#South Central Power Up

[fightforthesoulofthecities]

Join Black Folks on Bikes for Environmental Justice

Join Black Folks on Bikes for Environmental Justice At Strategy and Soul The Strategy Center is excited to be one of eight organizations in the South-Central LA Power Up coalition working with the California Air Resources Board, LA Dept of Transportation, and LA Clean Tech Incubator to host a library of 250 E-Bikes that will be free for South LA residents for the first 6 months of the…

[imsobadatnicknames2]

What does the "banana republic is a fucked up name for a store" post you reblogged mean? I'm afraid of looking dumb.

The term "banana republic" was originally coined to describe countries in Central and South America (mainly Honduras and Guatemala) whose economies were rendered dependent on the production and export of bananas (among other agricultural goods, but mainly bananas) by American fruit corporations leveraging the power of the U.S. government, the U.S. military and the CIA.

Throughout most of the of the 20th century, American corporations such as United Fruit, Cuyamel, and the Standard Fruit Company owned large portions of these countries' lands, to the point that in some cases they controlled their railway, road, and port infrastructure, and they engaged in a variety of imperialist actions to lower production costs, such as violence against labor activists and anti wage reform lobbying.

The pinnacle of this phenomenon was the 1954 Guatemalan coup, when United Fruit convinced the goverment of US president Dwight D. Eisenhower that the elected president of Guatemala, Jacobo Árbenz (who had expropriated some of the company's unused land and given it to Guatemalan peasants) was secretly working with the Soviet Union, resulting in a CIA coup which deposed the Árbenz government and replaced it with a thirty-year right-wing military dictatorship which effectively acted as a puppet government to protect the interests of United Fruit and the U.S. government.

Nowadays the term has broadened to refer to any small, economically unstable country with an economy which has been rendered dependent on the export of a particular natural resource due to economic exploitation by a more powerful country.

[atlaculture]

I have a weird question: Is chiefdom hereditary in Inuit communities? In the Northern Water Tribe, we know that Desna and Eska inherited their chief position from Unalaq- but I’m unsure about the Southern Water Tribe, maybe Sokka inherited the position from Hakkoda and then when Sokka died without issue, they held elections and chose Tonraq? Or maybe Sokka was democratically elected as well?

I’m sorry if I ended up rambling. It’s just that seeing Desna and Eska inherit their chiefdom really confused me because I always thought that it was an elected position

Traditionally, leadership in Inuit culture was determined by consensus, so basically a democratic election. Typically, the qualities that led people to choose you as a leader were your survival skills.

I've mentioned before that the Northern Water Tribe has more non-Inuit cultural influences than the Southern Water Tribe, so I've always just chalked up their hereditary leadership as being another example of that. Considering their proximity to Ba Sing Se, their emphasis on a strict hereditary chiefdom might be for the sake of projecting an image of centralized power, to help ward off their imperialistic neighbors to the south.

As for the Southern Water Tribe, I think they're actually a collection of small and independent villages, with each one having its own leader that's democratically elected; this is how they're portrayed in the "North and South" Avatar comics. This would explain why Katara mocked Sokka when he tried to claim he was a prince to Yue; it would be like the son of a small-town mayor declaring himself a prince. Plus, if leadership were hereditary, princedom would have been an internal struggle for Sokka, similar to Zuko. But Sokka's insecurity is never framed as not being worthy of being chief, but as simply lacking traditionally masculine skills.

I think Sokka eventually becoming the Southern Water Tribe Chief had more to do with his status as a prominent war hero than to his connection to his father.

[synchodai]

Arcane S2 wasn't as good because it wasn't about air

The common critique of Arcane season two was that "it didn't let the story breathe." I'm going to one-up that and state that season one set up an entire story about breathing and forgot that in season two.

Yes, yes, Arcane was a story about Piltover oppressing the undercity, but unlike a lot of other stories about social stratification, Arcane was very explicit about the methods Piltover uses to disenfranchise Zaun. Season one was clearly a story about eco-apartheid maintained through extractivist practices.

WHAT IS ECO-APARTHEID?

Ecological apartheid (also known as enviromental racism) is a form of disenfranchising and spatially separating a class of people through pollution, exploitation, and abuse of their local environment.

[E]nvironmental apartheid was largely instituted through rural marginalization, the use of rural space as an environmental means of marginalization... - Environmental apartheid: Eco-health and rural marginalization in South Africa

Topside and the undercity are basically one nation state with a blindingly stark fence between them. Piltover and Zaun are simultaneously connected and separated by the Bridge of Progress. Progress unites them and alienates them from one another. Progress is why Piltover is wealthy and clean, and it is why Zaun is impoverished and polluted. It is was on the Bridge of Progress that Silco incited the riot that led to Vi and Powder's orphaning and Vander's betrayal. It's where Ekko and Jinx have their standoff, and where the Hextech core is exchanged. In other words, progress is a border.

WHAT IS EXTRACTIVISM?

Prior to the proliferation of shimmer and the chembarons, industry in the undercity appears to be heavily centralized around one thing — fissure mining. Vi and Powder's parents used to be miners along with Vander and Silco. Jayce and Vi visit one of these mines and she explains the masks the workers use. Oh, and let's not forget the children don't have to yearn for the mines when they're dying in the mines!

The Zaunites' livelihood being dependant on the extraction of natural resources for the benefit of the Piltovans is what is known as extractivism — the exploitation of a resource-rich land and its people by a separate "global North."

In practice, extractivism has been a mechanism of colonial and neocolonial plunder and appropriation. This extractivism, which has appeared in different guises over time, was forged in the exploitation of the raw materials essential for the industrial development and prosperity of the global North. - Extractivism and neoextractivism: two sides of the same curse

The "North," in this case, clearly being Piltover. The resources being abused and exploited here aren't only the fissure mines, but also the bodies of the workers and those born around them. Viktor's illness, for example, is a product of growing up around the gaseous waste of the fissure mines. The Zaunites take the brunt of the side-effects of the pollution so that the topsiders don't have to. The "dregs" are kept below while materials, both people and things, that are deemed useful get to rise to the top. The processing of raw materials and shipping happens in Piltover, so it's the Piltovans who get a final say on the profits.

Silco and the chembarons establish their power by creating an industry that operates outside of fissure mining that doesn't rely on the patronage of the global North. Needless to say, drug dealing isn't exactly a noble trade, but extraction, processing, and distribution are mainly controlled and operated by Zaunites, which allows them a source of wealth and power that they can leverage against Piltover. To use a more recognizable phrase, they own the means of shimmer production.

I find it fascinating that shimmer is made by killing innocent underground creatures. Cannibalizing your own kind for a temporary boost of strength that eventually turns the user into a monster? It's a poignant metaphor about the infighting of not just the chembarons' gangs but of oppressed groups in general. And while shimmer offers power and brings in wealth, that's not what the undercity truly needs and only corrupts it even further.

Nah, the show has been very clear that what Zaun needs is breathable air.

SEASON 2 FORGOT ABOUT AIR

Even outside of the air pollution caused by fissure mining, the theme of breathing and air is everywhere in season one. Ekko and the Firelights' community is built around a tree — the clean air it provides is the reason they've been able to sustain themselves. It is considered an oasis in polluted Zaun. Jinx's is often heralded by brightly colored smoke, and the way she signals to Violet is through a flare that emits it. Silco's altercation with Vander involves him almost drowning — Vander literally choking the air out of him. Silco, in reponse to this traumatic event, teaches Jinx to willingly submerge herself in a place without air by baptizing her in the same filthy water he was choked in.

In other words, air is life and purpose. Zaun's aesthetics are defined by gas masks and smoke. Meanwhile, the scenes in Piltover are clean and clear. Ekko and the Firelights' tree represented hope and the possibility of clean air in Zaun. Viktor was similarly associated to flowers that grew in the underground, symbolizing how beautiful things can live even in the harshest circumstances.

Environmental degradation, more specifically air pollution, is the raison d'être of topside-undercity conflict. Silco says as much when he threatens the other chembarons and reminds them of why he's in charge.

Have you forgotten where we came from? The mines they had us in? Air so thick it clogs your throat — stuck in your eyes. I pulled you all up from the depths, offered you a taste of topside and fresh air. I gave you life. Purpose. But you've grown fat and complacent, too much time in the sun. We came from a world where there was never enough to go around. That is why we fight. Do you remember? - The Boy Savior, Arcane S01E07

But by the second and third acts of season two, pollution may not as well exist in Zaun. How does Viktor's commune plant its flowers and grow its fruits? Does the Firelights' tree ever get cured of its corruption? Did everyone forget that the undercity is literally suffocating? Seriously, why is Ekko's storyline with the tree never resolved? Why give Jinx that monologue about a wispy goddess of air the fissurefolk pray to and never go anywhere with it?

JINX SHOULD HAVE BEEN ASSOCIATED TO JANNA

The Grey presented an opportunity for Jinx to be the revolutionary hero Arcane wanted her to be. The enforcers have clearly aligned themselves with pollution and poison, and Jinx could have been the herald of their wind goddess come to answer the people's prayers for relief. But the people don't rally behind Jinx because of her association to Janna, clean air, or her repelling the invading cops using bioweapons.

I firmly believe that Jinx being a symbol of the revolution because she blew up a government building is missing a few steps. She'll get radicals who already hated Piltover behind her, sure, but the everyday Zaunite would more likely blame her for causing chaos and bringing trouble to their streets. Because the average person doesn't really care who's on the council or if a politician so far from them dies. But they do care if the cops are suddenly at their door with tear gas because an extremist junkie decided to commit arson.

The first act of season two had me very optimistic that the show was picking up where it left off with its enviromental themes. The enforcers use The Grey, polluted air, to surpress dissent and hunt down Jinx. Jinx fights back under a mural of Janna, the goddess of clean air. Her plan involves her using air to push back The Grey and send the gust up to Piltover. After being actively gassed by the enforcers, Jinx and her association to colorful wind becomes a symbol of hope and revolution to the people of the undercity.

Except that's not what happens. The Grey is only shown affecting targeted criminals with no collateral damage to civilians despite it being deployed all over the trenches. The gusts of wind Jinx pushes up to Piltover don't make topsiders experience the air pollution Zaunites suffer. Instead, it just midly inconveniences them with paint splatters. In the end, The Grey is forgotten and has nothing to do with their fight in front of Janna's mural. Caitlyn gets a promotion despite gassing the entire underground with nothing to show for it, and the undercity idolizes Jinx despite her being the reason they were gassed in the first place.

ECOLOGICAL RESTORATION IS INTERPERSONAL RESTORATION

Unlike in the game, Arcane chose topside and the undercity to be originally established as one city — and I don't think that was done without reason. The nation of Zaun and its identity is established as a reaction to the suffering of those underground. A community developed centered around helping one another cope and survive through the pollution. In short, Piltover created Zaun.

Thus, the interplay between Piltover and Zaun extended to all plotlines and the relationships they explored and developed. Jinx and Vi, Vi and Caitlynn, Viktor and Jayce, Ekko and Heimerdinger — these are all relationships that reflect the tension between Zaun and Piltover. Family torn apart by civil war, bitter ex lovers, different ideological approaches to scientific advancement, intuitive inventiveness and practiced genius. Their relationships are born from a common desire and degrade because of that looming border inflicted by the pursuit of progress.

Piltover and Zaun is a single house fractured because of how it threw all its detritus in the basement as it sought to build a tower that will reach the skies. The whole building is threatening to crumble, especially now that someone threw a bomb at it like in the finale of season one. The status quo Arcane and we as a globalized eco-apartheid have is extremely precarious as is any foundation built on abuse and exploitation. A lot of people will cheer on the Jinxes who don't care so much about fixing it than they do burning it all down to express their understandable rage and grief, but that doesn't really fix the problem of having breathable air, does it?

Unfortunately, we'll never know how the show will wrap up the Zaunite plight because it was all but forgotten in season 2. The problem of Zaun was never that they needed to evolve or be perfect — it's that their environment and the people by extension were being suffocated.

In my perfect world, the finale would have addressed the lack of light and clean air in the underground. It would have mirrored how some bodies and relationships can never truly fully recover the damage that has been done. As in real life, restoration is not a substitute for not doing harm in the first place. But it could have ended with a hopeful message that burning it down and running away isn't the answer either.

When Viktor was healing Vander and decided that, despite the unprecedented effort and time, his natural, non-weaponized humanity was worth saving because of how much he means to his local community, I thought that was what they were going for. Alas, they didn't let the show breathe.

[magnagaruzenmon]

A Day to remember

Introduction The world changed forever the day the Hulk returned from space. But it wasn’t Bruce Banner, the brilliant scientist, who came back. No, all that was left was the Hulk—a relentless, unstoppable force of nature. Hardened and empowered after years among the stars, he brought with him the strength and knowledge of not just one, but four planets: Sakaar, planet Kree, Spartax, and Planet Skrull. This unparalleled combination of might and resources allowed him to launch a swift and devastating campaign to claim Earth as his own. It wasn’t just a victory—it was a conquest.

And so, the Hulk crowned himself Champion-King of Earth.

One of his first acts was to deal with the Illuminati, the secret cabal of Earth’s most brilliant and powerful minds who once sent him into exile. With the exception of Black Panther, the Hulk exiled the Illuminati and their allies—including my parents—to a so-called “idyllic paradise” somewhere off-world. It seemed like justice in his eyes, though it left Earth in an unprecedented state of transition. One day, I had human neighbors. The next, I was surrounded by Sakaarans, Kree refugees, and even a mutant or two. Earth wasn’t just Earth anymore. It was a crossroads for the galaxy.

Surprisingly, despite the terrifying aura of power he radiated, the Hulk turned out to be a capable and, dare I say, effective ruler. Crime plummeted, and the economy soared as he forged strong intergalactic trade and alliances with the new empires of Asgard and Wakanda. Life on Earth became both unrecognizable and…stable.

But that stability is about to be shaken again. Hulk has just announced a new tradition: the Gladiatorial Tournament of Champions. This brutal competition will determine Earth’s Realm Champions, the individuals he deems worthy of ruling specific territories under his reign. Each champion represents a distinct region of Earth, acting as both its protector and enforcer of the Hulk’s rule.

Here’s how it breaks down: • Wolverine oversees Canada and Alaska. • Steve Rogers rules the United States, Puerto Rico, Cuba, Costa Rica, Haiti, and the rest of Central America. • Namor dominates South America and Antarctica. • M’Baku holds Africa. • Shang-Chi governs all of Asia. • Devil Dinosaur and Skaar share dominion over Australia. • Doctor Doom controls Europe…when he’s not busy running his own intergalactic empire (it’s complicated).

And now, the tournament will determine the newest champions—or perhaps, challengers to their thrones. The stakes are high, the rules unclear, and the competition fierce. In this world reshaped by gamma-fueled ambition and intergalactic alliances, it’s anyone’s guess who will rise—and who will fall.

Reassemble TJ was surprised by how few had shown up to apply for the Realm Champion Tournament. Out of the vast expanse of the Gamma Force Empire, only 64 participants stood ready to compete. For an event of such magnitude, the hall of ceremonies felt oddly intimate, though the grandeur of the setting made up for the lack of numbers.

Golden chandeliers bathed the room in a warm glow, their light reflecting off walls lined with intergalactic banners—each one a symbol of the Hulk’s reign. The crowd was a mix of the famous, the powerful, and the curious. TJ recognized a few familiar faces from both legend and pop culture: Venom, towering and menacing but oddly polite; Luna Snow, the Korean pop idol turned superhero; Dazzler, the timeless mutant songstress; and a collection of idols, including Wonyoung and Yujin from IVE and Hanni from NewJeans. The blend of celebrity and power was overwhelming, but TJ—despite his less affluent upbringing and humble attire—moved through the procession with unexpected ease.

When people approached him, he introduced himself calmly and confidently. “Tiberius,” he said, his voice steady, “but you can call me Tibby. I’m one of the contestants.”

There was something magnetic about him, a palpable charm that made even the most skeptical faces soften. He listened attentively, asked genuine questions, and exuded a warmth that drew others in. It wasn’t intentional, but a few of the women couldn’t help but look a little flustered as they spoke to him.

For an hour and a half, Tibby navigated the crowd, exchanging pleasantries and learning names. But as the Master of Ceremonies stepped onto the elevated dais at the front of the hall, the atmosphere shifted.

“Contestants, it is time for your introductions,” the voice boomed, silencing the room.

One by one, the 64 fighters were named, and their achievements and titles were announced with a flourish. Most were unremarkable to Tibby, but a few stood out: • Lucion, a cybernetic warrior from Latveria, is rumored to have ties to Doctor Doom. • Leviathan, a towering Atlantean gladiator with a cold, unreadable demeanor. • Momotaro, a swordsman from Japan, clad in armor said to be enchanted by Asgardian forges. • Praetorius, a mysterious figure veiled in shadow, whose reputation as a mercenary preceded him.

And finally, Tibby. Though his name lacked the weight of the others, murmurs rippled through the crowd, many remembering the impression he had already made. By now, “Tibby” was on more than a few lips, and the nickname had stuck.

The Master of Ceremonies gestured to a row of ornate cups lined on a silver tray, each adorned with a symbol representing the Hulk’s empire.

“Champions,” he announced, “step forward and claim your Champion’s Cup. Within this drink lies a blend of the synthetic Heart-Shaped Herb, Asgardian blood rites, and a precise mixture of potions and medicines. Together, they will elevate you to a level worthy of this tournament.”

Unbeknownst to the contestants, the concoction was more than just a power booster. It was preparation—for a brutal process known only to the Empire’s inner circle as The Culling.

Tibby stepped forward and took his cup, examining the shimmering liquid inside before raising it to his lips. Around him, others did the same. The hall erupted into cheers and applause as each contestant drank, sealing their fate.

With the ceremony concluded, the party began in earnest. Music filled the air, laughter echoed, and the contestants mingled freely with the crowd. But Tibby had never been one for celebration before the victory. Quietly, he slipped away from the festivities, weaving through the throng toward the exit.

He almost made it.

As he turned a corner, Tibby’s path was blocked by a massive green figure. He froze, his heart skipping a beat. The Hulk stood before him, radiating power. His gaze was unreadable, his towering frame casting a long shadow over the corridor.

Tibby swallowed hard, unsure of what to say.

“Well,” the Hulk rumbled, his voice like distant thunder. “Where do you think you’re going, Champion?”

Tibby stood face-to-face with the Champion King, his heart pounding like a war drum in his chest. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe he could match the Hulk’s strength, but he didn’t cower. Instead, he stood firm, holding his ground with a mixture of respect and resolve.

“I was heading home,” Tibby said evenly, his voice steady despite the fear flashing in his eyes. “Parties aren’t really my thing—especially before I’ve won anything.”

Hulk raised an eyebrow, surprised by the man’s candor. Most who stood before him either groveled or puffed themselves up with false bravado. This one, though? He spoke with sincerity. The Champion King regarded him with a faint smirk.

“You’ve got guts,” Hulk rumbled, his voice like distant thunder. “Few people would talk to me that way. But there’s one more rite you need to complete before you leave.”

Tibby hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. “Lead the way.”

Hulk turned and began walking, his heavy footsteps echoing through the grand hall. Tibby followed, his nerves fraying with each step as they entered a glowing laboratory with a massive circular chamber at its center. The room hummed with energy, the air thick with the scent of ozone and sterilizing agents.

Hulk gestured toward the chamber. “This is the Culling Machine. It’s a tool we use to help contestants prepare. It simulates ten thousand years of forced evolution, compressing what would take eons into minutes. It’ll speed up your development and put you on par with the other fighters.”

Tibby stared at the chamber, his stomach twisting. This wasn’t what he’d signed up for. He thought of stepping back, walking out of the lab, and leaving the tournament behind. But then images of his past flooded his mind: the ridicule, the doubts, the dismissive sneers from the so-called geniuses of the Illuminati, and the whispered taunts of those who told him he’d never make it on his own.

Clenching his fists, he stepped forward, his eyes blazing with a cold fury. He couldn’t let them be right.

Hulk watched with quiet admiration as Tibby approached the chamber. For the second time that night, this contestant had surprised him. As Tibby entered the machine, Hulk closed the door and prepared the controls.

“Brace yourself,” Hulk warned as he pressed a series of buttons. “This is gonna hurt.”

The machine roared to life, flooding the chamber with a brilliant, almost blinding light. Tibby’s body was enveloped in its glow, and at first, everything seemed to go as expected. But then something went wrong.

Tibby’s skeleton began to glow, a fiery orange radiating from within as if his very bones were on fire. His skin bubbled and reformed, his body tearing itself apart and reassembling over and over. Each cycle was accompanied by flashes of pain and primal screams that sent a chill even through the Hulk’s hardened spine.

“WHAT THE HELL?” Hulk muttered, his massive hand hovering over the emergency shutoff. But he hesitated—Tibby was surviving. Somehow.

The machine’s timer finally reached zero, and the chamber powered down. The door slid open with a hiss, and Tibby stumbled out, his legs barely holding him upright. Steam rose from his body, and his skin flickered with faint traces of scales. His eyes glowed briefly before fading back to normal.

Hulk steadied him with one massive hand. “You good, kid?”

Tibby coughed, then nodded weakly. “Define… good.”

The Champion King let out a rare, deep laugh. “Fair enough. Let’s get you checked out.”

Hulk carried Tibby to the medical bay, where his advisors and doctors hurriedly ran tests. It didn’t take long for them to uncover the truth: Tibby’s X-gene—his mutant ability—had been dormant until now. The Culling Machine had triggered its activation, but instead of settling into one stable form, his mutation was in a constant state of flux, his body forever evolving.

“The only thing that seems consistent,” one of the doctors explained, “is that under stress, his mutation pushes him into a dragon-like form. Beyond that… well, it’s unpredictable.”

Tibby sat on the edge of the medical bed, his mind racing. A dragon? That wasn’t what he’d expected when he signed up for this tournament. But as he flexed his hands, feeling the latent power coursing through his veins, he realized he didn’t feel fear. He felt ready.

Hulk crossed his arms, a thoughtful expression on his face. “You’re full of surprises, Tibby. This might just get interesting.”

The festivities were in full swing, the grand hall alive with music, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. Beneath the glittering chandeliers, contestants, dignitaries, and spectators mingled, each with their own agendas. At the center of it all stood Momotaro, the clear favorite to win the Realm Champion Tournament.

Tall and broad-shouldered, with a warrior’s poise and a face that seemed sculpted by the gods, Momotaro exuded confidence. The legendary champion from Okinawa had already made a name for himself as a formidable warrior in countless regional tournaments. His reputation had preceded him, and now it seemed, so had his charm.

Wonyoung and Gaeul of IVE, radiant in their evening gowns, had positioned themselves at either side of Momotaro. They were playful, their voices carrying just enough laughter to turn heads, and their smiles were dazzling, each glance carefully measured.

“You must hear this all the time,” Wonyoung said, her tone light and teasing, “but you’re even more impressive in person than the stories say.”

Momotaro chuckled, his deep voice cutting through the lively room. “I’ve found that the stories are usually exaggerated. I’m just a man who’s good at what he does.”

“And modest too,” Gaeul interjected, leaning in slightly with a sly smile. “That’s rare in someone so… accomplished.”

Momotaro gave her a small nod, his gaze steady but unreadable. “Modesty isn’t rare when you’ve faced enough challenges. The moment you start believing your own hype is the moment someone surprises you.”

Wonyoung tilted her head, her eyes sparkling. “A wise answer. But surely you’ve noticed how everyone is watching you tonight. They’re not just here for the tournament—they’re here for you.”

Momotaro smirked. “And yet here I am, lucky enough to have the attention of two of the most talented stars on the planet. How do you explain that?”

Gaeul laughed, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “We know a good story when we see one, and you, Momotaro, are definitely a story worth following.”

Their banter drew subtle glances from others at the party. Some watched with curiosity, others with envy. Among the crowd, Lucion and Leviathan exchanged knowing looks.

“Momotaro sure knows how to play the part,” Leviathan muttered, sipping his drink.

“Play?” Lucion smirked. “He’s not playing. He’s just that good.”

Meanwhile, Hulk, standing near the entrance, glanced at the scene as he returned from checking on Tibby. His sharp eyes missed nothing: the glances, the positioning, the subtle games of influence.

“Momotaro’s already won half the battle,” Hulk muttered to himself. “Let’s see if he can win the other half in the arena.”

As the night wore on, Wonyoung and Gaeul remained close to Momotaro, their charm never wavering. He entertained them with grace, but there was a quiet focus in his eyes, a steady awareness of the competition that lay ahead.

In another corner of the room, a subtle buzz spread among the attendees as whispers of Tibby’s ordeal began to circulate. The dragon-like transformation, the unexpected resilience—it was enough to draw the attention of a few, including Momotaro, whose gaze briefly flickered toward the doorway Hulk had reentered from.

“Interesting,” he murmured to himself before turning his full attention back to his admirers.

As the night continued Momotaro found himself needing to relieve himself. After he excused himself he didn't expect the two vixens to corner him in the restroom as he washed his hands.

“Oh ladies how may I help you?” he said politely the girls groaned and Wonyoung said,

“Cut the good guy schtick we know all about you. We know how bad you are,” she said as she closed the gap. Yujin was also not far behind as her arms wrapped around, the man. He sensed their less-than-pure intentions as Wonyoung and Gaeul brought him in for a shared kiss. Momotaro’s mask slips as the Helpful Hero gives way to the vicious villain underneath. Encouraged by Wonyoung’s prodding he lifts her dress up to see her bare ass.

“Spank it,” Gaeul whispers in Momotaro’s ear and he does so. The resulting jiggle serves to set Momotaro to take everything he wants. He undoes his belt and rams his cock into the idol’s tight cunt.

“Yes God“ Wonyoung moans as his cock ravages her. Momotaro continues to rail against Wonyoung while he and Gauel engage in a passionate liplock. Gaeul’s tongue dances and wraps around his as he fucks into Wonyoung deeper. She moans tirelessly as Momotaro’s cock pistons in and out of her tight pussy. Driven into a lusty haze Gaeul begins spanking the younger girl, before degrading her,

“Yes take that cock you filthy slut. Fuck you're so hot,” Gaeul growled possessive. She smiled as she watched Momotaro’s cock plunge in and out of the young woman. Gaeul for her part got on the other side of Wonyoung and began groping the young woman before settling her fingers in Wonyoung's clit. Momotaro watches as he feels Wonyoung get tighter and tighter before yanking her hair.

“Gonna cum slut?” he asks,

Wonyoung nods wordlessly as her mind is made mush by the pleasure. Momotaro keeps thrusting until Wonyoung screams cumming all over his cock before Momotaro carelessly cums inside of Wonyoung. Her pussy convulsed feeling his seed before sending her into another orgasm. Feeling cheated he spanks Wonyoung and says “No cumming more than me,” Wonyoung regains her wits and glares at you before saying “Don't push your luck,”

The following day Momotaro arrived to two guests in his quarters after his successful culling. The interior of Momotaro’s quarters was as opulent as the man himself—polished stone floors, walls adorned with accolades, and an array of expensive wines and delicacies displayed on a low table. Wonyoung lounged gracefully on a plush chaise, her long legs crossed, while Gaeul stood by the window, inspecting her reflection in the glass. Both were impeccably dressed, their attire chosen to emphasize their poise and elegance.

The door hissed open, and Momotaro strode in, his figure commanding. Unlike Tiberius, his time in the culling machine left no visible marks. He radiated confidence, his movements effortless, his smirk that of a man certain of his greatness.

“You survived,” Wonyoung said, her voice dripping with mockery masked as playfulness. She rose smoothly to meet him, her eyes glinting with admiration. “Not that there was ever any doubt, of course.”

“‘Survived’ is putting it mildly,” Momotaro replied with a smirk, loosening his collar as he crossed the room. “I thrived.”

Gaeul turned from the window, raising an eyebrow. “Thrived? Modesty as always.” She approached him, her tone teasing but laced with genuine admiration. “I suppose it’s safe to assume the others weren’t as fortunate. Did you hear about Tiberius? They say the machine nearly tore him apart. Poor thing. Talk about biting off more than you can chew.”

Wonyoung scoffed, settling back into her seat. “Honestly, I’m surprised he even made it out alive. I don’t know why they let riff-raff like him enter. The man’s practically a charity case.”

Momotaro chuckled, pouring himself a glass of wine and leaning against the table. “Let them have their dreams. It makes crushing them so much sweeter when the time comes.”

“You’re so cruel,” Gaeul said, but her smile betrayed her approval. She perched herself on the arm of Wonyoung’s chaise, idly playing with a strand of her hair. “Still, I have to admit, there’s a certain satisfaction in watching the undeserving fail. It’s not like they ever had a chance against you.”

Wonyoung tilted her head, her expression sharpening. “Especially not that Tibby. Did you see how awkward he was at the ceremony? Trying so hard to impress, but it was painfully obvious he doesn’t belong.”

Momotaro grinned. “He has his moments. A certain… charm, I suppose. But charm doesn’t win battles.” He sipped his wine and added, “Still, it’s almost a shame. I could’ve taught him a thing or two.”

Wonyoung let out a soft laugh, her hand brushing against Momotaro’s arm. “Oh, please. You’re being far too generous. The only thing you could teach him is how to stay out of your way.”

“Agreed,” Gaeul said, leaning closer to him. Her voice lowered, almost conspiratorial. “But don’t let him or the others distract you. You’re the clear favorite, Momotaro. Everyone knows it.”

Momotaro set his glass down, his smirk growing. “Distraction isn’t something I’m worried about. And as for the competition…” He gestured dismissively. “They’ll fall in line. One way or another.”

The three of them shared a laugh, the kind of easy, self-assured laughter that came from knowing the odds were in their favor. Wonyoung rested her chin in her hand, her gaze lingering on Momotaro.

“You know,” she said, her tone turning flirtatious, “you’re making it very hard for the rest of us to stay focused. All this strength, charisma… it’s almost unfair.”

Momotaro raised an eyebrow, a playful gleam in his eye. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Wonyoung.”

“Jealous?” Wonyoung leaned closer, her lips curling into a smirk. “Hardly. I’m just making an observation. Someone has to keep you humble.”

“Humble?” Gaeul chimed in, rolling her eyes. “Good luck with that.” She nudged Momotaro’s shoulder lightly. “But seriously, you’d better win. Otherwise, all this flattery will have been for nothing.”

Momotaro laughed, a deep, confident sound. “Don’t worry. I don’t plan on losing. To anyone.”

Wonyoung and Gaeul exchanged a glance, their smiles sharpening. They didn’t need to say it out loud—they had chosen their champion, and they were determined to bask in his glow.

But outside the room, the faint hum of distant celebration carried on, a reminder that the tournament had only just begun—and the masks, so carefully maintained, would soon be tested.

Meanwhile having recovered Tibby had begun training in his quarters while waiting for the arena to open properly. Tibby’s training quarters were stark and utilitarian—a far cry from the lavish accommodations Momotaro enjoyed. The dim lighting revealed worn sparring equipment, a simple cot pushed against the wall, and a single rack of weights. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for Tibby. He wasn’t here for luxury; he was here to prepare.

Clad in a loose tank top and sweatpants, Tibby stood in front of a heavy punching bag. His knuckles thudded against the bag in a steady rhythm, sweat trickling down his forehead. Each strike was deliberate, his focus sharp despite the lingering soreness in his body from the culling.

The door creaked open softly, and a gentle voice broke the quiet.

“Tibby?”

He paused mid-swing, turning to see Chowon standing hesitantly in the doorway. She clutched a small cloth bundle in her hands, her posture timid but her smile warm. Dressed in a simple dress, she looked entirely out of place in the gritty training room, but her presence seemed to brighten it nonetheless.

“Chowon?” Tibby straightened, wiping his forehead with his forearm. “What are you doing here?”

“I… I heard you were starting your training, and I thought you might need this.” She stepped forward, holding out the bundle. “It’s nothing fancy. Just some snacks I made. For energy.”

Tibby took the bundle, his expression softening. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” she said quickly, her cheeks reddening. “You’ve been through a lot already, and… well, I thought it might help.”

He unwrapped the bundle, revealing neatly packed rice balls and slices of fruit. It was simple but thoughtful, and the care she’d put into it was obvious.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “This means a lot.”

Chowon smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re welcome. I just… I think you’re going to do great, you know? In the tournament.”

Tibby chuckled softly, sitting down on the edge of the cot. “Not sure about that. I’m still figuring out what this ‘dragon thing’ means, and most of the other contestants already look like they’ve been training for years.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Chowon said, her voice gaining a rare firmness. She stepped closer, her shyness momentarily giving way to quiet conviction. “You’re strong, Tibby. Not just physically. You… you have a good heart. That’s what really matters.”

Her words caught him off guard, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. He glanced down at the food she’d brought, then back at her.

“You’re too kind,” he said finally, his voice softer than before.

Chowon blushed again, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. “I just… I want to help, even if it’s only a little.”

Tibby smiled, a genuine warmth in his eyes. “You’re already helping more than you know.”

The two sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the contrast between the sterile training room and Chowon’s sweet presence making it feel almost peaceful. Eventually, Chowon stood, brushing off her dress.

“I should let you get back to training,” she said. “But if you ever need anything, just let me know, okay?”

Tibby nodded. “I will. Thanks again, Chowon.”

As she turned to leave, Tibby found himself feeling a rare sense of calm. The tournament loomed large, and the odds were stacked against him, but at that moment, he realized he wasn’t entirely alone.

He stood and returned to the punching bag, Chowon’s words echoing in his mind. A good heart. Maybe that was enough to start with.

Throughout the following weeks, Tibby and Taro trained relentlessly. The sunlight streamed through the grand training hall’s tall windows, illuminating the polished marble floors and elaborate tapestries that depicted scenes of victorious warriors. The air hummed with the low thrum of energy fields powering the advanced training dummies arranged in the room.

Momotaro stood in the center, dressed in a sleek, form-fitting combat suit that highlighted his muscular frame. A faint smirk played on his lips as he observed his reflection in the mirrored walls.

“Let’s make this quick,” he said, addressing the room’s automated trainer.

The dummies activated with a sharp hum, moving with near-human precision. One lunged at him, but Momotaro sidestepped effortlessly, his blade flashing in the light as he struck. The dummy shattered, its pieces clattering to the floor.

Another dummy approached, it struck faster and more unpredictably. Momotaro parried, his movements sharp and confident, as if rehearsing a dance he had already mastered.

In the distant corner, Wonyoung and Gaeul watched, their eyes gleaming with admiration.

“Flawless, as always,” Gaeul remarked, clapping slowly.

Momotaro turned, flashing a charming grin. “Of course. You don’t think I’d let that dragon boy put a scratch on me, do you?”

Wonyoung giggled. “He doesn’t stand a chance. You’ve already won, Momotaro. This is just… practice.”

His smile widened, but there was a flicker of something darker in his eyes. Confidence, yes, but also calculation. He knew the crowd expected perfection, and he intended to deliver it.

With a dramatic flourish, he raised his weapon and stepped toward the next wave of dummies, their metallic frames reflecting the light like distant stars. Each strike was a performance, every movement a declaration of his superiority.

Tibby’s training space was the opposite of Momotaro’s—a dimly lit, open-air courtyard surrounded by crumbling stone walls. The floor was uneven, scattered with patches of dirt and grass. A single lantern swayed in the breeze, its light casting long shadows across the ground.

Tibby stood in the center, his body tense and his hands wrapped in rough cloth. Sweat glistened on his skin, evidence of hours of relentless practice. He faced a simple wooden post, its surface scarred from repeated strikes.

“Again,” he muttered to himself, his voice steady despite the strain.

He lunged forward, his fists striking the post with sharp, deliberate movements. The impact sent a jolt through his arms, but he didn’t stop. His breaths came in steady bursts, each strike pushing him further.

Behind him, Chowon stood quietly, her hands clasped in front of her. She watched with a mix of worry and admiration, her gaze fixed on the determination etched into Tibby’s face.

“You’ve been at this for hours,” she said gently. “Maybe you should take a break?”

Tibby paused, his fists resting against the post. He turned to her, his expression softening. “I can’t. Not yet. If I don’t push myself, I won’t stand a chance.”

Chowon stepped closer, her voice quiet but firm. “You’ve already come so far. Don’t forget to trust yourself, too.”

Her words lingered in the air as Tibby nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. He took a deep breath, aTJusting his stance. “One more round,” he said.

Chowon sat on a nearby stone, watching as he resumed his strikes. This time, there was something different in his movements—not just strength, but precision and resolve. Each punch seemed to carry the weight of his determination to prove himself, not just to the world but to himself.

As the lantern’s flame flickered in the breeze, Tibby struck the post one last time, his fist splintering the wood. He stepped back, breathing heavily, and glanced at Chowon.

“You were right,” he admitted. “I needed that.”

Chowon smiled, her eyes warm. “You’ll be ready, Tibby. I know it.”

The day before the opening bouts of the tournaments the ceremonial chamber was a sight to behold—a cavernous hall carved from the heart of the mountain, with walls glowing faintly from veins of luminous minerals. Weapons of past champions lined the walls, each displayed with reverence. A long table stretched across the room, laden with ornate weapons wrapped in cloth, waiting to find their rightful wielders.

Hulk’s forgemaster, a towering, broad-shouldered dwarf named Gorund Ironbrand, stood at the head of the table. His beard was braided with bits of metal, and his hammer, massive and scarred from years of crafting, rested at his side.

“Tonight,” Gorund began, his voice resonating through the hall, “each of you will receive the weapon that best matches your spirit. These weapons are forged not just of metal but of meaning. Treat them well, and they will serve you faithfully. Fail them, and they will abandon you.”

One by one, the champions stepped forward as their names were called.

Momotaro’s Weapon

“Momotaro,” Gorund called, his deep voice cutting through the room.

Momotaro strode forward, confidence radiating from his every step. Gorund unwrapped the cloth, revealing an exquisite katana. The blade shimmered with a deadly brilliance, its edge almost too sharp to look at directly.

“This,” Gorund said, “is a katana forged from vibranium, adamantium, and carbonadium. Stronger than any foe you will face. A blade fit for one who carries the weight of many expectations.”

Momotaro accepted the weapon with a flourish, running his hand over the smooth hilt. He nodded in thanks, though inwardly, he savored the murmurs of admiration from the crowd.

“Lucion.”

Lucion, a pale figure with piercing silver eyes, stepped forward silently. Gorund unveiled a bow made of dark, twisting wood that seemed alive, its surface pulsating faintly with shadows.

“A bow crafted from the bark and branches of the World Tree,” Gorund said. “It draws on darkness itself, bending it to your will.”

Lucion took the bow without a word, his thin lips curling into a faint smirk.

“Leviathan.”

The tall, wiry contestant approached, his sharp eyes scanning the table. Gorund unwrapped a pair of daggers, their blades glowing softly with a calming blue light. Etched with ancient runes, they seemed almost alive.

“Daggers of uru and orichalcum,” Gorund said. “Inscribed with mystic etchings to balance their power. They are as precise as the predator who wields them.”

Leviathan twirled the daggers experimentally, grinning.

“Praetorius.”

Praetorius, clad in ceremonial armor, marched forward with the bearing of a king. Gorund unveiled a mace that seemed to hum with energy, lightning arcing faintly along its head.

“A weapon of vibranium and savage world steel, imbued with lightning. A fitting instrument for one who commands authority.”

Praetorius grasped the mace, nodding with satisfaction.

“Tiberius,” Gorund called.

Tibby stepped forward, calm and steady despite the low murmurs from the other champions. Gorund unveiled a single weapon—a staff-like rod forged from an alloy of vibranium, uru, and a rare off-world metal that glowed faintly in shifting shades of violet and teal.

“This,” Gorund said, his voice taking on a weight of reverence, “is a weapon unlike any other. It shifts forms at your command—kusarigama, tonfa, sais—whatever your instinct requires. Its power lies in adaptability, much like its wielder.”

The only embellishment was an inscription etched delicately into the metal: ‘Dragons care not for the opinions of sheep.’

Tibby accepted the weapon with a small bow, feeling its cool surface hum faintly with energy. He twisted his wrist experimentally, and the rod lengthened into a kusarigama. Another flick transformed it into a pair of tonfas, and yet another shift produced a pair of sais.

“Thank you,” Tibby said, his voice even but sincere.

Gorund nodded approvingly. “It is simple in appearance, yes. But simplicity often hides great strength. Remember that.”

Tibby bowed respectfully as he accepted the weapons. “Thank you,” he said simply, running his fingers over the smooth surface.

As Tibby stepped back, the other champions eyed his weapon with poorly veiled disdain. Lucion leaned toward Leviathan, smirking.

“They gave him a transforming stick,” Lucion whispered. “Guess they thought he couldn’t handle a real weapon.”

Leviathan chuckled. “He’ll need all the tricks he can get. Too bad it won’t matter when he’s out in the first round.”

Praetorius shook his head, a faint sneer on his lips. “Adaptability won’t save you when you’re outclassed.”

Tibby ignored the remarks, focusing instead on the shifting weapon in his hand. The transitions were smooth, each form feeling perfectly balanced and natural in his grip. He’d faced mockery before, and he knew that true power didn’t lie in appearances.

Momotaro observed silently, his elaborate katana hanging at his side. Though he refrained from joining the others in mocking Tibby’s weapon, his thoughts were far from kind.

A shapeshifting toy, he mused. How fitting for a second-rate contestant. It might impress peasants, but it won’t stand against real steel.

Outwardly, however, he maintained his composed, heroic demeanor, offering Tibby a polite nod as their gazes briefly met.

As the ceremony concluded, the champions mingled, comparing their weapons. Lucion and Leviathan examined their own with smug satisfaction, while Praetorius marveled at the power radiating from his mace.

“They gave him farmer’s tools,” Leviathan sneered, glancing at Tibby’s weapons. “Did they think he was here to harvest crops instead of fight?”

Lucion chuckled darkly. “Maybe they thought he’d need them to till the earth once he’s out of the tournament.”

Praetorius smirked but said nothing, his eyes flickering briefly toward Tibby.

Tibby, standing off to the side, heard the remarks but didn’t react. He was used to being underestimated, and he had no intention of rising to the bait. Instead, he turned the weapon ( currently a sai in his hand) , feeling the balance and weight, appreciating the craftsmanship.

Momotaro, standing nearby, didn’t join in the mockery. Outwardly, he maintained a neutral expression, but internally, he dismissed Tibby’s weapons as inferior. Farm tools, he thought. And here I was expecting competition.

As the champions laughed and boasted, Tibby took a step back, letting the noise fade into the background. He studied his weapon again, running a finger over the inscription.

‘Dragons care not for the opinions of sheep.’

A faint smile tugged at his lips. He knew what they thought of him, but that didn’t matter. His actions would speak louder than any words or flashy weapon.

In the end, it wasn’t the weapon that made the warrior. It was the heart behind it.

After the ceremony Momotaro went back to his shared penthouse with Gaeul and Wonyoung their contempt and disdain flowed freely behind sealed closed doors.

The flickering light from a nearby lantern cast long shadows across the private room, its cozy ambiance a stark contrast to the tension that lingered in the air. Wonyoung and Gaeul sat on plush cushions, their expressions a mix of anticipation and frustration. Momotaro stood by the window, looking out over the arena grounds, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his katana. He set it down gently before gesturing for Gaeul to approach. She smiled as they both undressed

“So, tell me again,” Gaeul spoke up, her voice dripping with a sharp edge. “You really think any of them stand a chance?” she said as she straddled Momotaro

Momotaro smirked as Gaeul spread her legs for the man. Her wet pussy drooling for him. “No. Most of them are just pawns in a game they don’t even understand. They’ll fall one by one.” he said as he thrust into Gaeul who moaned as Momotaro’s dick rammed itself inside her.

Wonyoung leaned forward, her gaze intense as she fixed Momotaro with a look of quiet calculation. “But there’s one who could be a problem.” she purred as she watched her champion fuck the elder girl.

Lifting his gaze from the window, Momotaro finally turned to face them. The playful arrogance in his eyes hadn’t faded, but there was a glint of something more serious in his expression. “Lucion. That bastard,” he spat as if the name left a bitter taste in his mouth. “He’s the only one I’ve seen so far who might be worth my time. The rest are… distractions,” he said after ramming himself deep into Gaeul. She shivered as he ran his cold hand across her waist before fucking her again. Wonyoung watched hungrily but she knew it was Gaeul’s turn to be bred so she accepted it.

Gaeul scoffed. “Lucion’s a shadow, a ghost. He’s been hiding his true strength. But even then, I’m not worried. He’s as much of an outcast as the others. He’s not a part of our world.” she said trying to stifle her moans as Momotaro continued fucking her. Her walls clenched his rod tightly as she neared her own release.

“Exactly,” Wonyoung added, folding her arms. “He’s been lurking in the shadows, and we don’t even know what he’s capable of. But he’s not a threat until he shows his cards. And when he does, we’ll be ready to crush him just like the rest.” Momotaro exited Gaeul for a moment. She pouted but kept her complaints hidden.

Momotaro’s smirk deepened as he took a step toward the table, where a fresh glass of wine awaited him. He picked it up slowly, swirling it as he spoke. “I don’t fear him, but I respect that he’s dangerous. Unlike the others. The rest? They’re nothing but fodder.”

Gaeul’s eyes flickered with an unreadable expression as she looked toward Wonyoung. “And Tiberius?”

Momotaro’s gaze turned cold at the mention of the name, the edge of his smile faltering slightly. “He’s a joke. A farm boy with no true understanding of what it means to be a champion. He doesn’t belong here.”

Wonyoung raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? He has that… something. Not the same as us. But there’s something there.”

Gaeul gave a short laugh. “Don’t let the unassuming act fool you. He’s just another body in the tournament. A warm-up for the real fight.”

Momotaro took a long drink of wine, the conversation falling into a brief, contemplative silence. His eyes narrowed as if contemplating something deeper. “Let’s make sure we don’t underestimate anyone… not even him. But for now, my focus is on Lucion. He’s the one to watch.”

The conversation turned to more idle chatter, but the underlying tension remained. Lucion—the only one they viewed as a genuine threat—hovered over their thoughts, even as they dismissed the rest of the competitors as beneath them.

At the same time Tibby’s was rediscovering himself with his new weapon. His mind unshackled by the burdens of others and their notions as he trained the weapon became an extension of himself its glow and radiance increasing as the hesitation and fear gave way to resolve and hope. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the training grounds. The air was thick with the sound of metal striking metal, as Tibby swung his newly acquired staff. It wasn’t just the rhythmic clang of his weapon that filled the air, but the undeniable energy that radiated from him. With every shift of his weapon, his movements were sharp, fluid, and somehow… full of life. The weapon morphed from tonfa to sais, then to a chain form with a fluidity that matched the rush of his energy.

Chowon stood at the side, her wide eyes following every shift in Tibby’s stance. She had known him as humble, reserved, even shy—but now, seeing him train, she noticed the spark in his eyes, the lively energy that emanated from him with every move. It was a side of him she hadn’t fully realized existed.

“Wow…” Chowon murmured, unable to tear her eyes away. “I had no idea you were so… intense.”

Tibby paused mid-swing, his expression bright and full of excitement. His usual soft demeanor gave way to an energetic grin as he caught sight of her watching him.

“Intense?” He chuckled, setting down the sais for a moment and walking over with a lively bounce in his step. “I’m just getting started! You should see me when I’m really fired up. But hey, gotta save my energy for tomorrow, right?”

Chowon blinked in surprise, her lips parting slightly as she processed his words. He wasn’t just humble—he was electric. The man who had appeared reserved and almost solemn was now speaking with a warmth, a fire, and a passion that she hadn’t seen before. He was clearly driven—more than she had anticipated—and somehow still managed to exude an extroverted energy that drew people in. She couldn’t help but smile in return.

Tibby’s grin only grew as he twirled his weapon in his hands, the kusarigama shifting back into its tonfa form. He raised an eyebrow at her, his voice teasing. “So, what? You thought I’d just stand there quietly in the corner? Nah. I’m here to make a splash! This tournament’s gonna feel like a breeze!”

He swung the tonfa with a sudden burst of speed, his movements so sharp they were almost impossible to track with the eye. His energy filled the space around him, creating a vibrant, unstoppable aura.

Chowon stood there, her mouth slightly agape, taken aback by the sheer enthusiasm he displayed. She’d seen others train with grit, with determination, but never quite with this much… joy. Tibby didn’t just fight to win—he fought because he wanted to, because he loved it.

“You’re amazing,” Chowon finally said, her voice filled with admiration. “It’s like… you’re completely alive in every move you make.”

Tibby paused for a moment, catching his breath, but still grinning widely. His eyes sparkled with the same energy as when he had first spoken. “What can I say? I love a good challenge! And tomorrow’s fight? I’m so ready for it, you don’t even know!”

His voice was brimming with excitement, and despite the looming uncertainty of the tournament ahead, his optimism seemed unstoppable. He wasn’t worried about the competition, nor the challenges they would throw at him. He wanted to be tested, to prove himself—because, at his core, he was a person who thrived on connection and the thrill of living.

“You really think you can win this, don’t you?” Chowon asked, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, still in awe of his infectious energy.

Tibby’s expression softened slightly, but his smile never wavered. “Of course I do! I’m not just doing this for me—I’m doing it for everyone who’s ever doubted me, everyone who thought I’d just stay in the shadows. They’ll see who I really am when I step into that arena.”

His enthusiasm was contagious. For a brief moment, it felt as though his vibrant energy filled the whole field. Tibby wasn’t some quiet, reserved contestant in the background; he was alive, a force of nature, and his presence radiated through everything he did.

“Alright, I’m ready to go again. You ready to see some real action?” Tibby grinned, fully revved up and eager to continue his training.

Chowon laughed, shaking her head in amazement. “I think you’re more ready than anyone.”

He winked playfully as he picked up his weapon once more, ready to take on the challenge ahead. With every swing, every movement, Tibby’s energy only seemed to grow, and it was clear: He wasn’t just in the tournament to compete—he was here to make his mark, to prove his existence to others, and nothing could hold him back.

The tournament arrived the next day and Tibby's excitement was palpable. The introvert everyone had seen at the opening ceremony was gone in his place something different. A difference so great the other competitors didn't even recognize him.

He carried himself with the swagger of a champion and the hope of a saint. When interviewed he looked less the part of a hero and ever increasingly the part of the heel everyone loved to hate, yet he spoke with genuine warmth and kindness to those around making rooting against him satisfying but also watching him Electrifying.

The tournament arrived the next day, and the air was thick with anticipation. The arena buzzed with energy, but none more than the competitors themselves. Among them, Tiberius was a beacon of electricity, a stark contrast to the quiet, reserved man everyone had seen just a day prior. The introvert, the humble and shy participant from the opening ceremony, was gone. In his place stood someone altogether different—someone unrecognizable.

Tibby walked through the bustling halls with the swagger of a champion and the hope of a saint. His posture was upright, exuding the confidence of someone who had already claimed victory, even though the battle had yet to begin. His eyes sparkled with a fire that mirrored the glow of his weapon, and every step he took seemed to draw the attention of those around him. His presence was magnetic, impossible to ignore.

When the interviewers approached, they were taken aback. This was no longer the shy, humble man who had stumbled through the ceremony. No, this was someone far more captivating. The crowd, which had seen him as little more than a dark horse before, now watched in awe as he spoke. His voice rang with an infectious enthusiasm, his words flowing with a genuine warmth that resonated with everyone around him.

Despite his energy, there was an edge to him. A slight cockiness that made him impossible to root against, but impossible to ignore. He had become the heel—the antagonist everyone loved to hate—yet, at the same time, he made it thrilling to watch. He was the kind of competitor you couldn’t help but cheer for, even if you knew he was likely going to crush everyone in his path. His charisma was undeniable, and the audience ate it up.

When asked how he thought the fight would go, Tibby leaned forward slightly, his eyes glinting with fiery excitement. His words were more than just a prediction—they were a promise. “You ask me, the immortal king of the battlefield, how this fight will go?” His voice boomed across the arena, and the crowd leaned in closer, hanging on every word. “I’ll tell you. You are watching the beginning of the tale of Tiberius, the one who slices the heavens! The story that ends with my dramatic finale against the Champion King himself. I will dazzle, I will amaze, and I will terrify beyond all belief. Today is just step one.”

The crowd erupted in cheers, roaring with approval as his words rang out in the air. They saw something in him—something special. His spirit wasn’t just competitive; it was alive, vibrant, and ready to take on the world. His confidence was infectious, and they couldn’t help but get swept up in it.

Hulk, standing off to the side with Chowon, exchanged a glance. They both knew it in that moment. “He’s gonna go far,” they thought simultaneously, their minds both drawn to the same conclusion. They had seen potential before, but this was different. Tibby wasn’t just a contestant; he was a force of nature.

Meanwhile, in the preparation room, Momotaro fumed. His eyes narrowed as he watched Tibby on the screen, delivering his showmanship to the crowd. He had expected fodder—someone easy to brush aside, a mere stepping stone on his way to the championship. But what he saw before him unnerved him. Tibby had transformed. The self-doubt, the hesitation, the humble man who had seemed like an afterthought had vanished. In his place was a competitor who didn’t need tricks or deception. He didn’t need to scheme his way to victory. Tibby’s desire to face the challenge head-on, with pure strength and determination, sickened Momotaro.

“Heroes…” Momotaro muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with disdain. He turned away from the screen, clenching his fists in frustration. The very idea of someone actually enjoying this game Hulk had set up, of someone fighting for something beyond their own gain, disgusted him. In his eyes, the tournament was nothing more than a game of manipulation, a means to an end. Anyone who thought otherwise was naive.

Momotaro stood there in his preparation room, breathing deeply, trying to center himself. His mind, usually so calm and calculated, was now thrown off-kilter by Tibby’s unexpected transformation. The world he had carefully built, where he was the shining hero, the top contender, was suddenly thrown into chaos. And that made him angry.

He couldn’t shake the image of Tibby—how the crowd had responded to him, how Hulk and Chowon had looked at him with recognition, understanding, and even pride. It was clear. Tibby wasn’t just a threat—he was someone who could disrupt everything Momotaro had worked for. The tournament was no longer just about winning. It was about proving who was the strongest, and Tibby had just made it personal.

“Your legend ends today,” Momotaro muttered, his voice cold and filled with resolve. “I’ll show him just who he’s dealing with. No one gets to stand in my way.” He looked at his reflection in the mirror, a cold smirk curling on his lips. The hero of the tournament had a challenger now, and that challenger was someone who couldn’t be ignored. Tiberius had made himself a spectacle, and Momotaro hated it.

The opening match was simple. The top seeds versus the lowest seeds and that meant Tibby was facing off against Taro. The combatants entered the arena, and Tibby feed off the cheers as he hyped off the crowd before walking over to Momotaro. He attempted a handshake but Momotaro’s only words were

“Focus up clown,” Tibby unfettered nodded and got in a combat ready stance as he took out his weapon. The crowd marveled as it turned into a beautiful nagitana that glowed with the same infectious energy Tibby had. Momotaro grew frustrated as he unsheathed his sword.

He closed the distance on Tibby and clashed with the tip of his nagitana. What he didn't expect was for Tibby to shift the weapon to its chain form and bind both of his hands before dislodging his katana away from him. Momotaro realized then along with all 64 other competitors that Tiberius was going to be a problem. As Tibby removed the priority weapon from his foe he tripped him before shifting his weapon into its Kusagirama form and kicking up dust to obscure Momotaro’s vision. To keep Momotaro off his game he continued to move the sword out of reach as he would look for openings that guaranteed victory, but Momotaro kept his guard dodging and carefully keeping ready for Tibby to slip up in his pressure.

The crowd watched rivetted. Wonyoung and Gaeul’s excitement and terror watching their chosen champion filled them with so much emotion their masks slipped and they cheered with reckless abandon. Chowon noticed this and said.

“Huh I guess Tibby brings out the true self in everyone,” she thought. As she watched Tibby play his little game if keep away. She noticed the shift. She watched as instead of moving Momotaro’s weapon far out of reach that he was placing on the battlefield as he moved the katana closer and closer to Momotaro.

For those who could see magic Tibby was putting chi glyphs that made it so when they were activated they'd explode. However because this was a new trick of Tibby’s he lacked control over this power so for what he was planning he was going for a lethal shot. Hulk’s advisor of mages Baron Mordo noticed this and notified the Champion King. While Hulk admired Tibby’s ingenuity he needed to keep his competitors safe so he gestured for Tibby to stop the fight which Tibby and a few others caught but not everyone so Momotaro unaware and pushed to his limit by this bumpkin hit him with his greatest attack. “Scales of the demon!” he yelled as he slashed his katana at Tibby who was lacerated a total of 356 by the radiant blades. He collapsed and the ref called the victory for Momotaro as he also didn't see Hulk’s signal. After the match was just as hectic as the crew readied for the next fight.

The lounge buzzed with subdued energy as contestants gathered to debrief and decompress after the opening matches. Wonyoung and Gaeul sat in a quiet corner, their expressions composer but held feeling of awe and terror deep within. The screens replayed moments from the day’s most dramatic match—Momotaro versus Tiberius.

“That guy,” Gaeul began, her voice low and contemplative, “he’s not like anyone else here. Did you see how he fought?”

Wonyoung nodded, her arms crossed as she leaned back in her chair. Her usual composure had slipped during the fight, her cheers echoing among the crowd alongside the roar of thousands. Now, her tone was measured, almost clinical. “He didn’t just fight. He put on a show. Every move felt deliberate—not just to win, but to entertain. And the crowd ate it up.”

Gaeul gave a small laugh, though her nerves still showed. “I almost forgot we’re here to root for Momotaro. Tibby’s energy…it’s impossible to ignore.”

Before Wonyoung could reply, the door to the lounge opened with a sharp creak, and Momotaro strode in. His movements were stiff, his expression cold, yet there was a shadow of uncertainty in his eyes. The room fell quiet as he walked past the other contestants, all of whom watched him with a mix of respect and trepidation.

“Momotaro,” Wonyoung called out, her voice breaking the silence.

He stopped, glancing at her and Gaeul before walking over. “What is it?” he asked curtly, his voice tinged with irritation. Gaeul reaches put to soothe the man with her touch.

Wonyoung didn’t flinch under his glare. “How do you think it went? That fight wasn’t exactly clean.”

Momotaro’s jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “I won,” he said flatly.

“Sure,” Gaeul interjected, her voice unusually sharp. “But look at him.” She gestured toward the screen, which now showed Tibby being carried off by medics, his bloodied body a testament to Momotaro’s finishing blow.

“He’ll live. he shouldn't though that blow should have been fatal” Momotaro snapped, though the defensiveness in his tone betrayed him.

“That’s not the point,” Wonyoung said, her eyes narrowing. “You saw it just like we did. Tibby didn’t fight like someone who was out of his league. He pushed you. Hard. And that was round one. He’s going through the loser’s bracket now, but if he makes it back to you…” She trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.

Momotaro scoffed, though the unease in his posture was unmistakable. “He’s reckless. Flashy. That kind of fighting only works until someone with actual skill shuts it down.”

Gaeul leaned forward, her gaze piercing. “And yet, you had to use Scales of the Demon to stop him. Against the lowest seed.”

The words hit their mark, and Momotaro’s scowl deepened. He glanced at the screen again, his mind replaying the fight. Tibby’s unorthodox tactics, his shifting weapon forms, the calculated placement of the katana—everything about the match had been a puzzle, one he’d only barely managed to solve. And the crowd’s reaction…

“Everyone’s talking about him,” Wonyoung continued. “They’re calling him a genius. A wildcard. Even Hulk looked impressed.”

Momotaro’s eyes flicked to her, his expression dark. “You’re saying you’re rooting for him now?”

“No,” Wonyoung said, her voice steady, and her expression matching his as if scoff that he would challenge her loyalty again. “We’re still in your corner. But you need to take him seriously. If he gets another shot at you, he won’t make the same mistakes.”

“And neither will I,” Momotaro said firmly, though his words felt more like a promise to himself than to them.

Gaeul sighed, leaning back in her chair. “You’d better not. Because the way things are going, Tibby’s not just going to be a problem for you—he’s going to be a problem for everyone.”

Momotaro said nothing, his gaze fixed on the screen as the replay shifted to Tibby’s dramatic introduction before the match. The crowd’s cheers echoed faintly through the lounge, and for the first time, Momotaro felt a flicker of doubt.

He turned abruptly, walking toward the training room without another word. If he was going to beat Tibby he would have to train 3 times as hard as he did.

Wonyoung watched him go, her expression unreadable. “Do you think he gets it?” she asked Gaeul.

Gaeul shrugged. “Who knows? But one thing’s for sure.”

“What’s that?”

Gaeul smiled faintly, though there was no humor in her eyes. “If Tibby keeps fighting like that, this tournament’s about to get a lot more interesting.”

The impact of the first match overshadowed every following match much to Levithan’s Chagrin.

“The winners should be the focus,” he thought to himself before getting ready for his interview. The camera panned to Leviathan, who sat with his arms crossed, his lengthy frame nearly dwarfing the chair beneath him. His crimson scale mail shimmered under the lights of the press room, and his deep, steady breathing hinted at the restrained power within. The reporters eagerly leaned forward, microphones thrust in his direction, eager for a soundbite from the victorious warrior.

“Leviathan,” one reporter began, her voice bright but professional. “First of all, congratulations on your win. Another dominant performance. But if we may, we’d like your thoughts on the match earlier today between Momotaro and Tiberius. It’s all anyone can talk about right now.”

Leviathan’s eyes, cold and calculating, shifted toward the reporter. He took a moment to exhale slowly, as if weighing his words.

“It was… revealing,” he rumbled, his voice deep and deliberate, like the shifting of tectonic plates. “Not in the way most people think.”

A murmur swept through the room. The reporter pressed on. “Could you elaborate? What did it reveal to you?”

Leviathan’s gaze turned steely. “Tibby’s fight wasn’t just about winning or losing. It was a declaration. A challenge. And he succeeded in one thing: showing everyone, including Momotaro, that the rules of this tournament don’t apply to him.”

Another reporter jumped in. “Do you mean his unconventional weapon techniques? Or the chi glyphs?”

Leviathan allowed a small, humorless smirk to play across his face. “The weapon shifts, the traps, the strategy—that’s all surface level. What matters is the intent. Tibby doesn’t fight to defeat his opponent. He fights to expose them. To unravel them. And Momotaro?” Leviathan paused, letting the tension build. “He unraveled.”

The room fell silent, save for the frantic scribbling of notes.

“But Momotaro won,” another reporter countered, trying to challenge the narrative. “Doesn’t that count for something?”

Leviathan leaned forward, his crimson eyes locking onto the reporter like a predator sizing up prey. “Does it? Look at the aftermath. Momotaro isn’t celebrating. He’s not basking in victory. He’s shaken. Questioning himself. And that’s what makes Tibby dangerous. He lost the fight, but he’s still in the tournament. And now everyone knows what he’s capable of.”

The murmurs grew louder. Someone else asked, “What about the role of the officials? Hulk tried to stop the fight, but it seems like his signal came too late. Do you think that played a part in what happened?”

Leviathan’s expression darkened slightly, and his massive tail shifted behind him, the only sign of his annoyance. “Mistakes happen. Hulk’s job is to keep order, but Tibby? Tibby thrives in chaos. Even if the fight had stopped earlier, the damage was done. Momotaro’s psyche, the crowd’s perception, the other competitors’ calculations—Tibby’s chaos reached them all.”

The original reporter spoke up again, cautiously. “And what about you, Leviathan? If you face Tibby in the future, what’s your strategy?”

Leviathan let out a low, rumbling chuckle that reverberated through the room. “Tibby’s clever, but I’m no Momotaro. I don’t get rattled, and I don’t play into someone else’s game. If he tries to unravel me, he’ll find himself staring into the abyss instead.”

The reporters nodded, some murmuring their approval at the confident answer. But Leviathan wasn’t done.

“One more thing,” he said, his tone dropping to something almost ominous. “Tibby said he was here to beat Hulk. That’s a bold claim. But what he doesn’t realize is this: if he wants to climb to the top, he has to go through me first.”

With that, Leviathan stood, his towering form casting a long shadow across the room. The press erupted in questions, but he gave them no further response. Instead, he turned and walked away, his tail swishing with the slow, deliberate movements of someone who knew his power—and didn’t feel the need to prove it.

Later as the legend of Tiberius who slices the heavens spread Lucion sat on the edge of his bed, rolling the hilt of his sword between his hands. His usually calm demeanor was strained, the sharp lines of his face deepened with thought. Yerim lounged nearby, perched between his legs. Her lucious lips slowly rake across his manhood. sThe moonlight framed her figure, her presence an anchor in the storm of his thoughts.

“So?” Yerim’s voice was teasing but gentle, as she slowly worked along his shaft wit her skilled fingers like the wind brushing through a quiet forest. “What’s running through that big, brilliant mind of yours?”she said as she began bobbing on his cock again

He sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I can’t stop replaying their fight. Tibby was…” He paused, searching for the right word.

“Unexpected?” she offered as she came for air.

Lucion nodded. “And dangerous. More dangerous than anyone gave him credit for. His adaptability, the way he manipulated the battlefield—it’s not just skill. It’s instinct. And instinct like that can’t be taught.”

Yerim tilted her head, studying him as she stroked his rod some more. “You’re worried.”

He chuckled softly, though the sound lacked its usual warmth. “I wouldn’t say worried. Cautious, maybe. Tibby isn’t like the others I’ve faced. He doesn’t just fight; he thinks. Every move he made was calculated to throw Momotaro off balance.”

“And it worked,” Yerim said, her voice soft. “Until it didn’t.”

Lucion frowned, his grip tightening on the sword hilt. Yerim tried to calm him by sucking deeper than usual but Lucion was inconsolable, “Momotaro’s strength is brute force. He overpowered Tibby in the end, but it was close. Too close. If Hulk hadn’t tried to intervene, who knows how far Tibby’s plan would have gone? That kusarigama trick with the chi glyphs—he could’ve ended the match right there if he’d had more control over his magic.”

Yerim’s tongue slid off the of Lucion’s dick as she began to lick his frenulum, her pace slow and deliberate. She knelt in front of him, placing a hand on his knee. “You’re not Momotaro, Lucion. You don’t rely on brute force. You see the battlefield better than anyone. That’s why you’re still here.”

He looked at her, his expression softening slightly. “You always know what to say.”

“It’s a gift,” she said with a playful smile. Then her expression grew serious. “But you’re right to be cautious. Tibby’s next fight is with you, and he’s not going to come in the same way. He learns too fast for that.”

Lucion placed the sword down beside him, resting his hands on his knees. “The key will be keeping him from dictating the flow of the fight. He thrives on momentum, on keeping his opponent reacting instead of acting.”

“Then take the initiative,” Yerim suggested. “Force him to fight on your terms. You’re a tactician, Lucion. Use that. Make him chase you, and when he slips…”

“…I’ll finish it,” Lucion said, his voice filled with quiet determination. As he spoke he came all over Yerim’s face. She giggled happy to serve her man

Yerim smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “That’s the Lucion I know. Just don’t underestimate him. If you do…”

“I won’t,” he interrupted, his tone firm. “Tibby’s dangerous, but I know how to handle danger.”

Yerim stood, her confidence in him evident in the way she carried herself. “Good. Because I have no intention of watching you lose to some upstart with a flashy weapon and a knack for showmanship.”

Lucion smirked, standing to face her. “You don’t think I’d let him get the better of me, do you?”

“I think,” Yerim said, leaning in close, her voice a whisper against his ear, “that you’re going to show everyone why you belong at the top.”

Lucion nodded, her words igniting a spark of confidence within him. “He won’t know what hit him.”

“Now that’s the spirit,” Yerim said with a grin. “Just don’t let him turn this into a spectacle. Keep your head in the fight, and it’s yours.”

As she stepped back toward the window, Lucion watched her, his mind clearing as her words settled. He wasn’t Momotaro, and this wasn’t about brute strength. It was about strategy, precision, and control. And those were the things he excelled at.

Tibby may have made himself a threat, but Lucion was ready to remind him—and everyone else—why he was a contender.

Unsure about his interference in the tournament Hulk went to the people’s Champion infirmary room Tibby sat in the medical bay, his arms covered in bandages and his chest wrapped tight to stem the lingering pain from Momotaro’s brutal final attack. Despite the searing ache of his wounds, his expression was far from defeated. His eyes, sharp and calculating, were fixed on the notepad in his lap, where hastily scribbled notes and diagrams painted a chaotic tapestry of strategy. Hulk sat silent for a moment and watched Tiberius sketch and scribble.

Hulk entered the room, his towering frame casting a long shadow over the flickering glow of the medical monitors. His usual confidence was tempered, replaced by a somber expression as he approached Tibby’s bedside.

“Tibby,” Hulk began, his deep voice quieter than usual.

Tibby glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “Hulk, what brings you to the infirmary? I thought champions didn’t make house calls.”

Hulk crossed his arms, leaning against the doorway. “I came to apologize.”

That made Tibby pause, setting the notepad aside as he regarded the Champion King with curiosity. “For what?”

“For not stopping the fight when I should have,” Hulk admitted. “I saw where it was headed. I signaled for the referee to call it, but I didn’t act fast enough. You took a beating because I hesitated. That’s on me.”

Tibby blinked, then let out a short laugh that turned into a wince. “Ow—don’t make me laugh right now. These ribs are still protesting.” He shook his head, his tone light but sincere. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for, Hulk. This is a tournament, not a tea party. Things get rough. I knew what I was signing up for when I stepped into that ring.”

Hulk frowned. “Still, it wasn’t fair. If you’d had time to refine that technique of yours, things might’ve gone differently.”

Tibby leaned back, a faint grin tugging at his lips despite the pain. “Maybe. But fair doesn’t win fights, does it? And let’s be honest—Momotaro needed that win more than I did. Did you see the look in his eyes? I’m living rent-free in his head now.”

Hulk couldn’t help but chuckle at that, though his expression remained thoughtful. “You’re not angry?”

Tibby shook his head. “Nah. Losing’s just part of the game. Besides, I’m not out yet. The loser’s bracket is just another chance to prove myself. And I’ve already started working on my approach for the next fight.” He tapped his notepad, where diagrams of his kusarigama and notes on potential opponents filled the page. “Momotaro was step one. Whoever’s next? They’ll get the refined version of me.”

Hulk studied him, his keen eyes taking in every detail—the lack of resentment, the unwavering focus, the confidence that bordered on dangerous. “You really believe you’ll make it back to the finals?”

Tibby met his gaze, his grin turning sharp. “Oh, I’m not just making it back. I’m going to win this thing. And after that? I’m coming for you.”

Hulk froze for a moment, the weight of those words sinking in. He wasn’t easily intimidated—he’d faced countless challengers before—but something about the calm certainty in Tibby’s voice sent a chill down his spine. It wasn’t arrogance. It was conviction.

“Well,” Hulk said after a beat, his tone measured, “I’ll be waiting.”

Tibby leaned forward slightly, the movement making his bandages creak. “Don’t wait too long, Hulk. You might find yourself surprised.”

Hulk turned to leave, pausing at the doorway. “You’re a dangerous man, Tibby. I can see why the crowd loves you. Just don’t let that spark burn out too soon.”

Tibby smirked, picking up his notepad again. “Oh, don’t worry. The fire’s only just getting started.”

As Hulk walked away, his mind churned with conflicting thoughts. Tibby wasn’t just another competitor. He was something more—something unpredictable, unshakable, and undeniably formidable.

For the first time in a long time, Hulk found himself wondering if the Champion King might finally have met his match.

Praetorius reclined on a plush chaise in his private quarters, the dim lighting casting soft shadows over the royal decor. His long coat was draped carelessly over a chair, and a half-empty glass of wine rested on the table beside him. Across the room, Hanni perched on the edge of a velvet armchair, her delicate features glowing with curiosity as she twirled a lock of hair around her finger. Her nude form shined in the dimly lit room

“So,” she began, her voice teasing yet thoughtful, “what’s the verdict, oh great king? Did Momotaro barely scrape by, or was Tibby really just that unlucky?”

Praetorius smirked, swirling his wine as he considered her question. “A little of both, my dear consort,” he replied, his tone smooth as silk. “Momotaro’s victory wasn’t without merit—his precision and resolve are undeniable. But Tibby…” He paused, letting the name linger in the air. “Tibby is a different breed of fighter. What we witnessed wasn’t a loss—it was a declaration of intent.”

Hanni tilted her head, intrigued. “A declaration? You make it sound like he wanted to lose.”

“Not at all,” Praetorius corrected, setting his glass down. “Tibby doesn’t strike me as the type to settle for second place. No, what he did was far more dangerous. He forced everyone—Momotaro, the crowd, the judges—to recognize him. Even in defeat, he controlled the narrative. It’s a rare skill, and one that will serve him well in the matches to come.”

Hanni leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “You really think he’s that much of a threat? I mean, Momotaro did take him down.”

Praetorius chuckled, the sound low and rich. “My dear Hanni, you underestimate the power of perception. Momotaro may have won the battle, but Tibby won the crowd. Every move he made—the way he wielded his weapon, the audacity of his strategies—it was all designed to leave an impression. And it worked. By the time he’s healed and ready to fight again, his opponents won’t just be facing his skills. They’ll be facing the legend he’s already begun to craft.”

Hanni’s lips curled into a thoughtful smile. “You sound like you’re rooting for him.”

“Rooting? Not quite,” Praetorius said, his smirk widening. “But I do appreciate a well-played game. Tibby’s a wild card, and wild cards have a way of disrupting even the best-laid plans. It’s… fascinating to watch.”

Hanni rose from her seat, crossing the room to sit beside him on the chaise. “So what’s your plan, then? Sit back and enjoy the chaos? Or do you have something more… involved in mind?”

Praetorius turned to her, his gaze sharp and knowing. “Chaos, my dear, is a tool like any other. And a good strategist knows how to wield every tool at his disposal. Let Tibby and Momotaro dance their little dance. I’ll step in when the moment is right.”

Hanni arched an eyebrow, her expression equal parts amused and intrigued. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Only when I want to be,” he quipped, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. “Now, tell me—what did you think of the fight? I trust your keen eyes caught something I missed.”

Hanni grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh, I saw plenty. But if you want my insights, you’ll have to earn them.”

Praetorius laughed, a deep, genuine sound that filled the room. “You drive a hard bargain, my dear. Very well. Enlighten me.”

Hanni leaned back against the chaise, stretching like a cat before fixing Praetorius with a knowing smile. “Alright, here’s the thing about that fight,” she began, her tone light but sharp with observation. “Everyone’s focused on the big moves—the flashy techniques, the weapons, the crowd reactions. But that’s not what stood out to me.”

“Oh?” Praetorius folded his hands in his lap, his expression interested but unreadable. “Enlighten me, my insightful muse.”

Hanni rolled her eyes at the nickname but continued. “It’s Tibby’s rhythm. The way he fought wasn’t about power or even precision—it was about setting a pace and forcing Momotaro to follow it. Every shift in his weapon’s form wasn’t just an attack, it was like he was conducting a symphony. And for a while, Momotaro was dancing to his tune.”

Praetorius tilted his head, considering her words. “Interesting. So you’re saying Tibby wasn’t just reacting—he was leading?”

“Exactly.” Hanni’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “Even when it looked like Momotaro had the upper hand, Tibby was setting him up. Moving the katana closer and closer? That wasn’t just strategy, that was psychological warfare. He wanted Momotaro to think he was slipping. It’s just… well, Tibby got a little too clever for his own good. Those chi glyphs were brilliant, but he couldn’t control them. And that’s what cost him the fight.”

Praetorius chuckled softly. “Ah, hubris. The Achilles’ heel of every would-be genius. But you’re right—it was a fascinating strategy. One misstep, and it could’ve been Momotaro lying in the dirt instead of Tibby.”

Hanni nodded, her expression growing more serious. “And that’s the thing—Tibby doesn’t need to win to get under someone’s skin. He’s already in Momotaro’s head, rent-free. Did you see how rattled he was, even after the fight? That humble, stoic hero act is cracking , and everyone knows it.”

Praetorius let out a low hum of approval. “You’re sharper than you look, my dear.”

“Of course I am,” Hanni shot back, sticking out her tongue. “I watch more than just the showy moves. Like how Momotaro wasn’t the only one who cracked. Did you notice Wonyoung and Gaeul in the crowd?”

Praetorius raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“They were so caught up in the fight, they dropped their usual composure. They weren’t just watching—they were cheering, yelling, feeling. And Chowon noticed, too. She might play it cool, but I saw her smirk. Tibby’s chaos doesn’t just disrupt fighters—it pulls everyone into his orbit. Even the spectators.”

Praetorius leaned forward, his fingers steepled as he processed her insights. “So what you’re saying,” he said slowly, “is that Tibby isn’t just a fighter. He’s a force of nature. A disruptor.”

Hanni grinned, pleased that he was catching on. “No worse. He is a spectacle. And spectacles are dangerous, because you can’t predict what they’ll do next. That’s why Momotaro’s win doesn’t feel like a win. It feels like Tibby just laid the groundwork for something bigger. Another showstopper as it were.”

Praetorius’s smirk returned, his mind already spinning with possibilities. “A very astute analysis, my dear. Perhaps I should take you into my confidence more often.”

“You should,” Hanni replied breezily. “I’m smarter than half the people you surround yourself with. And cuter.”

“Undeniably true,” Praetorius said, lifting his wineglass in a mock toast. “To your insights—and to the chaos yet to come.”

Hanni clinked her imaginary glass with his, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “Here’s to that. Let’s see how much more trouble Tibby stirs up.”

The infirmary smelled faintly of antiseptic and herbs, the sharp tang softened by the dim lighting and the quiet hum of activity. Chowon pushed the door open, her steps hesitant as she glanced around. Her heart had been tight in her chest since the match, her mind racing with what she might say when she saw Tibby. She hadn’t expected him to take the beating so well—or to see him sitting on the bed, entirely healed, casually tossing a small orb of light from one hand to the other.

“Tibby?” she called softly, stepping into the room.

He looked up, his grin as bright as ever, though his eyes carried the weight of someone who had been through far more than his expression let on. “Chowon! Fancy seeing you here. Thought you’d be off celebrating Momotaro’s big win.”

Her brow furrowed as she approached him. “Don’t start with that. I came to see you.”

“Me?” He tossed the orb one last time and caught it, letting the light fade from his hand. “I’m fine. See? Not a scratch on me.”

“That’s not the point.” Chowon crossed her arms, standing just a few feet from him now. Her gaze softened as she took him in—whole, unharmed, and still as infuriatingly carefree as ever. “Tibby, you scared me out there. I thought…” She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Tibby tilted his head, his grin fading as he noticed the worry etched into her features. “Hey,” he said, his voice dropping to something quieter, more sincere. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Chowon bit her lip, her emotions threatening to spill over. “You didn’t just worry me. You… you made it impossible to look away. The way you fought, the way you moved—it was like you were trying to carry the whole arena on your shoulders. Why do you push yourself like that?”

Tibby sighed, leaning back on his hands. “It’s not about pushing myself. It’s about showing everyone what I can do. People see me as some loudmouth clown with a flashy weapon, but I’ve got more than jokes and tricks. That match was my way of proving it.”

“And nearly getting yourself killed was part of that plan?” she shot back, her voice trembling.

He looked at her for a long moment, the usual spark in his eyes dimmed. “I knew the risks,” he said finally. “But I’m not here to play it safe, Chowon. I’m here to win. And sometimes that means taking hits, making people believe I’m down before I show them I’m not.”

Her arms dropped to her sides, and she took another step closer. “But at what cost, Tibby? What if next time, you don’t get up?”

Tibby’s grin returned, softer this time. “Then I guess I’ll have to make sure there isn’t a next time, huh?”

Chowon huffed, her frustration mingling with relief. Without thinking, she reached out and placed a hand on his arm, the warmth of his skin grounding her. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice dipping lower, more intimate. “But you’re still here.”

Her breath caught at his words, and for a moment, the world outside the infirmary seemed to fade away. Tibby turned his arm slightly, letting his hand rest over hers.

“I’ll be careful,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “For you.”

Chowon’s lips curved into a small, reluctant smile. “You better be.”

They stayed like that for a moment, their fingers lightly brushing as a quiet understanding passed between them. Tibby might be reckless, but here, in this moment, he was grounded—by her, and maybe for her.

“Alright,” he said, breaking the silence but not moving away. “Since I’m all healed up, what do you say we get out of here? I could use some fresh air, and I’m guessing you could use some company that doesn’t have a death wish.”

Chowon laughed softly, shaking her head. “Fine. But only if you promise not to do anything stupid for at least one day.”

Tibby smirked as he stood, their hands lingering together for a beat longer before he let go. “Deal. One day of no stupid.”

As they left the infirmary together, the weight of the earlier fight began to lift, replaced by the quiet comfort of knowing they didn’t have to face what came next alone.

The smell of melted cheese and garlic wafted through the air as Tibby and Chowon sat across from each other in a small, cozy pizzeria just outside the tournament grounds. The place was lively but not overwhelming, a perfect retreat from the chaos of the arena. A half-eaten pepperoni and mushroom pizza sat between them, the grease glistening under the warm light.

Tibby leaned back in his chair, one hand resting lazily on the table as he polished off his slice. “You know,” he said between bites, “there’s nothing quite like a good pizza after almost dying in front of thousands of people.”

Chowon gave him a pointed look, though a smile tugged at her lips. “If you’re trying to make me lose my appetite, you’re doing a great job.”

He grinned, grabbing another slice. “C’mon, you’ve gotta admit, it makes the pizza taste better. Like a victory meal, even though I technically lost.”

“Technically?” she teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, fine, definitely lost,” Tibby conceded with a shrug. “But I made my point. And now, I’ve got Lucion to worry about.”

Chowon set her slice down, her expression turning thoughtful. “Lucion’s no joke, Tibby. He’s precise, calculating. He doesn’t make mistakes.”

Tibby nodded, his demeanor shifting slightly. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that. He’s the kind of guy who waits for you to slip up, then takes you apart piece by piece. But that’s the thing—he’s all about reacting. If I don’t give him the chance to counter, I might be able to throw him off his game.”

Chowon tilted her head, watching him closely. “So, what’s the plan?”

Tibby leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Speed. Lucion likes to control the pace, but if I keep things fast—keep him guessing—I might be able to catch him off guard. And I’ve been working on a couple of new tricks. The key is making him think he’s in control when he’s not.”

Chowon’s lips curved into a small smile. “You’re really taking this seriously.”

“Of course I am,” Tibby said, his voice softening. “Lucion’s not just another opponent. He’s a test. If I can beat him, it proves I belong here.”

Chowon reached out, her hand brushing against his on the table. “You already proved that today. Whether you beat Lucion or not, you’ve shown everyone what you’re capable of.”

Tibby looked at her, the usual playfulness in his eyes replaced by something more genuine. “Thanks, Chowon. That means a lot, coming from you.”

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze before pulling back. “Just promise me you’ll stick to your plan and not do anything reckless. You don’t have to win every fight by being the flashiest guy in the room.”

Tibby chuckled, grabbing another slice. “No promises. But I’ll try to keep the stupid to a minimum. For you.”

Chowon rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered. As they continued eating, the tension from the day’s events slowly melted away, replaced by the easy camaraderie and quiet understanding they shared. Whatever challenges lay ahead, Tibby knew he had someone in his corner—and that made all the difference.

[flowerofbenevolence]

Royal Sword Academy Headcanons

Background information (mostly canon):

As it is canon, Royal Sword Academy, also known as RSA, is one of the top two most powerful and famous magic academies in the world of Twisted Wonderland alongside Night Raven College, also known as NRC. It is also sometimes revered as THE MOST powerful, famous, and best magic arcane academy due to having triumphed over Night Raven College in the SpellDrive/Magift Tournaments for nearly a century. It is also known for educating its students to not only be the most excellent of mages, but also the most noble and virtuous of bachelors.

Much like Night Raven College, Royal Sword Academy is an all-boys school. However, instead of being selfish, arrogant narcissists like the staff and students of Night Raven College, the staff and students of Royal Sword Academy are generally selfless, caring, and compassionate. Some are noble, princely, and heroic, while others are gentle, humble, and pure. Some are curious, adventurous, and outgoing, while others are reserved, brooding, and deeply thoughtful. However, one thing remains the same - the inhabitants of the school are natural leaders.

In contrast to how Night Raven College students tend to overblot due to being overly ambitious, confident, and competitive, Royal Sword Academy students sometimes struggle with low self-esteems, inferiority complexes, and expressing themselves, their needs, wants, and identities. For that reason, Royal Sword Academy students would also require a magicless, penniless prefect to guide them into being assertive, confident, and competitive by making them realize just how lucky they are to have such powerful magic and end up in such an amazing school.

Appearance and Location (also mostly canon):

Royal Sword Academy's main campus is located on the southernmost end of the tiny Isle of Sages, or Sage's Island. It is south of Night Raven College, which lies in the northern mountains of the island as well as the island's central village. Most of the school building's color palette consists of white and blue, and the school building itself resembles that of a castle. The school has a small bridge or moat that crosses over to the academy's main building, and behind that is the school's entire campus.

Emblem (also mostly canon):

Royal Sword Academy's school emblem resembles that of a shield, consisting of a light blue elongated pentagon topped with a matching, long, thin, horizontal rectangle, lined with a thin, dark blue inner rim, and a thicker, silver outer rim. Within the shield is a sword with a silver blade and golden hilt topped with a red, golden-striped crown or hat piercing through a golden shield with a castle-like top that has a royal blue shield inside with the words "Royal Sword Academy" written in white inside. At the side of the sword and castle-like topped shield are two white horses with dark blue manes and silver collars. At the bottom of the sword and horses and at the sides of the sword's tip are two pairs of bundles of laurel leaves, which are a symbol of glory.

Orientation Ceremony:

The students of Royal Sword Academy arrive at the school sleeping in a glass coffin in the Platinum Pumpkin Coach pulled by pristine white horses. Upon awakening, the students are ushered by the staff and upperclassmen to the Chamber of the Sacred Well, where they are sorted in one of the seven dorms the school in founded on based on the nature of their soul. After being sorted into a dorm, the students are also given a long, thin, silver baton that resembles a sword and is embedded with a magestone of their dorm's color. When the ceremony is over, the students are led by their dorm leaders to their dorms.

Dorms:

Royal Sword Academy is founded on the noble personality traits of the Magnificent Seven - seven mages, most of whom were royalty, that were said to uphold the most noble of virtues, were companions of the Great Seven, and are idolized as role models by those of Twisted Wonderland.

Wondaventure - The dorm based on the creative imagination of The Wondrous Lady in Blue (Alice from Alice in Wonderland). The students of this dorm seem to be crazy and insane at first glance, but they are also innovative, imaginative, and creative. They also seem to struggle with being misunderstood, though, and struggle to express themselves. Their main color is sky blue. Their secondary color is white. The magestones in their magestone brooches are also sky blue. 

Alexander “Alex” Wondrionne (twisted from Alice) - The Housewarden of Wondaventure. His adventurous, curious, and rebellious attitude contrasts greatly to his noble status and quickly led to the ending of his betrothal.

Chenille Sommerfly (twisted from Blue Caterpillar) - The Vice-Housewarden of Wondaventure. A quiet, composed, and serious yet forgetful and short-tempered young man who is known for giving useful advice and telling complicated riddles.

Che’nya (twisted from Chesire Cat) - A mischievous, whimsical, and mysterious cat beastman who often teases people and gets them into trouble.

Michael Bavarder (twisted from Tweedle Dee) - A playful and talkative gossip who often quarrels and competes with his twin brother whom he insists is younger than him. Always loves a game.

Gabriel Bavarder (twisted from Tweedle Dum) - A cheerful yet competitive social butterfly who often accompanies his twin brother despite frequently arguing with him. His slanderous gossip often leads to chaotic drama.

Safarimane - The dorm based on the noble leadership of The Royal Lion (Simba from The Lion King). The students of this dorm strive to be excellent leaders and are ambitious, hardworking, adventurous, curious, and eager to learn. However, they struggle with large egos and the great amount of responsibility being a leader comes with. Their main color is golden. Their secondary color is reddish orange. Their magestones are the same color as their main color.

Mfalme Lionheart (twisted from Adult Simba) - The ambitious and adventurous yet impressionable housewarden of Safarimane who is also a prince. Excited yet nervous about his position, he yearns to be the perfect leader.

Kufu Heshima (twisted from Timon) - A self-centered and lazy pariah who has been friends with Moyo for many years and has become a recent companion of Mfalme. Coming from a poor background, he deeply cares for his family.

Moyo Guluwe (twisted from Pumbaa) - A dimwitted and foolish outcast alongside Kufu, whom he has been friends with for many years. He is the smarter of the two and often tries to teach him.

Tritonelle - the dorm based on the adventurous curiosity of The First Mermaid out of Water (Ariel from The Little Mermaid). The students of this dorm are adventurous, inquisitive, and rebellious to a fault. Because of their curiosity, they often struggle with being contained and restrained. Their main color is emerald green and their secondary color is purple. The color of their magestones are green.

Rielle Poseidonius (twisted from Ariel) - The curious housewarden of Tritonelle who is inquisitive to the extent of rebelliousness. Hailing from merfolk royalty, he is extremely fascinated by humans and the world above.

Sean Hummer (twisted from Sebastian) - A strict and serious disciplinarian who was sent by the royal family to keep Rielle in check as his vice-housewarden. Believes spending time gaining knew knowledge is dangerous folly.

Flynn Fiskene (twisted from Flounder) - A shy, anxious, and timid boy who often accompanies Rielle wherever he goes, even if they are dangerous or against the rules. Loyal and protective, but a bit of a coward and rule-breaker.

Yatasima - The dorm founded on the cunning wit of The Prince who was also a Thief (Aladdin from Aladdin). The students of this dorm are observant, intelligent, and ambitious as well as kind, compassionate, and selfless. Their main color is dark indigo. Their secondary color is crimson. Their magestones are dark indigo. 

Jasim Al-Malik (twisted from Jasmine) - The housewarden of Yatasima. An icily cold crown prince who will have to find a wife one day amongst the vast nobility of his home country. Once someone wins his trust, his loyalty will know no bounds.

Jinn Thalatha (twisted from Genie) - A bright and cheerful boy whose posivity rivals the sun. While he loves granting wishes and seeing a smile on people's faces, he also has wishes of his own and secretly envies Jasim's housewarden position.

Apfelreine - the dorm based on the benevolent purity of The Fairest Maiden of All (Snow White from Snow White and the Seven Dwarves). The students of this dorm are benevolent, gentle, and selfless. However, they struggle with naivety. Due to their purity, they are blissfully unaware of the ill-intentions of others and the envy of other people. Their main color is bright red. Their secondary color is dark blue. Their magestones are red as it is canon.

Neige LeBlanche (twisted from Snow White) - The delicately beautiful housewarden of Apfelreine known for being the most beautiful in all of Twisted Wonderland. Pure and innocent, he is blissfully unaware of all those who wish him ill will.

Dominic (twisted from Doc) - An intelligent, responsible, and hardworking dwarf who is the housewarden of Apfelreine as well as the leader of the Seven Swords. While many would question why or how someone who short and childish-looking could possibly serve as a leader, he has never failed in his duties.

Grum (twisted from Grumpy) - A cranky and temperamental dwarf whose tough love often gets mistaken for rudeness. He detests it when people mistake him for a child, even though he sometimes acts like one.

Shelphie (twisted from Sleepy) - A somnolent and drowsy dwarf whose attempts to stay awake always end up in vain. As a result, he sometimes pretends to be awake using his sleeping mask.

Hop (twiste from Happy) - An optimistic and exuberant dwarf who vows to always see the bright side of things and is always seen with a smile on his adorable face.

Timmy (twisted from Timid) - A meek and bashful dwarf who often gets nervous around people. For that reason, he covers his eyes with his hair to avoid eye contact.

Snick (twisted from Sneezy) - A sickly and ailing dwarf with a weak immune system. He almost always has to wear his face mask due to frequently sneezing and wheezing.

Toby (twisted from Dopey) - A scatterbrained and empty-minded dwarf who forgets a lot of things, including his own name. His flightiness and immaturity often annoys the other dwarves.

Kyle Reinheit (twisted from True Love’s Kiss) - An ethereally beauteous hopeless romantic known for his stunning lip products. He despises being seen as weak.

Irotheikos - The dorm based on the heroic courage of the Hero in the Stars (Hercules from Hercules). The students of this dorm are ambitious, tenacious, and hardworking. Their flaw is vanity, as they often get caught up in their current achievements and stray from their initial objective. Their main color is royal blue, and their secondary color is golden yellow. Their magestones are royal blue.

Hector Dyneam (twisted from Hercules) - The flashy and boastful housewarden of Irotheikos who wants to help and save people even in the most dire of situations. His achievements sometimes get to his head, though.

Phillipe Daskalo (twisted from Philoctetes) - A gruff, easily-annoyed, and ornery goat beastman who is the vice-housewarden of Irotheikos. Always scolding the underclassmen for their mistakes and failures.

Angeamouria - The dorm based on the graceful virtues of The Slumbering Princess of Roses (Aurora from Sleeping Beauty). The students in this dorm are graceful, elegant, and virtuous. Their only flaw is being painfully shy and being extremely nervous around strangers. Their main color is purple. Their secondary color is golden. Their magestones are also purple.

Aurelius Rosantine (twisted from Aurora) - The housewarden of Angeamouria. An elegant and beneficent prince that struggles to approach people and make friends.

Florian Vancadeau (twisted from Flora) - A headstrong and no-nonsense fairy with very high and strict moral standards. Often frets over Aurelius' appearance.

Faunus Vancadeau (twisted from Fauna) - A gentle and loving young man who often comforts Aurelius during tough times and gives him singing lessons.

Merwin Vancadeau (twisted from Merriweather) - A bold and hot-tempered fairy who is the youngest of his brothers and protects Aurelius with his life.

Tumbledown - An abandoned dorm that was once prosperous with students bustling about, but currently is vacant with its only inhabitants being a bunch of friendly, well-behaved ghosts. It is unknown why, how, or when it became abandoned, but some, particularly a magicless prefect, has begun to suspect that it may have something to do with a magical well just outside the dorm.

Yuu (twisted from ???) - Tell us about yourself

Hanns (twisted from Hans Christian Andersen) - Will be mentioned in the staff.

Uniform:

The school has several uniforms due to how the staff of the school view preparation for every occasion is imperative as well as a sign of sophisticated up-bringing, which the type of image they want to project. For that reason, the students of Royal Sword Academy not only possess a Daily School Day Uniform, a P.E. Uniform, Labwear, Ceremonial Robes, or a Dorm Signature Uniform, but also an Outside-School Special Events Uniform, a School Signature Sports Outfit, and Dorm Pajamas.

Daily School Day Uniform:

(Photo by @twistinghearts)

The schools' Daily School Uniform resembles that of men's fashion during the French Rococo Era as well as the outfit on the left (worn by Farena) in the image above. It consists of a white silk jacket that extends to their knees and is lined with gold lace trim, a silk vest of the student's respective dorm color, a white jabot collar, royal blue pants, a pair of black leather boots with golden trim, an armband of the student's respective dorm colors, white silk gloves, and a golden sword sheath belt that carries their sword-like, magestone-encrusted baton. The light colors and intricacy of the uniform's details are intentional and are purposefully meant to train the wearer to move with delicacy and grace and keep themselves clean.

P.E. Uniform:

Their P.E. Uniform is much less graceful and delicate. It consists of a white shirt lined with the student wearer's main dorm color and blue, as well as navy blue pants lined with the same main dorm color. The students are required to wear white sneakers and bring their magestone baton.

Labwear:

Their Labwear Uniform is perhaps the most practical, and similar to NRC's. It is comprised of a pair of lab goggles, a white lab coat that covers their jabot collar and collarbones, pockets with striped rims based on the student's dorm colors, black rubber gloves, and their golden sword sheath belt carrying their magestone baton.

Ceremonial Robes:

There are, surprisingly, actually two Ceremonial Robe Uniforms - one for the freshmen, and one for the upperclassmen. The Freshmen Ceremonial Robe Uniforms are white, with a few blue parts and minimal gold details. Its white color is meant to symbolize the purity and innocence of the freshmen's youth and how they have yet to learn, while the partial blue and minimal gold parts are made to represent their low rank amongst the student body. The Upperclassmen Ceremonial Robe Uniforms are much more extravagant, being bright royal blue, rimmed with silvery white, and embroidered and embellished with gold silk brocade. Its extravagance and dark color are made to represent nobility and wisdom. Both uniforms are made of silk, are long, flowy, and warm, and bear a resemblance to Headmage Ambrose' uniform and the other two uniforms above. They also contain a golden sword sheath for when they receive their baton.

Dorm Signature Uniform:

The Dorm Signature Uniform differs per dorm. For that reason, it will only be described in different posts where a specific dorm is being discussed.

Outside-School Special Events Uniform:

The Outside-School Special Events Uniform has been seen in-game since it is what RSA students wore during the VDC. It is what is worn during special events that take place outside the school itself. It consists of a white shirt lined with navy with golden buttons, a navy sash lined with white that ties into a bow at the wearer's right hip, navy pants, and black shoes. Unlike the other uniforms, the Outside-School Special Events Uniform is the only uniform to consist of a magestone brooch rather than a golden sword sheath and magestone baton. The reason behind this is because it would be too much to handle.

School Signature Sports Uniform:

The School Signature Sports Uniform is what is worn during the Spelldrive Tournament between RSA and NRC at the end of the school year. It resembles a knight's uniform. It is brilliant white, lined with blue and having blue letters on it, accented with golden shoulder pads, elbow pads, wrist pads, knee pads, and ankle pads, and of course, has a golden belt, sword sheath, and their magestone baton.

Dorm Pajamas:

The Dorm Pajamas differ from dorm to dorm. Therefore, like the Specialized Dorm Uniform, they will only be discussed in later posts.

School Subjects:

(Credits to @twstarchives and @phoenix-manga for inspiration!)

Practical Magic - The understanding, study, practice, and performance of spells, curses, hexes, and incantations

Magic Analysis - Analyse and observe demonstrations of magic

Ancient Curses - the study, analysis, and sometimes even the performance of casting a spell that has a negative intention and effect on another person or being

Conjuration - To create, summon, or transform objects

Defense Magic - Magic used to defend oneself from attacks

Alchemy/Potionology - the use of minerals, plants, and other substances to create potions and other things.

Astrology - The study and analysis of the stars and their magical connection

Biology - the study and understanding of life, specifically magical organisms

Poison Making - The usage of potionology and alchemy to create even the most lethal of poisons. Perfect for an assassin.

Mathematics - The study of numbers and quantities ranging from algebra, mental math, and geometry

Animal Linguistics - The study of animal communication. Talk with your favorite pet!

Etiquette - learn how to become a proper gentleman or lady through sophisticated manners, posture, and poise.

History of Magic - Discover magical developments, historical figures, and significant events and revolutions

Politics and Kingship - Perfect for all the royal and noble students, or anyone who wants to be a world leader one day. Learn and discover diplomacy, hierarchy, and monarchy.

Art - the understanding and creation of beauty that cannot be described.

Music - the students learn how to sing, play an instrument, understand music, or even compose

School Choir - Practically all the Disney Princes and Princesses sing. RSA would be incomplete without it!

Dance - Carry, move, and conduct yourself with grace beyond imagination

Staff:

Ambrose LXIII (twisted from Merlin) - The wise, old headmage of Royal Sword Academy who has held his position for many years. Hailing from a noble family with many ancestors that have done the same, his wisdom knows no bounds. Generously, he lends the player/reader the status of a student and the title of Tumbldown Prefect.

Hanns - A direbeast dog who dreams of becoming the greatest mage ever lived. Well-behaved and respectful yet mischievous and adventurous, he often accompanies the player/reader and leads them on a path to adventure.

Pierre Chenine (twisted from Pongo) - The goofy, fun-loving science professor of Royal Sword Academy who is also the son of a musician and the father of many. He believes strongly about caring for animals, especially canines and is always willing to help his students when they're struggling in his class.

Angelo Marraine (twisted from Fairy Godmother) - A gentle and benevolent professor of Royal Sword Academy who teaches the school's history curriculum. He is always willing to help tidy up his students when things get messy, but kind as he is, he is a stickler for deadlines and won't accept assignments late.

Daniel Pedrosa (twisted from Beast/Prince Adam) - The kind yet tough-loving P.E. teacher at Royal Sword Academy known for his forgiving nature and belief in second chances. Rumored to be crushing on the town librarian.

Max (twisted from Tiana) - The owner of a small shop and restaurant located on school campus. His store supplies students with school supplies or whatever they need, and his restaurant serves the most delicious food.

Clubs:

Future Rulers Association - the members of this club learn how to become better, natural leaders for when they have to inherit a throne or start their own empire. They learn what it takes to be a leader and how to improve the school.

Theatre & Movie Research Club - The RSA equivalent of the Film Studies Club at NRC. The students hear strive to be the best actors they can be or work in the tech crew.

Magift/Spelldrive Club - These students strive to be the most competitive during the Interdorm Spelldrive Tournament as well as the Inter-scholastic Magift/Spelldrive Tournament.

School Band & Music Club - The most gorgeous melodies come from this club. The students here play a variety of instruments and some can sing.

Science Club - The same as NRC. The club members hold outstanding knowledge of potionology, alchemy, biology, astrology, etc. They perform countless experiments and conduct lots of research.

Inter-Species Culture Club - Inspired by how the First Mermaid out of Water managed to bring peace between the humans and merfolk, this club discusses the importance of learning about different cultures, breaking language barriers, and how to make peace.

Knights-In-Training Camp - this club is similar to NRC's Equestrian Club, except the students here not only learn how to ride and tend to horses, but also how to protect their future lords and rulers.

Basketball Club - The same as Night Raven College. The students here partake in the fun and hustle of the sport basketball.

Track & Field Club - The students here enjoy the thrill of running, racing, and winning.

Boardgame Club - The students here are hard at work challenging themselves and their minds on any kind of board game.

Relationship with Night Raven College:

As it is canon, Royal Sword Academy and Night Raven College are currently in a bitter rivalry. This is mainly due to the fact that Royal Sword Academy has beaten Night Raven College in the Inter-Scholastic Magift/Spelldrive Tournament for nearly a century in the past. As a result, Royal Sword Academy students tend to look down upon Night Raven's college's many failures and lack of sportsmanship and refer to them as "a slew of petty, uncultured fools".

Royal Sword Academy students also look at Night Raven College's style in contempt. They think the school's buildings and uniforms are "dreadfully plain" and "with no sense of style".

Author's Note: Most of this is fanon. Everything that is canon and the photos are NOT mine!

[guzhufuren]

New uncensored chinese period BL The Mountains and Rivers Are Forever Silent (山河永寂)

The drama is based on the novel of the same name by Yihanhe (一寒呵)

Won't be broadcast in mainland China, will air through an international platform.

Filming start: beginning of January 2025 Filming period: 20 days Casting call: December 13, 2024

Summary: Thousands of years ago, the mountains and rivers were destroyed and wars started raging everywhere. Sixth prince Xiao Yunze had no hope of ascending the throne to the Southern Kingdom. By chance, he saves Zhao Ziang, who was trying to assasinate the prince. As they get to know each other, gradually feelings beyond mundane develop between them and they fall in love. As the political situation in the Southern Kingdom changes, Zhao Ziang kills the prince to protect Xiao Yunze and let Xiao Yunze succeed to the throne. The death of the prince causes a rift between the two, and Zhao Ziang resolutely leaves and embarks on the journey again. Several years later, Zhao Ziang becomes the emperor of the Northern Kingdom. With his efforts, the Northern Kingdom is about to unify the Central Plains. But when Zhao Ziang faces the last obstacle - king of the South and his ex lover Xiao Yunze, whom he had missed for many years, he doesn't know what to do. Will love win or power win?

Character profiles:

Xiao Yunze Male, visual age around 20 years old. He is slender, loves playing chess, calligraphy and painting, and is elegant in every move. The sixth prince of the Southern Kingdom, with a refined and timeless temperament. He is intelligent and sensitive, talented, and has expanded his music and poetry. He has a gentle personality but is not weak. He has a keen insight into people's hearts, but is willing to stay out of the game and abandon the desire to fight for power. He advocates elegance, likes to live in seclusion in the mountains, and is tired of the whirlpool of power, but he always has a deep attachment to family affection, especially to his brother, the prince, Xiao Yunqian, with complex feelings, respect but also alienation. In the chaotic situation, he became a calm and deep character with his gentle but firm character.

Zhao Ziang (Xiao Yunze's cp) Male, visual age is around 25 years old. A hero in the north, with a tall figure, a resolute face, firm eyebrows, a violent temper, and both wisdom and martial arts. He is resolute and resolute, and is aggressive and enterprising. He is calm and resolute, has extraordinary strategic vision and execution, and is a hero in troubled times. He is informal, but respects the strong and the wise, and always pursues his ambitions. Although he is in the midst of power and killing, he is also sincere and righteous, and has a heart for his country. But when facing Xiao Yunze, he is always indecisive.

Xiao Yunqian (Xiao Yunze's elder brother) Male, visual age around 25 years old. The prince who shines in the court is determined to gain supreme power. He can sacrifice all emotions in pursuit of power, but finally loses in emotions. He has a strong desire for power and has shown extraordinary political wisdom and strategy since childhood. He has a cold temperament and is deeply scheming. Although he looks calm and restrained, he is actually full of ambition. He is not obsessed with sensual pleasures, but pursues power itself with a cold and resolute will, instead of sympathizing with the common people. In the process of pursuing power, he regards all obstacles as stepping stones. He has a complicated relationship with his brother Xiao Yunze. They grew up together when they were young and had the warmth of brotherly love, but they became increasingly alienated in the power struggle. Xiao Yunqian is very oppressive in his dealings with others. He is a strong man who integrates coldness, decisiveness and ambition. In his world, family affection and feelings often give way to power. He is a typical hero in troubled times.

Guo Zheng (Xiao Yunqian's personal bodyguard) Male, 20 years old. The prince's personal bodyguard, who has practiced martial arts for many years and is very capable. The prince's personal bodyguard, who is naturally fond of martial arts, is rough but delicate. Many years ago, he fell in love with Yin Shan at first sight. Although he had no interest in poetry and books, he was subtly exposed to the elegant world because of Yin Shan. Guo Zheng admired Yin Shan's talent and gentle temperament. Although he was not good at speaking, he protected him silently with practical actions. He hides a tenderness under his strong appearance, burying his loyalty and admiration deep in his heart. He is a contradictory combination of cold and hot in troubled times.

Yin Shan (Xiao Yunze's childhood sweetheart) Male, 20 years old. A scholar who has loved poetry, calligraphy and painting since childhood. The son of a civil official in the court, he met Xiao Yunze since childhood because of their similar interests and they have a deep friendship. Yin Shan is well-read in poetry and books, and has outstanding talents. He especially loves the love stories described in books, and is full of idealistic pursuit and loyalty to love. He has a gentle personality like jade, but he has a rare firmness and perseverance, and always accompanies Xiao Yunze. Yin Shan advocates elegance and has no intention of fighting in the world. He only wants to use his talents and sincerity to protect the deep friendship and unknown emotions. He is a touch of peace in the troubled times.

Zhao Jifu (Zhao Ziang's younger brother) Male, 18 years old. Grew up in a temple. Compared with his brother Zhao Ziang, who is heroic and valiant, Zhao Jifu embodies more calmness and strategic precision. He can even be said to be a two-faced person. He is humble and gentle on the surface, and is good at hiding his true intentions. But in fact, he is a scheming man and a master in the political arena. He has shown extraordinary adaptability in complex situations, and is good at making secret plans. He is an important force in promoting the family's hegemony. His temperament is restrained but his edge is hidden, showing a kind of hidden strong style. He is a wise man and counselor who cannot be ignored in troubled times.

Han Zaizhou (Teacher of Xiao Yunqian) Male, 60 years old. An important official in the court, he has a high wisdom in politics and worldly affairs. The core of the prince party, the veteran of two dynasties of the Southern Kingdom, calm and composed, and has a thorough understanding of power and politics. The previous emperor of the Southern Kingdom is old, and Han Zaizhou has to start planning for the next generation of the Southern Kingdom. Faced with prince Xiao Yunqian who has lost control in pursuit of power, Han Zaizhou has to persuade Xiao Yunze to participate in the fight for the throne in order to stabilize the court, because he feels affection for the younger generation of princes.

*text from the informational brochure was converted with image to text online programs, translated through google translator and edited by me with some help of online dictionaries. i do not speak chinese, so there are most certainly mistakes in the text. purpose of this translation is to give you the general idea

[yzegem]

The Dragons:

When dragons arrived to the continent where the main story happens, a great crisis ensued. At that time, the continent was mostly under either direct control or in the sphere of influence of the Sun Empire (provisional and generic name). This empire rules over many ethnicities, religions and cultures in a tense peace held together with complex and pretty ineficient burocracy.

The first effort to kill a dragon made by the empire was a great failure rooted in miscomunication. A dragon landed near one of the northernmost frontier fortresses of the empire and made it's nest inside of the central tower.

Since comunication with this fortress was cut off and the empire had not yet noticed the dragons, it was asumed that the fortress had been invaded. A platoon of soldiers arrived to retake the fortress, hoping to find an invading tribe inside of it, unable to hold a siege.

What they found was a massive dragon mother that had just layed eggs and was very territorial and so the whole platoon of heavy infantry was killed.

News from the dragons kept coming to the capital, myth mixed with reality about how they ate cattle, people and even ships.

Platoon after platoon of imperial soldiers were sent to manage the dragons but they were either unable to track them or all killed uppon contact.

Many rural societies collapsed, and only those that could hide inside city walls were safe.

Soldiers sent to face the dragons usually deserted, and it was clear that the Empire didn't have the necessary tools to face the dragons.

Out of desperation, the empire offered an unusual reward: They would give away land and titles to whoever killed the dragons.

The dragon hunters ended up being the nomadic tribes of the northern steppe of the continent.

They used to live a life of herding, hunting megafauna and raiding southern settlements and were a constant nuisance to the empire.

Many times these tribal confederation tried to conquer the more fertile lands of the empire but were unable to hold any taken territories wich were quickly reconquered by the Empire.

Their territory was greatly affected by dragons and basically became their homeland. Dragons lived in the steppes hunting megafauna and seasonally came to the south to raid cattle.

The slaying of a young dragon.

These tribes were very used to hunting megafauna and knew very well how to track an animal like a dragon and live off the land while they chased it.

They were also very motivated to get the reward and finally hold land and also getting rid of the dragon. These dragon unting groups were usually familial units with a very intuituve and respected hirearchy.

As they killed dragons the balance between these beasts and humans shifted. The hunters became more and more specialized and powerful after claiming the rewards. On the other hands, killing the dragons reduced intraspecies competition so the surviving dragons became very big, smart and weary of humans.

This is how one of these late specialiced hunts would go.

A very large group of hunter would be needed, about 12 hunters per se plus their replacements and squires. Also, a large but mobile caravan. Scouting groups would be ahead while the rest of the caravan follows them at a distance and gathers food and such.

The main strategy is to tire out the dragon until it can't fly off anymore and then try to kill it on the ground.

Here are some specialized types of hunters.

On the left: A grappling lancer. They use these lances with a frail tip, meant to break off after penetrating the skin of the dragon and remain inside the wound. The metalic tip is tied to a strong rope with a net or hooks at the end of it. The hooks are ment to get tangled to the rest of the body, branches or the ground. This way, if the dragon tries to run away, fly off or simply move, it would pull from the wound and be very painful and disorienting. A single one is not going to immobilize the dragon but 10 or 15 might.

On the centre: A blunt unit. These are meant to strike the wings of the dragon with a long mace to break their bones and also carry a blade to lacerate the wing membrane. Since they come very close to the dragon, they are very well covered against its acid.

On the right: A shocker. Their pourpose is to distract the dragon and overwhelm it. Their horse is decorated with bells and colorful feathers. They play horns and wistles and carry hand cannons. (I will talk about the technology of the world in another post) The cannons would be preloaded and they would shoot all of them as quickly as posible, aiming to the eyes or neck. These would not kill the dragon, but they would be painful, bright and noisy. This unit plays a semi-religious role and have the riskiest position since the other ones attack and retreat to prepare for the next attack while the shocker always stays closer to the dragon. They sometimes attack semi or fully nacked since they embrace the danger and death during the hunt is considered very noble.

Archers would also be present but I didn't draw them.

The fatal blow is done with a strong lance and usually reserved to the tribe chieftan.

The religion of these nomadic tribes is polytheistic but the tribes that specialized in hunting dragons shifted to prioritizing their godess of the hunt.

When a dragon is hunted it's skull must be given to imperial officials to prove it was hunted and so that it can be measured since the reward depends on the size and age of the dragon. Carrying the skull back to civilisation is sometimes more dangerous than hunting the dragon since many people would want to steal it.

Once these tribes settled into castles, the dragon skulls are kept in shrines, next to the skulls of those that hunted it. This is because in their religion, they believe thet the beasts their ancestors hunter would guard them in the afterlife. This is also meant to show off the power of these clans.

In the image we can see a dragon skull being used as a shrine for a sacrifice meant to bless a future hunt. On the left there is a statue of the godess of hunt and abundance and on the foreground a simple protective bear statue.

In conclusion, after about a century since they first arrived dragons became extinct and power in the continent shifted fro the centralized power of the emperor to local dragon slaying feudal nobility that coexist with the emperor in a strange balance where the nobles hold most of the military and agricultural power while the lands of the emperor legitimize the noble's power and also dominate in trade and religion.

If you read this all the way thank you and sorry for the chaotic writting. I hope you enjoyed these and ideas and questions are eagerly welcome.

[vigilskeep]

It's my birthday & I want all your thoughts/your ultimate dreams for a possible Fereldan chantry secession pls & thank u 💖

the topics at hand are:

orlais’ stranglehold on the sunburst throne. fereldan-orlesian tensions would blow up as soon as any divine attempted to hold authority over the fereldan crown. which with a divine who attempts to restore the circles would happen almost immediately, due to:

ferelden’s support for the mage rebellion. in dragon age origins it has an active, fairly brazen community of apostates across the nation. in dragon age 2 the fereldan crown is sheltering fleeing apostates from kirkwall and, under certain circumstances, attempting to defy the chantry by freeing its circle prior to any rebellion. in dragon age inquisition, the fereldan crown harbours the entire mage rebellion until the alexius debacle. it is the most mage-friendly power in the south and it resisting the restoration of the circles—which would require the orlesian divine to march in new forces to do so—is not hard to believe

broader/more historically, ferelden has a better claim to andraste’s legacy than orlais does. ferelden is the birthplace of andraste and where her ashes returned, whereas orlais is merely the birthplace of the fallible chantry made in her name. you can get a lot of religious mileage out of that and there are probably scholars and clerics who have been thinking about this for ages and would kill to be writing the 1500s style religious pamphlets involved in making it a movement

personally i find a cassandra / leliana split the most logical here. on the one hand, you have a brash, militaristic divine with the title hero of orlais and a more traditional viewpoint, and lacking in the political acumen to make concessions and prevent the secession. on the other, you have an idealistic woman willing to make bold, drastic sacrifices for second chances at history, someone who considers herself fereldan and is sensitive to the mages’ plight, and who is ultimately desperate to believe the maker gave her a grand purpose.

it’s a great loss to sacrifice divine vivienne, who is so interesting, but i just find unconvincing as a rallying point for traditionalists in the event of a schism? because no matter what she does she’ll never not be a mage. idk i could be convinced. however, vivienne would still be absolutely central to the conflict as the grand enchanter of the circle, playing a very dangerous game probably operating as cassandra’s right hand while vying for power with the anti-mage extremists likely flocking to back orlais who naturally see her as an internal threat

eventually an exalted march would be called or some kind of religious war would take place. you can’t declare yourself divine without expecting that kind of backlash. what would really have to happen for ferelden to survive is for somewhere else to also break from the orlesian chantry. your best bet is nevarra and the free marches, who are already often at odds with orlais historically and likely have also long resented getting excommunicated every five seconds whenever they have to defend their borders. one imagines the mortalitasi also prefer leliana’s way of thinking. you wouldn’t get all the free marches at the same time, largely because they’re all cripplingly individual and probably would just pick the other side to the neighbout they most hate. but nevarra is the big deal because orlais’ chronic problem historically is that they can’t afford a war in the north and in the east at the same time, so nevarra always fucks up their fereldan expansions and vice versa

the problem here is that cassandra is a pentaghast. however, she’s a pentaghast who wants nothing to do with nevarra, would absolutely not have given them any rewards or privileges for being family, and whose parents were executed rebels. i think they’d already be mad and could easily cut their losses. (i don’t think nevarra would answer to leliana and the hypothetical chantry of ferelden, to be clear, which i would imagine to be quite localised. i think they’d start doing something independently. idk if they’d declare their own divine or answer to no divine or idk do something nevarran and delightful like say the legitimate divine is whichever one they have buried in the necropolis and she says fuck orlais.)

as a note i think it’s really funny if both cass and leli go by divine victoria, both claiming to stand on the shoulders of the inquisition’s victory. likely nonsense to happen. that or something deeply on the nose like divine victoria and divine liberata or whatever. i’d expect leliana to be labelled the red divine in common terms (against the orlesian white divine and tevinter black divine)

[alexanderwales]

I'm seeing a lot of hot takes about the South Korean "coup" that are saying "oh, they organized and mobilized, Americans, this is how it's done".

And yeah, I do agree with the general sentiment.

But also, do people not realize that Seoul is a large, central city [edit: central in the sense that it's the center of culture, government, importance, etc., not central geographically, it's actually frighteningly close to the North Korean border]? A fifth of all South Koreans live there. Organizing and mobilizing is never easy, but it's a lot easier when you have a bunch of people who are all clustered together in a metropolis with public transportation (note: I do not know whether public transportation was shut off when martial law was declared, it's what I would have done).

Whereas America is very large and spread out, and if I want to get to Washington D.C. as fast as I can, I need to spend 18 hours in a car or a ton of money on a plane (that would put me right under the thumb of the TSA). Washington, D.C. contains ... I don't know, something like 1/600th of the United States population? They can show up for a protest within hours, but everyone else is going to have a hell of a time doing it.

So in the United States, what you're mostly left with are demonstrations and protests that are taking place concurrently in different parts of the country, mostly major cities because that's where people are, and they can go home to their own beds at night, and go to work the next morning.

And I think that in practice, this is going to be much much less effective, in the same way that I think a protest in Busan would be relatively ineffective. And obviously if the protest needs to turn into something more serious, you do actually need to be at the seat of power, you can't be remote from it.

I'm not saying that Americans can't show up and do these things (though I am, separately, saying that they probably won't), only that this is a serious logistical and financial challenge that South Koreans seem like they do not face.

[adropofhumanity]

the 10 crises the world must not look away from:

1. SUDAN

24.8 million people in need of humanitarian aid. a still-escalating war brings sudan to the top of the watchlist. fighting has more than doubled humanitarian needs in less than a year and displaced 6.6 million people- bringing the country to the brink of collapse. more people are internally displaced within sudan than in any other country on earth. in darfur, human rights groups have reported mass killings and forced displacement along ethnic lines.

2. PALESTINE

3.1 million people in need of humanitarian aid (gaza and the west bank). gaza enters 2024 as the deadliest place for civilians in the world. i*****i airstrikes and fighting have had a direct and devastating impact on civilians that will continue to grow as hostilities persist into early 2024, at least. with more than 18,700 palestinians killed, 85% of the population displaced, and over 60% of gaza's housing units destroyed, people living in gaza will struggle to recover and rebuild their lives long after the fighting ends.

3. SOUTH SUDAN

9 million people in need of humanitarian aid. the war across the border in sudan threatens to undermine south sudan's fragile economy and could add to political tensions in the run-up to the country's first-ever elections. meanwhile, an economic crisis and increased flooding have impacted families' ability to put food on the table. a predicted fifth year of flooding could also damage livelihoods and drive displacement.

4. BURKINA FASO

6.3 million people in need of humanitarian aid. as the burkinabè military struggles to contain armed groups, violence is rapidly growing and spreading across the country. roughly 50% of the country is now outside government control.

5. MYANMAR

18.6 million people in need of humanitarian aid. the conflict in myanmar has spread significantly since the military retook political power in 2021. 18.6 million people in myanmar are now in need of humanitarian assistance - nearly 19 times more than before the military takeover. myanmar has seen decades of conflict, but in oct. 2023, three major armed groups resumed clashes with the government. over 335,000 people have been newly displaced since the latest escalation began.

7. MALI

6.2 million people in need of humanitarian aid. dual security and economic crises are driving up civilian harm and humanitarian needs. conflict between the military government and armed groups will likely escalate.

8. SOMALIA

6.9 million people in need of humanitarian aid. somalia faces heightened conflict and climate risks after a record drought. more recently, widespread flooding has displaced more than 700,000 people and will likely continue into early 2024.

9. NIGER

4.5 million people in need of humanitarian aid. a coup in july 2023 triggered massive instability that risks a rapid worsening of the ongoing humanitarian crisis in the country.

10. ETHIOPIA

20 million people in need of humanitarian aid. communities across the country are facing the twin threats of multiple conflicts and the likelihood of el niño-induced flooding. the nov. 2022 ceasefire between the government of ethiopia and the tigray people's liberation front (TPLF) continues to hold in northern ethiopia, but other conflicts, particularly in the central oromia region and in amhara in the northwest, are fueling humanitarian needs and raising the risk of a return to large-scale fighting.

11. DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC OF CONGO

25.4 million people in need of humanitarian aid. weak state capacity has exposed many congolese to one of the world's most protracted crises, driven by conflict, economic pressures, climate shocks and persistent disease outbreaks. now, a resumed offensive by the M23 armed group is driving up conflict and humanitarian needs. the country enters 2024 with 25.4 million people in need of humanitarian assistance - more than any other country on earth. the magnitude of the crisis has strained services, created high levels of food insecurity and fueled the spread of disease.

— via my.linda__ on instagram

[fightforthesoulofthecities]

VOTE YES ON THE STRATEGY CENTER ON YOUR FUNDRAISING BALLOT 2023 VOTE NO ON TRUMP AND BIDEN

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[bluegiragi]

hello! i'm gira, i go by she/her, and i've been making fanart for the cod fandom for about four months now :) the majority of that time's been spent on the soapbox saga, which is sort of just what i call the very plot-ridden porn comic featuring ghost, soap and konig. and recently i've been working on the monster 141 au!

i'm here to address the reasoning behind how i assigned certain monsters to certain characters, particularly the POC characters as well as accusations of racism regarding me neglecting gaz in all my art :) whoever you are, if you're reading this in good faith, i thank you! i earnestly never intended to make anyone feel uncomfortable from my work.

The Monster AU

i won't post the blog who brought this issue up mainly because, (realistically speaking) i think people might go after them and spam them with hate so I'm paraphrasing here. but basically..."how come all the POC in the Monster AU are assigned animal-associated monsters? Comparisons to animals can be incredibly demeaning when it comes to minorities".

I completely agree! But earnestly, I think my desire to assign every character a 'monster' that was relevant to their culture overshadowed the part of my brain that would've raised red flags about this sort of thing. There's the argument here that I could've assigned these characters cooler monsters such as Price who is a dragon, and Ghost who is a wraith, but I wanted to be respectful of all the minorities in the COD cast by giving them creatures that reflected their culture and personality.

ALEJANDRO - NAGUAL

In the Monster AU, Alejandro is a nagual, which is considered a guardian spirit in Mesoamerican culture. Typically, it's said that the nagual is the shapeshifted form that powerful men can transform into in order to do evil (although that doesn't apply in this case, Ale's a heroic lad), and can come in the forms of a jaguar, deer, dog or bird. I chose a jaguar, since it seemed to be the most common form of nagual depiction in the resources I was looking at. The 'panther mode' isn't pre-established as part of nagual mythology, but since most panthers are just black jaguars, i thought the association wouldn't be unreasonable.

I chose Alejandro to be a nagual because it's so in character for him to be protective of his home. The idea of him being a literal guardian spirit for all he considers his just made sense to me :)

--

RODOLFO (RUDY) - CADEJOS

In this AU, Rudy is the vessel for two cadejos, which are legendary dog spirits popular in the mythology of Central America, parts of South America and Mexico. Historically, they've been known as psychopomps (guides to help humans into the afterlife following their death) but modern interpretation has shifted to depict them as the good guardian dog and the evil attacking dog respectively.

A lot of the minute information about the cadejos tends to differ depending on the source. Like whether they're actually two separate dogs, or they're the same dog just in different 'modes', or how big they are. My personal depiction of them has them sized as normal dogs (although their spirit nature means they can move into small spaces pretty easily by just becoming immaterial temporarily) and as separate spirits that have been passed down through Rudy's family generationally.

I chose the cadejo for Rudy because although I wanted to include him in the Monster AU, i still liked keeping him as a character who was a bit more 'human' than Alejandro. I think Ale needs Rudy to hold him back sometimes, and having the two cadejo definitely helps with that. Sort of like how cheetahs in zoos have therapy dogs growing up because they're so anxious all the time! I think it also does a good job of showing Rudy's two sides as well, like he's a softie who just wants to protect those he loves, but he's capable of a lot of violence too.

--

VALERIA - GORGON

Valeria is a gorgon which, admittedly, is not part of Mexican mythology. However, I was put in a bit of a bind here, since my research didn't really reveal to me a monster in Mexican culture that I thought would suit Valeria's vibe (manipulative, elulsive) and I just felt like a gorgon would be perfect for her. Medusa's myth has her being continuously demeaned by the men in her life and is a symbol of female empowerment, which I thought was a great reflection of the implied reason that Valeria left the army was due to internal sexism. There's also the perfect parallel of how anyone who sees El Sin Nombre's face dies, and Medusa's whole 'turn you to stone' thing.

I thought i could compromise by making Valeria a gorgon but her hair would be Mexican black kingsnakes but...turns out they're actually not that dangerous. Some people even keep them as pets! So I decided to keep the visual, but make her a pit viper, a subfamily of vipers found in the Americas as well as Eurasia.

--

HORANGI - HAETAE

Horangi is a haetae (해태) which is a beast in Korean mythology that typically comes in the form of a horned lion or dog. It's prevalent in a lot of cultures in East Asia actually, although it goes under different names depending on the region - kaichi for Japan, xiezhi for China. I made Horangi a tiger variant on the creature because...well...'horangi' means 'tiger' in korean. It just made sense to me to put that little twist on it.

Typically, haetae are seen as spirits of judgement, that decide on innocent and guilty parties in disputes and punish the latter. It's also considered a guardian against fire (hence the fire immunity and cloud manipulation powers I gave him).

GAZ - HARPY

Gaz is a harpy which, I won't lie, was purely inspired by the fact that he seems to keep falling out of helicopters. But it's also because...yeah, I did neglect Gaz in the soapbox saga. But I think I neglected...everyone in the soapbox saga who weren't directly involved in the main ship. I sort of just tunnel visioned on the main three, so my exclusion of characters isn't just limited to Gaz, it was included Price, Laswell, Alejandro, Rudy, Graves etc.

I just want to make clear that my treatment of Gaz in particular isn't reflective of any inner preference against him. And to make good on that, me assigning Gaz wings of all things was to help me spend more time on him in the Monster AU! I think the contrast between Gaz being an upstart harpy, and Price being a one-winged dragon has a lot of potential as a mentor/protege relationship (and perhaps even something more) and it's why I assigned this monster to him. I really wanted to establish a connection upfront, but just making Gaz another dragon felt cheap - the harpy thing felt a little more in turn with his character :)

--

I really hope this cleared up any remaining frustrations with my designs for the Monster AU. I hope you can see that I never meant anything demeaning by assigning these monsters to their respective characters - in fact, I earnestly tried to go out of my way and be respectful to their backgrounds.

In any case, if you have any more questions I'd be happy to answer them - I'd just ask you to please ask politely :)

[cassiebones]

Rio Theory

I, like many of you, have been acting under the assumption that Rio is a primordial being, who has been alive since the dawn of humanity with the sole purpose of ferrying souls across the veil.

But what if that's not it at all?

What if, instead, Rio Vidal is being punished. After all, why give Death a name. Yes, it could just be a name she gave herself when she interacts with mortals, like Agatha, to conceal her true identity, and I know the name is akin to "River of Life" but it feels more...formal. Like she was actually born to somebody who gave her this name.

So what if she was?

What if Rio was born a mortal and was given this job after her own death as a punishment for some kind of evil she did. Maybe the "evil" wasn't even evil at all, but something she did out of desperation to try and save herself. Maybe she, too, killed her own Coven. Or maybe she was a necromancer and took her powers too far, blurring the divide between life and death, causing chaos everywhere she want until her own fatal mistake placed her in front of the old gods, who decided her penance would be to ferry a certain number of souls so that she understands just how important that divide between life and death is, that it's not something to be trifled with.

I'm imagining, since she speaks Spanish and Aubrey is Puerto Rican, that she was born in South/Central America, after it was colonized, and her family moved to The New World when she was a child (which is how she ended up in Salem to meet Agatha) and shared their way of doing magic with the locals.

And, while Aubrey is Puerto Rican, in Mexican culture death is a pretty big deal for a lot of us. Día de los Muertos is a huge thing. It's the time when you get to see your deceased loved ones. Maybe somebody important to Rio died. Maybe her parents or a sibling or the woman that she first loved. And she was obsessed with this day where she got to see this person through the veil. Maybe she tried to find a way to make her come back, to raise her from the dead.

But it went wrong and she lost her forever.

So she moved on. She met someone new. They died. She brought them back to life, but it was wrong. They were wrong. They were just a puppet, not their true self. So she becomes obsessed with learning how to do necromancy just right, so that anybody she loves can never just die. She can't lose anybody ever.

So she kind of becomes a serial killer. Just a little bit.

But she can never quite get it right. Nobody is ever the way they used to be. Either they're in constant pain/anguish or they are just not them. And Rio ends up killing her own creations, devastated that she just couldn't bring them back to themselves.

And it weighs on her, but it's still an obsession.

Until she makes a fatal mistake and is killed in response to trying to killing somebody else. And she goes in front of the old Gods, who sentence her to reap, like, a hundred times as many souls as she's tortured in her lifetime, however unintentionally, by forcing them to take part in her experiments. As a witch, since most of her victims were of the magic ilk, she must ferry other witches and magical folk across the veil until she has fulfilled her punishment.

And since witches can live for centuries, she will not fulfill this anytime soon. And she can't kill anybody. If she manages to kill somebody, it resets her punishment back to zero. She also cannot make exceptions for those she loves, no matter what. She cannot bring somebody back to life like she'd spent her life trying to do. There are no loopholes.

And it does teach Rio the importance of Life and Death and why that should never be taken as a joke.

Still, after like two to three hundred years and she's not even halfway there? Rio is getting anxious. She wants to cross over finally. She wants to be done with this punishment. She needs more bodies but she can't make them herself.

That's where Agatha comes in.

Rio can feel the death of magical beings. She feels it when seven witches die all at once, then another witch in the same general area dies just seconds later.

It's like she hit the Jackpot of bodies. So many magical deaths in the space of a couple minutes? She needs more of these!

So she goes to where they died and is practically giddy at the bodies littering the forest floor. Skipping around the circle, freeing the souls from their bodies, practically forming a conga line to the afterlife.

Then she sees Agatha, curled up and crying nearby. At first, she thinks that this is an escaped witch, one who just watched her entire coven die before her very own eyes. She has empathy. She knows what it's like to watch the ones you love die in a violent fashion. And these bodies...they were definitely killed violently. They died painful deaths.

So she approaches Agatha, who is sobbing into her knees. She crouches in front of her and asks if she's okay, if she has anybody she can stay with, anybody else who survived.

And then Agatha looks up and she's smiling, which takes Rio aback. And then Rio notices her black fingers and it clicks.

Agatha isn't a victim; she's the murderer.

And Rio is just in awe of this witch's power. She sits down in front of Agatha and asks, "how?" Because how did she kill all of these witches all at once?

"I wasn't trying to," Agatha explains. Even though she's smiling, there are tears in her eyes. "They were trying to kill me! But something...happened. I've never experienced anything like it. They all attacked me and I just...took their magic. I took their life forces. I killed them." She laughs, somewhat manically. "Isn't that funny?"

Rio cannot help but smile at it. "Hilarious," she says. "Thank you, by the way. I appreciate the work." She motions to the line of spirits behind her, all impatiently waiting to be ferried. Agatha cannot see them, which Rio realizes too late. "It's....I'm not crazy, I swear. But, uh, who's that person?"

She points toward the husk just in front of the stake, where an angry, vengeful witch is refusing to move from above her body.

Agatha laughs, rolling her eyes. "That," she says, "is my mother. She orchestrated all of this."

"Your mother tried to have you killed?" Rio huffs. "What a bitch."

Agatha lets out a cackle at that. "You have no idea," she says, her chin quivering a bit, betraying the hurt she tries not to let show. "I have no idea what I'm going to do now."

"You don't have anybody?" Rio asks, something in her chest aching. It's something she hasn't felt in a long time, since her heart went black.

Agatha motions toward the circle of bodies. "Who would take me now?" she asks. "After what I've done?! I'll be lucky if there aren't already mobs of people waiting for me with torches and pitchforks. I have nobody, nothing." Now is when she lets her facade fall. "I am alone."

"No," Rio says, reaching out to take her hand, "you're not. You never will be again." She intertwines their fingers and feels a spark in her she thought was long dead. She knows that Agatha feels it, too, because she squeezes Rio's fingers.

"Who are you?" Agatha asks.

"My formal title," Rio says, standing up and pulling Agatha with her, hands still clasped, "is Lady Death. I ferry the souls from the mortal realm to the afterlife." She looks back at the spirits that Agatha cannot see. "I actually have a lot of work that I have to do. Thank you so much for that, by the way." She grins at Agatha. "Genuinely," she adds, when Agatha looks a little sad. "This is a huge help. You have no idea."

"You're welcome?" Agatha replies, chuckling awkwardly. They're still holding hands. "But surely you must have a different name I could call you."

"Rio," Rio says. "Rio Vidal."

"A little on the nose," Agatha retorts. "Don't you think?"

"My mother had a sense of humor," Rio says. "And you?"

"My mother was not a funny person," Agatha sighs, "at all."

Rio snorts at that, looking over to where Agatha's mother was practically spitting mad: "And she took my brooch! That was my mother's brooch!"

"Yeah, I can tell," Rio says. "But what I meant was," she looks back at Agatha, "what is your name?"

"Agatha Harkness," Agatha says.

"Ooh, a Harkness," Rio says. "Powerful magic. And based on that purple between your fingers, you must be following in the same tradition of powerful witches. Spirit witch?"

Agatha nods. "I was born under the Blood Moon, which endowed me with certain...powers, apparently." She laughs, bitterly. "Just don't try to blast me with your magic and I won't hurt you."

"You couldn't hurt me," Rio says, "even if you tried. If you took my magic, you'd die. And you are far too valuable to kill. Not that I could, anyway." She shrugs at Agatha's raised eyebrow. "Rules of the trade."

"Well, then," Agatha says, flushing a beautiful pink, "it's a deal: I won't kill you and you won't kill me."

"Fair trade-off."

"I would think so."

They're silent for a long moment, energy crackling between them. Two powerful beings who finally found their match.

It's the start of a beautiful, murderous love story.

By the time they separate, Agatha has made a sizable dent in Rio's debt. Rio pays her back by showing her spells that otherwise probably wouldn't have been available to her. Agatha is so brilliant and studious and passionate, Rio would do anything for her.

Except the one thing she absolutely cannot do when their son dies.

And she finally understands what the Gods meant when they said that life and death are not to be played with, that there is always a cost.

Nicky was that cost for her. Agatha was that cost.

Agatha continued to give her bodies, but Rio never knew about them until Agatha had left the scene of the crime. She never had a chance to meet her again after Agatha started hiding behind the Darkhold. There was no way of getting around it.

Which is why she immediately rushed to her side when Agatha lost it, along with her power. There was no way she was letting her get away again.

[trudemaethien]

Kyrimorut

I’ve just done another reread/skim of the repcomm books for details of Kyrimorut for @ossidae-passeridae, who encouraged me to do a write up for reference. Some of these facts are explicitly stated, scattered throughout the series, and some are my own surmises. (My main conclusion is that KT considered architecture just about as carefully as the TCW creators did the GAR ranking system. lolsob)

So. In this essay I will

Kyrimorut, Kal Skirata’s refuge for his clone sons, was called a bastion, and frequently described in siege terms. It was also referred to as a homestead and a farmhouse.

“It was yaim—part barracks, part hotel, part married quarters, part farmhouse, the archetypal Mandalorian clan home.”

This stronghold was located in the heavily forested northern hemisphere of the planet Mandalore, a few hours flight north of Keldabe City, within 100 kilometers of a small town called Enceri, and just south of a lake. It boasted a main house and numerous outbuildings, including at least one medical laboratory, animal pens, and a hangar large enough for multiple craft.

Rav Bralor, another of the Cuy’val Dar, rebuilt it at Kal’s request during the war, and it was finished enough by a year in, to house some members of their group temporarily, but was still undergoing renovations up to the last moment before they moved in. She used droids to aid in the construction. The building was composed of brick, wood, stone, and rammed earth, and the (probably local, veshok) planks were joined with interlocking joints. The interior walls were plastered and painted, likely with naturally derived mineral paints; one room was mentioned to be “honey-colored.” The windows were narrow, described as arrow-slits, and the doors were unpowered hinged wooden slabs. The whole thing was large, and the rooms were characterized as airy and roomy at various points.

The layout seems to have been vaguely circular, or a circle of chained hubs, with a central karyai. The lobby was another hub, and there were both surface and underground passages connecting the hubs, radiating out like “the spokes of an eccentric wheel.” For this reason I think there were two floors in the main house with one above, the other underground. There was also a sheltered circular atrium off the main hub, with a roof that slid back, where they roasted meat.

The house had gutters and down-pipes to deal with snowmelt and rain, and given the nearby lake, they would have to have a good vapor barrier for the underground portion. Since the place was rural rather than urban, it was largely quiet, and the homestead's acoustics were such that sound carried well. This indicates to me that likely only the exterior walls were fortified of heavy stone and rammed earth; interior walls were more likely built of wood and plaster and easier to modify if they had some need. Power was unreliable in such a remote setting, so they used wood fires for heating and cooking; everything smelled of wood-smoke. The entire structure was designed to be unnoticeable from the air, and the clearing was not visible until the last moment upon aerial approach.

The karyai was the main living room. In one scene, Kad played on the floor with toy animals (nerf, bantha, shatual, nuna, jackrab, vhe’viin) Atin had carved from veshok wood, Wade Tay’haai played a purple-painted bes’bev (sharp flute), and Rav Bralor brought throat-searing tihaar for everyone. She lived on her own clan’s farm a few kilometers away, and had brought Yayax squad, who mostly stayed there, to visit Kyrimorut. They were learning carpentry from manuals, as one does.

People had their own rooms for sleeping, with couples sharing, along the corridors. Arla and Uthan’s rooms both had exterior windows. Quarters were pleasant, plain but comfortable, with generous mattresses on the beds and a table for personal use.

Then there was a room Etain thought of as the interrogation room, so that’s uhhh lovely.

It’s unclear whether the large table where they gathered for communal meals was in the karyai, the kitchen (which was separated from other areas by a door), or some other room. Wherever it was located, it was possible for someone seated at the table to lean back without getting up and fetch a bottle of tihaar from where it was stored. The table was made of a single large slab of veshok wood, and was big and sturdy enough to use for surgical operation, dismantling engines, or seating a whole clan of armored Mandalorians. They sat in chairs around this table, and Kad sat in a highchair. They used porceplast plates, and mugs for ne’tra gal, a sweet black beer. The head of the household summoned everyone to the table for meals.

The kitchen contained a fireplace and hearth, a chair (where Kal slept), ovens and stovetops, a conservator, enough workspace for at least four people at once, and an adjoining storage area. The kitchen could be a busy, noisy, bustling place, but it was separate from other living areas; people sometimes went there to avoid others.

The 20-30 occupants ate constantly and prodigiously, and never seemed to be lacking. The food was described as filling but not elegant, and was heavy on the protein. They consumed a lot of game; Lord Mirdalan the strill was an animal native to Mandalore and a hunter. Roast shatual, nerf, and roba were mentioned, and they would leave a joint of meat on the table to be eaten all day down to the bone (I shuddered in food hygiene). Fish from the lake were fried in a pan, and they made broth from gihaal, dried smoked fish with a pungent aroma stored in metal containers, one of the staples of Mandalorian ration packs because it kept for years without refrigeration. Also what Kal called Kaminoans, but that’s another story!

We were worried they only ate meat for a while until we came across some vegetables. Kad had pureed kaneta at one point, and for breakfast boiled grain porridge and shirred eggs were on offer. Jilka diced amber root for some dish. Mealbread rolls were also plentiful, and there was a vat of stew at one point. Listed imports via Ny Vollen included flour, grassgrain, pickles, powdered milk, sacks of denta beans, soap, dried fruit, and a bantha bone which was hard to get on Mandalore. The roba they raised themselves.

The roba pen had multiple animals witht at least one boar and one sow with a litter, and despite having veshok posts and walls, the gate was left open. I’m extrapolating that these animals were semi-domesticated and allowed to forage for food but came home to their pen for safety at night. There were rail fences, crop fields, and plans for raising nerf on the property as well. Outbuildings were mentioned frequently, but this was one of the few actually described.

Notable native species mentioned were the large, ancient veshok trees, which were evergreen, hardwood, and straight enough that the table slab was cut out of one large piece. They were ice-glazed and dripping in the spring thaw, so presumably had some defenses against freezing and exploding, or breaking under the weight of the ice, and they populated all the way up to the the polar cap. There was underbrush and bushes, and groundthorn weed, which was very stubborn and difficult to remove entirely. The roba would have helped with uprooting this as they foraged. Vhe’viine were small rodents with white winter coats that lived in burrows in the fields.

The medical laboratory behind the main house (it was necessary to walk around the bastion after exiting to approach it) was a mobile genetics lab/agricultural trailer of the sort usually used for breeding livestock and at racetracks. It was occupied first by Ko Sai and later by Ovolot Qail Uthan. Mereel acquired it, and Mij Gilamar stocked it with stolen/black market medical equipment. When Uthan took over, they built her more lab space. There were rural veterinarians in the community as well; Etain mentioned getting a cryocontainer for a sample from a neighboring farm.

The hangar was situated in a shallow slope to the north of the main house, half-buried in the soil and disguised with netting. It was large enough to house several craft at a time, including Ny Vollen’s ship, Mereel’s speeder, and the Aay’han, among others. Swabbing down the compartments of the Aay’han, replenishing stores, and prepping the ship for the next flight managed to occupy most of an afternoon for four men.

The lake was also to the north, and I believe it was a very large lake, functioning as a heat-sink. It had not fully frozen despite the bitter winter, described as minus eight and thirty degrees colder than tropical (although the temperature scale is not mentioned, it’s likely celsius because of the author’s background). There was ice extending from the shore like a pier, but also mist rising above it in the early morning and frost on the shore, even though layers of snow deep enough for feet to crunch through the surface were mentioned elsewhere at various times. This led my friend to speculate that there could be geothermal activity in/under that lake. Kal and Walon Vau were planning to build a memorial on the near lake shore featuring the armor tallies of fallen clone soldiers.

There was granite in the area, which also gave support to the concept of historical volcanic activity. Their yard sported four chunks, each large enough for at least two people to climb up and perch upon, which had erupted from the surface long ago and been worn down to a weathered polish. Winds came in off a nearby plain. A clear (muddy) area large enough to play mesh’geroya was also near the house.

Enceri had at least one cantina, there was a landmark grain silo at the edge of town, and it was big enough to host a bustling market square, despite being described as more of a trading post than a town. There they could buy, among other things, preserved vegetables, engine parts, and local triple-distilled tihaar, which could double as degreaser for said engine parts.

If they needed more than Enceri had to offer, they could go south to Keldabe. Landmarks of note there included the River Kelita and the Oyu’baat tavern. The Imperial garrison was located near Keldabe.

“But then Mandalore itself was one big contradiction, with heavy industry and shipbuilding sitting cheek-by-jowl with farms that hadn't changed in centuries, sophisticated electronics and ancient metalworking skills side-by-side in the same suit of armor.”

Established clan homes seem to be the usual way of things despite Mandalorians supposedly being nomadic. Their “temporary” structures being wattle and daub also indicates the nomad thing to be a bit of a fallacy. Even so, they had planned a possible relocation for Kyrimorut in the worst case, a bolt-hole on Cheravh. Jaing had taken to calling it offsite hot standby.

So that’s Kyrimorut, which means Final Haven, where Kal Skirata and his chosen family hunkered down in the aftermath of Order 66. My friend says it’s basically Aberdeen, down to the detail of players getting plastered mid footie limmie game. I gathered these details from four books (Hard Contact does not mention Kyrimorut) and compiled them for anyone who’d like to make use of the rundown. Oya!

[mariacallous]

Climate denial may be on the decline, but a phenomenon at least as injurious to the cause of climate protection has blossomed beside it: doomism, or the belief that there’s no way to halt the Earth’s ascendant temperatures. Burgeoning ranks of doomers throw up their hands, crying that it’s too late, too hard, too costly to save humanity from near-future extinction.

There are numerous strands of doomism. The followers of ecologist Guy McPherson, for example, gravitate to wild conspiracy theories that claim humanity won’t last another decade. Many young people, understandably overwhelmed by negative climate headlines and TikTok videos, are convinced that all engagement is for naught. Even the Guardian, which boasts superlative climate coverage, sometimes publishes alarmist articles and headlines that exaggerate grim climate projections.

This gloom-and-doomism robs people of the agency and incentive to participate in a solution to the climate crisis. As a writer on climate and energy, I am convinced that we have everything we require to go carbon neutral by 2050: the science, the technology, the policy proposals, and the money, as well as an international agreement in which nearly 200 countries have pledged to contain the crisis. We don’t need a miracle or exorbitantly expensive nuclear energy to stave off the worst. The Gordian knot before us is figuring out how to use the resources we already have in order to make that happen.

One particularly insidious form of doomism is exhibited in Kohei Saito’s Slow Down: The Degrowth Manifesto, originally published in 2020 and translated from Japanese into English this year. In his unlikely international bestseller, Saito, a Marxist philosopher, puts forth the familiar thesis that economic growth and decarbonization are inherently at odds. He goes further, though, and speculates that the climate crisis can only be curbed in a classless, commons-based society. Capitalism, he writes, seeks to “use all the world’s resources and labor power, opening new markets and never passing up even the slightest chance to make more money.”

Capitalism’s record is indeed damning. The United States and Europe are responsible for the lion’s share of the world’s emissions since the onset of the Industrial Revolution, yet the global south suffers most egregiously from climate breakdown. Today, the richest tenth of the world’s population—living overwhelmingly in the global north and China—is responsible for half of global emissions. If the super-rich alone cut their footprints down to the size of the average European, global emissions would fall by a third, Saito writes.

Saito’s self-stated goals aren’t that distinct from mine: a more egalitarian, sustainable, and just society. One doesn’t have to be an orthodox Marxist to find the gaping disparities in global income grotesque or to see the restructuring of the economy as a way to address both climate breakdown and social injustice. But his central argument—that climate justice can’t happen within a market economy of any kind—is flawed. In fact, it serves next to no purpose because more-radical-than-thou theories remove it from the nuts-and-bolts debate about the way forward.

We already possess a host of mechanisms and policies that can redistribute the burdens of climate breakdown and forge a path to climate neutrality. They include carbon pricing, wealth and global transaction taxes, debt cancellation, climate reparations, and disaster risk reduction, among others. Economies regulated by these policies are a distant cry from neoliberal capitalism—and some, particularly in Europe, have already chalked up marked accomplishments in reducing emissions.

Saito himself acknowledges that between 2000 and 2013, Britain’s GDP increased by 27 percent while emissions fell by 9 percent and that Germany and Denmark also logged decoupling. He writes off this trend as exclusively the upshot of economic stagnation following the Lehman Brothers bankruptcy in 2008. However, U.K. emissions have continued to fall, plummeting from 959 million to 582 million metric tons of carbon dioxide equivalent between 2007 and 2020. The secret to Britain’s success, which Saito doesn’t mention, was the creation of a booming wind power sector and trailblazing carbon pricing system that forced coal-fired plants out of the market practically overnight. Nor does Saito consider that from 1990 to 2022, the European Union reduced its emissions by 31 percent while its economy grew by 66 percent.

Climate protection has to make strides where it can, when it can, and experts acknowledge that it’s hard to change consumption patterns—let alone entire economic systems—rapidly. Progress means scaling back the most harmful types of consumption and energy production. It is possible to do this in stages, but it needs to be implemented much faster than the current plodding pace.

This is why Not the End of the World: How We Can Be the First Generation to Build a Sustainable Planet by Hannah Ritchie, a data scientist at the University of Oxford, is infinitely more pertinent to the public discourse on climate than Saito’s esoteric work. Ritchie’s book is a noble attempt to illustrate that environmental protection to date boasts impressive feats that can be built on, even as the world faces what she concedes is an epic battle to contain greenhouse gases.

Ritchie underscores two environmental afflictions that humankind solved through a mixture of science, smart policy, and international cooperation: acid rain and ozone depletion. I’m old enough to remember the mid-1980s, when factories and power plants spewed out sulfurous and nitric emissions and acid rain blighted forests from the northeastern United States to Eastern Europe. Acidic precipitation in the Adirondacks, my stomping grounds at the time, decimated pine forests and mountain lakes, leaving ghostly swaths of dead timber. Then, scientists pinpointed the industries responsible, and policymakers designed a cap-and-trade system that put a price on their emissions, which forced industry into action; for example, power plants had to fit scrubbers on their flue stacks. The harmful pollutants dropped by 80 percent by the end of the decade, and forests grew back.

The campaign to reverse the thinning of the ozone layer also bore fruit. An international team of scientists deduced that man-made chlorofluorocarbons (CFC) in fridges, freezers, air conditioners, and aerosol cans were to blame. Despite fierce industry pushback, more than 40 countries came together in Montreal in 1987 to introduce a staggered ban on CFCs. Since then, more countries joined the Montreal Protocol, and CFCs are now largely a relic of the past. As Ritchie points out, this was the first international pact of any kind to win the participation of every nation in the world.

While these cases instill inspiration, Ritchie’s assessment of our current crisis is a little too pat and can veer into the Panglossian. The climate crisis is many sizes larger in scope than the scourges of the 1980s, and its antidote—to Saito’s credit—entails revamping society and economy on a global scale, though not with the absolutist end goal of degrowth communism.

Ritchie doesn’t quite acknowledge that a thoroughgoing restructuring is necessary. Although she does not invoke the term, she is an acolyte of “green growth.” She maintains that tweaks to the world’s current economic system can improve the living standards of the world’s poorest, maintain the global north’s level of comfort, and achieve global net zero by 2050. “Economic growth is not incompatible with reducing our environmental impact,” she writes. For her, the big question is whether the world can decouple growth and emissions in time to stave off the darkest scenarios.

Ritchie approaches today’s environmental disasters—air pollution, deforestation, carbon-intensive food production, biodiversity loss, ocean plastics, and overfishing—as problems solvable in ways similar to the crises of the 1980s. Like CFCs and acid rain, so too can major pollutants such as black carbon and carbon monoxide be reined in. Ritchie writes that the “solution to air pollution … follows just one basic principle: stop burning stuff.” As she points out, smart policy has already enhanced air quality in cities such as Beijing (Warsaw, too, as a recent visit convinced me), and renewable energy is now the cheapest form of power globally. What we have to do, she argues, is roll renewables out en masse.

The devil is in making it happen. Ritchie admits that environmental reforms must be accelerated many times over, but she doesn’t address how to achieve this or how to counter growing pushback against green policies. Just consider the mass demonstrations across Europe in recent months as farmers have revolted against the very measures for which Ritchie (correctly) advocates, such as cutting subsidies to diesel gas, requiring crop rotation, eliminating toxic pesticides, and phasing down meat production. Already, the farmers’ vehemence has led the EU to dilute important legislation on agriculture, deforestation, and biodiversity.

Ritchie’s admonishes us to walk more, take public transit, and eat less beef. Undertaken individually, this won’t change anything. But she acknowledges that sound policy is key—chiefly, economic incentives to steer markets and consumer behavior. Getting the right parties into office, she writes, should be voters’ priority.

Yet the parties fully behind Ritchie’s agenda tend to be the Green parties, which are largely in Northern Europe and usually garner little more than 10 percent of the vote. Throughout Europe, environmentalism is badmouthed by center-right and far-right politicos, many of whom lead or participate in governments, as in Finland, Hungary, Italy, the Netherlands, Serbia, Slovakia, and Sweden. And while she argues that all major economies must adopt carbon pricing like the EU’s cap-and-trade system, she doesn’t address how to get the United States, the world’s second-largest emitter, to introduce this nationwide or even expand its two carbon markets currently operating regionally—one encompassing 12 states on the East Coast, the other in California.

History shows that the best way to make progress in the battle to rescue our planet is to work with what we have and build on it. The EU has a record of exceeding and revising its emissions reduction targets. In the 1990s, the bloc had the modest goal of sinking greenhouse gases to 8 percent below 1990 levels by 2008-12; by 2012, it had slashed them by an estimated 18 percent. More recently, the 2021 European Climate Law adjusted the bloc’s target for reducing net greenhouse gas emissions from 40 percent to at least 55 percent by 2030, and the European Commission is considering setting the 2040 target to 90 percent below 1990 levels.

This process can’t be exclusively top down. By far the best way for everyday citizens to counter climate doomism is to become active beyond individual lifestyle choices—whether that’s by bettering neighborhood recycling programs, investing in clean tech equities, or becoming involved in innovative clean energy projects.

Take, for example, “community energy,” which Saito considers briefly and Ritchie misses entirely. In the 1980s, Northern Europeans started to cobble together do-it-yourself cooperatives, in which citizens pooled money to set up renewable energy generation facilities. Many of the now more than 9,000 collectives across the EU are relatively small—the idea is to stay local and decentralized—but larger co-ops illustrate that this kind of enterprise can function at scale. For example, Belgium’s Ecopower, which forgoes profit and reinvests in new energy efficiency and renewables projects, provides 65,000 members with zero-carbon energy at a reduced price.

Grassroots groups and municipalities are now investing in nonprofit clean energy generation in the United States, particularly in California and Minnesota. This takes many forms, including solar fields; small wind parks; electricity grids; and rooftop photovoltaic arrays bolted to schools, parking lots, and other public buildings. Just as important as co-ownership—in contrast to mega-companies’ domination of the fossil fuel market—is democratic decision-making. These start-ups, usually undertaken by ordinary citizens, pry the means of generation out of the hands of the big utilities, which only grudgingly alter their business models.

Around the world, the transition is in progress—and ideally, could involve all of us. The armchair prophets of doom should either join in or, at the least, sit on the sidelines quietly. The last thing we need is more people sowing desperation and angst. They play straight into the court of the fossil fuel industry.