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You hate kings and you think kings are really stupid. They are petty, bossy tyrants and are really full of themselves and are basically awful in every way.
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So there was a fight at some point.

Julian? Yeeeaaah, he wasn't looking too good. Sort of in that bravely-soldier-on state, the one where you collapse out of nowhere a few days later and the doctor diagnoses it as He done got his shit fucked up. But hey, you should see the other guy.

Matter of fact, let's. Let's see the other guy, Max Lombardi, right now. Killed almost a dozen people so far, seemed like he was looking to make it fourteen, but we all know what happens when you get greedy. What happens is a Japanese serial killer throws a flashbang at your face and then some jerkoff with a messiah complex starts wailing on you till you nearly pass out from the pain.

This is literally the only possible result.

So shit's not looking too good for you, Max. Two guys who want you dead, right here right now, and nothing you can do about it. And even if some bright angelic mercy makes its ways into their hearts, you're not exactly good to go. Takes a little more than a band-aid and bed rest to fix what you got, son. Maybe find a naïve pacifist girl to patch you up while you put on your shitty Doctor-House-wannabe American accent? That should probably do the trick.

And then this happens:

“Let's go.”

Play a sad little trombone for Max Lombardi. Play that announcement in his ear, again and again, and again and again and again till he realized just what he missed out on. Just what he didn't notice in the midst of his two, four, six, eleven murders. He missed out on an escape. He missed out on life.

So Mizore was leaving. And Raidon was coming with her. And he was telling Julian that it was up to him what to do with Max. Huh, good to know, buddy.

And Max, for his part, wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. Sorta just chilling out on the ground there, maybe a stir here or a spasm there. Wait, let's stomp on his ankle real quick just to see if he's in a moving sort of mood.

Yeah, no, he's good right where he is.

So then the other kid, the big meathead prick with the messiah complex, stoops over Max again, ready to deliver his verdict. Claps a hand on Max's shoulder. Looks him in the eye.

Says, “You're gonna be fine.”

And then he turns to leave.

And then Max is alone.

((Julian Avery continued elsewhere))
Edited by Jonny, May 30 2011, 12:40 AM.
Jeremy Franco is alive. You can write a better ending, goddammit.

Charlie DuClare is dead. And nothing was easy anymore except to smile.
Julian Avery is dead. Courage was the man with a gun in his hand.
JJ Sturn is dead. Fuck it, all good things gotta come to an end.
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Riddles Of Monsters · The Woods: Inland