Well, seeing as I haven't written much beyond Monster Mash or RP-related stuff this year, I thought it would be a nice treat for you guys to review a DVD double-pack that I recently purchased for around £12 whilst helping my mother with the shopping. Now, keep in mind that because I don't know shit about transfer quality or stuff like that when it comes to DVD's, I'll just be looking at the movies on their own rather than the technical aspects of the DVD release that most critics do.
With that out of the way, Clash of the Titans and Wrath of the Titans.
Greek Myths vs. The Mullet of Doom
Clash of the Titans is a 2010 remake of the classic 1981 fantasy film, based on the myth in which Perseus slew Medusa and saved a town from the sea monster Kraken. Wrath of the Titans is the 2012 sequel in which Perseus, now with the world's most ridiculous mullet, must free his father Zeus from the Underworld and stop the titan Kronos from gaining his revenge for being imprisoned millions of years ago. Both films star Sam Worthington in the lead role and also feature Liam Neeson as Zeus, Alexa Davalos as Andromeda and Ralph Fiennes as Hades, with Bubo the mechanical owl from the 1981 film making cameo appearances along the way.
Now both films aren't trying to be smart. This is a given, considering we're dealing with Greek mythology and angry swordsmen fighting hideous monsters. Neither Clash nor Wrath wants to inspire people, send a heartfelt message or adress a sensitive issue. They just want to be bombastic action flicks, full of swordfights and special effects, that you can kick back and watch with mates and let yourself be thrilled by. And to their credit, the films do provide that. They're both drama mixed with action mixed with a sprinkling of comedy, mostly at the expense of everyone who isn't Perseus or his immediate friends. They're fun flicks that don't try to make you think too hard about anything, and sometimes that's all we want.
That said, however, I wholeheartedly reccomend Clash over Wrath.
"I leave for five minutes and you trash the place! You're unbearable, Zeus!"
Due to the fact that it's sort of shackled to the original film plot-wise, Clash does try to make an effort to suck you into the world that it's trying to build. It has a nice, slow start where it sets up the scene and tells us that mortal man has finally gotten sick of dealing with their prick gods and have declared war on them. It takes time to develop Perseus as a character and show us scenes of him with his foster family, so we can understand what motivates him to save Andromeda. We feel worried when Calibos shows up, we feel tense and nervous as we sail the river Styx to find Medusa, we boo when Hades betrays Zeus and we cheer when Perseus finally defeats the Kraken and flies away into the sunset. It's coherant, epic without being overwhelming and you definitely feel for the character's struggles and motivations.
Wrath's problem is that it's trying too hard to be bigger than the previous film. If Clash is Pirates of the Carribean by way of 300, then Wrath is trying to ape Michael Bay's Transformers without grasping the subtleties. It's trying to be this huge, massive film where the stakes are high and the CGI fills the screen, but in order to do so it sacrifices a lot of what made the first film enjoyable and crams the spaces with more computer-generated beasties and mindless action. And as a result it ends up making several fatal mistakes that definitely cause it to drop in quality when compared to Clash, on top of a sudden drop in cinematography that causes the camera to shake like the cameraman is standing on a trampoline.
And these mistakes, briefly, are:
1. Retreading Old Ground
The first problem one encounters with Wrath is that, especially in the first half, it feels incredibly similar to Clash. Perseus may be going to different locations and trying to defeat different monsters, but there's almost a bit of a formula going on - The Djin from Clash are replaced with Cyclopes, Hephaestus (played by Bill Nighy, of all folks) stands in for the Stygian Witches, Ares replaces Calibos, the nameless hunters are swapped out for Agenor, son of Poseidon (think Jack Sparrow minus the charisma and likeability) and Kronos takes the Kraken's place as the Giant Monster Antagonist of the film. Even whole sequences get interchanged - the Djin leading the heroes across the desert to the Witches turns into the Cyclopes showing the way to Hephaestus's temple, an underground maze replaces the Styx and the Fury attack at the start of the first film is replaced with an angry Chimera.
"Alright, own up - who superglued this wig to my head?"
For a sequel that aims to be bigger than the first film, this is kind of sad. It's as if the film doesn't trust itself with trying anything new and is just going through what it's comfortable with because that's all it knows. Things do get interesting later, when Ares finally snaps and takes on Perseus one-on-one, but for the most part there's a heavy air of "been there, done that" about the film that seems almost cynical.
2. Lack of Pacing
As mentioned before, Clash has a slow start in order to ensure that the audience is drawn in, and then mixes up the action with moments of tense anticipation or wonder in order to keep us interested. Wrath throws any notion of pacing out of the window - first five minutes in and a Chimera is breathing fire everywhere. From then on we get sweeping vistas with Pegaus flying about, a bombastic struggle with the Cyclopes, panic as the shifting Labyrinth nearly crushes our heroes, a fist-fight with a Minotaur and then it all spirals into a chaotic mess of betrayals, confrontations, reconciliations and an over-the-top battle against Kronos before the film finally calms down.
The film seems afraid that if it stops being huge and full of action and digital beasts, it's going to lose the audience's attention. And that's not a good thing - without calm moments to juxtapose against the tension or epicness, then we've got no point of comparison and anything afterwards is either dull by comparison or just disorienting. In it's haste to try and eleveate itself in scale compared to it's predecessor, Wrath cuts out all the more focused drama from Clash and crams more juvenile explosions into the gaps, and the result is the cinemaic equivalent of jangling your car keys in front of a cat's face for two and a half hours.
3. No Subtlety
Speaking of subtlety, a sequence that stuck out in my mind was when the Chimera was attacking Perseus' village. In one instance, the creature clearly demonstrates that it creates fire by breathing out a flammable spray from it's left head, then igniting the vapor with sparks from the right head. As I watched this, an off-screen villager felt the need to shout out "Look out, it's venom catches fire!" I had to laugh at that moment, not only at how corny the line was, but at the fact that the film needed to include it as a means to explain what we could clearly see with our own eyes.
Why it didn't eat the annoying kid, however, was never explained.
Wrath as a whole suffers from a dire need to simply "Show, Don't Tell", as the rule goes. Things are outright stated that would help the movie infinitely more if they were simply implied or hinted at, as if the film doesn't trust us to simply use our heads and make our own deductions. To take that Chimera scene, for example: what does that screaming villager really add? Nothing in the way of drama or tension, so what was that line even for? Why did the film feel it needed to explain what the Chimera was doing when we could clearly see it? Would it not be better if we could simply, you know, assume with our brains that it has flammable venom, without being told so? Give your audience some credit, Wrath - you know not everyone in the theatre's a total moron!
4. No Feel For The Stakes
This is probably my biggest gripe with the movie, and the point I'm probably going to write the most paragraphs about. As part of it's ongoing quest to overshadow Clash in scale and bombastic-ness, Wrath tells us that the stakes are higher than ever, and all of the universe is in danger if Hades and his wicked plan is not stopped. Unfortunately, as an unfortunate side-effect of the previous problem, the film doesn't take the neccesary steps to show us that the stakes are, indeed, raised. And even if it did, it would be kind of meaningless to us as viewers.
Firstly, Kronos is stated to have the power to tear apart the entire universe - pretty ambitious, for a man made of lava. But when he finally does emerge from his volcanic prison, all he really does is stumble forward, groaning in an unidentifiable movie language and smashing apart a few villages with his massive hands. For the most part, it's his Makhai soldiers that do most of the killing or get involved with the heroes. Yes, we see Hades and Zeus try to fight him, but he brushes them aside regardless of whatever power these gods seem to have. We never see Kronos show any power other than spitting lava everywhere, so I hardly see how it makes him any more powerful or dangerous than the Kraken from Clash was stated to be.
"OH GOD I KNEW I SHOULDN'T HAVE HAD ALL THAT CURRY"
Secondly, the scene where Zeus is chained up so Kronos can drain his life force is also a little confusing. Does this process hurt Zeus in any way? It turns him older, yes, but doesn't it cause him any pain? He's having his own life drained away here - the least he could do is maybe howl in pain or struggle to break his chains. But the old god just stays calm and takes it rather well, considering the process could very well kill him or worse. Seeing this, one gets the feeling that this horrible disaster isn't really so horrible or diastrous, and if Perseus fucks up we could always just send another guy in tomorrow or something.
"Sorry I'm late, dad, had to pick up some fish and chips for dinner."
On top of that, the film has raised the stakes a little too high for the audiencr to swallow. From an entire town and the life of a beautiful princess we've jumped straight into the entire universe being at risk, with no middle ground in between. It's too big and overwhelming - the audience can't comprehend the scale of the danger, and thus they can't empathise with the heroes' efforts. Either the stakes are so high that they are meaningless to the audience, or the danger that is stated to be present doesn't seem as... dangerous as claimed. Either way, the whole thing falls flat because the film is either trying too hard or not hard enough.
In summary, while both films are good-hearted, action-y romps that ensure many a spectacle, Wrath feels like a bloated slog that doesn't trust itself to take any risks or the audience to go along with the story. When it's not treading the same ground as the first film, it's stuffing itself with overblown sword fights and CGI images to try and distract us from the shaky writing, annoying characters and cliche'd drama. By being smaller in scale due to it's ties to the original film, Clash actually manages to be the better story - it focuses on being just a part of a huge, epic world where Gods and Men hate each other, rather than trying to set loose another ancient abomination to destroy the world. If you ever have the chance to pick up one of these films, I reccomend the first, every time. It's not particularly deep or congruous, but you're guaranteed to be entertained all the way through.
Um... Hello. This is still The Monster Mash 199X, and I'm still Connor Hardy.
Only...
We've had to make a bit of a reschedule. See, we were originally gonna stage THE SHOWDOWN IN THE SERENGETTI between Jeuri the Dinocroc from Africa and Zancudo the Mansquito from Spain. Unfortunately, outside circumstances have forced us to shuffle our timetable around a bit. If you're wondering why I'm reporting to you from a hospital bed with a tube up my nose, well... you'll find out in a moment.
So GaiaCorp realized that just watching giant animals whaling on each other isn't very exciting. The public wants to see something more exciting than just oversized versions of everyday creatures! We have "Monster" in our title, so why don't we have some actual monsters?! Well, turns out we do - the contenders up for this week's fight are based around mythical or legendary animals that haunt the real world today, with science still unable to come up with plausible answers for them! Brace yourself, sports fans, for the face-off between mythical monstrosities we call THE CONFLICT IN COSTA RICA! IN THE BLUE CORNER...
So Mexico is now a feudal monarchy. Don't ask us how it happened - GaiaCorp deals in mad, unethical sience, not underhanded politics and crippling losses of money. But that's how it is, and now the New Kingdom of Mexico consists mostly of peasants kowtowing to a royal figure with too many privalges and too much money. And every royal figure eventually starts looking for ways to make themselves look more outlandish and wacko compared to anyone else. Like an exotic pet, for example. And what pet could be more exotic than Perez the CHUPACABRA?
To the people of Mexico, the Chupacabra is the monstrous
bloodsucker that preys on livestock and haunts your nightmares. To GaiaCorp,
the Chupacabra is our birthday gift to Eleanor Juarez, Princess of Mexico –
mostly because her father paid a shitload of money for it, and mostly because
she needed something other than another strapping young male concubine to keep
her occupied. Several hours of mixing the DNA of vampire bats, lizards and
kangaroos in a vat later, and this was the result. A hopping, high-speed ball
of scales, teeth, claws and anger that doesn’t stop until it’s drained
everything it can catch of blood. And maybe not even then.
The Chupacabra is a vicious, hyperactive little bugger
that moves quickly and fights relentlessly. Capable of leaping up to 20 feet in
a single bound, with claws over 4.7 inches long, this rowdy reptile specialises
in fast, unpredictable strikes from multiple angles that make it difficult to
form a counterattack. It’s light frame makes it speedy, but unfortunately that
comes with a frail, hollow skeleton that the scientists have yet to breed out
of their current stock. Moreover, every time this thing fights, it goes into a
wild frenzy, and landing a killing blow when your nostrils are full of the
smell of blood is a tricky thing. Let’s hope Perez can pull that off.
IN THE RED CORNER...
December 15, 1967. The Silver Bridge that linked Point Pleasant, West Virginia and Gallipolis, Ohio suddenly collapsed, resulting in the tragic deaths of 46 people. Investigators blamed a faulty eyebar in a poorly-maintained suspension chain for the accident. Others, however, claim that a more sinister agency lurks behind the incident, a conspiracy revolving around a specific, mysterious figure. A terrifying, red-eyed, leathery-winged figure that haunted the Point Pleasant area from 15th of November last year. The media was quick to dismiss sightings of the creature as a fantasy.
It's not. It's not a fucking fantasy, it's real and it attacked me. It was in the helicopter we were in during last week's match, and it just straight-up hijacked the thing and crashed it into the ocean. I know I sound crazy right now, but answer me this - where are the pilots? Why were their bodies never found, hm? It took them, that's why! It took them away and I can still hear them screaming and what it was saying to them and-
Okay, keep calm, Connor. Keep it professional...
It goes by many names, this thing. It's "masters" call it Coșmar. It prefers Indrid Cold.
But let's call it what it is - THE MOTHMAN.
Okay, let's get this out of the way - this isn't a publicity stunt. Mothman isn’t ours. Not
one of our scientists or splicers or mixing vats is responsible for this… nightmare. We only know the
Transylvanians made it because this is the sort of thing they get raging
vampire boners over. It just turned up outside our offices and it hasn’t gone
away since. It keeps turning up in dark corners, watching us with those awful red
eyes and that gaping mouth, and you feel sick to your stomach every time it
looks at you. We’ve tried everything to get rid of it – bug spray, machine
guns, even fucking ATR’s were fired at that thing. And the dust cleared and it
just sat there. Grinning at us.
It’s intelligent, we know it is, and it knows we know. Bright
lights are the only thing that keeps it away, but it’s getting bolder, because
it knows we can’t do anything else to hurt it. It flies, of course – those
wings aren’t just for show – about Mach 2, we reckon, although Johnny swore he
saw it fly faster. And one time, I was brushing my teeth and then it came out of the fucking mirror, oh god,can’t get those eyes away, those staring
eyes, someone kill it, please-
THE ARENA
Okay, I'm back, I'm calm...
So Costa Rica isn't really anything to write home about. It got turned into a nature reserve a while back after someone discovered some rare flowers in it, then also became neutral ground when things got tense with the Amazon Territories, and now it's just sort of... there. True, it's full of lakes and pools and it's got lots of nice wildlife, and it's got an electric fence and steel-forged radar dishes and a titanium bunker for the park rangers. But it's kind of boring and nondescript, in GaiaCorp terms. Which is why we decided to let our competitors duke it out here, where there's no environmental advantage to either one of them. As far as we know.
So, sports fans, which will it be? Perez, the Royal Reptile with a thirst for blood? Or that red-eyed... thing from the darkest corners of Romania? Place your bets folks, while the booths are still open and the attendees not thinking about their next coffee break! And warn someone, warn everyone that it's back, and it's going to OH GOD LOOK BEHIND YOU-
VOTE NOW!
UPDATE: After several complaints/shrieking temper tantrums from Her Royal Highness, we've been forced to take drastic measures. In order to preserve a semblance of balance within our tournament seedings, we've gone ahead and released several of our current stock of Chupacabras to join Perez in his battle against the Mothman. There's now at least twelve of the things leaping about and making a right mess of the place, but hopefully their combined strength will be equal to or greater than Coșmar's, with a significant numbers advantage in their favour.
Welcome back, sports fans around the globe! We at GaiaCorp would like to apologize for the spider-related hiatus, but we won't, because it's Russia's fault, not ours.
Seriously, FUCK SPIDERS.
But anyway, now we are glad to announce that The Monster Mash 199X is back with a ferocious vengance! Tonight's match sees my reporting helicopter lined with lead and me in a protective hazmat suit as we hover over the ruins of France, the once-proud nation now locked in the grip of an eternal nuclear winter! This is the night where we answer the question of who would win in a fight between a psychopathic alligator and a swarm of pack-hunting spiders, in a tussle to the death we call...
Connor Hardy, reporting live as it happens...
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Ol' Fangs the Gatoroid prises open one gummy eye and tries to work out where he is.
It's not a landscape he likes the look of. Gone is the comforting water and reeds of his old bayou home, the humming of insects in the air and the hot sun beating down on his back. The greens and blues have been replaced with a uniform iron grey, from the skeletal bushes in front of his muzzle to the cloud-covered sky above him. A fine layer of snow covers the ground like a blanket, and even more of it rushes down from the 'bove in torrents, clouding over the ruined houses in front of him. The howling of the wind in his ear canals is the exact opposite of what is comfortable for the colossal crocodillian's mind, and there isn't a glimmer of sunlight piercing through the steely clouds to give him any comfort.
On top of that, it's cold.
He hates the cold.
With a groan, the giagantic 'gator pushes himself to his feet, snow sliding off of his back in a minature avalanche, and gets moving. What remains of his soup-like wits is nervous and suspicious of his surroundings - the white sand feels wrong under his feet, and crunches horribly with every step. The cold makes his movements sluggish as his metabolism slows, making him lethargic on top of his bewilderment. And for reasons he does not understand, mostly because he hasn't heard of tranquilizers, a horrible burning thirst lurks at the back of his throat like a prickly hedgehog has taken up residence in his esophagus and insists on taking the bed by the tonsils.
He needs water, and fast.
Mind swimming, joints aching, Gatoroid plods slowly into the war-torn ruins of Saint-Tropez.
--------
They knew it was there long before they saw it coming.
How could they not know? It was literally announcing it's presence to them as it moved, every footfall a rumbling shout through the earth. And hearing not by sound but by touch, they felt every one of those shouts, and felt them grow louder as it approached, unsteady and weak in an environment it was not used to. The knowledge spread among them like a fire in a drought-parched savannah, and the news filtered through each of them, level by level and caste by caste, until eventually a solid command broke through the hubbub and down to even the lowest of the low.
Prepare.
And they prepared, oh how they prepared for the hunt that was to come. Webs were spun, in dark corners and abandoned lanes where anyone could blunder in without looking. Traps and ambushes were laid in narrow bottlenecks and dead-ends where nothing could possibly escape. Some of them lurked on snow-covered roofs, peering down from their perches with beady eyes, hoping to catch a glimpse of their prey and report back to the rest. Others hid in alleyways, their low-slung bodies incospicuous against the shadows of their surroundings.
The ambush was laid.
Now all they had to do was wait.
-------
Ol' Fangs doesn't take long to find water.
Where the town square used to be is pretty much a crater, absent of buildings or trees. That's what happens when nuclear missiles hit things - they tend to stop existing very quickly. The place is the same drab, snow-covered terrain as it has been so far, except the melting tarmac has congealed in rockly lumps that, under the snow, give at least some variety. But the roided-up reptile doesn't care for the scenery, for he has his rolling yellow eyes on the shwllow pond in the middle of the crater, formed by melting snow and the occasional rain shower. The average human would know at once that no water in this landscape is safe to drink - that pool is a death trap.
Gatoroid doesn't know this. Nor does he care. He's thirsty now, damn it.
With slow, deliberate movements, the Australian contender slips over the lip of the crater and ambles towards the pool. The slope is not steep by any measure, but Ol' Fangs is taking no chances here - nothing about this place is in any way reassuring to him. It's not just the fact that it's not his usual element, which is bad enough, but there's a distinct feel of wrongness to the place, like something terrible happened here that his addled brains can only dimly imagine. The ground and air seem to hum with a horrible presence, like the smell of rotting meat. By no means is Saxton Hale's Personal Tag Team Partner smart, but he knows that he probably shouldn't stay here for long.
Right after this drink, of course. The massive beast reaches the pool and, with a satisfied growl, slides his scaly chin into the water.
He barely takes a few gulps when he sees the spider.
It's big, really big, and it's built like a tarantula on steroids. And it's just crested the lip of the crater and is approaching Gatoroid at an incredible speed, thick legs and dust flying everywhere as it scuttles across the dusty slope. Horrible black eyes stare unblinkingly at it's target as it reaches the opposite side of the pool towards the surprised reptile, stopping just short of the water's edge. Then it raises it's front legs - and at least half of it's body - into the air in a threatening pose, brandishing it's fang-tipped pedipalps and emitting a series of agressive hisses and clicks. The sounds rattle through the still, cold air like knives in a cutlery drawer.
This threat display severely unnerves poor Gatoroid, who had no idea that something like this would be lurking around here. As it is, the sudden appearance and seemingly unwarranted aggresiveness from the arachnid has set of alarm bells in the collosal crocodillian's brain, the ones that tel him when he's commited a social faux-pas. Has he intruded on the spider's drinking patch by accident? A little embarrased, Ol' Fangs lifts his head away from the water and turns to go.
And that's when he sees them.
Another spider appears over the lip of the crater, on his general left, and scuttles down. Then another appears, moving in from the right. And two more. It isn't long before a small pack of the oversized arachnids is surging down the slope towards the reptile in a mass of legs and abdomens, kicking up duts with every step. Each and every one of them is a Bruiser - the muscular attack troops of the hive mind known as Okhotniki, and just a fraction of the numbers of that dreadful hive. As they charge across the crater and around the pool, they emit a rapid-fire series of clicks and chirps, communicating and directing their fellows to surround their prey.
This is enough for Ol' Fangs. With a panicked bellow, the alligator turns and lumbers back the way he came, up the slope of the crater and away from the water, thirst completely forgotten. He has no idea where the spiders came from, or how they're surviving in this cold wasteland, but there is no way he is going to stick around when at least a dozen or so of the things is trying to swarm him and eat him for lunch. Somehow, he manages to outrun the horrible hunters, pulling himself over the lip of the crater and heading towards the outskirts of town.
And straight into a trap.
The Bruisers never intended to catch him - all they had to do was chase him out of the crater and into the open. Now, a screeching noise from the leader causes even more spiders to dash out from the shadows - this time the low-slung, crab-like Runners that are to Okhotniki what the average drone is to an ant colony. Chittering with excitement, these new Ice Spiders catch up to the giagantic 'gator before he can blink and set about harassing him, nipping at his heels and sides with their claw-like mandibles. It's like watching small dogs setting about the legs of a giant green cow, except more horrifying.
The bites can't pierce Ol' Fangs' scales, but being swarmed like this is trouble enough. The terrified reptile snarls and tries to defend himself, massive colum-feet stomping around him and tail swishing madly as he runs. But the Runners are too quick, their long legs giving them the advantage of speed that, in this cold environment, the Gatoroid just doesn't have. Every stomp meets snow or tarmac, and every tail sweep is dodged with shocking nimbleness, the spiders clucking in an almost mocking tone at his efforts. Mind clouded by panic, the collosal crocodillian turns and heads down a different alleyway, putting on a spurt to try and escape his tormentors.
And blunders straight into a web.
It's a big web. One can't help but wonder at how long it must have taken to weave it - it stretches across the alleyway like a massive fishing net dragged between two ships. The Australian entry finds himself entangled in ropes as thick as telephone cables, strehcing around him like a sock and tangling his limbs together like a bolas. He roars and stumbles about, bashing into buildings and shaking about in attempt to shake the horrid thing off of him, but all it does is make a lot of noise and cause a lot of property destruction, houses folding up like cards as the panicking predator stumbles against them. The shrivelled and bound corpes of the unfortunate Camel Spiders, left over from the preliminaries, become unstuck from his form and tumble away and out of sight.
And then out come the Hunters.
Slender and silent, they emerge from the alleyways like wraiths to join the horde already rushing the hapless alligator down. One by one they crouch down low, curve their abdomens up and fire streams of sticky webbing up and over the tangled reptile, filling the air with shining ropes like party streamers. The strings harden in the air as they alight on the scaled body and the surrounding buildings, forming shackles of silk that refuse to snap as the terrified beast pulls desperately and erattically on them, trying to escape. It isn't long before Gatoroid is pinned to the floor, lying partly on his side, coated in ghostly white webbing like macabre cotton and unable to move.
Okhotniki closes in.
For the first few minutes, the spiders get no result. Ol' Fangs is trapped, but none of his captors seem to be able to get any damage through his thick skin and plate-like scales. Even the mighty fangs of the Bruisers just don't seem to cut through the alligator's armour plating, and it isn't long before squeals of frustration ring through the pack as they repeatedly fail to make a dent of any kind. Even the Hunters join in, but their needle fangs produce no results either, sliding past scutes but unable to piece skin. Gatoroid whines and struggles, detesting the feel of bites poking him and thin legs cruawling all over his back, struggling to draw breath through nostrills clogged with silk. On top of that, his stomach is starting to feel a bit hot...
And then a single Runner manages to get a bite in - at the throat just underneath the jaw, where the skin is softer. Blood flows, and the captive reptile jerks his head upwards with a muffled roar of pain. But that's a bad move - the rest of his throat and his chest are now exposed, and the spiders have been tipped off to his weakness. Like a multi-legged tide the spiders move downward to the unprotected underbelly, biting and biting and biting. From every puncture wound left by their fangs comes streams of blood, and the hungry spiders chitter in glee as they sup from these warm fountains, feasting before their prey is even dead.
For the first time in his life, Gatoroid knows pain.
And the shock of it causes something in his tiny mind to go snap.
The bellow that tears itself from Ol' Fangs' lungs shakes the earth itself as, with sudden strength, the raging reptile heaves itself sideways and pulls. The twanging of snapping strings fills the air, and the Ice Spiders shriek in surprise as their captive suddenly begins to roll over, ripping himself free of his silken prison as he moves. The massive armoured bulk bears down on the houses, crushing them to powder beneath the scutes, and those spiders slow on the uptake are caught between the 'gator's back and the concrete, with resounding cracks as they are crushed underneath the massive weight. The rest of them quickly leap off the moving bulk, chittering in panic and confusion as they behold their carefully-laid trap falling apart.
Hauling himself to his feet, Gatoroid turns towards his former torturers and bellows again. He's covered in crushed spiders and torn silk and his belly and neck drip with blood, but his mind is so full of thundering, apocalyptic anger that he can't register it. His brain is surging with the cocktails of anabolic steroids bred into his blood over generations, and ever nerve and muscle is on fire with the same sort of buzzing energy one gets from an energy drink binge. Ol' Fangs is finally sick of the Russian contedner's shit, and he's going to pay them back tenfold for what they've done to him.
He charges, sending rubble everywhere.
For the next few moments, all is chaos. Okhotniki's ambush has gone wrong - the Ice Spiders weren't even aware their prey would be willing to put up any sort of fight at all. Bewildered and dismayed, the awful arachnids try to salvage what they can of the situation by launching a full-on assault on Ol' Fangs. Hunters cast their silken strings to try and shackle him once more. Brusiers leap up towards his muzzle, trying to stab their fangs into his eyes. Runners dart under his body and between his legs, seeking to trip him up with repeated bites to the insides of his shins. Most over animals would have succumbed to this continued onslaught in seconds.
But the Australian entrant is having none of it. For every spider that leaps up at his face, he catches it in midair and crunches it between his teeth. For every string that lands on his body, he yanks it to pieces with his weight. And for every bite to his ankles, he returns it with a stomp or tail smash that cracks carapace and mangles innards. The river of drug-addled rage boiling within the reptile's mind is overflowing it's banks, and so much ancestral fight and spite is coursing through him it glints off of his teeth and sizzles in his mad, rolling eyes as he bites and stamps and swats. More spiders pour in, spiders have been recorded to stop tanks, elephants and charging rhinos. But for a few minutes, Ol' Fangs the Gatoroid could have brought down an entire country.
One by one, the numbers of the foul creatures dwindle as they meet their ends by foot and tail and jaw, their hutning tactics gone to pieces. Their fangs fail to find weak spots, their strings no longer hold him down and their usually well-co-ordinated movements are becoming frantic and desperate. The Ice Spiders, for once in their lives, are fighting a losing battle, and panic is seeping into whatever they have for brains as their morale begins to break down and their situation looks increasingly hopeless. There doesn't seem to be a way they can stop the Gatoroid.
And in the midst of it all, one spider makes a fatal mistake. This specemin, a bone-white thing proportioned like a black widow, has been lurking amongst the rest of Okhotniki for the duration of this fight, chittering and giving orders to the Brusiers and Runners as they battle the scaled titan in front of them. For she is the queen of the Ice Spiders, the one who commanded her brood to prepare the ambush against the belligerant brute as it stumbled towards their territory, and directed their assault. But now her soldiers are failing, many of them breaking ranks to scuttle away into dark corners and deserting their comrades, and this is not a thing that she will tolerate. She is not prepared to lose.
Thinking to inspire her children, she give a chittering war cry and scuttles forward, seeking to piece the monster's jugular and end it all.
FUCK YOUR SHIT
And that's enough for the rest of Okhotniki. Upon seeing their queen's demise, the whole pack simply turns and scuttles away, no longer willing to fight this thing anymore. They have bitten off more than they can chew, and are not prepared to risk the demise of the whole pack any longer. Like a nightmarish tide of legs, chittering and wailing their dismay, the Ice Spiders melt into the dark tunnels and cracks and corners of Saint-Tropez, hiding away to nurse their pride and wounds and build up their strength. This is a crippling loss, and it may take days for the colony to recover from the devastation.
It is a further five minutes before Ol' Fangs collapses from exhaustion, blood loss, the cold and raidation sickness.
WINNER: GATOROID!
-------
Well, sports fans, there you have it! Undeniable proof that GaiaCorp has what it takes to put on a show and not get loads of people killed! Now go collect your winnings from the official Monster Mash Betting Booths, purchase Mann Co. licensed merchandise at 50% off and revel in a safer, spider-less future for all to come! On top of that, TAKE THAT, RUSSIA! Thought you could rig our battles in your favour, huh? HAH!
Well, that's all for now, folks! But join in next time, where we stage a SHOWDOWN IN THE-
Ever wondered if there was a better word for "excellent"? Or how to come up with creative insults and exclamations? Or why an entire page in a book would be completely censored out?
Well, WONDER NO MORE, MOTHERFUCKERS!
That's right, folks! From the author of Ironsights: A Mechspositionary Tale comes the complete guide to keeping track of the hundreds of quotables and worditudes that rebellious rascal Dirk Angelos drops on a daily baisis! Begrudingly published by the original Paragon of the Publishers, Count Horatio Longardeaux VI, the Unabridged Dirktionary contains everything you need to know on how to think, act and, most inportantly, talk like everyone's favourite dark angel! Within these pages, you'll find:
A Complete, Unadultered Collection of Dirk's favourite words and sayings - even the stuff he makes up!
Full-Colour Diagrams for an enhanced reading experience, drawn by the finest Corinthian artists!
A Guide to Prefixing and Suffixing: Ever wanted to combine camels and bakery in one swift, cutting jibe? Now you can!
A Full Collection of Verbal Utterances: For when words aren't good enough to express your indifference or utter loathing!
Hairstyle Tips for the aspiring Dirk fan! With such ground-breaking styles as "Cocaine Hangover Monday!"
The Ultimate Guide to Polite Coversahahahahaha no!
Hear what readers, critics and pursuers of witty reparte alike have been saying about the Unabridged Dirktionary!
"A laugh riot!"
-Zoofights Chronicle
"A literary breakfast ceral of some kind!"
-Librarian's Ponderings
"What the hell am I even reading?!"
-The Hub Guild of Writers and Readers
"Dear God, my eyes!"
-Some schmuck we pulled off the street
But don't just take their words for it! What does that esteemed Guardian of Grammar Count Longardeaux say about his latest publishing masterpiece?
"Mein Dieu, ze complete disregard for basic syntax! Ze anarchic shunning of prose! Ze rampant butchering of sentence structure and logical grammar! And as for ze illustrations...! You vould not believe ze number of editors I 'ave lost to zis abomination! Vat vos I thinking, agreeing to vork with zat little bas-"
Hoo! You dang right!
Count Longardeaux's
UNABRIDGED DIRKTIONARY
Available from all good(?) bookstores!
-------
"...You cannot be serious, Dirk."
"I am so serious, bro, that if this was a TV show you'd have to set it to Hans Zimmer music."
"What coked-up dream even inspired you to make that thing?!"
"Nah, it was crystal meth this time. Now hush, I feel another Mechspositionary Tale coming on!"
So in my last post, I forsaked the chance to talk about my newly-acquired Wii U to rant about how The Lorax is a terrible film. Understandably, you'll be feeling quite depressed by me slagging off a film so close to the new year, and no doubt I'll have earned some negative karma points for it. So in order to balance the books and cheer you up, I'm going to go ahead and talk about the Wii U anyway, because I just got one and I'm overdue for my Christmas Retrospective, anyway.
So here we go! =D
For those not in the loop, the Wii U is Nintendo's latest console, and as the name implies it's the direct successor to the Wii. Boasting features such as a new touch-screen controller, Wii game backwards compatability and acces to things such as YouTube and Facebook, the new console sets to break boundaries this year, mostly by being the only new console released in a while - already it has an advantage over the competitors. Bold claims are being made about it, such as having more graphical and processing power than the XBox 360, and people are getting hyped for the games looming over the horizion, such as Rayman Legends and an upcoming Super Smash Bros. title.
But speculation and hype can only do so much. Say you have a Wii U right now - what can you expect?
The Console
Well, I'll tell you this right away - if you got the Standard version, which comes as a bone-white console with 8GB of internal memory, then you're an idiot. You have basically handicapped yourself by buying a gimped version that can't hold as much save data and other features on it, and you will end up regretting this when you have to delete save files to make room for the next hot title. For the record, I ended up with the glossy black Deluxe edition that comes with 32GB of memory - sure, it's more expensive, but it's worth it when you can hold more games and software on it, so you can lord it over those who couldn't afford it. I am, after all, what is known as a bad winner.
"Deluxe" in this case means "Better".
Right out of the box you get the console and GamePad, the AC adapters for each (one to charge the GamePad), a HDMI cable instead of the previous, inferior SCART cable for HD glory, a Charging Cradle that works on the same principle as the 3DS's charging cradle, a copy of Nintendo Land and special stands. You also get a sensor bar so the console can read the movements of the GamePad and what Wii Remotes are synced to it, but I simply recycled the sensor bar from my old Wii and got pretty much the same results, so I'm not sure why Nintendo felt the need to include it. The stands for the console are to be used when you place it on it's side - which I pretty much had to do, owing to the fact that the only elegible place to put it was in the special shelving unit I bought for the Wii which only allowed for the veritcal configuration. A bit annoying but I can live with it.
The main feature of the Wii U is the GamePad. Not only does it have the same motion controls as the original Wii Remotes, but it also boasts a camera and built-in touch screen that serves different purposes - these will be elaborated on later, but for now it's best to know that on the home menu one uses the pad to make choices. The GamePad can also be customized to act as an external T.V. Remote, just in case you really want to show off or want to switch to BBC One so your brother can watch Doctor Who while you play your games. For those worrying, fear not - the screen of the GamePad shows the same high-quality, HD video that your T.V. will show, with only a minor difference in brightness to worry about.
The Wii U boasts the same Mii creation facility of the Wii and 3DS, as this all ties in to the big Nintendo Network thing the company is making to catch up with XBox Live and the PSN. I won't elaborate too much about this, but the basic concept is that it's kind of what happens when the Mii Maker, the Shopping Channel and Facebook adopt a baby and can't decide on the name - a mix of game purchasing, interacting with others and having a good old time. At the time of writing, however, my Wii U is unable to connect to our internet for mysterious reasons, so this feature is somewhat unavailable to us until we find a fix for it. Sad times. I did, however, succeed in importing my Mii from my 3DS, so that's something.
My only quibble about the console so far is the lack of out-of-the-box backwards compatability with past Wii games. For reasons unknown to me, Nintendo have forced consumers to perform a system update in order to access this feature instead of simply making it available from the get go. I vaguely remember technical issues were involved, but surely delaying the release by a month or two wouldn't have mattered if it meant fixing this issue? Were Nintendo really so desparate to rush the console out and get ahead of Microsoft and Sony? The fact that I have to transfer my old Wii's save data onto the new console to access the games is also kind of annoying, but since I can't get the system update due to connectivity issues, it's kind of a moot point.
So far, so good. But what about games. Well, rather than go over the already impressive libary of choices, from Tekken Tag Tournament 2 to Darksiders 2, let's take a brief look at the big four titles pretty much everyone will have when they get this thing.
Nintendo Land
This needs to exist in real life.
In the same way that Wii Sports was created to showcase the Wii's potential, Nintendo Land exists to prove what the Wii U and the GamePad can do. Bundled in with the Deluxe edition of the console, this party game is set in a Nintendo-themed amusement park (which needs to exist, seriously) and contains various mini-games themed on the various Nintendo franchises, from competitive ghost hunting in Luigi's Mansion to co-operative hack-n-slashing in the land of Hyrule. The game boasts five-player shenanigns with four Wii Remote users and one GamePad user, and rewards every playthrough with coins that can be spent on prizes, such as a jukebox that lets you listen to awesome tracks from the attractions.
So far, the game has proven to be a blast. I've failed at being as awesome as Captain Falcon, been hunted down as a ghost, been tackled into mud as Mario and filled knitted Moblins with arrows as Link. The GamePad is intergrated quite nicely into gameplay, and even the neat gimmick of using it to look around while exploring the plaza has a curious charm to it. I have only three minor quibbles to make of the game, and while I'm sure many people won't find them an issue, I found they got on my goat after a bit:
Every time you kick up a game, it feels the need to force you into the tutorials in case anyone new is playing and needs an explanation of the rules. You can skip them, which is a bonus, but I'd much rather they only stick to showing up on the first playthrough of a minigame or mode and then never come up again. There is the option to bring up the tutorial by pressing the Minus Button, but since the game forces control explanations on you anyway, it seems a bit redundant.
Monita is the latest in a long line of "helper" characters that Nintendo seem so fond of these days. In the tradition of helper characters, she tends to grate on the nerves in her attempts to be helpful, explaining things to you in the same condescending a preschool teachers tells a child about how reading is awesome. But on top of that, her fixed pixel expression of mild surprise and a voice like a female Microsoft Sam actually make her a bit unnerving. I swear she's plotting to murder you, the number of Moblins that get thrown your way in Battle Quest.
The box art uses Bauhaus 93. Really, Nintendo?
ZombiU
The undead are somehow scarier in those hats.
On the opposite spectrum to the colourful parade of fun that is Nintendo Land is the grim survival horror game we call Ubisoft's ZombiU, the token launch title to prove that no really, guys, Nintendo can do harcore titles. Set in London after a zombie apocalypse eats 90% of the populace, you play a series of random shmucks who end up being guided by a mysterious voice known as the Prepper in order to survive the undead hordes and hopefully find a cure. The game makes use of the GamePad as a kind of radar and inventory, allowing you to manage your items, ping for incoming zombies and scan the area for goodies, hackable objects and more. Also, it had a really awesome trailer.
Despite my sarcasm earlier, ZombiU actually succeeds in breaking out of the "hardcore launch title" mold by being actually kind of scary and challening. Ammo and medkits are sufficiently hard to find, zombies come at you in droves if you're stupid enough to make too much noise or light and when you get killed you have to find your previous character's corpse and kill it to get your stuff back. It's good at creating tension and panic when the hordes come a-knocking, and the Prepper seems a pretty decent chap for a faceless voice. I've heard people complain about the things I've mentioned such as the lack of ammo and difficulty in killing zombies, to which I say "What did you expect? This is survival horror, not fucking Halo."
Sonic and All-Stars Racing Transformed
Transformers! Bluer than you think!
Another launch title for the Wii U, Sonic and All-Stars Racing Transformed is simultaneously a fucking long title and the sequel to the previous All-Stars Racing game developed by Sumo Digital. But while All-Stars Racing was surprisingly good despite being cobbled together to meet a deadline, Transformed ups the ante by centering the game around the mechanic of shifting your vehicle from car mode to planes and boats as the course dictates, like Diddy Kong Racing without the pre-race faffery. The game also has the courtesy to introduce new characters such as Vyse from Skies of Arcadia and Gilius Thunderhead from Golden Axe, as well as Wreck-It Ralph from the upcoming Disney film of the same name as a bonus character.
I was geniunely surprised by this one, because I had expected the transforming thing to be something of a gimmick that didn't add much. My suspicions were proved wrong during the Skies of Arcadia stage, where a sudden battled between airships started ripping the course apart, forcing me to take to the air and traverse a whole different course from the one my wheels had been screeching over two laps previously. The game makes the most of the transforming thing in that you have to think about what routes to take to get the best powerups or stay ahead, and while the difficulty could use a bit of tweaking there's a solid, polished game here that provides plenty of fun if you get some friends together. Plus, there's 10-way multiplayer, and that's worth boasting about.
(P.S.: Get the Limited Edition, it has Metal Sonic. Quickly, before it's sold out D: )
New Super Mario Bros. U
The Mario Bros. Musical Tour was going swimmingly.
Continuing the New Super Mario Bros. formula, New Super Mario Bros. U sees the return of Mario, Luigi and those two random Toads who probably should become regular cast members by now. Bowser's plan this time is just to chuck the heroes across the entire kingdom, basbeall style, and the gang ends up trekking the Mushroom Kingdom to save Peach from being held hostage in her own damn castle, of all places. Gameplay evolutions this time around include the Flying Squirrel Suit to replace the good ol'-fashioned raccoon tails, the return of Yoshi and his inflatable offspring (eeewwww) and the addition of a fifth player who can add Boost Blocks to provide platforms and touch enemies to stall them.
I don't doubt that there's plenty of fun to be had when friends are involved, and one can have a right laugh with items like Yoshi Balloons and the return of Super Mario Galaxy's Ice Flower. But my main gripe is that the difficulty can get a bit schizophrenic. At times levels can be quite easy, and the fact using the Boost Blocks nets coins means it's trivial to gather those extra lives. But some levels take the Rayman Origins approach where you have to time jumps or keep moving to avoid sudden death, and there are situations where Boost Blocks are vital for survivial or getting all the secrets in a level. Whoever said Mario games were as easy as Princess Daisy never had to rely on someone to give them a boostie.
Verdict
As 2012 waves goodbye and saunters off the stage to let 2013 play it's set, the Wii U is most certaintly riding high. With barely much in the way of competition to worry about, Nintendo's new console has all the time it needs to strut down the catwalk and gather up the killer titles it needs to get the sales rolling in, like Super Smash Bros., the inevitable Zelda title and whatever other installments are planned. And with titles like Darksiders and Tekken already present, as well as a sleuth of online features to keep itself fresh, there's no doubt that by the time the XBox 720 and the PS4 roll into town it's going to take a lot of effort to shove the Wii U from it's throne. Here's hoping that the future is bright and Mario and his crazy gang are leading the way!
Well, hope that cheered you all up after my previous Lorax rant. And with that, I'm off for more shenanigans on Metroid Blast. Happy New Year, all!
Well, hope you all had a wonderful Christmas, you guys! I sure did - excepting that Legend of Zelda calendar that never came in the post because so many people were buying them up, I got pretty much all that I wanted and a little more besides, and right now I have a brand new Wii U set up in my bedroom, looking all slick and shiny in it's Premium Edition awesomeness. I could use this post to talk about how kickin' radical it is and how ZombiU is really difficult because I can't do survival horror and how Monita from Nintendo Land simultaneously terrifies and annoys me.
But instead, I'd like to bring you down from your post-Christmas high by talking smack about a terrible movie I saw recently.
In this case, Dr. Seuss's The Lorax with Danny DeVito.
Relesed in the spring of this (last?) year, The Lorax is loosely based on the award-winning book by Dr. Seuss (which I have recently discovered is meant to be pronounces "Soyss" because Germany is funny like that), in which the Once-ler, in his desire to become rich and corner the market for his all-purpose Thneed, ignores the pleas of the titular Lorax as he ends up causing massive ecological damage for the sake of gain. It's a cold, harsh metaphor for how rampant industrialization affects our planet, and unless somebody "cares a whole lot" then it's just going to get worse. Yet it ends on a high and hopeful note by implying that we, the ordinary person, have the power to ensure that we can avert what the Once-ler caused and balance progress with sustainability.
The film is none of that.
Watching this film on the family's recently-purchased Sky TV On Demand thing, I came away from the film with a distinct sense of being cheated. While I could complain about things like how Danny DeVito's deep voice doesn't seem to suit the orange fuzzball, or how ham-handed the film deals with the original themes, there's one giagantic tumour growing in the bowels of this picture that I want to take a blunt kinfe to until it stops kicking and screaming. Some months ago, Del complained quite venemously of Space Marine, calling it a boring, homogenous mess that doesn't try anything beyond ticking the standard Gears of War-esque shooter checkboxes, sometimes forcing the source material to conform to those standards. And if the same can be true for films, then The Lorax is quite similar in that regard, in that it's safe and by the numbers.
It doesn't try anything new, this 3D-animated checklist. It has everything one expects from a big-budget Hollywood production. It has a love interest. It has a villain. It has celebrity voices, with Danny DeVito's alarmingly deep tones coming from the Lorax being top billing. It has humour that balances the fine line between "family-oriented" and "unimaginative", with not one joke being funny in any regard (the line "That's a woman?!" in particular made me cringe). It has stock action sequences as our protagonist dodges the intruder traps set around the inexplibably belligerant Once-ler's house. It even has the bog-standard pop-culture reference - the sequence where the Lorax infiltrates the Once-ler's cart is set to the Mission Imposible theme tune, disregarding the fact that the reference stopped being clever a decade ago. Nothing new or radical is tried, and for a Dr. Seuss movie this is kind of an insult.
Look how insulted the Lorax is. Look at him.
And what creative liberties the film does take with the source material are either completely asinine or only exists to help the movie tick those Standard Hollywood Film boxes. As in the book, the story of the Lorax is told in flashback, but on this occasion it's framed by a post-apocalyptic setting where a boy called Ted tries to impress his girlfriend by getting a real Truffula tree, sneaking out of his gated, totally-synthetic community under the nose of the greedy, scheming Mayor O'Hare. Leaving aside the question of why an all-powerful man who controls the city's air supply feels threatened by a bit of greenery, this "new", cookie-cutter story pretty much shoves the original Lorax tale to the side in order to prance about waving coloured ribbons and blowing kisses to the dollar-waving audience. The whole hero-girlfriend-villain dynamic exists because the film didn't feel like it was being enough like a Dreamworks film, and the depressing-yet-hopeful message of the book is twisted into the bog-standard "we can change the world if we work together" that films like this continuosly spit out like everyone has ADHD. The climax of the film, where Ted busts a hole in the city walls to reveal the desolated landscape beyond, feels hollow and token, as if we've seen it a million times before (which we definitely have).
But it's not enough for the film to try and ape every other, better movie in existance, is it? No, it also feels the need to slap the source material in the face. There are multiple times where lines from the book are referenced in the Duke Nukem sense, where the characters immediately turn to the audience and go "gee, doesn't that sound completely stupid, I wonder what drugs Seuss was on when he wrote that, eh?" The film not only completely misses the subtext of the lines in the first place, but also has the gall to mock it for being written in the classical nonsense-poem style that made Seuss the literary genius he was in the first place, as if to say that modern audiences are too stupid to understand what the author was trying to get across. It's ham-handed attempts at, to quote the wretched hive that is TV Tropes, "Lampshading" the original material that make me want to reach other to where the producers live and strangle them for their incompetence.
Especially if they look like this. Seriously.
Instead of using Seuss's imagery and prose in clever ways, the film feels like it's simply going down a checklist to ensure it has everything that a movie of it's calibre is supposed to provide to an audience that apparently consists of slack-jawed sheep who'll consume anything if you dress the trailer up with enough faintly-recognizable eighties pop songs. And on top of that, it has the nerve to insult the source material that it's based on without any sense of irony, disguising ham-handed insults as self-aware parody in the same way one disguises a vicious killer bull as a fighting rooster by dressing it in feathers. The film has some clever moments (the Once-Ler being browbeaten by his family to resume logging when sustainably harvesting the Truffula trees proves too slow is a nice touch), but ultimately you could swap out half the material with that from any other Dreamworks or Pixar film and it would still be a boring, unintelligent mess that makes no attempt to push any envelopes whatsoever and parrots the same old messages most films of it's type do.
As an Animation student who takes a deep interest in films, this grinds my gears. The Lorax had so much potential as an animated film, especially since the technology involved means I lose track of time trying to count all the hairs in the Lorax's moustache. They could have run with the Seussian imagery to create a cautionary tale that hammers home the consequences of callous environemtnal destruction in the pursuit of money and succes, or perhaps span a story of how we as a species can live sustainably and not have to drive trees to extinction due to demand for all-purpose knitwear. But instead the studio showed no ambition above shoehorning in the same tired old tropes to ensure a safe product that doesn't scare away the average consumer and make guaranteed big bucks. And this dissapoints me.
The Lorax is not a film. It's a giant middle finger to your intelligence and Dr. Seuss in general. Avoid.
Last time on Dirkmas...
"Now, where was I?" Fyrros mused to himself. "...Ah, yes. Mass genocide."
And with that, the Annunaki dropped the arm, turned and paced towards the forest, where the elves were still trying to take refuge. It wouldn't take long, the pyromaniacal warlord reckoned - a few strategically-thrown fireballs would turn the place into an inferno in seconds, trapping the stupid creatures and sealing their doom. There was no way the elves would survive that, and nothing they could to to stop him.
A horrible smile crossed his smouldering features.
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night."
We now return to your regularly scheduled programme...
-------
Blackness.
Dirk slowly became aware of the aching in his entire body once again. The pain was almost unbearable, and for a moment the dark angel found himself unable to move as his joints sang with agony. His body felt like every possible bone within it was broken, apart from the stump where his arm had been, his glubok was in tatters and his head felt like it was immersed in ice-cold porridge with the way everything seemed to swim around him like the sharks in the tank back home. Everything felt like lead - he couldn't have moved an inch even if he wanted too, thanks to the beating Fyrros had just given him.
But his heart was heaviest of all.
I failed them. I tried, I really tried to protect them from that Nibirian shithead, and I failed. He's going to wipe Lapulas clean of life, and then he's going to do the same to Earth, and I'm not going to be there when his miserable planet rolls around and starts the apocalypse.
And not even the others can stop his miserable kind. Sarah, Erebus, Zeph, David, Del... they're all gonna die. The whole planet's doomed. And it's my fault. I should have stopped him here, but I failed. Because I'm not strong, like big bro.
Pit... You're gonna get it, too. They'll kill you first, for what you are.
I'm so sorry, bro...
"Dirk?"
The voice was barely audible at first, and Dirk put it down to imagination. He'd taken so many knocks to the head that it was no wonder he had started hearing things, like being on hallucinogens without the criminal charges and double the headache on coming down. There couldn't be anyone else in the village, there just couldn't!
"Mr. Dirk, sir?"
But when the voice came again, louder and closer, the Dark Angel realized that the porridge in his head was starting to fade way, and his ears were picking up the sounds of footsteps crunching on the snow and the sound of those silly bells. The next thing he knew, a pair of unusually large arms had hooked under him and lifted him up out of the snow, and someone else was holding his head up.
"Wh... Who...?"
Dirk opened his eyes...
And there was Merry, stooping over him and fumbling for a hip flask on his belt that, for some reason, the angel hadn't noticed until now. There were other elves there, too - a burly specimen at least a foot taller than Merry, with arms like battering rams holding his body and wings clear of the snow, and a red-lipped, rosy-cheeked elf girl holding his head up, blue eyes looking down upon him with intense worry. As Dirk's heavy eyes flitted from one to the other, Merry finally unclipped the flask from his belt, uncorked it and set the mouth of it to Dirk's lips.
"Here, Mr. Dirk," came his tiny bell voice. "Try and drink this."
With an effort, Dirk managed to pry his cracked, bleeding lips open, and Merry quickly tipped the flask up, pouring the contents between then and into his mouth. The distinct, fruity taste of sherry hit the angel's tongue, which thankfully was not one of the things ruined by Pyrros's assault, and even as he gratefully drank from the flask Dirk couldn't help but raise an eyebrow towards Merry at the odd choice of tipple. He would have asked why, but with his mouth plugged that would have been a difficult task - it was Pit was famed for his ability to eat and drink at the same time.
"It's most common at this time of year," the elf explained. Oh, yeah, it was Christmastime, wasn't it? Of course.
Eventually, Merry titled the flask back down, stemming the flow of liquid and letting Dirk catch his breath as he replaced the cork. With a grunt of effort, the muscled elf and his friend began to heave the Dark Angel back onto his feet, and Merry quickly reached out to grab hold of the arm that was still there, tugging on that for support. By degrees, the trio managed to get Dirk back upright, and for a moment they could only stare at him as he stood there, gasping and shaking, one hand clutching a stump that still leaked blood.
Eventually, through the haze in his mind and the pain in his shoulder, Dirk found his voice.
"Why... why did you... come back?" he gasped, looking at the diminutive figures around him one by one. "Fyrros could've... killed you."
"We couldn't leave you to suffer like that, sir," rumbled the biggest elf, his voice hollow like a copper bell. "Merry said we had to help you somehow."
"Dirk, these are my friends Punchy and Maisy." Merry indicated each of the other elves in turn, who nodded solemnly in response. "Sorry I didn't get to introduce them earlier, but you know how it is - flaming alien attacks the planet, there's barely any time for introductions."
"Oh, no, I totally understand. Nice to meet you two."
A fresh spike of pain suddenly lanced up Dirk's leg as something wrapped around it, and he hissed between his teeth as he looked down. Looking back up was Maisy Elf, her lips set in a distressed pout and eyes wet with tears as she looked up at him like a puppy that had been caught wetting itself, chocolate-brown hair accumulating snow. In typical Dirk fashion, the angel let his mind wander, letting the thought "Damn, she's kinda cute" slip by before catching and berating himself for letting his libido get ahead of his brain, as was his way.
"You gotta stop him, Mr. Dirk!" Maisy almost sobbed, her voice like a polished ocarina ringing in the silence of the empty village. "He's gonna kill everyone here if you don't!"
On hearing this, Dirk let his head fall as a sudden depression overtook him. "I appreciate your concern," he muttered, as if talking to no-one in particular, "but you've got the wrong angel. I can't beat Fyrros."
"But you gotta, man," cried Punchy, waving fists as large as Dirk's head. "You were the only one who-"
"No, I can't!" Dirk disengaged himself from Maisy's grasp and turned to face the other elves, and this time the pain on his face was an internal pain. "There's nothing in the universe that can compare to that thing! He's an Annunaki - the strongest beings to come from the planet of Nibiru, which as we speak is heading right towards Earth with every intention of ripping it apart if he succeeds in destroying this place! And he just made complete mincemeat out of me - a Low Angel, a being bred for fighting, the same species that drove his kind off of Earth when they subjugated the primitive people! I'm short of an arm and the one thing that would give me an advantage - my magic - has literally been punched out of me by that thing!"
Dirk blinked as he heard the echoes of his own words die away in the air, and realised that he had been shouting. The elves were looking up at him, open-mouthed with shock at his tirade, bunched together as if at any moment he might turn into a raging panther and leap for their throats. The desperate anger and exasperation within him burned away, leaving a smouldering depression where it had once been as he let himself slump forward, ignorant of the pain in his arm stump now.
"So no," he said, with an almost crushing finality. "I can't beat him. I don't have the power."
There was a silence. A long, pronounced and awkward silence. The sort where no-one can think of anything to say or do, just shuffle their feet and stare in one direction. The fires in the village were dying out now, their brilliant lights dimmed to dull, reproachful glares as they ran out of log cabins to plunder and destroy. The snow fell much less thicker now, coming in mere drizzles instead of the picturesque fall it had been a while ago.
Then Dirk felt a hand on his knee, and looked down.
"Don't have the power, you say?" Came Merry's voice. "Oh, but I think you do."
Dirk blinked in surprise. "You wh-?"
"We elves aren't strangers to people like Fyrros," continued the elf in an oddly-soothing voice. "I know his sort - the kind of person who thinks that power is the ultimate answer to every question in the universe. The kind of person who is secretly terrified of anything that could topple him from his imaginary pedestal, and bullies others into fearing or serving him in order to hide it behind a veil of darkness and evil. That's not power, that's a child stomping on ants to stop them getting into the pantry."
Merry was smiling. In the midst of all this carnage, with a genocidal fire demon hunting his kinfolk down, he was actually smiling in an encouraging manner at Dirk.
"We elves of Lapulas believe differently. We believe power doesn't come from how many planets you've conquered or how much wealth or influence you have. We say it's the little things - small acts of kindness from everyday people - that make a person who they are. Things like letting someone in from the rain, or donating money to a good cause, or guiding a drunk person home. That, we say, is a greater power than any military might or money, and worth much more notice than those who terrorise and conquer for the sake of respect. Unconditional love - that's the greatest power of all."
"And there's no greater show of that," rumbled Punchy, "than by sticking up for those less fortunate than yourself. That's what Christmas is really about - not all the tinsel and presents and trees and stuff, but putting aside your differences to help other people and make them feel good about themselves. And that's exactly what you did when you challenged that Fyrros bloke - you stuck up for us when it looked like we were all gonna get roasted and our planet blown up. That takes guts, and that showed us you're twice the man than that flaming bozo."
"We know you can beat Fyrros, Dirk," chimed in Maisy. "We believe in you, now all you gotta do is believe in yourself! The power is inside your heart, not your glubok!"
Now, Dirk would not be the first person to describe himself as cynical. Probably the third or fourth, but never the first. The point is, more often than not things like "true love" were usually filed by the Dark Angel under the subheading of "dumb kiddy shit" that, while working fine for Sarah and Disney movies, just didn't cut it for the sort of person who's idea of a good time was baking stolen medical marijuana into brownies and getting shitfaced. No, Dirk didn't believe in that stuff - kid's stuff, designed to protect their tiny minds from the horrors of the real world. Let someone better (or stupider) than him believe in it.
But... something in the words of the elves, the way they spoke so encouragingly, struck something in him and bored past the layer of casual cynicism that existed as a consequence of his being Pit's dark half. Somewhere, deep inside, he knew that what they were saying was true, even thought they said it in the soppiest way possible, and that, deep down, he still had what it took to defeat Fyrros and save Lapulas. He just had to keep telling himself that he could do it, to believe that despite his wounds he could still do it, and then go for it.
Jeez, when did I get so soft? Curse you, Morgana and Baby Conrad!
"...you're right."
The elves blinked as Dirk straightened out, clenching his free hand into a fist and gazing up into the starry sky.
"I'm nowhere near as strong or nice as my big brother," he declared, determination burning in his eyes, "but that doesn't mean I have to just sit by and do nothing. If you believe that I can beat Fyrros and save your people - and my planet and Christmas, to boot - then I believe that, too. And moreover, I'm going to do a lot more than that - I'm going to kick his arse so fucking hard, he's going to fly all the way to Kanassa before he realises what hit him!"
The angel's voice rose to a passionate shout, the echoes bouncing around the village as if the very buildings themselves were joining in to affirm his beliefs.
"NOBODY FUCKS WITH CHRISTMAS!"
"YAAAAAAY~" Upon hearing this awesome, somewhat heroic declaration, the elves leapt up and down on the spot, cheering in their high-pitched voices and alternating between waving their hands and clasping them together. Once again, Dirk couldn't help but grin at their boundless optimism in these dire circumstances, and the comparison between them and Sarah came up in his mind once again. Were Christmas elves related to white mages somehow? Dirk was gonna have to look that up.
Anyway, back to business. Beating the shit out of Fyrros.
"Right," he cut in after they'd done cheering and hopping about. "I've got good news and bad news. The bad news is that Fyrros is already headed towards the woods to try and find the others and blow them up. The good news," he quickly added, as he saw the looks of dismay on the elves faces, "is that he was going at a casual walk, for some reason, so if we get moving now, we could catch up with him before he does any real damage."
"But you've only got one arm, Mr. Dirk," chimed in Merry, an expression of worry on his face. "Won't that put you at a disadvantage in the fight?"
"Hey, you focus on getting your village out of trouble, Merry," retorted Dirk. "I'll worry about Fyrros. I think I have a plan, but it's gonna be a bit risky."
"Whatever it is, count me in," growled Punchy, banging his fists together. "No way am I gonna let my buddies be turned into charcoal!"
"And if you win," piped up Maisy quite suddenly, batting her eyelashes at the Low Angel, "I'll give you a kiss, you handsome thing, you!"
There was an awkward silence.
"D-don't mind Maisy, Mr. Dirk, sir." muttered an embarrassed Merry, going red. "She's always trying to-"
"Hold it," cut in Dirk. He looked down at Maisy, a grin forming on his face as he dropped to his knees in order to look her in the eyes. In typical Dirk fashion, his libido had suddenly put his common sense into a chokehold, and had now taken over the driving seat for a bit. Really, you should have seen this coming at some point - after all, this story is about Dirk Angelos, the closest you can get to Johnny Bravo without actually being Johnny Bravo.
"What sort of a kiss?" he asked.
Merry's eyes widened in shock. "What kind of a question-?!"
"A big, wet one!" Maisy squealed.
Dirk leant forward eagerly. "With lots of tongue?"
"As much as you like!"
"And will there be-?"
"Ooh, you have no idea!"
"Deal!" Dirk leapt back to his feet and punched the air with a free arm - finally, someone was giving him the reward he deserved for putting his life on the line! "Come on, let's go! Punchy, stick with me - I'll need your help with this!"
And with that delightful little bit of dialogue out of the way, Dirk dashed down the street towards the village exit, where he knew Fyrros would be approaching the forest by now. A squealing Maisy followed hit on his heels, and Punchy and Merry, after exchanging awkward glances with each other, followed. They knew that time was of the essence here - if they wanted to save the other elves from the Annunaki, they were going to have to think fast and act fast, and put their faith in what plan it was the angel had under his single remaining sleeve.
It was now or never.
-------
It hadn't taken long to find the elves.
Fyrros could have laughed. It had been almost too easy - hampered by the cold, held back by carrying their injured and elderly, the diminutive aliens hadn't even reached the outskirts of the woods yet. In the Annunaki's mind, the simpering wretches must not have had any actual will to live. If they had truly wished to survive his wrath, they'd have abandoned the weak and sick to get themselves to safety. There was a reason the Nibirians gave up such things like compassion long ago - in the great game of life that was the universe, such idiotic concepts would usually see you dead or picking jackboots out of your teeth.
As it was, they had barely reached the first line of trees when the fireball impacted right in front of them. The pyroclastic explosion absolutely terrified the villagers out of their wits, and the morale of the tiny beings broke almost instantly - their protector was dead and the Destroyer of Life had found their hiding place. Screaming in terror, the elves broke ranks and ran in every concievable direction that could take them away from the carnage - some collided with each other and fell in tangled heaps, whilst the elderly and weak were abandoned and trampled by the younger ones in their haste to escape their impending doom.
Standing on the hill that overlooked the forest, a sadistic chuckle rolled from Fyrros's jaws as he watched the chaos his one solitary attack had created. This wasn't quite the plan he had in mind - he had been hoping to try and hem the elves in between the burning forest and himself, or trap them in a ring of burning trees and leave them to suffer as their own sanctuary burned around them. But this was just as good, in the Nibirian's twisted opinion. At the very least, he enjoyed moving targets.
The Conquer of Worlds lifted his arm-
PAFF!
-and shrieked as a snowball struck him in the back of the head. He staggered from the simultaneous pain and ice-cold chill that ran through him, and the fireball that had been building at the end of one arm dissipated in a flickering puff of smoke, never to reach it's destination. Steam rose from the area where the projectile had struck, the snow melting and evaporating against his skin as he recovered his balance, shocked and outraged at the sneak attack he never saw coming.
"WHO THREW THAT?!" he bellowed, wheeling on the spot to face the direction the snowball had come from. "SHOW YOURSELF, WRETCH!"
No response. Except for the elves ceasing their terrified runabout at the sound of the Annunaki's roaring, stopping to stare in amazement and confusion, nothing happened in direct response to Fyrros's demands. Nobody new appeared, nobody shouted anything in response. The Annunaki glared all around the landscape in search of his attacker, but all his blazing yellow eyes could see where snow dunes as far as the horizon, forming valleys and trenches of white, with no clue as to-
PAFF!
Another snowball, this time right in the side of the face. Another hissing sizzle, another shriek of pain and rage, and this time the icy projectile succeeded in leaving a mark - a horrific, fist-sized welt on the lizard's muzzle, like some kind of burn. With a snarl, Fyrros whipped around and lashed out with one arm, casting a fireball that impacted heavily with the snow and sent up a white-hot plume into the air. But nothing came of it, for the dust cleared to reveal absolutely nobody had been caught in the blast.
"STOP THAT!" The Annunaki was getting thoroughly pissed off now, his fire burning hot enough to melt the snow beneath his feet. "COME OUT AND FIGHT ME!"
And then another snowball got him in the back. PAFF!
"AAAAAARGH!" Fyrros turned and launched a fireball that way, too. But once again, the showy, flashy impact was all for naught, for the snow dune he demolished had nobody in front of, behind or next to it, and thus the Son of Nibiru was merely wasting his energy on hitting something that wasn't there. And thus, this pattern began to repeat itself - a snowball would fly seemingly out of nowhere to strike Fyrros, a fireball would hit the snow with apparently no effect, and the Annunaki would grow even more perplexed and furious with the whole ordeal.
Watching from a distance, the elves blinked in shock. Many of them who had began to run showly trudged back to get a better view, whislt otheres helped to pick up and/or untangle the fallen so they could watch as well. Like Fyrros, the ensemble had no clue as to what was going on - as far as they were concerned, Dirk had been slain and most of their kind lay dead in the village. Who on Lapulas remained to challenged the mighty Nibirian, after all the lives he had taken.
Then a flash of black feathers rushed by, and the entire village understood.
As one, they turned and headed for the trees.
-------
"So how long we keepin' this up for?" hissed Punchy under his breath.
"Until the others make it into the woods," whispered Dirk in response.
The angel had not called this plan risky for nothing. It had meant drawing Fyrros's attention away from the elves making their way into the woods and onto them, which put them at risk of burnination or pummelling if they were caught. But both Dirk and Punchy were willing to put themselves on the line to ensure the other elves got to safety, and hopefully they could keep out of sight long enough for the whole thing to work out. Currently, the two were ducked behind a completely different snow dune to the one the Nibirian had just incinerated, Punchy moulding another snowball in his massive hands with rapid speed.
"So how did ya know them Nibirians don't like ice?" asked Punchy as he worked.
Dirk quirked an eyebrow at him. "I didn't," he admitted, having to raise his voice slightly over Fyrros's shouts of rage. "In fact, I don't think I ever rememebred that part from Galactic History lessons. That was boring as hell."
"Galactic History, huh?" Punchy quickly handed his completed snowball over to Dirk, who took in his remaining hand and tested it's eight. "What'cha learn there?"
"Why the Annunaki are dicks."
And with that, Dirk stood up from behind the dune and hurled the snowball with all his might. What with having a missing arm and all, his balance was somewhat off, but his aim was good enough - the projectile soared through the air to smash against Fyrros's side with another PAFF sound. With a scream, Fyrros turned and spat another fireball in their direction, and both angel and elf hoofed it to the next one just in time, throwing themselves flat as their previous barricade was destroyed with a flash of light and heat and half-melted snow.
"Good thing he didn't rip off my other arm," muttered Dirk as he picked himself up. "I need this one for writing and pelting people with snowballs."
"You think the others made it yet?" hissed Punchy, shaking from the near-miss.
Dirk quickly popped his head over the dune and peered towards the forest. In the dark of the night and the driving snow, it was hard to make out exact details of anything, let alone the glowing Fyrros on his hill, but he could see something moving at the foot of the trees - lots of little somethings, all moving in tandem together. The angel couldn't tell if they were actually elves or just bushes blowing in the wind, but he was never the type to play pessimistic - a trait he picked up from Pit, of course.
"I think so," he hissed when he ducked back down. "One more ought to do it, I think - just to make sure."
"Oh, I hope ya know what'cha doin," trembled Punchy as he scooped up more snow and began to mold it between his paws.
"So do I," whispered the Dark Angel. To tell the truth, he was almost as terrified as Punchy was - having one's arm ripped off tends to leave a lasting impression, especially when an Annunaki is responsible. But he was still determined to get the elves to safety and then deal with Fyrros before he found the strength to blow up the entire planet. Seriously, this guy was straight out of Dragon Ball, minus the over-long transformation sequences.
Punchy quickly plopped the snowball into Dirk's palm, the icy cold of it biting into his skin. Steeling himself, the angel pulled himself up to his full height to face the bewildered Fyrros, who was turning about on the spot as he searched for his seemingly-invisible tormentor. Screw being subtle now - the elves were out of the way and safe, so there was no reason to hide away now.
"OI! DICKHEAD!"
Dirk wheeled his arm back to throw the snowball...
...and got a fireball in the face for his trouble. Screaming at the heat, the angel dropped his own projectile to disintergrate in the snow as he staggered back, clutching his burnt face with his hand. Losing his balance, he topped backwards and landed with a thump on his back, snow going everywhere as he writhed in pain from the unexpected attack.
"MR. DIRK- AAGH!"
There was a spray of cold fragments as Punchy suddenly flew into a nearby snow dune, and from then on his speech became muffled and inchoerant. Dirk was on the point of pushing himself up to shout for him when a clawed foot suddenly thudded down dangerously close to his head, the points grazing his ear. Ignoring the pain as his skin sizzled from the fireball, Dirk moved his hand away and managed to wrench his eyes open to see what was going on.
"Well, well," rumbled Fyrros, glaring down. "I'm legitimately surprised you're still kicking, pigeon, and I admire your attempt at an underhanded sneak attack. But snowballs are naught but a mere distraction to me."
"Yeah, right," snappred Dirk. "Ever taken a look at yourself?" Even from where he stood, it was clear the Annunaki was not in the best of conditions anymore. The wounds inflicted from their previous battle were taking their toll, the alien's heavy breathing showing his exhaustion, and his body was covered in red welts where the snowballs had struck him again and again. On top of that, his fire was a dim glow rather than the flickering furnace it had once been - he was low on power, having expended most of it in blowing up piles of snow.
"I may have taken a few blows," growled Fyrros, "But I am still the strongest on this planet, bar none. Do you still think that you, with a missing arm and an elf for company, can defeat me?!"
"The thought had crossed my mind," was the reply.
"Well, here's some news for you." The Nibirian lifted his fingers, which began to glow with renewed fire. "You won't. You will die on this miserable planet, which I am going to rip apart with my bare hands, and Nibiru is going to destroy Earth and take it's rightful place in the solar system. Without your magic or strength, you are literally powerless to-"
"LEAVE MR. DIRK ALONE!"
Fyrros turned. "Oh, now wha-?"
The next moment, Maisy had literally barreled out from behind another snow dune, hair flying and eyes burning with boundless anger. Before Fyrros could even register what was happening, the enraged elf girl had rammed a foot right into his groin, causing an unholy popping noise from somewhere within. The lizard's eyes bugged out of his head as he gave a yelp, dropping to his knees and doubling over in pain as his fire dimmed down, revealing brown scales underneath.
"Gonna whizz red," he croaked between his teeth.
Dirk blinked as a boot-covered leg planted itself in the snow in front of him, and looked up to see Maisy standing defiantly between him and the pained Fyrros. As her hair blew in the wind and her bells jingled, the girl turned her head to look down at him over her shoulder, a smile crossing her lips as she caught sight of him. Once again, Dirk had to attempt wrestle with his own brain to not make some kind of lewd comment - thank Palutena on High for the small amount of decency and common sense Morgana had instilled into him.
The next sentence, however, completely wrecked that attempt.
"Are you okay, my handsome hero?" trilled Maisy.
Handsome hero. She just called him her handsome hero.Oh, was that one to tell Pit when he got out of this awful mess.
Dirk permitted himself a grin. "Sure am, sweet-cheeks. And you?"
"Oh, I will be." Maisy's tone suddenly shifted into iron anger as
she turned and paced towards Fyrros, who was still clutching his ruined crotch
in pain. "As soon as I teach Pepper-Breath here what it means to mess with
an elf!" And with a shrill battle-scream, the chocolate-haired girl reared
her entire body back before lunging forwards, delivering a solid headbutt
straight towards the crown of the Annunaki's skull.
To Dirk's amazement, the attack actually hit, and Fyrros howled as he
collapsed sideways in the snow, clutching his head and writhing in pain. The
angel could only watch open-mouthed in shock at this suddenly display of
strength from the diminutive figure - up until now, the elves hadn't
demonstrated any other skills beyond inspiring speeches and the comuplsion to
greet each other with "Hi-ho!" a lot. But Maisy was far from finished
yet - turning around, she bent at the knees, then leapt high into the air with
a shriek before suddenly dropping down...
CRACK!
...and ramming her butt straight into the downed Annunaki's midsection.
"MY GAS POCKET!" screamed Fyrros, his voice high-pitched with
pain, before collapsing into a limp pile
"ARE YOU SORRY YET?!" screamed Maisy, her voice echoing around the
valley and her eyes burning with apopleptic rage.
No response.
"GOOD ENOUGH!"
Maisy delivered a quick punch to the Nibirian's head, hopped off his chest and turned back to Dirk, who was slowly picking himself up, jaw open in wonder. With a smile, she began to walk briskly towards him, eyes fixed intently on him as he struggled to pull himself to his knees, until she reached the spot where he was knelt. Before the angel could rise to his feet or say anything, the elf girl had placed both hands upon his face and pulled it back down, bringing it level with hers and staring right into his eyes, every one of her intentions sparkling in her own.
Oh, fuck yes, was all Dirk could think as he saw immediatley where this was going.
"Well, that takes care of him," cooed Maisy. "And now, my handsome hero, I believe we-"
A roar of rage cut her off - Fyrros was now back on his feet, and none too happy about being caught off-guard like that. Dashing forward, the enraged Nibirian reached out with one clawed hand and grasped Maisy by the hair, yanking her off her feet and pulling her up into the air. With another blurr of movement, the lizard-creature had adjusted his grip so that now he held the struggling elf-girl by the head, the claws of his other hand pressing into her temple and glowing dangerously.
"INTERFERING WHELP!" he bellowed, clearly at the end of his tether. "I WILL MAKE YOU SUFFER FOR THAT!"
"PUT HER DOWN!" screamed Dirk a little too loudly, scrabbling to his feet. Maisy dangled from the Annunaki's grasp, whimpering in pain and fear as his claws dug into her skull and his body heat theatened to scalp her. His fingers were glowing with power again, and his bodily flame was starting to re-light itself, showing his internal magic was starting to return.
"Oh, I'm not so sure about that." Fyrros snarled as he pressed his claws closer to Maisy, causing her to shriek. "This female seems to have a great affection for you - amazing, considering that you're an unwashed pigeon. All this time I've been picking these elves off like popcorn, and they haven't resisted one iota. But now it turns out that at least some of them are willing to risk their lives to help you out. Tell me, what is your secret?"
Dirk clenched his fist. "Maybe it's because I'm not a genocidal maniac?"
"Wrong answer." Fyrros took a step forward, the snow hissing as it melted under his foot. "Now, here's a simple, two-choice question for you. Either you surrender to me and I spare the female now, so she can watch this planet and her bretheren die with you. Or I kill her now and you waste your energy trying to avenge her. Frankly, even I wouldn't want to make this choice, but either one is fine so long as I get this mess over with."
The Nibirian's eyes narrowed.
"Make your choice."
-------
The elves had, indeed, made it to the safety of the woods, as Dirk had predicted. But in their concern for their protector, who had risked his life to divert Fyross away from them, they had not gone so far that they could not see what was happening. Now, peering out from between the trees, they had witness pretty much everything, from Fyrros's anger to Maisy's brave interference, and were now watching as the Nibirian held one of their own hostage, threating the angel. It was a horrible sight, and each one could only hold their breath as they heard the exchange between the two fighters, horror rising in their chests at what they heard and saw.
However, each one had a lingering thought in their heads, one that refused to go away no matter how many times they dismissed it out of fear. They knew that compared to the Annunaki they wer mere ants, not possessing the same sort of destructive magical power that would give them any advantage. Yet the fact that Dirk continued to stand against him had inspired both Punchy and Maisy to take a stand, no matter how small, against their flaming tormentor, and this had not gone unnoticed by the other elves. Even as they watched from afar, something stirred within them, crying out for them to assist in some way despite the dangers of going up against Fyrros, to not leave Dirk in the peril he was in right now.
The thought was "What can we do?"
"Guys!"
As one, heads turned. Merry had reached the sanctuary of the trees a few minutes after they had done, and was now bent over, panting and gasping for air as he laid his hands on his knees, trying to recover from all the running. Immediately, a crowd gathered around him, all of them offering to sit him down or fetch something to drink and asking what happened.
"Enough of that!" Merry was quick to brush his companions off, glancing round them as they backed away in fear. "We have to do something! Fyrros has got Maisy, and he's gonna kill Dirk if we just stand by here!"
"But what can we do?" cried Derpy, the elf with the voice like a broken saxophone. "Maisy and Punchy stood up to him, and look what happened to them!"
"Well, we can't just sit here!" cried another elf with a triangle chime in his words. "If those guys could help out, then so can we!" And following this, there was a general murmur of agreement. Even if they were vastly outmatched in strength, that was no reason for the elves to hide from Fyrros. They had needed Dirk's help, a few hours ago, and now the angel clearly needed their's, no matter what. Their bretheren had done their part, and so would they.
But what was to be done?
"I think I have an idea."
The voice, like a silver gong, reverbrated through the crowd. As one, the elves turned and moved aside to give the speaker room - a wizened old elf, leaning on a twisted, cruedly-carved walking stick, his bear down almost to his knees. This elder looked around the company with twinkling eyes that nonetheless bore a serious look to them, the sort of look that commanded respect and knew exactly what to do in times like these.
"What is it, Grandfather Willow?" cried all the elves in unison. "What do we do?"
The oldest of the elves cleared his throat. "There is," he intoned gravely, "a special ritual that we elves have kept secret from the world. A power that is to be used only in the direst of times, when the sanctity of Lapulas is threatened and it's people in danger. At all other times, we are forbidden from using it due to the danger it poses to ourselves."
"...And we're just going to abuse it, right?" asked Merry after a pause.
Grandfather Willow grinned. "Oh, maliciously," he chuckled.
"So how do we do this?" asked someone else.
"It's quite simple." The old elf dropped his walking stick and turned to face the forest exit. "Firstly, we all need to link hands, just as we do in the Christmas celebrations. Merry, I'll need you to direct everyone in who should be next to what - the exact arrangement of elves is crucial."
There was a general kerfuffle at this. Elves moved, pushed, found places, swapped places, bumped into each other and trod on each other's toes. But the feeling of excitement and wonder in the air overcame the occasional accident and mishap. And all through it, Merry was calling out directions, telling which elves where to go and pointing out any slip-ups.
"That's the way, Speedy, stand next to Ricky... No, Flora, you're meant to be with Derpy... Sunny, keep your hands to yourself!"
"Is everyone ready?" asked Grandfather Willow, after an especially long pause. And they were. Everyone was in a large group, hands linked with someone else's hands, forming a sort of choir or huddle that jingled and rustled when it moved. Each elf looked from one to the other, nervous at the thought of what was going to happen, but still determined to go through with this if it meant helping Dirk to overcome Fyrros.
"Right, then. Now, on my count! One, two, three!"
-------
Fyrros blinked as the first strains of the song reached his ears.
His tail twitched. His fire flickered.
"Wh... what?" he tried.
Then he slowly turned on the spot, still holding Maisy in the air, until he was facing the forest. He blinked time and time again, but there was no mistaking what he was seeing. The elves of Lapulas, the very seme elves he had been tormenting an hour or two ago, were walking out from the forest, hand-in-hand, as if forming some kind of defiant army against him. But they came not with swords or shields or spears, or even guns or cannon. Not one of them was armed, or brandishing some kind of magic, or making rude insults and gestures like football hooligans, as was the custom of most of the races the Annunaki had conquered over the years.
No, they were singing.
"Fahoo-Fores, Dahoo-Dores, Welcome, Christmas, come this way. Fahoo-Fores, Dahoo-Dores, Welcome, Christmas, Christmas Day!"
"What?!" Fyrros tried again.
Singing! The whole thing made absolutely no sense to the bewlidered Annunaki at all. The diminutive creatures had just been driven from their homes, terrorized and butchered like pigs at a market festival! They were practically going to become extinct, he'd killed so many of them, and he'd torn their entire holiday plans to ribbons! The tinsel, the presents, the tree - all of it had been destroyed in the fires he had started in the village! And yet instead of cowering before him like the dogs they were, they were SINGING?!
His grasp slipped from Maisy, who dropped to the snow with a yelp and a flurry of limbs. Punchy, who by this time had extracted himself from the snow dune, was quick to dash to her side, picking her up and ferrying her to a convienient hollow where they would be out of the way of whatever happened next. Fyrros didn't even notice them, so fixed was he on the utterly illogical spectacle in front of him.
"Wh... what is this?!"
"Welcome, Christmas, Fahoo Ramus! Welcome, Christmas, Dahoo Damus! Christmas Day is in our grasp So long as we have hands to clasp!"
Dirk blinked as he looked down at the elves. In all honesty, he was just as confused as Fyrros was. What were the elves doing, leaving their hiding place like this? Did they intend to confront the Nibirian as one, or had they accepted their incoming death at his hands? Whatever it was, it was a pretty fucking stupid-
...Wait.
The angel could feel... something... welling up in him. It started as a tingle, deep within his heart. Then it began to grow, putting out tendrils the same way a seed puts out roots, until it was spreading as a sort of warmth throughout his whole body. It grew from a tingle to a murmur, from a murmur to a dull throb, and in almost no time at all it had transformed into a steady pulse that coursed through him, smoothing over his aches and pains and filling him with...
Power.
The same magical power he used in his spells.
A smile crossed his face.
"Oh, you crazy bastards," he grinned.
"Fahoo-Fores, Dahoo-Dores, Welcome, Christmas, bring your cheer. Fahoo-Fores, Dahoo-Dores, Welcome, all things far and near!"
"WHAT?!" Fyrros finally rounded on the angel, and his face bore the expression of one who's hinges have finally snapped and now nothing in the universe makes sense anymore. "Explain this, pigeon! Why are they doing this?! Why do they sing, after I have slain their kin and ruined their holiday celebrations?! WHAT DOES IT MEAN?!"
Dirk stood tall, no longer the hunched stance he was taking earlier. Warmth dance through his body, the sort of warmth one gets when cuddling with one's mother, or sitting by the fire on a cold winter's night, at peace with the world. As Punch and Maisy watched, his wings glittered, throwing off silvery sparks as they flexed, and his eyes began to glow with the same light as he stared the bewildered demon down. The two gasped as they finally understood what was going on.
"I'll tell you what it means, lizard," retorted Dirk. "The elves have just shared their greatest gift with me. Something I didn't believe in until now, something that they can always hold onto no matter how dark things get. You can take away their homes, their presents, their decorations and their food, but there's one thing about Christmas that, no matter how much you try, you will never be able to take away from anyone. Because they will have it as long as they have each other, and you will never take it away because you just can't comprehend anything that isn't to do with subjugation or wanton destruction or your petty grudges.
See, Fyrros, the whole point of Christmas..."
"...is about love. A greater power even than yours."
"Welcome, Christmas, Fahoo Ramus! Welcome, Christmas, Dahoo Damus! Christmas Day will always be, Just so long as we have we!"
Fyrros's eyelid twitched. His body began to shake. His fire spluttered fitfully.
"Wh... what kind of tripe is that?!" he spat at last. "What good is love when compared to the sheer power that I alone wield at my fingertips?! There is nothing more powerful than the Annuaki, Sons of Nibiru! Nothing can match our might, nothing can ever stand up against us! NOTHING!"
Finally at the end of his tether, the Conquerer of Worlds lifted an arm to put an end to-
CRACK!
"ARGH!" he howled as Dirk retracted his fist. Doubled over with pain, yellow blood dribbling from his maw, he looked up at the angel standing over him, and seemed to shrink as the eyes bored holes right through him. But most distressingly of all, his fire choked, spluttered and finally fizzled out, revealing the frail, old lizard beneath all that flame and grandeur, and the Nibirian began to shake with an almost palpable terror
"I'm sorry," Dirk grinned. "Was that your glubok?"
And then he moved.
Fyrros had absolutely no way to prevent what was coming next. One moment a foot was in his jaw. The next, a fist in his gut. The next, his toes were stamped on. The attacks came blindingly fast, faster than any right they had to come at him, and every blow either cracked something within his body or knocked him spinning on the spot. And Dirk kep that grin of his on his face all throughout, even as he pummelled the helpess Annunaki senseless, each blow delivering spikes of power that shook his opponent down to the bone.
Watching from a distance, Punchy and Maisy decided now was a brilliant time to give moral support.
"COME ON, DIRK!" hollered Punchy, hopping up and down. "SOCK IT TO HIM!"
"AND IT'S A LEFT!" cheered Maisy, a wild fire in her eyes. "AND A RIGHT! AND A JAB!"
"Woah, Maisy," cried Punchy, a little disturbed, "when did you get so bloodthristy?"
"WHO CARES?! GET HIM, DIRKY-BOY!"
-------
It had been travelling for many long centuries. Millenia, even.
But now, it was there.
The sandy-brown bulk of Nibiru heaved into sight as it approached Earth, on this fateful day that their orbits intersected. Many had predicted it's coming, some had dismissed it as flights of fancy or conspiracy theories, but none had believed that it had truly existed, until now, when they could see it clearly from the sky. Faster and faster it approached, dwarfing the blue-green orb with it's sheer size as it grew ever closer, blocking out the light of the sun with it's titanic mass.
All the planet waited with baited breath. Some had quietly accepted their fate, holding hands for comfort. Others had taken to praying in churches, hoping that tjeir deities could deliver them from the horror that was to come. Many more, unable to stand it all, had thrown themselves off buildings or shot themselves rather than face the predicted apocalypse. But all eyes were directed up at the massive interstellar object as it grew bigger and bigger in the sky, until they could see the faint outlines of countries and continents on it.
Nibiru passed by Earth...
...
...
...and went on it's way.
Nothing. No earthquakes, no tidal waves. No masses of alien beings descending from above, shrieking war-cries and brandishing laser beams. Not even so much as a UFO or Mothman to announce some terrible coming. Nibiru had passed by Earth without leaving so much as a mark.
There was a long, stunned silence.
"Well," said someone somewhere. "What a lot of bollocks."
-------
There was a crack as Dirk delivered a solid haymaker, and Fyrros grunted as he collapsed in the snow, yellow blood pouring from his wounds. Everything ached - his bones, his skin, his gas pocket and what remained of his glubok. His fire had gone out completely, and all of his strength had simply left him. But even if he had even an inkling of power left, he wouldn;t even have been able to pick himself up anyway, given the circumstances. He had bee beffudled, tricked, outwitted and bested in honourable one-on-one combat by a member of the same race that had driven his kin off of Earth long ago, along with forcees he didn't couldn't understand. And now, he had sensed that Nibiru had failed to even scratch the surface of Earth.
It was too much. He had lost the will to fight.
A hand clasped him by the throat and drew him up. Opening his eyes, he once more shrank into himself at the glare of Dirk Angelos, who towered over him like some avenging god or a stern teacher brandishing a bad report card. Raw power danced off of his skin and sizzled where his open wounds already stang in the cold. From the corner of his eye, he noticed an orangey glow coming over the horizon, and realized that the sun was coming up, in an almost symbolic mimicry of the events occuring right now on Lapulas.
"Now, listen here," came Dirk's voice. "I don't like you. Merry doesn't like you, Punch and Maisy don't like you, and I don't think any other one of those elves down there likes you. In fact," he went on as he hoisted the Annunaki higher up into the air, "I'm inclined to think nobody likes you. Which means you're not exactly welcome here, are you?"
Fyrros blinked, putting the pieces together.
"...mercy?"
Dirk's grin returned.
"Survey says: Fuck off!"
Then Fyrros's world span, and suddenly he was airborne, twisting through the early morning air as though he were a ragdoll thrown by a baby in a temper tantrum.
Dirk glowed as he lifted his hand up towards his airborne foe.
"You want joy, you overgrown iguana? Have all the joy on this planet! It's the gift that keeps on giving!"
And the sun was blotted out by the massive laser that soared upwards, that cut through the icy air and struck the Annunaki, engulfing him completely.
For a moment, there was nothing but white-hot agony.
"SO... MUCH... JOY..."
And then his world when white.
-------
As the laser died away, Dirk slowly lowered his arm, still staring fixedly at where Fyrros had been a few seconds ago. The morning sun was hot on his back, his feathers rustled in the cool breeze and his wounds no longer stung him in any measure. And for once, his soul was seemingly at peace. The thing that threatened his peaceful planet was gone, never to trouble anyone in the universe ever again, and Nibiru would not be doing any harm to Earth this year. Not only had he just saved one planet, he had saved two at once.
So yes, he felt pretty damned good.
Then he felt the power dissapate, leaking out of him as if he were a colander, Looking down, he watched as tendrils of gold flowed from his body and slink, snake-like, across the snow in all directions, shimmering like the real thing as they moved. Some slipped back into the earth, to filter back to the core of the planet from whence it came, while others, much to the angel's wonder, began to slip towards the village, which had long since ceased to burn and was now smoldering quietly away to itself. It moved, ghost-like, through the streets, splitting into even more pieces as it alighted on a wreck here, a corpse there, flitting from one to the other.
And then Dirk's jaw dropped.
"Holy shit."
The wrecked buildings were knitting themselves back together. Splinters formed shards, which formed entire beams that slotted together into walls. Roofs locked back into position, the burn marks fading away. The tinsel and decorations unraveled from their shrivelled states back into their former splendor, crumpled stalls shot to attention like soldiers and the crumple tree bloomed back into splendor. No doubt that the interiors of all the places that had been destroyed in the battle where restoring themselves too, carpets and curtains and other such things springing back into shape with every touch of the golden energy.
And in the streets, there were stirrings. Stirrings turned into movement, which turned into once-dead elves groaning in pain as they picked themselves up from the snow, holding their heads. Their groans soon changed into gasps of wonderment, however, as they saw the energy of Lapulas soaring over their heads, and understood that the thing that had tormented them was now gone forever. There was a thump and an "OW!" as Rosie Elf, restored at the exact point in the air she had been before death, fell from the sky and landed on somebody else.
One by one, the golden streams filtered back into the snow, vanishing with a shimmering of sparks until they had all gone.
"I get it now," breathed Dirk.
And he did.
Lapulas was alive...
Then he looked down, and saw the elves emerging from the forest and walking towards him in a bunch. As he watched, the walking turned into jogging, which tansformed into running, and before the angel knew it he was promptly swarmed by tiny, jingly elves, all of them cheering ag the tops of their voices and alternatively hugging and high-fiving him in turn. The commotion brought the ressurected elves from the village out in curiosity, wherupon they immediately joined in the celebrations and dashed forward to meet their saviour. Even the elderly elves, Grandfather Willow among them, reached up to shake his remaining hand with enough enthusiasm to almost take it off.
"YOU DID IT!" cried someone. "YOU SAVED OUR PLANET!"
"Three cheers for Dirk!" came Merry's voice from the crowd. "Hip-hip!"
"Hooray!"
"Hip-hip!"
"HOORAY!"
"Hip-hip!"
"HOORAY!" cheered all the elves in unison, and Dirk laughed aloud in joy as the did so. So what if he'd been dragged onto a planet he didn't understand or hadn't heard of before? So what if he'd lost an arm fighting an evil alien from Nibiru? He'd not only saved the Earth, but he'd saved Christmas, and all his friends from the King of Beasts, as well! And now everything was going to be just fine, and nobody was dead except the bad guy, and he'd learnt one of those Christmas Special Moral Lessons, too - that there is nothing more powerful than the love between people.
There was no way this day could get better.
"Oh, Dii-iirk~"
Dirk paused, and his trademark grin came over his face. The cheering stopped almost immediately.
"Aw, yeah," he chuckled. "It just got better." Turning on the spot, he pushed his way through the suddenly silent crowd until he found a space not occupied by hundreds of shocked elves. Standing there in the snow was Maisy, a sweet smile on her face and her baby-blue eyes gazing up at him as he approached, ignoring the stares of amazement from her kinfolk. Dirk's grin grew even wider at the sight, and he promptly dropped to his knees in front of her, his face level with hers and wings twitching in anticipation.
"So, handsome hero," the elf girl crooned, battering her eyelashes. "You ready for your reward?"
"Abso-total-lutely," was the angel's response, putting his hand on the brunette's cheek, and Maisy gave a little squeal with delight. Before he made his move, he took the opportunity to spare a quick glance at the elves around them, and almost laughed when he saw that each and every one of them bore expressions of horror or embarrassment on their faces. Merry, in particular, had turned red as a tomato, whilst Punchy had covered his face with both hands and was muttering something about cooties under his breath.
Prudes, the lot of them.
"Pay attention, ladies," he called out to those elf girls that might have been lurking somewhere in the audience. "This is how you reward a man when he saves your entire species and planet!" Getting no response (as he figured), the angel turned back to find that Maisy, unable to contain herself any longer, had already tightly shut her eyes and puckered her lips, leaning forward slightly in anticipation of the kiss. Good. That was just how he liked his rewards - served up with the minimum amount of fuss.
The crowd watched with baited breath as Dirk closed his eyes, leaned in...
-------
And woke up.
His head was thumping like a tribal drum, but he was definitely awake this time. He wasn't kneeling in the snow any more, he was on the living room couch, still sprawled in the same position he'd been whilst watching the faeries make out in the party. The arm that had been ripped off was actually still there, and not hurting in any actual way at all. And all of his clothes, right down to the chiton and laurel wreath, were still on him.
And, most dishearteningly of all, he wasn't about to make out with a cute elf girl.
That meant only one thing.
It had all been a dream. One big, stupid, Rophynol-based dream.
"God damn it," he groaned in irritation as he pushed himself upright, rubbing his head. "Only in a roofie-induced dream could something like that happen. Only there could I end up on a snowy planet inhabited by elf people! Only there could I fight against a flaming lizard-demon from Nibiru and beat him with the power of Christmas! And only there could I come anywhere close to actual first base with a female type of some persuasion! I mean, fucking hell, couldn't I have least woken up after we-
"...What?"
The last time Dirk had checked, most of the living room had been in a state of complete disrepair thanks to drug-induced shenanigans. Tables were covered in broken glasses and crumpled cans, the curtains had been torn down and sick and piss coated the walls and floor. But now that Dirk looked at it, he could see that the entire place was cleaner than even Pit was accustomed to keeping it. The walls were completely vomit-free, the tables were squeaky-clean and the curtains looked as thought no-one had tried ripping them down at all. Even the glasses looked like new, as if someone had magically glued them together without so much as a hairline crack to show the joins.
Dirk immediately got up and began to check the house.
Kitchen as it should be, with mopped floor and perfectly whole cutlery. Halls devoid of laser burns and Minotaur head holes. Dance floor completely intact and dry as a bone. The shark tank was unharmed, with it's new occupant trying to master the art of swimming through a glass wall. Bedrooms tidy and neat, with no torn pillows, broken springs or soiled sheets. And looking outside revealed no trace of Yig or his maniacal attempt to defy gravity. Even the Christmas decorations, from tinsel to tree to wreaths, were all in their proper position.
Looking down, Dirk made another discovery. Yes, it was true that his clothes were still whole, but now they were also completely free of beer and sick and without a burn or rip on them. A quick sniff of his chiton revealed the scent of fresh pine needles, an almost eerie echo of what had happened when he had awoken in Merry's hut in his... dream? The angel wasn't so sure about that now - he remembered that smell quite vividly, along with almost everything else. The meal at Merry's, the fight with Fyrros, the feeling of all that Christmas joy welling up inside him, the ringing of Maisy's voice in his ears...
What had happened? And who had fixed the house?
Dirk was still pondering this question when, upon re-entering the living room, he noticed the envelope on the coffee table. It wasn't that difficult to miss, considering he'd had a headache and all, but the Dark Angel did wonder how he'd managed to do such a thing, seeing as how the coffee table was the first thing he saw when he woke up. Curiously reaching down, he picked it up in one hand, noting the unusual wax seal on it - some sort of deer, he reckoned - and ripped it open with the other. A flash of red caught his eye, and his quickly took hold of the contents and yanked it out, revealing a folded piece of paper with red borders.
Unfolding it revealed it to be a letter, penned in old-fashioned quill ink. And this is what it read:
"Dirk Angelos,
My heartiest of thanks go out to you, my dear boy! When I recovered you from your house and took you back to my home planet of Lapulas, I will admit that I had my doubts. But you have shown me that even the most unlikeliest of people can become heroes, and no matter how gloomy things get there is always a glimmer of hope. My planet needed an angel to fight off the Annunaki, and you proved yourself to be a whole lot more than that. For saving my people from Fyrros, and by extension Earth and Christmas from Nibiru, I cannot thank you enough. Well done, indeed!
You know, the sad part is, I always did try to visit Nibiru after the Annunaki were exiled. However, the planet's residents - the Vulturites - weren't very accommodating. Kept trying to eat my reindeer and the presents! In the end, I just stopped trying - I couldn't risk myself getting devoured and disappoint all the children, you know. While I understand where Fyrros may have been coming from, that doesn't in the least bit excuse all the terrible things his kind has done over the years. In fact, I think a certain planet's headed for the Naughty List!
I'm afraid to say you passed out right before you could get anywhere with Maisy. Poor girl was frightfully upset about the whole thing, of course, but I promised her that if she was especially good, she could come and visit you, if she felt like it. I smartened you up with my healing magic, fixed your clothes and took you back the same way I fetched you - very quickly indeed, whilst there was time to spare. I also brought along some of my best elves along to fix up your house while you were asleep - wouldn't do to have your brother come back to a pigsty! You can thank Merry as chief craftsmen for the outstanding work.
Your new arm was designed by myself and built by Sparky, the village scientist and mechanic. It's forged from pure Klausium coated in synthetic skin - 100% guaranteed waterproof and resistant to extremes of heat and cold. It's built directly into your muscular and nervous system, so it feels and reacts like a real arm, and also contains a built-in thaumic converter to allow you to keep using your magic with it. It also has a custom-built plasma cannon in the forearm - it should activate on a mental signal of "Power on", although you can program it to respond to voice commands as well. Always pays to be prepared when you're a Kobber!
Well, I must dash - Rudolph is getting impatient, and I must start my deliveries. Perhaps I shall see Nibiru pass by Earth while I'm about it - no ill effects, of course. See you on Christmas Eve, all being well! And remember to lay off the Rophynol, or you might not get that mountain bike you've been wanting this year!
A Merry Christmas from all on Lapulas,
- Christopher "Santa Claus" Kringle."
Dirk stared.
Then he lifted his arm and looked carefully at it. It still looked like his arm, and he could still feel it as he flexed the fingers, but...
Power on.
With a whirr, the skin split open, and a shining tube emerged from the slot left in the forearm. It looked like something that should belong in a modern-art museum - the sort of thing Wheatley would be proud of - but at the same time, it's design carried an air of menace about it. There was no doubt that white-hot death came from one end of it, and whatever was on the receiving end probably wouldn't be getting up again any time soon. It glowed like a miniature furnace from within.
A smile crossed Dirk's face, even as the corner of his ears picked up the sound of Ferrari California tyres on the gravel driveway.
"Fucking ace."
~THE END~
"Oi, SK! How about we give the readers some awesome Christmas music to read the credits by?"
I'm way ahead of you, Dirk.
~ YOU HAVE BEEN READING DIRKMAS~
A Zoofights Roleplay Side-Story
Inspired by Team Four Star's "Christmas Tree of Might" and "Episode of Bardock Abridged"
Written by Steel Komodo
~WITH THE VOICE TALENTS OF~
ANTONIO DEL RIO as Dirk Angelos
ELIJAH WOOD as Merry Elf
BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH as Lord Fyrros
JOHN C. REILY as Punchy Elf
FRANK WELKER as The Predators and The Minotaur
KAT STEEL as Maisy Elf
YIG, FATHER OF SERPENTS as Himself
and introducing KYLE HEBERT as Santa Claus
~FEATURING THE FOLLOWING MUSIC~
"Shots" by LMFAO and Li'l John
"Firebender" by Immediate Music
"Divine Hatred" from Devil May Cry 3 by Capcom
"Welcome Christmas" from How the Grinch Stole Christmas!
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