Please note that this story is gradually undergoing revisions, so there may be some inconsistencies on minor details between revised chapters and currently unrevised chapters.

Darkness was a funny thing: despite the difference being difficult to notice under most circumstances, there were actually varying degrees of severity when it came to the dark. Many times, what people thought was dark was not all that bad once their eyes adjusted. Then there was true, utter blackness, the likes of which only ever occurred when no form of light could reach you, like the depths of an unlit cavern. Archangel was wrapped in such utter blackness, unable to see anything. It was a stark contrast to the blinding light that had engulfed him but a moment ago.

While cut off from the world around him, the soldier still panicked. The last he had seen of his sister, and of himself, was that blinding light. Having witnessed many explosion, Archangel knew that such flashes usually accompanied them.

Was he dead? Was Mission dead? Or were they merely unconscious, lying exposed on the floor of a hostile base, at the mercy of the enemy? If the latter was true, then chances were they would soon be dead regardless.

Thinking of that outcome, Archangel tried to will himself to consciousness, though he had no idea if that was something one could even do. Even so, he tried to do it all: open his eyes, flex his fingers, simply become aware of his surroundings. Unfortunately he was not met with success at first.

But as the deep darkness that clouded his vision grew mildly brighter, Archangel realized that it may have actually been working: slowly, gradually, his senses were returning. But as they did, his uncertainty about the situation only deepened significantly. Something was very wrong about his surroundings, even though he hadn't opened his eyes yet.

The ground pressed against his back was soft, not at all like the hard steel of the enemy base. The temperature on his skin, on his face, was hot enough to make it feel as though he was burning. Moreover, the fact that he could feel anything on his face through his helmet at all should have been impossible. The suit was pressurized and temperature regulated.

It was also much, much brighter than it should have been on the other side of his closed eyelids. Even the fluorescent lights of the base interior were not this bright.

Coming to full wakefulness, the soldier acknowledged that he was absolutely not wearing his armor. He could feel the difference in weight on his body. Moreover, his hands bare, and in full contact with what he swore felt like hot sand. Opening his eyes to finally ascertain just what the hell was going on, Archangel was blinded by a ball of light directly above him, forcing his eyelids closed once again. Rubbing the stabbing pain out of his eyes, the soldier raised a hand to shield them from the brightness as he identified the source of the light: astoundingly, it was the sun.

Well, it wasn't astounding because it was the sun: it was a combination of things. For one, the sun above him was yellow, and from the scorched Earth Archangel had come from, it was almost never that color. All of the soot and ash in what remained of the atmosphere often made it a hellish orange or red. Moreover, Archangel was completely exposed to it, and he wasn't burning alive: though it was hot as hell.

But even these facts were not what stunned the soldier the most. Sure, the sun was yellow and it wasn't killing him, but more importantly, it was arcing through a pure blue sky not all that dissimilar from his own azure eyes. This sky was dotted with fluffy white clouds, and there were even birds about: he had not seen a wild bird in the sky since Nova has scorched the Earth.

That being said... where was he? Looking to his left and right, all Archangel could see through his dark brown bangs was sand dunes. There was no sign of his sister, his team, or the enemy facility. Not that he had expected there to be, since this was obviously not Greenland. Beyond that though, Archangel couldn't imagine where on Earth, quite literally, that this could be. Any desert that had faced the sun when Nova happened had been mostly turned to glass when the flare scoured the planet. And deserts that had been on the far side, while mostly still sand, would not have had safe atmosphere anymore than the rest of the world did.

No place on Earth was still in this condition. But that didn't really help him put any logic to his situation.

Utterly bewildered, Archangel decided that maybe he should take stock of himself instead of his surroundings. At the least, he may have been able to make sense of that. Glancing down to peruse his own form with oceanic eyes, the soldier swiftly acknowledged that his earlier assumption was right: he was lacking any of the equipment he had been using during the operation. His battle armor was completely absent, and his weapons and ammo were likewise nowhere to be seen.

What he did have was casual clothing that wasn't far off from how he tended to dress on days off: typical jeans, a black shirt, tennis shoes and the deep red leather jacket Mission had gotten for a birthday, after insisting that his usual attire was lacking. Archangel acknowledged that these clothes were something he was familiar with: but he hadn't been wearing any of it under his armor during the mission.

Considering all of these things that he couldn't even begin to explain, Archangel quickly reached the only logical conclusion he really could at the moment: he must have been dreaming. Or dead. But if this was supposed to be heaven, it was sorely disappointing, which was why he settled on dreaming instead. He hated this fact considering that it was no time to be unconscious and dreaming of nonsense, but what could he do about it? It wasn't like he could force himself awake so he could get back to the action.

Unsure of what to do, Archangel placed one arm on the ground beneath him to heave his body to its feet. However, he only managed to sit up halfway before a sharp and unexpected pain in his side stopped his efforts short, causing him to gasp in both surprise and agony. Looking down, the brown-haired soldier noticed a particularly nasty puncture wound just under his ribcage. It wasn't too large: about the width of two fingers. However, size didn't mean much when it came to puncture wounds...

Dreading what had to be done, the soldier gently pressed his fingers inside the gruesome injury, feeling for serious damage. Although it pained him greatly, the wound itself was not so bad, relatively speaking. As best as he could tell, it had missed all of his major organs, and he couldn't feel the actual shrapnel anywhere inside him. The furthest extent of the damage was his shredded muscle in that area.

It wasn't hard to assume that this injury was the result of the device behind him exploding. If that was the case, it was utterly crazy that he had escaped with only this injury. He'd been right next to the source of the explosion... then again, if he was dreaming, why was he wounded at all? Maybe his mind was manifesting an injury he actually had in this dreamscape...

Finished with his analysis, Archangel gingerly removed his fingers from the hole. Despite his best efforts, he still flinched at the gruesome pain it caused him. Feeling that sensation, he had to admit that this was one hell of a lucid dream. His pain sure felt pretty real. The heat of the sun on his bare skin felt pretty real too. And the dry throat and thirst likewise felt the same.

Of course, it was hard to tell that you were dreaming while still within the dream... but all of the sensations around him felt far more like reality than anything his mind had ever conjured up. Taking that into consideration, Archangel contemplated what to do next. Honestly, it didn't take long to come to a conclusion. Obviously, he needed to treat his wound as best he could, then find some semblance of civilization as swiftly as possible.

But if it was a dream, why bother? Well, it was more like 'why not?' If it was a dream, then there was no harm in anything he did within it until he woke up. But if, somehow, someway, this was all real, well... he needed to take care of his injury and find a means of survival. That being the case, there was no reason to not take the situation seriously for as long as he was in it. If he woke up from the dream after treating it like it was real, then no harm done. But if it was real, then he ended up living, which was pretty high on his list of priorities.

Unfortunately, his current situation wasn't very conducive to survival regardless. If he had his gear, he could have properly treated his wound, but he could not see any of it anywhere. The next best thing he could do was take off his jacket and tie it around his body in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Unfortunately, that did nothing to ease the pain, and he cringed several times as he stood up.

He couldn't help but let out a few tears. Although Archangel had been through much worse, more than once even, the injury still hurt like hell. More importantly, he didn't feel at all stable as he got to his feet. Looking down at where he had been sprawled on the sand, there was an obvious splotch of red staining the sand, so he had already lost some blood prior to regaining consciousness.

If he was feeling a little wobbly already, it was only a matter of time before further blood loss incapacitated him. If he lost consciousness out here, he would almost certainly die. Blood loss, being baked alive, dehydration, bloodthirsty predators... the now unarmed commando wasn't particularly interested in going out in any of those ways. So he had to find some sort of civilization soon. Very, very soon.

Looking in all directions around him, Archangel could see no indicator of where civilization may be. He knew the odds were against him if he was just stumbling around with no direction, but what choice did he have? Just standing around was even more likely to facilitate his demise.

So, with no other choice available to him, the disarmed soldier stumbled down his first sand dune in search of salvation. Considering his odds, he was hoping more and more that this was a dream: otherwise, his situation wasn't looking particularly good.

Where did fate get off, dropping him in a desert in whatever situation this was? If he were going to die in some mind-boggling situation, couldn't it have at least been on a beach? Was that really asking too much?

As the first few steps through the desert buried specks of sand in his shoes, Archangel scowled. Yeah, it apparently was.

No rest for the weary was a maxim no one wanted to live by. Airi knew this for a fact because she was one of those weary people who could never catch a break, even though she worked so hard. A lot of that was simply because she was so reliable, so she was often tasked with important things. But an even bigger part of it was the redhead's companions, who never did anything to make her afterlife easier.

Menace ran off at every chance she could get, completely uninterested in serving the Swamp Witch when she could be futilely attempting to restore her ancient kingdom. And Melona was no better: always more interested in staying out of the swamp for as long as possible and screwing around for her own amusement. Following the orders of the Swamp Witch was something the pink slime only did when she had no choice: usually when the Witch threatened to do horrible things to her.

That being the case, only Airi was left to be consistently responsible in her trio of servants, and that was honestly more taxing than almost all of the work she did in the Witch's service. This reality was constantly weighing on the ghostly maid, including right this moment, which lead her to sigh as she hovered ever so slightly above the sandy streets of a desert town, which strangely didn't attract any attention from the passing citizenry.

Then again, maybe it wasn't that strange: on a map, this town was named Dhurbin, but when Airi and Melona had first entered the area, the citizens had welcomed them to "The Kingdom of Amara." And considering that no one seemed put off by a maid floating around and a pink woman with bunny ears and the most outlandish attire in existence, it wasn't hard to imagine that the people here were relatively new thralls to Menace's service. Probably the result of her one of her many curses.

Personally Airi didn't care much about the state of this desert town in and of itself. The problem was that this town was keeping Menace from coming back to the Swamp and her rightful master, because the airheaded ancient princess really thought this would somehow lead to the restoration of her kingdom. With only a few powerful servants at her disposal, Menace going rogue like this was something the Swamp Witch really didn't like, to say the least. Hence why Airi and Melona were here: drag her back to the servitude she was obligated to carry out.

Needless to say, Airi had no desire to be punished again because of her two companions' incompetence, which unfortunately led to another problem. She had no idea how to get Menace to come back with them. She was terribly stubborn about ruling her supposedly reborn country. And if she didn't manage to bring her back, the Swamp Witch would no doubt be the most displeased with Airi, since she was supposed to be the most reliable of her servants. Melona had already mentioned forgetting about the swamp and not going back during the trip here, but Airi wouldn't allow that. Aside from not wanting to face punishment because of Melona's decisions, she didn't take kindly to disobeying their master. The Swamp Witch had been the one to free Airi from the torment of hell. Serving her was the most important thing to the redhead.

"Hey, you bastard! I'm not finished with you! You think you can just snatch water out of my damn hands and run off!?"

Airi glanced towards a commotion that had disrupted her thoughts, that being some sort of scuffle across the sandy alley in another street. A group of men were restraining a man with brown hair and some red cloth around his abdomen that was completely ignoring them in a feeble attempt to drink out of a water skin, which he had presumably stolen right out of their hands. Airi briefly wondered if the men harassing this poor soul were not under Menace's influence since they appeared to be acting normally, but really, what did it matter? Maybe they were just visiting.

There was a mild pang of pity and sympathy for the victimized man that was likely dying for a drink, but Airi knew she had no time to waste on petty scuffles between strangers. She had a mission to complete. Besides, they'd probably just rough him up a little. It wasn't like she was leaving him to die.

With small effort on her part, the once human turned spirit ignored the scenario and kept moving along the mostly beige and terracotta streets of Menace's city. She didn't notice that Melona had stopped following her until a few feet later, mostly because she had been walking abreast of her prior to now. Already dreading whatever the slime could have possibly been thinking, Airi looked back to see the pink nuisance staring at the fight that had broken out across the street with peculiar interest. Before Airi could practically beg her to ignore it, the whimsical slime dashed into the alley that would take her to the fight. Left with no choice, Airi sighed and turned to follow her, the redhead's thoughts taking a morose turn as yet another distraction cropped up to ruin her plans, since she could hardly return to the swamp with neither Menace nor Melona.

Why am I the only one who can stay focused? Isn't being undead curse enough?

With no choice but to follow Melona through the alley between two squarish sandstone buildings, the commotion came within Airi's line of sight soon enough. The slime had already intervened on the situation for some reason. She had one of the men who had started the fight pinned against a wall, each of her fingers transformed into sharp and deadly blades. Airi tried to identify what could have possibly made the typically callous and cruel slime intervene on the behalf of some stranger, but upon looking at the victim of the brawl, the wraith was able to hazard a guess. A young man with unusual blue pants and a strange red top tied around his stomach was sprawled on the ground, probably due to dehydration and fatigue rather than being pummeled. Melona had intervened too fast for him to take too much of a beating.

To say he looked foreign was an understatement. The fabric of his clothes was extremely unusual, and that made it obvious why Melona was helping him: he was interesting. Melona liked interesting things because they kept her from being bored, and she hated boredom. So the fact that she wanted to investigate the nature of this mysterious individual was enough reason for her to help him out of a tight spot. After all, he couldn't be a source of entertainment if he was dead.

As for Airi, she was more concerned with his state of injury. The men here may not have beaten him up, but blood was staining the sand beneath him. But if he had been injured before this scuffle had even occurred, all the more reason it stirred her ire.

It was true that she was in the service of the Swamp Witch, a decidedly unkind entity. But that didn't mean Airi was incapable of righteous anger or empathy. After all, she herself had been the victim of many unfair twists of fate when she was alive. In fact, one of those unfair twists was the reason she was dead. All too familiar with with being a weak and helpless victim in life, Airi found herself growing significantly more invested in the current situation, and it was mostly a surge in anger.

Frankly, her displeasure with the thugs harassing this man wasn't really on his behalf. She knew nothing about this stranger, after all. She wasn't a bad person incapable of compassion, but the intervention she was about to make was really to satisfy her own urge for retribution. She knew the misery of being callously beaten down even when in need of help. Preventing that from happening, even to a complete stranger, was a way to vicariously satisfy her own desires.

That being so, Airi summoned her scythe, the weapon materializing in the air before her, and moved towards one of the men who seemed to be the leader of the group. At any rate, most of the other men around were constantly glancing at him, like they were waiting for some sort of direction. Or maybe it was because he was on the ground and coughing up blood, having either been hurt by the man they had been about to attack or by Melona. Either way, Airi figured he was a good enough target to get her point across, and so lowered the edge of her scythe to rest beneath his neck.

With the sharp edge of her weapon scraping the scraggly black hairs of his beard, the man's eyes widened at the sudden turn of situation. One moment, he and his buds are chasing down a punk who had the audacity to steal right out of their hands, and the next, some pink blur slugs him in the stomach, and now someone had a scythe at his throat. How was that fair?

"H-hey, what do you think you're doing?! That guy robbed us, we're totally justified in-!"

Not much caring for the 'justice' this man apparently adhered to, Airi cut off the objection by digging the edge of her weapon into his skin. The redhead gathered as much malice as she could muster before speaking, which wasn't all that hard considering the personal offense she was taking to this situation. And for someone so ordinarily soft-spoken, she could be very menacing.

"I'm giving you and your friends one chance to leave. If you object after I'm done talking, I'll take your life. If you begin to leave, only to turn for some sort of parting comment, I'll assume you want to fight, and I'll take your life. When I finish speaking, get to your feet, gather your cronies, and make yourselves scarce. Do all of this and you'll survive. Understood?"

The man nodded as well as he could with the tip of a scythe brushing his skin, obviously too terrified for words. Airi wasn't one to revel in inflicting terror for its own sake, but she did find some slight satisfaction in being able to intimidate a burly man such as this so easily. Certain he nor his companions would give them any more trouble, the spectral maid removed her weapon from its very threatening position at her victim's neck.

"Begone then. I could still change my mind."

Without a second thought, the scoundrel scrambled to his feet and dashed off as quickly as he could. Having heard everything Airi had to say and seeing their leader flee before their eyes, the other men that had been accompanying him scurried off as well, not all that dissimilar from cockroaches suddenly exposed to light.

With the situation rectified, Melona leisurely strolled over to the now unconscious man they had rescued, the waterskin he had stolen laying on the ground with its contents wasted. He apparently hadn't even managed to stay conscious for that long.

Standing over the body, Melona wedged her foot under him and rolled him onto his back. Seeing him up close, just how bad of a shape he was in became more obvious. The men that had grabbed him had indeed had too little time to do any damage themselves, but they hadn't needed to. Sunburned and clearly parched just from how wrinkled his lips were, it was no great mystery that he had been out in the desert for some time, apparently without any of the supplies a human like him would have needed.

The leather jacket he was wearing was tied very tightly around his lower torso, and although it was red, it did not hide the blood that was staining it. Untying the knotted attire revealed a gruesome puncture wound just under his ribs, although Airi couldn't tell what had actually caused it. it was ragged and looked particularly deep: she could have used her fingers to find out just how deep, but Airi didn't have much trouble dispelling that particular notion.

While Airi was still analyzing the victim they had rescued for all the wrong reasons, Melona wasted no such time, picking the battered man up and slinging him over her shoulder none too gently. The slime smiled mischievously at her ghostly companion, who was already eyeing her with confusion.

"Well what are you waiting for? We have to take him back to the inn!"

Airi cocked an eyebrow at her, seeing absolutely no reason to do this, and confused as to why Melona would want to. As far as she knew, the slime was definitely not a good person with an altruistic heart. She had at least proven as much in Airi's experience with her. And was mere curiosity really enough to go through all of this trouble?

"Why? I think we've done plenty already. Besides, since when did you start helping people out of the kindness of your nonexistent heart?"

"Well it's more along the lines of why help him at all if you're gonna leave him here to die anyway? Besides, I'm not doing this to be a good person. I'm just curious is all."

Having her suspicions confirmed, Airi tried to downplay the odd nature of this stranger in hopes of derailing Melona's interest in him. They didn't have time for this kind of thing.

"About what? He's probably some guy from a bar who got into a fight. What's there to be curious about?"

"We both know that's bullshit. He was obviously out in the desert for a few hours at least. Besides, check out these clothes! They don't look like anything I've seen before, and I've been around for a hell of a long time."

"So you saved the life of a complete stranger because his clothes were unusual to you?"

"Yeah, I guess. But you know, I always thought you were the one who at least had some semblance of a heart, Airi. If you seriously want me to, I guess I can leave him here, but you know he'll probably bleed out before anyone helps him right?"

Unfortunately, Melona's words struck a chord somewhere in what was left of Airi's morality. Considering her occupation, the redhead tried to suppress that morality as often as possible, but anything that somehow reminded her of her horrible living experience tended to bring out some semblance of humanity from her. In this case, Airi was reminded of all the times she wished that someone would help her out of the simple goodness of their heart. She had always been so bitter about the fact that people were too selfish or uncaring to help others who really needed it: was she going to do the same here?

With a sigh, the wraith decided that she wasn't. She may have been undead now, but even so she didn't want to be the kind of person she had hated in her past life.

"Fine, we'll make sure he at least doesn't die. But after that we are going back to our original mission and having nothing to do with this person. Got it?"

Melona shrugged, pleased that she had convinced Airi to help her satisfy her curiosity. To be honest it was nothing more than a stroke of luck that any of this had happened anyway. Had the man over her shoulder been a little more boring in appearance, she probably would have ignored his plight completely. After all, she didn't do this kind of honorable stuff unless it could entertain her in some way.

Regardless, the man the two Underworld minions had rescued was very lucky. He may not have been saved out of the goodness of anyone's heart, but at least he had been interesting enough to save at all. As long as he didn't know he had been saved simply to sate a certain someone's curiosity, there was nothing to complain about.

For the second time in one day, Archangel found himself in the unpleasant situation of awakening from unconsciousness. It was never fun, really. Usually because something bad had happened to you beforehand, and awakening to the real world again came with a fair deal of pain related to that.

But this time around, the soldier wasn't as sluggish in awakening as he had been in the desert. Why that was, he had no idea. Maybe his body just wasn't as fatigued as it had been before, which was saying something, all things considered. Considering the fact that the first time this had happened today, he had awakened in a desert, Archangel was a little nervous to find out where he was now, but there wasn't really a point in delaying the inevitable. Some part of him wondered if it as normal to lose consciousness and regain it twice in one dream. He surely couldn't recall ever doing that before.

Putting the thought from his mind, Archangel forced his eyes open to take in his new surroundings. Thankfully, there was no sand and no blazing sun this time. Rather, he was staring up at the wooden panels and beams that formed a roof above him. A definite improvement, and that was to say nothing about the fact that he could feel the cushioning of a bed beneath him this time.

Well... not really what I imagined heaven to be like, but definitely a step up from the first time this happened...

Archangel gathered his memories of what had lead him here. Following a very fatiguing and arduous trek though the desert, he had miraculously stumbled on civilization in the form of a small town. Naturally he'd wasted no time in entering it, but getting help from anyone had been nearly impossible. Nearly everyone he tried to speak to muttered some nonsense about a kingdom, then pointedly ignored him. Or rather, it was more like they didn't even notice his existence. Even when he grabbed people directly by their strange, foreign clothes, they kept walking as if he wasn't even there.

He'd tried to find some place he could be tended to, but Archangel had quickly discovered that he couldn't read any of the signs around the town. The letters looked somewhat similar to the English text he was used to, but the similarities were not enough that he could read them.

Practically dying of thirst by that point, the withered commando had stumbled through the streets until he spotted a group of men, one of which had been carrying a water skin. Archangel hadn't been sure if the liquid inside was even water, but at that point he hadn't particularly cared. His situation was dire, and he had no time to negotiate for water. So, he'd simply grabbed it out of the man's hands in a desperate attempt to drink. Whether or not he had managed to do so, he wasn't sure. He was pretty sure he had passed out around that time.

But now the wounded soldier was in a bed somewhere, looking up at a wooden ceiling. He highly doubted that the men he had accosted had brought him to a place where he could be cared for. Had someone actually noticed that he was literally dying and decided to help?

With no answer to that question, Archangel decided that it was better to deal with one thing at a time. Right now, his body was sore as hell, and he needed to stretch some of that pain out of existence. Everything else could come afterwards.

With that in mind, Archangel stretched his arms and legs, groaning from the dull but ever present pain it caused him. Preoccupied with the exercise and not really taking stocks of his surroundings yet, the soldier didn't notice that his left hand had been filled with something soft and squishy until a second after it occurred.

When the pleasant but nevertheless unknown texture finally registered in his mind, the blue-eyed soldier turned his head to see what it was. What, or who, rather, was the final straw in convincing him that he was dreaming. Because sitting on a stool next to his bed was a pink girl. And when he said that, he meant really, really pink. Skin and eyes notwithstanding, everything else was pink; pink clothes, pink hair, and pink... bunny ears. The utterly confused soldier had a moment of blank thought, unsure of what he should say or do. The fact that these ears looked as though they grew straight out of this girl's head, along with her bizarre and extremely revealing outfit, temporarily stopped all other thoughts running through his mind.

Everything else was one thing. A desert, the sun, a livable atmosphere, weird foreign civilizations: that was all one thing. But there was no way this person was real. Now he knew he was dreaming.

Ordinarily, he would have plotted some way to kill or incapacitate this stranger immediately, just in case it came down to hostilities. But she wasn't real, so what did it matter?

Real or not, the girl raised an eyebrow, prompting Archangel to really notice her face rather than her overall aesthetic. She had a sly grin and was looking down at his hand. In his half-dazed state, he didn't notice the abnormal shape of her pupils.

"Well, don't you move quickly? No sense of shame at all..."

Archangel followed her gaze and saw exactly what his hand had unwittingly latched on to. Of course, there was only one thing on a woman's torso this particularly large and soft.

Despite being convinced that none of this was really happening, the room's one male occupant instinctively jerked his arm back as if he had been stung.

"S-sorry! That was an accident, I didn't see you there!"

The strange girl smiled at this, although it was more disconcerting than friendly. Something about it made him think she viewed him as more of a plaything than a person.

"I'll overlook it. Can't blame a guy for wanting a feel of perfection, right? Just don't think it means you can get all handsy whenever you want."

While he certainly wouldn't have called it perfection, Archangel did note that this girl was incredibly curvy. He wracked his brain for some obscure vocabulary word that would fit the aesthetic: voluptuous, probably. She had a lot of curves, but also wasn't thin in all the placed traditional society deemed necessary. Descriptions notwithstanding, and ignoring her very odd appearance in other regards, this strange woman was pretty sexy.

Even so, the disarmed soldier cocked an eyebrow at the stranger, surprised that she took being groped against her will so well. Maybe she was bizarre in more ways than one.

"You uh, don't have to worry about that..."

The girl's expression became less enthused at his response. What, did she want him to be more touchy? Or was he so distracted by everything else about her appearance that he was making bad reads on her emotions? Frankly, he still couldn't wrap his mind around the ears. Bizarre clothes he could accept, but those things really did look like they were growing straight out of her head.

He didn't get to keep his thoughts to himself for long, since this stranger felt the need to comment on his stance regarding groping people he didn't know.

"Geez, you could have at least looked a little disappointed. Don't get all boring on me thirty seconds after waking up."

Not sure what being boring had to do with anything, Archangel refrained from commenting on it.

"Who are you? And where am I?"

The exotic girl sighed with exasperation, as though she had already explained this too him even though he knew she hadn't. Maybe she just thought it wasn't necessary to explain these things.

Pointing to herself, the pink girl gave a very brief and not all that helpful introduction.

"I'm Melona. This is an inn."

Disregarding the unusual name, Archangel instead focused on the lack of any other meaningful details.

"Melona, who does what? And an inn, like... a hotel? What's the name of this town? Hell, what's the name of this country?"

Melona scoffed, clearly having no intent of answering any of that. It was more likely that she found his ignorance amusing.

"What, did you smack your head on the pavement when you passed out or something? I was hoping for someone interesting, not an amnesiac..."

Frowning at how decidedly unhelpful this woman was, Archangel decided to focus on things he might actually be able to get answers to.

"If you saw me pass out, does that mean you saved me?"

His lone companion shrugged, clearly not feeling that it was a big deal by any means.

"If that's what you want to call it. I mean, Airi helped, but only because of me. Feel free to worship the ground I walk on."

Archangel scoffed, finding this attitude nearly unbelievable. He'd certainly gotten involved with the oddest dream entity in the universe.

"Well, lack of humility notwithstanding, thank you. My name is... uh..."

The commando halted his introduction, for a reason that was a bit odd. Not that he didn't know his own name, of course, but there was one issue...

Years ago, Mission had made him promise that he would only let her call him by first name. They were younger, and Archangel thought she hadn't really been all that serious about the notion, so naturally he had done what a loving older brother does and promised what she wanted. Only later did he find out that she had been serious, and she really wanted exclusive rights on calling him by first name. Even years after the fact, he'd yet to get some clarification from her on whether or not there were exceptions somewhere. If he got married, surely she didn't expect him to go on a last name basis with his wife, right?

Point being, Archangel briefly contemplated whether or not he should introduce himself by first or last name. Sure, what Mission didn't know wouldn't hurt her, and if this was all a dream as he thought it was, did it really matter anyway? But this was his sister they were talking about... he could see her getting mad about him breaking his promise even in this ridiculous scenario. That being the case, he figured he may as well just play it safe. He was kind of used to it by now anyway, since the majority of people in his life called him by last name at this point.

Apparently he took too long thinking about this, because Melona felt the need to comment on it.

"Do you have amnesia after all? You forget your own name?"

"No, I didn't. It's Church. That's what you can call me."

There was a moment of pause, but it didn't last long, as Melona was soon snickering at his expense, prompting the soldier to investigate.

"What?"

"Nothing. Your name is just ridiculous, that's all."

Immediately irritated, Church wasted no time in defending himself.

"I don't want to hear anything about me being ridiculous from someone in all pink and bunny ears. Speaking of which... what's the deal with the ears anyway?"

Melona's smile faltered for a very brief instant as she formulated an answer. Airi had left the inn roughly an hour ago, but before she had, she had told Melona to keep their identities as inhuman creatures secret. For one, there was no need to introduce themselves like that. Generally speaking, for people who performed covert assassination and espionage for the Swamp Witch, the less people that knew about their true nature, the better. Word could spread quickly around the Continent, even if the source was just one man. Besides, Melona didn't want to transform this guy into a stuttering twat that would piss his pants: amusing as that was when it happened, even that got old after awhile. She wanted to learn more about this oddity, which would be difficult if he was scared of her.

Of course, she should have transformed to a more normal appearance entirely, but honestly the man she was talking with had surprised her by waking up so soon. Being notorious for procrastination, Melona hadn't transformed to a more common appearance yet, and had only possessed enough time to do away with the hands that usually covered her breasts, since those were the most obvious unusual thing about her. She had simply lengthened her outfit a bit to compensate. She could have tried changing into an entirely different and less questionable outfit on the fly, but she hadn't been willing to risk the man taking notice of her mid-transformation. After all, bizarre clothing could be feasibly explained away, but in the end, she had forgotten of the most noticeable things of all: her ears.

She was so used to them being a normal part of her appearance that she forgot how out of place they were to a normal person. Well, nothing to be done about it now. She was a pretty decent liar anyway.

"It's just a headband. As you can see, I'm kinda into more exotic clothing. Why, you don't like them? Aren't they cute on me?"

By making the man think he had offended her, Melona managed to change the subject. Hopefully her excuse would be accepted on some subconscious level.

"N-no, you're cute... I mean, they're cute! It's just... a really attention grabbing headband..."

While he had corrected himself almost immediately, Melona nevertheless found it slightly satisfying that she'd been complimented. That didn't happen often, what with most people referring to her as a monster before she killed them or something. Unfortunately, the man didn't just leave it at that, proceeding to ask another question. Melona found that a little irritating, even though she understood why someone in his position would feel the need to ask so many.

"About this other person you keep mentioning... where are they? You said someone else was involved in saving me, so I should thank them too."

Not happy to have the conversation directed away from her, Melona nevertheless decided to satisfy the man's curiosity.

"Who, Airi? Who knows. Probably off doing something tedious. Like her existence in general, really."

Before Church could comment on how unreasonably harsh that sounded, a different voice from the direction of the doorway elected to do so instead. Said voice was deeper and not nearly as boisterous as Melona's, but it wasn't lacking in feminine charm in the slightest.

"Any form of responsibility or diligence strikes you as tedious, Melona. I'd appreciate it if you didn't give people a completely misguided impression of my character before I even meet them."

Eager to put a face with the charming voice that had entered the conversation, Church wasted no time in looking away from his current conversational partner to lay eyes on the new arrival in the room's doorway. Considering that his gaze was met with the most gorgeous woman he had ever laid eyes on, he was not disappointed.

Personally, Church had always been into brunettes: but there was always one girl who could laugh in the face of something so paltry as preferences. This was that kind of girl. Her attire was already of an attention grabbing nature: Church didn't think he had ever seen someone dressed in the thigh-highs, short skirts and open blouses of a French maid uniform in his life.

But an outfit was simply a means of accentuating one's beauty: and this woman was beautiful. Her silken hair, the most brilliant shade of dark red he had ever laid eyes on, were tied into twin tails so long they nearly brushed the floor. Strands of the gorgeous crimson provided the perfect contrast as they framed a pair of stunning emerald green eyes.

Of course, appreciation for a woman's beauty couldn't be completely innocent, at least not from any sane man's perspective. Calling her sexy was quite literally saying the least he possibly could, and as beautiful as her eyes were, it couldn't distract Church's focus from her body for that long. Unlike her curvaceous companion, this girl was thinner in the waist, bringing more accentuation to her bust and her hips, both of which were the perfect size for her frame. Really, Church wasn't sure if he had seen such a perfect example of female beauty in all his life...

"If you truly wish to thank me for saving you, the least you could do is not ogle me so blatantly."

Snapped out of his uncouth observations by a voice that didn't sound particularly pleased, Church realized that he had probably stared at the redheaded beauty for a little longer than he had intended. The girl in the maid outfit put down a bag she had carried into the room, eyeing him with some mild sense of disdain.

Despite not even knowing this girl (and still pretty convinced that he was dreaming), Church nevertheless felt the immediate and potent urge to get back on her good side. Shallow it may be, but he wasn't eager to be hated by a woman this attractive within five minutes of meeting her.

Of course, he could have lied, but honestly Church felt that deception was hardly the right way to try and get off on the right foot. Maybe he was better off just being honest.

"I'm sorry, I was just... caught off guard. Y-you're very beautiful miss, so I couldn't think of anything to say..."

Despite it being somewhat embarrassing to admit so openly, Church's reply actually did seem to ease the severity of the redhead's expression. She even blushed a little, clearly surprised by his earnest compliment. Unfortunately, he didn't get to enjoy that sight for very long, thanks to a certain slime on the stool next to his bed.

"So basically, you really were just mentally undressing her, right?"

In a moment, the maid's stern glare returned, perhaps even more severe than before. She'd apparently forgotten that earnest praise of his already, thanks to Melona. Having ruined his brownie points with her, Church swore he would get Melona back for this travesty, somehow. It didn't even occur to him that his undecided time in their company might prevent him from doing so.

Every time this story gets updated, the canon characters get mildly more in character. The real question is, just how close can they get while still fitting into this story as they need to?