Violence Olympics: Battle for the Netherworld

Violence Olympics: Battle for the Netherworld

Warnings: F/F, M/M, M/F and action with “furry” characters can be expected. Beyond that, nothing too unusual. Not all in the same chapter, mind you.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and situations. All copyrights, trademarks, etc. are property of their respective owners and used without permission.

Chapter One: Hell Beneath

Long had he wandered the netherworld, unsure of the way. And then one day, if a land without a sun can be said to have days, he spotted the woman. This was the first living being seen since his arrival, so it comes as no surprise to learn that he stopped dead on his path. His mind emptied of everything to process this development with the gravity it deserved. She was clothed with two strips of shiny purple material. The rest, skin the color of peach velvet, glistening in the writhing heat. She stood alone in a low basalt gulch, with her back to him.

The air clouded with fumes and sulfur, belched out by the glowing magma that oozed from the blackened rock about them like blood from a smashed face. There was no soil, only volcanic rock cooled into hard twisting spires and dark alcoves. Something stirred in the shadows that rimmed the gulch below, behind the woman who waited.

It was a large something.

In the red light, long fangs glistened. The traveler concealed himself and settled in to watch.

The beast lumbered out into the open, its claws swirling the smoking air, its jaws trailing streamers of saliva. A dragon it was—ponderous thunder lizard, enormous and walking on hind legs—not at all like the lithe, coiling serpent gods of his home world. It drew close to the woman, each hissing breath hotter than the inferno around them. Only then, with that breath breaking like ocean waves upon her exposed shoulders, did she turn around to face it. She stared. The dragon’s jaws gaped wide. Just when the moment seemed like it would stretch forever, she spoke.

“You look like an idiot, gaping like that. Clamp it shut already,” she said, annoyed.

“Sorry,” replied the dragon in a deep, husky voice. “It’s seeing you like this. My jaw just drops at your…uh, voluptuous sexiness.”

“Stop the sweet talking. You’re terrible. Gets annoying waiting out here for you every damn time. And spare me the excuses, they’ll just make it worse.” Despite her complaining, there was pleasure in her voice now. The traveler noticed her tail for the first time, spade tipped, curling between her legs. She unfolded a pair of bat wings and from her flaxen hair a pair of pronged horns appeared, and he knew what she was then, no woman at all, at least not a mortal one. A succubus, the most lascivious of female demons.

“I love seeing you like this even more.” The dragon rumbled deep in his throat, a form of purring. “You know I can’t just skip out any time. The Overlord expects his guards to stay put. I can’t afford to lose this job.”

Upon hearing this, the traveler sat up straighter and strained to hear more. If this was indeed an imperial guard, then at last the search was over.

“No,” the succubus bent over and wriggled her rear end. Her teardrop shaped buttocks quaked oh so slightly like water balloons filled with ambrosia. “You can’t afford to lose this. If I asked you right now to quit your job, just for me, would you do it?”

This terrible monster, whose steely muscles rippled under his scales in the language of fear, now looked afraid for himself. She let him stew for a few seconds before saying, “Relax big boy. I need my flings to have means. Now,” with a flick of her wrist the thong and bikini top flopped to the ground. The succubus took a short running leap into the dragon’s waiting arms.

“Rodger me like you mean business. I hardly felt a thing last time.”

The dragon let out a shuddering moan as he nuzzled between the demon’s copious breasts. Breasts, dusky and veined like fine cheese jumbled over his craggy face. The dragon picked her up like a toy and proceeded to explore her entire body with his snout, and one finger, sliding up and down between the cheeks of her ass and the wet folds beneath, taking great care to hold his talon away from her skin.

They continued this way for some time. At one point the succubus straddled the dragon’s leg and proceeded to hump it like a wolf, and later he penetrated her with the tip of his own tail. When they had had enough of chafing against each other, the dragon made a move to lick her sex. She backed off.

“No! I told you that will hurt you if it gets past your hide!” She swatted away his hard cock, which curved like a gothic arch. “Not that either!”

“Why? Why not?” the dragon asked. It was obvious they’d gone through this conversation before.

She stroked his toothy snout and cooed. “I don’t want to start draining the life right out of you, sweetie. We’re a cursed couple, not natural at all.”

“I don’t care.”

“You will care once it’s too late. I got one thing that’s safe. So shove off the pouting and put it to me already!” The succubus got down on all fours with her tail jutting into the air. The traveler was growing impatient, but now looked to be the end of it, so he crossed his arms and resolved to wait.

Eager as a mortal virgin boy, the dragon spread her buttocks and plunged his mottled cock in until the supple flesh of her ass pressed into his smooth underbelly scales. The demon didn’t seem at all uncomfortable, in fact she howled and cooed with delight. She bucked against his weight and the dragon pistoned into her, too clumsy to maintain a regular rhythm and making up for it with gusto. Occasionally he would pull out too far and his cock would slip out to dangle uselessly. He would scramble to reinsert himself before his lover could scream her anger. Waves of heat rose from his member. The lovers rutted fast and dirty. The dragon reached around the plump hips of his mate to pleasure her unused entrance with his tail. When the orgasm came for the dragon, he did not shout or thrash like a mammal; instead he pushed in hard to the hilt, and stayed there while his gimlet eyes half closed, his tongue hung limp from his jaws, and contentment softened his face. The female enjoyed an uncounted climax, howling as spectators had once howled for the traveler on the stands of his arena, far away home. His once-wife had never shown such enthusiasm during their couplings, the traveler reflected with some distaste.

At last, it was over. The lovers said their goodbyes, and shuffled off on their separate ways. Each took a long glace backwards, then face forward, resolute.

The traveler stalked the dragon for several miles, until he was sure they were alone. The dragon was a mighty beast by the very nature of its existence, but he was mightier still, though he could ill afford interference if their meeting did not go as planned.

From the top of a nearby cliff, the traveler leapt down onto the path before the dragon. He rose with deliberate ease to his full height, letting the light of nearby magma pools glint from his great horned-war helm, blood red cape flying and snapping in the swift volcanic breeze.

“Great Wyrm, you are a servant of the Overlord of this Hell, are you not?” he boomed.

The dragon swayed in place for a moment, its beady black eyes betraying nothing of its thoughts. Then it said, “I’m a vassal, not a servant. That means I get paid to hurt things and watch over stuff, though I’m more into it for the dental.”

The traveler waited for more, and when the beast said nothing else, he said, “I have come to seek an audience with your master on an issue of ultimate importance. Take me to him at once!”

“’K. You can come as long as you don’t make me late. I’m on lunch time, and the boss pitches one of his fits if he sees me late from lunch.” The dragon shrugged, then brushed past him on down the trail.

For once, the traveler found himself short on things to say. He hadn’t expected it to be so easy. It was uncomfortable for him, so he asked, “Is the distance to the castle far? I have traveled many leagues for two fortnights.”

“Dude, we use portals to get everywhere here. Without them you’ll get lost real fast, and it’d take forever any other way.”

“I was not lost, just biding my time.”

“’K. So…what do you need me for then?”

The traveler ignored the question. “I had to take the measure of the Overlords holdings. And it’s a breach of etiquette to teleport directly into his home. These things have to be done a certain way.”

“Whatever. What you going to ask him about anyways?”

“I will not discuss matters vital to the core of the universe itself with just any mere vassal. Tidings so dire can only be received by the ears of the Overlord first, lest rumor ignite bedlam throughout the realm.” The dragon did not say anything, and appeared all around incurious. So, he added, “If you must know, it’s an offer. Of sorts.”

“Oh, that’s bad. The Overlord doesn’t like salesmen. I should have you leave now, I’m not going to get into trouble because I let a salesman into the castle.”

The traveler reared up and cut the dragon’s words off with a curt swipe of his hand. “It is nothing so crude as a sale that I bring to your master! For I have in my power to offer him a prize he has long sought, if he only has the courage to take it! Enough words, dragon! We waste valuable time bandying, all the while opportunity slips away! Take me to the Overlord, at once!”

“Dude, he’s not going to trust you if you wear that mask. You better take it off first.”

“Enough! The fated hour draws near!”

“Chill,” the dragon said. He marched a ways down the road until he came to a shadowed alcove in the cliff face. “We’re here.”

The traveler looked in every direction, including up. There was no castle or structure to be seen, not even so much as a signpost. This search was made harder by the lack of peripheral vision—one of the true disadvantages to wearing a mask, he admitted silently.

The swirling vortex of a space-time portal popped into the alcove with a hiss.

“This is the warp portal I talked about. Because walking takes too damn long.”

“Well…obviously. The electric blue color gives it away, really.” The traveler had managed to keep the quaver out of his voice. It took real effort to push away the notion that he’d just spent the better part of a decade wandering the underworld on foot. Chin pointing upwards, he marched through the portal.

One blinding flash of white later, he emerged into the bleak stone corridors of a great castle.

He was not alone.

Before him stood a long line of the netherworld’s worst. Many clutched slips of paper in their claws with a hungry glint in their eyes. They were waiting for their turn to depart through the portal, and from the way red run-on sentences began to trawl across the schedule displays, he guessed his unauthorized use of the transport had somehow caused them all delay. The traveler’s mask of metal and bone hid only the top half of his face, so the disheveled commuters got a slice of his satisfied smile. A large demon woman harrumphed, doing her level best to wither the traveler with her gaze. A useless gesture. With skin tough enough to resist the petrifying look of a gorgon he felt only a minor tingling. Of course, if she kept this up long enough he would begin to peel, and that could make things awkward later. The traveler had no choice but to step away from the warp and leave the commuters to their wasted hours.

“Throne’s this way,” said the dragon, scuffling past.

“What is it that they call you, vassal?”

“Dratti. Or D if you’re nasty.”

Though this was a stronghold of a netherworld, some things were little different from higher realms. The outer foyers of this castle, like so many in the mortal planes, served as a center of commerce. Demons were everywhere, selling their services and goods, gossiping over hot meals, or simply loitering. Serving those hot meals, or carrying the day’s shopping haul were hideous golems of cloth and stuffing, sewn into effigies of what appeared to be penguins. They were everywhere, acting in every capacity of servitude. Each tottered about on wooden peg legs with surprising agility and could use their blunt flippers as deftly as any fingered hand.

Shortly they arrived at a colossal pair of double doors that could only be the throne room entrance. The traveler expected the dragon vassal to knock or otherwise announce his presence. Instead, Dratti pulled one door open and barged inside without so much as a cough.

The throne room was everything that would be expected of an underworld Overlord. Twisting columns of living fire; tapestries woven from the hairs of fallen enemies, depicting debauched scenes of life in the demonic court; black candle stands; skulls hung over the doorways; a gargoyle sporting a Slayer T-shirt; and the great throne of oily blue and purple metals. Other vassals, hulking monsters all, stalked and slithered through the murk. The stench of languid, corrupted flesh pressed in like a pillow crushed onto the face of the sleeping. These were the royal guard, ready to fall upon him should he displease their master. The traveler could not suppress a smirk from cracking open below the frozen face of his steel mask. In a few moments these retainers would be inconsequential.

On the throne sat a teenaged boy with red eyes and a sigil of demonic royalty around his finger. He wore little: short pants and a crimson scarf—as if suffering from the heat of which there was plenty piped in through open magma channels running along both sides of the chamber. Organ music wafted through the air from somewhere unseen, but close by. Though the “child” on yonder throne looked young, the traveler knew him to be many centuries old. This was Laharl, Overlord and dark god of this domain. The young demon had been in the middle of a loud argument with those standing at his feet, but now glared through the traveler with those heartblood eyes. He shooed his audience away to the shadows at the end of the hall.

Laharl studied this new arrival without expression. His words came, after a brief pause, in a loud voice that stopped short of piping. Not yet in the voice of a man, but no longer one of a child’s. He said, “In my father’s day, when vassals returned late from lunch they at least had the decency to bring their leftovers home in takeout cartons.” The traveler gritted his molars, but said nothing.

Dratti took it upon himself to cover the introductions. “This is the boss. Boss, this guy swears he’s not a salesman. And he wants to give you something.”

“What? A headache? Because that’s where this is heading. Some people take pills for headaches, but I have a better cure: bloodletting and vassal layoffs.”

The traveler knew it was now or never. From the looks of things he would have to hit fast. “My lord,” he said, stepping forward with one arm held out before him. “Soon you shall have all the spilled blood you require. I have come to propose a wager, my realm against yours. Winner takes all.”

Laharl crossed his arms. “Who are you and what realm would that be, exactly?”

The traveler shrugged off his stained cloak and rose to the fullness of his stature, all eight feet and three inches of it. He caught himself about to stoop his shoulders and instead stiffened them proudly, to better display his spiked shoulder pads. The pads never failed to impress.

“I am Shao Kahn!” the traveler announced in his best booming voice. “God-Emperor of Outworld. Feast your eyes on a prize that has no compare in highest heaven or blackest hell!” With the sweep of one muscled arm, a patch of space-time dissolved beside him. Vistas of another world appeared there, as if cast by a projector on a pool of oil. Scenes of Outworld panned, zoomed, dissolved away and filled the space again, revealing an empire of desert and rocky wastes, of formidable mountain ranges colored steel against a red sky, dark forests of groaning trees and corrupt simmering swamps. Sometimes an ornate stone temple or a terraced holdfast flashed by. No shots of any building interior were shown. In this way, Outworld looked like any world, with a few gothic touches to round out the over-arcing mood. Shao Kahn moved his arm again and the vision was gone.

“Impressive, is it not? Surely, it is worth the small risk to your own kingdom for a chance to double your holdings in the multiverse? The world awaits a man who has only the strength and the will to seize it!”

Laharl closed his eyes, arms still crossed to make a big show of concentration. A moment later his eyelids snapped open and the red irises regarded his visitor warily once again.

“Interesting. But you still haven’t told me what the bet is. Announce your game or buzz off. I’m a busy demon.”

“It is…” Shao Kahn raised his fists to the air and shook them. “Mortal Kombat! I challenge you to Mortal Kombat!”

No one moved in the throne room, and no one spoke, even after Kahn’s voice had rolled away slowly like the peal of a cannon shot. Laharl blinked.

“What the hell is—are you asking for a fight?” he asked. It had taken time for words to become possible again. Not often came the time when the prince was privileged to a display of corniness so potent and honest that it could shock him into silence.

“Yes! The Fight of all Fights. The Excellence of Elimination. Mortal Kombat!”

“This is getting old real fast! What is, uhh, that?” Repeating those two words was something Laharl found unbearable.

“A tournament. Your world’s greatest champions against mine. Many will battle—only one will live. The victor will have a prize of his choosing, and the realm he represents will go free. In addition, the realm that loses will be subjugated by those victorious.”

“And just where are these champions of yours? I want to see them first!”

Shao Kahn rubbed the back of his neck, and shifted his weight from one foot to another. “Well…you see. In tournaments past, there have been a number of…Fatalities, shrinking my pool of warriors. I have yet to recruit a new league.”

Laharl jumped from his throne and leveled an accusing finger at his challenger. “I see the scam now! The second I accept you’ll hire out my own best vassals to use against me. Or perhaps you already have some buddies, ones that have been specially selected to take advantage of my own soldier’s failings hidden safe with your lies. Guards! Eat this fool’s liver and throw him outside for the crows!”

The child was good if he could anticipate his two best plans right out of the gate, Kahn reflected. Dratti and the others encircled him, claws raised. “Don’t worry too much. We’re not going to eat your liver, that’s gross. We’ll just kill you and take those kickin’ shoulder pads, cause it’s not like you’ll need them when you’re dead,” apologized Dratti. Though the situation was grim, Kahn still held the upper hand and the brat king would be made to see it. He stood his ground and slid the stone hammer from his belt. “You are being a fool,” he called out to Laharl.

“Why’s that?”

“Because if I fight your guards now, and I win, then I’ll have won Mortal Kombat and will claim your underworld for my own.”

Laharl spun around on his heel to face him again. Then he threw back his head and laughed. “Foolish bastard, I never agreed to enter your stupid tournament. Your challenge is declined!”

Kahn lowered his voice to a harsh whisper that nonetheless carried throughout the throne room. “Your acceptance is not required.”

The demon prince paused his cackling. “Wha?”

Kahn swung his hammer, forcing the guards a step back. “The challenge of Mortal Kombat has been invoked, and only the rite of bloody tournament will bring an end. You may refuse to participate, but be aware that your Netherworld will lose by forfeit with me the victor. This is the decree of the Elder Gods themselves, who are too mighty for even you and I to defy.”

“A’fraid it’s true, boss.” A zombie lawyer shambled forward, tugging nervously at its shirt collar, which caused ichors and vile humors of the grave to slosh over onto its expensive suit. He pointed to a sizeable tome of law lying open in his hands. “It’s laid out pretty clearly in multiversal law, and has precedence in court.” The book cover, made of tanned mortal skin, nodded in agreement.

Snarling, Larhal spun on the lawyer. “Who asked you to butt in?”

“I did. Show our guest to the guest suite. And if he needs refreshment and something to eat make sure he gets it,” ordered a new voice.

“Etna!”

“In the flesh.” A demoness, around the same age as Laharl, strutted out from behind the throne. She wore a tight miniskirt, high boots, and bat-themed top that wrapped around small but no doubt perky breasts. All fashioned from black leather and a glossy purple material that might be anything synthetic. Around her neck was a collar with one metal ring hanging down over her adams apple. Perhaps at times there was a leash to be attached, and perhaps it represented freedom from bondage. There was no way for Kahn to know what the accessory symbolized: submission or freedom, though it seemed he would find out before long. No fangs peeked over her lip as she smiled—the look was nonetheless carnivorous.

Laharl shouted out her name again, to no effect.

Shao Kahn bowed a little deeper than he had last time, and thanked her for the Overlord’s hospitality.

+++

Shao Kahn had not been long in his lodgings before Laharl called an emergency meeting in his own quarters. This emergency cabinet consisted of himself, and Etna. Flonne was only too happy to go shopping for party decorations, an idea of Etna’s. One of her more worthy ones. The angel would be no help. Her usually useless suggestions had become even more obnoxious in light of the oncoming “festivities.”

“You mean we’re stuck in this bozo’s dumb game?” Laharl’s eyes blazed sulfur yellow as they bulged from their sockets.

Etna stretched out luxuriantly on his purple sheets before catching his smoldering gaze and sitting up. “Afraid so, boss. Our team of infernal lawyers has confirmed it. This joker’s challenge is for real. And the worst part is, he’s not bluffing about the stakes. If we don’t win, we’re homeless,” Etna said. She swept her hands out in a flat line to symbolize just how big a drag life would be then. Etna, the loyal (mostly) vassal to the royal Krichevskoy family for two generations, uncrossed her legs, spreading her thighs a little. She wore no underwear underneath her leather mini-skirt, but so far the prince had yet to notice. Laharl, too worked up to remain still, paced back and forth before her.

“Then we’ll throw his ass out. It’s no good being Overlord if you can’t properly exile someone now and then.”

Etna cast down her eyes and shook her head. “Not this lard head, we can’t. The Dark Congress has already passed a motion to go through with the Mortal Kombat tournament, approving his stay in our lands.”

Since his eyes had already reached their maximum quotient for expressing rage and disgust Laharl’s mouth had to pick up the slack with an expression that mimicked the sensation of chomping down on an especially sour wedge of lemon that had been laced with razors.

“I can’t pass a motion to stock our nation’s stores with better sunglasses without bribing one half of the Congress and slaying the other, and this biker clown idiot walks right into my domain and gets them to agree to give him the whole universe! I should put them all to the sword personally. That will teach them to look after their Overlord’s best interests from now on!”

“Prince, they fear the Elder Gods. Everyone knows you can’t tell Them no about anything. Oh, all right, and maybe a few of those recent slayings might have lowered your approval ratings a hair, but it’s not like they’ve handed Kahn the keys to the kingdom. Yet. We just have to win his dumb little contest.” Etna absentmindedly stuck a finger under one cup of her bra to scratch an itch. Lahrl could only stare at his fist as he shook it before his face.

“And yet you’re giving him the guest bedroom? We should have him in the dungeon, peeling away his secrets along with his skin.”

Etna held out three fingers. “One: If we hurt him, that constitutes a match, and our lawyers assure us that unless he chooses at last one other champion for his side, he only needs to win once to win the whole tournament. Two: If we treat him nice, it’ll be harder for him to tell how we’re spying on him. Which will be all the time.”

“Let me guess. The Prinnies are your spies. We’d have more success assigning narcoleptic security guards to a mattress retail convention.”

“Three! Castle Krichevskoy will not have a functioning dungeon until someone pays a contractor to drain the lava flooding it.”

Laharl looked petulant with his brow furrowed. “But the justice system is experiencing its lowest repeat offender rate in history. Everyone agrees it’s quite progressive.”

“Look, Prince, we have to let him pick out his contenders.”

“This is nonsense. I’ll face him in a one-on-one match. I’m Laharl, the fiercest demon in existence. I can’t lose!”

“I hate to imply that you’re anything less than omnipotent, but remember the first time you put the title of Overlord up for grabs? There was that alternate Overlord big enough to fill the sky? If your other vassals had not come forward when they did…”

Laharl crossed his arms once more. “They performed their duty so that I did not have to dirty my hands with such an unworthy opponent. Still, I see the point. And if I were to fall, however impossible, who would lead my domain in rebellion against our invaders?”

“That’s our Prince, courageous as ever. There’s also the chance that between then and now Kahn will get another, secret champion on his side. If you do take Kahn out, then this creep might take you by surprise and win the tournament.”

“Then let us assign our own vassals as our champions. They’ve proven capable in the past, I’m sure they’ll have this over and done with in day.”

Etna leaned back on the king-sized bed, scooting her butt forward and spreading her legs a little more. “We should have a couple of our own in this,” she agreed. “But I was thinking of recruiting the bulk of our champs from other dimensions.”

“Whaaaat?” The young Overlord let his jaw hang for emphasis. “But isn’t the whole point of—of this stupid game having the elite warriors of the defending dimension defend their home against those of Outword?”

Etna casually stroked her pale legs with black gloved hands. “That’s the tradition, but it’s not a solid rule. Anyone can claim a side of their own free will. They say the Elder God Raiden did so for an alternate Earth at one point.”

“Well, unless there’s a god on our side you haven’t told me about, why not enter my personal guard?”

“Aside from the fact that you’d no longer have a personal guard on duty? There’s two reasons. He’ll have done his homework on our own guys, so better that his own forces face something unpredictable and expendable. The other reason I’m not going to tell you about yet.”

“Fine. When do we begin?” Laharl had now taken an interest in toying with his favorite sword. He ran his thumb along the edge to test the sharpness.

With a disgusted sigh Etna launched off the bed and hefted a spear and an axe across her back. “Now. I’ll do the recruiting myself.”

“Where will you go?”

“I’ve got a list of promising sites. More worlds than I could ever visit within a week. Depends on what I find as I work my way down the list. Who knows, I might finish early.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Why, whatever do you mean, sweet prince?”

“You sound angry for some reason. This isn’t some secret girl problem I’m supposed to know but would rather not, is it?”

“You know prince, ignorance isn’t always bliss.” And with that said, she left him.

+++

In the underworld there was no potpourri, no air fresheners, not even any urinal cakes. When everything stank of brimstone and abandoned hope such niceties were rendered pointless. Even so, it was a clean room and tastefully decorated. Kahn decided that when the castle was his he would have a couple of these walls knocked down to make room for the harem.

After he had checked the door and the window frame, and over every crack and crevice, only then was he satisfied that he was alone. He sat on the room’s only chair, and said, “Reptile.”

A ripple in the flickering chandelier light, a muffled foot fall on the plush carpet. In that instant a man in black and green now stood facing him, swaying gently back in forth in a way that was almost hypnotic. His face was hidden by a tight hood and scarf, but the skin around his eyes looked human enough.

“I considered, in the long hoursss, how my day would pass instead if I did not appear here before you.”

Kahn’s tone was curt. “Your race will have their sovereign holdings in Outworld again should I be victorious. Already my enemies grow wiser. Will you do as I have requested?”

“There are certain instances, recollectionsss, of a past where certain things were promised us. And the results…less than sssatisfactory.”

Without hesitation Shao Kahn lifted his right hand and impaled it upon a spike of his left shoulder pad. “I swear to honor our contract on my life’s blood. I should die if I break the terms.” He offered the hand out to the shrouded man, who slunk forward to dip his fingers in the pooling blood before the opening in the palm could close.

“If they knew I was here, your sworn champion, such thingsss they could do to you without consequence…”

“Leave me. You have much work to do.”

The other bowed and vanished between waves of light. Shao Kahn was alone once more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s notes: As to the question of what point on the Disgaea timeline this story takes place, I’d put it somewhere between Episodes 6 and 7. This is mostly due to the fact that I haven’t beaten the game yet. Also, if you have a video game character you’d like to make an appearance here, go ahead and email me or mention them in a review. I do not guarantee they’ll actually make it in, but if I like the suggestion enough I’ll use it. No OC’s please.

Also, to prospective reviewers: I have thick skin, so don’t feel shy if you wish to review, I don’t bite unless you ask. If someone seems out of character, do let me know.