Thin strands of cloud lazily drifts above the skies of Magicia, the center of magical innovation in the Western continent. Its Capital is a behemoth of a metropolis, with a ring of skyscrapers piercing through the clouds and a shining palace elevated by a glass disc in the middle of these skyscrapers. Surrounding this shining capital laid many small towns, each constructed by modern, glass buildings and clean, grid-like dirt roads.
The clouds above one of these towns, called Plushville, began to stir, slowly gathering together to form a loose spiral. The citizens of this small town didn't notice anything unusual, continuing on with their normal daily lives. Like Bob; he is happily humming a small tune as he strolled down Main St, a full grocery bag swinging in his arms. Bob is a lean, middle-aged man with pale, gold eyes, bleached hair who radiates the majesty and danger of a lion. As he was strolling down the street, a slightly younger man, who gave off the impression of a famished scholar, bumped into him.
"Hmm?" Bob stops and then glares at the offender before growling, "Who's dis?"
Startled, the scholarly man hops backwards and shrinks towards the nearest wall before trying to hide himself behind his shaking arms. The man then stutters, "Ohh-h. Do-on't hur-rt m-me. I-I've got no mo-oney!"
Bob amusedly replies, "George, yu still a coward. Toughen up a lil' bit!"
George timidly peeks up and, seeing that it was Bob, takes deep breaths to calm his nerves. He then indignantly accuses Bob, "Fuck Bob! Do you have to ROAR at me when it was clearly YOU who bumped into ME?"
"So," Bob ignores George's outburst, "how's yer doin?"
George just sighs and bitterly responds, “I was doing just fine. Until fucking someone bumped into me."
"Hrmm? Wha' was dat?"
"Oh, nothing. It was nothing at all Bob." George innocently whistles as he puts on his friendliest smile, but his eyes refuse to stop twitching in annoyance. "So how are you?”
“Oh, I'm jus' fine," George laughs, again perfectly ignoring George's irritation. "Da weather is a beauty today, eh?"
"Ehh... I guess so. The breeze sure does feel nice." George admits. "Still, it could be better if I did not have to deal with this retard."
"Hmm? George? Yu gots to stop mumbling like dat. Yu're like a lil critter, always makin' dem small sounds. Das no way fer a man to behave! A true man gots to be strong an' loud! An' able to fight dem critters barehanded! Lookie here! I gots some critters howlin’ and roarin’ at mah home. But Ah've been fightin' dem! Ev'n gots one o' dose magikal guns ta fight dem with! Yu should come an' fight dem critters with me! Den yu can be a true man!"
"Eh... I think I have to pass." George glances around, trying to avoid eye contact with Bob. The last time he fought alongside Bob, he spent more time trying to avoid friendly fire than actually fighting. Bob had the unfortunate tendency of losing himself in the thrill of fighting, and thus fails to identify who is his ally. Because of this, no sane person wants to fight alongside the berserker. "The guards can take care of some monsters anyway. No need for us to get involved."
"But where's da FUN in dat?! Yu gots to have FUN! Enjoy life a lil'!" Bob then intensely stares at George before slowly nodding. Getting a bad feeling, George gulps before slowly stepping backwards.
“An' yu know how's to enjoy life? Get yerself a wife! Yu been alone fer WAY too long. Yu needs a wife dat can cook fer yu, clean fer yu, help yer bookstore..."
“…” George slightly speeds up his retreat.
“Yu kno, a man needs a wife. She be helpin’ yu out with err’thing! And she be pretty too! Da fine skin, da smile…”
George's escape begins to become very noticeable, but Bob remains ignorant and continues his drivel: “And dem curves! A wife gotta be curvy! And pretty! Like mine! George, yer gotta com visit one o’ dese days. My wife been missin’ yu and we gotta catch up! She gonna fix a fine apple pie fer yu tomorro’. Dem pies! So good! So good..."
“Ok, OK!" George interrupts. "Look, Bob, I got to go. I'd love to stay here and chat, but there is… err… a package! Yes! There’s an order… err.. package I got to sell! I mean, pick up! Yes! There’s a package from the capital I got to pick up! Right now! So goodbye Bob! Tell your wife Martha that I would love to visit, but I can’t due to all of these packages I got to pick up! Goodbye Bob!”
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The wind drowns out George's farewell as he runs further and further away. Bob sighs as he watches George sprinting away. “Dat George dunno wat’s good fer ‘em. He can do fer a fine wife…” Bob sighs again as he returns to his farm with groceries in hand.
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“Oh de great an’ mighty gahds above, I real hope dat de critters won’ eat mah crops.”
Bob prays. "Plis watch o'er da crops an' mah wife an' mah daughter. May da solders be strong an' kill all da critters fast an' may dey not be hurt an' may George find a gud wife an' may mah crops be safe."
As soon as he finished his prayer, thunder boomed out.
“… OHMAHGAHDS! DA GODS HAVE ANSWERED!! GEORGE GONNA BE SINGLE FOREVA!!! WAIT, NO! DA CRITTERS GONN’ RUIN MAH FARM! DA CRITTERS GONN' KILL US ALL! MARTHA! CALL DA BOYS! WE GOTS TA SAVE DA FARM! WE GOTS TO HELP GEORGE GET A WIFE!!”
Hearing Bob's deafening plea for help, Martha runs out of the house to see what's going on. She sees Bob running around the farm, scouring each plot of land for monsters. Martha wryly smiles and shakes her head in resignation before walking back into the house. She returns shortly with a frying pan and walks over to Bob with the sweetest smile. Not dropping the smile, she smacks Bob with the frying pan. Alas, Bob did not even notice, and was still rushing around the farm while issuing orders to people who were not there. His voice constantly rose in volume to the point he was actually managing to drown out the thunder.
Unable to bear the deafening screaming, Martha grits her teeth and plants her feet. She raises the pan with both hands before putting her whole weight into the next swing, nailing Bob squarely in the back of his head. She follows up with dropping the frying pan and pinching Bob's ear hard and twisting it away from his body as if to rip off his ear. Bob yelps in pain before finally noticing Martha. She pulls even harder as she glares at him before pointing to a metal apparatus at the roof of their home.
Bob, realizing that he forgot about the security measures he installed just yesterday, stupidly grins at Martha before apologizing, “Sorry wife! Ah forgot I got one o’ dem magik gun turrets! Plis forgive mah?”
She continues to glare at Bob as the winds pick up, and then twists his ear even further. Hearing him scream out in pain, she nods, satisfied. She then releases his ear and points at the second floor balcony in concern, where a baby was asleep in a purple crib. Bob just stands there shocked, before guiltily groaning. But there wasn't any time for him to wallow in guilt and self-pity, the winds really started to pick up. Small pebbles began flying around and dust was starting to get into Bob's and Martha's eyes; worst of all, the wind began to rock the baby's crib. The crib was rocking harder as the winds grew stronger, and the baby woke up crying.
Martha’s face drained of all its color at the sound of the wailing. Panicking, she ran inside the house to try to protect her baby, but Bob beat her to it: he sprinted straight towards the balcony before soaring 17 feet into the air to land right next to the crib. Bob picked up his daughter before comforting her, “Dun cry my sweet lil’ pumkin. Papa’s gotchu now. Yer safe right here.”
The winds were now howling and the thunder booming as if to prove Bob wrong, and the ominous clouds flashed red before beginning to swirl around. The baby, still crying, reached her hands towards Bob's face. "Sweetie, it's OK. Papa's gotchu, my pumkin." He began to gently cradle her, while tickling her at the same time. “Lookie here my lil pumkin! Papa’s not goin’ away. Papa’s right her’. Papa gonn’ keep yu safe right here.”
Red light flashed in the clouds, drowning the farm in a violent red glow. Worried that the baby would break out into another crying fit, Bob hurriedly walked indoors where he crashed into Martha. Stumbling a bit, he checked to make sure his baby was safe and then checked his wife for any wounds. What he saw instead was an incredulous expression on Martha’s face. Confused, Bob looked around before checking outside. Then, his jaws dropped down.
Red lightning was striking everywhere and the winds became darker and darker, as if they were black scythes trying to cut apart the whole world. Yet, bizarrely, nothing was breaking; the red lightning harmlessly bounced instead of striking, and the black winds just phased through everything it came across. Amidst the discolored storm, a pale yellow ray of light shone through the chaos and right onto Bob’s balcony. Under the glow of the light, the red lightning fizzled out and the black winds shrank until they vanished, which created a very surreal eye of the storm right on Bob's balcony.
Bob, frozen in shock, continued to stare at this freakish phenomenon. Wondering if Martha hit him too hard, he gently handed the baby to his wife before walking out onto the balcony. As soon as he crossed the doorway, he got nailed by the red lightning on his right elbow. Shrieking in pain, Bob collapsed backwards into the safety of his house and whimpered to his wife so that she would heal him. Martha, still trying to comprehend what was happening, failed to hear him.
Suddenly, a bright, golden light flashed from the ray of light, grabbing both Martha's and Bob's attention. They both gazed upwards, towards the now red clouds and were both frightened. A baby, wrapped in pure white light, was gently floating down from the furiously swirling clouds, through the raging black winds and violent red lightning, onto the balcony. As soon as the baby hit the floor, everything stopped: the red lightning and black winds vanished, as if they never existed, and the swirling clouds quickly dissipated, revealing the original blue sky, peppered with thin strands of white clouds.
Bob, wondering if this was all just a dream, looked at the sleeping baby on the balcony, then at his equally confused wife, the crying baby in her arms, and then back to the sky only to see that everything seemed normal. Everything except the sleeping baby, wrapped in a snow white piece of cloth, that was now lying on his balcony and the wound on his elbow, only to find that it was glowing red and no longer hurting. Looking back towards the sky, Bob prayed:
“Oh de great, mighty, pow’rf’l an great gahds, plis have mercy on dis ole soul.”