Welcome to your world

Desperation tainted us so much

I felt it your voice you sensed it in my touch

Revelations of forbidden bliss

An instant passed in your eternal kiss

I’ve loved you too long, baby

My love is too strong

I can’t escape the trauma from that tiny room

Madness and fire, baby

Darkest desire

My blood is in your heart your soul is in my veins

Your grace, your grace

Traced shadows down my face

Your voice like a poison

Turned my teardrops into toys

It made me want to cry

It killed me just to try

I couldn’t find redemption in your eyes

Temptation proved for us too much

I shivered at your voice you shuddered at my touch

Lightning flashed across your frozen heart

While inch by inch I’m slowly torn apart

I’ve loved you too long, baby

My love is too strong

I can’t escape the trauma from that tiny room

Madness and fire, baby

Darkest desire

My blood is in your heart your soul is in my veins

Your grace, your grace

Traced shadows down my face

Your voice like a poison

Turned my teardrops into toys

It made me want to cry

It killed me just to try

I never found redemption in your eyes

I changed my spectacles for new ones. It turns out that I have been viewing the world with a different outlook than that of other people. My glasses have always been slanted convex against my face, such that it bulges out at the bridge of my nose and moulds to my face towards my ears.

I instinctively backed away the moment the new glasses came on, a terrified expression on my face. I used to think the shape of sister’s thighs perfect, yet they suddenly looked monstrous. Suddenly everything looked so big. So menacing. So close. So fat. “li2 wo2 yuan3 yi4 dian3! (keep your distance!)” I cried out in Chinese, finding myself backed up against the wall.

So I’d meet my gorgeous, beautiful girlfriend, whom I’ve loved happily (albeit blindly) for two years later that day and go: “Ivy! You look faaaantastic! You look faaaabulous! So...so…” Sigh.

I have always viewed girls in a special light, innately preferring full bodied girls rather that the skinny ones so highly prized by the anorexic lover commnity. I was consistently outraged whenever I happened across a girl with a perfect body (and there were many) believing herself in need of a diet. It turned out that such preferences were due rather to the fact that I had been wearing distorted glasses! Distorted vision, rather than any quirks of personal taste, had been the cause of my preference for plumper girls.

I was no longer sure of myself. Which sight was reality, and which was illusion? Have I always been living in a distorted world without realising it? Or are these new glasses the cunning new illusion which passes itself off as the truth? Without an external basis with which to verify such claims, determining the truth is impossible.

You never

Endeavour

Whenever I am lost in lies

You are my crisis

Disguises

I can’t remember what the truth

In your eyes is

Maybe there is still some hope

Maybe there was never hope

Devil girl, I don’t want to love you

Devil girl, I can’t help but love you

Devil girl, how I loathe to love you

Through and through

Boiling flood, flesh and blood unearthly

Fall from grace, deem my soul unworthy

Of your face, diabolically

Beautiful

In pieces

Life freezes

It pleases you to tempt and think

That I am sinking

Deep drinking

In Devastation while you gaze

On unblinking

Maybe there is still some hope

Maybe there was never hope

Devil girl, I don’t want to love you

Devil girl, I can’t help but love you

Devil girl, how I loathe to love you

Through and through

Boiling flood, flesh and blood unearthly

Fall from grace, deem my soul unworthy

Of your face, diabolically

Beautiful

Take me!

Forsake me!

Take me!

Forsake me!

Ah.

Oh you’re so selfish, Jean

I don’t know what you mean

When you say you need this or want that

You change your mind at the drop of a hat

And whenever your wishes are expressed

It’s like a code for me to translate

I’m hopeless for your kisses but I’m so repressed

Every time I take you on a date.

Don’t be so selfish, Jean

How could you be so mean

All the things we do it’s up to you to select

But now it’s time to show a little respect

You amplify all your precious qualities

Yet you restrict me and complicate

Why won’t you see that we are complementary

Homologous to our active state

It’s like you don’t know how it feels

To be the floor beneath your royal highness heels

It’s like you don’t know what it means

To be most anything but a selfish Jean.

Oh Riki you’re so fine. Mask of madness overtime hey Riki! Hey Riki!

Oh Riki you’re so fine. Stabbing heroes from behind hey Riki! Hey Riki!

Oh Riki you’re so fine. Pushing towers down the line hey Riki! Hey Riki!

Oh Riki you’re so fine. You’re so fine go buy divine hey Riki! Hey Riki!

Hey Riki – you’re hiding out of sight

I know you’re getting strong.

Sven thinks he’s got the might

But I know he’s got it wrong.

It’s time to cast Blinkstrike

So we can start to own, Riki

‘Cause when you say you will

It always means you won’t

You’re taking all the kills

Riki, please Riki, don’t

Every push you still leave me alone, Riki.

Oh Riki you’re so sneaky don’t you ever die?

They waste their spells on me and you stab them on the sly

Oh Riki you’re so tricky you made Mortred cry!

You turned on Manta Style and you owned her Butterfly

It’s guys like you Riki,

Do what you do, Riki, do Riki

Don’t take my kill Riki!

Hey Riki- stop farming game’s up to

30 minutes still no show

Every single push has been

With you going solo

You’re whole team’s in the zone

Why won’t you go, Riki?

It’s always just one more item

Or one more creep wave cleared

But please, Riki, don’t leave me over here

Ricky.

Oh Riki you’re so sneaky don’t you ever die?

They waste their spells on me and you stab them on the sly

Oh Riki you’re so tricky you made Mortred cry!

You turned on Manta Style and you owned her Butterfly

It’s guys like you Riki,

Do what you do, Riki, do Riki

Don’t take my kill Riki!

Oh Riki you’re so fine. Mask of madness overtime hey Riki! Hey Riki!

Oh Riki you’re so fine. Stabbing heroes from behind hey Riki! Hey Riki!

Oh Riki you’re so fine. Pushing towers down the line hey Riki! Hey Riki!

Oh Riki you’re so fine. You’re so fine go buy divine hey Riki! Hey Riki!

Oh Riki you’re so sneaky don’t you ever die?

They waste their spells on me and you stab them on the sly

Oh Riki you’re so tricky you made Mortred cry!

You turned on Manta Style and you owned her Butterfly

It’s guys like you Riki,

Do what you do, Riki, do Riki

Don’t take my kill Riki!

Oh Riki you’re so sneaky don’t you ever die?

They waste their spells on me and you stab them on the sly

Oh Riki you’re so tricky you made Mortred cry!

You turned on Manta Style and you owned her Butterfly

It’s guys like you Riki,

Do what you do, Riki, do Riki

Don’t take my kill Riki!

 

The Jokers of the Forest ambushed the Jokers of the Soul in the penultimate phase of their mission to kill Terrorblade once and for all. But it didn’t really go as planned, so here is how it went instead.

Rigwarl the Bristleback burst through the clearing, flinging himself through the air and pinning Krobelus to the ground. The Death Prophet gave a loud drawn out sigh of exasperation as Rigwarl’s quivering quills passed into her body. Rigwarl’s beady eyes gleamed in animal suspicion. Krobelus was somehow still not technically dead, and that could prove a major setback, as we will see later in the chapter.

So Kel’Thuzad drifted forward and placed an icy hand on Rigwarl’s bristleback. A freezing blue glow developed around his skeletal grip, and Rigwarl’s quills began to wither. “Why don’t you just chill?” the Lich whispered coldly, as the icy strength gradually grew stronger.

Then a heavy hand grabbed Kel’Thuzad’s skull from behind, seizing and forcing it forward with overpowering might. ‘Grogolorgh,’ groared Bradwarden, in very certain tones of menace. “That sounds logical,” muttered the Lich, and withdrew his lethal frost slightly. The spell hovered in abeyance inches above the Bristleback.

“Horseman!” called out a genial, friendly voice. The Centaur Warchief turned his head slightly and discovered a claw aimed directly before his left pupil. It was black as midnight and spiked like a bramble, and from its palm a ghastly swirling mist of negative energy was coalescing. From somewhere within the nightmarish apparition Nevermore’s voice spoke: “Don’t worry too much about it. I’m sure we can settle all this in a reasonable manner, hmm? Drop the Lich, and then we can…talk.”

Magina blinked behind the Shadow Fiend, in a perfect position to strike. “Negotiate with this!” the Anti-Mage yelled, and thrust a crescent blade into Nevermore’s body, seeking the core of the demonic being.

“Get a load of these,” said a husky voice behind Magina, stopping his arm in mid strike. Two firm objects pressed softly against his back. Inexplicably helpless against the Queen of Pain, Magina tensed up like a frightened rabbit. “And I’ll get a load of you…” continued Akasha. Her hand traced along the contours of Magina’s bare back. “Mm…do you work out?” Akasha’s hand sank down to her foes lower back, and kept sinking.

Sven caught her arm. “Stop that, girl. If you go any further, my hammer will be forced to make a lasting impression on your head.” Akasha turned and in a sulky-sweet voice said: “Why are you so touchy? I’m just touching.”

A rooty tentacle wrapped itself swiftly around the Rogueknight’s neck. Leshrac the Malicious scratched his head and neck irritably in a futile effort to ease his perpetual frustration. “You go too far, Sentinel scum. Don’t make me angry. You won’t like me when I’m angry…But what the heaven, nobody likes me anyway.” Caught up in momentary despair, Leshrac sagged visibly and seemed on the verge of tears.

“There, there,” consoled Nevermore awkwardly, as he squirmed in a futile attempt to avoid Magina’s crescent blades while maintaining his power over Bradwarden. “I like you, Leshrac. I’m sure many people do. What’s not to like? Right, everyone?” The heroes all nodded emphatically, especially Sven. The tentacle around his neck was developing uncomfortable thorns which had just begun to draw blood.

“It’s just that I get into these moods now and again,” said the Tormented Soul disconsolately. He was blubbering openly by now.

Still hidden in the bushes, Fuzzy Wuzzy growled uncertainly. He had been given strict orders not to reveal himself until Terrorblade appeared. Yet the ambush had clearly gone awry. The Ursa Warrior shifted warily in the undergrowth, caught in the throes of indecision.

Krobelus, still pinned under Rigwarl, hissed: “We need to do something fast. At this rate, he’ll work himself into a migraine, and when he does, he’s utterly uncontrollable. Things around him blow up.”

“All right, all right.” Nevermore put on an expression of forced cheerfulness, as though someone had yelled SMILE! at him and then stabbed him with a fork. “Can’t we all do something for dear Leshrac? Maybe we can sing something. Hmm, lessee...tumteetum…I don’t want another pretty face/ I don’t wand just anyone to hold/ I don’t want my love to go to waste/ I want you and your tormented soul…”

“Thanks,” said Leshrac, “But I hate that song.”

(Magina squeaked suddenly. Akasha giggled.)

“Enough of that,” said Sven angrily. “Where is Terrorblade?”

“How should we know?” said Kel’Thuzad frostily. “We’re not the Soul Keeper’s keepers.”

“Yeah, he usually goes wondering around on his own,” agreed Nevermore.

“Why should you care?” snarled Leshrac bitterly. “Argh! My aching head!”

“It’s not like you made an appointment,” said Akasha.

“Snort,” snorted Rigwarl.

“Groar,” groared Bradwarden.

“Don’t touch me there!” yelled Magina.

Krobelus laughed and said: <There’s no need to hide it. Terrorblade is soloing Roshan.>

“What’s a Roshan?” wondered Sven.

“Grr,” said Fuzzy Wuzzy, as he waddled forward and tore half of Leshrac’s face off.

_____________________________

“I think I underestimated him,” chuckled Terrorblade to himself, facing off against Roshan’s right knee. The ancient monster reached down and picked the Scourge Cardinal Boss up as though he weighed no more than a bit of lint. Terrorblade was flicked away into the trees, and found himself with wings and clothes caught in cruel brambles. “I hate it when that happens,” said Terrorblade, slowly and painfully extricating himself. “I need reinforcements,” muttered Terrorblade, and conjured an image of himself. Two Terrorblades emerged from the yellow wood and sprang at Roshan with renewed vigour.

Roshan picked them up and tossed them away once again with great force into the trees. “Oh, that really makes us mad,” thought the Terrorblades to themselves as their horns embedded themselves into tree bark. They had no choice but to eat the tree in order to free themselves. Shaking their heads to clear their minds, they muttered: “More.” Three terrorblades emerged from the yellow wood and charged at Roshan with a grim determination.

Roshan, figuring quickly that throwing Terrorblade away didn’t work in the long run, changed tactics. He grabbed the first Terrorblade in a titanic fist and crushed him against a nearby rock. He stomped another Terrorblade into the dirt with a gargantuan foot. The stricken Terrorblades bled all over the place, then vanished in puffs of smoke. “Well, better them than me,” breathed the sole remaining Terrorblade. “Eeep.” Roshan’s fingers closed around Terrorblade’s torso. The massive creature stared narrowly at Terrorblade as though evaluating its options, then settled on flinging the Soul Keeper several hundred feet into the air.

Terrorblade experienced a dizzying sense of vertigo as he spun through the stratosphere. He looked down and saw the treetops rushing towards him (in an Einsteinian relativist kind of way). Attempting to slow his descent, he spread his wings out wide. “They don’t really work? Hm. Didn’t think so. Am I … going to die?”

_____________________________

“Yes!” shouted Sven, as Leshrac’s face exploded, spouting copious bubbles of effervescent ectoplasm from his head.

“Aww!” howled Leshrac the Malicious in sudden fury. “Fu! Ah schill haf de odder arf!” He tore away convulsively from Fuzzy Wuzzy’s reach. “Shruu!” All about the Tormented Soul the earth split, oxygen combusted, lightning spattered and a nova pulsed a technicolour display as Leshrac released his mana capacity in an enormous burst of power. Fuzzy Wuzzy and Sven were thrown backward and knocked flat by the blast. Akasha and Magina blinked away to safety in the bushes.

Suddenly freed of restraint, Nevermore lost no time in shooting out the Centaur Warchief’s left eye. Enraged and blinded by the sudden burst of light (aren’t there enough blind heroes already?), Bradwarden turned his axe on his assailant. His great fortitude enabled him to recover quickly from the grievous blow,a nd he hacked at the Shadow Fiend with wild abandon, taking an arm off.

Kel’Thuzad dodged aside, and Rigwarl rolled away simultaneously, as a staggering, bleeding Tormented Soul blazed a deep furrow of destruction across the ground. Leshrac’s berserk state unlocked suicidal energies of destruction within him, that even as he fell to his knees, the scent of mana was so thick in the air that it was practically visible as it sputtered and imploded in the clearing like unlidded popcorn.

Krobelus felt herself free at last, he ghostly form rose slowly into the air. <Ultimates, everyone!> Innumerable howling spirits burst forth from her body. “I can do that too,” joked Nevermore, “I can even do it better. Don’t KS me! The head of the centaur shall be mine. I shall take pleasure it pawning it for extra gold.”

<You’re so concerned about money that you don’t even realize that your arm is gone!>

Nevermore looked down at the decapitated stump that was once his arm. He cried. “Ah! Where’s my wraith band? It cost 450 gold!”

Leshrac somehow found the strength to rise again and walked by, releasing a series of fatal explosions, and the ground opened up in soft sudden cups for Sentinel blood. Blind with pain and rage, he circled the clearing, leaving the earth scorched and blackened wherever his feet passed. Sven’s armour cracked and buckled, and deep blood gutters sprouted like flowers all along Fuzzy Wuzzy’s furred body.

In desperation, the Rogueknight leapt upon the Tormented Soul, carving Leshrac’s torso nearly in two with a heavy stab of his shovel. Ectoplasm spurted like jelly everywhere. A surge of force threw Sven off a moment after, flinging him out of the battlefield. He was caught by Bradwarden. “How do you kill that thing?” grumbled Sven, as the Jokers of the Forest regrouped around him. “Grogolorgh,” groared Bradwarden, which might have meant anything.

“How to kill him? You just did, you pitiful fool,” said Kel’Thuzad icily. As the Lich spoke, the remains of Leshrac the Malicious disintegrated, becoming one with the universe. “Stupid pig,” Kel’Thuzad said coldly, slapping Rigwarl aside with body fingers. Rigwarl fell back, white frost running in rivulets on his face where he had been struck.

“My Lady Krobelus,” said Kel’Thuzad. “Would you do the honour of ending this farce?”
<If it pleases you.> Countless shrieking horrors descended upon the Jokers of the Forest. Fuzzy Wuzzy, having suffered previous wounds, died instantly. Bradwarden and Rigwarl, however, took a little longer to die.

_____________________________

Meanwhile, Magina was in dire straits. Since his initial escape, he had not ceased to run, dodge and blink away, yet Akasha remained perversely at his heels, easily keeping pace with his vain attempts to lose her. Wild eyed with panic, Magina looked behind to find Akasha almost upon him, already poised, in fact, in readiness to leap. She did so, grabbing hold of the Anti-Mage’s jeans. In desperation, Magina blinked. There was a ripping sound of fabric.

Two heroes emerged from the rift in blinkspace, tangled up together on the forest floor. Nothing but two heroes. “Well, that was unexpected,” muttered Akasha. “What did you do with our clothes?”

“Get away from me you hor!” yelled Magina.

Akasha coloured instantly. “You say the nicest things.”

“I’m warning you! Release me or I’ll… I’ll strangle you with my bare hands.”

“Your hands aren’t the only things about you that are bare, you know. Besides, you’re the one holding me. In a highly inappropriate area too, I might add.”

It was Magina’s turn to blush. He pulled his hands away with alacrity.

The Queen of Pain twisted upon him. “So shy. It’s not like you can even see me in my glorious nudity,” she whispered into his ear. Now Magina burned again like he had done in the clearing, only this time it was a thousand times worse. Akasha’s body was poised above him like a blade of cold steel. “Fun and games,” slurred Akasha, and sank her teeth into his neck.

_____________________________

In the North, following the death of Visage the Necro’lic, Pugna the Oblivion proclaimed himself the Cardinal Boss of the entire Northrend undead contingent. Rotund’jere, suffering from a debilitating headache, had neither the strength nor the inclination to contest the claim. The diminuitive skeleton seemed eager to ‘measure up’ to the role, and plans were immediately laid for an assault.

Owing both to the speed and suddenness of their attack and a sickening error of miscommunication on the part of the Night Elves, the skeletal lieutenants Bone Clinkz and King Leoric enjoyed far greater success than would otherwise have been expected of such a risky venture. The Sentinels who should have held their positions were forced into a stumbling retreat. As a result, as the rest of the line fell back, an entire battalion was left isolated on a hilltop as unstoppable waves of undead flowed all around them in a nightmarish march of convulsive claws and spastic smiles.

_____________________________

In the West, Rhasta bent down low to the rain soaked earth, muttering low incomprehensibles under his breath. “They did pass this way mon,” the Shadow Shaman intoned, his eyes wandering freely in their sockets. Jah’rakal nodded curtly in assent. Troll vision, with their heightened senses, could practically detect the passing of the Jokers of the Tide as a cloying trail of rust, blood and brine. “I do smell sea critters in the air,” he said, sniffing meaningfully in Slithice’s direction.

“You are so totally immature. Don’t be so shallow,” replied Slithice tartly.

“They passed this way three hours ago,” declared Rhasta. “We’ll reach them by nightfall. No worries mon, but what the heaven are they doing here and where are they going?”

“_____ ___ ___ ____. ___ _ ____ _______?” said Darchrow.

“____ __ _____ ___ ________ __,” said Morphling.

“Slithice, translate that for your illiterate friends,” sneered Jah’rakal.

“Well, like, Darchrow raised doubts about your heritage and sexual ability. Morphling clarified them, y’know?”

_____________________________

In the South, the Jokers of the Ancient called an emergency meeting. Though the lines were stable, (the Scourge heroes were nowhere to be seen) morale was in the pits. It was a common misconception in the ranks that the Scourge were owning, which coupled with a demoralizing retreat, spawned an aura of despair. A wave of intense disconnectedness was sweeping through the Sentinel ranks and it was a bitter struggle for the heroes to keep them from leaving.

“We could give them beer,” suggested Mangix, the Pandaren Battlemaster thoughtlessly. [“We…” said Rootfrellen, the Treant Protector]

“Yeah how appropriate. All we need now are drunken depressive elves holding sharp metal objects. Are you trying to turn this into a pub?” asked Syllabear.

[“Should…” said Rootfrellen.]

“They could have one on the house,” beamed Mangix.

[“Do…”]

“That would cause complete Pandamonium. I could hardly bear it.”

[“Something…”]

“You mean ‘beer’ it. You missed a great opportunity for a pun. I’ll put it on your tab.”

[“About…”]

“No, I meant ‘bear’ it. I choose my own pun,” said Syllabear bearfacedly.

[“This.”]

Rootfrellen stared at his companions with beady black eyes expectantly. They stared back patiently, while the Treant Protector replayed the earlier conversation in slow motion, ponderously chasing down the train of thought.

“How about a rousing speech?” said Syllabear at last. “To wake them up, naturally.”

“I’ll give it a shot,” replied Mangix.

_____________________________

Terrorblade fell into a congealed mass of sticky fibres. “I want to go home,” moaned the Cardinal Boss. “Why do I always get into such sticky situations?” He checked himself for injuries, but there was nothing broken save his fall. He put his hand down to pick himself up, withdrew it hastily. “Urgh,” the Soul Keeper said, as fine threads billowed out across his fingers, coating them in a fine web of goo. The substance was as sticky and extensible as melted cheese, yet tough and resilient as steel wool.

Arachnia, the Broodmother, emerged from the midnight core of the immense web and squalled indignantly at the intruder.

“What are you doing in my web?! You can’t just drop in like that!!”

“I’m just hanging around, what you think?” snarled Terrorblade, writhing ineffectually.

“Fool!! Only I can be invisible in my web!! Get out now!!” Arachnia squalled.

“Mm…” said Terrorblade. Sheer frustration had inspired him to attempt to chew through the web, which pretty much won the cheesecake position in the list of ‘Top 10 Noobiest things to do.’

“Sigh…!!” squalled the Broodmother. She had only been awake for one chapter and already trouble had chosen to fall on her doorstep. Clambering up with deceptive agility (she wore a grand total of eight spider silk slippers. Do the math, it’s nearly as powerful as an Eaglehorn. Now you watch out for this hero.), she took care of the minor nuisance swiftly and effectively. After all, he was only a little factor. What Arachnia really needed to do know that she was awake was to eat her brothers.

“Gee, thanks,” said Terrorblade, as the silken threads sloughed off him like ripples across a lake’s surface. “Hope I didn’t trouble you too much, Ms.”

“Arachnia!! Didn’t you hear the first time?!” Arachnia screeched.

“Sorry, I don’t think there was a first time.”