HI, BILLY MAYS HERE! YOU MAY RECOGNIZE ME FOR MY ADVERTISEMENTS AND ENDORSEMENTS WHERE I TALK ABOUT AND DEMONSTRATE A VARIETY OF CUTTING-EDGE PRODUCTS! IF YOU DO, THEN CONGRATULATIONS! YOU’RE READING THIS IN MY VOICE! BUT TODAY I’M NOT HERE TO TALK ABOUT THE LATEST PRODUCT ON THE HORIZON! I’M HERE TO INTRODUCE THE COMBATANTS TO WHAT MANY ARE CALLING ONE OF THE GREATEST FIGHTS IN THE HISTORY OF THE DESTROY THE GODMODDER SERIES, POSSIBLY!
IN THE MIDDLE OF THE RING WE HAVE THE GOD OF GAMES, THE DEITY OF DEALS, THE CONJURER OF CHAOS, THE TITULAR TRIANGLE, THE WIZARD OF WEIRD,
IN THIS CORNER WE HAVE THE SERPENTS NINE, THE POLICE OF PAIN, THE UNITED UROBORI, THE CYRILLIC KILLERS, THE NOT-QUITE-MEN IN BLACK,
And Billy Mays was ripped from his podium above the clouds of the Ends of the Earth, hurtling down to the pitch-black floor of the arena. His body skidded several feet until, shaking, he got up and wiped the blood from his mouth. His voice sounded hoarse. “You... you think you can stop me so easily?” Billy Mays rattled out a cold, defeated laugh. “You poor fools. The man you call Billy Mays is but a shell. He sold himself to the corporate gods long, long ago.” Lozenge rolled his eyes, hissing to the Logic Gatekeeper. ШООТ ХИM, Lozenge commanded. The Logic Gatekeeper’s hulking left arm raised up with a fierce clunking sound, its six-fingered hand morphing into a finger gun. The Cyrillic characters “ШООТ ХИМ” blazed to life in front of the Gatekeeper, and a bolt of white power crackled at lightspeed to Billy Mays’ position, impaling him. Billy Mays was knocked backwards, yet he landed upright. He looked at the smoking wound in his chest with amusement.
Billy Mays stared directly at you. “HI, BILLY MAYS HERE, WITH MIRACLE GROW!™” From out of nowhere, he whipped out a Febreeze-like cylinder, spraying it directly at his chest. “JUST SPRAY AND PRAY THIS PATENT-PENDING SKIN REASSEMBLING CHEMICAL FORMULA DIRECTLY AT ANY WOUNDS YOU SUSTAIN, AND WATCH AS IN SECONDS, YOU’RE GOOD AS NEW!” Billy Mays seemed to speak these words in less than an instant, nullifying any chance of his speech being stopped. The Advanced Superiors all blinked, raising their arms and beginning to shout in Cyrillic. But Billy Mays backflipped, and when he landed on the ground, he had headphones over his ears. He shouted again, louder. “HI, BILLY MAYS HERE, AND I’M NOT DONE YET! INTRODUCING THE SUPERIOR EARS™! JUST SLIP THESE NOISE MUFFLERS OVER YOUR EARS, MADE FROM THE MATERIAL ON THOSE MASSAGE CHAIRS IN MALLS THAT FEEL REALLY GOOD, AND YOUR EARS ARE GUARANTEED TO NOT HEAR ANYTHING! ANYTHING AT ALL THAT MIGHT POSSIBLY AFFECT THEM IN ANY NEGATIVE WAY! THE SECRET IS IN THE PATENT-PENDING NOISE CANCELLING TECHNOLOGY THAT SIMULATES AN EARTHQUAKE IN YOUR BRAIN!” Hissing, the Advanced Superiors realized their speech had been rendered ineffective. Light shone in their eyes as they prepared to counterattack, but they were distracted as an orchid beam of plasma shot into the left hand of the Logic Gatekeeper, obliterating two of its fingers.
Bill glared at the Logic Gatekeeper, reloading the telescopic Tumor cannon he’d just fired. AND TRUST ME WHEN I SAY THAT THERE’S MORE WHERE THAT CAME FROM! The Flumpty Bumpty in the vertex of the Gatekeeper writhed and spasmed in his restraints. He wrenched his eyes shut and began to scream as loud as possible, a catastrophic soundwave rushing from his body that toppled the Nine Oh One Army, pushed the Critic and Gaster backwards, and knocked the headphones off of Billy Mays. Hard-Boiled Flumpty twitched and shuddered, but then roared hysterically, floating in the air and opening their slackjawed mouth as wide as it could go. A titanic pulse of spice-based light fired from their mouth, traveling at the speed of a railgun blast into the Logic Gatekeeper. The Gatekeeper countered, its vertex shining and superheating to absurd degrees as an equivalent colossal attack was flung from its center. Jumpscares and thyme collided in the middle of the battlefield, cracking the arena to its foundations. Flumpty shouted at Bill over the din, his voice warped by stress. GO DEAL WITH THE REST! I’LL HANDLE ME AND MYSELF. Bill nodded, taking out his cane.
In one motion, Bill swept the cane in a 180° arc, knocking over a good portion of the Decoy Godmodders, Gaster, and the Critic. Bill’s eye then glowed with energy, and the arc he swung spontaneously combusted. Orchid flames several feet high roared to life, many of the bones comprising Gaster’s giant hands burning and cracking into ashes. The Critic’s head flipped to the image of a figure in a gas mask, and he walked through the flames unharmed. The army of Godmodders seemed to not move, and Bill prepared to Vishnu-punch them, but he was caught unawares when hundreds of flaming Banhammers launched themselves at him, cutting through the firewall. Bill quickly ducked, the hammers being caught by the Critic, whose face assumed the form of a Conkeldurr. He balanced them in his incredibly fragile hands and smashed them together until they formed a devastating bowling ball of molten metal. The Critic’s eyes gleaming with anime shine, he rolled the stupidly oversized bowling ball at the Advanced Superiors still attempting to fight Billy Mays, knocking them like bowling pins.
Interrobang got back up immediately, having seemingly taken no damage from the impact.
The Critic watched as Bill phased in and out of reality, dispatching Godmodder Decoy after Godmodder Decoy with well-timed strikes of the Quills of Echidna. Golden arcs of destruction streaked across the skies, piercing through skin and bone, but the army just kept coming. Occasionally Bill would lift his hat to reveal a barrage of demonic fire, creating a miniature danmaku that would ensnare the flurry of bones coming from Gaster’s corner of the field. All the while, Bill’s entire body, his very framework, glowed with an insidious white power. The Overseer was my friend too, you know. A friend to all of Us. To see Cipher wield His power like a maniac is not comforting, no. But to see you ten attempt to keep it and harness it, to see you exploit the soul of this reality so uncaringly... I cannot have that. The two Advanced Superiors backed away, looking at each other. “Then... What are you saying?” The Critic assumed the triangular face of Bill. “WE FINISH THIS.” Backslash and Obelus backed away as the Critic walked forward, juggling the heads of several seventh-dimensional priests stuck on the Infinity Train within his hollow skull.
The other eight Advanced Superiors were hard at work combating the raw talent of Billy Mays, who seemed to not be lying when he’d said his body was a vessel for corporate advertising. The Superiors were speaking in rapid-fire Cyrillic, attempting to channel the power of superior tongues and bend the world to their whim as fast as possible. But for every holy word they spoke, Billy Mays had a counter. A call for ПЛАГУЕ was met with a RED SEA-PARTER™ that somehow managed to bring God onto Mays’ side, acting as though he was Moses himself. For СИЛЕНЦЕ, Mays stuck seventeen microphones in his throat, his voice blaring to such heights that they rivaled Cobalt’s greatest alchemies. Sensing no end to the madness, they buckled under the pressure. Mays grinned, taking the advantage and whipping out his own homemade SNAKE-AWAY™, for when those pesky reptile infestations are just too much. Billy Mays over-exaggeratedly shook the canister. Lozenge attempted to spread Mays’ limbs into all conceivable dimension-states, but Mays was held together by his corporate gods. A single blasphemous spray from the canister was enough to knock all the Superiors back bar Interrobang. They took tangible damage, their hair flowing in the wind and their suits beginning to rip and burn, blood staining the fabric as though it was skin.
Pilcrow hissed and sputtered, their hands twisting themselves into the Diamond Salute. They spat one contemptuous word at Mays. МИСТАКЕ. Before Mays could open his mouth, he was hoisted upwards, as though grabbed by an invisible hand. Appearing in holographic form in front of Mays was a shimmering teal gem. Pilcrow’s hands, still in the salute, crunched into fists, and the gem shattered. Mays crumpled to the floor, motionless, while the Advanced Superiors reconvened. Dagger gasped for breath. “Wh... What the hell are we supposed to do??” Caret glanced at Obelus and Backslash, who were busy fighting against the Critic. “We need to regroup.” Abyssal heads, shot in formations akin to the Wither, were met by the stench of death and processed pink ooze. Asterism spat, whistling at the Critic. The Critic turned his headless form around, and was impaled by a crystallized rainbow. Sputtering, dissonant frequencies destabilized what little cohesion the Critic’s head had, incapacitating him. Backslash and Obelus ran over, and the ten Advanced Superiors locked hands in a circle.
“Normally I wouldn’t call for such drastic measures,” Caret spoke quickly yet quietly, “But it’s incredibly obvious that plot is not on our side, and while I think we can all admire the subtlety we’ve forged over the eons—” “Caret,” Ampersand muttered. “Let’s be real. They all know. We weren’t subtle at all.” “Maybe at first?” Caret suggested hopefully. Ampersand shrugged, hanging his head low and closing his eyes. The other nine Superiors followed suit. Halos of light crackled around their heads, and an ominous wind now howled not outside the Gate, but within. It seemed as though the Superiors were going to engage in an elaborate ritual, but they merely spoke a single word — one charged with complete, infallible power.
ШЕД.
< 1.6: GATEKEEPER | 2.1: TO SEE SHED BLOOD | 2.2: AN OBJECTIVE EYE >