Jacques

Jacques Cousteau threw himself down to avoid the razor sharp razors held in the hand of the Chimanticore. He rolled further along the branch to avoid the blow that was surely to follow, but none came. Leaping to his feet, he turned and realized what a mistake he had made. The beast had fooled him. It had not disembowled Jacques while he was vulnerable--perhaps because it knew what doing so would have released--and instead had repositioned itself on his other side. Now Jacques was being forced back away from it towards the very trunk of Yggdrasil itself. At the rate he was moving, he had only moments to find an escape. All he had managed to salvage after the shipwreck in the City Thirteen Leagues Aloft was the Sacred Katana of the Highbladed Greatknives, the Spellbook of Unmaking, and his baseball card collection. If the Ghostqueen of the Hegemony of the Anarchons hadn't taken his mint condition T206 Honus Wagner, he could have perhaps yet bargained for his life. But so incomplete, his collection wouldn't even distract the Chimanticore for a second.

Jacque glanced around, hoping somewhere there was something he missed. Two thousand feet above the clouds, though, there was nothing of use on the massive ash tree. There were a few leaves, thankfully still hibernating since their last feast, a handful of Darkmoths, and-of course!

Jacques sprinted to the Defense Canon. He scrabbled through his beard to find a quarter and quickly inserted it, while the Chimanticore turned to leap away. Before it could get eleven feet, Jacques had the cannon powered and he fired a single wolfsbane laced quicksilver shot. The beast exploded in a cloud of butterflies, which as one gave a scream. Jacques trembled at the sound.

For this would wake the leaves.

Jacques

Jacques Cousteau faced the open doorway of the zeppelin, feeling the wind in his beard. Behind him, the werezombie crew was beginning to stir from their slumber. If he was still in the vessel when they regained their limited faculties, he would be torn to pieces in their unending search for polysaturated fats.
Jacques spat a clot of phlegm to test the zeppelin's speed. Fast, but not fast enough.
Unless.
Jacques ran into the depths of the dirigible, leaping over the twitching bodies and dodging their already-grasping limbs. He hopped down an open hatch to the boiler room. He found the case on the wall, and he removed a bicuspid to work the lock open.
It was hot in the boiler room, and the exhausting work of fine motor movements was taking its toll on Jacques. May the Pinguen people forgive me he thought as he removed his +5 Parka of Uncomfortable Temperature Increase. It disintegrated in the air, and from the ash came a wisp of steam that looked suspiciously like an omen to warn him that things of a primarily negative nature would befall him at some unspecified point in the future because of his rash action rose from it.
Cooler now, Jacques was able  to concentrate his thoughts on the task at hand, and soon popped the case open. Inside were but two things. A collapsed hang-glider, which he quickly set up, and a plasma whip. This he secreted in his bicuspid's previous slot, and so prepared, he readied for flight.
By the time the lycanthropic undead arrived, the only evidence Jacques had ever been there was the gaping hole in the wall.

Jacques

The Council sat unmoving as Jacques burst dramatically through the ceiling of the Sky, grappling with the vampiric soul-sprite. His powerful arms could barely hold the gnashing mouth from his face, and he had no way to reach the bell at his belt.
If only it were the solstice! Jacques thought. Any appendage, no matter how parasitic, would be of aid to me. But it was still deep autumn, if the spectators' faces were anything to judge by.
"I bring dire news!" strained the mariner. "It would be in your interest to help me!"
The watchers did nothing, and Jacques knew there was only one thing he could do. He opened his mouth as wide as it could go, then wider still, feeling his cheeks tear and his jaw unhinge. But still it opened until his mandible hung at ninety degrees, and his bloody face was split to his ears. The soul-sprite slowed, perhaps sensing the inevitability of its fate, and Jacques began to keen. The fiery blue glow of his opponent began to flare with terror, as from Jacques came a terrible being. As it came free, it took hold of the sprite, and began to tear at it with its teeth.
Ignoring the battle, Jacques strode to the tallest of the Council. The being gazed impassively as Jacques took the scroll from his beard.
"I bear a message from the God-slave of the Wreaked. It is merely this. 'Have faith'. My task completed, I will take my leave."
Jacques stepped through an archway of fire that opened before him, leaving his long dead half-sister to finish her battle in the court of the Unmortals.

Jacques

You couldn't swing a dead cat in here, thought Jacques Cousteau thoughtfully, without hitting a sphinx. Luckily for him, the statues would sleep until the midnight hour, and it was only three strokes after the twelfth bell of dawn's-night.He took a deep breath before breaking the surface of the water, and climbing up the island's shore. A bitter stench wafted to his nostrils, and as he looked about, he could see why. All about him were the bloated corpses of things that may once have been part human, but now were too dead to be.
"Either these are the long-dead living," whispered Jacques to a crab crawling from an eye socket, "Or the recently living dead."
The crab made no reply, and Jacques' eyes narrowed with suspicion.
The crab slowly closed its right claw, then allowed it to fall lazily open.
Jacques withdrew a comb from his raincoat, and slowly twirled it in his hand.
The crab's eyestalks slowly crept forward.
Jacques' face was the picture of solemn focus, while his mind scrabbled for everything he knew about this type of crustacean. Did they hunt in packs? Were the females huge, winged carnivores? Did they serve the sea-witch or-
My God! Mercury is in the third palace of Jupiter! That means- Jacques lunged forward, but it was too late. The crab's shell split, and writhing maggots poured forth into Time. Twelve chimes sounded in the space of no more than a second, and no less than an eon. Jacques turned as behind him, the waters churned.

Options

I'm still taking it easy, as anyone who expects a Song of the Day will soon discover, but I will probably still post more than anyone else here. This is due to my deep psychological need to post, not Met's failings to post often enough (failings which don't actually exist). It's been too soon since Elphaba stopped regular posting to determine if she fails to post frequently enough. Anyway, on to the tender heart of the matter.

Monday has always been the domain of my dear GLaDOS. However, despite the fact that she is Still Alive, you'll be GLaD to hear she won't be making an encore performance until Portal II. So now we must fill the space with something, lest Met greedily snatch my posting territory, as he is wont to do. Option one is a Jacques Cousteau tale; a prequel to my first. Before the beginning, I'd like to note how astonishingly difficult it is to write like this. Even so, I managed to write

A Prequel, Part I

Well, one thing's clear, thought Jacques Cousteau, It's dark. And so it was. As Jacques descended the blood soaked stairs into the dark depths of Darkdeep, the darkness deepened. He dared not unsheathe the Feldagger the Medium of Doomspeak had given him, for it still glowed with the blood of the fallen Yeti-Worm that had ambushed him. The light would cause the hosts of Darkdeep to notice him. And when they notice me he thought, Then they will know that the Gatekeeper is no more. If that happened, even the Half-Djinni Spirit King's blessing couldn't save him.

Option two will bring us all back to the days of our childhood. It will show us the dreams we dreamed, and the lives we imagined into being. It will then proceed to trample them, rend them thrice in twain, and force-feed them to us through a funnel caked with a slimy substance of questionable origin. Yes, it has come at last!

Pokemon: The Golden Apocalypse - Prologue

Red ran through the dense forest, branches ripping at his clothes and snaring his feet. The vines that hung down from the canopy were covered in vicious thorns, but he ran straight through them, ignoring the searing streaks of crimson they left on his exposed face and arms. Behind him, a roar bellowed through the trees, causing some branches to fall, such was its ferocity. He tripped on one of these and before he could rise, the skies darkened. A reptilian monstrosity flew through the air above, spewing smoke from its nostrils and fire gleaming on its tail. As it flew past, a torrent of water erupted from the river to Red's left, and the dragon fell from the skies, somewhere to his right. The Blastoise turned in Red's direction, where the Charizard had fallen. Cursing, Red jumped up, and tried to escape the spot where soon, no doubt, two behemoths would battle. He had barely started, when both creatures fled from some creature more terrible than either of them. Though hidden by the forest, its advance was marked by the tremors that shook the ground and the crashing of distant trees. Red ran for but a moment, before reaching a clearing at the end of the forested valley. His heart sank, and his thoughts dulled as he slowly realized there was no escape; instead of a steady rise to the level of the surrounding land, there was a steep cliff, precluding any progress. Red turned, intending to run past his pursuer, when the Venusaur entered the clearing. The titanic beast stood twenty meters high, and a vine thicker than a large apling snaked from the bulb on it's back. Just as it was about to grab Red, the sun reached an angle that cause light to suffuse the scene. The vine retracted as the bulb on the giants back opened. A glow began to emanate from the flower, which grew unbearably bright and then leapt from bulb. The beam howled towards Red, heat rolling off it in waves and-

Red awoke screaming. Realizing it was just a dream, he laid back down. He was almost asleep when an errant thought strolled into his consciousness. He was sixteen today. It was the day of the Calling.


Option three is where I write a dark tale, Elphaba calls it horrible, I reply sarcastically, Met intervenes, Elphaba sides with him and I cry.

I Recommend Leaving

This is one of the strangest things I've ever written. I'd skip it, if I were you.

“Your time has come, fiend” rasped Vampiric-Demonic-Scourge-Hunter Jacques Cousteau, leveling his harpoon. The figure in the cloak remained motionless. “Not a word, eh?” Jacques paused to cough. “Then you’ll take those non-words with you to the grave” He released the harpoon, and it flew through the air, pinning the cloak to the wall. The body was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, a voice came from behind Jacques, cold and impolite.

“Hah, you cannot kill me! I am king of the mecha-vampires, lord of the semi-dead, and writer of the informational pamphlet Death, and how it affects you! My power is greater than you could ever imagine!” Jacques turned and saw a withered hand reaching for him. He leapt back, onto the mound of fallen werepenguins. He reached into his parka and withdrew his trusty Pistol. Pistol was a sawed off shotgun with electrum shot that could pierce the hide of even the strongest robo-merfiend. He fired Pistol with reckless abandon, aiming for the figures black, twisted heart. Electrum tore through its chest, but the man merely laughed. Jacques suddenly realized who this was. He wasn’t dueling a common Demon-Giant, nor even a Dragon-Harpy. He was fighting with the Necromaster himself.

Jacques charged his foe, activating the condensed-moonbeam blade on Pistol. He pierced through the left ear of the Necromaster, who began to disintegrate. The man smiled as he dissipated, and whispered softly, “Thank you, my son”

“I am no son of yours!” cried Jacques.

“You are that and more.” The Necromaster pushed aside his hood with the last of his strength. He stood for a second, a mirror image of Jacques, and a wind swept him away. Jacques gazed into his own eyes, as he watched himself fly away on the breeze.