Metal Reviews

K, now we're at the "what the fuck?" point.

Hehe, this went from great to awsome,

I love the whole...wtf...thing!

.:crast:.

As you approach that stage in life where the end is getting closer and you lose sight of where you’ve come from, it weighs rather heavily on your mind as you reflect on the actions of your life, and wonder whether you could do it better if you were granted another attempt at it. Not that regret was a frequent visitor to Iyzor’s mind, far from it. He had sampled every pleasure and most of the pains that life had to offer, and causing himself unnecessary distress over the past was about as far from his personal philosophy as it was possible to get. But, even though most would deny it if you asked them, older members of society tend to spend more of their now-precious time considering the big questions such as love, religion, the meaning of it all and whether people would remember them with respect or derision.

So as he crept up the stairs towards the Princess’ Chambers, his mind couldn’t help but wander, despite the clear and present danger in the shape of Kathaarian’s Inquisitors patrolling the corridors, seeking out those Untrue. He thought of his wife, and wished he’d spent longer with her before she died. He thought of his son, and wondered where he was now. He thought of his stillborn daughter, and the hilltop where he had buried her. He thought of Queen Vikie, and all that had gone unsaid between them.

Would his life, in the end, have been worth living? Seeing a shadow ahead he stopped, waiting until it moved on. Look at him, once the most powerful Wizard in all of Latt’m, reduced to creeping around his own Tower like a naughty schoolboy. He had tried to use an Invisibility spell to conceal his movements, but Kathaarian had set up the Magic Filters, so his spells were useless. All he could do was wait, and hope. He had considered enlisting Noodles the Guard in his quest, but Kathaarian had had him sent away, and he couldn’t trust anyone any more. Who knew whom the Bishop had subverted with his dark ideals and whispered longings, with sly hints and suggestions?

The shadow that gave him pause had passed, so he stepped out cautiously and walked on. He was approaching the door to Princess Carnif’x’s Chambers when he heard a voice at his back. Turning, he saw the Bishop Kathaarian standing behind him. “Wizard, you know full well that you’ve been forbidden in this part of The Tower,” he said, an oily smile splitting his diabolical face. “The Princess Carnif’x will never recover if you keep attempting to force your unwanted attentions on her. I’d have thought that the Queen Vikie was more than enough for a man of your years, clearly I was wrong!” Iyzor gritted his teeth, but didn’t answer. He knew that it would take just a word from the evil man before him to remove his limited power completely, and it was not worth risking that for the quick pleasure a barb would bring.

Iyzor turned to leave, but Kathaarian grabbed his shoulder. “Not so fast…” he muttered, digging his fingers painfully into the Wizard’s back. He dragged him back towards the Chamber door. “If you want to go in there that badly, why not enter?” he asked, nodding at the door. Iyzor’s heart sank. “What have you done?” he whispered, shocked. “The Princess is clearly in need of professional help. I have had her sent, under guard of course, to that new-fangled Asylum they’ve just had built.” “But that’s hell! No-one’s come out of that place alive!” gasped Iyzor. No, there was no way that Kathaarian could have done it. He brushed past the Bishop and opened the door, but the Chambers were empty. She was gone.

He rushed out and, grabbing Kathaarian by the throat, pushed him up against a wall. “Get-her-back!” he said through clenched teeth. With little apparent effort, Kathaarian shoved him off. “You’re beneath contempt, Wizard,” he said, brushing at the spot Iyzor had touched. He paused, then punched Iyzor on the nose, knocking the Wizard over easily. Fighting to stay conscious, he watched in terror as Kathaarian drew back his leg to kick him…

And there was darkness, the next thing he knew was that Noodles the Guard was helping him up, and wiping the blood from his face. Dizziness made him glance down, and he saw the crumpled figure of the Bishop on the floor. “He’s not dead,” said Noodles, “but I don’t know how long he’ll be out for. Come on, let’s go.” Iyzor allowed himself to be led back the way he had came, passing several Inquisitors on the way who looked at them curiously, but did not stop them.

They stopped finally in a part of the Tower that the Wizard could not remember having visited ever. He watched, still slightly dazed from the Bishop’s punch, as Noodles pressed a panel on the wall, and a secret door slid open. Inside, he couldn’t see a thing, but took Noodles’ hand and walked blindly through the tunnel. They went on for hours, seeming to head slightly downwards, although that could just have been due to his disorientation.

Finally, Noodles opened a door, letting in a bright light that hurt Iyzor’s eyes. They were underground, and as the Wizard grew accustomed to the light, he saw that people surrounded them, a silent crowd staring goggle-eyed at him. Noodles threw an arm up. “Welcome,” he announced, “to the revolution!”

*

“Welcome,” Dead Machine announced, “to the Darklands!” Rio and Radagast looked, trying in vain to distinguish something from the sea of shapes that confronted them. The landscape seemed to be made primarily of swamp, with a few rotten tree branches sticking out here and there, like drowning men fruitlessly waving an arm in the air, eternally hoping for rescue. There was one path, clearly marked out with little lights, which dimmed if you looked directly at them. Letting them scramble off his back, Dead Machine started forwards, stepping carefully due to his great weight. His smaller companions followed in his steps, swatting at the mosquitoes that hungered for their warm blood.

They trudged on throughout the day, not stopping until the sun set and they couldn’t see any more. The small lights grew slightly brighter, but shed little light on their surroundings. They made camp for the night by a tree trunk that had been consumed by some parasitical plant coiled around it like an overeager lover. It proved impossible to light a fire due to the prevailing dampness, even with Dead Machine’s flamethrower, so they made themselves as comfortable as they could without it, snuggling against the robot’s mechanical warmth. Just as he was setting off to sleep, Radagast felt a tickling against his leg. Looking down, he saw a swamp snake sliding along him, attracted by his warmth. He picked the horrid thing up and flung it as far as he could. “I hate camping!” he muttered to himself, before settling down again.

Rio was asleep almost immediately, as he was exhausted after the day’s journey. He slept even as the mysterious hooded figures came upon them from nowhere. He slept as they attacked…

To be continued…

Woah! The action is back! This chapter is awesome.

What the Hell, four days and no replies? :shock: Encourage him, you wankers!

Iyzor stood in stunned silence. He was feeling the effects of their journey through the passage, and this sudden shock was not helping at all. A voice came from the crowd, “why have you bought the Wizard here? The plan was to assassinate him!” Several other voices chimed in, angrily agreeing, and he felt rather than saw the crowd pressing forwards. Noodles held up a hand, but they ignored him, and would have seized Iyzor and torn him to shreds if not for a voice calling out from behind them. They parted in silent respect, allowing a robed figure to walk through. It halted before the Wizard, and standing straight threw the hood back, and looked directly into Iyzor’s eyes.

Iyzor recoiled, horrified. He had travelled to many lands and seen many sights, even once gone fishing with John The Houlihan and survived! But never before had he seen the depth of horror and despair that he found when he gazed at that disgustingly deformed face. “Wha…?!” he managed. “The followers of the Metal made me into this,” the thing wheezed. It had little more than a slit across its face for a mouth, and saliva dripped freely from the corners. “I was born,” the thing continued…

The Thing’s Tale

‘’…in a small Mountain hut. We were poor, but there was usually enough to go around, and my parents made sure that all seventeen of us had our rag dolls to play with, and marrow bones to suck on when we were hungry. Each day we would rise with the sun, and go outside to work the harsh earth, trying to get something to grow in it. Our family had lived there for generations, and the Mountain was in our bones, it was everything. It was our god. We worshipped the Mountain, and it gave us just enough to survive, which is all we needed.

We were happy, despite all the things we didn’t have.

Then they came.

It wasn’t so bad at first, just a lone rider accidentally scaring some of my sisters on his horse. He had a look of disgust on his face, and he didn’t take it kindly when he asked our beliefs and we shrugged, not having been force-fed a load of claptrap like the ignorant children of the valley. He rode off, and bought many more back with him a few days later. They talked to the children, telling them lies about Trueness and Metal, and when our father ordered them to leave they just laughed at him. He picked up a stone to throw, and they cut him down. The next thing I knew was that everyone had been slaughtered. All my family lay dead, and the Metal invaders rode off into the night.

Even though I was only 14 years of age at the time, I knew that I had the strength to take revenge. So, with my broadsword in my hand, I followed the invaders back to their camp. I watched from afar as they cavorted with women who were not of their family. I travelled closer as they stuffed their gluttonous faces with meat and drink that had not been blessed by the mountain. I crept up on them whilst they talked, and listened to their evil laughter. And, when they slept, I raised my sword above my head and bought it down with righteous indignation upon their heads. I killed three before I was caught, and disarmed. They locked me in a cage like a wild animal whilst they discussed what to do with me, and in the end they left me there, as a pet. I was locked in that cage for over four years, and subject to such torments that in the end I twisted my bedsheets together and tried to hang myself, to end the pain. But they revived me, and kept me alive. Said that I had only done it to show off, said that I had no respect for life, theirs or mine, then they continued to treat me like filth, showing just how much respect for life they had…

I spent three more years in that prison before my saviour came. It was pretty much a typical day in the Metal camp, resting after another massacre of locals who refused to bow their heads to the Metal yoke. An old man came riding in on an elephant, some sort of tribal leader who had given in to the “True” religion and helped in the killings. He was greeted with mock dignity by the mercenaries, lining up either side of the roadway, cheering and throwing flower petals as he came by. Thinking they were serious, he smiled and nodded, which only increased their efforts. In the end, once he had disembarked from the animal, they got bored and started pushing him around. It was just starting to get really ugly when another man came by. He ordered them to leave him alone, and then he looked up and saw me, in my cage.

He was shocked. He had the men who put me in there whipped, after I was released, and let it be known that any who behaved like they had been doing would be executed publicly. I became his servant of sorts, and it was from him I learnt that the men were called ‘Inquisitors’, and they were appointed specially to bring non-believers into the ‘True’ religion. I was disgusted by this, as was he; he told me that he only came out to make sure that as few died as was possible.‘’

The thing paused its tale and looked at Iyzor, who had gone white. “By Myk…that was you, Ron!” A murmur went up from the throng at the use of the thing’s name, and it held up a hand to quieten them. “Yes, that was I,” he said quietly. “But- what happened to you?” Ron considered him for a moment, and then continued his tale.

“I was your servant for over ten years. I would have served you longer, but you insisted I go free, as you had to return to The Tower and take up your Wizard’s position after the previous one died. I turned down your kind offer of taking me back to Opeth with you, as I knew that under the direct gaze of the Inquisition I could not continue my pretension of religious belief for very long. My heart was with the Mountain. So I returned to my home of old.

Much had changed. Our home was gone completely, in its place a tavern, where vile alcohol was served to scum. I paused outside it to sing the old family song that we used to sing:

‘So tall, silent against the sky.
Up through the clouds where eagles fly.
Wind and rain beat down on one so strong.
They cut, but never changed what stood so long.’

Inside, all was filth and depravity. I saw sights that would sicken you if you saw them, people being free with each other in an immoral and debauched way, whilst inserting mind-altering devices into their nostrils. No more could I take of this filth, so I unsheathed my weapon and slammed it on the table. A drunken cheer went up from the mob, quickly changing to screams when they saw that I intended to use it on them! I taught them a lesson that they would never forget, being careful to hurt but not kill. They fled with fear, and I burnt the bar to the ground.

In subsequent weeks, I travelled all around that area, freeing it of places of lechery, drunkenness and drug usage. Shortly, my weapon became feared for its edge, and I was known as “The Straight Edge”. My sign was three ‘x’s next to each other, to show what three sins the Metal had introduced, and that displeased the mountain greatly. I left that mark in every place I visited, and had it tattooed upon my arm, like so.”

Here Ron drew up his sleeve and showed Iyzor this. He continued:

“In time, word of my exploits spread, and a small group came to join me. We wreaked havoc on the land by night and spoke of Serious Subjects by day, always ready to strike a blow against Metal and all that it represented. Until one day, calamity struck.

One of the strapping young lads who came to join us was a spy. He led Inquisitors to our secret camp, high on the side of the Mountain, and they slaughtered us whilst we slept, exhausted. As the leader, I was but wounded, and they dragged me off, Tied in Bronze Chains.

Quite simply, I was tortured with Metal. Vast amounts of Metal of every shape and size were inserted into me forcefully, and my body could not cope. Instead, it twisted until now I am what you see before me. They released me, to show the people what happens to the Untrue. I spent little time being laughed at; instead I left, to plan my revenge.

It’s taken a while, but here I am, and here’s my army. We are going to rip The Tower down and wipe the Metal and all who believe in it from the face of the earth. All of us are marked with the Straight Edge of my weapon, and we shall not cease until our aims are met.”

Iyzor was silent for a moment, and then asked, “So it was your people that murdered the Holy Terr’r?” Ron put his hand on his chest. “I swear to you by the Mountain itself that it was none of us. He was the last chance for peace that we had, and with his murder ended any second thoughts.” “So who did kill him?” Iyzor asked himself. “They may have mean to blame us; no matter. Our plant here,” nodding at Noodles, “was supposed to murder you subsequently, but he missed the chance, and he and I decided that you would be more use to us alive.”

“I would?” Iyzor ventured. “Yes. I propose an exchange: we shall help you rescue Carnif’x from the hellpit she has been sent, if you help us by turning off the magical powers of The Tower.” “But I’d be a traitor!” the Wizard cried. “Do you want the Princess to die because of your idiotic idea of honour?” roared Ron. “Choose wisely, Wizard. The way things are going, you are going to be a very significant part of this legend…”

To be continued...

Awesome.

Quote of the Year 97/100

Radagast awoke just as one of the mysterious hooded figures held a knife to his throat. With a whirr Dead Machine came to life behind him, and extended his guns, but the strangers held Radagast and Rio in front of themselves as shields. The robot could do nothing but watch as they climbed aboard a large boat and floated away.

They fought against their captors, who had removed the blades as soon as they were far away enough from Dead Machine, but were quickly pushed to the floor. “Now then, now then, dearies, we don’t want to have to get our throats sliced, do we?” a deep voice said. Looking up, Rio could just see a large man. He cautiously arose, and the stranger slid his hood back. His face was rounded, but not due to excess fat, and rather handsome. He could do with a better haircut though, thought Rio, as his severe fringe was very unbecoming. Otherwise, he was the very picture of manliness; even his ears grew close to his head. “I am Afeigel, the Doom Shaman,” he intoned in a serious-sounding voice, but his eyes twinkled becomingly. Neither Rio nor Radagast could help liking him on sight. “Why have you kidnapped us?” Rio asked. “We need something from you,” replied the Doom Shaman. “And I thought Lizard Tail was the Doom Shaman?” Radagast interjected.

The Doom cult was a cause of much concern in Latt’m land. It had started out innocently enough, a few teenagers wishing to disassociate themselves from the harsh behaviour of other Metal followers. They believed that in order to appreciate the world, you had to slow it down, so that each molecule of every day could be enjoyed in its own right. This was achieved through the use of a dangerous drug, known only as ‘Sabs’, which had the terrible side effects of ageing the user quickly, so that after spending an afternoon under its influences it was as if three years had gone by! Needless to say, the first wave of such users died out pretty quickly, but for some reason they were remembered with great love by subsequent discovers of the Doom, and a cult was born around them.

Things progressed and grew gradually more and more dangerous, as the drugs were made stronger and life was slowed down so much that a new breakaway group was formed, interested only in slowing down life as much as possible. They called themselves Droners, a play on words of the original Doom-followers’ nickname.

Cult leaders throughout the years were treated as deities; there were many, many stories of orgies and other such activities. After a delegation from the Inquisition begged the King to have it banned, it went underground rather than face torture, and this continued right up until Lizard Tail became the leader. By this time, the Inquisition had been disbanded, so they could continue their activities without fear of persecution. The Doom Shaman was the first to bring the Doom out into the open and make it popular in the mainstream. He had then vanished under mysterious circumstances, upon which Afeigel took his place as a temporary leader until Lizard Tail could be found.

All of this Rio knew, but he couldn’t help but wonder why Afeigel was telling them this. He was obviously ‘taking the peace’, as an old friend of Rio’s used to say, but he could also detect an air of shame, that he knew that what the opponents of Doom said was true, but continued to follow its path in secret humiliation. As he said the last sentence, he turned to Radagast and nodded in a strange way, which his friend didn’t seem to notice. “What do you want from us?” he asked.

Afeigel paused for a moment, looking out over the swamps. “I love this place,” he said. “You can feel it breathing in the morning, when the sun has just risen and the world is just coming to life. You can hear it as it prepares for the new day, for what will occur. You can sense the primordial ooze settling ever deeper as it murmurs to itself of the millions of years that it has witnessed as though they were but seconds. I was born here, I grew up here, I have lived here for most of my life, and when my time comes I shall die here, and my bones shall be given to the sludge.” He halted again, watching as a swamp-lizard ran along the side of the boat before leaping back into the slime.

“Very nice,” said Radagast, looking rather annoyed, “but what do you want with us?” “Well,” said Afeigel, turning to face him, “our swamp is under threat. An Edict came down from The Tower a few weeks ago ordering it to be drained to make way for a new village. It would be a home to the overspill from Opeth. I believe the Forest-dwellers have also been asked.” “Can’t imagine they’re very happy about that,” mused Rio. “No, not much!” agree Afeigel. “What I want you to do is to sign this petition asking for an independent enquiry to take place, so that the swamp has a chance of being saved.”

Radagast looked stunned. “That’s it?” he asked. “Why, what were you expecting?” Afeigel asked, his innocent brown eyes wide in surprise. “Of course we’ll sign!” Rio said, taking the document and scrawling his name in the space the Doom Shaman indicated. “Thank you ever so much!” he gushed, when Radagast had signed it as well. “We’ll take you back to where you were taken from.”

They found Dead Machine stomping worriedly up and down in the same spot. After disembarking, and waving goodbye to the eccentric Doom cultists, he told them that he had been keeping track of them with his scanners, and was just preparing himself for a mad dash into the swamp to rescue them. They laughed together over the Doomists’ strange behaviour, and then carried on their way.

*

The ceremonial spell was complete. It had taken him three weeks of intense pain and concentration, but he had finished it at last, and now all he had to do was complete the chain. Zad lay down in the now-empty coffin, shut the lid, and invoked the Power.

Moments later a huge ball of fire shot out of the hole and disintegrated, burning the land for many feet in each direction, as a huge black figure arose out of the pit. Although at first it seemed like a cloud, it gradually grew more humanoid, until it floated down and stood on two colossal feet. It pounded its chest and roared defiance at the universe. The Elder God Gr’nd Kore had awoken…

To be continued…

WOO!! The Elder God Gr'nd Kore. hahaha, awesome.

this story is so kewl. especially since i pwned kathaarian

do not defy the glorius AFF leader, puny EMOKID!

You forgot about Stefan and I!! Stefan is still crawling around and he needs to revive me!! pleaeaeaeaeaeaeaeaese!!

excellent

They applied themselves feverishly to the work that awaited them, knowing both the reward that awaited success and the possible punishments if they failed. Deep beneath their feet lay the path to righteousness, and they would not be turned aside from performing their task. Kathaarian watched from his safe perch high above their heads, and fingered the bump on his head from where Noodles had hit him. He would tear that traitor into shreds once he had him in his grasp, but for now more pressing matters had to be attended to. He pushed a button, and far below a worker received an electric shock to the groin. That’d teach him to work slowly, he thought to himself, smirking.

*

Radagast, Rio and Dead Machine were discovering that the swamp grew more dangerous as they went along. Several times already Radagast had slipped and fallen in, forcing Rio to risk his neck dragging him out, as Dead Machine stood helplessly by. They had journeyed on for three days after meeting the Doom Cult, and it didn’t seem as if they had gone far at all. As far as the eye could see on all horizons the swamp stretched out, merciless, laughing at their pathetic efforts to cross the barren straits.

Radagast fell for the fifth time. “This is ridiculous,” Rio scolded. “Can you not walk without falling over?” “I’m sorry,” Radagast said, “The ground is wet.” “I seem to be managing!” sniffed Dead Machine, if a robot can be said to sniff. Rio picked him up, and they continued, but before they had gone more than a few feet Radagast fell again. “This isn’t natural,” Rio said, after picking him up out of the slime. “It’s almost as if something is making him do it,” agreed Dead Machine. All three of them looked around uneasily.

A sucking noise from the swamp made them jump. Turning, they saw a white human face in the water, watching them. Once they had gotten over the initial shock, they tried speaking to it, but either it couldn’t hear or understand, or was just ignoring them, for it continued to watch them silently. Moving on, more faces began to surface with the same creepy slurping noise, until there was a sea of them surrounding, watching. Radagast did his best not to fall, but some unseen force again made him slip, and he fell into the swamp.

At once the faces moved, going after him. Rio dragged him out as quickly as he could, but several of them had bitten into Radagast, and in pulling them off he caught a glimpse of the creatures’ bodies; long and sinuous, like an eel’s. Dead Machine fired a round of ammunition into the swamp, and several of the faces were hit, goblets of off-white slime flying out of the wounds. The other faces chased the injured ones and ravenously consumed them, sliding over each other in an orgy of feeding. They could see them for what they were now, long serpent-like creatures with human heads growing at the end.

Dead Machine fired again, and again, whilst Rio tended to his friend’s wounds. Fortunately, the wounds were not deep, but in several places small sharp teeth were left sticking into the flesh, which had to be pulled out. Radagast groaned each time, but he wasn’t badly hurt. They kept going, with the robot pausing at intervals to shoot a few 'faces'.

After several hours, with Radagast miraculously staying upright, they came to an end in the pathway. Ahead, a sea of the despicable creatures waited. “Now what do we do?” Rio asked.

To be continued…

I'm gonna kick this Noodles' ass.

beating emo kids up is mean and cruel! it's not there fault they're skinny and cry a lot!

Sometimes, he reflected, it was necessary to do evil in order to bring about good. He had never been one afraid of getting his hands dirty, but previously he would have been leery of going this far. They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions; well, he was not just paving, but reinforcing and adding handrails. Would he ever feel guilt for what he had done, or would this current psychosis keep its hold on him eternally?

Years later, Ztef’n would look back on this moment and accept that it was the point of no return, that he had neither been careful enough nor had thought it through. But he was at peace with himself, and knew that whilst others may view you one way, what matters is on the inside. This is true of everything in life; people will always find some crack, some way of squirreling in and criticising the smallest aspect that might seem out of place. You have to have the courage to look them in the eye, declare loudly and clearly your dismayed opposition to what they have just said, then kick them in the balls and gouge their eyes out.

This, though, went beyond kicking balls, or indeed gouging eyes. This was the equivalent of nuking a town for not paying its taxes. This was the equivalent of genocide. In moral terms, what Ztef’n had done would rank alongside the Cjenubi massacre in terms of horror.

He had toiled, and this was the result.

Years ago, when the kingdom of Latt’m had just been formed, it was decreed that the subject of necromancy was forbidden completely and utterly. All mentions of the art in Magical books were edited out, and anyone caught talking of, or worse, teaching the abomination were assigned terrible punishments. Some cynics insisted that this was due to some mistake the Head Wizard of the time, Valefor, had made, creating a multi-tentacled horror that acted as the basis for many frightening bedtime tales, but the administration remained tightly lock-lipped on the subject, and gradually all knowledge of it died.

Ztef’n, naturally possessed of an inquisitive sort of mind, had spent many long hours researching the topic, simply due to the fact it was forbidden. He was a great advocate of free speech in his younger days, when his presence still meant something in Latt’m. Now he was forgotten, new idols had arisen for the general populace, new ways of appreciation matched only by their self-hatred in sheer nihilism. Would a world be reborn in which the masters would gather for the excellence that had once flowed forth, or would it again crumble into dust?

No-one can see the future. Perhaps this is all too well and good; some would carve lines in themselves three feet deep in horror, some would relax and laze away their lives awaiting a moment of pleasure which may not have been worth what it appeared. As the philosophers said, ‘twas not the destination, but the journey that fulfilled man, and gave an excuse other than the directions of an imaginary god for the pain of living. Even atheists are curious, after all…

So he had toiled, and this was the result.

Imagine a child’s doll: simple, pure. Now, imagine that this plaything has been acquisitioned by a child that can regrettably be described only in terms of his diseased mental state, who watches a kitten and thinks of the sound that it will make as he rips out its tongue and it bleeds to death. Yes, that kind of child. Now, imagine, if you can, that some well-meaning yet foolish aunt has made a gift of some scissors and glue to this child, ostensibly for the creation of delightful collages, such as was popular in the Victorian era. Of course, our protagonist has already marked out his vicious intent, has already imagined the carnage he can create.

He takes the doll, and defiles it. He adds limbs where limbs should not be, he cuts and scars, he takes a child’s toy and turns it into an abomination. No one can look at the result of his labours without feeling distinctly uncomfortable, that slow sense of unease that comes sliding up the back of your spine. The moment in which you realise that your spawn is an insane animal that needs to be put down like a rabid dog before anyone is seriously hurt must be terrible, indeed. The biggest fear of all, however, comes from the knowledge that such people make up one in ten of the strangers passing us on the streets. Who is more evil, the mentally ill person we mention above, or one who encourages such behaviour, makes more of these beings?

So he had toiled, and this was the result.

M’sha and J’den were once individual life forms. They may have acted like twin brothers, completing each others’ sentences and generally seemingly rather incomplete on their own, but they were literally unique, if not practically. Now, that was changed. He had changed them. Their single torso was an amalgamation of the two, taking the strongest parts of each. Two legs, two heads, two arms. The other two had restored Ztef’n to what he once was.

You might think that such a creature could only travel with difficulty, and it had taken a few hours for the creation to get used to itself. Once that initial period of calibration had passed, however, it was extremely agile. Ztef’n watched it moving around the now bloody hut with pride. He flexed his new arms, feeling the strength in them responding to his thoughts. The first step towards his revenge was complete…

*

It was no good. However many of the freakish creatures Dead Machine killed, more appeared instantly. A few brave ones had started hopping on land, snapping at their ankles, requiring a stomping from the robot. “The only way forward seems to be behind us,” Radagast said miserably. Rio was quiet, watching them slide over each other. Suddenly, he leant forwards, and grabbed one just behind the head, so it couldn’t bite him. The thing struggled for a moment, and then wrapped its snakelike body around Rio’s arm, sliding the end of its tail into his ear with a gulp. He felt it sliding along his aural passage, searching, and then it passed through his eardrum.

The world changed for Rio. Suddenly, he saw the creatures sliding below him not as detestable, but as equals. He spoke, and instead of the sound coming from his mouth, the head at the end of his arm spoke, and they were quiet. He spoke again, and they swam up to the surface, lining up with their heads down to form a bridge. Rio nodded at the other two, who were staring in amazement, and they crossed.

On the other side, he bent down and tried to unwrap the creature from his arm, but he couldn’t. He realised that it was a part of him now, and he stroked it, feeling the subtle shift as millions of tiny veins opened up between the two of them, and the creature became a part of him, like ivy around a tree. His ear was completely numb, and the tentacle inside it felt less odd as each second went by. Looking down at his hand, he saw that his fingers had fused together around the head, which he could move with his arm movements. For all intents and purposes, his arm was gone. The head at the end of that appendage was his as much as the one on his shoulders. He was at peace with the knowledge, he realised. Nothing would ever be the same again, and yet it would be, for it was as if he had been like this since the moment he was born.

He looked at Radagast and Dead Machine, and knew they would never understand. Starting to walk on, he watched from the end of his arm as they followed. Meekly. Like sheep…

*

Kathaarian smiled at the Noble Knight. “So, Sir Wa-“ he started, but was interrupted. “Lord Bishop, I have had my name changed, after having it pointed out to me that it was rather difficult to say, and caused embarrassment to matrons. I now am known as…” he paused dramatically, “Tlaloc.” “Very well, Tullalock,” Kathaarian began, but was again interrupted. “No, Bishop Lord, you pronounced it wrong. It’s Tlaloc.” “Whatever,” he said, waving an arm. “The fact of the matter is, Knight, you have succeeded my expectations. Not just did you pose as being loyal to the traitor Wizard in order to gain his trust and ultimately, cause his downfall, you also took care of the fool Stubb, who has long time now been a thorn in my side. I have one final mission for you, before you return to the land from whence you came. Find the Wizard Iyzor, and ensure that he is not found by anyone else, if you know what I am meaning by this!” He winked at the Knight, who had a slightly confused look on his face. “You mean kill him, Bishop Lord?” he asked. Kathaarian looked annoyed. “Yes, but make sure his remains are not found!” he ordered. “Now go! My duties call my name!”

Kathaarian watched the Knight, as he saluted smartly and left. Another fool to be used and cast away, for the greater glory of the Black. Incredible how successful he had been so far, the Bishop mused. Surely nothing could stop him now…

To be continued...

Wow. This last part was great. Especially the part with Rio.