“Mmmmh…mmmmmh…ok, this is epic.” Valentino’s expression rose from the abyss of the earlier confrontation with the Naturian Warlord to the brightest dawn of the year as his teeth crunched down and his tongue feasted on the delicacy’s crispy layers. “If I remember well, it’s called Filo, isn’t it?”
“Ahem…it’s Philo, not Filo,” Admiral Laestrygonian corrected. “Oh, don’t, it’s an understandable error for those who speak such a primitive language as yourself.” He concluded with a gesture that prompted the waiters to place new trays on the table, each one overflowing with the prized exquisiteness. “The wildish at taste yet tender meat of the stags freely roaming the snowy peaks of Psychrâs. The most exquisite fillets of Romantic Tunas caught yesterday in the warm waters of Purpura Bay. And, for our friends who reject the laws of nature that bind the body to an everlasting state of barbarianism, a vegetarian alternative made with the most nutrient-rich treasure grown in the sacred soil of our motherland—genetically modified to have an actually decent flavor.”
The Korinthian cuisine was heavily dominated by a special pastry made from dozens of ultrathin sheets of dough, which fused into a single, crispy structure once baked. And, by just a quick look at the countless different foods wrapped in those golden sheets on the trays, if something was edible, then it could be served between layers of Philo.
“You know, we Marians long ago mastered the culinary arts, and no other cuisine will ever touch the apex we’ve reached,” Valentino declared while devouring another pastry. “But I’ll admit that you, Korinthians, are keeping the competition alive.”
*CLAAAAAAAAANG—-!*
Suddenly, the pianist lost control of his symphony, the melody collapsing into a high-pitched torture before stopping altogether—his eyes and lips trembling in pure shock.
”You, cockroach, how have you just called us?!” Tereus shouted while backed by the murmur of the various officers sitting around him, grimacing at the Marian while siltently whispering the most poisonous of scorns.
“Ahem…” Valentino blinked, genuinely confused by the sudden hostility. “Korinth—”
“STOP! You disgusting Crypto-Reactionary!” Admiral Laestrygonian unsheathed the ceremonial saber that all Korinthian officers wear at their side. “That dreadful term you’re using betrays your absolute ignorance. Such porkesque barbarity I’d expect from the Mandrakian branch of Reactionarysm, not from its spineless Marian offshoot!”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Valentino yelled while stuffing another pastry in his mouth. “How the fuck am I supposed to call you retards, now?!”
“The term ’Korinthians’ is an asinine oversimplification of our culture. The city of Korinth is, indeed, the cultural heart of our civilization—I won’t deny that. However, each of the ThirtySix Poleis has lived through two millennia of history, each gifting its traditions into the mosaic that forms our great nation.” To illustrate his point, the Admiral lifted several Philos of different flavors, stacking them into a single pastry, whose taste unified dozens of different delicacies. “Therefore, the only correct term for our people is Western Chaotians…” He coughed a couple of times. ”Or Korinthians if you are referring to the speakers of the Korinthian language—the official one of our nation—and not the residents of the city of Korinth itself.”
”Are you shitting on me?” Valentino and Giulietta stared at him, dead-eyed.
“I’m not here to babysit Reactionaries,” Tereus sniffed, sheathing his saber. “Educate yourself!” A standing ovation from the officials celebrates their Admiral.
“Seriously, I don’t give a shit anymore. I’m here to make an agreement, and if the Eleuthera Repu—”
*KLANK!* *CLANG!* *CRASH!*
Valentino got interrupted by a battery of crashing plates and collapsing trays. Half the waiters had dropped unconscious on the spot, while the rest crumpled down, their legs shaking too violently to stand.
“YOU…REACTIONARY FILTH…HOW DARE YOU CALL OUR GREAT NATION BY THAT NAME?!” Admiral Laestrygonian and every officer in the room unsheathed their sabers at the same time, sheer hatred overflowing from their twitching expressions.
“Go fuck yourself. I’m not falling for that again,” Valentino shot back. “I vividly remember calling your shithole Eleuthera Republic during our last diplomatic meetings.”
In response, Tereus merely shrugged. ”We’ve changed it.”
”When?”
”One week ago, the day we invaded the ’HRE.’”
“And how the hell was I supposed to know that while trapped in a city under siege?!” Valentino slammed both fists on the table.
“As I told you before, the Free City of Maria really ought to improve your communication channels.” A new standing ovation erupted from the officials, celebrating their Admiral.
“Whatever—DUDE. Just tell me your new name for the Korinthian state so we can move on.” Valentino scoffed, shoving another Philo into his mouth.
“Absolutely not! Your ignorance on the subject is unacceptable for someone who claims to be a negotiator. If the Marians want any deal with us, then you will be properly educated about our great nation.” A smug spreaded across that over-groomed face. ”So, if you don’t mind, I will take only a few minutes of your time to give you a short reference to history for giving you a little historical background.”
“Please no! For the love of Adam, PLEASE no—-anything but that!” Valentino begged, as Giulietta tugged desperately at his sleeve, ordering her brother to stop that madness.
“It all began one thousand, nine hundred and seventy-two years ago,” Tereus continued, ignoring every plea. “After the Holy Heroes completed their journey by defeating the ’Twilight Queen,’ S-Class ‘World’s End Memoir’ Heroine Korinna—our ’World’s Grace’—received a revelation that changed history forever. She kept it secret, for she believed humanity was not ready to hear a truth that would shatter their reality, but, to begin her mission, she revealed a bit of one of her three secrets—Hero Roland was an impostor. Thus, Heroine Korinna refused to recognize the ’Hero’ as her Emperor, gathering her followers—mostly descendants of the Western Shurapatri—and leading them across the Great Dune in search of the Promised Land, where she would build a nation worthy of challenging Roland’s legacy.”
“A waste of time ’cause Mario had already found Maria.” The Admiral ignored the Marian’s piking.
“After thirty-seven years of climbing the burning sands of the golden dunes, plagued by starvation and thirst, and surviving the many dangers dwelling in the desert, the survivors had, tragically, not even crossed half of its length. So, the True Prophet of Adam—Heroine Korinna—began to pray to the Holy Trinity, begging our gods to take her own life in exchange for saving her people.” Tears began streaming down the officials’ faces. “And then, a Miracle happened. A colossal sandstorm descended upon them, a calamity whose mighty winds could move entire dunes as if they were feathers—revealing their secrets. Hidden beneath the golden sand was the Lost Ark—one of the only three Shurapatri ships that survived the wrath of the Chaotic Gods—perfectly preserved, waiting for our forebears to be used to sail across the Phoenix Gulf and finally reach the Promised Land.
“There, our ancestors found something only the oldest among them still remembered, the color green—an immense expanse of fertile plains. And on the holy ground where the Lost Ark first landed, Heroine Korinna laid the first stone of what would soon grow into the first and greatest Polis of Western Chaotia—Korinth—only to die soon after, beaming as her heart stopped beating because the beginning of her prophecy had finally been fulfilled.” As Tereus finished, every Korinthian in the room bowed their head and began a quiet prayer in perfect synchrony.
“Yeah, it’s mostly fake, by the way. While I can’t fully deny the desert part, historians have reached a consensus that Heroine Korinna ruled Korinth for years—maybe decades—after her supposed death.” Valentino pointed out, waving his hand dismissively.
“All lies fabricated by the Mandrakians to stain our legacy and break our unity—we will not fall for it.” Admiral Laestrygonian declared, and every Korinthian in the room agreed. “Anyway, let’s not digress. In the centuries that followed, new Poleis blossomed across the fertile land, and our ancestors blossomed with them, growing from a few thousand survivors into millions in a demographic boom never again replicated. Yet, with all the blessings that such a wealthy land provided, we forgot Korinna’s teachings. Abundance led to excess, and the population grew too quickly, resources declined, and, for the first time since the Great Dune, hunger hunted our people. However, instead of uniting to find a solution as the ’World’s End Memoir’ would have wanted, the Poleis started fighting over supremacy.
“It lasted eight centuries. Eight hundred years of enriching the soil of that already fertile land with the blood of our brothers and sisters, until only thirty-seven Poleis remained on the chessboard—the strongest, the largest, and the proudest. But then, at the peak of this bloody civil war, a miracle occurred.” Tereus spread his arms wide. “The number of battles plummeted while alliances and trade agreements flourished, and in just a few decades the Poleis settled into a strange yet stable equilibrium—none was strong enough to wage war against the new web of alliances, and none wished to jeopardize such profitable trade for a pointless conflict with no real chance at supremacy. Peace had come with neither sword nor pen, but naturally, like spring after winter—Korinna’s Miracle.” Tereus’s eyes shimmered in pride as he remembered his studies about the golden age of his civilization. ”A moment of quiet that at first seemed temporary, but it ended up lasting a thousand years—the Glorious Millennium.
“It was a golden age in which, instead of wasting resources on pointless wars, the Poleis invested in art and science, raising our cities and our culture to heights never before thought to be possible. Our stone cities were rebuilt in marble, the poorest citizens were taught how to read and write, and there was not a single wealthy person who wasn’t a patron of an artist—it was as if the ancient Shurapatri civilization had been reborn.” And yet, despite the enthusiasm, his tone got bitter. “But no dream lasts forever, and while our brightness never dimmed out, our competitiveness against the barbarians at our borders eroded bit by bit—we were, unknowingly, trapped in a golden stagnation. On the 37th day of Reminiscentia, in the Year of our Prophet Korinna 1518—the darkest day in our history—SSR-Class ’Antihero’ Emperor Mandrake I Rolandsson and his Valkyries landed in the Purpura Bay, beginning their infamous conquest of Western Chaotia.” All the Korinthians placed their hands over their hearts and held a minute of silence.
“Look, wonderful story,” Valentino nasalized, fighting a losing battle to keep his eyes open and his mouth from snoring—Valentina wasn’t even trying. “But this part is taught in every Rolandish school—Marian ones included. So…may I ask you to skip to the point?”
“According to Heroine Korinna’s teachings, it is forbidden for us to become Essentias—the most corrupt form of human existence. Thus, our Poleis relied on the magical relics crafted by the ‘World’s End Memoir’ herself—the supreme witch, second only to the ’Twilight Queen’ herself. Each city possessed its own unique set of artifacts, and until Mandrake, those relics were more than sufficient to repel every Rolandish invasion. However, the ’Antihero’ changed the game, and by following his philosophy—the Tricknology—he weaponized mankind’s darkest instincts to circumvent the power of each artifact, and put us against each other—one by one, all Poleis fell. And on the 37th day of the Reminiscentia, in the Year of Our Prophet Korinna 1521—exactly one Adamic Year after the landing—the Great Wall of Korinth, the mightiest of the ‘World’s End Memoir’s’ artifacts, was breached by the Mandrakian cannons, and once the wall crumbled, the Valkyries stormed the city.” The officers around him bowed their heads in humiliation.
“The psychological devastation of witnessing the impregnable shattered before their eyes broke the will of our ancestors. Had morale held, we would have surely prevailed, but instead, Korinth surrendered without a fight.” The officers around him bowed their heads in humiliation. ”Stratēgós Dēmosthénēs prostrated himself beneath the emerald spear of Anastasia Zaverina, offering her the Owl of Knowledge, and, for the first time in history, Western Chaotia was united beneath a single political entity—Mandrake’s boot.”
Mandrake should’ve burned that shithole to the ground. Even the greatest men have flaws…I guess.
The Marian businessman thought as he dealt with the consequences of such a lax decision.
“Although the Mandrakian Yoke was, without question, the darkest hour in Western Chaotian history, no night can fully hide the stars and their light, and that dreadful experience granted our people an unique opportunity. Emperor Mandrake I had countless projects in that brilliant mind of his, and the strategy to translate them into reality was based on the immense population and resources provided by the half of Chaotia he had just conquered. Yet, even that seemingly endless wealth was not enough to satisfy his obsessive timetable, for he envisioned shaping his new state into a perfect machine—as precise and efficient as a pendulum clock.
“Firstly, he constructed roads, bridges, and ports, hundreds of sacred temples and historical monuments were bulldozed without a hint of hesitation to make way for the countless new infrastructures that, even today, link the most remote villages to the heartland, binding the entire nation together.
“Secondly, he revolutionized the judiciary. From Korinth to Laconia, all were judged under the same absolute law, with no circumstances and no compromises considered for a sentence. Moreover, the more one contributed to the collective good, the more rights and privileges one earned, effectively creating a dynamic social ladder that elevated the brightest and most capable minds and muscles to the top of society.
“And lastly, to accomplish his plan of global conquest, Mandrake implemented the first mass conscription in the history of Chaotia. Tens of thousands of young men and women—the future of the nation—were forced to meet, train, bleed, and live together, effectively bringing down centuries-old cultural walls, forging bonds that would last a lifetime.” He leaned back with a proud expression. “In short, Mandrake had, unintentionally, created the national identity of Western Chaotians.
Exhausted, Valentino shoved the Ivory Tigress into his own mouth until the tip of the barrel pressed against the back of his throat. Then, he pulled the trigger…but it jammed. By the way, it is scientifically proven that this Gaussbow model can’t jam—the probability of such a malfunction is one in thirty-seven trillion.
“It took time—almost forty years of occupation—but eventually Mandrake’s ego inflated to the point of rupture, bringing an anticlimactic end to his otherwise glorious saga. He sent our sons and daughters to die as meat shields in Tartaria, Joseong, Gupta, and yet the man who conquered such foreign worlds found his death at home, in his failed attempt to claim the imperial throne during the Great Civil War.” He raised his fist. ”After his demise, the rotten foundations of his political Frankenstate were exposed, with infighting and secessions spreading like wildfire. And as Mandrake’s Empire shrank day by day, our moment to claim our freedom arrived. The time for our—INSURRECTION!” Every officer in the room jumped to their feet and roared the name back, all drunk with wine and patriotism.
“The rebels were not hopeless fools, but trained veterans who had learned formation fighting from the greatest military genius in history while serving in the most brilliant campaign ever fought—the Mandrakian Remnants didn’t stand a chance. The first triumph of the Insurrection was the liberation of Hektorium, the Polis closest to the lands of the Sky Nomads. There, our leaders proclaimed the birth of a new state—a place where all citizens were equal, and no form of Reactionarysm would ever again be tolerated.” Tereus pointed his finger at the Marian. “Yet, our forefathers never chose an official name. Eleuthera Republic—the Republic of Freedom—was always a provisional name, a mere placeholder adopted because the people had grown accustomed to calling us with that, but it was never meant to be our nation’s true name. And so, after generations of debate at long last—one week ago—we reached a final consensus!”
”Wait a minute.” Valentino waved his hands, utterly confused. ”Are you telling me that you’ve taken five hundred years to decide the name of your fucking nation?” Giulietta almost broke character, betraying herself with a little chuckle.
“Typical oversimplification from the brain-rotted mind of a Reactionary,” Tereus spat back, genuinely outraged. “Do you have any idea how long Adam took to evolve monkeys into humans? Millions, perhaps billions of years. We are not merely founding a state, or crafting an ideology, or refining a religion—we are accomplishing the next stage of human evolution. Can you imagine a world where all humans share one culture, one religion, and one language, where every divide et impera imposed by Reactionarysm is erased from our society? I can, and it’s a true utopia!” Tears streamed down his face. “One day, all humanity will stand united under the Konnie Blue Flag, and no one more will be judged by the genes in their DNA or by their surname, but by the content of their character.”
”Ergh…sounds like a nightmare for someone like me. And, more importantly, how can we all be equal when I’m objectively superior to everyone?” Admiral Laestrygonian frowned at Valentino, but he didn’t take the bait.
“Taking five hundred years to choose a name is nothing to be ashamed of because we have accelerated humanity’s evolution—a process that usually spans eons—into its next stage in less than five centuries—we are humanity’s champions!” The Korinthian officers’ hands had turned red from how hard they clapped.
”Cool…*crunch!*…story dude…*crunch!* Now please…*crunch!*—THE DAMN NAME!” Valentino bellowed, speaking with his mouth full of three Philos, which crumbs blasted across the Admiral’s uniform.
“C.C.C.P.—The Centralized, Cooperative, and Constitutional Peoplecracy. That is the official name we adopted during the 3737th International,” Tereus proudly announced while brushing off Philo shrapnel. “To clarify the first three Cs. Centralized means that no political entity within the Peoplecracy stands above any other. Cooperative means all political entities must share their resources for the common good. Constitutional means no political entity may deny its citizens the rights granted by the Constitution.”
“Wait a fucking minute. What the hell is Peoplecracy supposed to mean—you’ve made up a fucking word!” The Marian scratched his head. ”You either mean Democracy or Republic, right?”
”Pfft. It is self-evident—I’m not here to educate you.” And after yet another standing ovation, Tereus unfurled the Konnie Blue Flag behind him, the acronym C.C.C.P. embroidered in gold at the center of the Crown of Spines. “This is the first flag we have ever produced. What do you think?” Tereus’s eyes shimmered as he eagerly waited for an answer.
“Mid. Very mid.” Giulietta gave a graceful thumbs-down, agreeing with her brother.
“I told you to write the word with the thorns inside the crown,” Tereus hissed at the officer to his right. “Tsk. That’s why you Reactionaries will never understand art. Like insects, you can only enjoy rot.”
“Oh shut up.” Valentino snorted. “You Korinthians have no concept of art. Everything you make is a deconstruction, and then a deconstruction of that deconstruction, until it all becomes a shapeless and undigestible slop—we create, while you destroy.” The two started a sight war, but the Marian ended it quickly. “Anyway, Peoplecracy has no actual meaning—just open a dictionary.”
“Ἐπιχείρημα ἐκ τῆς ἐξουσίας!” Tereus slammed a palm on the table. “A book written hundreds of years ago by some bigot ought to tell me how to speak and write? I don’t know about you, but that reeks of Reactionarysm.”
“Holy shit, you are actually a fucking retarded.”
“By definition, a language exists so two individuals may communicate, what’s the point of complicating things with artificial rules? I’ll concede that mathematics must avoid ambiguity, but the real world? Reality is ambiguous by its very nature because human nature is ever-changing. Imposing static rules on a dynamic species is a symptom of severe infection from Reactionarysm. Therefore, definitions must be as fluid as culture itself, changing as society evolves. Now, let’s analyze the alternatives you proposed. Republic. From Shurapatri Res Publica—‘the public thing.’ Sounds fine, right?” The Marian siblings nodded. “WRONG! The word Res is dangerously close to the word Rex, meaning ‘king’ in Shurapatri. Thus, the term Republic is inherently tainted by Reactionarysm!”
“Ahem…no…it does not mean that.”
“Another victim of the enemy’s Tricknology. If your brain could process basic logic, you’d instantly see the hidden meaning of who forged the term.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “Next—Democracy. Literally, ‘rule of the people.’ A perfect concept, so why not use that instead of Peoplecracy, which, intuitively, means the same?”
“Ahem…because you’re all a bunch of idiots?”
“Pfft. You, Marians, claim to be the oldest democracy on the planet, but, in truth, you are the living proof of this system’s rottenness. Democracy is not the rule of the people, but the rule of the majority. What if 51% democratically votes to exterminate the other 49%? That is tyranny wearing a friendly mask. A true government of the people must be for everyone—for every single citizen!”
“Do you mean my taxes should go to feed jobless parasites instead of calling the police and sending them to break their backs in a mine? Madness.”
“See? Every term that existed has already been corrupted by scum like you. Therefore, we must start from zero, craft a new word free of our inherited sins, one anyone can intuitively understand—Peoplecracy.” Tereus unsheathed his saber for the third time, thrusting it upward until the tip kissed the ceiling. “THE TYRANNY OF THE DICTIONARY ENDS NOW! THE RULE OF THE PEOPLE BEGINS TODAY!” The Korinthians rose in a frenzy, singing their national anthem—the Mélos Adelphikó. Meanwhile, Valentino attempted to strangle himself, begging Giulietta to stuff as many Philos as possible into his mouth—she declined.
“Whatever, dude, I don’t care anymore. Arguing with you people is a waste of time. Just call yourselves whatever you want and let’s start the negotiations.”
“Ah, envy. Is such a bad beast, isn't it.” Tereus beamed. “Does our superior culture shame yours so deeply?”
“Okay, this is too much. Your ‘culture’ is just sheer degeneracy, and I can prove it.” Valentino dug into his [Bag] and yanked out a book. “This is what you Korinthians consider a masterpiece—In Search of Morality, by Uluç Mustafa Pasha.”
“I fail to see your point. That’s an actual masterpiece.” All officials nodded in agreement.
“The main character isn’t some boring professor, but the students’ favorite. He turns every class into a party, writes bestselling books, leads the teachers’ union, and passes progressive reforms by bravely opposing the old and grumpy conservative rector who hates fun, has a giant portrait of Emperor Mandrake I in his office, and is also a Rolandish spy. *Cough!*…self-insert…*cough!*…”
“Where is the problem?” Unlike your barbaric heroes worshipping violence, our Champions are moral role models, inspiring readers to elevate themselves. Meanwhile, Villains must be written as pathetic as possible to shame wrongthinkers into rightness.” Tereus rebutted.
”Sure, sure. But let me continue.” Valentino flipped a page. “Our glorious protagonist also has a romantic relationship with one of his students. Guess who? The rector’s daughter. And here comes the funniest shit I’ve ever read. I quote: ‘After what I’ve done to her, she won’t be able to call that man daddy again.’ Ahem…AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” The Korinthian official lowered their red faces in shame, while a sneer could be seen over Giulietta’s divine lips.
"Ὅπερ ἔδει δεῖξαι!" Tereus barked back. “Only Reactionary scum would misread such a fine metaphor. It symbolizes that once a tradition is uprooted, it cannot grow again in a society.”
“Yeah, sure. Anyway, the story continues. The affair is exposed, and to protect the girl, the professor was forced to resign, accepting a new job in the most remote Theme in Western Chaotia—never named to avoid a pointless controversy. Here is where the real book begins, and it could easily be described as an expansion of what we saw in the prologue, trying to revolutionize the place just as he did at his university. However, due to the extreme level of ruralism, he will be forced to use all his ingenuity to educate the so-called Bluenecks. And, of course, there is also a love story similar to the first one—an impossible romance between the professor and the daughter of the most powerful, cruel, and bigoted man in the village…just one very small difference.” The Korinthians understood what he was aiming for, starting to sweat. “This girl’s age is just a little…little…little…liiiiiittle bit questionable. But hey, for him, social constructs are just chains meant to be broken, what are we to judge?” He concluded with the most malicious smirk ever seen.
“For the love of Adam!” Tereus wailed. “How illiterate are you, to have failed to grasp such an incredible self-critique of our own society? We, who pride ourselves on breaking boundaries, must finally ask ourselves a difficult question—is there a point we should not cross? A limit even we cannot violate? Therefore, the author has courageously challenged his readers, exposing his reputation to disgraceful comments like yours in order to spark a genuine debate on the matter—a true intellectual.”
“What a great man,” Valentino declared, solemnly nodding. “Truly the brightest shining example of Korinthian cultural superiority. Oh, wait…one last thing. Chapter 37…what was the title again? Ah yes—Feetcracy.” He slapped the book shut. “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHA!”
“Shut the fuck up! I’ve had enough of your uneducated, uninformed, and unlearned humbug.” Tereus snapped his fingers, gesturing for a soldier to approach the library. ”Let’s see if Rolandish culture is as superior as you claim. Kemal, bring Matter of Chaotia, specifically the Connor Saga.”
“Try as much as you want.” Valentino crossed his arms, chin high. “Those books invented modern literature.”
Kemal handed over the volume. and Tereus began reading. “Ahem…and so Connor rode as fast as he could to save his beloved Nellie, kidnapped by the wicked Bandit King. Yet, a seed of doubt sprouted in his heart, and the faster he rode, the more its stems grew, till its thorns pierced into his thoughts. ‘What if…what if it’s already too late…’ Those spines released the worst poison a man can feel. ’If it’s already too late…could it be true what they say? That a picked flower loses its value?’” Tereus cleared his throat. ”Ahem…OH NO NO, AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” The Korinthians enjoyed their sweet revenge, rejoicing in an orchestra of laughter.
“You ignorant pig,” Valentino was outraged. “That scene was meant to defend the honor of women who suffer the brutalities of war. You should be ashamed of yourself!”
”*Cough!*…Insecure…*cough!*…Kemal, please, bring me Connor III: Too Angry to Die.”
“You’re wasting your time, that’s the best entry in the saga.”
“Ahem…Connor’s longsword was longer than anyone had ever seen. When he unsheathed it, the men stared in awe, knowing they stood no chance, while the women gasped with joy at the size of such a massive weapon, feeling the happiness that sword would bring them.” He snapped the book shut. “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” The room erupted in laughter, while Valentino turned red with rage.
“Shut the fuck up! All of you! Your culture is so degenerate you project your filth even onto actual poetry!”
“You Reactionaries hide behind traditional values, but uppressing natural urges only fuels deeper perversion.” Tereus scolded, wiping away the tears of laughter.
“Bullshit! Degeneration is a bottomless well. The more you accept, the more revolting the next thing to tolerate becomes.”
“Asinine argument from a degenerate society.”
“Nope, your culture is pure degeneration.”
”No, yours is degeneration.”
”No, yours.”
”No, you.”
”No, u.”
And so they continued, basically self-immolating with embarrassment. Giulietta, however, found the scene amusing, reminding her of the squabbles she used to have with her brothers back in Suarez. And she wasn’t wrong. Angry siblings was the perfect term to describe the entire diplomatic history between the Free City of Maria and the C.C.C.P.
***
The strife calmed down when the dessert came—a cheesecake cake bordered by a sheet of Philo.
“So,” Admiral Laestrygonian began, cream plastered across his lips. ”Let’s finally discuss business. What do the Marians want in exchange for joining the war?”
“We want the entire Pacific Archipelago—not one island less,” Valentino replied, enjoying his third slice of cake while Admiral Laestrygonian nearly choked.
“Are you mad? You expect us to fight a world war and gain nothing?”
“Dude, just annex the Great Dune. It’s huge.”
“It’s a damn desert.”
“Yet, it’s full of natural resources.”
“We can buy everything we need from the Naturian Warlords without dealing with hostile Natives ambushing us.”
“Have you tried not killing the Natives?” Valentino countered. “Worked for us.”
“Primitivism is no excuse for Reactionarysm,” Tereus refuted. “Everyone will be educated under the light of Korinna—no exception.”
“Then we’re done for today.” Valentino shrugged himself off the conversation in the most anti-climactic of ways. “Let’s sleep on it and see if tomorrow we’re more open to compromise. Also, I assume you’ve prepared the best cabin on the ship for us. July, let’s go.” As Valentino and Giulietta rose, the sneering officials began whispering, and the murmur soon grew loud enough to catch their attention. ”Have I told something fun?”
“Perhaps, tomorrow will be too late.” The Admiral revealed.
”What do you mean?”
“Have you wondered why all the ships in the Miraval Lake are so old?” Valentino’s Trinitaian eyes twitched. Once again, his paranoid brain had been right. “You see, when Mother Korinna was first designed, our knowledge of Antimagic Reactors was primitive, and our engineers were terrified of catastrophic meltdowns. So they resorted to structural precautions, such as separating the water supply of the reactor and that of the engine.” Giulietta tilted her head towards her brother, worried. “And now, each time the Juggernaut moves, a small hatch opens at the bottom of the hull to let new water in. But do you know what would happen if the ship tried to move without opening that little hole?”
OH, FUCK YOU!
“Tomorrow, a two-thousand-year-old prophecy will be fulfilled. Mother Korinna will sacrifice herself to destroy the Holy Rolandish Empire by annihilating its future.” Tereus and all the officers brought their forearms together across their chest, clenched their fists, and violently thrust them upward in a V-shape. Then shouted—
“BREAK THE CHAIN!”
