The Chief God looked out over the world, and despaired. She had been horrified when her...
-
The site has now migrated to Xenforo 2. If you see any issues with the forum operation, please post them in the feedback thread.
-
Due to issues with external spam filters, QQ is currently unable to send any mail to Microsoft E-mail addresses. This includes any account at live.com, hotmail.com or msn.com. Signing up to the forum with one of these addresses will result in your verification E-mail never arriving. For best results, please use a different E-mail provider for your QQ address.
-
The rules regarding NSFW links have been updated. See here for details.
The Doctor Is In (MGE X Original Superhero Setting
- Thread starter Charles Flynn
- Start date
- Created at
- Index progress
- Hiatus
- Watchers
- 117
- Recent readers
- 0
- Threadmarks
- 11
-
Statistics (10 threadmarks, 20k words)
User Total Charles Flynn 10 Threadmarks Reader mode -
Loading…
Prologue
Charles Flynn
I trust you know where the happy button is?
- Joined
- Aug 4, 2018
- Messages
- 570
- Likes received
- 19,530
The Chief God looked out over the world, and despaired. She had been horrified when her predecessor had fallen, and at the debauchery the world had descended into. And now, she could do nothing but watch as all the free species of the world were slowly but steadily being driven extinct.
The Demon Lord and the Hero. The linchpins of this nightmare. Before, there had been a balance. The monsters and the humans would fight, and in so doing, find fulfillment. They would fuel the gods with their prayers.
But now, the Demon Lord, Lillith, had corrupted the world. All the races of the world were being bred to death, seduced by the brainwashed, lustful monstergirls, who would inevitably breed true.
The status quo could not be sustained, the Chief God knew. Her heroes would not be able to turn the tide. Eventually, the Demon Lord would win through sheer attrition, and the debauched mockery of the former world she would create would slowly wither into nothingness.
There was nothing she could think of no man in the world of Maapallon who could resist the Demon Lord.
But then, a thought occurred:
It might take a miracle, but then, what were gods for, if not miracles? If there was no man on Maapallon who could resist, then she would look beyond to the infinite webs of existence. To distant stars, and the worlds that circled about them.
And so, she called up her power, drawing her chosen Valkyrie towards her, to cast out into the stars, and return with a hero that could turn the tides. A hero who could cast back the monsters and slay the Demon Lord Lilith!
The Valkyrie shot out, faster than light, faster than thought, a javelin hurled into the darkness in search of a savior, and the Chief God, for the first time in her eons-old existence, truly understood how her mortals felt when they prayed to her.
And then, the Valkyrie returned, bearing in her arms an armored figure, and for the first time in eons, the Chief God's heart swelled with hope.
He was clad in white armor, bizarrely segmented in a way almost reminiscent of dragonscale. His helmet was shaped to almost resemble an eagle's beak. He wore a black cloak with the hood up, which cast his helm into shadow.
He looked at her, still reeling from being called into her presence from half a galaxy away.
And then he spoke. "WHO DARES SUMMON DOCTOR VON MURDER?"
In hindsight, the Chief God considered, this might have been a mistake. While a name wasn't the be-all-end-all summation of one's character and moral disposition, a name like 'Doctor von Murder' was seldom an indicator of a stable, rational individual. But then, she shouldn't be judgmental, he was probably a very friendly and noble soul once you got to know him.
"ANSWER, OR FACE MY FURY!" Doctor von Murder roared, his gauntlets beginning to glow and hum ominously.
"Noble hero," the Chief God said. "I am the Chief God of this world, and we face a terrible crisis."
"Mm-hmm."
"We have called you because you alone, in all the universe, are suited to ending this threat," she says. "Will you aid us?"
"Explain the threat. Hundred words or less."
"The current Demon Lord is a succubus. She's turned all the monsters into sexually predatory parodies of themselves called mamono and is corrupting women into mamono and men into breeding slaves. In addition to the wide-scale instances of rape and brainwashing, she is driving all the non-monster-races ever closer to extinction, as mamono cannot give birth to men, and she aims to turn all women into mamono," the Chief Goddess recited, after calling upon her gift of tongues to determine how to best summarize the information.
"Hm. And how effective have your actions been in stopping her?" Doctor von Murder asked.
"Fairly ineffective. She managed to duel me to a standstill with the help of her husband, who was originally the hero assigned to stop her. My subsequent heroes, chosen from my worshippers, were all equally incapable of stopping her. She corrupted them and twisted their minds, making them lewd parodies of their former selves."
"Have you tried sending in gay men?"
"She just twisted them into mamono. Or brainwashed them into liking women."
"Ah. I see," the good Doctor said with a nod. "I agree that she should die. I do believe that I will aid you. Let us discuss terms."
"Terms?" The Chief God asked, torn between relief and wariness.
"The terms of my aiding you, which must be met for my assistance," Doctor von Murder clarified. "I am the Baron of Merdoria, and a known superhero on my homeworld of Earth. My time is a valuable commodity, which I will be spending on fixing your planets issues in your stead. Thus, I desire assurance that it will be efficiently utilized."
"State your terms, then."
"Firstly, you shall not withhold aid from me upon grounds of morality, or because my actions in destroying the mamono scourge have conflicted with some unstated pacifistic ideal. I will end the outbreak, by the means that I see fit to use. Is that clear?"
"That is acceptable, yes," the Chief God said.
"Secondly, if I am to act as your agent in this endeavor, your mortal followers must be informed on no uncertain terms that I represent you and be instructed that they are not to impede me in any way, and that they should obey me with regards to the battle against the mamono. If they are your army, then they must be my army as well, and provide me with the resources necessary to establish an industrial base and create the technology I will use to win. Is this acceptable?"
"That's a fairly extreme demand you're making, Doctor," the Chief Goddess said with a raised eyebrow. "Access to all my forces?"
"You want the job done right, correct? Your previous commanders have failed. Your previous stratagems have failed. You have called me forth for one purpose: TO WIN! It is neither arrogance nor presumption to request the necessary tools to succeed in the task you yourself have appointed me!"
"And you believe that you can win where I, a goddess, could not?"
"Don't you?" Doctor von Murder asked. "After all, you yourself summoned me. Why go through all that effort for a hero you don't believe can win?"
And the Chief God laughed. "Very well, then, my audacious hero. My followers shall know you as their commander. Prove yourself worthy of the honor."
"Excellent," the Doctor said with a nod. "Now, onto my third and final condition: When I win, I want the planet."
"I'm sorry, what?" the Chief God asked.
"When I win, I want the planet to become Merdorian territory, subject to my people's laws and customs. I will, of course, maintain my country's actual borders on Earth, and establish a portal between our two worlds. I will proceed to deal fairly with the world's people as my rightful subjects, and dismantle preexisting governments to establish my own, more efficient world order."
"I-No- WHY?"
"Several reasons. For one, I wish to acquire more territory for Merdoria, as our current small size keeps us from being recognized properly as the world power we truly are. Additionally, I do not wish for this world of yours, after I have put in the effort to save it, to simply go on to experience the same trials and tribulations that my world had to, especially since, from my current scans of the planet below us, I can only deduce that they are currently still in their answer to the Middle Ages. Further, I know for a fact that I can do a better job of ruling than anyone in the entire universe, and thus, since they have no way to repulse my benevolent conquest, it would be cruel to deny them the blessing of my leadership," the Doctor rattled off. "Further, however, this serves your ends quite nicely. With such a sizeable reward on the table, there is no chance that I will renege upon our bargain. With the world itself being my reward, you can rest assured that I will do my utmost to prevent any possible reoccurrence of the Mamono Scourge. And, lastly, my impending rule will vastly improve the well-being and happiness of your people."
The Chief God hesitated for a moment. To save her world, was it truly acceptable to sell it away?
"Very well. You have your bargain."
"Then send me forth, and the world shall never be the same again."
The Demon Lord and the Hero. The linchpins of this nightmare. Before, there had been a balance. The monsters and the humans would fight, and in so doing, find fulfillment. They would fuel the gods with their prayers.
But now, the Demon Lord, Lillith, had corrupted the world. All the races of the world were being bred to death, seduced by the brainwashed, lustful monstergirls, who would inevitably breed true.
The status quo could not be sustained, the Chief God knew. Her heroes would not be able to turn the tide. Eventually, the Demon Lord would win through sheer attrition, and the debauched mockery of the former world she would create would slowly wither into nothingness.
There was nothing she could think of no man in the world of Maapallon who could resist the Demon Lord.
But then, a thought occurred:
It might take a miracle, but then, what were gods for, if not miracles? If there was no man on Maapallon who could resist, then she would look beyond to the infinite webs of existence. To distant stars, and the worlds that circled about them.
And so, she called up her power, drawing her chosen Valkyrie towards her, to cast out into the stars, and return with a hero that could turn the tides. A hero who could cast back the monsters and slay the Demon Lord Lilith!
The Valkyrie shot out, faster than light, faster than thought, a javelin hurled into the darkness in search of a savior, and the Chief God, for the first time in her eons-old existence, truly understood how her mortals felt when they prayed to her.
And then, the Valkyrie returned, bearing in her arms an armored figure, and for the first time in eons, the Chief God's heart swelled with hope.
He was clad in white armor, bizarrely segmented in a way almost reminiscent of dragonscale. His helmet was shaped to almost resemble an eagle's beak. He wore a black cloak with the hood up, which cast his helm into shadow.
He looked at her, still reeling from being called into her presence from half a galaxy away.
And then he spoke. "WHO DARES SUMMON DOCTOR VON MURDER?"
In hindsight, the Chief God considered, this might have been a mistake. While a name wasn't the be-all-end-all summation of one's character and moral disposition, a name like 'Doctor von Murder' was seldom an indicator of a stable, rational individual. But then, she shouldn't be judgmental, he was probably a very friendly and noble soul once you got to know him.
"ANSWER, OR FACE MY FURY!" Doctor von Murder roared, his gauntlets beginning to glow and hum ominously.
"Noble hero," the Chief God said. "I am the Chief God of this world, and we face a terrible crisis."
"Mm-hmm."
"We have called you because you alone, in all the universe, are suited to ending this threat," she says. "Will you aid us?"
"Explain the threat. Hundred words or less."
"The current Demon Lord is a succubus. She's turned all the monsters into sexually predatory parodies of themselves called mamono and is corrupting women into mamono and men into breeding slaves. In addition to the wide-scale instances of rape and brainwashing, she is driving all the non-monster-races ever closer to extinction, as mamono cannot give birth to men, and she aims to turn all women into mamono," the Chief Goddess recited, after calling upon her gift of tongues to determine how to best summarize the information.
"Hm. And how effective have your actions been in stopping her?" Doctor von Murder asked.
"Fairly ineffective. She managed to duel me to a standstill with the help of her husband, who was originally the hero assigned to stop her. My subsequent heroes, chosen from my worshippers, were all equally incapable of stopping her. She corrupted them and twisted their minds, making them lewd parodies of their former selves."
"Have you tried sending in gay men?"
"She just twisted them into mamono. Or brainwashed them into liking women."
"Ah. I see," the good Doctor said with a nod. "I agree that she should die. I do believe that I will aid you. Let us discuss terms."
"Terms?" The Chief God asked, torn between relief and wariness.
"The terms of my aiding you, which must be met for my assistance," Doctor von Murder clarified. "I am the Baron of Merdoria, and a known superhero on my homeworld of Earth. My time is a valuable commodity, which I will be spending on fixing your planets issues in your stead. Thus, I desire assurance that it will be efficiently utilized."
"State your terms, then."
"Firstly, you shall not withhold aid from me upon grounds of morality, or because my actions in destroying the mamono scourge have conflicted with some unstated pacifistic ideal. I will end the outbreak, by the means that I see fit to use. Is that clear?"
"That is acceptable, yes," the Chief God said.
"Secondly, if I am to act as your agent in this endeavor, your mortal followers must be informed on no uncertain terms that I represent you and be instructed that they are not to impede me in any way, and that they should obey me with regards to the battle against the mamono. If they are your army, then they must be my army as well, and provide me with the resources necessary to establish an industrial base and create the technology I will use to win. Is this acceptable?"
"That's a fairly extreme demand you're making, Doctor," the Chief Goddess said with a raised eyebrow. "Access to all my forces?"
"You want the job done right, correct? Your previous commanders have failed. Your previous stratagems have failed. You have called me forth for one purpose: TO WIN! It is neither arrogance nor presumption to request the necessary tools to succeed in the task you yourself have appointed me!"
"And you believe that you can win where I, a goddess, could not?"
"Don't you?" Doctor von Murder asked. "After all, you yourself summoned me. Why go through all that effort for a hero you don't believe can win?"
And the Chief God laughed. "Very well, then, my audacious hero. My followers shall know you as their commander. Prove yourself worthy of the honor."
"Excellent," the Doctor said with a nod. "Now, onto my third and final condition: When I win, I want the planet."
"I'm sorry, what?" the Chief God asked.
"When I win, I want the planet to become Merdorian territory, subject to my people's laws and customs. I will, of course, maintain my country's actual borders on Earth, and establish a portal between our two worlds. I will proceed to deal fairly with the world's people as my rightful subjects, and dismantle preexisting governments to establish my own, more efficient world order."
"I-No- WHY?"
"Several reasons. For one, I wish to acquire more territory for Merdoria, as our current small size keeps us from being recognized properly as the world power we truly are. Additionally, I do not wish for this world of yours, after I have put in the effort to save it, to simply go on to experience the same trials and tribulations that my world had to, especially since, from my current scans of the planet below us, I can only deduce that they are currently still in their answer to the Middle Ages. Further, I know for a fact that I can do a better job of ruling than anyone in the entire universe, and thus, since they have no way to repulse my benevolent conquest, it would be cruel to deny them the blessing of my leadership," the Doctor rattled off. "Further, however, this serves your ends quite nicely. With such a sizeable reward on the table, there is no chance that I will renege upon our bargain. With the world itself being my reward, you can rest assured that I will do my utmost to prevent any possible reoccurrence of the Mamono Scourge. And, lastly, my impending rule will vastly improve the well-being and happiness of your people."
The Chief God hesitated for a moment. To save her world, was it truly acceptable to sell it away?
"Very well. You have your bargain."
"Then send me forth, and the world shall never be the same again."
ThedudeManBro
The Dudeliest Man on the block, Bro!
- Joined
- Nov 19, 2018
- Messages
- 6,963
- Likes received
- 135,552
It never ceases to make me chuckle how the author of MGE just Jammed his fetishes compendium into a setting he made that allow them to flourish, and it is blatantly a Dead End deathworld in velvet clothing to anybody looking from the outside in without the rose tinted glasses of Horny.
Also I love how you made the DoctorDoom Murder so interesting in but a chapter. Anxiously awaiting for more!
Also I love how you made the Doctor
Autocorruptor
Corrupting Innocent Grammar
- Joined
- Sep 1, 2020
- Messages
- 3,276
- Likes received
- 56,994
Hoooooo boy, this is going to be interesting.
"Superhero" isn't the word I would use.
Chapter One: In Which the Good Doctor Does Math, Calls Home, and Has His Anthropological Dreams Thwarted
Charles Flynn
I trust you know where the happy button is?
- Joined
- Aug 4, 2018
- Messages
- 570
- Likes received
- 19,530
Kidnapped by a CX-10 Divine Intelligence in order to resolve what sounds like the plot of a terrible porno. This is not how I imagined my week going.
Well, that's just how my life goes. Always doing the unexpected. Besides, this still isn't the weirdest thing to ever happen to me.
Still, I was yanked away from Earth unexpectedly. I'm going to have to call my teammates.
With a flick of my eyes, and a pulse along the neural interface which controls my armor, I fire up my communications array in its full capacity.
Normally, this array, as a short-range radio broadcaster and receiver, would have an operational range of one mile. However, I had long since supplemented it. Using my mastery of the mystic arts, I had created an artifact-based sympathetic magic ritual to supplement my comms. By using the subatomic radio waves my transmitter emitted as a sympathetic focus, I could affect any similar subatomic particles in the universe. In essence, I created a subatomic voodoo doll, to speak to anyone, anywhere in the universe, faster than the speed of light.
The only downside was that I had to crunch a lot of numbers to broadcast to a specific location, such as my team's base back on Earth, but fortunately, that was easily handled by the fact that I was a genius.
As I hang in orbit above the planet I'm intended to save, I begin to calculate my position in the universe, and from that my current distance from Earth by using my suit's sensor array to analyze light emissions from surrounding stars, and then cross referencing the current star I was orbiting with my previously recorded star data from earth's position, and from my ventures beyond our solar system using my suit's built-in FTL capabilities. From these data points, I can determine that I'm somewhere in the Canis Major Dwarf galaxy, 24,000 light years away from Earth's sun.
24,000 light years…
I've never been out this far before.
It'll take me over a week to make it back to Earth from my current location. But here I am, far out in the distance, beyond the edge of what I've ever explored. Belatedly, I start up a mental journal using my eidetic memory, preserving my experiences out here, beyond the rim of the galaxy! And, once I'm done with the demon lord problem, I'll have a functioning colony. IN SPACE! I'm going to be the envy of the U.N, I just know it! I can hardly wait to see the space race I'm going to kickstart! And to top it all off, I get to explore and sample an entirely new alien world!
Just imagine what the indigenous life-forms must be like! Sure, there are no signs of widescale electricity or even steam power, but they most likely have numerous functional magical traditions to compensate for their lackluster scientific advancement! I can't wait to find out what they look like! Probably some sort of echinoderm? Perhaps a plant-based lifeform? I can hardly wait!
I take a brief moment to express my absolute joy at the circumstances I find myself in, and the sheer potential for scientific and cultural exploration. Fortunately, in space, no one can hear you squee.
Then, having adequately expressed the joy welling up in my heart, I adjust for planetary movement and rotation since I vanished, and then adjust the ritual to allow me to broadcast to my team's base in Empire City, America.
"Hello, this Doctor von Murder speaking. Am I getting through?"
"Doc?" A voice that I recognize as belonging to my teammate, the Plated Lady, asks. "Where have you been? You were supposed to report back to HQ fifteen minutes ago, and we haven't been able to reach you."
"Good to hear from you, Platey," I say with a smile. "I got kidnapped by a god, teleported to an alien planet, and asked to save the world. Could you look after my dog and/or country while I'm out?"
"Hold up, what?" my teammate, who, unfortunately, isn't a genius, and is therefore somewhat slower than me on the uptake, asks. "You can't just drop bombshells like that! And wait, since when do you have a dog? I thought you said that your dog stole a prototype spaceship and left to become an intergalactic mercenary when you were a boy?"
"I got a new dog, obviously. His name is Hans, and he already has functional heat vision, I designed it myself," I say proudly.
"I… okay, moving on, you can't just tell me you got kidnapped by an actual deity and asked to save the world, and just not explain it! Why did they summon you? What are you saving the world from? And why are you just going with this without complaint? You always bitch about doing stuff that doesn't fit into your PR campaign or defending Merdoria!"
"Well, obviously, they summoned me because I'm the greatest hero to ever live-"
"Yeah, sure," Platey interjects, acknowledging my obvious superiority.
"-and the one best suited to deal with their demon problem. Since I managed to talk the god who summoned me into agreeing to let me annex the planet after I saved it, I decided to help my poor future subjects out."
"Our hero, everybody," Platey says, once more pointing out how thoroughly amazing I am.
"I am a lot of people's heroes, aren't I?"
"I was being sarcastic."
"Oh."
"Look. I'll look after your dog and your subjects in your absence. But, just…" she sighs in frustration. "Don't be… you."
"What do you mean by that?" I ask pointedly.
"Nothing, just," she sighs again. "Be good, okay? That's all I ask."
"I'll try my best," I promise, ending the transmission. Then I turn towards the planet and begin my descent.
I, Baron Doctor Victor von Murder the Third, MD, am about to set foot on an alien planet. Who knows what strange and captivating new vistas await me? Who knows what new cultures I'm about to encounter? And, through it all, I will be the very first human to ever bear witness to it.
I squeal like a small child the whole way down.
Below me, the various continents rise up to meet me. I pick an island to land on. Best to start small.
Soon, I find a small settlement, where I plan to make contact. Deciphering the language might be tricky, but I'm up to the challenge! I'm already sketching out ideas for a universal translator, as I descend, hovering on the plasma jets from my hands and feet.
And then I freeze, staring at the apparently human little girl in the front yard. Please let this just be a form I'm comfortable with. Alright, fine. I begin attempting to convey my peaceful intentions through body language.
"DAD!" she screams in English. "There's a weird flying man made of metal making weird thrusting motions at me!"
Oh, God. She's speaking English. Why is she speaking English? Why is she human-looking? My dreams of xenobiological study, and being remembered for centuries as the Father of Xenoanthropology are going up in smoke!
"Suzie?" the man running out of the house asks, apparently her father. He freezes, looking at me. "Sir… are you human?"
"Wait, human?" I repeat, crashing to the ground. "Is… that what you call yourselves?"
Please say no, please say no, please say no…
"Well, yes," he says, ushering his daughter away from me. "Sir, are you alright?"
Before my eyes, a statue of my glorious, glorious visage, labeled, 'Victor von Murder, Father of Xenoanthropology,' melts away, and in its place rises a new statue, of me getting unceremoniously trampled underfoot by a supervillain's gigantic, booted foot, labeled, "Victor von Murder: His Accomplishments Were Garbage, And His Father Was Right About Him."
I fall to my knees.
"Um, Sir? Are you alright?"
"NNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Well, that's just how my life goes. Always doing the unexpected. Besides, this still isn't the weirdest thing to ever happen to me.
Still, I was yanked away from Earth unexpectedly. I'm going to have to call my teammates.
With a flick of my eyes, and a pulse along the neural interface which controls my armor, I fire up my communications array in its full capacity.
Normally, this array, as a short-range radio broadcaster and receiver, would have an operational range of one mile. However, I had long since supplemented it. Using my mastery of the mystic arts, I had created an artifact-based sympathetic magic ritual to supplement my comms. By using the subatomic radio waves my transmitter emitted as a sympathetic focus, I could affect any similar subatomic particles in the universe. In essence, I created a subatomic voodoo doll, to speak to anyone, anywhere in the universe, faster than the speed of light.
The only downside was that I had to crunch a lot of numbers to broadcast to a specific location, such as my team's base back on Earth, but fortunately, that was easily handled by the fact that I was a genius.
As I hang in orbit above the planet I'm intended to save, I begin to calculate my position in the universe, and from that my current distance from Earth by using my suit's sensor array to analyze light emissions from surrounding stars, and then cross referencing the current star I was orbiting with my previously recorded star data from earth's position, and from my ventures beyond our solar system using my suit's built-in FTL capabilities. From these data points, I can determine that I'm somewhere in the Canis Major Dwarf galaxy, 24,000 light years away from Earth's sun.
24,000 light years…
I've never been out this far before.
It'll take me over a week to make it back to Earth from my current location. But here I am, far out in the distance, beyond the edge of what I've ever explored. Belatedly, I start up a mental journal using my eidetic memory, preserving my experiences out here, beyond the rim of the galaxy! And, once I'm done with the demon lord problem, I'll have a functioning colony. IN SPACE! I'm going to be the envy of the U.N, I just know it! I can hardly wait to see the space race I'm going to kickstart! And to top it all off, I get to explore and sample an entirely new alien world!
Just imagine what the indigenous life-forms must be like! Sure, there are no signs of widescale electricity or even steam power, but they most likely have numerous functional magical traditions to compensate for their lackluster scientific advancement! I can't wait to find out what they look like! Probably some sort of echinoderm? Perhaps a plant-based lifeform? I can hardly wait!
I take a brief moment to express my absolute joy at the circumstances I find myself in, and the sheer potential for scientific and cultural exploration. Fortunately, in space, no one can hear you squee.
Then, having adequately expressed the joy welling up in my heart, I adjust for planetary movement and rotation since I vanished, and then adjust the ritual to allow me to broadcast to my team's base in Empire City, America.
"Hello, this Doctor von Murder speaking. Am I getting through?"
"Doc?" A voice that I recognize as belonging to my teammate, the Plated Lady, asks. "Where have you been? You were supposed to report back to HQ fifteen minutes ago, and we haven't been able to reach you."
"Good to hear from you, Platey," I say with a smile. "I got kidnapped by a god, teleported to an alien planet, and asked to save the world. Could you look after my dog and/or country while I'm out?"
"Hold up, what?" my teammate, who, unfortunately, isn't a genius, and is therefore somewhat slower than me on the uptake, asks. "You can't just drop bombshells like that! And wait, since when do you have a dog? I thought you said that your dog stole a prototype spaceship and left to become an intergalactic mercenary when you were a boy?"
"I got a new dog, obviously. His name is Hans, and he already has functional heat vision, I designed it myself," I say proudly.
"I… okay, moving on, you can't just tell me you got kidnapped by an actual deity and asked to save the world, and just not explain it! Why did they summon you? What are you saving the world from? And why are you just going with this without complaint? You always bitch about doing stuff that doesn't fit into your PR campaign or defending Merdoria!"
"Well, obviously, they summoned me because I'm the greatest hero to ever live-"
"Yeah, sure," Platey interjects, acknowledging my obvious superiority.
"-and the one best suited to deal with their demon problem. Since I managed to talk the god who summoned me into agreeing to let me annex the planet after I saved it, I decided to help my poor future subjects out."
"Our hero, everybody," Platey says, once more pointing out how thoroughly amazing I am.
"I am a lot of people's heroes, aren't I?"
"I was being sarcastic."
"Oh."
"Look. I'll look after your dog and your subjects in your absence. But, just…" she sighs in frustration. "Don't be… you."
"What do you mean by that?" I ask pointedly.
"Nothing, just," she sighs again. "Be good, okay? That's all I ask."
"I'll try my best," I promise, ending the transmission. Then I turn towards the planet and begin my descent.
I, Baron Doctor Victor von Murder the Third, MD, am about to set foot on an alien planet. Who knows what strange and captivating new vistas await me? Who knows what new cultures I'm about to encounter? And, through it all, I will be the very first human to ever bear witness to it.
I squeal like a small child the whole way down.
Below me, the various continents rise up to meet me. I pick an island to land on. Best to start small.
Soon, I find a small settlement, where I plan to make contact. Deciphering the language might be tricky, but I'm up to the challenge! I'm already sketching out ideas for a universal translator, as I descend, hovering on the plasma jets from my hands and feet.
And then I freeze, staring at the apparently human little girl in the front yard. Please let this just be a form I'm comfortable with. Alright, fine. I begin attempting to convey my peaceful intentions through body language.
"DAD!" she screams in English. "There's a weird flying man made of metal making weird thrusting motions at me!"
Oh, God. She's speaking English. Why is she speaking English? Why is she human-looking? My dreams of xenobiological study, and being remembered for centuries as the Father of Xenoanthropology are going up in smoke!
"Suzie?" the man running out of the house asks, apparently her father. He freezes, looking at me. "Sir… are you human?"
"Wait, human?" I repeat, crashing to the ground. "Is… that what you call yourselves?"
Please say no, please say no, please say no…
"Well, yes," he says, ushering his daughter away from me. "Sir, are you alright?"
Before my eyes, a statue of my glorious, glorious visage, labeled, 'Victor von Murder, Father of Xenoanthropology,' melts away, and in its place rises a new statue, of me getting unceremoniously trampled underfoot by a supervillain's gigantic, booted foot, labeled, "Victor von Murder: His Accomplishments Were Garbage, And His Father Was Right About Him."
I fall to my knees.
"Um, Sir? Are you alright?"
"NNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Charles Flynn
I trust you know where the happy button is?
- Joined
- Aug 4, 2018
- Messages
- 570
- Likes received
- 19,530
Kind of. Strictly speaking, he's the son of his setting's Doctor Doom expy, with all the psychological hang-ups that come from being raised by a narcissistic, sociopathic supervillain. Even more technically, he's the scion of a long line of Doctor Doom expies. Even his mother is a Doctor Doom expy.
Autocorruptor
Corrupting Innocent Grammar
- Joined
- Sep 1, 2020
- Messages
- 3,276
- Likes received
- 56,994
Oh, he is going to be so disappointed by this world.
Ahahahahahahaha!
Chapter Two: In Which the Good Doctor Receives His Lab Assistant, Does Science, And Makes a New Lair
Charles Flynn
I trust you know where the happy button is?
- Joined
- Aug 4, 2018
- Messages
- 570
- Likes received
- 19,530
After making my escape from the awkward fallout of my mental breakdown, via the time-honored tradition of screaming "Great Scott! I'm needed on Mars! Von Murder, AWAY!" at the top of my lungs, and then immediately jetting off into orbit, I find myself once more gazing down at the world I have been summoned to save.
I let out a sigh, at dreams of discovery thwarted. Still, I'm going to save them anyways, regardless of how disappointing they might be. Territorial gains are nothing to sneeze at, and I could hardly call myself Merdoria's Baron if I let an entire planet's worth of territory pass me by.
Oh, and helping these poor people, of course, because that's what heroes do. But mostly the landgrab. Because what's more heroic than world domination?
I'm jolted from my reverie by a glowing, winged figure of light, emerging from the depths of space towards me. I begin to charge up my gauntlets, and cycle through my weapon systems in order to ensure my readiness for anything.
An angel solidifies from light a few feet away from me, and then blinks as she stares at my glowing gauntlets. "Oh, gosh! I'm sorry! Did I startle you? I shouldn't have, oh, gosh, I'm really bad at this."
"Von Murder is never startled," I inform her primly, devoting a solid portion of my considerable brainpower to determining just how I can hear her in space. She's a Category Two Angel, though, that is indisputable. Mostly because she doesn't have nearly enough eyes to be a Category One. "He merely responds to all potential threats as they arise, with appropriate force for the situation. State your name and business."
"Oh, well, I don't actually have a name, yet! The Chief God created me to be your assistant!" she pauses, and then looks slightly bashful. "If… it's not too much trouble, could you give me a name?"
Hm. "What are you capable of?" She might not be a true angel, seeing as she lacks the eyes and alien nature characteristic of one, but some form of creative or reality altering power could come in handy.
"Flight, fighting, and total devotion to your tenets!" the nameless angel says.
"You're a bit lacking in the eye department. Are you sure that you're strong enough to stand by my side?"
"Eye department?"
"Yes. The stronger the angel, the more eyes they have. That's just common knowledge."
"I can give myself more eyes!" she says. "But… um… wouldn't that make me look less human?"
"Looking human is often falsely equated with virtue," I tell her, adopting a lecturing pose, even as I quietly look her over. Time to test if she'll have what it takes to be my minion. "But that couldn't be further from the truth. The human form is inefficient, redeemed only by human intellect. Our bodies drag us behind, chaining us to the outdated methodology of natural selection, immutable and slowly rotting, destined for the grave. To move beyond, to transcend the paltry pattern of our ancestors, to become our own, and cast out all inefficiency, hesitation, and doubt… that is the true meaning of humanity: to forever improve, in body and mind alike."
"I will grow all the eyes," my would-be minion says, staring at me with the rapturous adoration I so richly deserve.
"Well, then. Congratulations, Minion Prime. The drive to improve is ever the first step on the path to virtue."
"Minion Prime? Is that my name?" she asks, excited.
"It seems an adequate summary of your function, and so I have deemed it to be a worthy name for you," I say.
"I love it!" she squeals. "My sisters' names are nothing like it! I'm unique!"
"Yes. Yes you definitely are."
"Thank you, my lord!"
"Doctor." I correct frostily. "When you refer to me, call me Doctor. I didn't go through a three-year residency just to be called Lord Von Murder."
"Oh. Okay, Doctor." She's quiet for a moment. "What do we do now?"
"I know exactly what I'm going to do," I tell her. "Together, we will construct a base, devise countermeasures against corruptive effects, and then secure mamono for testing, to better decipher how they work, and how to deal with corruption."
"Constructing a base sounds like it might take a while," she says worriedly.
"It would, for a lesser man. Fortunately, I'm a genius."
And so, it begins. Over the course of two hours, with Minion Prime acting as my lab assistant, I devise the ultimate device in high-speed base construction: the Base Bomb. Once dropped from orbit, it will charge up using the thermal energy created during reentry, and then, upon landing, create a sphere of absolute gravity, drawing everything within a one mile radius into its area. Then, using the hyper compressed building material, transmuted by the high pressure and heat into metamorphic and sedimentary stone, the Base Bomb's payload of builder nanites initiate construction, taking, on the whole, approximately one hour.
I am running dreadfully low on the technological materials necessary to maintain and improve my armor. The majority of my spare supplies went into the Base Bomb.
Since the extent technological base is woefully inadequate, I suppose I'll have to use my understanding of the mystic arts to establish a tech-foundry.
Let's see, now, that ritual should produce good quality-steel. That one should shape it. That one… oh, yes, that one would protect against the corruptions quite nicely.
I continue to muse things over as my completed Base Bomb descends, taking a moment to acknowledge the magnificent explosion it makes, one that is visible from orbit.
"Hm. That one was bigger than it was supposed to be. Atmosphere here might be slightly thicker than Earth's."
"I'm sorry for my ignorance, Doctor," Minion Prime says, both the eyes on her face and the new eyes on her wings looking down dejectedly.
"It's all right. You were born yesterday, you're from an irritatingly backwards planet, and you're nowhere near as smart as me. Of course, you wouldn't know."
"I… That… Doesn't really make me feel better, actually."
"Mm. That earnest urge to take responsibility for what isn't your fault is what makes you an excellent minion, Minion Prime."
"Thank you, Doctor!"
I wait out the hour sketching out how best to protect myself and my new minion from the corruption, and then, we descend.
What awaits us is a masterpiece of architecture. It stands dead center of an immense crater, at the base of which, bubbling lava can still be seen. It is a singular tower, thick at the base, and narrower at the top, all hewn from on piece of black basalt. A spear, thrust ever upwards, piercing the side of God.
"Oh, this will do. This will do quite nicely." I grin, inside my helmet. "MINION!"
"Yes, Doctor?" she asks, at my side in a flash.
"Procure for me some pure white stones, and the wood of an ash tree. In the meantime, I shall inspect the interior of my Murderspire. And then…" I pause dramatically.
"And then what, Doctor?" Minion Prime asks, showing that sense of drama and absolute obedience to my whims that made me accept her as my minion.
"Then, we go hunting for test subjects," I announce ominously.
I let out a sigh, at dreams of discovery thwarted. Still, I'm going to save them anyways, regardless of how disappointing they might be. Territorial gains are nothing to sneeze at, and I could hardly call myself Merdoria's Baron if I let an entire planet's worth of territory pass me by.
Oh, and helping these poor people, of course, because that's what heroes do. But mostly the landgrab. Because what's more heroic than world domination?
I'm jolted from my reverie by a glowing, winged figure of light, emerging from the depths of space towards me. I begin to charge up my gauntlets, and cycle through my weapon systems in order to ensure my readiness for anything.
An angel solidifies from light a few feet away from me, and then blinks as she stares at my glowing gauntlets. "Oh, gosh! I'm sorry! Did I startle you? I shouldn't have, oh, gosh, I'm really bad at this."
"Von Murder is never startled," I inform her primly, devoting a solid portion of my considerable brainpower to determining just how I can hear her in space. She's a Category Two Angel, though, that is indisputable. Mostly because she doesn't have nearly enough eyes to be a Category One. "He merely responds to all potential threats as they arise, with appropriate force for the situation. State your name and business."
"Oh, well, I don't actually have a name, yet! The Chief God created me to be your assistant!" she pauses, and then looks slightly bashful. "If… it's not too much trouble, could you give me a name?"
Hm. "What are you capable of?" She might not be a true angel, seeing as she lacks the eyes and alien nature characteristic of one, but some form of creative or reality altering power could come in handy.
"Flight, fighting, and total devotion to your tenets!" the nameless angel says.
"You're a bit lacking in the eye department. Are you sure that you're strong enough to stand by my side?"
"Eye department?"
"Yes. The stronger the angel, the more eyes they have. That's just common knowledge."
"I can give myself more eyes!" she says. "But… um… wouldn't that make me look less human?"
"Looking human is often falsely equated with virtue," I tell her, adopting a lecturing pose, even as I quietly look her over. Time to test if she'll have what it takes to be my minion. "But that couldn't be further from the truth. The human form is inefficient, redeemed only by human intellect. Our bodies drag us behind, chaining us to the outdated methodology of natural selection, immutable and slowly rotting, destined for the grave. To move beyond, to transcend the paltry pattern of our ancestors, to become our own, and cast out all inefficiency, hesitation, and doubt… that is the true meaning of humanity: to forever improve, in body and mind alike."
"I will grow all the eyes," my would-be minion says, staring at me with the rapturous adoration I so richly deserve.
"Well, then. Congratulations, Minion Prime. The drive to improve is ever the first step on the path to virtue."
"Minion Prime? Is that my name?" she asks, excited.
"It seems an adequate summary of your function, and so I have deemed it to be a worthy name for you," I say.
"I love it!" she squeals. "My sisters' names are nothing like it! I'm unique!"
"Yes. Yes you definitely are."
"Thank you, my lord!"
"Doctor." I correct frostily. "When you refer to me, call me Doctor. I didn't go through a three-year residency just to be called Lord Von Murder."
"Oh. Okay, Doctor." She's quiet for a moment. "What do we do now?"
"I know exactly what I'm going to do," I tell her. "Together, we will construct a base, devise countermeasures against corruptive effects, and then secure mamono for testing, to better decipher how they work, and how to deal with corruption."
"Constructing a base sounds like it might take a while," she says worriedly.
"It would, for a lesser man. Fortunately, I'm a genius."
And so, it begins. Over the course of two hours, with Minion Prime acting as my lab assistant, I devise the ultimate device in high-speed base construction: the Base Bomb. Once dropped from orbit, it will charge up using the thermal energy created during reentry, and then, upon landing, create a sphere of absolute gravity, drawing everything within a one mile radius into its area. Then, using the hyper compressed building material, transmuted by the high pressure and heat into metamorphic and sedimentary stone, the Base Bomb's payload of builder nanites initiate construction, taking, on the whole, approximately one hour.
I am running dreadfully low on the technological materials necessary to maintain and improve my armor. The majority of my spare supplies went into the Base Bomb.
Since the extent technological base is woefully inadequate, I suppose I'll have to use my understanding of the mystic arts to establish a tech-foundry.
Let's see, now, that ritual should produce good quality-steel. That one should shape it. That one… oh, yes, that one would protect against the corruptions quite nicely.
I continue to muse things over as my completed Base Bomb descends, taking a moment to acknowledge the magnificent explosion it makes, one that is visible from orbit.
"Hm. That one was bigger than it was supposed to be. Atmosphere here might be slightly thicker than Earth's."
"I'm sorry for my ignorance, Doctor," Minion Prime says, both the eyes on her face and the new eyes on her wings looking down dejectedly.
"It's all right. You were born yesterday, you're from an irritatingly backwards planet, and you're nowhere near as smart as me. Of course, you wouldn't know."
"I… That… Doesn't really make me feel better, actually."
"Mm. That earnest urge to take responsibility for what isn't your fault is what makes you an excellent minion, Minion Prime."
"Thank you, Doctor!"
I wait out the hour sketching out how best to protect myself and my new minion from the corruption, and then, we descend.
What awaits us is a masterpiece of architecture. It stands dead center of an immense crater, at the base of which, bubbling lava can still be seen. It is a singular tower, thick at the base, and narrower at the top, all hewn from on piece of black basalt. A spear, thrust ever upwards, piercing the side of God.
"Oh, this will do. This will do quite nicely." I grin, inside my helmet. "MINION!"
"Yes, Doctor?" she asks, at my side in a flash.
"Procure for me some pure white stones, and the wood of an ash tree. In the meantime, I shall inspect the interior of my Murderspire. And then…" I pause dramatically.
"And then what, Doctor?" Minion Prime asks, showing that sense of drama and absolute obedience to my whims that made me accept her as my minion.
"Then, we go hunting for test subjects," I announce ominously.
Last edited:
Autocorruptor
Corrupting Innocent Grammar
- Joined
- Sep 1, 2020
- Messages
- 3,276
- Likes received
- 56,994
How do you come up with this stuff?Wow. Nice naming scheme you got there.
JohnCross
Not too sore, are you?
- Joined
- Apr 11, 2021
- Messages
- 297
- Likes received
- 2,713
Hahaha! Von Murder knows his priorities.
Goonter
Getting sticky.
- Joined
- Aug 1, 2018
- Messages
- 71
- Likes received
- 595
For me, it makes the setting way more interesting due to it being a pseudo-deathworld. It would just be another run-of-the-mill fetish planet if it wasn't.
Also any reason you aren't posting this story in the NSFW section of QQ? As a MGE story it really should be over there. Additionally, that section gets way more viewer traffic. Plus you don't need the story to be pornographic as seen by all the other non-porn stories in there.
Charles Flynn
I trust you know where the happy button is?
- Joined
- Aug 4, 2018
- Messages
- 570
- Likes received
- 19,530
Habit, mostly. It'll probably move over there eventually. But for now it's SFW, so I categorized it appropriately.
Chapter Three: In Which the Dastardly Duo Go Hunting, Minion Kills a Puppy, And the Good Doctor Creates an Abomination of SCIENCE!!!
Charles Flynn
I trust you know where the happy button is?
- Joined
- Aug 4, 2018
- Messages
- 570
- Likes received
- 19,530
A quick scan using my suit's sensor suite reveals that the forest around the newly erected Murderspire is, annoyingly enough, mostly devoid of animal life. It would seem that, when faced with a massive, world-ending explosion, most creatures, Mamono included, tend to run the hell away. Only humans are crazy enough to respond to massive explosions with 'Huh, wonder what that was? Let's go over there and poke it with a stick, just to see what happens!'
All the same, that just makes the hunt more interesting. And, of course, I have the advantage. My armor is a masterpiece, after all.
"Doctor! I have the materials you requested!" Minion Prime announces proudly as she comes flying back.
I take a moment to admire her grasp of aerodynamics. She managed to grow eyes on both sides of her wings without losing any lift or maneuverability, and that in and of itself is worthy of praise. "Well done on modifying your wings."
"Thank you, Doctor!" she says, smiling radiantly as she hands over the materials I requested. "It was actually really fun, once I got the hang of it!"
I lean back on my newly crafted throne of black basalt, in the center of my vaulted throne room at the Murderspire's pinnacle. The windows near the top of the ceiling make the throne room the only well-lit room in the entire spire, something I'll have to correct, later on. But now, the task of creating basic protections awaits. Soon, the pure white stones have been carved into precise, detailed statues, one of me, and one of Minion Prime. Then, they're wrapped tightly in the bark of an ash tree and given the appropriate rites of power to direct ambient mystical force into a structured sympathetic bond, all precisely and scientifically calculated to maximum efficiency.
"It is done."
"Really?" Minion Prime asks, looking confused. "I didn't see any mana leave you, though."
I try not to roll my eyes at the angel's ignorance. It's not her fault she doesn't understand the nitty-gritty of how humans do magic. "Mystical energy is not intrinsic to human beings, barring any supernatural miscegenation somewhere up the family tree. While supernatural entities such as yourself may produce effects outside the conventionally defined laws of physics using their own natural well of what mystical analysts have, somewhat frustratingly, been forced to term 'Magical Power,' humans cannot. Thus, a practitioner must either draw power from a higher-order mystical entity or determine how best to coax and structure the flow of what is commonly referred to as 'ambient energy' into a desired form."
"I… don't think that's how magic works, though. I know a lot of human mages here can cast using their own spiritual energy."
I blink beneath my helmet as I think that over. "Interesting. I'll have to look into that."
"So, what did you do?" Minion asks.
"It's quite simple, actually. By carving the statues into our image, I opened a path of similarity between us and the statues, which I then broadened into a structured sympathetic channel, down which any corruptive energies injected into our bodies would instead be redirected into the statues and contained by the sanctified ash insulation I wrapped around them. It's a generalized stopgap measure, and won't do for more than fifteen thaums of corruptive energy, but…"
I realize that Minion's eyes have glazed over. "Alright, in layman's terms, I made it so that any corruptive energy goes into the statue instead of going into us. But it's still a first try, so there's plenty of room for improvement, and it won't block all that much, so be careful, alright?"
"Yes, Doctor!" Minion says.
"Excellent. Now, then. To the hunt."
I rise from my throne and stride out towards the open landing platform leading out of the Murderspire, already switching on my armor's gravitational engine to nullify the effects of gravity enough to allow for flight. My fuel tanks read at ninety-eight percent capacity, which means I have enough to last me for three months of constant combat before I need to refuel my plasma projection systems. All generators at full capacity.
And then, gravity holds me no more. The plasma jets in my armors' gauntlets and boots fire up, while all over my armor, triangular panels lift up to display my guidance and precision maneuvering plasma exhaust ports. And then, I'm off, soaring effortlessly through the air, while balancing the various systems necessary to do so with pinpoint precision.
The world dwindles, far below me as is right and proper, as I fly over the forest with Minion Prime in my wake, and I scan the underbrush as I go. My sensors easily pierce through the treetops, and I frown as I scan their readout.
Rabbits, a few squirrels, a fox, and even a bear. Not even a Space Bear, just a regular bear! This is… dishearteningly mundane. I'm beginning to consider the possibility that this entire planet is simply the result of somebody stealing a massive chunk of Earth's fauna sometime within the last two millennia. Not even the interesting fauna, either. The European ones! If I wanted to see those, I would be in Merdoria, not exploring an alien planet!
Sixteen miles from the tower, I finally find a potential test subject. A whole group of them, in fact!
They're as disappointing as everything else on this painfully unoriginal excuse for a planet, but they're clearly non-human, with the noted exception of one completely naked male in their midst. Each one is a scantily clad woman of, I suppose, passible attractiveness to those that give a damn about such lowly and inefficient pursuits. They have wolf-like ears, tails, and furred, clawed forearms and legs, all cementing their non-human status. Still, best to check.
I come to a halt, hovering above the wolves on blue jets of plasma, and turn to Minion Prime. "Are these monsters?"
"Yes! They're werewolves, specifically!" she shouts back.
I almost laugh, and tell her no, because I've fought actual werewolves, and they do not look like that, but the laughter dies in my throat. I slowly look back to stare at the monsters below me. This. This is this world's version of werewolves.
Jesus Christ this is sad.
Well, science waits for no man, and I have some test subjects to acquire. And an entrance to make. Should I say it? It is technically correct, after all.
The pack of werewolves (and their apparent boytoy) are all milling about, evidently having been disturbed by the sound of the Murderspire being built, and, from what my audio can pick up, are discussing what to do, when I descend like a comet, breaking branches in my rapid descent to the ground, and land with a tremendous BOOM that sets my cloak fluttering in the backdraft.
"HEL-LO BITCHES!" I roar, in all my speaker-amplified glory. What? They're female wolves. It's an appropriate form of address. "YOU WIN!"
They're silent for a moment or two, perplexed by the strange screaming metal man who just fell out of the sky. (I get that a lot.) Then, one of them asks, "We won… what?"
"AN ALL-EXPENSES PAID TRIP TO THE LUXURIOUS, EXOTIC MURDERSPIRE, WHERE YOU WILL SPEND THE PROBABLY BRIEF REMAINDER OF YOUR LIVES AS THE TEST SUBJECTS OF THE MAGNIFICENT DOCTOR VON MURDER! CONGRATULATIONS!" I bellow. Minion Prime, bless her angelic, presumably eye-encrusted little heart, actually cheers and sprinkles makeshift confetti put together from dried leaves. "Oh, and, in your case, sir," I nod at the naked man, who's been trying to stealthily pull up his pants this entire conversation. "You win your freedom, unless you're interested in helping me with my science, of course. Just leaving the option out there."
"I'm sorry, what?" the man asks, finally pulling his pants up all the way and picking up a… is that a spear? Not even a laser or vibro-spear, an actual, honest to God spear, made out of wood and iron? Oh my God. That's adorable. "What in Hel's name are you talking about?"
I sigh. Goddamn medieval idiots, always going and ruining a properly hammy dramatic entrance. "I'm Doctor von Murder, I've been asked to deal with the Mamono problem, and, to do that in an efficient, effective manner, I need to understand how Mamono work. So, instead of just slaughtering you all, I've decided to give you the chance to come quietly and serve as my test subjects. And you, sir, are free to return to human society, and go on to live a healthy, productive life. Is that simplified enough for your tiny little sex-crazed brains?"
"What?" he asks again, and I manfully resist the urge to disintegrate his face and, in so doing, defend the gene pool from his blatant stupidity.
"Look, here, let me explain it to you in terms you can understand," I say, wishing dearly that I could pinch my brow right now. "Monsters bad. Doctor von Murder good. Doctor von Murder kill all Monsters. Doctor von Murder need to know how to kill monster good, so Doctor von Murder is going to lock these monster up in his dungeon and torture them for science and justice and flowers and ponies and all those wonderful things, now is that simple enough for you, you, YOU WHAT-SPEWING IMBECILE, and I SWEAR TO GOD, IF YOU SAY 'What' AGAIN-"
"No, no, it's, that last one was… more of a rhetorical 'What,' if I'm being honest," the man says.
"I'm not inclined to believe you, but I sincerely despise both you and this conversation, and deeply long for both to be over, so sure, let's go with that."
"Fine. Look, listen, friend-"
"YOU TAKE THAT BACK RIGHT NOW!" I do not want to be associated with this shirtless idiot any more than I have to. He made me repeat myself. Twice. Friendship is right out. Even letting him live is iffy by this point.
"Fine. Listen, acquaintance."
"Better."
"Will you please let me talk without interrupting me?" he snaps. "Now-"
"Sure."
His muffled scream is exactly the pick-me-up I needed. One of the little werewolf puppies hiding behind him actually snickers, and I find myself toying with sparing her. She has a sense of humor, who knows, maybe she can be redeemed. Probably not but trying to do the impossible is just part of the wonders of science.
"Will you let me talk now?" he waits for a moment, daring me to make a smart remark. Then, he takes my silence as a go-ahead. "Look, I get it. I know that the Order has been telling you that the Mamono are bad, but this pack? I love them! They're my family. The mothers of my children! We're peaceful and happy! What's so wrong about that?"
"Aside from the fact that they're contagious, and that you're living naked in the woods, covered in dirt and what I'm assuming is bear feces, and essentially rutting with brainwashed animals and those unfortunate women who were transformed and molded into furthering the Demon Lord's depravity? Two key points. One: Can your monsters bear sons? And two: are men horny idiots here, too?"
"I-"
"Because if the first key detail is true, then the mamono winning guarantees the end of all life. And if the second detail is true, and men are still moved to idiocy by their lusts, then humanity will die out even if some sort of neutrality is reached. Just a bit slower. Mamono are designed and forced by the Demon Lord to cater to men's desires. They're hand-crafted to provoke lust. And so, humanity will suffer a population collapse caused by gender disparity."
"I- hold on, that's… a lot of words. But… look! They're just people, same as you and me. I served the order as a hero for years, but I never found happiness. I just hurt women who only wanted to find love, all on the words of a dried-up prude of a goddess, like you're doing right now! Why are you serving that-"
"Von Murder. Serves. No one. Remember that, traitor," I say, right before I blast him in the face with a bolt of superheated plasma, with my usual safeties disengaged. His skull melts, as his flesh burns. "Sic semper proditoribus, irrumator."
Then, with a chorus of horrified screams, the battle begins, as the assorted werewolves leap into action. Or try to, anyways. My gauntlets hum as I blast werewolf after werewolf like it's a shooting gallery, the monsters of this idiotic write off of a world die like moths to flamethrower, vastly improving my mood. Starting with the one who thought she was being so clever in sneaking up behind me, of course.
Finally, there are only three werewolves left, the rest lying in charred heaps. One adult female, and the two pups I spotted hiding behind their father, earlier.
"Last chance to surrender," I say with a grin, as I glide towards her. "There's still plenty of room in my experimentation pens."
She grabs the fallen spear of her boy-toy, and points it towards me, keeping herself between me and the puppies.
"Ah. Death it is, then," I say cheerily as I continue to advance.
"Kids. I need you to run," she says, the spear trembling in her hands as she watches me walk past her fallen sisters. I'm on a closed life support system, but I imagine that the charred, burning corpses possess quite the aroma, especially for a nose as sensitive as hers.
"But Aunty-"
"Run!" and then, she grins. "Don't worry. You know that your father's spear never misses its mark. I'll finish him off just fine. NOW RUN!"
One of the two heeds her apparent aunt's command, dashing away as her aunt charges at me, spear in hand. The spear breaks on my armor, and I promptly grab the werewolf by the throat with one hand, and lift her up effortlessly, feeling windpipe give beneath my armored fingers.
"Minion, kill the runner. Doctor's orders."
"You got it, Boss!" my cheerful little assistant says as she swoops off to bash that puppies brains in with her mace.
"So, going to finish me off, huh?" I say, turning my attention to the desperately flailing werewolf I'm choking to death. "What did you think was going to happen?" I mime myself flailing back in shock. "Oh, NO!, A really pointy stick? That's my only weakness! How did you know?" I throw out my hand dramatically. "Alas! I am slain!" And then I snap her neck, because dragging out your post-victory gloat too long is tactical suicide.
"So, kid," I say, as I walk towards the last werewolf in the pack. A puppy. No more than five years old. "Looks like it's just you and me."
She shivers, mute and terrified, kneeling in a puddle of her own urine, surrounded by the corpses of her family, as I steadily walk towards her.
And as I see myself in her eyes, I can't help but remember a little boy, alone and afraid in Castle Merdoria, as a man in metal loomed over him. I can't help but remember how helpless he felt, as his father hurt him.
"Child. Close your eyes. It'll be over, soon."
She hesitates. Then she looks at her aunt, and her face hardens. She looks me dead in the eye, not even blinking, as her entire body shivers. Her hands tremble, and tears stream down her cheeks. But still, she looks me in the eye.
And in that moment, I realize that I don't want to kill this girl.
"Do you want to live, child?"
She looks at the bodies of her family. And then she nods.
"And do you want revenge?"
She nods.
"I will offer you a place by my side if you so choose. You have power, and strength, and stand beside me as I reshape the very world. And you will find your opportunities for revenge, if you choose to take them."
It's foolish. It's mad. But… how could I do anything else? With those eyes, those terrified-yet-determined eyes staring up at me?
"I will make you into an abomination. You will perform atrocities on my orders. You will be forsaken, a beast of metal and steel. What will you do to live, girl? What will you do to get your revenge?"
She stares up at me, with those eyes full of hatred and determination. And she speaks one word.
"Anything."
It's a terrible idea. But then, I could use a right hand. And besides. This could be fun.
"Very well," I say, looking over my minion-to-be's father's corpse, and then pulling the shortsword belted to his waist free. Determination or not, she's still got the body of a little girl and is a monster to boot. Time to fix that. "Bow your head, then, you who would be my knight."
Slowly, hesitantly, she does.
And then I blast her with my electro-stunner to neutralize her pain centers, and promptly decapitate her.
The father's body is still warm, his heart is still beating, if only on muscle memory, and, according to my scans, their blood types are compatible.
Time for some SCIENCE!
The last of my technological components come out in flash, ready to be used to connect their tissues, and I kick in my armor's cerebral boosters. I have less than a minute to pull this off.
Plenty of time.
I stare down, as the decidedly male chest of my newest minion slowly rises and falls, peacefully asleep, and very much alive. Even in death, the father nurtures the daughter.
Now, what's left to do but laugh.
"HeheheheheheHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-!"
"Um, Doctor? I know you're laughing maniacally, and all, but should I take her back to the tower?"
I sigh.
"Yes, Minion Prime."
"Okay, thanks! Have fun laughing maniacally!"
I wait until Minion Prime is gone, and then resume.
"AHAAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!"
Nope. Moment's gone. Minion ruined it. Sighing, I take off towards the Murderspire.
After all, I have a world to cleanse.
All the same, that just makes the hunt more interesting. And, of course, I have the advantage. My armor is a masterpiece, after all.
"Doctor! I have the materials you requested!" Minion Prime announces proudly as she comes flying back.
I take a moment to admire her grasp of aerodynamics. She managed to grow eyes on both sides of her wings without losing any lift or maneuverability, and that in and of itself is worthy of praise. "Well done on modifying your wings."
"Thank you, Doctor!" she says, smiling radiantly as she hands over the materials I requested. "It was actually really fun, once I got the hang of it!"
I lean back on my newly crafted throne of black basalt, in the center of my vaulted throne room at the Murderspire's pinnacle. The windows near the top of the ceiling make the throne room the only well-lit room in the entire spire, something I'll have to correct, later on. But now, the task of creating basic protections awaits. Soon, the pure white stones have been carved into precise, detailed statues, one of me, and one of Minion Prime. Then, they're wrapped tightly in the bark of an ash tree and given the appropriate rites of power to direct ambient mystical force into a structured sympathetic bond, all precisely and scientifically calculated to maximum efficiency.
"It is done."
"Really?" Minion Prime asks, looking confused. "I didn't see any mana leave you, though."
I try not to roll my eyes at the angel's ignorance. It's not her fault she doesn't understand the nitty-gritty of how humans do magic. "Mystical energy is not intrinsic to human beings, barring any supernatural miscegenation somewhere up the family tree. While supernatural entities such as yourself may produce effects outside the conventionally defined laws of physics using their own natural well of what mystical analysts have, somewhat frustratingly, been forced to term 'Magical Power,' humans cannot. Thus, a practitioner must either draw power from a higher-order mystical entity or determine how best to coax and structure the flow of what is commonly referred to as 'ambient energy' into a desired form."
"I… don't think that's how magic works, though. I know a lot of human mages here can cast using their own spiritual energy."
I blink beneath my helmet as I think that over. "Interesting. I'll have to look into that."
"So, what did you do?" Minion asks.
"It's quite simple, actually. By carving the statues into our image, I opened a path of similarity between us and the statues, which I then broadened into a structured sympathetic channel, down which any corruptive energies injected into our bodies would instead be redirected into the statues and contained by the sanctified ash insulation I wrapped around them. It's a generalized stopgap measure, and won't do for more than fifteen thaums of corruptive energy, but…"
I realize that Minion's eyes have glazed over. "Alright, in layman's terms, I made it so that any corruptive energy goes into the statue instead of going into us. But it's still a first try, so there's plenty of room for improvement, and it won't block all that much, so be careful, alright?"
"Yes, Doctor!" Minion says.
"Excellent. Now, then. To the hunt."
I rise from my throne and stride out towards the open landing platform leading out of the Murderspire, already switching on my armor's gravitational engine to nullify the effects of gravity enough to allow for flight. My fuel tanks read at ninety-eight percent capacity, which means I have enough to last me for three months of constant combat before I need to refuel my plasma projection systems. All generators at full capacity.
And then, gravity holds me no more. The plasma jets in my armors' gauntlets and boots fire up, while all over my armor, triangular panels lift up to display my guidance and precision maneuvering plasma exhaust ports. And then, I'm off, soaring effortlessly through the air, while balancing the various systems necessary to do so with pinpoint precision.
The world dwindles, far below me as is right and proper, as I fly over the forest with Minion Prime in my wake, and I scan the underbrush as I go. My sensors easily pierce through the treetops, and I frown as I scan their readout.
Rabbits, a few squirrels, a fox, and even a bear. Not even a Space Bear, just a regular bear! This is… dishearteningly mundane. I'm beginning to consider the possibility that this entire planet is simply the result of somebody stealing a massive chunk of Earth's fauna sometime within the last two millennia. Not even the interesting fauna, either. The European ones! If I wanted to see those, I would be in Merdoria, not exploring an alien planet!
Sixteen miles from the tower, I finally find a potential test subject. A whole group of them, in fact!
They're as disappointing as everything else on this painfully unoriginal excuse for a planet, but they're clearly non-human, with the noted exception of one completely naked male in their midst. Each one is a scantily clad woman of, I suppose, passible attractiveness to those that give a damn about such lowly and inefficient pursuits. They have wolf-like ears, tails, and furred, clawed forearms and legs, all cementing their non-human status. Still, best to check.
I come to a halt, hovering above the wolves on blue jets of plasma, and turn to Minion Prime. "Are these monsters?"
"Yes! They're werewolves, specifically!" she shouts back.
I almost laugh, and tell her no, because I've fought actual werewolves, and they do not look like that, but the laughter dies in my throat. I slowly look back to stare at the monsters below me. This. This is this world's version of werewolves.
Jesus Christ this is sad.
Well, science waits for no man, and I have some test subjects to acquire. And an entrance to make. Should I say it? It is technically correct, after all.
The pack of werewolves (and their apparent boytoy) are all milling about, evidently having been disturbed by the sound of the Murderspire being built, and, from what my audio can pick up, are discussing what to do, when I descend like a comet, breaking branches in my rapid descent to the ground, and land with a tremendous BOOM that sets my cloak fluttering in the backdraft.
"HEL-LO BITCHES!" I roar, in all my speaker-amplified glory. What? They're female wolves. It's an appropriate form of address. "YOU WIN!"
They're silent for a moment or two, perplexed by the strange screaming metal man who just fell out of the sky. (I get that a lot.) Then, one of them asks, "We won… what?"
"AN ALL-EXPENSES PAID TRIP TO THE LUXURIOUS, EXOTIC MURDERSPIRE, WHERE YOU WILL SPEND THE PROBABLY BRIEF REMAINDER OF YOUR LIVES AS THE TEST SUBJECTS OF THE MAGNIFICENT DOCTOR VON MURDER! CONGRATULATIONS!" I bellow. Minion Prime, bless her angelic, presumably eye-encrusted little heart, actually cheers and sprinkles makeshift confetti put together from dried leaves. "Oh, and, in your case, sir," I nod at the naked man, who's been trying to stealthily pull up his pants this entire conversation. "You win your freedom, unless you're interested in helping me with my science, of course. Just leaving the option out there."
"I'm sorry, what?" the man asks, finally pulling his pants up all the way and picking up a… is that a spear? Not even a laser or vibro-spear, an actual, honest to God spear, made out of wood and iron? Oh my God. That's adorable. "What in Hel's name are you talking about?"
I sigh. Goddamn medieval idiots, always going and ruining a properly hammy dramatic entrance. "I'm Doctor von Murder, I've been asked to deal with the Mamono problem, and, to do that in an efficient, effective manner, I need to understand how Mamono work. So, instead of just slaughtering you all, I've decided to give you the chance to come quietly and serve as my test subjects. And you, sir, are free to return to human society, and go on to live a healthy, productive life. Is that simplified enough for your tiny little sex-crazed brains?"
"What?" he asks again, and I manfully resist the urge to disintegrate his face and, in so doing, defend the gene pool from his blatant stupidity.
"Look, here, let me explain it to you in terms you can understand," I say, wishing dearly that I could pinch my brow right now. "Monsters bad. Doctor von Murder good. Doctor von Murder kill all Monsters. Doctor von Murder need to know how to kill monster good, so Doctor von Murder is going to lock these monster up in his dungeon and torture them for science and justice and flowers and ponies and all those wonderful things, now is that simple enough for you, you, YOU WHAT-SPEWING IMBECILE, and I SWEAR TO GOD, IF YOU SAY 'What' AGAIN-"
"No, no, it's, that last one was… more of a rhetorical 'What,' if I'm being honest," the man says.
"I'm not inclined to believe you, but I sincerely despise both you and this conversation, and deeply long for both to be over, so sure, let's go with that."
"Fine. Look, listen, friend-"
"YOU TAKE THAT BACK RIGHT NOW!" I do not want to be associated with this shirtless idiot any more than I have to. He made me repeat myself. Twice. Friendship is right out. Even letting him live is iffy by this point.
"Fine. Listen, acquaintance."
"Better."
"Will you please let me talk without interrupting me?" he snaps. "Now-"
"Sure."
His muffled scream is exactly the pick-me-up I needed. One of the little werewolf puppies hiding behind him actually snickers, and I find myself toying with sparing her. She has a sense of humor, who knows, maybe she can be redeemed. Probably not but trying to do the impossible is just part of the wonders of science.
"Will you let me talk now?" he waits for a moment, daring me to make a smart remark. Then, he takes my silence as a go-ahead. "Look, I get it. I know that the Order has been telling you that the Mamono are bad, but this pack? I love them! They're my family. The mothers of my children! We're peaceful and happy! What's so wrong about that?"
"Aside from the fact that they're contagious, and that you're living naked in the woods, covered in dirt and what I'm assuming is bear feces, and essentially rutting with brainwashed animals and those unfortunate women who were transformed and molded into furthering the Demon Lord's depravity? Two key points. One: Can your monsters bear sons? And two: are men horny idiots here, too?"
"I-"
"Because if the first key detail is true, then the mamono winning guarantees the end of all life. And if the second detail is true, and men are still moved to idiocy by their lusts, then humanity will die out even if some sort of neutrality is reached. Just a bit slower. Mamono are designed and forced by the Demon Lord to cater to men's desires. They're hand-crafted to provoke lust. And so, humanity will suffer a population collapse caused by gender disparity."
"I- hold on, that's… a lot of words. But… look! They're just people, same as you and me. I served the order as a hero for years, but I never found happiness. I just hurt women who only wanted to find love, all on the words of a dried-up prude of a goddess, like you're doing right now! Why are you serving that-"
"Von Murder. Serves. No one. Remember that, traitor," I say, right before I blast him in the face with a bolt of superheated plasma, with my usual safeties disengaged. His skull melts, as his flesh burns. "Sic semper proditoribus, irrumator."
Then, with a chorus of horrified screams, the battle begins, as the assorted werewolves leap into action. Or try to, anyways. My gauntlets hum as I blast werewolf after werewolf like it's a shooting gallery, the monsters of this idiotic write off of a world die like moths to flamethrower, vastly improving my mood. Starting with the one who thought she was being so clever in sneaking up behind me, of course.
Finally, there are only three werewolves left, the rest lying in charred heaps. One adult female, and the two pups I spotted hiding behind their father, earlier.
"Last chance to surrender," I say with a grin, as I glide towards her. "There's still plenty of room in my experimentation pens."
She grabs the fallen spear of her boy-toy, and points it towards me, keeping herself between me and the puppies.
"Ah. Death it is, then," I say cheerily as I continue to advance.
"Kids. I need you to run," she says, the spear trembling in her hands as she watches me walk past her fallen sisters. I'm on a closed life support system, but I imagine that the charred, burning corpses possess quite the aroma, especially for a nose as sensitive as hers.
"But Aunty-"
"Run!" and then, she grins. "Don't worry. You know that your father's spear never misses its mark. I'll finish him off just fine. NOW RUN!"
One of the two heeds her apparent aunt's command, dashing away as her aunt charges at me, spear in hand. The spear breaks on my armor, and I promptly grab the werewolf by the throat with one hand, and lift her up effortlessly, feeling windpipe give beneath my armored fingers.
"Minion, kill the runner. Doctor's orders."
"You got it, Boss!" my cheerful little assistant says as she swoops off to bash that puppies brains in with her mace.
"So, going to finish me off, huh?" I say, turning my attention to the desperately flailing werewolf I'm choking to death. "What did you think was going to happen?" I mime myself flailing back in shock. "Oh, NO!, A really pointy stick? That's my only weakness! How did you know?" I throw out my hand dramatically. "Alas! I am slain!" And then I snap her neck, because dragging out your post-victory gloat too long is tactical suicide.
"So, kid," I say, as I walk towards the last werewolf in the pack. A puppy. No more than five years old. "Looks like it's just you and me."
She shivers, mute and terrified, kneeling in a puddle of her own urine, surrounded by the corpses of her family, as I steadily walk towards her.
And as I see myself in her eyes, I can't help but remember a little boy, alone and afraid in Castle Merdoria, as a man in metal loomed over him. I can't help but remember how helpless he felt, as his father hurt him.
"Child. Close your eyes. It'll be over, soon."
She hesitates. Then she looks at her aunt, and her face hardens. She looks me dead in the eye, not even blinking, as her entire body shivers. Her hands tremble, and tears stream down her cheeks. But still, she looks me in the eye.
And in that moment, I realize that I don't want to kill this girl.
"Do you want to live, child?"
She looks at the bodies of her family. And then she nods.
"And do you want revenge?"
She nods.
"I will offer you a place by my side if you so choose. You have power, and strength, and stand beside me as I reshape the very world. And you will find your opportunities for revenge, if you choose to take them."
It's foolish. It's mad. But… how could I do anything else? With those eyes, those terrified-yet-determined eyes staring up at me?
"I will make you into an abomination. You will perform atrocities on my orders. You will be forsaken, a beast of metal and steel. What will you do to live, girl? What will you do to get your revenge?"
She stares up at me, with those eyes full of hatred and determination. And she speaks one word.
"Anything."
It's a terrible idea. But then, I could use a right hand. And besides. This could be fun.
"Very well," I say, looking over my minion-to-be's father's corpse, and then pulling the shortsword belted to his waist free. Determination or not, she's still got the body of a little girl and is a monster to boot. Time to fix that. "Bow your head, then, you who would be my knight."
Slowly, hesitantly, she does.
And then I blast her with my electro-stunner to neutralize her pain centers, and promptly decapitate her.
The father's body is still warm, his heart is still beating, if only on muscle memory, and, according to my scans, their blood types are compatible.
Time for some SCIENCE!
The last of my technological components come out in flash, ready to be used to connect their tissues, and I kick in my armor's cerebral boosters. I have less than a minute to pull this off.
Plenty of time.
---
I stare down, as the decidedly male chest of my newest minion slowly rises and falls, peacefully asleep, and very much alive. Even in death, the father nurtures the daughter.
Now, what's left to do but laugh.
"HeheheheheheHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-!"
"Um, Doctor? I know you're laughing maniacally, and all, but should I take her back to the tower?"
I sigh.
"Yes, Minion Prime."
"Okay, thanks! Have fun laughing maniacally!"
I wait until Minion Prime is gone, and then resume.
"AHAAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!"
Nope. Moment's gone. Minion ruined it. Sighing, I take off towards the Murderspire.
After all, I have a world to cleanse.
Last edited:
Autocorruptor
Corrupting Innocent Grammar
- Joined
- Sep 1, 2020
- Messages
- 3,276
- Likes received
- 56,994
Wait, is he really going through with this?
Oh god, he's going to fuse her head to her father's dead body. Jesus, this guy is fucked up. Still hilarious though.
Chapter 4: In Which the Doctor Looks After His Patient, Visits Home, And Finally Sleeps
Charles Flynn
I trust you know where the happy button is?
- Joined
- Aug 4, 2018
- Messages
- 570
- Likes received
- 19,530
I examine my newest creation carefully as she lies on the basalt surgical table inside my tower's infirmary. She still hasn't woken up, properly, thanks to me keeping her on an anesthetic drip, and she won't be waking up any time soon.
Upon her neck, at the joining between the neck of a grown man's body and the neck of a child, is a small, thin circle of metal. The Linkage Collar. I'm no mad biologist, simply an exceptionally skilled medical doctor with a preference for cybernetics. Thus, I grafted the Collar's two halves to both ends, essentially allowing me to put a dialysis machine between the two.
But even so, this is still an unfinished solution, one that requires constant modification and improvements by her attendant physician (i.e. me) in order to continue functioning. The first major problem was that the father had several diseases the daughter didn't. In addition to a virus similar to chicken pox that he'd presumably caught as a child, before his immune system simply determined how to push it into remission, he had a nasty genital rash. Unsurprising, considering his decidedly risk factor laden sexual history.
After properly setting up the blood filtration, and sending Minion Prime out to gather up local plants I'd noticed earlier which could be used for medicine, I noticed the second major issue, the one that I was currently mulling over: Her hair had grown.
Now, this was relatively normal, all things considered. While they might not notice it in the moment, people's hair was constantly growing. However, usually, people's hair didn't grow enough to be a sixteenth of an inch longer after a ten-minute interval.
The solution was easily revealed, and mind-boggling in scope once I discovered the cause with a ritual of magical sight: She was draining the now-reinvigorated well of mystical energy within her father's body, while at the same time redoubling it, and sending half of her doubled energy back into her father's body from which it would once again be redrawn, in an infinite cycle. In my ignorance, I had devised a biomagical perpetual motion machine, and the now increasingly overwhelming, ever-growing reservoir of magical energy within the girl's head was finding release by accelerating cellular turnover, causing increased hair growth and even tissue regeneration, creating matter more or less ex nihlio.
It was extraordinary. Fascinating. Even revolutionary!
It was also going to kill her.
The tissue regrowth was causing her cells to begin rejecting the Linkage Collar and trying to regrow her old body. This would break the connection to her father's body, which was, at the moment, pumping her blood, and providing her with both oxygen, and the very magical energy she used to fuel her regrowth. She would die long before she began to regrow her respiratory organs.
And so, I began creating slapdash filtration wards, in order to regulate the process. Over the hours, I fine tuned and revised them on the spot, keeping my patient alive, even bordering on healthy. And now, they're good enough for me to sit back and actually think over what the Hell I'm going to do next.
The Linkage Collar isn't going to work, for several reasons. For starters, the daughter's neck is considerably smaller than the father's, necessitating multiple connective tubes to connect her esophagus, spine, and arteries. The size difference is so great that I can't lock the two halves of the Linkage Collar together without snipping off at least one of the connective tubes, and without locking the two together, her head will just fall off. And the obvious fix, trying to manipulate her accelerated tissue generation into some sort of rapid aging, won't work because of the collar's second big problem: Resource shortages.
I used up the last of my on-the-spot tinkering components on making this collar, and I had to stretch them thin to do so. Literally, in the case of the metal. Any more stretched-out, and the whole thing will just collapse. As it is, it needs constant maintenance, on an hourly basis, and I doubt it'll last more than two weeks.
I could manufacture the necessary components by following up on my original plan, and using sorcerous rites and harvested natural resources to construct basic manufactory tools, which I would then use to bootstrap my productive capabilities up to the level necessary to produce my most basic technology, but, as I crunch the numbers, I realize with a sinking feeling that even my most optimistic estimates, factoring in all possible assisting factors and assuming the least possible amount of time spent finding raw materials all have me working for more than four weeks. Two, if I completely forgo both Linkage Collar maintenance and sleep.
If I don't build up materials, she'll die. And even if I pull out all the stops, and build up the necessary components in time, she'll still die, because she needs the greatest doctor in the known universe looking after her 24/7 just to stay alive.
Why? Why am I even doing this? She's just another monster! One of the ones I need to kill if I'm ever going to make this godforsaken planet into a halfway respectable Merdorian colony! I should just pull the plug. I've gotten plenty of experimental data just from my efforts to keep her alive already! Time to end the experiment. Not waste any more time on saving someone I should have just killed, instead of adopting her and trying to go full Frankenstein on her on a whim.
I should just pull the plug.
But I won't.
I gave her my word. I said she would live, and grow strong, and even have her chance for her vengeance. She must live. My honor as a Baron demands it. And it was my foolishness, my rash, impulsive desire to experiment, to go against the very grain of nature itself simply because the idea caught my fancy, that has left her in this dire condition. She is my patient. And so, she will live. My honor as a doctor demands it.
The two forks beckon to me, each offering equally assured failure, and I sit down upon another of the infirmary's beds, contemplating my path. If only I was in Merdoria! If only… I was in Merdoria.
I begin crunching the numbers. It will take me approximately seventeen days to make it to Earth and back, so simply using my suit's built-in FTL drive is right out. Portal creation is magically intensive, certainly, and the only method I know to do so requires an identical doorframe on both ends. And the energy required increases based on distance. I'd need to create battery traps to store up atmospheric background energy, and then charge them up for years just to power a portal to Earth for six minutes. Otherwise, I'd need to make a deal with a higher supernatural. I would have to admit that I couldn't do it myself.
Is my pride worth compromising my honor?
I look down at my patient. Helpless, and-
Then it hits me.
I look down at my patient, the biomagical perpetual motion machine.
And then I get up and stretch.
"All right. Time to do the impossible."
Over the course of that week, I don't sleep. Instead, I rely upon my carefully calculated built-in chemical drip to stave off tiredness and maintain peak productivity as I carefully, painstakingly replicate the prototype portal doorframe that I know for a fact is still stored in Castle Merdoria and conduct numerous experiments in order to utilize my sleeping patient/generator to safely power the portal, without any deleterious side effects.
Minion grabs a fairy to use as a test subject, although God only knows where she found it. Once I set up two test doors in different rooms of the Murderspire, we begin testing on how to erase the corruptive effects of the extracted mana, and make the doorways safe to use.
We have to put down quite a few fairies (who Minion assured me were going to just end up getting corrupted anyways, but I was too focused to actually care) before we get the filtration process down pat.
And now… it's time. The moment of truth. I have six charged up mana reservoirs hooked up and purified through a combination of cleansing solar fire and the touch of a mystical relic I believe to be a feather from a Class One Angel, on account of it having a working eye on the end of its spine. There's enough power to keep the portal open for a total of six hours, allowing me to head through and assign my castle's Friendroids to transfer over both the manufactory equipment and robotic manpower we need. And, of course to straighten out Merdoria's governance in my absence.
"Minion Prime." I take a deep breath. "Fire it up."
I'm still not sure that the mana is completely purified. My calculations say it is, but even a margin of a fraction of a percent of corruptive energy per thaum could have deleterious effects when dealing with this much raw energy in a ritual.
"Yes sir, Doctor!" my angelic minion says with a salute, finishing the diagram on the wall surrounding our prospective doorway, and then initializing the rite with a single drop of blood.
The portal flickers up, filling the doorway with white light.
I stop in front of it, take another deep breath, and then cross twenty-four thousand light years in a single step.
I emerge into the darkness of my storage halls. Immediately, alarms begin blaring, only to be silenced immediately. "CEASE YOUR CATERWAULING, FOOLS! VON MURDER HAS RETURNED!"
The intruder alarm shuts off, and I immediately get to work. Five hundred Friendroids are assigned to bring through my manufactory machines and reassemble them on the other side in various designated rooms. The same goes for the resource collection machines, and my magical artifacts. I leave plenty of Friendroids behind, of course. They'll be needed to defend the nation in my absence, and I can certainly make more back on planet…
You know? I don't think I ever even asked what they call that dung heap of a world. Screw it, I'm calling it 'Planet Victor.' I'm quite possibly the greatest human being to ever live, I deserve to have at least one planet named after me.
After a quick trip to spit on my father's grave, since I'm probably going to miss the anniversary of his death, and I wouldn't want to go a year without celebrating it somewhat, I formally apologize to the democratically elected Advisory Council for my unregistered absence. I then go on to formally declare my intent to return to Planet Victor with the entire Merdorian military, in pursuit of extragalactic territorial expansion, and entrust them with the governance of Merdoria in my absence.
I do a quick patrol of my territory, banish my Nazi great-grandfather's unhallowed shade, find and defeat MOG THE LIVING PLAGUE, and thwart Teddy Roosevelt's sixteenth attempt to break out of Merdorian prison. Then, with five minutes to spare before closing, I return to the portal, and march the entire Merdorian military (i.e. me) through.
As the portal closes behind me, I almost collapse. I haven't slept since the Chief God called me here, and despite my best efforts, it's catching up to me.
But even so, my patient needs me. Just a little more to go.
The final repairs, the ones that will last, take a single minute of flurried action, with all my speed boosters pumping through my veins. I have to replace the entire Linkage Collar set up with a sturdier, better designed version that I constructed separately out of the components I brought through the portal with me (sterilized to prevent infection by a virus with no Victorian equivalent, of course.) And then, once that's done, I instruct Minion Prime and my Friendroids to continue to set up the base.
Then, I climb the Murderspire until I reach the landing platform, turn on my Total Transparency Field, and blindly fly into orbit, relying on my calculations to ensure my orbit is stable.
And then, I allow myself to drift off, relishing the warm comfort of my armor around me as I drift through the silent, safe, softness of space.
Upon her neck, at the joining between the neck of a grown man's body and the neck of a child, is a small, thin circle of metal. The Linkage Collar. I'm no mad biologist, simply an exceptionally skilled medical doctor with a preference for cybernetics. Thus, I grafted the Collar's two halves to both ends, essentially allowing me to put a dialysis machine between the two.
But even so, this is still an unfinished solution, one that requires constant modification and improvements by her attendant physician (i.e. me) in order to continue functioning. The first major problem was that the father had several diseases the daughter didn't. In addition to a virus similar to chicken pox that he'd presumably caught as a child, before his immune system simply determined how to push it into remission, he had a nasty genital rash. Unsurprising, considering his decidedly risk factor laden sexual history.
After properly setting up the blood filtration, and sending Minion Prime out to gather up local plants I'd noticed earlier which could be used for medicine, I noticed the second major issue, the one that I was currently mulling over: Her hair had grown.
Now, this was relatively normal, all things considered. While they might not notice it in the moment, people's hair was constantly growing. However, usually, people's hair didn't grow enough to be a sixteenth of an inch longer after a ten-minute interval.
The solution was easily revealed, and mind-boggling in scope once I discovered the cause with a ritual of magical sight: She was draining the now-reinvigorated well of mystical energy within her father's body, while at the same time redoubling it, and sending half of her doubled energy back into her father's body from which it would once again be redrawn, in an infinite cycle. In my ignorance, I had devised a biomagical perpetual motion machine, and the now increasingly overwhelming, ever-growing reservoir of magical energy within the girl's head was finding release by accelerating cellular turnover, causing increased hair growth and even tissue regeneration, creating matter more or less ex nihlio.
It was extraordinary. Fascinating. Even revolutionary!
It was also going to kill her.
The tissue regrowth was causing her cells to begin rejecting the Linkage Collar and trying to regrow her old body. This would break the connection to her father's body, which was, at the moment, pumping her blood, and providing her with both oxygen, and the very magical energy she used to fuel her regrowth. She would die long before she began to regrow her respiratory organs.
And so, I began creating slapdash filtration wards, in order to regulate the process. Over the hours, I fine tuned and revised them on the spot, keeping my patient alive, even bordering on healthy. And now, they're good enough for me to sit back and actually think over what the Hell I'm going to do next.
The Linkage Collar isn't going to work, for several reasons. For starters, the daughter's neck is considerably smaller than the father's, necessitating multiple connective tubes to connect her esophagus, spine, and arteries. The size difference is so great that I can't lock the two halves of the Linkage Collar together without snipping off at least one of the connective tubes, and without locking the two together, her head will just fall off. And the obvious fix, trying to manipulate her accelerated tissue generation into some sort of rapid aging, won't work because of the collar's second big problem: Resource shortages.
I used up the last of my on-the-spot tinkering components on making this collar, and I had to stretch them thin to do so. Literally, in the case of the metal. Any more stretched-out, and the whole thing will just collapse. As it is, it needs constant maintenance, on an hourly basis, and I doubt it'll last more than two weeks.
I could manufacture the necessary components by following up on my original plan, and using sorcerous rites and harvested natural resources to construct basic manufactory tools, which I would then use to bootstrap my productive capabilities up to the level necessary to produce my most basic technology, but, as I crunch the numbers, I realize with a sinking feeling that even my most optimistic estimates, factoring in all possible assisting factors and assuming the least possible amount of time spent finding raw materials all have me working for more than four weeks. Two, if I completely forgo both Linkage Collar maintenance and sleep.
If I don't build up materials, she'll die. And even if I pull out all the stops, and build up the necessary components in time, she'll still die, because she needs the greatest doctor in the known universe looking after her 24/7 just to stay alive.
Why? Why am I even doing this? She's just another monster! One of the ones I need to kill if I'm ever going to make this godforsaken planet into a halfway respectable Merdorian colony! I should just pull the plug. I've gotten plenty of experimental data just from my efforts to keep her alive already! Time to end the experiment. Not waste any more time on saving someone I should have just killed, instead of adopting her and trying to go full Frankenstein on her on a whim.
I should just pull the plug.
But I won't.
I gave her my word. I said she would live, and grow strong, and even have her chance for her vengeance. She must live. My honor as a Baron demands it. And it was my foolishness, my rash, impulsive desire to experiment, to go against the very grain of nature itself simply because the idea caught my fancy, that has left her in this dire condition. She is my patient. And so, she will live. My honor as a doctor demands it.
The two forks beckon to me, each offering equally assured failure, and I sit down upon another of the infirmary's beds, contemplating my path. If only I was in Merdoria! If only… I was in Merdoria.
I begin crunching the numbers. It will take me approximately seventeen days to make it to Earth and back, so simply using my suit's built-in FTL drive is right out. Portal creation is magically intensive, certainly, and the only method I know to do so requires an identical doorframe on both ends. And the energy required increases based on distance. I'd need to create battery traps to store up atmospheric background energy, and then charge them up for years just to power a portal to Earth for six minutes. Otherwise, I'd need to make a deal with a higher supernatural. I would have to admit that I couldn't do it myself.
Is my pride worth compromising my honor?
I look down at my patient. Helpless, and-
Then it hits me.
I look down at my patient, the biomagical perpetual motion machine.
And then I get up and stretch.
"All right. Time to do the impossible."
---
Over the course of that week, I don't sleep. Instead, I rely upon my carefully calculated built-in chemical drip to stave off tiredness and maintain peak productivity as I carefully, painstakingly replicate the prototype portal doorframe that I know for a fact is still stored in Castle Merdoria and conduct numerous experiments in order to utilize my sleeping patient/generator to safely power the portal, without any deleterious side effects.
Minion grabs a fairy to use as a test subject, although God only knows where she found it. Once I set up two test doors in different rooms of the Murderspire, we begin testing on how to erase the corruptive effects of the extracted mana, and make the doorways safe to use.
We have to put down quite a few fairies (who Minion assured me were going to just end up getting corrupted anyways, but I was too focused to actually care) before we get the filtration process down pat.
And now… it's time. The moment of truth. I have six charged up mana reservoirs hooked up and purified through a combination of cleansing solar fire and the touch of a mystical relic I believe to be a feather from a Class One Angel, on account of it having a working eye on the end of its spine. There's enough power to keep the portal open for a total of six hours, allowing me to head through and assign my castle's Friendroids to transfer over both the manufactory equipment and robotic manpower we need. And, of course to straighten out Merdoria's governance in my absence.
"Minion Prime." I take a deep breath. "Fire it up."
I'm still not sure that the mana is completely purified. My calculations say it is, but even a margin of a fraction of a percent of corruptive energy per thaum could have deleterious effects when dealing with this much raw energy in a ritual.
"Yes sir, Doctor!" my angelic minion says with a salute, finishing the diagram on the wall surrounding our prospective doorway, and then initializing the rite with a single drop of blood.
The portal flickers up, filling the doorway with white light.
I stop in front of it, take another deep breath, and then cross twenty-four thousand light years in a single step.
I emerge into the darkness of my storage halls. Immediately, alarms begin blaring, only to be silenced immediately. "CEASE YOUR CATERWAULING, FOOLS! VON MURDER HAS RETURNED!"
The intruder alarm shuts off, and I immediately get to work. Five hundred Friendroids are assigned to bring through my manufactory machines and reassemble them on the other side in various designated rooms. The same goes for the resource collection machines, and my magical artifacts. I leave plenty of Friendroids behind, of course. They'll be needed to defend the nation in my absence, and I can certainly make more back on planet…
You know? I don't think I ever even asked what they call that dung heap of a world. Screw it, I'm calling it 'Planet Victor.' I'm quite possibly the greatest human being to ever live, I deserve to have at least one planet named after me.
After a quick trip to spit on my father's grave, since I'm probably going to miss the anniversary of his death, and I wouldn't want to go a year without celebrating it somewhat, I formally apologize to the democratically elected Advisory Council for my unregistered absence. I then go on to formally declare my intent to return to Planet Victor with the entire Merdorian military, in pursuit of extragalactic territorial expansion, and entrust them with the governance of Merdoria in my absence.
I do a quick patrol of my territory, banish my Nazi great-grandfather's unhallowed shade, find and defeat MOG THE LIVING PLAGUE, and thwart Teddy Roosevelt's sixteenth attempt to break out of Merdorian prison. Then, with five minutes to spare before closing, I return to the portal, and march the entire Merdorian military (i.e. me) through.
As the portal closes behind me, I almost collapse. I haven't slept since the Chief God called me here, and despite my best efforts, it's catching up to me.
But even so, my patient needs me. Just a little more to go.
The final repairs, the ones that will last, take a single minute of flurried action, with all my speed boosters pumping through my veins. I have to replace the entire Linkage Collar set up with a sturdier, better designed version that I constructed separately out of the components I brought through the portal with me (sterilized to prevent infection by a virus with no Victorian equivalent, of course.) And then, once that's done, I instruct Minion Prime and my Friendroids to continue to set up the base.
Then, I climb the Murderspire until I reach the landing platform, turn on my Total Transparency Field, and blindly fly into orbit, relying on my calculations to ensure my orbit is stable.
And then, I allow myself to drift off, relishing the warm comfort of my armor around me as I drift through the silent, safe, softness of space.
Chapter 5: In Which We Receive a New Narrator, He Receives a New Partner, And There Is Much Rejoicing
Charles Flynn
I trust you know where the happy button is?
- Joined
- Aug 4, 2018
- Messages
- 570
- Likes received
- 19,530
The sun rises, and I open my eyes, ready to face the day.
Around me, my fellow Heroes-in-Training also rise. To my shame, I'm only the third to shrug off the rough blankets we sleep under and begin my morning routine. Murphy and Jathin both beat me to the punch. Same as always.
After our morning prayers to the divine and holy Chief God whom we serve, we wash ourselves, and have a humble, nourishing breakfast. And then, it's to the training yards, to hone the powers of the divine with which we are blessed.
Just as it is every day, for those of us who have been blessed with the call to heroism. But today, there is a change in schedule. Today, my name is called.
"Tanis Shaw!" Sir Robert, the retired Hero who leads the drills each day, calls out. "The Archbishop wishes to speak with you."
"Sir yes Sir!" I cry out, earning eye-rolls and muttered insults from my lackadaisical peers. From my observations, the common hero, or perhaps simply the common hero-in-training, lacks a proper appreciation for the importance of discipline. They let their hormones rule them, let their desire for women, or fame, or comfort, or even simply a desire to help people wash away at their discipline and their devotion to the goddess. I pray for their souls daily, and that they too should realize the fundamental Truth I did: That worldly pleasure is fleeting, while Duty is eternal.
I follow Sir Robert as he leads me through the administrative quarters of the Order's Dunhaven headquarters, to the very office of the Archbishop himself! I take a deep breath before entering. Is… is this it? Have my complaints about my peers' commitment finally been considered? Are my suggestions for more strenuous exercise and training in the Hero Readiness Program being taken into account? Or perhaps… Perhaps… Perhaps the Archbishop is finally going to acknowledge me, and cast aside those lazy, faithless, feckless youths who so wrongfully hold ahead of me in the rankings? Perhaps he has called me in to be rewarded?
Bah! Expectations and fancies, which serve only to distract me from my GLORIOUS DUTY! I will not mire myself in dreams, and in so doing deny my true purpose.
I enter the room, my back ramrod straight, and my arms straight at my sides, and stand at attention before the Archbishop. "Hero-in-Training Shaw reporting for duty, Sir!"
"Err… At ease, Hero," the Archbishop says, and I immediately move my arms into parade rest as I continue to stand at attention. "By which I meant, 'take a seat.'"
"Yes, Sir!" I say, as I take a seat, remaining stiff and ready for anything.
"So. Hero Shaw. It's a pleasure to finally meet you," Archbishop Leander says, after a moment's pause. "Chief God knows that a great number of your proposals have crossed my desk over the years."
"It is my pleasure as well, Sir!" I say with great enthusiasm, allowing myself to relax slightly for the sake of politeness. "I am always ready to further the work of the Chief God and oppose the enemies of humankind in whatever way is possible! I merely hope that, by the ideas presented in my proposals, I have furthered the cause of humanity!"
"You've certainly furthered my carpal tunnels," the archbishop mutters. "In any case, that is not what I have called you here. In light of your… zealous devotion to the goddess, I have chosen to approve you for fieldwork, and partner you up with a more experienced Hero. She'll be joining us for a debriefing, soon, and I hope you will use this opportunity to familiarize herself with her particular habits."
"Thank you for this opportunity, sir!" I say, unable to completely restrain my enthusiasm. "To work with an experienced and disciplined senior would be my greatest honor!"
"Well, she's certainly experienced, at least," the archbishop mutters. "She should be here any-"
Suddenly, the stained-glass window to Archbishop Leander's office shatters as someone swings through it on a rope, coming down in a three-point landing while somehow avoiding being cut. Archbishop Leander, for his part, simply sighs behind the parasol he lifted up to shield himself from the broken glass.
Then, the intruder stands up, revealing herself to be a smiling, busty blonde in a white, armored leotard that leaves her legs exposed. She wears a heavy, armored overcoat on top of the leotard, with an axe strapped to her back. Atop her head, she wears a simple headband fashioned to resemble the ears of a rabbit.
"STRIKING FOR JUSTICE, A SMILING HERO APPEARS, ENTERING JUST IN THE NICK OF TIME!" she cries out, pointing at the archbishop dramatically. "THE SMILING RABBIT HERO OF JUSTICE, LEONA LAPIN, HAS ARRIVED!" Then, she dusts off the chair next to me, and sits down. "I'm not late, am I?"
I stare at her in horror. This… scantily clad, unprofessional floozy just waltzed into the archbishop's office like that? Without a hint of remorse? Who does she think she is! An idea niggles away at me, but I reject it. No. There is no way this is the hero I'm assigned to.
"No, in fact, you're just in time for your debrief, Leona," Archbishop Leander says, his face completely unexpressive as he confirms my worst fears. "Now then. If you would care to explain? You and your now-deceased partner were assigned to deal with an orcish warband and cleanse the nearby town of its Mamono infiltration."
"Well, we were doing just fine!" Lady Lapin says, practically bouncing in her seat. "I managed to exterminate the majority of their warriors and their breeding stock while good old what's-his-face maintained a stalemate against a single orc. Unfortunately, TRAGEDY STRUCK! After I rescued him from his one opponent, and finished slaughtering the pigspawn, I found evidence of TREACHERY MOST FOUL! For, beneath Sir What's-His-Face's belt, he had raised the flag of treason! His penetrating propagator stood at attention, READY TO SIRE THE FIENDISH FOES OF HUMANITY! I was distraught, of course. How could I not be? I'd known Sir What's-His-Face for a whole two weeks, a full week beyond how long most of my partners lasted! And he was just a boy, fresh off his training, with his whole life ahead of him, to boot! But, his body had revealed the perverse seeds of his treasonous destiny, and I knew I had no choice." She pauses solemnly. "And so, with a heavy heart, I preemptively executed him for heresy."
"His name was Duncan, by the way," Archbishop Leander interjects.
"Oh. Right. I just tend not to bother with remembering their names unless they make it past a month, honestly," Lady Lapin says with a shrug. "So, anyways, my partner wanted us to go house by house, and investigate everybody in town, but that would take far too long, and I had to return his remains to his family, so I decided to just kill the entire town, to be on the safe side. So, I just politely asked everyone I met in town to help me find and kill the monsters, and then asked them to kill themselves! And they did, too! Isn't it amazing what you can get done just by being polite?"
"I… am not even going to bother questioning that," the archbishop says. "If you're covering up what actually happened with a lie that ridiculous, then I don't want to know what you're hiding. I just escaped the last batch of nightmares you left me with, I don't want another."
She pouts. "But I really did ask politely, though! Ask any of the people I killed!"
"Hero Lapin, Hero Shaw," Archbishop Leander says, choosing not to dignify that with a response. "It is with great pleasure that I inform you that you are being partnered up, and reassigned to Lescatie. You are to gather supplies, and depart immediately. Is that understood?"
"Sir yes Sir!" I cry, rising with a crisp salute.
"EEEEEEEEE!" Lapin squeals, hugging me to her side. "HE'S SO SERIOUS! I LOVE IT!" She turns her focus onto the archbishop. "Your parting bribe is accepted, sir! Let's go, sidekick!"
And so, she leads me off to gather provisions.
As we go, I can't help but notice the breakdown of discipline in the fortress. As we gather up the stores, a giddy cheer seems to be spreading through the rank-and-file, and even my former fellow trainees. By the time we make it out the gates, things have degenerated to the point of outright revelry. Utterly disgraceful. The whole lot of them ought to be flogged.
Even so, I set my former fellows, and even my questionable traveling companion beside me, to the side, and focus upon the road ahead. Glory awaits me, and whatever happens, I will do my duty.
Around me, my fellow Heroes-in-Training also rise. To my shame, I'm only the third to shrug off the rough blankets we sleep under and begin my morning routine. Murphy and Jathin both beat me to the punch. Same as always.
After our morning prayers to the divine and holy Chief God whom we serve, we wash ourselves, and have a humble, nourishing breakfast. And then, it's to the training yards, to hone the powers of the divine with which we are blessed.
Just as it is every day, for those of us who have been blessed with the call to heroism. But today, there is a change in schedule. Today, my name is called.
"Tanis Shaw!" Sir Robert, the retired Hero who leads the drills each day, calls out. "The Archbishop wishes to speak with you."
"Sir yes Sir!" I cry out, earning eye-rolls and muttered insults from my lackadaisical peers. From my observations, the common hero, or perhaps simply the common hero-in-training, lacks a proper appreciation for the importance of discipline. They let their hormones rule them, let their desire for women, or fame, or comfort, or even simply a desire to help people wash away at their discipline and their devotion to the goddess. I pray for their souls daily, and that they too should realize the fundamental Truth I did: That worldly pleasure is fleeting, while Duty is eternal.
I follow Sir Robert as he leads me through the administrative quarters of the Order's Dunhaven headquarters, to the very office of the Archbishop himself! I take a deep breath before entering. Is… is this it? Have my complaints about my peers' commitment finally been considered? Are my suggestions for more strenuous exercise and training in the Hero Readiness Program being taken into account? Or perhaps… Perhaps… Perhaps the Archbishop is finally going to acknowledge me, and cast aside those lazy, faithless, feckless youths who so wrongfully hold ahead of me in the rankings? Perhaps he has called me in to be rewarded?
Bah! Expectations and fancies, which serve only to distract me from my GLORIOUS DUTY! I will not mire myself in dreams, and in so doing deny my true purpose.
I enter the room, my back ramrod straight, and my arms straight at my sides, and stand at attention before the Archbishop. "Hero-in-Training Shaw reporting for duty, Sir!"
"Err… At ease, Hero," the Archbishop says, and I immediately move my arms into parade rest as I continue to stand at attention. "By which I meant, 'take a seat.'"
"Yes, Sir!" I say, as I take a seat, remaining stiff and ready for anything.
"So. Hero Shaw. It's a pleasure to finally meet you," Archbishop Leander says, after a moment's pause. "Chief God knows that a great number of your proposals have crossed my desk over the years."
"It is my pleasure as well, Sir!" I say with great enthusiasm, allowing myself to relax slightly for the sake of politeness. "I am always ready to further the work of the Chief God and oppose the enemies of humankind in whatever way is possible! I merely hope that, by the ideas presented in my proposals, I have furthered the cause of humanity!"
"You've certainly furthered my carpal tunnels," the archbishop mutters. "In any case, that is not what I have called you here. In light of your… zealous devotion to the goddess, I have chosen to approve you for fieldwork, and partner you up with a more experienced Hero. She'll be joining us for a debriefing, soon, and I hope you will use this opportunity to familiarize herself with her particular habits."
"Thank you for this opportunity, sir!" I say, unable to completely restrain my enthusiasm. "To work with an experienced and disciplined senior would be my greatest honor!"
"Well, she's certainly experienced, at least," the archbishop mutters. "She should be here any-"
Suddenly, the stained-glass window to Archbishop Leander's office shatters as someone swings through it on a rope, coming down in a three-point landing while somehow avoiding being cut. Archbishop Leander, for his part, simply sighs behind the parasol he lifted up to shield himself from the broken glass.
Then, the intruder stands up, revealing herself to be a smiling, busty blonde in a white, armored leotard that leaves her legs exposed. She wears a heavy, armored overcoat on top of the leotard, with an axe strapped to her back. Atop her head, she wears a simple headband fashioned to resemble the ears of a rabbit.
"STRIKING FOR JUSTICE, A SMILING HERO APPEARS, ENTERING JUST IN THE NICK OF TIME!" she cries out, pointing at the archbishop dramatically. "THE SMILING RABBIT HERO OF JUSTICE, LEONA LAPIN, HAS ARRIVED!" Then, she dusts off the chair next to me, and sits down. "I'm not late, am I?"
I stare at her in horror. This… scantily clad, unprofessional floozy just waltzed into the archbishop's office like that? Without a hint of remorse? Who does she think she is! An idea niggles away at me, but I reject it. No. There is no way this is the hero I'm assigned to.
"No, in fact, you're just in time for your debrief, Leona," Archbishop Leander says, his face completely unexpressive as he confirms my worst fears. "Now then. If you would care to explain? You and your now-deceased partner were assigned to deal with an orcish warband and cleanse the nearby town of its Mamono infiltration."
"Well, we were doing just fine!" Lady Lapin says, practically bouncing in her seat. "I managed to exterminate the majority of their warriors and their breeding stock while good old what's-his-face maintained a stalemate against a single orc. Unfortunately, TRAGEDY STRUCK! After I rescued him from his one opponent, and finished slaughtering the pigspawn, I found evidence of TREACHERY MOST FOUL! For, beneath Sir What's-His-Face's belt, he had raised the flag of treason! His penetrating propagator stood at attention, READY TO SIRE THE FIENDISH FOES OF HUMANITY! I was distraught, of course. How could I not be? I'd known Sir What's-His-Face for a whole two weeks, a full week beyond how long most of my partners lasted! And he was just a boy, fresh off his training, with his whole life ahead of him, to boot! But, his body had revealed the perverse seeds of his treasonous destiny, and I knew I had no choice." She pauses solemnly. "And so, with a heavy heart, I preemptively executed him for heresy."
"His name was Duncan, by the way," Archbishop Leander interjects.
"Oh. Right. I just tend not to bother with remembering their names unless they make it past a month, honestly," Lady Lapin says with a shrug. "So, anyways, my partner wanted us to go house by house, and investigate everybody in town, but that would take far too long, and I had to return his remains to his family, so I decided to just kill the entire town, to be on the safe side. So, I just politely asked everyone I met in town to help me find and kill the monsters, and then asked them to kill themselves! And they did, too! Isn't it amazing what you can get done just by being polite?"
"I… am not even going to bother questioning that," the archbishop says. "If you're covering up what actually happened with a lie that ridiculous, then I don't want to know what you're hiding. I just escaped the last batch of nightmares you left me with, I don't want another."
She pouts. "But I really did ask politely, though! Ask any of the people I killed!"
"Hero Lapin, Hero Shaw," Archbishop Leander says, choosing not to dignify that with a response. "It is with great pleasure that I inform you that you are being partnered up, and reassigned to Lescatie. You are to gather supplies, and depart immediately. Is that understood?"
"Sir yes Sir!" I cry, rising with a crisp salute.
"EEEEEEEEE!" Lapin squeals, hugging me to her side. "HE'S SO SERIOUS! I LOVE IT!" She turns her focus onto the archbishop. "Your parting bribe is accepted, sir! Let's go, sidekick!"
And so, she leads me off to gather provisions.
As we go, I can't help but notice the breakdown of discipline in the fortress. As we gather up the stores, a giddy cheer seems to be spreading through the rank-and-file, and even my former fellow trainees. By the time we make it out the gates, things have degenerated to the point of outright revelry. Utterly disgraceful. The whole lot of them ought to be flogged.
Even so, I set my former fellows, and even my questionable traveling companion beside me, to the side, and focus upon the road ahead. Glory awaits me, and whatever happens, I will do my duty.
Autocorruptor
Corrupting Innocent Grammar
- Joined
- Sep 1, 2020
- Messages
- 3,276
- Likes received
- 56,994
Well, uh, he is certainly DEDICATED to his job.
Ahahahahaha! Yet another sociopath.
I think everyone is happy because the stick in the mud is leaving, and they got some eye candy.
beast_regards
The Ever-Ethereal Legal Loli
- Joined
- Aug 19, 2017
- Messages
- 2,534
- Likes received
- 10,152
Fifth chapter and no one tried to hit the world with projectiles accelerated to near light speed? No one crashed the moon into the planet? Doctor, you are a disgrace to Spacebattles academy.
Chapter Six: In Which The Dynamic Duo of Lapin & Shaw Go Hiking, Lapin Tests Shaw’s Resolve, and The Pair Meet An Amicable Country Doctor
Charles Flynn
I trust you know where the happy button is?
- Joined
- Aug 4, 2018
- Messages
- 570
- Likes received
- 19,530
"When last we saw our brave heroine, she had just received a scrappy new sidekick, and been sent out on a noble quest to reinforce the fortress city of Lescatie!" Lapin cries out, with no fanfare or warning whatsoever, as we walk along the road.
"Lapin, what the hell are you doing?" I ask, taking a few steps back from my madwoman of a partner.
"The 'Previously On' segment, duh," Lapin says, as if I should know what that is. "Now shush, sidekick. I don't care if you're the narrator, mama's got some exposition to drop on the readers right now."
I consider saying something but decide against it. I know full well that Lapin will just make things even more confusing if I try.
"Unknown to our brave heroine, sinister, sex-crazed, stupid forces were conspiring in Lescatie, to corrupt its defenders, and bring them to ruin. And how did this mysterious Doctor von Murder fit into things? Find out, as the SMILING RABBIT HEROINE OF JUSTICE, LEONA LAPIN FACES…." She pauses dramatically for some reason. "'PERILS ON THE PATH TO PORT PURITY!'"
"Wait, the forces of the Demon Lord are infiltrating Lescatie?" I ask, latching on to the only intelligible part of that sheer insanity. "How did you find out about that? Why haven't you told anybody? And why is it 'unknown' to you if you just said it?"
"Hm? What are you talking about?" Lapin asks, looking confused.
"You just said that the Demon Lord's forces are infiltrating Lescatie!" I snap.
"Well, yes, but obviously I don't actually know that. I wasn't there for those scenes last episode, and I only break the fourth wall during recap segments," she says, rolling her eyes at me. "Seriously, Shaw, pay attention for once."
"But you- But I was- And that's why- GRAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!" Giving up on trying to make 'logic' and 'Lapin' apply to each other, I instead settle on the considerably more pleasant endeavor of tearing my hair out while screaming my frustration to the heavens.
Three days. Three days of hiking through the wilderness, with no company save for Lapin. My sanity is hanging by a thread, and I am increasingly filled with a burning desire to kill someone, be it Lapin or myself, simply to escape her constant. Fucking. NATTERING!
Just as I'm five minutes away from just drawing my blade and ending it, one way or the other, she stops talking, and halts in her tracks, sniffing at the air.
"My rabbit-senses are tingling," she says after a moment. "There are monsters nearby."
I get my sword out, and fall into a ready stance, prepared to face the threat.
"So, Sidekick Twenty-Seven," she begins with a grin. "Do you know why I didn't get us horses when we were setting out? Or just hitch us a ride with a merchant caravan?"
"I do not. As my superior and current commander, the details of our transit to our mission objectives are yours to decide, regardless of your mental ineptitude for command," I tell her dutifully. Regardless of how much Lapin annoys me, I am a soldier of the Chief God. I follow orders.
"That's a good mindset to have, little sidekick," she says with her usual, easy grin. "I took us out this way by foot because I wanted to test you. See, I know that even in Order territory, there are places like this. Little oases of lustful indulgence in our sea of pious tranquility. And I wanted to see what you're worth. If you're worthy of being my sidekick, worthy of representing the Chief God and defending humanity, then you'll kill the Dryad, Mantis, and two Greenworms that I sense in the surrounding area. I'll bail you out if you start getting overwhelmed in combat, but if you get a boner, I'm killing you."
I take a deep breath, and then I nod. "Very well."
My first fight against the beasts. Against the enemies of all humankind.
First, as any proper warrior would, I begin considering my enemies, thanking the Chief God that I spent so much time researching my enemies' capabilities and weaknesses. First, a Mantis.
An exemplar of pure swordsmanship, and legendary hunter and assassin. Cold, and devoid of emotion. A worthy adversary, and one that I would be hard-pressed to defeat alone.
Second, a dryad,
an immobile entity, capable of using the vines around it to deal with attackers. An ideal area controller, and potentially deadly backup for the Mantis.
And lastly, two Greenworms.
The larval form of the Papillon, they are slow, gentle, dimwitted, and perpetually hungry. Their only advantage in combat is their antennae secretions, which tire out their enemies.
With that done, I begin thinking tactics. I'm going to have to be cautious in this one. I'm just one man, and so, if I go with a full-on frontal assault, then I'll be overwhelmed. I sheath my sword and draw my bow instead. I suppose that I'll have to be stealthy about this.
It takes me two hours to find the dryad. As I'd presumed, the monsters were working together as a community, using the dryad as their community hub. A small, insular grouping for self-defense, avoiding detection through its small size. No doubt a holdout from the Rape War that followed the Great Betrayal, which managed to stay off the radar of the Order's numerous Cleansing Patrols.
The Dryad is larger than most of its kind, from which I deduce that she has a mate, and has, as all dryads do, imprisoned the traitor within her arboreal shell to serve as a breeder. This would also explain why the cell has avoided detection: They use a single, common stud, thus eliminating the need to seek out other mates, and in so doing, draw the attention of the Order.
A terrifyingly efficient plan, one that makes my heart shudder at the thought of how many other similar cells might be sprinkled throughout Order Territory, a knife in our back, growing to maturity.
Haste breeds failure, and so, I spend the day camouflaged, observing their habits, patterns, and social dynamics from afar, even as I mentally map out tomorrow's massacre. I'm tempted to kill them as they sleep, but it's too risky. If one of them makes a sound, they'll wake the others, and I'll be outnumbered and in enemy territory.
My instructors, back at the Academy, deemed me unheroic. They saw my proposed corrections to the curriculum as being unneeded. "An Archer isn't properly heroic" they'd say, "Learn to accept that you're in a support class."
Their doctrine, which favored immediate intervention, prioritized action over proper intelligence and strategy, was foolish. And I'm going to prove it.
The new day dawns, and I watch, camouflaged from my blind, as they go about their routines. Namely, the Greenworms and Mantis split up and go out hunting, the worms for leafage, and the Mantis for living prey, while the dryad remains in her hollow, has sex with her husband, and is generally useless.
The wind is blowing to the east, and I slowly make my way from tree to tree, my superior eyesight allowing me to see all three of them from my vantage point. And then, after checking the wind, and determining beyond any reasonable doubt that it won't just shift on me mid-shot, I draw back my bow, infuse mana into my arrow, and fire.
The Greenworm I targeted yelps as my arrow sinks into her back, and then, my mana detonates, blowing her to bits.
My explosive arrow technique has its flaws. It's loud, flashy, requires precise timing, and I can only use five or six of them before my mana runs out. But damn if it doesn't work like a dream when I need it to.
Of course, the explosion gets the attention of the other monsters. The Mantis is cautious, scanning the area for threats as she slowly and steadily makes her way toward the explosion. The second Greenworm, on the other hand, exercises no caution whatsoever. Because, as I noted earlier, when I was stalking them yesterday, they made sure to confer with each other before they split up, presumably so that they could stay close enough to run to the other's aid if one of them was attacked. A precaution that their guardian, the Mantis, hadn't shared in. And so, while the Mantis takes her time, unaware of her charges' perilous straits, the Greenworm goes as fast as she can, towards her imperiled sister, and directly into my bow range.
Exactly as planned.
She's too busy staring in horror at the splattered chunks that used to be her sister to see my arrow coming for her. And then, with a second explosion, it's all over.
Now, on to the hard part: The Mantis.
She arrives ten minutes after the second Greenworm, and I don't delay in the slightest, knowing that her time spent taking the scene in is also my best opportunity to strike. I draw back my bow, noting, as I do, her body language. It'll be important for the second shot.
Sure enough, she dodges backwards from my first arrow, and right into the path of my second arrow. As I predicted. I had noticed that her body language indicated she was on the defensive, and so, that, when avoiding my first arrow, she would take a step back. She brings the scythe blades on her arms up to parry my second, uncharged arrow, just as my first arrow explodes, slamming her back into a tree, from which she bounces back flat onto her face, just in time for my third arrow to catch her in the neck, and then detonate, instantly reducing her upper body to a paste.
I mentally reference my previous studies on the enemy and confirm that there is no recorded instance of a Mantis surviving the complete and total destruction of their entire upper body.
All the same, I fire a couple of uncharged arrows into her slightly-less shredded hindquarters, just to be on the safe side.
Now, it's on to the Dryad. I maintain my Silent Hunting Concealment Technique as I leap from tree to tree. I have one more Detonation Arrow's worth of mana left in me, and so I begin charging it up as I approach, shifting its elemental ratio so that it will align itself to fire, instead of simply expressing itself as pure force.
She doesn't see it coming. With one shot, her tree goes up in flames, and she perishes, her worthless traitor of a husband burning to death inside her.
"Brutal," Lapin comments from the branch next to me as I sit watching the flames. "Didn't know you were an Archer."
"I train with both bow and sword," I say with a shrug. "That's just common sense. Never leave an area of weakness that others can exploit. And always figure out where your foes are weak."
"I can see that," she says, grinning. "So. You passed. Nice work, Deadeye."
"I don't do it for the praise," I tell her bluntly.
"Admirable of you," she says with a grin. "Now that we've got you blooded, let's see about getting faster transportation, shall we?"
"That is at your discretion, commander, but I would endorse this particular measure nonetheless." I still feel it, coursing through my veins, the sweet, sweet, elation of victory. The monsters are dead, by my hands, and I couldn't be happier. And that joy still fills me, as we set off towards a nearby town, planning to catch passage with a trade caravan.
"I'm sorry," the town's mayor says, "But there aren't any caravans to Lescatie in town, and there won't be any for the next month."
"That's… disappointing," Lapin says, rubbing her thumb over the pommel of her war axe. "Almost… insubordinate."
I mentally brace myself for having to fight the entire town if she kills him, but then a blonde girl pokes her head through the door. "Oh, hello, I'm sorry, am I early? I'm here to sort out our permits and ask for some recommendations on where to go next."
"Yeah, sorry about this, but I was kind of going to kill this guy for insubordination," Lapin says, pointing her thumb at the mayor. Her smile doesn't change in the slightest. "So, might be a bit late for that. Hey, I really like your eyes, though, they're very artistic, so I'll let you go first."
"Well, that's very kind of you," the mysterious blonde girl says, letting herself in. "I'm Minio- Minnie, by the way. Nice to meet you."
"Pleasure's all mine," Lapin says, shaking Minnie's hand. "So, what brings you here?"
"Oh, I'm with Dr. McFriendly's Traveling Clinic. We're going between towns, touring the various kingdoms, to heal the sick and so forth. We just started out on our trip. Trying to feel places out, establish a route that we can make into a regular circuit."
"And would you be open to visiting Lescatie?" I ask, an idea that gets us on the road and keeps Lapin from getting Inquistion-grade stab-happy on the mayor forming in my mind.
"Well, yes. Would you like to travel with us?" she asks, and I can see Lapin beginning to catch on.
"Yes, we really would!" Lapin says. "Now, Mr. Mayor, about those permits."
"Yes. Whatever you want, YES."
And so, our passage secured, we are brought over to meet our new traveling partner, the titular Dr. McFriendly.
"Who DARES approach the Traveling Clinic of DOCTOR BILLY RAY MCFRIENDLY bearing arms?" the man bellows, standing up as he sees us. He's huge, and bulky in unnatural ways. He wears a plague doctor's mask, and a bulky leather overcoat, so that none of his skin can be seen, but it's fairly obvious that he's wearing armor under his clothes, although God only knows why.
Lapin suddenly looks... unusually subdued, for some reason.
Minnie steps up, smiling brightly. "These two are a pair of heroes from the Order, Doctor! They helped me out with the town's Mayor, and they wanted to take passage with us up to Lescatie."
"Hm. Order heroes, you say?" he appears to mull it over for a few seconds. "Welcome aboard, then! If our two paths are destined to coincide, who am I to object?"
He laughs, larger than life, and slaps us both on the back. "Welcome to the TRAVELING HOSPITAL OF DR. MCFRIENDLY! I hope you'll enjoy your stay with me."
I look at my subdued, silent partner, and then at the jovial giant who seems more circus ringmaster than man of medicine.
Well.
At least this trip won't be boring.
"Lapin, what the hell are you doing?" I ask, taking a few steps back from my madwoman of a partner.
"The 'Previously On' segment, duh," Lapin says, as if I should know what that is. "Now shush, sidekick. I don't care if you're the narrator, mama's got some exposition to drop on the readers right now."
I consider saying something but decide against it. I know full well that Lapin will just make things even more confusing if I try.
"Unknown to our brave heroine, sinister, sex-crazed, stupid forces were conspiring in Lescatie, to corrupt its defenders, and bring them to ruin. And how did this mysterious Doctor von Murder fit into things? Find out, as the SMILING RABBIT HEROINE OF JUSTICE, LEONA LAPIN FACES…." She pauses dramatically for some reason. "'PERILS ON THE PATH TO PORT PURITY!'"
"Wait, the forces of the Demon Lord are infiltrating Lescatie?" I ask, latching on to the only intelligible part of that sheer insanity. "How did you find out about that? Why haven't you told anybody? And why is it 'unknown' to you if you just said it?"
"Hm? What are you talking about?" Lapin asks, looking confused.
"You just said that the Demon Lord's forces are infiltrating Lescatie!" I snap.
"Well, yes, but obviously I don't actually know that. I wasn't there for those scenes last episode, and I only break the fourth wall during recap segments," she says, rolling her eyes at me. "Seriously, Shaw, pay attention for once."
"But you- But I was- And that's why- GRAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!" Giving up on trying to make 'logic' and 'Lapin' apply to each other, I instead settle on the considerably more pleasant endeavor of tearing my hair out while screaming my frustration to the heavens.
---
Three days. Three days of hiking through the wilderness, with no company save for Lapin. My sanity is hanging by a thread, and I am increasingly filled with a burning desire to kill someone, be it Lapin or myself, simply to escape her constant. Fucking. NATTERING!
Just as I'm five minutes away from just drawing my blade and ending it, one way or the other, she stops talking, and halts in her tracks, sniffing at the air.
"My rabbit-senses are tingling," she says after a moment. "There are monsters nearby."
I get my sword out, and fall into a ready stance, prepared to face the threat.
"So, Sidekick Twenty-Seven," she begins with a grin. "Do you know why I didn't get us horses when we were setting out? Or just hitch us a ride with a merchant caravan?"
"I do not. As my superior and current commander, the details of our transit to our mission objectives are yours to decide, regardless of your mental ineptitude for command," I tell her dutifully. Regardless of how much Lapin annoys me, I am a soldier of the Chief God. I follow orders.
"That's a good mindset to have, little sidekick," she says with her usual, easy grin. "I took us out this way by foot because I wanted to test you. See, I know that even in Order territory, there are places like this. Little oases of lustful indulgence in our sea of pious tranquility. And I wanted to see what you're worth. If you're worthy of being my sidekick, worthy of representing the Chief God and defending humanity, then you'll kill the Dryad, Mantis, and two Greenworms that I sense in the surrounding area. I'll bail you out if you start getting overwhelmed in combat, but if you get a boner, I'm killing you."
I take a deep breath, and then I nod. "Very well."
My first fight against the beasts. Against the enemies of all humankind.
First, as any proper warrior would, I begin considering my enemies, thanking the Chief God that I spent so much time researching my enemies' capabilities and weaknesses. First, a Mantis.
An exemplar of pure swordsmanship, and legendary hunter and assassin. Cold, and devoid of emotion. A worthy adversary, and one that I would be hard-pressed to defeat alone.
Second, a dryad,
an immobile entity, capable of using the vines around it to deal with attackers. An ideal area controller, and potentially deadly backup for the Mantis.
And lastly, two Greenworms.
The larval form of the Papillon, they are slow, gentle, dimwitted, and perpetually hungry. Their only advantage in combat is their antennae secretions, which tire out their enemies.
With that done, I begin thinking tactics. I'm going to have to be cautious in this one. I'm just one man, and so, if I go with a full-on frontal assault, then I'll be overwhelmed. I sheath my sword and draw my bow instead. I suppose that I'll have to be stealthy about this.
---
It takes me two hours to find the dryad. As I'd presumed, the monsters were working together as a community, using the dryad as their community hub. A small, insular grouping for self-defense, avoiding detection through its small size. No doubt a holdout from the Rape War that followed the Great Betrayal, which managed to stay off the radar of the Order's numerous Cleansing Patrols.
The Dryad is larger than most of its kind, from which I deduce that she has a mate, and has, as all dryads do, imprisoned the traitor within her arboreal shell to serve as a breeder. This would also explain why the cell has avoided detection: They use a single, common stud, thus eliminating the need to seek out other mates, and in so doing, draw the attention of the Order.
A terrifyingly efficient plan, one that makes my heart shudder at the thought of how many other similar cells might be sprinkled throughout Order Territory, a knife in our back, growing to maturity.
Haste breeds failure, and so, I spend the day camouflaged, observing their habits, patterns, and social dynamics from afar, even as I mentally map out tomorrow's massacre. I'm tempted to kill them as they sleep, but it's too risky. If one of them makes a sound, they'll wake the others, and I'll be outnumbered and in enemy territory.
My instructors, back at the Academy, deemed me unheroic. They saw my proposed corrections to the curriculum as being unneeded. "An Archer isn't properly heroic" they'd say, "Learn to accept that you're in a support class."
Their doctrine, which favored immediate intervention, prioritized action over proper intelligence and strategy, was foolish. And I'm going to prove it.
The new day dawns, and I watch, camouflaged from my blind, as they go about their routines. Namely, the Greenworms and Mantis split up and go out hunting, the worms for leafage, and the Mantis for living prey, while the dryad remains in her hollow, has sex with her husband, and is generally useless.
The wind is blowing to the east, and I slowly make my way from tree to tree, my superior eyesight allowing me to see all three of them from my vantage point. And then, after checking the wind, and determining beyond any reasonable doubt that it won't just shift on me mid-shot, I draw back my bow, infuse mana into my arrow, and fire.
The Greenworm I targeted yelps as my arrow sinks into her back, and then, my mana detonates, blowing her to bits.
My explosive arrow technique has its flaws. It's loud, flashy, requires precise timing, and I can only use five or six of them before my mana runs out. But damn if it doesn't work like a dream when I need it to.
Of course, the explosion gets the attention of the other monsters. The Mantis is cautious, scanning the area for threats as she slowly and steadily makes her way toward the explosion. The second Greenworm, on the other hand, exercises no caution whatsoever. Because, as I noted earlier, when I was stalking them yesterday, they made sure to confer with each other before they split up, presumably so that they could stay close enough to run to the other's aid if one of them was attacked. A precaution that their guardian, the Mantis, hadn't shared in. And so, while the Mantis takes her time, unaware of her charges' perilous straits, the Greenworm goes as fast as she can, towards her imperiled sister, and directly into my bow range.
Exactly as planned.
She's too busy staring in horror at the splattered chunks that used to be her sister to see my arrow coming for her. And then, with a second explosion, it's all over.
Now, on to the hard part: The Mantis.
She arrives ten minutes after the second Greenworm, and I don't delay in the slightest, knowing that her time spent taking the scene in is also my best opportunity to strike. I draw back my bow, noting, as I do, her body language. It'll be important for the second shot.
Sure enough, she dodges backwards from my first arrow, and right into the path of my second arrow. As I predicted. I had noticed that her body language indicated she was on the defensive, and so, that, when avoiding my first arrow, she would take a step back. She brings the scythe blades on her arms up to parry my second, uncharged arrow, just as my first arrow explodes, slamming her back into a tree, from which she bounces back flat onto her face, just in time for my third arrow to catch her in the neck, and then detonate, instantly reducing her upper body to a paste.
I mentally reference my previous studies on the enemy and confirm that there is no recorded instance of a Mantis surviving the complete and total destruction of their entire upper body.
All the same, I fire a couple of uncharged arrows into her slightly-less shredded hindquarters, just to be on the safe side.
Now, it's on to the Dryad. I maintain my Silent Hunting Concealment Technique as I leap from tree to tree. I have one more Detonation Arrow's worth of mana left in me, and so I begin charging it up as I approach, shifting its elemental ratio so that it will align itself to fire, instead of simply expressing itself as pure force.
She doesn't see it coming. With one shot, her tree goes up in flames, and she perishes, her worthless traitor of a husband burning to death inside her.
"Brutal," Lapin comments from the branch next to me as I sit watching the flames. "Didn't know you were an Archer."
"I train with both bow and sword," I say with a shrug. "That's just common sense. Never leave an area of weakness that others can exploit. And always figure out where your foes are weak."
"I can see that," she says, grinning. "So. You passed. Nice work, Deadeye."
"I don't do it for the praise," I tell her bluntly.
"Admirable of you," she says with a grin. "Now that we've got you blooded, let's see about getting faster transportation, shall we?"
"That is at your discretion, commander, but I would endorse this particular measure nonetheless." I still feel it, coursing through my veins, the sweet, sweet, elation of victory. The monsters are dead, by my hands, and I couldn't be happier. And that joy still fills me, as we set off towards a nearby town, planning to catch passage with a trade caravan.
---
"I'm sorry," the town's mayor says, "But there aren't any caravans to Lescatie in town, and there won't be any for the next month."
"That's… disappointing," Lapin says, rubbing her thumb over the pommel of her war axe. "Almost… insubordinate."
I mentally brace myself for having to fight the entire town if she kills him, but then a blonde girl pokes her head through the door. "Oh, hello, I'm sorry, am I early? I'm here to sort out our permits and ask for some recommendations on where to go next."
"Yeah, sorry about this, but I was kind of going to kill this guy for insubordination," Lapin says, pointing her thumb at the mayor. Her smile doesn't change in the slightest. "So, might be a bit late for that. Hey, I really like your eyes, though, they're very artistic, so I'll let you go first."
"Well, that's very kind of you," the mysterious blonde girl says, letting herself in. "I'm Minio- Minnie, by the way. Nice to meet you."
"Pleasure's all mine," Lapin says, shaking Minnie's hand. "So, what brings you here?"
"Oh, I'm with Dr. McFriendly's Traveling Clinic. We're going between towns, touring the various kingdoms, to heal the sick and so forth. We just started out on our trip. Trying to feel places out, establish a route that we can make into a regular circuit."
"And would you be open to visiting Lescatie?" I ask, an idea that gets us on the road and keeps Lapin from getting Inquistion-grade stab-happy on the mayor forming in my mind.
"Well, yes. Would you like to travel with us?" she asks, and I can see Lapin beginning to catch on.
"Yes, we really would!" Lapin says. "Now, Mr. Mayor, about those permits."
"Yes. Whatever you want, YES."
---
And so, our passage secured, we are brought over to meet our new traveling partner, the titular Dr. McFriendly.
"Who DARES approach the Traveling Clinic of DOCTOR BILLY RAY MCFRIENDLY bearing arms?" the man bellows, standing up as he sees us. He's huge, and bulky in unnatural ways. He wears a plague doctor's mask, and a bulky leather overcoat, so that none of his skin can be seen, but it's fairly obvious that he's wearing armor under his clothes, although God only knows why.
Lapin suddenly looks... unusually subdued, for some reason.
Minnie steps up, smiling brightly. "These two are a pair of heroes from the Order, Doctor! They helped me out with the town's Mayor, and they wanted to take passage with us up to Lescatie."
"Hm. Order heroes, you say?" he appears to mull it over for a few seconds. "Welcome aboard, then! If our two paths are destined to coincide, who am I to object?"
He laughs, larger than life, and slaps us both on the back. "Welcome to the TRAVELING HOSPITAL OF DR. MCFRIENDLY! I hope you'll enjoy your stay with me."
I look at my subdued, silent partner, and then at the jovial giant who seems more circus ringmaster than man of medicine.
Well.
At least this trip won't be boring.
Last edited:
Autocorruptor
Corrupting Innocent Grammar
- Joined
- Sep 1, 2020
- Messages
- 3,276
- Likes received
- 56,994
So some Order "heroes", an angel, and a mad scientist masquerading as a doctor walk into a bar. It exploded.
Bear With A Blog Presents: The Surridens Effect
Charles Flynn
I trust you know where the happy button is?
- Joined
- Aug 4, 2018
- Messages
- 570
- Likes received
- 19,530
Fish and Friendship, dear readers!
Now, I've stated before that I started this blog not to appeal to the human audience, but to reach out to any and all fellow extraterrestrials on Earth. Life on this planet can be strange, especially with the wildly varying technology levels, superpowered life forms, and blatant sorcery going around, on top of the human's general weirdness, so it can be really hard for new arrivals to work out just how things work around here.
Now, while before, I've limited myself to what my fellow internet writers have termed "life hacks" (see my articles So You're a Twelve Foot Tall Quadruped in a Hairless Biped's World: Fifteen Handy Tricks for Squeezing Through Human Architecture, and So They Called Animal Control on You: Here's How to Explain That You're Sapient) I have now branched out into the most important part of my blog: Explaining important elements of human history and psychology, so that fellow extraterrestrials may better understand human cultural contexts, and avoid embarrassing cultural faux pas like accidentally threatening people, unintentionally fighting law enforcement, or not realizing that humans have a taboo against cannibalism.
Now, a word of warning before I begin. While I do try to see things from a broader perspective, my work is slightly biased by the fact that, while I am an alien, I landed in, and currently work in America, as a superhero. Thus, my historical perspectives may be somewhat America-centric, and pro-superhero.
Now. I'm sure you're aware of this by now, but, in America, and worldwide, as a matter of fact, there is a notable amount of anti-superhuman sentiment. Now, several times, I've looked at the assorted conservative protestors, and the hate groups who specifically target weaker superhumans, and those superhumans that they reliably know won't retaliate (usually superheroes) as suicidal idiots, and wondered why in the hell so many heroes risk, and even ultimately end up sacrificing their lives for people who will stab their protectors in the back. And I'm often left wondering just what drives these bigoted, imbecilic fools to so thoroughly self-sabotage. What goes on in their minds?
It turns out that I'm not the first to ask these questions. And before I go on, I should note that while the assorted anti-super terrorist organizations (of whom very, very few have lived long enough to score name recognition) get a great deal of press, and can easily sour one's opinions of humanity, statistically, they're just a very vocal minority. Most humans support treating superhumans as equals worthy of respect, or at least are pragmatic enough not to anger and alienate the people who could kill them with a thought. However, there is still a noted fear and revulsion of the superhuman, that many humans have admitted to struggling with, and several psychologists have proposed theories to explain it.
The one I'll be explaining in this article is the Surridens Effect, proposed by Dr. B. F. Skinner, of "Skinner Box" fame. The noted behaviorist noted that, when he passed people in the street, he would begin feeling anxious if one of them was smiling at him. He soon began to reach out, and, through questioning and experimentation, determined something very interesting: most people who were exposed to American newsreels, films, and papers he'd asked reported that they felt uneasy and uncomfortable when someone they didn't know smiled at them. A cultural shift had occurred, changing smiling from a gesture of reassurance to one of discomfort. But more interestingly, this shift was exclusive to those in America's sphere of influence. Skinner, searching for a potential cause of this shift, had a moment of inspiration when he saw the headline of the morning paper: "THE SMILING MAN KILLS AGAIN."
He began investigating the case, and found, to his horror, a recurring pattern. With the advent of supervillains, numerous "archvillains" began to rise to the forefront: villains powerful, vile, and successful enough that they had, in spite of the best efforts of their superheroic foes, significantly altered the course of human history, either through a long, long list of crimes accrued thanks to their immortality like the Smiling Man, or through a series of actions so utterly audacious and worldshaking (if evil) that they secured an eternal place in the history books, despite the typical high turnover rate in the superpwered scene for those without some form of immortality or other defensive power, such as Bloodstreak, or Baron von Murder (both Albrecht von Murder, the Golden Age bearer of the title, and Victor von Murder the Second, who most of my readers should be more familiar with. In fact, the current Baron von Murder, my teammate, Victor the Third, is the only one to operate as a superhero.)
According to Skinner, these archvillains created cultural scars, aversions to the things associated with the villains. People would subconsciously see certain behaviors, and certain patterns that reminded them of these archvillains, and subsequently avoid, shun, or attack things that bore these similarities. Skinner named this theory the Surridens (latin for "smiling man") effect, out of a mixture of the human scientific communities' inexplicable fondness for one specific dead language, and a desire to not speak of the Smiling Man directly, lest he accidentally draw the attention of the self-proclaimed fallen angel. (Even I would be a great deal less comfortable writing this article if the Smiling Man hadn't been completely inactive for the past eleven years since his last recorded death, and I can regenerate from a single cell. I can hardly blame Skinner for his perfectly justifiable fear.)
A more illustrative example of the Surridens effect would be the Bloodstreak Incident, and the short-lived archvillain from which it draws its name. While Bloodstreak's origins are shrouded in mystery, the villainous deed which earned him his infamy is quite well-documented. On May 16th, 1954, Bloodstreak donned his costume, a motorcyclist's suit, strapped several army service knives to himself, and then stole the Georgian Republican voting registry, and then, began hunting down and killing every name on that registry at roughly eight times the speed of sound. According to eyewitness accounts, "There would be no warning. Hell, no sign. You wouldn't know what was happening, you'd just… you'd hear the sonic boom, and you'd look around, and you'd realize that everyone but you was dead."
The Bloodstreak incident was considered to be the end of the Golden Age of Heroics. Most of the heroes who fought and stopped Bloodstreak went on to retire, emotionally broken from the ordeal of knowing where he would strike, knowing that people were about to die, and being too slow to stop it. Anti-superhuman sentiment swelled, and people lashed out at just about every supervillain. Super speedsters were particularly hard hit by this, and it would be twenty years before any new speedsters would pick up the good fight, thanks to the stigma that super speed was a villainous power. Nothing encapsulates this period's hysteria more thoroughly than the Women's Society for Athletic Purity, a lobbying organization which formed six months after Bloodstreak's massacre for the purpose of outlawing track and field as athletics competitions, on the grounds that they "encouraged and cultivated juvenile delinquency and criminal intent," even going so far as to petition that any and all running-based athletic events be removed from the Olympics. Silly, I know, but humans can be quite irrational at times.
But the big takeaway here for you, my fellow extraterrestrials, is the importance of being aware of what humans might associate you with. For instance, in addition to the scorn I get from radicals for being non-human, I also have apparently induced PTSD flashbacks in quite a few of the veterans of the Polar War, who still have flashbacks whenever they see a bear, and have been confused for one of the genetically enhanced polar bears that rule the Ursine Commonwealth of Alaska by more than one bigot. (Apparently, to them, all bears look the same.)
Also important is to remember that what you do will often be considered to reflect upon other members of your species, so strive to behave respectably, while also not allowing the unenlightened and fearful to dictate your actions.
But, the Crisis Alarm is ringing, summoning me and my fellow Incorrigibles to action, so I believe that will be all for today.
Until next time, Fish and Friendship!
About the Author:
Edward Shi'iran (no relation) is an Ursan, or, as humans calls them, a Space Bear, who serves as the Ursan Ambassador to the United Nations, representing the Holy Ursan Star Empire. He also works as a scientist and crimefighter, and is a member of the superhero team known as The Incorrigibles, alongside The Plated Lady, Doctor Von Murder, Ion Storm, and The Gargoyle. In his free time, when not busy hashing out interstellar diplomacy, exploring the mysteries of the cosmos, or fighting crime with his friends and his talking spaceship, he writes articles on human society for his blog. Comment below and tell us if this article was helpful!
Now, I've stated before that I started this blog not to appeal to the human audience, but to reach out to any and all fellow extraterrestrials on Earth. Life on this planet can be strange, especially with the wildly varying technology levels, superpowered life forms, and blatant sorcery going around, on top of the human's general weirdness, so it can be really hard for new arrivals to work out just how things work around here.
Now, while before, I've limited myself to what my fellow internet writers have termed "life hacks" (see my articles So You're a Twelve Foot Tall Quadruped in a Hairless Biped's World: Fifteen Handy Tricks for Squeezing Through Human Architecture, and So They Called Animal Control on You: Here's How to Explain That You're Sapient) I have now branched out into the most important part of my blog: Explaining important elements of human history and psychology, so that fellow extraterrestrials may better understand human cultural contexts, and avoid embarrassing cultural faux pas like accidentally threatening people, unintentionally fighting law enforcement, or not realizing that humans have a taboo against cannibalism.
Now, a word of warning before I begin. While I do try to see things from a broader perspective, my work is slightly biased by the fact that, while I am an alien, I landed in, and currently work in America, as a superhero. Thus, my historical perspectives may be somewhat America-centric, and pro-superhero.
Now. I'm sure you're aware of this by now, but, in America, and worldwide, as a matter of fact, there is a notable amount of anti-superhuman sentiment. Now, several times, I've looked at the assorted conservative protestors, and the hate groups who specifically target weaker superhumans, and those superhumans that they reliably know won't retaliate (usually superheroes) as suicidal idiots, and wondered why in the hell so many heroes risk, and even ultimately end up sacrificing their lives for people who will stab their protectors in the back. And I'm often left wondering just what drives these bigoted, imbecilic fools to so thoroughly self-sabotage. What goes on in their minds?
It turns out that I'm not the first to ask these questions. And before I go on, I should note that while the assorted anti-super terrorist organizations (of whom very, very few have lived long enough to score name recognition) get a great deal of press, and can easily sour one's opinions of humanity, statistically, they're just a very vocal minority. Most humans support treating superhumans as equals worthy of respect, or at least are pragmatic enough not to anger and alienate the people who could kill them with a thought. However, there is still a noted fear and revulsion of the superhuman, that many humans have admitted to struggling with, and several psychologists have proposed theories to explain it.
The one I'll be explaining in this article is the Surridens Effect, proposed by Dr. B. F. Skinner, of "Skinner Box" fame. The noted behaviorist noted that, when he passed people in the street, he would begin feeling anxious if one of them was smiling at him. He soon began to reach out, and, through questioning and experimentation, determined something very interesting: most people who were exposed to American newsreels, films, and papers he'd asked reported that they felt uneasy and uncomfortable when someone they didn't know smiled at them. A cultural shift had occurred, changing smiling from a gesture of reassurance to one of discomfort. But more interestingly, this shift was exclusive to those in America's sphere of influence. Skinner, searching for a potential cause of this shift, had a moment of inspiration when he saw the headline of the morning paper: "THE SMILING MAN KILLS AGAIN."
He began investigating the case, and found, to his horror, a recurring pattern. With the advent of supervillains, numerous "archvillains" began to rise to the forefront: villains powerful, vile, and successful enough that they had, in spite of the best efforts of their superheroic foes, significantly altered the course of human history, either through a long, long list of crimes accrued thanks to their immortality like the Smiling Man, or through a series of actions so utterly audacious and worldshaking (if evil) that they secured an eternal place in the history books, despite the typical high turnover rate in the superpwered scene for those without some form of immortality or other defensive power, such as Bloodstreak, or Baron von Murder (both Albrecht von Murder, the Golden Age bearer of the title, and Victor von Murder the Second, who most of my readers should be more familiar with. In fact, the current Baron von Murder, my teammate, Victor the Third, is the only one to operate as a superhero.)
According to Skinner, these archvillains created cultural scars, aversions to the things associated with the villains. People would subconsciously see certain behaviors, and certain patterns that reminded them of these archvillains, and subsequently avoid, shun, or attack things that bore these similarities. Skinner named this theory the Surridens (latin for "smiling man") effect, out of a mixture of the human scientific communities' inexplicable fondness for one specific dead language, and a desire to not speak of the Smiling Man directly, lest he accidentally draw the attention of the self-proclaimed fallen angel. (Even I would be a great deal less comfortable writing this article if the Smiling Man hadn't been completely inactive for the past eleven years since his last recorded death, and I can regenerate from a single cell. I can hardly blame Skinner for his perfectly justifiable fear.)
A more illustrative example of the Surridens effect would be the Bloodstreak Incident, and the short-lived archvillain from which it draws its name. While Bloodstreak's origins are shrouded in mystery, the villainous deed which earned him his infamy is quite well-documented. On May 16th, 1954, Bloodstreak donned his costume, a motorcyclist's suit, strapped several army service knives to himself, and then stole the Georgian Republican voting registry, and then, began hunting down and killing every name on that registry at roughly eight times the speed of sound. According to eyewitness accounts, "There would be no warning. Hell, no sign. You wouldn't know what was happening, you'd just… you'd hear the sonic boom, and you'd look around, and you'd realize that everyone but you was dead."
The Bloodstreak incident was considered to be the end of the Golden Age of Heroics. Most of the heroes who fought and stopped Bloodstreak went on to retire, emotionally broken from the ordeal of knowing where he would strike, knowing that people were about to die, and being too slow to stop it. Anti-superhuman sentiment swelled, and people lashed out at just about every supervillain. Super speedsters were particularly hard hit by this, and it would be twenty years before any new speedsters would pick up the good fight, thanks to the stigma that super speed was a villainous power. Nothing encapsulates this period's hysteria more thoroughly than the Women's Society for Athletic Purity, a lobbying organization which formed six months after Bloodstreak's massacre for the purpose of outlawing track and field as athletics competitions, on the grounds that they "encouraged and cultivated juvenile delinquency and criminal intent," even going so far as to petition that any and all running-based athletic events be removed from the Olympics. Silly, I know, but humans can be quite irrational at times.
But the big takeaway here for you, my fellow extraterrestrials, is the importance of being aware of what humans might associate you with. For instance, in addition to the scorn I get from radicals for being non-human, I also have apparently induced PTSD flashbacks in quite a few of the veterans of the Polar War, who still have flashbacks whenever they see a bear, and have been confused for one of the genetically enhanced polar bears that rule the Ursine Commonwealth of Alaska by more than one bigot. (Apparently, to them, all bears look the same.)
Also important is to remember that what you do will often be considered to reflect upon other members of your species, so strive to behave respectably, while also not allowing the unenlightened and fearful to dictate your actions.
But, the Crisis Alarm is ringing, summoning me and my fellow Incorrigibles to action, so I believe that will be all for today.
Until next time, Fish and Friendship!
About the Author:
Edward Shi'iran (no relation) is an Ursan, or, as humans calls them, a Space Bear, who serves as the Ursan Ambassador to the United Nations, representing the Holy Ursan Star Empire. He also works as a scientist and crimefighter, and is a member of the superhero team known as The Incorrigibles, alongside The Plated Lady, Doctor Von Murder, Ion Storm, and The Gargoyle. In his free time, when not busy hashing out interstellar diplomacy, exploring the mysteries of the cosmos, or fighting crime with his friends and his talking spaceship, he writes articles on human society for his blog. Comment below and tell us if this article was helpful!
FourthPear
Frequent Flier.
- Joined
- Mar 15, 2017
- Messages
- 5,267
- Likes received
- 70,448
This article was very helpful, though I hope the author realizes that both the Surridens Effect and anti-ursine bigotry might not be the only reasons he should avoid 'smiling' to passers bye on the street.
No offense intended, but humans have also developed a rather curious aversion to the teeth of large, predatory, beings.
No offense intended, but humans have also developed a rather curious aversion to the teeth of large, predatory, beings.
Autocorruptor
Corrupting Innocent Grammar
- Joined
- Sep 1, 2020
- Messages
- 3,276
- Likes received
- 56,994
This story amuses and disturbs me in equal measure.
I think I found a new superhero setting I love.
I think I found a new superhero setting I love.
Chapter Seven: In Which We Return to Our Regularly Scheduled Narrator
Charles Flynn
I trust you know where the happy button is?
- Joined
- Aug 4, 2018
- Messages
- 570
- Likes received
- 19,530
"You truly think yourselves invincible," I say, my voice shaking with the strain of containing my gloating laughter as I look down upon the teeming, insignificant hordes of my enemies. "You think to creep and infect at a whim, and you think that no one can stop you from consuming and converting all you come across. You believe yourselves invincible, free to breed as you please, that no man on this world may stop your spread, YET YOU ARE WRONG!"
I grandly flourish my cloak as I plunge them into the solution that will dissolve the enemies who have DARED to creep into this, the most sacred altar of my true craft.
"You thought we would never overcome you, and perhaps these fools may not have yet achieved the means to destroy you, I am not of this world. You face an Earthman, tried and tested by the fires of war, supervillainy, and absurdly shitty parenting, a man forged by SUFFERING, and I will not brook your existence, not when I have the means to overcome you! Your demise is upon you, pitiful paramecia, through the flawless techniques compiled and perfected by countless generations, administered by humanity's greatest scion! The hour of your unmaking is upon you, filth, and you will know that it was DOCTOR VON MURDER THAT DESTROYED YOU! AHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!!!!!!"
"Doctor?" Minion Prime says cautiously, making me damn near jump out of my skin when I realize she's entered my operating theater. "Who are you talking to?"
I look guiltily over to where my various instruments are soaking in disinfectant. "Oh, well, I…" I realize that there's no way I'll be able to come up with a convincing lie and decide to just tell the truth. "It's an old habit, really. Whenever I sterilize my surgical instruments, I like to gloat at the pathogens."
She blinks. "Oh. Aren't pathogens those things you've been talking about in all the villages we've visited? Why would you have them in your workshop, then?"
I sigh. "Because, Minion, they are an ever-present facet of life, which, unless constantly guarded against, can cause countless deaths and turn even the most well-meaning medical professional's clinic or hospital into a virtual charnel house. When I think of all the deaths I've seen on our little medical tour that could have been prevented with better sanitation, I can only weep. Figuratively of course. I'm physically incapable of actually crying since I sealed my tear ducts when I was five."
"Um, Doctor? I have a question." Minion says after a moment. "One I wanted to ask you while our guests from the Order couldn't overhear."
"Ask away, then," I bid her, as I start scrubbing my instruments, to prepare them for internment into an airtight, sterilized, and vacuum-sealed surgical to-go bag.
"Why are we doing this?" she asks, before rephrasing her question. "I mean, I know we're going out on this tour to get the lay of the land and survey the communities we'll be protecting in the upcoming campaign. But why go around sharing advanced technology like the medicine you've been handing out to every town physician we meet? It doesn't seem like a very good idea to me. I mean-"
I cut her off by seizing her around the throat with one hand and lifting her up from the floor, as unbridled fury courses through my soul.
"Are you suggesting that we withhold medical treatment from these people?" I ask, my voice exquisitely calm. "For mere tactical gain? Answer me."
"Yes," she says, staring back at me unflinching as her wings become visible behind her, her eyes matching my glare a hundred times over. "The Chief God brought you here to deal with the monster problem, not to cure the sick. You're going…" she gasps as my hand squeezes tighter. "…off… objective."
I toss her to the floor. "Firstly, only I choose my objectives. Remember that. Secondly, I am a doctor by trade, even if I am a ruler by birth. I am bound to the betterment and preservation of all life, regardless of my current objective. If I should see a problem, it is my duty to resolve it. That is what it is to be Doctor von Murder. If you dare question my calling again, I will chop off your wings, and then slowly lower you into a vat of acid. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Doctor."
"Good." I toss her a cold pack. "Now place this over the bruising and be sure to take it easy for the rest of the day. I have a hell of a grip. Be sure to report to me if you start experiencing any other issues beyond bruising around your throat. Doctor's orders."
She looks a bit less afraid at me after that, which I count as a victory. I shouldn't have snapped at her. Taking your anger out on minions never ends well.
"Well, I actually came here to tell you that we're almost at the next town. You should get ready to talk to the local mayor." Then, applying the cold pack to her throat, she takes her leave, while I mentally shift myself from "Baron Mode" to "Doctor Mode." Merdoria's Baron must be larger-than-life, but a doctor must be more approachable to truly excel, and I will not fall deficient in any area of my duties.
Having mentally girded myself to talk without any dramatic shouting or sweeping hand gestures, like a peasant, I wrap myself up in my disguise, covering my smooth white armor beneath a plague doctor's mask and a leather overcoat.
And now, Doctor Von Murder has vanished from the face of Planet Victor, for it is Doctor Billy Ray McFriendly, Friend to All Children and My Shitty Pseudonym for When I Went to American Med School who emerges from his surgical theater, ready to heal the world. The town is visible from the deck of my main "wagon." The whole thing is actually motor-powered, though, which I explained away as being magic.
The two Order operatives are waiting for me at the command center of the "wagon," or, as I prefer to call it, the bridge.
The one called Lapin doesn't say anything, which I attribute to her apparent fear of me. Dismissing the sense of nagging familiarity that always strikes me when I see her, I turn my focus onto her partner, Tanis "Deadeye" Shaw.
"Hero Shaw," I say with a polite nod. "May I ask what brings you to the bridge?"
"Well, I was wondering why we were spending so much time on visiting frontier towns, when we're supposed to be getting to Lescatie," Shaw says, his brows furrowed in the man's usual unrelenting determination. "While I do appreciate your desire to aid the populace, to place your humanitarian efforts as more important than the enforcement of the Chief God's divine will would be… heretical."
"Hero Shaw, I shall say to you again what I have told you when you brought this up the first three times," I say, keeping my voice pleasant and controlled. I am not letting this man's fundamentalistism irritate me out of Doctor Mode. "I have already modified my route, passing several towns which might need my aid by, all to ensure that you may more swiftly reach Lescatie, in order that you might better execute your sacred duties. However, my own duties rest not only in Lescatie, but in every town and city in the world, and I ask only that you do not begrudge me my fulfillment of them."
And, as he did the other three times, he nods, and smiles. "Indeed, Doctor. Well spoken."
I don't even think he wants to reach Lescatie faster. He just wants to test my resolve, although I can't fathom the reason.
My thoughts drift away from the Heroes and their odd behavior, when I notice something on the viewscreen.
"Minnie, what is the town called?" I ask.
"Rat Ass, Doctor. Apparently, they named themselves in the hopes that it would discourage any monsters from finding the residents attractive enough to invade."
"Well, either it wasn't convincing enough, or the monsters have begun considerably lowering their standards for acceptable mates," I note, as, on the viewscreen, a horde of monsters ravages the conquered town, not even hesitating from rutting in the street like animals. At least, I'm assuming that they're monsters by the fact that they have pig ears and tails. Not even actual, anatomically correct pig ears, and tails, the kind that look like some kind of headband or tail plug and would probably just indicate a bunch of really stupid cosplayers if I was back on Earth. Since I'm on Planet Victor, which I'm considering renaming Lameworld, I can only assume that these are the ravenous hordes bent on civilization's destruction that I'm supposed to fight.
I never thought I'd say this, but… I miss Schwarzerblitz. And Mindbender, and K.H.O.P.I.S, and A.C.E, and all the other irritating assholes I had to fight back on Earth with the Incorrigibles. At least fighting them had some actual dignity. Fighting Mamono just leaves me with a bitter aftertaste. It's like beating up schoolchildren, if the schoolchildren humped your leg while you tried to kill them. And who am I kidding? This is Lameworld (because I no longer want my name associated with this degenerate hellhole.) Somewhere on this godforsaken planet, there are probably actual leg-humping schoolchildren monsters which the locals treat as some unstoppable superthreat.
"Damn. Don't worry, Doctor," Shaw says, pulling his bow down from his shoulder. "Lapin and I will deal with this."
I wait until they've left, and I use my Friendroids' data feeds to check that they're out of earshot before I turn to Minion Prime. "Mind the caravan, would you? This looks like a job for Doctor Von Murder."
And then I activate my cloaking field and sprint towards the roof access, shedding my disguise as I go.
The orcs (as I identified from Hero Shaw's helpful lectures on how to distinguish monster species) turn to look at me when I come down in a three point landing (bad on the knees, but excellent for establishing heroic credentials.)
"Who DARES defile those under the protection of DOCTOR VON MURDER?" I ask menacingly, my cape fluttering dramatically thanks to the microfans on my shoulders.
"Um, who're you?" the biggest orc present, whom I'm assuming to be the leader, asks.
"Your death."
"Right. You'll be singing a different tune once we've stripped that armor off of you, hero-boy," she says with a shrug. "I-"
Her words fade away under the ringing in my ears, as a red tinge seeps into my gaze. Remove… My… Armor?
I hit her like a cannonshot, sinking my thruster-boosted punch into her gut before the image of me taking off can crawl down the optic nerve into her brain, and sending her flying. And then, I activate my gravitational tractor beam in the "pull" position to drag her back towards me, into another punch, letting me pummel her ad infinitum.
"FOOL!" I roar, even as I punctuate every word I speak with another punch-and-return. "YOU DARE CHALLENGE ME? MY MIGHT LEVELS MOUNTAINS! MY MIND CREATES MIRACLES! MY SOLDIERS OUTNUMBER THE STARS! KNOW YOUR PLACE, AND KNEEL BEFORE ME, WORM!"
Her corpse falls to the ground, looking more like meatloaf than anything that used to be human, and I turn to the other orcs, who are all staring at me in silent terror. "I seem to remember telling you to kneel."
They fall to their knees, and I laugh with joy at my triumph. "HAHAHAA YYYEEEEESSSSSSSSS! KNEEL! KNEEL! KNEEL BEFORE VON MURDER!"
And then I laugh some more. Because really, when you stand before a fallen enemy, their followers bent prostrate in terror before your magnificent triumph…
What's there to do but laugh?
I grandly flourish my cloak as I plunge them into the solution that will dissolve the enemies who have DARED to creep into this, the most sacred altar of my true craft.
"You thought we would never overcome you, and perhaps these fools may not have yet achieved the means to destroy you, I am not of this world. You face an Earthman, tried and tested by the fires of war, supervillainy, and absurdly shitty parenting, a man forged by SUFFERING, and I will not brook your existence, not when I have the means to overcome you! Your demise is upon you, pitiful paramecia, through the flawless techniques compiled and perfected by countless generations, administered by humanity's greatest scion! The hour of your unmaking is upon you, filth, and you will know that it was DOCTOR VON MURDER THAT DESTROYED YOU! AHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!!!!!!"
"Doctor?" Minion Prime says cautiously, making me damn near jump out of my skin when I realize she's entered my operating theater. "Who are you talking to?"
I look guiltily over to where my various instruments are soaking in disinfectant. "Oh, well, I…" I realize that there's no way I'll be able to come up with a convincing lie and decide to just tell the truth. "It's an old habit, really. Whenever I sterilize my surgical instruments, I like to gloat at the pathogens."
She blinks. "Oh. Aren't pathogens those things you've been talking about in all the villages we've visited? Why would you have them in your workshop, then?"
I sigh. "Because, Minion, they are an ever-present facet of life, which, unless constantly guarded against, can cause countless deaths and turn even the most well-meaning medical professional's clinic or hospital into a virtual charnel house. When I think of all the deaths I've seen on our little medical tour that could have been prevented with better sanitation, I can only weep. Figuratively of course. I'm physically incapable of actually crying since I sealed my tear ducts when I was five."
"Um, Doctor? I have a question." Minion says after a moment. "One I wanted to ask you while our guests from the Order couldn't overhear."
"Ask away, then," I bid her, as I start scrubbing my instruments, to prepare them for internment into an airtight, sterilized, and vacuum-sealed surgical to-go bag.
"Why are we doing this?" she asks, before rephrasing her question. "I mean, I know we're going out on this tour to get the lay of the land and survey the communities we'll be protecting in the upcoming campaign. But why go around sharing advanced technology like the medicine you've been handing out to every town physician we meet? It doesn't seem like a very good idea to me. I mean-"
I cut her off by seizing her around the throat with one hand and lifting her up from the floor, as unbridled fury courses through my soul.
"Are you suggesting that we withhold medical treatment from these people?" I ask, my voice exquisitely calm. "For mere tactical gain? Answer me."
"Yes," she says, staring back at me unflinching as her wings become visible behind her, her eyes matching my glare a hundred times over. "The Chief God brought you here to deal with the monster problem, not to cure the sick. You're going…" she gasps as my hand squeezes tighter. "…off… objective."
I toss her to the floor. "Firstly, only I choose my objectives. Remember that. Secondly, I am a doctor by trade, even if I am a ruler by birth. I am bound to the betterment and preservation of all life, regardless of my current objective. If I should see a problem, it is my duty to resolve it. That is what it is to be Doctor von Murder. If you dare question my calling again, I will chop off your wings, and then slowly lower you into a vat of acid. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Doctor."
"Good." I toss her a cold pack. "Now place this over the bruising and be sure to take it easy for the rest of the day. I have a hell of a grip. Be sure to report to me if you start experiencing any other issues beyond bruising around your throat. Doctor's orders."
She looks a bit less afraid at me after that, which I count as a victory. I shouldn't have snapped at her. Taking your anger out on minions never ends well.
"Well, I actually came here to tell you that we're almost at the next town. You should get ready to talk to the local mayor." Then, applying the cold pack to her throat, she takes her leave, while I mentally shift myself from "Baron Mode" to "Doctor Mode." Merdoria's Baron must be larger-than-life, but a doctor must be more approachable to truly excel, and I will not fall deficient in any area of my duties.
Having mentally girded myself to talk without any dramatic shouting or sweeping hand gestures, like a peasant, I wrap myself up in my disguise, covering my smooth white armor beneath a plague doctor's mask and a leather overcoat.
And now, Doctor Von Murder has vanished from the face of Planet Victor, for it is Doctor Billy Ray McFriendly, Friend to All Children and My Shitty Pseudonym for When I Went to American Med School who emerges from his surgical theater, ready to heal the world. The town is visible from the deck of my main "wagon." The whole thing is actually motor-powered, though, which I explained away as being magic.
The two Order operatives are waiting for me at the command center of the "wagon," or, as I prefer to call it, the bridge.
The one called Lapin doesn't say anything, which I attribute to her apparent fear of me. Dismissing the sense of nagging familiarity that always strikes me when I see her, I turn my focus onto her partner, Tanis "Deadeye" Shaw.
"Hero Shaw," I say with a polite nod. "May I ask what brings you to the bridge?"
"Well, I was wondering why we were spending so much time on visiting frontier towns, when we're supposed to be getting to Lescatie," Shaw says, his brows furrowed in the man's usual unrelenting determination. "While I do appreciate your desire to aid the populace, to place your humanitarian efforts as more important than the enforcement of the Chief God's divine will would be… heretical."
"Hero Shaw, I shall say to you again what I have told you when you brought this up the first three times," I say, keeping my voice pleasant and controlled. I am not letting this man's fundamentalistism irritate me out of Doctor Mode. "I have already modified my route, passing several towns which might need my aid by, all to ensure that you may more swiftly reach Lescatie, in order that you might better execute your sacred duties. However, my own duties rest not only in Lescatie, but in every town and city in the world, and I ask only that you do not begrudge me my fulfillment of them."
And, as he did the other three times, he nods, and smiles. "Indeed, Doctor. Well spoken."
I don't even think he wants to reach Lescatie faster. He just wants to test my resolve, although I can't fathom the reason.
My thoughts drift away from the Heroes and their odd behavior, when I notice something on the viewscreen.
"Minnie, what is the town called?" I ask.
"Rat Ass, Doctor. Apparently, they named themselves in the hopes that it would discourage any monsters from finding the residents attractive enough to invade."
"Well, either it wasn't convincing enough, or the monsters have begun considerably lowering their standards for acceptable mates," I note, as, on the viewscreen, a horde of monsters ravages the conquered town, not even hesitating from rutting in the street like animals. At least, I'm assuming that they're monsters by the fact that they have pig ears and tails. Not even actual, anatomically correct pig ears, and tails, the kind that look like some kind of headband or tail plug and would probably just indicate a bunch of really stupid cosplayers if I was back on Earth. Since I'm on Planet Victor, which I'm considering renaming Lameworld, I can only assume that these are the ravenous hordes bent on civilization's destruction that I'm supposed to fight.
I never thought I'd say this, but… I miss Schwarzerblitz. And Mindbender, and K.H.O.P.I.S, and A.C.E, and all the other irritating assholes I had to fight back on Earth with the Incorrigibles. At least fighting them had some actual dignity. Fighting Mamono just leaves me with a bitter aftertaste. It's like beating up schoolchildren, if the schoolchildren humped your leg while you tried to kill them. And who am I kidding? This is Lameworld (because I no longer want my name associated with this degenerate hellhole.) Somewhere on this godforsaken planet, there are probably actual leg-humping schoolchildren monsters which the locals treat as some unstoppable superthreat.
"Damn. Don't worry, Doctor," Shaw says, pulling his bow down from his shoulder. "Lapin and I will deal with this."
I wait until they've left, and I use my Friendroids' data feeds to check that they're out of earshot before I turn to Minion Prime. "Mind the caravan, would you? This looks like a job for Doctor Von Murder."
And then I activate my cloaking field and sprint towards the roof access, shedding my disguise as I go.
---
The orcs (as I identified from Hero Shaw's helpful lectures on how to distinguish monster species) turn to look at me when I come down in a three point landing (bad on the knees, but excellent for establishing heroic credentials.)
"Who DARES defile those under the protection of DOCTOR VON MURDER?" I ask menacingly, my cape fluttering dramatically thanks to the microfans on my shoulders.
"Um, who're you?" the biggest orc present, whom I'm assuming to be the leader, asks.
"Your death."
"Right. You'll be singing a different tune once we've stripped that armor off of you, hero-boy," she says with a shrug. "I-"
Her words fade away under the ringing in my ears, as a red tinge seeps into my gaze. Remove… My… Armor?
I hit her like a cannonshot, sinking my thruster-boosted punch into her gut before the image of me taking off can crawl down the optic nerve into her brain, and sending her flying. And then, I activate my gravitational tractor beam in the "pull" position to drag her back towards me, into another punch, letting me pummel her ad infinitum.
"FOOL!" I roar, even as I punctuate every word I speak with another punch-and-return. "YOU DARE CHALLENGE ME? MY MIGHT LEVELS MOUNTAINS! MY MIND CREATES MIRACLES! MY SOLDIERS OUTNUMBER THE STARS! KNOW YOUR PLACE, AND KNEEL BEFORE ME, WORM!"
Her corpse falls to the ground, looking more like meatloaf than anything that used to be human, and I turn to the other orcs, who are all staring at me in silent terror. "I seem to remember telling you to kneel."
They fall to their knees, and I laugh with joy at my triumph. "HAHAHAA YYYEEEEESSSSSSSSS! KNEEL! KNEEL! KNEEL BEFORE VON MURDER!"
And then I laugh some more. Because really, when you stand before a fallen enemy, their followers bent prostrate in terror before your magnificent triumph…
What's there to do but laugh?
Autocorruptor
Corrupting Innocent Grammar
- Joined
- Sep 1, 2020
- Messages
- 3,276
- Likes received
- 56,994
Ph, I thought was gloating at an actual enemy.
"Bound to the betterment and preservation of all life"
Immediately threatens to kill her.
LandWhale172
I trust you know where the happy button is?
- Joined
- Mar 21, 2019
- Messages
- 589
- Likes received
- 2,786
fuck, I think I just may be in love
LandWhale172
I trust you know where the happy button is?
- Joined
- Mar 21, 2019
- Messages
- 589
- Likes received
- 2,786
Yup, I love this story