Caution: Swearing ahead

This little fucker. It’s been two fucking months, and this shitstain has the audacity to keep heading in that same direction. If the Author wasn’t so pissed off, he’d be impressed. The amount of sheer fucking will needed to keep heading towards your goal, no matter the setbacks? No matter the obstacles? Balls of platypantium.

Platypantium is an unholy abomination of metals and minerals that is unnecessarily dense and tough. Only fools and Ultimate Masters are able to use it. It’s also named after its creator, Philomenus Laticia Pantificus. (P-Lati-Pant-ium)

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The Author sighs in exasperation. This isn’t supposed to be hard. Just observe what your creations do, and write it down. Occasionally add some drama for fun, but mostly leave everyone to their own devices.

Everyone except for this fucking monster. Standing waist-deep in a pile of actual monster corpses, is the desert wanderer. Clothes stained in green and orange, the Wanderer stands exhausted. A small spider the size of a poodle jumps at him, and a second later, falls onto the pile in two halves.

Later that night, sitting by a bonfire, the Wanderer feasts upon the cooked cadavers of giant spiders, snakes, scorpions, and a single desert wolf. The scent attracts the attention of several jakals, all of whom are easily and quickly dispatched in a flash of steel light. The wanderer adds the bodies to the fire, and continues his meal.

The Author is disgusted by what’s happening, yet still he watches, and still he writes.