After a 22 hour flight, Patty was exhausted. Exhausted...and hammered.

She exited the airport and took a deep breath, her massive, anime style boobs bouncing as she did. “What the fuck, is it 300 degrees?” The intense heat nearly made her forget why she decided to embark on her journey to Australia, but it was a brief moment until her focus returned. She was there for one reason and one reason only. She was going to become apart of the Jace family one way or another.

After a stampede of kangaroos passed through the street leading from the airport into the city, the woman observed her surroundings. She didn’t tell Jace she was coming; she feared that her obsession with his family may not have been well received and he would file for a restraining order against her, so it’d be up to her to find out where exactly the Jace family lived.

Patty loudly screamed in the sea of people, “HEY! DOES ANYONE KNOW WHERE THE JACE FAMILY LIVES?”

An old, homeless man approached her, limping and breathing heavy. “Aye, you’re looking for the Jace family? Those Macedonian fucks?”

“Yes!” Patty squealed.

“That’s perfect. I have their exact address written down here in my pocket. I just need something from you first.”

“Oh, no…”



Patty exited the bushes 2 minutes later, and she was ready to start her journey to find this glorious family.

She’d definitely need a shower and some food so that she could make a great first impression, especially with Grandpa Jace, so she got herself a room at a local inn that was next to a restaurant named Hungry Jack’s. Patty had also decided that it was probably a good idea to wait until the next morning to arrive at the Jace family’s home, during one of Jace’s IBS movements and his weird groaning so that he’d be caught off guard.

“Ah yes,” Patty whispered to herself as she looked out her hotel room’s window. “It’ll be perfect.”

*jace wakes up*

"hmm today i think i will give jace diarrhea"

He dreamed, and the screams rushed to meet him. The cold Balkan air, thick with the coppery scent of blood and Armenian suffering… it sparked something within him that he hadn’t felt in decades, not since he was chased out of the homeland, great Macedonia. Those UN pigs. Forcing him out of the country he helped build – no, the country he built – over something as trivial as “serious violations of international humanitarian law”. Was it really a violation of humanitarian law if Armenians were subhuman at best? He thought not. And in this dream, this beautiful dream, it didn’t matter. He was back in the homeland. He was bathing in Armenian tears. He was finally, truly, hap–

“Awh, fuck, Grandpa, mate, you wanna tinnie?”

And just like that, he was awake. Back in the blistering heat of this shithole called a “country”, this glorified desert, with his idiot grandson-in-law asking if he wanted a “tinnie”. The fuck even was a tinnie? This place was a goddamn nightmare. They didn’t speak Macedonian, and they didn’t speak English. They spoke some kind of halfway language, some kind of made up gibberish that was harsh on the ears and sandpaper on his soul. Grandpa Jace was convinced – nay, he knew – that this was Hell. Melbourne, Australia? No. This was the Ninth Circle, and he… he was Dante.

“No, thank you, Darryl. You are good boy.”

Darryl would die first, when the time came.

“No worries mate. Hey, listen, Sister Jace and I were hoping to get a new car. There’s this fuckin mint one, state of the art, they call it the Holden Commodore. Mind if we borrow some cash to get us that bad boy?” asked the idiot.

“Fine,” said Grandpa, handing Darryl several wads of crisp, golden, one hundred dollar bills from beneath his pillow. He smiled to himself, knowing that this was Armenian blood money, and that if the Australian Taxation Office found out, they would have Darryl arrested and placed on Christmas Island, a government black site. That would be good. Yes… that would be very good indeed.

“You’re a good cunt, mate,” said Darryl, taking the cash with the enthusiasm of an idiot with a beer gut. “Fair dinkum, mate. Fair dinkum.”

Yes. Whatever that meant.

Darryl walked out of the room, leaving Grandpa Jace alone. Blissfully alone. He was awake now, and there was no point in going back to sleep. He had no hope of recapturing the magic of that wonderful dream. No, it was time to get up now. Time to do something. He might visit his son, Jerry, or his grandson, Jace Jace, the pride of the family. But no. Those were terrible ideas. Grandpa Jace knew what he was going to do.

He was going to find a beautiful woman… and he was going to respect the fuck out of her.

Ernuoblem, Ailartsua

"My dear Dark Patty, how I wish that we weren't meant to be. How I wish that you would be envenomed by The Brotherhood of Evil Kangaroos or fall into a wombat's web." As he sat atop his Kleenex throne, his nexus of power, he looked down upon his domain, his castle founded atop both the literal bones of his ancestors and fallen foes alike. Dark Jace had slain many foes but two eluded his grasp. First of all, was Dark Patty, the annoyingly attractive dame whose aloof nature ensured that his heart was always in tatters. One of the few things that made him shed some of the precious tears that his other enemy, Regular Jace, had shed before him.

He'd kill Regular Jace, that fucking asshole of an imposter, if it didn't mean that he'd never have the opportunity to harvest RJ's tears again. That would mean he'd never grow more powerful. And that was unacceptable. Once he'd thought that perhaps he could just keep Regular Jace in a dungeon. In fact, he had kept RJ in his dungeon once, torturing him day in and day out to harvest those tears. But it ultimately seemed to stimulate his pancreas more than it stimulated his tear glands. Upon realizing that Regular Jace could accidentally make his own life more insufferable than Dark Jace could ever achieve, he decided to set him free.

"Pathetic weakling. My bowels are the most tolerant of them all!"

But as of late, Dark Jace had noticed a disturbing pattern. The tears were both less abundant and less potent than they had been. Was Regular Jace's quality of life improving? Or was his health failing? Neither possibility would bode well for Dark Jace's power levels. Therefore, it would seem that Dark Jace would have to intervene in Regular Jace's life, to ensure that he could continue his ascension until one day he could commemorate his apotheosis by being inducted into The Brotherhood of Evil Kangaroos, as its' first non-marsupial member.

And so, transforming into a salt-rich mist, he floated through his castle halls before breezing before his enchanted mirror, the same glass that he had used to cross between worlds many times before.

"Mirror, mirror on the wall, show me the most basic bitch of them all."

And it did just so.

"Excellent." Dark Jace cooed. At that, he crossed over the dimensional boundary and dispersed into Regular Jace's bedroom before gradually condensating as a puddle on the floor, one that would gradually reassemble itself underneath RJ's bed.

It was another day in the literal flaming hell known as Aussieland when Marianne Marin woke up late for work. As usual, she had gone to bed only two hours before the time she was supposed to wake up to open the restaurant.
"Puta merda," she mumbled to herself with a groan before falling out of bed and crawling into the bathroom. After a few minutes she crawled her way into the kitchen and only stood up so she could make ten cups of coffee. One would think she was making two cups for each of her family members but she wasn't that selfless. No, she needed all the ten cups for her survival. Her mom had injected her with coffee through her uterus when Marianne was still a fetus, and so she developed an unnatural biological dependency to caffeine that could only be satisfied by the disgusting taste of black coffee.
She chugged the burning hot liquid and finally started getting ready to go to work.

Forty minutes later she arrived at the restaurant and started putting the chairs down, all the way mumbling curses in her native language. She could hear the airplanes arriving at the airport, and the noise would always worsen her headaches.

"Why the fuck did I agree to move here," she'd repeat to herself. "I was the top of my class and had a fucking job interview with one of my professors. Now I'm working at a fucking burger place for fucks sake."

Codename Odin woke up in the middle of some bushes off the side of the road just besides the airport. Cause of the rude awakening: someone was playing "hide the penis" in the bushes just to the right of him. Such rituals were unknown to the young Xorplak, who chose as the Dutch liked to say "eggs for his money," whatever the hell that meant.

Codename Odin was still wanted by the Xorplak government so he needed to fit in with the rest of the 'humans' near him. That's why he'd slept in the bushes, since that seemed to be an Australian pasttime. Before sleeping he had consumed copious amounts of alcohol, but alcohol did little to the Xorplakians and so it had no effect, it only made him seem more Australian.

He had heard great tales of a fellow superhero named Jace and Codename Odin had figured the best course of action would be to find this aspiring superhero and help him manifest his IBS powers. He left quickly, leaving the rustling bushes behind to find this legendary 'Jace'.

Cookie looked on with disgust as the Übermensch continued their strange, bastardly rituals they called a culture. They had come to leech off of the Australian people, who were also, as far as her research could tell her, poor, pale imitations of the proud British nation she had once been a part of. Every day she lamented she would never see the glorious isles, where the sun never set in the empire. The empire had fallen, probably brought down by the disgusting inferior peoples he was currently living with.

Cookie had once thought them, descendants of Alexander, true, pure, strong bloodlines. The people of Macedon. Oh, he should have known by their behavior that they were just bloodsuckers of the name and honor the name brought. Why he even saw the money they had stolen, probably from hard-working Aryan folk. Perhaps from the true Macedonian race. Watching them distribute the hard-earned cash from what probably were the blood, sweat, and tears of proud blue-eyed, blonde-haired Aryans, worked Cookie up into a national-socialist fervor.

"You sick, twisted, perversions of the human race. God, there is not one day I go without watching you debase every known principle of human decency."

Cookie took a pause before she cited Mein Kampf, by the intellectual known as Adolf Hitler, sullied by the liberal and globalist agenda perpetrated by the "Allies", who obviously did not see his genius intellect in the ways she could.

"The sacrifice of the individual existence is necessary in order to assure the conservation
of the race. Hence it is that the most essential condition for the establishment and
maintenance of a State is a certain feeling of solidarity, wounded in an identity of
character and race and in a resolute readiness to defend these at all costs. With people
who live on their own territory this will result in a development of the heroic virtues;
with a parasitic people it will develop the arts of subterfuge and gross perfidy unless
we admit that these characteristics are innate and that the varying political forms
through which the parasitic race expresses itself are only the outward manifestations of
innate characteristics. At least in the beginning, the formation of a State can result only
from a manifestation of the heroic qualities I have spoken of. And the people who fail in
the struggle for existence, that is to say those, who become vassals and are thereby
condemned to disappear entirely sooner or later, are those who do not display the
heroic virtues in the struggle, or those who fall victims to the perfidy of the parasites.
And even in this latter case the failure is not so much due to lack of intellectual powers,
but rather to a lack of courage and determination. An attempt is made to conceal the
real nature of this failing by saying that it is the humane feeling."

Cookie scoffed before continuing. "So what I am saying is that you should bend the knee, or kill yourselves. It is the only honorable way for you inferior, parasitic peoples to conduct what remains of your pathetic lives. IT IS THE ONLY WAY FOR THE MASTER RACE TO ESTABLISH THE ETHNO STATE THE WORLD DE-, NO NEEDS! I DEMAND YOUR LIFE, FOR THE GLORY OF THE HUMAN RACE!"

However, being a dog, her rant only came out in happy barks, and by the end, she was wagging her tail while looking at the Jace matriarch.

Julian "J" Jace

Melbourne, Australia

They say that the human body is mostly made of water. Dark Jace, a multiversal demigod empowered the excretion of Regular Jace’s tears, was no exception. Since he’d arrived in this hellish dystopia, referred to as “The Real World”, he couldn’t help but be thrown off by the absurdly large quantities of water, everywhere. Since he often traveled by transforming into a blot of tearful mist that soared on the winds, he had to dedicate his precious time to disentangling the putrid humidity from his pristine droplets.

Given that he had now been disentangling himself for what felt like four months, in spite of the fact it had definitely only been a matter of seconds, he felt so deeply unclean that he swore he could slaughter millions, bathe in their blood, and still feel violated by the end of it all.

Having been grooming himself under the cover of the underside of RJ’s bed frame, he braced himself. Finally feeling that he was presentable, or at least presentable enough to stand before such an inelegant bum as Regular Jace, he firmly grasped hold of Jace’s bedsheets and blankets and pulled hard. Like an amateur magician failing to rip a tablecloth from beneath a bottle of wine, he yanked Regular Jace out of bed, causing him to hit the ground so hard that he heard RJ’s bones break like a shot glass against concrete.

As his hips shattered, Regular Jace’s eyes opened with an emotionless understanding, the unfeeling considerations of one who has given up on life. While Regular Jace’s mouth was silent, his body language was more than sufficient. Dark Jace listened intently to what Jace’s body was telling him. Regular Jace’s intestines wriggled like fire hoses within him. They spoke of a desire so primal and familiar that Dark Jace intuitively understood.

“What’s the matter, Regular Jace? You look slightly more pathetic today than usual, which I would normally think of as a good thing but I noticed that you’re not crying as much as usual.”

Regular Jace nodded his head, spreading his lips as if to take a breath before losing interest, seeming to be overcome by the suffocating grip of depression. But RJ had something to say, even if it was something that his mouth couldn’t say. So his ass did.

“It’s my bowels,” his anus announced, modulating an Australian accent as closely as possible, with an uneven pace owed to the fact that the bottleneck for its speech was the amount of putrid air that sat within his intestines. The strain that opening up demanded was evident from the look on RJ’s face, as his eyes dilated, focusing to a finer point than a Ticonderoga pencil ever could. Every vein in his face bulged to the surface as his back end spoke the words that he could not find, “My bowels are unusually irritated lately. Furious. They will not be sated until they taste blood.”

“I see,” Dark Jace nodded, understanding. “You won’t be able to resume your usual whining until your bowels know what it’s like to have blood on their hands. I think I can help with that.” A smile crept over Dark Jace’s lips as he saw a familiar-looking kangaroo outside his window, “and I know just where to start.”