Gold and Acid

Story by Kyle Kim

| WINTER 2018 ISSUE | FANFICTION

This story is a retelling of the video “Gildedguy vs. Bog”, created by Gildedguy. Credit for the story goes to Gildedguy.

Warning: Contains mild violence.

Nightfall.

A crimson blade slipped through the tall grass, pushing it aside effortlessly. As it hit the ground, the sword began to retract back towards its owner. The young man, clad in a thin coating of golden armor, stepped back to gaze at the newly-created opening in the underbrush. His face was completely concealed from the cold air except for two glowing green eyes.

The indent left a shard of the atmosphere exposed, revealing the spoke-esque star illuminating the night sky. With his empty hand, he reached into his pocket and retrieved a neon green stylus. It was radiating a comforting glow, as if enveloping his hand in a welcoming light.

The stylus was his talisman; it was a magical pen that could bring countless worlds to life. It acted as his personal way of spreading joy to others, in that unique style of his that only he possessed.

An image of the star was etched onto the stylus; its owner brought his hand up so that it aligned with the real thing. For the briefest of moments, the two objects moved in unison; then, the swordsman lowered his pen and dug the tip of his blade into the ground so that its hilt was sticking straight up.

The gilded warrior sat down in a cross-legged position alongside the small campfire next to him. Taking a moment to regain his bearings, he glanced around into the foliage surrounding his small clearing.

Lurking inside the grassy shadows were multiple pairs of eyes, staring at him almost comically like a predator to its prey. Simultaneously, something rustled in the weeds.

The fire flared up spontaneously, and a lick of flame leapt in front of him. Realizing that his thoughts were still unsettled, the gilded warrior leaned back, closed his eyes, and began to meditate.

My name is Michael, and I’m in the middle of nowhere.

A carefree tune echoed through his head as his nerves began to settle down. The grass and shadows around him were slowly but surely covered by a void of serene emptiness.

He was alone once more, alone in his own world.

Michael’s eyes slid open for a moment, and his gaze fixated on his crimson blade. It was sitting right by the fire; its sleek sheen reflected his own face and features.

The void wrapped around the fragment of visible sky, and the star’s light was suddenly dampened.

Wait a minute…

The reflection in the blade flickered. A new Michael materialized instead of his reflection, but there was something very wrong.

His eyes were wide open, as if petrified or paralyzed. His trademark golden armor was fragmented beyond repair, and droplets of dark blood were beginning to leak out of its cracks.

Entranced and confused by his tainted “reflection”, Michael stared into his counterpart’s pleading eyes.

What is going on?

The eyes pierced through his body, shattering the peaceful aura he was trying to create. The tranquil void suddenly twisted into a hollow shape as it extended further outwards.

Irregular golden chinks began to extend from his body, reaching out like some kind of twisted roots. Familiar faces appeared all around him - a small boy with a cape and a mask picking flowers, a young woman with violet hair, a handful of close friends from college.

As the roots - and simultaneously, the void - began to spread towards each of them, they turned away from Michael and walked off, leaving him utterly alone. The woods around him were engulfed in the aura of emptiness he was emitting. Darkness crept across his star, completely shrouding it.

Then his own form dissolved, and he was no more.

•••

A blast of cold wind to the face dragged Michael back to reality.

He was still sitting on the ground next to his fire and blade; the darkness that had enveloped his entire world was nowhere to be seen.

The star was still there, watching over him with a patient glow.

The blade.

Why did it...

Michael swiveled around a full 180 degrees, as if purposefully trying to avoid looking at the blade. For a moment, he remained like this.

The cold wind howled again, convincing him to toss the crimson edge onto the ground and move closer to his fire. His eyes slid shut once again as he attempted to find peace, now engulfed in the comforting glow of the nearby flames.

Something rustled in the bushes.

Michael glanced over, thinking that it was some kind of squirrel.

He didn’t have time to react. A monstrous wave of purple sludge slipped out of the grass and began to take a vaguely humanoid shape and form. Michael could’ve sworn he saw a sludgy eyeball slip out of an ooze-filled eye socket and splatter onto the dirt.

Swampy liquid began to drip and leap here and there, taking flight as if animated by some unseen force. Each droplet of slime had a life of its own; a few pieces began to stretch towards the crimson blade as if trying to confiscate it.

As the being reformed into its vaguely humanoid shape, its dark, bloody eyes pierced through Michael. A grotesque, almost insane grin was plastered onto its face, and two steady streams of swamp were constantly flapping about, connected to its eye sockets like rivers of tears.

Noticing the blobs grabbing at his blade, Michael quickly snatched it away and barely managed to deflect the creature’s first swing. He swung the blade again, slicing through its next blow.

The maniacal grin lunged forwards, pushing him onto the ground. Before it could follow up, however, Michael rolled backwards, narrowly dodging its piercing thrusts. It hurled a pressurized spear of slime straight towards his heart, but he blocked with the blade, sending splatters of sludge to and fro.

The slime on the ground leapt to life, but was quickly silenced by several swift blows from the sword. Michael glanced up, noticing that the being’s right arm was now gone, replaced with empty air and rapidly leaking liquid.

The creature seemed to be recalling its slime back into its arms. Its eyes were closed, but that crazed line of teeth was still stapled on the ooze that consisted of its head.

With an abrupt, graceful movement, Michael ripped through it with a quick uppercut. The sword automatically extended outwards to slice through his assailant’s body, tearing through its head and revealing what looked like a skull. Its head seemed to have been split completely in two.

But the two halves mushed themselves together again, and the ever-present smirk reappeared. The slime around its legs suddenly sprung to life and rushed forwards towards Michael, grabbing and clawing at the feet of his armor.

In response, Michael executed two awkward slashes, and the slime receded. Glancing up again, he noticed the being’s crazed features, illuminated by a welcoming glow.

Wait - the fire!

Michael thrust the crimson blade into his fire, and the ooze melted clean off. Flames leapt onto his golden armor, rekindling his will to fight.

His assailant was mashing its palms together in cackling glee, but its laughter was quickly interrupted by a burst of heat. Michael began to methodically slash back and forth horizontally along the sinister smile’s torso, practically incinerating a good majority of its sludge. With every slash, he sent a spray of miry liquid left and right. A couple sludgy limbs went flying off of its body and melted into the ground.

Pausing for a moment to re-ignite his sword, Michael’s determined gaze landed once again on his opponent. This creature - whatever it was - had lost both arms, and a chunk of slime (skin?) was missing from its face. Despite its skull being completely exposed, it still retained the same freakish grin, and its crimson eyeballs were fixated on him.

Somehow, it was even more disturbing to see the skull behind the smirk.

This is over!

Pouring his willpower into his blade, Michael unleashed another horizontal strike, cleaving straight through the swamp’s torso. Its upper body and lower body separated effortlessly. Wreathed in flames like a phoenix, Michael spun around and let loose a flurry of midair strikes, sending another drizzle of droplets onto the grass.

When he hit the ground, the thing was nowhere to be seen — that is, until it latched onto his foot. Instinctively, Michael glanced down at the purple puddle near his golden greaves; after a moment, his reflection suddenly morphed into a familiar smile.

A burst of sludge leapt onto the fire, and he was engulfed in darkness.

Acting quickly, Michael activated his stylus, and the pen whirred to life and began to emit a comforting green light. He glanced around, searching for his assailant; it leapt out from behind him and smashed him to the ground with a sloppy blow, and then caught him with what seemed to be its entire body. Michael tried to resist, but the creature launched him in the air, latched a string of swamp around him, and, like a sadistic puppeteer, pulled him back against the ground.

His limp form hit the dirt and bounced off, and he felt a burst of air forced out of his lungs. The swamp didn’t waste a moment; it tugged him towards it and grappled him into its gaping, smiling mouth before chewing him a couple times. The force of this gnashing sent Michael hurtling straight through his opponent’s cheek and landing sprawled out on the ground.

Taking a moment to regain his breath, Michael wearily stood up again and raised his blade to smack the thing. But the smirk was gone, replaced with a head of all-too-familiar violet hair. Dark tears were streaming down its desperate eyes as its gaze pierced through Michael’s body.

It was the face of someone he cared for dearly; someone who he feared for the most.

Unsure of how to react to this imitation, Michael returned the stare. The being suddenly lost form and disappeared in another wave of sludge that clawed at his neck. Michael ripped it off of his battered, cracked armor and began to blindly swing his blade around; once, twice, thrice.

The swamp leapt out from nearby and began to reach towards him.

He was suddenly aware of another light source, this one above him. Rubbing his eyes briefly, he took a quick glance at his glowing stylus and then brought his head skyward.

It was still there.

The very sight of the star sent another burst of hope flaring through his body. Raising his blade to the sky, he unleashed a burst of dim light that blew his assailant backwards. The scarlet sword began to hurtle to and fro as if animated on its own, bombarding the swamp with an endless onslaught of strikes and slashes. Grass and muck leapt into the air and landed lifelessly onto the ground with every blow.

The sword returned to its owner’s hand. Shrouded in the glow of the moon, Michael took a deep breath as he prepared to make his next move.

Before the creature had a chance to reform, a set of golden-plated armor began to viciously chop and batter away at it at a breakneck pace. The dim green eyes had disappeared from the helmet, replaced with sheer desperation and adrenaline. Blood began to leak out of the chinks in the armor, staining the golden hue with a sharp crimson.

He no longer knew what he was doing. Only one thought was inside his head: killing this thing that had tugged at his heartstrings like he was a puppet, using his friends’ faces to taunt and bamboozle him. The blade was no longer in his hand; it was thickly embedded in the swamp’s torso. Golden gloves, seized by a disturbing power, relentlessly bashed and smashed at its remains until each and every droplet of ooze was pounded thoroughly into the dirt. The side of the swamp’s head flopped open like a piece of half-cut salami as he ripped the blade out of its body and thrust it simultaneously through its skull and the dirt underneath.

He would not let this monstrosity prey upon anyone else ever again.

Then the green eyes slid open once more, and he became a human again. Fatigue began to take hold as Michael stared down at the grass below him.

       Grass?

There was no trace of his opponent.

Only one thought was inside his head: killing this thing that had tugged at his heartstrings like he was a puppet, using his friends’ faces to taunt and bamboozle him.

Seized by exhaustion, Michael collapsed onto the ground. The dirt was wet and sticky to the touch—

That’s no dirt.

Panicked, he tried to push himself up, only to find another wad of slime pinning down his legs and body. It began to seep all over his fallen form, coating him like a fresh layer of paint or even a twisted form of purple armor.

Is this it for me…?

But all was not yet lost. Not yet. He just had to check...

With his one free hand, Michael lifted the stylus up in the air and began to search.

Darkness.

His little fragment of sky was still there, but it was devoid of light. The star was gone, and with it his beacon of hope.

At that moment, the ooze wrapped itself around his arm, slamming it down to the ground again. The stylus toppled out of his grip and landed right in front of his face, as if taunting or ridiculing him.

Why did you think you could take on a creature like this?

Why did you have to try and be the hero?

Why?

Ooze began to pour into his armor until he was no longer himself. It mixed with the blood seeping out of the golden chinks and cracks until he could not tell either apart. His eyes slid shut in bitter defeat, and his heart shattered as he was twisted face-first into the muck.

A sinister smile was pasted on a blob of muck nearby. Beside it was his blade, still embedded inside the earth. The reflection in its edge was not of a bloody, cracked, defeated suit of armor; instead, it was of how Michael was before: meditating, trying to find peace on the inside.

Internal peace.

Internal peace?

There was one easy route to internal peace: instant transportation to the afterlife. That was probably what he deserved, after all.

Like a puppet springing to life, he sat up sluggishly and removed his gloves. The smile in the slime perked up as he approached the sword with firm resolve and placed both hands on the sharp edge. The green in his eyes began to mix and fuse with the purple of the ooze.

With one swift movement, he brought his hands down on the blade, inviting the monster inside his body and soul.

It didn’t waste a moment. Waves of sludge leapt into the air and plunged into the newly formed wounds, sending spasms throughout Michael’s entire body. He unconsciously shuddered and shivered as the ooze travelled through his bloodstream and wrapped itself firmly around his mind.

Michael suddenly became aware of someone else’s presence inside his head. Inside the space of his consciousness — where the inner peace from before was replaced with dark storm clouds — was another being, hurtling towards him at lightspeed. He turned towards it, ready to face it and endure—

A huge wave of ooze hit him head on, sending him sprawling onto the ground. Before he could regain his bearings, an enormous purple behemoth of a man, perhaps seven or eight feet tall, grabbed him by the neck with huge, toned arms and hurled him with all of its might. He shut his eyes mentally, waiting to hit the ground – instead, he landed gently in the muscular arms of the intruder.

With a devious smirk, it crushed him between its torso and arms, sending golden chinks clattering about in his mental space. For a moment, he was no more; then, as if reconstituted by holy light, the pieces scraped themselves together and he was born anew.

He was vaguely aware of a foot slamming into his face, and then he was in the air again. Spasms of swamp squirmed over to where he was going to land and intercepted him, piercing through his golden armor like a fishing hook to skin. The sludgy, spear-like appendage shoved him up into the air and sent him face-first towards the ground once again.

Helpless, he bounced off the ground and began to spin like a top. The top’s rotation was suddenly interrupted by a slimy punch to the face, and his armor crumbled into golden shards. It began to reform — first the head, then the torso, then one thigh — but then a smiling face shoved a swampy harpoon straight through its back so that it was poking out through the other side. He started twirling in midair as the remnants of the weapon leaked out of his open wound—

A foot, crushing his torso, sending the golden helmet bouncing on the ground. A wet hand, grabbing him by the ankle, smashing him again and again on the ground like it was trying to quash a little rebellion. An arrow, made out of sheer pain, shredding him against the ground as it rushed forwards before wrapping around him like rope.

Little pieces of gold clattered here and there again and again, struggling in vain to reform themselves only to be torn asunder. Again and again, again and again, again and again.

With a gleeful smile, the intruder released several beams of blue energy that hit his chest and left a spoke-shaped glow embedded in his armor. It ripped through his chest, and the resulting explosion sent beams of blinding light through his mental space and spasms through his entire body.

Then he was no longer there. He jolted up off of his bed in a panic. The night sky, sprinkled with stars, gazed down wisely on him.

I trusted you and you let me down.

The boy’s mask leapt out at him from the shadows, wrapping around his visage. His hand, acting on its own, slid it off of his face. His surroundings grew dark until the whites of his eyes turned a bright, fluorescent green.

Two huge eyes stared through his soul, though he could see no other parts of the face. Only that and the star were visible.

Your work will NEVER compare to that of everyone else! You’re just another wannabe.

The behemoth snickered as it pinned him on the ground by the neck. It brought its free hand back, ready to punch.

Why do you even try? Why do you think anyone even receives the “joy” that you pitifully try to spread? This is the Internet. It’s like trying to find a needle in a haystack!

Giant, bluish-purple hands kneaded his bloodstained face like it was some type of clay or batter. The only thing left was a creamy smear on the pavement, dappled with scarlet and a few spots of green.

You’re just a stain to the community.

Then he was a burning plushie, hanging from a noose, sizzling and smoking until the only colors left in him were the crimson from his seams and the blood pouring out of his helmet’s eye sockets. All of the gold had been completely wiped from his limp trademark armor.

You’re even dragging down your roommates. You’re lucky they still even talk to you, especially with all of the time you’ve been spending alone brooding and ignoring them.

He was walking around town, lost and confused, gazing at the people chatting mindlessly around him. There was an enormous hole where his heart should have been, but he ignored the pain leaking out of his gilded shell. Briskly removing the helmet, he proceeded to glare daggers at his face in the mirror, as if it was a stain that needed to be scrubbed out.

Stupid hermit.

A pile of letters was lying on the hardwood floor.

“Thank you for sharing your work with the world, and keep shining.”

“Keep doing what you’re doing, because you’re great at it.”

“Nice work, Michael! I enjoyed this a lot, it was well worth the wait.”

“Thank you for making such amazing stuff, it really inspires people like me to work towards improving my own skills so that one day I can hopefully create something like this. Don’t stop doing this. Don’t stop improving. Don’t stop being amazing, because it’s creations like this that fill me with an awe and wonder that nothing else can.”

“In all seriousness though, this is honestly amazing. I’ve been staring into space or about 5 minutes now trying to think of a compliment that accurately sums up how amazed and impressed I am, but I am struck speechless by how incredible this is.”

Alongside his fans’ compliments was a fan-art he had received a little while back; it was a photo of him and a couple of his friends, hanging out and having fun.

You’re only going to let them down. No matter what you do, your work will never be good enough for them. Their words are just wind. They don’t really understand you. They don’t know who you are at all.

Lavender liquid began to drip from who-knows-where, soaking into the letters and the art until they were no longer recognizable. They were reduced to nothing but a wad of colorful matter staining the floor.

Get out of my sight, you disgrace.

The aberration sent him flying backwards, and the golden armor hit the wall of his mind and shattered instantly. Grotesque, purple spikes ripped through every inch of his still-reforming body and expanded, and he burst apart once more. A wave of acidic sludge splashed onto his cracked helmet, devouring it until it was no more.

Why won’t you just die?

Lightning crackled behind them as the being glared him down with an expression of pure uncontrollable frustration. It grasped him by the head with one enormous, trembling hand; with the other, it savagely tore the torso away from the helmet and hurled it far away. Pieces began to flutter and flicker about.

No.

As if by magic, the fragments began to reform. A pair of golden boots suddenly grew legs and a torso, which soon transformed into a golden shell of armor confidently striding towards its enemy. As it advanced towards the behemoth, the storm clouds surrounding them became engulfed in a familiar tranquil emptiness.

Wiping bitter tears from his eyes, Michael extended his still-reforming hand as if to say “Come at me.”

A stroke of worry flashed through the thing’s pink eyes as it swung an enormous, muscled fist at the armor. Clean, crisp golden rectangles flew into the air as the beckoning hand was shattered; as if possessed by an indomitable spirit, they homed onto the swamp’s arm and began to cover it with a gilded coating.

     I will not let you destroy my spirit.

For the first time, the swamp’s smile disappeared, replaced with an expression of pure shock and fear. It began to desperately grip and swipe at its arm in a futile attempt to stop the advance. But the golden tiles continued to lock into place around it, completely covering its arms, torso, and legs. As the final pieces slid into place, the thing’s eyes widened and it shook its head rapidly, trying to throw off the coating.

Completely covered in gold, the thing slammed itself onto the bottom of Michael’s consciousness, sending sparkling plates to and fro. Its size and bulk had disappeared, having been replaced with sickly, thin limbs and a short stature.

Michael himself materialized again behind him; the very sight made the swamp’s entire body tremble. In response, the golden warrior sat on the ground in a meditative position and shut his eyes.

The swamp turned to face him and sat down in front of him, noticing that they were about the same height. They remained in silence for a couple moments; then, Michael’s form disappeared, as if snuffed out like a candle’s flame. At this, two blobs sitting beside the creature recoiled in surprise, and then the ooze too was snuffed out, leaving nothing but smoke.

•••

Daybreak.

Michael’s eyes leapt open with a jolt. He was lying on the grass, staring at the dawn sky. There was no trace of the corruption that had consumed him except a slim tendril of purple slithering away from the light.

Exhausted, he pushed himself up, dusted off his ruined armor with a bloodstained hand, and began the long journey back home.