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In life, I'm really, really happy. Not annoyingly bubbly, but witty and smiley and all. I mean, there are moments when I blast Ministry and mope about, but that's because I feel like being broody that day. I expel my dark emotions in writing. Not like emo moping-s and poetry and crying and stuff, but my darkest wishes of evil on others. That way, since in a way, I have gotten my revenge, I can forgive and forget(Occasionally, the black stain on my soul widens a bit, but so does everyone else.) and continue my life without any more ill wish to that person. Coming back to Iwaku though, my insta-on-the-spot stories have started to annoy people and people have gotten angry with me

"Hey man, it was funny how depraved you were the first time. STFU now."

Slyen was more tactful with his approach

"Why don't you get your own thread in the Arts & Writing area, and put all your stuff there."

And so I am. All my lightest(The dark stuff would have people running about worried about my mental health(I hope(TRIPLEPARENTHESIS!!!!))) side of the dark side, listed below. Hope I'm not breaking any rules.

I was about to post this in the "Redo-ing Twilight" Thread before I had my revelation that it might be annoying to those seriously considering the thread, as I forever fail to do. I suck at being serious overall.


So, it starts off, with the camera panning over the river, right? Just this wide, Spanish river.(It's in Sephia tint, of course.) And it zooms around in circle sand stuff, loops the loop, whatever. Then, it does a double twist and a summersault, then the camera rushes over the bank, and plunges down, camera point at the sky, into the ground, down some sort of shaft. It then stops suddenly, as if it impacted. A cloud of dust is thrown up. We hear an agonized groaning, after the initial scream. We hear the putting of an engine for a while after, as the camera just stares up the shaft, to a soundtrack of something like "AAAAGHHGHHGAAA, AAH....*gasp, huff, gasp* FUACAAGHAHAAHA AAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!" and assorted sounds.

Then, the engine sounds stop, and fifteen minutes later(don't forget the agonized screaming) and a face peers over the lid of the distant mine shaft opening. The audience hears a laughing sound.

"YOU LIKE THAT, YOU ****ING TRAITOROUS BASTARD!!!!!???" Cackling is heard. The head sits over the lip of the shaft, looking down on the agonized camera-holder, whoever he may be.

"So, I brought us some toys, to entertain us while we wait for 911 in Canada to respond to my call." The man holding the camera managed to speak, his voice thick with pain.

"Why.....why are you doing....AAAH....huh...*gaspgaspgasp*.....why are you doing this!?"

"CAUSE YOU FUCKED MY WIFE YOU BACKSTABBING DICKWEED!" The man roared down. "Now, this is how it's going to go. I have a pack of knives here. Every time you yell, 'I am a traitorous bastard and I deserve to die, kill me!' I will drop one knife. If you don't, I will drop two knives every ten seconds. I will wait a minute after each time you yell that. I will aim for your neck, except when you are silent. I happen to have bought sixteen one hundred mini-knife packs, so we're gonna be here a while. Either way though, you aren't getting out alive. I also have a bucket of lemon juice here, salt, and a .45 for the small chance you survive the knives. You won't. Now, we'll start in a couple minutes, I just need to grab the camera and we'll be off." The head disappears for a couple seconds. He comes back holding a golf bag.

"Now, lets start. Say it." The cameraman simply groaned. After a couple moments the man at the top of the shaft laughs with glee, and disappears reappearing with a gleaming object held out.

"3!....2!....1!..." The object descended towards the agonized man. It disappears, and the audience hears a meaty Thud! and then the cameraman lets out a piercing wail.

"OOOOH, GOD....AAAHH..... SHIT.........AAHHHHHH!!!!!!!" He screeched.

"AND NUMBER TWO, YOU F***ING F*****!!" The man's heartbeat is heard, even as he gasps loudly, letting out small squeaks of anger. A low whine is heard as another shiny object falls down the shaft.

"No..no...no...pleas-" He escalated into another shriek of agony as the second knife embeds itself in his stomach.

"You've got ten seconds, buddy."
"I DESERVE TO....AAAAAAHHHHH!!!" He screamed again. The man at the top of the shaft laughs heartily.
"That's not what I said..." He said, smiling.
"I DON'T REMEMBER, HONESTLY, ***** ***** MAN!!!"
"Well, you're going to have a fun time here then." He disappeared.
"OH, GOD NO, NONONONON...PLEASE...TELL ME AGAIN!!" The man's heartbeat is going again, faster, as he panics, he fumbles with the words..
"I'll take it." He disappeared, reappearing with another knife in hand. He closed one eye, taking aim, and let it drop. The whistle approached, and the heartbeat quickens, then stops. The camera falls away to the side. A gurgling is heard. Rustling is heard from above, and something is thrown down the. A splashing sound follows, then the clatter of a the bucket as it bounces away. A frenzied, guttural, wail emits.

"Aaaaaand, I'm spent. See you in hell, asshole." The man disappears. The audience sits there, shocked, and wait. Fifty minutes later, nothing happens, some people start filtering out, muttering and cursing under their breath. An hour and a half passes, and more of the people begin to leave, angrily talking amongst themselves. Three hours later, night falls over the cameraman, who occasionally makes weak hiccup noises. A hour later, these cease. The only man left in the theatre(he's asleep.) hears a rustling. A second later, the camera is picked up, and swung around. It jiggles, and is pointed down. The feet of the cameraman is shown, with knives protruding from the mangled legs. The camera jigs wildly about more, then is slung over the back of the man. The camera shows the back and legs of the man, as he begins to climb, slowly back up the passage. Eventually, after about forty minutes of climbing, the camera points briefly up at the horizon as the man reaches the lip of the shaft.

It swings around a bit, as he climbs to his feet. It points at the face of Gerard Butler, with a knife protruding from his throat. He smiles briefly, then the screen goes dark. The rest of the movie is Gerard Butler killing a lot of people in his quest for revenge. Oh, wait...that's been done before. Oh well.


There were four more paragraphs, but it was repetitive agony. I've cannibalized the names too and movie-d it.
Thanks TK. That's a good feeling. I guess I could add more depravity.

Where'd I put Belinda?
The Adventures O' Commissar Asmodeus

Right. People are probably swinging their fists in anger as I plague the cbox with multi-posts. So I'm putting what I was typing up in Wordpad when I wasn't pouncing upon people with flood responses to whatever they're saying.

I don't get it, my font and color are soft, my grammar is impeccable, and misspellings aren't common. I even used the British spellings of "metre" "theatre" and "kilometre" even though Google Chrome underlines them in red and glares at me. :( So, I will edit this as it grows in Wordpad. Note that "Asmodeus" has been added to the dictionary so Google stops desecrating it with red underlines.


We were ready for them. Or so we thought.

An entire Regiment was lined up. Row upon row of Guardsmen, standing tall, las-rifles across their chests. Leman Russ stood in dug in positions, sandbags lined up to protect most of their space. Kasrkin crouched in dug trenches, Grenade launchers and hellguns ready to deliver death to the enemy. Heavy weapon's teams had set up autocannon and lascannon emplacements along the barricade line. Hydra's and Basilisk's lined up for bombardment. The Lord-General's Baneblade was parked in front of the city's gates, Devastator cannon lined up. Lightning fighters and Thunderbolt bombers swooped in formation, casting shadows over the dry desert landscape. A Imperial Guard regiment at full deployment.

The sun was setting, the last rays casting a hellish light over the soon to be battlefield. Men squinted against the dwindling light, temporarily blinded.

That was when they came.

It wasn't anything sudden. As soon as the sun had set, the sky dimmed, like glow globes powering down. The men shifted uneasily, unsettled by the sudden night. That was nothing compared to what came next. Massive storm clouds began to congeal in the sky. At a rapid pace, ugly black smog crushed what little light there projected by the moons. Some of the men cried out in shock, followed by harsh responses from their respective officers. The crackle of thunder sounded in the distance. A light rain began to fall.

A scream of horror rang out from somewhere near the front. He yelled something, and the other ranks began to yell in fear. Commissar Asmo raised his hellpistol and put a shot between the first man's eyes. The screams were dampened, but they did not cease.

"It's...It's..ITS BLOOD!" The skies had opened in earnest, a literal blanket of crimson blood raining down on the Guardsmen. The ranks began to break up, the men taken over by fear. Shots rang out as Commissars executed the men for breaking rank. Some of them reformed, but most were held by utter terror. The loudest ones were shot, for a full minute hellpistols barked, sending bodies spasming to the dirt, which was quickly turning to red and mud in equal measure. The Leman Russ's activated their lamps, as did the Baneblade. It did little to pierce the darkness. In under five minutes, it had gone from day to almost pitch black. The ranks shuffled uncomfortably, although excessive executions had forced them in line again.

Then, they came in force. We felt them before we saw them, the pound of enough feet to shake the ground. Lightning fighters swooped low across the plains, scanning them, but the darkness was too thick, the search lights too narrow. All we could make out were running shapes, roughly humanoid in shape. The men shuffled, las-rifles at the ready, into firing position, ready to pour las-fire into the enemy. Vox casters rang out as officers reported combat readiness. Commissar Kraymer held his sword skyward, and we opened fire.

Such was the intensity of the fire that night became day. Cries of pain, screams of anguish. They were human. A flash of lighting and a instant crack of thunder lit up the salt plains.

Slaves. Thousands, maybe even millions were running across the plain, their arms bound. Perhaps the entire population of Peraxes screaming as they were herded blind like cattle by slavers upon daemonic horses. An officer called out, and the dormant artillery came to life. Twenty Basilisks fired at once, a veritable shockwave buffeting the troops nearby. The ordnance slammed into the field, throwing up massive plumes of dirt, smashing bodies to pulp. The tide continued.

"Second volley!" Asmodeus called out, and thousands of las-rifles crackled as they delievered their deadly payload. Hundreds of the captives fell, but thousands more stumbled over them. The Leman Russ's boomed, and the rounds sent slaves flying. The heavy weapons came to life, stitching wounds in the captives, throwing gore and flesh everywhere. Lightning crackled again, and the Thunderbolts flew overhead, lethal payload on the way. They zigged and zagged, dropping inciendiary bombs into the masses, sparking massive fires that slaughtered hundreds. Still more neared the line.

A lone voxcaster activated, the only warning.

The massive Devastator cannon mounted on the Baneblade roared, and a plume of fire rose from the ground. Entire bodies were obliterated, shrapnel killing dozens more. It wasn't enough. They came ever close.

"Las-rifles free!" For the last 300 yards, the Guardsmen opened up full las-blasts. Slaves fell in droves, bodies tumbling to the floor, their chests smoking. Many men from the PDF segments cried as they did so, killing the citizens they had sworn to protect. But there was no turning back the tide. The slaves were mindless with fear, skin purple and red from beatings, the slave drivers pushing them on with barbed whips. Most of the slaves's lips had been sewn shut, but the force of their pain drove them to rip the rotted cord apart. Everything we had was being thrown into them, even the Chimera's were adding their fire. Entire bodies were vaporised, but five more ran howling over their remains.

They reached the first heavy emplacement, five of them tripping over the sandbags. One fell right into the spray coming from the heavy stubber, his body eviscerated by the projectiles. The heavy weapons team lost it and crawled backwards, drawing their combat knives.

"Three men! Constant fire, fire team bravo!" The Guardsmen redirected their fire, dropping the slaves that had breached the line. Not that it mattered, soon every emplacement on the other side of the barricade was overtaken, the men scrambling over the wire barricade. Guardsmen moved foreward, bayonets affixed. The slaves crashed against the wire's, the first ones being crushed into the razor sharp wire by the tide of humans behind them. Soon, they began to pile up, a ladder of corpses. The men shoved away most, but they just kept coming.

"Shoot them, fools!" Asmodeus barked. The men reluctantly opened fire, sending the enemy tumbling back down, smoking craters on their bare chests. It did little more to stem the tide. Lighting flashed again, casting the desert plain with a infernal tinge. The clouds roiled, shivered, almost like they were alive. Thunder crackled across the plain, a backdrop to the cacophony of howls of the stricken.

"Frak this!" I actiated the com-channel, but the storm was too powerful, frazzling any attempt at communications. All I got was static. Cursing for what seemed to be the hundreth time today, I turned, striding through the lines of Guardsmen to the hulking form of the Baneblade. I ascended the massive metal beast, rapping twice on the hatch. The thick metal made no sound. Snarling, I drew my hellpistol, and put three shots in it. The metal hissed under the intense heat, but little more. It had the desired effect, as the hatch popped open and a tech-priest stuck his head out. He began to speak, restrained fury in his voice. I waved him off with the hellpistol, pushing him down and following him down the ladder. The inside of the Baneblade was a lot more spacy than a Leman Russ, but it was full of people. Servitors were set in alcoves along the modified wedge-shaped command center. Tech-adepts waved lecterns over consoles and spoke in murmured prayers to the Omnissiah. The Lord-General stood near the various pict-recorders, watching the ongoing butchery with a stoic face.

"Lord-General." The old man turned, despite his age, his back was straight as a las-bolt.
"Commissar." His voice as weary, as if he had not slept in a while. He probably hadn't.
"There are too many of them! We don't have enough ammunitions for them, let alone the time!"
"And what do you propose we do? The nearest support is on another continent, and they are under siege as well."
"Aerial bombardment! We were supposed to be fighting Chaos scum, not captive citizens."
"So you propose we slaughter them, instead?"
"It is the duty of the Commissariat to make the difficult decisions reguarding-" He cut me off with a brisque hand motion.
"It matters not. The storm is too thick for aerial pict-recording view, Commissar. We're one bolt to miss, it would decimate our forces. I couldn't put a Hammerhead through, let alone a Lightning or Thunderbolt."
"We have to try! They will force us into the city with the press of bodies, then the enemy will come and slaughter us in turn." The Lord-General sighed heavily.
very nice very very nice i enjoyed it much
.... Interesting and very action-y. I love the tone of it!
It's not done yet, I have a Wordpad file. >.>

Inspiration is having sex with other men for a while D:<

*Beats with a telescope*


*Tortures rap fanatics sullenly in his basement while he waits for the poison to work on the traitorous bastards system*
*Taps her foot loudly*

It's hero worship drivel about Commissar Asmodeus.