The war on Brabant took a turn for the worse. Brabant became assimilated into the newly formed nation of the Netherlands, which brought their large country against the Liege-Trier troops. At first Fukda became exuberant at the prospect of more children to kill, but then he became even more exhilarated when it became apparent that the French would be joining in the war on their side. Brabant had been a tough nut to crack, but now the cracks where coming thick and fast.

Riding beside Charles of France, Fukda rode to war.

Aachen would be their target. The capital of the great Frankish empire, the very seat of Charlemagne's throne, would become the footstall of an even greater leader from Liege-Trier. With the French they attacked, Fukda always being the first at every engagement, the bloodlust overcoming him. One by one the Walloons fell, with the Dutch reinforcements having to quell protesters against the merger.

Fukda laughed. This is almost too easy he though in jubilation. However, those words would come back to haunt him. Just then an arrow flew across the streets of Aachen, whistling through the ranks to perfectly smack Fukda in the knee. As he howled out in pain, collapsing to the floor as death overcame in, he cursed the fact the he should die when so many children still populated Aachen. And so it was with regret that the cold took over Fukda's body.

Aachen was won. It was decided that the French would occupy the city until a definitive peace treaty could be decided, but Sendovda smiled his beautiful, lopsided smile. His daddy would be ever so proud with the killings that he had been doing! He wondered around the streets like a lost, new-born puppy searching for a lonely teat, but wherever he looked his father was nowhere to be seen. He still smiled though. Some say he didn't know how to stop smiling. Probably because the poor fucker's retarded or something.

Sendovda was approached by two bearded men then, with a mix of emotions on their face. They looked at each other, unsure as to how to break it to the child. Sendovda followed Fukda around everywhere, he was dependant on him. Could he honestly live without him?

One of the men coughed and stepped slightly forward, whispering into Sendovda's wax-coated ear before beckoning him through some alleyways. They walked towards the streets of the Eastern gate, where the major fighting had occurred, and there, lying majestically on top of the fallen still holding a sword in one hand and his penis in the other, was the deceased corpse of Fukda.

"Daddy!" Screamed Sendovda in delight, despite being in his 20s. He rushed over to the corpse, falling over on top of him and hugging him close. The two soldiers did not know what to do. Could they truly tell him the truth?

"Look, he's pretending to be like all the sleeping men! He is so much funny!"

"Um, certainly, your highness. He was - is, I mean - a truly efficient man"

"Yeah. What a guy, what a glorious bastard"

"I will sleep like he does, I always sleep with daddy."

The soldiers decided as one what the best course of action was. In unison they left the new king of Liege-Trier alone with the old one, refusing to believe (or perhaps, to young to understand) what had truly happened to his father. All night Sendovda slept there, still with his big grin on his face. Nothing would ever ruin him. This was his life. Him, his father, no-one else.

Like this he was content. He wished for nothing more.