*CLAP!* *CLAP!* *CLAP!*
“Vraiment magnifique. I’m genuinely speechless. For a moment, I thought the real Giulietta Di Mario was beside me—you’re a natural-born actress.” Jacques couldn’t stop himself from clapping as Carmen’s apple-cheeks reddened. Then, they both collapsed, exhausted, onto the oversized double bed at the center of their private cabin.
The room mirrored the opulence of a grand hotel—far too large for anything that floats on water. The walls were paneled with fox fur, as red as it was warm to the touch—meant to comfort high-profile guests during the long transoceanic route between the Purpura Gulf and Gupta—and Naturian-scented candles crowded the room, their exotic aroma dissolving every last scrap of tension in their bodies. Moreover, their faint glow blended with the light of the Romantic Moon filtering through the porthole, filling the cabin with the unmistakable atmosphere of a night meant to be remembered.
“You…should stop…with your comforting lies,” the 'Ego Witch' mumbled, waving her left hand in dismissal as the Kashmere mattress revived her aching back. “All I did was mimic the refined eccentricities that I’ve seen in her performances and in the magazines, and back you up whenever needed. Also…” She freed herself from the regalia of La Madonna—her sigh of relief making it clear that those razor-thin stiletto heels had been a prison. Worse, her mind was still struggling to process everything—the siege, the infiltration, and the fact that she was dressed as the woman she had always wanted to be—and part of her believed that, after a good night’s sleep, she would simply wake up in her bed in Suarez, surrounded by her loving family and far away from this madness. “I didn’t even have a single line in this show.”
“Bullshit.” The Javelinist rolled across the mattress until their noses were only millimeters apart and they could feel each other’s breath. “Firstly, I gave you less than a day to memorize the script, and not only did you follow it word for word, but you also took my vision and brought it to life—that’s real talent.” Carmen blushed and instinctively tried to lower her sight, but Jacques didn’t let her break eye contact. “And secondly, this isn’t a book. A true actress can convey what a hundred pages can’t with a single glance, and that’s exactly what you did in front of those Korinthian pieces of shit.” He hopped off the bed and made his way to the cabin’s vintage refrigerator. “You have a talent, Carmen. Be proud of it because modesty is just fear worshiping.”
*POP!*
A cork flew across the room.
“We got lucky. Evernightmare Tears, vintage ’66.” He showed her the obsidian bottle as if it were a holy relic before pouring its pitch-black liquid into two silver goblets. Its pine-resin scent intertwined with the candle’s exoticness—two fragrances, antitheses of each other, merged into an intoxicating spell. “The treasure of a memorable year…” Jacques declared as he handed her a cup, his gentle smile turning into a devilish smirk once refracted through the black liquid inside the glass. “For a performance I’ll never forget.”
“No—no…thank you,” she stammered, awkwardly waving her palms back and forth. “Katrina made me try a glass of red once, but I hated the taste. Wine just isn’t for me.” The Suzerain lady felt as if a knife were slicing her heart, convinced she had ruined such a perfect atmosphere. Instead, her answer ignited a fire in the ’Javelinist’s’ eyes.
“Then, Carmen, allow me to turn your world upside down.” Jacques winked at her confused expression, and without another word, he grabbed a nearby flower vase, dumped the flowers and water into the sink, and cleaned it with obsessive precision—washing, rinsing, and wiping it until its interior shone like a polished test tube. “I’m an Auxerine, and you’re a Sardinian. Do you know what our peoples have in common?”
“Both descended from the Shurapatri, right?” He snapped his fingers in approval. Then, he placed the now-immaculate vase on the table and poured into it the entire contents of three different wine bottles, a bottle of sparkling water, and thin slices of various fruits, swirling the whole mixture with a spoon before filling two cups with it.
“In the good old days—when we Shurapatri ruled the free world—drinking wine without watering it first was considered barbaric.” Jacques handed her a cup, and the pitch-black color was now as crimson as the moonlight shimmering on its surface. “They also seasoned their wine with extra ingredients such as Hellish Spices, Sardinian Manna fallen from the sky, and the jewel of our motherland—Wasp Honey. All treasures of Cisaprine Chaotia, grown only in its sacred soil.” He clinked his cup against hers. “Do you trust me, Carmen?”
The ’Ego witch’ lost herself in his wonderful Trinitarian Eyes, an imitation so flawless that, for a moment, she wondered how Jacques had replicated the pride of the Di Mario Family. “Yes…” Keeping eye contact grew harder with each passing second. “If it’s you, I can.”
He beamed. "Then, give it a try, and our ancestors will smile at you.” Carmen lifted the cup to her lips, still uncertain, but her doubtful expression shattered the moment the flavor hit her tongue. An explosion of flavors detonated across her palate like the bombs of Mother Korinna now hitting Miraval City, and within seconds, the cup was empty.
”I’m speechless…this is how I’ve always imagined the taste of Ambrosia.” The spark of wonder in her eyes was the greatest reward the ’Javelinist’ could have ever asked for.
“During the height of the Shurapatri civilization, wine wasn’t kept in these fancy bottles, but it sat in crusty barrels older than most villages and served in mugs that were rarely washed—if ever.” Jacques raised cup. ”In short, it was the people’s drink—the blood of every banquet, the symbol of civilization itself, immortalized in mosaics and frescoes. And, according to our historians, peasants and kings often drank at the same table during festivals—we were one people. Not like today, where the cold elites sit on their hills, never meeting their subjects living beneath their fancy towers.”
His tone hardened. “However, everything collapsed when the envious Zharakis discovered us and begged their masters—the Chaotic Gods—to make us bend the knee as they did. Why? Because pathetic beings cannot bear the existence of someone better than themselves—our freedom was a permanent wound on the Zharakis’ honor.” He spat every time he uttered their name. “The fall of the Shurapatri and the forced unification of the Three Tribes led to the homogenization of Chaotia under the influence of the gods’ most obedient dogs. And from that day on, cynicism, elitivism, and terrible ways to drink wine have plagued our land.” Jacques and Carmen toasted, enjoying the original Ambrosia.
“The noble, the merchant, and the peasant shall be separated by an inviolable yet intangible curtain.” Jacques quoted with disdain. “Those were the words of Jannic Keeler—‘the Jankee'—when he engineered the blueprint of what would later become the Holy Rolandish Empire—we live in a society the he created.”
“I studied the Souls Apartheid in school…but what does any of that have to do with wine?” The ’Ego Witch’ asked after emptying her third glass.
“A question, then.” The Javelinist refilled her cup. “Why don’t people water down wine anymore?”
“Because it ruins its taste…ahem…everyone knows that.” She hesitantly answered.
“In that case, you and I are both illiterate because here we are enjoying an objectively bad drink, aren’t we?” Jacques sneered and Carmen blinked, silently thinking. “The Zharakis,” he spat, “controlled our culture for thousands of years, imposing their definitions of good and bad, shaming into silence anyone who disagreed with their twisted vision of humanity. The result? To drink wine today, one must follow a ritual so deranged it would shame the worst of cults.” His expression sank into the deepest pit of hatred. “First, you must admire its brightness like a jeweler choosing gold for a king’s crown. Then you must sniff it, and from a handful of particles, guess the correct species from more than the ones in a botanical catalogue. But the worst comes last. You must take one tiny sip and then describe its flavor as metaphorically as a poet high on Imperfect Paradise.” Jacques clenched his teeth. “Holy shit! I just want to drink wine, for Adam’s sake!”
“But don’t most people prefer beer to wine?” Carmen rebutted as the sixth glass vanished down her throat.
“Beer? That fermented piss brewed from a pest plant? Beer was forced upon us because, unlike wine—which actually benefits the bloodstream—because drinking it makes people fat, lazy, and angry. Have you ever noticed the difference between someone drunk on wine and someone drunk on beer? The former becomes the happiest person on earth, while the latter turns into a ticking time bomb, ready to unleash unspeakable violence on his own family and then laugh about it—damn Zharakis!” He spat. “That’s the point. To feed us poison while suppressing our medicine. Why? Because to the nobles, we are nothing more than cattle to be fattened and butchered.”
*CRASH!*
The ’Javelinist’ threw his glass against the wall, hitting the portrait of a snobbish-looking Korinthian with golden hair.
“I hate nobles so fucking much it’s unreal. We Shurapatri need to unite into one state and revolt against this rotten society.”
“Marians and Suzerains siding together? How is that even possible?” Carmen asked after her twelfth glass of wine gave its farewell.
“Meh…they can kill each other afterward.” Jacques shrugged. “Anyway, let’s move on. Tonight we celebrate our victory—surviving our infiltration.” They toasted again, but Carmen looked increasingly uneasy.
“Ahem…do you mind if I massage my feet?” She asked, rubbing the red mark left by the social torture. “It’s the first time I’ve worn so high and thin stiletto shoes, and trying to imitate Giulietta’s divine posture didn’t help.” She whispered the last part, her embarrassed tone laced with pain.
“Just make yourself at home.” She lifted one leg onto the other and began massaging her feet, but the wince on her face was a sight the ’Javelinist’ would never have accepted.
“Ahem…Carmen.” He cleared his throat. “Do you remember the foot–massage course I took? Perhaps I could help?” Primal terror spread across her face. An expression Jacques had seen only on Jude’s victims in the Confessionale, a funny place situated in the most secret depths of the Tugurio back in Maria. “Easy now,” he reassured. "Are you scared of your doctor too? I’m a professional, proud of my integrity. And didn’t you say earlier that you trust me?” He posed a hand to his heart. “I would never disappoint you.”
Carmen fidgeted with her hands, lowered her gaze, and whispered something incomprehensible, prompting Jacques to comfort her by placing his hand on her shoulder. She looked up into his mesmerizing yet unsettling Trinitarian Eyes, staring at him for a long moment before finally regaining her composure. “Okay! If it’s you, then I’ve got nothing to worry about.” She genuinely smiled as she leaned back on the mattress and extended her feet toward him.
The fuck does she mean by that?
Jacques frowned. Nevertheless, he decided to ignore his thoughts and pulled from his [Inventory] the tools he needed.
”Why are you using gloves?” She blinked out of confusion, and Jacques frowned once more, this time with a hint of disgust.
”Ergh...That would be unhygienic,” he cut short, snapping the latex into place as if he were preparing for a surgery. Then, Jacques touched Carmen’s feet. “Can you feel the aroma in the air?” The ‘Ego Witch’ nodded as the tightness in her face softened, her earlier pain dissolving more and more after each pressure of Jacques’s thumbs. “These are called Katavisth , but in Chaotia, they’re better known as Naturian Scented Candles. They’re keys to the Spiritual World, and if you inhale their fragrance while in a state of complete relaxation—such as during a massage—your body will purge all the toxins inside you, freeing yourselves from anxiety, stress, and negativity."
Carmen inhaled deeply. Then again, and again, and within seconds, she felt something changing inside her chest. “Aaaah…I can feel it…it’s so strong…” She arched her back slightly, shivering. “Aaaaah…it’s like a fire is burning inside me—I must have had so many impurities!” She declared after drinking her twenty-fourth glass of wine.
“That’s only natural. What I’m doing is called the Decapitation of Negativeness, a secret technique taught to me by my master—Level 999 HyperTheta ’Biggus Brainus’ Sagewizarda Spirtusoula. He’s a five-thousand-year-old Naturian Guru, the last free mind of the Hive.”
After hearing his words, Carmen’s pupils dilated, and her body felt as light as a feather, her consciousness ascending to the next state of existence.
Jacques has a divine touch.
She tought.
“It’ll take a while for your body to expel all the toxins, so, in the meantime, could you satisfy a little curiosity of mine? Which theater company taught you to act that astonishingly?” As the ’Masseur’ had taught him, after reaching the peak of ecstasy, always engage the client in small talk—the more they speak, the less they will think.
“You got it wrong! Ahah…I-I’ve never stood in front of the public in my entire life…” Carmen twiddled her thumbs, her apple-cheeks glowing red like embers. “But, to be fair, ever since I was a kid, I’ve always spent my time in the theater. So…maybe…after attending so many shows, I learned something…What do you think?” Her tone wavered with embarrassment.
“Weird,” Jacques bluntly replied. “How did you manage to attend regularly? Aren’t you the daughter of a fisherman?”
“You see, Suzerain politicians hate the Church. So they’re trying to replace religion with culture by funding all sorts of social programs, like opening free public theaters to enlighten the masses.” She explained.
Brainwashing children into worshipping the State? Suarez truly deserves to be burned to the ground, and salt should be scattered over its ruins to prevent the return of the cancer. Also, sterilizing the survivors would be wise—prevention is always better than the cure.
Although Jacques’s ideas might be considered a little too lenient for a Marian, he had always viewed himself as a moderate and forgiving person.
“Every weekend, the government hired the best actors across the 'HRE'—and sometimes even from beyond—to perform government-approved scripts. And when I was three, my father took me to see a show for the first time.” Her divine lips curved into the brightest smile. “I still remember it perfectly. Seeing the fairytale characters I’d only read about dancing, singing, and living incredible adventures filled with drama, suspense, and love—nothing had ever captured my heart so powerfully. And please don’t laugh, but I used to assume it was all real, fully believing the stage was a portal to thousands of different dimensions.” Jacques gave her a reassuring thumbs-up.
“For years, during those monotonous school days, I found myself daydreaming about that stage, waiting for the weekend and wondering what new world I’d get to visit this time. Eventually, the fascination became too strong. Thus, one day I sneaked backstage…and shattered my illusion.” She sighed. “Yet, the disappointment was short, and my feelings mutated into something new. If ordinary humans could create entire universes on that stage—why couldn’t I? So I begged them to let me join, and after months of pestering, they finally let me help backstage.”
Carmen extracted her yellow notebook, a Photonic one, which was able to shift between many different years by just moving a wheel on the top. The ’Ego Witch’ selected 1990, showing the ’Javelinist’ hundreds upon hundreds of handwritten pages filled with observations, diagrams, annotations, and illustrations. Every margin was full of commentary analyzing the logic of stage direction, composition, rhythm, blocking, color theory, lighting angles, and performance choices, documenting the errors while proposing her alternatives. Overall, it is a level of expertise that is seldom found, even among professionals. “I worked backstage every weekend for six years, until I enrolled at Miraval Academy. I observed and jotted down everything about this art.” She explained.
However, the Javelinist quickly caught a huge contradiction in her words. “Despite all your efforts, you’ve never once been on stage?”
Carmen regretfully nodded. “Director Raul-Sanchez appreciated my work and was willing to let me start with small roles. But…I’ve always refused…because I knew how the others viewed me…” This time, her acting abilities faltered, and she failed to keep her smile. “They called me a tryhard, overenthusiastic, and obsessed, mocking me for my love for teather.
“All jelly as hell of your talent,” The ’Javelinist’ delivered his honest opinion. “Let me guess. The daughter of some rich bastard had the same idea, but you stole all the director’s attention from her.”
Carmen nodded again. “Floralia De La Guadalupe. She’s rich, beautiful, charming…while I…” Her tone faltered. But Jacques couldn’t stand the sight, gently lifting her chin up.
“A piece of advice. You love someone when you appreciate his flaws, and you hate a person when you admire his qualities. That means Floralia gave you the best compliment possible, and that you’re living rent-free in her head.” He managed to steal a smile from her.
"You’re not a tryhard, you’re disciplined—as I can see from the impeccable way this diary is written.
"You’re not overenthusiastic, you’re passionate—look how yellow the pages are, and how worn the corners are. How many times have you reread them? Hundreds? Thousands?
"You’re not obsessed, you have a dream—you’ve filled every page until there’s not a millimeter left. You’ve moved and produced heat, instead of staying still and succumbing to the cold.”
He interrupted the himself, joining his hand with hers. “Trust me. When this siege ends, you’ll join the Acting Course and you’ll claim the glory you deserve. You’ll be the star of the stage because no one will ever match your professionalism, your talent, or your love for the theater.”
Carmen hastily turned her head, trying to hide her blush. “You’re being naive. You’ve never seen how harsh the environment is. The betrayals and intrigues that happen during a casting could shame most political plays—I’ve seen friendships built over years collapse in a single day over a single role.” She finally turned toward him again, no longer hiding her true emotions. “The daughter of the Münzemessermarterrittert, La Marquise De La March, and the Moon Princess of Joseong, the most noble ladies of the Empire competing for a handful of roles. What chance do I have against them?”
“The absolute best.” Jacques steeled her gaze to make sure she understood his sincerity.
”Don’t make fun of me.” Carmen almost yelled. ”They don’t just have political influence. My contenders have style, charm, and beauty—I’ll never be able to compete with that.”
”Yeah, have all of that, but only because of—MONEY!” She blinked at his words. “Why are they stylish? Because their parents can afford the most fabulous stylists in the Empire. Why are they charming? Because their parents burned piles of gold on private tutors and etiquette coaches since birth. And why are they beautiful? Because their parents inbred like dogs for generations.” He pointed his index at her. ”You, meanwhile, go to your tiny local shop, pick out forgotten clothes from the sands of time, tailor them by hand, and end up looking better than all of them effortlessly. Same for your charm and beauty. No one handed those to you, but you earned them—that’s real talent.” They joined hands again, feeling as if the entire world were ending in that very moment. “The Queen, Elf-GF, the Lawfullian Princess, and that spoiled Suzerain lady—none of them compare to you. After today, I can say this with confidence—you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had the pleasure to look at.”
It was the first time anyone had ever said those words to the ’Ego Witch.’ She smiled, but it was a bittersweet one, softened by her own disbelief. “I know you’re lying—you’re the biggest liar I’ve ever met.” Yet, despite the words, she squeezed his hands back. “Anyway, Thank you…it…it means a lot.”
Jacques swallowed, overwhelmed by the most radiant beam he had ever seen. ”Ahem…I’ve never lied in my life…” It took him a few seconds to recover from witnessing such a celestial sight. “So promise me something.” He raised his littlefinger. “If we survive, let’s go see a show together—just you and me. If you agree, you’ll make me the happiest man alive.”
“If we survive—absolutely.” The promise was sealed with a pinky shake. “We’ve been avoiding the real issue, haven’t we? The Juggernaut will move on its own, but its hatch will be closed and Casimir, down there in the lake, won’t be able to throw the bomb into the engine. Hence, Mother Korinna will be free to reach the city and destroy everything.” Her hands began to shake. “Just three hours and seven minutes until dawn—until our requi—”
*Ding!*
A notification sound interrupted them.
”Kaz is in position.” Jacques read from the floating window. “Whatever the circumstances are, if we want even the slightest chance at survival, we must destroy Mother Korinna before the Korinthians destroy our city.” He declared, slipping Carmen’s shoes back onto her feet.
“I’ve never killed anyone,” she admitted with a tremulous breath. “I know they’re our enemies, I know they want to kill us all…but still…” Her hands trembled harder, splashing wine across her nightdress.
“Would you mind if I shared a memory of mine with you that might very well help?” The ’Javelinist’ softly asked as he placed a hand on her shoulder, and as if enchanted by a spell, her tremors instantly ceased. “I’ve always loved studying history, more than anything—even more than math. Every time I read about a war my side won, I feel a rush of pride, like the victory was mine too, even if centuries have passed. Conversely, when I read about our defeats, I waste entire days lying on my bed, replaying the battle in my mind, putting myself in the boots of the general and rewriting every one of his mistakes until I find a way yo win.” He scratched the back of his head, almost embarrassed by his own sincerity. “Well, isn’t it weird that someone like me, who despises society and most people in it, is so blindly in love with my nation?”
”What war Beauté De Cristal has ever waged?” Carmen inquired, confused.
“Ahem…please, for the sake of the discussion, let’s ignore these annoying details.” Jacques cleared his throat. “Anyway, there was one war I loved the most. A relatively recent one, historically speaking, a war my nation won against an objectively evil enemy that had committed unspeakable atrocities against us. And so, after becoming an expert on the subject, I started walking around my city declaring that the citizens of that country weren’t humans but monsters deserving total extermination. I even founded a club called We’ll Never Forget—a modest success for my first political organization.
”In short, my intense hatred for them continued until, one day, I found myself on a diplomatic mission to formalize an alliance with that very nation—what a funny twist of events.”
“Why was an orphan part of a diplomatic entourage?” Carmen inquired, confused.
“Ahem…to soften their hearts…I guess.” Jacques coughed. “Anyway, stop trying to get a job at the Stasi and listen. The mission lasted several weeks, and one day I had enough free time to wander the nation’s vast and untamed hinterland. After crossing rivers, climbing hills, and narrowly surviving multiple monster attacks, I stumbled upon a tiny chapel isolated from the rest of the world. I went inside to rest, and found a simple curch, simple—rotten-wood walls, a few mediocre paintings, and the only thing that made it clear the place was not abandoned was a handful of candles still burning.” His tone lowered. “Above those candles was a small framed print, filled with dozens of photographs of young men—you could tell how old it was from the fact that the pictures were in black and white. Some smiling, some stern, some proud, but all of them shared the same spark in their eyes—hope.” Jacques swallowed his pride. ”Across the frame were their names and inscriptions in their language, which I couldn’t read. Except for one word, one I recognized thanks to my self-studies—the name the enemy used for that famous war. That’s when I understood who these boys were, but in those photographs, there were none of the monsters I had imagined. Just a group of normal young men, each with his own family, dreams, and loves—all of them lost to that war.” A vortex of conflicting emotions could be seen passing through his Trinitarian Eyes.
“Don’t misunderstand me—I’m still proud we won that war. But that day I learned to distinguish a state from its citizens.” His gaze locked onto hers. “It’s them or us. If we win, they die. If they win, we die. None of us chose our DNA, our family, or our homeland—that’s just life.” He leaned closer. “So don’t take pride in killing, but don’t lie to yourself about it either. Peace—real peace—always demands rivers of blood, and anyone who claims they can change the world without spilling any is either delusional, or already knows exactly that but is prepared to fool their own followers while doing so.”
“If they die…will everything go back to the way it was before?” Carmen whispered, her tone barely more than a breath.
“Perfection doesn’t exist,” Jacques answered. “But we should at least strive for the closest approximation possible.”
The ’Ego Witch’ finished her thirty-seventh glass of wine in a single swallow before wearing back the Regalia of La Madonna—every pore of her body now burning with resolve.
Just how?
The ’Javelinist’ stared in disbelief at the empty vase that, just an hour ago, had been overflowing with Evernightmare Tears—one of the most potent alcohols on the market. He had intended to make her drunk enough to grant her a painless death in case he failed. Instead, something had gone very, very wrong.
“Jacques, stay here until I contact you.” Carmen declared, adjusting her veil and fixing her oversized sunglasses. Then, she turned toward the door.
“I know how to save our lives.”
