Mateo and the Empanaperor battled fierce beasts back to back as the pistodrizas nursed their gunlings back to operational state. The arm of guns pointed at me, and I raised Mariana with a single hand, for those extra cool points. This was a showoff against god, and I needed a cool one liner before attacking. If my plan didn’t work, Mateo was close enough to jump to my aid, anyway.

“God better bless America now, because he is about to lose the chance to ever do so.”

By pressing Mar’s heel slightly, I signaled her to shoot. A little bullet of pure light, no bigger than a firefly, hurriedly traversed the distance between me and the arm.

It was the most underwhelming moment I have ever lived, with the light getting lost inside one of the biggest cannons of the arm and doing nothing.

“I burned my cool phrase for nothing,” I lamented, lowering my gun. America had taken it all from me. The clotheslines, the inflation, the motochorros, my cool phrase… My life on Earth too, technically, as Mariana was born, as she puts it, in a living room. But that last item was trivial and, probably, a result of mere bad luck. Any Golden Retriever worldwide could have done that.

But I digress.

The barrels of the multiple guns started turning, accelerating, their aim correcting the last centimeters— erh, inches, these were purebred American guns— to assure they would blow my ugly face off my neck.

Something clicked. The guns aborted their magazines, the rifles and tanks pathetically vomited by the end of their cannons, rivers of bullets of all sizes and shapes flowing to the ground under the arm. Not a single gram of gunpowder ignited, not a single round becoming my lead-rich makeup.

The arm began melting, the cannons, tanks and jets going limp. The demiurge would need to use his big-pharma arm, that he didn’t have, to heal such a military dysfunction.

Mateo bore witness absolutely amazed, impervious to the rabid raccoon gnawing on his shoulder.

“Walter, what have you done?”

I smirked and raised my eyebrows, “A MIC drop.”

Mateo gazed at the heavenly vault high above, untarnished by the smoke, and murmured a prayer.

The Empanaperor kept delivering swift death to all kinds of amniotes and invertebrates. I decided to end their struggle buy shooting another temporal amnesia at the animal arm.

And just like the guns one, it collapsed—In a far more disgusting fashion, given that melting eagles and porcupines are not what I’d call a pleasant or funny sight.

“How do you feel with this development of the battle, Walter? Will you lord it over me?” Mateo asked, and his tired stare demanded an answer.

“Not today. I want this day to end. I am tired, my arms are sore, Mariana needs to eat proper food.”

Mariana emitted ostensibly happy noises that cannot be described without evoking agonizing pigs.

“There is something very wrong with Mariana,” he said.

“And just now you notice?”

“Oh, no, no, no. I notice everything,” A voice assaulted us. We looked around frantically, searching for the source.

“It’s the demiurge,” pointed out Mariana.

The son of a bitch was asking for a further beating with that smug smirk on his Tv-face.

God laughed as he was held at pup-point. Mariana trembled and panted with excitement, knowing that after the battle would come the snacks.

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For all the news in our enemy’s face, there was no report of him securing a victory.

“The empire will not fall. The empire has no end; it has no expiry date. America is that which cannot be undone, which cannot be toppled. I am America.” From behind the head, that descended from the clouds and towards us, sprouted more arms. One of them held a mallet stylized like those of cartoons, the other an ivory drill branded “White or Huller”.

I grunted in disgust. “Black and Decker does not deserve this derision. They make excellent tools. Argie Demiurge, solve this!”

Universe’s manager heeded me, and the drill’s brand blinked out of existence just for long enough to be edited. The text then reappeared, but this time saying “Negro y Fabricante de Mazos de Cartas”.

“That’s… definitively not the translation of decker,” complained the Empanaperor.

“He tried his best, he’s overworked and underpaid,” Mateo scolded him.

“I am not paid and I don’t fuck up like that.”

“You are made of food, dude, people pay for you, not to you.”

They kept on bickering for a while, and the shadow of a demiurge stared disgusted at the drill.

“They made my weapon racist! This is an affront against the American people.”

“It’s just Spanish,” I, naïve motherfucker, tried to explain the situation to him.

“Spanish is an affront to the American people, then.”

Welcome to my life, Ladies and Gentlemen, the JRPG where the final boss is Twitter.

I shot both arms with my mind-erasing Golden Retriever, and she was pretty happy about her arsenal capabilities. The head ended up as alone as you are in this life. No children, no wife, maybe even no cats to speak of. Look at you, reconsider the life choices that led you to become invested in my story, whose main problem was that it should have been written on drugs, but it wasn’t. Why are you even spending money on this and not on my plant erotica? It’s scientifically accurate, the only product of its kind on the market produced by a botanist. I need to eat, reader! Buy my plant erotica!

I shouldn’t have left academia.

Forget it, back into the delirium.

The demiurge inched towards me, and I centimetered towards him.

“What else do you want to take from me? You took the silicon, you took the food, you took the animals, you took the cartoons and the tools. You even broke the second amendment, tyrant. What else, do you, want to take, from, U.S?” barked the Demiurge, his face close enough to cover the three of us (Mariana, the little priest and I) with rainbow-static spittle.

“I am Latino. I pirate your movies, books and games; I enthrall your women; I steal your jobs; and I Jajaja about it all. What else I am going to take from you?” I readied Mariana and aimed at his right eyeball, “even the eyesight, baby.”

“That’s… that’s an ominous quote translation. I cannot allow this joke to remain legal. I’m… I am passing a law against this, wait a minute,” Mateo rambled before going back inside the castle with hurried and determined step.

Tugging Mar’s heel, I made her cast Temporal Amnesia once more.

The fear in the visage of the demiurge was a palpable entity.

My little ball of light penetrated the god’s pupil and he, in turn, let out a whistle that could be interpreted as his fat-clad soul leaving his body to go buy some cigars.

His HP bar disappeared faster than presidents running away from accountability.

Cries, screams, cracks, broken screens and explosions, that’s how a god dies.

“It has ended, this culinary evil has been vanquished,” said the Empanaperor, resting his hands on the handle of his sword.

In my hands, the beast made weapon quivered. Throbbed uncontrollably. She drooled, sent unintelligible messages right into the language centers of my brain. They would have driven sages, conquerors and kings to the deepest pits of madness. Not me. I am his owner, by then I was already used to her bullshit.

“Excuse me, Empanaperor?” I drew his attention to the almost erupting Golden Retriever contained solely by my arms.

“Yes, honorable Walter, is there some matter of urgent concern?”

“Run,” I uttered with trembling lips.

“Come here little emperor, come to mommy Mariana!” she said, clawing my chest and belly to try and break free. She shook her head like she was out of it. “Just a bite, Brrl just a bite.”

“Control yourself, Mariana, brave girl. This is not like you.”

Striving to keep her held between my body and the floor, I clarified, “No, remaining cooperative in the presence of empanadas wasn’t like her. This, on the other hand, is as Mariana as it gets.”

“Come, hero of the empanapeople, vanquish the devils in my belly!”

With a well-placed head-butt, Mariana forced me to capitulate. The devil unleashed, the Empanaperor fighting for his life against a relentless predator.

“Avaunt, Mariana, you need to control the beast insid—“ he got interrupted by the wet sound of Mariana’s sharp canines sinking onto his filling.

“Mariana, there are no vets here, don’t eat the onions pieces,” I pleaded, shaking the dust off my pants’ knees.

“Who will stop me? You and what leash?”

“The leash of mass hemolysis due to the onion’s chemical makeup.”

Mariana shut up and looked at me, ignoring the greaseletting, mortally munched emperor for only a second before going back to the feast/slaughter.

“Well, I am going to my room, today’s dance practice is cancelled. Don’t kill yourself, Mariana.”

“Okeydokey,” were the last words of my pet I perceived before bee-lining to my bed and falling into a deep slumber.