Surreal Life Orgins Part Two: The Game

Chapter 10: The Renown

Pride is essential to all of life; not one thing can exist without it. When controlled, it can be a beauteous entity. But, unfortunately, the way it is far too commonly used as in today's society, it creates powerful evils that are not so easily to be torn away than can be built up.

"Art thou mad?!" Nermal was furious with Sloth, "We art unsanction'd to simply assert a soul."

Nermal pointed upwards, "According to the powers that be, we art alow'd to make shift induce a mortal to tender his soul to us, not to just merely kill him."

Nermal waked Sloth upon his head.

"But if I didn't kill him, then we're in the clear. Right?" Sloth said, clutching his now bruised Kopf.

"Haply in coherence alongside the ruler, but not with this ban at the motel."

Nermal paused to think, "Which assailant shalt I attempt with to attack at the crux of those crusades of that group?"

"Why not father?" suggested Sloth, "He was here even before Lucifer fell from Heaven; he should know a thing or two about persuading humans to evil."

"thy pater? 'tis a too well plan f'r thou, the personification of the epitome being aim'd at not doing aught, to coin in the abyss of thy mind."

"Yeah, I just overheard Greed tell it to Wrath."

"Ye art appallingly indolent."

"A half-demon!?" Everyone asked Jack simultaneously.

"Apparently so ... See?" answered the boy with the name that derived from Jackin, a medieval diminutive of John, as he joggled his arms as if they were boneless snakes. His appendages soon twisted around each other, making a fleshy rope.

Heads gave a snort, "That's just like Tom and Jerry, or Looney Tunes, or Animaniacts, or just about any other old generic cartoon.

Kno nodded in agreement.

"With powers like these," said Jack, unwrapping his arms, "I can be a superhero, and Heads, my friend, you just gave me my superhero-name ... Generic Cartoon Man!"

"A demon superhero?" countered Papa, "Who's ever heard of something like that?"

"Well ..." re-countered Sasha, who was staring at Samson (Jack had not yet come to aid in her guidance yet.), "DC Comics, Cartoon Network, Tara Strong."

Generic Cartoon Man tittered at Sasha's snarkiness as he took upon her ruka.

This odd group, which now consisted of a man who refused to remove his headgear, a lady with a severe lack of control of her emotions, a boy with his face so severely burnt, he would have to wear a mask in public for the rest of his mortal life, a sightless girl, an old, fat drunk, a bag of bones, and 1.5 demons, were nearing the end of their journey, for they found themselves next to where this fiasco began, Bernard Tikarrondé's room.

"Thee lobby's right thar! We're almost out!" shouted Papa, as the direct way to the vestibule was pinched shut.

"I guess we're going through thee basement now," mumbled Papa, his hopes of making a quick escape, crushed, like an olive.

"Did you really think it would be that easy?" posed a weary voice from behind them.

When they turned, the saw an extremely old man with half of his flesh whisked away to bone and eyes that glowed wan.

"Are you a sin?" asked Sasha, who, out of a meaningless coincidence, was actually facing the intruder.

"Am I ever!" retorted the sin.