AUTHOR'S NOTE: I apologize for such an abrupt ending. As the release of VPDS draws near, I realize that this story is just getting more and more ridiculous. I generally don't have a problem with ridiculous stories, but I think they really ought to wait until after I have played the game for myself. I ask everyone who reads this to buy the game when it comes out if they can afford it and if the idea doesn't thoroughly horrify them. Until then, enjoy the final chapter of "The Accused One"!
"Well, brother," said Roland as he and Jelanda walked out of McDragon's, "you have officially destroyed something from every restaurant in Artolia. How do you feel?"
"I feel hungry," complained Arngrim, clutching his stomach. "And I wouldn't have broken anything if you two didn't piss me off so much!"
"Why are we pissing you off?" Jelanda demanded as she and Roland ganged up on him. "Just because we keep saying the word 'game'?"
"IT'S NOT A GAME!" Arngrim shouted as people in the streets gathered to look. "THIS IS NOT A FUCKING GAME! IT'S REAL LIFE, AND IF YOU CALL IT A 'GAME' ONE MORE TIME I'M GOING TO WRING YOUR BOTH YOUR FUCKING NECKS!"
Everyone stared at him, and then a few small children—including Jelanda—began to cry.
"Making a girl cry…" Roland shook his head, smiling. "You're terrible, brother."
"Shut up!" snapped Arngrim. "You could help me, you know!"
"How dare you use such foul language in front of my child!" roared an angry mother. "You deserve to be ousted from this country!"
"Lynch him!" screamed another.
"Tear 'im to shreads!" shouted an embittered father.
The crowd began to advance on the pissed-off mercenary, and he was about to "FINAL BLAAAAAST!" them all to oblivion when a buxom undead made her way to where they were—although humans are as a whole pretty dumb and they couldn't tell that she was undead.
"Please, everyone, calm down," she said. "This is my insane half-brother. He's escaped from jail and will be surgically castrated for your consideration. I wish you all well. Move along now, please, there is nothing more to see."
Once the crowd dispersed, Jelanda and the other girl had to help Roland carry his brother, who had passed out at hearing the word "castrated."
"So…who are you, anyway?" asked Jelanda. "And why did you call Arngrim your half-brother?"
"That was a lie, you noodle," she chortled as she patted Jelanda on the head. "Such a charming young one."
Jelanda would have attempted to blow the young lady to oblivion, but she was too surprised at being called a "noodle." No one had ever called her that before.
"My name is Ailyth," she continued. "I'm from Nifleheim, the underworld, where bad people go when they die. It is really not the nicest place to live, but it might be nicer if Odin didn't keep sending stinky humans our way."
"Hey," interrupted Roland as he attempted to pick up his unconscious brother by himself, "do you think you ladies could give me a hand?"
"Step aside, bro," commanded Ailyth as she shoved Roland out of the way. "I can handle this one myself." And with a loud grunt, she hoisted Arngrim onto her shoulders.
Jelanda's eyes shone with admiration. "Whoa, that's impressive!"
But Roland wasn't convinced. "That's suspicious," he corrected Jelanda. "I have a feeling she might be undead."
Ailyth rolled her eyes. "I just said I was from Nifleheim. What did you expect me to be, an elf!?"
"But you're so pretty!" gushed Jelanda, who had decided Ailyth was her new idol. Beautiful and manly. What more could a teenage ex-princess ask for?
"Undead women are allowed to be sexy," Ailyth explained to her. "Undead men, on the other hand…"
Somewhere in the underworld, Brahms sneezed.
Her eyes were as cold as ice. Her hair shimmered in the moonlight (Is it nighttime? Well, it is now.), and on her face was a frown that seemed to proclaim the phrase "defiler of souls" before she even said it.
"Defiler of souls!" said Hrist Valkyrie as she brandished her sword in Wylfred's general direction. "Your sins lay heavy upon you!"
"Wait a minute…" Wylfred picked up his sword and pointed at the valkyrie. "I didn't ask for this! I was promised Lenneth! I want Lenneth, not this freaky lady!"
"Freaky!?" Hrist sneered. "You're the first person to call me that since Arngrim. Speaking of which, I should kill him soon if I'm going to force him to be my einherjar slave."
Lezard looked as though he were about to cry. "I did so much…I bleached my hair. I changed my style. I even perfected my maniacal laughter so that it sounded even more creepy and nerdy. I did not want you!"
"Well…There is one way to get my sister." The wheels in Hrist's head were already turning. If she could get these fools to help her, then…
"What's that?" asked both men at once.
Gracefully, she placed a hand over her heart. "You must kill me."
Unsurpringly, both men agreed that was the quickest way to find Lenneth. But Lezard, being a long-distance attacker, didn't go charging at Hrist like some wild animal.
"PSYCH!" Hrist shouted as she thrust her spear at him, meaning to make him into her little einherjar slave.
"NO!" Ancel cried, and he dove between the spear and Wylfred.
SPLCH! The spear made a sickening sound as it pierced Ancel's flesh. His eyes widened and he fell to his knees.
"ANCEL!" screamed Wylfred. He ran to his best friend and guardian angel's side, holding him in that special way that people do when their best friend/lover/rival/lifelong enemy is about to die. "Ancel, you can't die! I'll be left all alone with my reverse-Oedipus-complex mother!"
"Wylfred…" groaned Ancel as Hrist just sat there. "You must forget about your revenge…this is…my final request." Then he died, and Wylfred cried into the night.
"Your petty concept of revenge has cost you a friend's life," Hrist said. "Now you must shoulder the blame of having—"
"I MUST STRIP!" Wylfred roared as he took off all his clothing.
"Have some decency, man!" shouted Lezard. He did not find this statement odd at all, even though his outfit was not much better.
"My nakedness reflects my shame of having been such a terrible man," he explained. "I shall wonder the earth until I feel my blame has finally been removed from these fragile shoulders. I am a poetic sort, which is why I wear my hair in two ponytails, to reflect my dual nature and conflicted soul."
"Well, Mr. Poetic, at least put this on," Hrist commanded, holding up a sheet. "You're still underage, and the last thing we need is CPS making an appearance."
"Fine, then." Wylfred took the sheet from her and made it into a makeshift toga. "I shall wear this toga as a symbol of—"
"ENOUGH!" interrupted everyone (except Ancel, who was lying motionless on the ground). "Just leave already!"
Then, to everyone's amazement, Wylfred's ponytails began to spin, like propellers from an airplane. He slowly lifted off the ground, gave everyone a final sad look, and flew away into the sky.
When it was clear that he was really gone, Ancel sat up. He'd been faking the entire time, that…faker! "I feel bad doing such a thing, but the 'OMG REVENGE' routine was getting old really fast."
Hrist nodded gravely. "You did the right thing." A light began to surround her, and in her place stood Lenneth Valkyrie.
"Lenneth!" Lezard cried happily.
She looked at him disdainfully. "What the hell did you do to your hair?"
Alicia sighed. "It looks like this story is drawing to a close. And I didn't even get to see Rufus this time."
Lucian made a sound that indicated his agreement. He didn't want to say anything because if he did, he knew mean Lezard fans on the Internet would make fun of him for it.
Meanwhile, Lezard had driven over to Lenneth in a shiny red convertible. Apparently he thought it was even sexiser to dress like a 50's greaser, for now his hair was died black and he was wearing a leather jacket and even tighter blue jeans.
This author sincerely wishes Lezard the best of luck.
"We didn't really get anything accomplished, did we?" asked Jelanda.
Roland shook his head. "No, we really didn't. Once again, I'm limited to being a minor character."
"It's a shame," Ailyth agreed. "I was hoping I would get a bigger role in this—" She looked at Arngrim, who looked as though he were about to start smashing things. "…story."
Arngrim nodded. "I guess everyone will just have to wait and buy the game." Everyone looked at him incredulously.
Thus Arngrim met with his third death in the series.