Reaction and Matchmaking Attempts

Naval Battle Conclusion (206/207)

Beacrox* twisted an old but well-kept knife in his hands, showing off his superior and scary dexterity. It was one of his father's few remaining mementos, and Beacrox* uses it to give the death blow to his enemies. This way, his father can still fight and avenge their fallen family members as well as his own demise.

The torture expert and chef is over forty, his glory days are long in the past and he feels himself getting weaker, and older, as the months go by. With every day that passes, his chances of gaining the desired revenge are getting lower and lower.

Beacrox's* brown eyes, unlike his counterpart's mostly amused, if not exasperate ones, reflect the despondent acceptance of the fact that he will die like his father, without getting revenge.

The opposition's numbers are dwindling every day and Beacrox* honestly can't see a way for them to still somehow win. The White Star* and his henchmen are winning; no miracle will save them. With wandering eyes, the chef took in the other worlds.

Side A is foolish and will follow his world's footsteps, while they may not mirror it, Beacrox* can see that those stupid nobles and so-called leaders still can't accept the road to ruin that they are traveling on. They don't have time to prepare and will soon witness the terrifying and cruel might of the enemy forces.

Side B is an enigma.

The way they handled the Indomitable Alliance was both a novel experience but it also left a bitter feeling in his chest. They were prepared and fought with an advantage called Cale Henituse. Sides A and C will never be able to copy them as all the plans were made up by having Cale lead them. If some things change or sudden amendments needed to be made, Cale Henituse can do it just fine, however, if Side A copies their plans and a new variable enters the fray, who will adapt the plans to fit the situation?

People think differently. They can't delude themselves into honestly believing that they can copy Cale Henituse's plans and calculations by simply watching.

Beacrox* stopped twirling the knife.

A small part of him hopes that the gods still carry a hint of compassion and erase the memories of this encounter from his already tired mind. Knowing that a world is out there that got everything he dreamed of and more, while he is wallowing in misery, is excruciatingly painful. Beacrox* glanced at the two versions of his father. He wants to remember them and seeing them here is torture as well as salvation.

Losing his father was a feeling he couldn't describe, even if he wanted to.

It felt like a part of his soul as well as his heart were pulled out and crushed into thousands of bloody pieces, never to be reassembled and leaving behind a gaping hole. Even now, years later, blood was still dripping out of the place where his last shred of sanity and joy once sat.

He wept when he lost his mother, grandparents, and friends when Arm* came and destroyed their home. Yet the strong back of his father, who kept his rage and desire for revenge tightly wrapped- choosing to run for the sake of his son-, kept Beacrox* grounded. It gave him a purpose, a future goal, and a person that he would defend to the end.

His father is dead.

Just like his heart and soul.

Beacrox* was surviving, but not living. Every day felt like torture and whoever said that 'time will lessen the pain' is a stupid fool. It was the opposite. Just when he got used to existing without the comforting presence of his reliable father, every small thing became a memory of him.

A knife? A lemon? Even Beacrox's* brown slacks remind him of his father.

The only thing that changed is that the raw, unbearable wound became a barely healed wound, forever aching and causing him distress; always reminding him about its emptiness.