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If you miss the train I'm on, you will know that I am gone.
You can hear the whistle blow a hundred miles…
A hundred miles, a hundred miles—
A hundred miles, a hundred miles—
You can hear the whistle blow a hundred miles…
“It’s all yours.”
Parrot met Wifies’ lifeless, dismayed eyes as the spyglass rolled from his hand onto the pressure plate, splitting the silence with a thud. Artificial, pale light
flooded
Paragon, bounced upon the gold and white crystal enclosing them.
Wifies’ hands trembled in the cold as he glanced up at Parrot, rocked on his heels cautiously. Through those months, he had frozen into a whittled shell of the Wifies that was—something thorny and brutal, spreading, hiding the dormant warmth
within his heart.
They were friends—they used to be friends. That spyglass wasn’t supposed to exist.
Parrot backed away until he was far enough from that place, and ran until he collapsed.
It was Wifies’ sacrifice now.
The world lit up in a blaze of noise and color.
Lord, I'm one,
Lord, I'm two,
Lord, I'm three,
Lord, I'm four,
Lord, I'm five hundred miles from my home…
Wemmbu stood, bathed in starlight, before the sea of people—
he spread his arms, insinuated something grand approaching, a blessing to rain from the heavens! How sweet the slaughter would taste in his mouth, while the totem, clutched in his fist, would explode in shrouding glory—
He had the trigger at his command, ready to smother this aimless crowd—
With the Orbital at his disposal, he would prove to them his power, his worth.
Wemmbu whistled—brought attention to the sky, his movements electric like never before.
Annihilation would come any moment now.
Five hundred miles,
five hundred miles,
Spoke smashed his palm against the iron bars, trying to pretend the fatigue washing over his limbs was avoidable. How did he let this happen? Squeezing his eyes shut wouldn’t help clean the image of Jamato from those shadows—
and now trapped, with nowhere to go…he stumbled into the corner of the cell, curled up into a pathetic ball, and traced the paths of the obsidian’s snaking cracks with an outstretched finger,
hoping
they would lead him back home.
Before it all started.
five hundred miles,
five hundred miles,
Lord, I'm five hundred miles from my home.
Branzy rested his head on Clownpierce’s lap, mumbling, “Clown, we really are the deadliest duo…”
Clownpierce settled a gentle hand in Branzy’s moon-kissed hair, relaxing against the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat, and letting his gaze, for a moment, melt into those wide, starry eyes. He hadn’t seen even a glimmer of sky in nearly a year—
everything had been red, netherrak red, red like the smog,
like the blood painting his hands
but Branzy was enough. Branzy was worth everything.
A breathless moment passed—and Branzy felt a drop of wetness on his forehead.
Clownpierce looked away—obscured his face, withdrawing his hand to wipe at his flushed, tear-stained cheeks.
“Yeah…”
Not a shirt on my back, not a penny to my name.
Lord, I can't go home this a-way…
This a-way, this a-way,
this a-way, this a-way,
Lord, I can't go home this a-way…
If you miss the train I'm on, you will know that I am gone.
You can hear the whistle blow a hundred miles…