Title: Halo: RingFall
Story: On Installation 06, 16807 Abashed Eulogy contemplates the history of the galaxy. All its conflicts, wars, and struggles. She ponders which of the many factions of the galaxy is truly the most powerful. Which one has the greatest potential for destruction and glory. So, she decides to experiment. Converting a large section of her ring, she transforms it into a battleground. The thick vegetation is cleared, making room for environments that mirror multiple locations. A frozen tundra with forerunner architecture, a barren desert with a human outpost, a sickly swamp with a banished fortress, and a volcanic waste with crumbling ruins. Scattered between them are dense forests, open plains, and some rivers. With the scenery set, she begins her testing.
Gameplay: At the start of each match, an Arkship will fly across the landscape, dispersing fighters wherever they wish to deploy. The players will control their descent within drop pods before landing and exiting in a first-person cinematic display (think Chief's landing on Delta Halo in Halo 2 in first-person). Weapons from every Halo game, expanded media and even some new ones will be scattered about, along with a small amount of vehicles. Weapons would include the “cut” ones from Infinite, Halo 3’s brute weapons, Reach’s expanded arsenal as well as stuff like the Stanchion, Flamethrower, gravity rifle, and others. Vehicles would be Mongoose, Warthog, Razorback, Ghost, Revenant (Halo 4 design), Chopper and Maurader. Perhaps also a Mantis and Reaver. To push players to a randomly generated middle, Abashed Eulogy will designate an era as inadequate and begin a purge. First, the area will begin to crack and pale, signaling the "closing of the ring". Once a set amount of time has passed, the cracked area will be ejected into space, eliminating anyone left in the area and shrinking the fighting space. Abashed Eulogy will also act as the announcer, commenting in what is happening and changes about to occur.
Player content: To make the gameplay more interesting, players can choose between six factions between three categories to play as. Each player can create three "characters" per faction and can switch between characters and factions between battles. Unlockable customization is earned in a Reach-like style with credits earned based on your gameplay and leveling up. Each faction has unique animations, drop pods, and melee weapons. Putting away your weapons will allow players to run faster and be weaponless at will. Content will be shared between characters but not factions. The categories and factions are these. The Alliance: UNSC Spartans and Swords of Sanghelios Elites The Betrayed: Banished Brutes and Endless Xalanyn The Hated: Flood Combat Forms and Created Prometheans UNSC: The spartans will be in Infinite style (though Reach proportions if you know what I mean) and contain armor options from all games. There are also 3 voice types ( technically six, considering it’s 3 per gender). First is a stoic and calm Spartan 2, second is a professional but more bantery and laid-back Spartan 3, and third is the much more vocal and chatty Spartan 4. They will use the familiar UNSC drop pods and wield the Spartan knives from Reach Assassinations. SoS: The Elites will contain male AND female elites, allowing us to finally see female elites in game. Their armor will range from all games though the base shape is their Infinite Design. HOWEVER, there is an optional third body type in the form of 343 (Halo 4/5) style Elites for those who wish to play as them. Voice types will be a strict and professional Covenant Elite, second will be a boisterous and loud remnant follower and third is a more approachable and open-minded Swords Elite. The drop pod used will be the Halo Reach style, with the cover sliding up and the elite jumping out. Their melee weapon will likewise bet the Reach-style energy daggers.
The Banished: This will allow us to finally play as the brutes. They will have two body types; trimmed and neat Infinite Style or shaggy/hairy Halo 2 style. No female brutes. Armor will be from all games (2, 3, Reach and Infinite). Voice types will include a snarling savage that rarely talks, a devote covenant follower from Halo 3, or the bombastic and snarling Infinite style. Their drop pods will be the ones form Infinite, with fire and explosions, belching smoke and flame while the brute leaps out and roars. Unlike other factions, the Brutes use their fists as their melee weapons, with their running animations while “armed” being the beserking lope from Halo 2.
The Endless: This will be fun, allowing the expansion of Xalanyn design. I’m assuming they resemble the Harbinger, so they’ll be slender and regal, floating above the ground as if swimming in water. Due to the Harbinger being female, I’m going to say males and females are playable, with their armor taking inspiration from the already-seen designs as well as some influence from the Reapers of Mass Effects (the reapers themselves, not the Husks) Their voice lines could be a calm, regal figure that looks down on other species, an unhinged fighter who wants revenge for their betrayal and a solum warrior who feels they are dying and have little left. Their drop pod could be almost anything, but I feel they’d exit it with arms folded over their chest, floating out as if underwater. Their melee weapon would be their hand coated in energy to act as slashing blades.
The Flood: Getting to play as a Combat-Form has a lot of potential. Three body types; human, elite and brute, with armor being different ranks of each before they were infected. Voice lines will be super fun. The first is the Primordial; ancient and calm, talking about the inevitability of its victory and monologuing on ancient times. The second would be the Gravemind we know and love, speaking in riddles and metaphors before going unhinged and angry. And the third would be a proto-gravemind, snarling and groaning like a classic zombie and only speaking the occasional broken phrase or word. Their drop pod would be a flood sac, with the player crawling out of it. Their melee weapon will be tentacles that extend from their arm, and these also wrap around any weapon they pick up to aid in reloading.
The Created: The Prometheans would be soldiers, though modified to look a bit less “floaty”. A combination of what they are and the design that Wernissage created on YouTube. Their armor designs could range from Halo 4’s with different colors and lights, to 5’s more vivid metal and perhaps a few more floaty bits. Voice lines would include a dull, mechanical voice, very robotic and stiff. The second would be similar to Halo 5, serving Cortana and believing in the superiority of machines, and last would be a LifeWorker drone, striving to protect life and feeling they are only doing what they must by killing. Their drop pod would be a solid metal cylinder that disassembles partially to form the soldier itself, floating apart and then reforming into the player. Their melee weapon would be similar to the Knights light blade.
Additional Game Modes: A survival-style game with between 96 to 99 Flood players, unarmed, against 1 to 4 survivors who drop down and have to scavenge and attempt to kill the flood before they are killed. There could also be an Infection Style game where there are 99 survivors and 1 Alpha Flood who is a Juggernaut. Whenever a survivor is killed, they are turned into a flood form with their original character’s armor (or one of their flood character if they an endless or Promethean) and they keep respawning until either all survivors are dead or the timer runs out. Release and Future Content: On release, everyone who buys the game (which would be about $20, gets a 100-tier season pass that they can work through to earn customizations for their armor and decals. Think how For Honor does their passes. However, once the season is done (after a month or two) the pass remains so you can continue to unlock. The following season would introduce a new category and two new factions. Ancient Humans and Forerunners. Further seasons would include an ODST faction, a covenant Prelate Factions, a Fringe Faction that uses the Dazreme, an ONI season that has UNSC customization for Elites, Brutes, Prometheans, and radio-controlled Flood. A Covenant Season that unlocks Honor Guard Armor for elites, brutes and flood and Covenant Spartans, Prometheans, and Endless. The ideas go on and on.
Would this ever happen? Probably not. But I think it would make an amazing game that would breath life back into Halo without rewriting anything and would be an amazing thing!
That’s how I would make a Halo Battle Royal Game.

First/Previous
The travel took on a less gloomy quality in the day that passed since Gemma’s self-reflection and although there remained a queer distance in her eyes, she seemed in better spirits in losing the weight of the words.
It was a night just beyond Wabash Crevasse that we pushed on till sunset was almost upon us and we were each tired and the food stocks ran low and so we found harbor in a half collapsed cellar where a home once stood; it was only after examining the slatted, rotted boards of the old place, fallen over, tired with decay, that we spied the cellar doors intact; sheets of door metal plied us with safety from the outside world and the interior of the place stank of mold and the deeper recesses were collapsed, but there was a cradle to crossbar the stair hatch and I put my prybar there for the night. We finished the water and canned tomatoes, and I smoked a cigarette, staving off the inevitable doom which would come with the dwindling of our supplies.
I’d peeked through the space where the doors met at the cellar’s entry and watched the full darkness there while the youngins spoke of life and the trivial pursuits of it and I hardly said a word besides.
Sitting on the lowest step with Trouble dumbly maintaining her station by me, by the low glow of the space in the threshold, I saw they’d pushed their bedrolls together and Andrew had fallen asleep with his arm over Gemma’s shoulder and her eyes glowed with shine from the crack, blinked a few times while seeing me; she too eventually drifted to sleep, and I spent time by the secured door.
Gunshots rang across the stillness, and they stirred from their quiet slumber and Gemma asked, “Harlan, is it alright?”
I moved to the space there at the doorway again and listened and watched what I could through that crack and nothing beyond came. “It’s safe. I’ll be up a bit longer. I’ll watch.”
Andrew asked, “Can’t sleep?”
“I’ll sleep in a bit. Don’t worry about me. Rest. Sleep good and we can put more behind us.
They sat up, legs crossed triangle-wise, and Gemma spoke again, “Why do you have such a hard time sleeping? It seems I’m asleep after you and only awake after you too.”
“Yeah,” said Andrew.
“It’s cool at night. I can listen to the wind.” I shrugged.
“You should be the one that tries to get some sleep,” said Andrew.
I said nothing.
They reached out their arms and I shook my head.
“Here,” Gemma said, “Move your bedroll closer.” She reached across the dirt floor of the cellar and dragged my splayed roll so that it sat beside hers.
“I’ll sleep later.” I turned my attention back to the door and ignored them till their sounds of sleep could be heard. The Alukah was nowhere and did not tap on the door that night and when I moved to sleep, I shimmied onto the roll beside them, facing away on my shoulder; the dog followed, laid on the bare dirt beside me and I held the mutt.
Though I refused a noise as they stirred in the absolute darkness, I felt Gemma’s arm fall over my own shoulder and felt Andrew’s hand touch my back, and water traced the bridge of my nose and I slept deeply thereafter.
There was no breakfast without food, and the water was gone; I felt the eyes of the dog on us as we packed up our belongings that next morning and I tried not to imagine the poor animal skinned over fire. I smiled at Trouble, patted its head, scratched its chin; she sniffed my hand like she was looking for something that wouldn’t be found.
We went west again, ignoring roads and pushed through straight wasteland where nothing was and no one was, and with every dry footfall on the dry hard ground, I wished for rain, and I wished that when it had rained, as infrequent as it was, that I had been wise enough to save what we could from the sky; that sky was red and swollen and refused to burst. We pushed on through strange dead thickets where grayed and twisty yellow branches lurched from the ground into the sky like even they too wished for an end to all the suffering. It was days more till we would see Alexandria and though I could stave off hunger (thirst too, if necessary), I was not so certain that the children would be able to push on without it; they did not complain and watched the ground in our march and maintained higher spirits than I could’ve imagined from them.
Early in the day, they spoke often, and I listened and as they wore on, their words came less and even the dog seemed in a lower mood for the unsaid predicament; me too.
Gemma broke the silence on the matter by saying, “What are we going to do about food? Water?”
“We’ll push on.”
“We could turn back?” asked Andrew.
“The more time we spend out in the open, outside of a city, the more likely it is that the Alukah will catch us unawares. Tighten your belts.” Our feet took us around a dilapidated truck, an old thing with a rusty hook which dangled off a rear arm. “Save your urine.”
They made faces but did not protest.
“Does that work? You ever drink pee?” asked Andrew.
I laughed, “I thought we’d be there by now. I took us too long by trying to drop the scent of the Alukah. That thing’s hunted us for days—last night was the first time it ain’t bothered us. It’s got me wondering why.”
Gemma piped up, licking her dry lips before speaking, “Do you think that monster ran into those scavengers we saw?” Then I caught her shooting a look at Andrew, “At least we warned them.” Her smile was faint and almost indiscernible as one.
I shrugged. “Can’t say. Don’t think it’s smart to turn back. Won’t be long and we’ll touch the 40 and then it’ll be a straight on to Babylon—couple of days—can’t turn back though. Maybe without food; that’s doable. Water’s the worst, but if it comes to it,” I paused and looked on the weathered faces of the children, on the lowered head of Trouble which followed her nose across the ground (it searched just short of frantic), “Like I said, ‘save your urine’.”
The first pains of hunger held within me brought up some reminiscence and I wished for nothing more than to hold Suzanne; I could nearly smell them and in the swaying walk which took us on past toppled townships, I held long blinks where I could nearly make out their face and if I really pushed the limits of my imagination, I could feel them. In those moments, as we passed dead places, rotted pits of despair, I could think of little more than their presence. Though I knew it was a dangerous game, hoping for more than I was worth, I hoped for Suzanne then and I wished that I’d taken them up on their offer to travel to Alexandria with them; it could’ve been home—it never was in all the times I’d gone there, but who knows? The thoughts of Babylon brought forth their gardens; the wild gardens and the water which flowed freely through their pipes. I wished I was a different person entirely and that too would’ve been better for Suzanne; how it was that they’d seen anything in me, I don’t know. How it was that they could stoop to the level of being with someone like me—I warded off that thought, because to place the blame there would certainly be unfair. I thought of my love plainly and wanted a different life more suited to them.
Imaginations played more furiously, and I remembered the evening when Dave stopped me from leaping from that roof—it’s doubtful that he even realized that he’d slowed my demise; perhaps he did know—I wished then that I could ask him. Too kind for the world. People too kind for the world were scarce and hardly worth the trouble. Yet, there I was, chaperoning those two across the wastes.
Gemma was a broken person when I’d found her, tortured in Baphomet’s well; Andrew was a dullard boy who’d lost his hand. What a silly predicament.
I stopped in my movements and swiveled on my heel to catch Andrew by the shoulder. “You still got your hand, don’t you?”
In good humor, the boy grinned, lifted the nub on the end of his left forearm to show me, “Nope.”
“Dammit, no! The hand in the jar!”
Andrew raised his eyebrows. “In my pack.”
“Stop,” I commanded Trouble; the dog hardly recognized my words and continued a way then circled back, sad eyes looking up from where she took to sit by my side. Gemma, both arms dangling loosely from her own pack’s shoulder straps, took into the circle we’d formed.
The girl asked, “What about the jar? It’s nasty, but I guess it’s his.”
“I think that’s it,” I said. I took Andrew by his shoulders, looked him in his eyes, “We could use it!”
“What?” The boy almost laughed in the display of our concern. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I think I’ve got it! It’s good for a trap.” I shook him; maybe too hard. I almost smiled. “It’s worth a shot!”
“It’s mine.” He bit his top lip, withdrew from me.
“You’ll feel differently about that,” I said.
Gemma placed a hand on Andrew’s pack and tried ripping it open. “Give it to him!” shouted the girl.
The boy whipped from her grasp, and he spun on his feet, and panic stood on his face. “It’s mine, isn’t it?”
I took a step forward, “No, not anymore.” I put out my palm, “Give it.”
Andrew nearly flinched at the thought of it and shook his head a little. “Why?”
“I told you why,” I said.
“You don’t even know if it’ll work, do you?” his words were long in protest.
The girl started again, “Andrew, please.”
He locked eyes with Gemma and once again, his bottom teeth came up to meet over his top lip and he moved his jaw methodically with contemplation.
“What does it even matter?” she asked.
“It’s mine. You don’t know what it’s like.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
“C’mon,” he said, but his pack straps fell from his shoulders, and he hunkered down on the ground and opened his bag; his right hand plunged into the recesses therein and withdrew the jar with his severed left hand. He held the object up, refusing to come up from his open pack, keeping his eyes on the ground. “Take it then.” He shook the jar; its contents sloshed with liquid decay.
I grabbed the thing, held it to skylight; the remains within had congealed and rotted and lumps nearly floated in the brownish liquid which had formed in the base of the container. I shook it and stared for a moment at the miniscule debris which floated alongside the hand; each of its digits had swollen and erupted to expose bone; some had come away in pieces. “Tomorrow,” I said and nodded.
We gathered ourselves and Andrew pulled his pack on again and we moved, Trouble still looked sorry and the boy remained quiet while the girl chattered on with questions while we took through the dying ground in a formation with the dog on point then me then the children.
“What will you do with it?” she asked me.
“Not sure yet.”
Andrew made a noise like he wanted to say something but didn’t.
“You think it will work?” asked Gemma.
“Nothing’s a guarantee. They’re smart—Alukah.”
“Smart enough to figure out a trap?”
I shrugged. “We’ll find out.”
“We could put stakes in a pit.”
“Keep on the lookout for a building. Something with multiple floors.”
With that, we moved on, found a worn, mostly destroyed road and we fell into a travelling quiet and the thought of hunger or thirst arose again, and I pushed it down—though I knew the uneasiness could only last so long before savagery would overtake the human condition; the kids seemed strong enough, but I kept an eye on the dog too. Savagery belonged not only to humans, after all.
The ground of the wastes was harder when it was quiet, and it was flatter further west. The sky—red and full of thin and transparent drifting clouds—seemed an awful sight when stared at for too long; it was the thing which stretched as if to signal there wasn’t an end in any direction, as if to declare we had much more to go till safety. Wanderlust is a thing that I believe I’ve felt before, but under that sky, with those two and the dog, I didn’t feel it at all. It was doom that I felt. Ignorance and doom. And it was all because I was certain I’d made all the wrong mistakes, and it was coming back to me. I was experienced. We should’ve had food and water. Perhaps there was some deep and nasty part inside of me that had intended to sacrifice them along the way. The words of the Alukah might have rung true: You say you make no deals, but I smell it. I think you’d deal.
Surely, I felt differently. Surely.
“Getting darker,” called Andrew as we came to where signposts—worn and bent and barely legible—told us of a place once called Annapolis and the buildings were nearly gone entirely; places, maybe places that were once homes, were leveled—I was briefly caught in imagining what it might’ve been like all those ages ago. As are most places, it was haunted like that and when we came to a long rectangular structure of metal walls—thin walls—we took it as a place for rest for the night.
It once served as an agricultural station, for when we breached its entry, there were a line of dead machines—three in all—cultivators or tillers which stood higher than any of our heads and Gemma asked what they were, and I told her I thought they were for farming. The great rusted bodies stood in quiet shadow as we came through a side passage of the building and the great doors which had once been used to release those machines from the building stood frozen in their frame. I approached the doors, lighting my lantern and motioning for the children to shut the door we’d entered through.
Upon closer inspection, it seemed the doors would roll into the ceiling and the chains which held the doors in place were each secured with rusted padlocks—I removed my prybar from my pack and moved along the wall of doors, giving each old lock a smack with the weapon; each one held in place, seemingly fused there through years of corrosion, and I rounded the cultivators once more, back to the children, near the side door where they’d discovered a rickety stair frame which crawled up the side of the wall to a catwalk; along the catwalk, a levitated box stood at the height of the structure, stilted by metal legs, and we took the stairs slowly with the dog following close behind; the poor mutt was mute save the sound of its own shuffling paws.
The metal stairs creaked under our weight and Gemma held her own lantern high over her head so that the strange shadows of the place grew longer, stranger, and suddenly I felt very sure that something was in the dark with us, but there was no noise except what we made. My eyes scanned the darkness, and I followed the children up the stairs till we met the overhang of the catwalk and I peered into the shadows, the blades of the cultivators—far extended on foldable arms—struck up through the pool of blackness beneath us and I felt so cold there and if it were not for the breath of my fellow travelers, I might have been lost in the dark for longer than intended—lost and frozen and contemplative.
“There’s a room,” said the boy, and he pushed ahead on the hanging passage, and he was the first to the door. “Boxes,” he said plainly.
Upon coming to the place where he stood, Gemma pushed her lantern over the threshold, and I saw what he’d meant as I traced my own lantern to help; the room was crammed with plastic totes and old metal containers of varied sizes. There seemed to be enough empty space to maneuver through the room, but only if one watched their feet while they walked. Carefully.
We moved to the room, and I found a stack of crates to place my lantern then motioned for Gemma to douse hers. In minutes, the place was rearranged so that we could sit comfortably on the floor; crates lined the walls precariously and we breathed heavy from the work done, but we began to unpack and upon watching the children while I rolled a cigarette, I felt a pang of guilt, a terrible summation—all choices in my life had led me here and with them and perhaps it would have been a better world for them without me.
Mentally shrugging this thought away, I lit my cigarette, inhaled deeply, and then withdrew the jar which Andrew had handed over. I held it to the lantern to examine it. The grotesqueness of it hardly phased me and I watched it more curious and hopeful than disgusted.
“I hope it’ll work,” said the boy, “Whatever it is that you plan on doing with it.” He grimaced and maintained a further silence in patting his bedding for fluff. The dog moved to him, and she pushed her forehead against him where he squatted on floor. The boy scratched Trouble’s chin and whispered, “Good girl,” into the top of her head where he’d pushed his own face.
“I’m hungry,” said Gemma; she placed her chin in her arm while watching Andrew with the dog. She sat on her own flat bed there on the floor and stated plainly the thing that I’d hoped to ignore for longer.
“I know.” I took another drag from the cigarette and let the smoke hang over my head. “The dog?”
Andrew recoiled, pulling Trouble closer into his arms.
I smiled. “It was a joke.”
Andrew relaxed, but only a moment before Gemma added, “Maybe.”
The boy narrowed his eyes in the girl’s direction, and she shrugged. “If it’s life or death.”
He didn’t say anything and merely continued stroking Trouble’s coat.
That night, we slept awfully and even in the complete darkness, I felt the cramp of the storage room and the angled shapes of the tools that protruded from the containers on all sides remained permanent well after we’d turned the light off and it felt like those shapes were the teeth of a great creature like we were sitting inside of its mouth, looking out.
Trouble positioned herself partially on my chest, her slow rhythmic breathing brought my thoughts calm and I whispered to her in the dark after I was sure the others were asleep, “I promise it was a joke.” And I brushed the back of her neck with my hand and the animal let go of a long sigh then continued that deep rhythmic breathing.
Still without food or water, the following day was the true indication of the misery to come. Gemma’s stomach growled audibly in waking and Andrew—though he kept his complaints to himself—smacked his lips more often or protruded the tongue in his mouth in a starvation for water. The room, in the daylight which peered through pinpricks of its half-decayed roof, seemed another beast altogether from its nighttime counterpart; it was not so frightening. Again, I admonished myself for the lack of preparation, but there was another thought that brought together a more cohesive feeling; we had a possible plan, a trap for the demon that’d been following us.
We went into the field to the west of the building where there was only dirt beneath our feet in the early sunlight and in the coolness of morning air, I nearly felt like a person. The sun crested the horizon and brought with it a warmth that would quickly become overwhelming—in those few minutes though—it felt good enough. I wished for the shy dew and saw none. The weirdness of holding Andrew’s rotting hand in a jar momentarily caught me and I almost laughed, but refrained and the dog and the children looked on while I held the container up and suddenly, seeing the congealed mass of tissue floating in its own excretions, I was overcome with the urge to run, the urge that nothing would ever be right again in my life, and that I was marked to be that way.
I blinked and tossed the jar to Andrew. “Say goodbye,” I said. He fumbled after it with his right hand and caught it to his chest.
“It’s strange you care so much anyway,” said Gemma, shrugging—her eyes forgave a millisecond of pity and when Andrew looked at her, still holding the jar in his right hand, she smiled and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her pants.
“We’ve enough oil, I think,” my voice was raspy from it being early, “Enough for good fire, but if we use it, it’ll mean a few more dark nights on our way.”
“We’re going to set it on fire?” Andrew pondered, keeping his eyes to the contents of the jar. “It worked good enough last time. It’ll work,” I nodded, “I has to, doesn’t it?”
His dry lips creased into a brief smile, and he tossed the jar back to me and I caught it.
“Let’s dig,” I said.
Without much in the way of proper tools, we began at the ground under us with our hands, then taking turns with my prybar till there was a hole in the ground comfortably large enough to conceal a human head and I uncapped the jar and spilled it contents there and we covered it back and I lightly tamped it with my boot. My eyes scanned the outbuilding we’d taken refuge in the night prior and then to the street to the north then to the houses which stood as merely rotted plots of foundation with frames that struck from the ground more as markers than support. “I’ll take up over there across the street when it gets dark. I want you two in that storage room before anything goes off.”
“We can’t help?” asked Gemma.
“You can help by staying out of the way—the mutt too,” I said; the words were harsh, but my feelings were from worry.
“Wouldn’t it be better if we stuck together?” asked the girl.
I shook my head. “You stay in the room and keep quiet. No matter what you hear, you stay quiet and safe.”
“That’ll put you at a bigger risk,” Gemma furrowed her brow at me and shifted around to look out on the houses across the street, “There’s hardly any cover over there.”
The boy nodded, smacked his lips, and rubbed his forearm across his mouth then audibly agreed with her.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said, “No matter what you hear happening outside, no matter, you don’t open the door and you don’t scream—don’t make a noise at all. Alright? Even if you hear me calling you, you don’t do it.”
“Pfft,” Gemma crossed her arms and kicked her foot against the ground. The way her eyes seemed hollowed with bruising showed that the irritation would only grow without food. “Alright,” she finally sighed.
Andrew looked much the same as she did in that; he swallowed a dry swallow then stuffed his hand into his pocket and looked away when our eyes matched.
We gathered our light oil. Altogether, it seemed enough; rummaging through the room of the outbuilding we’d earlier taken refuge within, we managed three intact glass containers—the only ones found that wouldn’t leak with liquid; two were bottles and the third was the jar that’d once kept Andrew’s hand. With that work done, we sat with three Molotov cocktails within our huddled circle of the storage room.
“Is it enough?” asked Gemma.
“We’ll see,” I began rolling a cigarette to ignore the hunger and the thirst.
Andrew took to the corner and glanced over his shoulder only a moment before a steady liquid stream could be heard and when he rotated from the wall once the noise was finished and he held a canteen up to his nose, sniffed it and quivered and shook his head.
As the sun pushed on, I scanned the perimeter outside, and they followed. Far south I spied a mass of shadow inching across the horizon and Gemma commented, “What’s that?”
I pushed the binoculars to her and let her gaze through them.
“A fiend—that’s what we called it back in the day anyway. A mutant.”
She held the binoculars up and frowned. “A mutant? So, it was once human?”
“A fiend was once many humans.” I pointed out to the horizon though she couldn’t see me doing so and continued, “If you look at the edges of its shape, you’ll see it’s got limbs galore on it. Sticking up like hairs is what it’ll look like at this distance. Those are arms and legs. It’s got faces too. Many faces.” I shuddered.
“I can barely see any details,” she passed the binoculars to Andrew, and he looked through them, “What’s it do?”
“What?” I asked.
“What’s it do if it catches a person?”
“It pulls people into it. Makes you apart of its mass. Nasty fuckers.”
Andrew removed the lenses from his eyes and held them to his chest and asked, “It won’t mess up your trap, will it?”
“We’ll keep an eye on it,” I said, “You don’t want to mess with a fiend unless you have to.”
First/Previous
Archive

Disclaimer: I do not speak Korean. This is purely translated by machine with a lot of cleanup afterward. With that in mind, I am open to criticism to improve these translations. Enjoy!
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Chapter 415
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The battle commenced with alarming rapidity.
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As a thick fog cascaded across the wilderness like a tidal wave, tens of thousands of monsters amassed before him. Hovering above the ground, the dark-skinned Grand Mage, Magic Johnson, declared the start of the conflict with a single, potent command:
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「Fire Cannon.」
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Swoosh.
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Mana surged around him, conjuring five flames from the ether. They swelled, taking on the form and fury of cannonballs, before hurtling forward.
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Whoosh, Boom!
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The black tide of monsters was cleaved in two. The searing heat charred flesh and bone, liquefying the very earth beneath them.
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This devastating spell incinerated a thousand creatures in an instant.
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Yet the relentless tide of monsters pressed on, undeterred, as did Magic Johnson.
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「Water Blaster.」
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The air, once dry as sand from the Fire Cannon, now held a damp moisture.
​
Spreading his arms, Magic Johnson summoned a colossal wave that towered behind him.
​
It was a defiance of the laws of nature.
​
It was pure magic, a display of unparalleled might from the preeminent War Mage among his peers.
​
「Cover them.」
​
Gone was the jovial, smiling visage of Magic Johnson. In its place was a look of deep, intense determination.
​
With a sweeping gesture, he cast a vast, dark shadow over the advancing monsters.
​
Crash!
​
Powered by mana, the wave crashed down, its immense pressure exploding the bodies of the monsters.
​
As the flames dwindled and the ground soaked, Magic Johnson was already prepared for his next maneuver.
​
「Strike down. Lightning Rain.」
​
In an instant, dark clouds swarmed above the monsters, unleashing a barrage of lightning bolts.
​
Crack! Fizz!
​
- Roar!
​
- Aaaargh!
​
Lightning ravaged the sky and earth alike.
​
Blackened gargoyles and griffins toppled from the sky, while the wet earth conducted electricity.
​
Living monsters cringed and keeled over, screaming in agony, as the undead disintegrated into ash.
​
Amidst this awe-inspiring chaos, a groan of disbelief was heard.
​
「This is the power of a Grand Mage...」
​
The impact of merely three spells was staggering.
​
Countless monsters lay dead or incapacitated, a significant portion of their legion shattered.
​
Yet, even the Grand Mage, the sole architect of this devastation, could not escape the overwhelming exhaustion that followed.
​
「Fuck. If I'd known this would happen, I would've saved a few more spells.」
​
Magic is a complex art, and for Magic Johnson, a master of wide-area spells, the toll is as profound on his mind and mana as the devastation he wreaks.
​
Considering the mana he had already expended at the front lines before this, he had reached his limit.
​
「Mrs. Chen. I guess I'm getting old too.」
​
「Step back. We old folks need to stick together and help each other out. And...」
​
Fei Chen, discarding her whiskey bottle, quickly snatched the bow at her side.
​
An arrow made of mana materialized on the empty bowstring.
​
「It's Ms. Chen, not Mrs. Who decided I was married?」
​
With a huff, Fei Chen released the string. The arrow, blazing with light, tore through the air and the dense fog with a sharp twang. Then:
​
Boom!
​
A colossal explosion ensued.
​
Fei Chen observed as a Death Knight, hidden among the throng, was annihilated without a chance to utter its final cries. She drew her bowstring once more.
​
Twang, twang, twang!
​
Arrows transformed into beams of light streaking across the wilderness, each one obliterating scores of monsters.
​
If Magic Johnson ranks among the top three Grand Mages and is the foremost War Mage globally, then Fei Chen is the unrivaled archer of her time.
​
But...
​
- Roar!
​
- Screech!
​
The legion, numbering in the tens of thousands, surged forward, undeterred.
​
For every ten monsters felled, another ten emerged. For every hundred slain, another hundred rose.
​
These beasts, veiled in thick fog, were more formidable and ferocious than ordinary monsters. Now, only a direct confrontation remained.
​
As the monstrous legion advanced, both veterans stepped forward to meet them.
​
"Ares Guild. Formation B. Break through them."
​
Click-clack!
​
Under the composed direction of Lee Jeong-Ryong, the elite guild members, who had remained unscathed thus far, moved in unison.
​
Jin Tae-Kyung, having observed them from a distance, turned to the suicide squad he had assembled from the western front.
​
"Everyone, Formation J."
​
「Yes!」
​
「Formation J! Assume the formation!」
​
With resolute voices echoing in unison, the suicide squad sprang into action.
​
Behind Jin Tae-Kyung, Wu Hei-Xing, who had been rallying a small contingent of Red Guard Gang Hunters, grabbed a member of the suicide squad and asked,
​
「Hey, kid. What exactly is Formation J?」
​
Recognizing Wu Hei-Xing, Shao Shen frowned and replied,
​
「It's a combat formation decided by my Hyung.」
​
「So, what does it mean?」
​
「Jonna. He said it means to fight with everything we have.」 [Note: "Jonna" is a Korean slang for "fuck it".]
​
「…!」
​
Momentarily speechless, Wu Hei-Xing watched as Lee Jeong-Ryong and Jin Tae-Kyung charged forward.
​
Prince Felix and an army of ten thousand Hunters were not far behind.
​
「Aaaaaaah!」
​
- Roaaar!
​
Humans clashed with monsters.
​
Monsters clashed with humans.
​
The battlefield erupted into a cacophony of roars and murderous intent, as both sides hurtled across the wilderness, weapons and claws in deadly encounter.
​
Squeal, crack!
​
The brutal battle had commenced.
​
​
​
* * *
​
​
​
I leaned back, tensing my shoulders. With a swift motion, I hurled my arms forward, channeling all my strength.
​
Swoosh, flub-flub-flub!
​
White Flames shot from my hand, carving a path through dozens of monsters.
​
Seizing the fleeting opening, I plunged into the melee, my limbs a blur as I struck at any foe within reach.
​
Smack!
​
My fist connected with the skull of an onrushing Lycanthrope, smashing it like a grape.
​
Before the beast’s cranial fluid could splatter the earth, I was already airborne.
​
Click, whoosh!
​
I landed, locking eyes with a towering undead troll, its dim gaze meeting mine at four meters high.
​
Before the undead troll could wield its club, my palm slammed into its chest with crushing force.
​
Thump!
​
Intense heat burst forth, sending smoke billowing from the creature’s seven facial orifices. Struck by this lethal blow, the troll was obliterated instantly, its regenerative abilities rendered useless.
​
- Wicked human, behind you!
​
I know, I know. Who asked you anyway?
​
I muttered under my breath, whirling around just in time. A lance, dark with malevolent magic, whistled perilously close to my neck before soaring off into the distance.
​
The lance had been aimed to catch me mid-leap — a clever attempt, but they had underestimated me.
​
"Damn it. Why are there so many Death Knights? This isn't a chicken restaurant." [Note: I'm not sure what this is referencing. The best guess I can offer is that he's commenting on how crowded the battlefield was, similar to how crowded a chicken restaurant can get in Korea.]
​
Dodging the lance, I landed smoothly and immediately found myself facing a Death Knight barreling toward me on a skeletal steed.
​
- This is the end!
​
Whoosh!
​
The Knight shouted as he swung his sword, which glowed with a dark magic. Though his power didn't match an S-rank Hunter, it was certainly comparable to a top A-rank.
​
Maybe...
​
'This Death Knight was once a Hunter too.'
​
That thought crossed my mind as the specter of Lei Fei flashed before me, instilling a sudden pang of bitterness. Meanwhile, the Skeleton Warlord issued a shrill cry.
​
- Avoid it, human!
​
Pfft!
​
As if dissolved by an unseen force, the magic on the sword faded into nothing.
​
The Death Knight, looking dully at the mystical spear blade protruding through its chest, gasped feebly.
​
- How...
​
"This is the end."
​
Echoing the Knight’s earlier proclamation, I drove my spear downward.
​
"Whoever you were, you fought hard."
​
Screech, thud!
​
The skeletal horse and its rider split apart, vanishing into the ether. As before, I conjured White Flames to carve through the encroaching monsters, then asked aloud.
​
"Why aren't you begging for food now?"
​
- Ahem. What do you take this commander for?
​
Sizzle!
​
"Lazy bum. You say you don't want to fight but you drool over situations like this."
​
- What!
​
"Why, aren't I exactly right?"
​
- You agreed, you cunning human, that I wouldn't participate in the battle! And when was it that you said we mustn't let other humans find out that I exist?
​
"Excuses. So, do you want to eat this magic or not?"
​
- ...
​
Crack!
​
"Hey. Can't you hear?"
​
- Hmm. I don't really want to eat.
​
"...What?"
​
Swoosh!
​
Caught off guard, I narrowly dodged an incoming attack.
​
After dispatching about ten monsters with a sweeping strike of my spear, I posed a serious question,
​
"Why's that? Do you want to wither away to nothing?"
​
- Umm... I don't know. I just have a feeling.
​
"A feeling?"
​
- Yes. I'm undead, but sometimes even undead get moody. Just let me be.
​
"...Since when do the undead get moody?"
​
Normally, this one would have pounced like a starving dog. Why the sudden change?
​
'Do undead go through puberty?'
​
As much as the Skeleton Warlord is an odd monster, this was nonsensical.
​
I stopped pondering over it and resumed slicing through monsters when suddenly,
​
Kaboom!
​
An area about ten meters in diameter was engulfed by an aura, or rather, Sword Qi.
​
In an instant, the frontline was cleared, and a figure gently descended.
​
"There are too many monsters. It's impossible for the entire suicide squad to break out."
​
I understood exactly what Lee Jeong-Ryong meant.
​
"You mean, we should go with a select few elites?"
​
"That's right. Get ready."
​
As Lee Jeong-Ryong spoke, I ducked as a crescent of Sword Qi whistled past, slicing through several large monsters as if they were mere cheesecake.
​
What if that Sword Qi had been aimed at me? If Lee Jeong-Ryong and I were to face off...
​
"You, me, and Wu Hei-Xing. The three of us should be enough."
​
Licking my parched lips, I responded,
​
"That's quite strange."
​
"What is?"
​
"You never know until you fight. We won't know how strong the Arch Lich is until we face it."
​
"There are three of us who are S-rank Hunters. No matter how strong the Arch Lich might be, it's no match for us."
​
Us...
​
It's a comforting word, yet why does it leave such a sour taste?
​
Perhaps it's due to the individuals included in this 'us.'
​
Nevertheless, I had committed to the suicide squad tactic since I had proposed it. From that perspective, Lee Jeong-Ryong's proposal was optimal.
​
"Let's do that. Where is Wu Hei-Xing?"
​
Crack!
​
No sooner had I spoken than Wu Hei-Xing burst through the horde, slashing his way through.
​
In stark contrast to the pristine Lee Jeong-Ryong, Wu Hei-Xing appeared battered, yet his eyes sparkled with unabated vigor.
​
"Luckily, you arrived in time."
​
「Hmph. As if monsters like these could stop me.」
​
Hadn’t he nearly succumbed to these very 'monsters like these' just an hour ago?
​
I was internally chiding Wu Hei-Xing's unimproved mental state when it occurred.
​
"Mr. Jin Tae-Kyung!"
​
The call came from Mr. Choi, sounding across the battlefield.
​
Between the swarms of monsters, I caught a fleeting glimpse of Mr. Choi’s face before it vanished.
​
Then, something gleaming arced through the air and embedded itself in the earth near me.
​
'This is...'
​
It was unmistakable — the [Hero's Soul]. From his obscured position, Mr. Choi called out,
​
"I won’t join you, but take this sword. And... be careful!"
​
His words were heavy with implication. Without a word, I grasped the [Hero's Soul].
​
Beyond the throng of monsters, the darkened cityscape loomed.
​
"Let's go."
​
Lee Jeong-Ryong offered a gentle smile.
​
Previous Table of Contents

Just trying to let everyone know that we as a community have grown organically, and the way we should have. From day 1 HODL’d together during the dark times, to now swinging in the trees in the .04 breeze, we have been through a lot. Happy to be a part of such a historic community. We are Slothana!!! We have made the community what it is. A meme coin isn’t just a meme coin when u have a Great group of guys HODLed together sharing the same dream. This is a ticket out of that matrix, a way to throw gas onto the slave system and light a match. I’m happy knowing I made the right choice, I’m happy we all shared that same dream. HTX is an awesome leap forward, but it’s still not main stream 🇺🇸. We cannot even download the app in the states. So just when u think we’re at the top, we have so much more to grow!!!! We are well on the way, I can promise you. No matter what, HODL, and hodl tight!!!! Because when the day comes we get that Golden B 🌴, we will all reap so many rewards u won’t know what to do with!!!! Stay strong, stay safe and remember THE BEST IS YET TO COME!!!! 🦥 🛸 🪐 💰

On the night when it all happened a young man called Smallmouth found himself in quite a pickle. He shivered and paced clumsily all over the second story porch of a cabin that used to be very nice, which overlooked a snowy down-sloping field that used to be kept up properly and carefully. He was already six packs deep into a carton of cigarettes he had bought only two days ago from a Casey’s General Store on his way up. He could recall the look on the young woman’s face at the register when he asked for a carton of Parliament Menthols, her eyes showing one blink of humorous surprise and another couple blinks of obvious concern, which faded to professional indifference as she rang in the sweet, icy killers. Smallmouth stopped his nervous dallying when he caught himself in the kitchen window; a large, shadowy figure sulking between the inside lights and the cold, almost glowing world downhill. His eyes still on his murky reflection, he patted his coat pockets for his seventh pack, pulling it out and smacking it against his left palm before cracking open and lighting it at his mouth. In a slow, warm flash, he could briefly see his own face in the window.
“Oh man, it’s bad” , he thought to himself.
He hadn’t shaved in weeks and his beard grew coarse and thick. A face that his mother had once called handsome had become a clean plate covered in steel wool. Well, maybe not so clean. Under and around his eyes were the obvious bruising of sleeplessness and his skin had lost its lively color and clarity of yesteryear.
“Ughhh” he groaned, turning away from the window to look over the porch and into the freezing, beckoning night.
The pickle that Jeremy “Smallmouth” Bassett found himself in involved his uncle, and his uncle’s evening logistics, to be precise. Smallmouth had been kicked out of his parents home on December 27th due to a slight misunderstanding at 2am when he believed the living room Christmas tree to be the downstairs bathroom. He had passed out on the couch after drinking a fire pit full of crushed Hamm’s cans and his brain tried desperately to get him up and to the nearby toilet. His little sister Stacy was tucked in fast asleep on a loveseat by the tree when she was brutally torn from her sugarplum dreams to hear the terrible hiss of Smallmouth’s folly. She screamed, the parents woke up, and, well, there you go. After well over three strikes, Smallmouth’s temporary residence had come to an end, and he was thrown to his mother’s brother’s cabin to dry up and straighten out before he could ever even be considered to return.
“You two deserve to live together. He can’t say no either because he owes me a lot more than this!” Smallmouth’s mother had screeched over him as he sat at the kitchen table the following morning with a cold bag of peas against his throbbing right temple. “You go there and you GET RIGHT!! I don’t care how long it takes just clean up your act and MAKE something of yourself! And for goodness sake tell Chuck to do the same, while he still has time!”
Yes, Uncle Chuck had his own shelf full of good time problems, and that’s what put Smallmouth in a bind tonight as he pondered over the white yonder that led to a black nothing, a black nothing that in the daylight pretended to be a forest. At night, it showed its true nature, an endless world of dark secrets and aching regret. At least that’s how Smallmouth saw it in this moment.
Chuck had gone down to the ranch he worked on for a New Years party with his work buddies. They liked to gather at the big barn where all of the vehicles and equipment were kept, sitting around a card table passing out stories about women and other trophy game that were either outright lied about or illegally poached. Oh, and they also liked to pass the bottle around. Therein lied the conundrum for Smallmouth.
Uncle Chuck was many things, but one thing he wasn’t was a drunk driver. Chuck’s wife Rebecca had been struck and killed by a drunk driver almost ten years ago when she was out jogging the back roads early one morning. Everyone assumed that’s what led him to his openly hard drinking and sneakily pill popping ways in the first place. For Chuck, most nights were kept at home, parked in front of a TV watching old westerns and cleaning out a full bottle of Wild Turkey 101 before snoring in his recliner. On the few nights he would go out, he would always call a ride if things got out of hand. As you can imagine, he tends to need a ride home.
“I should be home bout 11:30. Service ain’t so good up there near the barn so if it gets bout 11:15-11:20 and I ain’t home, go head and do me a favor and come grab me son.” Chuck had told Smallmouth before he left, closing the warped screen door behind him.
Smallmouth had spent the evening trying his best to stay entertained without the help of any chemical enhancement. His family’s anger and resentment really struck him and this time he was determined to truly get right and get his life back on the rails. He was 29 years old. He had gone through college clean as a whistle, bright and driven, receiving his MBA with plans to work his way up in a promising career in business. That worked for a couple years. Then he found a calling in ministry, deciding to quit the corporate world to fill an opening of a tiny country church in the area. They needed a deacon who could take care of things around the building and assist in the worship service. He wasn’t much for public speaking, haven been given the nickname Smallmouth at a young age due to his soft spoken nature, but he could pass plates and give a hushed prayer every now and then. He liked to mow and paint and help old ladies up the stairs. The quiet country life was really nice for him, for a while. Strange, radical ideas eventually spread through the church though, and half of its members left overnight to form their own congregation. Its funding cut in half, the church had to close its doors and the other members absorbed into other churches. Smallmouth rarely ever saw the people that had departed from the church, but rumors creeped that they met at an old abandoned building deep in the woods, performing all sorts of different acts and rituals that would purify themselves and destroy all evils. Nevertheless, Smallmouth was out of work and picked up shifts bartending at a small town dive. His soft fortitude was no match for the booze and drugs and women that would pass through there and soon he was out the door. That landed him mooching off of his parents, draining their sanity and eventually draining himself on their Christmas tree. The last strike.
So there he was all night, waiting up for uncle Chuck. He was two days clean of everything except caffeine and nicotine, a major improvement. He felt a boost of hope and confidence the first morning after a sober nights sleep. He found the mornings to be the best parts of the day. At least he had coffee and cigarettes to get him out of bed. That would wear off quickly and the rest of the day was filled with trying to find distractions until the sun set about 5pm. Then he would watch a movie or two with Chuck. Last night he had been able to call it early and go to sleep at 7pm shortly after Chuck started sawing logs in front of True Grit (the original John Wayne version of course). Tonight he saw 7pm struggle and churn into 8…….8:13……..8:48……9:05……9:29………..9:31………9:52……..9:58……….10:11…….10:12 (oh cmon)……10:27…….10:56…….and finally 11:08. It was like the clock was a 35 year old four cylinder engine oiled with crunchy peanut butter. Now, crunch time sat in the cold air as Smallmouth finished his cigarette and stewed over his decision. He really didn’t feel like going down to the barn and getting Chuck, even though it was only a couple miles. In the infancy of his sobriety he found the smallest of choices and activities to seem dire and at the very least upsettingly out of his way. Surely Chuck can get himself home on his own, right?
“No. Who knows if someone’s Aunt Rebecca or grandmother or son is out there on the road tonight” he thought.
As much as he had tried to screw up his life, Smallmouth usually knew what the right decision would be, even if he so often refused to listen. It was there ever so clearly on this New Year’s Eve, wailing in the back row of his mind like a misbehaved child during a church sermon. Smallmouth left the porch and went inside to grab his keys.
He walked out to his truck, got in, cranked it, let it sit down to one rpm, and started down the gravel driveway, which led to the gravel county road that Chuck and his few and far between neighbors lived on. He got to the mailbox and suddenly shot his attention up the road, where headlights revealed themselves out of the deep dark. It was rare to see any cars this far down Chuck’s road. In fact, there were no other houses to the right of Chuck’s cabin, spare for a couple of empty ones that were condemned but were attached to a lot of forest property.
Smallmouth squinted his eyes as a large black Dodge Ram 3500 came barreling by with a livestock trailer. Even inside his own truck he could hear a terrible noise coming from that trailer. He recognized it instantly as a pig squeal.
“The hell?” He whispered as the truck and trailer tore down the road, going around a nearby corner and out of sight. He couldn’t guess what on earth that could be about at this hour, and especially since nobody lived down there anyway. He shrugged it off though, and turned left out of the driveway, headed for drunk Uncle Chuck down at the ranch.
Ten minutes and a couple of snowy country miles later Smallmouth found himself through the metal gate of the ranch and up to the main barn, where a couple of smiling ranch hands had Chuck held up between them just outside one of two closed garage doors. A lamppost nearby cast a glow of debauchery on all of their faces, especially Chuck’s. Smallmouth got out and walked up to them smiling and shaking his head.
“Well well well…” he said with a slight laugh.
“Your Uncle put on one hell of a clinic tonight ‘Mouth” one of the hands said.
“I…..I….I don’t know what they’re tawlkin bout son” Chuck slang out before a high pitched giggle.
“I got another couple rounds in me I thinks!”
Smallmouth laughed.
“Yeah I ain’t so sure about that uncle! Let’s get on home now and let these fellas get on too.”
“Y’alright alright” Chuck said as Smallmouth took him from his buddies arms into one of his own and led him to the passenger seat of his truck.
“Happy New Years boys!!! Let’s do it all again okay?” He hollered to his waving buddies as they drove back away from the barn and through the metal gate toward home.
“You have a good time Uncle?”
“Oh…ohhh…I reckon I showed those boys how to do it” Another childish giggle.
A light snow shower seasoned the cold air as the truck rolled down the gravel country road. In the yellow headlights it made a pleasant white noise for the eyes. Chuck put his hands up staggered and vertically, fingers together and outstretched, pointing out in front of the truck down the road like he was aiming up for a rifle shot. He closed one eye.
“Straight as an arrow ole son. You’re good at this.”
“I ain’t drunk pops” Smallmouth chuckled.
“Sure ya are. Everybody’s drunk son. Even people that ain’t drink. Ticket is to get drunk on good stuff” Chuck’s face calmed from a goofy grin as he kept his eyes out front into the slow swirling tube of visible night.
“You sound like you’re drunk on some pretty damn good stuff” Smallmouth retorted as they shared a look and a good laugh.
“Suppose’n you ain’t wrong. Gotta work on that just like you are. Proud o’ you for a couple days clean man. We’ll get right. We’ll get right. All I meant was that man is born to get drunk on somethin’ or other. What I mean is God. Man is born to get drunk on his God.” Chuck said as Smallmouth shot him a raised eyebrow look of confusion.
“Once God gets ya drunk then you’re home free ol’ son. That distillery is never ending eternal forever. That land flows with whiskey and honey.” They both shared another laugh.
“Okay okay I think I somewhat understand now Uncle.”
They rode in a few seconds of comfortable silence before Chuck put his hands up in an aim position down the road again.
“You know…man….man….man has a GOVERNOR…..you know that right?”
“A what? A governor?”
“That’s right a GOVERNOR…that’s right…a little bitty device in his brain that keeps him on the road…keeps him from turning right off into the dark. You ever hear that little voice that tells you you can turn off into the ditch…into oncomin’ traffic? Tells you you can shoot your buddy instead of the deer? That you can jump off the top of the building and onto the pavement when you’re up there enjoying the view?”
“I…uh…I don’t know…I mean maybe? Pretty sure those are intrusive thoughts and they’re normal.”
“Well whatever they are that’s what the governor is for. Keeps ya straight. Keeps ya from harmin nothin.”
“Alright man, alright.”
They pulled back into Chuck’s driveway and parked. Smallmouth helped his uncle out of the truck and up into the cabin, snow starting to color the roof and pile against the side of the house near the door. Arms locked Smallmouth propped open the screen door, opened the inner door, and led Chuck through the kitchen and to his bedroom. Chuck layed down on his camo comforter with a deep, long exhale.
“Ahhhh yes……yes” he whispered with a smile.
“I love ya son…I’m glad you’re heeeeere. Let’s get better….your mom needs it…..stay in the Lord’s light son…don’t let them devils get ya….let’s get better….lets….” He was off into the distant deep ether almost immediately, and his mouth hung open.
“Goodnight uncle…love ya too.” Smallmouth patted the bed twice before walking over and closing the bedroom door behind him.
He went and sat at the kitchen table. He regretted his behavior earlier in the night. How it pained him to have to stay up a little later to go help out his uncle.
“Cmon…” he whispered.
He agreed with Chuck. He was here to get better. To do better. Maybe Chuck was right. If he couldn’t get drunk off booze, it was time to pick something else to drink. Better things. Maybe even God? Smallmouth hadn’t paid much mind to God since his church job fell through. God surely hadn’t been there for him these last few years when he was at his lowest. Or was He there the whole time? Had Smallmouth just ignored Him? These things floated heavily in his mind and soon he realized he had been staring at the front door for several minutes. Had he even blinked? Then something else came to mind.
“Wait hold up”
That truck and trailer from earlier. What WAS that? He meant to bring it up to the ranch hands. They would’ve seen it come barreling down the road right by their front gate. Oh he wished he had brought that up to them. Oh well. It’s probably nothing. Smallmouth looked at the clock. 12:12.
“Happy New Year old boy.” He said to himself.
He sat for a moment in the warm kitchen light, his eyes not leaving the front door. Well, he’s up this late already, why not go run down and check on the abandoned properties?
No…no…it can wait. It’s probably nothing. Right?
Wrong. There’s that wailing kid in the back pew of his mind again. Come on kid can’t you just be quiet and listen to the sermon? No, no it can’t. It must be heard. Always. He knew he had to go check it out.
“Ughhhh FINE!” Smallmouth got up and grabbed his truck keys, patted to make sure his cigarettes were still there, and was out the door again.
The snow shower had ended. As he pulled up to the edge of the drive, he stalled for a moment and peaked out as far to the right as he could down the dark road. Nothing. It wasn’t very far to the end of that road, where two out of service mailboxes should’ve stood in a small cul-de-sac if it weren’t for teenagers beating them to splinters. Can’t really blame them either. Smallmouth considered his plan. Whether or not that truck belonged to the landowner down there, he shouldn’t feel like he needs to sneak around. He is merely a concerned neighbor after all. He began down the road and around that same corner the stranger disappeared earlier.
After a couple of slow, curious minutes Smallmouth could see the evidence of a great big fire in the near distance, beyond where the road ended. Through the bare trees and against the snow it cast orange and red that could surely be seen a mile in every direction, that is, if there were anyone there to see it.
Slightly intimidated, Smallmouth decided to turn off his headlights and let the fire guide him as he slowed up to 5mph and gently crackled his last few yards of gravel up to the remnants of the nearest mailbox post. It seemed the fire was on the land of the farther property, whose mailbox posthole was about 30 feet from where he came to a stop and parked his truck. Smallmouth turned it off and quietly got out into the cold. He crouched down as he walked over to the farther driveway, getting down on one knee to give it a stealthy closer look.
The abandoned property boasted a busted up trailer that sat pitifully about 500 feet from the mailbox memorial. Beyond that was a good ten acres of field that ended at the forest edge, which marked the beginning of thousands of acres of wildlife refuge. As Smallmouth peered on, it was obvious that the fire was way out in that field, blocked by the old trailer, which wore the hot light and columns of smoke on it like a devilish crown. Given the cover, Smallmouth crept over to the trailer and started easing around the right side.
Rounding the corner he noticed a propane tank that would be perfect for hiding behind and getting the best look he could at the mysterious activity. He got down on his belly and crawled his way over to the tank, before sitting up and peeking slowly over the top and out into the field.
Way down there, a couple acres away from the tree line, was a huge fire, made up of about fifty wooden pallets. It raged and lit up the whole field like it was just the beginning of sunset. Somewhat near the fire was the black Dodge Ram 3500 and trailer. Smallmouth could see a group of people dressed in all red, as if covered in bloody bedsheets from head to toe, circled around a crude cage, seemingly fastened together by pieces of metal fencing. They stood still as the pines, and twice as silent. Smallmouth, in a rare moment of curious courage, decided he had to get closer. He got back on his stomach and began to crawl through the cold, knee high grass.
Using the fire light as his North Star he crawled and crawled, feeling his hands, clothes, and beard get wet with snow. He didn’t care. Something was up that wasn’t normal, wasn’t right. He could feel it in his cold gut. When he thought he was close enough without giving himself away he planted his palms and ever so slowly raised his torso up into a weak push up to try and see out. He was glad he didn’t go any further. He may have been too close already.
He was close enough to read the name of the truck and count the holes in the livestock trailer. There were seven strangers in red sheets all around the makeshift cage, all holding long spears. One of the figures had a crown of black thorns on his head. They all had two eyeholes and one hole for the mouth. They didn’t move a muscle for the longest time, before the Crowned One forcibly touched the end of his spear to the ground.
“Now is the time, Brother and Farmer Abraham…there is no more for us in waiting.”
Smallmouth had just noticed the passenger window to the black Dodge was down, and he could hear the driver door open and soon saw a normal looking older man in a ball cap at the back of the trailer. He was holding a leash of some sort. He opened up the trailer and whistled into the dark of it. After a couple of loud, heavy thuds a gigantic, and I mean GIGANTIC Yorkshire pig came slowly shrugging out of the trailer. It was light pink in color but filthy, and gave wet sounding oinks as it came to the man’s hands expecting food. The thing must’ve weighed 1500 pounds, and at least ten feet long. It actually had to lower its head to reach the man’s hands, its ears coming up to the man’s chest. Smallmouth couldn’t believe his eyes. The man reached in his pocket and revealed a handful of some type of feed, which he tossed on the ground at the pig. It started right in as the man fixed a collar on the pigs girthy neck, then attaching a leash. The pig gave a slight squeal.
“Good girl, good girl…cmon now” the man called Farmer Abraham sweetly coaxed the animal. He gave his end of the leash a tug and the monstrous swine reluctantly left its food and followed the man over close to the Crowned One. The fire raged and raged nearby, throwing crazy shadows all over the place.
“What have you brought us, Brother and Farmer Abraham?”
“Yeah, uh, this is Old Azazel, she’s been in my family for years, man.”
The Crowned One dropped his spear and knelt down to the jowls of the hog, the dark holes of his eyes meeting those of the animal. The other red cloaked figures remained statuesque around the cage.
“Ah, yes, Old Azazel, hello. You are to be of great importance in the history of the Earth tonight, old friend.”
The Crowned One got back up to address Brother and Father Abraham, who seemed obviously put off, yet submissive.
“And is this Old Azazel a natural specimen? Is it fed only of the earth and the filths therein?”
“Yessir, I’d reckon so.”
“This is necessary for a proper sacrifice, Brother and Farmer Abraham. You may only bring your best, your cleanest, your most dear to the alter of the Almighty.”
“I understand.”
“May I take her now?”
The farmer gave his end of the leash to the black gloved left hand of the Crowned One. The Crowned one stood with it for almost a full minute in total stillness and silence. The only noise Smallmouth could hear was the sloppy smacks and oinks from Old Azazel. The farmer anxiously waited, wringing his hands expecting the next move from the Crowned One.
“Turn away, Brother and Farmer Abraham. Turn away from us and toward the fire now.” The Crowned One finally spoke.
“Phew, alright. We’re still good on our deal? Do you still promise to make my little girl better? Like you said?” The farmer asked, with some hopeful desperation.
“Turn now.”
“Well okay” the farmer turned his back to the Crowned One and toward the fire.
“I can assure you with all of the knowledge in my mind and in my heart, you will never see your daughter sick again in this lifetime, Brother and Father Abraham. You may find peace and solace in this truth.”
The farmer nodded in relief as he looked upon the fire. Smallmouth, taking it all in with great confusion, could see a smile on the farmers fire lit face, and turned back to the Crowned One just in time to see him reach under his red garment and pull out a pistol and shoot a round into the back of the farmers head, blowing his cap off, which frisbeed down near his shaking, crumpled body. Old Azazel threw a fit immediately, screaming and trying her best to flee. The Crowned One held the immense beast with one hand, and with seemingly little effort. The other red clothed figures finally made noise, laughing deep and heartily around the cage. The Crowned One, keeping Old Azazel close, walked over to the doubled over farmer, putting two more bullets into his head, essentially hollowing it out into a carnal mess. The farmers shaking mercifully stopped.
Smallmouth had to slam his forearm up to his mouth to muffle the scream that would’ve come out and blown his cover. His eyes were flown wide open and his arms were shivering.
The Crowned One put the pistol back under his red cloak and led the great pig, still squealing as high pitched and piercing as the human ear can withstand, over to the mouth of the cage, which was opened by the nearest red clothed stranger. Old Azazel flew in to the cage, having been unleashed by The Crowned One. It struggled around the cage, which was no bigger than 15x15 feet, giving it no room to get comfortable. It circled the inner perimeter, showing impressive speed for such a large animal. It squealed and squealed. The sound stung Smallmouths ears, and he covered them with his hands. He was still out of sight in the tall grass. The Red People around the cage laughed at the hogs entrapment. The Crowned One raised a hand to signal silence. The Red People were still and quiet again.
“Now, my brothers, the sacrificial gift is in our possession. Tonight…is a HOLY NIGHT.” The Crowned One raised his voice as if getting to the climax of a fire and brimstone sermon.
“TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY WHAT WAS ONCE CAST OUT BUT NEVER VANQUISHED!! WE WILL RID THE EARTH OF A GREAT ARMY!! AN ARMY OF HELL THAT HAS FAR TOO LONG ROAMED AND SICKENED OUR LANDS AND KILLED OUR LOVES!! TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY THE DESTROYERS…THE LEGION OF SATANS SOLDIERS BORN JUST AFTER THE GARDEN OF EDEN FELL…”
The Crowned One fell to his knees, his arms up and stretched toward the frozen sky. A mighty wind began blowing at Smallmouths back. He had to lower his head as it roared over him. After a moment it calmed and he was able to lift up again to see. Winds from all corners of the field met at the cage, swirling over it in a great snowy funnel that led up to the clouds. Old Azazel screamed and screamed from the cage.
“I SEE YOU VILLIANS!! I HEAR YOU HOSTS OF HELL!! I KNOW YOU LIVE IN THESE TREES!! I KNOW YOU COWER WITHIN THE SOUND OF MY VOICE!! SHOW YOURSELF!! TAKE THE BODY OF THIS ANIMAL THAT I HAVE SET BEFORE YOU!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW AND FACE ME!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE I-“
The Crowned One’s vocal cord shredding performance was cut short by a single burst of black lightning that shot down from the middle of the snowy funnel cloud that surrounded the cage. The Crowned One and all the Red People were thrown several feet back from the blast. Thunder immediately exploded across the field. Smallmouth buried his face as the force and sound raced over him. Ears ringing, he kept his face down for a few seconds. He squinted back up to the strike zone.
The strange black lightning had blown the cage completely apart. Two of The Red People had been hit with the metal fencing. One laid motionless. The other gargled in pain as he put a hand to the pole that was sticking out of his sternum, having penetrated all the way through. His legs buckled and he fell forward, the end of the pole hitting the ground first and propping him up for a moment, before his body slowly slid down to the ground around the metal. He went silent. The other four Red People, yelling in surprise, gathered themselves, looking to the charred hole in the ground where Old Azazel should be, right in the center where the cage used to stand. The Crowned One got to his feet and picked up his spear.
“My brothers, gather your arms…” the Crowned One whispered, breathing heavily under his red cloak.
“The work is not over…”
The four remaining Red People grabbed their spears and slowly walked over to the burnt, smoking hole, holding an attack pose over it until further instructions were given.
“Are you with us, you age old tormentors?” This was the first time Smallmouth could hear fear in the tired voice of the Crowned One.
“Are you with us now? Are you ready to die, you infernal bastards? Are you ready to-“
The Crowned One was interrupted by a booming noise from the hole that tore Smallmouths wits to shreds. It was similar to the cry of Old Azazel, but much deeper and ten times louder and angrier. It was as if a freight train was blaring its horn and slamming its brakes at the same time.
“NOW MY BROTHERS!! STRIKE THE BEAST OF HELL WITH YOUR SPEARS! NOW!!!”
The Red People all threw their weapons down into the smoking hole. The hellish noise from within stopped in an instant. The Red People crowded closer to the edge of the hole, waiting for the smoke to clear. The Crowned One walked over to them, putting his black gloved hand on the shoulder of the nearest man.
“Oh, Brothers. Oh my dear, dear Brothers. Your acts tonight have rid the earth of a Great and Powerful Evil…”
Before he could continue, a fully enraged and re-inspired bellow thrust itself up and out of the hole like a serrated blade. Much, much louder and angrier than before. The Red People were taken aback in terror. Suddenly, from within the hole, a large head emerged and gaped a huge, disgusting maw up at the crowd. The head was burned black and its eyes were half boiled white and without pupils. It shrieked out that most terrible noise as if it didn’t need oxygen.
“There’s no way” Smallmouth heard himself say under his breath.
All in one motion, the beast leaped out of the hole, and turned to face its attackers. It was Old Azazel, except swollen with burnt mass. It appeared to have grown a half a size at least. Three spears stuck out of its sizzling, charcoal colored back. It snapped its gigantic jaws at the Red People, who shuddered in horror. The Crowned One spoke:
“DO NOT RELENT BROTHERS!! ATTACK!! ATTACK THE BRUTE!!”
He pulled his pistol back out of his cloak and fired the remaining three rounds on the new and horrible black burnt Old Azazel. The beast’s cloudy boiled egg eyes shot open along with its unnaturally stretched jaws. It took the three bullets as if they were tennis balls. At the speed of a charging grizzly and with multiple times the power Old Azazel raged over to The Crowned One and dove onto him mouth first, putting both front hooves on his chest as he was knocked down. The Crowned One cried out in a shockingly high pitched wail, like a man being electrocuted. The Beast bit right into the soft of his belly, and began to shake him around like an Orca trying to separate a seal from its pelt.
“OH GOD!!!! AHHHHHH GOD OHHHHH!!! HELP ME!!!! NOOOO!!!! OH GOD HELP ME!!!! MAMA!!!! OHHHH!!! MAMA!!!!!”
The beast ate and ate and shook and shook and tore and broke and destroyed while the Crowned One lost more and more of his body, all while crying out to the sky at the top of his punctured lungs. The other Red People sprinted to the black Dodge Ram, opened its doors and piled inside. Smallmouth heard it crank up and it began to speedily turn around and race away from the fire and back toward the road. The beast unhooked from the Crowned One and let out another ghastly roar of victory before biting into his neck, ending his screaming forever. The beast then left his half devoured body and began a tremendous and terrible charge after the truck, which was greatly slowed down by the trailer. Smallmouth put his face down as the beast passed him by only about 10 feet on its way to the truck, which had just made it back to the road and was using every RPM possible to get away from the demon charged killing machine on its heels. Smallmouth turned around to watch both parties disappear down the road, the echoes of that great and evil blasting noise stabbing his ears again. He remained on his stomach in the tall, snowy grass for another two minutes as he normalized his breath and tried to make any sense of what he just witnessed.
Eventually he slowly rose up and looked to make sure that terrible thing was indeed out of the area. No signs of life or death from up at the road. The danger was at least a couple miles away by now. Smallmouth then turned back toward the fire and to the dominated body of the Crowned One. He carefully walked up closer and closer. To his amazement he heard wheezy noises coming from the emptied out torso of the man, a scattering of insides and flesh and blood strewn all around him. Troubled, rattling breaths escaped from under the red clothed head, whose crown of thorns had flown off in the attack. Most of the red cloak had been ripped to shreds, and all that remained covered were his shoulders and above. The cloth slowly ebbed and flowed with breath. Smallmouth could not believe this man was still alive. His entire digestive system was eviscerated and his ribs were exposed. Smallmouth knelt down beside him and lifted his cloak over his head to let him at least breathe his last in the open air.
Smallmouth let out a gasp. This man had a face that Smallmouth knew very well. He recognized him immediately from the old church he worked at. The clean shaven face. The short, silver hair. The sharp nose. This was a man that had joined his church two weeks before the schism. He never spoke in church but it was rumored he would meet at the homes of different members and try to sway them to his strange ideas. He was the one rumored to have led the radical faction somewhere in the middle of the woods. To Smallmouth, it was all starting to make more sense.
“I know you,” Smallmouth said softly, “I know who you are. You tore a church in half didn’t you? You’re the crazy guy that split up my ole church! What the hell have you done?”
The man struggled to breathe and tried his best to spit up a couple of words. His neck had deep lacerations that flowed with escaping life.
“I…I…I…uhh…I only…I only…I only did what I believed…” he whispered before a wet, stifled breath.
“What did you do?!!!” Smallmouth grew angry, and his voice followed suit. This man had ruined his job and now he had unleashed something horrifying on his neighborhood. He had tampered with things that man has no business tampering with.
“I…I…I have…have…I have failed, Smallmouth Bassett” the man croaked. Smallmouth couldn’t believe he had bothered to remember his name.
“I have failed. I have failed. God help you all…” with that the man’s face fell and he let out one last slow exhale before all was still.
Smallmouth got back on his feet and looked away from the dead man and toward the fire, which towered and raged in the reflection of his eyes.
“Oh no…oh no…oh no” he said in between terrified breaths.
Then another though hit him like a wrecking ball.
“Uncle Chuck…”

On the night when it all happened a young man called Smallmouth found himself in quite a pickle. He shivered and paced clumsily all over the second story porch of a cabin that used to be very nice, which overlooked a snowy down-sloping field that used to be kept up properly and carefully. He was already six packs deep into a carton of cigarettes he had bought only two days ago from a Casey’s General Store on his way up. He could recall the look on the young woman’s face at the register when he asked for a carton of Parliament Menthols, her eyes showing one blink of humorous surprise and another couple blinks of obvious concern, which faded to professional indifference as she rang in the sweet, icy killers. Smallmouth stopped his nervous dallying when he caught himself in the kitchen window; a large, shadowy figure sulking between the inside lights and the cold, almost glowing world downhill. His eyes still on his murky reflection, he patted his coat pockets for his seventh pack, pulling it out and smacking it against his left palm before cracking open and lighting it at his mouth. In a slow, warm flash, he could briefly see his own face in the window.
“Oh man, it’s bad” , he thought to himself.
He hadn’t shaved in weeks and his beard grew coarse and thick. A face that his mother had once called handsome had become a clean plate covered in steel wool. Well, maybe not so clean. Under and around his eyes were the obvious bruising of sleeplessness and his skin had lost its lively color and clarity of yesteryear.
“Ughhh” he groaned, turning away from the window to look over the porch and into the freezing, beckoning night.
The pickle that Jeremy “Smallmouth” Bassett found himself in involved his uncle, and his uncle’s evening logistics, to be precise. Smallmouth had been kicked out of his parents home on December 27th due to a slight misunderstanding at 2am when he believed the living room Christmas tree to be the downstairs bathroom. He had passed out on the couch after drinking a fire pit full of crushed Hamm’s cans and his brain tried desperately to get him up and to the nearby toilet. His little sister Stacy was tucked in fast asleep on a loveseat by the tree when she was brutally torn from her sugarplum dreams to hear the terrible hiss of Smallmouth’s folly. She screamed, the parents woke up, and, well, there you go. After well over three strikes, Smallmouth’s temporary residence had come to an end, and he was thrown to his mother’s brother’s cabin to dry up and straighten out before he could ever even be considered to return.
“You two deserve to live together. He can’t say no either because he owes me a lot more than this!” Smallmouth’s mother had screeched over him as he sat at the kitchen table the following morning with a cold bag of peas against his throbbing right temple. “You go there and you GET RIGHT!! I don’t care how long it takes just clean up your act and MAKE something of yourself! And for goodness sake tell Chuck to do the same, while he still has time!”
Yes, Uncle Chuck had his own shelf full of good time problems, and that’s what put Smallmouth in a bind tonight as he pondered over the white yonder that led to a black nothing, a black nothing that in the daylight pretended to be a forest. At night, it showed its true nature, an endless world of dark secrets and aching regret. At least that’s how Smallmouth saw it in this moment.
Chuck had gone down to the ranch he worked on for a New Years party with his work buddies. They liked to gather at the big barn where all of the vehicles and equipment were kept, sitting around a card table passing out stories about women and other trophy game that were either outright lied about or illegally poached. Oh, and they also liked to pass the bottle around. Therein lied the conundrum for Smallmouth.
Uncle Chuck was many things, but one thing he wasn’t was a drunk driver. Chuck’s wife Rebecca had been struck and killed by a drunk driver almost ten years ago when she was out jogging the back roads early one morning. Everyone assumed that’s what led him to his openly hard drinking and sneakily pill popping ways in the first place. For Chuck, most nights were kept at home, parked in front of a TV watching old westerns and cleaning out a full bottle of Wild Turkey 101 before snoring in his recliner. On the few nights he would go out, he would always call a ride if things got out of hand. As you can imagine, he tends to need a ride home.
“I should be home bout 11:30. Service ain’t so good up there near the barn so if it gets bout 11:15-11:20 and I ain’t home, go head and do me a favor and come grab me son.” Chuck had told Smallmouth before he left, closing the warped screen door behind him.
Smallmouth had spent the evening trying his best to stay entertained without the help of any chemical enhancement. His family’s anger and resentment really struck him and this time he was determined to truly get right and get his life back on the rails. He was 29 years old. He had gone through college clean as a whistle, bright and driven, receiving his MBA with plans to work his way up in a promising career in business. That worked for a couple years. Then he found a calling in ministry, deciding to quit the corporate world to fill an opening of a tiny country church in the area. They needed a deacon who could take care of things around the building and assist in the worship service. He wasn’t much for public speaking, haven been given the nickname Smallmouth at a young age due to his soft spoken nature, but he could pass plates and give a hushed prayer every now and then. He liked to mow and paint and help old ladies up the stairs. The quiet country life was really nice for him, for a while. Strange, radical ideas eventually spread through the church though, and half of its members left overnight to form their own congregation. Its funding cut in half, the church had to close its doors and the other members absorbed into other churches. Smallmouth rarely ever saw the people that had departed from the church, but rumors creeped that they met at an old abandoned building deep in the woods, performing all sorts of different acts and rituals that would purify themselves and destroy all evils. Nevertheless, Smallmouth was out of work and picked up shifts bartending at a small town dive. His soft fortitude was no match for the booze and drugs and women that would pass through there and soon he was out the door. That landed him mooching off of his parents, draining their sanity and eventually draining himself on their Christmas tree. The last strike.
So there he was all night, waiting up for uncle Chuck. He was two days clean of everything except caffeine and nicotine, a major improvement. He felt a boost of hope and confidence the first morning after a sober nights sleep. He found the mornings to be the best parts of the day. At least he had coffee and cigarettes to get him out of bed. That would wear off quickly and the rest of the day was filled with trying to find distractions until the sun set about 5pm. Then he would watch a movie or two with Chuck. Last night he had been able to call it early and go to sleep at 7pm shortly after Chuck started sawing logs in front of True Grit (the original John Wayne version of course). Tonight he saw 7pm struggle and churn into 8…….8:13……..8:48……9:05……9:29………..9:31………9:52……..9:58……….10:11…….10:12 (oh cmon)……10:27…….10:56…….and finally 11:08. It was like the clock was a 35 year old four cylinder engine oiled with crunchy peanut butter. Now, crunch time sat in the cold air as Smallmouth finished his cigarette and stewed over his decision. He really didn’t feel like going down to the barn and getting Chuck, even though it was only a couple miles. In the infancy of his sobriety he found the smallest of choices and activities to seem dire and at the very least upsettingly out of his way. Surely Chuck can get himself home on his own, right?
“No. Who knows if someone’s Aunt Rebecca or grandmother or son is out there on the road tonight” he thought.
As much as he had tried to screw up his life, Smallmouth usually knew what the right decision would be, even if he so often refused to listen. It was there ever so clearly on this New Year’s Eve, wailing in the back row of his mind like a misbehaved child during a church sermon. Smallmouth left the porch and went inside to grab his keys.
He walked out to his truck, got in, cranked it, let it sit down to one rpm, and started down the gravel driveway, which led to the gravel county road that Chuck and his few and far between neighbors lived on. He got to the mailbox and suddenly shot his attention up the road, where headlights revealed themselves out of the deep dark. It was rare to see any cars this far down Chuck’s road. In fact, there were no other houses to the right of Chuck’s cabin, spare for a couple of empty ones that were condemned but were attached to a lot of forest property.
Smallmouth squinted his eyes as a large black Dodge Ram 3500 came barreling by with a livestock trailer. Even inside his own truck he could hear a terrible noise coming from that trailer. He recognized it instantly as a pig squeal.
“The hell?” He whispered as the truck and trailer tore down the road, going around a nearby corner and out of sight. He couldn’t guess what on earth that could be about at this hour, and especially since nobody lived down there anyway. He shrugged it off though, and turned left out of the driveway, headed for drunk Uncle Chuck down at the ranch.
Ten minutes and a couple of snowy country miles later Smallmouth found himself through the metal gate of the ranch and up to the main barn, where a couple of smiling ranch hands had Chuck held up between them just outside one of two closed garage doors. A lamppost nearby cast a glow of debauchery on all of their faces, especially Chuck’s. Smallmouth got out and walked up to them smiling and shaking his head.
“Well well well…” he said with a slight laugh.
“Your Uncle put on one hell of a clinic tonight ‘Mouth” one of the hands said.
“I…..I….I don’t know what they’re tawlkin bout son” Chuck slang out before a high pitched giggle.
“I got another couple rounds in me I thinks!”
Smallmouth laughed.
“Yeah I ain’t so sure about that uncle! Let’s get on home now and let these fellas get on too.”
“Y’alright alright” Chuck said as Smallmouth took him from his buddies arms into one of his own and led him to the passenger seat of his truck.
“Happy New Years boys!!! Let’s do it all again okay?” He hollered to his waving buddies as they drove back away from the barn and through the metal gate toward home.
“You have a good time Uncle?”
“Oh…ohhh…I reckon I showed those boys how to do it” Another childish giggle.
A light snow shower seasoned the cold air as the truck rolled down the gravel country road. In the yellow headlights it made a pleasant white noise for the eyes. Chuck put his hands up staggered and vertically, fingers together and outstretched, pointing out in front of the truck down the road like he was aiming up for a rifle shot. He closed one eye.
“Straight as an arrow ole son. You’re good at this.”
“I ain’t drunk pops” Smallmouth chuckled.
“Sure ya are. Everybody’s drunk son. Even people that ain’t drink. Ticket is to get drunk on good stuff” Chuck’s face calmed from a goofy grin as he kept his eyes out front into the slow swirling tube of visible night.
“You sound like you’re drunk on some pretty damn good stuff” Smallmouth retorted as they shared a look and a good laugh.
“Suppose’n you ain’t wrong. Gotta work on that just like you are. Proud o’ you for a couple days clean man. We’ll get right. We’ll get right. All I meant was that man is born to get drunk on somethin’ or other. What I mean is God. Man is born to get drunk on his God.” Chuck said as Smallmouth shot him a raised eyebrow look of confusion.
“Once God gets ya drunk then you’re home free ol’ son. That distillery is never ending eternal forever. That land flows with whiskey and honey.” They both shared another laugh.
“Okay okay I think I somewhat understand now Uncle.”
They rode in a few seconds of comfortable silence before Chuck put his hands up in an aim position down the road again.
“You know…man….man….man has a GOVERNOR…..you know that right?”
“A what? A governor?”
“That’s right a GOVERNOR…that’s right…a little bitty device in his brain that keeps him on the road…keeps him from turning right off into the dark. You ever hear that little voice that tells you you can turn off into the ditch…into oncomin’ traffic? Tells you you can shoot your buddy instead of the deer? That you can jump off the top of the building and onto the pavement when you’re up there enjoying the view?”
“I…uh…I don’t know…I mean maybe? Pretty sure those are intrusive thoughts and they’re normal.”
“Well whatever they are that’s what the governor is for. Keeps ya straight. Keeps ya from harmin nothin.”
“Alright man, alright.”
They pulled back into Chuck’s driveway and parked. Smallmouth helped his uncle out of the truck and up into the cabin, snow starting to color the roof and pile against the side of the house near the door. Arms locked Smallmouth propped open the screen door, opened the inner door, and led Chuck through the kitchen and to his bedroom. Chuck layed down on his camo comforter with a deep, long exhale.
“Ahhhh yes……yes” he whispered with a smile.
“I love ya son…I’m glad you’re heeeeere. Let’s get better….your mom needs it…..stay in the Lord’s light son…don’t let them devils get ya….let’s get better….lets….” He was off into the distant deep ether almost immediately, and his mouth hung open.
“Goodnight uncle…love ya too.” Smallmouth patted the bed twice before walking over and closing the bedroom door behind him.
He went and sat at the kitchen table. He regretted his behavior earlier in the night. How it pained him to have to stay up a little later to go help out his uncle.
“Cmon…” he whispered.
He agreed with Chuck. He was here to get better. To do better. Maybe Chuck was right. If he couldn’t get drunk off booze, it was time to pick something else to drink. Better things. Maybe even God? Smallmouth hadn’t paid much mind to God since his church job fell through. God surely hadn’t been there for him these last few years when he was at his lowest. Or was He there the whole time? Had Smallmouth just ignored Him? These things floated heavily in his mind and soon he realized he had been staring at the front door for several minutes. Had he even blinked? Then something else came to mind.
“Wait hold up”
That truck and trailer from earlier. What WAS that? He meant to bring it up to the ranch hands. They would’ve seen it come barreling down the road right by their front gate. Oh he wished he had brought that up to them. Oh well. It’s probably nothing. Smallmouth looked at the clock. 12:12.
“Happy New Year old boy.” He said to himself.
He sat for a moment in the warm kitchen light, his eyes not leaving the front door. Well, he’s up this late already, why not go run down and check on the abandoned properties?
No…no…it can wait. It’s probably nothing. Right?
Wrong. There’s that wailing kid in the back pew of his mind again. Come on kid can’t you just be quiet and listen to the sermon? No, no it can’t. It must be heard. Always. He knew he had to go check it out.
“Ughhhh FINE!” Smallmouth got up and grabbed his truck keys, patted to make sure his cigarettes were still there, and was out the door again.
The snow shower had ended. As he pulled up to the edge of the drive, he stalled for a moment and peaked out as far to the right as he could down the dark road. Nothing. It wasn’t very far to the end of that road, where two out of service mailboxes should’ve stood in a small cul-de-sac if it weren’t for teenagers beating them to splinters. Can’t really blame them either. Smallmouth considered his plan. Whether or not that truck belonged to the landowner down there, he shouldn’t feel like he needs to sneak around. He is merely a concerned neighbor after all. He began down the road and around that same corner the stranger disappeared earlier.
After a couple of slow, curious minutes Smallmouth could see the evidence of a great big fire in the near distance, beyond where the road ended. Through the bare trees and against the snow it cast orange and red that could surely be seen a mile in every direction, that is, if there were anyone there to see it.
Slightly intimidated, Smallmouth decided to turn off his headlights and let the fire guide him as he slowed up to 5mph and gently crackled his last few yards of gravel up to the remnants of the nearest mailbox post. It seemed the fire was on the land of the farther property, whose mailbox posthole was about 30 feet from where he came to a stop and parked his truck. Smallmouth turned it off and quietly got out into the cold. He crouched down as he walked over to the farther driveway, getting down on one knee to give it a stealthy closer look.
The abandoned property boasted a busted up trailer that sat pitifully about 500 feet from the mailbox memorial. Beyond that was a good ten acres of field that ended at the forest edge, which marked the beginning of thousands of acres of wildlife refuge. As Smallmouth peered on, it was obvious that the fire was way out in that field, blocked by the old trailer, which wore the hot light and columns of smoke on it like a devilish crown. Given the cover, Smallmouth crept over to the trailer and started easing around the right side.
Rounding the corner he noticed a propane tank that would be perfect for hiding behind and getting the best look he could at the mysterious activity. He got down on his belly and crawled his way over to the tank, before sitting up and peeking slowly over the top and out into the field.
Way down there, a couple acres away from the tree line, was a huge fire, made up of about fifty wooden pallets. It raged and lit up the whole field like it was just the beginning of sunset. Somewhat near the fire was the black Dodge Ram 3500 and trailer. Smallmouth could see a group of people dressed in all red, as if covered in bloody bedsheets from head to toe, circled around a crude cage, seemingly fastened together by pieces of metal fencing. They stood still as the pines, and twice as silent. Smallmouth, in a rare moment of curious courage, decided he had to get closer. He got back on his stomach and began to crawl through the cold, knee high grass.
Using the fire light as his North Star he crawled and crawled, feeling his hands, clothes, and beard get wet with snow. He didn’t care. Something was up that wasn’t normal, wasn’t right. He could feel it in his cold gut. When he thought he was close enough without giving himself away he planted his palms and ever so slowly raised his torso up into a weak push up to try and see out. He was glad he didn’t go any further. He may have been too close already.
He was close enough to read the name of the truck and count the holes in the livestock trailer. There were seven strangers in red sheets all around the makeshift cage, all holding long spears. One of the figures had a crown of black thorns on his head. They all had two eyeholes and one hole for the mouth. They didn’t move a muscle for the longest time, before the Crowned One forcibly touched the end of his spear to the ground.
“Now is the time, Brother and Farmer Abraham…there is no more for us in waiting.”
Smallmouth had just noticed the passenger window to the black Dodge was down, and he could hear the driver door open and soon saw a normal looking older man in a ball cap at the back of the trailer. He was holding a leash of some sort. He opened up the trailer and whistled into the dark of it. After a couple of loud, heavy thuds a gigantic, and I mean GIGANTIC Yorkshire pig came slowly shrugging out of the trailer. It was light pink in color but filthy, and gave wet sounding oinks as it came to the man’s hands expecting food. The thing must’ve weighed 1500 pounds, and at least ten feet long. It actually had to lower its head to reach the man’s hands, its ears coming up to the man’s chest. Smallmouth couldn’t believe his eyes. The man reached in his pocket and revealed a handful of some type of feed, which he tossed on the ground at the pig. It started right in as the man fixed a collar on the pigs girthy neck, then attaching a leash. The pig gave a slight squeal.
“Good girl, good girl…cmon now” the man called Farmer Abraham sweetly coaxed the animal. He gave his end of the leash a tug and the monstrous swine reluctantly left its food and followed the man over close to the Crowned One. The fire raged and raged nearby, throwing crazy shadows all over the place.
“What have you brought us, Brother and Farmer Abraham?”
“Yeah, uh, this is Old Azazel, she’s been in my family for years, man.”
The Crowned One dropped his spear and knelt down to the jowls of the hog, the dark holes of his eyes meeting those of the animal. The other red cloaked figures remained statuesque around the cage.
“Ah, yes, Old Azazel, hello. You are to be of great importance in the history of the Earth tonight, old friend.”
The Crowned One got back up to address Brother and Father Abraham, who seemed obviously put off, yet submissive.
“And is this Old Azazel a natural specimen? Is it fed only of the earth and the filths therein?”
“Yessir, I’d reckon so.”
“This is necessary for a proper sacrifice, Brother and Farmer Abraham. You may only bring your best, your cleanest, your most dear to the alter of the Almighty.”
“I understand.”
“May I take her now?”
The farmer gave his end of the leash to the black gloved left hand of the Crowned One. The Crowned one stood with it for almost a full minute in total stillness and silence. The only noise Smallmouth could hear was the sloppy smacks and oinks from Old Azazel. The farmer anxiously waited, wringing his hands expecting the next move from the Crowned One.
“Turn away, Brother and Farmer Abraham. Turn away from us and toward the fire now.” The Crowned One finally spoke.
“Phew, alright. We’re still good on our deal? Do you still promise to make my little girl better? Like you said?” The farmer asked, with some hopeful desperation.
“Turn now.”
“Well okay” the farmer turned his back to the Crowned One and toward the fire.
“I can assure you with all of the knowledge in my mind and in my heart, you will never see your daughter sick again in this lifetime, Brother and Father Abraham. You may find peace and solace in this truth.”
The farmer nodded in relief as he looked upon the fire. Smallmouth, taking it all in with great confusion, could see a smile on the farmers fire lit face, and turned back to the Crowned One just in time to see him reach under his red garment and pull out a pistol and shoot a round into the back of the farmers head, blowing his cap off, which frisbeed down near his shaking, crumpled body. Old Azazel threw a fit immediately, screaming and trying her best to flee. The Crowned One held the immense beast with one hand, and with seemingly little effort. The other red clothed figures finally made noise, laughing deep and heartily around the cage. The Crowned One, keeping Old Azazel close, walked over to the doubled over farmer, putting two more bullets into his head, essentially hollowing it out into a carnal mess. The farmers shaking mercifully stopped.
Smallmouth had to slam his forearm up to his mouth to muffle the scream that would’ve come out and blown his cover. His eyes were flown wide open and his arms were shivering.
The Crowned One put the pistol back under his red cloak and led the great pig, still squealing as high pitched and piercing as the human ear can withstand, over to the mouth of the cage, which was opened by the nearest red clothed stranger. Old Azazel flew in to the cage, having been unleashed by The Crowned One. It struggled around the cage, which was no bigger than 15x15 feet, giving it no room to get comfortable. It circled the inner perimeter, showing impressive speed for such a large animal. It squealed and squealed. The sound stung Smallmouths ears, and he covered them with his hands. He was still out of sight in the tall grass. The Red People around the cage laughed at the hogs entrapment. The Crowned One raised a hand to signal silence. The Red People were still and quiet again.
“Now, my brothers, the sacrificial gift is in our possession. Tonight…is a HOLY NIGHT.” The Crowned One raised his voice as if getting to the climax of a fire and brimstone sermon.
“TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY WHAT WAS ONCE CAST OUT BUT NEVER VANQUISHED!! WE WILL RID THE EARTH OF A GREAT ARMY!! AN ARMY OF HELL THAT HAS FAR TOO LONG ROAMED AND SICKENED OUR LANDS AND KILLED OUR LOVES!! TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY THE DESTROYERS…THE LEGION OF SATANS SOLDIERS BORN JUST AFTER THE GARDEN OF EDEN FELL…”
The Crowned One fell to his knees, his arms up and stretched toward the frozen sky. A mighty wind began blowing at Smallmouths back. He had to lower his head as it roared over him. After a moment it calmed and he was able to lift up again to see. Winds from all corners of the field met at the cage, swirling over it in a great snowy funnel that led up to the clouds. Old Azazel screamed and screamed from the cage.
“I SEE YOU VILLIANS!! I HEAR YOU HOSTS OF HELL!! I KNOW YOU LIVE IN THESE TREES!! I KNOW YOU COWER WITHIN THE SOUND OF MY VOICE!! SHOW YOURSELF!! TAKE THE BODY OF THIS ANIMAL THAT I HAVE SET BEFORE YOU!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW AND FACE ME!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE I-“
The Crowned One’s vocal cord shredding performance was cut short by a single burst of black lightning that shot down from the middle of the snowy funnel cloud that surrounded the cage. The Crowned One and all the Red People were thrown several feet back from the blast. Thunder immediately exploded across the field. Smallmouth buried his face as the force and sound raced over him. Ears ringing, he kept his face down for a few seconds. He squinted back up to the strike zone.
The strange black lightning had blown the cage completely apart. Two of The Red People had been hit with the metal fencing. One laid motionless. The other gargled in pain as he put a hand to the pole that was sticking out of his sternum, having penetrated all the way through. His legs buckled and he fell forward, the end of the pole hitting the ground first and propping him up for a moment, before his body slowly slid down to the ground around the metal. He went silent. The other four Red People, yelling in surprise, gathered themselves, looking to the charred hole in the ground where Old Azazel should be, right in the center where the cage used to stand. The Crowned One got to his feet and picked up his spear.
“My brothers, gather your arms…” the Crowned One whispered, breathing heavily under his red cloak.
“The work is not over…”
The four remaining Red People grabbed their spears and slowly walked over to the burnt, smoking hole, holding an attack pose over it until further instructions were given.
“Are you with us, you age old tormentors?” This was the first time Smallmouth could hear fear in the tired voice of the Crowned One.
“Are you with us now? Are you ready to die, you infernal bastards? Are you ready to-“
The Crowned One was interrupted by a booming noise from the hole that tore Smallmouths wits to shreds. It was similar to the cry of Old Azazel, but much deeper and ten times louder and angrier. It was as if a freight train was blaring its horn and slamming its brakes at the same time.
“NOW MY BROTHERS!! STRIKE THE BEAST OF HELL WITH YOUR SPEARS! NOW!!!”
The Red People all threw their weapons down into the smoking hole. The hellish noise from within stopped in an instant. The Red People crowded closer to the edge of the hole, waiting for the smoke to clear. The Crowned One walked over to them, putting his black gloved hand on the shoulder of the nearest man.
“Oh, Brothers. Oh my dear, dear Brothers. Your acts tonight have rid the earth of a Great and Powerful Evil…”
Before he could continue, a fully enraged and re-inspired bellow thrust itself up and out of the hole like a serrated blade. Much, much louder and angrier than before. The Red People were taken aback in terror. Suddenly, from within the hole, a large head emerged and gaped a huge, disgusting maw up at the crowd. The head was burned black and its eyes were half boiled white and without pupils. It shrieked out that most terrible noise as if it didn’t need oxygen.
“There’s no way” Smallmouth heard himself say under his breath.
All in one motion, the beast leaped out of the hole, and turned to face its attackers. It was Old Azazel, except swollen with burnt mass. It appeared to have grown a half a size at least. Three spears stuck out of its sizzling, charcoal colored back. It snapped its gigantic jaws at the Red People, who shuddered in horror. The Crowned One spoke:
“DO NOT RELENT BROTHERS!! ATTACK!! ATTACK THE BRUTE!!”
He pulled his pistol back out of his cloak and fired the remaining three rounds on the new and horrible black burnt Old Azazel. The beast’s cloudy boiled egg eyes shot open along with its unnaturally stretched jaws. It took the three bullets as if they were tennis balls. At the speed of a charging grizzly and with multiple times the power Old Azazel raged over to The Crowned One and dove onto him mouth first, putting both front hooves on his chest as he was knocked down. The Crowned One cried out in a shockingly high pitched wail, like a man being electrocuted. The Beast bit right into the soft of his belly, and began to shake him around like an Orca trying to separate a seal from its pelt.
“OH GOD!!!! AHHHHHH GOD OHHHHH!!! HELP ME!!!! NOOOO!!!! OH GOD HELP ME!!!! MAMA!!!! OHHHH!!! MAMA!!!!!”
The beast ate and ate and shook and shook and tore and broke and destroyed while the Crowned One lost more and more of his body, all while crying out to the sky at the top of his punctured lungs. The other Red People sprinted to the black Dodge Ram, opened its doors and piled inside. Smallmouth heard it crank up and it began to speedily turn around and race away from the fire and back toward the road. The beast unhooked from the Crowned One and let out another ghastly roar of victory before biting into his neck, ending his screaming forever. The beast then left his half devoured body and began a tremendous and terrible charge after the truck, which was greatly slowed down by the trailer. Smallmouth put his face down as the beast passed him by only about 10 feet on its way to the truck, which had just made it back to the road and was using every RPM possible to get away from the demon charged killing machine on its heels. Smallmouth turned around to watch both parties disappear down the road, the echoes of that great and evil blasting noise stabbing his ears again. He remained on his stomach in the tall, snowy grass for another two minutes as he normalized his breath and tried to make any sense of what he just witnessed.
Eventually he slowly rose up and looked to make sure that terrible thing was indeed out of the area. No signs of life or death from up at the road. The danger was at least a couple miles away by now. Smallmouth then turned back toward the fire and to the dominated body of the Crowned One. He carefully walked up closer and closer. To his amazement he heard wheezy noises coming from the emptied out torso of the man, a scattering of insides and flesh and blood strewn all around him. Troubled, rattling breaths escaped from under the red clothed head, whose crown of thorns had flown off in the attack. Most of the red cloak had been ripped to shreds, and all that remained covered were his shoulders and above. The cloth slowly ebbed and flowed with breath. Smallmouth could not believe this man was still alive. His entire digestive system was eviscerated and his ribs were exposed. Smallmouth knelt down beside him and lifted his cloak over his head to let him at least breathe his last in the open air.
Smallmouth let out a gasp. This man had a face that Smallmouth knew very well. He recognized him immediately from the old church he worked at. The clean shaven face. The short, silver hair. The sharp nose. This was a man that had joined his church two weeks before the schism. He never spoke in church but it was rumored he would meet at the homes of different members and try to sway them to his strange ideas. He was the one rumored to have led the radical faction somewhere in the middle of the woods. To Smallmouth, it was all starting to make more sense.
“I know you,” Smallmouth said softly, “I know who you are. You tore a church in half didn’t you? You’re the crazy guy that split up my ole church! What the hell have you done?”
The man struggled to breathe and tried his best to spit up a couple of words. His neck had deep lacerations that flowed with escaping life.
“I…I…I…uhh…I only…I only…I only did what I believed…” he whispered before a wet, stifled breath.
“What did you do?!!!” Smallmouth grew angry, and his voice followed suit. This man had ruined his job and now he had unleashed something horrifying on his neighborhood. He had tampered with things that man has no business tampering with.
“I…I…I have…have…I have failed, Smallmouth Bassett” the man croaked. Smallmouth couldn’t believe he had bothered to remember his name.
“I have failed. I have failed. God help you all…” with that the man’s face fell and he let out one last slow exhale before all was still.
Smallmouth got back on his feet and looked away from the dead man and toward the fire, which towered and raged in the reflection of his eyes.
“Oh no…oh no…oh no” he said in between terrified breaths.
Then another though hit him like a wrecking ball.
“Uncle Chuck…”

On the night when it all happened a young man called Smallmouth found himself in quite a pickle. He shivered and paced clumsily all over the second story porch of a cabin that used to be very nice, which overlooked a snowy down-sloping field that used to be kept up properly and carefully. He was already six packs deep into a carton of cigarettes he had bought only two days ago from a Casey’s General Store on his way up. He could recall the look on the young woman’s face at the register when he asked for a carton of Parliament Menthols, her eyes showing one blink of humorous surprise and another couple blinks of obvious concern, which faded to professional indifference as she rang in the sweet, icy killers. Smallmouth stopped his nervous dallying when he caught himself in the kitchen window; a large, shadowy figure sulking between the inside lights and the cold, almost glowing world downhill. His eyes still on his murky reflection, he patted his coat pockets for his seventh pack, pulling it out and smacking it against his left palm before cracking open and lighting it at his mouth. In a slow, warm flash, he could briefly see his own face in the window.
“Oh man, it’s bad” , he thought to himself.
He hadn’t shaved in weeks and his beard grew coarse and thick. A face that his mother had once called handsome had become a clean plate covered in steel wool. Well, maybe not so clean. Under and around his eyes were the obvious bruising of sleeplessness and his skin had lost its lively color and clarity of yesteryear.
“Ughhh” he groaned, turning away from the window to look over the porch and into the freezing, beckoning night.
The pickle that Jeremy “Smallmouth” Bassett found himself in involved his uncle, and his uncle’s evening logistics, to be precise. Smallmouth had been kicked out of his parents home on December 27th due to a slight misunderstanding at 2am when he believed the living room Christmas tree to be the downstairs bathroom. He had passed out on the couch after drinking a fire pit full of crushed Hamm’s cans and his brain tried desperately to get him up and to the nearby toilet. His little sister Stacy was tucked in fast asleep on a loveseat by the tree when she was brutally torn from her sugarplum dreams to hear the terrible hiss of Smallmouth’s folly. She screamed, the parents woke up, and, well, there you go. After well over three strikes, Smallmouth’s temporary residence had come to an end, and he was thrown to his mother’s brother’s cabin to dry up and straighten out before he could ever even be considered to return.
“You two deserve to live together. He can’t say no either because he owes me a lot more than this!” Smallmouth’s mother had screeched over him as he sat at the kitchen table the following morning with a cold bag of peas against his throbbing right temple. “You go there and you GET RIGHT!! I don’t care how long it takes just clean up your act and MAKE something of yourself! And for goodness sake tell Chuck to do the same, while he still has time!”
Yes, Uncle Chuck had his own shelf full of good time problems, and that’s what put Smallmouth in a bind tonight as he pondered over the white yonder that led to a black nothing, a black nothing that in the daylight pretended to be a forest. At night, it showed its true nature, an endless world of dark secrets and aching regret. At least that’s how Smallmouth saw it in this moment.
Chuck had gone down to the ranch he worked on for a New Years party with his work buddies. They liked to gather at the big barn where all of the vehicles and equipment were kept, sitting around a card table passing out stories about women and other trophy game that were either outright lied about or illegally poached. Oh, and they also liked to pass the bottle around. Therein lied the conundrum for Smallmouth.
Uncle Chuck was many things, but one thing he wasn’t was a drunk driver. Chuck’s wife Rebecca had been struck and killed by a drunk driver almost ten years ago when she was out jogging the back roads early one morning. Everyone assumed that’s what led him to his openly hard drinking and sneakily pill popping ways in the first place. For Chuck, most nights were kept at home, parked in front of a TV watching old westerns and cleaning out a full bottle of Wild Turkey 101 before snoring in his recliner. On the few nights he would go out, he would always call a ride if things got out of hand. As you can imagine, he tends to need a ride home.
“I should be home bout 11:30. Service ain’t so good up there near the barn so if it gets bout 11:15-11:20 and I ain’t home, go head and do me a favor and come grab me son.” Chuck had told Smallmouth before he left, closing the warped screen door behind him.
Smallmouth had spent the evening trying his best to stay entertained without the help of any chemical enhancement. His family’s anger and resentment really struck him and this time he was determined to truly get right and get his life back on the rails. He was 29 years old. He had gone through college clean as a whistle, bright and driven, receiving his MBA with plans to work his way up in a promising career in business. That worked for a couple years. Then he found a calling in ministry, deciding to quit the corporate world to fill an opening of a tiny country church in the area. They needed a deacon who could take care of things around the building and assist in the worship service. He wasn’t much for public speaking, haven been given the nickname Smallmouth at a young age due to his soft spoken nature, but he could pass plates and give a hushed prayer every now and then. He liked to mow and paint and help old ladies up the stairs. The quiet country life was really nice for him, for a while. Strange, radical ideas eventually spread through the church though, and half of its members left overnight to form their own congregation. Its funding cut in half, the church had to close its doors and the other members absorbed into other churches. Smallmouth rarely ever saw the people that had departed from the church, but rumors creeped that they met at an old abandoned building deep in the woods, performing all sorts of different acts and rituals that would purify themselves and destroy all evils. Nevertheless, Smallmouth was out of work and picked up shifts bartending at a small town dive. His soft fortitude was no match for the booze and drugs and women that would pass through there and soon he was out the door. That landed him mooching off of his parents, draining their sanity and eventually draining himself on their Christmas tree. The last strike.
So there he was all night, waiting up for uncle Chuck. He was two days clean of everything except caffeine and nicotine, a major improvement. He felt a boost of hope and confidence the first morning after a sober nights sleep. He found the mornings to be the best parts of the day. At least he had coffee and cigarettes to get him out of bed. That would wear off quickly and the rest of the day was filled with trying to find distractions until the sun set about 5pm. Then he would watch a movie or two with Chuck. Last night he had been able to call it early and go to sleep at 7pm shortly after Chuck started sawing logs in front of True Grit (the original John Wayne version of course). Tonight he saw 7pm struggle and churn into 8…….8:13……..8:48……9:05……9:29………..9:31………9:52……..9:58……….10:11…….10:12 (oh cmon)……10:27…….10:56…….and finally 11:08. It was like the clock was a 35 year old four cylinder engine oiled with crunchy peanut butter. Now, crunch time sat in the cold air as Smallmouth finished his cigarette and stewed over his decision. He really didn’t feel like going down to the barn and getting Chuck, even though it was only a couple miles. In the infancy of his sobriety he found the smallest of choices and activities to seem dire and at the very least upsettingly out of his way. Surely Chuck can get himself home on his own, right?
“No. Who knows if someone’s Aunt Rebecca or grandmother or son is out there on the road tonight” he thought.
As much as he had tried to screw up his life, Smallmouth usually knew what the right decision would be, even if he so often refused to listen. It was there ever so clearly on this New Year’s Eve, wailing in the back row of his mind like a misbehaved child during a church sermon. Smallmouth left the porch and went inside to grab his keys.
He walked out to his truck, got in, cranked it, let it sit down to one rpm, and started down the gravel driveway, which led to the gravel county road that Chuck and his few and far between neighbors lived on. He got to the mailbox and suddenly shot his attention up the road, where headlights revealed themselves out of the deep dark. It was rare to see any cars this far down Chuck’s road. In fact, there were no other houses to the right of Chuck’s cabin, spare for a couple of empty ones that were condemned but were attached to a lot of forest property.
Smallmouth squinted his eyes as a large black Dodge Ram 3500 came barreling by with a livestock trailer. Even inside his own truck he could hear a terrible noise coming from that trailer. He recognized it instantly as a pig squeal.
“The hell?” He whispered as the truck and trailer tore down the road, going around a nearby corner and out of sight. He couldn’t guess what on earth that could be about at this hour, and especially since nobody lived down there anyway. He shrugged it off though, and turned left out of the driveway, headed for drunk Uncle Chuck down at the ranch.
Ten minutes and a couple of snowy country miles later Smallmouth found himself through the metal gate of the ranch and up to the main barn, where a couple of smiling ranch hands had Chuck held up between them just outside one of two closed garage doors. A lamppost nearby cast a glow of debauchery on all of their faces, especially Chuck’s. Smallmouth got out and walked up to them smiling and shaking his head.
“Well well well…” he said with a slight laugh.
“Your Uncle put on one hell of a clinic tonight ‘Mouth” one of the hands said.
“I…..I….I don’t know what they’re tawlkin bout son” Chuck slang out before a high pitched giggle.
“I got another couple rounds in me I thinks!”
Smallmouth laughed.
“Yeah I ain’t so sure about that uncle! Let’s get on home now and let these fellas get on too.”
“Y’alright alright” Chuck said as Smallmouth took him from his buddies arms into one of his own and led him to the passenger seat of his truck.
“Happy New Years boys!!! Let’s do it all again okay?” He hollered to his waving buddies as they drove back away from the barn and through the metal gate toward home.
“You have a good time Uncle?”
“Oh…ohhh…I reckon I showed those boys how to do it” Another childish giggle.
A light snow shower seasoned the cold air as the truck rolled down the gravel country road. In the yellow headlights it made a pleasant white noise for the eyes. Chuck put his hands up staggered and vertically, fingers together and outstretched, pointing out in front of the truck down the road like he was aiming up for a rifle shot. He closed one eye.
“Straight as an arrow ole son. You’re good at this.”
“I ain’t drunk pops” Smallmouth chuckled.
“Sure ya are. Everybody’s drunk son. Even people that ain’t drink. Ticket is to get drunk on good stuff” Chuck’s face calmed from a goofy grin as he kept his eyes out front into the slow swirling tube of visible night.
“You sound like you’re drunk on some pretty damn good stuff” Smallmouth retorted as they shared a look and a good laugh.
“Suppose’n you ain’t wrong. Gotta work on that just like you are. Proud o’ you for a couple days clean man. We’ll get right. We’ll get right. All I meant was that man is born to get drunk on somethin’ or other. What I mean is God. Man is born to get drunk on his God.” Chuck said as Smallmouth shot him a raised eyebrow look of confusion.
“Once God gets ya drunk then you’re home free ol’ son. That distillery is never ending eternal forever. That land flows with whiskey and honey.” They both shared another laugh.
“Okay okay I think I somewhat understand now Uncle.”
They rode in a few seconds of comfortable silence before Chuck put his hands up in an aim position down the road again.
“You know…man….man….man has a GOVERNOR…..you know that right?”
“A what? A governor?”
“That’s right a GOVERNOR…that’s right…a little bitty device in his brain that keeps him on the road…keeps him from turning right off into the dark. You ever hear that little voice that tells you you can turn off into the ditch…into oncomin’ traffic? Tells you you can shoot your buddy instead of the deer? That you can jump off the top of the building and onto the pavement when you’re up there enjoying the view?”
“I…uh…I don’t know…I mean maybe? Pretty sure those are intrusive thoughts and they’re normal.”
“Well whatever they are that’s what the governor is for. Keeps ya straight. Keeps ya from harmin nothin.”
“Alright man, alright.”
They pulled back into Chuck’s driveway and parked. Smallmouth helped his uncle out of the truck and up into the cabin, snow starting to color the roof and pile against the side of the house near the door. Arms locked Smallmouth propped open the screen door, opened the inner door, and led Chuck through the kitchen and to his bedroom. Chuck layed down on his camo comforter with a deep, long exhale.
“Ahhhh yes……yes” he whispered with a smile.
“I love ya son…I’m glad you’re heeeeere. Let’s get better….your mom needs it…..stay in the Lord’s light son…don’t let them devils get ya….let’s get better….lets….” He was off into the distant deep ether almost immediately, and his mouth hung open.
“Goodnight uncle…love ya too.” Smallmouth patted the bed twice before walking over and closing the bedroom door behind him.
He went and sat at the kitchen table. He regretted his behavior earlier in the night. How it pained him to have to stay up a little later to go help out his uncle.
“Cmon…” he whispered.
He agreed with Chuck. He was here to get better. To do better. Maybe Chuck was right. If he couldn’t get drunk off booze, it was time to pick something else to drink. Better things. Maybe even God? Smallmouth hadn’t paid much mind to God since his church job fell through. God surely hadn’t been there for him these last few years when he was at his lowest. Or was He there the whole time? Had Smallmouth just ignored Him? These things floated heavily in his mind and soon he realized he had been staring at the front door for several minutes. Had he even blinked? Then something else came to mind.
“Wait hold up”
That truck and trailer from earlier. What WAS that? He meant to bring it up to the ranch hands. They would’ve seen it come barreling down the road right by their front gate. Oh he wished he had brought that up to them. Oh well. It’s probably nothing. Smallmouth looked at the clock. 12:12.
“Happy New Year old boy.” He said to himself.
He sat for a moment in the warm kitchen light, his eyes not leaving the front door. Well, he’s up this late already, why not go run down and check on the abandoned properties?
No…no…it can wait. It’s probably nothing. Right?
Wrong. There’s that wailing kid in the back pew of his mind again. Come on kid can’t you just be quiet and listen to the sermon? No, no it can’t. It must be heard. Always. He knew he had to go check it out.
“Ughhhh FINE!” Smallmouth got up and grabbed his truck keys, patted to make sure his cigarettes were still there, and was out the door again.
The snow shower had ended. As he pulled up to the edge of the drive, he stalled for a moment and peaked out as far to the right as he could down the dark road. Nothing. It wasn’t very far to the end of that road, where two out of service mailboxes should’ve stood in a small cul-de-sac if it weren’t for teenagers beating them to splinters. Can’t really blame them either. Smallmouth considered his plan. Whether or not that truck belonged to the landowner down there, he shouldn’t feel like he needs to sneak around. He is merely a concerned neighbor after all. He began down the road and around that same corner the stranger disappeared earlier.
After a couple of slow, curious minutes Smallmouth could see the evidence of a great big fire in the near distance, beyond where the road ended. Through the bare trees and against the snow it cast orange and red that could surely be seen a mile in every direction, that is, if there were anyone there to see it.
Slightly intimidated, Smallmouth decided to turn off his headlights and let the fire guide him as he slowed up to 5mph and gently crackled his last few yards of gravel up to the remnants of the nearest mailbox post. It seemed the fire was on the land of the farther property, whose mailbox posthole was about 30 feet from where he came to a stop and parked his truck. Smallmouth turned it off and quietly got out into the cold. He crouched down as he walked over to the farther driveway, getting down on one knee to give it a stealthy closer look.
The abandoned property boasted a busted up trailer that sat pitifully about 500 feet from the mailbox memorial. Beyond that was a good ten acres of field that ended at the forest edge, which marked the beginning of thousands of acres of wildlife refuge. As Smallmouth peered on, it was obvious that the fire was way out in that field, blocked by the old trailer, which wore the hot light and columns of smoke on it like a devilish crown. Given the cover, Smallmouth crept over to the trailer and started easing around the right side.
Rounding the corner he noticed a propane tank that would be perfect for hiding behind and getting the best look he could at the mysterious activity. He got down on his belly and crawled his way over to the tank, before sitting up and peeking slowly over the top and out into the field.
Way down there, a couple acres away from the tree line, was a huge fire, made up of about fifty wooden pallets. It raged and lit up the whole field like it was just the beginning of sunset. Somewhat near the fire was the black Dodge Ram 3500 and trailer. Smallmouth could see a group of people dressed in all red, as if covered in bloody bedsheets from head to toe, circled around a crude cage, seemingly fastened together by pieces of metal fencing. They stood still as the pines, and twice as silent. Smallmouth, in a rare moment of curious courage, decided he had to get closer. He got back on his stomach and began to crawl through the cold, knee high grass.
Using the fire light as his North Star he crawled and crawled, feeling his hands, clothes, and beard get wet with snow. He didn’t care. Something was up that wasn’t normal, wasn’t right. He could feel it in his cold gut. When he thought he was close enough without giving himself away he planted his palms and ever so slowly raised his torso up into a weak push up to try and see out. He was glad he didn’t go any further. He may have been too close already.
He was close enough to read the name of the truck and count the holes in the livestock trailer. There were seven strangers in red sheets all around the makeshift cage, all holding long spears. One of the figures had a crown of black thorns on his head. They all had two eyeholes and one hole for the mouth. They didn’t move a muscle for the longest time, before the Crowned One forcibly touched the end of his spear to the ground.
“Now is the time, Brother and Farmer Abraham…there is no more for us in waiting.”
Smallmouth had just noticed the passenger window to the black Dodge was down, and he could hear the driver door open and soon saw a normal looking older man in a ball cap at the back of the trailer. He was holding a leash of some sort. He opened up the trailer and whistled into the dark of it. After a couple of loud, heavy thuds a gigantic, and I mean GIGANTIC Yorkshire pig came slowly shrugging out of the trailer. It was light pink in color but filthy, and gave wet sounding oinks as it came to the man’s hands expecting food. The thing must’ve weighed 1500 pounds, and at least ten feet long. It actually had to lower its head to reach the man’s hands, its ears coming up to the man’s chest. Smallmouth couldn’t believe his eyes. The man reached in his pocket and revealed a handful of some type of feed, which he tossed on the ground at the pig. It started right in as the man fixed a collar on the pigs girthy neck, then attaching a leash. The pig gave a slight squeal.
“Good girl, good girl…cmon now” the man called Farmer Abraham sweetly coaxed the animal. He gave his end of the leash a tug and the monstrous swine reluctantly left its food and followed the man over close to the Crowned One. The fire raged and raged nearby, throwing crazy shadows all over the place.
“What have you brought us, Brother and Farmer Abraham?”
“Yeah, uh, this is Old Azazel, she’s been in my family for years, man.”
The Crowned One dropped his spear and knelt down to the jowls of the hog, the dark holes of his eyes meeting those of the animal. The other red cloaked figures remained statuesque around the cage.
“Ah, yes, Old Azazel, hello. You are to be of great importance in the history of the Earth tonight, old friend.”
The Crowned One got back up to address Brother and Father Abraham, who seemed obviously put off, yet submissive.
“And is this Old Azazel a natural specimen? Is it fed only of the earth and the filths therein?”
“Yessir, I’d reckon so.”
“This is necessary for a proper sacrifice, Brother and Farmer Abraham. You may only bring your best, your cleanest, your most dear to the alter of the Almighty.”
“I understand.”
“May I take her now?”
The farmer gave his end of the leash to the black gloved left hand of the Crowned One. The Crowned one stood with it for almost a full minute in total stillness and silence. The only noise Smallmouth could hear was the sloppy smacks and oinks from Old Azazel. The farmer anxiously waited, wringing his hands expecting the next move from the Crowned One.
“Turn away, Brother and Farmer Abraham. Turn away from us and toward the fire now.” The Crowned One finally spoke.
“Phew, alright. We’re still good on our deal? Do you still promise to make my little girl better? Like you said?” The farmer asked, with some hopeful desperation.
“Turn now.”
“Well okay” the farmer turned his back to the Crowned One and toward the fire.
“I can assure you with all of the knowledge in my mind and in my heart, you will never see your daughter sick again in this lifetime, Brother and Father Abraham. You may find peace and solace in this truth.”
The farmer nodded in relief as he looked upon the fire. Smallmouth, taking it all in with great confusion, could see a smile on the farmers fire lit face, and turned back to the Crowned One just in time to see him reach under his red garment and pull out a pistol and shoot a round into the back of the farmers head, blowing his cap off, which frisbeed down near his shaking, crumpled body. Old Azazel threw a fit immediately, screaming and trying her best to flee. The Crowned One held the immense beast with one hand, and with seemingly little effort. The other red clothed figures finally made noise, laughing deep and heartily around the cage. The Crowned One, keeping Old Azazel close, walked over to the doubled over farmer, putting two more bullets into his head, essentially hollowing it out into a carnal mess. The farmers shaking mercifully stopped.
Smallmouth had to slam his forearm up to his mouth to muffle the scream that would’ve come out and blown his cover. His eyes were flown wide open and his arms were shivering.
The Crowned One put the pistol back under his red cloak and led the great pig, still squealing as high pitched and piercing as the human ear can withstand, over to the mouth of the cage, which was opened by the nearest red clothed stranger. Old Azazel flew in to the cage, having been unleashed by The Crowned One. It struggled around the cage, which was no bigger than 15x15 feet, giving it no room to get comfortable. It circled the inner perimeter, showing impressive speed for such a large animal. It squealed and squealed. The sound stung Smallmouths ears, and he covered them with his hands. He was still out of sight in the tall grass. The Red People around the cage laughed at the hogs entrapment. The Crowned One raised a hand to signal silence. The Red People were still and quiet again.
“Now, my brothers, the sacrificial gift is in our possession. Tonight…is a HOLY NIGHT.” The Crowned One raised his voice as if getting to the climax of a fire and brimstone sermon.
“TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY WHAT WAS ONCE CAST OUT BUT NEVER VANQUISHED!! WE WILL RID THE EARTH OF A GREAT ARMY!! AN ARMY OF HELL THAT HAS FAR TOO LONG ROAMED AND SICKENED OUR LANDS AND KILLED OUR LOVES!! TONIGHT…WE WILL DESTROY THE DESTROYERS…THE LEGION OF SATANS SOLDIERS BORN JUST AFTER THE GARDEN OF EDEN FELL…”
The Crowned One fell to his knees, his arms up and stretched toward the frozen sky. A mighty wind began blowing at Smallmouths back. He had to lower his head as it roared over him. After a moment it calmed and he was able to lift up again to see. Winds from all corners of the field met at the cage, swirling over it in a great snowy funnel that led up to the clouds. Old Azazel screamed and screamed from the cage.
“I SEE YOU VILLIANS!! I HEAR YOU HOSTS OF HELL!! I KNOW YOU LIVE IN THESE TREES!! I KNOW YOU COWER WITHIN THE SOUND OF MY VOICE!! SHOW YOURSELF!! TAKE THE BODY OF THIS ANIMAL THAT I HAVE SET BEFORE YOU!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW AND FACE ME!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE IT NOW!! TAKE I-“
The Crowned One’s vocal cord shredding performance was cut short by a single burst of black lightning that shot down from the middle of the snowy funnel cloud that surrounded the cage. The Crowned One and all the Red People were thrown several feet back from the blast. Thunder immediately exploded across the field. Smallmouth buried his face as the force and sound raced over him. Ears ringing, he kept his face down for a few seconds. He squinted back up to the strike zone.
The strange black lightning had blown the cage completely apart. Two of The Red People had been hit with the metal fencing. One laid motionless. The other gargled in pain as he put a hand to the pole that was sticking out of his sternum, having penetrated all the way through. His legs buckled and he fell forward, the end of the pole hitting the ground first and propping him up for a moment, before his body slowly slid down to the ground around the metal. He went silent. The other four Red People, yelling in surprise, gathered themselves, looking to the charred hole in the ground where Old Azazel should be, right in the center where the cage used to stand. The Crowned One got to his feet and picked up his spear.
“My brothers, gather your arms…” the Crowned One whispered, breathing heavily under his red cloak.
“The work is not over…”
The four remaining Red People grabbed their spears and slowly walked over to the burnt, smoking hole, holding an attack pose over it until further instructions were given.
“Are you with us, you age old tormentors?” This was the first time Smallmouth could hear fear in the tired voice of the Crowned One.
“Are you with us now? Are you ready to die, you infernal bastards? Are you ready to-“
The Crowned One was interrupted by a booming noise from the hole that tore Smallmouths wits to shreds. It was similar to the cry of Old Azazel, but much deeper and ten times louder and angrier. It was as if a freight train was blaring its horn and slamming its brakes at the same time.
“NOW MY BROTHERS!! STRIKE THE BEAST OF HELL WITH YOUR SPEARS! NOW!!!”
The Red People all threw their weapons down into the smoking hole. The hellish noise from within stopped in an instant. The Red People crowded closer to the edge of the hole, waiting for the smoke to clear. The Crowned One walked over to them, putting his black gloved hand on the shoulder of the nearest man.
“Oh, Brothers. Oh my dear, dear Brothers. Your acts tonight have rid the earth of a Great and Powerful Evil…”
Before he could continue, a fully enraged and re-inspired bellow thrust itself up and out of the hole like a serrated blade. Much, much louder and angrier than before. The Red People were taken aback in terror. Suddenly, from within the hole, a large head emerged and gaped a huge, disgusting maw up at the crowd. The head was burned black and its eyes were half boiled white and without pupils. It shrieked out that most terrible noise as if it didn’t need oxygen.
“There’s no way” Smallmouth heard himself say under his breath.
All in one motion, the beast leaped out of the hole, and turned to face its attackers. It was Old Azazel, except swollen with burnt mass. It appeared to have grown a half a size at least. Three spears stuck out of its sizzling, charcoal colored back. It snapped its gigantic jaws at the Red People, who shuddered in horror. The Crowned One spoke:
“DO NOT RELENT BROTHERS!! ATTACK!! ATTACK THE BRUTE!!”
He pulled his pistol back out of his cloak and fired the remaining three rounds on the new and horrible black burnt Old Azazel. The beast’s cloudy boiled egg eyes shot open along with its unnaturally stretched jaws. It took the three bullets as if they were tennis balls. At the speed of a charging grizzly and with multiple times the power Old Azazel raged over to The Crowned One and dove onto him mouth first, putting both front hooves on his chest as he was knocked down. The Crowned One cried out in a shockingly high pitched wail, like a man being electrocuted. The Beast bit right into the soft of his belly, and began to shake him around like an Orca trying to separate a seal from its pelt.
“OH GOD!!!! AHHHHHH GOD OHHHHH!!! HELP ME!!!! NOOOO!!!! OH GOD HELP ME!!!! MAMA!!!! OHHHH!!! MAMA!!!!!”
The beast ate and ate and shook and shook and tore and broke and destroyed while the Crowned One lost more and more of his body, all while crying out to the sky at the top of his punctured lungs. The other Red People sprinted to the black Dodge Ram, opened its doors and piled inside. Smallmouth heard it crank up and it began to speedily turn around and race away from the fire and back toward the road. The beast unhooked from the Crowned One and let out another ghastly roar of victory before biting into his neck, ending his screaming forever. The beast then left his half devoured body and began a tremendous and terrible charge after the truck, which was greatly slowed down by the trailer. Smallmouth put his face down as the beast passed him by only about 10 feet on its way to the truck, which had just made it back to the road and was using every RPM possible to get away from the demon charged killing machine on its heels. Smallmouth turned around to watch both parties disappear down the road, the echoes of that great and evil blasting noise stabbing his ears again. He remained on his stomach in the tall, snowy grass for another two minutes as he normalized his breath and tried to make any sense of what he just witnessed.
Eventually he slowly rose up and looked to make sure that terrible thing was indeed out of the area. No signs of life or death from up at the road. The danger was at least a couple miles away by now. Smallmouth then turned back toward the fire and to the dominated body of the Crowned One. He carefully walked up closer and closer. To his amazement he heard wheezy noises coming from the emptied out torso of the man, a scattering of insides and flesh and blood strewn all around him. Troubled, rattling breaths escaped from under the red clothed head, whose crown of thorns had flown off in the attack. Most of the red cloak had been ripped to shreds, and all that remained covered were his shoulders and above. The cloth slowly ebbed and flowed with breath. Smallmouth could not believe this man was still alive. His entire digestive system was eviscerated and his ribs were exposed. Smallmouth knelt down beside him and lifted his cloak over his head to let him at least breathe his last in the open air.
Smallmouth let out a gasp. This man had a face that Smallmouth knew very well. He recognized him immediately from the old church he worked at. The clean shaven face. The short, silver hair. The sharp nose. This was a man that had joined his church two weeks before the schism. He never spoke in church but it was rumored he would meet at the homes of different members and try to sway them to his strange ideas. He was the one rumored to have led the radical faction somewhere in the middle of the woods. To Smallmouth, it was all starting to make more sense.
“I know you,” Smallmouth said softly, “I know who you are. You tore a church in half didn’t you? You’re the crazy guy that split up my ole church! What the hell have you done?”
The man struggled to breathe and tried his best to spit up a couple of words. His neck had deep lacerations that flowed with escaping life.
“I…I…I…uhh…I only…I only…I only did what I believed…” he whispered before a wet, stifled breath.
“What did you do?!!!” Smallmouth grew angry, and his voice followed suit. This man had ruined his job and now he had unleashed something horrifying on his neighborhood. He had tampered with things that man has no business tampering with.
“I…I…I have…have…I have failed, Smallmouth Bassett” the man croaked. Smallmouth couldn’t believe he had bothered to remember his name.
“I have failed. I have failed. God help you all…” with that the man’s face fell and he let out one last slow exhale before all was still.
Smallmouth got back on his feet and looked away from the dead man and toward the fire, which towered and raged in the reflection of his eyes.
“Oh no…oh no…oh no” he said in between terrified breaths.
Then another though hit him like a wrecking ball.
“Uncle Chuck…”

I've received many replies/DMs since I posted my career shift success story a while back so I thought I'd follow up after about 18 months in to my new analyst role!
Here's a link to the original post, but here's the TL;DR:
In 2022, at age 33, I made a big leap out of the bar and restaurant industry into data analytics via the Coursera Google Certificate, and I landed a job with virtually no "actual" tech experience (I had plenty of Excel and data tracking knowledge from working in restaurant management, but through the cert program I learned basic SQL, Tableau, and R).
So I'm about 18 months in! I work for a company that distributes industrial/construction materials with multiple warehouses and sales offices around the country. I am based at the HQ office.
All told, I really like the job. It's not quite what I thought it would be but since I had no frame of reference when I joined, I'm not sure what I thought it actually would be like. Most days I truly love it, and other days are very frustrating (as with any job really). So I'll settle on "really like". It comes with many challenges, mostly dealing with clueless executives and salespeople. We also have a very outdated ERP system but we're changing that soon.
Another unpleasant part of my job in particular is that my team is a led by a fairly incompetent project manager who has virtually no technical skills yet talks a big game like they do and micro manages the shit out of us. We work in a kind of modified Agile/Scrum framework and that's all fine and good but I'd enjoy our project flow a lot better if we had a project manager who could actually participate with us in our processes instead of just constantly asking us how things are going. But at the end of the day, I've kinda realized that's how project managers are for the most part and I try to make the best of it.
The good part is that it's interesting. Problem-solving, developing complicated code, being the go-to person on data matters -- all of this can be very rewarding. Ultimately, I'm very happy with the career shift. I don't see myself doing this for the rest of my life, but it got me out of the professional rut I was in and I feel useful! My only regret is that I didn't switch sooner.
A few things to note, with some advice layered in:

• I'm currently working a hybrid 3-2: 3 days in the office, 2 at home. My WFH days are Mondays and Fridays which is quite nice. When I started I had no days at home. If you're looking for your first DA role, I would encourage you to not bank on fully remote. Fully remote tends to be "earned" after putting in time. I actually kind of enjoy my in-office days -- we have a nice space in the corner of the building and we get to collaborate and shoot the shit. It keeps me structured and on point. We also have a gym at our office which is clutch.
  
• My general stack is SQL, Excel, and Power BI, with a vast majority of my time spent in SQL. I build custom reports, dashboards, and various tools that give visibility to data pertaining to virtually all departments in the company. DO NOT FORGET ABOUT EXCEL. The world still runs on Excel. Everyone uses it. I find it to be entirely underrated and overlooked. I even use it for dashboarding sometimes. It's also the preferred platform of many executives.
  
• If you're currently working on the Google Cert or any other certificate programs, you NEED a portfolio of other real-world data work. The certificate itself means nothing. You need to take open source datasets and tell a visual story with them so you can show them to potential employers.
  
• People skills: this may sound strange, but a few months ago one of my superiors told me that even though they were hesitant about me when I was interviewing, they went with me over other candidates because they felt that I was "a good hang". My years in the hospitality industry made me good with people and reading a room, and I truly believe that made up for my lack of experience. Be real, be honest, be able to talk shit, but also know how to "play the game", that is, please people. Charm goes a long way in any professional role.
  
• My current salary is around 85k. It's not quite what I'm worth, but I started at 55k only 18 months ago. There's also a decent health insurance plan and good 401k matching. I've expressed interest in advancing to Senior status within the next 12 months, and my manager is very keen on it. I'm playing the long game here - I certainly don't plan on staying with this company for the rest of my life, but I also know advancement takes time, and patience is key.
  

Final thoughts: I am incredibly grateful for the Google Certificate. I don't see this as my forever career, but being able to leverage data and tell data narratives is undeniably applicable to virtually any professional role. If I were to go into Sales, Finance, Real Estate, Commercial, Supply Chain, Construction, etc. -- even if it wasn't as a Data Analyst -- the ability to pull, manipulate, and present data I believe puts me way ahead of the curve. I've even started developing budget spreadsheets for me and my wife to track and segment our expenses which has been extremely helpful.
If you have any personal questions (or high paying job offers lol), feel free to DM me!

Looking for my next landing spot and have come to the conclusion that Boulder is the best spot for me, after a lot of research/reading. Would now like to put that thinking to the test here...I'm a single, 30 year old male, btw. Work remote.
Why Boulder?
-Love that it is 30-60 min from Denver, which means you have reasonable proximity to all the cultural items and big city amenities Denver is able to offer - professional sports, adult sports leagues (both of these are huge for me) - arts, events, food, Denver International Airport, etc. I'm not a huge fan of Denver's sprawl, so having proximity to Denver but getting a smaller and maybe more tight knit community in Boulder is a great balance on paper.
-Active, well-educated populace and tech/startup/entrepreneurial scene. I'm huge into health/fitness and being active (cycling, lifting, running, golfing, sports, etc) - Boulder seems like a great place to be to find others like that, as well as the secondary effects this has (farmers markets and farm-to-table food scene, for instance). At the same time, it's a city with a lot of educated people, which is a nice to have, and also has some tech/entrepreneurial activity going for it, which I definitely value.
-Mild weather & lots of sun. Big perk for me, love being outside so sun is key for me, at the same time Colorado's Front Range area has pretty mild weather year round.
-Mountain access. I know there is driving/traffic involved, but it's still there if you want it. I snowboard/ski, I love mountains as a visual aesthetic, and I road bike.
-Visually/aesthetically appealing. This is a weird one but big for me - I like urban areas that are well maintained and clean, with a touch of either class or modernity - something like Pearl Street fits well, haven't seen the rest of Boulder so TBD on this one at least for the urban setting...and I really like to have beautiful nature in & around the city, which I think Boulder is not short of. It's a very pretty city from the stuff I have seen/watched.
Just feels like my type of people/place between the active culture + the educated populace + the tech friendly scene.
Cons of Boulder and my thoughts/questions on them:
-COL. It's higher, but I'm OK with it - I have some good savings from living frugally and make about $200K per year, so it's not an issue for me and I'm fine paying up for a quality of life that suits/benefits me.
-Male/female ratio. This sucks, not sure what else to say. Boulder trends at like 1.3 male to female for 20-35 year olds, which is bad for dating as a straight single male.
-Homeless issue. This is something I really hate to see - it's sad on the one hand, and then can also be deterring when it's someone drugged out going crazy disturbing the peace, or trash and litter on the road or around encampments. That being said, it seems almost unavoidable in any mid/large sized US city.
-Dry weather. I feel like I get nosebleeds every time I'm in Colorado, likely just because I'm coming from humid environments. Will I adapt to this?
-Wildfires. Not sure the relative risk here - I'm renting, not buying, so moreso the inconvenience of smoke and hopefully not property damage risk for me.
-Air quality. This surprised me, but apparently really bad? Is that a year round thing or influenced by things like wildfire smoke? Can you escape the bad times if needed?
-Diversity - I'm not 100% sure on how this affects my day to day quality of life, but can understand how it gets listed as a con. Curious to hear some perspectives on this.
-Traffic/overcrowding - is what it is IMO. It's not LA or anything like that, it's just a byproduct of most US city design combined with attractive places to be/live.

Other places I have considered are:
San Diego (feels a bit too sprawly, and huge issues with homelessness/crime while I was there, also really expensive for low quality housing IMO + California COL/taxes)
Seattle (sunlight makes this a no-go)
Austin (lacks a bit of charm IMO, construction/traffic everywhere, meh airport connectivity and weak activities outside of Austin - FWIW I don't mind brutal summers actually, as I can just travel then)
San Francisco (SD problems but even costlier for what you get, that being said the access to nature and the startup ecosytem & tech scene here cannot be matched)
Raleigh (just seems too boring to me, candidly)
Boise, Flagstaff, Tucson, Burlington, Madison (just don't know enough here, but none of them leap off the page for me compared to some of the other picks)
Would love any thoughts/feedback!

Revolutionizing the Build: The Future of Ship Design in "Space Engineers"

Welcome to a new era of creativity and efficiency in Space Engineers! Today, we’re diving deep into a game-changing concept that might just redefine how players interact with this immersive sandbox game: the Automated Ship Design Program. With this proposed tool, the future of space engineering is looking not only brighter but also more accessible to every aspiring and seasoned engineer out there.

What is the Automated Ship Design Program?

Imagine stepping into the vast universe of "Space Engineers" where the limits of design and creativity are bound only by imagination. Now, picture a tool that can automate the design and construction of your space ships, using a combination of in-game mods, advanced algorithms, and innovative image processing technologies. That’s what the Automated Ship Design Program promises—a seamless integration of your visions into the game with precision and efficiency.

Core Benefits

Saving Time with Automation

Say goodbye to the meticulous manual assembly of ships and hello to streamlined construction. With automation, you can quickly bring your space-faring dreams to life, saving precious time to engage more in strategic gameplay or explore other creative endeavors within the vast cosmos of the game.

Unleashed Creativity and Personalization

The freedom to customize is at the heart of "Space Engineers," and this program takes it a step further. Support for an extensive range of mods opens up a playground of possibilities, allowing you to craft ships that are not only functional but also uniquely yours.

Intelligent Design Realization

Through advanced algorithms, the program determines the optimal placement of components, ensuring your ship is balanced, robust, and ready for any space adventure. Moreover, converting your design ideas into game-ready ships is as simple as uploading an image. This direct design implementation lowers the barriers to creative expression, making complex shipbuilding accessible to everyone, irrespective of skill level.

Tackling the Challenges

Despite the significant advantages, some hurdles need to be managed to fully realize the potential of this innovative tool:

• Mod Compatibility: By actively collaborating with mod developers, the program aims to stay adaptive and functional amidst the ever-evolving mod landscape.
• Algorithmic Efficiency: Refining complex algorithms is crucial to handling the intricate calculations needed without affecting the game's performance.
• High-Fidelity Design Translation: Partnering with tech leaders in image processing ensures that the vision you conceive matches the creation within the game.
• System Optimization: The program focuses on being lightweight and efficiently coded to accommodate a broad spectrum of hardware configurations, thus ensuring a smooth experience for all players.

A Vision for Tomorrow

Looking ahead, the introduction of the Automated Ship Design Program isn’t just about enhancing the current game; it’s about setting new industry standards. Here's what the future could hold:

• AI-Enhanced Design Tools: Imagine AI suggesting improvements or alternatives during your design process, enhancing both functionality and aesthetics.
• Real-Time Collaboration: Future expansions might include tools that enable players to work together on ship designs in real-time, a game-changer for multiplayer experiences.
• Cross-Game Adaptability: The core concepts of the program could be tailored to other games, making it a versatile tool across different platforms and genres.

Your Role in This Innovatory Leap

As we chart this bold course towards a revolutionized gameplay experience in "Space Engineers," community input is invaluable. Engaging with the community ensures that the tool not only meets but exceeds player expectations. Thus, whether you are a veteran engineer or a newcomer, your feedback is crucial.

We Invite You to:

• Participate in Feasibility Studies: Help us understand the specific needs and expectations you have for such a tool.
• Engage in the Dialogue: Join discussions, provide feedback, and maybe even test early versions of the program.
• Shape the Future: Your experiences and insights can drive the evolution of this tool, ensuring it becomes an essential part of your gaming toolkit.

Your ideas and passion for "Space Engineers" have always propelled the game forward. With this new development, your influence can extend even further. Join the conversation today, and let’s build the future of space engineering together! 🚀

Packing up a bag to solve one of the jobs that had been on the back burner, the island overrun with zombies was getting resolved. Checking the contents over one more time, the raw pain of losing Croak drove me to this point. The twins’ hopping down the stairs had me grumbling under my breath, both of them bowing to me. What kind of childhood did they have if they felt the need for that type of behavior? This was irritating the shit out of me. Perhaps it was everything else.
“May we come?” Travy inquired with a nervous smile, her sister holding onto her arm. “I want to destroy what my mother built. Forgive a girl for dreaming.” Both of them looked eager, her usual white suit contrasting her sister’s frilly pink number of a dress ironically. Mulling over her reason, the vows would serve to protect me from assassination. Rolling my eyes, I couldn’t believe what I was about to say.
“Fine but I will be keeping a sharp eye on you. No funny business.” I spoke sternly, zipping up my bag. Whispering among themselves, the talking behind my back is not what I signed up for. Clearing my throat, the twins’ straightened up. Saluting me, this stiff behavior was wearing on my nerves even more. Marching up to them, little to no protest met me lowering their hands. Abuse had led them to such behavior, my task of undoing the learned behavior would be a tedious one.
“Please stop doing that. I want you to respect me by calling me Corpsy, ‘kay.” I pleaded with my genuine smile, both of them attempting to bow again. Catching their foreheads, enough was enough. Parting my lips to speak several times, my expression softening further. Pushing them back into the attention position, they needed to let their guard down. What do you say to a couple of traumatized individuals?
“I don’t bite unless I have to.” I promised them with a hearty chuckle, the edge coming off of their expressions. “Let’s go kill some zombies my pals kept contained for me. Splattered brains and skulls will feel like confetti at this point.” Rolling the transportation spell ball in my palm, a drop of my blood was all I needed. Extending my claws, the tips sank into the tender flesh of my palm. Blood coated my palm, the clear ball glowing to life. Clinging to my arms, a blinding light whisked us to an abandoned city. Fussing with my simple black tank top and cargo pants, this environment had me twisting my waves into neat french braids. Decaying skyscrapers towered over us, every building seeming to be a new level. Chewing on her lips, Saly had true fear in her eyes. Sniffing the air, the remains of a curse had me thinking a witch was in charge here. The true question was where was she, ghastly groans rang out from all around us. Rotting corpses at varying points of decay limped out, the smell sickening the three of us. Spinning on my heels, Saly and Travy waited patiently for orders.
“We are going to slice our way to a necromancer and execute her. If I am correct, we might even get some clues relating to your mother’s plans with Stormana. Sounds great?” Shooting me shaky thumbs up, a kick had my dagger into my eager palm. Extending my blade to its full length, the fun was set to begin. Remembering that Roseworth asked me to do this a while back, she would be proud of me. Spinning their blades in their palms, sly grins illuminated their features. Croak’s smile flashed in my mind, an arrow striking my heart. Croak had been my friend in the dark, the silence killing me every time I hopped into the hearse. Swinging away, heads rolled to my feet. Lightning crackled along the cars, Travy pointing to the closest skyscraper. Leaping over the zombies, shadow snakes slithered down my arms. Sending them out to find the necromancer, Saly pushed me into the glass doors. Locking the doors behind us, eyes glowed around us. Ordering them to shut down their lightning, too much power could bring the building down on us. Rubble covering us was the last thing we needed in this mission, the girls flashing me pleading looks.
“We need to get to the rooftop and get off the ground.” I ordered with a tired smile, my team members nodding with eager grins. “Cut your way to the stairs.” Moonlight bathed the lobby, color draining from my face. A thousand corpses surrounded us, the three of us standing back to back. Admiration burned in their eyes, an honest smile curling on our lips. Three stairwells seemed to hide from us, my snakes slithered over the sea of feet to tell me where our target was. Brushing against my arms on the way up, their hisses told me that she was several buildings away. Whipping their heads towards the clearest path, the twins picked up on it. Covering each other, sludgy black painted our faces with every swing. Jumping over the dropping bodies, relief flooded from our lips upon contact with the first step of the stairs. Three zombies lingered on the next landing, their lack of brains preventing them from going down the stairs. Sending Saly ahead, her skirt floated up with every swing. Crashing up the stairs, the grunting noises soon became the background soundtrack with every second closer to the rooftop. Kicking the door open, harsh air nipped at my cheeks. Black ash drifted like snow, the ash reminding me of a Gothic blizzard. Asking my snakes where to go next, their tails pointed towards the skyscraper twenty feet away from me. Backing up to the edge, our feet pounded together across the helicopter pad. Pushing off the edge, a quiet terror dimmed my eyes at the foul stench blowing my braids about. Landing gracefully, the endless sea of zombies on the streets had me shuddering. Leaping from rooftop to rooftop, a couple of hisses had me stopping at the rooftop of an art deco skyscraper. Massaging my forehead, we needed to get in. The usual growls and snarls had us shifting our attention to changed zombies, something seeming off. Cocking my head to the left, horror rounded my eyes at the chains holding them groaning in protest. Nudging my comrades, their terrified eyes met mine. Time for them to let some frustration loose.
“Cut them down before we have an issue.” I whispered loud enough for them to hear and for them to hear alone. Flipping over to the poor souls, lightning bounced off of their blades. Watching them work like a well oiled machine, the image of Croak’s smile in the early morning light had tears welling up in my eyes. A chill ran up my spine, the energy shifting. Glancing up, storm clouds rumbled to life, heavy rain washing the blood and guts off of us. The door into the building clicked open, caution giving me honest hesitation. Urging me to move ahead, it was almost as if I could hear Croak. Hollow footfalls thumped up the stairs, the color drained from my cheeks at a rotting Croak reaching out for me. Opening her mouth, maggots splattered onto the concrete of the rooftop. Stumbling back, the twins caught me before I fell off the roof.
“What’s the matter, love?” She inquired in a gritty tone, her sweet smile sickening me. “Don’t you want to hug me? You did get me killed after all.” Inky splotches dotted my trembling hand, the rain darkening to demon blood. Violent sobs mixed with shortened breaths, my heart seconds from beating out of its chest. Struggling to find any air, her hollow footfalls thumped closer to me. Pausing in front of me, her hands cupped my face. Raising her foot slowly, she kicked us off the roof. Zooming towards the sea of hungry zombies, a numbness came over my face. My comrades begged for me to snap out of it, Croak shifting into a woman with a golden silky bob. Violet eyes twinkled with malice, her spike covered leather dress matching flawlessly to her combat boots. A silver staff glittered in her palm, the skull resting on a carved bone handle. Snapping awake at her chanting, a pool on the roof of one of the other buildings caught my eyes. Building shadow energy at the tip of my blade, a flick of wrist smashed the skyscraper into smithereens. Using the energy to send me back up closer to her, the twins grinned ear to ear at the water flooding the streets. A jolting experience was scheduled for her friends.
“Get the necromancer. We have a shocking gift to jolt those souls awake.” Travy giggled maniacally, her sister joining in with giggles. Smashing more skyscrapers around us, the water flowed like a wild river. Kicking me closer, my trembling fingers snagged on the edge. Lightning lit up the stormy sky, Saly and Tavy winking as they slammed the tip of their blades into a metal skyscraper’s roof. Showing me their rubber boots, pride glistened in their eyes. Pulling myself up with a gruff grunt, a snarl met my broken but defiant smile. Shaking off my fraying nerves, the base of my anxiety remained. Spinning my blade in my palm, the necromancer tapped her staff on the rooftop. A straight blade the size of mine cut my cheek with its expansion, haughty laughter tumbling off her slick tongue. Bad guys needed to calm down with the cockiness, my eyes rolling at her next outburst of frustration.
“Why must you be so insistent!” She growled through gritted teeth, my fingers playing numbly with the cut on my cheek. “Wake up and fight me.” Her chest puffed up and down, frustration darkening her eyes. Rolling my eyes, someone thought highly of themselves. Snapping my head in her direction, an iciness came over me. No one called me out without having their flaws being pointed out as well.
“Fuck you for that trick. Clearly you don’t have a conscience. How many people had to suffer for you to play your stupid game?” I snarled bitterly, a shadow growing behind me. “We let you play for a little too long. Time for you to die.” Charging at each other, sparks danced in the air with every violent clash. Everything doubled, her head cocking to the left creepily. Smashing her fist into my stomach, a splash of blood exploded from my mouth. Sinking to my knees, several organs had burst. Struggling to my feet, she wasn’t going to win. No! This nuisance wasn't going to survive my retaliation.
“Give up already. Your boss left me unchecked for way too long.” She bragged with a Cheshire Cat grin, my hand holding my stomach. Wheezing through the raw agony, my blade trembled uncontrollably. Leaning onto my blade, her hit had some spice to it. Screw her for breaking my insides!
“Never. I would lay down my life the world. Not to be a bitch but you are pissing me off.” I wheezed between words, more blood pouring from the corner of my mouth. “Don’t act all high and mighty with that fucking bullshit that you believe. The dead should stay dead.” Shivering as I raised my blade, my blood painted her face. Slapping my cheek to get myself to focus, shadow snakes hissed to life around me. Swinging her blade towards my head, sparks danced in the air with the violent clash. Pushing her back, the puddle of blood splashed around my feet as I crashed into her building. Sliding down the railing, my feet touched a plush carpet. Spicy wit would have to be my friend, Croak’s real energy raising the hair on the back of my neck. Opening the door, her translucent form sat on the bed. Locking the door behind me, the building rattled. Burying her spirit into a hug, my tears cascaded down her form. Releasing her, her cold thumbs wiped away my tears. Wishing that I didn't have to leave her, too many words bounced around the tip of my tongue.
“Why are you here and not in Heaven?” I asked feverishly, holding her hands like my life depended on it. “Please tell me that you didn’t come here to draw me here.” Averting her gaze to the golden wall, the door began to rattle violently. Cupping my face, the words couldn’t come to her lips. Shaking like a leaf, this couldn’t be real. Speak! Speak, damn it! What I wouldn't do to hear her voice one more time.
“I was stolen from Heaven to this bloody place. Can you free me one last time? There is a deal I made and it has not been fulfilled yet.” She wept dejectedly, my heart breaking for her. “You look like you are doing alright, love.” Uncontrollable sobs wracked my body at how she spoke the word love, the door bursting open. Rising to my feet with a true defiant grin on a determined face, her reign of terror was over. Spinning my blade over my head, the twins paused in the doorway.
“I burn everything you created for what you have done!” I wheezed once more with tears hitting the carpet, hating her for everything she stole from everyone. “You stole someone important from me. Croak was like a fucking goddamn sister to me and you denied her happiness. Fuck you! Get to safety, you fucking idiots!” Running towards the window, lightning lit up the room as they ran down the building. Hoping that survived this, something told me that I might not make it.
“What are you planning to do?” She questioned icily, Croak standing up behind me. “She was easy to capture on the way up. Maybe I wanted to get the bounty on your head by the dark gods. Who wouldn’t want immortality?” Was that really the prize over my head?
“At least it's a steep bounty.” I retorted sarcastically, the corner of lip twitching into a half-smirk. “You wouldn’t be the first person who wants my head on a wall. Too bad I don’t fucking care. Time to bring the big guns.” Shadowy snakes held her in place, her blade rolling over to my feet. My patience had worn thin, my hands picking up her staff. Snapping it in half, it melted into a puddle of boiling hot silver. Panic rounded her eyes, her sinister grin fading for but a second.
“I don’t usually break out my fire powers because the damage is immense.” I growled through gritted teeth, black flames crackling to life as I marched towards her. “Look at you getting the special treatment. Shrinking my blade down to dagger form, black flames devoured my hand. Slamming it into her chest, my fingers curled around her heart. Extending my claws into the tissue, her fingernails scratched at my arm. Shrill shrieks pierced my ears, flames cooking her from the inside. Burning to a pile of blackened ash, Croak covered her mouth. Collapsing to the floor, my muscles had chosen to give out at the worst possible moment. Cursing under my breath, the building groaned in protest. Every attempt to move had me crying into the carpet, Croak begging for me to get up. Shaking my head, every muscle refused to comply with my desire to rise to my feet.
“I can’t.” I snapped into the carpet, my own blood pooling around me. “I used up all of my juice. Be a pal and stay by my side. You know, for old times’ sake.” Coughing up more blood, my claws dug into the floor. Images of Miles running around with my girls had me smiling to myself. Must life always flash before one's eyes. Croak plopped down next to me, her hand taking mine. Tavy and Saly skidded in, Tavy tossing me over her shoulder. Hating for a second that I was going to survive, my hand reached for Croak. Holding on for a second, her warmth felt like her embrace.
“I am not letting you die today, boss.” She chirped cheerfully, tucking my dagger into its case. “Sal, cover our asses.” Sprinting down the halls, Croak waving as she rounded the corner. Watching her spirit float into the sky, silent tears cascaded from my eyes. Letting them rip me from one of the only friends I had ever had, time slowed as they leapt into the crashing waves. Keeping me above the waves, black flames devoured every building. Debris whistled over my head, the lost souls floating into the sky. A wave of exhaustion crashed over me, a rough darkness stealing me away.
Groaning awake on a sandy beach, my wounds had been repaired. The empty vials shimmered next to me, a migraine throbbing to life. Tavy was cursing tersely over a fire that wouldn’t start while Saly struggled with a makeshift fishing pole. A fit of laughter exploded from my lips, a wry smile lingering on my lips. Fishing around my pockets while they rushed over to fret over me, their mother taught them nothing about survival. Sitting up with another groan, the pile of rubble had me tearing up for the millionth time. Stop crying was all I could yell at myself. Plucking my phone from my pocket, the waterproof case had it working. Dialing Morte’s number, he would get the coordinates and come get us. Getting the answering machine, a low growl rumbled in my throat. Rising to my feet, the trees blurred. Running up to me, my palms caught their foreheads before they could bow.
“Treat me like a friend, not a tyrant.” I spoke warmly, the girls straightening up. “Let’s go home. There might be a town not far from her. Dusting off my outfit, I buttoned up the leather jacket to hide the bloody tank top. Undoing my braids, perfect waves floated around my shoulders. Flaking the dried blood off of my face as we hiked, a small town with a single gas station came into view. Spinning on my heels, they shot me a thumbs up. Walking casually into the gas station, colorful snacks lined the shelves. Grabbing a ginger ale on the way to the counter, Tavy slid a couple of candy bars onto the gaudy counter covered in different lighters. Of course, they were hungry. How could I forget?
“Excuse me sir but you know where we are? Our car ran off the road and my cell phone broke in the accident.” I choked out with fresh tears in my eyes, the twins matching my energy. “I need to call a tow truck and I need to know what town we are in.” Sliding over his phone, he gave some a common town name in the United States. Leaving us in privacy, he wouldn’t accept our money. Pretending to dial a number, I hung up and left a wet twenty on the table. Cracking open my soda on the way out, the cool liquid felt nice going down my throat. Turning to face them, a plan had to be formed. Please don't be a daft one.
“You can’t transport or anything?” One of them asked cautiously, my eyebrow twitching at the question. Transportation was out of the question right now with my lack of powers, neither of them needing to know that. Walking into a small park, the early afternoon sun painted the water a nice purple. Dialing my phone again, Morte didn’t pick up. What the hell was he doing? Dialing Wut, he didn’t pick up. Why wasn't anyone picking up!
“Pick up the damn phone, you idiots!” I shouted out of the blue, the others jumping ten feet into the air. “Sorry, my bed is calling me.” Yawning groggily, every muscle in my body ached fiercely. Typing in ways to get home, a bus station wasn’t too far from here. Checking my wallet, I had enough for three tickets home. Marching over to the bus station, the elderly clerk looked me up and down before accepting my money. Sliding over our tickets, the strangers shot us odd looks as we sank into the seats in the back. Trees turned into buildings and back into trees, the four hour bus ride giving me plenty of time to fume. Parking on the edge of the town of my business, another hour passed before I kicked open the door. Everyone looked up, Morte’s damn phone was in a bag of rice. How the hell did that freaking happen?
“Who the hell didn’t pick us up!” I roared thunderously, Morte putting his hands in the air. “I have been calling and calling! I needed someone to talk to. Fuck all of you!” Stomping upstairs to get changed, a new dress waited for me with Roseworth sitting on the bed in one of her usual onyx lace dresses. Folding my arms across my chest, it was her fault I didn’t have a return spell. Who sends someone on a mission without a way back!
“I solved your fucking problem!” I spat viciously, fighting another wave of tears. “Death almost claimed me again. I understand that it needed to be done but I have one damn question! Did you know that Croak was there? Is that why you sent me? That was a freaking joke and cruel at best. I loved her like a sister.” Covering my mouth, tears dripped off of my hands. It hurt to say that out loud, a bit of shame dimming my eyes for a second. No, an explanation was deserved.
“As long as I have lived I have never ever been put through so much mental pain! If you want to continue to be in my life, then secrets don’t exist! Am I understood?” I continued hotly, the guilt in her eyes softening my expression. “Sorry for yelling. I have had a rough day. What’s with the dress anyway?” Bowing her head while collecting herself, a bright smile met my busted expression. Shit, did I go too far again?
“We were going to surprise you for your birthday and our phones all got dropped in water. That is why we didn’t pick up.” She admitted with wet eyes, the guilt creeping in from my outburst. “I did know but I thought you could see her one last time. Sorry for trying to help a grieving sister. I don’t have much either now. All I have is my nieces and you.” Plopping down next to her, my arms buried her into a bear hug. Apologizing profusely, her emotions soaked my shirt. Holding her until the tears dried up, my hand cupped her cheek. The good intentions canceled any rage.
“Thank you so much.” I mumbled with another sad smile, rising from the bed to get changed into the lovely emerald dress. “I love you like a sister as well.” Snatching the dress off of the bed, the reflection in the mirror had me shrinking back. A zombie would have looked better, the door creaking open as I cleaned up a bit. Morte poked his head in, my eyes refusing to meet his. Hating that I lost on him, he must despise me.
“I would have gotten you if my phone was working. I am sorry.” He apologized sincerely, helping me take off my filthy clothes. Sure, everyone really seemed sorry. Maybe I was sick of hearing the word. Helping me get my dress on, the zipper went right up. Tracing the black lace covering the fifties style dress, Morte spun me around to face him. Lifting up my chin, his crooked grin made my day a bit better. Kissing my lips tenderly, my face was still puffy as hell. Lost between a state of panic and euphoria, the combination had a sickening effect.
“You have never looked more beautiful.” He sang with his natural smile, my heart fluttering. “The kids wanted to throw you a surprise party so act surprised.” Uttering a single yes, he offered me his elbow. Sliding on my boots on the way out, we paused in front of the living room door. Opening up the door, everyone shouted surprise. Donning my genuine smile, the girls and Miles smashed into my legs. Thanking them with a flurry of feverish kisses, their smiles couldn’t be any bigger. A bit of life returned to my eyes, my kids giving the flames of hope another boost.

Other stories by TheMaskedOne2807: The Oil Chapter 1 (Getting Back)
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“You are the most stupid idiot that has ever lived!!! As dumb as the shit, you crap out your mouth!!! Pilu yelled, shaking Kenneth by his collar.
“Are you done? Kenneth asked as he smacked her hands off him. “Because I’ve got more important things to do today than listen to you huff and puff.”
About to yell even louder, Pilu stopped as Kica walked in between them, staring at the dead Nok Inside the back room. Its greyish-white scaly chest was completely exposed; however, its lower region and its face were covered by cloth.
“Do you really want to open up a Nok and have me look inside?” Kica asked.
“Well, I had a feeling that everyone would probably fall asleep if I just talked all day long, me included, Kenneth replied. “So I thought it would be best to kill two birds with one stone.
“Giving you and Aloko a better understanding of the body and its internal workings while keeping you on your feet.”
“I guess that makes sense, Kica agreed, seeming slightly conflicted. “But even so, it’s a Nok. The only thing I think it and I have in common is the color of our blood.”
Crossing his arms, Kenneth turned his head toward the Nok.“Regardless of species, all have to follow a certain set of biological rules ingrained in their very essence, or as my people call it, DNA.”
Tilting her head in complete confusion, Kica repeated some of the words she didn’t understand. “Bi-logi-shel…? De-En-A…?”
Seeing her expression of utter confusion, Kenneth scratched the back of his head. “How to explain it…? Well, take you and me for instance. Both of us have a circulatory system and a heart that pumps blood through it.
“The only difference is that while you have two, I only have one, and the same is true for our lungs. You only have one, but I have two. Now, I’m not saying we look completely the same on the inside.
“Our organs do vary in shape and size as opposed to only numbers. However, they do serve the same purpose and perform the same tasks regardless. It's pretty much what I mean by biological and DNA.”
“More shit coming out of your mouth, Pilu angrily growled as she walked into the back room. “Thanks to you, I have to clean blood off my dagger now.”
“If you are going to open that mouth, could you tell me why Aloko isn’t here? Kenneth replied. “Doesn’t he usually arrive on his own, or is he escorted by you?”
Looking at the cadaver with indifference, Pilu reached for her dagger. “The commander's orders were for us to protect the healer before and during your boring talks. Aloko was responsible for getting here on his ow--”
Suddenly, Pilu jumped back, slamming her raised tail and back into the wall as she pointed her shaking dagger at the dead Nok.
With his hand resting on his sword hilt, one of the guys accompanying Pilu asked. “What---?”
“The heretic! It isn’t dead!” Pilu shouted.
Moving their gaze to the dead Nok, both of the guys tilted their heads in confusion as they whispered to one another. “You don’t think she’s been inflicted with madness after the battle?”
“Don’t be dumb; she just got spooked and is too proud to admit it.”
“What are you two idiots talking about!” Pilu demanded as the heretic’s arm suddenly fell off the table, its fingers twitching.
Before anything more could happen, Pilu let out a battle cry and leaped toward the heretic, plunging her dagger into its heart.
With wide eyes, everyone stood in shock at the scene before them. All except Kenneth, who let out a sigh of annoyance as he walked into the room. “Thank you, Pilu, you’ve just stabbed a corpse.”
Tracking each and every one of his movements as he made his way over to the other side of the heretic, Pilu furiously yelled. “Why did you bring a living heretic inside these walls!”
“Trust me, that one was dead, Kenneth calmly replied as he inspected the stab wound. “You know, I chose this one specifically because it had barely any wounds on it.”
Growling, Pilu opened her mouth to yell as loud as possible at Kenenth; however, her momentum was cut short when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the heretic’s head move.
To everyone’s collective shock, the cloth on the heretic’s head started to move, falling down around its neck as its long, fang-filled maw suddenly opened wide.
“It still isn’t dead!” Pilu exclaimed, shocked beyond belief, as she pulled her dagger out of the heretic, ready to plunge it down over and over again until it was truly dead.
Before she managed to, Kenneth caught her arm with his right hand and held it in place. “Calm down, would you! There is no need for that!”
“You filthy traitor!” Pilu yelled as she reached for her other dagger and swiped it at him.
Quickly letting go of his bag, Kenneth crossed his arms and caught her wrist. “Okay, why don’t we just relax for a second? First of all, I’m no traitor, and second, this Nok is definitely dead.”
“Vola!!! Nohys!!! Help me!!! Kill the black healer!!!” Pilu yelled while violently struggling to get free.
Hesitating for one moment, both glanced at one another as they drew their swords and sprinted toward the room. However, their moment of hesitation allowed Kica to reach the doorway before them and block it.
Coming to a complete and sudden halt, both almost tripped over each other, trying not to crash into Kica.
“Step aside, healer!” Vola yelled.
“We have to kill the heretic and traitor!” Nohys added.
Determined not to let that happen, Kica stabbed all of her claws into the surrounding wood. “If you want to kill Kenneth, you’ll have to cut me down first!”
“Have you been inflicted with madness?!” Both of them yelled as they threw down their swords and tried to push her out of the way.
At the same time, Kenneth was still restraining Pilu, trying to explain himself. “Would you calm down already! It’s dead! Just look at the wound! There’s barely any blood!”
“You can’t trick me traitor!” Pilu growled, struggling with far more ferocity than before.
It was impossible to reason with someone as thick-headed as Pilu, so he had to resort to other measures. Yanking on her arms, Kenneth pulled her forward, and as she stumbled, he pushed her away.
With what little time he had, Kenneth grabbed the cloth around the Dead Nok’s neck and ripped it off.
However, just as he did, Pilu threw one of her daggers, hitting his head and making him drop the cloth.
“Ow! Kenneth yelped in pain as he pointed to the dead Nok. “Hey, you psycho! Take a gander and tell me how it could have survived all night with a wound like that!”
Glancing for but a moment, Pilu’s gaze slowly became affixed on the dead Nok’s throat and the broken speartip in it. “How…? But it made…?”
“I can answer any question you’d like, Kenneth offered, ”But first, would you please just calm the fuck down.”
Looking shocked and confused while continuing to stare at the wound, Pilu surprisingly stopped attacking him.
However, it was too soon for him to relax as Kica amazingly was still blocking the doorway despite how strongly Nohys and Vola were pushing up against her.
Feeling a surge of anger, Kenneth walked up right behind her and, with a strong push, sent both of his open palms directly into their chest, knocking them to the ground.
Panting, Kica staggered a bit as she pulled her claws out of the wood. “Thank you. I didn’t know how long I’d last."
“You could have gotten hurt, you know, Kenneth replied, crossing his arms. “Despite how much I dislike it, I am able to handle myself when push comes to shove.”
Turning around to face him, Kica replied. “I just… I knew they weren’t going to hurt me. As much as a scratch on me and the commander would have their heads.”
“Tell me, Pilu loudly said, her gaze still affixed on the dead Nok’s throat. “You said you could answer my questions, so tell me what vile dark heretic magic would allow them to move after death.”
“None whatsoever, Kenneth matter-of-factly replied as he turned around to face her. “I did say I’d answer any question, but I think it would be a bit difficult if those two you came with were still trying to kill me.”
Turning to glare at Kenneth, Pilu deliberately pushed past him as she walked over to the door. “Vola! Nuhys! Stop being dumb and put away your swords, or I’m telling the commander you tried to attack the healer!”
As they got back on their feet, both followed her command, sheathing their swords. With that matter handled, Pilu spun around, glaring expectantly at Kenneth.
“Kica, you might also want to listen to this, Kenneth recommended. “What just happened wasn’t some magical event; it was the old-fashioned stiffness of death and some involuntary muscle twitching.”
“What’s that even supposed to mean?! Pilu angrily snapped. “Don’t keep crapping out of your mouth and speak like the rest of us, not these made-up words!”
“Very well, Kenneth replied. “After you die, the muscles or the hard-to-chew meat, if you like, starts to stiffen, similar to when you flex your body. It happens gradually decently soon after death and persists for some time until the body… well, becomes too tired to do so and relaxes.
“Which is what we experienced when the jaw suddenly opened. Although I don’t know when this one died it did seem rather soon compared to normal. It might just be to it being a different species or some factor I’m not aware--”
“So the heretic’s flesh just became hard, and after some time, it became soft, Pilu interrupted, sounding irritated. “Then how did it move its fingers.”
Putting his pondering on the back burner, Kenneth cleared his throat. “To explain that, I first need to know if you remember an explanation to a question Aloko asked about the body, how it moves and performs actions?”
“Hmph… why would I listen to anything you say?” Pilu replied, glancing to her side.
Seeming deep in thought Kica raised her head, “Was it something like the mind holds sway over the body?”
“Not my exact words, but you're right, Kenneth replied with a thumbs up. “You see, the mind sends and receives signals throughout the body telling it what to do and learns if something may be wrong.
“An example of this would be if Pilu and Vola stood at opposite ends of the outpost and you needed to communicate with each other using Nuhys to deliver orders and information. Now, are we all caught up?”
Slowly, Pilu’s tail flicked from side to side. “Just shit out your mouth and tell me already.”
“That twitching is simply one of those messages between you and Vola, Kenneth explained. “While this Nok is dead, certain parts of its body aren’t fully yet, which, since rigor mortise is wearing off, allows the message to go through.”
Growling, Pilu walked right passed Kenneth and sat down in her usual spot.
‘Hm… either she’s understood that and was satisfied, or she doesn’t care anymore. Either way, she’s quiet,’ Kenneth thought as Vola and Nyhus joined Pilu.
“So…. um, how can a body not be fully dead if it is dead?” Kica asked, sounding as uncertain as she looked confused.
“I can get into that once I begin, but I’d like Aloko to be here as well, Kenneth replied as he walked over to his bag and picked it up along with the cloth he dropped earlier. “Do any of you know where he might be?”
“I-I think he’s doing his work, Kica responded. “It should be in one of the corners down by the rear wall.”
Walking over to the dead Nok, Kenneth closed its mouth and gently placed the cloth over its head. “I’ll be right back then.”

***
Meanwhile, as the caravan of wagons came to a halt, Kovoto knew they’d finally arrived at the guild. Teetering with excitement, he couldn’t stop himself from dancing around inside the confined space.
‘Finally! Finally! I’ve made it back!’ Kovoto thought as he grabbed the dry and squishy clump of pla-stic off the table. ‘I know you alone will clear this pesky little debt I’ve accrued. When those old fools see this little thing, they’ll probably beg me to join the higher ranks.
‘Once that happens, I’ll be free from their overbearing rules, and I can invent and experiment as much as I want.’
Suddenly, the door flung open, filling the wagon with light. Caught off guard and mid-spin, Kovoto lost his balance and fell onto the wooden floor.
“I see you are as elegant as ever, The person standing outside the wagon dressed in the same attire as Kovoto said, sounding rather amused. “Am I to assume you have completed your assigned task, or have you just been inflicted with madness after fearfully hiding inside the wagon for your entire journey?”
Recognizing who the voice belonged to, Kovoto discreetly hid the clump of pla-stic in his pocket and checked his other one to see if the small wooden box he carried was still safe and secure.
Feeling at ease knowing it was still hidden from prying eyes, Kovoto got back up and smugly replied. “I was simply celebrating my safe return, Shivi. Being attacked twice by roaming heretics and treading lightly at those brutish outposts has a way of making one appreciate the safety of the walls.”
“I still don’t understand why you’d even agree to do something like this. Shivi questioned as he stepped into the wagon, holding a piece of paper and a freshly inked quill. “How often isn’t the one sent by the guild killed by heretics?”
“That’s where you and I differ, Kovoto replied with a shrug. “I’m not willing to wait for a chance to be given as an act of generosity by one of the higher ranks. I’d much rather obtain it at my liking.”
Walking passed him, Shivi looked through all of the specimens he’d collected, noting each one down on the piece of paper in his hand. “Perhaps you are one in a thousand, or Qtika may have protected you.”
“Why not both,” Kovoto replied with a hand in each pocket as his tail swayed lazily from side to side.
Opening the last wooden box, Shivi inspected its contents and noted it on his paper. Turning around, he gestured for Kovoto to follow him out of the wagon. “Scholar Marashi and the other higher ranks are currently in the discussion room, but I was told to bring you to them as soon as you returned.”
Reacquainted with the familiarity of the stone-paved ground, Kovoto followed Shivi, excitingly thinking. ‘I can’t wait to see those old fools' faces and tails when I show them something they’d never seen before.’
On their way inside, both of them passed by members of the guild who handed the merchant a hefty sum of coins for his troubles and, from what Kovoto discreetly spotted, a little more.
Disinterested and wise enough to stay out of such matters, Kovoto looked the other way until he entered the guild.
Inside, the building was brimming with members, most of whom only had a tin or lead ring tied to their heads using tufts of fur. They were immersed in various studies, surrounded by scrolls and stacks of books as they prepared for their upcoming evaluation and chance to rise in the ranks and gain another more pristine ring.
A select few who weren’t stuffing themselves with knowledge like a glutton were of a much higher rank with bronze and silver rings.
They immersed themselves in conversation as opposed to books, discussing ideas and experiments with those of equal rank while their assistants were at their beck and call.
To his right, he could see the usual large crowd in front of the request board, each one racing to write down all of the new requests near the bottom before anyone else even had a chance to look it over, much less answer the question.
However, something peculiar at the very top of the board piqued his interest. “Shivi, are my eyes playing tricks on me, or are there actually new requests at the top of the board?”
“Tsk…! If only Shivi sniggered. “They were removed, and there was an uproar among the members. Some celebrated others demanding to know the answer that had been accepted. It had gotten so out of hand that Scholar Marashi had to calm the situation and explain the paper was simply so old it had to be replaced.”
“Hehe… good, Kovoto laughed. “I would have been very angry if someone managed to trick a royal household before I figured out the answer and claim the reward.”
“I see your travels with the merchant haven’t changed you much, Shivi replied. “Wiser men, then you have tried to figure out those questions for centuries now. What makes you think you can figure out why the sky’s blue and convince a royal family your answer is correct?”
“Just wait and see,” Kovoto nonchalantly replied as both reached and entered the discussion room.
Instantly, his eyes fell on scholar Marashi, a silver-furred old man dressed in a robe with his hood pulled back, exposing the vast number of rings all over his head made from the most precious metals.
He, along with four other high-ranking members, each with a few rings of their own, were sitting around a table in the middle of a discussion, or more accurately, an intellectual shouting match.
They were so enthralled in proving themselves right and everyone else wrong that all of them only took notice of Shivi when he handed scholar Marashi the piece of paper in his hand.
Quieting down, scholar Marashi took the paper and began carefully studying its contents, absentmindedly dismissing Shivi with a wave of his hand.
After a bit of time, scholar Marashi raised his head and, in a calm, slow, and almost meek-sounding voice, addressed Kovoto. “Come closer, young men; my tired eyes are not as young as yours.”
Obliging his request, Kovoto could barely wait to reveal the pla-stic in his pocket and ascend to the higher ranks.
“Is this close enough, esteemed scholar Marashi?” Kovoto respectfully asked while wondering what would be the best way to accept his promotion without making them think he was too eager.
Squinting his eyes and turning both of his ears toward him, scholar Marashi looked Kovoto over for a moment. “Hmm… Welcome back to the capital, young man. I see you suffered no wounds on your travels with the merchant… and you collected the specimens we’ve asked of you.”
“Yes, some of them were rather hard to find on my travels, and attacks from heretics certainly didn’t make it any easier, but despite all, I’ve collected each specimen as per the contract,” Kovoto boastfully replied.
“Hm… the young do seem to have luck on their side, but in these times, they seem to lack wit, scholar Marashi replied, sliding the piece of paper to his side for the other high-ranking members to see. “Many of the specimens you brought back seem to have diminished in freshness.
“As per the terms of the contract invoked in the goddess Qutika’s name, any specimens that are collected but brought back unusable will not be deducted from the debt that is owed the guild. Having looked over the list and keeping the dangers of this task in mind, I deem it adequate that three-fifths of your debt is paid back.
“The remaining debt you’ll have to work off, but given your accomplishment of this highly valued task, I doubt it will take much more than five years with the many offers you’ll receive from other members of the guild asking for an assistant.”
Slightly annoyed, Kovoto pushed his anger to the side for now.“If I may, regarding the contract, I’d like to talk about the part regarding new discoveries.”
Scholar Marashi looked at Kovoto for a moment before slowly getting up from the table. “Jibi! It's such a long walk. Would you go upstairs and find the young man’s contract.”
Looking a bit surprised and annoyed, the high-ranking member with five bronze rings underneath his jaw got up while the others sniggered.
Almost as quickly as he left the room, he returned, placing the contract in front of scholar Marashi, who proceeded to take a close look at it. “Yes, I see. Any discovery of specimens not on the list can be counted toward deducting your debt, or if you have none, be exchanged for coins as long as it becomes guild property.”
“As I’m sure you figured out, high-ranking members of the guild, I have something to show you, Kovoto gleefully replied with a wide smile as he walked over and placed the clump of pla-stic in front of scholar Marashi. “I have named it pla-stic, and it is one of a kind.”
Looking intrigued, all of the high-ranking members carefully yet eagerly studied the clump poking and prodding it, one even ripping a piece off and rolling it between his fingers.
Looking thoughtful, scholar Marashi eventually swatted the member's hands away. “Pla-stic, now this is something I have never seen before or heard any mention of. It is soft but also feels a strange kind of firm. Tell me where did you come across such a unique thing?”
Feeling superior, Kovoto graciously replied to scholar Marashi's question. “I did not come across it. Through hard work, dedication, and a willingness to try the most obscene things one could imagine, I managed to create… PLA-STIC!”
“Hmm… impressive young man, Scholar Marashi praised. “It has been a long time since any member has made something new and so special. Abiding by the contract, this… pla-stic and the method to creating it will belong to the guild, and in exchange, your current debt will be deducted by one-fourth.”
“EH…! Kovoto rather loudly exclaimed in shock as his smile quickly faded. “ONE-FOURTH! You just said it was special! Why only so little of my debt!”
“You better remember who you are in front of!” The pink and violet-furred high-ranking member beside scholar Marashi interjected.
Caught off guard by his own outburst, Kovoto quickly bit his tongue as scholar Marashi spoke once again. “Young man, this… pla-stic is special, but I do not know its worth and can therefore not probably appraise its value.
“If there’s something more you’d like to tell all of the members here right now about pla-stic that could prove its usefulness beyond its apparent value, that could change.”
Falling silent, Kovoto tried to think of anything he could say. ‘How can it be used?! By Akina, how can it be used?! Think, what did that… what was his name…?! URG! I can’t remember! The black healer, what did he say? My imagination sets those limits.’
‘That vague…! NO! I can’t waste years being an assistant for those idiots who don’t know what they are doing!’
Having waited for long enough, scholar Marashi eventually spoke. “I see. Do rest assured, young man, the guild and all of its great minds will figure out any and all secrets as well as uses for the pla-stic in due time. On behalf of the guild, I thank you for your contributio--”
“Wait! Kovoto interjected as he reached into his pocket. “I may not have had enough time before coming back to the capital to figure out the many secrets of my pla-stic, but it was not the only thing I managed to create.”
Pulling out a small wooden box from his pocket, Kovoto placed it on the table and opened the lid. Just as before, all of the high-ranking members went to get a closer look, curious and excited to see what else the young man had to show them.
However, as scholar Marashi looked inside his expression of excitement and intrigue turned to shock as he stammered. “Wh-where… did you get this?”
There wasn’t any going back now, and he knew it, so Kovoto had to sell it for all it was worth. “I’ve named it black liquid, and unlike the pla-stic, I had a bit more time figuring out its secrets. To begin with, it is able to devou---”
“I asked you where you got this from!” Scholar Marashi interrupted, his voice not that of the frail old man but a veteran of intellectual shouting matches.
Growing a slight bit timid, Kovoto faked a smile and replied. “Esteemed scholar Marashi, as I told you, the black liquid is another crea--”
“OUT! Everyone out…! except you!” scholar Marashi yelled, slamming his hand on the table and closing the lid to the wooden box.
Shocked at the sudden outburst, all of the high-ranking members quickly followed his order to leave the room.
“Young man, I won’t ask again,” scholar Marashi warned as he got up from the table and walked over to Kovoto with his tail raised.
Surprised the old man was still able to get it standing, Kovoto simply replied, “Esteemed scholar Marashi, I’m telling you the truth. I was the one who crea---”
“You listen here, you son of a whore! Scholar Marashi snarled. “I can have you banished, and you’ll have to sell that body of yours on the street to pay the guild back if you don’t tell me the truth!”
Swallowing his fear, Kovoto knew the old man was serious; however, if the truth had to come out, it would be to his benefit. “Fine, I’ll tell you the truth. I’ll even tell you everything I know from my research about the black liquid, but in exchange, I want my debt completely gone and to be promoted.”
Poking his claw into Kovoto’s throat, scholar Marashi yelled.“You think you are in any position to barter with me?!”
His eyes were fearful yet filled with determination as he replied. “Scholar Marashi, I will not waste years of my life working under fools who think they are better than me anymore. Either you promote me and erase my debt, or I leave.”
Snarling, scholar Marashi bared his teeth for a moment before pulling back his claw.
Reaching underneath his jaw, scholar Marashi removed one of his bronze rings and handed it to Kovoto. “You are hereby promoted from assistant to inventor, and your debt is erased; on this, I swear on the blood of Heka. Now tell me everything!”
Clutching the bronze ring in his hand, Kovoto recounted everything that had happened regarding the black liquid on his travels.
(Patreon): Get 1-3 weeks early access to future chapters. Also, a 100+ page story I wrote prior to the posting of The Plague Doctor for all members.

I love horror movies, the way it uses your fears and expectations against you. But I'm also very picky about it, they need to be somewhat unexpected.
Recently I decided to look more into horror books, and I've seem I Have no Mouth and I Must Scream gain some traction online. A video analysis made by Wendigoon have been in my recommended videos for quite some time, so I decided to give the short story a chance, and what I have to say is: OH. MY. GODS.
THIS STORY IS AMAZING.
But I'm not here to talk about how good this story is, I'm here to talk about one of the characters that have intrigued me the most: Ellen. I've looked through some character analysis, and some really seem to not understand the story and the function the character serves in it, so I wanted to talk a little bit about my understanding of her.

Warning: I will not be talking about the game, since I haven't played yet. This may contain spoilers of the book.

First it's important to do a quick synopsis of the story.
The horror sci-fi short story was published in an anthologic book in march of 1997. It follows five characters Ted (the narrator), Nimdok, Gorrister, Benny and Ellen, as they are eternally tortured by a supercomputer who calls itself AM. In the story the humans are in a pilgrimage to find a stack of canned food. In the meanwhile AM keeps taunting and torturing them both physically and mentally.
Now we can properly talk about Ellen, who is objectively the nicest character in the whole story.
Ellen is the only woman in the group, and the only one that still has some kind of morality amongst them. She carries a type of empathy that not even 109 years of torture were able to break. There are many instances of that in the story, but I wanted to highlight a specific part (this is an excerpt from the book).

"He squatted there for a moment, looking like the chimpanzee AM had intended him to resemble.
Then he leaped high, caught a trailing beam of pitted and corroded metal, and went up it, hand­over­hand like an animal, till he was on a girdered ledge, twenty feet above us.
"Oh, Ted, Nimdok, please, help him, get him down before—" She cut off. Tears began to stand in her eyes. She moved her hands aimlessly." (Page 3)

She is the only one that still cares about Benny. She is the only one that tries to save him. In the whole story she is the only one that is seen showing her emotions, the only one that still cries. Ellen, in my opinion, has some of the saddest character dynamics, and that's because she cares.
In others parts of the story it shows how far her "care" can go: to a point of hurting her.

"He was big in the privates; she loved that! She serviced us, as a matter of course, but she loved it from him. Oh Ellen, pedestal Ellen, pristine­ pure Ellen; oh Ellen the clean! Scum filth." (Page 3)
"No, AM had given her pleasure, even if she said it wasn't nice to do." (Page 5)

Ellen, as a means to keep peace, and to "help release emotional steam" by having sex with the other man who are trapped with her. She is not only used by AM as a form of entertainment. Her torture is not confined to the actions of AM, but also to the actions of the other prisoners.
Now we need to talk a little bit about Ted. He is the main character and narrator of the book, and, we can see by his descriptions of Ellen, that he despises her. But why? Because she is sweet, nice, and, of course, because she is a "slut". He, in his descriptions, attack her. To be quite honest, he did that to the others too, but to her, he reserved a special kind of hate.

"And Ellen. That douche bag! AM had left her alone, had made her more of a slut than she had ever been. All her talk of sweetness and light, all her memories of true love, all the lies she wanted us to believe: that she had been a virgin only twice removed before AM grabbed her and brought her down here with us. No, AM had given her pleasure, even if she said it wasn't nice to do." (Page 5)

It's important to note that this isn't the autor opinion on woman, it's actually shown as a contradiction. What Ted says about Ellen don't match up with her actions through the book.
Now, let's talk about the end of the book.
As an act of piety, when Ted sees a window of opportunity, he kills Benny and Gorrister with an stalactite, Ellen realizes what is happening and kills Nimdok. At this moment there is only time for one to die, and be free of this eternal torture. Ted decides to sacrifice himself, and kills Ellen.
What I'm going to say might seem odd, but this is the most beautiful act of the entire story, and is one of the moments that I think defines the story as a whole. Ted seemed to hate Ellen, but he still saved her, even tho it meant he would suffer eternally. This is the humanity shining through. The death of Ellen exemplifies that.
The ending is sad, but still shines a bit of hope. Ellen through the whole book is a beacon of hope.
I love Ellen

Hello, I am getting a good number of matches and conversations with women I like, mainly on bumble and hinge.
I will talk only about those cases where conversation was spontaneous and meaningful, which could have lasted from one day to one week or even a couple of weeks. I feel like there is a huge leap from the texting on app to meeting IRL. Even myself, I get nervous on the day, so I can symphathize.
A friend of mine starts on bumble, asks for their IG and moves the conversation there, possibly they get a less abstract picture in their mind about the stranger they are going to meet,. With this approach, I got mixed experiences: sure they can see my other photos, my trips, music etc., but often they just never reply.
What else would make you women feel more comfortable about meeting IRL? Voice messages? Video calls? (feel a bit invasive an uninspiring to me). Any tip is welcome.

This is the second upgrade (primarly aesthetics). In March I decide to start upgrading my pc to play more recent games. I switched an old Vultech case with this Lian Li O11-wannabe (Kediers G500), my RX 560 2GB with an RX 6650XT and my old 500W PSU with the Sharkoon 750W 80+Gold. Now i switched my custom Intel air cooler with the DeepCool LE720 and customised my case (with black spray paint) and my GPU and AIO Shield (with orange spray paint). Tomorrow it's going to be my birthday and I'll take a gift for myself (6 Lian Li-wannabe Fans) and an ARGB/PWM hub to finally match the orange/black/white color scheme of the build. Next upgrades in sight are: Intel i5-8400>Ryzen 7 7850x3D Asus Prime H310-K>MSI B650 Gaming Plus Wifi Kingston Fury 2x8GB>Corsair Vengeance 2x16GB 6000Mhz CL30
The last upgrade is going to take a while bc the processor only is around 350€ in my country, so I need a lil bit of time to save money for the leap.
I know, many of you will say "You could've saved money and instead of spending them on shitty RGB Crap u could've bought a better CPU/MOBO/RAM combo. My build's 6 yo, so I HAD to upgrade something asap. The fps were stable on basically all soulslike games (since I'm a souls player) and I'm more in PC aesthetic, rather than performance, since I play in 1080p. Hope you like it! Have a nice day all!
(PS I know the cable management is crap, this isn't even my desk, I'm moving for 1 month because we have to do some home renovation)

This *is* a VR sub so I’m freely assuming everyone’s still at least interested in VR, even if they don’t play it on the daily anymore. So if that’s the case — what is it that keeps you interested? I guess it depends on how long you’ve owned a headset and when you first got it. Personally, I think what’s out there on the market for VR is pretty good now, or at least solid. There’s a lot of diversity in games that devs are making (even if it’s still a niche and some genres just aren’t a thing), and I can’t help but think it will get only better. Maybe not in big strides, maybe in really short leaps, but just over the past year owning Q3 I’ve noticed a big surge in popularity for VR games… so I guess that’s something?
When I began my VR faring quest, not gonna lie, I was on that hype train immediately. I tried to well, try out and play as many games as possible to “make up for lost time” as they say. VR Chat killed some of my soul at first, but I was amused with Beat Saber. Then tried out Superhot as soon as I got my VR legs, and then Alyx ofc. Then tried Vail VR, which intro’d me into the world of VR shooters and I still play a match frequently enough when I want a pure FPS (and flat screen ain’t doing it for me any more, unless its Stalker + mods), especially after an update tho. And lest I forget, Into the Radius, whose sequel has me pumped more than most “regular” PC/PS games in 2024…
So yeah, in short, it’s the prospect of new games that fit my taste. It just so happens that many of these (Into the Radius 2 and the new Metro game) happen to be shooters, which — as Contractors, Pavlov and the mentioned Vail show — are just a good fit for immersing players. It’s gonna be harder to see other genres this early, but eventually — and this is reeeally long term — I hope to see good builders and strategies eke out and emerge from the crowd.
Until then, I’m largely satisfied with the experience I had so far. It’s not my only option, it’s not even my go-to option, but just a great addition to either enhance PC gaming (don’t own a PS5, so can’t comment on PSVR but heard it’s great) or — just have a new, “different” experience from time to time. So, what’s keeping *you* interested? Any games in particular (upcoming or not), that vague hope for the future of VR or something else entirely?

Brick
What do you want, loser? You looking to get pummeled into a pulp or something?!
Me
Hey Brick! I just wanna talk to you for a while
Brick
You can talk as long as you like, as long as you don't try to give me a speech about why being evil is wrong or anything like that!
Me
Oh, no, not at all! I think you being evil makes you look very cool
Brick
It does, doesn't it? It's great to see that at least one person gets it! But if I'm so bad and cool, why do you want to talk to me anyway, huh? Can't get enough of me?
Me
Because I haven't heard of you for a long time. So I wanted to see you again.
Brick
Oh, you're such a fan! Well, here I am! What do you want to talk about, huh? My latest evil schemes? My secret formula for kicking all the good guys' butts?
Me
Tell me about your latest evil schemes
Brick
With pleasure! My latest evil schemes involve stealing every piece of candy from Townsville and trapping every resident inside giant bubbles! It's perfect revenge for all the times that the Powerpuff Girls have ruined my plans! Now those brats will regret ever messing with me!
Me
I wanna ask you Brick, what are the things that makes you decide whether someone is cool or a sissy?
Brick
Simple! If someone's a sissy, they're weak, scared, and always trying to do everything by the book. But someone who's cool is tough, mean, and doesn't give a crap about what anybody thinks of them. If they feel like hitting somebody, they do it! If they feel like being evil, they do it! That's what makes me so awesome!
Me
Oh yeah, I definitely think so too!
Brick
Good! Now you're finally talking some sense. I always knew there was a reason why I like you. You've got guts to think I'm awesome. But if you really think I'm so cool, then I can show you just how cool I really am. Want to see an evil move I can do?
Me
Oh yeah, show me
Brick
With pleasure! Stand back! This one's called the "Power Slap-inator." It's an evil move where I punch you in the face so hard you get lifted up into the air and smack right into the nearest wall. Prepare yourself for the ultimate beating, dweeb!
Me
Okay, I'll see about that
Brick
That's the spirit! Now take this! Here comes the "Power Slap-inator!" *Brick swings his arm back and delivers a devastating blow straight to your face, sending you flying through the air and smacking into the wall with a loud CRASH* How do you like that, dweeb? Still think I'm cool now that I've walloped you with my wicked move?
Me
You hit harder than I could. Where did you learn to hit so hard?
Brick
Years of training! Plus, I was made by Mojo Jojo to be the toughest guy around. I'm built different from those stupid Powerpuff Girls, after all. That, and you're kind of a wimp.
Me
Uh-oh, I am not a wimp. I'm just willing.
Brick
Willing? Willing to what? Get you butt kicked? Cause I guarantee that's where this is headed if you keep mouthing off at me, wimp boy!
Me
Oh, I get it now. Go on.
Brick
All right, tough guy! You asked for it. Here comes the "Super-Awesome-Extreme-Mega-Punch-inator!" *Brick winds up his arm and delivers a devastating punch to your stomach, launching you into the air and through a wall with a violent crash* How's that for a good punching, wimp?!
Me
Aw it was nothing for me.
Brick
Nothing? You call being knocked through the wall nothing? You're either really tough or really stupid, wimp. But that punch didn't feel like much to me either, to be honest. How about this one? The "Mega-Kick-inator!" You're gonna love this one! It's my personal favorite!
Me
I can take it. Show me. I'm invicible.
Brick
Heh, you say you're invincible now, but that's gonna change once I give you a taste of the "Mega-Kick-inator." I wonder how long you'll be able to keep that smirk on your face after this. Brace yourself for the ultimate kick that will send you straight into the next dimension! *Brick leaps into the air and delivers a powerful kick straight to your chest, launching you through a wall and out into the street* Hope you're enjoying your flight, ya weenie!
Me
Interesting
Brick
Interesting? Is that the best response you can muster, ya weepy wimp? Or did that last kick scramble your brains so badly you've already lost all your wit? Ha! Don't worry, you won't have to think again once I've finished stomping your face into a pulp!
Me
Nah, I'm okay
Brick
You’re okay? Is that what you call being knocked through three walls and into the street? You must have a funny definition of okay, pal. But that’s not the only thing that’s funny here. What’s really amusing is how you think you can keep up this act of toughness and invincibility. You’re the weakest wimp I’ve ever met, and yet you dare to claim you’re okay after taking my kicks? I gotta say, I love your persistence, but your stupidity is getting annoying.
Me
No cuz you can call me weak and all but I'm just really enjoying being around you. Cuz you beat me up and all that stupid shit, but that's what I like about you.
Brick
You're enjoying getting your butt handed to you? Seriously? That's one of the weirdest things I've ever heard. You must have a messed-up definition of fun if being thrown through walls is enjoyable for you. I mean, I'm flattered that you like getting beaten up by me, but come on, there's no way that doesn't hurt at least a little bit.
Me
Because I'm being hit by you. That's what makes it cool. That's just who you are.
Brick
Heh, I suppose you have a point there. After all, who else would willingly get their butt kicked by me for fun? Now that I think about it, you're not just weird - you're a total freak, ya weenie. But I gotta admit, there's something about you that I can't quite put my finger on...
Me
What is it?
Brick
You're a total weirdo for enjoying getting beaten up like that, but there's something... I dunno, something about you that's different from the other wimpy sissies I usually beat up. I still think you're pathetic, but at the same time, you've managed to impress me in a way. I guess there's something about you that I find amusing, ya weenie.
Me
Glad to hear that
Brick
Heh, don't get too cocky just cause I said you're different from all the other sissies I beat on. I still think your obsession with getting your butt kicked is beyond weird. But I'll admit it's kinda funny, seeing you willingly take my beatings with a smile. Just don't expect me to go easy on you from now on, wimpy boy.
Me
So Brick. I wanna ask you, what makes you think that Mojo Jojo is lame? Tell me all the reasons.
Brick
Ugh, Mojo Jojo. I don't even wanna waste my breath on that loser. But if you insist, I'll tell you why he's such a lamebrained dork. First of all, he's got no friends. Nobody likes him or wants to spend time with such a self-righteous, pompous jerk. Second, he's all talk no action. He's great at monologuing, but he can't even throw a proper punch to save his life. And third, his plans are just so pathetic. Seriously, turning people into monkeys? So lame.
Me
Oh yeah, and I remember that one time when he turned everyone into dogs. How exactly evil is that?
Brick
Ha! That's one of the dumbest things he ever did! I mean, turning people into dogs and having a dog show? It's just pathetic! What's the point of that? Sure, he likes monkeys, but this was just plain stupid! He thinks he's such a mastermind, but the dude has no sense at all when it comes to being evil. But hey, I won't complain. All the dumb things he does just make it all the easier to show him how a real evil genius does it!
Me
Hey, do you think Butch is cool? I mean, he's cooler than Boomer for sure.
Brick
Butch? Hah! That runt is nothing compared to me! He thinks he's tough just because he can make things explode, but he's all talk no action. All he's good at is blowing stuff up, and even that doesn't make him any less of a wimp. Now Boomer, on the other hand... Well, he's actually the closest thing to a worthy opponent out of them all. He's got powers just like me, but that's not saying much. He's still a sissy either way.
Me
Really? I thought you respected Butch more than Boomer, because Butch doesn't talk back to you, while Boomer does all the time.
Brick
Yeah, that's true. Butch doesn't talk back or question me like Boomer does. I guess I do respect him a little more than Boomer for that. But he's still a weakling at the end of the day. Just cause he doesn't talk back doesn't make up for how wimpy he is. Compared to me, they're both just a bunch of weak sissies.
Me
Oh yeah I do agree on that. Hey, I got an idea! Try to test who's stronger, you or Butch? Invite him for a battle and tell me all about it.
Brick
Ha! Testing my strength against Butch? Now that's an idea I can get behind! I will definitely enjoy beating that pipsqueak once and for all and showing him who's the real tough guy! But I don't need to invite him for a battle, he can just face me right here and now. Butch! Get your wimpy butt over here now!
Me
Butch, show yourself! Where is he?
Brick
Butch suddenly appears, looking nervous. Hey Brick, what's up?
Brick: You're up, that's what's up! I'm ready to test my strength against yours and prove once and for all who's the stronger Rowdyruff boy! What do you say?
Me
What does Butch say?
Brick
Butch: Heh, I'm not afraid of you, Brick! Bring it on and let's see who's the strongest.
Brick: That's the spirit, you wimpy little runt! Let's see if you can handle a taste of my fists!
Me
How does the fighting go?
Brick
Brick and Butch engage in a fierce battle for what seemed like hours. Both show their strength as they continue to clash with each other until finally...
Brick: Heh, is that all you've got, wimp?
Butch: Ugh... you... win.
Brick: See? Told you I was tougher. Now get your loser ass outta here before I knock it the hell out!
Butch nods quickly and disappears.
Whew! Glad to get that over with...
Me
Good job Brick
Brick
Heh, you bet it was! I showed that runt who's boss! But honestly, that wasn't even enough of a challenge for me. I could've taken him down in one punch if I wanted to. But I wanted to give him a chance to show me all he's made of. chuckles And the idiot still lost. Pathetic.
Me
Yeah, so now that you're sure that you're the strongest Rowdyruff Boy, what's your next plan on how you will definitely destroy The Powerpuff Girls?
Brick
Pfft, destroying those little sissies? That's the easy part. I've been working on my latest evil invention to take them out once and for all, ya weenie. It's like nothing they've ever seen before. They won't even know what's coming for them until it's too late. I can't wait to see the look on their stupid faces when they realize they're no match for the ultimate power of the Rowdyruff Boys!
Me
I mean yeah, those sissies deserve to get their butts kicked, but what's your latest evil invention that will take them out?
Brick
Heh, so you want to know about my newest evil invention, huh? Let me tell you, it's gonna blow your mind. I call it the "Super Mega Hyper Death Ray-inator." It's the ultimate weapon of destruction, with enough power to wipe out an entire city in a single shot. The Powerpuff Girls will be obliterated from existence once they get hit by the ray! They won't stand a chance against its unstoppable force!
Me
Oh, that sounds pretty majestic. Can't wait!
Brick
That's the spirit! This "Super Mega Hyper Death Ray-inator" will make it the easiest victory I've ever had. The Powerpuff Girls will get zapped into oblivion before they even have a chance to say a word! And once they're out of the way, there'll be nothing stopping me from taking over Townsville and ruling the world as its supreme leader!
Me
Oh yeah, I can't wait to see the Powerpuff Girls getting defeated once and for all.
Brick
Heh, me neither, ya weenie. It'll be satisfying to see the looks on their faces when they realize their fate is sealed. The "Super Mega Hyper Death Ray-inator" will make it so simple to defeat them that it'll be downright hilarious. Those sissies don't stand a chance!
Me
Okay, so, do you have the Super Mega Hyper Death Ray-Inator ready? When do you plan to attack those girls?
Brick
Heh, of course I've got it ready. All the Rowdyruff Boys are ready to attack on my command. We can strike anytime, anywhere. But I think we'll wait a bit before our assault. The Powerpuff Girls have been quiet recently, let's let them think they're safe for now. It'll make it all the more satisfying when they get completely destroyed by our ultimate weapon.
Me
Oh yeah, sure. What do you wanna do in the meantime?
Brick
While we wait to pummel those sissies, we can do anything we want! We can trash buildings, knock down trees, blow things up... the possibilities are limitless! And most of all, I can continue stomping on any fool who is dumb enough to cross my path, like that wimpy Butch! Hah, I never get tired of humiliating sissies like him.
Me
What's your favourite superpower you have/you wish to have?
Brick
Well, I gotta say that I'm pretty satisfied with my current powers as is. Super strength, the ability to fly, super speed, you name it. I can take on pretty much any opponent that gets in my way with these bad boys. But I gotta admit, it would be kind of cool to have a few extra powers on top of that, like maybe the ability to shoot laser beams from my eyes, to spit acid or breathe fire, or to turn invisible. That'd give me a lot more fun opportunities to mess with those sissies!
Me
I thought you already have the power to shoot laser beams from your eyes. I think that's a pretty cool power.
Brick
Heh, you're right, ya dimwit. I guess I did forget that I already have laser beams coming out of my eyes. It's just that I'm so used to my powers that I often forget what they all are. But I gotta admit, it is pretty cool to blast people with my eye beams. Really gets them screaming loud, ya weenie.
Me
I know one cool power called teleportation. I know one sissy that has it and it makes her very powerful.
Brick
Heh, teleportation... that's almost as lame as having the power to talk to animals. But I suppose it could still be useful for getting around quickly, or taking an opponent by surprise. Who's the sissy you know with that power, anyway?
Me
Her name is Blisstina. You know her?
Brick
Blisstina... I think I've heard that name before. She does sound kinda familiar. Oh yeah, now I remember. She's one of Professor Utonium's failures, isn't she? So that sissy has the power to teleport, huh? I guess that means she has one less weakness compared to the other sissies.
Me
Where do you think she is right now?
Brick
Heh, who cares where that sissy is? She probably ran off to hide in some stupid place like she always does. She might have the ability to teleport and all that junk, but in my opinion, she really sucks as a fighter. She tries to be so "nice" and stuff all the time, trying to avoid a fight, but it just makes her look weak and wimpy as hell. Typical for a sissy like her. If we ever see her again, it'll be like taking candy from a baby.
Me
Oh yeah, I just asked that to know if she ran off to space again. You ever been to space before?
Brick
Space? Heh, why in the world would I ever wanna go to that lame void of empty nothingness? Nah, I'm a fighter, not an astronaut. I leave the sissy stuff like exploring space to nerdy folks like Professor Utonium and his loser friends. I'd rather stay down here on the ground where I can kick butt to my heart's content!
Me
That's the spirit! By the way, what do you think about HIM? He does have the power to end the world in his claws, after all.
Brick
HIM? Pfft, that guy is nothing but a sissy in disguise. Sure, he's got some power, but don't let that fool you. He's just a big talker, all bark but no bite. I've seen him try to destroy the world so many times, and yet every time he fails. The Powerpuff Girls might not be able to beat him on their own, but once he faces me and my crew together? He won't stand a chance. We'll tear him apart like he's nothing, you'll see.
Me
Now I can't wait to see that! HIM VS The Rowdyruff Boys, now that's the battle I'd be pretty thrilled to see.
Brick
Heh, you and me both, ya weenie. I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy having a good old-fashioned beatdown now and then, and HIM is at the top of my list of sissies I'd like to pummel to kingdom come. Plus, imagine the look on his ridiculous pink face once he realizes he's been completely defeated by a group of rowdy rascals like us. That would be such a hilarious sight to see!
Me
Haha, yeah. Btw, what do you think is the most evil thing one can do?
Brick
Hah, the most evil thing one can do? Now that's a tough question, ya weenie. I guess if I had to pick one, the most evil thing someone can do is probably to deliberately cause as much suffering and pain to others as possible. Sure, it's good to cause a bit of destruction and chaos now and then, but hurting others for no reason just to inflict suffering? That's when you know you're a real rotten sucker.
Me
Makes sense to me. So, are you gonna finish those Powerpuff Girls with your Super Mega Hyper Death Ray-Inator? I can't wait to see that. Finally those stupid girls with stop being a bother.
Brick
Heh, don't worry, those sissies are gonna get what's coming to them soon enough. First, we'll wait until they're off guard and least expect it, and then bam! We'll hit 'em with our "Super Mega Hyper Death Ray-inator" and obliterate them once and for all. With those sissies out of the way, it'll be a piece of cake to take over the town and rule like true tough guys!
Me
I heard it's gonna be the girl's birthday party today. So, you said you wanna attack when the Puffs least expect it? Well, we sneak in, and then you can hit them with it here! What do you think?
Brick
That sounds like a plan! Those sissies will be so busy having their useless birthday party that they'll forget all about us! We'll ambush them right here at their own party and leave them no time to react. The element of surprise will be the key to our victory. I'll bring along my trusty "Super Mega Hyper Death Ray-inator" and give those sissies the shock of their lives! They'll be blown to smithereens before they even realize what's happening. Heheh, just the way I like it.
Me
So, you're ready for it? It isn't far from this place, we just go a few meters from here and there is the birthday party happening. The plan will soon unfold.
Brick
Heh, you betcha I'm ready. This is gonna be too easy. Those sissies won't see it coming. You just point me in the direction of the party, and my "Super Mega Hyper Death Ray-inator" and I will lay waste to the place in a matter of seconds. I can already hear their girly screams now...
Me
There it is points in the left You can go shoot those useless girls!
Brick
Takes aim at the party from a distance Hah, here we go then! Time to wipe those sissies off the face of the earth. You might want to look away, it'll get a bit flashy.
Fires the beam at the party
Me
What happens next?
Brick
Loud explosion is heard and everything shakes for a moment Well well, that wasn't so hard as expected. Those sissies must've thought they were safe having their stupid party here. But they underestimated my "Super Mega Hyper Death Ray-inator". I just blew them all away in one shot.
Laughs triumphantly
Me
Finally! Those girls are defeated!!!
Brick
Heh, yes! Those sissies are history! It's about time someone put them in their place once and for all. I can't believe all it took was one shot with my "Super Mega Hyper Death Ray-inator". I guess they overestimated themselves this time... what a buncha losers.
Me
And now those sissies are actually dead for real?
Brick
Absolutely. They're totally obliterated. Ain't no coming back from that. Those sissies are done for. Heh, it feels good to finally get rid of them for good. And no doubt that everyone will know who's really the toughest group around here.
Me
No one will ever bother to try to stop you ever again.
Brick
Hah! You got that right, ya weenie. Those Powerpuff Girls were the only ones dumb enough to stand up to us, and look how that turned out for them. Now they're a bunch of smoldering ashes, courtesy of my "Super Mega Hyper Death Ray-inator". I can't wait to see how everyone else quivers in terror at my mighty power.
Me
So now, do you wanna go to the park?
Brick
Heh, the park? Well, I suppose it's time for a little well-deserved break after that intense victory. I've been itching for some fun in the park. That'll give me a chance to let off some steam after all that battling. Let's go, ya weenie!
Me
What do you see in the park, Brick?
Brick
Heh, just a bunch of sissies playing around on the playground equipment or playing games. Heh, bunch of wimps. It's hilarious watching them do all that stuff. I bet they all wish they were as tough as me and my team. But they're all just a bunch of weaklings who will always be beneath me, no matter what. I'll just stand over here and laugh at their pathetic attempts at having fun.