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Having some personal issue. If I am due for something, know I do not wish to ghost. My sincere apology nevertheless

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As the lines decrease and the chatter grounded to a halt as people found their regiments, Genor found himself to be more excited for the prospect of his name simply an error to the bureaucrat system. It was not the first time a cook was assigned to the front line nor was it the last time a priest accidentally take the position of a commander's servant. And the more he thinks about it, the truer it becomes. The exit light seems to grow brighter, and the atmosphere less hostile as he grew to accept the fact that he will not be draft.

And with that fact in mind, Genor decided to take a look around himself, simply gazing the few remaining "lucky" to satisfy the curiosity of a survivor. A plague doctor. 2 priests. A man with very prominent split chin. Looks funny actually when seen up close but Genor himself isn't any better so he paid him no mind. A lancer, and a girl with whatever in her hand? A peculiar group.

And another figure came, asking them to follow him, so Genor did. But in his mind, what need to say is already spoken.

"We are sincerely thank you for your time and efforts in aiding the Fifth Crusade. But, as it stands, your services are currently not needed. This is not to say that your effort was in vain and the time you spent to reach Zion was unnoticed,..."

"You may be wondering why you aren’t in a large group like the others... You are all here because you were chosen-- Abaddon, the announcer, and the sergeants already knew who their team was before the crowd was even assorted and I too knew as well," said the man in white. Their lieutenant.

Now that sentence is what Genor didn't expect. The lieutenant should have come and said that there are no need for them, perhaps even thank them for enrolling. But saying that they were chosen for a specific task, a group of no-name fodder with close to no cooperation, was out of this world.

So, as others pledge their allegiance and how "God wills it" for them to be the first group, Genor just said "Yes Sir" without much sign of protest. In fact, somewhat at ease if things need to be put in perspective.
Klein



After the first hard-fought battle which should have ended the whole team, the following fights were much easier when Amulak, Magpie, and Raymond were able to put some points in their stats. And although never a fan of sashimi or sushi due to concern over the preparation, Klein was able to consume 5 monsters raw. With half of his requirement fulfilled, he only needed to sleep in the wilderness before getting the Mountain Men class.

On another note, the nuclei were somewhat overpowered from Klein's perspective. Klein would just went in, soaked as much damage as he can then let the nuclei popped. Of course, there was some kappa that refused to attack him and chose to focus the backline instead. Luckily enough, the spear he picked up from one of the previous drops allows him to be relevant without the nuclei usage. Aside from that, he also dialed the pain percentage from 40% to a meager 5%. The value was good enough to keep him on his toes while not causing too much distraction when gruesome lacerations and muscles displacements happen.

And just as Klein about to call it a day, the team faces another boss. A martial artist frog looking boss. Judging from its appearances alone, it is definitely a boss. A raid boss, even. But with how easy these past fights had been going, Klein grew some cockiness in his spine and chose to fight, despite the obvious level difference.

"I'm good," Klein said before standing behind Mag, and launch himself after the woman as she started sprinting. Although the stats difference between the two made it difficult for Klein to be right after her, his speed was enough to be the second line of defense. The plan was simple, block for Mag, let the nuclei popped, and chiseled the boss down. Simple plan. Simple life. Easy to follow.
Interested




"All in." The man said, pushing all his chips to the middle the table.

"Fold," said another man.

"Same here." Said another before slamming his deck of cards on the table. "Man, you should wash your hand. My deck smells like shite today." He grumbles before protectively reach out to rearrange his chips.

"Ain't my bad you dumb." Said the deck handler before looking toward the final guy on the table, "how about you, Genor? All in?"

"Nah, I fold." Said the one-eye man before handing back the cards.

It is during these days that the soldiers found themselves nothing to do. The Crusade had just ended, and with that, nothing to fight against. While some decided to pay a visit to their family or outright calling a retire, for most soldiers here, who survived the Fourth Crusade, the barrack is their house. And of course, with the rumor of the Fifth Crusade just around the corner, the barrack welcomed a new wave of new faces and babbling babies. So while the commanders getting ready for the recruit's routine and daily training exercise, these veterans found themselves almost nothing to do with. Especially in the middle of noon in this blasting desert.

"You think we are gonna get draft for the next crusade?" Arthur asked before giving each man his deck. Something to keep the convo going, he thinks while handing out the cards.

"Nah," said Arab, "we got John on our side. He should give us something easy. He owed us."

"I don't know," said Genor, before slamming his deck of cards just as he picks it up. "Again?"


Genor didn't know what he was expecting when he started packing up his stuff. Goodbye? Condolences? A warm farewell party? Maybe all of that. But all he greeted with was the snoring from his teammates and the morning dew of the desert. Like a good soldier, he had fought for this city. He did missions without any questions, carrying out each order like a sentient golem. And like any sane person, he thought it was enough. That, finally, after all these fighting, he deserved some rest, perhaps a dispatch but with pay, or even a title if the commanders and the lords would be so generous of his work.

And this is what he gets?

The Fifth Crusade?

A chance to kill more demons? For what? To spike them on his field back home like a scarecrow?

The man sits on his bunk bed, rocking himself front and back, soundless words made its presence in the morning light. He was shivering in the middle of the desert, a lonely man in the city of millions. Nobody knew him. Nobody knew what was going on in his brain. And as such, when he picking up his belongings and headed toward the wall opening, no one said goodbye.

The only goodbye he heard was the rusty bunk bed giving its final groan, and Abram's sleep talking. So maybe goodbye, just not the sensible one.

Klein



And when the kappa opened its maw, revealing its sharp teeth littering inside its beak, everything freeze.



Without much saying, as if he was waiting for this moment, Klein shoved his whole right arm into the kappa's mouth, an opening that he believed to be the kappa's doom. A thousand red lines glaze across his skin. And instantly after that, the thick scarlet liquid begins to ooze from the opening, filling the kappa what it sought after. But Klein doesn't stop there.

He doesn't attempt to break free from its grip.

He embraces it.

So he goes deeper, to no man's land. His hand goes through the tongue, letting it wraps against the Chuck Norris' muscles. And it was barely a fraction of a second before the hand made a breakthrough the kappa's pharynx and enter its esophagus. And then, he starts wreaking havoc.

Now, I would like for you to imagine. Imagine a man who could extend his jaw so large that he is able to eat another grown man's fist. And then, he is just choking on this person's fist as this stranger keeps ramming his fist toward his esophagus. Like he is in pain for having his organ being damage, his pharynx trying its best to regurgitate this massively large unidentified object from the digestive tract, and his jaws trying to close itself so he could somehow swallow it. But this stranger keeps beating him down and the pharynx is the pathway needed for both breathing and swallowing. So here we are, witnessing a dude choking on another dude's arm.

And this is what Klein's doing to the kappa, inserting more and more of his arm's length inside the kappa. Pounding it more and more from the inside. The link that forms between them, the kappa's hands gripped against Klein's throat grew stronger and stronger as well.

It is the only thing that stopped Klein's from inserting his whole arm in one go. It is the only tool available for the Kappa to kill Klein.

So, enemies to the death lock their eyes onto each other. A 2.2 meters tall giant atop of a humanoid with turtle-back. The wind breeze blow between them, carrying the dandelions to somewhere far. The grass, soft and a little bit messy from the fight. Cattails moves and frogs ribbits. And the river flows to somewhere. But the pounding never stops, and so does the force being applied on one's throat.

In some morbid sense, it is "Till death do us part."

Klein



"Holy shite," Klein exclaimed after noticing how hard the whatever spell hit him. Despite the spell was like a child pounding his chest, the fact that it dealt a quarter of his health is alarming. Even worse, he didn't do much damage, or any, in return. Perhaps he should just have become range, and just play his comfort role. Like a snake in the grass. Hide all game until the last round and popped up. But, it is too late now.

Giving a glance toward the kappa that was intercepted by Ames, Klein hopes that Amulak could kill it with his next spell. But, if he couldn't, his health bar should be thick enough to survive one hit from the monster. On the other hand, Klein picked a bolt from the ground, courtesy of boomer Raymond, and begin to charge at the spell-caster kappa. He saw Lewd and how the samurai had been holding that stance all this time, even when attempting to approach the spell caster kappa. And Klein's current objective is to give him that window of opportunity. So he charged forward before leaping into the air, both hands on the silver bolts. If he killed it, insane. If he didn't, his objective is complete.
Would you mind dm me the link? The concept sounds very interesting and I want to partake in it if you will have me. @DesperatePerson
What is the most depressing achievement that this/ these civilizations hit/receive/achieve? Did they develop nihilism yet?
Wailist slot 1 claimed by me then, if you allow.
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