After several wearisome hours of slogging through the snow, G grew impatient and slung me over his shoulders, like a human rucksack.
“Oh, okay, this is what we’re doing.”
I was offended, but how could I protest to a giant, annoyed, four-armed beast?
I kept quiet and held on for dear life, hugging his furry frame, as he dashed across the icy tundra. With his claw-like feet and bounding strides, we covered the majority of the distance in less than an hour. I couldn’t help but wonder if this is what riding a TaunTaun felt like.
We were a kilometer out from the orb, when G finally dumped me onto the ground, and hunched over to catch his wind. His hot breath crystallized into clouds.
“Thanks for the ride, G. You know… if this whole warrior thing doesn’t work out, you should definitely look into launching a piggyback ride-share. Maybe you could call it Moober or…”
He looked up from the ground, panting and miffed, with that patented snarl. I could tell, if he could reply, it wouldn’t be chipper.
Count Basil: Leaf.
With Count B’s newfound speaking ability, he hadn’t shut up in our mental chat for the entire duration of our trek. The entire way here, it was—
“Leaf. Leaf. Leaf. Leaf.”
It went from cute, to funny to, ‘Somebody please take his damn mental keyboard!’
But then again, if I had suddenly come into sentience and gained the ability to speak a single word, I would probably spam everybody with it too.
What’s crazy is, despite Count B’s limited vocabulary, G and I could sense his intended tone. Sometimes his “leaf” indicated that he was happy. Other times, he was upset. Still other times, he came across opinionated and moody.
Somehow, Count B had figured out a way to communicate a myriad of emotions and sentiments with a single word. I felt like Han deciphering Wookiee growls into meaningful conversation.
COUNT BASIL: Leaf?
“Yes G is tired,” I replied.
COUNT BASIL: Leaf.
“Hey. Cut him some slack, will ya? He ran over forty kilometers in an hour. You try doing that.”
COUNT BASIL: Leaf!
“Oh. Okay… well, now you’re just being rude.”
“I don’t know who is more annoying…” G gasped. “…you or the plant.”
“I vote for the plant,” ERNI chirped.
I couldn’t help but laugh. Ever since Count B had become vocal in our chat, I had sensed an increasing jealousy from ERNI. AI’s weren’t supposed to have emotions, so I chalked it up to his glitches.
COUNT BASIL: Leaf!
“Count Basil! You take that back! ERNI has never done anything to you.”
COUNT BASIL: …leaf.
“There. That’s better. May I remind everyone that we are a team. And ‘we can’t be great without the greatness of others.’”
G hocked an orange loogie and rose to full height.
“Who did you steal that from?” he snarled.
“Nick Sirianni. Coach of the Philadelphia Eagles.”
“Bah!” He waved me off.
I reached in for a hug.
“Ah, come here ya big lug. You’re looking good. Very purple.”
He shoved me aside. We turned our attention back to the mission of the orbs. We were on the ridge of a massive crevasse, peering down at a nest of monster eggs. The three orbs glowed at the center of the hive.
Mission: Kill Monster Mob.
I peered down at the eggs and remembered my battles with the Fractal Fangs, Muck Maulers, and the Gas Hoppers.
“Okay, guys, these nests have given us a lot of trouble in the past. So, what I’ll do is I’ll run in first with my swift armor and gather up all the eggs. Hopefully, that way they won’t have any time to hatch. If they do, I’ll use the Kazoo of Crushed Spirits to intimidate them. That way we won’t have to fight a whole bunch of them at once. When the Kazoo’s effects have worn off, I’ll need Count B to wrap up any hatchlings that might have gotten free. Then maybe we can use the Head of the Herd Play, which affects mob allegiance through persuasion. That way we can hopefully get them all down fast. Because I have a feeling we’ll be in trouble if we don’t take them down quickly. Yeah, I think that’s a pretty good plan. We should be able to pull it off. What do you think, ERNI? Can you give me a number crunch real quick?”
“Certainly. Give me just one moment. I am coming up with a 33.33% probability of victory utilizing this team-based strategy.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“Well, that’s a lot better than I thought you were going to—“
“Enough planning,” G growled. “Blades up! Let’s do this!
YAAAAAAAHHHHH!”
G sprinted into the nest, VengeAxe drawn.
“Oh my God. He just ran in.”
“Sam, we should stick to the plan,” ERNI warned.
“Let’s go! Let’s go!” I took off running after him.
“Oh jeez! Oh fuck!” I yelled ahead. “G, stick to the plan!”
But it was too late.
He had already bounded into the heart of the hive. This sudden disruption of heavy footfalls had created a vibration that caused many of the dormant eggs to rattle and shake.
“Goddamnit, Gnarltharr!”
The eggs cracked open, en masse, releasing a torrent of flying lizards into the air. The creatures had razor-sharp claws and bat-like wings. The entire crevasse flooded with a flapping swarm of furious hatchlings. They pecked and clawed at us from every direction.
I tried to mentally flip through my playbook, but there was no time. The creatures blanketed the air, snipping and chomping in every direction. We were surrounded.
SHIIING!
Pizza cutters out, I hacked and slashed in every direction, dealing out just as much damage as I was taking. But that wasn’t saying much. Count B and I were getting nipped to shreds.
G spun his VengeAxe, hacking at a furious swarm. He looked like he had just kicked over a giant hornet’s nest and was now paying the price for his foolishness. The whole scene reminded me of Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds.
Somewhere in the cloud of wings and fangs, I managed to catch a quick glimpse at the info box for the monsters.
Fizzards. Level 4.
“Wait, why do they call them Fizz—“
I didn’t have to wait for my answer. Several of them opened their beaks and spat out fizzy streams of stomach acid.
TSSS!
The bubbling goo landed on my armor and immediately started melting through.
“Gah!” I screamed.
ME: Watch out, G!
They were spitting acid at him, too. Fortunately, his thick tufts of fur took the brunt of the damage. Small patches singed off, without any real burns to his skin.
Count B took a couple of bad burns on his leaves but fought valiantly. He swatted a cluster of Fizzards to the ground, while entangling the wings of others. He swung them, head first, into the ice walls—
THWACK!
They dropped to the ground, dead.
I dove through the air, slashing my blades left and right, splitting Fizzards in half, while dodging their acid spray.
ME: Dammit, Gnarltharr! You show off! This is ridiculous!
Through the tsunami of flapping beasts, I could see him smiling, enjoying the madness of the fight. Despite the damage we had taken, we were slowly gaining the upper hand.
And, despite my irritation at G’s recklessness, I had to admit, this was kind of fun.
It reminded me of a viral video clip, ’Leroy Jenkins’, where a raiding party in W.O.W. was crafting a careful, meticulous plan, and one of their members went rogue, barging into a rookery, setting off a similar calamity of epic proportions.
Count Basil used our jujitsu moves to throw several more Fizzards to their doom. He shook his vines in frustration.
COUNT BASIL: Leaf! Leaf! Leaf!
ME: Yeah, I feel you, buddy.
ERNI: We should have stuck to the plan.
GNARLTHARR: Bah! Planning wastes time. Fighting is better!
After a few minutes, we had managed to strike down the last of the Fizzards. We stood there panting, covered in singe-marks and lizard blood. Count B pointed an accusatory arm at G.
COUNT BASIL: Leaf!
G sheathed his VengeAxe, pointed at the dead creatures on the ice, and said, “So what? We won.”
As the flashing red HUD warnings and drumbeat of my heart receded, our health recovered. Several notifications flashed by.
Fizzards Defeated!
Mission Complete: Kill Monster Mob.
Reward: +60,000 Points!
New Trophy! Fools Rush In!
Reward: +10,000 Points!
Auto-Looted Fizzards.
Items Acquired:
Fizzy Acid Tablets.
Spicy Fizzard Omelet (Consumable).
“Ha! Look at the bright side,” G smiled. “At least we got eggs.”
I stared at him for a moment, then cracked into uncontrollable laughter. A moment later, he joined in. Even Count B offered a few chuckles in the chat.
COUNT BASIL: Leaf, leaf, leaf.
We laughed until my ribs hurt, then reached out and grabbed the orbs.
Mission Complete: Retrieve Orb x3.
Reward: +90,000 Points!
New Trophy! Reckless Raiders.
Reward: +10,000 Points!
Bonus Reward: Hot Dog Gatling Gun.
Bonus Reward: Dom Blady Brand Boo-Boo Strips.
G called them up from the playbook and shredded the box with his teeth.
“GNARRR!”
“Huh. So that’s where you get your name from.”
Count B stowed our orbs in the quest sack, while G, once again, unhinged his jaw and swallowed his whole.
“Yeah. I’m never gonna get used to that.”
“Just as I shall never get used to your human odor.”
I sniffed my armpit, curious.
“I must say,” ERNI commented, “despite your unconventional methods, you remain very effective as a team.”
His screen glitched as his voice changed to that of a sports hype man—
“Whooooose house? Oooour house! Whooooose house? Oooour house!”
His screen flashed back to normal.
“—y-you remain very effective as a team.”
“Yeah… thanks, ERNI.”
G shook his head. All I could do was shrug.
Mission: Reach Scoring Zone.
We worked our way back to the surface. G climbed the ice walls with ease—punching his claws into the permafrost. I used the pizza cutters as pick-axes along with my boot spikes. It was a hell of a workout, but I was holding up, perhaps still feeling lingering effects of the Aste-roids.
Topside, I looked up at the big guy.
“You’re absolutely crazy… but, you’re one hell of a warrior, G.”
“You know, Sicilian Sam… when you first called me G, I considered tearing your larynx out. But over time… it has grown on me.”
He smiled with those big, jutting fangs.
We were 15 kilometers from the scoring zone. Once again, I hopped on G’s shoulders, like a human JanSport. As he sprinted across the snow, I tuned into the ISSN feed.
Blink and Gill were showing today’s tournament highlights.
“…dazzling display of bravery as the Buffalaliens battled their way through a field of Snap-Stalks!”
The clip showed a group of alien buffalo-looking warriors using laser prods to battle a squadron of giant cornstalks with skull heads.
COUNT BASIL: Leaf!
GNARLTHARR: Indeed, plant. Leaf.
G huffed as he kept up the pace.
Next, the feed showed Dom Blady, Rod, and Jess striking down a mutated, three-headed gator-bear and scoring a triple orbdown of their own.
“And that’s why he’s been champion for so many Slayer Bowls,” Blink beamed.
“You don’t get any more wholesome than that,” Gill added. “You want your kids to grow up and be just like him.”
Though he kept sprinting, I could tell G was watching Blady on the feed in his HUD as well. A guttural growl built up beneath his heavy breathing and he strode a little faster.
No matter how much fun we had and the camaraderie we built, the fact remained that he and I were still bound by one singular motivation—
Getting revenge on Dom Blady and his crew.
For mom… for Sola… for G’s sister… and for his niece.
ME: Don’t worry, G. We’ll get him. We’ll get him.
