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Oscar

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    Oscar reacted to The Kings in THE ULTIMATE SHOWDOWN   
    Soundtrack: Arabian yodeling.

    The bustle of the crowd seemed to quiet as storm clouds suddenly moved in, enveloping the whole of Aincrad. Silence blanketed the expanse as quickly as the darkness that followed, the only sounds heard being the occasional quiet murmur of skeptical players and the whispering of the surrounding flora as the increasingly frenzied wind whipped through it. Any nearby mobs became panicked and erratic, fleeing toward their makeshift shelters, burrows, trees, nearby vegetation; anything that would allow them to hide from what they all seemed to instinctively know was coming. 

    Moisture and fog billowed in through the floating castle's exposed sides, filling the players' nostrils with a familiar dampness. One of flourishing plant life, soft earth, and tepid sky. But also of an omen; something sinister, something brewing, something just beyond the veil - or even the veil itself. Something was coming, or was already there, that stiffened the hairs of everyone in attendance, protesting against the airborne mist that clung to them as they stood at attention. Everyone with a functioning amygdala could feel it. An instinctual fight or flight response that yearned to provoke their unmoving bodies into action. But against what?

    The very air itself almost seemed to be filled with a nervous electricity. And just as the players would collectively come to this realization, as if on cue, that electricity culminated in a white-hot, blinding surge of lightning that parted the quilt of clouds that hovered above. The deafening roar of thunder that followed caused air and earth alike to tremble as the energy of the blast danced along the skin of the players, a concussive wave of displaced air erupting from the point of impact and blasting away in all directions with the force of a microburst barreling down a mountain. From the cumulonimbus cavity left in the wake of the surge, a single ray of blinding golden sunshine shone through and down upon the players. 

    As they squinted to adjust their eyes to the heavenly glow, some may have begun to see it. The silhouettes of three creatures that had slowly begun to descend upon the masses, as though dangled by the hand of God himself. Those who recognized even one of the forms against the backdrop of light could only stare on in abject horror, all too aware of the terror the players now faced. Those who recognized two had already begun to panic. And the poor souls who recognized all three had all but given up hope, relenting to the whims of the Great Cardinal, who they could only surmise wanted the whole of Aincrad wiped from existence once and for all.

    Gob-Gob, the Immortal Slayer.
    Swine Jesus, Slayer of Axioses.
    And last, but not least, Rain Minion 12.

    The most diabolical combination of absurd power ever conceived by anyone, ever. Screams and shouts could be heard as players chose to either form ranks in futile preparation for combat, or cleverly flee before the battle even got started. Everyone had come awash with the overwhelming understanding that this was the end, whether positive or negative for the players. It had all led up to this moment. An ultimate showdown between the most legendary creatures of Aincrad, pitted against the whole of its denizens. This was it.

    As they finally touched down against the trembling landscape, another pulse of air retreated from them, carrying with it the taste of raw power. No sooner had they stepped foot on Aincrad's soil than chaos ensued. Gob-Gob flexed menacingly at the mob of players, who would all instantaneously feel their vitality diminished to an exorbitant degree. The sheer intimidation of his indomitable physique had sapped away all confidence in their own, reducing them to halves of what they used to be. Swine Jesus, seemingly humored by the players' despire, let loose a mighty squeal that emanated through the crowd, making the effects permanent. Rain Minion 12, who recognized his power was not yet needed, seated himself comfortably in the lavish throne that had inexplicably materialized behind the trio. He sized up the feeble ants that dared to challenge the gods with a smug indifference, seeming to neither care whether they had the will to continue or not.

    They had made their opening move, and now they waited for the players to make their own. One might wish the gods to be with them, but as the situation unfolded, it was becoming clear that they were anything but.
     
    Players have until 9 PM GMT-6 on June 9th, 2020 to respond.
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