THREAD THEME:
Spoiler (Click to Show)
"SIR, PUT DOWN THE," the cop paused to contemplate the absurdity of his request, "PUT DOWN THE GYMS OR WE'LL BE FORCED TO OPEN FIRE!"
But as the cop was aiming down the barrel of his small black Glock, he and the others started to realise one thing; this monster was deadlifting without a spotter.
"Jesus," muttered the cop, pistol falling out of his limp hands, the others following suit. "He's-!"
Rhyne dropped his makeshift weight, the resulting impact causing one of the gyms to crash through the road and partially enter into the sewers below. He sat up, his body tearing through the improvised bar, his hella buff bod slicing through metal like a hot chainsaw through orphans.
"RRGH?" grunted the immense beast, aiming his eyes towards the stuck-for-words cop. "RRGH DRRRGH WRRRGHNT?" But as he asked, bodily fluids spluttering from his muscle-bound mouth, all the cops were already several hundred meters away screaming "HE'S TOO SWOLE TO CONTROL!"
The monster thought nothing of it, simply picked up the gym that had crashed into the floor and repaired the giant weight before pumping several hundred tons of concrete and steel again.
By the time night came, he had lifted several thousand times. He didn't count for two reasons: The first reason being, as he says, "It's not how many you do, it's how seriously to take them," and the second reason being, as he doesn't say, he can't count past a hundred. But as the area fell pitch black, lights remaining dark due to the government officials shutting off the power grid due to the buff beast, another contestant showed up.
Rhyne had sensed that something swole was coming his way, and decided to keep pumping until it was near, though it was close now. He carefully set aside the weight and stood up, turning and facing his opponent.
It was tall and black, easily the height of one and a half adult men, standing at a size much taller than Rhyne. Its long, black arms dangling from its shoulders to below its knees. It was dressed in a white open-side tank top with a Japanese letter on it (probably saying "courage"), tailored to be long enough to cover its long, thin waist and still to be able to drape itself over the purple skinny jeans covering the thing's legs, the jeans themselves also tailored for its size. On its large, round head was a regular-sized snap-back held on by a strip of duct tape, the tape being the only thing keeping it from falling off. The hat was practically on the side of the thing's head.
It put its giant, black hands around its waist and nodded its head towards Rhyne. He took it as a challenge. He waved his arm, motioning to the giant two-gym weight, beckoning his new opponent to have a go.
"LIGHFT," he bellowed, and the black thing obliged.
The thing lowered itself onto the ground below the giant metal bar, and it placed its great, black hands around it, squeezing it with its grip. Rhyne knew that, though this thing looked strong, its arms weren't nearly capped enough to support the weight, but then he was taken aback.
Before the thing started to lift, several more pairs of arms started to scatter out from the sides of its open-side top, each resulting hand grabbing the bar in a new place. It tilted its head towards Rhyne, a finger-filled grin clicking in sassy joy. It started to lift, and cor blimey, lift it did.
The two bar-bound gyms lifted towards the sky, the weight making the metal bar bend slightly. Rhyne thought that at some point they had to reach a height where they had to come down, but the arms of the creature seemed to extend out of its body. When the gyms were finally held aloft and in place, the length of the arms holding them had already exceeded the original height of the beast by far. Then, it brought the weight down, and back up, and down, and back up, and though it did so at a slow speed, Rhyne knew that it wasn't causing the thing much trouble. Time for a new challenge.
Rhyne tapped the thing on the shoulder, letting it know that it was time to stop. It brought down the bar and Rhyne, taking place as spotter, grabbed it and set the gyms aside. He pointed a massive, meaty finger towards the ex-cafe, his eyes catching a glimpse of a jukebox.
"DRGHNCE ORGHF"
Rhyne stepped into the cafe through a giant gap in the wall, kicking what was left of a car out of his path. He approached the jukebox, lowering himself to get a better look at it. Damn, it was busted, but Rhyne ain't havin' none'a that shit. With fury in his eyes, he stared right at the console screen, the fierce intent in them started to make some of the plastic melt. The machine kicked into life, playing some sort of techno-swing song, not even asking for the money to do so. As Rhyne left the cafe through the gap, the jukebox started to sweat.
The black beast and the buff beast stood opposite each other, bodies poised for some mad moves, the music in the background starting to kick. They stared each other down.
-----
Roughly a mile away from this spectacle, there were three men on a helicopter; A pilot, a police officer and a mercenary sniper.
"Right, James, the plan is-"
"Did you just call me James, sir?" Said the sniper, a tall, gruff looking sonuvabitch with a mean-ass face decorated with a white eye and several scars. "I prefer to be called Jim."
"R-right, Jim," said the officer, correcting himself, his skin was slick like a fish, sweat pouring like salty waterfalls.
The officer had prepared himself for this brief five-minute conversation with James; he had a cyanide pill palmed in his left hand, several pocket-sized holy books from several different religions placed in various pouches on his combat slacks and a pound of C4 hidden on his back, the detonator in his right hand. But if he pissed James off- and he was an easy man to piss off- he'd need a whole lot more than that.
"W-well, Jim, the targets are two monster gladiators, one is named Rhyne and one is named Handyma- what are you doing?"
"I already know my targets, sir," said James, the last word being full of disrespect and disgust, "So if you'll excuse me."
James performed a swift movement on the officer. It looked like a punch to the naked eye, but he managed to take the detonator from the officer's hand with such speed that the officer didn't notice a damn thing, the poor sod. Jim grabbed his oversized rifle and a parachute from the seat next to him before flinging himself out of the helicopter; As he fell, he blew that motherfucker up and didn't even look at the explosion.
He landed on a building several hundred meters below him, shattering tiles as he thudded the roof. He looked at the unopened parachute in his hand and casually threw it off the side of the building. "Couldn't let you live," said James, speaking to the officer that was no longer there, "you saw my gun."
He unslinged a giant rifle off his back, a gun that looked like the Schwerer Gustav and a Punt gun made love and created a seven-foot sniping cannon, and set it on the roof. He placed the butt of the stock on his shoulder, augmented with metal recoil-dampening mechanisms set in to his bone and joints, and he placed his one good eye several centimetres from the scope, aiming the reticule at two monsters starting to bust a move.
-----
As the beat kicked in, Handyman started. Two pairs of smaller arms burst from his sides, which will be his main advantage in this tense trial. Using his stiff, jerky joints, he performed the robot better than anyone could ever imagine. His flow was beyond incredible and he was popping it so goddamn hard that, somewhere in the world, a person just yelled "DAAAYYYMM" at the top of their voice and fainted. He twisted, flipped, and performed movements that looked outright supernatural, practically punching gravity in its smug little face.
Rhyne observed this amazing display of kickin' rad moves, his head nodding to the beat, arms swinging by his sides. By the time Handy finished, ending in a pose that would make Arnold Schwartzenegger re-evaluate his career, Rhyne had already started to move.
Handyman is a blind monster, only being able to see through sonar, but despite this he could see two things: one being why kids love the taste of cinnamon toast crunch (something he has always known) and two being that he was getting riggidy riggidy WRECKED.
Text form cannot express the magnitude of Rhyne's moves, and if Handy had real eyes, they would have melted.
Somewhere, roughly a mile away, the one good eye of the toughest merc in the world melted out of his skull, before shooting himself with his own cannon. His last words were "I am nothing."
By the time Rhyne had finished, he had melted the floor into a crater and the jukebox was nothing more than a charcoal biscuit, having combusted from the magnitude of Rhyne's boogying.
Though it was plainly obvious Rhyne won that round, they both knew that they were at a tie, one all. Somehow, both of them knew how to settle their score.
-----
"-yeah, but Chad is like, so hot. I bet he'd win with Lucy, even if Lauren's with Stanley," said one teenage girl to another, both dressed in white dresses.
They were gossiping about who they thought would be prom queen and king at the wRHG High prom.
"Nuh-uh!" said the other one in a sassy fashion, "You forget that Tony's coming. He's always late, but GOD, he's hot."
And, speak of the devil, Tony walked in through the door, grinning with brilliant white teeth. Girls swooned and men raised their drinks in a welcoming gesture. Suddenly, the lights went off. Could it be an electrical problem? If by electrical problem you mean "Somebody tore the generator out of the ground and threw it at a tailing police helicopter" then you'd be right on the dot. The folks who make the dictionary would probably slap us, though. So you can just say that somebody tore the generator out of the ground and threw it at a tailing police helicopter.
And as for Tony, well, it's a shame that he was only around for a few seconds before two giants destroyed the wall behind him, slightly crushing him to death. And through the rubble stood the aforementioned two giants.
One was a tall, black creature wearing a top hat duct-taped to the top of his head, another piece of tape hanging loosely from the side of his face. He was also wearing a partially destroyed tuxedo on the upper half of his body, his waist extending out of the bottom making it look like a half-top. He didn't have any trousers or underwear, either.
The other was a titan-like man, looking strong enough to be able to crush the heads of his enemies between his thighs like they were sparrow eggs. The only off-putting thing about him was that his once feral-looking hair has been transformed into something out of a woman's shampoo advert, the hair curling magnificently. His mouth was decorated with what was supposed to look like lipstick but it was obvious that he had actually bitten into something that was alive, a bit of flesh hanging out of his mouth. And as for his garb of animal skins, well, it had been tailored into a rather tasteful dress. If you don't mind seeing the face of a dead animal here and there.
Rhyne looked towards one of the couples, walked over and picked up the male half. The girl screamed out "STANLEY!". Rhyne didn't notice.
"YRRGH!" said Rhyne, his big ol' buff finger pointing at the man in his grasp. "YRRGH MUH PRUGHM DRRGHT," the bit of flesh hanging on his lip flying onto Stanley's forehead. Stanley couldn't do a thing to turn him down, so he just nodded. Rhyne put him on his side and held his hand, walking over to a table and sitting down. He tried to sip a cup of punch on the table but he accidentally crushed it, causing him to punch the table in a fit of anger.
The tuxedo beast managed to strut over to a woman to try to woo her. Handy's a beast with the ladies so he succeeded pretty swiftly. Before long she was on his lap, his long, leathery fingers running through her hair, having his back arched so he could click sweet nothings into her ears. Whilst this was happening, Rhyne realised that he was both thirsty and that he and the beast hadn't been entered into the competition yet. But thirst comes first. Looking around, he realised that this was a joke of a prom- there wasn't even a disco ball- but, luckily the joke had no punchline.
He walked over to the bowl and, raising it with one firm grip, drunk the whole thing down. He tried to throw it at the stage but a giant black arm sprouted out of nowhere and caught it, putting it down before waving a disappointed finger at Rhyne and retreating back into the black thing it came from. But Rhyne had things to do.
After having careful words with one of the teachers, which involved a lot of yelling and bodily fluids flying out of Rhyne's mouth, he managed to convince the teacher to input the two rivals into the competition.
After about an hour of the prom, Rhyne got tired and decided it was time to vote. He looked to Handy, who somehow managed to amass a rather large crowd of women, and they both understood. Handy motioned with one of his many arms that it was time to vote, though Rhyne chose the less subtle option of throwing boxes of paper at people shouting "VRRGHT NRRRGH."
-----
Time passed. The tension was so thick that you could cut it, like you would cut another orphanage with a hot chainsaw. (stop killing orphans already, you monster.) And then a teacher walked on stage. She was missing one heel, her hair was visibly ruffled and her eyes were red with tears. Rhyne hoped, for her sake, that they were tears of joy for his victory.
"A-and the winners are... Rhyne and Black thing!"
Both the rivals stood up and turned to face each other. The air was thick with emotion, the nature of the rivalry changing into something else. They started to walk towards each other, Rhyne stepping around the people curled up into balls of tears on the floor, Handy minding the women who were resistant to let go of his hot bod. And when the rivals' bodies finally met, they clashed into a great hug. Rhyne broke out into tears of pure happiness, Handy patting his back, bending over so his head was resting on one of his Queen's ultra-buff traps. I mean, damn. Guy worked out.
They made their way up to the stage, hand in hand, ready to face the crowd in their glorious moment. They smiled- Well, Rhyne tried to smile, his face was too buff to move unrestricted, and Handy's always happy as Larry (and Larry sure is happy.) When, ouy of nowhere, a bucket above Rhyne toppled over- a trap made for some poor lass, a wRHG with mind powers or something- crashing a sea of red all over him. He got some in his mouth and could taste that it was pig's blood. Handy stood back, awaiting a violent reaction, but all Rhyne did was say:
"PRGHM QUEEGHN AAAAGHND PIHGS BLRRRRGHD!?!? FUGHK YRRRGH!"[/spoiler]
Characters.
[spoiler= Peter Penn]
Name: Peter Penn
Abilities: Can enter a state where he can view and take advantage of the story as it is being written. He can use this to gain extra knowledge of current events, and he is also able to twist the meanings of words as they happen.
He can also activate his ability to a further extent so that he reads the story even if he is no longer in it, during focus changes to other characters. This also allows him to read more into the past, and to even write the story himself in small parts, inserting a few notes here and there, or changing a word to his favour. This requires him to be aware of the focus change happening, though. When he uses the ability to read the story further, he calls it "Spectator