The framework of a nation was very much alike to that of a machine: its people the gears and pistons, which, when in motion, released a great rumble, growing stronger in response to the call of war. Francia and all others who considered the continent their home was no different. Five mighty lords spoke to the people, thus — they said that the era of strife would soon be over, for they had achieved what was once thought impossible. They joined hands and signed a lasting oath, a pact, of which would flourish their children and their children’s children in the unknowable tomorrows to come, and so the masses were gathered; and they were given a simple command.

  Toil, children of the land. Labor in the occupations that you excel best. The smithies surged ablaze with forging fire, melting ingots into the weapons and breastplates that would shield their armies from the demons’ reach. Farmers and fishermen harvested their yields, preserving foodstuff and rations that would give their armies sustenance. Even those still yet to become adults found, in their own ways, the subtle means of which they could contribute, by manner of housekeeping, tending to the little ones even younger, or simply with a loving hug and a tender promise. And in doing so they gave their armies the greatest gift of all, the comfort in knowing that home yet awaited their return.

  Yes, everything was for the soldiers soon to march, the brave men and women who volunteered, despite the dangers beyond their border, to raise up arms and join the continent’s first united army. For their foe was a dangerous one. Ten years had those things called demons threatened their peace and safety; Mount Caroline where their vile lord called home loomed in the distance as a foreboding reminder that man needed to be wary, to be fearful. Now was the time for change.

  Thus did the paladins of Emperor Karolus assemble, joined by the Penitents of Lombard, the Crystologists of Moors, the Levantine of Arabia, and the Beastly Brigade of Britannia. These warriors, so different in appearances, nonetheless convened on the edge of the Frank’s westernmost fortress, where stood the last trace of civilization before entering the shrouded, decaying territory of demonkind.

  There, the five mighty lords gathered around the dulled table of swords, of which Lucius so kindly brought with him just for this occasion, and through heated words discussed amongst themselves the best route of attack.

  The Saracens with their knowledge of stealth and reconnaissance had scouted the roads ahead, splitting into small groups and prioritizing survival above all else. Even with their caution, however, they were soon ambushed by a nigh endless swarm of demons, whose hands ripped apart the scouts and dragged them deep beneath the earth. By some small fortune a few survivors escaped. Their reports of favorable paths upon return were understandably bleak, for there existed not a single stretch of the woods leading to the mountain that was spared from the demons’ lurking. Everything from the branches to the roots were corrupted by the unsettling child-like jolly the people had long since come to know.

  It was a strange thing. The demons’ behavior which once showed only mindless aggression and the propensity to spread, to proliferate, was now gone and replaced by a more almost unnerving calm. They strayed no farther from their grounds. Even the attacks once surged against Ruggiero’s fortress, the very one the united army now sat within, had ceased but a month ago.

  Yet the five lords allowed not the demons’ inactivity to fool them. The creatures were quiet now, but whilst in the forest the scouts recounted hearing a faint noise that surrounded them and bloated the air. It was laughter. It was the crazed hums and whispers announcing their liege’s inevitable descent.

  Somewhere, beyond the forest and atop the peak, the Demon King was gaining power. Its minions had stopped their swarm to come, to prostrate, and to bear witness the wicked face of their father on the day it broke free from the mountain’s fetters. The five lords were most appreciative of their alliance now. If they had delayed it any longer, it would have been too late to stop the coming assault. At least now they had the time to plan.

  But plans were meaningless if unable to be enacted. To slay the Demon King they first needed to pass through the demonic woods. That posed a conundrum; upon entering their forces would be surrounded in moments, and it would be unwise to waste precious energy and risk casualties before they even reached the mountain’s base. If they wished to transport the bulk of their forces, unharmed, they needed both speed and decisiveness. They had to rush faster than the demons could chase.

  For that, President Maleficent of the Moors offered the services of her beloved Express Locomotive. Begrudgingly she also agreed to work in tandem with Sir Ruggiero who, with their combined efforts, would clear the path from both land and air. The vehicles weren’t large enough to hold all their soldiers however, which when tallied numbered in the millions, so only those most crucial in assassinating the Demon King should be directed on-board.

  But what of the rest, the common soldiers who formed the base of their army? Their sprint would never be enough to catch up with the locomotive, not without a bit of help at least; and indeed help would come in the form of King Desiderius and his penitents. In return for the Lombards’ vows and pledges of sacrifice, of which had taken their voices and even their sight, Miracles could be made. The Miracle of swiftness, the hastening of steps. The king assured his lordly audience that this Miracle would come to them when beckoned by the penitents’ fervent prayers.

  And so did the meeting come to an end. Each lord departed to their respective quarters, where they and all their soldiers could rest and collect themselves, for at the dawn’s first light the united army’s siege would finally commence.

  Before then though, Lucius hosted a quick tea party with his fellow players, of whom among the hundred that still were alive only ten had the courage to come. The rest stayed at the capital deluding themselves that their participation would matter little, and if they just hid away, pretended that the missions, the system, their new reality was but another fellow’s problem, then they’d survive and one day return to their ordinary life. Yet such naivety was fated to end poorly.

  If not in this world, they would meet their death in another unless they had the strength to take hold of their destiny. Lucius’s companions knew this fact more than any other. It was why Mili, Marco, and Harper willingly resolved to throw themselves into the throes of danger.

  The other trio consisting of Mister Crowley, Miss Enapay, and Miss Rhodes also eagerly joined the siege — they had even come up with a new name for their group: the C.E.R Guild, modeled after each of their last initials. It was a group they hoped to expand into a company someday, one built to help other players get the weapons and armor they needed whilst acting as a high-end supplier, whose items would eclipse the Starlit Shop’s own. Mister Crowley’s inventions and Miss Rhodes’s apparel were to serve as the basis of the business, with Miss Enapay acting both as the muscle and demonstrator of their products.

  It was quite an interesting idea, and Lucius gave them a gentlemanly thumbs up in support. They tried to recruit him and his other companions into the group but alas they refused, for they much preferred moving about as a small tight-knit party than being members of a formal corporation. Lucius didn’t mind either way; he’d do whatever his whims encouraged him to do. Mister Hemingway had refused them as well, which wasn’t much of a surprise considering his propensity for, as he called it, ‘solo hunting’.

  “Wow, it’s really happening, huh?” Mili said, perching atop her seat and gazing somberly out of their room’s window. “We’re finally getting ready to take down that Demon King dude. Not gonna lie it feels kinda weird. We’ve been through so much already, but soon it’ll be over and then it’s… sayonara I guess. We’ll have to say goodbye to everyone.”

  “Yeah, I feel ya.” Marco reclined back, the wrinkles in his face tightening as he reminisced about their adventures. “It’s been one hell of a time. Can’t say Francia’s better than Earth, but I wouldn’t mind stayin’ here if I could, rest my bones. That Karolus kid seems to have a good head on his shoulders. Ain’t many folks got his drive, even full-grown adults. I’m sure he’ll do a good job as emperor, but—”

  “We don’t belong here,” Harper said. She looked at her own firefighter’s outfit, how its bright palette clashed in contrast with her surroundings, as if flaunting that her very existence here was an anomaly, and soon Lucius heard from her uttered lips a sigh that came deep from the heart. “And it’s not like I want it that way, you know? It’s just sometimes when I’m walking around I get this… shock, like a tightness or some kind of repulsion. Whenever I’m starting to get close with the Franks, or start wondering if maybe there’s a chance I could actually stay, it pulls me out like snapping out of a bad hangover. Something about it seems unnatural, but what proof do I have? A gut feeling’s all. Still, I don’t like it. Might be whoever kidnapped us is manipulating our moods, too.”

  >[Virtual Goddess of the Wired says that it’s only natural. Your soul, your very essence, is a foreigner to this dimension. You cannot be rid of your roots no matter how far the System takes you, and it also encourages the players to keep moving and to not be bound by the worlds they’re visiting.”

  >[Sinister Interdimensional Bureaucrat remarks that it’s a useful leash to keep the players focused on their goal. Banal things like attachment or sentimentality will only get in the way of their purpose, and the Star’s employers do not like watching people waste precious company time]>

  >[Number 1 Rated Salesman 1997 cackles to themself and says that an outcast will always be an outcast. Not even the Stars are exempt from that universal law; theirs is an existence that shall never find true belonging]<

  Lucius was quite baffled by his companions’ and the Stars’ words, for never once had he ever felt such a drab thing even after entering this world. He loved the Franks just as he loved those from Earth. He loved how despite being universes apart and coming from such different, distinct cultures, they still bloomed ever so beautifully when watered with tender grace and care. People weren’t so different; if they had emotions, if they could express those complex intricacies that often flustered that which was rational and delighted that which was chaotic, then they were deserving of the gentleman’s love.

  For what else could be more magnificent than conflict born of denial? The denial of truth, the thin line between the rise or the fall. Lucius never grew tired of seeing it, and it would remain that way for however long that he was still him.

  That he was still a gentleman.

  Ah, but enough of his ramblings. With time the two fiery suns above descended from their heavenly thrones, giving way for the onset of night’s glowing green hue. Lucius’s fellows all went off to bed. They needed proper sleep for the big day in the morrow, and as for Lucius… he tucked himself snug and peacefully waited for the hour of six-o-clock to come. That’s right! No midnight escapades this time. He was on his best behavior at the behest of young Karolus who pleaded him not to disturb the other lords.

  “It’s okay to crawl around the castle back at the capital if you want,” the emperor had said to him before. “But I don’t think the other lords will be nice about your, um, visits.”

  Not even when offered the pleasure of a steaming hot cup of tea? Surely not! But the gentleman listened to Karolus nonetheless and remained put. The other lords didn’t have any great struggles in their hearts, anyway, so he had no particular reason to try and water them — can’t grow a seed if it isn’t there to begin with, after all.

  Thus soon came the dawn, and with it the baited breaths of all those resolved to see this future legend be given a happy ending.

  The sound of millions rattled the land, like a shifting earthquake that moved, breathed, stomped in measured beats along the white ashen fields leading to the forest’s border that separated the normal world from the bizarre wonderland of plastic grass and rubber duckies beyond. It was a confusing sight to the natives of this place, utterly incomprehensible, for they had no concept of such things like circuses or the starkly saturated playgrounds that so plagued suburban neighborhoods back on earth.

  So why were they here?

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The answer to that, Lucius would soon find out. He emerged from the fortress’s passages alongside the determined expressions of his fellow players, and he walked to the front, where waited Karolus and the other four lords of the continent. Together they faced their army and they delivered a rousing speech. Each lord had their own way of speaking, of motivating, and to their respective factions the soldiers were of course emboldened by kindred patriotism; but to their surprise, their hearts were stirred alike by the foreign rulers.

  The brigands were spellbound by President Maleficent’s eccentric jeers; the penitents were drawn to the poised and steady cadence of the Saracen’s Emir; the Crystologists nodded their heads along to the blunt and brash behavior of Britannia’s own Widukind. In this moment, these soldiers saw not their different garbs or backgrounds, for they were of the same spirit, united and bound in siblinghood for the sake of a common cause.

  So did the sky tremble under the echo of their vigorous roar. Whether it be with sword, axe, shotel or staff, the alliance’s warriors marched forth and they boldly crossed the demons’ territory, leaving the dirt behind in a mad dash.

  They ran with all the force of their legs. They propelled themselves onward like a bolt through rainy storm and they did not stop regardless how their lungs pleaded or how terrible the pain in their muscles flared. They ran to catch up with the president’s locomotive, of whose passengers contained each nation’s most elite officers: the Peers of Francia, the Judicators of Silent Sorrow, the Levantine Corps Special Operators Unit, the Savage Hounds of Widukind, and the Inventors of Tomorrow.

  In all of Lucius’s time here, he had seen but a small glimpse into the immense powers that made up this continent, those people uninvolved in the system’s missions yet undeniably a living, breathing part of what gave this alternate dimension its own identity.

  Whilst these elites clutched tight their weapons and waited to be unleashed, King Desiderius beckoned his Judicators to gather at the front of the locomotive, where in a macabre ritual they purposely cut their hands on the thorny briar attached to their helms, then they let the blood drip down their masked visages which seeped lower into their skin, drenching their clothes in bright vivid red.

  They spoke not a word, for they couldn’t. They made not a sound for their penance forbade the moving of lips and the whistles of air. Yet, as their own blood flowed ever more, a manifestation of what Lucius could only consider a Miracle was birthed from the puddle of their collective remorse. It could not be described. It had no material form, no physical presence. But still Lucius could feel it. He felt it rising up beyond the locomotive’s walls of steel, and he felt the chill of its boon nestling inside him.

  The Miracle traveled to each and every soul, finding new homes in the space that could not be seen. It spread to those outside, the warriors following on foot, and it lifted them until it was as if they were weightless, and it nudged them with a tenderness of a mother encouraging their child to walk for the first time. So it was that these men and women could momentarily bridge the gap between technology, and their already thunderous stampede grew even wilder.

  This newfound strength would quickly prove of need, for their invasion had alerted the demonic horde.

  From the cracks and crevices below, from the plastic decorations and confetti that littered the forest, they emerged with a jolly cackle: demons, whose shape and form took on hideous appearances the likes of which would drive the ordinary mad and the extraordinary disgusted. Soon a ravenous sea formed from the countless numbers that made up their ranks. It made even the millions of soldiers here seem paltry in comparison, a tiny speck in an ocean of sheer derangement. They were coming. The swarm would swallow all.

  Yet despite their inevitable crash, President Maleficent merely laughed, and she gripped the locomotive’s accelerator, pushing it even harder. “Disgusting little things, aren’t they?” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “Don’t you worry your pretty little heads. My vehicle isn’t flimsy like Atlante’s invention. Mine is of high quality… the best battering ram around.”

  The demons flocked to impede their foe. They pushed against each other, smushing their shells of paper photographs and silly string in a crude jumble that bloated, expanded, into a similar wall the Franks had discovered in the sepulchre’s tomb. Except this time, the demons had finally met their match, for the president’s chariot couldn’t be stopped.

  With the loud shrill of a horn, the locomotive hurtled ahead, and it smashed through the demons’ barrier. Chunks of the nonsensical things flew in every direction as the force opened a path and spearheaded the army’s advance deeper into the demonic thicket. The things had no time to lunge after them. They surrounded the army from all sides, yet even so they couldn’t close the distance. And those who somehow survived the locomotive’s impact soon found their childish bodies carved apart by the soldiers’ blades.

  It was as if the army was a single organism. When one limb moved, hundreds of thousands responded in sync. The head determined their direction; the rest obediently complied.

  But the small, brittle bodies of the demons’ fodder wasn’t all that made up their ranks. In the distance, larger giants rose up and wobbled with disjointed appendages. More, even more, the swarm riled in frenzy by the second, birthing even more dangerous and psychotic creations whose menace was second only to the Great Evils. Some looked like gorged balloons. Others resembled the appearance of various mythical creatures, only twisted and malformed into a crude imitation using glitter and clay.

  “Oh my, that might be a problem,” Maleficent muttered. Her locomotive was indeed impressive, but even with its size and great speed there was no avoiding the strain wrought by the ceaseless swarm charging into the vehicle’s hull. The Inventors of Tomorrow sprang to action and repaired what nicks and tears they could. When the core of the locomotive dimmed from excess stress, they exhausted their stockpile of crystals to keep it running, though their supplies weren’t endless. A clash with the colossal demons would drain the core faster than they could replenish.

  Yet as the things shuffled closer, a glint of something long and snaking flashed past their weighty heads. Thus came soon after the incandescent slash of Ruggiero’s trusty blade, the Balisarda. The Peer and his flying train soared through the sky and engaged every bumbling giant in Maleficent’s path.

  For two long hours they endured the demons’ relentless assault. The horrors witnessed here and the stress of such prolonged defense would no doubt plague the soldiers’ nightmares in the following years to come, yet right now they had not the luxury to even think or feel anything else but rage. That anger, that bloodlust, was what kept them fiercely stubborn. With it, they made greater progress into the region, and soon the high snowy cliffs of the Demon King’s mountain came into their view. It was close. Their destination was in sight.

  But even for a witless race like the demons, they too were capable of change. That these carcasses of blood and flesh managed to intrude on their hallowed playground for this long was, perhaps, what provoked their connected hivemind in perceiving the army with greater threat. Their numbers multiplied faster. Their movements once sluggish now had an erratic burst to them, flailing about in an unsettling manner of which even the Miracle’s blessing of speed could not deter.

  The soldiers had no other choice but to slow themselves and commit to their fight rather than fleeing. It was no different than a death sentence for those left behind, yet Lucius saw no resentment in them, for with their furious wrath they could lend the locomotive an extra second of time. One after another, thousand and then ten more thousand, the army’s formation slowly unwound; and so it was time for another great force to act.

  Lord Widukind and his elites called Savage Hounds picked up their axes and their steel knuckles, and they leapt off the train to support the rear with fending off the insatiable swarm. The brigades of Brittania were already an impressive lot appearance wise with their bulging muscles, but only when given the opportunity to see their prowess firsthand did Lucius understand just how beastlike they truly were. It was like watching a pack of starving dogs mutilate a piece of meat; they ripped and tore and mangled the demons with nothing more than brute strength.

  And as the hours went on, the other factions’ elites were forced to exit the locomotive and contribute as well. The Saracens left as a small, but competent, roaming squadron who focused on taking down the most dangerous of the demons. The Judicators of Silent Sorrow joined the soldiers not long after, for to leave them behind would cause the Miracle’s boon to gradually weaken. Thus the only ones still on-board were the Peers and President Maleficent’s lackeys.

  They were nearly there. The base of the mountain was but another ten minutes away.

  Yet plans often had a way of going awry. President Maleficent felt a disturbance in the locomotive’s movement; it was dragging too much, the noise somewhat different from the pristine shifting gears of before. It sounded blocked.

  Maleficent shoved her head out of the locomotive’s window, only to spy a demon of gum-like consistency sticking to the wheel. Before she knew it the entire frame popped right out alongside the rest of the frontmost wheels, and the locomotive came to a skidding slide as the president used all her power just to keep the giant metal vessel from flipping.

  “Abort, abort!” she yelled, smashing all kinds of buttons and doohickeys. “My poor baby’s going down in flames, and us along with it, unless we get out right now!”

  The president mourned her invention’s death with the same grief of a parent at their child’s memorial, before clasping her hands together and then swan diving out the window with the grace of an olympic athlete. Lucius would have applauded her if not the party’s imminent doom.

  Marco understood the situation the fastest, right after the gentleman, and then wound his fist back before punching an opening through the locomotive’s walls. It took a few tries, the president hadn’t lied about its sturdiness, but eventually the old mobster got the job done and he jumped off with the rest of the players, as well as Karolus and his Peers. With nothing else to guide it, the Express Locomotive turned into a fiery ball of death and crashed into the heart of the swarm before exploding into pieces, the shrapnel taking a sizable chunk of the demons to the grave alongside it.

  Karolus landed on his feet and immediately drew his holy sword. “We’re almost there, Lucius! We’ll have to run the rest of the way there.”

  And run they did, only now the penitents were too far behind for the Miracle to settle in. They’d have to reach the mountain’s base the old fashioned way.

  Sir Roland, Angelica, Bradamante, and Astolfo pressed their backs together while diverting the majority of the demons’ attention away from Lucius’s group. It was nigh impossible to make their figures out anymore. Corpses of monsters piled high around them, with only the Peers’ faint grunts of battle to slowly fade from earshot as Karolus and the players advanced, legs burning, with swishing blades tearing apart untold waves of their frantic, giddy foes. Lucius did his best to protect his fellows but even his dandy footwork wasn’t enough to cover everyone. Rather than wasting their energy on this fruitless task, it’d be better for them to lose their pursuers ahead, where ended the forest’s boundary.

  “That’s… a cave? I think we found the entrance, guys!” Mili yelled as she blasted vast hordes of demons with her electric bolts. “None of these creeps are going inside it. If we can just make it there somehow, then—agh! This is really annoying.”

  “Sorry kid, it’s hard to cover ya with these damn things houndin’ me every second,” Marco winced, bashing every demonic head he could get his hands on.

  Perhaps if the party stalled long enough, then the army at the rear would eventually catch up to them, but how long would that take? Perhaps with Karolus’s strength it was a possibility… yet when faced against such innumerable numbers the players would only be holding the emperor back from unleashing his full strength. Rather than worry over protection, Karolus should concentrate solely on taking down as many as the fiends he can. Thus Lucius was left with one entertaining course of action left.

  The players, alone, would confront the Demon King first. Maybe inside they might find a way to quell the demons’ continuous spawn; it was only a theory, but one also worth taking the risk to attempt.

  Karolus seemed opposed to the plan at first, but thankfully Lucius’s past exploits assured the young emperor that he’d be okay.

  “Are you really sure about this, Lucius?” he asked. “I don’t know what you’ll see in there. It’s better if we wait until everyone else arrives, but…”

  “But if there’s any possibility of stopping the swarm, then we must do so as soon as possible, no?”

  Karolus sighed. “I guess you’re right. Okay, be safe in there.”

  The emperor raised his holy sword and concentrated his light into a growing arc of light. With a swing, he unleashed it upon the demons blocking the mountain’s entrance and watched as it razed through them. The players didn’t waste time and quickly followed after it, sprinting past the still-recuperating swarm until, at last, they dashed inside and away from the demonic flood only a few paces away. As predicted not one of the things chased after them. They were too busy lunging after Karolus, but Lucius wasn’t worried; for in all the land there likely existed no other more powerful than he was at this very moment.

  The strength to protect that which was dear, the future of his ideal world.

  “Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit… that sure was one hell of an experience,” Mister Hemingway said, rubbing his aching back. “You got anything for light, Nick? Can’t see a dang thing in here.”

  The bomberman raised his brow, as if insulted, and then reached into his bag before pulling out a multitude of high-powered flashlights. “Of all the things I can make, this is probably the easiest.”

  Miss Rhodes laughed and smacked his shoulder. “Easy ain’t always mean bad, sugar. Sometimes bein’ mighty convenient’s all ya really need in life.”

  With everyone else gone, the party was reduced to eight. Was it a coincidence that only the players had somehow made it here first? Perhaps it was fate, or maybe the system’s intervention, a little nudge to ensure the story woven into this world went as planned.

  Whatever the reason, it changed not their objective. The players readied their equipment and then delved into the darkness of the mountain’s eerie base.

  When they walked farther in, however, they heard something quite strange. It was a sound one would never expect from a place like this: so pained, vulnerable, uniquely human.

  Yes, it was the sound of someone crying.

  The Esteemed Gentlepeople of the , to whom I am forever grateful.