The Most Epic Battle Ever

[Mathias]

This is a battle that the likes of Althanas has never seen. This will break the Fourth Wall in so many ways, and as a note, the picking on of other members of Althanas is intended to be light-hearted and comical. There will also be some pretty graphic language and description. The rules are simple: We cannot use real Yo Momma jokes; we must make up our own and relate them to Althanas. This is closed to Lucien. All bunnying and direction of the thread has been pre-approved.

They had a million names for it. He'd played it once or twice, back in Scara Brae, with the rest of the crew. Back before he'd wound up as a slave... a specimen in the twisted, fucked-up experiments of an equally fucked-up wizard, whose sole goal was the maniacal progression of magic as far as he could take it, mastering the complete and total will of the broken Eternal Tap. Somehow, Mathias felt a bit of cheerfulness in the fact that the Master probably couldn't even begin to understand the beauty of this game.

Although, the sorceror would probably derive an extreme amount of sick pleasure from the stakes of this one. The dirty dozens, snaps, and the most direct of all - "Yo Momma," was a game as plain and simple as it's name. The goal was simple; humiliate your opponent as much as possible by coming up with as many derogative slurs towards his mother. It was also much harsher, as well as hilarious, if the adversary's mother was deceased, incapacitated, or had a disability in any sort of capacity. It made it much more dangerous, but provocative and controversial to plum the depths of taboo insults.

Back in Scara Brae, it was done for fun. Or, if you'd met another gang on the streets, to gain some respect without having to use your fists. But here, in the Citadel, under the twisted, macabare machinations of the perverted, sadist monks of Ai'Bron, it was an entirely different game.

Mathias had entered a door, into a room of white light with no dimensions. He didn't remember the several minutes that followed. But when he'd returned to consciousness, he was sitting, strapped to a chair in the middle of a room. He sat opposite to another chair, which was vacant, but was also of the same design as his own. The chamber was a stage, and out in the audience were congregations of people watching with sheep-like eyes, staring upwards. They were roaring and cheering and clapping.

The vandal's eyes drifted to his right, away from the crowd. There was a giant sign that said in big, bold bubble letters, "Yo' Momma!"

From out of a door at the side of the stage, a man in a blue suit with white polka dots and a pink tie emerged. Confetti began to drop and trumpets blared, and everyone began to scream with delight. He had slicked back black hair and a big, white gameshow host smile. His voice, unbelievably loud and amplified, spoke to the crowd with a deep, throaty tone. "Welcome, welcome, welcome, to another hilarious episode of Yo Momma! Today we bring you the Althanian Edition, featuring our two contestants, Mathias Planeswalker aaaaand Lucien Aeonis!"

As he said that, a person appeared in the chair opposite of Mathias and was strapped in by the seemingly sentient bindings. He didn't have much time to look over the man before a pillar shot up from between them. It was about waist high, and from it, on both sides, was a gray steel spike protruding from it, aimed straight at each person's heart.

"I'm your host, Busta Cap, and this. Is. YO MOMMA!"

The audience cheered as he gesticulated wildly, continuing his speech. "The rules are simple. Exchange an insult each round. After both combatants have laid down a 'snap,' the judges will decide which one was better. The spikes in this pillar will move towards the loser. After four losses, their stupid ass will be impaled, and the victor will raise up and claim his prize. Aaand over to Chinky ChiChi to tell us just what those are."

A short, slim woman with slanted eyes and dyed blonde hair smiled out at the crowd, appearing out of nowhere at left stage. The curtain behind her lifted up to show a white board where an image swirled into place. "Thank you, Busta. The winner will receive three lovely prizes. The first is that sweet, sweet experience that seems to be a hot commodity on Althanas. The second, is that sweet, sweet gold that makes the world go 'round. And the third and final prize is the best of them all; the satisfaction of not having a spike impaling your stupid ass!"

Everybody laughed and yelled and wooped.

Oh, man. This shit is going to be ridiculous, Math thought.

[Lucien]

Isn't amazing how time moves so damn quickly? Fag weasels.

A steady hush grew within the crowd as a slight buzzing noise was heard from the stage, faint at first, and then gaining volume at inhuman pace. It was Lucien, the other boy tied to a chair, screaming at the very idea of this horrid gameshow.

"I don't want a metal spike in my chest!" His whining was as incessant as a twelve year old girl; and, strangely, far higher in pitch.

The terrible truth was clouded by a haze of ambiguity at the whole charade. "How am I here? Why am I here? What kind of sick joke is this?" The boy was frightened to death at the idea of dying, and even more afraid at discovering whatever details hid his forced participation in the gamble.

Busta Cap smirked and scoffed into his microphone, grinning for cameras unseen by all but him. The crowd grew ever more cheerful and loud as his slick smile grinned beneath a sleek face and greased hair. Calmly, with grace and poise thrown together in a cheap knock-off suit, he trotted over to the bound brat with a blinding speed as alien as the light that emanated from the stage. He reached Lucien in seconds, extending a sweaty palm that stuck to the the boy's shirt like adhesive.

"Listen kid," he whispered, with all the charm of a serpent on a tree, "This is the citadel. No one can die. Hell, the pain isn't even real."

"That spike looks real enough." Lucien's eyes narrowed at horror, both at the instrument of his demise, and at the cheap cologne that wafted off Mr. Cap."

The gameshow host sighed with a dropped head before narrowing his own gaze. "Does Busta have to slap a bitch? Cause I can slap'a'bitch." The boy's head shook left and right in silent fright. "That's good. I don't like slapping bitches. Now dammit, you're going to entertain these people!"

There was a pause, however brief, as a choked-up Lucien tried to stall for time. "But, what can I say? Something like 'Chinky ChiChi's momma is fat, she has more chins than a Chinese phone book?"

Mr. Cap tried desperately to silence the boy before he could finish, but a resounding beep told him it was too late. The spike began blinking furiously as a secret compartment in it opened up to reveal a small but powerful canon that released a flash so bright that no one saw Mrs. ChiChi's grizzly demise. As sight was regained, so too was the realization that there was a fine red mist that floated about the luminous studio.

"I was tapping that!" Screamed the host, whose jaw dropped as he saw a pair of burnt heels where once a woman stood. "That counts as your turn!"

[Mathias]

Mathias stared blankly at the red, misty vapor where the oriental woman had been standing, displaying her well-trained smile across her plastic face. He swallowed the lump in his throat and squirmed a bit. "Lasers don't even fucking exist yet!" he protested.

Busta moved across stage in one swift, long stride. From seemingly nowhere, he was able to produce a can of talcum powder. He proceeded to douse his hand with it. When it was covered in white, he raised and struck a backhand across Math's face. "Pimpslap, bitch!" he proclaimed as the audience laughed hysterically. "Don't question the anachronisms, son!"

The side of his face stinging, the planeswalker attempted to divert his attention from Busta and looked out into the crowd. He wasn't so sure if he could really see anything, so much as he was thinking that he was seeing them. The groupthink collective of voices beyond the fourth wall began to chant, "Snap! Snap! Snap!" as he sat, silent and unawares of what he was supposed to do. The boy stalled for a moment, attempting to formulate a response; While racking his brain, he looked over at Lucien, his seemingly unwilling opponent and muttered under his breath. His own eyes were big and emerald, glistening with what he hoped look like an apologetic expression.

"Yo momma... yo momma is so," he stuttered. Then, suddenly, it came to him, like a perfect, ghetto-borne epiphany. "Yo momma is so skanky, the only power Valentina Snow got when she ate her was herpes!"

Everyone in the audience let out a unanimous, "Oooooh!" As it subsided, a bell rang and Busta made the announcement, "That was snap number 2! Let's go to the judges and see what they have to say about this round!"

At the back of the stage, a giant screen suspended from a nonexistant ceiling until it was in plain view of everyone in the audience. A drum roll rumbled through the theatre, punctuated by a loud, "DING!" A flashing green neon finger pointed to Lucien, and some of the crowd cheered, while others booed, and others, still, gasped in surprise. The rusty groan of mechanisms, cogs, and gears filled the air and a spike shot forward several inches towards Math's opponent.

Shit, I won this round? I thought that one sucked... he thought to himself, a bit embarassed. A little proud, too. One round won... three more to go.