13 chapitres En cours d'écriture Contenu pour adultesOh, another post-apocalyptic story? How original, right? Pft! Look at ya... sittin' there with your smug, arm-chair critic opinions; puffin' out your chest like you're the final boss of good taste. "It's all been done before." Oh, no shit, Nostradamus. So has fuckin' breathing, but here you are, still doing that.
The delusion is palpable, my guy. You think your limp-dick cynicism makes you clever? You think you've got the range to shit on this demon slaughtering, blood slick, chaos drenched fever dream?
Fuck you. You don't know shit. You definitely don't know Sky King and Ezra Black. If you did? You'd be swan-diving into this bangarang mayhem. But hey, no pressure. Nobody's stapling your eyelids open. You wanna ghost out? Bye! This isn't a fucking sleepover. This is volitional havoc, baby. We're not here to beg you.
Ezra and Sky? They're two majestic slaughterhouses who have been Crane kickin' existential horror in the dick since they were seven & eight. You ever see an eight-year-old tear a demon's jaw off with his bare fuckin' hands? You should. These two were goin' full Mortal Kombat on demons. Bare-knuckle survival in a nonstop horror gangbang of blood, viscera, fangs, claws, and absolutely zero goddamn hugs. No bedtime stories, no parents, just rage boners and annihilation.
Cut to the now. The boys are knocking on thirty and they're incorporeal. In a world they shouldn't have survived, they Detroit Smashed that shit into the goddamn pavement. Yeah, they shook it down in the most disrespectful way possible. Savage intellect, weaponized charm, and pure, unapologetic carnage. The last remaining relics of a time when people had balls.
Sure, maybe their moral compass is more of a "suggestion" than a "guiding principle." Who gives a fuck? If you were expecting some virtuous, noble bullshit, I don't know what to tell you. Wrong story, pal.
*Cue the goddamn soundtrack*
(Now let's rip that fourth wall down and go ride this motherfucker into the sunset!)
