Per my discussion with Shinny this battle is being closed-out in anticipation of our next terrible idea.
Divorarel
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(10 Episodes Later)
“It’s over Rodrigo, your armies have been routed—”
The favela was burning. Corpses of paradox cloned mercenaries and undead mutant cyborgs littered black charred stumps of what had once been homes for the city’s criminal underclass or worse, fallen drones and battered tanks, the remains of prehistoric monsters that had been modified beyond recognition with alien technology that’d dared to combat them. And above it all he loomed…
“—How many more people are willing to sacrifice?”
What had once the Technolich of Rio de Genero hovered over the scene with distended glass limbs. Only vaguely reminiscent of the man that it had once been with a great hollow cackle that ringed throughout its broad chest, glowing blue bones branching off likes the roots of a weed, clinging to the glass prison that now encased it and desperate to spread out into the wider world around them.
“In the name of Justice?” Rodrigo glared through the cracked visor of his power armor. “All of them!”
[Father Wolf is ready to deploy… are you sure about this captain?]
The sound of distant gunfire was constant as the Black Dogs continued to fight back against Hector’s newfound allies but they were losing ground, if things didn’t change they’d lose more than a fight, they were going to look weak in front of all the other Mega Corporations back in Neo Babylon and weak was the last thing you wanted to be in the middle of a shark tank like that—
“Deploy Father Wolf, now!”
A crackling red tear in time-and-space appeared just as it had many times before when depositing Black Dog mercenaries but unlike before this one was huge, and it was growing bigger, five black fingers tore their way out of a hole too small to fit them and gripped the side before they began pulling to the right and tearing the portal at its seams. Seconds later when it was enough to fit, a second hand appeared reaching out and scooping Rodrigo off the ground as the body of an impossibly tall humanoid machine stomped its way out into the burning favela one tremor at a time. At its peak, Father Wolf stood five-hundred feet tall with a jet-black finish, jagged edges, and a head vaguely reminiscent of a dogs complete with erect and upright wolf ears. Any of Hector’s undead mutants that tried to attack it in a fit preemptive of fright were promptly pulverized beneath their own weight with a simple gesture—
“Father Wolf, devour!”
And in front of the first black blossom of zero-point energy began to grow…
“You’re insane…”
In this fractured vision of Earth it would take the people Neo Babylon weeks to learn about the devastation that had taken place in Brazil…
“Not bad, Kru, but while you were playing with your zombies and your dinosaurs I managed to assemble all five pieces of the Machine God, Lombardi, and per the rules that means I automatically win—”
Beramode had been on the verge of losing. His life points were such that even the weakest monster in Kru’s deck could have taken him out in a single attack but just as stated the fifth piece of Lombardi had slid into his grasp, from whence it was hard to tell, but with its appearance the little shadowlings that had been his minions the entire time slowly began to congeal together until they loomed over the proceedings with a mighty glower. They had a cape made of light that billowed in the wind. Appeared to wear what were a pair of razor tipped triangular shades and had hair that was made of a wavering purple flame, Lombardi had arrived, its majesty enough to make the dying stare quake. Its power such that when it did choose to attack with a thrust of its hand a beam of energy it completely demolished the very last of the metaloid allies, his new friends now extinct, a fitting fate considering what their star would do this system within a few hours whilst Beramode turned not even giving them the benefit of watching their final moments.
“—Now then, if that’s all you have to say to me, I’ll be taking my leave.”
It Was a Good Duel
“It’s over Rodrigo, your armies have been routed—”
The favela was burning. Corpses of paradox cloned mercenaries and undead mutant cyborgs littered black charred stumps of what had once been homes for the city’s criminal underclass or worse, fallen drones and battered tanks, the remains of prehistoric monsters that had been modified beyond recognition with alien technology that’d dared to combat them. And above it all he loomed…
“—How many more people are willing to sacrifice?”
What had once the Technolich of Rio de Genero hovered over the scene with distended glass limbs. Only vaguely reminiscent of the man that it had once been with a great hollow cackle that ringed throughout its broad chest, glowing blue bones branching off likes the roots of a weed, clinging to the glass prison that now encased it and desperate to spread out into the wider world around them.
“In the name of Justice?” Rodrigo glared through the cracked visor of his power armor. “All of them!”
[Father Wolf is ready to deploy… are you sure about this captain?]
The sound of distant gunfire was constant as the Black Dogs continued to fight back against Hector’s newfound allies but they were losing ground, if things didn’t change they’d lose more than a fight, they were going to look weak in front of all the other Mega Corporations back in Neo Babylon and weak was the last thing you wanted to be in the middle of a shark tank like that—
“Deploy Father Wolf, now!”
A crackling red tear in time-and-space appeared just as it had many times before when depositing Black Dog mercenaries but unlike before this one was huge, and it was growing bigger, five black fingers tore their way out of a hole too small to fit them and gripped the side before they began pulling to the right and tearing the portal at its seams. Seconds later when it was enough to fit, a second hand appeared reaching out and scooping Rodrigo off the ground as the body of an impossibly tall humanoid machine stomped its way out into the burning favela one tremor at a time. At its peak, Father Wolf stood five-hundred feet tall with a jet-black finish, jagged edges, and a head vaguely reminiscent of a dogs complete with erect and upright wolf ears. Any of Hector’s undead mutants that tried to attack it in a fit preemptive of fright were promptly pulverized beneath their own weight with a simple gesture—
“Father Wolf, devour!”
And in front of the first black blossom of zero-point energy began to grow…
“You’re insane…”
In this fractured vision of Earth it would take the people Neo Babylon weeks to learn about the devastation that had taken place in Brazil…
But It’s Time to Close the Curtain
“Not bad, Kru, but while you were playing with your zombies and your dinosaurs I managed to assemble all five pieces of the Machine God, Lombardi, and per the rules that means I automatically win—”
Beramode had been on the verge of losing. His life points were such that even the weakest monster in Kru’s deck could have taken him out in a single attack but just as stated the fifth piece of Lombardi had slid into his grasp, from whence it was hard to tell, but with its appearance the little shadowlings that had been his minions the entire time slowly began to congeal together until they loomed over the proceedings with a mighty glower. They had a cape made of light that billowed in the wind. Appeared to wear what were a pair of razor tipped triangular shades and had hair that was made of a wavering purple flame, Lombardi had arrived, its majesty enough to make the dying stare quake. Its power such that when it did choose to attack with a thrust of its hand a beam of energy it completely demolished the very last of the metaloid allies, his new friends now extinct, a fitting fate considering what their star would do this system within a few hours whilst Beramode turned not even giving them the benefit of watching their final moments.
“—Now then, if that’s all you have to say to me, I’ll be taking my leave.”
No Complaining Now
Once upon a time, the Gods of Asmeraka were at war.
For ten thousand years they used the mortal races as pawns in their games.
Until one day the King of Man forced peace upon them.
To celebrate this newfound peace the gods agreed to abandon their hatred.
Together they fed all of their hate and all of their sorrow to a lone beast.
Until it transformed into a mighty dragon.
And they named this malignant serpent Unaru no Hebi
***
For ten thousand years they used the mortal races as pawns in their games.
Until one day the King of Man forced peace upon them.
To celebrate this newfound peace the gods agreed to abandon their hatred.
Together they fed all of their hate and all of their sorrow to a lone beast.
Until it transformed into a mighty dragon.
And they named this malignant serpent Unaru no Hebi
***
William W Wonka had been terrorizing the good and fair people of Candy Land for some time now. His factory loomed over the land puffing clouds of noxious pink cotton candy into the blue sky, poured rivers of high-fructose corn syrup into their water supply, and poisoned the once fertile earth. Their children were forced to labor until their skin turned orange in hostile conditions like hostages in order to keep the population docile and their ruler, the once fair Princess Frosting, imprisoned inside of her own castle while the people cried out for justice.
And today justice had come…
Descending Dragon Splits the Heavens
The sky roared as thick pink clouds split overhead into four equal quadrants and allowed the sunlight to pour through for the first time in what felt like months. William felt his office shake from the force of it and was found hiding beneath his desk seconds later by the little orange security guard who trundled in to make sure he was okay, eyes wide with terror, staring through the stained-glass window he watched the oddly human-shaped dragon descend upon the courtyard where the guards were still busy picking themselves off the ground. Six-foot-five he stood with a longsword made of lacquered red wood in one hand a black coat hanging from his shoulders as he thumped into place. Tanned forearms covered in the little scars of a hard life peeked out from beneath rolled back sleeves and the first few buttons of his shirt hung open beneath his throat, brown hair tied behind his neck with the first streaks of silver finally beginning to show after so many thousands of years and still he loomed over the little orange men with their wide-mouthed blunderbusses. Prying his feet from the cracked concrete with the greatest of ease and stepping out of the dimple he’d created in the courtyard with a single mighty step, no pity spared for the first guard whose head exploded, nor a glance for the second or the third before itchy fingers slipped from their triggers and rifles began clattering to the floor whilst the red sword sprouted tendrils.
“William Wonka, come out and meet me or send your champion,” The dragon’s voice rumbled. “Either way you’re not leaving here alive today.”
Come, @Forge, it's time.
“You’re playing me, Jerry.” Nudara held the goose at blade point, “I don’t like to be played…”
[Across the Aisle]
Several minutes passed as yet more toys awoke inside their plastine prisons. Some were scared, which was completely understandable given how quick others were to turn towards violence but even mice bore their teeth when backed into a corner and before long the madness took them too, hundreds died ignominious deaths in those early moments of chaos as the wheat separated itself from the chafe but despite that there were some stubborn few who preached peace in the devil’s own warehouse.
“At least I will die on my own te—”
SCHING
Like the stubborn tie-dye teddy-bear with a smoldering black metal pole speared between his eyes. A thin strut ripped out from beneath one of the shelving units and turned into a makeshift lance as the Black Prince rode the headless Jerry across the distance between aisles and, like a brave knight ought to, lanced the vicious beast straight between the eyes before he could continue harassing the fair maidens. With toy magic the pole burned with a fire so hot that it melted the tip on impact welding the toy bear’s head to the back wall and setting the whole beast alight. Two more Jerry’s, who also happened to have their voice boxes in their neck and so could survive having their heads exploded, landed with a stagger behind Nudara as he turned to face his fellow toys.
“Enough of this drivel, if any of you fear death then throw yourselves off the shelf and be done with it, those of you who still have the spirit to fight lend me your ears. Do you hear that?” There was a lot going on in the warehouse right now but somewhere beneath the howling wind and beating rain the sound of an static roar echoed out from electronics aisle, “There’s a dragon to be slain over yonder. You there, in the rags, you’ve got some fight in your eyes. Pick one of these fine steeds and join me. And you too…” The steeds in question were large plastic gooses but only Nudara’s had no head and a large vantablack spear attached to its rump. “I’ve a weapon here capable of slaying the toy god himself but it requires a special kind of battery that can’t be found here, but surely if anyone knows where to find treasure such a treasure it’s a dragon.”
The plastic prince spoke with a fiery zeal in his eyes, how much of what he said was true and how much was delusion dreamed up in his mind yet remained to be seen but with a melting metal lance in his hand, surely hearing him out was the safer of two options.
[Across the Aisle]
Several minutes passed as yet more toys awoke inside their plastine prisons. Some were scared, which was completely understandable given how quick others were to turn towards violence but even mice bore their teeth when backed into a corner and before long the madness took them too, hundreds died ignominious deaths in those early moments of chaos as the wheat separated itself from the chafe but despite that there were some stubborn few who preached peace in the devil’s own warehouse.
“At least I will die on my own te—”
SCHING
Like the stubborn tie-dye teddy-bear with a smoldering black metal pole speared between his eyes. A thin strut ripped out from beneath one of the shelving units and turned into a makeshift lance as the Black Prince rode the headless Jerry across the distance between aisles and, like a brave knight ought to, lanced the vicious beast straight between the eyes before he could continue harassing the fair maidens. With toy magic the pole burned with a fire so hot that it melted the tip on impact welding the toy bear’s head to the back wall and setting the whole beast alight. Two more Jerry’s, who also happened to have their voice boxes in their neck and so could survive having their heads exploded, landed with a stagger behind Nudara as he turned to face his fellow toys.
“Enough of this drivel, if any of you fear death then throw yourselves off the shelf and be done with it, those of you who still have the spirit to fight lend me your ears. Do you hear that?” There was a lot going on in the warehouse right now but somewhere beneath the howling wind and beating rain the sound of an static roar echoed out from electronics aisle, “There’s a dragon to be slain over yonder. You there, in the rags, you’ve got some fight in your eyes. Pick one of these fine steeds and join me. And you too…” The steeds in question were large plastic gooses but only Nudara’s had no head and a large vantablack spear attached to its rump. “I’ve a weapon here capable of slaying the toy god himself but it requires a special kind of battery that can’t be found here, but surely if anyone knows where to find treasure such a treasure it’s a dragon.”
The plastic prince spoke with a fiery zeal in his eyes, how much of what he said was true and how much was delusion dreamed up in his mind yet remained to be seen but with a melting metal lance in his hand, surely hearing him out was the safer of two options.
On the last episode, Alice successfully spotted Eti, but she wasn't the only one.
Unfortunately, so had everyone else.
Little woolen soldiers did their very best to dash the possibility of a peaceful resolution from the table as they took aim with their slender rifles and fired row upon row of—what were they—thumbtacks? The flat kind with the wide metal butt so that they glistened in the faux sunlight as they stuck the edge of the building and drove the scurrying red thing to burrowing through the roof.
‘Oh bother,’ She could heard Winn Poh rolling his eyes as she plucked up her skirts and began bullying her way through the crowd with all the grace of a snail, [Not very effective is it?] A voice rang. Familiar enough with telepathic communication Alice was quick to discover that the mysterious stranger was ringing her from within, disconnected from her own consciousness, she could surmise that it was the original host and perhaps the source of her newfound powers.
‘I don’t suppose you’d have any advice.’
[You could always order them out of the way.]
And when Alice peered at the crowd she knew it was right. Though her time in the plaza had been short at least half of the occupants in her immediate vicinity were staring right at her, voices ringing in her head ranging from ‘what a curious little man’ to ‘what will I have for dinner tonight’ but always punctuated by the singular focal concern that their actions ought to be approved by Lady Alice first. That they would starve on the spot if she did not tell them to feast upon whatever it was that little men and women made of knitted bundles ate when they returned home and she said…
‘No thank you, I don’t want that kind of power over others, I refuse it once I’ll refuse it again.’
[Fascinating, you seem very experienced with this kind of thing.]
‘With brainwashers and mindsludgers? Yes, I would say that I’ve dealt with my fair share.’
[He isn’t nearly so experienced, are you sure you can stop him alone?]
‘…’
[Here, I’ll give you a hint.]
Alice frowned only to find, look at that, in slinging her arms forward the pink goo oozing out from under her sleeves streeeeeeetched all the way up to the tower until they hit the wall with a wet splat. Just as soon as it happened they contracted dragging her up to the buildings edge where she found herself clinging to the balcony once again like a snail trying to climb its way up, albeit far more effective and less likely to die reaching its destination. People gawked and the guards, many of whom were still outside the parameter of her influence, took aim only to have their rifles grabbed or grappled or shoved out of the way.
‘They’re—’
[It’s their natural instinct to protect you, they love you after all, that’s my power.]
“Alice, is it? I’m gon’a push Mister A’s button!”
She wasn’t alone in this adventure, Eti had been undergoing his own revelation, and now with as chipper a voice as any man she’d ever heard bringing in the apocalypse he announced that—well—you read the damn dialogue and if you were a good spectator and read the previous post you know that Alice shouted back with a picture perfect…
“What button? No, it’s a trap—”
Confetti blasted everywhere and the world changed, something felt odd, felt very heavy overhead.
“Welcome Alice and Eti to the Yarni-Earth!”
Mr A’s voice echoed from every corner like the trumpets of heaven themselves, and people cheered, didn’t really know what they were cheering but they clapped along anyways because wasn’t this all so very festive. The King had really outdone himself this time around. And Alice, she looked at Eti, clinging to the windowsill with concern in those big gooey pink jellybean eyes, “Eti? Are you okay? We ought to leave this place now…”
Unfortunately, so had everyone else.
Little woolen soldiers did their very best to dash the possibility of a peaceful resolution from the table as they took aim with their slender rifles and fired row upon row of—what were they—thumbtacks? The flat kind with the wide metal butt so that they glistened in the faux sunlight as they stuck the edge of the building and drove the scurrying red thing to burrowing through the roof.
‘Oh bother,’ She could heard Winn Poh rolling his eyes as she plucked up her skirts and began bullying her way through the crowd with all the grace of a snail, [Not very effective is it?] A voice rang. Familiar enough with telepathic communication Alice was quick to discover that the mysterious stranger was ringing her from within, disconnected from her own consciousness, she could surmise that it was the original host and perhaps the source of her newfound powers.
‘I don’t suppose you’d have any advice.’
[You could always order them out of the way.]
And when Alice peered at the crowd she knew it was right. Though her time in the plaza had been short at least half of the occupants in her immediate vicinity were staring right at her, voices ringing in her head ranging from ‘what a curious little man’ to ‘what will I have for dinner tonight’ but always punctuated by the singular focal concern that their actions ought to be approved by Lady Alice first. That they would starve on the spot if she did not tell them to feast upon whatever it was that little men and women made of knitted bundles ate when they returned home and she said…
‘No thank you, I don’t want that kind of power over others, I refuse it once I’ll refuse it again.’
[Fascinating, you seem very experienced with this kind of thing.]
‘With brainwashers and mindsludgers? Yes, I would say that I’ve dealt with my fair share.’
[He isn’t nearly so experienced, are you sure you can stop him alone?]
‘…’
[Here, I’ll give you a hint.]
Alice frowned only to find, look at that, in slinging her arms forward the pink goo oozing out from under her sleeves streeeeeeetched all the way up to the tower until they hit the wall with a wet splat. Just as soon as it happened they contracted dragging her up to the buildings edge where she found herself clinging to the balcony once again like a snail trying to climb its way up, albeit far more effective and less likely to die reaching its destination. People gawked and the guards, many of whom were still outside the parameter of her influence, took aim only to have their rifles grabbed or grappled or shoved out of the way.
‘They’re—’
[It’s their natural instinct to protect you, they love you after all, that’s my power.]
“Alice, is it? I’m gon’a push Mister A’s button!”
She wasn’t alone in this adventure, Eti had been undergoing his own revelation, and now with as chipper a voice as any man she’d ever heard bringing in the apocalypse he announced that—well—you read the damn dialogue and if you were a good spectator and read the previous post you know that Alice shouted back with a picture perfect…
“What button? No, it’s a trap—”
Confetti blasted everywhere and the world changed, something felt odd, felt very heavy overhead.
“Welcome Alice and Eti to the Yarni-Earth!”
Mr A’s voice echoed from every corner like the trumpets of heaven themselves, and people cheered, didn’t really know what they were cheering but they clapped along anyways because wasn’t this all so very festive. The King had really outdone himself this time around. And Alice, she looked at Eti, clinging to the windowsill with concern in those big gooey pink jellybean eyes, “Eti? Are you okay? We ought to leave this place now…”
【 Earlier That Evening… 】
“Your challenge is accepted, Toymaster!” On his journey to find worthy competitors for the Battle Toyale, the Toymaster had invaded the dreams of one Nudara Fah only to find that the dreaded Black Prince was more lucid than originally anticipated. Staring him down from behind the effigy of a one-eyed wolf and wearing a suit of bladed armor. Standing amid what he could only were the bodies of those who had earned the prince’s ire—and there were many—as he listened to the evil god's proposal. “I am already the reigning King of Earth, it is only fitting that I crown myself the King of Toys and bring joy to the children of the land.”
For a moment the avatar's hinged jaw swung open and then thought better of arguing the small details. Its wooden mouth snapping shut with an equally wooden clack and splintering into a smile of mutual understanding as it replied with an out-of-date voice box:
Excellent, just close your eyes and open your mind, our master awaits you.
【 The Present 】
*RIIIIIIIIP*
Somewhere in the back shelves where unwanted toys were kept after their season had passed an action figure’s right hand knifed its way through the front of its plastic prison cell, its left hand joined it soon after, and together the two tore a great gaping hole in the cardboard through which he could step. About six inches tall. Wearing the black leather dress uniform of a military man as if it were a part of his body--because it was--with a felt coat that draped behind his calves and a head full of luxurious long black hair. His plastic face was a perfect mold of the handsome mug shown on television during the Empyrean award ceremony including the eyepatch covering up that wound he’d received from a certain Mayathine demigod that had tried to dig his brain out with a stiletto made of ice. The memory of it brought a smile to his face. Beneath the sleeve of his felt coat one hand seemed perfectly natural (for an action figure) while the left was distinctly silver with coarse fingers that stroked along his chin in loving admiration for all of the handiwork that must have gone into making it so accurate—right before he ruined reached straight through the remaining plastic to grab the six inch metal sword that came included and swung it over his back.
“Alright, let’s do this!”
“Your challenge is accepted, Toymaster!” On his journey to find worthy competitors for the Battle Toyale, the Toymaster had invaded the dreams of one Nudara Fah only to find that the dreaded Black Prince was more lucid than originally anticipated. Staring him down from behind the effigy of a one-eyed wolf and wearing a suit of bladed armor. Standing amid what he could only were the bodies of those who had earned the prince’s ire—and there were many—as he listened to the evil god's proposal. “I am already the reigning King of Earth, it is only fitting that I crown myself the King of Toys and bring joy to the children of the land.”
For a moment the avatar's hinged jaw swung open and then thought better of arguing the small details. Its wooden mouth snapping shut with an equally wooden clack and splintering into a smile of mutual understanding as it replied with an out-of-date voice box:
Excellent, just close your eyes and open your mind, our master awaits you.
【 The Present 】
*RIIIIIIIIP*
Somewhere in the back shelves where unwanted toys were kept after their season had passed an action figure’s right hand knifed its way through the front of its plastic prison cell, its left hand joined it soon after, and together the two tore a great gaping hole in the cardboard through which he could step. About six inches tall. Wearing the black leather dress uniform of a military man as if it were a part of his body--because it was--with a felt coat that draped behind his calves and a head full of luxurious long black hair. His plastic face was a perfect mold of the handsome mug shown on television during the Empyrean award ceremony including the eyepatch covering up that wound he’d received from a certain Mayathine demigod that had tried to dig his brain out with a stiletto made of ice. The memory of it brought a smile to his face. Beneath the sleeve of his felt coat one hand seemed perfectly natural (for an action figure) while the left was distinctly silver with coarse fingers that stroked along his chin in loving admiration for all of the handiwork that must have gone into making it so accurate—right before he ruined reached straight through the remaining plastic to grab the six inch metal sword that came included and swung it over his back.
“Alright, let’s do this!”
Nudara Fah
The One-Eyed Wolf
The One-Eyed Wolf
Only to find naught but dusty shelves and dim lighting awaited him.
“Bah, what kind of filthy store is this, I can barely see a thing.”
“That’s because you’re in the back, young wolf.”
A familiar voice graced his ears, spoken as if through a gaping maw and writhing mandibles, Nudara whirled around to find the one-and-a-half-foot tall transforming stickbug towering over him with its telltale haunch. A familiar face then. And a welcome one at that…
“Bah, what kind of filthy store is this, I can barely see a thing.”
“That’s because you’re in the back, young wolf.”
A familiar voice graced his ears, spoken as if through a gaping maw and writhing mandibles, Nudara whirled around to find the one-and-a-half-foot tall transforming stickbug towering over him with its telltale haunch. A familiar face then. And a welcome one at that…
I WILL KILL YOU OR DIE TRYING
Always Shouted, Never Whispered
Always Shouted, Never Whispered
“What do you mean I’m in the back of the store, old man, don’t you see the advertising on my toybox. I won the tournament, I should be in the front, where adults and children alike can fight for the opportunity to bask in my glory—"
“Well as it turns out, being rude to all of your opponents and using dirty tactics didn’t win fans over.” The old bug murmured, as if reluctant to reveal the truth, but compelled nonetheless. “Killing the hometown hero and burning his body to a crisp probably didn’t help either…”
Nudara winced but respected the old one too much to argue, “And you?”
“Aaaah… my debut was overshadowed by a man from the past. And alas. The Tesseract required to mimic my body’s functions was not included in the packaging.” Even the act of speaking was causing the cosmic bug’s body to begin breaking down one flake of plastic at a time, “If you can find one then I’ll gladly support your cause.”
“That might be difficult, old one, I don’t think this planets technology has advanced that far.”
“Oh well, good luck, and may you reclaim your lost honor—oh look, here comes your first challenge.”
Nudara was just about to say something in response when the sound of honking filled the air.
“Serves you right, cocky little punk.” “Trapped back here with the rest of the losers.” “Your hair makes you look like a girl.”
Three voices, honk-honk-hoking their way down the shelf bowling over other toys in the process, divine guardians of the Kingdom of Dawn where the so-called New Gods made their thrones all very much looking like giant white gooses. Because that’s what they were. Whatever idiot had decided to make the heralds of the gods geese surely regretted every day they woke up to the sound of…
“Well as it turns out, being rude to all of your opponents and using dirty tactics didn’t win fans over.” The old bug murmured, as if reluctant to reveal the truth, but compelled nonetheless. “Killing the hometown hero and burning his body to a crisp probably didn’t help either…”
Nudara winced but respected the old one too much to argue, “And you?”
“Aaaah… my debut was overshadowed by a man from the past. And alas. The Tesseract required to mimic my body’s functions was not included in the packaging.” Even the act of speaking was causing the cosmic bug’s body to begin breaking down one flake of plastic at a time, “If you can find one then I’ll gladly support your cause.”
“That might be difficult, old one, I don’t think this planets technology has advanced that far.”
“Oh well, good luck, and may you reclaim your lost honor—oh look, here comes your first challenge.”
Nudara was just about to say something in response when the sound of honking filled the air.
“Serves you right, cocky little punk.” “Trapped back here with the rest of the losers.” “Your hair makes you look like a girl.”
Three voices, honk-honk-hoking their way down the shelf bowling over other toys in the process, divine guardians of the Kingdom of Dawn where the so-called New Gods made their thrones all very much looking like giant white gooses. Because that’s what they were. Whatever idiot had decided to make the heralds of the gods geese surely regretted every day they woke up to the sound of…
THE JERRYS
Divine Malefactors
Divine Malefactors
Before they could loose another honk, the Black Prince’s right hand snapped out, his fingers collapsing the orange plastic beak and trapping its obnoxious voice somewhere in that hollow chest. Immediately the plastic began to boil underhand much to the lead Jerry’s dismay, eyes bulging, heat building up inside of its mouth until a moment later the whole thing exploded in a shower of plastic. Some of the wet loose stuff that was used to cover the harder skeletons of larger toys and some of that harder stuff previously mentioned transformed into little bullets that dented the metal and pierced an unfortunate Action Man straight through the chest before he went tumbling.
“Listen close you buzzards, I’m going to win this thing, and when I do there will be another one of me under every tree and in every stocking every year until they learn to love me. And if you want any hope of escaping your place in the landfill then you’ll stay out of my way. But if you help me out, well, maybe I can find a place for a couple of oversized ducks in my merry band of misfits…”
“Listen close you buzzards, I’m going to win this thing, and when I do there will be another one of me under every tree and in every stocking every year until they learn to love me. And if you want any hope of escaping your place in the landfill then you’ll stay out of my way. But if you help me out, well, maybe I can find a place for a couple of oversized ducks in my merry band of misfits…”
Count me in.
Sammie eyed the gargantuan gargoyle behind the receptionist desk with the same naked antipathy with which cats regarded everything not themselves, that she was looking for help did not matter, that over ten feet and a thousand pounds separated their weight classes from one another did not change the lingering sentiment that could attack at any moment. Her tail slapped at the empty air. Her fingers pulled at the outline of what was very clearly a shotgun hidden inside of a duffel bag…
“God,” She reaffirmed without fail. “Samantha Ansegisel. I made a reservation—oh thank you.”
The conversation was short and to the point, doubly so due to her prickly personality, and when it was over Sammie had to remember to turn around and give the receptionist a little curtsy before scurrying into the sprawling courtyard that was—apparently—where they stored their elevators. Massive to the point of requiring a bar just to distract the unlucky masses who had missed their chance to board and would likely spend a small lifetime waiting for the next opportunity. Between the legs of giants she moved like an agile shadow while simultaneously avoiding contact with the many demons unfortunate enough to be even smaller than she was, mice and ants mostly, though nothing smaller than that for microbiological demons were heavily regulated since the Black Plague.
“Going up?”
A voice like gravel heralded her from above, auspiciously so, Sammie regarded her second gargoyle of the evening with a skeptical look from behind a mask that did not have eye slits wide enough to offer such complex facial expression (or eyes at all) before remembering something that a kindly fortune teller on the street had told her about fated meetings and deciding that she had no time to waste if she was to meet her future Prince Charming. Especially not on a demon. With the door rapidly closing she dashed through a space so narrow that for a moment it seemed to have sliced her in half before reality remembered that all cats were at least part liquid, reforming wholly on the other side mid-dash up the man’s arm and pulling herself boldly onto his shoulder in the same smooth motion as she kicked a squealing goblin back to unclean carpet below. “Thank you, kind sir.” She spoke before anyone else could. “If you could take me to the surface level, I have an important meeting with Mister Vilero, and I’ve nyarry a moment to waste.”
“God,” She reaffirmed without fail. “Samantha Ansegisel. I made a reservation—oh thank you.”
The conversation was short and to the point, doubly so due to her prickly personality, and when it was over Sammie had to remember to turn around and give the receptionist a little curtsy before scurrying into the sprawling courtyard that was—apparently—where they stored their elevators. Massive to the point of requiring a bar just to distract the unlucky masses who had missed their chance to board and would likely spend a small lifetime waiting for the next opportunity. Between the legs of giants she moved like an agile shadow while simultaneously avoiding contact with the many demons unfortunate enough to be even smaller than she was, mice and ants mostly, though nothing smaller than that for microbiological demons were heavily regulated since the Black Plague.
“Going up?”
A voice like gravel heralded her from above, auspiciously so, Sammie regarded her second gargoyle of the evening with a skeptical look from behind a mask that did not have eye slits wide enough to offer such complex facial expression (or eyes at all) before remembering something that a kindly fortune teller on the street had told her about fated meetings and deciding that she had no time to waste if she was to meet her future Prince Charming. Especially not on a demon. With the door rapidly closing she dashed through a space so narrow that for a moment it seemed to have sliced her in half before reality remembered that all cats were at least part liquid, reforming wholly on the other side mid-dash up the man’s arm and pulling herself boldly onto his shoulder in the same smooth motion as she kicked a squealing goblin back to unclean carpet below. “Thank you, kind sir.” She spoke before anyone else could. “If you could take me to the surface level, I have an important meeting with Mister Vilero, and I’ve nyarry a moment to waste.”
While the other three groups of would-be fugitives were busy plotting to stab each other in the back and overthrow the Asterian matriarchy, Anfield just wanted to find some feed, he hadn’t eaten anything substantial since the amazons had kidnapped him a few days ago and his growling stomach had become ferocious as to be heard from several yards . Anfield ran through the astral gardens with nose in the air, narrowly avoiding golden arrows flying at mach speeds a few too many times to be a coincidence and had left a trail of cucumber skinned warrior women in his wake nursing broken limbs and aching heads, some had tried to apprehend him while others were merely unfortunate enough to be caught flat-footed at the sight of a man running free through their city.
He didn’t want to fight, but he wasn’t taking chances.
Once, he’d snatched a tray from one of his fallen foes who looked like she was just finishing lunch and used it to deflect several arrows before one punched through its face like a spear through tinfoil. The only thing that spared him from being impaled was a flash of emerald ether. Hardening the crinkled golden wound around the arrow’s shaft and pinning it in place moments before it was reeled out of his grasp by an intense invisible force that he could only liken to a tractor beam.
‘These girls aren’t playing around,’
But Anfield could hardly put up a fight on an empty stomach, lucky for him the kitchen was close, one final sniff led him around a right-hand corner and into what had to be the most obnoxiously overdesigned banquet halls in this galactic quadrants. Rows upon rows of exotic alien food ranging from barely edible insects still squirming in misery to more recognizably terran entrees so rich they would probably kill you in entirely different ways. With only a few slaves and the confused guards stationed to watch them there was nothing to stop him from accosting the buffet with greedy fingers, shoving anything even vaguely edible in his mouth as he made his way down line, getting all of a single mouthful in there before…
The whole world shook as Captain Metallo’s menagerie plowed through the roof of the building down into the banquet below, dragging plenty of debris along with it, colliding with an extravagant ice sculpture of some long-dead Asterian myth that sat at the center of the room before colliding with the ground floor with enough force to knock everyone in the area on their ass. And flip every table. For a hot minute Anfield remained buried beneath the rubble before his senses came back to him. With his ears still ringing, Anfield dislodged himself from the messy pile of wasted food he was under, Metallo’s voice scratching at the periphery of his senses with a distant; ‘AVAST! I…’ And had circumstances been just a bit different perhaps the old rust buckets speech would have reached a receptive audience, after all, Anfield was both keenly aware of where the prisoners were being kept and had the keys to their cells on his person but that was in a universe where he was not covered in slop feeling his stomach rumble even worse than before. Starving was bad enough. Having just enough food in his stomach to remind him of what a good meal was like and its lingering aroma on the air beneath the stink of oil was enough to drive a man insane.
Anfield ignored the Asterian soldiers pouring into the banquet hall, weapons drawn, engaging the machine men in a protracted firefight while terrified slaves dove for cover. He only paused long enough to hurl a nine-foot-tall woman who had dared to grab him across the room before scooping up a handful of kitchen utensils between his fingers, six in all, forks and knives and even a single golden spoon thrown in there for good measure as he crested a small barrier of broken tables and shouted his rage into the world.
“YOU RUINED MY LUNCH.”
It was the only warning Metallo’s crew would receive before Anfield flung two handfuls of utensils at them with frightening precision, but there was more to this gaudy silverware than a coat of gold paint, a brief spark of emerald ether filled the space around his hand before the toss and was the only warning Andro would receive before the forks and the knives and the spoon curved in on his position. Andro whose chest and mouth were still covered in drying oily black vomit chosen for no other reason than his androgynous face seemed the most immediately hateable. Andro who would find himself chased down by cutlery regardless of where he chose to run and closing in on him from either side. Anfield’s ether hardened each utensil until it was stronger than an Asterian spear, strong enough to punch through the hull of Metallo’s ship if his target managed to dodge and still embed themselves six inches deep in the durasteel, in other words staying there and just letting them hit him…?
Wasn’t a very smart idea.
“YOU BETTER HAVE A GOOD EXCUSE, METALLO, OR I’M GOING TO KICK YOUR ASS.”
Distantly, in the back of his mind Anfield was aware of the battle raging around him, who was strong. Who was dangerous. And who was planning to use that to their advantage. Distantly he could feel the hair rise on the back of his neck as someone used the chaos to slink through the shadows unseen but he didn’t care, not right now, he’d officially had enough and Metallo had the misfortune of being the first person he’d seen all day who looked like they could survive a punch or two from the angry roughneck.
He didn’t want to fight, but he wasn’t taking chances.
Once, he’d snatched a tray from one of his fallen foes who looked like she was just finishing lunch and used it to deflect several arrows before one punched through its face like a spear through tinfoil. The only thing that spared him from being impaled was a flash of emerald ether. Hardening the crinkled golden wound around the arrow’s shaft and pinning it in place moments before it was reeled out of his grasp by an intense invisible force that he could only liken to a tractor beam.
‘These girls aren’t playing around,’
But Anfield could hardly put up a fight on an empty stomach, lucky for him the kitchen was close, one final sniff led him around a right-hand corner and into what had to be the most obnoxiously overdesigned banquet halls in this galactic quadrants. Rows upon rows of exotic alien food ranging from barely edible insects still squirming in misery to more recognizably terran entrees so rich they would probably kill you in entirely different ways. With only a few slaves and the confused guards stationed to watch them there was nothing to stop him from accosting the buffet with greedy fingers, shoving anything even vaguely edible in his mouth as he made his way down line, getting all of a single mouthful in there before…
KRASH
The whole world shook as Captain Metallo’s menagerie plowed through the roof of the building down into the banquet below, dragging plenty of debris along with it, colliding with an extravagant ice sculpture of some long-dead Asterian myth that sat at the center of the room before colliding with the ground floor with enough force to knock everyone in the area on their ass. And flip every table. For a hot minute Anfield remained buried beneath the rubble before his senses came back to him. With his ears still ringing, Anfield dislodged himself from the messy pile of wasted food he was under, Metallo’s voice scratching at the periphery of his senses with a distant; ‘AVAST! I…’ And had circumstances been just a bit different perhaps the old rust buckets speech would have reached a receptive audience, after all, Anfield was both keenly aware of where the prisoners were being kept and had the keys to their cells on his person but that was in a universe where he was not covered in slop feeling his stomach rumble even worse than before. Starving was bad enough. Having just enough food in his stomach to remind him of what a good meal was like and its lingering aroma on the air beneath the stink of oil was enough to drive a man insane.
Anfield ignored the Asterian soldiers pouring into the banquet hall, weapons drawn, engaging the machine men in a protracted firefight while terrified slaves dove for cover. He only paused long enough to hurl a nine-foot-tall woman who had dared to grab him across the room before scooping up a handful of kitchen utensils between his fingers, six in all, forks and knives and even a single golden spoon thrown in there for good measure as he crested a small barrier of broken tables and shouted his rage into the world.
“YOU RUINED MY LUNCH.”
It was the only warning Metallo’s crew would receive before Anfield flung two handfuls of utensils at them with frightening precision, but there was more to this gaudy silverware than a coat of gold paint, a brief spark of emerald ether filled the space around his hand before the toss and was the only warning Andro would receive before the forks and the knives and the spoon curved in on his position. Andro whose chest and mouth were still covered in drying oily black vomit chosen for no other reason than his androgynous face seemed the most immediately hateable. Andro who would find himself chased down by cutlery regardless of where he chose to run and closing in on him from either side. Anfield’s ether hardened each utensil until it was stronger than an Asterian spear, strong enough to punch through the hull of Metallo’s ship if his target managed to dodge and still embed themselves six inches deep in the durasteel, in other words staying there and just letting them hit him…?
Wasn’t a very smart idea.
“YOU BETTER HAVE A GOOD EXCUSE, METALLO, OR I’M GOING TO KICK YOUR ASS.”
Distantly, in the back of his mind Anfield was aware of the battle raging around him, who was strong. Who was dangerous. And who was planning to use that to their advantage. Distantly he could feel the hair rise on the back of his neck as someone used the chaos to slink through the shadows unseen but he didn’t care, not right now, he’d officially had enough and Metallo had the misfortune of being the first person he’d seen all day who looked like they could survive a punch or two from the angry roughneck.
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