Armed and Devilish

“The meat supply is growing thin, my pretties. Looks like we’ll have to go back to eating our fruits and veggies,” said Tina Rabbit, watching her forest creatures licking and gnawing at various humanoid skeletons. The bones varied in shapes and sizes. Though they would be unrecognizable to the naked eye, Tina remembered them all.

A family deer licked the femur and forearm bones of a widened skeleton which once belonged to an orc, judging from its massive and rotting fangs. Squirrel children frantically ran and played between the eye sockets of an unfortunate gnome corpse. One gray wolf rolled over on its back and gnawed away at an ordinary human bone, almost crushing it between its mandibles. White rabbits played hide and seek underneath the ribcage and spinal cord of a formerly obese ogre.

All Tina could do was smile upon her furry children. She flipped her long brunette hair backwards and fiddled with her gray dress as she admired her fuzz buckets’ handiwork. “It’s been a while since we’ve had uninvited guests in our forests. I love tender ribs as much as you guys, but I love peace and quiet even more. No harm shall come to my babies or my trees.” She leaned down and stroked a wolf’s ears as it chewed on a skeletal forearm. “I love you all. Each and every one of you. Gather around for a…”

A crow’s squawking interrupted her sentence as the jittery bird of prey circled above Tina. She held out her arm and allowed the little guy to land on her wrist. “What’s wrong, my feathery friend?” she asked in her usual calm voice. “Don’t tell me we have more visitors.” The crow shook and squealed as it tried to find refuge underneath her druid’s gigantic sleeves. “It’ll be okay, little man. Mommy will take care of it.” She pointed her index finger at the rest of her friends and demanded, “Remember, don’t come swarming in until I tell you to. We lose too many furry friends that way.”

The forest creatures continued chewing and fiddling with the humanoid remains while the crow darted out from under Tina’s sleeve and flew slowly enough so that she could follow. The trees in this forest were large enough to hide the most suspicious activity from plain sight, but if there was yet another criminal deal going down in Tina’s neck of the woods, the meeting place would have to be carefully thought out. It would have to be so unobvious that…”Wait a minute…you’re kidding me…”

Tina didn’t have to walk far at all. This new business deal was happening right along the dirt path and there was already a bush for her to crouch down in. “The arrogance of these people…at least he’s got some meat on his bones,” Tina muttered to herself.

And why wouldn’t this buyer be arrogant? He towered over his seller at a whopping seven feet tall. His chiseled body looked like it had medicine balls stuffed in it. He didn’t even have to wear elaborate armor, just legless red shorts, brown leather boots, black straps across his chest and back, and a dark hood over his head that made him look like an executioner ready to chop someone’s head off. To Tina, however, he closely resembled an S&M store that blew the fuck up. She couldn’t help but smile at the same time she was pissed off at the man’s superiority complex.

The seller was a mirror image of his towering client: skinny, frail, covered in baggy robes and an oversized hood, his fingers elongated and bladed, his appearance kept quiet to those with naked eyes. It was amazing that he found the strength to hold a steel briefcase that could double as a tower shield. What wasn’t nearly as impressive was the seven foot tall gimp tossing a sack of gold coins his way and the seller nearly falling on his ass.

“Okay, you little shit,” belted the giant. “All five thousand gold pieces are in that bag. If you don’t believe me, try doing bicep curls with it. Now open the goddamn briefcase and show me what you’ve got.”

The seller gently set the money bag on the ground and twirled his hands around the metal case. “Forged in the fires of hell itself, strong enough to slay the mightiest gods, deadly enough to burn entire cities to a blanket of ashes…I give to you…” He unlocked the briefcase and unfolded what appeared to be a rusty trident. “The Cluster Fork!”

Tina giggled through her nose and had the two businessmen looking around for potential spies. She put her hand over her mouth and crouched down even lower.

The buyer swiped the trident out of the seller’s hands and swung it around with as much effort as a toothbrush. He even used the middle tip to pick his teeth and the other two tips to scratch his back. “Not bad,” he said sarcastically. “But how the hell is this supposed to be worth five thousand gold pieces! I can’t even buy a whorehouse full of slutty women with that kind of money!”

“That’s no ordinary trident, Mr. Jackhammer.”

Tina giggled again, but still managed not to attract attention her way.

Waving his hands over the rusted weapon, the seller said, “The Cluster Fork has been passed down from several generations of demonic forces. Entire wars were won with this piece of weaponry. Religions were split apart by this trident’s might. The Cluster Fork…”

Tina figured “Mr. Jackhammer” had enough of the hokey salesmanship as evidenced by the seven-footer jabbing the seller through the heart with the trident. That wasn’t where the heinous assault ended. A fiery circle formed around Mr. Jackhammer and melted not only his opponent’s corpse into ashes, but also the bushes and trees in his vicinity.

One of the trees had a crow’s nest inside. The family of scavenger birds angrily flocked around their attacker’s head and pecked at his face like their beaks were deadlier than medieval weaponry. Jackhammer put and end to the assault by grabbing all of the birds in one massive hand and crushing them into bloody feathers.

“Oh no…no, no, no…no…” Tina whispered as tears ran down her face. She tried to keep quiet as she snorted mucous up her nose, but accidentally let a scream slip when a family of grizzly bears came out of hiding and surrounded Jackhammer for a beat-down.

The giant stabbed one of the bears through the gut and slung his now fiery body around the others, reducing them to barbecued meat done a little too well. Jackhammer raised his weapon high in the air and laughed like a madman as a flaming aura danced around his already powerful body.

Tina couldn’t stop screaming at the instant horror as Jackhammer laid devilish eyes on her. He pointed the Cluster Fork at her and growled, “Ain’t so funny now, is it, bitch? Go ahead! Laugh it up! I double dog dare you! Don’t be shy!” No response, only jitters. Animals of all kinds, squirrels, wolves, deer, and birds, flocked away from the roaring inferno and all Tina could do was stand there with vibrating legs. “Answer me!” Jackhammer shouted.

She couldn’t answer, so a running deer did it for her when it bucked her on its back and carried her deep into the woods to safety. Tina’s wobbly legs made it difficult for her to stay upright during the chase and she came close to falling off several times. Jackhammer on the other hand had no problem sprinting through the woods lighting trees and shrubbery blaze. Another deer tried to kick him in the ribs, but all it got in return was a trident up the ass.

Tina shrieked and kept one hand over her eyes while the other was on her mount’s antlers. Images of her fluffy friends dying left and right in mass genocide assaulted her mind and sped up her heartbeat. Her blood grew colder and her skin dampened like a waterfall. After the deer halted and Tina stopped mumbling whiny slogans to herself, she slowly lifted her head to see that she was indeed underneath a waterfall and she wasn’t going crazy.

“You think a little bit of water is going to stop me?! I’ve seen infected pussies that were wetter than that!” barked Jackhammer with a fiery background behind him and his arms folded.

Tina slipped off the deer’s spine and backed up a few steps alongside her animal companions. She wanted to form a snappy comeback, but all that came out of her trembling lips was slobbery drivel.

“What’s the matter? Cock got your tongue?!” Jackhammer chuckled. “That’s okay. You’ll have plenty more reasons than that to be on your knees for me. I’m your majesty now! I rule over everything! Now be a good little girl and take off that sexy dress for me!” He licked his lips and caused Tina to shiver even harder than before.

She didn’t want to look her potential rapist in the eyes. She didn’t want to look at any other part of his body either. Instead her mind was pumped full of images of fiery treetops falling left and right. And then she had an idea, but her anxious tummy told her not to use her animals like that. Then again, her options were limited. It was too late for this forest. It would forever be known as a criminal hideout for shady deals. Mother Nature had been too kind to these crooks even in death. But it wasn’t too late for one more forest…

As Jackhammer cupped his ear and mockingly listened in for a response from Tina, she swallowed a lump and raised her finger in the air before casting it down upon her opponent. Swarms of squirrels and rabbits crawled all over Jackhammer’s body, leaving little rabid bite marks in their wake. Tina made a slash mark across her throat and instructed a deer to kick the trident out of Jackhammer’s hands, which it did after several long seconds of the giant snapping the necks of the little creatures.

“Damn it!” Jackhammer shouted repeatedly as he chased after the trident, which was being sucked down the stream and into the waterfall. Tina instructed the wolves to bite at his ankles while she instructed a nearby grizzly to knock down a burning tree over the distracted giant. Not only were his legs bleeding buckets, but the tree found its mark: right over the skull of the arrogant giant.

But it didn’t faze Jackhammer. It just made him smile evilly at Tina, who slowly backed up as he stalked upon her. He threatened, “I can get the trident later. I’ve already got a spear I can impale you with!” He dropped his legless shorts and exposed his ugly, mushroom-infested dong to her. Tina was so busy looking away that she plopped backwards into the water, not knowing where to go next.

“Open wide, little lady!”

She reached behind her and felt something sharp. Deer antlers! It felt so wrong to use a corpse in such a way, but when she fearlessly jammed the antlers into Jackhammer’s crotch, he bent over and howled in misery. But he ripped them out and tossed them aside like it was nothing despite the heavy bleeding. His smile grew wider and more sadistic. While deer, wolves, and bears ganged up on the seven foot savage, Tina swam away feeling like a coward.

The sounds of animal bones crunching and flesh being ripped and shredded pounded her brain and caused her to swim faster. She picked up her speed again when she heard the familiar leather boots clomping beside her. Every animal and every weapon tested against this giant failed to keep him down for long. And then…she threw something else at him. Something random. Something unexpected. And as soon as she threw this final weapon, Jackhammer’s agonizing cries were accompanied by crackles of fire.

Tina turned around and used a nearby deer’s antlers to help her out of the water. But she saw the same thing her companions did: burning flesh, blackening blood, and a once indestructible god turning into a pile of rotten meat and ashes. All because he had the Cluster Fork sticking out of his chest.

She couldn’t celebrate yet. She dashed over to him and collected his ashes in her front dress pocket before yanking the trident free. She and her animal companions outran the growing fire that consumed their home. Tina’s legs were still wobbly and she almost fell back into the water, but she was carried by a grizzly bear at the last minute. For now she could relax, but even that was impossible with all the violent imagery her mind played out for her.

Tina couldn’t even dream the hour away. A numbed out brain wouldn’t let her. Adrenaline kept her nerves ice cold. Her heart wouldn’t stop beating. She kept expecting either a fiery trident or another kind of “spear” to assault her any moment now. She watched her forest home go up in smoke. All that was left for her was this new grassy field where a significantly smaller animal army greeted her with sympathetic licks and head bumps.

“I’m sorry, my friends,” she cried. “Your home is gone. Everything we’ve worked to build is gone. Mother Nature lost. She never loses. I don’t even know if we can start over again…unless…”

Tina wiped multiple tears from her eyes and sprinkled Jackhammer’s ashes amongst the empty dirt. Multiple animal minions brought their dead loved ones into the pile as well as the bones of previous criminals who made deals in the now burning forest. They all gathered around with Tina leading them in a speech.

“You see this, everyone?” she said while choking back more tears. “The rain will come again one day. And when it does, these ashes and bodies will grow into another tree. And from that one tree, a new forest will grow. Life will begin again. But that won’t be for years to come. Mother Nature’s rebirth is always a slow one. But what shall we do for now? How shall we sustain ourselves until those years pass?”

Turned out the grass was quite delicious to the animals as they munched on it with fervor. If Mother Nature yielded these tasty results in such a short amount of time, perhaps the rebirth of the forest wouldn’t take long either. Tina smiled and fell on her back before releasing more tears to rehydrate the ground. The wolves licked her tears clean, signifying forgiveness for being used in combat so recklessly. It was their home too and they had the right to defend it. She hugged them around their necks and tried to fall asleep in her new cuddle-puddle, but to no avail.

Minnie-Moo

Most people went to places like Bellingham Forest to get away from their daily routines. For druid sorcerer Derrick Mango, the forest WAS his daily routine. He had his own log cabin in the darkest part of the woods where nobody could disturb his introverted microcosm. If they did, those people were met with scorn and violence. Derrick valued his privacy more than anything else in this world. One bright May morning, his privacy would be violated in the most savage way.

The sun shone brightly through the cracks of each individual log that made up Derrick Mango’s cabin. Not one single beam of light was enough to stir him from his slumber, which he could be found wearing little more than bearskin boots, wolf skin pants, and a rabbit skin blanket while sleeping on a bed stuffed with bird feathers. He snore was as quiet and friendly as a lethargic puppy’s.

If a mere sunbeam wasn’t going to wake him up, the loud thud against his cabin wall would. Derrick’s eyes snapped to life as he gazed into the crack that formed as a result of a pole axe strike. At first he was frightened, but then his brows furrowed into anger and he dismissed that first shot by saying, “Goddamn kids!” He threw the blanket off and stood up to confront the invader of his privacy.

And then there was another pole axe strike. And another. And another. Each smashing attack blew a gust of tree bark against the hermit’s body. Now was the perfect time for him to be scared. These weren’t just some damn kids. Whoever was defiling his cabin wanted him dead. But why?

Derrick looked around for a place to retreat, but all four walls were being pounded on while the sounds of animal grunting could be heard from outside. Soon the cracks in the wall turned into full-sized holes and the druid could see what was after him: demonic cows. He wiped his eyes just to make sure his vision wasn’t impeded from the sawdust, which it wasn‘t. There really was an army of cows with pole axes trying to break the walls down.

Chunks of the ceiling were falling down upon the forest warrior, which would have meant the end for him, but was actually his salvation. In one swift movement, he dashed towards the nearly demolished wall, leapt through the nearest ceiling hole, and scaled a tree that happened to be right next the cabin. Derrick climbed with such speed and grace that he made it to the top like the super athlete he was. It was a good thing he was so up high since his cabin collapsed after a few more blows from the demon cows.

“What do you freaks want from me?!” yelled Derrick from his treetop nest.

The cow warriors surrounded the thick tree and the leader of the pack finally gave him the answers he needed. “We know she’s here. She’s the one the Bellingham villagers refer to as Minnie-Moo. Such a disgustingly cute name for a disgusting creature.” The sound of a gentle meow caught everyone’s attention and there was the fluffy black and white cat Minnie-Moo curled up in the tree with Derrick. “That would be her! Throw her down here and I’ll spare your life!”

Minnie cried and pleased with Derrick not to surrender, the latter of the two already getting sick of all the bullshit surrounding his invasion of privacy. All he wanted was to be left alone and he had his chance right then and there as he glared at the frightened fluff ball. But instead, the loner needed more answers. “What did this little feline do to you and your clan of circus freaks?”

“She drank from the pool of our most sacred milk. We use that pool for holy rituals and Minnie violated those terms when she nearly lapped it all up. Gluttony is one of the worst sins this world has to offer and she shall be punished for it. Throw her down right this instant! No more questions!” shouted the leader.

Except Derrick couldn’t throw her down even if he wanted to; Minnie was already leaping from treetop to treetop. Some of the bovine warriors charged after her while others stayed behind and started rocking Derrick’s tree back and forth in an attempt to bring him down hard.

The normally nimble hermit tried to stand up and walk across the branch, but the trembling force of each shake caused him to lose his balance and land on his balls. Derrick Mango let out a shrill of pain while desperately clutching his last means of having children. He would have spilled off to the side and be at the mercy of these ridiculous, but fierce fighters.

Emphasis on would. Minnie was dashing across the treetops in circles and flew right into Derrick’s face with her claws stretched out. The agony of having cat blades in his cheeks caused the druid to temporarily ignore his ball pain and spring to a standing position in an attempt to shake off the rogue cat.

The previous shaking from the cow clerics loosened the tree so much that when Derrick danced around, it fell over and he and Minnie rolled down the hill together at a faster speed than the heavy cows could keep up with on their stubby legs. The screaming in pain and the firestorm of curse words would have been more audible if they weren’t vibrating off of Minnie’s stomach. The blasphemous animal dug deeper into Derrick’s face as a means of holding on tightly for this bumpy ride.

The crash and burn would eventually happen at the bottom of the hill, where they landed hard in a rapid river that began carrying them away underneath the water. Only at the threat of drowning would Minnie let go of Derrick’s face and doggie-paddle toward the surface.

The bloody wounds in the pissed off druid’s visage and his already aching testicles only pissed him off even further. Just when the bovines had reached the bottom of the hill looking for their prey, Derrick pulled Minnie underneath the water. Little did they know the bovines lost their trail and they were ready to give up.

Except Derrick wasn’t pulling Minnie underneath for her safety. He did it because he wanted to scream obscenities at her for putting him in this position in the first place. The bubbles in his lungs muffled most of what he was saying, but it was basically along the lines of this whole mess being Minnie’s fault because she led these “freaks” to his hideout and almost got the both of them killed.

He could have gone on forever ranting and raving while not caring if he or Minnie drowned. But luckily, they didn’t have to worry about being underwater indefinitely since the river dropped them off at a shallow part where Derrick could be on his knees and Minnie could swim to the surface. Both survivors of the bovine rebellion coughed, hacked, and wheezed until every last drop of water was out of their noses and throats.

By the time Derrick was done coughing, his testicle pain flared up again and he was screaming while banging the shallow ground with his fists. Meanwhile, Minnie was curled up at the edge of the river like she wasn’t in danger of dying just now. Typical cat behavior: always ignoring humans in their time of need.

Derrick stood up in the raging river and pressed his thighs together while basically tiptoeing his way to where Minnie was laying. His balls were almost ruptured, his face was still bleeding, and he was in a “don’t fuck with me” mood. Hell, his rage alone would have gotten him a victory over that entire squadron of cow people. But the only cow-like creature he had his flaring eyes on at the moment was Minnie.

“You sick little bitch!” shouted Derrick Mango as he inched closer to the shivering cat. “You nearly got my ass killed. You led those demons to my cabin all because of some stupid milk fiasco. Well, it’s a good thing all that milk made you fat, because I want some chow and you’re the only living thing here with meat on your bones!”

Derrick raised his hands in the air monster-style before his ball pain acted up again and he tumbled over to the side of the wet cat. He cried and bitched and moaned while holding his poor aching groin. “Why, sweet god, why?! What did I do to deserve this! Why me?! Why not somebody else?! I didn’t do no harm to anyone!”

Minnie stood up from her sleeping position and licked the salty river off of Derrick’s nose, which was pretty much the only part of his face that wasn’t soaking in blood. The druid said, “Oh come on! Stop making it so hard to be pissed off!” Minnie purred and licked him some more. “I’m serious!” More purrs, more licks. “Don’t make me go all lovey-dovey for you!” Even more purrs, even more licks.

“Ah, who am I kidding. You saved my life just by clawing my fucking face. I guess that squares things between us. That, and you are kind of cute. Cuter than those stupid humans in the village.” Derrick proved his affections by scratching Minnie behind the ears.

“Minnie-Moo, are you alright?!” That cutesy voice belonged to a village girl no older than seven years. She was dressed up like a doll with her thick white dress and wool boots. As soon as she saw Minnie, the cat ran up to the girl and jumped into affectionate, loving arms. The girl looked down at the wounded Derrick and said, “Thank you for saving my kitty!”

“Oh, no problem. If you wanted to pay me back, you could bring me a healer. I’m kind of in a lot of pain right now,” said Derrick.

“Okay!” said the village girl as she turned around and skipped away with Minnie-Moo in her arms.

Derrick rolled over and slowly removed his hands from his aching balls before saying to himself, “Saved by the fucking humans….damn it! Oh well.”

Stardust

When Mitch O’Connor’s spacecraft touched down on the world of Stardust, he couldn’t believe how small it was. It truly was a retreat for an introverted hermit like Marcus Edge. The door to the pod-like spacecraft opened and Mitch clunked down the stairs in his spiked metal power armor while carrying a gauss rifle that was bigger than his own arms. “Oh, this is too easy. Too damn easy!” he said to himself.

Stardust wasn’t the most complex world in the galaxy. Smallness aside, it appeared to be a jungle land complete with coconut trees, dirt trails, tall grass, plant life, just your everyday nature trail on planet earth. Even for a planet this tiny, Mitch still had a problem finding his target Marcus Edge. It didn’t help matters that the space mercenary was stomping around on the ground in his gigantic metal boots. Then again, his job didn’t require a great deal of stealth, so he didn’t dwell on it much.

“Marcus Edge!” shouted Mitch through an amplified microphone inside his space helmet. “I know your ass is around here somewhere! I’m feeling pretty good today, probably because toasting your little world is going to be the easiest thing I’ve ever done! So here’s what I’m going to do, Marcus: I’m going to give you the chance to get your hermit ass off this planet so that when I burn down the plant life and kill all the animals, you won’t have to be a part of it. My boss at World Corp wants to turn your little home into a vacation getaway. It don’t look like much of a vacation right now, buddy boy. It looks more like…”

Before he was allowed to finish his oratory, Mitch O’Connor’s legs were snatched up from underneath him and he hung upside down on a vine. He was so far off the ground that when he dropped his rifle, he couldn’t pick the damn thing back up again. “Oh, you’ve got traps now?” he said. “Well, I got news for you, smart ass: I’ve been doing this shit for a whole decade and ain’t no vine going to stop my ass from burning everything in sight!”

His boldness turned to fear when he found himself face to face with a Venus Fly Trap, the owner of that tight vine. This particular plant had teeth the size of railroad spikes and blood oozing from its mouth like a waterfall. Mitch’s lips were vibrating and his eyes widened at the sight of this monster. And then he went back to being bold when he said, “Wait a minute! Why the hell am I scared of a goddamn plant?”

With his metal space helmet, Mitch O’Connor unleashed a powerful head butt to the Venus Fly Trap, loosening a few teeth and spraying some more blood, but more importantly, loosing the vine’s grip on the mercenary’s legs. Mitch plummeted to the grassy ground below, but his metal armor protected him from injury, so he pretty much picked himself up, dusted himself off, and found his rifle again.

“Is that all you got, Marcus? Some stupid plant? Oh, this is going to be easier than I thought! And I’m making millions off of this job! It’s like Christmas came early!” boasted Mitch.

“Don’t be too sure of that, you disgusting human!” said the busted up Venus Fly Trap in a raspy voice. With Mitch watching in awe and horror, the plant morphed into a human being wearing bear skin clothing and a raccoon cap on his head. This was him alright: Marcus Edge, hermit druid.

“Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be, huh? You want to put up a fight? Well, goddamn, man, you’ve got one now, bitch!” shouted the soldier for hire when he raised his gauss rifle and opened automatic fire. That many plutonium bullets would have been enough to shred a normal human being into dust. Hell, the surgeons would need a microscope to put his sorry ass back together again. But when the storm of bullets ended, there was no corpse.

Instead all Mitch O’Connor got was a deafening bird squawk right in his left ear. Marcus, who now morphed into a parrot, continued to blast his windpipes in his opponent’s ear and double the man over as he got a headache. When the druid believed his adversary had enough, he flew off into the sunset and left Mitch to clutch his aching head.

The sudden drop in volume inspired the mercenary to aim his rifle and unleash another rainstorm of violence upon his opponent. The shredding impact only resulted in one feather this time. On measly little feather.

“What the hell’s going on here?!” Good question, Mr. O’Connor. What was going on was that Marcus Edge had now morphed into a charging rhino. The tank-like beast barreled and stampeded his way across the grass and knocked a few trees over. With little time for his opponent to react, Marcus gored Mitch and sent him flying backwards several feet, knocking a few trees over himself.

That power armor was a blessing for Mitch since he had just survived a high drop and getting spear tackled by a rhino. But now the mercenary was feeling the pain. He was so exhausted from these attacks that he took longer than usual to get up. He crashed into trees, for god’s sake. Trees! Yet he continued to be brash and cocky in the face of danger.

“Is that all you got, you son of a bitch? What are you going to change into now, a small puppy? Are you going to bark your way to victory?” yelled Mitch.

Changing from a rhino back to his human form, Marcus slowly approached his nemesis and said, “No, I’m not going to do any barking today. That’s been your job since you landed on Stardust, you asshole.”

With Mitch watching in awe of his opponent, Marcus continued his speech with, “You know what I detest about the human race? You people think you have the right to conquer whatever the hell you want. You did it on earth with pretty much every group of people that wasn’t white, including Indians and Africans. That’s all you guys do: just take, take, take. You have some oil? I’ll take that. You have human rights? I’ll take that as well. Is that supposed to be impressive? To who, exactly? Your mother? Your father? Your trophy wife? The president himself? How many more people have to die before you’re finally satisfied with the things you already have! You make me sick! You all make me sick!”

An uncomfortable hush had fallen over the scene and then Marcus laid into Mitch some more, “That’s why I came to Stardust: to get away from it all. And now some space jockey like you decides to come to my world and sell it to some rich asshole? Let me fill you in on a little secret, buddy boy. Stardust isn’t just any tiny planet. It’s the product of my own imagination. As long as I keep being creative, I can manipulate any part of this world I want while you only have that stupid rifle to overcompensate for your small penis. To put it in words even a money-hungry thug like you can understand…you were screwed the minute you stepped foot on my world.”

This would have been the best time for Mitch O’Connor to get back in his spaceship and tell his bosses at World Corp to shove it. Just leave now while he still had his peace of mind and still had his health. But instead he decided to keep playing the role of an arrogant jerk-ass. He yelled, “You worthless piece of shit!” prior to opening fire yet again.

Except this time it wasn’t just plutonium bullets. It was also fireballs, ice sickles, lightning bolts, biological sludge, and laser beams, all of which were hidden compartments on his rifle and all of which were necessary in doing his job to destroy entire planets to get them ready for flipping.

After unloading a cataclysm of agony that Armageddon itself could never produce, Mitch didn’t even check to see if there was a corpse this time. He just dropped to his hands and knees, breathed deeply, and laughed his ass off. “I got you, bitch! I got you this time! And there ain’t nothing you can do about it!”

Mitch was so busy laughing his way to insanity that he didn’t realize he was sinking in a mud pit. Even when the mud was completely covering his space helmet, he couldn’t have cared less. It was when he was underneath the mud pit and into a cavern of filth that he realized what was going on. The realization hit him even harder when Marcus was standing there with his arms folded saying, “What took you so long?”

“No…no…this ain’t happening, man! This ain’t happening! Don’t you ever fucking die, man?!” screamed a deranged Mitch O’Connor.

Marcus laid a hand on his invader’s metal shoulder and said, “Old druids don’t die. They just get better.” With Mitch shedding tears of defeat, Marcus Edge transformed into a gigantic grizzly bear and started chewing and mauling his way through the metal armor, which at this point was a lot like opening a can of Chef Boyardee ravioli. Oh, the meat sauce inside was going to be so worth all this rage.

Hanging Around

***HANGING AROUND***

For the past two weeks, my brother James and I babysat the puppies and kitties while my mom and step-dad Dale went to North Carolina to do some remodeling of their future retirement home. These two weeks would have been an awesome time to get some serious creative work done and so far, so good. I gave Andy Peloquin’s “Blade of the Destroyer” novel a four-star detailed review and did the same to Carl Hiaasen’s “Star Island” book. I also participated in two WSS contests and that’s why “Nail Bomb” and “Kill, Cut, Scalp” are in my Deviant Art gallery. I snapped some toy pictures of Daniel Bryan, Roman Reigns, Homer Simpson, and Wario. I drew pictures of Katie Evans from “Froggy Smacks” and Machu Throatslash from “Ascension”, both stories a part of the Poison Tongue Tales anthology. I wrote a four-star review for a WWE match between The Prime Time Players and The New Day that took place at this year’s Battleground pay-per-view. I edited the shit out of an American Darkness story called “It’s Okay For You to Love Me”. And last but not least, I FINALLY pumped out the first chapter of Blood Brawl, which used to be called Dungeons & Dragons: Hair vs. Hair, but has since been changed.

You probably think the main reason for telling you all what I did over the two weeks my parents were gone is so that I can brag and get my jollies off. As much as I love to let my arrogant side every now and then, that’s not why I’m writing this journal. This journal is titled “Hanging Around”, which if you look it up on Urbandictionary.com is just a synonym for idling or doing very little. Truth be told, it doesn’t take a great amount of time to do all of the creative tasks I did in those two weeks. Snapping pictures takes literally a few seconds while writing a short story or novel chapter can take anywhere between half an hour to a full hour.

Yes, I got a lot done, but what about the downtime in between creative work? Most people fill this time up by doing chores, going to their day jobs, or hanging out with family members and friends. While it is true that I had a lot of chores to do to maintain this two-story house and keep the animals happy, the chores are also super easy to do and don’t take very long, so that’s even more downtime that I have between creative projects. Closing this gap seems like an easy thing to do at first glance. Okay, so I’ve edited an American Darkness story, so my next project to hop on is writing a chapter of Blood Brawl.

Except it doesn’t work that way, at least not in my world. You know what I do during my downtime? Plenty of things that would constitute “Hanging Around”: napping to new age music, checking my online messages, dinking around on Face Book, and walking around my house like a zombie while talking to myself (usually reciting dialogue from Clerks or Pulp Fiction). So basically, instead of being a relentless worker, I am a professional zombie.

While I’m frying my brain on Face Book and snoozing despite not being tired, I’m doing something that brings all of this idling to light: waiting. I’m waiting for my mental energy to be restored. Only with maximum mental energy can I plow through my creative projects. Anything less and I just crash at the first few words of the story. For years I’ve tried to figure out the secret to my mental exhaustion and I have many answers: sleep apnea, schizophrenia medications, bad diet, minimal exercise, and an aversion to low barometric pressures. That’s a lot of things I have to fix just to be active and alert 24/7. But the one thing that outweighs all of those other problems is my sleep apnea.

Sometime when Mom and Dale are home, I fully intend to make an appointment with a sleep clinic to see if I need a breathing mask or not. I probably do, but the clinic visit is just a formality. Until then, I have to admit that I feel guilty about watching my time go by. I have no excuses. The reason I don’t get much done is because I’m literally sitting around doing nothing while waiting for my brain to stop being an asshole to me. As someone with a strong work ethic and an even stronger creative urge, this makes the guilt more powerful.

But you all have told me over and over again that I don’t need to feel guilty over not getting everything done at once. I sound like a broken record when I talk about mental energy, but that’s because I can’t thank you guys enough for taking that weight off of my shoulders. I hope you can continue to support me now that you know I’ve been spending most of my free time “hanging around” instead of relentlessly working.

I’m actually thankful I don’t have a day job right now. Even with my sleep apnea-induced mental tiredness, I’d still have to work an eight hour day doing presumably boring work just to pick up a paycheck. To those of you who have you are enduring the corporate grind, you have my empathy, my love, and my thanks. I don’t know how you do it, but I have all the respect in the world for you.

I do have plans to get some creative work done after Mom and Dale get home tomorrow. Bulldozing my way through unedited American Darkness stories is a top priority. Writing the second chapter of Blood Brawl and introducing Ivan Blackstone to the story is another top priority. Before those two things, it’s a new week at the WSS contest and the prompt suggestion is “Different Worlds”. Here’s a synopsis of my eventual story this week, which is called “Stardust”:

　

CHARACTERS:

　

Marcus Edge, Morphing Druid

Mitch O’Connor, Space Mercenary

　

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Stardust is a world different from our own.

　

SYNOPSIS: Mitch is hired by an intergalactic corporation called World Corp to colonize planets by killing off the inhabitants and burning the plant life, thus getting them ready for rebuilding into the CEO’s image. Mitch has been doing this kind of work for a whole decade, but when he goes to a hermit’s planet called Stardust, he finally meets his match when the one person he has to kill is a shape-shifting druid named Marcus Edge. Marcus can change into any kind of earthen animal from a wolf to a bear to even something as annoying as a deerfly. During the battle, he reveals that the reason he became a hermit was because of his disgust with the human race.

　

I do have bursts of energy every now and then and I’ll always have free time of some kind. Come hell or high water, these projects will be done and they’ll be done the right way. You hear that, American Darkness stories? The Hate Train is coming for your asses! Hahahahahaha! The only reason I’m calling it the Hate Train is because it’s also the name of a Sanction VIII song and that was the first band that played on the night I went to see Cavalera Conspiracy in Seattle this past May. And as long as I’m making references to obscure metal bands who probably don’t venture outside of the Sea-Tac area…

　

(Points to American Darkness) This is what I stand for!

(Points to Stardust) This is why I fight!

(Points to Blood Brawl) This is what I live for!

Prepare to die tonight!

　

We’ve got ears, say cheers!

　

***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“The Miz is WWE’s version of Right Said Fred: he’s a one hit wonder.”

-John Layfield-

Marcus Edge

Diablo II: Lord of Destruction wasn’t just a videogame for me back in the early 2000’s; it was an influence. It was a digital drug. I killed the brothers of evil over and over again as time passed into the 2010’s. I used a variety of characters to do it, but my favorites were the barbarian and the paladin since they were both badass brawlers. Then again, any character class from that game can be a badass brawler if the right skills were chosen.

Which brings me to the druid class. Druids, like any other character, had a skill set sorted out into three categories. The ones particular to him were elemental magic spells, shape-shifting spells, and summoning spells. If you’re playing Diablo II and you want to turn your druid into a brawler, put your skill points into the shape-shifting category, particularly were-bear transformation and maul. How the hell are Diablo’s minions supposed to compete with a big ass bear who only gets stronger and hungrier with every blow?

The answer to that question is easier than you think, unfortunately. When druids transform into were-bears, their attack speed is significantly slower. Even when they’re armed with weapons with a very fast attack speed, the strikes still come slowly and awkwardly.

Now imagine if the druid was armed with something heavy like a great maul, which has a very slow attack speed. If he transformed into a bear, his new attack speed would be so slow his victims would look like Matrix characters with how easily they dodge the strikes. Now imagine if your ursine druid was frozen, which slows down running and attack speed. Duriel, the boss enemy for act two, has a freezing aura around him at all times. Do the math and you’ll see right away that tortoises don’t always beat hares.

This was the story for a druid I played with named Marcus Edge. If that name seems familiar to you, you were probably logged onto Deviant Art and reading a story called The Meaning of Laugh, which was about a raunchy comedian of the same name who has a heart attack on stage. That story won’t be published in any short story anthologies anytime soon due to the crappy writing style I employed in 2012.

The Diablo II version of Marcus Edge was a lethal warrior. His slowness, however, made it impossible to defeat Duriel and I ultimately deleted him from my archives. But this doesn’t mean his career in a creative field is over. Druids in general are fascinating to me. As an animal lover, I should know this, because druids specialize in summoning and transforming into these furry creatures. If I ever write another dark fantasy story and need a druid, I would gladly use Marcus Edge as my main character. Perhaps he can get notoriety in more ways than his name being used for a crappy comedian character.

　

***FACE BOOK POST OF THE DAY***

“When I was playing Final Fantasy videogames as a child, I’d always wondered what the hell a ‘phoenix down’ was. I knew what it did, but I didn’t know why it was called that. Turns out this whole time I’ve been sprinkling bird feathers on my unconscious warriors. Smelling salts would be more practical, but they probably wouldn’t conform to the magical element of Final Fantasy games.”

-Me-