8-5-17 Meanwhile, Oberon the Other Side

Byline: Gary Llewellyn

Dateline: August 5th, 2017

I’ve got legions of invisible demons following me across an open, rolling field. Baal, the first king of Hell has offered to be my general and we’re squaring off against the Fae King and swarms of livid, spear-weirding fairies. I wrote a comic book about this when I was fifteen. The fairies were waiting for us when we got here. How they knew where and when to find us is beyond me, but blaming Stolas will satisfy my need to assign blame, for the time being, so I can concentrate on my current predicament.

The fairies were a disciplined unit, lined up in tight formations. Demons are far more chaotic, more akin to berserkers. The Fae King was mounted on a saddled fox, decked out in warrior king armor, the leaf shaped blade on the end of his spear was gleaming in the sun. Baal looked like an idiot, with his sable lined cape and a crown on each of his heads. Baal skittered up to the invisible line we all seem to have agreed on.

“Oberon,” he bellowed.

“Baal,” the Fae King responded and paused, “We know they’re there, Baal.”

“You know what’s there?”

Oberon sighed and turned his fox around and faced his army, “Artillery. Stardust.”

A regiment of cannoneers loaded, aimed and fired off a row of cannons. Sparkling comets arced overhead, and smashed, exploding into our gaggle of invisible demons, caking them in golden glitter. I now commanded a legion of disco balls shooting lasers of light everywhere in the bright, blue, sunny morning. Invisibility, for however badass you think it may sound, is a pretty easy ability to counter, as it turns out. And flamboyantly so. My legions of berzerker strippers.

Oberon then called on his archers. Fairy archers are no joke, they coat their arrowheads with a poison that turns its victims into trees. Not only an unpleasant way to die, but it really cramps your side of the battlefield when you’re suddenly fighting in a forest. That's when they release the cavalry, which is the best in the world when it comes to fast, agile, close quarters fighting. Fairies are small, ride foxes and carry ridiculous spears. They dart in, kabob two or three of you, then fall back for the next wave, dump the bodies, rinse, repeat.

“Best option is a full charge when the archer's release, get in front of the arrows, any that get turned to trees will be behind us. We can’t allow their cavalry the advantage,” Baal bellowed.

I was going to say that, but I’ll let him have this one. I don’t want him to feel like he got all dressed up for nothing.

Baal called the charge out to thousands of fabulous demons. They had dropped the invisibility, because, at this point, why bother? So they were just a frothing, berserking horde of glittery monsters charging toward advancing ranks of fairy pikemen. As they clashed a warhorn began droning from behind us. Rows upon rows of nixies stood on the crest. After a second bleat of the horn, the nixies charged our rear.

“Nixies,” Baal gasped, “Nasty little shits.”

He wasn’t kidding. Imagine regiments of Wolverines bearing down on you. To our left flank was a steep grade sloping to an apex, then rolling down the other side. To our right it was sloped downward. We could either regroup on the high ground and entrench or use momentum and retreat screaming downhill. After running this by Baal, we decided that a screaming retreat, however ignoble, was probably the lesser hassle.

Baal ordered the retreat and our ranks pivoted to our right and we began our retreat. The retreat, however, was short-lived. A sea of basilisks converged and rushed toward us.

Guess what kids? This weeks Page Five Ghoul is the basilisk. The long and short of the basilisk is it’s an ugly son of a bitch that runs around on all fours and kills with a gaze. I had to don my trusty anti-basilisk goggles. Do you not have a pair of anti-basilisk goggles? Every junior monster hunter should have their own anti-basilisk goggles. You can get your pair, right here:

Send a SASE and a check or money order for $19.99 to:

Don’t send cash. It’ll get spent on weed.

Gary’s Monster Klub (a division of Kenbro)

777 Mathers Court

Pueblo, CO 81001

(Sorry, Uncy Mort, SEG doesn’t pay that well, or at all, so I had to set up an umbrella corporation in Singapore. Just paying the bills nothing personal. GL)

Well, I had a good run.

A bit of commotion erupted from the fairie's ranks. A seam was being torn down the middle of their center legions, like somebody was pulling a zipper. The bulldozer driving a wedge through the fairy army…

“Is that a tarrasque?” Baal croaked, “It doesn't seem to be on their side.”

“A tarrasque doesn’t have a side.”

“It’s headed straight for us. And it’s followed by kobolds. So many kobolds.”

Kobolds. Those things will just straight up break your neck. A good run indeed.

8-5-17 Promised You A Miracle

Byline: Stephanie Morgan

Dateline: August 5th, 2017

Heya, SEG-ers! The kobold underground has uncovered intelligence on the whereabouts of one Gary Llewellyn. He’s currently marching legions of demons to Lyon, France to hit Interpol where they live. Probably dumb. Probably cocaine. More likely, a bit of both. My plan is to cut him off before he reaches Lyon and smack some sense into him.

The tarrasque, Nathan, is much faster than you would think he would be, given his stumpy bear legs. It’s easy to maintain balance while riding. Though a saddle would make it easier, Nathan. The kobolds manage to keep up too. I don’t know how, but they do. I’ve also picked up just about every goblin between Barcelona and Lyon. As it turns out, goblins are irresistibly drawn to crowds that look like they’re rushing toward something interesting.

We approach an open field. It went on for miles, a rolling green sea. It looked like that Windows wallpaper that was popular about ten years ago. It wasn’t empty. The fairy army was there and getting ready to engage another army of sparkly creatures. I don’t know who the Drag Race castoffs are, but the enemy of my enemy.

“Nathan,” I whispered. “You see those fairies?”

“Oberon’s army,” he said with a dour color. “Oberon is the one who told Martha how to tame me.”

“Sounds like you’d be open to the idea of putting the hurt on Oberon”

“Just say the word.”

“Great. I have a promise to keep.”

8-12-17 Take Me Away

Byline: Gary Llewellyn

Dateline: August 12th, 2017

As the tarrasque carved its way through the Fae infantry, I took cover under Baal and braced for inevitable. The inevitable took a long time to get there. I opened my eyes and peeked out. We were no longer on the field of battle, but in the middle of a high school football field and it was no longer the morning. Judging by the darkness of the suburb, it was probably late in the night. I crawled out from under Baal and brushed the dewy grass from my clothes. Standing over me, arms akimbo, shaking his ring of heads in almost parental disappointment, was Dantalion, Hell’s own wet blanket. He always carries a book he probably never read and wears a robe with a dopey Shakespeare collar. A real dork always looking for an ass to crawl up.

“What out of hell have you gotten yourself into now, Baal,” Dantalion shook his heads, “And get away from Gary, you don’t know where he’s been.”

“You messed up my glorious death,” I protested.

“It wasn’t by design,” Dantalion said. “I didn’t know you were hiding under Baal. Who, by the way, is suffering from dementia. He’s prone to fugue states. When I heard you were sniffing around, I knew you’d have him off on some ridiculous adventure wearing a tricorn hat.”

“I didn’t put the hat on him.”

“Taking advantage of the infirm. Even for you, Llewellyn, that’s low.”

“He was having the time of his life.”

“He was going to be trampled by a tarrasque.”

“Instead of rotting away in Phoenix.”

“He’s lost his mind.”

“He was fighting for a good cause.”

“Good causes? Is that what you do now? When did that start?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what’s going on.”

“I know what’s going on. I just don’t care. The Goetics have no stake in this. So stop asking us for favors. Stop asking us to help you.”

“You think they’ll just draw the line with you? Scorch the cosmos, get to your doorstep then call it a day? You're either with them or against them.”

“Spare me the firebrand rhetoric.”

“Get your heads out your ass...es? How does it work? Is there an ass for each head

“Fuck you, Gary.”

“No need to get personal.”

“Did I hurt your feelings?”

“Maybe.”

“I feel bad.”

“You should.”

“You’re right. I feel terrible. Let me make amends by returning that glorious death I took from you earlier.”

Dantalion raised his hand from his book. The midnight suburban football field dissolved into the sprawling French field drenched in crisp morning sun. The battle looked pretty done. The field was littered with splattered Fae folk. Half of something was clawing its way along the gore-slicked turf, stuffing all sort of shit into its yawning abdominal cavity. I’m going to eat a trainload of MDMA before bed tonight.

The tarrasque was still there, but it was slumped on its haunches, like an engorged Winnie the Pooh, snoring. To its left was Oberon, chained to a post, looking like someone had been working him a little. In front of him was Stephanie Morgan. Very pissed. Doing that ‘leaning forward, jabbing her finger in your face’ pissed thing.

8-12-17 One Way Or Another

Byline: Stephanie Morgan

Dateline: August 12th, 2017

Heya, SEG-ers! Have you ever wondered what you would do if you ever found the man that tried to drown you? And he was at your mercy? I have, constantly, for months. I made a plan too. It was perfect. It had high drama, subtle intrigue, it was broken down into three acts with an epiloge where the car battery explodes. Not to go into too much detail, but I had it down to the perfect voltage. But do you know what happens when you’re making plans, SEG-ers? Life. And when life hands you an opportunity, do you grab on and improvise or do you tell life, ‘No thanks, Life. I didn’t bring jumper cables.’? I’ll tell you what you do. You grab that opportunity by its scrawny little neck and chain it to a fucking post and watch your goblin troops work its soft parts for a few hours.

That may be satisfying for the first four hours or so, but then the hollowness sets in. The hollowness of knowing that it can’t really escalate from here without scaring the shit out of myself. Remember; if you seek revenge, dig two graves. One for the asshole that had you executed and one for your enthusiasm.