0
0
After writing the last short story on Blogger, I thought I would give it another shot (see the original; I edited this one a little).
Prologue: The wise white wizard in his white flowing robes. The wind made them flutter around him as he turned towards the other white wizard.
“Wise friend.” He stroke his long beard thoughtfully. “I’ve been watching the stars align, and it’s time to find the chosen one.”
The other wizard stroked his identically long beard and fluffed his identical robes. “I believe you’re right. One of us will have to wait until someone finds the OBJECT OF IMMORTAL CHOOSABILITY.”
“So, who gets to go down to tell the chosen one?”
“Does it matter? We look alike.”
###
A massive storm loomed over the horizon, and Joe made the decision to go home before the storm hits. It was fun running slow motion on the beach, winking at the gawking hot babes sitting on the sand. He knew that it would be a wet ride on his Harley if the storm hit.
As he turned towards the boardwalk, his long blond hair whipped around his face, blinding him for a moment. He didn’t see the object that jutted out of the sand, and he tripped over it, bringing his massive muscular body down with a muffled thump.
Taking a quick look around him to make sure that no one saw, he began to do pushups as if that was his intent. Realizing that the coast was clear, he stood up and saw an object on the ground. It was so strange that it was indescribable.
A flash of lightning crossed the sky followed by a crash and boom, and there in front of him stood this old man with a long flowing beard and a long flowing robe.
“You found the OBJECT OF IMMORTAL CHOOSABILITY!” The wizard boomed loudly. It was so loud that Joe had a hard time hearing him. Something about being the chosen one and to save the world. Then something about the object will guide him.
The wizard disappeared, and the OBJECT OF IMMORTAL CHOOSABILITY began to shake, and Joe felt it tug at his hand. The rain came down, causing his shirt to stick to his burgeoning muscles.
Suddenly, all hell broke loose, and a ton of demons came out of the ground, all maniacally laughing. They were so grotesque, they couldn’t be described.
“So u air the choosin one, eh?” One demon hissed evilly.
“He ain’t no choosin one, he’s too ‘andsome, he is.” Another retorted.
“Enough!” A third one growled boomingly. His voice echoed across the land. “We are to kill him! Stop being so petulant!”
At that moment, the object shivered, and Joe held it out. It sparkled and morphed into a long sword. Smirking, he realized that all of the years studying the blade was going to come in handy. He slashed at the first demon, and it caught him under his arm, the Demon screamed and slashed back, but Joe cut his hand off.
Another demon hit him in the back, tearing at his shirt. Joe windmilled his sword, and it cut the offending demon in two along with two other of his fellow evil entities who just happened to be in the way. Joe turned to the remaining 50… no 100 demons all glaring angrily at him.
Snarling, Joe grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled. The tears that were created by the demon gave way easily and the shirt ripped off easily, exposing his quivering muscles. The rain caused them to glisten, and his surging adrenaline caused his veins to pulse.
Joe put his other hand on the hilt of the sword, and it flashed. Suddenly, there were two swords, and he brought them down to his sides. Lowering his head, he kept his eyes on his adversaries.
He walked towards them at first, then he sprinted. He leaped into the air, screaming on top of his lungs.
“Yeeeeeeaaahh!” he screeched mightily as he slashed through four demons. They came from left and right, and he slashed each one like a knife through butter.
There were too many of them, Joe thought. I have one last option.
He took his swords, held them out, and began spinning. What’s left of the demons was annihilated. Pieces of them floated to the ground and disappeared.
When Joe was finished, he looked towards the sky. The rain had stopped, and the sky cleared. He heard a chuckle and looked down.
A few people stopped to watch. Some had their phones out, and some looked on, horrified.
Joe cleared his throat. I killed it; he thought as he tugged at the waistband of his sweatpants. They admire me for my swordsmanship skills.
He scratched the stubble on his neck, picked up his fedora, put it on, and tipped it before walking away.
