The Prince of Party Justin Poole

With a limp cock and a heavy heart

I slipped out of bed and walked towards the bathroom 

“It isn’t a big deal, it happens to lots of guys, its just the whiskey”

She called after me

I shut the door behind me and flicked on the light.  I stared into the mirror, the harsh white glow of the fluorescent lights made my skin appear even paler than it actually was.

I laughed in my head.

It wasn’t the whiskey, it was her.  It was the familiar smell of her bedroom, the lavender reminded me of you.  It was the way she locked her fingers in my hair pulling me towards her as I made her cum with my tongue.  It wasn’t the whiskey keeping me from penetrating her, it was my heart.

It was her face and the way her pale green eyes reminded me of yours.  It was her voice as she laughed and called out my name reminding me again and again that she wasn’t you.  

I told her not to talk but she didn’t listen.

I flipped her over and tried to fuck her from behind.  I closed my eyes tight and pictured your body but it just felt all wrong.

She felt all wrong.

This isn’t the first time this has happened but it seems to be a more and more frequent occurrence lately. 

I leave the bathroom and climb back into bed, she is already beginning to doze off, happy with the orgasm I provided, perhaps disappointed in her inability to raise my spirits or my cock.  I kiss her on the back of the neck and pull her close to me with an arm around her stomach and one under the pillow.

My arm would fall asleep in this position, if I kept it up too long but I won’t, because as soon as she is asleep I roll to the other side of the bed and begin contemplating my escape.

If it were you I would have welcomed those pins and needles all night long.

Down the hallway a radio blared

Ken left his apartment and began the walk to the end of the hall, in approximately sixty feet and six inches he would find himself at her door.  He’d had his eye on the short blonde since she’d moved into his complex some three weeks ago.  As of yet he’d been entirely unsuccessful in his attempts to strike up a conversation.  He’d sat across from her at the pool but she’d been reading and he didn’t want to disturb her.  He’d seen her struggling up the steps with her arms full of groceries but Tim from across the hall had beaten him to her rescue.  He’d even ended up alone in the elevator with her but just as he’d started to open his mouth, her cell phone rang and she took the call.  Today however was going to be his day, he was going to stop waiting for a lucky bounce and make his own luck.  He was headed directly to her door and well, if he struck out, at least he’d go down swinging.

“The count is 2-0 here in the bottom of the ninth, two outs, two on and the Rangers trail by two.  Carpenter checks the sign, shakes him off and checks again, heres the wind up and the pitch, swing and a miss!  Strike one!  Hamilton was swinging for the fences on that one.”

As he made his way down the hall towards her apartment he found himself studying his surroundings in a way he had never before felt the need to.  He noticed the discoloration in the carpet, the seams in the shoddily applied wallpaper, the doors on the right side of the hallway had fresh coats of paint while the doors on the left side were flaking and fading.  He noticed Toms door was missing its number, the middle eastern family across from Tom had a silver doorknob as opposed to the gold everyone else had, and he noticed that he was almost to her door and couldn’t remember the spiel he’d rehearsed for half an hour before leaving.  He’d been so focused on everything around him in an attempt to keep his mind off of how nervous he was that he’d forgotten just what it was he was going to say.

“This home crowd has raised to a fever pitch here in Arlington Texas.  Their Rangers are down to their final two strikes in game seven of the World Series.  Carpenter has his sign, he winds, he delivers, Hamilton smashes a long arcing drive down the left field line!! This one could get out!! Ohh it is foul by just a few feet and the Rangers are now down to their final strike.

Ken stopped in front of her door and paused to collect his thoughts.  He went over his plan in his head.  Keep it simple, be direct, exude confidence, keep it simple, be direct, exude confidence, keep it simple, be direct, exude confidence.  Introduce yourself, compliment her, ask her if she would like to get together.  Easy enough, right?  Of course it is.  He was an attractive enough guy, well groomed and fit.  And so what if she does say no?  Is that really such a big deal?  He will just tell her it was nice to meet her and that he will see her around the complex and then just go about his day.  See her around the complex, yeah he will see her around the complex.  She lives at the end of his hall, they share a pool, a laundry room, the rec area on the first floor.  Surely that won’t be entirely awkward due to her informing him of his not being good enough to even consider a date with.  A decision that could be based only on his looks as she knows little to nothing about him.  Nope, not awkward at all.

“This is it folks, Hamilton, the last hope of the Rangers is down to his final strike, one more swing and miss and the Cardinals are World Series Champions.  From the belt, and this one is juuuuuuuust a bit outside.  And the count is now full at thee balls and two strikes. Make or break pitch coming here from Carpenter.

Ken breathed in slowly and out steadily, he calmed his heart and reached forward to knock on the door.  Nothing.

He waited.  He thought to himself.  ”Maybe she isn’t even home, maybe this was all for nothing”  He heard some rustling behind the door.  She was home.  The door swung in and there she stood.  She came to about his chin, she stared up at him with piercing blue eyes, smiling from underneath a messy mop of bleached blonde hair with just a hint of dark roots showing.  She wore a tight fitting black t-shirt with a bright green zombie on the front of it, her short sleeves showed off multiple tattoos of the seemingly common theme of horror movies.  Her black skinny jeans were offset by her neon green studded belt and green converse all-stars.  She was if anything, intimidating.  She smiled and offered a hello.  He fumbled a bit, off to a bad start.

“Hi, I’m Ken”

“Hi, I’m Barbie”

Ken laughed nervously and replied

“Ohh um, what a strange coincidence”

“I’m just fucking with you dude, my name is Jessica, my parents weren’t fucking retarded”

She laughed in a way that made him feel more like he was being laughed at than laughed with.

He plowed ahead undeterred.

“Well I’ve seen you around the building and I really like your style, I was wondering if maybe you would want to get together sometime, maybe for drinks or something?”

“Oh, yeah sure, that sounds like fun.  Just ya know, don’t try to fuck me or anything, I’m totally fucking gay.”  ”See ya around”

And with that she slammed the door in his face.

Leaving him alone with his confusion and a whole new set of insecurities.

“Swing and a miss! He is out! And thats a winner!!  A World Series Winner for the Cardinals!  The players are storming the field and all has gone quiet here in Arlington as the fans sit in a stunned silence!  

Natural Selection

The day had turned from bright and breezy to dark and dreary as Jason made his way further up the mountain. The higher he climbed the denser the trees seemed to grow, to the point where he could barely make out the sun above him.  The rays of light struggled to break through the canopy and what little managed to reach the forest floor wasn’t doing much to light his path.  He had set out a bit later than planned and as a result he feared he would not reach his destination in time to watch the sun set over the vast Augusta countryside.  Still he ventured on and up determined to complete his journey before setting up camp for the night.  If he couldn’t make it in time for the sunset he’d at least be there for sunrise.

The mass of trees seems so thick that they don’t so much sway as they more seem to lean in unison with the gusting of the wind.  Ever so slightly to the east or west they bend in chorus, the currents their conductor.  And with each colossal cracking of ancient trunk comes a thunderous rumble from somewhere deep within the mountain as the mammoth foundation of roots shift ever so slightly.  Even the deepest dirt miles below the forest floor gives way to the trees.

Jason had taken great care to build his fire in such a way as to keep it contained yet to let it burn bright.  In the largest clearing close to his landing point he’d built the beast in the shape of a pyramid surrounded by rocks and wet moss.  He now set out to build his tent by the light.  All around him the silence of the forest seemed almost suffocating.  As night had fallen the wind had died down to a mere steady breeze as opposed to the bursts and blasts of earlier day.  He sat by his fire and listened to the crackling logs dance in time with the rustling of trees.  He soon found himself hypnotized by the bright hot flames as he focused in on something much more natural than the world he normally existed in.  As Jason began to fall to sleep he saw things in the bright hot embers which felt of home.

He saw in himself something which had existed long before the modern world. He felt the fear of his ancestors as they hunkered in caves fanning precious flames.  Not weary but more horrified of what existed just outside the cave walls.  Glowing eyes and gnashing teeth hungry for flesh with no need for sleep populating the dark.  The fire must not die for it protects our lives.  These beasts stalk us no matter where we hide and we have but the flame to place us above them. They are stronger, faster, and more adept to the hunt.  Our ingenuity shall be our saving grace.

Jason awoke the next morning with a hangover not from drink but from dreams.  He carried with him the fear of a thousand generations.  Something he had never experienced but had always known.  He felt as if he had found something in the mountains.  Something he had never realized he’d been looking for. Jason felt as if in this natural setting, these dark and foreboding surroundings, this ancient domain he had found his home

We met in a bar, so you met the other me

But still, we get along famously and have built a relationship of sorts based on half truths and misconceptions.

We have date nights, where we both wear our fanciest clothes and we go out to dinner at the type of place that requires reservations.

After dinner we go on walks through our favorite park and when no one is looking we slip off the path and into the trees.  You pull me down to you by my tie and kiss me passionately as your other hand fishes me out of my pants.  I lift up your dress and we fuck just yards away from strolling strangers.

Sometimes we go into used book stores and find dimly lit corners where we kiss amongst piles of books.  You reach up and pull down a book of poetry and begin to read to me as I kiss down your neck and across your collarbone.  But then I get mad because I don’t even like poetry and I knock the book out of your hand and scream

“YOU KNOW I HATE POETRY”

I shove you to the ground and you look up at me with terror in your eyes

You see a look of shame and horror flash across my face as I realize what I have done but it is replaced almost immediately by anger and I walk out of the store, leaving you laying on the ground.

I come to you late that night reeking of booze and stale cigarette smoke and in my drunken stupor I have painstakingly scribbled out line after line of beautiful verse describing the intimate details of every single moment I have loved you.  

I explain to you just how empty my life would be if you left.  As if the sun had left the sky.  As if all color had abandoned the world and all had gone grey.  As if each painting had deserted its frame and left the walls of every museum bare.  As if every note played by every orchestra had gone flat.  As though every guitar in the world had went permanently out of tune.

And then I fall to my knees and I kiss your stomach and your hips.  You tangle your fingers in my hair and you whisper “never again”  And I repeat back to you as I undress you “never again” And I kiss you from head to toe and make you feel more alive than you could ever feel alone.  

We make love like oceans crashing against rocky shores and the moons shift to our tides as we devour each other and become one once again

War is hell

The cannons blast thunderously and the ground shakes beneath my feet.  I do my best to ignore the buzzing in my head as I choke down my jackhammering heart and struggle to regain my feet.  As I stand and begin to resume the uphill struggle I can feel shrapnel and bullets cutting through the air.  The way the air moves around me is almost poetic in a terrifying way.  It causes such dread and horror deep within my soul that I am compelled to document it in my mind for future use.  I focus intently on the swirling and churning in my stomach, I feel the blood as it pumps violently through my veins, I visualize my terror dripping from my brain, down the back of my throat and into my mouth.  I spit blood, dirt, and fear onto the ground at my feet.

And I continue on.  

Until the whistle sounds and we cease our charge, returning to the bunker for a moments rest.

This war of attrition must at some point be won.  It is a game of inches and each life we lose gains another us yard.  We push forward and they push back and at some point in the midst of this death and destruction we find time to sleep.  Surrounded by decaying bodies and hordes of flesh devouring scavengers we make our beds deep beneath the dirt.  What I wouldn’t give for a night in a bed with clean soft sheets and a feather stuffed pillow.  Each night I dream of a warm embrace and a roaring fire, a cup of strong cider and a hot meal.  Such lovely thoughts can come to me only in the dark of night.  For when the sun rises I am surrounded once again on all sides by reminders of the horror I currently inhabit.

The cries of the wounded are maddening and the putrid stench of rotting flesh thickens the air.  I once longed for adventure and excitement but now I’d trade the world to be back in my shop, cutting meat and wrapping steaks.  The mundane banality of my past life calls to me like a white beach paradise.  If I make it out of this mess alive I will never again venture outside the pages of a novel in search of adventure.

The Prince of Party Justin Poole: On the subject of dating strippers

Murder by Numbers

It has been nearly forty eight hours now yet his face still occupies the television screen practically nonstop.  

His victims faces, his victims voices, his victims suffering, on a never ending loop around the world wide web.

Even the radio brings me constant updates and breaking news regarding his actions.

With the simple pull of a trigger he has become a global phenomenon.  

It seems so silly that the deaths of so few could impact so many.  So perplexing that such a trivial situation could lead to so much excitement.  The loss of the tiniest fraction of a minute drop in the ocean that is humanity causing such fervor. 

Yet it has.  And I suppose it always does.  The media does love a good horror story.

I suppose now I know.  I suppose I have always known.  Always known what it is I will have to do to bring the attention I need to my cause.  What I will have to do to receive the attention I deserve.  I know now what it is I must do.  

To create the biggest and best media circus this nation has ever seen.  To carve out my own personal piece of history.  To put my name in the mouths of millions.

My time spent being nothing is over.  The years I have spent ignored are over.  

No longer will my voice go unheard.  Finally they will all hear my message.  Finally they will all know my name.  Finally they will all see just how powerful I am.

If I am to have it all

I must kill them all

Things that really annoy me.

Writing a sentence and tagging it “Six Word Short Story” does not make it a story.

You’re all doing it wrong.

The Fame Game

Jimmy, Chris, Tyler and I are headed to the mall to promote tonights show.  I believe this is Richmond Virginia but I really haven’t been paying attention.  We’re standing in front of the record store when two young girls make their way over to us.  They introduce themselves as Charlotte and Lauren, they say they’ve heard of our band, I don’t really believe them, but I’m not going to argue.  Tyler asks them if they are coming to the show tonight, they of course are.  Jimmy shifts into business mode and begins attempting to sell them some T-shirts, they try to haggle with us, flirting and hinting at what they would do for T-Shirts and backstage passes.  I can’t help but laugh, the venue we’re playing tonight isn’t even big enough to have a backstage area.  Tyler lets them know we haven’t checked into our hotel room yet and could use a place to shower, they invite us back to their apartment.


Tyler is riding with the girls and we’re following in the van.  We see Charlotte climb into the backseat with him and we share a bit of a laugh.  Chris pays Jimmy the five dollars he owes him, it seems they had a bet on how long it would take Tyler to fuck one of the girls, Chris said it would happen after the show, Jimmy said before, had I known about the bet I would have wagered he’d fuck one in the car and the other at the apartment.  You never bet against Tylers quick wit and pretty cock.   

When we reach the apartment Tyler and Charlotte disappear into a bedroom and Lauren points Chris in the direction of the shower.  Jimmy and I take a seat on the couch and Lauren makes her way into the kitchen. Everything in the apartment is white and it reeks of pine.  There isn’t anything on the walls nor on the coffee table nor the end table next to the couch.  I notice a nintendo on the floor in front of the television and crawl over to it, it is hooked up so I turn it on and reach up to switch the TV on, the familiar sound of the Mike Tysons Punch Out theme blares out of the speakers.  I lose myself in a different world for what seems like only minutes.  The tour, the band, the girls, the drugs, everything she said to me before she left, it all makes its way to the back of my mind as my memory works overtime to recall the precise strategy required to defeat King Hippo and Bald Bull.  Before I can make it to Mike Tyson I feel Jimmy nudging me with his foot, I keep my eyes glued to the screen.

He nudges me again

“Dude, hey.”

I respond mockingly

“Hey, dude, what”

“Look.”

“Look at what man, I’m busy.”

“Just turn around dude.”

I pause the game and turn back towards Jimmy and then look in the direction he is pointing.  Lauren is still in the kitchen, she is standing in front of the stove cooking something that smells like garlic soaked in garlic sauce.  She has removed all her clothes and is wearing nothing but a tiny blue apron.  

Jimmy smiles at me with a grin like a fat kid in a candy shop.  It occurs to me at that moment that he hasn’t been laid at least since this tour started.  I nod in her direction.

“Make your move buddy, shes all yours.”

Before he can leave the couch Lauren turns around and begins walking towards us.  She does her best to make seductive eyes in our direction as she draws nearer.  I can tell this isn’t something she does often.  Despite the fact that she is a rather busty and nearly naked girl with fiery red hair, nothing about her really says sexy.

I can tell she has something more on her mind than just Jimmy and if this were after the show tonight I would tell her to fuck off but the problem is the show is still a few hours away and we need this girls money.  We need this girls love and we need her support.  What we really need is for her to call all of her friends and tell them she just fucked two rock stars and that they should all meet her at the club tonight so she can introduce them to us.  This wasn’t really the kind of promotion we had in mind when we headed to the record store but I guess it will work just as good if not better.  My heart isn’t in it and neither is my cock but he only takes a bit of convincing and my wallet is hurting.  I guess tonights performance will just have to start before the show.

I grab her by a wrist and pull her close to me, I hold her tight and kiss her roughly.  She moans into my mouth as I reach under the apron and spread apart her pussy.  She is already dripping wet.  I tell her she is going to fuck Jimmy now and me later, she doesn’t speak, just nods her head.  Jimmy takes his dick out and sits back down on the couch, I turn her away from him and she sits down, impaling herself on his cock in one fluid motion.  She moans again, louder this time, with her eyes locked on mine.  I watch her tits heave up and down as she bounces slowly on his dick, I feel mine starting to grow hard.  She watches my hand as I rub my cock through my skinny jeans, if they’re good for anything its showing off your package.  Her eyes shift from mine to my crotch as she plays with her nipples and rides Jimmys dick.  I reach down and unbutton my fly, her eyes grow wide as my cock springs out.  I stand in front of her slowly jerking off, my eyes never leave hers.  

In my mind my hands are on the controller, I’m ducking and dodging, punching and weaving around the ring.  Piston Honda is eyeing me, he wants me to go down for the count but he doesn’t have the punching power.  I hit all the right buttons and make all the right moves.  My secret combinations are dangerous and my star punch is a killer.  Just when I have him dazed I move in for the knock out.

I thrust my hips forward and penetrate her open mouth.  She takes each and every inch, sucking greedily.  Her hands are rough and her motions are clumsy but what she lacks in technique she makes up in enthusiasm.  I close my eyes and let her do the rest.  

I hear the ref counting loudly.  The crowd roars their approval.  I can see the title belt ahead of me.  I am just inches from the prize.  Another knockout victory on the road to fame and fortune.  

I cum in her mouth with money and success on my mind.  She swallows each and every drop.  Smiling at me like I did her a favor.  I wink and tell her there is more in store for her after the show.  I walk down the hallway to see if Chris is done with the shower yet, leaving Jimmy behind to finish her off

I always get really excited when someone re-blogs something I wrote

I know I may complain from time to time that people on tumblr only pay attention to shallow love poetry or that not enough people read the things I post

but the truth is anytime a single person re-blogs something, anything, that I wrote, my heart jumps a bit in my chest.

To think that I created something that someone else enjoys so much that they want to show it to other people.

As if they are saying

Hey, read this

it says something I have been trying to say

It is a part of who I am or who I want to be

Just thinking of it sends an electric shock racing throughout my body.

Thank you for taking the time.

I’ve given up hope.

I’ve accepted that no one is going to read anything I post unless they are already following me or it is featured.

That pretty much sucks but lets face it, no one is out there perusing the poetry/prose/fiction/creative writing tags on tumblr hoping to discover new writers.

They follow whoever they follow and that is who they pay attention to.  When someone new actually gets featured(rare occurrence) they’ll maybe follow that person.

I know this shouldn’t actually bother me but it does.  Its just sad that people need a group of “editors” who for the most part have no qualifications whatsoever, to tell them what they should read.

So I guess tumblr is what it is and no matter how many people complain about it they aren’t going to change anything about it because honestly no one on the tumblr staff gives a fuck what you or I think.

A hollow shell

We’d danced and drank all night with no need for conversation, sweating bodies under hot lights beneath the mirrored ceiling.  

Everything about the night was amplified.

Music too loud, lights too bright, drinks too strong and skirts too tight.

Smoke hung over the dance floor in what some pretentious writer jerk would call a romantic haze.  To me it just felt like a filthy fog distorting everything around me.  The sights, the sounds, the tastes, even my thoughts had become blurred but one image was still cutting through the fuzz,

the way her dress clung to her body.

I was falling in love with her and she hadn’t even spoken a word.

We somehow made it back to her apartment and out of our clothes without me even realizing it.  I suppose I blacked out somewhere around last call.

She was in my lap mouthing the words to whatever song she’d put on as she kissed me.  I was inside of her before the chorus had time to repeat.

With daylight came my orgasm and her sleep.  Or at least her pretending to sleep.  I wasn’t really sure.  I laid there with her on top of my arm.  Not holding her.  Just being there.  It took me finally penetrating her to end a night of closeness and now we were what we had been all along.

Two strangers seeking comfort in the softness of flesh and whiskey.

I had fallen entirely out of love with her

and she’d never spoken a word.

An Avalanche of Death

From somewhere not far enough away I hear the stomping of boots and the rumbling of machines. It has been some time now since the soldiers left our village, less than a day but more than half. The shadows have shifted in a way to say that night will come soon. The wind has picked up and the temperature has dropped enough to begin chilling my already frozen blood. I sit at my mothers feet and and pull my arms inside my shirt. Father and brother are only a few feet away. I wonder if they are cold.

I run to the house and return with blankets for my family. I cover them up and resume my listening. The sounds are most assuredly drawing nearer. I wonder if it the same men who visited us in the early hours of the morning. The men who ordered us from our homes and into the street. The men who lined us up shouted angrily in a language I did not understand. I could sense their hatred despite my not knowing the words drenched in it.

I fell when the shots were fired, I landed not far from my family, but when the soldiers had left I was the only one to rise. Mother and Father and Brother all remained on the ground. Something like a mask was fixed upon their faces. Faces so transformed they were hardly recognizable as the ones I had loved. The neighbors and their neighbors and the rest of the families we’d known now lay in a pile of twisted and limp limbs. The stench of blood and bile is heavy in the air. It chokes my lungs and burns my eyes but I dare not leave my mothers side.

I hear voices now, just above the boots and machines. They’re calling to each other in voices I do not recognize. Not the men from earlier but something altogether different. I did not fear the men this morning when I should have but I will surely know enough to fear these men now. As they begin to make their way out of the woods dig my way beneath my mothers arms. I struggle and sift my way into the mass of bodies, pulling arms and legs about me. Concealing myself amongst the rotting flesh.

A commanding voice shouts above the rest and with that the sound of engines ceases. I hear the boots approach my position. I feel the cool skin of my fathers friend as his arm shifts across my forehead. I smell his life as it drips from him. The blood runs down my cheek and into my mouth. It tastes bitter and cold yet somewhat familiar. Like the taste of flavorful meat when under cooked. I feel a hand on my ankle and my heart beats frantically in panic. I do my best to hang onto someone as I am pulled and yanked. Just as my fingers are about to give I am released and the body next to me is pulled away instead. I attempt to calm my beating heart but before I can gain some sense of myself the lights go out and I am asleep.

It is morning when I awake once again. I must have unconscious through the night. I listen attentively, trying to pick up any sound of man or machine. For many minutes I hear nothing. I begin to untangle myself from the blanket of bodies I had hidden myself in. I rise to my feet, stinking and sore from a night spent beneath the dead.

My mother is gone and so are several others.

I walk to my home. There is no one there.

I walk to the northern edge of the village from where the men had come. There is nothing.

It is then that I notice the smoke beside the church.

I walk along the walls of homes, silently making my way towards the flames.

The smell of cooked meat still hangs heavy in the air.

I peek around the corner

and I am greeted by my darling mother

her body is nowhere to be seen.

But I will remove her head from the stake and begin her burial nonetheless

Evil gleams in the dashboard lights

I heard her muttering the words over and over beneath her breath 

“Psycho killer 78, don’t go into the bathroom with me.”

I had no idea what she could possibly mean so I just turned the radio up a bit and drove on.

She was a goddess of smut.  A crust punk killer queen.  A divine deviant with a desire for destruction.

I wanted nothing to do with her.  I wanted every single thing she had to offer.

We drove on and on through the night knocking over a couple liquor stores to keep our gas tank full and our mouths fed.  She wouldn’t speak a word in the car but once the action hit it was like watching a superhero in action, well I suppose super villain would be more fitting.  

She’d blast open the door just as her angelic features contorted into a snarl, smash the barrel of her gun into the face of the first person she came across and then leap onto the counter and begin shrieking her demands.

They were always met.  

Back on the highway she’d lose herself in comic books that read more like horror stories, all blood and guts and rape and decapitation.  Every other page or so something particularly gory would strike her fancy and she’d let out a bit of snort which would turn into a giggle which would turn into an almost hysterical outburst of maniacal cackling.  

The way her eyes would light up during these laughing fits was almost erotic.  I knew I was falling for her.

The two men had been at war for years

And now they found themselves standing opposite one another once again. Behind them lay the universes greatest warriors, beaten and broken at the hands of these two powerful heroes. The two had fought their way through the most prestigious battle arts tournament known to man only to find themselves face to face, the stakes now the highest they had ever been. In order to fulfill their destiny and place their hands upon the trophy which would promise them eternal glory they would go one on one for the final time.  

From atop the great mountain Karobeen , a messenger descended, scroll in hand.  He took his place before the massive crowd and bellowed out the decree handed down to him by the great Gods.  This final match of the tournament, which would crown the ultimate warrior king was to be determined under Submission rules. The only way to win being to make your opponent declare you his superior.  A truly humiliating way to suffer defeat, especially at the hands of a long time foe.

The two men entered the circle in which their fates would be decided and from high upon the mountain the drums began to beat.  The beautiful Princess of the Midlantian tribe stepped forth and lit the first torch, upon her signal, the daughters of each nation comprising the Global Federation of United Empires stepped forward and lit their respective torches.  The ring of fire lit up the holy circle, the light of the flames danced on the faces of both great warriors.  

The battle raged for hours with neither man gaining a true advantage.  Each time the momentum seemed to shift, when it would look as if one were about to take control, the pendulum would once again swing.  As the last of Midlantia’s moons vanished behind Mount Karobeen’s massive peak the two warriors lay bloody and beaten in the center of the holy circle.  The crowd remained boisterous despite the many hours they had spent cheering the great battle.  From atop the mountain the drummers continued their rhythmic pounding as if seeking to will the two mens hearts to never stop beating.  

“ASLAT”

Bellowed Necrolust

“THIS ENDS NOW”

The ghastly terror of a man struggled to his feet at last, only to see his nemesis rise to meet his glare.

He sprang forth, his massive shoulder smashing into Aslat’s sternum.  The two mens momentum carried them out of the circle and into the mountain wall.  As they collided into the rock with magnificent force, boulders from above crumbled down the face of the mountain, the crowd let out a collective gasp as the two men were buried beneath the rock.  The watchers went silent, but on beat the drums.

After what seemed an eternity the rubble began to shift and out of the mess climbed the two men.  The crowd erupted into loud chants for their hero Aslat.

He stumbled forward and fell to his knees.  Behind him Necrolust seemed to be out on his feet, he shuffled forward, tripping over his own feet before catching himself on a large boulder.  Aslat stood once more.  He turned and strode slowly back towards Necrolust.  From his belt he pulled out his whip, handed down to him by his creators, it held within it powers not understood by mortal men.  He pulled Necrolust to his feet and shoved him back into the circle.  He struck him one last time with a mighty elbow to the back of his neck.  Necrolust crumbled to the ground.  Aslat now drug him to the very edge of the circle, he raised his hands above his head and began tying him by his wrists to one of the outer torches.

A hush fell over the crowd as they waited to see what Aslat had planned.

He drug himself to the next torch and with a mighty roar he broke it free of its perch.  He lay it down on the ground and picked up the basin from which it drew its fuel.  He made his way back to Necrolust and dumped the oil on his felled foe. Necrolust spit and sputtered as the thick oil poured down his face and body.

It was suddenly clear what Aslat aimed to do.

He picked up the torch and turned back to Necrolust

He began to lower the flame

The drums began to beat faster, harder, louder.  The crowd once again fell silent.

Aslat turned to them and spoke

“I, Aslat, son of no one, descended from the bowels of machines am the greatest warrior of all empires.  Speak it so or burn to the bone Necrolust”

The drums ceased their beating.

And Necrolust spoke through his mouth of blood and broken teeth.

“I shall never admit you better than I Aslat, you are federation scum and soon you and all you seek to champion shall know the true will of the tyrants you protect”

Aslat turned towards him, a look of pure hatred burned from his eyes.

“Never speak ill of the Federation foul beast!”

“Now once again I command you, admit me your superior or die where you lay.”

Necrolust struggled to sit, his hands still bound above his head, and leaned forward as far as he could.

He whispered just loud enough for Aslat to hear him.

“Burn me slave”

And with that Aslat lowered the torch to the face of Necrolust and lit him ablaze.

He did not scream as he died.