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The kingdom was in shambles. Pulsating pink puddings of prodigious size propagated precipately across the pastureland. Dinosaurs devoured dozens of the dire desserts, but also destroyed dwellings and defecated on doorsteps. This was the state things were left in after the battle of the mods, which left the walls of the grand arena itself in crumbling ruin after Hatter and Sherbet's ascent to villainy. Sentinel the Barbarian of the North had retreated to his arctic stronghold with the Spork of Destiny, too revolted by the strawberry puddings burbling over the land to stay. He wept tears every night into mugs of flat Pepsi, a broken man. Mizal was no good for anything anymore, she just kept saying she'd fix things tomorrow. Endmaster was about the same as always... Hatter after her ascent to supervillainy had retreated to a quaint house in outer space, a fixer upper where it was rumored a rat problem in the basement and tinkering with an old pinball machine was the ONLY thing keeping her too busy to utterly subjugate the kingdom. In Sherbet however, there was at least a glimmer of hope. The Bagged God indeed had joined Hatter in becoming EVIL (or perhaps had been EVIL all along, depending on who you ask!) but it's not like anyone around here was going to have a problem with an antihero, or even a villain protagonist as long as they got the job done. When the rogue robots roombaed in with their retinue to reduntantly wreck everyone's rooms, Sherb dealt with them handily. The beleaguered citizens of CYStia needed a hero, and that hero was Sherbet. He enforced the law, directing the peasantry to build new homes of scrap metal and sow the fields, EVERY field, with bulbs of garlic, and used brainwashed criminals to labor in the field. For the first time in a long time, the common people felt hope. Ace and RK loved Sherbet. They wanted to grow up to be just like him. Every day, they admired the 50ft high statue that had been erected in the center of the Thunderdome at the beginning of his reign. (Thanks to @ISentinelPenguinI and @Yummyfood for the art!) One day, they heard that Sherbet was looking for a sidekick. What a wonderful thing to imagine! It would be a dream come true. They each lovingly sewed a costume, and cut eyeholes into a bag. Except for Ace being too fat, and RK being too brown, they could look just like their hero! The next morning, when walking excitedly to the sidekick tryouts, they happened to meet just outside the Thunderdome. Ace looked at RK. RK looked at Ace. Ace immediately thought to himself, "It would improve my chances a lot, if I were to KILL RK." RK immediately thought to himself, "I wonder if flowers have feelings? When a butterfly brushes against my cheek, is that a kiss from an angel? One day I'd like to reincarnate as a labrador puppy that grows up to rescue people trapped under rubble, I think that'd be nice." It was clear there was no avoiding this fight. And so right there on the grounds of the arena that had already been soaked with so much blood, another fierce battle began.

STORY A Tironis puts down his quill, eyes blurry. What's even the point anymore? What once was so enthralling, grows more and more tiresome by the day. Theory, without application. Knowledge, without purpose. Meaninglessness. "Honey, are you finished yet?" his wife calls from the other room. He goes to sigh, but reprimands himself, instead packing up his supplies and exiting his study. "Sorry honey, I was just a little hungry," she says. "Would you mind making something? I put some bread in the oven earlier, and we should have some meat and herbs left." "Of course, I'd love to." His voice is cheery, but for some reason he feels a twinge of annoyance. It wouldn't be fair to let it show, so he doesn't. But the feeling is still there. The room is mostly silent as he slices the bread, then the meat. His wife breaks the silence with pleasantries, asking about what he's studying. There was a time, once, where those inquiries might've been genuine. But now, he just gives a halfhearted answer and she nods along, chiming in with the occasional “ooo” or “ah”. He makes the food with the same careful care he always has. It shouldn't be different. Bread, meat, herbs sprinkled on top. But as he tastes his plate it feels... bland. He brings her her plate and sits across from her at the table, smiling. At least, despite everything, she looks beautiful. He should tell her, she certainly doesn't feel beautiful right now, but for some reason... he doesn't. Midway through their meal they're interrupted by a knock at the door. Tironis jumps to his feet to answer it, nearly knocking over his plate. He swings it open to reveal a burly man with a large axe strapped across his back. "Aegor! How long has it been? Come, come in!" Tironis says. He shakes his head, "Sorry, can't, business to attend to, you kno how it is." "Well what brings you by?" "There's a job, me and Renlor need a third. Anyone worth a damn is out of the city." Tironis’s hands begin to shake, but he restrains himself. "You know I'm retired, Aegor. I want to help, I really do... but..." He looks back toward his wife, still sitting on the couch, gaze down. "I know how you feel, I just thought I'd ask. It’s a bit dangerous anyway, I wouldn't want,” Aegor glances behind Tironis, “well you know what I mean." As Aegor turns to leave, Tironis feels his heart race. His body shakes as he tries to hold himself back. Hold back the old him. "Wait!" Tironis places his hand on Aegor's shoulder. "There isn't anyone?" "There is, they're just inexperienced for this kind of work. But really it's fine, you don't have to-" "I'll do it," he says. "Are you sure? It's really no big-" "Yes." Just then a third voice calls out from behind him, strained, "No, he won't." Tironis doesn't turn around, "Give me a minute to gather my things. Grab Renlor and meet me in the usual place." "Okay... well... I'll go do that then. Just… let me know if you change your mind." Tironis nods and shuts the door. Silence fills the room as he keeps his gaze fixed on the door, his back to the woman on the couch. "No," she can barely choke out the words. "I have to." "No, you don't." He turns around and meets her gaze, eyes burning. Even half a room separated, he looms over her. "It's my duty." "Not anymore. You can't, not now, you can't." The words rush out of her, almost too quick for her tongue to keep up. "And what?" he explodes. "I'm supposed to let my friends die? All because I was too much of a coward to help them?" "You could die!" she screams. "Don't you see that?!" "No, I won't." "What makes you so sure? Goddamn it Tironis, you're going to be a father! You can't just go throw your life away!" "No matter what happens, you'll be taken care of. I have friends and there's more than enough money to last you-" "Is that supposed to make me feel better?! I don't want your money, I want our kid to have a father!" She goes to stand but as she does her knees buckle, and she falls to the floor. He reaches out his hand, just a few inches, before pulling it back, face hard. As she pulls herself back onto the couch, he goes to his study to grab his things. Opening the chest, he pulls out his treasures. His robe. It fits perfectly. His sword. Forged with his hands in mind, perfectly sharp, adorned with sigils of a past life. As he enters the main room again, he gives one more glance at the woman on the couch. Her gaze is turned away, looking out the window. So, he swings the door open and, without glancing back, leaves. ------ Tironis enters the tavern and walks over to Aegor and Renlor's table. The burly axeman gets up to greet him, while the archer stays in his seat. Renlor has a cloak similar to Tironis's own, whereas Aegor’s in full plate. Tironis never saw the point in that, if you're getting hit you're doing something wrong in the first place. "Ah, Tironis! Glad you could join us. Come, come, take a seat," Aegor says. Tironis eyes the table. "No drinks? Must be serious." Aegor laughs, "After my friend, after. Now, about the job. Sorry for dragging you into this so suddenly. We finally tracked the group down to an abandoned building in the slums, but we have no idea how long they'll stay there. So we’re wantin’ to strike tonight." Renlor nods, "They're dangerous, Tironis. Last group to go after them didn’t come back, and that was four three-stars. I know you're skilled, but it's been five years." "I'm fine. Trust me, I don't get rusty.” He smiles. “I train my Tashrin every day. They must know Tashrin, right, so what about Hartin? They know it? We got any clues on their abilities?" "From what we’ve gathered, they each have individual Hartin abilities, but we have no idea what they might be. We don't even know what this group looks like. They have to at least be four-stars, hell maybe even a five-star or two," Renlor says. "Well, we are the best five stars around, aren't we?!" Tironis laughs. Aegor claps his hand across Tironis’s shoulder. "Damn right we are!" “You can’t take this lightly, especially you Tironis. You have a kid on the way, you can’t act like you always do.” “Relax, Renlor, I don’t need you to scold me. I understand what we’re dealing with.” “In that case, you seem awfully unconcerned. We aren’t young men who can throw dice with their lives for the thrill of it. We have to be more prepared, more calculated, more-” “Enough, Renlor,” Aegor sighs. “You’re doing it again. He understands. He won’t act like he used to. Right, Tironis?” Tironis simply gets up from the table, “Let’s get moving; it’s almost nightfall.” ------ "I see them," Renlor says, pointing to the roof a few towers away. "You sure?" Tironis asks. Renlor nods. "There's no mistaking it, six people with extremely dense aura. If I wasn't so close I'd miss it." "Do they see us?" Aegor asks. "No, I doubt it. They're just sitting around, talking. We should be able to get over there quicker than they can run away." The three of them begin using their Tashrin, drawing their aura through their bodies. Tironis feels the exhilaration rush through him. The same excitement he feels every morning in the one hour of practice he allows himself. It's always so hard, he wishes he could just bask in it forever. But he always knows, a reminder in the back of his mind, that if he stays like this, someone will die. They leap between buildings in moments, synchronized, a single unit. As they land on the opposite side of the roof from the group, he expects them to scatter. But instead, they just stand there. "It seems they've decided to send their best and brightest this time." The man in the center steps forward, the group standing behind him. "Tell me, what business do you have for us?" "My name is Tironis Blackfang, and I sentence you to die." "So be it." The group scatters into pairs of two, the leader shooting off with a scrawny girl. Instantly, Tironis goes after the leader and the girl, while Aegor and Renlor each chase their own group. Tironis leaps from rooftop to rooftop, soaring through the sky. The wind flaps the robe behind him as he flings himself after his prey. As he chases them, they split up, the girl and the leader shooting off in separate directions. Tironis decides to chase the leader; he’s the most important kill. Maybe the girl is going for reinforcements? He’ll have to end this quickly then. Eventually the man jumps down into a circular clearing, surrounded by buildings and alleys. As Tironis drops down to the opposite side, the man draws his sword. Aura begins swirling around him, pooling to his left and right, before forming itself into two identical copies of him. "Doppelgangers, so that's your Hartin," Tironis says. The man laughs, "You're out numbered, tell you what. I'll let you live if you surrender. You can even go for help. Just leave the area." "And my friends." "Better that you live than all three of you die." "No, I think I’d rather just kill you and your little friends. Tell me, do your doppelgangers bleed?" In an instant, Tironis flings himself at the man as the two doppelgangers jump in front of him. One of them swings its sword at him, but Tironis ducks underneath, slicing straight through its torso. The double dissipates into a puff of aura as the second double swings toward Tironis's head. Just in time, Tironis gets his own blade up, deflecting the blow and countering by slicing the double's head clean off. Tironis feels the aura pooling behind him, no doubt the doubles reforming, but he takes advantage of the opening to charge at the man. Blow after blow, the man keeps losing ground, but before Tironis can deal the killing blow he's forced to dodge the attack of the reformed doubles. Tironis dodges and weaves through the three blades all assaulting him at once, the thrill washing over him like a mother's embrace. Gods, it's been so long. It feels so right. This is the meaning of life, right here. Nothing could ever feel better than this. Why the hell would he retire? Was he so stupid to think that there'd be anything more important than this? More right than this? The moment clicks, the world flows all around him, steel on steel, man verses man, life and death. And in his moment of revelations, he breaks through, sword slicing the man from right shoulder to left hip. He jumps back, but the cut is deep. The doppelgangers dissipate as the man screams through the pain. He won. Tironis screams. A scream of pure ecstasy. Then, he feels the rod pierce through his torso, blasting a hole right through him. In his last moments, he looks up to see the scrawny woman on a rooftop overlooking them. When did she get here? How could he miss her? His final thoughts race through his head. Retiring, living a good life, living for “love”. What a joke, this is what I was made for. I don't regret it. No. I don't regret coming here. I killed the bastard. I just wish... I just wish I could've killed more of them. I just wish I could've felt like that... a little longer.

STORY B: The Fair Trade A burnt evening sun framed by clouds and clouds of smoke shone valiantly in the distance, illuminating the scores of people tirelessly marching with the particular sort of vengeance that only the evening sun could muster. Emil was run-walking, desperately clutching his father’s hand as he stared at the sea of gray uniforms, marching ceaselessly. He barely had time to glance at the stone-black sign heralding over the entire camp, arbeit macht eret, before he was swept away, borne by the veritable sea of people heedlessly hurtling towards the stone building in the center, surrounded by other equally ominous buildings frowning at the crowd standing below. Being only 10 years old, Emil had to furiously pump his feet and swing his arm as fast as he could to achieve the required momentum, because his father refused to stop. Previously, when they were at the fair, Abba never displayed this sort of hurried aggression. Rather, holding his hand gently, he let Emil wander to and fro, as he sampled the variety of delights, from the hot piping latkes roasting in the oven to the knishes that the chefs were tirelessly pumping out, as they furiously wiped their brows of sweat, a futile endeavor as the cakes kept coming, much to the delight of the children and the consternation of the chefs themselves. On his side, his sister fought with him over the challah, the pulled bread, as their mom simply sighed and laughed. But now, it was just rows and rows of people, all of whom seemed old and tired, like hundred year old trees to Emil’s eyes. They had been marching like this since they were evacuated from their hometown, Düsseldorf. Emil still remembered the scariest night. It was etched in his memory as if carved by the very shards of glass that now littered the streets of Dusseldorf, probably being swept up at this very moment by the very people Emil had known his whole life, sweeping up the broken pieces like they had swept up the existence of their Jewish friends, neighbors, and loved ones, as if they were nothing, merely inconveniences that stab them in the foot, a temporary feeling of pain that can be subsided as easily as the sweep of a broom. Emil tugged at his father’s hand. Standing at exactly 5 feet and 5 inches, to any other adult, Avram would look small and insignificant, but to Emil, he seemed as tall as an oak tree, tall and strong and ready to take on almost anything. Emil once saw his dad ward off a group of young German boys who were throwing stones at their apartment’s windows. They had been targeting Jewish apartments for a while, emboldened by the police’s non-action towards attacks against the Jewish community. The moment the first stone hit the glass, the shattering of the glass broke the silence like gunfire. Emil, his father, his mother, and his sister just looked at each other in dismay. That is until his dad roused himself, instantly grabbing a stick, and together with a group of elders ran after the boys. The instant the boys saw the elders running after them, they took off, like a herd of frightened rabbits. Emil’s foot tapped restlessly against the frostbitten ground as he anxiously waited for his dad, but hours passed and there was no sign of him or the other elders. Finally, late that night, Avram walked through the door, a chill gust of wind flitting through the warmth of their small home. Emil ran to him, hugging him as Avram took off his boots and coat, shaking off the snow everywhere, ruining the perfectly swept floor though everybody was too relieved to see him safe to really care. Avram sank into the comfy chair they usually give to guests, exhausted, and slurped down some chicken soup with matzo balls. After that, he sighed and sat still, with Emil on tenterhooks, waiting to hear what happened. Finally, Avram spoke, and these words remained with Emil for the rest of his short life. “We didn’t run after them because we were angry about the glass, Emil. We chased them because silence gives permission. It makes them think they can do whatever they like. But not tonight. Remember that, son.” By then they had reached the solid black building, and the jostling of the crowd along with the people in front of them abruptly stopping shook Emil out of his reverie. “We’re here. Now, Emil, be a good boy and listen to the men up front. They’re like your tour guides, they’ll explain what’s going on here, and how to behave. Will you do that for your father?” “Ok abba, whatever you say. But do you think they’ll have any sufganiyots? I’m really hungry, and they didn’t give us anything to eat on the train.” Hearing his son talk about jelly donuts almost makes Avram smile. Poor kid. He genuinely has no idea what’s going on here. “Well, first you have to take a shower. Look up front, you see the other men. The nice gentleman’s going to ask us a few questions, and then give us some fresh new clothes, since your old clothes stink from all that time spent on the train. You don’t want to eat before you had a chance to shower and change, right?” “Right!” Emil breaks from his father’s grip to run through the crowd, figuring that he might as well find Mame before they take a shower. Despite his best efforts, he could never quite remember the Asher Yatzar, and that was so frustrating! Especially when Herschel, the rabbi’s son would get to stand at the front during break and recite the school prayer in front of everyone! That jerk! Emil knew that he would easily be able to do a better job than Herschel, it’s just a matter of staying still. Everyone told him that he can’t be constantly moving around and asking too many questions, that it was disturbing and annoying, and that he was being a nuisance. Except 2 people. Mame and Abba. Emil finally spots Mame and shvester in a line filled with many other women. This probably should have raised some alarm bells, but Emil laughs in glee. They probably decided to put shvester in the crowded and busy line because they liked Emil better, and once he sees them both on the other side, he could hold this over shvester’s head the whole time they were at this strange camp! Now, wouldn’t that be something! Emil’s mame and shvester were almost through the gates. Emil was about to jump on his sister, giving her quite a shock, when suddenly he got a much better idea! He would sneak around the back of the building and give them the shock of the lifetime. Emil ran as fast he could, feet pumping as he ran past the droves of uniform wearing men and women trudging in the lines. He was scared that someone would stop him, and make him take a shower, but he figured that he could always come back and shower again after scaring his sister. He rounded the back of the tall, grim building, the distant clatter of boots on stone fading behind him. The air here smelled of smoke, sweat, and something far worse, fear. Emil crouched behind a stack of wooden crates, peeking out to see the shadowy figures of guards dragging carts heavy with bundles wrapped in threadbare blankets. He squinted, and his breath caught in his throat as he recognized the form inside one of those carts. It was Mame. Her face was pale, lips blue and still, but her eyes were open. Emil swore he saw a flicker of life, a last glimmer of hope before the cold took her completely. He tried to speak but no sound came out. Tears welled up and blurred his vision, but he clenched his fists tight, refusing to cry. Instead, he watched in silence as the guards loaded the cart and pushed it away. “I’ll never forget you, Mame,” he whispered into the cold wind. The cart disappeared beyond the fences, and Emil stumbled back toward the main path. He couldn’t stop the sobs rising inside him, but they never escaped. He was too scared and angry, but most of all broken. The months passed by like a blur. The next thing Emil knew, the survivors were marched out to the infamous Death March. The cold gnawed at Emil’s bones, but most of all, he was hungry. One evening, as the column shuffled through a bleak forest, Emil’s father faltered, his steps uneven. The guards barked orders, but Avram collapsed in the dirt, gasping for breath. Emil tried to hold him up, but his father pushed him away. “Emil,” he rasped, voice barely audible over the barking of the guards, “you must live. Promise me you’ll live.” Tears streamed down Emil’s cheeks, but he nodded. “Live... for us... for your mother and sister,” Avram whispered, before his eyes closed forever. Emil kept walking with the others until the guards finally loaded the remaining prisoners onto a train, packed like cattle. Days passed. Starvation clawed at Emil’s belly. His legs ached and his vision blurred. One morning, he noticed a small girl, no older than him, shivering beside him. Her lips were cracked, her cheeks hollow with the hunger that was sadly so common around these parts. Suddenly, Emil tore a piece of the crusty bread he had been saving, the last thing keeping him alive. He didn’t know what overcame him, but something, maybe from above, compelled him to do this reckless act. He hesitated, his hand trembling, but then placed it in her shaking hand. “Eat,” he said softly. Her eyes widened, and she nodded. That simple act of kindness was the last spark in Emil’s fragile life. His vision went dark. When Emil opened his eyes, he found himself bathed in an unearthly glow. He was no longer tired. His heart felt lighter, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he felt peace. Beside him stood a figure, tall and radiant, with wings that shimmered like silver. “Welcome, Emil,” the angel said with a voice like a warm breeze. “I am Sariel, your soul companion.” Emil blinked, the name unfamiliar yet somehow, oddly comforting. “What... what happened to my parents?” he asked quietly. Sariel’s eyes were gentle but sorrowful. “Your mother and father’s souls are safe here, in the Soul Room. Your sister survived the Holocaust and went on to build a life in America, a life full of hope and love. You can see her path if you wish.” Emil closed his eyes, and suddenly, he was soaring above the earth, watching his sister grow into a strong woman who opened a small restaurant in New York City. It became super popular, and grew beyond any of their wildest imaginations. Emil smiled. He couldn’t believe it, but he was super happy. “That’s what I want for them,” he whispered, “a life of love and happiness, like my sister’s.” Sariel nodded slowly. “Reincarnation is rare, Emil. Souls rarely return once they have passed on.” “But can’t I try?” Emil asked. Sariel shrugs. “The way I see it, one life for 2 is more than a fair trade. Especially given how you chose to give up your last piece of bread. But, you do realize that your parents can never be brought back in their current form?” Emil hesitates for a second, then smiles. “My father wanted to be a watchmaker. My mother wanted to write, sell her books all over the world. They talked about it so many times, and I would love to watch them from above, tracing their stars, and see them prosper. Sariel smiles. “You’re a good kid. Tell you what, have a seat next to me and watch the magic happen.”

Pretend you still live in a democracy, and vote here! Prompt: self sacrifice (Also as long as the usual gang is here, just pointing out that Hatter has republished her BotM pinball game under her own account and could use some ratings!)