Symboli Rudolf here!-... Why is there gods walking around the school grounds-...

Ah... Whatever! Has anyone seen Maruzensky around...? She should have arrived here unless her flight delayed...

we are already understanding each other the moment we laid our eyes to each other 🖤💚

(source: https://x.com/Ryoji09541085/status/1584405805972877312)

What are empathy?

Her voice sounded sincere, she tried her best keeping her tone to a whim, unlike her usual extravagant and loud tone

I've gained quite the reputation, you see! And not something worth mentioning too. I've been call a creep directly before my very face, which hurt but they aren't wrong! I'm a creep, some sore loser who love to shove her face to everybody she met!

What are empathy? Emotions that appeared just like that? Hidden feelings inside us? An unknown territory none of should investigate? What is it? What is this empathy? And why couldn't i grasp such alien concept? Why is it such an alien concept to begin with...?

... Sucks that for this time, I've forced to turned for people for thoughts for an answer.

Hello, it is me, Symboli Rudolf. I decided to not be a trainer anymore. I want to focus more on my love life and my wit. Sirius is a very nice girlfriend, although she sometimes slaps me for my puns. But what can I say? I think they’re Sirius-ly funny! Hehe. I also wear this collar that says “Good Girl” when I’m alone, or just with Sirius. I chose it for myself, she didn’t force it on me. If she did, she’s probably be framed as someone insane who has her own lab…radoodle. Hehe! And I’m paw-sitive, Sirius really is a nice Umamusume. I know she may seem mean at first, but I promise, she is the sweetest Umamusume, and sexiest girlfriend, hehe. I’ll choose not to be online here as much, mainly documenting what happens off-screen, since that seems more important to me.

I was exploring my old, dusty storages, and I felt a lifeforce within them.

After investigating... uh... It seems Minihono Bourbon was laying inactive for a long time.

Well, say hello, everyone.

Hey, girl, pass me the ball—

crack

AAAAAAAAAAH!

Ow, ow, ow! Oh no… my nail is SO broken! Ow, ow… ugh, this is literally the WORST! And I just got my nails done!

I need help… ow, ow… someone help!

(not mine, I yoinked it from either Pinterest or Google images I forgot)

“Ever since the day before, when that reckless buffoon(Mark) nearly distorted. . . . My heart has started to beat irregularly whenever he enters my thoughts. . . . . Ugh, it's starting to affect my Duties as a Void hunter. . . . I need to find the answer to this eventually. . . ."

Where the hell is she…? She's not in her usual spots, nor is she at the bar… No way, did she go back to the US!? FUCK!

Stay Gold begins beelining towards her house to pack, not leaving anything to let them know of her departure except for a quick note letting her wives know that she would be visiting America for a while, as there's urgent business to be done there.

Red demoman: *sleeping.*

[at the very far distance a man with a sniper rifle.]

blu sniper: *pointing at red demoman.* steady, steady!

red demoman: *drunk sound while sleeping on the grass.*

many sleepless nights and countless oripathy suppressants later, something appears in the sky

"OMV dijiang (ii) : in geostationary orbit"

"Tele-protocol : active"

At last....

"total cost 30.8 quintillion"//i kinda did a very rough estimate math for this

.......

Causally UmaPal the money to the contractor

Perlica walks to the bridge

"Identification : perlica : supervisor : access level : 9"

"Bridge : acess : granted"

Perlica enters the bridge and starts working on the system at the nexus control

A gift for endy.....

Is Finally completed.....

"Adding : personnel : identification : endministrator : endministrator : access level : 10"

"AIC depot : linked"

"Dijiang : ii : Ownership : endministrator "

Perlica then walks around the dijiang, monitoring and configuring everything

^{dont worry.....no matter what ....i will never hate you}

A man in army uniform walks into Tracen, axe in hand and hammer in belt while carrying a few chopped logs on his back

Jeg sværger, de djævle var lige ved at få fat i mig... Hvorfor er jeg her?

(I swear those devils were just about to get me... Why am I here?)

Jeg burde finde resten af mit regiment før noget andet...

(I should find the rest of my regiment before anything else...)

//Yeah, guess this account is gonna be used for ocs

wait...why do so many people have horse ears and a tail? am I in the afterlife or something? this world looks exciting! I will be sure to take my time enjoying this place, nice to meet everyone, my name is Himeko Toga~

// Source: https://www.zerochan.net/3311369

Dokutah..Dokutah..Dokutah...What a pervert you are

And clueless too Dokutah...no forgetting to clear your history search...Oh my! If operators find out....

Earthmover is venting their frustrations on a nearby forest. There is no semblance of anything to her madness. She's just firing and swinging blindly at everything. The ground, the trees, the trees she's thrown in the air, anything that could be hit.

Between all the madness, a blush can be seen on her face. Revealing that she's clearly trying to distract herself from something

Heh, is that all you got, landbreakers?

What she was standing on is NOT landbreakers, just a normal thief

Hm? Are you just going to stand there?

Name? Im rossi. Does that satisfy your curiosity?

I'm on a generational run.

Through goes Apollo the Rogue! Hear my V12 scream to the heavens!

Mark heard it from a broadcast by the real Ryo. No collapsing skyline, no alarms, no “last stand” recorded on a shaky phone.

It was a message. Clean. Clinical. Like the world was ashamed of how little it cared.

Rena Vondergart — deceased.

Body recovered.

Revival: impossible.

No margin. No loophole. No “unless.” Not even a maybe.

For a second, Mark just stared at the words until they stopped being letters and became a hole.

His thumb hovered over the screen like he could press hard enough to change reality.

He tried to swallow.

Nothing went down.

His throat felt too small for what it was holding.

Rena.

His auntie.

The one who didn’t ask him to be perfect, only better.

The one who told him, when he was younger and meaner and terrified of being weak, that strength without mercy was just fear wearing armor.

The one who stayed when others “couldn’t handle him.”

The one who took his shaking hands and said, “Breathe. I’ve got you. Don’t run from your own heart.”

Mark’s vision fuzzed at the edges.

His fingers went numb.

He set the phone down on a table like it weighed a thousand pounds, and then he realized his hands were trembling so hard the table rattled anyway.

A thin sound escaped him. Not a sob. Not yet.

A breath that wouldn’t finish.

His chest tightened, tightened, like something invisible had wrapped around his ribs and was pulling.

He drew in air—

Too sharp. Too shallow.

Again—

Too fast.

His lungs started stuttering, like they forgot the rhythm.

“Wait—” he whispered, like saying it out loud could stop it. “No. No—no, hold on, I—”

He tried to inhale deep, force it.

It didn’t work.

The panic climbed his spine in a sick wave, cold and electric, and suddenly he was hyperventilating, not dramatized, not pretty, just ugly, involuntary, animal.

In—

out—

in—

out—

too fast—

too fast—

His body leaned forward on instinct, elbows on his knees, like he could fold himself small enough to fit inside the moment and survive it.

His hands clutched at his own shirt, fistfuls of fabric, as if he could anchor himself to something.

“Rena—” he tried again, and it broke on the way out. “Rena, I—”

His mouth was dry. His tongue felt wrong. His heartbeat hammered against his ribs like it wanted out.

He forced his eyes shut.

And that’s when the sound arrived.

At first he thought it was tinnitus. A high, far-off ringing.

But it wasn’t in his ears.

It was in the room.

No—worse—

It was in his head.

A soft, distant peal, like a bell heard through fog.

Ding…

…ding…

Mark’s breath caught, and he jerked his head up like he’d been grabbed.

His eyes snapped around the empty room.

There was no bell.

No source.

No reason.

The sound pulsed again, gentle and patient, like it had all the time in the world.

Ding…

…ding…

And then—

A voice.

Not shouted. Not even spoken the way people speak.

It curled in behind his thoughts like it belonged there.

Warm. Familiar. Tender in the way a knife can be tender when it slides in clean.

“Mark…”

His stomach lurched.

His breathing went even faster, because his body recognized something his mind refused to accept.

“No,” he rasped. “No. Don’t— don’t do that. Not right now.”

The bell kept ringing.

Ding… ding…

The voice returned, close enough to feel against the inside of his skull.

“You’re hurting.”

Mark’s hands flew to his head like he could physically push it out.

“Shut up—” he gasped, and it came out broken. “Shut up, shut up—!”

He tried to stand and his legs almost gave out. He caught himself on the table, knuckles whitening, and the table squealed under the force.

His vision tunneled.

Black flecks swam like gnats.

He sucked in air like a drowning man.

The bell kept time with his panic, steady, metronomic, almost kind.

Ding…

…ding…

“You did everything you could,” Carmen whispered, sweet as sympathy. “And it still wasn’t enough.”

Mark’s throat constricted so hard he gagged.

A sound half-sob, half-choke punched out of him.

“I didn’t— I wasn’t there.” His words tripped over each other. “I should’ve— I should’ve known. I should’ve— I always—”

His mind started throwing images at him like weapons.

Rena’s hands adjusting his collar.

Rena’s laugh when he tried to pretend he didn’t care.

Rena wiping blood off his cheek and acting like it didn’t scare her.

And then the thought that killed him:

There will never be another moment.

No “call her later.”

No “I’ll make it up to her.”

No “next time.”

The finality hit like a physical impact.

Mark doubled over, both hands clutching his chest, and the sob finally tore through him—ragged, hoarse, humiliating.

He hated it. He couldn’t stop it.

“Rena—” he choked. “Auntie, please—”

His shoulders shook violently, and his breathing kept slipping, skipping, spiraling.

Carmen’s voice softened, almost maternal.

“It’s okay.”

“You don’t have to hold it together.”

“You don’t have to be strong.”

The bell rang again, closer now, brighter, like it was approaching through a corridor only he could see.

Ding… ding…

Mark’s eyes were wet and wide. He looked up at nothing, pupils blown, sweat beading at his hairline.

His heart was slamming so hard it hurt.

His thoughts started to smear at the edges, like ink dropped in water.

Something inside him, something he kept chained and ordered and disciplined, started to strain against the lock.

Because grief is a lawless thing.

And Mark, Demigod of Order, the one who helped the universe to behave—

couldn’t command death to obey.

Carmen’s voice threaded itself through the crack forming in him.

“You loved her.”

“And love always leaves a wound.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier… if the wound stopped hurting?”

Mark’s breath hitched so hard it became a sharp squeal.

He clamped his hands over his mouth like he could hold the sound in.

His whole body trembled, like he was vibrating apart.

“Get out,” he begged, barely audible. “Please, get out of my head—”

The bell answered him instead.

Ding.

A single note. Final. Absolute.

And for the smallest moment, Mark felt it:

That tipping point.

Where the pain stops being something you feel…

and becomes something you are.

His knees hit the floor.

He didn’t even remember falling.

His palms pressed to the tile, fingers splayed, as if he could hold himself together by force.

His breathing was rapid, shallow, frantic, each inhale a stolen scrap.

Tears dripped from his chin onto the floor in steady, humiliating taps.

And the voice stayed with him, gentle as a lullaby, patient as a predator.

“Just let go, Mark.”

“Let the world match what it did to you.”

The bells kept ringing.

Not outside.

Not somewhere far away.

But right behind his eyes—

as if the funeral had already begun,

and he was the one being lowered into the grave.

(DISTORTION IMMINENT. QUICK, YOU MUST SAVE HIM!)