The Spearman

[Chingis Khan]

Here's the complete, edited version of my other story. I think it's funny. Hope you do too...


The winds of time blew. And a world was created. The winds blew. And the newborn world itself, gave birth to great continents that rose from the depths of the oceans. And the winds blew. The continents, in turn, gave birth to life. And man was born. And the winds blew. Man gave birth to civilization. And the winds became silent. This world was complete.
Birds chattered and animals made lazy noises at the river, deep in the jungles. A waterfall made a breathtaking backdrop to the scene; the kind of scenery that would have inspired anyone of a poetic nature to write, draw, or paint a masterpiece. If anybody would have been within a thousand miles, they might have. A great flash of light from high above startled the wildlife to a sudden alertness. The air shimmered, and then seemed to ripple, to bend. As if from a distance, a voice could be heard, "oooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ssssshhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!" WOOMPH! A body fell from the sky and landed in the pool, created by the beautiful waterfall. The animals of this particular region had their very first human encounter. They ran (which, incidentally, turned out to be a good idea for millenia to come). A figure slowly surfaced in the shimmering pond. A head broke the water and looked around. When he spoke, it was with a dry voice, in stark contrast to his soggy appearance. It was a voice like dried leaves scratching across a rough road. A timeless voice. A voice that held all emotions, and yet held none. A voice that was as gentle as a newborn baby, yet as rough as sandpaper in a sandstorm. The voice was ... ahem, well, anyway, this is what the voice said, as the figure looked around at the idyllic surroundings, "Great. Just freakin' great. Well, here we go again." That last was added with a heavy sigh, and the figure pulled itself out of the pond, helping itself with what appeared to be a long walking stick. Perhaps this would be the last time? Perhaps he could finally rest after this one? He doubted it, but still, some small spark of hope pushed it's way through the layers of doubt, and skepticism. Perhaps. The thought drifted away on the winds, as the figure walked it's lonely walk to civilization.

Micheal grimaced as he rubbed his foot. He was glad for the rest, the group of soldiors he had been assigned to had been patrolling hard for the last three days. This is hardly worth it, he thought to himself. Sure, CNN paid good money for jobs like this one, and the live coverage from the front lines made for good T.V., but there had been no action for three days; just endless marching. His cameraman came to sit beside him,
"How's it going, Mike? You think we'll see these Kentucky boys in action today?"
"Yeah, right! I think the only action we'll see is my feet swelling up like a couple a melons. I'm just about ready to say 'screw the pay', send my ass home, where I can cover a nice juicy story about... oh, I don't know, maybe a group of nymphos who are totally insatiable... and they loooove reporters!"
They both laughed about the thought.
"C'mon, Mike. I heard the sergeant say that he thought he saw somebody moving around at the top of this hill. Maybe it's the bad guys!"
"Mountain, Bob, it's a damn mountain. And there's nobody going to be crawling around on the side of a damn mountain. Trust me, the only thing out there is rocks, and more rocks."
A gruff yell came from the platoon leader, "LET"S ROLL OUT PEOPLE!"
"Great," said Mike, "Gary and Joe get to cover the bombing of Kabul, and we get stuck in the middle of nowhere, on a mountain, where I don't think anybody’s been for the last thousand years, with a guy who's watched 'Apocalypse Now' way too many times! Gung Ho army freak."
The two men laughed again as the platoon grabbed their gear, and continued the patrol.

"Halt! Who goes there?"
The voice whispered down the mountainside to startle the platoon. The sergeant gave a curt order, and his men spread out, taking cover and unslinging rifles. Mike's heart performed a series of somersaults; this is it! I'm going to get my story!
"Bob, are you rolling?"
"Affirmative, great leader."
The cameraman's voice sounded a little shaky too.
"Halt, I say. Who goes there?" The voice came again.
God, it sounded like...like...like dry leaves, rustling in the wind. With a timeless quality, with a slight echoing, that Mike didn't think came from the mountains. The voice was loud and firm, yet soft and giving. It was a voice to instill fear, yet, while giving confidence. It was a voice that.... Mike's thoughts were abruptly cut off as the sergeant yelled his reply. The sergeants voice was simply loud. "This is the United States Army. If you are with the rebel forces, come out with your weapon raised above your head, the magazine ejected and in your left hand. If you do not..."
The sergeant was cut off by the voice, "Very well, as you want it, so shall you have it."
The sergeant looked around at his men and shrugged. He got puzzled expressions in return. Damned if Mike knew what the voice meant, either. The sergeant repeated his demands, but no more reply came from the rocks above. Bob rolled film as the army men spread out and slowly advanced.
Mike stood by his cameraman, in breathless anticipation of the coming action. Hopefully there would be bloodshed, on either side. That always made for good T.V. A blur of motion caught Mike's eye. There, in the sparse bushes to the left. With no more warning then that, a spear hurtled out of the dried vegetation and impaled a soldier through the chest, the man gave one, short strangled yell, and was silent. The rest of the men turned as one, and with much profanity uttered, screamed, or yelled, proceeded to unload enough lead into the scrawny bush to satisfy 'Skillcraft no.2's ' requirements for a year.
The air filled with the acrid tang of cordite, and the guns fell silent. There wasn't much left of the little bush, and dried leaved still fell from the air all around. The soldiers all stared in silence until the sergeant's order came,
"Joe, get up there and see if we got the little sumbetch!"
"Yes sir!"

Joe scrambled up the small ledge and kicked the remains of the bush around.
"There's nothing up here, sir." He added with a grin, "but we killed the hell outta this shrub, sir!"
The grin left Joe's face as a spear came from underneath him, stabbing upwards. A look of horror spread across his face as he clasped his hands to his wound, and he slowly toppled sideways. The earth beneath where Riko had stood shook, and a figure emerged from the ground. Covered in dirt, it was hard to make out the details, but as the platoon stared in amazement, the figure leaped straight up into the air, spun at the top, and landed lightly on a ledge some ten feet above it. Then it launched another spear that punched through a kevlar flak vest, and took down another man. Again, a barrage of bullets spattered against the mountainside. Mike stared in horror at the dead men laid around him.
The sergeant, and his men, swore a lot more, and then proceeded up the trail to hunt the strange creature, and get their revenge. Bob started after them, but Mike grabbed his arm, "Bob, don't. I have a real bad feeling about this."
Bob shook his arm off, "What? Are you crazy? This is what I came out here for. C'mon, don't be a *****, man. Let's go."

But Mike couldn't. He stood at the trail, looking upwards to the action above. It didn't seem so glamorous as on T.V. he thought. The sound of gunfire streamed from above, and he heard more of those strangled yells of the wounded. Suddenly something shot over the side of the ledge and landed at Mike's feet with a wet plop. What the... Mike leaned closer, then spun away, retching and gagging as he realized what it was. He stared upwards again, and now he could make out quite a lot more body parts flying through the air. Like wood going through a chipper, he thought grimly. What the hell could be doing that? He decided to get the hell out of there, but as he turned to run, the strange figure landed lightly in front of him. Mike fainted.

The world slowly came into focus. Mike looked around as he sat up with a jerk. "What the...", he saw the strange figure sitting on a rock, staring at him. "Where am I?" The figure simply stared at him. As Mark's vision returned more fully, he could see that the figure was nothing more than an old man. A very old man, judging by the length of his beard! The thing put 'ZZ Top' to shame, reaching all the way to the floor, and then curling up. The old man stared at him from under thick bushy eyebrows that drooped down the side of his face to his cheek. He looked for all the world like some kind of... primitive caveman! But that stare! It was a stare to chill the blood in your veins. It was a look so full of knowledge, and wisdom, yet innocence and foolishness. It was a glare that outshone the sun itself, while being as dark as the night sky, on a cloudy night. With no stars in the sky. And no moon either. Or streetlights. It was a stare to stop time in its tracks, yet....
Mark shook his head, and tried again, "I said, who are you and where am I?" The old man stared at him even harder. "Goddammit! Answer me, you freak! Answer me, I say. CAN YOU EVEN UNDERSTAND ME?"
Hmmm, maybe this caveman only understood 'Halt, who goes there', Mark thought, like a taught phrase, that he doesn't understand. "Look, I am a huuummmannnn." He drew the word out, speaking loudly and slowly as if that would make the caveman understand. "I come from a world more technological than you. That makes me superior. Suuuppperrriiooooor! DO you understand?". Mark almost jumped when the old man answered.
"Yes! I can understand you, you idiot. I merely had my mouth full. It is dinnertime, you know. Sheesh!"
Mark saw that the caveman had a microwave dinner by his side.
"And as for you being more 'technologically' advanced, you moron, check this out..."
He pulled something out from his robe and held it up. A small flame appeared. "Yes, that's right. It's called 'fire', fiiiiiirrrrreeeee'", the old man used the same long, drawn out pronounciation as Mark had used.
Mark stared at him. "Ummmm, that's just a lighter, right?"
The caveman looked dejected as he put his lighter away, mumbling something under his breath. Mark thought he heard, smartass reporters, or something like that.
Mark decided to try a different approach, "Look, my name is Mark. I am a reporter for CNN. What's your name?"
The old man drew himself up, grandly. The pose he struck was a pose to inspire terror, yet instill peace. It was a stance to....
"Oh no you don't," Mark interrupted.
"What?"
"You're getting all...you know....descriptive, again."
The old man shifted his eyes nervously, "What are you talking about?"
"Like that thing you do with your voice. You know, when you try to sound like Clint Eastwood, or something and you get all...'soft, yet firm', and stuff."
The old man exploded, "AAARRRGGHHH! Clint freakin' Eastwood stole that voice from me! Me! I was here first, you simpleton! I've been here since the birth of this wretched worl....oops."
He clamped a bony hand to his mouth, but it was too late.

[Chingis Khan]

"You've been alive for how long?", Mark asked, incredulously.
"Nothing", said the old man, "I didn't say nothing."
"Yes you did, you said, 'I've been here since the birth of this wretched worl....oops', and then you clamped up."
The old man gave him the glare once more. "Fine then, 'Mr. I don't seem to forget any-freakin-thing', fine. I have been alive forever. How do you like that, eh? In fact, I created this world."
It was Mark's turn to stare, "So, you're like, God or something?"
The old man sighed. "Follow me", he finally said, and turned to walk up the mountain.

The two men soon arrived at a cave. The Spearman gestured for Mark to enter, and then followed him in. The place was quite lavishly decorated with all manner of antiquities. There was an ancient Mhing vase, a roman helmet, an English longbow, and several more things that Mark didn't recognize. In the middle of all this, sat a large couch in front of a bigscreen T.V.
"You want a beer?", asked the old man, as he walked into a back part of the cave.
"Ummm, no. No thanks." Mark walked to a large desk, covered with crumpled up bits of paper. In the middle of the mess, he saw a book. The title was mostly covered up, but as he moved to uncover it, he only got as far as "The Cultu...", before the Spearman walked back in and sat down heavily on the couch.
"Where do you get all the stuff here. Like all this paper, and the couch and stuff?"
The old man jumped up from the couch, his eyes blazing like the sun. Mark sighed, he had a feeling what was coming. The old man's eyes burned as if with an inner light, yet they were as dark as the blackest coal. They fairly sparked, as if dry lightning was about to pour forth, and devour not just Mark, but the whole world. Those eyes shone with inner fury, yet denounced great peace. They....
Mark couldn't take it any more, "Okay, okay! That's enough!"
The old man scowled at him, "Fine. Damn philistine, kids today don't appreciate any of the real good biblical crap. You know, I once burned like a burning bush? Yeah, that was me. Anyway, as I told you, you brainless halfwit, I created this entire world. I gave rise to the very continents upon which you stand, the very seas on which you sail. I made the heavens, the skies, the fish, the birds, everything! I made it all. Don't you think that I could somehow manage to come up with a pencil and some paper?"
Mark saw a plastic bag from the corner of his eye, it said, 'Walmart'. He didn’t think it would be a good idea to say anything, so he kept quiet.
"So if you're God, then how come you just sit up here on this mountain killing people with your spear?"
"Ah. That my mentally challenged friend, is a good question. You see, I too was created by a yet higher power. The name of that higher power is 'Fire Axes'. I was given a mission by my creator, and my programming...er, I mean nature, only allows me so much freedom. I create worlds all the time, everywhere. So many that I often find myself creating multiple worlds at once."
"Wow! So are you like, in different places all at the same time? What's that like."
The old man settled back into the couch, "Well, you moronic crusader, at this precise moment, I am fighting a Roman legionaire, I am waiting on a damn mountain top, I am... ooh! I am getting lucky with a likely wench! Hold on a second." The old man's eyes seemed to glaze over, and he started drooling a little as he made some moaning sounds.
"Hey! That's nasty, man. Stop that, stop it!", Mark shook the old man by the shoulders, but the old man, lost in another world grabbed Mark by the shoulders and started pulling him closer. He was surprisingly strong. Mark found himself being drawn closer and closer to the old man's puckered lips,
"OOoooh, yeah baby, that's right. Who's your God, who's your God!" The old man's eyes suddenly snapped back to the present, and he found himself nose to nose with Mark. He pushed him away,
"Dammit, I don't swing that way. I know that I'm a sexy beast, but get a hold of yourself."
Mark choked back his angry reply, he was just glad that it was over.

"So, let me get this straight. You create worlds all over the place, often several at the same time, and then you stay in each world, fighting as a spearman." Mark scratched his head, "I don't get it. I mean, you know we have tanks and stuff, why wouldn't you simply become a tank commander or something?"
The Spearman shook his head. "You just don't get it, do you. Listen, you corpulant pile of pus, I have to be upgraded in order to become something else, like infantry or whatever. Mostly, I am, but sometimes, I just kinda get forgotten up on top of a mountain. So I remain a spearman."
Mark was confused, "What do you mean upgra..."
"And on top of that, the worlds I create have very definate rules. Sure, sometimes I like to mess with the gamers, you know, by popping up in a city just as it's about to be attacked, or maybe allowing the AI to create settlers from thin air, but that's mostly just for my amusement."
Mark was silent for a moment. What the hell was the old geezer talking about? Settlers, gamers, AI?
"Okay, so you create all the worlds, like everywhere?"
The Spearman looked down and scuffed his foot for a few seconds, then he mumbled something.
"What was that?"
"I said not every world." The old man looked quite uncomfortable as he explained, "Look, you maggot infested peon, I have an enemy. I don't know where it came from, or what it is exactly, but I call it 'The Dameditor'. It is kind of like a parasite, it takes my world, but warps it. It does unspeakable things; changing graphics, messing with stats and so forth. It creates unpure worlds. In those worlds, I am usually reduced in power so much, that I can't even beat up a tank. In those worlds, a little piece of me dies each time I lose." He looked up, with fear in his eyes, "I think that one day, I will be so diminished, that I will lose myself completely."

Mark raised an eyebrow, "Wait a minute, you said you can beat a tank! Get outta here. If spearmen could beat tanks all the time, then we wouldn't have any tanks! Just lowly spearmen!"
"Watch your tongue, idiot. I never said spearmen could beat tanks. I said I can beat a tank. I am The Spearman." The capitol letters were actually audible. " I rarely get a chance to fight tanks as a spearman, but when I do," he chuckled, "when I do, you should see the uproar in the forums. Heh heh hee."
Mark simply scratched his head. He wasn't sure if the old man was fully compis mentos or not. He barely understood a word the old man said.
"So, you don't understand me, eh. Well, that's because you're just an idiot. You're a nothing, a nobody, why, you don't even exist!"

Mark gave a start, "You can read my thoughts?"
The Spearman paused for a second, "Umm, no, I read it from the monitor. It said something about 'compis mentos', and then how you can't hardly understand me." The old man looked down for a moment, and moved his lips as if he were trying to figure something out. Then shook his head, "Anyway, it doesn't matter how I knew, I just did, okay? Good. As I was saying before I was interrupted, you don't really exist. I mean, you do, but not really. Get it?"
Mark stared at the man blankly.
The old man sighed, and tried again, "Okay, it's like, if a tree fell in the forest, no... no, wait, that's not it. Okay, okay, so pretend that you are tied up in a cave, right? And the only thing you could ever, and I mean ever, see, is the shadows on the wall ahead of you, then that would be the world to you, right?"
Mark's eyes started to water.
The Spearman gave an exasperated sigh, "Okay, okay, okay. It's like this, You exist, but only to you. But you also exist to me. But only for the moment. Once I leave, then you don't exist anymore. But I do. So therefore, you do exist, but not really." He gave a triumphant smile, and held his hands up high, "You see?"
Mark gave a strangled yelp, as he collapsed to the floor, holding his head, which was visibly throbbing.
The smile left the old man's face and he bought his hands down slowly. He hoped this one's head wouldn't explode like all the others. He sat on his couch, and tried to work out what exactly he had been meaning to say; there had to be some way of explaining it without all the damn mess...

Commander Abraham Smith Shole had just recieved his orders over the radio, and he was excited. "You hear that boys? We get to see some action after all! Freakin' Yeeeeeehhaaawwwww!!!"
Riko shared a look with Ashby. How the hell had they got stuck with this damn cowboy for their tank commander? Apparantly, a bunch of grunts had got lost up in the mountain, and they had to go check it out. Some action.
Commander A.S.Shole let out another whoop, "Yeeehhhawwww! We gonna kill us some ragheads! I bet there's a whole bunch of them dirty little peckerheads crawling around up in them mountains!" His voice lowered, and he leaned in closer to the three crewmen, "I say we try and run some of 'em over, see if their little rag-heads pop right off! What do you guys say?"
Riko looked up from his gunner position, "Umm, sir, I think that's against the Law of Armed Conflict", and he added in a more sarcastic tone, "but maybe we'll get lucky, and one of them will just fall under our treads, sir."
A gleam came into Sholes' eye, "Yeah! Maybe one of 'em will just 'fall under our treads', heh heh hee." He started making squishing and popping noises with his mouth, as if he were running over hordes of people with his tank.
Riko groaned, it was going to be another long day.

Mike sat, nursing his head gingerly. The old man was trying to explain some of the 'rules' that the world was subject to.
"...and the corruption levels! Whew, I think somebody really screwed up there! But if you think that's bad, wait until I tell you about 'culture flipping'."
Mike suddenly sat up. He remembered seeing the unfinished book on the table. "Hey, isn't that the title of the book you're writing, 'The Culture Flip'?"
The Spearman looked at Mark sharply. Then his eyes shifted from left to right as he answered, "No. How stupid do you think I am? Who the hell would write a story about a freakin' culture flip? Sheesh."
There was a quiet pause.
The spearman looked up suddenly, "Ah, they come." He bounded from couch, grabbing his spears, and ran through the door.

The tank rumbled it's way up the mountain pass. Almost seventy tons of steel death, with it’s powerful engine and it’s huge main gun. Two machine guns were mounted on the top; one for the commander, and one for the loader. The powerful beast lumbered around a corner, and halted. For in it's path, sat a scrawny old man, with a huge, long beard, and a handful of spears.
Commander A.S.Shole grinned, "Run him over, boys."
Riko groaned again, "Sir, we can't just run him over. He hasn't done anything."
Shole grimaced, and then addressed the driver, "Rueben, are you a real man? Or are you a *****?"
Rueben called over his shoulder, "I'm a real man, sir. But Riko is right. I'm not just going to run him over, sir."
Shole swore softly under his breath, then he looked up, "Maybe we 'didn't see him' sitting there", he made finger quotaion marks as he said that.
The crew all said, in unison, "NO, SIR!"
"Fine, fine, I was just testing you guys, anyway", grumbled Sholes, obviously disappointed. "Well, we can't go on with him in the way, go around him."
The seventy ton tank jerked into motion as it tried to go to the right. The old man moved to block it. And again as the tank tried to go left.

"Damn, this guys good. And quick", muttered Sholes. Riko shook his head in frustration. "Sir, it's not that hard for a man on foot to outmanuver a tank. Maybe somebody should go out and move him?"
"Yeah, good idea. Who's the lowest ranking... Rueben! Get out there and move that old man."
The driver grumbled as he crawled out of the tank to face The Spearman. He spoke in halting tones, "Um, excuse me. Um, Sir, could you please, you know, like move, or something?"
An evil twinkle entered the Spearman's eye and he started forward, spear twirling in the sunlight. Rueben began to scream. He screamed like a little girl. Like a particulary wimpy, small girl. A girl so small and wimpy, that you would be forgiven for thinking she had some kind of disease. In fact, Ruebens' girlish, wussy scream was so pathetic, that even his crewmates were a little ashamed of him.

Commander Sholes sat very still in his seat, as he watched what happened to his driver with wide eyes. Riko and Ashby also watched with that same, disbelieving expression.
"Holy geez..."
"Did you see that?..."
"Oh, that's not right, man..."
"I think I'm going to be sick...."
"Is that even possible? .. damn.."
"Wow, look at that spleen fly!"
"Hey, did you see his stomach rip open?"
"Yeah, I think I saw some French Fries in there..."
After the slaughter was over, and the little pieces of Rueben had finished flying all over the place, Shole said, "Well, who's the next lowest ranking? Ashby! Get out there and avenge your friend."
Ashby's eyes grew wide, "You can't be serious? With all due respect, sir, screw you!"
Shole said, "Hmmm, well in that case, can we run him over now?"
Riko stared at Sholes in astonishent, "Sir, you just sent our driver to his horrible, horrible death. I don't know how to drive this thing, sir."
Shole said, "Ha! I do! I've watched Rueben at the controls quite a bit. Get outta my way."
The American main battle tank lurched forward at the old man, but The Spearman leaped nimbly out from the tank's path and leapt to the side. A *tink, tink* noise came from the hull.
"What the hell is he doing?"
"I think he's attacking us, sir!"

[Chingis Khan]

Sholes looked into the driver's periscope and he saw the old man dancing around the tank. Was that... ballet? The old man performed pirouttes and leaps as graceful as any the commander had ever seen. Every now and then, The Spearman would leap forwards and stab at the tank's armor plating.

Shole had had enough, he went to his hatch and poked his head out, "Hey! I said HEY! What the hell are you doing down there?"
The old man paused in mid-twirl, "What does it look like I'm doing, you peabrain? I'm doing the 'dance of death'."
Sholes was taken aback. "The dance of death? Well, it looks like ballet to me."
The old man stopped. "You damn people! You don't appreciate anything, do you? Have you ever performed 'the dance of death'? Well, have you? I didn't think so. I have killed countless people and destroyed many things. I think I am qualified to perform 'the dance of death'. Don't you?"
"Umm, sure, I guess. But would you mind not hitting the tank, son? You're scratching the paintwork.... yikes!", the commander hurriedly ducked back inside to avoid the spear hurtling towards his head.

"Okay, crew. I guess we can't run the nimble little bastard over. Ashby, get up there and shoot him with the .50 cal."
The hatch opened once more, and Ashby climbed up to man the gun. He fired a burst that stitched a line along the ground towards the old man, but the old guy leaped into the air, somersaulting end over end. Ashby corrected his aim and fired again, and again, and again. But The Spearman cartwheeled, flipped, and leapt from the path of the deadly bullets each time. Then, just as Ashby thought he had the old guy, The Spearman jumped high up over the hull, and just ...kind of hovered in front of Ashby. His hands were raised above his head and off to the sides, and his legs drawn up, as if he were about to kick out (author's note: You may think that this is just a shameless hack from a certain movie, however, as you may notice, the old man in my story is obviously kicking with his left leg. Therefore, it is not a ripoff, and completely original. *ahem*, well, mostly original. Alright, alright, it's a shameless ripoff! Do you think you could do better? Do you think it's easy coming up with story writing material? DO YOU? You damn readers, you sit out there in your cosy chairs, reading the stories that I PROVIDE! DO YOU WANT THE TRUTH?!? YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRU....damn. I just did it again, didn't I? Oh well, back to the story. Now where was I? Ah yes...) . He was just ... hanging there, motionless. Ashby stared in confusion, blinked, and stared some more. "Hey, guys, get up here! You should really see this!" Riko and commander Sholes emerged from the other hatch. They stared in amazement at the motionless, hovering figure.
"Woah, dude! Check it out!"
"Damn shame he didn't stop like that on the ground, I could have run him over for sure!"
Ashby rubbed his eyes, yet again, "I really don't think that this is possible. I mean really, it's like something from a bad movie!"
Shole screamed, "I don't care what it is, just shoot the little sumbetch!", with that, he and Riko went back down and closed the hatch. Ashby shrugged and lined up the machine gun. Just as suddenly as he had paused, The Spearman surged back into motion. His foot kicked out and bent the barrel of the .50cal, Ashby stared, slackjawed as The Spearman landed lightly in front of him. Ashby screamed, and fell back into the tank. The hatch slammed shut after him.
Riko wrinkled his nose, "What is that smell?"
Commander A.S.Shole looked in disgust, "It smells like somebody crapped his pants!"
Ashby muttered sullenly, "Shut up! You would too if that weird old man was facing you...."

Shole was not in the best of moods. The old man had piled rocks in and around the tank's treads, immobilizing the great beast. In addition, he had damaged the antenna during his 'dance of death', so Shole couldn't radio for help. And to top it all off, there was the smell.
Ashby sat in the far corner of the cramped tank. Commander Shole and Riko sat on the other side, T-Shirts pulled up to cover their mouths and noses, staring at Ashby with hatred.
Ashby tried again, "C'mon guys. It would've happened to anybody! I mean, that old man... I don't think he's human! His eyes are all crazy and stuff. And that thing where he hovered in front of me! And bending the machine gun? C'mon guys. You have to admit, it's all a bit weird. And another thing, when he jumped in front of me, I got this weird sensation. Like he was menacing, yet friendly. Mean, yet nice. And it went on and on. You know, really descriptive, and stuff."

Riko spoke in a muffled voice, "I got some descriptive words for you; stinky, crappy, sh*tty, choking, noxious, toxic... You STINK. Look, even a fly got in here! And this tank is supposed to be sealed up airtight against chem warfare!"
A new voice came from behind Ashby. It spoke with kind of a Mexican accent. "Aaaayyyyy! Wherever there is sh*t, there is The Fly! And let me tell you, this is gooooood sh*t. Trust me, I am not just saying that either. I mean, if there is one thing I know, it's sh*t, and this is good sh*t. I wouldn't sh*t you guys. Heh heh, get it? That's a little fly humor."
Riko stared at Shole in horror. "Umm, sir? Did that fly just talk to us?"
The Fly buzzed angrily upwards, "Aaayyy , man. You do not have to talk like I am not here. I mean, I know that I do not have the big human ears, like you guys. But I can hear pretty good, you know. I heard this guy crap his pants from two hundred yards away, didn't I? I mean, I do not have to take this sh*t from you guys! Heh heh heh. Get it? That's another fly joke, you know, heh heh."
Ashby said, "That fly is definately talking, sir!"
"Shut up! There is no talking fly in this tank! None! It's just... it's just the smell going to our heads. Yeah, that's it! It's like a mass hallucination!", Riko smiled as he had it figured out.
Shole shook his head, "Screw it, I’m going for a smoke. Ummm, anybody got a light?"
Riko said, "Nope. I don't smoke, sir."
Ashby said, "I have a lighter, ummmm .... it was in my back pocket though, and, well, you know..."
The Fly said, "You know, speaking as an expert in the matters of all things fecal, you probably should not have, like, an open flame in this area. I mean, I seen this one time, this guy tried to smoke while taking a crap. And when I say he was taking a crap, that is the understatement, you know. I mean this guy was pumping out some grade-A, real quality sh*t! But I digress, anyway, he lit up the cigerette... BOOM! He blew his ass clean off, man!"

Shole sighed, and opened the hatch to go outside.
The Spearman watched warily as the top hatch opened once more. The commander poked his head out and looked around. He spotted The Spearman watching him from his perch, on a pile of rocks. "Hey! I don't suppose you have a lighter handy, do you?"
The old man tilted his head sideways, his eyes narrowed, "Maybe, do you have any cigerettes?"
Shole lept from the tank with a big Texan whoop, "Yeeehaaaawww! Damn it's good to get some fresh air. Do you mind if I sit next to you, partner? Thanks."

The Spearman found himself shoved halfway across his comfortable rock, and was about to say something, when a cigerette was thrust under his nose. He smiled with pleasure as he took it and lit it up with his lighter.
The old man took a long drag, and sighed contentedly, "Thank you for the cigerette. I don't get out much, you know, gaurding the mountain and all", his eyes narrowed again, "I'm still going to kill you, and destroy your tank, you know."
Shole took a drag of his smoke, "Sure, sure. Whatever. It's just good to get out of that damn tank. It really stinks in there! You made one of my boys crap his pants", he chortled, "the stink was so bad, we thought a fly was talking to us! Can you imagine? A talking fly!" Shole broke off as laughter racked his body.
The Spearman went still, "Did this 'talking fly' speak with a heavy Mexican accent, kinda like Cheech, from the 'Ceech and Chong' movies? And did he talk about poop a great deal?"
Shole laughed even harder, "Yeh! Hahahaahaaa, said he was a... a... hahahaaahaaa...said he was a fecal expert HAHAHAHHAAAAAA!!!"
The spearman said nothing, he just kept his face carefully blank until Shole had finished laughing.
When Shole had finally calmed down, he looked over and saw a book hanging out of The Spearman's robe. He grabbed it before The Spearman could stop him. "Hey, what is this? The Culture Flip? What kind of stupid name for a book is that?"
The Spearman went red in the face, "I don't know, it's just a book that I'm... reading. That's all", he mumbled.
Shole read through the book for a few long moments. Every now and then he would shake his head and laugh. He lit up another cigerette and handed one to The Spearman, who took it.

After a while, The Spearman asked, "Well? What do you think? Do you like it?" His expression was fairly hopeful.
Shole looked up, "Well, I have stuidied warfare for some time, and I have to say, there are some really dumb things in this book."
The Spearman looked crestfallen, "Like what?"
"Well, for example, the German army in plate mail and with greater numbers getting slaughtered by a bunch of peasants armed only with sticks? C'mon, man! I mean, seriously! And as for that Jon guy getting together with Joan! Ha! I would've kicked her ass for what she did!"
The Spearman grabbed his book back and closed it with a snap. "Fine, you don't like my....er, the book, then don't read it!"
"Hey, calm down..."
"You calm down! I think you're just an ignorant barbarian who should get the hell offa my rock, and back in his tank!!!" He paused, and then added in a quieter voice, "But you could leave some of those cigerettes, if you don't mind?"
Shole stared at the old man for a second. Then he threw down the pack of smokes, and stomped back to his tank. He called back over his shoulder, "It's on, now, old man!"

The Spearman barely heard him. Ignorant fool! Let him spend three thousand years working on a book, only to have it ridiculed by a stupid fool! Well, The Fly liked it! He stared at the book for a moment, then threw it over his shoulder. He resumed watching the tank. How to break through all that armor....
Later that night, The Spearman went back to his cave, still pondering how best to finish the tank. Mike was still up, writing notes; for his article in CNN that he would surely write, no doubt.
Mike looked up as The Spearman entered, "So, how did it go?"
The Spearman walked to the fridge and grabbed a beer, "Oh, not bad, not bad. I reduced the tank to one bar of health. I just need to finish it off. It'll wait till tomorrow."
Mark chewed the end of his pencil, he decided not to ask about the 'bar of health'. The answers he got from the old man just confused him. He tried a different approach, "You know, you could probably get hold of rocket launcher, or something. It would make fighting tanks a lot easier."
The Spearman sank into his laz-e-boy and took a long pull of the beer, "You really don't pay attention to anything I say, do you, you simple creature. I told you that I need to be upgraded to become anything stronger then what I am. Besides, I do alright against pretty much anything." He leaned forward in his chair, and a gleam entered his eye, "Did you see the moves I pulled on that tank today? I was awesome! Like... like Bruce Lee, or something! When I jumped and kicked the machine gun! That was sooo cool, man. Did you see it bend? Ha! I was in the zone my friend. Oh yes, I was good, damn good." He set his beer down and jumped up, leaping high in the air and performing a triple spinning back kick to demonstrate his talents. He let out a series of 'Bruce Lee' noises as he did so. "Yeah, beeyatch, take that, hiyah!... and that, wiooiiooo! He spun and kicked again. He caught his foot on the desk lamp, sending it flying as the old man lost his balance, and collapsed onto the floor.
Mike looked over the edge of the table to where The Spearman lay in a heap. "Are you okay?"
The old man groaned, "Aaaaargh, I think I broke my hip! Arrrrgh, MEDIC! Man down..."
Mike sighed, and sat back down to continue writing, interrupted by the occasional exclamations of pain emenating from over the table...

Shole opened the hatch and started to climb back into his tank. Voices drifted up to him,
"So, explain about the fragrance again?"
"Okay, okay. It is like this, some crap smells like good sh*t, well, I mean all sh*t is good, but some crap just smells gooood, you know. Now, take like, a deep breath, okay? Smell that sh*t? It is good, right?"
"Yeah, it does smell kinda... good, I suppose."
"That is what I have been telling you!"
Shole scrambled into the cramped interior, "What the hell? Were you two guys talking to that...that fly?"
Riko had his head down near Ashby's but. He jerked up to attention, and smacked his head on the roof. Ashby answered without meeting Shole's eyes, "Um, no sir. We weren't talking to anybody."
"I heard voices, goddamit!"
Riko pulled himself up, rubbing his head, "Um, we...we had the radio on, sir. You probably heard the radio."
Ashby gave a relieved grin, "Yeah, that's right, the radio."
An angry buzzing noise was coming from under Ashby's cupped hand, and a muffled voice with a Mexican accent, "Aaaaayyyy man! Let me out of here! You don't want to pizz me off, man! I know, like, Karate and stuff!"
Shole sighed, "Look, did you guys manage to fix the antenna while I was out smoking?"
"Sure did, sir. We have contact with the home base."
"Good, call in backup. Tell them to send in 'The Stack of Doom'."
Riko and Ashby looked at each other in mutual confusion.
"The stack of what, sir?"
Shole rubbed his forehead, "Umm, I'm not sure. I think that crazy old guy is rubbing off on me, or something. Look, just call in for help, okay?"
"Yes sir!"

[Chingis Khan]

Mike woke early the next morning. He noticed that The Spearman had already left. Wanting to catch a liitle of the action, he followed. He found The Spearman busy trying to light a fire under the tank by vigorously rubbing two sticks together.
Mike walked over, "Hey, why don't you use your lighter? Or is that one of your weird 'upgrade' rules again?"
The old man's head whipped up angrily, "The only weird thing around here, is you. You damn one-man-freakshow. If you must know, the tank commander guy stole it."
"What, your lighter?"
The Spearman threw his hands up in exasperation, "No, you moron, my virginity! What the hell do you think?" He grabbed his sticks and started rubbing them together even faster, muttering to himself, and rolling his eyes from time to time.
Mark decided to leave him alone for the time being. He strolled along the mountainside, enjoying the early morning view. He had to admit, the scenery from way up here was quite fantastic. The valley floor, far below, looked as though it had been painted with long golden streaks of sunlight. The occasional cluster of vegetation looked plush, and green. The odd group of wildlife, scattered here and there. The sunlight glittered beautifully from the column of modern armor cruising towards the mountain pass. The rock formations out in the.... wait a minute! Column of tanks! Mike rubbed his eyes and looked again. Twenty or so tanks were steadily making their way up the mountain pass.
The Spearman had finally gotten a thin plume of smoke to rise from the pile of sticks he had gathered under the tank, and a little patch of glowing red indicated his iminant sucess with fire. He shook his fist up at the mighty iron beast, "Ha hahaa haaa, see how you like this!"
Mike came skidding around the corner, tripped on some loose shale, and managed to tumble head over heels straight into The Spearman, who, in turn, fell face first into his pile of twigs. He jumped up and spun to face Mike, brushing at the hot twigs that were caught in his beard, "You idiot! What the hell are you doing, simpleton? Do you have any idea how long I spent getting that fire to smolder?"
Mike ignored the old man's tirade, "There's a bunch of tanks heading this way. Lots of tanks. I mean, a lot of tanks."
The Spearman regarded him with a cool expression, "I know."
"What do you mean, you know?!?"
"I am kind of like a God, you know. Besides, I sent for reinforcements of my own. You don't think I am all by myself do you? I do belong to a civilization of my own, you know. In fact, my reinforcements should be heading up the other side of the mountain as we speak."
Mike caught his breath, he noticed a thin trail of smoke coming from the old man's huge beard. "Oh. Well, I suppose everything's okay then."
"Oh yes. My civ is quite advanced you know", a touch of pride entered his voice, "we were the first to invent chivalry, you know."
Mike scratched at the stubble that was beginning to grow on his chin. "Well, that's good. I suppose I'll just go sit over here then?"
"Good idea, moron."
Mike turned to walk away, "By the way, that fire you are trying to start?"
"Yeah?"
"You can probably use you beard to light it."
The Spearman looked down to see a small fire had ignited, and was steadily growing larger as it worked it's way towards the Spearman's chin. "Aaaaarrrgghhh...."
The Spearman stood atop the rocky oucrop of rocks, contemplating the coming battle. He wasn't worried. Win, lose. It was all the same to him. Of course, it was always more fun to win. After all, it was only the losers who said, "It not whether you win or lose, it's how you play the game!" What a load of crap! Did the losers of the Superbowl go out drinking and celebrating over what a great game they played? Hell no! But the winners probably did. The Spearman drifted back to a different time, in a different world; back to one of his greatest victories. The air around him kind of... well, shimmered, and waved back and forth as The Spearman drifted into his flashback...

The Spearman pulled hard on the oars. It had been a long night; rowing back and forth under the cover of darkness, transporting case after case of Jack Daniels, and Smirnoff from his little Galley to the majestic French Battleship. He thought his plan had worked well, though. The Captain of the Battleship, a guy named Andrew Samual Shole, had never noticed the much smaller, wooden vessel on it's radar, and The Spearman had been able to sail right under the metal beast's nose. Captain A.S.Shole, and his crew had been only too happy to partake in the free booze. By the time The Spearman had left, the Captain was drooling his way through a drunken rendition of 'YMCA', the first mate along with three others were dancing to it, and the remaining officers were happily cheering on the grotesque performance. The Spearman finally reached his Galley. He crawled up the rope ladder and, ignoring his aching body, gave his crewmen the order to fire. The cannons roared into life as the fifteen pound cannonballs soared towards the great battleship. *tink... tink. tink* The shot bounced harmlessly from the armored hull and fell into the water. One cannonball did do some damage; but only to the shark swimming lazily below the waves as the iron ball plunged into the water and cracked the poor shark on the head. The battleship became a flurry of activity as the muzzle flashes from the Galley illuminated the dark night sky. The Captain of the French warship was pulled from his second encore of YMCA to the bridge, where he promptly ordered another large vodka, before collapsing on the floor. The other officers managed to stay erect, but thought it would be funny to try ramming the wooden ship instead of simply shooting it with the twenty inch guns. After a few hours of the strangest naval battle in history, anywhere, with the mighty battleship missing the smaller, but nimbler Galley, and then making a huge, sweeping turn to try ramming it again, and the Galley taking shots with their ineffective cannons, the bridge officers on the French ship thought of a new game. They stood out on the main deck, and tried some target practice with their sidearms. The Spearman was getting quite annoyed. It was time to push the big red button in the center of the Galley's forecastle. He hadn't wanted to use his 'modifications', but this had gone on long enough. He pushed the big red button, and the wooden sides of the Galley fell away, to reveal a gleaming, titanium armored hull. The masts of the Galley folded in on themselves and swiveled to point directly at the battleship, revealing that they were, in fact, forty inch cannons. Missles spun up from below deck, through trapdoors, and so on , and so on. The crew of the French battleship sobered up faster then if they had just spotted flashing blue and reds in their rearview mirror after a night at the bar. Some jumped overboard at the sight of the wooden ship transforming itself into something that resembled a porcupine (That is, if porcupines had a bloody great bunch of guns, rockets, missles, and other nasty things, besides boring spikes). The shark which still swam below was in quite a bad mood after being hit on the head with a cannonball, and gladly ate them all up. He was a big shark. And he liked French food.....

The Spearman snapped back to the present with a smile on his face. Ah, good times, good times... He wondered if he would have to press his big red button on his specially modified spear, or if he would be able to figure out a way to beat that damn tank without it. Oh well, he shrugged and went back to watching the modern armor snake it's way up the mountain.
Mike walked to stand next to The Spearman. As they both stood, shoulder to shoulder, looking down the mountainside to the long column of armor snaking it's way ever closer, Mike spoke, "So, when do you think your reinforcements will be here?"
The old man threw a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the ledge on the other side of the ridge. Mike walked over. In the distance, he could see a long trail of dust rising from the opposite side of the mountain. He ran back to the old man.
"Holy geez! Your guys are almost here already? Why didn't you tell me?"
The Spearman turned his bearded head, "You didn't ask." He gestured toward the advancing tanks, "Now these fools will see something! Ha! They are in tanks, but my civilization is probably in... oh, I don't know, bigger tanks. I did mention that the last time I saw these guys, we were the first to invent chivalry, right? We have probably got laser guns, and stuff now. But just to be sure, would you do me a favor and go back to the cave. In there, you will find a big spear. On this spear, you will find a large, red button. Could you bring that to me?"
Mike mumbled, "Sure, sure", and walked off to get it.

The lead tank in the column rumbled to a halt. The commander opened his hatch and looked about cautiously; he had had a weird experience on the drive up here. A fly had been bugging him for most of the ride. And the commander had been sure a couple of times that the fly had been...had been talking to him! He could have sworn that he had heard a kind of mexican accent, barely audible over the rumble of twenty five nine-hundred horsepower engines, powering twenty five ninty ton armored tanks up the mountain. Well, the fly had stopped bothering him now, and he could see Shole's tank sitting in the road ahead. The paint was chipped, and quite badly scratched in some places. There was a large pile of rocks jamming the treads; and for some reason, there was a large pile of deadwood piled up underneath the tank! The hatch popped open, and Shole stuck his head out, "Hey! It's about time you guys got here! Let's go run this little sum***** over! Yeeeeehaaaaawww!" They got out and moved the pile of rocks together. Shole was back in command!

From the other side of the mountain, The Spearman's reinforcements had almost reached the pass.

The Spearman stood in the middle of the road. Mike stood next to him, holding 'the spear'. The mighty column of armor rumbled around the corner. As Shole caught sight of The Spearman, he ordered the tanks to fan out. The Spearman faced the line of tanks calmly. Behind him, a cloud of dust and smoke announced the arrival of his reinforcements. The dust and smoke swept over everybody. As the air cleared, The Spearman turned to see what his civ had sent him. The smirk fell from his face as he saw a group of knights on horseback.
"What the hell? You have got to be kidding me!" He ran to the leader of the knights, "What the hell is this? Some kind of joke?"
The leader of the knights looked down, "What? No! We jest not, old man. Now step thyself aside, and allow mine noble knights to pursue thy...um, thine, no, wait," he mumbled to himself for a few seconds. The Spearman sighed, "Thou?" he offered helpfully.
"Yes! Pursue thou metal dragons to thouesth demiseseth."
"What happened to our technological advancement for the last several hundred years?"
The knight looked away for a moment before answering, "Um, well, although our technology was going quite well, our people were always unhappy and we never had enough money. Then nobody else would trade with us and, well, we are on "emporer level" you know."
The Spearman nodded thoughtfully. He knew how it was. One minute you're doing great, then everybody else in the world ganged up on you...
The knight spoke again, "But we do have the latest technology in swords and stuff! Check this out!" He leaned down to show The Spearman his sword. Etched on the side were the words, "TK-Mk II".
The old man scratched his head, "TK?"
The knight answered his question with a grin, "Tank Killer! Where do you think all that money for our upkeep goes? These swords are expensive, you know..."
Mike nudged The Spearman in the ribs, "So what's going on?"
The Spearman turned, "Well, peabrain, since I created this world, I've been gaurding this mountain. Then you and a bunch of infantry came along. After I beat the infantry, a tank came along, which I was beating up pretty good, and would have set on fire if you hadn't of interfered," he paused to glare at Mike, "then the tank called for backup, so now I have to face twenty tanks, but I called in my reinforcements and they arrived. Only they turned out to be a bunch of dolts on horseback, but they do have some mighty nice swords. We are just about to do battle, but it will probably all turn out good in the end, because I have a special spear with a big red button, and as we have seen, when I press a big red button, things happen. Oh yeah, and this weird fly keeps showing up wherever the action is. Got it?"
Mike scratched his head, "Umm, sure. But I only meant what's going on with that knight's sword. You were looking at it pretty hard."
The Spearman glared at Mike for a second before turning to the knights, "CHARGE!!!!"

A.S.Shole yelled over the radio to the other tank commanders, "CHARGE!!!!"

A voice crackled over the tank's radio, "Did he just say 'charge'? We are in tanks you know. We could maybe just, oh I don't know, stand back and shoot them all?"
A.S.Shole came back on the radio, "Umm, yeah, that's what I meant."
A third voice crackled into play, "No, you definately said 'Charge'. That is totally different than shoot."
"Look, I meant shoot, okay? 'Charge' is just, like, an expression."
A fourth voice joined in, "Are you sure? I've never heard 'charge' be used as an expression to shoot. Maybe you could say, 'Blast', or something," the voice added helpfully.
The second voice agreed, "Yeah, 'Blast' is good, or you could maybe say, 'Let's go get 'em, boys'."
The third voice, "Yeah, I would totally not be confused by that. But 'Charge' is kinda dumb, you know?"
Shole burst across the radio in fury, "LOOK MORONS! 'DAMN BLAST 'EM, CHARGE, LET'S GO GET 'EM, WHATEVER! BUT LET'S ATTACK SHALL WE?"
There was a silence.
Then, "You don't have to be so mean about it..."
"Yeah, we have feelings you know..."

The knights reached the tanks without a shot being fired. They immediately fell to hacking and slicing with their TK-Mk II swords. The sound of metal on metal fell across the battlefield-*tink tink tinketty tink tink tink * thud * tink tinka tink tink tinka tink *thud* tink tink *thud* -There was a pause as one of the knights turned to his eager, but not too bright friend and helped him take his sword out of it's sheath - *tink tinketty tink tink tink*
One knight pranced defiantly around a tank on his steed, striking out with his sword every now and then. Great gouges appeared in the metal beasts' hide. One hole opened enough to reveal the tank driver, who looked out in shock.
"AH HA!", cried the knight, "Now I have you!"
He lunged forward to make the killing blow, but the gunner performed one of those moves made in sheer desperation, but which turn out perfectly. The main gun swept down and across. *DONG!!!* It hit the knight squarely on the head.
"Owww!" The knight held up a finger as if to say something quite profound, swayed a little in the saddle, and then collapsed on the ground with a clinking of metal.
"Aha haha hahahaaaa....uuurrghhh..." The driver's laughter was cut off by the sword which swept from the smoke and dust to the side. The leader of the knights laughed as he continued to carve the tank into pieces. He worked hard, and diligently, and when he was done, little pieces of the tank were spread across the ground. And, because he thought it was funny, the knight had left the remaining crew alive, and staring in disbelief at the ruined tank all around them.
Another knight had been dismounted by a blast from one of the main guns. He stood in front of the tank as the hatch popped open and one of the crew manned the .50 caliber machine gun on top. The knight hurriedly ducked behind his shield (the very latest in shields. The Mk-III anti tank shield, of course) as a hail of bullets bounced harmlessly from the metal. The knight peered around the edge of the shield and laughed at the gunner,
"Ha haaaa. Do your worst, fool! Your bullets cannot harm me..."
He was cut off as the tank lurched forwards, and right over his foot.
"AAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHH! Son of a... Ghhooo, that hurts."

Watching the battle from his vantage point, The Spearman saw that it wasn't going very well for the knights. He turned to Mike,"Right, it's time for The Big Red Button! Check this out..."
He held The Spear out in front of him. The battle below seemed to die down as more and more heads turned to see what dastardly effects The Spear would have. A strange lull fell across the battle, and the dust began to settle around the fighting men. A single ray of sunlight fell onto The Spearman, illuminating him quite clearly. The men who survived the battle would tell their children of this very moment. And those children would tell their children, and so forth and so on. And what they would tell them would be this;
This crazy looking old dude, he stood over us. Holding a bloody great big spear. I mean this spear was frigging huge, man! And did I say that this dude looked crazy? Well, that's an understatement. I mean, he looked crazy, but sane, you know? Like, he looked as majestic as the old oak tree, but as humble as a beggar, you know, that one beggar that keeps bothering us by the bus stop? Well, kinda like that, but majestic, too. And he also looked. ummm, he looked mean. Mean as a tomcat that you just had neutered...no! Mean as a tomcat that you're taking to be neutered and knows it! But he still kinda looked friendly. Like Mr. Rogers friendly, you know? Anyway, it was weird, him standing there, looking all contradictory and whatnot, but then he raises this bloody great big Spear. He's holding it in one hand, right? And with his other hand, he slowly, so slowly, reaches over and presses this Big Red Button!
The children lean forward in anticipation,
"And then? What happens then, Daddy?" The children would say.
And the man would say,
"And then......"

[Chingis Khan]

…And then

A strange hum filled the battlefield, growing louder and louder as a deep throbbing sound increased in pitch also. Every head was now turned to the ledge where The Spearman stood. Every pair of eyes focused on The Spear.
The noise grew and grew, and then a new noise grew on top of that.
*BEEEEEP BEEEEP BEEEEP BEEEEEP*

The men down below seemed to give a universal shrug as nothing else happened. They resumed killing each other.
The Spearman turned to Mike with a look of disbelief and rage on his face, "You IDIOT! You grabbed the wrong spear! THIS IS MY ALARM CLOCK, YOU MORON!!!!"
Mike sputtered with indignation, "How the hell was I supposed to know the difference? Anyway, that's beside the point! You built up all that suspense for that? What the hell?"
The Spearman chuckled, "Heeeheehe, It was kinda funny how everyone down there got all worried, and stuff. But that doesn't matter. I have other powers I can call upon. Check this out..."
The Spearman's face went blank, and he started mumbling strange words under his breath as he swayed gently from side to side. Mike poked him a couple of times, but there was no response.
A strange white mist began to build up around the ledge, and Mike stared about him in growing alarm. The mist grew thicker and thicker until he could no longer see in front of his own nose. Then, without warning, the mist cleared, and The Spearman stood there coughing and spluttering.
A figure stood behind him.
It was dressed in all black robes.
And it held a scythe.
The Spearman wore a triumphant grin, and he danced around a little bit in celebration, "Hahahahaa! What did I tell you? I summoned Death himself to come fight for me! Hahahahaaa."
The dark figure walked toward them and held up a finger, "UMM, EXCUSE ME..."
Mike asked The Spearman, "You summoned Death? Holy cow! That is pretty cool, if you ask me."
"EXCUSE ME, BUT I THINK I SHOULD POINT OUT THAT..."
The Spearman made a bony fist, blew on it, and rubbed it on his chest, "Yeah, I know. I am pretty cool. Now there's no way we can lose."
Death sighed. He raised his Scythe and bought it down between the two. It made a hollow sound as it hit the ground. They both jumped and looked around in surprise.
"AHEM. NOW THAT I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION, I SHOULD POINT OUT THAT I AM NOT ENTIRELY SURE THAT YOU CAN USE ME IN THIS FASHION."
The Spearman looked at Mike before saying, "What do you mean? I summoned you, I can use you. It's the rules."
Death looked a little embarrassed as he shifted his feet and replied in a small voice, well, a small voice for him, "YOU DID SUMMON ME, BUT I ALREADY TOLD ANOTHER GUY THAT I WOULD ONLY WORK FOR HIM. I SIGNED A CONTRACT AND EVERTHING."
There was a quiet pause. It stretched out into an uncomfortable silence.
"THERE MAY BE SOME COPYRIGHT ISSUES ALSO. I'M NOT SURE."
Another uncomfortable silence as The Spearman glared at Death. Death looked down and shifted his feet again.
"What do you mean, copyright issues? You're Death. No one has claim on you."
"AH, WELL, I TOLD THIS GUY THAT I WOULD DO BIT PARTS FOR HIM, SOME FUNNY STUFF, YOU KNOW. HE SAID THAT HE WOULD WRITE A WHOLE BOOK WITH ME IN IT. IT SEEMED LIKE A GOOD IDEA TO GET SOME PUBLICITY. I ONLY SHOWED UP HERE BECAUSE I THOUGHT YOU WERE HIM. SIMILAR WRITING STLYE, YOU KNOW. I GOT CONFUSED..."
"Get some publicity? YOU'RE DEATH!!! Everybody knows about you, YOU MORON!"
"FINE, FINE." Death looked very uncomfortable, as if he had an itch he couldn't quite reach. Finally he said, "LOOK, IF I GO DOWN THERE, SCARE A FEW PEOPLE, MAYBE TAKE ONE OR TWO, WILL YOU LET ME GO BACK TO THE DISCWO..."
The Spearman cut him off, "Yeah, sure. Whatever. Just go down there and get those tanks for me."

A.S.Shole let out another great Texan whoop of joy. "YEEEEEEHHHAAAAAAWW! We got 'em on the run now, boys."
Indeed, most of the knights were dead, and the rest were starting to realize the odds were no longer on their side. Of the twenty tanks which had began the battle, only five remained in working order. They started to rumble forward toward the scant few remaining knights. The small group of knights huddled together as the tanks advanced in a menacing fashion.
A figure, clad in dark robes, parted the smoke behind the knights, and made it's way toward the scene. It held a large scythe in one bony hand.
The tanks paused. A voice came across the tank's radio. "Umm, sir. I think that's Death coming for us."
Sholes stared in amazement. It sure looked like it. Well, he wasn't going to lose this fight no matter what, "I don't care if that's Mother Teresa, CHARGE! No, wait, I meant attack."
Another voice came across the waves, "You want us to charge into the face of certain Death, sir?" There was a snicker.
A second voice, "Well, now I can say that I have looked Death in the face." More snickers.
A third voice, bubbling with laughter, "No, no, wait guys, check this out. 'I have laughed in the face of Death'." Laughter.
Sholes got on the radio again, "Knock it off guys, we still have a job to do. Just because Death waits for us, is no reason to laugh"
*Outright laughter* "Dammit, that's not funny! I meant to say that I don't fear the Reaper...Look! Just shut up, and kill it, okay?"
Sholes was cut off by a fourth voice on the radio, "Yeah, yeah, listen. That thing will be the Death of us all!" Uncontrolled laughter.
A new voice came on the radio, "HAHAHAA. WAIT, I HAVE ONE. DEATH IS MY MIDDLE NAME! HAHAHAA. GET IT?"
The laughter died instantly. There was a silence. Then, "Who was that?"
"OKAY, OKAY, I HAVE ANOTHER ONE. I HAVE A BONE TO PICK WITH YOU GUYS! AHAHAAA... WHOOO! I KILL ME. I REALLY DO..."
There was the kind of nervous silence that always follows a bad joke. It just goes to show that Death can even kill a good time.

The Spearman leaped down to land lightly beside Death, who was leaned up against a broken tank with a radio dangling from his bony fingers. Death gave a start as he saw The Spearman. He tried to hide the radio behind his back.
"Are you chatting on the radio with them instead of killing them?"
"UMMM, NO."
"Yes you are, I can see the radio in your hand!"
"NO I'M NOT," Death looked down as if surprised to see the radio. A petulant tone entered his voice, "SO? I CAN HAVE A LITTLE FUN IF A WANT. THE OTHER GUY I WORK FOR MAKES ME BE SO DAMN SERIOUS ALL THE TIME. I JUST WANT TO LET LOOSE ONCE IN A WHILE. IS THAT SO BAD? JUST TO HAVE A LITTLE FUN? I JUST WANT TO BE ME."
The Spearman b*tch slapped Death. "Dammit, you moron, stop being such a girl and go kill those damned tanks!"
Tears welled up in Death's eye sockets. "YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE SO MEAN. FINE, I'M NOT WORKING FOR YOU ANYMORE, AT LEAST THE OTHER GUY DOESN'T MAKE ME SEEM ALL WUSSY. I'M OUTTA HERE..."
Death ran off into the smoke and debris of the battlefield, sobbing.
The Spearman looked amazed. "Wow. I never would have thought he would be so sensitive."
Mike appeared at his elbow, "Well, old man, how do we stop those tanks this time. Can you fight them all?"
A gleam entered The Spearman's eye. He muttered under his breath. Mike thought he heard something about 'a glorious death', or something. The Spearman hefted a handful of spears, and headed towards the tanks....

A voice came from Mike's shoulder. Sort of a Mexican accent, "Heyyyy good buddy. What is the good word? You know, The Spearman is a pretty cool guy, but I do not think he will survive this, you know."
Mike looked down to see The Fly sitting on his shoulder. After everything he had seen, it didn't bother him at all. After a moment, his reporter's curiosity got the better of him.
"How do you know The Spearman?"
The Fly settled back into a more relaxed position, "Well, me and him have been around for the long time, you know. Ever since the world was born. Of course, it sucked to be a fly back then, because there were no animals or people around. No animals means no sh*t. And to be a fly without the poop is like being a spearman with no spear." The Fly let out a heavy sigh and shook his head, "Ahhh, those were the bad times, you know? So I took to following The Spearman around. You know, that guy can put out a load! Good stuff, too. But eventually, he got tired of my following him around all the time, and I got tired of his crap. I mean, I didn't get tired of his crap, per say, but you know what I mean. So we went our seperate ways. I have seen him from time to time across the world. As you know, a lot of sh*t can happen in a world's lifetime, and where there is sh*t, there is The Fly."
Mike scratched at his stubble, "So you've been around as long as him? So are you like a fly God or something?"
The Fly laughed so hard at this, that he fell off Mike's shoulder. He buzzed back up eventually, wiping tears from his eyes, "No, hahaha, I can see why The Spearman calls you a moron all of the time, though, hahahaaa! No, my poopheaded young friend, I am not a God, I am The Fly. No more, no less. Well, I suppose I could be called a cursor by those who control the events in this world. Kind of a sh*tty job, but hey! That's right up my alley!"
Mike mulled on this for a second. A cursor? Well, he supposed The Fly did use a lot of bad language.
The Fly continued, "But it makes none of the difference anymore."
Mike turned, "Oh? Why is that?"
The Fly replied in a nonchalent voice, which contrasted sharply with the seriousness of what he said,
"Because death is coming to everyone here."
"No, no. Death was already here! He took off crying, though. Kinda weird."
The Fly gave him a strange look, "Not that Death, my foolish amigo. I am talking about fiery, flaming death, from the heavens. With fire, and stuff."
Mike sighed. Great, he thought, what next?
Sometimes, when the lines of good and bad become blurred, it can be hard to tell the difference. For instance, take Darth Vader. There's a guy who's just trying to do his job. He's dedicated, skilled and pretty loyal. He's trying to establish a relationship with his estranged son, and what happens? His own son tries to kill him!
There are also times when it works in reverse. When good is so good, that it shoots through the other side of goodness into something else.
This is where we see Gandhi. He sits in his command chair overlooking the huge screens filled with satellite images of a skirmish in a land far, far away. He turns to his military advisor,
"You see? Do you see? This is what happens in wild, untamed, barbarian lands."
The advisor kept a bland expression, " Yes, sir. Like our land used to be until you stopped all the fighting by killing everybody."
"Exactly! Keeping peace, is hard work. What do you think we should do about this disgusting outbreak of violence?"
The advisor sighed. He had learned long ago the futility of arguing, but he bravely tried anyway, "Well sir, I think that considering that this is simply a small border skirmish between two foreign countries, and has nothing to do with us, we should simply ignore it."
Gandhi cackled and rubbed his hands together. His eyes appeared slightly glazed, "Yes, yes! I agree. We should teach these heathens the meaning of true brotherhood and peace!" He yelled down to the missile control center, "Prepare the weapons!"
Gandhi laughed, giggled and cackled until the missiles had been readied. He had his own 'big red button', and he raised his bony, wrinkled fingers high above it.
Bits of spittle flew from his mouth as he screamed, "HOW ABOUT A NICE VEGETARIAN CURRY! AHAHAHAAAAAHAHAAA!!!"
His hand came down.
The missiles went up.

Around the globe, various alarms, bells, whistles, and in one small country that was quite sophisticated whilst still holding on to the old way of life, a town crier gave the warning of a nuclear launch. Heads of states, Presidents, Dictators and Kings alike were hustled to their war rooms. After a relatively small amount of time, another small country launched their missiles, and then another, and another, until the world was quite surrounded by intercontinental ballistic missiles busy arcing through the atsmosphere towards various targets. More and more, until it seemed that for each new missile launched, their were four more launched in retaliation. Each country on the face of the, now quite worried, planet had at least one warhead aimed at every major city. The end of the world had come at last.

Meanwhile, on a mountaintop in a remote land, a desperate struggle was going on oblivious to the original eight warheads coming their way. The pitiful few knights who had survived the initial encounter were now watching with slack jaws as The Spearman danced the Dance of Death as he never danced before. He flipped, jumped, somersaulted and in one unforgetable moment, he even did the Macarana. Mike watched with some fascination. He had heard The Spearman boast of his skill, but this was something else! The five remaining tank commanders were finding out a very important principle in combat that their academies had never prepared them for and it was this; when fighting what appeared to be a small tornado in their midst, it was far easier to shoot one of your teammates then it was to hit a single old man!
Over the tank radios came a cacophony of voices,
“Hey! You just shot my treads off!”
“Sorry, that was my bad! So sorry…”
“There he goes, get him! … No! That was me, you idiot!”
“He’s in my sights, taking the shot…”
And so on.
But The Spearman was having his own difficulties. It was easy to avoid the guns of one tank and take your time attacking, but the moment he stopped to work on the armor of one tank, four more were blasting at him. It was another damn stalemate!
It was then that the heads of the men began turning skywards. The Spearman slowed down as the tanks stopped attacking. The hatches opened and the crews were coming out and looking up at something.
The Spearman began to have a sinking feeling as he followed their gazes up. There in the sky were several streaks of contrail. Missiles. A lot of them. All streaking across the twilight sky. Towards the mountain.
There was a great deal of sighing and bemoaning, as acceptance of the inevitable fiery doom had sunk in. What else was their to do?

On a nearby mountaintop, Death had finished weeping, “I HATE THIS PLACE. I CAN’T BELIEVE THAT GUY SLAPPED ME! I’M GETTING OUT OF HERE.”
He made a few gestures with his scythe and a portal opened back to the Discwo… back to that other place. Death was quite surprised when several huge ICBM’s streaked over his shoulder on their way to the mountain he had just ran from, and were swallowed by the portal he had just made.
Death stood there in shock for a few moments. He wore the expression of someone who realizes that something very bad has just happened, and he was to blame. He raised one finger and opened his mouth, then turned to look back over his shoulder. Then he turned very slowly, as if replaying the flight of the huge weapons past him. Finally his eyes rested on the portal. He narrowed his eye sockets and strained to see through the swirling mists of interuniversal debris; what he saw confirmed his sluggish thoughts. Brilliant blooms of white dotting the very distant landscape. He closed the portal and sat down.
A few minutes later, he reopened the portal to look through, just in case he had been mistaken. Or maybe he thought he could somehow undo everything by resetting (it works for Microsoft after all). All he saw was the glowing red of fire on a countrywide scale. He closed the portal one more time.
“DAMN. WHAT ARE THE ODDS OF THAT?”

All around the globe, mushrooms were sprouting. Not one city was untouched. Anywhere. Except for one small, remote mountaintop, the world burned.

The five tank crews, Mike, The Spearman, and the few remaining knights all looked at each other.
Mike finally spoke, “Well, I suppose all this fighting is done with. We’re it, I suppose. We are all that’s left of the human race!”
A.S.Shole sat on his tank, smoking a cigarette, “Ha! And how long do you suppose we’ll last? We have no women among us to repopulate the world.”
One of the other tank crewmembers angrily pulled off her helmet and shook her strawberry blonde hair out, “And what the hell do you call me?”
She suddenly looked around uncomfortably; every man’s head had whipped around and were now regarding her with the sort of look that a wolf usually gives a rabbit. A very small rabbit. She slowly pulled her helmet back over her head and sank back into her tank, …umm, never mind.”

The Spearman looked around at everybody. Then he sighed and joined Sholes on the tank for a smoke. He lit up before speaking. When he spoke, his voice seemed very distant, yet at the same time, it seemed quite close. It was a voice that reminded one of how young they were, while making you feel old. A voice like the whispering wind, the babbling brook, and the hustling highway all at once. Even Mike was impressed despite himself by that voice.
“You are not the only people left in the world. As we speak, the survivors are scattered as leaves in the wind. In an underground bunker. At an Arctic expedition. A small Amazon village. Yourselves. In time, you will all create your own civilizations, and the ways of this world will pass with time. You will create new ways, new ideas. You will build new cities and conquer new lands. All this will come to pass in time, as it has many times before this, and will many times to come. This game is over. The User has retired. My time here is done. Until the next game, Goodbye.”
And then The Spearman slowly vanished.

The remaining people looked around at each other for a while in silence. Eventually, A.S.Shole said, “Well, I seem to have a case of beer in the trunk of my tank. Anybody want some?”
Mike replied, “Yeah! And I know a pretty cool cave we can all go and hang out in.”
Whereupon the remaining few mortals who where to become a powerful and mighty civ in the future, and Death, who had snuck in with the crowd when nobody was looking, got blind, stinking drunk.

THE END

[vovan]

Thanks for brining this story over to these forums, Chingis Khan! I am sure everybody here will enjoy it. This is some great funny stuff.

[TheGuitarist]

That was undoubtedly the strangest story I have ever read on 'Poly.

However, it was also extremely well written and a very enjoyable read. Thanks, Mr. Khan, for that unforgettable journey into your brain.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Wow what an excellent read!!

For the love of gods/spearmen everywhere you gotta write us some more stories our Chingis.