LWS: Contestant stories

[RamshackleRanger]

This thread is for the stories of contestants of the Last Writer standing competition. Contestants may, if they wish, posts their stories here for all to see.

This is only for the People who contested. Any stories not written by a contestant will be considered spam and will be reported.
Comments belong in the original thread.

Remember: Posting your story is not required.

Have fun!

[HayesAJones]

PREDATION
Hayes A. Jones

Jonathan Kennedy Clarke squatted at the water's edge without a sound, his back turned to the broad expanse of brown swamp that had been between the sights of his rifle only three minute of light-footed trekking ago. Huffing softly from between pursed lips, Clarke slowly brought the shiny onyx barrel of his hunting rifle level with his right shoulder and then gently laid his cheek onto the stock of the weapon like how a spent lover might drape his head on the unclad body of his partner.

As Clarke's eyes adjusted to the glass channel of the sight, a slinking rug of amber fur and irregular black stripes materialized between the mangroves, the large banded profile moving silently between the thin, sinewy trees of the brackish forest like a slothful brand of fire. Clarke grinned, a hint of laughter escaping his barred teeth like the hiss of an excited reptile. Dragging the crosshairs carefully across the roving mat of orange hair, the black bars slashing through taunt muscle and impressive ripples of fur, Clarke quickly found the white-masked head of his target- an adult male Bengal tiger.

The orange cat strode through the thin shrubbery and trees like a bright shadow, its flame-colored pelt hard to distinguish from the dappled sunlight cast down on its fur by the hot South Asian sun above. The barred shade of trees fell across its coat in perfect imitation of its jagged stripes. It was the perfect creature, bold and unseen all at once, its brilliant coat somehow becoming one of the greatest works of camouflage produced by the mad genius that was natural selection.

It was also why Clarke had come here, to the blistering heat and fickle waters of the tidal Sundarbans. He was here to bag a trophy. He was here to kill a tiger.

Clarke was a hunter with more than thirty years of experience behind his gun and no small amount of fame attached to his name, but today he would be considered little else than a poacher if his exploits were discovered, so for the first time in nearly a decade he was hunting privately, the eyes and cameras of the world blind to what he was here to do. Tiger hunts were one of the great legends of the hunting world, but they were frowned upon in the modern age. No one hunted the largest of the big cats anymore, they merely spoke of the old hunts and the hunters who made them famous as game.

In a world that considered hunting old fashioned, Clarke was glad to admit to being old fashion himself but he would never surrender hunting to the past. His grandfather had been a child when the tiger hunt was the greatest venture a man could attempt, but he, his son, and now his grandson had kept that ideal alive for more than a century. The Clarkes were men who lived in the past, who strived to maintain traditions and the old ways. Seven generation of hunters, woodsman, and adventurers had believed that the only way a man could prove himself was to face down the wild, untamed fury of nature and prove himself better than it, so now Clarke was in the hot, humid wetlands of Bangladesh to earn the name of his father.

Clarke had hunted since he was twelve, bagging everything from squirrels to bears, but that was not enough. To prove himself, to truly earn his last name, he needed to go after the ultimate prey; the biggest, baddest game animal ever seen through the scope- the Bengal tiger.

Although it had taken every favor he had every earned in three decades of spelunking and the very last wad of cash from even the deepest folds of his wallet, Clarke had discreetly made his way to the Bangladesh side of the Sundarbans, the world's largest mangrove forest and the tiger capital of the world. The largest population of adult Bengals on the planet, over five hundred individuals strong, dwelled on these harsh tidal flats, scraping loose a living from the monkeys and deer that wandered among the trees. The occasional human too. Up to two hundred people or more were lost to tigers every year here, but that did not worry Clarke.

The tiger was usually the top predator of its domain, the alpha hunter of where ever it decided to adobe. But not when Clarke was around. When Clarke stepped into a wilderness, he was its master. He decided what lived and what died, passing judgment on every predator and prey animal that came between his crosshairs. He had hunted bears, wolves, elk, moose, and even the notorious dangerous Cape buffalo, a hoofed reaper from the African continent that had gained a powerful dark fame for flanking and goring hunters who failed to bring them down.

A tiger, no matter how big or crafty it could be, was no match for him.

Even with hundreds of the orange cats roving the marshy forest, it had been a chore locating one. He had spent many fruitless hours in a stand several dozen yards from where he hunched now, a cool breeze on his back from the river. He had been expecting the tiger to emerge from the cover of the forest for a drink, but three hundred seventy-five wasted minutes had proven him wrong. He had been very near the point of surrender when the movements of birds among the trees had caught his attention. Even an especially clever predator could not avoid catching the sharp little eyes of songbirds- Clarke had learned that on his first hunt alongside the first Jonathan Clarke, his grandfather.

Creeping from his stand to the ground and then a few dozen feet up the bank, Clark had finally spotted the subtle bending of shadows that even the most covert of carnivores could not eliminate. The cat was nearly impossible to make out from the shaded forest around it with the naked eye, but through his rifle scope it had been a clear shot. The striped feline had been lifting its great golden head from a small stream that ran parallel to the river, hidden from the raised view of his stand by the protective cover of the forest canopy above. It had come to drink after all, but not in the stark open of the muddy river bank that had sat between Clarke's crosshairs for six long hours. That had made Clarke smile.

It had been awfully clever of the cat to make a fool of him for a whole quarter of a day, but he had it now. There was no way he could miss, even if it was not the aerial shot he had envisioned. In a way, this was better. He was going to kill it on its level. On its terms.

It was hard not to admire the thing though. It was a beautiful creature, that even Clarke, who did not owe much respect to appearance when there were much more reliable fields to judge things on such as performance, had to relent on. But what intrigued him more was its lethality. It was as deadly as it was gorgeous, a big, sophisticated cat. The male between his crosshairs had to be at least five hundred pounds, big for a tiger, if not an even more impressive five hundred fifty pounds. It would be nearly eleven feet tall if it stood on its hind paws like a man. But however big it was, the striped cat was also quiet. It could stride through brush and dry leaves without so much as a sound, a quality that Clarke honestly envied. Even at his level of experience and sharpness of skill, it was hard to avoid generating noises that could potentially give away his location to both wary prey and dangerous carnivores.

Of course, the tiger's incredible stealth was not a tool for evading other forest creature. It was a tool of death. Like Clarke, the tiger was a dominant hunter, a killer of beasts and men. It could stalk up on an unawares man, pounce, and have his guts on the ground before he could fully blink.

Clarke would be faster. He would have the beast dead on the floor before it could complete its next thought. A bullet between the eyes- a kill as clean as it was quick. It would be painless to. The beast would not suffer. Clarke was a man who made a living from death, but he was not cruel.

Ceasing all other movement, Clarke made the final adjustments to his aim, not even moving his arms or grip. He merely sucked in air and let the black barrel rise with the swell of his chest. He engulfed the salty wet air quietly though, keeping silent as to not disturb his prey. There was no way that the tiger could sense him now, not between the black bars that would guide a bullet right into its brain. He was downwind of the beast and the buzz of insects and birds would smother any sound he made short of a shout, but the habits of an old hunter were as set as the sides of a mountain.

Holding in the breath, Clarke let the sight of his gun, his reaper's staff, settle on the golden stripes that marked the tiger's forehead and then began to put the slightest of squeezes on the trigger...

... never noticing the sixteen foot saltwater crocodile creeping through the water behind him.

(Why in quotations? Why not!)

[Demon Lord Gira]

Woes of Makai

High above the world of demons, above the dark clouds that obscured the ceiling of Hell from its residents, high above the fiery spires that billowed from pools of molten lakes of lava, was the high realm of Makai, the ancestral realm of all demon-kind. A separate dimension from the rest of the Underworld, Makai was in a league of its own, many islands floating above a sea of darkness, inaccessible to most of the residents of Hell. Here was where the most prosperous of demons lived, the highest of demon society, the royals, the elite, the top of the stratum, living a lifestyle almost identical to that of humanity. Cities and highways crisscrossed the landscape, and the islands were kept connected by massive flying ships capable of dimensional travel for those unable to fly. For those capable of doing so, the entire landscape of Makai was a place easily accessible with little cost. While those down in Hell lived in a more primitive kill or be killed dictatorship, this was a far more benevolent society, abet one still ruled by one person, and one person only…

Shinki, Fallen Angel and Former General of the late Lord Satan.

Such a being of incredible power lived within a castle of formidable stature. This was the high palace of Pandemonium, the capital of power and the greatest building in all of Makai. Towering hundreds of meters above the rest of the Makai landscape, the fortress of Pandemonium was entirely made of glass. All within it, from the doors to the walls to the furniture and decorations, was glass of the highest quality, completely transparent. Gargoyles composed of glass and other demonic materials peered from above, their eyes scouring all of the islands below them like silent sentinels. At the top of the castle, in the highest corridors, space and time were twisted apart as a sea of glass flowed out…with a pair of massive thrones standing before this near endless sea, thrones ordanted with materials from all over the demonic realm, dark and twisted into more resembling the maws of dragons than of thrones. On the left, was Shinki, High Goddess of the Underworld and Ruler of Makai, and to her side, Sariel, her brother and fellow Fallen Angel. They both were white haired entities of human appearance, with scepters in their hand and white skin and hair… but they were taller than any ordinary human, with both of them at over nine feet in height. Shinki wore a red robe of the finest materials in Makai, and her scepter was adorned with demonic wings that pulsed purple and scaly, similar to her own 6 wings that currently remained folded. Sariel, however, wore a blue and white gown of sorts, and his scepter was in the shape of the half crescent moon, with 6 white feathered wings spread from his back.

“Dear sister, it appears as if something is troubling you. What might it be?” Sariel asked Shinki, his voice sounding neither male nor female, but somewhere inbetween. True enough, Shinki’s face seemed… downcast, her blue eyes glazed over as she was looking down at the crystal sea beneath them.

His counterpart let out a long, painful sigh, and looked at Sariel. “It is nothing… I am simply tired at the moment. I had very little sleep last night.”

“You never were a good liar.” Sariel replied, a mere shake of the head accompanying the words. “I know as well as you do that we need no food, or sleep, or need for nature’s call. What is the true reason you seem upset? Do you sense what I sense?”

Shinki blinked rapidly and straightened herself up, rubbing her eyes as she focused. “And what would that be, my dear brother?” She asked, a sole finger tapping on the armrest of the throne.

“As you already know, Hell is in turmoil. Your daughter has tried to keep the carnage and rebellions at a minimum, yet it only gets worse. They disprove of her leadership and reform. They wish for a Hell untamed, a Hell with all the advances mankind has supplied with them… without the dictatorship or rules that come. They wish for complete freedom, to be as evil as they desire-“

“Which we both know is never going to be allowed.” Shinki cut off her brother, yet at the same time finishing what he was going to say. Thus was one of the advantages for knowing him since the beginning of their existence. They could nearly read each other’s minds, without the actual mind reading that they could do regardless. “After Satan was absorbed and Hell entered into complete chaos while getting a new ruler, the Yama that govern both heaven and hell made it very clear that such a state would never again exist, no matter what happened. They wished for a more tame Hell, yet the radical youth wish for a return for that very same Hell. But it is not that, nor how Persephone is fairing, that have me concerned… “ She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Likewise, Sariel did as well, and shortly afterwards, he could sense it, the life energy of those around him.

They weren’t alone.

“What is it that troubles the great rulers of Makai?” A voice rasped infront of them. The two opened their eyes to see a stranger, shrouded in a black cloak from head to feet. They were short as well, around 6 ft in height. “Fir two such great archangels, the worry you express is grave indeed.”

“I show no worry.” Sariel spoke, a tap of the scepter emphasizing the softly spoken words. “But your true ruler is. May I ask, though, what your name is? You are not from Makai, or from Hell, or from any region in the Underworld…”

“I am amazed you could tell.” The stranger rasped, their voice dry like leaves on an autumn day and hoarse. “I am a traveler from the surface world, who came to see around this great realm. I wanted to see the great leaders of this place, so I asked the maid by the entrance if I could enter in. she obliged, and here I am.”

“I see. It’s not often Yumeko lets tourists through, not without a fight anyway.” Sariel chuckled. “But as we were saying-“

“Brother, why should a stranger be told of what causes us worry?” Shinki interrupted him, slamming her own scepter to the ground to silence him. “It is none of his concern. This is a matter between gods…”

“What harm is there is letting something so innocent out? He has no use for it. We might as well satisfy his curiosity and leave him happy than have him leave unhappy. After all, Makai IS a popular tourist destination, and better word of mouth is lovely for our popularity.”

Shinki glared at Sariel, and tried to think of something to say. However, nothing came to mind, either because she was too emotionally distraught to do so, or some external force was preventing her from doing so. Whichever one it was, she had no idea, but in the end, she sighed, then looked down at the stranger. “Since you have travelled so far, I suppose telling you is only to make you satisfied.” The last word was said with an eyeroll to her brother, who merely shrugged, trying to hold back even more chuckles. “You see, behind these thrones are two portals, barred up with our strongest magic. These rifts lead to pocket dimensions, containing the most feared villans and monsters known to demonkind.” Here, Shinki rose, and stepped down from the throne. The stranger noticed that she was barefoot now, but still towered over him. “One of these rifts contains criminals that I dare not say the name of, but the other… contains Zuldes.”

The stranger took a step back. Moments passed, and no sound came from him, until he finally rasped out, “You mean, THE Zuldes? The very titan that once fought Satan to a standstill over control of Hell? The very beast the Dark Lord himself feared? He is sealed here?”

Shinki nodded. “Yes. The portal that keeps him sealed away is under my control, but as of late, the rift has been weakening. Both me and my brother have tried to reinforce it, but our attempts are in vain. Every few days, black flames that can burn entire planets to ashes blow out of the portal. It is a sign that he knows it is weakening, and any day now, we shall break free and run unchallenged across the demonic realm, if not beyond the Underworld’s boundaries, and everyday, that day draws nearer and nearer. I do not think either me or Sariel have the power to stop such a titan as Satan could. “

“And yet, that is not all you are afraid of. There is more that worries you than a giant dragon the size of the mountain on Mars.” The stranger spoke. This caused Shinki to widen her eyes in surprise. How had he known? Yet Sariel remained with no change in emotion, as if it hadn’t shocked him.

“True. We have also sensed as of late the presence of our sister Minerva. Normally, we would be glad for such a thing, but… we also sense that she has lost most of the reason she had, and now seeks to bring about her own agenda, whatever it may be… and we fear that Zuldes has to do with it.”

The stranger remained silent. Minerva… The 3rd of the 4 Archangel Generals of Satan. He had heard the tales, of how she had fought against her own kind during the Great Rebellion, and had taken down tens of hundreds of her own kind upon Satan’s banishment, before she had been restrained and banished as well. Of the three remaining Archangels in existence, Minerva was still a name all demons held in high honor, as a brave warrior as great as Satan himself, only to vanish shortly after his own dissapearance… and to think she had come back with some scheme that jeopardized all of demon kind. “I see. Well then. I am glad to meet both of you in that case. I bid both of you a good day, and I hope your problems are taken care of.” The stranger hissed, before he walked back down toward the sprawling stairway that had taken him up.

Once he was gone, Shinki turned to Sariel. “Are you sure telling him everything was the wise course of action? Such knowledge in the hands of someone like him… “

“Do not worry, dear sister.” Sariel replied as Shinki stepped back into her throne. “Even if our guest had such an odd sense of timing to arrive now, I am sure this will all turn out right. Zuldes shall not escape, nor shall Minerva go through with whatever she has planned.”

“I can only hope your right, brother… I can only hope.” Shinki said. At that moment, the very fortress shook. From behind them, a towering black pillar of flames, wider that all the great rivers of Earth combined, spiraled up into the dark sky above. It was only by the magic of the Archangels that the flames didn’t burn straight through to the human world and light it all ablaze… but even that would not last forever… A deep unearthly growl boomed from the rift, and a massive eye, yellowish in color, and serpentine in appearance, glared out from the rift…

Zuldes had heard it all… and Zuldes was interested…

Meanwhile, the stranger walked out of the fortress of Pandemonium. Once he had done so, he chuckled, before bursting into full-out laughter. The hood of the cloak folded back, revealing the short silvery hair of a girl, with greyish eyes and large glasses on her face. “I can’t believe I simply waltzed in and got such lovely information, Lord Akuro!” She chuckled, as one of her eyes twisted into a shroud of darkness, and a deep, almost alien voice came from her mouth.

“Indeed. I have hidden both of our life energies from them, and altered your voice, so we were as one different being.” The voice of Akuro rumbled from the woman. “This Zuldes and Minerva might be useful for our plans… Fiore, we will be returning to the Dark Realm at once. I have a special mission for you…”

“As you wish, Lord Akuro.” The woman spoke in her own voice, as the two of them were engulfed in a dark, jagged tear in reality, and then vanished out of this plane of existence…

[Demon Lord Gira]

I'm considering doing it....but I probably won't....should I?

Go ahead. it can't be THAT bad... can it?

[20th Century Boy]

In second place, here is THE FALL by Boy of the 1900's.

“Captain, wake up.”

Captain Gerald rubbed his eyes and lifted his head up from the back of his seat. His two hours of sleep had been cut short by his First Officer Maximilian. In any other day, he would have groaned. However, this was a desperate time. There were 253 passengers in his Starship Estrella, who had just barely made it out alive from a deadly ambush. They probably needed him again, and he would not let them down.

“What is it Max?” asked Gerald. He squinted his eyes and reached for his coffee cup on the desk next to him. His eyes were still adjusting to the light.

“It’s a small fleet of Reptoid ships, headed straight towards us. I’ll transfer the coordinates on the ship’s radar.”

The Captain widened his eyes. “No,” he thought to himself. “Not now, not after what we’ve been through.” Those thoughts, however, stayed inside him; for all eyes were on him. If he expressed his fear to his crew, panic would ensue. The crew of the Estrella needed a strong leader. Any sign of vulnerability would give them a sense of hopelessness.

The ship’s giant front radar screen projected a map of the stars, with coordinates and a blue circle in the middle. On the far left of the screen appeared a patch of smaller red dots, all slowly coming towards the center.

“It’s a small fleet, sir,” said Maximilian. “Only about 100 Constellans away from us at this rate, but it’s enough to bring this ship down. They’ll probably end us all if they board the ship.”

Captain Gerald suddenly experienced a cold, numb sensation throughout his entire body. The Reptoids were the most dangerous species known in the galaxy. They were half insectoid, half reptilian creatures with a voracious appetite for human flesh. Although advanced and civilized enough to build their own starships and weapons, all of their religions and philosophies centered on what humans considered violence and brutality. To the Reptoids, however, it was their way of life. Because of their contradicting, fundamentally different belief systems and craving taste of flesh, it was inevitable that Reptoids would always kill humans upon contact. Now, Captain Gerald had a small fleet of them closing in on his ship of 253 passengers. They would surely bring the ship down—there was no question about it. He silently thought of a plan of action for a while, but not too long. Each second wasted might be a life taken. If the ship was going to fall no matter what, he decided the best action was to evacuate everybody and minimize casualties. Almost immediately, he stood up and started shouting orders.

“Collins, signal for S.O.S. and sound the emergency alarm. Parker, disable lockdown and load up all the escape pods. We’re gonna try our best to get everyone out of here alive and safe. Give me the radio, Stevens.”

The alarm sounded off and all the lights throughout the ship flashed red. There was no turning back now. He looked at the projection again to see the batch of ships moving in closer to the ship. Not wishing to waste any more time, he decided to give the call hastily and unprepared.

“Everyone, listen up,” he announced over the radio communications console. The entire ship, including the engineering deck below, could hear him. “This is your Captain, Blake Gerald. In a few minutes, a small fleet of Reptoid ships will board this ship, and the Estrella will be history. There is no time to waste—I want every soul aboard this ship to evacuate via escape pod. Please—I urge you all to run as I am speaking, as there is no time to waste. There are forty pods and each can fit up to eight people. There may be plenty, but I forbid you to take off on your pod until all the seats are filled. I will be among the last one out the ship, to ensure that everyone has escaped safely and quickly. Don’t let anyone fall behind, that’s an order. May God help us all.”

The scramble occurred throughout the ship with no delay. Dozens of passengers raced for the emergency pods hangar, some more panicked than others. There were engineers, security officers, families, scientists, children, and even elderly people. It was an unorganized, chaotic race against time. The ones who had it the worst were the passengers stationed at the front of the ship, which was at the exact opposite end of the emergency pod hangar. People swarmed through narrow corridors and automatic doors meant for one person. The Captain saw the scramble through a side monitor on the giant projection. No one was getting trampled, but it sure looked like it. He prayed that everyone would at least make it to the pods hangar without a single casualty.

“Sir, some of the Reptoid ships are close to reaching us,” said Lieutenant Stevens. “These three ships appear like they could close in on us any minute now and board,”

“Order the security officers to defend any possible entrances. Max, I think we could use our own arms at this point.”

Maximilian unlocked a large metallic box in the corner of the room and handed out its contents to everyone in the command room. Some of the inexperienced crew received small laser handguns, while the combat veterans, including Captain Gerald, were handed full sized laser rifles.

“Let’s pray that we will never have to use these,” said Stevens. The whole room nodded in accord.

At this point, the first escape pods were leaving. Captain Gerald stared at the green dots on the projection, praying that they would not get shot down by the enemy ships. That was unlikely, however. Reptoid ships rarely had external weapons systems, as they preferred killing in person. Even so, the captain bit his lower lip and stared, only losing his sense of fear when the console informed him that the escape pods were at least fifty Constellans away.

“Captain, the first Reptoids have reached the ship!”

A large explosion shook the ship as everyone in the room lost their balance. Captain Gerard held on to a set of bars, but still fell over and dropped his weapon. It was a hard fall, and he struggled to get back up on his feet. Looking back at the projection, he saw an exchange of laser blasts at one of the entrances and three bodies dropping. There was so much smoke, he couldn’t tell if they were Reptoid bodies or human bodies. Without wasting any time, he ordered more security guards at that entrance to make sure no Reptoids would go further.

A few more escape pods took off, but Gerald wished they would go faster. A few blasts were heard and felt around the ship, as some of the interior structures started to fall apart.

“They’re starting to bomb us!” yelled Stevens.

“Don’t worry; it’s just to intimidate us. They like to kill us directly.”

A second entrance hatch opened and this time, the three stationed guards dropped almost immediately. The crew of the command room looked up at the screen to see a green, bug-eyed face with scaled skin and intimidating razor-sharp teeth. The face appeared to turn directly towards the camera and showed off its teeth. It seemed to be grinning.

“Oh god, they’ve entered the ship!”

The captain ordered more security officers to that entrance, but it was too late now. At least seven Reptoids had entered and scrambled to different areas of the ship, with the intent of leaving no survivors.

[This story remains unfinished.]

[Demon Lord Gira]

When the Celestials Cry

Tenshi Hinanawi stood in the booth, glaring out at the gloomy skies of the Netherworld. Across from the blue-haired Celestial, in a second booth, was the Ruler of the Netherworld, the ghostly woman Yuyuko, and seated between them, with a deck of cards in his hands, was a man in fancy attire, with short brown hair, a black suit and pants, and small reading glasses. Cameras were aimed at the two women and the man, and once they flickered on, the man turned to face the cameras, and the spirits that were controlling them. “Hello everyone, and welcome to the show ‘Are you Smarter than a Ghost?’ My name is Crigan,and I’ll be your host for tonight. With us is our mainstream contestant Yuyuko, everyone’s favorite ghost ruler, and with us is a very special contestant, the self-proclaimed Queen of Heaven, Tenshi Hinanawi!”

Tenshi snorted as the cameras focused on her. “You all know that I am indeed the Queen of Heaven, and the smartest person to ever li-“

“Yeah, yeah, we get it.” Crigan cut her off as the cameras were brought back to him. He cleared his throat, then turned to the pink haired ghost in the blue kimono. “So Yuyuko, how have you been lately? They say you’ve gained a few pounds last week.”

Yuyuko, her face in a perpetual state of innocence and purity, tilted her head. “We ghosts don’t gain weight. I may eat a lot, but I never lose my figure. I think you heard that about the little angel over there.”

“The hell are you talking about, you fat cow?” Tenshi spat at the ghost. “Look at me. Does it look like I’ve gained weight? I’m over ten thousand years old, so there’s no way I’d gain weight in just a week.”

“She’s right.” Crigan said, eyes turned to the cameras. “She’s still a flat-chested loli with no figure to boot. No weight gain there.”

“Damn straight. Finally, someone on my si-“ Tenshi stopped herself as the mental gears in her head caught up to what was said, and then, she narrowed her eyes. “Hey! The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“We were testing you.” Yuyuko smirked as she held up one of her emblematic fans. “After all, a true Queen needs to have a motherly figure... which you lack in many departments.”

“Anyways, now we get onto the main course... Is the Eldest Daughter of Heaven smarter than a ghost?” Crigan said as he ignored Tenshi’s howls and death threats. I will say the statement, and Tenshi gets to answer first. If she fails at it, Yuyuko gets a chance to snipe it. Difficulty will start off at Normal. First statement is... Godzilla Forum.”

A loud “BZZZT” came from Tenshi’s booth. “Toho Kingdom!” The Celestial announced. On the scoreboard above her head, a point was added on, as well as a “Ding” sound. The celestial shouted in joy, before pointing a finger at the ghost. “Take that, ya dumb elephant”

“But I’m not an elephant. I’m a woman.”

“Next statement is... Kaiju forum website”

“BZZZZZT” “Toho Kingdom” Tenshi shouted. “DING!”

“Toho...”

“BZZZZZT” Kingdom” Tenshi said, as the “DING!” sounded. Then, her eyes widened. “Wait a damn moment. This is too easy! All I had to say was Toho Kingdom and Kingdom. Set it to Hard Mode.”

“So you wish.” Crigan answered as he brought out a new batch of cards and read the first one. “This person is the Ruler of Hell, and one of the most powerful entities known in mythology-“

“BZZZZZZT!” “Dark Lord Satan” Tenshi boasted, her smile wide on her face as she leaned back. She had this in the bag...

“”BA DUUUM!” A red light flashed, causing Tenshi’s jaw to hang slack. “That is incorrect. “ Crigan stated.

“BZZZZZZT” Now Yuyuko had pressed her buzzer, and gave her answer. “Persephone Auziras.” “DING!”

“Now wait just a moment... Persephone? Whose this Persephone person?” Tenshi asked, but her question was ignored as Crigan delivered the next statement.

“This person was the first president of the United States, and a leader during the Revolutionary War.”

“BZZZZT” “George Washington” “BA DUUUUUM!” “What the? What kind of history are we going off here?”

“BZZZZZZZT!” “Legionmaster.” “DING!”

Now Tenshi could only stare at Yuyuko and Crigan with disbelief. “Really now? In what kind of bizzaro universe is LEGIONMASTER the first president of the United States?”

Crigan shook his head. “This is basic knowledge, you know. You really are an idiot if you have no idea our first president was LGM.”

Yuyuko nodded in agreement. “Perhaps Hard Mode was too much for her.”

“Don’t make me put ‘Yuyuko’ and ‘Eroge’ into the Google Image bar!” Tenshi shouted, face turning red. How DARE they make fun of her like this! She was ROYALTY! ROYALTY! “Put it to Lunatic, NOW!”

“If you really want it to be.” Crigan said as he brought out the final batch of cards. “One of the main administrative users on Toho Kingdom, named after a Pokemon-“

“BZZZZT!” “Arbok!” “BA DUUUUM!”

“BZZZZZZT!” “GodzillavJason” “DING!”

Tenshi gargled with disbelief. “Did that question loop around or something? So it wasn’t Arbok..”

“The author of Pokemon Kanto Adventures, a Pokemon fanatic-“

“BZZZZZZT!” “MothraRocks” “BA DUUUUM!”

“BZZZZZT!” “GodzillavJason” “DING!”

“Wait a second... how could that have possibly looped around? There’s no way...”

“This user is the author of the LITKC series, and is one of the main helpers to Flygon Ki-“

“BZZZZZZT” “GodzillavJason” “BA DUUUUUUUM!”

“BZZZZZZT” GodzillaVJason” “DING!”

“All you did was change the emphasis on the name...How does that even count?”

“Writer of the Godzilla series, with his second entry featuring Hedorah”

“BZZZZZT” “GodzillaVJason” “BA DUUUUUUM!”

“BZZZZZT!” GodzillavJackson” “DING!”

“There’s no user by that name! Stop this stupidity at once!”

“His character is known for his finger licking goodness-“

“BZZZZT” “GodzillavJackson” “BA DUUUUUUM!”

“BZZZZZT!” “GojiravJet Jaguar” “DING!”

“... I have nothing to say anymore. This is pure Bull-“

“Godzilla v Jason... Who is he?”

“Ehhh? EHHHHHHHHHHH?!?!” Tenshi gasped as she starred at Crigan. Her brain farted on her as she tried to comprehend the question. After shaking her head, she slapped the buzzer. “BZZZZZZT.” “GodzillavJason, GodzillaVJason, GojiraV Jet Jaguar” She listed, only for her heart to sink as the “BA DUUUUUM!” sound buzzed.

“BZZZZZT” “GodzillavJackson” “DING!”

“How did I forget that one? No... how did I forget it? I thought I listed it.”

“And for our final statement, this person is the author of the incompleted Sins of the Ancestors, Tales of Gensokyo, and Youkai High, is an avid Pokemon and Touhou fan, and flagship character does not match his username”

“BZZZZZT.” “Flygon-“ Here, Tenshi caught her tongue, and eyed Crigan nervously. “Godzillav... Jet Jaguar?” “BA DUUUUUUUM!”

“BZZZZZT.” “Flygon-“

“Awww, so it wasn’t a trick question after all!” Tenshi growled, slamming her fist into the booth. She freaking had it... she FREAKING had it...

“... As I was saying before I was interrupted... FlygonvJackson” “DING!”

That was it. All sanity and restraint the Celestial had was lost with that answer. “WHAT THE? WHAT THE HELL?!?!” She screamed, fingernails digging into the wood of the booth. “All these answers are fucked up!” Her eyes were becoming bloodshot with confusion, rage, and anger all at once at both the ghost and the man. This was complete garbage! She was royalty, yet for her to be treated like this? These cards were written by drunk orangutans in solitary confinement with one type writer!

“And with that, Yuyuko is the winner by a landslide! See you all next week, for our contestant WASN’T smarter than a ghost.”

“Oh no you don’t! This was rigged, freaking rigged, you hear me! I’ll kill you both for this!” Tenshi howled as she leapt from the booth, her glowing sword in hand as she tried to swing it at the source of all her pain and anger... the damn cow of a ghost!

At the last second, Yuyuko’s hand swung up, and nailed the Celestial on the cheek. To her dismay, she found herself flying through the air, and right into a stone pillar, the front half of her embedded into it, and her feet flailing around as she was helpless to get herself out.

“Well, That was delightful. Thank you, Crigan for volunteering once again. I do feel a little sorry for the brat. I was only getting a piece of hair out of my eye...” Yuyuko said as she looked over at the flailing, wailing girl.

Crigan shook his head as the camera crew ghosts packed up. “Nah. It’s worth it. Every single TV all over the cosmos just watched complete humiliation in action. And the best part is? Those answers ARE right... at least in one of those bizzaro worlds I visited a while back.”

“Really? Do they have food there I can eat? I’m hungry again.” Yuyuko whined, her stomach growling.

Crigan laughed. “No you wouldn’t like the food there. You’d get skinny and turn into a skeleton if you ate there. Well... see ya. I have errands to run.” Crigan said, as he left. Yuyuko, alone again, sat on the wet grass of the Netherworld, watching as Tenshi tried to free herself to no end...

[HayesAJones]

Just to be clear right off the bat:

- Rey is NOT the Spanish word for "king" and his last name is NOT Caesar.
- Jason has ZERO interest in giant monster movies, slasher horror, or combat-oriented crossovers between the two.
- Rey and Jason NEVER call Gerald "Giral" sometimes as a nickname. NEVER. And he has has NO particular association with the year 2010 at all. NONE.

Got all that? Good. Now on to the actual story.

RISING WATER
A Tale of Brotherhood, Strained Bonds, and Chainsaw-Wielding Sharks (But Mostly Those First Two)
Hayes A. Jones

Rey winced fearfully as the cold water that filled the room lapped harshly against his bare skin, chilling his exposed feet straight down to the bone. Goosebumps raised the hair across his legs like hackles. Shuddering, he pulled his legs closer against his body and clasped his damp soles, rubbing them briskly with cupped palms to warm the icy skin that clung taunt to them like gauze. He considered briefly whether or not to wrap the numbing flesh in the folds of his t-shirt, but quickly decided that having wet clothes was an even worse idea than having wet feet. The baggy sweatpants and thin “I'm With Stupid” shirt he bore were worth little dry, so soaking them would only makes things worse. Instead, Rey simply increased the raking motion of his shivering hands until it looked like he was trying to ignite his own foot to start a fire- which was quite the welcome notion at this point.

Guiltily, Rey glanced at his companion atop the sinking dresser drawer, Jason, and saw that he was being similarly affected by the growing height of the frigid water. Jason was even less well clad against the merciless liquid onslaught, protected by nothing more than a pair of jogging shorts and a near translucent tank top already slick with sweat. Jason refused to look back even as he spoke aloud, his arms crossed and his eyes shadowed.

“So,” he began with an edge to his voice that made Rey wince. “Let me get this straight. I go out jogging.”

“Right.”

“Couldn't have been gone more than thirty minutes, right?”

“Forty-five,” mumbled Rey.

“Shut up,” Jason snapped without looking. “And in that time, you somehow managed to flood the entire house with water from the bathtub and strand us on our dresser. Am I getting that right?”

“Um,” offered Rey slow and sheepishly. “Yes.”

Jason breathed deeply before speaking again. “And how did you managed that again?”

“Hahah, well, erm... it's sort of a funny story.”

“It will only be funny if you drown at the end.”

“But... wouldn't you drown too then?”

“No. You'll drown first. I'll make sure of that.”

“Oh.” Rey paled, but carried on. “Well, you see, I was gonna run myself a bath because thinking about you running around and exercising and stuff always makes me sweaty and-”

“You're pathetic.”

“- that messes with my body oils, you know? So I had to either take a bath or rub myself down and all of our hand towels are still dirty from that spaghetti sauce incident last week, so-”

“You didn't wash them? Oh God, I used one to wipe my face yesterday!”

“- I started running the bath and it was taking a while, so I ended up falling asleep and sorta let the water run over and that's why we're stuck on the dresser to shelter ourselves from a flood of freezing faucet water.”

“You fell asleep?” asked Jason, finally looking Rey in the eye with a glare. “How could you not feel the water overflow then?”

“What?” Rey wrinkled his nose. “I wasn't actually in the tub.”

“You weren't in the- wait. What?”

“Yeah, I dozed off on the couch, not in the tub.” Rey snorted and rolled his eyes spitefully. “Who falls asleep in the tub? That's just weird.”

Jason sucked in air shakily before pinching his brow and motioning for Rey to quiet down with a wave of his hand. “Okay, first of all: screw you. You know damn well that I enjoy my lukewarm naps after work! And two: what kind of idiot leave a tub running to go sit down for a snooze?”

Rey threw his arms wide. “I was tired! I had spent all day watching you run on the treadmill. That stuff looks exhausting, man...”

“You know you don't have to watch me work out, right? I was in the next room over!”

“Yeah, but the door is right next to the TV and you know about my condition. I get distracted easily.”

“Ugh,” moaned Jason as he dragged a palm over his face. “Okay. Whatever. I get the water. It's from the tub. That's reasonable. Kinda. But tell me this: where the hell did the shark come from?”

“...”

A seven-foot mako shark circled the pair like a sleek gray torpedo, its hooked dorsal fin carving through the water in lazy orbit of the bobbing dresser. Half the time, its perfectly round eyes seemed set dead ahead, the other half they looked to be trained on the sole two residents of the U.S.S. Underwear Drawer.

Rey shrugged helplessly. “I don't know.”

“Hmh,” snorted Jason as he rubbed one of his eyes- or rather, the starch white pair of underpants that was wrapped around his eye like a bandanna. “Smug little bastard.”

A crescent-shaped caudal fin slapped the dresser hard, making its occupants yelp and grasp each other.

“Uh, it's not so little, Jase,” murmured Rey as he untangled himself from Jason's arms.

When the shark had first appeared during Jason's mad attempt to undo the biblical plight that Rey had wrought upon their shared home, its curved fin roaring down the hallway like a scythe, it had managed to strike a glancing blow to the front of Jason's head as they scrambled atop the dresser. Face marked by an ugly black eye and a bleeding eyebrow, Jason had resorted to bandaging his head with clothes from the only drawer they could reach without risking the cheeky fish taking a few snaps at them- the underwear drawer.

Looking as noble as he could sporting a pair of stained tighty whities as a bloodied hat, Jason estimated how far the shark was off the (now completely ruined!) wooden flooring. Its belly had scraped the oak paneling before. Now it had a good four to five feet of empty water beneath its belly.

Jason gulped. The water was getting higher.

BUMP.

“Whoah!”

And the shark knew it too, thought Jason to himself bitterly as he glared down at the fish. It was looking back up at him. Jason made his best sneer for it. Cheeky bastard.

“I don't get it,” leered Jason, scratching his scalp and sending a few hairs into the icy water below, where they floated peacefully for a few moments, like the dark slivers of a ship's hull, before being swept aside by the tip of a slate fin. “Shouldn't all this water be, like, dispersing through the walls or something?”

“What?”

“Yeah! It shouldn't be bunched up in the room like this. I mean, it can't! This is impossible. Don't you remember learning about osmosis in biology?”

“Uh,” trailed Rey. “I remember watching that movie with the cop amoeba and the talking cold pill.”

Jason slapped a numb mitt across his face and sighed into his hand, cooling the freezing flesh with the heat of his breath. “Remind me again why I decided to share this house with you?”

“Because Meemaw made us promise to always watch out for each other.”

Jason sighed again. “Right. That. Damn that woman and her heart of gold.”

Rey bobbed his head in agreement. “She could turn thugs into saints and then make regular saints look like slackers compared to the thug-saints. She was the greatest.”

“She always liked you best.”

“That's because I told her about all the girls you snuck over while she was asleep.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” mumbled Rey. “But about that Moses thing.”

“Osmosis.”

“Right. Well, that's because I waterproofed the whole house.”

“You... I... what?”

“Yeah,” replied Rey, rolling his eyes to the side in recollection and rubbing his scraggly chin. “That weekend where you worked straight through 'til Monday so that you could buy that car to impress girls-”

“No, shut up! That was about the gas mileage and nothing else. It had good gas mileage, okay?”

“- this sales guy came by and offered to have our entire house waterproofed- walls, roof, everything. I remembered how this street always floods when a water main busts so-”

“That happen once and it was because you decided it would be fun to have a moat and dug until you hit the water pipe.”

“- I told him, 'Okay!' and then paid for it with our emergency fund.”

“Rey,” Jason deadpanned. “That is the most idiotic thing I have ever- wait, our emergency fund? We don't have an emergency fund, you moron. We barely make enough to paid for this place. And I make most of it, mooch.”

“What? You know, our emergency fund- that wad of cash you keep beneath your mattress.”

“...”

“Jase?”

“... bastard! That was my life's saving!”

“And you kept it under your bed? What about in a bank?”

“You know I don't trust those scaly inhumanoids! They steal money and eat Christian babies!”

“Oh. Well, then thanks for waterproofing out house, I guess.”

“I'll kill you! That was everything I had! Everything!”

“No! Wait! Remember what Meemaw said! Remember your promise! Aauuurrgh!”

-

It was five minutes before Rey managed to pry Jason's hands off his throat and scoot to the furthest edge of the dresser he could manage without taking the plunge and facing the fish- a distance of approximately seven additional inches from Jason's murderous meat gloves. It was another thirty minutes before the two spoke aloud again, and that was only because the shark had apparently grown bored with the silence and decided to intervene in the only way it knew how.

WHAM!

Rey and Jason wheeled as the dresser rocked precariously, teetering back and forth through the frigid flood waters that filled their home. As each steadied themselves, their gazes met and they looked down jointly at the water to see the mako staring back up steelily with one black eye.

Rey spoke first, clearing his throat awkwardly before starting.

“... it tapped the glass again.”

Since the very start of its inexplicable presence inside their flooded home, the fish had taken to slapping its pointed head against the dresser and rocking its occupants violently. As they scrambled to stay afloat, it would hover in the water, tail idling for just a moment, so that it could watching them with a single doll like eye. While Jason realized that sharks had no true brow, he couldn't help but feel as if that watching eye was hooded each time he caught sight of it; as if the lid just couldn't stay raised in the perpetual state of amused scorn that the predator seemed to exude. It was like the fish was only checking to see if they were still alive and was severely disappointed every time they proved to be.

Jason hated it. He hated that shark. He had never come across a fish with more attitude, and he had one had a goldfish play dead and wait three weeks before coming back up the toilet with a vengeance (boy, that had been a hard one to explain to the proctologist).

Being the budding ironist that he was, Jason had immediately come to call the action “tapping the glass.”

Jason glared at Rey before answered. “No shit, genius. It's been doing that every thirty-seven minutes on the dot.”

“You've been counting?”

“Shut up. Yes.”

“Oh.” Rey wrinkled his nose and tried to think of something else to say, but he was interrupted when the top of his skull struck something hard. He winced and glanced up, only to pale and grab at Jason's top.

“What!” snapped Jason as he slapped Rey's hand away.

“Look up.”

Jason sneered. “Huh? Why should I look- ow! Oh! Oh God! My eye! My eye hit the ceiling! My cornea scraped right against the goddamn ry wall! Jesus!”

“Oh, jeez. Are you okay?”

“No! Half my eye is next to the light fixture! And we're about to drown! Or get eaten by a shark!” Jason seized Rey by the shirt and began shaking him. “Whichever comes first! And it's your fault! All your fault!”

Rey struggled with his housemate. “Jase, stop!”

Jason screamed in frustration before letting go and crumpled into a small heap. He curled up and closed his eyes tight. “Okay. Okay, I'm done. I'm shutting down now. It was nice to know you, Rey.”

“... wow, Jase, that's actually really nice of you to sa-”

“I mean, I actually hate you and wish I had never met you, but... hey! Speak no ill of the dead, right?”

Rey sniveled. “We're not dead.”

“We will be soon enough, Rey. And if we happen to wake up in the same afterlife, I'll be making a request to the upper administration to have you transferred to the other place. Several, in fact. And if that doesn't work, then I'll go to the other place myself. Anything as long as I don't get stuck sharing a place with the moron who got me killed in a domestic shark attack.”

“Jase, that was... that was the single most crushing thing I've ever heard. From anyone. Even my dad.”

Jason mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “good.”

Rey sniffed and shuffled his lanky legs around, trying to keep them out of the water that was slowly creeping across the surface of the dresser top, soaking into the mahogany and beginning the ruin of the piece. Rey pressed his folded legs hard into his chest and rested his chin between them, blinking tiredly and few times and considering how nice a nap would be at that moment, but something bobbing in the water caught his eye.

Craning his head up, Rey pursed his lips and slapped Jason on the shoulder. Jason flailed angrily with a muffled yell.

“What now? Can't you let me die in peace!”

“Jase, look.”

Begrudgingly, Jason flopped upright and followed Rey's raised finger. At the ivory tip of the pale, bony digit, a nightstand floated across the living room, scrapping against the wall and making the shiny silver toaster that dominated its surface shake and quiver. Behind it, a brilliant orange extension cord wavered like a tail.

Jason leapt up excitedly... but cracked his head against the ceiling and collapsed back onto the wet surface of the dresser with a coughing moan. After two solid minutes of cursing and growling and other thing that would generally would have made Meemaw aghast, he raised back up- carefully this time- and slapped his hand across Rey's chest. The taller adolescent flinched away as if he had been swatted at by a bear.

“Rey! Why is there a toaster on your night stand?”

“Bed toast. I get hungry late at night sometimes. There's two loafs of white and one loaf wheat under my pillow.”

“And that cord runs all the way to the kitchen?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know what this mean?”

“Dresser toast? Because I have a loaf of sourdough stashed-”

“No! Shut up! It means that if we knock that thing in the water, we can fry the moody guppy!”

“...”

“The shark!”

“Oh.” Rey screwed up his face. “And we won't get fried?”

Jason laughed maniacally. “No! Of course not, we're floating on a hunk of wood! We got an insulated boat! Just tuck in and suck in, buddy! We'll be fine! He won't!”

Rey still looked unsure, but nodded anyway. “Okay. How do we knock it in?”

Jason balled his fists against his head for a moment, thinking, then snapped his fingers and scrambled towards the edge of the dresser. Quickly and quietly as he could, Jason dunked both hands into the water, jerked open the upper drawer of the dresser, and then clawed through it frantically.

Before the fish could begin to investigate, Jason threw himself back towards the center of the dresser clutching a mass of balled up socks. The cold water stung his hands, but at least the heavier, water soaked socks would be better for chucking at the toaster. Better for throwing.

Jason shoved half the ammunition towards Rey before snatching a sock out of his own pile and cocking back his arm.

“Let loose, bro!”

A barrage of socks bounced off of the bobbing nightstand. Most glanced off and splashed into the water, attracting the attention of the mako, who glided towards the other piece of furniture with a flick of its tail, but a few flew true and struck the toaster, pushing it back towards the edge of the nightstand and the watery fish trap waiting below. With each wet plop! of damp wool onto smooth metal, Jason cheered and redoubled his efforts, but it was Rey, who threw far less energetically, that finally struck the definitive blow.

With a final moist pling!, the toaster began teetering on the very razor edge of the nightstand and gained the notice of the shark, who steered its gray torpedo head towards the wavering silver object with interest flaring in its ragged gills. The toaster slowly tilted towards the water, then...

Sploosh!

It fell in! Practically landing on the shark's snout and sending it darting away with alarm. And-!

And-!

Nothing else happened.

“...”

Jason was eerily quiet for a long time. Beginning to worry, Rey placed a hand on his shoulder. Jason didn't respond at first, but then slowly rotated his head to lock eyes with him, like an owl. With glossy orbs, he looked back at Rey unseeingly and licked his lips a few times before speaking. “Um... you know, it just occurred to me that the other end of the cord is already underwater and must have burned out hours ago. We just dunked a dead cord.”

Rey nodded sympathetically and let Jason lean into his chest as he barked out husky curses and insults, most of them directed at him. “I know, buddy,” he cooed as he patted Jason's back. “I know you hate me and want me to drown first. I know that. It's okay. I'm here- right here for you to drown.”

“... thanks, bro.”

“Welcome, bro.”

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

Both shot up straight as the sound echoed quietly through the house, traveling from water to air.

Jason's jaw went slack.“Did you-?”

KNOCK KNOCK.

Jason pushed Rey away and pressed his ear to the dresser's surface, listening to what the water had to say.

KNOCK KNOCK. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

Jason cackled. “Someone is at the door! Someone is at the door! Help is here!”

Rey grinned and wrapped an arm around his housemate. Both laughed and smiled and pushed each other happily. “Yeah! Now you won't have to dunk me underwater until I don't come up anymore! We both win!”

“Hahah! I don't know about that! I may still have to do it! Haha!”

“Yeah, isn't it- wait, what did you say?”

Ignoring him, Jason pressed his ear back against the dresser, trying to figure out a way to return the message without physically swimming to the door and risking a fight with the fish, but this time a different sound assaulted his ears canals- the metallic rattling of a doorknob.

The mako made a loop and rocketed towards the sharp new noise.

“No!”

The door opened and 30,000 cubic feet's worth of cold bath water, two twenty-something-year-olds, and one sassy cartilaginous fish came roaring from the ruined home like a scene from the Old Testament.

Rey and Jason shrieked as they were thrown into the frigid water with the shark and then sucked towards the door, both spinning and crashing into each other- and the shark on more than one occasion. Jason was certain that he ended up atop the damn fish more than once during the ride, although he would never admit to having the cursed animal between his legs no matter who asked. The shark, sleeker and faster than them in its element, was pulled ahead, shooting through the doorway like a lead bullet. Rey and Jason, colliding and smashing their skulls together like feuding musk oxen, followed with an intertwined pair of girlish squeals.

The entangled twosome crashed into the small lawn they kept in admittedly poor condition, something for which they were quite thankful for now, because the overgrown grass (Rey was supposed to have mowed last week) softened the landing as they were sent tumbling across the yard, kicking up mud and turf like a tire with too little tread.

Groaning, the pair unraveled themselves. Jason, who had come out on top during the flurry of motion, staggered to his feet and scanned the yard (and pulled the underwear from his head before anyone saw). Rey was planted face first into the drenched earth, mud bubbling up on either side of his messy mane of hair as he struggled to breath.

Jason shrugged and resumed his vigil. He would be fine. Maybe.

Water stretched from their doorway to the house on the end of the street, a distance of several blocks. Several gardens had been wiped out by the surge and he could already spot two pets in the wrong yard. Jason's shoulders slumped glumly. He was going to owe so many people money because of this mess. The shark flopped helplessly a few yards away, little but a puddle left for it to soak in. That made Jason grin, although his smile dropped when he saw that there was a fourth body sprawled at the end of their driveway.

“Gerald!”

“Uoorgh,” moaned the person who had assumably come knocking and opened the door- their neighbor and closest friend, Gerald Wheating. “Are- augh! Er! Are you two alright? W-was your house filled with water?”

“Yeah,” answered Rey as he picked himself up, wiping mud from his face and wringing out his shirt.

“It's a long story, so don't ask,” added Jason. “Not until we get this mess cleaned up at least.”

“Oh. Er, alright. But I do have to ask if you two knew about- oh!” Gerald had spotted the mako in its puddle. “I guess you two do already know. Good job! This will save those clowns a lot of work!”

Rey and Jason blinked in unison.

“... excuse us?”

“You found their shark!”

“... their shark? The clowns? We found the clowns' shark”

“Yeah! You found the clowns' shark! The circus shark!”

“...”

Gerald twisted his head at the pair of them. “You really didn't know? Wow, it's been all over the news! The clowns have been handing out fliers and everything! The famous French circus Aquaous is here and they lost their shark! It escaped into the sewer lines. I guess it must have been hiding out here somehow. In, uh... in your house. Which was flooded.” Gerald scratched his head. “Are you sure I can't ask about that now?”

“Yes,” snipped Jason. “Now explain to me what exactly a 'circus shark' does, huh?”

Rey clasped his hands together with eyes wide and bright like a child's. “Tell me it jumps through hoops.”

“Are you kidding me?” Jason stared at Rey. “That thing had us pinned down for half the day and now you want to know if it hops through a few dumb rings for a mackerel? Which side are you on?”

Gerald laughed. “Hoops? Ha! Marques the Shark can do much more than that! He's world famous! I'm shocked you guys have never heard of him. He once toured with Shamu. Marques jumps through hoops, he does high dives, he swims around obstacles blind, he does card tricks and a hilarious stand up routine about what they feed him, he can perform crude graph analyses in Excel and OpenOffice, and he can even pick locks and latches! That's how he escaped. And I guess that must be how he got into you guys' house too.”

Jason sputtered in rage. “I... wha- no! What? Auurgh!”

“But his most popular act is the chainsaw juggle of course!”

“What? No!”

“Uh, guys.” They turned. Rey stood over a dark trail of water, mud, and shredded grass that led to the utility shed. The padlock lay undone on the ground and the doors were swinging wide open. A hungry revving sound rolled out, like the stomach of a famished mountain beast. Three pairs of eyes bugged out fearfully.

RRRRRRRRZZZZZZZ-RRZZZZZ-RRRRRRRRZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ! RRRZZZZZZZZ!

“What? What! No! No!”

“Aaugh! Aaurgh!”

“Oh no, just like with the spaghetti!”

RRRRZZZZZZ-RRRRRZZZZZZZZZ! RRRRRRZZZZZZZZZZZ! RRRRRRRRZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!

“... you know what guys?”

“AAAAAAAAH! AAAAHAAAHAAAAH, NO! NO!”

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ! RRRRRRRZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!

“I hate to say this, but... today has been pretty awful, huh?”

“AAAAUUUUUUUURRGH!”

RRRRRRRRRRZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!

Rey sighed. “Yep. Pretty darn bad. Those poor clowns are probably never gonna get their shark back.”


FIN

BEHOLD MY SILLINESS.

[Demon Lord Gira]

Captain Wataru’s Last Stand

Hell... the molten core of the Underworld was filled with hellfire and brimstone. Over the countless millennium since its origins, it had developed into something of a lake of molten magma that stretched from one horizon to the next. Here, small islands dotted the Hellian Sea, these being the sole places of habitation. Fiery plumes billowed up from the depths and spiraled upward toward the ceiling, splashing off against the hardened rock. This was a dangerous place to live, a place fit only for the nastiest and evil of demons... but there was one soul to lived here that laughed at them. One soul who mocked the demons and wished to conquer this realm of destruction and Nether... One soul whose name would be engraved on the walls of fame, for doing what few men would dare do.

Pirate King Wataru.

The dreaded Pirate King laughed as his ship, the SS Guppy , sailed across the sea of lava. He was a large fearsome man, with a pair of wooden legs where his old legs had once been. On his shoulder was a large green parrot, eyes glazed over and looking erratically in each direction. One hand was replaced with a hook, sharp and curved at the end, and the other held a gun in its hand. A dark cloak flowed over his body, and a golden tooth shown in his smile. The Pirate King strode forward, the wooden leg cracking under his frame. Behind him, was a vast array of ships, dozens strong, controlled by the undead spirits and skeletons of pirate lords of ages past. Wataru looked back and grinned. Getting them under his control had been the easy part. When he had ended up here in Hell, he had managed to slip past the Soul Reapers and broken into the prisons of all those pirate souls. Yes, a few had tried to take him down, but with him being such a mighty pirate, he had beaten them into submission. Even as a ghost having dragged his body with him to the afterlife, he was supreme, and now sailed the seas of Hell, looting and pirating DVD’s as he could, for that was what he did in life, and even in death, that wouldn’t stop him.

But today was different. The great pirate strode back and forth across the deck, his skeletal subordinates daring not to look at the burning beard of the mighty man. “Damn it all! My DVD collection, robbed from me from under my own nose. I thought I made it simple, to keep watch over the shed back in the Pirate Ghost yard at all costs. Yet you scurvy land dogs let some fool slip past you and take it all! I should have you hanged for that!” Wataru snarled as he glared from one pirate skeleton to another, causing them to shake in terror. He looked down at the yellow note he had in his hand and squinted his eyes. “If you want your DVD collection back, travel to the Dark Spires. I will wait for you there. Bring everyone you can, for I won’t go easy on you. Signed, The Red Dullahan” Captain Wataru crumpled up the paper and threw it into the molten lava offshore. “That fool will pay for messing with my DVD collection, and you skeleton crew will get a chance to redeem yourselves in my eyes. Hell, I’ll even give you all DVD’s to watch and own if you aid me in this conquest. This ain’t some minor trivial thing... this is a livelihood at stake!” The old pirate shouted, raising his hooked hand up into the sky. At this, the skeletal crew cheered, but there was no noise from them, due to the lack of vocal cords. Wataru ignored the silent crew and turned back toward the bow of the ship. Sure enough, there were the Dark Spires up ahead, twin peaks of hardened basalt jetting up from the lava, and beyond there, land. The Pirate King now stood silent, as his armada of ships sailed between the two spires. It was a trap, that much he knew… but the latest haul he had gotten straight from the Palace of Shadows, the very capital building of Hell itself, was among that stolen from him, and he wasn’t going to let any mere thief reclaim what he had rightfully yanked away!

“Hey, old fart! Looking for something?” A female voice shouted past the spires. Wheeling around on his peg legs, Wataru turned to see 3 figures standing on a ledge of the right spire. One of them was a tall, muscular Cyclops, tusks twisting out of his mouth and large enough to make any modern day basketball team want him in. He had short black hair, and wore what seemed to be caveman-style rags and animal hides. In his right hand was a club as large as he was, adorned with spikes and made of the same rock as the spire he was on. Beside him was a woman, a foot shorter than he was, and much more human looking, though the long dagger-like claws, furry pointed ears, and animalistic eyes alerted him to the fact this wasn’t a human, but a werewolf. Her hair, white a snow, flowed down past her shoulders, matching perfectly with the white and black suit she had on, and contrasting with her blood red claws and eyes. But was the third figure, on a ledge above the two that caught his attention, and had been the one to shout down to him. It was a girl, half the height of the werewolf, with short yellow hair and a red cape on. She strode upon a pale dark horse, one with a dark, ominous miasma billowing from its maw, and a slightly exaggerated grin spreading across its face. In one hand of the girl, was a human spine lit aflame, and the other held the reins of the demon horse. “You are too late, Wataru! The DVD’s we’ve stolen back from you are already back at the Palace of Shadows, being returned to their former owners.” The horse rider shouted, her eyes locked onto Wataru’s own. “There is nowhere left for you to run. You are your skeleton crew are going down, as we 3 of Persephone’s Elite Guard will not allow your treachery of Hell to continue!”

Her speech was met back with raunchy laughter from the old pirate. “Go ahead, little girl. Try to take me on if you wish! I don’t care how powerful ye are, for I have an entire army at my command, and no one takes what I take from others! Blow their mongrel hides apart!” The pirate lord boomed, aiming his hook at the 3 figures. No sooner had he done this, than the sounds of cannon fire bombarded his ears, and the spire was blasted apart by a unified firing of cannons. Large chunks of basalt and gunpowder splashed down into the sea of lava, but any hope of the 3 demons being slain was cut short when the horseman erupted from the smoke and landed right in front of Wataru. The figure chuckled, and to the pirates surprise, the head floated right off, poisonous miasma billowing from the base of the neck as the eyes of the floating head glowed and laughed at him. Wataru fired the gun he had, but the horse shuffled to the side, bypassing the shot as the figure ontop of it wrapped the human spine in her grasp around Wataru’s neck, then dashed off across the ship, yanking the undead pirate off his feet and dragging the snarling old man across his own ship, the fires on the whip racing down and scorching his already strangled neck.

Meanwhile, the other two Elite Guards were on a different ship, and tearing down Wataru’s impressive army. The giant Cyclops swung his club into several skeletons, smashing them apart and sending their remains flying into the lava below. Several leapt upon his back, and began to stab away at him, but the giant leapt off his feet and crashed back-first into the ship, causing the tampered metal vessel to bob slightly in the lava, while also crushing all the skeletons on him. He rolled to his feet, and blocked a sword from a giant skeleton as large as he was. The massive curved blade dug into the basalt club, and the skeleton pirate kicked the Cyclops in the gut, sending him sprawling backward. The skeleton lunged forward, ready to bisect the downed Cyclops, when a blur smashed right through it, shattering the giant skeleton into pieces. The Cyclops looked up to see his werewolf partner standing on the pile of bones, a large grin on her furry face. “You’re losing your touch, Proteus. Is old age finally getting to you?” She laughed, before twisting around and slicing the very air behind her. The movement caused the very air to be flung like sinister blades, slicing through the horde of skeletons that had tried to sneak up on her.

Proteus shook his head. “Lapetus, you’re a fool if you think I’m becoming unfit for this job. I’m only going easy on these skeletons, and I call tell you are as well” The Cyclops grumbled, standing up. “Whoever ends up with the least skeleton kills has to treat us all to pizza, and at this rate it looks like Minos will be the one treating, unless Charybdis doesn’t show up!” He shouted as he leapt into another group of pirates, bowling them over. Lapetus , trying her best not to laugh, turned and leapt onto another boat, her razor-sharp claws slicing through skeletons like swiss cheese…

Meanwhile, Wataru was getting sick of being dragged around like an abused doll. The pirate king latched his hook onto the spine around his neck, and yanked hard. This abrupt movement caused Minos to be flung off her horse and onto the steel floor of the ship. The Dullahan tried to rise, but was greeted by a kick to the stomach by a peg leg, causing her to double over. Wataru grinned like a madman as he dislodged the hook from the spine, shaking it off his neck, then swung the hook at the headless body. The body was caught in the side, blood leaking from the wound as it was flung into the side of the ship. Wataru moved in for the kill, but a blur of movement caught his attention. He twisted around, and his hooked hand impaled right into the flying head that had been sneaking up on, the tip puncturing right through the top of the head. “OUCH! That’s no way to treat a lady, you jerk!” The impaled head whined, as the body stood up and prepared to charge at the pirate…

Only to stop when Wataru pointed his gun right at the head. “Too bad, All’s fair in war and I aim to win.” The pirate boasted, before shouting out, “ATTENTION ALL FIGHTERS! CEASE COMBAT AT ONCE!” This caused everyone fighting, including the other two Elite Guards, to stop and turn, and for those two especially to have their eyes widen as they saw the scene. “Neither of you two make a move, or else this head here will become a Blu-Ray player! You have lost, and I’ve won! In life, I may have only been the distributor of pirated media players, but now in the afterlife, I, Captain Wataru, am not only stealing DVD’s and Blu-Ray disks, but now the entire Underworld will be mine to command. You and all other demons will become servant to me and me alone! Now, you two and the body get off my ships, and I will spare you and continue my conquest!”

To his surprise, the werewolf, body, and Cyclops seemed to grin, then leap off his ships onto the other dark spire. The pirate king was about to laugh, when he noticed his crew, all the skeletons still standing, gasping as they looked at him, or rather, behind him. They had no eyes, and no facial muscles, but he could tell they were looking at something in pure horror. The pirate turned around, grumbling, “What on earth are you land lubbers gasping a- GREAT MOTHER OF STUCKEY!”

Before him, and before his entire fleet of sleet-clad vessels, was a giant rising mound of molten lava, rising well over the masts of his SS Guppy. The mount swelled and rose, towering over several hundred feet, before it finally erupted, sending molten magma surging down onto the fleet before. Wataru had no chance to scream in terror as his ship was flung like a ragdoll as a wave of magma splashed into it, sending him flying off his ship. The head on his hook was dislodged, and he smashed onto a ledge of the dark spire, his body aching and groaning from the hit. He weakly looked over the edge of the ledge, and saw a vortex, a whirlpool in the sea of lava opening up and swallowing down his entire fleet. The ships and skeleton crew tried to escape, but they were helpless as the hungry entity swallowed each vessel down. Before the last of the ships sank, Wataru’s body gave in, and he collapsed where he was…

_______________

Wataru’s eyes snapped open. The pirate lord was awake, but as he tried to get up, he found his arms bound in chains, and a gag in his mouth. He tried to spit it out, but he couldn’t. He was stuck lying on the steel floor of his own ship, pinned there by the demon horse sitting on him. He could barely breath, and it was a horrible position for him to be in. His entire fleet, ruined, his ship now hijacked by his enemies, and his collection of DVD’s robbed from him. Tom Servo would be laughing at him if he knew what was going on. Nevermind the fact his old bird was also tied up as well beside him.

“That was a fun assignment we had going. I can’t believe we actually took him down that fast.” The voice of the Dullahan, Minos, reached his hears. He tried to turn to face the direction of the voice, but when he tried to, what he got was her rear in his face as the girl sat down on his head by her horse. Minos flipped her yellow hair as she felt the hole in the side of her head. “Can’t believe he got me like that, though.”

“You got careless, so he nailed you good.” Proteus laughed, looking down at the little girl seated on the head of the suffocating Pirate King. “I think I killed around 40 skeletons back there. You got none, Lapetus got 65…”

“And I got all the rest of them!” A new voice shouted. Rising up from the side of the ship was a gigantic mermaid with long crimson hair and blue robes covering her down to her pair of hind leg flippers. Just her pinky fingernail was twice as tall as the 8ft Proteus, and a pair of ear gills stuck out from the sides of her head. Lava dripped down her body, but she didn’t seem to care as she looked down at her much smaller partners. “Sorry I was late to the party, but Scylla wanted to play another round of Tic Tac Toe with me. Did I miss anything special?”

Minos let out a weak chuckle. “Just me being battered around by an old fart, Charybdis.”

Charybdis frowned. “That’s never fun to have happen. Losing to an old smelly pirate like that is an insult. Your better than that. You’re the captain of the guard, for Persephone’s sake!”

Lapetus shook her head. “Well, let’s get that behind us now. We put an end to the DVD stealing, and we got the stupid pirate himself. All we have to do is take him back to the Palace of Shadows to be punished, and then, its Minos treating us all to pizza!” She said with a low whistle, her clawed hands tapping against the steel railing of the ship.

“ALRIGHT! I LOVE PIZZA!” Charybdis shouted, fist pumping the air. “Yet another win for the Elite Guard!” With that, the gigantic mermaid sunk back beneath the molten surface, and the SS Guppy continued on toward the giant black palace off in the distance, carrying its former master to his final destination..

[HayesAJones]

SCUM LIKE ME
A Tale of Pestilence

With great hollow booms! like metal thunder, an old oil tanker left abandoned and uncared for at the docks of TK Ville slammed against bare wood, the tires that once caught and dulled the collision of hull and dock long since shredded into nothing. The orphaned ship bobbed lifelessly in the water like the carcass of a metal whale, no one making the effort to bother with it but the sea birds that sought out a lonely place to perch and the looters and thieves that reckoned it could be stripped and sold for some price. The old boat was in a state of permanent ruin, dead as a man shot down, but for its sheer size it had to offer enough material to turn a profit. Even enough shit was worth something.

Such were the thought of a trio of teenage thugs that stalked down the dimly lit dock like wary scavengers, their shaved heads ducked low and the shine of their flashlights bouncing off the piercings that skewered their faces. The tallest of the three, a hulking lad with a thin crest of red hair arching over his head and enough ringlets piercing his brow to make it seem like a silvery serpent was breaching the bushy brown sea of his eyebrow, turned with a silent snarl and shushed his companions as they stumbled on some discarded docking line. The other two, one smaller and thinner, one fatter, bowed their heads in deference, humbled many months ago by their leader's great size and quick capacity for violence. He was not someone to be trifle with even at less than twenty years of age. Or perhaps it actually was his youth made him so dangerous, removing the boundaries that maturity laid onto a person's actions, the wisdom of further years removing that deadly edge of unpredictability that let teenagers to cut so deep with fear when they wielded weapons as potent as the handgun tucked into the leader's waistband.

Even as he walked with a flashlight in one hand, he used to other to grope the weapon, running his fingers over its cold, steely surface like it was something alive and warm. He cooed to it under his breath; not loudly so that the others would hear, but just a whisper that could be shared between him and the icy barrel. Occasionally he would slip his finger around the trigger and put a little pressure on it; not enough to set the gun off and wound his own buttocks- because the safety was not, and never was, on- but just enough to fold it back gently and get the same rush.

A bullet lodged into living flesh- there was no greater thrill for the biggest of the three!

“Keep your heads low, fagots,” growled the big one, his voice deep beyond its years. “I ain't stayin' behind to help ya' if we get caught 'cause you can't keep yer skreeonk feet quiet. You're on yer own then, got it?”

“Right,” mumbled the fat one, his big brown cow eyes cast downward.

“Yeah, yeah, we got it,” piped the tall one, his sour hazel eyes cast down, then up, then to the side, because they were quick and fidgety as he was, never lagging or hovering in one place for more than a moment before whipping to the next spot of interest like erratic yellowed stones. It had been he who tripped first, his busy feet catching under a rope and not bothering to slow enough to untangle themselves before swinging forward again. He had purposely rammed his shoulder into his companion as he stumbled, making the fatter boy stagger as well. “It was fats-O, anyway. He tripped then dragged me with 'im, the big clumsy turd. If you're gonna be mad at anyone, be mad at him.”

“It was not! You were the one who tripped and then you hit me!”

“Shaddup! I don't care which of 'ya it was! I'll plug both yer asses if ya' do it again!”

“Right,” the smaller boys spilled again, one meaning it, the other saying what would sound best.

“Alright, whatever. We're here.” The biggest of the three stood with his toes dangling off the edge of the dock, the black doorway to the tanker bobbing in front of him with a four foot iron wall separating them. “Come on,” he growled in the same instance that he hopped over the barrier in one long stride and stepped through the doorway with the next.

“Later, fatty!” crowed the scrawny one as he pounced, hurling his thin form over the wall and into the shadows of the old door frame.

The big one's gravelly voice echoed from inside as the skinny one crashed across the floor, his slender limbs clattering like hollowed organ pipes. “I said no noise!”

There was a meaty thunk! and then the sound of a light body crumpling.

The fat one gulped.

The big one called from within again, his bark a quiet roar that exude immense fury with only a little sound. “Come on!”

Leaning forward and placing his hands on the edge of the wall- hissing as he cut himself on the jagged rust that coated it- the fat one hoisted himself over clumsily with a wheeze and then fell onto the floor silently as he could, padding his bottom with his feet as he sat down hard. Staggering upright and trying to to cry aloud, he stalked inside with legs stiff and pained from his awkward landing.

“Nice,” drawled the big one as he slashed his light across the dark interior of the ship. “Lot o' loot in here. Looks like nobody's touched it at all yet.” He chuckled, the sound like metal grating in the back of his throat. “More for us then.”

“But why has no one been in here?” The fat one asked in his muffled voice. “This boat's been here forever.”

“It's a ship, stupid!” snapped the skinny one. “It's big! Ships are the big ones!”

“Yeah, but it's still a boat.”

The scrawny boy jabbed a finger at his thicker companion. “You know what else is a boat? You! All that fat makes you float!”

The big one swung his beefy arm between the two of them, swatting the hoods from their heads and sending them sprawled across the the ground in fear. “Knock it off, you two! I don't care if this thing is a boat, a ship, or a skreeonk UFO, it's gonna be ours once we're done with it! We strip it bare and then sell anything we find to Big Bon Baron on Zil Heir Street. That crazy cat'll buy anything.”

“'Cept DJ equipment,” sneered the scrawny one. “I don't know what that guy's problem is.”

The big one laughed. “Who cares? He'll give us cash for every sort of junk except turntables and vinyls. And we hit the the jackpot with this place. Look at all this crap! It's the mother load!”

The fat one did not share his leader’s excitement. “Why though? Some of this stuff actually looks sorta valuable. And we can't be the first ones to come here with the same idea. So why would anyone leave this stuff here? I mean, I found a whole box full of necklaces over there.”

“What?” The big one whirled on his with greed in his gray eyes. “Where?”

Shoving his thick minion aside, the big one stomped into the corner that the fat one had jabbed a thumb towards and knocked over the tower of cardboard boxes there with an enormous mitt. A tangled mass of shiny chains clattered to the ground, gems sparkling in between the gold links like stars.

“Whoah! You see this, Twitch?”

The skinny one nodded rapidly, “Yeah, yeah! Boss, are those what I think they are?”

“skreeonk' yeah, they are! Diamonds! Real skreeonk' diamonds! Screw Big Bon Baron, we can sell these to anyone we want! We're rich, boys! We're skreeonk' rich!” The big one laughed frantically, his eyes wide and glossy with lust. The scrawny one laughed with him, cackling shrilly from his nose. The fat one chuckled softly to keep up looks, but his laughs came up shallow and fake from his chest.
“What are you doing with my sparklies?”

The trio went dead silent and whirled around, their lights hacking senselessly at the air in panic. The big one reached behind his back and squeezed the trigger of his gun, but did not draw it. Not yet.

A figure nearly as black as the shadows that filled the empty ship stood in the doorway of the room, obviously have come from somewhere deeper within the bowels of the tanker. His slim outline was hard to make out even with three beams of light raking him like yellow fireballs sent by a ghost or other malicious spirit. The only thing luminous about him was the long silver scythe blade that curved down from the slender staff he slumped on. His body was gaunt and twisted, like something baked in the heat of the sun. As he shambled forward, further into the glow of their lights, solid shavings of a hard black substance tumbled down from his crippled body, and the smell of blood and petroleum filled the room. All three teens wrinkled their noses in disgusts, and the foul figure took the opportunity to address them again.

“Well? Why are you here?”

The big one's indignation at being talked down to overcame his disgust, and he stepped forward boldly with a savage grin. “We're here to flip this place for a bundle, ya' freak, so clear out. We were here first.”

The figure's shadowed face- which appeared to be some sort of dark rubber mask with a shattered glass eye socket- tilted quizzically. “Flip it?”

“What? Ya' stupid or something? Strip it. Rummage around and sell what we find. Empty this shithole for every cents it's worth.” He raised his fist high, the necklaces flowing out from between his fingers like sun streaks. “And we're gonna get a lot o' cents for these here pretties.”

The hunched figure was silent for a moment, then began shuddering. The trio tensed, wondering if he was having some sort of fit that would peg them with a body. But instead of pained gaps, laughter tumbled out from the masked face of the stranger. “You want to sell them?” The slim outline cackled, his laugh chillingly thin. It was just a few tones too high. “Fine, fine. Take them. I thought you might want to do something worthwhile with my trophies, but if you're going to simply sell them...”

The masked stranger laughed again, his uneven shoulder bouncing.

“Trophies?” The big one bared his teeth at the masked figure. “You tellin' me that these major scores are yours and ya' ain't pawned them fer cash yet?” He spat hateful at the stranger's feet. “skreeonk' moron!”

The stranger chuckled, leaning onto his scythe with an uncomfortably wet crunch of flesh and bone. “I see that you are a man- if you can even be considered such at such a tender age- who values monetary gain over all else. How sad.”

“Cash makes the world go 'round, cap,” sniggered the thin one.

“Money is worthless,” rasped the stranger. “It is merely an intermediate we hold in place of what we really want- trophies. Things to display and to be proud of. To show to others to communicate our worth in this world. The world would keep on spinning if every bit of green were scorched from its surface. But so many people would collapse into nothing if their trophies were taken away.”

“If you think trophies are so important,” murmured the fat one. “Then why are you letting us take yours?”

The stranger turned his gaze towards the fattest boy, a single green eye staring out from under his mask. “Ah,” he wheezed, seemingly pleased. “A thinker. Perhaps there is hope for this one yet.”

Ignoring the fat one's violent wince, he continued. “I do not care because I do not have anyone to show them to anymore. A trophy without a viewer is just as worthless as money. They only take up space with just me here. Perhaps you would like more? They might as well be sent to someone who cares to show them off if neither you three nor I am going to display them properly.”

The big one, who had not been listening out of disinterest, suddenly snapped his head back towards the stranger. “You serious, man?”

The stranger nodded. “Grimly so.”

The big one's hand fell away from the gun. “skreeonk' A. Let's go then, load us up.”

The trio followed the stranger as he hobbled deeper into the gullet of the ship, his steps slow and weakened by the fragility of his body, but his movements steady and practiced. He had navigated these halls for nearly three decades. Even without the shine of the flashlights behind him, he could have made his way through the metal maze of doorways and corridors without a thought about it, its layout long ago burned into his memory.

“Here we are,” wheezed the stranger as he finally stepped into an illuminated room several decks below where the trio had entered the ship. A single dim light bulb flicked in the center of the space. The trio switched their flashlights off and tucked them into the band of their pants.

“Holy skreeonk,” stated the big one as he stepped inside first.

The room was like a slaughterhouse. Bare carcasses of what appeared to be pigs hung from enormous glinting hooks that dangled down from the jagged rim of the ruined ceiling like the teeth of Fenrir, the vast wolf of legend said to be destined to eat the sun and Odin, king of the Norse pantheon. Blood oozed across the floor like exposed veins, making it wet and sticky. The crimson stains gripped the feet of the trio stubbornly as they tried to walk, their steps becoming sudden and paused. Several of the naked pink corpses were so old that the blood stretched from them as dried stalagmites, scarlet teeth that hung down from them like foraged spears left in the open air to cool. Between the vile corpses, stacks of boxes sat like dotted towers, jewelry and watches twinkling from between the hollow layers like deep sea sediment.

Grinning, the big one slammed into a cardboard pillar and immediately began tearing through it. The skinny one stood behind him and caught what he threw out, while the fat one lingered by the doorway and paled, trying to hold down his lunch.

“Shit,” spoke the big one as he glanced at some of the jewelry his pawed through. “There's blood on most o' these.” He looked towards the stranger, who was leaned back in a ragged recliner with his scythe laying across his lap. His voice turned low and conspiratorial. “You kill people fer this loot?”

The masked figure was silent for a moment, running his hands- one of which, the big one suddenly realized, was nothing more than a long diseased claw- across the handle of his scythe. “Yes,” he finally answered in a strained voice. “ I did. Some were visitors here that overstayed their welcome. Others were those who I deemed to have become to big for themselves. Too.. intellectual. Aristocrats, you might have called them when they still lived. But they are all my trophies now. And the sparklies that you have there were what I, at one time or another, used to represent them after their... mortal remains had expired beyond repair.”

“No way.” The big one stood up, his crocodile like grin fixed on the stranger. “No skreeonk' way.”

“Boss,” the skinny one squealed. “It's him, isn't it?”

The big one nodded slowly. “yeah, I think. You're Pestilence, ain't ya'? You're the one they used to call, 'the Horseman.'”

The stranger chuckled quietly. “Yes, that is what they called me, isn't it?”

The big one clapped his hands together and laughed loud as he could. “skreeonk' no way! You are the Horseman! You're a bloody legend, man. You terrorized the Ville way before I was even alive. No one wasn't scared o' you! Not even that old pirate Wataru or the police commissioner who got busted for runnin' an illegal cigar circuit, and they both had serious brass ball bearings.”

“Ah,” Pestilence chirped in his strangled voice. “It has been a long time since I have had a guest you knew fully who I was. It is refreshing to be in informed company. The last was over thirty years ago. A lad called Caesar.” The masked stranger's eyes drifted towards a carcass that did not quite resemble a pig. “Although, it is not as if he did not leave... a part of himself behind. For my memory as well as... other things too.”

With a motion so fast that the trio almost could not follow it, Pestilence reached out with his scythe, cut a sliver from the strung up corpse, and then, balancing the slice of meat on the blunted arc of the blade, tossed it backwards into his mouth, which waited unmasked and watering for it. The big one and the thin one drew back in horror as he ground the piece of rotted flesh between his black teeth, shredded tissue and fluid dribbling down his chin as he chewed with his mouth still exposed. The fat one gagged loudly before ducking behind the doorway. There was a ragged retching sound, then the crash of thick fluid onto dry floor.

Through a mouthful of rotting, bleeding flesh, Pestilence spoke. “Would you like some?”

“Jesus, dude!” gasped the big one. He shielded his eyes and nose from the scene, although he did cast his curved glance at the dirtied scythe that Pestilence balanced between his knees. “So, man... that what you used to kill them people? Yer trophies or whatever.”

Swallowing, Pestilence regarded him with a flat stare. “No. This is merely a tool. A piece of farming equipment and nothing more. I am the the weapon, my young friend. I do the killing.”

“Right,” laughed the big one disbelievingly. He drew his gun. “Well, here's my tool then.”

Pestilence glared at the black-gray weapon with his poisonous eyes, disapproval blazing out of their sickly green glow. “Of course you would wield a gun. You are certainly the type.”

The big one laughed again, stroking the gun lovingly as he did. “What? Type? skreeonk, man! We're both the same type! I'm scum just like you.”

“Scum like me?” Pestilence questioned sternly through his mask. “Sorry, my young friend, but try again.”

“What'd you say?” growled the big one, angry now, his grip tightening around the weapon.

“You are nothing like me, little child. You still think pointless things like money and firearms are worth while. You have so much to learn before you can come close to being-” Pestilence sneered, his mask twisting with a rubbery squeal. “'Scum like me.'”

“Hey, careful, man!” The big one, his gray eyes angry and narrowed, leveled his gun with the masked head of Pestilence. “I'm the one with the weapon here, remember? Or do you still think that you're the weapon with a big honkin' .45 cal pointed at yer skreeonk' head?”

Pestilence was still for a moment, regarding the big one with a hot glare unsubdued by the cold metal barrel pointed towards his face. Then, with a flick of his wrist, his scythe flew upwards, but not towards the threatening teen. Instead, it crashed into the light bulb that hung between them.

The glowing glass orb shattered instantly and all went dark. The big one yelped in panic and pressed down on the trigger, but the scythe came down like a striking serpent and batted his gun to the side. The weapon fired, briefly illuminating a slender ebony claw. Then darkness dominated once more in the following second and a scream rang out.

It was cut short by a gurgle.

The skinny one and the fat one wheezed in fright together, both clambering for their flashlights. As they yanked the cylindrical plastic tunes out and flipped the switches, the battery-operated torches cast light on Pestilence standing tall with a bleeding lump of flesh in his right hand and his sole visible eye glowing poison green like toxic waste. Their leader, their boss- the big one – was sprawled at the masked figure's feet with a large portion of his neck missing, the empty crescent squirting blood and whistling weakly as the maimed teen tried to breathe through it.

“Are you sure you don't want any?” asked Pestilence conversationally. Then, with a smirk, he stuffed the bloody mass into his mouth and swallowed the whole thing without chewing.

With a pair of screams that were let loose without the fear of mockery or judgment, the skinny one and the fat one bolted in the opposite direction from the masked figure, stumbling over one another as the struggling out of the doorway.

Chuckling as he watched they flee, Pestilence hunkered down next to the big one. “Do you see now?” the masked one wheezed.

“This?” He held up his scythe, drawing it slowly across the big one's cooling cheek. The flesh was parted by the tip, but no blood trickled out. There was no blood to spare now that it drained freely from his throat. “Just a tool. Me. I am the weapon. Just like I said.”

The big one tried to rasp something, his open throat constricting with a wet squelch, but no sound came one. His eyes rolled in his head aimless and began to gloss over, the hard gray of them becoming a foggy silver. One final moan rose from his torn windpipe like an off key musical note as his chest rose for the last time.

Then he was still.

Pestilence chuckled and patted the side of his cold face. “You did see. I'm sure.”

Rising with a strained grunt, the masked one cast his eyes down the hall that the other two had scrambled down. “I suppose that I should hurry after them. But... I am sure that they will not get far.” He drew his deformed right hand across the edge of the door frame familiarly, like he was greeting a pet or old friend. “My ship will not let them escape. No on a dark night like this.”

Slowly, Pestilence began hobbling after them, following the echoes of footsteps and hollers.

[HayesAJones]

TO THE END
A Silverwing AU

In the children's animal fantasy novel Silverwing by author Kenneth Oppel, a runty Silverwing bat called Shade becomes separated from the rest of his colony during a viscous squall. After finding haven on an island, the newborn meets another young bat who is all alone- Marina, a Brightwing about a year older than him. Combining their wits, the two bright, independent young bats try to track down Shade's colony, but their path proves to be strewn with deadly enemies. Owls, who already have reason to be angry with Shade after he broke the law and looked at the sun, prompting them to burn down his colony's roost, believe that he has begun killing birds in retaliation and closed the skies to all bats. There are also rats, organized sewer dwellers that follow the orders of a vain, greedy king, a fanatic group of banded bat who believe they will one day ascend into humans, and, worst of all, two giant cannibal bats with voracious appetites- the cause of the owl's accusations.

The cannibals, who at first appeared as friends to Shade and Marina, plan to use them to locate Shade's colony and feast the whole winter long before the season's cold claims them. As inhabitants of the tropical south, they cannot exist long in the icy northern forest during winter. Fending off the giant southern bats several times using trickery and deceit, Shade and Marina are finally pursued into a great thunderhead. There, the runt and the banded Brightwing battle the two giants. In the end, the cannibals, who are also banded, are struck down by lightning, one disintegrated completely and one badly injured. The wounded cannibal, Goth, a wicked soul of equal cunning and strength, is revealed to have survived at the end of the novel, but does not appear again until the following book, where he is reunited with Shade first in a human building and later in his tropical homeland. This means that the vast majority of Shade's colony never see what a monstrous foe Goth is; this remains known to only Shade, Marina, and a select few other who are also brought to the jungle.

But what if instead of vanishing until the following book, Goth had no given up on his quest to find Shade's colony? What if instead he had endured the agony and tracked the Silverwing to his winter roost? What if Goth had found Shade's Hibernaculum and confronted the runty newborn there?

-

Goth's wings burned as he crawled across the craggy stone face that lie behind the waterfall. The fiery scars that laced his ruined wings flared angrily as he clawed his way up the rocky wall. The cold air and icy water, once poison to his tropical biology, now provided some relief, although his dark fur still spiked in distress as he squirmed upwards. It was intense, agonizing work to haul his heavy body against the pull gravity, but rage fueled the muscles of the giant southern cannibal. Rage against that runt, Shade, as well as his Brightwing companion. It bubbled in his veins like lava, turning to steam on his breath and pushing his tired limbs forward even as they screamed for him to stop. He hated them. He hated both of them! Goth snarled aloud just thinking about them. They were weak and tiny, barely more than half his size between them. And he was a prince of his species, ready to become king as soon as his father died. Yet they had bested him again and again, tricking him more times than could ever be allowed. They had deceived him, escaped him, drugged him, even lured him so close to his death that he had tasted the afterlife his god, the mighty Cama Zots, would provide and lost his only companion in this cursed northern land. It was more infuriating that anything the cannibal bat had experienced in his life. Two little bats making a fool of him so many times.

But that would soon be forgiven, because he would taste Shade's heart pushing down his throat soon enough. Even if this was not the location of Hibernaculum, he would find it eventually. And, if the words of the treacherous runt were true, all the Silverwings would be fast asleep- hibernating, Shade had called it. A slumber that carried on throughout the entire winter season. And it was well into winter. Goth could feel the cold in his bones. It was an awful, awful thing- cold. Cold didn't exist in his home. His home was warm all year round.

Goth shivered, snow flecks falling from his body. He would give almost anything to be there now, soaking in the hot rays of the sun. But the one thing he would not surrender is the pleasure of tearing Shade's heart out! The runty Silverwing had earned his wrath in a way that no other soul had managed to before. He was almost impressed with the runt. It took no small amount of gal to challenge him, and even more cunning to defeat him. It was a bit disappointing that the runt had not taken him up on his offer and joined him in his journey home. With that dangerous little brain in the strong, sleek body of a cannibal, Shade would have been quite the specimen.

Not as deadly a him of course, but close.

It was too bad though. Instead of ruling alongside him in the jungle, Shade would die many years before his time here, in this icy wasteland. If Goth recalled the runt's ramblings correctly, it had been a mishap during his very first migration- another alien habit to the southerner- that had fated the two of them to cross paths. He was only in his first year of life.

And now it would be his last because he had made an enemy of Goth.

Goth drew his flared, leaf shaped nostrils back in relish as the scent of Silverwings filled his snout. Slobber fell from his twin rows of fangs as he tasted them. The telling wind flowed out from a small circular opening a few feet above Goth's massive head. The cannibal grinned. That must be the opening to the roost. He had found it at last. Goth crawled eagerly towards it.

It was clever of the Silverwings, Goth had to admit, to hide their winter safe haven beneath a waterfall of all thing. The huge southern bat had honestly been puzzled when the trail ran cold at the foot of a vast sheet of tumbling water. But he could not be fooled long. He knew these northern bats and their tricks. He knew to expect the unexpected with them. So he had found a break in the liquid curtain, scrambled through, and then scaled the vertical wall of rock he found behind it. And his ploy had succeed, it seemed. He had found Hibernaculum.

Soon, he would feast on the heart of Shade Silverwing. It would be the best meal he had in ages.

As Goth pushed his burly form through the tiny hole, his black eyes were spectacle to a vast sea of Silverwing, all of them hanging from the ceiling like furry little stalactites. Gobsmacked by the furry field of flesh that coated the ceiling, Goth briefly wondered how he could possibly pick out Shade from among the legions of northern bats, but then dismissed the thought as idiotic.

He did not need to find Shade. He only needed to find Marina. Her bright body would stand out among the darker Silverwings. And where Marina was, Shade could not be far.

As he weaved sound across the Silverwings, gentle as not to wake them, searching for a burning spot of brightness, Goth noted that he owed many things to Marina. After all, it had been her that lead him here- or, rather, her band. The silver ring of human metal, which still glittered from between Goth's teeth, was the key in his discovering Hibernaculum. Ripping it from her wrist during the scuffle in the clouds, Goth had found the twisted ringlet of metal a few days after his grievous injury by the lightning bolt. Those couple of days had been agony. He was hurt, hungry, and lost in a cold alien land. Goth was still certain the only reason he had not perished was his intense hatred for Shade and the other little bat, another thing he supposed he owed them. But finding Marina's ring, tasting and smelling the blood that covered it, had given him what he needed to take action. It had been a long, tedious journey. Following a scattered trail of blood droplets, likely from Marina. Crawling, because the lightning strike had stolen the use of his wings. Killing and eating any creature unfortunate enough to cross his path. Racking his brain for everything Shade had told him of his colony's winter roosting site. A few times, it had seemed hopeless. But the lofty reward of vengeance and faith in Zots had kept him clawing forward, without a way of navigating the northern stars or any certain way to reach Hibernaculum even if he found it. It it were above the ground, he would have been stuck pacing its base, hate gnashing in his brain.

But, perhaps through luck, fate, or by Zots's favor, he had found and conquered Hibernaculum.

And now he would reap the rewards.

A hot speck of sound burned in Goth's mind's eye, a dab of brightness in an ocean of gray.

Marina.

And next to her, sleeping soundly near an older female he assumed to be his mother- Shade.

Struggling to contain a laugh of glee, Goth dug his claw into the craggy wall of the damp cave that was Hibernaculum and began climbing again. He was exhausted, his body ready to collapse, but he hardly minded when his prize was so close and beating gently in Shade's chest.

As he slunk between bundled groups of Silverwings, the sweet smell of bat began filling his chest and his houndlike jaws began watering. Goth's stomach voiced its protests and tried to tempt him into quickly killing and devouring a Silverwing or two, but the southerner silenced it with a low growl of his own. He knew which bat here he wanted. His victory would not be as delicious if he spoiled it with the meat of another.

As Goth approached where Shade and Marina hung, sleeping and unaware of him, terrible and wonderful images of carnage began dancing behind his eyes. He could practically hear the wet ripping of the runt's stringy flesh, feel the tough sinews of the scrawny bat stretch between his teeth. He heard Shade howling in pain as his chest was torn open, and then the stunned silence as the northern bat saw his own heart between Goth's fangs. The cannibal imagine Shade's horrified gaze as he swallowed the troublemaker's heart whole, feeling it squeeze still pumping down his throat. The prince among giants smacked his lips as if he could already taste the hot blood and pulsating tissues on his tongue.

Lost in his dark fantasies of torture and consumption, Goth grew careless and accidentally brushed against one of the sleeping Silverwings. The southern bat froze in horror as the Silverwing swayed, its rest disturbed. Goth turned his head towards the roosting bat with fangs bared. Had it been roused from its slumber? Would he need to silence this bat before it could cry out and alert the rest of his colony? Would his victory be spoiled?

The northern bat, a newborn like Shade from the looks of it, although quite a bit bigger and more impressive, with broader wings and silver-tipped fur, stirred for a tense moment, but quickly settled back into a senseless calm.

Goth let out a breath that he had been holding high in his throat. His lips curled. He would hate to have ruined the pleasure of eating Shade on his own terms. Brushing off his worries, but still moving with greater caution than before, Goth continued creeping towards Shade.

The heart of the massive, black-crested Vampyrum Spectrum began pumping faster as he drew close to his nemesis, excitement building in his chest. Goth's jaws stretched wide to reveal double rows of jagged incisors, but the giant bat paused mere inches before the target he so desired. His jaws hung open, but his large black eyes moved between Shade and his companions. Would it be a greater victory to kill either Marina or the older Silverwing first? Would Shade's beating heart be that more savory if it were in grieving? If he were to see either his closest friend or his mother killed before his eyes?

The brute considered it a moment, his drooling jaws hovering near one of Marina's petite seashell shaped ears, but he declined to make the lunge. His open jaws swung back towards Shade. If he were to kill one of the others first, Shade would use the opportunity to flee. That was just the kind of trickery that the runt favored.

A great, warm joy filling his cold body and rising behind his eyes like some sort of primal force, Goth stretched his jaws forward until they hung over the sleeping head of Shade Silvering. This was it.

He was going to eat Shade's heart.

“Shade! Look out!”

Something slammed into Goth from behind. It was not a crushingly heavy blow, but the surprise of it was enough to knock him loose from his hold on the rocky roof. The southern bat bellowed angrily as he was sent tumbling into open air. He just managed to catch himself, throwing out one claw with a deafening shout of his god's name. Twisting his head around, Goth saw that one of the Silverwings- the silver-furred newborn he had disturbed earlier- was hovering behind him with panic stricken across his face. The young Silverwing darted out of the way as he slashed at him with his free claw and gave another sharp cry to the runt.

“Shade! Shade, wake up!”

Shade Silverwing groaned, his small form shifting despite obvious protests otherwise. The runty northern bat groaned. “Chinook? Shut up, I'm trying to-” He gasped. “Goth!”

Goth turned and looked into Shade's wide eyes. He saw there, in those glossy, fear struck eyes, that the little bat was reliving a nightmare, waking from one terror surrounding him and directly into another. Shade had been dreaming of him, he saw it. The hound jaws and black crest that he saw reflected in the Silverwing's eye was the same image that the runt saw in the worst nightmares.

And it was a wonderful sight.

“Shade,” breathed Goth with relish. The runt's fear was exquisite. It made the big southern bat smile. “Did you miss me?”

Goth snapped his jaws at Shade with the intent to maim, but there was a sharp nip to the tip of his tail that made him bark in surprise. The stinging pain caused his jaws to slam shut just short of the runt's nose. Goth cast his eyes back in outrage. The newborn with the silver-tipped fur again. Snarling, Goth threw his scarred wing out. The huge black membrane of tough leather struck the Silverwing hard and both the little bat and the cannibal screamed. The northerner as he tumbled down, spiraling towards the ground out of control. Goth as his wing sang in pain, every vein that ran across it glowing white hot with agony. Shade shouted something after the other newborn, his voice joined by two others. When he turned to look, Goth saw that Marina and the older female were awake now. The Brightwing regarded him with a stare somewhere between utter hatred and complete panic. The elder Silverwing simply looked upon him as if he were a gargoyle come to life, something impossible and terrifying.

It was quite funny really.

“Shade, fly!” cried Marina. “Look at his wings, he can't hold himself up when they're burned like that! Fly and he can't reach you!”

“Right,” Shade nodded, his eyes still wide and glossy. Goth wondered if he still believed he was asleep. Suspecting that he was trapped in a fever dream perhaps.
Goth bellowed. “No!”

The southern cannibal pounced, scrambling over the rock fast as he could while the norther bats unfurled their wings. He tried to leap at Shade, but the older Silverwing struck first, spring onto him and jabbing at his open jaws with her hooked thumbs. Goth roared and snapped dangerously as his gums bled from the vicious clawing of an angry mother.

“Get away from him!” demanded the female. Her voice was too big for her body.

Goth's black eyes gleamed. Puffing out his chest, he threw the older Silverwing off of his bulky frame and pinned her beneath a single claw. “Gladly,” the cannibal growled before lifting his head and his voice as one.

“Shade!” Goth's voice rebounded off the walls of Hibernaculum like the bangs from the sticks that the humans sometimes carried. He could hear that some of the other Silverwings were awake and darting through the air. “Watch! Watch as your mother dies!”

“No!”

Goth cast a web of sound and expected to see a frighted runt offering to surrender himself, but instead was greeted by the growing shape of a furious son. Shade slammed into him hard as he could muster, tossing every bit of his scant weight at the cannibal. The blow merely staggered Goth briefly, but it was enough to make him reset his foot in the craggy ceiling and release his mother. The female dropped from the roof immediately and caught the air with her wings, far out of his grasp.

Shade spit with what little ferocity he possessed. His flailed his thumb claws wildly, threatening to slash Goth's face, and then bit into the brow of the comparative giant. Goth roared as he felt tiny fangs sheer his flesh. Blood began erupting from just above his right eye, blinding the southern giant, but Goth did not ned to see with his eyes. Instead, he threw out a net of sound, catching the silvery image of Shade as he flapped away. Rage swelled in the prince's chest.

“I'll rip out your heart, Shade! I'll eat it as you watch!”

“Don't listen to him, Shade,” said Marina with surprising peace in her voice. The Brightwing's eyes glittered with a sort of triumph. “He can't do that if he can't fly. We're safe as long as he stay away from him. He can't crawl everywhere.”

An anger unlike any other filled Goth from his claws to his bristly black crest. Despite all logic and in defiance of the screaming sensations that exploded across his charred membranes, the southern bat threw his wings wide. His wingspan dwarfed that of a Silverwing, the entire stretch of their wings able to be captured beneath only one of his. Unlatching his back claws from the craggy roof, the big cannibal dropped straight down into the open air. For a few seconds, he merely fell, his ragged wings whistling as the cold air tore through the sooty holes and ate away at Goth's nerves. The southern giant thought that he might simple plunge down and splatter against the cave bottom, but then the air began building beneath his wings instead of running straight through it. Slowly, the cannibal's plummet turned into a dive. The Vampyrum Spectrum began beating his wings to build speed and he lifted up, his great body swinging up towards the hovering mass of Silverwing- now several dozen strong- like a toothed spear guided by vengeance. It was excruciatingly painful, every flap like a stab to Goth's heart, but the cannibal bat's rage overwhelmed his sense of self preservation. In spite of the agony, the savage prince stared ahead, curled back his lips, and laughed.

Goth was flying once more!

The Silverwings swirled into a panic, the sound of their frantic wingbeats almost louder than their cries of fear. It was a pleasing sight for the big cannibal, the fear of smaller bats, but it also made it difficult for him to single out Shade's voice. Their screams all sounded thin and feeble to him. Once again, it was Marina that guided him to the runt. The Brightwing's voice, an octave lower than that of a Silverwing, stood out among the fearful shouts, and Goth spotted a patch of her pale fur as he craned his head towards the shout. His dark eyes followed the bright streak of fur until it lead him to the one he truly sought- a small mass of gray skin and silver hair trying its best to hide among the other northern bats.

Goth smiled. Always so cowardly.

A few of the larger male Silverwings tried to block Goth's path as he hurtled towards Shade. They darted in front of him and beat at him with their wings, blasting him with leather and air. A few snaps of his jaws sent them back where they belonged though, cowering in midair as they viewed his massive fangs. As he flew, Goth began bellowing. Half his roars were in rage, directed towards the runty northern bat that was trying to hide from him. The other part of them were in agony, aimed at his own wings as they ripped and shredded apart from the strain of flight. If Goth continued for much longer, he would surely lose use of his sails forever. But as much as the thought pounded in his brain like a nightmare, he could not bring himself to care. All he cared about right now was tasting Shade's heart sliding down his gullet.

The other Silverwings had scattered from around the runt, who now hovered in front of a solid wall, practically battering himself against it. Goth laughed even as he screamed. The runt had run out of places to hide. He was in the open now, without even his mother or Brightwing friend at his side. Goth could hear them though. They cried out in horror and fear as he closed in on the little troublemaker, his wingbeats growing stronger despite their tearing apart. Shade did not acknowledge them though, nor did he take note of Goth's approach. He simple hung in the air, his eyes wide and his mouth open. Surely imagining his own end, Goth concluded, trapped in the nightmare that he thought he had awakened from.

As feet turned to inches, then inches turned to hairlengths, Goth swung his jaws open wide and prepared to bite down into the most delectable meal of his life- the troublemaking little runt know as Shade Silverwing!

In a flurry of wingbeats, Shade shot upwards just before the back of his his neck was harpooned by Goth's teeth, the sharp fangs shaving off patches of fur as he fled from them. The vertical face of rock that he had hung before, incredibly, wavered and swayed as if it were a curtain of feathers instead of stone. Then the weightless stretch of stone dissipated completely, revealing a circular blemish in its facade- the entrance to Hibernaculum.

In the fleeting seconds before he barreled through the dripping cave entrance, Goth realized that the runt had tricked him one last time. Shade had not been gripped with paralyzing terror when he had hovered stationary. He had been weaving sound, creating the false image of a complete wall. And his uneven, dipping flight had not been his attempt to beat his own body against the wall, he had been fighting the flow of air through the small hole.

He had led Goth right out of his roost and into what waited just outside- the waterfall.

Before he could even suck in the breath to shriek, Goth crashed headfirst into the heavy sheet of water. His skull was caved in instantly, knocking all conscious thought from his brain. His broken body tumbled down, quickly lost forever in the white roar of the falling water.

The prince of the Vampyrum Spectrum was buried at the foot of Hibernaculum, his mangled form lodged between two pointed rocks that jutted up from the heavily battered riverbed. And although it was far from his home where the rest of his family was laid, it was a fitting resting spot.

The tenacious cannibal, who had pursued a grudge against Shade Silverwing until it ended his life, would now forever lay at the feet of the sleeping runt, haunting his dreams long after the flesh was stripped from his bones. Although his heart still beat in his chest, Goth now infected his brain- and that would surely be revenge enough for the nightmare from the south.

[HayesAJones]

UNHALLOWED HOME
Hayes A. Jones

Jack sawed angrily at the bloody steak that sat alone on his plate, far apart from the peas and the lonely lump of mashed potatoes that had been exiled to a distant portion of the porcelain plain. His dark eyes were cast down, hidden beneath his bangs as his tried his best to ignore the antics of his mother and stepfather. They were joking and teasing each other like preschoolers. The sneering line of his mouth tightened as their giggles and laughter drifted past him from across the table.

Jack fought the urge to spit in his food.

Two adults should never act like such children.

“Jack, dear,” his mother drawled in her obnoxious, nasally drone. Like a broken robot. “Aren't you going out trick-or-treating this year? Your father already bought you a costume.”

Jack wanted to correct her. His father lived outside of town, in a secluded woodland cabin far away from school, the annoying neighbors, and- most of all- him. But he did not. Not aloud at least.

“Mom, I haven't trick-or-treated since I was seven. That stuff is for little kids.”

“But honey! There are plenty of kids your age who do it! Listen,” She pointed at the kitchen window. Music rummed loudly from the other side. “There's a party right next door. You should go, hon. I mean, you need to make an effort to enjoy this sort of thing before you can't. Go on, go to the party. Me and your father don't get to do that sort of thing anymore. Not for a long, long time.”

Jack only chewed his steak.

“C'mon, champ,” cheered Hugh, Jack's stepfather of two years. He was a fat, jovial man with thinning hair and a swelling gut. His grin was almost as big as his stomach. “You can be my Jason. Got the hockey mask and everything!”

Hugh's face was crudely painted to resemble dripping scar tissue. To Jack, it just seemed that he had smeared paint all over his bulbous, greasy cheeks, but that did not stop him from donning a ragged fedora and squeezing bladed gloves over his fat sausage fingers. He waved the silver knifes- really just spray painted cardboard- and put on a gravelly fake voice that came from his the back of his throat.

“Whatever you do,” wheezed the fat man in the low falsetto. “Don't fall asleep!”

Then he spit out a course cackle that sound like it hurt his voice.

Jack hoped it did.

Jack's sneer snapped taunt like a whip. “No thanks.”

“Will you at least help your father pass out candy tonight? You might get the chance to scare a few people.” She was practically cooing. “You always loved doing that with Stephen.”

Jack stopped chewing his food. “Yeah, with Dad. Dad's not here.”

“You sure, Jackie?” Hugh was still talking in that awful falsetto. “It's Halloween! Everyone deserves a good scare.”

He dragged out the last word until he was out of breath and red under his makeup.

“Yes.”

His mother sighed and waved her palm in his direction. “Oh, you're impossible! Just like him.”

Although Jack did not say it, he thought that was a good thing. Better than being like Hugh.

“Well, either way,” started Hugh, coughing a bit as he returned to his normal voice. “The two of us are still gonna sit out on the porch tonight, right baby?”

Jack's mother smiled. “Of course, dear.”

Hugh smiled so broadly that it made his gut quiver.

Jack wanted to throw his steak back up.

“Well!” Hugh sang from his giggling gullet. “I'll go set everything up. Those trick-or-treaters are gonna be here soon, you know.”

Jack didn't look as he excused himself from the table and waddled off, making the ground shake as he did.

Jack's mother was quiet for a few moments, then spoke in a hushed tone that suggested secrecy. “Jack, baby, look. I know that you miss Stephen, but he isn't here right now. He chose not to be here. But Hugh wants to be a part of your life if you would only just let him. Jack? Please, honey?”

“Dad didn't leave because he wanted to, he left because you made him.”

“No, he made me make him. I swear, you're turning out more and more like him every day.”

This time Jack did not keep his feelings to himself. “Good!”

Jack's mother openly gaped at him with outrage in her eyes, but her retort was cut short as the lights flickered off and darkness seized the house. Jack's mother spat a few angry syllables out into the darkness, as if she wanted to continue the argument despite the circumstances, but relented with a sigh.

“Jack, will you go and see what's the matter with the lights? You know where the fuse box is, right?”

Jack said nothing.

“Honey?”

He stuffed another bite of steak into his mouth, navigating the plate by touch in lieu of his stolen eyesight.

“Oh, fine! I'll go check it out.”

His mother's chair screeched across the kitchen tiles, then the click of her shoes on the linoleum wandered into the next room, taking a few wrong turns and then correcting themselves as they plunged into the dark. It was quiet for about a minute, then there was some noisy shuffling.

Jack snorted.

Definitely Hugh. No one else had enough raw surface area to make that much noise against cloth. He had probably put on more of his stupid costume. Jack couldn't even conceived where he had found a striped sweater that big.

The shuffling drew out another minute or so, mingling with the music from next door, and Jack thought he might have heard a voice or two beneath it all, but otherwise all was silent as Jack slowly chewed his food.

Then his mother screamed.

Jack jumped to his feet as the piercing shriek echoed through the house, so loud that it made some of the decorative china stacked on top of the cabinet shake. A bestial roar overtook the human shrill, cutting it short.

For a second, nothing but the chirp of crickets and Jack's quick, startling breathing sounded in the house. Then a huge, dark shape hurtled itself into the room wielding a bloodied kitchen knife and letting out a wild howl. It was a tall masked man bundled under layers of the stretchy black cloth that you buy at parties stores and Halloween shops. He nearly filled the door frame, his broad shoulders and thick midsection swelling with each ragged breath he sucked in. Where he should have had eyes, there were only two black holes in the pale mask he wore.

They empty sockets roved the room and then fought Jack with a stare like bolts of hellfire.

The masked man groaned and lifted the dripping knife in his left hand, staining his robes with scattered droplet of red.

Jack grunted and bolted up the stairs, scrambling over the terrible Halloween decorations that Hugh had piled next to the front door. The crash that followed him indicated that the masked man had stumbled upon the mass of scarecrows and light-up jack o' lanterns as well.

Good. That gave him a few seconds to do what he needed to.

Bursting into his room, Jack stormed over to the closet and wrenched the door open. The heavy thumps on the steps behind him urge him to speed up his actions as he tore through the closet, looking for something. He had found it by the time the door flew open, but struggled to get it out of the messy wad of dirty clothes that it was hidden under. Jack finally ripped it loose and whirled to face the masked man, who was reared tall in the center of his room.

The robed intruder let out a muffled laugh and raised the bloody wedge of metal in his hand.

Jack raised the shiny barrel of the pump-action shotgun his father had left him in secret.

Bang.

A buck shot tore through the layered fabric robes and into the man's chest. The shredded black cloth bled even darker and the robed form crumpled without a sound. The masked man collapsed onto his back and shook the house with his girth.

Jack lowered the barrel of the gun and breathed shakily. His brown eyes shone lividly and he took in air at an irregular rate. That had not been his first time firing a gun, but it was the first time he had ever shot something that was not small and skittering across the forrest floor.

Leveling his breath and blinking the excited glow from his eyes, Jack took a few slow steps towards the collapsed intruder.

“Jack!”

His mother swept into the room like a teary hurricane and fell to her knees near the masked man's head.

“What did you do?”

She wrapped her arms around the fallen form's neck and peeled off the cheap plastic mask.

“Jack! Jack! It's Hugh! You shot Hugh!”

From beneath rumpled robes, the pale face of Jack's stepfather stared up at the ceiling with eyes ringed by black makeup. His mother hovered above the gray orbs, but they saw nothing.

Jack's mother sobbed uncontrollably and pressed down on his bleeding chest, trying to shove back in the life that had already guzzled out. Her hand were drenched with angry, flowing red.

“Hugh! Oh God, you killed Hugh!”

“I know, Mom.”

Jack's mother gaped and struggled to swallow her tears. “What?”

She looked up at her son and froze. He had the barrel of the gun leveled on her now. Jack's mother staggered upright and began to cry again, louder than before. She stepped back fearfully.

Her son was grinning. Almost as big as Hugh had grinned.

“It's like he said, Mom,” Jack chuckled, his finger on the trigger. He gave it a light squeeze. “It's Halloween. Everyone deserves a good scare.”

Bang.

Jack's mother's arms flew wide as red spewed from her stomach.

Bang.

She stumbled back as the geyser increased twofold.

Bang.

She danced backwards from his room and teetered on the edge of the stairs.

“Jack,” she gurgled through a mouthful of blood as he lined up his last shot. “Why?”

Bang.

Jack's mother tumbled down the stairs with eight pellets in her chest, smearing blood on every step as she rolled down without resistance. The door crashed loudly in its frame as she smashed into it and fell flat. Jack's mother gasped and flopped upright, dragging herself towards the kitchen phone.

She never made it there.

The weak moaning ended halfway through the kitchen, and then silence dominated the house once again.

Carefully putting away his father's pump-action, Jack strolled down stairs and made a call. Jack called his father. He told him that he was going to a party, Hugh and his mother were out of the house, so he would need to be picked up in a few hours. His father agreed. Then he called next door and asked them to turn down the music. He did not need it to be loud anymore.

When they refused, he threatened to call the police, but did not.

Jack went back upstairs and packed a bag, stuffing it with enough clothes for a few weeks. He put it and his sneakers next to the door, then returned to the kitchen. He had never finished eating.

Kicking aside his mother, who hung limply from the table, Jack sat down and ate the rest of his steak, ignoring the peas and mashed potatoes next to it. Then he stole off the other plates, hacking off and popping the best pieces of meat into his mouth. He stopped before the pink cores grew too cold.

Jack got up and pushed in his chair, but did not leave yet. He linger at the table. There was a dab of ketchup on the table. Most likely from Hugh. The disgusting man could not have gotten enough of the stuff even if he had gone swimming in it.

Jack scrapped the spot of red onto his fingertip and touched it to his tongue.

Jack's eyes widened. Then he laughed.

It was not from Hugh, it was from his mother.

Because it was blood.