JAUNE ÎNVINGĂTORUL
WRITTEN BY Iactuallybeataniggertodeath
PROOFREAD BY PissDiarrheaFromMyAsshole
CHAPTER ONE: BĂGA-MI-AŞI PULA ÎN BOZGORII ĂŞTIA!
TRIGGER WARNING: THIS WORK OF FICTION CONTAINS UNUTTERABLY MASSIVE AMOUNTS OF PATRIOTISM AND LOVE FOR THE ROMANIAN PEOPLE, COUNTRY AND CULTURE. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
It is the year of our lord 2020, scarcely seven generations after the destruction of the Romănia Întegrită and the instauration of the New Galactic Order. The Magyars invaded and conquered the Nine Realms and all of the celestial bodies lying therein. Trillions upon trillions of Romanians were massacred, brutalized for the crime of being of a different ethnicity and refusing to become little more than a slave.
Now, there barely remains any trace of their country. The Bozgori have debased billions of years of cultural and technological achievements, tearing down Romania's glorious structures and replacing them with crude mockeries. The new generation of Romanians do not know anything but grueling work, sorrow- and rage, blood-curdling fuckrage.
But change is in the winds; many bewildered Hungarian fucklords report that their scout ships sent to map out the further reaches of the universe have stopped returning entirely, and the rate of rebellions in the Romanian Relocation Territories is steadily increasing...
RRT, former realm of Moldova
The planet Mărăşeşti
Enough.
Jaune Arc had enough.
The straw the broke the camel's back was when one of the motherfucking Magyar enforcers killed his sister after she failed to fulfill the grain quota; instead of harvesting 130 bushels of wheat yesterday, she harvested 129,9. This was cause for widespread terror, as the demented Bozgori took her to the center of the cătun and called for all Romanian serfs in a fifty-mile radius to congregate there. Over three hundred terrified slaves could only watch as Maria Arc was stripped of her clothes, flogged thirty-five thousand times with a barbed poison machete-chainsaw-whip and then had all of her orifices violated savagely, to set an example to her brethren.
Jaune was cloistered within the crowd, not even allowed to close his eyes, as he found out when one of his fraţi broke down and was promptly decapitated. He felt fury, an unfettered kind of blue, yellow and red anger that rapidly took over any other thought processes in his mind. He wanted to make those Bozgori pay. Something snapped.
Deşteaptă-te, Române! began playing in an indeterminate area of reality near the crowd. With unparalleled strength and tupeu, Jaune bounded thousands of kilometers, into this planetoid's exosphere. Storm clouds gathered and choked the skies, and the Magyar faggotmeisters looked on with awe as this patriotic leader of revolutionary might landed right next to them, in conjunction with a lightning strike.
"FIŢI-AR MUTRA DE BOZGORI BORÂŢI! SĂ VĂ IEIE DRACU' PE TOŢI!" Jaune bellowed epically as the divine rays of God ejaculated forth from the skies and enveloped him, raising him several meters off the ashen ground.
"L-Lófaszt!" One of the Hungarians howled fearfully, as he sashayed forth with trembling legs, aiming his Mannlicher M1888 at this divine patriot. "You fetid Romanians should know your place as the lowest of the low! So, nyald ki a seggem, u-untermensch!" He went no further, as his head burst like a tomato. Jaune Arc now carried an M1977 towed anti-tank gun. It was being held with his arms. The remaining Bozgori dropped Maria's brutalized body and attempted to flee, but the crowd of peasants, now vitalized with fervor, dogpiled the fucklords and savagely beat them to death with their blood-blazoned fists of fury.
When their collective hormonal fuckrage drained, nothing remained of the damnable enforcers. They were reduced to sub-atomic substances. The former serfs cheered, for the dark star that hung over their heads for more than 140 years had been dispelled. Jaune carefully put down the anti-tank gun, igniting all of his stores of ammunition in the process and detonating them, killing about 150 people and injuring hundreds more. He stood on the makeshift podium that had been used to display Maria Arc's execution.
"My dear brothers and sisters," Jaune bellowed epically. "Today is a day without precedence! Today, we have felled those horrid Bozgor taskmasters and now we shall choose our own destiny. As our ancestors may have once said, CÂCA-M-AŞI ÎN FREZA BOZGORIILOR!"
"CĂCA-M-AŞI ÎN FREZA BOZGORIILOR!" The people cheered in joy.
A heavenly figure intertwined within the agglomeration swaggered forth. It was as if an angel of God had descended from Rai. Clad in royal garb and toting dual rocket launchers, it was certainly an imposing sight—made even more imposing when Jaune looked into this pious veteran's eyes and realized who he was.
"Haha, a splendid sight!" The man guffawed as he scanned the ecstatic crowd. "Never have I ever seen a teenager harness the energies of Tămâie and use them this efficiently. I salute you, Jaune Arc. Certainly, you bleed the blue, yellow and red of a Romanian warrior!"
The Arc could not believe it. A golden Aquila soared through the now-clean skies and perched on this revolutionary's shoulder. Jaune fell upon his face before the legendary demigod standing before him.
The man who just praised him was Alexandru Ioan Cuza, leader of the National Salvation Front and known by commoners as Futătorul de Bozgori.