“What do you mean?” I asked Mateo.
“It used to have US national debt per the current amount of The Fast and the Furious films in existence as HP,” he hurriedly answered.
I decided not to inquire about how he reached that conclusion after seeing a number in the hundreds of trillions. Friends don’t question friends about such matters.
We could have given up and run. Yet, I wanted to see Mateo fight. He had battled this thing before, maybe alone, maybe in a party. This had to be nowhere near a lost battle. There had to be a gimmick.
The rain stopped and the propaganda rainbows appeared as Mateo had told. I sidestepped a falling donkey, who became a spread of gore and entrails on impact.
“This is the kind of politics I enjoy witnessing,” I said, removing an ass-spleen from my face.
Mariana gave a slow, broad lick to the donkey smoothie. She fell on her side, contorting like a fish out of water. You could see purple bubbles nested below her HP bar. Then Mariana barfed loudly, purging herself from debuffs.
“Yup, it’s extremely poisonous,” she concluded.
In the purest and rawest dog fashion, she licked the remains again, poisoning herself once more.
“I wonder if any hero of antiquity ever feared his sword would kill itself during battle.”
“Get ready, he is coming!” Announced Mateo, and I promptly reached for the foaming Mariana.
Our gaze met the demiurge’s as he descended from the sky. Mateo raised his guard.
“Walter, it would be a good time to tell me what is your unique skill, don’t you think?”
“Locked. It’s still locked.”
He lowered the dogs, looked at my feet, then looked at my face. “By God, you aren’t lying. How the hell did you survive until now?”
I didn’t speak, just smiled with my lips closed and pointed at Mariana.
Turning to find several cannons ready to ejaculate their lead on my soft and innocent flesh was the expected outcome of being a goof during battle. Mateo jumped in front of me and the arm of arms fired. A blinding avalanche of explosions occurred, the smell of gunpowder spreading along with hot, choking air.
The dual bullys became a blur as Mateo unleashed a flurry of parries—yes, I know how horrid it sounds. You are welcome, and brace yourselves—the blaring barrage of bullets bouncing on the boundaries of both blizzard-blessed blunting bullys with biolence unseen before, preserving my body as if he were a beloved belief-boosted bro-barricade.[1]
Man, the ecologists are going to be big mad after seeing what I have done to the b’s.
I sidestepped an elephant. Mateo’s back got painted red by the pachydermal entrails, but he never stopped deflecting bullets.
In an unforeseen development, I thought. I thought about bullets. Given that Mateo was covering me from the hailstorm of them, and his sides were equally lethal because of the deflected projectiles, there was no chance I would be able to approach the demiurge for an attack.
“Mariana, can you cast spells while being held as a weapon?” I shouted, so to be heard among the deafening sounds of American high school.
She didn’t answer, just trembled, absolutely frightened by the explosion sounds.
When the last bullet shoot and only the black smoke came out of the unending cannons, Mateo fell on his ass, breathing heavily.
“You better have a fucking good idea, because as soon as he shoots again, I think we die,” he lashed at me.
I held Mariana tightly against my chest to calm her down. When her trembling subdued a little bit, I placed one of my hands under her belly, and the other on her neck.
“Mar, you can cast spells while being held like this, right?”
“Yes,” she said with a shy telepathic voice.
A spell choice prompt invaded my mind.
“And I can even choose them.”
It seemed it was time to fight fire with fire. I caressed Mariana’s neck back and forth, ”Chck chck.”
I checked my equipment:
“Equipped weapon: Mariana Ursula Gallardo (Magic Gundog)”
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Few are the men that look at the blight upon society that is homelessness and, while aiming to the face of God with the explicit intent of making him mind his own goddamn business, decide the hobos can do an excellent job as dog ammunition. Yours truly is counted among those gifted men.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
In my arms, Mariana recoiled a bit, and in a burst of light, the buff hobo had been summoned, his arm extended like superman. He flew fast, describing a somewhat curved trajectory and striking on the animal arm of the demiurge, where he began wrestling with a deformed grizzly. That shed about a hundred thousand HP off the monster’s bar: a painfully small amount.
Mateo stared at me, and his face reflected his obvious worry for my mental health.
Rotating the spell-ammo wheel, I reloaded mar, this time with something a bit more traditional: a fire lance. Aiming again at our confused enemy, the lance struck true, breaking several plasma Tvs that quickly sunk into the demiurge’s face and were replaced with new ones. It, once again, did insignificant amounts of damage.
“Aim to the arms, we can at least reduce his firepower,” Mateo suggested, getting back on his feet.
“The damage we do is really small. We would need idle-game levels of multipliers.”
“I am sure your dog has some stronger attacks.”
“Yes, several apocalyptical ones. The problem being, shooting point-blank nukes is something my doctor discommends.”
Mateo grunted.
“… I am, also, severely allergic to explosions. They cause me some nasty skin conditions…”
Mariana grunted.
The demiurge grunted.
Our ho-bro remained loyal, maybe because he was busy hugging a nightmarish bear to death.
The arms of the god rotated across his head, such that the silicon amalgamation was now facing us, with roaring coolers and the familiar smell of isopropyl alcohol.
“Don’t talk too much when facing this one, it creates entities out of information it eavesdrops,” muttered Mateo.
“I liked a girl with a mole beneath her right eye back in high school. She had a good pair, you know, a serious set of bouncers, a veritable lard-dual-wielding license, a—”
Mateo sunk his face in his forearm.
“Are you an Escapist spy trying to get me killed?” he asked, so exhausted that he would have probably considered a “yes” a positive outcome.
“Sadly, no. I am just this much of a daredevil. And you know who else was a darede—”
“Shut your trap, you snake, you will get us murdered,” he said, gritting his teeth.
Mateo was experiencing how fighting alongside a being of Mariana’s IQ felt, and it was a scrumptious sight.
Not so scrumptious were the monsters that creeped down the arm and towards us. Titanic snakes with nipples for scales slithered around motherboards. Their eyes were silicone blobs, and the mouth had what could only be lactiferous ducts for teeth, with the lobes hanging at the ends of each.
“Oh, they are so… viperky,” I said, giggling like a moron between words.
Mateo dedicated me one of those glares you only see before your dad unbuckles his belt. He raised his guard and waited for the first one to lunge at him. What followed can be described as the biggest mastectomy in recorded history. Blood and milk splayed everywhere as the pit bulls slashed through fat and connective tissue, splitting snake in four like a banana peel.
I shot a fire lance in the mouth of the one that decided she liked losers, and, therefore, came for my ass.
It squirmed as its interiors were scorched by the bright projectile, melted by the fire. I had never imagined mammary glands were as flammable as the witches that flaunted them. Ah, nothing like the smell of blood, fast food, gunpowder and burnt human flesh in the evening.
Mateo got rid of three more viperkys before the remaining ones decided to crawl back up the demiurge’s arm.
Said arm was covered in grease, so shooting the newfoundland wouldn’t do any good. An intrusive thought reminded me I need to clean my pc’s cooler before Mariana’s army of fluff balls clogged it. I quickly browsed the spells under “dog exclusive”.
“Mateo, can you hold the line a few seconds? I got an idea to render the arm useless.”
Singles of Toto’s “Hold the line” armed with water pistols emerged from the crevices of the pc components.
Mateo reluctantly nodded.
I aimed Mar at one of the coolers, prayed for “Flooflazor” to be what the name implied, and pressed mars belly, giving her the signal to shoot. Her hackles got overexcited, and flew in droves, driven seemingly by a wind tunnel.
The beam of hair impacted directly on the closest gargantuan cooler, slowly covering his surface with hairs that found themselves at home among the grease, and they formed families of hair, and clusters, and, soon enough, after the artifact gathered several Marianas worth of greasy hair, it came to a halt.
Soon after, the components underneath caught fire, and the demiurge took a hundred billion HP hit.
Mateo was too busy being beaten by vinyl records with plastic guns to congratulate me. Friends nowadays are not what they used to be.
Jerking, the arm was jerking, possibly in pain.
I revealed the dentist nightmare behind my lips in a wide smile, and then aimed for a cooler further away. The sound of a falling elephant interrupted me, forcing me to step back to avoid an early grave.
In a split second decision, I covered my face with Mariana. She licked the fresh blood off of her fur and started having seizures again. Thanks, Mariana.
Given she couldn’t shoot until the effect from the poison ended, I used Mariana as a bludgeoning weapon to kill the Toto singles. Mateo managed to cut down a couple of them, too.
“Walter, why is everything delicious poisonous now?” asked Mariana telepathically.
I couldn’t answer her, for the demiurge would listen.
I positioned her to shoot again, aiming at a second cooler. Mateo tossed one of his dogs as if it were a knife, and impacted the furthest fan. This, in turn, caused a michaelbayesque situation to ensue. And thus half of the arm’s main cooling devices were out of order. The demiurge filched, and rotated his arms again, facing us with the fast food one.
“Now we can talk again.”
“What happened to the dog?” I asked, slight worry on my countenance.
“Died doing what he loved.”
The other pit looked downtrodden—He had fought along his mate, they hard deflected bullets and slain tit-snakes together. And now, just like that, he was gone. Forever gone, never to wrestle with him anymore. One could notice all of this because a single tear rolled down the cheek of the bloodstained pit. Beautiful scene.
Also, you will have to pardon me, because I failed to mention a tiny, insignificant detail: that the electronics arm was catching fire, releasing toxic smoke into the atmosphere and dealing a slight DoT to its owner.
Now let me tell you a bit more about the disgrace of the lone pit bull —my editor decided to eat this part out of the printed first draft, and vomit on the computer that held the only non-physical copy, fucking up the hard drive. Due to this, you are deprived of the heart-wrenching, seventy-thousand words story of the poor pittie that survived the battle against the silicon arm. Thanks, editor.
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[1] Mariana is crying now. This paragraph made her cry. I have achieved art.