Holy Wars: Future of j00

[TheLastLump]

        Holy Wars: Future of j00. What happens when Faith is all you have left?

The Governments of the world have fallen. Each, becoming more and more paranoid of the others, launched Coup Detats against their enemies, not realizing that their enemies had done the same. In one fell blow, all the leaders of the world were struck down.

Which, as you can imagine, made them feel pretty dumb.

Now, the only thing standing between Humanity and the fall from civilization is Faith. All of the major religions have begun campaigns to grab as much of the populace as they can and convert them to their cause. Catholics, Buddhists, Islamics, Christians, and the recently revealed Illuminati are in open war, contested areas feeling the wrath of the many gods as the new Holy Wars have begun.

And you just know the Discordians are going to be right in the middle of all this, don'tcha?

I'm not going to be biased (seriously. I'm not. No kiddin'. I won't. Believe me.) about this; the Discordians aren't the main characters. There's going to be several main characters; the Discordian agents Raspberry and Skittles are just a recurring theme there for your amusement ^.^


Chapter 1: Battle of the Burrito; of Raspberries and Skittles; an Illuminati Interlude

"A munchie's fate is
Sealed by cruel ones cometh,
Whoopage shall commence"


"If that's my burrito, punk... I'ma hafta hurt you."

Malkom circled the newcomer warily. He wasn't sure what sect the scrawny black-haired man before him belong to, but something in the glint in his eyes, something in the way he smiled- something in the way the word "Discordian" was stiched in gold in the man's trench coat made him think this man was a Discordian.

Wasn't a Discordian some sort of fruity soda drink?

"Oh, no. This couldn't be your burrito. Cabbages don't eat."

Malkom almost tripped for a moment, surprised by the absurdity of the man's comment. "....What'cha been smokin'?! I'm not a cabbage!"

The man laughed, and Malkom winced as the glass plate balanced precariously on the palm of his hand wobbled, the precious burrito sliding around on its surface... he couldn't bear to watch it anymore. Being the tall, black, bald man that he was- and also being German, that helped too- usually meant that nobody dared mess with him. So why then was this boy frustrating him? Had he no fear? Had he no sense of self-preservation?!

The boy chuckled, wobbling unsteadily as he began standing on one leg. The shiny black coat fluttered in the wind as he thumbed his nose at Malkolm. "You can't fool me! I know all about you cabbages! Disguising yourselves as people so you can steal our hotdogs! It's wrong, I tell ya!"

Malkom was moments away from flat-out clotheslining him when the crunch of gravel signaled the arrival of strangers. A PDA attached to the crazy boy's front pocket screeched a warning, and the words "Warning! A new challenger has entered the arena! Warning! A new challenger has entered the arena!" resounded from its speakers. The boy turned around calmly, extending his left hand- the hand not busy balancing a burrito- to the first of the three identical intruders. "Hiya! My name's Raspberry."

Standing there before the two were men wearing long, primal robes of purple and red. The sleeves had chains wrapped around them, ending in hooks or small hand-spears with vicious tips. The deep hoods within which lay the faces of the cultists had what was once a familiar mark sewn into the front: That of a triangle, with a single all-seeing eye hanging in the middle...

"We are the Illuminati. We demand to know who you work for."

Malkom blanched. He knew who they were; the rumoured secret society that had been whispered about since the dawn of man had been set back a millenia with the fall of the world's governments; without being able to hide behind the false religion of Freemasonry and controlling figurehead Presidents and Dictators and the like, they had been drawn out into the open. However, they still had a shot at dominating the world.

They just had to take out the competition.

Malkom swallowed hard, before removing the Holy Bible from his jacket pocket. "I am Malkom, a Catholic Missionary. You're not welcome here! This is a protectorate of the Vatican, and is under our control!"

Raspberry sputtered. "Who do I work for? Do I look like I work? And another thing, 'Malkom', if that is your real Cabbage name, since when did-"

"I AM NOT A CABBAGE!! WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?!!"

The bull of a missionary charged, his arm lashing out with surprising speed towards Raspberry's head. The boy shouted "Eep!" and ducked out of the way, and a very surprised Illuminati Cultist received the blow and toppled end-over-end for a few feet before slumping to the ground. The remianing to cultists who had been standing on either side of the downed fellow turned away from viewing his plight and shook their arms, the chained weapons snaking down as they unwound from their arms. hitting the dirt with a dull thump. Walking forward in unison, chains dragging across the ground, they began approaching the awestruck Malkom.

Regaining his senses, the missionary reached for his crucifix while his left hand, the one still clutching the bible, lay it open with his fingers supporting its backside and his thumb holding it by the inside of the spine so as to clearly read the scriptures. Opening it up to a random page, he was delighted to see the verses Jeremiah 7:9-11, and read them aloud as he backed away: "Will ye steal, murder, and commit adultry,and swearvfalsely, and burn incense unto Ba'al, and walk after other gods whom ye know not; And come and stand before me in this house, which is called by my name, and say, 'We are delivered to do all these abominations?' Is this house, which is called by my name, become a den of robbers in your eyes?'"

The cultists looked at eachother for a moment, then turned back to Malkom. "Yeah, that's basically the idea."

Raspberry's face lit up for a moment, realizing something. "Hey! You guys are trying to control this place here, aren't you?! That village over the hill there and everything?"

Malkom and the cultists each nodded in turn.

Raspberry glowered, tossing the plate, burrito and all, over his shoulders, much to Malkom's horror- he had only desired to eat the burrito, was that so much to ask for? A simple lunch?- and stalked forward, whipping out a can of spray cheese and a frying pan. "You won't control anything if I have something to say about it- which I do. These lands don't need your 'guidance' and restraints! They can worship whatever they wish without you smacktards claiming THEIR lands for the glory of your Gods who, if you haven't been paying attention, abandoned us when we were fools enough to think WE were better than them! Only Eris will have anything to do with us humans, thanks to ignorants like you! And she even openly admits it's cuz she's got nuthin' better to do."

A strawberry-bubblegum pink-haired girl wearing a cap popped up beside him, giving a cutesy "You said it, Berry!" and a cheerful giggle, holding up a "peace" sign.

"For those of you who're confused, I'm Skittles! There are no laws anywhere! The Goddess prevails!"

Malkom's hand faltered, and he almost dropped his Bible. "Waitaminute, what?!! Lemme get this straight. You're name's Raspberry?! And YOUR name's Skittles?!! What in the name of the Lord God Almighty is going on h-"

Unable to finish his sentance, the missionary ducked down as a chained scythe from one of the cultists whizzed over his head. Raspberry, shouting "Hey! That wasn't nice, you limp-dicked fuck!" ran forward brandishing his pan- only to slip on the burrito he'd thrown earlier, the beans squishing out under the soles of his shoe. The canister of cheese flew forward out of his hand, getting impaled on the end of a hand-spear which, having been heading for the Catholic's chest, now bounced harmlessly off.

Pausing only for a split second to realize that the Discordian's mishap just saved his life, the missionary stowed his Bible in a deep pocket and grabbed the chain with his left hand, yanking the hapless cultist into a massive mid-air clothesline. The crunch of shattered teeth was accentuated by the actual teeth flying out of the air, raining down on the slightly grassy dirt road with a pitta pat pat. The disgruntled Catholic missionary, enraged further by the third and final Illuminatus displaying the backs of his fists in a classic "put your dukes up" pose which revealed the heinous Mark of the Beast on each one, snarled as he pointed his crucifix at the cultist and, with a commanding voice sounding as the rumble of thunder, shouted "Heathen, GET THEE HENCE!!"

A pulse of white light fired from the top of Christ's head, slamming into the sinner's chest and flooring him several feet from where he stood. Looking up from his handiwork, tired from even that little bit of work, the big man, who had always thought he could handle anything with the Lord's strength, became frightened when he saw the small army of cultists coming over the top of the hill.

He looked over his shoulder to the town of York, which was really a few hundred miles from the edge of Ireland, not even on the same continent as where the real city of York once stood before it was sacked and burnt to the ground from the riots that sprouted when Her Majesty and the Parliament both fell in a single night of fire and chaos. Then he looked to the two Discordians- Skittles, helping the boy up, and Raspberry who, after rising completely to his feet, stooped down to retrieve his pan... they had saved his life. Indirectly, of course, but they seemed harmless enough. For heathens.

"Hey... you two should follow me. We can seek shelter in the town- they won't dare set foot in there while we yet live. They're a superstitious lot, Illuminati. Rather not fight in the open, in front of the public."

Raspberry raised his pan and got ready to shout and objection that looked suspiciously like it began with the word 'cabbage', but Skittles clapped both her hands over his mouth and, with another heart-melting smile said "Okay! Lead on, Mr Dude! Thanks!"

Malkom blushed and waved it away as nothing, before dashing off down the hilly road towards the town, the two Discordians in tow.

*****

"So. What's the story with your names? You hafta admit, they're pretty bizarre."

The trio was sitting at a table in the Booze-a-Plenty pub near the center of York. A dozen or so clergy sat at tables just like theirs, drinking pints of smelly but tasty drafts of all sorts. Apparently, the Catholic Church had lightened up on the clergy sobriety laws- or just couldn't enforce them in this area. Either way, there was plenty of beer for the taking.

Skittles finished sipping a cherry coke- "C'mon, girl! Upgrade to a glass of ale! I haven't seen you drunk in ages!" Raspberry shouted, making Malkom choke on his pint- and gave a quiet burp before wrinkling her nose. "That's a funny story. No, really, it's funny- the Polyfather always makes things interesting. We got our un-orders directly from him, y'know?"

Malkom nodded slowly, pretending he did indeed know.

"Well, y'see, he was befuddled as to why everyone was so upset about the collapse of civilization, seeing as how it meant pot was legal and all that, but once he learned that all these churches of whatever were trying to take control of everything and tell everybody what to do, he got furious!"

Malkom was shocked. "He doesn't like the fact we are trying to restore order?"

Raspberry chuckled. "Order? Ha! Is that what you call suppressing individual rights and freedom of speech? Jeeze, you're a piece of work for a cabbage! Even veggies should understand that not having the right to choose what to do with your lives is horrible! Being told what religion to choose, which God to worship, which pants to wear- and then that if you DON'T do all these things you're going to be excommunicated and sent to hell? What kinda life is THAT?"

Malkom indignantly took a sip of his pint. That wasn't how it was at all- what the Vatican decreed was for these peoples' own good! Didn't they know that if they had those "freedoms" they valued so much, they'd surely burn in hell for heresy? But still, the idjits did have a point. Not having any choice at all certainly made life seem bleak...

Skittles continued, patting Raspberry on the arm. "So, as I was saying, the Polyfather was a bit peeved. He asked us to do our subversive thang and try to dismantle the efforts of anyone who tried to take control like that. If the populace didn't accept the fanatics' religion, we were to boot 'em out."

"Tell him what we did to those Mormons over in Frisco!"

"Later. Anywho, he was worried that, somewhere along the way, someone might try to impersonate us-" "Like a cabbage!" interrupted Raspberry, shuddering, "-and that to be truly sure of whether our partners were still themselves or not, we needed to protect our real names by taking on codenames! The Polyfather forced Raspberry to take that name, but I got to be Skittles because I asked nicely."

"Ah," said Malkom, still not sure whether he believed any of this. "Hrm... well, we'd better get to bed. There's probably some beds open over at the church you can use. That is, if you're not afraid of sleeping near a bunch of cabbages."

Raspberry gasped, and Skittles simply giggled as they followed the missionary out of the pub, Raspberry still clutching a cup o' cider.

*****

On a hilltop, outside of the town, twenty black-cloaked figures moved silently towards the gates, their footsteps leaving no impression in the dirt, nor disturbing the blades of grass. They flitted across the landscape, intent on their targets, vengeance their purpose.

They would not be denied.

[TheLastLump]

Chapter 2: Nathan's Tale of Torment; the Meaning of Life, in a nutshell; the Boogeyman Boogie

"A failure retold,
Cynic shares his views on life,
Skittles brings da P41n"

The a far-away chamber situated in the heart of Utah, seven men, their faces hidden in shadow, glared down on the wretched form of a beaten and bruised man who claimed to be the sole survivor of a missionary group sent to spread the word of the Book of Mormon to the rebellious city of Frisco. Minutes ticked by, and yet they did not speak. The man grovelled before their high thrones, the shredded rags that were once his clothes hanging loosely about his skeletal frame.

Finally, one of the High Priests of Mormon (or whatever they're called, it is as unimportant as they are) spoke. "You were one of a force of twenty Disciples sent to Frisco. Out of all those men, you are the only one who survived? We find this disgusting."
"What's more," spoke another, "Is that you claim you were struck down by only two attackers. Tell us, how came you to be so devastated by a mere two agents?"

The man, shaking, looked up, his face encrusted with so much caked dirt it was impossible to tell the colour of his hair from the colour of his skin. "We were overrun, my Lords. They came at us from all sides-"

An outraged bellow erupted from the councilmember on the far right of the semi-circle. "What lies!! You would have us believe that it is possible to be "overrun" and outflanked by TWO people?! What fools do you take us for?"

The man cringed, but when he looked up, there was fire in his eyes. "My Lords, you misunderstand. These were no normal people. They were agents of a religion I had not heard of until now; they claimed to be Legionnaires of Discordia."

There was a muffled gag, as if someone had swallowed a drink wrong and was choking. Several seconds passed before one of the councilmen spoke: "Brother Fred, what's wrong? Have you heard of these hooligans before?"

Brother Fred did not respond immediately. When he finally chose to speak, it was in a quiet, reverent voice the council was not used to hearing from one of their most outspoken members. "Yes... yes I have. They are said to arrive on demon winds, bringing words of twisting Death that drive men to madness. They are plague; bestial forms wracked with a hundred years of sin-"

Brother Carumdi chuckled. "No, no, those are those Shamanic fellows we found over in Australia. I don't think that's what this one's talking about."

"Oh, oh. Pardon me. Continue, then, Layman. Tell us of these... Discordians."

The Layman nodded, rising to a kneel. He took a moment to clear his throat, and began.

"My name is Layman Nathan Taylor, and this is my tale. We had arrived the previous day- which would be a week ago now, my Lords- and had begun preaching to the city as you commanded. Well, there we were, a mass of twenty men, our voices rising to the sky in praise of Joseph Smith Junior and Brigham Young, teaching of the revelations our prophets had spoken, the truths they'd told... and out from the crowd that were listening to us came a man, lithe of body and arrogant as a rattlesnake. He came forward, rebuking us for 'being lame' and 'molesting the ears of the innocent with ridiculous lies'. He claimed we should not force ourselves upon the masses, but to appeal for acceptance!! Well, as we were taught, we ignored the man's ignorant ideas and continued to preach. It was then the first of us fell."

"What weapon could strike down a chosen of Moroni?!" spoke one of the Brother-council, a hint of concern leaking into his voice.

"My Lord, I believe it was a toaster."

A moment passed before the next voice spoke. "A... a toaster?!" Inquired Brother Belgium, aghast.

"Yes, M'Lord. I looked over when I heard Layman Kody groan in pain, and there stood a woman clutching a toaster by its power cord. I must admit, sirs, I was struck temporarily dumbfounded by her beauty... such vibrance I've not seen in a woman before. She was standing over Kody, shouting something about him being a Clown of the Aneristic Illusion... when Layman Seranh reached out in anger to grab her, I was blinded by a bright flash and backed away, tripping and falling over my robes- which was lucky, because the next thing I saw, a hailstorm of kitchen appliances was raining down upon us, striking those unfortunate enough to still stand. M'Lords, if you'd only seen it... Chaplain Xenophilian, the one you'd sent to lead us? He was taken out by a flying oven. And then the man I had seen before was amongst us, wielding a frying pan black as night. Laymen Horace and Johannes were down before they knew what was going on. It was pure chaos, M'Lords, confusion and panic..... as I scrambled to my feet, I realized before it was too late what the man was doing: He had planted "Kick Me" signs on our backs. Before I knew it, the crowd, the very citizens of Frisco we had come to enlighten, agged on by the blasphemies of the Discordians, were upon us. A seething mass of people swept in.... when I awoke, bruised, battered, we were all laying outside the city gates. From the sound of it, it seemed the entire city was throwing a party."

"So, then, were you the only one to survive?" Brother Leoni asked.

"Survive? No, no- none of us were harmed badly. Just headaches and sore backsides all around."

"What? But, why then are you the only one who has arrived?"

"Well... I was the only one not too embarassed to come back. You see, when they'd deposited us outside, they'd also removed all of our clothes save our underpants. Needless to say, the other Laymen were too ashamed to show their faces 'round here again."

The Brother-council sat back, digesting this information. After a while, they waved Nathan away. "You may leave," they said as one.

When the Layman had left, Brother Carumdi sighed. "It sounds as if Frisco has chosen. We will not be able to reclaim it for some time."

"Yes," moped Brother Fred, looking at Sister Isabelle, the only female member of the council. "Yes, it appears that way. So, what would you say of our plans, Sister?"

The brooding eyes of the seductive Sister Isabelle eyed Brother Fred mischievously, her supple lips laced in black lipstick- the better to match her thick black eyeliner.... and her black heart- sneering. "It seems there's a new player on the field. We need to find out as much about these Legionnaires as we can... and, perhaps, if our goals concerning the resurrection of the Prophet-Warrior Moroni are to be met, destroy them."

*****

Chunks of concrete rained down on Christophe's head, the bullets tearing into the column he was hiding behind kicking up almost lethal debris. His squad of

For the rest of this action-packed chapter, it looks like you're going to have to wait! Mwahahahaaa!!! I know. I'm so evil.

But not so evil as to leave you without a treat! Here's a few bits of choice dialogue that will leave you aching to know what the hell it's talking about!

*****

"Master!! Master!! We've tried everything! Hellfire, conjuring Demons, rending his soul in twain- nothing! Nothing we try has any effect on him!"
"That's cuz he's an atheist, retard. They don't believe in all that. Lord Satan could come down here in all his unholy gory glory and he STILL would find some way to explain it all as swamp gas. Just take his wallet and leave him."

*****

"Raspberry, did you know your coat is ticking?"

*****

"Wow! His head came off!"

*****

"There room for one more on this canoe?"

*****

"Isn't there ANYBODY who can tell me what the capital of Nebraska is?!"

[Bebek Sincap Ratatosk]

A bit rough, but not too bad.

[Cainad (dec.)]

Completely ridiculous, but I like it anyway. Wait, no, that's precisely WHY I like it.

[Roo]

Very enjoyable reading. Looking forward to the next chapter.

[TheLastLump]

Thanks ^.^ This is a year-old story, but I'm still planning on finishing it. Right now, I'm working on an actual novel titled Zombies of the State. No, sorry, it's not about real zombies. That one's not even in the planning stage yet