Fantasy What Do You Mean We Have To Save The World Again?

[Lordxana0]

A king's ascension ceremony was normally a time of great joy for the people of Excelia, with feasts and celebrations lasting a full month in order to wish the new reigning monarch the best and start out their rule on a positive note. The former prince Vicktor had always dreamed about his own ceremony, coming up with all sorts of ideas to put smiles on the faces of the people of his kingdom, a party for the history books. That had been his dream since he had experienced his fathers own ceremony when he had passed the throne from his aging grandfather.

His dream died along with his father and the greatest knights the kingdoms had to offer about ten hours ago.

Excelia was one of the rare kingdoms within Astralsis that had managed to stand firm against the demonic corruption of the Lord of Infernal and his forces, their towering walls humming with magics long ago forgotten by even the most experienced of spellcaster, an ultimate shield against the nightmares that circled the kingdoms like carrion birds waiting for a feast. But their fortune had been changed by the arrival of one of the Lord's generals, the Lich Lecroch and his horizon spanning army of the dead. They pounded the walls day and night, throwing themselves in an endlessly regenerating tide against the cities enchantments and slowly but certainly draining the magic that kept the people behind them safe from the onslaught. His father had gathered the greatest warriors and mages and charged out in an attempt to break the siege, but had been cut down and added to the ranks of the undead, another corpse clawing at the walls left behind by their ancestors.

There had been no time to mourn his father, a king who had always kept his people in his heart and the idea of a kingdom built on ideals rather then power, a father who had loved his son and wife with his entire heart, and a warrior who faced even certain death with grim determination. If the young prince thought on his father for too long he would break, and his people could ill afford a crying child at their helm.

"Is it ready?" Vicktor tried to project his voice without it cracking, a difficult task for a boy only thirteen years of age. His mages assured him the circle was complete and the spellwork was ready.


The once majestic throne room had been tossed in order to create a massive summoning circle on its stone floors, and within the circle sat the history of his family line in a number of artifacts and treasures, each one being able to be traced back to the man or woman who had claimed them. But baubles had no use for the dead, and even as young as he was Vicktor knew that any sentimentality would hold back. Seeing that all was set up he stepped from the throne, using a padded stepping stool to make up the difference in height as he prepared himself.

"I am Pri...King Victor," he winced at mistake but forced himself to soldier forward. "I stand before this circle and sacrifice the history of my kingdom and its treasures to cast this spell, the unforgivable Rite of Summoning," the circle glowed, causing all the treasure within to melt, spreading out and tracing the lines that had been drawn onto the floor. "My people, my kingdom, my world all stand on the brink, so I call forth heroes to turn the tide, those who can break the hold that evil has on this world," he reached to his neck, removing a pendant from it, the last gift from his mother before one of the Lord's many plagues took her. He gripped it tight before tossing it into the circle, watching as it took was eaten. "Please," tears burned in his eyes even as he forced himself to stay on his feet. "please help."

The spell flared out for a moment before everything just...stopped. Normally the Rite of Summoning was a spell performed by deific beings, finding those worthy of whatever gift they would bestow and calling them forth to an unfamiliar land. However the spell worked a bit differently when used by a human, as there was no divine will to act as an intelligence the human version of the spell created in that moment an artificial being to act as the intelligence. This being had only come into existence less then a second ago, and already it felt like taking a break given the task before it.

The world of Astralsis wasn't just bad off, it was hanging by a thread. Most divine beings had already vacated the world for greener pastures in other realities, and those who hadn't found themselves either chained by dark magic or erased from the world. The weakest monsters were strong enough to bring reasonably skilled warriors to heel, and the strongest beings of darkness could erase entire armies with the same idle devastation a child might bring upon an anthill on a bored afternoon.

please help

With a deep sigh the spell's intelligence began its work, shifting through the vast infinity of reality and trying to find beings that could suit the task in front of them. Despite its near omnipotent abilities the program itself had no divine blessing or gift for those it summoned, so the usual approach of flipping through the recently departed souls of the nearest realities Japan were rendered pointless, requiring a deeper dive. The options were fairly open for power, but there were issues.

Superheroes were a mixed bag, and had too long of a history of corruption or emotional angst to be able to survive the weight of devastation. Armored Heroes were equally out for the same level of emotional instability. Sentai Teams were considered, but trying to pull multiple individuals from the same realm would lead to disaster and only invite prying eyes.

Finally it came across a concept that might work, Magical Girls. Not a concept tied wholly to gender but an idea of a hero of justice who could always make a 'happy ending' occur despite all odds stacking against them. Even those mired in darkness would be effective, and with the programs existence held together by only a single sacrifice it didn't have time to be picky, grabbing the seven closest beings that resembled 'Magical Girls' and dropping them into the world. While it had no real power to give them it dropped a basic translation spell across each of them, ensuring at the very least they would be able to talk.

With that its duty was finished, and the program entered into hibernation, only to rise again to return the heroes to their worlds. If they didn't die at least. But just like the prince the program was willing to make a gamble.

And with this done the world moved once more, with seven figures of immense power dropped in a kingdom under siege, a young king trying to remain regal toward these strange people he had ripped away from their worlds. "Greetings heroes from other worlds," he winced as his voice cracked, trying to hide the discomfort in order to make the best impression. "I am sorry you've been pulled from your lives, there is no excuse I can give, except that without help my people...my world...we...I mean..." it was easy to see how upset he was, trying to focus on words that escaped him. "We desperately need your aid, please help us." he had no offers to give, no right to ask this. Nothing but a childish plea for someone to stand against the darkness and force it back.

 

[Nellancholy]

As the swirl of light and wind dispersed, having caught up several beings across the world and deposited them with great ceremony (and with surprising caution) before King Victor, one of them was revealed to be a short-haired woman dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt that had ridden up in her sleep, exposing her stomach. It was one of the few comforts that Yeon-hee still had in a ravaged world. Despite being gradually roused to consciousness, she rather had the feeling that the surface she was lying on was quite comfortable despite its apparent composition. She lingered for a few seconds more, momentarily unaware of the stakes at hand and doing her best to feel rested.

When she had gone to sleep last night, on her creaky spring mattress in her cabin in the woods surrounded by her vegetable garden (and a few growing fruit trees), she had not expected to find herself in a radically different situation once she woke up. Okay, well, maybe that wasn't true. She always wondered if the next day would be the day they finally came back to her cabin, the same place they found her the first time. Soldiers in armor, maybe with armed vehicles for backup, breaking in. Aiming their thaumetic rifles at her. Either they'd finish the job where she lay or show the generosity of "politely" asking her to go with them. With the clear implication that she could fight, likely kill the lot of them, but with that she would seal her fate as the same as her fallen friends. And they would never stop hunting her.

And then, what would happen? Really, she'd had no idea. During the time she spent with the coalition armed forces planning the final battle, it was clear from the first moment that their plan was to kill, not capture. But she'd read enough of those websites and seen those movies to get a pretty good idea. Forget KETHER, they'd go straight to placing her in ALEPH-class containment. A suspended, transparent chamber edged with orichalcum and inscribed with the binding runes from Solomon's tome that had been retrieved almost immediately after the heroes defeated Baal. Almost certainly soundproof. They'd probably force her to communicate in writing or sign language exclusively. Surrounding the chamber would be a concrete bunker equipped with Scranton anchors. And they would probably use thermal and motion detectors to keep track of her instead of optical and auditory means.

All things considered, she was really not looking forward to what seemed like an inevitability with each passing day.

Perhaps it was a good thing that she had been taken from there after all. Assuming this wasn't some kind of runic trap that had managed to drag her to prison anyway...

As King Victor spoke, Yeon-hee sat up, pulling herself into a cross-legged position, leaning forward as she listened attentively despite the dryness of her eyes and the mess in her hair. Here was another opportunity, it seemed. The ideal that the repentant demons and their partners had claimed to fight for. For the destruction of evil, yes, but also the preservation of what that evil threatened.

Was this truth? Was this some kind of illusory dream imposed perhaps, by the embers of Paimon and Avnas within her? She couldn't tell.

But in this moment...she chose to trust.

She eyed the boy before her, dressed well, leader of the ceremony, with the eyes of others on him. She made a quick judgment and folded herself into a bow, but not otherwise moving from her sitting position.

"Sir." She lowered her voice on purpose, making it grim, sibilant "I am...Quietus." The name she tried to give herself, an oath to prevent the use of her voice in those magical ways ever again. "I will assist your people by the means at hand...but I don't know how much I can offer. All I have is the...gift of my voice, that may now be lost."

"You know it isn't lost! If it is, it's only because you chose to lose it!" Phenex's voice piped up in her mind, inaudible to anyone but her. "Don't let aaaaaaa~nything hold you back! Is it fear? Is it guilt? Leave it aaaaaaaa~ll behind!" Phenex was roiling inside her, and Yeon-hee swallowed the sensation. Despite their initially better intentions, even the repentant demons were chaotic beings. Joy and rage were indistinguishable, and controlling their power could sometimes be a struggle. Was the same ending inevitable for her as well...?

 

[AI10100]

M O I R A " A N C A E A " M C A S T E R​

Standing among the rubble of the flagship of the Tarokkans, they could finally breathe a sigh of relief. There were no more skirmishes to space to fight, or waiting for the next invasion while thinking that maybe it would be better to just take her finals instead. Sure, the final pushback had forced them to all get picked up from their respective countries and head to the Middle East where the flagship had landed.

There were many close calls during the fight, with most of them out of their suits by the tail end of it. Thankfully, Beau and Noele's destructive prowess had dealt the final blows to the king while the others spent all of their energy to protect them. The plan had gone awry at some point but they didn't spend two years fighting only for them to fail at improvisation. She looked down at the fallen Tarokkans by her and she didn't feel the same sort of disgust from years ago. Oh, how different times have become. She wasn't sure if the growth was something she needed but it was something she had gotten.

That was enough sentimentality for the day; she wouldn't miss these fights. Finally, they could return to their normal lives. Sure, the mental consequences of the near constant fighting and almost losing their lives and each other would remain with them for the rest of their lives but, at the very least, it was over. Moira was ready to hit the hay and maybe only wake up after the weekend. Maybe she could pull the others into spending their last time together.

She let out a breath, feeling the pang of maybe a bruised rib, maybe something else entirely, shoot up her body. The lack of painkillers and numbing agents being administered by her suit told her everything before Falcon even spoke up.

"Suit power: 1%. Deactivating."

"Thank you for your service, Falcon," Moira muttered and waited as her suit retracted from her body, the nanomachines retreating into her necklace. She tapped it once again and there was a mechanical hum in response. She descended from the pile of metal she had been standing on to head back to her friends.

Tomori was on the ground, nursing more injuries than all of them combined. Her arm was twisted in a way that looked irreversible, only kept intact by their powers. She had her eyes closed but her breathing was steady. The others were gathered around her, discussing something she couldn't quite hear. Gabby was holding onto what appeared to be the armor of the Tarokkan King, or at least a part of it, and she was waving it around like it was her new toy.

Their defender's eyes snapped open and, despite her body's condition, scrambled to her feet. "MOIRA!"

The next thing Moira knew, she was standing in an unfamiliar place. Struck with confusion, she reached up to tap her necklace again to hopefully get a response from Falcon— but it remained silent. For a moment, the idea that even the Falcon could not respond flooded fear into her. Calm down. Listen. Assess. Plan after. Moira turned her attention to the boy, maybe only a few years younger than her, but dressed regally.

Out of the pan, into the fire, huh? Another world that needed saving, a world she had no attachment to at all. But she looked at the prince, maybe a king, who was so young and saw herself in him. Too young to be given power, but had absolutely no choice but to take on the mantle. It made her sympathize with him a bit more and, well, it didn't seem like she had much of a choice in the matter.

One of them had spoken first, Quietus. Her voice is gone? It must be tied to some kind of power which meant that she was essentially powerless? Moira felt for her; she had learned how to lean into Ancaea as something of a sanity crutch. Despite only having her suit for two years, she couldn't even imagine not having Falcon's voice in her head.

Following Quietus's lead but standing up, Moira bowed deeply but did not wait for any signal to straighten up again. "I am Ancaea. I am willing to help you guys to the best of my abilities. But... what does that even entail?" Falcon's familiar hum entered her mind and she felt a little bit more at ease. It kept quiet though but Moira made sure to have it record the conversation and perhaps even the entire voyage. It might help with ensuring her life if, or rather when, she would go back to her world.

 

[Stella Rae]

They sat, above all, in silence. Nothing rang so loudly as it, few things could become so overwhelming. It took three days before it felt like it was louder than any scream they could make, seven before it truly began to hurt, and thirteen before they began to hear the earth around them. It was subtle, too deep for much of any life, but their hearing was sharper than any mortal’s, and in their entombed silence they had nothing to do but listen. So too there was something to be found, a slow, distant thing, the earth itself shifting and shuddering. Things passing above made the most noise, but in time they would come to spend days simply listening to the geologic hum, on it’s grand time-scale.

The lack of touch was the next thing to carve their fate deep, a box of rock, far beneath the earth. The flock they had so zealously shepherded had not been so cruel as to leave the walls jagged, but in time it began to feel like cruelty, and it carved its marks on their hands just the same. It wasn’t even truly cold, too deep, yet ventilated, yet insulated by an unthinkable weight of stone. Ultimately, by design, there was nowhere to go, even had they mustered the strength to destroy their Anchorhold, they would simply be buried alive. In time the smooth stone upon which they sat began to feel simply familiar, an almost extension of their self. Sometimes they remembered fondly when it had felt cool to the touch, before their flesh had come to simply match it.

Sight was a strangely pleasant agony, in comparison if nothing else. There was simply nothing at all to be seen, no light filtered down. They sat in simple void, their only company each other, the Seraphim and the Butcher. Relatively soon they learned to close their eyes, to let animal instinct think that was why the body could not see. Only once was it disrupted, a period of sparks of light, distant sound, the first smell not simple earth or still air in a while. Apparently something in their ventilation needed welding, and there was a moment’s gratitude they were not entirely forgotten. They did not know whether a lack of air would kill them, but it would not be pleasant. A part of Minnie wanted to call out to the unknown worker, but there was never any point.

Sometimes Minnie thought of what it would be like to be needed again, to be free once more to slake her bloodlust. This time beneath the earth had forced her into quiescence, but that hunger for adrenaline, the rush of it, the taste of blood, still lingered. She had, in time, come to accept the angel on her shoulders. She would never be a woman of particular virtue, but there was a peace in their developed co-existence, their united purpose. A need for violence, fed by purposes righteous or profane, was sated nonetheless, and there was something to be said for being lauded.

Sometimes they wished they could pray, but a Seraphim had no need of prayer, and Minnie had never been the type. For anchorites, their contemplation held nothing of faith, one incapable of true faith, the other unwilling. It would become a point of strange common ground. In time a kind of peace was reached, almost conversation between them, inasmuch as there could be between an unembodied Seraphim and a woman once hell-bound. They had nothing to do but sit in contemplation, listening to the earth, wordlessly communicating.

In truth, they knew nothing of their transportation, their untransformed body never all that sensitive to magic, and even less so with their long entombment. They knew something had changed when their senses were deafened, hearing overwhelmed by crowds, a city, distant battle, touch by warmth, real moving air. Scent was almost tortuous, long absence suddenly overwhelmed by raw medieval life. They could taste the very air around them, and all of a sudden Minnie was ravenous, her eyes snapping open and trailing over the people around her with a half-concealed killing intent.

Little more than a beat or two of time passed before the Seraphim made its decision and reined her in, a golden blindfold of holy light shimmering into place. It told her what the King had said in her time overwhelmed, and with certainty that they were needed. This was, at long last, new purpose, a new world within which to be sated. In Minnie’s time with open eyes she had formed a dozen rudimentary murderous ideas, yet she did not truly mind the restraint. By the sound of it, she would have plenty of violence to fill her, and she had never been one to harm children, a far too uninteresting and empty form of violence.

So she stood from her long seated contemplation, angelic vitality saving her from much aches and pains, or indeed atrophy. She knew through borrowing from the Seraphim that she towered over many around her at six feet tall. For a moment she regretted that there was little to be seen of her, until the Seraphims sight reminded her that the early days of their imprisonment had muchly destroyed the sleeves of their modest brown Anchorite robes, revealing the strong arms, necessary even with angelic reinforcement, to wield the blade she did.

Her voice, when she spoke, was plainly toned, if smokey smooth, with only a hint of ravenous bloodlust, “We too will answer your call, our blade at the ready. Merely point the way, and we will set to work.” Despite her blindfold she seemed to stare directly at the King, though only one touched by magic could see the uncanny eyes floating around her head.

 

[Juju]

In the face of death, a lot of things about oneself are laid bare. Worries and desires were boiled down and simplified until only the purest remained. As Wish lay in a pool of her starry blood, she uttered her sincerest hopes to the twilight sky. The smoke was clearing, and through it she could see the first stars twinkling on high.

Moki was curled up on her stomach, as if to cover the gash there. The creature’s plush fur was matted in glittery goo, the pretty façade to Wish's blood. Like her, the familiar was left utterly exhausted. They were shivering, something she could feel from where she lay, so Wish lifted her hand to stroke the critter’s fluffy ear.

The two of them were oblivious to the arcane circle that appeared below, up until the moment it swallowed them whole.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧​

While the others conversed, Wish lay on the palace floor, hair splayed beneath her where magical runes were once etched. Her eyes were closed, face deceptively serene for how brutally she was mangled. It might have been a grotesque scene, if not for how her blood looked like glitter paint and iridescent oil, its surface shimmery in the torchlight.

It was Moki who sprung to life, hopping up like a startled cat. The familiar looked around from left to right, bulbous eyes taking in each and every magical girl present. Their tail twitched, puffed out in panic.

“Magick heroes!? Summoner of Moki and Wish!?” The little creature bounded over to the boy-king and hopped up onto his shoulder.

Deliberately snatching the spotlight was something they did without a second thought, just like how they spoke out a command to all present. “Moki insists that all heroes with healing virtues please assist Wish! Wish is gravely wounded and is close to EGO and SOMA collapse without immediate attention!”

 

[Zenritch]

scroll

The Witch of Calamity

Remina Abyssos

mood

Resigned ----> Confused

outfit

Same as Picture

test

location

Phantasmagoria Central Square ---> Throne Room

interactions

Wish | Juju

tags

Everyone

Spoiler: Scene Music

Remina awoke to a cacophony of sounds. The words blending together to the point that it felt like white noise but one thing was clear by tone that accompanied them. Anger, hatred, loathing, disgust, whatever the crowd that gathered around her were saying, they were laced with venomous animosity aimed directly at her. Then she felt a sharp pain on the back of her head before recalling the events that had transpired prior.

It was just like any ordinary gloomy day in Phantasmagoria. The once bustling streets, booming with activity and vitality were now desolate. Shops that offered magical items that could be used without mana were either charging for exorbitant prices or looted altogether. The bookstore she worked at that offered a competitive selection of tomes and grimoires was on the verge of bankruptcy as freely practicing magic gradually became a thing of the past. After all, with every passing day, the mana in the atmosphere surrounding the colony was slowly dissipating... The last vestiges of artificial mana that leaked out when she destroyed the final magical battery in the High Council's estate would disappear any day now. When that happens, everyone would be conserving whatever mana reserves they have in their bodies as they desperately cling on to the glory of a bygone era.

She was walking home from an uneventful day of work when she noticed a commotion from the corner of her eye. A young witch who from what she could tell was barely a day over 12 years old had gotten into a heated argument with a shopkeeper. It seemed that the girl managed to scrounge up enough money to afford a minor healing scroll for her ailing mother but the shopkeep raised the price even higher compared to what it was the day before. In her desperation, the girl snatched the scroll from the shopkeep's hand. However, unwilling to part with what has now become such a valuable commodity, the shopkeep launched a fireball at the fleeing child.

Having previously sworn to herself to never take on the mantle of hero ever again, Remina thought that for once she could turn a blind eye to this injustice. But before she could even try averting her gaze, her mind and body acted on impulse, transforming into Celestia and getting in between them before blocking the spell altogether. For a moment there was silence, as anyone who witnessed the scene was too stunned to even utter a single word. Before Celestia could turn around to check on the child, she felt a sharp pain on the back of her head as she was struck by a blunt object thrown at her. She turned around only to see the same child she tried to protect glaring daggers at her as she clutched another rock. She didn't speak, but her eyes on the verge of tears yet still burning with anger conveyed what words failed to express. "YOU DID THIS! YOU DOOMED US ALL!" She couldn't even utter a word in protest before she was forcibly knocked to the ground by a sudden kick. She tried to get up but more people ganged up on her, stomping on who they perceived to be the greatest sinner in the history of all witchkind. As she started to lose consciousness, she felt her hands being bound behind her back before the world turned black altogether.

Now as her eyes fluttered upon, she finally realized what was taking place. It would seem that every witch in Phantasmagoria had gathered before her, some screaming in anger and despair, others burning holes through her with their sharp, wrathful gazes. she tried moving her arms and legs only to realize they were now bound to a large pole while hastily prepared firewood and kindling were laid out surrounding her. In front of her was Mrs. O'Leary, the woman who owned the bookstore she worked at all these years and someone she considered to be a mother figure. Her eyes were filled with doubt, then anguish, and then rage like the rest of the onlookers. "My fellow witches, today is a momentous day! By the grace of the gods, we have finally captured the heretical traitor that robbed us of our very way of life. Her selfish actions had irrevocably doomed us to a life without magic and for what? To save the ungrateful pests the gods have burdened us to protect? The same vermin that hunted us down nearly to extinction out of spiteful jealousy?" Mrs. O'Leary exclaimed before looking at Remina again and pausing briefly. "I've known this wench since she was little. Gave her livelihood and allowed her to study magic through the various materials I have in my shop. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think that I was raising a parasite that would bring about our doom and that is a shame I will carry for the rest of my days. But it is my hope that our actions today would absolve us from the curse she has placed upon us and grant us the favor of the gods once again. She once claimed that her actions protected humanity once and for all from our sworn enemy, the forces Corruption and the Great Old Ones. But this foolish and naive harlot had effectively cut us off from the magic we've used all this time to defeat our enemies. She has stripped us of our livelihoods, our passions, our very essence."

She pauses her hateful speech once again as she beckons the same child Remina tried to protect to approach her. "She has deprived this child the means of curing her sick mother." O'Leary added as another witch handed her a burning torch while several other began soaking the firewood and kindling with what smelled like gasoline. She handed the torch to the child and escorted her in front of Remina. Each step the child took, Remina felt dread creeping up to her for the footsteps hitting the cobblestone pavement were akin to bells tolling her end. "Today, we shall celebrate our greatest victory for we rid ourselves of the greatest traitor our kind has ever known." With a reassuring nod, the old woman beckoned the child to throw the flaming torch and sentence Remina to her damnation. For a moment, the child hesitated, as if questioning her actions for the first time.... but the doubt in her eyes was soon replaced by vindication and determination.

Remina watched as the torch was hurled towards her. Time seemed to slow down as she reflected on her life. She recalled the challenges, setbacks, hardships and pain she experienced along with the excitement, joy, sadness, and pride she experienced during her brief time as a Magia. If someone were to ask if she got the chance to do it all over again would she have made the same choices, then she'd answer yes in a heartbeat. Of course, there were lingering regrets that crossed her mind such as how she wanted to keep on being a Magia, how she wanted to live a full life, and perhaps how she wanted to meet someone who she could wholeheartedly love. She knew the restraints that bound her would be no match if she so chose to use her magic but she failed to see what good it would do to run away again and be hunted down for the rest of her life. Instead, if her death could bring these people solace and allow them to rebuild their lives, then she would embrace Thanatos with a contented smile on her face.

Thus, she closed her eyes and awaited the pain that would surely come... and waited... and waited. But the burning pain, agony, and death she had resigned herself to never came. Instead, when she opened her eyes, a bewildering scene greeted her. Not only was she alive and well, she also seemed to be in an entirely different place altogether. Questions raced in her mind about her current situation and looking around her, it would seem that there were others in the same predicament. "Salem, did you have anything to do with this?" she telepathically asked the creature hiding in her shadow all this time. "No. This isn't my doing. I would have gladly intervened earlier but you've already accepted your fate so I felt it wouldn't be right for me to trample on your resolve. Depending on the situation, you're lucky you were whisked away from that death sentence." She replied.

Fortunately, there was someone present to shed some light on the situation. Looking at the diminutive figure before her, Remina couldn't believe that such a young kid was already carrying the burden of ruling a nation, more so one at the brink of ruin. As she listened to the young king's explanation, she scanned the room and caught sight of something fundamentally awry. One of the girls that had been transported in this alien place hadn't stirred from her stupor. Her worries were founded when a creature, presumably the girl's familiar, begged them for help.

Just as what had happened earlier, Remina instinctively sprang into action, rushing to the girl's side and assessing her condition. She noticed a shimmering puddle forming around her, and the familiar seemed coated in it as well. Her reasoning convinced her that the strange substance must be blood and the source of it was a nasty gash on her stomach. The desperate situation made her mind race as she tried to come up of ways to treat the wounded maiden. She could try re-creating a healing item of legend, such as the Golden Fleece from Grecian myth. Or she could attempt summoning a creature with healing capabilities. However, she was unsure whether such methods would prove effective given her lack of experience in exploring that aspect of her powers. No, she needed a more direct approach. That's when an idea clicked on her head which she immediately put into action.

Transforming into Celestia, she summoned tiny tentacle beings on her palm before pressing them on the girl's wounded stomach. She focused on the wound, imagining the tentacles as an extension of herself and her will, before controlling them to suture the wound close. From an onlookers point of view, the process looked grotesque as the wriggling black mass moved in and out of the unconscious girl's stomach, but Remina knew it was working. The delicate operation meant that she couldn't rush the procedure but it was better than rushing the process only for the girl's wound to reopen at a later time. She felt increasing relief with every millimeter of tissue and skin she managed to close and she was determined to press on, whether or not she received any help from the others. She turned towards the girl's familiar for a second and gave it a reassuring nod. "Don't worry. I'll do my best to save her! No, I'll definitely save her!!!" she promised before shifting her focus back to the task at hand.

♡coded by uxie♡

Spoiler: Codeless

Spoiler: Scene Music

Remina awoke to a cacophony of sounds. The words blending together to the point that it felt like white noise but one thing was clear by tone that accompanied them. Anger, hatred, loathing, disgust, whatever the crowd that gathered around her were saying, they were laced with venomous animosity aimed directly at her. Then she felt a sharp pain on the back of her head before recalling the events that had transpired prior.

It was just like any ordinary gloomy day in Phantasmagoria. The once bustling streets, booming with activity and vitality were now desolate. Shops that offered magical items that could be used without mana were either charging for exorbitant prices or looted altogether. The bookstore she worked at that offered a competitive selection of tomes and grimoires was on the verge of bankruptcy as freely practicing magic gradually became a thing of the past. After all, with every passing day, the mana in the atmosphere surrounding the colony was slowly dissipating... The last vestiges of artificial mana that leaked out when she destroyed the final magical battery in the High Council's estate would disappear any day now. When that happens, everyone would be conserving whatever mana reserves they have in their bodies as they desperately cling on to the glory of a bygone era.

She was walking home from an uneventful day of work when she noticed a commotion from the corner of her eye. A young witch who from what she could tell was barely a day over 12 years old had gotten into a heated argument with a shopkeeper. It seemed that the girl managed to scrounge up enough money to afford a minor healing scroll for her ailing mother but the shopkeep raised the price even higher compared to what it was the day before. In her desperation, the girl snatched the scroll from the shopkeep's hand. However, unwilling to part with what has now become such a valuable commodity, the shopkeep launched a fireball at the fleeing child.

Having previously sworn to herself to never take on the mantle of hero ever again, Remina thought that for once she could turn a blind eye to this injustice. But before she could even try averting her gaze, her mind and body acted on impulse, transforming into Celestia and getting in between them before blocking the spell altogether. For a moment there was silence, as anyone who witnessed the scene was too stunned to even utter a single word. Before Celestia could turn around to check on the child, she felt a sharp pain on the back of her head as she was struck by a blunt object thrown at her. She turned around only to see the same child she tried to protect glaring daggers at her as she clutched another rock. She didn't speak, but her eyes on the verge of tears yet still burning with anger conveyed what words failed to express. "YOU DID THIS! YOU DOOMED US ALL!" She couldn't even utter a word in protest before she was forcibly knocked to the ground by a sudden kick. She tried to get up but more people ganged up on her, stomping on who they perceived to be the greatest sinner in the history of all witchkind. As she started to lose consciousness, she felt her hands being bound behind her back before the world turned black altogether.

Now as her eyes fluttered upon, she finally realized what was taking place. It would seem that every witch in Phantasmagoria had gathered before her, some screaming in anger and despair, others burning holes through her with their sharp, wrathful gazes. she tried moving her arms and legs only to realize they were now bound to a large pole while hastily prepared firewood and kindling were laid out surrounding her. In front of her was Mrs. O'Leary, the woman who owned the bookstore she worked at all these years and someone she considered to be a mother figure. Her eyes were filled with doubt, then anguish, and then rage like the rest of the onlookers. "My fellow witches, today is a momentous day! By the grace of the gods, we have finally captured the heretical traitor that robbed us of our very way of life. Her selfish actions had irrevocably doomed us to a life without magic and for what? To save the ungrateful pests the gods have burdened us to protect? The same vermin that hunted us down nearly to extinction out of spiteful jealousy?" Mrs. O'Leary exclaimed before looking at Remina again and pausing briefly. "I've known this wench since she was little. Gave her livelihood and allowed her to study magic through the various materials I have in my shop. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think that I was raising a parasite that would bring about our doom and that is a shame I will carry for the rest of my days. But it is my hope that our actions today would absolve us from the curse she has placed upon us and grant us the favor of the gods once again. She once claimed that her actions protected humanity once and for all from our sworn enemy, the forces Corruption and the Great Old Ones. But this foolish and naive harlot had effectively cut us off from the magic we've used all this time to defeat our enemies. She has stripped us of our livelihoods, our passions, our very essence."

She pauses her hateful speech once again as she beckons the same child Remina tried to protect to approach her. "She has deprived this child the means of curing her sick mother." O'Leary added as another witch handed her a burning torch while several other began soaking the firewood and kindling with what smelled like gasoline. She handed the torch to the child and escorted her in front of Remina. Each step the child took, Remina felt dread creeping up to her for the footsteps hitting the cobblestone pavement were akin to bells tolling her end. "Today, we shall celebrate our greatest victory for we rid ourselves of the greatest traitor our kind has ever known." With a reassuring nod, the old woman beckoned the child to throw the flaming torch and sentence Remina to her damnation. For a moment, the child hesitated, as if questioning her actions for the first time.... but the doubt in her eyes was soon replaced by vindication and determination.

Remina watched as the torch was hurled towards her. Time seemed to slow down as she reflected on her life. She recalled the challenges, setbacks, hardships and pain she experienced along with the excitement, joy, sadness, and pride she experienced during her brief time as a Magia. If someone were to ask if she got the chance to do it all over again would she have made the same choices, then she'd answer yes in a heartbeat. Of course, there were lingering regrets that crossed her mind such as how she wanted to keep on being a Magia, how she wanted to live a full life, and perhaps how she wanted to meet someone who she could wholeheartedly love. She knew the restraints that bound her would be no match if she so chose to use her magic but she failed to see what good it would do to run away again and be hunted down for the rest of her life. Instead, if her death could bring these people solace and allow them to rebuild their lives, then she would embrace Thanatos with a contented smile on her face.

Thus, she closed her eyes and awaited the pain that would surely come... and waited... and waited. But the burning pain, agony, and death she had resigned herself to never came. Instead, when she opened her eyes, a bewildering scene greeted her. Not only was she alive and well, she also seemed to be in an entirely different place altogether. Questions raced in her mind about her current situation and looking around her, it would seem that there were others in the same predicament. "Salem, did you have anything to do with this?" she telepathically asked the creature hiding in her shadow all this time. "No. This isn't my doing. I would have gladly intervened earlier but you've already accepted your fate so I felt it wouldn't be right for me to trample on your resolve. Depending on the situation, you're lucky you were whisked away from that death sentence." She replied.

Fortunately, there was someone present to shed some light on the situation. Looking at the diminutive figure before her, Remina couldn't believe that such a young kid was already carrying the burden of ruling a nation, more so one at the brink of ruin. As she listened to the young king's explanation, she scanned the room and caught sight of something fundamentally awry. One of the girls that had been transported in this alien place hadn't stirred from her stupor. Her worries were founded when a creature, presumably the girl's familiar, begged them for help.

Just as what had happened earlier, Remina instinctively sprang into action, rushing to the girl's side and assessing her condition. She noticed a shimmering puddle forming around her, and the familiar seemed coated in it as well. Her reasoning convinced her that the strange substance must be blood and the source of it was a nasty gash on her stomach. The desperate situation made her mind race as she tried to come up of ways to treat the wounded maiden. She could try re-creating a healing item of legend, such as the Golden Fleece from Grecian myth. Or she could attempt summoning a creature with healing capabilities. However, she was unsure whether such methods would prove effective given her lack of experience in exploring that aspect of her powers. No, she needed a more direct approach. That's when an idea clicked on her head which she immediately put into action.

Transforming into Celestia, she summoned tiny tentacle beings on her palm before pressing them on the girl's wounded stomach. She focused on the wound, imagining the tentacles as an extension of herself and her will, before controlling them to suture the wound close. From an onlookers point of view, the process looked grotesque as the wriggling black mass moved in and out of the unconscious girl's stomach, but Remina knew it was working. The delicate operation meant that she couldn't rush the procedure but it was better than rushing the process only for the girl's wound to reopen at a later time. She felt increasing relief with every millimeter of tissue and skin she managed to close and she was determined to press on, whether or not she received any help from the others. She turned towards the girl's familiar for a second and gave it a reassuring nod. "Don't worry. I'll do my best to save her! No, I'll definitely save her!!!" she promised before shifting her focus back to the task at hand.

 

[redraider]

“Another day, another dime.” Abigail sighed as she got home from work. From being the world’s only superhero to being a janitor at the supermarket. How had she fallen like this? What could she possibly do to turn her life around?

It seemed that the opportunity to change everything was far closer than the former magical girl could have dreamed. As she sat down on her rented couch, a portal opened up under her backside, and she landed in an unfamiliar place.

Abigail picked herself up, scratching her hand on her ring. Her ring! The same magic ring she had taken off a quarter-century ago, when it seemed Blazing Heart was no longer needed. Apparently, she was needed here and now, wherever this was. Further confirmation of that was provided by the fact that she was in costume. The redhead winced- at 10, she’d thought it was cute, but now, it looked like she had pillaged the clearance rack at Limited Too. She was only able to say three words, but they perfectly summed up the situation…

“What. The. F*#k?!”

 

[Stella Rae]

Minnie was, displeased, to put it mildly. Not so much at an injured compatriot, a distant prospect at the best of times let alone when freshly met, but knowing exactly what would come next. She had been so close to the taste of blood once again, so close to the way destruction thrummed in her blood. Despite her earlier sensory glimpse she could not be sure of battle this moment, but she knew the look in these people’s eyes, if there was not a battle now, there would be very soon, or there was one she could go start herself on their behalf. She knew battle was but a flight away, in one way or another.

the Seraphim on the other hand, knew something entirely different, even without the full capabilities of the transformation it had caught a hint of something wrong. The beseeching for healing set it inexorably into motion, beaten to it as it was. The two of them had work to do here, and it would take priority. Minnie couldn’t help a brief interjection, saying to nothing, “Oh come on, I can heal too you know, it might be worse but it would work!”

The response was to the point, and entirely internal, Unacceptable. This is an ally, and a champion of justice. Our Purpose will be followed, and true health will be restored.

Minnie was at this point knowingly being contrary, and should perhaps have already realized she could think her reply. Long isolation still led her to speak, “They could be like the named you know, then what point would there be?”

Another’s thoughts responded instantly, Guesswork and presupposition are not our business. Ours is to purge evil where we find it, and preserve the innocent.

Minnie, already knowing a lost cause from the start, acquiesced with a grumble, “Fine. You will of course free me should there be a chance at battle, even if it takes time.”

As I must. A bitter answer for the once human woman, but entirely expected. An angel thought in terms of duty, virtue, and necessity. Ultimately they had already begun the transformation, Minnie falling backwards, and somehow upwards as her hair lit glowing red and drifted in an absent breeze. A bodysuit inscribed with holy symbols was the first to take shape, soon covered by a cocoon of white feathers, followed by three dozen golden halos, cinched around her limbs and neck. As soon as the last band formed, a golden light poured outwards, buoying everyone in reach of it’s glow.

In the beat after the transformation finished, three large golden rings began to rotate and spin around her, and the eyes of the Seraphim opened far more visibly. Three dozen angelic gazes, pupils brightly golden, irises the yellow of the sun, and void-whites, all focused in on their objective. Another ought-be hero had set to helping already, and the Seraphim found it acceptable, but now needless, a voice like ringing bells and grating stone speaking, “Stand Aside. You Have Done Right, And the Seraphim Shall Attend The Rest.”

Not quite waiting for a response, it set to work, many eyes sharply focused on their quarry, with only a handful remaining locked upon the room. It kept the healing slow, time for the other to step away, little need to rush. the Seraphim could see much of the problem at hand, innumerable gashes, a deep one across the chest all but disemboweling, poison in each wound, a litany of smaller things, muscle strain, old wounds, minor issues in excess. Its holy radiance focused down into the countless traces of poison, purging the body of it, while many of its eyes focused on individual wounds. Used to triage and brute force healing, there was something appealing about having the time to begin carefully heal the girl, starting to methodically purge and close wounds, golden light easing regeneration. A matter of minutes rather than seconds, but all the smoother and less painful for it.

 

[Nellancholy]

As Quietus or Yeon-hee oriented herself spatially and conceptually in the space she found herself in, several more people of varying appearance filed in. Almost like students arriving in a classroom, or perhaps travelers disembarking an airplane. Experiences that seemed like they had last been had so long ago.

Another girl who seemed to come from a world similar to hers, or so her clothing seemed to suggest. A tired-looking woman in an archetypal costume and a suddenly astonished demeanor. A girl in modest robes, and then a tall, menacing figure garbed in humble brown.

And then-

“Moki insists that all heroes with healing virtues please assist Wish! Wish is gravely wounded and is close to EGO and SOMA collapse without immediate attention!”

-someone who was in no state to fight. Someone whose body seemed to be barely capable of sustaining life. Why had the king's spell chosen a person in mortal peril to bring here, into deeper danger still? Was it truly a stroke of fate...?

Switching to a kneeling posture, Quietus scrambled over to...Wish, was it? Her eyes widened in panic as she glanced back at the king. "Sir! Y-your Highness, Majesty! Surely there must be a healer-"

Before she could pursue that line of enquiry further, one of the other girls transformed, beginning to patch up Wish's wounds with a wriggling black tar-like, tendriled mass. Relaxing a little, Quietus allowed herself to ease into a sitting position, staring with fascination at the magic happening before her eyes. It may appear unsettling, but she could feel the good intentions behind it.

“Stand Aside. You Have Done Right, And the Seraphim Shall Attend The Rest.”

And the ominous figure too, transformed. Flesh growing with the light within, wings and eyes unfurling with vigor as the radiant glory of the Most High expressed itself through pleroma.

Quietus scooted aside obligingly, but a different presence within her stirred into a storm. For Phenex, to behold the Seraph was as if an Earthly rose beheld another thorny stem with a bright red bud from a planet innumerable lightyears away. Recognition in the grotesque, alien reflection. The same feeling one might get gazing upon one's own skin, peeled and turned inside out. The feeling of a parasite, sensing its ideal host.

Phenex boiled forth, hijacking Quietus' throat.

"Oh where have you been, my bursting, bloody heart? It is my joy of joys to adore you again for the first tii~iime..."

Quietus snapped her mouth shut like the lid of a music box. "Ahem-hem! M-my apologies. What I meant to say was...please...let me help." Trembling out of fear and embarrassment, she scooted closer again, allowing her voice to escape in a more controlled, wordless hum.

"Da da da da, hmmm hmmm haaa, da da da dum da dum..."

She held her hands loosely above Wish as the Seraph worked, as if she was warming her hands over a radiator. She could not contribute significantly to mending the wounds directly, but her voice could sustain Wish's spirit, rouse what remained of her...EGO? and bring it back to consciousness before it could pass...beyond.

She glanced back at the king, tense as she anticipated his command.

Stella Rae Juju Zenritch Lordxana0

 

[AI10100]

M O I R A " A N C A E A " M C A S T E R​

Moira let out a short breath and pressed a hand against her abdomen. Falcon immediately reacted as it pooled its remaining energy, however little it was, into putting more numbing medicine into her. They were still in unfamiliar territory and, even if they were friendly, having her injured was not ideal.

In an unfortunate series of events, it appeared one of their fellow heroes was injured— grievously injured. She wanted to help immediately as she shifted to make an attempt for aid but Falcon wasn't built for healing. That was Beau's area of expertise after all. They were a well-oiled machine together but separating them was asking for trouble.

Thankfully some of the others had taken over. "Whoa..." Two of them were unsettling in their own ways. The first one who hadn't introduced herself yet seemed to be more aligned with the Lovecraftian and the Eldritch. From what she could see, it was mostly tentacles seemingly stitching the wound together. It was a little gross, she had to admit, but there was some sort of morbid fascination beneath Moira's eyes. She hadn't ever seen anything like that before. What else could she do? Where had she obtained such a power?

A thought came unbidden, of little warnings whispered under teenagers' breaths as they dabble in the occult. What are you prepared to lose for power? And Moira beheld this girl's abilities and wondered the same. Wherever she had come from, did she need to exchange something near and dear to her to even wield this power? Or did her world's rules not work the same and this was simply the norm?

Then there was the biblically accurate angel. The whole six wings and terrifying look and everything. Maybe it wasn't what she would be looking at in the bible or anything like that but it felt close enough. Still, despite her terrifying appearance, her healing was working. A lesson about never judging a book by its cover her mother always taught her passed through her mind, muddled throughout the years of instinctual judgments. Judgments that saved her life time and time again. Moira didn't know where to fall between fascination and utter fear.

Quietus, on the other hand, spoke in a manner that was unlike her introduction as she took on a more playful tone that made Moira's brain rewire itself on how she viewed Quietus. But then she switched back to her usual speech and the moment was gone. Something to think of later. She watched Quietus shuffle closer and begin singing with her hands hovering above their injured companion. Whatever the effect was supposed to be was lost to Moira but she assumed it boosted something. Like a buffer, her mind helpfully supplied as she automatically tried to sort them into MMORPG terms.

"Logging current abilities and danger levels." Moira had to stop herself from scoffing out a laugh. Ever reliable Falcon, always so logical as opposed to Moira's more human reaction of being more than overwhelmed about the situation.

 

[seasonedcat]

Florence Allard "Vorticity" | ???
the cameras rolled and the crowd cheered as everything finally fell into place around Vorticity. He had won the final battle in the tournament that left him the last one standing. He stood atop the podium looking out at the faces of his fans with a dazzling smile. He finally come out on top, the crown was his as the newest winner of Star Heroes!!... of course, fate had other plans for him.

just as Vorticity had finished his speech to the crowd, offering his thanks and was reaching out to accept the physical proof of his victory, the crowd began to gasp and scream. This would have been normal, except there was no joy in these screams, only fear. Vorticity looked around in confusion before his eyes fell onto the magical circle bellow him. He had no time to react to this new information before he got grabbed from his own world and thrown into a new one.
---
Vorticity blinked a few times as he processed his new surroundings. The adrenaline and excitement inside him began to ware off as he soon came to accept that yes this was real. What made it worse was the dread that soon followed. If he wasn't there to accept the crown, it would be passed onto the second place. He would not lose to some bitch who uses box dye.

without a single care to the kings words or that of his group he took a few steps to the side and pulled out his phone that he had thankfully pocketed right before the ceremony. Hanging his umbrella on his forearm, he dialed his manager instantly, his leg bouncing as the line rang for a moment before going dead.

"The number you are trying to reach-"

Vorticity hung up quickly and dialed again.

"The number you-"

again.

"The-"

Vorticity grunted in frustration barely stopping himself from throwing the phone to the ground and instead placing it safely back in his pocket. Why does dimensional travel never come with service?

Vorticity turned and returned to the group who had missed his absence on the account of the woman bleeding out on the ground. Vorticity didn't pay her any mind, that is what they had doctors and magic hero healers for. Thank the gods he never had to go into that profession, their outfits are tragic.

another blessing was that between the time of Vorticity's phone call and his return, some of the others had become significantly better dressed. The biblically acurate angel was an impressive work by their design team, they might even have a chance of making it to the top 10. Though, of course they were not even close to Vorticity's level, a shame.

Vorticity turned his attention back to their summoner, giving the king a wave to attract his attention, "um hello, your 'highness' or whatever, this whole set design is cool and all but I really need to be getting back to my world. I was kind of in the middle of something...."

Vorticity leaned on his umbrella for a moment, before clearing his throat, "I feel for you and your people, I don't know about anyone else, but I was in the middle of an uber important life changing event and didn't agree to get conscripted so.... is there anyway you can put me back? I'm sure my fans are already missing me. Oh! And I wish you all the luck in finding your recruits! Just uh... not me. Definitely not me."

Vorticity flashed him a bright, practiced smile that would have had his fans back home swooning. He tapped his umbrella on the floor anxiously as he waited for a response. He needed to get back home soon or he could kiss goodbye his entire life's purpose and chance of ever attaining true fame.
interactions | Lordxana0
mentions | everyone

 

[Juju]

Moki hopped down from the king’s shoulder and quickly padded over to Celestia’s side. The familiar watched the procedure intently, unconcerned by the grotesque method of sutures so long as it got the job done. Their fluffy tail swished anxiously behind them as they observed, ears pinned back.

At Celestia’s reassurances Moki lifted their gaze from Wish for a moment, long enough to look up at the violet-garbed girl beside them. A small nod was given in return.

“Moki trusts you.” They said, resuming their observation of the healing process. Slowly but surely, the brutal gash on Wish’s abdomen was sewn shut by the wriggling tendrils.

It was then that Seraphim approached. Moki hopped to their paws, scampering closer to Celestia and keeping their eyes locked onto the central mass of the angelic monstrosity. Yet as unnerved as the critter was, they calmed once the healing radiance hit Wish.

The reaction was unusual; cuts and bruises began to meld back into healthy flesh, the glittery blood sealed away, and yet the dark veins close to the wounds only deepened in color. Like a parasite burrowing deeper into its host, the discoloration wriggled away from the light. Wish’s wounds were healing steadily, yet it seemed that the poison infecting them had relocated instead of being eradicated.

“Not good…” Moki muttered, ears perked up as they watched the two magical forces meet.

Moki made no response to Quietus when she sat nearby, though their ear did flick at the song she sang.

---

---

Far away from all the panic she had caused, Wish was somewhere vacant and dark. She floated in a lightless sea, ears roaring with unseen currents that tugged at her hair and dress.

She had known the dangers of fusing EGO and SOMA, yet there had been truly no other choice. Not when the entire city was at stake. Body and soul were supposed to stay separate, unable to corrupt the other, yet when one was broken the other could fill in the cracks and fuel the dying fire. A swansong of a gambit.

For a moment Wish wondered if that’s how Vices were made. Then the thoughts broke down into nonsense, like a fishing line that had snapped. What was she worried about again?

All she could remember was this oppressive exhaustion, gnawing at her every thought and filling her mind with cotton. She had fought for a long time; seven years was long enough. Maybe it was time to let it all go? It would be so easy to let all cares drift away in this endless sea…

But then something disrupted the alluring void. The delicate notes of a song, hummed gently by a voice she didn’t recognize. Was someone here with her? The melody filled her soul with a warmth that burned away the fog that clung to her mind. Confusion and apathy cleared away.

Where am I? What is this place?

This song resonated with her soul, stirring up the embers of her will. The unseen waves felt more like tangled vines now, constricting and suffocating. She couldn’t breathe, but she could still fight.

With great effort, Wish pushed against the bindings until little by little they gave way. She followed the distant voice, reaching her hand up as far as it could stretch until…

---

---

All at once the light emitted by Seraphim finally seemed to catch. Starting from her abdomen and blooming outwards, the snaking black lines under Wish's skin dissolved in a wave of light. The glittery pool of blood beneath her burned away, rising up in glittery motes around her before vanishing entirely. Even the areas where her clothes had ripped were miraculously mended.

Wish’s eyes blinked open, her golden gaze moving slowly between all present. They were blurry at first, but once her eyes adjusted to the torchlight they widened in disbelief.

“Is this a dream?” She pondered, voice as hazy as her eyes. “You…you're all magic heroes?”

A flicker of joy crossed her face at the revelation, and slowly she tried to sit up. She winced at the still healing wound on her stomach, but it didn’t dim the hopeful smile on her face.

“Wish!” Moki cried out, hopping into Wish’s lap and making her wince yet again from her twice disturbed wound. “Oh Wish, you very much made Moki worry! Wish shouldn’t take such horrible risks! It was very dangerous!”

“Right. It wasn't a dream then. It’s true, yet I still can’t believe it. More magic heroes…” she trailed off, looking up in pure awe at those circled around her.

“Wish should thank them for saving her!” Moki reminded, pawing at Wish’s dumbfounded face to knock her out of daydream.

She shook her head, expression sheepish as she hugged Moki tighter. “Oh, R-right! Sorry about that. I'm still all out of sorts. I thought I was going to die back there, and I think I would have if not for your help. Thank you, all of you.”

Zenritch Nellancholy Stella Rae