Hello fellow humans.
I am, fortunately or unfortunately, back. Without further rambling (since there’s going to be a lot of it below anyway), here’s what we’ve been listening to this week.
Hello fellow humans.
I am, fortunately or unfortunately, back. Without further rambling (since there’s going to be a lot of it below anyway), here’s what we’ve been listening to this week.
A chapter had ended, and everyone had fled the courtroom, even the Kristians Gray who had previously held Prakash and Noir captive. A wall from the courtroom bulged inward into the court, exploding into a cascade of bricks. The Colossal Titan – er – Sveer had disintegrated a wall by the mere swing of an arm.
Prakash did not know what to feel. On one hand, his favourite fictional characters was real. On the other hand it was not the same colour he had thought it would be. It was grey.
Also, it was trying to kill him, which was pretty bad.
Also his right hand was 50% rope but that was a non-issue at the moment.
Don Nought Sveer, the Heck King Titan, had finally decided to make an appearance after being teased for three chapters. And he had awoken to a lot of bad words. He opened his mouth and complained as loudly as he could.
Prakash soaked the self of Sveer all in – the tall, muscular, skinless form; the power that had now all but destroyed half of the gigantic courtroom; the mouth hanging open but producing no sound-
Oh, wait. Prakash felt blood trickling from his ears. Sveer’s roar had turned him deaf. Regrow! Regrow, God damage it!
The ears regrew, and made him regret it. The titan was awfully loud. Prakash looked all around the decrepit landscape and found who he was searching for. Noir was also bleeding from his ears. His black clothes were all torn up, and his entire body had cuts. Prakash wondered – could Noir recover from all this damage as well?
A blue gob of saliva missed Prakash and Noir, hitting the courtroom wall behind them and slowly corroding it. Prakash stood there, horrified. The gob of saliva was brimming with photoshopped nature images and a horde of emojis. “Shit, he’s using Good Morning Messages!” The air around Noir turned colourful for the sake of consistency. It was only then that Prakash realised they were neck-deep in faeces. A powerful titan with stone-melting saliva was trying to kill them in a land where swearing turned you into a Pride flag. He looked at Noir. Time for you to be a good sidekick.
Chapter 3, line 67…
Not now, mysterious voice!
Prakash turned towards Noir. “Noir!” Noir turned his head. So that means he’s not deaf. He can recover. He asked Noir, “Tell me how to beat him!” Prakash had to practically shout it – the weather had suddenly decided to become stormy and windy to lend atmosphere to the boss fight.
“We can’t!” Noir shouted matter-of-factly.
“What?!” Prakash could hear Noir loud and clear, he was just shocked. Good job, Captain Obvious!
Noir shouted, “I had a plan; you kind of ruined it by getting your arm cut off!”
“That was totally not my fault!” It was. Frustrated, Prakash shouted, “Look, are you going to help me or not?” He heard a very large rustling sound behind him. Like the marching of randomly spawned enemies in an RPG. He looked behind, as did Noir. The storm had turned very strong, and all around the destroyed courtroom, numerous grey-clothed soldiers were being spawned in teams of four – A guy with a torch, two swordsmen, and an archer who held his bow by the string.
“At least we don’t have to worry about the archers!” Noir said. The archers promptly took out their daggers.
“Run!” said Prakash, and started running. Noir yanked and threw him to the side. “Ow! Dude! Are you trying to kill me?”
Noir looked really indifferent. “Prakash, I literally ripped your spinal cord out and you were OK. A concussion wouldn’t kill you.” Prakash could not argue with that. “In fact, even the daggers wouldn’t kill you. I should’ve used you as a shield.” That was just mean. “You’re like a shitty Deadpool.”
“Hey!” Prakash complained. “You’re not allowed to make references!”
“Of course. That’s what offends you.”
Prakash decided he would deal with Noir later. “Look, I can’t deal with you right now. You said I could take on the daggers and still be fine-”
Prakash frowned. “I didn’t finish.”
“Oh, you’re thinking about fighting these people head on because you think you have infinite regeneration. So even if they injure you, you’ll just regrow your body parts and attacks.”
“Last time you tried to do that you had your hand chopped off and it didn’t grow back for one average chapter. Also you don’t have any weapons. Also they can technically kill you.”
“Well, last time you didn’t help me!”
“I still won’t help you. I’m faithful, not suicidal.”
Prakash thought a little. “Can I command you to be temporarily suicidal?”
Prakash was thoroughly annoyed. “You’re the worst sidekick ever!” The Kristians Grey were still closing in. Don Nought Sveer was just flailing about vomiting blue everywhere. Why isn’t anyone attacking-
Chapter 3, line 67…
Alright, you pre-recorded bitch. What do you want?
The voice was… pleased? Chapter 3, line 67…
Prakash was intrigued. Chapter 3 of what? Then suddenly, Noir lifted him and pushed him against the fallen wall they were taking cover behind. “Stop spacing out!” he shouted to the dazed Prakash. A soldier swung his sword high up.
“I know!” The sword swung down.
Noir did not dodge. Blood sprayed behind his back. Prakash averted his eyes and shouted as loud as he could. “Don’t look!”
“I don’t want to! How did this story turn so dark suddenly?!” Prakash nearly avoided the wooden extreme of a bow. Even the archers are attacking? He focused back. Hey, voice, no games! What line are you talking about? Quick?
Chapter 3, line 67… It was trying really hard.
Oh, come on… He let Noir drag him to an escape route.
Sidekick… chapter 3, line 67…
Prakash looked up – and had difficulty. There was blood covering his eyes. There was blood covering Noir too. “Noir…”
“No time, Prakash! We stop, we literally die! We won’t even finish a chapter arc!” A giant grey hand slapped itself down right in front of them, and they experienced a mini-earthquake. “Oh, now’s the time you step in, asshole!”
They were surrounded. Noir was badly hurt. Prakash’s hand was a rope. Even the archers were attacking them. Titan Sveer had raised his foot, preparing to squash them both. He had to at least try. “What’s chapter 3, line 67?”
Time slowed. Noir’s eyes glowed. “Prakash’s body became a rainbow lightsaber. T minus 8 minutes.”
“I… how do I turn into a lightsaber?”
“Through a Plothole. Singing Eminem’s raps is the highest level of treason in Heck. T minus 8 minutes.”
“But I can’t rap like Eminem! I don’t even know the lyrics-” Jets of light shot out of Noir’s eyes. He was trying to project lyrics.
Prakash began reading. “I’m beginning to feel like a rap god-” He stopped out of realisation as well as the burning pain that the Holy String of Autocorrect was causing him. “I’m supposed to do Rap God? Like Eminem? With this… this noodle in my arm?” The Holy String of Autocorrect was offended.
Noir looked at him, right into his eyes. “Initiating synchronisation. T minus 7 minutes.”
“Noir! My eyes are burning! Look away! Look awa-” Prakash lost control.
“I’m beginning to feel like a rap god, rap god
For my people from the front to the back now, back now-”
Prakash’s arm was smoldering. He was furiously changing colour.
“Now who thinks their arms are long enough to slap box, slap box
They say I rap like a robot so call me rap bot-”
His hand was literally on fire. Words spewed off of his mouth. His whole body was shining. Right forearm burning. He had lost all control. He felt nauseous. His palms were sweaty. Knees weak, arms are heavy, there’s vomit on his sweater already, Mom’s spaghetti-
He began shrinking. His legs turned to metal. The Holy String of Autocorrect evaporated as Prakash’s arm and his whole body turned into pure, destructive energy. Sick my duck, you ropy peninsula! Prakash felt like something was off. Oh, shirt! Gosh dam autocorrect! I’ll get your ash later! For now, Prakash was free-
“T minus 1 second.”
Prakash shot towards Noir.
Noir was having a mixture of a bad trip and his worst hangover. I’ve been drunk?
Oh, nonononono. Don’t trick me into doing a backstory.
Prakash had disappeared, there were halves of Kristians Gray lying everywhere, and Don Nought Sveer was nursing a very holey arm. And Noir had a lightsaber. It was rainbow coloured. And it was talking. “Wow, man! You’re, like, a Jedi! Except you kill people!”
It was not helping Noir’s case. Although to be fair, the Kristians Gray that Noir had apparently halved looked… hollow. Oh, right, they were randomly spawned enemies. This is a boss fight. Speaking of… Then he looked above and saw. Don Nought Sveer looked at his palm, now holeless. He had healed. He swung his head towards Noir. And he was very, very angry. Noir kept standing where he was. In the numerous Convenient Timespans he had lived, every time he had helped a standard character, he had always avoided direct conflict with this Mad Titan. But now, things were different.
He had a fucking lightsaber now.
“Hell yeah, Noir! Let’s do this shit!”
Glowing as iridescent as the lightsaber itself, Noir rushed at the screaming titan.
“You look tense.”
“You can’t see me,” said John Cena and Prakash.
Noir did not spend time trying to find John Cena – he was obviously invisible. “You sound tense, though.”
Prakash said gravely, “Might have something to do with me losing my arm.”
Oh, that’s why he’s so sad. “Don’t worry, it’ll grow back eventually.” Prakash was more worried about Noir’s sudden inability to sense sarcasm than the inconsistency of his regeneration abilities; he had rather not have regrown his smell nerves inside a prison cell. He didn’t exactly like the smell of life imprisonment.
Prakash and Noir held the jail bars idly with both hands.
Not Prakash though.
They could expect no mercy from their two cell guards – Torchy Guy and Bad Archer. I swear these guys will pay for my arm. Sadly, Heck City had not developed prosthetics yet. Not pay for an arm, it’s ‘pay for my arm’-
“Prakash”, Noir said firmly, “the story has sped up. Look.” Looking up, he saw two grim men approach and dissolve the walls of the jail cell. “Your hearing is now”, they said together, and attempted to handcuff the two. “You can’t handcuff me!” taunted Prakash. He was duly tied up instead.
Then he noticed – it was not just the cell walls that were dissolving – the whole prison was dissolving –
And morphing into a beautiful, decorated room. Prakash thought it had the vibes of a museum. The gathering of people, the pole in the middle of the room, the fresco on the ceiling depicting a man being butchered by soldiers-
“Wait, that’s not very museum like.” Suddenly, Prakash was forced towards the pole in the middle of the courtroom by Torchy guy, and was tied up against it, while Noir just stood behind with the other three soldiers. Why isn’t Noir being brought forward? Prakash thought, smelling fish. It’s all too suspicious. It was – especially the fact that he was literally smelling fish.
Prakash’s nose was assaulted by more tuna smells when the announcers proclaimed the entrance of the presiding judge. A hulking man, dressed all in drab grey sheets. He sat down behind the massive oak desk, looking down at Prakash with indifference – like a main character treats his supporting team in a kids novel. Then it was announced – the name of this beast of a man. The Commander of the Kristians Grey… Zackley.
“Wait, isn’t that the guy who presides over Eren’s trial in An Attack on Titan-”
This is no time for anime, Prakash!
“Fine! Jesus Christ-” Oh, no! I swore!
However, the courtroom did not glow up with fairy lights. It was otherwise very colourful, with all the paintings. Also, a stabbing pain shot up in his arm, as if it was being… cut off.
Zackley merely smiled. “I see you like saying Boo-boos.” His smile turned sadistic. “The rope you’re tied up with is the Holy String of Autocorrect. Any time you utter a Boo-boo, it… corrects you. It works really ducking well.
“Now,” Zackley continued, “Let’s move on with the trial-”
A single, sword-like voice cut Zackley off like slicing through an arm. “Objection, your Honour.”
Zackley and Prakash turned to look at the source of the voice – Noir. “You… have an objection to me starting the trial?”
Noir smiled a sharp, edgy smile. He looked daggers at Zackley, and started making a point. “Yes. You need to know the full truth before this trial is to begin.”
Zackley leaned forward in his chair. Prakash’s limbs tingled with anticipation and possibly from the restriction of blood inside them. He had been bound up for quite some time now. Prakash mouthed to Noir, hurry up and do whatever you’re trying, or I’ll lose the rest of my limbs as well!
Noir was confused as to why Prakash was rabidly chewing on empty air. He turned to Zackley, and said, “This case is beyond your jurisdiction. Only the Heck King himself can preside on this trial.”
Zackley looked absolutely shocked – as if his arm had been twisted by an unknown force.
The arm slicing joke is getting kind of repetitive.
Before Zackley could say anything, however, Noir spoke again, “This man’s crime is not as simple as a misplaced swear word, your Honour.”
“Actually we take that pretty seriously. We used to execute people for that.”
“Glad you changed that law,” Prakash muttered, smelling burning hair. He finally gave up on trying to figure out his new sense of smell.
“Now we just cut off both their hands.”
Fucking great- The Holy String of Autocorrect ‘corrected’ Prakash with arm-chopping pain. Noir did not look fazed in the least. Prakash would have thought Noir was working on a plan, but from the direction his speech was headed, he was likely throwing him under the bus.
“This person, this man named Prakash,” Noir said with the surety of a blade swinging through the air, “his biggest crime is not his swearing. No, it’s the mere fact that he exists.”
Prakash’s body hair was singed from the sick burn Noir had delivered. Even the crowd started laughing, more out of their irrelevance to the chapter than the burn.
But Noir did not stop. “His existence is a crime, for he is no mere mortal – he is a standard character.”
The whole courtroom fell silent. The kids actually looked disgusted. “This one-armed dude?” one of them said.
Prakash was so offended by that he forgot Noir had just exposed him. However, something was wrong. He had expected people to laugh at that, mock him, ridicule him, but none of that happened. Instead, everyone was staring at him. Or rather, his right arm.
His arm that had been chopped off.
His arm which this chapter has referenced so many times.
That arm had been healed.
And it was horribly mangled and mixed with the rope that was binding him there.
Prakash swore so much after that that the rope failed to ‘autocorrect’ him. Suffice it to say, he seemed like a rainbow sun at the moment.
As Prakash stopped being a disco ball, Zackley cried, “Great! Now I’m half-blind!”
“Just retire already!” Prakash could give fewer fricks about the commander’s condition.
And the very next moment, the ceiling collapsed. A shower of painted stones fell all around Prakash. It was almost as if the painted fresco ceiling had uttered an expletive, and now the land of Heck was punishing it by scattering its colourful remains all around.
Then he got hit in the eye by a falling chip and all that philosophy went out the ceiling hole.
In that moment of terror, as people panicked, as people stampeded towards the courtroom door – although only the ceiling directly over Prakash had fallen – Prakash looked up at the dull grey face that stared at him through the hole in the ceiling, with its dull grey eye.
Prakash and Noir looked towards each other, realising who that grey face belong to.
Noir said, “Heck King Don Nought Sveer!”
Greyface said, “Hecking do not swear!”
Prakash said, “The Colossal Titan!”
The mysterious voice said, to be continued…
Prakash had never seen more cows and dung present or used in one place than in the City of Heck. And he was literally an Indian. Hmm, Prakash thought, amused, am I getting a backstory?
Prakash held back a tear as he looked around to examine the city: the houses had dung walls, the bridges had dung bricks, the river had dung fish. The last one could have been faeces.
Prakash voiced the obvious to Noir, “How come this place doesn’t smell of dung?”
Noir looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
Prakash raised an eyebrow of his own. “By now, the smell should be enough to destroy my nose… Oh.” That was when Prakash realised his olfactory nerves had been destroyed. “Oh, god d…dung it! How am I ever going to smell again?”
“Just regrow your smell nerves later.”
Prakash frowned to display Noir’s not-make-sensement.
Noir explained, “Standard characters are allowed to regrow each and every part of their body.”
“Yes.You could cut yourself in half and still regenerate.”
“Which half regenerates, though? And who exactly allows us to just regrow like that?”
“No one tried to know that, and no one tried to know that.”
“Then why did you say it?!”
“Hey, you don’t have to sound so betrayed. You didn’t plan on trying that, did you?”
Prakash just stared at Noir before he realised he was not. Probably. It sounded like an interesting thing to try, though. “So, what’s the maximum damage you’ve seen a standard character recover from?”
“Complete regrowth of the spinal cord.”
“Huh. I wonder how someone lost their spinal cord in the first place.”
Noir remained silent. Prakash goaded him as the duo reached a street branching into a lot of alleys. “I really would like to know what required a complete regrowth of a spinal cord.” Noir was still silent. Prakash stopped the black-clad boy, dragged him into an alley and looked him in the eye. At least he thought he did, the alleys were pretty dark. “What’s up, Noir?”
“Oh, nothing much, just strolling through Heck. What about you?”
Prakash gave him the serious look before realising it was too dark for looks. He tried serious voicing him instead. “Noir.”
Noir spoke hesitantly, “Heck Ticks infect people by binding to the spinal cord.”
“…and this is relevant how?”
“Because that’s what happened on the Blue Mood Plains.”
“When you pulled that tick off of me?”
“Actually I pulled out your spinal cord with it.”
“Don’t freak out, man. I’ve done this before.”
“That’s even worse!”
“I don’t think so. It grows back most of the time.”
Suddenly, Prakash became aware of the light that was coming from the mouth of the alley. There they stood, in their iron chain mail and drab skirts; the elite force of Heck City — the Kristians Gray. One of them held a torch in his hand while two had their grey swords out. Another manhood a dagger up in the air, aimed at Noir – no, Prakash – no —
The dagger flew from the hand of the man — an archer.
It struck something living and turned it into something non-living. It was then that the torch wielder spoke in a menacing voice, “It’s good that we took care of that…genimal for you, citizens.” He held the torch closer to his face so that his eyes glistened as much as his sweaty face. “You do know what a genimal is capable of, don’t you?”
Prakash was really concerned for the grey guy. “I think you should put that torch away. You’re sweating a lot.”
The grey guy frowned and scowled. “What do you mean ‘you should put that torch away. You’re sweating a lot.’?”
Noir whispered, “Careful , Prakash. These men are suspicious.”
No shit, Prakash thought, Torchy Guy even got my punctuation right. It was then that he noticed that the light from the torch had gown awfully bright. And iridescent. Oh, no. Prakash’s body became a rainbow lightsaber.
Noir fake cursed. “Did you just think a swear word?”
“Yes! Very helpful observation, Sherlock!”
“My name’s Noir!” The Kristians Gray closed in around them slowly. “Alright, they have their weapons out. Crouch. Quick.”
Prakash crouched. So this is it, he thought. My first fight of the series.
“We surrender,” Noir spoke.
“What?! No!” Prakash was baffled by Noir’s cowardice. Surely, between the two of them, they could take on a guy with a burning stick, two swordsmen, and an archer who was holding his bow by the string. OK, they did have a chance with the archer.
Nevertheless, Prakash tensed up. He studied the four men. They were within an arm’s reach now. A swordsman approached. Prakash jumped.
And got his right arm chopped off.
“OW! Ow! How does this work? I’m the main character!” He doubled over, holding the rapidly bleeding wound. “And you guys aren’t even major villains!”
LOL, said a mysterious voice.
You’re getting seriously annoying, you disembodied dick! Prakash thought, glowing again, and still tried to look around for the source of the voice. As he did so, he saw Torchy Guy coming towards where he lay, still carrying the torch in his hand. He spoke, his voice still menacing. “That’s what you get for attacking four men-” -he paused and smiled- “-unarmed.”
The last thought that escaped Prakash’s brain before losing consciousness was a mere curiosity. What’s a genimal anyway?
I wonder what it feels like to be one of the feeders. Mindless and numb, devouring and destroying everything in my path. Having so little life left that my skin held no warmth. Just cold blood and a colder fate. Old tales would talk about monsters that devoured and heroes that saved. They sure as fuck hadn’t seen what real monsters were like. Couldn’t even imagine the blurred lines between their monsters and the heroes of the day.
I race past the flashing lights and glowing neon of the inner city to the dingy outskirts. The Redwoods. The poverty and pain of the inner city looks like a palace compared to this place. The houses lie in ruins here, all the remaining inhabitants whisked away into little compartments in the refugee centre. Well. Almost all.
Over a year ago, this place was full of families and small businesses. Then came the largest attack of the Feeders I had seen. Twenty nine people died before the radar had relayed the message to me. I remember fighting them off, hoards of them. They can’t be tracked thermally. The only way is to look for dying humans. I was there for 19 hours. I used 74 cartridges. The death toll is at 87 right now.
I got most of them out. Safer in the city with the watchdogs lurking about. Some stayed back. Called it home. I just added them to the toll. Save all those you can, The Creator had told me. What if they did not want to be saved? Could I save them then?
The radar points me to a house with broken windows. There are thermal trails around it, leading down the street. It is still fresh. I follow them, my pulsar loaded and ready to shoot. Always been thankful to the ammo lady for her goods. The trail leads to an unkempt yard in front of a white house and then, they stop. Disappear.
Trails never stopped abruptly. Not even with death, fading hours after rigor mortis took place. Feeders carry the heat of their victims until they ingest them. Perhaps this is why they feed on us. To get a little sense of being alive.. This, however, is something I have never seen before. I slow down.
There is a crash in the house. I approach slowly, quietly opening the broken door. There are no heat trails here. It can only be a feeder inside. I walk into the ruined living room, full of broken glass and overturned furniture. There is a thump above me. I climb the stairs cautiously, my pulsar pointed out. I reach the top and stop.
The feeder turns to me and I can feel my blood run cold. Not at the sight of its ungodly form; to that I have been immune for long. The feeder is long and sinuous, its skinless flesh dripping with slime. It is not its grotesque form that leaves me still. There is an Implant embedded in its arm. A citizen’s profile appears on my Netscreen. Prakash Noir. 37 years old. Resident of No. 427, Redwood.
Prakash woke up to an expanse of blue meadows that stretched out till the horizons. He felt like something was wrong, because he was itching to do something, but there was nothing to do. He scampered around in the indigo grass, looking for something, anything that would give him a clue as to what he’s supposed to do. He wanted to be busy. He wanted to immerse himself in something engaging that would eat up his time and leave no space for any personal activities. It was then that he stopped to think a passing, trivial thought — why is the sun pixelated?
At this moment, the nape of his neck was assaulted by a piercing pain. “Argh!” he cried out, falling in the grass as he felt a string-like object being pulled out of his nape. Oh no, he thought, my spinal cord!
Don’t overreact… said a mysterious voice.
Who was that? Prakash thought as he stood up and turned all around predictably — and in the process saw Noir standing behind him, still dressed in his usual black attire and holding a very repulsive looking bug in his hand. It had a long antenna-like tail protruding from its bottom, a sickly yellow carapace, around eight pairs of yellow, squiggly legs and an insect-like head that resembled a really busy office-goer.
Prakash was disgusted. He asked Noir, “What is that thing?”
Noir kept staring threateningly at the bug. “It’s a Heck Tick.”
“No, I’d say we’ve been pretty relaxed these few days. Why have we been so chill anyway?”
Noir looked at Prakash seriously, and said, “This bug is a Heck Tick, a genetically modified tick that the Heck City has bred. It attacks travellers travelling through the Blue Mood Meadows and gives them an itch to busy themselves with something or the other.”
Prakash could not help himself. “So this tick makes you… hecking busy?”
Noir rolled his eyes, then stopped. His eyes fixated on something beyond Prakash’s shoulder. Prakash turned around and saw what Noir was so intensely staring at. A short distance away, he could make out the figures of two lumpy shapes moving in a repetitive manner. “Hey, I’ve seen cows doing the…the thingy before.”
Noir was visibly disgusted, although no one is sure how Prakash knew that with his eyes on the cows doing the thingy.
“Please,” Noir said, disgust dripping from his voice, “I have no intentions of hearing about cow thingies.”
Prakash turned around. “Then why are you looking at-”
“-I’m not looking at — Jesus Christ, look above, you idiot!”
“Oh.” He noticed he had skipped an entire city along with its fifty-meter high stone walls. Because he had been focusing on cow thingy. I need to get my priorities straight, he thought.
Noir had a ghastly smile on his face as he walked forward. “That’s our first target. The City of Heck.”
Prakash frowned. The previous chapter described what a frown signifies.
noir explained, “Heck is the seat of a most ancient Cliche… Don Nought Sveer.”
“I think I said shit when we were on the beach once-”
“Holy shimmering!” Noir said angrily as the air around them turned iridescent. Prakash panicked, trying to run away from the iridescence before realising he was the source of the colourful light around him. Still in a state of panic, Prakash tried to focus on what Noir was saying. “Don’t panic! It’s Sveer’s magic!”
He looked at the boy. In his confusion, Noir seemed to him like a raven sitting in a rainbow. He stopped his hysterical shouting, struggling to stand still because of the disorienting lights around him.
“Sveer is very weak towards colourful language, so he cast a spell on his land which illuminates the air around anyone who swears for a short period of time.”
Prakash felt disheartened. “So, we have to defeat Nought Sveer without swearing?”
“To hell with this.” A explosion of light erupted around him. “God damn it!” The lights only grew brighter. Soon enough, there was a whistling sound, and there was a very drab, grey arrow sticking out of the grass one inch from Prakash’s toe. Archers! he thought. We’re too visible out here — we’re practically a rainbow!
“Archers!” Noir said. “We’re too visible out here — we’re practically a rainbow!” He stuck a hand out as the arrows started to reproduce themselves near the two boys. “Give me your hand!”
“Why do you want my hand?”
“We need to fast travel!”
“You mean, like, in Sky Rim?”
Seemingly clueless about “What the fu-” The air wavered threateningly around him- “Look, just grab my hand, will you?!”
Prakash rushed to grab his hand, thinking how off the archers’ aim was; the arrows had missed them so many times that he wondered if the archers were Stormtroopers.
A second later, he was standing near the wall of Heck City. in the distance could see frustrated archers jumping around frustratingly. Noir tugged at his shirt and then walked stealthily towards a cattle shed. The cow dung reminded Prakash vaguely of the street in front of his house. Noir Began slowly. “Prakash, if we are to defeat Sveer, I’ll need you to be completely focused.” Prakash nodded his head in response.
“Sveer is one of the most ancient Cliches. He is a titan — not even the standard characters could beat him. Now that the Stereotype is back, Sveer is even more powerful than before. He has imposed strict laws against abusing in Heck, and his soldiers are practically online game server admins who hate expletives. We need to be very careful.”
Prakash despaired. “If no standard character has beat him, how can I defeat Sveer?”
Noir smiled condescendingly. “I have faith in you, Prakash. You’re somehow different from the other standard characters. Plus, the writers will do anything to move the story forward.”
Thinking that the Writers were some kind of gods, Prakash prayed to them. Then abruptly, he said, “What did you call Sveer? A titan?”
“Yeah. He’s a decently large guy.”
“So if we enter this city through these fifty-meter high stone walls…”
“And say, we assault Sveer at one point of time…”
“Don’t say it.”
“Would it be-”
“-I swear I’ll beat the everliving sh-”
“An Attack on Titan?”
Noir closed his eyes as psychological pain attacked him. “I so wish I could swear at you.”