Caitlin Sparks was a one woman wrecking crew, yet she couldn’t overthrow an entire oppressive government by herself. She wasn’t always alone. She had many comrades to help her in her quest to overthrow Dark-Law, Jr., a powerful sorcerer who unlike his father used futuristic technology rather than medieval magic to take over this world. One by one, each of Caitlin’s warriors fell by the zap of a laser, a burst of a flamethrower, or a bullet from a depleted uranium rifle. If she had a dime for every tear she cried since then, she’d be an oligarch.
Her only hope for completing her rebellion against the unjust dictatorship rested within the hands of an elderly sage named Eli Magruder. After slashing her way through several drones and armored soldiers with her oversized sword, Caitlin finally located the wise one’s temple. Except it didn’t look much like a temple. It was more like a brick compound with various runes carved into the walls, some of them spray painted like graffiti.
The rebel warrior scratched her raven pony tailed head in confusion as to whether or not she was actually at the right address. For all she knew, Eli Magruder could just be a ghost and the whole thing could be one huge trap. She shrugged her shoulders and walked tiredly across the dirt field with only lightning bolts from the gray sky to illuminate her way. It had been a long journey complete with battles, loss, and general exhaustion. There better be a fucking sage here, Caitlin thought to herself.
Once she trekked past the dirt field, she dragged herself up the stone stairs to the front entrance and knocked on the rickety wooden doors, both of which falling off with the slightest of contact. Some temple, Caitlin said in her mind. The interior of the building was pitch black until a flame path lit up in front of her, leading to a seven-foot tall mountain of a man with a scraggly white beard, a black tank top, and brown khakis. Worst of all, he was wearing a black sheep’s mask. Not what anybody would call sagely, but Caitlin Sparks decided to play long…for now.
She carefully walked along the fiery path and approached the man she perceived as the wise Eli Magruder, who was sitting in a wooden rocking chair with even more languidness than shell-shocked Caitlin. The sword slinger got on one knee and bowed to her sage in a show of respect. Or fear, depending on how creepy this man really was.
“You must be Caitlin,” said Eli in a gravelly monster voice. “You’ve come a long way just to see me. I’ve been expecting you. If you’re looking for an ally in your fight against. Dark-Law, Jr., I can’t provide you assistance with that. I may look like a titan, but I am still too old to be slinging magic spells on the battlefield with you.”
“I understand if you’re not feeling up to the task,” said Caitlin. “I didn’t come here for extra soldiers. Lord knows I’ve led many of them to their doom already. I’m here merely to seek your wisdom and counsel. Perhaps you have advice on how to combat Dark-Law, Jr. and his forces.”
“I’ve certainly seen what his minions are capable of. Too much bloodshed. Too much oppression. Too much starvation. And there’s not one person who’s been able to weaken his iron grip over this world. If you want advice on how to defeat this madman and bring peace to our world again, it’s this.” Eli took a deep breath and removed his sheep’s mask. “Fall in line. Just fall in line and nobody will get hurt.”
Caitlin stood back up and furrowed her eyebrows at the “wise advice” she was given. “That’s it? I came all this way and had many men and women die on my watch so that I could hear that? That’s your genius plan? Just let Dark-Law, Jr. do whatever the hell he wants?”
“This is clearly not what you were expecting and I can tell you’re disappointed,” said Eli. “However, this is all I have to give you. The reason your warriors have died is because you keep pushing forward in a battle you can’t win. If there were no battles, your soldiers would still be alive.”
“That’s bullshit!” screamed Caitlin. “Dark-Law, Jr. has been killing off people left and right whether they rebelled against him or not! He’s a bully! He gets off on that crap! He thinks this planet is his own personal coliseum! You may be okay with what’s going on here, but I’m too busy trying to change the world to listen to your bullshit! Fuck this, I’m out of here!”
“I’m sorry, Miss Sparks, I can’t allow you to leave,” said Eli as he stood up and clinched his fists, purple energy swirling around them.
“Old man, you’re in no position to threaten me or to give me orders!” yelled Caitlin as she drew her massive sword. “I wasted a long journey coming here and all you gave me was cereal box advice! I think I’m entitled to handle this on my own considering you have the intelligence and wisdom of a packet of ketchup!”
“You may not like it!” screamed Eli so powerfully that he knocked Caitlin back and caused her to raise her eyebrows in fear. “But that’s the way the world works. You’re welcome to stay in my temple for as long as you need to. In fact, I won’t let you go anywhere else. Not while there’s still death and destruction around.”
“You bastard!” shouted Caitlin when she ran at Eli full force and swung her oversized blade, intending to decapitate him. A green aura was protecting the elderly sage and when the sword made contact, it bounced out of the attacker’s hands and skidded across the floor into the darkness. Unable to accept the fact she was screwed, Caitlin threw wild punches and kicks at the wizard, still no effect.
“My turn, you spoiled bitch!” screamed Eli as he wrapped his massive hands around Caitlin’s throat and hoisted her in the air, her feet dangling beneath her. As she struggled for oxygen, she tried to pry his huge hands loose and even kicked him in the balls for good measure. Nothing. Not one dent. It didn’t take long before Caitlin’s lungs flattened, her neck was sore, and her vision was as black as the rest of the temple.
Caitlin was left in the dark for what seemed like days, maybe even months. In reality, it had only been hours since she was choked out by the massive Eli Magruder, who was supposedly too old for combat. When the battle-hardened woman finally came to, her throat was sore, her eyes felt like they were going to pop out, and she had a monstrous headache. She didn’t wait to fully recover when she felt around for a sense of her surroundings.
Once again, she was left in the dark, but this time for a much more disturbing reason. She was kept in a claustrophobia-inducing space with wood paneling on both sides of her, against her back, and in front of her. This could only mean one thing. The so-called “wise one” locked her in a coffin and quite possibly buried her underground.
Tears formed in Caitlin’s pain-wracked eyes as she kept saying, “No!” to herself and pounding the lid to the coffin. “Let me out of here!” she screamed in desperation. “Let me out of here, you have no right to keep me here! Please! You can’t do this to me! I’ll stay with you if you just let me out!”
Not one vocal response. She truly was all alone in that coffin. She cried several more tears as she thought about all the times she let her fellow warriors down. So many deaths. So many fathers and mothers without children. So many children without parents. So many wives without husbands. A trail of broken homes was all Caitlin Sparks left behind, even more so than Dark-Law, Jr. could have done himself. Her death by starvation in this coffin would be the final blow against a rebellion that never was. No wonder her eyes were flooding with tears.
And then she heard Eli’s voice once again, this time saying, “Okay, okay, just wait a minute! Haven’t you kids got any patience?!” The crying stopped. Her coffin was being lifted out of whatever hole it was kept in and the lid was pulled off with relative ease by the monstrous Eli Magruder, who then proceeded to pull Caitlin out of the box and show her that she had been in the backyard of the temple this whole time.
Caitlin Sparks wasn’t going to wait for an explanation. She continued to throw punches at her assailant, but these ones were more like emotional slaps than real combative blows. She screamed obscenities at him while Eli held her arms and tried to calm him down. With these words, her assault came to an end: “The drones are gone.”
“…What?”
“I gave you that crappy advice because there were drones flying over my temple. I buried you back here to make them think you were dead and done for and that I was just a crazy old man. The whole speech about conformity was a trick.”
As Caitlin looked at her new mentor in disbelief, Eli handed her back her sword and said, “As long as Dark-Law, Jr. doesn’t think you’re a threat anymore, he won’t see you coming when you finally lop off his head. You came to my temple for advice? Here it is: stealth and brains will always win over brute force and brawn. I helped you with the stealth part, now all you have to do is maintain your cover. I believe you can do it, Miss Sparks. I know you can.”
Caitlin clutched her sword handle with a newfound strength and looked into Eli’s eyes with a mixture of anger and focus. The anger wasn’t directed at him. On the contrary, she was thankful he went out of his way for her like that. The anger and rage was all for Dark-Law, Jr. She would take every ounce of that rage on him with one blow.
“Trust me when I say this, Master Magruder,” said Caitlin with newfound respect for him. “I’m bring you that son of a bitch’s head on a silver platter. Not just for me, but for you and everyone else he has slaughtered mercilessly. If I have to be slow and careful, then that’s how I’ll do it. I owe you big time, Master.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Miss Sparks…except Dark-Law, Jr.’s head!”
Showing posts with label Dark-Law. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dark-Law. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 20, 2015
Saturday, September 19, 2015
Warrior Names
***WARRIOR NAMES***
We’ve seen a lot of fantasy warriors come and go throughout our creative fuel intake. They tend to have last names like Overspark, Dreadlord, and Pusdrinker. Yes, that last one is a real enemy from Diablo II: Lord of Destruction; I shit you not. In all my time of writing fantasy and sci-fi stories, I’ve pretty much just passively accepted the fact that warriors have two-word last names that describe how badass they really are. That’s where I got characters like Deus Shadowheart, Butch Hellfire, and Machu Throatslash to name a few.
However, the more I started collaborating with Marie Krepps to fix my short stories, the more I realized that such two-word last names sound a little too…obvious. And to her credit, Marie has a point here. After all, when you eventually meet Machu Throatslash’s parents, what do your refer to them as? Mr. and Mrs. Throatslash? That’ll make for some fun conversations. Suppose Machu wanted to take a cute girl to the prom with him and then the two decide to marry. Would the girl be legally obligated to call herself Mrs. Throatslash? That’ll look good on her credit card application: Julia Samantha Throatslash. She doesn’t actually want to make any purchases with it; she just wants to run the sharp edge across someone’s neck and bleed them out.
Ever since hearing the other side of the warrior name argument, I’m kind of on the fence now with what I believe. A part of me doesn’t want to let go of my fantasy and sci-fi traditions. I want to have badass warriors whose names strike fear in the hearts of their opponents. But then again, if they really are badass warriors, do they need to have overpowered names? Couldn’t they just get the job done by breathing fire on their opponents or chopping their heads off with a magical battleaxe?
I have to confess that Marie’s critique was the inspiration behind the John Bush character from “Kill, Cut, Scalp”. The whole reason that hero took the name John Bush was so that the evil sorcerer Dark-Law wouldn’t suspect him of being a fire breathing death angel, which he eventually transformed into to get his assassination job done. It’s easy to trust a guy name John Bush (even if he is a death angel), but if his name was Konnor Dragonslash, then the ruse would have been all for naught and Dark-Law would have killed him off right then and there.
George Carlin did an entire comedy routine about the power names have to influence history. There would have never been a World War II if Hitler’s first name was Floyd. They would have beaten the shit out of him in Munich in 1931! And nobody would have been fearful of Jack the Ripper if his first name was Wally. And Billy the Kid? Do you think anyone would take him seriously if his name was Billy the Schmuck?
I guess the lesson to be learned with giving your characters overpowered names is to judge how seriously you want the warriors to be taken by their enemies. Helpless civilians would bow at the metal boots of Konnor Dragonslash or Viktor Fireborn, but they’d laugh John Bush or George Kerry out of the building. Maybe you want your characters to be as intimidating as possible. Or your philosophy could be based on a rhyme that fellow indie author Edward Davies once bestowed upon me: “Convince your enemies that you’re benign and you will beat them every time.” Choose your fate, noble warriors, and bring back a severed demon head. We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***BACK TO RANDOM SELECTION***
In an effort to jumpstart my creative life again, I’ve gone back to the idea of randomly selecting my next artistic task. I did this back in the summertime with plenty of success. I’m doing it now with even more success. There are currently six items on my list to choose from:
1. American Darkness: put together the paperback and Kindle versions of this newly revised anthology.
2. Dark Fantasy Warriors: draw a picture of the next randomly selected short story character on my list, which this time happens to be the fourth and final character from “Guns, Drugs, and Misogyny”, Edgar Rinehart, elf mercenary.
3. The Girlfriend Wager: read 30 pages of this self-published raunchy sex comedy by Edward Davies.
4. Poison Tongue Tales: edit the next randomly chosen short story from this sci-fi, horror, and fantasy anthology. If you’ve been to your Deviant Art inboxes lately, you would have seen a revision of Bee Jay the Glutinous. Marie really wants to eat macaroni and cheese with a talking orange kitty now. ^_^
5. The Silence of the Lambs: read 30 pages of this traditionally published serial killer mystery by Thomas Harris.
6. Weekly Short Story Contests and Company: catch up on the reading of this week’s “Broken Windows” short stories (which I’ve already done) and contribute a story before the week is over (which is also something I’ve already done).
There is one item that should be on this list, but isn’t, and that’s Blood Brawl. Blood Brawl is supposed to be my main novel WIP, but ever since making it to chapter three, I’ve hit a roadblock. The entirety of this chapter is supposed to be Ivan Blackstone chasing Justine Dupree down the street while swinging a scythe in the air. How the hell am I supposed to stretch out a chase scene for that long and keep it from getting dull? I have no choreography, damn it! I’ll figure something out come hell or high water. But for now, Blood Brawl is off the menu.
***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
WYNARSKI: I went into the video store one time and that son of a bitch was sleeping.
DANTE: I’m sure Randal wasn’t sleeping.
WYNARSKI: Are you calling me a liar?! Are you calling me a liar?!
DANTE: No, I’m saying maybe he was resting his eyes or something like that.
WYNARSKI: What the hell is that, resting his eyes? What is he, an air traffic controller?
DANTE: Actually, that’s his night job.
-Clerks-
We’ve seen a lot of fantasy warriors come and go throughout our creative fuel intake. They tend to have last names like Overspark, Dreadlord, and Pusdrinker. Yes, that last one is a real enemy from Diablo II: Lord of Destruction; I shit you not. In all my time of writing fantasy and sci-fi stories, I’ve pretty much just passively accepted the fact that warriors have two-word last names that describe how badass they really are. That’s where I got characters like Deus Shadowheart, Butch Hellfire, and Machu Throatslash to name a few.
However, the more I started collaborating with Marie Krepps to fix my short stories, the more I realized that such two-word last names sound a little too…obvious. And to her credit, Marie has a point here. After all, when you eventually meet Machu Throatslash’s parents, what do your refer to them as? Mr. and Mrs. Throatslash? That’ll make for some fun conversations. Suppose Machu wanted to take a cute girl to the prom with him and then the two decide to marry. Would the girl be legally obligated to call herself Mrs. Throatslash? That’ll look good on her credit card application: Julia Samantha Throatslash. She doesn’t actually want to make any purchases with it; she just wants to run the sharp edge across someone’s neck and bleed them out.
Ever since hearing the other side of the warrior name argument, I’m kind of on the fence now with what I believe. A part of me doesn’t want to let go of my fantasy and sci-fi traditions. I want to have badass warriors whose names strike fear in the hearts of their opponents. But then again, if they really are badass warriors, do they need to have overpowered names? Couldn’t they just get the job done by breathing fire on their opponents or chopping their heads off with a magical battleaxe?
I have to confess that Marie’s critique was the inspiration behind the John Bush character from “Kill, Cut, Scalp”. The whole reason that hero took the name John Bush was so that the evil sorcerer Dark-Law wouldn’t suspect him of being a fire breathing death angel, which he eventually transformed into to get his assassination job done. It’s easy to trust a guy name John Bush (even if he is a death angel), but if his name was Konnor Dragonslash, then the ruse would have been all for naught and Dark-Law would have killed him off right then and there.
George Carlin did an entire comedy routine about the power names have to influence history. There would have never been a World War II if Hitler’s first name was Floyd. They would have beaten the shit out of him in Munich in 1931! And nobody would have been fearful of Jack the Ripper if his first name was Wally. And Billy the Kid? Do you think anyone would take him seriously if his name was Billy the Schmuck?
I guess the lesson to be learned with giving your characters overpowered names is to judge how seriously you want the warriors to be taken by their enemies. Helpless civilians would bow at the metal boots of Konnor Dragonslash or Viktor Fireborn, but they’d laugh John Bush or George Kerry out of the building. Maybe you want your characters to be as intimidating as possible. Or your philosophy could be based on a rhyme that fellow indie author Edward Davies once bestowed upon me: “Convince your enemies that you’re benign and you will beat them every time.” Choose your fate, noble warriors, and bring back a severed demon head. We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***BACK TO RANDOM SELECTION***
In an effort to jumpstart my creative life again, I’ve gone back to the idea of randomly selecting my next artistic task. I did this back in the summertime with plenty of success. I’m doing it now with even more success. There are currently six items on my list to choose from:
1. American Darkness: put together the paperback and Kindle versions of this newly revised anthology.
2. Dark Fantasy Warriors: draw a picture of the next randomly selected short story character on my list, which this time happens to be the fourth and final character from “Guns, Drugs, and Misogyny”, Edgar Rinehart, elf mercenary.
3. The Girlfriend Wager: read 30 pages of this self-published raunchy sex comedy by Edward Davies.
4. Poison Tongue Tales: edit the next randomly chosen short story from this sci-fi, horror, and fantasy anthology. If you’ve been to your Deviant Art inboxes lately, you would have seen a revision of Bee Jay the Glutinous. Marie really wants to eat macaroni and cheese with a talking orange kitty now. ^_^
5. The Silence of the Lambs: read 30 pages of this traditionally published serial killer mystery by Thomas Harris.
6. Weekly Short Story Contests and Company: catch up on the reading of this week’s “Broken Windows” short stories (which I’ve already done) and contribute a story before the week is over (which is also something I’ve already done).
There is one item that should be on this list, but isn’t, and that’s Blood Brawl. Blood Brawl is supposed to be my main novel WIP, but ever since making it to chapter three, I’ve hit a roadblock. The entirety of this chapter is supposed to be Ivan Blackstone chasing Justine Dupree down the street while swinging a scythe in the air. How the hell am I supposed to stretch out a chase scene for that long and keep it from getting dull? I have no choreography, damn it! I’ll figure something out come hell or high water. But for now, Blood Brawl is off the menu.
***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
WYNARSKI: I went into the video store one time and that son of a bitch was sleeping.
DANTE: I’m sure Randal wasn’t sleeping.
WYNARSKI: Are you calling me a liar?! Are you calling me a liar?!
DANTE: No, I’m saying maybe he was resting his eyes or something like that.
WYNARSKI: What the hell is that, resting his eyes? What is he, an air traffic controller?
DANTE: Actually, that’s his night job.
-Clerks-
Wednesday, August 5, 2015
Kill, Cut, Scalp
Buildings crumbled to rubble. Oceans flooded the streets. Volcanoes burned this once great Earth. Lightning flashed in the gray skies. And who did the people of Earth have to thank for all of this? Their new master, the necromancer Dark-Law. Those who agreed to Dark-Law’s leadership survived long enough to live as slaves. Those who didn’t were tortured with spikes and fire or decapitated with a skeletal minion’s energy saber. Dystopia was an overused word to describe situations such as this. Hellish nightmare would have been more appropriate. The worst part about this? Nobody was powerful enough to slay this sorcerer and restore peace to this destructive landscape.
The wicked magician spent most of his free time in his bone-constructed temple bathing in a pool of blood, which he would also use as a screen to monitor his minions’ handiwork. The blood was warm and bubbly, just like a Jacuzzi. The skull decorations and tribal masks lining the walls of his personal room were relaxing as well. The blue-fleshed, baldheaded, sharp-fanged wizard draped his arms across the edge of the pool, threw his head back, and let out a peaceful sigh.
“Excuse me,” said a tired and dull voice.
Dark-Law lifted his head and opened his weary eyes to see that a young gentleman with a plump stomach, sweat pants and a T-shirt, a bald head, and droopy jowls standing on the other side of the bloodbath. The poor guy looked so tired and uncharismatic that he could have fallen over and passed out at any minute. But he didn’t. For all of his lack of charm, this gentleman had some kind of reason for being here.
The blood pool showed visions of the skeletal guards outside the temple in perfect shape and standing stoically. They appeared to be doing their jobs, but they obviously weren’t considering this poor excuse for a hero just showed up in Dark-Law’s private chambers. The necromancer would deal with their insubordination later. Until then…
“What’s wrong, young lad? Are you lost? Did you stumble into the wrong room? Leave my chambers, post-haste! You’ve seen what I’ve done to this world, so killing off an everyday loser like you would be a cakewalk!” threatened Dark-Law.
With his jowls swinging freely from his chin and cheeks, the boring hero said, “I didn’t make a mistake. My name is John Bush and I’m here to take your scalp off with this pocket knife.” He indeed had a pocket knife in his hand and it looked about as long as his sausage-like pinky finger.
Such disturbing threats would normally be met with a lightning bolt or a bone spear from the deadly wizard. Instead, Dark-Law burst into monstrous, throaty laughter and pounded the edge of his blood pool with his fists. “Are you serious? Your name is John Bush and you’re here to kill me? And here I thought you came all this way to file my taxes!” He laughed some more.
Maintaining a stoic and dull aura, John Bush said, “I’m not kidding around, Mr. Dark-Law. Everything I tell you is the truth.”
“The truth?! You want to know what the truth is, laddie?! You’re a big pudgy idiot named John Bush and you’re carrying a pocket knife the size of a goddamn toothpick! No wonder my guards let you in so easily!” said Dark-Law as he continued to pound the edge of the pool and laugh like a hyena.
“Okay, Mr. Dark-Law. I warned you,” said John before kicking off his sandals and touching the blood pool with his toe.
“HEY!!” shrieked the deathly wizard, which caused the unlikely hero to jump back in fright. Dark-Law stood up in the pool and waded across it while maintaining an evil stare. “I’ve tolerated you up until this point, Mr. Bush. But nobody, and I mean nobody, bathes in my pool of blood except for me!”
Instead of tiptoeing his way in the pool, John Bush jumped in and created a huge splash with his hefty body. “What now, Mr. Dark-Law?”
The sorcerer growled and teleported over to John’s position. Face to face with stale breath invading his opponent’s nostrils, Dark-Law wrapped his claw-like hand around the top of John’s head and shoved him under in an attempt to drown him. The hot temperature and acidic taste of the blood weren’t enough to make Mr. Bush put up a huge struggle against his suffocation. He either really was a passionless hero or he was enjoying the bubbly feeling like he was in a hot tub.
As John’s oxygen bubbles got smaller and smaller, Dark-Law screamed at him, “I rule this world with death and destruction! This planet is my plaything! But you, John Bush! You are my one and only bitch!” It was at that moment when Dark-Law felt a jab of sharp pain in his leg and jumped backwards underneath the blood while John Bush stood back up coughing and gasping.
Dark-Law also stood back up and had a fresh scar running across his leg compliments of the “toothpick” in his opponent’s hands. For such a small weapon, it created quite the gash. But this wizard wasn’t going away that easily. His wound healed quickly and new skin formed over it. Despite the hopelessness ahead of him, John didn’t look the least bit disappointed.
“You see that, Mr. Bush! That’s what happens when you sell your soul to the devil himself! I traded a normal life for these godlike powers and now this world is brought to its knees! But you, Mr. Bush. You won’t have the luxury of living on your knees much longer. Instead you’re going to die like a whore on your back!” threatened Dark-Law as he gathered black energy in the palm of his hand.
John didn’t look too impressed with Dark-Law’s magical abilities, but probably would be once the shadow ball was tossed his way. One hard throw and this charade was over. After a cannonball-like shot from the sorcerer’s hands, the bullshit was indeed over, but in a different way.
John Bush swatted the energy ball away and revealed that his pocket knife hand had turned into a burning red skeletal hand. He had been playing mind games this whole time and Dark-Law was just now figuring it all out. The blue-skinned sorcerer backed up into his pool in sheer fright of what he was seeing, his body shaking and his head barely above the blood.
“The games are over, Dark-Law. And now it’s time to see who the real bitch is!” said John in a demonic scream unlike the medicated voice he was using this whole time. He began to tear his own flesh off until all that remained underneath was a fiery red skeleton with steel angel wings and a crown of spikes.
“No…no, this isn’t happening! Where the hell are my guards when I need them?!” screamed a fearful Dark-Law. The blood pool showed that the skeletal guards outside the temple were also part of the façade. Upon gazing at them a second time, their bones crumbled into ashes and dust.
“For god’s sake! If you worthless minions can’t handle this, then I will!” shouted Dark-Law as he leaped out of his pool and started throwing green energy balls left and right at the death angel known as John Bush.
Every ball found its target in John’s bony chest and he appeared to be bending backwards in pain. Dark-Law raised his arms and cheered in hope that he had won this battle. But victory wouldn’t come so easily for the deadly wizard. Instead the green energy projectiles caused John’s death angel body to grow larger and fierier. The red skeleton shouted a demonic cry before firing his own projectile straight through Dark-Law’s heart: a fire spear that drained his black blood into the already disgusting pool.
The evil ruler screamed his last scream of pain and thrashed his last bone-breaking thrashes. His now hollow corpse was tossed aside and John Bush’s death angel form had transformed back into his uncharismatic chubby body, still with the pocket knife in his hand.
John waddled over to Dark-Law’s corpse and sat his big ass down to start cutting away at the man’s scalp. “This will make for some awesome scientific research.” Indeed it will, John, because this dystopian nightmare shall never happen again. And to think, it was all because the almighty Dark-Law refused to take his most unlikely opponent seriously. For shame.
The wicked magician spent most of his free time in his bone-constructed temple bathing in a pool of blood, which he would also use as a screen to monitor his minions’ handiwork. The blood was warm and bubbly, just like a Jacuzzi. The skull decorations and tribal masks lining the walls of his personal room were relaxing as well. The blue-fleshed, baldheaded, sharp-fanged wizard draped his arms across the edge of the pool, threw his head back, and let out a peaceful sigh.
“Excuse me,” said a tired and dull voice.
Dark-Law lifted his head and opened his weary eyes to see that a young gentleman with a plump stomach, sweat pants and a T-shirt, a bald head, and droopy jowls standing on the other side of the bloodbath. The poor guy looked so tired and uncharismatic that he could have fallen over and passed out at any minute. But he didn’t. For all of his lack of charm, this gentleman had some kind of reason for being here.
The blood pool showed visions of the skeletal guards outside the temple in perfect shape and standing stoically. They appeared to be doing their jobs, but they obviously weren’t considering this poor excuse for a hero just showed up in Dark-Law’s private chambers. The necromancer would deal with their insubordination later. Until then…
“What’s wrong, young lad? Are you lost? Did you stumble into the wrong room? Leave my chambers, post-haste! You’ve seen what I’ve done to this world, so killing off an everyday loser like you would be a cakewalk!” threatened Dark-Law.
With his jowls swinging freely from his chin and cheeks, the boring hero said, “I didn’t make a mistake. My name is John Bush and I’m here to take your scalp off with this pocket knife.” He indeed had a pocket knife in his hand and it looked about as long as his sausage-like pinky finger.
Such disturbing threats would normally be met with a lightning bolt or a bone spear from the deadly wizard. Instead, Dark-Law burst into monstrous, throaty laughter and pounded the edge of his blood pool with his fists. “Are you serious? Your name is John Bush and you’re here to kill me? And here I thought you came all this way to file my taxes!” He laughed some more.
Maintaining a stoic and dull aura, John Bush said, “I’m not kidding around, Mr. Dark-Law. Everything I tell you is the truth.”
“The truth?! You want to know what the truth is, laddie?! You’re a big pudgy idiot named John Bush and you’re carrying a pocket knife the size of a goddamn toothpick! No wonder my guards let you in so easily!” said Dark-Law as he continued to pound the edge of the pool and laugh like a hyena.
“Okay, Mr. Dark-Law. I warned you,” said John before kicking off his sandals and touching the blood pool with his toe.
“HEY!!” shrieked the deathly wizard, which caused the unlikely hero to jump back in fright. Dark-Law stood up in the pool and waded across it while maintaining an evil stare. “I’ve tolerated you up until this point, Mr. Bush. But nobody, and I mean nobody, bathes in my pool of blood except for me!”
Instead of tiptoeing his way in the pool, John Bush jumped in and created a huge splash with his hefty body. “What now, Mr. Dark-Law?”
The sorcerer growled and teleported over to John’s position. Face to face with stale breath invading his opponent’s nostrils, Dark-Law wrapped his claw-like hand around the top of John’s head and shoved him under in an attempt to drown him. The hot temperature and acidic taste of the blood weren’t enough to make Mr. Bush put up a huge struggle against his suffocation. He either really was a passionless hero or he was enjoying the bubbly feeling like he was in a hot tub.
As John’s oxygen bubbles got smaller and smaller, Dark-Law screamed at him, “I rule this world with death and destruction! This planet is my plaything! But you, John Bush! You are my one and only bitch!” It was at that moment when Dark-Law felt a jab of sharp pain in his leg and jumped backwards underneath the blood while John Bush stood back up coughing and gasping.
Dark-Law also stood back up and had a fresh scar running across his leg compliments of the “toothpick” in his opponent’s hands. For such a small weapon, it created quite the gash. But this wizard wasn’t going away that easily. His wound healed quickly and new skin formed over it. Despite the hopelessness ahead of him, John didn’t look the least bit disappointed.
“You see that, Mr. Bush! That’s what happens when you sell your soul to the devil himself! I traded a normal life for these godlike powers and now this world is brought to its knees! But you, Mr. Bush. You won’t have the luxury of living on your knees much longer. Instead you’re going to die like a whore on your back!” threatened Dark-Law as he gathered black energy in the palm of his hand.
John didn’t look too impressed with Dark-Law’s magical abilities, but probably would be once the shadow ball was tossed his way. One hard throw and this charade was over. After a cannonball-like shot from the sorcerer’s hands, the bullshit was indeed over, but in a different way.
John Bush swatted the energy ball away and revealed that his pocket knife hand had turned into a burning red skeletal hand. He had been playing mind games this whole time and Dark-Law was just now figuring it all out. The blue-skinned sorcerer backed up into his pool in sheer fright of what he was seeing, his body shaking and his head barely above the blood.
“The games are over, Dark-Law. And now it’s time to see who the real bitch is!” said John in a demonic scream unlike the medicated voice he was using this whole time. He began to tear his own flesh off until all that remained underneath was a fiery red skeleton with steel angel wings and a crown of spikes.
“No…no, this isn’t happening! Where the hell are my guards when I need them?!” screamed a fearful Dark-Law. The blood pool showed that the skeletal guards outside the temple were also part of the façade. Upon gazing at them a second time, their bones crumbled into ashes and dust.
“For god’s sake! If you worthless minions can’t handle this, then I will!” shouted Dark-Law as he leaped out of his pool and started throwing green energy balls left and right at the death angel known as John Bush.
Every ball found its target in John’s bony chest and he appeared to be bending backwards in pain. Dark-Law raised his arms and cheered in hope that he had won this battle. But victory wouldn’t come so easily for the deadly wizard. Instead the green energy projectiles caused John’s death angel body to grow larger and fierier. The red skeleton shouted a demonic cry before firing his own projectile straight through Dark-Law’s heart: a fire spear that drained his black blood into the already disgusting pool.
The evil ruler screamed his last scream of pain and thrashed his last bone-breaking thrashes. His now hollow corpse was tossed aside and John Bush’s death angel form had transformed back into his uncharismatic chubby body, still with the pocket knife in his hand.
John waddled over to Dark-Law’s corpse and sat his big ass down to start cutting away at the man’s scalp. “This will make for some awesome scientific research.” Indeed it will, John, because this dystopian nightmare shall never happen again. And to think, it was all because the almighty Dark-Law refused to take his most unlikely opponent seriously. For shame.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)