Happy New Year to you all!! Nice and gloomy chapter to end the year with…
The calm of the lake
The night came awfully early at this time of the year, shrouding the perpetual fog that so thoughtfully retreated to hang low over the bleak blackness of the lake, yet the milky haze glowed strangely in the faint veil of the lunar light coming from the full moon above. Stars fighting to show their resplendence contrasted so grimly with the scars carried by the moon, the dark craters and all the imperfections strangely visible to anyone who only dared to take a closer look.
Vergil sat in grave silence in his chair, the fire crackling brightly in front of him, the comforting glass of brown liquid resting faithfully by his side. Dark shadows danced across the dimly lit room, the restless flames pulling their strings like an evil puppeteer, whirring and jerking them about in a sickly waltz of horrid shapes that could have been spawned by hell itself.
His face was lit fully, taking on an eerie cast enhanced by a hint of a cruel smile in the form of an upward twitch of the left corner of his mouth and the devilish glee in his strangely lit azure eyes. The blade in his lap purred, receiving undivided attention from its master as it was being cleaned and polished meticulously and diligently.
Vergil was fully aware of the woman next door watching, with the help of the antique telescope in her bedroom, and he made sure she had a full view of his ominous weapon that he so expertly tended to. Time for her to see the true horrors of Monterey, and it had nothing to do with the daunting lack of electricity. She would not last much longer, of that he was certain.
"That's right, sharpen your weapon. You will need it to slay the evil she-monster that is threatening your impervious decorum, and morbid silence," Vesta rolled her eyes royally, pulling away from the lens of the telescope. She didn't know why she even bothered to see what he was doing, wasn't she supposed to be ignoring him? But the temptation was simply too strong, she didn't know if it was the idea of spying again like she used to that stirred her long 'put at the back of the file', happier than most memories or if she maybe thought he wasn't as superficial or suffering from an inferiority complex as the rest of 'the other kind'.
That thought first entered her mind after she spent a better part of ten minutes trying to wrench the hatchet out of another ancient tree, and nothing around here seemed younger than a hundred years, that was apart from him despite the white hair. Still that just made him very strong and nothing more. He was still an ass, a royal one at that. Still, did she become too hasty in her assessments? But even if she was right, when did she ever learn? Shouldn't she be leaving now?
A grievous sigh escaped her, there was only one cure for that kind of a mood, a hot bath. In a way it was kind of refreshing to have to boil the water on the stove and pour it into the antique, free standing bath, filled with a small amount of cold water from a local spring. It must have been private because it was just too fresh and free of all the preserving chemicals they used in the city.
Vesta prepared herself some warm dinner and then indulged in a very long hot soak, a true treat after that freezing morning and the encounter with the iceman himself! Completely lost in the world of hot steam and soapy bubbles softly caressing her pink flushed skin, she closed her eyes in pure bliss, head resting on the rim of the bath, and minutes turned to hours.
The soft sound of music flowed from a small, battery powered radio, accompanied by a low, perfectly in-tune humming that was escaping from her lips. The music then stopped, to her annoyance, replaced by the local news; a boom of butchers in town as the popularity of sausages was on the increase, shortage of vegetables as no one wanted to grow them, some people have gone missing, a terrible accident in a nearby gas station as the attendant had been found in a pool of his own blood, the ugly head with yellow teeth was there but no body, strong winds and heavy rain forecasted for tomorrow evening…
Was there no good news in this ridiculous corner of the world, Vesta pondered broodingly, wondering whether the deceased man was the one she met the day before which would add up by his description. It was the one that recommended her this madhouse place, maybe somebody else received the same 'brilliant' advice and later expressed their disappointment, she snickered evilly. Or they needed more meat for those sausages, who the hell knew. She reached out with her soapy hand and turned it off, remaining still at the sudden, clear sound of a branch braking outside.
The second time followed shortly, a much louder crack right under the window and it made her heart race. Slowly, carefully she pulled herself up and listened, stretching her body just far enough to be able to peek outside. It would have been pitch dark was it not for the bright cascade of moonlight streaming down through the clear black sky, the yellow moon shining like the sun of the night.
Her eyes flickered about warily, sweeping over the narrow path that encircled the house, her knuckles turning white from clutching the parapet. A dark figure emerged from the shadows. It was the man she met that morning, shrouded in a coat of midnight blue, his stride slow and uneven. Her eyes grew wide at his revealed visage as he turned towards the house. The lunar light cast an eerie gleam over his pallid face that was covered in blood on one side, a deep wound showing raw flesh glistened on his neck on the other side.
Vesta stilled, eyes narrowing at the brief shimmer of something he was hiding up till now, revealed only by the movement of his long coat when he stopped to open the door. It was long and narrow, scarlet dripped slowly from its tip. She gasped. It was the sword he was cleaning earlier, now soaked in blood, blood drawn from a living being… Was it the man at the gas station? It couldn't have been, they found his body yesterday, unless…
She quickly got out of the bath, nearly slipping on the smooth tiled floor, water dripping everywhere. Heart pounding wildly in her chest, she put on some clothes and raced to the bedroom to dive into her rucksack. Hands shaking, she pulled out her cell phone. The battery was dead. Cursing, she threw it back in the bag. Who would she call anyway? The police? She nearly burst out laughing. That's right, get your face splattered all over the news, that would keep you so well hidden and undisturbed. She shook her head, frowning.
It might have been nothing. No proof of anything. Innocent until proven guilty, right? But she should watch him…secretly…just in case.
Her head turned spontaneously to the window and her shaky hand took hold of the telescope. No harm in seeing what he was doing. Her chocolate brown eye looked through the lens.
He was sitting in his chair, drinking again, not a good sign for someone with a sharp blade and a permanently bad mood; a very bad prospect for those around him. The deep wound on his neck pulsated heavily, a small amount of blood flowing out with every beat yet he seemed to be ignoring it like it was a mere scratch. The sword was in his lap, being cleaned again with a cloth that he ran across its shimmering steel edge with his eyes closed, the rag was then tossed into the fire coming to life in front of him. Took some great skill not to get those fingers chopped off, either that or the sword wasn't real…Vesta mused.
Vergil opened his deeply set, moonstone eyes, looking sternly at the bloodied cloth that started to burn and turn slowly to charcoal black. His search turned fruitless again, to his bitter disappointment. With every failure it proved even harder to fight the destitution, the endless whispers, the insufferable weight of the crushing darkness that always followed.
The voices, the ever present dark voices, fabricated by the depths of his own faltering mind, whispering, shouting, telling him to give up his hopeless struggle, urging him to let go, laughing at his futile perseverance, his shattered will to go on, his pointless refusal to accept his inescapable fate.
Hell will have you…
He had to keep them away, keep them all away from him, even his brother, to fight this losing battle with no witnesses to bear, no one to fall victim to his uncontrollable rage driven by those maddening whispers, fuelled by desperation and hopelessness, no one would be safe anymore as the blinding madness bled into reality.
He now understood, he knew what it was like for his father, the burden he carried, the burden he had to take away with him. Why he left his family, left them all so vulnerable, so exposed to the threat of both worlds, unprotected, and unprepared… By doing this he protected them from a threat far greater than all the evil in this corrupted, prejudiced world and the inherent wrath of the underworld, he protected them from himself and from the unbearable curse of his heritage, the heritage of a demon.
Dante must never know, he must never know what happened to our father, and what is to become of me…
He could never let Dante see, allow him to understand, let him watch how he would crumble and disintegrate in front of his brother's eyes while destroying everything that he loved, that he sworn to protect. His brother was safe, by ignoring, loathing even the demon blood that flowed in his veins and Vergil would make sure it would stay that way, he would no longer encourage him to embrace it, a mistake Vergil himself had grown to regret.
Staring vacantly into mid-distance, he finally closed his eyes, an unstoppable tear cascading down in desolate realisation, at a memory that would never leave his tormented mind, a memory of that night he awoke his brother to his demonic heritage, on top of that ancient tower, the night he nearly destroyed his brother's life.
Yet there was still a hope, no matter how fragile and distant, and he would hold on to it until there was not a single breath left in his lungs, not a shard of energy left in his body, not a sign of sanity left in his mind…
Vesta pulled away from the spy-glass, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, relatively speaking as nothing seemed ordinary with this man anymore. All she could do in the meantime however was to keep quiet, relatively speaking, and make sure he didn't do something that would attract too much attention, for her sake.
She slept uneasily that night, the divine softness of the four poster bed felt less comforting as the night brought unwanted dreams upon her, dreams of her past rekindled by the strange events of that day, bringing back the memories that made her run away and hide in a place no one with a sound mind would stay even one minute not to mention consider it their home.
The morning passed her by tossing and turning, tangled up in the soft sheets, moaning quietly in the confines of her turbulent sleep. The sun rose and shone, warming up the frozen ground only to be swallowed up by the fog that so relentlessly claimed its dominance over this land. It wasn't till the early afternoon when she finally woke up, tired and drowsy.
Sleepy, knuckles wiping at her eyes, she opened the window in hope of the fresh air waking her up fully. It wasn't the fresh air however, as the stench of fresh manure yet again greeted her instead, it was the large white sign hammered into the ground that pulled her into full alertness, and into a mood of defiant retaliation.
The bloody cheek of that bastard! Enraged, she instantly marched to her suitcase, rummaging through its contents, quickly realising that she had actually no clean clothes left to put on. Resorting to an old dirty white t-shirt and worn out jeans that had more holes in them than an emmental cheese, she scooped up her most dirty clothes into a reed laundry basket and headed outside armed with a bar of soap and her vocal cords.
Passing the big and loud sign that read 'Keep Quiet!' in large, thick black letters written in a style that reminded her of the old map Lea gave her at the agency, Vesta gave it a good glare and stuck out her tongue on the way to the lake. She sat down on the small wooden pier, setting the basket next to her and began to express her rebellion against the whimsical methods and demands of her mysterious neighbour, by singing, loudly and way out of key.
It was stupid, it was cold, no it was bloody freezing, but how else could she make it clear that he wasn't going to dictate how she lived her life? And quiet sure wasn't it. She loved her singing, the only way she knew to escape the loneliness that followed the escape from assholes like him.
The water appeared so clean despite its deceiving darkness from further away, its calm surface as smooth as a mirror, unruffled by the slight westward breeze, as if the ever present fog creeping protectively through the swaying reeds kept it from being disturbed.
She was about to dip the soap in to lather a piece of her clothing when a deep, icy voice interrupted her.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." It was said as a warning, calm yet commanding.
Damn, that was quick. Vesta pondered how she got him out of the house so fast, the last badly dissonant notes of her song diminishing as she turned her head to face him. He stood there, his steel blue coat flapping in the light breeze, arms folded on his chest as if he'd been there for a while, face expressionless. There were no signs of blood or even a scratch left of his wound from last night, his neck as smooth and pale as alabaster. Did he fake it?
"But you are not me, are you!" she snapped, turning away from him, her small hand half way in the water.
"They don't like to be disturbed," he interjected in an unstrained tone. His finger shot out nonchalantly towards the sign that was thrust deeply into the frozen ground, the other side of it now facing her, the side she didn't see before, and it read in the same, old style letters: 'No singing!' Her jaw dropped in outrage, only inwardly as she just barely managed to abstain from letting it show.
"You mean you don't like to be disturbed," she rolled her eyes sarcastically, not even looking at him.
"Correct. Only there are a lot worse things around here than me."
"You know, you really go to great lengths to scare me. Like with all that bleeding," the brunette waved her hand wryly near the same spot his deep cut had been the night before. "Really hilarious by the way," she finished, snorting. Her head turned and her eyes met with his.
There was neither amusement nor offence in those ice laced blues. Instead he simply shrugged. "Don't say I didn't warn you." He set off to leave.
Vesta shook her head, a small complacent smile etched on her lips as she started to lather the soap, crooning, oblivious to the dark shadow that slid across the water behind her, on the other side of the narrow mole.
Both hands submerged in the lake, the cold biting her reddening skin, she would endure this insanity to spite him instead of washing her clothes inside, in the warmth of the house. Like she was going to listen to his empty threats, even the blood wasn't real, how could he have healed so fast?
With a dark frown of determination she set to work, unaware of her vigorous splashing disturbing the calmness of the mirror like surface, or the off key tunes of her song stirring the remnants of a long lost past.
As more shadows converged underneath, the clear water churned and swirled, causing the small wooden pier to flap against its choppy surface, harder and faster, her small frame nearly losing balance as her knees began to slide from side to side. Yet she ignored it, mistaking her own overzealous movements to be the cause of the commotion until she felt something wet and cold creep up and wrap itself around her ankle.
Vesta jerked back tensely, nearly dropping the soap and a piece of her clothing into the water that began to darken all around her. Her eyes grew wide, panic rising painfully in her clutching guts. She grabbed the edge of the wooden raft a split second before her legs were yanked backwards and she fell on her stomach, her face smacking briefly into the water.
Pulling up she gasped for air, trying hard to see what was going on, water dripping from her face and eyes, her legs held tight, she glanced behind her yet there was nothing there. Only a semblance of a black shadow and the feeling of wetness, cold and chilling, creeping further up her legs, squeezing them together tighter and tighter.
She tried to lift herself up but there was no feeling in her legs, then the force tugged again and she slid fully across the narrow mole straight into the freezing lake. Hands flapping violently about, she managed to grab the piece of wood again, nails scraping across the rough surface as the invisible forces dragged her back under.
The fog thickened as if trying to hide the gruesome deed that was only witnessed by the swaying reeds, the flock of birds flapping their wings somewhere in the marshy shallows, and the man standing with his back to the whispers in the wind and to the violent splashing of the churning water.
A desperate scream carrying the plea for help ripped through the air, slicing through the milky thickness like a knife through butter. His face was unreadable, unmoving as he half turned his body in a tentative way to take in the view of the lake, ears attuned to the slightest change of sounds and pressure in the air.
The noises diminished, only the soft rustling of the tall, majestic reeds remained, their thick camouflaged bodies and brown heads bending like an army circling the lake with a never fulfilled intention to ambush and slay the monster within.
Then the wind stopped, submerging the marshland in bone chilling silence. Nothing moved, the surface of the dark lake once again a polished mirror reflecting the surrounding scenery with unmatched perfection. Even the birds taking refuge in the reeds didn't dare to make a sound.
Pale blue eyes slowly closed to enhance the stillness washing over the senses of the figure standing quietly on the sloping grass. The calmness of the lake, soothing the nerves, invoking a deep inhale of satisfaction as the eyes opened again.
Only there was no calmness and there was no satisfaction deep down within his soul, only dark shards, remnants of a man that once was. The shards of cruelty and unspoken terror that once depicted his past but he would not succumb to their influence, they should remain silent and buried in the past where they belonged.
The pulsing blue eyes sharpened into a darker hue, teeth grinding as he watched the black shadows dance on the lake's surface in a mocking celebration of their easy victory, a victory of an innocent soul stolen from the human world. A soul that was to be dragged through the fires of hell and they would only grow stronger for it.
They didn't deserve this. They should be starved of all nourishment, of all that would feed them, he should have killed them all a long time ago for stealing her body. For making him search for her hours on end, at the muddy bottom of the lake, for making him tear away the tatters of her dirtied and bloodied clothes from their elusive, hell bound clutches in the depths of the impenetrable darkness. For forcing him to emerge, screaming and gasping for air in the middle of the night, empty handed apart from the tiny bundle of clothes so delicate it nearly disintegrated when he clutched it so tightly in his freezing hand.
Vergil tensed, feeling his body respond to his thoughts, his coat flying to the ground. He might have done things no mortal would have been able to sleep peacefully ever after again yet he was no murderer, and he was no coward. And this was a coward's way out. No one should die like this, his mother should have never died like this…
Kicking off his boots, he bound off his bare feet and with all the power of his steel solid muscles propelled himself forward, closing the distance to the lake in mere seconds. In one smooth movement, without a single hesitation he dived into the centre of the blackened stain that crawled over the surface like spilled crude oil. The shadows instantly swallowed him whole, leaving no signs of life behind.
Darkness followed, the pitch black tendrils wrapped themselves around his working muscles, yet he pushed forward relentlessly, deeper into the bowels of the pulsing mass formed from the dead and decaying bodies of the ranks from hell.
His eyes were stinging, straining against the growing blackness, searching frantically for any sign of her. His pace was slowing down, body pushing hard against the gripping claws of the putrid ooze that surrounded him from all sides and dragged him away from the paling face that came to view down below.
He saw her now, the look of surrender and utter terror etched into her delicately chiselled features, hair floating helplessly in the thick, murky water as if in suspended animation, the plea for help still lingering on her parted lips. Small bubbles escaped from her air starved lungs, her eyes blinked at the vision in front of her, an angel of death coming to claim her life or an angel coming to save her, but she didn't believe in angels…
With an unearthly roar ripping out from his throat in the form of massive pockets of air, Vergil pushed against the deadlock of the gruesome tentacles, succeeding in freeing his legs long enough to reach her with one massive stroke. He came to a halt in front of her, his gloved hands instantly ripping off the hellish substance that was gripping her entire body.
They started to protest, forming into misshapen claws and deformed faces of the damned souls that once inhabited the underworld. Their hollowed eyes swirled with glimpses of the hellish fires, their mouth opened to produce long, howling moans that signalled the pain and endless terror that was to be the fate of their victims.
Pushed to act with swelling urgency Vergil tore, ripped and pulled with all he had, as fast as he could, already feeling the pressure enfolding his own straining body, the hunger of the creature pulsing through the whirling water. As her eyes met with his in silent recognition, her whole body suddenly jerked into life and she started to fight, slowly slipping away from the remaining clutches of the deadly mass that nearly drowned her.
She looked deep into his fading eyes, her lungs expelling the last drop of air as he pushed her upwards with the last reserves of his strength before the sharp tug came and pulled him deep into the darkness. Her eyes widened, a silent scream crushed out of her empty lungs, she struggled to reach the surface all the while watching his expressionless face disappear into the depths of the deadly lake.
Vesta broke through the surface that was now clear and calm, bearing no evidence of the turbulent struggle deep below. She drew in air in one long, loud gasp, filling up her lungs that were begging for oxygen, instantly exhaling in the form of a terrifying scream. She needed to let it out, on the brink of crying which she swore to never let happen.
She reached out with her shaking hand and limply took hold of the edge of the pier, resting for just a moment, her breaths fast and shallow. Just for a moment she closed her burning eyes, the image of his beautiful face as pale as ice being slowly smothered by the horrid shadows flashed in front of her.
He saved her from whatever that damn thing was and now he would die because of her ignorance. And she didn't even know his name! Grinding her teeth in self rebuke she managed to drag her stiff body out of the water, and shaking like a leaf from the cold turned to the gray vastness, searching for any signs of him.
He was strong, wasn't he? He pulled her from the maddening hold of the lake monster with relative ease when she couldn't even move one muscle while encased in its crushing grip. But then he didn't seem to be even trying to free himself from it…why?
Desperately, impatiently, she watched, the tremors of her body growing in strength, she knew that hypothermia was taking hold of her body as her skin was turning blue. Teeth chattering, she blinked away the tears that threaten to push out of her reddened eyes.
It must have been a minute or maybe two, she didn't really know but there was still no sign of him, not even the slightest ripple breaking the glossy surface or a bubble of air escaping from the deep, dark expanse of water.
Panic rising, she found herself calling for help, quietly at first, a barely audible whisper that turned louder and louder, soon she was screaming at the deaf lake, at the reeds that were turning away from her, at the fog that was hastily retreating. No one wanted to here, there was no one there…
"Somebody! Please help!" she was yelling at the birds that took off into the air with a startled squeal.
"Help me! He is drowning… Please…somebody!" she called out desperately to the bull frogs that started to respond with their vigorous croaking, but they were not helping at all, only making her even more agitated, her heart was beating so fast it was like it would explode at any moment yet she didn't stop, her aching throat struggling to produce the deafening sounds her brain was so ceaselessly demanding.
"Heeeeeeelp!!!" with one last ear bursting scream that echoed with ghastly hollowness through the misty air she collapsed against the wooden platform, the tears finally broke out, soaking her drying eyes like a soothing balm yet they were painful and stinging, sliding like acid across her burning face. She was powerless, helpless, not even able to scream anymore…
He was drifting, almost weightless, descending ever so slowly to the cloudy bottom of the lake. It was so peaceful, so quiet, so cold, so dark. Just lie down, for a moment, and let the darkness shroud your mind, don't fight it, just let go and be rid of this infernal indignity, be rid of this consuming madness…
The voices in his head, those ever present voices, burrowing into the deepest crevices of his mind, so hard not to listen…
The restlessness, the anger and despair, the constant, nagging voices clouding his reason, was he even sane anymore? He could have killed that woman, he could have condemned an innocent soul, how many more to suffer before he got even an inch closer to finding the answer, to finding the only cure?
Why not end it now?
The tough tendrils squeezed harder, constricting his arms, tightening around his legs, crushing his chest, it was impossibly cold, his pupils were dilating, vessels bursting under the colossal pressure but the pain remained numb, it felt like a merciful release. His head went slack, eyes shutting down, a trickle of blood from his nose painting a swirling red cloud in the murky water.
That's it, just let go, only a moment longer and it will be all over…and maybe you will see her again…in hell…
Vergil caught the twist at the end, the mocking tone, just etched lightly into the last few words of the voices. See whom? Who the hell should he see? His mother? What a dirty, shameless lie!
His eyes snapped open, emblazed with a deep blue fire. "You are lying! You are fucking lying!! Why should I listen to you!" Vergil screamed into the liquid oblivion in an instant white-hot rage, voice braking, his muscles heaving out, at once tearing a few shadows of his freezing, ashen body.
"I will never see her in hell!" his voice was deadly and dark, sounding even darker and more sinister under the water, brimming with fierce revolt. "In case you have been misinformed I am blatantly familiar with every dirty corner of that wretched place!" he shouted out in anger, darkening blue eyes blazing with ferocious intensity as his struggles gained in fervour.
He managed to pull one arm free and embed his fist deep into the abhorrent mass that held him firmly in place, submerged deep down under water for over three minutes. His already stretched oxygen reserves would not last much longer and the beast was aware of it, using all its power and trickery to prevent its precious prey from escaping its deadly grasp.
His fist went straight through, the demonic monster must have seen his move just in time to morph that piece of stinking ooze into its dormant, liquid state, only to solidify again, effectively trapping his arm in an inescapable hold.
Vergil grunted in raging frustration and annoyance as he lost the use of one arm, his lungs were screaming for air and there was not a single face he could splatter with his remaining fist, there were hundreds. All gaping at him with their blank, ghastly stares, humming the lurid song of hell and eternal entrapment, the urge to smash them all back to an oily smear was overwhelming as his vision began to cloud over and fade.
A dark, hollow, sarcastic laughter resounded through the stirring mud that was dislodged from the bed of the lake by the erratic movements. It came from his mouth, his lungs releasing the last breath of oxygen that could no longer sustain his life. The laughter ceased, replaced by a deadly calm countenance. He pulled his arm to him, muscles flexing ferociously, snapping the warped tendrils that so tightly and painfully entwisted him.
"If you see my mother, do let me know. I'll be waiting." His face was as hard as a stone, voice cold, unfazed, emotionless. His lungs then screamed, devoid of a single molecule of air.
He took an aim and rammed his freed fist into the face that was the biggest and ugliest, yanking his arm to the side to tear out its blackened facial muscles clean off. It shrieked in infernal pain, only briefly as its solid state dissolved almost instantly upon the powerful, damaging impact that sent the hell spawned foe reeling straight back to its own dimension, the barren and parched plains of the underworld.
A self-satisfied twitch of his lips lingered behind as his body shook violently, protesting against the dirty water that flooded his contracting lungs. Darkness followed shortly, slowly draping over him like the lid of a coffin at his own funeral. This time the walls caved in completely, crushed him into the broken pieces that he could no longer hold together and this time, there was no way out as his body gave out the last spasm of life.
He was falling, but not into the cold, dark abyss of emptiness as he felt so often before…
…he was falling headlong into the brightly burning, white-hot bowls of hell. They won, they would have him now, and this time there would be no escape.
As long as I never see her again, not her…
…not in there!
I respond to everyone personally, thank you all sincerely! For those without an account, damn, L.M. – do you have one or an email address? I feel the need to send an epic response!! ;P But fear not as there will be more plot, and no chance will it be a simple romance!! Thank you for taking your time to review a humble story of mine!! :D And as you all wanted, we will see more Dante! (hmm, tried to make it rhyme..)
As most of you don't seem to have a domestically trained animal I thought of giving a Plan B of my 'How to review in 3 simple steps' instructions, here it is:
Step 1: remains the same – please refer to previous chapter
Step 2: position your keyboard under a leaking air-conditioning unit or other suitable leakage (but please beware of fire hazards!)
Step 3: wipe the keyboard vigorously, napkins preferred, sleeves acceptable, licking not recommended
All done! Thank you kindly!!