You know what rustles my giblets more than first chapters? The first chapter of a sequel. These authors think one is braindead enough not to have a modicum of information retention of a book we most likely just binge read, because they spend the whole first chapter of book two re-introducing the same characters and settings we already know. Nobody starts the story in book two, right, J. K. Rowling? You frigid homophobe. You know you didn't have to introduce the Dursleys every single damn book, right? Fat, assholes, one has a bushy mustache, we get it. It's an insult to our intelligence.

If you think nothing good happens in chapter ones, then put your briefs in a box and toss it to the Atlantic ocean, because nothing happens in chapter ones on a sequel. Not "nothing good," but nothing at all. Is just a parade of old characters being mansplained to adoring masses on a setting we already know, just saying "Hey, we back, babes." And you, hypothetical reader, don't need to be subjected to such inane babbles. You're smarter than that. You don't need me to talk down to you as if you were a gerbil who lost a nut, said nut being in its mouth, right, Lemony Snicket? You convoluted buffoon who uses the first chapters of every one of his thirteen books to explain who is the eldest of the Baudelaire and who does what, as if we don't know one bite good, one reads well, and one is in for a world of hurt in a male dominated field who will objectify her and berate her for being a woman engineer. Jesus.

No, I refuse to embrace this culture of using the first chapter of a sequel to once again tell you about who I am, or the fact that I'm cut like a diamond made of razors, or that my butt can crack a walnut by the sheer force of my clench. You already know that, right, whoever wrote Twilight? Using the first chapter to make a virginal description of some shiny bloodsucker with the charisma of a wet sock, and just about as appealing.

The point is, you're smart, you have a good memory, you don't need to be handheld by a bunch of character exposition and dialogue that either makes you feel like an idiot, or implies that the character are idiots who only speak in incredibly obvious information that they should all know already but have to say out loud because you, the reader, are apparently a terrible victim of a head injury and forgot about everything.

In case you have been a victim of a head injury, then I'm very sorry, and hope you recover promptly. Also, go lay down and eat some watermelon.

But I'm digressing. I shall not subject you to this because I love you and respect your intelligence. Well, I do judge you for reading this instead of watching something good, like Breaking Bad. Now, that's a show that doesn't insult your intelligence. As such, I have decided to skip chapter one and all that nonsense, and go straight to chapter... three. Yeah, second chapters are also kind of bad since they introduce the secondary characters and do the whole shebang once again.

Sure, they usually introduce some important plot points that do go ahead and impart the whole thing, but if you have read this story before - which, if you're reading this chapter, you have done already - you know I don't give a flying, rolling, or motorized fuck about the plot. In fact, if going directly to chapter three bypasses all that whole "having a plot thing," then better for me! I don't plot. Plot will not help me with my ultimate dream of being a customer ser-hey! I almost felt for that one. Fucking plot man, how does it work?

So let's do this, shall we? No chapter one, nor chapter two, just chapter three all the way. It might be confusing since we just skipped two whole chapters of content, but you're a smart cookie. You can roll with it and get some context clues of what's happening, right? Right. Let's just start this awesome chapter three. This is for your well-being. Just don't get too confused if things don't inmediately make sense.

So, the castle is bathed in the crimson of the blood moon, only seen once every hundred years. The banners of knight's past litter the battlefield above rotting corpses and pearlescent bones, alongside whatever was left after looters and carrions feasted upon the dead.

Kingdoms have risen and died on the battlefield, and here is no exception. One look at the scorched earth before us shows a snapshot of the titans of history's past. Ragnar the Mighty, Cagliostro the Swift, Bombey the Perfectly Adequate, all rose to fame on this land, and lost it in one fell swoop of an enemy's sword. The soil beneath my feet feels alive with the blood of warriors and glory. On any other day, I would be awestruck by this awesome sight. No aw is given today.

On our side, Brayden, the Sorcerer Supreme - or so he calls himself because he has a "Supreme'' branded robe which gives him, and I quote, "drip points to his Disney channel flow" - is using his metal contraption of high-speed information incessantly. "yo, daddy got a bunny to save from a makeup factory or whatever. can we get a move on?"

My blade, Thothbane, is throbbing with anticipation. Speaking of throbbing...

"Don't expect this to be a fast affair, small one," says Hayden, the black white mage. Not that he used black magic, only that he didn't feel comfortable with people calling him a white wizard. "I'll take my sweet time in fisting this asshole to kingdom come. Why are you laughing?"

"Nothing," I say. I can't even make a joke here. It writes itself. As for the asshole, that would be Farfalla, the Necrodancer. Also known as the curly-headed douchebag at the other side of the Bloddy Battlefield of One Too Many D's.

"Well, hello, bunghole corsairs of Margallar!" yells Farfalla, her ebony locks flowing in the cold, bitter wind, but not as cold as the icy heart. Also, she's a dick. "I see you managed to fell my Atio warriors."

"We felled your Atios alright," says Hayden. "They came at us fast, but we finished them off in a few seconds. They didn't last long. Why are you laughing?"

"nothing, boo. you do you," says Brayden. "now, let's get this over with. come at me, sis!"

Farfalla gives us a shining smile, her teeth as white as the bones littering the battlefield. "Ah, I shall come, but not to fight you, but to your funeral! You fools are in my domain now. Witness the power of the necrodancer!"

Her dubstep wand woop-woops and *insert blender noises here*, making sound ripples that engulf the battlefield, and the bodies above it. The rustle of bones is deafening as corpse after corpse rises from their shallow grave, all the while horrible EDM emanates from Farfalla!

"Fell them into nothing, boyos!" she yells like a rum bootlegger from the '20s.

I guess we can't avoid it. I tried to be civil, Thor knows this. You would too if you were here for the first two chapters, but believe me, you don't want that. This is the best outcome. If bitch wants to fight, bitch will get a fight.

The skellyboyos slowly walk towards us while making the flossing dance things tweens randomly do just about anywhere. Time to get somewhat serious. It has been some time since my sword drank the blood of the enemy, and this kitten is very thirsty.

The blackstone blade of Thothbane glistens with the blood moon, quivering with anticipation. "Brayden, I'll carve you an opening. As soon as you see black curls, singe them with a fireball."

Brayden keeps checking his cellp-I mean, metal contraption of highspeed information, all the while blowing me a raspberry. "yeah, that's gonna be a no for me, dawg. i don't fuck with fire no more. fire spells are soo second age. i only use green earth magic now."

"Didn't you burn down that puppy-skinning village like, two quests ago?" asked Hayden.

"that bitch is my past me. don't bring those vibes now."

"Can we talk about that later?" I say as the flossing skeletons - which is a cursed phrased all on itself - are looming towards us. "Brayden, just shoot her a leaf or whatever new age bullshit you're on."

"rude," he says, preparing something that looks quite like a fireball, only green and smells like patchouli.

"Hayden, stay back and keep me alive," I say. "Imma go smash some boners. Jesus, now I'm doing it."

And that's the extent of that conversation. The skellyboyos are about to pounce on us, no way out. Time to bring the big guns.

"Thotbane!" I say, raising the sword of fuckboys past. "I call onto thee to give me strength to kill this bitch!"

A thunderbolt - or a lightning bolt, dunno which is which, they all make zappies the same - strikes the blade, making it buzz with the power of a thousand deadbeat fathers. The air itself seems to burst with the power of abandonment and disappointment, making the corpses cower in shame for not deleting their browser history. Also because they were flossing, and you should feel ashamed for that.

"For the people of Margallar, and the mines of Hullubaloo, I, Ayden, paladin of dubious morality, shall bring you down and... and... do I really have to say it?"

The clouds part way for a voice of thunder or lighting or whatever the fuck it's supposed to be giving me a heavenly command. The command is in haiku.

"You shall do it so,

For it brings you strength and might,

Also, it's my story, dick."

"Fine... shall bring you down and rescue Princess Footalia, for her feet are the only thing that keeps the kingdoms united. Jesus Christ on a cracker."

That little chant summons a new bla bla you know the drill, blowing away the skeletons, even stopping the EDM, thank gods. A vortex of energy surrounds us, almost beckoning us to go forward. Nevertheless, the path is open.

"Brayden, now!"

"Jeez, chill bro, have a snicker," says Brayden, but he shoots the hot potato in his hand at Farfalla at top speed.

And... he misses? By a lot?

"yo, wolfie, wtf the fuck? i had her dead to rights! i demand a redo!"

The voice in the sky speaks again, having none of his bullshit.

"You rolled a three, see?

That's almost a critical fail,

You missed, period."

"Dude, you even miss shots in a game. That's impressive," says Hayden.

"at least I don't miss my romantic shots. i don't even think ayden knows you li-"

"Yo!" a voice pierces the room, taking me and the rest out of our hut of imagination and into the sad room of Lacroix's disappointment. "Somebody said my name, brah?" The voice is incredibly nasal, super punchable, and the human equivalent of the Dinosaur movie Disney made back in the 2000s. And no, not "The Good Dinosaur," just "Dinosaur."

"no, aiden with an i," says Brayden, rolling his eyes so hard that they click, for some reason. "i said ayden with a y, as in, y are u so late? we started without you."

If Brayden is an unstoppable force, Aiden is just a big wall of rubber, bouncing everything back at him and making it go on its merry way. He is as empty as he is hot, and Jesus if he's not a stone-cold babe, but not in a threatening way, but in a very "come hitter and I'll like thy giblets" kind of approachable that you seldom find in wait a minute, I'm doing the first chapter thing. Shit. Forget what I just said. He's a butt, and that's about it.

"Well, if you ask the A-man to a party, you gotta expect him to come at the best moment, brah," he says with his punchable SoCal accent with his punchable kissable face. God, you can fry an egg on him. He's that hot. "Also, didn't know this was gonna be a sausage party. We're missing the three B's!"

"The what now?" I ask.

He leans on the table, putting a whole fucking beer keg on top of my damn character sheet. "Beer, booze, and babes!"

I think he expects us to say something, because all he does is stand there, being a snack, waiting, menacingly. It was Okayden who, seeing his hand-painted figurines broken on the ground, spoke up.

"It's a DnD party,

Not a dancing drinking party,

You basic bitch boy."

That earns him a smack on the back and an annoying laugh with only three syllables that, against my better judgment, I'll describe it as it is.

"Ah-ha-ha! You're funny, dog brah," says Aiden. "Well, good thing I brought all three. Get in, ladies!"

Oh shit. Here we go again. Can't I have one day of peace in this god-forsaken school?