Destroy the Big Bad

I describe the Big Bad as "inspired by forty-rod whiskey" and get admonished by the Speaker

I'm not replying to this. A lot of this is just crazy talk. Please lock this thread down, the big bad is dead, HOORAY! Rejoice!

** lock this thread **

The walls were colored blue here. I wouldn't find out what this burger tasted like until years later. By the time I learned, it was a point of nostalgia, and could hardly have stood to be anything but good. It was a tradition for my dad to take me out to this one burger joint after my dental appointments, despite the novacane. As I masticated, I thought more about life's little artificial pretexts. Was food, matter that we need to consume to survive, the only real thing in this world, all that mattered once you stripped away all the pretense? Possibly, but if it was so real, why could I not taste it? Why does the sky reflect off the blue walls and leave me holding a slightly-blue burger? How could it be real, if my senses could be fooled like that?

I couldn't resolve this train of thought, probably because it was stupid. I looked outside, where it was raining, hard. I laughed with my mouth full.

"Oh my God, look at that, Dad," I said, pointing and slurring my words from the novacane. There was a large man in jorts and sunglasses standing out in the rain, talking on a phone. He had to stand out in that sideways rain because he was too tall and obese to fit into the phone booth, and he had to crouch and lean in. I laughed a little more.

"That's not nice, Will," he said.

I hated the rain. I always have, and always will. That's why I'd never pick up smoking, because it would mean that I'd have to go stand out in the rain. I smiled at the thought of the fat man and bit into my burger again.

Charge: 2

Six
    Cadaeics


Conundrums, conundrums, conundrums...nonsense! I needed some outdoor atmosphere. Taking Cambridge's Literature, I opened a door, waved my hand, commenced a promenade.
"I'm a Cadaeic!"
Huh?
"I'm a Cadaeic! I'm a real Cadaeic!", shouted an old woman.
Astonished, I took a step back.
"A veritable Cadaeic, old woman? Really?" Cadaeics' myths were numerous. A clique, a new mystic association, whose members had...power. An eerie power. So, I was now most curious. Still, staying calm, I placidly said, "Elucidate more, please."
"Cadaeics have," she murmured, "power. Do you?..."
"Yes, so I've intimated. Regardless, . . . Cadaeic? You apprehend this?" I said.
"Yes, sir. The true power lies greatly, heavily, within me."
"What," I softly inquired, "manner of power? A strength? telepathy? learning?"
"The power" (thusly continued that wizardly woman) "makes change in paralleled, tunneling universes. As I cultivate it, it is a powerful good, an element of great peace. Deplorably, he - Surta - uses it quite evilly, altering original Cadaeic intent."
"Changes? A Cadaeic scoundrel generating wild mutations? This, though intriguing, I cannot quite see. This humble spirit requires validation - your narrative produces numerous doubts!"
"My apology, oh sir - I'm utterly desperate. A Cadaeic normally avoids 'incapables', enjoying other Cadaeic contacts only. Can, stranger, you befriend me? Cadaeic existence - indeed, people's existence - demands prompt action."
Startled, I then asked, "What? A pedestrian incapable's worthless skill?"
"You, stranger, treasure the crucial analytic skills. Our people undervalue numerical ideas, preferring arcane, mystical, Cadaeified philosophy. Please help! Oh my Surta! O my Surta! Oh, lamentable Surta! O!"
I replied, "Yes, outlander, I'm available, amenable - also, somewhat numerical. Please, completely disclose:
  When I am expected,
  What assorted mathlike topics to review carefully,
    plus
  Where Surta's mysterious home is."
"Come, I recommend, before seven on tomorrow night (Michaelmas it is). Of a mathematic nature, review mensuration, infinite series, and trisection. Surta's shadowy home? Meet me. Cadaeic fortress awaits."
As my rendezvous was concluded, I meandered back, returning home.
"Quite impossible, what?", thought I. "An old Cadaeic, a bad Cadaeic...mythical powers subverted, indeed!" Regardless, curiosity still stayed. The woman's plea was serious, I concluded.
I desired an easement - perhaps more poetry. Opening Oxford's volume near "Poetry, Eliot", stanzas quite strange yet notorious filled my eyes. I saw Prufrock Lovesongs remarkably modified, thusly:

Charge 6

You must be registered to view this content.

Remember Destroy the Big Bad? If not, Google it, please.
Well, this is kind of like that. We have a thread for this already, so why not have another round?!
You basically have to kill the Huge Bad any way possible.

RULES:
1) You can charge a post (for example, make three posts and then release your attack) to make it stronger.
2) You can also do several attacks per post, but they won't do as much damage.
3) Don't expect anything. This is random crap.
4) Everybody has one Last Resort point for an awesomely powerful summon/attack or something else, use it wisely.

Huge Bad
100/100 HP

*A pale man looks down on the Big Bad's dead body and scoffs*

"Pity, he was a fool"

*He flips his cape*

"I, Dracula, shall take his place!!"

Dracula
100/100 HP

Show Content

SpoilerYour charge starts over.

Edit: I've been ninja'd, let's just say there's two big bads

Hey, I was going to do it! There can't be two, that's breaking the rules.

Huge Bad throws a rock at Dracula.

I play Town Map, revealing my prize cards. Three fighting energy, two grass energy, and a foil Battle Reporter. I attach a Grass energy to Tangela and have Pidgey use Peck.

I use my Last Resort to summon the Last Resort, an upscale beachside hotel

The city was in lockdown. Doors were closed. Piles of burnt corn rolled about the streets. Houses no longer rearranged as they were supposed to.

As I walked around, it was clear that this was not how it normally was.

To a tourist from outside, even this absolute silence would be overtly strange, obviously wrong.

I reached around for my watering canister, and shook it vigorously until its external snakes decided to fetch me some liquid. Thirst quenched for now, I advanced forward in search of some sort of - any sort of reputable or respectable station.

But as time went by, my legs began to shake.

These streets were too long - the corn was too much to trudge through - my legs were folding together.

Then, I saw it: The bus stop.

I took a seat, glad at finding a remedy. At last - I could rest, and find something interesting in this pointless place!

The bus was taking its time.

Any minute... any hour now?

Hm - maybe I've got to pay my ticket beforehand.

Hey, you're sitting beside me, right? Please tell me, if you know...

How much the bus costs?

Oh! Thank you.

It costs five pieces?

Thanks for the -

Thanks,

Tha - thanks,

T_h^aNks ^F_OR the [B]US FARE.

[The change was completed.]

NEPTUNE GETS SMALLER

Charge 1

Pluto starts to float away.

I play Town Map, revealing my prize cards. Three fighting energy, two grass energy, and a foil Battle Reporter. I attach a Grass energy to Tangela and have Pidgey use Peck.

The Huge Boss takes damage!

I use my Last Resort to summon the Last Resort, an upscale beachside hotel

It kills you! And the boss takes heavy damage!

The city was in lockdown. Doors were closed. Piles of burnt corn rolled about the streets. Houses no longer rearranged as they were supposed to.

As I walked around, it was clear that this was not how it normally was.

To a tourist from outside, even this absolute silence would be overtly strange, obviously wrong.

I reached around for my watering canister, and shook it vigorously until its external snakes decided to fetch me some liquid. Thirst quenched for now, I advanced forward in search of some sort of - any sort of reputable or respectable station.

But as time went by, my legs began to shake.

These streets were too long - the corn was too much to trudge through - my legs were folding together.

Then, I saw it: The bus stop.

I took a seat, glad at finding a remedy. At last - I could rest, and find something interesting in this pointless place!

The bus was taking its time.

Any minute... any hour now?

Hm - maybe I've got to pay my ticket beforehand.

Hey, you're sitting beside me, right? Please tell me, if you know...

How much the bus costs?

Oh! Thank you.

It costs five pieces?

Thanks for the -

Thanks,

Tha - thanks,

T_h^aNks ^F_OR the [B]US FARE.

[The change was completed.]

You, uhh, take the bus? Great, now try to figure out how to actually do something. You're being useless.

You must be registered to view this content.

I emerge from Room 308 as a ghost, as all lost souls are wont to do in the Last Resort's vicinity

Then I head on down to the lagoon pool

Uhh, wrong target. I was here first.

I emerge from Room 308 as a ghost, as all lost souls are wont to do in the Last Resort's vicinity

Then I head on down to the lagoon pool

You can't do that! You're dead! Are you even paying attention?

Oh, also, I forgot to mention

huge Bad:
99/100

The five hands exploded out of its face, grappling Dracula. Teeth slowly inched out of every pore, some clattering to the ground, the others chattering against seeming emptiness.

BUS FARE. GIVE ME THE BUS FARE.

About it, the houses raged.

The five hands exploded out of its face, grappling Dracula. Teeth slowly inched out of every pore, some clattering to the ground, the others chattering against seeming emptiness.

BUS FARE. GIVE ME THE BUS FARE.

About it, the houses raged.

Why do you keep targeting dracula!!! What's wrong with you people do you not understand dibs?

I do laps in the pool

I cast... magic missile.

I do laps in the pool

No you don't. You're dead.

NEPTUNE GETS SMALLER

Charge: 2

Where's all that mass going? Or is it only volume? That's kind of dense, heh.

I cast... magic missile.

The missile flies into Huge Boss's leg!

Huge Boss
98/100

Seven
    Prufrock


Let us depart then,
While eventide's withering skies threaten,
Impersonating the sufferers etherising upon pallets;
Together henceforth go, through these partially-unoccupied boulevards,
Muttering arguments like shards
About furtive nights amid threadbare hostels,
Discreet dialogues among oystershells,
Street complexes like dreary argument.
Its insidious regiment
Now leads to heavy questions . . .
Never inquire distinctly, 'wherefore?'
Directly go visit, herefore.

To an affair th' matriarchs sadly go
To talk touching MicAngelo.

Mist, cellophane breaths, rubbing on window latches,
A creamlike mist, rubbing, muzzling on window lattices
Soon lingered on watery apartments a curt instant,
Licked eventide's perimeter, tonguelike
(Partially discolored by fallen soot),
Vacillated a bit, making one extremely fast leap,
And, deeming that March night too remarkably quiet,
Stealthily curled womblike in quiescence, and fell perfectly asleep.

So, truly so, will exist a sundown
When amberlike fog permeates Cambridge Street
Above a door and a pane of doorglass;
Peaceful nighttimes darkening a boulevard,
Nighttimes whence faces verbalize to faces;
Nighttimes expedient for murders, or to intercommunicate;
Nighttime labors that create a query,
A query exalted, henceforth summarily despised.
Times touching you, touching anybody whom I appreciate.
Times involving several thousand hiatuses,
Forty illusions, forty revisions,
Finally settled by elegantly sipping green teas.

Matriarch speakers persevere [the discourses I forego],
A-talking about old MicAngelo.

So, cursedly, will remain eternity.
I can meditate: 'To aspire? Evermore aspire?'
Mornings for mounting stairs,
Brushing uncovered spot in nervous, swarthy hair -
[I think she'll certainly recognize a thinness!]
Stiff shirt, adamantly in place on chin,
Newly-purchased black tie, decorated using glamorous gold pin
[I conjecture he'll pronounce forthwith: 'Heavens! So frail! So thin!]
Should discreet adventures
Confound this earth?
Certainly eternity remains
To preside and deride, then turn around, reversing prior opinions.

Life advances, barely known -
The mornings, the bright middays, the nights of it.
My career is marked, poignantly, utilizing teaspoons;
I do know voices collapsing, sleepily collapsing, dying.
I do know the melodies emerging from the anterooms.
  Henceforth, what ought I do?

Full well I did notice those eyes, everyone's glaring stares -
So glaring, implying formulated phrases.
Afterward [quietly subdued] I, stick-pinned, embellish a wall;
Sit stuck, wriggling, alongside baroque designs.
Altogether hopelessly extinguished, wherefore should I assume?
Mournfully spitting lifetime's butt-ends [a dreary existence],
  What thoughts should thinkers think?

Truly known: discreet arms, jewelled arms,
Appendages slight and white and bare
[By th' lamplights, covered up by an hairy gossamer]
Is hyacinth what provokes memories,
Causes such reveries?
I loved graceful arms, lying across davenports or wrapping about nightgowns
  Should, henceforth, I assume?
  Moreover, what to presume?

    .  .  .  .  .

The noiseless dusk falls on my narrow streets
When lonely fellows settle, smoking pipettes,
Sacredly communing, shirt to shirt . . .

Oh, I can envision being as an empty claw
Scuttling violently about seas' silent floors.

    .  .  .  .  .

Thence unfolds an ominous property of the nighttime
Smoothed, having long hands,
Asleep . . . tired . . . lingering,
Easing comfortably beside you, while very serenely reposing beside me.
How, henceforth, after teapots, candies, ices,
Might lonely man's forgotten strength reenergize, and arise?
Every afternoon I've fasted and wept - cried, fasted.
Ofttimes I dreamed, then saw my head surrendered to Herod;
I never approached prophet status, lamentably.
Though greatness came, quickly greatness went.
Often I recognized eternity's hooded being, patiently biding, snickering.
Aftermath: fear perseveres.

So would it be valuable, valuable overall
Following saucers o' marmalades
Admixing porcelain and a talk among window shades?
Therefore, I can wonder, valuable indeed?
Alarmed by an evermore-present need
Pressing universes into mysterious balls
Slowly unraveling a disturbing, ultrameaningful difficulty.
I'll say: 'Hallelujah! Lazarus's return! I breathe, reanimate,
To entirely answer mankind's conundrums'
Afterward, if matriarchs, settling quietly upon pillows,
  Should derisively pronounce: 'I despise meanings
  My soul renounces all meanings.'

Would anything transpire worthwhile, everything appraised?
Mightn't a time symbolize 'worthwhile',
Following dreary sunsets, plain dooryards, shopping carts on street
O' the novels, after-lunch teas, lingering dresses -
Evermore a measured existence? -
It's a so-difficult mission, enduring this struggle!
If a candle revealed my innermost yearnings
Exposing skeletons upon vertical screens
If an oldish woman, settling cushions,
Discarding day's tattered, light-colored shawl, should aver:
  'Worthwhile? I know no moments worthwhile,
  Just shadowy, dreaded voids after while.'

    .  .  .  .  .

I, too, am not William Shakspar's Hamlet - this I know, above a doubt.
Am one related lord, posing on the side
For acting very small acts or starting small episodes,
Most easy tool, Prince's attentive slave,
Am always ready, obedient, useful,
Politic, cautious, of a meticulous frame;
Extravagant also, a bit dense;
Many moments I've fitly enacted the classical Fools.

I'm old . . . exceedingly old . . .
Soon my trouser I desire rolled.

A procession of contemplation - which marmalade flavor: raspberry? peach?
I'll arouse up, and I will walk on Dartmouth Beach
To hear mermaids sing sublimely, and beseech.

I continue ignored, sorrowfully uninspired.

I have spied mermaid scales going fast underneath the waves,
Endlessly traversing an aquatic continent;
Wandering the high seas, capricious and content.

Thus we deliberate, oceanbound,
Looking for a harborside
Until mankind subsides.

Charge 7

Seven
    Prufrock


Let us depart then,
While eventide's withering skies threaten,
Impersonating the sufferers etherising upon pallets;
Together henceforth go, through these partially-unoccupied boulevards,
Muttering arguments like shards
About furtive nights amid threadbare hostels,
Discreet dialogues among oystershells,
Street complexes like dreary argument.
Its insidious regiment
Now leads to heavy questions . . .
Never inquire distinctly, 'wherefore?'
Directly go visit, herefore.

To an affair th' matriarchs sadly go
To talk touching MicAngelo.

Mist, cellophane breaths, rubbing on window latches,
A creamlike mist, rubbing, muzzling on window lattices
Soon lingered on watery apartments a curt instant,
Licked eventide's perimeter, tonguelike
(Partially discolored by fallen soot),
Vacillated a bit, making one extremely fast leap,
And, deeming that March night too remarkably quiet,
Stealthily curled womblike in quiescence, and fell perfectly asleep.

So, truly so, will exist a sundown
When amberlike fog permeates Cambridge Street
Above a door and a pane of doorglass;
Peaceful nighttimes darkening a boulevard,
Nighttimes whence faces verbalize to faces;
Nighttimes expedient for murders, or to intercommunicate;
Nighttime labors that create a query,
A query exalted, henceforth summarily despised.
Times touching you, touching anybody whom I appreciate.
Times involving several thousand hiatuses,
Forty illusions, forty revisions,
Finally settled by elegantly sipping green teas.

Matriarch speakers persevere [the discourses I forego],
A-talking about old MicAngelo.

So, cursedly, will remain eternity.
I can meditate: 'To aspire? Evermore aspire?'
Mornings for mounting stairs,
Brushing uncovered spot in nervous, swarthy hair -
[I think she'll certainly recognize a thinness!]
Stiff shirt, adamantly in place on chin,
Newly-purchased black tie, decorated using glamorous gold pin
[I conjecture he'll pronounce forthwith: 'Heavens! So frail! So thin!]
Should discreet adventures
Confound this earth?
Certainly eternity remains
To preside and deride, then turn around, reversing prior opinions.

Life advances, barely known -
The mornings, the bright middays, the nights of it.
My career is marked, poignantly, utilizing teaspoons;
I do know voices collapsing, sleepily collapsing, dying.
I do know the melodies emerging from the anterooms.
  Henceforth, what ought I do?

Full well I did notice those eyes, everyone's glaring stares -
So glaring, implying formulated phrases.
Afterward [quietly subdued] I, stick-pinned, embellish a wall;
Sit stuck, wriggling, alongside baroque designs.
Altogether hopelessly extinguished, wherefore should I assume?
Mournfully spitting lifetime's butt-ends [a dreary existence],
  What thoughts should thinkers think?

Truly known: discreet arms, jewelled arms,
Appendages slight and white and bare
[By th' lamplights, covered up by an hairy gossamer]
Is hyacinth what provokes memories,
Causes such reveries?
I loved graceful arms, lying across davenports or wrapping about nightgowns
  Should, henceforth, I assume?
  Moreover, what to presume?

    .  .  .  .  .

The noiseless dusk falls on my narrow streets
When lonely fellows settle, smoking pipettes,
Sacredly communing, shirt to shirt . . .

Oh, I can envision being as an empty claw
Scuttling violently about seas' silent floors.

    .  .  .  .  .

Thence unfolds an ominous property of the nighttime
Smoothed, having long hands,
Asleep . . . tired . . . lingering,
Easing comfortably beside you, while very serenely reposing beside me.
How, henceforth, after teapots, candies, ices,
Might lonely man's forgotten strength reenergize, and arise?
Every afternoon I've fasted and wept - cried, fasted.
Ofttimes I dreamed, then saw my head surrendered to Herod;
I never approached prophet status, lamentably.
Though greatness came, quickly greatness went.
Often I recognized eternity's hooded being, patiently biding, snickering.
Aftermath: fear perseveres.

So would it be valuable, valuable overall
Following saucers o' marmalades
Admixing porcelain and a talk among window shades?
Therefore, I can wonder, valuable indeed?
Alarmed by an evermore-present need
Pressing universes into mysterious balls
Slowly unraveling a disturbing, ultrameaningful difficulty.
I'll say: 'Hallelujah! Lazarus's return! I breathe, reanimate,
To entirely answer mankind's conundrums'
Afterward, if matriarchs, settling quietly upon pillows,
  Should derisively pronounce: 'I despise meanings
  My soul renounces all meanings.'

Would anything transpire worthwhile, everything appraised?
Mightn't a time symbolize 'worthwhile',
Following dreary sunsets, plain dooryards, shopping carts on street
O' the novels, after-lunch teas, lingering dresses -
Evermore a measured existence? -
It's a so-difficult mission, enduring this struggle!
If a candle revealed my innermost yearnings
Exposing skeletons upon vertical screens
If an oldish woman, settling cushions,
Discarding day's tattered, light-colored shawl, should aver:
  'Worthwhile? I know no moments worthwhile,
  Just shadowy, dreaded voids after while.'

    .  .  .  .  .

I, too, am not William Shakspar's Hamlet - this I know, above a doubt.
Am one related lord, posing on the side
For acting very small acts or starting small episodes,
Most easy tool, Prince's attentive slave,
Am always ready, obedient, useful,
Politic, cautious, of a meticulous frame;
Extravagant also, a bit dense;
Many moments I've fitly enacted the classical Fools.

I'm old . . . exceedingly old . . .
Soon my trouser I desire rolled.

A procession of contemplation - which marmalade flavor: raspberry? peach?
I'll arouse up, and I will walk on Dartmouth Beach
To hear mermaids sing sublimely, and beseech.

I continue ignored, sorrowfully uninspired.

I have spied mermaid scales going fast underneath the waves,
Endlessly traversing an aquatic continent;
Wandering the high seas, capricious and content.

Thus we deliberate, oceanbound,
Looking for a harborside
Until mankind subsides.

Charge 7

You can't charge that much! We just started,

Guess it's time to start over from the top?

The price of bus fare has risen.