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[>>Now replaying: Log 1.68 - Fantasies of Coziness]

Date: 8.9.175 AA / 4404 LTC

Location: The Bunker at Haven-Of-Progress // Zephyro’s Domain

//Hug me till you drug me, honey//

//Chocolate chip cookies, a warm blanket, your couch, the fire roaring in th&”()!==//

[>>DATA CORRUPTED]

E1 %No, sorry. It was too fast.%

The rear was held by two Old Guard. One was a younger guy with a fishing pole and an outfit that made him look like a CEO on vacation, and the other one was the archer in the green cloak. As I arrived, he pulled a living snake out of his quiver, somehow put it against his bowstring, and fired it at a Feral wolf who had made the mistake of coming too close. The Feral died screaming, foaming at the mouth as the viper latched onto its nose. It was bizarrely cute.

“All clear?” I asked, coming to a halt, and taking the moment to wrap Pharus around my arm.

The guy with the fishing rod nodded. “They’re biting alright, but it’s nothing we can’t handle.” He was sitting in one of those camping chairs, sipping what smelled like strong beer from a stein.\

That was certainly a first. I had commanded all sorts of soldiers, but never one who sat on a camping chair in the middle of a battle, drinking beer.

I frowned. “Shouldn’t you be standing up? You know, to fight?”

He looked at me quizzically for a moment, then realization dawned on his face and he shook his head. “Ah, nah mate. That’s a different story altogether, and believe me when I say it didn’t do too well. Always getting up, always ascending. It was all very aggressive, you know?”

He took another sip of his beer. “Nope, now it’s fishing all day, every day, for Field Marshal Foamy and me.”

As he spoke, a small crab skittered onto his shoulder, blowing bubbles into the air. He scratched it between the eyestalks, and it shuddered with pleasure.

I had just opened my mouth to ask the fisher what the hell was going on when a Feral jumped off of a roof behind him. He just whipped back his fishing rod with a lazy motion, and the line cut the beast in two clean halves. The hook promptly sunk into one of the two slices of wolf and pulled it back, all in a single motion.

The fisherman reeled in his catch with absurd speed and nodded appreciatively. “Not a bad catch. A bit small, true, but not bad. You want it?”

He held the dissolving carcass out for me. It was the left half of a ferrofluid wolf, muzzle still drawn back into a snarl, angry red eye dead. It dripped tar-like blood, mechanical guts, and Logic onto the floor and smelled faintly of iron… and brine?

My eyes darted between the guy and his ‘catch’ while the archer kept a steady hail of arrows—no, snakes—raining down on any Feral stupid enough to approach.

“Uh…”

“It’s fresh!” the fisherman said, wiggling the carcass.

I inhaled the Logic, and for some reason, I could taste Seabass. Buttery, and with a faint aroma of barbecue smoke. But perhaps that was just the burning city.

{INCOMING LOGIC - 45 LB}

{AVAILABLE LOGIC - 612 LB}

“Sultana!” I heard a familiar voice behind me and turned to find Zephyro sprinting toward us. He was unbelievably quick, his steps eating the distance in seconds. “I have taken the liberty to secure the remaining flank, and we are ready to advance.”

“Alright,” I said. “What are you waiting for, then?”

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Your command, Sultana.”

“My command? I thought this is your Domain.”

“Yeah, but we are not his soldiers, numbnuts!” Someone said from behind me, voice coarse and high. I scowled, my anger igniting like a pilot light, waiting for one more word, one more drop of fuel to set me aflame. It was all I could do not to snarl as I turned…

And came face to face with the most judgmental-looking crow I had ever seen, riding atop a giant crab wearing a monocle. I sputtered, feeling dumb for almost bursting out at a bird, of all things. I recognized the two as the pair that had bombarded the area with pie and coins earlier, mostly because the crab was holding a slice of cake in its pincers, happily munching away at the treat.

“What?” I breathed, utterly confused.

“We’re not his soldiers. You invited us, so it’s your party,” the crow cawed. “God, you can be so dense sometimes, I swear.”

“Say that again?” I said, eyebrow rising, but I couldn’t muster the heat to make it a real threat. The absurdity of it all made staying mad impossible.

Suddenly, a woman I had not seen before appeared beside the pair. “Don’t be so rude to our host,” she said, holding a baking tray out for the crab (who took a large cupcake with obvious delight) and then for me. “Cake?” she offered. Instinctively, I shook my head to politely decline her offer, but she didn’t take no for an answer and pushed a pastry into my hand.

“Shouldn’t we be over there, fighting?” I managed to ask between bites. It was actually pretty damn good.

“Oh, no, no, we don’t fight,” the woman said, shaking her brown locks.

“Then why are you even here?” Zephyro asked, and I was happy that he seemed to be just as fucking lost as I was. He stood next to me, sword held loose at his side, and a croissant filled with cream in his free hand. He regarded it, then took a bite. His eyes went wide, and I nodded my assent. This was definitely some eyes-go-wide pastry.

Wait, no, what was I doing?

“No seriously,” I asked, turning back to see the battle was still raging on. “Why are you here?”

“Pie, obviously,” said the crab.

“Snark, obviously,” said the crow.

“Pastries, romance, and information warfare,” said the woman, like rattling off a shopping list. “Obviously.”

“And beer, obviously,” said a deep voice from behind the crab. I leaned to the side and discovered a dwarf with the most magnificent beard I had ever seen in my life, pouring a brew. “Hi!” he said when he noticed me looking, then handed the guy with the fishing pole his refilled stein and poured himself another ale. He had an entire keg of the stuff, ready to go.

“I believe, Sultana,” Zephyro said very carefully, staring at the cozy picnic unfolding in front of us, “That it would be wise to trust in the Old Guard, mysterious as though their methods may be, and return to the front lines?” He had finished the croissant, though.

“I think that would be a good idea, yes,” I replied, no matter how much I wanted to try another one of those pies.

The crow rolled its eyes at me.

I didn’t even know crows could do that.

“You still haven’t given us orders,” it said.

“Uh, cover our retreat and assist the flanks as necessary?” I asked.

“Is that a question?” The crow said, head tilted and eyes glinting.

“Don’t make me taxidermy you,” I said, but there was no vitriol in it. For some reason, this bizarre scene felt… good. Even though it shouldn’t have, even though everything was going pear-shaped.

The crow laughed, then picked up the crab, which promptly shrunk to a liftable size. It dropped its pie in the process and waved after it sadly as the pair took to the skies again.

“Don’t worry,” said the fisher. “We’ll get it done, Samantha.”

I exchanged a meaningful look with the Vizier, and then we both turned and hurried back to the front. He was slowing himself down for my benefit, and while that hotheaded, driven side of me urged me to upgrade my CPU to keep up and no longer be a burden, I held off on the choice.

While I had learned that saving up massive amounts of Logic wouldn’t do anything, the cost of all my upgrades had risen significantly, and I wanted to have at least the equivalent of one upgrade in reserve in case of emergencies. I just needed to stay in control and not let my anger spend it all.

> “And how well did that go for you in the past, Sam?”

“Shut the fuck up, Olre,” I mumbled through gritted teeth, so quiet that Zephyro couldn't hear it over the surrounding din.

For a short while, the sounds of battle dimmed as we made our way down the crater, then swelled again as we headed back up. The whistling of hateful machinery, hissing of deadly gas, and sloshing of toxic liquids, punctuated with a heaving cacophony of electronic screams formed a disturbing melody. Piercing this abhorrent song was a clear-cut counterpoint of swords slicing, the percussion beat of rifles, and the bass of bombs, tied together and uplifted by triumphant battle cries.

Add in the whoosh of flames and crackle of electricity, and it became the kind of song you listened to during breakups as a teen when with every sob you screamed into your pillow, the world ended all over again. It is a nostalgic soundtrack, but cloyingly so; Makes you never want to hear it again.

But hear it I did, the sounds assaulting me with images of past failures. Stax’s eyes twirled in front of me every time I blinked. God, I couldn’t wait to see Chris and talk to them until my throat was raw, the fear was gone, and all memories were buried again.

We reached the front lines a few moments later, and I focused on the fight. So far we hadn’t suffered any losses, and the line held. In a real battle, that would have been impossible, even after such a short time spent fighting. In here, with people who could literally punch you to health, it seemed to be more of the norm. At least neither the Old Guard nor Zephyro seemed to find it odd.

“Let’s push them back,” I said, eyes on the undulating tower of stained-glass-Flesh shifting opposite the palace. “Once that thing falls, they will fight amongst themselves, and we’ll mop up the rest.”

Zephyro nodded, quietly, then turned to me, brown eyes bright with that reverend hope that made my jaw clench. “It will be done, Sultana.” Noticing my discomfort, his eyes swept over his burning empire. “This is miraculous. I dare not admit it, but when the gates of the city fell, I believed all was lost. I never thought we’d actually turn the tide, never dared hope. Truly, Allah is with us today.”

In less than a second, I remembered the plane crashing and the screams of the kids behind me. Then pressure on my stomach, and the water that filled my unmoving chest, then the light, the village, the bullets, the Wish, the apology, and the offer.

“Maybe he is with us, yeah,” I said. “But I wouldn’t be too happy about that if I were you.”

“Sultana?” he asked, but I shook my head. I hadn’t told but the Chris, Stax, and Patti about my life before Tobes for a reason, and I wasn’t about to spill my entire life’s story on a battlefield.

“Never mind that. Planning is over. Now we execute.”