Terrek the Epic Bastard

world_of_legend_03_by_kekse0719-2012

“World of Legend 03” by Kekse0719 (2012)

To end the year on an epic note, here is a decidedly epic tale.  A finely woven tapestry of undiluted thrills so potent that several wizards did spontaneously combust (beard first) when they read an early draft of it.  Read now the wondrous and explicit tale of Terrek, the most epic of all bastards and his dealings with a challenger to his throne of bastardry.  Written on the 17th October 2016.


Terrek the Epic Bastard

After dumping his load in the goblin’s ass, Terrek pulled up his manly leather thong, slapped the green cheeks and promptly left the dingy cave. It was hard work being an epic bastard, even harder was being the most epic bastard in all of Haematomia. His legend was known from the stinking phlegm ocean in the east to the towering smegma mountains in the west. He was, without doubt, the single most incredible bastard in living memory.

Terrek was always performing epic acts, like bumming goblins without asking or sinking slave ships with bombs made out of elven diarrhoea. Terrek smiled to himself as he considered what new and epic things he was going to do next. But first, there was something old and familiar he had to take care of. Something that was going to make him feel even more epic than the time he stuffed dynamite down his peehole and cornholed the transparent areola god of Mammary Vale.

A few hours later, Terrek found a dildo unicorn in a shaded glade. There weren’t many dildo unicorns left in Haematomia, not since Dumfus the Buff had wiped most of them out with his syphilis. Dumfus was once an epic bastard like Terrek, though he was long dead now, a rotting victim of his own sexual deviancy. He rode the lands on his domesticated stoorworm, fingering females and headbutting entire forests down in his quest to find self fulfilment. He’d been pretty good at it too, that is until he’d caught the clap from a washed up bloater he’d found along the fecal swamps. It had impacted his health quite severely. No longer could he finger or sodomise whomever or whatever he pleased, his stamina was so bad he couldn’t catch anyone anymore. So he’d bit the proverbial bullet and started shagging dildo unicorns, which, due to the floppy neon appendages sprouting from their foreheads, were pretty awful at seeing approaching attackers. Dumfus the Buff’s sexual plague had annihilated most of them long ago, and to find a living one nowadays was considered an omen of good fortune.

Terrek removed an ogre foreskin from his satchel and lobbed it at the unicorn’s head, knocking it out cold. With a smirk, he checked the elegant creature’s rectum for gold, but found none. It was always worth checking. Thieves sometimes stowed their valuables in the most unlikely of places. Instead, the epic bastard slapped the beast around the chops with his scrotum, waking it up due to the ungodly stench of goblin excrement coming off it. Terrek leapt upon the animal’s back and instantly tamed it by screaming abuse and threats of violence into its ears. With a stiff kick to the ribs they were off. Their destination was Prolapse City. It was the capital of Haematomia kingdom, a lavish jewel of hedonism and consumerism. It was also the home of Odious, the reigning cannibal pig pope. Though to be honest, that detail plays no part in this tale and is nothing more than an interesting side note.

Some time later, long after the lurid green sun had disappeared over the ridges of the Poontang Mountains, Terrek and his faithful dildo unicorn arrived at the city gates. They were smeared with steaming shit stains. That was unusual. Normally the gates to Haematomia’s various cities were caked in steaming crap after Terrek left, not arrived. There were bodies too. Bloody ones, scattered all over the place. Some were torn in half, others resembled soup more than mortal remains. Something had gone awry in Prolapse City, and whatever it was it had a fondness for plastering large wooden gates with gratuitous amounts of feces. Terrek dismounted his commandeered unicorn and discus punched it in the face, sending it flying over the stables. He had no further use for the ridiculous animal. “What has happened here, peasant?” he demanded of a severed head and shoulders swinging from a pike on the battlements above.

The scrote lizard, whose head and shoulders belonged to the heap of entrails dangling from a lantern to his very, very far left, was somehow still alive. He looked down at Terrek and recognised him instantly as the most epic of bastards. The creature’s beady little eyes lit up like mating hydrogen toads. Terrek was the lizard’s idol, he even had a poster of him on his bedroom wall. “Terrek!” he croaked with blood spewing from his stupid lizard mouth. “Terrek, it was Gloptoid! He’s in the city. Said he came here to prove he was the most epic bastard in Haematomia, not you. Said he’d destroy the entire city with his cock if he had to”.

Terrek had heard enough, he threw a brick at the lizard’s head and put it out of its misery. Grabbing a splattered guard’s broadsword, he bowed and ran head-first through the huge oak doors, crashing into Prolapse City like only an epic bastard could. He hadn’t come to break a fool trying to claim his throne, but plans had most certainly changed. There was no way in the scum-smeared ringpiece of the undergod Crippilion that he was going to let Gloptoid steal his thunder.

As he sprinted through the winding streets, Terrek suddenly remembered the fat oaf who had besieged the city. He’d once signed his autograph on Gloptoid’s third chin. The brat had said he was a huge fan, which hadn’t surprised him. Everyone was a fan of Terrek. The youngster had said he was going to grow up to be an epic bastard too. Terrek had laughed and kicked him in the balls. Stupid kid, there was only room for one epic bastard in this kingdom, and as far as Terrek was concerned, it was him. He ran off down the blood drenched streets, yelling and screaming obscenities and nonsensical bullshit.

Meanwhile in the Fallopian Quarter, where the rich nobles and yuppies born into milk baths full of pampered privilege resided, there was much epic shit unfolding. Usually, incidents of an epic nature did not happen in the affluent Fallopian Quarter, not that being epic or acts of epicness were illegal there or anything, it was just that the snooty residents had hired a lot of builders to construct extra high and thick walls with highly skilled guards to patrol them with their shiny swords and scrotal slingshots. But sometimes a bastard reaches a level of epic that most other bastards can only aspire to. Bastards like Gloptoid.

It seemed that this particularly fat barrel of fudge was hell bent on becoming a bigger epic bastard than the glorious and much celebrated Terrek. His acts of epic had initially gone unnoticed, he had mainly been epic only unto himself. These acts usually involved his own mouth and expert yoga. They had given him confidence, and he was soon out in the wilds fornicating with woodland critters, breaking pedlar’s backs and punching out small conifers.

Gloptoid performed his acts of escalating bastardry mainly in the distant gimp plains of Masochistia, where pretty much nobody but the outcast gimp tribes dwelt. It was this isolation that allowed his slow but steady progression through the branches of the spiritual epic tree of bastard mana. His evolution went unchecked and unchallenged by lesser or equal bastards, and especially by the most epic of them all, Terrek. The gimps didn’t care, they didn’t do anything besides lick each other’s kneecaps and rub the twisted fruit trees all day long anyway. By the time Gloptoid had perfected his destructive headbutt, most of the smelly tribesmen of Masochistia were dead.

Gloptoid was well on his way to becoming an epic bastard. He’d made such advances in his evolution that he’d decided he was ready to a cement his legacy and finally prove himself to all. The grotesquely overweight bucket of lard embarked upon a pilgrimage of destruction and brutal self fulfilment all the way to the capital itself. There he would show the kingdom just how bad ass he was. He would prove that he was the new epic bastard, and Terrek would just have to suck it.

The fat jiggly mass was there now, causing untold misery and even setting dachshunds on fire with his nitrous farts. His ultimate goal was so close to his grasp that he didn’t even hear the true lord of bastardry coming, despite all his screaming and farting. Terrek was storming his way towards the Fallopian Quarter, but the pretender’s wrath was so loud he couldn’t even hear the flaming cat Terrek was swinging around his head as he approached.

The pussy swinger was the most legendary psychopath in the entire kingdom of Haematomia, though his position was now being challenged. Challenged by a big fat sweaty mound of blubber, but challenged never the less. Terrek was not pleased, he had come to Prolapse City for pleasure, not work. He tossed the fiery house pet through a shop window and skidded to a halt at the massive stone wall which signalled the entrance to the Fallopian Quarter. “Looks like this needs a little more epic,” he said aloud as he beheld the boring grey wall. Terrek slapped himself on the pecks and a stream of milk began spurting from his pierced nipples. The white liquid gathered in an old boot he’d found on another dead guardsman, and when it was full he started to churn it with the dead man’s arm. Soon he’d made Terrek cheese, a blue Stilton-like mess which smelled like the inside of a chode worm’s pleasure hole. The cheese wasn’t very good, it never was. He’d only ever tried his own cheese on toenail crackers once, and it had given him projectile diarrhoea. And that was the plan here. To shit. In abundance. Terrek ate the cheese out of the boot and pulled his leather man-thong to the side, pointed his brown eye at the stone wall and squeezed.

A second later and the most epic rainbow in the history of anal rainbows blasted forth from the great bastard’s yawning bumhole. It hit the wall and the entire thing went up like a paintball nuke. “Yeah bitches, that’s how Terrek rolls!” bellowed the almost-mythical man-bastard as he watched the shards of stone go flying across the city, decimating shops and houses and rocketing into the sky where they took out a V formation of lesser spotted twat dragons, no doubt on their way to roost in the ancient clit trees of Fudd Forest. The huge wall demolished, Terrek gloriously entered the besieged Fallopian Quarter with a swagger that only the devil could pull off if he had been a certified pimp, and Gloptoid finally noticed that he had a great big problem.

“Listen here, you fat oaf!” commanded Terrek, igniting his own chest hair with an epic thought. “I am Terrek, the most epic bastard in all of Haematomia. You are a podgy piece of barf-raptor shit, and your quest to be anything more is at an end”. Terrek spread the fire to the epic mullet adorning his head, and defecated a small piper who ran around the square wailing on bagpipes the brand new theme music that he’d just invented.

“I’m not going anywhere, you stupid old piece of festering puss butter!” returned the tubby menace as he perspired like an obese prostitute at an elephant seal cock ring convention. “I am Gloptoid, the new most epic bastard in Haematomia! Your time is up, dickface. This is the era of Gloptoid and I vow to be more epic and more of a bastard than you could ever have dreamed possible. Prepare to meet your shit-smeared end!”

The fight was on. Terrek didn’t waste a second and pissed in Gloptoid’s eyes, temporarily blinding him. Twelve slaps to the face with an entire four storey building later and the fat fool was down, crying and bleeding and crapping all over the place like a morbidly burst sausage of questionable epicness. Maybe Gloptoid wasn’t all that after all, thought Terrek to himself as he cartwheeled over and teabagged the bubbling, leaking mass of fat.

But Gloptoid was a little more epic than Terrek had given him credit for, and just as the salty scrotum of his nemesis spread across his vision, the obese menace vomited up a tsunami of bile that was so fluorescent and powerfully rotten than it sent Terrek flying into a pocket pussy stand, scattering its contents across the Fallopian Quarter like vagina-shaped confetti.

The fattest bastard to ever consider himself epic stood up and back flipped onto Rubber Fist Cathedral. Upon landing, the spire was immediately swallowed up by his anus and Gloptoid slid down until he’d engulfed the entire building up his copious bumhole. Then he prayed to the evil undergod Crippilion, only in reverse and with severely crossed eyes. This in conjunction with the bastard mana up his ass from the embedded cathedral caused the sunken deity to grant him the power of epic transformation, a skill that not even Terrek himself had learned yet.

Terrek wiped the bile from his eyes as he watched Gloptoid morph into the most epic demon-thing to ever live, and that included the time Terrek’s penis had a curse placed upon it by an uppity warlock with dementia and was transformed into some kind of razor-toothed slug-thing with googly eyes and Tourette’s. It was so demonic that it looked more like a necro slug’s elongated penis, only more red and angry looking. The newly-reconstituted Gloptoid roared to the skies, making flying turds faint and fall onto the rooftops like burst pigeons or winged sausages gone awry, but Terrek didn’t give a barrel of pickled fucks. There was a pretender to break.

Two of the most epic bastards in recent memory went at it tooth and god damn nail. It was the most epic fist fight in the history of Prolapse City and the kingdom of Haematomia as a whole. Nipples spat fire and magma, bellends screamed nasty words and war cries, flesh was torn from bone and feces were hurled in abundance. At one point, Gloptoid made it rain a hail of dead sheep, hoping to drown Terrek in their soggy wool. But Terrek sodomised each sheep one by one and threw them in the demonic titan’s snarling face, caking him in shit, semen and sheep sauce.

Terrek grunted and suplexed his foe into the chocolate fountain in the middle of the square, then tore the cathedral out of his screaming rectum, voiding his demon status and turning him back into a mere mortal. Righting the shit-caked building, the reigning epic bastard climbed to its lofty peak, posed like a bodybuilder a few times to accentuate his undeniable epicness, then elbow dropped the fat mess at the bottom, ejecting a tsunami of fatty viscera out through his opponent’s already stretched anus. Gloptoid roared in pain like some kind of dick and the sound offended Terrek, who suddenly remembered that he’d stuffed a dead guard’s broadsword up his peehole earlier. This proved to be the undoing of Gloptoid’s alleged destiny, Terrek was just too damn amazing in the end. Using the soiled sword, the true icon of all that is epic sliced Gloptoid’s foul and crying head clean off and pissed down his neck. The legendary bastard had finally slain the pretentious fat monster.

Now alone in the decimated Fallopian Quarter, Terrek was the sole bastard in the vicinity. The single most epic bastard in the entire kingdom. He snatched up a scurrying rat, lit it on fire with his nipple flame and smoked it, surveying the scene. All the rich residents of the once opulent neighbourhood had perished, obliterated in spectacular fashion on account of all the epic that had befallen their little isolated slice of the city. Their thick walls and private guards had protected them from the realities of true epicness for so long, and so their feeble bodies were not ready to experience so much in such a concentrated time and space. They had simply burst, like ogre haemorrhoids. Terrek shrugged and sat down on an oozing remnant of Gloptoid’s shattered head, admiring the bloody mess around him.

Then he remembered, he’d come to Prolapse City for a reason. Now that another mighty explosion of his unstoppable epic had been unleashed and that pitiful blob of yeast butter was stone cold dead, he could finally indulge in his greatest pleasure of all. The one thing that made him feel more epic than anything else in existence.

A few streets over and Terrek finally found his calling. It was a great relief to finally be inside. All lovely and warm. Hot, crusty and black. The festering vagina belonged to Clamarella, the prostitute goblin queen of Prolapse City. Terrek pushed his whole body into her and rolled around inside, the rotten tar and stringy fungus coated him head to toe and he closed his eyes, letting the most intense euphoria an epic bastard had ever known flow through him, like chocolate-flavoured heroin.

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