Bidenwulf

For four years the beast had cast an orange shadow on the great beer hall of Usay. Nightly came Grumpel, seething, stumbling, laying waste to all who dared challenge his authority. King Bama was gone, and without him, the people lived in fear. They were without a leader to protect them.

No manner of attack seemed to work on Grumpel. The creature could not be reasoned with, for it had no logic. It could not be pleaded with, for it had no compassion. It could not be threatened, for it had hypnotized a great number of people into fighting for it, and it seemed that nothing could break this thrall. Pelos, the one who spoke for the people, had sent out a message, asking for a great hero to come to Usay and fight Grumpel. But so far, no hero had appeared.

But late one night, there was a loud knock at the beer hall’s great oaken door. People scattered. Children hid. Some of the women wailed. For it was 2:00 A.M., and this was typically when Grumpel went on his chaotic rampages. One brave soul approached the door. He slid back the vast wooden bolt, and the door creaked open. There, stood an old man in a hood. Rain whipped at his cloak and lightning cracked behind him.

“I hear you’re experiencing some malarkey,” said the old man.

The speaker, Pelos, stepped forward. “And who are you, traveler?”

The old man stepped into the fire light of the beer hall. He pushed back his hood, revealing a shock of white hair. A few people gasped in recognition.

“I have travelled to Usay from the hills of Scrantonia. I used to serve at the right hand of King Bama, so I know what to do. I came here to stop Grumpel, and maybe sample some of the local ice cream. I am Bidenwulf!”

Cheers erupted, and many Usayans rushed forward to embrace their old friend. But one young man, Unfit, quickly cut them off.

“Bidenwulf!” he cried. “Who are you to stop Grumpel?! Where were you four years ago, when he was merely a joke, and could have been easily defeated? Where were you when we needed you most? And what makes you think you can defeat Grumpel now?”

The beer hall was silent. Unfit and Bidenwulf squared off against each other.

“Listen, Jack!” said Bidenwulf. “I couldn’t fight Grumpel four years ago because I was mourning the death of my son. But I’m ready to fight him now. And I know I can beat him because of another great beast I defeated. Gather ‘round, and I’ll tell you the tale of “Corn Pop”.

Bidenwulf was shown to a chair, and beer was poured. The crowd hushed in anticipation of Bidenwulf’s great tale.

“Corn Pop, was a bad dragon,” began Bidenwulf. “He used to give people trouble at the local lagoon, where I was working as a paladin at the time. Well, one day Corn Pop comes in, and he’s setting fire to cottages left and right. I say ‘Corn Pop, you gotta go!’ and I kick him out of the lagoon. Turned out that later Corn Pop and some of his dragon friends were waiting for me outside the lagoon that day. So, I grabbed a mighty ship’s anchor chain and coiled it around my fist. And out I went, whipping the chain and anchor about like a great mace. Corn Pop and his dragon friends fled in terror, never to be seen at the lagoon again! Now if I can take on a team of dragons by myself, I can surely take on this Grumpel!”

The crowd cheered, and pounded their beer steins on the tables. More beer was poured, and Unfit, embarrassed, slinked off into the night.

It was not much later that a blood curdling shriek pierced through the singing and merriment of the beer hall. The crowd silenced. The torches flickered and dimmed. From just outside the door, came an otherworldly roar.

“COVFEFE!!!”

“It is the call of the beast!” cried Pelos. “Grumpel comes!”

The Usayans scattered, hiding under the tables, and backing into the far corners of the room. Bidenwulf removed his shirt.

“What are you doing?!” exclaimed Pelos.

“Grumpel fights with no weapons and no armor,” replied Bidenwulf, “so I will challenge him to a push-up contest.”

Bang! The great door bulged. Crack! It splintered. Boom! It flew inward and crashed to the floor. There stood Grumpel, enormous, and dripping in shadow. His wild, gray-blond hair buffeted by the storm.

“Grumpel!” shouted Bidenwulf, “I understand you’ve been terrorizing the good people of Usay!”

“FAKE NEWS!” shrieked Grumpel, stepping into the beer hall. His skin orange, his hands tiny, his bright red tongue dangling almost to the ground. Huge bony spurs jutted from his ankles. “AND WHO ARE YOU?!” he spat.

“I am the right-hand man of King Bama! I am the favorite son of Scrantonia! I am the wearer of aviators! I! Am! Bidenwulf! And I challenge you to a push-up contest!”

Grumpel seemed confused for a moment, and then laughed.

“BIDENWULF! YOU MUST HAVE LOST A STEP! I NEVER DO ANYTHING FOR MYSELF! MAGAAAAAA!!”

And with that, three warriors crawled out of Grumpel’s enormous asshole. They were all wearing red hats. Their eyes were wild. It was clear they had no intention of doing push-ups.

“Careful, Bidenwulf!” shouted Pelos. “They are under his thrall!”

Just then, one of the MAGA soldiers charged at Bidenwulf. Bidenwulf reached back and knocked him to the floor in a single punch. When the next MAGA soldier lunged, Bidenwulf lifted him, and swung him at the third MAGA soldier like a sword. Upon impact, the third soldier flew through the air before slamming into a column with a hard thud. The second MAGA solider, still in Bidenwulf’s great arms, remarked “So much for the tolerant Left!”, before Bidenwulf slammed him to the ground.

“Is that all you’ve got?!” shouted Bidenwulf.

“More MAGA soldiers will keep crawling out of the Grumpel’s asshole until you deal with the monster himself!” warned Pelos.

Sure enough, Bidenwulf could already see another red hat just poking out of the creature’s anus.

“YOU MIGHT AS WELL JUST GIVE ME YOUR HAMBERDERS NOW” hissed Grumpel.

Bidenwulf turned toward the crowd of terrified Usayans. “The truth is, I can’t do this alone. Usayans! Who will join me in fighting this fiend?”

For a moment, it seemed like no one would volunteer.

“WHAT A BUNCH OF SUCKERS AND LOSERS!” sneered Grumpel. “IT’S SAD, REALLY.”

Then, out of the corner of the room, stepped a fierce warrior woman. “I am Common Law” she said. “But my children call me ‘Mom-mon Law’. I fought with your son in the land of Calciforn, and it would be my honor to fight with you now.” She lifted a large war hammer above her head. “Let’s prosecute this bastard!” she growled.

“WHAT A COUPLE OF CRAZY SOCIALISTS! SO OUT OF TOUCH!,” roared Grumpel.

“You’re a damn liar, man!” cried Bidenwulf. He turned to Common Law.

“Thanks for your help. You take the legs, and I’ll go for the head.” And with that, the two charged the vile beast.

Bidenwulf leapt high into the air, and locked his elbow around the creature’s putrid neck. With his other hand, Bidenwulf did pluck fist-full after fist-full of Grumpel’s strange hair. Grumpel screamed with pain and rage.

At the same time, Common Law charged for Grumpel’s legs, her war hammer drawn. She deftly dodged being pierced by one of Grumpel’s massive bone spurs, before swinging true. Her hammer connected with Grumpel’s knee with a hearty crack!

“I’M BEING TREATED VERY UNFAIRLY!” whined Grumpel, as he fell to his side. Bidenwulf was sent tumbling to the floor. He sprang to his feet just as Grumpel shot out his massive tongue. It wrapped around Bidenwulf, and began pulling him toward Grumpel’s gaping maw. “BIDEN-BERDERS!,” it screamed, as best it could with its tongue out.

A tug-of-war ensued. Bidenwulf resisted being pulled into Grumpel’s mouth with every bit of his strength. Common Law was unable to assist him, for she was busy fighting off a newly emerged group of MAGA soldiers. The air smelled of sour breath, shit, and fear.

Then Bidenwulf, with eyes clear and voice full, called upon the Usayans.

“Hear me, friends! Here and now, I give you my word! If you fight with me, I will draw on the best of us, not the worst! I will be an ally of the light, not the darkness! Usayans, come to our aid!”

And with that, it was like a spell had been lifted. Every able-bodied Usayan rushed at the beast! Some joined Common Law in fending off the never-ending parade of MAGA soldiers. Others punched, and kicked, and jumped on Grumpel’s flailing body. Still others joined Bidenwolf as he pulled at Grumpel’s massive tongue. Bidenwulf, aided by a few Usayans, heaved three times, and upon the third, tore Grumpel’s tongue clear from his horrific mouth. Blood sprayed, and Grumpel screamed.

Without his tongue, Grumpel’s power over the MAGA soldiers quickly diminished. They began to take off their hats, back away from the fight, and realize, with horror, that they all smelled like shit.

“It’s not over yet!” called Bidenwulf. “Everyone, grab a piece of paper and shove it into the beast’s mouth!”

Grumpel was in a panic. For without its tongue, it was now powerless for the first time in its life. He could not fend off his attackers. His hands were just too tiny.

Bidenwulf and Common Law held Grumpel’s slobbering jaws agape, as one-by-one every single Usayan, and even some of the former MAGA soldiers, forced pieces of paper into his mouth. And when the last piece of paper had been stuffed, Grumpel’s chest fell for the last time, for he had suffocated to death.

The people of Usay cheered!

“Hail Bidenwulf! The new king of Usay! Hail Common Law! Next in line!”

And so it was that a new, brighter age was issued unto Usay and its people. For they had fought the beast and won, together.