What's That Coming Over the Hill

Lance Bastante had always felt a certain amount of sympathy for his friend from the Kingdom of the Round Tree. Perhaps it was because of the name that his friend had been burdened with: Beosmell Realbad. It's difficult to run out of jokes about a name like that. And yet despite this ever present potential for mockery - or perhaps because of it - they had become like brothers as they went through the Academy together, back in the days when the Kingdom of the Round Tree and the fortress city of Haribo had been allies.

But things change; alliances break down and enmity rises.

And then enmity becomes war.

Things had certainly changed for Beosmell after he had volunteered for the Round Tree Super Weapon project, and was chosen to become a living super weapon. How strong must Beosmell's faith in his kingdom's cause must have been, Bastante asked himself, to surrender his humanity to the victory of that cause? What experiments had been performed upon him by nameless figures, monitoring his transformation in the shadows? What had he seen? What had he suffered? And had it been worth it? Had the mockery been silenced at last?

All Lance knew was that he would soon see his old friend once more - if from afar. Beosmell would now be at the vanguard of the Round Tree Kingdom's army of conquest, and he would be changed beyond all recognition. Today the kingdom of the Round Tree were ready to unleash the weapon that Lance's friend had become; a weapon they proclaimed would end the war once and for all.

But little did the scientists and theosophers of Round Tree know that Haribo had already developed an answer: the Unnatural Born Creature Slayer.

Today then, both sides would discover which super weapon was the more effective. Today the tide of the war would be turned, or all would be lost.

Bastante looked down at the gun he held in his hands. It was five feet long, and appeared to have been carved from black ivory. The barrel of the gun was covered in intricate designs: faces of mythical creatures and woodland Gods with empty eyes that glared at the soldier who held the weapon, as if testing the resolve of its bearer.

And how was the resolve of Lance Bastante? Was he ready for this test?

When the moment of truth came, Lance mused, and he peered at the monster through a scope that was shaped like some preternatural sea serpent, the mouth of which opened out on the forward sight, would he see fear in the eyes of his old friend? Did Beosmell even have eyes any more? Lance couldn't say; he didn't know that level of detail. But if Beosmell had changed beyond all recognition, that should make things easier, he reasoned.

At the moment of truth.

A buzz at Bastante's chest interrupted his reverie and he picked up the mobile communicator that was fastened where. "Lieutenant commander Bastante here."

"Bastante this is Major Osgood," came the voice through the communicator, "Is all still clear?"

Bastante put aside the weapon and clambered to his feet. He looked over the battlement walls that protected his fortress city, and beheld the no man's land that had become of the surrounding area. He saw smoke that rose from all around, creating a permanent mist that pressed against the perimeter of Haribo and made sighting new attacks difficult at the best of times. He saw an undulating landscape of churned ground that stretched into the hills beyond. He saw abandoned and broken machines; relics of the sieges that had already taken place during the war. Sieges that had ended in victory for the defenders; but only after much blood had been sacrificed on both sides. Elsewhere, in other theatres of battle retreats had turned into routs for Haribo.

Soon, Bastante knew, there would be another siege of his home city: this would be the last one.
"It's all clear," Bastante informed his superior officer, "for now."

But even as he was about to replace his communicator, Bastante looked out and saw a dark shape appear on the horizon. Then he saw other shapes: the unmistakable outlines of battering rams, and cannons that reared up into the air on caterpillar tracks and caused minor tremors that could be felt in the battlements even at this distance. The air crackled around the Lieutenant commander, and he heard the distant rumble of thunder. Bastante saw other shapes now, thousands of small, dark shapes were marching towards the city: a siege army. He reopened communications. "Disregard that last report," he told Major Osgood, "and mobilise the city defences. It's begun."

"Understood," replied the Major. His acknowledgment was free of intonation, though Bastante imagined Osgood's shoulders droop, and his teeth grit as he accepted the inevitability of his Lieutenant commander's update.  Then Osgood's voice changed, and he repeated words that had been drilled into them all since childhood. Words that they still believed; despite everything. "Haribo, Haribo, take me back to Haribo," Osgood chanted.

"Haribo, Haribo, it's the sweetest place I know," responded the lieutenant commander, "Bastante out."

**

"Wait!" shouted Osgood through the communicator, his voice sounding as if something had just occurred to him.

Bastante paused. "What is it sir?" he asked. Around him the city defense forces had already begun their deployment as further trembles shook the city and the deep, penetrating rolls of thunder became a constant, pervasive sound in the battlements.

"It's the weapon," said Osgood with urgency, “You need to know how to activate it.”

Bastante's quelled an incredulous chuckle. “I think I know how to activate a gun, sir,” he said with forced patience, “you just press the trigger and..."

"No, No," Osgood cut in, “it’s not that simple with the Creature Slayer! This is a super weapon remember; and the reason it’s so powerful is because it draws on the city's main power generators; and it accumulates that power via a wireless signal. But the gun’s wifi must only be activated only when it is needed, otherwise the power drain on the city's reserves would be too great. Especially considering we also have a shield to maintain."

"Why did nobody tell me this before?" demanded Bastante, his voice rising.

"They're telling you now!" shot back the Major, "this is highly classified information that is given out on a strictly need to know basis!"

Bastante closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. The activity around him was becoming increasingly frenetic as the minutes passed, and through the spy holes of the city walls the approaching army began to blur intermittently - a sign that the city's defensive shield that Osgood had mentioned was now in operation.

Shields. Energy. Power generators.

"How do I activate the gun?" he asked quietly.

The Major cleared his throat noisily. “Ah yes,” he acknowledged. “The weapon needs to be activated.”

Bassinet was mildly annoyed by the Major’s sudden turn to prevarication. “Yes, that’s what you just told me,” he pointed out, “so how do I do it?”

“How do I do it you say?” asked the Major.

“That was what I asked,” said Bastante, frowning.

“I should tell you then,” said the major.

“It might help,” Bastante agreed, nonplussed.

“Okay, then I will” answered the Major. “To activate the super weapon,” he declared, “you would obviously need to call…”

He paused for a moment, and then blurted out “the super weapon activation helpline.”

Bastante looked at his communicator opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish. Eventually he managed “You’re shitting me.”

"Don't be impertinent lieutenant commander,” the major blustered.

"But a helpline? A helpline?!” Bastante ejaculated, "You can't be serious! This is a super weapon not a house insurance claim!”

"Calm down lieutenant commander," ordered Osgood.

"I'm sorry," spluttered Bastante as he struggled to master himself, "but I just find it difficult to believe."

“Do try and be a bit more positive Bastante,” the Major admonished him, “As it happens I have it on very good authority that they give an excellent service; and their turnaround time is second to none.”

"Turnaround time?" Bastante asked doubtfully. He thought for a moment. ”So how many queries has this helpline had to turn around..." he swallowed "...concerning super weapons?"

"Well... " replied the Major, he cleared his throat again, "obviously this would be the first one..."

Bastante had heard enough. "We're fucked, " he concluded.

"Look, just call them Bastante," said the Major forcefully, "or perhaps you'd prefer to wait around until your old friend comes calling!"

"Alright! Alright!" The Lieutenant commander flipped open a cover on his communicator that revealed an alpha numeric pad. "What's the number?" he asked.

The sound of a heavy sigh came through Bastante's communicator; followed by the ruffling of papers. Then Osgood's voice began to bark out digits. "08754 90862 -"

"Slow down a bit!" cried the lieutenant.

"... 222 22222," continued the major at a slower pace, "report back when you have the weapon up and running. Osgood out."

**

Moving slowly and in concert, the great siege engines from the Kingdom of the Round Tree moved into position, forming a great, semi-circular perimeter before the fortified city walls. Attending these engines were thousands of soldiers and operators, and the fulminations produced by the combined movements of man and machine echoed through the city.

Bastante listened to these fulminations, that formed the background to a series of regularly spaced beeps that issued from his communicator. At the same time he peered out of a spy-hole in the city walls, and through intermittent distortions witnessed the movements of the powerful cannons and numerous enemy. He turned slightly and glanced at Haribo's inactive super weapon; the weapon that needed the super weapon helpline before it could be used.

Just then a bright musical jingle started to play across communicator’s speaker; and a cheerful female voice spoke over this music.

"You've reached the Haribo munitions corp weapons helpline," the voice informed him, "a helpline bought to you by our sponsors, Conflict Outcome Claims Direct Insurance."

The music stopped and another voice - male, solemn and intense - spoke out: "Dedicated to protecting you and your family. Always."

Now a rock based track began playing, and the cheerful female voice returned. "All of our operatives are busy at the moment," the voice told Bastante, "but your call is important to us. Please continue to hold."

The canons outside Haribo's walls began targeting. Coordinates and elevations were called out by operators who looked upon the city walls with a calculated detachment, and decided which points would be punished by fire immediately.

Meanwhile, the voice speaking to Bastante went up a notch and gained a more artificial edge.

"You are caller number...
"ONE
"... in the queue."

And with that the guitar driven pop song again superimposed itself on the sounds of impending bombardment. Bastante stroked his temples, trying to ward off the stress and the nascent headache building within him.

A singer began to warble over the communicator:

"Brain fried tonight through misuse
Through misuse! Through misuse!
You can't avoid the static abuse
You can't avoid the static abuse!..."

The Hariban listened unwillingly as question after question flashed through his mind: was one of those canons pointing directly at him right now? How long would the shields hold against these weapons? Why was he still waiting if he was number one in the queue?

"lieutenant commander?"

Bastante looked up to see a Haribo soldier standing before him, dressed in the bright red colours of the Haribo military, and carrying a bayonet rifle. "Sir, we've had an update from the advanced spotters operating beyond the city walls," the soldier updated him with urgent tones, "they say there is some kind of creature approaching from a westerly direction.

"Sir, they say it's something big."

Over the shoulder of the man who was speaking to him Bastante saw searchlights spring into life against the dark gray sky. His fellow Hariban stepped forward with eyes wide and tinged with fear. "I mean they say it's something really big..."

There was a pause as the soldier observed the man he was updating, and for the first time noticed Bastante's glassy expression, and the way Bastante was looking through him rather than at him.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"There's a problem with this super weapon," Bastante answered mechanically as he gestured towards the Creature Slayer, "It needs activating; and they've made me call a helpline to do it."

The soldier mouthed the word 'helpline' in an attempt to assimilate Bastante's statement. He glanced around, his eyes narrowing as he listened. "Where is the music coming from?" he asked.

"I'm on hold," Bastante replied.

The soldier regarded him in silence for a few moments. Then he was gone, and Bastante was left cursing helplessly.

But even as Bastante swore oaths, the music faded somewhat. A loud, youthful male voice forced its way to the foreground. "You're through to Haribo munitions corp weapons helpline," said the new voice,"my name is Brian, how can I help you today?"

"Hello?" Bastante half shouted, relieved solely by the fact that his call had finally got somewhere.
"Hi there caller sorry to keep you waiting, can I take your name please," said Brian brightly.

My name, he thought, right yes, my name is: "Lieutenant commander Lance Bastante of the 3rd division west Haribo defensive emplacements."

A new rumble of thunder broke out, which partially obscured the help desk operatives next words.
"-astic," was what Bastante caught, "is it okay if I call you Lance?"

"What?" Bastante shouted in confusion. The penny dropped. "Oh; Yes, fine -"

"So what's the issue Lance?" Brian asked.

Bastante made an effort to control his inhalations. He could hear voices filtering through from the siege army just outside: barked orders; answering acknowledgements. And he heard the unmistakable whine of automated canon moved into position, and the thud of shells loading up.

The reason. Yes, the reason. "I have a super weapon," he stated, forming his words carefully to ensure clarity, "and I need to activate it for use."

"A super weapon! Excellent!" Brian exulted above the din. "you've come through to just the right place!"

Bastante allowed himself the briefest sensation of hope, tempered by the uncertainty of what activating the super weapon actually entailed.

"I just need to bring up my super weapon activation screen," the help line operative told him, "if you can just bear with me..."

Bastante's teeth gritted but he said nothing and waited, trying to ignore the invisible walls of panic that were closing in. Something was coming; something very big-

"So how are you doing today?" Brian asked chattily.

"I've got to be honest and say I've done better Brian," a distracted Bastante.

"Well, that's a shame, but I'm sure this will be the start of a big improvement," Brian assured him.

"You think?" asked Bastante with a grimace.

"I'm certain," boomed the help desk operative. "so anyway what are you up to?" Brian asked, "Anything good?"

At the moment another voice rose above every sound, shot through with fear and urgency. As soon as he heard it, Bastante knew they'd run out of time.

"Incoming!"

A shell burst in mid air with a deafening roar, battering the city's shields and rocking the battlement walls. "War!" screamed Bastante.

More shells burst and he felt the ground move beneath him; cries of pain filled the air, from victims of shockwaves that knocked people over and walls that collapsed on the city's defenders. "War!"

screamed Bastante again, "This is a war!"

"Oooh, I don't like the sound of that," observed the helpline analyst with a chuckle, "those things can be pretty dangerous!"

"Are you for real?" asked Bastante incredulously as he took cover to avoid another rain of debris.

Instead of reacting to Bastante's question, Brian moved the exchange on. "Okey dokey, super weapon screen is up," he announced, "now, what I need from you is your WIFID number."

"My... WIFID number?" lieutenant commander repeated uncertainly.

"WIFID Yes, it stands for 'WiFi Designation'," Brian explained, "have you got the weapon in front of you?"

"Well, obviously -" Bastante started to say. He was interrupted by a shell that exploded against the shield above him, causing a concussion impact that made his teeth chatter and triggered the sound of exploding windows from locations around the city.

"Goodness me it's a bit noisy where you are isn't it?" observed Brian brightly.

"Just a bit," Bastante agreed.

"Okay," continued the help line analyst, speaking through the sound of defensive batteries being unleashed on the siege army, "The WIFID number should be on the heel of the gun handle. It's a seven digit number prefixed with 'HWD-'."

Bastante found the digits inscribed into the heel of the gun handle as described, though they weren't easy to read. Squinting, and shouting obove the din of an artillery exchange, he read out the WIFID. "HWD.. 429... is that a 6 or an 8? I think it's a 6... 331..."

"Fantastic!" said Brian encouragingly. "Now we need to check your wifi is working alright. If you look at the centre at the top of the main barrel, you should see a carved likeness of the Dark God Zogothloth, who is also called Joy's Bane."

Bastante sighed and looked through the various likenesses incorporated into the elaborate design of the super gun. "I do see a face with eyes that are glowing reddish orange?" he reported.

"Glowing reddish, yes!" Brian confirmed, "Glowing in a manner similar to the moment Zogothloth arose in triumph from the Netherworld before vanquishing His eternal foe, the Demon Slatternax, He that is named The Soul Compressor."

"Er... yes," was all Bastante could think of to say.

"Great, so I'm just downloading the update that will get you up and running," said Brian perkily, "and while we're doing that I'll read out some terms and conditions. Just the legal jargon, nothing to worry about...

The recital - obscured at times by the bombardment - began. "This super weapon is at the strictly experimental stage, therefore Haribo munitions corp weapons divest themselves from all reponsib..... .. ... ....equences of use. All discussion of this weapon outside the auspices of the Haribo Military, ....bo Munitions Corp, Haribo Weapons Research Division and Haribo Infantry Organisation Hub is strictly forbidden. The designation Unnatural Born Creature Slayer ver 0.8e .. ....right protected by Haribo Munitions Corp and all use thereof is strictly controlled by the Information Processor. For further information on the Information Processor please submit you requests in writing along with a postal delivery CTP slip for 6.75 Haribo sovereigns. This weapon is ineffective outside a range of approximately 20 feet and should only be transported by horse. If after a period not less than 30 days the user is dissati..... with the performance of the Unnatural Born -"

"Wait a minute," Bastante interrupted him, "what was that part about 20 feet and transportation?"

"Well, the thing is Lance," the man from the helpline responded earnestly, "this super weapon is a prototype. That means some of those annoying little glitches haven't quite been ironed out yet. As such the range isn't quite what we hoped it would be, and the weapon is given to short circuiting when transported by artificial means." His tone brightened: "But rest assured the tech guys are working like busy bees so in the near future we should have those problems sorted. In the meantime, if you want to give the Creature Slayer a try, all you have to do is pop yourself on horseback, ride to where you want try it out and away you go!"

Bastante let the communicator fall out of his hand. And as further concussion impacts rocked the fortified city, and the cries of the wounded were only partially drowned out by the constant artillery fire, he let his body droop against the battlements.

"Are you still there Lance?" the communicator asked insistently from its abandoned position on the floor.

"Lance?"

**

Ninety minutes later, and further down the battlements, two red clad soldiers employed as lookouts were scanning the landcape around Haribo, and relaying their observations concerning enemy movements and tactical placements. One of them was using a pair of field glasses, while the other used naked line of sight in order to spot potential threats both near and far.

Suddenly the lookout with the field glasses dropped his instrument and gasped, his face a mask of shock and fear. "what's that?" he called out, pointing.

The other lookout turned in the direction his colleague was pointing, and he soon adopted a similar terror stricken countenance. "Coming over the hill"! he yelled.

They heard a voice speak out from behind them, quiet but unyielding. "Is it a monster?"

They lookouts turned, and in unison replied "Yes!"

In front of them stood Lance Bastante, clad from head to toe in shining, silver armour. Bastante brandished his fully operational super weapon, that hummed with innate power, and set down his intention. "Saddle up my horse!"

**

It would have been unclear to an observer if the monster had been born, had been created in a laboratory where unnatural experiments had taken place, or forged in the factory of some mad industrialist or necromancer. What would have been beyond doubt was its enormous size - the width of a small city - and its terrifying configuration; looking like a immense arthropod of two toned shade that belched twin palls of thick black smoke from its snout, the nostrils of which sat high upon a ridge which rose to grow into a towering range of mountains that marched down the creature's back. There would also have been no doubt about the way the earth shook when the blade like limbs of the beast crashed down, causing great gouges as big as valleys to be opened in the already churned up land. These crashing steps were accompanied by a mini-earthquake powerful enough to knock a grown man from his feet.

Explosions blossomed around it; proof that the beast had been observed and targeted. But the weapons of its enemies had no more effect upon the steel like carapace that constituted its hide than gentle summer rainfall.

From time to time The monster paused in its slow but relentless progress across the battlefield. Then it reared up on its jointed legs. Its jaws gaped, glowing a fierce orange, and it emitted a deafening sound, like a chorus of angels of death that serenaded both Heaven and Hell. Then there was the sound of an explosion, and a boiling jet of magma blasted forth from its mouth to hammer Haribo's weakening shield, and send further shockwaves through the city.

Every now and then the creature would encounter the tiny, blue figures of dead bodies, body parts or heaps of bodies, lying bereft of life in the tortured landscape: fellow attackers from the Round Tree kingdom that had taken a direct hit from a defensive barrage, or had stepped on a mine, or even succumbed to 'friendly fire'. When this occurred the monster emitted a howl of rage and reared up even higher upon its segmented limbs. And then another jet of deadly magma spewed from its maw to rain further havoc and bloodshed upon Haribo.

Then the creature encountered something on the battlefield that gave it pause. It discerned the body of a man who was not dressed in the blue uniform of the Kingdom of the Round Tree; and nor was he clad in the red uniform of the city state of Haribo. Instead the man was was dressed with silver armour; though it had ultimately availed him little. Not far from the man lay the body of a horse. It was clear from the saddle that still half lay on the animal's back that the armoured man had been riding it before they fell. Curious.

And not far away from this discovery, another fallen horse could be seen, dead or dying. And this horse's companion was still very much alive. The rider, also clad in silver armour and silver helmet, knelt beside the stricken animal and stroked its mane, seemingly oblivious to the battle that raged around him. At a certain point armour clad man who still lived must have felt the monster's gaze upon him, for he straightened and slowly, he turned to face the beast.

The monster looked upon this insignificant human that stoof in its way, and it spoke.

I KNOW YOU, it said.

Bastante was amazed to hear that there was still a trace of his old friend inside that voice. And though the monster's voice sounded like a hundred voices speaking together, in tones that were as deep as epochs of cosmic time, and though it seemed like these voices that were deeper than the Universe had been filtered through a strange distortion that made them sound like they were echoing from an adjoining corridor, and that corridor was somewhere in an impenetrable maze; and that maze was lost in some remote alternate dimension of space and time. Still, buried beneath all of that was still the voice of old Beosmell.

"We were friends, once," Bastante replied, "before the war."

With that he cast his eyes around the area, careful to disguise his desperation as much as he could. It can't have gone far, he thought. If I can't find it I might as well just kill myself now.

Finally he saw it, lying in the mud where it had fell when Bastante and his companion had been hit. Barely taking his eyes off the monster, Bastante retrieved his weapon from the churned up ground.
To the monster's vision the object the little human now bore seemed to glisten and coruscate black, and it seemed the human that bore it now cast a shadow, even in this fog ridden environment.

THAT'S A BIG GUN, it observed.

"It is," Bastante agreed. He held it up for inspection, feeling its power flow through him as he did so. "The Round Tree Kingdom has its super weapon," he told the creature, "and this is ours."

He checked the WiFi connection again. He was good to go.

"Meet the Unnatural Born Creature Slayer", Bastante declared. With a flourish he pointed the gun at the beast. "It kills monsters," he said meaningfully.

The towering arthropod did not respond for a long moment. It stood, silent and unmoving before its challenger; great gouts of black smoke billowed from its nostrils and rose to paint the featureless sky a darker grey. When it did speak, its weird, cavernous, echoing multi-stranded voice was instilled with a tone of finality.

IT WON'T WORK.

Bastante was undeterred. "I think it will," he countered, his defiance enlivened him with a furious will to believe his own words, "in fact", and at this point his faith became a rapture, "I'm willing to bet my life on it."

The monster lifted one of its great jointed limbs to take a small step towards its diminutive opponent. when the limb descended and shook the Earth, it took all of Bastante's tenacity to somehow drop to his knees but retain his balance, and keep his super weapon pointed at its target. The monster spoke again, and this time its fathomless, other worldy, pan dimensional utterance was instilled with a casual shrug.

SUITE YOURSELF.

Bastante peered at the monster through the scope shaped like a sea serpent - though it was superfluous at this range - and reflected that it turned out his old friend turned out not to have eyes after all; at least not in the conventional sense. And that did make things easier now they had arrived at the ultimate moment. At the moment of truth. The creature lifted its leg to take another step forward. Bastante's finger tightened on the trigger. "You shouldn't have come back, Beosmell," he called out.

The monster froze, and withdrew its leg. Bastante hesitated.

NOT BEOSMELL, the beast declared, NOT ANY MORE.

Bastante grimaced. "Well... " he conceded awkwardly, "maybe you aren't. But once - before whatever they did to you happened to you - once you were a man, and you went by a man's name -"

I DIDN'T MEAN IT LIKE THAT, the monster corrected him, I STILL HAVE A MAN'S NAME, IT'S JUST THAT NAME ISN'T BEOSMELL. I HAD IT CHANGED BY DEED POLL.

Bastante tightened his finger on the trigger and prepared to fire. The moment was here at last. The moment of tru-

He loosened his grip. It was no good, he had to ask. "So..." he found himself saying, "what are you called now then?"

BEOWULF, said Beowulf, BEOWULF'S MY NAME NOWADAYS.

"Beowulf," Bastante repeated, blinking.

THAT'S RIGHT, BEOWULF, agreed the monster. BEOSMELL REALBAD WAS AN EMBARRASSING NAME, it vociferated disparagingly, BUT BEOWULF REALBAD SOUNDS GANGSTA.

"... Oh," was all Bastante could say in reply. His thoughts, however, were not so circumspect.

'Beowulf Realbad really is a pretty bad ass name', a voice in his head reasoned, 'nothing wrong in admitting that. When you've got a point you've got a point-'

He shook his head vigorously. What am I thinking??!!

ACTUALLY, the monster began. Then it fell quiet.

Bastante concentrated on the sounds of battle all around them. He wanted to nourish the fury that demanded a final reckoning, here and now. After all, were they not in the final battle? Was this not the last siege? He looked down at his gun, upon which all their hopes of survival rested, lying heavy in his grasp. Actually what? He thought wildly.

THAT'S INTERESTING, the monster continued.

"What is?" Bastante asked, responding before the advice of all his instincts got a say in the matter.

CALL ME BEOSMELL, monster advised him.

"I... what?" spluttered Bastante. He looked round with an expression like a hunted animal. When were they going to get back to the moment of truth?

GO ON, the monster urged, SAY 'HELLO BEOSMELL'.

The soldier of Haribo held his forehead in his hand, trying and failing to still the torment in his thoughts. Perhaps the moment of truth would come after this bit? "'Hello Beosmell'," Bastante recited flatly.

AH! exclaimed the giant arthropod. It paused again, perhaps for effect, and then said I COULD SUE YOU FOR THAT.

"You could... sue me?" Bastante asked.

What am I doing? he reproached himself. He thought ferociously of the city, under bombardment. The fear of the people. Their suffering.

He thought of his family. He thought of Mary...

Was she alive? Was she safe?

They had to end this. They had to end this now.

YES, the monster was saying, I CAN SUE YOU IF YOU INSULT ME OR NAME ME INCORRECTLY. IT'S ONE OF THE CONDITIONS OF THE DEED POLL. FUNNY THAT.

Bastante brandished the Unnatural Born Creature Slayer and roared in frustration. "Shut up and fight you big ugly bastard!" he yelled hysterically. "One of us is going to die!"

Instantly the beast reared up on it's joined legs and pointed the entirety of its mammoth hulk towards the minuscule figure of the soldier from Haribo. DO YOUR WORST! it challenged him.

Bastante pressed the trigger.

**

So this was what it felt like. Not to experience the storm; not to witness its destruction - but to be the storm itself, and to personify its destruction.

Bastante's foe was enveloped in a tsunami of white hot, destructive energy as the all the power of Haribo was channeled through Bastante. And for a moment it was as if all the electricity of the Earth was channeled through the deadly super weapon that was brought to murderous life with a touch of a trigger. And suddenly it was the monster that was insignificant target, suddenly it was the monster that was the victim of a storm that came down upon it like a sledgehammer crashing down upon a nat. Bastante felt power surge through him, power from the heart, from the soul of his city, his home. And for one dizzying instant he was ascendant; he was transmogrified; he was the alpha and the omega; he was the alternating and the direct current; he was the be all and end all.

Through the triumph, through the intoxication, Bastante dimly wondered if this was how the Dark God Zogothloth must have felt when, in time immemorial, He arose in triumph from the Netherworld.

Then the Creature Slayer spluttered and died, and the light faded away, and the thunder was reduced to a murmur. The monotonous sounds of the bombardment and its answering defensive fire reasserted themselves.

And standing before Bastante - towering above him, wreathed in smoke and clouds, but unharmed - the monster looked down imperiously.

THAT TICKLED, it said.

And Bastante knew all was lost.

A crushing feeling of utter defeat quickly gave way to overwhelming anger, as the hapless lieutenant commander vented his morbid frustration on his not so super weapon that had flattered to deceive.

"This is so bloody typical!" he opined as he sank to his knees, "I said we were fucked!"

He saw the devastation around him. And what previously had spurred him on to frantic action now showed him how inevitable his defeat was, and always had been. "I rode out here; I got people and animals killed, and for what?" He raised the spent weapon over his head awkwardly. "For you you useless piece of ill made crap!" with that he attempted to hurl the Creature Slayer away, but it was too unwieldy and instead he lost his balance, fell forwards and ended up on lying in his face on the mud.

Pathetically, pointlessly, Bastante staggered to his feet, turned and ran for his life. As he ran, he could feel its invisible eyes on him.

Would it bother giving chase, he wondered, or would it dissolve him with a jet of magma - literally burning him in hell.

It did not take long for him to get his answer, as the monster stamped its one of its huge forelimbs, causing the ground to disappear from under him, and Bastante again fell on his face. But this time he lay still.

Then creature was directly above him, and it raised its jointed limb to hover over the prostrate soldier from Haribo; a limb coated in chitin as hard as steel that culminated in a blunt, rounded point, like a gigantic pile-driver.

ANYTHING ELSE TO SAY? asked the monster.

Bastante did not reply.

WELL I WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT I TAKE NO PLEASURE IN THIS, Beowulf pointed out.

"Just do it," Bastante said quietly.

He shut his eyes, and then he screwed them up tightly, and an image of Mary skipped through his consciousness. "Haribo, Haribo", Bastante whispered, "the sweetest place..."

Time stood still.

Through the self induced darkness, Bastante's life played itself out. Not much overall, but it was all there was.

In the distance he heard sounds.

More gunfire?

No, it was something else...

He concentrated hard, to try and identify what he could hear, and tried not to think of anything else.
Slowly, the sounds clarified.

It was the sound of people...

Of people cheering?

It crossed his mind that it had happened; that he was already dead. Then he heard a man's voice, calling. Was he calling to them?

"The war's over!" cried the voice, "A peace deal has been brokered! You can stop fighting!"

WELL, said Beowulf. The monster's limb crashed down to the Earth, leaving Bastante unharmed. THAT'S HANDY.

Bastante opened his eyes, and just lay there for moment, listening to the sounds of joy. He realised Beowulf was probably doing the same thing. It had been a long time since those sounds had been heard in anyone's life.

Slowly, Bastante climbed to his feet. He looked around the erstwhile battlefield, where soldiers danced, threw their arms up in the air, played football or prayed for their fallen comrades. The city gates had already been opened, and former enemies greeted each other and embraced.

"What were we fighting for, remind me?" Bastante requested.

I CAN'T REMEMBER SPECIFICALLY, Beowulf answered, THOUGH I DO REMEMBER BECOMING VERY ANGRY ABOUT SOMETHING I WAS TOLD, WHICH WAS ALL THE FAULT OF HARIBO; SO THEY SAID.

"Hmm," Bastante murmured. He tried to remember what it was that had made him offer up his life minutes earlier. He was sure it would come back to him.

SO, WHAT WILL YOU DO NOW? asked Beowulf.

"Me? I'll go home," said Bastante, "to Mary. How about you, Beosme - Beowulf? What are your plans? Are you still with Rose?"

I WAS, Beowulf answered sadly, BUT SHE'S GONE OFF ME A BIT LATELY.

"Ah," Bastante acknowledged the monster awkwardly, "sorry about that." He thought for a moment, then asked, "Say, you're not stuck as a monster are you? I mean, can you change back to human if you want to?"

I'M TOLD THERE IS A WAY, Beowulf replied with a hesitant tone, BUT IT'S NOT ONE I'M KEEN TO TRY.

"Oh." Bastante decided not to inquire further into whatever 'way' the transformed subject of Round Tree was referring to, and instead offered his farewells. "Well, good luck Beowulf. I hope things work out."

ALL THE BEST LANCE, Beowulf replied, I'M GLAD I DIDN'T HAVE TO KILL YOU.
"That makes two of us."

The soldiers parted company, one to return to home and family, the other to a less certain fate.

**

It was night, and the monster stood alone in the wastelands, straddling a river that wended its way aimlessly across the empty hills and valleys. At its feet was a tiny particle, an object of almost microscopic size compared to the gigantic arthropod. But this object spoke to the creature. It spoke with cheerful tones.

"Tired of being an indestructible monster now are we sir? Is that why you've come through to the new amalgamated Haribo and Round Tree Super Weapon Helpline?" the voice through the telephone asked brightly.

WELL, answered Beowulf wearily, THERE DOESN'T SEEM TO BE MUCH POINT IN BEING ONE, NOW THE WAR'S OVER BRIAN.

"No?" mused the helpline assistant. "Well, I suppose you could go rampaging through a city," he suggested, "and catch your reflection in the windows of a skyscraper which would send you into an even more incandescent rage," he chuckled, "Just my little joke Beowulf. You don't mind if I call you Beowulf do you?

"Now, before we get you back to being an everyday chap I'm going to need your TEELIN."

 MY... TEELIN? said Beowulf uncertainly.

"Yes TEELIN, that stands for 'Transmuted Life form Identity Number'", explained Brian, "now, the way to locate that is by looking at the underside of your hind limb which is reverse articulated."

REVERSE ARTICULATED! exclaimed the Round Tree super weapon in mild panic.

"Yeah," confirmed Brian with a chuckle, "that means you can bend your leg backwards mate, how cool is that!"

ER...

"So," Brian summarised, "all you need to do now, is find a way of twisting your torso round 180 degrees, then you bend your leg backwards and duck down, have a look, and there's your TEELIN reference. Simples!"

A great pall of black smoke from Beowulf's nostrils as he considered his predicament.

SHIT.