Celestial Speck
I'm not a bad guy, I swear!
Have you ever wanted to escape bullshit and idiotic entropic beings that know nothing but destruction? Have you ever wanted to go 'bullocks to it!' and just fuck off and live a normal life in a normal realm without having to worry about a D&D setting becoming sci fi in like, two weeks? Have you ever wanted to put on headphones and not worry about the other gods throwing fucking nukes at one another while your own body shrivels and wither away because the local Sky God got a hard-on for big booms and war? Well, you're in piss poor luck, since you're not getting any of that shit in Ocaeril! Visit our local dark lake, where acidic rain caused a literal abomination of death and bones to rise from war caused by two incompetent asshats! Maybe you are a bit more daring, and want to visit the Nekomatus islands, where the cats are all gay! You better lube up your tails, buddy! Or maybe you wanna chillax and be possessed by interdimensional forces that make you wonder 'why the hell has nobody dealt with it already' and practice the Winds of Magic!
Here in Ocaeril, all of this and worse can and WILL happen to you! And if nothing happens in less then fifty years that doesn't make you cry out in pain and suffering, it's your whatever currency you use back! Come visit us in Ocaeril, we're one of the worst!
"Man this break really is taking its toll on me, huh."
As Ocaeril (the god, but also the planet) finished contemplating how utterly fucked his world actually was for a few decades while passing some time with his family, and Shimone, who thankfully had come back (but was acting a little weird) he realized one massive trait of his was coming out: The 'fuck it, I'll deal with this' trait he had. While the world wasn't burning down yet because some asshole used the wrong prose when describing what he did and interdimensional forces misunderstood and caused a doomed timeline, it sure felt like it was in a little bit because of all this Siren, Gaul, and Sci-Fi bullshit they're bringing in what was a normal medieval world in like, five hundred years.
He saw multiple possibilities with his third eye. Some they won and something worse came by just a turn later, others they lost and you can expect what happens, and an interesting thing about all these timelines? Yeah, they never really got a moment to rest. There will always be some asshole swinging his massive dick around and wrecking shit, and they deal with it, make some funny jokes about it, then kill him and move on to the next asshole.
Ocaeril gripped his whiskey bottle with intensity. The bottle was instantly destroyed but quickly reformed as he drank from it at the World Tree. His body was itching to get out of his ass and create something new to combat all this bullshit, and while his clones are already doing so, the actual, fully powered Ocaeril was still on a break that made him regret more and more ever being political with Corven or Gaul or whatever the fuck and the Sirens. Would people judge him too hard if he talked with Dialga and went back in time to destroy them? Probably not, they did the same shit when they first attacked. Wicked and violent thoughts of how to destroy the Sirens and Gaul came to Ocaeril's mind, yet he never really did anything with it. He's still on break.
He occasionally felt these tingly sensations all over his body followed with some trees straightening themselves up like the hairs on his skin, but he ignored it.
"It's probably nothing." He repeated to himself for the fifth hundred and twenty-fifth time.
It was then that he heard a knock at the door, and was greeted by... some sort of sleepy-looking blonde kitsune. She is wearing a fake mustache, and holding a large package in her hands. The energy radiating off of her makes Ocaeril’s skin crawl, not like he’s sensing anything dangerous, but more... just wrong. Just personally insulting on some level.
“Gotta non-special delivery for Ocaeril? It’s signed ‘from your quilled best friend’. Also, can I just add it is completely bullshit trying to mail packages to you, especially when the sender is a cheeky troll who just puts ‘Ocaeril’ as the address.”
There was only a moment of silence from the other planet god, the look on his face almost similar, if not equal to the other Kitsune. Some ancient being inside of him roared and laughed at this, as he almost felt like his own fox parts wanted to come out. They didn't. Either because of how stupid and unnecessary it'd be and because he already had the feeling that this situation was going to head straight into bullshit level of territories.
Okay, Ocaeril's mind slowed down for a moment there. He could just kill whoever this is and absorb her memories to get who she works with, but from what she said, the fact that she used the words 'quilled' and 'best friend' already gave him an idea who it was. Why the fuck Original would create some tired eastern fox when he caused Youkai to be enslaved is beyond him, though.
"Sounds like me, yeah." The fact she somehow was able to bypass the World Tree's defenses was also worrying. "Lemme guess, it's some dumb stupid bullshit?" He noted, already grabbing a pencil to sign anything.
“It always is, with you people.”
The fox sighs, and holds out the clipboard. On a mailing sheet, Ocaeril sees she has already signed her name under the ‘Courier’ section: Lireaco, the Progeny, False Idol of Stagnation and Validation.
...
...
...
Ocaeril takes a breather. For a moment, he holds up a finger that suddenly had his nail become dark and elongated, as he closes the door on the fox's face. For a moment, one in the immediate scene can only hear the sounds of glass breaking and loud chugging, followed by a low rumble on the god's throat, almost like a dragon was doing his best not to hiccup and accidentally burn an entire city down with his fiery breath.
The door opens up. Ocaeril looks suddenly worse to wear. His fancy, well-kept clothing seemed to be suddenly belonging to a man who lost it all, and the bag under his eyes felt heavier.
"Thanks for the fanfiction Original..."
With a tired groan, he wrote his name down. Ocaeril. And immediately kicked the package. Hard. As if trying to see if anything inside of it would react. He already had a feeling he knew what was going to happen when he opened it. Maaaybe a little bit of Destruction was in that kick, but hey, don't worry about it.
The box had immediately been destroyed, being just a regular box, but the familiar red top hat within was completely untouched.
“Sure, call me a fanfiction. Asshole. Whatever, I don’t care.”
Lireaco flipped him off and began to meander away as the hat started rustling. Original burst forth from under it, now noticeably taller and with antlers, one of which is broken.
“Ah, Ocaeril, my friend! How do you like the new look? Want to know how I got it? It’s a killer of a story~ Oops! That might’ve been a hint.”
Ocaeril just had mumbled a 'you too' to Lireaco, not really hearing what she had to say, really, but more replying on an instinctual level. Whatever, (x2) he'll go after her later. He already got her face and essence. Should be easy to find her, wherever the fuck she goes. Inside him, the Kitsune said that the best partner for the best cubs was always blah blah blah something sexual and unnecessarily gross. Look, Ocaeril could stay here all day doing a back and forth that will be probably worth a few laughs in the future, but when the clearly different figure of Original with a very clearly different essence that he was familiar with burst from that top hat, he could only sigh.
And instantly, the world went dark. Darkness.
The ground bellow Ocaeril became darker, and so did his entire house, darker than most other substances in the realm, almost looking like they were transported to the darkest reaches of space. Ocaeril still looked drunk, tired, and exhausted, but his eyes were green and slit, and with his hand raised into a claw form, darkness wrapped itself around the figure of 'Original', highly entropic forces keeping them in place, but not hurting outright. They could most likely get out of it if they wanted to...
But it was amusing to see the look on the planet boy's face. He certainly got waaaay more ruthless, didn't he? At this point, he might be shocked in realization when discovering Ickol killed Original, but nah, all she could see in his eyes was nothing but a silent contempt and almost no other emotion. Kinda edgy, though. Looks like he went from shonen to seinen. Hah. Hah...
【Cut the bullshit. I know exactly who you are. The antlers give it away, and the fact that I know you're lying about being Original gives it even more. Show me your girl parts.】
Ocaeril blinked, the darkness disappeared, as he suddenly realized what he said.
"No, fuck, what I mean is--- AAAAAAAAAARGGGGGGGGGGGGH! FUCK THIS S--"
‘Original’ grabbed the card and removed it from the camera.
“Woah there amigo, unless there’s something about the Missus you haven’t told me, fusion don’t work like that! It’s me, man! I murdered Ickol, and saved everyone! Just like you wanted. The coward had ran off and sliced up that sea witch lady, and when she popped up again we got into a little round of fisticuffs when I saw her acting all suspicious-like. Not-so-sadly, I might’ve escalated things a bit, but at least Ickol is no more! And now that lass’ power can be put to better use than ever before!”
Aside from the height and antlers, he does... seem like himself. But one of them has definitely died and been absorbed.
Ocaeril was suddenly in the corner of the room, squatting and rubbing the bridge of his nose. How nobody else in the house heard that scream is a mystery.
"Look," He began. "Original speaks more like he's cutting the words and uses a lot of old slang, way more then you're currently using, and he sure as hell wouldn't have made a clone copy of me, principally a Kitsune one, considering the fact he essentially enslaved Youkai. That, and the fact that Ickol lies as naturally as she breathes makes me know exactly who actually won that fight, 'buddy.' " Ocaeril spoke, drinking from another suspicious-looking bottle of whiskey.
"Also, Original would want to destroy everything Ickol ever created if he got information about it via fusions. Not 'use' her power. At least not right away. So can we just cut the bullshit for once in our lives here, Ickol?"
He's known that Hedgehog ever since creation. Of course he'd be able to tell if something changed.
“So distrusting! You’d think that tree head had been snake-oiling you since dawn eternal! The thing that most busts my gut is that conclusion, old boy! You of all people should know fusion alters a person.”
Original’s form shifted, resembling Ickol as he remembered her.
“I...mean, it...was...the...right...answer, but...the...logic...you...used...to...reach...it...was...all...wrong. So...doesn’t...that...mean...it...wasn’t...the...right...answer...after-all? Then...where...does...that...leave...me, huh? In...one...hasty...conclusion, you’ve...denied...my...existence! Apologize!”
As the goddess pouted at him, a copy of herself stepped out from behind her and bonked her on the head with her own hammer before popping out of existence. The first Ickol collapsed forwards only to cartwheel at the last second and stand ramrod straight directly in front of Ocaeril, her appearance and demeanor entirely changed.
“BUT REGARDLESS! The point is moot cuz I ain’t either the people you think I am! I’m both, reworked into something cool and new! It’s your new and improved best pal, Ickol, Oca! No creepy vibes like with your bro before, I actually know what consent means! Gotta say, the fact you were so friendly with that dude kinda reflects badly on you, you might want to get in the habit of denying association for when those lawsuits start to come out. Anywho! Having inherited Original’s personality, I now feel the strong male bond that is bros being dudes, Oca! And having slain your old friend in physical combat, I have earned the right to be his replacement! That’s what we’re doing, Oca! Making up for lost time! I don’t hate your guts anymore, in fact, I love them! If you’d be so kind as to spill them all over the floor so I could frolic in them, that would be wonderful! But I can understand if you’d rather take this friendship express slowly, my bro. Can I call you bro? Imma call you bro. Or cuz, if that works. The point is, I have squandered your childhood, not been the surrogate figure of ambiguous familiarity I should have been. And it’s time to make that stuff up! Tis’ why I’ve create darling Aco! Nothing says friendship like mothering a clone of your friend! In my defense, that interpretation was all on her, I managed to convince her not to think of you as the father because (no offense cuz) yikes, and also, bleh. Just bleh all around. But regardless! It’s the two of us, making up for lost time! Just Oca and his dude-bro who happens to be a woman! Sleepovers, Oca! Adventures, Oca! Child support, Oca! Kidding with that last one, she really wants nothing to do with you ya deadbeat! But brunches, Oca! Think about all the platonic brunches and forced small talk we can do now! Today’s the first day of the rest of your life, Oca! No matter how short is may turn out to be! Ickol and Oca, forever and ever! Ickol and Oca, the buddy comedy franchise you didn’t see coming! And if you don’t agree, Oca, I’m going to talk like this, Oca! I’m going to talk like this forever and ever, Oca! This is your life now, Oca! You thought this was some power move, you wrong, bitch! I mean Oca! This is the most holy olive branch of siblinghood to ever get extended in the history of ever, Oca! Are you getting annoyed yet, Oca? I’d hate to bother you Oca! Say something if this is irritating, Oca! Otherwise I’m going to keep it up, Oca!”
For a moment, Ocaeril didn't say anything. Still, with his ass on the floor, he simply stared at the figure now known as Ickoriginal in front of him. There was nothing but silence from the god, the whiskey he drank stuck on his clothes and the floor, his bottle standing pathetically broken in the ground with the rest of his drinking bottles broken too. What was happening felt akin to a chef trying to serve a customer two orders at the same time that should not go together. An already chocolatey and incredibly hard and tasteless cake mixed up with a burger, in which the chef deep fried the cake, put it between the burger buns and all the other ingredients, and tried to serve it to him.
It was chaos, and he could feel it, his own aspect dancing along constantly to this tango. His pupils simply stared at her, becoming smaller and smaller, as if he was struck with shock as the words she spoke hit him like hot and cold knifes passing through his skin and hitting his brain, not dealing any damage, but certainly making it shake in confusion and growing dread. As such, Ocaeril only had a single solution to this problem: Try and ignore it.
Maybe if I tune her out of my brain--
It wasn't a good idea.
"WORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDS--"
"Fuck."
"QUIPPY AFFIRMATIVE"
Somewhere deep inside Ocaeril's brain, he knew exactly what was going on. The burger was too large and too fucking hazardous for him to eat whole. It was a meal he can't eat, nor he can ignore, because the more he ignores, the more it grows, and the more it becomes a bigger and bigger mess. So he has to go along with what the burger wants and just eat it slowly over time until it doesn't consume everything. This was Ocaeril and Ickol now. Two hopefully platonic entities of chaos who constantly cause messes of this form and size for one another.
Somewhere in a metaphysical realm beyond human comprehension, two out of three very cool chairs were formed who were currently running after one another like two rabid dogs, as a title card shined brightly.
Here in Ocaeril, all of this and worse can and WILL happen to you! And if nothing happens in less then fifty years that doesn't make you cry out in pain and suffering, it's your whatever currency you use back! Come visit us in Ocaeril, we're one of the worst!
"Man this break really is taking its toll on me, huh."
As Ocaeril (the god, but also the planet) finished contemplating how utterly fucked his world actually was for a few decades while passing some time with his family, and Shimone, who thankfully had come back (but was acting a little weird) he realized one massive trait of his was coming out: The 'fuck it, I'll deal with this' trait he had. While the world wasn't burning down yet because some asshole used the wrong prose when describing what he did and interdimensional forces misunderstood and caused a doomed timeline, it sure felt like it was in a little bit because of all this Siren, Gaul, and Sci-Fi bullshit they're bringing in what was a normal medieval world in like, five hundred years.
He saw multiple possibilities with his third eye. Some they won and something worse came by just a turn later, others they lost and you can expect what happens, and an interesting thing about all these timelines? Yeah, they never really got a moment to rest. There will always be some asshole swinging his massive dick around and wrecking shit, and they deal with it, make some funny jokes about it, then kill him and move on to the next asshole.
Ocaeril gripped his whiskey bottle with intensity. The bottle was instantly destroyed but quickly reformed as he drank from it at the World Tree. His body was itching to get out of his ass and create something new to combat all this bullshit, and while his clones are already doing so, the actual, fully powered Ocaeril was still on a break that made him regret more and more ever being political with Corven or Gaul or whatever the fuck and the Sirens. Would people judge him too hard if he talked with Dialga and went back in time to destroy them? Probably not, they did the same shit when they first attacked. Wicked and violent thoughts of how to destroy the Sirens and Gaul came to Ocaeril's mind, yet he never really did anything with it. He's still on break.
He occasionally felt these tingly sensations all over his body followed with some trees straightening themselves up like the hairs on his skin, but he ignored it.
"It's probably nothing." He repeated to himself for the fifth hundred and twenty-fifth time.
It was then that he heard a knock at the door, and was greeted by... some sort of sleepy-looking blonde kitsune. She is wearing a fake mustache, and holding a large package in her hands. The energy radiating off of her makes Ocaeril’s skin crawl, not like he’s sensing anything dangerous, but more... just wrong. Just personally insulting on some level.
“Gotta non-special delivery for Ocaeril? It’s signed ‘from your quilled best friend’. Also, can I just add it is completely bullshit trying to mail packages to you, especially when the sender is a cheeky troll who just puts ‘Ocaeril’ as the address.”
There was only a moment of silence from the other planet god, the look on his face almost similar, if not equal to the other Kitsune. Some ancient being inside of him roared and laughed at this, as he almost felt like his own fox parts wanted to come out. They didn't. Either because of how stupid and unnecessary it'd be and because he already had the feeling that this situation was going to head straight into bullshit level of territories.
Okay, Ocaeril's mind slowed down for a moment there. He could just kill whoever this is and absorb her memories to get who she works with, but from what she said, the fact that she used the words 'quilled' and 'best friend' already gave him an idea who it was. Why the fuck Original would create some tired eastern fox when he caused Youkai to be enslaved is beyond him, though.
"Sounds like me, yeah." The fact she somehow was able to bypass the World Tree's defenses was also worrying. "Lemme guess, it's some dumb stupid bullshit?" He noted, already grabbing a pencil to sign anything.
“It always is, with you people.”
The fox sighs, and holds out the clipboard. On a mailing sheet, Ocaeril sees she has already signed her name under the ‘Courier’ section: Lireaco, the Progeny, False Idol of Stagnation and Validation.
...
...
...
Ocaeril takes a breather. For a moment, he holds up a finger that suddenly had his nail become dark and elongated, as he closes the door on the fox's face. For a moment, one in the immediate scene can only hear the sounds of glass breaking and loud chugging, followed by a low rumble on the god's throat, almost like a dragon was doing his best not to hiccup and accidentally burn an entire city down with his fiery breath.
The door opens up. Ocaeril looks suddenly worse to wear. His fancy, well-kept clothing seemed to be suddenly belonging to a man who lost it all, and the bag under his eyes felt heavier.
"Thanks for the fanfiction Original..."
With a tired groan, he wrote his name down. Ocaeril. And immediately kicked the package. Hard. As if trying to see if anything inside of it would react. He already had a feeling he knew what was going to happen when he opened it. Maaaybe a little bit of Destruction was in that kick, but hey, don't worry about it.
The box had immediately been destroyed, being just a regular box, but the familiar red top hat within was completely untouched.
“Sure, call me a fanfiction. Asshole. Whatever, I don’t care.”
Lireaco flipped him off and began to meander away as the hat started rustling. Original burst forth from under it, now noticeably taller and with antlers, one of which is broken.
“Ah, Ocaeril, my friend! How do you like the new look? Want to know how I got it? It’s a killer of a story~ Oops! That might’ve been a hint.”
Ocaeril just had mumbled a 'you too' to Lireaco, not really hearing what she had to say, really, but more replying on an instinctual level. Whatever, (x2) he'll go after her later. He already got her face and essence. Should be easy to find her, wherever the fuck she goes. Inside him, the Kitsune said that the best partner for the best cubs was always blah blah blah something sexual and unnecessarily gross. Look, Ocaeril could stay here all day doing a back and forth that will be probably worth a few laughs in the future, but when the clearly different figure of Original with a very clearly different essence that he was familiar with burst from that top hat, he could only sigh.
And instantly, the world went dark. Darkness.
The ground bellow Ocaeril became darker, and so did his entire house, darker than most other substances in the realm, almost looking like they were transported to the darkest reaches of space. Ocaeril still looked drunk, tired, and exhausted, but his eyes were green and slit, and with his hand raised into a claw form, darkness wrapped itself around the figure of 'Original', highly entropic forces keeping them in place, but not hurting outright. They could most likely get out of it if they wanted to...
But it was amusing to see the look on the planet boy's face. He certainly got waaaay more ruthless, didn't he? At this point, he might be shocked in realization when discovering Ickol killed Original, but nah, all she could see in his eyes was nothing but a silent contempt and almost no other emotion. Kinda edgy, though. Looks like he went from shonen to seinen. Hah. Hah...
【Cut the bullshit. I know exactly who you are. The antlers give it away, and the fact that I know you're lying about being Original gives it even more. Show me your girl parts.】
Ocaeril blinked, the darkness disappeared, as he suddenly realized what he said.
"No, fuck, what I mean is--- AAAAAAAAAARGGGGGGGGGGGGH! FUCK THIS S--"
“Woah there amigo, unless there’s something about the Missus you haven’t told me, fusion don’t work like that! It’s me, man! I murdered Ickol, and saved everyone! Just like you wanted. The coward had ran off and sliced up that sea witch lady, and when she popped up again we got into a little round of fisticuffs when I saw her acting all suspicious-like. Not-so-sadly, I might’ve escalated things a bit, but at least Ickol is no more! And now that lass’ power can be put to better use than ever before!”
Aside from the height and antlers, he does... seem like himself. But one of them has definitely died and been absorbed.
Ocaeril was suddenly in the corner of the room, squatting and rubbing the bridge of his nose. How nobody else in the house heard that scream is a mystery.
"Look," He began. "Original speaks more like he's cutting the words and uses a lot of old slang, way more then you're currently using, and he sure as hell wouldn't have made a clone copy of me, principally a Kitsune one, considering the fact he essentially enslaved Youkai. That, and the fact that Ickol lies as naturally as she breathes makes me know exactly who actually won that fight, 'buddy.' " Ocaeril spoke, drinking from another suspicious-looking bottle of whiskey.
"Also, Original would want to destroy everything Ickol ever created if he got information about it via fusions. Not 'use' her power. At least not right away. So can we just cut the bullshit for once in our lives here, Ickol?"
He's known that Hedgehog ever since creation. Of course he'd be able to tell if something changed.
“So distrusting! You’d think that tree head had been snake-oiling you since dawn eternal! The thing that most busts my gut is that conclusion, old boy! You of all people should know fusion alters a person.”
Original’s form shifted, resembling Ickol as he remembered her.
“I...mean, it...was...the...right...answer, but...the...logic...you...used...to...reach...it...was...all...wrong. So...doesn’t...that...mean...it...wasn’t...the...right...answer...after-all? Then...where...does...that...leave...me, huh? In...one...hasty...conclusion, you’ve...denied...my...existence! Apologize!”
As the goddess pouted at him, a copy of herself stepped out from behind her and bonked her on the head with her own hammer before popping out of existence. The first Ickol collapsed forwards only to cartwheel at the last second and stand ramrod straight directly in front of Ocaeril, her appearance and demeanor entirely changed.
“BUT REGARDLESS! The point is moot cuz I ain’t either the people you think I am! I’m both, reworked into something cool and new! It’s your new and improved best pal, Ickol, Oca! No creepy vibes like with your bro before, I actually know what consent means! Gotta say, the fact you were so friendly with that dude kinda reflects badly on you, you might want to get in the habit of denying association for when those lawsuits start to come out. Anywho! Having inherited Original’s personality, I now feel the strong male bond that is bros being dudes, Oca! And having slain your old friend in physical combat, I have earned the right to be his replacement! That’s what we’re doing, Oca! Making up for lost time! I don’t hate your guts anymore, in fact, I love them! If you’d be so kind as to spill them all over the floor so I could frolic in them, that would be wonderful! But I can understand if you’d rather take this friendship express slowly, my bro. Can I call you bro? Imma call you bro. Or cuz, if that works. The point is, I have squandered your childhood, not been the surrogate figure of ambiguous familiarity I should have been. And it’s time to make that stuff up! Tis’ why I’ve create darling Aco! Nothing says friendship like mothering a clone of your friend! In my defense, that interpretation was all on her, I managed to convince her not to think of you as the father because (no offense cuz) yikes, and also, bleh. Just bleh all around. But regardless! It’s the two of us, making up for lost time! Just Oca and his dude-bro who happens to be a woman! Sleepovers, Oca! Adventures, Oca! Child support, Oca! Kidding with that last one, she really wants nothing to do with you ya deadbeat! But brunches, Oca! Think about all the platonic brunches and forced small talk we can do now! Today’s the first day of the rest of your life, Oca! No matter how short is may turn out to be! Ickol and Oca, forever and ever! Ickol and Oca, the buddy comedy franchise you didn’t see coming! And if you don’t agree, Oca, I’m going to talk like this, Oca! I’m going to talk like this forever and ever, Oca! This is your life now, Oca! You thought this was some power move, you wrong, bitch! I mean Oca! This is the most holy olive branch of siblinghood to ever get extended in the history of ever, Oca! Are you getting annoyed yet, Oca? I’d hate to bother you Oca! Say something if this is irritating, Oca! Otherwise I’m going to keep it up, Oca!”
For a moment, Ocaeril didn't say anything. Still, with his ass on the floor, he simply stared at the figure now known as Ickoriginal in front of him. There was nothing but silence from the god, the whiskey he drank stuck on his clothes and the floor, his bottle standing pathetically broken in the ground with the rest of his drinking bottles broken too. What was happening felt akin to a chef trying to serve a customer two orders at the same time that should not go together. An already chocolatey and incredibly hard and tasteless cake mixed up with a burger, in which the chef deep fried the cake, put it between the burger buns and all the other ingredients, and tried to serve it to him.
It was chaos, and he could feel it, his own aspect dancing along constantly to this tango. His pupils simply stared at her, becoming smaller and smaller, as if he was struck with shock as the words she spoke hit him like hot and cold knifes passing through his skin and hitting his brain, not dealing any damage, but certainly making it shake in confusion and growing dread. As such, Ocaeril only had a single solution to this problem: Try and ignore it.
Maybe if I tune her out of my brain--
It wasn't a good idea.
"WORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDS--"
"Fuck."
"QUIPPY AFFIRMATIVE"
Somewhere deep inside Ocaeril's brain, he knew exactly what was going on. The burger was too large and too fucking hazardous for him to eat whole. It was a meal he can't eat, nor he can ignore, because the more he ignores, the more it grows, and the more it becomes a bigger and bigger mess. So he has to go along with what the burger wants and just eat it slowly over time until it doesn't consume everything. This was Ocaeril and Ickol now. Two hopefully platonic entities of chaos who constantly cause messes of this form and size for one another.
Somewhere in a metaphysical realm beyond human comprehension, two out of three very cool chairs were formed who were currently running after one another like two rabid dogs, as a title card shined brightly.
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