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The Saga of Kings, Book I: Hero

Written by,

Vile M.F. Slanders

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*T...T...T...T*

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"Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo,

Aureli pathice et cinaede Furi,

qui me ex versiculis meis putastis,

quod sunt molliculi, parum pudicum.

nam castum esse decet pium poetam

ipsum, versiculos nihil necesse est;

qui tum denique habent salem ac leporem,

si sunt molliculi ac parum pudici,

et quod pruriat incitare possunt,

non dico pueris, sed his pilosis

qui duros nequeunt movere lumbos.

vos, quod milia multa basiorum

legistis, male me marem putatis?

pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo."

.

"I will sodomize and face-fuck you,

Aurelius, you cocksucker; Furius, you little bitch,

since you think that my little poems

have gone soft and I must not be too upright.

It's true; the devoted poet should stand erect

in his values, but not necessarily in his little

poems, which are truly witty and charming

when they're a little soft, and not too stiff,

but can still cause a little tingling-

I don't just mean for youth, but for hairy men

who can't make their own loins stand upright!

You! You read about my "many kisses"

and doubt I'm fully a man?

I will sodomize and face-fuck you.

-Gaius Valerius Catullus, one of the Neoteric Poets, in "Carmen XVI," his response to Marcus Aurelius Cotta Maximus Messalinus and Marcus Furius Bibaculus's criticism of "Carmen V." Born 84 BC in the province of Gallia Citerior. Died 54 BC, location unknown. Exalted hero to all poets.

-v-

Chapter X: Reconciliation (Part 1 of 3)

"Excuse me! Excuse me!"

"...Can I help you, miss?"

"I'm terribly sorry! I'm... umm… I'm looking for someone."

"Well, I dunno if I can help you-"

"Just a moment of your time! That's all I ask for!"

"Well…"

"Please, it's very important-"

"-You're not from Celedon, are you girl?"

"No, I hail from Kalos-"

"That explains the colorful getup. Those are some pretty elaborate contact lens that you've got there."

"...Thank you for your kind words-"

"-Those words aren't meant to be kind, sister. You look like the orphaned love-child of a Froslass and a rainbow."

"Thank you. Your wardrobe appraisal is most appreciated. I will take my leave-"

"Who are you looking for, fruitloop?"

"...My name is Valerie Le-Faye, sir. And I would be most grateful should you endeavor to practice a modicum of decency."

"...Sorry. I'm not used to meeting a Fairy Trainer who isn't gushing insanity."

"It's quite understandable, though even under such circumstances, I'm frankly appalled at your crass conduct."

"I said I'm sorry. Jesus, there's no need to get all huffy. Now who are you looking for?"

"I'm looking for a young man. He commonly wears black attire. Sunglasses that completely obscure his eyes. Dark, short hair. Fair complexion. Fine posture. He rarely speaks to strangers."

"Wow. You do realize that you just described every member of every punk boy band from here to Unova, right?"

"You'd know him if you saw him. He's a Channeler-"

"Yeah, I typically try to avoid freaks like that."

"-He's from Kalos, same as me-"

"Nope."

"You can feel his Distortion seep from very far away-!"

"Thanks for the tip off. If I see any queer dudes sporting black threads who can incite goosebumps from a city block away, then I'm running as fast as I can in the opposite direction-"

"-Please! I've been looking for him for over a month now! Somebody must have seen him!"

"Why the hell are you looking for this creep?! That doesn't sound like the kinda guy you'd want to find!"

"...He's my fiancé."

"...Oh."

"..."

"I'm sorry, miss Le-Faye. I would never have guessed. You have my most sincere of condolences."

"...Good day to you."

"Yeah, goodbye or whatever to you too."

"..."

"..."

"...Oh, Empousa…"

"..."

"...Where could Theron possibly be?"

"Well, well, well… Don't you just look like absolute shit, girl." I was smiling so damn hard when I said those words, I thought my face would split at the cheeks.

Vauban fell in at my side, the tip of her budding bulb was now level with my shoulder.

My little girl was doing everything she could to contain her emotions. I could see her leaves quivering from the joy of our reunion. But this wasn't the place for affectionate displays.

So Vauban eagerly waited for me to finish signing the transfer authorization, before I accepted a pair of pokeballs from the Quartermaster's foam case.

"Those are some pretty intricate scars on your Ivysaur. What happened to her back?" The Quartermaster asked, when I finished signing both Vauban and Darwin's requisition documents.

I looked over at my much bigger little girl, and took note of the spiraling white scar tissue that had altered Vauban's dorsal hide. The marks bore a stark resemblance to primitive man's petroglyphs, detailing pale snakes, whitewashed rivers, and hoary wisps of wind. I found myself swallowing hard when I recalled the surgery that had cut and stripped the dermal roots free from Vauban's hide. My little girl hadn't escaped her trial unblemished, but she had come out of it with her life.

"Just some memorabilia from a medical operation. Vauban's bulb went section-eight." I replied as I returned the inked and dated forms to the Quartermaster, who whistled in awe.

"Nothing so bad that they had to torch her?" The Quartermaster asked in complete nonchalant, but his casual question still brought a twitch to my hand and a stiffening of my jaw.

"...No. It'd never be that bad." I looked over at my brickhouse of a little girl, whose gooey eyes were beginning to water for joy.

"Come on, Vauban. Let's go relieve Cortez of babysitting detail. I want everyone present for Darwin's release." I started off slowly, making damn sure that my plodding Ivysaur was no more than a fourth pace behind me. Vauban wasn't having any difficulty walking from what I could see, though her evolution had altered the length of her limbs rather drastically.

Before her evolution, my little girl possessed a physique reminiscent of a toad. Which is to say that the old Vauban was drag-ass pudgy and stubby limbed.

Now though…

...My little girl looked as fit as a Phrynosoma. Vauban still had a rounded body and a blunt snout, but she was noticeably flatter along her anteroposterior axis, as well as perceivably longer of limb.

...And did I mention that my Vauban was bigger?

The Bulbasaur Vauban had weighed in at a dapper forty-two pounds and fourteen ounces. The Ivysaur Vauban tipped the scales at two-hundred-sixty-seven pounds and nine ounces. A budding Ivysaur should have weighed even more than that, but Vauban's pre-evolution surgery had taken a lot out of her. Even so, Vauban was still one healthy looking Ivysaur.

"Melissa knows her shit cold. You look fucking amazing, girl." I smiled at my Vauban, and that goofy dinosaur released a quirky little rasp, right before she headbutted my thigh.

"Easy, Vauban! Damnit!" I damn near hit the sidewalk after receiving Vauban's affectionate nuzzle. She was a helluva lot stronger now too.

Vauban fell back with a sheepish look, but I wasn't letting her get away with the rough love.

"Get over here, you!" I wrapped an arm around Vauban's neck, before I proceeded to administer a head nuggie to my doting little girl. After her scales had chaffed my knuckles red, I turned my Ivysaur loose and swatted her on the rump. Vauban just about bowled me over again with another affectionate headbutt, accompanied by a warbling hiss.

I was laughing my ass off as the two of us fell back into step. One grinning serviceman, and his darling servicemon. The pair of us were anything but picturesque, but hell if I cared about martial etiquette right now.

Zane had his little girl back, and Vauban finally had her Zane back.

And nothing could possibly fuck our moment up.

"I missed you girl…" I removed my lingering hand from its position below Vauban's chin. Those watering eyes and that little sniffle of hers kindled the fading glee in me for a moment longer.

"...I wish I had good news to greet you with, but things are more or less the same they've always been. We've been mandated into an unpleasant assignment, and there are more variables in our duty now then there has ever been before. But come on, Vauban…" My smiled began to wane as I provided Vauban with the sit-rep. Nevertheless, I still managed a half hearted smirk for my little girl's morale.

"...It's just another day in the Ranger Corps for the Fucking Bastard and his little girl…" I murmured, as the encroaching despondency slowed my steps and bowed my head.

Vauban was silent for a moment, warily observing my uncharacteristic depression. But then, that sweetheart of an Ivysaur gently nudged my spine, pushing me forward while straightening my posture.

"...Both you and Cortez, huh?" I chuckled, running a hand over the hardened auricles of Vauban's scaly ears. Vauban burrowed her face into my ribs, and wheezed out a little burp.

"It's good to have you at my side again, girl… It's good to have you back." I pulled myself out of the gloom, and set my firm pace marching towards a familiar haunt for this old Ranger.

And my little girl followed closely in his shadow, rekindling the cold embers of my resolve.

"Doctor O'Hare." I greeted Waterloo's Atlas developer with a businesslike air. One giant Munchlax knocked his physician to the floor when the eager fat freak pulled himself free of his examination, and scampered over to Momma Zane's tired voice.

"Slow down, chubby. You're gonna get someone hurt." I grunted, intercepting Mac's probing nose with a pair of hands. Vauban had tensed up the instant that Carb Mountain had made his presence known, but now that Mac had calmed himself down with my reacquaintance, my little girl fixed a pair of stunned eyes on me.

"Vauban, this is Mac. Mac, say hello to your big sister Vauban." I sighed, directing Mac's invasive snout down towards the nervous Ivysaur at my side.

"Mac is the newest Bastard in our squad, Vauban. He's an aggravating pain in the ass, but other than that, he's not your average Munchlax." I did my best to deliver the sucker punch softly. Vauban, like Cortez, still remembered our last encounter with this species, and she had suffered Echo's lost almost as profusely as I had.

Vauban has a big heart. She'd need one to justify her relationship to me, but even so, I didn't know if my little girl would receive a Munchlax as readily as Cortez had.

Mac's black nose inspected a new curious scent, as he whiffed about Vauban's neck and bulb. Vauban stiffened up when Mac's snout touched her brow, and that Ivysaur bore her tusks with a warning hiss.

"Mac, start backing up now." My urgent voice ordered when Vauban's bulb quivered in a clear indication of my little girl's verdict.

"...Vauban, just chill." I spoke softly to my agitated Ivysaur, as I forcefully dragged the oblivious Mac away from his likely pollination, and a beret donning Growlithe moved forward to calm a perturbed Vauban.

"Keep it cool, Vauban. We're all friends here." It wasn't the voice of command that made such a request of my little girl. It was the weary voice of Zane Bastard that pleaded with his little girl for peace. Cortez was having a measure of success in his intervention, greeting Vauban with a formal whiffing and a gentle bumping of noses. Vauban's hissing quieted, and my little girl allowed Cortez to continue with his familial ministrations, but those wary eyes of hers were locked on Mac, before they flicked suspiciously to my person.

"...Give him a chance, Vauban. He's not what you think he is. At least not yet…" I muttered, guiding Mac back to Doctor O'Hare.

The Waterloo Developer was gaping at this peculiar exchange. This wasn't the kind of interaction that you'd expect of a serviceman and his servicemon. This display wasn't something that you'd expect of your stereotypical trainer.

This was far more personal than most exchanges between humans and monsters.

"...So what's the status on Mac's development, Doctor?" I breached the awkward silence with a question. Doctor O'Hare managed to close her mouth and swallow, before she answered my exhausted query.

"Well, his growth rate is well within our expected parameters. Though I'm a little concerned about his metabolism. Normally after satisfying their appetite, Munchlaxes enter a prolonged state of dormancy. But during our feeding session, Mac refused to return the teat, even when the lines had run dry. This compulsive behavior suggests-" Doctor O'Hare began, but I cut her off with a laugh.

"Did you punch him in the face when he got angsty, or did you just simper and beg for the teat?" I mocked. Doctor O'Hare stiffened up.

"Perhaps I don't want to emulate your nurturing practices, Lieutenant." Doctor O'Hare retorted. I just chuckled at that, and punched Mac firmly in the shoulder.

"You're not doing a servicemon any favors by coddling him, Doctor. My fists have absolutely nothing on a Rhyperior's horn." I snorted.

"A Rhyperior is an adversary. A commanding officer is an ally. So how is a cerebrally modified Munchlax going to identify the difference between an adversary and an ally if both greet him with violence?" Doctor O'Hare growled at me.

"Easily. The commanding officer identifies the Munchlax's adversaries. And the Munchlax obeys its CO's command… Or the Munchlax dies." An edge of impatience crept into my voice, and a severe eyed Doctor was glaring her disapproval at the sole Ranger in the Pokemart.

"...You have your methods, Doctor O'Hare, and I have mine. We both operate in different fields, and we both have dissimilar concerns to address. You produce your warmon, and trust me to turn them into servicemon." I let the rising anger fade, and the accusing eyes of Doctor O'Hare flitted over to the Munchlax at my side.

Mac was sitting on his haunches, both silent and still, his blind eyes level with my own. The spitting image of servicemon obedience.

Doctor O'Hare tossed her hands into the air with an aggravated shrug, both eyebrows raised and an exasperated look on her pimpled face. But she wasn't going to argue any further with me.

The example at my right hadn't exactly provided the Waterloo Developer with any further grounds for propagating her ethical platform.

"I've adjusted Mac's daily formula dosage to test my suspicions. I'm going to need you to keep an accurate record of his post-feeding behaviors. We'll run the trial for a week, forbearing any early signs that indicate some other cause for Mac's post-feeding aggression." Doctor O'Hare began to pack her examination bag away.

"Hopefully my suspicions are correct, and Mac's CO won't have to make a habit out of punching his hungry Munchlax whenever he begs for food." Doctor O'Hare spat as she shouldered her kit, and moved towards the exit without even looking at me.

But I wasn't letting her walk away that easily.

I intercepted Doctor O'Hare's retreat with a cordially extended arm.

"I hope that your assessment is correct, Doctor O'Hare. Pleasure doing business with you." Doctor O'Hare met my calm eyes, her expression both alarmed and suspicious. But there was no joke betrayed by my demeanor. No mocking insinuation to question the value of her ethics.

I had conceded to Doctor O'Hare's argument, and I made that known with a humble gesture.

It took a moment for Doctor O'Hare to overcome her shock, but when she did…

The Waterloo Developer's hand had taken mine in a stiff grip, before Doctor O'Hare released me from our hasty exchange, and departed from the aromatherapy ward without another word.

"...Like I said, Vauban…" I sighed, looking over to my two awaiting veteran servicemon.

"...Same old world, new pile of shit." I groaned. Cortez rolled his head with a snort, before leaving the stunned Vauban at the aromatherapy ward's entrance, and taking his place by my knees.

"Now come on, girl. I have a fat fucking fish to kiss for his performance in a Cerulean Gym. Loosen the lead, team! The Bastards are moving out!" I grinned at my little girl, as my fingertips caressed the only occupied pokeball on my belt.

"Well, well, well…" I was grinning like a smug sonovabitch when a familiar guileless red face breached the still wharfside waters.

"...Well don't you just look like the best seven-thousand-and-eight-hundred-Sandz that I will ever spend in my life."

The water around Darwin begin to dance in a series of oscillating wakes, as my fat fucking miracle fluttered his feathery fins just below the surface.

"It's good to have you back, Darwin. How's the bullet wound?" I was trying not to laugh at my fish's euphoric display, but I couldn't hold back every giggle.

Darwin had always infected me with a peculiar humor. It probably had something to do with that goofy looking face of his.

Darwin swam around in a quick little pirouetted with a pair of tail flicks, revealing the severity of a Blastoise's hydro ballistic damage.

My breath came in sharp and harsh between my clenched teeth when I saw the wound that Shellshock had inflicted on my fish.

"...Goddamn you, Mermaid…" I hissed.

Darwin wasn't just missing scales on his portside.

Shellshock had damn near cored my Darwin with his last bullet.

There was no other way to explain it: there was a fucking hole the size of my head in Darwin's flank.

"Get your ass over here." I spat at Darwin with a worried tone, jumping off the pier and into the freezing ocean.

Darwin came up beside me slowly, almost warily, as I treaded into deeper water.

Taking Darwin's left side in both arms, I rolled my compliant fish over for a closer look at his injury.

And my lone eye was greeted by Darwin's exposed ribs poking through the scabbing tissues of his flank.

Every prior shame that I had shouldered for my performance in the Cerulean City Gym match now vacated my conscience with a vocalized string of curses.

"FUCK YOU, MISTY!" I roared it at the top of my lungs.

-What the fuck did you do to my goddamn Magikarp?!

It took me a moment of chattering teeth and rabid panting to get it all under control again, but even then, I was still scalding furious.

"You heartless bitch… Oh, I fucking swear… you're never gonna get above that mono-flame ranking. You're never gonna be anything more than a fallen dream. I can't wait for the seasonal finals now… I can't wait to shoot you down in the first-quota stage!" I was swearing vengeance against Misty after I'd already sunk her gym.

There was no way in hell that I was letting the Tomboy Mermaid get away with this.

I pulled my hypothermic ass out of the frigid water and back onto the pier, before stripping off my drenched coat and tossing it against the pier with an attitude ripe enough to curdle fresh milk.

I sat there on the cold cement, with my legs dangling over the pier, one hand covering my furious mouth. Horrified eyes staring at my wary Darwin.

That kind of injury could cripple my fish for life.

After I'd taken a moment to simmer and stew, I dragged my Tact. pad free from the the clinging confines of my soused coat, and brought up Darwin's latest evaluation records on the Ranger Corps's medical database.

What the Ranger surgeons had archived was anything but comforting.

That wound would never fully heal, so long as Darwin remained a Magikarp.

...But should he actually evolve into a Gyarados, then I had a half dozen professional guarantees that every trace of Darwin's injury would disappear after his second molt.

"...Guess it's gonna be awhile before you see the battlefield again, Darwin." I muttered down to my fish.

Darwin's idle motions went dead still.

That poor fish was looking up at me from the confines of the sea, and even though his gaping expression was incapable of shifting from its static norm…

...I knew that grounding Darwin from future competition was a blow to my fish's budding ego.

Darwin had done his damndest in the only battle I'd ever let him fight. He'd overcome impossible odds and delivered me nothing less than a miracle in his one chance to shine. He'd taken a mortal blow just to win me a badge, and he never thought less of our cause for it.

...And now, I had just kicked my poor miracle right in the balls, when I informed him that Cerulean was going to be his last performance.

"...Don't look at me like that, Darwin. You did your part. You did more than your part. You were- are fucking magnificent, and I'm never going to forget it." I fixed my eye on that hurt fish, and breathed my softest of condolences to the single most unexpected miracle in my life.

"You're more to me than a bullet sponge, you fucking fat ass. This has nothing to do with your one-of-a-kind capabilities. This has everything to do with your health. I'm not risking your life by putting you in the line of fire until that wound heals. You earned your R&R, Ranger. Just like you always have."

I was not following in Misty's ambitious footsteps. I was not gonna run the risk of turning my Darwin into the next Shellshock.

"Quit your moping this instant. You will fight again, Darwin. Your R&R has an expiration date, so don't you dare get soft and lazy on me." I growled, and a sudden resurgence of aquatic activity in the water around Darwin signified my fish's revitalized spirit.

Never stop trying, Darwin.

I know that you're gonna be the fat fucking Magikarp that could.

"Get your chunky ass over here. I'm not coddling you back into your pokeball, Skitty-bait. You're still gonna put forth a fucking effort." I bullied my fish back into his signature portrayal of laid back euphoria, but I knew that Darwin was still hurting inside.

I remember how I felt, back when Colonel Howes had recommended my medical discharge following the Snorlax incident.

I knew what it was like, dealing with a disability.

I knew how denial felt like the only hope for those of us who had been recently crippled.

For all of the hale and hearty appearances that had followed his release, Darwin couldn't hide his pain from me.

I had tried the exact same stunt that Darwin was currently pulling, fervently praying that it would keep a beret on my head.

-Put me back in the game, coach. I can still play.

"Darwin, you are dismissed." I recalled my fat miracle into his pokeball, and reverently returned Darwin to my belt.

"...You'll get your chance, Darwin. I'm never going to give up on one of my soldiers." I murmured to his pokeball, before I turned around to address my waiting trio of servicemon.

Mac had passed out as soon as we'd come to a standstill in the wharf, Vauban was keeping her distance from the new face in our squad, and Cortez was sitting his resolute self between the two of them, his calm eyes weighing heavily on me.

"Stand to, Bastards!" I shouted, and Mac shot straight up, suddenly wide awake.

"Vauban! Get your ass into formation with Cortez and Mac this instant!" I roared, and my little girl hustled to fulfill my directive. I took my steps pacing towards her location with a dire look in my sole eye.

"Listen here, Vauban. You have ten seconds to put your past behind you. I am not letting my unit fall apart because you can't get over the accident that claimed our Echo. Straighten your ass out this instant, or I will straighten it out for you." I let that hypocrisy leave my lips with an angry growl. Vauban began to wither beneath my livid glare, but then she remembered who I was.

"Thatta girl." I rumbled my approval when Vauban hardened her expression and straighten out her posture.

"Now that we're all situated, I need to explain a few things to my vets." I glared at Vauban and Cortez, after I took my position at the head of their formation.

"...The Bastards are in a very peculiar situation. Cortez has already sampled a taste of our peculiar situation, but I'm gonna clarify it for you both right now." I fell into the at ease, and surveyed my stoic unit with a severe eye.

"We have been indoctrinated into a highly unorthodox mission. A mission that our prior training has not prepared us for. Now, I can say with confidence-"

-Que an ice cold sensation and a sudden depression seizing me from the blue.

Everybody in my unit felt it.

...And Cortez was the only one who didn't lose his head.

Mac fell over his own feet when he tried to flee in terror, and Vauban immediately went on the offensive.

My little girl knew exactly what that sensation signified, and she had been trained to respond to it with the appropriate hostility. Even if there was nothing she could do to stop it.

-Theron had the worst goddamn timing.

"Vauban! Stand down this instant! MAC! GET YOUR FAT ASS BACK INTO FORMATION!" I roared my head off at my two compromised mon, and fought to maintain control of my unit.

Vauban may have been in a bad way, but Mac had just given up. That quivering ball of lard had buried his head into his fat rolls, and was whimpering his sweet life away with a futile appeal of submission.

Mac wasn't going anywhere, and there was no way in hell that I was going to reclaim, or require, his obedience and discipline for dealing with this. But Vauban was still prepping her vines for a critical battle with the Ghost that had just risen out of the Ranger's shadow cast behind me.

"...Care to tell me what TH sent you for, Exodus?" I hissed, turning around to face the bleeding grin that had split open my now three-dimensional silhouette like a suppurating cyst.

There are few appearances more unnerving than that of a disembodied mouth and eyes pulsating in a shapeless black cloud of whirling smoke. But the shriveled gums, chipped teeth, mutilated lips, and peeled back eyelids of a Gengar only serve to make the spectacle all the more disturbing.

"...You're wasting my air, freak." I hissed. Exodus's festering maw split even further apart with an asphyxiated chuckle, as the Ghost's bruised and swollen tongue thrashed its way past the confines of Exodus's awful mouth, dragging the abscessed tissues of his palate out in a conical extension behind his tache noire'd appendage.

"...If you so much as touch me with that fucking tongue, Exodus… Then you can go tell TH to take his cute little offer and shove it straight up his-" I began, but Exodus's throbbing black hole of a throat started to spasm, and that freaky fucking Ghost began to speak with TH's voice.

"Apologies for the alarming herald, Ranger, but if I may request your immediate presence at my suite in the Portis de Paris?" TH's voice simpered from Exodus's quivering pharynx.

"...You've gotta be kidding me." I stared into Exodus's rotting maw with the sheerest expression of disbelief.

-This had to be the single stupidest and creepiest fucking thing that I had ever seen.

"...Should I interpret that as your consent to a rendezvous, Ranger?" TH asked in an amused tone.

"Didn't I give you my phone number, you creepy fucker?" I asked, taking a step back from Exodus's seizuring throat.

-If I didn't know any better, I'd say that Exodus was trying to vomit on me. And I didn't want to find out what Gengar emesis did to human flesh.

"Again, I apologize for the improvisation, but I'm a little… too preoccupied to properly manage a pager right now." TH stated in a strained voice.

-That didn't sound good.

"Alright, I'm on my way. Now get your gassy Gengar out my fucking face." I growled down Exodus's throat.

Both TH and Exodus started chuckling in perfect unison, which made for yet another one of the eeriest cacophonies that I had yet to hear.

-There is nothing quite like listening to the sound of a pleasant human laugh in the midst of all that anguished screaming and fervent chanting.

"Get out of here, you freak." I hissed past my jangled nerves, and banished Exodus with but a handful of words.

Exodus began to swallow his own smoke, before he shrank down into a bleeding and toothy hole in the ground. Only after the last of that inky smudge had dribbled through the concrete and sizzled away into a greasy stain, could I experience the sweet earth free from a Gengar's ice cold Distortion seep again.

I sighed, and turned back to my frazzled unit with a shaking head.

"Well if that wasn't one of the most fucked up things he's pulled yet…" I grumbled, rubbing my eyes. I took a moment to collect myself and to allow my unit to acclimate to the swift shift in ambience.

"As I said before, Vauban..." I looked over to my stunned little girl with a weary look on my face.

Vauban's wide eyes were locked on me with the telltale expression of shellshock.

"...Welcome back to the frontlines, girl." I grumbled, lifting three soon-to-be occupied GI pokeballs from my belt.

The pompous motherfucker had his own personal wait staff.

Stereotypical Kalosian richboy.

Now, I may have come from a pampered upbringing, but my family had always managed to do without privatized butlers, chefs, or housekeepers. If anyone in my old crib wanted something to drink, then they could pour their beverage of choice for themselves. My old man had always enforced a fierce sense of independence in the homestead. If you couldn't take care of yourself, then you shouldn't expect someone else to do the job for you.

New wealth is always proud of its self-earned history. And my old man made damn sure that his son wasn't going to grow up taking daddy's money for granted. My old man made damn sure that I knew what independence and pride was, much to his regret.

But old wealth? And we're talking nigh on two millenniums worth of excessive hereditary indulgences here…

In other words, Kalosian wealth…

...Tying shoes is for peons. Even if those shoes happen to be on your own two feet.

TH could probably speak eight different languages fluently; list off every major event in world history like it was common knowledge; appraise art and cuisine with professional-grade critique; maybe he could even pull a hair-brained Newtonian physics-defying math equation out of his ass, but I'll be damned if that Kalosian snob actually knew how to tie his own shoes.

But that's just the nobility for you.

They study subjects belonging to a far more imperative curriculum, which amends the societal vacuum generated by their blue-blooded anti-conventionalism.

-Imperative subjects such as polo for example.

Either way, when a white-gloved and tailcoat clad baby-faced motherfucker approached me upon my entrance to the Portis de Paris's lobby, I was overcome with a little twinge of disgust for the servile weasel.

"Monsieur Bâtard?" The butler asked me in a hesitant manner.

"Lieutenant Bastard." I corrected, jabbing a finger up to the insignia on my balmoral.

"Apologies, Lieutenant. Ah'm happee tu'ze that jou could anseur le Duc Halcyon's summons on such short notease." The butler bowed at the waist, and ushered me towards a waiting lift.

-That corny accent was gonna drive me straight up the wall. Thank God the prude knew how to carry out his job. The ride up to TH's suite was silent, as befitting Kalosian etiquette.

Kalosians don't hold conversations in elevators. For some unfathomable reason, they consider it rude.

The hall leading to TH's suite was abuzz with activity. Maids and caretakers were everywhere, alternatively organizing hampers of luggage and packing crates full of luggage. This was something new to me. Every time that I'd seen TH prior, the cocksucker had been all by his lonesome. But I guess that the Lord Halcyon had no desire to be tailed by a fawning cabal on his evening strolls.

"Right thiz vay, plez." My escort guided me through the commotion to the suite entrance, and no sooner than we'd breached the cozy chamber beyond, than it was that my suited accomplice announced my presence with a loud cry.

"Lieutenant Bâtard est arrivé, mon seigneur!"

-At least he pronounced "Lieutenant" correctly.

A drove of attendants separated from the center of the front facility, revealing a scene that left me speechless.

"Zane! So good to see that you could make it!" TH proclaimed, lowering his velvet clad arms from their supportive position.

"...What in God's name are you wearing?" My stunned voice breathed out.

The roomful of pleasant faces fell upon hearing my awestruck outburst. Well, the attendants' faces fell, but his smug majesty's smile never wavered for a second.

"I appreciate your timely arrival, Ranger. Now if we may have a bit of privacy…" TH dismissed his attendants with that subtle hint and a lofty gesture. The entire swarm of suits and aprons withdrew from the room, leaving TH and me alone in his private chambers.

"I realize that my herald may have caused you no undue stress, so I wish to recapitulate my former apologies." TH inlined his spine to my person, but his gesture fell well short of a full bow. Nevertheless, his erroneous attire still flounced about with the simplest of motions.

The pompous turd was decked out in a forgotten era's garb. TH's embroidered coat and its ornate cuffs may have seemed trendy at first glance, but the inclusion of tailcoats and tight white breeches had graced the Eidolon King with a far more comical appearance.

"What the hell is going on?" I asked in a stunned voice. TH's face pinched with an amused chuckle, before the archaic dweeb saw fit to answer me.

"Merely a fitting to ensure that the old coat still sits tight upon the shoulders." TH answered with a pleasant smile, as though it should've been obvious.

"...Although, I must confess, the simple life has deprived me of my former volume. Perhaps I should have attended the hotel's gymnasium, just for old times' sake…" TH chortled, rotating his shoulders with a sigh. A new presence made itself known when the racket in the hallway had faded away, and TH's watchdog of an Aegislash took his shrouded position by the suite's entry door.

"...Is this location secure?" I asked in a guarded voice. TH snorted so hard that I thought he might've choked.

"A hotel? Really, Ranger… You need to operate outside of the Frontier more often." TH chortled, giving me his most cynical version of 'No'.

-So our unofficial business was currently off the itinerary.

"We're gonna need to straighten things out sooner rather than later. A problem came up, and it's got me worried." I grunted. TH sighed, and lightly brushed the pearl buttons of his left cuff.

"I'm afraid that it will have to be later, instead of sooner, Ranger. I leave for the Ellis archipelago within the hour." TH announced, bringing a chill to my spine.

"I thought that you weren't leaving for another five days!" I growled, as a fresh wave of indignity overcame my person.

"That was my original projection, but just as you have inconvenient circumstances to address in your profession, so too must I contend with such in mine." TH removed his trendy shades, and replaced them with a set of circular Victorian rims, replete with tinted lenses. Squinting through the tiny lenses, TH's upper lip curled with annoyance.

"Of all the fandangled improvisations! I should fire that damn bijoutier!" TH snarled as he reached up to strip the antiquated spectacles from his face. But no sooner than his fingers had wrapped around the golden stems, then it was that TH paused and drew a calming breath.

"They'll have to suffice…" TH muttered, removing his hands from his latest of donned anachronisms.

"So ugly fucking shades qualify as an inconvenient circumstance, huh?" I spat from my frustrated corner. TH rubbed his eyelids, and turned to me with a slight smile.

"They're a trifling inconvenience to be sure, but I'm afraid the most egregious of circumstances manifests in the form of an unseemly development. A recent development that has taxed my confidence and patience somewhat severely." TH's tone implied an apology, but I had ears only for an explanation.

"So what came up? I take it this has something to do with the Concordant?" I grunted.

"Unfortunately yes. I don't mean to be rude, Zane, but I must prioritize the fate of three nations over our unofficial agenda." TH resumed his casual air, and lifted a pressed silk sash from a velvet lined case, before draping said sash across his embroidered right shoulder.

"So what happened? Did Fuhrer Adler drop a bomb on Sinnoh last night?" I grumbled, pressing for more details.

"No, no. Nothing quite so drastic as that, but to be perfectly truncated in explaining the difficulties associated with mine current situation: It is rather difficult to host a multinational peace conference when all of the participants have elected to bring their navies to the summit." TH droned pleasantly.

"That sounds like a bullet-riddled solution for establishing peace." I laughed. TH just sighed and shook his head, ever so slightly despondent.

"You are of course, correct in your grave analysis. I have personally guaranteed Fuhrer Adler's protection, I've pledged my every asset to that cause, and yet it seems that the mighty Fuhrer Adler finds his personal entourage of Unovian Destroyer Classes a more befitting form of security." TH groaned, rubbing his eyes.

"Well, you're the backstabbing fomenter who invited a paranoid despot to a controversial meet-and-greet. What did you expect?" I quirked an eyebrow at TH.

"...This is exactly what I expected. What I was hoping for, was trust." TH straightened himself out.

"Like I said: fomenter. Hell, if you can't talk the Fuhrer out of bringing his navy to the delegations, then why don't you talk Sinnoh down from bringing their navy, and keep your navy in the Kalosian docks? Be the bigger man. If you can convince the Fuhrer that there's no need to bring armed forces, then I'm sure he'll give you the benefit of the doubt." I sarcastically suggested, as if TH and I weren't already aware that Fuhrer Adler wasn't concerned with who was gonna be the bigger man. Nevertheless, TH still managed to send a pleasant smile my way.

"I have sway in Sinnoh, but nowhere near enough influence to dictate the marshalling of their armed forces. And as for Kalos… Well, I'm not exactly qualified to order for a dissolution of the military's counteraction." TH confessed.

"But I thought that you ruled Kalos! Everything that I've heard about you and the Kalosian Crown makes the current King sound like a puppet of yours! What do you mean, you're not qualified to order a dissolution of arms?!" I cried out. TH started chuckling, before he drew a great and weary breath.

"It is true, I do possess influences befitting a King of Kalos, but not every asset of the Crown answers to my beck and call. You must understand, Zane… My challenge for Kalos's Crown has weakened my great nation. To say that I am just as powerful as King Allan Arturia is not at all inaccurate, but you must realize that my eminence has only been established by dividing the powers of King Allan Arturia. In slightly more curtailed phrasing, I am as mighty as Kalos's King, because I have made Kalos's King weak." TH explained.

"...How can your nation even operate with so much political infighting!? You make it sound as if Kalos is a dog caught between the call of two opposing masters!" This was not what I was expecting. TH always radiated an air of control. The Eidolon King ruled any commune that he took part of! ACE feared this single human being as if he were the face of a rival nation! And here, TH was practically submitting to his own helplessness with a tired smile on his face!

"Both King Allan Arturia's and mine own political powers are derived from the Noble Houses that support us. The Noble Houses continue to oversee the day-to-day operations of the Kalosian government, regardless of the social strife generated by House Arturia and House Halcyon's contest for the Crown. The King of Kalos possess no more power than what the nobility allots him, and when the Noble Houses are divided in their choice of a King…" TH trailed off, looking to me for some form of recognition or revelation, but I was still struggling to accept TH's former explanation.

"So why can't you just command the Kalosian military to-" I began again, but TH cut me off with an irritated gesture.

"There are nine Noble Houses and one Royal House that rules over Kalos, Zane. Whereas the Noble Houses of feudal yore swore fealty to a King and governed their own provinces, the modern-day Noble Houses of Kalos are instead assigned differentiating administrative functions. Noble House Wikstrom governs the military affairs of Kalos, and said House Wikstrom has staunchly supported House Arturia's claim to the Crown." TH elaborated, granting me some manner of insight as to the design of the Kalosian monarchy.

"So you don't control the Kalosian military?" I asked. TH shook his head with a light chuckle.

"Not directly, no. House Arturia may have secured the loyalties of House Wikstrom and House Shabboneau, but even with the House of Defense and the House of Magistracy's considerable political powers… I still possess Kalos's Secret Service, its Media, and its Banking Industry. So suffice to say, if House Arturia wishes to mobilize Kalos's expensive military, then they'll first require the support of Kalos's banks." TH smiled pleasantly at the end, and I was only left further confuddled by his admission of impotence.

"...So just refuse to fund the military's mobilization. Look, I don't see what the big deal is-" I began, but TH interrupted me with a swoon of laughter.

"If only it were so simple! But I'm afraid that statecraft is never a simple process. You must remember, Zane: there is a powerful organization actively working against me. Every action that I take is scrutinized for any possible motivation, no matter how unfounded such motivations may seem. If I were to refuse funding for Kalos's military, it wouldn't prove all that difficult for House Arturia to publically paint my noble intentions with glaring shades of fragility. Establishing peace with Unova may be a desired goal of my nation, but foolishly trusting the benevolence of Unova's dictator would be regarded as naive at best. No. If I am to maintain House Halcyon's continued public support, then I must play charades and authorize the funding of Kalos's military. But with that said…" TH grinned to himself, before lifting his concealed eyes to my person.

"...The ideal means of securing your own prerogatives within statecraft comes of negotiating a compromise. I will concede victory to House Arturia in this trivial battle… But not without first depriving House Arturia of a valuable asset that they will most assuredly have need of later on in this war…" TH's wicked grin grew even wider, and I found myself fighting off the chills in light of his passionate scheming. TH's evil smile faded, and his business tone resurfaced as he glossed over his new political agenda.

"Regardless of every participating nations' brash appearance, the delegations will proceed in a peaceful manner. Now that I have accepted the futility in contesting what will be, I must quickly adapt my priorities from dissuading the mobilization of the Concordant's navies, to ensuring that such navies' presences does not interfere with the goal of the Concordant's convention." TH adjusted his aiguillette, before the Eidolon King lifted a felt bicorn off its velvet bust, and placed that ludicrous hat upon his head.

"Now if I may make a bold request of you, Zane? Be brutally honest with me… How do I look?" TH asked as he assumed a dignified bearing, and a haughty expression erased all traces of humor from his visage.

My only answer was gut-clenching, rib-popping, tear-invoking, throat-shredding, and rectum-spasming laughter.

"...Oh my God… Are you fucking serious?!" I actually managed to wheeze out something lucid in between my breath consuming cackles.

TH's haughty expression never wavered, nor did his regal posture diminish in the slightest.

"Perhaps I should have clarified-" TH began on a testy note, but I wasn't gonna let him finish.

"-You look like a pompous clown! What the fuck is with that napoleonic outfit?!" I asked as I mirthfully coughed up my remaining lung with the death rattle of a cackle.

"This is my court dress. I am expected to don such vestments in any official political functions that I attend." TH loosened his lordly demeanor with a sigh.

"Well whatever it is, it's two and a half millennia out of fashion! Holy fuck, you look ridiculous…" I almost choked on the first complete intake of breath that I'd managed for well over a minute.

"...I know. I hate this bloody uniform with a vibrant passion." TH spat, visibly clenching up as he restrained himself from ripping away the delicate finery that festooned his person.

It took me a moment to collect my hacking breath, though the rapidly changing atmosphere definitely played a part in my quick recovery.

"...Then why don't you just wear what you want to wear?" I asked. TH sighed, and looked down at his leather-sheathed toes.

"As I stated before, this unbecoming attire is expected of me. Such whimsical liberties are denied to those who elect to represent something greater than themselves…" TH mumbled to the floor.

And that self-conscious remorse of his left me absolutely speechless.

"...It's called a mirror, TH. I can't judge that outfit fairly." I finally managed to locate my voice, and when it left my mouth, it was with a wary gruffness. TH laughed on a short, silent breath, before he lifted his gaze from the floor and onto my person.

"...These eyes… aren't what they used to be, Zane…" TH whispered in a forlorn tone.

Yup. Stunned for words again.

"...You look like an ancient French buffoon. But an authoritative French buffoon." I answered, when the silence had become too uncomfortable to bear. TH snorted, and tossed his bicorn back upon its bust, before his fingers and eyes lingered on the silk sash that stretched from his right shoulder to his left hip.

There was a coat of arms on that silken sash. While the shield and banner was of typical heraldry placement and design, the motif on the escutcheon detailed a blue-breasted kingfisher taking flight from a bird's nest of woven snakes, with a crown held tightly in the kingfisher's bill.

"Your family insignia?" I asked, indicating the coat of arms with a gesture. TH smiled down at the shield on his sash, and closed his eyes in mournful reverence.

"...Noster Viperarum Meus Salvabit Te De Serpentes..." TH murmured the family motto inscribed on the coat of arms' banner.

"From the vipers, do we protect thee." I replied with the rough translation. TH snorted, and shook his head.

"...Close enough." A slight smile played on TH's lips as he tossed the heraldry aside, and loosened the ornamental aiguillette from his shoulder.

"...So why does Pariah's escutcheon detail an Egret and a Lune?" I asked, looking over to the hulking Ghost at the door. For some reason, TH burst out laughing at my query, though Pariah made no movement to indicate that he even cared.

"Because my Pariah did not descend from Noble House Halcyon…" TH smiled at me, and a chill seized my veins.

"...No, my Knight hails from a far more noble House, do you not, Pariah?" TH grinned at his shrouded Knight, and the barest hint of a cruel jest was betrayed in TH's voice.

Yet Pariah still did nothing.

"Or maybe he just likes the stupid colors on the shield. I still don't buy into your whole life-after-death bullshit, TH." I grumbled.

"If only we could all afford such a luxury, Zane…" TH sighed, packing away the last of his apparel.

"Now that I've enlightened you to the reason behind my unscheduled departure, I think it's best that we gloss over the details of your active assignment in my absence." TH switched track before we could entertain another time-consuming debate on religion.

"I can handle myself just fine without you. You won't be missed." I grunted, not liking the sudden authority in TH's tone.

"I beg to differ, but I'm sure that those close to you will conceive of a means to prevent any… inconvenient circumstances from upsetting your official prerogative." TH didn't smile when he spoke those words. As mocking as his insinuation seemed, there was nothing vindictive in TH's expression. If anything, TH looked concerned…

"I'm not worried about Lt. Surge. Damascus is scheduled to return to active duty before the Gym Battle, and the Blackhats are having me run preparation drills out in the Gouge. This new approach to Gym Battles is something that I'm far more comfortable with, compared to the typical League bullshit." I retorted to TH's insinuation, regardless of its intent.

"...It's not the Gym Battle that worries me, Zane. It's your interview with Indigo Four that has me brooding." TH shook his head, and a knock at the suite door signified the end of our rendezvous.

"I bid you farewell, Ranger. Best of luck to you in your endeavors." TH sighed, dismissing me, before tilting his head to the Aegislash at the door. The door opened of its own accord, and a weasley butler made his trembling way past Pariah's hulking shadow and into the room.

"Mon seigneur? Your escort has just arrived at Eisenhower airbase. Shall we make ready for transit?" The butler asked in a weakened voice.

"Pariah, please…" TH sighed, and the massive wraith faded away into Distortion, freeing us all from the severity of his unpleasant seep.

"Of course. Send my luggage ahead of us. We leave with the last transport." TH extended a hand towards me.

"...Be prepared for an unexpected turnabout, Lieutenant. Beyond that warning, I dare not divulge any more details. Just… Try not to be yourself, come Indigo Four's interview…" TH faltered over the last bit, as though he feared speaking that much.

"...Whatever. Best of luck to you and your whole peace conference." I grumbled, quickly finishing our gentlemanly formality, and making to vacate the suite before TH's luggage could.

I'd just have to keep a lid on my concerns until TH got back from his summit. In truth, without TH's presence, the likelihood of a breach seemed implausible. But when you're dealing with the kind of situation that I was…

...Some manner of contingency would have gone a long way towards ensuring me a measure of comfort.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

...

Author's Note (Confessions/Rant):

Hey y'all. Vile Slanders here.

This chapter has been a long time coming, hasn't it? More salt on the wound: It's only 1/3rd of the intended Chapter.

So what does this mean for TSoK, and why has it taken me this long to update? Well, I'll start by answering the first question.

TSoK is still alive. No, I'm not quitting. But some doubts of mine have not yet been addressed by myself, and these harbored doubts require addressing. One such doubt pertains to the length of my chapters. I've joked incessantly about the OUTRAGEOUS scale of my chapters in the past, though in truth, this was a cope out mechanism that I employed to fish for my audience's opinion: Are my chapters too long?

When it comes to FF, reviews keep a story alive. FF authors don't receive royalties for writing their pieces. This is a hobby, an enjoyable waste of time. A lot of us feel disenfranchised with our investment of time when such an investment garners minimal attention from our viewers. Some of us have lofty goals for establishing widespread fame, and perhaps even securing a minor income boost courtesy of sponsorship.

If necessary, I can provide logical evidence that I am not one of the aforementioned FF authors.

I write because I have a story to tell, not because I have an ego to sell. But nevertheless, I thrive off of reader feedback. This is not an expression of vanity, more of the polar opposite.

What is the point of investing all this time and effort into a story if there is a lack of interest?

Contrary to what you might be assuming about the suggestion that I just hinted at, reader interest and feedback is NOT the fault of the audience. Rather, it is the fault of the author.

I know that I write for a niche audience. I know that my particular literary interests appeal to a minority. I don't ever expect to pen a cult classic. The lack of reader feedback and positive reviews comes with the territory. This I have accepted.

But despite my acceptance, I still yearn for feedback.

For those of you who have gifted me with your concerns and feedback, I extend my warmest gratitude. You guys have influenced the story's progression far more than any of you probably realize.

I will still attempt, with every fiber of my being, to finish TSoK, regardless of reader feedback.

Now onto answering question 2: What the hell happened to the story's momentum?

Well, there are two ways of answering that. The simplified answer is to say that I felt disenfranchised with myself, set off to write an original piece, penned two dozen concepts, built NUMEROUS worlds of my own, compiled original lore, world elements, and character designs...

...And then fell short at writing a single initial draft.

And then there is the convoluted answer. The personal answer. The darker answer. The truer answer.

Come shortly before the turn of 2017, I completely tuned out, and just gave up.

Not just in writing, oh no. I gave up on everything.

I kept my job, a roof over my head, my closest of relations (barely), and a surprising amount of my residual sanity, but otherwise: I fucking gave up on the world.

2016-2017 has been a trying year of my life. A yearlong ordeal, if you will. I've never invested so much of myself in hope. I've never put forth this amount of my conviction, set aside this level of my cynicism, let go of this amount of misanthropic sentiment...

...Just to see all that negativity be proven justified. Just to see confirmation that my original nihilistic idealism was well-founded.

...Just to see the new me, the hoping me, the "let's make world peace happen me," proven aught but a fool.

For the longest time, I received ridicule (criticism, if I'm to be authentic) that my worlds incorporated too ignorant a society. That my designs always pivoted on a naively self-destructive societal model; a model that was completely unrelatable to the real world because of just how improbable it seemed: that humanity would realize such widespread fatalism and idiocy.

And despite the hypothetical value of my critics' arguments...

...I was proven right, July 26th, 2016.

And I felt neither satisfied nor vindicated by the revelation. If anything, the new me felt both disgusted and violated.

Widespread idiocy had won. And on November 9th, 2016...

Widespread animosity, corruption, and apathy had plunged the last coffin-nail into my newfound hopes.

I came to hate the world for what it had spurned. I hated mankind for what we had decided to settle for in our indolence. I hated the system, for what it had unjustly established.

And I hated myself for daring to believe in hope, and for daring to believe in the common goodwill of mankind.

For the longest stretch, I let myself waste in apathy. Fuck the world, fuck humanity, fuck all these lazy, ignorant, elitist, willfully misled fucktards. Fuck the hope of tomorrow's earth, and fuck the fate of the current dominant species.

Just fuck it all.

I wanted a revolution. Not a bloody and extreme revolution; but a revolution of morality; a revolution of ideals; a resurgence of information; an exchange of goodwill; a promise of a better tomorrow that I could believe in...

I wanted a global society. I wanted borders to exist only in history books. I wanted an international culture, that regarded harmless differences as little more than personality quirks. I wanted distinctions to be worn as an identity, not as a merit.

I wanted to believe that man was finally capable of realizing the extent of our hubris. I wanted the majority of humanity to realize that the only real distinction worthy of cruel arbitration was the pursuit of selfish desires at the expense of society's wellbeing.

I wanted a bunch of monkeys to realize that the accumulation of shiny shit does not merit any value or relevance to an individual's existence.

I wanted humanity to overcome their greed and self-righteousness, to set aside their fear and elitism; to embrace their brethren of different creeds, races, sex, and cultures.

I wanted humanity to pursue the distinction between what is human and what is animal to the utmost limit of our definitions.

And I was proven a fool in all of my vain hopes and desires.

We're just a bunch of monkeys, racing to collect the biggest pile of shiny shit, if only to imply a frivolous value to our frivolous lives; at the expense of every other living creature on this earth, most notably ourselves.

And I hate humanity for killing the romantic human.

I'm still in recovery from the catastrophic letdown. I wanted to believe that compassion, empathy, and rationality were more widespread than elitism, greed, and paranoia. I dared to believe differently.

And now I'm even more disconnected with the world that surrounds me. I feel evermore an oceanic oyster in a sea of dry sand.

I am filled with loathing; for myself, for my culture, and for my very species.

...And yet, I still hope.

Maybe, we Millennials will carry on with the traditions initially set in stone by the cancerous baby-boomers. Maybe, we'll all submit to futility, justify our barbarism as human nature, accept our flaws without compromise; just as those self-destructive idiots did before us. Maybe we're damned as a generation, to be so caught up in the pursuit of fame and material wealth that we fail to realize the repercussions of our actions.

...But hey,

...There's always Generation Z to stock hope in. Let's all hope that our offspring realize the romantic human that we failed to achieve.

Because if Generation Z follows in the fatalistic footsteps of their fore-bearers...

Humanity, both romantic and primeval, will die as a species.

I hope that we realize the extent of our hubris before it's too late, because otherwise: these stories we cherish will become one with the dust of their creators.

...And no one will ever experience the conceptions realized solely by romantic man again.

Here's to romantic man, to my fellow dreamers, to both the writers, and to their readers.

Here's to hoping that romantic man surfaces and establishes dominance before primeval man damns us all.

My pseudonym is Vile Slanders, and I wholeheartedly impart this message.