The plain was strangely quiet.

The silence of a graveyard, the stillness of bated breath. No sound but the sighs of the dying.

The last man standing was weary. Around him was a mountain of corpses, a lake of blood, a charred offering to the bloodthirsty god of war, anarchy and chaos. Better known as Mephistopheles, Overlord of Evil. Or MOE for short. On every one of the faces of the fallen was an expression of ultimate horror, a fear beyond reckoning. And yet the cadaverous faces of the enemy were unfazed, grim and unrelenting.

The battlefield had a name. The Plain of Woe. Or PW for short. A name that was cursed by generations of heroes, their mothers, their widows. An endless land of death and destruction. Finally taken.

The last man was too tired to exult in victory. He barely recalled the battle. Or perhaps it was a protracted skirmish. All he remembered was that field. That endless field. And that last enemy.

He was a paragon of destruction, that final foe. WRITTEN REPORT. His name was always spelled in capitals. The irony is that when it was spoken, it was spoken in hushed breaths, or not spoken at all. Mortals trembled before him, for he was ten feet tall, with a face devoid of feeling. Every step he made shook the ground, every breath he took sent foes flying. Wielding four weapons in each of his four hands, he was the avatar of carnage. But he had met his match.

It all came down to that last duel. The only two men left on the battlefield, but there could only be one. And so the dance of blades began. The man was only seven feet tall, and he had only twin swords to his opponent’s quintet. Yet he had a steely look of determination on his face. Gritting his teeth, he decided to take the offensive, knowing that to defend against four blades was impossible. He went into a frenzy, the ringing of steel on steel a crescendo of fury. The song of death continued as the blades moved in harmony, blade and wrist, wrist and arm, arm and body. The flash of light on metal and the sparks of sword on breastplate were the only light they saw in those awful moments. Yet the two were in a deadlock, neither showing weakness, neither with strength the other could not match. Thrust, parry, slash and feint. The immensity of WRITTEN REPORT began to shine through however, and with a four- armed whirlwind strike, he turned the tables on his adversary, now forced to take the defensive. WRITTEN REPORT used his mass, bull-rushing his opponent, and nearly tripping him. At the last second however, the man rolled between the tree trunks that were WRITTEN REPORT’s legs. His opponent temporarily off balance, he cut and slashed, wounding his opponent in a hundred different places. Our hero ended his onslaught, running his sword through the beast, and that should have done it.

But alas, WRITTEN REPORT was too stubborn to die. Bellowing a titanic “ I REFUSE TO DIE!”, he promptly plucked the sword out like it was a toothpick and again pressed the attack. Needless to say, our hero was at a severe disadvantage, with one sword to four. He soon fell to a flurry of strikes and was neatly tripped by the other’s colossal tree trunk legs. On his back, helpless, he prayed for a miracle.

And the gods answered. Or at least one god did.

“ Use the force, Chi.”

Seeing as he had no choice, Chi sighed and pointed a finger at his opponent. To his surprise, his opponent stopped in mid-swing. Amazed, chi waved his fingers around and twirled WRITTEN REPORT upside down, inside out, downside up. Finally, he got sick of it and just gave WRITTEN REPORT a headache, followed by high blood pressure, followed by cancer, then to end it off, cardiac arrest.

And so WRITTEN REPORT fell, with 2500 wounds on his body…

And yet, MOE was the victor.







Relief.

K maybe i wont need to jump off the UOB building now.
But i didnt do too well either.
hope my class makes it to next year as intact as possible.

Curse promos.
And i wish certain members of the staff would stop acting like students are out to murder them or something. jeez. I don't have the time to waste on disrupting their lives, and they way they're acting reminds me of babies bawling. Retarded.

Making 3 wishes.

1. My class will get promote intact. Yes this includes me.
2. My luck will reverse.
3. I want the moon, suns and stars.

yes.

cya.