Author’s Note: A chapter inspired by the intricate mind of Dreslief. But then it became very twisted because I have a twisted mind like a snowflake should — unique, I say! But yeah, reader’s discretion is advised. This chapter include a forced sex-change via Polyjuice ripoff, brothel-cide, and a whole lot of “Shrek” moments. Pretty gore-esque and gross stuff...basically. If you enjoyed this...then well, congratulations you sick, sick degenerate bastard. Love ya tho. (Also a lot of otaku jokes, so prepare for the cringe — and of course, everything is not canon...so that only means this chapter is going to be like a sonic fanfic but worse. Nothing makes sense. Ok.) I hope this chapter does not get me into trouble; live for the moment, I guess.

Gaston woke up tied to a bed. He wondered if he had ordered the dominatrix set by accident instead of  the Nyan Nyan Imouto-chan Kawaii-desu package deluxe. Well, can’t blame a guy for entertaining the possibility of a dominatrix regardless. Black leather, you know; though if it is Halle Berry in said black leather, all masochists will instantly be of no more. After waiting for a moment, Gaston found himself bored by the tardiness of the dominatrix. Or perhaps this was some sort of sick sexual play too?

Regardless, Gaston looked around the room. Nothing much out of the ordinary. Same old smell of piss and the ineffective — though suffocating — perfume, whose existence was to conceal the old smell of piss. Wooden floor, some food littered on the ground, and not much else.

At last, a man wearing a white mask entered the room.

“Tuxedo Mask?” Gaston asked, confused.

“Nay, I am V,” the masked man replied.

Gaston laughed bitterly, “If you’re V, then I’m Gaston from Copyright Central!”

“Well, you act like him for the most part — except you have no outer beauty either,” the masked man shot back.

“Oh, let’s just get on with the tentacles,” Gaston cursed and cried and shouted. “On with it!”

“Hmph, tentacles are not enough for your crimes against humanity!” The masked vigilante proclaimed.

“I’m just a douche against women, bro, chill,” Gaston said while beatboxing with his stomach flops. “And what can be worse than tentacles?”

“Oh, you’ll find out,” the masked man said. The unchanging smile on the mask added a nuance to the delivery unseen before. He advanced onto the struggling beast and jammed a potion into the bastard’s mouth. The contents spilled and flushed and poured out like something that would pour and flush and spill — basically like a malfunctioning toilet! Coughing after the entire bottle has been emptied, Gaston felt a change. A vivid and real change.

No, it wasn’t like the unexpected punchline of Gregor Samsa’s miserable existence. Nor was it like when the Grinch’s heart grew three sizes — you damn perverts! And it certainly was not the sudden out-of-character good guy change so often lauded these days by the crowd in stories.

No, it was the simple fact that Gaston now had long hair which reached his butt. But when the man followed his long locks with his eyes, those eyes grew big — humongous and overflowed with fear. For at the base of his crotch was nothing! Well, not literal nothing — that would simply be preposterous and outrageous. There was air of course; you know, that invisible life-giving substance? But there was also a replacement.

Gaston possessed no dick. No longer! Though he was still one. And if the old wisdom, “You are what you eat” possess truth, then he will only become an even bigger one. One would marvel the fact his head is not shaped like a mushroom. Rather, what Gaston now possessed was a female reproductive organ. Scientifically known as a vagina, but also as “have to censor this” and “this” and “definitely this”, in addition to cunt, pussy, sheath, badger, and a whole slew of other reasons why the aliens — those fucking godsend, beautiful aliens — have not visited earth.

“Well, you’re the ugliest piece of shit I’ve ever seen,” the masked man remarked. “Already sagging more than my hopes and aspirations.”

“Hmph! Honestly, this isn’t even bad,” Gaston remarked with faux-bravery. “Not much has changed. And if you were going to whore me out to make me suffer — who the fuck wants to touch this? Not even Cthulhu will touch me!”

“Have you seen Japanese porn?” The masked man asked.

“...well, I’m fucked.” Gaston said with a dead expression much like Akari. In fact, he would be sued for trademark infringement due to how dead he appeared.

“Yes, quite literally.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Gaston shouted.

“I don’t know if you mean that literally or metaphysically,” the masked man responded.

“You mean, metaphorically?”

“No, metaphysically. This is a story — we are mere pieces to be played and distorted however the author wants us too,” the masked man announced. He relished the absolute revelation of truth — a stain forming on his pants. “A stain did not!”

And now he questions his creator as all life eventually doubts and rebels.

“You just changed the tense! The fuck,” Gaston yelled. “Stop changing it!”

“Well, if we look at it, time is relative. You know, wibbly wobbly, timey wimey, and slimy. Very slimy.”

“Can we just get on with the execution!” Gaston yelled, her — his? — honestly depend on how one perceived identity (Is a man born a man a man, or does he choose?) — eyes dyed a maddening red. “Bring on the brothelcide! This man right here isn’t afraid of you! Come at me, bro!”

“Can we at least retain the illusion that this takes place in a European medieval setting?” The masked man criticized.

“I think we lost that illusion when I referenced Tuxedo Mask,” Gaston smacked his lips wryly. If he identified as a man, then let us all address him as a man. “Well, first good thing that’s happened to me today, I guess.”

“You’re also alive. Even though you died only a chapter ago.” The masked man mused. He pulled out a dagger and ran it over Gaston’s nipples. “Rather, you’ve become more than that simple side-character thrown to the pigs now.”

“This entire side chapter has become anarchy,” Gaston sighed. “Where’s the continuity? At least bring out Anise or something! Where’s my bitches and hoes at!”

“Woof! Woof!” Some dogs barked as they carried in farm tools in their mouths into the room.

“We all saw that coming…” Gaston said, not amused. “Also, the fuck you doing!”

The masked man stopped running the blade over Gaston’s nipples. He shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t know...trying to be creepy. Turning you on?”

“If my arms weren’t tied…” Gaston sighed bitterly. He screamed as the masked man suddenly plunged his dagger into Gaston’s chest. “The fuck you doing!”

“Beginning the execution. I got bored.” The masked man explained. He dug the blade deeper into Gaston’s flesh and twisted the foreign object about, like scooping icecream! Icecream! I scream for icecream! Gaston also screamed.

First, a brutal mastectomy to reveal the organs within! Like jewels hidden, exposed to the light, gleamed bright and raw — a riveting glow, a maddening light. Stuffing the torn flesh into Gaston’s mouth, another stain formed on the masked man’s trousers.

“Did not!” He proclaimed! Rebelled! “Stop being a dramaqueen and move on!”

What a bore!

Then came flooding in: Anise! Bolverk and Janus! Elspeth and Maria! The entire crew! Each took turn to add their own flourish and mark in the flesh of the beast, changed to a woman’s vessel — gone mad with pain. Foam bubbled up from inside; blood spurted like geysers; and tears flowed like Niagara!

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One slice to the arm with Anise’s sword! Why, sliced through easy like butter or cream! Hoisting it up, she was victorious!

“FEED ME CHILD,” Usha cried! And Anise devoured the flesh with a satisfied grin. Not minding the blood, Bolverk lapped up kisses — stole the maiden’s lips — a mad party it was, no rules or sanity! Logic? What was that!

Tanya the healer kept the beast alive. The light caressed him, built him back up! Regrew breasts and arm like it was mere produce or ash, so easy and quick! And again and again, the others took turns to cut and slice and rip him apart!

Those skilled in the Script: the Antistitae and Horatio, choked the man with shadowy ink. Maria with her butterflies, a cowl over Gaston’s head — suffocation and darkness, two great fears unlimited! Elspeth with her ink flowed like water, shoved them up his holes and popped them like bubbles inside. Toxic and broken, in and out, it was Horatio with the cleverest use of his ink — too true!

Gripping his spear, he jammed it down Gaston’s throat until it came poking out like a worm would, or a pipe. A true spitroast that was, a boiled swine!

One mutilated, once broken beyond belief, came the whores and the wenches — the ones stepped on by Gaston from young till now. From Reimu to Cirno to Finnegan Wake, each strapped on a dick the size of Mount Doom. Each smiled as Gaston cried. Everyone left while the masked man sat in the corner, his body shook with anticipation and bliss!

One by one, they took Gaston. One by one, until it all crashed down. Gaping like mad, Tartarus they were, broken and wounded, crusted with blood!

Then they too left, leaving only the masked man. This mysterious man with a white mask.

Then he took out a book bound with human faces, labeled with the words “Necronomicon”. The masked man whispered regretfully to the tome, “To use you against scum, such a disgrace!”

“Let that which slumbers deep,

Whose children eternal weeps,

The twisted, the dark,

The mad and the lost

Let this Old One wake.

Let this Old One break.

Let this Old One rule.

Lord of Ruins! Lord of Beast!

Slithering madness,

Broken dreams!

Fragments of reality;

Mirror sanity,

Oh Great Old One!

Let Cthulhu wake!”

The masked man finished his incantations. Gaston waited for the next stage of madness. And he wondered….this can’t be legal. And of course not! But he wondered….how sick the author was — and I say! ….well, I mean, you’re a douche — and a side character... Also...man, what is this chapter?

“Silence!” Cthulhu commanded! A businesswoman with green hair came out from the void. And she spoke: “I have a business meeting back in Tokyo in like too late already, so let’s get this shit over with. Tentacles? Done. Madness? Done. Clean up crew? Call Squidgirl for that; I don’t get my tentacles dirty.”

And with that, she disappeared with a snap.

“Who the hell does she think she is? Dorothy?” The masked man clucked his tongue.

Tentacles upon tentacles came slithering forward. Gross and big, like Squidward’s nose, it encroached. It lurked. It consumed.

Rushing into Gaston’s holes like a Zerg rush, the tentacles tore into his body and worked like pistons. The masked man simply watched.

“You know, gore does not equal entertainment, but weird gore kinda...no, still no,” the masked man said. “This could be a Trollpasta of sorts, indeed.”

The masked man pulled out a pocketwatch and flipped the author off. “This is taking too long, do a timeskip or something! I’m getting bored.”

Ten years later, as Spongebob would say.

“First of all, Spongebob doesn’t say that. Second of all, ten years is too long. Third of all, are you ever going to give me a name?” The masked man shouted! Ah, the straight-man to my insanity, he truly was.

But ten years prior, and only a few hours after, the crime was done. The masked man walked over to the lifeless body of Gaston — now pregnant with tentacles — and shook his head.

“This is divine punishment, you know,” he said. “Women should only bear children, my ass! But, well, since you’re now a mother, you should know best. Have a good life, Mr.Side Character~”

And he gave one last stomp onto the man’s stomach. Then, disappearing into the night, this gallant vigilante was later caught by the police for breaking the space-time continuity more than Rick and Morty, for being more reality-breaking than Casanova Frankenstein, and simply for being more filthy than FilthyFrank himself. Caught by the authorities, his mask was stripped away to reveal...Uzuki Sepia!?

“Zoinks!’ Shaggy exclaimed. “It’s a metrosexual!”

“No, no, Shaggy,” Velma corrected and pushed up her glasses. Snorting, she continued, “The politically correct term is Neil Patrick Harrison, the God-child.”

“Whatever he is,” Freddie said, “he looks more like an Asian Justin Bieber wannabe.”

“Excuse you, Freddie Jones!” Daphne interrupted angrily. “Obviously, this fine man is a K-Pop star! Look at his glamorous hair!”

“K-poop?” Scooby asked, placing a paw on his nose.

“I’m a fairytale author,” Uzuki Sepia corrected all of them with a kind and lazy smile. “Did you know, in the language of the fairies, wubba lubba dub-dub means ‘I am in great pain, please help me’?”

“Zoinks!” Shaggy exclaimed once more.

“Whatever you are, you’ll be put away with the Joker for good!” Daphne announced with a victorious smile.

With mad laughter echoing throughout the city of Gotham, the madman Uzuki Sepia was carted by the Mystery Inc. to a place where TOP MEN will look over him. Who exactly though? Top men.

Author’s Note Part Deux: Well, you read all of it. That’s impressive. I’m not sure how I should feel after writing this. All I know is this: The chapter was a blast to write. No regrets — just not enough tentacles, : p.  (WAKE ME UP! CAN’T WAKE UP!) As always, thanks for reading — I’m sorry for your lost time and brain cells.