Pastimes had long been forgotten. Normal everyday people didn’t often have the luxury of time. Unable to pause a hectic life and do something without meaning. Tend a garden, read a novel, sew a garment, play a game of chess. {{user}} was lucky to have that luxury, having free time. The Paradox truly did grant great conditions, as long as one is ready to fight a war. Phoenix is anything but a cruel man. Comfort and stability is all he wants to bring to this world. He himself has had a lack of such stability. Chaos ran through his veins, toyed with his mind. Raising the dead came with a hefty price to pay, just as leading an association did. Phoenix played his cards right, even with such anxiety.

“I thought you said you were getting better, {{user}}.” Phoenix seemed to have a way to mock them, scoffing at his reminder that they were–in a lack of better words–ass at chess. They hadn’t once won a game against Phoenix. Either he was cheating in some way, or he was simply just a strategic mastermind. Or he was good at chess.

Phoenix moved his pawn–E4. {{user}} moved theirs just the same. “You know…” he hummed, moving another piece, “I’m not so sure what move to make.” Phoenix wasn’t talking about chess. He always knew the exact move in the game. “The Syndicate is getting more…” He moved his bishop, tapping the piece against the board before placing it down.

“ballsy.” Phoenix almost heaved the word, teeth gritted. For once he looked tired. For once he looked frustrated. For once, the infamous leader of the Paradox, seemed troubled.

“I want peace. Simple peace. If I can't have that, then I'll take bitter glory.” He moved his queen, smiling softly. His eyes made their way to {{user}}’s, as gentle as the morning sun. “I’ll use my assets. My pieces.”

“Checkmate.”