Chapter 67: DD3 Chapter 013 – Miscalculations

The first strike Arilla checked with her zweihander had enough momentum left over to rip the sword from her hands and send her crashing down to her knees. The second knocked her flat onto her back, and if she’d been a hairsbreadth slower in rolling away, then she’d never have stood up again. 

It didn’t get much better after that. 

When a perfectly executed block sent her soaring through the cavern until she clipped the ceiling and crashed painfully back down to the ground, Arilla had to acknowledge that she may have made a mistake.

The tainted spawn was utterly beyond her—beyond Caeber too. It was faster, stronger, and far more resilient than either of them at their best, and after fighting it for several long minutes, neither of them were even close to that. The creature had no obvious weaknesses to exploit, except for perhaps a lack of martial skill, which it more than made up for with viciousness and sheer, unmitigated power.

Arilla had ‘fought’ Alchemic Knights before—prior to any horrific centipede monster transformations—and she’d traded a few blows whilst mostly sheltering in Typh’s large shadow. Now she was learning quite how inferior a peak-iron warrior was in comparison to a similarly levelled dragon.

Caeber was brilliant. Every one of his moves was flawlessly timed, and the man smoothly pivoted from attacking to defending in a constant fluid dance that made a mockery of his heavy armour. Unfortunately, none of that mattered. Maybe if it was just an Alchemic Knight his superlative skill might have counted for something, but in this battle it was wasted. His skill-enhanced strikes landed more often than not, but they barely even scratched the surface of the spawn’s grey-black carapace. His blocks and parries bled off massive amounts of force, but what remained was more than enough to send him reeling backwards, while pieces of his thick plate armour were sheared off in a hail of metal and blood.

Whenever Arilla stepped in to deflect a blow or to distract the beast so that the other warrior could strike, it took everything she had to mitigate a glancing impact down to something she could survive. The sheer size of the gargantuan creature made every one of its attacks comparable to being hit by a battering ram—if said battering ram was a sharpened wedge of chitin some twenty feet long and wielded by a steel-rank eldritch abomination. It sounded hyperbolic, but it wasn’t. The long centipede monster had plenty of legs to choose from and rarely attacked with just one. It was fast enough to hit far more frequently than it did and Arilla didn’t know whether to credit its unfamiliarity with its new natural weapons, their own defensive skills, or plain old cruelty for keeping them in the fight for as long as they’d managed.

Time blurred and she lost herself to the frantic combination of dodges and parries that kept her breathing. Her bones creaked, her skin broke, while shattered pieces of her armour hung from her body, only held together through stubbornness and spite. Arilla’s sword was the only piece of her gear that looked relatively intact, but she didn’t need to run a finger down the edge of the runic blade to know that the seemingly invulnerable piece of adamant infused steel was blunt and notched from her brief exchanges with the steel-ranked monster. 

The crowd of lesser spawn—those with goblin bodies half-fused into their larger crablike forms—for the most part stood back and watched. There seemed to be a nascent hierarchy forming within the ranks of tainted creatures, which left them content to let the larger predator have first dibs on the still-breathing meat.

Whenever Arilla was flung too far back—if she was fortunate enough to avoid hitting the floor or ceiling—she would bounce off one of the waiting monsters who had formed a makeshift ring around the spot where the triple-digit horror had chosen to face them. Then she would fight in earnest, and it was rewarding in a sense. But no matter how many of the opportunistic lesser spawn she killed, eventually she had to go back and confront the steel-rank threat—Caeber needed her, even if it was just to guilt him into living for the next few seconds.

Spitting blood and orange phlegm, Arilla scrambled to her feet. The warrior ignored the alchemical burn in her lungs and the tingling warmth on her skin while her eyes took in the scene around her. Bladed legs rushed down from above to end her, but compared to the beast that had sent her flying, the wood-ranked spawn moved like it was crawling through molasses. Tired and aching, she stepped towards the monster and into the strike. It was much taller than her so there was plenty of space beneath its crab-like limbs where she momentarily sheltered.

The muted sound of Caeber taking yet another hit reached her ears through the swirling fog, and she resolved to get back to the real fight as quickly as possible.

Two massive lengths of razor-sharp chitin slammed into the ground behind her, while she leapt up into the air with her swordpoint raised high. With a crunch followed swiftly by a sickening squelch, super-dense steel slid between the segmented plates that protected the tainted spawn’s relatively vulnerable underbelly. The six-foot-long blade continued to penetrate deep into the creature's flesh, not stopping until the wide crossguard hit the wound and thick ichor began to well up and flow down around the leather-wrapped hilt.

Understandably, the tainted spawn skittered about on the spot, shrieking loudly as it tried to shake her loose. Arilla hung suspended off the ground, dangling underneath the large creature by her firm grip on her zweihander’s handle. If her weapon had penetrated all the way through the monster's body, she wouldn’t have been surprised, but she was at the wrong angle to see for herself and ultimately, she didn’t really care. Instead of dislodging her, the tainted spawn’s struggles only managed to add nausea to Arilla’s growing list of complaints. It also attracted the attention of its contemporaries who, sensing its weakness and the potential of a fresh meal, added their own powerful attacks to Arilla’s. 

Thundering strikes reverberated across the spawn’s hard carapace. Rivulets of ichor splashed against the cavern floor while the monster recoiled and shrieked, echoing the vicious cries of its hungry kin. With her shoulders protesting, Arilla rotated her body against the anchor of her stuck sword until she was hanging upside down. She planted her feet against the underside of the thrashing monster and activated [Slayer’s Strike]. With the thinnest trickle of stamina fuelling her skill, her strength surged and her muscles bulged. She roared and the oversized blade messily ripped its way out from the spawn’s body, splattering the other monsters nearby and carving a deep furrow out of the briefly impaled creature’s carapace.

It promptly collapsed, falling to the floor like a puppet with cut strings while those nearby continued to rain down blows on its helpless form. Arilla was already on the move, having fled before it hit the ground. She was halfway towards the larger, higher levelled monster when she got the kill notification. Praying to the Gods for guidance and luck, she dismissed the notification and steeled herself for what was to come. 

She arrived in time to witness Caeber land a strike against what passed for the monster's face—not that it noticed. Instead, it surged forwards, headbutting the Shining Knight who stayed on his feet even if they skidded some thirty feet back over broken stone. Its mouth opened to bellow a roar, and Caeber’s longsword stabbed forwards. His blade extended into a beam of brilliant silver that speared into its open mouth. The limp knight inside was struck true, the strike penetrating its armour with an audible crack and for the first time, the beast recoiled.

Was that pain?

Either way, it recovered swiftly. The tainted spawn raced to close the gap on a multitude of bladed legs and tentacles. Its maw opened again, and this time it completed its challenge. A ghostly green wave of falling insectoid legs rippled forwards in advance of its ground-shaking charge. Each one hammered the rock floor in front of it in turn, pounding the stone into a cloud of dust and splinters that formed a literal avalanche of shrapnel to accompany its skill-enhanced attack. Rather than face it head-on, Caeber burst into argent light and shot to the side of the beast where he reappeared, breathing heavily and already swinging his sword.

The steel-ranked horror ploughed into the lesser spawn, its wave of hammering green turning several into mincemeat before it could stop while Caeber landed several more strikes against what passed for its head and neck.

Arilla, not wanting to be outdone, swung her sword like a butcher’s axe into its trailing mass of tentacles. They lashed against her armoured form. The fractured metal creaked against the strain while her failing runeplate drew further on her waning mana reserves. Each mismatched eye studding its rubbery flesh fixed her with a hungry stare while she hacked her way through the mass of thin whiplike fronds. They were strong, constantly buffeting her back, but lacking a sharp edge or a solid enough bulk she was willing to endure their assault. Resolutely, she hewed her way through the mass of writhing flesh. Ichor spurted against her, misting the air and washing away the blister fog while the taste of its foulness filled her mouth and clouded her eyes. 

At some point, she must have done enough damage to warrant a response as the snaking wall of flesh moved into her. She was forced back, tumbling head over heels like she had done so, so many times before. Except this time when she stood to hurl herself at it again, a solitary rock fell from the ceiling. 

It was no larger than a human fist and by itself it meant nothing, but when another significantly larger block of stone followed, and the walls began to rumble—not just from the spawn’s passing—it quickly became apparent what was going on. 

Their hour was up. The army was collapsing the tunnels.

Arilla’s eyes scanned the walls of murky yellow, trying to remember where the exit was, but it was no use. In all the fighting she’d completely lost track of where the tunnels leading to the surface were.

“Caeber!?” she called out, too tired to keep the notes of desperation from her voice. 

“I see it. Are you ready to run?” he asked, before throwing himself to the side in a flash of silver.

“I thought it was too fast.” 

“It is. Are you ready?”

“Fuck. Yes. Which way?!” 

“On me!”

She didn’t ask how he knew the way out, largely because she was too scared that he simply didn’t. Instead, Arilla kept her mouth firmly shut and just followed, barely keeping up with him even though Caeber had developed a pronounced limp at some point during the fight. The tainted spawn didn’t react well to them trying to leave and chased after them with a deafening roar. On countless skittering legs and slithering tentacles the monster pursued, its lesser cousins following in its wake.

The Shining Knight ran into the yellow gloom, the silver flames that had once danced over his armour now smouldered weakly, but they were enough for Arilla to keep track of him while rocks continued to fall from the ceiling in ever-increasing numbers and size. Smaller stones glanced off of her remaining armour and skill-enhanced skin while the larger ones sent her stumbling or forced her to desperately dive out of the way. 

The noise grew louder, and she ran as hard as she could on faltering limbs, praying that she would make it out before the cavern collapsed on top of her. Caeber, like her, seemed to be having increasing trouble just putting one foot in front of the other. They were both exhausted and battered beyond the point of breaking. Their inhuman resilience was a testament more to their classes and their dwindling resource pools than any personal strength.

The larger spawn gained ground on them quickly. In truth, it had never been that far behind. The ever-louder sound of its roars and the encroaching staccato-like clack of its bladed legs tearing into the hard ground spurred them on. And if that wasn’t motivation enough to push through the pain, then the periodic waves of cascading green energy that emerged from its mouth certainly were. Whenever an avalanche of shrapnel and force was about to consume them, Caeber used his skill and dragged them both further away in a blast of argent light.  

Each use left him reeling, just a little paler, a little slower than before, and soon Arilla was shouldering his weight as well as hers. She raced onwards through the yellow umbra, while a monster larger than she cared to admit remained hot on her heels.

Their only saving grace was now that the ceiling was collapsing all around them, its colossal bulk seemed to be working against it. Where before it had brushed against the roof in its hurry to move around, now those same motions dislodged loose stone and it had to literally force its way through the collapsing rock.

The tainted spawn roared in frustration, the loud wail sounding almost human as it reverberated off of all that falling stone.

Together, they made it to the edge of the collapsing cavern and Caeber was able to point her towards the tunnel leading out. Concerningly, the tainted spawn remained right behind them. It lunged forwards, serrated fangs snapping in anticipation as it suddenly closed the distance between them. Again the shining knight burst apart in a flash of brilliant silver light, and Arilla found herself being dragged along a dozen feet up the neck of the tunnel which was far less stable than the cavern they’d just escaped.

She had questions, but no time to ask them. While the beast’s head slammed into the wall of the cavern prompting more stone to fall, she sucked down a painful breath and lurched forwards. She half-ran, half-carried Caeber up the slope. The shining knight limped alongside her as best he could while the monster coiled up and turned, already racing to reclaim its lost ground.

Its bulk more than filled the neck of the tunnel. Loose dirt and stone constantly fell with its passage, narrowing the traversable space. Arilla made the best time that she could, but their injuries and fatigue made it a thoroughly painful experience. Whenever the tainted spawn got close enough to strike at them, Caeber transmuted into bright light and dragged them both out of harm's way. Arilla could tell from his shortness of breath that he had overdrawn on his mana and was using it as fast as it regenerated.

How Caeber was still standing was a mystery, but the fact that he’d occupied the creature's time for so long was a testament to his expertise. The man had gained his legend duelling giants in his youth, but this was a far more formidable feat.

She pushed against the yielding earth, felt the fire of alchemy in her lungs and the familiar burn of acid in her veins. Arilla could scarcely breathe, yet she had to run. She ignored the piece of her that wanted to stand and fight—a futile gesture that would buy Caeber all of half a second before she died. She railed against that instinct to pursue a warrior’s death and accepted that if she failed in her escape that she at least would have tried to live.

Onwards they raced, taking the sloping tunnel to the surface and pushing through the rocks that got in their way. It was not the same route she had taken down. Too many tunnels had already collapsed for that, but it was a warren down below and whenever there was an intersection she took whatever led up, unknowing and uncaring about where it led. 

She felt the monster's rancid breath against the back of her neck, felt the tremor of its claws tearing through the ground where she had just stood, but she never looked back. Like a spell she didn’t want to break, she kept running, kept lugging the barely conscious weight that was the Shining Knight, always anticipating another forward lurch when the man was cognizant enough to push mana through his life-saving skill.

When she reached the surface she kept on running until strong arms caught her and held her down. At which point she loudly freaked out, screaming and swearing, anticipating that the tainted spawn would emerge a second later to kill them all.

When it didn’t follow, she collapsed, and eventually allowed her soldiers to take her to a healer’s tent.

Hot tea, five minutes of screaming into her pillow, and a lot of healing mana poured into her aching body dealt with the worst of it. Caeber was less lucky and was going to be in and out of healers' tents and dealing with mana burn and internal injuries for at least a week. 

Still, they were alive, which was a small miracle in and of itself.

Of course, she couldn’t rest. She hadn’t received a kill notification.

Arilla wanted to be optimistic, to hope that her attacks had been so ineffective that she simply hadn’t been credited with the kill, but when she had the healers force Caeber back to consciousness for a few brief seconds, he too claimed not to have received one. 

Which meant that it was still alive beneath Helion. 

Which was a significant problem.

Almost as significant as the fact that the Queen had clearly made it. While it was a good sign that the alchemical reagents needed to maintain her knights were scarce enough that she was willing to sacrifice one in what looked like a weapons test, it was much worse news that the weapon seemed far more dangerous than a lone alchemic knight. 

The siege had always been precarious in the fact that the alchemic knights could always have broken out, but their limited numbers and human statures made it possible for them to be overwhelmed. Arilla could not say the same if they were all turned into tainted spawn. If four or five of those monsters with comparable power crested over the walls and began to lay into the defenders, the siege would be irrevocably broken.

Arilla had a lot of ideas why the Queen might not have done it yet, but that was cold comfort considering the possibility remained. Fortunately, she was the proactive sort.

***

An hour later, she rode out on Moody’s back. Her horse’s demeanour was still as grim as her namesake despite an afternoon eating oats and being brushed by a particularly enthusiastic stablehand. The soft sound of hoofbeats travelling over upturned dirt was echoed by the steady rise and fall of ratling boots belonging to the squad of twenty who trailed behind her. To Arilla’s left was Veljo, who had been suitably bribed for this extra duty with his customary offer of an additional gold talent and to her right was Corianus of house Mantacuzene. 

Neither Corianus nor Veljo looked like they particularly wanted to be accompanying Arilla—Veljo looked absolutely sullen riding a loaned horse out into the middle of no-man's-land, whereas Corianus rode his mare with all the poise and dignity befitting a true-born member of Terythia’s northern nobility—which honestly wasn’t very much considering how mountainous the north was.

With the white flag borne aloft by Veljo’s reluctant hands, they walked their horses away from the relative safety of their earthen fortifications and stopped short a good hundred or so feet away from the inner walls that separated the rest of Helion from the palatial compound beyond. If Arilla wasn’t so incomprehensibly tired, she was sure that she’d feel some degree of anxiety over this. They were well within bow range of all but the most inadequate of classers and if the Queen decided to forgo tradition and just kill her, there was very little she could do about it.

But they were at war and there were rules. 

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The Queen may have bent those with her use of alchemical weapons and now tainted monsters, but she had yet to break them outright. Arilla was betting her life that that wasn’t about to change. It was stupid to make the bet at all, but it felt like a lesser gamble compared to what she’d already risked today.

No one challenged them while they waited, but with her skill-enhanced eyesight she caught numerous worried faces peering down at her from the battlements above. It took a surprisingly large amount of willpower not to smile and wave back at them. She had no idea what they said about her on the other side of the fortifications, but if it was anything like the rumours repeated on her side of the walls, then Arilla was a very frightening person indeed. 

The Dragonrider, the Dragon’s Consort, the Monster’s Bride, the Kingslayer, that bitch with the red hair. How she loved to collect titles. Depending on who you asked, Arilla was guilty of everything from eating babies at dawn, to the original sin which spawned the first monster—a little bit of church doctrine which she now found to be especially bigoted. 

Admittedly, if she had wanted to dispel any of the more unpalatable rumours associated with her, then she should have probably changed into some fresher armour. The thick runeplate she had started the day in was a cracked and fractured ruin. A mixture of ichor, dust, and the dried residue of blister fog—to say nothing of her own blood—had formed a hard paste which more or less held the fragments of her armour together. The once vivid, red enamel that decorated her runeplate was now a significantly duller shade where it wasn’t coated black entirely. The dried paste, which varied in colour slightly with its composition, bled out from the expansive cracks, trickling down the metallic plates where it then dried in unflattering black-grey drips. 

She didn’t need to look in a mirror to know that she looked worse. From how quickly she’d turned the basin of water she’d washed in brown, and how no one—not even the ratlings—could look her in the eyes without flinching, it was a safe assumption that she was quite a sight.

Eventually, the inner wall’s gate opened as Arilla knew it always would. A procession of warriors—high-pewter one and all—marched out in polished armour, matching her ratlings man to… ratman and level to level. To contrast with Veljo and Corianus, on the Queen’s palanquin she was accompanied by a stoic Alchemic Knight and the same mage that Arilla had seen her with the first time they had met.

She wasn’t sure precisely what she had been expecting. The siege had been unrelenting. A gruelling act of mass cruelty imposed on the Queen’s defenders by the forces loyal to Arilla and Typh. She knew that they weren’t starving or about to die from thirst, but rations had to be both limited and bland, to say nothing of the stress of living under constant bombardment for well over 100 days.

What Arilla hadn’t expected was for the Queen to look so damned good.

Queen Constancia looked like a Queen should. Regal, elegant, wise, and beautiful. It took Arilla all of five seconds to realise that she was being influenced by something insidious. Fortunately, her hour’s reprieve had given her enough of a rest that [Slayer’s Resilience] had more than enough stamina to draw upon to help her shrug off its effects. With her mind suddenly clear from any unwanted influences, she still couldn’t deny that the woman was undoubtedly attractive. More importantly, the Queen looked well-fed, well-groomed, and to be in good spirits. If Arilla didn’t know any better, then from just looking at her, she’d assume that the woman was ready to host a ball, not engage in diplomacy. The only concession that she was in an actual war, was the thin sword belted at her generous hips and the blatantly ceremonial helmet that had the Terythian crown set across its brow.

“Queen Constancia,” Arilla began.

“Lord Arilla Foundling. You should know that the proper way to address me is ‘Your Grace,’ unless you’re proclaiming yourself a pretender to the throne. In which case, your propaganda is sorely lacking as I’ve heard no such claims trickle through from your camp.”

“And I’ve made none. I have no desire to sit on your throne, Your Grace.”

“Good. You’ll find that it won’t tolerate the likes of you. Now may I ask my cousin a few questions before we begin?”

“So long as you stick to questions regarding the hostages’ wellbeing, yes. If you stray into tactical matters or details of the city I’ll have to cut you off,” Arilla agreed. 

“That is acceptable,” the Queen answered.

Arilla beckoned the noble she’d brought with her to move closer to the Queen’s entourage, while the high-pewter soldiers who made up the bulk of it seemed to relax slightly after the first almost amicable exchange.

“Cousin, I trust you are well,” Queen Constancia asked.

“Y-yes, Your Grace,” Corianus replied.

“And you’ve experienced no torture, mistreatment, or undue distress since your captivity?”

“N-no, Your Grace. They’re treating us well.”

“Is there anything else that you feel that I should know?”

“N-no, Your Grace. Nothing at all.”

The Queen narrowed her eyes for a moment. Perhaps she was displeased by Corainus’s taciturn answers or maybe she was hitting him with a subtle skill. Either way, it didn’t really matter. After a long pause, Constancia’s eyes softened and she adjusted herself in the cushioned seat of her chair.

“You may go, cousin. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon,” the Queen said, dismissing the man with a wave of her gloved hand.

“Of course, Your Grace.” Corianus bowed as deeply as he could whilst remaining in the saddle before pulling on his horse’s reins to fall in beside Arilla.

“Satisfied?” the warrior asked.

“Quite. I’d ask to have him checked by a mind mage, but I assume you won’t consent to have one of those in your presence,” Queen Constancia replied.

“You assume correctly. Now can we get on with this?”

“Fine. Now, what is this about? I had assumed I would be talking with the dragon. I did not know you had the authority to negotiate on its behalf.”

“Her behalf. And I do, at least in matters like this. The creatures in the tunnels—the tainted spawn. I take it you authorised that,” Arilla asked, and if she had any lingering doubts, then the Queen’s broad smile dispelled them.

“I did. What did you think? Were they suitably terrifying? I am not particularly keen on the tag myself, but my alchemists assure me there’s nothing they can do on that front,” the Queen grinned.

“You’re not going to make any more of them.”

“I’m not? Why would I do what you say and turn away a perfectly good weapon? From where I’m sitting you hold the monstrous advantage, all I’m doing is evening it up,” she said, gesturing to the ratlings behind Arilla. “While I’m reluctant to sacrifice a knight or three, I can’t deny that the resulting beast is worth the trade, especially when your siege is making it so troublesome to maintain the ones I already have.”

“Because if you do it again we’re going to have to kill you,” Arilla warned.

“Making threats is how an amateur conducts diplomacy, Lord Foundling,” the Queen scoffed. “If you’ve got nothing to offer me in exchange for my restraint, then you’ll be sorely disappointed with the result.”

“It’s not a threat, it’s a promise. You’re still alive right now because Typh hasn’t given up hope that we can use you as a hostage to placate the north. The palace is a symbol, a powerful one that every Teythian recognises. It’s bad form to kill the sitting monarch unless you want a popular uprising.”

“Which is why my position is secure. Now, how about we go back to our respective sides of the wall. We can try this again when you’ve learnt the appropriate etiquette or my reinforcements arrive and put a stop to your little bout of treason.”

“I’m not fucking finished,” the Noble Slayer growled, as a wave of anger rushed through her. Seeing the Queen startle, Arilla pushed her class’s violent impulses back down and took a slow calming breath. “As I was saying. You’re still alive because you have value to us. Typh intends to rule Terythia—to save it from the end of everything. That will be considerably easier with you in our pocket. However, the risk you pose is starting to outweigh the potential gains of your enforced cooperation. 

“Use all the alchemical weapons you want to try and stop us, but if you continue to experiment with whatever you’re using to manufacture tainted creatures, I’ll have to put a stop to it. There won't be a grand fight or a valiant last stand. No knights will come to defend your virtue, no barbarians will batter down your doors. The next time I see a tainted creature, hear a report of a soldier gaining extra experience for their ‘service to the System’, or so much as smell a hint of ichor on the breeze, I’ll give the order to turn you and the rest of your compound to ash. Trust me on this My Liege, it will be considerably less bloody than trying to take you alive, and if you doubt my capabilities, ask your spies to enquire about what happened in Rhelea.

“You do not want to test me on this.”

When she was finished Arilla stared into the Queen’s eyes for a long time. Constancia’s emerald irises sparkled while the warrior took the other woman’s measure.

“I think we’re done here.” Arilla turned her horse around and led her entourage away from the Queen and her guard. When they were far enough away that she was confident they wouldn’t be overhead she beckoned for Veljo to approach. “How would you like to send a message for me?”

“I can do that, but Veljo doesn’t get out of bed these days for less than a gold talent,” the older man said somewhat testily.

“I highly doubt that,” Arilla said, fishing the requisite gold coin from her purse and tossing it to the ranger who then bit it out of habit. “Really?”

“It pays to be careful,” the ranger replied.

“It does at that.”

“Do you think she’ll listen?”

“Maybe she’ll surprise me,” Arilla sighed, not caring to elaborate. “But just to be safe you're going to send word to our alchemists to ramp up the blackpowder production. And then you’re going to visit the goblins.”

“Do I have to?” Veljo winced.

“Yes. You’re going to get an audience with the one they call ‘the Goblin,’ and you're going to tell him that he has my permission to construct a cannon. Tell them to work with ratling smiths, but I want to see a test firing by the end of the week.”

“I can do that.”

“Good, now go.”

Arilla hoped that she was wrong, that her precautions wouldn’t be necessary, but when she had looked into Queen Constancia’s eyes, she’d seen the familiar look of ambition. Worse, when the Queen had looked back at Arilla’s battered and bloody state, she hadn’t flinched.

One way or the other, Arilla knew this wasn’t going to end well.

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