"Goodbye Curly Head"

"The Ghost Has No Home"

A tower stood tall amidst the apocalyptic desert. A tower of rock and stone, of metal and gears, of trust and one common goal in mind.

To resolve the devils’ never ending case.

To bring peace and prosperity, to rebuild what was continuously taken, over and over again, taken from the righteous inhabitants and spat on by forces far beyond human understanding. Forces that brought nothing but chaos, broke the nation, threw it to its knees and ruled with fists of iron. 

Even after the destroyers had left, after the mist had already long gone and dissipated, the devils’ freedom remained nothing but a fleeting dream. A memory torn apart by the good neighbors next door - with hounds of iron, crystals of ill death and oceans of steel, they conquered and conquered, leaving nothing but an empty wasteland behind.

And now, that there is nothing but pain and misery coursing through this land of old’s veins, what do we do? What could we possibly do other than stand from our knees and deliver one final, mighty blow to the aggressors’ throats? With our hands tied, but our fangs bared, we shall rise from the shadows and never again cower in fear. We shall show them what the sarkaz really are - hounds of war, not obedient sheep, gleefully lowering our heads to bare our necks for the guillotine. Never again shall we lose this land we walk upon, the land which born and raised a nation of those who step up against all that try and take it. It is every devil’s duty to stand proud and serve the land, as it has served us for centuries and WILL continue doing so for centuries to come. We are NOT swine for the slaughter. We are THE SLAUGHTERERS.

“... It’s kinda convincing.”

“Right? That’s what they teach at some schools these days, y’know? Not that I’d know, I got my diplomas in Kazimierz.”

With the twin moons smiling upon the travelers far below, their footsteps echoed through the calm night, slithering amidst the endless forest, a stage play of moving shadows, a cacophony of noises and smells. Three… Or maybe four lost souls moved past the tangled roots, the unmoving green giants, their way led by nothing but the skittish stars above. A jolly butcher, a massive heap of iron, a madwoman and a lost, confused soul, constantly balancing on a fence to the reaper’s backyard.

Andy kept dragging the passed out girl, having long abandoned the bag of cash. Upon asking the newly met Newmaker to carry it, he politely refused without a further explanation other than “It’s blood money, can’t dirty my hands with that” and a wide smile.

“Kazimierz? Never been. How was it?”

“Oh, amazing! Beloved uni years, you know? Uri, remember that Major fiasco? Yeah, when we got banned from ever participating again. Oh, lovely times…”

The set of armor kept dragging behind the three, letting out soft creaks and sounds of metal grinding. 

“And Babel?”

He’s heard of the name before, sure. It’d be difficult to engage in a conflict without even knowing the two main opposing sides. As far as he was concerned, they were the supposed “good guys.”

“Babel? Babel is… It is, that’s for sure. A harbor for every lost stray to moor freely and stick around, fight for something they think is right.”

The boy frowned.

“And you? You don’t think it’s right?”