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DANCE OF THE DEMONS
___________________________
Walking through the forest,
Late one autumn night,
I saw demons dancing
In the full moon's light.
Their forms were aglow,
By the light of the fire,
Ceaselessly they danced,
Around the blazing hot pyre.
As they swayed back and forth,
With such sweet hellish grace,
My soul was filled with yearning,
And my heart began to race.
I was drawn in ever closer,
By their blasphemous refrain,
Urging me to join them,
Singing hymns of the profane.
Melodies of debauchery,
Bespoke pernicious desire,
Enticed by darkest pleasures
I edged closer to the fire.
Without a moments hestitation
I tore off my shirt and pants.
Forsaking my humanity
As I joined them in their dance.
Naked bodies undulate,
Smells of smoke, sweat and lust.
A chorus building to crescendo,
With every pelvic thrust.
A blur of writhing decadence,
Grope and fuck and spin,
The ground becomes a muddy mess,
From spilling our seed of sin.
With each debaucherous indulgence,
More clearly, I'd comprehend.
I can leave when the song is over,
But this hymn shall never end
To the life that I once cherished,
I now bid my final farewell,
I shall revel in sweet damnation
Within the dancing flames of Hell.
Another fine collaboration by
Joemangi
&
Brandon the Mighty
It was during one beautimously pleasant chigger-infested afternoon that I accidentally wandered through a rare and consequentially quite moist hyperspatial sphinctor gap and immediately found myself stuck arse-deep in a Megabelchian Prolapse Pit, which was filled to the blistered pimply rim with bubbling metamenstrual clit-spittle vulva-slurry, and though the hot wafting odor was certainly tasty, I knew it was only going to be a matter of minutes before a dastardly rowdy chowder-weasel would notice my presence in its private frolicking grounds and try to make a cozy little home for itself right in my hairy turd-hangar. I had to think fast in order to avoid this horrendous and damned uncomfortable fate!
Without the support of my Dyno-Prismatic Jock-Coddler, I was completely unable to corral the tenacious cosmic back spackle energy that was pouring voraciously out of my antique bagpipe vestibule. I suppose it was only logical to assume that without a safe container in which to store my ultra-holistic frog-butt staple-gun, we would all soon be nipple-deep in the incestuous festering pool of prophylactic nasal dribblings of the once Mighty Brutius Maximus, the Bullchacho Spasmic Peter Monkey.
One thing I hadn't taken into account was that the new Glory Glory Vomitorium Holy Temple and Puke Pavilion was open 24 hours and had an exciting promotion going where if you finger-diddle your scrotafiddle in harmony with a spastic goochnog pizzle-marmot's hauntingly beautiful mating groans, you will receive a brand new maximum strength corn-encrusted ultrasonic moist towelette, absolutely FREE!
I fervently believed with all the dangly-bits of my being that this would be the key to finally defeating the legendary kilted ginger-bearded whiskey-golem, Liam McHonkydildo, at the upcoming Gravy Lord's Grundle-Surfing Competition and Ice Cream Social. That Glorious Golden Pud Trophy would finally be MINE!
Had it not been for my deep connections within the dark, seedy underbelly of the infamous International House of Pancakes, it is likely, NO! I dare say a CERTAINTY that my tenuous grasp on reality would have been utterly and horrifically shattered like a rum-drunk virgin's delicate hymen by the mindnumbing presence of the world's most deviantly diabolical super villain....... Bob Keeshan!!!!!!
That fat bloated sack of narcoleptic panda-shit had long been the bane of my very existence and even with the tremendous power of my Scrotal Buttflap Inoculator, I would be hard pressed to survive long enough to attend the next weekly meeting of the Grand Poobah's search for feline impotency group.
Another fine collaboration
by
Brandon the Mighty
&
Joemangi
__________________________________________________________
It was only about a nut-shot ago that I was sitting in my herparoidial grumpy grundle kiddie-pool, watching a blisterpeenic hackey-sack sous-chef, preparing a mouthwatering broasted koala pouch, slathered in copious gobs of morning dew piddle stew.
The only thing that REALLY sucked was I knew he was going to make me stick my curvy pervy wang-gland in the murky miasmic VagAnus of his blister-pickin' bow-legged pigeon-toed walking pooey-hole of a dipshit derptard daughter before he'd let me have any of it. All I can say is sometimes a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do when such a hypershart-inducing delicacy is there for the taking by those brave enough to do what needs to be done.
I just couldn't figure out why the unpancreated furdpurgus was unlocking its cage and wreaking unholy havoc upon the dumbfounded and bassackwards villagers below. It was as if The Universe itself was trying to tell me that if I didn't quit rubbing that sideways mounted putter-sharpener in the wrong direction, things were liable to go straight to shit with a fuckbungling quickness! Especially since no one had seen Spanky Duckbutter in days. Not since he left his pencil whittler in Mason's orbital typewriter again.
I had had just about enough of that pickle-douche snorting Spackleback Brutapuss droppin' his fiercely atrocious stank-ass flatus-assault on my brand new Paisley-Grip Spaghetti-Bender Pro Fishing Pole. I sure as fuckety fuck wasn't lying when I finally removed my rambomorphic hampershamble maxi-pad cod-piece and furiously yelled at that mangy pudastic rectum-smurf, "If you don't mosey yer rosey posey nosey on down the ol' Jizzum Trail with the all the blazing-ass speed of a cumulobastic velocidork, I'm gonna spam-slap yer fleshy cunt-nubbles with my isotonic pimple-putty-infused badminton racket of DOOM, ya beef-queefin' parboiled jelly donut!"
Suffice it to say, he made like a freshly neutered gorgapig and fuckered right off to parts unknown, cryin' like an emo-dweebin' nipple-bitch all the way. Naturally, my short-lived relief was comparable to when you successfully piss a full gallon of high-octane voodoobiotic bong-water... which is quite the bombastic feat, don'cha know?
Honestly at this point, I was having a hard time wrapping my swollen head around the whole damn idea, because last time I checked, it was still legal to use your sister's leftover amniotic fluids to lubricate the cosmic o-rings on a 1934 Rancor Rooter special, in the great state of Arkadelphia. At least if it still had its own spiral-wound pump wheels in its Fatter Dinklage. Cuz if you can't take care of what's right in front of you.... then you probably shouldn't have let those cloven-footed she-biscuits butter the rectal opening of Stephen's galactic rice-burner anyway!
Another fine collaboration by Brandon the Mighty and Joemanji
I have found that if you stare long enough into the grizzly innards of a backwards Replicant's Dark Chocolate Cheerio, you can often determine the exact time that they last beheld the Dazzlingly Brilliant Hyper-Spectral image of Fay Wray's upside down tractor spackle, which comes in real handy when you're trying to gesticulate the meaning behind the baffling disappearance of Jesus's long lost brother; fat sequined Jumpsuit Elvis! Long Live The KING!
Of course you must always be prepared to give up some of your Firestone Poached-Egg Flavored Jelly Beans if you stumble across a Drebulo-Zaxxon Hambone-Vorehole, because if that little pandimensional fucker is hungry and you don't give up some o' dem gourmet J-Bizzles, homie, that bewilderingly enigmatic anomaly of physics (that also just happens to be a total lazy-ass job-dodging panhandler) will drop yer drawers and suck all of the shit-filled squishy-bits right out of your fudgy peanut-parade route, and that sort of abuse just leaves a man all hollow inside... Did someone mention a RepliCANT? Why the hell can't we have a RepliCAN around here?!! Y'all a whiny bunch of miserable RepliCUNTS!!! Yeah, I said it and I meant it.. Go ahead and be all butthurt if you feel the need. I don't give a catshit hackysack, because I'm
gonna go to my igloo and give my spare Reptilicus a nice soothing coat of Merwin's Organic Gorilla Snot, but FIRST, I gotta go drop a fresh hashbrown.. Do ya get me? It means I gotta take a shit, son.. god, you're dense.
That being said, I still feel as if I hadn't really fully come to terms with the gut-wrenching tragic loss of my brightly bejeweled, sugar-encrusted putty knife that had been bequeefed to me by the late Great Ghost of Liberace's Sisters Uncle's Third Cousin (twice removed on his mother's side) Thank Crom, I still have a couple of silver-inlaid hydro-colliding inverse-spleen gravy-boats, hidden deep within the dark sweltering malodorous crack of my own personal Comanche sperm-gobblers off-kilter half-spackled turd-holster. Indeed, I'm most definitely in dire need of reshaping the left side of that big bastard's unholy jelly-smelter anyway. Cuz you can never be too certain that you have got enough Swedish Yak-Butter smeared around the rim of your diamond-shaped rough-beveled sewer-grate.|
At about this point in time, I was getting dangerously near the raggedy end of my VERY limited patience, so when I looked wearily over at the Bladder-Wrapping Dept across the hall and saw that worthless shit-for-brains intern, Chadwick Vagisil, once again just loafing about, utilizing his thumb to idly plum the depths of his bum, that was exactly the moment my bullshit quota had been surpassed and my temper flared up like a blazing bad case of habenero hemmorhoids. Shaking with barely contained fury, I took a deep breath then thunderously bellowed with an unholy rage like that of a constipated kaiju trying to pass a city bus without the assistance of his XXL Squatty-Potty.
“CHAD!” I howled, “You listless self-sodomizing neutered-emo penile-drip! Extract that stank-stained nub you call a thumb out of your shit-lined cock-garage and get this goddamn retarded Lycanthropic Yodavulva Megashrew of yours off my desk before it decides to piss on yet another of my vintage industrial contraceptive spermicidal sponges, or I swear I'm gonna slap the sniveling emo-snot out of you with my Enchanted Cimmerian Damascus-Steel Omelet-Pan, and you KNOW I'm not hogshittin' you, ya lemon-scented menstruating girly-boy!!! and with that I felt my bloodpressure drop like a toilet seat. Speaking of toilet seats, I gotta shit again.
Once upon a time, in the enchanted kingdom of Fossfosota, there lived a quaint little hobbit possessing of a very weak sphincter. Guffen Fawlothroo was his name, and despite his rather irritable colon and frequent bouts of incontinence, he lived a pleasant uneventful life in his simple little home, just beyond the shadow of the great Craggy Mountain.
Never a particularly ambitious hobbit, Guffen had, for most of his life, never wanted anything more than a comfortable little house with good sturdy reliable plumbing. As the years passed, however, Guffen found himself becoming more and more dissatisfied with his ho-hum lifestyle, feeling in his soul a growing desire for a status in life that was far loftier and grandiose than where he was.
The feelings of disquiet continued to grow and grow, until he gradually came to realize that his deepest and most heart-felt wish was that for just once in his banal monotonous life, he could perform a truly epic feat of Bravery and Heroism. An act of daring so astonishing and bold, that the bards throughout the kingdom and beyond, would be singing in praise of his legendary courageous deed for countless generations to come.
Many were the days that he sat on his toilet, engulfed in the rancid miasma of his numerous noxious rectal expulsions, lost in day-dreams of cheering adoration from the jubilant crowds that had gathered to celebrate his unparalleled selfless heroic victory over "this or that" dire threat to the kingdom.
And so the days came and went as usual, until on one dreary overcast day, in the latter part of Guffen's twenty-third year, with howling northern winds rattling the windows of his tidy nondescript abode, Guffen received a letter stamped with the royal seal. He nearly swooned at the notion that the rolled up parchment in his hand could be the long awaited sign that he was going to finally achieve the glorious destiny that he had desired for so long. So great was the rush of emotion, that Guffen barely made it to the bathroom in time.
Later, as Guffen's sat upon his porcelain throne, his eyes poring over the words before him, he could contain his excitement no better than he could the contents of his bowels, for the letter was none other than an urgent plea for any would-be heroes in the land; brave, strong and true, to come to the aid of the Good King, Hy Colonik himself and save the realm and all its people from the horrific fate of complete and total annihilation.
According to the neatly printed scrip, it seemed that the Good King had run afoul of a particularly powerful wizard of a rather hostile temperament. The Good King had inadvertently offended the nefariously wicked mage to such an extent that he summoned the most fearsome and ancient dragon in all the realms, to come forth and rain down its fiery breath of blazing fury upon the entire kingdom till nought but smoldering cinders and ashes remained. Truly, never before in all the written histories, had there ever been a threat so apocalyptic in scope, cast its shadow of hellish doom upon the kingdom of Fossfosota.
Along with his desperate plea, the Good King also promised that not only would the brave adventurer, who proved fierce enough to slay the dragon, receive riches and title undreamed of, but also the hand of his fair daughter in marriage, along with unending praise, glory and honor lavished upon his name forever more. The words he read were like the Fates themselves were singing in Guffen's pounding heart, telling him that this was the moment he'd been waiting for.
And so, with a brisk, determined wipe and a final flush, Guffen lept from his throne, gathered a bundle of meager provisions, a four-pack of toilet paper, and his diminutive sword, kicked open the door of his ever so humble hovel, and set out to earn his place among the greatest heroes of legend and lore.
With grim determination, indomitable will and a tightly clenched anus, he set out on his perilous journey. Spurred as he was by his all-consuming hunger to be the savior of the Fossfosota, he pushed himself to his limits and beyond, striving to hastily traverse the half-mile trek to the nearby Craggy Mountain, where upon the dragon was reportedly perched and waiting, reposing in a state of ominous foreboding malevolence. It's massive scaly smoldering form hinting to any who beheld it, of the blistering inferno it would soon unleash upon them all.
Despite the five emergency toilet stops he had to make on the way and a extremely difficult climb, aided either by fortune or just the extremely close proximity to his home, Guffen did indeed find himself to be the first to reach the scorched summit of Craggy Mountain, where at last he faced his murderous foe. With the bold bravado of the bravest knights of yore, did he stride forth with sword held high, ready to challenge the foul and mighty beast where it stood, confident that victory and all the glory that would come with it, would soon be his.
As Guffen charged head-long into the midst of the impossibly dark shadow cast upon the rocky ground by his gargantuan prey, the dragon suddenly spread it's leathery bat-like wings, lifted its terrible horned head to the sky and with a deafening roar of pure malevolent rage, belched forth a blazing plume of continuous white-hot flame, as if demonstrating its unholy contempt for all of creation by trying to scorch the very heavens above.
Guffen abruptly halted his advance and beheld the utterly nightmarish display before him with eyes as wide and round as tea saucers. All of the visions of glorious victory were instantly chased from his mind by the sight of the hellish embodiment of pure unfettered devastation before him.
With a disparate, pitiful, near inaudible squeak of total abject mortal terror, the once so brave and bold Guffen Fawlothroo dropped his sword, shat his pants, suffered a massive heart attack and dropped dead on the ground in front of his fearsome foe, who had actually never even noticed him there in the first place.
A couple of hours later, the dragon was slain by some other guy...
The End.
By WarBeast
The Gator-men of Gutwagon Swamp
"Absolutely dreary, stinky and awful" Rabbit muttered under her breath as she gazed out at the repugnant terrain before her.
From her perch on WarBeast's mighty shoulder, Rabbit could see nothing around her but the bleakest, smoggiest, filthiest, slimiest, scum-choked swamp she'd ever seen. The air was hot, damp, cloying and beyond malodorous. The omnipresent noxious miasma smelled to Rabbit like the over-ripe corpse of an ogre that had been eaten by boars and later shit out into a hot steaming barrel of putrescent offal.
Every squelching step WarBeast took only served to send up a fresh plume of nauseating stench to assail her sensitive nose. Were she not possessing of such an iron will, Rabbit was certain that she would have spent the entire time in this disgusting place, retching and vomiting uncontrollably down her dear Beasty's back.
On most days, their shared policy of just leaving their journey up to the whims of the fates, going wherever their feet took them, worked astonishingly well for Rabbit and WarBeast. While some would consider this to be simply aimless wandering, the two warriors enjoyed the mystery of what each new day held for them.
A vast majority of the time, the fates led them to adventure, wonders, treasures and the delightful joys of brutal blood-soaked battle, but on very rare occasions, the cruel humor of those same fates would lead the them straight into some truly awful locations; nauseating places like this; the appropriately named Gutwagon Swamp.
“I feel confident this place is where horrendous odors come to die, so they can putrefy and become even more foul, Dear Rabbit.” said WarBeast, his face grim with absolute disgust as he continued to stubbornly trudge onward like a relentless juggernaut. “One thing is for certain, every single one of the peasants and inn-dwelling drunkards that assured us that there is a grand treasure at the center of this swamp had better pray to whatever gods will listen that we do indeed find a treasure that is vastly bountiful and worth every lungful of this toxic stench I have inhaled, or I swear I will track them down and add the stink of their rotten corpses to this damnable place.”
It's truly a testament to how thoroughly atrocious this stinky nasty awful swamp really is that it's making Mr. WarBeast so very grumpy, Rabbit thought to herself following WarBeast's abnormally lengthy and hostile outburst. She didn't like it at all. Not because she feared his anger, because she didn't fear any part of him, not even his rage. No, she didn't like it because she knew her poor Beasty hated when a bad mood would tenaciously latch hold of him. Bad moods made him so very miserable and she hated seeing him so unhappy.
WarBeast's own thoughts were in agreement with hers. This blighted cesspit had really soured his mood to a bitter degree he had not felt since before he met his Dear Rabbit. He didn't like feeling this way at all, preferring the joyful bloodthirsty glee that his adventures with Rabbit normally inspired in him. Enduring the constant assault on his nostrils in what might be the outhouse of the foulest of gods, where every step forward is laborious and slow, felt much too synonymous with the drudgery that was his world before she came into his life, which just made his mood far worse.
In a valiant attempt to lift his spirits, WarBeast tried concentrating on filling his mind with thoughts of the most wonderful thing in the whole of the universe, his beloved Rabbit. Picturing her clearly in his mind's eye, admiring ever beautiful detail of her appearance, replaying fond memories of her laughter, her warmth when they snuggled by a fire, and how her nose twitches so adorably when she's excited, the way her eyes sparkle when she's disembowelling some base braggart that made the mistake of offending her, and a myriad of other little ways Rabbit fills his days with immeasurable joy.
For a while it worked and he felt a bit more like himself, but Gutwagon Swamp was absolutely relentless in it's abhorrence, constantly offering up new ways to offend his senses and darken his thoughts. Not the least of which was how it was making his poor Rabbit feel. Every time he heard her fight back the urge to gag or when a desperate moan of disgust would manage to escape her, it made him hate this swamp with an unrivaled blistering passion. This hatred turned his thoughts back to the words of the locals that sold him and his Dear Rabbit on undertaking this atrocious endeavor.
“A treasure worth a king's ransom there be!”
“Gems and Gold and Enchanted Weapons, all for the taking!”
“A treasure so plentiful, you would sink into the ground carrying even a fraction of it's weight!”
“But not just anyone can walk up and grab it. Oh no no..”
“Tis in a cursed place that few dare to even look at”
“Only someone with unbreakable resolve and limitless endurance would dare try at reaching it!”
“I tell ye, I don't think ANYONE has what it takes to get to that treasure.”
“No attempt I've seen in all my years has been successful. The place will break you.”
Statements such as these were something he and Rabbit heard all of the time during their travels and usually they considered them to be sort of like road-signs from the fates, telling them where their next adventure would be. Most of the time, they found the reality to be far less impressive than the descriptions given by drunken tavern-dwellers. Sometimes the quests were quite challenging and other times, not so much, but all had one thing in common, Rabbit and WarBeast always returned triumphant.
With that thought, WarBeast was filled with renewed determination. Clenching his fists and willing his legs to move faster, he lifted his head and spoke with a booming voice of pure will.. to Rabbit.. to the gods.. to the swamp itself.. “The fierce Rabbit and the mighty WarBeast have NEVER failed to see a quest through to its end and emerge triumphant.. This damnable swamp WILL NOT be our first failure. We WILL see it through to the end. That treasure, whatever it may be, will be OURS!”
So resolute was his tone, Rabbit knew not even she would be successful in talking him out of continuing. Not that she would ever try, for she was was just as determined to see this through as her steadfast companion. In a show of solidarity, Rabbit added her own words of resolve, her voice just as loud as WarBeast's “Do your worst, it won't be enough! No matter what you throw in our path, it will never stop us! DO YOU HEAR ME, YOU STINKY GODDAMN SWAMP! BRING IT ON!”
Of course Rabbit was wise enough to know, when a challenge like that is made, it is often answered, especially in a place that seemed so thoroughly determined to infuriate, denigrate and nauseate those who attempt to traverse it. So when Rabbit first saw what looked like large broad lumpy logs moving purposefully through the fetid swamp-water in the their direction, she knew this godforsaken swamp had heard her challenge and accepted it. Carefully counting all of these strange floating objects she could see, she knew this was going to be a problem.
Her most adored companion was so focused on covering distance as quickly as possible that Rabbit knew he was not aware of the new threat moving steadily towards them. Not wishing to distract him but knowing he needed to be aware of this change in the situation, Rabbit gently tugged the curved horn on the side of his helmet and spoke with a note of urgency, “Mr. WarBeast, I didn't want to disturb you, as I know you are working awful hard, but I thought I'd better let you know there's a bunch of giant turd-looking things swimming towards us.”
WarBeast slowed to a stop and raised his face to expand his view from just his immediate path. As his his gaze moved over the blighted waterlogged terrain of the swamp, he quickly saw what Rabbit was referring to as he muttered, “What fresh Hell is this, Dear Rabbit?...”
“I don't know, Mr. WarBeast”, said Rabbit tersely, her tone serious and wary, “I counted twenty-eight of them, all on a intercept course with us.. and they look like giant swimming turds... I really don't want to fight a bunch of icky killer turds, Beasty”
Focusing on the closest one, WarBeast's brow furrowed as his eyes studied this unknown menace intently. Where Rabbit's hearing and sense of smell was far more keen than his own, his eyesight was far sharper and he could see much further than her. This higher level of visual acuity gave him a far more detailed look at this new menace, allowing him to dispel at least a smidgen of Rabbit's concern, “I don't think you have to worry about that, Dear Rabbit. These are no repulsive shit-golems advancing on us. From what I can tell, it appears they are some kind of deformed alligator-like creatures... Weird and really big...”
With the looming crocodillian threat moving ever closer, WarBeast scanned his surroundings in an attempt to determine the best way to fight so many deadly creatures, hobbled as he was by the thick deep mud that seemed to willfully grip his feet and legs well above the ankles and the longer he stood in one place, the deeper it tried to pull him down.
Were he not encumbered so, he would not be nearly so concerned, but they were coming from all directions, and he wasn't sure if could get turned around in time to ward of an attack from the rear and still guard against attacks from the front, not mention the attacks coming in from the sides. WarBeast could not hold back a soft growl of frustration. As with everything else in this damnable place, this fight was going to be a big problematic pain in the ass.
Sensing her comrade's aggravation, Rabbit's keen mind quickly assessed WarBeast's predicament, and just as quickly had the solution. “Mr. WarBeast, I know this gooey mud has your feet all bogged down and you can't cover all directions like you need to. I don't think I would fare any better on the ground either, however, as you know I am quite the nimble Rabbit and the spikes you can make pop out all over from this sexy armor of yours, are perfect for such an agile creature as I am to swiftly climb from one side of you to another, far faster than you can turn around in this stinky mess. I won't let any of these sneaky back-biting turd-gators get you!”
The soft sinister laugh she heard escaping through the clenched teeth of WarBeast's vicious smile told Rabbit that he was extremely pleased with her plan indeed and for the first time since they'd entered this accursed hellhole, she too smiled. For the evil and apparently intelligent essence of Gutwagon Swamp could not know that when adversity is at its worst, and their spirits at their lowest, there is nothing in the world that raises the Rabbit and WarBeast up to a state of unstoppable might like releasing their pent up fury by dealing out shockingly cruel death to those who oppose them.
When the creatures reached some preferred proximity to their intended prey, Rabbit and WarBeast were surprised and actually slightly pleased to see them raising up out of the water to stand on two legs. WarBeast was sure this was supposed to be terrifying but it had quite the opposite effect. Eight foot tall humanoid gator mutants would be much easier to deal with than a bunch of ground hugging reptiles snapping at his mired legs, likewise this made things ever so much easier for his Dear Rabbit as well.
No words or signals passed between the two of them but simultaneously WarBeast and Rabbit held aloft their deadly blades and threw back their heads in a thundering, ear-splitting battle-roar. With that, the gator-men of Gutwagon Swamp charged, coming at them from all sides, huge powerful jaws filled with sharp dagger-like teeth snapping at flesh only to taste razor-sharp metal instead. The two warriors moved as if they were one being, never once hindering the other, their movements and attacks in perfect precision. If the gator-men's primitive reptilian minds had been capable of fear, this display of deadly perfection would have sent them fleeing, but as it was, it instead sent them to a horrendous bloody death.
For several glorious minutes of profound carnage, Rabbit and WarBeast were no longer in the relentlessly oppressive putrescence of Gutwagon Swamp. They were right were they loved to be, the epicenter of a resplendently gore-soaked battle that ended far too soon as it usually did. The two indomitable warriors stood in blood-drenched triumph, gazing at what was left of their foes, bloody chunks and severed limbs floating in the brackish water and half buried in the trampled mud.
Silently basking in the glory of their victory over the gator-men, Rabbit and WarBeast soon found they had won so much more than just that skirmish. First Rabbit noticed the awful smell that had driven her to near madness was no longer detected by her sensitive nose, while WarBeast noticed the cloying hot sticky smog that had made his armor almost unbearable to wear was rolling back away from them.
And when the ground itself pushed WarBeast's heavy booted feet up to the surface and solidified beneath him, they understood. The gator-men was the last thing that Gutwagon Swamp had to throw at them and when the brutal creatures proved no match for the two warriors, the swamp knew it too was no match for such indomitable will as possessed by this mighty duo, ceasing all resistance in full surrender.
Free from the encumbering mud, WarBeast stretched his legs, while Rabbit hopped down from her perch to inspect their now rather pleasant surroundings. In the absence of the noxious fog of reeking swamp gas, Rabbit saw a well-defined path heading off behind a copse of vine-festooned trees and excitedly pointed it out to her beloved companion.
For the first time since entering the swamp, Rabbit and WarBeast walked side-by-side, following the path until it ended at a small temple of weathered stone. Strange glyphs of unknown meaning that were carved into every stone, so worn with age as to be nearly erased, informed the two warriors that this was an ancient place that was once so important to some long forgotten civilization that they had guarded it with an enchanted swamp so foul that in the thousands of years since the time of its people, they alone were the first to enter this sacred place.
Of course, none of that really mattered to Rabbit and WarBeast, thus there was really nothing for it but to loot and plunder the old building of everything shiny, sparkly or sharp, and indeed there was plenty of that. Far more than they would have ever believed had they not seen it for themselves.
For once, the stories and rumors were an understatement. Large bags filled with precious gems and gold lined the inner walls, each of them should have weighed so much that WarBeast would've only been able to carry four or five of them at most and with great effort, but when he lifted one of the bags by its drawstring, he discovered that it was as light as a feather. Apparently, the bags had been given quite the helpful enchantment. Sometimes on rare occasions mages surprised him by using their arts for practical purposes.
“Dear Rabbit? If we were strategic in how we tie these bags to my armor, we could carry all of this vast wealth out of here and retire to a life of ridiculously opulent leisure, living out the rest of our days lazing in luxury....” WarBeast said as he gazed at his beautiful blood-splattered companion as she stowed a belt which sheathed six faintly glowing daggers in to her backpack. The sparkle in his eye told Rabbit that he knew what her response would be and it was exactly what he wanted to hear.
Beaming with the satisfied elation that she always felt after a hard won victory, Rabbit asked, “But what fun would that be, Mr. WarBeast? To me, that just sounds so awful, awful boring!”
“I would have to agree with you on that, my Dear Rabbit.. It would be intolerable indeed.” said WarBeast, as a huge ornate case of unknown composition at the opposite end of the room caught his eye. “I say we take at least a bag or two, perhaps three and over the next handful of weeks, we blow all of it on booze and food and worthless baubles, then see where the fates lead us from there. What do you think?”
“I think that is such a perfect plan that had I not heard you speak it, I would have thought I was the one who came up with it, my dear Mr. WarBeast.” said Rabbit cheerfully, as she followed him across the room to where the strange case stood against the wall.
WarBeast felt drawn to it, as if the fates were again directing his hand as he ran his fingers over the strange markings carved into the front.. which was apparently exactly what he was supposed to do, as no sooner had he done so, the case sprung open, revealing a massive double-bladed battle-axe, so magnificent that both he and Rabbit could only stare in awe until finally Rabbit whispered, “Now THAT is the proper weapon for a WarBeast...”
As WarBeast took hold of the mighty weapon's handle, he knew this was meant to be no less than when Rabbit came upon him in those woods. The Battle-Axe felt like an extension of himself, as if it was forged from his very essence. Dropping his gaze of admiration to smile down at his Dear Rabbit, he could see that she thought it was as beautiful as he did.
“That sure is one pretty axe, Mr. WarBeast... I'd so love to see you use it on something that deserves to be chopped in half, but I don't think there is anything here that fits that description.” said Rabbit, her nose twitching cutely. “Do you think we could get the hell out of here and spends lots of this treasure drinking away the memory of how stinky this adventure was?”
“That is a most splendid idea indeed, my Dear Rabbit, and might I say those luminescent throwing daggers you found just feel special to me for some reason.. like they're your reward for getting through this cesspit of the nether-realms. We already know they're enchanted, as in my experience, blades don't glow pale blue like that on their own. Even though I'm no mage and have no secret adeptness at identifying enchantments on weapons, I just KNOW they're very special and they were meant to be yours no less than this was meant for me... My Mighty Battle-Axe.” said WarBeast in adoration of his new weapon, as Rabbit tied three bags containing vast riches to the spikes on her beloved Beast's back.
Upon stepping outside of the temple Rabbit leapt up to her perch on WarBeast's shoulder as he rested the haft of his new battle-axe against his other. It was then that he knew many years later he would look back on this moment as one of his most cherished, for on one side, he had the perfect weapon and on the other he had the perfect companion. There was nothing more he could ever want in life...
…except perhaps to forget the awful stench of Gutwagon Swamp.
Bloated, putrid,
Pile of festered decay..
Septic, necrotic,
Blasphemous buffet..
Maggots squirming,
Infest the fetid meat..
Sucking pus from blisters,
As I prepare to eat..
Open grave,
I exhume..
Flesh, I crave..
Rot, I consume..
Sweet rot gas,
Fills my head..
Broken mass,
EAT THE DEAD
Morbid madness,
Defiling the deceased..
Moldering meat mess..
My necrophagic feast..
Masticated matter,
Rotten guts and brain
Devouring splatter
Til only bones remain
Open grave,
I exhume..
Flesh, I crave,|
Rot, I consume..
Plucking eyes..
Sockets red..
Swarming flies..
EAT THE DEAD..
Afterthought
~~~~~~~~~~~
The more you keep pushing me away..
The longer you leave me in the cold..
The more all the colors become gray..
The stronger the darkness will take hold..
Like a scene from a pleasant dream..
Once cherished but soon forgot..
I'll never be your priority..
I'm just an afterthought.
I'm a treasure that's lost its pleasure..
Left in the attic to rot..
Please spare me your indignity..
I'm just an afterthought...
The more bitter tears you make me cry..
The less my importance seems to rate..
The sooner that my sorrow will run dry..
The more my love will become hate..
Once unmistaken but now forsaken..
You loved me, now love me not..
A burning desire losing its fire..
I'm just an afterthought..
I fade away more and more each day..
My insignificance cannot be fought..
I'll always be your vague memory..
I'm just an afterthought..
Retribution.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The fog clears slowly from my mind.
After an unknown duration of time, I am conscious once again.
As the blurriness recedes from my eyes, I am filled with sights so horrifying that they will be forever etched into my soul.
A body shines in the pale moon-cast light.
It is a body that I know every inch of intimately.
My eyes fall upon the contours of her form as she lies motionless in the moonlight.
I follow the smooth surface of her skin; naked, supple and so very pale...
So pale? ... Something isn't right!
I look to the face that had always provided me with so much comfort and joy.
Terror, revulsion, grief, and rage instantly consume me in incessant waves of hellish black emotion.
The face I so loved has been replaced with nothing but a mangled crimson hole of pulpified flesh.
I try to scream but vomit fills my throat.
Why was I returned from oblivion; returned to see the one thing I live for Dead?
I struggle to stand, but I fall to the littered floor, as I notice a strange numbness filling my body.
As I try to stand once again, I notice that my left leg below the knee is nothing but shredded flesh and bits of pulverized bone.
As I struggle to sit up, I see a coffee table nearby; broken and smeared with blood.
(My blood?)
A large bloody smudge looks curiously like the print of a face.
(My face?)
Embedded in the dripping wood is what appears to be two teeth.
(My teeth?)
Oh Lord NO! My Face!
Frantically, I search the debris around me until I find a broken piece of mirror, and I am stunned at what its refection reveals.
My upper lip is torn free and and hanging.
Most of my left cheek is gone.
A large swath of my scalp has been ripped from my skull.
There is a bullet hole in my forehead, adjacent to the gaping hole I can detect in the back of my head.
My eyes are sunken in their blood-drenched sockets.
My eyes are glowing neon green.
I now find myself able to scream and I do so with all of the horror, fury and disgust that fills my soul.
With the scream, my mind is flooded with dark agonizing memories.
I see the laughing faces of traitorous friends.
I hear the screams of my beloved wife, as she is tortured, raped and killed.
I feel the table give as my head is repeated bashed into it.
I smell the acrid odor of death and gunpowder, as my leg is blown off.
I taste the blood.
Now I remember everything.
Now I understand why I have returned.
I shall take a leg from the sundered coffee table.
I shall affix it to the mangled stump of my leg, so that I may again stand.
I shall tirelessly hunt down those who are responsible;
I know them all.
I shall wreak vengeance upon them; none shall escape my wrath.
I shall have no mercy.
I shall hear no pleas.
I shall have retribution.
I swear to God, I will.
