Dirty Deeds, Done Dirt Sheep!

Part 3 - "The Culmination"

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Dirty Deeds, Done Dirt Sheep!

Part 3 - “The Culmination”

Burt’s grime-caked hands emerged from the earth as if he were a freakish, brawny baby, freeing himself by force from his mother’s womb. He pulled his body from the hot, smelly ash hole and collapsed to the ground, staring at the darkened sky from the backstage area.

Dusk had arrived, and it carried the pungent aroma of doom.

The barbarian sat up and tried to figure out where he was, and what was happening. A sheep approached him and bleated.

"What’s that, demon? You want me to drive my fist into your skull?"

The sheep replied with a sharp bleat and a stare.

Burt stood, snatching a fistful of wool on the top of the filthy sheep’s head, yanking it close. "Now, you listen. I know what you are. If you do not wish to have your udders ripped off one by one and fed to you, you will answer my question."

The sheep let out a panicked bleat.

"Where is the fish?"

The sheep’s eyes darted to the left, then refocused on Burt.

"See? Farming is easy. One must only threaten the stock with maiming to force it to cooperate. Now, run off. Bleat anything of this encounter, and you had better build up an appetite. Udder. By. Udder." Burt let go, slapped the sheep on its backside, and watched it dart off behind the stage. He stood and scowled as he patted the soot from his torso. "Durok had better be ready. I need a wash."

Burt quick-stepped in the direction indicated by the threatened sheep and found his way behind the stage platform. He spotted a run-down wooden harpsichord and, sitting on top, a large fish bowl with a small goldfish swimming in lazy circles. Behind the stage, the music had a washed-out tone. It was welcoming in contrast to the piercing noise in the main fairground area. Still, something felt more sinister as the light faded into the horizon. The energy in the air shifted to a palpable sense of dread.

He hid along a large stone column behind the stage, eyeing a few sheep and a large security demon plodding past the harpsichord. When the way cleared, he made his move, rushing to the instrument and grabbing the bowl with his outstretched hands. Burt had never noticed a fish looking terrified before, but it was the exact look he received through the glass.

Fisch stared in horror as Burt’s warped face on the outside of the bowl leaned in close and grinned wide. "You’re not playing any time soon, little fishy. Let’s go wreck things."

On stage, the Consecrated Hurdy-Gurdy screeched and wailed at the hands of Dave Methuselah. Burt crept up the rear stairs, spotting the entire jam bard ensemble, backs turned as they faced the crowd. Fishbowl in hand, he slipped behind a large curtain and scanned the audience. He spotted Durok close to the front of the stage.

The barbarian locked eyes with his sorcerer friend as they shared a knowing nod.

It was showtime.

Burt leapt past the curtain and delivered a violent kick to the bard sitting at the percussion instruments. The noise of the Consecrated Hurdy-Gurdy of Lichtendix screeched to a halt as an awkward silence fell. The crowd of onlookers shouted in befuddled protest.

A large security demon turned and spotted Burt climbing to the stage and raising clawed hands in the air. With his free hand, Burt snagged a large cymbal, spun, and delivered it through the demon’s neck. Bards scattered, sheep shrieked, and a bright plume of purple smoke rose from Durok’s position in front of the stage.

The distraction arrived. The following moment was pure mayhem. Bards ran in every direction, colliding with each other as instruments whimpered and crunched. Sheep and festival-goers bolted like cockroaches in every direction, some wailing in despair.

Burt stretched his arm out and pointed at Dave Methuselah, who began backing up in terror. The bard’s eyes darted back and forth between Burt and the beheaded security demon’s body, slumping off the stage in a growing pool of glossy, green blood.

"Hand over that irritating instrument, or I swear to you I will feed you to this fish!"

Dave Methuselah shook his head, his eyes widening with fear. "I — no! No, you cannot have it!"

The barbarian set the fish down, snatched bagpipes from a cowering bard, and took another step toward Dave Methuselah. He shook the pipes as he stepped closer, ejecting a sad whimper from the instrument’s bladder. In the crowd, the ground began to tremble as a long, dark shadow loomed. A cylinder of black vapor the height of ten men writhed in the center of the clearing crowd. Burt stayed focused on the insufferable bard. "I swear to you, demon bard, I will bagpipe you to death! Hand it ov—"

Across the fairgrounds, hundreds of miniature volcanoes erupted into a shimmering display of molten rock and gas, launched high into the evening sky. A deep orange hue lit the expansive scene as a column of unnatural golden flame erupted a short distance away. An escalating three-note ditty repeated like some sort of energizing hype tune as a deep announcer’s voice echoed into the encroaching night.

"And now," echoed the theatrical announcement, "imps and fiends, hellspawn and thralls, minions, and underlings! Put your hands together for the Overlord with the Most … er … lord. All the way from the depths of the Seventh Circle! The Master of Thorns! The Horniest of Horned Hellions! There’s a cannon in his codpiece and it. Is. Ready. To. Blow! The one, the only …"

Orange streams of flame lit up the sky as the wowed crowd gasped in delight. Every head turned skyward at the magnificent display of spewing fire. Burt spotted Durok backing up and marveling at the spectacle. The announcer’s voice boomed through the final introduction, drawing out each syllable as the crowd erupted. "Balthrog Cannondong!"

A relentless wave of suffocating sulphur saturated the acrid air, and a rolling vortex of blackened clouds gave way to the mountainous, sinewy physique of the imposing demon lord. The beast rose to the height of a castle tower, its deep red flesh rippling under patches of coarse black fur. Balthrog’s fanged under-bite curled into a wicked smile as his oily black wings expanded to their full breadth in a flourish. Dust curled to the stars past his elongated, corkscrewed horns. His eyes flashed open and dilated pupils nestled in blazing yellow irises zeroed in on the bagpipe-wielding barbarian who stood center stage.

Burt stood tall and unimpressed as Balthrog advanced, each plod of his flaming hooves causing tremors to ripple through the fairgrounds. The demon’s arm stretched out with preternatural speed, snatching Dave Methuselah and his golden instrument from the stage’s edge. He plucked the Hurdy-Gurdy from Dave’s grasp. The puny bard shrieked as Balthrog flicked him into the distant darkness like a troublesome insect.

Silence fell and Burt locked eyes with his demonic nemesis. The only sounds apart from mighty exhales of the gargantuan demon were occasional whimpering bleats of nearby sheep. Burt shot a quick glance toward Durok, who shook his head at the Barbarian.

The sorcerer’s voice sliced through the awkward silence. "Burt. Whatever it is you are about to do, please don’t do it."

Burt stepped to the edge of the stage, his soot-stained muscles glimmering with sweat as he pointed at the instrument in the demon’s claws. "Hand over that infernal noisemaker, and I may spare your life, infantile creature."

Durok rolled his eyes and threw up his hands in exasperated resignation.

Groups of onlookers oohed as every head in the silent crowd turned to the towering demon, awaiting the response.

Balthrog’s eyes flashed and his lungs rumbled, drawing in a deep breath before bursting out in mocking laughter. "Infantile? Puny barbarian! I will devour you as a snack, and wipe your shite stain on the nearest filthy, fluffy farm creature!"

A few nervous sheep scuttled away from the conflict.

Burt cocked his head to the side, waving a dismissive hand toward the demon. "I have fought bigger."

"What?" barked Balthrog. He held out his arms as he spoke. "These are all my children within my domain, weakling! You cannot escape this torment! You are my plaything, tiny mortal."

Glances shot back toward Burt, eager for the next volley of rhetoric. Out of the corner of his eye, the barbarian noticed Durok had disappeared from view. Burt laughed, spun around, and snatched Fisch from the bowl of water behind him, holding the fabled aquatic jam bard above his open mouth. The creature writhed and wriggled in petrified panic as the crowd gasped. Burt held his mouth open, dangling the creature above his throat as screams of protest rang out. "I will consume this wretched creature! Hand over the instrument!"

Balthrog took a step back, his massive arms urging the crowd to calm. "Worry not, my children, this human would not dare consume our beloved bard. Release him now, barbarian, or you will learn why I am Balthrog Cannondong!"

Burt’s brow wrinkled. "I don’t understand."

Balthrog looked around, slight confusion in his eyes. "Cannondong. It’s two words. Cannon. And dong. Do you truly not—"

"And I am Burt," he scoffed, holding the frantic fish above his mouth. "What of it?" He spotted Durok far back in the crowd, weaving as fast as he could toward Balthrog.

The demon laughed as he played to the crowd in disbelief. He pointed toward the stage, turning to address the crowd. "He doesn’t understand!" he announced, his gaze swinging back to Burt. Balthrog reached down and grabbed his dangling, thorn-covered codpiece, swinging it around like a windmill. "I have a cannon for a penis, barbarian! My genitalia is a siege weapon!" he roared. "One pleasurable twitch and I can reduce the grandest kingdom to mere rubble!"

"And?" remarked Burt.

"Well wha — Wait. And? Isn’t that enough?" howled Balthrog in response.

Burt turned his head away from the dangling fish for a moment. "My manhood is the length of a jousting lance, the girth of a mead barrel, and enough seed to turn this hellish realm into a succulent orchard!"

Balthrog’s guffaw echoed through the fairgrounds as he motioned toward Burt with the Hurdy-Gurdy in his outstretched arm. He turned his gaze away from Burt, shouting to the crowd as laughter roared, "Then where is the little barbarian hiding it?" he bellowed.

Burt spotted Durok and saw his opportunity. He dropped the fish into his mouth, swallowing it whole as the crowd shrieked in horror. Before Balthrog could turn his head back to Burt, the barbarian ran to the edge of the stage, leapt into the air, and landed on Balthrog’s arm. The demon spun in a cyclone of flame and fury, shocked at the human scaling up to his shoulder and grasping the corkscrewed horns atop his head.

Balthrog shrieked and acidic sulphur blasted into the crowd as he whirled around.

"Now!" Burt shouted, holding out one of his hands as he grasped the bucking demon with his steel grip.

Festival-goers wailed at the demise of their beloved Fisch, and screamed in anguish from Balthrog’s columns of expelled brimstone. Chaos reigned as immolated sheep launched themselves in every direction. From below, Durok hurled the one object that could serve as a weapon in this eternal hellscape.

A single bottle of rancid, lumpy sheep’s milk.

Burt jammed the bottle into Balthrog’s open maw, ran down the rippling muscles in his arm, and snatched the instrument from his hand. The demon’s massive arm flailed into the air, launching Burt over his head. Eyes widened and screams sounded as Burt — with the dexterity and grace of an angel silhouetted against a clear, starry sky — brought the Consecrated Hurdy-Gurdy of the Isle of Lichtendix crashing down upon the head of Balthrog Cannondong, pulverizing it to smithereens.

Burt tumbled toward the ground as the colossal, sickened demon heaved, showering the fairgrounds in scorching vomit. An earth-shaking, mushroom-shaped cloud of annihilated Hurdy-Gurdy, glistening as if golden glitter, blasted everything backward in a shockwave of scorched pandemonium.

There was a bright flash.

Then, silence…

Part 4 - “The Exhalation” drops in two days! Until then …

If you enjoyed Part 3, let me know! I loved writing these characters, and truly hope you enjoy them as much as I do!

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