Chapter 4

It all happened in a flash; the gnome jester pulled out a Thompson from out of nowhere and opened fire, the bullets slowly inched their way closer to the diseased abomination known as “The Prince” who used its alacrity to dodge every one of them, even catching a bullet with his gnarled hands.
Malvolio is quite sure that the creature is able to move so fast that time seemed to stop all around it. The Gnome had never seen such a creature, he prefers not to fight things that he knew very little about but someone had to save the couple from this monster. Maybe there’s no need to fight it all, maybe he could just run before it even acknowledges him as a threat. But then this is a new creature and a worthy addition to his “Critter Compendium”.

The jester wondered how the creature could achieve such incredible bursts of speed. Is it biological or is it magical? Does it control time or is it just naturally fast? Why does it stop moving after it uses its ability? Maybe there’s a patte…

Malvolio’s analysis was cut short as he noticed that he was falling ten feet into the ground, he managed to land on his feet but he was suddenly overcome by sudden shots of pain erupting all over his body. He now knew how really quick his opponent movements were; within a second it had probably propelled him into the air and started to beat him senseless while he was floating before running back to where it was standing. He opened fire quick as possible, not caring whether the bullets made their mark.
One, two, three, four, and five he counted in his mind before he felt an immense throbbing pain in his head. Still dizzy from the pain he produced a turtle-shaped charm from his magical trousers again counting: one, two, three, four, but instead of counting five he pushed a small button on the turtle charm’s underbelly creating an invisible barrier around him.

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The Prince Silver connected with to consecutive punches to the gnome’s body, followed by a roundhouse kick; he then spun around on midair before jabbing his other leg forward into his opponent’s face. One second past and the gnome jester didn’t even stagger, it merely smiled at him as it pulled out two rubber chickens from its trousers and began to beat him furiously, the gnome attacked with quick spinning motions each spin was followed by a rubber chicken or a foot connecting with a random part of his body, he was caught off guard, the prince could not use his alacrity under this type of onslaught.
Finally the gnome stopped, the prince began concentrating on increasing the flow of adrenaline into his body. No more games, he’ll use his alacrity and finish off the gnome with his claws.
But before he could activate his ability, he realized why the gnome stopped; he was now wearing blue greaves on his right leg, crouching low for a lunge. And with a flurry of motion; he launched himself into the air bringing his greaved leg forward into a devastating kick.
The prince’s toad-like face received the full force of the blow followed by a slight burst of electricity, it wasn’t lethal but it was enough to cause his decaying muscles to stiffen and leave him wide open for another attack which came in a form of a roundhouse kick to the side of his head.
The decayed prince staggered to his feet, though he was accustomed to pain, his body wasn’t; a fact that was further proven by another kick from the gnome.

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The count’s undead horde marched their way towards the capitol city, but to get there they must cross the mountains of Junland. The mountains are infested with hairy semi-intelligent humanoids called the Johnnish, which are more known for their ineptitude that causes them to die by the thousands. Fortunately, they multiply at an alarming late since Jonnish reproduce by cloning themselves; if one dies, chances are it will soon be replaced by ten more incubating in a mound somewhere in the mountains.

The Count smiled as his scouting team of six Fellbats fluttered back to camp. They reported a sighting of two Jonnish battalions marching down to meet them, apparently the hairy things were always itching for a fight. The Count ordered Duke Drachenfaust to meet the enemy with his own battalion; two regiments of Zombies, a band of eight Ghouls, twelve Fellbats, eight barrow wights, and a regiment of elite Boneguards.   

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The Prince was thrown twelve feet into the air from the gnome’s kick; he quickly staggered to his feet all the while anticipating another attack. He was right, the gnome lunged and brought his greaved leg forward, but the Prince responded with a counterattack; ducking low to dodge, he then extended one of his arms to grasp the gnome’s foot pulling him down face-first on the pavement.

Malvolio silently cursed himself as tried to pry of the creature’s claws from his foot. One… two… three… his subconscious mind started counting upon realizing that the creature’s body is starting to build up and pump adrenaline throughout its body, with seconds to react; the gnome jester grabbed the nearest object he could reach –in this case, a bottle- and hurled it into the monster’s face. It was a swart distraction, not only did it stop the creature’s ability; it also caused it to loosen its grip. Swift as the wind, the gnome rolled sideways; stopping with both legs planted on the floor, and pulled out an axe.
Malvolio could see that the creature was aggravated by another failed attempt to increase its speed, without any hesitation the creature exploded into action; slashing madly with its wicked claws. The gnome ducked from side to side to avoid the rampaging creature’s onslaught. As the creature’s attack came to a halt, Malvolio responded with a series of axe swings which were easily parried by the monster’s silver claws. The exchange went on with both sides not showing any advantage; the fight was no longer a dance between two skilled fighters, but an all out brawl.
The Prince drove its toad-like head into the gnome’s belly; the gnome retaliated with an axe to the creature’s back. The decayed prince howled in agony, running full speed to pin the persistent gnome between the wall and his head. Malvolio spat blood from the impact, his axe fell on the ground as his grip loosened, he fell on the floor gasping for air finding enough strength to cough up the blood that were now filling his lungs. But he cannot give in to the pain; a moment of weakness will leave him vulnerable for a gruesome death in the hands of this monster. With shivering hands he reached for his axe, and regret his decision of ever helping the couple, but it’s too late for regrets now, instead he started counting; one… two… three… four…

The Prince Silver was confident that victory is at hand; he bellowed with triumph as his body vibrated with the sudden flow of adrenaline. This time he’s sure that he can use his alacrity, this time the gnome will be dead. The Prince exploded into motion, propelling himself with powerful legs, moving with the speed that could outrun a bullet. But something went wrong, he could see that the gnome was holding his axe in front of him; right in front of the Prince’s path, he would have stopped but the momentum of his charge was pushing him ever forward, forward to his demise.

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Despite their reputation for getting themselves killed in comedic ways, the Johnnish army was an imposing sight; ninety strong soldiers arranged in three regiments, each with a detachment of heavily armored veterans, ten Raz yetis towered among their ranks ready to provide heavy support.
Their warlord sneered at the sight the undead marching upwards to meet them; he believed that this will be a battle truly worthy of his skills. He bellowed commands at his troops ordering all of them to use the downward slope to aid their charged. The troops replied with a loud yell of: “Bah-Boosh!!!”
They all charged yelling battlecries and the occasional “Bah-Boosh”, the warlord was right; the slope did aid the momentum of their charge, the only problem is that the veterans were on front and the weight of their armors has made their movements clumsy. In an instant, one veteran tripped over his own beard, and fell flat on the snow, more Johnnish soldiers also fell as they tripped over the veteran’s sprawled body. Like a stack of perfectly placed dominos they all stumbled; their battlecries were now replaced with a variety of prayers, profanities and the occasional “Bah-Boosh” as they rolled down the mountain slope in an avalanche of muscle and hair.

Duke Drachenfaust thought whether his rotting ears were deceiving him; first he heard loud battlecries, then followed by what seemed to be a combination of rumbling and profanities. He turned to his troops but before he could utter a command, they were assaulted by an avalanche of rolling, cursing Johnnish warriors. The battle hasn’t even begun and both sides had already suffered severe casualties. Drachenfaust pulled himself from the snow and surveyed his surrounding; there were barely enough soldiers to continue the fight, only the Fellbats and three Boneguards remained, and he could see that all of the enemy’s Raz yeti’s were unharmed by the avalanche, he then ordered a hasty retreat back to camp to gather reinforcements… the Count won’t be pleased.

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Malvolio could see that his gambit paid off; by timing his strike, he could use his opponent’s own speed against him. His success was evident in his opponent’s bisected corpse lying on the pavement. It was even more disgusting dead, than it was alive; the gaping wound which used to hold either side of its body made gurgling sounds which caused pus and blood to bubble. The gnome decide to turn his back and walk way from the putrid sight, not paying heed to the hundreds of eyes that watched from the shadows.

As Malvolio left the scene of the battle, Emo-beasts of all shapes and sized scuttled from their hiding places, gathering around the body of the fallen prince, their gurgled voices hummed in unison as they perform what seemed to be a ritual. The pitch rose and fell and remained low, then rising again in a loud crescendo only to fall back into its depressing rhythm. The sore infested body of the fallen Emo-beast shuddered and vibrated in unison with its kin’s cacophony, gaping wounds swelled and exploded in a miasmic cloud of ichor; revealing the grey chitin underneath, the wounds that separated the body swelled into a mass of virulent necrotic cysts bursting open into an airborne orgy of maggots and pus, if mortals were here to witness the repugnant spectacle; they would be vomiting until they were nothing but skin and bones.

With the end of the night, comes the end of the ritual. The modest light the beginning of dawn provides, gives us a slight glimpse of two creatures standing where the prince’s bisected corpse had been. Both were covered with gray chitin on one side and disease-ravaged humanoid with horns on the other, both let out a long resounding shriek as all the other Emo- beasts shed their rotting bodies to reveal the gray anthropomorphic bodies underneath. It was a ritual of change, a ritual which allows them to ascend to a higher level of suffering; it is the ritual which is used to cast off the trappings of the Prince to show the world the visages of: Emo-Jekyl and Emo-Hyde.