FOR THEY CANNOT DIE ANYMORE, BECAUSE THEY ARE EQUAL TO ANGELS.

[cccorp]

Today, the canals of Mac Anu flow as gentle as they always do, gondolas drifting lazy through the paths of sunlight cut bright across the water. Shops and vendors line the stonework streets along the waterways, a general murmur of NPCs circulating through their preprogrammed business keeping Mac Anu, as always, feeling maybe a little more alive than a real city.

There is one particular bridge that nearly every player's taken at least once, because it connects to a great many other places of interest, and it's wide enough for easy travel. Besides, with the professions update, they've put a fishing spot on the other side of it. NPCs with fishing rods litter the spot in alternating shifts, their laughter mingling with the calls of shopkeeps advertising cheap prices for some simple plants to get started crafting with, and the clink of forks and plates at a restaurant nearby, its customers singing the chef praises.

Below the bridge, a gondolier passes, humming, his gondola drifting along its circuit through the canals, his tune in rhythm with the passing conversation. As he comes out from under it and sails further away, he glances up at the bridge, as if he were expecting something, and he seems to see it. His gaze remains fixed there until, eventually, the water takes him out of sight again.

Today, you might notice that at the base of this bridge, just before your feet, is a red sort of smear.

A little further down the bridge, about a fourth of the way along it, is a person collapsed on the ground. The red trails to him, fallen forward.

You see upon approaching his hand grasping at his throat at the singularly cut sliced deep into his neck. His one good eye wide and unblinking, he is—among all the laughter and conversation on either side of the bridge; in the shadow of the clock tower, which stands a silent witness, the sun at its back—no longer breathing, his body cool to the touch.

Perhaps this could be considered a kindness: for one who failed, time and time and again, to grasp the desire to live, maybe he found some suggestion of it in his last moments, his hand at his throat, his palm smeared with dried blood, a curious anomaly in the deathless Mac Anu. Fragment had, after all, taught him a great many things. Should he not be grateful for one more, no matter how permanent the lesson?

Mithrun is dead.

Comments

[tylorific]

[ There are more jokes he could make.

On any other day with almost any other person, he would have.

But not today, and not with Vogel. So Tylor's response is soft, like the hand that reaches to pat Vogel's (bloody???) hair ]

Thanks. You're a nice guy, Chef.

[ But his hold is, as always, easily broken by those in it. Especially in a dangerous place like a dungeon.

Down goes a dark horse, phantom wings channeling a wind attack from afar. But they've time. Slivers of it before they have to fight in earnest. ]

Ohh, nice job! I didn't even hear that one coming.

[insinning]

[ He lets Tylor ruffle his hair - despite the blood, it's still very soft and fluffy - but there are things they need to do first]

I've gotten used to their patterns, I think. They're the type to ambush.

[Sinclair can tank it. He can tank a lot of things. Tylor doesn't need to carry all on his own. His polearm goes swinging again into a triple wield - and that damn whistle.

But Mithrun isn't here to hold him back and Oria isn't here to remind him how to keep his feet grounded. So he'll have to fight through this on his own. For Tylor's sake, if not his own.]

[tylorific]

[ Tylor, oblivious to the seriousness of what Vogel is working through but no less sincere, attempts to tug him one last time in the lull between attacks. To get him to look at Tylor. With his big dumb smile, warm as it is, he's fully distracted. ]

And hey, you're strong enough. I bet you can carry it.

[ But the phantom wings are long range and Tylor playfully shoves Vogel away from the wind that whips towards them. He'll step back in time too.

And for this last fight, he switches to his special level 25 set, inky black armor with pin pricks like stars that glow brightly in the dark. It makes it easier to spot just how many flying creatures had positioned themselves around the two of them. ]

[insinning]

[He glances up, distracted--ah.

And then they're fighting again, an odd dance against razor winds as he swings around with his polearm, sharp and deadly. It's easier to see now, and Sinclair goes in with a Piercing Heaven to knock one Dark Horse into the roof.

They'll be done soon]

[tylorific]

[ Tylor's gotten used to this, on so many runs. So many he took just for naps or test something out. Which means anyone that never saw the number of dungeons where he fell or joked about the sentience of the monsters they fight --or let the swarms attack him because he didn't know what his other skills did, might see someone who at least knows how to play the game by the seat of their starry armor pants.

He can hold his own, though he noticeably takes more damage in this armor than his last. He still does enough damage that given time, he will win by default in the end. What makes up for it especially is that he has level 50 thunder element attacks. Not to mention that he is also a thunder element adept rogue fighting dark element monsters. There was no being defeated here.

If Vogel's side isn't clear by then (since Tylor probably does more damage??) he'll turn to join him with a pause and a questioning look that follows Vogel a moment. It asks whether Vogel wants to carry this last small burden alone or not. ]

[insinning]

[Sinclair finishes shortly after Tylor - Tylor had more output in power and attack, but eventually, Sinclair catches up. He nods at Tylor, smiling uncertainly]

Thanks.

[For letting him carry the burden too]

[tylorific]

Oh, sure. But I knew you could do it.

[ This time it is a playfully pat on the bloody shoulder. There is only brief surprise, like he forgot the stuff was there, before his smile is back.

And then comes the alert that they've cleared the dungeon. He beams down at Vogel, free hand up for a high five. It will linger a beat, at least until the goblin shows up and distracts him soon after. He looks at it, slightly squinting like he can sense the bad vibes from here. ]

Huh, have you ever seen that one before?

[insinning]

No, I haven't. This is--

[He stops, and that's enough for the goblin because--

"INITIATE STANDARD GREETING. APPLY "BUFF": 2904JOIJROI390JRJOI. FAREWELL."

That's.

Not normal. He begins to shiver all over again]

...a glitch.

[They're removed from the dungeon soon after, before Sinclair can reach for his pole arm and take back]

[tylorific]

Alright! We found one!

[ But he says it so loud and happy that he winces at the pain in his head after, looking over just in time to notice Vogel shivering. And then he shivers.

Oh no. ]

Aw man, why'd we have to get one like that?

[ Like it's the hardest thing he's ever forced himself to do (it's not)-- ] Ready to try again?

[insinning]

Ugh...I think we need to document it first. Send a glitch report in, but...

[He's checking the time. Oh. He...he needs to do something very important]

...let's get some rest. We'll see if anything else results in the same thing.

[His head hurts so much he can barely think]

We'll try other keywords.

[tylorific]

Sure, that's a good idea.

[ He slumps over more, hands kneading his poor head. ]

I'm ready. When, you are.

[insinning]

...get some rest, okay?

[His voice catches on the words, but he has to press on. He reaches up and touches Tylor's hands]

...we can't convince Mithrun to look after himself when we can't do that for ourselves.

[tylorific]

But. We can't. Not while we can't remind him to eat. Or sleep.

[ Pained sounds, the source settling behind his eyes when he looks over to Vogel at the touch. ]

Do you think he's drinking enough water?

[insinning]

...there are people who love him. Even if he doesn't know it. So, yes. Someone to peel his mandarins too.

[Small things. Important things. He unequips his armor, replacing it for starting event skin from the beginning of the game. It doesn't feel right to hug Tylor again without changing his clothes. Tylor is a good person. He doesn't need to be stained in blood. And then he pulls Tylor into a hug]

[tylorific]

Oh, he knows I do.

[ Tylor says it into the hug, relaxing save for the recurring shiver. ]

It's just my head though. So don't worry. This glitch is the worst, right now.

[insinning]

[He swallows. Mithrun knew...of course he did, in that strange oblique way]

Mm. Get some rest, and when our heads feel better...we can work on this glitch too.

[tylorific]

[ Tylor's pulling away, and Vogel with along with him if he allows it.

If not, he still wobbles back to the spot where the cream puffs and whiskey remain untouched. From gate to his post. This, this is where he chooses to rest.

The pain, the way he fights it with a clenched a jaw, finally starts to get to him. As if it will help, he takes a swig of his own drink. Sake, from the bottle. ]

Just until, I can. Think of words.

[insinning]

[...grief would kill you, if you let it.

It would tear and tear until there was nothing left.

But Sinclair wont deny Tylor from that today. So he steps forward, sets down a peeled mandarin at the creampuff platter, avoiding Hien's watchful gaze and straightens]

...tomorrow. I'll come back tomorrow too.

[tylorific]

See you then.

[ It sounds as cheerful as humanly possible for Tylor right now. His gaze falls to the mandarin offering, but he can't manage more than a little smile right now. He hates pain. So he'll just slump over and sleep right here.

Tylor gives Vogel and Hien a thumbs up from the ground. ]

Thanks. We'll get him more peeled fruit, next time.