The RED Cataclysm

The RED Cataclysm

Chapter One: Action Chapter!

Well, that was easier than I thought it would be.

“There. It’s physically impossible to slip out of these bonds, so don’t waste your energy trying,” I say to my captive. I smirk as I slink over to the chair she used to be sitting in and settle in in front of my brand new collection of monitors. The light from these monitors is the only thing lighting this room. Good thing they take up literally an entire wall.

I try to get comfortable in the chair for a while. My smirk eventually turns into a dopey grin. I can’t get over how easy this was. It’s a good thing I kept those psychic links, otherwise I’d never have found this place. That reminds me… I start examining the gigantic switchboard in front of me, reading as many of the tiny labels as I can. “Hey,” I casually ask, “which one of these connects me to the Discipline Room?”

“You know, you’re not going to get away with this,” my captive says instead of replying. I glance over to my immediate left just in time to catch the elderly woman roll her eyes with no more than annoyance.

“I already have!” I reply, stifling a giggle. “I never get tired of saying that.”

“I sincerely hope you weren’t expecting me to be afraid of you,” the woman says scornfully. “I don’t know what you are, exactly, but I’ve seen more intimidating monsters at the DMV.”

“I don’t want to scare you, I just want your job!” I reply, grinning at her and standing up. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll keep you on board as a consultant, at least until I figure out what I’m doing. Since we’re going to be working together, I might as well introduce myself.” I reach out to her, stretching my arm a few times its normal length in the process. “I’m Discord, god of chaos and disharmony by trade. It’s lovely to finally meet you, Helen.”

And it really is, I realize. I mean, here’s a woman who basically controls the entire world, and nopony even knows she’s doing it. I could never do that. I admire her stealth. On top of that, I admire how cautious she is. She plans for every potential outcome of a situation, running contingencies upon contingencies. She plans for everything. And you can’t defeat a woman who plans for everything. Hay, she even has a ‘the control room has been taken over by an all-powerful entity’ protocol. Good thing I was able to tie her up before she could sound the alarm.

“The same cannot be said for you,” Helen replies.

“I thought you’d say that,” I sigh, retracting my arm. “Nopony likes being replaced, after all.” I snap my fingers and sit down again. This time, my tail easily slips through the hole I’ve just willed into existence. Much better.

“You will not get away with this, Discord,” Helen snarls. “My men will be upon our position any moment now, and then they’ll knock you out of my throne and put me back in charge.”

“This is a throne?” I wonder aloud. I bounce up and down in the chair a few times. “Hm. Not really my style. Anyway, I think the Overseers are due for a change in leadership. After all, your family’s been ruling them for almost a century and a half now.” I grin and turn back to Helen. “Which reminds me, thanks for setting all this up. I’ve always wanted to run my own secret society, but I never had the patience to get started.”

“Something tells me you wouldn’t be very subtle, either,” Helen scoffs.

“Guilty as charged!” I say, placing my talons on my chest and grinning.

“In fact, I’m simply shocked that you managed to remain in existence for as long as you have undetected,” Helen continues.

I smile, and for some strange reason, I feel my cheeks heating up. “Gee, thanks,” I say, turning back to my monitors. “I’ve only been on Earth-VC8-Prime for a few hours now, though. Before that, I lived on Equus-HOA1-Prime. I was imprisoned in stone, in fact. It wasn’t until earlier today that I was able to escape.” I turn back to Helen, a beaming grin on my face. “You wanna hear how I did it?”

“Certainly,” Helen sneers.

“You only said yes to stall me until your men arrive, didn’t you?” I ask.

“Well, yes,” Helen replies, “but you would have told me the story even if I’d said no.”

“Touché,” I muse, stroking my beard. “Well, let’s take care of that, then, shall we?” I lean back and glance at the double doors on the wall to my left, the only exit to the room. I snap my fingers and they slam shut of their own accord. After a few moments, they start glowing a soft white. “There. Those men of yours won’t be getting past that with anything less powerful than a megaspell.”

“I’m sorry?” Helen asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Oh, right, I keep forgetting I’m not at home anymore,” I chuckle, turning back to my switchboard. “What I meant to say is, they won’t be getting past that with anything less powerful than a nuke.”

I sigh and shift my weight, getting more comfortable in my new throne as I pore over the switchboard. “How did this all go down, anyway?” I muse, stroking my beard again. “It’s so hard to remember how it all started sometimes. Well, I started off as the deformed hellspawn of a primordial entity who shape-shifted too much during the pregnancy…”

“I can’t possibly imagine that being relevant,” Helen interjects. “Why not find a logical point at which to begin your story instead?”

“Awww…” I cross my arms and stick out my lower lip. “You’re no fun, Helen.” Suddenly, I spot something on the switchboard. “Oh, here’s the switch!” I say. I snap my fingers, and a gag suddenly wraps itself around Helen’s mouth. At the same time, with my other hand, I flick the switch I’ve been looking for. One of the monitors in front of me switches on. It shows what looks like an operating room. A human in a red rubber jumpsuit and gas mask is strapped to the table, and a man in a brown trench coat and hat is standing over it, holding a hacksaw over its right knee.

I pull the microphone that’s mounted to the switchboard a little closer to me. “Your att—” I clear my throat and start over. This time, after I rub my throat a bit, my voice sounds exactly like that of my hostage. “Your attention please, minion.” The man in the trenchcoat looks up. “Disregard that disciplinary order I gave earlier. Release the Pyro. We’ll deal with it later.” The rubber-suited human visibly relaxes and begins shaking. There’s no audio feed into the Disciplinary room, but I’m pretty sure the Pyro’s laughing. I flick the switch back and the monitor just shuts off.

I lean back and sigh. “Well, I’m glad that’s out of the way,” I say. I snap my fingers again, and the gag vanishes in a puff of smoke.

“Why did you do that?” Helen asks not a second later.

“It’s not the Pyro’s fault it breached its contract,” I reply. “And unlike you, I care about employee morale. Now, then, our story begins on Earth-VC8-Prime, just outside of Teufort, New Mexico on the summit of Black Mesa. As I recall, it was just after midnight, so it had just become the 26th of June.”

“How do you know the story begins there?” Helen interjects. “You said you were a native of Equus-HOA1-Prime, and you didn’t arrive here until today. So, logically, how could you have known about anything that happened in this universe before then?”

“Well, that’s the beauty of psychic links,” I say, waving my arm dismissively and smirking. “I gained access to all the memories of our tale’s… heroes? For lack of a better term, sure. I gained access to all their memories when I established some psychic links with them. So I learned about a few things that happened before I knew they existed. Including the beginning of this story I’m about to tell. Now please, Helen, don’t interrupt me. It’s rude.”

“Stop calling me Helen,” Helen demands acidly.

I look back at Helen. She’s got the most adorable scowl on her face. “No,” I reply, flashing her what I hope is a charming grin. “Now, then. A short, moderately muscular man in a pair of workman’s overalls, a hard hat, a single, yellow rubber glove and a pair of goggles clawed his way up the mountain.”

He had a name, but no one had called him by it for years now. He was paid to die. Technically, he was paid to kill, but dying was an equally necessary part of the job. After all, you can’t fight a war without dying a few times. He was employed by Reliable Excavation and Demolition (RED) for the final five years of the Gravel Wars between said company and Builders’ League United (BLU). Then he worked for Mann Co. for a bit, and then he went back to working for RED. He was the RED Engineer, arguably the smartest man on his nine-man team, and he was getting a bit sick of this.

With one last mighty heave, he hauled himself onto the summit of the plateau. Taking a deep breath of the cool night air, he got to his feet and looked up. In front of him loomed a gargantuan stone castle, the likes of which wouldn’t have seemed out of place in a low-budget horror movie’s stock footage. It lacked the pointed towers and arched windows of the classic Gothic manor, but what it was missing in style it made up for in atmosphere. The stones making up its walls were cracked and weather-worn, making it seem as though it had existed atop this mesa for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. The mere sight of the fortress sent a shiver down his spine. He could tell that its unmistakably eldritch atmosphere would have been enough to compel lesser men to enter, inevitably fall victim to the horrors contained within, and never resurface—that, or run away screaming in terror.

And on top of all that, it shouldn’t have been there. This was a New Mexico mountaintop, after all, not a Transylvanian one. Ha, I love looking at it. I’m gonna build myself one just like it one day. Anyway…

A second mercenary was quick to haul himself onto the mesa after the Soldier, but not nearly as quickly. Now, bear with me for a second here. The title of the “brawn” of the RED Team is split between the Heavy, who routinely carries around gatling guns that weigh around 150 kilograms apiece, and the Soldier, who holds the position of field commander despite—or maybe because of—his belief that he can perceive multiple planes of reality at once. Keeping with that metaphor, today’s party was occupied by the brains: the Engineer, who has eleven hard science degrees in fields such as physics, chemistry and arcane studies, and the man crawling up the mountain now, the Medic. The Medic’s uniform consisted of the standard medical attire. You know, white lab coat, glasses, red rubber gloves, backpack full of healing juice… the whole nine yards. He was allegedly on the team to support his teammates and keep them alive on the battlefield, hence his title. Allegedly. There’s plenty of evidence to the contrary, but we’ll discuss it later.

Of course, I really don’t know why I’m telling you all that, since it used to be your job to know everything about them. But… oh well. I’ve got a lot of pent-up energy right now, and dammit, I’m gonna use every last ounce!

The Medic got to his feet, adjusted his glasses and brushed off his lab coat. “Remind me, Engineer, vat’s ze cue again?” he asked.

“How many times did I already tell ya?” the Engineer sighed, rolling his eyes.

“I don’t remember,” the Medic replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Fine. The cue is, ‘I hear the locals can get violent,’” the Engineer answered. “You can remember that for the five minutes it’ll take t’ get in there, can’tcha?”

“Jawohl,” the Medic replied.

“So where’s the little firebrand?” the Engineer asked, crossing his arms. “The cue doesn’t mean anything if he ain’t here.”

“Vere do you zink he is?” the Medic replied, gesturing to the cliff.

A third voice suddenly injected itself into the conversation. “Rrnjrrnrr? Hrrlp, Rrrm shtrrk,” it said.

The Engineer took a quick glance behind him and scoffed. He quickly took a knee and extended his hand to the third mercenary to scale Black Mesa. “Ya know, ya’d think ya’d know how to climb a mountain by now, Pyro,” he chuckled.

The Engineer, after a few moments of exertion, was able to drag the Pyro up the mountain. Honestly, I’m surprised he was able to do that. I’m surprised the Pyro’s even able to move under the weight of that red rubber jumpsuit it wears, not to mention the asbestos it’s lined with. The Pyro took a deep breath which, like everything else it said, was severely muffled through the filter of its gas mask and adjusted the toilet plunger— excuse me, “Handyman’s Handle”— it wore on its head. “Rrr brrd thrr thrrnksh, grrd shrr grrlrrmrrsht,” it said, tipping its “hat” to the Engineer and giving him an over-the-top bow.

The Engineer chuckled. “Forsooth, ‘twas my pleasure, citizen,” he said, returning the Pyro’s bow.

The Medic rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Ven you two are qvite finished…” he grumbled, tapping his foot.

The Pyro placed its fists on its hips and leaned forward, tilting its head to the side. “Shtrry thrry trrng, rrprrthrrkrrrry,” it said simply.

“Ve’re not here to haff fun. Ve haff a job to do,” the Medic countered.

“By the Incomprehensible Nether Regions a’ the Ruinous Shoggoth, ya’re right,” the Engineer agreed, nodding and crossing his arms. The Pyro giggled and the Medic rolled his eyes. “Okay, seriously, though, we do have a job to do. An’ the sooner we get it done, the sooner we can go home. Y’all know the plan.”

The Engineer set off across the mesa purposefully without another word. His teammates moved after him with little to no delay. “You know,” the Medic remarked, “I still don’t know vhy you haff to be here. I mean, vouldn’t ze Soldier be a better pick for zis mission? He’s ze von who has a history vis Merasmus. Besides, aren’t you supposed to be helpink break ze siege at ze Rainbow Factory?” Heh, Rainbow Factory. I just love that codename. I’ll tell you why later.

“Ya need six mercs t’ fight the robots. We went over this ‘fore we left.” The Engineer began counting on his fingers. “Scout lost another bet, Sniper’s usin’ sanctioned immunity, Heavy, Spy an’ Demoman volunteered, an’ Soldier’s still grounded after Earth-HOLA5-Prime. Six. That leaves us.”

“I know zat,” the Medic said, nodding. “It just seems a bit… vell, unjust. It’s not ze Soldier’s fault he kidnapped ze President, and besides, you all had fun, didn’t you?”

The Engineer chuckled. “Well, I don’t know about the Soldier,” he said. “But Earth-HOLA5-Prime was a lotta fun for me, at least. I never did thank that MC Bat Commander feller for givin’ me an excuse t’ break out my guitar.”

The Pyro giggled softly. “Rrr wrrsh Rrrd brrn thrr trr shrr thrrt, Mrrshtrr Jrrkbrrksh Hrrrrrw,” it said, clapping the Engineer on the back.

“I wish ya’d been there too,” the Engineer said. “I bet you an’ the MC woulda gotten along. But as fun as it was, the Soldier still kidnapped the President. The Administrator had to give ‘im some kinda punishment, so ‘e’s grounded. Ya wouldn’t think a’ defyin’ the Administrator, wouldja, Doc?”

The question may have been directed at the Medic, but it sent a shiver down all their spines. The concept of defying the Administrator was the only thing that could still scare them. After all, who knew what the Administrator would do to them if they defied her orders? Assign them to defend or capture that hydroelectric dam that no one likes fighting over for some reason? Deactivate their capability to respawn, allowing them to finally die for good? Kidnap the surviving members of their families, where applicable, and use them as leverage? Force them to respawn in her dreaded Disciplinary Room? Cut their salaries?

The Engineer stepped as confidently as he could up to the large double doors of the castle, his team close behind him. He took a deep breath and cracked his knuckles. “Brace yourselves,” he said. His team was quick to brace for impact. He knocked three times on the big ol’ doors, leaving him just enough time to secure his hard hat and brace for impact before the doors burst open.

“Who dares disturb MERASMUS THE MAGICIAN?! This is an eldritch castle of dark magic!Not a pancake house!” The team had been wise to brace themselves; the sheer power of the voice was enough to blow lesser and/or unprepared men backward. No mean feat, considering that he had no physical lungs from which to bellow.

“Howdy, mister! We’re sellin’ Girl Scout cookies,” the Engineer deadpanned, straightening his spine again. The spectral sorcerer hovering in the doorway glowered at the Engineer, clenching his nearly six-foot, completely corporeal staff tightly in one mildly transparent hand.

“Oh, not you again,” he chuckled.

“Nice to see you again, too, Merasmus,” the Engineer replied, smiling amiably.

“Somezink’s different about you tonight,” the Medic observed, trying to make himself sound like he was trying to be friendly but failing and coming off as sinister instead, a skill which he’d grown remarkably good at over the years.

“Oh, you noticed?” Merasmus smirked. “I have made some lifestyle changes, on account of my new location. Tell me, what do you think?” The team gave Merasmus a quick once-over. Of course, he was a ghost. Barring the occasional possession, he’d been a ghost since 1972. He was one of those ghosts that preferred to look kinda/sorta human, instead of like a phantasmal sheet draped over a floating man. Therefore, he still wore the ratty black cape he’d draped over his scrawny shoulders in life, and he still wore the skull of a demonic ram-like monster on his head. Surprisingly, though, instead of his normal black, tattered robes, he wore a tattered black wife beater and exercise shorts.

“Ya look like a really bad supervillain,” the Engineer observed. Couldn’t have put it better myself. Merasmus chuckled brightly.

“Well, that’s one hell of a way to greet an old friend, isn’t it?” he slurred, with a light, teasing tone to his voice. The Medic had heard that voice far too much in the past, and instinctively clenched his fists.

“Ve are not your friends, Merasmus,” he said sternly. “Friends do not sic giant floatink eyeball monsters or hordes of zombies on friends. Nor do zey attempt to slaughter friends vis magical explosives, for zat matter. Or send zem back in time, or banish zem to alternate universes, or force zem to trade bodies vis each ozzer… In fact, you’re more like our nemesis zan our friend.”

“Sure,” Merasmus chuckled, a familiar and disturbing grin crossing his face. “Then again, if I am not your friend, why do you continually return? Unless…”

“Merasmus,” the Engineer said sternly but kindly, “even if we wanted to, which we don’t, you’re incorporeal.”

Merasmus chuckled. “True,” he sneered, slowly raising and lowering his grip on his staff, “but I have been dabbling in necromancy lately.”

The Pyro covered its eye holes with its hand. “Wrry rrsh rrt rrlwrrysh yrr, Rrnjrry?” it asked.

“I wish I could tell ya,” the Engineer sighed.

Suddenly, a fifth voice forced its way into the conversation at roughly Mach 1. “I wouldn’t bodder tryna’ reason wit’ ‘im right now. ‘Ee’s really freekin’ drunk.”

The Medic only now noticed that there was a book strapped to Merasmus’s waist with a length of rope. Its cover looked kinda like a demonic face, complete with glowing red eyes and a gaping, fang-studded mouth with a giant bomb stuffed in it. “Oh hey, if it isn’t Ze Bombinomicon!” the Medic said cheerfully, waving to the forgotten tome of eldritch lore. You know, I want to meet that book someday. He’s a real barrel of laughs.

“Hey dere, Medic!” The Bombinomicon responded. “I ‘aven’t seen you seense last Smeesmas, mann!”

“You’re in a good mood, aren’t you!” the Medic chuckled. “Ze vife’s been good to you, zen?”

“Actually, ees funny you should ask,” The Bombinomicon replied. “I jus’ found out last week… we’re esspecteen’ second edeeshons!”

The Medic flinched and leaned back a little. “Vat?” he blurted out. “You… But you’re books! How in ze holy hell does zat even vork?”

The Bombinomicon just chuckled. “I tink dat’s too keenky even for you,” he said.

“Hey, vat’s zat supposed to mean?” the Medic asked, indignantly pointing at the book.

Before they could get any farther with that, the Engineer forced his way into the conversation. “Medic, Medic, we gotta situation ‘ere!” he said frantically.

The faint light in Merasmus’s eyes had gotten brighter, and began to give off faint smoke. The Engineer’s gaze somehow found their way up to them, and became locked there. Two white orbs, glinting with faint yellow light, in the pools of darkness that were the ghost’s eye sockets. Oh yeah, and two jets of green light issuing from them.

“Merasmus, you stop zat zis instant,” the Medic snapped, crossing his arms and tapping his foot.

“Stop what? I’m not doing anything,” Merasmus assured the RED Team. “I’m certainly not using magic to hypnotize your teammate. Because that would be wrong.”

“Oh for God’s sake, Merasmus, not dees again!” The Bombinomicon blurted out.

The Engineer’s body went limp, and his limbs locked themselves in place. “Help me! MEDIC, HELP ME!” he screamed. The Pyro clapped its hands over the filter on its gas mask (read: its mouth) in horror. “Get ‘im outta my head! GET ‘IM OUTTA MY HEAD!”

“I’m vorkink on it! God, calm down!” the Medic snapped, his eyes already glowing yellow. A comically large mallet made of pure red, sparkling energy materialized in his hand, and he promptly clocked the Engineer in the head with it as hard as he could.

His knees buckled from the impact. Woozy and disoriented, he swayed back and forth, feebly raised his arm, and moaned “Thank you…” before collapsing to the ground.

“Oh, now what was that for?” Merasmus groaned. “Just because I’m a ghost doesn’t mean I don’t—”

“Take control of your mind!” the Medic interrupted in a loud, powerful voice, letting his mallet fall to the ground and fade into nothingness before it landed. “Destroy ze intruder in your dreams! Snap out of it, you veak-minded coward!”

The Engineer gasped and bolted upright. After panting for a few moments, wide-eyed with shock, he slowly stood up again. “Dammit, do ya hafta use Intentionmancy on me every time we meet?” he groaned, adjusting his hard hat. “Y’know how much I hate it…”

“Ja,” the Medic added, indignantly jabbing a finger at Merasmus, “no von does zat to my team except me!”

“Rry, krrrrmbrr…” the Pyro mumbled.

“Okaaay, da creepy part’s outta da way!” The Bombinomicon said quickly. “Less’ move on to why you’re ‘ere now, okay? Okay.”

The Engineer took his hand off his face. “Ahem… W-We heard ya’d built yourself a castle out in the middle a’ the desert. We came out t’ welcome ya t’ the neighborhood.”

The Medic rolled his eyes. “And ve’re not leavink until you give us ze tour,” he added, “so you may as vell just let us in now.”

Merasmus chuckled. “Very well, mortals. You may enter.”

So with that, the wizard turned and staggered back into his castle, quickly followed by the three REDs. As the team followed him across the foyer toward the grand staircase on the opposite wall, they began to observe their surroundings. The foyer had a wooden floor with a large, square, once-green carpet in its center, above which hung a decrepit chandelier. To their left was what looked like a dining area, and to the right was the grand library. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, every ornate fixture was tarnished and splintered, and the floorboards creaked as though they would give out at any moment. The place looked every inch like a haunted mansion, which surprised me since it looked so much like a castle from the outside.

“So. You built yourself a castle, did you?” the Medic began, stopping in the precise center of the carpet along with the rest of his team. Almost immediately after it stopped, the Pyro began twitching and fidgeting like the little ball of energy it was.

“Indeed,” Merasmus answered, coming to a slow, staggering stop a few moments after the mercenaries did and turning around to face them.

“An’ it only took ya…?” the Engineer prompted, cocking his neck slightly.

“Five hours,” Merasmus replied, crossing his arms and smirking. “Five hours to construct it, but much longer than that to collect the ritual implements.”

“Eet wasn’t easy, lemme tell ya,” The Bombinomicon put in. “But, you know, we ‘ad to beeld a new castle at some point. We can’t exactly keep slummeen’ eet wit’ de abreedged publeecashuns on de way, yanno?”

The Medic scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Ja, about zat…” he snarled.

“Wait, what?” The Bombinomicon asked.

“…Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Merasmus growled, gripping his staff tighter.

“Well… yeah, now for the bad news,” the Engineer said, rubbing his hands together. “Ya know, this desert—the land ya built your castle on? It’s RED’s property. In fact, our team’s base is five miles that way.” He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, back toward the door.

“Ze boss doesn’t like ze location,” the Medic continued, crossing his arms. “By ze decree of ze Administrator, you can’t stay here. Sorry. Ve don’t make ze rules.” Merasmus was silent for a moment.

“You… mean to drive me out?” he said softly, voice quivering with rage. “Again? Can’t I just build a damn castle without you mercenaries coming in and forcing me out? I could sue you all for discrimination against a passive spirit…”

The Medic snorted. “Passive, my ass,” he sneered.

“Honestly, it’s for your own good,” Engineer said, shaking his head. “This can be a pretty bad neighborhood sometimes. I hear the locals can get violent.”

“You guys do remember Halloween ‘72, right?” The Bombinomicon pointed out. “Unless da tree a’ ya brought bows an’ arrows, I teenk we can take ya.”

“Say, Merasmus,” the Medic interjected, smirking maniacally and rubbing his gloved hands together. “Do you believe in magic?”

The Engineer cringed. Even though he knew this part was coming, it was still never easy to have to sit through it. In the same way that it’s not easy to get stabbed in the back or shot in the head or set on fire.

Merasmus blinked. “It comes with the territory, in case you haven’t noticed,” he answered.

The Medic let out one of those sadistic chuckles he was ever so good at. “Zat’s not ze kind of magic I meant.”

The Pyro took instant notice of its cue. It reached into a small satchel strapped to its waist and pulled out a Walkman. It quickly pressed a button, and tinny music began playing from its speakers. One of those good old oldies from back when the team was first hired. I love that song. The instant the Engineer heard the first drumbeat, he grit his teeth and tried to not make it obvious that he was panting like a marathon runner.

“I meant ze kind of magic in a young girl’s heart,” the Medic sneered. “You know, how ze music can free her venever it starts?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Merasmus murmured.

The Engineer was supposed to say something here, but he decided not to open his mouth so as to not risk screaming.

“…Not on purpose,” the Medic answered after a moment, his hideous grin getting wider. “But you know, sometimes ze Pyro forgets to take his meds…”

The Pyro laughed a soft, genuinely happy-sounding laugh, and began to whistle along to the song. The Engineer wiped his brow.

“We are not leaving,” Merasmus growled, gripping his staff tighter still.

The Engineer cleared his throat before replying. “I-I’m afraid you’re gonna have to. A-After all… this place ain’t yours. No one i-invited ya here, Merasmus.”

“DO NOT ANGER MERASMUS! A wizard invites HIMSELF!” The mercenaries had no time to brace themselves against the power of the wizard’s voice and were blown off their feet. They tumbled backwards through the air in perfect synchronicity and landed on their backs. The force of Merasmus’s voice continued to slide them back several feet after they hit the ground. After a few moments, they skidded to a stop. The Walkman slammed against the wall and shattered into a million pieces. Ignoring that completely, the team leapt to their feet with varying degrees of speed.

Nervous adrenaline coursed through the Engineer’s veins as he grabbed his hard hat off the floor, scrambled to his feet and growled like a rabid dog. “Okay, Merasmus! You started it!” he snapped. He reached down to his hip, pulled out an ornate pump-action shotgun and cocked it. The Medic also reached down and came back up with a truly menacing-looking black syringe gun. The Pyro, similarly, reached down to a small holster strapped to its waist and pulled out an orangish-reddish flare gun. “Let’s do this the hard way!” the Engineer shouted, aiming his shotgun right at Merasmus’s chest.

Merasmus hurled his staff aside and reached for his waist. “Forbidden book…” He yanked the Bombinomicon out and held it above his head. “I UNCHAIN THEE!”

“Oh yeah, I get to trow some bombs!” The Bombinomicon shouted gleefully.

“SCATTER!” the Medic shouted… and I think you can probably guess how things went after that. Thirteen minutes, 695 syringes, 114 shotgun shells, 1,742 metal, seven bomb-heads, a few thousand dollars’ worth of miscellaneous property damage, and one flare later—it missed—the mercenaries were… well, no, they weren’t dead. If Merasmus’d killed them, they would’ve gone for reinforcements, and I probably wouldn’t be here. Instead, he just caught them with his telekinesis and dragged them back into the foyer.

That is… surprisingly specific.

Thank you. I’ve been trying to be more combat-oriented lately. Anyway… “Well, that didn’t go as well as you planned, did it?” Merasmus sneered, stomping across the foyer.

“Damn you, Merasmus!” the Engineer shouted, shaking his fist at the ghost wizard.

“Wrrrrry!” the Pyro observed.

“We ween, suckas! Yer not gonna drive us out dat easy!” cheered The Bombinomicon with all the ferocity of the Soldier.

“Okay, it ain’t too late t’ talk about this, right?” the Engineer said frantically. “Yeah! We can just talk about this like calm, rational, sober adults!” He tried to backpedal away from Merasmus, but he was still suspended in midair, and his feet found no purchase. He only succeeded in making himself look silly, prompting a giggle from the Pyro.

“You’ve already attacked me. It’s a bit too late for diplomacy,” Merasmus sneered. “Oh, and I hope you weren’t hoping for the Wheel of Fate, either. I have something much better in mind.”

“You’re going to send us to anozzer universe again, aren’t you?!” the Medic spat. Merasmus let out a sinister chuckle.

“Oh-ho-ho, no! Dey figgered you out, Merasmus!” The Bombinomicon cackled. “You better do dis teeng, queeck!”

“Indeed, Bombinomicon!” Merasmus agreed. He floated backwards up the wooden staircase, still pointing his staff directly at the team. Never breaking eye contact, he reached back and pulled down on a concealed lever in the wall behind him, despite being incorporeal. I don’t know how that works, but… anyway. There was a loud, metallic clank which drew the suspended service-Manns’ eyes to the floor. With a mighty mechanical whir, the hardwood floor sunk down and retracted into the walls. There was a deep pit beneath the floor, lined with sturdy-looking metal, that stretched down for a surprisingly shallow twenty feet.

“You can’t haff zis kind of technology in a castle! You’re a vizard, not a Jacques Bond villain!” the Medic pointed out.

“Oh, grow up. We’re not all floating stereotypes, you know,” Merasmus responded. He then thrusted his staff into the air and shouted at the top of his lungs, “BRIDGE BETWEEN WORLDS!”

After a few seconds, a ball of swirling white light appeared in the center of the pit, several yards deep. It began to grow steadily larger and brighter, changing from the size of a pinhead to a golf ball to a human head in mere seconds. As it grew, the sound of swirling winds reached the mercenaries’ ears. After about fifteen seconds, the sphere of light was too bright for them to look at directly, and the winds completely deafened them. The Engineer shielded his eyes with his arms. The rest of the mercenaries followed his lead. They remained in that position, blind, for what felt like a small eternity.

Then there was a monstrous blast of magic, and everything was still.

The mercenaries opened their eyes again and blinked, temporarily blinded by the sudden change in lighting. Below them, the pit now contained one of the most sinister-looking portals they’d ever seen. Now, portals can be any number of colors, but what color they are tends to reflect what’ll be in the dimension. For example, portals into the Underworld tend to be light purple, like the toxic mist that covers that land. This portal, however, was black. And that’s rarely a good sign. The team glanced up at Merasmus, who was grinning maniacally at the them and balancing his staff over his right shoulder, much like a hunter would a shotgun.

“Merasmus, think about this,” the Engineer said as calmly as he could, rubbing his hands together. “If ya banish us again, you’ll have committed an injustice against the RED Team. There’s still six of us left, y’know. They’ll come for us if we don’t come back to base.”

“No, they won’t,” Merasmus sneered. “They’re too busy fighting the BLU Team, the mechanical hordes and the alien invasion du jour to care about you.”

“Don’t do it, schweinhund!” the Medic shouted, dramatically pointing at Merasmus. “Zink about it! You don’t even know vere zis portal goes, do you? Ze air could be nitrogen, methane, or hell, everybody’s head could be inside-out!”

“I know it leads to another dimension,” Merasmus replied. “Beyond that, who knows? Certainly not me.”

“Wrrt,” the Pyro said. “Yrr rrprrnd thrr prrtrrl, rrnd yrr drrnt nrrr wrrr rrt grrsh?”

“Yanno, you really need to do someteen’ about dat mask. I don’t understand a teeng he’s blabbin’ about,” The Bombinomicon groaned.

“‘E said, ya opened the portal! How in the hell can ya not know where it goes?!” the Engineer translated frantically.

Merasmus cackled maniacally and thrust his staff into the air over his head. “How am I supposed to know where it goes?!” he bellowed. “I’m drunk as Hell, and I’m not going to take this anymore!” Without warning, the wizard’s magic cut out. The three REDs fell screaming into the pit, into the black hole…

…and right out the other end.

Author's Note

If I had to pick a favorite joke from this chapter, it'd probably be me underlining every instance of The Bombinomicon that appears. The Bombinomicon is a character, after all, but he's also a book. The subtle touches are the best ones, if you ask me. Anyway, thanks for reading this collection of words I've been slapping together for however long it's been now. Those of you who read the old edition of this story, where the Engineer's place was filled by the Soldier, welcome back! As for the rest of you, welcome to The RED Cataclysm! Stay a while, why don't you? If you enjoyed this, why not leave a comment telling me why? If you hated this, that's okay! You can leave a comment telling me why? If you just thought this was okay, you can leave a comment anyway! Comments! They have so many uses!