???????: "Oh for the love of…!!!"

Bishop Randall stomped his feet like a madmen. He had his reasons though, as this was the fourteenth pile of blighted rubbish blocking his path that morning. The fourteenth! That’s exactly thirteen more than he would have ever wanted to see, give or take one.

The balding old man kept stomping the ground ineffectually while inventing new and creative curses under his breath until he finally settled on kicking a piece of debris over the broken pavement, his cheeks visibly flushed with bottled up anger and frustration even under his bushy graying beard.

He loathed the day he accepted his mission. He was not a man of fieldwork; this was something the pot-belly protruding from under his ornamented robes was already indicating. He spent his entire life behind a desk, organizing scriptures and logs and following the orders of his superiors, always taking great care to stay on their good side. Because of this he managed to slowly but steadily climb the proverbial ladder at the Order’s cathedral in Quintus and he was quite content with staying in his office and continuing to do so until the day of his retirement. However, as they say, fate has a terrible sense of humor.

It all began just a week ago. Or rather a long week ago that felt more protracted than the seventeen years he had spent in his bishop’s office altogether.

He was the only high-ranking member on the clergy in the cathedral that day. He was leisurely transcribing an old textbook one of the Cardinal’s personal aides recovered from somewhere when one of the man’s messengers broke down the door on him.

As the only person with the required authority in the compound, he was to lead a squad of troops to battle in the name of the Order (whether he liked it or not) and he was ordered to move out within the hour without any preparations. It was a tall order all right, but then he hadn’t even heard the half of it. The messenger was yet to tell him about his ‘soldiers’…

If he wanted to be honest, he might have been fine if they were simple knights. Or templars. Or even some ragtag, murderous, crazed gang of mercenaries if we were at that. He would have been fine with that. Not happy, not excited, just fine. He would have played his part, stayed in the background and maybe even got home with his head still attached to his shoulders. Simple expectations, really. However, what he was entrusted with was far, far worse than even his worst nightmares.

As he thought about that, rubbing his aching foot, he could feel a shadow on his back. He turned around and faced his troops.

Randall: "Ack!"

He involuntarily gulped and shuddered at the sight, but in retrospect he couldn’t have said in which order. Such things can often escape a man’s memory when he comes face to face with three meters tall jet black monstrosities after all.

Twelve terrifying creatures created from the remains of the Enemy whose name shall never be spoken again lumbered behind him with lazy steps. Crude moldings of human flesh and the maddening taint encased in a metallic shell, the most unholy beasts broken in and employed for the most holy cause.

Their glossy skin, reminiscent of freshly cracked obsidian, was not just cold, it was emanating it and freezing the already chilly morning air around them just by their mere existence.

Their movements were ungraceful and clumsy; their tiny, unfocused eyes in their ape-like heads were dimly glowing with a sick, yellow light and their entire shape gave off the sense that someone just sewn together a handful of different body parts without any care for proportions. They were Type-O units, the last remnants of the Enemy, reminders of the past for everyone. Terrifying. Deadly. Rock stupid.

Not that they needed any intelligence, mind you. They might have looked superficially human, like giant men whose limbs, slim compared to their stubby armored torsos, were stretched out unevenly like as if they were made from cheap rubber and their head replaced by that of a child’s. However, they were not human. They were monsters, engines of war made of flesh and corruption.

They could barely talk, and when they did it was always an unintelligible stream of grunts and shrieking gibberish. They were created for laying waste upon the enemies of the Order, never questioning their superiors, and they simply didn’t need intelligence for that.

And that was the reason Randall, unwilling as he was, had been forced to lead these monstrosities into battle, as the only one they were conditioned to listen to. He was a bishop after all, and even though the Type-Os might have been barely more than autonomous machines, the command of obedience have been burned into their underdeveloped brains by the Order engineers without fail, forcing them to only follow one who had the authority to command them and no one else.

This was the reason behind Randall’s journey through the abandoned streets of the ruined town and the reason it was the most terrible, horrifying experience he ever had to suffer. He was alone, after the guides who led him to the city refused to follow him into the ruins, only surrounded by twelve of the behemoth monsters.

They were dreadfully silent and always followed in his shadow with their piercing yellow eyes staring at him with attention, without blinking. They were no company. They were a nightmare manifest.

He couldn’t talk to them, they required his outmost attention so that they would not accidentally wreck everything around them and he could barely sleep in their dreadful presence, their little eyes staring at him throughout the nights like tiny little wraith flames in the darkness.

Then, as if things weren’t bad enough, he entered the ruins.

That happened almost exactly one day ago, and he not only couldn’t find what he was sent for, he couldn’t find an exit either. Even though he had a map with him, it was little to no help.

No matter which way he tried to turn, he ran into a pile of rubble or a fallen building blocking his route. If only these things could move a little more skillfully, he thought, they might have been able to scale the debris, but as luck would have it their inhibitors kept them sluggish unless they were in battle, and he really didn’t want to risk having one of the beasts accidentally collapse a building on his head.

Right now he was standing at the feet of the fourteenth such roadblock. If he didn’t know better, Randall would have sworn that someone was playing a wicked prank on him, but he knew all too well how silly that sounded. No one in their right mind would enter into the ruins of an uncleansed city without a good reason, let alone try to mess around with an Order prelate with a dozen Type-Os…

Randall: "…"

He nervously glanced around for a second. Just to be on the safe side he took out his map again and scanned the old parchment for another path. Then, for his sincerest shock, he heard footsteps from nearby.

He nervously peeked up from the roll of paper in his hand, secretly hoping that it was just one of the Type-Os doing something weird again, but fate decided it was time for the punchline.

A man was approaching him with calm steps from the way whence he originally came from. His hands were tucked away in his pockets as he leisurely strolled towards them, his steel-blue coat fluttering in the light breeze.

Randall didn’t know what to do. He really didn’t expect this. No one was supposed to be in the town. It was a restricted area for a good reason, and only madmen and the most desperate outlaws would have dared to enter it. Which meant this man was one of the two. The only question was— which one?

Still, as suspicious as he was, Randall couldn’t help but feel that there was also a faint ray of hope in the man’s appearance. Who knows, maybe he might know the way out of this maze of collapsed structures?

He patiently waited for the man to get closer but it appeared as if he didn’t want to approach him beyond a certain point and stopped at a good twenty meters away from him and his troops. Randall, slightly vexed by the man’s behavior, softly addressed him, his voice perfectly audible in the dead silent street even from so far.

Randall: "Good day to you, my child. May you be able to help out and old man in dire need of directions?"

The bishop could barely see the man’s face but it seemed like his expression was that of firm determination. He answered in an even tone, his baritone clearly echoing amongst the empty buildings.

Ahazkun: "I’m sorry bishop, but my business does not allow me to do that."

Randall’s eyebrows rose in frustration. There was something in the man’s voice that irritated him to no end; a strange feeling of detachment that sent chills down the prelate’s spine. Still, he was in need, thus he cleared his throat and tried once again.

Randall: "What might your business be? I might be able to help you with it in exchange of your kindness?"

Ahazkun: "As I said, I cannot do that. It would be quite impossible for you anyway."

Randall: "Let me be the judge of that. Tell me about your need."

Ahazkun: "If you insist. It’s simple enough."

Ahazkun slowly unbuttoned his coat, revealing a white shirt and a dark-lined silver vest underneath. He quickly folded the outfit with mechanical precision and tossed the bundled up cloth a good five meters to the left. It landed on an overturned trash can and sat on top of it, still folded perfectly.

Once he was done with that the white-clad man pointed at Randall with a firm hand, index-finger extended towards the Type-O beside him.

Ahazkun: "I’m here to destroy those abominations behind you."

For a few seconds, the bishop was dumbfounded. Then, after a brief silence, he burst out into uncontrollable laughter. It took him a good minute to even be able to finally squeeze some words out between his laughs, all the while Ahazkun was quietly watching him with the same subdued detachment as before.

Randall: "Are you mad!? Destroy them!? All alone!?"

Ahazkun: "Yes."

The bishop, still reeling from his laughter finally managed to regain some of his composure and opened his arms with a condescending smile.

Randall: "Normally, I would be inclined to execute you for such blasphemous threats, but I shall spare your soul this time as you are obviously out of your mind!"

Ahazkun: "Am I, Bishop Randall?"

Hearing his own name from the mouth of a stranger, the grin on the bishop’s face slowly reversed itself with and almost audible groaning noise, as if iron bars were twisted in his face. He looked over this strange man once again and his voice quickly returned to the soft, ominous one from before.

Randall: "Who are you?"

Ahazkun: "I am Ahazkun. You might have heard of me as the Silver Oracle, the Third Prophet of Nov’Elsfaan."

For a fleeting moment Randall’s expression was conquered by bewilderment, then it slowly twisted into the unhinged grimace of a man facing the grim reaper himself. He kept gasping for a while as terror and fury were vying for claim over his mind.

Randall: "How dare you speak such blasphemy you… you…"

For the first time Ahazkun allowed amusement to a curve the edge of his lips upwards. The hook is already in the fish’s mouth, he though. All he needs is a little tug…

Ahazkun: "Calling one of the four prophets a blasphemer— I wonder which one of us is the heretic here, bishop…"

Randall’s eyes opened wide at the man’s words as rage finally overwhelmed his exhaustion-worn rationality. He reached into his robe and pulled out a short, finely crafted golden rod, no longer than half a meter and barely as thick as the man’s thumb. The bishop raised the rod like it was a magic wand and pointed at Ahazkun’s direction with burning eyes.

Randall: "Silence him! Destroy him! ERASE HIM FROM MY SIGHT!!!"

In that very moment the eyes of the twelve monstrous beings behind him blazed into bright red flames in unison. With their inhibitors taken away by the order from the wielder of their control rod, they were overjoyed by the chance to do what they do best: kill, maim and destroy.

With a deafening roar, they pounced at Ahazkun like hungry bloodhounds at a wounded prey. Their hulking forms, moving on four legs like giant simians, rushed down the empty street with their giant maws unfolding to open wider than their head like a snake’s jaws, their fists pounding on the asphalt with enough force to easily break its surface—

Yet the oracle didn’t move. He didn’t even assume a fighting stance. He just stood straight like an arrow, with one hand on his chin, and watched.

In fact from his point of view the roaring charge of the creatures appeared to be in slow motion. He could leisurely observe every single particle thrown into the air by the Type-O landing right in front of him, every single muscle moving under the obsidian skin of the giant creature bearing its arm over him, every tiny droplet of viscous black saliva dripping from its giant maw filled with hundreds upon hundreds of tiny, pointy teeth embedded into dark brown gums. And then, just as the creature struck— he took a single step to the right.

The enormous fist swept through the air like a giant metal beam falling from the top of a skyscraper, and the creature’s hand struck the pavement so hard his fingers got embedded into its surface.

For a mere split-second Ahazkun silently observed the situation. He calmly gauged the distance of the other Type-Os, their speed, predicted the probability of all the ways they could come at him in their animalistic fury. It all took less than the blink of an eye and the optimal path became crystal clear in his eyes. The man lowered his stance with unnerving nonchalance and curled his right hand into a fist.

A split-second later the air was filled with a nauseating crunching sound as his fist slammed into the side of the Type-O’s elbow. The strike was in no way greater than what the muscles of a well trained man could muster, but it hit the joint in the exact moment when the ligaments relaxed after absorbing the impact of the creature hitting the ground, tearing the monster’s arm-muscles and dislocating its elbow with uncanny ease.

At first the giant had no idea what was happening, only noticing the fact that the hand he was leaning on suddenly lost its strength and that he was falling over. Then the pain finally registered in its atrophied brain and it let out an ear-piercing howl as it hit the ground with an earth-shattering thud.

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Ahazkun observed his position once again. Breaking the monster’s arm only took two seconds, but in that time the rest of them had already caught up with him. Or at least most of them.

Three of the beasts were still only lumbering a good five paces behind the rest of the pack, their inhibitors taking their sweet time disengaging. The oracle’s face was overcome with a grim expression.

It wasn’t good. He needed all the creatures close to him to initiate the second part of his plan. He needed them to focus all their attention on him and to follow him in one group. He did another quick prediction, and concluded that the sluggish Type-Os needed about three more seconds to wake up completely and rush at him in their earnest.

Three seconds. It didn’t sound long but it might as well have been an eternity. But of course it was all part of the deal. The man’s plans were like clockworks. When all elements worked in unison it was a sight to behold, but a tiny error could make it all come crashing down in the blink of any eye, and when one faces twelve mindless monsters out for their blood, crashing down suddenly becomes all too literal.

There were two ways to proceed. He either had to buy himself three seconds to make sure the rest of the fight goes according to plans or he could let the error slide and hope for the best. The latter option was, frankly, unthinkable. As such there was only one thing for him to do: put his life on the line one more time and stall for time.

In the meanwhile another Type-O arrived to the scene, swinging its fist in a horizontal motion right towards the head of the man standing by its downed kind. The punch was sloppy by all possible standards, but they never needed to be refined to kill to begin with. Such a punch held enough power behind it to kill a bull with just one hit. If it hit.

That was one huge clause when it came fighting the man in white. Ahazkun swiftly dodged under the punch, grabbing hold of the monster’s arm and setting his right shoulder against the metal plate covering its chest in the same motion. From the outset it might have looked comical at first, as he was positively dwarfed by the mountain of muscle and metal still charging towards him, which only served to make it even more astounding when he lifted the creature off the ground.

He could feel a suddenly spike of pain stabbing its way into his shoulder, but he had no time to think about it. Using the creature’s own momentum and high center of gravity against it, he flexed every single muscle in his body and threw the thing twice his size right over his shoulder like it was a dummy filled with hay.

The Type-O tumbled through the air and hit a broken lamp post crying out in a shrill voice that was more irritated than anything else. By the time Ahazkun regained his footing after the impromptu throw the creature was already in its feet again and bending the rusty metal pole like it was made of play dough in the process.

Ahazkun didn’t pay much attention to it though. HIs first issue of priority was his shoulder. It was a calculated risk he took, and he knew that breaking a bone here would have meant he would have to throw away his original plan. In the worst case scenario, it would mean his death.

He tried moving his arm around a bit and, while it was painful, it didn’t seem to be broken or dislocated. Most likely a strain, he concluded. It would probably be sore for a few days but it should not cause any serious issues in the upcoming fight. That said, the three seconds required were long overdue at this point.

In fact there was already another creature at his throat and the others were only seconds away from ganging up on him as well. He also noted in a weird mix of worry and satisfaction that the three slower ones were also up to full speed and were charging at him with mindless abandon. He looked over the incoming Type-O’s, doing one last preliminary calculation, then whispered to himself with a tiny nod.

Ahazkun: "Phase A, clear. Variance is under zero point nine percent.”

All of a sudden a mysterious smile shaped his lips into a mirror image of pure satisfaction.

Ahazkun: "Good. Time for phase B.”

Out of the blue, the man did something none of the creatures really expected. He turned his back on the roaring beasts charging at him and started running towards one of the nearby seven story buildings.

Randall: "Don’t let him escape!!!"

The bishop’s voice was ragged and probably he himself wouldn’t have believed if someone told him he would be shouting such orders, but the black beasts under his command followed his commands without ever thinking about such nuances. Or anything else, for that matter.

In the meantime Ahazkun arrived at the building with the monstrous hounds on his heel. It was a simple apartment complex. On the surface it seemed like no different from any of the dozens of other such buildings littering the landscape of what once used to be the residential district, except maybe being in a slightly better condition than average. On closer look one could see it even had some of its plate glass windows intact.

He glanced back one more time, as if only to give his pursuers a little handicap, and took off again. However, instead of the expected and arguably sensible thing to do, he did not bolt towards the stairs. Instead he mimicked his catgirl companion and jumped towards the first floor windows and, in a breath-taking display of athletic prowess he began scaling the vertical wall with little to no effort.

For a split-second this seemed to confuse his pursuers, but in a blink of the eye they were right on his trail again as they started climbing as well, following after his example with astonishing speed and agility. They grabbed onto the balconies, buried their feet into the holes left behind by the weathered plaster and quickly started closing the distance.

On his last step Ahazkun leaped into the air and rolled towards the middle of the large flat roof. With his pursuers right behind him he knew he only had a moment of breathing room, but it was far more than enough.

After drawing a single sharp breath he dashed towards the other end of the rooftop and grabbed the lightning rod with both hands. At first the metal bent with a loud groan but then the rod suddenly broke apart with a sharp clink. As implausible as it might have seemed, what remained in the hand of the man appeared to be a completely straight metal shaft of about one and a half meters in length ending in a wickedly sharp point.

There was no time to marvel though, with the first enemy already reaching the edge of the roof. Ahazkun briefly brandished his newfound spear and immediately dashed towards the creature, but instead of attacking just he skillfully avoided its strike and jumped back down whence he came from.

He fell feet down and couldn’t help but smile again. This far everything fell into place perfectly. One could only hope the rest of the fight would work out just as well. As for him, he would just have to make it work.

But there was no time to wonder about that or marvel at the swiftly changing panorama. While still falling he planted his weapon into the wall, drawing a long, erratic furrow into the plaster as he slid down on the side.

He reached the ground a little bit faster than planned, or at least that’s what his pained knees told him, yet he immediately jumped on his feet, raised his lance above his head and threw it right at Randall. The old bishop frantically tried to avoid the weapon, scrambling backwards until it finally fell a good two meters away from his feet, embedding itself into the soft rubble.

He was about to let out a sigh of relief when he noticed something strange. There were seven strange rings on the narrow blade of the weapon, each attached to a long pin. Before he could even understand the meaning of this, a sudden series of explosions shook the ground under his feet…

Seven strategically placed grenades, built into the wall three hundred years ago. That was more than enough to set up a chain-reaction within the old building. Huge cracks ran through its walls as each explosion weakened its structure and the beasts on the walls and top let out confused groans and cries as the whole building crumbled under them. They were falling through the floors and off the outer walls with deafening cries as debris and countless shards of glass and concrete were swirling around them.

On the ground, Ahazkun was silently counting in his head.

Ahazkun: "Four… Three… Two… One…"

Suddenly the plaster fell off the wall at his side, revealing a large metal cabinet. A single swift kick to the bottom of it broke its rusty door wide open, revealing sturdy-looking sledgehammer. He grabbed it and immediately raised it high above his head. A split-second later one of the monsters hit the ground right in front of him.

Before it could even comprehend what happened he had already brought the hammer down upon it, bending its chest-plate inwards. Then he did it again. And then again, embedding the head of the sledgehammer into the metal plate while turning the creature’s rib-cage and organs into a chunky red paste underneath.

By the time the Type-O even acknowledged the fatal injury the man had already ripped the weapon from its living carcass and swung it again, this time at the cracked pavement under his feet.

Upon impact a large piece of the thin asphalt broke off and flew aside, revealing a dark green metal box thrown open by the recent concussion, containing an old, compact machinegun. The handle of the hammer itself was cracked in the process, so Ahazkun stuck the tool into the box after swiftly recovering the gun.

Only a second after he stepped aside from the box, another creature fell with a shrieking noise, impaling itself on the standing piece of wood, its yellow eyes open in almost childlike surprise.

In the meantime Ahazkun reloaded the gun with a swift motion and shot the twitching monster in the face. He then started moving through the rubble, systematically filling the fallen creatures with lead while avoiding all the falling debris with mechanical precision.

Ahazkun: "Nine… Ten…" The man counted the fallen creatures, almost feeling pity for them as they were struggling under the debris or dazed after their fall. Almost. "Eleven… Twel—"

He suddenly stopped as he was about to shoot the last beast. The reason for that was simple: it was not there. Then, in the very same moment Ahazkun stopped on his tracks, the last Type-O abruptly burst from under the rubble just in front of the man with a terrifying howl, half blind and broken and throwing pieces of concrete and rebar into the air.

For a split-second Ahazkun was thrown into a daze as a grievous impact tore his gun from his hand. If he was just half a step closer it would have broken his arm or worse. Not that he cared. In fact he barely even registered the stinging pain in his palm. He just glared at the monster with eyes that seemed like they belonged to a completely different person.

Gone was the professional detachment of the tactician, giving way to a primal expression filled to the brim with hate. Yes, he hated this particular creature. In that fleeting moment it represented all that he hated in the world. It was an anomaly. A slip of calculations. A spanner in the works. The tiny grain of sand that, if left unchecked, could jam the most elaborate clockwork ever created.

Of course the creature didn’t recognize this change in his opponent’s demeanor. It was quite blind and confused, which was the entire reason he was still under the rubble and allowed him to inadvertently ambush Ahazkun. Not that the man cared.

With a terrifying scowl the man let out a battle-cry that would send chills down the spines of even the most battle-hardened knights of the Order and lunged at his opponent with a fury completely unbefitting of his refined appearance.

He reached out and grabbed a piece of rebar sticking out of the ground with green viridia crackling at his fingertips and tore the metal fitting out of its weakened structure with a single wrench. The next moment he raised his improvised weapon high and swung it directly at the head of his opponent.

The Type-O had no idea what hit it, but didn’t really have time to think about it either, as one blow after the other starter raining down on its skull, sending its inky blood flying through the air with each strike. Each hit was punctuated by another primal grunt by its opponent who dodged under all of its clumsy swings and delivered more and more punishment upon its head.

At last the distressed creature let out an ear-piercing shriek of rage, its end caught in its throat by an unfamiliar feeling in his mouth. For a second it blankly reached for his maw, its bruised fingers finally finding the source of its discomfort: the rebar rod firmly lodged inside its head, its broken end poking through the crown of his skull.

After another moment of blank astonishment the creature let out an almost pitiful moan and fell forward, landing at the feet of the panting oracle. The man slowly caught his breath and straightened himself, his previous detachment finally retaking his features.

Ahazkun: "Twelve."

With that Ahazkun recovered his gun and finally turned his attention to the lone man still standing at the other end of the street.

The bishop watched the scene unfold in utter disbelief. Twelve of them. Twelve Type-Os, the most terrifying things he had ever seen, destroyed in less than a minute and in such elaborate ways he would have called anyone reporting on it a damn liar.

He was terrified yet in awe at the same time. The fight was out of this world. Save for his impromptu duel, the white-clad man was moving in a way he had never seen before, with absolute machine-like precision. In fact the whole scene looked like as if it was choreographed from the beginning and everything just fell into place like the pieces of a huge puzzle.

He didn’t have time to think about the absurdity of the sight he just saw for long though, as he could soon hear the echoing of heavy footsteps approaching him. Under his robes his body was shaking uncontrollably as he laid his eyes upon the approaching man.

Ahazkun solemnly loomed towards Randall with a calm expression. The bishop wanted to run away as fast as he could but his legs felt as heavy as stone and he was afraid that he might lose control of his already disturbed stomach if he were to try to move them.

Finally they were standing eye-to-eye, only a few paces’ distance from each other. Randall’s expression was that of a man about to go crazy while Ahazkun was as calm and collected as ever and he was casually limbering up his sore shoulder.

The oracle slowly raised his weapon as if to show it off and the threw it aside in a gesture the bishop could only hope was mean no more bloodshed.

Ahazkun: "Listen to me, old man." Ahazkun spoke with a cold voice. "When they come looking for you, I want you to relay this message to your cardinal."

Randall: "Y-Y-Yes…"

Ahazkun: "Tell him this: “The time of changing fates is upon us again. This time, things will be different.”"

At first the bishop could only repeatedly open his mouth and close it again without a sound, like a giant fish out water.

Randall: "T-That’s all…?"

Ahazkun: "Yes. He will know what to make of it. Now if you excuse me…"

Ahazkun turned his back on him and he was about to walk away when he suddenly stopped on his tracks.

Ahazkun: "Oh, and before you get any funny ideas… You are standing on a landmine, if you haven’t noticed yet."

Randall: "Wha…?"

The bishop looked down and blood immediately escaped from his face as he saw the big, round object under his feet, half-buried into the soft mound of soil collected by the wind in this particular cove in the pavement.

Ahazkun: "Anyway, have a nice day."

Randall: "W-Wait! Please!"

With that, the man left the dumbfounded bishop behind with an expression as cold and unreadable as ever— followed by the slow collapse of the ruined apartment building, burying all signs of the battle under a thick layer of rubble.

~~~

Tiari: "You are such a show-off…"

Tiari tried to hide her relief, but her curling tail quickly betrayed her true feelings in Ahazkun’s eyes. She was sitting on a tall fence and he quietly smiled at her as he walked down the street next to the scene of the battle.

Ahazkun: "It was necessary for the message to sound credible. I just followed the plan."

Tiari: "Are you telling me that all of it was part of your plan?" The girl frowned with disbelief. "Even fighting those monsters unarmed? Even blowing up a building?"

Ahazkun: "Yes."

Tiari: "For the love of god! Just how much planning did you do this time? That stuff was inside the walls! The WALLS!"

Ahazkun: "Yes, I know. I was the one who put them there."

Tiari stared at him for a moment, then let out an exhausted breath under her nose and jumped off the fence.

Tiari: "… I know I should be used to this by now, but you still baffle me every time you do this prediction stuff. I wonder why I am even bothering to worry about you anymore…"

Ahazkun: "I see. Sorry for not being powerful enough to get by without planning ahead."

Tiari: "By centuries?!"

Ahazkun: "If necessary."

Tiari stared at the man for a very long moment, then sighed once again as she shook her head.

Tiari: "So, was this a success?"

Ahazkun: "On the short term, yes. The mid-term consequences are also very promising, while I believe I can get some long-term advantages out of the encounter as well."

Tiari: "Don’t tell me you are planning ahead centuries again…"

Ahazkun: "No. Not centuries… But I have to take care of every possible advantage. I cannot afford any mistakes, any miscalculations. I cannot let it happen again…"

Seeing the man’s expression gradually darken immediately prompted Tiari to turn one-eighty, walk back to the fence and pick up something from the ground, followed by the man’s surprised eyes.

Tiari: "Here, you forgot this.”

He handed the familiar coat over to Ahazkun, who cocked his head with a slightly awkward expression.

Ahazkun: "You really didn’t have to."

Tiari: "Oh, but I did. You never take proper care of your clothes! Or anything not in your plans, if we are at that! Do you know how annoying that is?"

The man stared at the girl for a moment, then glanced at the piece of cloth in his hand, then his eyes wandered back to the girl again as he slowly donned his coat.

Ahazkun: "Sorry," After a moment of hesitation he also added. "And thank you."

Tiari: "You are welcome, but next time please take better care of your belongings."

Ahazkun: "No, not that."

Before the girl could react, the man suddenly leaned closer to her and laid a short peck on her lips. Startled, she stared at the man’s eyes a few inches away from her own with her ears twitching. At last Ahazkun spoke again with a quiet, gentle voice that was reserved for her alone.

Ahazkun: "Thank you for taking care of me. Thank you for being here."

The girl blinked at the man’s earnest words, then her lips suddenly twisted into a coy grin as she was trying to keep a giggle from escaping her stomach alongside the butterflies.

Tiari: "Oh come on, you don’t need to thank me for that! That’s what lovers are for!"

With that she suddenly closed the gap between their faces again, this time sharing a long, scorching kiss accompanied by some surprisingly luscious noises. It lasted for several seconds, and when they parted it seemed like it left both of them a little light-headed.

They looked at each other in silence, sharing another short moment of affection, then Tiari suddenly stretched her back with a loud noise.

Tiari: "Aaaaaaaal right! Let’s go home!"

Ahazkun: "Very well."

He stood beside the girl and gently wreathed his good arm around the girl’s shoulder with a completely natural motion. Tiari looked up at him and grinned in response.

Tiari: "You know what? I’m suddenly in a great mood! How about I whip up something special for dinner to celebrate?"

Ahazkun: "I don’t mind, but can we afford it?"

Tiari: "Don’t worry about that, I think of something.”

Ahazkun: "All right. I’m looking forward to it."

Tiari: "You betcha!"

And so the two of them slowly walked away from the scene of the insane battle, the air around them wrapped in warm appreciation of each other’s presence and the sound of occasional giggles.