A Full History of War

WARNING! This story contains MATURE content:


 * Violence
 * Gore
 * Sexual Content
 * Phylosophical Bullcrap
 * Foul Language
 * References to possibly NSFW content
 * Death
 * Stupidity
 * tl;dr

View full list at /WARNING list

Prologue
It is often said that War is an inevitable part of nature, true of any vaguely sentient organism. Be they monocellular organisms, the Beast that is Man, or those vast cosmic abominations that violate even the most basic laws of existence, whose very nature corrupts all around it, and to whom the mere concept of “concepts” means naught. But even they, so great and beyond are subject to chained by their own nature, impossibly alien to Man though it may be.

As there is individuality, an aspect from which not even the oh-so unearthly and nigh incomprehensible Others are free, so too shall there be conflict. And as there is conflict, so too shall there be War, its omnipresent and undeniable extreme. It is the prerogative of all life forms to follow what they to be their purpose, their own ideologies, religions, doctrines, all with the goal of transcending the world in which they exist, a journey to which there is no end conceivable, let alone in sight.

This, however, does little to dissuade those with the resources and capability to pursue this goal, along with the will to do so. In the olden times, before the very concept of existence, these Transcendants would clash in a War in which there were no rules to impede them, no lowly delusions of normalcy and normativity that would in any other circumstance have held them on leashes. Throughout time, these beings, to which War has forever been and shall forever be fundamental, have waged countless battles across all spectrums of reality with naught but one goal in mind:

Have the time of their f@#$ing lives.

And may whatever deity you worship help you, if you are unlucky enough to exist in the same general sense as them. These Warriors, feared by all things, above even Fear itself for their sheer lust for Mayhem, Madness and all the delicious depravity of a world without rules can offer them.

The Beast that is Man knows them as the Warriors, the Beasts that lie Beyond know them as the Hallows of Despair. The World they inhabit, to which Man is blissfully and dangerously ignorant is called many things by many other “things”. One name, however, stands above the rest:

A word. An old word to which there is no meaning. One that only the Others may pronounce in full, for if it was either written or spoken, either within the mind or from the mouth, Reason itself would cease, and the barriers that have since before the concept of Before have separated the Beasts That Are from each other will shatter. So it is only know in its short though meaningful, lackluster though weightful, form:

The Wikia.

And so while the Beasts That Are dwell on their own concerns, whatever they may be; within the bowels of uncertainty, illogicality, absurdity and inordinacy; at the very depth where the lines between All that has Been, Is and Shall Be, and All that has Never Been, Is Not and Shall Never Be have been blurred to oblivion and back, only to be essentially erased; where nothing and everything means everything and nothing, respectively; there burns the bright fires of War.

A War of Diversion, a War of Insanity, a War of Eternity unto Entropy.

The War of the Wikia.

A fundamental characteristic and vice of the Beast that is Man to endeavour to ascribe meaning to that which surrounds him. One of the many ways in which he does so is to designate those ideas, concepts and instances with a Name.

Man is born, and he is given his name by those that preceded him. He then learns the names of his fellows, and those of what exist around him. A staple of his psyche is the reasoning that that which has a name is less threatening, less fearsome. Even the Beasts that lie Beyond are subject to Man’s need to identify them by Name.

However, what is one to do when such a basic thing lies beyond their grasp.?

Such is the question pondered by one such creature as it sat upon a ledge. It was a strange Beast, not one that was Man, nor one that had lain Beyond. No, this was neither of those. This was something new. This was a Beast which into no category could be placed. It new what it was. It had no doubt what it was.

It was a Reaper.

That is what it was, but that was not its name. It sat for a time upon the ledge it had stumbled across on its way towards new horizons. It pondered… He pondered. Gender, that was something of which he was certain. Reaper... what that meant, he was uncertain. He knew it as a tool, as a concept, as something that was. He knew of Beasts that lie Beyond that had been Named or Named themselves as such, a reflection of their nature as harvesting tools to some unspecified end.

All that the Reaper with no Name knew was that which he had learned from observing the world around him. He remembered when he was not alone, his Beastkind, and how they crafted Names so that they could understand and control the world around them. He then remembered what he had done, and in turn, what had been done to him.

He was perhaps not the first of his kind to do something so unthinkable. A crime heinous enough to earn him this punishment that he now endured. A crime for which there was no redemption. He refused to dwell on what exactly that crime was, but he could never escape the consequences of his actions. And as for the punishment chosen for him?

When a Man commits a crime and is caught, his freedom is taken from him. When that crime is so great that his freedom is not enough, those to whom the duty of punishment is entrusted shall take more, however much is needed to balance his debt: his possessions, his pride, his dignity... even his life, and in the case of the truly spiteful, those of his loved ones, living or yet to be.

For a Reaper of Names, however, the life of the one that would commit such a crime could never be enough to pay for it. No, the Reaper in question would suffer an infinitely worse fate. They would not take his life, they would not take his pride, nor his dignity, nor his possessions. And hey did not… what they did, however, was take away the one thing that mattered. The one thing that held meaning to him and his kind.

His Name.

Bitterness, anger, his mind was a maelström of emotions, but among them stood out one in particular: regret. He regretted many things, but held firm in his mind the indisputability of the necessity of his actions. He regretted what consequences they had, he regretted the fallout, the anguish and the ensuing conflict he had caused through such a simple, yet terrible act, he regretted his current position and situation. But never would he change what he did, even given the choice. it needed to be done, for the good of all. If this punishment was the burden to bear for it, then so be it.

His name was gone, he was in a strange place, and surrounded by nothing save rocks, sand and silence.

BOOM.

Ok... that last one he could scratch of the list. He turned his attention to the direction from whence the sound originated. What had once been peaceful land in the distance, there were now plumes of smoke and dust billowing skywards. He breathed in deep and gave a profound sigh, dripping with enough exasperation that were it to manifest as a physical liquid substance it would have drowned an ocean.

Resolving that he may as well investigate, rather than just sit around on his already numbing arse, he rose from the ledge he had sat himself on, for he did not care how long, and let himself gently float down to the ground beneath him. Who, he thought to himself, needs a ground-shatteringly bombastic superhero-or-villain-esque entrance? Not him, he was bloody well certain of that.

He hovered nary a few centimetres above the ground, crossing the certainly-not-minute distance between him and his destination almost instantly. He never had any respect for such mundane laws as those reality set upon itself.

He arrived at the origin of the explosive auditory disturbance, and was instantly greeted as he began to survey the area by an at once intriguing and vaguely repulsive sight.

Before him stood a colossal monument of three monumental colossi, the three of them Beasts of Man, two of which were male, the other female. They appeared to be engaged in sexual intercourse, a detailed tableau of the taboo playing out in which the larger, apparently bald male whose upper half was covered with what the Reaper surmised to be the coat of a military uniform, was recieving felatio from the entirely naked, slightly smaller male that still had hair atop his head and was most likely intended to be the hands-and-knees-bound centerpiece. The third, female figure was bent over the central male, her complexion differing greatly from the other two. The Reaper took note of the female’s overt and rather exaggerated voluptuousness, before realizing that, indeed, all three colossi possessed obvious and obviously exaggerated sexual characteristics. He took note as well that the female was clearly represented as engaged in anally-penetrative intercourse with the central colossus by way of a strap-harness marital aide of such girth that the anus into which it had been plunged could not possibly be large enough to accommodate it.

Surveying the exquisitely erected erotica, he could not help but appreciate the curiously cautious and careful craftsmanship that had gone into it, the sheer attention to such diminutive detail, though somewhat minorly mitigated by the ferocious fetishism that pervade the perverse, provocative and nigh-pornographic piece, shone through to give the sensual statue to such a sexual situation an air of- wait, he thought, why did he suddenly start critiquing this anomalous, artificial and anatomically arse-wise artefact? And why, oh why was he doing so by way of annoyingly articulate alliteration!?

He stood back, gathered his thoughts and decided to investigate the area further, taking note of the name inscribed on the uniform of the fully erect, and doubly erect male colossus. “S. Pentecost” it read. No such tags were available for the other two figures, so resolved to simply refer to the central and right-most figures as “Sucker Man” and “Strapon Girl”. He giggled internally at his uninspired naming choice, and immediately after made a mental note to rethink his life at a later date.

With that thought, he took another step back, having realised he had honestly taken too long in observing the structure, wasting time on small details and overly complex and complicate yet curiously-questionable- DAMMIT, he was doing it again!

He took yet another breath and turned his attention to the area at large. He looked on in a mix of intrigue and mitigating disinterest, mild revulsion and morbid curiosity, and saw that the remains of what was once a wood in the middle of a creek he had previously explored now played host to a gallery of similar edifications of varying degrees of explicitness. One in particular caught his attention from the edge of his view, near what had been once a patch of anomalous fluorescent blue roses. Granted, he was not a fan of the flowers, he was still unsettled by the casual manner in which they had been replaced by another monument, though his attention lied with the artefact itself.

It depicted what the Reaper could vaguely identify as a Beast similar to Man, but with much more -once again fascinatingly and intricately detailed- muscle mass, fur, and a clearly non-Man face. Whatever it was, it was currently bent over frontwards and being penetrated at once anally and vaginally by arguably the stranger of the two depicted participants: an armoured Beast that again resembled Man, but far more closely in regard to shape to the first of the two sculptures that composed the piece. He could not qualify the armoured one any further as a Beast that was Man, for it’s armour covered it so completely that neither ethnicity nor gender were indiscernible, save for the glaringly obvious phallus and scrotum that, while they fit well with the artefact as a whole, had a peculiarly robotic, mechanical appearance to it which may have implied artificiality, though his thoughts on this took second place to the sudden realization of what the sculpture on the receiving end was being penetrated with.

It at first appeared to be a blunt weapon, maybe a bat or even a sword. Then he realized that no, this was something very different. He was perfectly aware of the concept of a water-traversing “boat”, but never did he think that he would ever see a blunt, handheld pole shaped as one being used to impale a strange, animalesque Beast in a sexual manner. Taking a closer look, he surmised the shape, length and overall design of the boat would mean it served as a transport of sorts, perhaps an oil tanker or cargo transport. But the question as to why that specific design was chosen continued to swim around his head unto annoyance. Then he noticed a key detail, thankful and thankless simultaneously for the great attention to detail that remained consistent across all the otherwise unique structures.

He saw, grabbing onto one of the minute railings that lined the sides of the ship, a Beast that was Man as he dangled mere centimetres from the point of contact at which the ship began its forced and bloody entry into the crotch of the prone Beast that was Not Man. He was hanging on for dear life as trickles of strangely-depicted blood, carrying chunks of debris and what was probably crotch-flesh were splattered and fell around him. This got the Reaper thinking…

If this is not just a casually surreal and somewhat abstract depiction, if the sizes were indeed to scale, then that would indicate the two larger sculptures relative to the smaller depicted Beasts of immense size and, probably, great power. That would make sense of the scale of the boat and, considering it further, he finally came to realize that the “attacker” may not have been a Beast that was Man at all, which to him seemed logical considering he had never known a man to grow to such scale…

BOOM.

His attention was once again drawn away from the macabre monument by a loud bang. And with a sigh of mild annoyance, as had become customary recently, he resumed his gliding stride towards the anomalous auditory anom- ok, some jokes just need to die, he concluded.

His path surrounded on each side by yet more structures and sculptures, he took the time to casually observe each one without falling into the familiar trap of carefully describing each and every tiny detail, as much for his sanity as time saving. He noticed the Manlike figures were wildly varied in terms of appearance, stradling -figuratively and, in some cases, literally- the line between Beast that was Man and Beast that was Not, many of which carried over a similar automaton-esque aspect that ran the gambit of technological advancement, from the Atomic Age of Man, in which they had discovered the secret of splitting the atom to use as both a power source and weapon; to the as-of-yet-unattained Age of Mastery, in which Man would theoretically have achieved such a state of technological superiority that no longer would innovation have been a requirement in order to advanced. With a none-too-contented smirk on -what could be called- his face, the Reaper noted also the presence of automata that clearly did not fit in with their ilk. The notable differences in general design, the obvious fetishism from earlier imbued into thankfully not-too-many more of them, the fact that the creator of these monumental sculptures had obviously improved with experience, and that one over there that was obviously moving and in full colour…

Wait, what!?

The Reaper snapped out of his momentary daze. He checked his senses twice over to make sure he was not hallucinating. He was most definitely not. Behind what was probably the latest group of monuments, partially shrouded by the settling dust, a dark figure moved and twisted. As the last of the clouds of obsufacting specs fell from sight, the thing that emerged took the Reaper by surprise. First he noted its size, in which it rivalled and even surpassed the monuments around it. Next was its colour: he concluded it was most likely not a case of one of the edifications spontaneously acquiring a locomotive ability, considering its body-covering armour gleamed red and black in the sunlight of the Third Sun that now crept over the horizon while the Second set -he had only just noticed that was how the days seemed to pass here and chose to analyze it at a later date, for now he had a more pressing matter to attend to-, while the surroundings and colossi sculpted from them flowed a subtle earthy brown. Thirdly was the mysterious interloper’s design, distinctly lacking in Manlike attributes, save the general setup of limbs. It definitely resembled more a Beast from Before Man, great reptilian animals that walked the lands, swam through the oceans and terrorised the skies of Man’s World long, long before He ever did.

The Beast ambled on, no readable expression, no indications of intent beyond the direction in which it was headed. The Reaper took the time to observe the interloper from a relatively short distance away. Either it had not noticed him, or was choosing to ignore him. Whatever the case, he watched on curiously as it closed in on an untouched boulder of sizable proportions. He suspected that he was about to witness the birth of another of these oddly stimulating, while still subjectively repulsive monuments. He saw the Beast line itself up with the boulder, and raise its two massive what-he-assumed-to-be arm-mounted boxish gauntlets. It then occurred to him that if this was indeed the process by which these colossi were created, he may want to brace should there be yet another loud-

BOOM.

Too late. After his ears had stopped ringing and the dust cleared, where once was a boulder now stood a sculptural representation of the upper torso and limbs of a voluptuous female of Man, stark naked with simulated drips of liquid falling from the tips of the two rounded emulated flesh mounds that were attached to her chest which she was currently cradling with her hands, her face one of mischievousness, a smirk and half-lidded eyes expressing a desire for… ahem... questionable acts to be carried out. It was not Strapon Girl, rather another female of distinct complexion and hairstyle -and maybe intended colour-, also distinguishable by a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles lifted up onto her forehead.

How precisely this Beast had managed to create such well-detailed and masterfully crafted, if tremendously lewd monuments by way of heavy-duty missile strike, he had no idea what so ever. As the Beast stood back to take in its work, its posture relaxed, the Reaper decided now was the time to attempt contact, despite the nagging feeling it would be a major hassle in the short and long term. He rose up to his full height and considered his first words carefully, this would require the utmost elegance, cordiality and general po-

“Hey, you!” he called out. In hindsight, he thought, something a little more professional and less run-of-the-mill might have made for a smoother conversation starter.

His voice carried around the area for a good few moments before fading out as to be inaudible. The Beast, apparently oblivious to the call, simply continued to stare forwards at its statue. The Reaper, though somewhat respectful at heart, had little patience for those ignorant enough to deny him the most basic courtesy of a response. Mayhaps the Beast did not understand him, but that gave it no right to pay him no heed. He decided to take action.

The “Beast”, however, was not preocupied with him, for its attention lied squarely with its most magnificent of monuments yet. Perhaps, it thought, there was not enough detail, not enough expressiveness in the face to get across the message it intended to send. It pondered and considered the perverse sculpture for a moment, before its attention was drawn towards something that clearly was not supposed to be there.

Hovering mere feet from the face of the statue was what, for an instant, It believed to be some kind of tiny Beastly Vermin. Upon further inspection came the conclusion that no, it was no kind of Vermin known to It, but a seemingly disembodied robe of brownish tint and minute size, under the hood of which was a hollow blackness penetrated by two glistening eyes of bright silver, gaze clearly locked on it. Thinking over the situation for a brief moment, It decided to investigate the tiny apparition. Coming to the conclusion that tactfulness was a major requirement for first contact…

“The fuck ' re you suppos’d t’be?” came a heavily-accented, brusque but still feminine voice. It or, as was apparent, She resolved tact was not within her best interests.

The Reaper twitched at the casual and vulgar manner of the question, but felt no need to complain. He now knew the giant mechanical creature was obviously intelligent enough to communicate, so he figured he would try again, now that he had acquired “her” attention.

“I am Reaper.” he stated matter-of-factly.

The interloper simply stared at the Reaper for a moment before replying.

“Wha’kinda stupid, unimag'native name is that?” she asked. If it was an insensitive or distasteful reply, she would apologize if rebuked, but otherwise honestly did not care, being of the general opinion that taking offense to such insignificant things shows a clear lack of backbone. A hardy skin was a necessity of life, as she had been taught.

The Reaper, however, was not offended by the disrespectfulness posed by the reply, but rather by something more personal within it. The way in which she pronounce “Name”, without a single ounce of reverence or indeed any indication of value ascribed to it. His patience stretching, but not yet broken, he responded to the question.

“Reaper is what I Am. It is not my Name.” he made sure to stress the last word to ensure the ignorant She-Beast would perhaps realise the importance of it.

She, however, simply raised a metaphorical eyebrow, making a mental note to maybe get a pair fitted for the sake of optimizing expressiveness. Oh, and maybe she should go back and check her masterpieces to ensure their own eyebrows were up to scratch. That and maybe the shrubbery on the girls and- oh, wait, yes she still had company. Small, odd and none too pleasant, company.

“Then what is y’name?” she asked, trying to sound as genuine as possible while still being only marginally interested. She did have much more pressing matters and while she wanted to wrap this up as soon as possible, she did not precisely want to provoke a conflict.

The Reaper, for his part, was starting to sense a pattern. Clearly the interloper did not hold Names in such high regard as he did. Perhaps it was a matter of upbringing or just a personal or cultural lack of appreciation. Either way, it was an annoyance, but not one he thought was worth starting a war over. And with that in mind, he calmly and non-combatively replied.

“I have no Name.” he was well aware it probably made no sense, considering all things did indeed have Names, with the exception of himself.

The titanic automaton once again stood there in place, mystified by the response, as the Reaper had presumed she would. It was not until a few moments later that she replied.

"Bollocks.” obviously the dialogue had now been officially voided of all pretext of sensitivity and professionality. “You can’t not ‘ave a bloody name.”

Patience at critically low levels, the Reaper was beginning to suspect any further attempts at building any kind of rapport with this She-Beast would only continue to raise his ire and her ignorance would continue to gnaw at his mind until he snapped like a glass twig in an industrial press. He thought and thought harder how he might be able to establish some common ground. Then he realised, if one of them asked a question, the other would have the right to do so as well. He would make sure to make use of it soon enough.

Coming to these conclusions, he emptied his mind of negativity and made sure his next declaration was as clear and comprehensible as day.

“I am Reaper, and I have no Name. That is an absolute truth. Unmistakable and undeniable. If it is a lie, It is one I have told myself so many times that I have come to believe it. And so gone is my Name, lost to the abyss of time. Taken by those in power as punishment for my transgressions.” it was technically true, as while he did have a name at some point, he had none now. Perhaps if he was able to break through to the interloper, Fate would award him the chance to reclaim it, or, perhaps, even provide him with a new one.

Said interloper simply stood once again in silent contemplation. She wasn’t a stupid Beast, she wasn’t a fool and she was certainly not a chump. But this little rag-wearing imp either seemed to think she was, or was being entirely sincere and came from some batshit crazy world where people could be denied a most basic right the likes of a name, and talked like they’d had a sodding dictionary shoved down their throats and now had to talk like one. Crapsack of a world she would never wanna live in, she was bloody well sure of that. And besides, it was in her nature to look for the best in people, so why the hell not give the little snotrag a chance?

“So… you’re a Reaper… that has no name?” she offered, trying to keep the edge out of her voice, as to not exacerbate the situation further. “You’re the Reaper with no name.”

The Reaper, sour but still ready and willing to put his pseudomania for Names aside, mulled over this thought and concluded that the She-Beast had a point, or at the very least he thought he understood where exactly she might have been going with her assertion. He may have had no Name, but he still had an Identity. But that just brought forth further questions. Out of genuine curiosity, he asked one of those questions.

“Very well, but then I must ask…” he began, sensing that his words here could very well shape the relationship he was on the verge of building with the monumental automaton. “What is your Name?”

Aw tits, the She-Beast thought. Shoulda known this was coming. She really, really, really didn't wanna answer that question. Not that it was a particularly bad name, she just absolutely hated it. Forever would she curse her mother for giving her it, and her father for refusing to disagree with her mother. And her grandparents who, while they’d already passed away at the time, passed on such a stupid naming tradition to her parents. And her teachers for calling it out every single bloody day for all to hear as a part of class roll call. And the post office. And Santa Claus. Basically, any mention of her name gave her a murderous impulse. So she decided it was best to just avoid the question.

“S’not important.” she threw out casually, blissfully unaware of the consequences that would follow that statement. She shrugged and glanced off to the side, not a split second later turning back to the Reaper, only to realise there was something very wrong.

The little, rag-covered vermin had, from what she could tell, been trying to keep what seemed like a short enough temper to be triggered by something as stupid and insignificant as a name.

Now he was just… silent.

Not silent as in the type of silence she preferred, an absence of noise and distraction that allowed her to work and enjoy herself -in more ways than one, she thought with an internal grin and an utterance of “Bow chika bow wow”-. Instead, this silence was somewhat unsettling, somewhat creepy and some-tossin’-what annoying. That being said, she wasn’t one to back down from a confrontational conversation. There was a reason she was always the one called “Daddy” -she didn’t know why she had thought that then and there, but smirked as an odd-looking text-based emoticon popped into her mind, along with the phrase “give it time”- and by the Man of Steel’s gloriously tight, red-hot outer-pants she would not be intimidated by the likes of this litte ass-rat, dammit!

“Ok, now what the hell’s wrong?” she challenged, nary a trace of hesitation or trepidation in her voice.

The Reaper twitched. He only ever did that when something or someone had gone and said or done something really, really, really bad. Twitching was a natural response to such things for Reapers. To instantly switch between quantum states at a rate no life form should be capable of, with the aim being to make sure what they were perceiving was factual reality and not illogical delusion. Had she really said that!? Did she really believe that? If so, he thought to himself, leveling a glare of murderous intent, she would have to be… reeducated. By force, if necessary.

“How dare you…?” he muttered under his breath, while making sure every word was well understood and dripped with enough venom to render a herd of hormonally-charge bull rhinoceri inert.

“What?” came the defencive -and, admittedly, honestly confused- retort. She was growing ever surer that this little crapstain was trying to wind her up. It’s little intimidation game, while at one point fairly cute, was now becoming a major annoyance.

Preparing a sharp, witty and none-too-kindly-worded response, she was suddenly taken by surprise as the tiny Reaper spontaneously popped into existence, his face a mere inch from her visor, with a look in his eyes that promised slow and painful death. Thought she refused to be put down so easily, her previously thought-up response died in her throat like a bug being crushed under some stupidly popular reality TV superstar models silicone-filled buttocks.

“How dare you disrespect the importance of Names!?” his voice tore through the air with all the force of a hydrogen-fuelled nuclear detonation, causing the subject of his rage to stumble backwards slightly, dust clouds kicking up around them and stone shattering beneath them; Heavens thundering above them and air burning between them. The intensity if his wrathful gaze would have been enough to make a star freeze, enough to make a black hole collapse, enough even to strike Fear into the heart -or hearts, or whatever they had in place of hearts- of Beasts that lie Beyond.

The She-Beast, however, simply shook her head to stop her ears ringing and sneered at the source of ever increasing annoyance. Within her mind, the dam that kept the flood of anger and sheer pissed-offness had sprung a leak, one that threatened to erupt into a full-on breach. She gritted her teeth and, in her calmest voice possible, endeavoured to make the situation clear to the tremendously little pest with a tremendously large ego.

“Ok, just so we’re clear, you talk waaaaay too fuckin’ loud.” she drew closer and bared her long, gritted, mechanical teeth that would rend steel as a steel knife would rend flesh. “You talk waaaay too fuckin’ much.”

She drew back and grinned a grin so very frightful and so very grim, only to reach back over so that she was face-void to face-plate with the Reaper and purred in an almost seductive voice, tinge with an edge sharp enough to slice sub-atomic particles in two.

“... and you’re waaaay out of your. Fuckin’. League.” the last word slithered its way out past her flexicarbine lips. She dimmed the lights of her visor in such a way as to mimic the narrowing of eyes.

The Reaper, at the end of his tether, grimaced at the less than pleasant violation of his personal space and ears. He was not certain how much damage this venomous harlett could do, nor was he sure how much he could do to her. With conflict seeming inevitable, he now felt it would be prudent to resort to Audacity, given that was the only concept the Beast seemed capable of comprehending. It was his only chance to defuse the situation.

Not a violent and illogical being by nature or by creed, he had to search deep within himself, past the Bitterness of Betrayal, past the Loneliness of Isolation, past the crippling Fear of Daddy and his nipple-tweakers... wait, what!? Ok, that last one was just not right and he had no idea where it came from, considering Reapers had no fathers, let alone sexually abusive ones. He appended his growing list of mental notes to include time to consider that thought later, though he was now certain he was closing in on his nexus of Audacity.

And then it clicked. He had found something in the infernal pits of his psyche that would satisfy his current need for a defusing distraction. He had no doubt that the sheer absurdity, immaturity and idiocy of such a simple and irrelevant, yet fundamental argument. He reeled back, mentally preparing himself, for he anticipated what he was about to say would undoubtedly cause a monumental drop in intellectual, cognitive and rational process. Enough of a drop, he hoped, so that even this ignorant Beast of such obviously inferior intellect and educational formation would understand him.

“Well, I was here first!” he blurted out.

There was silence for but a mere moment before the larger Beast recovered from the Reaper’s ferociously obscene and so fundamentally flawed argument, one that had since its conception been regarded as one of the most pure forms of logical fallacy. It hurt her brain it was just so fuckin’ dumb. She once again cocked that metaphorical eyebrow -she should really find a shorthand for that, so’s to avoid being repetitive- and tilted her head quizzically at the ever stranger, cretinous, and outright dickish little twat.

“And?” she asked in a mix of sarcastic interest and genuine curiosity. “What’s that make you? The President of this little turd gulch?”

She snickered and plastered another vicious, shiteating grin on her face-plate while she awaited a response. The only one that came, however, wasn't anything more substantial than a deep, guttural growl, fitting of a large reptile. Impressively deep for such a small Beast, but still not impressive enough to stop her from giggling under her breath. She wasn't gonna pick a fight with him right now, mostly because she honestly didn’t care enough to start one, partly because she wasn’t naturally prone to it -”I’m a lover, not a fighter”, she quoted in thought with an internal giggle-, and another-partly, because she had been taught better than to pick fights with someone or something she knew next to nothing about, persona- and ability-wise.

She may have been a Jaeger, a mind-mindbogglingly massive, masterfully-crafted, vaguely-humanoid powerhouse of a machine, in their origin built by the Beast that is Man for the express purpose of defending Him against invading, monstrous Beast that once lay Beyond known to Him as Kaiju; but she also held the unique attribute of, while her kin were considered glorified puppets with guns, being an entirely sapient individual.

Her own origins were a mystery, for she would reveal them to no one. She would never reveal how she became what she was now, she would never explain how she came to wander these forsaken lands… she would never reveal how much it hurt. All she would ever reveal, if asked, was the one thing she was proud of, the one thing that kept her going. The one thing that mattered: Her Identity.

She was Basilisk Centauri -Basi for short-, MK-X Blood Dragon series Mark 6.0 Heavy Defence Protocol Massive-Scale Battle Platform, the last of the Jaegers built by the long-gone underwater utopia of New Zealand to defend it against threats from Beasts that lay Beyond, and even their fellow Man.

Not that she would explain that to the little tit-wad currently barking like a mad chihuahua. She found it too hilarious.

The Reaper, on the other hand, was far less amused, given his attempt at irrationality had obviously done little to discourage the She-Beast. But, he considered, he was already at his depth, and with no way to get out of the hole he had dug himself into, why not keep digging down? In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought.

“No.” he declared in no uncertain terms. “I am the Sovereign by Experience, and this land, I have claimed for myself. And let me make this perfectly clear: In my land, you shall respect the sanctity and holy importance of Names.”

His last words levelled a challenge that he had hoped the foolish, idiotic automata would, at the very least, be intelligent enough to recognise as an attempt at jest.

That being said, he did not hold high hopes that she would…

Basi felt one of her artificial eyes start to twitch. Was this jackass joking, or was he really that stupid and immature!? He was seriously starting to piss her off right now, but she still held some small hope that maybe, just maybe this was just some warped, asswise joke on his part, that at some point he would admit such with a crude, less-than-sincere declaration that it “was just a prank, bro”. Gods of all Faiths, she hated that bloody phrase. Needless to say, she wasn’t about to let the little anal-jack get the better of her. She may have been a mildly pacifistic Beast, but she was also a massive T-Rex-like machine built for the express purpose of blowing shit sky-high, with Reactikon Balistic Missile launchers on pretty much every square inch of her body, a dozen or so MK-420 Mann Breaker miniguns with more ammo in them than her overall mass would indicate, jaws that could powderize neutron-adamantium infused bones, and motherfuckin’ 96.22 Yatawatt Kinetic-Particle Destruptor Beams that shot out of her freaking eyeballs! You do not fuck with that. You just don’t.

“Uhuh… suuuure.” she made no honest attempt to hide the sarcasm spilling forth like a tsunami hitting an island country unfortunate enough for such things to be a common occurrence. “And, prae tell, Mr. “Sovereign”, what exactly gives you that authority?”

The Reaper was on a roll and, sure as all fiery Hells about the World of Man, was not going to budge an inch. It seemed clear to him now that the Beast had started to assume a more logical stance, a vain attempt, perhaps, to hide her innate ignorance and simple mindedness. But then again, she did raise a valid point. He was certainly a powerful, intelligent and capable Beast, but he was by no means certain he would be able to run a country with a population high enough to be considered one. He also had to consider the fact that he had no idea if he would be able to defend it from mundane and environmental threats, let alone other powerful Beasts. The giant machine was not the first sentient, mildly-sapient creature he had met, having encountered some others in his travels across time and space, both before and during his exile. Things of nightmare...