"What's that?" Was this some kind of cosmic joke? I cannot, in good conscience allow them to use that book for planning! I mean, it was true that it'd be a massive help in planning and coordinating logistics and tactical formations, but I was pretty sure that the whole collective was far from ready to conform to disciplined military doctrine! Yes! That's totally the reason! Don't think about anything else! "This, Lady Emerald, is the 'Art of War,'" I inwardly cringed as the former Prime introduced my plagiarized creation to the peanut gallery. "A guide written by Lady Crimson about the intricacies of waging wars and winning battles." Oh my fucking god... "Wait, you mean Crimson wrote that?" Bart asked incredulously. "How do we know that?" Hey now. I take offense

"How long do we have left?" My mouth almost dried up as I asked the burning question on everyone's minds as another meeting manifested right in front of my hospital bed. It was kind of stuffy now, the weather starting to turn a bit more on the summer side as the chill draft coming from my window was replaced with a slightly less chilly, but increasingly humid gale as we all sat around waiting for stuff to happen. The peanut gallery sitting at attention, all eyes on both myself and Love as we began the discourse. It was nerve-wracking; a few drops of sweat trickling down my brow as the tension of the perspective information simmered underneath our collective knowledge. "Based on my estimates, they're already marching as we speak," the former Prime nonchalantly espoused. "Approximately within the week, if I were to be correct." I felt the tension sky

Judgment day. The Day of Reckoning. The Rapture. Ragnarok. All of these things signify one thing, and that was the end of the world as we knew it. While it would be an overstatement to compare our current situation to the literal end of all life on a given planet, it was still an apt analogy to the events that will inevitably happen in the next few hours or so. Maybe even earlier if we're that unlucky. "So... They're coming then?" It was only a matter of time, I guess. Everyone wished for more time on the clock, but that just isn't the way the world works. It'll sooner throw you into a trash compactor with just a crowbar and expect you to get out okay than to submit to the pleas of those that have no power over its whimsical choices. "Yeah. Scouts say they'll be here in about an hour or so, I think." Read more