[All_Most PUNK]: 15.Dark Goddess In Town

“The Dark Goddess is in town!” screamed Gargalion, closing the door violently behind him.
“Yes, of course she is. She's everywhere, in every thing. She keeps us under her chains, with her omnipresent power, with the dark energies that emerge from her dark, dark soul.” The man named Turner, who was the leader of the revolutionary group, stood up, right in front of the flag of the kingdom of Sarinia, that flamed conveniently behind him. Curiously, there was no windows on the small hut, so that could only be blamed on the magic of theatrical speaking. “The dark energies that keep us working the fields, doing all the hard work, slaving here, while she looks to us from her castle, never putting a foot between us, but still present everywhere, looking for signs of rebellion,” Turner jumped on the table and shot his fist towards the roof, “signs of us, the people, fighting for the freedom that should be ours by right, trying to find a way to beat her dark legions and her cruel minions. Us, the Freedom Fighters, that plan unfailingly ways to...” Turner stopped his speech noticing that Gargalion was staring at him without his chest filled with the pride of the fight.
“Actually, I mean that she is literally here, on the town. She came personally to punish the mayor, because of that little... taxes misunderstanding.”
“Oh, that.” Turner climbed down the little ladder that he kept next to the table, in case of these situations, since he had taken those drama classes. He had been sure that it was going to help him when it came the moment to lead the forces of the Freedom Fighters to the mountain of Doom, where the one who couldn't be named lived. Sadly, that didn't seem to be the case. His leading skills didn't seem to have improved a lot. All he seemed to have acquired thanks to the classes was a strange impulse to jump on furniture, declaim and gesticulate too much. Not to mention the strange sideways looks everybody gave him those days, especially since he had had to play a satyr on the carnival. Nobody understood the magic of method acting anymore. “I told McDuff that there was no way the Dark Goddess accountants wouldn't notice that he had spent twice the amount of money used last year on building ships. Especially considering the general lack of seas in desert areas like this one. Idiot, he should have used a better excuse. Like that we needed a new lighthouse. Or more beer, to keep us dumb and easy to manipulate.” Turner started to climb the table again, but stopped himself right on time.
That's when he noticed that Gargalion was carrying a pitchfork and a torch.
“Wow, so this is really it?” Turner couldn't help but asking, almost in a whisper, half anticipation and half lack of air.
“Yes,” answered Gargalion, in tones as dark as those of his leader. “The day has finally come.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Turner, this is finally the day. Today is Harvest in the dark day.” While he was talking, Gargalion moved the torch around a little, casting weird shadows on the things around him and torching the flower curtains that were the pride of the Freedom Fighters headquarters.
“Uh, so soon. It's usually the best party in town. There won't be any kind of play? Because I wasn't invited to play any part.” Turner hardly could keep the sadness out of his face.
“Well, you know, the part of the serial killer wasn't assigned yet, but we thought it may be a little dangerous to give it to you... Anyway, the important thing is that the Dark Goddess...”
“Couldn't we just call her DG? It's shorter.”
“Well, ok, but not on official occasions. Well, DG is in town. Which means this is probably our best chance. I mean, maybe if we don't have to cross the oceans of fire, combat against the creatures made of pure darkness, fight the shadow knights and all those horrors; maybe if we don't have to do all that, we may actually have a chance of, at least, shout at her a little before she turns us into poodles.”
“And don't forget the horses.”
“The horses? The flesh eating horses that the Dark Godde...”
“DG.”
“Err, I mean... that GD keeps in her stables?” Gargalion felt that his leader wasn't really focusing enough on the matter at hand. Or maybe Turner was focusing too much and the simple soldier just couldn't keep up.
“No,” answered Turner while he gave the final touches to a big banner that said ‘The Dark Goddess must fall’. For some reason that nobody knew, an invisible hand had written ‘John 3:16’ on the back of the it. “I meant the horses we would have to ride to get to Mountain of Doom. Do you know how your lower back feels after that ride? Besides, I had to eat my horse after the satyr incident. The grocery woman refused to sell me anything except funny shaped vegetables. She's a weird woman.” Turner shrugged in horror. “Anyway, I'm ready. Get all our revolution comrades here and we can go save this city of that scourge that scourges our land with the...”
“Scourge that scourges, Turner?”
“Well, I failed that class on impressive speech.”
Gargalion sighed and opened the door a little, looking outside really carefully.
“Nobody in sight. And it seems it is only the two of us. Shouldn't we take some kind of weapon or something? How will they know we are a revolution if we don't? I mean, all I have is this pitchfork and this useless torch.”
“Yes, that may be a problem.” Turner looked outside almost as carefully as his partner, with the difference that he was behind, and therefore wasn’t really able to see a thing. “I have my sword. Well, it's a kitchen knife, but I sharpened it a lot. And where are the rest of us?”
“They called in sick when they heard that the Dark Godd...”
“DG,” corrected Turner for the zillionth time.
“... DG was in town. Must be an epidemic. Poor guys. I hope they aren't feeling too bad. Should we get a doctor for them?” Gargalion's face showed all his concern. It also showed that he had held his torch too close to his face.
“I think their problem will be solved pretty soon. Now, without any doubts, let's move forward towards destiny, towards glory...” While saying this, Turner started to climb a chair. “... to get the freedom that we deserve, that we must gain with blood and honour (more of the second that of the first, hopefully)...” holding the banner high and making it move in synchrony with his words, Turner jumped from the chair, opened the door and walked on “with all the...”
“Err, Turner, only one question before we face DG...”
“Dark Goddess," corrected Turner with a sigh.
“... Dark Goddess.”
“Yes, Gargalion, go ahead, ask it without any fear. We must have our heads clear of self-doubts before destroying the evil.”
“What does ‘John 3:16’ mean?”
And the two men left the Freedom Fighters headquarters, leaving it defended only by a cat, two rats and a lot of good hope... and none of it could keep the fire from the curtains to consume all the rest of the hut. Except the flag. Once again, the magic of theatrical storytelling.



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The Dark Goddess was standing in the middle of the central square of the small town. Why she was standing can only be explained by the fact that there wasn't probably a chair big enough for a woman four meters tall. Not that she needed one. Usually the skulls of her enemies were enough to create a nice throne. Then again, lately there hadn't been enemies worth it. And she was feeling more and more attracted towards birds and flowers these days, towards the contemplation of beautiful sunrises and green prairies filled with happy animals and such. She was feeling pretty sick, to be honest.
She (if such gender distinctions can be applied to eternal beings that are way beyond our understanding capabilities) was a tall, dark haired and dark skinned woman, terrible in her beauty, owner of a cruel smile that only made her even more outstandingly precious. And those are sentences that have been used so many times in human history that they have an identity on themselves. That said, the skulls on her neck added a nice touch and the hairdo wasn't incredible, but complemented the rest pretty well. The bracelets on her wrists were a little antiquated, but fitted the general style in the right way. All in all, it could be said that she wasn't a fashion victim, but liked to take care of her looks.
In front of her, McDuff, mayor of the small town (that, as you may have noticed, doesn't have a name) tried to squash himself to the floor. Or into it, actually. Maybe he was hoping to magically get some mole abilities and be able to escape digging. Somebody should have told him that the people that get those abilities never have a good end. They always end up killing maids in the dark and eating them, and later being hunted by vengeful husbands/boyfriends/pretenders. Sure, that was better than what was happening to him, but it isn't a good long-term career choice.
And, of course, he was whining a plea.
“Then, McDuff, explain to me why, if I've given all my support to you, if I've chosen you personally, why do you betray me this way?” the Goddess' voice could only be defined as big. It seemed to fill the whole place, be everywhere. All the people that have gathered on the square (which was most of the town. After all, any time that a public functionary is being humiliated, people need to see it. It doesn't matter if it's the most beloved in history. The fall of a politician reinforces the belief that, at least to a certain degree, there's still hope for humanity) had the feeling that the rage was directed towards them. Which in a way, was right. After all, the Goddess was angry with most people most of the time. “Haven't I answered your prayers? Haven't I been good... err... less evil with you?”
McDuff was, essentially, a very religious man (something hard to avoid, when your religious figure visits you every month to “discuss” taxes). And, just like most religious men, there were few things that he feared more than being in front of the object of his adoration. Being in front of a really angered object of adoration was one of those few things. And in those cases there was only one thing to do: blame somebody else.
“But, my Goddess, it wasn't my fault. I really thought we were making ships to commerce with...” That's when the mayor's brain finally caught up with his mouth and sensed that it was going into a dead end. “I mean, I was betrayed by your enemies, my lady. Tricked into stealing those funds and planning to run away to Laran.” And that was the moment when his brain decided that it couldn't do anything against that mouth and that its best (and only) chance was shutting down.
“And not only that, McDuff, but also my advisors tell me that there's some kind of... ‘rebel’ movement brewing in this place” With two of her six hands (conveniently located at the end of her six arms), the Dark Goddess pressed her eyes, in a very humane (and futile) effort to stop a headache that seemed to be starting. “Is that possible? Could there be someone unhappy...” she stopped and thought there. After all, it was obvious that there was a lot of people unhappy. It was part of her job to make them unhappy. “... Well, someone unhappy and dumb enough to dare risk my rage? Or there's not enough poodles in the town?”
“Well, I’m not sure about the unhappiness. That there's people dumb enough, that's sure. But we can prevent them from doing anything to you, my Lady of the supreme power! We'll discover who they are and punish them to all the extent of the law... this is, of your desires.” To be fair with McDuff, the mayor knew perfectly who were the revolutionaries and where their “clubhouse” was. But he wasn't going to betray them. He wasn't that kind of a man. He was going to wait until he had found a way to blame them for the funds mess before doing that.
“I don't think that will be necessary, McDuff. They seem to be here.” And with these words, the incarnation of pure evil (with all respect, of course) turned her attention to the very small group of people that were entering the square.



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It is said, by people who know a lot more than we do (or say so. And who are we to contradict them?) that an object can't travel as fast or faster than the speed of light without achieving infinite mass and causing a black hole (which to poor dumb us sounds like that they become suddenly very big and very empty). They are probably right. Other people that also know a lot (more or less than the others, we don't know) say that if you travel at a speed superior to that of the light you wouldn't get older and you could take a spaceship and meet your descendants when they are older than you (as if somebody would want to do that. It's a sure cause for migraine). They are also probably right.
Nobody, nevertheless, says anything about that happens to bodies attracted towards Dark Goddesses and moving as slowly as it is possible, without actually being still. There's a lot of things that happen to them. They live longer, for example. And they also have more time to think for a second (and third and fourth, sometimes) time about what they are doing. Which usually, when facing impossible odds, isn't a good idea. That was exactly the process that the three men entering the town square were going through.
Now, you may notice that there are three men now, when originally there was only two. The truth is that Gargalion and Turner had been able to gather one more of their comrades in arms. The name of the man was Ardian. And he had called in sick that day. Fate though, that has the sense of humour of a insane clown (note that sane clown is an oxymoron), decided than he was going to be in the street when his leader passed recruiting. And he was on the street because he was going to the town's sage for some medicine for his real health problem (the only real one in all the Freedom Fighters squad). That's where the “humour” enters. And we probably should have said “masochist torturer”, not “insane clown”.
All in all, the Fighters were slowly making progression on their way towards the place where the multitude was standing.
“Turner, why are you walking that way?” asked Gargalion, turning his head slightly backwards, to where his leader was almost standing still.
“Which way?”
“Like that. See? Three steps forward, one step backwards'”
“Oh... it's... err... a ritual dance made to... err... scare the demons away,” answered Turner, taking two steps backwards this time, since they seemed to be getting closer.
“And it works?”
“Sure, sure. Do you see any demons around here? Well, except for the Lady of All Power. See, I'm always working for you, my dear Gargalion”, answered Turner again, this time moving behind his two comrades.
“It sure seems to be scaring the grocery woman. Look, she has something on her hand.” Gargalion waved in the general of a group of women, who didn’t seem to be sure if they had to giggle or be terrified of the dark, tall woman near them. They seemed to have decided that a nervous giggle had the advantages of both activities.
Turner jumped a little, to see from behind the back of his friend. “Is that a...?” His face stretched in horror “Yes, it is! A funny shaped vegetable! Oh, God... err... Oh, Dark Goddess, keep that woman away from me! Don't let her get closer, Gargalion!”
“She doesn't seem very interested in coming closer. What's that gesture she's doing? Must be some old magical gesture against the evilness.” Gargalion started repeating it, but Turner stopped him.
“Gargalion, just don't do that. Just... don't.” A sound from the left attracted their attention, making them forget about the shape of certain vegetables. “Eww, tell Ardian that he doesn't need to throw up. We know he isn't really sick. That's disgusting.” While they talked (and threw up) that way, they finally arrived to where the six armed woman was standing.
Turner coughed a couple times, made sure that there was something to jump on, and started to talk. What he said was: “Gargalion, take care of the situation.” Being able to use the best man (available) was, on his opinion, one of the marks of a good leader. Not dying when the battle was just starting was another. And being alive to surrender to the enemy was the last and most important of them.
“So, are you here to swear loyalty to me, your goddess?” asked the dark woman. She was pretty sure that that wasn't the case, but it never hurt to ask. What hurt was sending them to the pits of Hell and turning them inside out. That really hurt... the victims.
Turner pushed Gargalion in front.
“C'mon, do it! Why have you been training for so long if it isn't for this moment? All those long hours in the backyard, waving your sword and aiming with your bow,” whispered the leader of the Freedom Fighters in the ear of his subordinate. “Remember Arthus and his victory over the Dark Necromagus back in -76.”
“Well... but he was a prince. That's an advantage. If you are a prince and you are sent in an incredibly dangerous mission inside enemy territory, accompanied only by a handful of carefully chosen companions that include a wizard, an elf, a dwarf and at least one useless, dumb halfling, plus six to ten soldiers whose names nobody ever mentions, then there's no way that you can lose. It's basic maths. Ten and one prince against two thousand and one evil overlord equals to a triumph by the prince side.” Gargalion frowned and kept on whispering. “Have you ever wondered why they send the princes in those quests? I mean, I'm sure there are a lot of less vital for the correct functioning of the kingdom and a lot better trained soldiers that would be able to take care of the situation. If I were a prince, I'd spend all my days lying in a sofa with beautiful women giving me grapes and things. It would be a nice life. And I wouldn't allow any king to make me leave it. I would stand up for myself and say: ‘No, daaaad, please noooooooooo, I don't wanna gooooo’. Yeah, that's what I would do.”
The problem with whispering is that you can't keep it up for a long time. You either run of air or breath hard to get more and then people know what you are doing. Also, it sounds ridiculous after a while. And people aren't more interested in what you say just because you are whispering. But they are more interested in the fact that you are talking. It's the attraction for the forbidden or, the way it is known in some other parts of the world, the gossip-paparazzi syndrome.
That means that by the time that Gargalion ended his little speech, the entire town square (or the people on it, to be more exact) was inclined towards him, trying to listen. So that's when he blushed a little.
“Cough cough,” coughed the Dark Goddess, right over the revolutionaries shoulders. “That's me trying to get your attention, if that's ok with you. Unless you want to continue with your small talk.”
When he heard this, Gargalion fell to his knees and started to pray. Turner lifted him, shaking him a little more than necessary in the process.
“We are the revolution here, Gargalion! We don't fall on our knees and pray!”
“Sorry. Some learned reflexes are hard to forget.”
He turned and faced the Dark Goddes.
“Ehhh... hello?” the second in command of the FF tried to smile.
“Hello? You are a revolution and that's all you have to say? Hello?” McDuff was unimpressed. Then he remembered that he wasn't supposed to know who was in the revolution and who wasn't and decided to return to his ‘vanishing inside the earth’ business.
The coughing Goddess coughed even louder. Gargalion collected some courage and started his speech again.
“So, Miss DG... I mean... Dark Goddess (is that a composite last name or you use two?) you see, we have to have a revolution. It's customary. It's not that we are really against you but...”
While saying this, Gargalion was playing nervously with his hat. That's an interuniversal sign of nervousness. Even more, in some planes where the inhabitants have no heads they had to invent hats for other parts of the body just so marriage proposals and petitions for a raise went a little better and faster. Or with less nails bitten, at least.
Turner prodded him. “Say it!”
“Well... you’ll see, your majesty of eternal pain and destruction, it's all the killing and turning people on poodles. Some say it's not okay.” Gargalion choose this moment to analyze his speech a little. “I'm not saying it's not ok, but maybe... well... errr... ”
The Goddess stared at Gargalion with eyes burning with something that could have been pure hatred. Or that should have been it. If it wasn't, it was because she was going through that flowers stage. So, she stared at him with eyes burning with a certain tiredness. Which is a lot bluer flame.
“Well, if they don't like being turned into poodles, I'll turn them into collies.” Normally a manic laugh would have been heard here, but she just couldn't do it.
“Oh, collies. Well, that would be an improvement, I guess... But... couldn't we... y'know... kill you and be victorious? There's no hard feelings but...” In a way, Gargalion was feeling that he was losing control of the conversation. But that wasn't true. You can't lose what you never had. It was the moment to look for some support. He turned towards his fellow Fighters. Turner was staring interestedly, but Ardian seemed a little distracted by the fact that his food didn't want to stay inside of his body. “How am I doing, Turner?”
“Pretty well, Gargalion. The triumph seems pretty close. You just need to grab it.”
“You know,” said the DG with a contemplative frown. “I’ve given some thought to that ‘killing me’ idea and... I DON'T THINK SO!” with a gesture of her hand, the goddess turned everybody but herself (obviously) and the FF into chihuahuas. “I think this is a better idea.” The woman beamed. It really seemed an imaginative way to punish those that had done absolutely nothing to deserve it.
“Oh! That's not right! You can't do that! They are nice people! Please!” Turner needed to shout this because, as everybody knows, there's no way to keep a chihuahua quiet for more than 10 seconds. “It's even worse that the poodles!”
“Yes, that's not nice of you, you... you...” Gargalion stuttered a little, looking for the right insult “...benign Goddess!”
“Oh yes? And why should I be nice? Are you ever nice with me? Do you bring me sacrifices? Do you destroy my enemies? Do you ever think about me before going to sleep and pray that I sleep well? Or would you, if I ever slept? I don't think so!” Behind the dark skinned woman a maelstrom of pure energy was forming. Rags of black, red and, for some reason, yellow energy seemed to compete to reach the centre of it in the less possible time. The energy itself formed shapes and let the FF get a glimpse of the horrors to come. Tentacles tried to pass through the hole in reality that the dark energies were creating. Not only that, but the deafening colours and the blinding sounds had scared the chihuahuas, so they were all barking at the same time.
Gargalion was scared, to say the least. To be more exact, we should say that he was feeling like a poodle in the middle of a tsunami. That means that, as smart people have pointed, he was wet and filled with a sense of impending doom. Which is a pretty obvious way to be when you are facing an angered Dark Goddess.
So, he did the only think he could do. He told the truth.
“Err... yes. We do all that. We have a shrine in the middle of the of the square.” He pointed in the direction where the shrine was. “I know it's kinda covered with dog droppings, but that's hardly our fault now, is it?”
“Oh... sorry.” With a gesture, the Goddess returned everyone to normal. “Err... so, keep up the good work!” She tried to smile and be supportive, but she wasn't trained for it, obviously. “Well... you know what I mean... I...” Images of flowers and pretty lakes kept coming to her head. “Well... I think I'll go now. Just be terrified of me and all that. And if you ever come visit at home... well, come in the afternoon, when the horses have already been fed. Or bring meat with you.” The Goddess started to vanish in a cloud of pure light (which is an interesting phenomenon to observe because it doesn't involve as much smoke as dust).
One thing has to be said about politicians: they don't know when to keep their mouth shut. And because of that, McDuff chose that moment to make a sound. Not a very big one. Just a relieved breath. But that was enough.
The DG became coherent for one second, long enough to raise her hand and shoot some kind of spectral light in the direction of the mayor. And after that, she disappeared, leaving behind three members of the FF, a whole town that suddenly felt really strong about trees and a big pig with a tie. A really big pig. With a tie. Isn't that a funny image?
“Wow... that went well or what, Turner?” asked Gargalion, who wasn't feeling impending doom anymore, only wet. “We managed to turn everybody back to normal! We are the best!”
“I don't want to ruin your moment, Gar, but they were normal before our revolution. So I don't think it counts.” Turner turned around and stared at the pig. “Well, at least McDuff won't be around so much pestering about the taxes.”
“You think Emma is going to cook him... it?”
“Nahh, Emma is a smart woman. She'll take her husb... her pig home with her and wait 'till tomorrow. It's too late to cook him now. You know how long it takes for a whole pig to be well done. You need to kill it in the morning, then let the blood dry, prepare a big fire, put the pig over the fire! Prepare the condiments! Put them on the pig! Add salt! Prepare...”
“Oh, yeah, yeah, right... Do you think you could climb down from that well and we could go home?”
“Oh, yeah, sure.”
Turner jumped from the well and both men walked home, towards the horizon, where the sun was setting, just like any victorious army does, if it doesn't want to contradict the rules of popular belief. Of course, they hadn't won... but they hadn't lost either. They were kinda in the middle... Well, they were alive and that's a lot to say.