Order and Chaos

chemtrails

The apocalypse was already working, raining from the upper atmosphere down. First, it would kill off the flying cats, then the groundbound ones, then the burrowing ones and swimming ones. There was only one solution:

chemtrails

I had to fight fire with fire. Intuitively, I flicked my tail and flew high, high up into the sky, cushioned by constant farting. "Toot," and "phhbt," my butt said.

Behind me I left a visible cloud of

chemtrails

that hung, fixed in the sky, worrying all observers who were not otherwise distracted, such as Mary and the Nothing. Slowly, the

chemtrails

began to spread out and take over the whole sky of the world. Day turned to night in minutes.

The composition was precise. When the apocalyptic

chemtrails

finally hit my own

chemtrails

, mine would neutralize the existing feline-genocidal

chemtrails

and then both would immediately dissipate into absolutely nothing. Though this solution could take days to work, depending on the density of the apocalypse's

chemtrails

, I was satisfied that the apocalypse had been thoroughly spayed and neutered.

I saw a winged Turkish Vaan fall from the sky, deader than dead. An unavoidable casualty: he had simply flown too close to the sun, wondering about what was above the cloud cover. 'Twas curiosity felled the cat — may he rest in peace.

His corpse conked the Nothing on the head, which didn't phase it at all as it landed blow after blow on Mary. Mary, for what it's worth, was not striking back at all.

"It ſeemſ we are at a complete ſtalemate," she said calmly as it gouged out both her eyes with a proboscis. "Ah! Thiſ ſmarts. I can't kill you, and you can't kill me."

"I can do worse, you know," cackled the Nothing, shoving her face into the river. For all practical purposes, she was drowning: It just wouldn't kill her. I mused to myself whether Mary was getting into this sort of thing. Like... into. I brushed the thought away and continued to observe.

Eventually, when it had crippled Mary beyond speech or action, it buried her alive in a hole her own troops had dug. (Little did he know, at that very moment, Mary had already achieved her transcendent pain and had arrived at the home of the Gods.) Although she was perfectly fine after a night's rest, Commun and I had to literally dig her out of that one.

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You are Prince Milton and you are dead-set on being as irrelevant (and irreverent) to the plot of this adventure or any plots to put you on the throne over your sister as you possibly can. What are you doing instead?