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7 yrs ago
Current Why am I bothering to update the status anyway? No one's gonna care
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7 yrs ago
"Remember to look at the stars not down at your feet." Inspired me ever since. Rest in peace Professor Hawking
8 yrs ago
I don't know why, but the boredom is killing me slowly
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Michael waited patiently, in silence, as Franz took his seat and began his story. Or rather, he gave him a notebook. It took him a while to do so though. A diary? Or a journal? Michael didn't want to look intrusive, but eventually Franz gave him it anyway. It was rather a sketchbook. And there was...Mila. When did he sketch her? But it was incomplete. It was barely a quick basic sketch, but it already caught the essence of her beauty. But perhaps now that when she is dead, it'd never be completed. All that would be recorded of this girl ever was this sketch. It was painful to think about it. Such life lost for what? A whole bunch of angry old men bickering over each other.

'Future huh?'

He wasn't wrong. Michael didn't mean him being useless. He clearly had talents in arts. But the problem is the society, not him, nor his race. Michael knew the whole Darcsen incident that occurred in the ancient past. That was the reason he rejected Yggdism. How could people so blind to believe such a story that had no ways of verification, no written records, and only had the story told from mouth to mouth that originates from the VALKYRURS themselves. It is an insane world he is living in, but knowing that would not help a person like Franz. But 'future' is an ambiguous word. He just didn't have one in terms of acceptance. It's unfortunate that it is a huge thing.

Michael took a while to compile a response. He knew saying cliché things would definitely not help anyone. Because he probably have heard it countless times already. But nevertheless, he still needed to convey his point across.

"Depends on what you mean by future actually." Michael began, his palm still holding onto the notebook Franz just gave him. "If you're looking for acceptance by the general society, then you probably know the answer."

Things could change, but he doubt it would change in his lifetime.

"Personally, I think you do have a future. Everybody does." He continued. It did sound a little empty, like comfort word to a hurt animal. "Even if it isn't allocated to you yourself."

He gave a long exhale before looking over to the Darcsen, who may be confused with the statement.

"You did say you grieved for Mila. Then you're already better than me..." His voice drifted off in a bit, as he seemed to stare into space. But he quickly recovered as he continued. "But it shows you do actually care about something. About her. About her future. And I think Mila does too, in her final moments and decision to cover you. I know she probably doesn't live your life, doesn't fully understand what pain you have to go through, but I think that's one of her future, even if she doesn't come out of that alive..."

"She saw that she could preserve and protect others' future. And she jumped right at it. No hesitation, no thinking. Even though her ideals are a little simplistic and to be honest unhealthy, I still respect her greatly to know that she saved you. Sometimes it would be in vain. I know, because I too failed to save my friend. His father owned a carpenter shop, and he was waiting for his son to inherit it, but what he would receive now would merely be a letter saying he died for his country. Only because I missed that shot. But the thought alone also speaks. I know it sounds a little sophisticated, but I just think that..." He said, some of his words almost unable to materialize, before placing his right hand onto Franz's left shoulders "To preserve people's future is also a future."

For some unknown reason, that final quote of his, whether or not it struck Franz, struck him back instead. There was something in his own words, derived from what Franz and others would think his wisdom, that made Michael confused at himself. Despite saying this genuinely from his heart, it still felt strange to Michael. Probably because he never have to touch it before, and now that he was making it for the very first time. But hopefully, Franz could get it.

"I think you should finish this though. Try your best to remember." Michael closed the notebook in his hand before handing it back to Franz. "We'd probably want some food. We had an emotional day."
@CFProxy


August, 1904...

"God Almighty..."

Over the course of only a few hours, the street had been turned into a battlefield. And it turned out to happen right on their tenth anniversary of the young couple and their small young child, right when they decided to escape the dull and unchanging background of their mansions for a while as they decided to book a ship to Gallia, in the city that they would lovingly call the city of love. Yes. Right in the very heart of this city occurred this massive riot of men and women. They weren't any subversives or protestors. They were gangs. Those thrown out into the sewer worthlessly by those who dared to take the audacity to be their carer, whilst society kept drowning them into the depths of the abyss. One could argue otherwise that they were just unsatisfied and spoilt children. Perhaps a few of them were, but would that dismantle the claim? Dissatisfaction firstly came from the inability to provide sufficiently. And that statement in itself could go a long way.

"Honey, don't look that way."

Anyhow, back and forth, these guys somehow thought they could stand up to the police forces. Whoever thought up of that idea would probably be shot by now, if he did not go down with these men. But nevertheless they decided a clash with the police right in broad daylight. And how horribly they were proven wrong. At the very end of the day, multiples of bodies lay on the street, while the rest were beaten into submission and was probably rotting in some prison right now.

It was a reality so common to a normal person who did not spend their entire time locking themselves in the loots that they did not actually work for themselves. But to become common to a person, he or she must have a time of stranger to that. And that was exactly what this eight years old child was seeing in front of his eyes. People killing people? Stabbing and clubbing each other to death? How could anyone do such a thing to another human being like that, especially that person was no more or less than he himself. He could not understand or even fathom such an idea...

"These guys..." He suddenly spoke, regardless of the blind of the eyes by his mother. "Are they evil?"

The question was as innocent as it could get. In his world right now, it was all black and white, good and evil. A gutted feeling knotted his stomach. But nevertheless, he remained still as a rock, yet his hand gently ran through the young boy's scruffy black hair as he answered.

"It's arguable, my son. But they did commit a great sin."

"A great sin?" The boy asked with round eyes. "Would they be going to hell father?"

"If they don't repent, my son."

"I'm afraid, father. I could see them from the balcony, trying to hurt bystanders." He said, his words seemingly normal at first. "I think they deserve it."

And his lips slowly changed. His firm, rock-solid smile ceased, and now facing his very own child was a hand grabbing so tightly by the wrist that even his wife was a little concerned.

"Whatever you're saying, my son, I do not want to hear that from you again." He said. Every words that came out felt like a bullet pinning him down at every limbs and corners. He knew his father could be a little austere, but to say he was adequately prepared for each was like saying a man was prepared for anything that may be thrown at him in his entire life. Instinctively, he wanted to look away, but the way he looked at him, a pair of eyes that penetrated, that locked his in its very track, ensuing that he had to heed what he said regardless.

"W-Why?" He meekly replied, a squeak uttered into the chilly autumn air.

"Because you would be there as well." Instead of a frontal shout, the father calmly replied. Only then would he let go of his son's arm. He stood up upright, straightening his shirt before giving out a breathe of air.

"Remember, no one deserves to be given a judgement by an akin figure..."

With that said, he knew the family had no more place here, as they was determined to not let a bad apple spoils a bunch.

But that moment was the beginning...


Michael had been looking at his own hand for a while now. It seemed to have no hope. He was just the same as he had been up that trench. Would shock be an explanation this time? He had been given time to think, time that he did not have to worry about being blasted into pieces at any moment. And yet it did not come. How come? Had he gone too emotionally numb for such a thing anymore?

"No hope..." He muttered gently to himself. Though in the small room, it may have been a little loud. He quickly looked over to the sleeping Lucia on the other bed, a little scared if he had woken her up. It didn't look like so. She didn't move. Good.

Yet again, he let out a sigh as he laid his back onto the wooden wall behind him. His eyes felt heavy right now. His eyes had been so tired right now. They served him when they should not be, and went through hell with him, going through smoke, fire, blood and mud. Perhaps it needed a bit of rest, now that he was given permission to.

Just as he was about to lie down, however, from the door emerged Franz. Not the Franz that he knew though. The more recent Franz. He wanted a talk. He could hear the forcibility in the way he speaks. It was definitely not the Franz he knew up that hill. This was only a shadow of his former self. But now that he wanted a talk, he'd have no qualm taking him as guests. Even if he could feel himself passing out at any moment.

"I don't know if I could be of any help, but..." He sat up straight, rubbing his hand on the bed, gesturing him to take a seat right next to him. "Mila...if I'm not wrong, she was 'that girl', right?"

He would know who he was talking about. The funny and ironic thing about this is that despite being a person expected to give out sympathy, love and advices, he was the one who couldn't take in all what he told others to do.
@CFProxy


Among the three of them, the other person who is not a Darcsen was the first to respond. Upon closer recognition, Michael realized she was the one whom he had helped up just hours ago as they both ascended the hill, separated during the final charge into the melee. That smile of hers as she spoke. It was the feeling of relief; he could hear it in the stress of her voice. Yeah, after all that destruction, that death and terror he, no they, had to go through, he wouldn't be any higher or lower than her right now. Though seeing her so clingy to Jean while smiling like that was a little...weird. Or maybe this was a common thing? He didn't dig deep into this aspect.

"Oh yes. I didn't have the opportunity to introduce properly." Michael changed his posture, straightening up while he pulled his shirts a little bit. It didn't help that it was filled with mud and blood from the fighting, but in this world full of filth, it would be a little nice to appear more civilized as he could. "I'm Michael. Michael Daunte. I'm from the city of Tyrelia, Edinburgh." He had his hand forward as a polite gesture. Now that he noticed, she was also the one who repeatedly said he was a child. He wasn't sure if he wanted to bring that up again. Probably not now. He would look rude, and honestly salty, to everyone. And to be frank, he probably wouldn't resonate as a child as soon as people hear him speak. His voice was deep, a little cloggy after going through hell but still clear enough to hear, and he seemed to know things that no child would be able to know unless they are some sort of genius. It's just that biology somehow puts a boundary on his physical growth. He liked to comfort himself by saying that 'he' did so so that he could grow mentally, but that would just be dishonest to the unknown truth.

The moment of light-hearted fun quickly ended. War just had the habit of getting in the way of things like that. After Isaac and Britta, who came down pretty much without anything to say to the group, the other person was someone he knew personally. It was the same Darcsen that he had tried to treat earlier. The same one that waved goodbyes to him when he left him right before artillery hits. Now...he was a different man from before. The man that was so calm under fire, so chilled out that he even asked for a cigarette after he had a hole in his chest. Now he was as stiff and emotionless as what he could have expected from any person being thrown into the hellfire of warfare, but not from a person like Franz. He was about to wonder what happened when...


Mila Wagner?

He did hear her name a few times. Rumor was a thing to be feared in its spread. Back then during the boot camp training, Michael would occasionally hear some of his fellow comrades, most of them females, talking about a tall blonde girl who liked to help new recruits through the grueling session, often giving them emotional support and such. Was it the girl he met earlier up the hill? The one who grabbed that Vinland sapper by the collar? The one who said herself to be filthy? And now she's dead? He'd like to think that she's not, that maybe she was just a case of similar looking description, but the truth that he did not know exactly was that she was otherwise. The girl that young girls love, devote themselves to and so aspire to become was now laying dead in the mud. Didn't care if she had Imperial blood, fighting for the Federation, being a kind and loving sister that nobody think she deserved such a fate. War made everybody equal.

But despite not being a close friend, or perhaps because she wasn't that close of a friend, Michael felt as if the ground before him was fleeing from him. It was transparent. That feeling when you are falling and you are not. When would news like this be over? When those he had gotten to know of, those who were just his age, filled with potentials, with talents and ambitions, being ripped of it forever and be sent into hell-on-Earth, only to emerge a motionless and colorless corpse. When would that be his turn? Would he be able to get used to such a thing? And nonetheless...how many more must Michael HIMSELF send over? He shuddered to even look at his hand right now. He didn't want to kill, but he didn't want to die either. But they are mutually exclusive, and he was forced, every time, to pick one of it.

Jean was also heavily shaken. Visibly so. It didn't take a genius for Michael to see it on his face. As he ordered the squad to remain where it was, Michael suddenly found himself walking away from the group for a little bit. Where was he going? What could his conscious mind say but 'I don't know', or 'Just wandering around'. Wandering around may be a convincing argument, but why would it be wandering around when he was only going back and forth through one particular trench in the entire line? The place wasn't even that far away from the 15th Atlantic Rifle's gathering point in fact, one could go there in a few seconds. It overlooked the entire hill where he just ascended up and down in a single day, a hill now hauntingly silent from the sheer amount of souls lost in a single day.

This was the place.

This was the place where a few hours ago, a few thousand people would still be alive. And Michael would be standing...somewhere over here. He would be waiting for the fateful charge, and a few minutes following that he would be ascending the ladder, only to fell down here. On by her. But now she's gone. He didn't even know if this was her blood or not. The rain had gushed everything together into a mess, and anything left of it would be a product of impurity. Had she been buried already? Where would she be now? The thought never ceased as Michael went across the trench once, twice then thrice, often glancing up the hill or the other way. Could she be here, or here?

But it was no use. He didn't know her name, or anyone that she knew. In his fragile self right now, she only appeared to him as a cute petite girl - though still taller than him, only five foot five in height, with a pair of innocent and pure sky blue eyes and hair as natural as the pine oak tree near his house that was tied neatly into a single and simple braid hanging on her shoulder. Nothing else. He lost her in the charge, and now he couldn't find her again, even just for a final wish of rest in peace.

'...'

He placed a hand on his lips, paying no attention to the dry blood and filth on it. Now everybody is the same. His eyes began to blink. Quite slowly at first, then sped up like an accelerating car. Until he hit the ceiling, that was when he stopped. But that was it. He thought it would yield something, but nothing came. Nothing came...It was no use. He couldn't be like Jean or Lucia even if he wanted to.

After a few minutes going around in vain, Michael returned to his squad. Just in time when Jean returned...with Lucia? She was placed right near him, as Jean ordered everyone to house her nicely. His statement that she was still alive lifted the nails off his shoulders. Scared? True though. Even a person like Michael was freaking out to the point that he had to draw a cross on his chest up there, not to mention a girl like Lucia.

He knelt over Lucia once more. She looked just as when she was asleep: beautiful and innocent. He had his hand gently placed on her wrist, his eyes glancing at her chest briefly, whilst the other hand near her nose before glossing over her forehead. Jean was right. It seemed like nothing serious happened to her. She was just scared and fatigued from the stress of having to kill a friendly. She didn't need much treatment really. He just need to get her to the rear line to rest.

Michael gently threw his gun around his left shoulders before placing his hands below Lucia's body, one letting her back rest on and the other one behind her knees, as he slowly straighten his legs up, thus lifting the small girl up. One may find it an odd and surprising sight, to witness a man as small and unimpressive as Michael being able to lift up a girl just about the same size, but Michael only turned to the squad once.

"I'll take her to the rear line." So that they know where he would be. If nobody had objected, Michael would gradually find his way back to the rear, after turning a few corners and asking a few soldiers directions, and a bunk for Lucia to rest on. And too he would sit on the opposite side. For once, he could breathe the air that did not wreak of tension.
@LetMeDoStuff@Landaus Five-One


Would it be the last time he met Lucia? She'd probably be safe in Middleton's hand. Not necessarily sane, in fact he'd rather see her on the battlefield rather than in that man's grasp, but she would probably be behind the lines, far away from the guns and bombs. On the while, he and so many others were under the constant threat of having their brain shot out, their limbs torn apart by artillery or mines, their guts may be punched through at any given moment. Who knows, maybe an artillery shell could hit right at his spot right now, just like how they fall at the front so commonly back during the days when he could hear them from the rear line.

'Wait...'

What did Middleton say about this Hill earlier in his speech? God, he couldn't remember so accurately, due to how aggravating it was trying to dig through the cringy propaganda. What is it about being important? The position? Well, obviously. But what else did he say?

'Artillery shells...'

That's right! He was talking about how the artillery has been bombarding them for days. But why hasn't Michael found any artillery emplacement? Was it located elsewhere in the hill that he didn't have the chance to cross by? No, that couldn't be right. There couldn't be only one or two guns. He would have to see one. Then...

THUNK!

A beat in his chest.

THUNK!

A bang in his eardrum

THUNK!

A sound in the distance...

Instinct brought his eyes up in the dull sky. It was in that very moment that his vision and hearings all coordinated and pointed at the very same thing. In his vision, he saw multiple black dots, looking like harmless birds flying in the sky, but they were definitely unlike birds. Unlike those harmless creatures who just lived freely and uncaring about the pointless and bloody struggles of what we call highly intelligent species as they soar through the sky freely, these things were darting right towards us. And in his hearings, a screech tore through his drums. The dots began to enlarge themselves. When his minds actually process the whole thing...

'Oh God Almighty...'

He was standing where those bishop faced wanted him to!

"Artillery have us zeroed! Take cover!"

This trench couldn't possibly hold if it got hit. Tales of people getting literally buried alive in their own trenches, with some actually dying to it, did not go unheard for a man like Michael. He had to find a stronger ones. Michael dashed right out of the trenches, and instantly, as if a gift, he found the place he needed. A wood planked trench. It definitely wasn't a life insurance, but it'd at least give him slightly better protection than a normal trench. And in a place and time when luck was a major role in whether or not you'd make it back or not, where even an inch of difference could mean life or death, he'd take any chances he can get.

He leapt right into the trench just as the first shell landed. BOOM! Its distance was too far to do any damage to him, but unbeknownst to Michael, it blasted two of the soldiers into limbless hulks. During the very short interval, Michael slammed his back onto the wooden plank of the trench as he crumpled himself into a ball, his hand holding onto his helmet. Then the second shell landed. Then third. Fourth. Fifth. Sixth? He couldn't even count anymore. Screams amidst the explosions would cut his minds short. Dirt and mud would sometimes slam into his helmet and his body, with probably someone's remains mixed in between. Smells of immeasurable mixtures rushed up his nose, as the sapper struggled to have a breathe to pray so that a shell would not blow him to pieces right now, or that a shell's fragments would not pin itself onto his chest.

Four minutes of eternity, it was short yet Michael could feel it. His hands gripping on his chest as an unknown force shook them as if they had inner earthquakes. Would this be the end of the journey? Would he never be able to see mother again? Would he die to a violent flame of hell rather than being shot at by a fellow human being? He could still feel his hands though. His breathe still found its way, even though the smoke filled air had invaded his lungs. He still lives. 'Please...don't take me away just yet.' He silently prayed. The hand gripping the chest gently made a small cross. He still had someone to return to. He had his family, his friends, his college, his church. He'd lived well. He didn't want to die just yet.

But then it somehow...came through. After a certain sound, there was nothing. Even the sound of the soldiers screaming for their severed legs couldn't be heard. Was everybody dead? Or maybe he should ask himself instead. Did he die and go to hell already?

When he got up, it was indeed a scene from hell. Bodies were mangled up everywhere, up and down No Man's Land. Some people didn't even have the chance to express the horror or peace before their demise. That metallic sense once again snuck up his nose along with the smoke from the shells that also obscured his visions. His mind feared the worst. He looked among the bodies, hoping that none of them resembled anyone he knew. So far, they were all strangers. But that doesn't mean they are all alive. With destruction like this, can anybody say it with confidence without concrete evidence?

Michael immediately got out of the trench as he headed down the pathway to where the Lance Corporal once stood. What he found wasn't him though, nor his corpse. He probably had escaped. What he found instead was Middleton. He didn't look as if he was expecting this to happen, but the moment he saw the young sapper and his squad insignia, he repeated the order, knowing fully well that he was not present when he said it the first time. So they're leaving this hill? Didn't seem like it though. Waves of fresh faces with clean and uptight uniforms began to flood in. It seemed like his squad had ran out of usefulness in this sector for now - being the pawns in a grand scheme.

He had no intention to disobey him, not out of fear but through agreement instead. He wouldn't do any good in a squad outside of his own. And he wouldn't want to stay in this hellhole any longer. And so with his rifle on his left elbow joint, he descended the hill, quickly but he avoided running in general, as much as he wanted to leave this hill. He was carrying a rifle with bayonet, and dozens of equipment, some of which pretty dangerous. He wouldn't want to roll down the hill with them on his body.

As he was going down the hill, he saw the man that he was looking for. Jean, the Darcsen Lance Corporal, along with the girl that accompanied him halfway up the hill, also with another one with the same hair color, and presumably the same race, as Jean, whom he hadn't met just yet. He now turned his way toward them, as they arrived at the trench that they had ran up in that same day.

"You guys..." He said as soon as he made his way right next to them, still catching breathes from the descent. It was quick but did not necessarily equate to non-tiring. "You made it through."

Three people in his squad wasn't bad.
@Landaus Five-One@LetMeDoStuff@SMS


Michael witnessed all the two of the parties involved, as the grappled onto one another in rage. One held up the belief of a man should be judged for their actions than for what their ancestors do, and the other one someone dwelling on what their ancestors also did. Two each having their valid points and bullshits. Two had their extremely simplistic views of the world around them. But most of the flaks from the woman stood him less than his fellow Cruxian. Perhaps he was being a little biased around, but still.

"So do you prefer to be a beast then? Or do you know the difference between beasts and human?" Michael said just as the tall girl released Archibald. Yeah, Lucia killed one person, one of the friendlies. But does that make her a beast? Every one of the survivors of the charge would very likely have killed one of the Imperial soldiers. Would that make them beasts? The answer to that was nothing of the sort. Nothing of a simple yes or no.

"Do you mourn those people you've killed?" He left the two of them a question, and perhaps three if Franz would pay attention, "I'll be with Isaac." before he walked away from the scene, returning back to Lucia and Isaac, who appeared to have awoken from his slumber. If they had answered that question, then he'd be willing to continue the conversation with them. They could hate him if they wanted. He didn't care.

Once he walked back to Isaac next to the peacefully sleeping Lucia, a man suddenly appeared at the entrance to the trench. A man that far superseded his power and control, but his demeanor was nothing different from an ordinary soldier. He was like Jean, but probably more standing in terms of confidence. But nevertheless his expression was of someone who wasn't here. Who shouldn't be here.

"Ah, there she is." The man breathed in relief. It seemed like he was desperately looking for her. "Excuse me lads. Lieutenant Middleton is summoning the presence of Private Lucia Farris."

'That guy again...' Michael gritted his teeth silently. His eyes slowly found its way to Lucia. Her chest moved up and down as gently as the wave, and her lips looked soft like cotton, sometimes making a small opening as she breathe out lightly. An angel in pain trying to regain her grace for now. He didn't want to wake her up right now. She was having a well-deserved rest. But still, before him was a Staff Sergeant, a rank higher than him, carrying an order from a 1st Lieutenant, the rank that could order a court martial to him right here right now if he showed any evidence of disobedience to him.

"One moment, if you don't mind." He turned to the Staff Sergeant. The man simply nodded his head. Luckily enough, and perhaps a good thing for the squad, is that this man seemed to be a normal human being, with a common sense to work with.

Michael immediately turned over to Lucia, kneeling right beside her universally small but just as large as his body, his hand gently shook her shoulder. Slowly, her eyes opened. Back to the cruel world of reality.
____________________________________________________________________________



____________________________________________________________________________

Her eyes were as heavy as a sandbag. Around her was still darkness. And then, she could feel again. That metallic smell of blood and mud. That she was still lying in the trenches where she had laid off to sleep just a while ago. She felt something pressuring on her shoulder, as it swayed her torso a little back and forth. Slowly, her eyelid opened like a window blind. Turning her body around, she saw the sapper just before, the one who she was still quite unsure if he was a child or a small man, the one who went through all the trouble to find her a clean empty and quiet trench for her to rest. He was right beside her, his expressions shouted of concern and sympathy.

"W-What is it?" She meekly and shyly shot him a question

"This Staff Sergeant..." Michael turned back to the man, silently conveying the question. And the man could understand it as perfectly, as he moved his lips just as gently. "...Baker is asking for you. Lieutenant Middleton wants you right now."

The name shook her to her core.

"...No..."

No...no...no...no. Why would he...She had done her duty already...She didn't want to...didn't want to...

He couldn't see an end in her eyes. They became wet, as it was about to break.

"We won't be leaving you by yourself. Even if you're not with us." He had another hand on her shoulder. "We'll still be with you."

He knew his words could sound empty to someone else, but he had to make sure it does not for her. She was still on the verge of tears, however. It appeared as nothing would be able to stop it. She was going back to Middleton, that ignoble man who had little regards for a human being. He couldn't imagine a single day being with him, let alone for a period of time like Lucia. Nevertheless, he found himself wrapping his arms around her shoulders, even if briefly, as he gave her a hug.

"Remember that."

With that, he let her go. And slowly, Lucia rose up to the Staff Sergeant, who was patiently waiting for her to regain herself. Would she be tormented just like she was at the start of the charge again? Would it be just as cruel, or would it be a living hell for her? But at least she knew she had a pillar now.

@Letter Bee@AtomicNut@LetMeDoStuff
Acion Nakamiji


Whilst Acion and Dulga had a more meaningful talk with fists, elsewhere was a catfight of who's more deserving of a position in Komei. By two of the fighters he fairly respected, with one of them being his best friend. The moment Jett spoke his mind in a full frontal shoutout to Roy, Acion's attention was snapped back. Just what the hell happened? The words used to insult - yes insult - the other party was not what to be considered something from a friend to a friend. He was both curious and angry at the same time. This was just a petty reason for a fight as heroes, and definitely not something he expected from these guys.

By the time Dulga carried him over to Kaida and Tomoe, reluctance began to surface in his mind right now. He did consider the infirmary to be a little too much, considering his wounds weren't that severe to begin with, but nevertheless having Kiwi being his company of talks was somewhat entertaining, in spite of her flirty attitude. But now in front of him was his friend, the guy whom he shared his views with, whom he had his chill out moments with, and who helped him with his problem the first day and then after that fateful fight at the ramen shop. He wasn't labelling him as a saint, but he wanted to hear the bottom of the story. He wanted to help him back for whatever problems he may have right now.

"I can still stand, don't worry." He said as he was handed over to Kaida. "If you're also curious about them, then we're on the same boat. You don't need to send me over yet. I want to hear the bottom of this."

@Heartfillia


"I got lucky. But yeah, I made it. I'm Michael. Michael Daunte." Michael briefly looked up at the Darcsen before him before looking back down on his chest wound. Yeah, he made it. Physically unscathed fortunately. Mentally though, he wasn't sure. He wondered when that luck would run out for him, but he probably should not care about it now. In front of him is a wounded man, and he was not going to be bothered by his own concerns to not help this fellow.

He managed to rip through the layer of uniform to get to the wound itself. He was right. It was fairly a clean cut. But still, closing the wound isn't that simple. He really wondered what sort of bullet ripped through a chest in one straight line like that. Michael would normally be in reliefs if it struck the arm or leg, but chest is a different story. It's more complicated and if any vital arteries are hit, then this wound shouldn't only be treated like it's just a tear in your shirt.

Nevertheless, it wasn't as easy as he would have thought. He didn't know where to start. While basic medical training was given to him back during his days, he wasn't even an amateur. But someone else knew though. He looked to the left to see it was that blonde guy he knew just before - the guy that tried to take the equipment from him earlier. Michael wasn't sure how to approach this guy, but he nevertheless approached both of them first, carrying a medical pack and offering to help the Darcsen with what he said to be civilian First Aid skill. Great. Right when he asked for it.

Michael silently stood up from the Darcsen, as his hand politely gestured Archibald to have it his way. It did seem like he was true to his words. His handling of the wound was proficient, at least to Michael's eyes. He was somewhat glad that Archibald was here though. Personally, he may be at odds right now, but at least in terms of skills, he is a life saver right now. Watching him mend this wounded man before his eyes was somewhat a relieving sight. The sort of kindness shown to him right now was enough to make him question the nature of our actions ourselves. After all, he is a Darcsen, and they did not obviously fall into favor with history.

"My beliefs don't allow me to abandon a dying man when I see him." He replied, almost whisperingly, as he stared up the dull and depressing grey blanket of clouds. It's just a messed up fact. History is nothing but fanfictions. Very rarely could an event be portrayed in the way that it really is. Until the lions have their own historian, what is written down will always glorify the hunters. And an even sadder and more disturbing fact is that they had been indulged by generations of mindless folks who believed everything the people next door say to you because they are nice.

"Besides, all that Darcsen shaming that is happening right now. While the media says yes, I just slowly say no."

Just because his entire world do one thing would Michael follow the flock. One at a time is all it takes for each steps.

But before he could say anything else, a sense of presence awoken him to his senses. It was from where he had emerged from. And there was the giant girl whom he had made remarks over her just a while ago. And it just did prove his point, although she looked rather...afraid, than hatred. But nevertheless, considering the fact that he may need some proper treatment than just a simple bandage, Michael waved her closer to the group. He was half-expecting her not to, but he remained hopeful if she could come to term with that oddness to the Darcsens that she just openly expressed.
@CFProxy@Letter Bee


He stood waiting for long. Five minutes, ten minutes? He couldn't count. Time seemed to fly, as his mind seemed to blur perception with reality, while his eyes burned as if someone was putting coal onto his eyes. He had arrived at the Salient at a time where his peace-time self would be sleeping peacefully on his comfortable bed. He charged up a hill through a hail of gunfire, had his hands full of blood, his boots full of mud, witnessed the death of two of those he knew personally. His mentality had been stretched thin, and now the rubber was slashing back at him. He now found himself constantly needing the wall behind him as support, but finally when the guest he was waiting for finally arrived, he had to give himself a mental pat to straighten himself. He did have a lot to say to Lucia, but much of it was already said by Isaac. He was right. As much as Michael was in a physical decline right now, he still forced himself a smile for the girl, if she could ever see it through the veils of tears that she had. And with that veil of tears, she went into sleep, a temporary one among so many eternals.

'Dreams huh?'

Would she appear in his dream too if he were to fall asleep right here, right now? Or would he drift away to a better world, a better place? A nightmare would have been an understatement if she appeared. He'd preferred to go to somewhere nice instead. Bruhl would be nice. He had been there once. The mills looked fantastic and the bread there was just second to none. He'd want to visit that again. But nothing could be compared to his home in Tyrelia, in that cozy mansion full of love and warmth of what was called a family, in the tight embrace of his mother, his frail, sickly yet brave and caring mother. It wasn't anything fancy like big cities, in fact sometimes a little dull and mundane, but he could never have it anywhere else than that. He only had that love once. He'd not go anywhere else. But then again, once he did drift away to sleep, once he woke up, it'd be nothing but disappointment as he'd come back to reality right now, a world of death where families are shattered, fathers burying their sons, mothers crying for their husbands, brothers and sisters torn apart, lives lost, deads forgotten. He'd rather just dreamt of nothing. Yeah, nothing. Just go to a place where his mind just shut itself off then come back, knowing nothing of what happened.

Like Isaac would tell Lucia that the squad would be watching, the sapper did. He lost track of how many times his eyes blinked or slammed shut only to be forcibly opened, but he stood laying against that wall, standing outside of the trench, politely gesturing allied soldiers to leave the two alone if they didn't necessarily have to enter the trench. But as it was evident that she was already deep in her sleep, maybe he could get some too. But he'd rather wait for the officers to actually brief them of what was happening first. He'd not want a rest knowing he may still have something else he may have to do.

For once he wandered into the trench that Lucia was staying. It really triggered his curiosity that the trench were designed in an interesting way to mitigate the effects of not just explosions, but also machine gun fire. In case of a trench raid, a straight trench with soldiers firing on the parapet would be a shooting gallery. But it was not the case for zigzagging trench. But that made the attack really nerve shattering in a way. You never know what would be on the other side of the wall.

He turned a few corners as he peered into the parts of the Imperial trenches that he didn't know exist, and the commonly known part. It looked like fierce fighting broke out in this sector, as dead Imperials piled the lot. It was a little irritating to know that they weren't given the same treatment as the allied soldiers. It was to be expected really. Federations, Imperials, they never change. But they were nonetheless humans. Still, it looked like this part of the trench was untreated.

"Huh?"

That uniform. It's one of the Federations. The breathe of the man could not be heard that far, but very visible. As clear as days. It wasn't normal. And the distant look, the placement of his palm onto his chest, it didn't look good.

Michael found himself compelled forward as he walked closer to the man. Upon closer inspection, he was a Darcsen just like Jean, with that trademark dark-blue hair. A badly wounded one. A bloodied hand on the chest that oozed blood slowly.

"My God..."

He didn't need to ask 'Are you okay?', because he obviously wasn't. The short stride walk quickly turned into a run as he approached the man, knelt by him, his eyes did not leave the wounds, trying to recollect any memories he had of first aid.

'Need to expose it.'

He wasn't sure what the other steps were, but a wound should not be left piled up on a mound of dirtied cloth.
@CFProxy


His limbs felt detached as his Longfield Rifle laid bare on the mud, the barrel still hot from the shots that had just been fired just minutes ago. His left hand still held firm on the stock like glue. Again, his eyes found its way to his hand again. His palm. A palm of blood and mud. Just shock? The fact that he killed nine people, including one that he personally smashed his head in and two more who were horrified that they could not resist, saw his friend died in front of him, two friends, and he could do basically nothing. All of that could be explained with a single word? Shock? He found the prospect appalling, that when things began to settle down, he would be able to let it all out like the Lance Corporal or this huge lady over here. Maybe he would. He didn't know. But the matter is now. What did he need to do to dispel the shock that had haunted him for the last hour of battle?

But it wouldn't start with just sitting around for him. As Jean was under no condition to report anything, Isaac immediately took over. And for any commanders of any ranks, it was natural that he asked for a battlefield report. To be honest, Michael didn't really pay that much attention really. He was just clawing his ways through the trenches and fought until the moment everything began to settle down. In fact that was the only moment he remembered vividly of what was happening after he entered the Imperial trenches. The Imperials moved away in the direction Michael was heading towards when he charged up that hill, so probably they retreated. He didn't really get to see the rest of them though. Did they employ the same policy just as Middleton had? Or did they even retreat at all, or they just cornered back up into some spot then got cut down?

"I'm not sure myself. But seems like they retreated." He said briefly to Isaac, after the lady giving him the casualty report. The same time as she saw her, Michael also did. It was her. Private Lucia Farris. She wasn't different from the first time he saw him in that trench though. Did she have to shoot anyone retreating? From the tears, hiccups and wails of the little angel, she probably did. He couldn't blame her or whoever had to die by her hands. They were all afraid that was all. The only one he could blame was perhaps Middleton. That bastard of a human.

Nevertheless, she received huge amount of cares from the rest of the platoon. Though everyone of them surrounded her with cheers and reassurances. To which it didn't feel...right. It surely was almost natural sense to calm her down and said she need not cry. But why would she need to? She was letting it flow. It was just a measure to cope with the hell-on-earth that is war. It was nature, his mother taught him. Everybody could do that. Jean could. Lucia could. That lady could.

'Yet I couldn't...'

What went wrong...

It was not long when Jean asked him and Isaac to take care of her, taking her to somewhere warm and calm. He was unsure if this squad of his would be able to cheer her out of her misery. She might be able to, but her broken state right now meant otherwise to him. Still, he couldn't really just interject with the rest of the squad who were just showing her good-intentions. He stood up from the dirt and slowly approached Lucia and the rest of the squad, the Longfield rifle on his left hand.

"I'll find the suitable place Corporal." He replied to Jean, before turning to Lucia, gently and subtly like the wind. "Find me if you want to."

With the message conveyed as gentle yet clear enough for her, Michael went off slowly and silently. As he passed through the empty trenches, he looked briefly inside. They were quite occupied mostly, with soldiers crumpling together in a messy pile as they tried to catch their breathes after the long and arduous period of combat, compiled along with those who were also lying but would never be able to get back up again. It was hard to distinguish between both if one was lying down. But he didn't want a trench like that. He wanted a trench completely devoid of any human presence, even death. It was a pretty tough filter, but surprisingly, there was one. It was a little into the trench system, and was merely a very short section that fits the category, but it worked for him.

After discovering such a place, Michael leaned onto the wooden planks of the wall covered in dirt. If she wanted to come to him, the search wouldn't be difficult.
@AtomicNut@LetMeDoStuff@FalloutJack






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