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Reposted via request of the Hooded Hood Thursday, 05-Aug-1999 18:11:22
“Invasion of the Gods-Wave One: Everything Falls.” WEEK ONE “I am the Chronicler of Stories. It is not my way to reveal events before they occur, for that task is left to beings with more power than I. But what I can tell you is that before this tale is told, a Chronicler shall cease to exist, a Dark Knight shall fall, and that Dark Knights shall arise to battle the ultimate evil. But this is a tale that has been told.” A cloaked figure closes a book, its ‘arms’ chained to the book’s massive form, and the figure gestures towards an insignificant hole in the cosmos. This hole is the Library. More specifically, it’s the Library’s gateway. In the Library, there are beings of pure knowledge and beings that are the mistress of dream energies. There are ravens of uncertain origin, who serve these aforementioned superior beings, and formless, shapeless, soulless beings who serve as caterers and this realm’s defense/assassins. Unfortunately, after today, most of these will cease to exist. This realm’s current master deduced the integration of John “Lucifer” Byrne into the Parodyverse before the ‘verse’s own heroes had, so he sacrificed his life to thwart Byrne’s nefarious efforts. Byrne soon arose, and took over the mind of the equally-as-malevolent-but-far-more-moronic-Todd McFarlane, becoming John Byrnefarlane, but in his new guise as the Chronicler, the former Dark Knight sent Mr. Byrne to Hell. However, prior to becoming the Chronicler of Stories, the former superhero had a few adventures. (Most of which constituted defeating various dukes of Hell in interdimensional chess... “I believe, you terrible little gnat, that that’s checkmate.” “Damn you to HELL! You beat ME, Lucifer’s choice demon!” “*Sigh*...Well, this is a change of pace...I’ve defeated another of you sluggish, horn-headed fools. May I go and pummel Beezlebub about the head and shoulders now?” *Sound of demon sobbing* “Fine! Fine! Just stuh-stay away from muh-me! Waaaaaaaaaaah!” Beezlebub was rather displeased. So he sent in his son, Mefrotho, to stop the Knight’s success. Mefrotho roared, “Pitiful fool! You dare challenge the Prince of Hell? Dead hero or not, I’ll enjoy breaking you into atomic bits and spitting you out like volcanic dust!” The Dark Knight rolled his ghostly eyes, then returned, “I see. Firstly, I should warn you that demons are notoriously poor hand-to-hand-combatants, as all you brainless worms rely on are pitchforks, which really are terrible self defense weapons. Secondly, your brimstone blasts won’t affect me in the slightest. I’m dead, Horn-Boy. Thirdly...” The Dark Knight kicked Mefrotho in the groin, then proceeded to tap dance on his forehead, stomach, and spleenular region as well. Mefrotho blubbered, “Yuh-yuh-you duh-duh-don’t fuh-fight faaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrr...” The Dark Knight shrugged, “Of course not. I fight to exist, or to preserve justice or liberty. I really don’t need to be fair.” Beezlebub shook his head sadly. “Fine. You won. Just get the hell out of Hell.” The Dark Knight then awoke, shrieking, in the body of a 25 year old freedom fighter caught somewhere in the Andromeda Galaxy, badly needing a shave, an emotionally stable, patient, intellectually adept woman (which he lost all hope for in roughly the span of 3.224 seconds), a hair cut, and various deodorizing and sanitary baths. The only thing he remembered about his previous life was the fact that most people on the Earth seemed to hate him/have caused him deep emotional pain through betrayal/insults/or poor choice of parking, so he linked up with the gods of every religion, seeing as how they were out on tour and would stop at nothing less than the complete subjugation of every man, being, woman, android, HTML Goddess, genderless being, alien, or Frenchman...or, if that wasn’t feasible, the eradication of everything. This he did for roughly five or six years... but during that time, it became apparent to his shattered and very unstable mind (This last little line has no bearing on reality, dammit. Those who say so are now in incarceration and awaiting execution via titanium-enhanced baseball bats and golf clubs.) that he was *not* just a vengeance-driven, badly groomed warrior with a fetish for golf clubs and baseball bats. Oh no. He was a gothic, mysterious, vengeance-driven, badly groomed slain superhero with a fetish for golf clubs, baseball bats, and Truth, Justice, and the destruction of All Who Suck. Through a rather complicated series of events (involving everything from Jimmy Hoffa’s zombified body to Area 51’s toilet plunger, alien taxi service, and the true assassin of JFK), the Dark Knight managed to foil the Gods’ plans to arrive near Earth long enough for him to steal one of their craft, badly beat about the head, shoulders, and kidney those foolish underling Gods who dared to stand against him, ‘borrow’ some of their military technology, and warn Earth. He also discovered that without ambrosia, the Gods were very much mortal.) Now, ten years have passed. And the Gods aren’t happy. The Andromeda Galaxy and, well...pretty much every other galaxy in the Parodyverse have fallen before them, and they’re taking no prisoners. Except those who willingly become slaves, after having discussions with the Gods’ laser and ionic weaponry. Somehow, having a death ray that can disintegrate something as fine as your sperm’s (or egg’s, whichever you happen to have) cellular structure *at the core* serves as a wonderful way to convince someone. There’s only one galaxy that hasn’t fallen before their immoral, for-all-intents-and-purposes immortal wrath. Earth’s. That’s just because they want to enjoy their revenge a little... The Chronicler neatly tucked his robes behind the Throne of Knowledge, removed his robe, and prepared himself for one final trek to Earth. The original Dark Knight materialized, as he had from time to time since his original death, and nodded solemnly towards the sky. The Library imploded...and if the Chronicler (now Dark Knight) hadn’t told the female Shaper to evacuate it, the fate of the Parodyverse would’ve been irrevocably lost. The Gods, in one fell swoop, took over everything. Galaxies, star systems, and nations fell like snowflakes before their wrath. In the interests of showing the kind of examples that’s always so important in storytelling, let’s visit Zeus demanding “tribute” from a fallen alien freedom fighter. “Greetings, good sir... would you kindly allow me to have all your planet’s resources, as we must continue to maintain our stranglehold on you?” “Sod...off...” Due to the rather graphic nature of this next scene, the august Guardians of Purity have recommended that we edit this out and move on. You see, if spiffy ever read something so graphic, his parents would threaten to sue the BZL Entertainment Establishment, and we’d simply all be f**ked over. Banjooo, King of the Sea monkeys, was in shock and quite pissed. His kingdom was smashed like a grape, and his subjects were in more disarray than Lisa’s clothing after a night of partying. Oh, Banjooo would have revenge all right. And it would be revenge of a most violent nature. Baron Zemo entered his transport craft to the moon with something akin to triumph in his nefarious, diabolical eyes. He’d caused the utter destruction of everything, and the Lair Legion simply hadn’t even had an inkling of what had happened... Dr. Moo was quite pleased. She got to do the most wonderful experiments to human and alien subjects as a result of this “petty little war. Rather pointless, if you ask me- apparently the Gods are no better than mortal man; needing their little pissing contests and their penis comparisons. Ah, well... science is always so wonderfully enhanced during warfare...” Starseed rolled over in the rather large bed he was sleeping in, took one glance at the nude (and quite attractive) sleeping bodies of Catherine Zeta-Jones and Jennifer Lopez and told the world, once again, “Go f**k yourself. It’s vital that I get six hours of uninterrupted sex, and I’m like five months overdue.” It didn’t matter to him in the slightest that his bed was now under the ruins of the Statue of Liberty, or that roughly 55.5% of the world’s population had died instantaneously when the Gods took over. No, the only thing that mattered to him was making both Ms. Zeta-Jones and Ms. Lopez reach orgasm again. Cheryl wasn’t enjoying herself. But then, being dressed in something that made the outfit that Leia wore in “Return of the Jedi” look like a bridal gown wouldn’t tend to make anyone feel good about themselves. Especially when a drunken lout of a Greek God kept staring at her...chest... NTU-150 screamed with heartfelt anguish towards the unforgiving, blacker-than-coal sky. His friends and his way of life had been attacked... and he had no way of knowing if the others had survived. And what was worse...Tina lay beside him, unconscious and bleeding, and with what little medical training he had, and what little medical equipment his armor carried, he had no way of knowing if she was even still alive. “Tins...” Visionary awoke in an underground cavern, surrounded by thousands of cloaked individuals that looked very much like the Dark Knight. “Um...” Interdimensional rifts popped open throughout the Parodyverse, like popcorn but without that infernal burning smell. And costumed beings of all egoes, moralities, and persuasions poured forth, an overflowing of superpowered good and evil. It just so happened that one of them had trained the Dark Knight in combat skill... Hatman, Jarvis, Lisa, Messenger, and Space Ghost removed themselves from the rubble of Lair Legion Mansion... shuddering with fear and wondering where in the name of Hell the sodding basement entrance was. They just managed to reach the basement entrance when... the alien squadrons hit. Mostly mercenaries employed by the Gods (read: “You fight for us, and we won’t kill you”), these alien fighter pilots were quite good at picking out other races’ most dangerous buildings and targets and turning them into harmless non-gatherings of atoms and quarks. Unfortunately, it also meant that they pretty much also de-atomized the living beings within a million mile radius, but, “What the hell”, they said. “It’s just war.” When the squadrons had gone ‘round the Earth, the Milky Way and Andromeda Galaxies, and the other star systems and galaxies, from a military standpoint the Parodyverse was screwed. It was then, that underneath GothamMetropolisYork, a group of cowled beings and one supposed fake man began plotting a massive, coordinated counter-strike. While all this happened, something rather rash went down like a drunken Prom Date on Prom Night. Yo, the Lair Legion’s genderless being-comprised of Pure Thought Energy-decided that she/he’d enlist the aid of Galactivac, the Living Death That Sucks in his/her battle against “Those uncute Gods who are terrifying Yo’s cute bunnies and Yo-Friends very badly and Yo is not liking cute bunnies and Yo-Friends to be being scared, so would Mr. Galactivac, the Living Death That Is Sucking please be being helping?” It was then that Samhain, the Destroyer of Ideas forced his way out of an interdimensional black hole/space time continuum rift, and announced to everyone that he was quite pissed. And then the Hooded Hood also arrived, kicked Samhain in the cosmic being equivalent of the groin, and made his way towards Earth. spiffy was found huddled beneath the wreckage of Lincolon’s Memorial-claiming to have been raped by overly hormonal vampires. Jarvis, the unfortunate man who found him, knew otherwise. spiffy muttered, “Curses. Foiled once again by female minds...” Donar smashed Mjalcom (TM) into the magical barriers erected around Asguard...to no effect. The former LLer was trapped... Darkhwk seemed to have really offended this obstinate tree... it was larger than three Californian Sequoias, and its branches seemed to be actual arms. It was then that he noticed that the Norse God, Thor, had him in his clutches... and his amulet was nearly completely out of power... Zane muttered, “D’oh...” It was then that Visionary Jr decided to inform his father that he had diaper rash. “Waaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuugh!” Visionary stormed out of the strategy session muttering, “Dammit, why can’t Cheryl watch the damn kid just once in her damn life?” TO BE CONTINUED. Note: No, this isn’t as long as I wanted it to be. I was shooting for like 12/13 pages, but the sodding disk (the whole damn thing) crashed that I had the original on, so I really don’t want to hear about it. Anything you people specifically wanna see in “Wave Two?” Just ask- oh, and, like, please leave suggestions on how to make “WT” better than “WO” was... keeping in mind that I didn’t have enough time to make “WO” as long as I wanted to (and originally had it). Like Enty asked a while back when he posted his wave of pics, please don’t respond in the subject line to this story-gimme some, if only a lil’, text to read. In Wave Two: Visionary creates a viable battle plan. The ruins of Earth get divided up. Starseed’s Gah! powers protect him from the evilness of Fatherhood. Space Ghost is actually sober for a battle. The Living Death That Sucks versus the gods of pretty much damn near every religion. Save the Christian God, ‘cause there ain’t no way in Hell I’m introducing Him into this one. More people get lines. spiffy still gets mocked. And if I have time, Starhawk gets written in a story of mine for the first time. “That is all.” Invasion of the Gods, Wave Two. “To Be Fake, Or To Be Real; Is That Not The Question?” “These are the times that try men’s souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country, but he that stands it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph.”--Thomas Payne “Everything is funny as long as it’s happening to someone else.”--Will Rogers “We are all in this together--by ourselves.”--Lily Tomlin (Note: While the premise of this story is that all the Gods of all the major religions *save Christianity, since I happen to be of that religion and, uh, wouldn’t feel comfortable using that one*, I’m primarily going to use the Greek Gods, since I know them best. Stupid college classes that don’t teach nearly enough what they’re supposed to...) The Duck, that lovable two-ton egg-producing bird of destruction, was sucked into an evil dimension full of blue, fun-loving beings calling themselves “Smurfs.” Hera, in a fit of pathetic ego, ordered the dimension’s vaporization. So for all the ‘Duck’ fans out there, he’s not with us now. Appropriate donations in memory of the Duck may be left with the Dark Knight, who serves as the Duck’s only living trustee. The Drug Lord Squirrels were swiftly exterminated after the Gods invaded... seeing as how the Squirrels were the only beings ever able to defeat the Parodyverse’s heroes to the point that they were actually able to control a significant portion of the universe. Their leader, Lord Clintulon, was the last to die... ambrosia gas burst his lungs like pathetic little helium-filled balloons. Things looked rather desolate in the underground dwelling of GothamMetropolisYork’s surviving heroes. Coffee poured like water in drought-infested deserts. Due to the Dark Knight’s strict orders, there were no women permitted near his chambers, nor where he conducted his training regiments and especially anywhere near briefing rooms. And it was always so blasted abysmally dark in here- trainees wondered if their sensei was blind, a vampire, or just hated cheerful thoughts. They then remembered that Visionary, the Lair Legion’s supposed android, was here and served to be comic relief, if nothing more. It was then jokingly wondered by one of his trainees why Visionary was allowed anywhere near the “more manly aspects of our mission. Ain’t the only good thing he’s good at is taking care of that blasted kid of his and the occasional complaint?” The Dark Knight silenced the jeering with a glare that, were it converted to energy beam form, would easily have turned half of Earth into an immovable ice ball. “This is the conclusion to a favor I owe him. Besides, I know far more than people would think what it’s like to be mocked and mistrusted. And Visionary deserves the chance to gain some respect.” Visionary, JR broke the silence with a teething wail. Visionary’s answer resounded throughout the cavern. “Shut up! Just bite down on the blasted pacifier! You’re making me look worse than usual! And I don’t particularly care if you’ve got red marks near your behind! That’s more CHERYL’S department...or spiffy, since that’s apparently the only way he can get chicks to notice him... diaper changing...” Fleabot “tsked” his disapproval from atop Visionary’s left shoulder. “Are you really sure this is the best way to get him to remain pacified? And what kind of lesson are you teaching your son about anger management? Really, Visionary, I could loan you some books on proper parenting techniques...” Visionary glared at him. “Not one more word, buddy, or YOU get to babysit Prince Charming over here. And does anyone know what happened to Cheryl? She should have rendezvoused with us by now...” A shadow standing next to them cleared his throat. It was a man in a Dark Knight costume, though in the poorly lit Cave, it was difficult to tell if this was the original or not. “Hurry up. The Knight wants you to give your opinion on how we should handle the counter-offensive.” “He’s really serious about that, huh? Well... hey, you look like a fairly capable chap- how’s about taking care of my darling baby boy here for a moment? That’s a good boy... if I come back and he’s hurt, I WILL kick the living crap out of you...nah, actually, I’ll have Cheryl beat you within an inch of your life...” The man in the altered Dark Knight costume didn’t appear to be threatened in the slightest by Visionary’s comment. Four more appeared behind Visionary. “We’re to be your escorts.” “What the hell? What am I, some kind of public enemy?” “Don’t delude yourself. We’re wearing nightvision lenses. And you’re not. You don’t know where you’re stepping”, one of the masked men on his right said as he lifted Visionary in his arms like a child, “or what you’re stepping into.” The cloaked man wrinkled his nose in disgust as he and his companions side-stepped the dung on the floor. Had he the time or interest, he’d have noticed that the dung was most likely from the plethora of bats hanging on the stalactites, and that the bat suffered from some severe intestinal infection, which gave its spoor that hideous smell. Visionary closed his eyes and tried to daydream of what he would be doing, right now on a normally peaceful Sunday evening, if the Gods hadn’t invaded. Fleabot disgruntledly, frustratingly fluttered near the four Knight-costumed wearing men, muttering, “So whatever happened to the concept of free choice, of men’s rights in this world? Shouldn’t Visionary, and more importantly, I, have a right to express our views on what’s happening to us? Namely, that we REALLY don’t want anything to do with this whole cockamamie plot? Besides, this is Visionary’s quote-MIND-en-quote we’re talking about. It’s not exactly as if he’s a military genius.” Visionary opened his eyes, as it became apparent that he was placed as gently as a feather upon the floor. The floor was cold, and rocky, and somewhat uncomfortable, but at least all the sharper rocks had been removed. This was a start. It was then that the lights were activated... The Knightcave exploded into its full technological glory before Visionary’s wondering eye, a veritable chain reaction of industrial supernovas. Fleabot was convinced that he was in the Robotic-Flea version of Heaven...or, knowing some of his adventures with Visionary, in Robotic-Flea Hell. Fleabot squeaked, “Visionary? Please don’t do anything inane...um...anything more inane than usual. I’d really like to look at some of this stuff...” Visionary had thousands of thoughts filter through his head as to what he wanted to do to Fleabot for saying that. But seeing as how nothing else in the universe respected him, Visionary decided to let Fleabot live. Who else could put up with the constant denials and the wacky misadventures that seemed to follow the possible android and microscopic, fake flea like body odor on a drifter? Besides, Fleabot on occasion treated Visionary as if he was an intelligent human being...something that not even Cheryl really did. While Visionary sulked on the floor, Cheryl was battling for her pride and modesty against a rather lustful Greek King God named Zeus, who happened to have most of her “Princess Leia”-esque costume ripped off from her body and resting in his hands. Cheryl had managed to cover most of her naughty bits by laying stomach-down on the floor, and firing a misplaced, forgotten grappling hook at Zeus’ groin. Needless to say, Zeus folded like an aluminum pop can. Cheryl, grabbing what remained of her costume, noticed blood flowing from the supposed god’s testicular region. Like any good woman, she knew what to do then. After kicking him...there...a few hundred times, she then went in search of some kind of closet, where she could change. And the nearest baseball bat, so that she could go bash the writer of this story’s brains in. While this titanic battle is going on (And Zeus is in EXTREME agony) let’s examine the Gods’ place of operations. Powered by the escaping energy of a thousand dying universes, surrounded by impregnable force fields humanity’s science fiction epics had never even conceived of, and energy beams capable of disintegrating even the quarks and atoms in Visionary’s comparatively small brain, the Gods had a fairly decent place with which to call home and rape unsuspecting women. Structurally, it’s roughly the size of Paris, France, -all compressed around the area of Washington DC’s wreckage. Architecturally, it puts the Sistine Chapel and the Tower of Babel to shame...humanity’s most gifted architectural geniuses could’ve never conceived of something so grand. And in keeping with all villains’ color schemes, the Fortress of the Gods is the darkest gray, as if erected from the fears and hatreds of mortal man. Instead of your typical force-field protection devices, its energy fields are designed to render asunder-at the atomic level-those who are foolish enough to trespass. Suffice to say, very few mortals chose to venture near the Gods’ fortress after their takeover. The assembled Academy of the Knights, even for a group of master martial artists, were rather silent. The possible (and most likely) fake man had outlined his idea for counter-assault... and it happened to be the most overrated, overused strategy in battle-planning. For what it’s worth, their leader said nothing. And in the gloomy depths of the Knightcave (or Dark Cave, if you listen to spiffy), it was hard to tell the Dark Knight’s emotional response. “Hey. I think it’s a damn fine idea. And just in case you caped clods didn’t catch it, I say we hit ‘em right where they live, at their stronghold in DC. They won’t expect us to hit there. And besides, you guys are supposed to be the ‘best of the best...SIR!;, right? That means you oughta be able to get outta this without killing anyone or dying. Right? Though your leader seems to know a thing or two about dying...” The Dark Knight’s cape swirled behind him, a storm cloud of action and anger. “You are a guest here. You would do well to remember that. Still, as I say, I do owe you for past insults. We will, as I promised, use your idea. Frankly, in most respects, I agree. We SHOULD be able to minimize the losses that way. However, has anyone been able to locate the Lair Legion?” It was then that an apparent crashing meteor knocked out half of the Cave’s power. And shouts arose from outside, human shouts, female and male shouts, and kinetic energy explosions. Freedom International was here. They’d lost some of their friends and would no longer put up with the shabby crap called ‘life’. And none would quench their vile thirst for revenge... Convex, the bitter brown-haired, black-trenchcoat wearing dark-blue-nearly-black-eyed British teenager with the ability to cast ‘psionic mirrors’, which really were what they suggested. Though he could only create one at a time, he could cause it to become as large, or as small, as he wished. The same applied to its density... He could also pierce someone’s soul, and determine their true intentions, be they evil or benevolent. Carrier, the weapons-carrying, wisecracking robot of Wreckage. R2-D2 with an attitude, and vocal capability. None of that trilling. The unfortunate thing was that he looked a great deal like a Frisbee. Ozone, a middle-aged, Caucasian, balding blond haired, sky-blue eyed man with the ability to project ozone-containing clouds into his opponents’ lungs and cause them to, well, pass out. And their apparent quarry, Fallout, a being composed entirely of radioactive energy. Their only means of self defense? Convex’s weakening ‘physical’ mirror, and Ozone’s shabby attempts at causing Fallout to choke to death, all-the-while forgetting that Fallout had no physical body in his energy form. This was when the Knights hit. Fallout’s radiation causing temporary havoc with their technology, the Knights deduced that radiation just might possibly be involved in that rather nasty battle outside, and donned radiation-proof garb and started handing out more beatings than one would see at an anti-John Byrne fan club convention, with the so-called “guest of honor” attending. The five Knights made one fatal error. You can’t physically kick someone who doesn’t have a body. Radiation beams more powerful than a nuclear meltdown smashed into the wastelands of GothamMetropolisYork, and the Dark Knight launched the KnightJet from deep within the Knightcave. He’d had enough of this shabby crap... and then noticed that Jean Paul Claremont, his former stand-in and sidekick, had just become another harmless gathering of atoms and nuclei. The Dark Knight wanted to scream, wanted to leap from his craft and cause his own death. But more lives were at stake. Lives were ALWAYS at stake. Fallout screamed, “WHO are YOU? Do you have a suicide wish? I CAN destroy you, if that’s what you really want.” The Dark Knight answered, “I’m what causes children to awaken at night, terrified of creatures that occupy the nocturnal world. I’m the nebulous force of Justice that evil things like MURDER and RAPE can never quite quench. Let me assure you- I know your kind well enough to know your next move before your synapses in your brain begin to formulate it. I’m more than able to stop you from killing again. But you may never feel anything ever again. Stop now; and I won’t hurt you. I’m the Dark Knight. And let these people live.” Fallout answered, “You’re kidding, right? Buddy, prepare to get VAPORIZED.” The Dark Knight stepped out of his spacecraft, and placed a small, ovular object on the ground. After the object activated itself, everything that ever had been, ever was, and ever would be Fallout disintegrated, and a muscular, apparently Latino man lay flat on his face in his stead. “Kidding is insincere. And for someone who rules by fear, it’s inappropriate. I NEVER kid. I can’t afford to.” The Dark Knight thought that his trusty little machine, no smaller than a credit card, would be sufficient enough to end the threat of Fallout eternally. He thought wrong. He forgot to take in account solar radiation... which, as the slumped human radiation bomb was taken into the Knight’s detention chamber, slowly seeped into the fallen Fallout’s body. Fallout would be back; and the results would be devastating. The Dark Knight activated his ship’s comlink. “Come back inside. He’s done. You other three; join us. I want to talk with you.” Barely kept alive by the integrity of their suits, the neophyte Knights followed in his stead... all the while wondering if they stood a chance of saving the world. Never had the stakes been so high. On the moon: Baron Zemo, Monarch of the Moon, erected nuclear warheads and activated the special force fields that the Gods had given him. He, too, would launch an attack upon the Earth. And none would defeat him. Jupiter: Samhain, Destroyer of Ideas, was hiding out from the Hooded Hood, seeing as how the Hooded Hood had far more power than Samhain could ever dream of, and Samhain was convinced that the Hood wanted to annihilate him. In all actuality, all the Hood wanted was to return to Earth, so that he could exact his terrible revenge upon the Lair Legion and at least gain some small nation on Earth that wasn’t too terribly mangled by the Gods’ vicious takeover. The Hood, more than anything else, just wanted to return stability to a rather unstable world; and what was wrong with that? He figured the easiest way to accomplish that was via one country at a time. He then realized that he sounded like a bad political campaign (“Saving the world through supervillainy”) so he just decided to shut the hell up and go about his business. So in a stolen spaceship, the Hood returned to Earth, and settled on starting his base of operations from the more-or-less intact Philippines. He’d forgotten that NTU and Tina lived there when they weren’t on Lair Legion business... and that NTU was rather...angry. Tina, five minutes before the Hood arrived, had stopped breathing. “YOU. You...YOU will help me get her breathing. Or I’m...I’m...I’m going to do terrible technological things to your spacecraft. And you definitely won’t be going back home.” The Hood sighed. Superheroes were often so emotional, especially when the love of their life was lying before them, in a pool of their own blood, tears, and sweat, and apparently on their way to where heroes went when they died. “Don’t be TOO concerned... the Dark Knight returned from Hell, and he didn’t even have powers. I mean, really... my own Purveyors of Peril defeated that cape-wearing buffoon rather easily. Of course, he was heavily shackled at the time, but, that’s surely of no consequence.” The Hood knelt before Tina, wondering why the gods had forsaken him...and contacted various employees and supervillains under his command. Telepathy bounced off satellites worked wonders in circumstances like these... Dr. Moo strapped in her newest ‘catch’ to her stereotypical, yet-oh,so-effective torture device, including straps, various needles, and even that cool little machine with millions of dials and buttons on it, that only the most insane ‘mad’ scientists have... “I’m the best assassin on three continents. When I get outta here, sister, you c’n look for more pain than your grandparents’ children dreamt of”, the helmeted assassin known as Jet threatened. Moo (or Daio, to her friends) quietly chuckled. “Ah... I see someone wants me to combine a little Tyrannosaur DNA with theirs...” Jet whined, “Um... T-Rexes are dead. And stuff.” Moo filled a syringe. “Ah...time machines are such WONDERful creations...” Darkhwk didn’t care that Thor had him in his grasp. Thousands of miles above earth (the ground, not the planet), Zane let the Donar wannabe have it right between the eyes, with the remaining drops of power from his amulet. The result? Darkhwk fell like, well, a hawk swooping, almost assuredly to his doom. It gave him quite a surprise to see that he, indeed, was rescued- and that he was rescued by a rather attractive green-eyed blonde, wearing a form-fitting gray jumpsuit, who’d stopped his fall via some sort of telekinetic ‘net’. Apparently, the (for lack of a better term, Zane thought of that being standing next to her as a man) man in the black/dark green costume didn’t appear to like him much. “You have five seconds to inform us why you’re here. And then I show you new avenues of pain.” Zane gulped. “Um...” Starseed, on riot control in both Parodiopolis and Washington DC, was in a fairly pacifistic mood. His Gah! powers had once again had unexpected results. The first was that he’d managed to transform the God Hermes into a chain-smoking eggplant. The second was that his Gah! powers had apparently counter-acted the powers of his semen and he had escaped fathering children with Katherine Zeta-Jones and Jennifer Lopez. Thus, the Gah! Lord was in a rather good mood. “Boo-ya! Step right up, you cretins! I’ll knock ya down like bowling balls! And if any of the rest of you bastard Gods wanna tango with me, I’ll transform your *bleep*ing testicles into *bleep*! And that goes double for your women.” It was unconfirmed by the few remaining Lair Legion satellites if the Gods were hiding, or just laughing themselves unconscious. Starhawk, the newest BZLer, had decided that he was going to hide out in the Dark Knight’s cave and, well, just see where this insane plot was going, since he had no idea what the hell half the BZL continuity meant, and, well, he really didn’t want to risk his life for continuity he didn’t understand. This was why he’d sworn off anything ‘Byrne’ long ago... Banjooo looked proudly out amongst his subjects... the sea monkeys were armed (literally) to the teeth with photon cannons, forgotten nuclear warheads, and contraceptive bombs. They also had managed to mutate their own pheromones to the point that the pheromones became thousands of various North American, South American, and African venereal diseases. They were ready for war. And none would stand against them. spiffy watched in awe as Space Ghost fired the infamous “Spank Ray” at the looting, revolting people they were supposed to be ‘protecting.’ But then, spiffy marveled at the irony of the situation long enough to be kicked in the, well, you know, by some fairly attractive girl that appeared to be taller than the Eiffel Tower. “SPAAAAAAAAAAAAAANK RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!”, the sober Ghost screamed. “I’m not gonna go get wasted tonight, ‘cause I figure what’s the fun in seeing Armageddon and not rememberin’ it? Am I right, spiff? Am I right?” spiffy groaned his assent, as his mind whined at the rest of his body how this was the only way women would seem to want to touch him... And Galactivac, the Living Death That Sucks, descended upon the Gods’ headquarters, visibly angry since they’d stolen basically the life energies of thousands of planets, and Galactivac really was quite hungry. So he’d just take it out of their uncaring, unsharing asses. The Shaperette emerged from her realm, having transformed Servant into a form not seen in a while. And the Library was reborn...with a Chronicler sitting upon the Throne of Knowledge. And though a neophyte, the Chronicler had the powers of the Book of Time and the Ravens of Destiny behind him. His realm had been shattered. He would have revenge. And none, not even a scheming, possible fake man would stand against him. For it was written in the Book of Time that “on that day that the Dark Knight falls for good, those responsible shall be consumed by the evil known as the Gods.” And the Ravens of Destiny gathered the Book of Time from the Chronicler’s ‘hands’, placing it in its sacred spot. Donar crouched, an Ausgardian feline of war, ready, willing, and more than able to kick pretender god ass after he figured out a way to get past this “damn magical barrier.” CrazySugarFreakBoy! re-entered the wreckage of Lair Legion Manor, carrying as many boxes of Jolt Cola as he could, and proclaiming a moral victory against the Gods. “I stole their Jolt! Ha! Smug bastards! Let them do what they will... I’ve got the planet’s last shipment of caffeine!” Lisa dove towards CSFB! with a panicked look on her face. “For the love of GOD. Don’t let that get ANYWHERE near GothamMetropolisYork.” CSFB! grunted(due to the fact that Lisa’s head bounced into his like a torpedo. There’s nothing sexual meant by this. Get your collective heads out of the gutter, dammit), “Why?” Lisa hissed, “Dark. Knight. Caffeine. Mixture very bad. And if you even think about it, I’ll willingly infect you with more STDs than even I knew I had... and we’re talking nasty stuff here. Stuff that’ll make your balls turn into sugar cubes. Stuff that’ll turn your semen into radioactive dust. Are we clear on this?” Jarvis, walking in just as Lisa had broken out the STD gun (TM), waddled happily towards NTU’s Happy Place machine. “Idon’twannaknowIdon’twannaknowIdon’twannaknowIdon’twannaknow...” It was then that the alien armadas were unleashed, almost as if the Gods were saying, “Puny pathetic mortals- as if they could ever TRULY best us...” Wasp-shaped and faster than lightspeed on speed, the spacecrafts blew to atoms anything that even remotely resembled a threat. Bob, the possibly homosexual neighbor of Visionary and the guy who’d had a minor crush on Jarvis, never stood a chance, the poor, confused, sick soul. But, as the newspapers will read, “Perhaps it was better this way. He was two-hundred and fifty pounds of flab that did nothing but offend people. He’s better off.” Of course, this is hoping that the newspapers are eventually reincarnated...seeing as how technology and electricity are in more demand here than common sense at an N Sync concert. (For clarification purposes, if there happen to be any N Sync fans in the crowd, there really isn’t much technology or electricity. Life sucks here. Get out while you still can.) Almost as if the Dark Knight had an appreciation for irony, it was then that thousands of bat-shaped, force-shielded aircraft disengaged their cloaking devices and began hammering the Gods’ citadel. Visionary yelled, “Ha! Can a fake man do THIS?” He wasted $2,500,000 worth of nuclear warheads on the mountains near the Gods’ citadel, well short of their intended mark. Fleabot answered, “Well, actually, a well designed android could fire nuclear weapons at a mountain...” Visionary sighed. “Fine. I’ll just prove my worth by taking out the major reasons why I can’t watch Monday Night Football anymore...or the Colorado Avalanche...or, come to think of it, ANYTHING... These bastards just HAD to enter our atmosphere acting all bad-ass and wanting our NATURAL RESOURCES... eat this, you OLYMPIAN BASTARDS!” Visionary promptly emptied his airplane’s arsenal at the Gods’ fortress. And the Gods’ force-fields VANISHED... Fleabot gulped, “Um...you’re real, dammit?” Beneath the ruins of GothamMetropolisYork, Starhawk and a masked man we’ve all become quite familiar with took turns babysitting Visionary JR. The masked legend watched with some amusement as the newest BZLer read Alan Moore’s “League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen”, and as the infant child of Visionary (supposedly, though rumors abounded that Cheryl’s HTML abilities had somehow created the child-but these were merely rumors, and weak ones at that. Most folks, not wanting to get into such convoluted thoughts, were happy to think that Visionary JR was, in fact, the child of Visionary and Cheryl) and Cheryl occasionally cried...but mostly at the entrances of Mr. Hyde. And what of cute Yo-Being? Why, our favorite genderless being was at this very moment launching an assault of her/his/its own on the Gods’ fortress, in hopes of finding a few live bunnies. “Hello, uncute God-beings! Yo is here to be regaining Yo’s bunny friends, and uncute God-beings will be giving Yo Yo’s cute bunny friends NOW!” It’s of little circumstance, obviously, that Cheryl’s escape from Zeus had anything to do with Yo’s entrance into the Gods’ lair... TO BE CONTINUED. Next: More of the same. Perhaps a few more glorifying-Visionary scenes. Usual fare. Nothing to see here. Move along. Oh, yes- the rest of the creative team thought I should mention the fact that apparently, Wave Three sees the death of a few of our cast. The Dark Knight, always glad to be of service |
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