The Chronicle of His Holy Nick

The Civil War

To which the two forces have clashed together, of the servant and of the master, of what once stood a profound general, with great might and power, and what once consists of a grand god, command of a grand fleet of followers, for whom is willing to devote their livelihood. Now, a depredate general, and a dying god, both leading an army of hundreds strong. Such pitiful forces, such a testament to weakness. But atlas, battle they want, for the tiniest forces may give forth to the greatest of conflicts and drama . Now, within the palace of Versailles, general Campbell, leading the charge of his cavalry. The Blasphemous Archer, leading his steeds of steel. A Noteworthy battle unfolds..

General Campbell: My worthy, loyal legionaries. Tonight, we shall charge, shall defend the glory of our dying empire. The blasphemous one, though filthy in their actions, and retched in their thoughts, shall taint and deceive us no more. My army: Fear no death, then death shall not heed you. Fight valiantly, and be praised by generations to come, coward in fear, and be remembered as the betrayer. History is often written by the victor. So, Charge!

With that, General Campbell, with his legion of 300 man, charged at the blasphemous one. Their rifles rang within the cold halls of his holy nick. Within this rain and gloom, where the sun sheds not a sliver of light. His man charged valiantly, his morals be high, his victory be in sight. But atlas, he eventually found that such be merely a decoy. With the 20 man slain, 100 have come from the hiding. The General's man, startled, and operating under fear, quickly surrendered, yet some still fight forward.

The Army of the blasphemous Archer has drawn ever so closer. Soon, the Palace of Versailles flew under the banner of the blasphemous one, and Campbell, his forces has retreated to the lush gardens without. His 100 man, deprived of their morality. Of their coward comrades, of their slain partners, they turn to general Campbell for an answer, of their losses. The general does not sigh, does not show senses of either remorse or sorrow. However, even the most retarded may see that he is worried, worried that he shall fail to deliver his promise, fail to succeed within the war. The thought of death dawned upon him. The humiliation, the execution. For years, people discusses within the apparatus within the halls of the holy nick, yet few have envisioned the horrors that lies within the dark dungeon of the blasphemous Archer. Then, a rather peculiar idea has downed upon themselves. Why fight themselves, when there is a greater force which Transends above them all. Upon which, General Campbell, with the assistance of his divine Nick, have obtained several artillery and war machines, as well as several thousand man. They fired at the palace of Versailles, reducing to what stood a proud building into rubble.

General Campbell stood near the rubbles, and beckons to his mans: My people: behold, our glorious victory. Of what our great army has accomplished. The forces of the blasphemous one is triumphant over, and all oppositions has been but terminated. My man, see the force and the will of determination. Today, we, under our great savior, holy nick, has blessed us with man great in numbers and vast in experience. Now, we shall demonstrate judgment within the blasphemous one. With this dagger in my hand, the motion shall be swift, and within a moment his great manhood shall be seized, ad displayed as a trophy. His pride and dignity shall soon be gone, shall fade in dust just as his dignity.

General Campbell has walked near the blasphemous Archer, and have drawn out his dagger. Now, his blasphemous one, your time draws to a near. Your miserable life shall soon be terminated, our blood line would soon cease.

The Blasphemous Archer, with one swift motion, have risen up, and have grasp Campbell's arm with great strength. A volley of shock is delivered within his body, and with the might of eldrid beings, his arm has been but twisted, the joints have but loosen. With another great pull, the arm becomes detached from its original owner, and have but fallen to the ground, shriveled and destroyed. The Blasphemous one have risen up and ascended to a greater height. A vibrance of color have fluttered out, and have obliterated the 2nd battalion of his holy Nick. The mans of his divine Nick have fired, have carried great machines of wars, and have blasted the blasphemous archer into oblivion. The Blasphemous Archer seems to feel no pain, nor to flinch. His Holy Nick, seeing all of the death and destruction, beckons

Begone Foul Beast

Your Vibrance shall triumph not over ours

Your might holds no ground over us

You shall not dominate over us.

Begone Foul beast

To Return to the dark shadows where you have come from

Return to the darkness that you come from

Return to the abyss where you rightfully belongs

Begone Foul Beast

Your brightness shall not deceive us

Your actions shall not serve as temptation

Your words shall not serve as seduction.

Begone Foul Beast

You shall be banished

You shall return to where you rightfully belongs

You shall be defeated

With that, the Dark current have risen to the hand of his holy Nick, and out come a spew of darkness, intangible darkness. It envelopes the blasphemous one, quenching his light. With a loud Thump, the Blasphemous one have but fallen. The Army of the blasphemous one have retreated, the followers of Campbell have flee to the distant hill. The Rest of the Battalion of his holy nick have marched solemnly into the Palace of Versailles, now in ruins, tainted with the destruction. What remains of the blasphemous archer is thrown into the Halls of the Holy Nick, where he is trailed, and silenced. His rotten body, still breathing, is thrown into a dungeon, left to be forgotten by time.

-     Written by Garfield, wanderer of the empire. Great Thaumaturgist. (4193)