Natron gazed up and down the Tower of Hell
“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
“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
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.
