Welp, it's come to that time already hasn't it?

- I'd say it has.

Didn't think we'd be here for this long, eh?

- I didn't think we'd last the first month.

Glad to see you're still as pessimistic as ever.

- well, you are welcome.

Anyways, for those reading, today marks the official one-year anniversary of this fanfiction. I'd like to say thank you for taking an interest in my take on Dark Souls, following and liking my work, as well as wanting more of my content. It really does mean a lot. In fact, this fanfiction wouldn't have reached its 30th chapter without you dutifully reading my stuff. So again, thank you so much!

- we shall continue to deliver the same quality chapters you love.

Uh, but we don't bring them these chapters. The Writer Mihairu7 does.

Writer Mihairu7: uhm… could I just post this chapter please?

- certainly! (and hopefully we won't need to post thirty more)

OI! show some respect. I for one would love thirty more chapters.

- yeah, and that's why you're the idiot in our hierarchy.

That's never been proven!

Writer Mihairu7: erm, actually… he's kind of correct on that one…

(*deadpan stare)

Writer Mihairu7: oh, right! Sorry… on with 'ze' story is what I usually say… right?

Thick, thin, deep black tubes of pulsating darkness rippled as Argon ran a finger over the mass of webbed veins. At the sensation of his own touch, his eyes watched the abyssal corruption shudder before pulsating – as if the very vein's themselves were breathing – with a minute flare of violet energy.

It was stranger every time the undead stared at his right side. The Abyss, a plight he had fought head on and vanquished single-handedly yet possessed the remnants of its most pure affliction. Whilst he would have loved to call it Manus' last act of revenge, it would be more apt to say that the corrosive substance was just… hanging on. After all, whether he or anyone else wanted to believe it or not, the Abyss itself was simply a living entity like himself and the minor bugs sifting through the ground below them all.

The dark vestige that plagued half his body had only been given form and existence due to the waywardness of Man. As such, it would have been overly hypocritical or inanely nonsensical to want to hate such a form unwillingly birthed and made to manifest itself malevolently. As least… that was partly how he saw things, given the fact that he had had much time to think about the desperate parasite latched onto his person.

It was almost like a grubby child, he mused. One that did terrible deeds due to its nature being anything but friendly – its behaviour and desires nothing greater than basic greed and gluttony.

Yet, amidst such deplorable actions, the need to survive echoed seamlessly within the Chosen Undead. For what was he, or his own race, if not dead humans on borrowed time? They too sought to live, just like the Abyss. And while not attempting to devour anything in sight, the very Curse of the Undead could also be seen as the epitome of blight. Why, when Argon thought about it clearly, the undead had been treated just like Abyss at one stage, with the progenitor of the Way of White Covenant going as far as to craft objects and weapons capable of killing any and all undead walking the world.

Though Allfather Lloyd's goal had incidentally backfired when Gwyn had chosen the very race as his successor's, the truth of the matter was that the Undead were just like the Abyss. And as such, how could they actively look down on another lifeform that just wanted to live like the rest of the beings upon this almighty rock?

The answer for Argon came simpler than the paleness of his skin: Undead were all hypocrites. He was no exception in that regard. They all wanted to Abyss gone, and though the putrid blight had only come about because of what the Darksign-branded once were, it didn't eliminate the fact that if one were to compare who was the lesser evil, the Undead would win every time. It was truly shameful, Argon agreed. But when he looked up and found the smiling faces of his close compatriot and the crossbreed he loved… he couldn't risk the Abyss growing once more if it meant they would no longer be by his side. He had already lived life alone as a human, he wouldn't want to return to that emptiness as an undead. Not when he had the strength to stop it.

At that moment, as Argon was sitting at one of many tables dotted around the Grand Archive – and casually shirtless as ever – Havel walked in, a heavy tome tucked under one of his muscular arms before his grey eyes settled on the Chosen Undead. The two men shared a silent moment together before the Archbishop broke it.

"Lloyd's sake man. Cover up. That atrocious right side of yours looks like an Izalith Demon sprayed acidic urine on you."

Argon's eye twitched in annoyance. It amazed him that whatever the scenery, Havel would always find a way to make his peaceful moments unbearable. And did he forget to mention self-conscious? Seriously! It wasn't like he was displaying his disfigured body on purpose; he was just extremely comfortable without a shirt on. What was wrong with that?

"What's with the book?" the undead nodded toward the hefty piece of text Havel slapped onto the study, which caused the wooden legs to tremble and shudder.

"Some light reading," he grunted and Argon grinned. He liked the old man's definition of 'light'. "A compendium of the events jotted down by a scholar of Seath after Gwyn departed to link the Flame, to be precise."

The Chosen Undead straightened. "Find anything juicy yet?"

"Hmph. The first four pages document how one of the dragon's head mages went off on a rampage as the city fell. Apparently, the Undead Curse struck within the centre of Gwyn's own elite units. Thereafter, the Lower Burg faced crises and the cathedral of Anor Londo ran red with the blood of countless knights and soldiers. Many brave men and women fell, including the student of Smough."

At this, Argon blinked. "Wait. Smough had students under him?" the ex-Bishop grunted out a 'yes' in reply before turning a page whilst the raven-haired undead leaned his elbows against the table in wonder.

"You mean he taught a class of squires to become cannibalistic killers?!"

"On the contrary," Havel corrected him, "Smough's underlings were never drawn to the practice of devouring the bones of the judged. And whilst he created many terrifying executioner's, they became mercenaries for hire, carrying nothing but the justice of the kingdom with them. Cocky Wardow was none the wiser."

Argon watched as Havel thumbed the next page of the leatherback in front of him, a sneer on his face as he continued to read. He didn't seem at all a person of the current era, and the heaviness in his eyes spoke more than any string of words the old undead would never care to utter. Argon's face softened as he looked down at his hands.

"It must be difficult for you."

Havel raised a furry eyebrow as he flicked his gaze forward.

"To have to learn of everything that occurred whilst you were in exile, I mean. Especially with the knowledge that you would have known how to handle the situation if you had been there. It's hard for you to process… isn't it?"

Havel blew out air from his nose loudly. Though Argon was a cocky runt most of the time that had a knack for pissing him off, it was clear when the boy was being sincere. And although the very thought of Argon showing him sympathy was as revolting as Gwynevere confessing her love for the winged lizard who owned this Archive, the thought that Argon would have enough wit to think of how out of touch he was with world was… mildly pleasing, and a tad kind. It even left a foreign stirring in his being that Havel refused to relate to affection. In fact, he would never admit what it was. Nevertheless, he was still grateful for it, even if his face perpetually seemed ungrateful.

With a scoff, the edges of the Archbishop's lips curved into a smirk as he thumped the table. "All that time spent with Priscilla has made you soft, boy."

Almost immediately, Argon's concerned gaze morphed into a furious frown.

"I have not gotten soft. Hmph!"

"Oh? Then what was that stupid slip of care you had in your voice a second ago?" Havel teased as the Chosen Undead crossed his arms.

"You're seeing things, old man. I wouldn't even give a damn if you keeled over right now."

"Come now, there's no need to be shy. Just admit that you actually care about little old me and I'll let you ride on my shoulders like the kid you know you are."

"As if!" Argon gagged as he rose from his chair and stormed off, leaving behind a chuckling Havel. "Go read up on the history you missed like a good dinosaur!"

"What in Lloyd's name is a dinosaur?"

"You, ya' bone-freckled hack!"

"C'mere and say that to my face, you insolent brat!"

"I would if it weren't so ugly!" Argon shouted, crossing into a nearby corridor and disappearing out of sight. Havel waited until he could no longer hear his footsteps before his face broke out into a broad grin. He would never admit it, but his relationship with the boy had grown to more than just comrades, he felt it with each moment they spent bickering. And for the life of him, he felt that that was probably a good thing.

"Wait, so you mean to tell us that the Witch of Izalith had you in secret?" Siegmeyer asked, softening his voice to a whisper on the last word.

"Y-Yes. However, it was o-only because of my… co-co-condition." Queren answered meekly, his hands scrunching up the front of his gold-hemmed robe as he felt three pairs of eyes stare at him – even if two of those sets were shielded by armour. He never could handle being the centre of attention. No matter how small.

"Ah, yes. The lava issue, correct?" Solaire mused and the pale man nodded.

"Well, I actually seem to like that side of you." The Sun Knight said proudly, swinging his arm over Queren's shoulder.

Laurentius sighed as he was forced to stomach yet another one of Solaire's odd likes. As much of a jolly fellow as he was, he could also be rather strange. Or rather… his tastes were strange. Solaire himself was just… bonkers. That was the only way to put it, in his opinion.

"Come on, mate. Don't make him feel bad." The Pyromancer tried to halt the conversation from heading into the territory he knew it to be going to. "We all like you in this form."

"Excuse me, what is it you mean by ' this form'?" the Onion Knight chipped in and the Swamp-dweller groaned. This was going to be a long night.

"Oh, have we not told you yet?" Solaire titled his head. "Well, you may not believe me but our dear friend, Queren can do more than simply cast lava from his fingertips."

"Oh? Do go on then." Siegmeyer encouraged the jolly knight as Queren retreated deeper into his own skin. He really didn't admire being the centre of people's attention.

"Gladly!" Solaire cheered before leaning forward, the Izalith inhabitant following due to the arm still locked onto his shoulder. "Do you recall seeing a large being that flowed with lava at the entrance of the Ruins?"

"Why, yes I did." Siegmeyer nodded merrily. "It was a tall one, with arms for days and eyes of burning crimson. Though I hungered to invigorate my soul with meaningful battles, I found my blade not suited for its fiery hide."

"Wait a moment." Laurentius cut in and the three of them turned their gazes on him. "how did you get passed the bed of lava then?" Surely, there was a plausible explanation for how the merry Catarinian managed to reach the centre of Izalith before them.

"Oh, that's quite simple." Siegmeyer muttered as he patted the chrome of his armour gently. "I merely ran over it to the other side."

The Pyromancer choked on his spit as he toppled off the fallen pillar he had fashioned as a makeshift seat. Now he understood why he and Solaire got along so well, they were both bonkers- no, that wasn't the proper word for it. They were raving mad, properly insane. A step away from the bloody Asylum!

"Now that you mention it," the Catarinian said as he cupped the underneath of his helm, "that monster seemed to disappear when I had accidentally back tracked to the topmost floor. I wonder where it could have gone…"

He turned back to the Sun Knight. "But what does this have to do with young Queren?"

At this, Solaire gently jostled the Izalith-dweller forward with him as he leaned in even closer. "You were wondering where that monster went to, right?"

"Indeed."

"Well?" Solaire hinted as he hugged Queren to his side tighter, the pale fellow growing more flushed as Siegmeyer's head shifted from him to the Sun-Bro. After a few moments more, the pieces seemed to click in his mind.

"Hmm… oh. OH!" he said before slapping a hand on the boy's other shoulder. "Well now, aren't you just full of surprises. Ah-hah-ha!"

Queren blushed as he tried in vain to break away from both men's grip. Unfortunately, they were astonishingly strong for undead. Either way, Queren felt a tad uncomfortable. Not because he didn't like physical contact, though. It was just odd experiencing such warm conversation when all he had been doing for the last few eons was staring at one of his sister's gravestones. Quite honestly, it actually felt pretty nice to be welcomed like this. He had never had the chance to have many friends in the past.

"Y-You said that my eldest s-sister still lives. D-Didn't you, La-Laurentius?"

The Pyromancer nodded as he rose from the ground. "That she does. Quelaan too."

The Izalith survivor felt tears pool in his eyes at that revelation. To hear that one of his sisters were still alive was a blessing. To find out that two of them still lived was nothing short of a miracle.

"That reminds me, I need to give her the biggest hug I can when we make it out of here." The Pyromancer sighed out wistfully.

"Wh-Who? Quelaan?" Queren stuttered out.

"Ah, no. She's with the Knight of Thorns."

"The Darkwraith Kirk?" Siegmeyer leaned forward and Laurentius chuckled.

"Odd pair those two make. However, it's kinda… cute, I guess."

"Opposites oft attract, dear friends," they turned to see the Sun Knight nodding wisely. "It is the very foundation of jolly co-operation. When two unparallel forces clash and become one! It is an unrivalled partnership that no blade could ever hope to sever. A bond of such impregnable strength – very much like myself and the sun. Hah-ha!"

Both undead sweat-dropped in response whilst Queren listened like a confused puppy. They weren't even sure Solaire knew the meaning of love, never mind what it was like to actually fall in love. Although… they had to give the man credit. His misguided ramblings held more sense in it than they would have assumed.

"I-I see," the lone Son of Chaos smiled gently, brushing his hair out of his face. "then I'm ha-happy for her.

"As you should be, dear boy." Siegmeyer patted him on the back like a father would his son. Queren unconsciously leaned into the contact, feeling that the more he experienced it, the closer he drew to his new comrades.

"Love is a beautiful thing indeed. Why, had I not met my darling Catherine many decades ago, young Lin wouldn't have had the chance to be brought into this adventurous world. Oh, how I miss them so…" the Onion Knight cupped both sides of his helm as he leaned on his knees, possibly pouting if his tone was anything to go on.

"T-Then perhaps y-you shouldn't have co-come to Lordran, S-S-Siegmeyer." All three men turned their gazes to the quietly sputtering Izalith survivor, a look of shock apparent on all of their faces – even if they were still helmed.

Queren looked up at their silence before flushing red and fidgeting with the tassels of his robe. "I-I mean, if you're missing them s-s-so much… maybe leaving wasn't the best… idea…."

He covered his face with his hands to hide his embarrassment. He had meant well but he hadn't hoped his words would come out like that. Oh, how he wished he could just disappear into thin air.

Fortunately, a snort of amusement from Laurentius destroyed the tense atmosphere as he placed a hand against his stomach and belted out a string of uncontrollable laughter. Solaire soon joined in – though, whether he was doing so out of understanding or… some… other reason, nobody knew for sure. All the while, Siegmeyer merely sat there watching as two of his close friends continued to laugh out loud at Queren's one-liner.

"Oh-haa… uh…" Laurentius breathed as he tried to regain control over his respiratory system. "The kid's got you there, mate. You walked into that one."

The Onion Knight sagged before letting out a huff. "Can't argue with that logic."

They shared another laugh, Queren and Siegmeyer joining in this time. It was a decidedly happy moment after endless hours of fighting in stifling heat. And to think the four of them had only recently joined forces as friends, Fate was quite a strange enabler.

"Do you have any fours?"

A vein on Kirk's forehead twitched as he was forced to relinquish yet another pair of lacquered cards to his opponent sitting across from him, a cocky grin on his usually annoying 'punch-me' face. He didn't know why he had agreed to alleviate his frayed nerves by playing a game of this 'Go-fish' with Lithecore, or why he had challenged the man to fifteen games thereafter – and it was not because he had lost the first.

One would think that waging war against a debatably fallen Kingdom whilst simultaneously baiting their primary target into running into a trap with his entourage of freaks that were packing Lightning Spear's in their punches would be an easy task. And one would be right… unless Lithecore was in the equation.

Kirk was no slouch when it came to tactical strategy and methods of smoking out his prey via a most sophisticated manoeuvre called outwitting. However, when his Second-in-Command was taken into consideration, things were decidedly more tense – and equally as mindboggling for several reasons he cared not to elaborate on.

Whilst killing, spooking and obviously soul collecting was Kirk's specialty; manipulation, psychological tinkering and grim guerrilla warfare was more Lithecore's specialty – and did he forget to mention that the wraith was also just a freeloader waiting to hop off the band wagon like himself?

With those elements added to any plan Kirk made, things always grew dicey. However, as long as it got the job done, who was he to complain? The woman he had hunted humanity for was finally cured anyways, and his only remaining task was to pure the bane of his putrid existence: Argon.

"I think I'll be taking those aces as well." Lithecore grinned and Kirk's eye twitched. Perhaps he should add Lithecore on that list as well. Perhaps killing the Chosen Undeads look-alike might help in freeing his frustration completely.

"Have you mobilised the wraiths yet?" the Darkwraith Commander asked sternly, his ever-present frown deepening from behind his bucket-helm.

"I wouldn't be here if they weren't. Now… hand over your two's." Kirk growled before flinging three cards at his sniggering subordinate.

"We strike at first light. The garrisons and sentries would have been displaced since his reappearance within the castle."

"Of course," Lithecore tilted his head before scratching his bare torso with a gloved hand. Kirk frowned at the man's state of dress. His refusal to don the traditional skull and crossbones of all wraith's wasn't much of an issue since Kirk wasn't big on rules. However, his constant need to be shirtless was off-putting, though none of the other wraith's said anything – besides those that were female. Although, Kirk had to shudder every time he heard one of them swoon at the sight of the 'mischievous' Lithecore. As if his head couldn't swell any bigger, now the grunts of the Darkwraith's were smitten for a maniac like him? He couldn't say which idea was more nauseating.

"Will you be stopping by to pay your missus a visit?" Kirk growled dangerously as his subordinate smirked crookedly. "You should at least give her that ring you keep staring at before we leave. What if something bad were to happen to you?"

The Knight of Thorns scoffed. As if some pathetic soldier of the fallen Gwyn could hope to fell him of all beings.

"Do you have any ten's?"

Again, Kirk cursed darkly under his breathe before throwing the remaining cards in his hand at Lithecore. He didn't know what was worse at this point; the fact that the cocky – and certainly insane – Darkwraith knew of his relationship with a Daughter of Chaos and chose to say nothing, or the fact that the annoying fool kept winning at a pointless game of chance. And where did he managed to acquire such a useless set thinly carved plates of lacquered wood anyway? It seemed as foreign as the abyssal plague upon the left side of his body.

Lithecore laughed through sharp white teeth before collecting the cards and shuffling them. "Would you like to play another round?"

The Knight of Thorns sighed out before holding out a gloved hand. At least it was distracting him from his nerves.

Argon sighed out in contentment, patting his swollen belly with a smile. Although he was still undead and didn't need to eat, the meal he, Havel, Priscilla and the Channeller's had shared around more than ten expansive dining tables had been splendid. He hadn't thought Seath's Archive would even possess something as needless as a kitchen when he was an Everlasting Dragon who had just found his immortality but… he was glad to be told otherwise.

As it appeared, the scaleless dragon also seemed to exhibit a liking for water-dwelling animals, and ate them regularly – although the difference in portions were all too obvious when compared to the few hundred and some change Scholars of his that feasted on fish on a daily basis.

The undead hummed to himself. Now it made sense why all of them were quite studious in their craft. It also explained why many of them had been relieved of duty and stuffed inside makeshift prison cells when they showed signs of intense hallucinations and over the top jibber-jabbing, according to Gregory – that much mercury would make any being go whacko.

That being said, Priscilla, as adorable as she was, had eaten like a shark. To his chagrin, she had even gone as far to eat a shark. He wasn't really complaining since seeing her smile made him smile before making everyone else smile, although he did have a few minor questions, the first on being how in Frampt's name they had managed to find a freaking shark in the middle of freaking Lordran. Other than that, however, everything was just peachy. That included the satisfied crossbreed to his left, casually snuggling into his shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Argon stared down at her smiling face as her creamy arms wrapped around his own like slender snakes. She had changed out of the leather garb he had gifted to her and into a light blue gown given to her by one of Seath's Channeller's. In Argon's mind, it was more of a surprise that Seath had even taken the time to be with her, never mind offer her clothing. Quite honestly, the dragon had done a complete 180 on all of them after their confrontation within his Crystal Cave. And though he was still pretty much a jerk around Havel and himself, hissing like he had a shaft of crystal shoved up his rectum, his behaviour around his daughter was decidedly much more friendly. He would even go as far as to say that he was being loving. It was strange to see, yet happy to note, even if Havel still wanted to bash the dragon's brains out.

The undead poked a finger against Priscilla's cheek as she slept against him and smiled when she mumbled out cutely. They had all come a long way. And to think that it was only yesterday that he had finally stumbled into the one safe haven the Painted World possessed, only to be nursed back to health by a singular white haired, soft spoken, fluffy-tailed and beautiful crossbreed he would now risk his own life to make happy – even though she wasn't half as demanding as he implicated her as.

Looking up at the ceiling that was a hundred floors to high to see, Argon blew out a puff of air as he rested his back against the cool floor beneath them. This quest he had placed upon his shoulders due to Oscar's bravery had taken him on a ride he would never forget. A human assassin to an imprisoned vestige of his former self, to the newly appointed Chosen Undead, to the unsung saviour of Oolacile, and now the reluctant successor of Gwyn. It had all been a tough ride yet he felt as if it had come and gone all too soon.

A walk into darkness before being washed in light. A step into danger that ended up leaving him with more scars than souvenirs. And of course, a jump into the unknown that had found him comrades he wouldn't trade for the end of the world – since that was coming upon them anyways.

Thinking back, he didn't know how he had been so lucky. He wouldn't lie, Fate had been a bitch, but it had also given him what he desired most, a family.

He looked down and observed the soft lines of Priscilla's face as her tail reached up to cover her like a blanket.

Fate had also given him love. How odd for a bipolar force of nature that screwed him six ways to Sunday.

Suddenly, Argon felt a tug on his right side and turned to discover that more of the black veins on his body were beginning to submerge his skin. He offered a soft grunt as a surge of vile magic threatened to burst from the surface of his body before closing his eyes and concentrating. He reached deep within himself, feeling around for the writhing mass of the Abyss still presently gnawing on the corners of his sanity and squeezed. It took some time but after a while he sighed out, opening his heterochromatic eyes as the effects of the Abyss faded once more.

His past self hadn't been lying when he said controlling it would be an arduous task. As it were, he was using all of his willpower to keep it from spreading, yet still a majority of that violet and black ichor dripped through the cracks in his mental barricades. He wondered how strong the past him had been as a mere remnant to hold back the tidal waves of putrid power he was dealing with right now. If only he could have further control over the corruption, like a sort of link with them, perhaps he could calm it down somewhat.

At the thought of that, a soul orb flashed turquoise in Argon's head as he dug his right hand into one of the pouches he kept on his belt before fishing out a ring. The sight of it filled him with remorse every time, the image of a great grey wolf crying out as his blade flashed against its soft fur. It was a reminder of the things the lies of the gods had made him do, but also, the things he hadn't chosen to defy when he possessed the strength to do so.

With a nervous intake of breath, he gazed at the simple band of metal holding up a singular onyx jewel. Whether said jewel was actually a stone of this world or a creating of the Abyss, he didn't know for certain. What he did know was that if the legends held true, this would work. After all, Artorias must have had some way of communing with the Abyss if this ring enabled him to enter its territory.

Using his thumb and index finger – which currently housed Lautrec's golden loop of favour – he slipped the innocuous accessory through his ring finger before pulling it down to his knuckle. The surge of magic made his body jolt, and he checked on Priscilla to ensure she didn't awake.

Nodding that she was still fast asleep, he looked down at his black-veined hand to see the very same violet flames from before flood the onyx stone before he felt a grew weight leave his shoulders, making him gasp.

Swallowing thickly, he closed his eyes again and reached out for the corruption afflicting his body. It was still wriggling about like before, he felt it like he felt the air around him enter his lungs. Focusing, he held his breath as he uttered a single thought toward the growing mass of Manus.

Be still.

Instantly, he felt the barrage of dark tendrils against his walls draw to a sudden halt before they retreated – curling in on itself obediently.

Argon let out a grateful sigh as he kissed the ring on his finger – a pinch of guilt stinging his eyes as he allowed a few tears to roll down his monochrome cheeks.

"Artorias… Sif… thank you."

Disclaimer: I do not own Dark Souls. You know that. I know that. And yet I still have to state it because certain big shots in business are idiots, taking our writing for canon. Now that I think about it, I probably… should have placed this at the beginning of the chapter.

- pretty much. Yeah.

Meh, doesn't matter. This is Chapter 30 of Kingdom Come. Hope you enjoyed it and thanks for following me. I can't wait to show you more.

Well, actually, I can wait. I just wanted to be sincere. Anyways, merry Christmas and Happy New Years in advance. I'll be posting one more chapter of my spin-off fanfiction before this year ends so keep your eyes peeled.

Also, I'll be editing some of the previous chapter. I realised that I toppled the whole of kilo of fan-service into the chapter instead of a sprinkle. So now I need to get a sieve and get to work.

On a side note, you know how these awesome people have released Isekai Dark Souls fanfiction? Yeah, I wrote up a parody version of my own. Well, at least I think it's a parody version…

- oh, for the love of- can you please just get to the point.

Right, so I'll be posting that in 2021. Just a word of warning, it is incredibly crass in language compared to my other works so… be prepared. I've never jumped into this method of writing before so I'm intrigued to see where it leads me. Flame me as much as you want. I need some constructive criticism to make it as funny as possible.

- you know, usually people ask to be supported or guided with worthwhile advice when doing something like this. You, however, just jump straight into the machoistic thick of things. You sure you're not some type of nympho?

I'm pretty certain I'm not.

- okay. Just wanted to point that out.

Duly noted. Have a great festive season everyone, stay safe and God bless you all. I'll see you in the New Year!

- Oyasumi!

Whoa. Did you really just choose to say goodbye like me?

-oh boy, we need to have another talk about the whole 'you, me' thing. You see, since I am you and you are me, we are incidentally…