Meta Wars / Season One /

The Estates / Back To The Battle / The Oracles

"With Maka near you, don't you think you should have some sort of company?"

"*She* will be my company. Chidori, don't burn down the place, alright?" On Rougery's exit Chidori turns to the guard in the room.

He looked slowly at the other soul in the room, standing guard.

"You. What's your name, Captain?" Chidori inquired with haste.

"Stark0s, sir!" He stood at attention. It wasn't uncommon for users to name their users after their aligned ships.

"I want you to accompany Roguery, but stay behind him. Don't let him know you're following. Also, go ask Judacris for his aid. You will roam alongside him. Remember to bring your sharpest pikes."

"Yes, of course."

"That didn't sound sincere. Give me one more. For the OTP!"

"O.T.P! Yes, sir!" He stood at attention once more and gave the traditional Starco Salute-- one fist on his heart, one fist pointing downwards. His elbow in front of his face.

"Good. That was better. Now, get out there, soldier, and make us proud!" Stark0s was quite nervous about this mission. He knew how much of a service that Judacris had given the Starco army in the past. He scurried out of the room not too far behind the Knight, in search of the archer. Leaving Chidori alone in the conferencing quarters.

As Chidori looked out over the Estate's courtyard from the large windows watching the underlings combat the fighting dummies he announced to himself, "This is it, then. This is the beginning." He grabbed a glass of brown liquid in a beautiful cup off the desk. "I felt it for so long. Who knew it would all come together like this? It doesn't feel right."

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You could smell the ash of fallen users for miles. Like a mixture of old cabbage and septic, with just a hint of burnt hair. It was the bloodiest onslaught that most had seen and most have heard of, and it wasn't even over yet...

"Get me those shells!" Poetry insisted. He covered his ears and a mortar screamed towards the enemy. He took cover behind the heavy firing mechanism as he heard the many Starco gunners take aim at his lone mortar.

He saw a small cavalry unit heading for him. 600 meters out. 500 meters out. He ran towards the platoon that was being overseen by AtlantaBWRD, the closest one in sight.

"Atlanta! Here! Atlanta!" He began to wave his arms out of desperation. The torch he was using to ignite the canons was still ablaze in his hand. "Throw me that bottle!"

Atlanta looked around and found the bottle left by the moved caravan. It was filled with an uncertain clear liquid.

Atlanta threw the liquid towards Poe, somehow landing at his feet unbroken. 350. 300 meters. Poetry ripped a bit of his purple Captains' coat and stuffed it inside the bottle. 200. 150. He dipped the bottle upside down and lit the rag. 100 meters. 75 meters.

He threw the molotov in front of the horses. The fire scattered at their hooves. The horses began to buck and kick the riders around wildly. AtlantaBWRD saw his opportunity.

"There! Attack the cavalry as one while the chance is open!"

Poetry ran towards his cannon as the flames surrounded it. However, through the flames, one rider still stood. He jumped through the dwindling fires while Poetry fell against the giant iron piece of artillery. Now at gunpoint, the rider dismounted, removing his bandana to reveal his face.

"Friskey_Chromosome, please!" begged Poetry. He knew the user and he knew the look in his eyes. Unforgiving.

"You told me once a Starco, always a Starco. Isn't that right, Poetry?" In a hurry, Atlanta's unit was closing towards Poetry and Friskey's position. "The last time I saw you we had shitposted together with the likes of Amused_Lad. That was many lives ago."