Ptolemaic Army - Tumblr Posts
How funny huh?
Reckless fun in the jungle
It's a fine day beneath the subtropical sun, deep within the scorching heart of a treacherous jungle. A team of elite operatives—Tequila, Marco, Tarma, Eri, Ralf, and Nadia—have been sent to the southern part of the Amazon Rainforest by the Regular Army for a perilous mission. Their objective is to infiltrate and dismantle a ruthless guerrilla group suspected of human trafficking, illicit arms dealing, and narcotics smuggling. Intel suggests a possible alliance with the notorious Ptolemaic Army, a terrorist cult infamous for its brutality and corrupting influence. With precision and skill, Marco and his team must track down the guerrilla group, gather crucial intel on a possible alliance with the Ptolemaic Army, and execute a swift and decisive takedown to shatter the organisation's grip on the region.
The hypervigilant Tequila leads the group with awe-inspiring courage, his grenade launcher at the ready. Marco follows closely behind, his usual stoic demeanour masking a deep longing to return to the Sparrowhawk Operations Base and reunite with Perifa, whose dramatic flair he misses dearly. Eri, who had previously instructed her fellow Ptolemaic Army deserters to scout for a secret base and any suspicious activity, stands ready with her trusty explosives at hand.
Ralf is pumped for action, his senses heightened as he drinks in the jungle's symphony of natural sounds and feels the adrenaline coursing through his veins like liquid fire. Tarma walks alongside Marco, cracking jokes to ease the tension, but Eri and Tequila remain unamused, finding his humour unprofessional. Meanwhile, his queerplatonic partner, Marco, struggles to maintain a straight face, stifling a couple of laughs in an effort to stay focused. Ralf, however, revels in Tarma's lightheartedness, while Nadia giggles, lost in romantic thoughts of her best friend, Trevor.
Before they can proceed further, Marco suggests splitting up, a plan that Tequila endorses. Marco and Eri meticulously outline the stealth mission, assigning Ralf, Tarma, and Nadia to reconnaissance duty, tasked with identifying potential enemies and hostages. Meanwhile, Marco, Eri, and Tequila will continue searching for the guerrilla group's headquarters. After a brief strategy session, the group divides: Ralf, Tarma, and Nadia head out separately from Tequila, Marco, and Eri.
As they stealthily tread through the jungle, Nadia's focus wanes, and she starts to feel restless, yearning for something more than this mission. Just in time, Ralf spots a secluded hideout, a fallen tree shrouded in dense greenery, where they can lay low for a couple of minutes. The group swiftly settles in, remaining vigilant and on high alert. Ralf, Tarma, and Nadia anxiously await any news from Marco's group via walkie-talkie, hoping to pinpoint the elusive guerrilla group's current location. Ralf and Tarma remain vigilant, scanning their surroundings for potential threats and innocent bystanders, while Nadia's gaze wanders, her attention drawn to the lush jungle foliage and beautiful birds.
As Nadia leans against the tree trunk, she pulls out a blue bubblegum ball from her square-shaped pouch adorned with kitty ears. She pops it into her mouth, chewing and savouring the sweet blueberry flavour. As her gaze continues to wander through the gorgeous sights of the Amazon Rainforest, she spots some enticing swinging vines and her lips curl into a playful smile. With a mischievous glint in her eye, she elbows Tarma…
Tarma jerks slightly, caught off guard by Nadia's elbow to his right arm. He swiftly turns to face her, his head tilted in curiosity, and asks, "Huh? What's up, Nadia?"
She nods towards the hanging vines, her grin growing bigger, and blows an impressive bubble before it pops. Tarma quietly looks at them, adjusting his red-tinted sunglasses and squinting slightly.
"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Nadia asks, spitting out her chewed-up blueberry bubblegum, as Tarma's smirk forms, accompanied by a low, amused chuckle.
“I so do,” he replies, flashing a charming smirk, his response coming easily and without hesitation.
He watches as Nadia stands up and joyously skips over to the vines, catching Ralf's attention. Ralf raises an eyebrow at Tarma, but before he can say a word, Tarma swiftly stands up, stretches briefly, and confidently strides over to Nadia. As Ralf's gaze follows Tarma to the hanging vines, he grasps the hint and decides to join in on the fun.
Meanwhile, Marco, Eri, and Tequila are cautiously navigating the jungle, vigilant for any signs of the guerrilla group's members. They're also awaiting crucial intel from Ptolemaic Army deserters regarding the location of the group's headquarters, where their illicit operations are allegedly taking place. To pass the time, Tequila decides to strike up a conversation to break the monotony of the deafening silence. He has a strong hunch that Marco will remain his usual taciturn self, but he's certain that Eri will definitely respond.
“I hope these guys aren't affiliated with those cultish dumbasses from the Serapion Fellowship,” Tequila says, his voice dripping with disdain, his face twisted in a mix of anger and revulsion as he recalls his past run-in with the group.
“You mean the Ptolemaic Army?” Eri asks, her voice laced with disdain, accompanied by a tired scoff. “The Serapion Fellowship was decimated when the Ikari Warriors tore through them.”
“The Ikari Warriors didn't finish the job,” Tequila interjects gruffly, his tone respectful yet firm, catching Eri off guard. “My old comrades and I had to clean up the remnants. I'm telling ya, Ptolemaios and his devotees are like blind, stubborn leeches… Those motherfuckers never know when to quit!”
He pauses, fishing out a cigar from his right cargo pants pocket and lighting it with his metallic blue-green lighter. As he takes a slow drag, he eyes Eri with a hint of uncertainty, "I assume you haven't heard about the Arms Deal Barrage?"
Eri exhales a heavy sigh, her gaze dropping to the jungle soil as she falls into a silent reverie, feeling a tad foolish for nearly overlooking a seemingly insignificant event in the Regular Army’s history.
“Yup! Your Lothario son spilled all the details to me,” she replies, her voice involuntarily tinged with a chill as she crosses her arms, oblivious to the fact that Gimlet has kept a dark secret regarding the Regular Army hidden from her.
“Really?” he says gruffly, his right eyebrow shooting up in skepticism, amused by the thought of Gimlet being her informant on this particular matter.
Marco's attention is suddenly diverted by the distant shouts of thrilled excitement from a girl and a man, who enthusiastically belts out Tarzan's iconic jungle call, echoing through the air. He swiftly interrupts the conversation between Eri and Tequila, clearing his throat awkwardly, his interest piqued by something in the commotion.
“Uhhhmm… Guys, I think we have a problem,” Marco says, his voice low and serious, nodding discreetly towards the source of his concern.
“Tsk! What is—” Eri starts to say, her voice tinged with annoyance, but her words die on her lips as her jaw drops in stunned astonishment at the scene unfolding before her.
“What the fuck is happening?” Tequila exclaims, his voice laced with confusion and incredulity as he glares upward at the reckless spectacle above him, his eyes widening in shock.
Marco, Eri, and Tequila watch in stupefied awe as Nadia, Ralf, and Tarma swing from vine to vine with reckless abandon, their movements eerily reminiscent of carefree, playful monkeys. It's as if the entire jungle has become their personal playground, and they're oblivious to the fact that their unprofessional antics might jeopardise their mission. Tequila can only hope that the three impulsive adventurers don't alert any nearby enemies to their presence. Eri's right eye twitches with suppressed rage, clearly unimpressed by their foolishness. Marco lets out a deep, exasperated sigh, smacking his forehead with the palm of his hand and shaking his head in dismay, his gaze cast downward.
“Weeeeeeeeee! This is so much fun!” Nadia squeals, her voice bursting with exuberant joy.
"You're absolutely right, gurl! This shit is amazing!" Ralf exclaims, feeling nostalgic for the good times he had with Clark on mercenary missions in the jungle.
Tarma unleashes a thunderous Tarzan yell, utterly shameless and fearless about attracting the attention of the guerrilla group members. However, his triumphant cry is abruptly cut short when he accidentally swallows a fast-moving insect, causing him to cough violently. He stops swinging from vine to vine and lands on a branch of a kapok tree, gasping for breath and reaching for his water canteen in his citron load-bearing backpack. Nadia can't help but burst out laughing at the unexpected turn of events. Meanwhile, Ralf stops by to check on Tarma, concern etched on his face.
"You okay, man?" Ralf asks, gently patting Tarma on the back with a hint of worry in his voice.
Tarma coughs some more, takes a long swig from his canteen, and clears his throat before calmly responding, "It could've been worse..."
Tarma's gaze wanders to Nadia, who’s still swinging with carefree abandon, then drops to Marco, Eri, and Tequila, clustered beneath the kapok tree's sprawling canopy, far below where he and Ralf stand. He swallows hard, the sound of his gulp audibly echoing through the air. Ralf's gaze follows, his expression contorting into an uneasy frown as his sunburst amber-sage eyes slowly lock onto Tarma.
“Maybe we should get back on track…” he suggests, wincing at the prospect of facing Eri's icy stare and scornful disapproval.
The thought of facing Clark's lecture at Sparrowhawk Operations Base makes him wince even more, especially if Eri shares the story of their impulsive escapade. Tarma silently nods and begins to carefully descend the kapok tree, using the vines for support. Ralf closely follows, keeping a watchful eye on Nadia as she continues to swing from vine to vine without a single care in the world. Her swift movements radiate pure joy, accompanied by thrilled shouts, squeals of excitement, and punctuated by a hilarious, off-key Tarzan jungle call.
After a few minutes of climbing down, Tarma and Ralf approach Marco, Eri, and Tequila, their heads hanging low in palpable shame. Marco's disapproving gaze settles on Tarma, who shifts uncomfortably, his hand drifting up to rub his upper arm in a telling sign of nervous humiliation. However, Marco's expression soon softens, his frustration easing as he realises he can't stay angrily disappointed at Tarma forever. Eri is furious with the two, her anger evident in a harsh puff of breath and her crossed arms, which seem to radiate a menacing aura. She's prepared to unleash a scathing tirade, especially once she discovers who sparked this entire debacle. Tequila appears relieved that they didn't attract unwanted attention, but his expression betrays frustration with their decision to slack off.
Luckily, Nadia soon returns from her vine-swinging escapade. However, her excitement is short-lived, a fragile vine snaps beneath her weight, sending her plummeting downwards. She lets out a blood-curdling scream, but Ralf swiftly swoops in, catching her small body in his arms. As he holds her, Nadia's trembling subsides, and she gradually calms down from the fear and exhilaration of her fall. Once she's composed, Ralf carefully sets her down on her feet, offering a reassuring pat on the back as she takes a deep, prolonged breath to calm her nerves. Now, Nadia braces herself for a scathing lecture from Eri, likely amplified by Tequila's disapproval. She fidgets with her thumbs, gazing up at the sky with an unconvincing attempt at feigning innocence.
Eri's gaze sweeps across the group, her eyes blazing with a fierce intensity as she growls, "Which one of you thought it was a fucking brilliant idea to act like reckless retards in a situation like this?"
Nadia swiftly deflects the blame, her finger pointing accusingly at Tarma as she twirls her raspberry red locks with her free hand.
"Tarms is the one who started it," she claims, her tone dripping with false nonchalance.
However, Tarma's and Ralf's unflinching, deadpan gazes effectively debunk Nadia's attempt at innocence, their silent incredulity speaking volumes. Eri's hand flashes up, poised to deliver a sharp slap to Nadia's face, but Marco swiftly intervenes, firmly grasping her wrist to prevent the blow. He wisely knows that escalating the tension will only make the volatile situation worse.
Marco's expression turns stoically resolute, his brow furrowing as he sternly suggests, "Let's call a truce for now and concentrate on our mission."
Eri lets out an irritated snarl, ripping her wrist from Marco's grasp and rubbing it lightly. She turns to Tequila, seeking validation, and receives a discreet, affirming nod, signalling his agreement with Marco's suggestion. Whirling around, Eri confronts Tarma, Ralf, and Nadia with a twisted face, mocking them with a scornful snort. Deciding to lecture them later, she spins on her heel and strides away, refocusing on their mission to track down the guerrilla group's base deep in the Amazon Rainforest, hoping it's within a reachable distance. Tequila exhales a tense sigh, hastening to catch up with Eri, while Ralf follows quietly, ready to take on the guerrilla forces. Nadia falls into step behind them, her arms crossed and a scowl on her face, pouting silently like a sulky child.
Tarma pulls out a cigarette from his saffron-yellow vest, and Marco retrieves a cigar from his left khaki-green army cargo pants pocket, seeking to calm his frazzled nerves. As he approaches his queerplatonic friend, Marco extracts a gilded lighter from his crimson vest pocket and kindly lights both his cigar and Tarma's cigarette.
"Nadia... She never fails to amaze me with the creative ways she manages to stir up bullshit," Marco mutters, shaking his head in amused disapproval.
Tarma's expression turns mischievous as he sarcastically remarks, "I have to admit, she's quite the firecracker."
As he speaks, Tarma accompanies his words with a soft, affectionate squeeze of Marco's right hand, eliciting a gentle smile. Marco basks in the warm, carefree presence of his best friend and recent queerplatonic partner, enjoying Tarma’s breezy attitude on life. He could linger in this cozy moment forever, but he's keenly aware that pressing matters demand their attention.
After a few moments of adoring eye contact, Marco breaks the comfortable silence with a soft clearing of his throat, and suggests, "Shall we get going?"
Tarma exhales a stream of cigarette smoke and responds with a subtle nod, then quickly falls into step beside Marco as they catch up to Eri, Ralf, and Tequila, who are already some distance ahead. The team is eager to complete their mission, apprehend the criminals, and return to the Sparrowhawk Operations Base in one piece. Marco looks forward to reuniting with his calico cat, Perifa, and enjoying some snuggle time. Tarma can't wait to get back to restoring Clark's custom-built Velocette MAC motorcycle after this mission is complete.
Nadia is eager to spend quality time with Trevor and challenge him to another round of Dance Dance Revolution. Nadia is also looking forward to indulging in some of Fio's delectable baked goods. Tequila hopes that Red Eye is keeping Gimlet in line, ensuring he doesn't succumb to his typical laziness and womanising ways. Tequila and Eri can't wait to unwind with a well-deserved drink and good company back at the Sparrowhawk Operations Base, while Ralf hopes that Clark is doing well in his absence.
Reckless fun in the jungle
It's a fine day beneath the subtropical sun, deep within the scorching heart of a treacherous jungle. A team of elite operatives—Tequila, Marco, Tarma, Eri, Ralf, and Nadia—have been sent to the southern part of the Amazon Rainforest by the Regular Army for a perilous mission. Their objective is to infiltrate and dismantle a ruthless guerrilla group suspected of human trafficking, illicit arms dealing, and narcotics smuggling. Intel suggests a possible alliance with the notorious Ptolemaic Army, a terrorist cult infamous for its brutality and corrupting influence. With precision and skill, Marco and his team must track down the guerrilla group, gather crucial intel on a possible alliance with the Ptolemaic Army, and execute a swift and decisive takedown to shatter the organisation's grip on the region.
The hypervigilant Tequila leads the group with awe-inspiring courage, his grenade launcher at the ready. Marco follows closely behind, his usual stoic demeanour masking a deep longing to return to the Sparrowhawk Operations Base and reunite with Perifa, whose dramatic flair he misses dearly. Eri, who had previously instructed her fellow Ptolemaic Army deserters to scout for a secret base and any suspicious activity, stands ready with her trusty explosives at hand.
Ralf is pumped for action, his senses heightened as he drinks in the jungle's symphony of natural sounds and feels the adrenaline coursing through his veins like liquid fire. Tarma walks alongside Marco, cracking jokes to ease the tension, but Eri and Tequila remain unamused, finding his humour unprofessional. Meanwhile, his queerplatonic partner, Marco, struggles to maintain a straight face, stifling a couple of laughs in an effort to stay focused. Ralf, however, revels in Tarma's lightheartedness, while Nadia giggles, lost in romantic thoughts of her best friend, Trevor.
Before they can proceed further, Marco suggests splitting up, a plan that Tequila endorses. Marco and Eri meticulously outline the stealth mission, assigning Ralf, Tarma, and Nadia to reconnaissance duty, tasked with identifying potential enemies and hostages. Meanwhile, Marco, Eri, and Tequila will continue searching for the guerrilla group's headquarters. After a brief strategy session, the group divides: Ralf, Tarma, and Nadia head out separately from Tequila, Marco, and Eri.
As they stealthily tread through the jungle, Nadia's focus wanes, and she starts to feel restless, yearning for something more than this mission. Just in time, Ralf spots a secluded hideout, a fallen tree shrouded in dense greenery, where they can lay low for a couple of minutes. The group swiftly settles in, remaining vigilant and on high alert. Ralf, Tarma, and Nadia anxiously await any news from Marco's group via walkie-talkie, hoping to pinpoint the elusive guerrilla group's current location. Ralf and Tarma remain vigilant, scanning their surroundings for potential threats and innocent bystanders, while Nadia's gaze wanders, her attention drawn to the lush jungle foliage and beautiful birds.
As Nadia leans against the tree trunk, she pulls out a blue bubblegum ball from her square-shaped pouch adorned with kitty ears. She pops it into her mouth, chewing and savouring the sweet blueberry flavour. As her gaze continues to wander through the gorgeous sights of the Amazon Rainforest, she spots some enticing swinging vines and her lips curl into a playful smile. With a mischievous glint in her eye, she elbows Tarma…
Tarma jerks slightly, caught off guard by Nadia's elbow to his right arm. He swiftly turns to face her, his head tilted in curiosity, and asks, "Huh? What's up, Nadia?"
She nods towards the hanging vines, her grin growing bigger, and blows an impressive bubble before it pops. Tarma quietly looks at them, adjusting his red-tinted sunglasses and squinting slightly.
"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Nadia asks, spitting out her chewed-up blueberry bubblegum, as Tarma's smirk forms, accompanied by a low, amused chuckle.
“I so do,” he replies, flashing a charming smirk, his response coming easily and without hesitation.
He watches as Nadia stands up and joyously skips over to the vines, catching Ralf's attention. Ralf raises an eyebrow at Tarma, but before he can say a word, Tarma swiftly stands up, stretches briefly, and confidently strides over to Nadia. As Ralf's gaze follows Tarma to the hanging vines, he grasps the hint and decides to join in on the fun.
Meanwhile, Marco, Eri, and Tequila are cautiously navigating the jungle, vigilant for any signs of the guerrilla group's members. They're also awaiting crucial intel from Ptolemaic Army deserters regarding the location of the group's headquarters, where their illicit operations are allegedly taking place. To pass the time, Tequila decides to strike up a conversation to break the monotony of the deafening silence. He has a strong hunch that Marco will remain his usual taciturn self, but he's certain that Eri will definitely respond.
“I hope these guys aren't affiliated with those cultish dumbasses from the Serapion Fellowship,” Tequila says, his voice dripping with disdain, his face twisted in a mix of anger and revulsion as he recalls his past run-in with the group.
“You mean the Ptolemaic Army?” Eri asks, her voice laced with disdain, accompanied by a tired scoff. “The Serapion Fellowship was decimated when the Ikari Warriors tore through them.”
“The Ikari Warriors didn't finish the job,” Tequila interjects gruffly, his tone respectful yet firm, catching Eri off guard. “My old comrades and I had to clean up the remnants. I'm telling ya, Ptolemaios and his devotees are like blind, stubborn leeches… Those motherfuckers never know when to quit!”
He pauses, fishing out a cigar from his right cargo pants pocket and lighting it with his metallic blue-green lighter. As he takes a slow drag, he eyes Eri with a hint of uncertainty, "I assume you haven't heard about the Arms Deal Barrage?"
Eri exhales a heavy sigh, her gaze dropping to the jungle soil as she falls into a silent reverie, feeling a tad foolish for nearly overlooking a seemingly insignificant event in the Regular Army’s history.
“Yup! Your Lothario son spilled all the details to me,” she replies, her voice involuntarily tinged with a chill as she crosses her arms, oblivious to the fact that Gimlet has kept a dark secret regarding the Regular Army hidden from her.
“Really?” he says gruffly, his right eyebrow shooting up in skepticism, amused by the thought of Gimlet being her informant on this particular matter.
Marco's attention is suddenly diverted by the distant shouts of thrilled excitement from a girl and a man, who enthusiastically belts out Tarzan's iconic jungle call, echoing through the air. He swiftly interrupts the conversation between Eri and Tequila, clearing his throat awkwardly, his interest piqued by something in the commotion.
“Uhhhmm… Guys, I think we have a problem,” Marco says, his voice low and serious, nodding discreetly towards the source of his concern.
“Tsk! What is—” Eri starts to say, her voice tinged with annoyance, but her words die on her lips as her jaw drops in stunned astonishment at the scene unfolding before her.
“What the fuck is happening?” Tequila exclaims, his voice laced with confusion and incredulity as he glares upward at the reckless spectacle above him, his eyes widening in shock.
Marco, Eri, and Tequila watch in stupefied awe as Nadia, Ralf, and Tarma swing from vine to vine with reckless abandon, their movements eerily reminiscent of carefree, playful monkeys. It's as if the entire jungle has become their personal playground, and they're oblivious to the fact that their unprofessional antics might jeopardise their mission. Tequila can only hope that the three impulsive adventurers don't alert any nearby enemies to their presence. Eri's right eye twitches with suppressed rage, clearly unimpressed by their foolishness. Marco lets out a deep, exasperated sigh, smacking his forehead with the palm of his hand and shaking his head in dismay, his gaze cast downward.
“Weeeeeeeeee! This is so much fun!” Nadia squeals, her voice bursting with exuberant joy.
"You're absolutely right, gurl! This shit is amazing!" Ralf exclaims, feeling nostalgic for the good times he had with Clark on mercenary missions in the jungle.
Tarma unleashes a thunderous Tarzan yell, utterly shameless and fearless about attracting the attention of the guerrilla group members. However, his triumphant cry is abruptly cut short when he accidentally swallows a fast-moving insect, causing him to cough violently. He stops swinging from vine to vine and lands on a branch of a kapok tree, gasping for breath and reaching for his water canteen in his citron load-bearing backpack. Nadia can't help but burst out laughing at the unexpected turn of events. Meanwhile, Ralf stops by to check on Tarma, concern etched on his face.
"You okay, man?" Ralf asks, gently patting Tarma on the back with a hint of worry in his voice.
Tarma coughs some more, takes a long swig from his canteen, and clears his throat before calmly responding, "It could've been worse..."
Tarma's gaze wanders to Nadia, who’s still swinging with carefree abandon, then drops to Marco, Eri, and Tequila, clustered beneath the kapok tree's sprawling canopy, far below where he and Ralf stand. He swallows hard, the sound of his gulp audibly echoing through the air. Ralf's gaze follows, his expression contorting into an uneasy frown as his sunburst amber-sage eyes slowly lock onto Tarma.
“Maybe we should get back on track…” he suggests, wincing at the prospect of facing Eri's icy stare and scornful disapproval.
The thought of facing Clark's lecture at Sparrowhawk Operations Base makes him wince even more, especially if Eri shares the story of their impulsive escapade. Tarma silently nods and begins to carefully descend the kapok tree, using the vines for support. Ralf closely follows, keeping a watchful eye on Nadia as she continues to swing from vine to vine without a single care in the world. Her swift movements radiate pure joy, accompanied by thrilled shouts, squeals of excitement, and punctuated by a hilarious, off-key Tarzan jungle call.
After a few minutes of climbing down, Tarma and Ralf approach Marco, Eri, and Tequila, their heads hanging low in palpable shame. Marco's disapproving gaze settles on Tarma, who shifts uncomfortably, his hand drifting up to rub his upper arm in a telling sign of nervous humiliation. However, Marco's expression soon softens, his frustration easing as he realises he can't stay angrily disappointed at Tarma forever. Eri is furious with the two, her anger evident in a harsh puff of breath and her crossed arms, which seem to radiate a menacing aura. She's prepared to unleash a scathing tirade, especially once she discovers who sparked this entire debacle. Tequila appears relieved that they didn't attract unwanted attention, but his expression betrays frustration with their decision to slack off.
Luckily, Nadia soon returns from her vine-swinging escapade. However, her excitement is short-lived, a fragile vine snaps beneath her weight, sending her plummeting downwards. She lets out a blood-curdling scream, but Ralf swiftly swoops in, catching her small body in his arms. As he holds her, Nadia's trembling subsides, and she gradually calms down from the fear and exhilaration of her fall. Once she's composed, Ralf carefully sets her down on her feet, offering a reassuring pat on the back as she takes a deep, prolonged breath to calm her nerves. Now, Nadia braces herself for a scathing lecture from Eri, likely amplified by Tequila's disapproval. She fidgets with her thumbs, gazing up at the sky with an unconvincing attempt at feigning innocence.
Eri's gaze sweeps across the group, her eyes blazing with a fierce intensity as she growls, "Which one of you thought it was a fucking brilliant idea to act like reckless retards in a situation like this?"
Nadia swiftly deflects the blame, her finger pointing accusingly at Tarma as she twirls her raspberry red locks with her free hand.
"Tarms is the one who started it," she claims, her tone dripping with false nonchalance.
However, Tarma's and Ralf's unflinching, deadpan gazes effectively debunk Nadia's attempt at innocence, their silent incredulity speaking volumes. Eri's hand flashes up, poised to deliver a sharp slap to Nadia's face, but Marco swiftly intervenes, firmly grasping her wrist to prevent the blow. He wisely knows that escalating the tension will only make the volatile situation worse.
Marco's expression turns stoically resolute, his brow furrowing as he sternly suggests, "Let's call a truce for now and concentrate on our mission."
Eri lets out an irritated snarl, ripping her wrist from Marco's grasp and rubbing it lightly. She turns to Tequila, seeking validation, and receives a discreet, affirming nod, signalling his agreement with Marco's suggestion. Whirling around, Eri confronts Tarma, Ralf, and Nadia with a twisted face, mocking them with a scornful snort. Deciding to lecture them later, she spins on her heel and strides away, refocusing on their mission to track down the guerrilla group's base deep in the Amazon Rainforest, hoping it's within a reachable distance. Tequila exhales a tense sigh, hastening to catch up with Eri, while Ralf follows quietly, ready to take on the guerrilla forces. Nadia falls into step behind them, her arms crossed and a scowl on her face, pouting silently like a sulky child.
Tarma pulls out a cigarette from his saffron-yellow vest, and Marco retrieves a cigar from his left khaki-green army cargo pants pocket, seeking to calm his frazzled nerves. As he approaches his queerplatonic friend, Marco extracts a gilded lighter from his crimson vest pocket and kindly lights both his cigar and Tarma's cigarette.
"Nadia... She never fails to amaze me with the creative ways she manages to stir up bullshit," Marco mutters, shaking his head in amused disapproval.
Tarma's expression turns mischievous as he sarcastically remarks, "I have to admit, she's quite the firecracker."
As he speaks, Tarma accompanies his words with a soft, affectionate squeeze of Marco's right hand, eliciting a gentle smile. Marco basks in the warm, carefree presence of his best friend and recent queerplatonic partner, enjoying Tarma’s breezy attitude on life. He could linger in this cozy moment forever, but he's keenly aware that pressing matters demand their attention.
After a few moments of adoring eye contact, Marco breaks the comfortable silence with a soft clearing of his throat, and suggests, "Shall we get going?"
Tarma exhales a stream of cigarette smoke and responds with a subtle nod, then quickly falls into step beside Marco as they catch up to Eri, Ralf, and Tequila, who are already some distance ahead. The team is eager to complete their mission, apprehend the criminals, and return to the Sparrowhawk Operations Base in one piece. Marco looks forward to reuniting with his calico cat, Perifa, and enjoying some snuggle time. Tarma can't wait to get back to restoring Clark's custom-built Velocette MAC motorcycle after this mission is complete.
Nadia is eager to spend quality time with Trevor and challenge him to another round of Dance Dance Revolution. Nadia is also looking forward to indulging in some of Fio's delectable baked goods. Tequila hopes that Red Eye is keeping Gimlet in line, ensuring he doesn't succumb to his typical laziness and womanising ways. Tequila and Eri can't wait to unwind with a well-deserved drink and good company back at the Sparrowhawk Operations Base, while Ralf hopes that Clark is doing well in his absence.
Conversing with divine greatness
The Stone Turtle lies abandoned, a crumbling shadow of its former glory. The Gaia Elephant stands forsaken, left to rust and burn amidst flickering flames. Ptolemaios and his once-magnificent, human-made divine tower now succumbs to decay, silently waiting to be reclaimed by nature's relentless grasp. Meanwhile, Marco, Eri, Tarma, and Fio have fully prepared themselves for their final challenge in this arduous journey. Sweat-drenched and bloodstained, their faces set with determination, adrenaline coursing through their veins. Eri orders her team of fellow deserters from the Ptolemaic Army to eliminate the last remnants of the terrorist cult. Without hesitation, they set out to carry out her command.
Behind them, an enigmatic, inverted pyramid pulses with a subtle blue glow, its surface etched with ancient symbols that refuse to yield their secrets. The heroes approach cautiously, eager to leave the tower's lofty peak behind and return to the familiarity of Sparrowhawk Operations Base. But as they draw nearer, a malevolent presence suddenly envelops them, shattering the utter silence. The grey clouds tear apart, unveiling a pitch-black sky. Thunder ominously booms and crackles, accompanied by flashes of electric blue lightning that slice through the darkness. The atmosphere thickens with an air of profound dread and a deep-seated desire to confront the darkest roots of humanity's wickedness.
Emerging from the darkness, a gargantuan entity with bat-like wings, wild hair, razor-sharp claws, and pointed elbows stands before the elite soldiers of the P.F. Squad and S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S. special forces, exuding an aura of deafening authority. A writhing flame, shaped like a human skull, protrudes ominously from the behemoth's chest, casting a vacant stare. The entity's glowing red eyes pierce through every fibre of the soldiers' beings as they loom over them. Its pitch-black body is illuminated by the soft glow of nighttime blue and sparkling stars. The entity's right hand grasps a gigantic reaper, its disturbingly organic form seeming to twist and writhe like it has a sentient mind of its own.
A fierce battle erupts between the colossal behemoth and Marco and his three companions, who unleash a hail of bullets into its skull and strategically lob bombs at it. With each hit, the skull flashes a fiery orange, betraying the entity's silent agony. The behemoth retaliates with devastating energy spheres that can incinerate flesh and cloth upon contact. As it shifts into its shadow form, it raises its scythe, unleashing a deadly spray of arcing smoke projectiles that explode upon impact with the stone ground. The entity alternates between this attack and its energy spheres, creating a mediocre battle rhythm that makes the best efforts of the brave soldiers fighting to take it down feel surprisingly easy. Despite their valiant efforts, Marco and his friends can't shake the feeling that the entity is merely toying with them, its true power waiting to be unleashed.
They continue to exchange blows until the behemoth unexpectedly halts its attack on Marco, Eri, Tarma, and Fio. The four elite soldiers cease firing and bombing, lowering their weapons as they catch their breath. The entity unleashes a deep, echoing chuckle, its large hands gripping the rim of the tower. This surprises Marco and his friends, as they never thought the behemoth capable of producing such human-like sounds.
“Mmmmmmm… I am struck by the profound shock of being in the presence of four militant mortals. Unbeknownst to you all, I secretly observe you and the activities of other humans from a distance too great for any person to reach. I must applaud you all for putting up a successful defence. You have truly shown me your capabilities as defenders of Earth,” the behemoth speaks with remarkable eloquence and fluency.
Their voice loudly echoes in the minds of Marco, Eri, Tarma, and Fio, creating a sense of relaxation intertwined with uncertain fear. Lingering whispers are layered over its deep, smoothly masculine voice, which carries a potent hint of the demonic. Marco gives the entity a serious look, while Fio partially hides behind Tarma and Eri readies a grenade, gripping it tightly.
"Who are you? What's your purpose?" Marco's voice is laced with a deadly seriousness as he questions them.
“Ahhhh… I knew you were going to try to gather precious information about me. I am the apotheosis of humanity. I am the duality of life and destruction. I am the empowerment of raw emotion. I am the wielder of the Life Reaper, taking the souls of the deceased or those who dare to wrongfully challenge me. I remain nameless, yet I'm known by many monikers. The remaining Pseudo-Incan tribe believe I am Supay, their god of death and the mighty ruler of Ukhu Pacha. Some call me the Dark Lord, while others refer to me as the Deity of Fear. However, I'm often referred to as the Avatar of Evil. Ptolemaios and his terrorist paramilitary cult, who sought to exploit me in their quest for global domination and control over all realities and timelines, demonstrated a startling lack of foresight. They cannot comprehend the essence of my true purpose. However, you four are understanding, gifted with the inner workings of foresight. You have all witnessed things that surpass human comprehension,” the entity spoke with deliberate care, clearly impressed by the strawberry blonde Marco’s stoic demeanour.
“Like the Martians, Mutated Soldiers, and Man Eaters?” Tarma curiously asks, his eyebrow arched in inquiry, as he lowers his dual heavy machine guns, their barrels dipping slightly.
“Indeed, Tarmicle. You four possess the capacity to face the unknown, even when it deeply terrifies you. This is a remarkable achievement in itself. War, criminality, and terrorism are one realm, but the celestial is an entirely different domain,” the Avatar of Evil responds, its gaze sweeping across the group as it gently raises an index finger, then lowers it to the ground.
Tarma gives the entity an utterly surprised look, feeling a tad concerned about how it knows his true name. This sparks a mental alarm in Marco and Fio, who can't help but wonder if the Avatar of Evil is also aware of their real names. Despite being impressed by its words, they remain on high alert, unsure of what this entity truly wants from them. Marco and his friends exchange glances of uncertainty among themselves before Eri bravely steps forward.
“What the fuck do you want from us?” Eri demands, her voice venomous, her brow furrowing slightly as she confronts the Avatar of Evil.
The Avatar of Evil lets out a few low, menacing chuckles, clearly amused by Eri's use of profanity as it flexes its fingers, “Your crass attitude never fails to impress me, Chizuko.”
Eri's eyes narrow into a snarl, tempting her to lash out at the supposed deity of the Ptolemaic Army for uttering her birth name. However, she knows it's futile, so she remains silent, her gaze fixed on the behemoth with a cold, cautious intensity.
“Nevertheless, there is nothing I want from you mere mortals. The only things I require are a small portion of your time and some patience,” the Avatar of Evil proclaims with a sense of boldness, breaking the awkward silence.
Everyone is skeptical of the Avatar of Evil, yet they reluctantly comply with its wishes without a murmur of dissent.
“Let us speak like civilised creatures, shall we?” it mutters, leaning forward slightly, its eyes glow with intrigue and ferocity.
“Like what?” Fio asks in a voice that's sweet and gentle with a hint of nervousness.
The Avatar of Evil strokes its chin thoughtfully, lost in deep contemplation as it searches for a fascinating topic to discuss. Meanwhile, the brave soldiers wait patiently, each finding ways to cope with the tense silence. Tarma lights a cigarette with his silver lighter, while Fio clutches Peppino and caresses her greyish-brown teddy bear for comfort. Marco pulls out a faded photograph from the left breast pocket of his vest, then gazes up at the darkened sky with a hint of melancholy. Beside him, Eri takes a long swig from her flask of vodka, her right foot tapping impatiently. After a couple of minutes, the Avatar of Evil conjures up a clever topic of interest. It tilts its head to the left, clasping its clawed hands together as it rests its chin on them.
“What are your thoughts on morality, war, and the cycle of life and death?” the Avatar of Evil asks suddenly, its voice dripping with intrigue.
It seeks to uncover the elite soldiers' unique perspectives, driven by an insatiable desire to know. Marco, Eri, Tarma, and Fio exchange dumbfounded glances, their faces etched with intrigue as they stare at the Avatar of Evil. Tarma scratches the back of his head, lost in thought, while Fio gazes up at the blackened sky. Marco's serious expression remains unchanged, but Eri lets out a scoff, tucking her flask of vodka away.
“So… You want us to wax philosophical or something?” Eri replies, her voice tinged with bewilderment, utterly taken aback by the unexpected question.
The Avatar of Evil remains silent, its piercing gaze fixed intently on the elite soldiers as they await their responses.
“Tsk… Fine! We'll answer your stupid question,” Eri says with a heavy sigh, rolling her eyes in exasperation.
Tarma exhales a stream of cigarette smoke, then speaks up, casting curious glances at his friends as he seeks their thoughts on the Avatar of Evil's question, "Who should go first?"
“Mmmmm…” the Avatar of Evil murmurs, its gaze shifting to Marco, the leader of the brave soldiers, as it suggests, “How about Marchrius?”
Marco remains quiet as the Avatar of Evil calls out his real name, but he's poised to respond to its question. His glass eye feels slightly cold against his socket, and his heart rate quickens as he anticipates his social awkwardness kicking in. His dull turquoise eye flickers briefly to Tarma, seeking reassurance, and his queerplatonic friend responds with an encouraging thumbs up.
Marco cleared his throat awkwardly, then replied in a stoic tone, “From what I've learned, morality, war, and concepts of life and death are pretty subjective. They've always been open to interpretation, right? If you're that interested, I’ll share my personal thoughts on these topics…”
He exhales a deep sigh, collecting his thoughts as he composes himself to articulate his views with clarity.
"Uh, so, personally, I lean towards consequentialism—you know, where our actions are judged by their consequences? It seems logical that we should prioritise not hurting people and focus on maximising overall welfare. Over, you know, personal gain. I mean, it's just basic moral math, right? Do what benefits the most people, considering, hypothetically, everyone's fully informed and rational preferences… Yeah," he explains, pacing slightly back and forth, as he outlines his personal views on the subjective concept of morality.
He lifts his head, meeting the Avatar of Evil's glowing red gaze, and continues in a steady voice, initially tinged with awkwardness, but growing more confident.
“War, huh? So, I've come to think that all conflicts might ultimately lead to humanity's unified strength. Perhaps our past wars are stepping stones to one final, decisive showdown that demands global cooperation. Which, theoretically, could totally transform society and usher in an era free from violence, hatred, and corruption. On a sombre note… Mortality inevitably prevails. Moreover, many organisms possess a troubling capacity for destruction, often surpassing their creative potential when unchecked,” his final thoughts are laced with a strong hint of pessimism, but with a sense of relief, he takes a long, deep breath and concludes, "That's all I have to say for now."
Marco glances over at Eri, whose expression, like that of the others, is one of astonishment at the words he articulated so eloquently, belying his apparent social awkwardness. He ceases pacing and stands still, his gaze shifting to Eri as he regards her with intellectual curiosity as he waits to hear her philosophical thoughts. Eri's exhausted dark brown eyes, sunken with fatigue, slowly rise to meet the Avatar of Evil's gaze.
Eri raises her hands briefly in a gesture of exasperation before crossing her arms and sharing her candid thoughts on the entity's question, "Let's get real, folks! Morality is nothing more than a cultural construct. Right and wrong? Just made-up labels. There's no universal moral truth. Every society makes up its own rules based on their quirky customs and beliefs. Good and evil? Forget about it—that sort of shit is just fuzzy, nebulous concepts. We'll never figure out the grand scheme of morality. Cultures slap together values based on what keeps their members in line and feeling good."
She pauses, tucking the grenade into her sage green load-bearing backpack with a practiced motion. With her left hand resting on her hip, she sweeps a stray strand of dirty blonde hair from her face with a swift, precise gesture of her right hand.
Eri cracks her knuckles, relieving the stiffness, and continues with a serious yet weary expression, “War is stupid. It’s a big fucking mess. Once the bullets start flying, we're stuck with the harsh reality of killing, regardless of how messed up it is morally. But let's be real, we've also got a duty to protect the innocent and uphold some semblance of justice. War shouldn't be taken lightly, but sometimes it's necessary. To keep it from getting out of hand, we need strict rules. A war needs to be officially declared, have a legit reason for happening, and aim to bring about actual peace. If I'm being honest, life and death just coexist. There's no magical link between them because that sounds like a bunch of bullshit to me. It seems to me that we simply live and then we die—that's about it!”
Marco, Tarma, and Fio exchange curious glances, sensing a hint of nihilism and apathy in Eri's words. Eri, oblivious to their questioning stares, nudges Tarma with her elbow, causing him to flinch slightly. She scowls at him, struggling to let go of her lingering animosity, her voice barely above a whisper, "It's your turn, moron."
“Urm…” Tarma murmurs, wincing at the sting of Eri's words, a flicker of hurt crossing his face.
He sniffles and runs his fingers through his plum brown hair, which has subtle, effortless curls. Though plagued by insecurities about his intellectual abilities and struggles with complex subjects, he’s fully prepared to give it a try.
“I'm not a philosophy expert. Honestly, I don't even fully understand my own opinions on most complicated topics. However, I'll do my best to share my thoughts…” he speaks, his voice steady and calm as he strives to maintain a confident tone.
He strokes his chin thoughtfully, his gaze locked onto the Avatar of Evil's glowing red eyes, feeling as though they're judging him on an intellectual level. Fio gently places a reassuring hand on Tarma's back, offering comfort. She recognizes that not everyone possesses a deep understanding of themselves and complex philosophical concepts.
The gesture brings Tarma some much-needed comfort. He lightly kisses Fio on the cheek, causing her to blush, before speaking up with a hint of newfound confidence.
“Uh, yeah, so I think our morality thingy is pretty much shaped by, you know, our parents, cultural influences, and some universal rules. Every person has this inherent dignity, so we gotta follow some ethical rules that make sense, logically and all that. It's a good idea to avoid contradictions. If you don't, you might come across as a hypocrite, and that's a label nobody wants to wear. Anyways… Honestly, I don't think what happens after we do something really matters; it's the act itself that matters, not the outcome. As a soldier, I may seem like an unlikely advocate for pacifism, but I strongly believe in it. War and all other forms of violence suck and they’ll always be a pain in the ass. Well… Ummm…” Tarma sniffles, composing himself as he struggles to maintain his calmness in the presence of such a foreboding entity.
He takes a long drag on his cigarette, cracks his knuckles, and attempts to muster a confident air as Fio gently squeezes his free left hand. Following a fleeting pause, he presses on with his speech, hoping to articulate his thoughts without sounding foolish. Fio releases his hand, and he takes a step closer to the behemoth and his friends, bravery and apprehension warring within.
“I strongly believe our best efforts should focus on standing against all of this war. We also can’t forget about actively fighting for peace, even if it means challenging our own moral beliefs. I hope that if we all try really hard, we can make the world a better place. Life and death are like two sides of the same coin, you know? They're always fighting for control, which is represented through our actions. So yeah, that's my two cents. I hope it makes sense, because I'm not really sure what I'm talking about,” Tarma finishes his thoughts with a slight shrug, accompanied by a gentle, albeit uneasy, smile.
Fio gently applauds Tarma, while Marco shoots him a disbelieving glance, astonished to discover that his close friend is a so-called pacifist. Eri's eyes dart upward in wry amusement; Tarma's pacifist ideals seem at odds with his impulsive nature and willingness to brawl for those he cares about. As the Avatar of Evil awaits the final elite soldier's response to its burning question, Marco, Tarma, and Eri turn in unison to face Fio, their attention now focused on her.
“I never gave much thought to such complex subjects until now. Uhhmmmm…” Fio admits, her fingers fidgeting nervously as she toys with the strands of her orangish-brown ponytail.
She pauses for a brief moment, her gaze calmly meeting the Avatar of Evil's. The entity's curious red eyes seem to bore into the souls of Fio and her friends with an unnerving silence. Tarma gently rubs her left shoulder, offering what reassurance he can, and she smiles softly in response, her eyes shining with gratitude.
Fio clears her throat, darting a brief glance at Marco, who nods lightly in encouragement, and then at Eri, who gives her two thumbs up, before speaking up, "Uh, if it's okay... could we, maybe, discuss my thoughts on war? I-I mean, I've been thinking... avoidable and inevitable wars, they just seem like, well, a constant threat to humanity, you know? War just... it doesn't really accomplish anything, only serving as a catalyst for destruction and suffering. It changes the moral fabric of people, and societies, in really profound ways. It greatly accelerates the technological development of war machines and weaponry. And it all starts when conflicts get out of hand, and, well, free will just doesn't seem to matter anymore. The consequences are just... visceral. Devastating. As for morality... Mmmmmm…"
She trails off, her voice fading into a nervous sigh as she fidgets beneath the entity's piercing gaze. Her eyes drop to the stone ground beneath her feet. She lightly strokes her chin, collecting her thoughts with a contemplative gesture, before formulating a thoughtful response.
“Um, so… Morality is concerned with… the kind of person we strive to be, you know? It's about cultivating virtues that make us, well, better humans. To truly live a morally righteous life, we're, uh, called to develop habits like honesty, bravery, justice, and generosity. These traits are, I believe, fundamental to our flourishing as individuals. As we practice these virtues, we become more... resilient, more capable of making tough choices when faced with ethical dilemmas. And that's when it clicks: by honing these habits, we empower ourselves to do what's right, even when it's hard. We learn to trust our instincts, to listen to our conscience, and to stand firm in our convictions,” Fio continues, gathering her courage and speaking with as much confidence as she can muster.
She steps away from Tarma as he releases his gentle grip on her left shoulder, and then distractedly fidgets with Peppino before refocusing on the conversation.
“I want to believe that life's power exceeds death's grasp. Death can feel overwhelming and inevitable... but what if life's resilience is stronger? We've all witnessed it in some form or another. It's truly phenomenal to see nature and the remnants of human civilization reclaim and revitalise what was once destroyed and lost. It's breathtaking, yet terrifying. Can life truly overcome death? I think so. In astonishing ways, vitality perseveres,” she concludes, her voice ringing with genuine sincerity and infectious optimism.
As a Papilio xuthus butterfly flutters past Fio, she feels an unexpected surge of profound fulfillment and calm rather than the instinctive flinch she might have anticipated. The others follow Fio's gaze to the Papilio xuthus, its path seemingly leaving a trail of sparkling calm in its wake. Eri raises an eyebrow, questioning whether her sleep-deprived mind is playing tricks on her. Marco remains stoically indifferent, but Tarma's attention is riveted on the butterfly as it vanishes into the empty eye socket of the colossal skull embedded in the behemoth's chest.
The Avatar of Evil reclines slightly, placing its hands flat on the stone ground of the tower, its seemingly emotionless face illuminated by a newfound understanding, as the diverse perspectives of these four elite soldiers bring a measure of enlightenment.
With a slow, satisfied exhale, the entity speaks in a low, resonant tone, its voice tinged with pride, "Your perspectives on morality, war, and the cycle of life and death are truly fascinating. I must admit, I hold them in high esteem."
Marco, craving a smoke break, retrieves a cigar from the right pocket of his khaki-green army cargo pants and lights it with a gilded lighter hidden in his crimson vest. Meanwhile, Tarma takes a few final drags on his cigarette before crushing it beneath the heel of his paratrooper boot. Fio carefully tucks Peppino into the left pocket of her cordovan Eisenhower jacket, while Eri stands by, her arms crossed, subtly shifting her weight from one leg to the other.
“So…” Fio takes a swift pause to inhale a few meditative breaths from her Ventolin inhaler, then resumes speaking in an exceedingly courteous tone, “What are your thoughts on morality, war, and the cycle of life and death, if you have any to share?”
With a gentle tilt, the entity angles its head to the right, its gaze shifting ever so slightly.
“Well, Fiolina… All of your views are valid, and I find myself in agreement with every single one of them. However, before I bid farewell to this mortal coil, I have a few parting thoughts to share,” it respectfully responds, clearly impressed by Fio's thoughtful consideration and gracious politeness.
Everyone listens intently, not daring to utter another word. Eri drains the last of her trusty flask of vodka, while Marco takes a few puffs from his cigar. The Avatar of Evil's claws scrape against the stone of the looming tower, digging in ever so slightly. Suddenly, thunderclaps boom through the sky, and crimson-purple lightning flashes violently around them. The group of brave soldiers flinch, momentarily caught off guard. As they steady themselves, Marco and his companions are surrounded by a thick, star-studded fog that shimmers like diamonds. It obscures their view of the Avatar of Evil and the lifeless form of Ptolemaios, his defeated body still entwined with the wreckage of his pillar contraption.
"Have you ever considered that morality and war are mental constructs shaped by human psychological and sociological pressures? Why must humanity adhere to the strict, often confusing rules of morality? Does it provide a profound sense of self-righteous gratification or is it a means for humans to conform to societal expectations? Why are some people oblivious to the consequences of their actions, while others hold them in high regard? Why do some individuals adopt a nihilistic stance towards the idea of a universal and individual moral compass?” the Avatar of Evil pauses for a fleeting instant, surveying the four elite soldiers who stand transfixed and stunned by the challenging questions.
Its voice resonates loudly and clearly within the minds of Marco, Eri, Tarma, and Fio, booming with demonic dread and masculine authority. Whispers of secrets weave through it, spoken in a language that echoes the Martian tongue and the mystical Enochian, incomprehensible to their understanding.
Without further hesitation, it proceeds with a deliberate and calculated calmness, “Why does war exist? What truly sparked its inception? Does war hold any genuine significance? Have you four pondered the notion that life is inextricably linked with destruction? Is there a deeper connection between these seemingly polar opposites? If so, why do some view life as a linear progression from birth to death, while others believe in the possibility of a cyclical existence beyond mortal suffering?"
The blinding fog gradually lifts, revealing the stone ground of the tower's summit, now teeming with life. Moss and an array of vibrant, exotic mushrooms—violet webcap, bleeding tooth, latticed stinkhorn, lion's mane, and indigo milk cap—flourish in every crevice. However, amidst this lush scenery, a gruesome sight lies in stark contrast: Ptolemaios's freshly deceased corpse, half-devoured, exposes rotting flesh, maggots, and bare bones. The once-majestic floating tower now lies in ruins, overrun by an explosion of plant life. Yellow and black butterflies swarm the area, feasting on the nectar of sweet flowers: hollyhock, lavender, milkweed, and vervain. Marco and his three friends stand awestruck, torn between the beauty before them and the horror of how swiftly this transformation occurred. They exchange disbelieving glances with the Avatar of Evil, their questions unspoken but palpable in the stunned silence.
The behemoth gently clears their throat, taking this brief moment to collect their thoughts before delivering their concluding remarks, “Your philosophical views, as Marco noted earlier, are fundamentally subjective. Moreover, as your brains lack a divine spark, your understanding of complex and multifaceted subjects will always be limited. Regrettably, we've veiled your understanding of ultimate truths. Nonetheless, it remains fascinating to observe the extraordinary efforts individuals will undertake to attain absolute knowledge on matters that captivate their interest... I shall take my departure now. May our paths cross again soon.”
As Tarma's worldview begins to fracture under the intense scrutiny, Fio's gentle hand envelops his, her calm demeanour a beacon of serenity that starkly contrasts to the turmoil raging within him. Fio's breath comes in ragged gasps as she struggles to wrap her mind around the profound implications, her gaze fixed on the transformed landscape. Meanwhile, Eri's jaw hangs slack, her mind reeling as she struggles to process the barrage of profound and unsettling questions the Avatar of Evil has posed, each word echoing in her thoughts like a lingering challenge.
Marco takes a step forward, his curiosity piqued, and eagerly prepares to inquire about the notions of "divine spark" and "ultimate truth", seeking clarification on these intriguing concepts. He raises his arm in a pleading gesture, hoping to persuade the entity to linger, but it's too late. The Avatar of Evil unfurls its immense wings, casting a dark silhouette against the stormy sky, where lightning flashes illuminate the darkness. Then, with a majestic sweep, it vanishes into the murky depths, leaving behind the fading echo of its wings beating, growing fainter and fainter until lost in the distance.
Marco gazes out at the horizon as the murky darkness swiftly yields to unveil a breathtaking twilight sky. Though a part of him feels intellectually drained and defeated for not stopping the Avatar of Evil in time, he stands stoically, lost in silent amazement and relief. Tarma approaches him with his characteristic nonchalance, but beneath the surface, he's grappling with his own intellectual doubts. He offers Marco a reassuring pat on the back, and Fio soon envelops them both in a comforting hug, which they gratefully return. Meanwhile, Eri remains transfixed in awe, but gradually snaps back to reality as she retrieves her walkie-talkie from her MultiCam SPCS. She swiftly activates it and checks in with her team, inquiring if they've completed their mission now that Ptolemaios' sinister plans have been thwarted once and for all.
Trevor's voice crackles over Marco's walkie-talkie, "Yo! Major Rossi, can you hear me?"
The sudden interruption breaks the spell, and Marco releases Tarma and Fio from the hug, exhaling a tired sigh as he retrieves his walkie-talkie.
"Yes, Sergeant Spacey, I can hear you. Is everything alright? Did you succeed in apprehending General Morden and his forces?" he responds, his voice laced with a mix of curiosity and fatigue.
Trevor breathes a sigh of relief, his momentary fear of losing Marco dissipating.
"The situation is under control! We received an unexpected visit from the Ptolemaic Army, but those punks were crushed like insects," he says with a hint of triumph, followed by a happy chuckle. "Wanna know something even better?"
Marco raises an eyebrow, intrigued by Trevor's query, as Eri draws closer to the group, her interest piqued by the conversation. Marco, Eri, Tarma, and Fio exchange eager glances, their minds racing with the same unspoken question: what news does Trevor bring about his mission to capture General Morden?
Just then, Nadia's voice cuts through, her tone eerily jubilant, “We've finally captured General Morden!”
"Hey, don't forget about Wysteria," Clark's voice comes through the walkie-talkie, sounding genuinely pleased and relaxed. "We rescued her from General Morden's clutches, and thankfully, she's doing great. She bounced back like a champ, just like always."
The revelation leaves everyone stunned, but it sparks unbridled excitement among the four brave soldiers. Tarma exclaims a triumphant "Boyah!" and sweeps everyone into a warm, tight embrace, prompting Fio to erupt into childlike giggles with unbridled joy. Eri returns the hug, albeit reluctantly, exhaling a weary sigh as a faint, relieved smile crosses her face, glad that the ordeal with Morden has finally come to an end and Wysteria is safe. Fio showers Tarma's left cheek with a couple of passionate, tender kisses, causing his smile to broaden even further. Meanwhile, Marco provides calming solace, gently massaging Tarma's back with soothing circular motions.
For Marco, it's a moment of profound joy, a feeling he hasn't experienced in a long time. He's thrilled that General Morden will finally be brought to justice after his numerous escapes and the multitude of crimes he's committed, and relieved that Wysteria wasn't used for some nefarious purpose. Marco eagerly awaits the day when justice will be served to the man responsible for tearing his comrades apart and sowing strife in the world. Tarma shares Marco's sentiment, looking forward to Morden's impending trial and reuniting with the dearly missed Wysteria. Meanwhile, Eri and Fio are ecstatic to learn that their allies—Trevor, Clark, Ralf, and Nadia—have successfully completed their mission to capture the sly General Morden and his Rebel Army loyalists.
"I guess you all know what this means, right?" Ralf's voice crackles over the walkie-talkie, a playful hint evident in his tone.
Marco and his friends exchange knowing glances, nodding in unison as a shared thought passes between them. They're eager to celebrate this monumental success back at the Sparrowhawk Operations Base, their anticipation palpable. They know that Clark, Ralf, Trevor, and Nadia share their eagerness, anticipating a grand celebration for the successful capture of Morden and his remaining forces. The rest of the Regular Army—including Tequila, Gimlet, Red Eye, Pupipi, Hyakutaro, Rumi, and everyone else that Marco and the others personally know—will be ecstatic once they hear the news.