Ch. 67: Operation: Last Waltz (lemon)

A.N.:

Hey everyone!

Sorry for the immense delay! I'm not holding out on you guys on purpose. If it is not one thing, it is another these days D:

Anyway,

This is probably going to be the last story arc (finally lol). I am going to do my best to make it worth the wait ^_^

I included a lemon in this chapter because it has been way too long since the last one. It has been a while since I had to censor myself to fit the site's guidelines so I apologize in advance if it isn't all that great.

This is an important setup chapter so I marked the lemon section so anyone that is a minor can scroll past it to continue reading the main parts. Probably going to ignore the markings anyway but, hey, I have to be able to say that I tried.

I honestly considered holding off on updating this chapter a little longer because I'm a little nervous that it isn't good enough. However, if I don't post this, I'm going to freaking lose my mind. Spent way too much time on it D:

If I missed something while I was proof-reading, I apologize. I'm not running on much sleep right now xDDD

Man, it has been so long that I was actually pretty nervous about posting this chapter...just haven't done so in a long time.

Again, sorry for the delay since the last chapter!

Read and review if you want.

"You have to understand, we have no data for something like this…"

Electronic beeping from various medical devices filled the air of the makeshift field hospital that had been set up inside the protective obsidian walls of Akira's former Beach House. Having been built in a way that was more akin to a classical fortress than an actual vacation home, it was perfectly suited for its new role as our forward command post while we secured our supply lines and allowed our forces to have a brief reprieve following the successful completion of Operation Apocalypse.

While we had indeed established a decent foothold in the Eastern Hemisphere, we were still vastly outnumbered by the endless hoards of the twisted inhabitants of Hell that were even more ruthless now that Akira was no longer able to hold them back. Luckily, while the Plague Doctor was an ancient god with dangerously powerful abilities, he did not seem to have an understanding of tactics or a firm grasp of basic military operations. In fact, it appeared that he was allowing the individual field commanders to decide how to go about dislodging us from our foothold. For the time being, they were too disorganized to mount an effective counterattack but it was only a matter of time before that all changed. However, at the moment, I honestly did not care about any of that.

Before me, lying on a folding metal field cot with olive green canvas fabric inside a negatively-pressurized chamber, was Akira. The incredibly powerful psionic had been reduced to little more than a shell of her former self. Her incredibly pale frame looked as though it would shatter if someone tried to touch her and the only sign of life was an occasional soft whimper. For her own safety and to give her the best chance of recovery, she had been placed in as clean of an environment as we could find given the situation. However, because of what she was, there was very little that could be done to help her directly.

Jin continued as she stood before Alma, Alpha 1, and I while we stood next to the window in the front of the chamber, "...so we have no reference for methods that we can use to treat Akira. We are doing our best to ease the pain but, for now, that's all we can do."

Forcing my voice to stay steady, I asked, "Has there been any signs of improvement?"

The former F.E.A.R. Operative did not answer right away as she appeared to be trying to think of even the tiniest bit of positive news that she could give us. However, when her efforts were ultimately proven to be in vain, she admitted with a sorrowful tone, "I'm sorry Becket. For now, there is nothing that we can do other than wait and keep her comfortable."

I paused as I tried to think of something that I could do to help my sickly daughter. However, Jin placed her right hand on my left shoulder as she urged me, "Get some rest, Sergeant. We will contact you if her condition worsens or improves."

I began to protest but she gently squeezed my shoulder and assured me, "It's okay."

I nodded and then, after looking at Akira through the observation window one more time, began to make my way out of the makeshift hospital. As I did, I stopped by each of the seemingly endless number of cots and visited with the occupant regardless of their affiliation. The conscious Spartans that I visited were all in high spirits despite their sometimes horrific injuries but the other soldiers were often in much lower spirits. I spoke with each one of them and listened to the sometimes hour-long ramblings about almost completely random topics. However, these conversations were refreshing considering the number of unconscious soldiers and cots that had a white sheet covering the recently deceased occupant that I passed on my way towards the exit.

Along the way, I found Sergeant Holiday visiting an American soldier who was most likely an associate from when he was serving in Delta Force. Both of Holiday's legs had to be replaced with prosthetic ones and he had some other less serious but still permanent injuries such as hearing loss. However, the stubborn explosives expert was otherwise not any worse for wear. At mostly his own insistence, he was returned to the active duty roster shortly after the operation to attach his new artificial limbs had been completed. Only a few years prior, he would have been forced to learn how to use his artificial limbs. Luckily, the latest generation of prosthetic limbs were far more akin to the biological ones that they replaced than their predecessors and, thus, Holiday would have little trouble when it came to strenuous activity. Seeing as how the two soldiers were in the middle of what appeared to be a very lively conversation, I continued past them so that I would not interrupt them.

As I entered the non-intensive care side of the hospital, I found Amara entertaining the injured soldiers, much to their delight as they sat up in their cots to watch the angelic little girl perform by singing and dancing for them while she used her immense psionic abilities to enhance her performance by manifesting light displays and props that went along with whatever song she was performing. I had been informed that my beloved daughter had been keeping herself busy by visiting both the injured soldiers here on the frontlines and also the refugees back in the emergency camps in the United States. Apparently, people were beginning to rally around the positive and happy little girl despite their initial fear of her abilities as she gave them hope and showed them a level of kindness that had become almost impossible to find in this world.

Upon nearing her, Amara flashed me a quick smile to acknowledge my presence before turning her attention back to the small crowd that had gathered around her. She finished her performance a minute or two later and then bowed to her audience while she also gestured dramatically with her manifested top hat and walking cane. The enraptured soldiers all began to applaud and commend her to which she returned several more bows and twirls of her cane and hat. When the applause and cheers began to die down, my daughter turned and then happily ran towards me. I bent down onto my right knee and hugged the beautiful child close to my chest. Amara returned my hug by wrapping her thin pale arms around my neck and resting the bottom of her chin on top of my right shoulder.

As she continued to hug my neck, my daughter said quietly, "Don't stop believing in Sister Akira, Daddy. You gave her a family to belong to. She will fight as hard as she can to stay."

I squeezed her tighter as I replied with a grateful tone, "Thank you, sweetie."

Amara retracted from my frame before she nodded while she flashed a bright smile. I smiled back and she moved past me to go greet Alma and Alpha 1. Before I could focus on their interaction, my attention was drawn to a commotion ahead of me. Upon investigation, I saw two white-armor clad Medical Replica soldiers assisting a large, physically fit man that was dressed in mud caked combat gear as they tried to walk through the rows of cots towards an unoccupied one that was just off to my right. The otherwise intimidating man was seemingly incapable of controlling his body as his limbs moved in completely uncoordinated ways while his entire frame was shaking as if he was cold. Meanwhile, the soldier had a dazed expression and was struggling to answer the very basic questions that the two Replica were asking him.

Moving forward, I made my way over to the men and then helped them place the distressed soldier down onto the cot in a resting position. Looking down at the shaking man, I inquired, "Hey buddy can you hear me?"

The dazed expression persisted and it was almost thirty seconds before the man seemed to finally realize that he had been asked a question. He responded by saying what vaguely sounded like the word "yes". I suppressed the urge to grimace as I identified some of the classic symptoms of Combat Stress Reaction. The Replica were engineered to be highly resilient to the horrors of war and members of Special Forces such as Delta Force and F.E.A.R. were trained and conditioned to be able to withstand such trauma to a certain extent. However, the human mind and body could only take so much extraordinary stress before it cracked.

Jethro 9, one of the two Medical Replica, informed me, "According to his dog tags, his name is Allen Smith, Commander. Theta Squad found him in a shallow shell hole. It appears that he got separated from his squad and ended up between Sigma, Theta, and Whisky Squad and an entrenched group of enemy combatants along Fortification Line Charlie. He dug a large enough impression at the bottom of the crater with his hands in order to avoid the crossfire. Reports suggest that he was there for at least fifteen hours unable to do anything except lie face down in the crater as the two groups engaged each other. We are still trying to track down the rest of his squad."

I nodded in acknowledgement. Now that I was looking, I could just barely make out the outline of Army Ranger markings on the man's nearly ruined uniform. Rangers were a particularly formidable and tough group of veteran soldiers. However, everyone had a breaking point no matter who they were. Leaning over so that I was looking him in straight in the eyes, I said, "Smith, don't worry, what you are feeling and going through right now is perfectly normal. Don't fight it. Just rest and you will be fine."

"Smith? Allen Smith?"

I looked up to see a man in a dirty, worn uniform walking towards us. Seeing the number of stripes on his shoulder and that he was also a Ranger, I asked him, "You Smith's NCO?"

The veteran shook his head before explaining as he stopped just before the cot, "No, we served together during other deployments. What happened?"

I replied, "You know him at least…good enough. His squad is currently unaccounted for...he might be the lone survivor. Seems like he spent about fifteen hours at the bottom of a shell hole to survive crossfire. Looks like CSR so talk to him. Just talk to him."

The Ranger nodded as he understood what I meant and, as I moved out of the way, he made his way over to the side of the cot so that Smith could see him. To treat Combat Stress Response, it was highly encouraged for the afflicted soldier's NCO or someone of equal standing that the individual greatly respected to speak to him or her and explain that there was nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about.

Originally, symptoms of CSR and PTSD were believed to be signs of cowardice and a lack of will power on the part of the soldier. There were even cases of suffering individuals being executed for treason because of the archaic viewpoints of their commanders. It took years for, what was once referred to as "Shell Shock", to be seen as something that did not have anything to do with how strong or weak someone was but rather as an inevitable reaction to the constant and unrelenting horrors of war. The infamous "Thousand yard stare" that most people were familiar with was only one of many symptoms that were used to identify an afflicted soldier.

It was not something to trivialize. Left untreated, it would become chronic and leave the individual broken both mentally and physically. I found it especially infuriating to see soldiers suffering from such issues because, at least in the United States Armed Forces, we were taught specifically how to handle CSR. It was very simple to treat yet easily crippling if not quickly addressed as soon as possible. Proper treatment was allowing the soldier to rest without being made to feel as though she or he had something wrong with him or her. For that, it was highly recommended that the individual's NCO or someone similar talk to the soldier and explain that there was nothing to be ashamed of and that everything would be fine. In most cases, symptoms only lasted for a few hours or days when it was properly addressed.

With the Ranger being visited by someone he knew, I began making my way out of the hospital once again. While I was making my way through the cots, I found Chlöe checking on the patients. The mysterious nurse was writing notes down on medical charts as she questioned each soldier when I first noticed her. Her voice was still as deadpan and emotionless as ever but a quick look of recognition appeared in her eyes as she saw me walking towards her. As I neared her, the veteran caregiver turned to face me and then addressed me with her accented voice, "Ah, good afternoon, monsieur."

I smiled slightly before I replied, "Hey Chlöe. I trust your new employment is working out?"

Her expression never changed but the faintest trace of happiness was in her voice as she explained, "Yes, monsieur. I find treating patients instead of being their warden to be far more agreeable. Your species was still so young when I was last permitted to aid those placed under my care."

I began to ask her if she knew how many "patients" had escaped from Akira's nightmare world but she interrupted me as she said, "You are deeply troubled, Mr. Wade. Do not forget that you are still human. I would not dislike attending to a specimen of your caliber but let us try to avoid that if at all possible, yes?"

Before I could ask her to explain herself, someone called for her from somewhere back in the direction of the intensive care area of the hospital. Chlöe excused herself and then walked past me. Slightly confused as to what she meant, I continued towards the exit. Finally, moments later, I reached the exit and left the hospital. Upon exiting the infirmary, I managed to walk a few steps before everything that I had been holding back broke through the numb depression that had been filling my entire being like a choking cloud. Utter self hatred stormed through my mind and I began to laugh with absolutely zero traces of humanity left in my voice.

Why was I so weak?

Why was I so useless and unable to help?

"Michael?"

Ceasing my laughter, I turned to face my beautiful companion where she stood about an arm's length away in her child form. An expression of concern was just barely visible beneath her mask-like façade as she looked at me with her enchanting glowing eyes. Suddenly, as I looked at my beautiful companion, I remembered something and I nearly facepalmed as I could not believe that I had forgotten about her special ability that had helped us win the Battle for Fairport. We still had one final ace up our sleeves.

Meanwhile, Alpha 1 silently looked at me as he stood next to Alma. The one functioning glowing eye of his heavily worn and extensively cracked porcelain combat mask seemed to pierce through me as he continued to quietly study me for a moment. My brother was able to almost instantly catch on to what I was planning because, before I could say anything, he commented with the slightest trace of sarcasm in his highly modified, deep Replica Heavy Trooper voice, "I do not suppose that they will let us use them if we ask nicely."

I smirked before I replied, "Since when do we ask for permission?"

Lemon section

Nearly half an hour later, I was deep in thought as I was attempting to rest inside one of the many small grottoes of the fortress. The room was about the size of a tennis court with the back wall dominated by the waterfall and the center of the room being dominated by the shallow pool of water. The walls were smooth obsidian and the artificial sections of dry land around the pool were sections of polished marble.

Due to both the humidity in the room and the fact that no one else was around, I had taken off my skull ski mask. As I sat deep in thought with my back against the far right cool obsidian wall, I suddenly felt the presence of my beloved companion. I looked up to see her standing before me in her child form as she gazed down at me in the same manner that a proud owner did when his or her favorite pet demonstrated how well-trained it was to its master. Clearly, Alma greatly approved of the plan that I had to end the war in one way or another. However, the expression on her face indicated that such approval did not bode well for the few hours that I had planned to rest. I started to get to my feet in a somewhat half-hearted attempt to escape but I was almost immediately forced back against the wall by the raven-haired demoness as she pressed the sole of her bare, bloody right foot into my chest.

As the immensely powerful woman continued to hold me in place with her foot, I asked with a flat tone, "Tell me…is this real…or am I so far gone that I can't tell that I am fighting for nothing because it is all in my head?"

I paused and then admitted, "Lately, I can't tell sometimes."

Alma let out a soft sigh before she lowered herself down to straddle my waist before she replied, "For all you know, I'm not real. Do you really think I would know what is real any more than you do if I am just something inside your head?"

I was silent for a moment as I submissively raised my hands up to grip the developing hips of her much smaller frame while the pale child loosely wrapped her arms around my neck. As my silence continued, the blossoming Gothic-style Lolita began to gently rock up and down in my lap to stimulate my body enough to get a physical response from me. My body shamelessly responded hungrily to the efforts of the inhumanly beautiful young girl but my mind remained elsewhere. When I still did not reply, Alma ceased her suggestive movements and said, "Reality itself does not exist beyond what one perceives it to be. What is up for one person is down for another person…"

Lowering my head slightly, I pleaded, "Please…just stop."

The soft, cool palm and digits of her tiny left hand suddenly took hold of my chin as she forced me to look at her when she replied with a firm tone, "No."

As she continued to force me to look at her, the raven-haired beauty leaned in until her alluring heart-shaped face was only inches away from mine and then smirked darkly before she pressed her advance in a soft, almost hypnotic tone, "Face it, little boy, you're so broken that you can't tell which way is up or down for yourself anymore."

Before I could even begin to try to convince myself that she was wrong, my thoughts were completely derailed as Alma moved to be slightly above me and then used both hands to firmly grip my head as she placed her thin but still smooth lips against mine. Confusion and surprise prevented me from responding with much more than an embarrassingly uncoordinated manner while my partner began to invade my mouth with her tongue. My initial surprise soon turned to irritation, however, as it became obvious that the mischievous woman was being unnecessarily aggressive. She even resorted to using her psionic power to prevent me from being able to physically push her away until she finally grew tired of her trick and retracted from me.

I pushed her completely off me and onto the slightly damp polished stone floor. Clearly pleased by my reaction, Alma smiled smugly as she wiped the thick trail of saliva from her lips with her right hand while she propped herself up with her left forearm. While I had long since become tolerant and had recently even developed a strange fondness for my wife's peculiar, if not psychotic, playful nature, I was not in the mood to humor her.

Looking off to my right, I said, "Go away."

The raven-haired psionic retorted, "Oh come on, did you even hear yourself? Is this real? I mean, what is that? You are such a dork sometimes Michael. Honestly..."

Stubbornly refusing to look back at her, I replied, "It is a legitimate question."

Alma shot back, "No. No it is not."

Suddenly, the windowless room was plunged into compete darkness as the overhead lights all simultaneously went out. Before I even had time to get to my feet and investigate the cause of the loss of lighting in the room, I saw a faint red glow out of my left peripheral. I turned to see the nightmarish landscape of the very familiar dead city beneath the orange-tinted storm that was eternally raining down its glowing ember payload. Realizing that Alma had either overtaken my mind to make me hallucinate or had trapped me inside the closed space of a temporary world, I let out a sigh and then got to my feet.

The asphalt surface of the badly damaged road crackled beneath my combat boots as I walked towards the familiar burning wreck of a sedan. However, I had only taken a few steps before I heard the sultry voice of Alma, in what was undoubtedly her healthy adult form, come from behind me as she asked, "Is any of this real?"

I turned to see the shadowy outline of the frame of her nude healthy adult form just beyond the illumination provided by the dying flames wreathed around the wrecked car behind me. The soft orange glow of her eyes dimly illuminated a small patch of her face, giving her an even more mysterious and sinister appearance in the dark hellish landscape around us.

Looking at her with my own glowing eyes, I replied, "Of course not. It is all just one of your hallucinations or manifested temporary worlds."

Taking a step towards me, Alma countered, "Ah, but does that make it any less real?"

Confused, I retorted, "Yes. Reality is tangible…hallucinations only exist in one's mind and temporary worlds cannot exist beyond the will of its creator."

Taking another step towards me, the powerful psionic remarked with an amused tone, "Is that so?"

Before I could reply, I suddenly heard several large objects burst through the road around me. I tried to escape but even the now instinctive use of my enhanced reflexes was not enough to prevent the large tree root-like tentacles from wrapping around me. I let out a partially suppressed cry of pain as it felt as though thousands of tiny blades were trying to saw through my body as the gnarled exterior of the tentacles curled around my frame as if they were anacondas. Their strength was staggering and I found that I could not get free of them despite my best efforts to do so.

Completely immobilized, I yelled angrily, "Alma! Let me go! You know these damn things hurt!"

Alma's almost impossibly beautiful nude body became just barely visible in the flickering orange light provided by the wrecked car as she slowly advanced towards me. The mid back-length strands of her glossy raven-hair slightly obscured her angelic face as they were blown by the soft breeze that was being generated by the dying remains of the once raging inferno that had effectively gutted the city surrounding us. She flashed a cruel sneer as she watched me struggle against her telepathically controlled tentacles for a moment until she finally reached where I was and stopped less than an arm's length away from me.

As we stood there being hit with the tiny pieces of glowing embers that continued to fall from the nightmarish sky, Alma asked, "So, by your definition, only tangible things are real?"

Racked with pain due to being immobilized by her manifested servants, I barked back, "Let me go you crazy…"

I was unable to say anything more as the beautiful sadist moved forward and then pressed her cool, full lips against mine. What felt like an electric current shot through my body as her tongue skillfully intertwined with mine for what felt as if it was ages but was most likely only a few minutes. Meanwhile, I felt her right hand reach down and begin to tease my manhood. I shivered involuntarily as her soft digits began to slowly stimulate its length through the thin material of my pants until it was sufficiently under her spell. She then broke our kiss and looked at me with expression that was one of both amusement at my body's reaction to her touch and also one of just barely restrained excitement.

As she continued to keep my member stimulated, she remarked, "This body isn't tangible…but both your mind and body know it is real. It is not flesh and bone but my own energy that I force into whatever form I want."

I replied, "I know that. You aren't the same as a hallucination though."

Kneeling down, my wife's playful nature reared its head once again as she teased, "You don't know whether or not I have been one all along."

I began to reply as I said, "I'm not the only person who sees you and a hallucination can't melt someone's flesh with her mi…"

I let out a soft gasp as Alma slowly slid the entire length of my member into her mouth. Her more sadistic side showed as she did so at a torturous slow pace to ensure that I was very aware of what was being done to it. The inside of her mouth could not produce saliva until she "willed" it to and this aspect of her nature caused extra feedback to flood my sensitive member as it came into contact with the energy that was being forced to rapidly change forms. This, along with the combination of her ability to keep my member's length deep inside of her mouth and throat due to not needing to breathe and also her extensive experience with my body as I had been her plaything since I was a child, allowed her to keep me going even after multiple climaxes until either she lost interest or, as she had done on one particular occasion, she pushed me to the point of passing out.

As she began to ascend and descend my sensitive organ, my wife demanded through our bond, 'Come on, little boy...look at me. Don't look away from me.'

I complied as best I could and I heard her remark in a hungry manner, 'That's it…your embarrassed lewd face…so cute.'

My surroundings became a blur as I focused all of my remaining strength on continuing to comply with Alma's order as I knew that she would punish me by prolonging the time just before the release if she saw my attention waiver from being solely on her for even a second. My previous irritation was replaced by an almost child-like sense of wonder and amazement of my best friend. She was violent, amoral, disturbed to the point of it almost being comical, unpredictable even for me, and corrupted everything that she touched. However, it was those same qualities that had captivated me ever since I had first met her all those years ago.

Sensing that I had calmed down, Alma allowed our surroundings to return to normal. The nightmarish landscape gave way to the grotto and I found that I was still where I had been up against the wall and that my companion was still happily stimulating my member as she was on all fours before me. The wet slurping sound was becoming increasingly louder as the amount of fluid inside her mouth increased past the point that any human being could handle without any hardwired attempts by their body to expel it.

Finally able to move, I reached up and put my hands on the back of her head. Our eye contact never broke as she temporarily submitted and allowed me to set the pace. After I found release again, I released my grip and she finally retracted from my frame. Despite her best efforts, she was unable to keep all of the fluid inside her mouth and she had to use her right palm to catch as much of the river of escaping mixture as she could. As I watched, she swallowed what was in her mouth before she drank what was in the palm of her right hand.

As she licked the palm of her hand, I remarked, "I love it when you're so dirty."

My wife smirked before she asked rhetorically, "Yeah?"

She then walked over to the grotto's waterfall and stood underneath it. As I watched, the color of the water turned from clear to blood red. Meanwhile, the entire room became saturated with a red glow in a very similar manner to how the private pool room in Aristide's penthouse had looked when I had first entered it. The red liquid coated her highly feminine body, which exaggerated the size of her breasts and made her firm muscle tone even more apparent. The blood-soaked demoness looked at me with a taunting expression as if she was daring me to join her. Not needing any further encouragement, I used my abilities to dissolve my battle-worn Dark Signal combat armor as I walked over to where Alma was waiting for me.

Upon reaching my mischievous companion, I remarked as I moved to embrace her, "You're so twisted."

When our lips finally parted, she replied, "You know you love it." After kissing me for a moment, she continued, "Admit it, you love all the weird things that I make you do."

I began to tease her womanhood with my fingers as I replied, "I do."

I then half-heartedly taunted her, "So wet already…"

The beautiful psionic remarked as she gently held the back of my head with her left hand as I softly kissed and nibbled the inhumanly soft, wet skin on the side of her neck, "D-don't be mean, M-Michael. You kn-know I can't hel-help myself when it's you."

As she continued to hold me close, she wrapped her fit right leg around my waist and then gently took hold of my member with her free right hand. I let out a little whine as she began to tease the soft, moist entrance to her womanhood with my sensitive tip. I looked at her and she demanded as she continued to tease me, "Who's a good boy?"

I gave her a pleading look but she asked with an encouraging tone, "Come on, who's a good boy?"

On the verge of losing my mind, I replied submissively, "Me. I'm a good boy."

Satisfied, my wife guided me inside of her as she kissed me so that our mutual cries intertwined as we both reacted to the sudden flood of euphoria. My mind went blank as I felt her muscles tighten and release around me. The next few hours were a blur as we both indulged in mutual passion-fueled pleasure. Despite having already been made to climax beforehand, I still managed to finish several times as the level of euphoria that flooded my mind exponentially increased each time I did so. I could never determine if it was actually due to yet another way Alma used her abilities to keep me going or if it was simply just some weird thing on my part but I could not help myself from wanting more and more every time I filled the interior of my wife's womanhood.

Meanwhile, Alma was more and more on the verge of losing control over her immense power the longer we continued. Had it not been for our incredibly close bond, I would have been vaporized by the bursts of her psionic energy that escaped as she fought to control herself. Despite all of her peculiar mannerisms and twisted psyche, deep down, Alma was a very innocent individual and genuinely loved me as much as I loved her. Thus, she truly treasured the moments when we could be close. If it meant that she could have these moments to enjoy herself, I did not mind risking a gruesome death at the hands of an accidental psychic blast.

Though she was indeed a very sexual creature, she only desired to share that side of her with me. She was willing to shamelessly share every part of her with only me because she knew that I did the same for her. That was why I could never truly deny or reject her. We could not be more different if we tried but we could not love each other more if we tried. For all these reasons, in the end, I did not desire anyone else other than the troubled but loving raven-haired goddess named Alma Wade.

When I finally gave into my exhaustion, I ended up resting in Alma's arms as we laid up against the same wall that I had been against when she first found me. The manner in which she was holding me was maternal and I could hear her humming a calming melody as I spaced in and out as I fought to keep from passing out due to exhaustion. However, even through the haze of drowsy confusion that was filling my mind, I could make out the unmistakable melody of my wife's music box. Despite the sweet sound of her voice, it still gave me chills and even caused a growing urge to panic as I involuntarily remembered my doomed mission to take Aristide into protective custody. After sensing the distress that the melody was causing me, Alma began to spontaneously make up a tune.

I hated my reaction even more than I normally would due to the special significance that the tune held to my beloved companion. It was strange that it was that song that immediately came to mind whenever I remembered something about those hours because, while I had heard bits and pieces of it throughout the entire incident, it was only afterwards that I actually heard it in its entirety. Moreover, while it was a reoccurring element that loosely tied together all the nightmare fuel events of that incident, it was never a herald of imminent mortal danger or a cause for immediate alarm throughout the experience other than perhaps what had happened in the music room of Wade Elementary.

Sensing my darkening thoughts, Alma asked me with a humorous tone, "Are you still worried about this not being real?"

I smiled slightly before I replied through the fog of my exhaustion, "Reality is abstract…impossible to comprehend because of the differences between our individual perceptions."

I yawned before finishing, "Or something like that…all I know is that if it turns out that I have been in the amplifier at Still Island this whole time or some bullshit like that, I'm seriously going to lose my shit and kill everybody."

Alma giggled slightly in response before she said, "The real treasure was you all along."

I let out a soft laugh before I remarked, "We can defeat the evil with the power of friendship."

The beautiful demoness giggled with a dark tone before she added, "And it was all thanks to the books at our local library."

I laughed in an exhausted manner in response and then paused for a moment before I said with a flat tone, "I'm sorry that you had to protect us from him by yourself for so long."

The powerful psionic assured me, "It was nothing. It was more of a standoff than anything else. Even if it wasn't, I would not have cared. I would do anything to protect all of you."

There was a brief moment of silence before she asked, "Hey, about this plan of yours, are you comfortable with me using my energy like that again?"

I sighed before I replied, "Well, the alternative is the traditional method but getting eaten alive from the inside out by radiation is something that I would really like to avoid."

Alma reminded me, "I protected all of you from the fallout in Mogadishu."

Shaking my head slightly, I explained, "There was only a few of us there…this time it will be an entire army. I won't ask you to use up your energy just so we can move through the fallout when the alternative is far less taxing on you."

My partner asked with a noticeably worried tone, "Will it be enough?"

I smiled slightly before I replied, "Fuck if I know…but better to go out with a bang than a whimper, right?"

Alma remarked in response with a proud, motherly tone, "That's my boy."

There was a brief pause during which I remembered something that I had always wanted to ask her. Since there was a very real chance that I would not get another chance to ask, I began, "Hey, Alma…?"

The raven-haired demoness replied with a questioning hum and I continued, "…something that I have always been curious about…what exactly do you do with what I put inside of you? I mean, it has to go somewhere so…what really happens?"

Alma giggled before she explained, "Same thing I do with other sources of energy…I consume it and become more powerful. You know, like I did with the members of your old squad and that Wendigo. Do not worry though…I always wait until we are done so that there isn't a chance that I might accidently eat you too."

My initial shock was quickly replaced by resentment as something dawned on me. After moving so that I could glare at her, I asked with a forced calm tone, "You didn't need to rape me to have another child did you?"

The powerful psionic smiled before she replied calmly, "No."

She looked at me with a calm, blank expression as she awaited my reaction. I wanted to be furious and bitter with her but I was either too far gone or I had since become so numb to what she had done to be able to bring myself to hate her for that event any more than I already did. Instead, I smiled slightly before gently kissing my precious friend and companion.

Then, upon returning to where I had been resting against her beautiful frame, I remarked with obvious little conviction, "Bitch."

Wrapping her arms around me, Alma replied with equally little conviction, "Pet."

Moments later, the combination of my exhaustion, my wife's almost motherly hold, and the sound of the nearby water overwhelmed me and I feel asleep in her arms.

End of lemon section

"…thus concludes the overview of Operation: Last Waltz." I said as I stood before the assembled crowd inside the makeshift command room/meeting room.

The crowd, consisting of the War Dog Heavy Trooper commanders of the Spartan Battalions and the highest ranking leaders of our allies that were still alive, continued to look at me as I finished the briefing for what would be, in one way or another, our final operation. The room that we were in was the former grand dining room of Akira's beach house. The long, narrow football field-sized space had been re-purposed with most of its elegant, likely antique furniture crudely tossed out of the nearby tall windows because it would have been too much of a hassle for us to properly relocate them.

In place of the ornate furniture, we had filled the room with two, large flat screen monitors, which were placed directly in front of the massive, polished marble-framed fireplace, four plastic and metal folding tables, which were placed in two parallel rows about twenty yards from the monitors, a medium-sized holographic projector, which was placed in the center of the room, and a large number of whatever chairs we could locate both inside the complex and among the various supplies that had reached the frontlines. Eight satellite communication laptops with reinforced olive green casing were distributed on top of the four tables with Spartans operating them. The room was cast in an orange glow as the holographic projector displayed the prepared model of how the new operation was expected to work out.

After I finished, I waited for the various representatives before me to ask any questions. Most of the War Dog Commanders quietly talked amongst themselves about re-calibrating filters and other various preparations for combat in the areas around the numerous ground zeroes that we were going to pass through. However, one of the representatives from the United States Military stood and then angrily demanded, "Who the fuck do you think you are?!"

I calmly asked in response, "Ah, Major Hornwell...do you have some kind of concern about the operation?"

The Major glared at me for a moment before he said, "There is no point to surviving if there isn't an Earth left to live on. You…you must be out of your mind if you think we are just going to let you do this!"

He barely had enough time to finish his statement before the War Dog Heavy Troopers all stood and then aimed their Automatic Shotguns at the officer in perfect unison. Meanwhile, Alpha 1 had moved from where he had been standing beside me on my left to be slightly in front of me. Finally, in my peripheral vision, I saw that Foxtrot 813 had moved from where he had been casually leaning against the far back wall with his arms folded to where he was able to block anyone that tried to escape by standing in front of the double wooden doors in the center of the back wall with his Patten Assault Rifle held at the ready. I raised my gloved left hand up and my loyal soldiers lowered their weapons but remained standing at the ready.

I then addressed Major Hornwell, "Would you rather that we used actual nuclear warheads? Our method will not irradiate the fallout zone."

I paused and then continued, "Who do I think I am? I am the only snowball's chance in Hell that you have to come out of this alive. Gentlemen, a god is trying to kill us all because he believes that humanity is a mistake that needs to be destroyed. So, you can either shut your mouth and do what I say or I will have you executed for getting in my way."

I paused again before I finished, "Do we understand each other, Major?"

There was a moment of silence as the older man glared at me until he finally sat back down. As he did, from where she was standing slightly behind me on my right in her child form, Alma commented, "Wise decision."

After my soldiers also sat back down, I asked, "Anyone else?"

One of the British officers asked in response, "Are we expecting an increased level of supernatural disturbances as a result of the use of these explosions?"

From where he was behind me on my left, F.E.A.R. Coordinator Betters answered, "Yes we are. These explosions are going to kick up whatever latent psionic entities and anomalies are present. Both F.E.A.R. and Spartan Special Ops are going to be on point with operatives and advisors to assist advancing units as they enter the fallout zones."

An American officer asked, "What yields are we expecting?"

I explained, "Estimates are for an average yield range between five hundred kilotons to about twenty megatons. The discrepancy is because we will not know how much local psionic energy is already present in the target areas beforehand. Any present energy will amplify the original yield exponentially rather than geometrically. That is why there will be a buffer distance between the explosions…don't want to get caught in our own blasts as we advance after all. Indirect damage to both equipment and personnel are predicated to be within acceptable levels at the planned distances."

One of the Canadian officers rhetorically asked with a sarcastic tone, "Acceptable levels?"

I felt the need to inform him that it would not be his life on the line as I replied, "You aren't the one that is going to be leading from the front. I would never ask my soldiers to do something that I would not do alongside them."

Major Hornwell remarked, "Bullshit. You have more than a million men at your disposal. It is easy for you but some of us actually care about our soldiers."

Barely managing to control my temper, I replied slowly with a flat tone, "I have more than a million soldiers…but they are ALL special to me. My mind is linked to every single one of them. I know more about all of them than most mothers know about their children."

The much older man was clearly not convinced but, instead of continuing our exchange, he simply looked away. The room was silent save for the faint electrical hum given off by the various pieces of equipment for a moment. The tension was finally broken when War Dog 1, the Heavy Trooper Commander of the battle-hardened and almost fanatically loyal Spartan 1st Battalion, requested, "Permission to speak, sir?"

I smiled slightly before I replied, "Granted."

The veteran asked with his deep, modified voice, "Will the supernatural entities and anomalies count the same as a regular kill?"

Realizing that I had forgotten to specify how the successful termination of an extraordinary entity would be counted towards our kill counts, I placed the palm of my left hand onto the top of my head as I remarked, "Shit…forgot about that."

As I lowered my hand back down to my side, I informed the Spartan Commanders, "I apologize…it slipped my mind. The confirmed termination of a non-affiliated entity or anomaly will be counted more than a standard kill. The amount will increase based on both the class or level and also on the brutality of the kill itself. For example…"

I motioned towards my heavily armored brother as I continued, "…Alpha 1 terminated The Bunny Man, which is a Class C entity, so the base amount for the kill is one hundred. However, he killed him with his own axe while saying a signature one-liner that wasn't a pun so the final count comes to one hundred and seventy. Now then, Alma…"

One of the American officers quietly asked the person that was sitting next to him with a confused tone, "The Bunny Man?"

I ignored the rude interruption as I motioned towards my wife and continued, "…killed a Wendigo, which is a Class B entity, so the base kill count is two hundred. However, she ironically ate it alive while it screamed in agony so the final count comes to three hundred."

War Dog 1 nodded before he said, "Copy that, sir."

Several of the representatives from our allies were clearly unsettled by our long-running competition and one of the British officers remarked moments later, "The fate of the world is in the hands of madmen."

I replied, "Yeah, but you would have to be crazy to leave the fate of the world in the hands of sane people."

Alma remarked in agreement, "It is true, you would have to be."

Since it appeared that they were all more or less on-board with the plan, I concluded the briefing by assuring them with a quote from an officer from World War I, "Gentlemen, we may not make history tomorrow, but we will certainly change the geography."

Three days later, I stood on the nearly pitch black battlefield just beyond Akira's fortress with my battle worn Patten Assault Rifle held firmly in my grasp as I waited for Ishimura to reach its position in orbit above us. On either side of and behind me stood the weathered, battle-scarred members of Dark Signal, Wolf Pack, and Spartan 1st Battalion. All four King Kong EPAs and dozens of EPAs stood amongst us like slumbering giants that were just waiting to be awakened. The bleak, apocalyptic landscape of what had once been Southern Asia was cast in a faint red glow by the burning sky above us. The dim glow illuminated the charred, twisted alien landscape that would have otherwise been hidden by the darkness of the early morning hours.

With only moments remaining before I would lead the all-or-nothing assault on the endless army of damned souls, I reflected upon how I had managed to find myself as the fool that was about to lead an army of clones against an army of the inhabitants of the Underworld while my rapist helped clear the way by creating the psionic equivalent of atomic bombs. I really needed to stop and reevaluate my decision-making paradigm if I survived all of this. For now though, I would have to accept the beyond FUBAR situation that I had gotten myself into.

Even with the use of psionic energy bursts, I had my doubts about whether or not my plan would work. The fact of the matter was that the closer we got to the portal, the more hellspawn would be pouring out of it. Every time they "died", they simply went back to the Underworld and then traveled through the portal to become a threat once again. Of course, even if we reached the portal, we still had no idea how to close it. We had attempted to contact Armacham on the same channel that they had contacted us but there was no response. For now, we would have to do things the old fashion way. Using the blasts to spearhead our advance, we would drive a wedge straight through everything that stood in our way to the portal. This would either be humanity's finest hour or its final stand.

I was reminded of Winston Churchill and how he had addressed Hitler when Britain found itself standing alone against the Nazi War Machine in the darkest days of World War 2.

"Even though large tracts of Europe and many old and famous States have fallen or may fall into the grip of the Gestapo and all the odious apparatus of Nazi rule, we shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end, we shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our Island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender..."

I was riled from my thoughts when the comlink of my HUD glasses activated as Ishimura informed me, "Commander, we are in position and awaiting your instructions."

A chill ran down my spine as the reality of the situation became inescapable. There was no turning back now. I instructed the orbiting launch platform, "Target: Drop Zone Juliet. Payload: Tactical Airburst set for ten meters. Report when ready."

There was an eerie silence for a moment before I received the response, "Target locked. Awaiting permission to fire."

I ordered with a flat tone, "Fire."

Ishimura replied, "Roger that, Commander. Tactical payload incoming."

There was nothing but an eerie silence for nearly an entire minute as the orbital payload used the natural force of Gravity to reach its terminal velocity as it powered through Earth's protective atmosphere. Then, shattering the calm, the thunderous report of rocket engines filled the air as the comet-like object appeared in the sky above us as it flew towards the ground under the power of its on-board guidance system directed rocket engines. Meanwhile, the King Kong EPAs had all moved into their firing posture while their on-board crew had loaded their 240mm Howitzers. As the orbital payload screamed towards its ultimate destruction, the massive beetle-like vehicles simultaneously fired their immensely powerful main guns in the direction of Drop Zone Juliet.

Seconds later, the one kiloton-sized payload of the orbital strike and the four 240mm high explosive shells hit their mark in the center of what was the stronghold of what was estimated to be ten thousand hellsoldiers. The resulting explosion was strong enough to shake the ground. More importantly, it provided the catalyst for the massive, blinding, and unnaturally powerful explosion of raw psionic energy that turned the night into day as the giant blood-red mushroom cloud manifested and grew to dominate the landscape for hundreds of miles in all directions. I could feel the power of what was likely a several hundred kiloton blast deep inside in my bones as the forces unleashed tore Earth asunder for the first of many times to come over the next few days and possibly weeks. The very air itself seemed to burn as the clouds that had been in the sky were effortlessly thrown away from the perimeter of the growing tower of raw destructive power. In addition, artificial earthquakes that seemingly rocked the planet to its core shook the ground so violently that I would not have been surprised if it split open. Seconds after the explosion had been manifested, the initial shock wave hit us with enough force to nearly knock us off our feet as it traveled outwards in all directions with an ever growing collection of loose material that it picked up as it went.

After regaining our footing, we all began to cheer loudly in celebration and several of us even fired our weapons into the air as we took in the power of what we had unleashed upon our enemies. Alpha 1 and I firmly shook hands as we both mutually celebrated in the total annihilation of anything that had been caught in the blast. War Dog 1 began to beat his gloved left fist against his heavily armored chest plate while he repeatedly thrust his automatic shotgun into the air as he led his soldiers in letting out multiple stereotypical guttural Spartan war cries to further boost 1st Battalion's morale. From where he was inside Dark Signal's APC, which was just behind Alpha 1, Foxtrot 813, and I, Manny began to blast the theme song from Snake Fist through the heavily modified armored vehicle's aftermarket external speakers. Though the speakers were built to utilize military-grade nonlethal crowd control auditory weapons, the music was just barely loud enough to be heard over the deafening roar of the explosion's audible report that still lingered in the air.

Alma manifested before me in her bloody child form. The angle of her posture allowed me to see that the image of the blood red mushroom cloud was reflecting off the glossy surface of her glowing eyes as she admired her handiwork with a cruel smirk. My wife then turned to face me completely. Without even needing to ask each other, we began to pseudo ballroom dance for a moment as the towering inferno illuminated the devastated battlefield for us. The crushing guilt of not being able to do anything for Akira temporarily left my mind as I reveled in the moment with my most precious friend and companion. I had promised to burn the world if she had helped me escape from the Amplifier at Still Island and I had promised to always be by her side when I was a child. I had always been a man of my word.

After several minutes of celebration, and as the sky overhead began to fill with Ospreys, AC-130 gunships led by the veteran Ghost Rider, A-10 Warthogs, F-22 Raptors, and the seemingly death proof veteran Hind D Gunship that had become my unofficial guardian angel, Yankee 2, all of which were led by the ancient powerhouse that was our dragon Perses, I began to charge towards the towering mushroom cloud as I motioned with my left hand and yelled, "Follow me!"

The battle-hardened members of Spartan 1st Battalion all yelled a simultaneous war cry as they began to run after me. As we charged towards humanity's destiny with our bayonets fixed and with steeled resolve, I heard Foxtrot 813 exclaim, "What a day! What a lovely day!"

Upon hearing the clone of Paxton Fettel, I could not help but replay the twisted psychopath's prediction in my mind.

'A war is coming, I've seen it in my dreams. Fires sweeping over the earth, bodies in the street, cities turned to dust. Retaliation.'

Alma's second son had failed to live long enough to see the war that he had predicted but, I had to hand it to him, he had been one hell of a fortune teller. Out of all of his Replica clones, Foxtrot 813 was the only one that had lived to see Paxton's war come to pass. The Elite Orbital Drop Replica soldier had since become more powerful than the psionic that had once tried to destroyed us through him and, in his own ways, had become almost as twisted as Fettel had been. However, while Paxton had sought out his own ends to the point of his own demise, 813 had become the embodiment of the psionic super soldier that ATC had so desperately attempted to create.

The faint humanoid frames of the ghostly psionic imprints of deceased human beings began to appear before me as I continued to run towards the epicenter of the blast. The blast had indeed stirred up the local pockets of psionic energy just as F.E.A.R. had predicted. It was an almost mirror image of what had befallen Fairport following the Origin Explosion. It would not be long before we would encounter whatever entities had been either created by the recent explosion or "awakened" by it.

Sure enough, I had no sooner began encountering the crowds of passive ghostly shadows before I saw an abomination in the distance. The bloated humanoid let out a deafening scream as I approached it. However, since it did not have any nearby corpses to control, the disgusting monster was not worth my time. I simply slammed my left shoulder into it with enough force to send it to the ground and then continued charging forward. Moments later, the abomination was crushed beneath the heavy frame of Dark Signal's APC as the armored behemoth maintained its position just behind me in order to provide fire support.

The built-in comlink of my HUD glasses activated as Manny complained, "Becket, come on man! You better not scratch my baby's paint!"

I retorted, "The fuck you complaining about? I just gave you a free kill. Stop bitching…I'm not going to scratch your baby's precious paint."

My close friend remarked, "You're just jealous because mine is sexier than Christine."

I jokingly threatened, "I'm going to tell her what you said. That Plymouth Fury never forgives shiters."

We were interrupted as the Plague Doctor manifested before us. Before he could attempt to stop us however, Alma manifested near him and then began to will several large tree root-like tentacles out of the ground towards the ancient being. The god that sought to destroy us moved at inhuman speed to dodge the manifested tentacles as the thick objects attempted to wrap themselves around his cloaked frame. As he began to slice through them with his cane by swinging it as if it was a sword, I activated my enhanced reflexes and then began to fire my dented, beaten 7.8mm Patten Assault Rifle at the deity.

Seconds later, upon activating their own enhanced reflexes, Point Man, The Sergeant, and Foxtrot 813 began to fire their weapons at the Plague Doctor. Though he did not possess Slow-Mo, Alpha 1 opened fire with his 12-gauge Volmer Automatic Shotgun and his extensive combat experience and prototype genetic enhancements allowed him to keep pace with us as we engaged the ancient god. Meanwhile, Bravo 2 began to provide fire support from our APC's cannon. The Replica Sniper's inhuman precision was vindicated as he kept pace with the moving deity despite the doctor's speed and the movement of the APC. Finally, upon being informed of the situation through our psychic link, Yankee 2 roared down from the sky and began to pepper our ultimate foe with cannon and rocket fire.

Our combined assault put the Plague Doctor on the defensive and he was forced to retreat a short distance away. Suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks and it took me a moment to realize that he was involuntarily immobilized. As the ancient god looked around in an attempt to try to find the source of his paralysis, Amara manifested before him. Enveloped by a bright white aura, the angelic-like positive psionic tauntingly waved her tiny right hand at the much older deity just as Perses heeded his master's call by flying down and then hitting the cloaked god with a charged blast of hellfire. My beautiful daughter giggled in delight as the powerful blast knocked the doctor off his feet as it sent him flying a few feet backwards before he finally landed on his back.

The Plague Doctor attempted to stand but was cut short as Alma and Amara hit him with a combined psychic blast that was powerful enough to vaporize the ground as the dark red miasma cloud created a short but deep trench in the scorched Earth that it passed over on its way towards its target. The god let out a furious cry that was quickly silenced as the blast hit home and vaporized him.

The two raven-haired goddesses hugged each other as they giggled in celebration of the doctor's temporary defeat. After deactivating my reflexes, I remarked proudly as I approached them, "That's my girls!"

The pair smiled brightly at me before dematerializing into clouds of rose petal-like particles. Then, as everyone moved back into position, I continued charging towards the epicenter of the explosion.