Sunday, August 11, 2013

The Sword of Coke 'N Whores Act II Part I

The morning had come for the penthouse allegiance of Mark, Violetta, Steven, Melina, the Titans, Sofia and Yukio to set forth on destroying the very sword they had sought to wield. Marchanda beckoned everyone to the Foyer of Pending Annihilation to confirm their departure to the rest of the Legion. “Hurry the fuck up!” she began. “Everybody else is waiting and possibly crying.” All but Mark and Steven had complied. “Steven’s still paranoid over losing Mark or himself.” Yukio explained.
            Marchanda instructed the others to meet with the Legion. She had to convince Steven that Yukio had indeed seen the both of them together. She pried him off of Mark and did her best. “Steven...I know you’re uneasy about pursuing the mission at hand, but like it or not this is Mark’s genetics at fault here. This is not any punishment against you for not loving him enough.” Mark nudged him and said, “She succinctly explained why I’m fucked out of this bed we made. Now let’s defeat useless people who will most likely be Soul Calibur or other fighting game knockoffs.” Despite his skepticism, Steven only non-verbally acknowledged that their concerns had been taken to heart.
            When reunited with the other penthouse allegiance members, Wilhelmina bid adieu to them for the time being. Ganymede had been silent until he confirmed that he would supervise the Legion for the time being. “Well, this is it; remember...if we were to not come back, who do you all become?” The Legion replied, “We’ll always be the Legion! Mainly because even we realized that we wouldn’t want to be called the Dallas Cowboys!” “I promised myself I wouldn’t cry, but here goes these tears of joy.” Violetta said. “’re crying out of something that touched you in a positive light.” Melina chimed. “Save it for actual crying moments; death, paying bills, sadness or even being forced to listening to ‘Blurred Lines’ as a last resort.”
            After saying goodbye, the penthouse allegiance embarked on the final journey. According to the map of the final journey Yukio had drawn up, the Malagasy Impala would actually act as a final tower of combat. Along the way, they would meet with fighters that would claim their need for the Sword of Coke ‘N Whores was greater than anyone else’s. “Ok...according to this map, our first fight will be near a vaguely Egyptian landscape.” Mark noted. “Let’s assume this fighter will be a bandit type or something lame like that.”
            Forty-four minutes elapsed until they arrived at the vaguely Egyptian landscape and Mark was slated to confront his opponent he spotted from afar. When he tapped him on the shoulder with the Blade of Cartagena, his opponent turned to face him. “What’s your name?” he began. “I need to know of it so I can have the person mark your grave properly.” His opponent replied, “My name is Rolfe. I shall be the victor with my desire for the Sword of Coke ‘N Whores being much greater than yours.” “Bore me with how you ended up in this fucking landscape anyway.” Mark taunted. Rolfe scolded him and replied, “My family and homeland were gutted of their existence. The sword is all I have to face those who robbed me of my family and homeland.” Mark simply and darkly quipped, “Those marauders must’ve felt bad for wasting their time instead of doing something productive with their time.”
            Rolfe swung his axe at him, starting the fight. Mark was only thrown off for a small amount of time. When he expediently regained his cognizance he noted that Rolfe was planning a “heroic” finishing move when he would use all his strength for an attack. Mark knew an attack like that would require concentration more so than strength. To hurry the attack, he simply lacerated Rolfe’s legs and arms causing his concentration to dwindle. Rolfe was playing into his trap and decided to crescendo when he grunted and used all his might for his “heroic” attack.  When he swung and missed, Mark’s sword had pierced through Rolfe’s ribcage through the
other side of his body. “This can’t be...” he said in his dying breath. Mark withdrew his sword and kicked Rolfe’s body away from him. “Too bad it was. Now I feel terrible for the people that have to embalm you.” he said. He sauntered back to the dune buggy, already growing impatient for the next bout.
            He was partially relieved when he found that he wouldn’t be the only person that would have to fight in the final journey. Sofia did press him as to why he was acting out at the process. “Even Yukio didn’t foresee this type of aggression from you. What gives?” He replied, “That sword should’ve been a panacea for my transgressions. Instead, I have to risk life, limb and my lover to destroy this fucking thing.” “You know that you two are going to be together through this, right?” Yukio chimed. “I know, but goddamnit I wanted two cool swords I could have to my name.” Steven defended him saying, “At least he’s truthful.”
            The next stop would be in a vaguely Mediterranean landscape thirty-five minutes away. There, Violetta decided to face the opponent whilst wielding the Blade of Cartagena. Apparently, a requisite of battle was that the person who offered to fight had to do so with the Blade of Cartagena as their primary weapon. She called for her opponent and her opponent was a woman whose appearance had the penthouse allegiance groan out of disbelief. Violetta channeled them and told her, “If you had lost sisters named Valentina, Adelaide, Dionysia and Alyssum and in that order, I’ll kill you right after you say your name.” She replied, “My name’s Nadine Perot and I deserve a chance to explain myself.” Violetta acted on her word and finished Nadine in one hit. “No!” she wailed. “I can’t get less story time than Alyssum! I can’t!”
            Violetta replied, “You just did. Now shut up and quit staining this sword already.”
            She returned to the dune buggy and told Melina to proceed to the next point of travel. “Did she at least have an interesting name?” she asked Violetta. “Depends on the last time you gave a fuck about anyone named Nadine.” she retorted. “Point well taken.” Melina chimed. Thirty-seven minutes away was a vaguely Tuscan landscape. Marchanda offered to take the next fight. “If I come back crying, it means I felt it was waste of time.” she quipped. She spotted the opponent, a suave Casanova type who answered to the name, Emmanuel. “So, I get to fight a beautiful lady? It’s about time the opponents were easy on the eyes.” he remarked. Marchanda decided to play dirty with her prey. “I understand you’re the only beautiful fighter in these parts.” she purred. Wilhelmina sensed what she was doing. “Pure evil, that bitch is. Pure goddamn evil.” she thought.
            Marchanda beckoned Emmanuel for contact. “It’s about time you had to be the one speechless.” Emmanuel played into the trap perfectly. “Such a beautiful woman calling for must be my lucky day.” The rate he was walking had Marchanda switch her tactic a bit. “Why don’t you show me some of your moves?” she asked. He complied unaware that her tactic would bring about his mortality. He shadowboxed and roundhouse kicked the air for her. “Now you show me one of your moves.” he insisted. “Close your eyes.” she purred.
            “Do I get to peek?” he rhetorically queried.
            “Not until you feel it, silly.” she quipped.
             He waited and asked, “Now?”
            “No, silly. Not yet.” she replied.
            “How about now? I hate being teased like this.”
She drew the sword and pierced his heart. The feeling of the attack opened his eyes.
            “I hope there’s a place in hell for scumbags like you.” she finished.
            Marchanda emerged victorious and miraculously not in tears over the time consumed in the bout. Wilhelmina nudged her and said, “You whore. You may not have done it, but whore.” Marchanda replied, “Well, fuck off. I did everything I had to get him close enough so I could kill him. I’d never put forth that much effort into killing a scumbag and you know that.”
            The journey continued and thirty minutes later, they arrived at a vaguely Southeast Asian water mill valley. Wilhelmina decided to take the battle and called for her opponent to show themselves. “Come out, come out wherever you are. The sooner I kill you, the sooner we’ll both be relieved.” she taunted. Her opponent was an adolescent male who for all his vim and vigor, showed his weaknesses in flair. “I am the budding legend, Aflingah. My village has given me the strength to take anyone in battle who dares venture for the Sword of Coke ‘N Whores.”
            Wilhelmina swung her sword and drew blood when she lacerated his abdomen. Aflingah was floored at the sight of his own blood. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked. She stabbed him and was able to lift him with the Blade of Cartagena towards the edge of the water mill’s platform. Below was a drop to certain death. “Aspergers...or whatever the hell your name is...” Wilhelmina began. “Any last words before I send you to your death below?” He looked at her and said, “Tell my village that I am with the angels.” She then released him and he plummeted to his death with little screaming. “A note to this village!” she started. “Whatever his name was that I just sent to the bottom of this place...he wanted me to tell you that his sins were so great that he was given his own ring in the pits of hell.”
            When she arrived back to the dune buggy, Melina glared at her for being rather brash with the villagers. “He may have deserved it because he was in our way, but you could’ve at least made something less unoriginal up on the spot.” she said. “How am I supposed to live with myself ‘respecting the wishes’ of someone who deserved it?” Wilhelmina replied.
            Putting their conflicted sentiments aside, they pressed on to the next fight which would actually reside in a locale they found fascinating. After forty minutes of travel, the penthouse allegiance happened upon a landmark that was certified an exact recreation of the “Kaminoi Castle - Sakura-Dai Gate” from Soul Calibur II. “I admit that something this seemingly useless has pretty nice aesthetics.” Violetta noted. “I had no idea you could sound like a straight man.” Melina quipped.
            Steven offered to fight the opponent at this stop. He called for the opponent to show themselves. “Alright, you inevitable corpse. Make yourself vaguely known as I drain the blood out of you.” His opponent stepped forward and said, “You’re quite rude, even for someone with bloodlust. My name is Che and I need to avenge the death of my lover, Olivier. Stand in my way any longer and my fists will make sure you drop your britches to chew your food.” Steven scoffed at her notion. “You’ll find out how much of a mistake you made once your blood hits the ground. Ready to die?” He swung the Blade of Cartagena and managed to nick her leg. “That’s the only attack you’ll land on me.” she swore.
            Their bout would last a full hour. Swords were clanking for fifty-nine of those sixty minutes. “Are they fighting or welding a shield together?” Sofia asked. “I think the opponent just likes to avoid the death they deserve.” Marchanda chimed in. “Those that deserve to die often do their best to stave it off.” Melina added. Eventually, at the sixty minute mark is when a fatal error cost Che the fight and her life. She attempted a “heroic” move when she lifted the sword high above her head. Steven saw the hole in her defense and thrust the Blade of Cartagena in her chest and pulled the sword upwards to finish her off quicker. “Consider this a luxurious death in that it was expedient. It’s a gift others have tried to attain in life. A rather sick quandary, if you could still be able bodied enough to think about such a concept.” he said.
            Steven emerged from the battlegrounds with the intent of resting. “No more battles for me until we get to the Malagasy Impala.” he advised. The allegiance was surprisingly compliant. “Fair seem exacerbated and drained at who you had to fight.” Marchanda noted. Melina then drove to the next plot point on the journey. “This seems like a battle I have to take. The area we’re approaching brings back memories...” she paused herself to see that the opponent awaiting any of the fighters was a familiar face. She continued, “...of a rival who made my fucking blood boil.” She grabbed the Blade of Cartagena and sought her opponent.
            The scenery was reminiscent of a Rudyard Kipling novel. Lush topography and native beauty being squandered by lavish, decadent and tacky European flair. The woman who Melina despised ever so much called this ostentatious abomination her home. “Do I hear the footsteps of a woman in cheap heels or is that my ‘darling friend’ Melina acting out her emotional stress?” she posed. “Hello, Christiana. I see your sunny disposition towards me hasn’t changed a bit.” Christiana replied, “Melina, I’d look at you and say hello whilst paying lip service but I don’t need to ravage my face with your looks.” “I’m surprised God hasn’t afflicted you with a condition I’d gladly miss your funeral for.” Melina retorted.
            “You petulant slattern.” Christiana uttered.
            “Face me so we can end this.” Melina fired back.
            “Why should I listen to you?”
            “We should end our rivalry face to face. Like ladies.”
            “I scoff at your notion and wish to die by natural causes.”
Melina drew the Blade of Cartagena and thrust it through Christiana. She looked down to see the sword drip with her life now slipping away by the seconds. “This cannot be!” she shrieked. “Sorry, bitch. However, you had it coming and even you can’t deny that.” Melina quipped.
            She walked back to the dune buggy looking nearly in the same condition she had before battle. “This wasn’t exactly a knockout, drag out fight was it?” Wilhelmina rhetorically posed. “All I can say is the bitch was never an ally of mine.” Melina replied. As disappointed as she was at the lack of torn textile against Melina’s body, Marchanda overlooked how low key the bout had turned out to be. “Well, at least another stupid person is dead.” Violetta was beginning to sense that these fights were part of a seemingly grander ambush against them. “Why are these fights relatively easy?” she pondered. Yukio chimed, “There is no ambush to concern yourself with. You forget I saw everything that happened before our journey to the Malagasy Impala began.” Violetta replied, “This is why I like you, ‘Spoiler Alert’. You prevent people from acting out on pointless emotional outbursts.”
            Twenty-nine minutes later, they arrived at the next locale in a vaguely lavish casino setting. Sofia would be the next of the penthouse allegiance to wield the Blade of Cartagena against the ensemble of unworthy interlopers in the way. As she located the secluded but still disgustingly opulent area where the fight was to take place, she heard a male’s voice try to beckon her towards his voice. “You must follow the sounds of my voice to face me.” he said. “At least tell me your ‘ninja’ name before I try.” Sofia purred. Having orchestrated the ideal trap, he replied, “My name is Yasushi and by the time you feel my presence, you will have died.” Little did he realize he would attack right where Sofia would want him to. She thought, “May your voice be the reason this sword has a body on it when raised.”
            She raised the sword and felt Yasushi’s blood dripping down the blade. “Curses! How did you expect this?” he asked. “Like it matters now, idiot.” she began. “You’re dead and my ride’s waiting to destroy the Sword of Coke ‘N Whores.” She sauntered off and gave the blade to Yukio. “Next stop, your fight against an interloper.” she told her. As the road to the next fight lay
ahead, Yukio had Melina pull the dune buggy over fifteen minutes into the drive. “What’s this about?” she asked. Yukio opened the trunk where the soldier of Alyssum Perot had been laying, miraculously being alive on sight. “How long has he been in there?!” Steven asked. “Long enough to survive in a trance I put him in while he was asleep.” Yukio replied. She dragged the soldier out of the trunk and with the wave of her hand, the soldier was out of the trance. “Listen to me. When I toss you to the opponent, you’re to do nothing to defend yourself. You are merely decoy and of no further use.”
            The soldier was tossed in the dune buggy and the other twenty minutes had them arrive at a vaguely Japanese dojo. Yukio and the soldier rushed to where their opponent had been waiting. She chucked the soldier at her opponent to throw him off of his game. “Oof...what is the meaning of this?!” he asked. “You’re in the way.” Yukio began. “Tell me your name and why you think The Sword of Coke ‘N Whores should mean more to you than my allegiance.” He replied, “My name is Joseph Schaeffer. That sword you speak of will help me rid the lives of those who sold out the Costa Amethyst Royal Military troop 867 faction 5309 and nearly cost a nation a war.” She replied, “What an interesting and vivid lie you just relayed. Whoever you were, now you’re dead.” Leaping into the air, Yukio landed on “Joseph” and stabbed him in the heart. Twisting the blade as assurance, she looked at the soldier. “You’ve done your job. Now it’s time you just die of natural causes.” she said. “So, you’re not going to kill me?” he asked. She responded, “Like I said, you’ve done your job. You’re the only person that can say they ran from the Legion and...just kidding. Look; a bullet!” The soldier fell prey to Yukio’s trap. “I knew he’d fall for that.” she thought.
            She emerged from the vaguely Japanese dojo with only the Blade of Cartagena in hand. “Now all we need is a fun little forty minute drive to the Malagasy Impala.” she said.
            As she had said, forty minutes later lay the final landmark of Mark’s cursed journey towards The Sword of Coke ‘N Whores. The Malagasy Impala was once a towering bastion of “hip, cool” fusion cuisine, before The Sword of Coke ‘N Whores and its wielder transformed it into a needless fortress of the same name. “There are twenty floors of this bastardized restaurant turned fortress. Getting to the top of this plot point requires the willingness to put up with even more pointless back stories.” Mark noted. Marchanda and Violetta spotted the first set of opponents training on the first floor. “They’ll be easier than playing pranks on Helen Keller.” Marchanda said.
            As they sauntered to the doors, they were accosted by a troop of Hajinmon enthusiasts. “That’s as far as you go, ginger dick.” one said to Mark. Violetta grabbed an Uzi and shot the entire troop of Hajinmon enthusiasts. “Even I stopped calling him that.” Violetta said. Melina opened the doors to discover that the troop that had accosted them weren’t alone. “Oh shit...” Wilhelmina began. “I thought losers like these had been reduced to local conventions as the town’s laughing stock.” “Please, even local conventions don’t need to be embarrassed with them on their records.” Steven chimed.
            The Hajinmon enthusiasts grew agitated over their commentary. Their leader, XX*RyU*HaYaBuSa*XX, demanded that they focus on challenging them. “Enough of this ‘Algonquin Round Table’ nonsense.” he began. “We’re defending the Sword of Coke ‘N Whores against your kind...just because. Draw your weapons, and no ‘saving your energy’ type of shenanigans. You fight us with everything you have.” “Don’t tell us how to fight, bitch.” Melina retorted. “Just one reminder, before we start.” Wilhelmina began. “Make sure your impractical costuming rips off easy. We do you a fashion related favor and we take you out of do I phrase nicely...motherfucking pathetic existences.”
            The Hajinmon enthusiasts lunged at them but the Titans had already unleashed the digital barrage of hatred. The “4Chan” had been resurrected and the Tri-force had been seared into their skin. The shrieking irritated the penthouse allegiance but none irritated them more so than the shrieking of XX*RyU*HaYaBuSa*XX. “Aaaaaaaaaaaaagggggggggggggggggh!” and other fatal onomatopoeias had been emitted at decibel shattering levels. “Enough of them.” Yukio began. “Mark, channel some inner strength shit and wipe them out. We’ll be waiting for you on the fifth floor. Don’t ask why it’s the fifth and just do it.” As they were heading up the stairs, Mark’s inner strength had caused the Blade of Cartagena to attain a cobalt blue aura. He merely swung the sword and witnessed the aura render the Hajinmon enthusiasts to bones.
            Mark then rushed to meet with the others as they had trekked to the fifth floor. “Now what?” he asked Melina. “We fight the fifth floor of bad guys. Would’ve been every floor but the second through fourth floors had no one worthy of challenging us.” she replied. “And before you ask, they were nothing more than subordinates to other syndicates that are pretty much shells of what they were.” Marchanda added. Mark understood and had the penthouse allegiance start the fight. However, he noted Yukio was despondent looking and curled near an A/C unit. “Yukio?” he queried. “What have you been hiding from us health wise?” “Nothing that will lead to my mortality.” she began. “My abilities are being dwindled as we travel higher in this goddamn place. This parchment has all the information on who needs to be defeated first to start the domino effect for the floors worth your time.”
            “How do I know you’re not bluffing?” he pressed.
            “I was barely seeing anything as we were moving up the floors.” she retorted. “I wouldn’t lie about something this seriously.”
            “Now what?” he asked. “I can still fight.” she assured.
            After defeating the enemies of the fifth floor, the rest of the journey towards the Sword of Coke ‘N Whores would turn out to be easier than even Yukio’s dossier had suggested. Floors six through ten would be dominated by Mark and Violetta. The highlight of floor six came when Mark performed the “Mesopotamian Kabob” on all but five of the enemies. The remaining five were frightened to where they had died of a fatal stroke. “Finally! An apropos example of a ‘stroke of genius’.” Wilhelmina noted. The highlight of the seventh floor came when Violetta only used the lower half of her body to vanquish forty men. “I have to give myself a round of applause.” she taunted.
            The eighth floor glory was a joint effort between the two. The “Merry Go ‘Round” would immortalize the bloodlust of the penthouse allegiance’s two most vicious members. Even after copious amounts of blood had been spilled from their enemies, Violetta had continued to attack by beating them into a pulp. “Just a bit of ‘Munich Cosmetic Surgery’ on you and then you’ll be fit for hell and hell adjacent.” she taunted. The ninth floor was a tad more challenging, but once Mark realized that Yukio’s dossier was intended as an asset he used it to his justified advantage. He jimmy-rigged a table and grabbed the ring blade from Violetta and once the blade was calibrated, the others knew what was coming.
            “I...err we get to see the Croatian Buzzsaw being performed?” Melina wondered.
            “Well, we are some lucky bitches for this.” Marchanda noted.
            “I wish I had a camera for this.” Steven said.
            “Here...just press the camera icon on the pad.” Marchanda offered.
            “Oh it came out perfect.” Steven gleefully chimed.
All the while, the leader of the ninth floor was squirming but Wilhelmina sickeningly taunted, “Well it’s either this, or I could’ve gone with my original plan and giving you the ‘4Chan’.”
            The tenth floor was a victory attained Melina, Steven and the Titans. Melina’s legs ached after her share of enemies had been eliminated. She had spent her entire bout giving powerful blows with her knees and kicking the temples of mere plot points in. “My legs feel hotter than Popeye’s spicy chicken.” she uttered. Steven had elbowed and sliced his way to victory. Those unlucky enough to be near him would face an interestingly agonizing death. Even though the trauma was blunt, Steven intentionally made their deaths more brutal. As he would see his opponents come close to succumbing to death, he grabbed a tank of adrenaline and struck their hearts with a dose of it, only to slice them open and punch them more. “Don’t you think he’s taking things a little far?” Sofia asked Mark. “I let that man slap me around while wearing high heels in the shower but with Dr. Pepper being poured on me. I don’t know too far anymore.” he replied. “Sorry for the image.” “I thought it’d be Diet Coke, to be honest.” she chimed.
            The Titans attained immortality and victory for infecting their opponents with Trojan computer viruses. The transition from functioning to malfested was expedient enough to startle even Yukio. “Take it from someone whose psychic abilities are being repressed in this goddamn place...I did not see this shit coming.” “Wow...way to tell us this as we’re only halfway up this place.” Wilhelmina snipped. “I have a dossier of what Yukio saw before she entered this place.” Mark assured. Then steps were heard as an ensemble of some type was nearing the penthouse allegiance. “We should’ve killed floors two through four no matter if they were useless.” Sofia said. The voice responded, “We already did and you’re not kidding. They were useless.” “Ganymede?” Melina asked.
            Ganymede and the Legion were at their side again. He had Yukio come closer to him and when she clenched onto his robe, she found herself at her peak psychic abilities. “I thank you.” she said. He ripped a piece of his robe and tied her hair in a ponytail. “This will help you.”
The eleventh through nineteenth floors would actually be handled by the Legion. “We owe this to you, so that the Sword of Coke ‘N Whores can be defeated cleanly.” the Legion leader said. Ganymede had teleported everyone not handling the eleventh floor to their respected posts. Only he and the penthouse allegiance would see the gates of the twentieth floor. “The creator and its cursed creation lay beyond these doors. Everybody ready themselves as Yukio breaks down the door like a mad woman.” Ganymede advised. They took him at his words once she was swinging her fists in a frenzy breaking the doors of the twentieth floor down. Once that final crack had been heard, the open doors revealed the previously unread twentieth floor note on Yukio’s dossier. A dead body with their prize sifting in the blood.
            “What the hell?” Melina asked. “Mark...what did she write down for the twentieth floor?” Steven pressed. He scanned for the twentieth floor note and read, “Only the sword stands in the corpse of its creator.” “So what now? Our tech can’t detect if that body is a latent zombie or some shit.” Wilhelmina noted. Ganymede recited an incantation that destroyed the corpse. Its splattering with no spiritual reaction indicated that above any and all reasonable doubts, the Sword of Coke ‘N Whores had been essentially vulnerable for at least Mark’s livelihood. Before he was prompted, he took the Blade of Cartagena and swung.
            “Is he just supposed to swing?!” Steven worried.
            “Worry not of him, dear boy.” Ganymede assured.
            “He isn’t going to die.” Yukio chimed.
            The shattering sound heard after that emitted a disturbingly cheery looking light. “What the hell?” Mark pondered. “Was this it? A simple shattering of a sword that drove men insane and we walk away from it in a snap? Shit, it was just like a journey in Soul Calibur.” When the light came, Yukio removed the hair tie and discovered she still had her peak abilities. Mark had
the others round up the Legion, but asked Steven to stay. “Comfort me, Steven. I need to feel the satisfaction I should’ve felt from this journey before the plot change happened.” He replied, “Honey...I know you wanted absolute power; or spiritual cleansing or something like that. However, you kind of had to sense that the idea of a weapon being a panacea was absurd in some regards.” Mark concurred but still felt a lack of satisfaction. Yukio re-entered the room and told him, “Satisfaction will come to you once we leave this god-awful place. Ganymede is on his way to cleanse the room of the sword’s presence; to prevent a type of adventure like this happening again.” He, Yukio and Steven joined the others at the entrance to the Malagasy Impala as Ganymede made his way in.
            They watched as Ganymede cleansed the entire vicinity of the sword to act as a catalyst to the disturbingly cheery light that had yet to take form. “Disturbingly cheery light, unite with my ‘Mr. Clean: Magic Eraser’ type of cleansing and rid the spirit of the Sword of Coke ‘N Whores from this basilisk of misery.” His cleansing aura and the disturbingly cheery light fused and its vivid color scheme had partially stunned the Legion. “It looks like the asshole of a Technicolor TV.” Violetta chimed. “I would’ve said a chameleon’s semen, but dirty minds think alike, right?” Melina stated. “I thought ‘great minds’ think alike.” Wilhelmina said. “That’s what I said, you treasonous whore.” Melina retorted.
            Eventually, the vivid color had faded and the cleansing had finished.  Ganymede transported himself to the outside and prompted Mark to act on what to do next. “What happens to this place is completely up to you.” he assured. “He’ll choose to destroy this place from the ground up.” Yukio chimed. “She’s right.” Mark said. “Don’t you want to turn this place into a siphoning den of gambling addiction or indulgent food stuffs?” Sofia pressed. “I may have bloodlust and want short term satisfaction, but the math skills for business aren’t there.” he
quipped. “Well, at least you’re self aware.” Marchanda noted. “That isn’t totally by choice.” Steven began. “He isn’t creative enough to lie.”
            After light versions of playing the dozens, Mark swung the Blade of Cartagena and watched as its energy tore down the basilisk of misery known as the Malagasy Impala. Its decadent, opulent and ostentatious décor was now becoming matte reminders of its now former glory. “Anything that’s not broken is ours to loot, correct?” Melina queried. “If it isn’t entirely useless, go for it.” Wilhelmina replied. As the last of the décor hit the ground, the Malagasy Impala laid forever in ruin. “Alright, everyone. Scavenge and find shit worth keeping.” Ganymede ordered.
            The Legion scavenged through the remnants of the fortress and found seemingly meager items in Mark’s perspective. The crowns of once prominent and cruel rulers; ten decorative chests each containing $50,000; weapons hand crafted by fabled blacksmiths; documents relaying active ownership titles to fifteen of the world’s most profitable gemstone purveyors. “This is all nice, but something tells me there’s more hidden somewhere.” Mark pondered. Yukio chimed, “Goddamnit...I was hoping you’d take satisfaction through these treasures, but look near where the antler decorations of the fourth floor fell to.” Wilhelmina was flabbergasted by Mark’s seemingly blasé attitude towards the findings. “Sorry, but crowns of asshole rulers; $500,000 bucks total; weapons made by dudes who were mentioned in childhood folklore and pretty much the deeds of fifteen gemstone purveyors whose executives I’ve seen bathe in caviar and the tears of poor children and this son of a bitch wants more?!” “He’ll want everything along with what he’ll find so believe me when I say he’s just throwing a hissy fit.” Yukio assured.
            Near the area Yukio spoke of, Mark had found a small box that he knew a diamond ring came in. He opened the box and discovered one of the most fabled treasures in his frame of reference. “Now I know satisfaction outside of sleeping with Steven.” he said. “Yukio, what the hell is Mark looking at?” Sofia wondered. Mark ran over to them so they could see what his elation was rooted in. They stared in amazement and had Yukio confirm his finding. “Please tell me that’s the know...” Marchanda anxiously pressed. Mark interjected, “It’s the Soul of Jules!” “You’re kidding me. I’m looking at the diamond ring crafted in honor of the Pulp Fiction character, Jules Winnfield, known as the Soul of Jules?” Steven asked. Yukio assured that this fabled treasure was indeed the Soul of Jules. “The one true internally flawless diamond ring ever crafted.”
            Mark had the Legion rounded up and decided to settle in the Titans’ hometown of Seoulskatchewan. “With these treasures, you two acting as the savage businesswomen you are and Melina being the most vibrant political connection we have...gentlemen and ladies of the Legion; we could eat forever and barely have to kill stupid people!” Ganymede although skeptical, transported the Legion to Seoulskatchewan to act on Mark’s newfound satisfaction.

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