Crushed Finally

The cub followed a lion, the lion finally dead.

Soon the cub shall be another lion this time sworn to an innocent maid.

Lyrics

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A Ranger's Tale

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"Come in!"

"You asked for me, Gaffer Sir?" inquired Guy, tentative steps emerging from the mahogany door with walls of white mortar completing the subtle cage.

“You don’t have to give that look!” laughed Moggray in spite of himself, “I’m not gonna give you a braying session since it’s been quite a long time since you've floored any sad bastard from the Tyneside or Wearside.”

Still the impending moment hovered over every lion involved, everything now seemed to Moggray as a game of chess where no one could ever see the player's face. Prior impact chilling his blood, the resultant creaking cackled like an omniscient crone. Sipping slowly on a brown mug of tea, steely light present within Moggray's hard grey eyes wavered before this innocent Red Lion doomed. An endless maelstrom lashing out against his very soul, emotions inter-conflicting became nothing more than a mere serpent devouring its tail.

A decision finally reached, Moggray Tonn was reduced to a hapless sheep lording over his lost cub. What is to come will come soon enough, they all tend to say and that’s exactly why the Division Gaffer of Teesside despised religion for what it really is. Regretfully enough, denial was never an option.

"Yes, you're summoned here for a very good reason,” interrupted Southgate Garrat from one side, his seated form stiffening up on the leather couch nearby, "Before the Gaffer speaks, however, we three need to agree on a consensus."

"Erm, what will that be?"

Moggray's heart started bleeding upon hearing Guy's clueless reply, his inner rage directed against himself and nobody else.

"Very simple,” rang Southgate’s reply like a sombre knell, “Whatever things be said, you must promise us to remain calm. Not just only the news itself, but above all, do not commit any rash act pertaining to this matter."

We’re banking too much on the lad... way to go there, Northern Lion. Moggray Tonn, you bloody helpless bastard...

"Okay. Guess it's no choice, suck thumb here..." agreed a baffled Guy with shoulders shrugged, Moggray's inner words condemning himself, "so just shoot, Gaffer Sir. I can handle anything."

"Arrow nocked: Pallister Scholes is confirmed to be dead and killed in action," if Moggray had any second afterthoughts on his overly curt tone, he never showed them to his charge.

"Huh?" Guy Cody’s reaction would have seemed like a comedy to any stranger, but not the Gaffer delivering that most damning verdict.

"Don't you dare give me this kind of face and tone, Guy Cody, unless you don't remember that damned ginger grooming you back then!" snapped Moggray Tonn in a burst of senseless rage, both the speaker and recipient being stung promptly like a slave suffering under a slaver’s whip.

"Ki... killed? Dead? Confirmed?" quavered a trembling Guy, banging noise reverberating from Moggray's desk rendering him totally numb, "Kill in action? Dude, you sure know how to joke, Sir. He's the best fighter in all of Manchester! No, make that whole of the rest! No way damned way in Hell will he eve..."

"Guy, listen to me," explained the exasperated veteran, "It's true that Scholes is an extremely good fighter, let alone a leader. But let it be known that shit happens in war, and I've been through one too many before my ass was warming this seat!"

His tone unexpectedly strained, this wasn't the first time round people had pointed out his stubbornness in all matters of self-accountability. And neither would this be the final time. Like a distant kin telling a twelve year old boy that he’s now an orphan, the wearied soldier could only convince himself of a better tomorrow.

"Fake news! I don’t give a damn about bullshit, but I know a fucking lie when I see one!" bellowed Guy in disbelief, denial's fire branding a mark onto his sapphire orbs, "You said Scholes is a leader-rank! That means no bloody way he would wade..."

"Guy Cody!"

Everyone would have his first time and Moggray Tonn, no matter how experienced, was no different. As a stinging knuckle cracked across Guy Cody’s cheekbone, anger dissipated from his steel grey orbs as realisation dawned upon him an act committed in a futile folly.

"Have I boxed you well? Good,” sighed the tired Gaffer, “I'm sorry to break this to you in person since Pallister Scholes is indeed a great teacher, but he's not the Soldier for crying out loud."

"And it’s some asshole bigger than a god who murdered a perfectly good man? Don't give me this kind of kiddypop!" snarled a young lion deprived as the fatherly lion remained speechless. So much for pride, honour and greater family preached.

Minutes drifting away before a silent wake, trickling sand within an hourglass mattered not. The cub didn't know how to truly roar, the leader of lions fully grown knew not any guidance to consolation. The veteran scarred should have foreseen such a situation coming to head, yet he could only place his faith in a soldier’s pragmatism. Atrocities committed by his own ilk being the only story of his youth, those were the darkest years in Moggray's life where living ranks warred against the rest.

Cries for help went without heed, bloodshed and rape were the only means justifying everything was right. If partaking in anything and everything imaginable was the sole path to solace, perhaps then he would not be facing this living hell while shouldering a legitimate fear. Moggray Tonn stuck to his principles like a stubborn mule, the time had now arrived to reap every single cent of Moggray Tonn's reward.

We all are the Holy Quintet before our victims, yet nothing more than lambs to slaughter once our turn comes...

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Catterm Leen spotted Guy's slouching form standing at the bar counter as he first mouthed a cordial greeting to a bouncer at the entrance. Only able to imagine the turmoil currently wreaked, this was the first time the red haired lad had seen his best friend drinking alone like a fish. The biggest problem however, was the inability to assume any idea on what went wrong at where and how. But at least he knew this was the only reason why Guy had asked him over in the first place. After all, venting one's own frustrations should only be making sense in front of a worthy listener's sympathetic gaze.

"How many mugs have you already downed, bro?" asked Catterm as he dragged a wooden stool beside his comrade, "Hopefully nowhere beyond the standard quota of five."

"Don't worry, Catts. This is just the second mug. And no, I'm not drunk. Not even by a long shot because I'm not that useless. So don't worry about me going nut drunk loco here. For now at least," replied Guy morosely, another mug of mead swiftly drained.

"You’re being a semi-liar, you know that? Yeah, you're still talking coherently, but you’re starting to talk too much and out of sense as well. Not that one can truly lie upon gifted with too many drink though," Catterm sighed as he lit a cigarette.

"At least not you," unsurprisingly curt was Guy's retort.

"Okay, double confirmed my words then. Say what, I'll be here for you till the rooster crows thrice. So just shoot," a smoke puffing out in reply, taking a drag was Catterm Leen's only way of calming down.

"Catts, Scholes' dead. Killed in the line of duty, slaughtered like an animal. Period."

"What the fuck, Guy? Now you're producing nonsense!" exclaimed the redhead, his joint dropping from a gaping mouth.

"The mission at Citias plus the dream I told you about. Put two and two together and you'll get a four," answered Guy in a hushed tone.

"Oh shit, I understand now. Congrats buddy. You're the first person showing me up as a bastard," sighed the fiery lad while scratching his head absently, his composure regained by lighting yet another cigarette.

"Yeah, right. I always believe I can reach his level and fulfil my dreams before him, because that's the best and only present I can give after all he's done for me. Then the next thing I know, that dream came,"  sobbed Guy uncontrollably, palm rubbing across his face, "Scholes is dead, the man's fucking dead. He won't be coming back..."

"Alright, I get the picture. But life and death are predestined. You can't change Fate as the Church has always preached," replied Catterm as he tried devising ways to console his best buddy. However, the sandy blond promptly spat out a statement most heinous as token of appreciation.

"Don't talk to me like that, Catts!" shouted Guy in blindest ire, tears of denial streaking down a hollow face gaunt, "Why not I rape your girl and make her a whore standing naked? Maybe you won't see me as your buddy then!"

"Why you... don't you dare talk to me like that, Guy Cody! I swear I'll end you on the spot if your name ain't that way!" snapped Catterm Leen, his amber eyes narrowing tight and ready for a fight.

"What a shame then," grinned Guy as sapphire eyes and knuckles bared cracked forth a bitter intent, "Brawl or bawl?"

A back fist suddenly swung in full arc, Catterm was caught out unaware. Fighting against his fellow Lion was a taboo, something the red haired lad was not prepared for. His shoulders went rigid, his muscles taut. If there's anything Catterm Leen detested the most, it would be stupid people assuming him a pushover. Irony finally gaining a foothold, the last person imaginable to commit such an act was actually someone he knew so well. At least before now.

"Son of a bitch!" roared Catterm with a thin bloody line trickling down the right corner of his lips.

"Yeah, I know that," answered the sandy blond coldly after bone had crashed against bone, a single thumb wiping away his own blood, "No dad and mom, nothing worth a shit now."

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"Young Mistress!" exclaimed Ross as she tried catching her breath, "Something bad is abound!"

Alestrial went wide eyed with surprise as her tutor made no effort in masking her frown. Here she was undergoing a lesson in higher etiquette and a lowly servant had the gall to interrupt the lesson halfway through.

"Beautiful walls of peach with bookshelves made of oak... are you really that blind, plump lady?" sneered the thin elderly lady wearing a pair of glasses framed in gold, "I am employed as a fine educator, not some lady's sentry built like a man!"

"Miss Robertson, mind your tongue please," answered her Cinha student calmly, "I do not take kindly any insults unwarranted. Nor will my lordly father as well."

"M... m... mind my tongue?" spluttered Miss Robertson, "Surely..."

"Please. Say 'please' before giving a true lady your lowly answer," replied Alestrial Eliaden coldly, "Have I made clear myself as a noble?"

"Adopted wench..." snarled a highly intellectual shamed, "If not for Lord Louthes..."

"You wouldn't have this job," the adopted noble cut off her tutor's railing words, her steely gaze subtly betraying a regal air, "I can assure you that if you cannot cope with me, you will find others of my ilk to be far less accommodating. Or mayhap you're willing to take my dare. What says you, Miss Patricia Robertson?"

"Good riddance and may your severance equal to most bountiful gold!" called out a chuckling Twong as a fuming Patricia Robertson stomped away, "But you seem flustered, Ross... let me guess. It's that mangy brat again, no?"

"Let the fine ol'Daddy wank himself, Ross," yawned a portly old man dressed in a finely meshed chainmail suit, his reclining form leaning beside the window sill, “Only a twelve year old moron can be arsed with him.”

"Ignore Yeovil, Ross," sighed Alestrial, her firm tone befitting a daughter of nobility, "I'm sorry to be this mean, Twong, but it seems this will be the third time in a week that you've given Yeovil an excuse to ridicule you."

"Look what you've done here, senile tard!" snapped Twong, "All because of that brat!"

"I don't remember a young lion being that pretentious," Yeovil never ceased his snickering, a strong grip resting against his sheathed rapier's hilt, "Care for a wager here, faker?"

"Stop that, both of you!" shrieked a matronly Ross, her blood curdling pitch setting the squabbling duo back to their rightful place, "Twong! You stay here to ensure nothing stupid happens. Yeovil! Your blade and presence will come in handy, so make sure your best brother forever doesn't lose his balls. As for me and Young Mistress, two will be enough for a trip to the security post! You clowns get me?"

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Catterm was left cursing his luck as both he and Guy ended up getting remanded. He knew prison to be no paradise, every jailed convict released had his own stories to tell. There was not much a difference separating verbal accounts from reality, all men got thrown into the pits for individual reasons. And even womenfolk at times were not spared from whatever unspeakable tortures lying ahead.

"Grey smelly walls plus a few stinking white candles. Not to mention two buckets filled with piss and shit," muttered the redhead darkly, "What a shitty way to spend your birthday without Elys, Catterm Leen."

"Do you think I can avenge him?" murmured a crouching Guy, sheer bravado prior to getting arrested long evaporating into nothingness.

"What do you think, fuckwit?" snapped Catterm peevishly, his mood further ruined by the sandy blond's irrational interruption, "I believe think it's a wee bit late after people started getting knocked out!"

"I thought it would only be the two of us!" protested Guy weakly, a lack of show in courage still evident via his head bowed and buried between the knees.

"Bullshit! How many Guy Cody and Catterm Leen can a sober bloke find at the same time?"

"Two. You win, Catts," Guy howled a grievous cry after his correct reply, a right fist clenched smashing itself repeatedly against the dark prison wall.

Catterm Leen knew there was nothing he could do, a mere audience could only witness a show of intense despair. He was lucky to have his lover's warmth to fall back on, but he wasn't that sure on whether his best friend is equally fortunate. The redhead bit his lower lip as a certain Alestrial Eliaden surfaced to mind. Having always been an enigma towards every smallborne around her, sharing their humility and pain wasn't the key to her identity. Rather, he was only able to afford calling her an enigma. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Guy Cody! Catterm Leen! You're both bailed for life!"

"Huh? Am I dreaming? This from the bailor?" gasped a baffled Catterm before a silent Guy, "I must have died once just now!"

"Hey, if you two hear me, just say 'fuck it' and leave!"

"Bailor says so, Catts. Let's just say 'fuck it' and leave..."

As the duo left their prison cell, Catterm maintained a deathly silence as he remembered Guy's expression when he uttered those words minutes earlier.

There was no humour in him, only a grim face no different from a lone lion forced to fend alone.

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"Huh?"

"You heard me, soldier."

"Look Sir! I'm perfectly sane and normal! See?" gestured Guy frantically, a comical attempt of self-justification not lost to all present in Moggray Tonn's office.

"You don't seem anything like sane or normal," muttered Moggray darkly, his sight diverted towards a female duo, "This is the best I can do, Your Grace."

Ross still tried her utmost best not to burst out laughing, but her hardly disguised mirth was not shared by the rest. Before Southgate could try diffusing the situation however, his superior had taken care of everything through a mere glare reminiscing an actual lion under a human guise.

"Maistress Alestrial of House Eliaden. I trust Guy Cody will be in good hands from now till the end," smiled Moggray wearily.

"Rest assured I will fulfil my promise, O' Northern Lion," curtsied the Cinha maid as she got up from Moggray’s couch.

"Good," smiled Southgate Garrat at the door as he took a simple low bow with his right foot stepped forward, "Please accept this soldier's bow."

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"You saw all those animals attracted to you moments before?"

I hate it whenever I hear that preacher opening his pie hole. Best if I give him an answer right here, right now.

"Yeah, so what? Critters have way too many free time, that's all."

"You still do not understand what I'm trying to say, my pupil."

I should feel proud of myself. If only this talking ass will shut the fuck up.

"Sorry, but fuck no."

"Aeranath, get this clear in your head. Every animal lives and dies by instinct as the sword, we mortals are definitely nowhere more special. We are all borne of flesh, bone, and blood. As I've taught you before, self-awareness at the highest peak may not be that deservedly lauded after all."

Wonder who should be the bitch then? Most amazing question waiting to be asked.

"Rule of equivalent trade-off: everything is unfair because critters are more intelligent."

Now that’s some reply from a genius called myself. Yeah, right.

"You're not evil by nature and never will be as well. The beasts and birds made sure of that."

"Moral of the story: I don't need any random critter to define my morals."

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"That bloody old fart... why am I dredging up some useless shit out of random?" growled Aeranath as moving pictures of annoyance dragged him out from a momentary slumber. Suddenly, his keen senses as a Ranger caught something twitching nearby. Supernatural gifts bestowing him information not of idle nature, he knew there’s a certain intent residing within the unknown stranger as he left the scene. A grinning Aeranath chose to stay put on the spot, a single thought coursed through his upright form.

I don't know who in the name of rat's ass you are, but since I'm so pissed off right now…

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"Surely you're not..." grimaced Twong.

"Fibbing like a whore?" quipped Yeovil.

"Don't you dare call Ross stupid names!" shouted a flustered Twong, "No one asked a fat bastard to fill in the blanks!"

"Stop this stupidity, both you cretins!" lambasted Ross as two elderly adults were floored instantly with a wooden ladle grasped tightly in her hand, "There's no way we're gonna alarm Young Mistress here, you two retards get me?"

"And Old Master?" queried Twong as he rubbed the back of his slightly swollen skull.

"He won't give a flying damn," huffed Yeovil as he dusted his pants, "He only cares about our Young Mistress, the rest can go to either Heaven or Hell. Did handsome Guy say where he’s going, Ross?"

"Well, little Guy did say he's off to send a basket of beef pastries to his best buddy on shift duty now."

"Best buddy? Name?" retorted Yeovil's question.

"Catterm Leen, of course!" mused Ross, "You know, the only lad worthy of Elys' bed."

"Shit! And you gave him your golden ticket?" Twong stood aghast before her answer, features betraying perceived events awaiting, “The redhead you mentioned is allergic to beef!”

"Well, yeah, I did…" replied Ross slowly with a newly found dread, "And we all know crap is about to happen..."

"Ross, you suck at joking. I, Yeovil Lyonsen, is that damned sure."

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"Living day by day because tomorrow may never come… it takes a fool to live through such a simple truth. Can I be able to end up the same way as you, Guy?" smiled the Cinha girl wistfully as she opted not to look at the Causacean boy's smiling face.

"Hmm… that's a weird question here, but I guess it's far better to seek an answer out of nowhere, no?" replied Guy Cody with a lopsided grin. Chewing on a piece of hay nonchalantly, a brief silence accompanied the cooling midsummer breeze destined to end.

"Let's make a promise by this park then, shall we?" replied Alestrial Eliaden cheerfully, her sight finally besetting on a dream seemingly attainable, "You will marry me upon our eighteenth birthday, right?"

A Causacean lad shunned by all together with a Cinha lass embodying truth and humility greeted an audience of dragonflies flitting past, an innocent couple were now ready to seal a deepest covenant via the simplest pinkie hooking.

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Alestrial Eliaden drew a faint curve upwards on her pink coloured lips, dark brown eyes peering beyond the prison cell with a droning lecturer as its helmsman. No one heard her words whispering forth before a flock of dragonflies, yet they were far more real than everything The Known World could ever offer.

"You're far better off than me or just about anybody around me. Guess that's the reason why I forced a childish promise out of you when we're merely children of twelve..."

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Background notes:

Arrow nocked: A statement of intent used in a variety of situations.

Kiddypop: Nonsense.

Nut drunk loco: Utterly drunk.

Gifted with too many/much drink: Having too much to drink.

Putting two and two together and getting a four: Getting the correct answer out of any obvious situation.

Until the rooster crows thrice: Until the appointed time comes.
A/N: Inspired (?) directly from what the Lord had told Peter in the Bible.

Bailor: Jailor.

Bailed for life: Released from jail for good.

Brawl or bawl: A statement of dare especially in any events of brawling challenges.

Smallborne in the formal context means the common folk in The Known World.

A/N: Inspired (?) by the term 'smallfolk'. No prizes for guessing correctly where that comes from.

Maistress is used as an honourary prefix title for any lady of noble birth while Your Grace is actually a term used for lower ranking nobility. Both can be used interchangeably depending on individuals and circumstances.

A soldier's bow is a gesture used for informal occasions where either addressing any high ranking individual or just merely expressing one’s gratitude is concerned. The latter case may include favours sworn to the other party.

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Lyrics

Plus 8 new songs as well from most talented Kalafina we all grown to love...
And this below is the one the fans might have loved the most:

Why do I still <3 Keiko so much ah... why ah...
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