͎̳̝̦̘̞̬͓̺̪̮͔̳̰͈̑̽̿̄̄̾͗̔̋͐̒̽̓̾ͮͤ̀ ̷̶̵̴͖͕͉̦̹̙̰͔̠͍͉̘͎̙͉̜͚̽̎̇̔̈ͥͮ̉̃ͫ̃̇͑̈̀ͭ̅̚ͅ ̶̡̨̦̦͇̦̮̂̊̏͗̏̍͛̽̓̿̆͛́͟ ̸̵̪͓̼̝̺͔̬̥̳̰̣̬̬͎̼̓ͮ̃̍̈͗ͭ̔ͮͮ̉̐ͭͧ͐͟͟͞ ̶̣̹͙̥̭̯̺̫̔̈ͬ͑̅̉̉̄ͨ͌͊ͤ̓̀̀ͅ ̨̞͕̝̭̗̖͍̋̄ͪ̄͌̓̊̇ͣͪͭ͐͗̽̈͐̈́̍̏ ̙͎̭̰̬̬́͗ͣͪ͊̀̍̊̆̓ͯ́̕͘ ̨̛̹̟̘̪̟̙͉͚̱̠̱̖̘̩͍̼̙̖͓ͧ̆̑̍̌ͭ̚͜͝͞ ̶̯̭̺̥̖̪̳̻͇̹̞̱͖̝̀͐̋ͤ̂͆̃ͭͮ̔͂ͫ̿̚̚͟͞ ̧̛̹͍̫̘̰͖̮͇̠͔̲ͣ͂̂̋̈́̿̽ͦ̊̍ ̴̵̦̙͉̥͚̟̱̙̮̼̼̬̫͖͖̮̹ͥ͋͑͌̀͜͠ͅ ̮̺̥̺̼̘̜̮͈̦͖̫̤̦͙̭̠͙̘͐̿ͦͭͨ̐̆̀ͪ̚͟͝͡ ̘̻͓̦̟̥̙̱͍̇ͦ̄͗́͢ ̶̧̠̗̰̯̣̰̳̗̜̻̲̻̺̮̺͈̙͊̑̈̃̏͊̚͘͞ ̵̥̳̺̹͔̰̟̠̔̿̑ͪ̈́̆̓̎͂̓͢͝ ̡̫͕̖̺̩̱̻͙̦̺̱̙͍̬͊ͫ̐̑͟ ̢̛̗̳̱͈͙͉͙̯̳̖͍̫̣̙͓͙͖ͣͥ̍̽̂̒̇͊͗̆̅ͪͨͥ́̄̇̑̕ ̩̜͔̣̜̮̲͔̲̮̣͉̦̻ͣ̾͋̍̚̕ͅ ̴̶͍̳͚̳͎̭̺̔̉̒ͨ̎͑̊̆͗̒ͤ̊̐̊ͧ̂͘ͅ ̨̠̥̩͇͓̳̘̜̮̝̩̜̬ͥ̀̓͆͗̄͜ͅ ͥ͗͂̄ͬ͂͂̋͐ͩ҉̲̭͇͓̘̻̻̳̤̲̭͟͢͜͢ ̷̧̜̬͈̳͙̘̼̫̟̙̪͍̱̅̄̈́ͦ̆ͯ ̵͇͉̝̘̺ͯ͋̍̅̐ͯͨ̔̂̚͘͞͝ ̷̶̴͖̯͕̞̜̖̼̱͕̭̱̎̆ͭ̍̂̿̄́͢ͅ ̹̮̭̼̱̖̝͖̬͈̺͕̤̟̐̈̂͂ͣ̉͋̈́͛͂̒̚̚̕͡ͅ ̢̛̽͂̂͗̔͂͒͐ͦͦ̔̎̈̚͏̟̺͓̼̞̳͕ ̸̦̰͙̻̝͙̭̗̭̎ͩ͂̀ͪ͑͗̕ ̷̪̹̻͔̪͚̱̉ͤ̉̌̂ͩ̓͒̽̈́̂ͨͩ̽́ ̧̙͕͔͎͚̩͖͔͇̝̝̙̳̖̄́ͤͧ̐̉̋͐ͯ̃ͬ̎ͭ̑̃̍͆͡ͅ ̢̂̆ͣͩ̿̉ͫ͌̾ͦͬ̈́ͣ̽҉҉̧̣͉̲͇̩͚̘̬̭̖̮̭͖̠̮͙͕͟ ̵̰̮̩̮̜̜̻̜̞͓̫̺ͭ̀ͯ̾͑ͪ̑̅̔ͤ͐̓̄̌ͨͬͧ̋̚͜͝ ̢̱̭͎̻͓̤̠̰̫̓̿̑͆͋͌ͦ̀̇͒̋ͣͬ̊̀ͨ̚͟͞ ̡̛̥̺̖͕͈̙̳̖̘̱͈͔̮̙͎̥̤ͫ̃͂̀ ̷̘͉̞̂̊̄ͤ͒̑̓͆͊̀̕̕ͅ ͎͍̻̮̺͈͎̻̹̬̖̳̹͍̬̲͖̺ͧ̈ͭ̎͌̏̊̀̕ͅ ̴̫̼̲͎͍͙̲̤̼͈̖̠͓̥̽ͩ̊̾̊̆̐̓̽̍́̕̕ ̸̶̟̼̜͇̬̪͈ͤ̔ͣ̄̾͗̑ͧ͢͟͜ ̧͔͎͍͇̦̗̳ͩͧ́̋ͮ̈͑͜ͅ ̨̭̥̩̖͙̻̮̼̜̗̪̻͙̬̒͋ͥ̋ͭ̔̀̓͛͌ͮ̿͜͢ ̪̼̟̖͔̙͈̰̤͓̮̥̱̩͔̖ͯ͌̄͒̔̔̾̏͌̍͂͋́̓̓͊́̚ ̢̢̻͍̩̦͗͗̈́ͦ̏̓̈́̌ͨͦ̈́̌̎͌ͭ̕͠ ̵̷̛̳͉̪͓̹̗͙͎͇̱̳̱̓ͩͣ̌̋̇̎͒ͮͅ ̶̧͓͎̗̥̜̲̠̣̥̾̇̏̎̏̿̉́ ̶̨̲̺̭̞̩ͮͪ̾͑ͤ̍̌͆ͪ͗ͤ̏̉̒̉̏̆͋̕͠͞ ̵̵͎̯͖̤̳̹̠͙̟̜̼̗̩̇ͩͮ͛̐͑͘ ̧̦͍̳̳̠̼͚̞̬̳̣͇̣̺͉͆̽͆ͯͪͣ̈́̂͂̅͐ͫ̒͡͞ͅ ̢̩̜̤̠̪̙͔͖̱̟͖̋̃͑͒̂̍ͨ̃ͥͭͬ̎͗̿̿̃ͦ̒̕͟͞ ̨̠̪̗̦͇̯̝̲̽̍̄̅ͥ̇́͆ͯ̆ͬ̔͗ͧ͑ͫ̉ͤͯ̕ ̶͎̝͉̱͈͕̟̟̳̬̼̿ͦ̄ͤ̇̔͌ͣͨ̔ͭ̊͊͞ͅ ͧ̽̌̋̍͏̘͎̣̝̰̣͉̱̞͚ ͓͍̼͖̻̜̺͉͋̐̉̓ͤͣ͛̚͜͞ ̴̧͖͚̬̯̭̙͔̫͗̈́̅͐̃͟ ̶̧̅ͥͣ̍͗̿̐́̓͆̀̾́͏͉͈̝͕̮̭̙̣ ̶͖̫̖͉̱͖͇̺̱̱̙̹͕̝̰͚̙͙ͫ̓̀ͭ́̀͝ͅ ̷͙̮̞̝̦̖̊̋͗̈͆̿ͪ͑͞ ̥̮̠̩͈̭̬͕͍̣͙̜̖͚̼̪͓̪ͧ̅̑̑͛̓̍̓ͪ̓̐ͯͤ̀ ̧̳̣͇̩͎̣̠͔̙̟̹̩̙͙̬͔̙̤̠̋͋ͪ̐̋̓̆ͧ̿̅ͬͨ̆ͩͧ́͘͘͠ ̶͍̻̥͈̟̬͗̔̑͋ͦ͗͛ͮͦ̑ͤ̊̄ͯ̉͗ͬ̀͜ ̷̼̤̣̮̻͍̝̣̺͌͊ͣ̒͆̄̾̀̚͠͝ ̶̵̺̞̙̟̦̖̭̰̞̯̬̰̠̱̩̼̗̪̇ͪ͑̇̔̄͗͌ͭͮ̎͝ ̛̓ͬͬͦͣͨ͛̍̉ͨ̉̋ͮ͜͞͏̦̟͎̙̱͙͢ ̲͇̮̩̪̯̠̺͙̤̟̘̤̟̖̬ͩ̎̏̌ͪ̊ͦ̊̿̉͛̽͂́̀ͅ ͖̣̞̱̩̤ͩͩͣ̾́̓͟͝ ̢̡̻̦̤̞̟̯̰͉̤͔͚̠̘̝ͫ̏̿̍̊̅̏̓̋͘͜ ̶̶̡͎͙̮̫̒̈́̊́͠ ̢̢̞̳̮͈̘̗͚̩̼̤̝͒ͤ̾ͪ̃̐̓̈̚͘͘͢ ̧̱̪͓̮͈͙̓̉̋͛̀̄̾̽ͯ͐̊ ͐ͯ̅͒ͤͮͬ͗͏̳̪͇̤̟̙͕̝͖̟̣ ̧͖̹͈̜͍̝̝͚̤̯͙̳̹̰̟̤̭͛͌ͪ͂̀ ̶̶̨͉͚͓̥̩̝̹̹͉̖̘̻ͣͦ̍ͧͣ͊ͦ̽̑ͩ̓̄͌̏͂ͦ͊́͠ ̛̺͙̪͈̞̤͇͉̜̘̙͔̝̯̥̜̥͙̉͌̆͑ͥ͘ ̴ͤ̉̓̊̇͛͋ͯ͆͒̃ͧ̃͂͒̅̚҉̙̣͍͚̟̝͈̰͓̳̱̮͇̮̫́̀ ̴͓͙̫̹̫͚̬̭̲͙͕̭̥̖͇̼̊̑̉ͥ̅͛́ͯ̽͂̀͘͜͝ ̴̷͐̐̽͘҉̣̫̹̖̺̦̤̝̩̥̠͚̱̞ ̴͈̫̥̞̤̻̤͍̱͍͖͖̩͙̰̮̺̍ͪͯ͑̎͊͒ͭ̂̊̍̾̓̎ͯͫ̀̕ ̸̺̞͙̫̫̮̪̿͒̂ͨ͒ͧͪ̎̂͌͂ͫͦ̐ͤ͌ͦ̉̅͠ ̴̴̨̮̠̳̞͉̤̥̟̋ͭ͂ͮͭ̿̑ͩ̕͜ ̳͕̘̰̫̲̠͍̜̣̠̯ͯ̈́̔͊ͤ̂ͬ̑ͨ͑̒̂̚͘ͅ ̢̎ͨ͒̕͢͡҉̦̙ͅ ̝̳̜̺͍̹͔̳̦̮̥̿̃̊ͭͤ̀́ ̶̡͈̩̺͕̘̖̥̂̎̍̊ͬ̂̍̌̄̈̂̄̎̍̃̓͜ ̴̧͖͈̭̻̖̪̝̪͚̘̥͎͔͚̙̇ͫ͋̅̇̾̉͋ͫ̉̾͊̔̈̎ ̷̵̷̷̨̼̭̜̰̅̅͋͋̋̈́͌ͣ̍ͭ ̵̒ͧ̋̔̕҉͙̺͇͇̬͇̦̭͎̯̯̪͔͡ͅ ̵͇̤̞̬̗̗̘̼̻͈͑̍͂͒ͯ͒͢͢͢ͅ ̧̛̉̉ͮ̀ͦͯ̅͛̈ͥ͑ͦ͒̉͌̑҉̗̱̹̣͈̺͇̯̗ ̶̸̛̜̰̳̫͓̫̪̞̩͚͗̎ͩ͋ͮͫ̒̉̒̔̒̚ͅ ̡̨̯̹̪͎͆̔͑ͦ͑̉ͧ̆ͣ̍̔͊́̔͆ͥͥ͐́͢ ̶̢̹͈̯̞͔̦̑̒͛̉̾ͭͯ̃͑̆̐͛ͥ̌͐̊ͩ̀̀͝ͅ ̡͕͎̬͖̗̥ͮ̀ͧ̊̆̾̏͛̀̓̐̾ͬͩͩ̀ ̵̍̐̾ͣ̉͊̑̆̈͒ͧ̄͗͆͛̔҉̨͓͇͙̙̖͇͈̬͖͙̮̼͓̮̞̦́ ̨͈̼̼̘̤̤̩̼͆̉̽̆͒ͯ͛̇͒̋͋ͤ̿̽̏̔̋ͫ̀͡ ̴̢̨̦͖̬͈̩͉̟͓̥̰͍̦̗̻̫͕̠̹̐ͧͣ̀ͩ̾̉́͒̂ͨ́̒ ͮ̾ͪ͋҉̟̗̰̭͝ ̴͉̺̜̞̜ͮ͐̈́ͬ̋ͤ̽ͯͧͪͫͩͪ͋̐͝ ̧͎̰͚̦̖̰̞̫̹̣̼̓ͯ͋̓͋̕͟͢ ̧̡̙̻̘͓̳̪͖̜͖̗̭̻͕͉̳̅ͨͣ̈́̄̊̏̌̐ͪ͛͐ ̸̷͔̘̘̭̒̽ͯ́͆͛͐ͥ̾͑̎́̚͢ ̡̩͍̯͙̌ͮ͌̿̎̍ͪͮ̇ͩ̚͝͝ ̶̮̱̣̞̥̺̭ͬ̄̓̐ͩ̓̈ͭ͜͞ ͗ͨ̃̈́̈̍͛҉̜̲̯̬̼̣͔͍͈͈͠ ̷̢͉͇̺͔̣̆̽̔ͣ̚͘͡͡ ̸͓̣̻̩̺͒͐̀̍ͤ̃̍ͩ́̐̈́͗ͩ̔̒͟͠ ̨̻̹̙̱͖͕̼͍͔͓̩̞̱͕̥̼̙̫̲̽̌̂̎̌̓͂̏́̚͜͡ ͩ́͒͌̾ͯ́̔ͦ̌̆͛ͩ̐̎̕͏̶̜̟̬͉͎̱̗̻͎ ̶̨̮̤̜͙̙̝̹̮̲̺̳̥̙̥̹͂̅͗ͩ́ͤ̀ͧ̓ͤ̚͡͡ SING CRIER CH.19 Continue ̞͓̙̠͙̰̗͕̻̘͈̱̣͙͖͐̈́͐͂̿̋̚͢͝ ̧̪̻̯͈̭̮̠̳́̾ͤ̄̽ͬ͒ͭ̾ͥ̍̓ ̴̶̲͉̼͕̘̠̫͖̺͙͆̋ͭ̉͋̇̀ͪ̾̄̃ͩ̆̿ͮ̃͂̚̕ ͯ̑̃̅ͯͩ͛ͭ̃̈́̀ͩ̑̃҉̴̛͖̭̪̞͞ͅ ͪ̎ͫ̄ͧ̍ͤ͂͂͛͑̀̍ͦ̓́̀͏̢̧̧̘͈̣̖̯̻̦̳̟͎͇͚̜̳͎̦̝͢ ̉̃̽͆̽́ͦ̎͂̌́͂̒̋͠҉̵̷͕̬̤̯͍̪̫̻̙͈̰̕ ̴̶̧͓̲͉͔̰͖̖̝̰̳̳̤͉̹̰̘͇̮̃ͩͯ̇̓̿ͤͨ͘͡ ̛̩̰̗̝̻͚̯̮̘̬͈̲̯͔͉͔̝̃ͮ̄̂̔͗ͫ̓ͨ̒͊̕ ̩̲̤̥̗̙͇͚͕͕ͯ͋̃̍͆̈́ͧ̈ͪͧ͊͗͟͞͡ ̨̡͖̝̜̹͍͓͔̣̜̥̞̂̽̂ͧ̿ͣ̐͊͌̋͛̄ͯͦ͐͒͛̎͆͘̕͠ ̷̡̧͈͇͈̜̝͇͔̜͇̼̲̘͕͎̝̯͌͗ͧ̀͐̈̆̄̊̋͑͂̽̈͆͊͜͜ͅ ̶ͪ̉̃͑̆ͫ̑̓͊̈́͐ͩ͐ͮ̑͏̶̴͚̹̝̜̞̳̺̦̯̫̩͜ ̧̲͎̠̙̰̤̳͔̙̱̦̹͓̞̗͓̤̫̼̃̊ͩ̑̀̅͆̈́ͦ̔̆͒ͦͥͤͫ͟ ̧͎͔̯̯͉͎̜͍̹̱̬̩͈̩͉͎͉͒̃͐̄ͬ̀ͬ͜͞͠ͅ ̋ͧͤ̽ͯͧ̃ͭ̚҉̸̯̩͇͉ ̵̢̤̙̯̖͖̦͖̖̉̇͊ͯ̒͗̍̀ͥ̋͋͟͠ ͖͚̝̞̤̫̰̺͙̳̺̘̓̔̆̏ͨ͂͢͢ͅ ̷̶̺̩̰̩̦̤̅͛̈̿̋̆̆͑ͩ́͡͠ ̅̒͌͛ͪ͑̍҉̤̜̲̭͇͎̲̝͠ͅ ͑ͩ͐̌̔́͂ͥ̎͒͂ͬͪ̚͜͝҉̧͕̬̱͇̠͉̻̯͖̩̗͇̤̟͔͍ ̽ͦ̅̏͊ͬ̇̃̏̍͑̄̃͂͋̄͒ͯ͏̰̻̗͉̻͕̜̜ͅ ̸̨͊͌̐ͨ̎͏̦͖̙͖̝͔͠ ̶̶̨̯͍̳̙̪̻͎̆ͥ̔̋ͭ͝ͅ ̵̗̳̗̼̞̭̬͎̩̺͉̞͇ͭ̍͐ͮ͐̈́͠ ͧͫ̾ͪ̅̌̇̌̋̿͑̚̕҉̴͉̦̰̱̼̣̥͓̬̮̫̀ͅͅ ̵̴̷̩̼͈̖̦͉̲̲̦̬̱̃̅ͨͦͩ̒ͯ̌́̑̽̒̒̒͌͘͠ ̑̊ͬ̍̓̑ͦ͂͛͋̓ͦ̀̽͠͏͏͈̠̼͎ͅ ̨̹̭͉̦̌̽̄́̽͑̓̿̃́̚ ̶̥̦̼̫̲̥̠̲͇̳̜́̌ͫ͆̽̊ͨͧ́͟ ̨̗̘̭͔̾ͪ̇̀͠ ̛͈͙̞̩͇̱̜͎̩̯͈̣̹̙͙̘̠̰ͨ́̑͊͟͝ ̷̙̪̲̦̖̣̲̓͋͛̌͐͐̑̃̒͞͡ ̴̷̰͎̳̝̦̘̞̬͓̺̪̮͔̳̰͈̑̽̿̄̄̾͗̔̋͐̒̽̓̾ͮͤ̀ ̷̶̵̴͖͕͉̦̹̙̰͔̠͍͉̘͎̙͉̜͚̽̎̇̔̈ͥͮ̉̃ͫ̃̇͑̈̀ͭ̅̚ͅ ̶̡̨̦̦͇̦̮̂̊̏͗̏̍͛̽̓̿̆͛́͟ ̸̵̪͓̼̝̺͔̬̥̳̰̣̬̬͎̼̓ͮ̃̍̈͗ͭ̔ͮͮ̉̐ͭͧ͐͟͟͞ ̶̣̹͙̥̭̯̺̫̔̈ͬ͑̅̉̉̄ͨ͌͊ͤ̓̀̀ͅ ̨̞͕̝̭̗̖͍̋̄ͪ̄͌̓̊̇ͣͪͭ͐͗̽̈͐̈́̍̏ ̙͎̭̰̬̬́͗ͣͪ͊̀̍̊̆̓ͯ́̕͘ ̨̛̹̟̘̪̟̙͉͚̱̠̱̖̘̩͍̼̙̖͓ͧ̆̑̍̌ͭ̚͜͝͞ ̶̯̭̺̥̖̪̳̻͇̹̞̱͖̝̀͐̋ͤ̂͆̃ͭͮ̔͂ͫ̿̚̚͟͞ ̧̛̹͍̫̘̰͖̮͇̠͔̲ͣ͂̂̋̈́̿̽ͦ̊̍ ̴̵̦̙͉̥͚̟̱̙̮̼̼̬̫͖͖̮̹ͥ͋͑͌̀͜͠ͅ ̮̺̥̺̼̘̜̮͈̦͖̫̤̦͙̭̠͙̘͐̿ͦͭͨ̐̆̀ͪ̚͟͝͡ ̘̻͓̦̟̥̙̱͍̇ͦ̄͗́͢ ̶̧̠̗̰̯̣̰̳̗̜̻̲̻̺̮̺͈̙͊̑̈̃̏͊̚͘͞ ̵̥̳̺̹͔̰̟̠̔̿̑ͪ̈́̆̓̎͂̓͢͝ ̡̫͕̖̺̩̱̻͙̦̺̱̙͍̬͊ͫ̐̑͟ ̢̛̗̳̱͈͙͉͙̯̳̖͍̫̣̙͓͙͖ͣͥ̍̽̂̒̇͊͗̆̅ͪͨͥ́̄̇̑̕ ̩̜͔̣̜̮̲͔̲̮̣͉̦̻ͣ̾͋̍̚̕ͅ ̴̶͍̳͚̳͎̭̺̔̉̒ͨ̎͑̊̆͗̒ͤ̊̐̊ͧ̂͘ͅ ̨̠̥̩͇͓̳̘̜̮̝̩̜̬ͥ̀̓͆͗̄͜ͅ ͥ͗͂̄ͬ͂͂̋͐ͩ҉̲̭͇͓̘̻̻̳̤̲̭͟͢͜͢ ̷̧̜̬͈̳͙̘̼̫̟̙̪͍̱̅̄̈́ͦ̆ͯ ̵͇͉̝̘̺ͯ͋̍̅̐ͯͨ̔̂̚͘͞͝ ̷̶̴͖̯͕̞̜̖̼̱͕̭̱̎̆ͭ̍̂̿̄́͢ͅ ̹̮̭̼̱̖̝͖̬͈̺͕̤̟̐̈̂͂ͣ̉͋̈́͛͂̒̚̚̕͡ͅ ̢̛̽͂̂͗̔͂͒͐ͦͦ̔̎̈̚͏̟̺͓̼̞̳͕ ̸̦̰͙̻̝͙̭̗̭̎ͩ͂̀ͪ͑͗̕ ̷̪̹̻͔̪͚̱̉ͤ̉̌̂ͩ̓͒̽̈́̂ͨͩ̽́ ̧̙͕͔͎͚̩͖͔͇̝̝̙̳̖̄́ͤͧ̐̉̋͐ͯ̃ͬ̎ͭ̑̃̍͆͡ͅ ̢̂̆ͣͩ̿̉ͫ͌̾ͦͬ̈́ͣ̽҉҉̧̣͉̲͇̩͚̘̬̭̖̮̭͖̠̮͙͕͟ ̵̰̮̩̮̜̜̻̜̞͓̫̺ͭ̀ͯ̾͑ͪ̑̅̔ͤ͐̓̄̌ͨͬͧ̋̚͜͝ ̢̱̭͎̻͓̤̠̰̫̓̿̑͆͋͌ͦ̀̇͒̋ͣͬ̊̀ͨ̚͟͞ ̡̛̥̺̖͕͈̙̳̖̘̱͈͔̮̙͎̥̤ͫ̃͂̀ ̷̘͉̞̂̊̄ͤ͒̑̓͆͊̀̕̕ͅ ͎͍̻̮̺͈͎̻̹̬̖̳̹͍̬̲͖̺ͧ̈ͭ̎͌̏̊̀̕ͅ ̴̫̼̲͎͍͙̲̤̼͈̖̠͓̥̽ͩ̊̾̊̆̐̓̽̍́̕̕ ̸̶̟̼̜͇̬̪͈ͤ̔ͣ̄̾͗̑ͧ͢͟͜ ̧͔͎͍͇̦̗̳ͩͧ́̋ͮ̈͑͜ͅ ̨̭̥̩̖͙̻̮̼̜̗̪̻͙̬̒͋ͥ̋ͭ̔̀̓͛͌ͮ̿͜͢ ̪̼̟̖͔̙͈̰̤͓̮̥̱̩͔̖ͯ͌̄͒̔̔̾̏͌̍͂͋́̓̓͊́̚ ̢̢̻͍̩̦͗͗̈́ͦ̏̓̈́̌ͨͦ̈́̌̎͌ͭ̕͠ ̵̷̛̳͉̪͓̹̗͙͎͇̱̳̱̓ͩͣ̌̋̇̎͒ͮͅ ̶̧͓͎̗̥̜̲̠̣̥̾̇̏̎̏̿̉́ ̶̨̲̺̭̞̩ͮͪ̾͑ͤ̍̌͆ͪ͗ͤ̏̉̒̉̏̆͋̕͠͞ ̵̵͎̯͖̤̳̹̠͙̟̜̼̗̩̇ͩͮ͛̐͑͘ ̧̦͍̳̳̠̼͚̞̬̳̣͇̣̺͉͆̽͆ͯͪͣ̈́̂͂̅͐ͫ̒͡͞ͅ ̢̩̜̤̠̪̙͔͖̱̟͖̋̃͑͒̂̍ͨ̃ͥͭͬ̎͗̿̿̃ͦ̒̕͟͞ ̨̠̪̗̦͇̯̝̲̽̍̄̅ͥ̇́͆ͯ̆ͬ̔͗ͧ͑ͫ̉ͤͯ̕ ̶͎̝͉̱͈͕̟̟̳̬̼̿ͦ̄ͤ̇̔͌ͣͨ̔ͭ̊͊͞ͅ ͧ̽̌̋̍͏̘͎̣̝̰̣͉̱̞͚ ͓͍̼͖̻̜̺͉͋̐̉̓ͤͣ͛̚͜͞ ̴̧͖͚̬̯̭̙͔̫͗̈́̅͐̃͟ ̶̧̅ͥͣ̍͗̿̐́̓͆̀̾́͏͉͈̝͕̮̭̙̣ ̶͖̫̖͉̱͖͇̺̱̱̙̹͕̝̰͚̙͙ͫ̓̀ͭ́̀͝ͅ ̷͙̮̞̝̦̖̊̋͗̈͆̿ͪ͑͞ ̥̮̠̩͈̭̬͕͍̣͙̜̖͚̼̪͓̪ͧ̅̑̑͛̓̍̓ͪ̓̐ͯͤ̀ ̧̳̣͇̩͎̣̠͔̙̟̹̩̙͙̬͔̙̤̠̋͋ͪ̐̋̓̆ͧ̿̅ͬͨ̆ͩͧ́͘͘͠ ̶͍̻̥͈̟̬͗̔̑͋ͦ͗͛ͮͦ̑ͤ̊̄ͯ̉͗ͬ̀͜ ̷̼̤̣̮̻͍̝̣̺͌͊ͣ̒͆̄̾̀̚͠͝ ̶̵̺̞̙̟̦̖̭̰̞̯̬̰̠̱̩̼̗̪̇ͪ͑̇̔̄͗͌ͭͮ̎͝ ̛̓ͬͬͦͣͨ͛̍̉ͨ̉̋ͮ͜͞͏̦̟͎̙̱͙͢ ̲͇̮̩̪̯̠̺͙̤̟̘̤̟̖̬ͩ̎̏̌ͪ̊ͦ̊̿̉͛̽͂́̀ͅ ͖̣̞̱̩̤ͩͩͣ̾́̓͟͝ ̢̡̻̦̤̞̟̯̰͉̤͔͚̠̘̝ͫ̏̿̍̊̅̏̓̋͘͜ ̶̶̡͎͙̮̫̒̈́̊́͠ ̢̢̞̳̮͈̘̗͚̩̼̤̝͒ͤ̾ͪ̃̐̓̈̚͘͘͢ ̧̱̪͓̮͈͙̓̉̋͛̀̄̾̽ͯ͐̊ ͐ͯ̅͒ͤͮͬ͗͏̳̪͇̤̟̙͕̝͖̟̣ ̧͖̹͈̜͍̝̝͚̤̯͙̳̹̰̟̤̭͛͌ͪ͂̀ ̶̶̨͉͚͓̥̩̝̹̹͉̖̘̻ͣͦ̍ͧͣ͊ͦ̽̑ͩ̓̄͌̏͂ͦ͊́͠ ̛̺͙̪͈̞̤͇͉̜̘̙͔̝̯̥̜̥͙̉͌̆͑ͥ͘ ̴ͤ̉̓̊̇͛͋ͯ͆͒̃ͧ̃͂͒̅̚҉̙̣͍͚̟̝͈̰͓̳̱̮͇̮̫́̀ ̴͓͙̫̹̫͚̬̭̲͙͕̭̥̖͇̼̊̑̉ͥ̅͛́ͯ̽͂̀͘͜͝ ̴̷͐̐̽͘҉̣̫̹̖̺̦̤̝̩̥̠͚̱̞ ̴͈̫̥̞̤̻̤͍̱͍͖͖̩͙̰̮̺̍ͪͯ͑̎͊͒ͭ̂̊̍̾̓̎ͯͫ̀̕ ̸̺̞͙̫̫̮̪̿͒̂ͨ͒ͧͪ̎̂͌͂ͫͦ̐ͤ͌ͦ̉̅͠ ̴̴̨̮̠̳̞͉̤̥̟̋ͭ͂ͮͭ̿̑ͩ̕͜ ̳͕̘̰̫̲̠͍̜̣̠̯ͯ̈́̔͊ͤ̂ͬ̑ͨ͑̒̂̚͘ͅ ̢̎ͨ͒̕͢͡҉̦̙ͅ ̝̳̜̺͍̹͔̳̦̮̥̿̃̊ͭͤ̀́ ̶̡͈̩̺͕̘̖̥̂̎̍̊ͬ̂̍̌̄̈̂̄̎̍̃̓͜ ̴̧͖͈̭̻̖̪̝̪͚̘̥͎͔͚̙̇ͫ͋̅̇̾̉͋ͫ̉̾͊̔̈̎ ̷̵̷̷̨̼̭̜̰̅̅͋͋̋̈́͌ͣ̍ͭ ̵̒ͧ̋̔̕҉͙̺͇͇̬͇̦̭͎̯̯̪͔͡ͅ ̵͇̤̞̬̗̗̘̼̻͈͑̍͂͒ͯ͒͢͢͢ͅ ̧̛̉̉ͮ̀ͦͯ̅͛̈ͥ͑ͦ͒̉͌̑҉̗̱̹̣͈̺͇̯̗ ̶̸̛̜̰̳̫͓̫̪̞̩͚͗̎ͩ͋ͮͫ̒̉̒̔̒̚ͅ ̡̨̯̹̪͎͆̔͑ͦ͑̉ͧ̆ͣ̍̔͊́̔͆ͥͥ͐́͢ ̶̢̹͈̯̞͔̦̑̒͛̉̾ͭͯ̃͑̆̐͛ͥ̌͐̊ͩ̀̀͝ͅ ̡͕͎̬͖̗̥ͮ̀ͧ̊̆̾̏͛̀̓̐̾ͬͩͩ̀ ̵̍̐̾ͣ̉͊̑̆̈͒ͧ̄͗͆͛̔҉̨͓͇͙̙̖͇͈̬͖͙̮̼͓̮̞̦́ ̨͈̼̼̘̤̤̩̼͆̉̽̆͒ͯ͛̇͒̋͋ͤ̿̽̏̔̋ͫ̀͡ ̴̢̨̦͖̬͈̩͉̟͓̥̰͍̦̗̻̫͕̠̹̐ͧͣ̀ͩ̾̉́͒̂ͨ́̒ ͮ̾ͪ͋҉̟̗̰̭͝ ̴͉̺̜̞̜ͮ͐̈́ͬ̋ͤ̽ͯͧͪͫͩͪ͋̐͝ ̧͎̰͚̦̖̰̞̫̹̣̼̓ͯ͋̓͋̕͟͢ ̧̡̙̻̘͓̳̪͖̜͖̗̭̻͕͉̳̅ͨͣ̈́̄̊̏̌̐ͪ͛͐ ̸̷͔̘̘̭̒̽ͯ́͆͛͐ͥ̾͑̎́̚͢ ̡̩͍̯͙̌ͮ͌̿̎̍ͪͮ̇ͩ̚͝͝ ̶̮̱̣̞̥̺̭ͬ̄̓̐ͩ̓̈ͭ͜͞ ͗ͨ̃̈́̈̍͛҉̜̲̯̬̼̣͔͍͈͈͠ ̷̢͉͇̺͔̣̆̽̔ͣ̚͘͡͡ ̸͓̣̻̩̺͒͐̀̍ͤ̃̍ͩ́̐̈́͗ͩ̔̒͟͠ ̨̻̹̙̱͖͕̼͍͔͓̩̞̱͕̥̼̙̫̲̽̌̂̎̌̓͂̏́̚͜͡ ͩ́͒͌̾ͯ́̔ͦ̌̆͛ͩ̐̎̕͏̶̜̟̬͉͎̱̗̻͎ ̶̨̮̤̜͙̙̝̹̮̲̺̳̥̙̥̹͂̅͗ͩ́ͤ̀ͧ̓ͤ̚͡͡ ̞͓̙̠͙̰̗͕̻̘͈̱̣͙͖͐̈́͐͂̿̋̚͢͝ ̧̪̻̯͈̭̮̠̳́̾ͤ̄̽ͬ͒ͭ̾ͥ̍̓ ̴̶̲͉̼͕̘̠̫͖̺͙͆̋ͭ̉͋̇̀ͪ̾̄̃ͩ̆̿ͮ̃͂̚̕ ͯ̑̃̅ͯͩ͛ͭ̃̈́̀ͩ̑̃҉̴̛͖̭̪̞͞ͅ ͪ̎ͫ̄ͧ̍ͤ͂͂͛͑̀̍ͦ̓́̀͏̢̧̧̘͈̣̖̯̻̦̳̟͎͇͚̜̳͎̦̝͢ ̉̃̽͆̽́ͦ̎͂̌́͂̒̋͠҉̵̷͕̬̤̯͍̪̫̻̙͈̰̕ ̴̶̧͓̲͉͔̰͖̖̝̰̳̳̤͉̹̰̘͇̮̃ͩͯ̇̓̿ͤͨ͘͡ ̛̩̰̗̝̻͚̯̮̘̬͈̲̯͔͉͔̝̃ͮ̄̂̔͗ͫ̓ͨ̒͊̕ ̩̲̤̥̗̙͇͚͕͕ͯ͋̃̍͆̈́ͧ̈ͪͧ͊͗͟͞͡ ̨̡͖̝̜̹͍͓͔̣̜̥̞̂̽̂ͧ̿ͣ̐͊͌̋͛̄ͯͦ͐͒͛̎͆͘̕͠ ̷̡̧͈͇͈̜̝͇͔̜͇̼̲̘͕͎̝̯͌͗ͧ̀͐̈̆̄̊̋͑͂̽̈͆͊͜͜ͅ ̶ͪ̉̃͑̆ͫ̑̓͊̈́͐ͩ͐ͮ̑͏̶̴͚̹̝̜̞̳̺̦̯̫̩͜ ̧̲͎̠̙̰̤̳͔̙̱̦̹͓̞̗͓̤̫̼̃̊ͩ̑̀̅͆̈́ͦ̔̆͒ͦͥͤͫ͟ ̧͎͔̯̯͉͎̜͍̹̱̬̩͈̩͉͎͉͒̃͐̄ͬ̀ͬ͜͞͠ͅ ̋ͧͤ̽ͯͧ̃ͭ̚҉̸̯̩͇͉ ̵̢̤̙̯̖͖̦͖̖̉̇͊ͯ̒͗̍̀ͥ̋͋͟͠ ͖͚̝̞̤̫̰̺͙̳̺̘̓̔̆̏ͨ͂͢͢ͅ ̷̶̺̩̰̩̦̤̅͛̈̿̋̆̆͑ͩ́͡͠ ̅̒͌͛ͪ͑̍҉̤̜̲̭͇͎̲̝͠ͅ ͑ͩ͐̌̔́͂ͥ̎͒͂ͬͪ̚͜͝҉̧͕̬̱͇̠͉̻̯͖̩̗͇̤̟͔͍ ̽ͦ̅̏͊ͬ̇̃̏̍͑̄̃͂͋̄͒ͯ͏̰̻̗͉̻͕̜̜ͅ ̸̨͊͌̐ͨ̎͏̦͖̙͖̝͔͠ ̶̶̨̯͍̳̙̪̻͎̆ͥ̔̋ͭ͝ͅ ̵̗̳̗̼̞̭̬͎̩̺͉̞͇ͭ̍͐ͮ͐̈́͠ ͧͫ̾ͪ̅̌̇̌̋̿͑̚̕҉̴͉̦̰̱̼̣̥͓̬̮̫̀ͅͅ ̵̴̷̩̼͈̖̦͉̲̲̦̬̱̃̅ͨͦͩ̒ͯ̌́̑̽̒̒̒͌͘͠ ̑̊ͬ̍̓̑ͦ͂͛͋̓ͦ̀̽͠͏͏͈̠̼͎ͅ ̨̹̭͉̦̌̽̄́̽͑̓̿̃́̚ ̶̥̦̼̫̲̥̠̲͇̳̜́̌ͫ͆̽̊ͨͧ́͟ ̨̗̘̭͔̾ͪ̇̀͠ ̛͈͙̞̩͇̱̜͎̩̯͈̣̹̙͙̘̠̰ͨ́̑͊͟͝ ̷̙̪̲̦̖̣̲̓͋͛̌͐͐̑̃̒͞͡ ̴̷̰͎̳̝̦̘̞̬͓̺̪̮͔̳̰͈̑̽̿̄̄̾͗̔̋͐̒̽̓̾ͮͤ̀ ̷̶̵̴͖͕͉̦̹̙̰͔̠͍͉̘͎̙͉̜͚̽̎̇̔̈ͥͮ̉̃ͫ̃̇͑̈̀ͭ̅̚ͅ ̶̡̨̦̦͇̦̮̂̊̏͗̏̍͛̽̓̿̆͛́͟ ̸̵̪͓̼̝̺͔̬̥̳̰̣̬̬͎̼̓ͮ̃̍̈͗ͭ̔ͮͮ̉̐ͭͧ͐͟͟͞ ̶̣̹͙̥̭̯̺̫̔̈ͬ͑̅̉̉̄ͨ͌͊ͤ̓̀̀ͅ ̨̞͕̝̭̗̖͍̋̄ͪ̄͌̓̊̇ͣͪͭ͐͗̽̈͐̈́̍̏ ̙͎̭̰̬̬́͗ͣͪ͊̀̍̊̆̓ͯ́̕͘ ̨̛̹̟̘̪̟̙͉͚̱̠̱̖̘̩͍̼̙̖͓ͧ̆̑̍̌ͭ̚͜͝͞ ̶̯̭̺̥̖̪̳̻͇̹̞̱͖̝̀͐̋ͤ̂͆̃ͭͮ̔͂ͫ̿̚̚͟͞ ̧̛̹͍̫̘̰͖̮͇̠͔̲ͣ͂̂̋̈́̿̽ͦ̊̍ ̴̵̦̙͉̥͚̟̱̙̮̼̼̬̫͖͖̮̹ͥ͋͑͌̀͜͠ͅ ̮̺̥̺̼̘̜̮͈̦͖̫̤̦͙̭̠͙̘͐̿ͦͭͨ̐̆̀ͪ̚͟͝͡ ̘̻͓̦̟̥̙̱͍̇ͦ̄͗́͢ ̶̧̠̗̰̯̣̰̳̗̜̻̲̻̺̮̺͈̙͊̑̈̃̏͊̚͘͞ ̵̥̳̺̹͔̰̟̠̔̿̑ͪ̈́̆̓̎͂̓͢͝ ̡̫͕̖̺̩̱̻͙̦̺̱̙͍̬͊ͫ̐̑͟ ̢̛̗̳̱͈͙͉͙̯̳̖͍̫̣̙͓͙͖ͣͥ̍̽̂̒̇͊͗̆̅ͪͨͥ́̄̇̑̕ ̩̜͔̣̜̮̲͔̲̮̣͉̦̻ͣ̾͋̍̚̕ͅ ̴̶͍̳͚̳͎̭̺̔̉̒ͨ̎͑̊̆͗̒ͤ̊̐̊ͧ̂͘ͅ ̨̠̥̩͇͓̳̘̜̮̝̩̜̬ͥ̀̓͆͗̄͜ͅ ͥ͗͂̄ͬ͂͂̋͐ͩ҉̲̭͇͓̘̻̻̳̤̲̭͟͢͜͢ ̷̧̜̬͈̳͙̘̼̫̟̙̪͍̱̅̄̈́ͦ̆ͯ ̵͇͉̝̘̺ͯ͋̍̅̐ͯͨ̔̂̚͘͞͝ ̷̶̴͖̯͕̞̜̖̼̱͕̭̱̎̆ͭ̍̂̿̄́͢ͅ ̹̮̭̼̱̖̝͖̬͈̺͕̤̟̐̈̂͂ͣ̉͋̈́͛͂̒̚̚̕͡ͅ ̢̛̽͂̂͗̔͂͒͐ͦͦ̔̎̈̚͏̟̺͓̼̞̳͕ ̸̦̰͙̻̝͙̭̗̭̎ͩ͂̀ͪ͑͗̕ ̷̪̹̻͔̪͚̱̉ͤ̉̌̂ͩ̓͒̽̈́̂ͨͩ̽́ ̧̙͕͔͎͚̩͖͔͇̝̝̙̳̖̄́ͤͧ̐̉̋͐ͯ̃ͬ̎ͭ̑̃̍͆͡ͅ ̢̂̆ͣͩ̿̉ͫ͌̾ͦͬ̈́ͣ̽҉҉̧̣͉̲͇̩͚̘̬̭̖̮̭͖̠̮͙͕͟ ̵̰̮̩̮̜̜̻̜̞͓̫̺ͭ̀ͯ̾͑ͪ̑̅̔ͤ͐̓̄̌ͨͬͧ̋̚͜͝ ̢̱̭͎̻͓̤̠̰̫̓̿̑͆͋͌ͦ̀̇͒̋ͣͬ̊̀ͨ̚͟͞ ̡̛̥̺̖͕͈̙̳̖̘̱͈͔̮̙͎̥̤ͫ̃͂̀ ̷̘͉̞̂̊̄ͤ͒̑̓͆͊̀̕̕ͅ ͎͍̻̮̺͈͎̻̹̬̖̳̹͍̬̲͖̺ͧ̈ͭ̎͌̏̊̀̕ͅ ̴̫̼̲͎͍͙̲̤̼͈̖̠͓̥̽ͩ̊̾̊̆̐̓̽̍́̕̕ ̸̶̟̼̜͇̬̪͈ͤ̔ͣ̄̾͗̑ͧ͢͟͜ ̧͔͎͍͇̦̗̳ͩͧ́̋ͮ̈͑͜ͅ ̨̭̥̩̖͙̻̮̼̜̗̪̻͙̬̒͋ͥ̋ͭ̔̀̓͛͌ͮ̿͜͢ ̪̼̟̖͔̙͈̰̤͓̮̥̱̩͔̖ͯ͌̄͒̔̔̾̏͌̍͂͋́̓̓͊́̚ ̢̢̻͍̩̦͗͗̈́ͦ̏̓̈́̌ͨͦ̈́̌̎͌ͭ̕͠ ̵̷̛̳͉̪͓̹̗͙͎͇̱̳̱̓ͩͣ̌̋̇̎͒ͮͅ ̶̧͓͎̗̥̜̲̠̣̥̾̇̏̎̏̿̉́ ̶̨̲̺̭̞̩ͮͪ̾͑ͤ̍̌͆ͪ͗ͤ̏̉̒̉̏̆͋̕͠͞ ̵̵͎̯͖̤̳̹̠͙̟̜̼̗̩̇ͩͮ͛̐͑͘ ̧̦͍̳̳̠̼͚̞̬̳̣͇̣̺͉͆̽͆ͯͪͣ̈́̂͂̅͐ͫ̒͡͞ͅ ̢̩̜̤̠̪̙͔͖̱̟͖̋̃͑͒̂̍ͨ̃ͥͭͬ̎͗̿̿̃ͦ̒̕͟͞ ̨̠̪̗̦͇̯̝̲̽̍̄̅ͥ̇́͆ͯ̆ͬ̔͗ͧ͑ͫ̉ͤͯ̕ ̶͎̝͉̱͈͕̟̟̳̬̼̿ͦ̄ͤ̇̔͌ͣͨ̔ͭ̊͊͞ͅ ͧ̽̌̋̍͏̘͎̣̝̰̣͉̱̞͚ ͓͍̼͖̻̜̺͉͋̐̉̓ͤͣ͛̚͜͞ ̴̧͖͚̬̯̭̙͔̫͗̈́̅͐̃͟ ̶̧̅ͥͣ̍͗̿̐́̓͆̀̾́͏͉͈̝͕̮̭̙̣ ̶͖̫̖͉̱͖͇̺̱̱̙̹͕̝̰͚̙͙ͫ̓̀ͭ́̀͝ͅ ̷͙̮̞̝̦̖̊̋͗̈͆̿ͪ͑͞ ̥̮̠̩͈̭̬͕͍̣͙̜̖͚̼̪͓̪ͧ̅̑̑͛̓̍̓ͪ̓̐ͯͤ̀ ̧̳̣͇̩͎̣̠͔̙̟̹̩̙͙̬͔̙̤̠̋͋ͪ̐̋̓̆ͧ̿̅ͬͨ̆ͩͧ́͘͘͠ ̶͍̻̥͈̟̬͗̔̑͋ͦ͗͛ͮͦ̑ͤ̊̄ͯ̉͗ͬ̀͜ ̷̼̤̣̮̻͍̝̣̺͌͊ͣ̒͆̄̾̀̚͠͝ ̶̵̺̞̙̟̦̖̭̰̞̯̬̰̠̱̩̼̗̪̇ͪ͑̇̔̄͗͌ͭͮ̎͝ ̛̓ͬͬͦͣͨ͛̍̉ͨ̉̋ͮ͜͞͏̦̟͎̙̱͙͢ ̲͇̮̩̪̯̠̺͙̤̟̘̤̟̖̬ͩ̎̏̌ͪ̊ͦ̊̿̉͛̽͂́̀ͅ ͖̣̞̱̩̤ͩͩͣ̾́̓͟͝ ̢̡̻̦̤̞̟̯̰͉̤͔͚̠̘̝ͫ̏̿̍̊̅̏̓̋͘͜ ̶̶̡͎͙̮̫̒̈́̊́͠ ̢̢̞̳̮͈̘̗͚̩̼̤̝͒ͤ̾ͪ̃̐̓̈̚͘͘͢ ̧̱̪͓̮͈͙̓̉̋͛̀̄̾̽ͯ͐̊ ͐ͯ̅͒ͤͮͬ͗͏̳̪͇̤̟̙͕̝͖̟̣ ̧͖̹͈̜͍̝̝͚̤̯͙̳̹̰̟̤̭͛͌ͪ͂̀ ̶̶̨͉͚͓̥̩̝̹̹͉̖̘̻ͣͦ̍ͧͣ͊ͦ̽̑ͩ̓̄͌̏͂ͦ͊́͠ ̛̺͙̪͈̞̤͇͉̜̘̙͔̝̯̥̜̥͙̉͌̆͑ͥ͘ ̴ͤ̉̓̊̇͛͋ͯ͆͒̃ͧ̃͂͒̅̚҉̙̣͍͚̟̝͈̰͓̳̱̮͇̮̫́̀ ̴͓͙̫̹̫͚̬̭̲͙͕̭̥̖͇̼̊̑̉ͥ̅͛́ͯ̽͂̀͘͜͝ ̴̷͐̐̽͘҉̣̫̹̖̺̦̤̝̩̥̠͚̱̞ ̴͈̫̥̞̤̻̤͍̱͍͖͖̩͙̰̮̺̍ͪͯ͑̎͊͒ͭ̂̊̍̾̓̎ͯͫ̀̕ ̸̺̞͙̫̫̮̪̿͒̂ͨ͒ͧͪ̎̂͌͂ͫͦ̐ͤ͌ͦ̉̅͠ ̴̴̨̮̠̳̞͉̤̥̟̋ͭ͂ͮͭ̿̑ͩ̕͜ ̳͕̘̰̫̲̠͍̜̣̠̯ͯ̈́̔͊ͤ̂ͬ̑ͨ͑̒̂̚͘ͅ ̢̎ͨ͒̕͢͡҉̦̙ͅ ̝̳̜̺͍̹͔̳̦̮̥̿̃̊ͭͤ̀́ ̶̡͈̩̺͕̘̖̥̂̎̍̊ͬ̂̍̌̄̈̂̄̎̍̃̓͜ ̴̧͖͈̭̻̖̪̝̪͚̘̥͎͔͚̙̇ͫ͋̅̇̾̉͋ͫ̉̾͊̔̈̎ ̷̵̷̷̨̼̭̜̰̅̅͋͋̋̈́͌ͣ̍ͭ ̵̒ͧ̋̔̕҉͙̺͇͇̬͇̦̭͎̯̯̪͔͡ͅ ̵͇̤̞̬̗̗̘̼̻͈͑̍͂͒ͯ͒͢͢͢ͅ ̧̛̉̉ͮ̀ͦͯ̅͛̈ͥ͑ͦ͒̉͌̑҉̗̱̹̣͈̺͇̯̗ ̶̸̛̜̰̳̫͓̫̪̞̩͚͗̎ͩ͋ͮͫ̒̉̒̔̒̚ͅ ̡̨̯̹̪͎͆̔͑ͦ͑̉ͧ̆ͣ̍̔͊́̔͆ͥͥ͐́͢ ̶̢̹͈̯̞͔̦̑̒͛̉̾ͭͯ̃͑̆̐͛ͥ̌͐̊ͩ̀̀͝ͅ ̡͕͎̬͖̗̥ͮ̀ͧ̊̆̾̏͛̀̓̐̾ͬͩͩ̀ ̵̍̐̾ͣ̉͊̑̆̈͒ͧ̄͗͆͛̔҉̨͓͇͙̙̖͇͈̬͖͙̮̼͓̮̞̦́ ̨͈̼̼̘̤̤̩̼͆̉̽̆͒ͯ͛̇͒̋͋ͤ̿̽̏̔̋ͫ̀͡ ̴̢̨̦͖̬͈̩͉̟͓̥̰͍̦̗̻̫͕̠̹̐ͧͣ̀ͩ̾̉́͒̂ͨ́̒ ͮ̾ͪ͋҉̟̗̰̭͝ ̴͉̺̜̞̜ͮ͐̈́ͬ̋ͤ̽ͯͧͪͫͩͪ͋̐͝ ̧͎̰͚̦̖̰̞̫̹̣̼̓ͯ͋̓͋̕͟͢ ̧̡̙̻̘͓̳̪͖̜͖̗̭̻͕͉̳̅ͨͣ̈́̄̊̏̌̐ͪ͛͐ ̸̷͔̘̘̭̒̽ͯ́͆͛͐ͥ̾͑̎́̚͢ ̡̩͍̯͙̌ͮ͌̿̎̍ͪͮ̇ͩ̚͝͝ ̶̮̱̣̞̥̺̭ͬ̄̓̐ͩ̓̈ͭ͜͞ ͗ͨ̃̈́̈̍͛҉̜̲̯̬̼̣͔͍͈͈͠ ̷̢͉͇̺͔̣̆̽̔ͣ̚͘͡͡ ̸͓̣̻̩̺͒͐̀̍ͤ̃̍ͩ́̐̈́͗ͩ̔̒͟͠ ̨̻̹̙̱͖͕̼͍͔͓̩̞̱͕̥̼̙̫̲̽̌̂̎̌̓͂̏́̚͜͡ ͩ́͒͌̾ͯ́̔ͦ̌̆͛ͩ̐̎̕͏̶̜̟̬͉͎̱̗̻͎ ̶̨̮̤̜͙̙̝̹̮̲̺̳̥̙̥̹͂̅͗ͩ́ͤ̀ͧ̓ͤ̚͡͡ I hear... a soft thumping heartbeat again. I flash my eyes open and gasp. Sing? No... I'm met by the face of a pale, chitin-skinned woman. She has two antennae, long, neat black hair, and a sly, closed-eye smile on her face. Beyond her, the sky is clear, painted purple and gold. 『 I... 』 It's difficult to speak. She tilts her head at me. 『 « I...den...tif...y... » 』 〖 Identification was obstructed. 〗 「 Ｃｒｉｅｒ？」 I blink at her. She points to her own face and says, 「 Ｐｏｌｉｍｉｏｎ．」 『 ... 』 I close my eyes again. She carefully pats the top of my head. Strangely, I feel nothing. 「 And now. 」 An echoing, deity-like voice projects in my head. It is womanly, motherly... and familiar. 「 Wipe your wicked devices from my grounds and stand afar. 「 This is as much charity as can be, Polimion. 」 This is the voice of a raid boss from Myriad Worlds, but I have nothing more to comment. 「 … 」 The insect-like demon lady, "Polimion," gently sits me up on the stone tiled ground. There, she takes my hand in hers, slips a metal handle into my grip, and closes my hand around it. The metal object feels heavy, and damp... but not cold. I look up at her- Something lands in my eye. I squeeze it shut, then blink it out. Something else lands on the tip of my nose. It's wet. These are tears. I'm being cried on. ... A hand grabs Polimion by the shoulder. When she turns around, I can see by whom. An old Asian man, menacing, but wrought with exhaustion. 「 ▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯▯▯． 」 He says, in a language I don't understand. The demon lady looks down at me, closes her eyes, then sighs... 「 ▯▯▯▯▯ ▯▯▯． 」 ...before hugging me. 『 ... 』 「 Ｍａｉｎｉｄａｉ． 」 I cover my ear. Immediately, she and the old man depart, leaving me alone, dead centre in the flat open area. I notice then, the giant rucksack Polimion carries on her back. Attached to its sides are two coffins of similar make. The twin wooden coffins are "me" sized. I'm not disturbed by this. I look down at the metal item she gave me. It's black, with engravings on the handle. A light tint of blood lingers on the blade. I already know -- this is Jing'ra dirk, but that said, it's a sword for me. Heavy, and unwieldy. ...No. That is only half true. It's not a sword for me, this belongs to Sing. I'm only holding onto it for her. That is all this is. 「 ...Crier. 」 『 ... 』 「 Crier. 」 『 Wa... 』 It's still hard to speak. How annoying. 『 W...hat... do... you... wa...nt... 』 「 ... 」 『 ... 』 There is a moment of absolutely nothing. 『 « Iden...tify... » 』 ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

LV.1 ▬ Crier '' Streya

Undead ᵈᵢBlack-Lamb Pure-Demon

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HP ▐ 6/6(15) MP ▐ 289238 144 SP ▐ 8/8(20)

P.ATK ▐ 1 (1)

P.DEF ▐ 40(101)

M.ATK ▐ 0 (0)

M.DEF ▐ 40(100)

Effects ▐ ◈ ᵈᵢⓈ∞

▐ ◈ Suppressed Demonic Miasma

▐ ◈ Ruptured Mana Pool

▐ Eldritch Serendipity[LV.1]

Titles ▐ 「 Prophet of Joy 」「 Feral 」

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Very funny... A wholesome joke... 「 Little demon girl. 」 『 ...What. 』 「 Look at me when I am speaking to you. 」 『 ... 』 I turn my head just enough to glance at her in the corner of my eye. Two meters from my face, I'm met by her giant blue fox eyes staring at me intently. I'm unphased. 「 Crier... do you desire life? 」 『 ...I don't... c...care... 』 Her expression doesn't change. I drop my gaze back to the ground. 「 Then what do you care about? 」 『 ... 』 「 Do you care of anything else? 」 『 ... 』 「 Yourself? 」 『 ... 』 「 Would you have said yes if your sister were here? 」 『 N... 』 I shut my mouth and glance away. She pauses, before drawing back, beginning a silent stalk around me. I keep my eyes down and wobble the dirk on the tip of its blade. Its head slowly etches into the cold rock. 「 Would you care for your sister's friends? 」 『 ... 』 「 Would you care about your sister's enemies? 」 『 ... 』 「 What if... you met your sister's killer? 」 Crackle. I push the dirk into the ground, it splits the stone like butter. 『 ... 』 A light breeze blows by, disturbing the trees. The giant white fox continues her prowl, undisturbed. 『 I... got it... 』 I pull the dirk from the ground and prop myself up on one leg. 『 You want... to fight me... 』 I leverage myself on one arm, and push myself up onto my other leg. But my balance gives, and I fall back to one knee. 『 You didn't... have... to do that...』 I take a deep breath, and push myself up onto both feet at once. 『 I will... gladly... kill you. 』 I can hardly hold my balance, and I don't have the strength to fully raise my upper body, but... this stance is more or less expected. It's how the undead stand. 『 « ...Identify » 』 Princess Agehatate

LV.100 | The Twin Tailed Fox

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HP 200,000 / 200,000 Princess Agehatate... fine. The giant magical white fox that lives atop a mountain temple. Nine tails, nine phases... but she only has two tails right now. That means she's in her eighth phase, of nine. After this phase, she has one hundred thousand more health, so... although it says 200,000... it's actually 300,000. Jing'ra had 228 health points when I fought him. Well, this and that aren't really comparable though. PvE and PvP differences, after all. Boss mechanics... and all that... 「 Is that so... 」 One foot in front of the other, she walks away, to the far end of the temple courtyard where a pagoda towers over the walled arena. 「 Of course... a fight. 」 There, she lies down and closes her eyes. 「 Two thousand, seven hundred and fourteen years... 「 and all we know is war when the way is lost. 」 One by one, blue butterflies appear out of thin air. They flutter, translucent, glowing, all around the forest. Over, and on Agehatate, they rest; quickly, in the hundreds, but promptly, in the thousands. 「 What else can we do, but give up, and die apathetically...? 」 At once, the resting butterflies spring forth from Agehatate's fur, and gather in the air above her into two shrinking, fluttering spheres. An ascending wail pours from them, openly declaring their threat. I tighten my grip on the dirk and steady my balance. 「 ...Fight, and fight, and fight, forever. 」 Steadily, the beating of the butterflies' wings become indistinguishable from the wild wisps of a blue flame. And in seconds, the spheres drop, and explode, forming two burning pillars. From the inferno, two silhouettes of foxes in Agehatate's likeness emerge. Although smaller, they bear runic markings differentiating themselves. One carries long twisting curved markings, the other, sharp, structural ones. They have specific names to go along with their story... their lore... but right now, they are C-Fox and H-Fox to me. It is what I am used to calling them, as well as... what I'm used to hearing. 「 You've done this before. Do it again... defeat them. 」 The creatures bend down... then sprint forwards. I clamp both hands on the dirk as hard as I can. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. I watch them for a moment... then turn my back, and hurl the dagger as far away from them as I can. Admittedly, that's not very far. 「 Ｃｒｉｅｒ！」 Polimion? I see her, she's calling me from the opposite end of the courtyard, where a big red torii is standing, along with that old man. Behind them -- I can see the beginnings of a sunri- Thud. I'm struck from behind. My body soars through the air, farther than I could throw the dirk. It tumbles to the ground and rolls, stopping lifeless against the cold stone. Curved markings... C-Marks, appear on my body; limbs, neck, face, and notably, over the dark burn-scar like patterns on my back... Just a second after, the C-Fox follows behind, passing my body with a wide turning arc. ... I run after my body- 『 Gh-?! 』 「 Fruits of the same tree often end up in the same place. 」 Princess Agehatate's Soul

LV.100 | The Twin Tailed Fox

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HP N / A Agehatate is lying next to me, tinted blue, like the rest of the spirit realm. 「 As it happens, the fruit split in two often do as well. 」 I look down, to see a weightless chain burned into my neck. Following its length... leads my gaze all the way up to Polimion, where I see it phasing into one of the coffins attached to her rucksack. 『 ... 』 I won't question it. Nothing surprises me anymore. I press my lips together, grab the chain, and trudge forward, towards my body. 「 Blemishes -- are one reason why they seldom don't. 」 I also become sick of fruit analogies. 『 ...?! 』 Although weightless, trying to drag the chain through the air, is like pulling it through an invisible mud. There's a kind of resistance to its movement, almost nostalgic. 『 Tch... 』

Being sent to the spirit realm was as expected... That is the initial effect of receiving a C or H-Marking attack. It does no physical damage but separates the soul from the body. This chain - however - was not, and it's going to throw off my timing. I brandish my nails and prepare to cut into- 「 You will die. 」 I hate this. With little choice, I pull myself - and the chain - the dozen or so meters to my body, before reaching... ...out... ...to touch it. On contact a vacuum effect quickly pulls the rest of me into... me. Although, this happens to be quite painful with the chain lagging behind- 『 Ha...! 』 My eyes flash open. I'm laying on my side. My breath is completely gone; I'm gasping for it... I need... I need to get up... now... There's no... no time... I push myself up on two feet immediately, and start walking before even raising my upper body. Clutching my chest, I breathe as hard as I can, quickly, and fully, restoring my meagre stamina points. As I look up, I can see the C-Fox having slowed down to a walk. I turn to look for the H-Fox next... to see it already gathering blue fire in its mouth. Expending all my stamina points, I manage a hop, just slightly inching me faster into arms reach of the C-Fox's tail. I maintain a harsh breath to extend my stamina as far as it can go- 『 ...? 』 It's really... soft. Ah, hurry... I need to hide behind it fully... With a skip, I raise myself off the ground to climb onto it, but as I leap, the rapidly approaching sound of burning makes it clear there's only a second or less before impact. I have to make do with clinging to the giant tail itself. Fwoom! The air around me suddenly intensifies in heat, as a blue flame lance crashes against the other side. The tail offers little protection, and I feel licks of fire curl around it, lashing me from behind, but it's only for a moment... It's enough for my burn adaptations to handle. The tail, and I, are quickly pulled out of the heat zone. Shutting my eyes, I hold on as tightly as I can to avoid getting thrown off. Wind blows this way and that, tugging me in several directions, but the fox's fur bears the brunt... And slowly, the turbulence dies down... ... I open my eyes. I'm not sure how I've held on but... by some miracle of physics... I have. This was also... unexpected- 『 Eep! 』 I shut my eyes again as I feel my side-tail being pulled. I'm easily pried away from the fox tail, and I feel myself being lifted... high... into the air... I... what? Oh... Oh no... What have I done... What is she doing? I've... never seen her do this... I've never heard of her being able to do this... I've never heard of someone pulled off a fox before. Is this an attack I've just never seen? Where does it fit into her attack rotation? Wait I... before that... I... I can't do anything from here... How... how high up am I? I should have let go, I didn't think I'd hold on. I was afraid of being thrown into the ground and instantly dying. But now I'm just going to die to some stupid mistake... Wait, I'm... I'm not dead yet, I can salvage this. The dirk, right, I- I threw it. But I threw it to lower the risk of it being launched to an unpredictable place. Once you're hit by a marking attack and soul-separated, you drop your weapons. So... right... there was no way to get the dirk- because of that unexpected chain... I... I messed up. I panicked... I...?! I'm dropped. I feel myself picking up speed. I curl up and brace for impact... ...! Thump. ...? I open one eye. I see the ground very near to my face. I open the other and quickly unfurl my body. I'm safely on the ground... Was I... lowered? 「 You are blessed with a very unique body, child. 」 I quickly turn to face Nine-Tails, and I feel my hand land on the dirk's blade. Silently, she looks down at me, Agehatate in her very own body. As I look around, I notice her summoned twin foxes have disappeared... 「 But I am sorry, your time is up. 」 My hands twitch. 「 In mere moments, the sun will rise. 「You know what that means... don't you? 「This little engagement is over. 」 My gaze slowly... falls to the ground once again. Agehatate lies down, seemingly in response, and crosses one of her legs over the other. 「 I am glad however, for it was very difficult to fight you. 「Watching you struggle so humorously... I simply could not. 」 『 ... 』 「 Stay Polimion. If you step further, I will swallow her whole. 」 I freeze up. I feel her eyes on me... 「 Watching both you, and your sister... it has slowly become clear to me. 「 I have made a grave mistake, and so, I must apologize to you both. 」 I fidget, moving my eyes around the ground. 「 ...You are not Crier, are you? 」 Then my eyes widen. 『 H...uh? 』 「 When I first saw your sister, I heard the voices of millions. 「 They cried out all at once for their fallen brothers and sisters. 「 Revenge. Justice... The feelings that called you to fight me. 」 She lowers her head, resting her chin on her paws. Even so, her head is so large that I'm still looking up at her. 「 As time went on, those voices hushed, more and more still. 「Now? I hear the beating of butterfly wings in the forest. 」 As she closes her eyes, I feel Agehatate take a deep breath. It's enough to physically disturb my sitting. 「 We can see, you are not the ones that killed us some odd millennia ago. 「 You are not of The Demon King's Devil Twin Generals. 」 『 ...I- 』 She opens one eye. I shrink back and close my hands. My nails dig further into the dirk. 「 You are awfully intent on pretending, however. 「 So I must ask. What is your real name? Do you have one? 」 I look softly at the ground... and begin scratching without a care for the sound. 『 Yes... I do. 』 Finished, I look up at her, raising the dirk to place it next to my side tail. 『 It's Streya. «Mana Barrier» 』 The magic circle on the dirk's handle lights up, as I cut off the tied curls bound to my head. Agehatate's eyes widen before she hastily steps back. In that time, my cut off side-tail burns up, and my skin briefly flickers with an eerie blue light. The familiar ascending glassy sounds of magic fill the air, and a crystalline shell flashes around me before conforming to me and fading. I feel burning. Heat, entering my body, passing through my arm, into the dirk only to travel back through my arm and out the same path. It's scathing, almost boiling in my arm... but I see no physical destruction. It is painful, and not painful. It's a difficult to describe feeling, but as long as I'm not being permanently damaged it's all just expense. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

LV.1 ▬ Crier '' Streya

Undead ᵈᵢBlack-Lamb Pure-Demon

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HP ▐ 6/6(15) MP ▐ 287581 243 SP ▐ 8/8(20)

P.ATK ▐ 1 (1)

P.DEF ▐ 40(101)

M.ATK ▐ 0 (0)

M.DEF ▐ 40(100)

Effects ▐ ◈ ᵈᵢⓈ∞

▐ ◈ Suppressed Demonic Miasma

▐ ◈ Ruptured Mana Pool

▐ Eldritch Serendipity[LV.1] ▐ Mana Barrier

Titles ▐ 「 Prophet of Joy 」「 Feral 」

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Over two hundred eighty thousand mana, huh? The hundreds place is changing faster than I can read it as well. Isn't this nice? My mana, is now my health, plus my actual health! I have almost as much HP as Agehatate herself! What a conveniently impossibly large amount of mana! Now I just need some EXP to compensate for these awful stats... Who reanimated me anyway? That bug lady? That old man? A sixty percent stat drop is a sign of an awful job done you know? Are you new to necromancy? You should be embarrassed! Quit! 「 Streya then... is it? 」 Right, Nine-Tails... Let's get her out of the way, huh? Thank you for the blood, Sing! 『 « Rip So-! 』

Thud. 『 A-Aya? 』 My back is on the ground again? I look behind me, turning my head upside down. The dirk was knocked out of my hands, I can see it though. I reach out my arms to grab it. My hands are promptly crushed under a giant tail. That's... not grabbing it... 『 ... 』 I look down at my chest. I'm being stepped on with her full weight. My mana dropped by about two thousand points... but it's fluctuating a lot so it's kind of hard to tell. I'm assuming it's doing damage though because this hurts a lot! 『 Let me go. 』 She doesn't even look at me. 『 Let-me-go! Let-me-go! O-ne-gai! 』 「 What -- are you doing. 」 『 Why do you care. 』 I give her an unamused expression. She brings her face close to mine, uncomfortable close. Gross. I turn my head away and give her a disgusted side glance. 「 ...Do you enjoy being unhappy? 」 『 Yes, I love it. Death to all, etc. etc. 』 She doesn't make any expressions. 『 Hey, can you send me to the spirit realm again? 「 I want to see all those people I massacred, what are they like now? 「 Do souls age? Are the kids older now? What about the old people? 』 Nine-Tails continues not to make any expressions. 『 Well?! Kill me then?! What are you wasting time for? 「 If you don't want me to come back chop me up and put me in barrels! 「 Bury the bits, scatter me like dust, whatever! 』 ... 『 Fine, nothing is okay too. Let's just stare at each other for eternity- 』 She lets me go for a brief second- 『 Aaah!? 』 -before trapping my whole body underneath her tail, save for my head. 「 You are awfully intent on pretending. 」 『 Kh...?! 』 「 ... 」 I writhe my body to squirm free, but the cracked stone underneath me makes it impossible. My head as well is... starting to heat up uncomfortably. 「 Breathe. 」 『 ... 』 I hold my breath. Thud. 『 ?! 』 The wind is knocked out of me. My vision blackens as I reflexively try to fill my lungs. 「 Stop thinking... breathe, child. 」 I gulp in between breaths. The pressure on my body is... forcing me to take breaths... My head... feels... really hot... It's... it's bright... It's too... br... ...ight... 『 Nn... 』 I feel uncomfortable... I squirm until my head finds a soft place to rest. Here? No... Here... there's... a soft heartbeat here... 『 ...? 』 [END] 「 What ails you, Polimion? 」 I keep my eyes fixed on Sing and Crier... I... I still can't believe it... they're... They're breathing... so fragile... Haha... finally... finally! After so long...! After so much suffering... It's finally over... They can rest... That's... That's really it... They'll be okay... 「 E-Erm... right... well... 」 My smile, stage by stage, turns downwards. As I slowly realize what Xaiyoya is trying to say. 「 How do I put this... 」 「 ...Highlanders... 」 Xaiyoya turns to me as I squeeze out their name with venom. At the same time, Agehatate wraps Sing and Crier up with one of her tails. 「 I have heard of them... what of them? 」 「 They're coming, here... you have to leave. 」 She looks down at me, unresponsive. 「 It can't wait, they could be here any minute. 「 If they find you... they'll kill you -- and them. 」 I bring my hand up to my mouth, I... regrettably haven't had the time to prepare for this... Where... where would be a good place for them to go? She's a Rogue Lesser Goddess so... 「 No. 」 「 North...? Maybe... 」 「 We will not leave. 」 ... 「 Agehatate... please, this is...」 「 This may be difficult for you to understand, Polimion, 「 but for entities such as I, leaving, is not such a trivial matter. 」 「 W...What do you need to leave? I'll help, I'll use everything I have to-」

「 There is no physical construct preventing us from leaving. 「 It is a matter of history, legacy, faith- 」 「 Oh my goodness.」 I cover my face with my hands. I cannot believe this is a problem. 「 Listen to me... history, legacy, faith, all of that, is important, I understand. 「 This land has some kind of... connection to you beyond just a home. 「 Look, really! I understand! But... if you stay here... you will die.」 「 ...You underestimate what I am capable of. 」 「 You are overestimating what you're capable of! 「 These people are God Killers, it is what they do, that is their thing! 「 When the entirety of the realm is at threat, they are the ones that-! 」 「 I have heard of them. We will not leave. 」 Wha... 「 What part of... "They will kill you," do you not understand? 「 It's non-negotiable, you have to leave! Right now- there's no time!」 「 ... 」 I stare at her, she closes her eyes. I glance at Sing and Crier, she covers them with her tails. 「 I believe your job here is done. 」 「 We... are so close... 」 「 Er... Alph-Polimion... 」 「 We're so close Agehatate! Literally, all you have to do is leave! 「 You're safe, they're safe, live happily ever after! What good is history, 「 legacy or any of that crap when you're dead?! Just... just go! Please!」 「 Enough! 」 I hold my arms up as a powerful gust of wind roars down the mountain. My footing barely holds, and I'm pushed all the way to the opposite end of the courtyard. 「 A show of generosity... and courteousness. I have welcomed you into my home. 「 Since then, I have permitted numerous taboos and forbidden acts of you two, 「 who have no right to have ascended my mountain in the first place. 」 「 ... 」 「 Leave and I will even spare you banishment as a gesture goodwill. 「 I know what these twins are to you, so you may return another day.」 What the hell. 「 Artibeus. 」 「 Ah! Polimion! This... is going a bit too far isn't it?! 」 I dig my hands into my pockets and glare at him. 「 Listen, Xaiyoya, I have to thank you for everything. 「 You've done much more than I've paid you for...」 「 Please, you're too generous, I'm the one that- 」 「 So, as your employer, I'm asking you to go home.」 I watch carefully as Agehatate gently places Sing and Crier within the confines of the pagoda, not at any point opening her eyes. 「 Alph... Polimion...」 「 It's not safe here. Go home, see your son again. 「 I'll just wrap up here and be with you in a few hours.」 I shrug. 「 Maybe I'll even pick you up on the way back. 」 He swallows his breath and nods- 「 T-The Goddess is with you. 」 -before scurrying down the mountain. 「 Now... where was I... 」 I scratch my cheek. 「 Right- Artibeus.」 I grab hold of as many coins as can fit in my hands, and close my eyes. Everything is for this moment. If they're gone, there are no more reasons. Therefore... any price, is applicable here. Every second is priceless. Breathe in. 「 « Myriad Armoury » 」