The
War of The Zazshkibar
One day, when Myterion stopped spinning, their twins the Zanbur got frustrated, because they had no one to wage war against anymore. So the Zanbur began their great warring amongst themselves, man against beast, son against daughter, ripping the great kingdom in two and tearing the tapestry of their love into shreds. A twisted, demon offspring arose from the ashes of Zanbur, the dark, mighty Zazshkibar. Brutal, vicious hunters, eating their own sons and brothers and raping and killing their own mothers, these murderous monsters would stop at nothing to get their kill, tearing flesh and bone, limb from limb, all the whilst the surviving members of Myterion watched in horror from their secret lair.
The dark acts of
the Zazshkibar proved too much for the surviving Myterion, who swore to fight
to the death to quell their satanic rage. One by one, the brave and galliant
Myterion approached, only to be brutally slain and eaten alive in great numbers
by the watchful eye of the Zazshkibar King. Pleading for mercy, Myterion
mothers screamed in agony as their sons and daughters were decapitated and
pulled apart, raped and abused in unspeakable manners of torment, ‘til the sea
ran deep with the scent of Myterion blood, and the echoes of their screams
could be heard as far as millennia hence.
The great day of
the Zazshkibar was upon us. Nothing was in our power to stop them. The
remaining Myterion were used as slaves, personal whores for the Zazshkibar
peasant class, while the King swallowed up their remains with a great crunching
sound. Death was here to stay for the Myterion.
The Zazshkibar,
too, were frustrated. The defeat was over. The scent of tortured Myterion
flatulence was no match for the Zazshkibar maniacal desires. So it came to pass
that they, too, began warring with each other. It no longer satisfied them to
rape and kill their own offspring; they sought their
own blood, their own deaths in brutal agony. Suicidal intent swarmed through
the land, as one by one the Zazshkibar marched in impossible battle against
their leaders, the Warriors, the King Himself. The King had had enough of this
insanity, so he banished His creatures to five thousand years of cold darkness.
There would be no rain, no sleet, no floods and no fire. Just
the unbearable stillness and deceit of the momentary calm which was to ensue.
One by one, the
Zazshkibar arose from that stillness and began a plot, a conspiracy to
overthrow the King and eat his remains. And they succeeded. Oversome with
shock, the dying King threw up his sword, and it became a mighty hailstorm.
Thunder raged across the seas for fifty days and a million nights, lashing and
burning in fierce agony at the sheer horror of the situation. The King’s gurgle
of Death arose from the ocean floor like a vagabond, in sheer terror of the
delicacy which was to come.
The
King swallowed up in their orgasmic lust, the Zazshkibar pillaged his remains
and stormed the land, swallowing up everything in sight. When, finally, they
came to a halt, there came to be nothing but Zazshkibar.