1. An Irresponsible Deity Feels Like Releasing Dangerous Villains Into The World
i. Ozai's Prison Break ft. Divine Intervention
As one is wont to do upon witnessing four man-sized turtles hurtling past thine prison cell, Ozai produced a vocalization akin to that of a seagull in the heat. Turmoil brewed within these oppressive and bleak walls; aye, the internal strife of each convict had been always heavy in the heated, dry air, but hark! The happenings of the outside now infiltrated those wretched, immovable barriers that so confined this once-proud man.
The stamping feet of these fiendish green intruders faded down the corridor. Other unfamiliar individuals had visited the prison over the past several daylights, wreaking only havoc in their reckless ways of chaos.
These turtles were a new sight to behold, and they appeared to possess the most chaotic tendencies of all as they ate messily, tossed about confetti, and slaughtered any prison guard unfortunate enough to cross their paths.
Alas, their presence was merely an indicator of a far more devastating event. Ozai, not for the first time, attempted to fit his head betwixt the bars of his cell in order to view these mask-donning humanoid beasts. Their boisterous noise had interrupted his boredom-induced trance, for which he was not thankful, but their screaming was not of joy. Forsooth, their voices rang with terror! A welcome sound, easily recognized, was this.
Peradventure today would lead him to long-lost freedom. One could dream.
"Fiddle sticks! Foiled again!" cursed Ozai. He found himself once more wedged betwixt two impeding iron poles. With a sigh of deep embarrassment, he shouted into the confetti-ravaged hallway, "Warden! I'm afraid I require the butter sticks!"
At once, the foundations of this hateful building tremored. The two poles of pain holding him tight, his skull only rattled unpleasantly. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, an admittedly foolish move, for only the foul turtles were in a position to reply to his query.
The shaking of the stone below all but ceased. Blinding purple light flashed in the window of the cell across the corridor, and that lower layer of detested rock gave way, collapsing into the cell on the first floor. The prisoner who had been demolished by the falling material unleashed a Wilhelm scream before brutally perishing.
Nevertheless, Ozai's entrapped dome of cognitive function (more commonly known as a head) suspended him above the poor bloke who had suffered certain death, as if this whilom dictator were a kitten in one of those "Hang in there!" posters.
The ceiling above threatened to collapse, yet his only course of action was to allow gravity to slowly, O so agonizingly slowly, drag him down whilst his orb of thought (head) remained fixed betwixt those accursed poles.
At last, he wrenched himself free with a mighty tug. "Ouchie," cried he, for this effort had been no painless one. Still grasping those bars for dear life, the ceiling of stone crumbled. No fallen chunks struck him, but that wall to which he clung began to tip until it collided with the barrier opposite of it.
Being a professional badass, he did not release his handholds as he swung about wildly from the impact. The rubble below provided no enticing landing spot, yet he was tempted to drop down atop a writhing hand, whose owner seemed to be the muffled voice buried in the pile calling for help.
His landing snapped the poor chap's wrist, and he took the opportunity to brush up on his evil laugh. The collapsed wall of dreaded iron bars slipped from its precarious perch against the upright stone, pushing it outwards as well. He backflipped to the safer side of the rubble heap, and then backflipped the other direction, atop the iron poles, and slid down the fallen slab with the grace of an (out of practice) acrobatic toaster.
The second wall rumbled, and he leapt onto its tipping mass. When the massive block of freedom-hating rock crashed into the desert floor, it threw up an obfuscating cloud of sand through which any onlookers could distinguish only his shadowy outline. Aye, it was beautiful to know that he still had the proper dramatic flair required of any top tier villain.
He sprinted through the quickly dispersing granular haze and the desolate, barren lands of this vast desert presented themselves to him. The heavens were stained with an unnatural purple, and the distant sounds of a distorted guitar drifted from the clouds.
This could only mean one thing.
Distracted he was by this destructive display of divinity, and in foul combination with the dust in his sight melons (eyes), he bolted directly into a shadowy figure. They tumbled about for a spell, driven by the careless momentum of Ozai.
"Sorry," apologized he, and he abruptly sprung up and continued his speedy journey.
"Watch where you're going!" scolded the embittered spacesuit-clad rodent.
He had no patience for a single obstacle more — alas, it occurred to him that this escape would lead him through countless kilometres of scorching desert, and he lacked the resources essential for survival.
Another collision brought him rolling upon the burning sand with this time, a human. Every now and then, accidentally knocking heads with a stranger will not lead to a warm and loving future relationship, so naturally, perhaps it would occur in the second trial. Aye, this man's countenance reeked of desperation judging by Ozai's rather limited view of it during their unintentional rotation. Their shared horizontal experience could have almost been that of two playful lovers, if neither had been copiously shrieking, nor blinded by the ubiquitous particulates in the air.
Finally, they parted and reverted to their natural vertical positions. Panicking, Ozai embarked on the futile task ridding his glorious long hair of the vexatious sand.
"You!" shouted the man, grabbing him by the beard. He sincerely wished that people would stop doing that, yet he could not sever it due to a deal that he had made with a pagan god (more on this later).
"What say you, peasant?" snarled he. "Unhand me immediately!"
"You're a prisoner, right?" panted this blue-clad plebeian.
"Nay, I am a free man now! I command you to unhand me so that I may abscond! You have no right to return me to that wretched place! Do you think that you're law enforcement?" sneered he.
"No, I need your help!" begged the pitiful proletarian. "They took my son in there — please, I have to find him."
"I know not who your son is. I can be of no aid to you." He crossed his arms smugly, like a bad bitch coaxing her friends to plead to her for the latest gossip. Smirking as this poor commoner beseeched him, he sneered another insult, "Are you too pathetic to find him yourself?"
"At least just tell me where if you've seen his captors — four big green creatures. And stop looking at me like that!"
The information shocked him somewhat, that these foul beasts had been witnessed by others — but he only smirked smugly. "Like what?" Ozai smirkily sneered with a smirksome smirk, for such was the way of villains.
The plebeian's bitch-slap served a dual purpose. First, it summoned the sense of urgency that had filled him before he had decided to be an asshole to a stranger for little reason. Secondly, it banished all smirks, sneers, and smugness to the mother dimension, never to appear in All Hell again.
"I have seen them," answered he. "Four man-sized turtles, consuming sustenance with wasteful idiocy, spreading confetti, slaughtering mindlessly."
"And they're in the prison?" prompted the man.
"Yes. Godspeed, sir. I must currently be on my way." He poised to run, as cartoon characters will do every so often prior to accelerating at a rate impossible by any creature.
Yet this peasant refused to relinquish Ozai's caprine facial hair. "Oh, I don't think you're going anywhere. I know exactly who you are. I'm not about to let you run free so you can fulfill whatever nefarious schemes you've been cooking up in that cell of yours." The energized plebeian led him by the beard towards the very crumbling edifice from which he had fled.
"Your courage is but foolish ignorance and stupidity! You fear not me, whom your ilk trembles before, and you fear not the wrath of the gods?" spat he incredulously. "You you not observe the colour of the sky? Do you not hear the enraged music of above?"
"I don't know what any of it means!" cried he, uncaringly reckless in his boldness.
The winds of the desert merely grew harsher as the peasant dragged him nearer to the decimated detestable structure. Those heaps of shattered stone were not stagnant; aye, the gusts lifted and carried them in a spiraling vortex. That purple tinge no longer restricted itself to the heavens; nay, it infected the very air and light. The emerging sandstorm hindered their progress and clouded their visions, and over the howling of the wind and crunching of the breaking building, Ozai caught strains of Floridian progressive death metal band Death's "Crystal Mountain" blasting from divine speakers.
It was when the purple sand rendered his ocular organs (or, as simpletons say, eyes) useless that he unleashed his prowess in battle. Forsooth, he still did lack his furious firepower (well, mostly, but once again, that will be discussed later), but he remained a force with which to be reckoned. (Have you seen that man's muscles?)
With a well-placed kick, despite his presently limited visual capacities, he knocked the peasant's legs out from under him. Alas, this man had had a grip of steel, and dragged Ozai down with him. Hence, this reduced them so squabbling in the sand blindly whilst the particulates stirred up by the storm whipped and bit into them.
The proletarian scum gained the upper hand, forcing him into a brain container (head) lock and rubbing his face in the sand.
"Nyyyuh," moaned Ozai through a mouthful of wrathful dirt.
"I've got a sword!" wailed the peasant over the raging winds. "It may not be the katana, so beloved by everyone for some reason, but don't make me use it!"
"Uhhhhhnnnn," whined he in response. His noggin was too scrombled for him to articulate, and having a plebeian perched atop him had simply drained out much of his fight. With his intact villainous laugh, air of dramatic mystery, and manner of speech, he'd thought that he'd still "got it." Fie, fie! What a delusion was this!
Nay, his villainous expertise had perchance seeped out of him over his two twelvemonths in prison, or had it abandoned him the instant he'd gotten his ass handed to him by a prepubescent twelve-year-old? Surely, he was merely out of practice; aye, he hoped, he believed. Free again, assuming that he could rid himself of this bothersome peasant, he would prove himself! The world was falling to chaos, and he would once more unite it, henceforth fulfilling his life goal.
So caught up was he in this stuporous dream of world domination that he did not notice the peasant dragging him by the arm through the sand, fortunately away from the swelling vortex of what had been the prison.
"Urgggg," groaned he. Why, that plebeian had a mighty strong grip! It threatened to cut off circulation in his hand. Absently, he hummed Missy Elliott's 2002 hit "Work It" as if he were participating in drunken karaoke, and promptly blacked out.
ii. Anakin Slaughters Despicable Me Minions En Masse
"Mr. Sandman! Bring me a dream
Make him the cutest that I've ever seen!"
Anakin Skywalker enthusiastically chanted this ancient hymn passed down to him from his master Obi Wan Kenobi [insert obligatory sand joke here]. He was in a rare good mood and challenged his musical abilities by simultaneously performing lead and backing vocals.
"Bung, bung, bung!" sang the young Sith Lord happily. After murdering a group of children, he had promptly departed from the star system, narrowly avoiding disfigurement by his aforementioned master. Presently he was on his way to engage in more evil bidding assigned to him by his new, superior master. Could Obi Wan shoot lightning from his fingers? No. Didn't think so.
"Master Anakin, I'm afraid we're approaching a wormhole," worried his irksome droid.
He brushed it off without a second thought. "Don't be foolish, wormholes don't exist."
"You've… gone through the wormhole." The droid seemed to deflate; convincing Anakin to do anything was a futile task.
Indeed, outside the ship, it appeared as though they had entered a tunnel of sorts. The walls pulsed with purple light, as if a massive interstellar beast was voring them.
Anakin didn't give a shit, transfixed by the poignant beauty of his own falsetto.
"Give him two lips like roses and clover (bung, bung, bung, bung)
Then tell him that his lonesome nights are over!"
Aye, that purple light brightened and C3PO lapsed into full mortal terror (despite his status as a non-living entity). The passage's end was nigh, and Anakin at last turned off the hyperdrive when the terrain of a new planet entered his vision. Landing at light speed was totally feasible, after all, and approximately ninety-three percent of humans had the reflexes for it. Droids maintained a whopping one hundred percent success rate; alas, Anakin's obstinance prevented him from intelligent decision-making; thus, he retained control of the ship rather than permitting C3PO to accomplish the deed.
This purple portal ejected the travelers in the atmosphere of a planet that was mysteriously not comprised of a singular biome. Nay, this celestial body possessed both land and ocean: polar ice caps, massive expanses of water, volcanic mountain ranges, forest, and deserts. What self-respecting man would deign to adapt to multiple climates?
In spite of his disgust, a tendril of purple light continued to guide Anakin down to the surface of that glowing sphere. The ship drifted down like a leaf peacefully floating on the breeze, completely ignoring physics.
Praise unto Lord Ben 10, thankfully he did not land in the desert. His hatred of sand had resulted from his rigorous, exploited childhood on Tatooine; mock his whining as you will, but know this: you are reviving horrific, traumatizing memories for this young Sith Lord.
Anakin crawled from his trusty vessel without first bothering to check if he could breathe the air, survive in the climate, or if any potential threats rested nearby. That was all bullshit. Peradventure, a hostile life form was not particularly unusual; however, all else was naught to worry about.
"Master Anakin —" cried out the worrywart of a droid.
Anakin fucklessly slammed shut the hatch, severing C3PO's arm. At long last, he was free of the excessively vigilant individuals who had so overtly repressed him.
"Why did I program you like this?" he muttered to the screaming droid. Promptly, he departed to scout the land. This was a jagged land of hills and mountains, a burden to traverse. Perhaps he would be forced to return to the ship, for he lacked more efficient means of transportation. Casting a glance at the purple finger in the great yonder, he noted that several more had manifested beside the original.
That was when the sound of a distorted guitar from the heavens above met his ears, and he knew: this could only mean one thing.
Hence, from the indigo-tinged skies, from this new divine tendril came a stream of small wailing creatures, indistinct in shape at such a distance. Yet a thick sense of danger electrified the air, and Anakin unsheathed his lightsaber, that lethal blue beam of concentrated energy emerging from its metal hilt.
Anakin wasted not an instant in racing towards his ship, where the yellow creatures had nearly completed their descent. Swinging his gaze leftwards, he spotted a strange woman lurking betwixt two trees. Was this the enemy? wondered he, but from her he perceived a sort of immediate camaraderie, a hidden trait binding them together as allies.
This woman stepped from her passive position and hurled forth a palm-sized orb (an actual orb), from whence exploded another new beast in a flash of light. Startled as he was, Anakin could not afford to react, for the ranks of their true foes began to surge upon them.
The final new finger of purple discharged a second unfamiliar woman, with whom he also felt an inexplicable bond. Yet he had no time to capture more than a glimpse of her black-clad figure and wild bush of wavy hair.
Anakin swung his lightsaber at a short, cylindrical adversary, cleaving it in twain straight down the middle. These pathetic little creatures jabbered unintelligibly and hurled themselves at the trio with nary a hint of strategy behind their attacks.
The leftward woman's beast annihilated a great swathe of the bespectacled, overall-clad monsters; with a mighty breath of fire, this line of foul foes was roasted alive. At his right, the second woman dealt killing blows and paralysing assaults with a method not dissimilar to the force, although a feeble stick appeared to source her power, and she screamed in an arcane language whilst decimating the waves of assailants.
Anakin continued to slice and dice, and for him, it sufficed. Aye, 'twas more of a blast than killing younglings! These pill-shaped yellow dimwits made far more entertaining sounds as they succumbed to sweet death.
And lo! The flood of these poor creatures from the heavens above trickled to its end. Anakin nearly wished that the deity in charge of that purple portal would provide them with additional killing stock, yet he knew he must be thankful for what he had.
The first woman's canid creature spewed one final plume of flame, then proceeded to brutally grab one by the teeth and shake it to death. Anakin backflipped throughout his vile foes' waning ranks, obliterating each screeching failure of a warrior. Surrounded by the carcasses of their liquidated enemies, the woman on the right laughed cruelly.
And hark, 'twas an evil laugh! Though Anakin was wholly committed to the dark side of the force, he possessed not this essential villainous attribute, for the only emotions for which he had the capacity were angst, lust, and rage. 'Twas a skill he must learn from his new nefarious companions, and the leftward woman threw back her sphere of consciousness (head) and guffawed with a dark pleasure. Whilst she cackled away, she choked her canine slave with the leash about its head stalk (neck).
Anakin had found his people. Though he could not laugh, his eyes turned to an orange-yellow and he was quite proficient in appearing menacing and incensed.
"Well done, my brethren in wickedness!" spake the woman on the right. Aye, her face balls (eyes) were also filled with the light of hatred and insanity.
"Well performed," agreed the left woman, and she opened up the orb from whence her canid beast had emerged, and it vanished inside, completely ignoring logic.
"I say, we make a fantastic team! My name is Bellatrix." The woman on the right introduced herself, and extended a hand to both of them, which they each vigourously shook.
"And mine own moniker is Cruella," replied the other woman.
"What a delightfully evil name!" exclaimed Bellatrix. "And you, sir, with the deftness handling that laser sword of yours?"
"I'm Anakin," saith the young Sith Lord. "But you can call me Darth Vader. That's my badass villain name."
"Why, I quite like it!" commented Cruella. Staring into the purple sky above, the fingers of transport disintegrated into clouds, and Anakin noted that "I Am The Black Wizards" by Norwegian black metal band Emperor was fading out in the distance. The holy distorted guitars ceased to play moments later.
"I truly think this was meant to be a great and powerful alliance. It's not every day that The Shaper of Destiny brings three people such as ourselves together," spake Bellatrix.
"Precisely," concurred Anakin. "We need a mission purpose. What is on your agendas of evil?"
"Animal cruelty," offered Cruella.
"Genocide," suggested Bellatrix.
"I like genocide," spake Anakin, pondering the concept. "I also enjoy world domination."
"A true classic!" crowed Cruella.
"A fine idea!" agreed Bellatrix heartily.
"Yes, yes," saith Anakin. He felt a smile of evil creep over his countenance — aye, these women were already teaching him so much. "So world domination it is."
