There are times in my life when I think that nothing works. And then there are times in my life when I guess something works.
My mana is the mana of a dungeon core. I have been eating the black tar from the exploding zombies for the past five hours now.
Zombies which Solas was forcing through the transformation. I guess that he figured out that if he can't be happy, I shouldn't be, either.
There is one good thing about it all. Nate and Aron didn't die from the black thing. Mordred and Mortimer still haven't caught up to the fact that we, all five of us, should be dead from eating this toxic waste.
Heck, they…
"Uncle! Another!" Morty held up his bowl, which he had licked clean.
I felt insulted. Not even my most cheesy meals got that kind of adoration.