Among all us…AHAH!…ahah!…a-a-h-h-a-a-h-h…i-it w-was yyy-you—THE BIG BAD WOLF!
The last words of the ’Martial Critique.’
Hunter Paradise, Anonymous373737, 1624.
NAGOE ABYSS,
SHADOW’S DAY 16/06/1996,
TO THE CHAMPION OF THE NIXIES, THE SCION OF THE EVERNIGHTMARE KINGDOM, AND, ABOVE ALL, MY SON,
ANICET, WORDS ALONE CANNOT EXPRESS THE PRIDE I FEEL AS I WRITE THIS LETTER. YOU HAVE ACHIEVED A FEAT THAT HAS BEEN REPLICATED ONLY A HANDFUL OF TIMES THROUGHOUT HISTORY—BESTOWED BY THE HOLY TRINITY WITH THE CLASS OF OUR FOREBEAR AND FOUNDER OF OUR NATION. YOU ARE NOW THE REINCARNATION OF NAGOE THE HERO—THE NOSTALGIC REACTIONARY!
THE NEWS HAS ALREADY CAST A RAY OF HOPE INTO THE DARKEST MEANDERS OF OUR REALM, AND I AM PROUD TO ANNOUNCE THAT YESTERDAY MARKED THE FIRST DAY IN A THOUSAND YEARS WITHOUT A SINGLE SUICIDE—BE PROUD OF YOURSELF. NEVERTHELESS, OUR JOY MUST NOT DULL OUR VIGILANCE BECAUSE OUR ENEMIES ARE MORE POWERFUL THAN WE ARE. THEY WILL NOT BE FRIGHTENED BY A MERE PROPHECY LONG FORGOTTEN BY THE MODERN WORLD AND THEIR WICKED PLANS WILL BE HALTED NEITHER BY PRAYERS TO THE HOLY TRINITY NOR BY APPEALS TO REASON OR GOODWILL. YET, WE MAY TAKE SOLACE IN THE KNOWLEDGE THAT EVEN THESE MONSTERS SHALL BE POWERLESS BEFORE THE DIVINE JUSTICE OF ADAM
THE HERO, THE SHINING STAR, THE INFINITESIMAL ETYMOLOGIST, THE GEO COMPOSER, THE DROWNED PHOENIX, THE TREE WHISPERER, AND YOU—THE NOSTALGIC REACTIONARY. NEVER BEFORE SUCH AN HIGH AMOUNT OF HOLY HEROES HAVE BEEN REINCARNATED AT THE SAME TIME, AND IF MY PREDICTION PROVES TRUE, THE REMAINING ONES WILL SOON JOIN THEIR COMPANIONS. THAT EXACT MOMENT— AFTER THE ALIGNMENT OF OUR SOLAR SYSTEM’S THIRTEEN PLANETS —WILL MARK THE BEGINNING OF THE WORLD'S END.
I AM INVESTING ALL MY RESOURCES AND POWER IN TRYING TO PREVENT THE INEVITABLE, BUT WE DO NOT YET KNOW WHEN IT WILL COME, AND WE MUST SURVIVE UNTIL THAT MOMENT AT ALL COSTS. THEREFORE, YOU MUST CHOOSE YOUR ALLIES WITH GREAT CARE AND BE AWARE OF OUR ENEMIES AND THEIR TACTICS.
CHAD ROLANDSSON IS NOT A THREAT. HE IS, LIKE ALL EMPERORS BEFORE HIM, MERELY A PAWN IN THE HANDS OF OUR TRUE ENEMY—THE VON STERNENSTAUB FAMILY.
THE VON STERNENSTAUB LADY—THE SCION OF THE CANCER THAT HAS PLAGUED CHAOTIA SINCE ADAM’S ASCENSION—AT THIS VERY MOMENT, HER CLAWS DIG DEEP INTO THE FLESH OF OUR ’HERO’ TO SHAPE HIS CONSCIOUSNESS AND WEAKEN HIS WILL, TURNING OUR SCION INTO A LOYAL DOG TO THE TRUE MASTER OF OUR EMPIRE.
AS OUR OATH AS LOYAL VASSALS DEMANDS, IT IS OUR DUTY TO SAVE HIS HOLINESS AND TO RESTORE OUR NATION TO ITS FORMER GLORY. HOWEVER, BE WARY! THE SHREWDEST SNAKES IN THE EMPIRE HAVE TRAINED THAT GLOWING WHORE WELL, AND, AS MY SON, YOU ARE ON HER LIST, ANICET. SHE IS GOING TO USE EVERY INCH OF HER WARM BODY TO SHATTER YOUR DEVOTION TO ALL THAT IS GOOD AND SACRED IN THIS WORLD.
THIS IS NOT MERELY A FATHER’S WARNING TO HIS SON, BUT A COMMAND FROM YOUR KING TO HIS LOYAL SOLDIER—AVOID ALL CONTACT WITH SS-CLASS 'SHINING STAR' ASTARY VON STERNENSTAUB!
FAREWELL FOR NOW, MY SON. I WILL WRITE AGAIN AS SOON AS I RECEIVE NEW INFORMATION FROM MY SECRET CONTACT.
FIGHT THE GOOD FIGHT!
YOUR FATHER,
AAA-CLASS ’WORLD’S END EPITAPH’ KING CORNELIUS III COSMATERN,
DESPOT OVER A STARLESS NIGHT.
Cracklings echoed from the ruins of what was once a majestic log of Unholy Cypres—black even before its immolation—delightedly welcoming the letter and its bloody ink, which dispersed a crimson fog throughout the decadent bedroom. Although crypt might have been a more fitting term for the chamber of the dark prince, who would one day rule over the Evernightmare Kingdom.
Distortions of space and time cloaked the windows, trading the fresh light of morning with the pitch-black darkness of his fatherland—just as Anicet preferred. The only sources of illumination were the fireplace, built from the skulls of criminals he had executed under his father’s orders for staining their names with the gravest sin a Nixie could ever commit—pursuing their own happiness; A few low-emission Magicbulbs that shimmer beneath portraits of faceless figures hanging on the walls, trying to scream despite the layer of skin that sealed their mouth shut; but the most captivating glow came from the Vampire’s Peonies that lined the circular mattress at the room’s center, now writhing as they demanded their dinner from their master.
Above them, draped in soft sheets of spider silk, lay a naked young man—his body looking both skeletal and sculpted. “It’s time to eat,” the Prince whispered as he dragged one of his sharp black nails across his wrist, slicing it open. An obsidian rain bathed the flowers, shifting the peonies’ hue from the near-black of unoxygenated blood to a glowing scarlet as they jubilated in their favorite drink. “Despite all, my father is right. Our families have been enemies for thousands of years, and we are doomed to follow the tradition,” admitted SSS-Class ’Nostalgic Reactionary’ Anicet Cosmatern, taking a lava-ambered goblet and sipping from it as he resumed reading the book in his left hand.
Although Self-Portrait of a Coward was a bestseller among Nixies, the heir to the Evernightmare Kingdom had always considered the masterpiece written by A-Class ’Lone Hound’ Vinovat Doliu overrated. However, following recent events, he decided to give the book a second chance, and for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, his opinion had shifted entirely, now finding its themes extremely captivating.
The book was short, barely over a hundred pages, featuring a simple plot about a complex love story between two lost souls during the tumultuous months of Operation Quiet Neighbor. The man was a plebeian who, through relentless effort and abstinence from earthly pleasures, rose through the service ranks—dethroning noble after noble—until he became the most trusted official to command the largest military operation in the Evernightmare Kingdom’s history. The woman, the last living remnant of a now-extinct breed of nobility, had been left with nothing to live for by the hatred of the very people she once looked down upon—her name, notably, is never mentioned in the text.
Despite such different origins, they found themselves working side by side to establish the Cobra Buffer Zone, following La Revolución that had completely shattered the political landscape of Sardinia. And with each problem they overcame, through countless hours of discussions alone within her private chamber, they forged a bond that slowly, yet relentlessly, tightened around both their hearts. However, being a Nixie, General Doliu dismissed the sensation as nothing more than indigestion from the overly spicy Sardinian food.
Although being a near-perfect setting for a soap opera, in real life, a conflict couldn’t last forever, and, eventually, the Paisanos grew tired of meat-grinding themselves against the Obsidian Curtain the two had erected, accepting the humiliating peace deal—one that shattered the only thing connecting the two would-be lovers. The ’Lone Hound’ devised every excuse possible to prolong the occupation—just to see her one more day—but in the end, his King’s letter arrived, ordering a full withdrawal. As a loyal soldier, he carried out his orders flawlessly, yet, on the final day, instead of leading the victory parade through the crowded streets of Escaliente, he ran to their secret place, discovering that she, too, had abandoned her duty to be there. From a distance, General Doliu saw the hope shimmering in her eyes, eager to meet him, but just as he was about to embrace his happy ending…he stopped, and instead, he began to think.
That was the first chapter, about twenty pages, while the rest of the opera consisted solely of the protagonist’s internal monologue. Across those pages—through dense layers of introspection and quotations from the Holy Axiomata, the Shurapatri’s writings, and even Emperor Mandrake’s many theories—he reached a simple yet devastating conclusion. If he truly loved her, he could not condemn the lady to the greatest torment he could imagine—loving him. And so, he turned around and walked back to his homeland—never saw her again, or just tried to do so. The final chapter takes place years later, when the protagonist, now one of the most powerful men in the entire Holy Rolandish Empire, opened a letter from his King, proudly announcing that he had been chosen to represent the Evernightmare Kingdom at the wedding of that very noblewoman. Vinovat took a deep breath, completed the final chapter of his manuscript, changed the title, and, calmly, threw himself into the Bottomless Pit.
“What a superb way to retire from this rotten world. The protagonist might very well be none other than myself,” Anicet declared as he raised his goblet, mesmerized by the lava swirling within, which offered the Nixie Prince a hint on how to surpass such an incredible feat. ”Anyway, I shan’t fool myself.” He took a final sip, the wine staining his obsidian lips crimson. “Yet…I truly wonder how much distance lies between the bottom of an everlasting crater and a star at the edge of our universe.” He murmured those words almost ethereally before letting the remaining wine spill over his bare chest, and like a river, it flowed through the grooves of his sculpted six-pack, reddening his cadaverous-white skin. The bloody baptism granted his death-cold complexion a fleeting human warmth, just enough for the Nixie Prince to imagine, for one fragile moment, what it might feel like to be normal. “ah…I wish I wasn’t born in the land of coffins…”
*Clang!*
The loud opening of the door caused Anicet’s spine to stiffen. ”Anicet! Good news, we’ve been in—” An awkward silence fell, followed by a long exchange of glances between the diamond eyes of his roommate and his own, preluding a difficult conversation. ”Anicet…my bro…what the fuck are you doing?”
”Ahem…it slipped,” he mumbled, hastily pulling a Leech Cloth from his [Inventory] to wipe the wine away.
”Why are you drinking in the first place…it’s half past seven—in the morning!” SSS-Class ’Hero’ Chad Rolandsson yelled at his blood rival.
Now I understand his father.
“Tsk…your argument, as always, betrays the poor flexibility of your mind. Morning, afternoon, night, these imaginary time blocks you blindly follow are nothing more than social constructs, designed to turn humans into gears in the cruel machinery of our artificial economy. And like any other prideful human, you deny your chain, wearing it instead as a badge of honor, and trying to impose it on others because deep down, you know the truth.” The ’Nostalgic Reactionary’ argued, without, however, facing the ’Hero,’ peeking at the horrors lurking in the shadows outside his window. “Take the now, for example. It’s only morning to you because our society arbitrarily defines it as the start of daily activity. But, by following the same logic, for an owl, night is the real morning, and so on for each species. So, have you considered, even briefly, that I might not have slept last night? Or that I’ve simply decided that, from today onward, my personal rhythms no longer align with your subjective idea of morning? Hence, in the interest of maintaining a healthy relationship between us, I kindly ask that you don’t impose anything on me—thanks.”
Chad stared at him in silence for a few seconds, took a deep breath, and restrained the powerful urge to educate him about planetary motion. ”Whatever you say…bro. Anyway, I came here to tell you that we’ve been invited to a friendly match of Miramble, organized by our seniors to welcome us to the Academy. We ought to join! Armedia vs. Draig vs. Nixieland—your subjects will be waiting for their Scion.”
”Sportballs are the opium of the masses. Created to keep the cattle busy, preventing them from using their time profitably to grow out of their chains.”
”That’s one way to see it…I guess. But I think sports are social events where everyone can interact without worrying about their social background—a necessary ritual for a cohesive society. Just see this as the diplomatic duty of a Prince.”
”I’m the future King of the Evernightmare Kingdom. My diplomatic efforts begin and end with threatening His Holiness and his government to use my veto right on every reform he ever proposes.”
”Oh, come on, everyone is going. I, Kafka, Ælgifu, Asta—” Chad interrupted himself as a fully dressed Anicet appeared beside him.
”You’re right. It’s my duty—let’s go!”
