Note: this story takes place between “World Revolution” and “The End of the Beginning”. Beware of spoilers.
“Smawty, wai am we guin fwu dis fowest? Am dawkies. An scawy. An nu smeww pwetty.”
“Cuz dis am da showtest way dewe! Nao shud up, unwess dummeh wan sowwy hoofsie tu da face!”
“…Otay, smawty…”
In the Canadian wilderness, a smarty leads his herd through the woods, following directions given to him by a friendly herdless fluffy.
The smarty noticed two unusual things about the fluffy, but foolishly disregarded them, because the fluffy promised him that Skettieland is on the other side of the forest, and the smarty, just as foolishly, decided to trust the fluffy.
The first unusual thing is that the fluffy had somehow acquired a pair of dark see-better things, obscuring his see-places.
And the second thing was that the fluffy smelled strange, for a fluffy.
He smelled like this forest. It’s not unusual for a feral fluffy to smell like a given area, should they spend enough time in it, but the scent hanging in this forest isn’t the kind of thing one would normally smell in a forest.
And what does this forest smell like, you ask?
Well…
It smells like rotten eggs.
Meanwhile, a mile or two away, the friendly fluffy who gave the smarty the directions lies dead on the ground.
His sunglasses are gone, revealing perfectly ordinary eyes that see nothing anymore.
And the entity who had hijacked the fluffy’s body from its original owner flies off, suppressing the urge to start laughing, the stench of rotten eggs trailing behind them.
You’ll find out what’s so funny soon.
For now, let’s just say that the entity knows where the herd is actually going, and plans to beat them there.
And of course the entity knows where the herd is going.
The entity gave the herd those directions, after all.
The herd, about two dozen fluffies large, stands outside a large cave.
“A-am weawwy dawkies in dewe…”
“Fwuffy nu wike…”
“Huu… scawy!”
The smarty rolls his eyes.
“Du dummehs wan end-wess sketties ow nu? Skettiewand am in dewe! Udda fwuffy say su!”
The herd’s head toughy raises a hoof, and the smarty turns to him.
“Wut?”
“If… if udda fwuffy knu dat Skettiewand am in dewe, den wai udda fwuffy nu stay in dewe?”
The smarty snorts.
“Su fwuffy can teww udda fwuffies how tu git tu Skettiewand! Duh!”
The head toughy concedes that this makes sense.
Perhaps he should have been a bit more skeptical.
FWOOSH
A ball of fire appears above the herd, flickering gently and softly, drawing the fluffies’ attention like moths to, well, a flame.
The fireball floats into the cave, and the smarty smiles smugly at the herd’s good fortune.
“See? Nu am dawkies aneemowe! Fowwow, kwik-wee, befowe we wose it!”
So the herd reluctantly follows the smarty into the cave, after the fireball.
Most fluffies, when given the choice between being somewhere dark, or being somewhere well-lit, will, nine times out of ten, choose the latter.
Even if the light is coming from an open incinerator.
Well, that’s not far off from what’s actually in the cave.
It sure as Hell isn’t spaghetti.
In the depths of the cave, the herd looks around, the light coming from the fireball casting unsettling shadows now.
“Wen du da sketties happun?”
“Dewe nu am anee sketties hewe, fwuffy wud smeww dem.”
“Mummah hope hewd fine Skettiewand suun. Nee num sketties, su mummah can make bestest miwkies fow bestest babbehs.”
The smarty snorts.
“Fwuffies be kwai-et! Wet smawty han-duw dis.”
The smarty looks around the room, batting various rocks, stalagmites, lower parts of the walls, and ground with a marshmallow hoof, hoping to uncover a hidden entrance to Skettieland.
Every attempt fails.
“…Smawty gut nuffin nao. Dis wuz a big waste of time. Otay, wets gu. Smawty wan find dummeh wai-uh fwuffy an gib sowwy hoofsies.”
Then another voice speaks up, from above the herd.
Not another fluffy.
Not even a human.
“Leaving so soon? But you’ll miss… DINNER.”
The fluffies look up as one, and gasp in horror when they see what just spoke.
“M-m-munstah…”
“Nu huwt fwuffy…”
“Am onwy chirp widdew babbeh…”
Several members of the herd make scaredy poopies.
FRRRRRRRRT
The speaker, who was clinging to the ceiling, drops to the floor, landing in front of the herd.
Burning eyes. Blood red skin. Big red bat-like wings. Large, curly ram-like horns, sharp teeth, claws.
One of the demons who fled during the World Revolution, when it become apparent that the Forces of Fate would not win.
This demon was an unrepentant fluffy killer in life, and even death couldn’t stop him from killing fluffies.
Or humans. This demon was also present at the first Demonic Invasion, one of the many low-rank demons summoned by Umbra, and the demon did to this timeline’s Amy Oldman what he did to get himself executed in the first place.
The demon laughs wickedly.
“Seriously, I can’t believe this shit keeps working! Do you have ANY idea how many herds I’ve tricked into walking to their deaths? All I had to do was mask my host’s eyes, and you swallowed everything I said without a second thought!”
The smarty is terrified, but manages to speak.
“M-munstah wuz udda fwuffy?!?”
Then he realizes something, and gets angry.
“Yu wied tu smawty! Wai? Wai did yu wie?”
The demon licks his lips.
“I TOLD you, moron… because I wanted to have you over for DINNER.”
The demon grabs the smarty.
“Wet smawty gu!”
“No. Hopefully, you’ve learned a valuable lesson about not trusting strangers! Any of you who tries to run, you’re next! I can fly, you CAN’T, and I can see in the dark! Speaking of which…”
poof
The fireball extinguishes itself, plunging the cave into utter darkness.
“Good luck getting out of here NOW.”
“Eep! Nu wike!”
“Fwuffy nu can see!”
“Sumwun pwease hewp fwuffies!”
“Nobody can hear you, you know. Fun fact about us demons: most of us can’t eat in our true forms. The food burns up in our mouths. But the elites have a way. And I found out how to do it. Sucks to be YOU!”
CHOMP
The demon bites the smarty’s head off.
“Oh I love the om nom nom brains, if only they were nom nom bigger.”
GULP
He swallows.
“Of course, if your brains WERE bigger, this trick wouldn’t work. Oh well, there’s plenty of you. So, who’s next?”
Another voice speaks up. A human’s voice, a man’s, and the tone is one of barely-restrained fury.
“How about you, asshole?”
The demon turns to the source of the voice, and his jaw drops when he sees who spoke.
A rather unremarkable-looking man, clad in silver armor. If he wasn’t wearing that armor, you’d see that he’s been working out.
Mark Smith, one of the Faucheuse Foundation’s best employees.
Now moonlighting as a demon hunter, and licenced member of the Hunter Association.
Three other humans, also clad in silver armor, flank Mark. None of them look happy right now.
Chris and Amy Oldman, or rather, their benevolent, still-living counterparts from another timeline, and James Oldman, from another timeline. Also Association members.
They’ve been working out too, for longer than Mark.
Ever since the demonic Calvin and Marley of Timeline-666 killed their families, in fact.
All four of them are wearing magical Rings of Darkvision, allowing them to… does it really need to be explained what those rings do?
Most magical inventors give their creations on-the-nose names for a reason.
The demon glares at the quartet of demon hunters.
“How did YOU assholes find me?”
Mark points a gun at the demon’s head, loaded with silver bullets.
“We have noses, idiot. You didn’t even try to mask your scent.”
Chris and James laugh.
“Yeah, say what you will about our counterparts, but they were at least smart enough to do something about the stench.”
“Becoming a demon ain’t worth smelling of farts all the time, if you ask me.”
“Oh, fuck you both! I always HATED your counterparts!”
Chris and James point their guns at the demon too, also loaded for demon.
“Buddy, believe us…”
“We ain’t too fond of you either.”
Amy, not wanting to be left out, points her gun at the demon too.
She knows who the demon is and what he did to her counterpart, and intends to avenge her other self.
“Every one of us four has a good reason to despise you, Sebastian Milton.”
Chris turns to Amy, keeping his gun pointed at Sebastian the demon.
“I think you’ve got the best reason, honey. You wanna do the honors? Guys, you don’t mind, do you?”
Mark and James shake their heads, and Amy smiles.
“Aww, Chris. You’re too kind. Bye, Sebastian.”
Sebastian snarls at Amy.
“I’m gonna rape you AGAIN, slu–”
BLAM
A silver bullet between the eyes sends Sebastian Milton out of this mortal coil once again. This time, he’s not going Down There.
He’s going to meet Oblivion. There’s nothing waiting after death for Sebastian Milton this time.
And yes, as bizarre as it may seem…
There is, in fact, an anthropomorphic personification of oblivion.
And they’re as popular with the other anthropomorphic personifications as you think they are.
Not very.
Outside the cave, the four demon hunters, having lead the herd outside, look down at the head toughy.
Mark kneels down.
“So, uh, I guess you’re the leader of this bunch now. What are you gonna do? We could take you to a different forest. A safer forest. Plenty of space there, and if you listen to Blueberry, your herd will do alright.”
“Hu am Bwuebewwy?”
Mark strokes the new smarty gently. Ferals tend to be a bit reluctant to let humans hug or stroke them, but the toughy can tell that the four demon hunters can be trusted.
They did just save the herd from meeting the same fate as the old smarty, after all. The new smarty feels he owes the hunters one.
“Let’s just say that he runs shit in that forest, and he’s a fair leader.”
Blueberry is actually hoping to unite the herds of his forest, and knowing Blueberry, it will probably lead to the world’s first fluffy nation-state.
It’s only a matter of time until Blueberry’s Forest has a representative at the United Nations.
The new smarty thinks, and accepts the offer.
So, at the hunters’ instruction, each fluffy in the herd places a hoof somewhere on the hunters’ legs. With eight legs between them, there’s plenty of space.
The four demon hunters blip out, taking the herd to Blueberry’s Forest.
blip