Continued From: The Wizard of Oz
"Holy Shi-!"
The pompous guard nearly fell off his reclining chair when he saw the old man conquer the behemoth. His eyes were wide, his mouth agape, and his popcorn had spilled across the floor of the surveillance room. There it was: a black and white portrait of David and Goliath, shifting every few seconds as the Wizard gasped for breath.
Suddenly, the onlooker felt a cold touch on his shoulder. Four fingeres crawled around his frontside while a thumb stabbed into a pressure point on his back. Officer Reid needn't turn to see the man as there were few that could invoke such a chilling feeling in his spine. It was the Warden and the atmosphere of silence was self-explanitory. "Putting on a little puppet show, are we? Hank, you almost lost alot more than your job with that little stunt. But that son of a bitch in there just saved your life ... you ought to thank him."
Meanwhile, the beaten man continued to bleed out onto Chester's carcass and he could feel the life escaping him. Despite his cinematic finisher, it seemed this might be the end for him. Grunting, he summoned what energy he had left to roll himself off the creature. A splash of crimson painted what dry scales remained on the monster's hide as the Wizard fell face first in a pool of his own blood. "Splagh!" He coughed, adding some darker hues to the floor's bodily fluids.
Just before the middle-aged human succumbed to the blood loss, he heard the creeking of the door followed by a pillar of light. What emerged from the light was an Angel of Death. Fading in and out of consciousness, Oliver looked up weerily at the mysterious figure. Clad head to toe in stark white business attire, the faceless man tipped his hat to the nigh-deceased.
"You're free to go," he had said. And thats the last thing Oliver remembered before--
Before coming here. Light had brought him out of the world, but now: 'Darkness. Nowhere is everywhere. A vast stretch of nothing. Is this purgatory?'
Being tossed around with only an unending canvas of black to look at felt alot like falling, he observed. Much like when he had lept from a South City building, Oliver felt defenseless against the forces of nature. There were murmurs all around him. "Those don't sound like angels..." He thought out loud.
There was a zip as the shroud pulled away from the man's weathered skin, like fingernails on leather. Oliver spent the next twenty seconds blinded. All the while he tried to comprehend his situation. Whether the effect was physical or psychological, it was clear that the convicted 'South City Ripper' was still dealing with the shock of it all. His ears twitched and he caught a few segments of the conversation. "Another team on this island ... kill them ... no tricks, no games." The Wizard found the last part hard to believe and it wasn't just his detective's intuition.
By the time their bindings had been unglued, the eldest of the group had regained his senses. He stood up, stretching the ache out of his arms and legs. Squinted eyes peered out into the sandy horizon and then toward their little hunting party. Quicker than he anticipated, the sand filled his ears and cracked his lips.
Thats when a thought struck him; and he responded by checking his stomach, feeling around for some kind of injury. Rather suddenly, he tore open the fabric to see the wound that had ailed him only moments ago. His touch was greeted by six scar-torn abs, but no blood, nor were their any marks of the great blow Chester had dealt him. The Wizard's discovery confirmed his greatests fears. The realm in which he dwelt was no longer that of the living.
Gritting his teeth, the man ripped the rest of the clothes from his upper torso, exposing his mark. Shaped like the jagged blade of a thunder God, it projected a white glow. From the scraps of cloth he designed a makeshift scarf and hood to better brave the sandstorm.
"Y'know, I expected Hell to be alot hotter."
Yes, the Wizard had fallen from the world, into this... Oddworld. And now he was a pawn in a devil's game.
"Holy Shi-!"
The pompous guard nearly fell off his reclining chair when he saw the old man conquer the behemoth. His eyes were wide, his mouth agape, and his popcorn had spilled across the floor of the surveillance room. There it was: a black and white portrait of David and Goliath, shifting every few seconds as the Wizard gasped for breath.
Suddenly, the onlooker felt a cold touch on his shoulder. Four fingeres crawled around his frontside while a thumb stabbed into a pressure point on his back. Officer Reid needn't turn to see the man as there were few that could invoke such a chilling feeling in his spine. It was the Warden and the atmosphere of silence was self-explanitory. "Putting on a little puppet show, are we? Hank, you almost lost alot more than your job with that little stunt. But that son of a bitch in there just saved your life ... you ought to thank him."
Meanwhile, the beaten man continued to bleed out onto Chester's carcass and he could feel the life escaping him. Despite his cinematic finisher, it seemed this might be the end for him. Grunting, he summoned what energy he had left to roll himself off the creature. A splash of crimson painted what dry scales remained on the monster's hide as the Wizard fell face first in a pool of his own blood. "Splagh!" He coughed, adding some darker hues to the floor's bodily fluids.
Just before the middle-aged human succumbed to the blood loss, he heard the creeking of the door followed by a pillar of light. What emerged from the light was an Angel of Death. Fading in and out of consciousness, Oliver looked up weerily at the mysterious figure. Clad head to toe in stark white business attire, the faceless man tipped his hat to the nigh-deceased.
"You're free to go," he had said. And thats the last thing Oliver remembered before--
***
Before coming here. Light had brought him out of the world, but now: 'Darkness. Nowhere is everywhere. A vast stretch of nothing. Is this purgatory?'
Being tossed around with only an unending canvas of black to look at felt alot like falling, he observed. Much like when he had lept from a South City building, Oliver felt defenseless against the forces of nature. There were murmurs all around him. "Those don't sound like angels..." He thought out loud.
There was a zip as the shroud pulled away from the man's weathered skin, like fingernails on leather. Oliver spent the next twenty seconds blinded. All the while he tried to comprehend his situation. Whether the effect was physical or psychological, it was clear that the convicted 'South City Ripper' was still dealing with the shock of it all. His ears twitched and he caught a few segments of the conversation. "Another team on this island ... kill them ... no tricks, no games." The Wizard found the last part hard to believe and it wasn't just his detective's intuition.
By the time their bindings had been unglued, the eldest of the group had regained his senses. He stood up, stretching the ache out of his arms and legs. Squinted eyes peered out into the sandy horizon and then toward their little hunting party. Quicker than he anticipated, the sand filled his ears and cracked his lips.
Thats when a thought struck him; and he responded by checking his stomach, feeling around for some kind of injury. Rather suddenly, he tore open the fabric to see the wound that had ailed him only moments ago. His touch was greeted by six scar-torn abs, but no blood, nor were their any marks of the great blow Chester had dealt him. The Wizard's discovery confirmed his greatests fears. The realm in which he dwelt was no longer that of the living.
Gritting his teeth, the man ripped the rest of the clothes from his upper torso, exposing his mark. Shaped like the jagged blade of a thunder God, it projected a white glow. From the scraps of cloth he designed a makeshift scarf and hood to better brave the sandstorm.
"Y'know, I expected Hell to be alot hotter."
Yes, the Wizard had fallen from the world, into this... Oddworld. And now he was a pawn in a devil's game.