This Is Violence

Natron gazed up and down the Tower of Hell with not even mild trepidation. So what if it had spikes and demon masks all over the stone structure? So what if it was crawling with monsters bearing razor sharp fangs and claws? So what if Shivo Black was waiting for him at the top with the intent to disembowel him? Natron wasn’t paid to be scared and he wasn’t paid by the hour. Decked out in black ninja gear and light chain mail while twirling a pair of nunchucks to get his cardio going, the elf warrior stared a hole through the front entrance prepared for battle. It may have been his final battle, but if he had to die tonight, he was going down swinging.

“This is violence!” shouted the elf ninja as he kicked down the wooden door of the tower and faced his opponents with venom in his eyes. Just like he predicted, the bottom level was peppered with little goblins crawling about chewing on the flesh of their victims. Natron bolted inside and whacked the hell out of these bloodthirsty beasts with his twirling nunchucks. Skulls splattered like watermelons as blood and brains decorated the already shit-stained walls. Some of the goblins tried to latch onto Natron and chew him like bubblegum, but they were thrown so hard against the wall that they exploded.

Still leaving goblin cannibals clinging from his arms and legs, Natron ignored the sharp pain and rushed up the spiral staircase while bumping against the walls to get the little bastards off of him. Their slimy green skin peeled off with every bounce against the cobblestone and soon they tumbled down the stairs like a battered slinky. The elf had only murder on his mind and bright red in his vision. Adrenaline surged through his veins like a forest fire. His blood was boiling lava ready to spew.

All Natron could think about was slaughtering Shivo Black for his sins against this world. He took a lovely place like the Ivory Tower and turned it into the shit hole that was the Tower of Hell. This tower was once a holy sanctuary for the elven people and a haven from the demonic forces of this apocalyptic nightmare. Now the beautiful religious artwork and tapestry was torn down in favor of retched demonic masks, skulls of the damned, and strung up corpses of the priests and clerics who once lived here. Passing by these dangling bodies caused Natorn’s muscles to bulge and shiver with raw hatred.

“Must kill…must kill…must kill!” Natron repeated to himself over and over again. His next opportunity to kill came in the form of deformed ogres covered in spiked metal armor and carrying tridents into battle with them. One by one these creatures marched down the spiral staircase swearing at Natron in their native grunt language. The first of them thrust his trident in rapid fire succession at the wily ninja. The elf warrior dodged, flipped, and did the splits to avoid getting impaled. He then delivered a ball-shattering nunchuck blow to the ogre’s groin.

The ogre coughed up a liberal amount of blood and vomited all over the stairs before tumbling down them like a bowling ball. Natron front flipped over the hefty body to avoid getting caught in the avalanche of rotten flesh. The narrow staircase only allowed one ogre to come through at a time, but the next one threw even quicker trident shots than the last. Natron dodged and flipped to evade these shots and then wrapped his nunchucks around his opponent’s neck and threw him down the stairs with a bloodletting jerk.

Instead of wasting precious time dodging trident shots like an acrobat, when the next thrust came, Natron flipped on top of the ogre’s head and dashed across the top of the squadron with his steel sole boots. The chubby warriors tried to thrust their tridents upward, but the ninja was too fast and too brutal for them. His boots caved in their skulls and snapped their shoulders. His nunchuck shots popped their eyes out of their heads. By the time he reached the final ogre, he dropped his knees across the creature’s shoulders and slammed him head first into the corner of the stone stairs.

The ogres were little more than a pile of smelly corpses. Those who lived wouldn’t for long as they rolled down the stairs like whiskey barrels. Blood and muck decorated the walls. The creatures’ saggy flesh lay shredded and slashed across the stairs. Natron stood at the top of the spiral with his hands on his hips while he admired his handiwork. Beneath his ninja mask the corners of his mouth formed a sadistic smirk. “This is violence and nothing more,” he said to himself.

Before he could get too complacent, Natron slowly turned his head toward the wooden door which lead to the top level. This door once held a lovely painting of the elven god Io. Now it held the shackled remains of a skeleton with pieces of flesh dangling off the bones and rats chewing on it like it was their last meal. “Shivo!” bellowed Natron. “I know you’re behind that door! You’d better prepare for the ass-kicking of your fucking life!”

With one savage kick, the rats scurried away and the door collapsed to splinters. The broken door revealed a room full of torture devices ranging from the stretching rack to the iron maiden to the guillotine itself. Dead elven clerics were strewn across the top level with their eyes and tongues cut out. Watching this scene made Natron puke a little bit in his mouth. If he wasn’t burning hot with anger before, he was the embodiment of hell itself now.

Sitting across the room in a throne of bone was Shivo Black himself. With his fingers tapping against themselves and a smug look on his demonic face, he didn’t look too worried that Natron had completely leveled his forces. Why would he? Shivo could easily tip the scales at seven feet tall and god knows how many pounds of muscle. His hairy brown flesh, spiraled horns, sharp fangs, and golden armor gave him the appearance of an oppressive warlord. When he stood up and towered over the smaller Natron, the demon king’s muscles pulsated with sadistic might.

“Not even death can save you from me, you little shit weasel!” barked Shivo in a throaty voice. “This tower belongs to me now. Those faggot elves can burn in hell for all I care. Their religion means nothing to me. Their lives mean even less. You’re not a hero to your people. You’re a walking corpse. Time to die, you pathetic child!” The demon spread his metallic wings and soared through the air right at his target.

Natron tucked and rolled on the ground to avoid getting slashed by Shivo’s sword-like claws. It was all the ninja could do since the demon was surprisingly fast for a man his size. Shivo threw heavy kicks that shattered his own torture devices when they failed to hit their intended mark. He breathed fire upon the ninja and Natron tucked and rolled some more. “If you can’t do any better than that, you’re going to lose!” roared Shivo. “Then again, your people should be accustomed to failure by now. They lost their Ivory Tower and now they’re going to lose the last shred of hope their pathetic souls ever had. Die, you little puke! Die!”

Shivo breathed another stream of fire upon Natron, who by this time was huffing and puffing through his mask and drooling wildly to keep his tongue from burning. He had exerted so much energy during this mission that his ribs felt like he was in a sumo wrestler’s bear hug. His legs trembled with such force that he couldn’t stand up all the way. When the ball of fire sailed his way, the fact that Natron collapsed in exhaustion and evaded it that way was pure luck.

King Black folded his massive arms and chuckled in delight. “So this is it, huh?” he said. “This is the man who slaughtered my ogres and goblins like they were small children? I wasn’t expecting comedy tonight, but I’ll take my laughs wherever I can get them.” Shivo flew towards the fallen Natron with his arms extended, intending to impale the ninja upon contact and put and end to this “comedy” as he so eloquently put it.

Lifting his head slowly to see the blades blasting toward him, Natron’s last burst of energy came when he threw a nunchuck shot and shattered Shivo’s claws like glass. The demon screamed in tremendous pain while the tips of his fingers bleed profusely. King Black cursed in his diabolic language while Natron did a weak attempt at a push up to bring himself to his hands and knees. Every little movement felt like he was trying to bench press a small car. He huffed, puffed, and wheezed while struggling to stay on his feet.

“You little piece of shit!” growled Shivo. “I’ll break your ass in half and feed you to my rats!” The demon threw a powerful side kick, but Natron quickly wrapped his nunchucks around the king’s ankle.

With the steel chain cutting off the circulation to Shivo’s legs, Natron gazed at him with nuclear heat and said in a raspy voice, “You know nothing about my people, you ignorant sack of shit!” Natron spun Shivo around by his leg and leaped on the demon’s back before wrapping his nunchuck chain around the beast’s throat. He squeezed with enough tightness to make the guillotine jealous. The iron maiden couldn’t even dream of the sharpness Shivo felt in his lungs. The king’s neck stretched like taffy as his windpipe collapsed into a heap.

When Shivo was down on both knees gasping for air, Natron released his chokehold and allowed the monster to vomit his own blood and organs. With one last twirl, the elf ninja smashed his nunchucks against Shivo’s head and splattered his brains all over the floor while breaking those hideous horns in two. The revenge was complete. The elven race was avenged for their heavy loss. Natron could do nothing but smile with tears in his eyes as he fell backwards into a deep slumber.

This entire scenario played out on a computer screen for a teenaged boy in his bedroom decorated with music posters and dirty laundry. Natron was not only his screen name, but it was one that would be synonymous with gaming greatness. The teenager laughed gently to himself in disbelief that he actually beat this ultra-hard game. He even gave himself a light applause. It was the first time he smiled since his father went away to fight in an overseas war. Daddy was quite the gamer in his day with Super Mario Bros. and Double Dragon to his credit. Now the second generation followed in his footsteps with a victory over the appropriately named This Is Violence.

Now it was time to watch the ending, which was usually the reward for such a hard game. The elf ninja woke up in a bed made of the softest material as sunlight caused him to slowly squint his eyes open. Could this really be? Was the elven name restored to its former glory? No.

Instead he was at the bottom floor of the Tower of Hell once again, this time with living goblins holding the corpse of the teenager’s dead father like a hand puppet. The kid recognized the face, the uniform, the haircut, and most importantly, the bloodstains all over his body. As the goblins laughed and chanted, “You’re daddy’s dead! He’s never coming back!” over and over again, the teenager’s sudden elation at beating the game turned into tear-filled sorrow. His cheeks were hot, his eyes were sore, and his screams were leonine. He even banged on the keyboard like a savage several times for good measure.

Somewhere in the goblins’ song and dance, they managed to throw the last bit of salt on this festering emotional wound: “April fools!” The teenager’s raging tears poured like the blood of the elf ninja’s enemies. In a way, he wished he was dead instead of his father. Maybe if he could find a belt somewhere in his room, he could see him again. Wiping away the tears and sucking up the snot in his nose, the teen sat in his computer chair with his head hung low not knowing what the fuck to do. His heart was in more pieces than the skulls of the ogres on the staircase.

Now that he thought about it, This Is Violence wasn’t an official game made by a reputable company. It was given to the kid by a “friend”. The game showed just how friendly it could be when the elf ninja took over the screen and spoke to Natron like he knew him. “Are you going to let those bastards talk to you like that? The world hates you, Natron, but we don’t. Your dad didn’t die because of a war. He died because of the politicians who sent him to war. You need revenge. You need it badly. Come join our outfit and we’ll show you how to get revenge. It’ll be just as bloody and delicious as this game turned out to be. You’ve already completed the first step. Now you can be your own ninja and start a worldwide revolution. Come join ISIS!”

The teenager gazed at the computer screen still sniffing and snorting. He never felt more offended in his life, not when the jocks shoved him around at school, not when the cyber bullies picked on his art work online. What that ninja said was vile, sadistic, and borderline insane. Yet to the kid known as Natron, those words made the most sense out of any “so-called” loved one he knew. “Let’s do this!” he said to the computer screen.