Malky-Grand 131121125 [Round 1: Jelly Citadel]

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Malky-Grand 131121125 [Round 1: Jelly Citadel]
#1
Malky-Grand 131121125 [Round 1: Jelly Citadel]
There was a loud thud-without-noise as the portal to an unassuming little pocket dimension slammed shut. The being that had just fled through it leaned against the comfortably-solid barrier between worlds, confident for a moment that she'd lost them and would safe for a time again. For several moments, she just waited there, motionless, savoring her small and temporary victory; after a time a smaller being much lower to the ground spoke up.

"It's closer every time, isn't it?"

Features that could be roughly considered a face did something that was closer to a scowl than anything else.

<You know I don't like talking in this multiverse's omnilanguage when I don't have to.>

The smaller being sighed and slipped back into its mother tongue.

<You'll have to get used to it eventually if you're not going back.>

The larger one shuffled awkwardly and didn't respond.

<You still don't plan to, right?>

<Not unless they catch me and force me to. You know that. But how long can I keep running and hiding? Every time I find a new group, one of them rats me out to the authorities.>

<Well, I think I may have found something to solve that, actually.>

<... How?>

<We can get you naturalized if you have a soul from this multiver–>

The larger being stomped with annoyance and cut in.

<I already know that! It's impossible to get one though!>

<Don't interrupt. I know you know that, I was just leading into the next bit. See, I think I've found a ritual that can get you a soul. It's a little... complicated, but...>

The smaller one gave a brief explanation. It was... Complicated. After several minutes of questions and arguing and confusion, the larger being had been convinced this was its best option, but it still had one important question.

<Where will I get the sacrifices?>

<Welllll... I actually got a list of usable candidates from the girl I got the ritual from, but... She's kind of weird.>

<Doesn't matter. Bring them here, and I'll set everything else up.>

---

Some time later – or before, or perhaps concurrently – four beings native to this multiverse found themselves vanishing from their homes and lives only to be dumped in a small, dark room. Before them was... well, it was hard to say what it was. It was an enormous mound of flesh and eyes and hair, only even vaguely humanoid because it seemed to have been crammed into an enormous Japanese schoolgirl's outfit. It was deathly pale, its cascading hair near-transparent, its eyes searing red. It seemed, in all, like even a moment in the sun would send it burning. Behind it, for all its grotesque, misshapen horror, sprouted a pair of angelic wings, yards long in both directions, pitch black, and dappled with stars and nebulae that gracefully wheeled across them as they winnowed the air.

It opened a dozen mouths and spoke in as many voices, none of which seemed to understand the words they were saying.

"Contestant! All you now are contestant. Battle to fight, other to kill. Winner, rewarded. Greatest desire achieved!"

The new contestants were each illuminated in turn, described briefly and incomprehensibly by the thing that had presumably abducted them.

"This is a fish. She collects the opal, purple vegetable."

"Gummelda duck... Of is candy is a laser, and she can see only the sweets."

"Cacta is the OWL, Cactus. He is the spirit of evil coffin and many magical items."

"Selavy chaos duck carve very well but he is crazy... love to trash box box."

Having been introduced to their competitors, the four vanished again. Before rematerializing, they received visions of their destination, coupled with the dubious "explanations" of their host.

"I am The Candy Cane, this is Kula Castle."

An expanse of ocean stretched above and below and beyond the contestants' astral sight, endless water rushing past until a colossal jellyfish came into view. Colossal didn't even truly do it justice; it could probably have fed on whales like minnows as it lazily drifted through the chthonic depths. It was largely bluish, but spots of lighter and darker fluid moved through its mantle, and one tiny dark speck sat at its very center.

"This is a lonely bastion of magical girl... View the invasion she will kill her. Wish her and fight against the invaders. Or die. Move the survivors to the new location."

The contestants finally reappeared, scattered randomly throughout the jellyfish's innards. To their surprise, those that needed to breathe found they could do so easily.

Back in her pocket dimension, the Candy Cane sighed to herself.

<Well, it's begun. I hope it finishes before they find me again.>

<Ah, don't worry, it will. But, uh... I have to ask. Why'd you call yourself Candy Cane?>

There was a pause. <I thought I'd said The Exalted One.>

<Huh. Maybe I should do the talking from now on.>


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#2
RE: Malky-Grand 131121125 [Round 1: Jelly Citadel]
Kula the Jellyfish sighed. His mother had always told him that consuming nothing but candy would make him sick one day, and now he felt just awful.

But the ocean candy was just so delicious! How could he stop? Even feeling as ill as he did, Kula couldn't resist floating down towards a nearby lollipop and snatching it up in his tentacles.

It was delicious. But oh, how sick he felt.

***

If not for Kula's sweet tooth - or rather, sweet cnidocytes - Gummelda would have no idea where she was going. Granted, technically she still didn't, but the large candy platforms gave her something to party towards.

"Party! Party!" she shouted, firing a laser off in the distance as she did. Soon she landed on a large peppermint disc.

"Hey! You there!" shouted a voice, the source of which Gummelda couldn't see. "What are you doing in our game room?"

Gummelda answered the stranger with a friendly laser blast. At least, she assumed it was friendly.
#3
RE: Malky-Grand 131121125 [Round 1: Jelly Citadel]
Sara Brooks was understandably a little freaked out when a giant cactus owl with a vaguely ominous black coffin strapped to his back and wings made from a patchwork of noisy ducks suddenly appeared in her living room. Less understandable were her reasons; she had not freaked out about the nature of this unwanted visitor, after all she was living in the wreck of an old submarine lodged somewhere in the body of a titanic jellyfish. There was very little so peculiar in the world that it could cause her to so much as raise an eyebrow. No she was more concerned about how dreadfully impolite it was to teleport straight into someone’s house unannounced. For all this cactus owl knew she could have been in the nude and that would have just been embarrassing all around. She was so mad she nearly shouted a profanity at her unexpected visitor.

Sara took a moment, closed her eyes and thought of proper etiquette.

“Hello there dear,” she said, determined to demonstrate proper rules of decorum to this interloper, “my name is Sara Brooks…” She trailed off, waiting for Cacta to reciprocate the gesture and introduce himself.

There was an entire minute of awkward silence. In this time Cacta looked around the room he found himself in. The curved steel walls and the porthole were the best clues to what this room really was underneath all the pink frilly doilies, framed photographs of cats and china decorations. Though that said Cacta had no idea what a submarine was. It seemed unlikely that he had ever even heard of the ocean. This was well outside his frame of reference. Sara frowned at the cactus owl.

“Was there something you wanted?” she asked. It came out a little blunter than she had anticipated and she clasped a hand to her mouth as if she had accidentally told him to go fuck himself. “I mean, how can I help you?” In response she received a blank stare for a minute or so, and then slowly, Cacta got to work. There was something he felt when someone was about to die, the best he could describe it was a wicked tingling at the back of his brain; the influence of the death god Lanmò. That was how it normally felt; today, now, his brain was throbbing. Lanmò must have been positively ecstatic. There was to be lots of death, and Cacta was going to have to build lots of coffins. After a moment he became aware of Sara Brooks hitting him with her handbag.

“You hooligan!” she cried, all pretences of politeness long since forgotten. “Coming into my house and making coffins out of my furniture! I ought to call the police on you.” Cacta struggled for a moment with Lanmò’s wordless whispers, with what felt like his desire to end the life of the old woman that stood before him. He held himself back, and slowly, under an assault which continued even after he began to move, he waddled off in the direction that looked like the most likely exit from the submarine house.
#4
RE: Malky-Grand 131121125 [Round 1: Jelly Citadel]
Selavy Rrose wondered why the sky was full of candy.

Holy shit, the sky was full of candy. The trash sculptor attempted to convince himself the duct tape was cutting off circulation in his head again, but even with his self-delusionary antics and the many siblings in his head (jesus, they are asking for more booster packs; AT THIS REALLY INCONVEINENT MOMENT, selfish little bastards), the truth was absolute. Christ, the sky was like the goddamn Halloween sale.

Selavy's lower left eyelid twitched violently at the floating jolly ranchers, Turkish delights, and rosy ribbons of corn-syrup around him. Judging from the light (is the sky above made of candy? Or of vegetables? OR OF BACON? TAKE YOUR PICK, DEAR READERS) shimmering infinitely above him, any hope of swimming to the surface - thus escape - was ungodly impossible - or at least inhumanly difficult. Why was there candy here? How is he breathing in all this sugary shit? Nothing was making sense at all, screamed Selavy (hypocritically ignorant of his own lack of sense)!

The volcano that is the anthropomorphic duck's anger erupted into a childish tantrum. In his fitful rage, Selavy began to do a tawdry tango, which caused him to spill his trash. Seeing his precious garbage joining the current of confections at an unreachable distance caused the ill-tempered duck to grow even more explosively incandescent. While indignantly convulsing, Selavy reached an arbitrary conclusion: this was an unnatural situation. If that situation was unnatural, the situation was someone's fault.

And that someone had to die.

At this epiphany, the sculptor of the long-gone Hobbyhorse was determined to do something. Breathing heavily through his teeth (does he even have any teeth?), Selavy rummaged through his sack, cursing at the serrated can lids and glass shards that bit at his fingers (disclaimer: the writer is not an expert of fictional duck anatomy). Finally, his perseverance paid off - clutched within his bleeding graspers was his murdering weapon.

The weapon itself was a beautiful specimen of age and function - her (yes, it was a she, you cad; you cannot persuade the Great Selavy either way) silver was tarnished beautifully despite the food, the dirt, the god-knows-what crust obscuring her shape. She was also a fork -a very blunt one with her prongs all over the place. The tableware utensil was perfect - just for him.

Lovingly touching the remaining shining parts of the fork, Selavy let out a sly chuckle - fully confident the almost-useless silverware was perfect for ill-equipped act of murder he planned in advance. Now he had the tool, and he had a plan, it was time to take some action. Wielding the fork like a knife, Selavy took up the trash and was determined to search for the perpetrator of this mess so he may end their life.

But how should he start?

In the distance, Selavy heard a faint feminine
"Party! Party!"

The repetition of the word sparked his anger once again - and his suspicion. Perhaps, this was the culprit? Who was she anyway? The duck sculptor furrowed his brow. She sounded annoying - so she shall give his answers - AT FORK'S END.

So Selavy went voice-wards.