Max Rage: Twelve Punches To Mars!

by Jake Bible

  “No you don’t!” Rage yelled and dove.

  Rage grabbed up a rifle in each hand and opened fire before he’d completed a full roll across the beer hall floor. Mole people screamed as Rage sliced them apart. Rage came up onto his feet and spun in a fast circle, slicing and blasting every mole person that wasn’t diving under tables for cover.

  “The rifles work!” Rage shouted.

  “It’s all the beer in you, Maximillian rage!” Jack Connor, King of Mars responded. “Beer is wonderful! Oh, and excellent shooting, Maximillian Rage! Ow! Watch it now! A little close there! But still excellent shooting!”

  “Shut up, Jackie Boy, and let me work!” Rage yelled.

  “Of course! I shall bother you no more, Maximillian Rage!”

  “That’s not shutting up!”

  “My apologies!”

  “Still not shutting up!”

  There was no response to the last yell and Rage tossed the empty laser rifles at the closest mole people, impaling both in the abdomens. Using the toes of his boots, Rage flipped two new laser rifles up from the floor, grabbed them midair, and started firing once more.

  Of course, the mole people were firing too.

  Rage took several shots to his sides, his chest, his arms, and his thighs. Unfortunately for the mole people, lasers just weren’t super effective against Rage’s superior physicality. They should have known that when Lord and Lady Stardust’s rainbow lasers only tickled Rage. But, live and learn. Or not learn.

  It wasn’t like the lasers didn’t hurt, though. Rage screamed, shouted, roared, bellowed, and pretty much let loose with all the exclamations as the beams of deadly light penetrated his skin. Some of the roars and bellows were over the fact that his black T-shirt was getting shredded and Rage didn’t have a backup with him since the one he wore he’d gotten on the party barge. Shirtless was okay, but Rage really preferred to wear a T-shirt, specifically black, when massacring his enemies.

  He didn’t even want to think about what was happening to his jeans.

  “Ouch! Damn! You son of a bitch! Eat this! You eat this! Eat some of this! Eat it! Eat all the lasers, you little rat bastards!”

  “Little mole bastards, Maximillian Rage!” Jack Connor, King of Mars called out. “Oops! I am supposed to be shutting up!”

  “Yeah! You are!”

  Rage blasted thirteen mole people all in a row, the laser from the rifle he was firing nailing them in perfect sequence directly in the right eyes. It was a feat to defy all the odds, but Rage was pretty damn good at defying all the odds.

  He fired again and only blew the kneecaps off three mole people. Sometimes defying odds was hard to duplicate.

  “What’s the exit strategy, Jackie Boy?” Rage yelled as more and more mole people streamed into the beer hall.

  “I’m sorry?” Jack Connor, King of Mars responded. “Hold on a moment, Maximillian Rage. I am attempting to retrieve Lawrence. Unfortunately for Lawrence, he is under a considerably large pile of mole people corpses. Nice work, Maximillian Rage. I applaud your abilities. Perhaps in the future you may try to not allow the mole people corpses to gather over my best friend and most trustworthy weapon? Hmmm?”

  Rage let that one go. He had to or his head would explode from the what-the-fuckery that Jack Connor, King of Mars caused.

  “Ah! There we go!” Jack Connor, King of Mars announced, holding Lawrence the Trident up high. “See? Maximillian Rage! Do you see? I was able to slide Lawrence free of the corpse pile! A triumph indeed!”

  “Good for you, Jackie boy!” Rage shouted.

  His laser rifles died and the next three he tried died too. The rifles were spent. No matter which ones he tried to fire, nothing happened. Same with the rifles the mole people wielded.

  “Back to fists and feet?” Rage asked.

  The mole people shrugged then attacked.

  “You heard that!” Rage shouted before punching the heads of seventeen and a half mole people. The half one only lost its bangs and right ear. “None of you little shits are deaf!”

  “Oh, they most certainly are deaf!” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “Can you hear me, mole people?” None of the mole people responded. “See?”

  “Christ,” Rage muttered. “They just don’t talk to you, idiot!”

  Rage caught a glimpse of the shock on Jack Connor, King of Mars’ face and almost felt sorry for the guy. He looked like everything he’d learned in life was a lie. And that Santa Claus was probably a child molester. The look on his face was that bad.

  But, Rage had more important things to take care of than worry about Jack Connor, King of Mars’ feelings. He had mole people to slaughter. And slaughter was the only way he was going to get the job done.

  “Time for full rage!” Rage bellowed.

  He shoved his fist deep into a mole person’s guts and yanked out a good three meters worth of intestines. As he’d suspected, especially since he’d been stepping on, stepping over, and stepping around a lot of the mole people’s guts for a good while now, the intestines were stringy and tough.

  Perfect for some whipping.

  Rage whipped the intestines over his head then flicked his wrist and brought the long guts down and back in one motion, snapping the end of the intestines through three mole people’s skulls at once. They were some sharp guts.

  Pain exploded in Rage’s left leg and he glanced down to see two mole people gnawing into his jeans, just above his boot. They’d pierced the denim and were going to town on his calf muscles. Rage tried to kick them off, but they hung on tight with those front teeth like their lives depended on it. Which they did.

  “Little shits,” Rage snarled and wrapped the intestines around their necks in a looping pattern then pulled tight. He kept pulling until their eyes bulged then their heads popped right off. “Pop a mole, bitches!”

  More pain exploded in Rage’s body, but this time in his right shoulder as three mole people jumped onto his right arm and sunk their teeth into the flesh just above his bicep. Rage grabbed one mole person by the skull and yanked hard, tearing not only the mole person off, but a sizable amount of Rage flesh. Rage squeezed until the mole person’s skull was crushed by his grip. Then he repeated the motion two more times, clearing the mole people from his arm.

  That left his right arm useless until it healed since it was missing most of its upper flesh and muscle. Rage’s bone gleamed in the light, a bright white beacon to the other mole people that attacking now would be the best plan they could execute.

  They attacked all as one. No hesitation. No groups maneuvering for position. No watch and wait to look for a weakness. The mass of mole people rolled over Rage and took him down to the beer hall’s floor. In less than two seconds, there was no sign of Max Rage any longer. He was at the very bottom of a mole people pile-on.

  Thirty-Three

  “Oh, dear me,” Jack Connor, King of Mars fretted as he stared helplessly at the mole people pile. “Maximillian? Hello? Are you in there?”

  He continued to stare at the pile then looked at Lawrence. Back to the pile. Back to Lawrence.

  “I am Jack Connor, King of Mars,” he said to himself.

  There were a few rolled eyes underneath the many goggles and some soft raspberries from the mole people, but Jack Connor, King of Mars was too lost in thought to notice. Or lost in what passed for thoughts in his King of Mars-addled brain. The planet really hadn’t been good for Jack Connor’s mental health.

  “I can do this,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “I can help Maximillian Rage and defeat the mole people myself. I am not only Jack Connor, King of Mars, but Jack Connor, Wielder of Lawrence the Trident!”

  He thrust the trident into the air and let loose with a battle cry.

  Then he stepped to the pile and gently poked the closest mole person.

  “You! Get off now, I say!” he shouted. The shout was about a thousand times more forceful than the stabbing motion he was making with Lawrence. “You will stop trying to kill Maximillian Rag
e! As King of Mars, I command thee!”

  The mole person being gently poked swatted at Lawrence and nearly knocked the trident out of Jack Connor, King of Mars’ grip.

  “That was quite rude, I shall have you know!” Jack Connor, King of Mars snapped. “Quite rude indeed! So rude that I believe you should be punished!”

  Jack Connor, King of Mars brought Lawrence back, hesitated, hesitated some more, kept on hesitating, then stopped hesitating and thrust the trident into the pile with all of his strength.

  There was a blood-curdling scream and Jack Connor, King of Mars yanked Lawrence back out of the pile. Two mole people were impaled on the end. They squirmed for a second then died, their bowels and bladders loosing right there.

  “Yuck,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said then realized that the mole people were no longer piling onto Maximillian Rage. They were standing up and staring at Jack Connor, King of Mars. “Oh, hello there.”

  A lot of mole teeth were bared. Goggles were lifted so that Jack Connor, King of Mars could see just how upset each and every mole person was with him. The glares were hard to miss.

  “Yes, well, they deserved to die,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said and brandished Lawrence at the disapproving mole people. “I did warn them. Just as I warned you all. You will leave Maximillian Rage alone from here on out.”

  The mole people charged Jack Connor, King of Mars.

  Jack Connor, King of Mars turned and ran screaming, Lawrence clutched in both hands and waving over his head. He was out the door and sprinting down the outside tunnel or corridor or whatever with a good couple hundred mole people on his ass.

  Rage rolled onto his back, sat up, stared at the empty beer hall for a moment, then begrudgingly got to his feet. He stretched, popping some kinks out of his spine, rolled his shoulders, then clapped his hands together.

  “I should let them kill him,” Rage said to himself, able to clearly hear Jack Connor, King of Mars screaming for Rage’s help.

  The screams were clear because Jack Connor, King of Mars was sprinting past the open doors to the beer hall every couple of minutes. Going the same direction each time. Rage guessed that the tunnel or corridor or whatever out there was a loop. He was sure there was a way out of the loop, but Rage didn’t exactly have a great amount of confidence in Jack Connor, King of Mars. Even if the guy was King of Mars, he’d basically been suckered into the job and held captive by mole people for several centuries.

  He was kinda lame.

  Rage walked slowly to the open doors and leaned against the frame. He waited, studying a cuticle, as Jack Connor, King of Mars’s screams grew closer and closer. The second the leather-underwear clad king was close enough, Rage snatched him out of the corridor, tossed him back into the beer hall, and slammed the doors closed. Rage shoved everything he could against the beer hall doors, from tables to chairs to benches to a good amount of mole people corpses, then took a step back and smiled at his work.

  He spun on his heel and was about to shout at Jack Connor, King of Mars, but something made him close his mouth, turn back around, and face the beer hall doors that were quite securely barricaded.

  “Didn’t you destroy those when you came barging in to interrupt the Stardust idiots from sacrificing me?” Rage asked, really confused by the intact beer hall doors.

  “No, I do not think so,” Jack Connor, King of Mars replied.

  “No, I’m pretty fucking sure you did,” Rage said. “I’m also pretty fucking sure I don’t care about any of this place any longer. Doors are there, they’re barricaded, you need to show me a different way out.”

  “We could go down the garbage chute,” Jack Connor, King of Mars suggested. “It will be disgusting, but there is a bright side.”

  “Please. Tell me the bright side,” Rage said. The pounding of mole people fists echoed through the barricaded doors. “And hurry because those little shits are pretty fucking motivated.”

  “Yes, well, if we take the garbage chute, then that puts us on the seventeenth basement level,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said with a huge grin on his face. He didn’t elaborate.

  “Is that the level with a bunch of dual plasma, laser-guided hot rocket launching, never-empty Axis combat rifles waiting for me?” Rage asked.

  “Oh, heavens no,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “That’s where I keep my grav scooter. It’s a Vespa 3000. Top of the line.”

  “The latest model is 9000,” Rage said. “So not even close to top of the line. And it’s a grav scooter, so it sucks no matter what model it is. What else is down there?”

  “Garbage.”

  “That’s it? Garbage and your fucking grav scooter?”

  “It’s a very nice scooter. A sensible aqua green with a yellow seat. Room enough for two.”

  “Room for two? Two what? Idiots?”

  “Well, no… Maximillian Rage, you do not seem impressed by my grav scooter and that hurts me deeply. My Vespa 3000 has been nothing but a reliable companion for many, many, many, many years. I believe you owe me an apology.”

  The beer hall doors started to groan and crack.

  Jack Connor, King of Mars gripped Lawrence tightly and slammed the end down onto the floor.

  “And it is not like you have a lot of options, Maximillian Rage,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said then pointed Lawrence at the doors. “They will be in here soon. Very soon. And there will be a hundred times the number. You will not be able to fight all of them, Maximillian Rage!”

  “I didn’t want to fight any of them,” Rage replied. “You told me to kill them so you could be free and then you’d get me the fuck out of here so I can find the other idiots I’ve been dealing with.”

  “This is my fault?” Jack Connor, King of Mars snapped. “My fault? I am not the one that was seduced by a female of the arachnid type that does not wear clothing.”

  “Naked spider lady,” Rage said. “Just say naked spider lady. And, in my defense, there was a lot of lavender.”

  “Oh, that is right,” Jack Connor said, nodding. “That lavender is potent. I will give you that, Maximillian Rage.”

  The doors started to split and angry mole people heads shoved through to glare behind goggles at Rage and Jack Connor, King of Mars.

  “Fine,” Rage said. “We take the garbage chute down and ride your grav scooter back to the surface.”

  “That won’t happen,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “The Vespa 3000 is not rated for surface driving without the proper registration and I’m afraid I have let mine lapse. It is perfectly fine for zipping around the subterranean levels of Mars, but up on the surface—”

  “Shut up!” Rage shouted. “Just show me the garbage chute so I can get this shit over with!”

  “That outburst seems out of nowhere,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “But I will let it pass and do my duty to get you to safety.”

  Rage pinched the bridge of his nose. “This fucking place…”

  “Are you ready, Maximillian Rage?” Jack Connor, King of Mars asked.

  “Yes,” Rage said through the most gritted of gritted teeth ever gritted in the history of teeth gritting.

  “Then follow me!” Jack Connor, King of Mars bellowed, lifting Lawrence high as if in triumph.

  Rage followed him.

  They went through the kitchen to the very back of the beer hall facility. There was a large hatch marked “garbage chute” set into the wall.

  “This is the garbage chute,” Jack Connor, King of Mars stated.

  “Yep,” Rage replied. “Kinda hard not to see that.”

  “Shall I open it?” Jack Connor, King of Mars asked.

  “Sure,” Rage replied.

  Jack Connor, King of Mars opened the chute and was about to turn to tell Rage something. Rage didn’t give him the chance. Instead, he shoved the King of Mars as hard as he could through the hatch then jumped in after him.

  It was a very small victory, but Rage took it.

  Thirty-Four

  The Vespa 3000 wa
s a sensible aqua green with a yellow seat. It was also coated in a lot of garbage. A lot of garbage…

  “It has been a while since I went for a ride,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said, scratching his chin in thought. “A century perhaps?”

  “That’d be about right for the model number,” Rage said as he struggled to disentangle the grav scooter from the rib cage of the discarded carcass of a roast beast. “You wanna give me a hand here, Jackie Boy?”

  “I think we should revisit that name,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “If you are to use a nickname, could it be, and this is off the top of my head, not like I have been thinking about it for the last few decades, but, and like I said—”

  “Spit it out,” Rage snarled, finally freeing the Vespa 3000 from the putrefied carcass. “What do you want me to call you?”

  “Would Jack Connor, King of Mars be too much trouble?” Jack Connor, King of Mars asked.

  Rage’s right eye began to twitch. The twitch grew worse until he was forced to squeeze the lid closed and keep it that way for at least thirty seconds before the twitching stopped. He took a deep breath then let it out.

  “That’s your name,” Rage stated. “Jack Connor, King of Mars is your name. That’s not a nickname. That is literally what you are called.”

  “I know, and it has taken many, many years of thought to come to the conclusion that I would like to always be addressed that way,” Jack Connor, King of Mars said. “Sometimes one must lose one’s self before finding one’s self.”

  “No! That’s not how that works!” Rage shouted and punched Jack Connor, King of Mars, square in the mouth, cracking several of the man’s teeth and all of Rage’s knuckles.

  Rage healed instantly. Jack Connor, King of Mars did not.

  “How dare you!” Jack Connor, King of Mars shouted as he wiped the blood and bits of enamel from his split lips. “I have been nothing but hospitable since meeting you, Maximillian Rage! You repay me with violence? For shame, sir! For shame!”

  Rage pointed from Jack Connor, King of Mars to the grav scooter. “Get on that. Now. We’re getting out of here.”