They cut plastic grass carpet onsite, super glued it to the floor, and would absolutely shiv any half-decent contractor in the lungs for saying that's not a good idea. Moose pelts, big screen TVs, exercise machines, and stacks of mini fridges—though full-sized refrigerators could have gotten the beer and energy drink storage duties out of the way more efficiently, mini fridges were just funner, and that's something even Monty's enemies could acknowledge.
Perhaps the heavy bouquets of air freshener trees hanging from the walls and ceilings were a futile attempt to cover the odors of mummified royalty, but to their credit, the placebo effect wouldn't be so widespread if it didn't get results.
A custom neon sign sitting on Omruàk the Great's golden sarcophagus flashed out “WOLF,” “MOURNS,” “NOT,” and “THE RABBIT” every few seconds, followed by a cartoon bunny (dead, x eyes, stink lines, flies, etc.) and a cartoon wolf (pointing and laughing). That sign sitting on Omruàk's coffin, and that alone, would have been enough for Titania to bring impalement back into the Kobal judicial system for old time's sake.
In the center of the room, the plastic turf warped from the heat of a glowing teleportation sigil. One of the workers yelled, and the whole room dropped their tools, stood, and saluted. Could be the big M himself, after all.
[Legate Thoric — Teleport Group]
There stood Legate Thoric, but behind him were four of the GU's five government-appointed archnemeses—Liv, glaring, Noah and Ofelia, praying under their breath, and Branwen, chewing her right forearm to the point of bleeding.
Thoric turned around to address them. “You are to meet Dark Lord Monty in single combat, in an order pre-determined by—”
With a cry of “Bored!” Liv pointed the Glass Cannon at the nearest available TV.
[Liv — Flame Stream]
The workers rolled to the side as Liv drew the point of the staff across the room like a pen, drawing a line of sparks, smoke, and charred electronics in its wake.
[Legate Thoric — Warning Shot]
With the all too familiar sound of a Necrylic ectolysis beam, Liv's rampage was cut short, leaving only a few lingering flames to remember it by. Because fire extinguishers were for the weak, the workers crowded around the flames to verbally abuse them.
With the hand that wasn't on his staff, Thoric pointed a smoking, pistol-sized Medusa Gun at the ceiling.
“Where on Argo's Pleasant Pastures Green did you get that?” asked Noah.
Thoric smirked. “Our new friends in House Koschei, of course.” He pointed to Ofelia. “They heard that you loved Medusa Guns most of all, Your Excellency, and recommended we do all of our fighting with them as a special courtesy.”
Seeing Ofelia flinch, Liv stared at Thoric, wondering how many AAA batteries she could force feed him before brain death set in.
Thoric continued. “Of course, you being chosen heroes and all, etiquette dictates that we don't kill you where you stand, and should give you a modicum of a chance to actually win this—ergo, I suggest you return the favor by following the regulations we've established for the final battle. Have I made myself clear?”
“Or,” said Branwen, mid-chew, “you could have just said 'follow the rules or I'll kill you,' ya pretentious bastard.”
Thoric scoffed. “Well, excuse me for having a decent vocabulary.”
“That much I can excuse,” grumbled Noah. “Though I'd rather you own up to a mistake of value, progress is progress.”
Every eye in the room turned to Noah. Liv wondered if this was a dream. “Minion,” she said, “did you just...throw shade at someone?”
The blushing and trembling began, and all was right in the world. “I mean, uh, Wheel, Flame, and Fleece forgive me, I'm so sorry, I don't know what came over—”
Liv grabbed Noah, shaking him. “No, don't stop, Minion! Stay shady! Your life may depend on it!”
[Thoric — Shut Up Pound]
The ground trembled from Thoric's staff. “Are you quite finished?” he asked.
Branwen looked up from eating her arm, then looked back at all the scars her teeth had left. “Nah,” she said, “but I wouldn't mind takin' the rest home in a box.”
The four of them looked toward the door to the throne room and heard the muffled murmurs of two thousand of the GU's fighters, crammed into a single space.
The tight feeling in their chests could no longer be ignored. Liv called it hype, knowing it was a lie.
YularTube — ULFENFEST 52K11 (Presented by Ichor Zero) #ulfenstadt #GU #wolfmournsnottherabbit #ichorzero
Posted 10/24/5211 at 4:00 PM OVST by LordMontyOFFICIAL
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(A makeshift pro wrestling ring has been constructed in the center of the Great Throne Hall of the Pyrite Palace. Swarms of GU soldiers crowd around the ring. Giant flags for the GU and the Kingdom of Ulfenstadt hang from the ceiling.)
(Legate Todd, Ulfenstadt's official DJ, downs his fifteenth can of Ichor Zero as he ascends to the stage. His limbs are shaking, and his signature rainbow-colored ski mask hides the fact that his eyes are bulging from his sockets. He approaches the microphone.)
Legate Todd: HEAR ME, PEOPLE OF ULFENSTADT! My name is—
[Skip ad in 15s]
[EXT ROSENCRACIAN BATTLEFIELD — NIGHT: A greencoat steps off a landing attack helicopter as he prepares to enter a field full of grenades, explosions, and machine gun fire.
Greencoat #27: When I'm headed off to defend the Great Province-Kingdom of Celsior, what can I trust to give me the energy boost I need with none of the calories, and also double as rat poison in a pinch?
[He holds up a can of Ichor Zero.]
Greencoat #27: Damn right.
[He runs into the warzone.]
Narrator: Ichor Zero—“The taste is intentional.”™
Legate Todd: On that note, let's give a heroes' welcome to our glorious leader, His Awesomeness, High King Monty Jones the First of Ulfenstadt!”
[Boss Battle!]: [Lord Monty ~1,042nd Dark Lord of Luminar~]
[Bestiary: Lord Monty]
[Type: Human, Dark Lord]
[Weaknesses: “None”]
[HP: 500,000]
[Description: Them muscles, though.]
[Wild cheering. Monty ascends to the ring, wearing a microphone headset for the crowd.]
Legate Todd: O, strongest and most revered warlord of—
Monty: Yeah, yeah, shut up. Hang on a sec. HANDMAIDEN! Where's my voggin' spear?
[Prince Raphael of Celsior (having been beaten within an inch of his life by the Fusion Wraith, then captured by the GU) climbs the ring, bound in loose chains and dressed in a loincloth. He kneels, presenting Monty with Lupus.]
Monty: Well, hello there, loyal servant. Have you fetched me what I requested?
Raphael: Just take the damn spear, you troglody—
Monty: Don't get fresh with me!
Raphael: Here's your spear.
Monty: Here's your spear, what?
Raphael: [sigh] Here's your spear, Master.
[Monty takes the spear.]
Monty: Great job. Now, before we get started with this battle, my boots haven't been licked in ages. Don't you think we should do something about tha— [Monty turns to something from the side of the ring catching his attention, and imitates the throat-cutting gesture being made to him] —what? What do you mean, you want me to kill—don't kill him? Use your words like a big boy, Thoric.
Thoric: Gregor called. He says stop.
[Lord Monty — Defenestrate]
[Monty forward-passes Raphael out of the window above the throne room.]
Monty: Great job, Raphael. You have proven yourself worthy, you're a free man, never come back, please.
Thoric: Please tell me you didn't just murder the—
Monty: Save him.
[Legate Thoric — Teleport Self]
Monty: Anyway, speech time. Oh, my brothers...I
once was a chosen hero, but I now stand before you as king. Hear my first proclamation: No longer shall GU stand for “grown-ups,” for that was when we were men of Aries. The GU shall forevermore be known as the Guardians of Ulfenstadt!
[Insane cheering.]
Which, thankfully, also starts with a G and a U, so we don't have to change up the décor too much. Efficiency, mothervoggers!
In just a few hours, the first waves of the death march will vog a path through the Imperial City, and Princess Pamina herself will—
Liv: So, do you actually love the sound of your own voice that much, or are you stalling out of terror?
Monty: Oh, that reminds me! Are there any pirates in the throne room today? Get ‘em up against the rope!
Branwen: I heard “pirates.” Someone said “pirates.”
Monty: There’s one in the spotlight, and she don't look right to me. Get her up against the rope.
Liv: Looks like you’re up first, Branny.
Branwen: I dunno, guys. He said “pirates,” and that's my favorite word. Maybe he's a good guy.
[Noelle — Charm]
Noah: Come on, Branny, do it for me?
[CRITICAL HIT!]
[Branwen blushes, hesitates, then leaps into the ring.]
Branwen: Curse you and your womanly wiles!
Legate Todd: Round one: Lord Monty versus Branwen Hammersmith. Fight!
[Branwen — Cannonball Fist]
Branwen: Redacted and Expunged send their regards, ya landlubbin' piece a'—
Monty: Now!
[An “Anubis” chant builds up from the crowd.]
[Attack interrupted!]
[The Entire GU at Once — Branwen’s Safeword]
[Branwen falls to the mat, screaming and clutching her face.]
Liv: Monty, you cheating BASTA—
[Skip ad in 15s]
[INT KITCHEN — DAY: A husband and wife sit drinking coffee and eating breakfast.]
Husband: Hey, whatever happened to Classic Ichor?
Wife: What do you mean, “classic” Ichor?
Husband: You know, the one that's not Ichor Zero. Sure, it had more sugar, but it tasted great!
Wife: I want a divorce.
Narrator: Ichor Zero—“She's taking the kids.”™
Era, meanwhile, had spent the past half hour having a screaming argument with God.
“We could go on about this forever,” wrote the Voice Highmost, “and I know you want your friends to stay alive. But the facts don't lie. I'm using enough power as it is just to prepare you for the heartbreak.”
The mortal scoffed. “I suppose you're gonna say 'everything happens for a reason,' aren't you?”
“No, of course not! This isn’t fate; nothing’s set in stone here. But I’ve seen your team’s parameters compared to Monty. Even if you were working at maximum efficiency, the outcome is going to remain the same for your friends.”
“Oh, I'll bet we look like numbers and statistics to you from down here.”
“That's not what I me—”
“V.H., I don't think you really get that you're dealing with humans. We don't just eat, sleep, and die—we also make art, music, countries, love each other, kill each other, get our voggin' legs shot off, and go to jail for tax evasion. All the faith Noah has in you is starting to look embarrassing. I mean, a whole voggin' planet depends on you, and you can't be bothered to save your own Chosen Three!”
“Era, please. If I could do something to save them, I would do it immediately. But...well, logically, a god can't be both all-powerful and love you at the same time, and you're stuck with the god that loves you.”
“You love us.” The mortal grit his teeth; he hadn't been this angry in years. “You found out you're God only recently, and your first action is to sit on your hands and whine about how much you're not ready for that kind of responsibility, but you 'love' us.”
“I know, Era, but what can be done?”
Era's nails dug into his scalp in frustration. “If God can't do anything, then why do we even have you?!”
“Without me, your universe would collapse.”
“It's doing a fine job of that with you, jackass, because you don't have the balls to step in and fix it. You're God, aren't you? Then step out of your comfort zone for more than five vogging minutes and act like it!”
[Voice Highmost—Discomfort Zone]
The space around them turned to pitch darkness. Galgalim, the scribe, everything else. Era and the text were alone.
“Yes.”
The text turned red.
“I AM God.”
Era heard a Celsioran shock trooper's rocket launcher go off from behind him.
“BOW.”
Era hit the floor to duck from the missile—and wondered why he was face first in a snowbank.
[Ofelia — White Tiger Blade]
[Her sword swipes across Monty's face to the right, leaving a trail of war pixels. Monty grins.]
[2,403 DMG to Lord Monty]
[Ofelia — Shield Bash]
[With the shield in her other arm, she slaps Monty across the face, launching him into the ropes to her left.]
[1,240 DMG to Lord Monty]
[He uses the ropes' elasticity to leap toward her, his spear drawn]
[Lord Monty — Lunge]
[Her shield forms its magic barrier to block him.]
[Ofelia — Praetorian Guard]
[Lord Monty — Pole Vault]
[He jams the spear into the ground, leaps over the shield, and grapples Ofelia from behind...]
[Lord Monty — Super Kidney Puncher 9001]
[...and unleashes his fist onto her lower back in a flurry of blows, breaking through her silver cuirass.]
[Hit 14 times!]
[5,050 DMG to Ofelia]
[Lord Monty — Aboooout Face!]
[Lord Monty — Fist of the Fist-Having Wolf]
[He flips her around and lands a heavy right hook into her lower abdomen...]
[2,207 DMG to Ofelia]
[...and wonders why she isn't screaming in pain.]
Monty: What the crap? The study guide said your pain sigil was right there.
Ofelia: It is. But frankly, I’d rather hear you scream, first.
[Lord Monty — Intercontinental Ballistic Rosie]
[He throws Ofelia out of the ring, next to where Branwen—who is now catatonic from having “Anubis” said to her approximately 50,000 times in five minutes—is sitting.]
[Ring Out!]
[143 DMG to Ofelia]
[Ofelia staggers to her feet, coughing up blood.]
Legate Todd: Uh oh, Carlo, ring out! You lose!
[Ofelia – Last Hurrah]
[Ofelia can use one more action before being KO’d!]
Ofelia: That’s...not my name.
Lord Monty: Yeah, and who’s king here, bitch?! As High King of Ulfenstadt, I dub thee: Sir Carlo of—
[Ofelia — The National Razor]
[With her last ounce of strength, Ofelia throws her shield toward Legate Todd. It narrowly misses but hits the Cinnabar Throne—cleaving it in half. Ofelia grins.]
Ofelia: No throne…not a king.
[Ofelia was KO’d!]
[Incoherent screaming from Monty]
Once again, thanks to whatever illusory magic the Voice Highmost had cast, Era found himself back at the scene of the worst day of his life—the Fall of Rosencrace. He saw no one, but the screams were all familiar.
“Okay, V.H., you've made your point,” said Era, to the sky. “I laid it on too thick. I'm sorry.”
No reply.
“Let me out,” said Era.
Still no reply.
“Let me out!”
A pair of hands in plastic gloves grabbed him from behind, holding him. “Step out of your comfort zone for more than five voggin' minutes,” said the Greencoat. Its helmet's voice distorter was the same, but the voice was Era's own, from a few seconds prior. “Step out of your comfort zone for more than five voggin' minute
s, step out of your comfort zone, comfort zone...”
Gena. She stared back at him, standing in her old bullfighting uniform. Her eyes were grey, semi-translucent. She spoke: “Hypocrite.” The voice was neither Gena's, nor that of anyone else Era knew; it was something implacable and genderless, but human.
“That's your real voice, isn't it?” asked Era. “Is this the real Voice Highmo—”
[????? — Stab]
“I'm talking here, mortal.”
Gena shoved the frozen-over bullfighter's sword through Era's heart. No pain, no injury, but there was definitely the feeling of something breaking into him, moving through his body, and it was wrong.
“You think it's that easy to step outside your comfort zone?” said the puppet-Gena. “Then stay here with me for a while. Prove that you can practice what you preach. Let's dance.”
Era sucked in a breath through his grinding teeth. “Okay. Do your worst.”
[Voice Highmost — Your Worst Nightmare]
Silence, noise, all at once. Grenades exploded inside Era's ears. The sky turned black. The Seraphs pounded Nabucco with wave after wave of the Light of the Gods. Gena screamed at Era in her own voice. About how much she hated him. Vog you. Goodbye. Done talking. Her skin turned to Necrylic. Done talking. It melted. Cracked. Fire. Smoke.
Neverstone: A LitRPG Adventure (The Mad Elf Book 1) Page 41
