Somewhere, sometime, far away from the fume-spewing chimneys of Kazdel's industrial nightmares, and the slave-trading whip crackers of the Scar Market, a tiny clearing shuffled aside a crowd of oyamel firs, laid down with all its grass fields and flowerbeds. With butterflies frolicking, fowlbeasts singing, the sun dimly breaking through the trees' prickly umbrellas, a little company of mismatched souls took refuge under Mother Nature's gentle gaze. Tents sprung high, the clearing turned into a real campsite, filled to the brim with tarps, crates and wooden constructs - some meat thrown onto a rack or two, nurtured by a flesh-loving fanatic. Grumbling and rumbling, the inhabitants sat around, clutching their stomachs and mumbling. "When's the food coming?", a question repeated over and over, more common than anything, than breathing at this point. In the middle of it all sat a grand open air kitchen, fit with every piece of culinary equipment a wicked mercenary's soul might need. Hunched over a gigantic pot with flames ticking its steel belly, stood two opposites, a man and a boy, staring down into the bottomless pit sprinkled with a few dashes of oil. Gun oil, that is.

"... I reckon we let it simmer for a bit. Burn out the ori enzymes, all that toxic shit." The devil spoke and nudged his companion in the ribs. "Unless you like eating rock-cancer extract, huh? What do you fuckers even eat in that shithole of yours?"

"Much better food than whatever you're planning." Mumbled back the shadow of a person by his side. With a little effort, he shoved the man back and turned away from the pot, huffing and puffing. As much as he'd love to argue and bicker with W, Andy couldn't help but feel a little wave of excitement washing over his entire nervous system and waking his cells right up, even filling them with a sort of electricity that hasn't been welcome in his body in quite some time. Despite the putrid stench coming from the dish, he knew it'd soon turn to the delicious smell of fried onions and other vegetables him and Ines managed to snatch during their last supply run - a smell familiar to all mercs present, a reminder of their humanity. As thick as the paint that drew them in the image of mindless, moralless machines was, each and every single one of them bent and caved when met with the premise of a warm, delicious meal at the end of an excruciatingly painful day.

"That's why I got you here, no? Since you're apparently such a food expert, let's see what you can cook up, hm?" W hopped over to the boy's side, leaving the pot alone to cleanse of all its ori-toxins. With a little wave to a few disgruntled casters walking by, a smile hopped onto his face, stretching those rubbery lips across his entire mug. "... Might've picked a shit time to cook. Should've probably, eh… probably should've started all this an hour or two ago." He scratched his chin, watching a few more, sword-carrying Sarkaz warriors glaring at their field kitchen from a safe distance. "Ah, well. Not like we're obliged to cook for them, right? They eat when they eat, these dogs should be happy they're getting anything at all, hehe~."

"Mhm." Andy murmured back, picking out a nice cutting board made by Hoederer himself. A few weeks back, in a grandiose display of swordsmanship, the giant took a tree stump meant for firewood and masterfully cut it to pieces with his zweihander, turning it to a real fine piece of kitchen-aid. Or was it Ines who carved it with one of her many daggers? Or W, who just simply stole the thing off the Scar Market's mobile platform? Andy had troubles remembering. "You could stop yapping, too. I'm pretty sure they'll tear us apart if we don't start throwing anything into that pot soon."

"Blah, blah, blah, threats, threats…" With a sigh, W took to grabbing a few vegetable crates and carrying them over to the boy's work-station. "... Besides, since when are YOU giving ME orders, huh? Lawdog, I can hang you anytime I want and nobody'd bat an eye."

"Yeah, but who'd cook you dinner, then?"

"Duh? I would."

"No, I mean, who would cook you EDIBLE dinner?"

"..." W blinked, staring down at the boy's smirk "... I can cook just fine, thank you very much."

"All you cook is salt soup. Salt soup, how did you even come up with that?" Andy scoffed and grabbed a few onions off the crate-pile. With a slightly dull knife in his hand, he skinned the golden-brown tear-jerker and got to cutting, making sure to keep a reasonable distance between the vegetable and his eyes. He's already cried enough that night, thanks to a particularly sobby visit in Lemuel's dream-room.

"Salt soup! Salt soup's good, don't insult my greatest invention." W snarled back and reached for his own knife, wrapped somewhere around his ankle. "... You throw anything you find into a pot, add some salt, let it boil… You get enough food for an entire caravan. Flavor changes each time you cook it, too, it's great."

"... Yeah, depending on how many bugs fly in and die." Andy muttered underneath his breath.

"Duh? Bugs add flavor, Lawdog. And proteins. Not my fault your exquisite Lateran palette can't handle the delicacies of mercenary life. Didn't ask you to join, did I?" The man turned from his own onion-cutting, the vegetables all unpeeled and cut into thick, chunky pieces, polar opposites of Andy's finely diced pile.

"Nope. The opposite, actually." The angel threw back, focused on his cuts. "... Waved a gun in my face, too."

W let out a snortled and snickered. "Yeah, I did. I did. I don't think it was even loaded at the time, to be fair. 'Cause that fucker sold me left ammo, so I had to…"

"That guy you beat up?"

"Yeah, yeah, him. Swindler sold me left ammo, it squibbed like… Thrice during a gunfight, once. And I had a mag full of that underloaded bullshit, so it'd probably squib again."

"Mmm."

"Yeah."

"..."

"..."

Chop, chop, chop. Each careful stroke of Andy's knife, each chaotic strike of W's steel sounded out in the air as the two continued their dull work. Chop, chop, chop. Away went the peeled skin, away went the butts and rotten flesh pieces. Stumbling around camp, colorful arrays of devils wailed and moaned in longing for a culinary sensation to fill their stomachs. Impatient, some of them dared approach the two magicians, who were hard at work, movements coordinated, yet vastly different in terms of quality.

"... When's dinner?" A disgruntled "employee" asked the white haired man. W perked up for just a moment, before his expression turned to a rather grim frown.

"It'll be ready when it's ready. You wanna switch places, caster? Wanna hop up here and show me how to cook burdenmeat?" With a spit, he waved goodbye to the Sarkaz magician. "Though so. These people are just… so lacking in patience."

Andy let out a quick snortle and dumped the contents of his cutting board down into the sizzling pot above their little campfire. "And you're not?"

W, captivated by the sudden smell that erupted from within the metal cylinder, stopped in his tracks and blinked. "... Well, yeah, but I'm their boss. I CAN be impatient. That's my job; be impatient, constantly hurry them around…" Staring down at the veggies jumping around the burning hot oil, a tiny smile managed to twist its way onto his lips. Different from the usual smirks of superiority and undiagnosed mental illnesses, way more genuine and true. "... Gods be damned, that smells good."

"Right? Much better than "salt soup." Law, I still have no idea how you managed to come up with something so…"

"So" what?"

"So repulsive! It was disgusting."

"Ey! Fuck you, it wasn't. You're just too dumb to understand the nuanced flavors of Kazdelian nature at play with the light hints of the forest floor and whatever else I'd throw in there."

"..." Andy glanced over to stare at the man with a rather unamused expression. "... You're a shit cook."

"Fuck you! You're a dogshit cook!" W threw back and jerked away from his cutting board. In a fit of blind and violent exultation, he raised the combat knife high above his head and threw it towards the boy. Andy barely managed to stick the cutting board between the blade and his face, as it embedded itself deep in the wooden appliance.

"What the hell?" He exclaimed towards the madman, throwing the board aside. "Hell's wrong with you?"

"Hell's wrong with YOU? You know how insecure I am about my salt soup, shit for brains."

"Yeah, but you could've killed me with that, what-...?"

"I wasn't aiming for you."

"You were, though?"

"Nah, I wasn't aiming for you. I was a bit off to the side."

"Dude, I saw it flying mach ten at me."

"Nuh-uh. Impossible."

"Dude." Andy slumped back, leaning on the makeshift counter. His brows furrowed.

"Okay, maybe it ran off to the side. Maybe I've got a bad eye, so what? Either way, you're alive, womp womp." W shrugged and strolled over to retrieve his knife. The boy shuddered a little and pressed himself closer to the worktop, startled by the man's sudden proximity. "Sheesh, relax. It was a joke, alright?"

"... Nice "joke." Andy murmured and punched the merc on the shoulder. "Don't ever throw knives at me again."

"We'll see. Depends on the situation. If the comicality of the outcome outweighs the need for you to stay alive, eh… I'd have to reconsider that request of yours." With a shrug, the man chuckled and unlodged his knife from the board. "... But, anyway. Get back to work, moron."

"Law…" Grumbling and mumbling, Andy flipped himself over to return to his worktop, where a butchering session was about to take place. The endless sessions of running around Kazdel's many wastelands with Hedley and his twig bow had some upsides, mainly the somewhat fresh supply of game to cook up and enjoy later on. Sitting for hours at a time in fly and mosquito infested bushes with the redhead had finally paid off, as the boy prepared himself to pull a hefty meatbeast carcass from beneath the counter. To his surprise, however, instead of a dead animal, he was met with the sight of a little, disgruntled committee. Five, six of their "employees", hired specifically for some job he's already forgotten about, all frowning and fuming, staring down at the boy from a head's height above.

"Yeah, Lawie. You heard him, get back to work, moron." One of them spat and readjusted his tool belt. Steel clinked and shone in the midday sun, as if promising the boy a quick end, had he not hurried with his grand meal. The rest snarled around and mumbled some similar words of encouragement, their putrid stench completely overtaking the delicious smell of fried vegetables oozing from the pot behind. Andy blinked a few times and took a step back, genuinely startled by the sudden appearance.

"It-... Just give us a moment, it's almost ready. Just need to add the meat." He cleared his throat and spoke, feeling a little, unwelcome warmth slipping onto his cheeks.

"Hurry, then. We know you Law bootlickers do fuck-all most of the time, but be useful for once. Be useful or you'll hang, like all of you angel-freaks should." A particularly brave swordsman spoke, with a displeased twitch of an eyeball. "The fact you're still alive is a miracle in itself, so don't piss us off. Been waiting for this damn dinner for… I don't even kn-"

"Hey, hey, hey." A little birdie warbled by the angel's side. With the familiar feeling of a raspy, scarred hand on his shoulder, Andy stepped back and allowed W to pass onward. Standing before the disgruntled committee of labor-tired swine of war was their very own "employer." "I told you fuckers, it'll be ready when it's ready. Piss off, will you? Let me cook in peace."

"No, no, no, no, look, we've been waiting…" The man in front started, only to be shushed down by W and his finger snapping.

"Then you're gonna wait around some more, boo-hoo. Now, out."

"... Fine." The entire group buzzed in confrontational disagreement. "But keep that Law freak on a leash next time. He pipes up to me again, I'm breaking his neck."

"...?" Slowly, the beaming mockery of a smile residing on the devilish houndmanster's face was erased. As if someone put two fingers to the corners of his mouth and pulled downwards, his lips twisted into a straight line, then into a frown. "Breaking his neck? Whose, Lawdog's?"

"Yeah. So you get that boy in check, or…" The disgruntled employee continued, his finger pointed at the poor boy's head. W grasped the opportunity by the horns, quite literally, and pulled the devil down onto the worktop, slamming his hairless head against the wooden board. Andy, the gathered group and the devil who's face had just been squashed against a piece of wood all gasped and shuddered, some taking a step back, some, a step forward. The victim wailed in pain, as his nose spurted out a few drops of blood and splattered them all over their unprepped meat, to the angel's dismay.

"... You listen to me." W's voice, permeated with unrequited hatred, soon filled the mercs' ears. "And you listen to me good. You don't talk to Lawdog like that, okay?~?" Nearly pressing his lips to the disgruntled employee's ear, W chirped his wisdom. "Only I can, got it?"

"F-... What the fuck are you doing?" The swordsman quivered and wriggled in his grasp, pulling and jerking away, but the merc held on tight to both his horns, pushing him down into the cutting board. "Let go. Let go!"

"Look, I'm not letting go 'til you say you understand." W spat onto the back of his head. "Two words. "I understand." Or, you know, better yet, "I understand, dear Mr. W, and it'll never happen again."

"Fuck you, you mental piece of shit!" He yelled and put all his strength into raising his head above the worktop, only to have it jabbed back onto the wood as hard as the merc king could. Hit and a miss. "F-Fuh… Help me, someone! Drag him out!"

"Drag ME out?" A chuckle followed, as W leaned away from the loudmouth to give his loyal buddies a stare. Cheap sellswords, traveling pack - fodder for the Lateran handcannons. They all stared in silence, unsure of what exactly their unspoken "leader" wanted them to do. With confusion and a hint of agitation painted over their faces, they mumbled amongst themselves and made up a battle plan or two. W patiently waited, pressing down on the man's head and shooting Andy a glance. "See, Lawdog, this is why I don't like working with these cheap-ass Scar Market dogs. Sure, they're inexpensive, but… Ah, whatever. Keep cooking."

With a pat on the back, Andy blinked and nodded. A direct order from his superior was something to follow, not something to dawdle on and think through over and over. One swift pull later, he uncovered the rack of meatbeast ribs hiding beneath the worktop and slammed it onto the wooden board. A certain, sweet smell oozed from the carcass, very unpleasant to the noses of those present. It quickly covered the entire area, making the boy scrunch up his nose, but not stop working. Feeling the mushy meat underneath his fingers, he got right to chopping, carving out each individual rib in a matter of seconds, the time it took the swordsman to assess the situation he found himself in and start yelling out once more.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU ALL DOING?! GET THIS THING OFF ME, MORONS, GUT HIM! GUT H-..."

"Shhhh, shush. Shut up." W murmured, with a little disdain in his flowing voice. Joining the chorus of steel slamming against wood, he raised his combat knife high into the air and plummeted down into the hairless' head. Blood flew, Andy flinched, but did not stop chopping. Gasps and growls erupted up front, protests of the fallen sellsword's comrades, as the disgruntled employee in front drew his very last breath, his voice dimming into nothing. With a soft thud, his corpse fell to the forest floor, joining Mother Nature's beautiful earthly garden, to serve and nurture even in death. Such was life in Kazdel.

"Does anyone else feel the need to hurry us up?" The white haired merc stepped onto the worktop and addressed the group, all frozen in fear and uncertainty. Andy kept chopping, unwilling to look up and meet the gazes of his would-be colleagues. The meat, as rotten as it was, actually slid off the bone quite nicely, landing on a little pile that grew calmly next to his elbow. Arms wide open, W raised an eyebrow. "No? C'mon, where's your fighting spirit!?"

They buzzed, void of a clear answer. The warrior spirits of Kazdel that haunted these lands by night had long moved out to prowl across wastelands far away from this pitiful hellhole, this barren wasteland. Or had they? One look at the quivering sellswords was all he needed to confirm the speculations.

"... No? Too bad, I'm bored."

Chop, chop. Cutting through the bones, mashing the meat together, Andy remained in absolute, unbroken serenity and peace. The hateful spirit standing over him, shouting unintelligible slurs at the gathered did not exist, as he focused on his culinary endeavors. He did not hear his words, nor did he need to. All that was there for him was the meat to cut up, the vegetables to skin and the boiling pot to attend to. Dull were his ears, when the feral man jumped down from the table and clashed his short blade against the fearful cowards' late assault. Sharp was his knife, however, as he diligently separated the bones from the meat, the stems from the vegetables and the blood from the cutting board. Yells and wails of pain were drowned out by the familiar, clattering sound of steel against metal. Steel against skin and flesh and bone raged from afar, as his fingers tended to the ingredients, treating each one with the care it deserved and required. In this tiny, idyllic bubble, the very same story played out, but on a different day. The chilly embrace of snowflakes resting from time to time on the boy's face drew a tiny frown from him every now and then, as a flurry of explosions sounded out all across the camp. Great time to start working on those bell peppers.

Turning away from his worktop for a moment or two, Andy caught a glimpse of their gray, tattered tarps burning and fluttering in the great wind, spreading their fiery tongues onto their friends' hides and setting them ablaze. Soon, a faint smell of charred flesh and linen assaulted his nostrils, as it broke through the pot's delicious fumes. Dancing amidst a group of similarly disgruntled employees, was that one girl Andy refused to call "W" - lost utterly in a feral tango of steel and ori powder, slashing away at the gathered and chucking grenades into the crowd. Waves of cold, mocking laughter bubbled from her lips, somewhat reminiscent of a girlish giggle, yet cruel and twisted. Seven, no, nine heavily dressed devils jumped around the girl, more and more pouring from the burning labyrinths of tarp and wood, all rushing with their weapons drawn and questions thrown around their makeshift battlefield.

"Who?"

"Why?"

"When?"

The most basic of needs to identify an enemy. After all, who would've thought the insane board they picked up a few weeks or months ago would turn out to be their demise?

"LAAAAAAWDOG!" Her rather loud request pierced the other's screams. "THROW ME A BOMB! OR TWO!"

With a sigh, Andy carried his crate of bell peppers over to the worktop and laid them out clean. With an arrow or two passing by his shoulder every now and then, he rolled his gaze over to the pile of grenades still neatly resting by his side. He picked a few and threw them all towards W.

"THANK YOU~!"

Suppressed by a new wave of explosions, her voice disappeared underneath a heavy cloud of smoke and flames. Feeling the atmosphere warming suddenly, Andy ducked underneath the counter to avoid being fried to a crisp, courtesy of a Caster's flaming hand-tricks. His horns caught a bit of heat, which bounced right off and caused his tail to wag uncontrollably.

"..." Watching the wriggling worm, he sighed and popped back out to check on his produce. Every pepper got charred to shit, which actually wasn't a bad thing. Off to the pot they went.

"IT WAS AN ACCIDENT! I TOLD YOU MORONS!" W yelled in the near distance, slashing open a throat of some unfortunate crossbowman. A few more swordsmen rushed the girl, only to have their legs sweeped up by her tail and mouths stuffed with a metallic treat, rigged to explode in the next three or five seconds.

BOOM!

POW!

"Pt-pt-pt…" Andy blew a few raspberries, staring down into the pot. Pouring some home-brew fowlbeast stock inside, he smiled, satisfied with the day's work. Through all the screaming and wailing, his ears picked out a few footsteps approaching his safe haven, as the front seemed to shift.

"... IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, BUT SURE, LET'S HAVE SOME FUN~!" The girl warbled once more, this time much closer. "COME ON! OH, YOU WANNA HAVE A GO, BIG GUY? LET'S DANCE, THEN! LET'S… O-OH, WAIT, W-..."

Crash.

A breeze flew past, blowing the delicious fumes shooting from the cauldron right into his face. Andy closed his eyes and took it all in, as the makeshift kitchen behind his back fell apart entirely. Grenades bounced and scattered all over the place, as W crashed through the tarps and worktops, thrown by a large, skull-cracking greatsword wielder. He huffed a bit, encouraged by the rest's cheers and agitated screams, eager to split the girl's head in two. Spitting and coughing, she let out a few giggles and crawled across the snow, through the broken remains of their kitchen.

"... Good throw. I'll give you t-that, good throw." She mumbled between her chuckles and spat some blood onto the white puff. The man responded by kicking her in the face, sending her flying back. Andy heard the soft thump somewhere off to his side, not too far at all. He sighed, as the kevlar-clad giant towering over her spoke.

"Told them all. From the very beginning too, I said, "that wretch's nothing but fodder for the beasts. Not a merc, that girl's ain't worth half a shekel." But no one listened to me, obviously. Why? B-..."

"B-Because you're a moron. A meathead, all muscle, no brains…" W cut in, still crawling desperately to safety, wherever that was.

"... Because that, exactly." The man gave a slight nod, his thick, black hair flailing all over the place in the wind. Andy noticed enough grease staining each strand to cook a whole meal on its own. "Because I don't know people. Because all I do is crack skulls and kill. Headsplitter, they call me. All across the land, they fear my name, respect it dearly. Hoederer does, too, that's why I tried to warn the poor man. But you?" He scoffed and spat in the girl's face. She twitched and closed her eyes. "You're a pest. A plague."

"... Cute." She mumbled, sliding along the snow, somewhere past Andy. "Headsplitter, yeah? Real f-fancy." She yelped a little and tapped the angel on the knee. "Lawdog? Some help?"

"Shhh." Andy shushed her down, busy with mixing the bubbling concoction nicely. The warm smells all graced his nose with their divine presence, bringing a smile onto his face. "... I'm busy."

"Y-Yeah. Of course you are." W spat some more blood out and crawled right past him. Headsplitter, the giant of the North, stood in place, right by the boy's side, watching him prepare the feast.

"... Mmm. Might've been wrong about you, angel. You're much different from this fiend, aren't you?" His booming voice inquired, eyes bored into the bubbly stew spinning and blending within the steel prison. "A good cook. A diligent marksman. A…"

"Not a marksman, no." Andy murmured, staring down at his own reflection in the stew's pane. "... Fell. Guns won't listen to me."

"..." The man took a moment to stare at the boy in thought. Somewhere, not far away, W kept gurgling and spitting blood, watching their interaction from a mildly safe distance. "Still." He racked his scattered brain and spoke. "You're useful. Quiet. Maybe a bit less pleasant to look at than her, but…"

The gathered crowd behind his back dropped their murderous cheers and cackled.

"... But still, more useful. You just got mixed up in something that's between the rest of us and her. But you're alright. You're alright, angel." With that, Headsplitter offered the boy a soft, genuine smile and a light pat on the head. Andy's tail wagged at the sensation, as he kept mixing the stew to perfection.

"Mhm." He threw back, focused on his task. "Okay."

"Okay. I like that. Non confrontational. People like me because I'm not the most confrontational of slitthroaths either, you know?" The giant continued his tirade, gathering the ears of every other merc present. The chilly atmosphere seemed to make way for something warmer, the warmth of a friendly gathering of people joined under one banner and the same purpose.

"You mean "cutthroats?" An observant ear in the crowd picked out his little slip up. Each and every pair of eyeballs, even W's, still lying on the cold snow, turned to stare at the short, hooded caster.

"What?" Headsplitter narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Cutthroats. The word is "cutthroats", not "slitthroats."

Murmurs of silent recognition shook the gathered. He was right.

"Cutthroats? Really?"

"Uh-huh? I thought it was widely known."

"No, no, they always used to say slitthroats in my hometown. Then again, it was… Well, still IS a shithole, so maybe that's why."

"Oh."

"Mhm. Cutthroats sounds better, though. Makes more sense."

"A bit, yeah."

"Cutthroat it is, then. I better start calling myself a cutthroat, 'cause… Oh, gods, I've been saying it wrong all this time, that's so fucking embarrassing." Headsplitter lifted his fingers up to the corners of his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "And nobody bothered to correct me? How's that?"

"... Maybe because you're a seven foot tall meat mountain?" W perked up from the ground. A few blood-spits followed suit.

The crowd nodded at her words, murmuring about her being right. The giant tilted his head. "Yeah, I suppose. I do look rather violent and intimidating, don't I?"

"A bit." Some tall, masked rogue chimed.

"Yeah, somewhat…" Another swordsman joined in.

"Mmmm… If you lost the, uh… the "feral mane" look you got, then maybe not?" Reasoned a crossbow wielding fiend.

"No, you totally do." The crossbowman's hooded friend threw in.

"I'm pissing myself just by looking at you, dude." The caster from earlier pointed out.

"Such was my fate." Headsplitter let out a jovial, heartwarming chuckle, before running his fingers through those greasy locks. "Oh, well. Won't fix it anytime soon, will I?"

"Don't think so, no."

"Nah, nope."

"Mmm. I know this one barber in Taba, though. Can hook you up."

"No sire."

"But what we can fix is this little rat problem we've got, though." The giant cracked his knuckles and threw an accusatory finger towards W. The girl let out a snortle and snickered, seemingly glad to be in the center of attention once more.

"Sure, clowns. Just get this over with." More blood flew through her mouth, aimed at the surrounding half circle of remaining mercs. Their comrades all joined them in silent solidarity, lying dead in the snow. "... Actual circus. And for the record, fuck you, Lawdog. I thought we were in this together."

Andy raised his shoulders. Focused on the last finishing touches of his masterpiece, he couldn't be bothered to stop the process now. Not at this point, not when it was almost all done. "Okay."

"Okay. You heard the man, "Okay." Headsplitter gave him one more pat on the back, waking his tail up once more. The worm wagged and wagged, as the mountain-man closed in on the girl's position. Cheered on by the present crowd, with the cold breeze sending his hair fluttering, spilling its grease all over the place, he stood above W, staring down into her eyes. "The day you crawled in between our ranks was the day you signed your very own death penalty, worm. The moment you were let into our camp, that was when death had entangled its skeletal fingers around your waist. It was just a matter of time for the reaper to come through." Words as cold as the ice the girl found herself lying on hit her ears, sent an unwelcome chill up her spine.

Slowly, his massive arm rose to the side, pointed towards the merc-circus happening behind. "... Well, here I am. Bring me my scythe, mortals."

Murmurs and tremors. The clowns all had been awoken by the request, all scrambling to search the broken, burning campsite for the reaper's weapon of choice. An instrument of war, ever present for as long as humanity had the audacity to keep inhabiting Mother Nature's playpen. As they scattered to prowl across the camp's vicinity, W was left staring up at the giant, her eyes half lidded, effectively hiding the gentle tingle of fear creeping up each of herve nerve vessels, betraying nothing. "... Now what? You're just gonna cut me down?"

"Exactly, yeah."

"Great. Just what I needed after all that jumping around." With a forced yawn, she shuffled on the snow and yelled out to Andy. "And you, Lawdog! Fuck you!"

"He did nothing wrong. You're the one at fault, creature." Headsplitter shushed her down, as Andy left her statement lingering, unanswered, simply resorting to flipping her the bird. W stuck her tongue out, then fell back onto the snow.

"... So this is it?"

"This is it, yes. This is… the end of your road, vermin. You fought well, you sabotaged our ranks, but eventually fell under the might of my boot. Don't fret, though, we'll make sure your body doesn't go to waste after it has already gone cold."

W furrowed her brows. "Ew?"

"... You'll be our next dinner. Your muscle fibers and proteins will strengthen our frames and keep the mind warm during even the most fierce of snowstorms."

"Oh, like that." She let out an unamused snicker. "Either way, ew. Old-ass traditions."

"Traditions that have kept many alive and well through the years. Our king, for example. Not Her Majesty, but OUR king. The lord of rot. T-..."

"Done. Needs to simmer now." Andy cut in, dusting his hands off. Ambling over, he stopped by the giant's side and glanced over at the girl, saying absolutely nothing.

"... Yeah, look at you." She spat out some blood to stain his jacket. "Bastard. You better pray your Law takes you up, not down, 'cause I'll make damn sure to pester you for all eternity if we both end up in hell."

"Yeah." He nodded, eyes half lidded. "I know."

"Shush, creature." Headsplitter joined their bickering, arm outstretched. "In a moment's notice your lips will be sealed for all eternity. Spare us the trouble and shut up."

"..." W rolled her eyes and laid back down on the snow. "... Suit yourselves."

"Yes. Y-... Oh, thank you." He turned to some lowly clown, as they handed over the reaper's arsenal. A sword fit for the ghoul's hand, a blade grander than even the most exquisite of Kazdelian steel. It laid nicely in his palm, emitting some sort of deathly aura that filled the air and lingered for Law knows how long. "... Stand back, you all. When death reaps, mortals should keep a safe distance. Goes for you, too, angel."

"I'll manage." Andy murmured back, seeing all the other mercs cowering in fear, scattering back, completely blind to the grenades tumbling by their feet.

"... If you wish. It is quite the spectacle, I suppose. To watch death at work." Rub, rub. Scratching his chin, the man coughed a little and raised the sword onto his shoulder. "Last words, creature?"

"..." W stared at the gray, empty sky. "Yeah. Fuck you. Fuck you, both."

Death sighed. "Very well."

Step back, not a step forth. The reaper moved away from his victim, preparing a grand finale for this soul's pitiful play. The sky dimmed, turning from gray to black, as storm clouds gathered above the girl's eyes, glimmering with thunderbolts that reflected off her apricot irises. Andy could see her slit-like pupils staring blankly into the very heart of the tempest, as if she had completely given up. Good, he thought.

Wind picked up. Gales of cold, unfeeling blows surrounded them all, blowing their capes, hoods and masks away. Only the most fundamental and natural facades remained, the ones that not even the mightiest of forces could pry from their faces. Staring in awe at the spectacle, the mercs gasped and took one, careful step back, but Andy remained unphased, with his tail gently swaying in the wind's violent caress. He yawned.

"... By the rot lord's hand, which once led me through vines of treachery, onward to salvation, I live and die. I give and take, nurture and destroy. By his word, I serve and conquer, push on through the tides of fire and waves of despair. Unflinching, unmoved and unphased, I claim what is rightfully his. And alas, today I claim the life of… of this creature." Headsplitter recited and raised his sword up high. Thunder struck, blasting the jagged tip and sending sparks flying all across the frozen wasteland. His clowns gasped in fear, Andy blinked at the sudden, loud sound. W couldn't be asked to raise her head.

"For I am Death, ruler of the midnight air. The destroyer of all, the promise that never falters. Born from rot and plague, I live to kill, and kill to live. As it has been written, it has to be done. Farewell, cowardly creature. Onward you go, to pass from this mortal plane. I hope there will be salvation for your wicked soul." He finished and closed his eyes.

Gripping the sword tight, Headsplitter took a brave, confident step forward. The snow underneath his feet gnashed with an unpleasant croak, which quickly died in the wind's raging fury. Long, greasy hair flapped in the air, as the man took another step. Death was there, eager to reap. To take and take, to rid the world of only those who deserved it most. Some more grinding and gnashing followed, as he took another step. Thunder struck once more, lighting a circle of flames all around the campsite. Nothing could be real anymore, nothing existed. The clowns all cowered in fear, but Andy remained calm. Indifferent, almost. Another step forward, the promise of death growing nigh. An inch away from the girl's body, he stopped to take a run-up.

The end of W, as it was written.

Just before plunging the sword's cursed edge into her head, Andy's tail wrapped around his leg and gently tugged backwards. Headsplitter fell to the ground and landed on his own sword, piercing both lungs clean through.

The wind stopped. Clouds dispersed, making way for the usual, gray mundanity.

The circle of fire died in a moment's notice, the flames nothing but a fleeting memory, a black stain on the pristine snow. Clowns ceased their gasping and stared in pure, unfiltered shock. Their mouths were left hanging wide open.

"..."

Andy took a look around. Camp, burned, the wilderness, as untamed as it ever was. By his side, the quivering mountain of a man, with his black hair all scattered around the flakey snow, all staining the beautiful image. A little creek of blood seeped from beneath, as "Death" kept gasping for air and wheezing.

"... A-... Aah… A-..." Biting down on his own tongue, Headsplitter bored his warm eyes into the ground. His arms, legs, necks, fingers, none of it could move. He fought by the blade, and now that very same blade rummaged through his insides and cut half his breathing pipes to shit. Blood oozed from between his teeth.

"..." Without a word, Andy strolled over to stand by W's side. As soon as he came into her vision, her reptile-like apricot eyes latched onto his. "... Knife?" He asked and reached out. In silence, the fiend nodded a little and handed him her short blade.

"..." Step by step, the boy returned to Death's side and scaled the grand mountain. Standing on the summit, both soles dirtying the giant's back, he crouched down and straddled the swordsman tight between his thighs.

"W-... What're you…?" The man-mountain spoke, his voice quiet and weak, cut with wheezes and desperate breaths. His lungs must've been almost full of blood by now. His circus parade held their breaths, anticipation rolling into their brains through one ear, refusing to leave through the other. Andy shot them a glance, face void of any emotion. His tail wagged a little.

"N-No… No, angel, n-... Get off… Get… off…" He tried to reason, to beg. To talk his way out of this situation, an occurrence as rare as rain in the grand deserts of South Kazdel. The warriors of death itself weren't particularly known for their silver tongues or negotiation techniques. Not now, not ever.

Andy grabbed a plume of black hair and held his head up. The wasteland gasped in shock, as he slammed W's knife deep into the side of the tyrant's temple, spilling blood all over the swordsman's face. Stab, after stab, after stab, he retracted and pushed the knife back in, peppering the skin with slit-like entry wounds that erupted with crimson each time the blade exited. The boy's face felt unnaturally warm, as a calm, soothing feeling enveloped him whole - it was as if some higher power had taken control of his arms and forced the stabbing to commence, yet he did not mind in the slightest. With a face void of emotion, he sat atop Headsplitter and continuously kept mushing the knife into his brain.

"..."

Just to be sure, the boy pulled his black hair up just a little more and slid the blade along his throat. A crimson waterfall erupted from the red line the knife drew onto his skin, and spilled all over the tainted snow, forming a little, warm pool. Andy stood up and let go of his head, allowing it to fall into the wine-colored lake and splatter the substance everywhere.

"..."

Silence. Unbreakable, pure silence.

No one dared move. No one dared break the quiet veil. Any and all clowns, watching from afar, they gazed at the sight in utter and complete disbelief. None could fathom what had just occurred. None could understand, either. Headsplitter, death itself, lying dead, killed by the hand of some angel-brat. An absolute nobody, the double traitor of two different races. Relishing in the moment, Andy let his legs twist him enough to face the cowards.

"..."

Their eyes locked. All eighteen of theirs, just the two of his. Gray and empty as ever, void of his humanity.

Void of love, of understanding, of anything resembling reason. He stood and watched.

Waited.

Wanted them to take the first step.

"... You killed him."

One brave daredevil spoke, his lips twisting to a disgusted scowl. "You killed him. You f-... TRAITOR! YOU KILLED HIM!"

"TRAITOR!"

"FUCKING TRAITOR, LAWIE! TRAITOR!"

"HE KILLED HIM! HE KILLED HEADSPLITTER!"

"SHOULDN'T HAVE TRUSTED! WE SHOULDN'T HAVE…!"

"TRAITOR! TRAITOR!"

They all barked like dogs, music to his ears. As with everything, it did get old after a while, which made the boy frown. A certain sense of kinship with the planet's very core overcame his body and instincts, as his mind cleared, welcoming the feeling whole. He allowed it to control his brain and nerves, letting Terra's presence wash over him whole. One with the very earth he stood on and the cancerous blood that ran in its veins, Andy pointed two of his fingers at the clowns. Two finger guns, ready to fire at any moment.

"TRAITOR! GET-... GET HIM! GET HIM, BOYS! AND THAT WHORE! GET THEM BOTH!"

"YEAH, GET 'EM!"

"GET THEM BOTH! HANG THEM TOGETHER!"

"HANG 'EM, YEAH!"

"STRING THEM UP!"

"MAKE THEM SORE! MAKE THEM BLEED!"

"FOR HEADSPLITTER!"

"FOR HEADSPLITTEEEEEEER!"

And for Headsplitter they fought. Preparing their mighty charge, the clowns brandished their weapons of war, rising their crossbows, swords and staffs high up into the air. One and a half (accounting for W), against nine. Quite the odds they had.

"FOR HEADSPLITTER!"

"YEAAAAAH!"

"YEAAAAAAAAAAH!"

"GET 'EEEEEEEM!"

"YEAAAAAAH!"

"FUCK YOU BOTH!"

"YEAH! YEAAAAH! Y-..."

They ran just about a few meters or so, before some tumbled over and fell. Their soles, so eager to bury into the snow and carry them onward, hit an unsuspected obstacle, making them trip and plummet to the ground. The few that fell almost immediately gathered their heads from the white puff to glare at the treacherous guests who dared stop their grandiose adrenaline rush.

Tumbling all over the field, rolling and resting nestled in the snow - grenades. Like potatoes on an open field, they lazily basked in the gray sun, courtesy of W's earlier crash through the field kitchen. The clowns' eyes widened at the sight, sending their pupils dilating.

Tick

Tock.

The silent clock counted down. Pins still intact, yet the originium buzzing within grew impatient. Andy narrowed his gaze and stuck his tongue out.

His dim halo came alive once more. For just a moment, a tiny flash of light passed through its golden brim, sending a hopeful jolt of electricity down his spine, down to the very tip of his tail. It straightened out and wagged with untamed excitement.

"Pew." He muttered, and clicked both his finger guns.

A sound.

A low rumble.

Pins, all shooting from their homes, clinking against the snow.

Originium, expanding, firing up, eager to blow, eager to strike and kill.

The clowns' all turned to nothing, as a massive wave of hellfire enveloped them whole.

As expected, the minefield quickly turned to one, large crater, a giant, mass tomb for the mascara-less clowns of the Northern wastes. Explosion after explosion, the campsite went up in smoke, throwing heaps of snow high up into the air to dim out the sun's gaze. Body parts, blood, limbs, and bone all flew in the four directions of the world, scattering around for the wild beasts to uncover and feast on later - for now, they flopped high into the air and crashed against the ground with a cacophony of thuds and cracks. Blinking a few times to avoid the droplets, Andy caught a few onto his face, now twisted with a disgusted grimace and a few red dots. He watched the crimson rain cascade down from the heavens above, expecting nothing more from it than to cover the entire area in red. It sure did, melting the snow near his boots. Warm to the touch, almost pleasant in a way, the monsoon cleared out the ever present ori-smoke and left their camp in a state of utter destruction. Gone were the gray tarps, the wooden support beams and little campfires. The green tables, windsocks and armories, all gone, reduced to nothing under the explosions' might.

Andy stared.

He stared at the aftermath. At his magnum opus.

At the grand finale he never knew he was capable of pulling off.

Red were his hands, stained with the blood of Death. He leaned down to clean them right off in the snow. Snow, as white and clean as… As the hair of a certain fiend.

That reminded him.

…

"..." W remained silent, as the boy sauntered over to her side. She did not speak when he reached out to grab her hand and pull her up. "... Think I'm gonna lie here for a minute."

Her voice was quiet and soft, almost unnaturally so. Andy did not prod the devil. He simply sat down beside her and laid his body flat on the snow.

…

Silence, once more.

The gray sky had nothing to say. The wind, besides its incoherent wailing, remained intelligible. No houndbeasts of the frozen wastes piped up to spread their incoherent wisdom, no fowl sang about stories of grandeur and hardship.

The world was silent. Gray and quiet, just like him. Just like Andy.

And yet, the fiend felt the need to break the moment's serenity.

"... You're a real piece of shit, you know?" She mumbled. Her words were carried away with the chilly breeze that whooshed past, caressing their faces and stroking their weary brows. "Thought you were gonna let that dick carve my face off."

"..." Andy blinked. It took him a good moment or two to come up with an answer. "Yeah. I Probably should've."

"You probably should have." The girl murmured back, eyes locked on the clouds high above, grazed under the sun's watchful gaze. "... But you didn't."

Andy felt her shift, so he looked to his side. Their eyes met, faces mere centimeters from one another. He could see every little imperfection on her skin, each bruise and drop of blood, the white-ishly pink, slightly frostbitten lips. Her eyes appeared so large, so full of orange, apricot light. Those slit-like, reptilian pupils dug into his own, both inquisitive and challenging. "... Why?"

The boy blinked, caving under the weight of her gaze. "... Why, what?"

"Why didn't you let him finish? Thought you hated me and all that. I know for a fact I certainly do."

"..."

Silence. The question pierced him clean through like a bullet. Even if he did rack his brain and tried digging for the answer in the deepest, most intimate corners of his heart and mind, he wouldn't be able to find anything even half sensible.

So he just shrugged.

"I dunno."

"You don't know?" W tilted her head. "You killed a dozen people and you "dunno" why?"

"I guess so. Just didn't like the way they were handling things."

"What things?"

"... You. And, just… just stuff in general."

"You killed 'em all, 'cause you didn't like how they were "handling me?" She spoke in utter disbelief, now void of any mockful charades or ignorant, sarcastic masks. Andy felt his cheeks growing warm.

"Yeah? I mean, they were dicks."

"Kinda. But I'm a dick too, Lawdog. A real piece of work."

"..."

A pause.

"Lawdog?"

"What?"

"You're a moron. You're… genuinely, you're the biggest moron I've ever met."

A red hue crawled atop the boy's cheeks. W seemed to have ignored it altogether.

"I'm a moron because what, because I saved you?" His voice left his lips with a hint of annoyance that his brain would rather leave unspoken.

"Yeah. Exactly that. I mean, first you side with the fuckers, cook your little stew, then you just… have a change of heart? Hell's wrong with you?"

"I dunno. Maybe I have different priorities than you, you know? Maybe life isn't just… "Survive, survive, survive" for me, but something else."

"Oh?" Her eyebrow tugged upwards. "And do tell, what's life to you, then?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe something more than just the tip of my own nose to care about? Maybe-..."

"What are you even talking about?"

"About life! About what it is to me and what it's not!" Andy raised his voice, drawing absolutely no reaction from the girl. She did not even move away from him, remaining just as close as she was. "Life isn't just stumbling around these wastes with whoever and doing fuck-all. It's not… It's not about living on my own. It's about connections. I just want connections."

"..." She stared at him and the spill of words that had just seeped from his mouth. Or his heart? Law knew. "... Connections. And you chose ME over THEM for what reason, exactly? Do I strike you as someone who wants to be all chummy and cuddly with you, Lawdog?" With a snortle, she kept talking, a slight, mocking smirk already making its way onto her face. "Do you think I wanna get CONNECTED to you? Be your merc-buddy? You're worth less to me than those dogs you blew to fuck knows where. Seriously, were I in your shoes, I'd cut your damn head off myself and then throw a camp-wide celebration. What- What were you even thinking? That, what, that I'd drop to my knees and start kissing your shoes? Oh, look at you, almighty Mr Lawful, saving yet another wicked soul from the meat grinder. Sheesh, you're a lost cause. Really, you're just… dull. You're so dull."

Tap, tap. The snow fell gently all around them, enveloping the world in its cold embrace. Hugging the two from each side, the white puff kept flowing, soothing the boy's warming face and mind. He had no words to speak, no truth to spill. Yet an answer he had to find.

"... I just didn't want you to die. That's all." He murmured, turning his gaze to stare at his snow-filled lap. With how gently the explanation slithered from between his lips, even the fiend's piercing gaze faltered. For a brief, passing moment, a shimmer of something resembling understanding or compassion slithered through her eyes, disappearing just as fast as it had appeared. She saw something. Very clearly and vividly, her apricot irises picked up something she wasn't supposed to see. Something she wasn't ever supposed to feel.

"..." With a tiny sigh, she turned away and stared at the gray clouds. A moment or two later, she stood up.

Andy gazed at her back, watching her wet shirt clinging to her skin, the remnants of snow dripping from the fabric onto the ground. Her hair danced gracefully in the wind, as did her antennae. As if subconsciously, her tail reached towards the boy, even if just for a moment, before flicking back and wrapping itself around her leg.

"... Guess you deserve a "Thank you." She muttered, staring off at the ruined camp. With a flick of her head, she turned to face him, her eyes betraying a certain softness to her gaze, a softness that soon drowned in a pool of the usual mask of calm, collected, chaotic sarcasm and irony. "But don't expect to hear it. Just be happy I didn't gut you for scaring me like that."

The angel followed her arm with his eyes, as she reached down to offer him a helping hand. "... C'mon." She hurried him a little, smirking mischievously. "I still wanna try that stew of yours, since it was THAT important to you."

"..."

Andy smiled back and gripped her hand tight.

…

"... Gods be damned, what a shithole. Perfect allegory for Kazdel as a whole, no, Lawdog? Look at this. Look at… Fuck, you blew that guy's guts all over my tent. Aim a little better next time, huh?"

"Y'know, technically, you scattered the grenades all over the place when you fell through the kitchen workt-..."

"Oh, um, ackshually, technically, you scattered the grenades, blah, blah." She parroted after him, with her voice taking on an overly serious, almost nerdy tone. "Okay, four-eyes, whatever. Still, you're cleaning all that up, later."

"Cleaning? You wanna clean this?"

"Yeah?"

They both stopped in the middle of the open-air slaughterhouse, wood and tarps all smoldering and charring around the two, like a ring of not-so-enthusiastic fire.

"The hell else are we supposed to do? W-... Actually?" W paused to think for a moment. "... Actually, you might be right. That's a first. We can bullshit our way outta this one when Hedley and that Caprinae freak come back with the rest."

"How? How exactly are you planning on…-"

"How? Well, they obviously aren't gonna believe me if I dump the entire fault on you…" Her brows scrunched, as she got to serious thinking. "... But we could… We could tell them we got ambushed? Military Committee boys rode past, blew it all to shit? Just the two of us survived? I saved you by accident, as you quivered under your tent? Something like that, no?"

"No." Andy clicked his tongue and sighed. "No, we've gotta think of something… Oh, for fuck's sake."

"What?" W perked up and glanced away from a particularly interesting piece of smoking oak wood.

"Stew." He mumbled, pointing to a large cauldron, toppled over at the bottom of a sizable crater. There went their hours of somewhat collective work, sinking into Terra's core to serve as fodder for the plants and cancer-rocks. "..."

"..." W stared.

"..." Andy stared.

"..." They both stared, eyeing the stew-pot with genuine disappointment splattered over their faces.

"... This is worse than anything else that had happened today. This is genuinely worse." The girl muttered under her breath, unwilling to throw in a teasing remark or two. Just by standing next to her, Andy could sense the sorrow bubbling within her tainted soul, all threatening to boil over and spill from her eyes in the form of salty tears. He couldn't even blame her, though - he wanted to cry just as much.

Their tails joined in silent unison, lying loose on the snow next to one another, void of the usual energy that animated them. Gently tugging towards the other, they subconsciously joined their tips and wrapped their rubbery, blackened skin around each other. Like two snakes nestling for warmth, the tails hugged in silent understanding, both their owners utterly unaware of what was happening behind their backs. Rubbing against the other's surface, the worms snuggled close, taking the liberty to slither ever so tighter around the other, yet just barely grazing their skin. Non invasive affection, one might call it. A veil of sorrow and sadness had been placed upon the two, locking them in this bubble of misery. Andy popped it with a quarry, immediately loosening the tail-knot.

"... Wonder what Hedley's gonna say about this."

"He's gonna be pissed."

"You ever seen him pissed?"

"Have I…? No. Not really. Have you?" She tilted her head in a rather inquisitive manner.

"N-... Noooo… There was this one time he got mad at W. The old W, I mean, the…"

"Oh?" Her tail perked up immediately at the mention of the former king of mercs. "Old W", you said?" And a bright, teasing grin tugged at her lips. Andy dug his own grave.

"I-... No, I didn't mean… I…"

"Old W, huh? Who's the new W, then?" Her grin only grew, as she leaned over and nudged him in the ribs. "Who's the new W, huh? Spill it, Lawdog."

"F-... Law, you're just… You're so fucking unbearable…" Andy couldn't help but grin. He retorted by shoving his own elbow into her stomach, letting a few giggles bubble from his lips. "Fine. You're W. Happy?"

"Not really. Not like I care about your beliefs and preferences, you self centered asshole." She snortled and punched him on the shoulder. Andy did not retort, still feeling the hole in his stomach being somewhat noticeably there. "... But, on the other hand, a bit. A bit happy, yeah."

Eyes met, smiles exchanged. W slapped his stupid grin away. "Nevermind, just forget I said anything, you degenerate. Forget I ever opened my mouth. I swear, the second the rest comes back and we're all one, unhappy family, I'll sneak into your stupid tent at night and just… Tear your guts all out and write you a haiku with them."

"Uh-huh… Speaking of the rest…" Facing away from the girl, pointing at the horizon, Andy spotted a particular sight. The sun had already started dimming at this point, bathing the snowy plains in a copper-ish red blanket of radiance, always reminiscent of a certain set of childhood memories for the boy. Red, red, how he always loved that color… Red, were the two figures that appeared beneath the snow-line, hobbling over the frozen wastes. W blinked, focusing her slits on the sight, putting up little hand-binoculars up to her face to see better.

There they were. The rest. The fabled elite. Kazdel's creme de la creme, the best of the best. Covered in crimson, losing precious droplets as they went, a large, hunched man, tightly gripping onto a black-haired woman by his side, who acted as his crutch, supported him with all her might. Her head kept shooting all over the place, scanning the entire area with each step she took. As careful as she was, her movements were chaotic and unplanned, all desperate to deliver the familiar redhead holding onto her shoulders to safety.

Hedley barely even managed to stand on his own, from the looks of it. Armor all shredded to shit, hair disheveled, a few bolts sticking from his back and arms, one even embedded in his gut, the new king of mercs wasn't looking so good.

And the rest?

…

What rest?

Just two, tattered souls dragged themselves through the open field, leaking blood, guts and sweat. Not a single warrior followed their lead.

"..." Andy blinked a little at the sight. W let out a low whistle.

"... Speaking of the rest." She repeated with a shake of her head.

"... The rest's now just the four of us, Lawdog."