"Have you any final words, betrayer?"

  The human king hung, held aloft by the gore-covered claws spearing through his lower chest, and stared forward with a hollow look, both eyes blinking alternately as they now did after receiving repeated, intense trauma over the course of the day.

  "I ask you one final time," Ir'alith snarled. "It was the father of your father who betrayed us, broke the treaty, shattered any possibility of negotiating when he poisoned my father—compounded when he entrapped and killed my mother after. If you would speak any words to pass down to your kin, leave them here with me, and I will tell them before they die their own pain-filled deaths. I will grant you this last mercy, the one my mother was never granted." She shook her arm slightly, and her claws further shredded the weak human's insides, causing more blood to spill down from the mortal wound.

  Owyne, King of the Charus Kingdom, coughed, spewing blood from his mouth. He grinned, his eyes showing the too-wide look of madness. "Last words?" he said, his tone mocking. "How about this." He coughed again, then spat out a bloody mass towards her face.

  It was a predictable action, and Ir'alith created a short-lived barrier with her will to block the projectile. The bloody blob fell, dropping down into the abyss that its creator now hung suspended over.

  "How wise of his majesty," she said, mocking his act of defiance.

  The king grasped her wrist tightly with both hands, seemingly enraged that she had anticipated and blocked his maneuver, just as she had anticipated and countered his every attempt at rebellion or refusal until this point. "Have it your way, bitch," he said with a wheezing breath. "You think you've won? You think you'll destroy humanity?"

  Ir'alith watched, showing no reaction.

  The king began to laugh. "No, you haven't won. The oracle spoke again before I left!" He coughed, and blood trickled down and out of his mouth. "Our goddesses are summoning more heroes even as we speak! They will come for you," he nodded, grinning widely. "Oh, yes, they will come. We may kill the rest of your fiendish race, but you—no, they won't kill you." He laughed again. "Everyone at the castle, everyone in the kingdom knows that you aren't to be killed. The goddess has a plan for you. The same plan she had for your mother, you know."

  Ir'alith's eyes began to change color inside her helmet, turning a faint red.

  "Oh, that makes you mad, does it?" the king taunted. He coughed once more, weaker this time, then struggled to draw a breath. "Your mother was the best fuck I ever had," he said through gritted teeth.

  Ir'alith's eyes became the color of blood, glowing with her fury and hatred.

  "It wasn't just one time, either," the king continued. "No, it was daily. Hourly, even. She was hungry for my human—"

  Ir'alith curled one of her claws inside of him, sheering through one of his lower ribs.

  The king screamed.

  "For speaking of my mother in such a way," Ir'alith said in a quiet voice, "I will devise an entirely new method of extracting the greatest pain from each member of your family before I permit them to die."

  The king laughed again, and another glob of blood flew out of his mouth which lacked the momentum or trajectory to reach her. "You'll end up exactly the same as her," the king said. "A slave to—"

  Ir'alith's lip curled in disgust, and she shook the honorless human off her outstretched hand, changing his words into groans of pain as his innards were sliced further.

  A moment passed before he began to scream once more, the echoes heralding his descent off the peak of the sheared-off mountain and into the unknown depths below.

  {Well done, daughter. Believe not the lies of this treacherous human. He would say anything for even the most trivial of—}

  "I know, Papa," she said quietly. A flame appeared on her gore-covered palm, growing in size and intensity until it had burned away the filth left by the human on her claws and arm. The sacrifice to the ancestors is complete now. She moved her gaze over her surroundings, taking stock once again of the snow-covered mountain she stood at the summit of.

  The Cliff of Sacrifice. The mountain had once been the tallest, widest of any in the land. Now, however, it looked as though it had been cut in half, with one of the halves destroyed and a near-bottomless pit forming in its place that stretched as far as most eyes could see.

  It was said that this was the place where the dragons had made their final stand, tearing open the earth itself in order to permanently close the gate they had escaped through.

  Nonsense. The dragons did not fight.

  She turned around, her massive, clawed feet leaving deep craters as she strode a short way down the mountaintop. It was not the form she felt the most natural in, but a wider base gave her the stability and traction that was needed to walk unimpeded in the ice and snow of the heights she now stood at.

  The protector took in a deep breath and let it out, feeling refreshed as her anger began to ebb.

  The journey to the summit from the base alone would have taken a human at least a week, assuming they were even able to endure the harsh, nearly-airless environment near the peak.

  Ir'alith had done it in a quarter of a day with the human king slung over one shoulder, unconscious.

  She could have completed the journey faster by creating a gate to the top or shifting to be stronger and leaping her way up.

  That was not how one paid their respects to the ancestors who had died in ages past, spending their life essence in order to conjure a spell powerful enough to wipe out a trio of the nearly-indestructible heroes.

  {You must seek out the dwarves first.} Her father's voice roused her. {They craft the humans' weapons, their armor, their means of travel. Striking a blow at this supply chain would be—}

  But the elves, Papa! Ir'alith frowned. Her tail lashed, carrying with it her massive axe that she held behind her to keep both hands free. They suffer! There cannot be more than a few hundred who still remain free! I could save them! Bring them back to live near the Great Tree!

  {And you can now create gates to the elves, wherever they may be? You can sense them at great distance? Teleport yourself to unfamiliar locations, as the dragon did?}

  Ir'alith grimaced.

  {Heed my advice, Alith. Powerful as you may be, recall, too, the power of our people—of your mother. This will be no overnight rebellion, no quick resolution to centuries of injustices. You must remain cautious, always. You must consider each action solely in terms of its benefits as they compare to possible risks.}

  Papa, the armor—

  {Will do naught if those crafty goddesses can subvert its power!}

  Ir'alith growled and tore her helmet from her head, holding it in one clawed hand as she brought her father's eye around to glare at. Is no course of action I choose sufficient to meet your expectations? Her skin changed slightly, acquiring red splotches of color.

  {Alith, can you not see that I worry for you?} Her father sounded wounded by her sudden anger. {Maintaining the barrier consumes your energies, leaving you only the smallest fraction to—}

  That fraction is still more than sufficient to crush those weaklings, Papa!

  {Then how was it you were captured, Ir'alith? Hm? The merest mention of a rumor that your mother still lives, and you ignore my warnings, my reasoned advice, and—}

  Ir'alith roared, and the sound triggered an avalanche on a distant, smaller mountain as she watched. I have made a single mistake. I will not make one again.

  {If you do, there may be no second chance, Alith.} Her father's voice radiated concern, and his eye shrank as it did when he was truly troubled. He was silent for a moment, then his eye grew again and he spoke in a voice filled with growing intensity. {Meeting Carl was a fortuitous event that you should still be thanking the ancestors for. Now you think to run off, heedless of any and all danger, simply because you possess the primordial sea god's armor? Do you truly think yourself invincible? Have I taught you nothing of humility, of strategy, of tactics?}

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Ir'alith snarled. She had no response to give beyond that, however.

  {If you choose not to accept this advice when it is I who provides it, consult with him. If Carl accepts your plan to act regardless of logic and strategy, I will say no more on the topic, daughter.}

  A cold wind blew at that moment, and Ir'alith was rocked backwards ever so slightly, her claws holding fast in the ice and rock. Her skin changed back to a more normal shade of blue, then rebounded to a soft shade of pink. I… How can I simply contact him for such a trivial matter? Surely he, someone who casually prepares to battle deities, has more important tasks which fill his time. She looked away from her father's ever-watchful eye.

  {So you will simply wait for him to contact you, never taking the initiative?} The eye pulsed with amusement. {Alith, I had never thought you to be such a coward! I thought—}

  "Fine, I will speak with him," she said aloud, swinging her tail back around and planting the axe—and her father's annoying gaze—behind her.

  She came to a full halt, and the pink hue of her skin increased in its intensity. "Papa, how should I speak to him?" she asked in a tone filled with embarrassment. "I do not wish him to think me even weaker after he has already seen the circumstances of my humiliation." A memory of the third hero, his hand tight around her tail and pulling on it while he rutted atop her as she was forced—

  She snarled and banished the thought, her eyes once again turning the color of blood.

  {Approach as though soliciting his advice, Alith. Present him with your quandary, allow him to consider it. Surely he already knows your strength—how your spirit remained unyielding no matter your suffering. Now you will show him your wisdom—that you are unafraid to seek counsel when faced with a dilemma.}

  Ir'alith nodded grudgingly. Your advice is ever sound, Papa.

  {Of course. You hear it in your head, do you not?}

  She flicked her tail, her lips quirking into a small smile at the stupidity of the jape. "Be silent until I am finished."

  Her father did not respond.

  Ir'alith once again grasped for the conduit of energy that flowed through her, directing part of the remaining, unused flow into another spell as she recalled the astral essence of the dragon she had encountered earlier that day. She closed her eyes.

  An image of Carl, still in human form but now attired in different clothes, appeared in her mind's eye. He sat on a wooden bench seat before a table in a dimly-lit room, taking a drink from a small, white cup of black liquid.

  Ir'alith felt her hearts beat a little quicker at the sight of her powerful savior. He must be infiltrating one of the human cities! This is what he had meant by fishing! He even conceals his weapon and changes his garb so that he might avoid detection. How sly! She continued to watch for another moment, but it seemed that he was simply passing time.

  She steeled her resolve, feeling a sudden anxiety that she had only seldom felt prior to a battle. "Carl?" she said timidly. "Do you have a moment to speak with me?"

  The dragon in human form looked around, his expression one of caution.

  He worries that my spell has been detected? Her hearts pounded at his display of concern. Surely there are none who could do so where he is? No matter, I must be bold. "Carl," she said again, putting more strength into her voice, "I have need of a consultation if you are not occupied."

  "Ir'alith?" he said quietly, clearly not wanting to be overheard.

  "Yes!" she responded, feeling joy that he had recognized her voice so readily. "I…will be brief: I have many paths open to me at present," she said, attempting to follow her father's advice and present the matter as seeking his counsel on a course of action she had already deliberated on. "Selecting the correct one as a starting point has been troubling me."

  "Yeah, I've got a minute or two," he said after a moment. "Figuring out where to go, huh?" His expression changed to a frown as he considered the matter, and he ran his finger around the rim of his cup.

  His use of the humans' mannerisms is masterful! Or… A new idea came to mind. Perhaps this is also the way of the dragons? It has been so long since any have spoken with them…

  "Well," said Carl, "I guess you've gotta think of the benefits and risks. Then prioritize based on whether there's any special events you've gotta make it in time for."

  Ir'alith's thoughts screeched to a halt as Carl's advice echoed her father's using almost exactly the same words. She flicked her tail lightly. I suppose I did not want to hear his advice. I have been dreaming of my vengeance for so long that it consumed my reason.

  She drew in a deep breath, feeling even more refreshed as the last vestiges of irrational anger dissipated. Then she began to consider. "That will not affect your plans?" she asked, concerned that her actions might impact his more subtle, methodical approach.

  Carl chuckled as though he had heard something amusing. "Don't worry about that, you're not gonna bother me."

  He speaks as though his plans are so flawless that no action of mine bears the slightest possibility of disrupting them! Truly it was wise to ask his thoughts; I should contact him in the future if ever again I am faced with such indecision. "As expected," she said, feeling somehow lighter. "My thanks, Carl. Your recommendations are sound."

  "Well, you are hearing them," he said casually, taking another drink from his cup.

  Ir'alith's brows raised in shock, and she struggled not to laugh at the unexpected jest.

  {You would laugh at the same joke when he says it, but not when your own father—}

  Not now, Papa! Ir'alith was on the verge of losing control of the spell from the combination of her suppressed laughter and her father's sudden intrusion.

  She managed to stabilize the connection after a moment, then stared at Carl for a time. Her lips curved into a pleased smile. Even a short discussion with him has raised my mood.

  A strange idea flooded her mind abruptly, and she felt her hearts begin to race as she considered it. It was unseemly, but…

  "I wish for you to know that I think of you fondly, Carl!" she blurted out. Her skin immediately turned a bright, luminescent shade of pink, and she prepared to break the connection.

  But then…

  Carl grinned.

  He grinned!

  He grinned when she told him!

  Ir'alith felt a rush of excitement and happiness at the idea.

  "Just glad I could be there," he said, sounding pleased. "Maybe we'll meet up again sometime once I'm done figuring things out here and you finish with wherever you're headed."

  What?!

  {Alith, you must—}

  NOT NOW, PAPA! Ir'alith felt that the world was spinning rapidly around her. She struggled to clear her mind. He… He wishes to court me directly?

  She had considered the possibility many times over the course of the day, gradually coming to believe that there must have been some mistake when she interpreted his earlier actions as expressing interest in her. She had been outwitted, beaten, humiliated, shamed, and near madness when she had been found.

  Surely none would desire one such as she.

  And yet…

  "You," Ir'alith paused, then forced herself to finish her question, "wish to meet with me?"

  "Well," he said, rubbing his beard in the affected manner of the humans he was infiltrating, "Yeah, it'd be nice to see what you're like when you're not trapped. Maybe meet some of your people or something, too."

  Her mind went blank. "You would meet with my people as well?" she asked, her mouth forming the words that she was too stunned to consider.

  He wishes to court me openly? To meet with my kin? But… Surely we could not do so until…

  Her sense of shock increased.

  He wishes only to court me once our victory is obtained! The idea brought her to an entirely new state of ecstasy. Surely, then, he will remain and assist with my plans once his mission is completed!

  "Yeah," Carl said, responding to the question that she had already forgotten about. "I mean, it was just an idea. If you don't wanna, then—"

  "No!" Ir'alith shouted without hesitation. "I would be proud to introduce them to my savior!"

  "Great, we'll do that sometime, then," said Carl. "Ah, sorry, Ir'alith, I've gotta go. Nice to hear from you again, though. Don't be a stranger."

  Ir'alith felt her sudden joy tempered by the anxiety of the reminder that he, too, was on a mission. "My apologies, Carl, I did not wish to cause distraction," she said in a contrite tone. How foolish of me! I had only wished to speak with him briefly so as not to jeopardize whatever action he was undertaking! Then I grew distracted and lost sight of my goal.

  She frowned. "I will contact you again when I finish with," she paused as she considered the decision which was as-yet to be made, but at the same time, now had an obvious choice. "The dwarves, I believe it shall be."

  "Sounds good, Ir'alith," Carl said, smiling again. "Take care."

  My hearts will surely give out at this rate. How foolish. I cannot grow this excited at mere praise and well-wishing! Or from the sound of him correctly pronouncing my name…

  Her wide grin prominently displayed two rows of sharp, deadly teeth. "You as well, Carl," she said, foolishly imagining that she was remaining in the Great Tree while he ventured off to hunt for their meal on this day, her own day of hunt following on the morrow.

  She held onto the image for a moment longer, just enough to see an incredibly attractive—by human standards—golden-haired girl sit down on the bench on the other side of the table from her suitor, the only one she had ever had.

  The connection faded, and she opened her eyes. Does he seek to subjugate the humans before he tears down their goddesses? Ah, perhaps she had recognized him and seeks to become one of his concubines, that he might spare her? The grin on her face somehow grew slightly wider. As befits one who would court me. He quenches his appetites with those who have already drawn my ire in order that he may retain his focus.

  {You have made great progress, Alith.} Her father's words radiated his pride.

  Ir'alith flicked her tail as she reluctantly directed her thoughts away from the dragon who, she admitted to herself, she was growing quite fond of despite their limited time spent together. She brought her helmet back up and pulled it down snugly over her head once more. I have made my decision, Papa. I will heed your advice, and… I apologize for my earlier outburst and attitude. That was not the way in which I should have considered the well-reasoned advice that you had provided me with.

  {You grow stronger by the day, my daughter. Come, let us be off. There is much to be done.}

  Her eyes turned red as she considered it.

  There were humans waiting to be killed.

  me. Before you rush to the comments, or perhaps after you've posted out further feedback as it pertains to changes that could be made to the story's pacing, or requests for official statements from me about what the story's post-numbering scheme really means, or even for a story post that provides the perspective of a table in the coffeehouse as it reacts to Carl and Isemeine sitting around it (which we'll get to tomorrow after the coffee's PoV, fear not), allow me to take you gently into my arms and spoon-feed you some nutritional literary facts as you nestle into my verbose bosom—namely the similar, yet very different natures of satire and parody and how they relate to what you're reading.

  Satire is, according to a dictionary, a work holding up human vices and follies to ridicule or scorn. Its intent is to make the audience think.

  Parody is, again according to a dictionary in a surely-futile attempt to avoid splitting hairs in the comments below, a work in which the style of an author or work is closely imitated for comic effect or in ridicule. Its intent is to entertain.

  carl@fire, is satire. It contains some elements of parody, and there are a number of scenes which are intended to be humorous and light-hearted—which will continue to be the case, as I have a keen eye for balance—but the overall work is satirical. It's distressing to me that so many people are either willfully ignoring this tag or are ignorant of it and its meaning, as is immediately evident upon seeing what's been written in many comments, reviews, and conversations elsewhere. I'm under no illusion that I'm an unparalleled writer, but it still troubles me that what I consider to be the core aspect of the series—and the entire reason for its existence—is being misunderstood or overlooked.

  is the point. To effectively satirize those things we need to go even further than others have into this type of setting, ideally incorporating as many of the base elements and tropes as possible.

  carl@fire is a combination of two stories, a litrpg/vrmmo/isekai story and a grimdark fantasy story. The collision of these genres is where we'll frequently be seeing satire which, again, will not always be entertaining, as that is not the goal and is generally going to be a happy accident which we'll be appreciating as we swim our way through the trope-y filth from these genres that we've previously stirred together during the preparatory period and have now set to a low boil.

  not satire:

  ? Carl being so overpowered that he unwittingly and accidentally almost destroys a castle, sinks a fleet of ships, and who knows what else happened as a result of those waves since we haven't seen those parts yet, which is a comical mimicry of however many overpowered litrpg/isekai protagonists who intentionally accomplish similar feats

  ? Carl "role-playing" as a vaguely mysterious badass character that he chooses solely due to a lack of imagination when put on the spot, which is a comical mimicry of many litrpg/isekai genre main characters

  ? Carl interacting directly with "the system" and taking time to write shell scripts to clean up his home directory, which is a comical mimicry of the pages upon pages of stat blocks and leveling systems which dominate litrpg series

  thinking, which is what we want to be doing since this is satire:

  ? The almost unbelievably long Ω half of Carl's city trip, in which we saw over 10,000 words posted in a single week about various hyper-detailed fantasy characters, because fantasy stories must have a ton of perspectives and they similarly must never be showing the perspective that the reader really wants

  ? Ir'alith having a contrived, borderline nonsensical reason to grow interested in Carl beyond the usual gratitude his rescue should bring, because all female characters rescued in a fantasy/litrpg/isekai series must immediately fall in love with the main character

  ? Carl encountering the gatekeeper, Percevale, and unwittingly having a profound effect on the life of a man who mistakes a lazily feigned demeanor, sudden appearance without the use of magic, and an overpowered "fishing weapon" as signs that some random guy is a literal God, causing him to regain faith that he lost years earlier—though Carl remains unaware of this—because in isekai/litrpg series the main character must always be regarded as a life-changing badass by side characters whenever they show up, though there's seldom good reason to be had for such a reaction

  all of the tags—and if you're unaware of what they are or think that I have a mistaken idea of what they mean or when they should be used, I'd advise you to rethink that position.

  TL;DR: This is your "trigger" warning, assuming the warnings from the story's tags—which exist to be that trigger warning—were somehow insufficient, and it's the only one that I'll provide. I have yet to include any deep satire in the story to this point, and I say that with the knowledge that there are roughly 70,000 words posted now. If you believe that the reuse of so many "questionable" setting components—which we've seen both in the background and, more recently, coming into the foreground—from various other isekai/litrpg series is somehow satire, consider again that the purpose of satire is to hold up vices and follies for ridicule and scorn and in order to make the audience think, and thus far we haven't really done much of that, have we?

  satire, we'll need to begin taking things much more seriously from here on out.

  think.