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W̶̧̨̨̢̡̡̧̛̛̟̳͙͓̤͔̩̫̥̲̱̭͎̭̬̺̞̹̫͇̦̙͔̖͕͕̞͖͍͖͇̗͈̳͖̘͎͔͎̭͎̫̮̼͚̯̱̜̘̻̼̣̦̻̜̯͉͈̙͎͔̘̘̯̰̫̱̼͈̝̠͕̲̗͓̺̥͎̥͓̹̠̭̙̦͖͓̮̼̺̺̣̪͙̜͉͓̣̗̯̝͍̙̺͎͗̊̈́͂̊̒͆̄̀͑̓͛̔̔̅̅̎̔̽̓̃̏̉̔̂̄̈̌̿̓̋͊̐̈́̆̀͛̌̋̋͒̌̉̆́̅̔̐̔̔͘̕̚͜͜͜͜͝͝͠͝͝͝ͅͅͅÄ̸̡̡̧͈͉̬͍̫̜̲̩̣͔̝̦̖̤̻̰͙̮̩̼̤͓̺̦͔̦̳̱͔̖̗̤̠̼̦̌̊͌̓͋͗̇͛̐̓̓́̇̌̄͌͊̋̌͆̃̍͋́̍̄́́̌̊͐̾̂̏̊̉̂̃̕͘̕͘͠͝K̷̡̧̨̨̧̨̡̧̨͕͍̰̱̟̫͕̥͓̮̰͔͈̫͕͎͕̺̳̠̰̦͓̗͍̝̺̲̻̮̯̬̮̰̮͚͖̫͚̩̥͖͇̗̝͓̭͔̞͓̦̗̙̯̰͇͓̰̩͚̗͙͈̝͕̮̙̱̻͚͎̺͙̺̭̩̝͚͉͖͇̫̮̠͎͉͖͕͆̂̄͊͊̐̎̅̀̂̀̀̾̔̽͋͌̌̔̈̾̒̒̑͒̓̾̓̏̈́͑̑͑̽̐͌͗̈́̑͛͂̒̃̿̒͐͆͐̉̚̚͘͜͜͝͝͝͠ͅȨ̷̨̦̹̩̙̜͕̰̱͍͕̟͍̥̭̣̻̪̭̫̞͚̘͙͓̄͐̑͜Ư̶̡̛͕̫̦̤̥̥̲̜̠̫̱͈̝͙̘̱̺͕͉͇͍̱̰͗͊̃̀̎͂̐͂̅̓̔̏͒̌̆̅̍̿̎͜͜͝͠Ṗ̵̨̨̧̢̧̡̧̨̧̡̨̧̧̛̛̛̛̛͎̰͈̠͉̘̳̗̬̹̥͔͓̦̹̮̘̯̲̪̮͉̝͎͓̜̥̖͖̻̭̫͔͖͚̤̯͍̖͚̼͎̤̩͖͎̻̹̙͖̠͖̖͇̻̙͓̙̪̭͔̥͇̻̞̦͙̜͖͚̳̬̩̤̭͕͕̹͓̬̝̺̟̙̝͍͚̺͎̠̤̥̬̯̹͔̖̟̤̼̩̤̈́̒͐̀̓̽͒̒́̃͊̋͆͋̿̀̿̏̅̈͆̂͂̑̀̏͒̏̀̿͒̃̽͌̒͋̈́͋̌̀̅̾̈́̒̆̂̇̔̏̐̐͒͑͑́͐͑̀̎͊̿̈́̔̆̈́͆͐̌̓̾͂͗͗̍̄͆͂͛͒̈́̌̏͑͌͌͋̒̒̿͘͘̕̕̕͘̚̕̕̚̚̚͝͝͠͝͝͠͠͝͝ͅͅW̶̧̨̨̢̡̡̧̛̛̟̳͙͓̤͔̩̫̥̲̱̭͎̭̬̺̞̹̫͇̦̙͔̖͕͕̞͖͍͖͇̗͈̳͖̘͎͔͎̭͎̫̮̼͚̯̱̜̘̻̼̣̦̻̜̯͉͈̙͎͔̘̘̯̰̫̱̼͈̝̠͕̲̗͓̺̥͎̥͓̹̠̭̙̦͖͓̮̼̺̺̣̪͙̜͉͓̣̗̯̝͍̙̺͎͗̊̈́͂̊̒͆̄̀͑̓͛̔̔̅̅̎̔̽̓̃̏̉̔̂̄̈̌̿̓̋͊̐̈́̆̀͛̌̋̋͒̌̉̆́̅̔̐̔̔͘̕̚͜͜͜͜͝͝͠͝͝͝ͅͅͅÄ̸̡̡̧͈͉̬͍̫̜̲̩̣͔̝̦̖̤̻̰͙̮̩̼̤͓̺̦͔̦̳̱͔̖̗̤̠̼̦̌̊͌̓͋͗̇͛̐̓̓́̇̌̄͌͊̋̌͆̃̍͋́̍̄́́̌̊͐̾̂̏̊̉̂̃̕͘̕͘͠͝K̷̡̧̨̨̧̨̡̧̨͕͍̰̱̟̫͕̥͓̮̰͔͈̫͕͎͕̺̳̠̰̦͓̗͍̝̺̲̻̮̯̬̮̰̮͚͖̫͚̩̥͖͇̗̝͓̭͔̞͓̦̗̙̯̰͇͓̰̩͚̗͙͈̝͕̮̙̱̻͚͎̺͙̺̭̩̝͚͉͖͇̫̮̠͎͉͖͕͆̂̄͊͊̐̎̅̀̂̀̀̾̔̽͋͌̌̔̈̾̒̒̑͒̓̾̓̏̈́͑̑͑̽̐͌͗̈́̑͛͂̒̃̿̒͐͆͐̉̚̚͘͜͜͝͝͝͠ͅȨ̷̨̦̹̩̙̜͕̰̱͍͕̟͍̥̭̣̻̪̭̫̞͚̘͙͓̄͐̑͜Ư̶̡̛͕̫̦̤̥̥̲̜̠̫̱͈̝͙̘̱̺͕͉͇͍̱̰͗͊̃̀̎͂̐͂̅̓̔̏͒̌̆̅̍̿̎͜͜͝͠Ṗ̵̨̨̧̢̧̡̧̨̧̡̨̧̧̛̛̛̛̛͎̰͈̠͉̘̳̗̬̹̥͔͓̦̹̮̘̯̲̪̮͉̝͎͓̜̥̖͖̻̭̫͔͖͚̤̯͍̖͚̼͎̤̩͖͎̻̹̙͖̠͖̖͇̻̙͓̙̪̭͔̥͇̻̞̦͙̜͖͚̳̬̩̤̭͕͕̹͓̬̝̺̟̙̝͍͚̺͎̠̤̥̬̯̹͔̖̟̤̼̩̤̈́̒͐̀̓̽͒̒́̃͊̋͆͋̿̀̿̏̅̈͆̂͂̑̀̏͒̏̀̿͒̃̽͌̒͋̈́͋̌̀̅̾̈́̒̆̂̇̔̏̐̐͒͑͑́͐͑̀̎͊̿̈́̔̆̈́͆͐̌̓̾͂͗͗̍̄͆͂͛͒̈́̌̏͑͌͌͋̒̒̿͘͘̕̕̕͘̚̕̕̚̚̚͝͝͠͝͝͠͠͝͝ͅͅW̶̧̨̨̢̡̡̧̛̛̟̳͙͓̤͔̩̫̥̲̱̭͎̭̬̺̞̹̫͇̦̙͔̖͕͕̞͖͍͖͇̗͈̳͖̘͎͔͎̭͎̫̮̼͚̯̱̜̘̻̼̣̦̻̜̯͉͈̙͎͔̘̘̯̰̫̱̼͈̝̠͕̲̗͓̺̥͎̥͓̹̠̭̙̦͖͓̮̼̺̺̣̪͙̜͉͓̣̗̯̝͍̙̺͎͗̊̈́͂̊̒͆̄̀͑̓͛̔̔̅̅̎̔̽̓̃̏̉̔̂̄̈̌̿̓̋͊̐̈́̆̀͛̌̋̋͒̌̉̆́̅̔̐̔̔͘̕̚͜͜͜͜͝͝͠͝͝͝ͅͅͅÄ̸̡̡̧͈͉̬͍̫̜̲̩̣͔̝̦̖̤̻̰͙̮̩̼̤͓̺̦͔̦̳̱͔̖̗̤̠̼̦̌̊͌̓͋͗̇͛̐̓̓́̇̌̄͌͊̋̌͆̃̍͋́̍̄́́̌̊͐̾̂̏̊̉̂̃̕͘̕͘͠͝K̷̡̧̨̨̧̨̡̧̨͕͍̰̱̟̫͕̥͓̮̰͔͈̫͕͎͕̺̳̠̰̦͓̗͍̝̺̲̻̮̯̬̮̰̮͚͖̫͚̩̥͖͇̗̝͓̭͔̞͓̦̗̙̯̰͇͓̰̩͚̗͙͈̝͕̮̙̱̻͚͎̺͙̺̭̩̝͚͉͖͇̫̮̠͎͉͖͕͆̂̄͊͊̐̎̅̀̂̀̀̾̔̽͋͌̌̔̈̾̒̒̑͒̓̾̓̏̈́͑̑͑̽̐͌͗̈́̑͛͂̒̃̿̒͐͆͐̉̚̚͘͜͜͝͝͝͠ͅȨ̷̨̦̹̩̙̜͕̰̱͍͕̟͍̥̭̣̻̪̭̫̞͚̘͙͓̄͐̑͜Ư̶̡̛͕̫̦̤̥̥̲̜̠̫̱͈̝͙̘̱̺͕͉͇͍̱̰͗͊̃̀̎͂̐͂̅̓̔̏͒̌̆̅̍̿̎͜͜͝͠Ṗ̵̨̨̧̢̧̡̧̨̧̡̨̧̧̛̛̛̛̛͎̰͈̠͉̘̳̗̬̹̥͔͓̦̹̮̘̯̲̪̮͉̝͎͓̜̥̖͖̻̭̫͔͖͚̤̯͍̖͚̼͎̤̩͖͎̻̹̙͖̠͖̖͇̻̙͓̙̪̭͔̥͇̻̞̦͙̜͖͚̳̬̩̤̭͕͕̹͓̬̝̺̟̙̝͍͚̺͎̠̤̥̬̯̹͔̖̟̤̼̩̤̈́̒͐̀̓̽͒̒́̃͊̋͆͋̿̀̿̏̅̈͆̂͂̑̀̏͒̏̀̿͒̃̽͌̒͋̈́͋̌̀̅̾̈́̒̆̂̇̔̏̐̐͒͑͑́͐͑̀̎͊̿̈́̔̆̈́͆͐̌̓̾͂͗͗̍̄͆͂͛͒̈́̌̏͑͌͌͋̒̒̿͘͘̕̕̕͘̚̕̕̚̚̚͝͝͠͝͝͠͠͝͝ͅͅW̶̧̨̨̢̡̡̧̛̛̟̳͙͓̤͔̩̫̥̲̱̭͎̭̬̺̞̹̫͇̦̙͔̖͕͕̞͖͍͖͇̗͈̳͖̘͎͔͎̭͎̫̮̼͚̯̱̜̘̻̼̣̦̻̜̯͉͈̙͎͔̘̘̯̰̫̱̼͈̝̠͕̲̗͓̺̥͎̥͓̹̠̭̙̦͖͓̮̼̺̺̣̪͙̜͉͓̣̗̯̝͍̙̺͎͗̊̈́͂̊̒͆̄̀͑̓͛̔̔̅̅̎̔̽̓̃̏̉̔̂̄̈̌̿̓̋͊̐̈́̆̀͛̌̋̋͒̌̉̆́̅̔̐̔̔͘̕̚͜͜͜͜͝͝͠͝͝͝ͅͅͅÄ̸̡̡̧͈͉̬͍̫̜̲̩̣͔̝̦̖̤̻̰͙̮̩̼̤͓̺̦͔̦̳̱͔̖̗̤̠̼̦̌̊͌̓͋͗̇͛̐̓̓́̇̌̄͌͊̋̌͆̃̍͋́̍̄́́̌̊͐̾̂̏̊̉̂̃̕͘̕͘͠͝K̷̡̧̨̨̧̨̡̧̨͕͍̰̱̟̫͕̥͓̮̰͔͈̫͕͎͕̺̳̠̰̦͓̗͍̝̺̲̻̮̯̬̮̰̮͚͖̫͚̩̥͖͇̗̝͓̭͔̞͓̦̗̙̯̰͇͓̰̩͚̗͙͈̝͕̮̙̱̻͚͎̺͙̺̭̩̝͚͉͖͇̫̮̠͎͉͖͕͆̂̄͊͊̐̎̅̀̂̀̀̾̔̽͋͌̌̔̈̾̒̒̑͒̓̾̓̏̈́͑̑͑̽̐͌͗̈́̑͛͂̒̃̿̒͐͆͐̉̚̚͘͜͜͝͝͝͠ͅȨ̷̨̦̹̩̙̜͕̰̱͍͕̟͍̥̭̣̻̪̭̫̞͚̘͙͓̄͐̑͜Ư̶̡̛͕̫̦̤̥̥̲̜̠̫̱͈̝͙̘̱̺͕͉͇͍̱̰͗͊̃̀̎͂̐͂̅̓̔̏͒̌̆̅̍̿̎͜͜͝͠Ṗ̵̨̨̧̢̧̡̧̨̧̡̨̧̧̛̛̛̛̛͎̰͈̠͉̘̳̗̬̹̥͔͓̦̹̮̘̯̲̪̮͉̝͎͓̜̥̖͖̻̭̫͔͖͚̤̯͍̖͚̼͎̤̩͖͎̻̹̙͖̠͖̖͇̻̙͓̙̪̭͔̥͇̻̞̦͙̜͖͚̳̬̩̤̭͕͕̹͓̬̝̺̟̙̝͍͚̺͎̠̤̥̬̯̹͔̖̟̤̼̩̤̈́̒͐̀̓̽͒̒́̃͊̋͆͋̿̀̿̏̅̈͆̂͂̑̀̏͒̏̀̿͒̃̽͌̒͋̈́͋̌̀̅̾̈́̒̆̂̇̔̏̐̐͒͑͑́͐͑̀̎͊̿̈́̔̆̈́͆͐̌̓̾͂͗͗̍̄͆͂͛͒̈́̌̏͑͌͌͋̒̒̿͘͘̕̕̕͘̚̕̕̚̚̚͝͝͠͝͝͠͠͝͝ͅͅW̶̧̨̨̢̡̡̧̛̛̟̳͙͓̤͔̩̫̥̲̱̭͎̭̬̺̞̹̫͇̦̙͔̖͕͕̞͖͍͖͇̗͈̳͖̘͎͔͎̭͎̫̮̼͚̯̱̜̘̻̼̣̦̻̜̯͉͈̙͎͔̘̘̯̰̫̱̼͈̝̠͕̲̗͓̺̥͎̥͓̹̠̭̙̦͖͓̮̼̺̺̣̪͙̜͉͓̣̗̯̝͍̙̺͎͗̊̈́͂̊̒͆̄̀͑̓͛̔̔̅̅̎̔̽̓̃̏̉̔̂̄̈̌̿̓̋͊̐̈́̆̀͛̌̋̋͒̌̉̆́̅̔̐̔̔͘̕̚͜͜͜͜͝͝͠͝͝͝ͅͅͅÄ̸̡̡̧͈͉̬͍̫̜̲̩̣͔̝̦̖̤̻̰͙̮̩̼̤͓̺̦͔̦̳̱͔̖̗̤̠̼̦̌̊͌̓͋͗̇͛̐̓̓́̇̌̄͌͊̋̌͆̃̍͋́̍̄́́̌̊͐̾̂̏̊̉̂̃̕͘̕͘͠͝K̷̡̧̨̨̧̨̡̧̨͕͍̰̱̟̫͕̥͓̮̰͔͈̫͕͎͕̺̳̠̰̦͓̗͍̝̺̲̻̮̯̬̮̰̮͚͖̫͚̩̥͖͇̗̝͓̭͔̞͓̦̗̙̯̰͇͓̰̩͚̗͙͈̝͕̮̙̱̻͚͎̺͙̺̭̩̝͚͉͖͇̫̮̠͎͉͖͕͆̂̄͊͊̐̎̅̀̂̀̀̾̔̽͋͌̌̔̈̾̒̒̑͒̓̾̓̏̈́͑̑͑̽̐͌͗̈́̑͛͂̒̃̿̒͐͆͐̉̚̚͘͜͜͝͝͝͠ͅȨ̷̨̦̹̩̙̜͕̰̱͍͕̟͍̥̭̣̻̪̭̫̞͚̘͙͓̄͐̑͜Ư̶̡̛͕̫̦̤̥̥̲̜̠̫̱͈̝͙̘̱̺͕͉͇͍̱̰͗͊̃̀̎͂̐͂̅̓̔̏͒̌̆̅̍̿̎͜͜͝͠Ṗ̵̨̨̧̢̧̡̧̨̧̡̨̧̧̛̛̛̛̛͎̰͈̠͉̘̳̗̬̹̥͔͓̦̹̮̘̯̲̪̮͉̝͎͓̜̥̖͖̻̭̫͔͖͚̤̯͍̖͚̼͎̤̩͖͎̻̹̙͖̠͖̖͇̻̙͓̙̪̭͔̥͇̻̞̦͙̜͖͚̳̬̩̤̭͕͕̹͓̬̝̺̟̙̝͍͚̺͎̠̤̥̬̯̹͔̖̟̤̼̩̤̈́̒͐̀̓̽͒̒́̃͊̋͆͋̿̀̿̏̅̈͆̂͂̑̀̏͒̏̀̿͒̃̽͌̒͋̈́͋̌̀̅̾̈́̒̆̂̇̔̏̐̐͒͑͑́͐͑̀̎͊̿̈́̔̆̈́͆͐̌̓̾͂͗͗̍̄͆͂͛͒̈́̌̏͑͌͌͋̒̒̿͘͘̕̕̕͘̚̕̕̚̚̚͝͝͠͝͝͠͠͝͝ͅͅW̶̧̨̨̢̡̡̧̛̛̟̳͙͓̤͔̩̫̥̲̱̭͎̭̬̺̞̹̫͇̦̙͔̖͕͕̞͖͍͖͇̗͈̳͖̘͎͔͎̭͎̫̮̼͚̯̱̜̘̻̼̣̦̻̜̯͉͈̙͎͔̘̘̯̰̫̱̼͈̝̠͕̲̗͓̺̥͎̥͓̹̠̭̙̦͖͓̮̼̺̺̣̪͙̜͉͓̣̗̯̝͍̙̺͎͗̊̈́͂̊̒͆̄̀͑̓͛̔̔̅̅̎̔̽̓̃̏̉̔̂̄̈̌̿̓̋͊̐̈́̆̀͛̌̋̋͒̌̉̆́̅̔̐̔̔͘̕̚͜͜͜͜͝͝͠͝͝͝ͅͅͅÄ̸̡̡̧͈͉̬͍̫̜̲̩̣͔̝̦̖̤̻̰͙̮̩̼̤͓̺̦͔̦̳̱͔̖̗̤̠̼̦̌̊͌̓͋͗̇͛̐̓̓́̇̌̄͌͊̋̌͆̃̍͋́̍̄́́̌̊͐̾̂̏̊̉̂̃̕͘̕͘͠͝K̷̡̧̨̨̧̨̡̧̨͕͍̰̱̟̫͕̥͓̮̰͔͈̫͕͎͕̺̳̠̰̦͓̗͍̝̺̲̻̮̯̬̮̰̮͚͖̫͚̩̥͖͇̗̝͓̭͔̞͓̦̗̙̯̰͇͓̰̩͚̗͙͈̝͕̮̙̱̻͚͎̺͙̺̭̩̝͚͉͖͇̫̮̠͎͉͖͕͆̂̄͊͊̐̎̅̀̂̀̀̾̔̽͋͌̌̔̈̾̒̒̑͒̓̾̓̏̈́͑̑͑̽̐͌͗̈́̑͛͂̒̃̿̒͐͆͐̉̚̚͘͜͜͝͝͝͠ͅȨ̷̨̦̹̩̙̜͕̰̱͍͕̟͍̥̭̣̻̪̭̫̞͚̘͙͓̄͐̑͜Ư̶̡̛͕̫̦̤̥̥̲̜̠̫̱͈̝͙̘̱̺͕͉͇͍̱̰͗͊̃̀̎͂̐͂̅̓̔̏͒̌̆̅̍̿̎͜͜͝͠Ṗ̵̨̨̧̢̧̡̧̨̧̡̨̧̧̛̛̛̛̛͎̰͈̠͉̘̳̗̬̹̥͔͓̦̹̮̘̯̲̪̮͉̝͎͓̜̥̖͖̻̭̫͔͖͚̤̯͍̖͚̼͎̤̩͖͎̻̹̙͖̠͖̖͇̻̙͓̙̪̭͔̥͇̻̞̦͙̜͖͚̳̬̩̤̭͕͕̹͓̬̝̺̟̙̝͍͚̺͎̠̤̥̬̯̹͔̖̟̤̼̩̤̈́̒͐̀̓̽͒̒́̃͊̋͆͋̿̀̿̏̅̈͆̂͂̑̀̏͒̏̀̿͒̃̽͌̒͋̈́͋̌̀̅̾̈́̒̆̂̇̔̏̐̐͒͑͑́͐͑̀̎͊̿̈́̔̆̈́͆͐̌̓̾͂͗͗̍̄͆͂͛͒̈́̌̏͑͌͌͋̒̒̿͘͘̕̕̕͘̚̕̕̚̚̚͝͝͠͝͝͠͠͝͝ͅͅW̶̧̨̨̢̡̡̧̛̛̟̳͙͓̤͔̩̫̥̲̱̭͎̭̬̺̞̹̫͇̦̙͔̖͕͕̞͖͍͖͇̗͈̳͖̘͎͔͎̭͎̫̮̼͚̯̱̜̘̻̼̣̦̻̜̯͉͈̙͎͔̘̘̯̰̫̱̼͈̝̠͕̲̗͓̺̥͎̥͓̹̠̭̙̦͖͓̮̼̺̺̣̪͙̜͉͓̣̗̯̝͍̙̺͎͗̊̈́͂̊̒͆̄̀͑̓͛̔̔̅̅̎̔̽̓̃̏̉̔̂̄̈̌̿̓̋͊̐̈́̆̀͛̌̋̋͒̌̉̆́̅̔̐̔̔͘̕̚͜͜͜͜͝͝͠͝͝͝ͅͅͅÄ̸̡̡̧͈͉̬͍̫̜̲̩̣͔̝̦̖̤̻̰͙̮̩̼̤͓̺̦͔̦̳̱͔̖̗̤̠̼̦̌̊͌̓͋͗̇͛̐̓̓́̇̌̄͌͊̋̌͆̃̍͋́̍̄́́̌̊͐̾̂̏̊̉̂̃̕͘̕͘͠͝K̷̡̧̨̨̧̨̡̧̨͕͍̰̱̟̫͕̥͓̮̰͔͈̫͕͎͕̺̳̠̰̦͓̗͍̝̺̲̻̮̯̬̮̰̮͚͖̫͚̩̥͖͇̗̝͓̭͔̞͓̦̗̙̯̰͇͓̰̩͚̗͙͈̝͕̮̙̱̻͚͎̺͙̺̭̩̝͚͉͖͇̫̮̠͎͉͖͕͆̂̄͊͊̐̎̅̀̂̀̀̾̔̽͋͌̌̔̈̾̒̒̑͒̓̾̓̏̈́͑̑͑̽̐͌͗̈́̑͛͂̒̃̿̒͐͆͐̉̚̚͘͜͜͝͝͝͠ͅȨ̷̨̦̹̩̙̜͕̰̱͍͕̟͍̥̭̣̻̪̭̫̞͚̘͙͓̄͐̑͜Ư̶̡̛͕̫̦̤̥̥̲̜̠̫̱͈̝͙̘̱̺͕͉͇͍̱̰͗͊̃̀̎͂̐͂̅̓̔̏͒̌̆̅̍̿̎͜͜͝͠Ṗ̵̨̨̧̢̧̡̧̨̧̡̨̧̧̛̛̛̛̛͎̰͈̠͉̘̳̗̬̹̥͔͓̦̹̮̘̯̲̪̮͉̝͎͓̜̥̖͖̻̭̫͔͖͚̤̯͍̖͚̼͎̤̩͖͎̻̹̙͖̠͖̖͇̻̙͓̙̪̭͔̥͇̻̞̦͙̜͖͚̳̬̩̤̭͕͕̹͓̬̝̺̟̙̝͍͚̺͎̠̤̥̬̯̹͔̖̟̤̼̩̤̈́̒͐̀̓̽͒̒́̃͊̋͆͋̿̀̿̏̅̈͆̂͂̑̀̏͒̏̀̿͒̃̽͌̒͋̈́͋̌̀̅̾̈́̒̆̂̇̔̏̐̐͒͑͑́͐͑̀̎͊̿̈́̔̆̈́͆͐̌̓̾͂͗͗̍̄͆͂͛͒̈́̌̏͑͌͌͋̒̒̿͘͘̕̕̕͘̚̕̕̚̚̚͝͝͠͝͝͠͠͝͝ͅͅ
Draxacon's eyes shot open when he heard a piercing noise. He covered his ears, trying to drown out this loud growing noise. He shut his eyes once more as he tried to drown out what ever this sound was.
Suddenly, he opened his eyes, trying to figure why he was even hearing this sound at all. The last thing he remembered was getting impaled by the Inquisitor, and then the Detonators went off, which should have meant that none of this could possibly be happening. So why was there this annoying sound baring its way into his mind.
ᎴᏒᏗጀᏗፈᎧᏁ, ᏇᏗᏦᏋ ᏬᎮ
Then, in an instant, the annoying sound was replaced with something Draxacon could make out. It was...something that could speak, but it was no language he had ever heard of. It sounded like a creature was speaking to him, however the sound that Draxacon heard was muffled and garbled beyond comprehension.
Draxacon...
He looked around at his surroundings, seeing that he was in some sort of black void with no noticeable land marks. Was this death? It seemed reasonable because he had blown himself up.
Can you hear me?
He looked up, still seeing nothing but darkness. It was as if he had woken up in a starless galaxy, just an empty vastness. He was beginning to understand the words being spoken to him. "Uh yes?"
Good. Now we can get started.
Draxacon then felt a force pulling him down, causing him to yelp in shock. The sudden shift stopped as fast as it started when he was abruptly put in a sitting position. He looked around this new surrounding, before he noticed something, a strange symbol he had never seen before.
It looked like a circle at first, but where the final arc should have connected the circle, it split into two separate directions, forming something of a stand for this incomplete ring of fire. This ring burned vigorously, as if it had an unending source of power to fuel its flames.
Draxacon looked down to see what he could have been sitting on, but there was nothing, just space. His body felt like it was sitting on something, but when he waved his hand underneath him, he only felt the waves his hand had made in this void. He looked back to the burning sigil only to see the silhouette of a figure.
The bottom half of this person was shrouded in darkness, but the shape of their upper body could be made out. A large frame, not like Draxacon himself, but this being was no twig. His head was simple, but on top of it was a lump with rims attached, Draxacon assumed it to be some form of hat.
"Ah, my lovely creation, so glad we can talk face to face." the figure said, its voice vibrant and full of life. The shape began to move, and a loud echo was produced, as if this thing was walking on stone in a massive mausoleum. Draxacon watched as the figure came closer, making out that this being was about six feet tall. If Draxacon could move, he could easily take this thing down with one punch. He strained to get up, but the force holding him down pushed harder, causing him to groan in pain. "Now someone is being impatient." The figure said, it's voice echoing in Draxacon's mind. "Perhaps if we were in a more...."
Suddenly, with the ring of a snapping finger, the void vanished, and Draxacon was in....
his quarters aboard The Emperor's Conviction.
The ship he had died on.
"...familiar."
As he looked around, he saw the figure in full light now. This man wore something that looked like formal wear, although Draxacon had never seen anything that looked so primitive. Shiny black shoes, sleek black pants held by a dull black belt. The belt buckle stood out to Draxacon, as it was the same fiery sigil that had been in the void before.
He moved past the belt and saw the black over coat covering a blood red shirt and a dull green vest. All of these circular connectors were bothering Draxacon; this suit looked more like something a slave or a swindler would wear on Couresant, not something an upstanding Imperial would wear, but it looked clean and smooth, so he continued to picture this outfit as being something formal.
Draxacon then moved to this mans head and he almost gasped. It was William, but not exactly the William he knew. This man had no scar over his eye, and was slightly more full in the face, not as physically fit as William Jaeger. His emerald irises seemed more alive as well, the green swirling around the pupil of this William clone. This being also had no full beard, but rather a moustache that curled at the ends. The man with William's face stared at Draxacon, a smirk on his face. "Are you done studying my features?" the man asked, waving his hand towards Draxacon's security desk, the object fading from existence and replaced with a simply chair.
Draxacon's breathing increased as this man sat down in the seat he had just created with the flick of his hands. "Who the hell are you and why do you look like William!"
The man's eyes flowed faster as they widened, his mouth spreading into a wider grin. "Straight to the point, that's why I chose you, D." The man adjusted himself and cleared his throat. "Well, Drax, old boy, I go by many names, but you may call me The Architect." He then suddenly looked past Draxacon, causing the confused man to follow his gaze, only to look at a wall.
You, on the other hand, felt The Architect's oceanic Irises barrow into your soul. "And no, I am not The_Arc1t3ct. But at the same time, I am. I'll explain it momentarily."
Draxacon looked back at The Architect, an eye brow raised in confusion. "Who are you talking to?"
The Architect focused back on Draxacon, offering him a simple smile. "No one in particular, and everyone in question."
Draxacon shook his head in confusion, his face depicting his confusion as well. "What?"
"Nothing. Anyway, for your second question, the reason why I look like the William you know is, to put it simply, I am him." Draxacon's face did not change what so ever. The Architect sighed. "Perhaps if I gave you a more visual representation for your simple mind."
Before Draxacon could comment on that insult, the wall behind The Architect blinked out of existence, replaced with a number of what Draxacon assumed to be security feeds. On closer inspection, however, he realized that they were depicting things foreign to the world he knew.
Soldiers in mechanized suits flying over a dark muddy war zone, the soldiers of which had their faces covered in leather gas masks.
A world where everything was covered in a dark substance, and every being was some form of abomination.
Alien invaders getting beat down by a man in a green suit, blue blood covering his yellow visor.
An ocean covered by the smoke of burning wood.
Draxacon looked to one, then the other, each window showing something that was completely different than the last. In one, he saw a pale girl with long neon blue hair blowing up a tower with what looked to be a rocket launcher with teeth. The Architect blinked next to Draxacon, his hand wrapping onto the man's shoulder and squeezing it.
"Your world is not the only world there is. There is a multiverse of infinite possibilities, even one where you killed William, although that draft wasn't that good." Draxacon turned his head.
"What does that mean?"
"Ah, apologies, You are still somewhat confused." The man snapped his fingers once more, and all of the screens shifted to showing his universe, although each was different from the other again. In one, he saw William throwing Andriana over the side of a volcano, in another, William had completely disposed of his suit and ran along side rebels in their garbage uniforms. Then there was the one The Architect had teased; a world where Draxacon was stabbing William through the chest with Drekar's beskar sword. William's face was that of shock and confusion, while Draxacon's face was full of rage. He question why he would ever do that, but then they all faded, save for two: One where William stood in the bridge, hands clasped behind his back, and one where he wasn't, where there was a different man standing in William's place.
"You see Draxy, you are not real. Well, this incarnation of you at least. I needed to pull someone unimportant to from the multiverse to play William's muscly brute friend." Draxacon's eyes did not waver from the screens, only shifting between the two images; in the world with William, he had turned to face his two close friends: Draxacon and Andriana. In the other, the captain simply began to walk around the bridge, looking over his underlings. "Most of the people you know from that world: William, Andriana, Verica, that Inquisitor, they were not from that universe. I took you all from the multiverse and put you there."
Then with the snap of his finger, the two images faded, replaced by black. Draxacon watched, waiting for something.
Then, a loud sound, followed by the darkness being filled with eight floating yellow letters.
Star Wars.
Draxacon watched as the words floated backwards and as more yellow words began to form. While this happened, The Architect continued, his voice clear over the orchestra that accompanied the word crawl. "I wanted to create my own version of one of my favorite IPs that existed out in the vast unknown and see what would happen. Although, I did set it up, so it was not that much of a surprise." Draxacon watched as the image showed a desert planet, then a Blockade Runner with red accents, and finally, an Imperial Star Destroyer, firing at the Blockade Runner.
"There is one universe where nothing comes out and nothing goes in." As he said this, he snapped his fingers, the image fading and showing a static screen which simply said "No Connection," "This universe is where the original creator of the world you know resides, as well as my creator, as well as every other reality's creator." Draxacon looked towards The Architect, trying to focus on what he was explaining. "Their world, is somewhat dull, so they use their creativity to make whole worlds, whole realities. They, those realities are birthed into the vast multiverse.
"But, that is not the reason why you are here, Draxy. The reason you are here right now and not blown into smithereens is because I require your services. Specifically, your strength." Draxacon's face was that of a broken man, which is understandable, having his whole existence shatter around him, being told he was nothing more than just a pawn to this omnipotent being's writing exercise. Draxacon now found he could move, and contemplated on choking this beings rigth there, but decided against it. This thing would just make it so he wouldn't choke. Draxacon got up and knelt down in front of The Architect, lowering his head.
"Well, I'm already here, might as well give some meaning to my life. What do you need, master?" Draxacon said, his voice dead and monotone. The Architect smiled, standing over Draxacon.
"Good lad. First, your name is something of a mouth full, and since people won't be seeing you for some time, let's just switch it up." With a snap, Draxacon felt changed. "You will now be known as Dracon." Oddly enough, Dracon felt like this was natural, Like this was his name before....wait, Dracon had always been his name, right?
"Secondly, your human face is one I gave you to make you fit in. Let's fix that." The Architect's finger snapped once more and Dracon's face began to ache. He screamed, grabbing his face in pain. His bones underneath his skin shifted, and his ears began to sharpen at the ends. His lower canines grew and sharpened, and his nose pushed up against his face, as if he just took a Wookie's punch to the face and his nose got pushed back. Once the pain stopped, he panted, removing his hands. A mirror suddenly appeared, and Dracon looked nothing like his former self, but his head did fit his body type more.
"What the hell did you do to me now!?!" Dracon yelled, more confused than angry.
"Why I simply gave you your real face back." The Architect replied, leaving Dracon to squint in confusion. "You are no true human, Dracon, you are an Orc. I pulled you from a world that was going to be consumed by Darkness and made use of you."
Before Dracon could reply, The Architect snapped his fingers, the image of another world showing up, but this world had no signs of Imperial industrialization, no satellites for long distance communication, just a simple world. "Your mission, my servant, is to become the ruler of that world. Simple enough, yes?" The Architect said, his hand placed on Dracon's shoulder, sending a small stinging sensation throughout Dracon's body.
"How...how exactly am I supposed to do that?" Dracon asked, looking towards his new master, only to see that the once Emerald eyes had been replaced by that fiery symbol, the flames in his eyes roaring violently.
"Well, this world is ran by a kingdom where the strongest survive, and since the inhabitants of that kingdom are nothing more than puny mortals who don't even understand the basic concept of magic, I think you'll move through the ranks quite easily." The Architect then pushed Dracon, shoving him closer to the image, which now appeared to shift in front of Dracon, like a waterfall. The desert planet on this watery door way changed, and he saw a massive sand stone wall standing out in the barren wasteland. "You may have to get used to the taste of blood, though." The Architect commented before kicking Dracon in the back, forcing him through the portal. Once Dracon went through, his old quarters vanished, leaving the Architect and the portal in the empty void once more.
"Maybe I should have warned him about demons as well... oh well." The Architect snapped, the portal vanishing. He walked over to the burning Omega symbol, sitting in front of it. "Those Dark spawn wouldn't dare mess with one of my minions, anyways, he'll be fine." He pulled out a cell phone, typing something. He then saw the image of what remained of William's body being operated on, and the mask of a fallen General being pulled from a rack. "This is going to be a rude awakening for the Empire." The Architect said, a inhumanly wide grin spreading across his face, showing razor sharp teeth. "The rise of General Jaeger is about to begin."